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Wen Wuxian is the third son of Wen Ruohan. He performs consistently at the top of his class and is known for his bright smile and sense of humor. He never hesitates to speak up in favor of the weak and less fortunate, his best friend is the ever-timid Wen Ning, and his teachers have nothing but praise for the way he always makes time to explain difficult concepts to his fellow students. He is charming, charismatic, likable (warm, gentle, kind) and seems to share none of his father’s-- or his brothers’-- cruelty. 

He is Wen Ruohan’s greatest disappointment. 

Lan Zhan is six years old when he meets Wen Wuxian for the first time. He is kneeling outside Mother’s house when he feels a shadow fall across him. Looking up, he blinks when he is greeted with the sight of a boy roughly his age wearing the robes of the Wen Sect.

Upon gaining his attention, the boy breaks into a huge, gap-toothed smile. Lan Zhan can’t help but feel a twinge of envy-- he hasn’t lost any of his baby teeth yet and by the looks of it, this boy has already lost two. 

“Hi!” The boy greets him cheerfully. “Finally another kid around this place! I was beginning to think the only people here were boring old people, so it’s nice to see someone my age. And since Father wouldn’t let me bring Wen Ning, I’m ‘specially glad to see you!”

Lan Zhan blinks, feeling more than a little overwhelmed at the barrage of words (overwhelming, as he soon learns, is a pretty good descriptor of Wen Wuxian in general).

“Loud,” is all he can think to say. The boy laughs, not offended at all.

“Haha yeah, I can be a bit loud. That’s what Qing-jie tells me anyway. It’s good though, since you seem pretty quiet, so we can balance each other out! What’s your name? My name is Wen Wuxian, but you can call me Wen Ying, that’s what all my friends call me anyway.” He pauses, looking at Lan Zhan expectantly. 

“Lan Zhan,” he says after a pause. “Courtesy name Lan Wangji.” 

“Lan Zhan,” the boy-- Wen Wuxian-- tries out, completely ignoring Lan Zhan’s courtesy name. “I like it. It suits you! Hey, Lan Zhan, Lan Zhan, wanna play tag? I’ve been so bored with Wen Ning gone and Wen Chao is too slow to be any fun and--”

“Can’t,” Lan Zhan says stiffly, still recovering from hearing his birth name used so casually.

“How come?” Wen Wuxian whines, expression dropping faster than a stone in a lake. “Come on, Lan Zhan, Lan-er-gege, play with me! I just got my hopes up, you wouldn’t crush them like this, would you? Please, Lan Zhan? Lan Zhaaaan--”

 Lan Zhan coughs and looks away, trying to ignore the warmth creeping into his cheeks. Wen Wuxian is lying down on his stomach now, looking up at him with beseeching eyes and a pouting lip and...and there should be a rule against such blatant begging, Lan Zhan thinks to himself, forehead furrowing. 

“Waiting for Mother,” he interrupts, voice cold. 

“Ah.” Wen Wuxian seems to sense something in Lan Zhan’s voice because he abruptly stops talking. He sits up, eyeing Lan Zhan carefully. “Okay.” 

Irrationally, Lan Zhan wishes he’d go back to his prior nonstop chatter. Which doesn’t make sense-- excessive talking is forbidden in the Cloud Recesses, he should be happy the other boy is finally following the rules, and yet--

And yet all he can think in that moment is that silence doesn’t suit Wen Wuxian. 

“Is she in this house?” Wen Wuxian asks, voice gentle.

“Yes,” he replies, although it comes out less sure than he’d like. After all, Uncle had said that his mother was gone, that she wasn’t here anymore-- but that can’t be true, because he’s known for as long as he can remember that Mother lives in this house, that she’s not allowed to leave, and so if she isn’t here, there’s nowhere else she can be, and--

“Hey, hey,” Wen Wuxian interrupts his thoughts, waving his hands in front of Lan Zhan’s face. “It’s okay. Uh...how about we just play here then? That way, she’ll be able to see you and hear you from the house and stuff. And if she needs something, I’ll be here to help out too! Um, if that’s alright with you?” He trails off hesitantly, looking at Lan Zhan for an answer.

Lan Zhan looks down for a moment before nodding.

“Acceptable,” he says finally.

The answering smile on Wen Wuxian’s face is blinding.

“Did you have fun today, Wangji?” Lan Xichen asks him later, a knowing smile on his face. Lan Zhan looks down at the flower in his hands, thinking of the way Wen Wuxian had tucked it against his ear.

(“Now you look even more pretty, Lan Zhan!”)

“Mn,” Lan Zhan says softly, and cradles the flower protectively. “Was nice.”

“You met the son of the Wen Sect leader, right? What did you think?” Lan Xichen asks.

“Wen Wuxian is…” He thinks of sparkling eyes, a bright laugh, a smile like the sun. “Kind.”

“I’m glad to hear that.” Xichen says, eyes softening. He hesitates for a moment. “Wangji, would you like to see Wen Wuxian again?”

“Mn,” Lan Zhan agrees. “Should see friends often.”

He ignores the surprise that flickers across his brother’s face in favor of looking for a vase. Flowers would wither soon without water, after all.

Nie Mingjue’s first impression of Wen Wuxian is that he’s an annoying impertinent brat.

“Sect Leader Nie! Sect Leader Nie!”

Nie Mingjue turns around to see the twelve-year-old son of Wen Ruohan running towards him and his father, just as they’re about to depart from the Nightless City.

This already puts him on Nie Mingjue’s bad side. He’s been wanting to leave this godforsaken place for the past four hours and to have his stay prolonged by Wen Ruohan’s overly cheerful, overly talkative, overly friendly son, of all people…

“Yes?” His father asks. It wouldn’t be apparent to most, but Nie Mingjue can hear the faintest hint of impatience edging his father’s voice. He isn’t the only one eager to leave. “Wen Wuxian, was it?”

