Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Damn, thought Wei Ying as he awoke, his mind still foggy. The last thing he remembered was the final breath of his 'little radish'—his A-Yuan, Wen Yuan, Lan Yuan, or Lan Sizhui. In his final moments, A-Yuan had been surrounded by family, in the heart of the Cloud Recesses, as the cherished sect leader of the Lan Clan.

Wei Ying took a slow, cautious breath, trying to grasp where he was now. He was lying on a bed, yet the surface beneath him felt strangely warm and damp. And then it hit him—a golden core. He felt his golden core. He blinked, opening his eyes slowly, letting the dim moonlight reveal the room around him. He found himself in the Cloud Recesses, in a room with a young Jiang Wanyin, fast asleep.

Shit, Wei Ying thought. He somehow traveled back, back to the lectures at Cloud Recesses. The very night he’d been disciplined alone with the discipline paddle for drinking alcohol with his 'friends' and met those free-running corpses.

“Great,” he muttered under his breath. “Now I’m lying in my own blood. Again.” Pushing through the soreness, he dragged himself out of bed, wincing at every movement. His body throbbed painfully, but he knew he couldn’t stay here.

Not entirely sure what to do next, he decided to sneak out to the Cold Pond to ease his wounds. The familiar chill of the night air made him shiver as he slipped through the quiet corridors, his mind racing with questions. Why have I been brought back? Why here, of all times? And why now?

"…Wei… Wei Wuxian? Why is he here? Last time, he wasn’t here…" a quiet, familiar voice whispered, tinged with disbelief.

"Qing-jie?" Wei Ying called out, his voice much too loud for the tranquil silence of the Cloud Recesses, much too loud for this hour... whatever time it was.

"What are you doing here?" Wen Qing’s voice was full of worry, her gaze fixed on him with a mix of confusion and concern.

"No, what are you doing here?" Wei Ying countered, surprise and relief mingling in his voice.

"I mean… what exactly are you doing here and now, in the Cold Pond, Wei Wuxian?" Wen Qing demanded, crossing her arms as she gave him a look that brooked no nonsense.

"Jie… I, well, I just wanted to—" he stammered, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly.

"Get to the point, idiot. Don’t deflect!" Wen Qing scolded, her voice sharper now.

With a sigh, he dropped his gaze to the ground. "When I woke up, my back was bleeding… the discipline paddle reopened some of the Zidian wounds from a couple of months ago," he explained quietly.

"Turn around and take off your robe!" Wen Qing ordered, her tone both exasperated and gentle. "Don’t be startled. I’m going to apply some qi to a few places; tell me if you feel anything."

With a mix of reluctance and relief, Wei Ying turned his back to her. Wen Qing began examining the scars, ones she recognized all too well—scars she had seen in her past life but had been helpless to fully heal, with so many other lives to protect, so many battles to fight.

"Almost done… tell me, what did you feel?" she asked, glancing at him skeptically. She had half-expected him to flinch every few seconds, muttering "ouch," or complaining it was too cold or too hot. But he hadn’t reacted at all.

"Uh… it kind of tickled… a little, I think?" he mumbled, grateful he didn’t have to meet her eyes.

"Tickled? You think? Are you stupid?" Wen Qing snapped, exasperation and anger now clear in her voice. "You complete idiot. Do you have any sense of self-preservation? How can you let that insane family treat you this way? Are you a murderer? No. Are you a thief? No. Are you a traitor? Absolutely not! Then explain to me why your back is covered in scars, some of them years old, and the newest just two months ago. I can’t believe it!"

Her voice softened as she let out a frustrated sigh, her hands hovering over his injuries. "A-Ying, your nerves are damaged and two of your vertebrae are cracked. How long do you think you’ll be able to keep walking if this keeps up? Why? Why do you let yourself be whipped like this?"

"Come on, tell me, why were you whipped? We lived together long enough for you to know that silence won’t get you anywhere!" Wen Qing scolded, her voice sharp but her eyes filled with worry.

Wei Ying sighed. The better question is, why wouldn’t I be whipped? he thought. "It’s usually because I do something better than Jiang Wanyin… or worse than Jiang Wanyin. Madam Yu thinks I’m not taking my training seriously. And it’s better if I’m punished than if my shidis or shimeis are—it could actually harm them. Sometimes it’s because I was… well, mischievous—that’s fair, I guess. I’m unruly. Other times, I’m ‘ungrateful’ because I mess up, despite Madam Yu letting me live at Lotus Pier. I owe her and Uncle Jiang, for my golden core. I would have died on the streets without them. At least this way, I had food, clothes, a roof over my head." He paused, his gaze dropping, voice quieter. "And… well, there’s always the rumour that I’m the bastard of Sect Leader Jiang. Or the son of a servant. One contradicts the other, but if I ever pointed that out, she’d probably strangle me with Zidian… though…" he trailed off, thinking for a moment. "Qing-jie, how long does it actually take to be strangled?"

Wen Qing’s eyes widened as he turned to face her. She looked stunned, her face paling.

"Don’t even think about it," she breathed. "What about A-Yuan? What would happen to him?"

"He should be with his real parents. And if not… then with Hanguang-jun again." A soft smile crossed Wei Ying’s face as he spoke. "Ah—Qing-jie, you should have seen him! After my death I became a spirit I think. Attached to A-Yuan... I watched our little radish become the most precious Lan. He was so adorable in his white robes, with those chubby, well-fed cheeks and so serious. He was a real mini Hanguang-jun, my heart was melting, really. You’d have loved it," he said, clearly pleased to be steering the conversation away from himself.

Wen Qing’s face fell, her voice turning sad. "I was with A-Ning," she murmured, gently helping him slip his robe back on, wincing at his pained movements.

"Oh… I miss A-Ning," Wei Ying said softly. "But he was dead?"

"He wasn’t dead, he was held captive… Jin Guangyao, that filthy rat, along with Xue Yang, tried to turn him into a puppet. A-Ning spent years in a dungeon at Jinlintai before someone finally… well," her voice faltered. "Someone finally ended his suffering nearly two decades later. Only then could I finally pass on," Wen Qing whispered, her eyes haunted.

She sighed, composing herself. "Anyway, before we figure out what to do next, let me ask you this." Her voice hardened as she looked him straight in the eye. "Would you ever expect A-Yuan, or any child you took in, to owe you something? Would you find it acceptable for a child to suffer for the inferiority complex of an adult? Do you believe an orphan's life is worthless?"

Wei Ying shook his head, his voice barely a whisper. "No… of course not. To all three."

"Good," Wen Qing said, her relief mixed with a fierce determination. "If you’d said yes to even one of those questions, I’d have kept A-Yuan from you this time." She huffed, crossing her arms.

"Now, here’s what we’re going to do." Wen Qing leaned closer, her eyes narrowing with resolve. "And I mean we, together, because I don’t trust you to keep yourself alive on your own. Sorry not sorry—the truth can be harsh." She held up a finger. "First: no more alcohol."

Wei Ying looked up, his mouth half-open in protest, but she continued firmly. "No. Alcohol," she said, her tone final. "Your golden core is strong. Just like your… shall we say, fondness for alcohol when you're facing difficulties. And you’re, what? Fifteen? Sixteen? First rule: no more alcohol."

Wei Ying groaned, looking away, but Wen Qing pressed on, her eyes glistening with both concern and a no-nonsense attitude.

"Second: if you ever want to see A-Yuan again, leave the Jiangs. You and I both know these people are trash, even if you refuse to admit it." She gripped his shoulders, her voice rising with each sentence. "You gave your golden core to that bastard, and he still wanted to destroy you. The current sect leader lets his clan be run by a tyrant. A woman who abuses children because she’s blinded by her inferiority complex. The girl so foolish that she thinks marrying into a clan that wants to tear you down is somehow okay—don’t look at me like that! I don’t care if she loves Jin Zixuan or not. If she loved you as a brother, she wouldn’t have done this. I don't buy any of that, she can't be that blind and deaf." Wen Qing’s eyes filled with tears as she tightened her hold on his shoulders. "All four of them are trash. So leave them, Wei Ying. You don’t have to suffer because you’re good. Their insecurities are not your fault. You’ve given more than you’ll ever get back. I beg you… open your eyes and see the truth."

Wei Ying’s expression softened, but before he could respond, Wen Qing shook her head, her brow furrowing in concern once more. "And you…" She looked at him, his back still sore from the punishment he had endured. "We’re going to the Healing Pavilion at sunrise. I’m not leaving you like this. You need herbs and those wounds need to be properly treated and bandaged. You won’t be able to move properly if we don’t take care of this." Her voice softened, her eyes determined, but there was a deep tenderness in them too. "So stop pretending you don’t need help."

Wei Ying opened his mouth to protest but was silenced by her firm gaze.

"Let’s not waste time," Wen Qing continued. "I’ll apply the right herbs to help the qi circulate and then we’ll bandage you up. I’m not letting you suffer any longer than necessary, you understand? You’ve been through enough."

Wei Ying nodded reluctantly. The weight of Wen Qing’s words hung heavy in the air and despite his pain and exhaustion, a small part of him felt the warmth of her care. For a brief moment, it almost felt like home.

But that sense of calm was fleeting. There was something else on his mind, something he couldn’t shake.

From the shadows, Lan Zhan remained silent, the faintest creak of wood underfoot betraying his presence. He had been listening to the entire conversation. His grip tightened around the wooden beam in front of him and his eyes remained on Wei Ying. Despite the overwhelming emotions that stirred within him, he remained still, unseen but attentive, processing everything he had just heard.

Wei Ying and Wen Qing did not notice him, caught up in their own discussion. But the air had shifted, and Lan Zhan, for the first time in what felt like an eternity, felt the weight of his own emotions begin to crack open.

Lan Zhan walked quickly to the Jingshi, his thoughts in complete disarray. Excessive emotions, he thought, trying to school his features into calm. Too much, far too much. Every moment spent in Wei Ying’s presence seemed to unsettle something deep within him and now, after overhearing that strange conversation, the feeling was almost unbearable.

Wei Ying is… He didn’t have the words. The image of Wei Ying injured, calmly discussing his punishments as if they were a part of life, had struck Lan Zhan with a strange, painful pang. His pulse quickened, his chest tightened, but he had to keep these emotions in check. This… reaction, he told himself, is excessive. I must calm down.

How could Wei Ying speak so easily of what he endured? Lan Zhan’s jaw clenched at the thought of Wei Ying hurt like that—so casually hurt. But he had to look away, couldn’t linger on it, because each time he thought of Wei Ying in pain, a wave of anger and worry crept up, disturbing his balance.

He closed the doors of the Jingshi and tried to steady his mind, but the strange mix of emotions only surged. Wei Ying, he repeated silently, but instead of clarity, his thoughts only spiraled further. He felt his face grow warm, his heart racing. Wei Ying’s injuries, his resilience, even his laughter at his own pain, it was more than Lan Zhan knew how to process. How can he… how can he pretend it means nothing? Who did he gave his golden core? When did that happen? Who tried to harm him? WHO is A-Yuan?

A quiet shame crept over him. Why am I… concerned? Concerned to this degree? Lan Zhan closed his eyes, struggling to focus. No one had ever affected him this way, especially not with such intensity, and he did not know how to contain it.

Should I speak with brother? The thought was tempting, but as soon as it appeared, he dismissed it. He couldn’t bring this to Xichen. His brother would only tell him to treat Wei Ying as he would any other, to maintain the standards of a Lan disciple or he'd tease him to no end. Lan Zhan had tried to see Wei Ying as anyone else, but somehow, with him, he could not. Wei Ying had unsettled him, his mischief sparking irritation and something else that Lan Zhan could not name. But now, Wei Ying's pain, his vulnerability… it was something entirely different.

Lan Zhan’s fingers dug into his robes, his breath unsteady. I need to control this, he thought. I cannot let myself feel this much. These emotions more than he knew how to deal with. Wei Ying was just… Wei Ying. And yet, he wasn’t.

How could Wei Ying be the source of such chaos in him? He is reckless, unrestrained, Lan Zhan reminded himself, but those thoughts felt hollow now, an excuse to ignore what he couldn’t understand. Wei Ying wasn’t supposed to be important to him. And yet… feelings remained, gnawing at him in a way he couldn’t dismiss.

Should I tell Uncle? But he knew that was impossible. Uncle would scold him, tell him that he should not let any individual, especially someone unruly as Wei Ying, draw such a response. That the intensity, the disturbance, was unacceptable.

Then why can’t I let it go? His grip on his robes tightened. He couldn’t fathom why Wei Ying, of all people, should make him feel so deeply, so disruptively. With anyone else, he could be still, composed, but with Wei Ying… his control slipped.

But there was one undeniable thing, even if he didn’t fully understand it: No one should have to suffer like that. 

As dawn began to paint the sky over the Cloud Recesses, the low, clear chime of the Mao-gong resonated through the tranquil grounds, marking the arrival of a new day. Its echo was almost soothing, even to Wei Ying, who shifted gingerly beside Wen Qing.

“Do you think you can walk? I mean… without too much pain?” Wen Qing asked, giving him a searching look. The healing pavilion wasn’t far, perhaps a ten-minute walk, but his condition worried her.

Wei Ying shot her a mischievous grin, despite everything. “Oh, I’ll manage. It’s not like you could carry me there.” He raised his eyebrows in playful challenge.

Wen Qing rolled her eyes but couldn’t suppress a slight smile. “Well, I could always ask your Lan-er-gongzi to carry you instead. I’m sure he wouldn’t mind… if he’s already taken in A-Yuan, like you told me…” She let the words linger, a teasing glint in her eyes.

Wei Ying’s face flushed faintly, but he quickly looked away, feigning exasperation. “That’s a problem for another time, please, Jie, not now,” he murmured, his tone light but his steps cautious as he leaned on her arm for support and hobbled toward the healing pavilion.

Inside the pavilion, the healers gasped when they saw him, their expressions going from shock to swift action. A senior healer immediately administered a mild sedative and Wei Ying’s body relaxed under its effects. As his wounds were carefully cleaned, treated, and bandaged, they moved him gently onto a cushioned bed to rest.

When he woke later that morning, Wen Qing was seated by his side, watching over him like a silent sentinel. She leaned closer as he stirred, telling him that the Lan healers were deeply concerned but relieved that his meridians seemed unaffected. Wei Ying sighed in relief, and after a few moments, their conversation drifted back to lighter topics, both of them feeling oddly comfortable in the quiet sanctuary of the pavilion.

But just as Wei Ying was beginning to settle, he suddenly felt the familiar presence of Jiang Cheng approaching, his martial brother’s fiery energy unmistakable even from a distance.

"Jie, please, I’ll pretend to be asleep," he whispered hurriedly. "Cover for me. I… I can’t talk to him. Not yet."

Wen Qing nodded, her gaze softening. "Alright," she whispered back. "Leave it to me."

The doors burst open and before Wei Ying could even catch his breath, Jiang Cheng’s voice sliced through the calm of the pavilion like a blade. "WEI WUXI—"

"Shut up." Wen Qing’s voice was icy, entirely devoid of the respect most people offered the Jiang sect heir.

Jiang Cheng froze, his eyes narrowing in fury. “Who do you think you are?”

“Someone with a balanced temperament who happens to be treating the wounds of the Jiang sect head disciple,” Wen Qing shot back, her tone level but unyielding. “The wounds you somehow overlooked, it seems. But no matter. I’ll have to ask you to leave. The patient needs rest and you’re disturbing it. Feel free to return later… when he’s awake.”

Jiang Cheng’s face twisted with irritation. He took a menacing step forward. “Wei Wuxian,” he snapped, “do you know what an embarrassment you’re making of the Jiang clan? Lying around here, acting weak. Do you plan to avoid training? Everyone else can manage it, but you—you would just bring us shame! Mother was right.”

Wen Qing’s gaze grew icy. “Then please, by all means, continue berating him here while he’s sleeping, barely able to move from those very wounds.”

Jiang Cheng’s face flushed a deep, furious red, his clenched fists barely containing his anger. For a moment, he looked like he might explode, but finally, he spun on his heel with a harsh, “Fine!” before storming out.

After a few beats of silence, Wen Qing looked over at Wei Ying, who slowly opened his eyes again, now gazing at her almost timidly. She raised her eyebrow. “Do you understand now?”

Wei Ying’s gaze dropped and he gave a small nod.

“Jiang-gongzi looked like an angry grape,” Wen Qing said pointedly, softening the tension and Wei Ying had to stifle his laughter. Before they could speak again, another presence entered the pavilion, one far quieter than the first.

A soft voice broke the stillness. “Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan whispered, his tone laced with concern.

Wei Ying’s breath hitched, startled. “Lan Zhan…” he murmured back, as if in disbelief.

Lan Zhan stepped forward, eyes steady, with a quiet intensity Wei Ying had never quite seen before. “I want to help you,” he said softly, his voice barely a whisper.

Wei Ying opened his mouth to respond, but no words came. The weight of it all, the pain, the night’s events and now, Lan Zhan’s earnest gaze, overwhelmed him. A tear slipped down his cheek, unbidden, and as he closed his eyes, the dam finally broke.

“Why would you help me, Lan Zhan?”

Chapter Text

After what felt like endless minutes of crying and spilling out an incoherent jumble of words, Wei Ying finally managed to choke out, “Help? Why… why do you want to help me?”

Wen Qing rolled her eyes at his question, while Lan Zhan stood as still as a jade statue.

“Lan Zhan… how do you want to help me?” Wei Ying repeated, his voice steadier this time, though he was still trying to wrap his mind around Lan Zhan’s sudden display of concern.

“You’re injured,” Lan Zhan replied simply.

Wei Ying gave him a small, reflexive smile, part gratitude, part amusement at the unusual sight of the ever-stoic Lan Zhan showing concern. “I’m being very well taken care of here and Wen-guniang is an excellent healer. Don’t worry, Lan Zhan.”

There was the barest flicker in Lan Zhan’s eyes, but he nodded, his expression unreadable. “If you need anything, let me know.” He turned and walked out before Wei Ying had a chance to respond.

Wei Ying watched him leave, bewildered. He turned to Wen Qing, brows raised. “What… was that?”

Wen Qing laughed, shaking her head. “For a genius, you can be so unbelievably stupid sometimes.” She laughed again, this time at Wei Ying’s expense, while he pouted, the corners of his mouth twitching despite himself.

Once Wen Qing had persuaded the Lan healers that Wei Ying needed additional observation time, a daily visit from a mind healer and extended rest before he was discharged, they agreed to let him stay in a separate room to recuperate fully. Wen Qing took on the role of his personal healer, which, thankfully, allowed the two unmarried young people to share time without raising any eyebrows. As long as Wen Qing was acting in her professional capacity, it was entirely appropriate.

With privacy finally secured, Wen Qing and Wei Ying settled in, sharing the rare opportunity to speak freely, and Wei Ying found himself grateful for her companionship as they began their quiet conversation.

“A-Ying, tell me everything you’ve experienced, if you’d like,” Wen Qing said softly, her tone unusually gentle.

Wei Ying took a deep, shaky breath. “Jie… there’s just so much. Would you believe me if I told you I spent ninety-seven years by A-Yuan’s side? He became such a proud cultivator and yet… such a good-hearted person. After… well…” He trailed off and despite thinking he had come to terms with it long ago, he found himself unable to go on. The memories stirred emotions he hadn’t fully processed.

“A-Yuan was left alone, and Hanguang-jun… he came to the Burial Mounds and saved him,” he continued after a moment. “Lan Zhan was badly hurt himself, but he still made the long journey there. A-Yuan didn’t remember us anymore. I cried over it, but… in the end, I think it was better that way. No child should have to grow up carrying so much pain. Anyway, Lan Zhan… he was covered in whip marks, but I never did figure out why anyone would punish him like that. I watched him whenever A-Yuan visited, and it took about three years before Lan Zhan was well enough to fully care for A-Yuan. And would you believe… that little radish started calling him A-die? Like he was his real father?” Wei Ying smiled at the memory, eyes bright with bittersweet nostalgia. “Can you picture it? Lan Zhan as a father… that image of A-Yuan sitting beside Lan Zhan at their guqins is burned into my mind forever.”

He cleared his throat and tried to refocus. “Anyway… A-Yuan moved into the Jingshi and I heard there was a big argument about it. The Old Goat tried to push back at first, but he gave in after Lan Zhan let him spend more time with A-Yuan. Even he couldn’t resist our little radish—ha! Take that, old goat! Lan Zhan always played a melody for A-Yuan to help him sleep, the same one he once played for me in the Xuanwu Cave... Maybe I’ll try it myself sometime soon; now that I can hold an instrument again. Over the years, A-Yuan, or Lan Yuan as it says in the family records, grew into a steady, brave cultivator. That alone was already a huge scandal in the 'non-gossiping' Cloud Recess. Hypocrites. Alas, A-Yuan helped those in need and was a true friend, even to Shi-eh, Jiang-guniang’s son, Jin Ling. He was given the courtesy name Sizhui—fitting, isn’t it?” Wei Ying grinned a little. “His friend Lan Jingyi was great for the clan gossip that A-Yuan didn’t have the knack for. Jingyi always treated the sect rules as… suggestions, really. I loved him dearly.”

He paused, chuckling softly. “When they were sixteen, they went on a night-hunt to Mo Village. The moment A-Yuan entered the area, I almost lost my tether to him, but I held on with everything I had. A strange place… I later heard a young man died there under mysterious circumstances. Eventually, it came to light that a demonic left arm was causing havoc and that it belonged to Nie Mingjue. Jin Guangyao killed him using a technique he learned from Lan Xichen. And would you believe the mastermind behind it all was Nie Huaisang? I never saw that coming. A-Yuan was the perfect proper Lan—no taste for gossip, but Jingyi loved it. And years later, when A-Yuan was twenty-two, he married a wonderful woman and ended up with… let me think—four children! Three girls and a boy. His eldest, the heir, was so much like you, Jie. You would have been incredibly proud.”

Wei Ying took another breath, his eyes misty as he continued. “It’s strange, though… Lan Xichen wasn’t at A-Yuan’s wedding. In fact, I didn’t see him again after Jin Guangyao’s deeds were uncovered. Not that I could go too far from A-Yuan myself, but still… Lan Zhan, though, Lan Zhan passed away not long after the wedding. A-Yuan was overjoyed with his family, but Lan Zhan’s death hit him hard. All these years, Lan Zhan looked as though he was mourning a lost wife. The Lans already wear mourning clothes as part of their usual robes, but Lan Zhan… he never wore anything other than white, not once after that. It was like he’d made a vow to the dead—like his entire life was part of an endless mourning ritual. A-Yuan's wife was three months along at the time, I think. Old Goat Lan gave him a lot of support then. When A-Yuan was seventeen, he was officially named sect heir. Again, major drama, but since Lan Xichen, who was never seen again, had no descendants and none of the inner family, especially not Jingyi, wanted to inherit a clan in shambles, A-Yuan’s true parentage was kept secret. And voilà, the supposed love child of a tragically romantic affair between Hanguang-jun and a heroine who died during the Sunshot Campaign was named the sect heir. After that, he got daily training from Lan Qiren to prepare him as leader. When he turned twenty, he finally took over as Sect Leader, and he was… Jie, he was incredible. He faced down crises, raised his children well and lived a full, happy life. He passed peacefully, just shy of his hundredth birthday.” Wei Ying’s voice wavered as he blinked away the tears forming in his eyes.

“A-Yuan was such a good child. I only wish I could have done something for A-Ning. All I could do was watch while he was tortured… Xue Yang used metal needles, trying to turn A-Ning into a puppet, but my brother was strong. He never gave in. Eventually, Xue Yang and Jin Guangyao disappeared, and a few years later, someone finally freed A-Ning. I think I stayed with him for about twenty years or so, give or take.” Wen Qing’s voice grew soft and somber as she spoke of her brother, her heart heavy with the memory.

They sat in silence, the weight of their shared stories resting between them, each of them lost in memories both painful and precious. Wen Qing stirred, quietly moving to check Wei Ying’s injuries once more. She had no desire to linger in these bittersweet memories, there might be a chance now to shape their own fates rather than be captive to the past.

After tending to the wounds to her satisfaction, she heard Wei Ying’s soft, even breaths, a light snore escaping now and then. Good, the child is sleeping, Wen Qing thought, her expression softening. Moving quickly and silently to the door, she pulled it open, nearly colliding with a tall wall of white as she stepped over the threshold.

“Wen-guniang, is Wei Ying improving?” Lan-er-gongzi’s soft voice inquired.

“What are you doing here? Outside the door, I mean?” Wen Qing asked a bit more sharply than intended, her no-nonsense tone taking over.

“I was passing by and overheard your voices. I didn’t want anyone to disturb you while you tended to your patient,” Lan Zhan clarified, expression unchanging, his gaze steady. And he wasn’t lying.

“Well… thank you,” Wen Qing replied, a bit taken aback. “Wei-gongzi is sleeping right now. If you need to speak with him, please wait until this afternoon.” With that, she nodded briskly and left Lan Zhan standing in the hallway.

On her way back to her guest quarters in the female-only section of the Cloud Recesses, Wen Qing turned a corner and nearly ran into a group of guest disciples, trailed closely by a furious Jiang Wanyin and a hesitant Nie Huaisang, who was doing his best to placate him. Wen Qing tried to stay out of Jiang Wanyin’s line of sight, but she couldn’t help overhearing fragments of their conversation as she passed.

“I tell you,” Jiang Cheng was saying with an almost bitter amusement, “Lan-er-gongzi is actually punishing that fool by isolating him—it’s brilliant. Wei Wuxian always needs to show off, has to be the center of attention. Keeping him away from everyone is the perfect punishment for him! Hahaha! Maybe I should tell Mother for future reference—it’s so effective! I finally have peace.”

“Jiang-xiong, could it be that… maybe Wei-xiong actually needs to rest? I don’t know, really, but I heard he was badly hurt…” Nie Huaisang replied, shaking his head gently, his brow furrowed.

“‘Badly hurt,’ my foot!” Jiang Cheng scoffed, rolling his eyes. “He’s probably just trying to milk this for all it’s worth, getting a whole week to slack off in bed and fool around with that doctor. I bet he even put red dye on his sheets to make it look worse. Overdramatic as always. He’s never gone to such lengths before, no matter what happened. Really incredible! Once Lan-er-gongzi ends this ridiculous solitary confinement, which is clearly too good for a servant like him, I’ll make sure he corrects his shameful behaviour. Mother would be furious if she knew just how this ungrateful bastard was taking advantage of things here.”

Nie Huaisang knew that in moments like this, the best course of action was often to just remain silent. Does Jiang-xiong really think Wei-xiong is on some sort of vacation? he wondered. Did he not see those wounds? Doesn’t he understand what kind of wounds they are or doesn't he care? And it’s almost as if Lan Wangji is keeping Wei-xiong away so that he won’t get steamrolled by that relentless Jiang heir… Lan Wangji may act coldly toward Wei-xiong sometimes, but from what I’ve observed all these years, there has to be more to this than simple dislike…

Lost in thought, Nie Huaisang turned his gaze away from Jiang Wanyin—only to suddenly find himself locking eyes with… oh—Wen Qing? She looked positively appalled. Interesting… mused Nie Huaisang, feeling the intrigue deepen as he tried to connect the dots.

“Wei-xiong? Wei-xiong? Are you awake?” Nie Huaisang’s gentle voice called through the closed door, followed by a soft, polite knock.

“Nie-xiong? Come in, come in. I’m hardly some fragile maiden,” Wei Ying replied with a quiet chuckle.

Nie Huaisang slipped inside, his eyes shining with a blend of curiosity and mischief. “Wei-xiong… what happened to you?”

“Oh, nothing much! Just some old wounds acting up, that’s all. Can’t move around so well for now, but it’s really nothing serious,” Wei Ying said breezily, trying to sound convincing. “Give me a week, and I’ll be good as new.”

Nie Huaisang looked at him thoughtfully, his gaze carrying an almost knowing glint. “Wei-xiong… we’re friends, aren’t we?”

Wei Ying hesitated, an instinctive caution stirring within him. He’d come to realize from his years around A-Yuan that the young Nie in front of him would grow into one of the most astute and perceptive minds in the cultivation world. But he quickly softened, his smile turning genuine. “Of course, Nie-xiong. You’re actually my first true friend. The first person who spends time with me because they want to, not just because we share the same sect.”

“Oh? Really? But wait… what about Jiang-xiong?” Nie Huaisang asked, tapping his fan against his chin thoughtfully.

“Ah, Jiang Wanyin is… different,” Wei Ying replied with a warm smile. “But you, Nie-xiong—you’re my friend.”

“Thank you, Wei-xiong. That means a lot,” Nie Huaisang replied, smiling sincerely before his gaze sharpened just slightly. “So, if we’re friends… tell me, why does Jiang-xiong keep saying you’re just faking this?”

“He… says that?” Wei Ying faltered for a moment, clearly taken aback, before giving a sheepish smile. “Oh… Well, it’s not really so bad. He’s probably right in some ways. I’ll have to get back to training as soon as I’m out of here. Normally, I wouldn’t need so much time to recover from… well, you know, something like this.”

“Something like this?” Nie Huaisang noted to himself, his expression calm but his mind turning over Wei Ying’s evasive answer. Interesting… Wei-xiong seems intent on deflecting attention from himself.

“… Though if what I’ve heard is true, you may be getting more attention than you realize,” Nie Huaisang remarked casually. “After all, Lan Wangji is ensuring you remain isolated, saying it’s for your healing, of course. But if you ask me…” he gave Wei Ying a sly smile, “keeping you alone, in his care, might have a few other purposes, too.”

Wei Ying’s eyes widened slightly, his cheeks turning a faint shade of pink as he spluttered, “L-Lan Zhan did that? To keep me… isolated?”

Nie Huaisang watched the flustered reaction with great amusement, taking a moment before giving a light chuckle. Interesting… Wei-xiong doesn’t seem to have thought about this side of things at all.

“Still, Wei-xiong,” he continued, his tone softening as if to drop the teasing, “you’re not moving around as well as usual, are you?”

“Well… not exactly,” Wei Ying admitted, with just the faintest hint of reluctance. “I can manage, but it’s… not as easy as usual. Takes a bit more effort. But the Lan healers and Wen-guniang are insisting I stay here for six more days, for ‘observation.’ But anyway, enough about me!” He grinned, shifting the subject with practiced ease. “What did I miss today? Anything exciting?”

Recognizing the deflection, Nie Huaisang graciously followed his lead, chatting with Wei Ying for the rest of the afternoon. All the while, however, he quietly resolved to make plans that very evening, so he could protect his first friend from the notorious Jiang temper he had already read and heard so much about.

"Go-good evening, Nie-gongzi, Wei-gong-gongzi," Wen Ning stammers nervously as he steps into the infirmary room with his sister by his side.

"Good evening, Nie-gongzi, Wei Wuxian,” Wen Qing greets, wasting no time as she strides over to the bedside, her greeting polite yet brisk compared to her brother’s. For once, formalities seem like an indulgence she has little patience for.

"Good evening, Wen-guniang, Wen-gongzi,” Nie Huaisang responds, dipping his head politely. “Wen-guniang, thank you for aiding and healing my friend. I think it’s safe to say our priorities are very much aligned." A glint of shrewdness flickers in his gaze, one that Wen Qing notices with a faint, approving smile.

"Nie-gongzi, it’s always good to have friends, especially those working towards the same goals," she replies, bowing again, this time with the full formality her position demands.

“Oh, Wen-daifu, thank you, but truly, I’m doing well,” Wei Ying interjects quickly. “The bandages may need changing later, but everything seems to be holding up fine. Ah! Wen-gongzi, it’s good to see you! How have you been finding the lectures so far?”

"Th-thank you, Wei-gongzi, for asking," Wen Ning replies, blinking in surprise, uncertain what to make of the elder’s sudden attention. “The lectures are… are very interesting, thank you. Though I also enjoy my afternoons helping my sister.”

"As lovely as this gathering is," Wen Qing interrupts, looking purposefully at her brother and Nie Huaisang, “I really do need to check on Wei Wuxian’s wounds. A-Ning, Nie-gongzi, perhaps you both could head to the dining hall? The gong should be sounding any moment. I’ll take my meal here; there are some things I need to go over with my patient before tomorrow. Thank you both for your concern."

Her words are polite yet final, making it clear she values the rare privacy to speak with Wei Wuxian. She dips her head one last time in gratitude, particularly toward Nie Huaisang, who seems to be a welcome ally. Though she had, as a spirit bound to her brother, heard Jin Guangyao talking of Nie Huaisang as the “headshaker” who was often criticised for being indecisive and hesitant, she couldn’t ignore that having someone as sharp as he seemed to be could turn out to be extremely useful. 

Interesting, she mused as she watched Nie Huaisang thoughtfully. Perhaps aligning with him is a better choice than even A-Ying realises, based on everything the idiot has told...

Before the healer began his examination of Wei Ying, Wen Qing quietly shared some context about the young man's life in Lotus Pier, Madame Yu’s temper and her unique form of "punishment." She didn’t speak as a doctor, but as someone who had known Wei Ying for years and had witnessed the consequences when the young man was sent back to the Lotus Pier as though nothing had happened. She does in fact not care if she's breaking the younger mans trust, she knows it's for his best and he would eventually understand the necessity. Since she speaks as a friend, she's happy with the moral loophole she found.

"I’ve seen it before," Wen Qing said, her voice lower than usual, as if weighing every word. "It’s bad enough as it is now, I don't want to think about what would happen if the Jiangs found out that he’s spoken to doctors, that someone has actually seen and treated his wounds. I can’t help but think about it, he doesn’t even dare to consider what might happen if he’s sent back to the Lotus Pier like this. I don't want to imagine what Madame Yu might do, or what would happen to him if they learned we were actually trying to help him."

Her words were full of frustration, her eyes hard as she continued. "I've seen it too many times, it only gets worse. He pushes it down, afraid of what it would mean if they found out and unwilling to see his own value. And I can’t help but wonder, what happens next time? What happens if they find out that we’ve been helping him?"

The healer silently nodded, absorbing her concerns. He understood now that this wasn’t just about medical care—this was about something far more delicate. And though he said nothing in response, her warnings would guide how he proceeded, carefully weighing every step to protect the patient.

The room is quiet in the morning, almost too quiet, as Wei Wuxian sits across from the Lan clan mind healer, a young but calm-faced disciple dressed in the trademark white and blue robes. Wei Ying shifts uncomfortably, already dreading the probing questions he knows will come. The healer’s gaze is sharp, his expression soft but unwavering.

Chapter Text

To listen or not to listen? Lan Zhan wrestles with his Clan’s rules on privacy. Wei Ying is entitled to his confidentiality, as much as I want to know, he reminds himself firmly. Especially after what he learned at the cold springs.

Nie Huaisang, however, feels no such compulsion to follow any rules. In fact, after their talk yesterday, he had set to work with a variety of methods the Second Jade could hardly even begin to imagine. Equipped with a silencing seal, a nullifying seal and a specialised spying instrument that he’d carefully hidden outside the infirmary wall, Huaisang has been eavesdropping with careful intent. Every scrap of information is crucial, he reasons. If he has a chance to shield his friend from any future harm, isn’t it worth the bending of a few rules?

Nie Huaisang stifles a groan as he adjusts his position, feeling the chill of the early morning settle into his bones. Leave it to the Lans to think therapy is best conducted before dawn, he muses, casting a glance at the first faint hints of light creeping over the horizon. Of course, only the Lan clan would make a person pour out their soul before they've even had the chance to rub the sleep from their eyes.

Still, he has to admit, it was worth getting up before the hour of mao to listen in. His sources had been right, a little bird had told him that Wei-xiong would be meeting with one of the Lan mind healers at an unearthly hour. And if that conversation held even a hint of something he could use to protect his friend… well, then there was nowhere else he’d rather be.

Lan Zhan stands in front of Wei Ying’s private room more often than not, striving to tune in to the faintest murmurs and hints of conversation. In stark contrast to the clinical nature of the general infirmary, the private rooms for patients in the Cloud Recesses are heavily safeguarded with silencing seals embedded within the walls, ensuring no word of patient conversations leaks beyond their confines. Lan Zhan, however, has only his ears and intuition, which leaves him feeling oddly helpless. He’s barely speaking at all, Lan Wangji has noted, straining to catch anything that might hint at Wei Ying’s well-being. Why is he so quiet? Why won’t he tell the healer more?

Lan Zhan caught a few names yesterday, fragmented pieces, not nearly enough to make any sense of what Wei Ying might be saying, yet somehow enough to unsettle him. "A-Yuan" was a name Wen-guniang and Wei Ying mentioned yesterday as well... Names, he thinks. Names mean something or someone. And yet, they reveal so little. 

Meanwhile, outside, Nie Huaisang’s tool is far more effective. With the silencing seal disabled, he listens intently, picking up even the faintest exchanges between Wei-xiong and the healer, though he can hear Wei-xiong struggling, evading questions and offering the briefest of responses. Why is he holding back so much? Huaisang wonders. Why isn’t he opening up more? He can hear Wei-xiongs’s reluctance, his hesitations and the few sparse answers that leave Nie Huaisang with more questions than clarity.

What are they getting at? Huaisang wonders, shifting closer to his hidden listening device outside the wall. He can pick up parts of the healer’s steady, guiding questions, and Wei-xiong’s terse, reluctant answers that seem to avoid anything too revealing. Huaisang’s brow furrows. It’s almost like he’s afraid to talk… but why?

He takes a long breath, pressing his ear a little closer, determined to salvage what he can from this meeting. Every piece of information might be useful, he reminds himself, no matter how small. 

Nie Huaisang lets out a quiet sigh, a weight settling heavily on his chest as he leans closer, hoping to catch even the faintest trace of what’s unfolding beyond the silencing seals. I should’ve spoken to him earlier, he thinks, a flicker of regret flaring up in him. For weeks he’d noticed the odd tension that seemed to cling to Wei-xiong’s relationship with Jiang-xiong. It wasn’t just sibling rivalry or the competitive spirit he’d come to expect between sect heirs—it was something sharper, almost hostile. The harsh words Jiang-xiong sometimes threw at Wei-xiong, the scathing looks... they felt out of place, even strange. He couldn’t remember seeing anything quite like it, not even from his own older brother, despite his notoriously fierce temper.

Even Da-ge, for all his intensity, never treated me like that, he thinks, a faint, bitter pang of memory passing through him. Sure, his brother could be strict, often far harsher than Huaisang would have liked, but there had always been a sense of loyalty, of unbreakable family duty. With Jiang-xiong, though, it sometimes seemed as if Wei-xiong was an outsider in his own clan, bearing the brunt of a resentment that felt inexplicably personal.

Why didn’t I ever ask him? he wonders, guilt prickling at him. He laughed it off every time, made it seem like just another spat. Maybe I let myself believe him too easily. Maybe he thought I wouldn’t understand. A flash of defensiveness rises in him, tinged with sadness. Wei-xiong always tried to be so brave, so invulnerable. But maybe… maybe that was just another layer of armor.

