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Chapter Text

1. Jin Zixuan

The Conference was long, and tiring, and he feels like his smile is about to melt off his mouth into an ugly heap on his lap. At least, if he focused enough on whatever Minor Sect Leader from Down-Some-Stream had to say, he could act like he didn't feel the twin glares coming from the Jiang Heir and First Disciple respectively.

He knew he messed up badly, okay? He didn’t need the very slight nagging words of his attendants, or the longer dissatisfied allegories from his father, who in his honest opinion, should sew both his lips and his underpants shut.

He had known he messed up even before Wei Wuxian punched him and he had to go through the shame of Jiang Cheng, that Jiang Cheng, deciding fighting him wasn't worth it. He'd seen Jiang Cheng punch a damned tree once.

Jin Zixuan had known he messed up since he tasted the venom in his mouth when he swallowed after he said those damned things. He had known just how badly he'd messed up when his father said the engagement was off. Just like that.

He didn’t want an arranged marriage. He wanted to fall in love like normal people do, with late-night walks and sweet teas. But Jin Zixuan wasn't normal, and Jiang Yanli, no matter what he had said, was not normal either.

No normal woman would smile at him like he hadn't publicly disgraced her in front of all the male cultivators of his generation. No normal woman would bow as elegantly as ever, in front of everyone worth remembering and not, in a Cultivation Conference where everyone knew.

And Jin Zixuan was an idiot, nothing more than a common moron, because maybe the knots in his stomach that tightened every time he saw those soft purple robes weren't from hatred, but from something else.

Maybe his heart didn't stutter when he saw those green eyes not unlike the depths of Yunmeng lakes because of nerves, but because of whatever has been lodged in the back of his throat for the past two hours, since he saw her again, since she smiled at him again.

He was about to cycle through the same thoughts he'd had for the last few months again at record speed, when Clan Leader Nie speaks up, his booming voice demanding the attention of even the flies in the walls.

Jin Zixuan listens to him as he curtly gives a just solution to better Down-Some-Stream Clan's trade with its neighboring villages, and has the terrifying thought that he couldn't even come up to this man's knees as a Sect Leader. He hopes his father gifts him many years away from a Leader's Throne, even if it is the one and only parental duty he ever fulfills.

The Conference is put on hold so the Minor Sects leave the premises and the word is passed on to the big Four. This, of course, is thinly veiled with the excuse of lunch.

Before the meal begins, he excuses himself to his father's back and doesn't half lie about needing air. Jin Guangshan doesn't spare him a glance. It is better this way.

He gets out the wooden waiting area of Lotus Pier and walks to wherever his feet carry him. He loves Lanling, past all the gold threads and under-the-rug secrets, but Lotus Pier feels like a soft balm on his nerves, too similar to what its Young Mistresses love is supposed to feel like.

He's dejectedly staring at a little bird peck at a Lotus bloom, when he hears two hushed voices at the other side from the pavilion he's sat on. The stone fountain covers his body completely, but the thinned-leaved trees do next to nothing to cover the other people here.

"Have you been well?" He thinks the wind must've whispered it for a moment, if not for the billowing soft blue robes flowing obediently to the sweetened breeze.

Who can only be Sect Leader Nie grunts as answer, and when silence overtakes the pair he sighs. Jin Zixuan can only presume the Zewu-jun is making some sort of face at him, because the other answers.

"I'm well enough, Xichen. I don't want to speak about this now. I haven't seen you in what, three fortnights ?" He sounds rough around more than the edges, and to anyone else, Jin Zixuan included, as angry as usual.

Apparently, Zewu-jun knows him better than anyone, whoa, because he lifts a hand to the other's neck, blizzard blue soft sleeves resting against the almost black of Qinghe Nie's steel. He can slightly see the movement of Lan Xichen's thumb against the other's tanned skin.

Chifeng-zun looks like an appeased tiger, eyes closed and ever present scowl softened so much that all that remains is the sharp edges of his features.

"I've missed you, Gege," Zewu-jun sounds even quieter, and suddenly Jin Zixuan feels like he's imposing on much more than two close friends taking a calming walk.

"Then come see me more, Xichen," Sect Leader Nie sounded petulant, no matter how insane that thought was, and Lan Xichen's airy laugh made Jin Zixuan blink faster than he had in his life.

"Wasn't absence supposed to make the heart grow fonder, Chifeng-zun?" Jin Zixuan didn't have to see Zewu-jun to know he was smiling, but he couldn't imagine the tones in that smile. He guessed there is a different smile you direct to someone whose heart you clearly have in your sleeve.

"I don't think I can grow any fonder of you, Xichen," Even Jin Zixuan had to do a double-take because, again, whoa. If Lan Xichen's flustered air thickened any more, Jin Zixuan was afraid the other cultivators in the Conference would notice something amiss.

During his befuddlement, he hadn't noticed how close the other two males were to each other, nothing keeping them apart other than heavy robes, the gentle perfumed smell of Lan Xichen, and the gap in height between the two of them. Jin Zixuan chose to analyze the envy that brought upon him on a later date.

"Not here, Mingjue," He was not even sure he heard Zewu-jun this time around, but he was thankful he didn't have to watch them kiss. He doesn’t think he can look them in the eye for a good while after this as it is.

"You're right, I'm sure the Violet Spider has an array hidden somewhere that alerts her when people show affection in her domain," Nie Mingjue pulls away then, a rare half-smile on his face. His hand then rests on the back of Zewu-jun's head, tangling his fingers on the long strands of hair.

"Da-ge," Lan Xichen sounds as if he's scolding Chifeng-zun, and that's somehow not the strangest thing Jin Zixuan has witnessed this evening.

Also, Violet Spider, Yu Ziyuan. Yu Ziyuan, Yunmeng Jiang. Yunmeng Jiang, Jiang Yanli. Ugh. How is he supposed to fix that?

When he next gets out of his daze, the two cultivators are no longer there. Lan Xichen leaves a wake of just-melted snow and gentians everywhere he goes, and the sharp pine accompanying it, makes Jin Zixuan nod his head at the empty space the males occupied previously.

