Chapter Text
Chapter Two
At first, Wei Wuxian’s mind didn’t process what happened. He shook Lan Wangji’s shoulder, reaching for his hand. It was ice-cold, long fingers hanging limp in Wei Wuxian’s grip.
“Lan Zhan. Lan Zhan! Are you hurt? Do you need help getting up?”
It had to be a mistake. Lan Wangji didn’t get hurt, much less fall unconscious. That just didn’t happen!
The boys were looking at each other, frightened, disturbed by Wei Wuxian’s words, the tone of his voice, as if speaking of a different reality than this one.
Slowly, very slowly, Wei Wuxian’s eyes wandered over Lan Wangji’s body. Blood was seeping out from his chest, a growing stain on his robes.
His face was still, paler than snow, a few drops of blood in the corner of his mouth. His breathing was shallow and too loud.
“Lan … “ Wei Wuxian’s voice trailed off. He heard his blood rushing in his ears.
“Master Wei?” Zizhen was the first to speak, no more than a whisper. “Is he …”
Wei Wuxian flinched. “Is he WHAT?” Suddenly, feeling returned to his body. Frantically, he searched for the energy flowing through Lan Wangji’s body.
What he found was something dark and monstrous; coming against the brightest, strongest life force Wei Wuxian had ever known with shocking brutality.
Realization dawned. This was real, unimaginable as it was. Whatever this darkness was, it was strong enough to pose a threat for Hanguang-Jun. He mustered all the spiritual energy he could, sending it out.
“Give me all the medicine you have!” he ordered the juniors. “Everything that strengthens spiritual energy and helps against corpse poisoning.” He didn’t know whether that was exactly what it was, but it was the closest he could think of. Back at Cloud Recesses, whoever saw the emergency signal would be raising the alarm instantly. Considering who had sent it he thought it likely that Lan Qiren personally would be coming, along with the strongest cultivators available. Chances were high that other cultivators who were nearby would be following the signal was well. It didn’t happen often that one of the top cultivators of the generation needed help urgently enough to send out a personal emergency flare.
Wei Wuxian kept repeating that to himself, knowing that he and the juniors did not have the resources to do more for Lan Wangji than to support him until help arrived.
He shook his head, desperately trying to clear his thoughts, at least pretending to be in control of the situation. He couldn’t let the four boys deal with this alone, he was their senior, and he was the one responsible for all that was happening right now. It was so hard to acknowledge this situation. It was more than a nightmare; never before had he even imagined such a thing to happen. He wouldn’t have been capable of doing so.
“I’m … I’m going to meet them so they find us faster,” Jin Ling offered, voice thin. He mounted Suihua and raced off, almost like fleeing the scene.
Sizhui and Jingyi knelt down beside Wei Wuxian, offering all medicine they had and all spiritual energy they had left, eyes wide with fear, hands shaking.
Zizhen stayed behind, keeping an eye on the shack, ready to defend against any attacker, but it wasn’t necessary. Whatever they had been fighting had accomplished its goal and was gone, leaving something in Lan Wangji that none of them had ever encountered before.
Wei Wuxian kept working, draining himself to a point where he knew he should stop but unable to do so. One hour passed, feeling like eternity, until Jin Ling returned, followed by a force of thirty cultivators of the Lan Sect, accompanied by both Lan Qiren and Lan Xichen.
Looking up, Wei Wuxian felt dizzy, exhausted, terrified out of his mind, and he couldn’t say more than a single word.
“Help him.”
“Wangji’s personal emergency signal has been fired.” That was what Lan Qiren had said while knocking at the door of the Hanshi late in the night.
It had been the first time since Jin Guangyao’s death one and a half years ago that Lan Xichen had left Cloud Recesses. He hadn’t taken the time to dress properly, spending several minutes searching for his sword that he hadn’t held in his hand since the last time he had left the Hanshi, weeks ago.
He had forgotten to put on his forehead ribbon, only remembering it when Lan Qiren kept staring at him in horror while everyone else uncomfortably averted their eyes.
