Chapter Text
The blood that Wei Ying had vomited while Lan Zhan held him in his arms had been slimy, thick, and reddish-black.
Even now, Lan Zhan could still smell the blood, and the phantom sensation on his hands wouldn't disappear. If his brother hadn't forced him, he never would have washed his hands. Wei Ying's blood reminded Lan Zhan of his failure, his loss, and the void in his chest where his heart had once been. It was a bottomless void that nothing or no one could ever fill again.
"Wangji!" His uncle's voice sounded more pleading than angry.
He didn't reply. He hunched under the weight of the last lash but then straightened his back again. He had lost count of how many lashes he had received. His back was bleeding, and each lash made it harder to stand up straight. But even that didn't matter. At that moment, Lan Zhan thought that nothing mattered anymore.
The whip tore his flesh. But knowing that he had lost Wei Ying, that he would never see his shining smile again—even though the weight, rot, and injustice of the world had long since clouded it—was yet another kind of pain. Never hearing his voice again, never looking into his bright gray eyes, never dreaming of touching his hair—this tore at Lan Zhan's soul.
"Wangji! Agree to renounce Wei Wuxian!"
His uncle had made him understand that if he repented for his actions and renounced the person he had done them for, the thirty-three lashes would stop sooner.
Lan Zhan would have preferred to die.
He had already failed dramatically in protecting the most important person in his life. He would rather be whipped to death than join the ranks of those who would have to beg Wei Ying for forgiveness on their knees. Wei Ying had never wanted anything more than to help others. He was good. He was selfless. Now, alone and desperate, he was like a dying animal, too weak to lick his wounds. Lan Zhan and the Lans knew that Wei Ying would soon die. Alone. Because Lan Zhan couldn't be there to help him—or die with him.
“Wangji!”
Lan Zhan easily ignored the desperation in his brother's voice. The whipping continued. His uncle would not stop until he had given him the agreed-upon thirty-three lashes to repay the thirty-three wounded elders—a little less than a death sentence—unless Lan Zhan agreed to renounce Wei Wuxian. Lan Zhan knew it, and so did his brother. His brother was always kind and understanding, but when he saw Wangji being whipped, he became furious. He spoke angrily. Lan Zhan should have replied, "Wei Ying is not the only mistake of my life. He was the most beautiful gift fate gave me. And I was unable to protect him."
... Wangji?
Perhaps because the pain was numbing his senses, Lan Zhan began to feel increasingly distant from his own body. The echo of a familiar, beloved voice anchored him. It wasn't his brother's voice, nor was it their uncle's.
Lan Wangji?
Wei Ying...?
Lan Zhaaan!
Yes, it was Wei Ying's voice. But Wei Ying was dying, so he couldn't have been in the Cloud Recesses Hall where Lan Zhan was kneeling, undergoing what others considered a disciplinary action. To Lan Zhan, though, it was a belated, useless, and desperate demonstration of love.
“Lan Zhan!”
The voice was so urgent this time that Lan Zhan opened his eyes wide—eyes he hadn't realized he had closed. Not only that, but despite his senses being clouded by something akin to sleep rather than slowed by pain, he realized something was even stranger. A bed? Was he lying on a bed?
Lan Zhan blinked until the contours of his surroundings became clearer. Then, he stared, stunned and unable to breathe. He was indeed lying on a bed. Moreover, he was no longer in the hall, but in his room. His alert mind noticed a seemingly insignificant detail: the chipped corner of the small table at which he used to study. That table had been burned in the fire that almost destroyed his house.
"All right, you're worrying me. Lan Zhan, is everything all right?"
Lost in his turmoil, he had almost forgotten that voice. Lan Zhan turned his head toward the door. He wasn't sure what to expect, but he never dared hope to see Wei Ying's smile. That beautiful, radiant smile was like the sun. Sadly ironic, it was a war over the eclipse that had first obscured it.
Wei Ying peered through the half-open door. When Lan Zhan met his gaze, his smile brightened further. "Lan Zhan! I'm so glad you're awake. You had everyone worried."
Lan Zhan vaguely remembered that it was impolite not to respond to such a proclamation; but he couldn't speak. Was he still breathing? He wasn't sure. He didn't know if he could see or hear because his entire being had become his beating heart in front of the boy who had just entered the room.