He stands up, back ram-rod straight as the tension bleeds back under his skin. He sighs and faces the heavens, asking for anything, at this point, really. When he opens his eyes again, she is there.

Jiang Yanli, with her silk robes and soft curves is almost goddess-like to see in the still-shy moonlight. She is at the top of the stairs, looking surprised at him.

Jin Zixuan takes a deep breath, and walks to her.

Chapter Text

2. Jiang Wanyin

He was never going to drink again. Not one drop of alcohol will make it past his lips in all the years he lives, he swears on it, Sect Heir honor. His head hurt, his entire body felt like the evening Caiyi crowd had used him as a bridge, and his mouth was simultaneously dry and uncomfortably full of saliva.

Jiang Cheng was never drinking again. 

Apparently his sentiment was shared, judging by the almost simultaneous groans of Nie Huaisang and Wei Wuxian. Wei Wuxian crawled from under the table, which what? and ran to the pot they keep near especially for occasions like this, where he emptied his stomach till even Jiang Cheng felt nauseous. 

Nie Huaisang was sitting in front of his vanity table, head banging repeatedly against the edge. His robes were disheveled, the soft nape of his neck exposed to the stuffy air, and Jiang Cheng thanked whatever Gods were listening for the mercy that half-death from alcohol brought to all his instincts. 

Wei Wuxian near crawled to the other side of the bed, sitting heavily on Nie Huaisang's blankets. He put his head in his hands like it was about to take off, and Jiang Cheng would've laughed if he didn't feel that his head would split in two if someone as much as breathed too loud.

"We're never doing this again," It had taken a shameful amount of effort to say those words, and judging by the murmurs of agreement they all knew, 'never' lasted maybe a fortnight. 

"What time is it?" Nie Huaisang's voice was so much rougher than he ever heard it, as if someone had dropped stones in his throat. Jiang Cheng understood. 

"I can't look outside the window or I'll seriously die, Nie-xiong, but guessing by the lack of Lan disciples pulling us by our ankles to the Lecture Hall, we're in the clear," Even Wei Wuxian seemed like he couldn't pull it together this morning, and that's a surprise, really, considering the other's alcohol tolerance. 

Jiang Cheng leaned back into silk blankets that were much finer than his own, damn it, how did Nie Huaisang even sneak these in? 

"We need to get ready for lectures," His outburst startled Wei Wuxian, who whined in his default manner, the sound making all three of them cringe.

"If no one has come to drag us there, why walk in the lion's den," Nie Huaisang spoke as if he was fishing for each word and Jiang Cheng felt as sorry for him as he did for himself. 

"They went to our rooms first, they have no way of knowing we're here. We need to make a fucking run for it," Wei Wuxian staggered to his feet, wavered, and promptly fell back on the bed. Fuck.

He walks in front of the mirror on top of the vanity, ignoring Huaisang's pout as he looked up at him through the mirror. He fixed his robes, and searched for the outer robes he knew Wei Wuxian had hidden somewhere after the first phase of drinking, - extremely hot, all over, - finally finding them in a heap with so many of Nie Huaisang's robes. 

Jiang Cheng hastily put his robe on, the white washing his skin out in an uncomfortable way that made him grimace each morning. He would never say it outloud but Wei Wuxian was right, these were funeral clothes. 

He moved on to his hair that through the wild night and sleep had reached an unpresentable mix of 'living in the street' and 'drank half my weight in alcohol' that was unbecoming of a street vendor, let alone a Sect Heir.

He felt weird using Huaisang's delicate comb. It was made of heavier wood than his own, telling to their different hair types, and while it was offered to him without a second thought, Jiang Cheng decided on just tugging his fingers through his hair. Something about the soft humming birds and little valley flowers depicted into it made it so personal, so Huaisang, he couldn't get himself to use it on any strands but those of its owner's.

Wei Wuxian had put his hair in its usual ponytail and his robes were somewhat on, but that's like any usual morning. He looked alive now, at least. Huaisang, on the other hand, was rubbing that orange blossom and jasmine fragrance that made Jiang Cheng nearly break his neck the first time they met on his wrist and neck, his shorter hair easier to submit to his bronze clip. 

Deciding that they were on-track enough to only kneel as punishment instead of being whipped, he only scowled at them to be quicker. 

Huaisang near jumped out of his skin when there was a loud and too aggressive knock on his door to be from a Lan disciple, and for a moment Jiang Cheng thought Lan Qiren was about to skin them from their teeth. But the knocking continued, along with a growled yell of Huaisang's name, so that was definitely not Lan Qiren. 

The pleads for mercy pouring out of Huaisang's mouth made him and Wei Wuxian move faster, moving to the big window to slither out. 

Wei Wuxian jumped out of a window, landing in his ass in the haste, Jiang Cheng would've laughed, if there wasn't a big hand clutching the back of his robes. That was decidedly not Nie Huaisang. 

He got ready to curse whatever disciple till their ancestors felt it, because he was the Jiang Sect Heir, goddammit, sneaking out or not. 

But there was no Lan disciple. There wasn't even Lan Qiren, which his father had warned them both not to anger too much. Instead it was Chifeng-zun. Who was staring at him with a default frown and an arched eyebrow, and was waiting for an explanation on just why, the Jiang Sect Heir was crawling out his little brother's room looking like he spent the night. Jiang Cheng gulped. He mentally checked if any of his cousins were of age, because he was going to perish. 

"Huaisang," Chifeng-zun had let his robes go, turning to his little brother with an even fiercer scowl. "Here. Now," He sounded angrier the more time passed with no explanation.

Nie Huaisang squeaked from where he was trying to sneak to the door, and Jiang Cheng couldn't believe he was going to be chopped to pieces over this traitor. When he inevitably returned as a fierce ghost, neither Wei Wuxian nor Nie Huaisang will ever rest. That is, if his mother didn't resurrect him just to whip his soul out of his body.

