Chapter Text
Wei Wuxian kept the smile on his face, kept casually twirling Chenqing, until Wen Ning and A-Yuan were out of sight. The shining, tremulous swell of pride he felt as he watched them walk away together, combined with the joy of having Lan Zhan by his side, was almost enough to distract him from the poisonous words Jin Guangyao had poured into his ear at Guanyin temple. Almost.
‘You know what surprised me most?’ Jin Guangyao had whispered during one of the few moments that Lan Zhan had left his side to aid the others. ‘It isn’t that you returned – that was inevitable. Or that you would resurrect the Ghost General. Or even that you and Lan Wangji—well, that seemed inevitable, too. It’s that you have not asked about Wen Qing. Not even once.’
Wei Wuxian didn’t want to think about it. Didn’t want to consider the implications. He’d been so absolutely certain that Jin Guangyao had been Mo Xuanyu’s last enemy, the one who needed to die in order to satisfy the demand of the Sacrificial Ritual. Yet, the scar on his wrist persisted after Jin Guangyao’s demise, weeping blood and draining this body’s Spiritual power. He didn’t want to mention it to Lan Wangji, not until he could figure out who Mo Xuanyu’s last foe actually was. It would only cause him to worry. Instead, Wei Wuxian turned Little Apple around, as if he could flee from his own thoughts. “Lan Zhan, let’s go.”
He successfully distracted himself for a while by flirting with Lan Zhan – pretending he needed help getting onto the ornery donkey, then twirling his flute and playing their song. But try as he might to ignore it, Jin Guangyao’s words kept stalking his mind. It threatened to undo the peace he should be feeling – the peace he’d earned – now that the whole sordid affair at Guanyin Temple was over. He’d been exonerated and the true culprit punished.
‘Didn’t you care for her at all? You must not have, if you didn’t even look for her upon your return.’ He’d noticed the way Wei Wuxian’s eyes grew red and his hands shook with anger. Jin Guangyao was an expert at noticing little things like that. ‘If you had cared to ask, I would’ve told you what no one else knows: the ashes scattered at Nightless City didn’t belong to either Wen. Wen Ning didn’t die, and neither did his sister. You’ll remember my father had his… proclivities. He wasn’t about to kill a beautiful woman when he could envision so many more enjoyable uses for her. He kept her until what inevitably happens happened, and only then did he cast her out.’
‘He cast her out, he didn’t kill her?’ Wei Wuxian had needed to know.
‘Of course not. He set her adrift to bear his child alone just like every other woman he abused in his life.’ Jin Guangyao had explained bitterly, ‘If you allow me to keep my life, despite all this—‘ he’d waved toward the chaos in the temple, the situation that had irrevocably fallen out of his control, ‘I’ll tell you where you might be able to find her.’
But Jin Guangyao had not kept his life. How could he, after gathering together all the people he’d harmed in one place? And now Wei Wuxian had no way of knowing the true fate of Wen Qing. Jin Guangyao was a liar. But he was honest about one thing—Wei Wuxian had not even tried to look for Wen Qing, and that truth weighed heavy on his heart now.
“What’s wrong?” Lan Zhan asked as he guided Little Apple through an uneven patch in the path.
“Nothing,” Wei Wuxian twirled Chenqing as if that were proof enough that everything was fine. “Why would you think something’s wrong?”
“You have been quiet,” he explained, “When you are this quiet, something’s wrong.”
Wei Wuxian screwed up his face to show his offense. “Lan Zhan, can’t I be quiet?”
Lan Wangji pulled on Little Apple’s halter, stopping him, then turned his golden eyes up to meet Wei Wuxian’s. “No, you cannot.”
Wei Wuxian huffed, trying to avoid those beautiful eyes that could see right through him. “What a rude thing to say.”
“I love that you can’t be quiet,” Lan Wangji amended. Wei Wuxian blushed at the double entendre and the memories of the deliciously sordid moments it evoked. He leaned down from his perch on Little Apple’s back, attempting to capture Lan Wangji in a kiss that was sure to distract them both, but his partner pulled away. “First: what is wrong?”