I should have been there sooner, Huaisang thinks, frustration mingling with his regret. He’d spent so long playing the role of the unassuming, harmless friend, too busy staying out of sight to risk digging deeper into Wei-xiong’s struggles. Now, watching his friend bear the weight of so many silences alone, Huaisang realizes how much he might have missed and just how much Wei-xiong might have hidden.

His grip on the silencing device tightens, a steely determination taking hold of him. If Jiang-xiong, or anyone else, can’t see what they're doing to Wei-xiong, then someone else will have to.

As the morning gong rings for breakfast, Nie Huaisang suppresses a frustrated sigh, quickly stowing away his listening tools. Trust the Lans to have such terrible timing, he thinks, giving a last, lingering glance toward Wei Wuxian’s room. He’d only managed to catch a few revealing words, but those words, quiet and trembling, were enough to know Wei-xiong was struggling more deeply than he let on.

Lan Zhan, meanwhile, forces himself to step away from the corridor outside Wei Ying’s room, where he’d been pacing almost reflexively. He’d already heard more than he should have, each soft murmur or choked breath had left a pang in his chest, and it had taken all his self-discipline not to storm into the room when he heard the unmistakable sound of quiet sobbing. It had stripped away any illusions he’d held about the nature of his feelings. The sound of Wei Ying’s quiet despair had cut him deeply, leaving him helpless, torn between the pull of duty and the visceral need to comfort him The urge to shield Wei Ying, to take some of that burden upon himself, gnawed at him, but he couldn’t cross the line of trust Wei Ying needed him to respect.

As he walks away, Nie Huaisang appears from the shadows, a faint, conspiratorial smirk tugging at his lips. “It’s always helpful to know exactly what’s troubling a friend, isn’t it?” Nie Huaisang murmurs, his voice low but pointed, the tone one of unmistakable complicity.

Lan Zhan hesitates, looking at him with something akin to respect for his insight and maybe even relief at the unspoken support. Of course he knows even more since that situation at the cold springs but gossip is forbidden. He nods, unable to find words, but Nie Huaisang seems to understand.

They walk side-by-side to the dining hall, each wrapped in a reflective calm, feeling a quiet satisfaction in knowing just a little more about their friend’s pain and a deeper resolve to protect him, whatever it takes.

The fact that Nie Huaisang seems invested in Wei Ying's wellbeing is a bandaid for the pain Lan Zhan feels. Ever since he caught the glimpse at the Cold Springs, a quiet moment between Wei Ying and Wen Qing that was never meant for his eyes, his mind has been in turmoil. He hadn’t intended to overhear, nor to look too closely, but the sight of Wei Ying’s scars and the exchange about their origins haunts him, stealing peace from his heart. He’d heard them speak of battles, losses, things unspoken but weighted with the pain of everything Wei Ying has endured. It wasn’t that he wanted to intrude, but he feels caught in the churning tide of Wei Ying’s world and he doesn’t know how to simply turn away. Meditating in the Jingshi doesn't help him anymore, so Lan Zhan makes his way to the cold springs.

He remembers Wei Ying’s guarded posture by the springs, the tightness of his smile. That closeness he had with Wen Qing, a closeness that seemed built on something shared, something she understands that he, somehow, does not, leaves him feeling hollow. Wei Ying had asked her about A-Yuan, and though the words were barely more than a whisper, he heard them as though they’d been spoken directly to him. The name lingers in his mind like an echo: A-Yuan. He turns it over, his heart caught between confusion and longing. He doesn’t know who A-Yuan is, or why Wei Ying seems to attach the boy’s name to him. What is this connection, and why does Wei Ying place him at its center?

Lan Zhan’s chest tightens further, a strange tension building as he wrestles with the idea that Wen Qing alone controls the threshold between Wei Ying and A-Yuan, between Wei Ying and this… whatever it is between them. She seems to have the power to decide when and if Wei Ying will ever see this A-Yuan again, and Lan Zhan feels an unsettling helplessness gnawing at him. Why should Wen Qing, a healer from another clan, have such a say over this? His stomach twists as he realizes his jealousy, his confusion, even the faint anger that she has access to this part of Wei Ying he barely understands. Who is A-Yuan, really? 

He stares into the glassy waters, his reflection fractured and indistinct. The weight of these past twenty-four hours presses down on him, and he lets out a rare sigh. He does not know how to protect Wei Ying from this suffering, nor from the memories that leave him scarred and quiet in ways he’d never allowed anyone else to see. Lan Zan had thought he’d understood Wei Ying before, seen his light and his strength. But what he’s glimpsed now is something else entirely—a raw, private pain that he’s uncertain how to touch without breaking something fragile.

How can I ever be close to Wei Ying in the way I long to be? What right do I even have to this longing, to wish that I could be the one Wei Ying leans on, the one he turns to in his moments of despair? 

The questions loom large, threatening to consume him as he tries to understand his place in Wei Ying’s life, whether he even deserves one at all, when so much of Wei Ying’s story remains hidden. Am I meant to stand aside, to wait in silence, to simply accept that someone else has the say over who Wei Ying is allowed to see and love? That someone else can be so close to Wei Ying while I stand on the outskirts?

Lan Zhan closes his eyes, breathing deeply as he tries to clear his thoughts, but nothing soothes the unspoken questions, the terrible vulnerability that has opened up in him. He has not felt this lost, this helpless, in years. Not since his mother died. But he cannot bear to stand by idly, not now, not while Wei Ying faces this alone. Even if he does not understand, even if he may never be permitted fully into Wei Ying’s heart, he will stay by his side, no matter what it takes.

The quiet hum of the Cloud Recesses was almost soothing in its consistency, but the weight on Lan Zhan’s shoulders remained stubbornly unchanged. He sat in the study of Lan Xichen’s residence, the room dimly lit by the soft glow of lanterns hanging from the rafters, yet Lan Zhan’s mind was a far cry from peaceful. His younger brother had been deep in thought since they left the Library Pavilion, and though Lan Zhan had always carried his burdens silently, Lan Xichen could sense the tension beneath the composed exterior.

“Wangji,” Lan Xichen began softly, closing the book in front of him and fixing his attention fully on his brother, “I can tell something weighs heavily on you. It’s not like you to be so quiet after your last night patrol.”

Lan Zhan hesitated, his hand still gripping the edge of the table, as though the physical act of holding onto something would steady his thoughts. Finally, after a long pause, he spoke, though his voice betrayed a quiet strain.

“Wei Ying…” Lan Zhan started, but his words faltered for a moment, unsure how to continue. “He’s... he’s been through so much. I don’t know how to help him, Brother. I see the pain he carries, but it’s so much more than I realized. His body bears the marks of his suffering, but there’s so much more beneath that—things he hasn’t said, things he’s never shown.”

Lan Xichen watched him closely, his gaze gentle but searching, as if he understood more than Lan Zhan was letting on. “You care about him, don’t you?”

The question hung in the air, the silence between them thick with unspoken understanding. Lan Zhan’s face remained unreadable, but his fingers tightened around the table, betraying the storm of emotions running through him.

“Seeing him hurt like that... It’s unbearable.” Lan Zhan's voice softened, and for a moment, it almost cracked. “I don’t even know if he would accept my help. What if I’m making things worse? What if I’m just another burden to him?”

Lan Xichen’s expression softened, and he leaned forward, his tone both reassuring and empathetic. “You’re not a burden, Didi. But I understand why you feel that way. You’ve always shouldered your responsibilities alone, thinking you can handle everything on your own. But sometimes, it’s not about being the strongest or doing everything perfectly. It’s about being there for someone when they need you most.”

Lan Zhan’s gaze flickered downward, his mind racing with doubt. “But what if I’m not the right person to help him? What if I push him away instead? I’ve never been good at offering... support, not like others are. Not like you.”

“You’re thinking too much,” Lan Xichen said with a soft smile, almost as if he had seen this struggle play out in his brother countless times before. “Wei-gongzi may not ask for help in the way you expect, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t need it. Sometimes, the most important thing is not to try and fix everything, but just to show that you’re there. It’s not always about having the right words. It’s about presence.”

Lan Zhan’s jaw tightened, his mind torn between the desire to act and the fear of making things worse. “I just don’t know what he wants, I’m only making him feel more isolated.”

Lan Xichen watched his brother carefully, his voice calm but filled with quiet conviction. “You’ve always been the kind of person to think of others first, even when it costs you. But you must remember, Wangji, that sometimes caring for someone doesn’t mean you have to carry everything they bear. It means letting them know you’re there, even if they don’t ask. And sometimes, that’s all they need.”

Lan Zhan stood motionless, his thoughts still whirling. He had always prided himself on his discipline and control, but with Wei Ying, it felt like the rules had changed. He had seen Wei Ying in moments of vulnerability, moments where he had let down his guard, and the sight of it had shaken him more than he was willing to admit.

“I don’t know if I’m ready,” Lan Zhan muttered, more to himself than to his brother. “I don’t know if I can be the one to help him.”

Lan Xichen’s voice was steady as ever, “Then take it one step at a time. Don’t worry about being perfect. Just be there, Wangji. Sometimes, that’s all it takes.”

A long silence followed as Lan Zhan absorbed his brother’s words. He could feel the pressure in his chest easing, just slightly, as if the weight of his uncertainty was slowly being lifted.

Finally, Lan Zhan gave a single, almost imperceptible nod. 

After a moment, Lan Xichen stood up, his expression thoughtful. “If you’re ready, we can go to the Healing Pavilion together. I’ll be there, quietly, to offer my support. You don’t have to carry this burden alone.”

Lan Zhan turned to his brother, a silent gratitude in his eyes. “Thank you, Brother.”

The two of them walked out of the study, the weight of the decision still heavy in Lan Zhan’s heart but tempered by the quiet assurance his brother had offered. As they made their way to the Healing Pavilion, Lan Zhan’s mind continued to race, unsure of what to say to Wei Ying or how to offer the help he felt the other man desperately needed. But he knew that now, for the first time, he wasn’t alone in this struggle. And that knowledge, however small, was enough to keep him moving forward.

Chapter Text

The quiet sound of Wen Qing’s careful movements filled the room, as she worked to reapply bandages to Wei Ying’s torso. Despite the calm atmosphere, a tense silence lingered between them, the unspoken words hanging in the air.

Suddenly, the door creaked open and Lan Xichen entered first, followed by Lan Zhan, who stepped in with his usual quiet presence. Wei Ying immediately turned his head, though the motion made his body ache. His gaze briefly met Lan Xichen’s, and for a moment, he felt an inexplicable wave of guilt rise in his chest.

“Wei-gongzi,” Lan Xichen greeted him politely, his voice as composed as always, though there was a hint of concern in his eyes.

Wei Ying’s hands gripped the edge of his blanket as he shifted to sit up, a slight wince on his face from the strain. “Zewu-jun,” he greeted him in return, his tone respectful but weary. He opened his mouth as if to say more, but hesitated. “I... I’m sorry for not being able to properly greet you.” His apology was genuine, though it came out more awkward than he intended.

Lan Xichen merely offered a small smile. “You needn’t worry, Wei-gongzi. You’re not well. Rest is far more important.” He took a step closer to Wei Ying, his calm demeanor never wavering.

Lan Zhan lingered in the doorway, his gaze flicking to the floor briefly before meeting Wei Ying’s eyes. There was a quiet tension in the way he stood, his posture rigid. He opened his mouth as if to say something, but closed it quickly, his usual restraint holding him back.

Wei Ying could sense something in the air. Before he could pinpoint what it was, Wen Qing, who had been adjusting the bandages, paused. Her sharp eyes flicked toward the door. Without a word, she turned to Wei Ying.

“I’ll step outside for a moment,” she said calmly, but there was an underlying urgency in her tone. She cast one last glance at Lan Zhan and Lan Xichen before leaving the room.

The tension in the room thickened as the door clicked shut behind Wen Qing. Wei Ying's heart thudded heavily in his chest. He tried to push down the rising panic, but it was useless. Did they hear something? His mind raced with fear and confusion. He felt trapped, his every breath labored.

Lan Zhan stepped forward, his voice low but firm. "I’m sorry, Wei Ying," he said, his gaze unwavering. "There’s something I overheard that I shouldn’t have. I didn’t mean to intrude. I'll punish myself accordingly."

Wei Ying froze, his blood turning to ice. No... no, he couldn't have... He tried to steady himself, but his voice cracked as he spoke, a thread of desperation creeping in. "What... what did you hear?"

Lan Zhan hesitated, clearly unsure how to proceed. His eyes darted briefly toward his brother, Lan Xichen, who stood silently by the door. The elder Lan’s gaze was calm, but there was a slight furrow in his brow, a sign of concern.

"I—" Lan Zhan began, but stopped himself, thinking better of continuing. He looked at his brother, silently seeking guidance. Lan Xichen gave a subtle nod of approval.

"It's alright, Wei-gongzi," Lan Xichen spoke softly, stepping further into the room, his tone cautious but composed. "You don't need to fear what we’ve overheard. We are simply concerned about you, and we wish to help."

Wei Ying’s breath hitched in his throat. No... His hands trembled as he tried to calm himself, but his body wouldn’t obey. The fear and confusion were all-consuming.

He swallowed hard, eyes wide with panic. "You... you can’t—" He stopped himself, clenching his fists. No. Not this. Not now.

Lan Zhan frowned, a flicker of frustration flashing across his face. "Wei Ying," he said softly, but there was an edge to his voice. "You don’t have to be afraid of us. Whatever it is, we won’t judge you."

But that was exactly what Wei Ying feared. Judgment... from them... from Madam Yu... He could feel the walls closing in. The pressure was unbearable. His mind spun wildly. He could feel his control slipping.

“I can’t...” Wei Ying whispered, shaking his head. "Please. Please don’t let them know. I... I didn’t want anyone to see it. If... if she finds out—"

"She?" Lan Xichen repeated, his brows furrowing slightly in confusion. "Who are you referring to, Wei-gongzi?"

The question hit Wei Ying like a blow to the chest. No... His hands trembled as he tried to calm himself, but his body wouldn’t obey. The fear and confusion were all-consuming.

"Madam Yu... Madam Yu will make sure I never see the light of day again. She'll finally kill me," Wei Ying choked out, the words slipping from his lips before he could stop them.

Both Lan Zhan and Lan Xichen froze, their gazes locking onto Wei Ying with a mix of shock and concern.

"Madam Yu?" Lan Xichen echoed, his voice steady but with a note of surprise. “Wei-gongzi, you mustn’t worry. We—”

Wei Ying’s eyes darted around the room, his mind spiraling out of control. His breathing was ragged, his chest tight with fear. "I... You can’t let her know. You can’t let the Jiangs know. If they find out you know about the scars... that you know about everything... they’ll kill me. It’s my fault. All of it. I should have been stronger, but I couldn’t protect them. I couldn’t protect anyone."

His voice trembled, a sob catching in his throat. The flood of emotions overwhelmed him, and before he realized it, the tears began to fall. His face flushed with shame, as he covered his face with shaking hands.

Lan Zhan took a step forward, his voice gentle but firm. "Wei Ying," he said softly, but there was an edge to his voice. "You don't need to hide from us. This... this isn't your fault."

Wei Ying lifted his tear-streaked face, looking desperately at Lan Zhan. His voice cracked as he spoke, his words rushing out in a frantic blur. "I can't let them suffer because of me. They’ll never forgive me. I can't even look at myself. And Madam Yu... she’ll never stop punishing me. Not unless I—"

"No," Lan Zhan interjected sharply, his tone firm. "Nothing will happen to you, Wei Ying. You are not alone. We are here for you."

But the floodgates had already opened, and the tears flowed freely now, unstoppable. "But what if... what if they find out about the scars?" Wei Ying gasped between sobs. "What if they think I deserve it? What if they think I’m weak? I’ll be an even greater burden to them—"

Lan Xichen, who had remained silent until now, stepped forward. His expression softened, his voice low and steady. "Wei-gongzi, I don't know who 'they' are, but you are not a burden to us. Quite the contrary, you seem like an intelligent and accomplished young cultivator. No matter what has happened, no matter what you’ve been through, it doesn't define who you are." He placed a hand on Wei Ying's shoulder, his touch warm and reassuring.

Wei Ying flinched slightly at the unexpected contact, but instead of pulling away, he found himself leaning into it, seeking comfort.

"I always thought..." Wei Ying whispered, his voice barely audible between his shaky breaths. "I always thought you hated me, Lan Zhan. The way you always pushed me away. I... I never understood why. I thought maybe... maybe I deserved it. But now..." His voice faltered, and he swallowed hard, the sobs threatening to return. "Now, I don’t understand why you’re helping me."

Lan Zhan’s gaze softened as he knelt beside Wei Ying. His heart clenched at the vulnerability in Wei Ying’s words. He reaches out, brushing a strand of hair from Wei Ying’s forehead. He takes a deep breath, and for the first time, the walls of his usual composure cracked, revealing a vulnerability that Wei Ying had never seen before. "Wei Ying..." His voice was a whisper, full of sincerity. "I never hated you. I could never hate you. I was... I was confused, unsure how to be there for you. But I do care about you. More than you realize. What I feel for you... it's affection. It's something deeper than I ever expected, and it has nothing to do with what has happened to you. I don’t care about that. I care about you."

Wei Ying blinked, his teary eyes wide in disbelief. "You... care about me?" His voice cracked slightly, as if the weight of the words was almost too much to process.

Lan Zhan nodded slowly, his gaze unwavering, filled with an intensity that was impossible to misinterpret. "Yes," he said, his voice firm and resolute. "I care about you, Wei Ying. More than anything. And whatever happened, whatever you’ve been through... it doesn’t change that."

For the first time in what felt like forever, the weight of Wei Ying’s sorrow lifted just a little. He let out a shaky breath and leaned into Lan Zhan’s embrace, finally allowing himself to let go of the fear and pain that had consumed him for so long.

As Lan Zhan held him, he whispered softly, "You are not alone, Wei Ying. I’ll never let you be alone."

Wei Ying closed his eyes, his breathing slowly evening out, the tears no longer falling.

Wen Qing pushed open the door to the infirmary room, ready to resume her work after a short break. The sight before her, however, made her pause. Wei Ying was tear-streaked and exhausted, nestled close against Lan Zhan's chest with Lan Zhan’s arms wrapped around him as if shielding him from the world. Nearby, Lan Xichen observed them both, his expression one of calm curiosity mixed with a silent, protective watchfulness. The scene was enough to make Wen Qing roll her eyes.

"Alright, enough of this delicate bird dance you two have going on,” she declared, crossing her arms with an amused smile. “Lan-er-gongzi, Wei-gongzi, you’ve spent long enough flitting around each other like skittish sparrows.” She tilted her head, still smiling. “The time for uncertainty is over, wouldn't you agree?"

Lan Zhan looked up at her, confusion softening his gaze. Wei Ying, startled, tried to sit up straighter, his cheeks pinking faintly as he caught Lan Zhan’s steady eyes.

“Wen-guniang” Wei Ying murmured, voice thick with both gratitude and embarrassment. “It’s not… that simple.”

Lan Xichen’s brows rose slightly. He glanced at Wen Qing, curious, but remained quiet, his polite mask slipping just enough to reveal his own interest in her words.

Wen Qing, catching this, couldn’t help a mischievous glint in her eyes as she looked from Lan Zhan to Wei Ying and then to Lan Xichen. “It’s quite simple, Zewu-jun,” she replied, lips curling into a knowing smile. “What I mean is that these two—" she gestured between Lan Zhan and Wei Ying, “—have been pining after each other long enough. Now it’s time they moved beyond just… looks and longing.”

Lan Xichen blinked in mild surprise, his gaze flicking thoughtfully between them, though he said nothing. Wen Qing, sensing she had their full attention, turned to Wei Ying with a teasing look. “And you know what would make this complete?” She leaned in closer, lowering her voice with mock seriousness. “You need a child, of course.”

Wei Ying’s eyes widened in shock, and he turned an alarming shade of red. “Qing-jie—W-what?! That’s… I mean, that’s—"

At his slip into Qing-jie, Lan Xichen paused, visibly caught off guard. He watched the interaction even more intently, his curiosity deepening as Wei Ying stammered.

Chapter Text

Before the sun had a chance to rise, Wei Ying was already dragging himself out of bed. He moved gingerly, every muscle protesting as he shifted his weight. Of course, Wen Qing knew nothing of his plan, but even if she did, it wouldn’t change a thing. He had made up his mind and knew exactly what he needed to do to alter the future—to ensure that everyone he considered his would remain healthy, happy and safe.

With painstaking effort, he pulled on an outer robe that felt much too large for his frame, its folds swallowing him as he made his way toward the private residences of the Lan Clan’s inner family members. He had a hunch that Lan Qiren’s quarters were nearby.

I probably look like a ferocious ghost, Wei Ying thought wryly, glancing down at himself. His hair hung half-loose around his face, his robe barely fastened. Not exactly the image of respectability.

“Wei? Wei Wuxian?” A voice called out, gentle yet puzzled.

Wei Ying looked up to see Lan Xichen standing a short distance away, his serene features tinted with concern. “Good morning, Zewu-jun,” Wei Ying greeted, managing a polite nod despite the sharp twinge in his back. “Could you please direct me to Lan-xiangsheng’s residence? It is very important.”

Lan Xichen’s brows rose slightly, though his expression remained kind. “You wish to see my uncle? Hmm… I’ll take you there myself. But first…” His gaze swept over Wei Ying’s disheveled appearance. “Would you like an extra layer? You seem cold.” A faint teasing smile touched his lips. “I wouldn’t want Wangji scolding me if you caught a chill on top of everything else.”

Wei Ying blinked, then huffed a soft laugh, grateful for the offer but too distracted to respond. Lan Xichen, true to his word, led him slowly toward Lan Qiren’s residence.

The door slid open with a quiet creak and Lan Qiren looked up from his tea, his expression immediately shifting from calm to incredulous.

“Xichen, good, you’re here—Wei Wuxian? What are you doing here at this hour?” Lan Qiren’s voice was clipped, his frown deepening as he regarded Wei Ying.

Wei Ying bowed deeply despite the ache it caused. “I humbly ask for an audience, Lan-xiangsheng,” he said in the most polite tone he could muster, his face twitching slightly with the effort to remain respectful.

Lan Qiren sighed, clearly caught off guard. “Very well. Xichen, didn’t you mention last night that you had something to report? Can it wait until after breakfast? I was planning to meditate.”

Lan Xichen inclined his head gracefully. “Of course, Shufu. We’ll discuss it later. Until then.” He turned to Wei Ying with a polite bow. “Wei Wuxian,” he said, before stepping out of the room.

As the door closed, Lan Qiren set his teacup down with deliberate precision. “Well, boy, what is it you want?”

Wei Ying swallowed, trying to push down his nerves. “Thank you for granting me this opportunity, Lan-xiangsheng. I… I have two matters to discuss, but I’m not quite sure where to start…” He trailed off, scratching the back of his neck awkwardly.

“Then start in chronological order,” Lan Qiren suggested dryly, taking a slow sip of tea as though amused by Wei Ying’s hesitation.

Wei Ying took a deep breath, steeling himself. “All right. I… I’m from the future. About six years from now, to be exact.”

The elder Lan’s expression didn’t shift, but the sharp glint in his eyes spoke volumes. “Lying is forbidden, as you well know. So stop wasting my time with nonsense and get to the point.”

Impolite much, Wei Ying thought, biting his tongue to keep the remark from slipping out.

“I’m not lying,” Wei Ying said earnestly. “And if you permit it, I can prove it.”

Lan Qiren set his cup down with a pointed click. “Perhaps you’re not lying, but you’re clearly delusional. I’ll have the healers examine you again. You’re obviously hallucinating.”

“I’m not!” Wei Ying protested, frustration creeping into his voice. “Please, just… indulge me. It could even be a valuable learning experience. Isn’t ‘learning comes first’ one of the rules?” He flashed a thin, challenging smile.

Lan Qiren’s frown deepened, but after a moment of contemplation, he waved a hand dismissively. “Fine. What is it you wish to show me?”

Wei Ying hesitated. “If there were a way to share memories—hypothetically—would you agree to experience it?”

The elder’s gaze narrowed. “Why should I?”

Wei Ying’s lips quirked up, his confidence returning. “To indulge me.”

A long pause stretched between them before Lan Qiren sighed again. “Fine. Perhaps. It might be… educational. Are there risks?”

“Not if there’s an anchor,” Wei Ying explained quickly. “Without one, maybe, but with an anchor, the risks are minimal. It depends on the user’s skill, but I’m confident it’s safe.”

“And where would one find such an anchor?”

“It would need to be a person,” Wei Ying said cautiously. “Lan Zhan would be ideal. Could you summon him, please?”

Lan Qiren’s face darkened. “Do you honestly believe Wangji has nothing better to do than entertain your whims? This is absurd. First, you propose something so unorthodox and now you want to waste my nephew’s time? Where does it end?”

Wei Ying winced—not just from the pain in his back but from the mounting frustration. “Please, Lan-xiangsheng. It’s worth it. If you still think I’m wasting time after this, I’ll leave the Cloud Recesses immediately—”

“Promised?” Lan Qiren interjected sharply, his eyes gleaming.

The old fucker really does hate me. Fantastic. I love this, Wei Ying thought bitterly.

“Yes,” he said aloud, his voice firm. “I promise.”

“Excellent.” For the first time, Lan Qiren almost seemed pleased. “I’ll have Wangji summoned immediately.”

After a few minutes, there was a soft knock at the door and Lan Zhan stepped in. Wei Ying, sitting with his back turned, didn’t acknowledge him immediately, though Lan Zhan’s gaze lingered briefly on his slouched posture. Knowing that his brother had not yet spoken with their uncle, Lan Zhan crossed the room without a word and seated himself beside Wei Ying, directly across from Lan Qiren. He made no move to formally greet the younger man.

"Uncle, how can I assist?" Lan Zhan asked, his voice steady but slightly curious.

“This young man wishes to test a theory,” Lan Qiren replied curtly. “Wei Wuxian, explain to Wangji what he is to do.”

Wei Ying twisted slightly to glance at Lan Zhan, his eyes bright despite the weariness etched into his face. “Ah, Lan Zhan, good to see you!” he chirped, ignoring the tension in the room. “Your uncle and I are about to enter a trance-like state. If at any point you feel something’s gone wrong, infuse me with your qi or play something on your guqin—either will wake me up. Oh, and here—” he pulled a small bell from within his robes, dangling it in front of Lan Zhan with a grin. “This clarity bell will help monitor things. But only wake me if I stop breathing for more than five seconds or if, um, white foam starts coming out of my eyes. A qi-deviation-like state isn’t critical, I promise.”

Wei Ying’s cheerful explanation was met with starkly different reactions. Lan Zhan’s expression barely flickered, though a glimmer of curiosity shone in his eyes. Lan Qiren, on the other hand, looked utterly horrified. His lips thinned to a severe line, his disgust warring with his resolve to go through with this—for the sake of learning, of course. And if it meant finding grounds to expel this demon spawn from the Cloud Recesses? Even better.

"I’m aware this won’t be to your liking, but you’ll need to hold my hands,” Wei Ying instructed, his tone neutral yet pointed.

Lan Qiren huffed, his displeasure evident in the crease of his brow, but reluctantly extended his hands. His conviction that this contact was worth the trouble was the only thing keeping his pride intact.

Unlike for the others, I’m not holding anything back for this old mountain goat, Wei Ying thought, his inner voice laced with defiance. You’ll reap what you sow, you old bastard. I hope you can live with yourself after this. A grim, inward chuckle echoed in his mind as he initiated the empathy session.

The moment the connection solidified, a vivid scene unfolded around Lan Qiren:

Wei Ying was no more than four three old, perched on his father’s shoulders. His father’s laughter rang out like a bell, joyous and carefree. His mother rode beside them on a small, stubborn donkey—Little Apple—her voice warm as she teased them. His parent's faces are blurred, since he can't remember their exact features, making them look like ghosts. 

But the scene shifted abruptly. The colors drained, and a cold gray overtook the landscape. Wei Ying, now older, walked alone through narrow streets, his hair unkempt, his face smudged with dirt.

The market was just stirring to life, vendors setting up their stalls and calling out prices for vegetables, rice, and trinkets. Among the crowd, a small figure darted between stalls, ragged, thin, and barefoot. It was Wei Ying, no older than five, his clothes reduced to little more than scraps hanging off his small frame.

The air was cold, and his breath came out in faint puffs as he clutched his empty stomach. He hadn’t eaten in days, and his steps faltered as he glanced at the buns displayed on a nearby stall. His wide, dark eyes fixated on them with longing, but his body tensed as the vendor shouted, “Get away, you filthy brat! Go beg somewhere else!”

Wei Ying stumbled back, nearly tripping over a loose cobblestone. His cheeks burned with shame, but he managed a weak, apologetic smile before retreating.

Wei Ying found refuge in an abandoned alley, pressing himself against the wall to avoid the dampness of the ground. He hugged his knees to his chest, trying to ward off the cold, but the thin rags he wore did little to keep him warm.

Dogs barked in the distance, and the occasional drunken shout echoed through the streets. Wei Ying flinched at every sound, his tiny body trembling. Tears pricked his eyes, but he wiped them away stubbornly. Crying wouldn’t help.

One morning, the barking of a stray dog sent Wei Ying running, his tiny feet kicking up dust as he fled through the alleys. The creature’s growls grew closer, and he knew he couldn’t outrun it for long. Panicked, he ducked into a narrow passageway, pressing himself into the shadows.

The dog snarled and Wei Ying runs as far as he can, ending up in a alley. Then Lan Qiren hears a soft sound—the steady, rhythmic tap of a rattle drum.

Wei Ying dares to lift his head. At the mouth of the alley stood a boy about his age, dressed in immaculate white robes with a forehead ribbon tied neatly across his brow. In his small hands, he held the rattle drum, which he turned idly, the gentle sound resonating through the air.

Lan Zhan.

The boy’s expression was serious, almost severe, but his eyes softened when he saw Wei Ying. Slowly, he approached, his movements deliberate and calm, as if not to frighten him.

Wei Ying stared, wide-eyed, as Lan Zhan knelt before him and extended the rattle drum.

“For you,” Lan Zhan said quietly, his voice steady but tinged with a childlike sincerity.

Wei Ying hesitated, his dirty hands twitching as he gazed at the pristine toy. “Really?” he whispered, his voice hoarse.

Lan Zhan nodded.

A hesitant smile crept across Wei Ying’s face, one that grew brighter and brighter until it seemed to outshine the entire alley. “Thank you,” he murmured, clutching the drum to his chest like a precious treasure.

For a brief moment, the cold and hunger melted away, replaced by a warmth Wei Ying had almost forgotten existed. He wanted to say more, to thank the kind boy properly, but when he looked up, Lan Zhan was already walking away, his figure disappearing into the crowded streets.

The memory shifted, painting an image of vibrant blues and purples, the colors of Lotus Pier’s banners rippling in the breeze over the calm waters of Yunmeng. Laughter and the chatter of disciples echoed in the air, but the scene quickly narrowed to a young Wei Ying, about nine years old, standing on a narrow dock. His robes discarded as he scrubbed a pile of blood-stained robes in the water. His hands were red and raw from the cold, his back red and purple from whip lashes,  his small body hunched in concentration.

When Wei Ying first arrived at Lotus Pier, he was full of wide-eyed excitement. He worked harder than anyone to prove himself—waking before dawn to complete chores, training with tireless determination, and flashing his bright smile at everyone he met.

But it didn’t take long for the cracks to form.

A younger Wei Ying was kneeling, his back stinging from fresh lashes as Madame Yu’s voice lashed out, sharp and venomous. “You’re nothing but a parasite! Always clinging, always taking!” she spat, her whip coiled tightly in her hands. Jiang Fengmian stood nearby, silent and uncomfortable, his eyes refusing to meet Wei Ying’s tear-filled gaze.

Madame Yu, her sharp eyes ever watchful, sneered whenever he crossed her path. “You may fool Jiang Fengmian with that grin of yours, but don’t think for a second I’ll let you corrupt my children,” she snapped once, her voice cutting through Wei Ying like a blade.

Her punishments were swift and harsh, Lan Qiren witnessed. When Wei Ying sparred too well during training, she accused him of showing off. When he stumbled during a menial task, she berated him for his clumsiness. Zidian became a familiar sight. Its whistle in the air, its sting on his back, its weight on his spirit.

Jiang Cheng wasn’t much better. The boy who was supposed to be his shidi often looked at him with disdain. “Why do you always have to be so good at everything? Stop making me look bad!” Lan Qiren hears the boy hissing during a training scene. His strikes during sparring grew harder, sharper, tinged with an edge of jealousy that cut deeper than any blade.

Jiang Yanli, though gentler, wasn’t free of fault. She smiled at him sweetly and brought him soup, but her words, always laden with apologies, grated on his ears. “Mother doesn’t mean it, A-Xian. You just have to try harder to get along with her.” Or worse: “If A-Cheng is upset, it’s because he feels left out. Maybe you should apologise.”

No matter how kind her tone, she was asking him to shoulder a burden that wasn’t his, to accept blame for things he hadn’t done.

Another scene emerged. Wei Ying stood in the training grounds, his head high despite the glares of his peers. Jiang Cheng’s voice cut through the tension, laced with anger and bitterness. “You think you’re so special, don’t you? You’re nothing but a freeloader, nothing more than the son of a servant!”

Madame Yu’s words echoed again, overlapping with Jiang Cheng’s accusations: A shield for my children, that’s all you’ll ever be.

The punishments grew worse as Wei Ying got older. Madame Yu’s disdain turned into calculated cruelty. A mistake during training would lead to hours of kneeling on sharp gravel under the sweltering sun. A misstep in etiquette earned him five lashes that left his back raw and bleeding.

At fourteen, Wei Ying was appointed as Lotus Pier’s head disciple, the youngest to ever hold the position. He wore the title with pride but quickly learned that it was more a punishment than a privilege.

Lan Qiren watches the young Wei Wuxian being crushed by expectations. He managed discipline among the disciples, carried out tasks for the sect leader, and trained harder than ever to uphold Yunmeng Jiang’s honour. And yet, the respect that came with the title was absent.

His authority meant nothing when Madame Yu saw fit to strip him down with cutting words: “Don’t think you’ve earned this. Jiang Fengmian only gave you the position because he pities you. A real leader earns their place.”

It meant nothing when Jiang Cheng scowled and refused to follow his orders, barking back, “Stop pretending you’re part of this family! You are not my real brother and don't think I'll take any orders from you!”

Even Jiang Fengmian, the man who had brought him here, rarely intervened. He watched with pity but never with action.

Wei Ying bore it all with a smile, even as the weight grew heavier. He never let them see him cry—not when Madame Yu’s words cut into his heart, not when Jiang Cheng’s blows during sparring left him bruised, not even when he was forced to stand as a human shield during the night hunts to protect Jiang Cheng and Jiang Yanli or their young disciples.

And then there was Jiang Yanli, smiling gently as she ladled soup into a bowl. Her soft reassurances felt like balm but offered little relief: "She doesn’t mean it, A-Xian. It's just how she shows her care." "Just apologise to A-Cheng, even if it wasn’t your fault, you know how he is."

And yet, he never hated them. He convinced himself that this was what family was supposed to be. That if he tried hard enough, if he gave enough, they would eventually accept him.

One day, after a particularly harsh punishment, Wei Ying stood on the pier, Madame Yu’s words echoed in his mind: “You are nothing but a burden, a parasite feeding off this sect! You only bring chaos! Ungrateful wretch! Do you think you’re special? That you’re better than my children? You’re nothing but a parasite, always clinging, always taking!”

The lashes fell, one after another, each word punctuated by the sharp crack of leather against flesh. Wei Ying bit his lip to keep from crying out, his tears flowing freely. Jiang Fengmian stood at the edge of the room again, his expression pained but silent. He said nothing. He did nothing. Again.

As the memory unraveled, Lan Qiren felt the weight of what he’d seen. Until now Wei Ying had lived six years in Lotus Pier, surrounded by people who claimed to be his family yet treated him as an outsider—a tool to be used and discarded.

And yet, despite it all, the boy never stopped smiling. He gave everything he had to the Jiang Sect, even as they took and took until there was nothing left.

Lan Qiren’s throat tightened. The boy who had laughed so brightly, who had once held hope for a future, had been beaten down at every turn. And yet, he still stood.

The scene shifted to the tranquil Cloud Recesses, where order and serenity reigned. For Wei Ying, it had been anything but peaceful. From the moment he arrived, the rules suffocated him—no laughter, no freedom, no space for his bright, uncontainable energy. Lan Qiren’s sharp reprimands echoed through the memory: “Discipline is mandatory. Silence is mandatory.”

Wei Ying had laughed it off at first, but the weight of Lan Qiren’s disdain sank deeper over time. It wasn’t just his defiance that the man seemed to hate, it was something deeper.

The memory flashed to a lecture hall, where Lan Qiren’s voice rang out, harsh and cutting: “Your mother was a disgrace, a rogue cultivator who polluted the world with her selfishness!”

Wei Ying sat frozen, his face pale. He had no memories of his mother, no voice or smile to hold on to—only the punishments Yu Ziyuan had meted out whenever her name was mentioned. “This servant,” “this bitch”—even the vaguest references to his parents had earned him sharp words or harsher blows.

Lan Qiren’s words weren’t just an insult—they were a blow to a boy already grasping for the smallest sense of belonging. Why does he hate me? Lan Qiren hears the boys thoughts. If he hated her, why do I have to pay for it? I don't even know my mother. Why does he speak so ill of her?

Despite these moments, Wei Ying’s time in the Cloud Recesses was marked by loneliness. For every smile he shared, there were nights he sat alone, staring at the moonlit peaks, wondering why he couldn’t belong. The young boy's eyes shine as soon as he sees Lan Wangji but the latter only shows indifference.

Yet he never gave up. He found loopholes in the rules and wore his defiance like armor, always trying to befriend 'Lan Zhan'. But behind his bright smiles, Lan Qiren now saw the quiet pain of a boy who had been punished for things he couldn’t control—for parents he barely remembered, for a spirit too vibrant for the Lan Sect’s rigid world.

As the memory began to fade, Lan Qiren’s heart ached. I should have seen it. I should have asked. I should have cared.

But there was no time to dwell—the next memory pulled him forward, promising even greater sorrow.

In the next scene Lan Qiren sees the heirs in Qishan, at the indoctrination. Wei Wuxian shows Wangji limping at the beginning of the event, and it was Nie Huaisang who had later informed him that Wangji's leg had been broken by the Wen Clan when they set fire to Cloud Recesses.

