As a note, the word “vampire” is not used in the fic, as they’re very much a western concept and don’t exist in Chinese mythology. But also I, a Chinese person, am very much a hoe for vampires, so. Also not all vampire qualities are present here; you'll see the ones that I adapted soon enough but for the most part, the prompt asked for sexy blood-drinking, so I'm mostly focused on delivering sexy blood-drinking ;)

This is largely in CQL 'verse for timeline and universe/plot conveniences, but there are some novel references for things like eye color. In terms of CQL, it weaves through episodes 19 to 26, then takes a comfortable left turn. Do expect familiar canon conversations, but I did my best to cut them down if I didn't make any major changes to them. I know that locations and travel times are fucky in canon, so ignore that here, too.

I spent a lot of time listening to Gaho's cover of How You Like That by Blackpink to get into the mood to write this. The title comes from iDKHOW's New Invention. Other songs on this fic's unofficial playlist include Taylor Swift's Don't Blame Me and Boa's Eat You Up. None of this is important, just some fun behind the scenes stuff.

Thank you as always to renaissance for making my words readable, Kitten for helping me research lotus since I can't, and lmnop for doing canon-related (and also not-canon-related) edits. My mom also helped me out with some translation stuff, which, uh. Shout out, I guess?

All remaining errors are, of course, my own.

(See the end of the work for more notes)

零

Wei Wuxian.

Wei-gongzi.

Wei-xiong.

Wei Ying.

Whispers and darkness surround his body, his mind. Wei Wuxian doesn’t know where to turn, the voices so far away, yet close enough to touch his skin. Resentful energy dances along his pores, threatens to seep into his skin.

No one survives the Burial Mounds.

Wei Ying.

The resentful energy from his pouch, from Xuanwu Cave, has manifested back into the sword. In the light, it is teasing. Like it is a way out. The screams get louder as he approaches it, like gravity trying to pull him back.

Resentful energy hurts like a motherfucker, but Wei Wuxian does not feel it anymore. He does not feel his body or any kind of warmth; the screams get louder. It is like he knows everyone who has died here, who has been thrown into the Burial Mounds, and they’re waiting for him. The energy is black and thickening, but does not resist as he drags himself to the sword.

Wei Wuxian, do you want revenge?

By the time he reaches the sword, eons have passed. He has died, time and time and time again, the light in the swirling darkness of the Burial Mounds the only thing keeping his eyes open. His body feels lifeless,, limbs moving of their own accord, as if they do not belong to him. The only way he remembers his name is by the voices around him, screaming it.

He has watched two of his families die, watched himself die, and now it no longer matters. He no longer matters, when there is still evil in this world. The greed that lives in humans is no match for his greed for justice, to see the blood of his enemies spill. The screams get louder, urging him, wanting him; his core is empty, has been long since before he got here. It no longer matters what he is, who he is. Only what he will become.

Let’s be together.

If his body is hollowed out from the inside. If what makes him human is replaced with a curse, the desire of immortals, an eternal hunger. Death is nothing compared to bloodlust. Wei Wuxian embraces it all, winding into him, possessing his veins. The resentful energy is thick, syrupy, as his still-beating heart slows and slows. Its tremors cease, his skin running cold, and that hunger overtakes him in every cell of his body. No longer will his life be dictated by walking under the sun, breaths stolen into the night. Accompanied by the vengeful souls, he will hunt for his enemies, his prey. He will hunt for blood.

Vengeance is ours.

(At a price.)

一

checkmate

The memory of Wei Wuxian has haunted him since three moons ago. Three moons ago, when Jiang Wanyin declared him missing. When Lan Xichen helped him search high and low in all the sects, when they were supposed to be at war but Lan Wangji only wanted to know what happened to Wei Wuxian. Now, from the roof, Lan Wangji nearly doesn’t believe it at the sight of that infuriating smirk, the unfamiliar dizi in his hands, the black leather robes that have somehow gotten blacker.

He and Jiang Wanyin watch the proceedings, but when Wen Zhuliu attacks, Lan Wangji doesn’t hesitate to blow their cover. He blasts the roof beneath them, crashing into the room. Jiang Wanyin goes for Wen Zhuliu immediately, but all of Lan Wangji’s attention is on Wei Wuxian—his pale face, his red eyes, the lingering air of something dead and bloodthirsty around him.

Once Wen Zhuliu is dead, Jiang Cheng approaches Wei Wuxian first, with the formalities, the sentiments, handing him Suibian again. But Lan Wangji watches Wei Wuxian, the grey in his eyes lifeless, the sharpness of his cheekbones, the starkness of his pale skin. Something is very wrong with him, and Lan Wangji knows that he and Jiang Wanyin saw the black wisps surrounding him when he played the dizi. The brutal way the Wen soldiers died, bleeding from every orifice in their faces. The type of cruelty Lan Wangji could never think himself capable of, much less anyone as good, as bright as Wei Wuxian.

He watches the darkness of Wei Wuxian’s eyes, how his jaw clenches the more questions Jiang Wanyin asks. Jiang Wanyin sits next to him on the bench, but Lan Wangji notices Wei Wuxian’s nostrils flare, body visibly tensing. Wei Wuxian is not shy about physical closeness—but maybe now he is.

“Wei Ying,” Lan Wangji says, and Wei Wuxian’s gaze snaps up to him. “Were you the one who hunted down the Wen disciples along the way here?”

Wei Wuxian’s voice sharpens. “And so what if I was?”

Jiang Wanyin starts. “You were the one who changed the talismans, too?”

Lan Wangji ignores him. “You murdered them?” And there it is again—Wei Wuxian’s infuriating smirk, despite all the restlessness held in his body. “Why did you give up the ways of the sword for some other cultivation practices?”

“What does it matter to you?” Wei Wuxian shoots back. He’s stood up; as Lan Wangji inches closer, Wei Wuxian moves farther away from him. Usually it’s the other way around. “It gets the job done, doesn’t it?”

“It matters to me,” is all Lan Wangji can think of to say.

Wei Wuxian levels a stare at him. In the corner, Wen Chao is still whimpering. “I’m afraid I can’t share,” he says, and his teeth are bright in the low candlelight. “It’s too long a story, you see—”

“Come to Gusu with me,” Lan Wangji says. “Explain there.”

Wei Wuxian smiles. “No.”

He is terrifyingly cold. Lan Wangji wants to know where his Wei Wuxian—the Wei Wuxian he used to know—went. He had always been powerful, intelligent, knocking Lan Wangji off his feet when he least expected it. And he still does, but now it feels like there is something underneath—a crack, irreparably broken, and Lan Wangji wants to heal him. To repair him.

Lan Wangji says, “There will be a price for learning wicked tricks. History shows this. Your body and your mind will fall victim the more you practice dark magic.”

Wei Wuxian’s smile turns dangerous, an edge Lan Wangji’s never seen before. “Do not imply to me that you know my mind or body better than I do.”

“It has happened before,” Lan Wangji says, “to previous cultivators—”

“Am I a previous cultivator?”

Wei Wuxian has brought himself up into Lan Wangji’s space now, his nostrils flaring. His eyes darken, all pupil.

“You have strayed off the lightened path to do what only the cruel do,” Lan Wangji says. “The wicked, the evil—”

“Was it not evil, when Wen Xu burned down the Cloud Recesses?” Wei Wuxian’s voice is incisive, chilling. “When they left us for dead at the Xuanwu Slaughter Cave? When he—” and he points at Wen Zhuliu’s unmoving body, “—and his men annihilated our family, our home?”

“Wei Ying,” Lan Wangji says quietly.

Wei Wuxian is shaking. “I use music, I use magic. I do what is necessary to serve justice.” His grip is tight around his coal-colored dizi. “I know what I’m doing, and it is not evil.”

“You cannot make all these decisions for yourself,” Lan Wangji says.

“And why the fuck should you care, Lan Wangji?”

His teeth are close, so close; his nostrils won’t stop flaring. Yet in his eyes, he looks like he is holding himself back, and Lan Wangji wants to know what from—wants Wei Wuxian to lose control, take him, show him everything he’s become—

Jiang Wanyin cuts in; by the flicker in Wei Wuxian’s eyes, he might’ve forgotten that he was there. “Lan-er gongzi, we still need to deal with the matter at hand with the Wens. And Wei Wuxian can help with manpower. Yunmeng Jiang needs it right now.” Jiang Wanyin’s tone brooks no argument. “There is no need for you to be concerned about Wei Wuxian’s cultivation practices.”

His words seem to be settling Wei Wuxian down, even though Lan Wangji doubts that was his intent.

“In the end, Wei Wuxian is not Gusu Lan’s business,” Jiang Wanyin finishes, and Wei Wuxian, gaze still locked with Lan Wangji’s, nods in agreement.

Lan Wangji doesn’t know how to respond, how to say that his worries have nothing to do with the politics, with Gusu Lan, and everything to do with Wei Wuxian. He and Wei Wuxian are two ends of a tightly bound rope, frayed in places but clinging, and Lan Wangji wants to bring him from the cliffside, to safety—

And then Wen Chao stirs and begs, begs for forgiveness.

“Lan-er gongzi,” Wei Wuxian says; his face is deceptively serene. Lan Wangji sees his hands trembling from the restraint. “I believe my brother and I will now handle some of the domestic affairs of Yunmeng Jiang, if you could be so kind to give us some privacy.” The grip on his dizi is tight; when he turns to Wen Chao, his gaze is merciless.

Lan Wangji doesn’t know how to save him. If Wei Wuxian can be saved. He turns to leave, and feels the heat of Wei Wuxian on his back. They will have to see the Sunshot Campaign through, but Lan Wangji will not let Wei Wuxian spiral down this path. He departs the Yiling Supervisory Office.

He pretends not to hear the screams of terror behind him.

He does not see Wei Wuxian again until they are both back in the Unclean Realm.

Wei Wuxian looks even worse now, eyes bloodshot with heavy shadows underneath. The bones of his face are nearly visible through his gaunt skin, and though he moves and speaks as quickly as ever, he seems to be on the edge of something, of breaking himself and everything around him. The Sunshot Campaign wants to celebrate his return at dinner.

Lan Wangji does not attend.

Whatever is going on with Wei Wuxian is dark, disturbing. Lan Wangji remembers learning about the different methods of cultivation among the sects, the modes and functions of magic, where the energy comes from. All the cultivators that dabbled in anything remotely dark—drawing on the pain of the living, the yin in one’s heart—it damages, poisons, kills you slowly. Torturously.

And the light in Wei Wuxian’s eyes is gone, replaced with something that craves darkness to fill them. Lan Wangji knows that they are both here in Qishan now, for a war that is bigger than them—and yet, playing Cleansing on his guqin this evening, Lan Wangji thinks only of the war between them. The war in Wei Wuxian’s heart, and the goodness he used to know.

After a few rounds of Cleansing , he takes a break to practice his movement with Bichen in the courtyard. Hai has not yet fallen. With his hand on his sword, he thinks of Wei Wuxian, not wielding his own—how he’d merely held Suibian, when Jiang Wanyin had given it back to him. And back in the Cloud Recesses, Wei Wuxian had discussed using resentful energy, but had certainly treated it like something he would never do. And the glowing way he’d looked at Lan Wangji, his shijie, everybody… when Lan Wangji had passed the Yunmeng Jiang rooms earlier, he had heard him talking with his shijie and Jiang Wanyin. Wei Wuxian’s responses were short, whatever string of control he had on himself fraying.

Lan Wangji does not want Wei Wuxian to become their problem, too, when he has already suffered so much.

They are due to a strategy meeting the next morning, but Wei Wuxian does not appear. Jiang Wanyin takes responsibility acceptably, but Lan Wangji does not believe that he knows Wei Wuxian’s condition any better than the rest of them do.

Even later when Lan Xichen invites him out to roam around the Unclean Realm, they run into Jiang Wanyin alone. Wei Wuxian is suspiciously absent here, as well.

Every part of Lan Wangji says to keep to his own sect, to not involve himself in the concerns of others. But in his heart, this is something that Lan Wangji needs to know, because Wei Wuxian cannot just crash into his life with the force of a tidal wave, and then turn and leave Lan Wangji to deal with the debris he left behind. After talking to Lan Xichen, Lan Wangji reroutes to the Yunmeng Jiang rooms, to Wei Wuxian’s rooms.

But, with his knuckles raised to the door, he thinks—Wei Wuxian does need his time. He had just come back after three moons, after all. And what right does Lan Wangji have to demand answers from him immediately? For all that Wei Wuxian has changed, he has never deliberately led Lan Wangji astray or put him in a position he did not want to be in. Lan Wangji is no such person to do that to Wei Wuxian now, either.

Tucking his hand away, Lan Wangji retreats from the door, untouched. He can wait for Wei Wuxian, for when he is ready.

“Lan-er gongzi.”

It’s a feminine voice—Jiang Yanli, he sees when he turns around. She approaches him. He bows and greets her appropriately.

“You’re here for A-Xian, then?” she asks, and Lan Wangji prepares to leave. “Wait—can I ask you something?”

Lan Wangji nods, signaling for her to continue.

Jiang Yanli bites her lip. “I’m worried about A-Xian,” she says. “I know I don’t know much about cultivation, but he is—different. Carrying his dizi around instead of a sword. I was wondering if you knew anything about that.”

“I do not know about Wei Wuxian specifically,” Lan Wangji says, and her face falls. “But sword cultivation is defensive, grounded, while musical cultivation assists with understanding the spirits. The sword protects you from any threats.”

“Can musical cultivation be… aggressive?” Jiang Yanli asks.

Lan Wangji carefully does not ask why she wants to know. “For musical cultivation to be aggressive is to use dead and resentful spirits against the living,” he says. “It is considered unnatural and disrespectful.”

More and more worry lines appear on Jiang Yanli’s face.

“Jiang-guniang—” Lan Wangji finally can’t stop himself from asking, “Did something happen for you to ask these questions?”

“I just…” Jiang Yanli’s voice drops. She whispers, “Want to know if he’s alright,” but Lan Wangji is unsure if she intended for him to hear that.

“These methods can harm your body and your temperament,” he tells her. “This is why swordsmanship is the purest technique. Magic and music may assist it, but not as cultivation alone.”

“Then…” Jiang Yanli looks even more unsure of herself now. “Then do you know if that alters parts of your body, too? Your human needs?”

Lan Wangji’s eyebrows furrow, however discreetly.

“Like a lengthened tooth,” she murmurs, rubbing her fingers together in thought. There is a faint scar on one of them. “Or not eating or drinking anything…”

This alarms Lan Wangji. “Jiang-guniang,” he says. “Is there something wrong with—”

Wei Wuxian rounds the corner.

This is not the same Wei Wuxian as just moons after his absence. This is hardly the same Wei Wuxian as when they’d all recouped at the Unclean Realm, just days before. Wei Wuxian is paler than Lan Wangji’s white robes, a permanent darkness under his eyes, the line of his neck so pronounced that it looks like he hasn’t eaten in moons. And maybe he hasn’t, Lan Wangji realizes. Wei Wuxian’s eyes are bright, red, furious as he stares at Lan Wangji talking to his shijie. His hands are shaking as he approaches them.

“What were you telling my shijie?” he demands. “ Lan Zhan .”

Lan Wangji can only helplessly reply, “Wei Ying.”

“I thought you were told to stay out of our business,” Wei Wuxian continues, sneer marring his beautiful face. “I didn’t realize Hanguang-jun likes gossiping about cultivation practices he knows nothing about, interfering with another sect’s business while we’re in the middle of a war.”

Lan Wangji spins around; he does not want to do this in front of Jiang Yanli. He does not want to do this at all, to see Wei Wuxian look half-starved like this.

“Hey!” Wei Wuxian storms behind him as he enters the courtyard.

Lan Wangji swivels and unsheathes Bichen—but Wei Wuxian is like lightning, blocking his movement with his dizi.

“Where is Suibian?” Lan Wangji says. “Do you think you can fight in a war with magic alone?”

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Wei Wuxian asks, as Lan Wangji tries to swing at him again and again. The way Wei Wuxian moves is atypical, nearly invisible; Lan Wangji struggles to adapt.

“Why are you using energy that’s not yours? What kind of cultivator are you?” Lan Wangji feels his own frustration coming out in waves, and he needs to reground himself, hold it in. He focuses on each swipe of his sword.

Wei Wuxian’s eyes glint dangerously. “What kind of cultivator am I? Do you want me to say that I’m evil ?” His stance changes; all of a sudden, he’s rushing towards Lan Wangji, with nothing but his body. Lan Wangji doesn’t know how to use his sword to dodge him.

“Tell me this, Lan Zhan,” Wei Wuxian snarls. “What does it matter what kind of cultivator I am when Wen Chao is dead? Wen Zhuliu? I know what kind of cultivator I am, and what my methods are. I don’t need the great Hanguang-jun’s approval.” He is predatory, like he is playing with Lan Wangji before he eats him. Lan Wangji does not know what will happen if he runs out of space to back up.

Wei Wuxian says, “But of course the great Lan Wangji is righteous, telling my shijie all about the Yiling Supervisory Office, my evil magic —”

“Your magic is dangerous,” Lan Wangji says, not even bothering to correct Wei Wuxian’s assumption. “You cannot think that you are an exception—”

“But what if I am an exception?”

“Where are you, Wei Ying?” Lan Wangji tries to stand his ground as Wei Wuxian gets closer. “What have you become?”

Wei Wuxian laughs. “You think you know me, Lan Wangji?” he sneers. His eyes flash and his teeth glint—

Lan Wangji stops moving, and Wei Wuxian closes the space between them. And then there are two points digging into Lan Wangji’s neck, painful for a second before it blends into numbness, to pleasure. He feels it when his blood pushes against his skin, gushes out of him, and Wei Wuxian is licking, sucking, drinking , mouth searing on Lan Wangji’s skin.

He does not know how much blood is pouring out of him, or at what rate; all he feels is it rushing out, hot, almost eager to make its way into Wei Wuxian’s mouth. And his veins sing at the sensation, something he’s never felt before, a full-body wreckage as he turns weak in Wei Wuxian’s hands. Wei Wuxian is consuming him, he realizes, dazedly, belatedly, like a starved man and Lan Wangji’s body is a feast. Heat coils in his belly at the realization, and Lan Wangji does not need blood—just this, this for Wei Wuxian and the dirty hot rush all through his torso and cock and limbs—

Then Wei Wuxian tears away from him, stumbles backwards. There is blood all over his mouth, his—fangs, teeth. A string of scarlet still connects his mouth and Lan Wangji’s neck.

It breaks.

Wei Wuxian has a bit of color in his face now, Lan Wangji absently notes.

Wei Wuxian’s eyes are wide.

“Shit,” he says. “Fuck. Lan Zhan, I—fuck. I’m so sorry.”

He flees.

Lan Wangji searches, but cannot find him for the rest of the afternoon. He does knock on Wei Wuxian’s door this time, after cleaning up the blood that remained in dark scarlet rivers along his neck and channeling his spiritual energy to heal up the torn skin. When he asks, Jiang Wanyin hasn’t seen him all day, nor have the sect leaders or Nie Huaisang spotted him in the grounds. Lan Wangji would ask Jiang Yanli too, except after how Wei Wuxian had lashed out at him in front of her, he doubts that Wei Wuxian would want to confront that just yet.

On top of what just happened between him and Lan Wangji.

Lan Wangji had known, since Wei Wuxian’s lessons at the Cloud Recesses had ended, that his feelings for Wei Wuxian were equally as strong as they were not entirely platonic. What had most surprised him about the encounter was Wei Wuxian drinking his blood, and how much Lan Wangji had enjoyed it—wanted it, like it was all his body was made to do. He’d heard myths of such creatures, needing blood, human mortality to survive. But he had no real evidence or experience of them before, so Lan Wangji does not know how to approach the issue. How to figure out what else Wei Wuxian might want.

It is not until nightfall when Lan Wangji finds him, lounging on a roof that had been empty only moments ago. Like Wei Wuxian wanted to be found. Lan Wangji tilts his head up; Wei Wuxian does not acknowledge him, but must know that he is there.

Lan Wangji joins him. Wei Wuxian sighs.

“I suppose you want to talk now, about earlier,” Wei Wuxian says. His dizi is spinning between his fingertips.

Lan Wangji sits next to him, and waits.

“Well, there’s not much to say,” Wei Wuxian says to the night air. “I’m sorry.”

Lan Wangji says, “Wei Ying.”

“I don’t know what came over me,” Wei Wuxian says. He stops spinning his dizi, straightens up. He grits his teeth. “I’ve been—it’s so fucking hard, being back. I was—I can’t sleep. I don’t want to eat or drink anything. Anything, except—”

He looks at Lan Wangji’s neck and laughs, bitterly.

“And it’s not just any blood,” Wei Wuxian says, “because my shijie, she—it’s wrong, it’s all wrong . Except for you, Lan Zhan. You smell so good, sweet , and I just want to—” He digs his teeth—not his fangs—into his lower lip.

Lan Wangji’s heart is pounding in his ears. “Wei Ying,” he says again.

“You’re right, you know,” Wei Wuxian says. “I don’t know what I’ve turned into. I feel—way better now, since this afternoon. But I can’t—”

“You can,” Lan Wangji says. “If it’s what you need.”

Wei Wuxian pauses. His gaze fixes on Lan Wangji’s. “What do you mean?”

“You can—” Lan Wangji swallows at the wording, “—drink from me, if it is what your body requires. If it is what you want. I do not mind.”

The laugh Wei Wuxian lets out this time is light, false. “Are you sick, Lan Zhan?” he says. “You don’t want that.”