"Chifeng-zun, Greetings," Jiang Cheng bowed as deeply as he could in his status, before clearing his throat and looking at Nie Huaisang. This was his brother, goddammit.

 Sect Leader Nie looked thoroughly unimpressed, and Jiang Cheng kissed at least one trading route goodbye in his head. Huaisang cleared his throat, before pouting dramatically and turning to his older brother. 

"Jiang Cheng was helping me with memorisation, Da-ge! You know I can't remember anything, anything at all," Crocodile tears were welling up in his eyes and there was no way this worked on Chifeng-zun. 

Let nobody say Jiang Cheng had no resolve, because he did not crumble even when this mountain of a man turned to him again. He was not proud of that meek nod, however, he still didn’t know how one talked to a man spoken in almost the same tone reserved for legends. 

"And since when did memorization require eight bottles of Emperor's Wine?" Ah, that's what Jiang Cheng had forgotten. The wine bottles, strewn all over the low table and under it and on the bed, Gods. Chifeng-zun was fuming, and Nie Huaisang was out of excuses that wasn't bursting in tears and Jiang Cheng was looking from one brother to the other. 

Soft footsteps entering the room was the only thing stopping Sect Leader Nie from roughing them both up. 

"Mingjue-xiong," All three turned to Lan Xichen with vastly different emotions, Huaisang sighing with all his body before running to his Xichen-ge and gripping the other man by his waist. 

Mingjue's scowl had settled into furrowed brows and a frown as he looked at Lan Xichen, eyes softening when he catched the other man lightly pet his dramatic brothers hair. 

"Sect Heir Jiang," Jiang Cheng would've jumped out of his skin if he wasn't used to the other's silky soft temperament. He still bowed to the other Sect Heir, before straightening and rolling his shoulders uncomfortably.

Zewu-jun looked around, not as much as lifting an eyebrow to the wine bottles and disheveled room, but his smile did become more playful, eyes jumping from Jiang Cheng to Nie Huaisang in his arms. Jiang Cheng did not like the conclusions he probably reached. 

"Sect Heir Jiang, A-Sang, you've missed the first meal and training by a while, but you can reach the lectures in time," Jiang Cheng felt his eyes widen, because this was the Lan Sect. He was surprised they weren't being dragged outside by their boots. 

Chifeng-zun apparently agreed that they needed some form of punishment because he was glaring surprisingly weakly at Sect Heir Lan. Lan Xichen smiled that annoying smile that made Jiang Cheng feel like he was laughing good-naturedly at everything in his line of sight, before setting a verdict almost worse than the disciple whip. 

"Since both of you missed training, you wouldn't be against helping Sect Heir Nie train this afternoon, Sect Heir Jiang? It would do you good to witness other weapons in use, even as a swordsman," Nie Huaisang gasped in terror, but Nie Mingjue looked only cautious and mostly accepting. Listening to Huaisang whine was a small price in comparison to both Zewu-jun's and Chifeng-zun's acceptance. 

"Xichen-ge, you can't, I won't, he'll break my legs," Jiang Cheng cleared his throat and was ready to reassure the man's older brother that he certainly wouldn't, but Chifeng-zun interrupted him loudly.

"Good, I hope he does," He almost growled to his brother, who was whining and pouting up at his Xichen-ge, before turning to Jiang Cheng, who instantly clammed up when dark eyes fell on his. 

"He's your problem now," Was muttered to Jiang Cheng, shocking him straight into an embarrassing red up to his forehead, before Chifeng-zun tried to dislodge his brother from Lan Xichen's gentle reassurances. 

Jiang Cheng let himself be pulled by a huffing Nie Huaisang outside the other's quarters, leaving the older men inside. There they saw Wei Wuxian, who was crudely hiding behind a stone bench, and Jiang Cheng was suddenly fuming as he was reminded that he had to face Chifeng-zun alone. 

He scowled and hit the other upside the head as they reached Wei Wuxian's crouching form, who mentioned for them to hide beside him, like idiots.

When Wei Wuxian mouthed 'Lan Zhan, patrol' he felt Nie Huaisang tremble for a second. One Jade of Lan was enough for a week. So all three of them hunched behind the bench, as if two of them weren't nearly 6 feet tall. 

"You should've punished them according to Sect Rules, Xichen," Nie Mingjue's stern voice made them all square their shoulders, because he was definitely more terrifying than Lan Wangji. 

"Let them have their fun, Da-ge, Jiang Wanyin is responsible enough for both of them," Jiang Cheng tried not to preen. "Also, if I remember accordingly, you were quite partial to Emperor's Wine when you visited too," Lan Xichen's voice was full of mirth, and both Jiang Cheng and Wei Wuxian's did a double take. 

"I never sneaked wine and whatever else my brother contrabands into Gusu Lan," Jiang Cheng didn't even think Chifeng-zun could sound anything but angry. Nie Huaisang flinched next to him. 

"Of course not, Nie-zongzhu," Zewu-jun sounded placating, but the smile all three of them knew well was still painted on his lips.

"You just sneaked me outside to the wine," Jiang Cheng openly gaped at the slither of the cultivators he could see, as Nie Huaisang nearly bowed in the second-hand embarrassment that comes with watching your brother be flirted with. Jiang Cheng knew that feeling well. 

Wei Wuxian, in all his shamelessness, was grinning, and probably scheming on how to sneak Lan Wangji out. Jiang Cheng shivered. 

"Have you come here for Sect matters? My uncle is quite busy, I hope you're content with my company till then," Lan Xichen nudged closer to Nie Mingjue who hummed in thought as if he wasn't looking down at the First Jade of Lan the same way people who wrote poetry admired the moon. Jiang Cheng barely hid another shiver. 

"I think you'll do, Sect Heir Lan," And then Nie Mingjue tugged at Zewu-jun's hair like they were children in a park and not two of the strongest cultivators for generations to come. And Lan Xichen broke at least three of his own sect rules, because not only did he let him, his smile got wider, less polite and softening his features so much he looked actually human.

