FIC - “What Is Left Over” (Patreon)

A/N: Mostly book canon compliant, with bits of CQL characterization. WWX forms a new golden core as confirmed by MXTX and manages to reconcile with his brother at the same time. Huzzah~

WANGXIAN | Yunmeng brothers reconciliation | post-canon fix-it | light angst

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WHAT IS LEFT OVER

PART ONE: Cloud Recesses

On the way home from a night hunt one evening, Lan Jingyi declared, “HanGuang-Jun could be the first Lan to cultivate to immortality in generations.”

Wei Wuxian, who’d been walking at the head of their group, couldn’t agree more. In terms of spiritual power and cultivation, Lan Wangji had no equal. Then, the full implications of that statement slammed into him like an army of Ghost Generals.

It was common knowledge that Mo Xuanyu hadn’t cultivated a golden core. Wei Wuxian hadn’t dwelled on it much after his return. After everything that had happened, he figured he’d have time. Besides, even without a golden core, Wei Wuxian’s name was still passed between inns and towns with reverence and terror, more the former than the latter these days. He could hardly complain.

But once he recovered from the mental evacuation following Jingyi’s comment, Wei Wuxian thought, Well, shit.

So it was that once they returned to Cloud Recesses, he announced to Lan Wangji his intent to form a golden core. Lan Wangji reacted to this with his usual aplomb.

He nodded. “I will make arrangements.”

It was settled.

The next day, Wei Wuxian held a sword for the first time since he last handed Suibian to Wen Ning almost a year ago. It was a hollow sword, without any spiritual power. Still, the familiarity of a hilt against his palm and the weight of a blade set his heart to racing.

Cultivation and the sword have always been entwined. Studying the sword refined discipline, patience, and control, which in turn advanced meditation and focus. All skills necessary to the formation of a golden core.

The problem was that it’d been a lifetime since Wei Wuxian used a sword for longer than short bursts of necessary self-defense. His body wasn’t as quick to match his memories.

While he retained his reflexes and instincts from his previous life, he’d had to quickly adjust those reflexes into a new body. From the moment he awoke as Mo Xuanyu, he’d been mentally cataloguing the differences between his old body and the one he’d been given.

Mo Xuanyu wasn’t short by any standards. But he was shorter than Wei Wuxian had been, so that when he stood toe to toe with his beloved HanGuang-Jun, rather than looking straight in those pale eyes as Wei Wuxian once could, now his gaze was level with Lan Wangji’s mouth.

A fair trade if he was being honest. Especially now he had the right to kiss that mouth.

After months on the road, and then a stable routine afterward at Cloud Recesses, Mo Xuanyu’s malnourished body had gained weight and strength and endurance. Even beneath the garish white makeup, Mo Xuanyu’s skin had been pale, and his body had acclimated well to the cool Gusu weather. Wei Wuxian, however, had been a child of summer—used to the hot press of the sun and warm rivers teeming with silvery fish.

Then there were the things he couldn’t have compiled by himself, things he only learned after Lan Wangji.

Lan Wangji mapped his new body in ways they’d never had a chance to in Wei Wuxian’s previous life. There was a birthmark on his lower back, which he insisted was a blob, but which Lan Wangji thought looked like a cloud. Lan Wangji liked to press his mouth to four small beauty marks, from the back of Wei Wuxian’s neck beneath the sweep of his hair to his right shoulder blade to behind his elbow and then the curve of his hip, connecting the constellation of his body with hands and lips and teeth.

There were scars as well.

Most were minor, inflicted either at Koi Tower when he’d been a Jin disciple or afterward when he’d suffered under the Mo family. Either way, those, too, told a story of a boy so beaten down and brimming with rage that he’d made an impossible choice. And now, because of all that pain and vengeance, Wei Wuxian was here.

He was grateful to be here, of course. But even so.

I’m sorry, he sometimes thought in the stillness of the night, Lan Wangji’s heartbeat sure and steady against Wei Wuxian’s palm. I’m sorry, when he dodged a fierce corpse, a short burst of spiritual energy propelling him onto the safety of a rooftop. I’m sorry, when he stood barefoot in mounds of tilled soil, pant legs rolled up, tending his garden behind the Jingshi.

After the first few days of gripping a sword for hours on end, his palms ached. Wei Wuxian ignored it. Mo Xuanyu’s fingers were long and elegant, and despite the various nicks and scars scattered across his knuckles and the rough skin of his palms, his hands were unaccustomed to the heft and grip of a sword hilt. Whatever training he’d undergone at Koi Tower, it had been woefully insufficient.

By that evening, his palms had turned red and stinging, and his fingers were stiff. But there were no blisters, which had happened the first time he’d been given a sword as a child. Later, once he retired to the Jingshi, Wei Wuxian tossed his dusty outer robes in a pile beside the bed and retrieved a roll of bandages and the small jar of sharp-smelling salve from a drawer.

The moment Lan Wangji noticed, he stood from where he’d been setting their dinner at the table. White robes billowed around him as he settled on the edge of the bed beside Wei Wuxian. He reached for his hands.

Wei Wuxian didn’t object, instead affecting a pout as Lan Wangji inspected his palms. “Can you believe this, Lan Zhan? Handling a sword hasn’t hurt since I was a baby. So embarrassing. The Yiling Laozu with palms like a new disciple. You won’t tell anyone, will you?”

He grinned, delighting in the way Lan Wangji’s eyes went from concerned to mildly exasperated. It was a subtle shift, and not one people unfamiliar with him would notice.

“You should have said something,” Lan Wangji said, his tone lightly admonishing as he dipped his fingers into the salve. Wei Wuxian admired the elegant lines of Lan Wangji’s face, limned in the fading daylight, as those fingers smoothed the medicine onto his palms in gentle circles.

“This is nothing. Being able to grip a sword with bleeding hands was basically a point of pride in Yunmeng.” Of course, it wasn’t really, and the first time it happened, Jiang Cheng had burst into tears and told him he was an idiot who didn’t know when to quit. Uncle Jiang had pulled him aside and gently instructed him about how knowing your limitations and taking care of yourself allowed you to better protect those important to you.

It was, perhaps, not a lesson Wei Wuxian had learned well.

Lan Wangji made a small doubtful sound. Wei Wuxian grinned and considered teasing him about accusing Wei Wuxian of lying. But he decided to spare him this time since he was being so unbearably sweet again.

Once he finished applying the salve, Lan Wangji wrapped his hands with clean white bandages. Eventually, Wei Wuxian’s palms would harden with calluses, the skin thickening against the repetition of sword forms. For now, he enjoyed Lan Wangji’s ministrations and the way his stomach fluttered as Lan Wangji finished by brushing a kiss over each of Wei Wuxian’s fingertips.

Warmth unfurled from his gut. With a glance at the doors, which were fortunately shut, he rested his arms around Lan Wangji’s shoulders and shifted against the mattress so that he now sat on Lan Wangji’s lap. Lan Wangji made no objection. Layers of white silk and lace enclosed him as Lan Wangji pulled him even closer, the scent of sandalwood cool and comforting.

Wei Wuxian’s bandaged hands trailed through Lan Wangji’s hair, finding the ends of his ribbon to weave between his fingers. He tilted his head, looking up through his lashes. “Kiss me, Er-gege. Your feeble husband is exhausted from training so hard all day. He needs to be comforted.”

The corner of Lan Wangji’s lips quirked, but he obliged. His mouth was warm and soft and much too gentle. Wei Wuxian pressed closer, tugging gently at Lan Wangji’s hair as he opened his mouth and slid his tongue along Lan Wangji’s lower lip.

Fingers tightened at his waist, and he began to grin just as Lan Wangji murmured, “Dinner will get cold.”

Lan Wangji attempted to set him on his feet, but it was an impossible task because Wei Wuxian latched onto him with the tenacity of a wood tick. He shifted in Lan Wangji’s lap, just enough to get both legs around the man’s waist and then very deliberately rolled his hips.

With a gasp that turned into breathless laughter, Wei Wuxian found himself pressed into the bed, Lan Wangji’s long sweep of hair pooling at his shoulder and blocking out the glow of the nearby lantern.

“My husband is so forceful,” he said approvingly, before Lan Wangji kissed him, silencing the rest of his words.

#

Within the first week of training, Wei Wuxian grew bored with repeating basic sword forms. It was time to advance to sparring. This had been the case with him as a disciple as well. Classrooms, books, and theories were too basic. He’d always learned best with a hands-on approach.

However, even with only a hollow sword, Wei Wuxian easily outmaneuvered all of the Lan juniors. The only person who put up a fight was Sizhui, and only because Wei Wuxian had been periodically coaching him on his technique for the past three months.

The senior disciples were better, and while they all happily offered to help, they also had duties to perform outside of their own training. If Lan Qiren thought Wei Wuxian was distracting them, he would scold Lan Wangji for it, which Wei Wuxian couldn’t allow. Zewu-Jun had only just left seclusion and was still settling back into his role as sect leader, so Wei Wuxian couldn’t add unnecessary stress for him either.

That left Lan Wangji who, upon realizing Wei Wuxian’s dilemma, volunteered to be his sparring partner before Wei Wuxian even considered asking.

He tried to protest, given how many other duties Lan Wangji had in Cloud Recesses, but the man could be rather obstinate when he set his mind to something. So Wei Wuxian smiled with excruciating fondness and gave in. He supposed it was inevitable.

To avoid distracting the other disciples, as it would be too tempting to simply drop everything and watch their HanGuang-Jun spar with the Yiling Laozu, Wei Wuxian set about clearing a small area behind the Jingshi. Previously, he’d been switching between the training yard, the Jingshi, and the back hills, but it would be nice to have a dedicated space.

There was, in fact, a second training yard reserved for the sect leader and his immediate family, but Wei Wuxian declined to use it. Trying to focus while being glared at every time Lan Qiren happened by would be counterproductive. Plus, Wei Wuxian enjoyed being able to touch Lan Wangji at his leisure without fear of sending his in-laws into qi deviation.

Lan Wangji ordered a wagon load of stone tiles from Caiyi Town, which were delivered later in the week. Disciples from all over Cloud Recesses began trailing down the secluded path to the Jingshi to watch Wei Wuxian waving Chenqing around and shouting excitedly as he directed the workers laying down the tiles. Zewu-Jun even stopped by to see the progress. Eventually, though, Wei Wuxian had to chase off the disciples before he got in trouble.

The new training space sat directly between the lotus pond, which had been Wei Wuxian’s first project upon arriving at Cloud Recesses, and his garden where he was growing chili peppers (for himself) and various vegetables, like lettuce and carrots (for the rabbits and sometimes Sizhui).

“There’s a rule about unauthorized landscaping in Cloud Recesses,” Jingyi said, once the mayhem was complete. He stood with arms crossed beside the newly laid stones, expression wavering between disapproval and admiration.

Standing in the middle of his new training space, Wei Wuxian rested his hands on his hips. “Of course, there is. But we got permission from Zewu-Jun, so you can stop pretending like you don’t want to join me over here.”

Hearing this, Jingyi relaxed a bit. Wei Wuxian bit back a grin. In all fairness, he’d done a number of things in his youth knowing full well they were against the rules, but since returning to Cloud Recesses as Lan Wangji’s cultivation partner, he’d done his best to provide as few opportunities as possible for the Lan elders to disapprove of him.

Some days were more successful than others.

If someone had told him as a teenager he’d one day find himself living in the Cloud Recesses with the most beautiful and inflexible boy he’d ever had the misfortune to meet, he would have laughed himself into an infirmary. But here he was, happier than any man, much less the Yiling Laozu, had a right to be, with a husband who rearranged his entire life at Cloud Recesses just to accommodate Wei Wuxian’s needs.

He and Lan Wangji hadn’t properly dueled in so long that Wei Wuxian all but dragged him behind the Jingshi the moment he returned from his duties that evening.

“You like it,” Lan Wangji said. Instead of surveying the new space, he watched Wei Wuxian’s face. His hair was still pulled up with an elaborate pin, and he rested one hand at his back as he circled the lotus pond to where Wei Wuxian stood. Despite the long day, the hours never seemed to wear on him the way they did Wei Wuxian, who was covered in a fine layer of dust.

“It’s just missing one thing,” Wei Wuxian said, tapping his chin. He tilted his head, grinning, and then grabbed Lan Wangji’s hand, tugging him onto the smooth stone. “Celebratory kiss.”

He lifted his face. Without hesitation, Lan Wangji kissed him in a chaste pressing of lips. Wei Wuxian let it linger for a moment, and then drew away before he got too distracted.

“Okay, now we have to break it in! Unless you’re hungry,” he said quickly. “Then it can wait. You’ve had a long day.”

There was at least an hour of daylight left, the shadows of the trees stretching over the Jingshi and the lotus pond, but they often took their time in the evenings with their nightly rituals when they weren’t on a night hunt.

“I’m not hungry,” he said, gesturing for Wei Wuxian to take up a position opposite him.

Beaming, Wei Wuxian retrieved the hollow sword from the stand that he’d relocated from inside the Jingshi, and unsheathed the blade.

While his fighting skills (sans a sword) were sharp, and he could devise a half dozen ways to evade or outmaneuver a new attack within a few heartbeats, retraining his body to think in terms of swordplay wasn’t as easy as he expected against a skilled opponent. It only took two duels with Lan Wangji—during which it was painfully obvious the man was holding back—for him to realize it would take some time before he could once again match Lan Wangji blade to blade.

Which, if he was being honest, was kind of a blow to his pride. In his previous life, he’d spent his days at Lotus Pier swimming (stealing lotus seeds), exploring the market (charming the vendors for free food), and hunting pheasants (agility training if Uncle Jiang asked), all while maintaining his place as YunmengJiang’s top disciple.

But, he reminded himself after Lan Wangji disarmed him for the fourth time in a half hour, that was after he’d formed his golden core. Before achieving that coveted milestone in every cultivator’s life, he and Jiang Cheng had spent every day perfecting their sword forms and meditating to condense their spiritual energy.

If he’d done it once, he could do it again. Wei Wuxian was nothing if not determined.

Mo Xuanyu’s body was older than when Wei Wuxian did this the first time around, and it was said that cultivators who formed a golden core later in life would never achieve a high level of cultivation.

Luckily, Wei Wuxian had spent both his lives attempting, and achieving, the impossible. He was not averse to doing it again.

And who better to help him than the most gifted cultivator of their generation? Conveniently also his husband. Wei Wuxian always had excellent taste.

Now that their private training space was finished, Lan Wangji threw himself into helping him the way he tackled most things involving Wei Wuxian—with single-minded purpose.

He even constructed a schedule for him, and then forced him to actually stick to it. He was relentless in this, and no amount of Wei Wuxian’s fluttering lashes, feigned swooning, or “accidentally” exposed shoulders would make Lan Wangji give in. And since he was so endearingly earnest about it, Wei Wuxian couldn’t even be annoyed with him.

As a bonus, his new schedule meant spending more time with Lan Wangji, which Wei Wuxian didn’t mind in the least. While Lan Wangji completed his daily sect duties, Wei Wuxian spent his mornings meditating before the lotus pond, and just as often falling asleep while meditating. After lunch, which they always tried to eat together, he taught lessons about talismans to the younger juniors. He’d been teaching for months now with Zewu-Jun’s approval, particularly after Wei Wuxian had eavesdropped on a class and then inserted himself by correcting the instructor.

After that, he climbed the paths to the back hills to feed the rabbits, sometimes with Sizhui or Jingyi when their schedules allowed. Then he returned to the Jingshi to tend his garden before running through YunmengJiang sword drills he remembered from his years at Lotus Pier until Lan Wangji joined him for the rest of the afternoon until dinner.

Wei Wuxian’s hands had long since healed, calluses thickening the skin of his palms, and the strength in his wrists and forearms grew stronger every day. Even so, after three days of sparring with Lan Wangji, Wei Wuxian only won once, and only because he used a talisman. Then he had to promise to stick strictly to sword techniques.

“But this is how I’d fight in the field,” Wei Wuxian insisted even as he pouted through every word. “I’ve always used talismans. It’s hardly cheating.”

“You are meant to be focusing your qi through swordplay,” Lan Wangji said, sounding irritatingly reasonable. “If you rely on other means, then you undermine that purpose. At least for now, you must focus on one method. Only until your golden core has formed.”

Wei Wuxian sighed dramatically. “It seems the day I’ve always feared has arrived. My husband has cruelly denied me.”

Lan Wangji did his best approximation of an exasperated sigh, and then wrapped his arms around Wei Wuxian’s waist. He was, of course, instantly forgiven.

He was also right. Lan Wangji usually was. And so, Wei Wuxian continued to lose.

The thought of what Jiang Cheng would say if he knew Wei Wuxian was allowing the GusuLan sword style to thoroughly thrash YunmengJiang’s gave him a full-body shudder. Hopefully, he would never find out.

During one such afternoon, after Sizhui and Jingyi arrived to observe their two seniors sparring, Sizhui remarked mildly, “Jin Ling used that move the first time we dueled.”

That “first time” had been a year prior, and Wei Wuxian distinctly recalled Sizhui complimenting Jin Ling’s progress less than a month ago during a night hunt, because Jin Ling had been smug about it for two days straight.

While Wei Wuxian sputtered indignantly, Jingyi added, “He’s saying you duel like a junior.”

Sizhui’s face flushed pink. “That’s not what I meant.”

Wei Wuxian flung out a disbelieving arm as he rounded on Lan Wangji. “Lan Zhan, do you hear your disciples disrespecting their senior? I can’t believe how far Lan courtesy has fallen. They said even Jin Ling’s sword skills have progressed further than mine.”

Lan Wangji gave a thoughtful nod. “It’s to be expected.”

“Betrayal,” Wei Wuxian said, clutching his chest. “Betrayal all around.”

With one of those fond half-smiles that made Wei Wuxian’s toes curl in his boots, Lan Wangji skimmed his fingers over Wei Wuxian’s knuckles. “Wei Ying. You stopped studying the sword a long time ago.”

At once, Wei Wuxian laced their fingers, because that fond half-smile had slipped into something old and aching, a wound kept fresh through memory and stubbornness.

Fortunately, Wei Wuxian could always rely on Jingyi for levity when he wasn’t up to the task.

Jingyi crossed his arms and smirked. “I’m sure Jin Ling would be happy to teach you some more advanced sword forms. I could ask him for you.”

While Wei Wuxian considered whether or not he should curse Jingyi to speak only in rhyme for the next twenty-four hours, Sizhui sensed the storm approaching his friend and stepped forward.

“Even though you’re using just above junior-level techniques, you compensate them with a master cultivator’s skills,” Sizhui said, restoring his place in Wei Wuxian’s heart as the second-best Lan.

“This is why no one else has been able to best you,” Lan Wangji said, sheathing Bichen.

“Lan Zhan, you know you don’t have to soften me up with compliments to have your way with me.”

“I’m merely stating a fact,” Lan Wangji said, although he noticeably shifted closer.

“I think I hear Sect Leader Lan calling,” Shizui said before bowing swiftly and making his escape.

Wei Wuxian barely heard him as he dropped his sword and declared, “HanGuang-Jun, I’m going to kiss you.”

As Lan Wangji’s expression went unbearably soft, Jingyi made a strangled sound and fled after his friend.

One hour and a thoroughly satisfied Wei Wuxian later, Lan Wangji still made him finish their sparring session.