Heat rushes to Lan Wangji’s ears, but he does not falter. He brings himself to his feet. “If it is my blood that Wei Ying requires,” wants, hungers for, craves , “then I am more than willing to provide it.”

“You can’t be serious.” Wei Wuxian stands up as well, approaches him. When Lan Wangji does not balk, he brings a hand to Lan Wangji’s neck. His fingers run over the small holes where he bit Lan Wangji earlier, and Lan Wangji has to close his eyes to resist the full body shudder that threatens to overtake him.

“Please let me help,” he says. He meets Wei Wuxian’s gaze again. I do not want you to suffer alone , he thinks.

Wei Wuxian lets out a strained exhale. “But I can’t bite you on the neck,” he says. “Not like I did earlier—it’s too obvious, someone will see, and—”

Lan Wangji is nodding. He’s sure that Wei Wuxian is ashamed of these new urges, what he’s become, but Lan Wangji—he has his own secret perversions he doesn’t want anyone to see, either. To know this thing that is only between himself and Wei Wuxian.

“I have thought about it,” he says. “My thigh—there is plenty of blood there, and no one will see. You can drink from me there.”

“From your thigh?” Wei Wuxian raises his eyebrows. “Lan Zhan, you really are too good, thinking of everything.” He does not look disgusted at the idea, however intimate.

Lan Wangji inclines his head to the night sky. The moon makes Wei Wuxian glow paler than usual, paler than he’s ever been. But he is still as beautiful as before.

“Whatever Wei Ying needs,” he says quietly.

They will try it tonight, despite Wei Wuxian’s reservations. Because for all the blood he took today, it may not have been enough. They quietly make their way to Lan Wangji’s room, so that Wei Wuxian can clean them up and leave if Lan Wangji ends up unconscious from the blood loss.

Lan Wangji’s body is singing with excitement. He wonders if Wei Wuxian can tell— sweet , Wei Wuxian had said, and Lan Wangji wants to know what else he smells. If he can taste Lan Wangji’s true desire for it, not just generosity, at the tip of his tongue. Wei Wuxian could ask to drink from his dantian, his heart, and Lan Wangji would not hesitate in tearing himself open, for Wei Wuxian.

They do not touch as they walk to Lan Wangji’s room, but Lan Wangji isn’t imagining it when Wei Wuxian falters, nostrils twitching when Lan Wangji steps a bit closer. Lan Wangji lets them inside—Wei Wuxian does not follow him all the way in, and when Lan Wangji turns, he sees that Wei Wuxian is in the middle of the room, eyes closed, inhaling deeply.

“Your scent,” he says. “It’s everywhere.”

The words make Lan Wangji’s skin go hot. Instead of replying, he sits on his bed, framed by the unlit candlesticks. He pulls the sheets aside so he can sit on the wood. “We do not want to get the linens dirty,” he says.

Wei Wuxian smirks—and it’s genuine, like before. “That wouldn’t be so bad, would it?”

Lan Wangji does not shiver, does not halt at the thought of Wei Wuxian wanting people to know, even if it is not necessarily true. To be marked by Wei Wuxian, to mark him in turn. To be his . He carefully watches, instead, as Wei Wuxian approaches him.

“Is there anything you want to do beforehand?” Wei Wuxian asks. “Or should we just begin?”

Swallowing, Lan Wangji begins taking his trousers off. He rearranges his underrobes and lays himself horizontal on the bench. Wei Wuxian is still standing, hovering over him, eyes darkening as Lan Wangji pulls back his robes more and more.

“You’re going to do this with your clothes on, Hanguang-jun?” Wei Wuxian says. “Your pristine white robes—will they not get stained with your blood?”

Lan Wangji had thought about it, but he was unsure—of stripping himself naked, in Wei Wuxian’s presence. He hesitates, but Wei Wuxian places a hand on his knee and smiles. “No matter. I will be careful not to ruin the lovely Hanguang-jun’s clothing.”

He leans down between Lan Wangji’s legs, calves. Lan Wangji’s breathing is getting faster as Wei Wuxian nudges his knees apart, moving his face closer. “You smell so good, Lan Zhan,” Wei Wuxian murmurs, breath ghosting over Lan Wangji’s skin. “I can feel your blood rising up to me. I can’t believe you’re offering yourself to me like this.”

The side of his fang grazes the inside of Lan Wangji’s thigh. Lan Wangji whimpers .

“Don’t worry,” Wei Wuxian says. “I won’t take too much.”

And then he sinks his teeth in.

Even though Lan Wangji had known it was coming, he can’t stop the small noise that escapes from his lips at the pain of his skin getting torn apart. His blood is pumping faster than ever, it feels like, as he tries to focus on lifting his robes up, out of the way for Wei Wuxian to drink. His lips are sealed around the bite, suckling every last trope of blood like he can’t get enough, though it’s probably to keep his promise of not dirtying Lan Wangji’s robes. Wei Wuxian breaks for a moment to lick at the bite, wet on Lan Wangji’s skin, and Lan Wangji tries to keep himself in check as dizziness racks his body, threatens to overtake him.

It’s like he’s lost so much blood, and yet not enough—like Wei Wuxian has been drinking from him for ages, when barely any time has passed at all. The front of Wei Wuxian’s fangs catches on his skin, and Lan Wangji, even in his drugged, lightheaded daze, manages to prevent himself from letting out a needy moan. This feeling of a part of him flooding Wei Wuxian’s mouth, of Wei Wuxian simply, greedily taking him, shoots bursts of arousal through his veins and he is powerless to stop it.

Wei Wuxian stops drinking eventually, only licking at Lan Wangji’s thigh. Lan Wangji enjoys the sensation and doesn’t realize what’s happening until Wei Wuxian runs a finger over where he had bitten him—where he is only damp from his saliva, tingles from the sensitivity, but otherwise clean.

Wei Wuxian lifts himself up from between his legs. “My saliva heals you,” he says, looking pleased with himself.

His face has returned to full color, and though the light in his eyes is not the same, it is back. His lips are dark and his teeth are stained, blood dripping down his chin. Lan Wangji wants nothing more than to pull him close and kiss him.

He does not, knows he cannot. His body feels loose, though not necessarily weak. He opens his mouth but does not remember how to speak. A bit of drool waters under his tongue.

Wei Wuxian chuckles. “Well, clearly I took a lot, but at least you’re still conscious,” he says. “I wanted to take more, but I had to think of you, Lan Zhan, because you still need your blood.”

No, I don’t, Lan Wangji wants to say. Take more. You can have all of it.

“Can you sit up?” Wei Wuxian asks. Lan Wangji tries to, but feels boneless. “Ah, well, I’m not surprised. You might get used to it if we keep doing this, though.” He rearranges Lan Wangji’s pliant body on the bed, brings the linens back over. Lan Wangji watches in a haze, his mind floating, reveling in Wei Wuxian’s warm hands on him.

He wants to say that he is glad that he can help Wei Wuxian now. That if he can help him with this, he can help him with his cultivation, too. He does not need to know where Wei Wuxian has been, as long as he can follow him now.

Wei Wuxian strokes a knuckle along his cheekbone. “Sleep now, Lan Zhan,” he says, pressing the pads of his fingertips to Lan Wangji’s eyelids. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

When Lan Wangji wakes, he doesn’t know how to move at first. His body is stilled in pleasure, and it feels like there are hot spots of numbness all over him. The front of his robes—his day robes, not his night robes, he realizes—are wet, and a flicker of arousal pulses through his body as he awakens.

The sensations are there for a moment—and then they’re gone, like it’s any other morning. Lan Wangji can feel the blood running through his veins again; he undresses and takes a preheated bath left in a tub this morning, goes through his morning motions. As he strips out of his clothing, and then back into them, he runs a finger over his inner thigh. The side of his neck. Two identical puncture wounds.

He cleans his teeth and continues on with his morning.

They are set to begin the Sunshot Campaign today, storming towards Nightless City. Jin Zixuan and Jiang Wanyin lead the soldiers at the front, as Wei Wuxian and Jiang Yanli see him off; Lan Wangji rides at Wei Wuxian’s side as Wei Wuxian twirls his dizi.

“I thought you’d be the one to go into the action,” Lan Wangji says. “You did not want to join them?”

“Ah, Lan Zhan.” Wei Wuxian waves his spare hand. “I just got rejuvenated, I’ll save my energy for something else. Besides, it’s just Jiang Cheng and the peacock. It’s more fun riding with you.”

Lan Wangji says, “We did not discuss your new cultivation methods, what you plan on doing, if we go into battle.”

“Hide behind Lan Zhan, of course.” But Wei Wuxian’s smile is still distorted, empty. The darkness under his eyes may have gotten deeper.

“Wei Ying,” Lan Wangji says. “Let me help you.”

“You’re helping me enough.” Wei Wuxian’s focus goes back to twirling his dizi. He glances at Lan Wangji. “Trust me, Lan Zhan. Just this once?”

It’s hard to, but Lan Wangji murmurs, “Okay.”

They continue on, but Wen Ruohan’s puppets lay siege against them, and it overwhelms them. As they stop and set up camp, Lan Wangji helps observe the newly turned puppets, previously their own men. The way they behave, lashing out, longing for death is disgusting, inhuman. Yet Lan Wangji thinks of Wei Wuxian, how hungry he is. How Lan Wangji will not wait a heartbeat, will give his heartbeat to Wei Wuxian.

They set up new attack strategies; Wei Wuxian does not attend this evening’s meeting; Lan Wangji reminds himself to trust him. Over dinner, Wei Wuxian does eat with them, though when he meets Lan Wangji’s gaze, he smiles and makes a motion like he’s sick.

Lan Wangji sits with him. “You can still eat food?” he asks curiously.

The back of their hands bump. Wei Wuxian’s skin is cool. He says, “I can put food and liquid in my mouth, but it’s like ash.” He makes a face.

Lan Wangji frowns. “If, tonight—”

“Ah, no, Lan Zhan.” Wei Wuxian smiles at him, though there’s a tenseness around his eyes. “I troubled you enough last night. Let’s wait a while, yeah? I can live with this.” He takes a bit of rice, scrunches his nose, tries to wash it down with alcohol. He scrunches his nose again. “Though I’m going to miss the taste of alcohol.”

“Not much to miss,” Lan Wangji says.

Wei Wuxian laughs. “Ah, the wise words of Hanguang-jun.”

They turn in for the night, in separate tents. Lan Wangji wonders how Wei Wuxian is faring, thinking of Wei Wuxian talking about his scent, inhaling a bit more when Lan Wangji steps near. Lan Wangji wonders if Wei Wuxian can smell him so many tents away. If he can smell his arousal.

Midday next, while the sect leaders discuss their strategy, Lan Wangji finds Wei Wuxian observing the puppets, now asleep on mats, eerily still. Wei Wuxian twirls his dizi faster and faster.

“Lan Zhan!” he says, when Lan Wangji approaches. “Come, we need your spiritual energy.”

Lan Wangji makes his way over and discusses it with the doctors, the disappearance of their spiritual energy, the attempts to restore it. Lan Wangji sits with a body and channels his own into it; it is not quite like blood, like Wei Wuxian drinking from him willingly, hungrily. His energy seeps into the puppet, looking for a place to rest.

It has been severely drained, an already weak golden core with even less spiritual power as a puppet. Lan Wangji stops and gets up to hear Wei Wuxian arguing with a doctor.

“What do you mean, not recoverable?” Wei Wuxian is demanding. “Three moons of spiritual transference—”

“Wei-gongzi, we don’t have the time to transfer the spiritual energy,” the doctor tries. “We have to continue with the campaign, and none of the doctors’ golden cores are strong enough. Over time the spirit will fall along with the body—”

“It’s like you don’t care,” Wei Wuxian says bitterly. Lan Wangji wonders if he’s been sleeping.

The doctor looks struck. “We have a war to fight, we can’t—”

Before Wei Wuxian can retort—before Lan Wangji can think of something to interfere, a Jin disciple rushes up to them. “Wei-gongzi! You have to come—Jiang-guniang—”

At the mention of his shijie, Wei Wuxian launches himself in the direction of the Jin tents. Lan Wangji follows, though by the time he gets there, Wei Wuxian is already holding onto the crying Jiang Yanli. They are flocked by Jin disciples, speaking to one of them. Wei Wuxian is getting angrier and angrier at each word she—Mianmian—speaks.

Lan Wangji stays as the explanation is given, but watches Wei Wuxian—the paleness to his face has returned, hands shaking from where he has his dizi clenched in his fist. Jin Zixuan says, “But Yuan told me—”

“Let me guess: she let herself get caught so she could say it wasn’t her, and you fell for it?” Wei Wuxian says, venom dripping from every word. “And when you saw shijie bring your soup today, you thought she was trying to imitate her, stealing credit from a servant ? You really think so lowly of her?”

“I didn’t—” Jin Zixuan says.

“— know .” Wei Wuxian laughs, stalks closer. His eyes are red, and he is not breathing. “Tell me, Jin-gongzi, what were the exact words you said to shijie?”

Jin Zixuan hesitates. He says, “I said that—even though the servant wasn’t born with a silver spoon in her mouth, the servant was nobler than her.”

“Precious Yuan ,” Wei Wuxian sneers. “While my shijie was cooking day and night for you, that whore of a servant was pretending it was her instead—”

“A-Xian,” Jiang Yanli interrupts, and Mianmian, shocked, says, “Wei-gongzi,” and behind them, in front of Lan Wangji, a Jin disciple says, “Jin-gongzi only made a mistake!”

“Funny,” Wei Wuxian snarls, “as some mistakes still must be punished,” and with murder in his eyes, raises his flute, black tendrils swirling around him—

Lan Wangji maneuvers around the Jin disciples, Jiang Yanli, until he’s at Wei Wuxian’s side, hand on his arm. “Wei Ying,” he says, and Wei Wuxian turns to him, nostrils flaring, dizi still at his lips.

Lan Wangji presses close, his grip firm. Wei Wuxian inhales deeply. The swirls around him slowly retreat, disappear as he settles in Lan Wangji’s hold. His body is as cold as before, before he had a taste of Lan Wangji.

He lowers the dizi but fixes Jin Zixuan with a scowl. He leaves the tent without looking at anyone else. Lan Wangji follows him.

“Wei Ying,” Lan Wangji says, as Wei Wuxian marches off. “What do you need?”

“Nothing,” Wei Wuxian grits out. “Stay away from me, Lan Zhan, I don’t need—”

Lan Wangji steps in front of Wei Wuxian, in his way. His quick movement causes a small breeze, catching between them, in front of Wei Wuxian. Wei Wuxian stumbles.

“Goddammit,” he says.

Lan Wangji says, “Do you need to drink from me?”

“Don’t say it out in the open!” Wei Wuxian rushes. “And—no, I—I’m fine. I can’t—shouldn’t take any more than I need to, so—”

“You need to right now,” Lan Wangji says. “You’re irritable, in a bad mood—”

“Interacting with Jins always puts me in a bad mood,” Wei Wuxian mutters.

“If you need to feed from me, then you can,” Lan Wangji says. “It is not about taking what you need, but what you want.”

Wei Wuxian’s eyes darken at that. He meets Lan Wangji’s steady gaze. “You shouldn’t say things like that, Lan Zhan,” he says.

Lan Wangji waits.

Wei Wuxian sighs, then turns. Lan Wangji follows him to Wei Wuxian’s tent. It’s empty; as soon as the flaps close behind them, Lan Wangji says, “I believe you will need to feed from me every day.”

Wei Wuxian turns. “That’s too much.”

“You have become like this and not even two full days have passed,” Lan Wangji points out. “We can do it at night, to be inconspicuous.”

“We can do it at night, huh?” But Wei Wuxian is already trembling at the proximity, the seclusion, the look in his eyes getting darker and hungrier as they stand across from each other. Lan Wangji isn’t sure if he’s aware of it. “Lan Zhan, one day you’ll regret giving me your body on a silver platter like this.” He runs his hands over the cloud patterns on Lan Wangji’s robes.

Lan Wangji replies, “Never,” as Wei Wuxian takes off his outer robe, his trousers, lays him on his bed. He leans in between Lan Wangji’s thighs to drink.

The tide of the Sunshot Campaign turns when the dizi touches Wei Wuxian’s lips. The fierce corpses are unerring, relentless as they charge at their armies, the men—but at the high sounds of the bamboo, the blackness swirls around Wei Wuxian perched high atop the statue, as if threatening to take him away. The fierce corpses turn their fiercest onto the mindless puppets.

And it is unbelievable to watch. Lan Wangji had seen hints of it: the night before; on the night with Wen Chao and Wen Zhuliu. Yet not to this extent, with the deformed figures and their bulky swords, who are no longer attacking Lan Wangji and Lan Xichen and Jiang Wanyin and Jin Zixuan—but the soulless bodies instead.

Wei Wuxian had assured him, a couple of nights before, that he could control the flow of his energy, his magic, his mental state. Lan Wangji had told him in no uncertain terms that he would assist him on the battlefield if needed, and he has. But now, watching Wei Wuxian with his black dizi, calling for the fierce corpses like it is nothing, Lan Wangji wonders how much protection he really needs. With power like that, one would need more to be defended from him, and something raw and primal burns in Lan Wangji’s gut at the thought. Lan Wangji is on the precipice, Wei Wuxian the abyss—no, Lan Wangji is already falling—

Wei Wuxian is unflinching when Wen Ruohan emerges from his palace. Wen Ruohan questions him about his power, fingers around Wei Wuxian’s throat; Wei Wuxian’s smile is stone. The resentful energy swims around him regardless, fierce corpses still fighting under his command—and then Wen Ruohan falls, the puppets fall,, and there is blood dripping from the end of Meng Yao’s blade.

Lan Wangji cannot bring himself to care. Wei Wuxian collapses, and then Lan Wangji is holding him in his arms.

“Wei Ying,” Lan Wangji murmurs.

Wei Wuxian smiles up at him. “We did it, Lan Zhan,” he says, and passes out.

What happens after is a blur, dragging undead bodies out of Nightless City, assessing all the living soldiers with wounds, shattering the Yin Iron. Lan Wangji holds Wei Wuxian’s body through it all, focused only on the coldness of his skin, like ice. Wei Wuxian no longer breathes and Lan Wangji knows this, having stumbled into his tent one night and seeing Wei Wuxian’s unmoving body, horrified until his eyes popped open and he grinned at him. But Lan Wangji does not think anyone else should know of Wei Wuxian’s—differences.

At Jin Guangshan’s quick command, the remaining soldiers in Nightless City take what was once Wen housing to rest. Lan Wangji briefly notes the enthusiasm of some of the previously absent Jin soldiers, now pillaging the city streets. But he focuses on getting Wei Wuxian’s unconscious body a place to rest first.

He is unsure if Wei Wuxian will wake at all. The dark magic clearly took a toll on his body, however inhuman he’s become. Lan Wangji swallows at the idea of him not waking up. Lan Xichen and Chifeng-zun beckon him for dinner that evening, but Lan Wangji does not go. He wants to be present when Wei Wuxian wakes up, and he is afraid of what would happen if Wei Wuxian wakes up alone, or with someone that is not him.

It is not until deep in the night and Lan Wangji is hanging onto the vestiges of consciousness when Wei Wuxian’s body shifts. Abruptly, Lan Wangji is by his side.

Wei Wuxian gasps. His nostrils flare. Suddenly, his eyes are wide open—red, Lan Wangji registers, and he claws towards Lan Wangji. Lan Wangji barely has a moment to think before Wei Wuxian’s iron grip is digging into his shoulder and he is sinking his teeth in his neck, like he did all those weeks ago.

“Wei Ying,” Lan Wangji rasps out, but Wei Wuxian doesn’t seem to hear him. There is no tenderness in his movements, not even like the first time, the awareness that Lan Wangji is human. Wei Wuxian drinks from him like a jar of Emperor’s Smile, slurping and licking and getting every last drop of blood. His fangs dig deeper now, on the other side of his neck, and Lan Wangji winces in pain as Wei Wuxian shifts his neck around to place his entire mouth on Lan Wangji’s skin, all his teeth. And then with another lick, Wei Wuxian moves lower on Lan Wangji’s neck, deeper than pinpricks and sending heat throughout his body.

Lan Wangji knows that he is growing lightheaded fast, but after having done this a few times now, he knows how to keep his mind in place even as the blood rapidly drains from his brain. Wei Wuxian is acting on base instincts, he realizes now, and blood will flow faster if Wei Wuxian reopens wounds. The first wound he’d left, which almost feels so long ago.

He moves, and Wei Wuxian whines in protest, mouth against skin. But Lan Wangji bares the other side of his neck, and upon smelling it, Wei Wuxian eagerly grabs him again, tears the scars back open with his fangs. The sharp pain that courses through Lan Wangji is tinged with pleasure, and Lan Wangji tells himself not to enjoy seeing Wei Wuxian mindless, animalistic like this.

He is giving Wei Wuxian more blood than before; that is what Wei Wuxian needs right now. Still, when his drinking peters out, turns more into licks, savoring every taste and almost affectionate, Lan Wangji dazedly pulls away.

Wei Wuxian makes a small noise in the back of his throat. His eyes are still red.

Lan Wangji pulls the collar of his robes up, covering the openings on his skin even as small trickles of blood run down his neck.

Wei Wuxian’s gaze does not get any more conscious as he licks remnants of Lan Wangji’s blood from his fingers. Lan Wangji pretends something does not stir inside of him at the sight.

Then Wei Wuxian’s eyes drift back shut, into an eerie silence.