"We'll have to invite A-Sang to lunch," Chifeng-zun groaned as if it wasn't known across all the nations that if one hair on his half-brother's head was touched he'd personally take out a sect.

 "Don't complain, Gege, I know that's why you're here," And then Zewu-jun turned around and looked at them. More accurately, he stared straight into Jiang Cheng's eyes and sent him a half-smile. Fuck. 

Lan Xichen looked at all three of them before shaking his head and turning back to Chifeng-zun, a smile still making his features look warm and welcoming, as if he hadn't caught them snooping in his very private moment with a man who could skin them all and hang them by the ankle. 

"Would you let me play for you, Da-ge?" He was steadily walking towards the restricted area of Gusu Lan, Chifeng-zun walking boldly by his side, and Jiang Cheng didn't need to be a cut-sleeve to admit they looked good together. Judging by Wei Wuxian's snicker, he thought the same, which got the other a thinly disguised dirty look from Nie Huaisang. 

The two cultivators were far enough they didn't hear Nie-zongzhu's reply, thank the Gods, but they still stayed hidden till they couldn't see Lan Xichen's flowy robes move with the breeze.

And then, Nie Huaisang fell back, head in his hands. Wei Wuxian was grinning mercilessly, and his overall aura rubbed off on Jiang Cheng, as his mother always sniped happened, and made him smile teasingly too and turn to the shorter man with a eyebrow quirked. 

"So…," Wei Wuxian stopped his teasing to grin again, and Nie Huaisang whimpered. Wei Wuxian outright laughed then, loud and bright and even Nie Huaisang couldn't keep his facade fully up, eyes bright as he pouted and clinged to Jiang Cheng's arm.

Jiang Cheng put a supposedly comforting hand on Huaisang's thinner shoulder, filing the fact that Nie Huaisang tensed up before melting into him in his 'forget and think about at night' pile, and then tugged on Huaisang's hair, shit eating grin that came with growing up near Wei Wuxian making an appearance.

Wei Wuxian fell back as he laughed, and Huaisang whined miserably with the mist of tears in his eyes. Jiang Cheng felt a little bit bad, and if he smoothed his hand down the other's silky hair in apology, that's his and Nie Huaisang's matter only. 

"We should hurry to Old Goat Lan's lesson before he makes an example of us again," Wei Wuxian had somewhat gotten himself together, hand rubbing his ribs that hurt from laughing. Jiang Cheng stood to his feet, half-dragging Nie Huaisang with him. 

"After all, we don't want Nie-xiong to be kept after class and miss lunch with his beloved brother-in-law," Wei Wuxian turned to the Nie heir with a shit eating grin that only widened at Huaisang's squeak.

 Jiang Cheng shook his head, before grabbing the other by his elbow and leading him away from Wei Wuxian, both of them making crude gestures to the other in separate paths, before Wei Wuxian fastwalked over to Jiang Cheng's other side, hip checking him. 

They were definitely late to Lan Qiren's lecture. 

Chapter Text

3. Lan Wangji

Lan Wangji was in pain. His skull thrummed, and the tips of his fingers were still bleeding sluggishly, at the same pace blood covered the barren soil of the battlefield. It was supposed to be as any other day in this wretched war, but for reasons Lan Wangji wasn't aware of, it wasn't. 

They were losing. It was hard to see the difference, but he could see where their battered army was struggling, the lines of defense breaking one after the other. Noting the bone-deep exhaustion that had cost him two allied lives today, he doubts the others are faring better.

Jiang Wanyin was surrounded, but Zidian was quick, and Lan Wangji could note nothing more but nicks on him, along with that heavy cloud of hateburnkill that seemed to follow the now Jiang Sect Leader everywhere he went. Lan Wangji felt for the Jiang siblings, could see the haunting in their eyes.

His mother, he presumed, had passed on her bed, missing the scent of gentians, until the dust in her heart settled for good. 

His father, he knew, had died a coward. Lan Wangji does not care what the Lan Elders say, and he knows that man has done nothing for him, other than be the reason Lan Wangji presumed his brother dead, or worse, in their hands. 

If Lan Xichen hadn't rushed to their father's residence, to warn him, to beg him, while their sect and life burned and crumbled by their feet, maybe things would've gone differently. 

No matter, he had been notified when his father breathed last, had been adorned in mourning white as he saw features so similar to his own, but not really, be put to rest. His soul had not lingered, as if he hadn't left behind two broken shards of glass from his own mirror, and the still smoking residues of a sect.

Fate had been crueler to Jiang Wanyin. He had seen the after-effects of the burning Lotus Pier the same way one gazes at disturbed water, had seen the way Sect Leader Jiang could not rest until Wen blood dripped to his sleeves. He had never worn mourning whites. There was nothing for Jiang Wanyin to mourn, his parents disgraced in their killer's poisoned soil. 

Lan Wangji looked away. He could not see Jiang purple for long if Wei Ying's bold red didn't follow.

He did not need to check where Chifeng-zun was, Baxia's field of energy powerful enough he felt it thrumming along his veins faster than his own blood. He could hear Liebing too, but even the mournful tones of the xiao could not overcome the sounds of war, men yelling and cursing, in anger and in pain, anguish dripping with each drop of blood. 

And then with a mangled note, Liebing stops.

Lan Wangji's senses focus only on the absence of sound, all his attention going to pick a breath, a sign, that his brother was alright. He feels Nie Mingjue's spiritual energy move past him in a rush of frantic energy, before they hear Liebing again. 

The notes were steady to an unlearnt ear, but Wangji could notice his brother's playing was almost murky, less spiritual power in it then he'd ever witnessed from a cultivator like Lan Xichen.

Panic still had a hold on him, his heart tightening as if someone had a fist around it. He could not move. His position was on a higher point of terrain, sending shocks of cords to the enemy masses beneath him. Lan Wangji had to stay here, while his brother was possibly heavily wounded. He had to stay here while his brother used all his spiritual energy in combat, instead of healing his wounds. Lan Wangji had to stay here. 