Wei Ying was... young. By the gods, he looked so young. His hair was styled in the ponytail he had stopped wearing along with his sword, as if loose hair could help him hide from the hostility and fear of others. His eyes were bright and happy. His lips were curved into the smile that had captured Lan Zhan's heart from the very beginning.
The Wei Ying in front of him was just a boy, not yet tainted by war's harshness and people's cruelty. By that point in his life, however, Wei Ying had already suffered from hunger, the cold, and the indifference of those who left him to survive on the streets as an orphan. What does that say about him and his fortitude?
"Lan Zhan?" Faced with his silence, Wei Ying tilted his head slightly. Then, he handed him a basket full of loquats. "I picked these for you!" he exclaimed cheerfully, though perhaps a little nervously. The reason became clear from his next words. "You know, why did you faint after the flogging you received because of me? I want to reiterate that I admire your integrity, but I also feel guilty.”
Maybe Lan Zhan had truly gone mad. In a moment like this, rather than being overwhelmed by the madness of the situation or trembling because it was an episode of their past, he hated himself for having Wei Ying flogged. Although it had seemed right at the time, the mere thought of harming Wei Ying now made him sick.
Wei Ying rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. "Well, yes, it was a lost bet from the start that you would accept them, wasn't it?" he commented. Despite his light tone, he seemed a little disappointed. At least until he saw something in Lan Zhan's face that made him serious. "Are you really feeling sick?" he asked, approaching the bed after placing the basket of loquats on the floor.
Before he could think, before his mind could separate from his heart and demand rational thought, Lan Zhan grabbed his wrist, pulled him close, and hugged him as he had never hugged anyone before. He wrapped one arm around Wei Ying's waist and buried his other hand in his hair. He desperately wanted to break down every physical barrier between them. He wanted to merge with Wei Ying, becoming one body and one heart, to soothe the mad fear and excruciating pain caused by his loss.
"Wei Ying," he said, uttering his name like a prayer. "Wei Ying. Wei Ying."
Perhaps... No, he had surely died from the whippings. From the beginning, he knew it would be a dangerous contest of wills with the Lans. Lan Zhan would never renounce Wei Ying , but each additional lash risked killing him. He couldn't blame his clan for not giving in before his iron will and unwavering dedication proved fatal.
He should have been stunned and in total awe that he had been allowed to awaken in the body of his fifteen-year-old self after death. Instead, he felt nothing but elation. If the gods had granted him that mercy, it meant they approved of his actions.
Even the gods knew that Wei Ying was innocent.
Wei Ying died tragically at a young age, barely twenty years old. During those twenty years, he faced one trial after another, interspersed with joyful, carefree moments that others in his position, less strong and less willing to settle for less, would not have considered. He experienced loss and suffering, learning to endure. He always sacrificed himself, and others always took advantage of him. Even after reaching his lowest point, he remained capable of caring for the people he loved. Although he had every right to hate the Wens more than anyone else after what Wen Chao did to him, he ultimately sacrificed everything he had left to save innocent people. He was the only one. Meanwhile, the other cultivators celebrated the murder of an innocent young woman and planned the extermination of starving elderly people.
Wei Ying was the best person of all. And Lan Zhan didn't deserve him.
He had made so many mistakes with him... He was too hesitant, avoiding and often miscommunicating his feelings. Rather than trying to comprehend and communicate, he imposed himself. He was maddeningly incapable of expressing his concern and his care. In the meantime, Wei Ying, reduced to a bundle of darkness and despair, lost any will to understand him.
Lan Zhan gripped him so tightly that his fingers went numb.
The boy in his arms was stunned at first, but then he started to squirm. "I am officially very concerned," Wei Ying said. His voice was muffled by Lan Zhan's chest.
He didn't answer. If it was hard for him to express himself under normal circumstances, it was nearly impossible now. All he wanted was to hold Wei Ying, feel his warmth, and hear his steady heartbeat. Irrationally, Lan Zhan thought he wanted to stay like this forever, not caring about anything but their intertwined bodies.
"Wangji...? Wei Wuxian?!"
