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Chapter Text

Lan Zhan’s mother is dead. 

Three months ago, she had teased Lan Zhan for the quiet expression that he could never quite smile away, ruffled Lan Huan’s hair as he showed off his calligraphy, and coughed exactly once into her hand as they were escorted away by Uncle. Lan Zhan had glanced back and seen his mother looking at her palm, frowning for the first time in his life. 

Two months ago, she had swayed while standing to compliment Lan Huan on his improved cultivation, sneezed as she hugged Lan Zhan so tightly he would have protested were it anyone else, and held a handkerchief to her mouth as if she thought her sons could not see the red underneath. She did not stand to see them leave. Lan Zhan closed the door in time to see her attention return to the papers on her desk, scattered and haphazard like nothing else in the world Lan Zhan knew, and full of writing that she had not let her sons read. 

One month ago, she had not been able to rise from her bed. She pushed several papers under her pillow at the knock and subsequent entrance of Lan Huan and Lan Zhan, who did not acknowledge her paleness and tremors out of courtesy. She was quiet, distracted, full of nervous energy - everything she was usually not. Lan Huan’s face had grown drawn, worried, but Lan Zhan was not troubled. His mother was a fixture in his life. She could not leave so easily. Would not. 

“A-Huan, make sure to take care of yourself and A-Zhan,” she said as they were pulled away, the fear in her eyes stalling Lan Zhan’s feet. “A-Zhan, come here.” 

Lan Zhan hesitated, looking at his uncle’s stone face, and walked to his mother. She cupped his face, smiling. “You will be okay. Smile for me.” 

He did. 

“Remember yourself as I see you, yes? No matter what the world tells you, you are my A-Zhan, brave and beautiful and loving. Okay?”

He nodded, and left, and did not look back. 

And now she is dead, and A-Zhan is frozen where he kneels. 

Xiongzhang tugs, and he comes. They need to sort through her things. 

Her bed is burned in case of contagion, as are all her clothes. The small rabbit figurine Lan Zhan made for her when he was young sits crookedly on the windowsill, and he shakes his head when Uncle asks if he wants it. It is Mother’s. It should not leave her. 

And yet she has left it. Them. Him. 

His hands shake once before he returns them to his side and resumes the perfect posture he has been taught. 

“What of her papers?” a disciple Lan Zhan faintly recognizes asks, and Uncle holds out his hand. He skims Lan Zhan’s mother’s handwriting, frowning, and traces a half-drawn talisman. 

Lan Zhan shivers and looks away. His brother pulls him closer, enveloping him with his robes, his grip the only thing keeping him tethered. 

- - -

Next month, his brother finds him kneeling at the door to his mother’s room. “Lan Zhan,” he says gently. “Let’s go.” 

He shakes his head, and Lan Huan sighs. 

“She’s gone, A-Zhan,” he says, incomprehensible. “Come on, stand up. Let’s go.” 

He goes. He keeps looking back until he is blinded by the snow, as if he will see his mother smiling, waiting for next time. 

- - -

Next month, Lan Huan does not come for hours. It has stopped snowing, but Lan Zhan shivers where he sits. He does not understand why his mother does not open the door, why his brother is not beside him. 

“A-Zhan?” 

Lan Zhan turns to see his brother standing at the open gate. His brother runs his hand through his hair, almost flustered. “I didn’t- I didn’t know you were here. I forgot that you-” Then he does something uncharacteristic - he pauses mid-sentence. His face goes blank, dazed. He half-swivels, as if to leave. 

“Xiongzhang?” Lan Zhan says, perhaps pathetically. 

Lan Huan turns back, looking startled. “A-Zhan!” He rushes over. “I didn’t know you were here.” 

Lan Zhan blinks. 

His brother shakes his head, reaching him. “Come with me. Ah, you’re freezing.” 

He is, and so he lets his brother tuck him into his robes and pull him back to his rooms. His brother looks at him strangely during the walk back, startling at nothing, almost as if he has forgotten that Lan Zhan is beside him. 

- - -

Next month, Lan Zhan watches the sun set. 

Lan Huan has not talked to him in three weeks and neither has Uncle. They do not acknowledge him when he requests permission to speak in class. Their eyes skim past him, as if he is empty air. 

He has been kneeling for hours. He is surprised that he still exists, has not wafted away in the cold dusk and the isolation and the strangeness of no one having spoken to him in days. 

He did this to Mother, perhaps. It is the only thing he can think of, the only reason why his brother does not smile at him and his uncle no longer praises him and his heart and knees are scraped raw from waiting. The punishment is not one he has seen administered before, but Lan Zhan hardly speaks, so it is fitting that his sentence is such that no one should speak to him. Mother has left, forever - he thinks he understands what gone means, now, the hole in his month and chest that will never again be filled - and it is his fault, and he will never be forgiven. 

His fate is to be as alone as she was. As she is, now. 

Lan Zhan shivers as the last of the light dips below the horizon, swathing his world in black. He stands, slowly. 

“Mother?” he whispers quietly to the unopened door and overwhelming dark, as if he will conjure up a life in which he is not condemned at six years old for something he doesn’t understand. He misses Lan Huan’s quiet hold, quiet words, quiet gaze, special in a way that nothing else is and now gone. 

Gone. 

Before the isolation, before his family and sect began treating him as they do now, he heard Uncle speak to his brother about how Lan Zhan did not understand what it meant to be gone. He wonders if that is the nature of this punishment, the understanding it brings. The knowledge of the desperate loneliness and aching quiet settling into him that does not leave with waking. Lan Zhan’s mother is gone. Lan Huan’s comfort is gone. Lan Zhan himself has disappeared in their wake. 

He does not like it, but his objections go unheard. 

Chapter Text

“Wei Wuxian! You and your awful memory! This is all your fault!” 

Wei Wuxian winces. It is, but his shidi doesn’t need to say it so loudly. “Ah, Jiang Cheng! You know it was an accident!”

“Accident, my foot,” Jiang Cheng grumbles. “How could you have left our invitation at the inn?”

“You remember the peacock! In that confusion-”

“We sincerely apologize for our mistake,” Jiang Yanli cuts in neatly. She smiles sweetly at the white-clad disciple at the gate. “Is it possible for you to let us in regardless?”

The Lan disciple shakes his head. “Our rules stipulate that everyone arriving for lectures at Cloud Recesses must have an invitation. With no invitation, I cannot permit you to enter.” 

“The sun is about to set,” Wei Wuxian reasons, smile tightening. “You expect us to travel miles back at this time?”

“Try to understand, gongzi. I can’t identify you people without an invitation.”

“How about this,” Wei Wuxian tries. “Zewu-jun has met my shijie before. Could you call him? He’ll know we’re telling the truth.”

“The sole Lan heir and sect leader is busy and cannot be called until shift change in four hours,” the disciple says levelly. 

Wei Wuxian sputters. “Hours? That’s after sunset!”

“No invitation, no entry.” 

“You-” 

“A-Xian,” Jiang Yanli murmurs. Wei Wuxian hesitates and withdraws his pointed finger. “It’s alright. Let’s leave and plan our next steps.” 

“But shijie-” Wei Wuxian pauses at the soft sound of a footstep behind them. He turns. 

Coming up the endless stairs, head high and bearing immaculate, is the most beautiful cultivator Wei Wuxian has ever seen. 

He’s a Lan, obviously, with his robes entirely sewn with fabric the white color of mourning. His face is one of mourning too - solemn, deep in thought, wrapped up in himself in a way that seems less conceited and more self-possessed. He doesn’t meet anyone’s eyes as he weaves his way through the crowd of Jiang disciples. Wei Wuxian stares unabashedly, but the young man - and he is young, since despite his air of poised intellect he can’t be much older than Wei Wuxian himself - doesn’t seem to notice as he strides past him. 

“Hey,” he whispers to Jiang Cheng, since Jiang Cheng is good at remembering names and faces Wei Wuxian usually couldn’t care less about. “Who’s that?”

“Who’s who?” Jiang Cheng says confusingly, because the man is right there. “Come on, let’s go find a place to camp.” 

“Wh- But maybe he can help! Gongzi!”

The handsome cultivator doesn’t turn from where he’s pulling out a white jade token and showing it to the disciple. The disciple startles at the call instead. “Yes, Wei-gongzi?”

“No, not you. You, with the token!”

The man’s posture stiffens. 

“Yes, you,” Wei Wuxian calls, grinning. “Come on, turn around! Don’t be shy, you’re more than handsome enough to be seen by us lowly Jiang!”

Disbelief written into every line of the man’s body, he turns. His golden eyes lock onto Wei Wuxian’s, gaze so electric that it almost tears the breath from Wei Wuxian’s lungs. 

He looks all the more stunning close up with his flawless jade skin, long eyelashes, and thin pink lips, but his expression- oh, his expression-

This beautiful stranger looks at him with all the aching hunger of a starved man, with all the agony of renewed hope after an eternity of hopelessness. Lake sunrises boil away to nothing when faced with the sublime grief in his aching amber eyes. He seems both predator and prey, entrapping and helplessly trapped, all wordless, soft lips open, like he’s spent his whole life dying of thirst and has finally found a salt ocean to drown himself in. 

Wei Wuxian is suddenly overcome with a frantic kind of want, rising from his chest to fling warmth into his cheeks. He wants to know this stranger’s name. He wants to know why he looks like he’s grieving. He wants to laugh with him, cry with him, exasperate him, tease him- he wants to know everything about him, everything, and as soon as Jiang Cheng steps forward and introduces them he’ll be able to start learning it all-

And yet a beat passes, with the stranger’s eerily intense gaze unfaltering, and no one steps forward. 

Tearing his gaze away is the hardest thing Wei Wuxian has ever done. “Jiang Cheng,” he hisses sharply. “You’re the sect heir. Introduce us!” 

Jiang Cheng is looking at him as if he’s gone mad. “What are you talking about?”

Wei Wuxian huffs. Well, if Jiang Cheng won’t do it, he will. “Gongzi,” he says, stepping forward and bowing. The man’s eyes are so wide. “I am Wei Ying, courtesy name Wuxian, head disciple of the Jiang Clan of Yunmeng. This is my shidi Jiang Cheng and shijie Jiang Yanli. We are honored to meet you.” 

The cultivator takes a step back as Wei Wuxian bows again, confusion painted across his face. He shakes his head once as if to himself, tightening his fists at his side. He starts turning back around. 

Well, that’s not exactly the response he expected. “May I have your name?” Wei Wuxian says politely. 

The cultivator startles and stares back at him, uncertain, and then looks around him as if to check Wei Wuxian isn’t speaking to someone else. After a long hesitation, he lifts his hands and bows in the most unpracticed motion Wei Wuxian has ever witnessed. “Lan Zhan,” he says hoarsely, in a voice that sounds as if it hasn’t been used in years. It makes something beneath Wei Wuxian’s ribcage flutter. “Wangji by courtesy. From the Lan Sect of Gusu, son of the late Clan Leader Qingheng-jun.” 

Wei Wuxian blinks. Qingheng-jun? Wasn’t that Zewu-jun’s father? Wow, he’d really not been paying attention in his classes back home if he’d forgotten a whole sect heir. 

But- no, hadn’t the disciple just said Zewu-jun was the sole Lan heir? Was there some kind of Lan sect scandal here? Some kind of disownment or disinheritance? It would explain the sorrow on the man’s face, but that sort of gossip would have made it to Yunmeng if it had happened longer than a week ago. This man - Lan Zhan - is clearly still a Lan, and he hardly carries himself like he’s just been excommunicated from his home or stripped of his high position. 

“Wei Wuxian,” Jiang Cheng hisses in his ear. Wei Wuxian startles out of his thoughts. Right. He loves drama, but this is hardly the time to get distracted. 

“Lan-er-gongzi,” he says, extremely unsure if it’s the correct address, especially when the man makes a noise halfway between a cry and a groan at it. He plows forward, determined. “We accidentally lost our invitation. It’s getting late and it’s inconvenient to sleep outside. Could you make a merciful exception for us?”

Lan Wangji steps back, frowning. Wei Wuxian feels oddly like he’s coaxing a wild animal to feed from his hand. 

“Just let us in,” he says earnestly. “We’ll meet with Zewu-jun-” Lan Wangji twitches. “-and we’ll get this all straightened out.” He smiles winningly. “Can’t you arrange that for us? Surely if there’s one person who can get an audience with the esteemed sect leader, it’s his own brother.”

