Archive of Our Own

Wei Ying often garnered Madame Yu’s disapproval–when he couldn’t sit still, when he skipped lessons to hunt pheasants, when he asked the spiders that lived under his bed to clean the room he and Jiang Cheng shared.

He knew that Jiang Yanli and Jiang Cheng couldn’t talk to spiders, and to cultivate, they needed to meditate and build a golden core, rather than pull their energy out of corpses or the earth. 

Of course the Jiangs tried to teach him normal cultivation. For the first year after Jiang Fengmian found him, tutors had him meditate with Jiang Cheng and Jiang Yanli, and then do basic core building exercises. That was in the morning. The afternoon was for history and other more theoretical subjects. If Wei Ying was lucky, there would be time for archery. He was the best at archery.

He never made it through a meditation session without fidgeting, and the core building exercises didn’t seem to get him anywhere. Despite his parentage, maybe he couldn’t be a cultivator, his tutors started to say. Madame Yu didn’t hide the vicious pleasure that gave her.

But one day, left alone by his tutors to run through his useless core exercises, he instead snuck into the courtyard where Jiang Cheng was showing his father his progress on basic sword forms. Jiang Yanli had given up her cultivation just a month ago–at twelve, her core was still weak, and would never be powerful enough for her to carry a sword. 

Is that all ? Wei Ying wondered. He could feel it, Jiang Cheng’s energy flowing into his sword. Wei Ying didn’t have that, but he did have something just as good. A deer had died in the woods nearby, just a few hours ago. Some energy still lingered in it. He pulled it into him, lifted his practice sword, and strode into the courtyard.

His rendition of the forms was clumsier than Jiang Cheng’s. It was his first try. But the sword lifted and swung through the air in some approximation of what he had seen.

When he was done and he called the practice sword back to its sheath, Jiang Cheng, the tutor, and Jiang Fengmian all looked at him in shock.

Jiang Fengmian turned to the tutor, “I thought you said he had no golden core.”

“I–” the tutor sputtered, but Jiang Fengmian cut him off to speak to Wei Ying, “Why didn’t you say anything?”

“I didn't know what it was for,” Wei Ying said, looking at his feet.

Jiang Fengmian scoffed and ruffled his hair. And Wei Ying didn’t say anything more.

The spiders he was less careful with. At first, he hadn’t known there was anything odd about it. “What are you doing?” Jiang Cheng had asked, when he found Wei Ying whispering to a large brown spider perched on the center of his palm. 

“Making a deal,” said Wei Ying, “I’ll bring a tasty beetle for him and all his family once a week if they keep our room clean.”

Jiang Cheng scoffed, “I’m not a baby; everyone knows you can’t talk to spiders.”

Wei Ying was confused, “Of course you can. Look,” and he set the spider down. It scurried off and nothing happened for a moment. Then his underbed erupted in a spidery flood. Jiang Cheng jumped back. The spiders wound and unwound a dizzying series of silk threads, taking any dust on the floor with them.

“Gross,” Jiang Cheng said, making a face, “Make sure they stay on your side of the room.”

It had all worked very well until Madame Yu walked in once when the spiders were cleaning. Wei Ying had had to kneel in the courtyard for many hours for letting vermin in his room. Afterwards, he had ferried the survivors to a safe loft in the stables. From time to time he still stopped by with beetles for them, and conversation.

Once, he’d asked Jiang Yanli about his cultivation. She’d listened carefully, and then said, “I haven’t heard of anyone cultivating like that, A-Xian, but maybe when you’re older, you can study with other sects where they know more.” 

Many in the YunmengJiang Sect could tell there was something different about him, even if they weren’t sure what it was. He often looked up from his notetaking to find his tutor considering him with a frown.

But his adoptive parents seemed to know more.

“Just like your mother,” Jiang Fengmian had said, sounding pleased, when he saw one of Wei Ying’s invented talismans.

“Just like your mother,” Madame Yu had sneered when she found him in the stables, painting a blood seal to reanimate his favorite cat that had died the evening before. She’d burned the body, and once again Wei Ying was sent to kneel in the ancestral hall.

Jiang Yanli and Jiang Cheng said little, but they saw more.

Jiang Yanli had lost her favorite necklace while lotus picking. The clasp had broken as she’d leaned over the water, and it had immediately sunk into the murky depths of the lake.

Wei Ying jumped in after it immediately. “Be careful, A-Xian,” she’d called after him, but he was already under the water. 

“He’ll be fine,” Jiang Cheng said, “He’s a good swimmer.”

But both were starting to get a little worried as a minute passed and then another, and there was no sign of him. Just as Jiang Cheng was readying himself to jump in the water after him, there was a ripple and Wei Ying popped up next to the boat. 

“Bleh,” he said, “It’s slimy down there.” And he hauled himself back onboard. His siblings looked at him in shock. Where his right hand had used to be, there was now a glistening stump. Somehow it wasn’t bleeding.

“Wei Ying,” Jiang Cheng yelled, “What did you do?”

Jiang Yanli looked very very pale.

“What do you mean?” Wei Ying said, looking at them in confusion. His eyes followed theirs to the stump of his right wrist. “Oh don’t worry, it’s coming soon. I hate getting water in my lungs and it was a little bit stuck.”

Anything else the Jiang siblings would have said was interrupted by a scrabbling on the side of the boat. Jiang Cheng flinched. Wei Ying, on the other hand, leaned over and fished something out of the water. 

“Don’t worry, shijie, we’ll get it fixed,” Wei Ying said, holding her broken necklace aloft. He shoved it in his sleeve and then lifted his severed right hand. He wiped it on his robes, and then wiped off the stump, before pushing the severed ends together. Wedging his hand and wrist under his left armpit so they stayed together, he fished some slightly soggy talisman paper out of his sleeve, cut his left thumb on his sword to draw a sloppy seal, and then slapped the talisman on his right wrist. In a flash, it was whole again.

At that point he stopped to look back at his siblings, who were both visibly alarmed.

“Don’t you ever cut off a hand to get something you can’t reach?” he asked.

“No,” Jiang Yanli said, softly, “Normally, when you cut off a hand, you can’t put it back on.”

Wei Ying looked concerned, and slightly disbelieving.

Jiang Cheng, unable to stay quiet any longer, asked “Why wasn’t your hand bleeding. Your thumb bled when you cut it, but you cut off your hand and it didn’t.”

“Well I didn’t want my hand to bleed, but I needed the blood from my thumb for the seal,” Wei Ying replied, still sounding confused, “Why would I bleed if I don’t need to?”

“Bleeding isn’t a choice,” Jiang Cheng snapped, “It just happens.”

“Well it is for me,” said Wei Ying.

They didn’t talk about it more. Not then and not later. By then Wei Ying had realized that there were lots of ways that he wasn’t like other people. Jiang Cheng and Jiang Yanli knew, and that was fine. They were his family. But they never told their parents, or anyone else, so Wei Ying didn’t speak of it either. It was enough that he was loud, and an orphan, and full of crazy ideas for talismans. No need for people to know about these other things.

So he didn’t talk about golden cores, and he stuck to his less ambitious blood talismans, and he didn’t ask the younger disciples why their wounds would bleed when they got hurt, when his didn’t have to.

***

“The Lans are very traditional,” said Jiang Cheng, when they were on their way to study in Gusu as guest disciples. 

“Don’t worry,” Wei WuxianYing said sulkily, “Madame Yu already told me not to make trouble,”

“You’re an idiot,” said Jiang Cheng, “I don’t want them to find out how weird you are, and mistake you for a resentful ghost.”

In the end, it went about as well as could be expected. Meaning, Wei Wuxian broke every rule he could, was punished constantly, harangued the Second Jade of Lan, and was ultimately kicked out for fighting. But no one accused him of oddness in other ways.

The month of classes after Wei Wuxian was sent home was one of the most peaceful times in Jiang Cheng’s life. 

He’d never been so bored.

***

“Lan Zhan!” Wei Wuxian had called with joy when he saw him. 

That was before he saw the grayness of his skin and the growing gauntness of his beautiful face. His mouth had a set to it that perhaps others would have found indistinguishable from his regular expression. But Wei Wuxian was not others. Wei Wuxian had spent every second he could observing Lan Wangji’s face for the most minute of details.

There were no other Lan disciples. Lan Zhan walked carefully, like there was pain stitched into his bones.

So of course that stubborn man wouldn’t admit anything was wrong, wouldn’t talk to him. He turned his face away from Wei Wuxian, and never responded, not to rambling monologues, barrages of questions, not to ridiculous taunting and teasing.

Of course, Wei Wuxian only had so much time for Lan Zhan. 

“Shut up,” Jiang Cheng hissed when he heard Wei Wuxian starting up again. “He doesn’t want you pestering him.”

“I’m not pestering him! He’s hurt.”

“You can’t help him. And anyways, we have to look after our own right now,” Jiang Cheng paused, and said even more quietly, “And you need to not draw attention.”

Jiang Cheng rarely mentioned his strangeness as he called it. And when he did, it was to speak words of caution. Wei Wuxian loved that about him, even when it frustrated him–that Jiang Cheng saw this part of him and just rolled his eyes and snorted, as he did when Wei Wuxian pleaded for them to skive off another lesson to go pheasant hunting.

This time, under his gruffness was a deep core of fear. Of what the Wens would do to him, of the uses they might find for him, if they ever learned of his strangeness . 

***

Jiang Cheng hadn’t wanted Wei Wuxian to go to the Wen Indoctrination. Of course, Wei Wuxian hadn’t cared what Jiang Cheng wanted. He never did once he got something really well settled in his head. He would make the motions of listening, of course, but then he would go on acting as if you hadn’t said anything at all. 

So even as Jiang Cheng was comforted to have his brother by his side, he was afraid. What would happen to him? He could never be diverted from what he decided–not for any reward, or by any danger. What would happen to Wei Wuxian, who had never learned to bend, under the many petty humiliations of the Wens.