He could feel the sharp notes of Chenqing before he heard them, nearly breaking his teeth with how strong his jaw locked. This too, never got easier, and all Lan Wangji could do was stay here.

The battle went abnormally quick now, when all Lan Wangji could hear was Chenqing's haunting sound, eyes desperately fixated on Wei Ying's form. Wei Wuxian's dead army was formidable, walking around even if their head was hanging on their shoulders by an inch of skin.

He was no longer needed. None of them were, really, the corpses way more in numbers than the leftover Wen's. Lan Wangji looked away when he saw someone draped in blood-soaked white bite through an opposing soldier's throat. 

The screams of live and dead soldiers suffocated him, nothing keeping him on his knees other than the fact he'd seen this portrait be drawn in blood and gore for several nights in a row, now. And the painter, the unforgivable artist, was no one else than Wei Ying. His heart clenched painfully. 

He sent a few more cords to the ruckus in front of him, but his bloodied fingers merely slipped against stretched lines. When Lan Wangji looked up again, the battlefield was nothing but confused fierce corpses, who had nothing breathing and in red left to fight. Wei Ying played another harrowing tune, and the corpses dropped as if their strings had been cut. 

His frown only deepened when their eyes met, the new blood red still seeping out of Wei Ying's eyes. The other man looked at him in cold indifference that was so different from Wei Ying, and suddenly his fingers weren't the only thing sluggishly bleeding. It's as if his heart just remembered that the man in front of Lan Wangji was the feared Yiling Laozu, and not Wei Ying.

He had just landed at the base of the camp when a disciple in Qinghe Nie's lead gray robes came running for him, the ends of her robes stained a deep red. She looked slightly frazzled, but he doubted she had seen little, despite her age. War had taught him much, too. 

"Hanguang-jun," She bowed quickly, but the tone of her voice made his shoulders tense. He was adequate in healing, of course, but his brother was always helping out in the medical camp, between political negotiations and war strategy meetings. They would surely go to him first, unless there were too many wounded?

"Zewu-jun is in the medical camp right now. He drained most of his core trying to save a young soldier, barely seventeen, Hanguang-jun, and we cannot heal him as fast as his core could. Chifeng-zun sent me here to ask for your presence," Her words are harried, and he had already started walking to the medical tent before the healer finished her first sentence.

He had heard Liebing stutter. His brother never missed a note, a fraction, let alone stop for how long it did mid-battle. Lan Wangji should've known, should have gone to his older brother before he needed to drain his core while injured, should have done something.

When he gets to the extremely busy tent, he dismisses the healer to help the masses. Xiongzhang is in the secluded tent higher cultivators use in the rare case they get injured, and Lan Wangji has seen the sight of it exactly twice. The tent was quiet, a few Lan disciples loosely guarding it, exhaustion evident in the way they stood.

Rushing towards the tent's opening, he nearly sighed in relief when there was no pungent scent of too much blood spilled, just the slight iron in the air. His brother was sitting on the cot, his outer robes down to his waist and his inner robes pushed aside. There was blood on his left shoulder, a deep looking sword wound no longer bleeding, but concerning nonetheless.

"Xiongzhang," Lan Wangji tried not to let his voice break. It has been only months since his brother came back to him, and now he was sitting injured with nearly no spiritual energy to repair his own flesh and bone, all of it used on the breath of others.

Lan Xichen smiled at him, as if they were discussing musical notes, and not sitting in the medical tent with the smell of blood and death clinging to them. His brother made sure to check him over with his eyes, eyes burning in concern when he saw the blood drops on his lower robes and sleeves. 

"I am okay, Wangji. This brother needs but a moment to heal his wound, and he will be back on his feet. Why doesn't Wangji rest for a while?" Despite his comforting words, Lan Wangji didn't move, his eyes darkening in what he knew his brother would pick up as a scowl. 

He walked over to his Xiongzhang, sitting stubbornly by his side. Lan Wangji knew his brother had one of the strongest cores of the current cultivation world, and only second to Baoshan Sanren when it came to healing. He heard Chifeng-zun joke, during happier times, that if you were near Zewu-jun enough, you could smell the ozone. His brother had laughed, melodious and so happy every time they were out of Cloud Recesses and he was allowed to.

Wangji, at the time, had not found the idea of his brother ascending and leaving him alone so soon appealing, so he had frowned at the remainder of the meeting. 

To know his brother that bled his core dry in the battle to save his fellow warriors, with no consideration for his own health, to the point he got a somewhat-amateur wound, made Wangji feel like he could smell ozone too. 

He had grabbed his Xiongzhang's wrist, ignoring the very gentle tugging and the soft 'I'm fine, Wangji, go rest' that had become his brother's favorite words since he came back.

He had just started pouring spiritual energy into his brother's meridians, when the tent was opened in a rush, steps quick and strong making Lan Wangji turn. Chifeng-zun is not panting, but there is a shine of sweat in his furrowed eyebrows. He looks angry, enraged, concerned.

"Xichen. You're still bleeding," Chifeng-zun has yet to sit down, and Lan Wangji does not enjoy this tone his brother is being talked to. He knows Nie Mingjue is a harsh man, but he was of the belief that he had an especially soft spot for his brother. 

"Ah, Gege, it just looks like that. I'm already feeling stronger. I apologize for making Gege worry, but I'll be more than okay in a few hours," Xichen does look better, now that his own core is regaining strength. He doesn't look sickly pale anymore, and his smile is as courteous as always. Lan Zhan feels a familiar relief at being blanketed by his brother's breeze-like energy.

"Good. You'll have more than enough time to get your footing back. Jiang Wanyin is leading the Taiyan Shan mission tomorrow," Chifeng-zun reaches for a water-skin on the table, refusing to look at Lan Xichen's now cold smile. 

"Chifeng-zun, this one is sure Gusu Lan was appointed to lead the Taiyan Shan front. The mission requires our stealth, as it is only catching the Wen camp there by surprise. We discussed this in the meeting," Xiongzhang is still smiling, but his tone is serious and Lan Wangji realizes this is no longer Lan Xichen, but Zewu-jun, one of the strongest generals of the Sunshot Campaign. 