“Ah,” Wen Wuxian comes to a halt in front of them, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. His breathing is slightly labored, Mingjue notices, as if he’s been running around searching for them for a while. “Apologies for detaining you and your son, Sect Leader Nie, but I didn’t want to let you leave without extending my congratulations first. Nie Mingjue’s performance today was really impressive! The way he beat all the other disciples so easily—I hope to become just as strong as he is someday!”

Mingjue lets out a scoff.

“It wasn’t difficult,” he says, ignoring his father’s warning look. “I hope by the time the next Discussion Conference comes around, your sect provides me with some challenging opponents for once.”

“Mingjue--” His father begins sharply.

“Ahahaha it’s okay, Sect Leader Nie. I too hope Nie Mingjue finds his matches more challenging next year—if only because I have a feeling that seeing him go all out would be a treat to watch!” Wen Wuxian laughs, apparently not bothered at all by Mingjue’s not-so-subtle insult. This causes Mingjue to twitch irritably—did nothing bother this brat? “But I also wanted to congratulate you, Sect Leader Nie.”

A flicker of surprise crosses his father’s eyes.

“Regarding what, may I ask? I did not compete in any matches,” he questions curiously.

“For impressing my father.” Wen Wuxian’s smile doesn’t waver but for the first time, it seems stiff, almost forced. “He complimented your saber, didn’t he?”

“He did, yes,” Nie Mingjue’s father says slowly. “It is a great honor to have one’s weapon praised by a warrior as discerning as Wen Ruohan.”

“Praise from Father is very rare,” Wen Wuxian replies. Nie Mingjue can’t help but notice it doesn’t sound like a compliment. “The last time it happened—oh, it must have been years ago. Some minor sect leader claimed that his son’s archery skills were unparalleled, even better than Xu-ge’s! His son had this beautiful bow, I remember—it was so well-made, truly a masterpiece. But then two days later, the bowstring snapped while he was off on a night-hunt. No one in the hunting party survived.” Wen Wuxian purses his lips and tilts his chin up to look Mingjue’s father in the eye. “It was a horrible tragedy all around, especially given how shocking it was. The sect leader’s son was known for taking good care of his bow. But it just goes to show that anything can happen, even with—” His gaze flickers to the saber at Mingjue’s father’s side. “—the best of weapons.”

Nie Mingjue clenches his jaw, grinding his teeth at the threat (warning?).

“That bas—” Nie Mingjue snarls, a cold creeping sense of fury (fear) threatening to rise up and choke him.

“Mingjue.” His father’s grip on his forearm stops him from going any further. “Stop.”

He turns towards Wen Wuxian, face still composed if a shade paler than usual.

“Thank you. For reminding me that strength does not equal invincibility,” he says.

Wen Wuxian merely looks at him, face impassive.

“You can never be too careful,” he says lightly. “Well, I’ve kept you long enough. Safe travels, Sect Leader Nie! I hope to see both you and your son at next year’s Discussion Conference.”

(Sect Leader Nie’s saber does not shatter. He does not die.

Mingjue and Huaisang do not lose a father.

This changes things.)

“Lan Zhan! Lan Zhan!”

At the familiar voice, Lan Zhan’s lips curve upwards for the briefest moment before his expression smooths back into its default impassive state.

“Wen Wuxian,” he greets the other teen. At that, Wen Wuxian scowls at him.

“Lan Zhan, how many times do I have to tell you to call me Wen Ying?” He demands grumpily. “Keep that up and people are going to start doubting we’re friends.”

“Mn. Idiots,” he says. As far as he’s concerned, anyone who doubts the fact that he and Wen Wuxian are friends would have to be an idiot.

“Lan Zhan, you can’t just go around calling everyone who has a hard time reading you an idiot,” Wen Wuxian scolds, although the amused glint in his eyes betrays him. “Just because I know you love me doesn’t mean everyone does! Which is why you should just call me by my given name already—that way, it’ll be clear to everyone!”

“Improper,” Lan Zhan replies, trying to ignore his suddenly racing pulse. He knows Wen Wuxian had meant his words in a joking manner, that he doesn’t actually know of Lan Zhan’s feelings—because teasing him when he knows would be cruel, and Wen Wuxian is many things but cruel is not one of them.

“Improper? That’s your excuse?” Wen Wuxian asks in disbelief. “Look at me! There’s nothing proper about me!”

“No shouting in the Cloud Recesses.” He’ll never admit that the reason he refuses to call Wen Wuxian by his birth name is because he enjoys how flustered the other teen gets when trying to convince him.

“I’m not shouting, I’m just…speaking enthusiastically! And before you get on my case about how ‘excessive displays of emotion are forbidden’ or whatever, I’ll have you know that this is hardly excessive, and is in fact a perfectly normal response to seeing my dearest friend for the first time in over a year—”

“Dearest friend?” Lan Zhan interrupts suddenly. “I thought Wen Ning—”

It’s no secret how close Wen Wuxian is with his cousin. ‘Closer than brothers,’ it’s been said—although given the lack of closeness between Wen Wuxian and his actual brothers, perhaps that’s not the best descriptor.

“Wen Ning is my oldest friend, yes, and he knows me better than anyone else,” Wen Wuxian says easily. He looks at Lan Zhan and his smile fades a little, to be replaced by something soft. “But Lan Zhan is Lan Zhan,” he says quietly. “Lan Zhan is special.”

Lan Zhan is currently trying to remember how to breathe, Lan Zhan thinks to himself.

“Wen Wuxian—” Lan Zhan swallows. He’s never been good with words, that was always Wen Wuxian’s department—but for Wen Wuxian, he can try. “Wen Wuxian is special too.”

Lan Zhan watches as Wen Wuxian’s expression softens into something impossibly fond.

“Ah, Lan Zhan,” he murmurs under his breath, his words almost inaudible. “You’re going to be the death of me someday, I hope you know that. Take mercy on this poor soul, will you? My heart can’t take it when you say things like that.”  