It was fine at first, actually. Jin Zixuan seemed more likely to make a dangerous misstep to protect his injured pride. Jiang Cheng scoffed at the other man as he saw the two points of red that formed on his cheeks in indignation when he was forced to give up his sword. Even a lordling could have too much pride. Only Luo Qingyang’s whispered words had stilled his hand and won his compliance. Otherwise he would have made his stand there, and lost his life as well as his sword, and in all likelihood the lives of his subordinates.

Such pride wasn’t an affliction either Wei Wuxian or Jiang Cheng shared. Jiang Cheng was sharp and Wei Wuxian was arrogant, but both had weathered the fickleness of those who raised them, and the little grievances and humiliations that came with them. Family could always cut the deepest. Who cared for a pathetic little man like Wen Chao, who even the Wens’ loyal soldiers followed not with loyalty but weary resignation.

But even petty men could be dangerous. That was clear in the cave where they hunted the Tortoise of the Slaughter. Jiang Cheng respected Jin Zixuan for protecting Luo Qingyang. She was his retainer after all–his responsibility. She wasn’t Jiang Cheng’s. But as soon as Lan Wangji stood between her and the Wens, Jiang Cheng knew he’d already lost, even as he ordered Wei Wuxian to stay out of it. What was pragmatism, in the face of Wei Wuxian’s righteousness, his obsession with Lan Wangji ? 

What use was righteousness, Jiang Cheng always wondered, when you were dead. Did their responsibilities not come first to their own Jiang clan disciples? Fifth shidi was only 14. Could Jiang Cheng truly fight the Wens and consign that child to death.

But Wei Wuxian always lived in the realm of the impossible–not just attempting it, achieving it, over and over. So when, injured and exhausted after days without food or sleep, evading the Wens and leading his clan members back to the cave, he found that Wei Wuxian had not only survived, but killed the Tortoise of the Slaughter, could he even be surprised?

Jiang Cheng had first made it back to Lotus Pier at dusk. He was limping. One of the Wen cultivators he slew had first gotten a deep cut to his thigh. Travel without food or rest degraded even his golden core’s ability to heal.

One of the disciples guarding the gate ran to him, and put his shoulder under Jiang Cheng’s arm to support his weight. The other sprinted to get the clan leader.

Jiang Cheng hurried.

His mother and father rushed towards him together across the courtyard, a rare show of unity. And for one instant he allowed himself to yearn for comfort from his parents. For the knowledge that, having returned home, all his problems were in capable hands.

He looked first into his mother’s face. A moment of fear and tenderness overcame her sharp features before her normal dispassionate mein settled on her face. 

“Jiang Cheng,” she said, severely, “Walk slowly, you are clearly injured.” To her handmaids she snapped, “Send for the physician.”

A wave of tenderness welled up in Jiang Cheng. It was not her fault that she only knew how to be cold. That she was harsh, and at times cruel–even to him. But he knew she loved him. It was in moments like this that he knew.

Then Jiang Fengmian spoke, and the spell was broken.

“Where’s A-Ying?” he asked.

Of course that was what Jiang Cheng had come to tell him. Jiang Cheng loved his brother, even when he was furious with him. Jiang Cheng had risked life and limb and gone days without sleep to save Wei Wuxian’s life. But all he heard in his father’s voice, was disappointment that Jiang Cheng had returned to Lotus Pier, and not Wei Wuxian.

“In some sort of trouble, I assume,” Madame Yu sneered, “Or else A-Cheng wouldn’t be here in such a state. How will you lead the sect when you are at his beck and call like a dog?” She paused as if expecting him to answer that. “Well? What errand has he sent you on this time?”

And the worst thing was that he had come for Wei Wuxian’s sake–of course he had. He tried to speak to Jiang Fengmian, to ignore his mother, but she scoffed as he spoke.

“Enough,” Jiang Fengmian said to his wife in passing, “Come on A-Cheng, I’ll take you on my sword, if you’re well enough to show me the way.”

What did it mean, Jiang Cheng wondered, that his mother–the cruel one–was the one who loved him. That his kind, magnanimous father–known throughout the cultivation world for his fairness and good judgment–could not love him, could only love frustrating, impossible Wei Wuxian. It made him feel petty too. The absent neglect of Jiang Fengmian was nothing to the cruelty of his mother to Wei Wuxian, and even to Jiang Cheng himself. Madame Yu was at fault–for the depth of her hatred, for the quickness of her whip. Jiang Fengmian had never raised a hand against Jiang Cheng–could he be blamed for simply never loving his son?

Jiang Cheng had heard the whispers, though they died away when he came near. Others of the cultivation world pitied affable sect leader Jiang for his cold cruel wife. He wondered sometimes if they also pitied him for his son.

***

It took many many hours for Lan Wangji and Wei Wuxian to kill the Tortoise of the Slaughter. They were both of them injured.

“Shhh,” Wei Wuxian said, and felt around for Lan Wangji’s mouth, to cover it with his hand, “I’m sleeping.”

“Do not,” said Lan Wangji, sounding agitated.

“It’s alright,” Wei Wuxian said, trying to pat his head and instead catching his fingers on the other man’s forehead–and his forehead ribbon.

Lan Wangji flinched a little, but didn’t grab his hand, or try to push Wei Wuxian’s head off his lap.

“Sorry,” Wei Wuxian said. “I know I’m not supposed to touch it. It got bloody though. Next time, if it’s important you should keep it somewhere safe.”

Now his fingers were tracing back and forward along the soft silk. Having won such a concession, he couldn’t resist pushing it for more, teasing, “If Lan-er-gege tied it around my wrist I’d always keep it clean and safe.” He gave the front a little tug.

“Shameless,” Lan Wangji breathed.

Wei Wuxian gave a little laugh, “You’ll have to keep me close to make sure I learn proper behavior. You could tie us together with this.”

Wei Wuxian thought Lan Wangji tensed for a second, but it was getting harder and harder for Wei Wuxian to stay awake. He let his eyes close. He thought he heard a whisper of silk, and then felt something smooth and cool slide across his wrist. A soft humming, perhaps, of a song that was sad and sweet. But he was falling deeper and deeper and soon he was aware of nothing at all.

Wei Wuxian always slept for a long time after he had to stitch himself together. After Jiang Cheng finally retrieved him from the cave with the rotting monster corpse, by the time Wei Wuxian woke up again, Lan Wangji had already gone back to Gusu.

***

“Do it,” Wei Wuxian had goaded when Wang Lingjiao asked for his hand in punishment.

Madame Yu’s lips thinned but she drew her sword. When the blade came down, Wei Wuxian made the blood flow, and didn’t let his fingers twitch.

She wouldn’t look at him, later, after he reattached his hand. “Go,” she said, looking over his shoulder instead of at him, “Before Wen Chao arrives, and they realize what you are.”

He was struck for a moment. She had never acknowledged it before. “What am I?” He asked in a moment of weakness.

“I don’t know,” she admitted, “But whatever you are, it’s the same as your mother. When disciples of Baoshen Sanren come down from the mountain, they are always unnerving and strange.”

She stopped there, and seemed to be working out if she should go on. Then she did. “That’s why sect leader Jiang didn’t marry her. How could a thing like you lead the sect?”

“Anyways,” she stepped back further, “Head for Gusu and tell them they have our support in this war.”

Now she finally did look at him, right in the eye, “Don’t get caught. If they find you, I will say you are a demonic cultivator who has abandoned your position to flee punishment.”

And she swept out of the room.

It all would have been fine if he hadn’t lost so much blood. But he’d had to make it look convincing. 

He only made it a couple of miles out of Lotus Pier before the inevitability of sleep caught up with him. He knew it was too close, that he needed to keep moving. But his body was betraying him. So he curled up as small as he could in a dense thicket and let the darkness sweep over him.

“—cut off his arm,” The voice said as he awoke.

He was still tired, not healed enough, but he tried to sit up, only to find himself bound by something strong.

“A demonic cultivator, and he still ran away like a coward?” Came a laughing voice Wei Wuxian knew and hated. That was Wen Chao.

He struggled more fiercely, and this time it caught his captors’ attention.

“Don’t worry,” said Wen Chao with glee, “I know exactly what to do with you.”

***

Oh, thought Wei Wuxian, when his tumbling body finally landed among the burial mounds. This is what pain feels like.

It hadn’t been his broken bones and torn skin. Those were inconvenient. But the energy–in an unstoppable wave; the screaming–

It felt like a long time before Wei Wuxian came up for air.

Time lost its meaning for a while and he drifted in and out of frenzied nightmares. And always there was the screaming–screaming of a thousand tortured ghosts.

Then there was a moment when the world came together again. Beneath the cacophony he could hear a small voice.

What are you doing here little one? It whispered at the edge of his hearing.

Dying he thought.

That saddened her, he could tell.

Why would you do that, She asked, When I can help you? Let me in.

A black haze settled on his nose and mouth. But it didn’t tear at him like the others. And so he mustered his strength and breathed in as deeply as he could until something soft and cool settled in his chest.

Good, she said. Now let me teach you.

Later, once he’d subdued the worst of the ghosts, he heard her voice in his head growing quieter.

You’ve spent all my anger, child. But before I go, make me a promise.

Anything, thought Wei Wuxian.

She turned his head to see a little child ghost sitting on a nearby boulder. She was gnawing on something–It looked like the hand of a corpse.

My daughter said the ghost, full of sorrow. I couldn’t save her. And now she’s always hungry.

Yes, promised Wei Wuxian. I’ll take care of her. I’ll make sure she never goes hungry.

***

A lot of things were easier for Wei Wuxian, once he stopped pretending to be normal, stopped pretending that the usual rules of the world of cultivation applied to him.

Talismans had always come easy to him. The talismans he used against the Wen–to harness ghosts, painted in his own blood–came easiest of all.

I’m hungry, said the little girl, once they’d caught up with Wen Chao.

Then you must eat, he replied.