At that, Lan Wangji flinches violently. He clutches his jade token like a lifeline as he stumbles backwards through the barrier into Cloud Recesses. “I- No,” he says, voice unsteady. “No.” 

“Wait! Lan-er-gongzi!” Wei Wuxian cries, and then cries out again as Jiang Cheng punches his shoulder. “What was that for?”

“What are you doing, talking to air?” Jiang Cheng gripes. “Let’s move out.” 

“What are you talking about? There’s someone right-” 

The path is empty. He frowns and turns back. “Fine, then. Let’s go.” 

- - -

Wei Wuxian tries not to think about the mysterious Lan Wangji during the time it takes to ride Suibian to Caiyi and back. He does wonder, though, when he’s soaring up the steps - much easier than walking, he has no idea why everyone doesn’t do this - what exactly Lan Wangji’s deal is. Why so much fear had flickered across his face at the prospect of talking to a man who Wei Wuxian can only assume is his own brother. 

As with a lot of things, the more Wei Wuxian thinks about it, the more annoyed he gets. 

Born as both brother and son of major sect leaders and son of the esteemed Madam Lan? More like born with a silver spoon in his mouth. Wei Wuxian knows all about being the orphaned son of well-known cultivators, but he isn’t walking around hesitating to introduce himself, refusing to let victims of a completely innocent mistake into his home, and fleeing when someone offends him - although Wei Wuxian still can’t fathom what he’d said that could have begun to do that. Are all Lans like this? Is Wei Wuxian flying back with an invitation that gives him access to the most rigid and horrible sect in the cultivation world? 

Then again, his own sect isn’t much better. He’d prodded Jiang Cheng as they trudged towards somewhere they could make camp, asking why he hadn’t stepped forward and introduced them. Jiang Cheng for some reason was utterly set on pretending that there had been no one besides them and the single disciple at the gate at all. 

“Come on, Jiang Cheng,” Wei Wuxian had huffed. “I didn’t even know there was a second Lan heir. I barely knew what to say!” 

Jiang Cheng squinted at him. “You never make sense, Wei Wuxian, but you’re making even less than usual now. There’s no second heir.” 

“Whatever,” Wei Wuxian had huffed, alighted his sword, and flown off towards Caiyi. His brother was understandably still annoyed at his mistake, but there was no point in such an obvious trick. Lan Wangji had said he was the son of Qingheng-jun and- well, even if Wei Wuxian is annoyed at him and they’ve barely met, he knows, deep in his bones, that Lan Zhan is no liar. 

He has other problems on his hands, anyway. With two bottles of newly procured Emperor’s Smile in his hands, he touches down at the campsite where he’d left his disciples that is now, oddly, completely absent of people. He thinks he’s arrived at the wrong place until he finds the smoldering remains of the fire he’d helped light barely an hour back. 

He frowns, heading back towards the gate. There’s no guard, so he breaks through the barrier with a talisman - almost comically easy to accomplish, but then again he’s always been good with talismans - and strides into Cloud Recesses unhindered. He thinks he sees the fluttering of white robes out of the corner of his eye, but everything’s dark when he turns, and nobody responds to his calls. 

Ever since the Yin Iron was destroyed over sixteen years ago, Cloud Recesses has been known all over the cultivation world as a place of purity and light. Wei Wuxian, made very uneasy by the near-complete darkness of the silent city, isn’t sure he agrees. There’s something hauntingly sinister about this place, about its people- 

He thinks again of Lan Zhan, of the agonized hope on his face when they first locked eyes-

And then he sees Jiang Yanli, silhouetted in the doorway of what looks like housing for visiting disciples, and his paranoia flees to make room for relief. “Shijie!” he calls, sprinting forward into the light of the lantern beside her. 

She laughs and endures his embrace. He disentangles himself before she grows uncomfortable with his embarrassingly visible desperation for his sister’s love. Jiang Cheng materializes next to them, expression mock-gruntled, and Wei Wuxian ruffles his hair and dodges the punch thrown at him. 

“A-Xian!” Jiang Yanli says, smiling at him. “We were worried you would have to sleep outside because of Cloud Recesses’s curfew! Who let you inside?”

“No one,” he says cheekily. “I let myself in.” 

“Wei Wuxian,” Jiang Cheng starts, but Jiang Yanli’s hand on his shoulder quiets him. Wei Wuxian marvels at it sometimes, how both he and Jiang Cheng are so quick to argue yet even quicker to be calmed by Jiang Yanli. She may not have a strong core, but she’s certainly more powerful than both of them combined. 

“A-Xian,” Jiang Yanli says patiently, “you know what we’ve been told. No matter what, we can’t forget our manners.” 

“Hmph,” Wei Wuxian says, half-acknowledging. “Who let you in? I thought you all would still be waiting for me outside when I came back.” 

“Lan Xichen.”

“What!” Wei Wuxian straightens. “So that guard was able to tell him after all? Why, that little-” 

“No, no,” Jiang Yanli says. “He told us that someone gave him a note saying he was needed at the main gate. The guard denied sending it, and Lan Xichen has absolutely no memory of who handed him the note.” She laughs. “A little mystery for our first night here, it seems!” 

“What do you mean he doesn’t remember?” Wei Wuxian says, raising his eyebrows. “How is that even possible?”

Jiang Cheng scoffs loudly. “I wouldn’t have thought it was possible to forget the invitation at Caiyi either, but-” 

Wei Wuxian draws the card from his robes and flings it at Jiang Cheng’s head. “Have your precious invitation!”

“You-” 

Wei Wuxian erupts with laughter as Jiang Cheng leaps up to chase him around Jiang Yanli, who swats them both. They keep it up until a Lan elder tells them off for making noise after curfew - there are so many rules here, Wei Wuxian just knows he’ll go mad in a week - and then they go inside and continue there, cracking open a bottle of Emperor’s Smile to celebrate finally reaching their destination. Their new home for the next three months is, right from the beginning, full of warmth and love and laughter. 

Wei Wuxian doesn’t think about Lan Wangji for the rest of the night. 

- - -

Cloud Recesses, Wei Wuxian has already decided, is the most boring place in the world. 

He’s already forced to be here on pain of Jiang Yanli’s disappointed frown before the sun rises, and now he has to suffer through hours of rule-reciting while it’s all he can do to suppress his yawns and keep from falling asleep standing up. The only two things keeping him sane are one, the little canary Nie Huaisang has somehow smuggled into lecture, which is so absurdly delightful Wei Wuxian nearly laughs out loud, and two, the man standing beside Nie Huaisang. 

Lan Wangji stands stiff and unmoving at the front of the room as thousands of rules crash over all of them like an endless wave, hands clasped precisely and neatly behind his back. He remains completely rigid even as Nie Huaisang snickers barely an arm’s length from his side, which is- strange, actually. Nie Huaisang, mischief-maker that he is, is certainly wise enough to feign deference in the face of stern disapproval, which is exactly what Lan Wangji is exhibiting with every inch of his taut expression and whitened knuckles. 

He’d seen Wei Wuxian as soon as he walked in that morning, Wei Wuxian could tell. The intense look in his eyes could be nothing but disapproval - over his messy hair, his visible hangover, or maybe it was still whatever Wei Wuxian had done last night that had startled him so much - but Wei Wuxian certainly didn’t know what it was, and he was too exhausted to get in a fight that early. So he walked past him, intentionally ignoring his obvious gaze, and took his place at a desk with Jiang Cheng. Ignoring his problems had never, ever worked out for him, but it seemed to work now- Lan Wangji had made a quick, aborted gesture that Wei Wuxian couldn’t quite parse but otherwise stayed silent. Wei Wuxian had smiled to himself, enjoying his narrow escape. 

He starts to wonder if what he’d done was less avoidance and more postponement, though, when with every word he exchanges with Nie Huaisang Lan Wangji’s expression only grows more severe. 

“Shh,” Wei Wuxian mutters eventually, which he’s never done before in his life. He points his chin at Lan Wangji. 

Nie Huaisang looks at Lan Wangji, then back at him. He raises an eyebrow. 

Wei Wuxian widens his eyes, pointing at Lan Wangji again. Nie Huaisang frowns, and starts to speak- 

“Nie Huaisang!” Lan Qiren’s voice booms. “Are you paying attention?”

Nie Huaisang squeaks audibly, whipping back towards the front. His smuggled canary chirps damningly inside his sleeve. 

“Yes, sir,” he says, visibly sweating. “Of course, sir.” 

“Who were you speaking with?” Lan Qiren says. He eyes Wei Wuxian, which is completely and totally unfair. 

“No one,” Nie Huaisang says immediately, because he’s a true friend. “I’m just talking to myself so I can, er. Remember the rules better. I’m at an empty desk, sir, who would I talk to?” 

Which. What? If it’s a joke, it’s not a good one. Lan Wangji is right there.

His posture hasn’t changed for having been mentioned - or not mentioned - either. If anything, he’s frozen in place. It doesn’t even look like he’s breathing. 

Lan Qiren eyes Huaisang dubiously, but doesn’t call him out on his extremely obvious lie. “Do not disrupt the lecture with idle talk.”  

Nie Huaisang nods rapidly. “Yes, sir.” 

Nie Huaisang doesn’t even look at Wei Wuxian for the rest of the rule recitation, which- fair enough. If Wei Wuxian had been dressed down by Lan Qiren in front of the entire class, it might have kept him quiet for an hour too. 

Maybe. 

In any case, Wei Wuxian is bored out of his mind. He tries annoying Jiang Cheng by playing with his hair, but Jiang Cheng knows him well enough not to react at all, so Wei Wuxian gets bored with that in record time too. When they finally finish the rule recitation, they get an incense time’s break, which is just enough for Wei Wuxian to run outside, find a patch of grass, collapse into it, and get bullied by Jiang Cheng and Jiang Yanli for his obvious inattention. 

They’re forced back into that horrible room far too early. Lan Wangji ignores him this time, which while ideal is also less-than-so, because now that Wei Wuxian’s awake he really wants to see if he can annoy Lan Wangji into dropping his holier-than-thou act. He comforts himself with the reminder that he has a whole season to do that now! He can start later! 

In any case, they’re discussing sect history in this next session, which while more interesting than rules is still so boring as to be nigh-unbearable. Wei Wuxian copes by raising his hand and answering every single question correctly. 

“Quit it,” Jiang Cheng mutters eventually, elbowing him as Lan Qiren asks them to describe the most recent major threat to the cultivation world. “You’re disrupting class.” 

“How dare you?” Wei Wuxian gasps, affronted. “I’m participating!” He proves it by raising his hand and speaking before the old man calls on him. “The most recent major threat to the cultivation world was the rediscovery of the Yin Iron, a multi-piece forged artifact used to control fierce corpses, nearly twenty years ago.”

“Very true, Wei Wuxian,” Lan Qiren says. “How about we let others answer the next question?”

“Of course, sir,” Wei Wuxian responds glibly. 

Lan Qiren looks suspicious, but continues regardless. “Can anyone tell me how the Yin Iron was destroyed?”

Wei Wuxian raises his hand. 

Jin Zixuan clears his throat. Wei Wuxian whips around and glares at him. The peacock - who is also a coward - closes his mouth. 

Lan Qiren looks very, very tired. “Does anyone want to answer my question?” 

Nie Huaisang suddenly looks very interested in the design of his fan. Jiang Cheng stares intently at the floor, which is actually odd, because Wei Wuxian is almost certain he knows this answer. Wei Wuxian raises his hand higher. 

Lan Wangji, he notices, is not paying attention either. 

This startles him enough that he almost drops his hand back to his lap. Lan Wangji is staring at his hands, rubbing them against each other, gaze distant - looking for all the world like Wei Wuxian when he’s trying to ignore something he doesn’t want to hear. 

And in any other person, Wei Wuxian would hardly care, but Lan Zhan? The most serene and mannerful and studious-looking man he’s ever seen in his life? Not paying attention?

Lan Qiren sighs deeply, bringing his focus back to the lecture. “Yes, Wei Wuxian?”

“A skilled cultivator took all its pieces to the Burial Mounds, a location already overflowing with harmful resentful energy,” he responds promptly. “There, she performed the necessary rituals to destroy the Yin Iron, allowing its resentment to leak out into the Mounds. The location allowed for total obliteration of the Yin Iron without the undesired consequences from the artifact’s immense resentment leaking into human-settled land, as the Mounds are a self-contained landscape in which even the dismantled Yin Iron might produce barely a ripple of resentful energy. The rituals were, of course, carefully planned and invented in order to prevent harm to the wielder.”