A frantic flight through the night. Jin Ling, meeting them half-way, deeply shaken. A figure in dirty white robes, unconscious. Wei Wuxian, spiritual energy drained to a point he was about to lose consciousness, only muttering one thing: “Help him.”
With the break of dawn, the nightmare didn’t end. Lan Xichen was standing outside the healer’s pavilion, hearing the concerned voices of all the most experiences medical cultivators Cloud Recesses had to offer, trying to shut out Wei Wuxian’s pleas. He sounded almost exactly like fifteen years ago, when he had been hidden by Wangji in a cave.
“Get lost. Get lost” had turned into something else: “Lan Zhan. Lan Zhan. Hold on. Hold on.” A haunting sound that Lan Xichen could neither bear listening to any longer nor flee from.
Not far from the pavilion the youths who had been on the night-hunt were huddled together as if trying to comfort each other. Lan Jingyi was still crying silently, unable to stop sobbing. Lan Sizhui was leaning against the wooden fence, dozing off repeatedly before violently shaking himself awake. Jin Ling was hugging his sword tightly, softly rocking back and forth, glancing at the building every now and then, looking nothing like the sect leader he tried to be and shouldn’t have to be. He was only sixteen, after all.
“They have been in there for hours now,” Ouyang Zizhen said softly. “We’ll soon hear something. It’s going to be fine.” He had said this before along with offers to go get them tea, to bring blankets, to wait here and tell the others as soon as there was any news so they could get some sleep. No one seemed to be listening to him, but neither did anyone tell him to shut up.
Lan Qiren was pacing back and forth, glaring at the youths without telling them to leave, hiding worry behind anger.
“Your forehead ribbon is crooked,” he told Lan Xichen for the third time, passing him. No matter how many times he did so, Lan Xichen’s hands kept shaking, and he only made it worse every time he tried to straighten the headband.
Lan Xichen jumped when the door slid open. Lan Jiao, chief medical cultivator of the Lan Clan, came out, saluting deeply. She was one of the most experienced cultivators at Cloud Recesses and unparalleled in skill and experience.
“Sect Leader Lan. Grandmaster Lan,” she said as the latter stepped up to them.
From the corner of his eyes, Lan Xichen saw the youths perk up, not even trying to hide that they were listening in.
“How is he?” Lan Qiren asked, though it was clear from the look on the healer’s face and what they had overheard during the past hours that the news couldn’t be particularly good.
“We are doing all that is in our power. We have so far been unable to determine the specific nature of Hanguang-Jun’s condition and thus are uncertain on how to proceed. He has lost a lot of blood and suffered a complicated fracture of his left leg and five broken ribs, but though the wounds are bad they usually would not be of great significance to a cultivator of his level. Unfortunately, whatever the dark energy is that has entered his body is negatively interfering with his own spiritual energy. We are working on stabilizing his condition by sending him more energy, but whether or not that is going to be enough to safe him, we cannot yet say.”
Involuntarily, Lan Xichen took a step back. He tried processing what he’d heard.
“What else are you doing to help him?” Lan Qiren inquired, his stern expression betrayed by the worry in his eyes.
“We are using the strongest medicines that help recover spiritual energy and improve its flow. Also, we are trying out different remedies against spiritual poisoning. These however have not shown any effect so far.”
Lan Xichen opened his mouth and closed it again. Abruptly, he turned away, opened the door and walked inside. It was a surreal scene waiting for him, Wangji in bed, unconscious, skin ashen, chest moving very slowly.
Wei Wuxian was sitting on the floor, head leaning against the wooden frame of the bed, holding one of Wangji’s hands, fingers intertwined, stroking it softly with his thumb. His eyes were red from worry and exhaustion, fixed on Wangji’s face. At his feet lay Bichen, framed by Suibian and Chenqing, a white line in the dark. He didn’t even look at Lan Xichen.
He only seemed to realize he was there at all when Lan Xichen went down on his knees by the bed, giving way to worry and exhaustion.
None of them spoke. What could they have had to say to each other anyways?
Lan Xichen remembered the last time he had been sitting at Wangji’s bed like this, with his brother feverish and ill after Wei Wuxian’s death. Compared to the situation right now that had been not nearly as bad; at least Wangji’s life had not been in danger back then.