Then a cave came to life in Wei Ying’s mind and Lan Qiren could almost feel it, like a choking, oppressive force. Wei Ying was there, deep within the dark stone walls, trapped with his nephew, both of them desperate to survive, yet caught in something far more treacherous than any beast. Wei Ying, a defiant spark in the darkness, never once yielding to the brutal hands of their captors or the monster before him.

He could see it: Wei Ying and his nephew, fighting side by side against that monstrous turtle, their movements filled with desperation, but also trust—unspoken, yet undeniable. Wangji’s calm, precise execution of chord assassination contrasting Wei Wuxian’s wild, almost reckless bravery. Despite their peril, despite the crushing weight of the situation, there was a harmony between them that Lan Qiren couldn’t deny.

And then came the music.

Lan Qiren could feel the soft notes Wangji's humming filling the oppressive silence. He could feel the tenderness of the melody seep through the tension of the moment. Wei Wuxian’s face softened as he recalled it, so serene, so delicate, like a balm to the wounds that had scarred them both. The music in that dark, suffocating cave was a stark contrast to the brutality they had endured, a fragile thread of connection, one that transcended the violence, the darkness, and the endless struggle.

Lan Qiren's thoughts stumbled. For a moment, he was taken aback by the intensity of the bond between them. It was more than just survival, more than a shared struggle. It was something deeper, something that, in his mind, should never have existed in such a place of suffering. It was clear to him now, clearer than ever before—the bond between Wei Wuxian and Wangji wasn’t just forged in battle or out of necessity. No, it had grown in those moments of tenderness, in the quiet spaces in the library pavilion and between their fight for survival. That, more than anything, was what had kept them alive.

Wei Wuxian’s memory of the burning of Lotus Pier was a blur of fire, screams and pain. Yu Ziyuan had been the one to lash out at him, on the orders of the Wen mistress. Her whip cracked against his back as she blamed him for the destruction, telling him it was his fault, his weakness that led to the fall of their home. She hissed at him to protect the Jiang children with his life, that he was nothing but a shield for them, his worth measured only in what he could endure.

Jiang Fengmian had barely looked at him, his cold words echoing in Wei Wuxian's ears. "Protect them with your life." It was clear that they all thought of him as expendable.

The worst part was when Jiang Cheng came at him with fury in his eyes, his hands closing around Wei Wuxian’s throat. "Why did you protect them?" he spat, his voice full of bitterness. "Why Lan Wangji? Why Jin Zixuan? Why would you protect the enemies of our sect?!"

Wei Wuxian gasped for air, his vision blurring as Jiang Cheng squeezed harder. He had no answers that could satisfy the anger and confusion in his brother's eyes. He had acted from instinct, from the need to protect those who were good to him, even if they weren't Jiang.

As Wei Wuxian struggled to breathe, something shifted in Lan Qiren's perspective. He had always thought Jiang Cheng to be the reasonable one, the one who held the Jiang family together with honor, while Wei Wuxian was the chaotic, reckless one. But now, seeing Jiang Cheng’s rage, his blind hatred for Wei Wuxian, Lan Qiren couldn’t help but realize how much like his mother the boy had become. He had been wrong about him. The hatred, the cruelty. It was all too familiar. Wei Wuxian had been the scapegoat, but Jiang Cheng was no better than the worst of them. Lan Qiren felt a pang of disappointment in the boy he once thought to be better than his mother. From now on, he vowed never to trust rumours again.

Wei Wuxian's mind shows the moment when he allowed his core to be cut out by Wen Qing, a sacrifice made for Jiang Cheng. The Jiang sect heir lost his core to the Core Melting Hand for unknown reason. The act itself had been painful, the essence of his cultivation slowly ripped away, but it was for Jiang Cheng — the brother who couldn’t understand his reasons but still held his heart in a grip of loyalty.

Wei Wuxian lays on a crude operation table, sweat pouring from his face as he has to stay awake for two days as Wen Qing's hand hovered over his abdomen. The unbearable pain of losing his golden core tore through Wei Wuxian, leaving him hollow, empty, and cold. His world spun, and the voices started—the voices of everyone who had ever hated him, who had ever doubted him. They echoed relentlessly in his mind:

"A parasite."
"A scourge."
"A demon."

Wen Ning and Wen Qing had both been there, helping him, though it was a rare kindness coming from the Wen family. The Jiangs now owed the sibling a life debt.

Lan Qiren feels the weight of Wei Wuxian's pain, the suffocating darkness of the Burial Mounds pressing down on him. He saw Wei Wuxian, battered and broken, his body a grotesque testament to the cruelty he had endured. The fall alone was not enough to account for the shattered state of his bones; the brutal whippings from Zidian just days prior, the marks of torment inflicted by Wen Chao’s forces, lingered in every part of him. But what struck Lan Qiren most was the raw, unyielding resentment burning inside Wei Wuxian, the only thing holding his broken body together.

Through the pain, Wei Wuxian’s voice rose in a desperate cry, “Lan Zhan! Shijie!” His words were ragged, raw with anguish, calling out to the two people who had become his anchor in this world of suffering. But there was no answer, only the empty echoes of his own voice bouncing off the cold walls of the Burial Mounds. In that moment, resentment was his only companion, and it drove him to survive, to endure the suffering that no one else seemed to notice, let alone care about.

Lan Qiren felt the anger, the bitterness that clung to every fiber of Wei Wuxian’s being. This was not just a reaction to the brutality of his circumstances; it was the final spark that kept his broken spirit alive in the face of everything trying to crush it. It was the fuel for his defiance, for his refusal to die quietly in the shadows.

For what Lan Qiren learned was named the Sunshot Campaign, it was Wei Wuxian’s unique tactics, his unorthodox methods, that led to their victory. His strategies, often criticized by others, were the key to turning the tide against the Wen forces. But after all that, it was Lan Wangji who could only see the darkness of Wei Wuxian’s demonic cultivation. He never understood why Wei Wuxian had chosen that path, never saw the burden Wei Wuxian had carried, nor the sacrifices he had made. Instead, all Lan Wangji could see was the corruption, the price that Wei Wuxian had paid for their victory.

In Wei Wuxian’s mind, it wasn’t about power or glory. It was about doing whatever was necessary to protect those he loved, even if they never truly understood.

Wei Wuxian’s actions in the Jin Labour Camp were a testament to his defiance against the established order. He was led to the camp by Wen Qing and saw the remnants of the Wen Clan, broken and enslaved, desperate for salvation. In the dead of night, using his knowledge of forbidden arts, he freed them from their chains, pulling them out of the clutches of their tormentors. But in doing so, he sealed his own fate. By saving the Wen remnants, Wei Wuxian had not only defied the authority of the Jin Sect but also given them new leverage against him. The Jin Sect, already suspicious of his dark arts, used this incident as proof of his villainy. They branded him a threat to the entire cultivation world, painting him as a demon who consorted with the remnants of the fallen Wen Clan. To Lan Qiren's astonishment, no one felt the necessity to investigate.

The Jin Sect’s fear of Wei Wuxian grew, and their influence only strengthened their resolve to have him eradicated. The people who he had saved, who had been nothing but victims of their circumstances, were now seen as instruments in his "demonic" crusade. This act, meant to be a step towards redemption, instead fueled the rumors and hatred that cast Wei Wuxian deeper into the role of the villain in the eyes of the world. The Jin Sect had found another way to condemn him, further isolating him from the very people he sought to protect.

A rare moment of peace. Wei Ying, now the Yiling Patriarch, knelt in the overgrown grass outside the Burial Mounds, holding a chubby-cheeked toddler in his arms. Little A-Yuan giggled, tugging on Wei Ying’s robes as Wei Ying leaned down to kiss his forehead.

Wei Ying danced clumsily to make the boy laugh, his fierce grin softening as he said, “Don’t worry, A-Yuan. You’ll grow up safe and happy. You’ll never have to know what it’s like to be hungry or scared.”

The memory shimmered and dissolved, only to be replaced by another: Wei Ying, staring at Lan Zhan who spoils A-Yuan. Lan Zhan’s face was unreadable, but his presence alone made Wei Ying feel a little less broken.

Lan Qiren watched silently as Jiang Yanli stood before Wei Wuxian, proudly showing him her wedding dress. She flaunted her joy, but there was no recognition of the sacrifices Wei Wuxian had made for their family. Jiang Cheng stood off to the side, his face unreadable, but the absence of any gratitude or acknowledgment weighed heavily in the air. Lan Qiren’s brow furrowed with growing distaste as he observed Jiang Cheng, who owed everything to Wei Wuxian and the Wen siblings for their rescue after the burning of Lotus Pier. That Jiang Cheng could so easily forget the debt, the debt that had kept him alive and able to become a Clan Leader, made Lan Qiren’s contempt for the young man swell. He couldn’t understand how the boy could ignore such a monumental act of selflessness. It only deepened his view of Jiang Cheng as a narrow-minded, ungrateful fool.

The Qionqi Path was chaos. Wei Ying on his way to the 100-day-celebration of his martial nephew, being ambushed by a sneering Jin Zixun and surrounded by disciples of the Lan and Jin sects. Lan Qiren is shocked to see his clan's men and hears another flute playing while Wen Ning, who was a polite fierce corpse in the memories he witnessed, strikes through Jin Zixuan.

On the Nightless City battlefield, the screams of the dead and dying filled the air. Wei Ying, his robes soaked with blood, stood atop the chaos, his flute trembling in his hand. The Stygian Tiger Seal glowed ominously, and the lines between ally and enemy blurred as everyone around him turned their blades toward him.

Wangji’s injured form emerged from the carnage, staggering but determined. He reached for Wei Ying, his voice hoarse as he called out, “Wei Wuxian!” 

After Wei Wuxian had thrown himself off the cliff, tired of living, the intense fall left him battered, but it was Wangji who rushed to his side, unwavering. Despite the judgment from the elders, Wangji firmly defended Wei Wuxian, refusing to let him be blamed for what had transpired. His loyalty was evident, as he placed himself between Wei Wuxian and the wrath of the elders, showcasing a bond stronger than any official duty or sect rule.

Lan Qiren watches a siege on the Burial Mounds led by Jiang Wanyin. He sees himself and other Lan except his youngest nephew, all the other clans, all those respectable cultivators razing the settlement to the ground. All those civilians. 

Wei Ying is now a ghost. He wanders next to his son, A-Yuan who now lives as Lan Yuan, son of Lan Wangji. Lan Qiren witnesses A-Yuan’s monthly visits to his A-Die, a sight that stirs painful memories of A-Zhan, A-Huan and their mother. He observes the scars on A-Zhan's back and instantly knows which instrument was used to create them. Lan Yuan became Lan Sizhui and Lan Qiren’s heart breaks, for unlike his counterpart, he understands the deep emotions of his nephew. He has witnessed them firsthand. The name of his son is a reflection of A-Zhan's tragic life, Lan Qiren thinks.

Lan Qiren watches how the dirty little boy who his other self shunned as a child became the proud and capable Sect Leader of the Lan Sect. Wei Wuxian couldn’t speak to him, couldn’t touch him, but he stayed close, watching over him as best he could.

Wangji, his spirit dimmed every day and he moved through the days with a heavy heart. Each year that passed seemed to chip away at him further, until finally, he stopped playing his guqin altogether. Wei Ying’s memory became a wound that wouldn’t heal. The revelations at the Guyayin Temple aggravates his state of mind. Wangji now got the prove that his beloved was framed, that he was the victim all along but still doesn't get the acknowledgement he deserved.

Lan Qiren, too, met a somber end. Even Lan Xichen, betrayed and broken by Meng Yao, withdrew from the world, retreating into seclusion where even time couldn’t mend his shattered faith.

Lan Qiren watched the all memory unfold, and a weight settled in his chest. This child—this spirited, intelligent boy who often seemed to defy every rule—had spent years fighting to survive, enduring cold nights, hunger, and isolation.

And yet, despite it all, Wei Wuxian had smiled. Even when life gave him nothing, he found joy in the smallest kindnesses, like the rattle drum from a stoic boy in white.

Lan Qiren’s heart clenched as he recognised the role of his young nephew in the other's life. He remembered the day in Yilling, when Lan Zhan returned to him without the rattle drum he’d been given. He had brushed it off at the time, dismissing it as childish forgetfulness. Now, tears pricked at the corners of his eyes as he whispered to himself, “Why didn’t I ask? Why didn’t I question why A-Zhan would give away his toy? What kind of child gives his most precious belonging to a stranger?”

The answer was clear now: only a child who saw another in desperate need of kindness.

Lan Qiren’s breath hitched, the memory cutting deeper than he anticipated. It wasn’t just Wei Ying’s suffering that haunted him, it was the realization of all the missed opportunities, the moments he could have done something but didn’t. The shame was unbearable.

Lan Qiren watches the last 24 hours, the confession, the declaration and the return of the bright spark into Wei Wuxian's eyes.

As the memory faded, Lan Qiren felt an ache in his chest and his head. The boy he had dismissed as a troublemaker, a stain on the Lan Sect’s reputation, had endured more than he could have imagined.

Wei Ying wasn’t just defying the rules for fun, he was fighting to carve out a place for himself in a world that seemed determined to reject him. And yet, he had never stopped smiling, never stopped trying to connect with those around him.

Lan Qiren closed his eyes, the weight of his failure pressing down on him. I should have seen it. I should have done something.

But the memory was unrelenting, dragging him forward to the next chapter of Wei Ying’s life, a chapter that promised even more pain

A few moments later, Lan Qiren rubbed his face and opened his eyes. He thought his cheeks were only wet with tears, but he saw blood on his hands as well. He mused that he had come dangerously close to a Qi deviation. He sat up and looked at the young men, both in the same condition.

Wei Wuxian seemed to be asleep, but Wangji shouldn’t have looked like that.

"Wangji, what happened?" Lan Qiren asked.

"Shufu, please forgive me. I didn’t want to leave Wei Ying alone. I accept whatever punishment is deemed necessary," Lan Zhan admitted, without a hint of guilt.

"Wangji, you put us all in danger," Lan Qiren admonished.

"And Wei Ying saved us. Multiple times," Lan Zhan retorted, his gaze burning.

"Shufu, I’ll take Wei Ying to the infirmary. Wen Daifu should be informed," Lan Zhan said, gently lifting Wei Ying in his arms before heading toward the infirmary.

"Lan Zhan? Lan Zhan?" Wei Ying asked in a hoarse voice.

"Your Lan Zhan is not here right now. He’s being treated in the next room," Wen Qing replied, clearly annoyed.

"What were you thinking?" she asked.

"I wanted Lan Qiren to know the whole truth before he decides whether I’m allowed to spend my life here," Wei Ying answered, his voice soft and shy.

"And for what reason was Lan Wangji in the same sorry state as you?" Wen Qing pressed.

"Huh?" Wei Ying replied, confused.

"What 'huh'? Are you being stupid? It looks like he also participated in your little empathy session. Wait... wasn't that your plan?" Wen Qing asked, raising an eyebrow.

"No, he was supposed to be our anchor. Oh, Lan Zhan... stubborn, perfect Lan Zh—"

"Please, stop. I’ll go get him right now," Wen Qing interrupted, before hurrying out of the room.

Not even a minute later, Lan Zhan stood in front of Wei Ying, gazing at him with a sad expression.

"Lan Zhan, I’m not angry, it just... could have ended badly," Wei Ying said quietly.

"It did end badly for Wei Ying. Death," Lan Zhan replied, his voice tinged with bitterness.

"Ayah, Lan Zhan. I still need to speak with your uncle. Could you perhaps go get him or ask someone? I don’t think I’ll be allowed to leave my room for the next three days once I’m moved there," Wei Ying said, sighing.

"Mhm." Lan Zhan nodded and left the room.

"Wei Wuxian, it’s good to see you’re feeling better," Lan Qiren greeted, his tone lukewarm. He hadn’t fully processed everything he had just seen. In particular, the unorthodox cultivation of the future Wei Wuxian made him deeply uncomfortable. It went against everything he stood for and on the other side the tragic life of this genuinely good boy.

"Hello, Lan-Xiangshen," Wei Ying stammered, his voice unusually uncertain. "Thank you for coming. I... I wanted to ask if I might seek refuge in the Lan Sect and perhaps, if it's possible, maybe even court Lan Wangji in the future." His words trailed off, as if he wasn’t quite sure how to ask.

"No," Lan Qiren replied and pinches his nose and both Wei Ying and Lan Zhan went deathly pale.

There was a long, heavy silence in the room. Lan Qiren stood still, his face unreadable as he considered the situation. Wei Ying shifted nervously on the spot, his hands wringing together in quiet distress. Lan Zhan didn’t say a word, but his posture had stiffened, his calm demeanour slipping away under the tension.

"Wei Wuxian," Lan Qiren began to ease the first worry on his mind, "have you used resentment since you've been back here?"

"No," Wei Ying replied without hesitation.

Lan Qiren nodded slowly, as if he had already expected this answer. 

"Do you plan to use it?"

Wei Ying hesitated, then shook his head. "Only if there’s no other choice. Maybe in a safe environment to test my own limitation so I'll be prepared in an emergency."

Lan Qiren seemed satisfied with the answer but asked another question that would touch the depths of Wei Ying’s soul.

"Why?"

"Because I have my Golden Core back," Wei Ying said softly. "And I don’t want to taint it. I know what resentment can do."

Lan Qiren raised an eyebrow. "Can you control it?"

Wei Ying thought for a moment, then nodded slowly. "I could before. But... with the Golden Core... I don’t know how it will be now. It feels different."

A deep look from Lan Qiren followed, which finally gave way to a long sigh. "Will you use it recklessly?"

"Not at all," Wei Ying answered firmly.

Lan Qiren stared at him for a moment longer, then nodded, as if Wei Ying had just passed a final test. "Good. But remember, Wei Wuxian, resentment is a dangerous weapon. Your resolve not to use it recklessly is the only thing that can keep you from the edge. You will have to control it."

"I will," Wei Ying said firmly, with a deep understanding in his eyes.

After a few moments, Lan Qiren let out a deep sigh, almost as if the weight of his own thoughts had become too much to bear.

"You’re not wrong to seek a place here, Wei Wuxian," he said quietly, his tone softer now, but still measured. "The circumstances are… difficult, to say the least. But," he paused, looking at both of them, his gaze lingering on Lan Zhan, "I can’t deny the bond you share with him, Wangji. Even if I don't fully understand it… or approve of it... yet. It seems... inevitable."

Wei Ying blinked, surprised by the change in Lan Qiren’s voice, but he didn’t dare interrupt.

"You will be allowed to stay. But as for courting Lan Wangji," Lan Qiren’s gaze hardened again, "you must understand, I do not take this lightly. There are rules in the Lan Sect that cannot be ignored. And you, Wei Wuxian, have… broken many of them, especially with your unorthodox cultivation."

Wei Ying looked down, shame creeping into his expression, but Lan Qiren continued before he could respond.

"Still," he said, his tone shifting again, "you have shown a certain... potential. If you truly wish to stay, you will need to follow our ways, respect our teachings. And most importantly, you must never put Lan Wangji in danger again. Understood?"

Wei Ying nodded quickly, a sense of relief flooding him despite the seriousness of the terms. "Understood. I promise."

Lan Qiren let out another sigh, his stern face softening ever so slightly. "Good. But remember, Wei Wuxian, this is not a gift—it is a test. You will prove yourself here. And if you fail, I will not hesitate to remove you."

Lan Zhan finally spoke, his voice steady but filled with an edge of emotion. "Thank you, Shufu."

Lan Qiren simply nodded, his face unreadable once more. Then, he turned and left the room, his footsteps echoing in the silence that followed.

"LAN ZHAN!" Wei Ying practically shouted, throwing his arms open wide for Lan Zhan. Without hesitation, Lan Zhan stepped forward, allowing himself to surrender to the moment. He wrapped his arms around the younger man, pulling him into a firm yet gentle embrace.

"Congratulations, Wei-gongzi, Wangji," Lan Xichen said with a grin. "I’ve spoken with Uncle, and he doesn’t seem... displeased."

"What do you mean?" Wei Ying asked, narrowing his eyes suspiciously. "I thought he was going to forbid me from even looking at Lan Zhan’s beautiful face. Isn’t that right, Lan Zhan?"

"Mhm," Lan Zhan confirmed, his tone neutral. "Shufu was harsh."

"It’s true—sometimes you can’t see his joy, even when it’s there," Lan Xichen agreed lightly. Then, his expression turned curious. "Wei-gongzi, what you showed Shufu... is that the same thing you want to show Wangji, Huaisang, and me?"

"Lan Zhan has already seen it," Wei Ying began to explain. "He linked himself to it when I was showing your uncle—"

Before he could finish, the door burst open with a loud bang. Startled, everyone turned to see Jiang Wanyin storming in, with Nie Huaisang in front of him. Nie Huaisang tried desperately to block Jiang Wanyin’s path, pressing his hands against his chest in a feeble attempt to push him back.

"Jiang-xiong, this isn’t the time—" Nie Huaisang pleads, but Jiang Wanyin shoves him aside so forcefully that Nie Huaisang stumbled and fell to the floor.

Horrified, the Twin Jades immediately stepped in front of Wei Ying, forming a protective wall of white between him and the furious Jiang Wanyin.

"Wei Wuxian!" Jiang Wanyin bellowed, his voice trembling with anger. "I’ve had enough of your antics! If you don’t stop this ridiculous charade today, I’ll write to Mother and she’ll drag you back home herself. I can’t stand it anymore—this disgrace you bring to the Jiang Sect, freeloading here like a parasite. It’s bad enough that you’re constantly embarrassing us back home, but here? Here, you’ve become absolutely insufferable!"

Lan Zhan’s hand moved subtly toward the hilt of Bichen, his jaw tightening. He glanced back to check on Wei Ying, only to see tears silently streaming down the younger man’s face. He hesitated for only a second before flicking his gaze toward Lan Xichen, a silent plea passing between them.

Lan Xichen nodded in understanding and stepped forward. "Jiang-gongzi," he began diplomatically, "if you are concerned about your Head Disciple, you can rest assured—he is recovering well and—"

"Concern? Concern?" Jiang Cheng interrupted, his voice rising in disbelief. "What concern? This is a performance! A pathetic, self-serving spectacle. How is it that he conveniently falls ill only when he’s away from Yunmeng Jiang? He’s trying to tarnish our sect’s name with his pitiful act, and I won’t stand for it!"

His tirade grew louder and more venomous, his fury unchecked. "And why are you even here, Lan-gongzi? Isn’t it bad enough that he’s constantly trailing after Lan-er-gongzi like a lost puppy? But now you, too, let yourself be deceived by his slimy tricks?"

As Jiang Cheng’s words echoed in the room, he failed to notice a figure standing quietly outside the doorway. Wen Qing had arrived moments earlier, drawn by the shouting, but instead of stepping in herself, she made a quick decision. With a sharp glance at the chaos unfolding inside, she turned on her heel and strode off, her destination clear: Lan Qiren.

Chapter Text

"Wen-daifu, I hope you have a good reason for running," Lan Qiren warned, his voice sharp.

"Jiang Wanyin is harassing my patient and I know that you're informed about Wei Wuxian's, our past. Please, come quickly," Wen Qing pleaded, her tone laced with urgency.

Lan Qiren’s eyes narrowed. Without another word, he stood abruptly and strode out of the building—not running, but moving with a speed and purpose that conveyed the gravity of the situation.

Inside the infirmary, chaos reigned.

"What is going on here? Xichen, Wangji, why are you both holding Jiang-gongzi down? Nie Huaisang, why are you lying on Wuxian’s bed?" Lan Qiren barked as he entered the room, his gaze sweeping over the disarray.

The Lan brothers released Jiang Wanyin cautiously, stepping back with measured control, though it was clear their patience was wearing thin. Meanwhile, Wen Qing surveyed the room warily before turning her gaze to Lan Qiren. She noted his deliberate use of her didi's courtesy name and couldn’t quite tell if it was intentional or an oversight.

"Very well. Nie Huaisang, what’s wrong? Stand up," Lan Qiren demanded, his voice cutting.

On the bed, Nie Huaisang remained sprawled face-down, his head buried in the mattress. Wei Wuxian, his voice faint, spoke gently. "Nie-xiong, it’s okay. You can get up."

Wen Qing moved to the bedside and helped Nie Huaisang to his feet. As he straightened, Lan Qiren’s sharp eyes immediately caught the details: one flushed cheek, a bloodshot eye, and a completely ruined hairstyle that suggested he’d been yanked or thrown about.

"Nie Huaisang, have the healers examine you. The bleeding in your eye is probably nothing serious, but it must be checked. Come back here once it’s done. Wen-daifu, stay here," Lan Qiren instructed, his tone brooking no argument. Nie Huaisang nodded through tears and hurried out of the room, sniffling as he left.

Lan Qiren’s gaze then fell on Jiang Wanyin, who was still radiating fury.

"Wen-daifu? What’s she doing here? What does a Wen have to do with any of this?" Jiang Wanyin snapped, his voice rising with indignation. "And you have no right to hold me back! Wei Wuxian is my subordinate—he’s mine to discipl—mmph! Mmmhh!!"

Before Jiang Wanyin could finish his tirade, Lan Zhan, calm but unyielding, silenced him with the Lan Sect’s spell. The younger Twin Jade stepped protectively in front of Wei Wuxian, his presence a shield between the two.

"Xichen," Lan Qiren said, his voice cold and commanding, "report what happened."

Lan Xichen nodded, his tone calm yet firm as he recounted the events. "Wangji and I were speaking with Wei-gongzi when Jiang-gongzi burst into the room with Huaisang trailing behind him. Huaisang attempted to stop Jiang-gongzi from barging in, given the circumstances, but Jiang-gongzi shoved him aside, causing him to fall.

"Concerned for Wei-gongzi’s safety, Wangji and I positioned ourselves in front of his bed to prevent any harm from reaching the patient. Despite our attempts to de-escalate, Jiang-gongzi forcibly pushed us aside and moved to attack Wei-gongzi. Huaisang tried to intervene, attempting to grab Jiang-gongzi’s arm, but his inexperience made his movements clumsy. He managed to shield Wei-gongzi, but Jiang-gongzi’s fist struck Huaisang directly on the skull beside his left eye.

"At that point, Wangji and I restrained Jiang-gongzi together. Wen-daifu had already left to find you, Shufu," Lan Xichen concluded with a deep sigh.

Lan Qiren’s face was impassive, but his eyes burned with cold fury as he processed the report. Meanwhile, Jiang Wanyin, now silenced but visibly fuming, glared at everyone in the room as if daring them to challenge him. Unable to vent his anger verbally, he turned to destruction instead.

Suddenly, he lashed out, kicking over a chair and sending it clattering against the floor. He grabbed a nearby table and overturned it with a crash, the sound reverberating through the room. His rage was unrelenting as he swung at anything within reach, scattering papers, shattering a porcelain vase, and even denting a metal stand.

Lan Zhan stepped further in front of Wei Wuxian, his sword hand twitching slightly as if ready to draw at any moment. Wei Wuxian, sitting frozen on the bed, looked at Jiang Wanyin with a mixture of sorrow and exhaustion. Lan Xichen moved to help stabilize the room, his voice calm yet commanding.

"Jiang-gongzi, enough!" Lan Xichen’s voice cut through the commotion like a blade, his usual gentle demeanor giving way to sharp authority.

But Jiang Wanyin barely acknowledged him, his tirade continuing until Lan Qiren stepped forward, his voice ringing with unmistakable authority.

"Jiang Wanyin, stand down!" Lan Qiren’s voice was like thunder, and the room fell silent at once. Jiang Wanyin froze mid-motion, the rage in his eyes dimming only slightly as the weight of Lan Qiren’s presence bore down on him.

"This behavior is unbecoming of a sect heir," Lan Qiren said icily, his gaze fixed on Jiang Wanyin. "You will leave this room at once. We will discuss the consequences of your actions later."

The room remained tense, the air heavy with the echoes of Jiang Wanyin’s tantrum, but the storm had passed—for now.

"Jiang-gongzi, the silencing spell will be lifted by my nephew in a moment," Lan Qiren said, his tone as calm as it was stern. "You will then have the opportunity to say something in your defense. Is that clear?"

Jiang Wanyin, his arms crossed and his scowl deepening by the second, gave a curt nod.

"Very well. Wangji, proceed."

The moment the spell was lifted, Jiang Wanyin erupted.

"WEI WUXIAN! You’re always bringing shame upon me! Upon the Jiang Sect! And now you have the audacity to involve Lan Qiren, wasting his time with your dramatics—"

"You bring shame upon yourself right now, Jiang-gongzi," Lan Qiren interrupted sharply, his voice slicing through the tirade like a whip. His expression remained composed, but there was no mistaking the authority behind his words. "I said you may speak in your defense. That does not mean you are permitted to shift blame onto Wei Wuxian. As everyone here knows, Wuxian is injured and has barely left this room. The one time he did, it was neither to seek you out, Jiang-gongzi, nor to disgrace the Jiang Sect. So, I ask again: what reason do you have for behaving like a spoiled child?"

Jiang Wanyin’s face turned as red as a ripe cherry, his eyes narrowing dangerously. For a moment, it seemed as though he might combust from sheer indignation. "For days now, Wei Wuxian has been lounging around, doing nothing but making Yunmeng Jiang look bad with his laziness!" he spat, his voice trembling with unrestrained fury.

Had the others in the room not been accustomed to Jiang Wanyin’s infamous temper, the alarming color of his face might have prompted immediate medical attention. But as it was, they knew better: it was simply Jiang Wanyin being Jiang Wanyin.

Lan Qiren raised a single eyebrow, his composure unshaken. "I will ask you again, Jiang-gongzi. What is your reason for behaving this way? Typically, when people answer such a question, they begin with an ‘I’ statement."

Lan Xichen and Lan Wangji, standing off to the side, exchanged a brief glance. Both recognized the subtle shift in their uncle’s tone—the quiet, smug satisfaction he took in dismantling Jiang Wanyin’s tantrum piece by piece.

Lan Qiren would never consider himself someone who enjoyed provoking children. But after observing firsthand what became of Jiang Wanyin under the unchecked influence of a domineering mother and a lack of proper guidance, Lan Qiren found a certain… odd sense of satisfaction in bringing the boy to heel. And if addressing Wei Wuxian by his curtsy name served to further rile the young Jiang heir, well, so be it.

Jiang Wanyin, oblivious to the deliberate provocation, threw his arms into the air. "Why should I have to explain myself? I’m the Jiang Sect heir! Wei Wuxian is my subordinate, my servant, he owes me an explanation, not the other way around! And now he’s holed up here, embarrassing us all by playing the helpless victim, while I’m left to handle everything on my own!"

Lan Qiren, unfazed, folded his hands neatly behind his back. "I see. So, your argument is that you feel overwhelmed by your responsibilities and resentful of the perception that Wei Wuxian is not fulfilling his role. Is that correct?"

Jiang Wanyin opened his mouth to argue, but Lan Qiren cut him off before he could get a word out.

"However, let me remind you, Jiang-gongzi, that Wuxian is recovering from significant injuries—injuries sustained, I might add, while serving your sect. It is unbecoming of a future sect leader to fail to recognise the sacrifices of those under their command. Furthermore, your behavior here has not only been disruptive but entirely devoid of dignity. Are these the qualities of a leader? Or are they the tantrums of a child who has never learned restraint?"

The room fell silent, the weight of Lan Qiren’s words hanging heavily in the air. Jiang Wanyin, now visibly trembling with rage, could only glare at the older man, his fists clenched so tightly his knuckles turned white.

Lan Qiren did not flinch under the younger man’s furious gaze. Instead, he allowed the silence to stretch out, filling the room like a dense fog. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Jiang Wanyin turned sharply on his heel, muttering under his breath about "bias" and "coddling."

As he stormed out of the room, Lan Qiren exhaled a quiet breath of relief. "It seems we’ve managed to restore some semblance of peace," he remarked, though his nephews could detect the faintest note of exasperation in his voice.

Wei Wuxian, still sitting on the bed, gave a sheepish smile. "I… I didn’t mean to cause trouble, Lan-xiansheng," he murmured.

"You are not the one causing trouble, Wei Wuxian," Lan Qiren replied simply, turning toward the door. "Though I do hope this will serve as a lesson—for all involved. While it is customary to use courtesy names in formal settings, I concede that in this case, the usage was selective and deliberately pointed. I will not insult your intelligence by denying that Jiang Wanyin’s… reaction influenced my conduct. Nor will I pretend I did not derive a certain—" he cleared his throat, "—inappropriate satisfaction from watching him fluster himself."

The room fell utterly silent.

Lan Xichen blinked, eyebrows lifting in mild astonishment, as if he wasn’t quite sure whether he’d heard his uncle correctly. Wen Qing and Lan Zhan furrowed their brows in frank disbelief.

Wei Wuxian stared at the elder, eyes wide. "...Was that... an apology?"

Lan Qiren’s voice chimes with calm finality, "Make of it what you will."

The Lans remained in the infirmary for quite some time, their calm presence a stark contrast to the chaos that had unfolded earlier. Eventually, Nie Huaisang returned, still looking a bit sheepish but visibly calmer. Wen Qing approached him immediately, her sharp eyes scanning him for any lingering injuries.

"If that blow had landed just a bit further to the right, with the amount of qi Jiang Wanyin used, you could have lost your eyesight." Wen Qing’s voice was sharp but laced with concern as she addressed Nie Huaisang.

Satisfied with her brief inspection, she nodded and stepped back, allowing Nie Huaisang to timidly confirm Lan Xichen’s earlier account of the incident.

Lan Qiren listened in silence, his expression unreadable, but the weight of his authority filled the room like a storm cloud. When Nie Huaisang finished speaking, Lan Qiren clasped his hands behind his back and spoke in a measured tone.

"I will write to Jiang-zongzhu. Such behavior is unacceptable and will not be tolerated here."

His words dropped into the room like a stone into still water, sending ripples of tension through the gathered group. For a moment, no one spoke. Lan Xichen exchanged a cautious glance with Lan Wangji, who stood as stoic as ever, while Wen Qing crossed her arms and tilted her head as if weighing the gravity of Lan Qiren’s statement.

Wei Wuxian, seated on the bed with an uneasy smile, shifted nervously. Nie Huaisang, looking very much like a child who’d just been scolded by a strict teacher, fidgeted with the hem of his sleeve. The air felt heavy, as though the very walls of the room were waiting for someone to dare to speak.

It was as if an invisible hourglass had been turned over, each grain of sand slipping away with excruciating slowness. The room collectively held its breath, as though they were standing at the edge of a cliff, waiting to see what would come next.

On the other side of the Cloud Recesses, Jiang Wanyin stumbles across a group of Jiang disciples listening to a lecture alongside other guest disciples. The speaker is recounting tales of Lan An, but Jiang Wanyin barely spares them a glance. His attention shifts almost immediately when he spots a cluster of Jin disciples nearby. Curiosity piqued, he half-listens, catching bits and pieces of their conversation. Something about women, he thinks dismissively.

But when he hears Jin Zixuan’s voice sharply cut through the chatter with a crisp “Forget it,” Jiang Wanyin’s temper ignites like dry tinder in a flame. He doesn’t care what the context is or what was actually said.

“You arrogant peacock! Think you’re too good for my sister, huh? First, Wei Wuxian is a disgrace to my sect, and now you’re trying to disrespect my sister? I hate both of you so much! Always acting like you’re better than everyone else! Words don’t work on people like you! I'll kill you!” Jiang Wanyin’s voice crescendos into a furious roar.

Before anyone can react, Jiang Wanyin launches himself at Jin Zixuan. The Jin heir barely has time to flinch before Jiang’s fist connects squarely with his face, sending him sprawling to the ground with a nose already gushing blood.

Chaos erupts. Jiang Wanyin straddles Jin Zixuan, his movements wild and unrestrained. He rains two more punches onto Jin Zixuan’s head, each blow landing with a sickening thud. The guest disciples watching are frozen in shock, their wide eyes reflecting the brutal scene unfolding before them.

Jiang disciples rush forward, desperate to pull their furious shixiong off the bloodied Jin heir. It’s no easy task. Jiang Wanyin thrashes like a man possessed, his erratic movements making it nearly impossible to restrain him.

Nearby Lan disciples, drawn by the commotion, arrive just in time to witness the horrifying display of violence. Alarm spreads quickly among them. While some stay to help contain the escalating situation, others rush to find Lan Qiren, their faces pale with urgency.

The serene atmosphere of the Cloud Recesses is shattered, and the tension in the air feels ready to snap like a taut string.

Chapter Text

"Da-ge? What brings you here so late, and so close to xū-shí no less?" Lan Xichen asked gently as he approached the clearly agitated figure of Nie Mingjue standing near the gates of the Cloud Recesses. His voice was calm, but there was an unmistakable undercurrent of curiosity as he noted the furrowed brow and the faint sheen of sweat on the Nie sect leader’s temple. Mingjue, it seemed, had not come in his usual composed state.

It hasn't been long since he left Wei Wuxian's infirmary room and Lan Xichen was on his way to meet his uncle before curfew.

"I got a letter from Huaisang last night, right in the middle of reviewing some security reports, mind you. And do you know what it said? It said I had to meet some ‘interesting’ young man currently staying here at the Cloud Recesses. He even added that he wants to take this… guest back to Qinghe when the guest lectures are over!" Nie Mingjue’s expression darkened, his voice rising slightly despite himself. "I swear to you, Xichen, if that little insect so much as touches—"

"Ah, Da-ge," Lan Xichen cut in, his soft laugh like a gentle stream breaking the tension in the air. "You worry far too much. I am certain everything is just fine," he added, his tone light and reassuring, though the mischievous glimmer in his eyes didn’t go unnoticed. Xichen hid a smile behind his sleeve as he observed Mingjue’s restless pacing. Clearly, the Nie sect leader had rushed here, possibly wrapping up all his affairs in a whirlwind to confront this supposed emergency.

"Come with me, Da-ge," Xichen said, gesturing for him to follow. "I’ll take you to your brother. There’s no need to be so upset."

"Upset? Upset doesn’t begin to describe it!" Nie Mingjue snapped as he fell into step beside his old friend. "Do you know how many times Huaisang used words like ‘handsome’, ‘talented’ and ‘elegant’ in that blasted letter? He went on and on about this gray-eyed man as though describing a rare treasure!" Mingjue threw his hands up in exasperation. "What am I supposed to make of that? Does he admire him? Does he want to marry him? Or is this some ridiculous scheme to bait me into liking this stranger? You and Huaisang know that I have no inclination to take a spouse of any kind." His voice grew louder with every word, his frustration spilling over into outright ranting.

"Ah, but do you, Da-ge?" Xichen teased, the amusement in his tone barely veiled. "Find him interesting, I mean."