Wei Wuxian heaved an enormous sigh that left no question as to his opinion about being denied the pleasure of kissing Lan Wangji while Lan Wangji continued to stare up at him, stoic and unmoving. Wei Wuxian had to admit his worries or risk being stuck in this impasse forever.
“It’s something Jin Guangyao said to me in the temple,” he admitted.
”Jin Guangyao’s words carry very little substance and even less truth. Don’t let them disturb you any longer.”
As if it were that easy.
Maybe it was for Lan Wangji, since very little disturbed him – aside from Wei Wuxian. Whereas every little thing disturbed Wei Wuxian. And what Jin Guangyao had revealed was no little thing.
“You’re still quiet,” Lan Wangji noted.
“It’s about Wen Qing.”
Wei Wuxian was taken aback by the immediate shift of Lan Wangji’s shoulders, the stiffening of his already stiff frame at the mention of Wen Qing’s name. Did he know something of what Jin Guangyao had said? Could it be true?
Before he could stop himself, the words tumbled out. He repeated the conversation, and tacked on a confession of his own guilt at not having looked for her himself. “Why did I so easily accept that she was gone when her brother was not?” he berated, “They were both knives, two powerful weapons. Of course, Jin Guangshan would keep her, too.”
He swallowed against the horrific images that arose at the memory of what Jin Guangyao had said his father had wanted to keep Wen Qing for, praying that that part of his story was a lie. It had to be. Wen Qing was not some brothel prostitute – even in exile, she was a cultivator and healer of impeccable skill who required a modicum of respect even from her enemies.
Wei Wuxian cringed as he realized the same argument could be made for Qin Su’s mother, the wife of the leader of the Laoling Qin clan. All those titles had not protected her from Jin Guangshan’s proclivities.
“Lan Zhan,” he called softly, “Did you ever play Inquiry for Wen Qing?”
“No.”
“Would you?” Wei Wuxian requested. “Then we’d know whether she--- whether what Jin Guangyao said carries any truth. If she answers, then we’ll know there’s no need to go searching.”
His voice cracked on the words, a grief he hadn’t taken the time to stop and feel until now suddenly flooding his chest. He’d been too busy since his resurrection to grieve for Wen Qing: starting with Mo Manor, then the encounter with Jin Ling at Mount Dafan, and Jiang Cheng soon after. There’d been a constant, steady stream of past sins and guilt and regret and grief to grapple with. When could he have spared a moment for Wen Qing who was not there to demand his attention, his repentance?
It was taking Lan Wangji an unusually long time to respond. His expression was painfully distant – a high bar, considering his baseline expression was unmoving and aloof. “Lan Zhan,” he repeated the request carefully, “Will you play Inquiry for Wen Qing?”
“Mn,” Lan Wangji nodded, the motion imperceptible to anyone other than Wei Wuxian who had become an expert in the Second Jade’s microexpressions.
They left Little Apple to graze on a patch of dewy grass. Lan Wangji settled cross-legged under a tree. With his guqin across his knees, he plucked a few sparse notes that sounded wrong to Wei Wuxian’s ears. But his partner was an expert in the musical language of the Lan Sect, so he wasn’t about to insult him by casting aspersions on his skill. Crossed-legged across from Lan Wangji, he waited for a reply. None came.
Lan Wangji repeated the disjointed notes, grimacing as his fingers plucked the strings. He shifted in his seat, something Wei Wuxian had never seen him do, and plucked out a third similar, but also slightly off-sounding tune. Before the strings had stopped vibrating, well before any answering plucks could even begin to form, Lan Wangji brought his palm down against the instrument, silencing it.
“I can not.”
Wei Wuxian raised an eyebrow in surprise. “Can not… what? You can’t reach her? Does that mean Wen Qing is—”
“I can not play Inquiry for Wen Qing,” Lan Wangji clarified, his head dipping with a pained frown.