They ate a late dinner, and then Wei Wuxian settled on the bed to meditate as Lan Wangji plucked at the guqin. He played a melody meant to clear one’s meridians and strengthen their spiritual center. As far as Wei Wuxian could tell, it seemed to help. Every day, he felt his qi flow quicker and more powerful, his spiritual energy strengthening along with his body. And yet, a tight ball of anxiety sat in his gut, ironically where his golden core would be. No amount of meditation could relieve it.

He decided not to mention this to Lan Wangji.

As Lan Wangji finished the final notes of his song, he rested his hands across the strings to still them before saying, “I’ll draw a bath for you.”

Wei Wuxian set about picking up all his various things that lay strewn about the Jingshi—talismans he’d begun and abandoned, several different black and red robes, pieces of inventions he hadn’t yet worked out, a river stone shaped like a fish that had amused him—as Lan Wangji left to retrieve water for the tub.

Once he’d returned and the wooden bath was filled, Wei Wuxian hung his dusty robes over the screen and sank into the warm water. “Will you join me?” he asked, resting his arm over the edge of the tub.

“Wash first,” Lan Wangji said, kneeling behind him. Wei Wuxian remained still as long fingers loosened his ribbon, releasing his hair around his face and shoulders.

Lan Wangji set the red ribbon onto the desk, folding it neatly, as Wei Wuxian briefly submerged his head beneath the water. Brushing away the strands sticking wetly to his forehead, he felt Lan Wangji’s fingers return to gently gather his hair. Cool air brushed against the back of his neck before he felt the press of soft lips.

“Lan Zhan,” he muttered, sounding as miserable as he could.

But other than another swift kiss, Lan Wangji only combed his fingers through the long strands, working the soap through the length.

“Do you have a lot of work to do yet?” Wei Wuxian asked, eying the stack of papers sitting on the desk, beside Wei Wuxian’s own stack.

“A bit.”

“I’ll help you.”

“Mn.”

Wei Wuxian rattled off about how class had gone, pausing only to dunk his head again and rinse his hair. Then, while admiring the bite marks on his chest, he continued as if uninterrupted about how the disciples were studying a talisman he’d created that sent Lan Wangji glowing spirit butterflies every hour, just to remind the man that he was thinking about him. The students were to explain how he did it, and then recreate it.

“It’s just a jumping off point,” Wei Wuxian said because he wanted to assure Lan Wangji that he was teaching the children practical skills. “Before you know it, we’ll be sending messages that way. Hey, Lan Zhan. It’s been almost four weeks. How long do you think it’ll take this time around?”

Lan Wangji, who was well used to Wei Wuxian’s rapid-fire topic switches, had no trouble keeping up. “It is difficult to tell. Four weeks isn’t so long.”

“Did you know Jiang Cheng formed his golden core before any of the other disciples our age?” Wei Wuxian said, rubbing the soap over his skin. He’d meant for the words to come out sounding proud. Instead, he surprised himself by sounding sad. He remembered Jiang Cheng’s smile, his sheer joy, and how he’d carried that badge of honor around until it had been inevitably slapped down by Madam Yu, who’d scolded him for not directing the energy to his swordplay.

“I did not know that,” Lan Wangji said. His fingers rested at the base of Wei Wuxian’s head, gently rubbing in small circles. “Wei Ying.”

When he fell silent, Wei Wuxian turned in the tub to face him. “What is it, Lan Zhan?”

Those pale eyes, always so quietly intense, fixed on him, searching. Zewu-Jun’s eyes were a deeper shade of brown, as were his uncle’s, which probably meant that particular shade of gold had come from his mother.

Uncle Jiang had mentioned once that Wei Wuxian favored his mother in looks and temperament as well. He wondered if their parents would have gotten along.

Then he pushed away the thought, and lifted one eyebrow at Lan Wangji’s continued silence. With a sudden grin, he stood, water cascading from his bare skin. “Help me dry off?” he said, one corner of his mouth hitched.

Lan Wangji’s ears went pink as he stood. He swept hair off of Wei Wuxian’s shoulder, dropping a kiss in its place. Wei Wuxian bit his bottom lip to stifle a triumphant laugh as Lan Wangji’s arms circled his waist, pulling Wei Wuxian roughly against him and thoroughly soaking the front of his robes.

Sometime later, when they were both clean and dry and grading was finished for the evening, Wei Wuxian lay with his head pillowed on Lan Wangji’s shoulder, the blanket pulled up around their shoulders. The lanterns had been doused, and only moonlight, diffused in the mist, filtered through the window.

“Lan Zhan,” he said, wondering if he was still awake.

“Hm?” came the soft reply, a low vibration against Wei Wuxian’s cheek.

“You seemed like you wanted to ask me something earlier.”

Lan Wangji was quiet for so long that Wei Wuxian wasn’t sure he’d reply. But then, at last, he spoke in as tentative a voice as Wei Wuxian had ever heard from him.

“Why did you decide it was time to form your golden core?”

Wei Wuxian instantly tensed, although he couldn’t rightly say why. Lan Wangji’s arm tightened around his shoulders, hands soothing, but Wei Wuxian didn’t rise.

Instead, he forced himself to relax again into Lan Wangji’s side and said, “What do you mean? Isn’t it natural to want it? We’re cultivators.”

“Yes,” Lan Wangji agreed. “But why now?”

“If not now, then when?”

“That isn’t what I mean.”

Wei Wuxian sighed. Why had he chosen now to form his golden core? It wasn’t to try and fit back into a world that had taken so much from him, and that he had taken from in equal measure. It wasn’t because he cared about what anyone outside of those he loved thought about him. But—

“HanGuang-Jun, your level of cultivation is already worlds ahead of mine.” He could sense Lan Wangji working up an objection, or at least a defense of Wei Wuxian’s skills, so he added, “Yes, when we’re fighting enemies—seriously fighting, not the sparring we’ve been doing—we’re equals. It’s one of the things I’ve always loved about you—that you were my match from the very beginning. But without a golden core, I can’t stay by your side for as long as I want.”

Lan Wangji had already cultivated to a level where he no longer aged at a normal pace. Wei Wuxian was his martial equal, but in terms of spiritual energy—Wei Wuxian was far behind. He had to catch up because he had no intention of leaving Lan Wangji again for as long as he was able. If it was allowed, could he be a little selfish in this?

And to be honest, it wasn’t just that, although remaining at Lan Wangji’s side for as long as he would have him was a strong motivator.

“Also, I just…I miss it,” he mumbled, as if he should be embarrassed of missing something he’d spent years of his life achieving. “I miss dueling with you blade to blade. I miss the weight of my sword and flying on a blade by my own power. Being able to heal more quickly, tire less—although I should warn you I have no plans to stop eating as much as I like no matter how good I get at practicing in inedia. I just…miss it. Does it have to be more complicated than that?”

Wei Wuxian felt a gentle pressure at the top of his head before Lan Wangji’s arm eased around him.

“No,” Lan Wangji said simply, and left it at that.

#

The following week, Lan Wangji needed to cover classes for an instructor who was away in Qinghe, so Sizhui volunteered his afternoon to spar with him. Sizhui’s sword skills were well above his peers, but Wei Wuxian spent as much of the afternoon instructing him as Sizhui did trying to best Wei Wuxian.

Wei Wuxian dodged the swipe of Sizhui’s blade, parrying quickly before dropping into a wide sweep of his leg. Sizhui leaped gracefully back, robes billowing around him and sending a gust of wind over the nearby garden. The lettuce heads rustled.

“You’re going to be amazing one day, Sizhui,” he said, closing the distance between them.

“Thank you, Senior Wei,” he said, even as he thrust his sword for the opening Wei Wuxian deliberately gave him.

Smirking, Wei Wuxian parried easily, spun on his heel, and forced the sword from Sizhui’s hand. The elegant silver weapon hit the stones with a clatter. Sizhui froze, eyes widening.

Wei Wuxian bent to retrieve the sword, and handed it back as he said, “I’ve told you that if you see an opening, then take it. But you also have to consider what you know of your opponent. You should have expected that I would trick you.”

“I understand.” As Sizhui accepted his sword, his gaze slid away, lips compressing a little.

Wei Wuxian rested a hand on the boy’s shoulder. “Don’t feel bad about losing. Someday, you’ll be just as good as your HanGuang-Jun.”

“It’s not that,” he said, looking apologetic now.

“Oh? You think you’ll be even better than Lan Zhan? Hm, a bold statement.”

Before Wei Wuxian could get carried away, Sizhui cut him off. “I’m supposed to be helping you, and instead, you’re teaching me. I’m sorry to let you down.”

Wei Wuxian had the sudden, overwhelming urge to pinch his cheeks. Only a child raised by Lan Wangji could turn out this unabashedly good. But out loud, he said, “Ah, only a child raised under my tender care could be so considerate of his elders.”

Over Sizhui’s shoulder, something white flashed between the trees, just beneath the underbrush. Several rabbits were snuffling through the grass. Since setting up his garden, more and more of the rabbits had begun finding their way to the Jingshi.

With a grin, he swept past Sizhui. Sizhiu followed, looking confused, until he spotted the rabbits as well. Wei Wuxian plucked two of them into his arms while Sizhui lifted a third.

“Let’s return them to the others,” Wei Wuxian said, and Sizhui smiled, nodding.

The small bodies squirmed against him, noses bumping his chest. The rabbits in Cloud Recesses were so used to being handled that they usually didn’t mind being picked up. But they definitely seemed to have their favorite humans, particularly Lan Wangji and Sizhui. Wei Wuxian supposed he couldn’t blame them. They were his favorite humans as well.

The two of them weaved through the trees, eventually finding the footpath that wound around Cloud Recesses into the back hills.

As Wei Wuxian nudged aside a branch that thrust into the path, Sizhui said, “Senior Wei. What if…what if I used YunmengJiang style?”

Wei Wuxian’s head snapped up from where he’d been nuzzling one of the rabbits. “YunmengJiang? To spar with me?”

He recalled Sizhui unconsciously switching to the style during a night hunt some time ago, but that had stopped after they returned to Cloud Recesses and he’d been ordered to perform the basic GusuLan sword forms a thousand times a day for a week. It wasn’t appropriate for a Lan disciple to use another sect’s sword style, or to mix their styles as that could impede the growth of his cultivation.

This was why, as much as Wei Wuxian had picked up on the Lan style of sword fighting, he’d continued to use YunmengJiang. It was the style he’d been trained with, and the style he was most comfortable using.

“I’ve picked up a few things from watching Jin Ling fight,” Sizhui explained. Then he visibly cringed, perhaps recalling his punishment. He lifted the rabbit he was carrying to eye level, gentle fingers trailing over its ears. “Although HanGuang-Jun might not approve.”

“Maybe, but I think you’ve got the right idea. Besides, Lan Zhan will know it’s because you want to help me,” Wei Wuxian said, which eased the tension building in Sizhui’s shoulders. “All right then. Let’s give it a try.”

They returned the rabbits to the rest of their colony and then made their way back to the Jingshi for another round.

At Sizhui’s age, Wei Wuxian had already mastered techniques superior to those of his fellow junior disciples. But no matter how well he knew them in his head and his heart, without continued training or the muscle memory gained from years and years of repeated movements, it was only natural that his skills would degrade, especially within a new body. This was why he’d yet to beat Lan Wangji in a duel, without the use of either talismans or demonic cultivation.

He didn’t expect, however, the way his blood rushed in his ears as Sizhui took up a painfully familiar stance, or the way his heart jumped when Sizhui attacked, using a move he’d seen Jiang Cheng use a thousand times in their youth. The GusuLan sword style was striking and elegant, using graceful but powerful movements that were almost as much for the aesthetic as for effectiveness. YunmengJiang was swift and fluid, a seamless flow of attacks to wear down the enemy before striking fast, like a flooding river.

Sizhui’s knowledge was rudimentary at best. Still, Wei Wuxian’s body sang with renewed energy at the familiar footwork, the sinuous thrust and swipe of their swords.

Wei Wuxian could easily disarm Sizhui, but he didn’t. Instead, he adjusted his speed to match Sizhui’s, focusing instead on form and accuracy, every turn of his foot and twist of his wrist perfectly executed. He lost himself in the dance, the push and pull of waves lapping against the stilts of a pier.

“Sizhui.”

They lowered their swords at once, Wei Wuxian’s heart leaping for a completely different reason. Beaming, he turned to see Lan Wangji rounding the side of the Jingshi, alongside the lotus pond. His white robes, edged in a pale-blue cloud pattern, swept around his long legs. His hair was pulled back with a simple silver ornament, less lavish than the ones he wore when he left Cloud Recesses, or when he had to greet cultivators from other sects.

Wei Wuxian took a moment to admire the view. At his side, Sizhui dropped into a respectful bow.

“HanGuang-Jun,” he said.

“You finished early?” Wei Wuxian asked.

“Class has ended.”

Wei Wuxian blinked, noted the position of the sun and the descending evening, and laughed. “We lost track of time.”

“Mn.” Lan Wangji regarded Sizhui. “You were using YunmengJiang techniques.”

“Don’t punish him, Lan Zhan. I asked him to.”

After a heartbeat, Lan Wangji nodded. To Sizhui, he asked, “Will you join us for dinner?”

Sizhui beamed. “Of course. I’ll prepare the tea.”

As he disappeared into the Jingshi, Wei Wuxian sheathed the hollow sword and returned it to the sword stand. “Lan Zhan, let me explain. I can’t learn a whole new sword style. Well, I mean, I can, but if I want to form a golden core, I can’t start from zero. I need to work with the foundation I already have.”

“I understand,” Lan Wangji said.

Wei Wuxian gave him a lopsided smile and draped his arms over Lan Wangji’s shoulders. At once, Lan Wangj pulled him closer, eyes drifting shut as he touched their foreheads together.

“Missed you,” Wei Wuxian said, tongue darting out to dampen the other man’s lower lip. Lan Wangji’s fingers tightened at his hips, pressing against a bruise he’d put there himself just last night as Wei Wuxian shouted his name for all of Cloud Recesses to hear.

“Shameless,” Lan Wangji said, although the word was spoken with affection, and he made no move to step away.

Wei Wuxian grinned, wrinkling his nose. “Lan Zhan, I’m dusty and sweaty from training all afternoon. I’ll get your clothes dirty.”

“I don’t mind.” To prove this, Lan Wangji kissed him, biting down just enough for Wei Wuxian to feel the sting deep in his belly.

Wei Wuxian angled his head and parted his lips, rising onto his toes. And then, fighting against the urge to drag Lan Wangji into the bushes, he broke away.

“Sizhui is waiting for us,” he reminded Lan Wangji, who only nodded dreamily. Wei Wuxian laughed, so overcome with happiness that he didn’t know how he could possibly contain it all. “Should we eat out here today?”

“Mn.”

Wei Wuxian grinned and reluctantly pulled free of Lan Wangji’s embrace. They fetched Sizhui from the house, and together, the three carried the tea, dishes, and a low table out onto the smooth flat stones of the training area.

The sun had begun to set, the clouds lit up in vermillion and lavender. It was late summer, and the weather would begin to turn soon. Even during the height of summer, though, it never got too hot in Cloud Recesses, not like in Lotus Pier, and despite the mist that clung stubbornly to the trees, it was never humid.

In Yunmeng, there had been summers when you could barely breath with how thick the moisture hung in the air. On those days, he and Jiang Cheng and some of the other boys would flee to the river, refusing to come out until well after their fingers pruned.

Sizhui poured tea for them, and Wei Wuxian filled their plates. Lan Wangji watched them both, his expression shuttered but gentle.

“Senior Wei,” Sizhui said, resting his chopsticks over the rim of his soup bowl. “Please forgive me, but I won’t be able to spar with you next week.”

“Do you have a night hunt?” Wei Wuxian asked, perking up. He’d taken the juniors on easy night hunts since beginning his training, mostly mountain beasts that couldn’t do much damage.

Lan Wangji didn’t seem surprised, which meant he must have known about this beforehand.

“Yes, in Baling,” Sizhui explained. “We’ll be meeting with Jin Ling and Ouyang Zizhen. Uncle Ning has agreed to join us as well.”

“Ah, that’s great. I’m glad he’ll be with you.”

Sizhui, Jingyi, and the other juniors among their age group had begun going on occasional night hunts without either Wei Wuxian or Lan Wangji to supervise. It was inevitable, however bittersweet. Their skills improved daily, and someday soon, they would no longer be juniors.

But at least for now, if Wen Ning would be with them, then Wei Wuxian had no reason to worry.

“Yes, and there will be Ouyang seniors nearby as well, in case we need to make use of Zizhen’s signal flare.”

Lan Wangji nodded in approval, although Wei Wuxian could see by the tranquil way he sipped his tea that he wasn’t worried either about the night hunt. The signal flare was fine, but Wei Wuxian doubted it would be used. Not just because they were perfectly capable of defending themselves, especially with Wen Ning, but because signaling for help was still one of the last things Jin Ling would do, especially now that he was a sect leader.

His two companions fell into silence as they ate, letting Wei Wuxian fill the quiet. Although Lan Wangji spoke with him during meals when it was just the two of them, or when they were away from Cloud Recesses on a night hunt, he had to set an example with company, even when it was only Sizhui.

Wei Wuxian had made it something of a challenge to get the two Lans to speak as much as possible during a meal. Sizhui was easy, because he was too polite not to respond to a direct question, but Lan Wangji only gave him nonverbal or single-word answers regardless of whatever Wei Wuxian asked him. His eyes lit up with amusement, though, so Wei Wuxian took it as a win either way.

#

He was falling. The wind screamed in his ears, joined by the clamor of dozens of voices. As the ground rushed up to meet him, all he could taste was ash and dust.

Wei Wuxian’s eyes flew open. The darkness of the Jingshi greeted him. His heart raced. Sweat cooled against his temples. Beside him, Lan Wangji’s hand rose to card gently through Wei Wuxian’s hair.

“Wei Ying,” came his quiet voice, rough with sleep.

“It’s nothing,” Wei Wuxian said quickly, tucking his face into Lan Wangji’s shoulder. He trailed feathery kisses against the warm skin. Lan Wangji began to shift against him, but Wei Wuxian pressed his palm to Lan Wangji’s chest, the thin silk of his sleeping robes cool against his hand. “Rest.”

With one last kiss, Wei Wuxian rose from the bed. His skin prickled from the loss of body heat, and he wrapped his arms around himself. It wasn’t particularly cold, but he still shivered. Although it was dark, he would know his way around the Jingshi with his eyes closed. He tugged on a black robe that he’d hung on the screen earlier in the evening and didn’t bother with a sash as he slipped on his boots near the entrance.

The doors slid open with barely a sound, and he stepped out into the night. Like most nights in Cloud Recesses, the mist hung low over the mountains, shrouding the stars. But slivers of moonlight managed to pierce the fog, glimmering silver over the roof of the Jingshi. He descended the stairs and moved to the side of the building where he crouched along the edge of the lotus pond.

His fingers skimmed over the water’s surface, which rippled in small silver waves. The last time he had that nightmare was over two months ago. He’d hoped he was free of it.

His heart was still beating too quickly. Settling onto the grass, he crossed his legs and rested his hands at his knees. He closed his eyes and drew a slow, deep breath. Maybe meditating would help.

A moment later, a whisper of sound disturbed the quiet. He opened his eyes as Lan Wangji sat beside him, his pale robes pooling around his legs like a puddle of moonlight. With a resigned smile, Wei Wuxian leaned into Lan Wangji’s side, resting his head on his shoulder. An arm came around him, pulling him closer.

“You’ll be tired in the morning,” Wei Wuxian said, voice hushed. He watched mist tumble from the trees like restless ghosts, spreading over the surface of the pond and gathering between the lotus petals. At night, Cloud Recesses always felt a bit illusory, like a bit of gossamer that might vanish with the dawn.