"What?!" Nie Mingjue stopped in his tracks, his face turning a shade darker as he processed the insinuation. "Why would I care about some gray-eyed nobody?" he growled, resuming his pace. "I’m only here to make sure Huaisang doesn’t do anything stupid. He’s probably just enjoying the attention. It’s not often people fawn over him, after all. My brother has always been too soft for anything beautiful or graceful. There’s no saving him there." He sighed heavily, shaking his head. "And don’t get me started on what he might do when he’s older and starts… well, you know. No discipline. Absolutely none." His muttering trailed off into half-coherent complaints.

Lan Xichen allowed himself another soft chuckle. "Ah, Da-ge. You care so deeply for your brother and yet you hide it so poorly," he mused, his voice light and teasing as they turned a corner. Mingjue’s grumbling only intensified.

Before long, Lan Xichen slowed his steps and stopped in front of a quiet building. "We’re here."

Mingjue frowned, looking up at the structure. "The infirmary?" he asked, his irritation momentarily replaced by confusion. "What is Huaisang doing here?"

"Special circumstances," Xichen replied cryptically, his polite smile betraying no further details as he knocks on the door.

From inside the room, a loud crash reverberated, prompting Lan Xichen and Nie Mingjue to rush in without hesitation. The scene they encountered was unexpected: Wei Wuxian sprawled inelegantly on the floor, his hair spilling around him in disarray like a dark halo.

“Wei-gongzi, what happened?” Lan Xichen asked, his tone gentle but tinged with concern as he stepped closer to the young man. Nie Mingjue remained near the door, his sharp gaze silently taking in every detail of the scene before him.

Wei Wuxian groaned softly before looking up, his expression slightly sheepish. “I was trying to get dressed. I have something I need to take care of soon, but, well... Qing-jie was probably right when she said I still shouldn’t be moving much. Even though I’m supposed to be discharged tomorrow, it seems my body disagrees. Oh, but I’m rambling—what I meant to say is, the knocking startled me just as I was trying to pull on my trousers, and, well, you can see what happened.”

Lan Xichen moved to help him to his feet, his hands steady and supportive. It wasn’t until Wei Wuxian was upright that both men truly noticed what he was—or rather, wasn’t—wearing.

The red under robe clung to Wei Wuxian’s slender frame like a second skin, its fabric so thin and worn that it seemed to glimmer with every movement. Threadbare and translucent, it left almost nothing to the imagination, the faint outlines of his pale, lean torso and taut limbs visible through the nearly transparent material. His scars, faint but numerous, seemed etched like a tragic map upon his skin. The hem of the robe barely grazed his upper thighs, revealing a shocking expanse of pale, smooth skin. Combined with his loose, unkempt hair cascading around his face, the sight was alarmingly... entrancing. His appearance was reminiscent of the famous courtesans whispered about in taverns—elegant, striking, and utterly magnetic.

Lan Xichen, for all his composure, felt his brow furrow slightly. This was no mere provocative coincidence. The robe, though once perhaps modest, had clearly been worn down over the years, its thinness a testament to neglect rather than intent. The Jiangs would never provide Wei Wuxian with anything luxurious, much less a garment like this. The thought twisted something in Lan Xichen’s usually placid heart.

How beautiful must he look without that robe? The thought was intoxicating, sliding through Nie Mingjue's mind before he could stop it. His sharp gaze wandered once more, lingering on the pale curve of Wei Wuxian’s collarbones, the faint line of a scar tracing its way down his side. His throat tightened, heat curling low in his stomach as his imagination betrayed him further. Would Huaisang paint him while we... while I— Nie Mingjue, this person is a child! Be better than the Jin's! Nie Mingjue’s jaw clenched so hard it ached, cutting the thought off before it could fully form, but the ghost of it lingered, maddeningly vivid.

The idea was dangerous, scandalous even and yet it tugged at him, unrelenting. The way Wei Wuxian moved, unassuming and utterly oblivious to the effect he had, only made it worse. Nie Mingjue’s mind supplied an unbidden, treacherous image: Wuxian standing before him, that sheer robe sliding off slender shoulders, leaving nothing to hide.

Nie Mingjue scowled fiercely, willing the thought to shatter into a thousand pieces. This wasn’t right; it wasn’t him. Yet the forbidden allure, the sheer pull of Wuxian’s presence, clung to his thoughts like smoke he couldn’t disperse, searing and inescapable. He tore his gaze away, his chest heaving as if he'd run a battle drill, deeply unsettled by the intensity of his own thoughts.

As if sensing the shift in atmosphere, Wei Wuxian flushed deeply, suddenly aware of the stares directed at him. Just then, the door burst open with such force that it rattled on its hinges and before Wei Wuxian could react, a pristine white robe was thrown over his head. Blinded by the sudden fabric, he stumbled, missing the scathing glare Lan Wangji shot at the two men.

“Lan Xichen. Nie-zongzhu,” Lan Wangji’s voice was colder than a winter wind, sharp and biting. “I would appreciate it if you refrained from ogling my fiancé. His vulnerable state is no excuse for such blatant impropriety. Furthermore, he is not yet of marriageable age.”

The protective venom in his tone was startling, even to Nie Mingjue, who had never seen the usually stoic Lan Wangji so openly emotional. Before anyone could respond, Lan Wangji stepped forward, slipping a possessive arm around Wei Wuxian’s waist. He led him from the room without so much as a backward glance, his movements as swift and final as a closed door.

Silence hung in the air for a long moment before Lan Xichen broke it with a soft, knowing chuckle. “Ah, so jealous,” he murmured to himself, amused by the fact that his younger brother had addressed him so directly, his composure cracked by the intensity of his feelings.

Nie Huaisang, who had until then stayed silent, finally stepped into view, his fan elegantly raised to cover his lips as he struggled to hold back a laugh. “Oh, Da-ge, it's rare for you to show interest in something other than your saber and killing Wen's” he teased, the words dripping with mock sympathy, “I had no idea you had such refined tastes. The fifteen-year-old fiancé of your friend’s brother, no less! Should I start scouting marriage candidates for you now? Maybe someone less… engaged?” His eyes sparkled with mischief, and he let out a soft chuckle.

His fan moved, covering his grin as he added with a tone of exaggerated concern, “I hope you’re still respectable, Da-ge. There’s only one sect leader I know of who’d stoop so low to... indulge in someone so young. But I don’t know, I really don’t know. Maybe it’s just this transparent red robe of his. It's certainly doing all the work, isn’t it? I can hardly blame you if that’s the case, it was a scene that needed to be drawn. Do you want me to draw it for you? The grey eyes, slender frame and ebony hair surely are enchanting.” He paused, casting a glance at his brother with a playful glint in his eyes. “Though, if you’re truly that enamored, maybe I should find you someone else to consider to wear such a red robe, I mean. Maybe closer to your age? But what do I know?”

He shrugged dramatically, his voice laced with innocence, all the while enjoying the discomfort building in the room. "Who am I to judge? Maybe it’s the robe, or maybe there’s something more, Da-ge."

“Shut up, Huaisang!” Nie Mingjue growled, his voice harsher than intended, but his flushed face betrayed his mortification. He turned to Lan Xichen, grasping for dignity. “I—I need tea. Now. Something calming.”

Lan Xichen’s polite smile grew just a touch mischievous. “Tea? Are you sure, Da-ge? You look like you might need something stronger.”

Huaisang’s laughter bubbled over, unrestrained. “Oh, Da-ge, your reaction was priceless.” He fanned himself dramatically, his eyes gleaming with mischief.

Lan Xichen, his amusement tempered by a flicker of concern, turned the conversation back to Wei Wuxian. “Huaisang, Wei-gongzi mentioned he had something important to do. Do you know what he meant?”

“Oh, that.” Huaisang shrugged lightly, still grinning. “He felt bad leaving you to deal with Lan-xiongsheng alone. He wanted to help, maybe even handle the discussion himself. You know how he is, always throwing himself into trouble to spare someone else.”

Nie Mingjue frowned deeply. “Explain this to me, Huaisang. What’s really going on here?”

Huaisang sighed, scratching his neck in faux helplessness. “Ah, Da-ge, where do I even begin?”

Lan Xichen stepped in smoothly. “Wei-gongzi has been mistreated by the Jiangs and found his soulmate in my brother. They are engaged, but Jiang-gongzi’s behavior has caused trouble. The Jiangs will likely arrive tomorrow, and we need to ensure they cannot take Wei-gongzi back to Lotus Pier. He has every right to remain here.”

Nie Mingjue scowled. “He’s their head disciple as far as I know. Why would they mistreat him?”

Huaisang’s eyes darkened slightly behind his fan. “Sometimes, resentment needs a target.” He left the rest unsaid, the implication heavy before he continues “Da-ge, we need your help. To protect Wuxian, I proposed sworn brotherhood. The Jiangs won’t approve of the engagement, but this could shield him.”

"Xichen, is this the truth?" Nie Mingjue asks.

Lan Xichen sighed, his serene facade briefly slipping before answering "Yes."

Nie Mingjue hesitated before nodding begrudgingly. “Fine. If that’s what it takes.”

“Perfect!” Xichen exclaimed, his grin widening with unrestrained glee, a gleam of mischief lighting up his eyes. He took a deliberate step closer to his friend, lowering his voice just enough to make the words drip with implication. “Let’s head to Shufu now, Da-ge. After all, protecting your brother’s sworn brother—especially one as striking as Wei-gongzi—feels like such a noble cause, doesn’t it?”

Before Nie Mingjue could muster a retort, Nie Huaisang added with a knowing smile, “Indeed, Da-ge. Such a noble cause.”

And then, as if to twist the knife just a little deeper, Lan Xichen turned toward Nie Mingjue and offered him a playful, deliberate wink.

Nie Mingjue’s jaw tightened, his ears burning red as he glared at both of them in mortified frustration. “You two, enough of this nonsense! Let’s go already!”

Huaisang dissolved into delighted laughter, hiding his amusement behind his fan, while Lan Xichen’s quiet chuckle only made Nie Mingjue’s scowl deepen. The usually unshakable sect leader looked like he might implode at any moment, his composure thoroughly unraveled by the combined antics of his closest friend and his little brother.

"Nie-Zhongzu, how can I assist you?" says Lan Qiren, his voice steady, as his older nephew and the Nie brothers enter his office. The four individuals who had been in the office already stand up quickly and bow briefly, showing the appropriate respect.

"Lan-Xiangsheng, please excuse the late interruption. Xichen and my brother have briefly explained the current situation to me, and I wish to offer my assistance," says Nie Mingjue, his tone sincere but a little hesitant, as he addresses the respected leader.

"Really?" Wei Wuxian squeals with excitement, his voice a little higher than usual, as he eagerly sits back down next to his fiancé. His eyes gleam with anticipation as he looks at the Nie Sect leader with excitement, clearly delighted by the unexpected turn of events.

"...Yes," Nie Mingjue responds, his voice unusually soft. He glances over at Wei Wuxian, who is wearing the oversized Lan robes that fail to cover his collarbones—much to the delight of his brother and his oldest friend. Lan Qiren and his younger nephew, along with Wen Qing, watch the scene unfold with a mix of irritation and disbelief. Meanwhile, Wei Wuxian remains completely oblivious to the growing tension.

"Lan Zhan, did you hear that? Chifeng-Zun wants to help," Wei Wuxian excitedly nudges his fiancé’s thigh, unable to hide his joy.

"Mm. Wei Ying deserves it," Lan Zhan responds simply, his voice calm but filled with a quiet approval, which causes Wei Ying to squeal once again, this time even more delighted than before.

Lan Qiren, clearly trying to regain control of the situation, clears his throat. "Wei Wuxian, what is the reason we must have such a meeting at this late hour in my office?" His voice is firm, though there’s a hint of curiosity beneath it.

"If the Jiangs come, I don’t want to return to Lotus Pier. I hope you understand, Lan-Xiangsheng," Wei Ying explains, his voice calm but carrying a certain weight. "Of all the possible reasons you know, the only option for me to stay here might be an expulsion from the Sect." His words are matter-of-fact, but there is an underlying tension in the air as the elders in the room gasp in shock, their eyes widening.

"I don’t like it, but I understand. How do you plan to go about it?" Lan Qiren asks, his gaze steady but filled with a quiet seriousness, much to the surprise of everyone in the room.

"...Is that really okay with you?" Wei Ying asks, clearly taken aback by Lan Qiren's acceptance, his voice full of uncertainty.

"No, it is not," Lan Qiren replies firmly, his expression unyielding. "No one should want to be kicked out of their own Sect simply because they can’t leave normally. But that’s not a problem we can or need to solve right now. So, it’s the only option. I ask again: How do you intend to handle it?" His tone is steady, his authority in full display.

"Lan-Xiangsheng, you see, my son, a-Yuan, was born a month ago..." Wei Ying begins, his gaze dropping to the floor. This allows him to miss the change in Lan Qiren’s expression when he mentions the baby's name as he continues. "I assume Madam Yu will come with Jiang-shushu. You mentioned earlier that she was named in the letter. But for me, she wouldn’t have come. So, I want Madam Yu to be so disgusted and ashamed at the thought of me having a child that she won’t want to take me back to Lotus Pier. This way, at least she can save face, especially when I say that the other parent lives nearby and I want to take responsibility for the child." His words are measured and carefully chosen, though the weight of the situation is clear.

"I understand," Lan Qiren responds, nodding thoughtfully. "So, we completely leave Wangji’s name out of this?" His question is calm, but it carries a sense of finality.

"Yes," Wei Ying answers, his voice steady but tinged with a quiet resolve.

"Alright. Wangji, this means you cannot participate in the conversation either. Xichen, prepare yourself. Wei Wuxian, what is your plan if this fails?" Lan Qiren continues, turning his gaze to the rest of the group. His question is sharp, cutting through the tension.

"My unpaid salary as Head Disciple and the outstanding pay from Night Hunts should serve as compensation for my time at Lotus Pier. Then, I will ask for my discharge from service and the Sect, but Madam Yu will never allow that," Wei Ying explains, his voice matter-of-fact. His tone suggests he is resigned to the challenges ahead, though the underlying frustration is clear.

"Wait a moment," Nie Mingjue interrupts, his voice laced with confusion. "Where does the child come from?" He asks, his brow furrowing as he tries to understand the situation.

"I gave birth to him with my own body," Wei Ying answers with a big grin.

"A-Ying, shut up. A-Yuan is my cousin," says the young woman in the room and rolls her eyes, her voice calm and composed, though there is a flicker of uncertainty in her eyes.

"And who are you?" Nie Mingjue asks, his tone now sharp. He places a hand on each of his forearms, his stance defensive.

"Wen Qing or Wen-daifu. I am pleased to meet you," Wen Qing introduces herself, her voice calm but with a hint of pride in her professionalism.

"WEN? What is a WEN doing here?" Nie Mingjue suddenly bursts out, his tone filled with disbelief and growing irritation.

"She is my family," Wei Ying interjects, his voice cold and steady. "I would be grateful if you could assist me, Nie-Zongzhu, but I won’t allow anyone here to harm her or her brother," he adds, his eyes glowing with intensity, startling everyone in the room with their red hue.

Lan Qiren clears his throat again, his expression composed despite the rising tension. "Nie-Zongzhu, Wei Wuxian, please calm down. Nie-Zongzhu, Wen Qing had no control over which Sect she was born into. She works as a doctor, and does so very well. I would like to ask that no one in my office judges anyone for having an ‘unwanted’ surname," he admonishes, his voice calm but firm, though his gaze remains fixed on Wei Wuxian.

"Thank you, Lan-Xiangsheng," says Wei Wuxian, his voice softening as he leans his head on Lan Zhan’s shoulder, finding comfort in his fiancé’s presence.

"Good," Lan Qiren concludes, his tone lightening somewhat as he looks around the room. "I suggest we talk again tomorrow morning. Ah, Nie-Zongzhu, Nie Huisang, please stay near the Lanshi tomorrow morning when the Jiangs, we and Wei Wuxian are discussing matters. We may need to bring up the Nie brothers due to the sworn brotherhood, which should discourage Madam Yu from becoming physical with Wei Wuxian." He adds, bringing the meeting to a close with a sense of resolution.

At this, everyone except Nie Mingjue nods in agreement, the tension slowly dissipating, though the situation remains delicate.

None of the involved parties needed the servants to inform them that the Jiangs had arrived, Madam Yu’s furious shouting had already done the job.

Outside the Lanshi, everyone except Lan-Xiangsheng and Lan Xichen gathered. The two senior Lan members had gone to the Cloud Recesses’ entrance to formally receive their guests, adhering strictly to decorum.

“Wei Wuxian, you son of a bitch! Why are you standing here while my son is being punished? What use are you if you can’t even protect him from this?!” Madam Yu’s voice thundered across the courtyard the moment her head disciple came into view. Her eyes blazed with fury, and she stormed toward him like an unstoppable force.

“San-Niang, please calm yourself. We are guests here. You can… uh… discuss this with A-Xian later,” her husband attempted to placate her, though his words faltered under the weight of her glare.

Once Madam Yu finally ceased her tirade, the gathered individuals exchanged polite, albeit tense, greetings. Lan-Xiangsheng suggested that everyone step into the Lanshi, as another matter required resolution before the Jins’ arrival.

Inside the Lanshi, the air was quieter, but the tension remained palpable. Jiang Yanli, ever the peacemaker, turned to Wei Wuxian with a soft but worried voice. “A-Xian, where is A-Cheng? Weren’t you with him?”

Wei Wuxian glanced helplessly toward the Lans, his expression screaming for rescue.

“It seems something has slipped my mind,” Lan Qiren remarked with studied nonchalance, then gestured for a disciple to fetch the sect heir.

Vicious old goat, Wei Wuxian thought with a pang of frustration but wisely kept his mouth shut.

Within minutes, Jiang Wanyin burst into the room like a storm, his voice as sharp as a blade. “Wei Wuxian, you asshole! Why didn’t you bring me food? What good is a servant like you if you can’t even help me during my punishment? Huh?!”

“A-Xian, did you really not help A-Cheng? At least apologize if you’ve done something wrong,” Jiang Yanli scolded, her tone disappointed, as if speaking to a naughty child.

“Jiang-Guniang,” Lan Xichen interjected smoothly, his ever-polite smile betraying not an ounce of irritation, “it was not Wei-Gongzi’s responsibility to mitigate Jiang-Gongzi’s punishment, nor was he allowed to bring him food. Please refrain from making assumptions.”

With this, Lan Qiren, Lan Xichen, and even Wei Wuxian himself seemed to collectively reach an understanding: dealing with the Jiangs required a level of patience bordering on sainthood. Their insults and grievances rolled off like water from a duck’s back.

When the Jiangs were informed about Wei Ying's reason to stay, about the child he 'fathered', Madam Yu finally erupted, her fury finally boiled over. She pointed a trembling finger at Wei Wuxian and declared, “You are never to set foot on Yunmeng territory again! Never in your life!” She punctuated her words by slapping her husband hard across the face when he meekly suggested introducing himself to his great-nephew.

Jiang Wanyin, not to be outdone, hurled a string of colorful insults: “Bastard! Traitor! Leech! Street rat!” His voice rose higher with every word. Meanwhile, Jiang Yanli dissolved into tears—over what, no one, not even Wei Wuxian or the Lans, could discern. Not that it particularly concerned them.

“Thank you, Madam Yu. Jiang-Zhongzhu, Jiang-Guniang, Jiang-Gongzi, thank you as well. I wish you all the best,” Wei Wuxian said, bowing lightly before stepping out of the building.

As Jiang-Zhongzhu attempted to extract details about Wei Wuxian’s supposed child from Lan-Xiangsheng, Lan Xichen kept a careful eye on Madam Yu, noticing her whisper something to her son.

Under a tree nearby, Lan Zhan waited for his fiancé with an uncharacteristic air of excitement.

“And?” he asked eagerly as Wei Wuxian approached.

“I’m free,” Wei Wuxian replied, his voice a mix of disbelief and exhilaration. “I can’t believe it. The Jiangs hate me, but I don’t care. I feel so light, I can hardly believe it!”

“Very good. I’ll let Da-ge know the issue is resolved. I’ll be right back!” Nie Huaisang chimed in before hurrying off.

“Mhm. Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan said quietly, stepping closer. “Will you marry me?”

Wei Wuxian burst into laughter. “Of course, you fuddy-duddy! What kind of question is that?” he giggled, his cheeks flushed.

“Mhm. Give me your hand,” Lan Zhan said, his voice steady but gentle. He untied his headband with deliberate care, then wrapped it around Wei Wuxian’s wrist.

“Oh, Lan Zhan, I love you!” Wei Wuxian exclaimed, leaning in to kiss his fiancé.

“I wish to give you something too,” Wei Wuxian said softly. “Lan Zhan, would you keep my mother’s ribbon safe for me?”

“Of course, Wei Ying. Always,” Lan Zhan replied without hesitation.

“...May I put it in your hair?” Wei Wuxian asked, his voice tinged with shyness.

“Mhm. For today’s celebration, yes. Afterward, I will wear it on my wrist,” Lan Zhan said, removing his hair ornament before crouching slightly to let Wei Wuxian tie the ribbon.

“Lan Zhan, you’ve got the Yiling Patriarch hairstyle now!” Wei Wuxian teased with a playful grin. “I’ll try it myself someday, then you can tell me how it looks.” He winked before Lan Zhan turned and embraced him tightly.

Their moment of joy was short-lived as the atmosphere shifted sharply, the once-clear air now crackling with an oppressive energy. The scent of ozone crept in, a sharp, acrid tang that set his nerves on edge.

The world seemed to move in slow motion as Zidian’s first bolt struck, grazing Lan Zhan’s robes. The fabric sizzled, smoke curling up from the scorch mark, and Wei Wuxian’s heart seized at the realization.

“Wei Wuxian, you son of a dog! You trash, you street rat, you leech! You’re going to die! I hate you!” Jiang Wanyin’s voice tore through the air, raw and unhinged.

Zidian cracked again, the whip alive with purple lightning as Jiang Wanyin swung it with unrelenting fury. The strike hissed toward Wei Wuxian, who stood frozen behind Lan Zhan.

Lan Zhan moved without hesitation, his figure shielding Wei Wuxian completely in a tight hold. The whip struck his protective barrier, the energy reverberating with a deafening crack. Lan Zhan didn’t flinch, even as the force pushed him back half a step.

“Face me, you cowardly dog!” Jiang Wanyin’s voice grew shriller as his rage mounted.

“Jiang-xiong, STOP!” Nie Huaisang’s voice rang out, desperate and trembling, but it was drowned by the violent hum of Zidian.

“You and that damned red ribbon! I’ll find you even in hell with it! You’re a demon, a curse! Die! DIE! DIE!” Jiang Wanyin screamed, his arm trembling with exertion as he lashed Zidian with even more force.

This time, Zidian struck the ground near Wei Wuxian’s feet, the energy rippling outward in a storm of sparks and dust. Wei Wuxian stumbled back, his instincts screaming at him to move, but his body wouldn’t obey.

“STOP!” Lan Zhan’s voice thundered, low and commanding, as he turned around and stepped forward. His gaze locked with Jiang Wanyin’s, cold and unwavering.

For a fleeting moment when Jiang Wanyin saw who wears the red ribbon, he hesitates, his grip on Zidian faltering. But his rage surged again, and with a feral snarl, he lashed out.

Zidian whipped forward, its glowing tip writhing like a serpent, aiming not for Lan Wangji this time but Wei Wuxian behind him directly.

Lan Zhan lunged, his hand intercepting Zidian mid-strike. The whip hissed and sparked against his grip, the energy coiling violently as he wrestled to stop its momentum. Jiang Wanyin’s face twisted in disbelief, his knuckles white as he pulled against Lan Zhan’s unyielding hold.

“Don’t. Hurt. Him,” Lan Zhan said, his voice an icy warning.

But Zidian was alive with its own will. Its energy surged unpredictably, slipping free from Lan Zhan’s grasp and snapping forward in a blinding arc.

Wei Wuxian barely had time to react before the sharp, electrified tip of Zidian’s whip slashed across his face. The force threw him backward, and pain exploded in his left eye as the whip tore from the middle of his forehead, across his eye, and down to his cheek.

“Wei Ying!” Lan Zhan’s voice broke with alarm as he turned, his eyes widening at the sight of blood streaking down Wei Wuxian’s face.

Wei Wuxian stumbled, clutching at his face with one hand, his vision blurred and swimming with tears and red. The pain was searing, like fire carving into his skin, and his knees buckled as he tried to steady himself.

Lan Zhan caught him before he could fall, his arm a steady anchor as he held Wei Wuxian close. His usually calm expression was thunderous with barely contained fury.

“You bastard! You dog! Look at what you’ve done! Why don't you just die?” Jiang Wanyin snarled, his voice cracking as he raised Zidian for another strike.

“Jiang-xiong, STOP!” Nie Huaisang shouted again, rushing forward, but his plea was drowned by the crackling energy of Zidian as Jiang Wanyin lashed out wildly.

Lan Zhan stood, unyielding, his golden eyes blazing as he intercepted the whip again. This time, he caught the tip with his bare hand, the energy burning into his palm. He didn’t flinch.

“Enough,” Lan Zhan said, his voice low and dangerous.

Jiang Wanyin yanked Zidian back, the whip writhing angrily as it broke free once more. Blinded by rage, he raised it high, prepared to strike again, when a blur of motion stopped him cold.

The world froze as a chilling sound cut through the chaos.

Jiang Wanyin staggered, his arm falling limply to his side. His eyes widened in disbelief as he looked down to see his severed right hand lying on the ground, still clutching Zidian.

The once-menacing whip flickered weakly before going dark, its energy dissipating as blood pooled beneath the fallen limb.

Wei Wuxian, clutching his bleeding face, could only stare in stunned silence. Jiang Wanyin, pale and trembling, looked from his severed hand to Lan Zhan, then to Wei Wuxian, his expression a mix of pain, fury, and shock.

All eyes fell to the ground where the lifeless hand lay. The crackling of Zidian had ceased, replaced by a suffocating silence.

“Lan Zhan…” Wei Wuxian croaked, his voice barely above a whisper. His knees gave way, but Lan Zhan held him upright, his grip firm and protective.

“You—you—” Jiang Wanyin’s voice broke, trembling with anguish and fury, but no words could escape the lump in his throat.

Nie Huaisang stood frozen, his face ashen, while Lan Zhan remained unmovable, his stance steady and his gaze colder than the night air.

The silence lingered, heavy with the weight of everything that had just transpired.

Before Jiang Wanyin could lash out again, his unbridled rage still crackling in the air like a storm waiting to break, a shadow loomed over the younger group.

“Enough.”

Nie Mingjue’s voice was a rumbling threat, low but resonating with unshakeable authority. In one smooth motion, he stepped forward, his towering figure an impenetrable wall between Jiang Wanyin and the others. His gaze bore down on the Jiang heir, filled with a cold, unyielding fury.

With deliberate precision, Nie Mingjue unsheathed Baixia, its blade gleaming under the dim light. The sound of metal against scabbard was sharp and final, echoing through the tension-choked air.

Nie Mingjue raised the Baixia slightly, holding it with both hands as he inspected the blade and the bloodstains marbling the metal, then swept it through the air in a clean, deliberate arc. The motion sent a chill through the onlookers as if the very atmosphere had been cleaved in two. 

He turned the weapon slightly, letting the blood of earlier skirmishes drip onto the ground before flicking the blade clean with a sharp snap of his wrist. The sound was precise and brutal in its simplicity, a clear demonstration of his readiness to use it.

“Jiang-Gongzi,” Nie Mingjue said, his voice colder than winter steel, “you have already lost your hand. Do not force me to take your head as well.”

The words hung in the air, heavy and final. The weight of Nie Mingjue’s presence was suffocating, his eyes locked onto Jiang Wanyin with a deadly intensity. The Jiang heir, pale and trembling, staggered back a step, clutching the bleeding stump of his wrist.

“You—!” Jiang Wanyin stammered, his voice faltering as he tried to summon his rage, but it fizzled out under Nie Mingjue’s glare.

Nie Mingjue stepped closer, his movements deliberate, each one pressing down like an iron weight. The tip of Baixia hovered in front of Jiang Wanyin, not yet threatening but poised. Ready to strike if necessary.

“You will stop. Now.” Nie Mingjue’s voice was like thunder, each word a blow in its own right. “Or I will end this madness myself.”

Jiang Wanyin’s mouth opened, but no words came. His eyes darted to the fallen Zidian, the lifeless whip now back to his ring-form, and then to Nie Mingjue, whose resolve was unshakable.

Behind Nie Mingjue, Wei Wuxian, Lan Zhan, and Nie Huaisang stood frozen. Wei Wuxian’s hand clutched his injured face, blood trickling between his fingers, while Lan Zhan hovered protectively, his arm braced around Wei Wuxian’s shoulders.

Nie Huaisang, usually meek and quiet, looked as though the very breath had been stolen from him.

Jiang Wanyin’s gaze flickered briefly to Wei Wuxian, and a flicker of raw hatred returned, but it was short-lived. Nie Mingjue raised Baixia slightly, the motion subtle but enough to send a clear message.

“You’ve done enough damage, Jiang-Gongzi,” Nie Mingjue said, his tone cutting. “Don’t make me finish what you’ve started.”

Jiang Wanyin’s trembling became more pronounced. For a long moment, he said nothing, his shoulders heaving with uneven breaths as he stared at Nie Mingjue’s blade. Then, with a snarl of frustration and helplessness, he staggered back further.

“This isn’t over,” he spat, though his voice wavered. “You’ll regret—”

Nie Mingjue stepped forward again, Baixia gleaming in the light, and Jiang Wanyin shut his mouth with an audible click.

“Leave, Jiang-Gongzi.” Nie Mingjue’s voice was a final command, unyielding and absolute.

Defeated and bleeding, Jiang Wanyin turned on his heel and stumbled away to the Lanshi.

The silence that followed was deafening.

Nie Mingjue sheathed Baixia with a sharp, final motion. He turned to the others, his expression still stern but tinged with something softer—concern.

“Are you all right?” he asked, his eyes scanning the group.

Wei Ying nodded weakly, his hand still pressed to his injured face. Lan Zhan’s grip on him tightened slightly, his expression unreadable but his golden eyes blazing with unspoken fury and protectiveness.

Nie Huaisang took a shaky step forward, his face pale. “Da-ge…” he started, but his voice cracked, and he simply shook his head, at a loss for words.

“Come,” Nie Mingjue said, his tone brooking no argument. “We need to treat that wound before you lose your eye.” He glanced at Wei Wuxian, the boy who got his pretty face hurt, the stern demeanour softens as he gestured towards the Healing Pavilion. “Let’s go.”

As the group began to move, the silence was broken only by the soft crunch of their footsteps on the gravel. Behind them, the bloodstained ground and the severed hand of Jiang Wanyin served as a grim reminder of the chaos that had unfolded.

Chapter Text

"Da-ge, what happened?" Lan Xichen calls out, his voice rising with urgency as he hurries toward Nie Mingjue, whose imposing figure looms protectively near the three younger men. His saber unsheathed, its blade gleaming ominously under the sun.

Behind Lan Xichen, the other adults follow at a measured pace, their postures stiff with unease. Gradually, the group splits into two, Lan Qiren joins his older nephew while the Jiang family rushes to their heir's side.

Nie Mingjue doesn’t even spare his friend a glance, his broad shoulders tense with barely restrained frustration. “What happened?” Nie Mingjue repeats, his voice heavy with disdain. “What happened is that the so-called talented and composed sect heir over there thought it was a great idea to whip my brother, your brother and his fiancé with Zidian. Wangji told him to stop—very politely, I might add—but our Jiang-gongzi wasn’t interested in listening. He lashed out again. And since he clearly didn’t grasp the concept of common decency, I had no choice but to address the danger myself. Baixia seemed to agree. Before I could even think, she was already slicing through the air. And then…” He gestures sharply toward the ground ahead, where a severed hand lies crumpled in the dirt, stark against the green grass.

The words hang in the air like a death knell, and Lan Xichen stops dead in his tracks, his eyes flickering to the grisly sight. “…Da-ge,” he says finally, his voice barely above a whisper. “Are you saying you cut off his hand? Why don't you sheath Baixia now?”

Nie Mingjue’s tone sharpens. “I will not sheath my saber again until I’m convinced this reckless child understands that actions have consequences.” His jaw tightens as his glare lands on Jiang Cheng, who stands a short distance away, motionless but with anger and fury dancing across his face. “And frankly, I’m not convinced.”

Lan Xichen’s gaze darts from the bloodied hand on the ground to Jiang Cheng’s blank expression and back again, the realization hitting him like a punch to the gut. “Da-ge…” His voice trembles with disbelief. “This… this is serious.”

Before Nie Mingjue can respond, Jiang Fengmian arrives, his steps quick and deliberate as his expression warps between shock and fury. Behind him, Madam Yu and Jiang Yanli are fussing over Jiang Cheng, who seems too dazed to notice.

“Nie-zongzhu!” Jiang Fengmian bellows, his voice cutting through the tense air like a blade. “Explain yourself! Why did you sever the hand of my son—my heir?”

Nie Mingjue finally turns, his imposing presence radiating authority. His tone is measured but laced with steel. “Jiang-zongzhu, I understand your anger. Truly, I do. But right now, your focus should be on the young man your son grievously injured. He requires immediate medical attention. Once that’s handled, we can discuss your son’s actions and the consequences that followed.”

“Who—A-Xian?” Jiang Fengmian’s gaze snaps to Wei Wuxian, his voice sharpening as he demands, “What did you do?”

The group collectively freezes, their expressions shifting from disbelief to muted horror.

“There is no time to argue!” Lan Qiren interjects, his voice sharp and commanding. “Wei-gongzi must be returned to the Healing Pavilion at once.”

“…Returned? Why returned?” Jiang Fengmian presses, stepping forward with a deep frown. “A-Xian, did you cause trouble for A-Cheng again?”

The words seem to pierce the fragile tension, and all eyes turn toward the Jiang sect leader in collective disbelief.

“Jiang-zongzhu,” Lan Qiren thunders, his tone icy enough to freeze the very air around him, “you will step back immediately. Right now, your presence is neither needed nor wanted. Wei-gongzi is no longer part of your sect and owes you no explanation. The only person deserving of your blame is your own son. Is that clear?”

The sheer weight of Lan Qiren’s words silences the crowd. Jiang Fengmian visibly recoils, his mouth opening and closing as if struggling for a retort. Finally, he lowers his head, his shoulders slumping in defeat as he retreats toward his family. Madam Yu and Jiang Yanli continue to hover over Jiang Cheng, their movements frantic yet futile.

Meanwhile, Nie Mingjue tightens his grip on Baixia, his gaze never straying from Jiang Cheng. “We move now,” he declares, his voice cutting through the remaining murmurs like thunder. “If this farce continues a moment longer, the consequences will not be so… lenient.”

Wen Qing and her brother, Wen Ning, hurry after the group, their expressions tight with tension. They had watched the chaos unfold from a safe distance, their helplessness twisting into determination as they now rushed toward the Healing Pavilion.

As the structure came into view, Wen Qing sprinted ahead, her robes billowing behind her. Not even Lan Qiren speaks up regarding the obvious rule breaking. Bursting through the entrance, she quickly signals the available healers. “Prepare a treatment room for two incoming critical cases!” she ordered sharply, her voice cutting through the muted bustle when they enter the room. “Lan-er-gongzi on the right bed, Wei-gongzi to the left!”

When the group entered the building moments later, Wen Qing immediately assumed command. “Lan-er-gongzi has been repeatedly struck with Purple Lightning, the first-class spiritual weapon known as Zidian. His wounds likely carry residual foreign qi. If Jiang-gongzi isn’t skilled in wielding Zidian, that will make treatment faster and less complicated. It’s not life-threatening; Lan-er-gongzi is strong and resilient.” She turned her gaze toward Wei Wuxian, her voice hardening. “Our primary focus is Wei-gongzi. He’s sustained a serious injury to the eye—possibly compromising the surrounding area. All healers with experience in ophthalmology, prioritize him immediately.”

Her voice remained steady, but her eyes betrayed her urgency as she continued. “There will also be another patient with a severed right arm arriving shortly. That one isn’t mine to manage; someone else can deal with him but be cautious with him. A-Ning!” Her brother straightened attentively. “Start preparing the salve I taught you—for wounds injuries like Lan-er-gongzi’s. Quickly now!”

Without waiting for acknowledgment, Wen Qing pivoted and strode toward Wei Wuxian. His pale face and the gash trailing from his brow to his cheek sent a pang of dread through her chest. “A-Ying, stay awake. Come on, I need to examine your eye. A-Ying!” Her voice cracked as she shouted, but her plea fell on deaf ears—Wei Wuxian had already slipped into unconsciousness. She let out an exasperated sigh, muttering under her breath, “Well, at least now you won’t argue with me.”

Wen Qing spun on her heel to address the others in the room. “Lan-Xiangsheng, qi infusion for Lan-er-gongzi, immediately. Chifeng-Zun, I’ll need you assisting Wei Ying, use your strength to stabilise him. Zewu-jun…” She hesitated before waving her hand dismissively. “Find somewhere to sit. Play 'healing'. Or meditate. Just don’t get in the way with your nervous energy.”

The men exchanged quick glances but obeyed without hesitation, each heading to their assigned tasks. The air grew tense yet efficient as the healers worked under Wen Qing’s sharp instructions.

“Ah, Lan-daifu, perfect timing,” Wen Qing said briskly, noting the arrival of an elderly healer dressed in the pristine white of a Lan physician. “I trust you have experience in ophthalmology?”

The older woman inclined her head solemnly. “I do.”

“Excellent.” Wen Qing stepped aside to let her take Wei Wuxian’s side, her tone fierce but composed. “Please examine his eye immediately and let me know if it can be saved.”

As the Lan physician knelt by Wei Wuxian, Wen Qing folded her arms tightly across her chest. The weight of responsibility pressed heavily on her shoulders, but she refused to let it show. A-Ying, you’d better survive this, she thought grimly, her jaw set. You owe me that much.

The tension in the healing pavilion was palpable, the air thick with the metallic tang of blood and the faint hum of suppressed anxiety. Lan-daifu, a venerable healer with decades of experience, leaned over Wei Wuxian's unconscious form, her hands glowing faintly as she inspected the gruesome slash that ran from his forehead, across his left eye, and down to his cheek. Wen Qing stood by her side, her jaw tight with determination, her sharp gaze scrutinizing every movement the elder healer made.

Lan Wangji tries to get up from his bed to escape the treatment of his own wounds and to be at his fiancé's side, his usually impassive face marred by an expression that was dangerously close to anguish. Nie Mingjue removed himself from the patient and stands like a sentinel next to the door of the treatment room, his hand resting on Baxia’s hilt, while Lan Qiren’s furrowed brow conveyed his unspoken thoughts.

“Zidian’s qi has caused more than just surface damage,” Lan-daifu murmured, her voice calm but edged with concern. She glanced at Wen Qing. “The external wound can be managed, but the internal injury—specifically to the qi nerves in the eye is far more precarious.”