“I don’t understand. Why not?” Wei Wuxian worried. Was there something wrong with Lan Wangji? Some side-effect from sealing off his spiritual power when Jin Guangyao’s demanded it at the Guanyin temple? Unconsciously, Wei Wuxian’s fingers touched the still aching spot on his throat where the assassin’s cord had cut his skin while strangling his air. “How can he disobey me, hmm?” Jin Guangyao had gloated, “I have his life strung between my fingers.”
Wei Wuxian was not a vindictive man – at least, not anymore -- but if Jin Guangyao’s actions had caused lasting harm to Lan Wangji, he would go back to that temple, unseal the coffin, and make the treacherous wretch’s ghost pay in unspeakable ways.
“Is it because Jin Guangyao made you seal your spiritual power?”
“No. It is because my mind is too tumultuous to play Inquiry. My feelings for Wen Qing interfere with the guqin’s song.”
Feelings for Wen Qing? It was as though a cart carrying bricks had crashed in Wei Wuxian’s mind and his heart lurched toward the ground even though the idea was preposterous. Lan Wangji – his Lan Zhan – had feelings for Wen Qing? His Wen Qing? How? When? How?
During their time as teens learning together at Cloud Recesses, Wei Wuxian couldn’t remember Lan Wangji ever spending more than five minutes with her. Certainly not enough to form… feelings. Feelings strong enough to disrupt Lan Wangji’s ability to play Inquiry? That kind of profound feeling--- Wei Wuxian had believed that Lan Wangji only felt that kind of thing for him, and now he felt terribly naïve to have thought so.
He swallowed against the sandpaper in his throat. “I didn’t know she meant that much to you.”
Lan Wangji’s eyes darted up, pinning him with their gold light. “It is not what Wen Qing means to me, but what she meant to you. That is why I can not play Inquiry.” His hands trembled against the guqin, teasing out a horrible vibration that was not quite a note. “I saw how you were at the burial mounds. You, and Wen Qing, and A-Yuan. Your family.”
“I… I don’t know what you saw, what you mean—” Wei Wuxian inched backward, needing space. Needing air for the lungs in his chest that felt like they were collapsing at the thought of Wen Qing and the Burial Mounds and A-Yuan. They were fragments of a puzzle he chose not to piece together because the whole was too painful. Only the pieces were tolerable. Burying A-Yuan in the turnip field. Shopping for seeds. Cooking Congee. Recovering Wen Ning. In pieces, he could tolerate the pain enough to find the joy in those memories. But there were other pieces too painful to remember even in isolation: Wen Qing indulging his request for a drinking partner after everyone else had gone to bed. Wen Qing trying endlessly to heal his broken parts. Wen Qing offering what comfort could be found during moments that were too desolate for any words. Wen Qing sacrificing herself when it should have been him that went to Nightless City. Wei Wuxian was the one who’d always done the sacrificing for everyone else, he’d never asked --- never expected --- never wanted-- anyone to sacrifice themselves for him. And yet Wen Qing had offered up herself and the brother whom she loved more than anything so that he could live --- and he hadn’t even managed to do that. As soon as the paralysis from her needles had worn off, he’d run right into the arms of the destruction she’d laid down her life to save him from. How bitterly disappointed she would be to know that her monumental sacrifice had amounted to a mere few more days for him.
“Wei Ying.” The call was quiet, distant; so far away it barely broke through the tide of memories threatening to suffocate him.
“Wei Ying.” More insistent now, a little desperate.
“WEI YING!” Strong hands on his shoulders, shaking him roughly.
Wei Wuxian turned his eyes away from the past and focused instead of the luminous face of his Lan Zhan. His worried Lan Zhan, eyebrows pulled close together. He didn’t want to make Lan Zhan worry – didn’t want to make him anything other than deliriously happy and so he tried with all his might to push the memories aside.