“So will you,” Lan Wangji pointed out. “Do you wish to tell me about your dream?”

They’d spoken about Wei Wuxian’s nightmares in the past, but never in much detail. He wasn’t sure what there was to say in any case. “Not tonight. Just hold me?”

“Always,” came his low reply. His other arm circled Wei Wuxian as well, all but pulling him against him. Wei Wuxian didn’t mind, drawing in the scent of sandalwood and the warmth of a body wrapped around his own.

They stayed that way, watching the mist curl around the stems of lotus blooms. Wei Wuxian’s mouth tipped up on one side as he considered what a strange metaphor it was for the way he’d twined Lotus Pier and Cloud Recesses in his heart, two places he’d called home in two different lifetimes.

But he’d called another place home as well for a time. The Burial Mounds remained like a buried tomb at the back of his mind, sealed firmly shut to convince himself it no longer mattered. And for the most part, it didn’t. It was behind him, and there was no need to visit old graves. But sometimes, in the dark and the stillness, the corpses of long buried memories would tear from the tomb, clawing through Wei Wuxian’s many mental wards, and they would need to be put to rest all over again.

As his eyelids grew heavy, the mist and lotus blooms blurred into the wisps of ghosts crouched around the base of trees. The call of cicadas tilted into the whine of wind through crackling branches, voices whispering of promised vengeance. His pulse quickened.

Lan Wangji’s arms tightened around him. His voice was low and familiar against his ear. “Stay with me, Wei Ying.”

He opened his eyes again, turning so that all he could see in the darkness was the curve of Lan Wangji’s cheek and the curtain of his dark hair. “I’m right here, Lan Zhan.”

“Mn.” He lowered his head, brushing his lips against Wei Wuxian’s. “Stay.”

So he did. “I’m here.”

#

With every day, Wei Wuxian’s spiritual energy grew. His qi flowed strong and swift, flaring within him in bright moments of momentary power. But without a golden core, all that power flowed out just as quickly.

Even with daily meditation beside the lotus pond or one of Cloud Recesses’ numerous waterfalls, even practicing the sword for hours on end, he seemed to have hit a wall. It was maddening.

Wei Wuxian had been a prodigy. If he was being honest, he still considered himself pretty smart. He didn’t need spiritual energy to defeat whatever manner of monster or corpse shambled into his path or to outwit any other cultivator in battle, including his own husband.

Swordplay was one of those skills that had always come naturally to him. It had driven Jiang Cheng up a wall that Wei Wuxian could master a new technique more quickly than any of the other disciples. Of course, he’d already mastered his current array of sword skills, so he’d spent these past months relearning them, perfecting them further, and then directing all that focused energy into meditating and gathering his qi.

Was the problem Mo Xuanyu’s body? He dismissed the notion as soon as it formed. During meditation, his qi felt strong, his spiritual energy swift and his meridians unobstructed. Everything was working as it should, and whatever physical limitations Mo Xuanyu had had, Wei Wuxian’s aptitude had blown through them. Mo Xuanyu could have done so himself, possibly, had he a better teacher at Koi Tower. More than likely, he’d been bullied there, given the Jin sect’s preoccupation with bloodline during Jin Guangshan’s time as sect leader. He wasn’t the son of a prostitute, but he’d been a bastard and a constant reminder to Madam Jin of Jin Guangshan’s faithlessness.

But Mo Xuanyu had deciphered and performed an obscure and complicated sacrifice ritual. He had not been a fool or an idiot, as others painted him to be. Given time, patience, and determination, he might have become a decent cultivator. But Mo Xuanyu had been given none of those things, and now Wei Wuxian had a chance to recover something he’d thought lost to him. A chance that he was blowing.

Two months after he’d begun training, Wei Wuxian decided he needed to use a spiritual sword. It was still only a training sword, and the sword spirit was weak, perfect for the hundreds of fumbling disciples who’d wielded it before. The moment Wei Wuxian held it, the sword blade flared bright with the promise of power, before fading to barely a glint at all.

The first day with the sword, he fainted after two hours. Lan Wangji caught him the instant he wavered on his feet. The second time he used it, he fainted after four hours. Sizhui caught him that time, with Jingyi shouting frantically in the background for HanGuang-Jun, even though Wei Wuxian came to almost immediately, and all right, yes, his nose had bled a little. Still, hardly something to get worked up about.

Lan Wangji had appeared at once, as if by transportation talisman, and carried Wei Wuxian inside to rest. Wei Wuxian would have been embarrassed if he possessed any shame. Lan Wangji tried to scold him for pushing his body too quickly, but then Wei Wuxian tugged him into the bed with him.

The third time he used a spiritual sword, he got lightheaded but didn’t faint. He pretended to anyway, right next to Jingyi, just to test his reflexes. Jingyi barely caught him in time, and his panicked, “Senior Wei!” was so adorable that Wei Wuxian began laughing. Jingyi’s face turned a furious shade of red, and because Wei Wuxian made no move to support his own weight, he was certain Jingyi was about to throw him into the lotus pond.

But self-preservation and Lan discipline won out, because he only set Wei Wuxian back on his feet with a scowl and a stern, “That was not funny. What would have happened if I dropped you? HanGuang-Jun would kill me.”

“Lan Zhan doesn’t kill disciples,” Wei Wuxian said through his laughter. “He only tortures them a little. Highly survivable.”

With a huff, Jingyi turned on his heel toward the path leading away from Jingshi. Wei Wuxian grabbed his arm.

“Okay, sorry, sorry! I just wanted to tease you a bit. But hey, I didn’t faint this time!”

He didn’t faint the next time either, and soon enough, his body became accustomed to the low level spiritual sword. He did, however, completely black out when he tried to use Bichen for longer than a single duel. He wouldn’t be able to wield a spiritual sword of that caliber until he had a golden core to store his spiritual energy.

Still, he could feel how close he was. His qi gathered and swirled within him, teetering at the cusp of success. He was so close. But he couldn’t seem to breach that final stretch.

#

The next time they took the juniors on a night hunt, Wei Wuxian secured Chenqing at one hip and a sword at the other. Lan Wangji watched him do this with a look of such fierce pride that they were late meeting the juniors at the gates because Wei Wuxian launched himself at Lan Wangji’s mouth.

They were headed to a tiny fishing village between the border of Gusu and Lanling. There had been accounts of people being pulled from their boats and drowned, probably because of a water ghoul, which made it a good learning opportunity for the juniors. The village was located deep in the mountains, and the only way to reach it was by boat or by sword. Its remote location meant rogue cultivators never made it out there, and so the villagers had tried their luck appealing to larger sects.

The village sat at the edge of a lake, which connected to a series of rivers and other, larger villages farther down the mountain. Flying by sword, the Lan cultivators reached the village in less than a day. It was little more than a smattering of thatch and wood homes surrounded by dense forest and a patchwork of crop fields farther up the mountain. A dirt path led to the lake where a rickety wharf had been built along the shore.

To no one’s surprise, they ran into Jin Ling and a handful of his disciples. To everyone’s surprise, Jiang Cheng was with them.

Jin Ling noticed the sword at Wei Wuxian’s waist almost immediately. Wei Wuxian could see the question forming in his eyes, but before he could ask, he was swept up in the whirlwind of greetings. Although he caught Jiang Cheng’s eye, his brother only nodded at him over everyone’s heads before standing back and glowering at all the fuss. Lan Wangji calmly suggested that they relocate their reunion. They were standing in the middle of the road and blocking several villagers pulling carts.

The group agreed they would split up to interview the families and witnesses of each of the victims before reconvening to exchange notes.

Lan Wangji left to scout the surrounding forest for anything unusual, in case there was more here than just a water ghoul. That left Wei Wuxian to supervise the Lan juniors as they interrogated an old woman who’d watched from shore as her neighbor was dragged off his fishing boat.

“By the time we found him, whatever had taken him was gone, and he was dead,” the woman explained, shaking her head. “It happened so quickly, and he was too far from shore. Everyone’s afraid to take their boat out now, but what can we do? If we can’t fish, we won’t have enough food.”

Sizhui nodded sympathetically. “And you’re certain you didn’t see what it looked like?”

She shook her head, the wrinkles on her forehead deepening. “Nothing more than a shadowy figure. It might have been human-shaped, but it was hard to tell before they went under.”

Wei Wuxian studied the minute changes in the woman’s face, her tone of voice, and her body language, and suspected she was being truthful. He was about to suggest they move onto the next person when Jiang Cheng approached from behind him, stopping quietly at his side.

So he’d noticed the hollow sword.

“I’m surprised Jin Ling let you come along,” Wei Wuxian said.

Jiang Cheng sneered, and turned just enough to glare at him from askance. He was dressed in dark purple robes, his hair swept up with a gleaming lotus hairpin. Sandu was sheathed at his hip, Zidian on his finger. “As if I need permission to accompany my nephew on a night hunt.”

“This far from Yunmeng? For a water ghoul?”

With a snort, Jiang Cheng glanced away again. “What business is it of yours what I do?”

Wei Wuxian mentally winced. The last time they’d spoken had been in Lanling some months back when he accompanied Lan Wangji to Koi Tower. The Lan and Jin sects were renewing existing trade agreements, the details of which Wei Wuxian hadn’t stuck around long enough to listen to. Jiang Cheng had been there for similar reasons, and the two had had a stilted conversation about how Jin Ling was doing as sect leader and whether Jiang Cheng knew where Fairy was so Wei Wuxian could plan escape measures accordingly.

Every next encounter with his brother was a little less awkward, and Wei Wuxian tried to take his cues from Jiang Cheng’s general mood, which was sometimes difficult when his moods tended to exist on a scale of “grumpy” to “will kill you with Zidian.”

After a tense silence, Jiang Cheng finally said, “I have business with a merchant in one of the neighboring towns.”

Smiling at the concession, Wei Wuxian turned to him, unable to keep from asking, “Oh? What kind of business?”

Jiang Cheng was right that he and Lotus Pier were none of Wei Wuxian’s business anymore, but he couldn’t help being curious about anything to do with them, even the mundane.

“They’ve been sending poorly constructed wares to Lotus Pier, and our contract isn’t up until the end of the year. We haven’t been able to get a straight answer through messages. Since I was already in Lanling when the message came about the fishing town…”

He trailed off, letting Wei Wuxian come to his own conclusion. Wei Wuxian nodded. Since Jiang Cheng was already in Lanling, he might as well accompany Jin Ling on his way to meet with his merchant. Wei Wuxian had half a mind to join him, because who in their right mind would have the gall to try and scam Jiang Cheng?

But Jiang Cheng probably wouldn’t welcome the help. His brother would have it well in hand without any interference on his part.

Neither of them spoke again for long seconds, listening to Sizhui interview the husband of another villager who’d drowned. He could feel Jiang Cheng’s gaze return to the hollow sword at his hip.

Like with Jin Ling, the question lingered behind his eyes, but at every encounter since Guanyin Temple, neither of them had spoken much about themselves. Instead, they’d spoken about the people and places around them, only learning about the others’ wellbeing peripherally. Wei Wuxian hated how difficult it was for him to simply ask Jiang Cheng if he was well, because he didn’t know if Jiang Cheng would believe that he genuinely wanted to know.

Since Jiang Cheng would probably never ask about the sword, Wei Wuxian said, “I figured I should start getting used to it again.”

Jiang Cheng’s eyes narrowed, but he didn’t respond to the statement. At least in this, Wei Wuxian understood the hesitation. The issue of his golden core was still a sore topic between them, and a constant reminder of the sacrifice Jiang Cheng never would have asked of his brother. Truth be told, if he had to do it all over, Wei Wuxian wouldn’t change what he’d done. He couldn’t very well tell Jiang Cheng that though.

Some hours later, everyone returned to the docks to pool their information. They discovered that there’d been a total of four drownings in the last month and two disappearances that were probably connected. The only link between them was that they’d all been fishing in the same general location. This was the first time the village had experienced any kind of malicious spirit, so there wasn’t a history of negative energy in the area.

Wei Wuxian studied the evening sky, the way the sun bled across the horizon, staining the waves red. Something at the back of his mind shifted, like the loosening of grave dirt, and he swallowed the lump rising in his throat. He focused instead on the small fleet of fishing boats returning to shore for the evening.

The villagers here would have grown up alongside the water, like him and Jiang Cheng. They would be strong swimmers, well used to the water. Drownings in general would be rare, and the villagers confirmed there’d been no recent drownings prior to the four.

“Do you get a lot of storms out here?” Wei Wuxian asked a young fisherwoman who’d just brought in her boat. She eyed the group of cultivators—the Lan disciples in their pristine white and watery blue, and the Jin disciples in their pale gold. It was likely not a common sight in such a remote area.

“Of course,” she said, securing her boat to the pier with a length of rope. “The storms roll in from the mountains, and they like to gather over the lake especially. We used to get a lot of merchant ships through here—shortcut, you know—but after too many ships got delayed or damaged in the storms, they began using a different route. That was decades ago though. ”

“When was the last storm?” he asked.

“We get them almost weekly,” she said. “But the last one was a couple days ago so we should be fine for another few days at least. No one’s gotten hurt in one for a long time, though, if that’s what you’re thinking. Folk around here know better than to go out when they see the clouds coming in.”

Wei Wuxian thanked her, and then turned back to the group. “I’m going swimming,” he announced.

This was met by a number of reactions. Sizhui tilted his head, well used to Wei Wuxian’s strange pronouncements. Jingyi’s eyes narrowed, before looking to HanGuang-Jun for direction on how to react. Jin Ling rolled his eyes, and Jiang Cheng gazed past Wei Wuxian’s shoulder at the vast lake, expression shuttered but not outright hostile.

Lan Wangji only said, “It’s time for dinner.”

“Of course,” Wei Wuxian agreed. “I didn’t mean right this instant. Tomorrow, though.”

Lan Wangji nodded, seemingly accepting this without question. The Jin disciples muttered their confusion, but the Lan disciples only nodded. They knew their seniors would explain eventually—or more likely, they’d ask the right questions until the juniors figured it out themselves.

Wei Wuxian beamed, reaching out to tug at the ends of Lan Wangji’s forehead ribbon before lacing it between his fingers. There were a great many things to be said about having a partner who understood you so well that words were unnecessary. Lan Wangji returned the look with a soft smile, and Wei Wuxian was so busy making eyes at him that he didn’t notice the group had gone silent until two villagers walked by, hauling a basket of fish between them.

When Wei Wuxian looked around, he found the Lan disciples staring determinedly at their feet, cheeks red, and the Jin disciples looking somewhere between scandalized and confused. Wei Wuxian glanced back at Lan Wangji and the forehead ribbon still wrapped around his fingers. He began to smirk, just as Jiang Cheng—the only person unfazed by their display—nudged Jin Ling to get moving.

“Wei Wuxian,” he said as he stalked past. “Have a little shame. You might as well be fondling him.”

Smiling serenely, Wei Wuxian dropped the ribbon and glanced at his retreating back. Lan Wangji continued gazing at Wei Wuxian, as if no one had spoken. Neither he nor Jiang Cheng had acknowledged each other besides a terse greeting earlier, which was probably best for everyone. The rest of the disciples filed past, heading back toward the village.

Being in such a remote location, the village didn’t have an inn. The cultivators made camp in the shelter of the nearby forest instead. Lan Wangji’s earlier perimeter sweep had turned up nothing out of the ordinary, so they built fires against the cooling night and accepted a basket of fish graciously donated by the villagers.

As they ate their simple dinner of roasted fish, Wei Wuxian pointed his skewer at Sizhui, who sat across the fire. “If there weren’t any drownings before these ones began, then where could a water ghoul have come from?”

Sizhui smiled, holding his own skewer across his lap, careful not to get the fish on his robes. The firelight painted them all in garish shades of orange, deepening the shadows at their backs.

“I thought perhaps someone could have chased it here from elsewhere,” Sizhui said, “but the village is so remote and the connecting rivers are rarely used except by the villagers themselves, so they would have noticed any new boats.”

Wei Wuxian nodded in approval and then pointed his skewer at Jingyi. “So if not a new ghoul then what?”

Jingyi cast the skewer a wary look before answering. “It must have already been here. Awakened, maybe, by a natural event. Like the storms.”

Turning a grin to Lan Wangji, who sat so close that Wei Wuxian was practically in his lap, Wei Wuxian said, “Your disciples are so smart now, Lan Zhan. Thank goodness we got a hold of them when we did.”

“Hey,” Jingyi protested.

“So you’re going to try searching the lake tomorrow?” Sizhui asked, frowning now. Wei Wuxian appreciated the concern, but he wasn’t worried. He and Jiang Cheng had dealt with plenty of water ghouls when they were kids.

Technically, Wei Wuxian could simply summon the spirit with his flute, or the disciples could use a spirit attraction flag to lure it from the water, but seeing as this trip was meant to be instructional, he’d determined to do this the old-fashioned way. Before attempting to attract the spirit, he wanted to be sure what they were dealing with, and instructional or not, he wasn’t going to let any of the junior disciples dive beneath a lake with a water ghoul when they weren’t proficient swimmers.

Once they finished eating, Sizhui and Jingyi joined Jin Ling around his own small fire nearby. They exchanged stories and bits of news that had happened since the last time they’d seen one another. Wei Wuxian watched the way Jin Ling’s shoulders gradually loosened, and his mouth relaxed into a smile—the genuine one that he only gave rarely and hesitantly. When he smiled like that, he looked so much like his mother that it hurt.

Sitting farther off, his back against a tree, Jiang Cheng was dutifully feigning sleep. Even with his eyes closed, a line sat between his brows. Whatever he was brooding about, Wei Wuxian couldn’t help wondering if it had to do with him or the water ghoul or even the merchant he planned to meet.

Against his better judgment, he rose from Lan Wangji’s side and settled down beside Jiang Cheng. He brushed bits of grass and dry twigs from his palms, and arranged his robes around his legs. They were far enough from the fire to be half hidden in shadows, but he could see the way Jiang Cheng’s brow twitched at his arrival. He didn’t object, though, or say anything scathing, which was as good as a welcome.

Mustering his nerve, Wei Wuxian said, not unkindly, “You can ask, you know. It’s okay.”

At last, Jiang Cheng’s eyes opened. He looked irritated but not necessarily at Wei Wuxian. “Your business is your own.”

Wei Wuxian made a face at him. “Fine, I’ll tell you anyway. I’m working on forming a golden core. It’s going great.”

Jiang Cheng, who must have expected this, still looked a bit startled. His lips compressed and his gaze darted first to Wei Wuxian’s face then to the sword at his belt and then to Lan Wangji over by the fire. Oh, to know what was going on inside that head, Wei Wuxian thought.

“He’s progressing faster than any Lan disciple in recent history,” Jingyi called out, his voice rising over the low murmurs of others. “Maybe not since HanGuang-Jun first took up the sword.”

“Jingyi, it’s forbidden to eavesdrop,” Wei Wuxian said, but he grinned anyway.

He had exactly two seconds to feel smug, before Jin Ling scoffed. “You’re already a senior. You’d be an embarrassment if you couldn’t even do that much.”

Wei Wuxian settled for glaring at him because he couldn’t exactly argue with that bit of logic. At his side, Jiang Cheng was ominously quiet. Still, Wei Wuxian stayed with him, offering random anecdotes and observations until all the junior disciples had gone to bed. When Lan Wangji rose from the fire, Wei Wuxian assured him he would join him shortly.

