Chapter Text
“What a bad temper, right?”
Wei Wuxian stood atop the coffin that held Chifeng-Zun. Jin Ling was still trapped beneath Wen Ning. He could feel the weight of Wen Ning’s body pinning him to Jiujiu. The corpse seemed too injured to rise, a hole gaping from his chest.
Wen Ning. Of all people.
He was supposed to hate Wen Ning! Just liked he had hated Wei WuXian all his life. But, he had just saved not just Jin Ling’s life, but Jiujiu’s as well.
Wei Wuxian walked over, pulling Wen Ning off them, scolding, and Jin Ling still couldn’t think even as he got to his feet. He felt heavy even with the weight lifted off of him. He couldn’t breathe.
Nie Huaisang rolled around on the floor, terrified, as if he thought writhing would help him avoid pain when it was coming from a scratch on his leg. Xiaoshu lay on the ground, unable to even writhe. His hand still lay on the floor, meters away. Jin Ling’s stomach lurched.
What would happen when they were found?
Zewu-Jun approached, crouching down to help his sworn brother, but not without a promise to take his life should he try anything.
A lump grew in Jin Ling’s throat. The pressure against his lungs didn’t abate.
Why didn’t you kill me, Xiaoshu? If what you wanted was really power, why am I still alive?
Jin Ling remembered a time on a night hunt when he was eleven, when he thought he could truly branch out on his own. He wound up trapped by a group of corpses, half-sunk into the banks of a frigid, burbling river. If he dove into the rapids, no matter his swimming lessons at Lotus Pier, he would drown; if he went back to shore, he would be torn apart. His father’s sword couldn’t even protect him. Even Little Fairy had left him.
And then there was a flash of light. Fire talismans burst, orange and gold engulfing the corpses. “A-Ling!” Xiaoshu’s voice came frantic. “A-Ling!”
Xiaoshu jumped into the water himself, not worrying about the cold searing his legs and soaking his robes, all to pull Jin Ling out. He didn’t even scold him the way Jiujiu always did.
Little Fairy barked from the shore, and Jin Ling realized that the dog had run to get his uncle. He burst into tears, clinging to his uncle, and the man didn’t scold him or tell him a sect leader shouldn’t behave so childishly. He dried his tears, took him back to his quarters with Aunty Qin Su.
His aunt in more ways than one.
Jin Ling couldn’t help but feel a shiver of warm relief that Zewu-Jun wasn’t just going to leave Xiaoshu here to die.
But when they were found… he recalled all the cries at Lotus Pier, the rumors flying around, the rumors so foul and so familiar than Jin Ling felt fairly certain he’d parrotted a few of those exact rumors, only about Wei Wuxian, not Xiaoshu.
“Da-Ge,” mumbled Nie HuaiSang. Tears slid down his cheeks as he stared at the coffin.
The evidence was too strong. But there wasn’t evidence for much beyond Chifeng-Zun’s death, and if the letter was real, maybe he could be spared.
It won’t happen.
What if Xiaoshu was sent to Dongying? Wasn’t that Xiaoshu’s plan? Jin Ling had never known Xiaoshu to give up. Surely he still wanted to live. He could argue—
No one will listen.
His reputation was that of a bratty orphan, now losing one of the uncles who raised him.
“Da-Ge,” sobbed Nie Huaisang.
He raised you, didn’t he?
“Wei Wuxian,” said Jin Ling, suddenly struck by a burst of inspiration as he watched Wei Wuxian examine the wound to Wen Ning’s chest. “Could you wake up Chifeng-Zun?”
“What?” blustered JiuJiu. “You just barely survived him!”
“Thanks to a conscious corpse,” shot back Jin Ling. “Can’t you do it? If anyone can, you can, and you’ve done it before.” He actually reached out, clutching Wei Wuxian’s arm. “You can!”
Thunder growled outside, as if the universe was warning Jin Ling. He didn’t care. The universe could stuff it. You’ve taken too much from me already! This is Guanyin’s temple! Have mercy!
“It—takes time,” Wei Wuxian stammered. “And I’m not sure all the talismans in the world would be enough to restrain him long enough.”
“Please.” Jin Ling tightened his grip. His eyes pleaded, tears building. He didn’t bother to wipe them away. “I’ve never asked you for anything before, but—please, like Zewu-Jun says, there are so many things that remain unanswered, right? If we can wake up Chifeng-Zun we can get some of those!” He was babbling. He didn’t care.