Wen Qing, already dreading the answer, stepped closer. “Explain,” she demanded tersely. “What’s the extent of the damage?”

Lan-daifu closed her eyes briefly, her fingers tracing faint patterns over Wei Wuxian’s temple, sending a gentle current of her qi through his system. The faint crackle of Zidian’s residual energy made her wince. “The qi nerve bundle that connects to his eye has been partially corrupted by the foreign qi introduced by Zidian. The nerve is unstable, and it’s disrupting his entire qi flow. If left untreated, this imbalance could spread further through his meridians.”

Wen Qing’s expression darkened. “What are our options?”

Lan-daifu straightened, her hands now resting calmly at her sides. “There are two,” she began, her voice grave. “The first option is to operate on the eye directly, removing the damaged section of the qi nerve bundle and severing the connection to the eye’s qi pathways entirely. This would save the eye physically, but it would leave the qi system around it compromised, creating a long-term imbalance that could affect his cultivation.”

Lan Wangji stiffened visibly. “Unacceptable,” he said, his voice low but resolute. “Wei Ying cannot be left in such a state.”

Lan-daifu gave him a brief glance before continuing. “The second option is to remove the entire qi nerve bundle associated from the eye and seal off the qi pathway leading to it together with the nerve bundle. This would leave the eye without qi circulation, effectively rendering it blind, but the rest of his qi system would remain intact. It’s the safer option for his overall health, though it will come at a cost.”

Wen Qing’s hands clenched into fists. She stared down at Wei Wuxian, her mind racing through the implications. His face, even slackened by unconsciousness, was still so full of life. How could she make such a decision for him?

Lan Qiren cleared his throat, his voice firm. “Wen-guniang, if the second option ensures the preservation of his cultivation, I suggest you consider it carefully. Wei-gongzi’s survival and strength are paramount.”

Wen Qing’s sharp glare cut through the room. “I don’t need a lecture, Lan-Xiangsheng,” she snapped, though her tone softened as her gaze fell back to Wei Wuxian. “I’ll choose the option that ensures his future, but the ultimate decision belongs to him.”

Lan-daifu’s eyes softened slightly. “Then I suggest we stabilize him now, cleanse the remaining Zidian qi from his system, and wake him. He must understand what is at stake.”

Wen Qing exhaled sharply. “Fine. Lan-daifu, let’s proceed with stabilization. We’ll bring him to a state where he can make his own decision.”

Lan-daifu nodded, her hands already glowing as she prepared to cleanse the corrupted qi. “Very well. But we must move swiftly. Every moment counts.”

As the healers worked, the room fell into a heavy silence, each person’s thoughts consumed by the gravity of the situation.

Wen Qing’s fingers moved swiftly but steadily as she applied salves around the eye and checks Wei Wuxian’s vitals, her brows deeply furrowed. Lan Zhan watches the scene from his cot, his face unreadable but his knuckles white where he gripped the edge of the bed. Lan Xichen, perched at the edge of the room, continues to play 'healing', though his hands trembled slightly on Liebing, betraying his otherwise serene demeanor.

Wei Wuxian stirred faintly. His lips parted as though to speak, but the only sound that emerged was a strained, unintelligible murmur. Opening his eyes, one has it's eyelid fixated, the other attempting to focus on the blurry faces around him.

Wen Qing leaned closer, her sharp voice cutting through the tension. “A-Ying, don’t try to move. Stay still.” She glanced at Lan Zhan, who tries to get up. “He’s waking, but his Qi is still unstable. Lan-er-gongzi, keep calm. Don't strain yourself.”

Wei Wuxian’s one open eye wandered aimlessly, confusion clouding it. “Lan... Zhan?” he rasped, his voice barely audible. “I have a core.”

“It’s all right, Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan said softly, “You’re safe.”

But Wei Wuxian’s weak smile faltered as he noticed Wen Qing’s expression. "Qing-jie... how are you alive? You're dead. I killed you.”

Wen Qing pressed her lips into a thin line, glancing at Lan Zhan for a fraction of a second before looking back at Wei Ying. “Rest for now. Don’t worry about anything.”

Before Wei Ying could argue, the door to the room bursts open with a thunderous clatter. Madam Yu stormed in, her robes flowing dramatically as her piercing gaze scanned the room. She was followed closely by Jiang Fengmian and a limp, pale Jiang Cheng, whose right arm was crudely wrapped in blood-soaked bandages, ripped off his robe.

“Where is that... bastard?” Madam Yu’s voice cracked like Zidian itself. “Where is one of the so-called healer? My son—our heir—is maimed because of that filthy and leeching street rat of a whore and no one comes to help us! You’re all just standing around like useless statues!”

Lan Qiren was the first to intercept her, stepping into her path with a calm but imposing presence. “Madam Yu, this is a place of healing. You will lower your voice and control yourself, or you will be removed.”

“Control myself?” Madam Yu’s eyes flashed dangerously. “I will not control myself when this is what someone as low as that son of a bitch is able to do on your sect ground!” She pointed dramatically at Jiang Cheng, whose head was bowed, his face unreadable.

Nie Mingjue joined Lan Qiren, his tone sharper. “Your son attacked others first. He is fortunate to still be breathing, let alone walking. If you wish for him to receive treatment, you will cease this outburst immediately. Also, it was me who disciplined your son, the one you have in mind did nothing.”

Madam Yu sneered but backed down a step, her eyes still blazing. “I will not stand by while your incompetence ruins my son’s future while this bastard runs freely and seduces everyone left and right just like his mother, always selfish, always whoring around. Fix my son's hand. Sew it back on. You owe us that much!”

One of the healers, trembling under her gaze, stepped forward hesitantly and checks the young heir's wound. “Madam Yu, with all due respect... the hand cannot be reattached. The injury is too severe, and too much time has passed.”

“Incompetence!” Madam Yu spat, her voice shrill enough to make several people wince. “You dare call yourselves healers and give me that excuse?”

Wen Qing, still hovering protectively near Wei Ying, didn’t even turn to look at her before speaking. “You’re welcome to take him elsewhere if you don’t like the treatment provided here.”

“You—!” Madam Yu started forward, trying to unleash Zidian in the place of healing, but Nie Mingjue’s hand came up like an unmovable wall, stopping her in her tracks.

“Enough,” Lan-daifu barked. “Your son will be treated according to the healer’s oath. But no one here will be subjected to your tirades. Leave the room, or I’ll ensure you are removed completely.”

“San-niang, please.” Jiang Fengmian’s quiet and pleading voice finally cut through the noise. “Let them work.”

Madam Yu shot him a withering glare but didn’t press further. She spun on her heel and stormed out of the room, her robes snapping behind her like a thundercloud. Jiang Yanli, pale and teary-eyed, remained near her brother, wringing her hands.

The healers reluctantly approached Jiang Cheng, their movements stiff but precise. Despite the tension, their training held firm as they began tending to the gruesome wound.

Back at Wei Wuxian’s cot, Wei Wuxian stirrs faintly, his voice slurring. “Lan Zhan... what’re you saying? Did we kill the Xuanwu?”

Wen Qing stepped forward, placing a hand on Wei Wuxian’s forehead. “Sleep, A-Ying. You’re in good hands.”

Wei Ying gave a weak laugh. “Mhm... Lan Zhan is good...” His voice trailed off as he succumbed to unconsciousness again.

Wen Qing turns to Lan Zhan. Her voice was lower, more private. “Lan-er-gongzi, we can’t delay this decision and he's in no state to make that decision himself so it's up to you as his fiancé. His eye... it’s damaged beyond natural healing. We have to act soon, or it will compromise more than his vision.”

Lan Zhan’s jaw tightened. “What must be done?”

Wen Qing sighed. “Isolate the Qi bundle from the eye and seal it with the path leading to the eye, that way he'll only have one eye left. Or operating directly within the eye to try and repair the Qi network with the possibility to destabilise his meridians if anything goes wrong.”

Lan Zhan stretches his arm, trying to grip his fiance's hand. “Do what is safest for Wei Ying. His life matters more than anything else.”

Wen Qing addresses the other healers. “Prepare for the surgery. We’ll save what we can.”

Across the room, Lan Xichen exhaled slowly, his composure barely intact, as he finally sheathed Bichen and stepped away from Lan Wangji. “Da-ge... I think I’m losing my touch at staying calm.”

Nie Mingjue’s lips twitched in the faintest of smirks. “You’ve held up better than most would, I'd be more of a mess if Huaisang was in Wangjis position. Don’t forget to breathe. Where is Huaisang actually?”

Lan Xichen nodded, brushing a hand through his hair. "I don't know, he came here with us, didn't he?"

As the healers worked and the tension lingered, there was one thing they all silently agreed upon: this was only the beginning of the chaos.

The tense quiet of the healing pavilion was shattered by the unmistakable sound of Madam Yu’s voice, shrill and venomous, echoing from the adjacent treatment room. A loud crash followed, the clatter of what could only be surgical instruments hitting the floor. Everyone in the main room froze, their heads turning toward the door.

Lan Xichen, who had been seated nearby, stood abruptly, his calm expression strained. “Uncle, I’ll check—”

“No, I’ll come as well,” Lan Qiren interrupted, his voice stern. “Nie-zongzhu please stay with Wangji and Wuxian. This is bound to escalate.”

As the two Lans stepped into the neighboring room, they were greeted by chaos. Medical tools and supplies were scattered across the floor. A shattered tray lay in pieces, its contents spilled everywhere. Two healers were crouched over a third, who was clutching their side, their robes singed where Zidian had struck. The faint but acrid smell of burned fabric lingered in the air.

At the center of it all stood Madam Yu, her face twisted in fury, Zidian sparking menacingly in her hand. “What are you all good for if you can’t even treat my son properly?” she shouted, her voice cutting through the room like a blade. “Do you think you can refuse to help him because of that son of a bitch Wei Wuxian? Has he poisoned all of you against the Jiangs just like his whore of a mother did? Does he sell his body to you that you shield him so much or do you get him for free?”

The healers huddled together, their faces pale but resolute. One attempted to speak, their voice trembling. “Madam Yu, we’re doing everything we can. But the injury—”

“Spare me your excuses!” Madam Yu snapped, cracking Zidian in the air, the weapon sizzling with purple lightning. “You’re all incompetent! If Jiang Cheng doesn’t recover, it will be on your heads.”

Lan Qiren’s stern voice cut through the cacophony like steel. “Enough!”

The room fell silent as Madam Yu turned to glare at him. “Lan Qiren,” she sneered. “Are you here to lecture me about decorum, as always? This is a family matter.”

Lan Qiren’s gaze swept over the scene: Zidian still sparking, the injured healer, the disarrayed tools and landed on Jiang Fengmian, who stood in the corner, silent and passive. “This is not a family matter,” Lan Qiren said icily. “You are disrupting a place of healing and endangering the lives of those who serve here. Jiang-zongzhu, will you not restrain your wife?”

Jiang Fengmian shifted uncomfortably but said nothing, his eyes cast downward.

Lan Xichen’s serene mask faltered as he glanced between Madam Yu and the injured healers. “Madam Yu,” he began diplomatically, “we understand your concern for Jiang-gongzi’s well-being, but this behavior is unacceptable. These healers are doing their best under difficult circumstances.”

Madam Yu scoffed. “Difficult circumstances? They’re deliberately sabotaging his treatment because they’re all under the influence of that insufferable Wei Wuxian. He’s turned the Cloud Recesses into his personal playground, your nephew is just the beginning and now these healers refuse to do their duty!”

Lan Qiren’s expression darkened. “Enough slander. Your son’s condition is the result of his own recklessness, and you compound the insult by harming those who sought to help him. Jiang-zongzhu,” he said, turning to Jiang Fengmian again, “if you will not act, we will. Your sect will leave the Cloud Recesses immediately. Further treatment for Jiang Wanyin will not be provided here. Additionally, this incident will be addressed at the next Discussion Conference, where appropriate reparations will be demanded.”

The words hit like a thunderclap. Madam Yu’s eyes widened, and for a moment, her fury seemed to give way to panic. “You would turn us away?” she spat, though her tone had lost some of its venom. “Do you know what this will do to our reputation?”

Lan Qiren’s gaze was unyielding. “The Lans value respect and decorum. You have shown neither. You may leave voluntarily, or we will have you removed.”

“Wait!” Madam Yu’s tone shifted abruptly, her voice dripping with forced politeness. “Lan Qiren, Lan Xichen, surely we can resolve this without such drastic measures. You know how Wei Wuxian is—he must always be the center of attention, always striving to outshine others or to seduce them for his own gain, he takes after his mother, you know. He's the same as Cangse Sanren, I'm sure you can imagine how bad he is, don't you Lan Qiren? He disregards tradition, tinkers with those useless talismans of his instead of focusing on what truly benefits a sect, like night hunts. He’d rather waste time with beggars and strays than do what’s necessary for the Jiang Clan.”

As Madam Yu’s words hung in the air, her disdain for Wei Wuxian dripping like venom, Lan Xichen’s eyes narrowed ever so slightly. For a brief moment, his usually serene face hardened, and he stepped forward, his voice calm but carrying a quiet intensity that silenced the room.

“Madam Yu,” he began, his tone laced with disappointment, “if this is truly how your clan perceives Wei-gongzi, then I fear the Jiangs are not as righteous as I imagined. Wei-gongzi’s efforts, whether through his unconventional inventions or his aid to those in need, exemplify the very ideals of a cultivator. Yet you call this a flaw?”

He glanced toward Lan Qiren, who inclined his head slightly, signaling his agreement.

Lan Xichen continued, his voice gaining strength. “I have seen Wei-gongzi stand firm where others falter, offering his strength not for glory, but because it is right. If the Jiang Clan truly values tradition above the lives and welfare of others, then you have not only misunderstood the path of cultivation but have also squandered the gift of Wei-gongzi’s loyalty. You bring shame upon yourselves.”

Madam Yu’s mouth opened to retort, but Xichen cut her off, his words striking like a blade. “It is no wonder that Wei-gongzi has found a new home among those who recognize his worth. And it is no surprise that even your son seeks to harm him, perhaps out of envy, knowing he cannot compare.”

Lan Qiren, his stern face unreadable for outsiders but all Lan's in the room can see him radiating pride after his nephews action, added with quiet finality, “History will judge who among you has upheld the ideals of a cultivator and who has tarnished them. And I have no doubt that Wei Wuxian’s name will shine far brighter than those who sought to dim his light. Just. Like. His. Mother.”

Madam Yu’s face twisted in fury, but she had no chance to respond before Lan Qiren gave her a curt nod, signaling the end of the conversation. “You may leave, Madam Yu. Please take your family with you. We are no longer in the position to provide proper treatment for your son.”

As the words settled in the room, Madam Yu turned sharply, her indignation palpable. Jiang Fengmian avoided everyone’s gaze, his silence as damning as Madam Yu’s outburst. 

Madam Yu’s lips pressed into a thin line, her grip tightening on Zidian. She looked to Jiang Fengmian, who remained motionless, before throwing her head back and letting out a bitter laugh. “Fine. We will leave. But don’t think this is over.”

As Madam Yu swept out of the room, the tension lingered. Jiang Yanli hesitated by the door, bowing deeply to Lan Qiren and Lan Xichen. “I apologize for my mother’s actions,” she said softly before following her parents and brother.

Lan Xichen sighed, his composure slowly returning. “Uncle, this... will cause ripples.”

“It is better to have a storm now than let it fester,” Lan Qiren replied firmly. “Come, Xichen. Let's see that these people leave Cloud Recess for good and then head back, we have more important matters to attend to.”

As Lan Qiren and Lan Xichen stepped out of the healing pavilion, they were met with an unexpected sight. A large crowd of disciples, healers, and curious onlookers had gathered, murmuring among themselves and craning their necks to catch a glimpse of the departing Jiang Sect. The Jiangs were easy to spot—Madam Yu’s proud posture, Jiang Fengmian’s and Jiang Yanli's subdued demeanor and Jiang Wanyin’s sullen face all stood out as they made their way through the crowd.

Lan Xichen’s brow furrowed as he stood beside his uncle, surveying the commotion. He let out a soft sigh, catching the faint gleam of the departing Jiang entourage in the afternoon sun. Then a sudden thought struck him, and he turned slightly toward Lan Qiren, his expression shifting to one of mild alarm.

“Uncle,” he said, almost hesitantly, “Nie Huaisang accompanied us to the healing pavilion earlier, but… I haven’t seen him since. Did he leave unnoticed?”

Lan Qiren’s sharp eyes flicked to his nephew. “I haven't seen him since before the Lanshi.”

“Interesting,” Lan Xichen replied, his voice growing quieter, as though talking more to himself than his uncle. “Maybe he slipped away at some point. And knowing Huaisang, he’s likely wandered off where he shouldn’t…”

His words trailed off as his thoughts took a curious turn. Images flickered in his mind—Nie Huaisang, the scatterbrained dandy, standing years from now in a position of extraordinary power and influence. Could it really be the same man? It seemed absurd, yet the memory of Wei Wuxian’s chaotic but prophetic glimpses into his future gnawed at the back of Lan Xichen’s mind.

Lan Qiren, meanwhile, had noticed something else entirely. His gaze had settled on Jin Guangshan, the Jin Sect leader, standing a short distance away with his injured son, Jin Zixuan, amidst a group of guest disciples. Jin Guangshan’s sharp, calculating eyes flicked toward the Jiangs, and it was clear he had been observing and listening to the entire debacle.

“Jin-zongzhu,” Lan Qiren muttered, almost to himself. His lips pressed into a thin line as a realization dawned on him. The man had likely heard every word of Madam Yu’s outburst and seen the aftermath of Jiang Wanyin’s reckless actions. Lan Qiren mentally cursed himself; with the events surrounding Wei Wuxian, he had momentarily forgotten the incident from the previous day that.

“I’ll take care of this,” Lan Qiren said, more to himself than Xichen. He straightened his back and adjusted his robes. “Xichen, ensure the crowd disperses. We cannot have such disarray here. I will speak with Jin-zongzhu directly.”

Xichen nodded, but his gaze lingered on the crowd for a moment longer, his mind still half on Nie Huaisang’s mysterious disappearance.

Lan Qiren approached Jin Guangshan with deliberate steps, his usual air of authority firmly in place. “Jin-zongzhu,” he greeted with a short bow. “Would you join me in my office? It seems we have much to discuss.”

Jin Guangshan’s smile was polished but unreadable. “Of course.”

With that, Lan Qiren turned, leading Jin Guangshan toward the Cloud Recesses’ administrative halls, leaving Xichen to manage the murmuring crowd and the lingering questions.

"The surgery was a success. The eye's qi bundle, the pathway leading to it, and Wei-gongzi's qi system as a whole have been preserved without damage," Wen Qing announced, her voice steady but weary. It was long past curfew, and the faint moonlight filtering through the windows cast a pale glow over the group of concerned cultivators gathered in the room.

"How is Lan-er-gongzi?" she asked, her gaze shifting to the other end of the room, where Lan Wangji lay on a separate bed.

"He’s feverish and drifting in and out of consciousness. Jie, I swear I followed your instructions exactly when preparing the salve—every step," Wen Ning responded, his voice trembling with worry. "Why isn’t he improving?"

"His qi remains remarkably stable," another healer interjected, their tone calm but puzzled.

Wen Qing frowned, the lines of fatigue on her face deepening as she stepped briskly to Lan Wangji's bedside. With a practiced hand, she placed her fingers on his wrist to check his pulse, then pressed lightly on his chest to monitor his qi flow. Her brow furrowed further as she worked.

"Strange," she murmured. "There’s no immediate sign of disruption, but his fever is unnatural. It might be a delayed reaction to Zidian's qi interference. We’ll need to keep a close watch on him." She straightened, addressing the room with her characteristic authority. "I’d prefer someone stay here to monitor Lan-er-gongzi overnight and be ready to provide a qi infusion if necessary. The rest of you should leave for now and return in the morning. Lingering here all night won’t help anyone. I need to sleep a little, wake me up if something happens."

Before anyone else could respond, Lan Xichen stepped forward, his movements fluid but resolute. Without a word, he pulled a chair to his brother’s bedside, the scrape of wood against stone echoing faintly in the otherwise hushed room. He sat down, adjusting his robes neatly as he settled in, his warm gaze fixed on Lan Wangji.

"I’ll stay," he said softly, the resolve in his tone leaving no room for argument.

When Qing studied him for a moment, her sharp eyes softening just slightly. "Very well," she said. "Let me know if anything changes." With that, she turned to Wen Ning and the other healers, quietly instructing them to tidy up and prepare for the morning’s rounds before turning in for the night.

The room gradually emptied, leaving Lan Xichen alone with his younger brother and an unconscious Wei Ying. As the door closed softly behind the last of the healers, he leaned forward, resting his hand gently on Wangji’s.

"I’m here, Wangji," he whispered. "Rest now. I’ll make sure you’re safe. Both of you."

Lan Xichen rubbs his eyes and tries to shake off the lingering haze of sleep. What kind of strange dream had that been? He couldn’t quite grasp the details, but it had felt far too real. He had apparently dozed off, slipping into the deepest part of his thoughts while sitting beside his brother’s bed.

In the dream, Wangji had stirred awake suddenly, his usual calm demeanor replaced by something more urgent, more frantic. Without saying a word, he had firmly removed Xichen’s hand from his own. Lan Xichen noted that Wangji rose from the bed, moving slowly but with purpose. There was a desperation in his actions—his eyes darting around the room as if seeking something, or someone.

Wangji had gone straight to Wei Wuxian’s bed, checked the younger for any injuries and kneels beside him. His hands had shaken as he tried to rouse the unconscious man. The usually composed Lan Wangji had been reduced to pleading with him, his voice barely more than a whisper, filled with the weight of fear and helplessness. He’d shaken his fiancé gently, calling his name over and over again, each word laced with an urgency that tore at Xichen’s heart.

“We have to leave,” Wangji had begged, his voice breaking. “Please, wake up, Wei Ying. The traitor is here, he'll hurt us again. They'll whipped me again. My father's brother can't be far if the traitor is here.” He heard Wangji sob. “I won't let them punish you for living, my love. You gave away your core and they condemned you for that.  These hypocrites used you, I won't let that happen again. We have to leave before something worse happens.”

Xichen’s chest tightened as he listened to this silent exchange in his dream. “Don’t leave me alone again,” Wangji had cried, his voice laced with desperation. “Huaisang tried to get you back to me six years ago but it failed. I could not go on after that but I will protect you now. I’ll protect you from them. I won't let them take anything more from you than your eye. I’ll keep you safe. You can’t trust them. You can’t even trust me… but I’ll stay by your side, I’ll make sure of it. I won't repeat my mistakes and leave you, I love you. I'll kill everyone who tries to take you from me this time.”

Wei Wuxian hadn’t stirred. He remained motionless and still, but Lan Wangji hadn’t given up. Slowly, almost reverently, he had gathered Wei Wuxian in his arms, lifting him as if he were the most precious thing in the world. Without another word, he’d silently slipped from the room, carrying Wei Wuxian away into the darkness.

Lan Xichen blinked, suddenly jolting awake, a chill running down his spine as he realized something was horribly wrong. The beds, once occupied by his brother and his fiancé, were now empty. In the dim light of the room, barely lit by flickering candle flames, the beds stood vacant. His hand, which had moments ago been gripping the edge of his brother’s bed, fell away, trembling.

Wangji is gone.

The thought gripped him with a cold, suffocating fear. What had seemed like a dream just moments ago now felt like something far worse. The dream he’d had – of his brother waking up, of him leaving to take Wei Wuxian somewhere – was no longer a dream. It had been real. But when had they left? His heart raced as he tried to make sense of it.

“Wangji!” he called out urgently and opens the door to the hallway, his voice breaking the stillness of the rooms. “Wuxian!”

His voice echoed down the hall, a plea hanging in the air. Within moments, several healers and Wen Qing rushed into the hallway, concern etched on their faces.

“What’s going on?” Wen Qing asked, clearly startled by the sudden noise. “Did his condition worsen?”

Lan Xichen’s gaze was frantic as he pointed to the empty beds in the room behind him. “They’re gone! Both of them... my brother and Wei Wuxian... They’ve vanished.”

Wen Qing, frowning, stepped closer and took in the empty space. She paused, as if something had caught her attention. The moment seemed to stretch as she scanned the beds, then looked at Lan Xichen.

“Are you sure?” she asked, though her voice had a note of hesitation. “Did something happen?”

“I thought it was a dream,” Lan Xichen replied urgently, his voice tinged with panic. “It wasn’t. I was awake when I saw Wangji leave... He carried Wei Wuxian with him, afraid that we would hurt him and Wei Wuxian but... I don’t know when they left.”

Wen Qing frowned deeper, her gaze shifting from Lan Xichen to the beds. She walks over places her hand on the fabric of one of the empty sheets, feeling for any residual warmth. The fabric was not warm but not cold enough to suggest that they had been gone long.

“They can’t have gone far,” Wen Qing muttered, her expression darkening. “If the beds are slightly warm... they must have left only recently.”

Lan Xichen’s breath hitched in his chest, the reality of the situation settling heavily on him. "We have to find them," he said, his voice determined despite the rising panic within him. "Get everyone together. Inform my uncle and the guards. We need to search now."

Without hesitation, he turned to the healers in the room, his orders sharp and clear. The urgency in his voice left no room for argument.

"Move quickly. We can’t waste any time."

Chapter Text

"Xichen, how could this happen?" Lan Qiren’s voice thundered through the dimly lit corridor of the Healing Pavilion, reverberating off the walls. His usually composed demeanor was shattered, his expression a mix of frustration and genuine concern.

Lan Xichen stood rooted in place, guilt written across his face. He rubbed his temples, his elegant composure slipping away under the weight of his uncle’s gaze. "I… I don’t know, Shufu," he stammered, his voice quaking. "I must have… nodded off. Just for a moment. I thought it was a dream. A strange, vivid dream. I didn’t think… I couldn’t have imagined…"

"You didn’t think that your brother might take Wei-gongzi in the middle of the night?" Lan Qiren’s tone turned sharper, cutting through Xichen’s words like a blade.

The silence that followed was suffocating, broken only by the hurried footsteps of disciples outside, as word of the disappearance began to spread. The Nie brothers, drawn by the commotion, entered the scene. Nie Mingjue's imposing presence seemed to anchor the frantic energy in the room, while Nie Huaisang trailed behind, his usual carefree expression replaced with one of genuine worry.

"If your so-called ‘dream’ wasn’t a dream," Lan Qiren continued, his voice stern, "and it truly happened, what exactly did your brother say?"

Lan Xichen swallowed hard, his voice faltering as he tried to recount the fragmented memory. "He… He said he couldn’t let Wei Wuxian be punished again. He said—" Xichen’s voice cracked as he pushed forward, trembling, "—that he wouldn’t let Wei Wuxian suffer for surviving anymore. He mentioned being whipped. And then he said something about Huaisang trying something six years ago. And… and…"

Lan Xichen’s voice trailed off, his knees threatening to buckle as tears welled in his eyes. "He said… that Father’s brother isn’t far if the traitor is with them. Shufu, what does he mean? Where did he go?" His voice broke entirely, his composure shattering like porcelain as he turned to his uncle for answers, desperation etched in every word.

Nie Mingjue stepped forward instinctively, his large hand resting heavily on Xichen’s trembling shoulder. His grip was firm but not unkind, a silent promise that he would stand by his friend in this time of chaos. "We’ll figure this out," he said, his voice low and steady, though his own brow was furrowed in thought.

Lan Qiren, however, was unyielding. He turned to Wen Qing, who had approached amidst the escalating tension with her younger brother, her calm presence a stark contrast to the turmoil around her. "Wen-guiniang," he began, "do you have any idea where my nephew might take his fiancé?"

Wen Qing crossed her arms, her expression thoughtful but tight with concern. "If I had to guess," she said firmly, "I’d say Yiling. He’s gravely injured, but he’s fled there before. It’s familiar to him, and to A-Ying it’s safe."

Her words hung heavy in the air. Lan Qiren gave a sharp nod, considering her logic. Nie Mingjue, however, frowned.

"Xichen," Nie Mingjue said, his deep voice cutting through the tension, "what exactly happened to Wangji?"

Before Lan Xichen could respond, Wen Qing snapped, "That’s irrelevant right now!" Her voice was as sharp as a blade, and the room stilled under the force of her words. "We’ll address whatever you want to know after we find my patients."

Lan Qiren took a steadying breath and nodded. "If they’re still within the Cloud Recesses, they can’t have gone far. The guards haven’t reported anyone leaving, and there’s been no sign of a breach in the wards." His piercing gaze swept over the group. "Where would they go?"

"Mother’s house?" Lan Xichen offered weakly, though his voice lacked conviction. The suggestion earned him a series of incredulous looks.

"Too obvious," states Lan Qiren.

"Bunnies," Nie Huaisang blurted suddenly, his voice unusually sharp. The group turned to him in surprise. "Wuxian once eh.... told me that he figured out Lan-er-gongzi likes bunnies, yes that's it, he told me that... Isn’t there somewhere around here where they live?"

"Bunnies?" Lan Xichen echoed, his brows knitting in confusion. "Of course not. Pets are forbidden in the Cloud Recesses."

"Not exactly," Wen Qing said, her voice decisive. "There must be wild bunnies somewhere in Cloud Recess. A-Ying mentioned it once when he was drunk, he yapped about things like meeting Lan-er-gongzi on the first night of the guest lectures and gifting him two male rabbits that... well. If there’s anywhere nearby that might draw them, it’s there." Her eyes scanned the room, daring anyone to challenge her. "That’s our best lead."

Lan Qiren straightened, his presence commanding. "It might be the back hills. Then we’ll head there immediately. Wen-gongzi, please stay here and keep watch. I’ll notify the disciples to report to us if they uncover anything else." He turned to Lan Xichen, his sharp tone softening slightly. "We’ll find them, Xichen. Let’s move."

With the back hills as their goal, the group quickly mobilized, their footsteps echoing in the night as they hurried into the shadows, where the faint hope of finding Lan Wangji and Wei Wuxian awaited.

"Wei Ying, hold on. As soon as we arrive in Yilling I’ll take you to a healer immediately," Lan Zhan whispered urgently, his voice trembling as he knelt beside the bed in the dimly lit Jingshi. Wei Ying lay curled in agony, his pale hands clutching the thin blanket as a faint sheen of sweat glistened on his forehead. The sight twisted Lan Zhan’s heart painfully, but his calm mask remained steadfast. "Just a little longer, Wei Ying. I’m almost ready," he murmured, his voice gentle but resolute.

Lan Zhan moved swiftly to the chest near the corner of the room, his hands fumbling slightly as he retrieved a pouch of gold coins. "Forgive me, Wei Ying," he said softly, glancing back the younger man. "There’s no time to visit the treasury but I have everything we need to stay low for some months. I’ll take care of everything; I swear I will."

He gripped the pouch tightly, the weight of his decision settling like a stone in his chest. Gusu is not safe for Wei Ying. His home, once a sanctuary, had become a place of danger. There was no choice now but to leave.

A few precious minutes later, Lan Zhan carefully lifted Wei Ying into his arms. Though Wei Ying was feverish and limp, he stirred slightly at the motion, a faint, pained groan escaping his lips. Lan Zhan’s hold tightened protectively, his resolve solidifying with each step. He moved towards the door, his heart pounding with urgency.

But as he reached the threshold, he froze. The unmistakable hum of movement reached his ears. The Cloud Recesses were stirring. Shadows flickered in the distance, the faint glimmer of lanterns dotting the courtyard below. Lan Xichen must have realised what he had done. Lan Zhan’s breath hitched, the realization like ice down his spine.

There was no turning back now.

Steeling himself, Lan Zhan turned sharply on his heel, abandoning the main pathways of the Cloud Recesses. Instead, he angled toward the Back Hills, his strides purposeful despite the uneven terrain. The wards that protected the Cloud Recesses were strong, but not strong enough.

As they neared the familiar meadow of the Back Hills, Lan Zhan's chest tightened. This place held too many memories. The faint rustle of the wild grass whispered of a simpler time, of stolen moments with Wei Ying when the weight of the world hadn’t yet pressed so heavily upon them.

Yet tonight, there was no time for sentimentality.

Lan Zhan’s steps quickened, his eyes fixed ahead. The faint moonlight illuminated the patch of grass where he had once hidden A-Yuan among a group of wild bunnies. The little boy’s delighted laughter echoed in his mind, but Lan Zhan forced himself to focus. The bunnies scattered as he approached, their tiny forms darting into the safety of the brush. He didn’t stop to greet them. There was no time for his small, furry friends tonight.

His every thought was bent on one purpose: to escape. To save Wei Ying.

His heart thundered in his chest as he approached the edge of the wardline, the faint hum of the barrier resonating in his ears. "Almost there, Wei Ying," he murmured, his voice soft but firm. "Hold on. I won’t let anything happen to you. Not again."

Without hesitation, Lan Zhan pressed forward, his steps unyielding as he approached the weakness in the ward that Wei Ying once found and told him about. Behind him, the lights of the Cloud Recesses grew brighter, the distant sound of approaching voices cutting through the night. Time was running out.

The scene unfolded under the pale light of the moon, the tension almost tangible as Lan Xichen’s group stumbled upon Lan Wangji, who stood at the edge of the wardline in the Back Hills. In his arms, Wei Wuxian lays unconscious, his breathing shallow but steady. The moment was as still as a painting, save for the faint rustling of the wild grass and the labored breaths of the gathered disciples.

Lan Wangji looked up, his expression blank but his golden eyes sharp. A flicker of confusion and frustration crossed his features as he took in the group approaching him—Lan Xichen, Lan Qiren, Nie Mingjue, Nie Huaisang, and Wen Qing. His grip on Wei Wuxian tightened protectively.

“Wangji!” Lan Xichen called, relief mingling with apprehension. “What are you doing here? Where have you been? What happened?”

Lan Wangji’s brow furrowed as if the words held no meaning. He blinked slowly, his voice quiet but piercing. “Who are you to speak to me so casually, Zewu-jun?”

The group froze.

Lan Xichen stepped closer, his voice trembling. “Wangji... don’t you recognize me? I’m your brother.”

Lan Wangji tilted his head slightly, his gaze narrowing. “Brother? I think not. My brother’s last words to me were that the love I bore Wei Ying was my greatest mistake, just as his friendship with Meng Yao was his. After saying this nonsense he hid in seclusion, a coward who wasn't able to face the consequence of his actions. My so-called brother betrayed his own values for someone who simply said what he wanted to hear, betrayed his dignity as a cultivator and betrayed my trust in him. You are not my brother, you are nothing more than a traitor.”

The words hit Lan Xichen like a blow. He staggered back, his face pale, lips trembling as he struggled for a response.

Lan Wangji’s gaze swept over the group, settling on Lan Qiren with cold disdain. “And you.” His voice sharpened into steel. “You, the great elder of the Lan Clan. The keeper of our rules. The unwavering pillar of righteousness. Yet you, more than anyone, violate those same rules whenever it suits you. Hypocrite.” He spat the word like poison.

Lan Qiren stiffened, his mouth opening to respond, but Lan Wangji cut him off.

“You condemned Wei Ying before a single shred of evidence existed, branded him a bad influence, called him evil because of his mother’s name, her blood. Even when his innocence was proven, you clung to your hatred like a lifeline. You singled him out from the moment he set foot in the Cloud Recesses because you saw her in him, didn’t you? A reflection of the woman who defied you. You are nothing more than my father's brother, you are not my uncle. A uncle is someone who cares for children and their happiness. You only care for the hypocritical rules. How we felt was never one of your concerns, the only thing you cared about was if we are rule abiding puppets to you and the elders. Shame on you Lan Qiren! Even if you never wanted to care for your brother's sons, you failed as a human being.” His voice cracked slightly, his pain raw and unhidden.

Lan Qiren’s hands clenched tightly behind his back, but he remained silent.

Lan Wangji turned his glare back to his brother. “And you, Xichen. You’re so desperate for validation, for affection, that a bastard son of Jin Guangshan can flatter you, can pretend to care, and you fall for it and betray EVERYTHING your own sect stands for. You are a disgrace of a sect leader. You trust so easily that it blinds you to truth. You ignored every warning. You let him hurt me, kill Wei Ying, and so many others. You dismissed every warning from your brother just because Jin Guang-eh Meng Yao batted his eyelashes at you and never questioned the discrepancies? And when everything goes wrong, you hide? Someone as weak as you should never be allowed to become sect leader. While you wallowed in self-pity, my son and I did your work. You’re an even worse sect leader than our father.” His voice wavered, but he didn’t stop. “You betrayed me with your silence. You betrayed me when you stood there and watched them lash me thirty-three times with the Discipline Whip for protecting someone who had done nothing wrong. I’d rather leave the sect entirely or take my own life again than stay in this hypocritical, corrupt and treacherous sect while Wei Ying is once more condemned to death by you so-called paragons of righteousness.”

Lan Xichen looked like he might collapse under the weight of his brother’s words, his head bowed in shame. He opened his mouth to speak, but no sound came. What Lan Xichen hears right now is different to the memories he watched.

Lan Wangji’s gaze shifted to Nie Mingjue, a flicker of disgust crossing his face. “You,” he said coldly, stepping forward. “You are the greatest hypocrite of all. You damned Wei Ying for using resentment in his cultivation, yet your clan relies on beast cores to fuel your own cursed weapons. You condemned him as a threat, but your own cultivators walk to an early grave every day because of those sabers.”

Nie Mingjue’s eyes darkened, but he said nothing.

“And your hatred.” Lan Wangji’s voice grew quieter, sharper. “You hate so deeply, so blindly, that you would kill innocents just for the crime of bearing the wrong surname. Your venomous anger blinded you to the truth even as your own body began to betray you. Did you even notice you were being poisoned, or were you too busy plotting vengeance?”

Nie Mingjue’s jaw tightened, but Lan Wangji wasn’t finished. “I could not bring myself to grieve for you when Lan Xichen was devastated. You were one of the driving forces behind the siege. You spilled innocent blood with the Jin Clan’s lies as your guide. Happy to slaughter innocents with the surname Wen.”

A heavy silence followed, the air thick with unspoken accusations.

Lan Wangji turns to Lan Qiren, Lan Xichen, and Nie Mingjue. “I thought you were just, honorable, good. But all of you proved yourselves traitors, cowards and murderers, too willing to swallow Jin Guangshan’s beautiful lies without question. I hate people like you the most," he said, his words sharp. "You have taken away the good in my life, poisoned everything I hold dear, hindered my recuperation and made my son’s life miserable in the first years. You have no idea what it feels like to live with the weight of your actions." His eyes flickered with a quiet, seething fury, each word carrying the bitterness of years of frustration.

He turned abruptly to Wen Qing. His gaze softened, though his tone remained steady. “And you... You’re a ghost. I'm sure that Wei Ying misses you, he'd be happy to see you again. You were a real sister to him, unlike Jin-xiao-furen.”