Jiang Cheng stood. Wei Wuxian watched him move closer to the fire, taking the spot Jin Ling had just vacated, before joining him again. Overhead, the sky was clear, a halfmoon peering down through the foliage. As Jiang Cheng fed a few broken branches to the fire, Wei Wuxian rested his chin on his palm, smiling softly.

Sometimes, he marveled that he’d been allowed the chance to even look at Jiang Cheng again, the brother gifted to him by some stroke of fate, despite everything—despite that shijie had been the beating heart of their trio, and neither of them knew how to function without her.

“You’re creeping me out,” Jiang Cheng said. “Stop smiling at me like that.”

Wei Wuxian didn’t let the mildly delivered words bother him. Instead, he sat back and asked, “Will you go with me tomorrow to check out the lake? Between all of us, we’re the best swimmers here.”

Jiang Cheng’s lips twisted into almost a smile. “I’m the better swimmer.”

Wei Wuxian pretended to be offended. “But I can hold my breath for longer. Or at least I could. That might have changed.” The length of time he could hold his breath wasn’t something he’d catalogued in his new body. “Remember when we used to challenge the other disciples for how long we could stay under? The loser had to go into Old Man Yan’s lake to steal lotus pods.”

“Yes, and then they stopped accepting because they never won,” he said with a slight roll of his eyes. “You should have at least pretended to lose once in a while.”

Once, Wei Wuxian would have stuck out his chin, jabbed his thumb against his chest, and said, ‘Why should I restrain myself? If they can’t beat me, that just means they need to try harder.’ Now, though, he only offered a quiet, “Those were good times.”

There was an awkward beat of silence, as if recalling such times might upset the tentative balance the two had struck since Guanyin Temple.

But then, voice soft, Jiang Cheng said, “None of the disciples have been half the trouble you were back then. But at least you could wield a sword. Our old sword master would cry to see the latest crop.”

Wei Wuxian smiled so hard that his cheeks hurt. “Maybe you can find some inspiration from her. She used to make us run ten laps around Lotus Pier every morning.”

“I remember,” he said dryly. “I also remember you hiding in the gardens between the third and ninths laps every day for two weeks before you got caught—”

He cut off, that beat of awkwardness returning, because it had been Jiang Cheng’s mother who’d caught Wei Wuxian. As punishment, he ran an extra lap for a whole month along with kneeling in the ancestral hall instead of having lunch with the other disciples for a week. Jiang Cheng, shijie, and even Uncle Jiang had taken turns sneaking him meals that week.

Abruptly, he yawned. He covered his mouth, eyes watering. He hadn’t realized how tired he was.

“Go to sleep,” Jiang Cheng said, poking at the fire with a bit of kindling.

“All right, all right. See you in the morning.” He rose, stretching his arms over his head and arching his back.

Before he could step away, though, Jiang Cheng said, voice somewhat strangled, “Cherish it more this time.”

“Eh?” Wei Wuxian said, confused.

Jiang Cheng scowled so hard into the flames that you’d think they’d personally offended him. “Your golden core. Cherish it more.”

Wei Wuxian went very still. Then, heat crawled up his neck and cheeks, settling into a burn behind his eyes. With a watery smile, he touched Jiang Cheng’s shoulder and squeezed once before returning to Lan Wangji.

#

The next day, Wei Wuxian, Jiang Cheng, Lan Wangji, and a few other disciples boarded two boats and rowed out from the wharf. The lake was calm today, the sky clear, and the sun scorching, even over the water. Wei Wuxian was actually looking forward to getting in the water.

All the drownings had occurred within half a li of each other. Wei Wuxian had calculated the most likely position to dive, and then they’d borrowed a couple boats and set out.

Once they reached the dive point, Wei Wuxian and Jiang Cheng both shed their boots and outermost robes. They discarded most of their weapons as well. Jiang Cheng’s Zidian would be more than enough protection against a water ghoul.

“Be careful,” Lan Wangji said, as he folded Wei Wuxian’s robes.

“When am I not careful?” Wei Wuxian said, which earned him unamused looks from every person on board. “I’m feeling very attacked right now.”

Jiang Cheng rolled his eyes, took a deep breath, and dived overboard. He barely disturbed the water’s surface. Show off. Not to be left behind, Wei Wuxian grinned at Lan Wangji before diving after him.

The moment the water closed over his head, a thick quiet pressed around his ears. The world became nothing but amorphous shapes and wavering light. Squinting, he spotted Jiang Cheng’s figure vanish into the deepening shadows below, and he kicked his legs, diving deeper. After a short time, Jiang Cheng’s hand lit up with spiritual energy, illuminating the space around them. He glanced back at Wei Wuxian, and then pointed below.

Once he got closer, he could see what Jiang Cheng had spotted first. There was a rocky formation and what looked to be the mouth of a cave. Carved into the sides of the entrance, still somehow intact even after who knew how long, were the characters for a containment array. But one side of the mouth had cracked, disrupting the array and presumably releasing the water ghoul trapped inside.

As Jiang Cheng swam deeper to get a better look, Wei Wuxian glanced upward. His hair obscured the view. Something about the way the shadows chased the light, along with the pressure in his ears and in his lungs, brought with it the taste of ash at the back of his throat. His pulse quickened, heart beating harder.

Jiang Cheng returned within moments, and Wei Wuxian pointed above. They’d been underwater for a few minutes now, and while he could now channel his spiritual energy to calm his heart and body, the discomfort in his chest was slowly intensifying. Before he’d lost his golden core, he could hold his breath for so long that his fellow disciples often worried he would drown.

Jiang Cheng nodded, and they swam for the surface.

Something disturbed the water just below him, along with a surge of resentful energy. He could have dodged, but he wanted to see if it really was a water ghoul. So he remained still and allowed himself to be bait as something lunged from the shadowy deep. Slick fingers wrapped around his ankle, jerking him down.

Within one heartbeat and the next, Jiang Cheng was there. Zidian crackled with purple light, unhindered by the water and illuminating the creature.

It was definitely a water ghoul, although one that was perhaps a bit more vicious than those they’d dealt with in Yunmeng. This one had been trapped for a long time, after all, probably sealed away by some long-dead cultivator who hadn’t known how else to subdue it, and its resentful energy had grown and festered. Its swollen face jerked away from the light, but its grip remained tight around his ankle, dragging him toward that narrow cave opening.

The creature was fast, dodging Zidian, which snapped through the water quick as a fish. Zidian struck again, and this time, the water ghoul’s mouth opened wide in a soundless scream as the whip sliced through its leg. It bared a mouthful of blackened teeth but didn’t let go.

Wei Wuxian had let this carry on long enough, and his lungs were beginning to burn. His fingertips flared bright as he gathered his spiritual energy and pointed to the pale hand gripping his ankle, nails gouging his skin. A spear of condensed energy shot through the water, searing the creature’s knuckles. With a jerk, the creature released him.

At once, he kicked his legs, Jiang Cheng right beside him. His hand closed around Wei Wuxian’s arm as Zidian lit their way.

Within moments, they broke the surface. Wei Wuxian spat water from his mouth and dragged in lungfuls of air, blinking against the sudden brightness. Jiang Cheng released him, both of them treading water as they pushed wet hair from their faces. Heart pounding, Wei Wuxian turned to spot the two boats.

“Wei Ying!” came Lan Zhan’s voice, which was the sweetest sound he’d ever heard, especially after the muffled silence of below.

“Senior Wei!” Sizhui called. “Sect Leader Jiang! Over here!”

Within moments, they were pulled into the small fishing boats. Jiang Cheng glowered as he squeezed water from the long lengths of his robes and then retrieved Sandu, securing the sword at his waist. Wei Wuxian grinned at him and didn’t bother with his own weapons as he sprawled across the bottom of the boat, water streaming from his clothes.

“Wei Ying,” Lan Wangji said, hovering over him. “What happened? We saw Zidian’s light.”

“Don’t worry. We had it under control. Right, Jiang Cheng?” Wei Wuxian said, to which Jiang Cheng grunted noncommittally. He touched Lan Wangji’s cheek, his fingers leaving a wet trail across his skin. “I just wanted to see what it looked like.”

“There’s a cave,” Jiang Cheng said. He quickly relayed what they’d discovered below.

Once they were back on shore, Wei Wuxian sat on the pier to allow the sun to dry him out. They agreed that another party would need to go down and explore the cave to see if the water ghoul had any more victims down there. Any remains would need to be put to rest to prevent this from happening again. While the Lan disciples set up spirit attraction flags to draw the water ghoul to shore, Jiang Cheng and Jin Ling would lead the Jin disciples to the cave. Wei Wuxian guessed there was likely an air pocket down there, so they’d be fine.

“When we get back to Cloud Recesses, I’m inventing a talisman for breathing underwater,” Wei Wuxian declared once he was dry. Or he’d assign the task to his class so they could do it for him.

“That would be useful,” Jingyi said, sounding skeptical. He was seated nearby with Sizhui, painting the necessary characters on a spirit attraction flag.

Lan Wangji stood beside Wei Wuxian, who now lay in the grass farther up the shore, weeds and pebbles digging into his shoulder blades. He was still carrying Wei Wuxian’s outer robes, which he now shook out and presented to him.

With a grin, Wei Wuxian stood and held out his arms, waiting to be dressed. Lan Wangji moved behind him to do just that, which earned Wei Wuxian a resentful look from Jingyi, who likely thought it beneath his HanGuang-Jun to dress anyone. Wei Wuxian only grinned in return.

The rest of the night hunt passed without incident. The Lan juniors dealt with the water ghoul once it left the lake, and Jiang Cheng and Jin Ling found the air pocket along with a few skeletal remains, accounting for the disappearances, which they returned and buried in the village’s graveyard.

Later, as everyone prepared to leave, Wei Wuxian found Jin Ling trying to decline a wicker basket full of salted fish. Jiang Cheng had already left with barely a word of parting, noting only that he’d delayed meeting with his merchant for long enough and the rest of them could finish with the cleanup.

“There’s really no need,” Jin Ling was saying as two women continued to push the fish at him.

“We’re grateful to accept,” Wei Wuxian interrupted, taking the basket. Relieved, the women bowed to them both.

Once they left, Jin Ling demanded, “Why did you do that? We don’t need the food, and they—”

“Who said this is for you?” Wei Wuxian said, tucking the basket beneath his arm. Jin Ling sputtered. “You might not want it, but don’t speak for the rest of us.”

“You’re shameless!”

“So Lan Zhan likes to constantly remind me.”

Once, Jin Ling would have cursed him and run away. Now, his neck went pink, but he’d grown used to Wei Wuxian’s teasing. He lifted his chin and, staring determinedly at Wei Wuxian’s nose, said “You should get out of Cloud Recesses more often.”

Wei Wuxian’s mischievous grin softened into a gentler smile. He reached out to clap his nephew’s shoulder. “It was good to see you, too, Jin Ling.”

The young sect leader’s gaze flicked up to his, then flicked away again. For a moment, pleasure lit Jin Ling’s eyes as he fought the smile tugging at his mouth. Then he said, “It’s Sect Leader Jin. And I’ll see you again soon, I expect.”

With that, he turned on his heel to join his disciples, who were already waiting on mounted swords. Wei Wuxian waved at his back, even though he didn’t turn again.

#

Although the break had been welcome, Wei Wuxian was eager to get back to his training.

Being underwater with that water ghoul had made one thing clear—there would be instances in the future when he could use neither his flute, his voice, nor talismans. While he truly hadn’t felt like he was in danger down there, against a more powerful or clever opponent, spiritual energy would be needed to protect himself and those under his care.

Jingyi wasn’t wrong when he said Wei Wuxian was progressing faster than any Lan disciple in recent history, and he didn’t even mean that in an arrogant way. It’d been three months since he first decided to restore his golden core, and he’d proven his affinity for cultivation twice over. He could use the spiritual sword all afternoon without getting tired, although he hadn’t yet tried to wield Bichen again.

He didn’t understand why his golden core refused to form. His meridians were clear, his qi strong and sure. Spiritual energy swirled in his lower dantian, gathering like a storm, waiting for that flash of lightning that would crystalize all of it into a core. But it never happened, all that building energy dissipating without effect.

The ensuing emptiness gnawed at him.

Several nights after they returned to Cloud Recesses, Wei Wuxian dreamed of ash. It choked him, coating the back of his throat. The dry, stinging heat filled his nostrils. All around, the silhouettes of spindly trees rose against a burnt sky.

He fell to his knees, gasping for breath. His fingers clawed into loose earth, silty and fine, that rose around him in a gray mist, transforming into ghostly faces.

“Wei Ying,” someone called.

His eyes flew open. The scent of ash transformed into sandalwood and the imprint of dry brambles faded into the familiar lines of the Jingshi’s ceiling.

“Wei Ying,” Lan Wangji said again. “Take a deep breath.”

He did, taking long, slow breaths until his heartbeat slowed and the last vestiges of his dream slipped away. Lan Wangji’s hand cupped his jaw, his thumb smoothing along his cheek. Wei Wuxian turned his head to press a kiss against Lan Wangji’s palm.

“Sorry for waking you,” he mumbled. The air was cool, and even though Lan Wangji always tucked the blanket around them before falling asleep, Wei Wuxian must have kicked it off some time during the night.

“I will get you water.” Lan Wangji began to rise, but Wei Wuxian rolled on top of him, keeping him in place. Lan Wangji stilled. His hands settled at the base of Wei Wuxian’s spine, hot through his thin night clothes.

“No need. It was nothing.” He rested his cheek against Lan Wangji’s chest, his hair tangled around his shoulders and itching his neck.

“You always say it’s nothing. You must stop minimizing the things that bother you. They are not nothing.” Lan Wangji’s low voice was gravelly with sleep, and it prickled Wei Wuxian’s skin, which was probably not an appropriate reaction given their topic of conversation.

Fortunately, Wei Wuxian liked being inappropriate, especially with Lan Wangji and especially if it meant avoiding having to examine why he kept having this nightmare. He wormed his fingers between them, searching for the waist of Lan Wangji’s pants.

“Wei Ying,” he said, arms tightening around him. “You don’t need to speak of it if you don’t wish to. But when you’re ready, I am here.”

“Lan Zhan,” he whined. “You’re too sweet. It makes it hard for me to ravish you.” He did not, however, withdraw his fingers, which finally found smooth, firm skin.

The muscles of Lan Wangji’s stomach went taut beneath his touch, and Wei Wuxian lifted his head to grin up at him. He could only just see him in the dim moonlight.

“You’re trying to distract me.” Lan Wangji flipped them easily, and Wei Wuxian gave a delighted gasp as Lan Wangji's weight settled against him.

“This isn’t me trying to distract you,” he whispered, fingers pushing at the material separating them. “This is me trying to distract you: Er-gege, remember the first time you had your way with me? Behind some bushes right off the side of the road. So shameless. Do that again, won’t you?”

Lan Wangji groaned, the barest of sounds, but Wei Wuxian grinned, thrilling in every small sound he wrung from the man.

“Er-gege—” he began again before Lan Wangji’s mouth found his in the dark.

#

The following evening, Wei Wuxian stripped down to his inner robes and settled atop the bed to meditate, the blanket pushed messily to the side. Lan Wangji sat before his guqin, clever fingers plucking at the strings. The vibration of sound, infused with his spiritual power, reverberated through the room, sinking into Wei Wuxian’s skin and soothing away his frustration.

Eyes closed, he envisioned what he wanted—that brilliant spot of golden light forming within his lower dantian, It was still too soon, he reasoned. Forming a core this quickly would be unprecedented. But he’d already done this before, and he was working with as strong a foundation as any cultivator could.

The final note of Lan Wangji’s song lingered in the air a moment before he rested his fingers over the strings. Wei Wuxian’s eyes opened to find Lan Wangji gazing pensively down at the instrument.

“What is it?” Wei Wuxian asked.

Lan Wangji looked at him. “I’ve been considering that perhaps your dilemma isn’t so much a physical or spiritual barrier as it is a mental one.”

It took a moment for Wei Wuxian to process what Lan Wangji was saying. Then he gave a small self-deprecating laugh.

“You had to abandon the sword when you gave up your golden core,” Lan Wangji continued quietly. “Perhaps you have not yet accepted that they are both avenues that are again open to you.”

Rising, Lan Wangji crossed the short distance between his guqin stand and the bed. As he settled beside Wei Wuxian, his robes brushed Wei Wuxian’s knee. He wore a gauzy outer robe of pale blue lace over his other layers today. Wei Wuxian was looking forward to peeling them all off later.

“I’ve been training for months, Lan Zhan. How is that not accepting I can have both again?”

“The mind is a complicated thing. Sometimes we tell ourselves things that we don’t fully believe, deep down, so that we can keep going.”

Wei Wuxian frowned at this and wondered if Lan Wangji was referring to things from his own past. He reached out to brush a lock of hair over Lan Wangji’s shoulder, but couldn’t quite meet his shrewd gaze.

“What sorts of things do you tell yourself?” Wei Wuxian whispered.

Lan Wangji captured his hand, cradling it gently as he brought it to his mouth and skimmed a kiss over his knuckles. “I have no need for falsehoods. Because I have you.”

His breath left him in a hopeless sigh as he smiled and brushed his thumb over Lan Wangji’s lower lip. “Ah, Lan Zhan, my Lan Zhan.”

“Wei Ying,” he said, quiet but inquiring.

He supposed if he could speak about this with anyone, it would be Lan Wangji. “After…After I escaped the Burial Mounds, I told myself that... it didn’t matter about a golden core. I still avenged Uncle Jiang and Madam Yu. I still finished what I’d promised to do. And besides, if Uncle Jiang had never found me, I would have grown up as a commoner, never learning about cultivation. I was simply paying back what they gave me. It made it easier to accept, even if…even if I didn’t really believe it.”

He’d sealed away the pain of giving up his golden core, bricked it up and tried to forget it, because what could it matter in the face of everything else he’d lost? Of what Jiang Cheng and shijie had lost? He supposed it might be true that it wasn’t so easy to once again embrace what he’d so ruthlessly closed off.

Whatever emotion Wei Wuxian gave away in his face, Lan Wangji made a quiet knowing sound. He said, “You are not at peace.”

Wei Wuxian fixed on a fond smile and cupped Lan Wangji’s cheek. “What are you talking about now, Lan Zhan? Look at me. Is this not the face of someone at peace? I have the best husband in the world, kids to torment daily, a garden to dig around in, and a home warded against fire for when I get a little carried away with my inventions. If we count the rabbits and Lil Apple, I’ve even got my own farm.”

“Wei Ying,” Lan Wangji said patiently. “I mean in regards to your cultivation.”

He sighed dramatically. “You know, I’ve been called a genius. A mad genius, yes, but still a genius. Should it be this hard to figure out? Cultivation and the sword go hand in hand, right? Maybe I shouldn’t have given up the sword completely.” He could have kept his sword skills sharp with a hollow sword. He couldn’t carry Suibian anymore, but—

He shook his head. No. That wouldn’t have been an option back then. The only way he’d been able to bear losing the ability to wield Suibian was to cut it out of his life the way Wen Qing had cut out his golden core. It was gone and done with. What was the point of deceiving himself into thinking he could ever properly wield a sword again?

For months after reuniting with Jiang Cheng, he couldn’t even look at Suibian without the loss ripping through him anew. The sword, and the constant questions about why he didn’t carry it, were only reminders of how he would never again see the glint of its blade illuminated by his spiritual energy. It would never again be his companion in battle and bear his weight through the clouds.