Lan Wangji drags himself to bed. He is too lightheaded to clean; he will do that in the morning. His body is used to waking up at twilight, so even if he wakes a bit late, he can still make himself presentable undisturbed. The last thought he has before falling asleep is explaining the puncture wounds on his neck.

Luckily, it is long after Lan Wangji has bathed and wrapped a discreet bandage around his neck when Jiang Yanli comes to check on them the next morning. “Is he awake?” she asks, and Lan Wangji shakes his head.

“The Yin Hu Fu drained his energy,” he says. “He will need a few days to recover.” He does not mention the bloodthirsty haze Wei Wuxian had woken up in last night.

Jiang Yanli sighs. “Lan-er gongzi, please rest well. I can take over.”

“It is not necessary. I will stay with Wei Wuxian,” Lan Wangji says.

She requests to see him regardless, and if she notices him hesitate, she does not mention it. Lan Wangji does not want Wei Wuxian to horrify his shijie in his subconscious state, and hopes that, like before, he will only want to drink from Lan Wangji once a day.

Jiang Yanli strokes Wei Wuxian’s cheekbone. “He’s barely breathing.”

Lan Wangji does not mention that he is not breathing at all. He had cleaned Wei Wuxian’s lips and teeth of any blood residue, this morning. Jiang Yanli pulls her hand back, and watches Wei Wuxian with worry.

Lan Wangji retrieves his guqin by his bed. “I will play to ease his spirit,” he tells her, and begins to play Cleansing . Jiang Yanli smiles at this and stays by Wei Wuxian’s beside until lunch.

Throughout the day, they receive other visitors—Lan Xichen, who inquires after Lan Wangji as well as Wei Wuxian; Jiang Wanyin, who thanks Lan Wangji perfunctorily before hovering over Wei Wuxian’s bed with a scowl on his face; Jin Guangshan, out of some feigned concern; and Jin Zixuan, with genuine respect despite everything. Jiang Yanli comes again at night with soup in the hope that Wei Wuxian would be awake, but her face falls when Lan Wangji tells her otherwise.

In the end, though, it is Lan Wangji who is still with him at the end of the night, Cleansing ringing in the Qishan night, calluses sore with string marks. He is sure faint marks of blood are catching on the guqin strings, but he continues playing.

Wei Wuxian shifts in his sleep. No air is coming in or out of his body, but he moves on the silken sheets, anyway. Then he breathes in, once.

His eyes shoot open.

It registers more quickly for Lan Wangji now. He is at Wei Wuxian’s side in an instant, ready to uncover his bandages—

—but Wei Wuxian grabs for his fingers and licks them. He laps at each one of them like a dog, as heat pools in Lan Wangji’s gut. He is, with guilt, glad that Wei Wuxian is not conscious in this state, as for all that Lan Wangji could tamp down his arousal before, he falls victim to it now. Wei Wuxian seems not to notice as he licks all of Lan Wangji’s fingers clean, and then with his left arm, nips upward and upward—

Lan Wangji managed to adjust Wei Wuxian further away from his wrist so Wei Wuxian can bite into a meatier and less vulnerable part of his arm. Wei Wuxian’s eyes flutter closed as Lan Wangji’s blood starts flowing into his mouth. Where his fingers are cold points pressing into Lan Wangji’s skin turn… warmer. It’s unexpectedly erotic. The thought of Lan Wangji’s warm blood, that Wei Wuxian feeds on, making Wei Wuxian’s veins run with something hot again, a part of him —Lan Wangji shudders as Wei Wuxian pulls back his fangs, licks his lips and teeth, and bites back down, not precisely in the same place.

The skin tears and Lan Wangji cries out, but Wei Wuxian barely hears, milking the blood from his body. Wei Wuxian plays him like a guqin, a dizi, and Lan Wangji is powerless to stop him. He doesn’t want to stop him, though he knows he will have to—only Wei Wuxian’s teeth, lips, tongue sucking every last drop of blood that leaves Lan Wangji’s body is the only sensation he needs.

Soon enough, like before, with the drowsy feeling in Lan Wangji’s body, Wei Wuxian’s sucking tapers off into licks. Lan Wangji has the presence of mind to pull his arm back, and Wei Wuxian returns to his motionless coma. His chest does not rise and fall, his mouth does not let out soft noises. It was only disconcerting the first few times, but Lan Wangji is getting used to it, to the guilty arousal, faint pleasure as he winces at the slightest amount of pressure on his neck and arm as he returns to his bed.

Another day and night passes, with Jiang Yanli once again asking to stay with Wei Wuxian during the evening, and Lan Wangji declining. Wei Wuxian reopens the wounds on his arms, bloodier than before but of no concern as Lan Wangji has not picked up Bichen in days and each new robe he changes into is as pristine as always. He is not concerned about his strength, his fighting, when Wei Wuxian must drink from him to stay alive. Wei Wuxian is first; everything else is inconsequent.

Wei Wuxian wakes on the third day. Lan Wangji knows, because when Wei Wuxian’s eyes blink open as he sits up, they are no longer crimson, but the soft, easy grey of before.

Lan Wangji finishes this round of Cleansing before stopping. Wei Wuxian tilts his head at the sight of Lan Wangji sitting serenely with his guqin.

“Lan Zhan, you’re not who I’d expect to wake up to.” He looks around the room. “Where are we? What happened?”

“We are in Nightless City. Wen Ruohan is dead and the Yin Iron has been destroyed.” Lan Wangji pauses carefully. “You have been asleep for three days.”

“Three—? What, really?” Wei Wuxian looks down at himself in his red underrobes, then takes a closer look at Lan Wangji. His eyes narrow at something on Lan Wangji’s shoulder. “Lan Zhan, did you get injured?”

Lan Wangji moves from his guqin to sit by him. He knew he would not be able to keep this from Wei Wuxian. Wei Wuxian examines his bandages—deeply breathes in the scent beneath them.

“While you were unconscious,” Lan Wangji says, “you awoke in ravenous states. You needed to be fed.”

Wei Wuxian makes a choked sound in the back of his throat. Slowly, his hands feel the bandages along Lan Wangji’s arm as well. He pulls back the sleeve and carefully unwraps them, letting out a pained sound at the sight of deep scabs lining Lan Wangji’s forearm.

“I… did this?” Wei Wuxian’s eyes are wide with terror.

Lan Wangji rests a hand on Wei Wuxian’s wrist. “You needed to feed.”

“But I… fuck, look at you.” Wei Wuxian trembles, tracing an open scar. “I’ve destroyed your body, Lan Zhan, how could—”

“It will heal,” Lan Wangji says. “You have not destroyed anything.”

“I don’t understand how you could be so calm,” Wei Wuxian mutters. “With a monster like me…”

“Wei Wuxian is not a monster.” If it was appropriate, Lan Wangji would cup his face, stroke a thumb along his cheek. But as it is not, he can only fist his own robes and try to rid that distraught look off of Wei Wuxian’s face. “I promise. Your shijie would have been more worried if you looked like death when you were out.”

“Shijie? She’s here too?” Wei Wuxian bolts up.

Lan Wangji urges him back into bed. “Lie down. You need rest. I will go get her.”

The next day is filled with everyone returning to see the now-conscious Wei Wuxian, occasionally interspersed by the Jins gathering up the Wens from outside. Wei Wuxian’s brows furrow at this, but he says nothing, though Lan Wangji watches him carefully. When Lan Wangji tries to insist that he still needs three more days of rest, Wei Wuxian laughs.

“What do you mean? I’m clearly all better,” he says.

“We must cleanse your spirit. Ease your mind, purge any evil.”

“There’s nothing to purge. I just used too much spiritual energy,” Wei Wuxian says. “Unless you mean to purge that other part of me, that needs you. Because I think we’re too far down that road now.”

Lan Wangji flushes, because he was not thinking about that, nor would he be inclined to rid Wei Wuxian of that… bloodthirsty aspect of him, as ashamed as he may feel about it. Wei Wuxian craving him on such a primal level makes something in Lan Wangji’s heart bow, expose its belly, giving himself to Wei Wuxian.

“We will have to attend a banquet to celebrate the end of the Sunshot Campaign,” is all he tells Wei Wuxian.

And they do. It’s all meant to be gallivanting, Jin Guangshan acting like Head Cultivator as if he had any part in the Sunshot Campaign, Chifeng-zun too modest to take his place. Lianfang-zun is heralded as a new member of the Jin Sect due to his assassination of Wen Ruohan, Jiang Wanyin celebrated as the new leader of the Yunmeng Jiang Sect, Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji sitting outside to avoid the painful politics of it all. At one point they go back inside and Wei Wuxian defends his shijie from some sort of marriage arrangement. Lan Wangji thinks Jin Guangshan sitting in Wen Ruohan’s throne is very gauche, and not at all appropriate.

Wei Wuxian does too, by the way he gripes afterward, in the chambers that Lan Wangji has now designated theirs. “Even worse than that peacock who almost married my shijie,” he grumbles. “Now I know where he gets it. He’s ten times better than that—Jin Guangshan.”

“Mm.” Lan Wangji is switching into his sleeping robes behind the screen.

“God. I’m glad we’re returning home tomorrow. War is so tiring.” Wei Wuxian is in his red underrobe again when Lan Wangji steps out. He grins at the sight of Lan Wangji. “Hey, Lan Zhan, you can’t come out here wearing so little. Someone might think you were trying to seduce me.”

Lan Wangji’s gaze is unmoving, though his ears feel warm. “Wei Ying, there is something I have been thinking about.”

“What is it?” Wei Wuxian pats a spot on his bed invitingly.

Lan Wangji goes and sits. He chooses his words carefully.

“You will not come to Gusu with me,” he says, “so I will come to Yunmeng with you.”

There is a short moment where Wei Wuxian says nothing.

Then he says, “I—I’m not protesting, I suppose, but why?”

“What do you mean?” Lan Wangji rakes his eyes over Wei Wuxian’s cheekbones, already pale as jade, as it is nearing his feeding time. “You require my blood, like any other food or sustenance.”

“Lan Zhan, I can’t take you away from your sect duties,” Wei Wuxian says. “It’s okay, I could probably find someone else to feed from—”

“No,” Lan Wangji says.

Wei Wuxian stills. “No?”

“No. You must only feed from me.” Lan Wangji thinks; he cannot let Wei Wuxian know that… his desires are mostly selfish, with only a smaller concern for others. “It is dangerous for you tell others of your condition. I know, and I am willing, and you enjoy the taste of my blood.” He pretends the last part does not make heat flare up in his body.

Wei Wuxian grins lecherously. “I do like your taste,” he says. “And I do believe we are approaching that time of night, and my dinner is so conveniently in my bed.”

“Ridiculous.” Lan Wangji pretends his ears aren’t hot. He lies down—as he has the previous nights since Wei Wuxian had woken up—and brings his underrobes up, devoid of trousers, only clothed by his underwear. Wei Wuxian purrs and inhales deeply, leaning down and running his nose down the hairs at Lan Wangji’s thighs.

“I know I already told you this, but I can never get enough of your scent,” he says. “Sweet and milky… all for me.”

It’s far too intimate, making Lan Wangji lightheaded already. He says nothing, idly wondering again if Wei Wuxian is able to smell his arousal, and unsure if he wants to know. Wei Wuxian nips gently at his inner thigh—not yet enough to puncture—licks over the spot, then bites.

His fangs digging in is always a shocking pleasure which Lan Wangji will never get used to. He is well practiced in withholding his moan, as Wei Wuxian cups his thighs, drinking from him. His skin is cold, warming as Lan Wangji’s blood surges out, surges in. Wei Wuxian is diligent with his sucking, gulping down Lan Wangji’s blood without taking a breath—not needing to take a breath—cleaning his thighs of stray drops, licking over the wound when he is done, only for him to sink his teeth into it again for more. Lan Wangji’s thighs tingle as Wei Wuxian finally lifts himself up, closing Lan Wangji’s knees and letting his sleep robes and underrobes fall back down.

“Fine,” Wei Wuxian says. Lan Wangji’s brain takes a moment to catch up with him speaking again. “I’ll let you come back to Lotus Pier with us. But only because you taste so sweet. I don’t know if I can last without Lan Zhan for very long.”

For someone who’s had quite a bit of blood drained from him, Lan Wangji’s ears grow hot at an alarming pace. He stumbles out of Wei Wuxian’s bed and heads to his own.

“Hey.” Wei Wuxian tries to steady him. “Are you okay?”

“Fine,” Lan Wangji croaks out. He is channeling all of his spiritual energy to not get aroused right now.

Wei Wuxian chuckles, like he hadn’t just pulled the earth out from Lan Wangji’s feet. “I’m glad you’ll be coming to Yunmeng Jiang with us. Then I can show you all the old places of my childhood!”

“Mn.” Lan Wangji is back in bed now. “Would like that.”

“Oh! And I could pick fresh lotus seeds for you. And the street vendors, the spicy food—”

“Sleep, Wei Ying,” Lan Wangji says, and closes his eyes.

(He’s already told his brother of his plans; evidently, Lan Xichen has told the other sect leaders as well. This is no surprise, as everyone will have noticed Lan Wangji traveling back with the Jiangs, anyway, but Lan Wangji receives a summons the next morning before they depart.

The summons tell him to not invite Wei Wuxian. Curious, Lan Wangji dismisses the messenger, then tells Wei Wuxian, “I’ll be right back. My brother wishes to speak with me before we leave.”

“Ah, some Gusu Lan responsibilities before we go, eh?” Wei Wuxian taps the side of his nose and grins.

Lan Wangji meets his brother in the former main Wen palace as requested. Chifeng-zun, Lianfang-zun, and Jin Guangshan are there as well.

Lan Wangji turns to his brother. “Xichen. What is going on?”

“Zewu-jun told us you were accompanying Wei Wuxian back to Yunmeng Jiang,” Lianfang-zun answers instead.

Lan Wangji inclines his head. “I believe they require all the help repairing Lotus Pier they can get,” he says, which was the explanation he and Wei Wuxian had agreed upon this morning, when discussing the practicalities.

“Oh! No, no, Hanguang-jun, I fully agree,” Lianfang-zun says, smiling. Lan Wangji does not trust that smile. “But we had our concerns about Wei Wuxian and the Yin Hu Fu. It is similar to the Yin Iron, is it not?”

Lan Wangji does not answer.

Jin Guangshan interjects. “It is powerful magic, and likely is not safe in Wei Wuxian’s hands. Additionally, there is still a piece of the Yin Iron missing.”

“But it may be with Xue Yang,” Chifeng-zun spits.

Lan Wangji turns to Lan Xichen. “What is the point of this?”

His brother’s smile looks strained. “We,” and Lan Wangji notes that his use of the word is apologetic, “would like you to keep an eye on Wei-gongzi. For his own sake, of course.”

“We can’t have another Wen Ruohan, after all,” Jin Guangshan adds.

Lan Wangji levels him with a stare. “No, we cannot.” But he meets his brother’s eyes again. For all that he doesn’t know the motivation of anyone else in this room, he knows his brother—nothing short of genuine.

He nods. “I will keep an eye on Wei Wuxian.”

“Excellent!” Lianfang-zun proclaims. “I’m sure he’s fine, nothing at all wrong with the Yin Hu Fu, but just in case…”

Lan Wangji nods, thanks them, and excuses himself.)

二

evening

If Lan Wangji had come to Yunmeng before the Sunshot Campaign, he does not remember it. When he enters the Lotus Pier with Wei Wuxian, Jiang Wanyin and Jiang Yanli in front of him, it is a travesty to watch.

The courtyard would have been beautiful. It should be beautiful; but as they step in, only dark bloodstains and the burnt remnants of the Wen flags remain. Lan Wangji lingers behind, as Wei Wuxian and his siblings now have the time to take in the grounds of the tragedy, the grief. Lan Wangji is reminded that he is here under the guise of helping, but he allows the remainder of the Jiang soldiers, who have come back with them, to remain ahead of him. Lan Wangji knows this is not his place.

Under the lavender fascia, partially obfuscating the title of Sword Hall, is a large ugly Wen emblem, almost gloating in its dark wooded glory. The zitan phoenix’s beaks are open in an ugly scream, a crude fixture in the quiet cove. The moment the three of them notice the emblem, Wei Wuxian’s fists tremble, black smoke swirling around his fingertips like ink stains.

Lan Wangji is by his side in an instant. “Wei Ying,” he says.

But it is no matter; Jiang Wanyin whips out his Zidian and breaks the emblem in half. It crumples to the ground.

This seems to shake Wei Wuxian out of his trance. He smiles faintly at Lan Wangji. “I’m fine, Lan Zhan,” he says. “I’m just not used to seeing such trash flaunted in the Lotus Pier.”

“Filth,” Jiang Wanyin mutters. He retracts his Zidian and heads inside.

The Jiang soldiers hasten to clear out the remains of the Wen emblem before Wei Wuxian and Jiang Wanyin decide to do something more violent to it, like set it on fire.

Wei Wuxian gestures around regardless. “Well, this is the Lotus Pier! It’s a bit of a mess right now, but we’ll make it home again in no time, with everyone’s help.” He shows Lan Wangji around, laments at the empty kitchens, locates the living quarters closest to his own and tells Lan Wangji he can sleep there.

“Jiang Cheng and I always shared, but now that the main chambers are his and we have more room, you don’t need to stay with me anymore,” Wei Wuxian says.

Lan Wangji wonders where Wei Wuxian got the idea that he should want that, considering there had been plenty of space in Nightless City. “If it is more convenient or comfortable for Wei Ying, I will take another room.”

“Well! It’s probably not more convenient,” Wei Wuxian says shiftily. “But Lan Zhan must be tired of being holed up with me all the time.”

“Being with Wei Ying is no burden.”

“Ah,” Wei Wuxian sighs. “We’ll talk about it later, when we’re actually going to go to sleep. Come on, let me show you where my shijie’s quarters are!” He tugs at Lan Wangji’s wrist and laughs at his reluctance.

Wei Wuxian is free as a bird as they flutter around Lotus Pier, as if Lan Wangji really is simply here to visit, and not provide him with his blood to survive. Wei Wuxian heckles Jiang Wanyin as he gets Sect Leader duties straightened out, gushes about all his old favorite foods that Lan Wangji realizes with a pang he’ll no longer be able to enjoy, and assists his shijie in cleaning up the courtyard. Lan Wangji helps as well, despite both their insistences otherwise, because he is not just a visiting guest. He is here out of his own desires.

He knows shifu would disapprove, which is why he never bothered returning to the Cloud Recesses to ask for permission. His brother will have to deal with Lan Qiren’s reaction, but he will not lash out if Lan Wangji is not there in front of him. Lan Wangji knows he should worry more about Wei Wuxian’s cultivation, find better ways to ease him down from using so much spiritual energy, study the music scores that are likely in the Forbidden Library. But Wei Wuxian’s hunger, his livelihood comes first. Lan Wangji will write his own scores if he has to.

Once, he thought his duty was to his clan, his family. And then fate’s path led him to Wei Wuxian: a tsunami, a memory, a broken thing and barely human. Through it all, Lan Wangji has realized that the world is made up of more than just rules he is given, more than just duties. And as Jiang Wanyin declares his own leadership and loyalty to Yunmeng Jiang, Lan Wangji can only look at Wei Wuxian. No matter how much of himself Wei Wuxian decides to devote to his sect, to Jiang Wanyin, Lan Wangji will not do the same—clans and wars have fallen short of Wei Wuxian’s presence in his life.

After the ceremony, Wei Wuxian goes to Jiang Wanyin. “Ah, Jiang Cheng, that was such a blunt speech you gave up there. You didn’t make it sound nice.”

“Piss off,” Jiang Wanyin says, but good-naturedly. He turns to Lan Wangji. “Wei Wuxian better have been a good host so far.”

“I am a great host,” Wei Wuxian protests.

Lan Wangji nods and says, “He is.”

“Well. Good.” Jiang Wanyin doesn’t seem to know how to deal with a compliment for Wei Wuxian from anyone other than his shijie. “You know, it’s not typical for members of other clans to help repair a sect. You can go home and help restore the Cloud Recesses again whenever you want.”

“My brother and uncle have already begun work on it. They don’t need me,” Lan Wangji replies.

“Hey, Jiang Cheng, don’t kick him out,” Wei Wuxian warns.

“I’m not. I just don’t want him to feel bound to you.” Jiang Wanyin shoots Wei Wuxian a look before trudging off.

Wei Wuxian scrunches a nose at his back. When he turns to Lan Wangji again, he says, “He’s right though, you know, if you ever need to go back—”

“Gusu Lan does not need me. I would rather help Wei Ying,” he says.

Wei Wuxian sighs. “I’m waiting for the day you regret those words.”

Since getting back to Yunmeng Jiang, Wei Wuxian sleeps more: during the day, while Lan Wangji keeps his word and helps out around the Lotus Pier, ridding the memory of the Wens and the massacre from the grounds. The burning of the Cloud Recesses had been scarring enough, but from what Lan Wangji had heard, Yunmeng Jiang had faced total annihilation, Wei Wuxian and the siblings barely making it out alive. Lan Wangji remembers Wei Wuxian calling it evil, when Wen Chao had destroyed their home, screams of torture in the night.

Lan Wangji could never do those things, could never be Wei Wuxian, but he thinks he understands.

Jiang Yanli is good company when they run into each other, and he and Jiang Wanyin have enough familiarity that Jiang Wanyin does not hesitate in assisting him with a doorframe. Jiang Wanyin gripes that Wei Wuxian is not assisting with reparations like he had promised, but Lan Wangji does not respond, simply cleaning off the wood.