“Lan Zhan. Did you play Inquiry for me?” He meant the question to be lighthearted, a return to the conversation at hand, but it carried too much of the sadness that still clawed at him.
Lan Wangji cupped his check and meaningfully met his gaze. “I played Inquiry every day for thirteen years for you. My heart was in too much turmoil for it to ever be successful, but I plucked the notes anyway. Every day.”
Wei Wuxian didn’t like to think about Lan Wangji like that. Didn’t like to imagine him spending thirteen years trying to regain his spiritual calm, while occasionally getting drunk and succumbing to a pain so sharp the only way to assuage it was with a branding iron. That was supposed to be behind them. Despite all odds, they were together again and it should be only joy, never sorrow, in this new life, right?
Wei Wuxian forced his lips to curve up and form a smile. He reached for the teasing tone that usually worked to lighten the mood and wound it around his skeptical answer. “Every day? You didn’t take a single break? I wouldn’t blame you if you had, you know. Every day seems a bit unrealistic; you don’t have to exaggerate with me. If you actually only played Inquiry for me once a week, or even once a month--”
“Every day means every day.”
His Lan Zhan. So stubborn. The way he could turn a simple phrase into an utterly profound profession of love and absolutely melt Wei Wuxian’s heart with the look he paired with it. The flood of adoration he felt stained his cheeks red and banished the last vestiges of sadness that had momentarily taken hold of him.
“Maybe there’s someone else --- someone less jealous,” he winked, tapping Lan Wangji with the tasseled end of Chenqing as he got to his feet. “who would be willing to play Inquiry for Wen Qing.”
He kept the suggestion conversational as he retrieved Little Apple, hoping to dispel Lan Wangji’s insecurity by acknowledging -- but not entertaining-- his concerns about Wen Qing and the Burial Mounds. He realized very quickly that this was not the right approach when he found himself standing alone on the path, staring at Lan Wangji’s back.
“Lan Zahn, you… aren’t you going to come with me?”
Lan Wangji stood still as a statue, draped in white with one hand clasping Bichen and the other resting properly against the small of his back. He exuded poise and indifference and Wei Wuxian refused to let him retreat into the façade of an untouchable jade monument to loneliness.
“Lan Zahn, don’t actually be jealous,” he chided.
“If Wen Qing is what you prefer—” Lan Wangji stopped, the half of a sentence hanging in the air.
Scoffing, Wei Wuxian dropped Little Apple’s lead and stalked back to where Lan Wangji was standing, immobile, in the middle of the path. Frustration rose to replace the flood of love that had warmed him just a few minutes before. “Who said anything about preference, huh?” he demanded, feeling like he needed to shout the words to get through to him.
“It is what you preferred – back then.”
And suddenly Lan Wangji’s statement seemed less a question about Wen Qing and more a question about all women in general. “Lan Zhan, are you asking if I prefer woman to men? To you?”
Wei Wuxian realized this was extremely precarious ice he was standing on when Lan Wangji didn’t acknowledge his question with even a cursory ‘mn’ and so he took a minute to deliberate how to answer, sensing that if he answered the wrong way it could be disastrous for his love. He could not lie or deflect or tease in this moment; not when his Lan Zhan was so obviously, achingly vulnerable.
“It’s true that I liked women before. I don’t think that was ever a secret, was it?” He thought about the time he’d hung from the balcony of a wine house throwing flowers down at Lan Wangji, inviting his friend to join him in a room filled with beautiful courtesans after the Sunshot campaign. How Lan Wangji had stormed in, deposited an armful of the flowers onto the tea table, then turned on his heel and left without a second glance. At the time, Wei Wuxian had thought Lan Wangji was merely disgusted by the impropriety, but looking back at the memory through the eyes of what he knew now, he cringed at his own behavior and the casual lingchi Lan Wangji had endured at his hands. “I liked men, too. I liked you, though you never returned my interest and women were… just easier to court, I guess. And, it’s true that Wen Qing and I—I--” he stumbled over the admission. Don’t lie, he reminded himself. You can’t build a relationship on a foundation of lies, haven’t you learned that by now? “A lot of that – my memories of the time at the Burial Mounds are –”
Lan Wangji sighed, “You always manage to fail to remember these things.”