"We did discuss it, and now I've made a change in the decision. Jiang Sect will lead the Taiyan attack, and you will stay here, to recuperate and help the healers if you so wish," Nie-zongzhu is glaring now, and the air feels so much colder between the two. Lan Wangji has never seen them do much than bicker before.

"I'm not a healer, Chifeng-zun. I should be leading my sect into battle. No, I will be leading my sect into battle," Xiongzhang is not smiling anymore, his face as expressive as a jade statue. If it was anybody else but Nie Mingjue, his brother would never wear his anger in his eyes. 

"Have you forgotten who the First General is, Xichen? If I say that the Gusu Lan stays, you stay. Jiang Wanyin and Wei Wuxian are more than enough to decimate that small of a camp on their own. I want to hear no more of this," Lan Wangji feels the tension strung high enough to bleed, and he doesn’t have enough time to be offended by the insult to their clan before Xiongzhang rips his wrist away and turns fully to Chifeng-zun, his back straight and shoulders straight. 

"We said that it would be good for morale if the Lan Sect takes a win now. We agreed that I should lead the front, that Jiang Wanyin and Wei Wuxian are more important here, on the main front. What changed in a single day, Chifeng-zun? I am not up to your standards now that my sword trembled once?" Xiongzhang's voice is still soft, and Lan Wangji doesn't know if he was trying to sound angry, or tug at Chifeng-zun's heartstrings.

Chifeng-zun barks out a harsh laugh, more of a yell than an actual laugh, the venom in the air making Wangji almost nauseous. He has an unexplainable urge to move in front of his big brother, but this is a disagreement between two stronger war generals, and there is nothing he can do about what turn this conversation takes. 

"Sure, Zewu-jun. Is that what you want to hear? I've always thought that you don't have the heart to lead a war, and you've proved me right. I think you should be in the medical tent, since clearly healing is your true calling, if you ignored the safety of many of my troops for one. Are you satisfied now?" Both brothers do a double-take at the words, Lan Wangji in shock at both the harsh words and the tone they've spoken in, and Lan Xichen in a hurt Lan Wangji has seen on his face only when his father is involved. 

Xiongzhang closes his eyes and breathes so slowly Lan Wangji can't even tell if he's doing it. 

"Get out," The words are spoken so softly Wangji only heard by sitting on Xiongzhang's side, and he doesn’t know who they are directed to. His brother has yet to open his eyes, and Wangji hasn't turned to Chifeng-zun in anger only because he knows it is a lost battle. 

"Both of you, get out," His tone is so much sharper, and Lan Wangji refuses to stumble at that tone being directed to him in his brother's voice. His brother's voice, who had hummed lullabies well into his adulthood, a voice that is so warm someone can sleep in it.

Lan Wangji gets up almost unknowingly, turning to the entrance of the tent. Chifeng-zun does not follow him, stubbornly standing in front of the cot and glaring at his brother. 

Lan Zhan thinks the other had said enough for the night. Few know of his brother's struggles with the nature of his core and the bloody path of a Sect Leader, and while he does not know enough about their relationship to speculate, it is easy to see a line has been crossed. 

"Chifeng-zun," It's enough for the fire in those eyes to be directed at him, but he refuses to bend. They stare at each other before, Chifeng-zun grunts and walks towards the exit too, steps harsh and stride strong to the point Lan Wangji has to move aside so they don't bump shoulders. 

They leave like that, his brother sitting with dried blood deep to his core, and Chifeng-zun thundering away, Lan Wangji in the middle wondering if this will be more of a strain that they can handle. 

Lan Wangji does not care if his brother threw him out, it has been long enough for even the most vicious of tempers to calm, and Xiongzhang did not have one of those.

Walking to his brother's temporary residence in Hejian, one of the tents closest to Nie-Zongzhu's, he blinks in surprise when he feels it empty before he even calls out. He decides to go in and wait for his Xiongzhang anyway, his worry stubbornly resisting to fade. 

The inside is surprisingly personal, soft blues all around. The bed is, in Wangji's opinion, uncomfortably soft, but he knows his brother prefers it so. There are a few maps, a table for tea that is currently filled with correspondence between fronts. Shuoyue is leaning against the tent in a position that Xiongzhang would never let her in, and he walks to the sword and places it on the soft blankets. He sits down by the table, waiting patiently for his brother to return. 

Lan Wangji is thankful he doesn't have to wait long, when in nearly half an hour he hears two sets of steps approaching the tent. His shoulders relax when he recognises his brother's soft steps, which stop right at the entrance of the tent. 

"Won't you come in, A-jue? I have Lapsang Souchong from that one merchant in Gusu," His brother's voice is soft and silky again, but who is 'A-jue'? Before he can get up and alert his brother of his presence, the other person replies, and something in Wangji's brain clicks.

"Maybe later tonight, the Jin delegate came earlier," Lan Wangji feels his eyes widen at hearing Chifeng-zun talking to his brother in a fully indulgent tone, as if he didn't spit venom at his brother hours ago.

"I will be waiting, but not for long, I need to be rested for tomorrow, " Xiongzhang hums softly, and Lan Wangji barely hears it. 

"If you want to sleep, sleep. I'll come and check on you," Nie Mingjue sounds raw and weirdly gentle.

"Alright. Go now, First General," His brother sounds teasing, in a way you can only tell if you know him well. Chifeng-zun grunts before his steps move away, strong and sure. Lan Wangji sees his brother step in the tent, one of his real-er smiles plastered in his face.

In his hair, there is an unfamiliar guan, Qinghe Nie bronze instead of Gusu Lan silver. His robes are pale enough to pass as Gusu Lan's, but the patterns and embroidery is foreign to Lan Wangji.

"Wangji," Xiongzhang sounds surprised, but not badly so, eyes widening a little before he schools his expression back to his soft neutrality.

"This brother apologizes for making Wangji worry. Would you like some tea?" Xiongzhang smiles at him, before opening one of the jars of tea and searching around for a heating talisman. Wangji does not appreciate the distraction. 