When Jiang Cheng and Lan Wangji came crashing through the ceiling, he wondered who they saw: the same exuberant boy they’d known, or a thing that wasn’t nearly human.

As he always did once she had eaten, he let the little ghost girl crawl back into his chest. Her rage and hunger—only a little sated—sinking low in his stomach. On his better days he imagined she was his child he was carrying with his own body. That for now she was safe under his skin, and when it was safe, she’d emerge in new and living flesh.

Of course Lan Wangji wanted to take him back to Gusu for cleansing. As if there was anything of Wei Wuxian that had ever been clean. As if he’d let them tear her out of him.

***

Nothing went back to normal after the war.

So many had died. As for Wei Wuxian, everyone was looking at him now, and he no longer cared.

They’d been at the siege of the Nightless City; they’d seen his power. So why did it matter, now that they knew his capacity for slaughter, if his shadow moved a little when he hadn’t.

Before, he’d have to ask it to still, to not play. It would slink around sulkily for days, sucking at his heels a little as he lifted them from the earth. Now at least it was happy, bounding after him enthusiastically, even into the sunlight.

People could see, now that they were paying attention, that the shadows gathered to him in a room, that he would look at things that weren’t there, how colors washed out near him–except for the blood red of his hair ribbon. 

He’d always seen the ghosts at the corner of his vision. But he’d ignored them. Normal cultivators didn’t talk to ghosts they weren’t suppressing. But now he didn’t bother, and when the little ghost girl asked for flesh, he held her hand and fed her as many corpses as she wanted.

People being people, what they saw was a demonic cultivator. 

He didn’t care. Wasn’t that what everyone, what Lan Wangji, said about Wei Wuxian, that he was shameless?

But Lan Wangji was wrong. Because when Wei Wuxian saw the subtle frown on the other man’s face when he looked at Wei Wuxian, the furrow between his brows, like Wei Wuxian was a problem to be solved–then Wei Wuxian felt his dirtiness, his difference. Then he was ashamed.

***

Lan Wangji had always known that Wei Wuxian was different from everyone else. 

He was loud, impulsive, and unrestrained by rules. He was confident enough to be arrogant; he was smart enough to be heretical. And yet, despite all of these things, never had Lan Wangji met someone as unfailingly committed to righteousness. No challenge was too difficult, no sacrifice too great. 

And, perhaps least importantly, but most damningly, Wei Wuxian was the most beautiful person that Lan Wangji had ever seen.

Wei Wuxian came back different from the Burial Mounds. That was hardly surprising. Lan Wangji himself was changed by the war. The Lan Wangji who’d watched his home burn down, who’d slain enemy cultivators by the dozens, could never again be that boy who lived only by the Lan sect rules. No killing–a rule that he’d never seen broken, that he’d only heard even discussed in the forbidden whispers of his mother.

As a child, even when he understood his mother’s crime, he’d never allowed himself to think of it. How could he? He thought in simple terms–wrong and right. She was the mother he would never stop grieving, and she was a murderer. 

Now he was changed, and he wondered. What had driven her to such lengths–a woman who dearly loved her children and never wanted them to know how she suffered.

So of course Lan Wangji did not expect Wei Wuxian to be the same brash boy he met in Gusu. But when Wei Wuxian set the ghost on Wen Chao and watched–eyes alight–as the screaming man was torn apart, a trickle of fear ran down Lan Wangji’s spine. Never before had Wei Wuxian delighted in another’s pain.

Wei Wuxian had brought ghosts with him back from the Burial Mounds. He rarely remembered to carry his sword. Wei Wuxian had won them the Sunshot Campaign with the terrible power of the Yin Tiger Seal. Demonic cultivation, said disciples of other sects–even disciples of the Lan, before Lan Wangji punished them for gossiping (“Is it really gossip, if it is so widely acknowledged” one disciple asked, before he saw Lan Wangji’s expression, and quailed.)

Lan Wangji watched closely. He did not see the crazed unwinding creature of unending bloodlust that a demonic cultivator should necessarily become. In Wei Wuxian, he saw bitterness, and anger. But many were bitter, and at times, Lan Wangji too was angry.

But from time to time Lan Wangji did see how the shadows drew in around Wei Wuxian, and though it turned his stomach, he had to admit that at those times the other man did look a little…demonic.

If only Wei Wuxian would go to Gusu, where Lan Wangji could help him.

***

Wei Wuxian had had his own chambers ever since he became head disciple. Madame Yu never went there. That had been good for his spiders, and they’d done well enough in his absence. 

Except for the little brown one in the corner, that had always been especially nimble. He found it under the rags of its web, on its back, legs curled up–dead. 

For a second he thought of Madame Yu, and the cat. But she already hated him. The world already knew he was strange and unnatural. And no one noticed spiders.

There was a little dead moth hanging from the web remnants, little more than a dried out husk. Wei Wuxian detached it carefully, unwinding the tangled threads of spider silk. The tiniest drop of blood glued the wings to the spider’s back.

At that point Jiang Cheng banged into his room, in a bad mood already. “Why aren’t you helping with disciple training–”

Then Jiang Cheng saw the blood running down his left hand–he’d had to let it flow a bit to do the array–and the blood painted on the pad of his right forefinger from the drawing.

“Don’t let Madame Yu find out,” he snapped, and stormed right back out again.

Wei Wuxian finished the array with a few quick strokes. The spider twitched, then stood a little uncertainly on its six legs. Its new wings gave a flutter. 

***

Jiang Yanli liked his little creatures. She’d laugh when they’d perch on her shoulder or alight on her nose. Sometimes he had them leave her little notes or gifts, as long as no one else could see.

Once when she was fifteen, she had found the most beautiful butterfly she had ever seen, drowned in a pond. Wei Wuxian found her crying over it, and so he swore her to secrecy before bringing it back with his blood.

These days he was less subtle and not all the things he made could be found in nature.

He only used what was already dead. He knew the animals didn’t mind. They weren’t like resentful ghosts at all. After death, their bodies leapt quite willingly to his command.

And so, at the hunt the Jin hosted following the war, when Wei Wuxian spied Jiang Yanli in her seat next to Madame Jin, and a very awkward looking Jin Zixuan, he thought nothing of sending her a paper letter held aloft by the wings of a damselfly.

I can still punch him if he’s mean to you.

Shijie wouldn’t approve, but it would make her laugh and that was what he wanted.

The note hovered in front of her before allowing itself to be taken in hand, wings folding back along the paper. 

Madame Jin flinched when she saw it, and Jin Zixuan’s frown seemed to deepen.

His sister read the note and gave a little huff of laughter along with the disapproving look she shot in his direction. 

But his stomach still felt sour. He’d forgotten there, just a little, how he was supposed to act.

And so he consoled himself by calling most of the prey into the Jiang nets, even though Madame Yu made him kneel all night in the ancestral hall when they got back to Lotus Pier. Uncle Jiang said not a word of support or reproof, but when he looked at Wei Wuxian he seemed deeply troubled.

***

But Wei Wuxian thought he was getting the hang of things again. He remembered to carry his sword now, though it felt strange and limiting to use it. 

As for the Yin Tiger Seal, he did not activate it, tried not to even think about it. He’d split it in half. The first part he kept in his sleeve at all times. The second part he’d embedded in his right thigh, deep enough it didn’t even leave a lump.

He took on training disciples in talismans again, though something itched unpleasantly when he tried to teach sword forms. It was like he had worn ill fitting armor all his life, and then been made aware of it, and could no longer consign himself to the discomfort.

Most of the ghosts from the Burial Mounds weren’t with him anymore. Some had spent all their anger in his service and so drifted off to their next lives. Others he put to rest more forcefully—shoving them into the Yin Tiger Seal if needed. 

All except the little ghost girl. She was shy, which made it easier, mostly. She’d sit under the bed and watch, except for the days he’d sneak her out to the Burial Mounds so she could find corpses to feed. 

And some nights he’d wake in darkness and hear a little whisper that said, I’m cold

Come here then, he’d reply.

And she’d crawl up onto his bed. He’d bare his chest and with a flick of his fingers cut the stitches. Then he’d help her peel open the flaps of skin so she could crawl inside. He’d stitch himself back up easily. There wasn’t any pain or blood, and she never moved much.

Warm, stay warm, he’d tell his body. Because it often forgot these days. 

Sometimes he’d carry her for days this way. She fed on him sometimes, he knew. He could tell when he went to sleep and found a whole day had passed him by, and Jiang Cheng was banging on the door and asking him why he was shirking his duties.

But overall, Wei Wuxian was adapting. He was remembering what it felt like to be a regular cultivator, to be a part of the sect, to be head disciple.

And then the Jin Clan banquet happened and all that fateful artifice fell apart.

It was bad enough that Jiang Yanli and Jin Zixuan were announced to once again be engaged, but then, once Wei Wuxian stormed out to clear his head, he ran into Wen Qing.

He’d been fond of her brother Wen Ning before the war. They had been friends when they were both children, and everything was simpler.

He’d only seen Wen Qing a few times in passing. But Jiang Cheng had spoken of her, after the war, with the sort of circumspection and care that was unusual for him. What Wei Wuxian did know was that she’d found Jiang Cheng injured once, during the war, and had hid him and treated his wounds. Wei Wuxian had still been missing at the time.

So when Wei Wuxian saw her stumbling and dirty, half starved in town, he stopped her and made her take some bread and water.

Her story was confused at first, but she was looking for Wen Ning. The Jin were keeping him somewhere.

He didn’t know Wen Qing well, but Wen Ning had been sweet and naive. The war was over. The death and the suffering was supposed to be done too—they were supposed to have killed the people behind it. But when he beat the location of the prisoners out of Jin Zixun, and took Wen Qing there on his sword, his stomach turned.

A shaking old woman with a child strapped to her back labored in the rain. And at the bottom of the cliff lay many many bodies.