Wei Wuxian bristled at the implication that it was only the romantic things he failed to remember, like it was some kind of strategy he employed to avoid accountability. Though, in some ways, perhaps it was a strategy. The closest thing to a family motto he had from his very early life was his mother’s advice: ‘You have to remember the good things people have done for you, instead of remembering the bad. A person’s heart shouldn’t be burdened with so many memories. That’s how you live freely.’ Living by those words was the only way he was able to keep standing – much less grinning, loving – despite the dark roads he’d travelled. And then, of course, he’d coupled that with nights of too much drinking and times where the powers he summoned were too much for him to control and overtook him. Lan Wangji of all people should be able to appreciate the effects of too much wine on one’s memory.
Wei Wuxian squared his shoulders resolutely. “It’s true that Wen Qing and I shared a relationship – of sorts – while we lived together at the Burial Mounds. What did you expect, that I was celibate through my entire first life? That the Yiling Laozu would turn away the willing to pine for someone who’d repeatedly, emphatically refused to be his friend, much less anything more?”
“I was always your friend,” Lan Wangji’s eyes burned with offense, the word friend heavily inadequate.
“I know that now, but how could I possibly have known that back then?” Wei Wuxian gulped, heart fueled by a combination of frustration and fear at being forced to confront an unspoken truth that he would much rather go on ignoring. He had lost his brother to festering miscommunication, and it felt like he was on the precipice of losing Lan Wangji to the same.
“You’re saying that you never—for thirteen years, and all the years before that, you were never with anyone else?” As soon as the question left his lips, Wei Wuxian regretted it. He really didn’t want to think about Lan Wangji being with anyone other than himself, even though the rational part of his mind knew that the way he had kissed him, touched him the first time they’d been together – the confidence of his hands and lips implied at least one prior experience, if not more.
Lan Wangji turned away and Wei Wuxian winced, softly slapping the side of his own stupid mouth for giving breath to a question he now definitely didn’t want the answer to.
“During your – before,” Lan Wangji was struggling to explain, which only knotted Wei Wuxian’s insides more. “You knew how I felt for you back then. After, Nightless City though – yes, there were eventually others but none of them were you. None of them could ever be you.”
Them. Others… was unpleasantly plural. Wei Wuxian pushed the insecurity away, choosing to focus instead on the revelation Lan Wangji had sandwiched in the middle. “What do you mean I knew how you felt for me back then? I assure you, I didn’t. I was absolutely clueless. If I’d had even an inkling that you were attracted to me in the same way I was to you, we would have spent our time together very differently.”
“You did know,” Lan Wangji said matter-of-factly. “It was you who did not return the affection back then.”
Wei Wuxian’s forehead creased in confusion. “Lan Zhan… I really don’t know what you mean.” When Lan Wangji rolled his eyes at that, Wei Wuxian insisted, “Really, I don’t.”
“I told you about my feelings – in the cave.”
“What cave?” Wei Wuxian could feel his heart fluttering with a mix of excitement and fear. He didn’t want Lan Wangji to accuse him of having a bad memory for ‘these things’ again, so he guessed, “When you visited the Burial Mounds? In the Demon-subdue lair?”
Lan Wangji had grown visibly irritated. “Before that. In the Cave of Xuanwu.”
“The Cave of…” Wei Wuxian echoed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I thought you liked Mianmian back then. I specifically remember teasing you that she would always remember how I was the one who saved her, and you bit my elbow.”
“Mn,” said Lan Wangji. “You said the mark from the brand iron would remind you for the rest of your life of a time when you saved a pretty girl.”
“Right, and then you bit my elbow,” Wei Wuxian reiterated, “Because you were jealous that I was the one who saved Mianmian, the one she’d remember and not you.”