Lan Wangji would be concerned too, if he did not know Wei Wuxian’s consciousness was more inclined to the night. He wakes when Lan Wangji returns from eating dinner in town, feeling out of place eating with the Jiangs alone.

Wei Wuxian is sitting up in bed when Lan Wangji enters with his guqin, for another night of Cleansing .

“Lan Zhan!” Wei Wuxian stretches. His collarbone is visible, pale as jade. “Come to entertain me with your music?”

“Meditate,” Lan Wangji says; they’ve been over the motions before. After that first night Lan Wangji had retreated into Wei Wuxian’s rooms, Wei Wuxian has not been able to get him to leave since. Nor, really, has he tried.

“Right, right, meditate.” Wei Wuxian sits in the lotus position on his bed, knees twitching.

Lan Wangji begins to play Cleansing . His calloused fingers run over the guqin strings. He hears Wei Wuxian sigh from his bed. Now is one of the few times he wishes he could be back in the Cloud Recesses to study music scores, but he has written some other scores on his own, while Wei Wuxian sleeps, during the day. He transitions into one, now.

Wei Wuxian notices after a few notes. “Oh, this is new. What’s this one called?”

“ Repletion ,” Lan Wangji replies.

Wei Wuxian chuckles, but Lan Wangji play until the end. Lan Wangji does another transition, this time into Wangxian .

“Ah, I know this one,” Wei Wuxian says, grinning. “Let me get my dizi, too, we can play together—”

“Focus,” Lan Wangji says. In truth, he wants nothing more than for he and Wei Wuxian to play Wangxian together, but Wei Wuxian doesn’t even know its significance. Lan Wangji would not want him to play without knowing.

When he finishes, Wei Wuxian claps and clambers off his bed. “Thank you so much, esteemed Hanguang-jun,” he says. “My soul is surely cleansed and repleted because of you.”

Lan Wangji casts him a dry look. Wei Wuxian pats his own chest.

“Honest! But… perhaps not fully repleted, and you don’t come in just to play qin to me, do you?”

Lan Wangji gets up from the table with his guqin and makes his way to the bed. He begins undressing, neatly setting his folded clothes aside before lying down. Wei Wuxian sits by him.

“Ah Lan Zhan, you still have your underrobes on,” he says, toying with the top flap covering Lan Wangji’s bare chest. “It’s always in the way and it’s just us two. You can take it off.”

Lan Wangji looks up at him. He does not know the extent to which Wei Wuxian might have assumed his motivations, but—if he is suggesting for Lan Wangji to disrobe, then he must not be uncomfortable with it. Hesitantly, Lan Wangji undoes his underrobe and lets it fall from his body.

“There we go.” Wei Wuxian’s eyes flash predatory at Lan Wangji’s bare skin, pleased. “My dinner… all out on display…”

“Do not say things you do not mean,” Lan Wangji tells him.

“Who says I don’t mean it?” The coldness of Wei Wuxian’s fingers send electricity up Lan Wangji’s wrist. “Lan Zhan, you cut yourself while playing guqin.” He runs his thumb over a scar on Lan Wangji’s finger. “Playing day and night for me, you have to be careful.”

Lan Wangji’s ears are hot. “Do what you intend to do,” he grits out through his teeth.

“Oh, I will,” Wei Wuxian assures him. He bends over and puts Lan Wangji’s finger in his mouth, where the small trickle from his guqin string comes out. Lan Wangji clenches his jaw so he does not let out an inappropriate noise.

Wei Wuxian maintains eye contact as he sucks, licks the blood off of Lan Wangji’s finger. It is much more different, more arousing when Wei Wuxian is conscious. Shivers run up Lan Wangji’s skin, gooseflesh over his arms and legs. Wei Wuxian presses his fingers into the soft ridges on the tender side of his arm.

“I think you enjoy this, Lan Zhan,” he says.

He gives Lan Wangji no time to respond, because then he bends down to the inside of Lan Wangji’s thighs and sinks his fangs in. Without a robe, anything to give Lan Wangji the false sense of protection, he cannot hold back the cry in his throat. He sees Wei Wuxian’s dark head so close to where his arousal might form, and though it is second nature to channel all his spiritual energy to prevent that, it is harder now. Cool air bites his skin as Wei Wuxian gets deeper between his thighs, letting the gush of Lan Wangji’s blood flood his mouth. He bobs his head and drinks, his hands holding onto Lan Wangji’s wrists—his pulse points, thumbs digging in like he is trying to count each throb from Lan Wangji’s heart.

As the blood leaves his body, Lan Wangji feels like he is drowning. The light, deep feeling in his head takes over, surrendering to Wei Wuxian. He does not know how time passes, pleasure sinking to numbness to pleasure again. Eventually Wei Wuxian licks over his wounds, sealing them. Lan Wangji watches as Wei Wuxian sits back up, blood drooling out of his mouth. His own blood.

Lan Wangji runs a finger over Wei Wuxian’s bottom lip, and before he knows what he is doing, licks his own blood off his finger.

Wei Wuxian’s eyes go dark. “Fuck, Lan Zhan, you can’t just—you can’t just do that.”

Lan Wangji ignores him, reaches for Wei Wuxian again. To his pleasure, Wei Wuxian doesn’t seem to be able to deny him. Lan Wangji touches a bloody fang, feeling the edges, the tip, stroking it. His finger catches and pricks slightly. Wei Wuxian immediately closes his lips to suck it, seal his skin back together.

“You’re going to be the death of me,” he says.

“Don’t think Wei Ying can die,” Lan Wangji admits.

“I hope you’re wrong.” Wei Wuxian moves away, into the washroom to clean himself. Lan Wangji watches him with heavily lidded eyes for a moment.

When Wei Wuxian returns, Lan Wangji has his underrobe back on, reclined on his own bed, ready to sleep. As Wei Wuxian perches by the candles to blow them out, Lan Wangji says, “Ask me why I came back to Lotus Pier with you.”

Wei Wuxian stops. “But I know that. You don’t want me to harm or feed on anyone else, so you want me to just feed on you.”

Lan Wangji has his eyes closed, hands crossed over his chest. “Ask.”

Wei Wuxian sighs. “Why did you come back to Lotus Pier with me?”

“Because I wanted to,” Lan Wangji says. “Because what I want is best for Wei Ying, and myself.”

Unconsciousness is grappling at his mind quickly. “I will provide for Wei Ying as long as he needs,” he mumbles, before falling asleep.

He wakes to the feeling of a soft nail scratching his cheek. Lan Wangji blinks, and is met with the sight of Wei Wuxian gazing at him.

Wei Wuxian smiles when Lan Wangji’s eyelids flutter in confusion. “You can’t just say things like that then fall asleep on me,” he says.

“What—” Lan Wangji struggles to sit up.

“it’s not yet mao-shi,” Wei Wuxian says. “You can go back to sleep.”

Lan Wangji frowns at him. “You were watching me sleep?”

“Being awake when everyone else wants to sleep is boring,” Wei Wuxian says. “And you’re very peaceful. I like looking at you.”

Lan Wangji blinks again.

“Go back to sleep, Lan Zhan.” Wei Wuxian places his fingers on Lan Wangji’s eyelids, gently closing them. It is familiar, safe. “I’ll be here when you wake up.”

Lan Wangji does not ask what Wei Wuxian does while everyone else is asleep. In the mornings, Wei Wuxian is in their living quarters, working on a talisman or merely watching Lan Wangji, tracking the very moment he wakes up. He smiles with all his teeth when Lan Wangji notices him, and Lan Wangji tries to ignore it as he prepares for the day.

He still wakes earlier than the rest of the sect, the city, working through his mornings while Wei Wuxian observes with grace. Wei Wuxian spins his dizi and laments, “I really miss alcohol right now.”

Lan Wangji is putting on his fourth layer of robes.

“And I miss my shijie’s soup,” Wei Wuxian continues. “And spicy food, and picking lotus seeds, and Suibian. Fucking Wen Chao.”

Lan Wangji turns at this. “You have Suibian,” he says, because Suibian is resting against the wall in the room. “Did Wen Chao do something to interfere with your ability to swordfight?”

“Ah, Lan Zhan, so perceptive.” Wei Wuxian watches his dizi twirl in his fingers.

Lan Wangji steps toward him. “Wei Ying.”

Wei Wuxian tuts. “You haven’t put on your sixth robe, Lan Zhan,” he says, frowning. He picks it up, drapes it over Lan Wangji’s shoulders, straightens the lapels, and tugs it closed. His palms are a cold pressure above the layers as he brings both ends of the sash into his hands, winding it all around Lan Wangji’s waist.

Lan Wangji eyes him. “Answer me.”

“Mm.” Wei Wuxian ties a knot with the sash. It’s tight and improper—and shocks heat into Lan Wangji’s gut. “Don’t feel like answering right now.” He steps back and admires his handiwork. “There. Hanguang-jun is ready for the day.”

“Wei Ying,” Lan Wangji repeats.

Wei Wuxian flashes a grin at him. Lan Wangji knows him well enough by now to know that it is not genuine. “Don’t mind me, Lan Zhan, I’m just being silly and sentimental. Plus, I have you, so everything I miss pales in comparison.”

“Wei Ying would still have me if he were not like this,” Lan Wangji says.

Wei Wuxian squeezes his wrist, his pulse. “Too sweet,” he says. “Like how you taste.” When Lan Wangji flushes at this, Wei Wuxian laughs.

He continues watching as Lan Wangji eats the breakfast that gets brought to their rooms, no longer reminiscing about whatever he may miss. There’s not a single trace of envy in the glint of his eye as he follows the movement of each of Lan Wangji’s bites; Lan Wangji has long suspected that any shred of humanity Wei Wuxian ever had is gone, but didn’t know how deep it truly ran.

Wei Wuxian rubs a thumb over Lan Wangji’s bottom lip when he is done, unprompted. Lan Wangji does not know how to respond to this oddly tender gesture, so unlike before. He is vaguely aware something has shifted overnight, last night, but does not know how to read the look in Wei Wuxian’s eyes.

As dawn approaches, Wei Wuxian yawns. “I could stay awake like I did before, but now I have the excuse of avoiding Jiang Cheng to sleep during the day,” he says. “Good morning Lan Zhan. I’ll see you for dinner.”

The day passes again, Lan Wangji this time assisting Jiang Wanyin with training the Jiang disciples. Jiang Wanyin had been skeptical at first, perhaps worried that Lan Wangji might be spying on their fighting techniques; but now with Lan Wangji shadowing Wei Wuxian too much to be truly married to his sect loyalties, Jiang Wanyin only gives a conciliatory glance to Lan Wangji in the courtyard and says nothing. Trading sect secrets is not a concern Jiang Wanyin should ever have for Lan Wangji, anyway, unless Wei Wuxian develops a drastic change of heart and desires to disciple at Gusu.

Night falls when Lan Wangji is out running an errand for Jiang Yanli, outside of Lotus Pier. He stops at street stalls for his own dinner in the meantime, imagining that this is how Wei Wuxian’s childhood had gone, bantering with vendors as if he were not a Yunmeng disciple, but simply one of the common people. Lan Wangji cannot lend himself to banter, but as he chews his mantou, he relishes in that imaginary memory of Wei Wuxian. He slots that part of what might have been Wei Wuxian’s childhood next to his own, the life they now share together. When he finishes, he returns to Lotus Pier.

Wei Wuxian’s feeding time is approaching. Lan Wangji enters the bedchambers to Wei Wuxian pacing, muttering to himself. He doesn’t start when Lan Wangji enters the room, but his gaze is hungry when Lan Wangji sits on his bed.

“God, Lan Zhan, you’re awake when Jiang Cheng is during the day, aren’t you?” Wei Wuxian says. “How can you stand him?”

“The same way I imagine Wei Ying has for years,” Lan Wangji says drily.

Wei Wuxian laughs. His heart isn’t in it. “Polishing his sword all the time… ugh.”

“A cleaner sword carries less weight.”

“Lan Zhan! Don’t tell me you’re taking his side.” But the tense darkness in Wei Wuxian’s eyes lightens as he eases over to Lan Wangji on the bed. The hunger remains, but transforms into something more of a patient lust, for Lan Wangji.

Lan Wangji says, “I would never choose Jiang Wanyin over you.”

“There you go.” Wei Wuxian sits with him. “You always know how to make me feel better, Lan Zhan. You have so many talents.”

“Mn.” Lan Wangji has already begun taking off his robes, a mirror of this morning, with Wei Wuxian watching him.

When he reaches his white underrobes, he hesitates; but Wei Wuxian smirks and says, “Go on.”

Lan Wangji discards his underrobes.

“God, Lan Zhan.” Wei Wuxian rubs his palms up and down Lan Wangji’s bare legs. Lan Wangji shudders. “You’re so pale, like jade… and yet you embrace it when I mark you.” He runs his fingers up the scars on Lan Wangji’s arms, at his thighs, at his neck. “You really are selfish, aren’t you?”

Heat is boiling at Lan Wangji’s gut. His golden core throbs at the energy it takes to not be aroused by those words.

“I think I can smell your qi, too, just as sweet.” Wei Wuxian’s nose skims along Lan Wangji’s knee. His palms go over his dantian, his heart. “Would you let me drink your qi, too, Lan Zhan? Let me taste your golden core.”

Chills pulse over Lan Wangji’s skin, rushing right back into warmth. “Drink from me,” he mumbles.

“You’re that eager, huh?” Wei Wuxian presses his lips to the inside of Lan Wangji’s knee. “How does it feel, knowing that you fill me with your blood, Lan Zhan? Your warmth, your life?” His teeth run over the most sensitive parts of Lan Wangji’s thighs, and Lan Wangji doesn’t know if he has any control over his body anymore. “Do you want me to drain you until you are nothing? Until you’re in me so deep that my body is your home, that you live inside me?”

“Please,” Lan Wangji begs, and he doesn’t know what he’s asking for—for Wei Wuxian to shut up, to bite him, to follow through with what he is saying, making Lan Wangji a part of him, all of him.

Wei Wuxian bites, but not deeply. Lan Wangji has to muffle a sound with his hand, anyway. “Imagine me marking you, biting you everywhere. Every part of your body is mine now. You can’t be selfish, Lan Zhan, you can’t be the only one filling my body. Let me fill your body, too.” He bites a little deeper, further up Lan Wangji’s inner thigh. Lan Wangji is tense everywhere.

“How about this?” Wei Wuxian says. Lan Wangji needs him to stop talking—he is sure, at this point, that his control over his arousal has disappeared. “You’ll mark me from the inside, and I’ll mark you from the outside.”

“ Wei Ying ,” Lan Wangji grits out.

Wei Wuxian chuckles, then sinks his fangs in properly. Lan Wangji is even more conscious of it now, the way his blood immediately flows, greets the inside of Wei Wuxian’s mouth like an old friend. His mind is so lost that he is sinking in the feeling of Wei Wuxian drinking, devouring him. His blood is running so fast and hot that all control of his own arousal quickly dissipates, hitting his golden core and his cock, sore and hot. His blood swells into Wei Wuxian’s mouth, aching to be a part of him, all of him, in him. Wei Wuxian sucks, licks, grins. Lan Wangji can feel it.

“Mine,” he says, and the word makes Lan Wangji’s brain white out for a moment.

“Yours,” he moans back.

Wei Wuxian gasps against his skin. Lan Wangji feels wrecked, arousal bleeding to pure pleasure, carnal, his golden core trilling with happiness. Getting the life sucked out of him should not make him feel spiritually stronger. And yet, as the blood leaves his body, as his qi flows into Wei Wuxian, his core feels brighter and brighter, even though he is sure to pass out.

Faintly, he registers that Wei Wuxian has stopped, is licking over the wounds now. “Fuck, you taste so good,” Wei Wuxian says. He pulls Lan Wangji’s robes back on.

Lan Wangji lets him. He could not stop him. He does not know if Wei Wuxian has realized what just happened, but he would be willing to do it again. He tries to get this across to Wei Wuxian.

“Yours,” he murmurs again.

“Lan Zhan, Lan Zhan,” Wei Wuxian says, but nothing more. He pats Lan Wangji’s cheek and smiles at him.

This is the last thing Lan Wangji sees before he sinks into unconsciousness.

Jiang Yanli invites him to pick lotus flowers the next afternoon. Lan Wangji is unsure, because as long as he has overstayed his welcome, he is not a proper member of the Lotus Pier. But Jiang Yanli seems to detect his hesitance and suggests with a smile, “If A-Xian is awake, you can invite him as well.”

Lan Wangji did not want to wake Wei Wuxian. But he had mentioned picking lotus seeds as something he missed doing, likely with his shijie. It’s earlier than Wei Wuxian usually wakes, but perhaps he will want to. Perhaps he will be grateful to Lan Wangji for asking him.

He pads into their quarters; Wei Wuxian is asleep, under shrouded curtains, unmoving on his bed. Lan Wangji touches his shoulder. “Wei Ying.”

Wei Wuxian makes a noise, breathes in through his nose, opens his eyes and smiles at Lan Wangji. “Ah, Lan Zhan. Is it dinner time already?”

“Your shijie wanted to know if you would like to join us—” Wei Wuxian raises his eyebrows at the use of the word us , “—picking lotus seeds.”

“Oh!” Wei Wuxian shoots up out of bed. “It’s been so long, of course I—you’re coming with us?”

Lan Wangji swallows at the possessive glint in Wei Wuxian’s eyes. “If Wei Ying would like me to.”

“Of course, Lan Zhan.” Wei Wuxian finishes putting his day robes over his underrobes, then grabs Lan Wangji’s hand. “Come on. I can’t wait to get you into a boat.”

Lan Wangji has no choice but to be dragged as Wei Wuxian meets with Jiang Yanli in the courtyard, who lights up at the sight of them. Together, the three of them make their way to the pier, Wei Wuxian reminiscing about the other times they’ve picked lotus, the two of them, or with Jiang Wanyin. Something inside Lan Wangji aches at the thought that Wei Wuxian has changed so much that he cannot easily do these simple things, the normal things. He wants to make an excuse to turn back and let Wei Wuxian enjoy himself with his shijie, but then Wei Wuxian grins and says, “You have to try a lotus pod, Lan Zhan, it’s the best.”

They go out on the lake with other villagers from around town, and the lake owner’s family. Wei Wuxian and Jiang Yanli talk to them like they are old friends, cousins, rather than common people they are bestowing with their presence. Lan Wangji has never been a prideful person, but despite all his training, his separation and his headband had made him know that he is not a common person. Here, he can barely tell the difference between Wei Wuxian and Jiang Yanli and the villagers, except that Wei Wuxian is still the most radiant even when pale in the early sunset.

They row out to the lake to pick lotus in the baskets they brought. They share with some of the people from the town, who give Lan Wangji advice on how to find the best and sweetest lotus seeds. When they start picking and eating them without depositing them into the basket, Lan Wangji does not understand—but Wei Wuxian has his own peeled lotus seed in his fingers, and pops it into Lan Wangji’s mouth without warning. It is surprising, but Lan Wangji enjoys it—and Wei Wuxian delights in whatever expression has crossed his face.

A child in the other boat almost falls out, reaching for a lotus flower. Wei Wuxian laughs, the rest of them laugh, tossing lotus at one another, and even if Wei Wuxian doesn’t eat any for himself, eyes tinged red in the orange glow, he still splashes Lan Wangji with water, makes him eat lotus seeds until Lan Wangji can’t eat anymore. They make their way back to Lotus Pier, baskets spilling over with lotus, Wei Wuxian and his shijie in high spirits.

Lan Wangji helps the Jiang servants put their share of the lotus roots and flowers away. Some of the villagers insist on helping as well, and so the kitchens are bustling and alive. Wei Wuxian has disappeared somewhere with his shijie, but no one treats Lan Wangji any differently when they are not around—instead with a kindness that Wei Wuxian might have seen enough, that put all that love into his heart even if he has nothing else.

He is seeing the last of the villagers off when someone standing at the entrance catches his eye—white and cerulean robes. “Xichen,” Lan Wangji says with some surprise.

His brother smiles at him. “Wangji. I wanted to see how you were doing.”

“I am doing well,” Lan Wangji replies.

“And Wei Wuxian?”

Lan Wangji notices his brother’s eyes raking over the bandages still on his neck, even though the wounds have long faded—the bandages are just comforting to wear. “He is doing well,” Lan Wangji says, because it is the truth. “Practicing a new method of cultivation.”

“Hm.” Lan Xichen inclines his head to the outside of the Lotus Pier grounds, into town. “Would you like to walk with me?”

Lan Wangji steps out with him; even if he did not have a choice, he suspects his brother does not want to talk with him where they could easily run into Wei Wuxian or the Jiangs. Talking with his brother is no chore, and it certainly has been a lunar phase or so since they last saw each other.

Lan Xichen openly admires some of the food from the street vendors, but does not stop to eat or buy anything. “Is Yunmeng Jiang treating you well, Wangji?” he asks, glancing over a spiced meat stall.

“Mn,” Lan Wangji replies. “Jiang Yanli is an excellent host, and Jiang Wanyin has easily become a competent leader.” He knows that he and his brother are not concerned about politics as much as they are about harmony.

“And Wei Wuxian… he has not become more dangerous?”

Lan Wangji does not reply, because he does not know and does not want to give his brother anything to report back, if asked. He busies himself watching some paper kites instead, decorating the sun-dimmed sky.

After a moment, he says, “I have composed new spells. For the both of us.”

“Oh?” Lan Xichen looks pleased. “I am glad to hear that you are continuing with your own improvements while having fun in Yunmeng Jiang.” His eyes twinkle. “You know, when I said to you long ago that I thought you and Wei Wuxian would work well together, were evenly matched, this is not what I had in mind.”