“And then the entire world will want their relatives awoken, and—” started Jiujiu.
“Please!” Jin Ling begged. “Shibo, please.” He referred to Wei Wuxian as his uncle, which he’d never done before.
Wei Wuxian’s face blanched. The candles in the temple flickered with a gust of wind. His eyes looked wet.
Nie Huaisang straightened, peering back at them. “Is it truly possible?”
“I don’t know. I can’t—promise anything,” Wei Wuxian stammered. “I’d really rather not become some demonic cultivator to be feared this time around, but—”
“But you can do it! You and Hanguang-Jun just used demonic cultivation for good!” pleaded Jin Ling. “Use it for good this time around too, please!” He decided to manipulate. “Imagine Xiaoshu’s face if Chifeng-Zun wakes up. He’ll be terrif—”
Jiujiu’s eyes narrowed into pinpricks. Oh, no. He knew. He knew exactly why Jin Ling was doing this. Jin Ling shrank.
“I will try,” Wei Wuxian said, exhaling.
“You will what?” bellowed Jiujiu, thankfully finding a new target for his wrath.
Hanguang-Jun sighed. “I will assist.”
Well, it was settled then. Nie Huaisang staggered to his feet, distracted, no longer glaring at Xiaoshu. Zewu-Jun finished wrapping a bandage around his sworn brother’s wrist.
Jin Ling frowned. “Why are you putting away your flute?”
Wei Wuxian blinked. “We need talismans, Jin Ling. A lot of them, and a lot of time. Nothing can be done right now —”
No!
So it still wouldn’t work. Who even knew if Wei Wuxian would have enough time to finish before a trial? Others would be pushing not to waste time, and no one would be distracted—the focus would be all on the captured villain—
I’m tired of losing parents.
Mother. Father. His hand tightened around Suihua. Aunty. Now Xiaoshu…
Through the turmoil ripping through his mind, he heard Zewu-Jun’s voice echoing again and again.
“He said it was exactly what it looked like.”
“I could only watch as Wangji, whose spiritual powers were clearly about to be drained, staggered towards you. He brought you onto Bichen as soon as he grabbed you, and you two left.”
Jin Ling was done only watching. His chest heaved. If there was no mercy in this fucking world, he would make it!
Jin Ling ripped out Suihua. Before anyone realized what was happening, he jumped in front of Xiaoshu. Even Zewu-Jun, distraught from everything, was too late.
“Jin Ling!” bellowed Wei Wuxian.
“What are you doing?” screamed Jiujiu.
“Come on,” Jin Ling said to his other uncle. Xiaoshu couldn’t even gape at him thanks to the Lan Sect’s stupid silencing spell. He knelt, trying to grasp his uncle around his waist. “Let’s go, let’s go, let’s get out of here—” His voice cracked.
“Jin Ling, you’ll be seen as his accomplice! Did you learn nothing?” shouted Jiujiu.
“I don’t care!” screamed Jin Ling. “I’m tired of losing everyone who’s ever—cared about me!”
Jiujiu’s face turned purple with rage. Of course, Xiaoshu had just given Jiujiu a dangerous wound, and now Jin Ling was defending him. Lan Wangji had just chopped off Xioashu’s hand to save Jin Ling’s life, and now the boy was offering himself on a platter. Wen Ning looked to Wei Wuxian, as if trying to decide if he should act. Nie Huaisang’s face was twisted in a rage Jin Ling never imagined the Head Shaker to have.
Jin Ling laughed wildly. “I’m—the worst nephew—son—ever—” But he wouldn’t put the sword down. Not now. Not this time. “I don’t care!”
“Stop, A-Ling,” croaked a voice from behind him.
Xiaoshu.
Now he wanted to play the noble uncle? Ha! “Shut up! I’m tired of listening to you!”
“You have to lead a sect!” bellowed Jiujiu. “Your parents—”
Jin Ling let out a wordless wail. Suihua trembled. But he wasn’t going to let it fall. He looked to Hanguang-Jun. “You should understand.”
Wei Wuxian sucked in his breath.
“What did you do, Hanguang-Jun?” yelled Jiujiu. The orange firelight dancing on his face made him look like he was some kind of demon. Lightning cracked the night’s dark shell outside.