The group stood stunned, the weight of Lan Wangji’s words settling heavily around them. Then, his eyes flicked to Nie Huaisang. Something in his posture shifted—his suspicion sharpening.

“And you,” he began, his voice edged with something dark. “What are you hiding—?”

Nie Huaisang, for the first time, dropped his mask of feigned ignorance. His voice rang clear and certain. “As much as I appreciated your speech, I don’t need it right now, Hanguang-jun. Wuxian needs help, and you should rest as well. You know what they say: Spider lilies and blue gentians...”

Lan Wangji froze, his eyes narrowing as the words registered. A heartbeat passed before he whispered the rest of the phrase, almost reflexively: “...are as beautiful as the mothers in my son’s family.”

The tension snapped like a bowstring, the hidden meaning behind Nie Huaisang’s words suddenly clear as Lan Wangji still holds Wei Wuxian in his arms and can’t tear his eyes away from Wen Qing and Nie Huaisang. It felt like an unbearable tug at reality, a sensation that threatened to suffocate him, yet he held onto the calm he had always carried within himself as tightly as possible.

"Good news, A-Ying’s condition hasn’t worsened," Wen Qing said, her voice steady but filled with concern, informing the people waiting in the hallway. "Half-bad news, A-Ying's core is netted with Yin energy. Bad news, the Yin energy can’t be extracted from his system. I believe his condition worsened earlier because he’s attuned to your energy, Hanguang-jun. Please keep that in mind moving forward. For now, he’s asleep in the room behind me, please do not disturb him."

Wen Qing had just finished speaking, her brow furrowed as she exchanged a look with her brother. Lan Zhan sank to his knees on the floor, bowing deeply before her.

"Wen-gu... eh, Wen-daifu, I thank you for everything you’ve done for Wei Ying, whether in his first life or now," he said sincerely, his voice soft but filled with gratitude. "I know that without you, I would have had to say goodbye to him much sooner. Also, Wen-gongzi, thank you and your sister for being a family to Wei Ying."

Wen Qing looked at him with a mixture of surprise and exasperation, shaking her head. "Hanguang-jun, please get up, your wounds are not fully healed."

"I’m fine," Lan Zhan replied firmly, not moving an inch.

"But how?" Wen Qing raised an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced. "Well, let's go to the treatment room, and I’ll take a look," she said, helping him to get up and leading him into the room.

"A-Ning, go fetch the ointment. I’ll take a look first," Wen Qing instructed as she followed Lan Zhan into the treatment room leaving the other stunned men in the hallway.

"Unbelievable, you were right," Wen Qing murmured as she placed her hands carefully on Lan Zhan's back and then on his wrist feeling the immense power of his Golden Core. "Please—wow. You really have a powerful Golden Core. This is beyond what I expected." Her voice was tinged with awe as she noted how his Golden Core had more than doubled in size since the previous day. "This explains the fever... A-Ying, A-Ning and I returned without issue, but A-Ning just came back yesterday."

"Wen-daifu, is what you said true?" Lan Zhan asked, his voice still uncertain as he adjusted his clothes and moved toward the door. "Are Wei Ying and I really engaged? Are we truly allowed to raise A-Yuan together?"

"Yes, it’s true," Wen Qing replied with a small, knowing smile. "Didn’t you notice? You’re not wearing your headband because it’s wrapped around A-Ying’s wrist. You did that after he severed ties with the Jiang family. You’re wearing his red hairband right now. He fixed your hair and tied it with his band."

Lan Zhan froze, his face turning red with sudden realization. Wen Qing chuckled softly, shaking her head at how clueless he still seemed. Wen Ning stepped into the room, carrying several jars in his hands.

"It’s also true that your brother wants to help relocate all the Dafan Wen, just as A-Ying wished. Even your uncle didn’t oppose the idea. I’m not entirely sure what happened after our deaths, but I can say with certainty that your family cares about your well-being. Please take that into consideration. I’m not saying you have no reason to hate them, but they’re trying. They haven’t yet made all the mistakes of the future."

"Oh, so it’s not just a dream," Lan Zhan murmured, his ears burning red with embarrassment.

When Ning continued, his voice softer. "Jiejie also spoke the tr-truth about A-Yuan. Wei-g-gongzi has been by A-Yuan’s side since his death, and you raised him like your own flesh and blood. But Jiejie... what about A-Ying?"

"A-Ying is here in the bed," Wen Qing replied, looking confused.

"I know, Jiejie, but I meant Wen Ying," Wen Ning interjected.

Lan Zhan and Wen Qing exchanged a look, both surprised.

Suddenly, Wen Qing gasped, raising her hands above her head as the realization dawned on her.

"Of course! Oh no, I’m such a terrible person. How could I have forgotten my niece?" she exclaimed, turning to Lan Zhan with wide eyes. "Hanguang-jun, would you be willing to adopt A-Ying, A-Yuan’s sister? She’ll be... um, almost two by the end of summer."

Lan Zhan’s eyes brightened, a soft smile forming on his lips. "Of course, we will take his sister as well. Our daughter, Lan Ying... that sounds like a dream come true. Wen-daifu, I've got a request..."

Lan Zhan stepped into the hallway, his eyes sweeping over the four men gathered before him. There was no trace of hesitation in his movements, only the quiet intensity of someone who had made his decision and was ready to face whatever came next.

"Huaisang, stay here with Wen-daifu and Wei Ying," he commanded, his voice calm but filled with authority. "Since you seem to be fully informed, make sure your brother knows what is necessary. We will discuss what you've done once I return. Lan Qiren, Lan Xichen, Wen-daifu has informed me that you have accepted Wei Ying. I will take that at face value for now, but I will be watching you. As for your efforts to help relocate and protect the Dafan Wen, you have my gratitude." He bowed to his relatives, the movement stiff but dignified.

"I ask that you, Lan Xichen, accompany me and Wen Ning. We need to retrieve my son and daughter... and Wen Popo." The words hung in the air, heavy with a deeper implication. Lan Zhan did not allow himself the luxury of emotional expression, but the weight of what he was about to say, of what was happening, pressed down on him.

"Your daughter?" Lan Xichen's voice held a note of surprise. "Wen Qing and Wei Wuxian told me about A-Yuan, and I’ve seen him as Sizhui in Wei Ying’s memories, but since when do you have a daughter?"

"...Wei Ying showed you his memories?" Lan Zhan’s voice wavered slightly, a flicker of vulnerability breaking through the calm façade. He had not expected that.

"Yes," Xichen replied. "He said it was necessary for us to understand him."

"I see," Lan Zhan said, nodding slowly. "It was a wise choice. I hope now you understand that Wei Ying is too good for this world—too good for all of you." He shook his head, an almost imperceptible sigh escaping his lips, before he fixed his gaze back on them. "And yes, I have a daughter. A-Yuan’s sister, who perished before I could have met her because of your actions. I don’t know if she died in one of the Jin labour camps you claimed to know nothing about, or if she fell victim to other atrocities of the clans, but regardless, Wei Ying and I have two children. Lan Ying and Lan Yuan."

"Lan Qiren," he continued, his tone growing firmer, "Please find a wet nurse by this evening and ensure that children’s clothing is placed here, along with a crib and a baby bed in front of the sickroom. I want Wei Ying’s children to be with him when he wakes. Prepare accommodation for Wen Popo as well, though I do not know her proper name yet."

"Nie-zongzhu," Lan Zhan’s eyes narrowed, his gaze cold, "as soon as Huaisang has briefed you on what we discussed, you may return to your sect. And while you’re at it, think about what you’ll offer Wei Ying for the chance to resolve your resentment problem with your saber cultivation. Huaisang would be sad if you died again before thirty."

Lan Xichen opened his mouth to protest, but Huaisang cut in, "Wangji-xiong, Wuxian and I will soon be sworn brothers, and I’ll personally oversee the relocation of the Dafan Wen. He's my first friend, you know that! Do you really think Wei Wuxian would refuse us he—"

"Huaisang," Lan Zhan interrupted, his voice sharp, cutting through the air like a blade. "Do not take advantage of Wei Ying’s kindness. Of course, he would help you without expecting anything in return. We all know that. He doesn’t hold grudges, but I do. He should be compensated for his efforts if he helps, or you'll be no better than the Jiangs. We can discuss that later. Until I return, watch over Wei Ying. You and Wen Qing are the only ones I trust here."

Turning to Lan Xichen, he added, "Be at the main entrance in no more than an incense stick's time. We leave then."

With that, Lan Zhan turned and walked swiftly back into Wei Ying's room, where the two Wens were waiting. The weight of his words lingered in the air, a promise of what was to come, and the resolve to protect what mattered most.

Just before the time was up, after everything had been discussed with Wen Qing and her brother, Lan Zhan made his way back to his fiancé one last time. He stood by Wei Ying’s side, his heart heavy with unspoken words. Leaning down, he placed a soft, lingering kiss on Wei Ying’s forehead, a fleeting moment of tenderness amidst the uncertainty of the coming hours. His actions spoke volumes more than any words could, filled with the weight of promises and unvoiced emotions.

"You must have wondered why his face is bandaged," Wen Qing began, her tone gentle yet firm. "You, A-Ying, and Nie Huaisang were all attacked by Jiang Wanyin with Zidian, right after A-Ying freed himself. You both protected him, but unfortunately, Zidian struck his face. We managed to save the qi nerve bundle in his eye and the pathway. It’s been sealed now. We had no choice but to remove the eye, but his qi system remains intact. I’m confident that with time, he will find a way to adapt and move forward."

With one final, lingering look at Wei Ying, Lan Zhan straightened, turning towards Wen Qing to bow deeply in gratitude and respect. The silence in the room was thick with anticipation as Wen Qing handed him an envelope, her fingers brushing against his briefly.

“Give this letter directly to Wen Popo once A-Ning takes you to her,” she instructed, her voice steady but with an underlying edge of concern.

Lan Zhan nodded solemnly, accepting the letter with the same careful attention he always afforded matters of great importance. “Understood, thank you.” He tucked the letter securely into his robes, his expression unreadable. “We should return here shortly after dinner.”

Wen Qing gave him a nod of acknowledgment as he turned to leave, and Wen Ning followed him out of the room. The weight of the day, the decisions to be made, and the people left behind were pressing heavily on his chest.

As they made their way toward the door, Lan Qiren hesitated, stepping forward with an almost reluctant expression. “Here, Wang—eh, Hanguang-jun, a little something for your journey… and some provisions for the head of the Dafan Wen.” He handed over a small bundle of supplies, clearly not quite sure of the words to say, though his actions were filled with awkward nervousness. His reluctance to part from them was palpable, but duty called.

“Wen-daifu is the head of the Dafan Wen,” Lan Zhan replied, his tone cool but firm, as always, with the conviction that things would unfold as they must.

“Ah, of c-course. Thank you, Lan-Xiansheng,” Wen Ning replied, sensing the tension and striving to ease it. He smiled lightly, trying to create a more amicable atmosphere. “Lan-Er-Gongzi will deliver this to Wen Popo.”

“Thank you,” Lan Qiren muttered, his gaze flickering toward the quiet Lan Xichen, who had been unusually reserved in the past moments. It was clear that he, too, felt the heavy weight of the situation but was unsure how to express it. His silence spoke volumes.

"Let’s get going, we can’t afford to waste time," Lan Zhan said, his voice cutting through the moment with his usual resolve. His mind was already focused on what lay ahead, the task at hand demanding all of his attention.

“Safe travels and I will have everything prepared for your children, Hanguang-jun,” Lan Qiren called after them, his voice a little softer now, a tinge of warmth in his words. He had offered what he could, what was expected, but still, his heart carried a heavy ache. 

With a final nod, the group exited the Cloud Recess. Their departure was more than just a physical act, it was the beginning of something far greater, a turning point in the lives of those who had been caught up in this whirlwind of fate.

"A-Ning, what are you doing here?" asked a middle-aged man, his expression one of surprise as he noticed the two young men in white standing behind the younger Wen Ning.

"Ah, Uncle Four, we’re looking for Popo. Do you know where she is?" Wen Ning asked.

"She's in the doctor's house right now. Little A-Yuan isn’t doing well at the moment, but we don’t have the right herbs here or something like that. She’s a little tense at the moment..." the man explained to the group.

"Thank you, Uncle," Wen Ning said, and the two Lan men gave polite bows before following Wen Ning toward the doctor's house.

"Popo, are you here?" Wen Ning called out.

"A-Ning, over here!" came the reply from behind.

"Hello, Popo. May I introduce Lan Xichen, heir to the GusuLan Sect, and his younger brother, Lan Wangji," Wen Ning said, presenting his companions.

"Lan-Gongzi, Lan-Er-Gongzi, it’s a pleasure to meet you. My name is Wen Fang, and in the absence of my niece, I’m currently the head of the DafanWen. How can I assist you?" When Popo introduced herself.

"He—here is a letter from Wen-guniang and something from the Lan Sect. We would like to take you and the young ones, La—eh, Wen Ying and Wen Yuan, to the Cloud Recesses," Lan Zhan said nervously, not like the domineering war veteran like before, his tone earning a puzzled glance from Wen Popo.

"He speaks the truth. Jiejie helped with the plan and she probably mentioned it in the letter as well," Wen Ning explained, prompting Wen Popo to read the letter. The three young men watched intently, their gazes sharp and full of anticipation.

After a few moments, tears welled up in Wen Popo’s eyes, and she looked uncertainly between Wen Ning and Lan Zhan. "Is this true? Is it really true that you will help us break free from QishanWen?"

Lan Zhan nodded in confirmation. His older brother, Lan Xichen, then spoke. "It is true. I swear that GusuLan will do everything in its power to help relocate your family and protect all members of the DafanWen should conflict arise." He bowed respectfully.

"And it’s true that A-Ying and A-Yuan will be adopted?" Wen Popo pressed, her voice trembling slightly.

"That is correct. My fiancé and I will adopt the two children, and I assure you that we will do everything in our power to make them happy, with or without the Lan Sect's involvement. I imagine my fiancé would also be willing to live in the future DafanWen settlement and I promise we won’t keep the children from you or from Wen Qing or Wen Ning, not ever," Lan Zhan said, his tone firm and resolute.

"Very well," Wen Popo said, her voice a little softer now. "I’ll accompany you. A-Qing wrote to me, asking me to come because there are things to discuss. Give me half an incense stick's time. I need to inform my cousin. I must say, it’s almost as if you arrived just in time. The little one, A-Yuan, needs help urgently, and I have no one I could safely send to Qishan to fetch the necessary herbs. The Lan healers should surely have something for us." Wen Popo spoke with an air of relief, as though a heavy burden had been lifted from her shoulders.

After the evening meal, Wen Qing stood by the entrance to the Cloud Recesses, the cool mountain air brushing against her face. She didn’t have to wait long before a group of four adults and two young children appeared, the soft glow of moonlight illuminating their forms.

"POPO!" Wen Qing cried out, her voice trembling with joy as she ran to embrace the older woman. The warmth in the hug was palpable, the kind only family could offer after too long apart, after seeing her family die.

"A-Qing, it’s so good to see you," Wen Popo said, her voice steady yet gentle. She held her niece tightly before pulling back with a kind smile. "I suggest we head straight to the Healing Pavilion. A-Yuan needs attention, and I would also like to examine your patient."

Wen Qing nodded quickly, brushing away the tears welling in her eyes as she glanced briefly at the children. She couldn’t help the lump in her throat when she saw the tiny boy and his older sister.

"Let’s go," Lan Zhan said softly, his voice calm as he adjusted the small A-Yuan in his arms. The boy had been crying quietly, his little fists clutching Lan Zhan’s robes. Lan Zhan murmured soothing words, gently bouncing him until the cries turned to sniffles. Wen Popo observed him carefully, a spark of approval lighting her gaze as she noticed the tender care with which he held the child.

"He’s quite dependable, isn’t he?" Wen Popo asked her niece as the group began making their way.

"Yes," Wen Qing replied with conviction. "He and his fiancé have my complete trust." There was no hesitation in her tone, no room for doubt.

"Oh ho! Then this fiancé must be an extraordinary woman," Wen Popo teased with a twinkle in her eye, clearly intending to praise.

Wen Qing giggled, covering her mouth. "An extraordinary young man, actually," she corrected, her laughter drawing a matching chuckle from her aunt.

"Well then, let’s take a look at this Wei Ying of yours," Wen Popo said with a knowing smile, continuing her quiet conversation with her niece as they walked.

Soon, the group entered the Healing Pavilion. Lan Qiren’s face lit up as he saw the children, a rare expression of warmth softening his usually stern features.

"Welcome to the Cloud Recesses," he said, bowing respectfully. "I am Acting Sect Leader Lan, Lan Qiren. I trust my nephews have explained everything, and that you had a pleasant journey. Everything for the children has been prepared. I can also have the servants draw baths for them if needed."

"Thank you for the care you’ve shown my family," Wen Popo replied graciously. "My name is Wen Fang. I would like to examine the patient and have A-Yuan seen by a healer as well. A-Qing is familiar with the details."

Lan Qiren nodded. "Of course. Wei Wuxian is resting here," he said, leading Wen Popo toward the room. Meanwhile, the Lan and Wen siblings head towards the other healers with the children to ensure A-Yuan was treated promptly.

Inside Wei Ying's infirmary room, Wen Popo was in the midst of examining the young man when the rest of the group returned.

"I’ve bathed A-Ying," Lan Zhan said as he entered, his voice low but steady. "Lan-Xiansheng, where are the robes you prepared?"

Wen Popo exchanged a quick look with Wen Qing, who subtly shook her head, her expression carefully neutral as she held the sleeping A-Yuan in her arms.

"I’ll fetch them immediately," Lan Qiren said, disappearing briefly before returning with pristine white Lan robes, perfectly tailored for a child.

Lan Zhan took them and, with practiced ease, dressed A-Ying. His movements were graceful and precise, a testament to his care. The others in the room watched in quiet admiration, their awe clear in their gazes.

Wen Popo finally broke the silence, clearing her throat softly. "Wen Qing, you and Lan-Daifu have done truly excellent work. It’s unusual that he hasn’t woken yet, but not alarming. I’ll stay until the day after tomorrow, just in case. If he hasn’t stirred by then, we can reassess. Lan-Er-Gongzi," she addressed the younger Lan brother, "could you arrange for some food for A-Ying?"

"Please, call me Wangji," Lan Zhan said with a small bow. "I’ve already arranged it, congee is being prepared for A-Ying, and the wet nurse should arrive shortly."

"Good," Wen Popo replied, her approval evident in her tone. "The children are in excellent hands. Now, we only need your fiancé to wake. And please, call me Popo." She smiled warmly, and Lan Xichen, watching his brother closely, couldn’t miss the subtle flush of pride on Lan Zhan’s usually stoic face.

Lan Qiren, standing quietly nearby, felt an unexpected pang in his chest as he observed the scene. His younger nephew, typically reserved and distant, had no difficulty showing open respect and warmth toward this woman—a stranger to their sect. It was a stark contrast to the wall that seemed to have grown between himself and Wangji, even before today.

As Lan Zhan respectfully inclined his head to Wen Popo, his movements steady and genuine, Lan Qiren’s fingers curled slightly in the folds of his robes. How effortlessly Wangji seemed to connect with her, how natural his deference appeared. It left Qiren feeling raw and uncertain, his inadequacy sharper in the glow of the elder woman’s gentle smile.

Perhaps, Lan Qiren thought with a twinge of regret, I’ve failed him in ways I’ll never be able to mend.

“L-Lan Zhan? What happened?” a soft, hoarse voice broke through the quiet.

Lan Zhan, who had been meditating on his bed since the evening, immediately moved closer, his eyes full of relief as he saw Wei Ying awake.

“Wei Ying, I… I’m so sorry. I left you alone. Please, forgive me. I will never let anyone hurt you again. I swear, I will always protect you and the children,” Lan Zhan said, his usually calm tone laced with urgency as he reached for Wei Ying’s hand.

“What?” Wei Ying croaked, his confusion evident.

“Jiang Wanyin attacked us with Zidian,” Lan Zhan began, his voice trembling slightly. “I managed to shield you from most of it, but… Zidian struck your eye. Wen Qing had to remove it completely to preserve your qi pathways and nerves. They’re sealed for now, but the system remains intact. I… I’m so sorry I couldn’t protect you better.”

Wei Ying blinked, trying to absorb the information. “Oh. Okay. Thank you, Lan Zhan. And… what’s that?” he asked, his attention drawn to a soft rustling sound near the bed.

Lan Zhan shifted slightly to reveal a small bundle nearby. “This is our daughter, Lan Ying,” he said, his tone softening as he gently adjusted the blankets around the child. “Don’t worry—Wen Popo says she’s the soundest sleeper in the family. A plate shattered near her once, and she didn’t even stir.”

Wei Ying’s brows furrowed. “Our daughter? Lan Zhan, where did she come from? She looks so much like A-Yuan…”

Lan Zhan nodded. “She’s A-Yuan’s older sister. A-Yuan is with the wet nurse right now. We didn’t get the chance to meet her in… the last timeline before she… before she passed.”

Wei Ying’s confusion deepened, and he stared at Lan Zhan. “What do you mean? What last timeline?”

“I’ve returned this morning, Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan said quietly, his lips curving into a faint, bittersweet smile. “My wish has been granted. I’m here with you again.”

“From where? From… when?” Wei Ying asked, his voice cautious.

Lan Zhan took a deep breath. “I was 42 when I… when I ended my suffering. My last wish, to be reunited with you, was granted, and now I’m here. Back with you.”

A tear slipped down Wei Ying’s cheek as he processed Lan Zhan’s words. “A-Yuan mourned for you, you know. He missed his father terribly.”

“I’m sorry,” Lan Zhan murmured, his tone heavy with guilt. “But by then, he was strong enough not to need me anymore. I had nothing left to anchor me to that life. But now, A-Yuan—and his sister—will grow up with both of us.”

Wei Ying hesitated, then asked, “Lan Zhan… don't you hate me? If you want to break the engagement, I’ll understand. You don’t have to carry the responsibility left by the… other Lan Zhan.”

“Never,” Lan Zhan said firmly, his eyes steady. “I am grateful that the Wangji from before had the courage to take that step. Or perhaps the circumstances forced him to act. Regardless, Wei Ying, I love you. I always have. I always will. There has only ever been you. If I could, I would marry you right this moment.”

Wei Ying’s lips curved into a small, teasing smile. “Oh, Lan Zhan, I love you too. But don’t you think your family might be a little disappointed if we did that?”

Lan Zhan’s expression darkened slightly. “They are nothing to me. One is a coward and the other a hypocrite. If you knew what my so-called family did in your absence…” He exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “If you wish, I will gladly sever all ties with them. Don’t spare them a single thought, Wei Ying.”

Wei Ying blinked, his large eyes wide with surprise. “No, Lan Zhan. I don’t want that for you. This is your home, and they haven’t yet made the mistakes you hold against them. Your father is still alive, and your uncle… he’s slowly warming up to me, it's like he's seeing Wei Ying and not just the son of my mother. You don’t need to love them, but please be civil. They’ll be the family of our children too. And your brother… well, he hasn’t failed you or the DafanWen yet, has he? Now, there are two Wen children here.”

“Two Lan children…And Wen Popo,” Lan Zhan conceded with a quiet nod.

“See? We’ll manage.” Wei Ying smiled.

“Mhm,” Lan Zhan replied simply.

“Good. Now, I’m making room for you to lie down next to me,” Wei Ying said, scooting closer to the wall.

Lan Zhan moved to lie beside him, their shoulders brushing as they gazed at the ceiling.

After a moment of silence, Wei Ying whispered, “Lan Zhan, don’t blame yourself for my eye. I know you did everything to protect me. You shielded me with your own body and got whipped. Thank you.”

“No need for thanks between us,” Lan Zhan murmured back, his voice low.

Wei Ying smiled faintly. “Still. Thank you, Lan Zhan. As long as I can channel qi through the pathways, I won’t give up hope of seeing again, so please don't blame yourself. Did I ever tell you about my thoughts on prosthetics? When we were in the Burial Mounds, some of the Wen survivors were injured. I wanted to help but didn’t have the resources. Do you think I could create something even better than a human eye?”

“Wei Ying is Wei Ying. If that is your wish, you will create something to surpass the human eye and see even clearer than before.”

Wei Ying laughed softly. “Lan Zhan, you flatter me. You should warn me before saying such things—my poor heart can’t take it. Hmm… do you think a golden eye like yours would suit me, Lan-er-gege?” he teased, his voice lilting.

“Wei Ying is beautiful,” Lan Zhan replied, his faintly red ears mercifully hidden in the dim room.

Wei Ying chuckled again, then yawned. “I can’t wait to see A-Yuan tomorrow morning.”

“Me too. Now, sleep, Wei Ying.”

“Mhm. Good night, Lan Zhan.”

“Good night, Wei Ying.”

Chapter Text

The sky outside was still dark, the faintest hint of dawn just beginning to tease the edges of the horizon. The Healing Pavilion was quiet, cloaked in the stillness that only came in the hour before morning. Wen Qing moved silently through the corridor, her robes whispering against the floor.

A-Ying had woken her, mumbling sleepily about needing to relieve herself and Wen Qing had dutifully taken her. Now, with the child safely returned to her cot, she decided to check on Wei Ying one last time before preparing for the day.

She pushed the door open gently, careful not to make a sound.

Then she stopped.

There, in the dim light, she saw them, Wei Ying lying on the bed, his face calm, his breathing steady. And beside him, half-covered by the blanket, was Lan Wangji. Not seated, not standing watch, but lying there next to him, their shoulders nearly touching.

Wen Qing froze in place. Her eyes widened slightly, her breath caught in her throat.

Lan Wangji would never allow himself such closeness without permission. Which meant only one thing.

Wei Ying was awake earlier.

She didn’t speak. She didn’t need to. For a long moment, she stood in the doorway, unmoving.

Lan Wangji’s eyes snapped open the moment the door creaked. In a blink, his hand moved from beneath the blanket, summoning Bichen.

“It’s me,” came her calm voice in the dark, before he could rise or speak. “Wen Qing.”

He stilled. Her tone was steady, quiet, respectful. Recognizing it, he allowed his shoulders to lower slightly. In the pale blue-grey light seeping through the screens, he saw her step further inside, her hands empty and clearly meant to show peace.

“I was just checking on him,” she added, almost apologetically. “I’ll go prepare some tea.”

She turned with a slight bow and left without waiting for a reply, the door falling silently shut behind her.

Lan Wangji remained where he was for a moment longer, the soft sound of Wei Ying’s breathing beside him grounding him once more. The night had been hard. Wei Ying had stirred earlier, confused, disoriented but Lan Zhan had been there, had taken his hand, had spoken softly until his tension eased. Until sleep claimed him again.

Now, in the dim light of approaching dawn, Lan Wangji turned slightly and looked at him. Wei Ying’s face was peaceful, for once. The deep creases of exhaustion had softened, and the corners of his lips were relaxed in the barest hint of calm.

Lan Wangji leaned in and, with utmost care, pressed a chaste kiss to his forehead—no more than a whisper of contact.

He straightened again and finally glanced at the chair he had intended to use earlier that night. Something caught his eye. He leaned in.

The door opened again, and Wen Qing stepped back inside, carrying a small tray with a teapot and two cups. The steam drifted gently upward in the cool air.

“A-Yuan drank well just now, I spoke to the wet-nurse,” she said quietly as she set the tray down. “And A-Ying’s fallen asleep again. She’ll likely stay that way until morning.”

Lan Wangji gave a small nod of acknowledgment.

“Wei Ying… woke earlier,” he said after a moment. “He seemed unsure. Confused. But he calmed. He’s resting peacefully now.”

Wen Qing glanced toward the bed, and her gaze softened just slightly.

“He’s lucky you were here.”

Lan Wangji did not answer that. He simply poured the tea, his movements precise, steady.

The quiet between them was companionable, peaceful. A silence that didn’t demand to be filled. Two people sharing the same space, the same concern, with no need for words.

But then, a soft cry pierced it—high and uncertain.

A-Ying.

Wen Qing rose with a quiet breath and stepped out. A moment later, she returned, gently rocking the sleepy little girl in her arms. A-Ying blinked drowsily, her small fists curling into Wen Qing’s robes.

Without a word, Wen Qing walked over and carefully placed the child into Lan Wangji’s arms.

He looked down at the tiny bundle, eyes wide with something like awe. A-Ying stared right back at him, just as wide-eyed, unblinking.

“Hello, little one,” he said softly, almost reverently.

He glanced toward the bed, where Wei Ying still slept, then back to the child.

“That is your baba,” he said gently, nodding toward Wei Ying. “And I… I’m your a-die. Your name is Lan Ying. I’m very glad to meet you.”

A-Ying’s little brow furrowed as if she were deep in thought. Then suddenly, she blurted: “DI!”

Lan Wangji’s lips twitched, the faintest smile.

“Yes,” he said, voice warm. “Exactly. A-die. A… die.”

“Didi!” she cried, triumphant.

From across the room, Wen Qing covered her mouth but couldn’t hold back a soft chuckle.

Lan Wangji looked momentarily startled, then oddly amused.

Close enough.

Lan Wangji adjusted his hold on A-Ying, her tiny fingers now curled into the edge of his robe. She was warm and surprisingly calm in his arms, like she's been there her whole life, her wide eyes still exploring his face with quiet fascination.

“Can you say baba?” he asked her softly, brushing a bit of sleep-tousled hair from her forehead.

She blinked. Thought about it.

“Ba…” she tried, her little mouth struggling with the shape. “Ba… ba?”

Lan Wangji nodded, voice gentle with encouragement. “Yes. Baba. That’s your father.”

She giggled. A soft, bubbling sound and smacked a small hand against his chest, proud of herself. “Baba!”

Lan Wangji couldn’t help it—his expression softened entirely, the barest hint of pride warming his usually still features.

He stood carefully, keeping her close, and turned toward the bed.

“Come,” he said. “Let me show you your baba.”

Wei Ying lay on his side, half-curled beneath the blanket, the pale light of dawn brushing across his face. His long hair was loose and spilled across the pillow in a soft, dark cascade. His expression was peaceful, his breathing slow and even.

Lan Wangji looked down at A-Ying and pointed gently. “That’s your baba.”

A-Ying stared hard.

Then her eyes lit up and she exclaimed, delighted, “A-niang!”

Lan Wangji blinked. His mouth opened slightly.

He turned slowly to Wen Qing, who was already covering her mouth again, her eyes shining with suppressed laughter.

Lan Wangji looked back at A-Ying, then once more at the slumbering Wei Ying—hair loose, face serene.

He looked entirely helpless.

“…She’s not entirely wrong,” Wen Qing murmured, barely containing her amusement.

Lan Wangji said nothing, but the look he gave her was a mix of quiet resignation and complete bewilderment.

By now, the sun had truly risen. Its golden light filtered softly through the paper windows of the Healing Pavilion, casting long, gentle beams across the floor. The quiet hush of early morning had shifted into something more aware, more watchful.

The door slid open with practiced grace, and two figures stepped in.

Lan Qiren entered first, his hands folded behind his back, robes immaculate as always. Lan Xichen followed quietly, his smile gentle but reserved, eyes immediately drifting toward the bed where Wei Wuxian lay still sleeping.

Lan Wangji straightened slightly, A-Ying still nestled calmly against his chest.

“We came to check on your… fiancé,” Lan Qiren said, each syllable measured, his gaze flickering briefly to Wei Wuxian before returning to Wangji. “Has he regained full consciousness?”

Lan Wangji didn’t answer right away. His eyes narrowed slightly, not disrespectful, but wary. His whole posture had shifted, more guarded now. Protective.

Lan Xichen stepped forward, his voice smoother, more earnest. “We were concerned. Your fiancé’s condition has weighed heavily on many.”

“Mn,” Lan Wangji replied quietly. Acknowledgment, but little more.

There was a silence—thin, brittle, stretching a little too long.

Lan Xichen, ever the peacemaker, smiled gently and turned toward the little girl in Wangji’s arms.

“And this must be Lan Ying,” he said softly. “I’ve heard much about you, little one.”

A-Ying blinked at him, thumb hovering near her mouth.

“I am your bobo,” Xichen said kindly, bowing ever so slightly to her height. “It’s very nice to meet you.”

She looked at him. Then she looked at Wei Ying, still sleeping peacefully with his hair spilling over the edge of the pillow.

And, with all the certainty a toddler could summon, she pointed straight at Wei Ying and declared, “A-niang!”

A silence fell over the room like a dropped teacup.

Lan Qiren closed his eyes and let out a long, world-weary sigh. He pinched the bridge of his nose.

Lan Wangji turned his head—slowly, very slowly—and gave his uncle a look so sharp and withering, it could have split a tree in half.

Lan Qiren did not speak.

From the corner, Wen Qing muffled a snort far too late to hide it.

Lan Xichen, to his credit, managed to keep a straight face. Mostly.

A soft breath, then a flicker of movement.

Wei Ying stirred beneath the blanket, lashes fluttering, a small wince creasing his brow as sensation slowly returned. He blinked once—twice—then squinted into the morning light and the not-so-empty room.

He sat up abruptly.

“…Why does it feel like half the cultivation world decided to host a Discussion Conference in my room?” he rasped, voice dry but unmistakably alive with that familiar spark.

A-Ying, still nestled against Lan Wangji’s shoulder, blinked at him in delight.

Wen Qing stepped forward with clinical calm. “You’re awake. Good. Then I won’t waste time.”

Wei Ying reached up and touched the bandage over his eye. His fingers hovered there, hesitant, before he dropped his hand with a quiet sigh.

“I know,” he murmured. “I know what’s wrong with it. I can feel it.”

His voice wasn’t bitter—just… resigned.

“But if this is the price for being free again…” He looked up, gaze steady, voice low. “Then I’ll pay it without regret. Better to lose an eye than my golden core.”

The silence that followed was absolute.

Lan Wangji turned sharply, his eyes locked onto Wei Ying as if the world had tilted beneath his feet.

Wei Ying met his gaze, calm despite the storm he knew he was about to unleash.

“I gave it to Jiang Ch-Wanyin,” he said simply. “Back then. When we were still boys pretending we could save everything with just our own strength. I thought it was the right thing to do—because he was the heir, and I was just… me.”

His smile was fragile but honest.

“I thought I didn’t matter. But Qing-jie—” He looked toward Wen Qing, something soft and reverent in his voice, “—she didn’t let me believe that for long. She knocked some sense into me. Made me realize I had worth. That I needed to stop throwing myself away like I didn’t.”

Lan Wangji’s expression cracked—just enough for the pain to show.

Without hesitation, he shifted, turned to face Wen Qing and offered the child into her arms. She took her without a word, her touch careful, practiced, maternal.

Lan Wangji dropped to his knees. His forehead touched the floor.

“Wen Qing,” he said, voice low and trembling, “I am ashamed for every cruelty done to you and your people with the Lan Sect’s silent consent. I thank you—for staying by Wei Ying’s side when I turned away. For having the courage I lacked.”

He lifted his head slowly, meeting her gaze with reverence.

“Please. Stay with us. Be his sister—truly and always. He needs you... We need you.”

Wen Qing was very still, her lips pressed into a line—but her eyes shimmered just faintly.

Behind them, Lan Xichen’s brows rose in quiet astonishment about the truth Wei Wuxian dropped so casually and the reaction it provoked from his brother. Even Lan Qiren, stone-faced as ever, looked briefly shaken, though he said nothing.

Finally, the elder Lan cleared his throat and addressed Wei Ying directly, the stiffness in his voice unable to fully mask a note of genuine concern.

“Putting the eye aside—how do you feel?” he asked. “Do you need anything?”

Wei Ying blinked, then tilted his head. “Honestly? I wouldn’t mind a bottle of Emperor’s Smi—”

Lan Wangji was already reaching for Bichen, prepared to vanish and return with a jug before anyone could blink.

“No.” Wen Qing stepped forward, her voice sharp as a drawn blade. “A-Ying. The older one, not you little a-Ying.” She said looking at the little girl in Lan Zhan's arm.

That tone stopped him mid-sentence—and stopped Lan Wangji mid-movement.

“Rule number one,” she said, arms crossed. “You stay sober, or you don’t get to have children. I’ve already seen what you become when you lose yourself in alcohol. I’m not going through that again. And neither are your children.”

Wei Ying pouted, visibly wounded. “I was just asking…”

The three Lans turned to look at him. Their silence was heavy. Judging.

Oh gods, Wei Ying thought, they think I’m a disaster.

A-Ying, completely unfazed, smacked her tiny hand against Lan Wangji’s chest and beamed.

Lan Qiren exhaled through his nose, muttering something unintelligible before turning for the door.

“I’ll… look for some sweet tea,” he grumbled, already halfway out.

The moment the door slid shut behind him, Wei Ying flopped back onto the pillow and muttered to the ceiling, “…That almost went well.”

“Wei Ying, I want you to meet someone properly,” Lan Wangji said softly, interrupting the moment of self-pity.

Wei Ying blinked, his expression warming. “Someone besides the entire Lan family who’s already come in here today?”

Lan Wangji ignored the quip, then turned to Wen Qing and nodded.

Understanding the moment, she stepped forward and handed A-Ying to him once more.

Lan Wangji cradled the child gently, then knelt beside Wei Ying’s bed, shifting A-Ying so she was facing her sleepy father.

Her wide eyes blinked at him, her mouth already twitching into something mischievous.

Lan Wangji’s voice was almost reverent.

“A-Ying,” he said softly, “this is your baba.”

Wei Ying’s lips parted. He stared at the tiny girl in stunned silence, his expression unreadable—until emotion started to flicker behind his eyes, fast and overwhelming.

A-Ying looked at him. Her little face scrunched thoughtfully, eyes darting to his loose hair, the delicate lines of his features, the faint weariness softening his face.

She tilted her head.

And then, with perfect clarity and absolute conviction, she pointed at him and declared:

“A-niang!”

Wei Ying froze. “…What?”

He blinked again, stunned. His mouth opened. Then closed. Then opened again.

Wen Qing turned aside, shoulders shaking with silent laughter.

Lan Wangji looked absolutely mortified.

A-Ying giggled, completely delighted with herself.

Wei Ying turned to him, wide-eyed, and managed to whisper, “She just called me… a-niang.”

Lan Wangji nodded slowly, utterly solemn. “She did.”

“…I— I don’t even know how to respond to that.”

But Lan Wangji only reached out with one hand and brushed a lock of hair behind Wei Ying’s ear.

“It suits you,” he said quietly, utterly sincere.

Wei Ying stared at him, speechless.

A-Ying, beaming, tucked herself into Lan Wangji’s chest and repeated with complete certainty, “A-niang.”

The door slid open again—this time more quietly.

Lan Qiren stepped back into the room, carrying a small wooden tray with a pot of gently steaming sweet tea and two delicate porcelain cups. He paused in the doorway for a brief moment, taking in the scene.