Lan Qiren stood by the door, looking at them and the two remaining healers, still busy lending their spiritual energy to Wangji in an attempt to help him fight. After a while, he shook his head and turned away.
“Go,” he told the youths in a voice that allowed no resistance. “You have heard what has been said; there is nothing to be gained by sitting about like this. At noon today I will be expecting all of you to give a full account of what has happened tonight.”
Lan Xichen heard the youths shuffle about as they stood up and left. Finally, he thought. A part of him wished for the healers and Wei Wuxian to leave as well so he could be alone with his brother. He knew it was impossible; the healers needed to stay and look for any change in Wangji’s condition and asking Wei Wuxian to leave would likely not end well for anyone involved, and he didn’t have any right to do so anyways.
Lan Xichen could hardly believe how his life had changed so suddenly and once again for the worse. Watching Wangji’s frail appearance, struggling to breathe at times, he wholeheartedly wished to return to the past year of dull emptiness instead of experiencing the searing terror in his heart at the possibility of losing someone dearer to him than anyone had ever been.
After they had been sent away by Grandmaster Lan, Lan Sizhui and the others had retreated into the rooms he and Jingyi shared, all four of them tired and scared.
They had almost instantly fallen asleep, Lan Sizhui on his bed, Zizhen on the floor, with cushion and blanket he had brought from his own guest room. The door to Jingyi’s room was wide open; he and Jin Ling, the past night the longest period they had ever spent in each other’s presence without a fight, had just collapsed on Jingyi’s bed, not bothering to look for blanket and cushion, Jin Ling’s left leg and arm dangling down, his hand still on his sword.
None of them felt particularly well rested as they knelt on the floor in Grandmaster Lan’s office room, facing him at his desk, looking at their disgraceful appearances. While Jingyi had finally managed to properly retie his forehead ribbon, Jin Ling still had a peanut in his hair and Sizhui was very aware of the green grass stains on his robes.
"How is Hanguang-Jun?” Jin Ling blurted out, clutching his sword. He didn’t have to fear any punishment for improper behavior; after all, he was not a guest disciple but a sect leader despite being the youngest of the four.
Grandmaster Lan glared at him, making him shrink back a little but still holding his head high.
“Hanguang-Jun is being cared for by the best healers of the Lan Sect. There is nothing you can do for him at this point, except tell me exactly what has happened.”
A soft knock came from the door. “Please forgive me interrupting, may I join you?”
Grandmaster Lan looked surprised for a moment before inviting Zewu-Jun in. He was dressed properly now, forehead ribbon in place, but otherwise looking no better than Lan Sizhui felt.
“Uncle …” he whispered before hastily collecting himself, heart racing. Zweu-Jun had gone into the healers’ rooms in the morning after Head Healer Lan had told him about Hanguang-Jun’s condition.
Zewu-Jun looked up for a moment to meet Lan Sizhui’s eyes. They hadn’t seen each other in months with Zewu-Jun in seclusion. He had lost weight and looked somehow older than before.
“So,” Lan Qiren began, looking at the four one after the other. “What happened?”
Lan Sizhui figured that Senior Wei was unable to give an account. He shivered, remembering the look in his eyes when he had vanished into the healer’s rooms alongside the disciples carrying Hanguang-Jun.
It was Zizhen who spoke first, explaining how they had followed the innkeepers’ plea to help with the haunting and Hanguang-Jun’s and Senior Wei’s evaluation of the opponent they were dealing with. His voice was low but clear.
Lan Sizhui looked down, intently studying the stains on his robes. He was still tired, remembering how he had almost fallen asleep at the inn and the trouble he had had concentrating on the fight. Everything had seemed like a blur.
As Zizhen described how Hanguang-Jun had first been hit by the black wave, he bit down on his lip to keep it from trembling until he finally couldn’t take it anymore.
“It was my fault!” he shouted, prostrating himself to both Grandmaster Lan and Zewu-Jun. “I was not paying attention and made mistakes during the fight. Had I not been so …”
“Stop!” Jingyi interrupted, voice breaking into a sob. “It was me! I didn’t fight properly! I made it impossible for Hanguang-Jun to keep the situation under control!”