So of course he killed the guards and stole the horses and shepherded the rest of the Wens to the Burial Mounds. Even Lan Wangji—ever the rule follower—didn’t stop them all from leaving. So Wei Wuxian figured he couldn’t be too terribly in the wrong this time.

***

“Let me check your wounds,” Wen Qing said gruffly. It was very late. Wei Wuxian had done what he could to suppress the spirits of the Burial Mounds. It was warm enough out, thankfully, that the rest of the Wens were able to bed down somewhat comfortably outside on what dry ground they could find. Wen Qing said they’d start building shelters in the morning.

Wei Wuxian had made his bed up in the cave. He’d slept there the last time he’d been here, and he remembered it with something like fondness. He offered for all of them to shelter there, but Fourth Uncle had taken one look at the entrance, shuttered, and refused to go inside. The others were quieter about it, but clearly agreed.

Wen Qing wasn’t afraid to enter. That was good. He’d needed her help to set down Wen Ning’s body and attach the preservation talismans that would keep him clinging ever so barely to life. But she looked warily at the carvings on the walls, and the blood pool.

“I’m not hurt,” Wei Wuxian said, and then, “We’ll bring Wen Ning back in the morning. It will be easier for me if I get some sleep.” He was tired but a little apologetic. He didn’t like leaving the man in that state, even just overnight. 

“You’re the necromancer,” Wen Qing said, a little wryly. “If you say a night doesn’t matter, then I believe you. But I’m the doctor, so let me check your wounds.”

She wouldn’t be put off. He could tell. It was the same kind of fortitude Jiang Xiyan displayed when she really wouldn’t let Wei Wuxian forgo a medical checkup, even though they always left her concerned and confused rather than reassured.

“I saw that Jin cultivator get you in the shoulder,” she continued, an expectant tone to her voice.

“It will heal once I slap a talisman on it,” Wei Wuxian said, a little sulky, still hoping he might ward her off.

Wen Qing frowned, “It shouldn’t need a talisman. Your golden core should heal that kind of thing overnight.” Wonderful, now he’d made her even more insistent. “Take your clothes off.”

Normally this would be the perfect time for some innuendo to get himself a bit of breathing room. But he could tell that wouldn’t work here. And, besides, she deserved to know the kind of creature her fate was now tied with. So he didn’t bother trying to delay any longer and instead started undressing methodically, outer robes then inner, dropping discarded articles of clothing in a heap at his feet. 

Wen Qing saw his bare torso and paled. “What is that?”

She didn’t mean the stab wound in his shoulder. That was small enough, and he didn’t let it bleed. He knew she was staring at the neat incision from lower dantian to where his ribs joined the breastbone. It was stitched messily–he’d just redone it. The ghost girl had missed the Burial Mounds. Right now she was soaking in the blood pool.

Wen Qing didn’t give him time to answer. Instead she grabbed his wrist firmly. She froze, then grabbed his other wrist and tried again. Wei Wuxian didn’t say anything, letting her work it out herself.

“You don’t have a golden core,” she said, a note of accusation in her voice.

“No,” replied Wei Wuxian.

“Core melting hand?” she asked, seeming to pull herself into doctoring mode.

“No,” Wei Wuxian replied, “I never had one.”

“But you’re a renowned cultivator,” Wen Qing said, her voice disbelieving.

Wei Wuxian shrugged, “I pull energy from the dead or from the earth. They tried to make me cultivate a golden core when I was a child, but it didn’t seem to do anything.”

“Demonic cultivation?”

“Maybe,” he thought for a moment, “It doesn’t feel demonic to me. As in, I don’t feel damaged.”

“I’ll be the judge of that,” Wen Qing said sharply.

“I’ve been doing it this way my entire life,” Wei Wuxian protested.

Wen Qing nodded, as if saying that that fact was noted, and she would take it into account.

At that point she took a critical look at his wounds. She palpated the shoulder a bit, and then the abdomen. 

“They aren’t closing up at all,” she said, a note of worry in her voice, “but they aren’t bleeding.”

Wei Wuxian nodded, “I can make the blood flow if I want, but that makes me more tired. Like I said, a talisman will fix it.

“Where did the other incision come from?” She was still feeling edges of it, and examining his stitching, “Don’t try to tell me that’s a battle wound. Also, this stitching is terrible.”

He took a step back, uncomfortable with the examination now. “There’s a spirit of a little girl. I promised I’d look after her. I keep her there sometimes.”

Wen Qing made a visible effort not to react. Wei Wuxian continued, “It’s easier just to leave it like that. She’s not here right now. She wanted to swim in the blood pool.”

“Does it hurt?”

At this point Wei Wuxian figured he might as well tell her everything he knew. He figured she wouldn’t stop anyways until he did.

“I don’t feel pain in the same way other people do. And I don’t have to bleed unless I want to. I can cut limbs off and still control them, then reattach them with a talisman later.

Wen Qing had a lot of questions. Neither of them got a lot of sleep that night.

***

Only Wangji could kneel in front of their uncle with this much defiance, Lan Xichen thought tiredly. Technically, it was Lan Xichen who had to agree. He’d taken up the mantle of sect leader in full ever since the war. But though his uncle’s words were harsh, there was a truth to them that Lan Xichen could not deny. 

Lan Qiren was almost too angry for words. “You cannot propose to marry a man so embroiled in demonic cultivation his own sect wishes to expel him.” 

And that was the problem. Even if Lan Xichen went against the sect elders, went against his uncle, could this be a happy union? Lan Xichen couldn’t stand to see his brother follow in their father’s painful footsteps.

Lan Xichen stepped in now. “You are young for marriage Wangji. Can you not convince him to come back to Gusu for cleansing? It may be difficult for him to give up his demonic cultivation, and we would not turn away one who needs help.”

Lan Qiren huffed at that, though he didn’t disagree. But even as he spoke, Lan Xichen realized that this solution was unlikely to serve. Wei Wuxian had not seemed inclined to give up the demonic path before, and now that he’d fled to the Burial Mounds and taken the Wens under his protection, it seemed even more unlikely.

“The Wens,” said his brother, echoing Lan Xichen’s own thoughts.

“We can offer shelter to any non-cultivators if Wei Wuxian submits to cleansing,” Lan Xichen compromised. It would enrage Nie Mingjue, but Lan Xichen could stave off the worst of his sworn brother’s anger with the guarantee that the Wens would remain under Lan supervision.

The Jins would be unhappy, probably. Lan Xichen had little respect for Jin Guangshan, but he felt a pang of concern for his sworn brother, upon whom all of the sect leader’s dissatisfaction always seemed to fall. 

Even with this, Lan Wangji did not seem satisfied.

“We are betrothed,” Lan Wangji said this time, rather than what he’d started with, which had been, I will marry Wei Ying . Lan Xichen was startled. He hadn’t even been sure that Wei Wuxian had returned his brother’s affections.

“Before the war?” Lan Xichen asked, a little wary.

“Mn.”

“Lying is forbidden!” Lan Qiren spit out, “As is associating with evil.”

“Not evil. Not lying.” Wangji’s eyes were filled with fury.

“How was it done,“ Lan Xichen asked, curious. “Just because he touched your ribbon at the archery competition–”

“Handfasted,” Lan Wangji said.

Lan Xichen winced. That was pretty definitive. And Lan Xichen, unlike their uncle, knew that his brother wouldn’t lie about this. He never lied.

Lan Qiren seemed dumbstruck.

“Betrothals must be honored,” Lan Wangji continued. It was indeed one of the clan rules. 

“What will you do with such a husband?” Lan Qiren asked, “Lock him up where your father kept your mother?”

Lan Wangji’s hands were white where they were clenched into fists. Lan Xichen knew that their uncle’s harshness came from love–from love and fear. The same fear that made him strict with his two nephews, determined that they should never fall into the trap of shame and exile that held their father. But now Lan Xichen wished that their uncle had learned a little softness too, had learned, instead of yelling, to say what he really meant, which was, Wangji, I’m afraid for you.

“Never,” Wangi forced out. The fabric of his robes creaked in his fists. 

Lan Xichen had learned to see through his uncle’s harshness to the love and uncertainty of a man who’d never thought he’d have to be a parent, who was never meant to lead the sect, who still missed his older brother. But Lan Wangji had never learned this. Something in him had become cold and distant when his mother died, and only Wei Wuxian, at certain wonderful times, ever seemed to bring it back.

 Wangji seemed to take a moment to gather his words, “I will try–to help him stop.”

“And if he won’t?” Lan Xichen asked softly.

“We will go away.” Lan Wanghi said with finality, and didn’t meet his eyes.

It was a gamble he was asking Lan Xichen to make. To bet that Lan Wangji could get through to the man he loved. And if he failed, they both would have to leave forever. If Lan Xichen made this bargain, he would have to promise to expel Wei Wuxian from the sect if he couldn’t be brought into line. That would be the only way he could hold off the censure of the other sects, and his own sect elders. As Wei Wuxian’s husband, Lan Wangji would be exiled too, left to rely only on his demonic cultivator husband.

It was a sharp and cutting pain–the same one Lan Xichen had felt when Jin Guangyao had told him his brother was at the Nightless City for indoctrination training–injured, and alone. The same one he felt when, but a child himself, he tried to pull his brother away from the door of their mother’s house where he kneeled in the snow. A door that would never open again. It was the feeling of losing his brother.

“I will marry Wei Ying, ” Wangji had said. And he always told the truth. What would he do if Lan Xichen tried to forbid it, run off to the Burial Mounds alone until Lan Wangji was just as reviled as the one he loved?

So Lan Xichen said, “Alright Wangji, I’ll write to the Jiangs, and ask for the match in exchange for an alliance. You should go to Wei Wuxian so he knows of the terms we propose–sanctuary for non-cultivators, and for Wen Qing if she works with our healers.”

There was gratitude in his brother’s eyes. He nodded, as he did to accept an order, and then rose and swept silently out of the room.

Lan Xichen suppressed a sigh, and turned to his uncle for what he was sure would be a very long argument.