However, there did seem to be some merit in the idea of his cultivation and his sword skills being related. “I’ve hit a wall with my knowledge of sword techniques as well, and if the two are intertwined, then the solution is simply that I need to advance my sword style and pick up where I left off all those years ago.”

Lan Wangji was silent, but that did not mean he didn’t speak. His silences were filled with intent and meaning. Very rarely were they because he didn’t know what to say.

“I know what you’re thinking,” Wei Wuxian said, smiling now, certain that he’d figured it out. “But my sword style is YunmengJiang. If we can’t find a sword master in Yunmeng who will come here, then it only makes sense for me to continue my training at Lotus Pier.”

“You would have to send a request to Jiang Wanyin,” Lan Wangji said. For once, the underlying distaste that usually accompanied him speaking Jiang Cheng’s name was absent.

A week ago, Wei Wuxian wouldn’t have even considered asking Jiang Cheng if he could train at Lotus Pier. But after the night hunt with the water ghoul, after Jiang Cheng’s quiet words around the fire, he felt like maybe he’d been wrong to be so reticent around his brother. Maybe Jiang Cheng was also trying, in his own way, to find his way back to him.

“I’ll write to him,” Wei Wuxian said, rising to his knees and dropping a kiss to the top of Lan Wangji’s head, where his hair ornament usually was. Lan Wangji’s arms circled his waist, and he rested his head against Wei Wuxian’s chest.

Something fragile and warm formed inside him. It wasn’t a golden core, but it felt just as hopeful.

===

PART TWO: Lotus Pier

Less than a week after Wei Wuxian’s letter went out, Jiang Cheng’s reply arrived at Cloud Recesses. Wei Wuxian didn’t receive much mail, aside from the occasional exchange with Jin Ling and Wen Ning, so when he noticed the disciple approaching the Jingshi with a message in hand, there wasn’t much else it could be except Jiang Cheng’s response.

He leaped up from where he’d been sprawled on the front steps eating a late breakfast. Thanks to Lan Wangji’s daily efforts, Wei Wuxian had gotten better about getting up before 9 AM, but only by a bit. On mornings when Lan Wangji had to leave before he was awake, he always found breakfast waiting for him on the table.

“Good morning, Senior Wei,” the disciple said, bowing. Wei Wuxian rocked anxiously on his heels as he accepted the message. Then impatience won out and he broke the seal, smoothing out the letter.

But the moment he saw his name written in Jiang Cheng’s familiar hand, his eyes closed, heart pounding. What if Jiang Cheng said no? What if Wei Wuxian staying at Lotus Pier was too great a request?

He’d been there a handful of times in the last year, but they hadn’t been social visits. He’d been accompanying Lan Wangji for various diplomatic meetings and then taken the opportunity to steal a few moments with his brother. Fragments of conversations exchanged between meetings wasn’t the relationship Wei Wuxian wanted to have with him, but he hadn’t wanted to push for more, uncertain of whether that was something Jiang Cheng would ever even want.

He took a deep, calming breath. Well, there was only one way to find out.

He sat down again beside his breakfast tray, drummed his fingers restlessly against the paper, and forced himself to read the words. As was usually the case with Jiang Cheng, at least when it came to Wei Wuxian, he ignored formalities and got right to the point:

Wei Wuxian,

Don’t think I’ve forgotten what you considered “training” when you were a junior disciple. If you distract the other disciples, you’ll be running a dozen laps around Lotus Pier every day until HanGuang-Jun collects you.

Jiang Wanyin

Relief swept through him—and a giddy, breathtaking joy. Forgetting about his breakfast, he hurried onto the path, which led away from the Jingshi. It weaved through clusters of bamboo trees before forking at a stone bridge, with one direction leading to the cold springs and the other to the more traveled paths through Cloud Recesses.

As he reached the instructional buildings and pavilions where disciples took their classes, he slowed his gait to a brisk walk. Disciples strolled more sedately across the grounds, calling out a greeting as he passed.

He grinned and waved but didn’t stop to talk as he might have otherwise. He found Lan Wangji in the Library Pavilion, helping a group of disciples look up research materials.

Wei Wuxian blew through the doors like a red and black hurricane, and it was a credit to how attuned Lan Wangji was to him that when Wei Wuxian threw himself at the man without a word of warning, Lan Wangji neatly turned and caught him in his arms.

“Lan Zhan, guess what!” he shouted, before catching the disapproving wince of several disciples over Lan Wangji’s shoulder. “Ah, sorry!” He lowered his voice. “Guess what, guess what.”

“Jiang Wanyin has accepted your request to study at Lotus Pier,” Lan Wangji said mildly, although a smile softened his mouth.

Wei Wuxian drew back, nose wrinkling. “How did you know?”

“There’s a lotus seal on your letter.” Lan Wangji took him by the elbow and directed him toward the door.

Wei Wuxian happily allowed himself to be herded outside. As they descended the front steps of the Library Pavilion, Wei Wuxian opened the message and presented it proudly to Lan Wangji.

Lan Wangji’s gaze passed over the brief message and then settled again on Wei Wuxian’s face. “This is his idea of accepting your request?”

“You have to read between the lines! It’s a glowing acceptance! He basically said I could stay as long as I want.”

Lan Wangji’s gaze lowered once to the message and then back to Wei Wuxian, which was his way of expressing extreme skepticism.

“Isn’t it great?! Of course, I’m not sure how long I’ll be there, and you’ll be needed here in Cloud Recesses.” His shoulders slumped, his joy abruptly dimming. Lan Wangji wrapped an arm around his waist. Wei Wuxian rested his hands on Lan Wangji’s chest, fingers smoothing the crisp lines of his robes. “Lan Zhan, I miss you already. The separation is going to be unbearable. How will I fall sleep without you? Jiang Cheng is fun to tease, but he might try to drown me if I ask him to share a bed.”

Lan Wangji’s arm tightened around him, and Wei Wuxian laughed.

“Don’t look like that. I wouldn’t really ask him. The last time we shared a bed was when we were kids, and only because I had nightmares about dogs chasing me. Jiang Cheng had to choose between waking up to me shouting from across the bedroom or waking up to me elbowing him because he had a narrow bed.”

“I’m glad for you,” he said, steady and solemn.

Wei Wuxian sighed, resting his head against Lan Wangji’s shoulder. Then, for Lan Wangji’s ears alone, he murmured, “What if this doesn’t work? What if I piss off Jiang Cheng, and he kicks me out and never speaks to me again?”

“Then he would be a fool several times over,” he said. Wei Wuxian snorted, shoulders shaking with renewed laughter. “If you wish to leave immediately, I understand. Otherwise, I can come with you in a few days once I’ve cleared my schedule.”

Naturally, Wei Wuxian decided to wait. A few days later, he joined Lan Wangji on Bichen, and they and Sizhui flew down the mountain to Caiyi Town where they boarded a boat to travel the rest of the way by water.

It only took an hour before Sizhui began to look green. An hour after that, Wei Wuxian had to rub his back as he retched over the side of the boat.

“Maybe you can go ahead,” Wei Wuxian suggested. “Find us an inn in Lukou.” Lukou was a trade city that sat at the intersection between rivers. They would stay there for the night before reaching Lotus Pier tomorrow afternoon.

Sizhui nodded, grimacing. “I’m sorry, Senior Wei. HanGuang-Jun.”

“No need to say sorry. Just don’t throw up on me. We’ll meet you in town before dinner.”

Wei Wuxian wasn’t sure if he should be flying while nauseous, but Sizhui looked relieved to mount his sword, so Wei Wuxian figured he’d be fine. Besides, Lan Wangji didn’t seem concerned, so he probably wouldn’t fall off his sword and into the river.

He waved as Sizhui quickly became a spot against the glare of the sun off the water’s surface. Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji could have traveled by sword as well, but they wanted to take their time and enjoy the trip, especially as they would be separated soon.

It was nearly noon, and the river was busy at this time of day. Fishermen passed through on their way to neighboring lakes to drop their nets, and merchants ferried their wares to larger markets. The two stopped at a village along the riverfront for lunch, where Wei Wuxian bought a piece of peppery candy for Lan Wangji to sample and then laughed when he didn’t even hesitate before putting it in his mouth.

Wei Wuxian ate three entire bowls of spicy noodles while Lan Wangji sipped tea and vegetable soup. The girl who served them took one look at HanGuang-Jun and nearly spilled the soup all over his lap. Wei Wuxian told him to wink at her to see if she’d give them a free meal, but Lan Wangji didn’t dignify the suggestion with a response.

For the rest of the afternoon, Wei Wuxian sat the helm of their small boat, Lan Wangji cradled between his legs and back resting against Wei Wuxian’s chest as they watched the sun cross the sky. Wei Wuxian regaled Lan Wangji with stories of his childhood alongside the river, of how shijie would bring them sliced watermelon on hot days, and how he’d once spent three hours finding the perfect lotus bloom for her hair.

When he fell silent, Lan Wangji reached for his hand, twining their fingers.

“Talk to me, Lan Zhan,” Wei Wuxian said. “I’ll miss your voice.”

So Lan Wangji did. He spoke quietly of his own childhood in Cloud Recesses as Wei Wuxian combed his fingers through his long, silken hair.

“It will be fine,” Lan Wangji finished.

“You always see right through me,” Wei Wuxian said with a mock pout. Lan Wangji had gotten quite good at deciphering Wei Wuxian’s moods, which he supposed was only fair.

They would arrive in Lukou within the hour, and then tomorrow, Lotus Pier. It would be his first extended stay in his former home since before he died.

But anxious as he was, he was still excited. The joy had not abated, despite that he already missed Lan Wangji. At least this time, their separation was only temporary, and Lan Wangji had promised to visit once every fortnight while they were apart.

Wei Wuxian had jokingly suggested every week instead, and Lan Wangji had actually begun considering how to arrange his schedule to fit. But Wei Wuxian had assured him that he would endure, pining away for his love. It’d be just like old times again. He’d mastered the art of yearning for Lan Wangji long before he ever knew Lan Wangji felt the same.

Once they docked in Lukou, Sizhui found them almost immediately. It was impossible to miss HanGuang-Jun’s immaculate white robes and snowy forehead ribbon, especially contrasted against Wei Wuxian’s black robes and Chenqing tucked at his waist. Wei Wuxian would be the first to admit that he enjoyed being identified not by how he looked but by who was standing at his side.

As requested, Sizhui had found them an inn and didn’t comment when his seniors went to bed early, even by Lan standards. Once they were alone, Wei Wuxian gently removed Lan Wangji’s hair ornaments and wrapped the Lan ribbon around his own wrist. Then he stripped away layers of white robes before pushing Lan Wangji onto the bed. Lan Wangji was always beautiful, but he looked especially stunning dressed in little more than lantern light.

He traced the brand that marred Lan Wangji’s chest, and then the edges of whip scars that curled over his shoulders. When Lan Wangji’s fingers tightened around his hips, he leaned back and murmured for Lan Wangji to watch closely, because the memory would have to last him through the next two weeks.

The following morning, Sizhui took one look at Wei Wuxian’s neck and turned red enough to rival Wei Wuxian’s hair ribbon. He was all too eager to fly ahead again rather than join them on the boat.

As expected, they arrived in Yunmeng that afternoon. Wei Wuxian stood at the helm, eyes wide, hands clutched around the fabric of his robes. When Lotus Pier at last came into view, familiar banners with the nine-petaled lotus of YunmengJiang fluttering from every dock, he exhaled a single shaky breath. Lotus speckled the water, the blooms shivering in the draft of passing boats.

Two guards in YunmengJiang purple stood at the end of the pier. The moment they spotted Wei Wuxian’s boat, one of them took off running to fetch their sect leader. Wei Wuxian tried to draw a breath, but all his anxiety seemed to be pressing around his lungs.

By the time they docked, Jiang Cheng had arrived with a small retinue. Sizhui was with him as well, smiling in that way he’d learned from Zewu-Jun. It sometimes made Wei Wuxian’s skin crawl with how determinedly pleasant it was.

“Jiang Cheng!” Wei Wuxian shouted, waving even as their boat approached the dock. Jiang Cheng’s eye twitched. Behind him, his retinue of disciples exchanged glances. He wasn’t sure what Jiang Cheng had told them about the purpose of his stay.

Jiang Cheng greeted Lan Wangji first with a grudging, “HanGuang-Jun.” Lan Wangji responded with a small bow, and a murmured, “Sect Leader Jiang.”

It was, to Wei Wuxian’s delight, the politest greeting between the two in quite some time. In the past, Lan Wangji had even pretended Jiang Cheng wasn’t there or allowed the juniors to speak on his behalf, which, while horrifically rude, had also been hilarious.

Then, Jiang Cheng turned to Wei Wuxian. His scowl deepened as he took in the red marks peering out over the collar of his robes, but he didn’t even sound angry as he said, “What are you waiting for then? Come on.”

Wei Wuxian beamed and followed as Jiang Cheng led their party toward the gates into Lotus Pier.

“Senior Wei,” Sizhui said, falling into step beside them. “HanGuang-Jun. I hope the river was calm for you.”

“It was great,” Wei Wuxian said. “Lan Zhan and I lounged in each other’s arms all day. I’m thoroughly spoiled now. I don’t know how I’ll be able to manage without his constant attention. He’s always in demand, especially in Cloud Recesses.”

“Wei Ying will always come first,” Lan Wangji said simply, without even looking at him.

Sizhui blushed as Wei Wuxian grinned and nudged Lan Wangji’s arm. “You can’t say things like that, Lan Zhan. You’ll make Sizhui jealous, and you know I’m useless when he cries.”

“I’m fine, really,” Sizhui said, as up ahead, Jiang Cheng made a strangled sound.

For the sake of his brother’s sanity, he stopped talking. It was just as well because they passed through Lotus Pier’s gates, and his feet slowed.

There wasn’t much left that resembled the Lotus Pier of his memories, although he could see the bones of what had come before. Jiang Cheng had built from the existing foundations, expanding the buildings and the training yard. He had taken a fallen sect and made it stronger and grander than it had been.

Wei Wuxian’s gaze found the back of Jiang Cheng’s head, an ache of tenderness welling inside him. Jiang Cheng turned, and Wei Wuxian quickly looked away. Jiang Cheng had accomplished so much on his own, and the last thing his brother needed or wanted was Wei Wuxian’s praise. Especially when, by his own promise, Wei Wuxian should have been here to help him do it.

“Wei Ying,” Lan Wangji said.

When Wei Wuxian looked at him, he gestured toward Jiang Cheng. Wei Wuxian glanced at his brother and abruptly stiffened. A Jiang disciple had approached. She bowed as she presented a familiar sword to Jiang Cheng.

His heartbeat quickened, and he reached out to grasp Lan Wangji’s wrist. Jiang Cheng took the sword from the disciple. Then, chin held high, he turned to Wei Wuxian and held out Suibian. For some reason, it felt like a challenge.

His throat closed, and his eyes burned. At his reaction, the hard line of Jiang Cheng’s mouth relaxed.

“If you’re going to carry a sword,” he said, “then it should be your own.”

The only weapon Wei Wuxian had brought with him from Cloud Recesses was his flute. Yunmeng had plenty of low spiritual training swords he could use. He hadn’t been sure what Jiang Cheng had done with Suibian, and he hadn’t wanted to ask given it fell into that category of things they avoided. But now it felt inevitable that he would return it. After all, even after more than a decade, Jiang Cheng had returned Chenqing.

His fingers closed around Suibian’s hilt, a torrent of emotions rushing through him. The last time he’d been handed his old sword, he hadn’t yet possessed the spiritual energy to properly wield it. Okay, he still didn’t, but that was changing, whereas back then, there’d been too much going on for him to linger overlong about whether he would ever again be worthy of it. He rubbed his thumb over the characters of its name, wondering at what it must have sensed in order to seal itself.

You waited for me, too, he thought. Its weight felt familiar in his hand, as if it had never left his side.

#

Dinner wasn’t as awkward as Wei Wuxian feared. Lan Wangji spoke very little, if at all, during the meal, but Wei Wuxian had seen him forego that rule among other sects in the name of diplomacy, so Wei Wuxian suspected his silence was more to do with his desire to not speak to Jiang Cheng than with any sect rule.

Which was fine, because Sizhui made up for it. Jiang Cheng was, curiously, asking him a handful of questions about his life at Cloud Recesses, evidently picking up a conversation the two had left off when Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji arrived. Every so often, Lan Wangji would give Jiang Cheng an especially icy look, but he didn’t object to the questions as no one could argue that Jiang Cheng wasn’t being perfectly hospitable—or as hospitable as was possible for a man famous for his temperament.

Honestly, the whole thing was a little hilarious and a lot heartwarming. He tried not to laugh as Sizhui explained, with that terrifyingly pleasant smile, that he and the other Lan disciples didn’t have much leisure time, so they weren’t familiar with the games Jin Ling had mentioned on previous night hunts. Jiang Cheng announced that would have to change with so much authority that Sizhui cast Wei Wuxian a mildly panicked look.

Wei Wuxian pretended not to see it as he helped himself to his fourth bowl of rice, a thing he wasn’t allowed to do on the occasions he ate in the banquet hall in Cloud Recesses. The meal wasn’t the lavish ones served in Lanling or the austere fare that most Lans ate.

Instead, it was a traditional Yunmeng meal, simple but hearty and delicious. Each slice of meat was perfectly seasoned, the pickled vegetables were cold and satisfying, the soup left a spicy aftertaste at the back of his throat, and the rice pudding was sticky and sweet. He could say with complete honesty that it was the best meal he’d eaten in a long time, with the exception of those evenings when Lan Wangji cooked for him.

“Lan Zhan, I forgot to mention today—remember to look after my garden. Make sure it gets enough water and keep the weeds from growing too wild while I’m gone. And watch out for those rabbits. They’ll clear out all the carrots if you’re not vigilant.”

“I will take care of it,” Lan Wangji assured him. Having finished eating, he sipped his tea, which was a blend unique to Yunmeng. Wei Wuxian made a mental note to purchase the herbs to take back to Cloud Recesses once he finished his training here.

“I’ll help as well,” Sizhui said. “And Jingyi. He enjoys weeding.”

Wei Wuxian did recall Jingyi taking manic pleasure in ripping out each of those offending weeds. “Great. Make sure to keep your HanGuang-Jun company in the evenings. He’ll be lonely without me.”

“I will,” Lan Wangji said. Wei Wuxian melted on the spot, and Jiang Cheng looked like he was regretting this entire affair.

Sometime later, a servant arrived to escort Lan Wangji and Sizhui to their guest rooms. When he noticed Wei Wuxian hadn’t stood with him, he paused.

Wei Wuxian smiled. “Go head. I’ll be there soon.”

Once Lan Wangji and Sizhui left, Wei Wuxian waited until the servants had cleared away the dishes, leaving only a pot of tea, a jug of liquor, and two cups. Suibian rested across his lap, and his fingers traced the details in the scabbard. Jiang Cheng seemed content to drink his tea until they were alone.

Then, because he needed to say this before Jiang Cheng brushed him off again, he said, “Thank you, Jiang Cheng. I really appreciate you agreeing to this. I promise you won’t regret it.”

Jiang Cheng’s eyes narrowed, but he didn’t say anything scathing, like how Wei Wuxian should be bowing at his feet for allowing him to even step foot in Yunmeng. Instead, he only scoffed and said, “I expect you to pull your weight in addition to your training. If you came around more often, then you’d know the new disciples need the help with their sword forms.”

“Of course. I’m looking forward to it.”