Wei Wuxian was now sitting upright in the bed, his loose hair spilling over his shoulders like ink. His one good eye tracked the motion with tired interest. A-Ying sat comfortably in his lap, her head resting against his chest, her little fingers tugging curiously at the ends of his hair.

Lan Qiren approached and set the tray down on the low table near the bed, his movements meticulous.

Then, without preamble, he turned to Wen Qing.

“How long will Wei Wuxian need to remain here?”

Wen Qing looked up from where she was reviewing something in a small notebook. “At least three days,” she said firmly. “Probably more.”

Wei Wuxian let out a loud, theatrical groan and flopped back against the pillows. A-Ying giggled at the jostle.

“Three days? What am I supposed to do in here? Learn embroidery?”

Lan Qiren gave him a long, unreadable look. He didn’t respond right away. Instead, his eyes lingered on Wei Wuxian—on the bandaged eye, the restless fingers, the coiled tension in his shoulders. Then he seemed to retreat inward, as if turning over something in his mind, slowly and deliberately.

He leaned subtly toward Wen Qing, lowering his voice so only she could hear.

“Anything that might help keep him... occupied? Calm?” He asked.

Wen Qing arched a brow, then glanced at Wei Wuxian, who was now trying to teach A-Ying how to braid his hair with precisely zero coordination between them.

“He needs to get used to using only one eye,” she murmured back. “That’s enough of a challenge on its own. Depth perception, balance, fine motor skills—it all changes. It’s not painful, but it will be disorienting. For someone like him, who was always so fast, so reactive…”

She let the rest hang.

Lan Qiren nodded slowly. “So… nothing?”

“Nothing,” she confirmed. “For once, he really just has to sit still.”

Wei Wuxian, apparently catching the tone if not the words, pouted up at them.

“I’m literally right here, you know. You don’t need to whisper like I’m some unruly disciple you’ve locked in a scroll room.”

“You’re not some unruly disciple,” Lan Qiren muttered without thinking. “You’re the unruly disciple.”

Wei Wuxian gasped in mock outrage, then burst out laughing, shaking his head—and with her timing as perfect as ever, A-Ying smacked him in the face with a fistful of tangled hair. Lan Zhan looked like he was ready to rip his uncles head from his shoulders.

Lan Qiren stood in dignified silence for a beat too long, hands clasped behind his back as if he were about to deliver a lecture to a class of misbehaving juniors. He glanced at his nephew, then down at the child on Wei Wuxian’s lap, who was now trying to bite the end of his sleeve and then at Wei Wuxian himself, who returned his look with barely contained amusement.

Clearing his throat, Lan Qiren took a step closer to the bed. A-Ying looked up at him with curious eyes, and Lan Qiren... panicked.

“Well,” he began stiffly, “I… brought tea.”

Wei Wuxian blinked. “Yes, thank you, I noticed. That was very thoughtful of you.”

A-Ying gave a delighted little shriek and shoved one of Wei Ying’s hands into her mouth. Wei Ying just smiled and let her.

Lan Qiren blinked at the motion as if unsure whether that was normal behavior.

“I… remember that children often enjoy… melodies,” Lan Qiren said cautiously. “Would you… like me to recite a Lan Sect moral lesson in poetic meter?”

Wei Ying looked appalled.

A-Ying looked thrilled.

“Oh no,” Wei Ying said quickly, adjusting her in his lap, “she’s got a very… unconventional taste in literature. I’m not sure the ‘Rules of Conduct, Volume Six’ is her thing.”

“I recited that to Wangji when he was a baby,” Lan Qiren said, slightly defensive.

“Yes,” Wei Wuxian said sweetly, “and look how he turned out.”

There was a pause.

Lan Xichen, who had quietly stood off to the side, coughed awkwardly. He looked between his brother, his uncle, and Wei Wuxian, then at A-Ying, then back at his brother. And upon seeing the look Lan Wangji was currently giving every living soul in the room, he visibly tensed.

Lan Wangji stood near the bed, arms crossed, expression unreadable. But his eyes tracked every breath, every word, every motion around Wei Wuxian with quiet, unrelenting vigilance.

Lan Xichen gave him a cautious smile.

Wangji did not smile back.

Lan Xichen promptly looked away.

Lan Qiren, determined not to be discouraged, peered down at A-Ying, who now had a fist tangled in Wei Wuxian’s hair and was humming something that sounded suspiciously like a funeral dirge.

“I could…” he offered, “tell you the tale of Lan An and the Peach Tree of Virtue?”

“She’s two,” Wen Qing said flatly from across the room. “She barely knows what a peach is, let alone virtue.”

Lan Qiren blinked, faltered, and straightened with dignity unbroken.

“I see.”

An awkward pause hung in the air like a badly tuned zither.

Wangji exhaled slowly. The sound alone was enough to make Xichen edge another step toward the door.

Wei Wuxian, meanwhile, gave Qiren a crooked smile and said, “It’s okay. You tried.”

“…Did I?” Lan Qiren muttered under his breath. “I believe I shall… check on the tea again and documents.”

And with a rustle of robes and whatever dignity he could salvage, Lan Qiren turned and left the room.

Lan Xichen lingered a second longer. “Ah… I’ll… go help him,” he said, and followed, carefully not looking in Wangji’s direction.

Left alone again, Wei Wuxian looked at A-Ying, then at Wen Qing, and finally at Lan Wangji.

A-Ying was dozing now in Wei Wuxian’s lap, one tiny hand still tangled in his robe, her face tucked into his chest like a warm little dumpling.

Wei Wuxian gently shifted her to one arm and looked over at Lan Wangji again, who hadn’t moved from his place at the side of the bed, arms folded and gaze sharp as ever, still staring at the door as if Xichen and Qiren might come back and finally commit treason.

Wei Wuxian gave a soft laugh. “They’re trying, Lan Zhan.”

Wangji didn’t look at him. “Mn.”

“They’re just… bad at it.”

Silence.

Then, quietly, Wangji murmured, “I don’t like it.”

Wei Wuxian blinked, caught off guard by the honesty in his voice. “You don’t like what?”

Lan Wangji said nothing. But his jaw was tight, his gaze burning.

Wei Wuxian leaned his head back against the pillow, then tilted it to look at him with a small, knowing smile. “You know, Lan Zhan, if you have all this energy to loom like a silent ghost and make them flinch every time you blink, maybe use it to actually guide them a bit.”

Wangji’s brow furrowed. “Mn?”

Wei Wuxian gave him a look. “Yes. You. You’re scaring your brother and uncle like a tiger guarding a shrine. I swear, I’ve never seen Lan Xichen sweat before today.”

“They should not—”

“No, they shouldn’t,” Wei Wuxian interrupted gently. “But they also won’t stop being awkward unless you show them how. You’re the only one they’ll listen to. If you want them to respect me, then don’t just enjoy watching them panic around me like headless chickens.”

Lan Wangji opened his mouth. Closed it.

Wei Wuxian raised an eyebrow.

Then, slowly, Lan Wangji looked away, ears just faintly pink.

“I don’t enjoy it,” he muttered.

Wei Wuxian chuckled. “No? Could’ve fooled me.”

Wangji said nothing. But after a moment, he moved closer, sitting down beside the bed, near enough for his sleeve to brush Wei Wuxian’s hand.

It wasn’t an apology. Not quite. But it was something close.

Wei Wuxian leaned his head toward him, closing his eyes briefly, a content little smile pulling at his lips.

A-Ying let out a tiny snore against his chest.

And for the first time that morning, peace settled over the room like sunlight.

“Lan Zhan?”

“Mn.”

“I want to ask you to do something. You’re not going to like it.”

Lan Wangji turned his head slightly toward him, his expression unreadable but attentive.

Wei Wuxian drew a slow breath. “Talk to them. Now. Your uncle. Your brother. Civilly. Constructively. For the Sect.”

Lan Wangji’s brow creased ever so slightly.

Wei Wuxian went on, keeping his voice gentle. “You don’t owe them softness after what they let happen to you or the DafanWen. But these people who are with us right now are not yet the people who caused all this misery. They’re trying, even if they’re clumsy as hell about it. Even before you came back. And I think—” he hesitated, then smiled faintly, “—I think they want to be closer to you. To me. To our children.” He nodded toward A-Ying.

Lan Wangji remained quiet.

“You don’t have to keep trying if it turns out it’s a dead end,” Wei Wuxian added. “But maybe… give it one honest try. Before we think about leaving this place behind.”

Lan Wangji considered that for a long moment, then gave a soft nod. “For you.”

Wei Wuxian smiled. “For all of us.”

The doors of Lan Qiren’s study creaked open.

Lan Wangji entered like a shadow—still, soundless, inevitable.

Lan Qiren looked up, hand stilling mid-character. Lan Xichen turned from the shelf, his posture suddenly stiff.

“Wangji,” Xichen said cautiously. “Is something—”

“I’m here,” Lan Wangji said, voice cool as mountain stone, “because Wei Ying asked me to be.”

The silence that followed was taut enough to hum. Both elder Lans exchanged glances.

“I would not be here otherwise. You should be thankful.”

That, too, was clear.

Lan Qiren cleared his throat. “We are… listening.”

Lan Wangji looked at neither of them. His gaze was distant, cold, as though addressing a landscape scorched long ago. “You want to know how you can help. You cannot. Not yet.”

Xichen’s brow creased, spoke up hastily. “—then—why—”

“Do not interrupt others while speaking. I’m speaking,” Lan Wangji said flatly.

Xichen fell silent.

“I tolerated this place,” Lan Wangji continued, “because I believed the foundation was still worth protecting. But I no longer believe that foundation is intact. And I am not convinced either of you can restore it.”

Qiren’s lips thinned. “Wangji—”

“Your leadership is not just weak,” Lan Wangji said, still calm, still deadly, “it is damaging. To the Sect. To its disciples. To the very principles you claim to preserve.”

Xichen drew a breath, as if to defend—but faltered under Wangji’s stare.

“You speak of virtue,” Wangji went on, “but you rewarded silence over justice. You speak of harmony, but you let rot spread unchecked beneath our feet. You both speak of tradition—” he scoffed, a rare sound, bitter and bone-dry “—but you’ve mistaken stagnation for strength.”

There was a long pause.

Then, quietly, Wangji said: “I considered leaving. Permanently since coming back. Or rebuilding the Lan Sect from the ground up. Without you.”

That landed like a thunderclap.

Neither uncle nor brother moved.

Because they understood what that meant,Wangji did not believe they were capable of salvation. And if he no longer believed—then what faith was left?

He continued, voice low and unshaking, “The only reason I have not done so is Wei Ying. Because he asked me to try. Not for your sake. For the sake of what might still be worth saving.”

His eyes finally met theirs.

Sharp. Cold. Unforgiving.

“You do not understand him. You never have. And until you do, you will not understand me.”

He looked away again. “You speak of helping. Then listen. For once in your lives, listen. You are failing. Not because you do not care. But because you refuse to change. And you will not survive what comes next unless you learn to do both.”

Xichen looked pale. Qiren’s knuckles were white against the edge of the desk.

Lan Wangji stood at the threshold of the study, his presence suffocating the space as the weight of his words hung heavy in the air. He turned back, his voice unwavering, still as cold as a blade.

“I will outline my points clearly, since you seem to require it.”

He straightened, voice growing firm, controlled, but every word a strike.

“First: My father. He is a coward. He hides behind his position, and allows others to carry his failures. You both know this. And neither of you has the courage to address it. He lacks the resolve to lead, and neither you nor he has ever truly protected the Sect or its people.

“Second: Xichen.” Lan Wangji’s gaze flickered to his brother, though his words were ice. “You are no better. You are well-meaning. But you are naïve. Foolishly so. You spend your time hoping for peace, without realizing you are sacrificing everything that requires strength. You are not fit to lead, Xichen.”

Xichen’s face paled. There was a sharp, painful intake of breath from Lan Qiren. But Wangji pressed on, unyielding.

“Third: Hypocrisy. You have long forgotten the meaning of justice. You avoid confrontation, and in doing so, you protect the guilty. You have forgotten the teachings of our ancestors. You cannot simply preserve a house of rot and call it strong.”

He paused, letting the air hang heavy with the force of his words.

“Fourth: Corruption. The elders you allow to carry titles, to remain in power, they are the ones who have diluted everything that made the Lan Sect great. And you have let them.”

“Fifth,” Lan Wangji said, his voice low, but every syllable a promise, “the rules. The so-called 'rules' that bind us—they have become weapons. Shackles, not protection. They punish individuality. They punish people for living, for feeling, for being different. They are nothing but chains. And you have made them our gods.”

Lan Qiren and Xichen stood there, speechless, each word from Wangji landing like a stone, each strike cutting deeper.

Then, Lan Qiren’s voice broke through the silence, rough, almost accusing. “And you—do you want to be the Sect Leader then?”

The question hung in the air, blunt and direct. Lan Wangji’s gaze never wavered, but the heat of his anger burned bright beneath his icy exterior.

“I do not seek it,” Wangji said slowly, his voice still calm, but with an edge of finality. “But if it is the only way to ensure that Wei Ying and the children are safe here, if it is the only way to bring this Sect back to the principles of Lan An, to restore what it once stood for—then I would consider it.”

The silence after his words was suffocating.

Xichen opened his mouth, then closed it again, clearly stunned, unsure of how to respond.

Lan Qiren looked at him, but his expression was unreadable. There was no arrogance in his eyes now, only a deep and terrible realisation that his nephew had just offered a bitter truth. Lan Wangji had no faith left in either of them to save the Sect.

“You would... consider it?” Lan Qiren finally said, his voice rough, cautious, and perhaps, just a touch desperate.

Lan Wangji's expression hardened, his gaze unwavering.

“Yes,” he replied flatly. “If the price for their safety and the survival of this Sect is that much, I would take it. But only if the Lan Clan returns to the teachings of Lan An. Only if the Sect can change. If the Sect proves of being incapable of progressing, my family and I will leave”

His words lingered in the room, an unspoken challenge.

Neither Lan Qiren nor Xichen spoke immediately. There was nothing left to say.

The heavy silence stretched on as Lan Wangji's words echoed in the room. Lan Qiren, his face etched with disbelief and a tinge of something else—perhaps concern or regret—finally broke the stillness.

“If... if you truly believe the Sect needs such a drastic change,” Lan Qiren asked, his voice quieter now, “then, in your opinion, what should the first step be?”

The question was loaded with more than simple curiosity. It was a challenge. A last attempt to grasp at something before the ground beneath them completely crumbled. Lan Qiren’s eyes, however, flickered with an underlying tension—as though he was already anticipating a response that could very well seal their fate.

Lan Wangji turned his head slightly, his face still as unreadable as ever, but the cold fire in his eyes didn’t flicker.

“The first step,” Lan Wangji said, his voice slow and deliberate, each word carefully chosen, “is to stop pretending the past can be protected. You must accept the failures of the past—your mistakes and the mistakes of your predecessors. You must let go of your pride and face them. Acknowledge the corruption, the silence, and the harm that has been done in the name of power and tradition. Without that, there can be no progress.”

He paused, allowing his words to settle, before continuing with finality.

“Only then can we, you rebuild. Only then can we begin to restore the Sect to what it once was. To what it should be.”

Lan Qiren was quiet. There was something in his expression that flickered, something as close to understanding as he was likely going to get. But whether he would take this advice to heart was another matter entirely.

Xichen, on the other hand, was staring at his brother, still processing the enormity of what had just been said. His mouth opened slightly, but he said nothing.

Lan Wangji turned to leave, casting a final glance over his shoulder.

“If you are willing to change, then I will do what I can to help. But if not…” He paused, his tone heavy with the implication. “Then you will have to bear the consequences. And the Lan Clan will continue to fall. Without me.”

With that, he left the study, leaving the two men standing there in the quiet aftermath.

The midday sun streamed through the windows, casting long shadows across the study as Lan Qiren stepped inside. His usual stern demeanor was present, but there was a hesitation in his step that Wei Ying couldn’t help but notice.

Wei Ying, who had been sitting quietly with a newborn in his lap, looked up in mild surprise as the older man entered.

“Lan-xiansheng,” Wei Ying greeted, raising an eyebrow. “What brings you here?”

Lan Qiren hesitated for a moment, his eyes lingering on the floor before meeting Wei Ying’s gaze.

“I came to ask you something,” he began, his voice much softer than usual. “Did Wanji speak with you since his visit to my office?”

Wei Ying blinked, surprised by the question. He had expected something entirely different from Lan Qiren, but then he nodded slowly. “Yes, he did. Why do you ask?”

Lan Qiren shifted his weight from one foot to the other, clearly uncomfortable. “I… I don’t know how to handle this man.”

Wei Ying raised an eyebrow, letting out a small, amused laugh. “Lan Zhan has always been like this, you know. Just now, he's stopped hiding behind the rules, the traditions. He’s stopped being afraid.”

Lan Qiren frowned, clearly still troubled. “It’s as if I’m looking at a completely different person. The way he spoke today—it was like he no longer cared about family or duty.”

Wei Ying’s expression softened slightly, and he set his book aside before leaning back in his chair. “Lan Zhan has always cared about family. Just because he’s honest with you now doesn’t mean he’s stopped caring. He’s just not afraid of losing it anymore. If I remember correctly, he's over forty years old. He's not a teenager afraid of speaking his brilliant mind.”

Lan Qiren’s brow furrowed, but Wei Ying’s words seemed to take hold. There was something in the older man’s expression—a realization, perhaps, that there was truth in what Wei Ying was saying.

Wei Ying continued, his voice still gentle but firm. “You and the Sect are both stuck in the past. The pride you’ve built is a double-edged sword. It protects you, yes, but it also makes you blind. Lan Zhan is trying to save you from yourselves, even if it means making hard choices.”

Lan Qiren’s posture shifted slightly, but he didn’t immediately respond. The weight of what Wei Ying was saying settled on him, too heavy to ignore.

“I see now,” Lan Qiren muttered, looking down at his feet for a long moment before raising his gaze again. “I was wrong. I assumed too much about you, Wei Wuxian. I judged you. And I assumed Wangji was simply being... difficult. But he’s not. He’s being honest.”

Wei Ying smiled, a soft, knowing expression crossing his face. “Lan Zhan doesn’t do things halfway. When he makes a decision, he commits to it fully. And that’s something you need to accept. If you can’t, then all you’re doing is standing in the way of progress.”

Lan Qiren stood still for a long time, his hands clasped behind his back as he considered Wei Ying’s words. After a moment, he sighed heavily, his shoulders slumping in exhaustion.

“I... I will try,” he admitted, more to himself than to Wei Ying. “I need to. I’ll try to listen to him, to understand him. I will do my best to support the Sect.”

Wei Ying tilted his head slightly, his expression softer now, his eyes kind. “And that’s the key, Lan-xiansheng. See your mistakes, and learn from them. That’s all anyone can do.”

Lan Qiren looked at Wei Ying, his eyes filled with something that resembled genuine respect for the first time. “I will try to do that,” he said, the sincerity clear in his voice.

Wei Ying gave a small smile. “Well, that’s all I can ask. But remember—no one is perfect, not even Lan Zhan. We all need to grow. Even him.”

Lan Qiren nodded, though there was still a deep, silent uncertainty in his eyes. Before he left the room, he paused for a moment, glancing over his shoulder.

“I’ve been wrong about many things,” he said, the words low but meaningful. “Thank you, Wei Wuxian, for helping me see that.”

Wei Ying waved it off with a casual smile. “It’s nothing. We’ll be family, after all. I’m just glad you’re finally seeing things from a different perspective.”

As Lan Qiren exited the room, Wei Ying sat back, reflecting on the conversation, stroking the child in his lap. He couldn’t help but feel a sense of accomplishment—not just for himself, but for Lan Zhan, too. If Lan Qiren was starting to understand, then maybe there was hope for everyone after all.

The door creaked open just as Wei Ying was adjusting little A-Ying more comfortably on his lap. He looked up while the baby slept soundly, just in time to see Nie Huaisang step into the room.

Nie Huaisang froze mid-step, eyes wide as he caught sight of the infant. His fan slipped slightly from his hand.

“A-Yuan?” he blurted out.

Wei Ying chuckled and nodded warmly. “Mn. That’s right. This is A-Yuan.”

Nie Huaisang’s mouth opened and closed a few times before he managed to mumble, half to himself, “I need to commission robes immediately. Proper ones.”

Wei Ying couldn't help but chuckle again, the sound light and bright in the quiet room. “Sect Leader Nie, Head Shaker, Nie-xiong, Nie Huaisang,” he said teasingly, his voice full of affection. Then, more seriously, he bowed his head slightly. “Thank you. For everything. For helping Lan Zhan. For always supporting Lan Sizhui. It means more than I can say.”

Nie Huaisang waved his fan anxiously, the tips of his ears turning red. “Wei-xiong, Wei-xiong, I... I didn’t do it just for you,” he stammered. “But you were my first and only real friend and of course did I help the only other person brave enough to mourn you. And now, I suppose I’m also twice a godfather to your children.”

Wei Ying blinked at him, visibly puzzled for a second, then simply laughed, deciding not to ask for clarification. Huaisang's sincerity was enough.

Nie Huaisang, emboldened by Wei Ying’s laughter, straightened up a little and smiled. “Since we’ll soon be sworn brothers anyway, let's drop all these exhausting formalities. Please, just call me Huaisang. And I'll call you Wuxian.”

Wei Ying’s smile widened, a genuine warmth glowing in his eyes. He dipped his head slightly in agreement.

“Nice to meet you, Huaisang. Hidden Mastermind,” he said, voice soft but strong.

Nie Huaisang grinned back, a little more mischievously now, and tapped his fan against his shoulder.

“Nice to meet you too, Wuxian. Yilling Patriarch and ghostly guardian of Lan Sizhui.”

The two of them shared a moment of quiet understanding, the beginnings of a stronger bond forming between them — a bond of family, chosen and cherished.

Chapter Text

After dinner, the stillness of the Healing Pavilion was interrupted by the soft sound of the door opening.

Lan Qiren took a step forward, posture upright, hands clasped neatly before him. Inside, he found Wei Ying seated on a low cushion, A-Ying curled against his side and A-Yuan sitting contentedly between him and his nephew. Lan Zhan, as always, was straight-backed, unreadable but there was a quiet alertness to him, a low hum of expectation beneath the surface.

Lan Qiren paused for a heartbeat before stepping inside fully. Then, stiffly, he bowed.

“I have come,” he said with forced calm, “to offer an apology. Wei Wuxian, I have judged you harshly. I have wronged you through narrow-mindedness, through my failure to question. I'm ashamed for the grief I have caused you, both in this life and in the one that followed.”

Wei Ying blinked, startled. Even Lan Zhan glanced at his uncle, his expression unreadable, but his attention fully fixed.

“I have also realised,” Lan Qiren continued, voice crisp, “that the path the Lan Sect followed, especially under the future version of myself, has strayed further from Lan An’s teachings than I thought possible. I deeply apologise for my failure, Wangji.”

He drew a breath.

“Today, I reviewed the first twenty rules of our sect. Not simply their text, but their origins and purposes. Among other changes, I am considering merging ‘Eating more than three bowls is prohibited’ and ‘Do not be picky with food’ into something more aligned with intention: ‘Be mindful of food.’”

He looked expectantly at Lan Zhan but his nephew only stared at him for a moment, then asked flatly, “That is all?”

Lan Qiren’s brow twitched. “It is... a beginning. I spent the day reflecting carefully—”

“Did Zewu-jun assist you?” Lan Zhan asked, cutting cleanly across his uncle’s formality.

There was a pause. Lan Qiren’s silence was tight, revealing.

Lan Zhan’s expression didn’t change, but the flicker of disdain was unmistakable. “Mn,” he said, quietly, as if he’d expected no different.

Wei Ying, sensing the tension rising again, broke in gently, smiling with just a hint of mischief. “Well, I think it’s already a decent start. But, Lan-xiansheng... I think it would be even better if we'd have an open discourse about the rules.”

Both Lan Zhan and Lan Qiren looked equally scandalized. Wei Ying could practically hear Lan Zhan’s internal shriek. But to his surprise, Lan Qiren exhaled slowly and nodded once.

“I will convene a meeting with the elders. I will ensure your voice is heard, especially since you'll become a member of the main family in the future.”

With that, he bowed once more stiffly and perhaps with a trace of pride still clinging to his spine and left the room without another word.

Lan Zhan turned his head to Wei Ying, looking faintly betrayed, as if he'd just been cornered into co-authoring a rebellion against his will.

Wei Ying grinned. “Lan Zhan... I know I said that I won't pressure you but I think this might actually turn out really well.”

Lan Zhan stared at him, then turned his gaze forward again. He nodded, quietly, as if resigned to a future he already knew would be chaotic. “If that's Wei Ying's wish.”

The hour was late, curfew drawing near, when the door to the patients room opened once more.

Wei Ying and Lan Zhan, both already in the slow quiet of the evening, turned with matching surprise as Lan Qiren stepped inside again. His steps were brisk but uneven, breath just slightly short, as though he had come in a hurry and was trying not to show it.

“Lan-xiansheng?” Wei Ying blinked, sitting up, sensing something uncharacteristic in the older man’s bearing. “Is something wrong?”

“I...” Lan Qiren hesitated, rare enough to draw both men's full attention. “I am not certain how to do this. I came to ask for your guidance. I tried but I'm at a standstill.”

Lan Zhan and Wei Ying exchanged a glance.

“I have spent the last hour... considering the matter of trust,” Lan Qiren continued. “Specifically, your trust, Wangji. I am aware that I have lost more of it than I ever realised. Even before you came back. Actually ever since I kept you from your mother. Any excuse is not enough to make up for your lost childhood.”

Lan Zhan's face gave nothing away, but Wei Ying could feel him listening carefully. Lan Qiren straightened his sleeves with a precise, deliberate gesture.

“I’ve taken the liberty of formally recording the two children Lan Yuan and Lan Ying into the Lan family register. As descendants of the main line.” He swallowed. “As your children, Wangji.”

That gave both Wei Ying and Lan Zhan pause. The stillness between them stretched until it was broken only by the soft sounds of the children’s quiet breathing from the corner of the room. Wei Ying's lips parted in mild astonishment. Lan Zhan stared at his uncle.

When their eyes met, Lan Qiren faltered. Just slightly, almost imperceptibly but not so much that it escaped notice. For the first time, Wei Ying saw in Lan Qiren not authority, not rigidity, but someone deeply unsure.

“I will announce it to the elders during the gathering,” Lan Qiren said softly. “And I... I would like to begin calling Lan Ying as Xiao-Ying. If that is acceptable. I hope we might all begin to speak more... comfortably. As family.” His voice caught faintly on the word. “I will try to commission name plates for your parents, Wei-gongzi. They'll be placed in our Ancestral Hall.” 

Lan Zhan and Wei Ying blinked in disbelief.

“And—” Lan Qiren took a breath. “Given your... unique position, I hope you might provide me some guidance, Wangji. You are older now than I have ever known you to be, older than I am. And much wiser. I find myself... in need of that wisdom.”

The silence this time wasn't heavy. There was something new in it, something less brittle. Lan Zhan stood slowly. He bowed low in a gesture of formal gratitude, not just as a nephew, but as a man receiving an earnest offering of trust.

“Thank you. Shushu,” he said.

Lan Qiren looked up and for a breath, the composed, aloof and impervious mask he wore cracked. His expression shifted ever so slightly, as though something were about to slip loose behind his eyes.

If he had been anyone else, he might have cried.

At Chen, the doors to Lan Qiren’s residence slid open with quiet precision, only to be met with the not-at-all quiet arrival of Lan Wangji, standing tall and Wei Wuxian held securely in his arms.

Lan Qiren looked up from where he sat at the low table, drinking tea with slow, ritual calm. Lan Xichen sat beside him, serene as always, until his eyes landed on the sight before him.

“Wangji. Wei-gongzi,” Lan Qiren said, startled but composed. “Good morning.”

Wei Wuxian grinned, not the least bit formal. “Good morning, Lan-xiansheng. Good morning, Zewu-jun.”

Lan Wangji gave a small nod, not breaking stride. “Good morning, Shushu.” His gaze shifted, landing squarely on his brother. “Zewu-jun.”

“Ah, Lan-xiansheng, Zewu-jun,” Wei Wuxian said smoothly, intervening after seeing Lan Xichen’s expression crumble. “Lan Zhan told me about your conversation yesterday. We’ve come up with a solution to one of the more pressing problems.”

Lan Wangji gave a sharp, silent nod.

“We’re going to Fuqin,” he said.

With that, he turned and strode back out the door without another word.

For a moment, both men sat frozen, teacups forgotten. Then, with matching dignity and barely suppressed urgency, they stood and followed their footsteps quiet but swift.

Outside, at the secluded building where Lan Zhan’s father stays, the four men arrived and Wei Ying was gently set down. 

Lan Qiren opened his mouth to speak, perhaps to suggest decorum, but before any word could form, Lan Zhan lifted his foot and kicked the heavy door inward with a thunderous crack, splinters flying.

Lan Xichen flinched. Lan Qiren’s eyes widened. Wei Ying let out a low whistle.

The four of them stepped into silent gloom. And there he was. The Leader of the Lan Clan, sitting in faded robes and quiet despondency, blinked up at them. His eyes met his younger son’s. And what Lan Wangji saw was not a man of dignity, or power, or the weight of tradition, but a man broken. Just as he himself had been, only days ago.

Lan Wangji broke the silence. His voice was low, precise.

“My name is Lan Zhan, curtsy name Wangji. I'm your second son. This is Wei Ying, curtsy name Wuxian. Son of Cangse Sanren and Wei Changze. My betrothed,” he said, and no one dared interrupt.

Then he turned to Wei Ying. “Wei Ying, can you feel anything?”

Wei Ying gave a small nod and closed his one remaining eye, inhaling slowly. The silence lengthened. A wind stirred in the corners of the room, though none of the windows were open.

Then, Wei Wuxian opened his eye again. His iris was glowing, pulsing bright crimson. 

Lan Xichen’s breath hitched. Lan Qiren’s spine went rigid. Even Qingheng-Jun’s jaw tensed but Lan Zhan turned his head slightly and looked at them with a single, silent command: Do. Not. Speak.

Wei Ying blinked slowly and murmured, “No resentment. But… there’s a lingering presence. Gentle. Faint. Female.”

A long pause. The crimson eye dimmed back into grey.

Without hesitation, Lan Zhan stepped forward and summoned Wangji, which began to hover gracefully in front of him, suspended by his spiritual energy. He moved with quiet precision, fingers brushing the strings with reverent ease. Then, seated and composed, he plucked a delicate, intentional sequence of notes.

At once, the air in the room thickened , charged with something unseen. The guqin’s voice was soft, but beneath its hum, those attuned to its cultivation began to hear something else.

A presence. Faint, hesitant... but reaching.

Lan Xichen froze. Lan Qiren went pale. Even Qingheng-Jun’s expression cracked, as though the weight of decades suddenly pressed down on his shoulders.

Wei Ying bowed his head reverently. The motion made him wince, his injuries protesting, but he straightened and said clearly: “Lan furen,” he whispered, his tone gentle, “thank you for coming.”

He offered a faint, crooked smile. “I’m Wei Wuxian. Your future... daughter-in-law? Son-in-law? Hard to say. Lan Zhan, what’s your verdict? Am I your wife or your husband? Lan-er-furen or Lan-er-fujin? Will I be heavy with child after our wedding, Lan-er-gege?” His grin widened with mischief.

Lan Qiren visibly reeled. Lan Xichen made a sound that might’ve been a stifled cough.

“And don’t even pretend we wouldn’t make a terrifyingly powerful, absurdly attractive child, Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying added, eyes sparkling. “The sect wouldn't survive it.”

He paused, tilting his head toward the quiet air. “Your mother agrees,” he said smugly. “She says it’s about time someone livened this place up.”

Lan Zhan’s ears were absolutely glowing and for a brief second he caught his father’s mouth twitch. A twitch that almost counted as a smile.

“She says she always knew her son would end up with someone stunning but she didn’t expect this level of charm.” He beamed. “Lan Zhan, your mother has excellent taste. And obviously great vision.” He put a hand dramatically on his heart. “Lan-furen, you flatter me.”

Lan Zhan said nothing, but stood still, his gaze never leaving Wei Ying. Qingheng-Jun watched Wei Ying shine in that strange, sunlit way of his and smiled. The corners of his mouth twitched, as if catching light for the first time in years. Lan Zhan noticed. He looked at his father, then at Wei Ying and his eyes softened.

Before anyone could even react, Wei Ying tilted his head, expression shifting as if listening.

“What? Wait… What did you say?” his smile froze. “I’m… what?”

His face drained of all color as he turned around slowly, eyes wide. “Ehm, Lan Zhan. Your mother says we’re married?! Since—since Lan Yi? That was—Lan Zhan, was that a marriage ceremony?! Lan Yi told her that that vows count. WHAT VOWS?!”

Lan Zhan, completely unbothered, gave a single, serene nod. “Mn. We already bowed to an ancestor. She gave her blessing.”

Wei Ying blinked. “You—Lan Zhan, you married me and didn’t even tell me?!”

Lan Xichen made a noise like a kettle boiling over and his uncle was halfway between fainting and a Qi-Deviation. Qingheng-Jun actually chuckled. A dry, startled sound, like a tree remembering how to laugh.

From beside him, Lan Zhan’s voice came quiet but steady. “Wei Ying will be treated with the respect he deserves as my spouse. As Lan-er-furen.” He almost looked smug at the last sentence.

Wei Ying blinked.

“Oh gods. You knew we’re married, don’t you?”

“Mn. Tied my ribbon around our wrists. Married twenty-four years, eleven month and twenty-two days ago.”

"Almost twenty-five years?" Wei Ying barks and the Lans stare at the couple with wide eyes.

"Mh." Lan Zhan says. "Wanted to take you back to Gusu to keep you safe."

Wei Ying, still pale, turned back to the spirit. “Lan-furne, please. I can’t believe he didn’t say anything. You raised a silent menace.”

The air around him pulsed faintly.

“Oh. Oh, I see how it is,” Wei Ying said, straightening. “She says it was very romantic. That any man who proposes without speaking is clearly of the Lan sect.”

He snorted. “She also says I should’ve read the ceremonial undertones, Lan Zhan. I was under attack, don't you remember? Your poor Wei Ying thought he was doing a spiritual negotiation, not signing up for eternity. Apparently, Lan Yi still laughs about me. All the spirits in Cloud Recess know of us.”

After listening for a moment, Wei Ying barked a laugh. “What kind of compensation? Dowry? My flute? Everyone would love to have me as their spouse. Absolute slander to demand compensation. I should be the one demanding compensation! I became your son’s child bride and you want me to pay reparations?” 

Lan Xichen made a noise like a dying crane. Lan Qiren pinched the bridge of his nose, whispering prayers under his breath.

Wei Ying, now regaining composure and a dangerous smirk, slowly turned back to Lan Zhan and said, “So… you’re my almost-husband. Lan Zhan, should we take our remaining two bows now?” He glanced around the room then, the smile slipping just slightly. “Your family is here. Your brother. Your uncle. Your father.” He paused, his voice softening.

Lan Zhan moved, instinctively, as if to step beside him, to take the last two bows at his side, to share the moment. But before he could, Lan Qiren stepped between them with unexpected resolve.

“There will be a proper ceremony,” he declared. His tone was strict, his mouth set in that typical Lan line of disapproval. “With robes. With music. With clarity. The ancestors will be addressed formally. The rites will be complete. Not this—” He gestured vaguely at their casual chaos, “—unorthodox chaos.”

Wei Ying blinked, then positively beamed. “That was almost a blessing.”

“It was not.”

“I’ll take it as one anyway. I expect to be veiled and radiant. Lan Zhan, take notes.” Wei Ying chuckled.

Lan Qiren opened his mouth to object, perhaps about decorum, propriety, ancestral rites, or simply the audacity of Wei Wuxian’s existence but before a single syllable could escape, Wei Ying was already slipping past him with the flourish of a man on a mission.

“Excuse me, Lan-xiansheng,” he said, grinning like a fox as he squeezed between him and Lan Zhan. “Bride coming through. Pre-consummation privileges pending.”

“WEI WUXIAN—!” Lan Qiren choked, voice rising several decibels above acceptable Gusu volume. He looked one scandal away from dissolving into spiritual mist.

“I suppose,” Wei Ying went on, unfazed and delighted, dragging a finger deliberately up the front of Lan Zhan’s robe, “that gives me certain… rights.”

Lan Zhan didn’t so much as blink. His ears, however, turned a spectacular shade of red.

“Such as,” Wei Ying continued, leaning in, “touching.” He tapped Lan Zhan’s chest with two fingers, then splayed his palm there like he planned to claim squatter’s rights. “Claiming.” He nestled shamelessly against Lan Zhan’s arm, like it was habit. “Unfiltered flirting.”

He let the pause build, eyes full of wicked light.

“And possibly,” he added in a scandalous whisper, “sleeping only in your robes from now on. As is expected of a devoted spouse. Think of it as... sacred textile bonding.”

Lan-furen’s spirit all but shimmered with delight.

“She says,” Wei Ying announced proudly, “that if your uncle has complaints, he can write them down, roll them up and shove them in a drawer. Your mother’s ecstatic.”

That was the final straw.

Lan Qiren looked skyward, as though begging the heavens to smite either Wei Wuxian or himself. “You—You are not fully wed yet!” he barked, voice cracking. “There must be ceremony! Witnesses! Proper recitation! Ancestral offerings! You cannot just grope him in front of his ancestors like a peasant in heat!”

Wei Ying blinked. “Oh? But it’s spiritual marriage, right? Isn’t the body sacred to?”

Lan Qiren made a sound that might’ve been him giving up the will to live.

Meanwhile, Lan Zhan looked as though nothing on this plane could possibly concern him. “Wei Ying,” he said softly, “will receive all rites he is due.”

Wei Ying positively preened. “You hear that? I’m due.”

“PLEASE STOP!” Lan Qiren thundered.

In the corner, Lan Xichen had buried his face in his sleeve, trembling. Lan-furen’s spirit, however, was practically sparkling with joy.

“She says,” Wei Ying announced proudly, “she's happy we found each other.”

Lan Zhan just nodded once, utterly serious. “Mn.”

Wei Ying grinned. “You love me.”

“I married you.”

“Ugh. You’re so romantic.”

And in the corner, Qingheng-Jun barked a laugh. Lan Zhan’s gaze never left Wei Ying, utterly unmoved by the chaos, as if watching the only thing in the world that mattered.

Wei Ying grinned, flushed with triumph and fondness but then, slowly, the grin faded. The air seemed to settle, something quiet tugging at him beneath the surface of all the noise.

He turned slightly, eyes lifting to the still space in the room where the spirit of his mother-in-law bent just oddly. The shift in him was immediate. Soft, reverent.