***

Jiang Cheng didn’t mean to eavesdrop on his parents. He was about to knock on the door to his father’s office when he heard their voices.

“Why would YumengJiang respect such an alliance?” his mother hissed.

From her tone, it was clear they were quarreling. This was hardly unusual, and with Jiang Cheng and Jiang Yanli grown, they rarely bothered to hide such fights from them anymore.

“My lady,” Jiang Fengmian responded, tone cool as ever, unmoved in the way that Jiang Cheng’s mother always hated, “You know the children are close. And it would probably be the best solution for everyone.”

At this, something in Jiang Cheng’s stomach turned over. This was serious sect business. As the heir, there was little to the sect workings that he wasn’t familiar with. Between that and the ice that laced his mother’s tone, this could only be about Wei Wuxian.

So he dropped his hand back to his side, and kept listening.

“We should expel him from the sect and be done with it. You cannot tell me you would grant any of our other disciples so many second chances.”

Jiang Fengmian sounded tired, “I know Wei Wuxian is not your son, and you have little liking for him. But to me he has been like a son, and if he still has a chance of being accepted in the cultivation world, I would wish him to have it.”

Madame Yu snorted, “You’re so eager to protect Wei Wuxian that you forget the son you have.”

As always, something painful and angry curled in Jiang Cheng’s gut. His mother was often cruel to him. But it was his father who rarely seemed like he cared for him.

“Jiang Cheng has no need to marry yet. And when his time does come–because he will already have such close ties to the Lan and the Jin–he will be free to choose someone for their good qualities, and not just political connections.”

“If the Lan can tolerate Wei Wuxian that long. They couldn’t last time.”

“I presume they make the offer intending to cleanse Wei Wuxian of demonic energies.” Jiang Fengmian sighed, “I do not know if it will work. But it is likely the last chance the boy will have. If he cannot follow the Lan’s rules, I am sure they will expel him from the sect, and at that point we would likely have to follow.”

“Fine,” Madame Yu replied, “But I doubt the boy will agree to such a marriage. You never did make him learn his duty.”

Before he was aware of it, Jiang Cheng was walking away from the door and out into the courtyard. He gave distracted greetings to the disciples he passed along the way. But he was thinking of Wei Wuxian, and their time together at the Cloud Recesses.

He tried to imagine Wei Wuxian in the Lan white, eating silently, speaking quietly, never running, always polite. He thought of the spiders that his brother had always kept in his pockets (he wasn’t as stealthy as he thought). The talismans he was constantly scribbling and experimenting with. That one horrible time with his hand–And now, how different he was from other people, other cultivators. How he seemed something in between the living and the dead. Could the Lan clan tolerate such a thing?

If it was the Jin, he would think such a marriage offer a power move to gain control of the Yin Tiger Seal. But it was difficult to imagine the Lan stooping to such measures. And the Lan generally only married once. 

That was the other matter–who would it be…Zewu-jun ? Hanguang-jun? A cousin Jiang Cheng didn’t know as well? Each of these was as equally difficult to imagine as the last. And why did the Lan clan think that Wei Wuxian would ever accept such an offer?

But if he didn’t, Jiang Cheng wondered, what would become of him?

***

“What about Wen Ning?” Wei Wuxian asked after he read over the terms Lan Wangji had brought with him. He chewed his lip and darted his gaze towards Lan Wangji uncertainly. Bringing Wen Ning back hadn’t been very hard, in the end. A simple modification of the kind of rituals he used on spiders and insects. Unlike the spiders, Wen Ning hadn’t been quite dead. So he didn’t come back as a brainless puppet. He came back as Wen Ning. Wei Wuxian wondered if the Lan Clan would see it that way.

“Lan healers would have to examine him and make a determination if he could stay.”

Wei Wuxian looked over at Wen Qing, whose own gaze was locked with her brother’s in silent conversation.

Finally she looked away and back to Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji, “It’s enough.”

Something sour welled up in Lan Wangji. He resented her involvement—that she had a right to an opinion. When he’d thought of asking Wei Wuxian to marry him—the few times he had been bold enough to think it—it had been nothing like this. But Lan Wangji could bear this. Nothing was more important than Wei Wuxian. He could marry the man he loved to save him, even if his affections weren’t returned. And if it cost him everything, then so be it.

“You think I should then?” Wei Wuxian asked, tentatively. He still wouldn’t meet Lan Wangji’s eyes, had been shy ever since Lan Wangji had told him why he’d come.

“I can’t tell you what to do here,” Wen Qing sighed, “You’ve already done enough for us. But with how things are I don’t think we will make it through the winter.”

Based on the hollow faces he’d seen, Lan Wangji was hardly surprised.

Wen Qing gave them some alone time after that. 

It was a kindness. Or, well it should have been. But when she left the room she seemed to have taken the words with her. 

Not that Lan Wangji ever had much to say. But now Wei Wuxian was silent too, fiddling with the contract papers, and occasionally flicking his eyes up to meet Lan Wangji’s.

Finally, he spoke, “You must know I’m very grateful, Hanguang-jun–”

“Lan Zhan”, Lan Wangji said, stubbornly, resenting the formality now that he’d been granted it.

A smile flitted across the other man’s face, “Ah–Lan Wangji. You’re too good. But how did you convince your sect elders to approve marrying one of the esteemed Jades of Lan to the notorious Yiling Patriarch?” 

Now his mouth curled a little bitterly, “Unless you’re all so eager to lock me away and have the Yin Tiger Seal in more righteous hands, that you’d pay such a price.”

“No,” Lan Wangji said, shortly.

It wasn’t enough. Wei Wuxian looked at him with curiosity, giving him time to continue.

“Not a punishment,” Lan Wangji said, “I told xiongzhang that we are betrothed.”

“You lied?” Wei Wuxian asked, voice a little teasing though, “Maybe I have been a bad influence. And that was all it took?”

“Betrothals must be honored.”

“Yes yes, I know your clan rules almost as well as you do, with how often I’ve had to copy them.” He held up a lock of his hair between two fingers and twirled it absentmindedly as he spoke. “I’m just surprised they took your word for it. No one ever seems to conveniently believe what I say.”

“Xiongzhang knew I wasn’t lying.”

Wei Wuxian looked at him sharply, “But–”

Lan Wangji gritted his teeth to see this through, “Tortoise of the Slaughter, my forehead ribbon.”

Chewing on his lip, Wei Wuxian thought for a moment and said, “You just have to tell me. You know I’ve always had a terrible memory.”

Color high on his cheeks, Lan Wangji responded, “You asked me to put it on your wrist. A hand-fasting is sufficient.”

“Oh” Wei Wuxian said, “I do remember that.” Looking at Lan Wangji again, “Does that really count, if I didn’t know what it meant?”

“You know now,” Lan Wangji replied stubbornly.

“Sneaky sneaky,” the humor was back in his voice, “I bet you didn’t tell your brother that, did you.”

“No,” he admitted.

“Lan Zhan, Lan Zhan,” Wei Wuxian sighed, “I know you are righteous, but you really go too far. Marrying me for honor when we haven’t even kissed. What if I had a whole brood of bastard children. Would you take them into your own clan and raise them for me too?”

Something that felt like part jealousy, part hope, squirmed in Lan Wangji’s belly, “Do you?”

Now Wei Wuxian blushed. But never one to give in, he continued, “How can you ask such a thing? Don’t you know I have only our son A-Yuan who I bore from my own body?”

Lan Wangji had met A-Yuan only a while earlier. The toddler had clung to his leg. Lan Wangji wouldn’t mind having such a child with Wei Wuxian. But that wasn’t the point.

“Be serious.”

“So forceful! Be kind to me Lan Zhan. Don’t you know your betrothed is an innocent virgin?”

Lan Wangji cast around for another topic–anything to let him get his footing back. Finally he said, “You would have to relinquish the Yin Tiger seal.”

“Hm,” said Wei Wuxian, looking thoughtful, “You Lan are very righteous, but even your disciples, I think, can be corrupted.”

Lan Wangji thought of Su Shi, and knew this to be true.

“Then what do you propose?” Lan Wangji asked, “They will not let you keep it.”

“So I assumed.” Then Wei Wuxian admitted, “It’s too powerful for me to use it anyways. I split it in two because of that.” He tapped his chin with his finger, “I will destroy it. Your clan can observe.”

“Acceptable,” Lan Wangji said quickly. Then he froze, “You agree then?”

Wei Wuxian seemed amused, “I don’t imagine I’m going to get any better offers! Who wouldn’t marry the inestimable Hanguang-jun, the Second Jade of Lan, second most eligible bachelor of the cultivation world?”

“Don’t tease.”

“I never tease! Only your brother is a better match! And I’ve always thought they got that ordering wrong.”

“...”

Wei Wuxian lapsed back into a more serious expression, “Wen Qing is right, we won’t last the winter–at least not all of us. I would do worse than marry you to prevent that.”

A sort of nausea welled up in Lan Wangji, at the option he was providing. Wei Wuxian would marry him so that those under his protection wouldn’t starve. It was a grim thought.

During the intervening silence, Wei Wuxian’s face went on a journey across several expressions. Lan Wangji knew that series of faces–it meant Wei Wuxian was thinking through something difficult.

“What will happen to them,” Wei Wuxian said softly, “If I can’t be what you want.”

“What do you mean?” Lan Wangji asked.

“I mean if I can’t go back to how I was before.”

“If you do not give up demonic cultivation?”

“I suppose,” Wei Wuxian said non-commitally.

“You won’t try?” Lan Wangji said sharply.

Wei Wuxian breathed out loudly, “I’m afraid I’ll disappoint you, Hanguang-jun.”

“You will not,” Lan Wangji said, not even sure why he was so certain. But that was an issue for another day. He continued, “The Wens will still be safe. But if you continue practicing demonic cultivation, we will be expelled from the sect.”

“We? They’ll kick you out too? I can’t let you do that,” Wei Wuxian said.

“My choice.”