"Chifeng-zun," His tone is slightly accusing, but he cannot lie and say he is not a little miffed his brother hasn't told him about his confusing relationship with Nie-zongzhu. Xiongzhang looks up from his teapot and stares at him, before letting out a soft sigh. 

"While we drink tea? I will explain, A-Zhan, I promise," Lan Wangji feels his ears warm while he nods, the endearing name always disarming him. 

His brother moves aside the letters on his table before setting two cups down and motioning Wangji over. The tea's light flowery fragrance welcomes him near along with Lan Xichen's soft eyes. 

"I should've told you sooner, A-Zhan. I hope you understand, we are both Sect Leaders, and now this war… Ah, I'm rambling," His brother chuckles lightly before taking a sip of his tea. 

"Chifeng-zun and I have been together for a few years now, a little before the lectures Jiang Wanyin and Wei Wuxian attended. We have kept it hidden from almost everybody, and between my disappearance and our workload before and during the war, it slipped from my mind to tell you," His brother looks at him with a concerned smile. They have never needed words before, but Lan Wangji guesses the situation calls for it.

"And today?" He cannot hide the concern in his voice. Chifeng-zun is a strong and fair man, but he may be too rough at the edges for his brother. He hopes fights like today are rare, if not never present.

His brother just laughs softly at him, reaching to fill his cup again. 

"Lovers fight, A-Zhan. I know it looked bad, it was bad. But we talked, after you left. He was just worried for me, Didi. I'm glad you love this brother enough to go against Chifeng-zun if needed," Lan Wangji chose to ignore the teasing, nodding instead, his ears reddening more. 

"For Xiongzhang," He relished in his brother's laugh, like windbells tinkling. He looked more care-free like this, gifted robe pulled high to hide things Lan Wangji didn't want to know about, hair cascading lightly down to his waist, shoulders with less weight on them than usual. 

And if Lan Wangji saw Chifeng-zun sneak into Xiongzhang's tent as if he was a teenage boy and not the First General, and then later leave with affection pouring out his every pore, it was not his to report. 

It seems Chifeng-zun is good for his brother.

Chapter Text

4. Wei Wuxian

Wei Wuxian had seen enough of Cloud Recesses back when he was a reckless adolescent, and now, as an even more reckless adult, it is somehow worse.

This body does not have the virility his real one used to have, stature shorter and not enough meat in his bones. Let's not forget to mention that Lan Wangji had grown into his features, alright. If his face looked all scrunched up and a little adorable when they were teenagers and he used to glare at him like Wei Wuxian regularly spit in his bowl of rice, now that cold mask of his makes him look like a deity, and if Wei Wuxian was really a cut-sleeve past this body's weird reactions he'd be tripping over his feet. 

So, everytime Wei Wuxian tries to run away, Lan Zhan or one of his little students catch him before he can make a single step outside Cloud Recesses. But Wei Wuxian has never been one to back down, and he will get off this damn mountain. He just needs to figure out how.

The Jade Token plan is not going to work. It seems like they keep those tokens tied to their necks, but Wei Wuxian just got an eyeful of the Second Jade of Lan, so he's hopeful they kick him out on principle alone. 

Since he's already in the restricted area, he might as well look around for some scandalous Lan secrets. Like a chili pepper plant, or a single scroll with messy calligraphy. Gods, are the Lans boring. 

He's going from bush to bush, lamenting how even the birds refuse to chirp out of tune with the Lan schedule, and maybe a little paranoid to be found. When he comes close to what seems to be an overly grown puddle, he cocks one head to the side. Cloud Recesses are surrounded by water, yes, but this one seems almost unnaturally placed.

There is no resentful energy, and even with his shitty core he can feel two strongly pulsating spiritual energies a few feet from him, near the small lake. Smiling way too big for the occasion he does a little cheer in his head. Pissing off two very strong cultivators is enough to kick a lousy man like him out of even the most barren of sects, let alone the Gusu Lan.

Skipping towards the lake, he very badly hides beside a tree. His purpose is to be found, anyways.

The two figures, one dressed in very soft blue that rises a weird nostalgia in him, making him think about hiding with Nie Huaisang among Lan Xichen's many fluttering robes, Nie Huaisang's soft reassurances that Xichen-ge would hide them followed by a teasing smile. 

Lan Zhan might be his favorite Lan, but Zewu-jun is made from a softer cloth, and Wei Ying is surprised by how much he misses a laugh like his.

His mind laughs mockingly, because what he's trying to find in Lan Xichen was already packed lovingly in his Shi-jie, and it's not actually his smile Wei Ying misses.

Lan Xichen is draped in another robe, a deep grey that is no way his own. He's playing his guqin in about the same rhythm the breeze is playing with the grass blades, melody barely there but enough to bleed out some tension from this body's meridians. 

Wei Wuxian has always preferred the dizi, as the entire cultivation world knew. The mellower, almost mournful tones of the xiao always weirded him out, and he liked a little sharpness to his sound, but Zewu-jun's playing is to another level, and Wei Wuxian, in all his shamelessness, is almost annoyed Lan Xichen is playing the guqin instead. 

Closer to the lake, in only an inner robe and with his head lying in a bunched up cloud-patterned cloth which must be Zewu-jun's, is the bigger stature of Chifeng-zun, and while Wei Wuxian might not be able to see him past his long dark hair over the grass and his crossed legs, one who shares a battlefield with Chifeng-zun can know him by his breath alone. Wei Wuxian has fought for and against Nie Mingjue, and he's pretty sure he can tell the other man by a step. 

"I do not understand why you've decided to play the guqin these last few times," Chifeng-zun's voice is conversational, but Wei Wuxian can see him rip out grass blades by his side. 

Lan Xichen stills with his fingers on the cords, before a pause Wei Wuxian can't decipher.

"Clarity is best played with a guqin, A-jue. It's simply a small change," Wei Wuxian doesn't get the tone of voice Lan Xichen is speaking in, sad and raw in an uncomfortable way. 