Lan Wangji’s ears burn. “Brother.”

Lan Xichen laughs. “Wangji, show through your brother around your new home,” he says.

It has long been dark by the time Lan Wangji gets back. His brother had eventually caved to the food stalls, but having the same level of tolerance as Lan Wangji, had quickly been overwhelmed by the spicy vegetables and needed a couple pieces of mantou to soothe him. By the end it had felt a little more like Lan Xichen was there seeing him off, even though Lan Wangji had been the one to stay when Lan Xichen left.

Lan Wangji did make sure that they wouldn’t stay out too close to Wei Wuxian’s feeding time. He is not in the bedchamber when Lan Wangji enters, so Lan Wangji begins his own nightly routine.

He has discarded his last robe when Wei Wuxian reenters, brimming with energy. He lights up at the sight of Lan Wangji sitting on his bed.

“Ah! Lan Zhan! I hope I didn’t keep you waiting.” Wei Wuxian rubs his stomach absently, but beams down at him. “I got caught up… more reminiscing with Jiang Cheng and my shijie. Sometimes I think so much has changed, but then there are days like this where I feel like a lot has stayed the same, too.”

Lan Wangji makes a noise of assent. Wei Wuxian grabs his wrist, thumbs over his pulse like he has been doing recently. “So much has changed though,” he says, raising Lan Wangji’s wrist to his nose and inhaling.

Lan Wangji clears his throat. “My brother stopped by this evening,” he says. “He asked after us.”

Wei Wuxian pauses. “Oh? What did you say?”

“That we are all doing well. That your shijie and shidi have been good hosts,” Lan Wangji says.

Wei Wuxian sighs over his pulse point. Then, unexpectedly, he kisses it. “I wish I was a better host, Lan Zhan. I forgot how good sleep is, even if I do it at other times than everyone else…”

This night feels different enough that it feels natural for Lan Wangji to bring Wei Wuxian’s cold hand to his lips now, run his lips over his palm. “Wei Ying should do as he needs,” he murmurs.

A breathless laugh escapes Wei Wuxian. “God, Lan Zhan, you have no idea what you do to me, huh?” His eyes darken as Lan Wangji turns his hand over, still against his lips. It feels like a wire between them is thinning, preparing for the inevitable onslaught. “Any creature like me should be lucky to have someone so willing as Lan Zhan. So eager to be consumed.”

Lan Wangji meets his eyes. “Wei Ying needs me.”

“And if I didn’t?” Wei Wuxian is sitting on his bed; Lan Wangji lays himself down. Wei Wuxian draws a line between his robes, on his bare chest. “If I didn’t need Lan Zhan, merely wanted him… would you give me yourself then?”

He presses his cold, cold palm against the beating of Lan Wangji’s heart. Lan Wangji can feel where his skin warms Wei Wuxian’s, if only for a moment.

Lan Wangji breathes, “Yes.”

The sound that Wei Wuxian makes is primal, a growl. And before Lan Wangji knows what is happening, Wei Wuxian’s mouth is on his—hot, dark, promising. He is not kissing as much as he is biting, devouring, all teeth like he is trying to crawl inside of Lan Wangji. Lan Wangji feels the same way, unable to move his own limbs with Wei Wuxian pressing down on him so much, lips and teeth and tongue twisting Lan Wangji inside and out. Pleasure and heat sizzles down to his cock, into his golden core. Wei Wuxian moans in his mouth.

“I can smell it, you know,” he says. “Your blood, your spiritual energy. You want it so badly, you love it when I just take from you.”

Lan Wangji makes small, embarrassing noises as Wei Wuxian shoves at his robes, at his underwear. His skin is like ice, but it doesn’t stop hot arousal from shocking, pulsating through Lan Wangji’s body.

“Lan Zhan, the beloved Hanguang-jun, at my mercy.” Wei Wuxian wraps his cold fingers around Lan Wangji’s cock. “What would the cultivation world say if they knew you were at my mercy? A demonic cultivator, something less than human?”

“Wei Ying… is… Wei Ying,” Lan Wangji rasps out, as Wei Wuxian’s fingers tease him, slightly.

Wei Wuxian smiles. “Such tender words from someone who loves to be marked by me,” he says. He brings his free hand to Lan Wangji’s neck—not to where he bit him before, but at the underside of his throat, his pulse. “Would you want to be marked all over by me, Lan Zhan? Have me drink from every part of your body?”

Lan Wangji bucks against his hand.

“I could mark you everywhere, so you’d never forget you were mine.” Wei Wuxian’s cold hand does not make him fully hard, keeps his arousal at bay, but it is a sure thing. “Would you like that, Lan Zhan?”

“If I died at your hands,” Lan Wangji manages, “I would consider it an honor.”

Wei Wuxian gasps, then laughs again. “Lan Zhan, so earnest even when so vulnerable.” His grin is wolfish. “What do you want, Lan Zhan? Tell me. Let me hear your voice.”

Only shudders and bitten off groans are escaping Lan Wangji’s mouth. He feels inebriated, loose, and Wei Wuxian hasn’t even bitten him yet. “To feel Wei Ying,” he mumbles. “Everywhere. To be inside of Wei Ying. To have Wei Ying inside of me.”

“Such shameless things to say,” Wei Wuxian says. Still, he begins taking off his robes, jade skin exposed to the night air. Lan Wangji wants to feel how cold he is, to warm him up. “I didn’t know Hanguang-jun could say such things, could want such things.”

Lan Wangji is fully aware that his ears are hot, but is more taken with the display of Wei Wuxian’s near-naked body in front of him. The burning in his gut increases tenfold. This is something he never allowed himself to want, and the arousal hits him with full force, straight to his cock. His golden core, his blood — they sing with the need to be taken.

Something must show in his eyes then, because Wei Wuxian takes one look at him and kisses him again. He slides his tongue into Lan Wangji’s mouth, dirty, wet; bites at where he bit Lan Wangji on the neck before, the first time and all the times after when he was unconscious. He runs his teeth over his pulse point, palms his rapidly beating heart.

When Wei Wuxian breaks away, there is a string of saliva between them, to Wei Wuxian’s mouth. Wei Wuxian looks at him with dark, hollow eyes, and says, “You’re so alive .”

“Yours,” Lan Wangji says. He raises his body, offering it.

Wei Wuxian’s eyes flash red; he grins. He prepares Lan Wangji with his cold fingers, Lan Wangji’s knees spread by his shoulders. He kisses him throughout, smothering Lan Wangji’s noises, cold fingers crawling inside, stretching him. It is wet and foreign and not completely pleasurable, but Wei Wuxian says, “I think you want to feel it, feel it when you enter me,” and Lan Wangji does.

His mind is hazy when he first feels the thicker push to his entrance, cold skin and slippery and bigger, nudging at his hole. Wei Wuxian groans and enters slowly. Lan Wangji thinks, mine, mine, he is mine , to distract himself from the invading pressure. The full sheath of Wei Wuxian’s cock slides into his body, Lan Wangji clenching around the unusual fullness.

“Good, good,” Wei Wuxian lets out. He thrusts a little and Lan Wangji exhales at having so much of Wei Wuxian in him. “You’re so good, Lan Zhan, so pretty like this.” His thumb travels down to where Lan Wangji’s rim is embraced around his cool cock. “Do you feel this? This is where you and me are joined.”

“ Wei Ying .”

Wei Wuxian smirks. “Okay, okay,” he says, leans down, thrusts, joins their mouths together again. Lan Wangji grunts at the friction of Wei Wuxian’s cool stomach against his cock, tongue pushing past Lan Wangji’s teeth as Lan Wangji holds onto him. Wei Wuxian does not need to breathe, sucks all the oxygen out of his lungs, lips sealing over Lan Wangji’s as he fucks into him more.

“Ready?” Wei Wuxian says, and Lan Wangji moans, throws his head back, exposing his neck. Wei Wuxian rocks into him, tears at the bandages with his teeth, toys along the scars left there before, finds the first one, and bites .

It’s bliss. Lan Wangji cries out but the pain barely registers—blood rushes from his body, past Wei Wuxian’s fangs, and into his undead heart. Wei Wuxian drives into him deeply as he drinks, teeth deep in Lan Wangji’s neck, cock deep in his body, the rhythm of his hips matching the blood flow. And—Lan Wangji can feel it inside of him, the blooming warmth of Wei Wuxian’s fingers, chest, cock, from the chill to the blazing heat, piercing him inside and out. It’s his blood, his heat running through Wei Wuxian’s veins, and he’s getting harder and harder as Wei Wuxian drinks.

“Almost done,” Wei Wuxian murmurs, but Lan Wangji doesn’t ever want it to be done. Wei Wuxian feels so big and overwhelming inside of him, a wildfire. Lan Wangji wants to feel him lose control, put as much of himself into Lan Wangji as he has into Wei Wuxian, overtake his insides, his body with his bloodlust, his teeth, the thick length of his cock.

“Yours,” he gasps out. “Wei Ying, yours —”

Wei Wuxian moans and his chest halts, hips thrusting erratically as he comes inside of Lan Wangji, thick, hot, and pulsing, marking Lan Wangji from the inside—and it is that knowledge that makes Lan Wangji come against Wei Wuxian’s stomach, knocking back against him. His shudders are uncontrollable and even when he is done, Wei Wuxian’s hips are still twitching from the aftershocks. Lan Wangji keeps him inside until he is no longer coming, then loosens, feeling his cock slip out. Wei Wuxian collapses on top of him, and Lan Wangji runs his hands over his back.

He moves his head, and his neck rolls into something wet. Lan Wangji feels there, and pulls his fingers away to see blood. Wei Wuxian hadn’t finished sealing up the wound.

Wei Wuxian lifts his head up, sniffing. “Oh, sorry,” he mumbles, and takes his fingers into his mouth, sucking the blood off, lips stained red. Lan Wangji captures his lips, kisses him, the taste of his own blood in Wei Wuxian’s mouth, licking his teeth and inside his mouth eagerly.

Wei Wuxian laughs. “One could mistake you for the bloodsucker,” he teases, pulling back. “I still need to heal you, though, Lan Zhan. You can wait to kiss me until later.”

He bends down and licks the residue of blood on Lan Wangji’s neck, soothing the open wound with saliva on the pad of his tongue. Lan Wangji falls away to the feeling of him cleaning him, making him whole again.

Wei Wuxian is watching when Lan Wangji wakes, still naked, curled around his body. He is not as warm now, but still comfortable, solid, as Lan Wangji blinks awake.

“You’re not returning to the Cloud Recesses, are you?” Wei Wuxian asks. It does not sound like a question.

Lan Wangji searches his gaze. “Not unless Wei Ying wants to go.” Wei Wuxian smiles at this and kisses him good morning, and Lan Wangji has to calm them both down, tell himself to get ready for the day.

Things are almost the same—except for how they aren’t, as Wei Wuxian keeps trying to interrupt his morning routine with kissing and groping. When Lan Wangji prepares to leave the bedchambers, he says, “I will miss you,” and Wei Wuxian beams at him, says “I’ll be here.”

If anyone notices that Lan Wangji is walking stiffer than usual, they do not comment on it. Midway through the day, Lan Wangji enters the main hall and sees Jin Zixuan sitting at a guest mat, accompanied by Jiang Yanli and Jiang Wanyin on the lotus throne, both of them on guard. Jin Zixuan starts when Lan Wangji enters, but merely says, “Ah—Hanguang-jun! You are invited to the Night Hunt on Phoenix Mountain as well. Lanling Jin is hosting it as a hunting competition between the sects, although I did not see you in Gusu—”

“I am still lending my services here.” It is not a lie, but Lan Wangji thinks about Wei Wuxian asleep in his bedchambers. “Is the night hunt for any willing participants?”

“Of course.” Jin Zixuan turns back to Jiang Yanli. Jiang Wanyin’s gaze is dubious. “I—my mother would be honored, Jiang-guniang, if you were to attend as well.” He bows, and then, when no one says anything for a long moment, shifts in his seat uncomfortably.

Lan Wangji has sat in the space next to Jiang Yanli. He says, “Why has Jin-gongzi traveled to deliver a mere invitation?”

Jin Zixuan glances at Jiang Wanyin and Jiang Yanli as if expecting them to ask Lan Wangji not to intervene. When neither of them speaks up, Jin Zixuan says, “The—we would like the Jiang Sect to grace us with their attendance.” Then: “And Jiang-guniang, as well.”

“And these are your mother’s wishes?” Jiang Wanyin asks doubtfully.

“Yes.” But Jin Zixuan ducks his head under the combined gazes of Lan Wangji and Jiang Wanyin. “And—mine.”

Considering what Lan Wangji knows of their previous association (and as complained vaguely by Wei Wuxian), this is surprising.

What is even more surprising is when Jiang Yanli says, “Then at Jin-furen and Jin-gongzi’s invitation, I accept.”

The hunt begins several days later, the sun barely a memory of Wen Ruohan high up in the air. Wei Wuxian had been eager to come despite all his eye rolling about the Jins. He had been far less concerned when Lan Wangji told him that, after the initial meeting, Jin Zixuan had asked where Wei Wuxian was. “I don’t bother trying to understand why peacocks do peacock things,” he’d said to Lan Wangji. “But Lan Zhan, you’re coming too, aren’t you?” Lan Wangji had agreed and then Wei Wuxian drank from his thigh and fucked him into unconsciousness.

This is hardly what Lan Wangji is thinking about, as they watch the ceremony for the hunt to start. Jin Zixuan shows off his archery in a gratuitous display, arrows piercing past the trembling Wen prisoners. Lan Wangji wishes the ceremony was less distasteful.

Lianfang-zun calls for any other practice shots. Wei Wuxian grins at Lan Wangji and says, “Lan Zhan, can you help me?”

Lan Wangji meets his gaze. “What do you need?”

“Can I borrow your headband?”

Lan Wangji does not even bother with a response.

Wei Wuxian rolls his eyes and then approaches the five targets. He makes a show of wrapping one of his arm bands around his head, covering his eyes. Lan Wangji watches as he grabs five of the practice arrows, strings them into his bow, spins, and shoots.

All of his arrows land.

Wei Wuxian is smug as he takes his place back by Lan Wangji. “I can smell your blood,” he murmurs. “You’re getting hot.”

Lan Wangji does not dignify that with a response, either.

The hunt starts shortly after, Lan Wangji by Wei Wuxian’s side despite the dismayed looks coming from the Gusu Lan disciples who had come with his brother. Lan Xichen, at least, shakes his head with a small smile and says nothing. Lan Wangji thinks that Wei Wuxian could do the hunt, as Jin Zixuan’s cousin had suggested, with the blindfold on the whole time. He does not say this to Wei Wuxian, who is twirling his dizi and humming to himself.

“This will be too easy,” Wei Wuxian says to Lan Wangji with a smirk. “How much of the prey do you think I should leave for everyone else, Lan Zhan? Three-quarters? Two-thirds?”

“What will you do with the prey that you capture?” Lan Wangji asks, though he knows “capture” is not quite accurate to Wei Wuxian’s methods of night hunting anymore.

“Lead them into Gusu Lan and Yunmeng Jiang’s traps, of course.” Wei Wuxian grins. They’ve made their way pretty deep into the forest, and he brings his dizi to his lips. “Don’t worry. I’ll bring some over so you can capture some too.”

Lan Wangji doesn’t have time to think before he’s playing, resentful energy drawn to him, luring a faint rustling from around them. Lan Wangji watches, entranced by Wei Wuxian’s precise playing, fingers and lips flying over the dizi. He wonders if there is another world where Wei Wuxian hasn’t been stripped of his humanity, his light, where they could both follow the conventional routes, become cultivators together. But—he does want this Wei Wuxian, wild and lustful, on his single-plank bridge. Perhaps this is who he was always meant to be.

Some of the prey comes their way, Lan Wangji defeating them without a moment’s hesitation. Wei Wuxian delicately moves out of the way and continues playing. The monsters attack, but between Wei Wuxian’s careful dizi playing and Lan Wangji’s quickness with his quiver and bow, they tread around each other like a dance, music with their bodies.

After Lan Wangji himself has defeated a good amount of demons and ferocious ghosts, he turns to Wei Wuxian. “How much of the prey did you lure?”

Wei Wuxian smirks. “Oh, you’ll see.”

It is afternoon and his skin is still warm, like the sun, with Lan Wangji’s blood running through him. Yet as he approaches Lan Wangji with that unfaltering, powerful gaze, Lan Wangji wants nothing more than for Wei Wuxian to drink from him here, consume him, take him whole. His body, his blood yearns for it.

Wei Wuxian stops just a hair’s length away. Lan Wangji’s golden core feels as though it is in his throat, pulled towards Wei Wuxian’s body.

“Ah, Lan Zhan, I’ve turned you into something as depraved as me,” Wei Wuxian says. He rests his hand on Lan Wangji’s cheek. He could kiss him right now, Lan Wangji thinks, and it hasn’t been too long since this morning, but it’s been long enough, and Lan Wangji wants —

They’re interrupted by the sound of footsteps—the moment is broken, and they hide behind the trees. The footsteps turn out to be from Jin Zixuan and Jiang Yanli, whose apparent relationship isn’t getting any better. Jin Zixuan’s cousin makes matters worse, and Lan Wangji has to stop Wei Wuxian from lashing out as Jiang Yanli demands for Jin Zixuan’s cousin to apologize.

The hunt ends with Yunmeng Jiang and Gusu Lan getting one-third of the prey each, Lan Wangji making no small contribution.

He and Wei Wuxian avoid the banquet back in Lanling by Wei Wuxian dragging him into town. “We can’t be too close to the palace or else they’ll make us attend,” Wei Wuxian says, and Lan Wangji agrees—if he were still a formal member of his sect, still cared about appearances, he would be there next to his brother. But he has decided that such things no longer matter.

They trawl through the city, Wei Wuxian not bothering to hide his disgust at the richer citizens flaunting their wealth in front of the poorer. The homeless are dismissed and abused in the streets. A particularly egregious Jin soldier shoves over someone in rags, and Lan Wangji and Wei Wuxian turn.

Lan Wangji recognizes her—in Wen red, bruises on her face. Wei Wuxian does, too, by the way his face flits across several different emotions, before landing on—shame. He rushes over to her, and Lan Wangji follows.

“Wen Qing,” Wei Wuxian says quietly. “How are you—what are you doing here?”

“It’s nothing,” she says, though she is worrying at her bottom lip. And then: “My brother is missing. I can’t find him.”

“What? What happened?” Wei Wuxian helps her up.

Wen Qing glances at Lan Wangji, but when Wei Wuxian makes no move to dismiss him, or he any movement to leave, she says, “He and the others at Yiling were captured by Jin soldiers. For a labor camp, I presume. We were separated.”

“There are a lot of labor camps,” Wei Wuxian mutters. His eyes flash red.

Lan Wangji wraps his fingers around his wrist. “Qiongqi Path,” he says. “When I was talking to my brother earlier, before the hunt, I heard Lianfang-zun mention it.”

Wei Wuxian meets his gaze, deadly serious, and nods. “Lan Zhan and I will help you find Wen Ning,” he says to Wen Qing. “When’s the last time you ate?”

Her hands shake—not for some while. “It doesn’t matter, he could be dying.”

“He could need your help, which will require more of your energy,” Wei Wuxian turns to Lan Wangji. “Lan Zhan, can you get something from a street vendor?”

Lan Wangji nods, and gets a few pieces of bread from a cart around the corner. When he comes back, Wei Wuxian is saying to her, “We’ll take you there as long as you eat along the way. No stopping as long as you keep eating.”

“I’m not a child, Wei Wuxian,” Wen Qing fires back, although when she sees the food in Lan Wangji’s hands, her eyes light up in the way of someone who hasn’t had anything decent to eat in a long time.

Wei Wuxian takes a piece of bread from Lan Wangji and waves it in her face. “Are you sure?”

She glares at him and snatches it, taking a sizable bite. “Let’s go,” she says, more to Lan Wangji than anything. Lan Wangji waits for Wei Wuxian, who grins before they trek away.

On their way to Qiongqi Path, with snatches of asking for directions from the occasional townsperson, Lan Wangji asks Wei Wuxian, under his breath, “These Wens… are your friends?”

Wei Wuxian’s eyes narrow. “And if they are?”

“I am not doubting Wei Ying’s judgment,” Lan Wangji says quietly. “I am… merely not familiar with any member of the Wen Clan. I was unaware that Wei Ying was.”

Wei Wuxian relaxes slightly, though there is still a guarded look in his eyes. “Don’t tell me that Hanguang-jun is having second thoughts about me,” he says. “About being mine.”

“Not about Wei Ying,” Lan Wangji replies. “Never.”

It is dark by the time they reach Qiongqi Path, traveling only by foot. A torrential storm thunders above them, drenching them as they approach the village. The Jin soldiers stop them from entering at first, but at the sight of Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji together, they are too stunned as Wen Qing runs past them, calling for her brother.

She asks desperately at the Wens in the labor camp for anyone she knows; Lan Wangji dreads that her brother is nowhere near Qiongqi. The conditions are disastrous in the weather, Jin soldiers forcing the Wen common folk to continue shivering, drowning as they slave away.

Wei Wuxian’s temper is rising again. Lan Wangji can tell by the way he trembles, the red glowing in his eyes. Lan Wangji holds onto his wrist and says, “Wei Ying. Gather all the Jin soldiers together.”

Wei Wuxian exhales even though he no longer needs to. Then he calls them all over, fury written across his face.