“Correct,” Lan Qiren says. “Do any students here know the identity of this skilled cultivator?”

Wei Wuxian opens his mouth- and then blanches. 

His gaze flicks to Lan Wangji, who’s worrying his thumb along his palm enough to make the skin look raw. 

Suddenly, abruptly, the way he always does when he’s made a mistake and realized it far too late, a swelling wave of dread and guilt and mortification threatens to swallow him whole. 

Because of course he knows the identity of the cultivator. Everyone knows the identity of the cultivator. Her son sits right in this room. 

He feels like an absolute idiot. Of course no one except stupid Jin Zixuan wanted to answer Lan Qiren’s questions. They were nothing more than a one-way ticket to this final question, this awkward, painful, agonizing question that he won’t be able to dodge-

“Wei Wuxian?” Lan Qiren says, eyes glinting. “I’m sure you know.” 

Wei Wuxian lowers his head immediately, bringing his arms out in a formal bow. “My apologies, sir.” 

“Who was it?”

He takes a deep breath. “Madam Lan, sir.” 

Your sister-in-law, sir. 

Lan Zhan’s late mother. 

From the corner of his eye, he sees that Lan Wangji has frozen entirely where he sits. 

Lan Qiren smiles, satisfied. “Very good, Wei Wuxian. Indeed, it was our current sect leader’s mother who led the inter-sect research efforts into the Yin Iron and conducted the ritual that destroyed the Yin Iron forever. Unfortunately, she passed away ten years ago this year of sudden illness. If she was here with us today, I am sure she would be proud of the legacy she has left behind. Do any disciples present have questions?”

Wei Wuxian doesn’t understand why Lan Qiren seems so unconcerned with his nephew’s visible distress. Lan Wangji’s hands have come up to cover his mouth, his entire body trembling as he struggles to contain his emotion. It takes full minutes for him to recover his composure. 

He never turns to look at Wei Wuxian. Wei Wuxian doesn’t know whether to take it as a curse or a blessing. 

They work through the rest of recent history and move onto theory, Wei Wuxian sinking deeper and deeper into his sticky shame. He doesn’t raise his hand again, or talk when Nie Huaisang turns to whisper at him, or do more than grunt when Jiang Cheng nudges him. 

He’s such a terrible person. He knew this already, of course - Madam Yu has told him often enough - but he never thinks before he speaks. Or acts. Never thinks at all, really. 

If someone had done that to him, brought up his dead mother like she was an interesting piece of history and not a breathing, living, loving human being who now neither breathed nor lived-

He supposes he’s lucky Lan Wangji is only ignoring him and not trying to kill him for the insult. He’s lucky Lan Xichen isn’t in the room at all. 

“Wei Wuxian!” Lan Qiren barks, breaking through his guilty thoughts. 

He startles and glances up. “Yes, sir?”

“Are you paying attention?”

“I- Yes,” he lies. “Of course, sir.” 

“Then what did I just say?”

“I- Er-” Jiang Cheng rolls his eyes beside him, but Wei Wuxian really doesn’t know. He hasn’t been paying attention for- he doesn’t even know how long it’s been. An incense time? Two? Longer? 

“Methods of exorcism,” interrupts a familiar rough voice. Wei Wuxian startles. 

Lan Wangji speaks steadily, head bowed and eyes fixed on the desk in front of him. His fingers trace tight patterns in the desk’s wood. 

“First, liberation,” he recites. “Second, suppression. Third, elimination.” 

He falls silent. 

Wei Wuxian blinks rapidly. 

Is this- revenge, of a kind? Giving an answer to make it all the more mortifying Wei Wuxian didn’t know the question? Or support, in answering before Wei Wuxian could humiliate himself by admitting his lack of knowledge? It seems like the latter, but his tone is all off. 

“Correct,” Lan Qiren declares proudly. He points at Lan Wangji. “Entirely correct. You…” 

He suddenly blinks, trailing off. 

“I… That is…” 

“Sir?” Wei Wuxian asks. 

Lan Qiren sways slightly. “Who…”

“Sir!” Wei Wuxian springs to his feet. “Are you alright?”

“I am fine, Wei Wuxian,” Lan Qiren snaps, suddenly steady again. “Back to your seat. And you are correct. I was indeed speaking of the three methods of exorcising resentful spirits.” 

What?

Wei Wuxian stares at him, then at Lan Wangji, whose head is still bowed. He tracks the wood patterns with his finger, again and again and again. 

Wei Wuxian feels as if he is going mad. “I- But I didn’t-” 

“Do you have anything to add, Wei Wuxian?” Lan Qiren demands. “Perhaps a fourth method, one that the cultivation world has never seen before?”

And even though it’s clearly a rhetorical question and Wei Wuxian is already on thin ice several times over, he’s never been able to turn down a challenge. 

“Sure!” he says, and weaves together the description of a possible method using resentful energy that he’s been idly thinking about for a few months now. It’s technically nontraditional, but it might work if given the right power source, and in some cases it might actually be more effective. He’s hoping that it might be impressive enough to distract Lan Qiren into forgetting about how inattentive he’d been in class. 

This, of course, fails miserably. He’s kicked out of class and sentenced unceremoniously to- something? It’s unclear, as Lan Wangji began speaking just as Wei Wuxian was thrown out of the room, but he’s sure it’s something terrible, like twenty lashes with a discipline whip or being drowned in Cloud Recesses’ famous cold springs or having to sit through the rules being read aloud one more time.

Anyway. 

Everyone he knows, including his probably furious shidi and disappointed shijie, is attending the lecture. He doesn’t want to get caught wandering Cloud Recesses - there’s probably a rule against it, he thinks darkly - so he goes back to his rooms and sulks. 

He doesn’t understand anything about this place, and he hates not understanding things. For a sect based on righteousness, it’s very bad at explaining anything about its moral guidelines besides, you know, the actual rules, which are so plentiful as to be useless. For example: why is a simple suggestion about utilizing resentful energy for a potentially helpful purpose that big of a deal? Also, why does nobody care about Lan Zhan? And does Lan Zhan care about him, speaking up for him as he did even after Wei Wuxian had basically insulted his mother to his face? 

Wei Wuxian makes a face to no one. He hopes Lan Zhan cares for him. On a very objective level, Lan Zhan is the most handsome and possibly most intelligent man Wei Wuxian has ever met in his life. It would be a true shame if such a man didn’t even like him a little. 

He should thank him, Wei Wuxian thinks suddenly. How does one thank a distant stranger and possible enemy who one hopes to turn into a close confidant and friend? 

His gaze falls on the unopened bottle of Emperor’s Smile abandoned in the corner of the room. He grins. 

Chapter Text

Lan Wangji enjoys being alone. 

It has always suited his constitution, talented as he is at silent meditation and solitary cultivation. Unfortunately, as busy as Cloud Recesses is, he is rarely as alone as he would prefer. 

For example, he must eat surrounded by disciples three times a day, per his sect’s strict rules that he always follows, which is bearable only because another rule dictates that no disciple may speak while eating. Some disregard this rule, filling the meal space with inane chatter, but Lan Wangji refuses to do the same. The Lan sect motto is “be righteous,” and Lan Wangji follows it and the sect’s thousands of principles with no exceptions. 

It is another rule that no junior disciple may venture out on unaccompanied night hunts without the express permission of the sect leader. Luckily, Lan Wangji has long surpassed his peers, choosing to practice his sword forms or guqin instead of wasting time in communal frivolity, and is in most things more skilled than the senior disciples of the Lan sect save perhaps Zewu-jun. In any case, he has no need of company on his night hunts, as he is more than capable alone. 

He returns now after such a hunt, a monster ravaging the mountainous landscape just below Cloud Recesses successfully dispatched. The long walk back is lonel-

The long walk back is valuable, in that all prolonged effort is assistive in honing focus. Lan Wangji decides to use the time for dedicated reflection. 

He has received no injuries on this night hunt, though there had been one dangerous moment where the monster had moved its spiked tail towards his heart faster than he thought possible. For a second he had thought all hope was lost. But then he remembered no one would come for-

No. 

He had reminded himself that he was a worthy and skilled member of the Lan sect of Gusu, one that could be trusted to protect himself. Knowing this, he dodged in time, and then brought his sword down, and ended the fight. 

Yes. 

And he has survived by virtue of his own merit. He has proven himself once more to be an impeccable model of strength, virtue, and intelligence, worthy to call himself Lan. The combination of exertion and warmth from the setting sun produces a thin sheen of sweat on his brow, collecting under his ribbon, but he does not even consider taking it off. The rules forbid it. In any case, there is plenty distraction- the silence of the walk is comforting, as is the touching mental image of the serene solitary figure he might cut to faraway viewers viewing the long set of steps leading to Cloud Recesses, not, of course, that anyone would actually-

The silence of the walk is comforting. 

He breathes in, breathes out. 

He has been gone for seven hours. Cloud Recesses will be different when he returns. 

It always is, of course. He hardly expects it to wait for him, to slow for him, to notice-

He frowns. His thoughts are… scattered, today, and more than usual. He must meditate once he returns. 

Cloud Recesses will be different because it has chosen to hold guest lectures this year, for a reason Lan Wangji cannot discern. Cloud Recesses is perfectly peaceful without the horde of Nie and Wen disciples trampling the grass on the western side of the guest housing complex as they did yesterday - though neither sect is as warlike or at odds as they were several decades ago, their people are still loud and unruly enough to put Lan Wangji on edge. The Jin and Jiang will be arriving today, filling the recently constructed guest dorms to the brim, and then lectures will start, and Cloud Recesses will be full of noise and speech and light and Lan Wangji will never, ever be-

Breathe in. 

Breathe out. 

Lan Wangji enjoys being alone. 

He is well-suited to it, after all. It is not his fault he- 

It is not-

It-

Lan Wangji realizes that he has collapsed against a step, trembling. He hauls himself upright and keeps walking, even as his legs go numb, even as his lips whiten with the force he is using to keep his tears from spilling. 

He is being ridiculous. He will get through this season as he has all others, and he will continue through this year as he has all others, and he will live through this curse or punishment as he has for as long as he can truly remember. 

Lan Wangji enjoys being alone. He is well-acquainted with it. Well-suited, he thinks. He hopes. He can hardly ask, after all. 

Do not succumb to rage, says rule thirty-four, and so he does not. He will not. He can’t, because he is not even angry. 

Do not tell lies, his mind whispers, echoing another rule, and he huffs a breath, wipes the sweat from his brow, and keeps walking. 

As he nears the gate to Cloud Recesses, Lan Wangji hears raised voices. 

He hesitates. 

He dislikes reentering Cloud Recesses on the best of days. Rule 230 says, Present your jade token to the guard disciple before entering Cloud Recesses, which he of course follows, as he does every rule. However, it is… difficult, sometimes, and is all the more challenging when the gate is surrounded by others wishing to enter. 

The voices resolve themselves into an argument, and the loudest into one of indignation: “Hours? That’s after sunset!”

Lan Wangji has a momentary impulse to hide and wait for the angry group to pass. But this is shameful, and unrighteous besides. He can see the rules now: Do not allow fear to rule you. Do not avoid discomfort impulsively. Do not conceal yourself wickedly for this brings shame upon your sect. 

He sighs, corrects his posture - Do not stand incorrectly is rule 1,343 - and walks into what for any other person would be view. 

He notes, not even bothering to notice the group’s non-reaction to his approach, that the cultivators at the gate are dressed in Jiang robes. The three standing apart from the rest of the group must thus be the heir and his closest cohort, his sister and head disciple. He guesses the man speaking to the guard is the head disciple, as he is rumored to be more gregarious and outspoken.

Sure enough, the man calls the woman shijie within seconds. Lan Wangji smiles to himself, minutely proud to be correct. It is a challenge to piece together information about outside sects, not in the least because he lives in a sect that discourages gossip. It is satisfying to know that he has not lost this edge. 

He weaves his way through the unmoving Jiang disciples easily, practiced as he is. He pulls out his jade token and silently presents it and himself to the guard disciple. 

The disciple looks through him blankly, and Lan Wangji patiently presses it to his hand. 

The disciple startles, glancing down at his hand. “Ah, yes, an inner sect jade token,” he says on instinct, which is gratifying. Usually it takes several tries for a disciple to notice the token properly. “All seems to be in…” He looks up, blinking rapidly. “…order…”

Lan Wangji waits for the token to fall out of his slack hand and catches it neatly. He begins to bow, ready to step through the gate into Cloud Recesses proper-

“Gongzi!”