“Are you staying this time?” Lan Zhan changes the subject before he can analyze Wen Wuxian’s words too closely. “That is—Gusu always welcomes new disciples.”

“Afraid not.” Wen Wuxian’s smile doesn’t quite meet his eyes. “You know I can’t stay away from Qishan for too long. Father would miss me too much.”

There’s a touch of bitter irony in those words; a joke with no humor to it.

“If—If things should change,” Lan Zhan says carefully, “Gusu will always welcome you.”

I will always welcome you.

“Ever the gracious host, Lan Zhan,” Wen Wuxian grins, the bitterness in his eyes dissipating like clouds before the sun. “Be careful though. Once you invite me in, it’ll be difficult for you to get rid of me!”

“No issue,” Lan Zhan insists.

“You say that now. Watch, in two weeks you’ll be begging for me to go,” Wen Wuxian laughs. “But enough of that. I almost forgot! I got you a present on my way up here. It’s back in my room—I do hope I added enough airholes…”

With a growing sense of alarm, Lan Zhan follows Wen Wuxian back to his room only to stop dead at the sight of two rabbits in Wen Wuxian’s arms.

“Ta-da!” Wen Wuxian grins proudly at him. “What do you think? They’re cute, right? The black one here gave me some trouble catching him—rabbits are fast and he was jumping all over the place—but the white one is really sweet!”

“Pets are forbidden in the Cloud Recesses,” Lan Zhan says automatically.

“But these are a gift!” Wen Wuxian argues. “And isn’t refusing a gift considered rude? There’s got to be at least a few rules against being rude, right?”

At Lan Zhan’s unchanging expression, he huffs, deflating a little.

“Fine, fine, I’ll bring them back,” he mutters. “Maybe I’ll give them to Wen Ning; he’s got a soft spot for cute things—”

“No!” At Wen Wuxian’s raised eyebrows, Lan Zhan feels the tips of his ears growing hot. “I will take them,” he says with as much dignity as he can manage.

Wen Wuxian beams.

“I knew you liked them!” He crows triumphantly and Lan Zhan suddenly finds himself holding two rabbits. “Come on you two, go say hi to your new dad, he’s real nice, you’re going to like him a lot—”

Wen Wuxian glances up at Lan Zhan, a mischievous smile on his face.

“Hey Lan Zhan, I guess this means we’re parents now, huh?” He laughs.

“Mn.” Lan Zhan can feel his ears starting to heat up again but right now, as Wen Wuxian scolds the black rabbit for trying to bite his finger and the white rabbit nuzzles against his collar, he can’t find it in himself to mind.

The Cloud Recesses are attacked, and somewhere between his worry for his father and brother, his fury at the Wen Sect for daring to burn down the Library Pavilion (centuries upon centuries of history and knowledge lost) and the pain radiating from his broken leg, one thought keeps repeating itself in his head over and over again:

My home was destroyed by Wen Wuxian’s family. It was Wen Wuxian’s family who did this.

Somehow, it’s that thought that hurts more than anything else.

It is when he is at the Qishan Wen Sect’s training camp that Lan Zhan finally snaps.

“You!” Wen Chao barks and not for the first time, Lan Zhan wonders how this man and Wen Wuxian are related. “Hand in your sword!”

Lan Zhan’s hands clench into fists but he does not relinquish Bichen.

“Where is Wen Wuxian?” He asks with feigned calm. “Shouldn’t it be him leading this training camp? He is the Wen Sect’s Head Disciple, is he not?”

At the sound of his brother’s name, Wen Chao’s features twist into something ugly—over a decade’s worth of jealousy and resentment—before smoothing out again.

“Not anymore. You can hardly be Head Disciple without a Golden Core, can you?” He sneers, vicious satisfaction dripping from his voice.

Lan Zhan’s mind goes blank.

“What did you say?” He whispers, digging his nails into his palms hard enough to draw blood. Unknowing, or perhaps uncaring of the danger he’s in, Wen Chao smirks at him mockingly.

“Are you deaf or something? I said, he doesn’t have his Golden Core anymore.” Behind him, Wen Zhuliu—the Core-Melting Hand—goes startlingly still. Lan Zhan doesn’t pay him any attention though, all his focus on Wen Chao.

“You lie,” he hears himself say. There’s an odd, distant ringing in his ears. One hand is on Bichen’s hilt, although he doesn’t remember putting it there.

Wen Chao glares at him.

“Who are you calling a liar, Lan-trash?” He snarls. “My father threw him into the Burial Mounds; I’d be surprised if that traitor’s still alive at this point. Without a Golden Core, without a sword…he’ll be corpse-food before long, mark my words.” He smiles, lips curling unpleasantly. “Good riddance. That fucker always was too weak to be a Wen.”

“Lan Wangji, no!” He hears, more than feels his fellow classmates pull him back, Jiang Wanyin on one side, Jin Zixuan on the other.

“Do you want to die?” Jiang Wanyin hisses furiously at him. “Doesn’t your family have enough to worry about without you trying to attack one of Wen Ruohan’s heirs?”

“Not attack. Kill,” Lan Zhan says, elbowing him in the side. Jiang Wanyin lets out a curse but doesn’t release him.

“Lan Wangji, be rational!” Jin Zixuan says sharply. “There is nothing you can do for Wen Wuxian right now. Attacking Wen Chao will accomplish nothing but your death. Is that what you want?”

“I—” Lan Zhan clenches his jaw. “Wen Wuxian—”

“Would he want you to throw away your life like this?” Jin Zixuan demands. Lan Zhan goes silent. Then, at long last, he lets himself go limp.

It feels like defeat.

“Finally done throwing a tantrum?” Wen Chao taunts as he hands over Bichen. “So much for the famed Lan decorum.”

Lan Zhan doesn’t say anything for a moment. Then he smiles; cold, cutting, like the edge of a blade—nothing like Lan Xichen’s warm smiles or Wen Wuxian’s bright, blinding grins.