Wei Ying moaned dramatically into his chest. Lan Zhan felt fondness and pain at the thought that, at that moment, Wei Ying's biggest problem was being angrily questioned by Lan Qiren. In the past, or in another life, he too would have been terrified at the thought of being caught by his uncle in an intimate situation with another boy. Now, however, he barely flinched, showing no sign of acknowledging the man's presence in the doorway.
Seeing himself ignored, Lan Qiren angrily stepped forward.
"I just got back and found out that my nephew has been unconscious for a whole day because of you!" he exclaimed angrily. "What are you doing here now? No one gave you permission to enter his quarters! Get away from him immediately!"
"If I could..." Wei Ying murmured softly.
Lan Zhan shuddered with anger. "Wei Ying didn't do anything," he replied sharply to his uncle. He'd had enough of people blaming Wei Ying unfairly.
The man was so taken aback by his attitude that he stood there with his mouth open like a fool. His neck turned red. “Did you use any of your strange talismans on my nephew?” he pressed Wei Ying. "Wei Wuxian, I swear to you that..."
"Leave him alone!" Lan Zhan, who had never spoken up before, interrupted in such a scathing manner that they were both silenced. They stared at him in disbelief.
"I swear I'm innocent!" Wei Ying exclaimed. He had somehow freed himself from Lan Zhan's grip. He stood up and straightened his clothes, though his tousled hair revealed how hard he had struggled. He didn't protest when Lan Zhan grabbed his wrist to keep him from wandering off. "Well, anyway, I told you that your self-control and all those rules would drive you crazy sooner or later," he added. Lan Zhan had missed so much his innocently mischievous voice.
Shufu's neck turned an even deeper shade of red. "Out!" he yelled, pointing at the door.
Lan Zhan held Wei Ying's wrist tightly. "No," he said. Wei Ying began to look uncertain. Lan Zhan looked him in the eyes, "You can't leave. Please don't. Stay with me."
"I..." Wei Ying moistened his lips. "I thought you could barely tolerate me. I was joking when I said that too many rules drove you crazy. But maybe you really don't... Are you okay?"
"I'll be fine as long as you're by my side."
This time, Wei Ying's face turned red. Shufu, on the other hand, had turned ghostly pale. He seemed close to requesting an exorcism, thinking his nephew might be possessed by an evil spirit. Lan Zhan didn't care. "Stay here," he insisted, never taking his eyes off Wei Ying.
Wei Ying looked to Lan Qiren for help and the man stared back helplessly. Who would have thought that the day would come when the two of them would agree on something—specifically, Lan Zhan's sanity?
"I'm fine," he said stubbornly. After all, Wei Ying was alive, healthy, and happy—albeit a bit terrified—so how could Lan Zhan not be fine? It was offensive to think otherwise. Lan Zhan let go of his wrist and got out of bed. Then, he took his hand. "We're leaving," he told his uncle, not specifying where.
Wei Ying was so shocked at that point that he followed him without asking any questions. Shufu remained silent, too, probably because he couldn't accept what was happening.
Lan Zhan firmly dragged Wei Ying behind him through the Cloud Recesses, causing more than a few jaws to drop. Out of the corner of his eye, Lan Zhan saw Jiang Wanyin, who looked genuinely surprised, as if he had the right to look at Wei Ying. Lan Zhan pressed his lips together, choosing to ignore him. His feelings for that boy were complex, like a muddy swamp. Perhaps he could deal with them once he had regained his composure and found peace within himself; at that moment, though, only words of hatred and blame would come out of his mouth.
He couldn't look at him without imagining his purple robes stained with the blood of innocent and vulnerable people. Lan Zhan had walked among those elderly men and women. They had smiled at him. Pale and emaciated, they wore tattered clothes and huddled in rudimentary homes built by a ferocious corpse. Yet they had never shown anything but gratitude to Wei Ying. They didn't demand or ask; they were simply grateful.
Their blood was on his hands, too. He could have done so much more, but he didn't. He was unworthy to be near Wei Ying. Wei Ying was kinder, braver, and more altruistic. Compared to him, Lan Zhan was nothing. He was... he wasn't...
Wei Ying's warm, living hand anchored him to reality.