He doesn’t react. He is long past silly things like reacting to other people’s calls. The instinct was a problem, when he was younger and still confused, but he has long trained himself out of it. Another success according to the rules, which say Humility is a virtue. 

The disciple, who of course must be the one addressed, startles to alertness in a way he has never done for Lan Wangji. “Yes, Wei-gongzi?”

“No, not you,” the voice says as Lan Wangji tucks his token away. “You, with the token!”

Lan Wangji stops. 

He has, apparently, not trained himself out of his instincts after all. After ten full years. Shameful. He will have to assign punishment for this. 

And yet- does he not have a token? Who else might have one, of the group assembled? Certainly not young members of a foreign sect? 

Do not jump to conclusions, rule 744. The Jiang cohort is full of individuals who may have any and all sorts of tokens the voice refers to. It is pure certainty that Lan Wangji is not the one addressed. 

“Yes, you,” the voice calls, audibly amused. “Come on, turn around! Don’t be shy, you’re more than handsome enough to be seen by us lowly Jiang!”

Us Jiang.

So the recipient is not Jiang. 

And it is not the guard disciple. 

And Lan Wangji’s cultivation is high enough to know without doubt that there are no others within earshot. 

It is impossible. It is impossible.

He is abruptly furious with himself, incandescently angry. He has fallen for this so many times, over and over and over since he was six and brought this upon himself. It is not possible for him to be called. He should leave without a second glance. He should not give in to this- this clawing need, this shameful horrific void in his mind and chest and skin that sets him screaming awake at night. He is in front of the gate. He should leave. He is almost decided. 

And yet-

Lan Wangji lets out a slow breath, dampening his hope. He turns. 

And there, surrounded by distant-minded cultivators, is a man - beautiful, beautiful, eyes like the bottom of an endless pool, cheekbones like glass, bright smile as precious as everything Lan Wangji wants and wants and wants and knows will never have - who meets his gaze and does not look away. 

And a full heartbeat echoes in Lan Wangji’s ears, and the man does not look away. 

And another, and he still does not look away. 

And another, and then he does, and Lan Wangji almost dies, he thinks, of disappointment. 

This happens. Once his- once Zewu-jun looked at him at dinner and smiled, really and truly, directly at him, and Lan Wangji had startled so badly he had upturned his entire bowl, at which point Zewu-jun raised his hand and waved a disciple behind Lan Wangji over, and this was how Lan Wangji learned at age eight that the transformation of hope into its absence was worse than no hope at all. 

Yet even now, years later, he has not learned how to keep the damned hope from rising in his chest. 

No vulgar language, he thinks absently. More punishment. 

“Gongzi,” says the beautiful man who does not see him, and Lan Wangji’s eyes go to him because he cannot feel worse than he does already. He wonders absently who the man is speaking to now. 

The man is still looking at him. There is no disciple behind him this time; the guard is far further to the side. What is happening? 

“I am Wei Ying, courtesy name Wuxian, head disciple of the Jiang Clan of Yunmeng,” says the man to- someone. Lan Wangji is having trouble keeping up. “This is my shidi Jiang Cheng and shijie Jiang Yanli. We are honored to meet you.” 

Meet who? The guard? 

Lan Wangji takes a step back and to the side, and the man’s gaze- follows him. 

No. 

No.

He shakes his head for emphasis. The man’s gaze is wandering. Either the man is insane, or Lan Wangji is. He digs his nails into his palms and begins to turn-

“May I have your name?”

Lan Wangji looks at him, then around the empty space around him. He doesn’t understand. He doesn’t- he is so good at understanding things, he knew that this Wei Wuxian was the first disciple of Jiang before he was even told, which he wasn’t, because there was never anyone to tell him, and this was just- this wasn’t- this couldn’t be-

But the man’s eyes are still on him, soft and patient. And if- if he can see him- if, if, if-

He does not know how to bow. He has never practiced, never seeing the need. He bows too low, too stiffly, too quickly, because he is afraid that if he takes his eyes off Wei Wuxian’s for even a second this will be taken from him too. 

“Lan Zhan,” he responds, voice rough. He has not spoken in- ah, a year, at least, though longer if you don’t count screaming as speaking. Last winter was his last manic spell, and he was not- ah- fully present, then. He thinks he might have been screaming. 

He has recovered since. He puts it out of his mind. 

“Wangji by courtesy,” he continues, lying through his teeth. “From the Lan Sect of Gusu, son of the late Clan Leader Qingheng-jun.” 

The man blinks, suddenly looking confused, and Lan Wangji swallows as the man’s dazed-eyed brother whispers to him. The man brightens. 

“Lan-er-gongzi,” he addresses him, which means it must be Lan Wangji who is addressed, it must be, and Lan Wangji makes a noise of incomprehensible disbelief and shock. The man continues, saying something about losing an invitation and making an exception, except it is all white noise in Lan Wangji’s mind. 

Lan-er-gongzi.

Perhaps this is another form of mania. He has discovered many new kinds over the past ten years. Hallucinations, delusions, none of it is implausible. Is this even real? 

But Lan Wangji has been doing well. Regular exercise, regular meals, even regular recreation in the form of the guqin. He has followed all his steps. All the rules. There is no reason- why now? No, this is real. This has to be real. If this isn’t real-

No mania is so intense that he would imagine himself being called Second Master Lan. Even he is not mad enough to imagine that. 

Which means this is real. 

He lets out a choked gasp, rocking back on his heels, and Wei Wuxian reaches out towards him, towards him, and says-

And says-

“Just let us in. We’ll meet with Zewu-jun and we’ll get this all straightened out. Can’t you arrange that for us? Surely if there’s one person who can get an audience with the esteemed sect leader, it’s his own brother.”

His own brother. 

No. 

His own- Zewu-jun is not- He-

Lan Wangji is not quite in his own body. He is past the gate. He doesn’t remember getting there. 

“No,” he is saying when he comes back, and is worried that he is screaming it, insanity, he has gone insane, but surely neither dreams nor reality could say something as absurd as him and Zewu-jun being- as if-

No. 

This is mania. Meditation eases mania. He will recover. He always recovers. He knows this. 

“Wait! Lan-er-gongzi!” cries an impossible voice, an impossible voice, he knew this from the start, that this was impossible, why doesn’t he learn, he must assign so much punishment-

Lan Wangji catches a final glimpse of the disciple, hand out and beautiful eyes wide, before he turns tail and flees for home. He has never run so fast in his life. 

- - -

Lan Wangji sees his-

No.

Lan Wangji sees Zewu-jun on the way. Lan Wangji has gone mad. He knows he is mad. But the beautiful man from the gate stares at him from inside his head - and isn’t that wonderful, that he is now able to be enchanted by inane visions - and saying Can’t you arrange that for us? and Lan Wangji sobs in front of a man he cannot bear to be related to and takes a piece of paper and writes you are needed at the front gate on it and shoves it into his sect leader’s hand. He leaves before Zewu-jun’s vaguely concerned expression can morph to familiar blankness and Lan Wangji’s heart breaks even more than his foolish hope has already broken it. 

He reaches his rooms and falls into meditation desperately. It greets him like how a friend might, though Lan Wangji will never know whether the comparison is apt or not. 

He enjoys being alone, he says, over and over, as if in repeating it enough it might become more true. He enjoys being alone. It is not always- easy, but he enjoys it. After all, he is most himself when he is alone. 

He is less mad in solitude. He is less broken. He can pretend - and isn’t it terrible, in a way, that he is most himself when pretending - that he is alone because he chooses it, and not because loneliness is inflicted upon him like a curse he has no hope of lifting. 

Because that is what he has- no hope. And delusions aside, he must remember that. 

It still seems so… real, though. His delusions usually fade after a few minutes. He still remembers the boy’s name - Wei Ying, Wei Wuxian - and the amused tilt of his lips, and the way his eyes had met Lan Wangji’s and stayed-

Breathe in, breathe out. 

If it is not real, nothing is lost. Lan Wangji is as sane as he ever is. 

If it is real-

Then it will not stop being real. Then Lan Wangji can meet it as it comes. 

When he opens his eyes, an hour has passed. 

Lan Wangji stands. It is after sunset and thus nearly curfew, but he must walk once around his home before he sleeps. When he was twelve years old and losing his mind, he learned that spending at least one minute under the stars every day was conducive to calm. He follows this rule as religiously as he does the other three thousand written on the walls of Cloud Recesses, because he has learned again and again that his sanity is his most valuable possession and he does not like it to be damaged. 

So he steps outside, refusing to shiver in the thin wind. He wonders if Zewu-jun - the title comes easier after the hour of meditation, and he is relieved - ended up going to the main gate, and what greeted him if he had. Wei Wuxian’s face is blurry in his mind’s eye, like any delusion or memory, but the heady hope in Lan Wangji’s chest has not yet dimmed. It is alright. Lan Wangji knows that it will happen soon enough. 

He hears something in the distance. Footsteps, in the direction of the gate. Strange. 

He locks the Gentian House before he leaves. Do not fail to secure your personal belongings before you leave your residence, rule 2,892. He gazes up at the constellations - predictable, comforting - and goes in search of the sound. 

A few minutes later, he steps on a fallen leaf. “Is anyone there?” a voice - a familiar voice - calls. 

Lan Wangji instinctively steps behind a tree - another thing he has not been able to train himself out of, despite a lifetime of never needing to hide - as Wei Wuxian passes him, looking suspicious. 

So the man’s existence, at least, was no delusion. Wei Wuxian stands as if a spotlight is on him, even in the dim light of dusk. He holds himself like an actor, chin raised confidently. 

He also has two bottles of what is clearly alcohol in his hands. Lan Wangji gapes. 

There are five rules against alcohol alone. Alcohol is prohibited in Cloud Recesses. Do not indulge in wine. Do not drink in excess. One should not drink alcohol. Do not lose yourself in drink. 

Lan Wangji feels a tinge of disgust - and, horrifyingly, the stirrings of intrigue. What man breaks nearly a half-dozen rules in one go? Hasn’t he read the wall yet? Someone needs to tell him, correct him, confiscate the contraband-

He could slip another note to Zewu-jun. But two in one day might arouse suspicion - of what, he couldn’t say, but he’s always been careful not to overstep his bounds - and the hallucination - memory? - of Wei Wuxian meeting his gaze is still fresh in his mind. 

He follows Wei Wuxian quietly. Wei Wuxian keeps clutching the bottles closer to him, glancing around with wide eyes, as if he is afraid someone is following him. Which, of course, Lan Wangji is, but it isn’t as if Wei Wuxian can sense that. 

Or- if the scene at the gate really happened, maybe-

Lan Wangji considers stepping forward and revealing himself, but decides against it. If he succeeds, Wei Wuxian may be alarmed, and if he does not succeed, Lan Wangji’s heart will break again. Lan Wangji is too spent to attempt additional meditation tonight. He contents himself with watching Wei Wuxian beam at Jiang Yanli, imagining that the smile is directed at him. 

When Wei Wuxian and his sect siblings go inside, he returns to the Gentian House. The lock has not been touched, and he settles down to sleep at the time the rules instruct. 

Today was a good day, despite… everything. He is back to enjoying his loneliness, the darkness of an empty house and sect and world. 

Tomorrow, lectures begin. This brings a stirring of anxiety, but he dismisses it. He has managed thus far. He will handle things as they come. 

He dreams of nothing but soft eyes on him, smile-wrinkles at the corners, never looking away. It is one of the best dreams he has ever had. 

- - -

Lan Wangji is sitting in the front of the room when he sees Wei Wuxian again. He has eyebags as dark as his disheveled hair, he is slouching, and he is still no less handsome than he was yesterday. He’s mumbling something to Jiang Wanyin, and then his eyes flicker to Lan Wangji’s-

Lan Wangji sits up straighter, heart pounding. 

Wei Wuxian’s gaze skips neatly over him as if he is not there. 

Lan Wangji nearly claps a hand over his mouth for fear of the cry that he will make, but he remains silent. He has not wholly lost control of himself. 

Delusion, he concludes distantly, heart pounding in his ears, as Wei Wuxian takes his place beside Jiang Wanyin. He must exercise more, must meditate more, to clear himself of this new mania. The curse on him is of course still strong. It is naivete to think otherwise. 

Lan Wangji digs nails into the soft flesh under his wrist as the traditional rule recitation begins, attempting to ground himself in the familiarity of the thousands of lines. He is not disappointed. He will not be disappointed. Nothing has changed. 

Nothing has changed. 

He is alone, but that is alright. He reminds himself sternly that he enjoys it. 