“Wen Ying was the best of you,” he says, before turning around. With Wen Ying gone, there is no longer any reason for me to show mercy, he doesn’t say out loud.

Lan Zhan! Lan Zhan! You finally used my given name! He can almost hear Wen Wuxian’s voice in his head, if he tries. Can almost picture the other man’s delight.

Lan Zhan closes his eyes, the bitter taste of regret and grief suffocating on his tongue.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers. “I’m so sorry, Wen Ying.”

The full story of what happened to Wen Wuxian, third son of Wen Ruohan, comes out in bits and pieces, scattered phrases and hushed gossip behind closed doors.

Gossip is forbidden in the Cloud Recesses—but this isn’t the Cloud Recesses and even if it were, this is Wen Ying’s story. How can he not listen?

--pleaded with his father to spare the Cloud Recesses--

-- begged on his hands and knees—

--out of desperation, drew his sword on Wen Ruohan—

-- stood no chance, of course he didn’t, that poor boy—

-- apparently it was the first time the Core-Melting Hand hesitated in carrying out an order—

-- said he screamed so loudly, every person in the Nightless City could hear his cries--

-- left him in the Burial Mounds to die--

-- his own son!—

Throughout it all, Lan Zhan keeps hearing the same thing.

He did it because of me. He turned on his father and had his Golden Core destroyed because of me. He stood up against the most dangerous man in the world because of me.

He died because of me.

Lotus Pier is destroyed and the Nie, Lan, and Jin Sects band together to declare war against the Wen Sect. (strangely enough, they are joined by some divisions of the Wen Sect itself, most notably the Branch family led by Wen Qing and Wen Ning. Wen Wuxian had been…more popular than expected, and beloved by many. Ever since his death, there have been murmurs of discontent spreading through the Wen Sect like ripples through a lake, strong enough that even the blistering heat that is Wen Ruohan’s wrath cannot stop them.)

 For the next three months, there is nonstop fighting. Throughout it all, Lan Zhan never fails to play Inquiry every night.

Wen Ying, where are you? Wen Ying, why won’t you answer me?

Wen Ying, come back to me. Please.

When Wen Ying does emerge from the dead, it is with an army of corpses at his back and a flute in his hands in place of a sword. When he is next seen, he is joined by Wen Qing and Wen Ning and a dozen members of their family. Judging by all reports, the number of Wen Sect members joining his side seems to grow with each passing day.

Wen Ruohan promises fear, pain, and bloodshed. Wen Wuxian promises protection, kindness, and mercy. In light of that—in light of now having a third option outside the cruelty and ruthlessness of Wen Ruohan and the hatred and distrust of the other Sects—it perhaps shouldn’t be surprising that members of the Wen Sect start flocking to Wen Wuxian in droves.

Of all the ways for the Great Wen Sect to finally be defeated, Lan Zhan doesn’t think anyone expected civil war to be the answer.

Wen Ruohan’s eldest son is killed by Nie Mingjue, and although Nie Mingjue strongly considers displaying Wen Xu’s head on a stake to send a message to Wen Ruohan, he eventually decides against it. Besides, it would feel…wrong to do such a thing, when there are members of the Wen Sect among his allies.

Lan Zhan, meanwhile, hunts down Wen Chao with a single-minded focus. He chases Wen Ruohan’s second son down with a cold ruthlessness and quiet fury that he knows is unbecoming of him, but can’t find it in himself to care.  He knows Wen Ying won’t thank him for it—might even hate him for it. He also knows that if Wen Ying comes across his brother in battle, no matter the complicated history between them, Wen Ying will be unable to resist showing his brother mercy, and Wen Chao will return it with none of his own.

There is a chance Wen Chao will manage to kill him. That is something Lan Zhan cannot allow—he cannot lose Wen Wuxian, not again, not like this.

Besides, he can’t imagine the pain of having to face a brother on the battlefield. He wants to spare Wen Ying that much at least, if he can.

Of course, this would be easier if Jiang Wanyin didn’t insist on tagging along.

“You think you’re the only one who wants to kill that bastard?” Jiang Wanyin demands, a thunderous expression on his face. “I get that you want to get revenge for your boyfriend or whatever, but he killed my parents! My grudge takes priority!”

“Mn.” Lan Zhan’s expression doesn’t change. “Jiang Wanyin is an accomplished tracker.”

“Resorting to flattery now to get rid of me?” Jiang Wanyin snorts. “Didn’t think you had it in you, oh great Second Jade of Lan. Besides, this isn’t about my ability to track him down—I could do that without your help, no problem—it’s about what happens once we do. Even I’m not confident enough to try and take down Wen Chao and the Core-Melting Hand at the same time. Also if you die, I have a feeling I’m going to be the one to get blamed, and I really, really don’t want the Yiling Patriarch holding a grudge against me.”

“Would not,” Lan Zhan replies. “Wen Ying is a reasonable person.”

“Not when it comes to you, he isn’t,” Jiang Wanyin mutters under his breath, just loud enough for Lan Zhan to hear him. “I’ve only met the guy a couple of times and even I know that much.”

Lan Zhan purses his lips and steadfastly ignores the fluttering in his chest at those words.

By the time they finally hunt down Wen Chao and the Core-Melting Hand, Lan Zhan’s hands are shaking slightly in anticipation.

“Wait,” Jiang Wanyin says, grabbing Lan Zhan’s arm before he can do anything. “Leave Wen Chao to me. I’m serious.”

Lan Zhan narrows his eyes slightly.

“Wen Chao is mine,” he says, voice clipped.

“He’s more mine than he is yours,” Jiang Wanyin shoots back. “And besides, it’s…better if it’s me. If it isn’t you who kills his brother.”