“Quiet!” Grandmaster Lan shouted, but to no avail.
Suddenly, the other three followed Lan Sizhui’s example, all kowtowing and frantically admitting their guilt. Even Jin Ling joined in, voice shaking.
When they finally quieted down, still bowing, another voice spoke up. “Sit straight.”
They rose hesitantly, everyone’s faces wet from tears. Zewu-Jun shook his head. “Did all of you forget that my brother is a cultivator of extraordinary skill? He is very much capable of dealing with inexperience in a fight. Otherwise he would not have brought you. From what Young Master Ouyang has told us and what we learned from the healers you were dealing with a force unknown. It was Wangji’s and Master Wei’s responsibility to evaluate the danger and decide whether or not to take you with them and risk being distracted by ensuring your safety.”
“It’s not their fault!” Jin Ling objected furiously.
“That is not what I said, Sect Leader Jin.”
“That is quite enough.” Grandmaster Lan looked like he was about to throw all of them out of Cloud Recesses in disgrace. “There will be no further discussion about who is at fault, not until Wangji himself can give an account and we have heard Wei Wuxian’s opinion on the matter. For the next three days there will be no lectures. Considering the distressful nature of this situation, I will refrain from punishing any of you for neglecting your appearances, but I am not going to tolerate this any further. You are dismissed.”
The four looked at each other before bowing deeply once more and leaving the room.
“I am going to take a bath,” Lan Sizhui announced, voice still thick with tears. It was a hot summer’s day and he felt horrible in his dirty robes.
“I’m coming with you. Let me get fresh robes.”
Zizhen and Jin Ling followed them. “I don’t have anything to change,” the latter muttered.
“You can have something from us while yours are being cleaned,” Jingyi offered.
“I’m supposed to wear your mourning robes now?” Jin Ling asked indignantly but quickly fell silent, realizing how inappropriate his remark was in this particular moment.
Lan Sizhui stopped.
“Sizhui? What is it? Aren’t you coming after all?” Jingyi hesitated, head tilted to the side. “Oh, no. Please don’t.”
He couldn’t help it. Suddenly, the tears started running freely again, followed by loud and ungraceful sobs. He tried to fight them back, standing in the middle of Cloud Recesses, dozens of eyes on him, hands clenched to fists. It was a futile effort. “I … I want …” he stuttered, desperate. He remembered crying like this, many years before, for a reason he couldn’t recall anymore. Someone had then picked him up, carrying him in his arms and setting him down again on a meadow, surrounded by white rabbits, all crawling over his legs within moments.
Someone … “He’s my father!” he cried, helpless, as if anything was to be gained from such behavior. He was seventeen after all; it was far from suitable to cry like a child.
“Look … I’m sorry for what I said …” Jin Ling was raising an arm and lowering it again. “I didn’t … Sizhui … please …”
A hand settled on his shoulder. He looked up into Lan Zewu-Jun’s face and jumped back, startled, harshly wiping the tears off his face. “Zewu-Jun.”
The latter nodded towards the others. “Go. Sizhui will follow you soon.”
All three saluted, eyes wide, and left.
Lan Sizhui didn’t know what to say. He barely felt worthy of looking his adoptive uncle in the face.
“If you wish to visit Wangji later, I will be there too.”
He felt his eyes widen. His chin dropped. “I may?”
Lan Xichen took a breath. “You are his son, after all.”
Wei Wuxian’s knees felt sore. He had been kneeling on the floor for hours, arms resting on the bed. Lan Wangji’s breath, usually inaudible, was the only thing to be heard, a slow rasp, struggling to continue.
He hadn’t regained consciousness even once, and if one believed what the healers said, it was possible that he wasn’t going to as long as they didn’t find a way to heal him.
Luckily, Wei Wuxian didn’t give too much credit to their blabbering about how they didn’t know what to do, that Lan Wangji possibly wasn’t going to survive the night or that he might never wake up again.