“It’s more like what I told him,” managed Zewu-Jun. “Young Master Jin—”
A dog’s bark echoed.
Not now, Fairy! But he couldn’t shout it. He bent over again, trying to wrench Xiaoshu from the ground. They had to go. They had to go now .
“Put it down!” Jiujiu’s voice sounded panicked now, almost strangled. “If you’re found, they’ll kill you! Jin Ling! If you ever cared about me at all, you’ll put it down, you’ll put it down right now!”
“If they take him back, I’ll just set him free as sect leader!” shot back Jin Ling. “I can’t! I can’t! I’m tired of it!”
A sword shot out with a flash of white light. Jin Ling went to defend. But he didn’t need to.
A hand landed on his waist, pushing him away. Jin Ling stumbled.
Zewu-Jun. He’d snatched Xiaoshu away, arms holding the smaller man up. He rose on Shouyue, flying away.
Jin Ling gaped.
“Xiongzhang!” cried Hanguang-Jun. His face, the color of milk, turned to Jin Ling, who had fallen to his ass in a puddle of his uncle’s cooling blood.
He dropped Suihua. Finally.
“You idiot! Why did you do that?” Jiujiu was shaking him, and Jin Ling couldn’t answer. He shook his head.
Nie Huaisang huffed. “He’s behind your parents’ death.”
“So are Wei Wuxian and Wen Ning! Stop telling me how to feel!” Jin Ling yelled. He hugged his head, sobs ripping from his lips.
No one comforted him.
“Well,” Wei Wuxian remarked. “I did not expect that. Seems you were an example for your brother, Lan Zhan.”
Nie Huaisang scowled. The sect leaders had all arrived, Lan QiRen blustering in rage when Lan Xichen couldn’t be found.
“He was kidnapped by Lianfang-Zun,” Jiang Wanyin said instantly. Lying, to protect his sobbing nephew. Nie Huaisang wanted to contradict him, but he didn’t dare. No one would believe the good-for-nothing over the one who had lost his sister and brother-in-law, almost his nephew, to the schemes of the malicious, incestuous Lianfang-Zun.
I lost my brother too.
His body was cut apart.
Everyone just spoke of that monster.
Zewu-Jun wouldn’t be gone long. Surely he would return Lianfang-Zun for justice. But he was so easily fooled…
He’ll go to Dongying now.
Good for nothing.
Nie Huaisang had failed again.
But maybe that Jin Rulan was good for one thing. Nie Huaisang staggered over to his old friend, his old friend in a body he knew well, very well. “Young Master Wei, are you going to wake up my brother?” Now that we know that your nephew only did so to save his xiaoshu? The true good-for-nothing. Nie Huaisang curled his fists.
“I wonder,” said Wei Wuxian. “Would whomever wrote the letter be appeased by this? Your brother could be in danger when he returns, Lan Zhan.”
Lan Wangji gave a stiff nod.
“We will,” said Wei Wuxian. “We’ll work on awakening Chifeng-Zun, if not for Jin Ling then for you, Huaisang. And we’ll look for the letter writer.”
A chill filled Nie Huaisang’s belly. You suspect, don’t you?
“Why?” demanded Sect Leader Yao. “You surely aren’t going to attempt more of your malicious witchcraft, are you, Wei Wuxian? Isn’t this enough for you? Do you want to take Lianfang-Zun’s place after all, atop the pyramid of the world’s villains? I, Sect Leader Yao, swear on behalf of my ancestors that I will never allow—”
“The land is Yunmeng Jiang’s,” said Lan Wangji. “It is not your decision to make, Sect Leader Yao.”
The man’s face swelled. “And—”
“It is my da-ge,” said Nie Huaisang. “Do you really think his body and his memory could be more disrespected than what happened to him already at Lianfang-Zun’s hands? Do you think I cannot decide what is best for him?”
Sect Leader Yao spluttered for a minute—the nerve of the Head-Shaker, of all people, to chastise him!—and then settled down.
Bask in your humiliation, slug. Nie Huaisang hid behind a fan, unable to stop his face from burning.
Wei Wuxian tapped his chin. “Huaisang, if I were to tell you exactly what kinds of talismans I need, if I were to send Wen Ning along to ensure they’re correct, would you be able to make them? We’ll have to free him from the coffin, but we cannot do it while so many are here.”