Jiang Cheng’s stiff posture relaxed a little. The ensuing silence was comfortable as Wei Wuxian poured each of them a cup of liquor. Jiang Cheng tipped it back before his brows smashed together again like he was thinking too hard about something.

If there was one thing that hadn’t changed about his brother, it was that he was always overthinking. Then he’d accuse Wei Wuxian of the opposite, never thinking anything through before acting.

“Wei Wuxian. Let me ask you something. Cloud Recesses…” His jaw tensed like he was trying to force out the words. “There are even more rules now than when we were juniors.”

Wei Wuxian tilted his head, trying to pick apart what Jiang Cheng was really trying to say. “Yes?” he said, uncertain. “That’s not a question though.”

Jiang Cheng released an annoyed huff, nostrils flaring. “Is it tolerable?”

Wei Wuxian stared at him. Then he had to fight back the grin pulling at his mouth in case it made Jiang Cheng storm from the room. “Are you asking me if I’m happy there?”

“Well, are you?” he demanded, practically shouting the words.

He lost the fight with the grin. “Of course, I am. Do I not look happy?”

“You said you have a vegetable garden,” Jiang Cheng said, flicking imaginary dust off his purple sleeve. “When we were kids, you once mentioned wanting to own a farm and growing your own food. You said that someday, after I—”

He paused here, a muscle working in his jaw. Wei Wuxian could hear the words he didn’t speak. Someday, after I no longer needed you by my side...

“—you said you wanted to retire to the countryside,” Jiang Cheng continued. “Own a bit of land, fish, work your fields during the day, and night-hunt in the evenings. I always figured you were either joking or repeating something you heard, because I didn’t know how you could be happy living like that. It’d be too quiet a life for someone like you, and what would you know of farming anyway.”

“I did learn how to grow things,” he said, and then instantly regretted it when Jiang Cheng scowled so hard that Wei Wuxian worried he really would storm out.

“I know,” Jiang Cheng said stiffly. It took a moment for Wei Wuxian to realize why he looked so pained. Before Cloud Recesses, the last time Wei Wuxian had tried growing anything, it had been in the Burial Mounds. Which Jiang Cheng had witnessed himself during his first and only visit.

Wei Wuxian forced a laugh. “I can’t believe you even remember me saying that. I don’t remember that. Don’t roll your eyes, I know I have a terrible memory. Want to hear something funny, though? For a while, especially after the Sunshot Campaign and then again after, uh, well, more recently, I would dream about having that kind of life—quiet and simple. A small house and nice fields to work in.”

“You thought you could grow tofu once by burying it in the flower bushes,” he said flatly.

“That was one time! And you helped!”

“And then when my mother discovered us digging through the dirt, you tried to hide the evidence by eating it.”

Wei Wuxian shrugged, like eating dirt-coated tofu hadn’t been a big deal. “I’ve eaten worse things since then.”

In the silence that followed, that awkwardness descended again. With his words came the sharp, bitter awareness of all the things still unspoken between them—hardships and sacrifices and desperate choices.

Wei Wuxian didn’t want to spoil the evening with memories best left alone. “Anyway, what was I saying? Right. Dreams. I would work the fields during the day, and then return to the home I shared with Lan Zhan, who would have dinner ready for us. Weird, right? That was before I even knew how I felt about him.”

Jiang Cheng looked at him like he was a bug he was considering smashing under his boot. “You dreamed about retiring with him, but you didn’t know how you felt about him,” he repeated, just in case he hadn’t heard right the first time.

“I was confused, okay? I never felt that way about anyone before.”

His brother’s eyes lowered to Wei Wuxian’s neck, and he grimaced. Wei Wuxian began laughing.

“So then what? The moment you figured it out, you fucking eloped?”

“Pretty much!” he said cheerfully.

Jiang Cheng rubbed his temples. “I’d expect that kind of impulsiveness from you, but not the so-called peerless HanGuang-Jun.” He paused. “Wait, never mind. I can. He was always irrational when it came to you. Stop looking so smug about it, that’s not a compliment.”

“It sounds like one to me,” he said, grinning. “I can’t be blamed for being irresistible.”

Jiang Cheng threw up both hands, palms out, and squeezed his eyes shut. “Stop. Stop talking right now. I don’t want to think about it.” As Wei Wuxian snickered loudly into his liquor, he continued. “Anyway, good. About being… happy. That’s… good.” He all but snarled the word.

“It is,” Wei Wuxian said firmly. “And I am. Speaking of which, I should get to bed. I have to say good-bye to my husband tomorrow, and I’m already dreading it. I should give him my complete attention tonight so that—”

“Augh!” Jiang Cheng shoved to his feet, finally having had enough. He stormed out, exactly as Wei Wuxian imagined he would.

Feeling lighter than he had all afternoon, Wei Wuxian found his way to the guest wing. It wasn’t hard to find the room he and Lan Wangji had been assigned as it was the only one with a lantern still lit. Sizhui must have gone to bed already.

Inside, he was greeted by the sight of Lan Wangji meditating on the bed, wearing only a single layer of robes. His hair ornaments were the only things left to remove, which Wei Wuxian knew Lan Wangji had saved for him as it was their nightly ritual. This would be the last time for a while that Wei Wuxian could do this for him.

Wei Wuxian made quick work of cleaning up and stripping down to his underclothes. Then he approached the bed, but he didn’t sit. He stood before Lan Wangji, whose eyes opened. Smiling, Wei Wuxian reached out with deft fingers to gently remove the extravagant pieces of silver ornamenting his hair. He set each piece on the table, laying them neatly across the dark lacquer. Once that was done, he unraveled the plain ribbon holding his hair back, fingers lightly massaging his scalp.

Throughout the whole ritual, Lan Wangji watched him through half-lowered lids, pale eyes molten with heat. Grinning, he retrieved the comb Lan Wangji had set out for him. Climbing onto the bed, he settled behind Lan Wangji. He took his time working the comb through Lan Wangji’s hair, enjoying the simple but intimate task.

At last, with Lan Wangji’s hair spilling around his shoulders, Wei Wuxian rose from the bed. He returned the comb to the table and then knelt on the floor before Lan Wangji so that he could see his face. He touched the strip of white silk across Lan Wangji’s forehead, patterned with drifting clouds. As soon as the ribbon came free, he wrapped it around his wrist and pressed it to his lips. Lan Wangji’s eyes arrowed on his mouth.

Wei Wuxian leaned over and slid a kiss across Lan Wangji’s jaw. “I wasn’t planning to do anything but sleep in your arms tonight, but I guess it can’t be helped. I can’t resist when you look at me like that. Or when you look at me at all, period. So, really, you should take responsibility.”

When he reached for Lan Wangji’s waist, a hand stopped him. Wei Wuxian drew back, the smile on his lips faltering.

“Lan Zhan?” he asked.

“Wei Ying, I must say something first.”

“Can you say it while I undress you?”

“Wei Ying.”

“Okay, okay, go on then,” he said, as he sat back.

“I did not mean to eavesdrop. I turned back for the dining hall to walk with you. I overhead a few words before realizing you were having a serious discussion with Jiang Wanyin.”

“It really wasn’t that serious. What did you hear?”

His eyes lowered to the ribbon around Wei Wuxian’s wrist. Reaching out, he rested his fingers gently against the ribbon, tracing the edge and the bare skin beneath. “Are you happy in Cloud Recesses?”

Wei Wuxian gave him the same amused grin he’d given Jiang Cheng. “Is that it? Yes, of course. Didn’t you hear my reply?”

“Is what Jiang Wanyin said true? About your desire to settle in the countryside? Do you wish to live elsewhere?”

Wei Wuxian cupped Lan Wangji’s face, his thumb smoothing away the slight line between Lan Wangji’s eyebrows. “Lan Zhan. I’m happy in Cloud Recesses. Don’t you believe me?”

“If you wish it, we could leave any time. Tonight. Tomorrow. You need only tell me.”

Wei Wuxian gave an exasperated but fond sigh, his chest aching with how desperately he loved this man. “I know,” he said, pressing a kiss to the corner of Lan Wangji’s mouth. “But it goes both ways. You love your home. Your brother and uncle are there. And your disciples. Your family. I would never take you away from them.”

“You are my family as well.”

Feeling a little overwhelmed, he collapsed against the edge of the bed, resting his head in Lan Wangji’s lap. “You’re too much,” he said.

“Jiang Wanyin said you’ve wanted that since you were young.”

“Oh, so now you care what Jiang Cheng says?” he said, teasing.

“Only when it’s about you.”

“Lan Zhan, I don’t even remember saying that. And he said I mentioned it one time.”

“But your dreams with the house in the countryside.” Here, his ears went pink. Wei Wuxian’s smile widened as his hands slid up Lan Wangji’s thighs. Lan Wangji only knew about those dreams, because of the incense burner, which had provided a number of entertaining nights for them.

Lan Wangji had stored the curious little object somewhere it wouldn’t be discovered by anyone, until they could find an expert on spiritual objects. And where they could use it again whenever the impulse struck. Wei Wuxian would have to pull it out of hiding when he got back to Cloud Recesses.

“Lan Zhan, you of all people should know that what I dream about isn’t always something I want.”

Lan Wangji fell silent, and Wei Wuxian felt instantly guilty for bringing that look into his eyes.

He clicked his tongue, and although he was still on his knees, he straightened and nudged Lan Wangji to look him in the eye. “I’m only going to say this once, so listen well, got it? The important part of that dream wasn’t where it took place. It was me being able to stay with my husband, who took such good care of me. Isn’t that what we already have?”

At this, Lan Wangji’s mouth relaxed.

“And more importantly,” Wei Wuxian continued. “The thing about dreams and what we imagine for ourselves is that they can change. I mean, look at you and me. I’ve loved you for so long, Lan Zhan, but I was so slow to realize it. Even a year ago, how could I have predicted us? How could I have known that everything I could have ever wanted is right here?” He placed his hand over Lan Wangji’s chest, feeling his heartbeat thudding against his palm. “Wherever you are, that’s where I’m happy.”

Lan Wangji kissed him and repeated against his lips, “I’m happy wherever you are.”

#

The next morning, Wei Wuxian and Jiang Cheng stood outside the gates to see Lan Wangji and Sizhui leave for Gusu. Since there was no reason to extend the journey any longer than necessary, they had opted to fly.

Wei Wuxian, who’d been holding Lan Wangji’s hand for the last hour—or Lan Wangji had been holding his, it was impossible to be sure—finally released him. “You should go. Right now, before I change my mind. Who thought this would be a good idea? Couldn’t have been me. Whoever it was deserves seclusion for a month.”

Lan Wangji only smiled and said, “See you soon, Wei Ying.”

Wei Wuxian already said his good-byes to Sizhui, so within moments, the two Lans were mounted on their swords and gone.

Sighing, he watched until their figures disappeared over the river. When he turned away, he was surprised to find Jiang Cheng still standing behind him, waiting.

“Why aren’t you carrying your sword?” Jiang Cheng asked. His gaze flicked down to Wei Wuxian’s waist.

At the echo of a question he’d gotten so tired of hearing in the past, he smiled a bit. It no longer stung the way it used to. “Ah, that would be because I’m not ready to use a high-level spiritual sword yet. When I tried to wield Bichen, I fainted in under ten minutes. It was kind of embarrassing.” He wasn’t carrying Chenqing either. He’d stopped carrying the flute when training. It was too tempting to use it when he was losing miserably to Lan Wangji.

Jiang Cheng frowned. Then he turned on his heel. “Come on.”

Wei Wuxian followed after him into the training yard. The space was twice the size it’d been when Wei Wuxian was a disciple. At this hour, the yard was filled with disciples in neat, orderly lines going through morning sword drills. At their arrival, heads turned, and whispers passed from person to person.

“What is this?” Jiang Cheng snapped. “Are you all sword masters already that you can stand around gossiping?”

The disciples looked guiltily away as their seniors resumed calling out the next sword form.

From a rack of training swords at one end of the yard, Jiang Cheng selected one and handed it to Wei Wuxian. “I want to see your current skill level.”

This was typical for new disciples. Once, Wei Wuxian himself had observed mock duels to assess the skill level of fledgling cultivators. Only then could they be assigned to the appropriate training group.

Like the training swords in Cloud Recesses, the one Jiang Cheng handed him was a low-level spiritual sword that was generally useless in battle but perfectly suited for training disciples to channel their spiritual energy through a weapon. Jiang Cheng stood to the side as he gestured for one of his senior disciples to stand opposite Wei Wuxian.

The Jiang disciple glanced nervously between Wei Wuxian and his sect leader, before obeying. Wei Wuxian was used to the apprehension. The man wore a look that said, “Oh, wow, you’re the Yiling Laozu, I really didn’t want to die today.”

But Wei Wuxian had made a promise to himself and to Lan Wangji that he would stick strictly to sword techniques while training. That didn’t, however, mean he wouldn’t take advantage of other people’s perception of him. He smirked in a way that made the Jiang disciple’s face go white.

Fighting a proper YunmengJiang swordsman felt as familiar as if he’d been doing it all this time. Sizhui had made a fierce opponent in his natural GusuLan style, but his YunmengJiang had been quite rough. This was completely different. Despite the disciple’s nervousness at dueling with the Yiling Laozu, his reflexes were excellent, and his skills were worthy of a senior disciple’s. It was no wonder Jiang Cheng had chosen him to test Wei Wuxian.

Never let it be said that Wei Wuxian didn’t enjoy a challenge. He ducked a swipe of his opponent’s blade before deflecting another attack with a flick of his wrist. Feet in constant motion, he attacked quick and fluid, pushing the disciple across the training yard. The disciple blocked with immaculate form, but Wei Wuxian gave him no chance to retaliate.

Slashing at the disciple’s sword, he spun, his hair whipping across his face as he slipped behind him. The Jiang disciple froze as Wei Wuxian’s blade rested at his throat.

Once again, whispers erupted from the others who had paused to watch the duel.

Jiang Cheng stepped forward. Wei Wuxian released the disciple, who stumbled away, rubbing at his neck even though Wei Wuxian had barely touched him.

“Since you’ve all decided to make this an exhibition,” Jiang Cheng said, his gaze severe as it swept over the gathered disciples. “You might as well learn from it. Someone tell me why he lost.”

Another wave of guilty looks passed between the disciples, but none of them returned to their sword forms. Someone in the front bowed low to Jiang Cheng before saying, “Sect Leader. Senior Wei won because his experience, execution, and practical skills are superior to his technical knowledge.”

Wei Wuxian nodded thoughtfully. “A good assessment. But you forgot my innate talent.”

“No matter how innately skilled a cultivator is, without more advanced knowledge of your sword style, experience and execution can only carry you so far,” Jiang Cheng said, looking pointedly at Wei Wuxian. “Now pair up and get to work on those practical skills.”

The disciples all hurried to obey.

Jiang Cheng had Wei Wuxian duel a series of other senior disciples before finally finding two who lasted more than a handful of minutes. Then he told Wei Wuxian to stop looking so smug, because if he wanted to advance his cultivation, he would have to learn techniques well above his current level. Then he nailed his point home by saying even Jin Ling knew more than he did.

Wei Wuxian spent the rest of the morning going through all the forms he’d mastered long ago. But the two disciples overseeing his training wanted to be certain that he could perform them to their satisfaction before they taught him anything new. Despite that he knew he was performing the moves perfectly, they still had him repeat the techniques again and again.

When they finally allowed him a break, he took a turn around the training yard, advising younger disciples on their form and correcting stances.

Truthfully, despite the repetition, he was enjoying himself. For the first time in a lifetime, he was in Lotus Pier, practicing with a sword in the training yard. It felt surreal, as if he might look up and see his old sect brothers and sisters running their drills alongside him. Jiang Cheng would be laughing at something Wei Wuxian said, and shijie would be practicing by herself in the corner, with a sword that was as sweet and patient as she was.

“Senior Wei?”

Wei Wuxian, who’d been observing the juniors, had let his mind wander. He snapped back to himself and smiled at the senior disciple who’d spoken. The senior next to him, whose name was Xun, sneered and crossed his arms.

The two seniors were harsh teachers, but Wei Wuxian supposed they would have to be in order to meet Jiang Cheng’s absurdly high standards. Once it was time for lunch, Wei Wuxian bowed politely to the two and thanked them for seeing to his training.

Only one of them bowed back. Xun stuck up his nose and said, “I don’t know why Sect Leader Jiang would allow you to train here. You were kicked out of the Jiang sect.”

Wei Wuxian had left the sect voluntarily actually, but he didn’t bother to correct him. So he only smiled. “Your sect leader is indeed benevolent and forgiving.”

The two exchanged a puzzled look like they weren’t sure if Wei Wuxian was being serious or mocking. Wei Wuxian made his escape before they could figure it out.

After lunch, he led the younger disciples in meditation for a few hours in one of the outer pavilions beside the river and didn’t even fall asleep. Then he taught them the basic stances of YunmengJiang’s most junior level techniques. He’d missed teaching the style of his youth, forms that he could perform in his sleep. As the Jiang sect’s top disciple once, when he wasn’t shirking his duties, he’d spent plenty of time in the training yard helping the younger disciples.

He finished off his afternoon by making his way to the archery fields just outside Lotus Pier. Disciples were lined up with their bows and arrows, shooting down kites. The sky was clear, with only a few clouds to shield against the hot sun, and there was a brisk, cool wind to keep the kites afloat. Perhaps he was biased, but it was a perfect day in the way days rarely were anywhere else but in Yunmeng.

Younger kids stood in neighboring fields, releasing kites into the sky. As Wei Wuxian reached the nearest line of archers, he realized they were competing to see who could hit the farthest kite.

Cloud Recesses taught their disciples archery, of course. He recalled that archery contest long ago when he’d accidentally pulled off Lan Wangji’s forehead ribbon. He still cringed thinking about it. But even though Lan Wangji had left the competition early, he’d still placed in the top five. Granted, that might have had more to do with Lan Wangji’s perfectionism than with Gusu’s archery lessons.

Regardless, Lan disciples focused more of their training on the sword and on musical cultivation. But Yunmeng was different. Jiang disciples prided themselves on being superior archers.

He observed for a time, half-hidden beneath the shade of the trees that rimmed the archery fields. When he was finally noticed, the younger disciples nudged one another and pointed. They didn’t possess the same guardedness around him, not having grown up under the shadow of his name. Instead, one of the juniors waved, calling for him to join them. How could he refuse?

“You’re the guest disciple,” she said, handing him a bow and arrow. “Wei Wuxian.”

“That’s me! Who wants to learn how to shoot?”

“We already know how,” she said, gesturing with the bow in her hand.

“If you say so.” He pointed to a kite shaped like a butterfly. “More string!”

The child flying the kite obeyed but gave him a funny look when he motioned for her to keep going. Skeptical, she did as he asked. The other disciples had paused in their own shooting, pointing excitedly at how high the kite was.

“Are you sure you can hit that?” the junior disciple asked, eyes narrowed. “The only person who can shoot that far is Sect Leader.”

“What high praise! Jiang Cheng’s archery must have improved.” Wei Wuxian said.

Another junior gasped and looked to one of their companions with a scandalized whisper, “He can’t call Sect Leader that.”

The junior disciple who’d been talking to Wei Wuxian glared at her and said, “He’s Sect Leader’s brother, you idiot.”

Wei Wuxian tried not to laugh at the various levels of shock spreading through the disciples. Instead, he nocked his bow. Then, with a quick grin at their skeptical faces, he loosed the arrow.

It pierced the butterfly kite straight through the middle. A chorus of “ooooh” rose around him.