“That man has no right calling himself Wen Ying’s brother. He does not deserve—”

“Yeah, yeah, you don’t have to tell me that. That doesn’t change the fact that he is!” Jiang Wanyin runs a hand through his hair, frustrated. “Look, if you’re the one to do it, it’ll—it’ll change things. And there’s no point in that happening when I’m right here and more than willing to do the job for you.”

Lan Zhan stays silent for a moment.

“The Core-Melting Hand is mine,” he says, voice leaving no room for argument.

“Of course. I wouldn’t dream of taking his death from you,” Jiang Wanyin says, a vicious smile on his face. It isn’t a pleasant expression at all. Despite that, it rather suits him, Lan Zhan thinks.

In the end, Wen Chao dies with Zidian wrapped around his throat, face turning purple and gasping futilely for breath like a beached fish. It isn’t a pleasant death by any means but even so, Lan Zhan can’t help but think it’s far too good a death for him.

The moment Wen Chao dies, Wen Zhuliu stops fighting.

“Second Jade of Lan,” Wen Zhuliu says, looking at Lan Zhan with eyes that are both defeated and accepting. “Tell Young Master Wen that I’m sorry.”

Lan Zhan looks at him for a moment. Then he nods and drives Bichen through Wen Zhuliu’s throat.

It isn’t until the war is over and Wen Ruohan is dead that Lan Zhan sees Wen Wuxian again.

“Ah, Lan Zhan,” Wen Ying says when he catches sight of him. The other man looks…tired, Lan Zhan notices. Drained, like someone has scrubbed all the joy out of him. “I was wondering when you’d drop by. Come to see if the rumors are true?”

Lan Zhan hesitates, feeling strangely out of place in a way he never has before in Wen Ying’s presence.

“Gossiping is forbidden,” he says, resorting back to the Lan Sect Rules, as he always does, in the face of uncertainty. Wen Ying’s expression turns mocking.

“Come on, Lan Zhan. Even someone as esteemed as you can’t have missed the whispers about me—at this point, I doubt a deaf person could have missed them,” Wen Ying says sardonically.

-- he killed his own family!—

--I heard he drove a sword into his father’s heart without remorse—

-- I heard he ordered those corpses under his command to rip him apart!--

-- what kind of person must you be, to kill the man who raised you?—

“You know, I couldn’t figure out why they sounded so familiar at first,” Wen Ying says conversationally, distracting Lan Zhan from his thoughts. “Then I realized that people said the same things about Father, after he killed Grandfather.”

At that, Lan Zhan looks up sharply.

“That’s different—”

“Don’t try to defend me, Lan Zhan. It’s true, isn’t it? Father killed his father, I killed mine, and so the cycle continues. Like father, like son, right?”

Wen Ying laughs, a hollow, broken sound that tears at Lan Zhan’s heart.

“Do you know what the worst part was?” He asks, still speaking in that horribly casual tone. “It wasn’t watching him bleed out or seeing the life fade from his eyes, like you’d think…no, it was the fact that when I killed him—well, I expected him to hate me, you know? To curse me, rage at me, all of that. Instead, he looked…he looked proud, Lan Zhan. Said that I truly was his son after all. It was the first time my father ever looked proud of me, and I—I—”

Wen Ying’s detached façade finally cracks, his words breaking off into choking, wracking sobs. At the sound of Wen Ying crying—and something must be deeply wrong with the world if it allowed a being as wonderful as Wen Ying to cry—something inside Lan Zhan breaks. Before he can stop himself, he’s already halfway across the room, taking Wen Ying into his arms, soothing him like he would a frightened rabbit.

To his relief—and surprise—Wen Ying lets him.

“You know what’s funny?” Wen Ying murmurs after a moment, so quietly Lan Zhan has to strain to hear him. “I always thought that out of all of us, Xu-ge was the most like Father, you know? He was his heir, and even if he wasn’t quite as strong as Father, he was the most similar to him in terms of temperament. Who’d have thought that Wen Ying, the family disappointment, would end up surpassing him?”

Lan Zhan stiffens.

“You are nothing like Wen Ruohan,” he says fiercely.

“Ah Lan Zhan, you’ve always been too quick to afford me the benefit of the doubt,” Wen Ying says, a mix of weariness and cynical amusement.  He pauses for a second.

“Although I suppose this time, you’re not entirely wrong. I didn’t plan on killing him, after all,” he says quietly, his breath warm against Lan Zhan’s neck. “It sounds naïve, looking back, but…up until the very end, a part of me always believed that I could get him to stand down. That if I asked hard enough, begged hard enough, he’d…surrender. For me.” Wen Ying chuckles bitterly. “Stupid, I know. It didn’t work before, why would it the second time?”

At the reminder of what had happened the first time Wen Ying begged his father for something, Lan Zhan’s grip tightens. Luckily, Wen Ying is too distracted to notice.

“Even so, I don’t think it really hit me that…that things would end the way they did until he came at me, sword in hand, and I just—up until that point, I didn’t think he’d really kill me, you know?” Wen Ying rambles. “Even before, he didn’t…I mean, he threw me into the Burial Mounds, but I didn’t think he was capable of personally cutting down his own son. And I was so shocked that I just—I just reacted, and well, there was so much resentful energy in that place that it was easy to tap into, and then—” Wen Ying lets out a shaky, breathy laugh. “I really am the world’s greatest fool, aren’t I?”

 “Not a fool,” Lan Zhan says after a moment. “Kind.”

“Some would say those are the same thing,” Wen Ying says tiredly, a bone-deep exhaustion lining his features.

“Better to be a fool and kind,” Lan Zhan says carefully, “than intelligent and cruel.”

“I suppose so,” Wen Ying says. He’s quiet for a moment. “Hey, Lan Zhan? Let’s be fools together then, okay?”

“Mn,” Lan Zhan hums in agreement. He waits until Wen Ying’s breathing evens out, his body going slack with sleep, before pressing a gentle kiss to Wen Ying’s forehead.