“Y-yes!” Nie Huaisang nodded. “Whatever you need. Wen Ning is welcome to help.”
The Ghost General turned to him in surprise.
“In the meantime, Hanguang-Jun and I have unfinished business,” Wei Wuxian said. He took his hand, casting the most lovelorn gaze Nie Huaisang had ever seen. It was nothing like it looked in Nie Hauisang’s prized porn books: the eyes were wider, the lips were waving, it was an uglier face than one of pure enchantment or rapture. “I promise we’ll start in the morning.”
Nie Huaisang had seen this look only once before, on Wei Wuxian’s same face, but before the face was owned by Wei Wuxian. A pang hit Nie Huaisang. He turned away, pretending his leg was hurting again.
Nie Huaisang turned and walked out. The Ghost General followed. He helped Wen Ning give instructions, and then Nie Huaisang was left alone to find lodging. He wandered the streets, looking for an inn. He could hear laughter from people who were in various stages of inebriation, smell the sickly sweet wine, and yet he knew that neither companionship nor wine could soothe the wounds he had.
“Nie Huaisang,” said Jiang Wanyin, voice cold. “Jin Ling has something to say to you.”
Nie Huaisang whirled around. The scowling, bitter sect leader, once his friend, now one of his scorners, stood behind him with his nephew in tow. Fat clouds of pale lavender crawled across the sky like silkworms trying to escape the increasing golden glow of sunrise. The air hung damp and heavy, the rain having ceased.
Jin Ling hunched his shoulders. He bowed to Nie Huaisang. “I am sorry for letting your brother’s murderer escape.”
“You didn’t let,” Nie Huaisang heard himself say. “You directly engineered it.”
“Excuse me?” demanded Jiang Wanyin, clearly pissed that Nie Huaisang, of all the useless people in the world, dared to rebuke his nephew.
“Well, I’m sorry,” said Jin Ling.
You are not. Nie Huaisang could do nothing but bob his head.
“I really do hope that my shibo is able to wake up your brother,” added Jin Ling.
Nie Huaisang swallowed. If Da-Ge could awaken, then surely they would find Jin GuangYao, carry out justice.
No matter where the sleazy centipede tried to wriggle off to, they’d find him.
I really did this.
Lan Xichen didn’t know whether it was fear powering his limbs or exhilaration. Whatever it was, it tingled in his toes, surged down his spine, undulated in his abdomen.
Jin Guangyao felt warm in his arms, but not warm enough. He’d lost so much blood.
The safest place wasn’t the Cloud Recesses. Like when he was on the run all those years ago, scrolls and books gathered in his arms, soot smeared over his face and burn wound seared into his knees and palms, he didn’t know where to go, but he knew where not to go.
That time Jin Guangyao saved him. This time, he was trying to save Jin Guangyao instead of books.
Where would the cultivators look? Surely not…
Lan Xichen made a decision. He stopped by the nearest inn. They might not suspect he would stay so close.
Jin Guangyao’s face rested in his shoulder. With his face concealed and his short body being princess-carried, he passed for a woman.
“You’re back!” cried the innkeeper.
Lan Xichen almost laughed. This must be where Wangji had stayed last night. But if Wangji were the one who found them, they would not be in danger. “My wife isn’t feeling well,” he lied. “May I return to our room?”
“Indeed, indeed,” the innkeeper said. “Young Master, do you want a bathtub? As long as you do not break it like last night.”
Break…
Lan Xichen did not want to know. “That would be lovely.”
“A doctor?” the woman asked. “For your wife? Will your friend be coming, as well?”
The friend must be Wei Wuxian. “No, he won’t be,” said Lan Xichen. “And a doctor is not necessary.”
“But the blood…”
Dammit. Lan Xichen swallowed. “We—lost a baby.”
The woman clucked her tongue. Jin Guangyao stiffened in his arms. Lan Xichen cleared his throat. “My wife needs quiet and rest to heal. Please do not let on to anyone that we are here. I will reward you for it.”
“Of course, of course,” the woman agreed, guiding them to Wangji’s room. The bed looked unslept in. Lan Xichen was going to hope this wasn’t the bed Wei Wuxian and his brother had… never mind that.
The moment the door latched, he laid Jin Guangyao down on the blanket. Jin Guangyao was still hitching his breath, pain creasing his brow. White sweat dotted his skin. Lan Xichen took his pulse on his neck.