Lan Wangji stared at him, waiting.
“Because you were jealous…” Wei Wuxian began again, then let out a breath as realization slowly dawned. “Because you were jealous?”
“Mn.”
“Lan Zhan, you wanted me to remember you and not Mianmian so you marked me… with your teeth?” Wei Wuxian reasoned aloud, chuckling incredulously. “It did leave a little scar right here in the bend of my elbow, you know.” Even though Mo Xuanyu’s body bore no such scar, he still pointed to his elbow as though it were there. “In my defense, that was a bit vague as far as declarations of love go, don’t you think? How was I supposed to know that’s what you meant?”
“I told you directly – after we defeated Xuanwu. You asked what the name of the song was and I told you it was ‘wangxian’.”
Wei Wuxian’s heart beat faster at the revelation. Finally, he knew the name of the song that had come to represent so much and it was perfect. He grinned, his delight spilling into a small laugh, “Lan Zhan, after we killed that monster I was delirious with fever,” he reminded his partner.
Lan Wangji frowned, misinterpreting his laughter as derision instead of delight. Wei Wuxian realized he had made a grievous mistake as Lan Wangji turned away from him in a whirl of affronted white robes.
“Wait—” he reached out to grab Lan Wangji’s sleeve, but instead felt the tickle of his long hair slipping through his fingers. Instinctively, he closed his hand around the only substantial thing, realizing too late that it was the tail of the Lan forehead ribbon when it pulled loose. Lan Wangji whirled back around and Wei Wuxian could practically hear the unspoken chastisement in his gold eyes: Shameless.
That’s right, I am shameless, he answered just as silently. And you’re mine. And I’m going to make damn sure there’s no more question about that.
He wrapped the powder blue ribbon around his forearm where it contrasted with the black of his sleeve. Lan Wangji’s eyes widened and his lips parted in surprise at the not-at-all vague declaration.
Wei Wuxian’s next words carried no teasing sarcasm and he carefully controlled his expression to be unsmiling and entirely serious. “We can continue down this road. Or, we can go back to Gusu if you’d prefer. But whatever direction we choose, we will go together from now on.”
“But, Wen Qing?” Lan Wangji asked, the question hardly above a whisper.
You have done enough for us. The absolution Wen Ning had given him before he and A-Yuan had gone their own way ran counter to every instinct in Wei Wuxian’s body, but for Lan Wangji he would try to put those instincts aside.
If Jin Guangyao’s words were to be trusted and Wen Qing were out there… well, she’d been out there for thirteen years. She most certainly had found a home, built a life. The woman was resourceful. She was not sitting on a log waiting for Wei Wuxian to come rescue her. If she were alive, he had to believe she was safe, fine, happy even after all these years. And as much as he would love to be the one to reunite Wen Qing with her brother, he would not invite any more chaos into his new life. Not if it meant walking in the opposite direction as his zhiji.
Wei Wuxian twined his fingers with Lan Zhan and tugged him back to the path they were meant to be walking together. He took up Little Apple’s reins in the other hand.
“I refuse to be separated from you,” he explained, putting aside the question of Wen Qing entirely and squeezing Lan Wangji’s hand instead. “I refuse to let you let me go. We’ve already missed too much time; we’ll be together every day from now on. So, pick a direction for us to travel. I heard there’s a night hunt being planned again for Dafan Mountain. Should we give it another try?”
Ahead the road split into three directions. Lan Wangji pointed to the left. “That way. Toward Yiling.”
Wei Wuxian frowned. They’d only recently left Yiling, and as far as he knew it was too soon for anyone to have hidden new hostages there in an attempt to frame him again.
“If Wen Qin survived, she would have gone there. If we ask the right questions, we may be able to discover where she went after.”
Wei Wuxian’s feet did not skip a beat, but his heart certainly did. “Are you sure?”
“Mn,” Lan Wangji replied.