None of them want to answer when Wen Qing asks about the recent Wen cultivators brought into camp. At Lan Wangji’s behest, eventually one Jin soldier stammers out that all Wens are brought here and only here—that occasionally, Wen cultivators are asked for to do someone else’s bidding. When another Jin soldier tries to suggest that Wen Qing’s brother had escaped, leaving everyone else behind, Wei Wuxian steps forward and demands where, then, they disposed of the dead bodies.

They’re led to a massive field of corpses, abandoned to perish in the rain. Lan Wangji swallows at the sight of the sprawled corpses, the innocent bodies of people he might have once considered his enemies. As Wen Qing and Wei Wuxian search through them, Lan Wangji lets their memory seep through him, rain thick against his skin and their lifeless ones. It is no good finding his own breath when Wei Wuxian finds new people to suffocate for; Lan Wangji is long used to this feeling of not being able to breathe next to Wei Wuxian. What had once been restrained for him has now broken, and he remembers once, a promise, a prayer: to stand by justice, with a clear conscience, without regret. Lan Wangji has known for a while now that this means to stand by Wei Wuxian, even at his least mortal.

They find Wen Ning’s body, Stygian lure flag sunken into his body. Wei Wuxian’s face is frozen.

Lan Wangji hears it first when the sound of swords slashing comes from the village. “Wei Ying,” he rushes out, and Wei Wuxian’s eyes are fire . Without hesitation, he raises his dizi, resentful energy spilling out from him, from the corpses surrounding them. He walks back into the village, murder intent in every step.

Wen Qing does not spare him a glance, still crying over her brother’s body. Lan Wangji kneels with her. “Wen-guniang,” he says, over the rain. He recalls hearing about an exceptionally good Wen doctor, a young woman around his age. “Do you think you know how long he has been dead?”

It is crude, but she needs something to focus on. She sniffs, then examines his eyes, his pulse, the wound of the flag lodged in his stomach. “Days,” she gets out. “No more than some weeks.”

Lan Wangji helps her up, her cloak soaked through.

No sooner than she’s rising to her feet again does her brother’s body twitch suddenly, eyes shooting open, pupils lifeless. Wen Qing gasps as her brother’s body, a living corpse, leaps away—towards the village, towards Wei Wuxian. Lan Wangji and Wen Qing rush over, to see Wei Wuxian playing his dizi furiously, as Wen Ning’s body attacks the Jin soldier with ruthless strength.

The dark energy pouring out of Wen Ning’s reanimated corpse is violent, ferocious, tearing into each Jin soldier like a grudge. Wei Wuxian’s eyes widen when he realizes that whatever he did—his Yin Hu Fu—is no match for Wen Ning’s spirit. He stops, screams Wen Ning’s name over the rain, Wen Qing joining him. And then—in a shocking moment, when Wen Ning is about to rip out the throat of one of the last Jin soldiers—he stops, falls to the ground.

Wen Qing runs over to him as Wei Wuxian turns to Lan Wangji. “We can’t leave them here,” Wei Wuxian says.

“I know.” Lan Wangji looks around the drowning village. Most of the Wen prisoners have fled, and there are large stables that could easily house a good number of them. He makes his way towards it with Wei Wuxian in tow. They kick the door down.

The living Wen prisoners are indeed hidden in here. “Please, don’t hurt us!” one begs, while another asks, “Who are you? What did you do to our supervisors?”

“It doesn’t matter,” Wei Wuxian starts.

“Come with us,” Lan Wangji says.

They gather the people together, and Lan Wangji fetches the horses. Quickly enough, they get each Wen prisoner to a horse, assisting the children and elderly. Some are gawking at the sight of Wen Qing with her brother when Lan Wangji brings them over as well, helping them up as well. He and Wei Wuxian each mount their own horse, last, and once everyone is situated, they take off into the night, into the storm.

Wei Wuxian says to Lan Wangji, as they lead the pack, “There’s no turning back from this, do you know that?”

The prisoners of war behind them. Breaking in and escaping, the fresh corpses of the Jin soldiers left behind. Wei Wuxian and his demonic cultivation, his thirst for blood.

Lan Wangji says, “I know.”

三

coda

The rain lets up the farther west they travel. Wei Wuxian insists they don’t stop, but Lan Wangji can see the starkness of his skin, emptiness growing in his eyes. “You need to feed,” he says quietly.

Wei Wuxian smirks, but there’s no spirit in it. “You craving it now, Lan Zhan? Be patient, I’ll feed from you when we reach where we’re going.”

Lan Wangji ignores the tease at their destination; Wei Wuxian has not freely offered it, he will not ask. Instead, he says, “It is well past your feeding time.” Behind them, he is well aware of Wen Qing listening with interest.

Wei Wuxian scoffs. “I lasted without you, before.”

“Wei Ying,” Lan Wangji snaps.

“It doesn’t matter, and you really want me to feed from you in front of all these people?” Wei Wuxian gestures. “The prisoners?”

Lan Wangji thinks, then dismounts his horse. It continues trotting along the path obediently. He gets himself onto Wei Wuxian’s still moving horse, placing himself in front of him.

“You need energy, too,” he says, pointedly. He bares his neck, unconcerned about any of the Wen prisoners watching, listening. “Drink.”

Wei Wuxian huffs, like he is considering doing otherwise. But then two sharp points stab into his neck, and Wei Wuxian inhales. Lan Wangji ignores the immediate reaction it gives him, to his cock, his hot insides. Wei Wuxian’s fangs are buried deep inside him, damp hair sticking to his neck, drinking up his blood as their journey continues on. Lan Wangji’s head gets light and fuzzy quickly; Wei Wuxian holds onto him to prevent him from falling off his horse. Blood seeps from the now age-old wounds in Lan Wangji’s neck, until Wei Wuxian licks, seals them up.

“Ridiculous Hanguang-jun,” he says, against Lan Wangji’s skull. “Too concerned about me. Too shameless. Too irresistible.”

“Wei Ying’s,” Lan Wangji slurs out.

There is a kiss pressed to the back of his neck. “Mine.”

They arrive in Yiling, their apparent destination. Wei Wuxian does not bother to stop into town, leading them to the outskirts where dark, tight resentful energy lurks. It is not dangerous, Lan Wangji knows, but he has his reservations when Wei Wuxian begins helping the others down, leading them to the entrance of a cave. Everyone is relieved to stop, but Lan Wangji does not know this place, nor how Wei Wuxian knows this place.

He’d gotten back on his horse this morning, after being roused from unconsciousness in Wei Wuxian’s arms. He dismounts and pulls Wei Wuxian aside from helping an old woman and a child, asking in an undertone, “Why are we in Yiling?”

“Oh, didn’t you know? This is where I grew up.” Wei Wuxian grins at the dead forest all around them, gnarled trees, promise of monsters hiding in the shadows. Lan Wangji does not believe he means what he is saying. “Or, at least, it’s where Jiang-shushu found me. I’ve always felt a kinship with it.”

“Wei Ying,” Lan Wangji says.

“Ah, Lan Zhan, Lan Zhan, wait until everyone is settled, okay?” Wei Wuxian goes back to Wen-popo and the child. “Look at little A-Yuan, he’s probably hungry, huh?”

“Hungry,” the child says. He sticks his thumb in his mouth.

Wei Wuxian beams. “See? We can start a farm or something, we just have to pick some fruit—”

“No need.” The child has tear tracks down his face, and looks exhausted. Lan Wangji has his money bag tucked in his robe. “I will fetch some food from town.”

“You don’t—Lan Zhan!” Wei Wuxian tries to stop him, but Lan Wangji ignores him; and, he suspects, Wei Wuxian knows how urgent the need for food is now. “Ah, rich people,” he hears Wei Wuxian lament to the child. “Off to purchase necessities at their earliest convenience.”

It’s evident that word of their escape hasn’t reached Yiling yet, though only a day has passed; people are more surprised than suspicious that Lan Wangji is in town, buying supplies. He realizes, amid buying mounds of potatoes, that perhaps he should have taken his hairpiece out at least, to be less conspicuous. But it is too late now—doing so may draw attention to the fact that he does not want to be noticed. Word will get out soon, anyhow. And no one will dare approach him, at least, with ill intent, much less he and Wei Wuxian combined.

He gets as much food and supplies as he can carry, which is plentiful, before finding his way back to where Wei Wuxian had brought them. There is a large and potentially dangerous seal around a coven of trees now, which could pass as an entrance. Lan Wangji passes through untouched, assessing the shelter they’ve crowded around, the people they’ve rescued. Everyone has gathered at the mouth of the cave, precarious. Wei Wuxian is nowhere to be found.

“He went inside,” Wen Qing explains, her brother’s unconscious, possibly dead head leaning against her shoulder. “Making sure it’s safe, I think.”

Lan Wangji passes around the food he bought, more than enough for everyone. Once they all have food in their hands—A-Yuan is especially delighted by the sweet bun Lan Wangji had selected for him—Lan Wangji heads into the cave.

Wei Wuxian is humming to himself as he examines the cave’s walls; if Lan Wangji recognizes the song, he does not say so. “I think Demon-Slaughtering Cave would be a good name for this place,” Wei Wuxian says, turning to Lan Wangji. “Don’t you think?”

“How do you know this place?” Lan Wangji asks.

Wei Wuxian sighs. “Lan Zhan, I don’t think that’s important right now.”

“Does it have anything to do with what you’ve become?”

Wei Wuxian stills for a moment. There are dark shadows under his eyes, and the sparse light filtering in from the roof of the cave only makes them darker, deeper. Lan Wangji steps closer to him, runs a finger down his cheek, beneath his eyes. Wei Wuxian leans into the touch, his warmth and his heartbeat.

“I promise,” Wei Wuxian says, “that I will tell you soon. But we’ve just defected, Lan Zhan; I think we need to devote our time to the Wens.”

“You will tell me?” Lan Wangji says.

Wei Wuxian says, and kisses his thumb lightly, kisses Lan Wangji’s mouth briefly. “Yes. Thank you for helping me, Hanguang-jun.”

“You do not need to call me that,” Lan Wangji says as they head back out.

Wei Wuxian winks. “But it feels even sexier knowing that I’m drinking all your guang.” He laughs at the expression on Lan Wangji’s face.

They organize the people, those with exhaustion (which is the vast majority of them) resting in the cave amongst the stone and hay, while those with energy are willing to help sort the supplies and hunt for durable tree branches. “We’ve got to build houses and beds for everyone!” Wei Wuxian says. His paleness is even more evident in the daylight, so Lan Wangji volunteers himself to do the heavy lifting, carrying supplies and setting up areas for livable houses. The best space, Wei Wuxian insists, is behind the cave and the temple, so people will have to pass through the cave to get to what they hope will be their little village instead of being vulnerable at the front. When one of the Wen cultivators asks Wei Wuxian about his own house, he laughs and says, “Don’t be silly, the cave is my home.”

Lan Wangji understands—these people are defenseless, less trained. But when Wei Wuxian teases Lan Wangji about being hard at work at his own home, Lan Wangji says, “This house is not mine.” And when Wei Wuxian says, “Well, do you want to build your house next?” Lan Wangji turns to him and says, “The cave is my home, too.”

The Wens say nothing, much less Wen Qing, who has allowed her brother to rest in a secluded area in the temple at the back of the cave, near a small pool. She shoots them a fairly indecipherable look as she drags some stones over for a house foundation. But Lan Wangji does not break. Wei Wuxian huffs and does not protest, because Lan Wangji knows that he knows it will be no use.

Lan Wangji goes into town again later, hairpiece safely hidden but headband still on, to ward off attention but not draw trouble. There are more things they need that he had not thought of buying before, like bathtubs and candles and rope. He buys plenty of food as well as seeds, along with tools and a cart if Wei Wuxian keeps up his farming aspirations. He had spoken like he was joking, but he had joked about planting turnips as well, and it will take too long for them to make money selling the fruits in the wood. Lan Wangji certainly has the money to spare.

When he gets back, Wen Qing and Wei Wuxian are talking in the cave. He pauses when Wei Wuxian’s voice says Hanguang-jun. At the mouth, not close enough to be seen, he listens.

“… is not the problem. The problem is he shouldn’t be seen with us,” says Wen Qing’s voice. “We’re prisoners. We’re rogues.”

“Should I not be seen with you too?” But Wei Wuxian’s voice sounds tired—like this is something he has thought about, and did not want to put into words.

“Yes, but you have much less to lose,” Wen Qing says. “You know this.”

“I know.” Wei Wuxian is quiet for a moment. “While Lan Zhan is Hanguang-jun, a Twin Jade of Lan—”

“—and this is not his concern,” Wen Qing finishes.

Lan Wangji steps in. “If people are inappropriately treated, it is my concern,” he says. He drops the talisman paper he bought to the ground—Wei Wuxian had been dreading pilfering talismans or making rice paper.

Wei Wuxian and Wen Qing have matching expressions of guilt on their faces. Lan Wangji continues, “Even if Wei Ying were not here, I would think this is the correct thing to do. Your village was innocent, yet the Jin soldiers were abusing you and putting you to work because you are a Wen.” His gaze slides to Wen Ning on the stone slab, unconscious, and by all means dead. “It is despicable.”

“Ah, Lan Zhan, honorable Hanguang-jun,” Wei Wuxian says, coming over to him. Lan Wangji does not break eye contact with Wen Qing. “What a noble, noble man. But surely you should want to return to Gusu Lan, they must need you, you know? They miss you, and you’re the venerable Lan-er gongzi, shouldn’t your duties—”

“My duties are to Wei Ying,” Lan Wangji says sharply. “And to where I am needed. I have not returned to Gusu since the end of the Sunshot Campaign. I am not returning now.”

“Yeah, but.” Wei Wuxian glances at Wen Qing briefly. She is still watching Lan Wangji. “This isn’t that important to you—”

“It is as important to me as it is to you,” Lan Wangji interrupts; he chose Wei Wuxian long ago, when his blood started running through Wei Wuxian’s veins. Perhaps, even, before. “I have learned, now, that duty is not bound by what rules we are given, but what choices we have in the world we are brought into.”

He moves past them into the temple to distribute food to the Wens who have been working all day, and to those who are just waking up: the old, the sick, and the young. Back out in the setting sun, he builds the houses.

Wei Wuxian comes back out when the moon has risen and there are no more Wen cultivators left working. Sweat is pooling down Lan Wangji’s back, but he continues stacking the stone on the crudely made clay. He barely looks up as Wei Wuxian admires the few houses he has already finished, down the path.

“At this rate, we’ll have houses for everyone within days!” Wei Wuxian grins at him. Lan Wangji does not respond.

Wei Wuxian puts a hand on his arm. “Ah, Lan Zhan, stop for the night. Everyone is asleep in the temple. Plus, I’m getting thirsty.” His fingers trace a patch of sweat beneath Lan Wangji’s robes. “And you smell enticing.”

Lan Wangji stops at this. He sets the stone in his hands down, and then heads back into the temple. Wei Wuxian bounds after him, and they slip in quietly, past where the Wens are largely sleeping, toward the entrance of the cave. They pass Wen Ning by the small pool. Various talismans are stuck to his body.

Wei Wuxian chuckles as they move out of earshot. “You know, when I imagined us owning a farm together, I thought I’d be doing all of the grunt work. But Lan Zhan seems to have found a passion in building houses!”

Lan Wangji looks him up and down. “Wei Ying is weaker in the day,” he says, because he recognizes it now.

Wei Wuxian scratches the back of his head. “That’s true, isn’t it… let me draw you a bath! And then I’ll wash your underrobes, so you have something clean to sleep in.”

The resentful energy around the cave, the forest, swirls like dust motes. It has already darkened Lan Wangji’s outer robe, his five underrobes still pale, but Lan Wangji figures it will be a matter of time before their colors change as well, from Lan white to Burial Mounds grey, cloud patterns turning overcast. He finds that he does not mind.

Wei Wuxian does indeed draw a bath with some of the water from outside, and talismans for heating and multiplying. He uses the tub Lan Wangji bought earlier; it looks well-used now, which is not a matter of concern for Lan Wangji. He settles in as Wei Wuxian uses talismans and a wash bin to wash his robes.

Lan Wangji says, “I do not want you to think that I still prescript myself to the rules of the Cloud Recesses. That I am here out of anything other than choice.” The water is too hot on Lan Wangji’s skin, but he wants the touch of Wei Wuxian’s body, winter cold at this time of night.

Wei Wuxian runs his hands and the robe in the soapy water. “I wasn’t thinking about it that much, honestly,” he says after a moment. “But then Wen Qing reminded me that you’re Hanguang-Jun, that you’ve got legacy, an entire sect—and who am I?” He laughs bitterly.

“You’re Wei Ying,” Lan Wangji says. Wei Wuxian doesn’t meet his eyes. “You have been brought into Yunmeng Jiang as a valuable disciple. And even if you were not, your life would still be precious.”

“Yunmeng Jiang…” Wei Wuxian pauses in his washing. He laughs again. “You know, I promised A-Cheng and shijie that we would be together forever? And now I’ve ruined that promise… I’m a fucking joke.”

“No.” Lan Wangji sits up. Hot water rushes off his body, shoulders hitting the cool air. “You have found a greater duty. You can return to them and they will welcome you home.”

“Lan Zhan, don’t be delusional,” Wei Wuxian says, but Lan Wangji has seen how tenderly Jiang Yanli speaks to him, the softness of Jiang Wanyin’s gaze when Wei Wuxian is not looking. How the people of the Lotus Pier and beyond look to him with adoration in their eyes.

Wei Wuxian will not believe him, though. Lan Wangji knows. He leans back in the tub and lets himself soak. After a few minutes, with his eyes closed, there is a loud whipping sound and Wei Wuxian says, “There! Clean and dry and ready for you to wear. Ah, I can’t believe you’ve been naked next to me for so long and I haven’t ravished you once.”

Lan Wangji steps out of the tub and dries himself. He takes his robe from Wei Wuxian.

“You know, I think tomorrow night you should fuck me,” Wei Wuxian says thoughtfully. “Not tonight, though, since you’re probably too tired.”

“Mn.” Lan Wangji ignores that his ears are red.

Wei Wuxian beams. “Then it’s settled. Though I’ll need to drink from you first, tonight. You said that we’re sharing this part of the cave, right? Does that mean we’re sharing a bed too? Because I only got one prepared, so you’ll have to find your own stone tablet if you don’t want to share.”

Lan Wangji doesn’t respond, just lets Wei Wuxian lead him into where his bed is supposedly set up. The stone is lined with hay and pieces of cloth undoubtedly adapted from Wei Wuxian’s robes. Some of the candles are lit, but there are far too few to shed proper light, drawing long shadows on the cavern walls. The tablet is certainly big enough for the two of them, crudely enlarged to be so.

“Is it to Lan Zhan’s liking?” Wei Wuxian asks. Lan Wangji says nothing, merely climbs atop the cloth. “You know, for as long as we’ve stayed together for me to feed from you, I think some part of me keeps expecting you to return to Gusu, one day.” He gets on the stone with Lan Wangji, baring his fangs close to his neck. Lan Wangji can see how his nostrils are flaring at the proximity. “But I think you’re too addicted to the feeling of getting your blood drained.”

Lan Wangji glares at him.

“Oh, come on, I’m teasing.” Wei Wuxian grins. He looks up and down Lan Wangji’s body. “Where should I drink from tonight? Your thigh? We haven’t done that in a while.”

Lan Wangji does not fuck him this night, but even the exhaustion of the day does not make sleep easier in this new place he may call home.

Because of Wei Wuxian’s propensity against daylight, they set up a system where Lan Wangji runs errands and builds and assists the Wens during the day, while Wei Wuxian trawls during the night, testing the talismans for Wen Ning, working on reclaiming land for their farm, perfecting his dark cultivation methods with such precision that most of Lan Wangji’s concerns have turned to why he is doing it, rather than how or what. Wei Wuxian does sleep and wake earlier in the day to help them in the gardens, though Lan Wangji suspects it is because he has a fondness for Wen Yuan, who likes helping Si-shu with the vegetables. Lan Wangji does not blame him.

He knows that despite their best efforts, Wei Wuxian is struggling—with not being able to do much during the day, with maintaining what is left of Wen Ning’s consciousness, with feeding from Lan Wangji every night, but no longer in the comfort of Yunmeng Jiang. Lan Wangji does his best to coax the stress out of Wei Wuxian with his body, whether Wei Wuxian feels like giving or taking. But more often than not, they find discomfort with Wei Wuxian’s cold insides around Lan Wangji’s flaccid cock; Lan Wangji is content having Wei Wuxian inside of him, blunt fingernails gripping onto his hips in the cave while everyone else takes rest in their houses.

As Wei Wuxian predicted, they do finish homes for everyone within days, branching out to fields of vegetables to sell in Yiling. The air in the forest is thick but only speaks of ill memories, not poison to their lungs and food. The carrots and turnips and potatoes grow best, though, beneath the soil and easier to harvest. Lan Wangji’s robes are dusted grey now and he only wears two or three layers at a time now, due to their money and storage constraints.

Wei Wuxian comes out into the fields while Lan Wangji is helping Si-shu with the turnips, soil easing against his robes like a home. Wen Qing had gone in earlier to see if Wei Wuxian was awake; Wei Wuxian is alone now, eating the sweet potato Wen Qing had been cooking earlier.

Lan Wangji stands up. “Wei Ying.”

“Lan Zhan!” The shadows under Wei Wuxian’s eyes have faded, slightly. “Look at you, out in the field. Here, let me, wouldn’t want to make Lan Zhan’s hands get too dirty from work now, would we?”