He thinks back to the moment they’d first met. Eleven years ago, now…eleven years, every second of it spent desperately, hopelessly in love with the man currently asleep in his arms. A man who has no idea just how much he means to Lan Zhan because Lan Zhan is too much of a coward to tell him.

Fool, indeed.

“Why is he here?” Jin Zixun demands angrily, pointing at Wen Wuxian. Wen Wuxian blinks, looks behind him, and then points to his chest, mouthing ‘me?’ Lan Zhan holds back a sigh.

“All the major sect leaders are invited. As Wen Wuxian is now leader of the Wen Sect, why shouldn’t he be here?” Nie Mingjue asks irritably.

“This meeting was called to discuss what to do about the Wen—”

“Don’t you think the leader of the Wen Sect should be present in a discussion regarding the fate of the Wen Sect?” Wen Wuxian asks, raising an eyebrow. “Whereas you, on the other hand…wait, who are you again?”

Jin Zixun flushes an ugly red.

“Impertinent brat,” he snarls. “You’re no better than your father, you—”

“Jin Zixun, Wen Wuxian is here at my invitation,” Lan Xichen interrupts calmly. Under the table, he grabs Lan Zhan’s wrist and gives it a warning squeeze. “The Wen Sect, and Wen Wuxian in particular, played as crucial a part in ending Wen Ruohan’s tyranny as any of us. As such, he is more than welcome at this table.”

“Sect Leader Lan, I of course respect the role that Wen Wuxian played in ending the war. However, you must acknowledge that Jin Zixun’s concerns are not without validity,” Sect Leader Yao says. “Wen Wuxian slaughtered his own father—”

“Tell me, if given the chance, is there a single one of us at this table who wouldn’t put Wen Ruohan down like the rabid dog he was?” Nie Mingjue demands. “As far as I’m concerned, what Wen Wuxian did was both an act of self-defense and a favor to us all.”

“Wen Ruohan killed his father, and we saw how he turned out—”

“Luckily for the cultivation world at large, I am not my father. And I think you know that, Sect Leader Yao, or I doubt you would be speaking out right now,” Wen Wuxian says mildly. Lan Zhan watches as Sect Leader Yao shifts uncomfortably in his seat. Left unsaid is the fact that any person who dared to speak about Wen Ruohan in such a way—whether in his presence or not—would have been flayed alive, their eyes plucked out by crows, their family massacred, and their bodies left outside for the dogs to feast on.

“Since it seems that this is a point I need to address—yes, I killed my father, I do not deny that. I don’t regret it either and not just because he tried to kill me first. I had a choice to make, between the man who raised me and saving my family.” Wen Wuxian takes in a deep breath. “Whether or not the Wen Sect won the war under the leadership of my father was…immaterial, when it came to its survival. Either way, the Wen Sect would have been destroyed—if not the people themselves, then our values, our integrity, the very principles my ancestors founded our sect upon. My father would have twisted our family, our legacy into something evil, something unrecognizable, something shameful. I…couldn’t let that happen.” He tilts his chin up. “Tell me, what would you have done in my place?”

“I do not condemn Wen Wuxian for his actions against his father,” Lan Xichen speaks up before Sect Leader Yao can do more than open his mouth. “As Mingjue pointed out, it was an act of self-defense. And although the bond between father and son is sacred, there is no doubt that Wen Ruohan violated that bond first.”

“Your words are reasonable, Lan Xichen; I don’t blame Wen Wuxian for what he did to Wen Ruohan either. Still, given the extent of the damage the Wen Sect has caused, are reparations not in order?“ Jin Guangshan demands. “The Wen must pay—”

Wen Wuxian stares at him, his face like stone.

“We are, of course, willing to work with the other Sects to try and repair the damage caused by my father’s cruelty. Justice should be served,” he says evenly. “I will not, however, tolerate revenge, especially against those of my family who did nothing to deserve it.”

“And how can we trust you to carry out that justice?” Jin Zixun demands. “How can we trust the Wen Sect not to rise up again and seize power under your leadership? You, who are a demonic cultivator, who have crossed lines not even Wen Ruohan dared cross? As far as I’m concerned, the Wen Sect should be disbanded, if not eradicated—better that than risking them becoming a threat again in the future!”

Something dangerous flashes through Wen Wuxian’s eyes.

“Careful, little Jin,” he says softly. Lan Zhan can’t help but think that he looks rather like Wen Ruohan in that moment. Given the way Jin Zixun pales, the resemblance isn’t lost on him either.

“You don’t have to like me or trust me,” Wen Wuxian continues, voice like silk. “But the next time you look towards my family and wonder if perhaps it wouldn’t be better to erase all the Wen from the face of the Earth, I advise you to remember that I was willing to turn to demonic cultivation to protect my people, and willing to kill my own father to save them. And if I was willing to do that, what else do you think I am willing to do?”

There’s a tense silence.

“I think we can all agree that retaliation against the remaining Wen Sect would be disgraceful to say the least, especially considering the aid they provided during the Sunshot Campaign,” Jiang Wanyin says sharply. Wen Wuxian’s gaze doesn’t waver from Jin Zixun, but some of the tension fades from his shoulders. “Turning on our own allies, punishing the innocent—what, have we turned into a room full of Wen Ruohans?” He scoffs. “I refuse to sink so low.”

“The question is, how do we know he won’t?” Jin Zixun asks, a touch hysterically. “His demonic cultivation is a stain upon the cultivation world! It’s unnatural! It shouldn’t exist—!”

Lan Xichen tightens his grip on Lan Zhan’s wrist.

“Wen Wuxian did what he had to in order to survive. I cannot condemn him for it—not when the reason he turned to demonic cultivation in the first place is because of my family,” Lan Xichen says quietly. Jin Zixun looks away—the story of how Wen Wuxian lost his Golden Core is an open secret in the cultivation world, after all. “The Lan Sect will stand with Wen Wuxian.”

“As will the Nie Sect,” Sect Leader Nie speaks up. He turns to Wen Wuxian and inclines his head slightly. “We have not forgotten our debt to you.”