Wei Wuxian spent the last hour before dinner giving each of them pointers on how to hold the bow and control the arrow’s trajectory. When he straightened up from helping a young girl pull back the string of her bow, he spotted a familiar figure leaning against a tree, watching silently.

He waved to Jiang Cheng. Jiang Cheng didn’t respond or give any indication that he saw. Instead, he turned and walked away, heading back toward Lotus Pier.

Later, a servant informed him that Jiang Cheng was in a meeting and wouldn’t be able to join him for dinner. He ate out by the river instead, and then afterward, took the opportunity to explore Lotus Pier. He’d kept busy all day from the moment Lan Wangji left that morning. He’d barely had the time to miss him.

He missed him now, though. His absence only seemed to emphasize the emptiness of the space beside him. Sighing, Wei Wuxian followed once familiar paths around unfamiliar buildings. Unsurprisingly, he found himself meandering deeper into Lotus Pier, to a quiet place where a black ornate eight-cornered building stood—the ancestral hall.

Of all the buildings in Lotus Pier, this one remained unchanged, as elegant and solemn as it had ever been. On silent feet, he entered the ancestral hall and knelt. He lit three sticks of incense and then bowed. Words of apology stuck in his throat.

Behind him came the sound of rustling silk. Jiang Cheng stood in the entryway. Unlike the last time they’d both been here, he didn’t look angry. He merely waited as Wei Wuxian finished paying his respects.

A moment later, Wei Wuxian joined him on the path outside. A large tree grew alongside the ancestral hall, its branches stretched over the building, shedding autumn leaves like tears against the rooftiles. Beyond the tree, the sky was a riot of color, the sun a glimmer of red on the horizon. Wei Wuxian leaned his back against the tree, the bark scratching against the sleeves of his black robes.

“Finished with your meeting?” Wei Wuxian asked.

“For now. I saw you assisting with the archers. You’re meant to be working on your sword techniques.”

“I was! All day, in fact. Just ask your seniors.”

Jiang Cheng snorted and clasped his hands at his back. They remained that way, watching the sunset over Lotus Pier, both content to let the silence linger.

Despite his excitement after receiving Jiang Cheng’s letter, a part of Wei Wuxian had wondered what would happen if he stayed here for longer than a quick visit. Would he become a ghost haunting the pier, searching for familiar halls, lost within avenues of memory?

But as it turned out, there’d been no need to worry. He should have known. When he’d returned here for the first time after the Burial Mounds, he’d seen then that the Lotus Pier of his memories was gone, and he’d felt its loss. In the end, it was for the best. Like Lotus Pier, maybe he could finally begin to build new memories on top of the old.

#

With each day, his sword skills grew, and in turn, so did his cultivation. He meditated in the mornings and evenings between training, teaching, and various lessons that Jiang Cheng made him sit through, because he said he couldn’t be sure if Wei Wuxian was being properly educated on what he’d missed in the years he’d been gone.

Honestly, Wei Wuxian was pretty sure his brother was just testing him. But Wei Wuxian meant it when he said he wouldn’t make Jiang Cheng regret having him here. He would be a model Jiang disciple if it killed him. Hopefully, it wouldn’t.

In less than two weeks, Jiang Cheng’s senior disciples could no longer keep up with him. They still trained together, though, and while Xun continued cursing Wei Wuxian’s name for the shame he’d visited on their sect and their leader, he made for a good sparring partner because he genuinely wanted to defeat Wei Wuxian.

Under Jiang Cheng’s direction, he even learned new techniques, although he was required to perfect each technique before he’d be taught another one. This usually only took him a few days, which annoyed Xun who said it took most disciples two weeks or more. Still, Jiang Cheng made him devote an entire week to each technique until the motions became as natural as using Chenqing.

It was thrilling to learn techniques exclusive to senior YunmengJiang disciples. They were techniques he would have learned after the Sunshot Campaign, after they’d restored Lotus Pier and rebuilt their sect. That is, if Wei Wuxian had had a golden core to be able to use them.

Only a select few people had even remembered the techniques. With everyone who’d once practiced or taught them killed during the Wen attack on Lotus Pier, Jiang Cheng himself had had to consult the Jiang sect’s books, which had been thankfully saved, and hunt down old Jiang disciples who’d survived the war.

By Wei Wuxian’s third week at Lotus Pier, the only person who could still put up a fight was Jiang Cheng, who took immense satisfaction in defeating Wei Wuxian. Unlike Lan Wangji, he didn’t bother holding back, which meant Wei Wuxian found himself flying face first into the stone tiles more often than not.

Once, Wei Wuxian had been the better swordsman, but Jiang Cheng had more than a decade of experience over him, having grown comfortable in his leadership, even though he had to do it alone. And yet, with every day, with every defeat, Wei Wuxian slowly closed the gap between them. Jiang Cheng didn’t seem to mind, despite the way he looked whenever Wei Wuxian demonstrated how quickly he could integrate a new technique into his sparring.

It wasn’t like how he used to look, right after Wei Wuxian had returned—part pain, part bitterness, and all fury. This one felt more like before, competitive but indulgent, with no real edge. Only from Jiang Cheng could a look of faint loathing make Wei Wuxian feel impossibly fond.

Despite his advancing swordplay, to his continuing frustration, his spiritual energy refused to condense within him. It swelled and surged, pushing toward that interminable peak yet never quite reaching it.

Every day, he meditated by the river, practiced the sword and then archery, and meditated some more. He never even convinced the junior disciples to slip away to go swimming and catch fish in the shallows more than once. Okay, twice. Okay, three times. That was basically zero!

At night, alone in a guestroom that was growing more familiar with each passing day, he dreamed of shadows and ash. He trudged through a world of brittle trees and silty earth, the bones of fallen warriors shifting beneath his feet. Lotus seeds sprouted from mud beneath a sallow sky, the stems white and dry as bone. Without Lan Wangji’s warmth and soothing words to pull him from his nightmare, he awoke drenched in sweat, screams ringing in his ears and the taste of ash bitter at the back of his throat.

As promised, however, Lan Wangji did visit every two weeks. On those days, Lan Wangji watched as he proudly showed off his new skills, and then joined him in instructing the young disciples. He even participated in a friendly archery competition. Wei Wuxian won, of course, and rewarded Lan Wangji for being a good sport about it later after turning in for bed.

He also took Lan Wangji around the market before going for a boat ride down the river. Despite that Wei Wuxian had already shown him around Lotus Pier a number of times, Lan Wangji was always happy to join him in retreading old paths from a life before Wei Wuxian had ever set foot in Cloud Recesses.

After a month into his stay at Lotus Pier, Jin Ling arrived. Alone.

Jiang Cheng spent ten minutes berating him for traveling without a guard or even his spirit dog. At the mention of Fairy, Wei Wuxian immediately located the nearest tree.

“Of course, I brought her,” Jin Ling shot back. “I handed her off to a servant at the gates.”

That was how Wei Wuxian learned that Jin Ling had come to visit him.

“Jingyi wrote and said you needed help with your swordsmanship,” Jin Ling explained, smirking.

Wei Wuxian was going to find an extremely creative way to punish that kid when he got back to Cloud Recesses. He wasn’t sure how yet, but it would definitely involve a curse and maybe some rabbits.

“But one of you should have told me yourself about this,” he continued. There was a petulant note to his voice that made Wei Wuxian want to pet him. “I would have come sooner if I’d known.”

Despite being the Jin sect leader, Jin Ling’s sword style was YunmengJiang. Jiang Cheng had overseen his cultivation and education in a way the Jin elders hadn’t. Wei Wuxian had learned from Sizhui and Jingyi that once Jin Guangyao assumed control over Lanling, few people took Jin Ling seriously, even his own tutors. He was either treated with a dismissive tolerance or actively bullied.

Now, though, as a sect leader who was still struggling to earn the respect of his cultivators, Jin Ling had chosen not to learn LanlingJin style yet, at least not until he’d mastered YunmengJiang. He was wary of willingly allowing anyone in Koi Tower to charge him with a sword.

The fact he fought using another sect’s sword style probably didn’t help with his popularity within his own sect, even if it wasn’t by any fault of his own.

“You came all this way, by yourself, just so you could duel this idiot?” Jiang Cheng shouted, fists clenched. Zidian wasn’t sparking, though, so he couldn’t have been that mad about it. Fortunately, they were alone in Sword Hall, so there was no one around to hear the shouting match, although if there was, Wei Wuxian felt pretty certain the servants would be used to it. “What are those imbeciles in Koi Tower doing if they don’t even notice their sect leader missing?”

“I didn’t just leave without telling anyone,” Jin Ling shouted back, before visibly reeling himself in. He lowered his voice before speaking again, using a tone that Wei Wuxian imagined he thought a reasonable adult should sound like. “Besides, I’m their sect leader. It’s not like I need anyone’s permission. And I didn’t come here to duel him. I came to help.”

Wei Wuxian suspected Jin Ling was still trying to make up for that time he stabbed him, but he wasn’t sure offering to swing a sword at him was the right way to go about it. Which actually made it completely hilarious.

“Great!” Wei Wuxian said, cutting off Jiang Cheng’s impending explosion. “I’ll get my sword.”

When that sword turned out to be a training sword, Jin Ling frowned. “That’s what you’re using?”

“You know, for people who’ve been through this training in the past, it’s weird how often I have to explain why I’m using this.”

Jin Ling rolled his eyes and unsheathed Suihua.

Wei Wuxian had seen Jin Ling fight on night hunts. Sizhui was right that Jin Ling’s swordsmanship had improved, although he was still a better archer than any of the Lan disciples, largely due to Jiang Cheng’s instruction and the time he spent growing up at Lotus Pier. But fighting a fierce corpse was considerably different from fighting another cultivator, and he wasn’t sure how much experience Jin Ling had in the latter.

It turned out, a decent amount. Jin Ling must have been practicing with Sizhui, Jingyi, and Ouyang Zizhen on their night hunts, because Jin Ling’s response time and reflexes had greatly improved. He also adjusted accordingly once he realized Wei Wuxian knew how to counter some of his more advanced techniques, even going so far as to use one that Wei Wuxian was unfamiliar with. Wei Wuxian made a mental note to remember it and teach it to himself later.

Wei Wuxian didn’t mind admitting that Jin Ling lasted longer than he expected. In terms of technical knowledge, he was above Sizhui, although Sizhui still surpassed him in execution and experience. He didn’t say this to Jin Ling, though, because he was a good and considerate uncle. And he was saving it for the future when he could best use the information to embarrass him.

After Jin Guangyao’s fall, Jin Ling had to strengthen himself, physically and politically, very quickly in a very short amount of time. With Jiang Cheng’s help, Jin Ling arranged a mild reorganization of Jin sect’s cultivators. He assigned those who’d been loyal to Jin Guangyao to watch towers far from Lanling and planted Jiang spies around those who might have considered taking the position of sect leader from a young, untested cultivator barely out of boyhood.

The irony was that Jiang Cheng had become a sect leader at around the same age, and while he’d also been young, he hadn’t remained untested for long. The circumstances had been completely different back then. That had been a time of war, and Jiang Cheng had proven himself on the battlefield during the Sunshot Campaign.

No one would have dared to forcibly take the Jiang sect from him once he recovered it from the Wen. But that only meant his enemies had to be more cunning. Once the peace had been restored, the other sects had seen a young sect leader with growing power and sought to weaken or manipulate him by attacking where he was weakest—his family. And it had worked because Wei Wuxian hadn’t been by Jiang Cheng’s side as he should have been.

True, he’d been quietly falling apart at the time, but still.

And then the other three major sects had forged a brotherhood, further isolating the Jiang sect. In hindsight, Wei Wuxian wondered if Jin Guangshan had seen the marriage between his son and shijie as a means of influencing Jiang Cheng.

In any case, none of that mattered anymore. Wei Wuxian tried not to linger on things that couldn’t be changed. It had been a different time and a different life.

Within minutes, Wei Wuxian could tell that Jin Ling had come determined to win. He fought better than Wei Wuxian could ever recall in previous battles. Unfortunately for his nephew, it wasn’t enough, but Wei Wuxian was still rather proud. When Jin Ling stepped into a thrust, taking the opening that Wei Wuxian had given him in exactly the way Sizhui had, Wei Wuxian neatly tripped him.

Jin Ling’s eyes widened almost comically before he planted against the smooth tiles of the training yard. He groaned, rolling onto his back as Wei Wuxian extended a hand.

Jin Ling glared up at him, the look nearly identical to the one Jiang Cheng was giving him. Then he grudgingly accepted Wei Wuxian’s hand, letting himself be pulled to his feet.

“I guess you’re not so bad with YunmengJiang style,” he mumbled as he sheathed Suihua.

“Well, now that Sect Leader Jin has acknowledged me,” Wei Wuxian said, smiling as he helped to dust off Jin Ling’s pale gold robes.

Jin Ling pushed away his hands. “Fine, see if I compliment you again.”

“Was that a compliment? You need to work on those, but I guess it can’t be helped. You probably learned from Jiang Cheng.”

Jiang Cheng gave him a flat look and said, “Who would I need to compliment? Not you, that’s for sure.”

Wei Wuxian grinned, the quip making him happier than any insult should. “Look, this is how you do it. Listen carefully, okay? Take notes if you need. Ahem. ‘Jin Ling, if you were in the Jiang sect, you’d be their top disciple.’”

Jin Ling swelled with pride for all of a heartbeat before wiping the budding grin from his mouth. “I’m not a disciple. I’m a sect leader.”

“You keep saying that. By the way, I’m hungry. Who wants to join me for a snack?” He marched from the training yard before Jiang Cheng could finish yelling at him. He’d been training diligently all morning and afternoon. He was pretty sure he’d earned a break.

It only took a moment for Jin Ling to catch up to him, squaring his shoulders to make it look like he hadn’t been hurrying. To Wei Wuxian’s surprise, Jiang Cheng joined them as well.

They spent the next two hours visiting all of Wei Wuxian’s favorite food vendors. After a month in Lotus Pier, he knew practically every person by name. Some of them were old faces, half-remembered from a lifetime ago, but most were new. He tried not to wonder about whether the merchants who once sold here had left the area after the Wen occupation or if they’d been killed along with the majority of the Jiang sect.

“Young master!” an old man selling silk purses shouted over the din. He alternated between waving and bobbing his head respectfully at Jin Ling. “You haven’t been by in so long. We’re so glad to see you back.”

As Jin Ling smiled at him, Wei Wuxian’s eyebrows climbed up his forehead.

Jin Ling shot him a defensive look, nose shoved in the air again as he said, “What? I walked around the market with Uncle a lot when I was little.”

The afternoon was full of surprises, as another merchant handed Jin Ling a piece of hard candy and yet another pushed a pouch of fresh lotus seeds at him. They paused outside a broad alley where men and women were hanging freshly dyed fabrics in shades of YunmengJiang purple—rich plum, pale lavender, orchid, and eggplant.

Wei Wuxian ran his fingers along the trim of his sleeves. His clothes were in his typical black, but a cloud pattern had been sewn into the hem of his robes and around his cuffs. Even though Lan Wangji had visited only a few days ago, Wei Wuxian was struck by such an intense sense of missing him that his breath caught.

Soon after, Jiang Cheng announced that, as sect leader, he didn’t have the kind of leisure that Wei Wuxian did and had to attend to his duties—never mind that he’d just spent two hours walking around with them or that Jin Ling was also a sect leader. There was no heat in his words, which was something Wei Wuxian was noticing more and more often lately.

Once he’d gone, Wei Wuxian and Jin Ling took the long way back to Lotus Pier, finding themselves along the docks beside the river. Jin Ling was stuffing yet more free candy into his qiankun pouch. He wondered if these people knew Jin Ling was rich enough to buy the entire market and then some.

“I thought you didn’t agree with accepting free food,” Wei Wuxian said, tapping a finger to his chin.

“That was different. Those people didn’t have the support of a large sect. The people here don’t need to worry about not having enough food. Uncle will take care of them.”

Wei Wuxian nodded. “It’s okay, Jin Ling. I understand. You prefer candy over fish. I won’t tell Sizhui.”

Jin Ling scowled. “You’re one to talk. Uncle told me about how you used to charm the merchants into giving you what you wanted, and then you had them bill Lotus Pier for all of it.”

Wei Wuxian threw his head back and laughed. “I can’t believe Jiang Cheng told you that. I bet he didn’t mention how he did it, too.” He laughed even harder at Jin Ling’s surprise.

Jin Ling closed his mouth, his surprise transforming into quiet embarrassment. Then he lifted his chin, having apparently decided a sect leader didn’t need to be embarrassed. “He didn’t, but he was the sect heir. You weren’t. And besides, he doesn’t talk much about himself anyway.”

“But he talks about me?” Wei Wuxian asked, his laughter more bewildered now than anything else.

“Sometimes,” Jin Ling muttered. “He said you were the best and worst disciple Jiang sect had ever known.”

Wei Wuxian wasn’t sure how he felt about that.

“You were the top disciple, but you were always avoiding your duties by running off with the other boys to hunt pheasants. Then you’d come back with a pouch full of stolen jujubes.”

Wei Wuxian reeled a bit that Jiang Cheng had said all this. That seemed… unlike him. “For your information, even though Jiang Cheng complained, that didn’t stop him from coming along.”

But the mention of stolen jujubes reminded him Lan Wangji and his drunken antics. Then he recalled what else happened that night, and he sighed dreamily.

“You’re being disgusting in your head, aren’t you?” Jin Ling said, nose wrinkling.

“Only if love is disgusting.”

Jin Ling drew a deep, fortifying breath. It was so much like Jiang Cheng that Wei Wuxian couldn’t help the snort of laughter that escaped him.

With a look of great restraint—Wei Wuxian wasn’t sure where he could have learned that from, probably Sizhui—Jin Ling said, “It’s good you’re here.”

He lifted an eyebrow. “Oh? I never knew you felt this way about me, but I’m not surprised that I’m your favorite uncle. You’re my favorite nephew so it only makes sense—”

“I’m your only nephew.”

“You’ll have to break the news gently to Jiang Cheng. I’ll light an incense for you. He’s—”

“Different,” Jin Ling said firmly, his already thin patience nearing its end. Wei Wuxian finally closed his mouth, curiosity winning out. Possibly because he worried Wei Wuxian would start talking again, Jin Ling hurriedly added, “Uncle never used to talk about you. Or the past. But after a while, he started answering my questions instead of yelling at me, and even sharing more… Anyway, it’s good you’re here.”

Wei Wuxian’s chest felt suddenly tight. To keep from doing something mortifying, like bursting into tears, he grinned broadly and held out his arms to Jin Ling. “If you need to cry about it, Uncle Wei is here for you.”

With an exasperated shout, Jin Ling shoved past his arm. “Don’t you dare say any of this to Uncle!”

Wei Wuxian chased after him, his laughter trailing in their wake.

#

Jin Ling left two days later. Wei Wuxian waited until Jin Ling had led Fairy farther off before coming out from behind Jiang Cheng and waving wildly.

“Jin Rulan!” he shouted. At once, Jin Ling’s head snapped back, glaring darkly over his shoulder. “See you soon, nephew of my heart!”

“You’re an embarrassment,” Jiang Cheng said mildly.

“It’s one of my best qualities! Hey!” He dodged Jiang Cheng’s elbow and said, “He never uses his courtesy name. You should start insisting now that he’s a sect leader.”

“It’s no wonder he doesn’t,” Jiang Cheng said, turning away from the gate. Jin Ling had scooped up Fairy, who really was kind of fat, and mounted his sword. “Anyone could have done a better job at naming him.”