“I don’t want you to hate me,” there was something a little childish about Wei Wuxian then. A little vulnerable.

“Impossible.”

“Don’t you know the Jiangs are all about attempting the impossible?” Wei Wuxian responded dryly.

Lan Wangji tried to muster his words as best he could. He had to do this right, to make Wei Wuxian understand. “Wei Ying’s methods are bad. They will hurt you. But I will not hate you.”

“Alright Lan Zhan,” Wei Wuxian gave a dry laugh. “Then I suppose I must thank my future husband for his generosity and understanding.”

***

The wedding was as subdued as the laws of propriety would permit. Within days of the final arrangements being made, a collection of Lan disciples and elders arrived at the Burial Mounds, along with observers from other sects. They were in attendance to watch the destruction of the Yin Tiger seal. 

There also were several carts and carriages–one more elaborate than the others, to carry Wei Wuxian. The others were to transport the Wens and their meager belongings to their new homes with the Lan. 

Although Lan Wangji knew of all these arrangements, he was not present at the Burial Mounds. That would not have been proper. He would not speak to Wei Wuxian again until the ceremony.

And even then, Wei Wuxian’s beautiful features were obscured by his heavy red veil. His hands trembled a little as he poured tea for Lan Qiren and Lan Xichen. What bravery, it must take to appear so, almost blinded, in the home of those who despised him, after being so newly and publicly disarmed. 

Wei Wuxian had placed his trust in him, Lan Wangji realized–his trust, that even when Wei Wuxian could not well defend himself, Lan Wangji would do so–protect Wei Wuxian and the Wens.

The banquet was a somber affair, and Wei Wuxian–as tradition dictated–did not attend. Representatives from all the major clans–and quite a few minor ones–were there of course. That was a combination of politics and prurient curiosity. Hanguang-jun was an important figure–for anyone of note to miss his nuptials would be a slight against the Lan. Many others wished simply to see the ceremony that would leash the famous demonic cultivator.

The wedding food was bland and hardly different from normal fare, though of a little greater variety and quality. Lan Wangji hardly noticed. 

His thoughts turned ever to Wei Wuxian, who even now would wait, still veiled, in their wedding chamber. For one glorious instant, he allowed himself to imagine it as a love match. That Wei Wuxian returned not just feelings of friendship, but the tender desires that Lan Wangji had long disguised. He imagined the feeling he would have as he saw his new husband, and unveiled him. They would disrobe together, cautious at first and then more hurried as desire overtook them–

Lan Wangji viciously cut off that line of thought, and chastised himself fiercely. He had no right to such thoughts. To save Wei Wuxian from suffering was enough. To have Wei Wuxian close, in his life, was more than he deserved. He could think of nothing more, wish for nothing more, when even what he did have was granted under duress, only to avoid a worse fate.

It was an exquisite torture, to have the fulfillment of his most secret wish, without the sentiments that gave it any value.

Trying to distract himself, he cast his gaze upon the guests of his wedding.

The Wens had not attended. They were busy settling into a collection of huts newly constructed in a tucked away mountain glade of the Cloud Recesses. This was just as well–better the rest of the cultivation world not be too forcefully reminded of their existence.

None of the attendees seemed to find this a particularly joyous occasion. With the exception of Nie Huisang, perhaps, who smirked and fluttered and whispered indiscreetly to the other Nie disciples. Nie Mingjue on the other hand wore his typical grim expression.

Jin Guangshan had a sour look on his face. Little wonder where that came from–it was well known he’d coveted the Yin Tiger Seal. His mood was likely not improved by the fact that this wedding forced a practical delay on the wedding of his own heir to Jiang Yanli. It would be unseemly to have two such highly visible weddings too close in sequence. Jin Zixuan seemed to have little stake in the proceedings except for the occasional looks he shot Jiang Yanli.

Neither was the Jiang clan happy. A sneer graced Madame Yu’s lips, while her husband had a milder expression of concern. Jiang Yanli looked serene, which  brought Lan Wangji some comfort. She would not be so calm if he was condemning Wei Wuxian to a life of misery.

On the other hand, Jiang Cheng’s gaze remained fixed on Lan Wangji. He looked murderous.

***

There was a rustling at the door, and then Lan Wangji entered. Wei Wuxian was supposed to leave the veil on, he thought. In truth he had stopped paying attention, at some point, as Jiang Yanli had explained to him what was expected of him. But he couldn’t help himself. 

To sit there in the dark, while he waited for Lan Wangji to arrive, as his newly made husband? He couldn’t do it.

As Lan Wangji looked upon him, veilless, but otherwise still in his wedding attire, Wei Wuxian wondered what he would do. Wei Wuxian was just an annoyance to Lan Wangji, he’d always assumed. And yet Wei Wuxian couldn’t help himself, couldn’t stop begging for the other man’s attention.

But in the cave, Lan Wangji had wrapped his ribbon around Wei Wuxian’s wrist. Perhaps he hadn’t known exactly what that meant when he asked, but in the quietness of his own thoughts, Wei Wuxian could admit that he’d known it meant something important. Wei Wuxian was needy–he couldn’t help it. He wanted everything he could get.

And now Lan Wangji revealed that it was he who had trespassed–allowed them to make a vow that Wei Wuxian was unaware of. A betrothal even! Lan Wangji was going against the wishes of his clan to see it through. Lan Wangji said he would never hate Wei Wuxian. So could Wei Wuxian be blamed for beginning to think that maybe, Lan Wangji did like him back? For hoping that their wedding night could be a real one?

But Wei Wuxian knew he was always too fast, too loud, too much. With this he needed to be careful. For once, he would let Lan Wangji speak first.

“It’s late,” Lan Wangji said. “We must sleep.”

***

So Wei Wuxian’s husband probably didn’t love him back. What did that matter? The Wens were safe, and well fed. No one was ever going to get their hands on the Yin Tiger Seal. And as for Wei Wuxian, he was still getting more of Lan Wangji than he hoped for, more than he could possibly deserve.

Everyday he lay down beside his husband, who was already deep asleep. Every morning he woke alone, but surrounded by Lan Wangji’s warm sandalwood scent.

Those were the best parts of his time at the Cloud Recesses. Because during the day he had to deal with the rest of his husband’s clan.

The Lans weren’t cruel like Madame Yu could be. He was really trying to follow the rules, so they didn’t punish him and they never beat him. They didn’t threaten and humiliate him like the Wens had during indoctrination. He wasn’t starving like he had been at the Burial Mounds. But he could honestly say he’d preferred all those situations to his current one.

Because what they did do was treat him like a wild beast that must always be watched in case it savaged someone.

At least they didn’t make him get up with the rest of the Lans. He suspected that was Lan Wangji’s influence at work. Instead he found breakfast already delivered when he woke. And then, once he’d eaten, he went over to the training field for meditation and sword forms, supervised by an elder. But he had little interest in sword forms or meditation, and it showed. So he kept going through the motions, and the elder kept getting more and more frustrated.

He wasn’t sure what they hoped to get out of this. He hadn’t forgotten his sword forms.

But the elder just frowned when he asked, and said, “Your energy is strange. You should be seen by the healer.”

Obviously, Wei Wuxian did not have the healer look at him.

The Lan also stood by their need to examine Wen Ning. Wei Wuxian insisted upon his own presence. So that occupied the afternoons. Lan Wangji was there as well, when he could be spared from his duties. 

“You can’t cultivate anymore,” the healer said to Wen Ning. “I don’t understand how you’re so strong.”

Wen Ning’s golden core was gone when Wei Wuxian had brought him back. Or–that wasn’t quite right. Rather, Wei Wuxian suspected that he’d brought Wen Ning back as the kind of thing that couldn’t have a golden core at all. Maybe the same kind of thing he was. 

He wondered if Wen Ning could cultivate the way he did. Actually, Wei Wuxian realized, that was probably already what he was doing subconsciously, to have such strength. But the energy–whether it was demonic or something else–just passed through him. So while every day the healer frowned and felt for a golden core, and then for demonic energy, he never found anything.

Also–Wen Ning was so awkward and unintimidating that Wei Wuxian suspected that even the Lan were starting to feel a little ridiculous for worrying about him.

So after a week of getting no closer to understanding how Wen Ning came into being, but also finding no evidence that he was a danger to society at large, the Lan healers gave up, let him settle in with the Wen villagers, and turned their attention to the much more exciting task of learning everything they could from Wen Qing.

Unfortunately, that meant that now all of their suspicion was saved for Wei Wuxian.

He really was trying to be good. Lan Wangji had stuck his neck out for him, and Wei Wuxian didn’t want to betray that. So he’d left all his creatures behind in the Burial Mounds, and he didn’t draw blood seals–or talismans at all, really–and he dumped as much resentful energy  and settled as many resentful ghosts as he could before he got to Gusu.

Of course he still had the little ghost girl, though he could take her through talismans that should have blocked her. But that meant warning talismans sometimes went off in his presence, which made the elders frown and mutter quietly amongst themselves.

He’d had to tell Lan Wangji about her by the second day. He couldn’t hide her all the time, and if you were around someone haunted for long enough, it becomes pretty obvious. Lan Wangji hadn’t said much, but he’d confirmed he was unbothered by her presence, and implied that he would not volunteer that information to his uncle. Of course, Wei Wuxian hadn’t mentioned her diet, and had glossed over where exactly she went when she wasn’t visible. But what Lan Wangji didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him. 

These days it was harder not to pick up resentful energy than it was to find it. He wasn’t turning into a crazed maniac like demonic cultivators were supposed to, though, and the elders for whatever reason seemed to find that equally troubling. Most likely, because if he had managed to invent a kind of demonic cultivation that didn’t harm the body and soul, life would be a lot easier for demonic cultivators.

Little did they know that they needn’t have worried. Other than the talismans he invented, his cultivation and blood rituals never worked for other people. But the Lan seemed determined to study him extensively, so Wei Wuxian figured he would let them figure that out on their own.