Wen Wuxian’s eyes widen slightly and a small, almost shy smile crosses his face even as murmurs ripple across the room (“Since when does the leader of the Nie Sect owe Wen Wuxian a debt? I wasn’t even aware they knew each other!”).

“Hmph. The Jiang Sect has no quarrel with Wen Wuxian either,” Jiang Wanyin says gruffly. He glances at Lan Zhan briefly before looking back towards Wen Wuxian. “And I’d rather have you as an ally than an enemy,” he adds frankly.

“Seeing that my fellow Sect Leaders are so convinced of Wen Wuxian’s goodness, who am I to disagree?” Jin Guangshan laughs, leaning back in his chair. Despite his friendly tone, his gaze is calculating, and Lan Zhan makes a mental note to keep an eye on the leader of the Jin Sect in the future.

“Then we are in agreement,” Lan Xichen smiles, and raises his glass in a toast. “The Wen Sect worked alongside and with the other Great Sects peacefully for many centuries prior to Wen Ruohan’s reign. May we experience such times again.”

Wen Wuxian smiles back and if his eyes look slightly teary, no one mentions it.

“To peace, then,” he murmurs, and downs his glass in one go.

“Well, that went better than expected, don’t you think?” Wen Ying says cheerfully, hanging from a tree by his legs in a manner entirely unbefitting of a Sect Leader. “Man, I was half-convinced I’d need to fight my way out of there. I’m still a little surprised I got out in one piece.”

Lan Zhan makes a disagreeing noise.

“Would not allow harm to come to Wen Ying,” he says.

Wen Ying blinks, face going slack with surprise, before letting out a yelp as he tumbles from the tree to the ground. He doesn’t seem to mind though, jumping to his feet again to look Lan Zhan in the face.

“You called me Wen Ying,” he says, expression still slightly stunned.

“Mn,” Lan Zhan confirms. “Wen Ying asked me too.”

Besides, he’d made a promise to himself back during those three awful months Wen Ying had spent trapped in the Burial Mounds that if his prayers were answered—if the gods were merciful and allowed Wen Ying to come back to him—that he would never call Wen Ying by anything but his given name again.

“I—” Lan Zhan continues, faltering. “I would do anything Wen Ying asked me to.”

Something like hope crosses Wen Ying’s face before his expression suddenly closes off again.

“Is this because of me losing my Golden Core?” He asks, voice flat. “Look, you don’t have to feel guilty or indebted to me or whatever. I did what I felt I had to, what I believed was right—it had nothing to do with you personally. In fact, I never even intended for you to find out, so—”

And just like that, Lan Zhan is furious.

“Never intended me to find out?” Lan Zhan asks, voice shaking slightly. Never intended him to find out…what? That he’d lost his Golden Core, that he’d sacrificed everything to protect the Cloud Recesses, to protect Lan Zhan’s home? “Wen Ying, how could you—”

“Because I knew you’d react like this!” Wen Ying shouts, voice cracking. “I knew you’d be all weird about it, that it would change things and…and I didn’t want you to be friends with me because of some stupid debt of all things or worse, because you pitied me or something—”

“Wen Ying is an idiot,” Lan Zhan says, glaring at him. Wen Ying glares back.

“For what, exactly? For not wanting you to only be my friend because you feel bad for me?” Wen Ying snaps. “For wanting more from you than some fucked up sense of obligation—”

“Wen Ying is an idiot,” Lan Zhan repeats, slightly louder, “for thinking I’d only care about him because of a debt. Do you really think so lowly of my friendship?”

At that, Wen Ying pauses.

“I—no, of course not,” he huffs, shoulders slumping slightly. “I’m sorry. I should have known better.”

“Yes, you should have,” Lan Zhan says bluntly. “As for pity…I don’t pity you, Wen Ying. There is no reason to.”

Not when Wen Ying is the strongest person Lan Zhan has ever known.

“Good. That’s—that’s good,” Wen Ying replies haltingly. “I don’t think I could stand having you of all people pity me, Lan Zhan.”

He stays silent for a moment longer before abruptly grinning, slinging an arm over Lan Zhan’s shoulders.

“But enough of that. So you’re finally going to start calling me Wen Ying instead of Wen Wuxian, huh? I think this calls for a moment of celebration!” He laughs.

Lan Zhan shakes his head, amused.

“Ridiculous,” he murmurs.

“Ah, but you see, Lan Zhan—you may find it ridiculous, may consider this but a tiny gesture in the grand scheme of things, but for me, this marks a great triumph. Further proof that with enough effort—literally, years and years of effort—I can annoy even the great Lan Zhan into doing what I want,” Wen Ying chuckles.

“Mn.” Lan Zhan studies him for a moment. “Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why were you so determined for me to call you by your given name?” Lan Zhan clarifies.

“Ah.” Wen Ying’s smile fades a little. “I guess...it's silly, but I guess I thought that if I could convince you to call me by my given name, there was a chance I could also convince you to—” He shakes his head. “Never mind, it doesn’t matter.”

Lan Zhan frowns.

“Matters,” Lan Zhan insists. “Always matters.”

“No, it doesn’t,” Wen Ying says, flustered. “It’s stupid, so just drop it, okay?”

“Wen Ying.” Even Lan Zhan isn’t sure why he’s pressing so hard, only that this is clearly something Wen Ying is embarrassed about—and although Lan Zhan isn’t a hundred percent sure he can do anything to ease that embarrassment, he wants to at least try. “Tell me.”

“Fine!” Wen Ying huffs. “Like I said, it doesn’t make any sense logically, but I guess a part of me thought that if I could convince you to call me by my given name—become Wen Ying to you instead of Wen Wuxian—then there was a possibility I could also convince you to give me a chance. You know, in a…in a romantic way.”

For a moment, time seems to stop.

“What?” Lan Zhan whispers, barely audible.