- - -

Wei Wuxian and the young man who stumbled in late and found the remaining empty seat beside him are very good friends. Good enough friends to speak during the entirety of the rule recitation, apparently. Lan Wangji tries not to feel irritated. 

Eventually, Uncle - that is, the grandmaster - notices, eyebrows drawing together. “Who,” he demands, glaring behind them at what must be Wei Wuxian’s seat, “were you speaking with?”

The young man waves his arms back and forth quickly. “No one! I’m just talking to myself so I can, er, remember the rules better!” 

His gaze darts towards Lan Wangji, seeing through him, and Lan Wangji’s heart sinks before he even continues. He knows what the man will say. 

“I’m at an empty desk, sir,” he says, eyes innocent and expression genuine. “Who would I talk to?” 

Lan Wangji tenses. The grandmaster makes a noise of discontent and continues. 

And- and Lan Wangji is no longer a child, alone and afraid. He knows that he is not being intentionally ignored the way he’d thought until he turned seven and a fall had broken his leg and he’d bled all over his brother’s white robes, wailing, and his brother had not blinked. And then it had sunk in that refusing to assist a fellow sect member in need of serious medical care broke so many rules as to be unforgivable, and Lan Xichen - not yet Zewu-jun then - would not commit such a crime even if he hated Lan Wangji for killing their mother. 

Which meant that Lan Wangji was being erased, not ignored. It had warmed him and chilled him in equal measure. 

He drags his thoughts away from the memory, swallowing minutely. 

He is no longer seven years old, setting his own bone and gritting his teeth at the horrible pain. The grandmaster’s eyes looking straight through him should not feel like a betrayal. 

They are given a break after the rule recitation. Wei Wuxian lets out the most dramatic sigh Lan Wangji has ever heard and sprints outside. The rest of the class follows at a slower pace. Lan Wangji stands - another one of his own rules is to take advantage of every break he is given, after the productivity craze that had burned him to a broken dying wreck at age eleven - and goes outside into the sun, stretching. 

Wei Wuxian’s gaze, as he lies slack like an ascended god against the ground that sect rules forbid him from disturbing, can almost be imagined to drift towards Lan Wangji’s limber figure. Almost, of course, as Lan Wangji’s madness has passed and he knows Wei Wuxian is only looking through him at Nie Huaisang’s awkward lean against a wall. 

It is nice, though. To imagine. 

Lan Wangji has perfected the practice of separating imagination from hope. An impossibility is still nice to picture. 

A Lan disciple calls them back in. Lan Wangji follows him, taking his seat. 

“Hi,” Wei Wuxian says in his direction as he comes in. Lan Wangji does not dare react. 

“Hurry up,” Jiang Wanyin grumbles beside him, and Wei Wuxian huffs and continues to his seat. 

It is unclear who he meant to speak to, as Nie Huaisang had been behind him. Lan Wangji does not spend much time considering the possibilities. Imagination separated from hope is, after all, still dangerous. 

This session, Wei Wuxian seems determined to make up for his earlier inattentiveness by answering every question the grandmaster asks. His responses are full of slang and personal information largely irrelevant to the questions themselves, but they still manage to convey all the information Lan Wangji might have conveyed himself. He seems to be incredibly intelligent, though he covers this up with hyperbole and self-deprecating jokes. It is irritating, not fascinating. It is difficult to remember this. 

And then Wei Wuxian mentions the Yin Iron, and Lan Wangji’s breath catches soundlessly. 

He should have expected this. He had expected this. It’s only… 

He’d forgotten, after the shock of yesterday. He isn’t prepared. 

Wei Wuxian says his mother’s name, and Lan Wangji closes his eyes. He covers his mouth to muffle the sounds that want to come out. 

He breathes. 

He recovers, as he always does. 

When he opens his eyes, he has missed precious minutes of lecture. He busies himself with copying down what he knows he has missed. 

They move onto the theory that underlies cultivation, and the class grows sluggish as they always do around the six-hour mark. The grandmaster gets irritated and begins asking questions to students who he thinks aren’t paying attention- Nie Huaisang, almost drifting off beside Lan Wangji, is the first he calls out. Nie Huaisang remembers the correct answer under a state of considerable panic, and a minute later Jin Zixuan does the same with only slightly more composure. 

Lan Wangji hears Jiang Cheng whisper harshly behind him, and he turns slightly to see Wei Wuxian frowning severely to himself, deep in thought. Jiang Cheng nudges his sect brother, obviously urging him to pay attention, but Wei Wuxian just pinches the bridge of his nose and ignores him. He almost looks… guilty, although for what Lan Wangji can’t imagine. 

Of course, this is when the grandmaster notices the disciple’s distraction. “Wei Wuxian!” 

Wei Wuxian visibly startles. He does not look towards Lan Wangji. “Yes, sir?”

“Are you paying attention?”

“I- Yes. Of course, sir.” 

“Then what did I just say?”

“I- Er-” 

Wei Wuxian opens his mouth and closes it, looking uncharacteristically panicked. And there’s that look of guilt, still plain on his face, and Lan Wangji is reminded so strongly of himself when he was seven years old and would look in the mirror, sure he needed to be punished and devastated by it. 

There is no good in interfering. Every personal rule he has goes against it. 

And yet, it is something other than mania that forces his mouth open and makes him speak for the second time in two days: “Methods of exorcism.” 

He does not look up. It is painful, always, to see others forget him. He focuses on the whorls in the desk beneath him. 

“First, liberation,” Lan Wangji recites. His heart is beating so fast, as it always does when he speaks in front of the grandmaster or Zewu-jun. “Second, suppression. Third, elimination.” 

He closes his mouth, closes his eyes for a moment before opening them. He is in control. He has broken no rules. He is safe. 

“Correct,” the grandmaster declares, pride audible in his voice. Lan Wangji wishes, for a desperate moment, for a world where he could have this forever. “Entirely correct. You…” 

Lan Wangji waits patiently as the grandmaster forgets him. As he’d predicted, Wei Wuxian gets the credit for his answer - because who else would have answered the grandmaster’s question? - and after a few seconds of disorientation, it is as if Lan Wangji had never spoken at all. 

The grandmaster asks a rhetorical question, designed to prompt Wei Wuxian to reflect on his actions. The Jiang disciple, either not realizing this or not caring, answers the question with a proposal that makes Lan Wangji’s jaw drop. 

“Well, say cultivators are called to handle a resentful ghost. ‘Liberation, suppression, elimination’ is all well and good as a general practice, but suppression and elimination can be both time-consuming and dangerous. And we all know some creatures are simply unsuited for liberation.” Wei Wuxian’s eyes shine brightly. “If the ghost was an executioner, murderer, or was otherwise responsible for many deaths, why not dig up the graves of the people he killed-” 

Lan Wangji breathes in sharply. He is not the only one. The grandmaster looks apoplectic. 

Wei Wuxian has not noticed. “-and arouse the resentment within their corpses, and then use them to fight the ghost?”

The grandmaster throws something at him. “Shut your damn mouth!”

Lan Wangji stares, horrified. That one action breaks three rules alone. The vulgarity breaks countless more. 

“Grandmaster, spiritual energy is energy,” Wei Wuxian reasons. “Resentful energy is also energy! It’s possible we can-” 

“It’s not possible!” the grandmaster shouts. Spittle flies from the spot. Lan Wangji, in the midst of their argument and so far apart, is pained with embarrassment and awkwardness. “You don’t know anything about resentful energy!” 

“Nobody does! Nobody’s studied-” 

“Nobody? Did you not just speak of Madam Lan and the Yin Iron? Do you know the amount of research the Lan have led on the consequences of misusing resentment?”

Wei Wuxian freezes. His gaze seems almost to flicker to Lan Wangji before it pulls back up to the grandmaster. The guilt is back in full array on his face, and Lan Wangji wonders at it. “I- But-” 

“Get out,” the grandmaster demands. “You will be punished for this. Get out!” 

Wei Wuxian flees. 

Lan Wangji stands immediately, arms out in a formal bow. “Grandmaster.” 

“Yes?” the grandmaster responds on instinct. Lan Wangji has seconds. He must use this time wisely. 

“I beg you, do not punish Wei Wuxian,” he says. “I forgive him for how he spoke of Madam Lan. He meant no offense.” 

The grandmaster’s gaze struggles to focus. “You- You can’t just forgive-” 

“I am her son,” Lan Wangji says, aching. His voice is strong and level. “It is my right. Please do not punish Wei Wuxian.” 

He stands still as the grandmaster internalizes this, blinks twice, and forgets who has spoken. 

“…Yes,” he says to no one and nothing. “I will not- I-” 

He blinks again. 

“Wei Wuxian will not be punished. Disciples, turn to the next page in your texts,” he says decisively, and Lan Wangji bows low and resumes his seat as the grandmaster continues with the lesson. 

His heart is nearly beating out of his chest. He doesn’t properly hear another word of the day’s lesson. 

He is not entirely sure why he defended Wei Wuxian, but he feels good for having done so. He forgave someone who it was well within his right to forgive. Speaking to Un- to the grandmaster is always difficult, but he carried himself with the utmost courtesy and broke no rules. He cannot be faulted for his actions. 

He returns to the Gentian House after class is finished. He reaches towards his guqin, as is habit when he is unsettled. 

Just as no one hears him, no one hears his music. There are rules about only practicing music in the Lan sect’s soundproof music rooms, which Lan Wangji cannot use anyway because nothing stops disciples from walking in when Lan Wangji attempts to practice. 

Lan Wangji is not breaking the rules by playing in his home. In a sense, Lan Wangji resides in a soundproof world. He fills it with as much music he can. 

It has been hard to compose recently, harder to play. This worries him, because the last time this happened, he was fourteen and the lethargy signaled the beginning of a depression that trapped him in his bed for weeks until he had wasted away to nearly nothing. He settles for running through scales and older, easier songs. He decides to piece together a song he has heard Zewu-jun play to other disciples, one he never received the sheet music for, and sinks into a deep concentration reminiscent of meditation. It is the closest thing he has to peace. 

And then, a knock on his door. 

His fingers stumble against the guqin strings. 

There has never, ever been a knock at his door,

Imagination. Hallucination. Mania. It must be. 

He breathes in deeply, lets the breath out. He continues playing. 

Another knock. 

He stops. 

He takes the guqin off his lap. He returns it to its case. 

It is impossible. It is impossible. It is impossible.

Lan Wangji opens the door. 

Wei Wuxian smiles wide at him. “Hello!” 

Lan Wangji slams the door shut. 

No. 

No.

This- it’s not- this can’t be-

His thoughts are so fractured. 

This has never- his mania isn’t-

It has not been this bad before. 

He breathes harshly through the hand pressed hard against his mouth, choking back bile. 

It is fine. It is- it has passed. He just has to stay inside- stay here, stay quiet, stay invisible-

“Ah,” Wei Wuxian’s voice says from behind the door. He sounds disappointed. Lan Wangji feels hysterical. “You are offended, then. I thought you might be. I brought a gift, though? At least take that? I promise it’s very expensive!”

Lan Wangji rubs his eyes, his ears. He doesn’t see any moving shadows in his quiet room, doesn’t feel any strange sensations, doesn’t smell or taste anything odd- his hallucinations seem to only be in the form of one Wei Wuxian. And so detailed, enough for Lan Wangji to almost reach out and touch him-

His hallucinations have never been so- specific. How is this possible?

“Lan Wangji?” Wei Wuxian’s voice is saying from outside the door. It sounds real. “I am sorry, really.” A pause. “Lan Wangji, please open the door. I’ll just stay here and keep saying your name until you do, you know.” 

Lan Wangji has never had a hallucination that told him it was here to stay. 

“Lan Wangji,” Wei Wuxian’s voice recites dutifully. “Lan Wangji. Lan Wangji. Lan Zhan-”

Lan Wangji flings open the door. 

Wei Wuxian looks the exact same as ten seconds ago, and the same as in lecture. He is in the pale Lan sect robes, red ribbon tying back unruly hair. His smile is- blinding. 

He is also in front of Lan Wangji, eyes fixed on him. They do not stray from Lan Wangji’s own. 

Lan Wangji, overwhelmed, looks down. He sees that a bottle of alcohol is held loosely by one hand. Unauthorized possession of alcohol within Cloud Recesses, he thinks. 

He realizes he has said it out loud when Wei Wuxian laughs shortly. “Ah, right.” He shoves it into Lan Wangji’s hands. “Here. My apologies, my apologies. I hope this gift makes up for my earlier offense.” 