He bowed his head again.

“You stayed,” he said, voice lower now, almost tender. “All this time? Watching?”

His expression faltered, not from fear, but from sorrow. His good eye shimmered and he tilted his head again, focusing on a voice only he could hear.

“Yes,” Wei Ying said, smiling again through the threat of tears. “He’s changed. He’s stronger. More whole. Honestly? He’s unfairly handsome. You should see him when he’s angry. It’s almost criminal.” He let out a soft laugh. “I stayed for A-Yuan… but Lan Zhan was a sight for sore eyes. It's a shame we didn't meet during my almost 100 years in Cloud Recess.”

Then the smile slipped.

His voice dropped. “Oh. Oh… I see.”

His hand tightened slightly on Lan Zhan’s sleeve and his eyes flickered to the others in the room.

“She says…” He turned toward Lan Xichen first, then Qingheng-Jun and finally Lan Zhan again. “She says she never left you three. That she was waiting for someone, anyone other than Lan Zhan, to reach out to her.”

He swallowed. “She waited for her husband to call to her. She knows that you felt her presence.”

The room fell into stillness, the silence unbearably heavy.

Qingheng-Jun’s eyes were closed. His face was carved from guilt. “I… believed it was not my place,” he finally said, voice raw, barely more than air. “It was all… my fault. I thought I had no forgiveness left to ask for.”

Wei Ying listened again, then his voice grew even gentler.

“She says… remembering someone you love is never beneath you. That silence is not always a virtue. That love... shouldn’t be quiet. She hoped that you would remember love was not weakness.”

He fully turned to Qingheng-Jun, not accusing, only honest. “She waited a very long time.”

No one spoke.

“She says she’s sorry,” Wei Ying whispered. “For not being able to protect you, Lan Zhan. For what your family became. For the silence you were raised in, Lan Zhan. For everything that happened to us. She says she wanted more for you than rules and shame for being righteous. She says that, ehm... how should I put this? Ah, she hopes the Lan Clan will find its way back.”

Lan Zhan stared ahead, unmoving, lips pressed tightly together.

Wei Ying’s expression shifted again. This time, it was warm. “She says… Lan Zhan, you’re everything she could’ve hoped for. A strong cultivator. A good man. A devoted father. She says you never failed her, apart from the fact that you never tell me about the marriage. She loves you.”

Lan Zhan bowed in the direction he suspects his mother's spirit, “I am glad I made you proud.” Then, barely audible, he added, “You, Wei Ying and the children are the most important people in my life. I love you too, Muqin.”

Wei Ying wiped his eye quickly, still smiling. “She also says… I remind her of my parents. Apparently I got my father's looks but the heart, she says that must come from my mother.”

Lan Zhan looked at him, soft and wide-eyed.

Wei Ying then turned toward Lan Qiren, eyes gleaming with mischief. “Oh, and she says: ‘Qiren, you’re a brilliant painter, so get the stick out of your rigid ass and paint me and the parents of this beautiful boy. I want my grandkids to actually see what we looked like.’ I highly appreciate the compliment Lan-furen. I'd like to be called beautiful at least once a day, Lan Zhan.”

Lan Qiren looked stunned at the interaction. But then, slowly, he nodded.

“She also says,” Wei Ying added, glancing back at Qingheng-Jun with a conspirational smirk, “‘A-Jun, grow a pair and stop crying like a damn child, quit punishing yourself for every little thing and for heaven’s sake, drop that ridiculous prison you’ve built around yourself. Either man up and run this clan right, or step aside and let Zhan'er handle it. Enough with the pity party.’”

The air shifted once more. Wei Ying gave a small, breathless laugh, one hand wiping his cheek. “She passed on.”

Lan Wangji lowered his hands, his gaze still resting on the now-silent corner of the room. The stillness left behind wasn't hollow. It was peaceful. Whole.

After a long moment, Wei Ying looked up again, gaze thoughtful. And for the first time in decades, no one in the room felt truly alone.

Lan Zhan turned, his voice steady but low. “Father.”

Qingheng-Jun looked at him, truly looked. The tiredness in his posture hadn’t lifted, but something else had softened in his face.

“We came here for more than remembrance,” Lan Zhan continued. “There is a decision to be made.”

Qingheng-Jun’s brows lifted slightly, expectant.

Lan Zhan held his father’s gaze. “Your seclusion has lasted many years. Too long. The clan needs a leader. Either you return… or you must pass that responsibility on.”

Silence stretched for a beat.

Then Qingheng-Jun’s head tilted, eyes narrowing slightly in consideration. “Does this… request have anything to do with the fact that you’ve been married for almost twenty-five years?”

Lan Zhan did not flinch. “Mn. It does.”

“And why are you here now?” Qingheng-Jun asked, not accusing, but curious, as if testing the weight of Lan Zhan’s conviction.

“There is something I would like to show you. I need all of you to take my hand,” Lan Zhan said simply.

Without further explanation, he stepped to the center of the room and sat. Wei Ying moved without prompting to his side, touching, anchoring. The other came closer.

The air thickened with spiritual energy. Lan Xichen, Lan Qiren and Qingheng-Jun watched as Lan Zhan’s life spilled open.

Not just the grand moments — not just the burning of Cloud Recess, the cave, war, seclusion or the weight of duty — but the quiet ones too. A child kneeling in snow. A boy watching the moon alone. Fingers trembling the first time they reached for a hand. Wei Ying’s laughter in sunlight. A bow in front of Lan Yi. A wedding, spoken in silence. A small child crying in front of him. A brother's betrayal. Wei Ying falling. Healing after thirty-three lashes. A brother’s silence. A naming ceremony — Sizhui. Guanyin Temple. A brother in seclusion. Tears falling on Bichen. Reawakening next to an injured Wei Ying. Watching his family in the Healing Pavilion. Lan Qiren apologising. 

The truth of who he was, who he’d become, laid bare with no shame.

Lan Xichen paled first, visibly, as if every breath had been knocked out of him. His hands trembled in his lap. He looked away more than once, as if the weight of what he saw, hadn’t seen or didn't want to see, when it mattered was too much to bear.

Lan Qiren sat frozen, stunned into absolute stillness. For all his sternness and rules, his mouth had parted slightly, eyes wide, horrified. This… this was worse than anything he had prepared himself for after watching Wei Ying's memories. 

And Qingheng-Jun, he did not pale, not like the others. But shame struck his features like a blade. Deep and quiet and all-consuming. Every image carved something into him. Every silence echoed with what he hadn’t said, hadn’t done. This was his son. His legacy. His failure.

Lan Zhan showed them everything. He would not rule by silence or by shame. Not anymore.

For a long moment after the final memory faded, the room sat in silence. Heavy, but no longer suffocating.

Then Qingheng-Jun spoke, his voice low but steady. “I understand now why you came. Why you chose to show me these things.”

He looked at Lan Zhan. Not as a sect heir, not as a cultivator, but as his son.

“I turned away from too much,” he said. “I told myself silence was duty. That detachment was necessary. That I had no right to interfere.” A pause. “I was wrong.”

Lan Zhan didn’t move, but Wei Ying’s hand twitched slightly in his.

“I once believed the Clan needed a leader without attachments. A man of rules, not of sentiment.” He looked at Lan Zhan with something almost like regret. “I thought I was protecting the name of Lan when I abandoned you. When I gave grief a pedestal and let it hollow me out.”

He looked to the side, exhaling. “I have made mistakes. So many I can’t even name them all.”

Qingheng-Jun’s eyes turned to Wei Ying, standing so casually, defiant and bright and utterly unashamed.

“And yet… I am grateful that A-Zhan found you,” he said gently, “May I call you A-Ying?”

Wei Ying straightened, half-prepared to deflect with a joke but stopped when he saw the look on Qingheng-Jun’s face. It wasn’t cold. It wasn’t judgmental. It was tired.

“You are not who I expected,” the man said simply. “You are far better.”

Wei Ying blinked.

“I see now why A-Zhan stayed, despite tue unorthodoxy,” Qingheng-Jun went on. “Why he chose you. Not in defiance. Not in rebellion. But in clarity. Because you are his zhiji.”

Wei Ying blinked, startled, but didn’t interrupt.

“You are not only his zhiji. You are also… honourable. Brave. Honest to the bone.” His brow furrowed slightly, as if the next words came harder. “You speak of spirits as though they were kin. You make light of shame so no one else drowns in it. I once thought such irreverence dangerous. Now I see that it’s necessary.”

Wei Ying swallowed once, then smiled uneven, a little shy despite himself.

“Thank you, Qingheng-Jun.”

“No,” Qingheng-Jun replied softly, “thank you, A-Ying. Thank you for standing up for the innocent.”

He turned back toward Lan Zhan. “A-Zhan. You’ve grown into someone your mother would be proud of. Someone I...” he hesitated, “...someone I am proud of, though I did nothing to earn that pride.”

Lan Zhan looked at him, eyes soft but unreadable.

“I see now,” Qingheng-Jun continued, “that silence can be cruelty. That tradition, when wielded without mercy, becomes a weapon.”

He paused before adding cautiously, “As for leadership... I must think deeply. I believed stepping away was right. Maybe it still is. But maybe —” he glanced at Lan Qiren and Lan Xichen — “maybe it’s time to bend tradition, to return to the true teachings of Lan An.”

Lan Xichen inhaled sharply but said nothing.

“I won’t make this decision lightly or alone. What matters most is what’s best for the Clan.”

He gave a slow nod. “But A-Zhan… thank you. For not hiding who you are and what became of our clan.”

Lan Qiren and Lan Xichen exchanged a subtle glance, a flicker of surprise, a hint of concern, clearly aware of the strong preference Qingheng-Jun showed for Lan Zhan and Wei Ying.

Lan Zhan still hadn’t spoken. His gaze flickered to his father, then to Xichen, then back to Wei Ying. His fingers were warm in Wei Yings grasp.

Wei Ying leaned in just slightly, voice low and teasing, lips barely moving.

“He’s not what you expected, is he?”

Lan Zhan gave the smallest nod. “Mn.”

Chapter Text

They stepped out into the open air, the heaviness of the gathering behind them clinging faintly to their clothes like incense. The courtyard was quiet in the way only Cloud Recesses could be. Wei Ying walked a step behind Lan Zhan at first, his hand warm in Lan Zhan’s.

“Wait,” a voice called from behind.

Lan Xichen.

He approached quickly, the edges of his robes catching the breeze, eyes flickering between them, hesitant, almost pleading.

Wei Ying turned. “Huh?”

Lan Xichen slowed just as he reached them, gaze uncertain. “She… Muqin. She didn’t say anything about me, did she?”

There was something raw under the surface, like a child trying to ask whether he’d been forgotten.

Wei Ying blinked, then tilted his head slightly. “Lan Zhan,” he said gently, turning to him, “why don’t you go check on the children? I’ll catch up.”

Lan Zhan hesitated only a second, then nodded. “Mn.” He gave Wei Ying’s hand a last squeeze before turning away down the path.

Wei Ying turned back to Lan Xichen and studied him for a beat. “She did say something.”

Lan Xichen’s breath hitched.

Wei Ying’s tone stayed even, but his gaze sharpened. “She said ‘A-Huan was always kind, always trying to do the right thing. But kindness without clarity becomes cowardice.’”

Lan Xichen’s shoulders straightened involuntarily, like he was bracing himself.

Wei Ying didn’t soften his words. “She said that in another lifetime, you chose not to trust your brother. That you watched him be isolated. Punished. That you didn’t stand beside him. She said she never imagined her kind and just child would let someone else decide what justice looked like, especially if that someone wore golden robes.”

He went on, quieter now. “She said she wasn’t angry at you. Not anymore. But she was disappointed. Deeply.”

Wei Ying let that sit for a beat. “Because she knows how good your heart is. How much you want to believe the best in people. And that’s what frightened her most.”

Lan Xichen’s brows drew together.

“She said you trust too easily when someone tells you what you want to hear. That you confuse harmony with obedience. That your heart is gentle but this gentleness can be dangerous for everyone. She said,” Wei Ying went on, voice softer now, “that you shouldn’t think she loved Lan Zhan more than you. She didn’t. But sometimes, we have to make difficult choices to do what's right. And sometimes, those choices come at the cost of our own comfort.”

Lan Xichen’s mouth parted, as if to protest, but Wei Ying shook his head slightly.

“She said she never doubted your heart. Only your silence.”

The words hung in the night like mist over water: quiet, but impossible to ignore.

Wei Ying let out a small breath, not unkind. “She didn’t want everyone to hear that. Said it wasn’t for shame. Just… something to carry forward.”

Lan Xichen stood very still, his eyes trained on the ground.

Then Wei Ying added, more gently, “She didn’t forget you. She loved you.”

He gave the words a moment to settle, then turned to go, following the path Lan Zhan had taken. Behind him, Lan Xichen remained motionless. A man not fallen from grace, but from illusion of a peaceful future.

Lan Xichen sat alone beneath the whispering branches of the magnolia tree, just beyond the edge of the inner courtyard. He couldn’t stop hearing it. Wei Ying’s voice. Calm. Direct. Unflinching. "She said that in another lifetime, you chose not to trust your brother."

His mother’s disappointment, spoken secondhand, but real enough to burn. A coward’s kindness. Silence mistaken for peace. Obedience mistaken for virtue.

Lan Xichen stared at his hands, steady, pale, practiced and saw something brittle in them now. That version of me wasn’t me, he wanted to say. And yet... In another thread of time. In another world. But with the same heart. The same desire to keep harmony, to avoid conflict, to protect the image of righteousness at all costs, Xichen knew it.

He pressed his lips together, jaw tightening. “I have done nothing wrong,” he whispered. But it didn’t settle. The words tasted hollow the moment they left his mouth. Because he hadn’t done anything wrong yet. And still, his brother wouldn’t look at him. His little brother, always so quiet, so careful, so stubborn, had shown his entire soul this morning. Had let the pain spill out like water, unhidden, unashamed.

And he’d done it for their father. For the clan. For the people who had ignored his suffering. Not for me. Lan Xichen swallowed hard, blinking against the chill in the air. Not for me.

He thought of how their father had looked at his brother: with pride, with care, with something dangerously close to affection. How even Wei Wuxian had stood beside him like something earned, something chosen. He felt it in his bones: a shift. Beneath the ache of shame he didn’t yet deserve, there was something else. Bitterness.

Not loud, not violent, just a quiet, persistent voice in his chest: He gets it all. The title. The favour. The love. He gets to speak freely. To act without fear. And I... I am the one they will ask to step aside. I am the one they will doubt now, even before I have failed.

Lan Xichen looked down again at his hands. They trembled, just slightly. Was that the truth of me? A man destined to become a ghost in his own family’s memory, kind but ineffective, trusted until tested?

He drew in a slow, shallow breath.

“No,” he said aloud. Then softer, “I won’t be that man.”

A quiet voice behind him replied, “Then choose not to be.”

Lan Xichen turned sharply.

Lan Qiren stood there, half in shadow, expression unreadable.

“Shufu,” Xichen said, startled.

“I followed your voice,” Qiren said, stepping closer. “It was not loud. But it carried far.”

Xichen stood out of habit, but Lan Qiren lifted a hand, not unkindly. “You may sit.”

He obeyed. There was a long silence before Lan Qiren spoke, slowly, carefully, as if weighing each word. “I know the bitterness that sits in your chest, A-Huan. I have tasted it myself. When my brother fled into seclusion, he did not ask. He placed the Clan in my care, two children and left me with the ruins of his absence.”

His voice did not tremble, but it did lower.

“I carried the task but not the title, the responsibility. And all this time I kept my silence. I thought that was enough.”

Xichen’s gaze dropped.

“But it was not,” Qiren continued. “Because responsibility without righteousness is merely control. And silence, when it defends the wrong things, becomes complicity.”

He paused before adding, “I have seen enough of the future to know this.”

Xichen remained still, listening.

“I will not speak to the man you may yet become,” Qiren said then. “Only to the one sitting before me now.”

He looked at Xichen directly.

“Your worth, to me, and to this Clan, is not measured by title. Nor by how highly others speak of you. It is measured by the man you choose to be, when no one is watching. When no one is praising you. When you must act alone. I'm sorry that I've only now came to this realisation.”

Xichen’s throat worked.

“I do not wish for you to carry this burden alone,” Qiren said, voice softening. “Let us try, together, to alter what may yet come. It will not be simple. It will not be painless. But righteousness rarely is. That I've learned.”

His expression hardened just slightly.

“I can help you avoid becoming the man who let himself be led by empty words and soft lies. But only if you are willing to see yourself clearly and change.”

Xichen’s voice, when it came, was quiet.

“I do not know if I can.”

“You can,” Lan Qiren said. “Whether you want to or not, that is the question.”

A long breath passed between them.

Then Lan Qiren turned, but he paused again before stepping away. “One more thing, A-Huan,” he said, his voice firm. “Your brother may not yet forgive you. But he has not closed his heart to you entirely. Do not give him reason to do so.”

And with that, he left, the sound of his steps fading like the echo of a bell. Lan Xichen sat once more beneath the tree. And this time, the silence did not press down on him. It waited, like something that could still be changed.

The soft murmur of familiar laughter floated through the open windows of the healing pavilion. Bright sunlight spilled across the polished wooden floor, casting gentle shadows.

Lan Zhan sat near the far side, calm and still, with Wei Ying resting comfortably on his lap. Both watch the children sleep peacefully on the bed. 

Lan Xichen approached slowly, the weight of unspoken words pressing on his chest. His footsteps were careful, respectful, not wanting to disturb the fragile peace.

“Wangji, Wei-gongzi,” Xichen said softly, voice barely above the breathing the children.

Lan Zhan’s head lifted, eyes meeting his. There was no bitterness there, only a quiet vigilance.

“I heard you were here,” Xichen continued, hands loosely clasped. “With the children.”

Lan Zhan gave a small nod.

“I wanted to… I want to speak,” Xichen said, searching for the right words, stepping closer. “Not as the Clan Heir. Not as your brother who failed you at another time. But as someone who still hopes, even if it feels impossible, that we might find a way back.”

As Lan Xichen drew near, Wei Ying’s eyes met Lan Zhan’s briefly. A single glance, calm and reassuring. Lan Zhan’s expression softened just a fraction, the smallest nod passing between them.

Without a word, both rose and Lan Zhan stepped forward to meet Lan Xichen. “You have much to make right.”

“I do,” Xichen admitted. “I want you to know that what I saw… what I fear I might become… I don’t want that man to exist.”

Lan Zhan’s lips twitched slightly, the faintest hint of a smile.

“I want to learn. To be better.”

The children stirred and Lan Zhan’s eyes softened further as he glanced to them, then to Wei Ying.

“They are what matters,” he said quietly. “They deserve better than they did in our past.”

Xichen felt a tightness in his throat but pressed on, “I want to be part of their lives, your life. To support you.”

Lan Zhan studied him for a long moment, then reached out a hand, steady, warm.

“Then walk beside me,” he said simply.

Xichen’s breath caught. He took the hand without hesitation.

Wei Ying crouched beside the children, gently nudging A-Yuan and A-Ying awake, though only A-Ying stirred. “Come on, little one, time to wake up.”

A-Ying’s eyes flicked toward Lan Zhan, who stood a short distance away, arms crossed and posture tight, slightly guarded. A-Ying’s small body mirrored him instinctively, shoulders pulled in, gaze wary, her expression hesitant but watchful.

Lan Xichen stepped forward smoothly, offering a warm smile. “Hello, A-Ying. I am Lan Xichen, your Bobo.”

A-Ying hesitated, her eyes flickering between Lan Xichen and her A-Die, her guarded posture not quite melting but softened just enough to acknowledge the introduction with a small nod.

Wei Ying chuckled softly. “See? No need to be so serious. We’ll get there.”

Lan Zhan’s gaze stayed on his brother, cautious but silent, trusting Wei Ying’s subtle encouragement instead of speaking.

The sliding doors opened with a faint creak and Lan Qiren stepped into the pavilion with the kind of composed gravity only decades of Lan discipline could maintain. His gaze swept over the scene, Lan Zhan stiff as ever, Wei Ying crouched low with the children and Lan Xichen trying, awkwardly, to bridge a gap time had wedged open.

He paused when his eyes fell on the little girl. A-Ying, who had remained quiet through her Bobo’s introduction, perked up visibly. Her expression shifted in an instant, wariness melting into something almost bright. She scrambled upright, tiny feet padding across the mattress.

“Yéye!” she chirped.

Wei Ying blinked. “Huh?”

Lan Qiren blinked too, clearly not expecting the greeting. A beat passed. Then slowly, stiffly, as though someone had nudged a mountain into a bow, he crouched before her.

“Xiao-Ying,” he said, voice softer than any of the three adults had heard from him in years. “I am honored.”

A-Ying beamed and, without hesitation, reached out and tugged gently at his sleeve as if it were the most natural thing in the world. Lan Zhan’s brows lifted by a fraction. Lan Xichen looked as though he might have been physically wounded. Even Wei Ying was momentarily stunned.

“She doesn’t even smile at me like that,” he muttered under his breath. Wei Ying gasped dramatically, “My heart! Betrayal! Lan Zhan, do something!”

Lan Zhan turned his head away, but not before Wei Ying saw the briefest twitch of his lips.

Lan Xichen blinked, uncertain whether to feel impressed or slighted. “She... seems very taken with you, Shufu.”

Lan Qiren gave a thoughtful hum. “One must appreciate those with discernment.”

A-Ying’s small fingers still curled around Lan Qiren’s sleeve, her eyes bright with fascination. She leaned in, clearly pleased with herself.

“Yéye,” she repeated, matter-of-fact.

Lan Zhan, standing a few steps away, shifted ever so slightly. “Lan Ying,” he said gently, “that is not correct.”

She blinked up at him.

Lan Zhan’s voice stayed calm but precise, as always. “He is not your Yéye. He is the brother of your Yéye. He's my Shushu”

A pause.

A-Ying’s little brow furrowed like she was considering this revelation with the seriousness of a sect leader in council. Then, without missing a beat, she turned back to Lan Qiren and stretched out her hand, palm up. “Yéye,” she said, completely undeterred.

Wei Ying coughed into his hand, very clearly holding back a laugh. Lan Xichen made a quiet sound, somewhere between startled and charmed. And even Lan Qiren looked down at her hand, then back at her face, with a flash of something deeply unreadable in his eyes.

Finally, he let out a quiet breath and took her hand in his.

“If that is what you’ve decided,” he said, his voice quieter than before but not unkind, “then I suppose I must accept the title.”

A-Ying nodded once, solemn and satisfied.

Lan Zhan watched this with an expression that hovered somewhere between exasperated and reluctant awe. Wei Ying’s eyes met his, a grin tugging at the corners of his mouth and though Lan Zhan said nothing, the faintest lift of his brow spoke volumes.

She’s stubborn, Wei Ying’s eyes said.

She’s yours, Lan Zhan’s replied.

The doors opened again and this time, Wen Qing stepped through. The light in her eyes softened when she spotted the sleeping boy on the mattress and the little girl clutching Lan Qiren’s hand.

Beside her, Wen Popo shuffled in with quiet steps, her hands folded in front of her robes, eyes sharp despite her years.

“A-Yuan’s still asleep?” Wen Qing asked quietly.

Wei Ying nodded. “He’s the only person I know who could sleep through Lan-xiansheng getting a new title.”

That earned a quiet snort from Wen Qing. Lan Qiren gave them a look but didn’t dispute the fact.

A-Ying let go of her newly appointed Yéye’s hand and padded toward Wen Popo curiously. Wen Popo smiled down at her and reached to straighten a loose strand of the girl’s hair. “I'm glad to see you well my dear,” she murmured. “Your parents can finally be at peace, knowing you are so loved.”

Lan Zhan didn’t comment, but Wei Ying blinked twice and rubbed at the corner of one eye with his knuckle like he wasn’t about to cry. At all.

Lan Xichen took a small step forward. His eyes had sharpened slightly, not unkind, but focused. Purposeful.

“Wen-Guniang,” he said, with a slight bow of his head, “I’d like to speak with you. About the relocation Dafan Wen.”

She turned toward him, brows lifting.

“I’ve seen what happens if things are left unattended,” he added, quietly but clearly. “I think it’s time someone made proper arrangements. With care. With dignity.”

Wen Qing studied him for a moment as though measuring not just the words, but the weight behind them. Then she gave a small nod. “Good. Because I have a list.”

Wei Ying let out a breath that could have been relief. Lan Qiren looked faintly surprised, but said nothing.

Lan Xichen turned to Wen Popo next. “If it wouldn’t trouble you, I’d appreciate your insight as well.”

Wen Popo chuckled. “I insist.”

And with that, the three of them stepped out. In their wake, the room settled again.

A-Ying now moved to Wei Ying’s side, clearly pleased with herself. Lan Zhan stood nearby, his hand resting lightly on A-Yuan’s back as the boy began to stir.

Lan Qiren, now seated, watched the door where the others had left  and for once, said nothing at all.

The door creaked open again, and this time, it was Nie Huaisang, composed in a way that's still irritating to Lan Qiren.

Wei Ying looked up, surprised. “Huaisang?”

Huaisang didn’t answer right away. He stepped inside, holding a tightly-bound scroll against his chest like something sacred. His robes were a little rumpled, his eyes just slightly red-rimmed but there was no trace of performance in his movements.

“I said goodbye to Da-ge,” he said quietly. “At least for now.”

He stopped in front of Wei Ying, the scroll extended between both hands.

“I wrote everything down. Everything,” He hesitated. “I don’t want to forget any connection. And I don’t want you to forget it either.”

Wei Ying took the scroll carefully, his fingers brushing Huaisang’s. “Thank you, my friend,” he said, voice softer now.

“I’ve had time,” Huaisang murmured. “And too much to think about.”

He glanced over Wei Ying’s shoulder toward Lan Zhan, then to Lan Qiren, who had moved to the window, listening silently.

Wei Ying cleared his throat, refocusing. “There’s a lot in here,” he said, motioning to the scroll. “It’ll take time. But I know what to start with.”

Lan Qiren raised a brow. “And that is?”

Wei Ying smiled faintly. “The wards. They’re too... I don't know. Is porous the right word, Lan Zhan? Definitely too weak, too old. Too much has already slipped through... I did, for example. If we’re going to alter the shape of this timeline without it collapsing into the last one, the barriers around Cloud Recesses need to hold.”

Lan Zhan made a quiet sound of agreement beside him.

“And after that?” Lan Qiren pressed.

Wei Ying's hand drifted unconsciously to the left side, neatly wrapped of his face, the place where vision had once been.

“A prosthetic,” he said simply. “I’ve had a few ideas. If I’m going to need to see clearly in more ways than one, I’ll need something more than memory.”

Lan Qiren studied him for a moment longer, then gave a rare, solemn nod. “Then begin, Wei Wuxian. If there is anything I can do to support you, please let me know.”

Nie Huaisang let out a quiet breath of surprise at that. Even Wei Ying blinked.

“…Thank you.”

Lan Qiren gave the barest tilt of his head before leaving the three young men and the children.

Over the next days, Qingheng-Jun’s presence around the Cloud Recesses became an increasingly familiar sight.

He never spoke of a decision, but more than one elder had been seen walking away from quiet meetings with him, their expressions thoughtful. Word spread that the full council of elders would gather by the end of the week to discuss matters long overdue.

Change was in the air. Quiet, measured, but tangible.

Even Lan Qiren had changed his habits. Where once he had cut a stern figure alone on the paths or at the study halls, now he was often seen with a small girl perched on his hip, known to everyone in Cloud Recess as Xiao-Ying, stubborn and wide-eyed, clinging to his robes with unshakeable trust. He carried her like he’d done it all his life.

Wei Ying, freshly released from the Healing Pavilion, had been given temporary quarters in an unused guest Pavilion, though everyone knew he rarely spent time there. More often than not, he had slipped away to the Jingshi, where Lan Zhan and A-Ying waited. A-Yuan remained mostly with his wet nurse, calm and blissfully unaware of the unrest swirling around the adults.

On the fifth day, Qingheng-Jun, his brother and eldest son entered the Jingshi and stood frozen in the threshold. Scrolls and talismans lay scattered across a long table, covered in inked sigils, half-bound seals, and delicate threads of sealing silk. A faint, lingering hum of residual qi hung in the air.

Wei Ying stood at one end, animated and breathless, sleeves rolled up and smudged with ash. A half-empty tea cup dangled from his fingers before he remembered it wasn’t a brush and quickly swapped it out. Lan Zhan stood to his right, calm as ever. Across from them now sat Lan Xichen, Qingheng-jun, and Lan Qiren, each in various stages of confusion and attention.

“So,” Wei Ying began, already speaking far too quickly, “these wards here are layered in five concentric loops. Each tier catches a different frequency of spiritual interference. It’s subtle but reactive. The talismans are for emergency defense, not for access... we’re still rethinking the entry system. The jade tokens are basically glorified nameplates at this point. If someone with hostile intent walks in wearing one, the wards won’t recognise the danger. We need something smarter.”

Lan Zhan added quietly, “Something responsive. The defense system has to read qi fluctuations. A token can’t do that.”

Wei Ying pointed at him. “Exactly. The layered arrays as a first defence mechanism are messy but they work.”

Lan Xichen stared at the sketched array like it had personally offended him. “How… how do you even calibrate that?”

“Oh, you know—” Wei Ying flapped his hand. “Field testing. Trial and error. I made Wen Qing walk through it ten times while she was furious with me.”

Lan Zhan gave him a sharp look.

Wei Ying shrugged. “What? It worked.”

Lan Xichen squinted at the design, frowning. “It’s very… dense.”

“That’s because it is,” Wei Ying said dryly. “A simple ward won’t be enough to keep someone like me or, well, the me I used to be, out. Trust me.”

Qingheng-jun was nodding slowly, eyes narrowed in intense, albeit slightly confused, focus.

Lan Qiren, meanwhile, was quiet, following with sharp, practiced eyes.

“The inner loop of this ward uses reflective harmonics?” he asked suddenly. “To repulse foreign qi rather than absorb it?”

Wei Ying blinked, then beamed. “Exactly! That’s why we need the third layer to neutralise the rebound. Otherwise, you’ll end up frying half the inner court every time someone sneezes. Also, I made some drafts for talismans that protect you when attacked. I can look for them, if you want.”

Lan Qiren hummed thoughtfully, clearly filing that away.

“To be clear,” Qingheng-jun said slowly, “the talismans respond to an attack?”

“Yes!” Wei Ying lit up. “They’re dormant unless triggered, so you won’t burn your sleeves off by accident. The idea is that when someone gets attacked, it generates a reactive qi barrier around the body. Not perfect, but just enough to not die. I came up with it while working on the second layer for the first ward.”

Lan Qiren nodded once. “Teach them not to rely on it. But it is useful.”

“And what of non-combatants?” Qingheng-jun asked.

“We’ll make child-safe versions,” Wei Ying said breezily, then paused. “Well. Safe-ish. I’m working on it.”

He tossed down his brush and reached into the satchel at his feet, pulling out a metallic piece veined with crimson and gold, a curved prosthetic eye with the faintest glint of spiritual metal at its core.

“And then there’s this.”

Everyone leaned slightly forward, except for Lan Zhan, who already looked exhausted by the topic.

Wei Ying held the eye aloft. “Limbs? Fine. Arms, legs, push qi, build a skeleton, bind it to nerve flow, done. But this—” he waggled the eye, “—is different. I want this to think. And listen. And speak with me. I don't want it to just see, it has to interpret.”

Lan Xichen’s eyes widened. “Wait… limbs?”

Qingheng-jun sat up straighter, delighted. “You’ve developed artificial limbs?”

Wei Ying blinked. “Uh. Yes?”

“For others?” Qingheng-jun leaned forward like a disciple hearing about sword refinement for the first time. “Are they available? Can I test one?”

“No?” Wei Ying looked horrified. “You're not missing a limb, so...”

Lan Qiren arched one brow. “You’ve succeeded in constructing artificial limbs and didn’t report it to us?”

“I’ve not yet succeeded.” Wei Ying pointed at his eye. “I need to understand nerve-to-qi interface better. Arms are a lot more forgiving than eyes.” He gave a crooked smile. “I don’t want to just replace what I lost. I want something better. Something meaningful. Something worth the blood and time and pain.”

“I see,” Lan Qiren murmured.

Lan Xichen, flustered, ran a hand across his forehead. “You just said arms are ‘forgiving.’ Are you serious?”

“Relatively!”

There was a long silence.

Lan Zhan looked again at the eye. “The eye prototype cannot carry his qi properly. It burns through common alloys. Too much volatility.”

Wei Ying nodded solemnly. “Hence the experiments. I need something organic enough to house spiritual resonance but stable enough to hold the structure of a rune matrix.”

Lan Qiren, astonishingly, was the only one still following. “You need a vessel with spiritual memory and qi receptivity. Not just conductivity.”

Wei Ying pointed at him, eyes lighting up. “YES! See? You get it! A human cultivator can adapt to spiritual qi, but metal can’t, unless you teach it somehow. And to teach it, it has to remember. I'm working on that.”

“That sounds like… unorthodox cultivation,” Lan Xichen said uneasily.

“No,” Lan Zhan said, leaving no room for discussion.

Wei Ying smiled. “I’m just… pushing the boundaries of the known.”

There was another silence, one part awe, two parts dread.

Then Qingheng-jun beamed. “I would like to help you with this.”

“No,” said Lan Zhan and Lan Qiren at the same time.

Wei Ying snorted. “You can help by giving me something to dissect.”

The silence deepened.

“…Kidding.”

Preparations for the upcoming Elders' summit had thrown the Cloud Recesses into a quiet flurry of activity. In the midst of it all, Lan Zhan found himself in the unenviable position of having to gently and increasingly firmly discourage his father from joining Wei Ying in every strange, half-tested experiment he came up with in the past few days.

Qingheng-Jun, to everyone’s mild surprise and Lan Zhan’s private horror, had taken to appearing with a faint smile and open curiosity whenever Wei Ying was testing a new prototype, asking things like, “And if I stabbed this part, A-Ying, would it still work?” or “How many prosthetics could be attached to one body?”

Lan Zhan had nearly banned him from the Jingshi altogether. Nearly.

Lan Qiren, on the other hand, had started shadowing Wei Ying with a critical eye and, worse still, taking notes. He refused to admit he found any of it impressive but his questions had become more precise, more theoretical. More interested.

Lan Xichen, always following, had quietly joined them one evening in search of clarity. Instead, when he, Qingheng-Jun and Lan Qiren with A-Ying in his arms found themselves surrounded by swirling red wards, half-formed sigils, and the growing suspicion that his father was enjoying himself.

Wei Ying sat at the low table, shoulders tense, head bent over something small and gleaming in his hands. Lan Zhan knelt opposite him, watching with careful scrutiny. Between them lay a faint shimmer of red light and the strange hush that only came when talismans were half-breaths from completion.

Qingheng-Jun frowned. “What are you doing, A-Ying?”

Wei Ying didn’t answer, didn’t even flinch. He was deep in focus, fingers moving precisely, lips slightly parted in concentration.

Lan Zhan, never one to leave a question unattended, answered without taking his eyes off Wei Ying’s hands. “Wei Ying is inscribing spells into the eye. None of the inorganic prototypes could sustain spiritual energy properly. Even the living ones... gave out eventually.”

Wei Ying didn’t notice the stares, or pretended not to. His fingers moved with precise intensity, scalpel tip tracing inkless runes along the curve of the eye. Under his touch, it pulsed  faintly.

“The last batch,” Lan Zhan said, quieter now, “was arranged by Huaisang.”

Still, no one asked what exactly the batch had contained. Lan Xichen opened his mouth and closed it again.

Wei Ying finally looked up, not at them, but at the glow rising from the talisman circle beneath the eye. “This one’s holding,” he murmured. “It’s listening.”

Lan Qiren raised a brow, both disturbed and intrigued. “So you are engraving an eye? That’s highly—”

A faint sound interrupted him, Wei Ying had made a small, satisfied noise, wiped his brow with the back of his wrist and rubbed at the bridge of his nose.

“Let's get over with it,” Wei Ying murmured.

With no ceremony whatsoever, he lifted a small ceremonial blade and sliced across the center of his left palm. Blood welled at once.

Before anyone could protest, he tipped his hand forward, letting the blood drip onto the smooth surface of the prosthetic eye. He moved to trace a final rune and A-Ying, nestled quietly in Lan Qiren’s arms, blinked awake.

And then she saw the blood.

Her scream pierced the stillness like a blade. She thrashed, small hands gripping Lan Qiren’s sleeve with growing panic. “A-Niang!!”

Lan Qiren stiffened, nearly dropping the child. “This—this is not—!”

“I’m fine!” Wei Ying said quickly, clearly trying to stay calm as he cradled the glowing eye in his bleeding hand. “Baobei, everything’s fine. Look—A-Niang’s fine, nothing to worry about, it’s just a little blood—”

But the red light had already flared.

The rune ignited.

A violent burst of energy erupted, red mist and burning light surged around Wei Ying’s body, swallowing him whole in a shockwave of crackling qi. Lan Zhan moved immediately, hand raised on instinct, then froze mid-movement, eyes wide.

With a sound like silk folding in on itself, the light collapsed inward.

Silence.

Wei Ying sat back, breath catching in his throat, his skin faintly luminous, eyes wide and dilated. But something fundamental had shifted.

The eye in his hand was no longer inert. It pulsed gently, alive, resonating with his heartbeat.

For one suspended moment, sparks shimmered again. Red and silver threads laced the air, coiling like lightning. The blood sigil sealed with a whisper.

Wei Ying exhaled shakily, planting one hand against the table to steady himself. His other hand held the finished prosthetic, its deep crimson center glowing like a living flame.

All four Lan remained frozen.

Lan Qiren stilled, wide-eyed. Lan Zhan was unmoving, lips parted in disbelief. Even A-Ying had gone quiet.

Then, A-Ying squirmed in her great-uncle’s arms. Her little face broke into a delighted grin. “A-NIANG!!” she shrieked joyfully, reaching out with both hands.

Wei Ying looked up, blood-smeared, panting and grinning like the sun had just risen for him.

Lan Qiren blinked. Lan Zhan let out a breath, short and ragged. Lan Xichen stared, mouth completely open and Qingheng-Jun sported a amsued grin.

And for a fleeting second, all confusion, all unspoken questions, all worry disappeared in the sound of a child’s unshakable certainty.

Lan Qiren, who had just gently set A-Ying down, pinched the bridge of his nose and muttered under his breath, “This is a disaster.”

A-Ying immediately launched herself into Wei Ying’s lap, giggling.

Wei Ying caught her on instinct, still wide-eyed, blinking slowly like a dazed fish.

“Why are you all staring at me like that? HUH?!?!” Wei Ying blurted out, voice shrill.

As the realisation finally started to settle in, he looked down at himself. “Oh... oh no,” he said faintly.