"You're pale," he noted worriedly.
"I'm fine," Lan Zhan replied.
They stopped once they reached the small clearing where Lan Zhan had released the rabbits Wei Ying had given him. The last time he had been there, the rabbits had already reproduced in large numbers. Now, the clearing was empty. Lan Zhan glanced at the bushes; he had sensed someone's hidden presence—most likely Jiang Wanyin and Nie Huaisang.
Wei Ying coughed. "Lan Zhan? If you wanted to kill me and bury my body, I must inform you of a couple of inconvenient witnesses."
"Shut up!"
Lan Zhan hadn't meant to sound so harsh, but he didn't want to hear about Wei Ying's death.
Wei Ying was too perceptive to miss the fact that his anger was genuine: he immediately stiffened. Lan Zhan had to restrain himself from doing something humiliating, like running a hand through his hair in frustration. Would he ever be able to talk to him properly? He knew that all their positive interactions in the past—or at least, the ones that weren’t tragic—had depended on Wei Ying’s unwavering cheerfulness. The moment he stopped being happy, they started arguing and yelling at each other.
Remembering that they were both recovering from disciplinary action—certainly not as severe as whippings, but still painful—Lan Zhan chose where to go. Wei Ying didn't protest as he was led around again. Lan Zhan noticed him looking around with great curiosity as he led him to the cold spring. At least until he gasped when Lan Zhan started to undress. "Lan Zhan!" he squeaked.
Lan Zhan raised his eyebrows slightly. Interesting: usually bold and shameless, Wei Ying was unexpectedly awkward when the tables were turned.
He immersed himself in the water, keeping only his shoulders above the surface. The pain of the bruises was nothing compared to what he had felt or… would feel in the future, if their lives were carved in stone—sad, bloody, and unjust. No, he mustn't think about it. The gods wouldn't be so cruel as to send him back only to make him relive every horror and terrible mistake.
His bruises were nothing, but seeing the purple painting covering Wei Ying's shoulders and arms deposited something dark in his stomach. This time, Lan Zhan didn't get irritated when the boy hastily and clumsily jumped in, complaining about the cold and creating large splashes. "These are healing waters," he explained, wiping his face with the back of his hand.
"So you're trading death by excessive discipline for death by freezing?"
"Stop talking about dying!" Lan Zhan snapped. He knew Wei Ying was only joking, but he couldn't control his temper. His brother would have enjoyed seeing him like this; after all, Xichen had been urging Lan Zhan to be more honest about his feelings since childhood.
"Lan Zhan, ah, Lan Zhan... If you keep this up, I'll start to believe that you actually care about me," Wei Ying teased, his usual cheekiness returning. He swam right next to Lan Zhan, circling around him. Lan Zhan cupped his hands, scooped up some water, and poured it onto the large bruise between Wei Ying's shoulder blades. "I do care," he confirmed calmly.
What mild words to express how he felt! Ever since they first met, Wei Ying had turned his life upside down, like a typhoon. He was the cause of his first sleepless night. His first erotic fantasy. His first love song. He was his first joy, his first anguish, his first exasperated anger, and his first jealousy. Fear, desire, longing, confusion, helplessness: Wei Ying unlocked the trunk where Lan Zhan had locked away all his emotions.
Long ago, Wei Ying became the beginning and end of his world.
Wei Ying was his own life.
Bubbles gurgled from the clear surface of the water where Wei Ying had submerged. Lan Zhan let him do it. When the boy finally resurfaced to breathe, his face was still red. The brief silence between them was broken, strangely, by Lan Zhan.
He remembered something Wei Ying had told him in the Xuanwu of the Slaughter cave to distract them both: "Do you have any ideas on how we could get rid of the Waterborne Abyss?" he asked.
His face lit up; he was always happy to talk about his inventions and theories with someone willing to listen. His embarrassment forgotten, he became lively again and began to gesticulate as he concentrated on his speech. “The Abyss is an immense collection of consciousnesses—many spirits of drowned people who have joined together to form a single mass of resentment and destruction. But they are still consciousnesses, you see? So I thought, 'What if we could separate them from each other? Distinguish between them? What if we listened to what each individual spirit had to say? They are nothing more than grieving ghosts who suffered in death and wish to be recognized.”