“See, this is why I didn’t want to tell you, I knew it’d just make things awkward. Damn it, I promised myself I wouldn’t pressure you!” Wen Ying pulls away, refusing to look anywhere in the vicinity of Lan Zhan’s face. “Look, I know you don’t return my feelings and that’s fine. Really! You’re the best friend a person could ask for; it was selfish of me to want more. I…I can’t say I’m completely over you yet but I’m working on it, I swear—”

“Wen Ying,” Lan Zhan says, completely lost. “Wen Ying, what are you talking about?”

Wen Ying looks at him, brow furrowed.

“Back when we were fifteen, you caught me sneaking alcohol into the Cloud Recesses during my visit, remember? Only, I convinced you to have a drink with me instead of turning me in—honestly, I was pretty worried about you at first, given the way you completely slumped over…but then you seemed alright, if still pretty out of it.” Wen Ying chuckles, lips curving upwards at the memory. “Kept babbling on about ribbons, even tried to tie my hands together with that forehead ribbon of yours—”

Lan Zhan feels his ears burn.

“—and then, I…I said that I liked you. That I never wanted to leave your side,” Wen Ying says softly. “That I wanted to be Cultivation Partners, that I hoped we’d always be together, that I couldn’t imagine being with anyone else, and then you said—” Wen Ying swallows. “You said I talked too much. And then you passed out.” 

Lan Zhan wonders if it would be possible to punch his past self in the face. With cultivation, almost anything is doable. Surely time travel is not off the table, right?

“And well, you didn’t mention anything about our conversation the next morning, so I figured that was as clear an answer as I was going to get,” Wen Ying finishes.

“Wen Ying, I didn’t—” Lan Zhan closes his eyes briefly. He remembers that night, the sight of Wen Ying’s smile in the moonlight, the burn of alcohol down his throat. He remembers waking up the next morning with no recollection of the previous night’s events, too embarrassed to admit he’d gotten blackout drunk. “Wen Ying, I didn’t remember. I still don’t remember.”

Wen Ying blinks.

“But you—you only had one tiny sip! Barely even a mouthful!” Wen Ying says, incredulously. “And you were coherent enough, if a bit more…touchy than usual. Plus, you didn’t say anything about not remembering!”

“I—” Lan Zhan swallows, steeling himself. “You said I tied my forehead ribbon to your hands?”

At Wen Ying’s hesitant nod, he continues. “Wen Ying, do you know what the Lan Sect’s forehead ribbons symbolize?”

“Sure I do,” Wen Ying says, frowning. “Restraint, right? ‘To regulate oneself’—I remember you telling me once.”

“Wen Ying,” Lan Zhan says, looking at Wen Ying intently. “For a Lan Sect member, taking off their forehead ribbon in front of someone is one of the most intimate acts there is. It means letting go of the need to regulate themselves, to protect themselves…because they are in the presence of the one person who they trust to never hurt them.” He pauses, gathering his courage. “Wen Ying, the only people permitted to touch our forehead ribbons are the wearer’s children and…and their spouse.”

Wen Ying inhales sharply.

“Lan Zhan, I…I had no idea,” Wen Ying says, eyes wide. “I mean, I knew the forehead ribbon was important, but…” His voice trails off and he gives Lan Zhan a reassuring smile that doesn’t quite manage to reach his eyes. “Look, it’s okay. You were drunk, you didn’t know what you were doing. In fact, it’s my fault for not noticing just how out of it you were that night. I swear I won’t tell anyone, so…so you don’t need to worry about this causing problems in the future when you get married and…and have a w-wife—”

“Wen Ying.” Lan Zhan clenches his jaw, unbelievably frustrated. He knows that Wen Ying is an extraordinarily intelligent person, that he is truly deserving of his title of genius, and so how can he be so…so stupid?

His mistake, Lan Zhan decides a fraction of a second later, was trying to communicate through words when he’s always been better at communicating through actions.

With that, he yanks the ribbon from his hair and ties it around Wen Ying’s wrist.

“Oh,” Wen Ying says in a small voice, staring at ribbon wrapped around his wrist. He then looks up at Lan Zhan, realization dawning in his eyes. “Oh.”

“Mn,” Lan Zhan agrees. He can’t quite help the smug satisfaction that unfurls in his chest at the sight of Wen Wuxian’s wrist, bound in white.

Wen Ying looks at him for a second longer before something like panic enters his eyes.

“Wait, I can…I can do this properly, just give me a moment! Um—” Reaching up, Wen Ying unties the ever-present red ribbon holding his hair in its signature ponytail. “Let me just—” Wen Ying grabs Lan Zhan’s wrist and hastily ties his ribbon around it. “Oh wait, you didn’t form a bow with yours. Uh…are bows allowed or are they sacrilegious or something? I knew I should have paid more attention in class,” Wen Ying babbles nervously. “Anyway, it’s not nearly as nice as your ribbon but I hope it’ll do! Ah, I should have listened to Wen Qing when she told me to get a new one, this one’s all old and the color’s a bit faded and—mmph!”

Wen Ying inhales sharply as Lan Zhan surges forward, cupping Wen Ying’s face in his hands and crushing their lips together. He gets over his initial surprise quickly enough though, melting in Lan Zhan’s hold and reaching up to tangle his fingers in his hair.

“I—” Wen Ying pulls back after a minute, panting. He studies Lan Zhan’s face—looking for what, Lan Zhan doesn’t know. Whatever he’s searching for, he must find it because his lips quirk upwards into that fond smile he seems to reserve solely for Lan Zhan. Warm and gentle, like the first rays of sunlight hitting the ground at dawn.

“Come back to Qishan with me?” Wen Ying asks, and in that question, Lan Zhan hears the echo of a thousand others.  

If I ask, will you stand by my side? Will you spend forever with me?

 Will you allow yourself to be mine, in the way that I’m already yours?

For once, Lan Zhan doesn’t even have to think before answering.

“Yes.”