Lan Wangji stares at the bottle. Emperor’s Smile, it says. It makes him frown. By only holding this, he is breaking several rules. Does Wei Wuxian want him punished? 

But Lan Wangji administers all his punishments himself. And to want him punished, Wei Wuxian would have to remember him from one minute to the next. 

When he looks up, Wei Wuxian is still looking at him. Lan Wangji feels so dizzy. “It’s good,” Wei Wuxian says, as if that is any part of what Lan Wangji cares about. “Sweet, high quality. I recommend it.” 

Lan Wangji stares at him. His mouth works. “Offense?”

Wei Wuxian blinks at him, then pales. He hastily arranges his arms in a formal bow, lowering his head. “Ah, yes. The- I know I mentioned, uh. Madam Lan, multiple times in class today. It was without thinking. I should have remembered- I mean, she’s Madam Lan and I’m in the Lan sect and you were- are- her son-” 

Wei Wuxian jerks up at the choked sound Lan Wangji makes. He grips Lan Wangji’s arm, his touch like a brand. Lan Wangji never wants it to end. “Lan Wangji? Are you okay?”

“You remember that?” Lan Wangji says. He doesn’t- How- His thoughts are so jumbled. “You remember me from class?”

“Of course,” Wei Wuxian says, and Lan Wangji has the urge to laugh hysterically. “And we met by the gate. Yesterday? You seemed like you were in a hurry.” 

“A hurry,” Lan Wangji echoes, and then, because he still doesn’t understand: “You remember that?”

“Of course,” Wei Wuxian says, eyebrows drawing together. “Why wouldn’t I?”

Lan Wangji doesn’t know what his expression is doing, but Wei Wuxian’s face flashes with alarm. 

“Are you okay?” he asks, hands moving to Lan Wangji’s shoulder and cheek as Lan Wangji staggers. “Are you sick?”

“I- No, I-” 

“Sit down,” Wei Wuxian says, and pushes inside so Lan Wangji can sit on a stool. “What’s happening? Are you okay?”

He’s more unhinged than he thinks he has been in his whole life, and at the same time more deliriously relieved than he can bear. This cannot be real, and yet it looks to be nothing but. Lan Wangji is so dizzy. 

“Lan Zhan?” Wei Wuxian asks, brushing a hand over his hair, over his forehead ribbon, and Lan Wangji feels a rush of something so sudden he doesn’t even know how to classify it. “Lan Wangji, Lan Zhan, tell me what you need. I’ll help you.” 

This isn’t real. This cannot be real. 

“I need,” he says, voice catching, unsure if the sentence is finished. It does not matter. He does not need as badly as he wants, all the time, spending his whole life yearning and telling himself again and again that he enjoys being alone. He enjoys it. He does. And yet, now, with Wei Wuxian’s hand on his shoulder and his breath against his skin- it is unbearable- he cannot be sane now, if he is imagining this, he needs to get out, he needs to flee, he needs to not be himself-

“What do you need?” Wei Wuxian asks urgently. 

Lan Wangji looks at his beautiful eyes and recites, at once, every single applicable Lan clan precept. One should not drink alcohol, his mind screams. One should not drink alcohol.

Lan Wangji’s hand reaches for the bottle and throws back the clear liquid. It’s sweet, so sweet, Wei Wuxian had not lied to him about this, but LWJ only has a moment to marvel at the bitter aftertaste before he collapses. 

Wei Wuxian’s wide eyes - still on him, still on him - are the last thing he sees before the world goes black. 

Chapter Text

Wei Wuxian is not panicking. He is not panicking. 

“Ahahaha,” he stammers, holding the completely limp body of a sect heir and glancing around in what is, admittedly, a great deal of panic. “Uh, what’s going on? Is this a prank? I said I was sorry, Lan-er-gongzi!” 

Said sect heir does not answer, head rolling limply against Wei Wuxian’s chest. 

If Wei Wuxian’s killed the second Lan sect heir Jiang Cheng will be even more insufferable than usual, he thinks, and then realizes that if he’s hurt Lan Wangji he doesn’t have to worry about Jiang Cheng because Madam Yu is going to murder him. Lan Qiren will probably help her. And Wei Wuxian won’t even be able to blame them. 

“Lan Wangji?” he laughs anxiously. “You got me! I’m, ah, very shocked! You can wake up now!” 

He shakes Lan Wangji fiercely to no reaction. His lips smell like alcohol. 

Right! The alcohol! 

Wei Wuxian props Lan Wangji against the wall and fumbles for the discarded alcohol container on the floor. He sniffs it warily, letting a little dribble onto his hand. 

It smells normal. It looks normal. Still… poison, maybe? Had Lan Wangji, in his very strange decision to toss back nearly half the liquor in one swallow, been hit by some poison that could affect even cultivators? 

Wei Wuxian takes a second to contemplate the dangers of drinking something he suspects to be deadly. He takes another second to contemplate the worse dangers of someone finding him alone with a half-dead sect heir and calling Madam Yu to sort him out. He stops hesitating and tosses back the rest of the wine. 

And then he waits, biting his lip. 

And he’s… fine? The Emperor’s Smile tastes normal, and as usual is weak enough that it hardly gets Wei Wuxian drunk at all. 

But then why is Lan Wangji seemingly unconscious right in front of him? 

As if on cue, Lan Wangji’s eyelashes flutter. 

“Oh, good, you’re awake,” Wei Wuxian says, sighing in relief as the cultivator looks up at him. “Lan Zhan, I was worried, what hap-” 

He suddenly notices that Lan Wangji’s gaze is unfocused. That his eyes are hooded. That he isn’t sitting up from where he’s clumsily slumped against the wall. 

And, all at once, Wei Wuxian understands. 

He bursts into laughter, loud and delighted. “Lan Zhan! This is all because you can’t hold your liquor?” 

Lan Wangji doesn’t respond, blinking heavily at him. 

Wei Wuxian snickers, all his tension leaving him. “I’ve never met a man with such a terrible alcohol tolerance!” He taps Lan Wangji’s nose, amused by how he goes cross-eyed to track the touch. “You’re completely out of it, but your skin isn’t even flushed! How are you real, Lan-er-gongzi?”

Lan Wangji bursts into tears. 

Wei Wuxian jumps, startled. “No! Wait! I’m sorry!” His hands hover an inch above Lan Wangji’s shaking shoulders and then draw away, uncertain. Lan Wangji’s expression is devastated, far more than any reaction to a jibe should be. “Lan Wangji? What’s wrong?”

Lan Wangji hiccups, hands flying up to stifle his sobs. “Not real,” he whispers fiercely, his voice slightly slurred and even hoarser than usual. “It’s not real.”

“What’s not real?” Wei Wuxian asks, bewildered. 

Lan Wangji scowls at him, then looks away. He stands unsteadily, flinching away from Wei Wuxian’s outstretched hands. “It’s fine. I’m fine.”

“I know,” Wei Wuxian says automatically, although he’s actually suddenly unsure. “Why are you going towards your guqin?”

Lan Wangji hesitates in the middle of the room, drunk and confused. “You know why.” 

“I don’t,” Wei Wuxian says. “Why would I know, Lan-er-gongzi?”

Lan Wangji flinches. “Don’t-” He swallows, swaying. “Don’t call me that.” 

“Lan Wangji, then?” Lan Wangji twitches. “Lan Zhan? What do other people call you?”

Confusingly, Lan Wangji laughs at that, though Wei Wuxian has never heard a laugh so utterly devoid of joy. “Stop,” he replies, almost crying again. “I’m trying.”

Wei Wuxian is feeling very, very out of his depth. “I- Okay? Good job?”

Lan Wangji turns away from him, muttering to himself. Wei Wuxian catches gems like not again and I’m trying, please before he feels sick to his stomach. 

Is this a reaction to the alcohol, or does this go deeper? He’s never seen anything like this. Should he get help? 

As soon as the thought comes to him, he feels like an idiot. Of course he should get help. 

“I’m getting Zewu-jun,” he says, backing up towards the door. Lan Wangji’s head whips toward him. “He’ll help you, okay?”

Lan Wangji is between him and the door before Wei Wuxian can blink. He’s fast. The man doesn’t say anything, but it’s clear he wants to stop Wei Wuxian from leaving. 

“Look, there’s something wrong with you,” Wei Wuxian says, trying not to let his nerves show at having the only exit blocked off. “You know that, Lan Zhan. Please, let me get help. Or- come with me to find Zewu-jun? Would you like that better?” 

Lan Wangji’s eyes aren’t focused and he’s swaying on his feet. Still, his posture is unnaturally tense. It’s clear his answer is a resounding no.

“Please.” 

Lan Wangji doesn’t react. 

“Come on, Lan Wangji. I’m worried about you. Just come with me?” Wei Wuxian takes Lan Wangji’s wrist gently. The man shudders, tensing up, then looks away. 

“Not real,” he whispers. 

“I am, I promise,” Wei Wuxian whispers back, opening the door, and they step into the night. 

He was worried about Lan Wangji making a fuss in public and drawing attention, but the man is docile as anything, staring up at the skies with an eerily blank expression. Wei Wuxian smiles awkwardly at the two or three disciples that pass them on the path - almost all of Lan Wangji’s weight is on him, and he looks extremely out of it - but they don’t give them a second glance. 

Wei Wuxian counts themselves lucky and tries not to think about how odd their ignorance feels. Maybe it’s a Lan sect rule to not interfere in personal matters, which- might be for the best. The few times Wei Wuxian had brought a drunk Jiang Cheng back home in Lotus Pier, he’d had to fend off scolding elders and curious children with a stick. 

“Hey,” he murmurs to Lan Wangji, trying to be lighthearted because the man’s empty expression is making Wei Wuxian feel like there’s a tightening knot in his stomach, “is there a rule about ignoring drunk people in Cloud Recesses?”

Lan Wangji doesn’t answer for a long moment, though he keeps moving forward, and Wei Wuxian thinks he might not have heard him. He sighs, letting it pass, but then-

“No,” comes a hoarse voice from beside him. Lan Wangji’s eyes haven’t moved from the sky. He breathes unevenly. “Aid the injured, the weak, and the ailing. Rule 234.” 

“Got them all memorized?” Wei Wuxian teases lightly. 

Lan Wangji closes his eyes. “Yes. You know this.” 

“Why would I know that? No, don’t say I’m-” 

“You are not real,” Lan Wangji finishes for him, and Wei Wuxian sighs. 

“I’m as real as you are, Lan Zhan.” He spies a familiar figure around the next turn. “Wait, is that Lan Xichen?”

Lan Wangji has gone stiff beside him, but Wei Wuxian is too full of relief to care. “It is,” he breathes, and jumps forward to call out. “Hey! Zewu-jun! Over here!” 

Lan Xichen turns, smiling. His smile is very kind; Wei Wuxian realized that earlier during the rule recitation. It seems purposefully designed to put people around him at ease. “Yes, Wei-gongzi?”

Lan Wangji has stepped behind him, trying to hide. Wei Wuxian smiles sheepishly. “Listen, I, uh, got Lan Wangji drunk. I didn’t mean to, I swear! But now he’s acting weird and I don’t know what to do. Has this happened before? Do you know how to help him?”

Lan Xichen’s expression is politely confused. “Help who?”

“Lan Wangji,” Wei Wuxian says, and feels a shiver of uneasiness climb his spine as Lan Xichen’s expression doesn’t change. Is it because of the address? They’re the same age, it can’t possibly matter that much. “Lan-er-gongzi, I mean? He’s unwell.” 

“Ah,” Lan Xichen says, blinking. “Where is he?”

Lan Wangji lets out a choked sob from behind him. 

Wei Wuxian is… very confused. Lan Wangji is half-covered by his body, but it’s not as if that makes him invisible. He pushes Lan Wangji out, heart clenching at the soft cry he makes as he comes fully into view. “Right here, Zewu-jun. Please help him.” 

Lan Xichen’s expression skips from curiosity to confusion to a strange blank politeness that makes Wei Wuxian’s skin crawl. He doesn’t look at Lan Wangji once, and this is when Wei Wuxian realizes something is very, very wrong. “Can you repeat yourself, Wei-gongzi?” Lan Xichen says, still smiling. “I didn’t quite hear you.” 

“Lan Wangji,” Wei Wuxian says, raising his voice. “Lan Zhan. Your brother. Can you help him or not?”

Lan Xichen’s breath hitches, and for a moment his expression changes, flashes to something else- and then it smooths over, and Wei Wuxian is left wondering if he’d only imagined it. The smile is back, and Wei Wuxian hates it. “Who?”