As Lan Zhan listened to Wei Ying, murmuring his agreement from time to time, he began to become truly aware of himself and his situation. The restlessness and anguish were still there, making him feel like a child who wakes up from a night terror and struggles to reconcile with reality. However, even without meditating, he managed to calm down enough to slow his heartbeat, soothed by the water and Wei Ying's presence.
It was all true. He was alive, as was Wei Ying. They were all alive, even those who should have remained dead. This included the guilty Wens and Jin Guangshan. Just mentally saying his name made him frown; Lan Zhan hated him almost more than he hated Wen RuoHan: a man who locked women, the elderly, and children in poorly disguised extermination camps was simply unforgivable.
Lan Zhan was unworthy of Wei Ying—that much was true. But that didn’t mean he couldn’t change and become the person Wei Ying deserved. He would never, never disappoint him again.
"... So, my idea is this: Use a musical instrument imbued with spiritual qi to communicate with the spirits of the Waterborne Abyss, one at a time. Imagine unraveling a huge tangle by pulling one thread at a time. Some spirits may be too evil to appease, but I believe most of the drowned feel pain and regret rather than anger."
Wei Ying's conclusion made him tense up. In the cave, he hadn't fully thought through the implications of that theory, partly because half his brain had never stopped mulling over how and when to sing his song. "And who should play?" he asked menacingly.
Wei Ying raised his hand as if answering a question in class. "Me! You may not believe it, but I'm pretty good at playing the dizi."
Unfortunately, Lan Zhan believed him completely.
“Jiang-shushu never had a spiritual instrument made for me because... well, Jiang Cheng isn't very talented at music. But it was my father who taught me the basics, and once in Yunmeng, I made myself a flute out of a bamboo cane.”
Lan Zhan was torn between two irritations: discovering that Jiang Fengmian had limited his head disciple's potential to maintain family peace, preventing him from excelling at something his heir could not do; and knowing where Wei Ying was going with this.
"So you intend to play for hours on end for a huge crowd of spirits who died violently, listening to and absorbing hundreds of tragic stories steeped in pain," he summarized coldly.
Wei Ying clapped his hands. "Excellent summary!" he praised cheerfully.
Lan Zhan glared at him. "You won't do it," he said dryly. "Not because your theory is wrong," he added, his tone harsher. He hated how low Wei Ying's self-esteem was when stripped of all bravado and insolence. Wei Ying knew his own worth, but he was pragmatically resigned to the fact that the nobles would never take him seriously. "Your ideas are brilliant and surprising. That's not the problem. You won't do it because I won't allow you to suffer for someone else's sake," Lan Zhan clarified.
Wei Ying blinked like an owl. "Well, thank you for the compliments. I'm flattered that you have such high regard for ideas that will give your honorable uncle a stroke sooner or later. I'm really touched. But Lan Zhan, isn't it against the idea of cultivation to want to protect yourself rather than help others?"
Of course it was true. However, Lan Zhan believed that he had every right to be selfish. Furthermore, by any standard, Wei Ying's altruism reached pathological levels. Moreover, Lan Zhan was no longer naive. He knew perfectly well how indignant his uncle and the other Lans would be upon hearing the theory; while it wasn't heretical like the use of resentful Qi, it was still completely new. Lan Zhan wasn't sure he could bear any more criticism of Wei Ying.
At the same time, however, he did not want to overlook, misunderstand, or exploit Wei Ying's genius. It deserves due recognition.
Lan Zhan closed his eyes and took a short breath. Tomorrow. He would think things through and make choices tomorrow. For now, though, he wanted to swim among those events bigger than himself. He would come to terms with it and use this second chance to erase all his regrets and protect Wei Ying. Just not now. Now, Lan Zhan wanted to act foolishly and brazenly. When Wei Ying complained about the cold, he pulled him into his arms and held him tightly.
“Lan-er-gongzi!”
It was intriguing that Wei Ying would apparently start calling him by his formal title when embarrassed. Everything about him was fascinating. Everything about him was perfect. Lan Zhan would die a second time before allowing the world to not give him exactly what he deserved.