Today, they wanted him to show them the seal he’d used to reanimate Wen Ning. In ink this time, of course. That was easy enough to do, and, to be extra helpful, he drew the original seal up for them as well, without the correction for the tiny ember of Wen Ning’s lifeforce that had still existed. 

Lan Qiren and Lan Qingchi–a talisman expert–stared at the pair of seals for a long time, long enough that Wei Wuxian started to shift his weight from one knee to the other as he sat.

“Where did you get these,” Lan Qiren asked.

“I made them,” Wei Wuxian answered, and Lan Qiren huffed in displeasure.

The other man asked, “Have you tried them in cinnabar instead of blood?”

“No,” Wei Wuxian said, “That wouldn’t work.”

The man hmmed with what sounded like appreciation. Lan Qiren shot him a quelling look and turned to continue his questioning of Wei Wuxian, “How did you come up with these; these don’t look like seals discussed in the Cloud Recess archives, nor like any of the work typical to the Jiang clan.”

“It took a bit of experimentation,” Wei Wuxian said with a shrug. Lan Qiren looked deeply dissatisfied, but what else could he do? Could he say, I’m not alive in the same way you are, so my cultivation doesn’t work the same way it does for you ?

Actually, he probably could say that. The problem was, there was too great a chance they would believe him. And then they might decide he was some kind of walking corpse that the ‘Do not kill’ rule didn’t apply to, and that they’d better burn his body just to make sure he didn’t go on a killing spree.

Well, Lan Wangji would probably stop them if they tried to burn him to death. But then Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji would have to leave, and he wasn’t very popular in the cultivation world these days, and Wei Wuxian would feel bad for driving Lan Wangji from his home.

So overall, just best to say nothing.

The evenings were fine. Lan Wangji played Clarity and Wei Wuxian listened. It didn’t really seem to do anything that he could sense, but he loved listening to Lan Wangji play. Sometimes his husband could be prevailed upon to play folk songs afterwards that were not imbued with spiritual power. Or that other sweet song that Lan Wangji had written, that Wei Wuxian would have sworn he’d heard before.

Wei Wuxian had been married for 10 days. Overall, it had gone as well as could possibly have been expected. 

He was so bored. 

He didn’t know how much longer he could keep doing this.

***

On the morning of the eleventh day of his marriage, Wei Wuxian still woke to an empty bed. But he wasn’t alone in the room this time. Lan Zhan was doing a handstand near one of the walls, and appeared to be meditating.

As Wei Wuxian sat up, Lan Wangji gracefully righted himself and said, “Let’s go on a night hunt.”

Wei Wuxian was instantly cheered, but “I’m allowed?” he asked.

That seemed to anger Lan Wangji, “Wei Ying is not a prisoner.”

Wei Wuxian wasn’t sure the rest of the sect would agree, but as often seemed to be the case, Lan Wangji’s confidence carried the day. After Wei Wuxian ate his (surprisingly well spiced) breakfast, Lan Wangji led him serenely down to the main entrance, and so the disciples on guard let them go without even a question.

“So what’s the night hunt?” Wei Wuxian asked, a little bounce in his step now that he was freed from the countless regulations of the Cloud Recesses.

“Ghost killing cattle”

“Cattle?”

“Mn.”

Wei Wuxian looked over at Lan Wangji with a bit of surprise, “And that merits the attention of the second Jade of Lan? Surely a couple of less experienced disciples could handle it.”

Lan Wangji gave him an unimpressed look, “Wei Ying was bored.”

“Well, your sect does seem to lack in entertainment. I’m not sure how you survive without wine! And if I have to do any more medication and sword forms, I might actually consider going on a murder spree.”

Realizing that that might not be the sort of joke that Lan Wangji appreciated, Wei Wuxian glanced over at him a little nervously. But Lan Wangji was unmoved. 

Wei Wuxian expected Lan Wangji to be eager to get to the hunt. But instead they stopped at a teahouse in Caiyi town. To Wei Wuxian’s shock, when the proprietor asked them what she could get them, Lan Wangji replied, “Tea–and wine.”

When she left and Wei Wuxian looked to Lan Zhan for an explanation he said, “Not trying to control you.”

Wei Wuxian was touched.

But give Wei Wuxian a little and he’d try for much more. Which meant that when they finally made their way to the afflicted town and found an inn for the night, Wei Wuxian–slightly tipsy, but not enough to explain his behavior–loudly asked for the nicest room they had, saying “Look at my beautiful husband! This is our honeymoon. Shouldn’t I buy him the best of everything?”

Lan Wangji’s lip twitched. Perhaps he was thinking that all purchases actually came out of Lan Wangji’s own purse. Or Wei Wuxian’s announcement made him uncomfortable. Perhaps he didn’t even think of them as married, but rather saw it as a transactional relationship he undertook to maintain the righteous course.

But then Wei Wuxian remembered that it was Lan Wangji who had betrothed them, who had tied the ribbon around their hands with full knowledge of the meaning, and that Wei Wuxian hadn’t known what he was asking for. Such a difference when compared to the careful distance of their wedding night–and every night after, even as they slept in the same bed.

Wei Wuxian wondered when it had happened–that Lan Wangji had fallen out of liking–or love–with him. When he came back from the Burial Mounds, he supposed. When he stopped pretending. It was almost enough to make him want to pretend to be normal again–the idea that Lan Wangji could maybe fall in love with him again.

But he didn’t think he had it in him anymore–that kind of subterfuge.

So instead he’d take whatever he could, as much as he could. Until he found where Lan Wangji’s tolerance ended, where the boundary between what Wei Wuxian was, and what a real husband would be–began.

The boundary wasn’t cuddling as they slept, Wei Wuxian discovered that night.

It wasn’t shamelessly watching his husband dress, as he discovered the next morning.

It wasn’t putting his hands all over his husband in public, as he discovered that day while they talked to the farmers whose cattle had been killed.

Surely he’ll refuse me this, Wei Wuxian thought as he whined that he was tired of walking to the field where the cows had died, so shouldn’t his strong husband carry him?

So when Lan Wangji picked him up like he was weightless–and not on his back as Wei Wuxian had once carried his shidis. No, he picked Wei Wuxian up in his arms, one under the knees, one behind his shoulder. And so Wei Wuxian began to hope, began to wonder if he hadn’t misunderstood after all.

***

The night hunt was straightforward, and definitely didn’t need to take two days.

 Wei Wuxian wasn’t complaining. If Lan Wangji needed a break from the Cloud Recesses and the elders’ scrutiny of his new marriage, then that was perfectly understandable to Wei Wuxian.

So even when they found the traveler who had died in that field, bones left unburied, and had arranged a proper funeral, Wei Wuxian didn’t rush them to leave. Lan Wangji also seemed disinclined to depart. Instead they made their way back to the inn, and Lan Wangji ordered once again: wine for Wei Wuxian and tea for Lan Wangji.

Emboldened by his first jar, Wei Wuxian said dramatically, “Ah my husband is so dutiful, isn’t he! He carries me across muddy fields, he buys me wine. Is there anything he would deny me?”

For some reason Lan Wangji looked a little annoyed by this, but still said, “No.”

“Too good Lan Zahn! You’re too good.” Wei Wuxian paused and gave an affected little sigh. But really it was to gather his courage for him to continue. “But all this husband really wants is a kiss from the great Hanguang-jun.”

Lan Wangji froze, and then said in a tone Wei Wuxian couldn’t interpret, “Wei Ying must get what he wants.”

He grabbed Wei Wuxian’s robes and pulled him forward into a firm kiss.

For a moment, Wei Wuxian didn’t respond. Then he kissed back with as much fervor as he could manage.

When they finally came apart again, both were panting.

“Ah Lan Zhan I like you so much,” Wei Wuxian babbled, “And I thought you only married me to be righteous.”

It took Lan Wangji a moment to get words out, “...Like you…so much,” he repeated, and then added “Wei Ying is my husband.”

“I am,” Wei Wuxian replied, thrilled.

***

Lan Wangji loved his husband. Lan Wangji had kissed his husband. Lan Wangji was allowed to kiss his husband. For a few blissful minutes, Lan Wangji was the happiest he’d ever been.

Then they got back to their room at the inn and Wei Wuxian pulled away from the arm Lan Wangji had wrapped around his waist. Something was wrong. Lan Wangji felt almost dizzy as he sank to his knees to sit by the bed. 

Wei Wuxian was pacing back and forth across the room. It wasn’t such a large room so he could only take a few steps before he was forced back in the other direction. It gave the exercise a frantic quality that set Lan Wangji further on edge.

Of course, it was Wei Wuxian who broke the silence. His voice had a forced levity.

“Lan Zhan! I let you marry me under false pretenses. You didn’t know what you were getting into!”

Wei Wuxian shot him a guilty look and then continued, “I told myself that what you didn’t know wouldn’t hurt you! But really, I couldn’t think of any other way! How could I risk the Wens if I told you and you refused me!”

“I would not,” Lan Wangji said, certain.

“You don’t know what you’re saying! Don’t you know I’m a demonic cultivator? A necromancer, using my evil ways to control the living, and bring back the dead, and drink the blood of my enemies?”

Lan Wangji looked at him in stormy silence, not having words to counteract Wei Wuxian’s strange and sudden mood.

“You want me to stop! I know you do! Want me to go back to how I was before. But I can’t! I’ve been trying. But I can’t do it, Lan Zhan!”

“Wei Ying–”

“Lan Zhan!” Wei Wuxian cut in before Lan Wangji could say anything more, “Feel my golden core, husband!” Wei Wuxian extended a wrist.

Some uneasiness welled up in Lan Wangji’s gut as he very gently took his husband’s wrist, and ghosted the tips of his fingers over the meridians. He froze. He planted his fingers more firmly in the right place. 

Wei Wuxian was looking at Lan Wangji calmly. Of course, he must have known what the other man would find.

Lan Wangji was silent for a long time, and then rasped, “...core melting hand?”