“Wh- He’s right here!” Wei Wuxian shouts. “He’s- Wait, Lan Zhan, what are you doing?”

Lan Wangji has fallen to his knees, shaking like a leaf in the wind. His hands are over his mouth as if he’s either going to throw up or start screaming. “I’m sorry,” he’s murmuring, barely loud enough to be audible. “I’m sorry. Forgive me, I’m so sorry-” 

Lan Xichen’s expression doesn’t even change. 

“Lan Zhan!” Wei Wuxian says, shaking him and pulling his hands from his face. “Don’t act like that! That’s your brother!” 

“He’s not!” Lan Wangji cries, voice high and panicked. 

“Wh- Not your brother?” Wei Wuxian looks between the two of them uncomprehendingly. “You’re the sons of Qingheng-jun and Madam Lan, aren’t you?”

“Of course I am,” Lan Xichen says, smiling. Lan Wangji is too busy shaking to respond. 

“Well, then-” 

Lan Wangji lets out a heartbreaking cry, breaking free of Wei Wuxian’s grip and fleeing back towards his home. Wei Wuxian swears, about to chase after him- and then stops, turning back to Lan Xichen. 

“What the hell?” he demands. “Why didn’t you even talk to him? I don’t even know what’s going on!” 

“Wei-gongzi?” Lan Xichen says, shocked. “What are you talking about?”

“Your brother!” Wei Wuxian shouts. “Lan Zhan!” 

Lan Xichen frowns. 

“Who?”

Wei Wuxian stares at him. “Who? The man who was just here!” 

“Wei Wuxian,” Lan Xichen says with a slight furrow between his eyebrows that means he’s either concerned or feeling overly patronizing, “you are the only one I have met in the last hour.” 

Wei Wuxian is going to rip into him, demand why he’s lying, why he’s determined to torment Lan Wangji the way he clearly is- and then sees the look in Lan Xichen’s eyes. He’s being genuine. He’s telling the truth. 

Lan Wangji was here. Wei Wuxian knows this. He remembers it, clear as day. 

…Why doesn’t Lan Xichen? 

- - -

Wei Wuxian walks back to Lan Wangji’s house in a daze. 

The door is locked. He lets himself in through a window. 

“Lan Zhan?” he says quietly. 

Lan Wangji is kneeling silently in the center of the room. He does not turn around. 

Wei Wuxian walks slowly in front of him, crouching so Lan Wangji’s dull gaze goes through him. “I’m sorry, Lan Zhan. I didn’t mean to hurt you.” 

Lan Wangji doesn’t react. 

Wei Wuxian hesitates. “What happened back there?”

No response. 

Okay. This is fine. Wei Wuxian is not panicking. “You’re drunk, Lan Zhan, and tired. Do you want to go to sleep?” 

Lan Wangji blinks. It’s hardly an answer, and yet Wei Wuxian is full of relief to see a change, any change, in the still and empty man before him. 

“Good, good, okay,” he breathes. He crouches lower. “Can I touch you?”

Lan Wangji doesn’t respond. Slowly, telegraphing all his movements, Wei Wuxian reaches towards Lan Wangji’s shoulder. Lan Wangji doesn’t react when they touch or when Wei Wuxian gently raises Lan Wangji and guides him back to his bed, which worries Wei Wuxian more than the flinch from before. The man lays down, dead-eyed, and Wei Wuxian busies himself in pulling his blankets up to his chin. 

“You’ll be okay,” he says, desperately hopeful. “Tomorrow morning, this will all be like a dream. You’ll be back to normal.” 

Lan Wangji stays quiet. Wei Wuxian sighs softly, starting to move away, and then startles at Lan Wangji’s hand wrapping around his wrist. 

“Lan Wangji?” he asks, eyes wide. 

Lan Wangji isn’t even looking at Wei Wuxian, gaze distant, but his grip spasms at Wei Wuxian’s call. 

“Not real,” he whispers, but his grip tightens until the bones in Wei Wuxian’s feel close to snapping. Wei Wuxian doesn’t protest. The message is clear. I wish this was real. Please, I want this so badly to be real. 

“I’m real, Lan Zhan,” he says helplessly. “And I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere, I promise.”

Lan Wangji doesn’t respond. 

Wei Wuxian settles tentatively on the corner of his bed and asks the question he should have asked all along. 

“Why don’t you think I’m real, Lan Zhan?”

Lan Wangji smiles faintly, closing his eyes. A tear beads at the corner of his eye. 

“Please, Lan Zhan,” Wei Wuxian says quietly. “Tell me?”

“Smiled at me,” Lan Wangji murmurs, almost inaudible. His voice is hoarser than ever. “Looked at me. Spoke to me.” 

A cold certainty is winding its way around Wei Wuxian’s heart. “Why does that mean I’m not real?”

“You remembered me.” A shaky breath. “No one- No one else ever has.” 

Wei Wuxian is silent. Lan Wangji’s eyes open a sliver, watching him. 

“Lan Zhan?” 

“Mn.” 

“Don’t you and Zewu-jun have the same parents?” 

Lan Wangji’s face flickers with pain. “Mn.” 

“How is he not your brother, then?” 

Lan Wangji closes his eyes, exhausted. 

“Lan Zhan?” Wei Wuxian whispers. 

“A brother would have saved me,” he whispers. 

The tear falls. Lan Wangji sinks into sleep. 

Wei Wuxian spends hours staring at his sleeping face, feeling cold. 

Chapter Text

Lan Wangji blinks awake. 

“Hi!” Wei Wuxian says, leaning over him and grinning brightly. “How are you feeling?”

Lan Wangji doesn’t know what his face does, but it must be alarming enough that Wei Wuxian’s smile transforms at once into an alarmed grimace. 

“Uh, wait,” he says quickly, shifting backwards. “Wait, Lan Zhan, just- don’t panic.” 

Lan Wangji very carefully keeps himself from hyperventilating. He sits up slowly, trying to fight through a powerful headache. What happened last night? He remembers a knock on his door, the sensation of his hand wrapped around a smooth bottle, a sweet taste turned bitter, then- nothing. What happened? What has he done? 

“I’m real,” Wei Wuxian is saying. “I swear I’m real. I’m touching you, look-” His hand comes up to grip Lan Wangji’s wrist. He feels another pulse echo through his skin, too calm to be his own. “-and I’m speaking to you, Lan Zhan, and I’m here because I remember you. This is real. Okay?” 

Lan Wangji presses a hand over his mouth. No. What? No. How- What- Has he gone mad again? Is that what this is?

But no, his mind is clear though aching. He remembers everything until Wei Wuxian came to his doorway last night with perfect clarity. Every memory has continuity, and every one of his senses agrees in a way they never do in insanity: he faintly smells and tastes liquor, which aligns with the abandoned liquor container on the ground and the vague memory he has of taking it from Wei Wuxian and breaking a rule, which is something he immediately sets aside to panic about later. He hears his own breaths, and Wei Wuxian’s. And touch, the most trustworthy of all his senses, gives him all the indications that he is touching a real, living, breathing man.

Which means this is real. 

His breath stutters. 

In an instant, he has twisted Wei Wuxian’s grip so he is gripping the man’s wrist hard enough for both their skins to whiten. Wei Wuxian doesn’t even wince, looking at him intensely. 

“You believe me?” he says, sounding relieved. 

Yes. No. Yes. This cannot be a cruel trick. There is no good reason to torture Lan Wangji more. That means this is real- that he is not alone.

But the rules say Do not live in ignorance. Lan Wangji, nauseous with an upswelling of hope, must follow the rules. 

He clears his throat. His voice rasps from disuse. “H-How?”

“I have no idea,” Wei Wuxian says, running a hand through his hair. “Believe me, I’ve been thinking about it the whole night, but it’s just- to me, you’re- a person. Of course I see you, notice you, talk to you, whatever. How could I not? You’re you.”

You’re you crashes around Lan Wangji’s lonely mind like a wave of spiritual power, unsettling everything in its wake. He has to take a moment to collect himself. “I see.” 

“Do you?” Wei Wuxian asks genuinely, eyes wide. “Because I don’t. I- Last night was…” 

“Last night?” Lan Wangji asks. The rules say he should not interrupt, but confusion weighs heavy on his mind and he does not know if Wei Wuxian’s clarity will soon be replaced with the glazed ignorance of every other person he has met. It is best to ask his questions while he can. 

It is both disorienting and comforting that Wei Wuxian, as of yet, has not looked away. “You don’t remember?” 

Lan Wangji hesitates. He shakes his head. 

Wei Wuxian laughs nervously. “Well, you… drank the Emperor’s Smile. We went to find- Zewu-jun. And he, uh…” 

“Did not see me,” Lan Wangji finishes neatly. He releases his bruising grip on Wei Wuxian, standing up, though his attempt at nonchalance is ruined by his refusal to break their linked gazes. He is still afraid that this is unreal, though the fear is ebbing. It is quickly being replaced with the fear that this is real, and he does not know what to make of this chance he has been granted. Wei Wuxian rises with him, looking at him cautiously.

“You remember, then?”

“No,” Lan Wangji says. 

“Right. Yeah. Okay.” Wei Wuxian rubs his palms on his legs anxiously. “Can I… ask you something?” 

Lan Wangji blinks. “Yes.” 

“Does anyone-” Wei Wuxian hesitates. “Who else remembers you, besides me?” 

Lan Wangji swallows around a dry throat. “No one else.” 

Wei Wuxian’s lips twist, but he takes this in stride. He seems to have expected it. “But you told Zewu-jun we were at the gate, didn’t you? I’ve been thinking about it- you must have, since you were the only other person around. How did you do it?”

Lan Wangji flushes. “A note.” 

Wei Wuxian blinks. “Oh, wow. That’s…”

Lan Wangji’s ears burn. Pathetic, he thinks. 

“Clever,” Wei Wuxian finishes. Lan Wangji picks his head up to stare. “And so brave! That’s- I can’t imagine how difficult that would have been. And you did it for us when we were strangers!” He squeezes Lan Wangji’s hand, smiling broadly. Dark spots dance across Lan Wangji’s vision. “Because of you, my shijie didn’t have to sleep outside. Thank you.” 

Lan Wangji swallows. He does not respond. 

Wei Wuxian likely recognizes that he is uncomfortable. He moves on. “Do you know what caused this? Was it a night hunt gone wrong?”

He wasn’t old enough for night-hunting, when it started. “No.” 

“Okay. How- How long?”

And this question is one that he cannot bear, so much so that it forces his gaze away from Wei Wuxian and to the floor. He does not like thinking about it. “Hm?”

“Lan Zhan,” Wei Wuxian says softly, gently, like he is something breakable. It is something that Lan Wangji would despise if he did not feel so close to breaking. “How long has your life been like this? A month? A year?”

Lan Wangji thinks about cold winters and harsh summers, spiraling and unending, loneliness so encompassing it became its own kind of torture. He wishes it had ended after a year. “No.” 

“Well, it can’t have been too long,” Wei Wuxian decides. His eyes light up with the same kind of stubborn determination as they did in lecture before declaring that resentful energy is also energy. Lan Wangji dreads his next words. “You have a courtesy name, after all. I only had my naming ceremony a year ago, and you’re in our age group.” He’s babbling, nervous, and a distant part of Lan Wangji wants to comfort him but his whole body has gone cold. “Lan Wangji. It’s a pretty one. Did your uncle give it to you?”

Lan Wangji abruptly feels like sobbing and is, for the first time in a decade, humiliated by the instinct. He turns away to cover his mouth and watery eyes with his hands. “No.” 

“Wait, Lan W- Lan Zhan? Look, I’m sorry, I’m saying the wrong thing, I always do, I just really thought-” Lan Wangji can almost hear Wei Wuxian thinking. “Was it your- Zewu-jun, then? It has to have been either-” 

“It was me,” he chokes out, before Wei Wuxian can spin up lies about a world that has not and will never exist. “I gave it to myself.” 

“Wh- What?”

Waves crash in his ears. His mouth tastes like blood. “No one would ever give me a courtesy name,” he chokes out, remembering the agony of silently attending his brother’s naming ceremony, then his classmates’, forever nameless, forever forgotten, “so I fashioned one on my own. Wangji, to forget the world, because it had forgotten me. To remain apart, because I would never- will never-” 

He cannot raise his eyes to meet Wei Wuxian’s gaze. He half-wonders if he’s only talking to himself, if he’s gone mad for good this time. He feels like it. “I gave it to myself,” he repeats harshly, emptily. “I chose it. There is no rule against it. Wangji. It’s mine.”