It was all utter nonsense of course. Didn’t they know who it was they were talking about?
He shifted his weight, glaring at the healer sitting at the head of the bed. The man was discreet, not saying a word, just watching Lan Wangji’s condition.
Still, his presence irritated Wei Wuxian to no end. He wasn’t supposed to be here, a disturbance of the atmosphere.
He wasn’t supposed to be needed!
Wei Wuxian shook his head, but Lan Wangji’s features remained blurry, no matter how hard he blinked. His head felt heavy. With every muscle in his body aching he knew he needed to rest and eat. He hadn’t even changed into clean robes, still wearing the ones drenched in Lan Wangji’s blood.
It was already late in the afternoon, the sun nearing the horizon, throwing long shadows through the room, casting a soft light on Lan Wangji’s face, his hair shining, bound in a loose knot. His forehead ribbon was dirty, speckled with blood, but as long as the healer was here it would have been inappropriate to take it off. Not that Wei Wuxian cared, but Lan Wangji wouldn’t like it.
“Lan Zhan?” he whispered, voice hoarse. He should drink something. He couldn’t move. “Will you wake up soon? I’ve heard the juniors cry. I think they’re worried. They don’t seem to understand who you are.”
He was long past caring about who heard him or not. Did anyone think him a ridiculous idiot? Let them do so. At least he knew the truth.
Lan Wangji wouldn’t die. It was a scenario so far from reality that it was almost ridiculous.
Lan Xichen was sitting nearby on a cushion. He had been there for hours, barely moving. Wei Wuxian ignored him.
From outside he heard steps nearing the healers’ pavilions. They seemed hesitant. Whoever it was almost didn’t dare entering, standing at the door for a while.
Eventually, they came in, and Wei Wuxian heard robes shuffling at the lower end of the bed. He turned his head only a bit. His heart skipped a beat. Sizhui looked very young, very small, and very scared, eyes on Lan Wangji, then slipping down on his knees before meeting Wei Wuxian’s. He had obviously been crying a lot in the past hours.
Wei Wuxian wanted to say something, tell him he should stop looking like that, there was no reason to be worried, that it was all going to be just fine, Lan Wangji was going to be fine. Not a sound came over his lips, no matter how hard he tried.
He knew the truth, and there was no way he was going to acknowledge it by speaking it out loud, by confirming any worries or trying to comfort anyone.
He knew the truth.
He knew it.
He was holding Lan Wangji’s hand, and no matter what he kept telling himself, this hand did not lie.
Lan Wangji was fighting whatever it was that was taking him over. He was strong, incredibly strong; otherwise he would probably be dead already.
Still, he might not win this fight on his own.
Wei Wuxian let his head sink forward, forehead against Lan Wangji’s hand, feeling the cold skin, trying to warm it, sending spiritual energy, what little he had to give in this regard.
Sizhui remained sitting where he was until sunset came. Lan Jiao came to examine Lan Wangji’s condition, frowned, and went out again. Healers came and left. Lan Xichen ordered tea to be brought, which Wei Wuxian thoroughly ignored.
Bandages were changed. The wound on Lan Wangji’s chest was bad, but the bleeding had been stopped and as long as it didn’t get infected it wasn’t life threatening. Where his ribs were broken his skin was covered in bruises, a pattern of blue and purple. This injury which he had sustained by crashing against the tree was also the reason why he was breathing so heavily; his lungs had been contused in the fall.
Sizhui retreated from the bed, looking away, shoulders trembling.
Wei Wuxian couldn’t do that. It was almost killing him to just let go of Lan Wangji’s hand so the healers could do their work.
When Lan Xichen and Sizhui eventually retreated for the night without a word being said, Wei Wuxian remained huddled on the floor, Lan Wangji’s hand once again in his. He would have preferred to get up on the bed and lie down beside him, but the bed was so narrow, and he couldn’t risk accidentally hurting Lan Wangji by moving in his sleep.
He didn’t want to sleep anyways, just as he didn’t want to eat or drink. His world had been turned upside-down and he didn’t care about things like this.
Nothing mattered until Lan Wangji was okay again.