Wei Wuxian gave Lan Wangji’s hand a perfunctory little pat. “No Lan Zhan. I just never had a golden core.”

“I don’t understand.”

“I’m not like other cultivators. What I am like, is my mother. Madame Yu and Jiang Fengmian both tell me I am. They weren’t sure for a while, if she’d passed it on or not. But like her, I never cultivated a golden core. Like her, I pull my energy from the dead and from the earth. I don’t bleed unless I want to. I rarely feel pain. Strange seals that no one else has heard of come naturally to me, even though they don’t work for other people. When they tossed me in the Burial Mounds, those are all the things that kept me alive. So by the time I got back out, I forgot how to pretend, and these days I’m not sure how much I want to.”

Lan Wangji didn’t say anything at that point, too struck by the new information.

Wei Wuxian shot him a look, and then continued, “You think you want me, but the person you want doesn’t exist. Who I was when you first met me–that was an illusion.”

“No.” Lan Wangji was certain, “I want Wei Ying.”

“Are you sure about that,” Wei Wuxian was taunting him, and Lan Wangji hated that.

His words and actions always felt clumsy with the weight of his affection. He hated when Wei Wuxian made light of that, made him feel foolish.

But Lan Wangji loved Wei Wuxian, and Wei Wuxian was hurting, so he struggled to continue.

“Wei Ying cannot be bad. Tell me.”

“Fine,” Wei Wuxian snapped, “You think you want me? Well take a look.”

And then somehow in one move, he shrugged off his inner and his outer robes, leaving his chest bare.

That was the greatest expanse of his skin that Lan Wangji had ever seen, and for a moment he was simply dumbstruck by the windfall. But Wei Wuxian was ignorant of his own beauty, and that wasn’t what he was trying to show him. 

That was when Lan Wangji saw the long incision in Wei Wuxian’s belly. 

“You’re hurt,” he said, “We must take you to the healers.”

“Haven’t you been listening!” Wei Wuxian hissed. “This–” he gestured wildly at the incision, “--isn’t hurt. I don’t feel it at all. Now watch.”

And then with the dagger from his belt, Wei Wuxian slit the stitches. 

Later, Lan Wangji felt some shame at being sick. It was a weakness, and–even though that was the effect Wei Wuxian had intended–it had made Wei Wuxian feel his own strangeness. But Lan Wangji wasn’t sure anything could have prepared him for the sight of his husband peeling apart the layers of his own flesh. And that hadn’t been the worst part. No, the worst part was the seeping black cloud that followed. It distorted Wei Wuxian’s stomach and then pooled out onto the floor before it coalesced into the little ghost girl that followed Wei Wuxian around.

Lan Wangji had wondered how Wei Wuxian had gotten her in and out of the Cloud Recesses.

When Lan Wangji could look up again, he calmed down. Wei Wuxian wasn’t bleeding, and he didn’t look to be in pain. He was redoing the stitches though.

“Why don’t you heal it,” Lan Wangji asked, “With the talismans you normally used.”

Wei Wuxian shrugged, “It was too annoying–to cut it again each time I had to carry her around to somewhere else.”

Lan Wangji nodded and tried to accept that as a reasonable explanation. This was new territory. His husband was not like others, and could not be held to normal standards. He must force himself to accept this.

Wei Wuxian’s eyes flickered to the bowl that now held Lan Wangji’s sick. Lan Wangji felt a spot of color form on his cheeks.

“I disgust you,” Wei Wuxian sounded both smug and as if he wanted to cry.

“I thought you were hurting yourself,” Lan Wangji countered, a mild rebuke.

“Really, you still want me?”

“Always want Wei Ying.”

Wei Wuxian opened his mouth, and then closed it. Lan Wangji took a step closer. His husband was still undressed, and though he didn’t let his eyes linger on his stomach, he took in the rest of him–his broad shoulders and the smooth long line of his neck.

Lan Wangji reached out to touch.

Wei Wuxian was cool under Lan Wangji’s hands. The soft muscles of his throat fluttered as he swallowed. Lan Wangji traced a careful finger down his neck, and Wei Wuxian’s breath came out in short gasps.

“Cold,” Lan Wangji whispered. Like a statue he meant, like a work of art. 

“Oh sorry,” Wei Wuxian said, and laughed a little nervously. “I don’t always remember these days that I’m supposed to be warm .”

“No.” That wasn’t what Lan Wangji had meant at all.

“No?” Wei Wuxian asked, voice a little unsure.

Lan Wangji mustered what words he could, “Wei Ying is good.”

A smile quirked on Wei Wuxian’s mouth. “I guess I can’t disagree with the illustrious Hanguang-jun.”

“Mn.”

And for all his self control, Lan Wangji could no longer resist kissing his love’s soft lips. There wasn’t much talking after that.

***

Everything was perfect. He and Lan Wangji were having athletic sex once a day. The elders at the Cloud Recesses had backed off from all their insinuations about demonic cultivation. Lan Qiren stopped insisting on the sword forms. 

That meant Wei Wuxian was left largely to his own devices. Right now, that meant he spent a lot of time wildly theorizing about talismans, playing with A-Yuan, and taking over some of the basic lessons for the little Lans. He loved the littlest Lans. They were all so serious. It was adorable.

Everything was so perfect. So that meant he had to ruin it.

It wasn’t even his fault! That was just the way things worked. He was already a lot for a husband, for a clan to accept. He knew that. It was a miracle that he had found someone as wonderful and accepting as Lan Wangji. But even Lan Wangji had limits. And this–this would be going too far.

I’m hungry, she said again. Wei Wuxian gave an absentminded pat to her non-corporeal head.

A little patience, and I’ll feed you.

His thoughts whirled as he tried to come up with a solution. It was easier when she would just eat his flesh, but as time passed she refused that more and more. She didn’t like that it might hurt him–or she didn’t like how much he slept afterwards. He wasn’t sure.

But that meant he had to get her a corpse and he couldn’t see that going over well. For an instant, he imagined the facial expressions on the clan elders as he explained that if they had any dead enemies, or other people whose corpses could stand some light defilement, he would greatly appreciate them to feed his ghostly charge. The looks of shock and horror on their faces would be almost worth it before they, presumably, banished the ghost child, and expelled Wei Wuxian from the sect.

That would be unfortunate.

So he was going with his next best plan, which was to go to his reliable source of unattended corpses. Best if no one else knew of his trip though. No one would think well of him for visiting the Burial Mounds. That meant he was going to have to sneak out. 

And deal with whatever consequences came his way upon his return.

***

“What are you doing?”

Wei Wuxian whirled around at the voice. It was Lan Wangji. And he was angry.

“How did you find me?” Wei Wuxian shot back instead of answering his question.

“Where else would you go?” Lan Wangji replied with distaste.

“Can’t I go anywhere?” Wei Wuxian replied meanly. “I thought I wasn’t a prisoner.”

“You aren’t. You are my husband.”

“Can’t have me bringing shame on the Lan?”

Lan Wangji didn’t respond to that. He only asked again, “Wei Ying, what are you doing?”

Wei Wuxian felt his defiance falter.

Come here, he told her.

And she did, still chewing on a scrap of skin.

Lan Wangji flinched a bit as she came into sight from behind a rock, but he didn’t grab his sword.

“She was hungry,” Wei Wuxian said softly. “I promised I’d look after her.”

For a long moment Lan Wangji just looked at the two of them and didn’t say anything. Then he held out an elegant hand and said, “Come with me. I will feed you.”

And to Wei Wuxian’s surprise she slunk over to him and put her grimy, bloodstained little hand in his clean one. Seemingly unbothered, Lan Wangji turned around and started down the path to the town of Yiling.

With little else to do, Wei Wuxian trailed after the pair.

“We require meat and tea,” Lan Wangji told the proprietor of the tea house he had stopped at. The man looked a little uncertain, taking in the child’s blood soaked clothing. But Lan Wangji’s face remained peaceful and confident. Lan Wangji flicked his gaze over to Wei Wuxian, “And wine,” he added.

“Of course, right away!” The man said at last, and led them to a table.

Lan Wangji drank tea, and Wei Wuxian wine. The little ghost girl ate and ate. Every time she finished a plate, Lan Wangji signaled for more. Her hunger seemed insatiable.

She ate like an animal, head in the plate, and tearing flesh off the bones with her hands or her sharp teeth. But every time she finished a dish, Lan Wangji would set the plate neatly aside and with his handkerchief, carefully wipe her hands and face clean again as if she were a regular human child and not a ghost.

Wei Wuxian watched in fascination.

Finally, when Wei Wuxian was rather drunk and the sun had long set, the girl lifted her head up while several pork dumplings remained.

“I’ve always wanted such a nice meal,” she said, aloud, and not just in Wei Wuxians head. “Now I’m sleepy.”

And Lan Wangji guided her head to rest in his lap. She settled down and her form became a little less distinct as she stilled into whatever kind of sleep a spirit could find.

Only then, finally, did Lan Wangji look at Wei Wuxian.

 “Wei Ying,” he said, “You do not have to do this alone.”

***

It was a sunny day in the cloud recesses and Wei Wuxian was looking for his husband. He’d already checked the cold ponds, the Jingshi, the training grounds, and the office of the sect leader.

He’d consigned himself to aimless wandering now among the trees. But he drew to a halt as the trees fell away to reveal a meadow dot with rabbits.

Sitting in a patch of sun was Lan Wangji. He had a look of concentration on his face as he showed A-Yuan how to carefully feed and pet the rabbits nearby.

In the shadow of the nearby trees crouched the little ghost girl. But she didn’t look as strange and threatening as normal—on that warm sunny day she just looked like a weird little kid.

Wei Wuxian must have made a noise of some sort, because at that moment Lan Wangji turned his head and looked at him.

Such a smile spread across Lan Wangji’s face.

He loves me, thought Wei Wuxian giddily, and the knowledge filled his whole being, warming him more than the sun ever could.

What was there to do then but go to them, his strange dear little family?