Too fast. He put his hands on him, delivering spiritual energy. For a moment Lan Xichen wondered why Jin Guangyao was not speaking, and then he remembered that he’d silenced him.
It would be easier to leave him silenced.
He could not. Lan Xichen released the spell.
“I will not turn you in,” Lan Xichen said.
He’d seen Wangji in his mind’s eyes. Wangji, standing before Wei Wuxian, instead of Jin Ling standing before Jin Guangyao. The consequences might be even more severe for Jin Ling. Lan Xichen remembered how he pleaded with his uncle to spare Wangji, not to use the discipline whip, anything but that.
If they were found, he would plead for the discipline whip if he could only save Jin Guangyao. The alternative might be what he deserved, but Ln Xichen couldn’t stomach the thought. I’ve lost one brother already.
I let the other be whipped.
Not you, too. Not you.
Wangji would shudder when Lan Xichen changed the dressing on his whip wounds. He had borne the first ten strikes in silence, and then, on the eleventh, a whimper emerged.
Lan Xichen hadn’t heard his brother scream since he was a baby, and Lan Xichen didn’t even remember that. He was too young. But he still heard Wangji’s scream when the final stroke ripped flesh from his bones, and Lan Xichen had flown towards him, catching his brother as he fell. Blood poured from Wangji’s back, and he turned to Uncle.
“Seclude him, ” Uncle had said, refusing to look at Wangji’s wounds.
Look. Look at the wounds you have wrought.
But Lan Xichen had simply carried his brother back to the Jingshi, cleaning and mending his skin. Jin Guangyao had shown up then, too, with herbs for pain and accelerated healing. Jin Guangyao sat with Wangji the second night, helping him vomit and wiping sweat, wetting cloths to soothe his fever, caring for him whenever Lan Xichen had duties as a sect leader to attend to.
Now, Jin Guangyao was the one in agony.
“When you are well,” Lan Xichen managed, using Shouyue to cut Jin Guangyao’s robes from his torso to treat the guqin string’s wound to his stomach— A-Yao, did you have to do this to yourself? Were you so desperate? —“I will get you on a ship to Dongying.” He took out a salve, rubbing it along the wound. Jin Guangyao gritted his teeth.
Tears dribbled out of the corners of his eyes, down Jin Guangyao’s cheeks.
Lan Xichen’s fingers hovered by his cheek. He wanted to wipe the tears away. But he shouldn’t. This little brother of his had done everything he was accused of, and more.
He worked on the poisoned hand next. The poison was truly a vicious sort, but if Lan Xichen were to try to figure out who did it, the possibilities were too endless to draw any conclusion.
The silence was unbearable. He could tell Jin Guangyao was swallowing cries of pain. “Young Master Wei said it was—where you grew up. Was that your mother’s coffin?”
Jin Guangyao squeezed his eyes shut. He nodded. He could speak, but he didn’t. Maybe he realized just what kind of danger Lan Xichen was putting himself in right now.
“I’m sorry,” Lan Xichen said. “She did not deserve that.”
That was how they’d bonded: discussing their mothers. His, a murderer hidden away. Jin Guangyao’s, a prostitute with her body savaged all her life, and now savaged again for her son’s sins.
You killed Da-Ge.
Soon it will be goodbye.
He tucked Jin Guangyao’s sweat-soaked hair behind his ears. He wanted to savor every moment with Jin Guangyao right now. No matter his sins. He recalled A-Yao’s face years ago, the fear when he whispered, “Am I the evil?”
“That’s not what I meant.”
Why, A-Yao? Why? Why didn’t you ask me for help? Why didn’t you turn to me? I would have helped you.
Instead he was a fool. And even now, he was the one the world would condemn when Jin Guangyao went missing. As weak, if they bought his lie about being kidnapped. As a murderer, if they thought he’d taken justice into his own hands. As a traitorous accomplice, if they suspected the truth.
Lan Xichen couldn’t bring himself to regret. He wanted to apologize, but he didn’t know if he should. He wanted to rewind time, do what he should have done years ago, what he realized when he watched Wangji kiss Wei Wuxian, what he thought of when his eyes avoided the sight of Jin Guangyao’s plump lips, but his mind filled them in anyways, because he’d studied A-Yao’s face for so long.
Am I the evil?
He was too afraid to ask.