“Wei Ying,” Lan Wangji tries again, but Wei Wuxian laughs.

“You know, I think I had a dream once, where you and I worked on a farm. But in it I was always the one outdoors for so long that the sun became my skin while you stayed inside with your poetry and music.” Wei Wuxian grins up at him. Lan Wangji’s ears turn pink.

Si-shu chortles and says, “Wei-gongzi probably has a lot of dreams about Lan-er gongzi.”

“I do, I do,” Wei Wuxian agrees. “Not all of which you’d want to hear, Si-shu…”

They laugh. Lan Wangji clears his throat.

“How is Wen Qing? And Wen Ning?”

Wen Qing is civil—talks with him the most, out of all the Wen remnants, likely because she is Wei Wuxian’s friend; she insists on cooking when Lan Wangji moves towards their makeshift kitchen. But despite her ability to have a conversation with him without forcing it, she does not offer information about herself freely—and she is in his care now, whether she wants to be or not. Her brother as well.

Wei Wuxian lights up at the mention of them. “Oh! Well, Wen Qing found me while I was sleeping, but Wen Ning is doing great! He can hear us and recognize voices now. I think if we keep talking to him—or at least if Wen Qing keeps talking to him, he’ll wake up in no time.”

Lan Wangji nods. “I will ensure that she spends all the time she can with him,” he says.

“Lan Zhan! Why are you so earnest?” Wei Wuxian shoves at his arm; Lan Wangji is warm at the contact. “Don’t worry about her, we’ll make plenty of time to—”

“Her brother’s wellbeing comes first,” Lan Wangji says. “I will take on whatever duties she has acquired.”

“You really don’t have to—”

“Lan-gege! Xian-gege!”

Wen Yuan bumbles toward them, trying to clutch onto an inordinate number of toys at the same time; Lan Wangji had not been able to resist when he’d seen the street stalls full of children’s toys in tow, and bought whatever he thought Wen Yuan might like. Wei Wuxian says that Lan Wangji is spoiling him. Lan Wangji thinks Wen Yuan deserves to be spoiled.

At their knees, Wen Yuan latches onto Wei Wuxian’s calf first, then Lan Wangji’s. Two of his plush toys are in hand, the rest abandoned on the ground, and he thrusts them at them. “Do the voices! Do the voices!”

“Ah, A-Yuan,” Wei Wuxian says long-sufferingly. Lan Wangji knows he is teasing. “Can’t you see that your geges are talking? We don’t have time to be A-Long and A-Hu right now.”

Wen Yuan pouts and wraps both of his arms around Lan Wangji’s leg instead. “Lan-gege?”

Lan Wangji grabs A-Long. “A-Yuan is very cute,” it says in a grave voice.

Wen Yuan giggles, and Wei Wuxian sighs. “Why do you make me look like the bad guy, Lan Zhan?” he says, and Wen Yuan giggles some more. “A-Yuan, when did Lan-gege become so likable? Don’t you like Xian-gege anymore?”

“Xian-gege!” Wen Yuan exclaims, and unravels himself from Lan Wangji and clamps onto his leg instead.

“Ah! I’ve been captured by the Yuan-Yuan monster!” Wei Wuxian feigns struggling in his grip. Wen Yuan keeps giggling and clings tighter. “Oh no, Lan Zhan, save me! What should I do to free myself from Yuan-Yuan’s clutches?”

Lan Wangji thinks for a moment. “Plant him with the turnips,” he says, and picks Wen Yuan up.

Wen Yuan squeals as Lan Wangji plops him into Si-shu’s field, tucking dirt around his legs. Wen Yuan shouts, “Turnips!” and joins him, lacing dirt over his trousers.

Wei Wuxian is wheezing with faint laughter. “Lan Zhan! Look at you two!” He squats down and joins them. “Okay, so A-Yuan is a turnip now? Will he have lots of turnip brothers and sisters?”

“Yes!” Wen Yuan says eagerly. “Three of each.” He holds up three fingers on each hand. “And I’m the baby.”

“You’re the baby, huh? Are the turnips going to take care of A-Yuan?” Wei Wuxian asks. Lan Wangji continues to serenely pour dirt onto Wen Yuan’s lap. “Or will A-Yuan take care of the turnips?”

“Xian-gege and Lan-gege will take care of A-Yuan and the turnips,” Wen Yuan declares. He flings dirt into the air with delight. Some of it gets onto Lan Wangji’s face and robes.

Wei Wuxian makes him put his hands down. “Ah, A-Yuan, be careful. Don’t get yourself or Lan-gege too dirty. Come on, let’s get you up.” Pulling Wen Yuan by the hand, he stands up. “Oh, now look, your clothes are all dirty. You should change.”

“I have not yet finished cleaning his other set of clothing,” Lan Wangji says. He wipes the dirt off his palms and stands up as well. “I will do that this afternoon.”

Wei Wuxian beams. “Lan Zhan is too good! Come on, A-Yuan, let’s play with your toys somewhere else so Lan-gege can help Si-shu and wash your clothes.”

He holds onto Wen Yuan’s hand as he leads them away. Wen Yuan has long since gotten used to the cold temperature of Wei Wuxian’s fingers, clinging as he waves another of one his toys in Wei Wuxian’s face. Lan Wangji watches them go, lips pulled into a small smile.

Si-shu says, “We’re grateful that you and Wei-gongzi can care for A-Yuan when we may not have the time or patience.” Lan Wangji looks at him. Si-shu smiles. “You and Wei-gongzi have a lot of love in your heart.”

“Mn.” There is a swelling feeling in Lan Wangji’s chest. It might be happiness. He picks up his rake again. “Thank you.”

Lan Wangji does not know if Wei Wuxian knows that he sees the dead bodies. They are less obvious around the cave, and Lan Wangji and the Wen remnants have removed them from the fields near their houses, so Wen Yuan won’t accidentally stumble upon them. But they are there, when Lan Wangji exits the temple, past the seal, into the forest, poking beneath the dead grass, woven around decaying trees, skeletons like roots tangled among the brambles.

The area is not a mass graveyard, but like an ocean floor where bodies have been left to rot. That Wei Wuxian brought them here to live, to find solace, speaks not of morbidity, but what Wei Wuxian went through for this to be a place for him to retreat to.

Several evenings later, Lan Wangji is spread on their bed, Wei Wuxian arched over him and drinking from his shoulder. The bed is a proper yet small bamboo mat now, bought at Lan Wangji’s insistence, even though Wei Wuxian hadn’t let him until everyone else had their own bed, then protested more until one day Lan Wangji came back with it and shoved the stone tablet aside. Tonight they are too tired to fuck, robes off but trousers on, Wei Wuxian’s palm placed flat on Lan Wangji’s heart, Lan Wangji’s headband that he’d undone earlier tied around his wrist. Wei Wuxian grinds his hips down as he sucks, a proprietary movement. Lan Wangji moans, body heavy and mind light from the blood loss, a soft space he can fall into.

Wei Wuxian nuzzles at him when he’s done. “I think the Wens think you’re my concubine,” he says.

Lan Wangji does not roll his eyes normally, nor does he when drunk on being drained, but it is a near thing. “I think they know we are more than that to each other.”

“Yeah.” Wei Wuxian makes a sound of contentment and kisses his shoulder. “Hey, Lan Zhan? Can I say something?”

“Mn.” Lan Wangji’s mind is drifting, but he forces himself to listen.

There is silence for a moment. Then Wei Wuxian says, “I’m sorry. I’ve—become this, and you’re—”

“Wei Ying.” Lan Zhan frowns. He shifts on his back to face him, but the world tilts. He does so anyway, clumsily, sitting up. “I have told you. I am here for whatever—”

“Whatever Wei Ying needs, I know.” But Wei Wuxian looks resigned. “I’m sorry, too, for bringing you here without explanation, for doing things like with Wen Ning and you don’t even ask about it anymore because you know I’d avoid telling you—”

He breaks off. Lan Wangji says nothing because he is right. He stays sitting up, looking at Wei Wuxian.

Wei Wuxian tangles their fingers together, his now-warm palm pressed against Lan Wangji’s. “Do you want to know where I was for those three moons?” he asks.

Lan Wangji blinks, and nods. Those three moons feel like ages ago.

“I was here.” Wei Wuxian gestures around the cave. “The Burial Mounds. The Wens wanted to… wanted to punish me. I goaded them into not cutting off my arm, not killing me, so they threw me down here.” He laughs. “I nearly didn’t survive. I had to learn how to control all the resentful energy around here, that could’ve attacked me, killed me. All the walking corpses and the guai… but I purified it better than Wen Ruohan ever did. I mean, it’s livable now, isn’t it?” His tone is sardonic.

Lan Wangji is horrified, head spinning even more. “Wei Ying,” he says softly. “Three moons?”

“Yeah, it took me three moons to perfect demonic cultivation… enough to get out of here.” Wei Wuxian swallows. He takes in the cave again, like he’s seeing it for the first time. “Wen Chao intended for me to die, and I might have, even if I had—”

“Wei Wuxian!” Wen Qing rushes into the room. Her hair is in disarray, her voice panicked. “There’s something wrong with Wen Ning—he’s shaking, growling—”

Immediately Wei Wuxian is on his feet, Lan Wangji right behind him. They run to the blood pool, which Wei Wuxian had set up in the temple with talismans for them to heal their spiritual energy—with Wen Ning’s body nearby, however, his resentful energy had turned the pool red. Wei Wuxian is unconcerned because to him, Wen Ning’s recovery comes first. Lan Wangji has been unable to get a reading on Wei Wuxian’s spiritual health for moons.

Wen Ning is thrashing where he’s set, talismans covering every centimeter of his body. Frustrated groans crawl out from his throat. Lan Wangji feels out of his depth.

Wei Wuxian gets to work immediately, drawing talismans over his chest. “Any later and he might’ve broken out, started attacking for no reason,” he says, drawing another talisman. “Wen Qing, talk, I think he’s almost there and just needs something to hold onto.”

Words spill out from Wen Qing’s mouth. “Wen Ning, it’s your jie… please, if you’re in there, wake up.” She clutches at him from the other side of his body. Lan Wangji watches the three of them. ‘Wei Wuxian has done so much to keep your spirit alive… You have more than just resentful energy left in you. Please, A-Ning.” She takes one of his hands.

Wen Ning’s growls turn questioning. Then he stills. Wei Wuxian has his eyes closed, fingers still hovering over a talisman on Wen Ning’s chest.

Wen Ning opens his eyes.

They aren’t all white, like fierce corpses, like gui. His pupils dilate, then contract. He blinks.

Wen Qing doesn’t seem to be breathing. “A-Ning?”

Her brother turns to her. “Jie.”

With a small cry, Wen Qing takes him into her arms. Wen Ning seems confused, but happy in his sister’s embrace. The talismans ripple from his body as he hugs her back.

Wei Wuxian smiles fondly at the both of them. “A-Ning, how does it feel to be the first conscious fierce corpse?”

“Wei-gongzi!” As Wen Qing tears away from him, Wen Ning regards him with surprise. Then he seems to notice that they aren’t alone, and sees Lan Wangji too. “Hanguang-jun!” The shock is even greater on his face now.

“Don’t worry, Hanguang-jun didn’t do anything, it was all me,” Wei Wuxian boasts. “Hanguang-jun wouldn’t practice demonic cultivation.”

“Yes, but Hanguang-jun helped all the shushus and ayis so I could spend more time with you.” Wen Qing strokes her brother’s cheek. “I wasn’t sure you’d wake.”

“I’m surprised too,” Wei Wuxian says. “Three moons of spiritual transference. Remember, Lan Zhan? It’s been about that long but I didn’t think it would work.”

Lan Wangji had no such doubts. “Wei Ying should not underestimate his own abilities,” he says. As Wei Wuxian splutters, he says, “I am glad to see you with us again, Wen Ning.”

Wen Ning’s smile is welcoming.

Word spreads, not in the best way. There are cultivators who try to come to the Burial Mounds to hunt, but none too close to their cave and temple—to their village. Still, Wei Wuxian takes Wen Ning out in the forest during the night to pick fruit, to occasionally hunt the stray guai, to wander through the village pilfering supplies while everybody sleeps. Lan Wangji knows this because Wen Qing complains about it to him.

On top of this, Lan Wangji has heard the mutterings in the village—that the Yiling Laozu and Hanguang-jun are somewhere among them, with their pet Ghost General. (Lan Wangji does not mention this part to anyone, because he figures it may not go over well.) The mutterings are occasional and Lan Wangji has taken to wearing a bamboo hat when going into town, blending in with his pale grey robes. He is unconcerned when he asks Wei Wuxian if he or anyone else would like to visit the night market several evenings later.

“Sure, but I think we’re all going to need bamboo hats,” Wei Wuxian says cheekily.

In the end, though, it’s only the two of them, Wen Yuan, Wen Ning, and Wen Qing, at the insistence of her brother. The other Wen remnants are concerned about attracting a crowd if they attend, and that the rest of them are young and should enjoy a night out. Wei Wuxian tells Wen-popo that she’s young too, and she laughs.

Wen Yuan is excited to be out, though they all have to keep an eye on him. He’s particularly attached to Lan Wangji’s leg, though, and when they stop inside to sit down for dinner at Wei Wuxian’s request (and subsequently out of Lan Wangji’s pocket) he sees himself into Lan Wangji’s lap.

“Ah, A-Yuan,” Wei Wuxian complains. “Come here, let Lan-gege eat.”

Wen Qing and Wen Ning know that Wei Wuxian doesn’t eat anymore; they don’t say anything. Wen Yuan doesn’t move, and Lan Wangji wraps an arm around his waist. “It’s fine,” he tells Wei Wuxian.

“Lan-er gongzi can speak for himself,” Wen Qing says to the pouting Wei Wuxian; she still refuses to call him Lan Wangji. “At least A-Yuan is sitting down to eat rather than running all over the place with you.”

“So mean,” Wei Wuxian grumbles. Lan Wangji feeds a bit of soup to Wen Yuan. “But what a tender image! Get me some brushes and paper later, Lan Zhan, I want to draw you two.”

“Alright,” Lan Wangji says, feeding Wen Yuan again.

Wen Ning has kept his head down the entire evening so far, it being his first time out among people again. But Lan Wangji notices his teacup is empty and offers the kettle to him, across the table. When Wen Ning meets his eyes and realizes, he goes, “Oh! Thank you, Lan-er gongzi.”

“Lan Wangji,” Lan Wangji says.

Wen Ning startles and nods, but does not correct himself.

When they’ve finished (and Lan Wangji has paid), they go back out into the street, admiring trinkets and trying any pastries that catch Wen Yuan’s attention. He gets so distracted by a stall selling toys that Wei Wuxian actually has to tell Lan Wangji not to buy out the whole cart for him. And even then, Lan Wangji is still tempted.

Somewhere down the street, there’s a small commotion; the four of them, with Lan Wangji holding Wen Yuan, rush over to see. In the middle of the commotion are four young men, two of them wearing red and black robes, the other two wearing blue and white. They’re two pairs—one of each, arguing with their counterparts.

“We’re the disciples of Yiling Laozu and Hanguang-jun,” says one in a blue and white ensemble.

“No, we are!” says the other in black and red. “And we can prove it, too—we have an evil compass especially made by him!” He pulls out a crafted compass from their bag of fraudulent goods.

“What!” Wei Wuxian peeks over the crowd. “That looks so well made! Mine’s shitty so far.”

“Shitty,” Wen Yuan giggles.

“Well, we have talismans made by the Yiling Laozu himself,” the other fake disciple says. “And special never-before-heard scores from Hanguang-jun.” His blue and white clad friend plays a few notes on his guqin.

All of them wince.

“I want that compass,” Wei Wuxian complains as they continue on. “I wish we had turnips with us… Wen Ning, let’s come into town tomorrow and sell turnips! And I’ll see if I can exchange it for that ‘Yiling Laozu’ compass!”

“What’s so interesting about you two?” Wen Qing grouses. “I don’t see why people want to pretend to be your disciples.”

“Hey! Lan Zhan has perfectly respectable skills.”

“I don’t see why people want to pretend to be your disciple,” she amends.

Wen Ning and Wen Yuan giggle. Lan Wangji says, “Wei Wuxian has respectable skills as well,” and Wen Qing rolls her eyes, but she’s smiling too.

Lan Wangji buys parchment and brush and ink, and Wei Wuxian draws him and Wen Yuan, Wen Qing and Wen Ning, landscapes and lotuses and anything that catches his eye for the moment. He does not miss the daylight, Lan Wangji knows, because he is enough sunshine for one person; Lan Wangji would not miss daylight around him, either.

Lan Wangji and the Wens alternate selling the vegetables in their farm, browsing food stalls for other ingredients and taking Wen Yuan, as it’s evident that while rumors of them being in the area have spread, no one is actively looking for them. The Wens are unrecognizable, and Lan Wangji is not concerned if someone were to accost him in the street; he keeps his eyes peeled for any robes from the major sects.

Wei Wuxian’s quest in making demonic cultivation inventions is not going any more smoothly. He does them at night, in their cave under the moonlight; Lan Wangji wakes up occasionally to the sound of mild disaster and Wei Wuxian’s hushed, “Sorry!” Yet Lan Wangji cannot bring himself to regret a single aspect of this new life; he cannot imagine Wei Wuxian shouldering this life alone.

One day when Wen Qing disappears in the morning and reappears later with a pallet of meat, Lan Wangji and Wen Ning keep Wen Yuan entertained with a paper butterfly. Wen Yuan runs around them; they watch to make sure he doesn’t fall over.

Wen Ning asks suddenly, “Is Wei-gongzi… like me?”

When Lan Wangji looks at him, he hastens to add, “I know he’s off, that he is cold and pale all the time. That he… feeds on you.” He frowns at the wording that his sister had probably told him. But Wei Wuxian had never tried to make it a secret around the Wens.

Lan Wangji slants his mouth. “I do not know. I do not think he knows, either.”

Wen Yuan calls for them then, and Lan Wangji and Wen Ning go and play with his stuffed toys with him.

That evening, shortly after Wei Wuxian wakes up, Wen Qing beckons them all into the main temple. Lan Wangji and Wei Wuxian enter, to an assortment of foods set up on all of the small stone tables. All of them except the one in the center have a meat dish.

“What’s this?” Wei Wuxian says. “They know I don’t eat.”

“Sit down.” Wen Qing tugs them towards the center. “We wanted to celebrate you, but we had a few things to say.”

“Celebrate us?” Wei Wuxian says incredulously.

“Wen-guniang,” Lan Wangji says. “This is not necessary.”

“You two.” Wen Qing rolls her eyes, and thrusts a shot of a drink at each of them. The other Wens have gathered around, beaming. “We were waiting for you, so we could say thank you. You’ve saved us and have been working hard for us. Lan-er gongzi, especially.”

It is at this moment when Lan Wangji remembers one of the rules of the Cloud Recesses: Do not diminish the value placed unto you by others. He accepts Wen Qing’s words gracefully.

Wei Wuxian, meanwhile, goes, “Aiyah, Wen Qing, is this really necessary?”

“Yes it is, Wei Wuxian.” Wen Qing is all earnest now. “You restored my brother. You defected from the cultivation world for us. And yet you sleep in the day and wake only in the night to protect our houses or pick fruit for us or just keep us happy. And Lan-er gongzi.”

“Lan Wangji.”

“Lan-er gongzi,” Wen Qing repeats, smiling, “treats us as equals, gets his hands dirtier than all of us, still buys us things even if we sell our harvest now. But many of us are too intimidated to talk to you, or can’t find the time to,” she looks pointedly at Wei Wuxian here, “or are afraid of annoying you. So we hung up lanterns in the forest, so you don’t accidentally trip on a skeleton and hurt yourself, and—we know you don’t eat, Wei Wuxian, but we’d just like you to sit with us. And Lan-er gongzi,” she turns her sparkling eyes back to him, “you don’t have to eat either, but Wen Ning prepared those dishes especially for you.”

“I will eat,” Lan Wangji says. It is the only thing he can think of to say.

Wei Wuxian says, “Ah, I really wish I could drink right now and join you guys. Please drink enough alcohol for me and Hanguang-jun.”

“Lan-er gongzi, you don’t drink as well?” asks Si-shu.

Lan Wangji shakes his head. “It does not agree with me.”

“Though,” Wei Wuxian says thoughtfully, “you could try drinking some and then I could drink your blood and see if I get the effects from it that way.”

Lan Wangji glares at him.

Wei Wuxian laughs half-heartedly. “Alright, alright. Not today then. Some other time.”

The Wens eat well—Lan Wangji is glad they treated themselves with meat; they should do so more often. Wen Ning’s cooking is exceptional and Lan Wangji eats as much as he can, to let him know. Wei Wuxian does not eat or drink since he is not pressured to, but exchanges stories with Si-shu about his previous drunken antics, making all of the Wens laugh with delight, even Wen Yuan, who doesn’t understand what he’s saying but wants to join in on the fun.

Afterwards, the Wens don’t let them help clean up, urging them outside to look at the strung-up lanterns. They must’ve bought them from in town, as well; the lanterns are sprinkled in the forest, with two winding rows of a clear path. Wei Wuxian sighs happily and leans against Lan Wangji.

“It’s like we have our own sect, Lan Zhan,” he says, and Lan Wangji kisses him.

Wen Qing comes out later when they’re still kissing. Not even batting an eyelash at them, she says, “Thank you two for eating with us tonight.”

“Ah, Wen Qing, we’re friends, don’t sound so solemn.” Wei Wuxian’s lips are bruised from mouthing at Lan Wangji’s collarbone.