A dizzying heartbeat of silence, and then: 

“How long?” Wei Wuxian repeats quietly. 

“Ten years,” he confesses, chest empty and head spinning, spinning, spinning. His hands are over his mouth again but mostly because he fears he might vomit. 

He cannot continue. He doesn’t need to, probably. The story is clear: a decade of loneliness. A decade of abandonment. A decade of madness. No matter what Wei Wuxian says, no matter what he does, the truth is clear: Lan Wangji is long past saving. 

The indistinct sound of Wei Wuxian’s voice lilts higher, lower, and fades. Then there is only silence. When Lan Wangji looks up, the space in front of him is empty. As if Wei Wuxian forgot him and left. As if he was never there in the first place. 

He jerks in horror. 

No. No. 

Lan Wangji shoves the heels of his palm into his closed eyes until he sees stars. No. Wei Wuxian was- was real, wasn’t he? Lan Wangji had been so sure, so certain-

He folds into himself, burying his head in his knees and resolving to meditate as soon as he fixes whatever has gone wrong with his lungs that is making him gasp and gasp and still find no air. Wei Wuxian is not here. He has not ever been here. Lan Wangji has gone mad again, and he knows what he has to do, he knows how he needs to claw his way back to sanity, is already dreading the task-

A soft hand touches his. He jerks upright, wide-eyed gaze damp and blurry.

“Still me,” Wei Wuxian’s blurry silhouette assures him. “I just went to get you some water. Here.” 

A cool cup presses into Lan Wangji’s hand. He drinks it, distantly feeling the aching in his head subside. 

When the cup is gently pried from his loose fingers, he looks up. Wei Wuxian is still looking at him. The sight shocks tears into his eyes. He doesn’t- he just doesn’t know-

He reaches out like a child- and then a warm hand interlaces with his own and squeezes, all real, all true, and Lan Wangji chokes in agony and relief. 

Yes. Right. Of course. Wei Wuxian is real. He remembers. 

Lan Wangji already knew this. He had already convinced himself, already proved it- how could he have forgotten-

“Shh,” Wei Wuxian says, with obviously unpracticed gentleness. Another hand comes up to cover Lan Zhan’s shaking ice-cold fingers, to rub life back into them. “It’s okay, Lan Zhan. I just went to get the cup. I see you. I remember you.”

Lan Wangji burns with embarrassment and relief. He feels enough of the latter that he only sighs when Wei Wuxian carefully wipes the tears off his cheeks. 

“Aiyo, Lan Zhan,” he murmurs, voice intentionally light. “You can’t do this to me. You’re too pretty to cry. You know I’ll be punished for this. That’s right, rule number one, nobody can make Lan Wangji cry, I’ve read it on the Wall of Discipline! You don’t want me to be punished, do you? Forced to hold a handstand for ten hours straight? Lan Zhan, you’ll have to carry me when I’m done, I’ll be so weak!”

Of course, Wei Wuxian is speaking nonsense. Rule number one is Obey the principles of the Lan sect of Gusu, an all-encompassing command, and no rule references any specific person by name, much less Lan Wangji. Handstand punishments never last longer than four hours for the strongest sect members. Visiting disciples like Wei Wuxian rarely receive any sort of discipline more arduous than copying out rules. And though the thought of carrying him sends blood rushing to Lan Wangji’s cheeks, Wei Wuxian has both a sect and a golden core of his own and therefore no need for his assistance. 

Lan Wangji opens his mouth to say all of this, then catches a glimpse of Wei Wuxian’s lopsided smile. 

He flushes harder. No one has ever tried so hard to cheer him up before. “Ridiculous.” 

“Alright, alright,” Wei Wuxian laughs. “Can I say one more thing?”

Lan Wangji looks at him. 

“I just want you to know: I’m going to break your curse,” Wei Wuxian says, and though there is laughter in his mouth there is none in his eyes. He is solemn, sincere, honest. “I swear it, Lan Zhan. I won’t leave until I do.” 

Lan Wangji feels a bit like the world has shattered beneath him and then been rebuilt. Like he is a child, kneeling in front of an empty home, only to be raised and tucked into a warm embrace. Like he missed the sunrise screaming and writhing and crying in his bed and when he stepped outside there it was, still waiting. 

He could say You can’t. He could say You think I haven’t tried? He could say Don’t make promises you can’t keep, Wei Ying, please, you have given me so much hope already. 

Instead, he says, “Okay.” 

He says, “We will be late for breakfast.” 

He says, “I will join you outside.” 

Wei Wuxian’s eyes crinkle at the corners. He gives Lan Wangji’s shoulder a quick squeeze and leaves, the door half-cracked. 

Lan Wangji waits for his breakdown. 

It doesn’t come. 

That’s okay. He knows himself well enough to know that it will arrive sooner or later. He should be able to delay it until after eating. 

He washes his face, changes into clean clothes, and joins Wei Wuxian outside. 

Wei Wuxian turns to look at him immediately, smiling. “Hi, Lan Zhan,” he says, because he remembers Lan Wangji even though he has not been in his line of sight for several minutes. “Ready to go?”

Overwhelmed, Lan Wangji can do nothing but nod. 

“Great! I’m starv- Ugh, flies,” Wei Wuxian says, swatting aside a swarm that hovers in front of the house. Lan Wangji silently brushes aside those that struggle to land on the miniscule amount of exposed skin he has. 

Wei Wuxian’s eyes seem to narrow, though when Lan Wangji turns to look at him more fully he’s grinning just like before. 

“Are they always this bad?” 

Lan Wangji is still not used to the novelty of speaking to someone else. To listen to someone speaking back. “No,” he says, after swallowing. “It is the humid season.” 

“True, haha!” Wei Wuxian laughs, but his gaze is distant. It’s as if he’s already thinking about something else, someone else. As if he has forgotten Lan Wangji already-

Lan Wangji jolts with fear. “Wei Ying?”

Wei Wuxian looks back at him immediately, and Lan Wangji has the embarrassing realization that the man had simply… looked away. Of course he hadn’t forgotten. “Yeah?”

Lan Wangji hesitates, unwilling to admit to his momentary lapse in judgement. He thinks quickly. “Lotus Pier must have more.” 

“More… flies?” Wei Wuxian says. “Right, of course! I just would’ve expected the high-and-mighty Cloud Recesses to be free of them- it’s on a mountain, come on, but this time of the year in Lotus Pier there are so many you can barely open your mouth to speak around the lakes without three flying in!” He nudges Lan Wangji, who tries to parse his odd mix of discomfort and pleasure at the sensation of being touched without warning. “Did you know Jiang Cheng once choked on a mosquito? Choked, seriously! I had to punch his back to clear his airways, and then he punched me, and then obviously I punched him back, and Madam Yu, uh, well, anyway, shijie made us promise to use our words next time and then she made us soup, which was nice.” He looks at Lan Wangji, as if he is meant to respond. 

Lan Wangji is not sure what to say. Wei Wuxian has just violated rule 26, Do not use words excessively, but in light of it being one among thousands, Lan Wangji has suspected for some time that it is slightly hypocritical and therefore holds less weight than the rest. In any case, Wei Wuxian does not seem as though he would appreciate being informed of the rule he has inadvertently broken, and Lan Wangji - despite not knowing how to respond to the flood of new information - does not want him to stop. 

“Mn,” he tries. 

It seems to be an acceptable response, as Wei Wuxian grins before speaking on. Lan Wangji realizes, with sudden horror, that he doesn’t know how to do the same. 

Lan Wangji has always known himself to be… deficient, in one way or another. Even before the world erased him, he had been a quiet child without many friends. Later, he never had the ability to remedy this flaw. 

He feels the lack sorely now, as Wei Wuxian rambles on and on about his own life and Lan Wangji can do little but respond in one-word answers. Lan Wangji can play the guqin, can ride the sword, can memorize thousands of rules without blinking - but he is entirely unskilled in the delicate and difficult art of making conversation. How does one know when to speak? How does one hold oneself? There are no rules about either on the Lan sect’s walls, which strikes Lan Wangji as a terrible oversight. 

Luckily, Wei Wuxian doesn’t seem to notice or mind Lan Wangji’s incompetence. He continues joking and chatting as they walk the paths of Gusu and as they enter the dining area and take their food, even though it earns him a few strange looks. 

Once they have their bowls, Lan Wangji expects Wei Wuxian to split off in the direction of the Jiang sect, seated near the far side of the room. Confusingly, Wei Wuxian keeps following him as Lan Wangji walks towards his typical corner seat. 

Lan Wangji stops. Wei Wuxian stops a half-step behind him, still talking. 

“Wei Wuxian,” he says. 

Wei Wuxian’s one-sided discussion on the grandmaster’s teaching strategies is halted mid-sentence. “Yeah?”

Lan Wangji does not know how to continue. Why are you still here? seems rude. I want you to leave is not better and is also unbearably untrue. Still, something needs to be said. “The… Jiang. Are not here.” 

Wei Wuxian smiles lopsidedly. “I know. They’re over there.” He points to where Jiang Cheng and Jiang Yanli are chatting amiably with other disciples. 

Lan Wangji nods. It is good that they agree. 

He takes the last few steps to his table and sits down. Wei Wuxian immediately sits down beside him, knee knocking into his. 

Even the small touch makes Lan Wangji feel warm. He frowns with difficulty. “Wei Wuxian.” 

“Hm? Oh, right! All I’m saying is, why recite the rules every day? Surely the Lan don’t need the reminder now, and none of us will be here for more than a few months anyway! Who cares, you know?”

Lan Wangji ignores the way his heart squeezes at the thought of Wei Wuxian leaving. “Wei Wuxian.” 

Wei Wuxian grins easily. “Yeah, yeah, I know, the rules are important-” 

“You should not be here.” 

Wei Wuxian’s grin falters. “I… what?”

This is not a novel feeling, being frustrated that someone is not listening. “Thank you for your… kindness.” He swallows. “You must rejoin your sect during mealtime.” 

“What? Why? I don’t remember a rule like that. Is there a rule like that, because that’s-” 

“Stop,” Lan Wangji grits out. Wei Wuxian looks alarmed at his tone. “Do not- pity me. Go sit with your sect siblings.” 

“What?” Wei Wuxian says, looking genuinely bewildered. “Lan Wangji, I’m not sitting with you because I pity you. I’m here because we’re friends.” 

Lan Wangji takes a moment to allow his heart to resettle in his chest. He has never had a friend before. “…Regardless,” he says. “It is improper. To others, it will seem as though you are sitting by yourself. Talking to yourself.” 

“Well, we know they’re wrong,” Wei Wuxian shrugs. “Isn’t that what matters?”

Lan Wangji opens his mouth, closes it. The rules take up so much space in his head: Do not act improperly. Do not act impulsively. Do not take any action which may bring shame upon your sect. Even unseen, he knows how important reputation is. Why is Wei Wuxian not understanding how strange this must look to others? Surely the disciple’s own sect will have questions, concerns-

“Wei Wuxian!”

Wei Wuxian startles. Jiang Cheng appears behind him, brow dark. He puts a rough hand on Wei Wuxian’s shoulder. 

“Are you trying to shame the Jiang sect? You didn’t even come back last night! And what are you doing now, sitting alone in a corner?”

Both Lan Wangji and Wei Wuxian flinch. Strangely enough, Wei Wuxian takes longer to recover, looking between Lan Wangji and Jiang Cheng with a pained expression. “I’m… not, Jiang Cheng.”

“Not what?” Jiang Cheng demands. 

“I’m not sitting al-” 

“Wei Wuxian,” Lan Wangji interrupts, suddenly very tired. “Go with him.” 

Wei Wuxian’s jaw drops at his words, then further when Jiang Cheng doesn’t acknowledge them at all. “But-” 

“Wei Wuxian! Are you listening?”

“Please,” Lan Wangji says quietly. 

Wei Wuxian’s lips go thin and white. He nods, jerkily, and stands. 

“I-” he starts. 

“Let’s go,” Jiang Cheng interrupts, and pulls him away. Lan Wangji turns back to his lonely meal. The threat of his madness returning feels both terrifyingly far and impossibly close. 

I’m going to break your curse. I swear it, Wei Wuxian’s voice echoes. After years of lonely helplessness, Lan Wangji cannot quite believe it. 

Still, deep inside him, a spark of hope catches. It is small and wavering, but it warms him from the inside out.