For the first time in a long time, Wei Wuxian dared to throw his arm over Jiang Cheng’s shoulders, encouraged when Jiang Cheng didn’t immediately throw him off. “It’s a fine name. Very noble. Shijie thought so too.”

Now, Jiang Cheng did throw him off, the shadow of a sneer twisting his mouth. Wei Wuxian instantly regretted his thoughtless words. They’d spoken of much these last few weeks, but rarely had it crept toward their sister. Shijie’s absence remained a constant, throbbing wound between them.

He opened his mouth, uncertain how to take back the words without making it worse. So he said nothing at all, trailing after Jiang Cheng as he found his way into an inner courtyard and settled on shallow steps before a small pool of lotus blossoms. Wei Wuxian lowered onto the cold tiles beside him, his thoughts tumbling toward the last time they’d sat this way, making promises neither of them had kept.

At last, Jiang Cheng said, “Do you want to know why you were the one to name him?”

“Because you suggested it?” he said, tentative. Shijie had said as much, but he’d never gotten the whole story.

Jiang Cheng glared at him, a glimmer of that old fury passing behind his eyes. “You were so stubborn. You still are, always determined to sacrifice yourself and play the hero, no matter who goes down with you. A-jie wanted you to come home where we could protect you, but I didn’t know how to get through to you.”

Wei Wuxian rested his forearms over his raised knees, watching a dragonfly perch on the tip of a lotus bloom. He couldn’t speak because his throat had closed with emotion.

They’d wanted him to leave the Burial Mounds. And so Jiang Cheng had suggested asking Wei Wuxian to give his future nephew a courtesy name, because there was nothing as painful as being presented with what he would lose in his absence.

His shijie didn’t have a manipulative bone in her body, so she wouldn’t have come to him in her wedding robes with an ulterior motive, and even Jiang Cheng’s intentions had been out of love. Jiang Cheng would probably implode before ever saying that word out loud though.

Wei Wuxian covered his face, rubbing his fingers into his forehead. It felt hard to breathe with the pressure in his chest, but as much as it still hurt, there was nothing to be done. Those days were long since passed.

“Jiang Cheng,” he finally said, looking up. He rested his hand on his brother’s shoulder. “Thank you.” Thank you for caring about me back then. Thank you for trying.

“Don’t thank me for something so long ago.”

His mouth curved, but he didn’t feel any sense of joy. “You’re right. That was… That was a lifetime ago.”

They could never go back to those dark days, but they could never go back to the way things had been before either. They could never return to those scorching summers of bliss and ignorance—to days when who could hold their breath the longest was the most he and Jiang Cheng ever fought about, and shijie waited at the end of it with a smile and tender hands.

In a way, it was almost reassuring. Not because they would never again feel that sort of comfort with each other, but because they were now grown men, hardened by war and loss and heartbreak. And they had come through. They’d survived. Well, Jiang Cheng had, and Wei Wuxian had somehow gotten the sheer luck of being given a second chance.

Jiang Cheng shook his head, turning his face away. “You keep saying things like that. ‘Leave it with your past life. Let it go. It was a lifetime ago.’ Maybe for you it was. But for me, it’s still this life. Not everyone can forget the past as easily as you can.”

Wei Wuxian flinched, his hand slipping from Jiang Cheng’s shoulder.

“And don’t apologize,” Jiang Cheng said fiercely, looking back at him. “I don’t want an apology. I’m not so fragile. I’m just letting you know how your words sound.”

If he couldn’t apologize, then what could he say? There was no changing the past, and so there was no use lingering over it. He hadn’t considered what his words would sound like to Jiang Cheng or anyone else. How many times had he made this mistake in his past life with careless words that had meant to be reassuring? How many times had he hurt Jiang Cheng and shijie without even realizing?

“Do you remember what Jin Guangyao said at Guanyin Temple?” Jiang Cheng asked abruptly.

The question seemed like a non sequitur, but Wei Wuxian said, “Which part?”

Jin Guangyao had said a number of things, many of them to Wei Wuxian before the temple collapsed, the worst of which had been the truth.

Because of the kind of person Wei Wuxian had been, because of the choices he’d made, he’d been destined to die young.

“He was a snake whose words dripped poison,” Jiang Cheng spat, “but that doesn’t mean they were all lies.”

Wei Wuxian frowned as he recalled what Jin Guangyao had said specifically to Jiang Cheng—that Wei Wuxian and Jiang Cheng should have presented a united front against the other sects’ attempts to discredit him. Had Jiang Cheng been carrying around his words all this time?

Once again, Wei Wuxian had misunderstood his brother. Jiang Cheng wasn’t angry with him. Or at least, not only him.

“Jiang Cheng,” he said carefully, returning his hand to his brother’s shoulder. “It wasn’t your fault. What happened to me… Those were my choices. If you’d stood by my side, the other sects would have turned on you as well.”

“Stop,” Jiang Cheng said, head lowered and face twisting into such pain that Wei Wuxian felt it deep inside his own chest. Wei Wuxian scooted closer so that he could cradle Jiang Cheng’s bowed back.

“Some things should be remembered,” Wei Wuxian said. “And some things have to be let go. I guess I’m still trying to figure out which is which.”

They were silent for a long time as he struggled with how to fill the quiet. But it seemed there was no need, because at last, Jiang Cheng sighed. It sounded resigned.

He turned, and Wei Wuxian had to draw back or risk getting bashed in the forehead.

“Wei Wuxian,” Jiang Cheng said harshly, looking more like himself again. “You’re already here, right? Let that be enough.”

Wei Wuxian bit the inside of his cheek, because the physical pain hurt less than the quiet, tentative hope kindling in his brother’s voice. Wei Wuxian nodded, his smile tremulous.

“Then just stay a while,” Jiang Cheng said, making it sound like a challenge.

So he did. “I’m here.”

#

Some days later, he dreamed of ash. He awoke with a gasp, shivering against the sheets despite the sweat that slicked his forehead.

Even though he was exhausted, he pulled on an outer robe and left the room. After more than a month, it had begun to feel less like a guestroom and more like his room, especially now it was filled with various articles of clothing, talismans, and parchment lying haphazard on all surfaces.

The corridors were silent, and the lanterns burned low, deepening the shadows crouched in corners. The night air was chilly, a whisper of winter’s approach.

His feet led him into parts of Lotus Pier he hadn’t seen since before he died—a small private courtyard where he and Jiang Cheng had practiced with their swords in the evenings, and a bridge that led to a stone pavilion, the tiered roof like blooming lotus petals dressed in layers of gauzy purple drapes. Shijie had loved it back here.

Another path led him to a pair of elegant sliding doors. Beyond it, sealed against anyone without access, was a part of Lotus Pier reserved only for direct members of the Jiang family. Once, that had included Wei Wuxian. Despite himself, he touched his hand to the lotus carvings in the wooden panels.

The door slid open. He froze, staring at the gap between the two doors. Confusion welled within him. Maybe, given what he’d said about wanting Wei Wuxian to come home, Jiang Cheng had never revoked his access despite that he’d defected from the Jiang sect. And after that… well, after that, Wei Wuxian had been dead.

He hesitated only a moment before sliding the door open the rest of the way and slipping through. His breath caught as he wandered down empty corridors, open to the night sky. This part of Lotus Pier remained unchanged—every window, every pillar, every stroke of paint on paper panels excruciatingly familiar.

At length, he arrived at a small building that, at first, appeared indistinct from the rest, with a set of wide doors carved with the familiar lotus motif. This was the Jiang treasure vault.

Heart thudding, he pushed open the door and stepped inside. It was dark, but he remembered where the lanterns were hung. He lit them with a fire talisman, and warm light filled the space. Lining each wall on either side were shelves and displays filled with Jiang family relics, books, weapons, and heirlooms.

After reclaiming their territory from the Wen sect during the Sunshot Campaign, Jiang Cheng had discovered the vault undisturbed. Although Wen Chao had been able to break through the sealed doors that protected this area of Lotus Pier, the treasure vault itself had its own defenses against intruders.

The doors had opened only for Jiang Cheng, and he’d found their sect’s possessions intact. It would have been devasting to discover the building ransacked, the relics stolen or destroyed.

Wei Wuxian clasped his hands behind his back out of habit. It was Madam Yu’s requirement for entering this building as Wei Wuxian had never been able to resist touching things, especially things forbidden to him. A smile twitched at his mouth as he recalled the time he’d bet Jiang Cheng that he could pick up Jiang Cheng’s great-great-great grandfather’s sword with only his feet.

Jiang Cheng hadn’t accepted the bet, but Wei Wuxian had still won it. He’d also been punished for putting his feet on a sacred sword, but it’d been worth the half second of Jiang Cheng’s laughter before his mother had swept in like a summer storm, all thunder and lightning.

This time, he touched nothing. He merely perused the items on their shelves and displays, feeling slightly overwhelmed. Here was an entire room brimming with a past worth holding onto.

As he rounded a display stacked with old books and other bits of correspondence, he spotted something leaning against the wall, half-hidden behind a table like an afterthought. It was a simple wooden board, one end jagged as if it’d been broken off from something larger, like a dresser or a table. It was so out of place that it caught his eye at once.

The rest of the room was immaculate. Why would someone toss random junk back here? He’d told himself he wouldn’t touch anything, but he couldn’t help it. He lifted the piece of wood from behind the table.

It was about the length of his arm, but not very thick or heavy. At one point, it had been coated with a thin polish. Maybe this had been part of a building or a temple. It didn’t possess any traces of spiritual energy—it was just a piece of wood, and a battered one at that if the nicks and scratches were any indication. He was about to put it back when something on one end of it caught his eye, and then his stomach dropped.

Sketched into the wood was a series of kissing heads. He stared at the images, at first uncertain if he was seeing correctly. He’d drawn those figures into the headboard of his old bed a lifetime ago.

After reclaiming Lotus Pier, Wei Wuxian had found his old room completely torn apart, presumably during Wen Chao’s initial search for Wei Wuxian and Jiang Cheng. Even his bed had been broken down the middle, as if someone had taken out their anger on the furniture.

Wei Wuxian had tossed the old frame into a scrap pile to be burned or salvaged and forgotten about it. When had Jiang Cheng taken it? Why had he kept it? And why this, of all things? What a ridiculous memento to hold onto.

They’d been together when Wei Wuxian had drawn those kissing heads. Jiang Cheng had been sprawled on the mattress beside him, offering criticism for how none of them looked enough like a girl. He’d tried to add his own embellishments to the drawing, but Wei Wuxian had kicked him off the bed and told him to vandalize his own headboard.

Finding this here in a room full of priceless treasures was so hilarious and stupid that Wei Wuxian began to laugh. He laughed so hard that tears poured down his cheeks, and then he wasn’t sure anymore if he was laughing or crying.

He could never mention finding this to Jiang Cheng. His brother would burn it out of principle.

Once Wei Wuxian got himself under control, he returned the old piece of wood to where he’d found it and closed the doors to the treasure vault on his way out.

He made his way to a pavilion that sat over the water, rising from the river like a giant lotus blossom. He and his siblings used to take their tea out here beneath the shade and the silk drapes. When it became too humid, he and Jiang Cheng would strip off their outer robes and jump into the water to cool down. If Madam Yu happened by, they hid beneath the wooden boards of the pier to keep from being scolded for behaving indecently before a lady, even if that lady was just their sister.

A low table sat at the center of the pavilion, bare where once there’d been a ceramic tea pot and a vase of lotus blooms. Wei Wuxian sat down at the edge of the lacquered table, facing the water. The gauzy lavender drapes rippled out around him, dyed silver by the moonlight.

What he’d felt in the treasure room was still lodged in his chest, swelling into his throat and eyes. He laughed at himself and wiped at his cheeks. So much had been lost in the war and afterward. There was so much he couldn’t undo, so much he couldn’t give back. And still, Jiang Cheng had salvaged a piece of their childhood, random and insignificant, hiding it away as if it was a treasure worth preserving.

He’d always felt guilty for being grateful to be here. For getting what so few others, if anyone, ever got—a second chance. He was so guilty and so very grateful, not only for this body that had cost Mo Xuanyu everything, and not only for the ability to cultivate again with a golden core.

But also for Lan Wangji and his deep, abiding love. For Jiang Cheng and a brother he’d missed with every part of his being. For Jin Ling and Sizhui and Wen Ning.

Instead of ‘I’m sorry,’ Wei Wuxian dared to think ‘Thank you.’ Thank you, for being able to wake up to the sight of Lan Wangji's face. Thank you, for the sensation of water lapping at his toes. Thank you, for the earth sliding beneath his nails as he grew vegetables for his army of rabbits.

Wei Wuxian bowed his head. Thank you.

#

The next day, for the first time in a year, Wei Wuxian drew Suibian. It was like greeting an old friend, the kind where even after a long period of separation, nothing had changed. They moved together as if they’d never been apart, the blade reacting to every command the way no hollow sword could. He lasted the whole afternoon before sprawling, exhausted, against the cold tiles, furiously happy.

That evening, he meditated with Jiang Cheng alongside the river. His qi flowed within him, sure and strong, raging through his meridians to surge within his being, swelling and cresting and at last, at long last, crystalizing into a shining, golden core.

#

The next time Lan Wangji visited, it was to find Wei Wuxian flying on Suibian above Lotus Pier, followed by a gaggle of Jiang disciples, all of whom were attempting to mimic his increasingly dangerous mid-air stunts.

The moment he spotted Lan Wangji approaching on Bichen, Wei Wuxian met him in the air and shouted, “Lan Zhan, look! Look at me!” as if Lan Wangji wasn’t already staring, a joyous smile softening all the lines of his beautiful face.

They landed in the training yard, and Wei Wuxian sheathed Suibian. Then he flung himself into Lan Wangji’s arms even as the other disciples all bowed, embarrassed to be caught misbehaving by the honorable HanGuang-Jun. Jiang Cheng arrived a moment later, but Lan Wangji couldn’t greet him with anything other than a nod on account of Wei Wuxian hanging off his neck.

“Lan Zhan! I’ve missed you so much!”

He refused to let go of him even as Jiang Cheng muttered, “You just saw him two weeks ago.”

“Exactly! It’s been an eternity! I’ve wasted away in his absence. I’m a shell of a person,” he said, but he couldn’t hold the pout for long, unable to fight the grin stretching his mouth. Touching Lan Wangji’s face, he smoothed down a few strands of wind-tousled hair, fingers brushing over the cloud-patterned forehead ribbon.

“I’ve missed you,” Lan Wangji said in that frank, sincere way that made Wei Wuxian want to drag him behind a shed.

“Ugh, come find me when you’re done,” Jiang Cheng said, before stalking off.

“Guess what?” Wei Wuxian said, at last stepping back from Lan Wangji, but only by a couple steps. Lan Wangji’s arms around his waist didn’t let him get far. “I’m ready to go home to Cloud Recesses. Isn’t that great?”

Lan Wangji nodded, and only Wei Wuxian could read the sheer happiness and relief shining from those pale eyes. Closing the distance between them again, Lan Wangji pressed their foreheads together and whispered, “It is.”

Nearby, various disciples were suddenly very interested in their feet, the sky, the architecture, anything but the two cultivators embracing in the middle of the training yard.

“Lan Zhan, how’s my garden?” he asked, taking pity on the Jiang disciples. He took Lan Wangji’s hand, leading him away from the crowd and onto a quiet path.

“Sizhui and Jingyi help me see to it every day. They’ve built an enclosure so that the rabbits can no longer get in.”

“Ah, what good kids!” Wei Wuxian said. “Where are they now? You should have brought them with you.”

“They are night hunting. But they would have come if they were available. All your students miss you as well.”

“I’m very missable,” he agreed. To be honest, he’d missed his classes as well, although training the disciples had been a great substitute.

Lan Wangji’s fingers carded through his hair, finding the red ribbon and pulling it over Wei Wuxian’s shoulder fondly. “Wei Ying. You have restored your golden core.”

Whenever they’d spoken about it, there had never been a single note of doubt in Lan Wangji’s voice. There was no surprise in his voice now either, just warmth and joy and a certainty of Wei Wuxian’s capability.

Wei Wuxian beamed. Every day, his golden core grew stronger, and the glow of Suibian’s blade grew brighter.

“You helped,” he said. Even though they’d agreed that ‘thank you’ and ‘sorry’ weren’t words that were necessary between them, he wanted the sentiment to be clear.

As much as Wei Wuxian had loved being at Lotus Pier, every part of him ached with missing Lan Wangji, and he was ready to return home to Cloud Recesses and their not-so-quiet life in the Jingshi. They stayed only long enough for Wei Wuxian to pack all the little things he’d collected over the past month. Then he made his rounds, saying good-bye to the disciples he’d been training and even to Xun, who made a sour face at him but still waved.

Afterward, Jiang Cheng walked them to the pier where they would be taking the leisurely route back home by boat.

Chenqing was tucked again at his waist, Suibian secured at his hip. He looked forward to learning how to best integrate the two weapons into his cultivation for future night hunts.

Then he eyed Bichen with a mischievous curl of his lips. Jiang Cheng, who saw the look, immediately narrowed his eyes in suspicion.

“Hey, Lan Zhan,” Wei Wuxian said, one hand on Chenqing and the other on Suibian. “Do you think I could wield both Suibian and Bichen at once? Wouldn’t that be cool?”

Jiang Cheng rolled his eyes, but Lan Wangji seemed to consider it before answering, “Two swords of such high spiritual power would be difficult even for the most gifted cultivators.”

It was not, Wei Wuxian noted, a ‘no.’ He grinned and pulled Chenqing from his waist, twirling it between his fingers for wont of something to do with his hands that wasn’t attacking Lan Wangji in front of everyone again.

“Now you’ve done it,” Jiang Cheng muttered.

“The challenge has been set, Jiang Cheng. How can I refuse? The next time you see me, you’ll be crying and begging me to teach you.”

“You wish.”

They’d reached the end of the pier. A wide boat awaited them, stocked with supplies to last them through the two days’ journey back to Gusu.

Lan Wangji bowed to Jiang Cheng, perhaps more sincerely than he ever had in the past and said, “Thank you for allowing Wei Wuxian to study at Lotus Pier.”

Jiang Cheng, who looked unimpressed, still bowed to acknowledge the words. Then Lan Wangji turned away to board the boat and allow them a moment of privacy.

Before Jiang Cheng could get a word out, Wei Wuxian clapped two hands on his brother’s shoulders and said, “I’ll see you again.”

Something in Jiang Cheng’s posture seemed to relax. “If you ever grow bored of Cloud Recesses…”

Wei Wuxian’s brows rose, waiting for the rest of his sentence, which seemed to have stuck in his throat.

After a moment, Jiang Cheng’s lip curled as if he couldn’t believe what he was thinking. But after more than a decade of time and loss and misunderstanding, Wei Wuxian was finally beginning to know his brother again, at least in the ways that mattered. Despite the sneer, which was all bluster, Jiang Cheng’s eyes had gone soft and bright.

“Whatever happens,” Jiang Cheng finally continued, quieter now, although his voice was no less rough. “Whatever stupid decisions you make in the future, don’t you dare forget—Lotus Pier will always be your home.”

Wei Wuxian’s eyes went hot. He swallowed thickly and nodded, fingers squeezing Jiang Cheng’s shoulder.

“Now get going. I’m sick of looking at your face,” he said and turned away.

Wei Wuxian laughed and wiped at his eyes before waving at Jiang Cheng’s back. Then he turned, took Lan Wangji’s waiting hand, and stepped into the boat.

~fin