Wen Qing ignores him. “We’re going to go sleep in our houses,” she says, a mischievous edge to her tone. “Goodnight.”

“I think she’s telling us to fuck,” Wei Wuxian says, watching her leave. “Lan Zhan, should we fuck?”

They do, after a few rounds of Cleansing and Wangxian, happy and pliant on their cot, while Lan Wangji’s wound gapes open in the night air, while Wei Wuxian nips and licks him everywhere. “I’m opening you up,” Wei Wuxian says, pivoting his hips, cock brushing that lovely place inside Lan Wangji again. “Lan Zhan, you’re everywhere, around me, in me—”

Lan Wangji’s bliss burns brighter than a fire, hotter than Wei Wuxian’s come deep within him.

They lay on the cot, bodies twined, Wei Wuxian still catching the blood dripping down Lan Wangji’s chest. Lan Wangji hums absently, pushing his spiritual energy to replenish some of the blood—not all of it, but enough. Wei Wuxian inhales like he can smell it, taste it, and licks again.

“Lan Zhan,” he says. “Can I tell you something?”

Lan Wangji nods. His head is hazy, but he is listening.

“When Lotus Pier burned down…” Wei Wuxian gnaws at his lip. “It was devastating. For me and Jiang Cheng. But more for Jiang Cheng, I think. He went back, you know, when I left for the market.” Wei Wuxian takes a deep breath.

“He got his golden core melted.”

Lan Wangji is more alert now. He stares at Wei Wuxian with wide eyes.

“It would’ve killed him,” Wei Wuxian says. “He’s the heir to Yunmeng Jiang and his parents just died. He needed to be a cultivator, protect people, in the best way he knew how. Or else he’d be shunned, made a laughingstock of Yunmeng Jiang, disrespected on top of the memory of Jiang-shushu and Yu-furen. He was empty and weak.

“So, I…” Wei Wuxian licks his lips. “I’m not an heir. I don’t have a legacy to uphold. I don’t even have parents. I’m just some guy.

“So I had Wen Qing transfer my golden core into him.”

Lan Wangji isn’t sure he can breathe.

“It doesn’t matter to me,” Wei Wuxian says. “Having a golden core? I’d rather see Jiang Cheng restore Lotus Pier to its full glory, make it even better in the memory of Jiang-shushu and Yu-furen. So if it means I can’t really fight with Suibian or be recognized as a proper cultivator…” He shrugs. “What does it matter?”

“Does Jiang Wanyin know?” is the first thing Lan Wangji asks.

Wei Wuxian huffs out a laugh. “No. He wouldn’t have let me. And I don’t plan on telling him. Wen Ning and Wen Qing are the only other ones who know besides you now.”

“When you were thrown into the Burial Mounds,” Lan Wangji says. “You didn’t have your golden core?”

“Nope.” This time, when Wei Wuxian laughs, it sounds painful to Lan Wangji’s ears. “And I would not recommend that experience to anyone.” He licks at a trickle of blood on Lan Wangji’s neck. “I think that’s also why I’m so hungry for qi, too. It doesn’t help my lack of golden core, but it tastes good.”

“Wei Ying.” Lan Wangji cradles his face. So many half-formed thoughts are running through his mind, despite his lightheadedness; he has never seen anyone more beautiful, stronger, better than Wei Wuxian. “I want you to feed from me for as long as I live. I would like you to.”

Wei Wuxian beams at him, brighter than the lanterns in the forest.

The barrier ripples on a late afternoon.

Wei Wuxian, with all his resentful energy, is attuned to it. Lan Wangji detects it too, the spiritual presence nearby, interfering with the seal that Wei Wuxian had set up. Wei Wuxian had been arguing with Wen Qing about potatoes and turnips while Lan Wangji had been tending to the fields with Si-shu again; Wen Ning is off to the side, bemused as he keeps Wen Yuan entertained.

Past the seal, out step Lan Xichen and Jiang Wanyin.

“Fuck,” Lan Wangji hears Wei Wuxian mutter under his breath, before plastering on a smile. “Jiang Cheng! You’re here! Do you think potatoes or turnips are better?” He bows to Lan Xichen as well. “And you too, Zewu-jun! I want everyone’s opinion on this.”

“Wei-gongzi,” Lan Xichen says, smiling and bowing. His eyes stray to Lan Wangji immediately, and he walks over, amidst the dirt and crops. “Wangji. You look well.”

“Thank you.” Lan Wangji’s stomach feels stuck in his throat. It’s been more than just a few moons since he last saw his brother. He remembers talking with him at Lotus Pier. “You as well.”

“What are you guys looking at?” Wei Wuxian suddenly says. The Wens have indeed turned their attention to all four of them, having stopped what they were doing. “Go on, back to work!”

“Why aren’t you working?” Jiang Wanyin accuses.

Lan Wangji thinks of the confession a few nights ago. But Wei Wuxian laughs.

“Haven’t you heard, Jiang Cheng?” he says. “I’m the Yiling Laozu.”

“Here you are,” Jiang Wanyin seethes, “growing food on a ground of skeletons, you and Hanguang-jun turning this graveyard into your home—”

“Jiang Wanyin,” Lan Xichen cuts in serenely. He turns to Lan Wangji. “Perhaps you can show me around, Wangji?”

Lan Wangji nods, and he and his brother step into the temple. Behind them, Wei Wuxian and Jiang Wanyin have resumed their bickering. Wei Wuxian’s skin a pale blue under the dimming sunlight.

Lan Wangji shows his brother the communal dining area, the blood pool where Wen Ning once rested. Lan Xichen hums thoughtfully.

“The fierce corpse I saw playing outside,” he says. “With the child.”

“Yes,” Lan Wangji says. “It was all Wei Ying.”

Lan Xichen examines a talisman near the pool. “Truly impressive. Wei Wuxian really is one of the greatest cultivators of our generation.”

“He is.”

“And what about you, Wangji?” Lan Xichen straightens and turns to him. “At Lotus Pier, I called it your new home… but this is your true home now, isn’t it? For you and Wei Wuxian.” There is an edge to his voice. It sounds like concern.

Lan Wangji meets his gaze. “I will not be returning to Gusu,” he says.

“I thought so.” Lan Xichen peers into the blood pool again. The afternoon sunlight seeps through the cracks of the roof, making the pool look redder than before. Resentful energy cradles around Lan Wangji now, like an old friend, uninterested in his golden core. He does not mind it; it is harmless.

“Jiang Wanyin and I came to see if Wei Wuxian could surrender the Yin Hu Fu,” Lan Xichen confesses. “I decided to come along to see if I could get you to persuade him. But I see now that will not be possible.”

Lan Wangji tilts his head. “And if Wei Wuxian did?”

Lan Xichen hums again. “A-Yao told me he could be reaccepted into the cultivation world, into Lotus Pier again. But while I would like to believe him…” He hesitates. “Jin Guangshan does not always have honorable motivations. I imagine even if Wei Wuxian were to return, it would still not be the same as before.”

“Mn,” Lan Wangji agrees.

“I believe we will have to tell the other sect leaders about Wen Ning,” Lan Xichen says, and Lan Wangji starts. His brother looks apologetic. “Everyone knows about Qiongqi Path, how Wei Wuxian brought him back and murdered those cultivators.”

“They left him for dead,” Lan Wangji says. “They buried a Stygian Lure Flag into his body.”

A stricken expression flits across Lan Xichen’s face, for the briefest of moments. If Lan Wangji did not know his brother as well as he does, he would not have seen it.

“No matter. They are concerned, and we will have to tell them.” Lan Xichen pauses. “He is strong, correct? Wei Wuxian can control him?”

“When he needs to.” They have not run into a lot of trouble in the woods, but when they do, neither Wei Wuxian or Wen Ning hesitate, with dizi and brute strength, to fend off aggressive guai.

Lan Xichen smiles. “Then perhaps we will say that you two are keeping him at bay. That he is a threat otherwise, that he is too dangerous for other cultivators to try to subdue or attack.”

Lan Wangji exhales. “Thank you.”

Wen Yuan runs into the temple then, a toy in his hand, barreling towards them. He wraps himself around Lan Xichen’s leg, and Lan Xichen laughs.

“Who’s this?” he says, in a fond voice Lan Wangji hasn’t heard since he was young.

“Xian-gege said I should find Da Lan-gege,” Wen Yuan says happily. “Because Zi-gege doesn’t like children.” He says it the way Wei Wuxian would word it.

Lan Xichen covers his smile. “Don’t worry, Da Lan-gege likes children,” he says, and pats Wen Yuan’s head. Wen Yuan clings to his calf happily.

Lan Xichen turns to Lan Wangji. “I cannot tell you that you are welcome in the Cloud Recesses,” he says, which stings but ultimately makes no difference to Lan Wangji. “But I will see more about these visits, more. And to try to write to you.”

“I would like that,” Lan Wangji says.

Lan Xichen looks fondly at Wen Yuan, and around the temple. “I am proud of you, Wangji. For dedicating your life to this, aiding the poor and the old and the young.” He tucks back a lock of Wen Yuan’s hair. “For building a sect with Wei Wuxian.”

Lan Wangji does not need his brother’s approval. But knowing that the rest of the Gusu Lan Sect will never think the same and will always think of him as a traitor, suddenly his throat feels tight.

“Thank you, Zewu-jun,” he says.

Eventually, they make their way back out, Lan Wangji holding Wen Yuan in his arms. They come back to Jiang Wanyin circling around Wen Ning and observing him like a hawk, while Wei Wuxian insists that, “Just because he’s a corpse doesn’t mean he doesn’t have feelings!”

“Don’t worry, Jiang-gongzi,” Lan Xichen says. “I have discussed the matter with Wangji.” And then to Wei Wuxian, “No harm will come to him or to anyone here.”

“Ah, thank you Zewu-jun,” Wei Wuxian says, though he still looks doubtful.

“Of course.” Lan Xichen walks up to him. “In exchange, I would like you to be wise and not be the only mistake my brother will ever make.”

Lan Wangji starts. “Brother—”

But Wei Wuxian nods. He bows to Lan Xichen again. “I will do my best to not allow those rumors to become correct,” he says with a grin.

Lan Xichen seems to deem this acceptable. To Jiang Wanyin, he says, “Shall we go?”

Jiang Wanyin hesitates. Then he cuffs Wei Wuxian around the ear. “Don’t forget, next moon. A-Jie will be so disappointed if you forget.”

“I won’t forget.” Wei Wuxian scoffs. “As if I’d miss seeing my shijie in her wedding dress.”

“Well.” Jiang Wanyin seems at a loss for words. “Good. And yeah, don’t fuck this up for Hanguang-jun.” He storms off with the final word, Lan Xichen mildly amused behind him.

Lan Wangji turns to Wei Wuxian questioningly.

“Later,” Wei Wuxian says. He plucks Wen Yuan from Lan Wangji’s arms. “Did you like Da Lan-gege, A-Yuan? Was Da Lan-gege nice to you?”

“Nice!” Wen Yuan agrees.

Wei Wuxian laughs and tickles him, Wen Yuan giggling endlessly. Wen Qing comes to scold him and Wei Wuxian tickles her, too; to his and Wei Wuxian’s surprise, she laughs. “Gugu!” Wen Yuan says excitedly, and Wen Qing tries to tickle Wei Wuxian, and Wen Ning sends Lan Wangji a look like he is asking when they should step in.

Lan Wangji is proud of himself, too.

That night at hai-shi, Lan Wangji is preparing for bed and for Wei Wuxian to drink from him. Wei Wuxian reclines on the stone tablet, amidst all the drawings he has pinned up to the cave walls, tested and testing talismans, other inventions for demonic cultivation.

“You know,” Wei Wuxian says. “Jiang Cheng told me that apparently there are rumors that I’ve corrupted Hanguang-jun. A Jade of Lan.” He laughs and toys with Lan Wangji’s headband in his hands. “I told him that I couldn’t get you to leave even if I tried.”

“Mn.” Lan Wangji wears only his underrobes to sleep. He and Wei Wuxian keep each other warm, with the fresh heat of Wei Wuxian’s body.

Wei Wuxian casts his gaze over him. “You look so edible right now,” he says, as Lan Wangji sits on the bamboo mat. Wei Wuxian joins him. “Play me something on the qin?”

Lan Wangji nods, summoning it. The guqin rests on his lap as he stretches his fingers, plucks the strings. He no longer bothers with Cleansing anymore, for lack of Wei Wuxian’s golden core. He tries Repletion, in hopes that it might help, but mostly his fingers pluck the well-worn notes of Wangxian, and of newer songs now: Sizhui, Wugu, and Home. Wei Wuxian never asks for the names of the songs, his eyes lighting up when he hears something new. Lan Wangji will tell him, in time.

Tonight when Lan Wangji finishes Wangxian, Wei Wuxian claps. “Ah, my very own guqin player,” he says, and laughs at the expression on Lan Wangji’s face. “What is it, Lan Zhan? I thought you liked being mine?”

Lan Wangji shuts him up with a kiss, vanishing his guqin so he can pull Wei Wuxian closer to him. Wei Wuxian laughs into his mouth, nipping and sucking, catching Lan Wangji’s tongue between his teeth. They twist in each other’s arms, Wei Wuxian pushing at Lan Wangji’s robes, snaking his hand down to his cock. He strokes once and Lan Wangji makes a small noise in his throat; he feels Wei Wuxian smirking as he pulls his mouth away, running his teeth down Lan Wangji’s jaw.

It is messier when Wei Wuxian bites him first before fucking him, and Lan Wangji isn’t able to help as much, too lost in pleasure. But tonight Wei Wuxian says against his skin, “Let me have you, my lover, my zhiji,” and Lan Wangji arches his neck, making room for Wei Wuxian, carved out in every part of his body. On the underside of Lan Wangji’s jaw, where the well-worn scars are, Wei Wuxian kisses so delicately—and then slides his fangs along, making a home, and sinks in.

Euphoria rushes through Lan Wangji’s body. His blood shoots into Wei Wuxian’s mouth, eager. He’s only vaguely aware of Wei Wuxian fumbling with their robes beneath them, stripping them off, fingers rubbing at Lan Wangji’s cockhead again, as well as his own. He slides them together, and Lan Wangji is fully hard now. Wei Wuxian mutters, “Oh, you’re so wet, I’m going to stretch you wide open, Lan Zhan.” His lips and teeth are crimson, and Lan Wangji kisses him, licks at his own blood.

Wei Wuxian chuckles and licks at him, draws back. “You’re still bleeding, baobei, and I’m not done yet.” His fingers run down Lan Wangji’s perineum, to his hole, slick with their precome, slotting two in. Lan Wangji winces at the stretch, but Wei Wuxian says, “Oh Lan Zhan, you like it, I know you.” His digits flex inside Lan Wangji, rubbing along his sensitive spot. Lan Wangji cries out and more precome drools out of his cock.

His insides pulse open like a wound. Lan Wangji clutches onto Wei Wuxian, delirious, still a bit of blood trickling out from his neck. Wei Wuxian helps him get on his hands and knees, skin bare and cool in the moonlight. Wei Wuxian is warm now, but Lan Wangji wants him everywhere, taking him until he is hot, veins on fire with so much of Lan Wangji inside him. Wei Wuxian licks at Lan Wangji’s neck as he bows over him, and Lan Wangji’s elbows dig into the mat. The first press of Wei Wuxian at his hole has him shuddering, pain a vague thing with the deliciousness of Wei Wuxian’s teeth against his neck, in his veins, still swallowing down his blood. Lan Wangji bucks up against him as Wei Wuxian presses his teeth in a little deeper, drawing out more blood, opening the wound wider. He drinks as his cock sinks all the way into Lan Wangji, and Lan Wangji feels full, everywhere.

“Look at you,” Wei Wuxian gasps, mouth next to Lan Wangji’s ear. His breath is not hot, but the press of his finger against his rim is. “So wet and loose for me. So pretty, Lan Zhan.”

Lan Wangji moans and rolls his hips back, dragging Wei Wuxian’s cock in deeper. Wei Wuxian laughs, “Think I can feel your golden core this way, Lan Zhan? You’re already so hot around me, giving me all your qi.”

“Wei Ying.” Lan Wangji trembles. Wei Wuxian’s thrusts are slow, unrelenting, taking his sweet time as he goes back to Lan Wangji’s neck. His hand rests on Lan Wangji’s dantian.

“I love having you at my mercy. It’s like your qi is wrapped around my cock,” Wei Wuxian murmurs against Lan Wangji’s neck. The sound of their skin slapping together echoes throughout the cave. Lan Wangji’s mind is hazy, focused only on the pleasure of Wei Wuxian’s fangs sunk into his neck, his cock thick in his body. “And your blood is so good in my mouth, Lan Zhan. Do you think if I take enough of it, I could grow a new core, a new heart, just for you?” His palm moves upward, to where Lan Wangji’s heart is thumping rapidly beneath his ribs. “Or should I just take yours, crawl into your body instead?”

“Wei Ying,” Lan Wangji bites out.

Wei Wuxian covers his body like a blanket, hands pressed into Lan Wangji’s chest, hips grinding in faster, catching Lan Wangji’s insides deep with each thrust. Lan Wangji moans as Wei Wuxian holds him, still drinking his blood so deeply that he could be draining him, emptying him, and Lan Wangji wants it. Lan Wangji wants Wei Wuxian to bleed him out so much that he has to fill him back up, with his body and cock and core, make Lan Wangji hunger for him as much as Wei Wuxian does for Lan Wangji. Wei Wuxian’s hand is burning against his heartbeat as he fucks him into the cot, gasping out into Lan Wangji’s ear. Lan Wangji gets a hand around his own cock, feels it when Wei Wuxian comes in him, ropes of slick shooting deep into his body as his fangs deepen his wound. Lan Wangji tips over the edge as well, cresting onto his hand and the thin blanket beneath them.

His mind goes dark; it is like he is floating for an eternity. When he comes to, Wei Wuxian is licking up his blood, healing him up again. Lan Wangji watches him lazily. Wei Wuxian beams.

“Lan Zhan! You’re smiling at me,” he says, and Lan Wangji feels his face. Oh. He is.

Wei Wuxian laughs. “So cute.” He rolls them over, so they’re curled up towards each other on the mat. Wei Wuxian licks at the blood still on Lan Wangji’s collarbone, shoulder, dripped down to his chest.

Lan Wangji tips closer to him. Early on, he wouldn’t know how to work his mouth, but now he manages, “Warm.”

“Ah. Only because of Lan Zhan, you know,” Wei Wuxian says. He licks at a spot near the corner of Lan Wangji’s mouth, then kisses him. Lan Wangji lets Wei Wuxian’s lips flutter over his, opening his mouth automatically, mindlessly.

Wei Wuxian pulls back. His eyes crinkle. “Lan Zhan is just too good to me.” He strokes Lan Wangji’s cheek. “I think I’ll always want you, you know. Always want to be with you, drink from you. Build a sect with you.”

Lan Wangji’s heart stutters. He is still floating now, but it feels real. Not just in his head, but because of Wei Wuxian.

He rests a hand on Wei Wuxian’s chest now, silent—warm. “Mine,” he says.

And Wei Wuxian has been dead for a long time. His insides are black and hollow, and he has neither a beating heart nor golden core. But in Lan Wangji’s eyes, he lights up, full of life. And Lan Wangji is full of him—daylight everywhere, to the end of time.

“Yours,” Wei Wuxian says, and Lan Wangji knows it’s a promise.

Notes:

- I opted for "Yin Hu Fu" instead of "Stygian Tiger Seal" just for my own fic reasons
- (This is not consistent, as later you can see I still write Stygian Lure Flag)
- Mao-shi is approximately dawn (5am), and hai-shi is evening (9pm). I think I used these right, but feel free to correct me if I'm wrong.
- Guang in Hanguang-jun is literally light, and I put it here instead of "light" to make Wei Wuxian's stupid pun more obvious
- I also called 四叔 "Si-shu" so it's easier read as a name, and 温婆婆 as "Wen-popo" for romanization's sake
- Zi = purple (Zi gege = purple gege, Jiang Cheng, y'know)
- Wugu (无辜) is a bit of a play on Wei Wuxian's name, where 辜 means sin/crime/guilt. Wugu means purity and innocence.
- I don't have a Chinese name for Repletion or Home (which I didn't want to be some form of 家, but more metaphorical or another play on words), so if any other better Chinese speakers have any suggestions, I'd totally be welcome to hearing your thoughts 👀
- There's a specific part where Wei Wuxian says "Lan Zhan you're too good" which could be connotated in a few different ways in Chinese; and I generally don't think of my Chinese fic in Chinese, partially due to my own grade school Chinese vocabulary; but the specific phrase I imagined Wei Wuxian saying is "蓝湛太棒了!" This is not important, just a fun fact.
- LWJ keeps insisting for Wen Qing to call him by his name. She keep calling him Lan-Er-gongzi, but soon it turns from being out of respect (like Wen Ning) or habit to just annoy him. WWX finds it hilarious.
- LWJ accompanies WWX to Jin Ling's one month anniversary thing instead of Wen Ning and knocks out all the Jin soldiers when they get ambushed
- But it's fine and no one important really dies. I mean Jin Zixun probably still dies eventually but fuck that guy
- Since there is no reason for anyone to go after the Wens in Yiling anymore, WWX and LWJ basically raise their own sect there! and LWJ probably cultivates to immortality so he can feed the equally immortal WWX till the end of time :))))

Click here to cancel reply.

Notice:

bless my soul (i’m losing control)

by aroceu

Summary:

Notes:

Notes:

search

© 2009-2026 aroceu