"Well I fucking hate the way you play the guqin, Xichen. If I wanted to see a healer, I wouldn't come all the way to Gusu. Do you wish to waste all our time together on pointless music?" Nie Mingjue is getting up now, his shoulders squared as if he's facing a ghost army on his own.

Wei Wuxian gets filled with a sense of re-lived rage, of all the swears and curses he had spewed on Lan Zhan's name back then. Guessing by Lan Xichen's carefully guided expression, he doesn't want to hear him respond.

He jumps up from behind the tree, and screams loud enough for at least three generations of Lan ancestors to shiver in their new lives. 

"Aiya, so scary!" When both of them turn to look at him, there's not even a flicker of surprise on their faces, just anger in one and very-well hidden annoyance in the other. His presence has apparently given Chifeng-zun enough reason to forget his former grievances, and he turns to Zewu-jun with a scowl. 

Zewu-jun smiled at who he thought was Lan Wangji's esteemed guest. Wei Wuxian sat on the grass next to his discarded robe, looking up at Chifeng-zun's face.

"This is a guest of Wangji's," Lan Xichen's words did not do anything to reduce the confused expression on Nie Mingjue's face, who turned to Wei Wuxian with a frown.

"This one is a prisoner, esteemed cultivator! Hanguang-jun keeps me here and feeds me vegetable broth, and while he is my type I can't take this mistreatment! I have standards too," He wailed at Chifeng-zun's feet, his annoyed expression a sign that Wei Wuxian is either about to have a very intimate meeting with Baxia, or that he's going to be kicked down till he rolls back to Lan Zhan's feet.

Lan Xichen's tinkling laugh made the atmosphere lighter, his billowing sleeve placed in front of his mouth like some shy maiden. Wei Wuxian would have scoffed in his head if he didn't know Lan-zongzhu was breaking his own clan rules being this open with them.

"I'll tell Wangji to treat you better, you are a guest of the Lan clan afterall," Wei Wuxian, even if not in his body, was being teased by Zewu-jun. What was happening? He had to go back to Lan Zhan's side and play the obedient dog, he was losing his wits up here.

"Since when does Wangji take in guests?" Chifeng-zun's gruff voice and very suspicious look made Wei Wuxian gulp. After all, other than Jiang Cheng and Lan Zhan, the worst person to find out his real identity is Nie Mingjue.

 Everyone knows how righteous he is, and while himself works with resentful energy, - Wei Wuxian looks at Baxia, who's on the grass next to where Nie Mingjue was,- he's known to be almost as harsh on his punishment of demonic cultivators as Jiang Cheng is.

Laughing nervously and rubbing the back of his head, Wei Wuxian turns around and prepares to book it down the mountain so he doesn't have to answer. Zewu-jun's voice freezes him in place.

"Wei-gongzi," The air around them freezes and Nie Mingjue's loud questioning is silenced by Wei Wuxian feeling his heart frantically beat against his throat.

"Wangji would never pay another person half the attention he paid you, Wei-gonzi," Zewu-jun's voice is like wind, and Wei Wuxian cannot even dare to face him. 

"Won't you join us for some music?" Nie Mingjue's curses on Wei Wuxian's name being silenced by another makes him feel like a child. He was a grown man, and he could definitely face two other very powerful grown men in front of a nice lake before his thick face left him and ran uphill, which is what Wei Wuxian wants to do. So he sighs, and pretends to stroll over the two of them casually. 

When he sits down, marginally closer to Lan Xichen in case Chifeng-zun was feeling particularly stabby, he clears his throat and looks at them. 

"There is no need for an explanation," Zewu-jun's words are quickly answered with very loud protests from one and a relieved sigh from another. 

"I think Wangji is perfectly capable of handling Wei-gongzi, whatever body he's in. I've left him to deal with you," Wei Wuxian bets his soul that Lan Xichen is offending him as poetically as possible. 

"But this one wishes to make this clear, Wangji deserves better than you pretending he is a moron. Tell him, no matter if he knows on his own," Lan Xichen takes a deep breath, and Wei Wuxian feels a bit cheated at the lack of music. 

"My brother has always lost his composure around you, Wei-gonzi. Do not make me regret the decision to let you around him once more," Zewu-jun's smile is still intact, but his words are as clear a warning as if he'd put Shuoyue to Wei Wuxian's throat. He looks at Nie Mingjue in hopes of sympathy, but all he gets is a raised eyebrow as the man sips some of his water. 

Now that the ice has melted a bit, Wei Ying clears his throat and tries to get a few words in to save his trampled-on dignity.

"Well, it was Lan Zhan that chased me around! I wouldn't be able to go one town away before he was in front of me," Now they just sound like lovers quarreling. 

"I'm sure that's the case," Chifeng-zun's dry tone and very important input makes Wei Ying snort unattractively. He always found Nie Mingjue's dry humor magnificent, even if he was the butt of the joke. Heh.

Lan Xichen sighs at them both before dragging the guqin in his lap again, only to be met with twin annoyed groans. Nie Mingjue looks like he's considering dying in his next battle just because he agreed on something with Wei Wuxian, and he loves it.

"Ah, esteemed Lan-zongzhu, Zewu-jun," Nie Mingjue looks at him with eyes that spell 'murder' in one and 'speak very carefully' in the other, Wei Wuxian's long buried self-perservation skills make a rare appearance, and he tactfully closes his mouth. It's not like Lan Xichen is a bad guqin player, the opposite couldn't be more true. But both Wei Wuxian and Nie Mingjue would rather swallow rocks than listen to 'Clarity' once more, and it shocks Wei Ying how he had to hide a body shiver just at the first few notes. 

"Ah, is Zewu-jun playing 'Clarity' for Chifeng-zun?" His untimely interruption of the song shocks Lan Xichen into stillness, but he smiles and nods at Wei Wuxian anyway. That man has a patience monks would throw up blood at, thinks Wei Wuxian, who cannot stand still even with his life on the line.

Wei Wuxian doesn't know how to tell the man in front of him that while 'Clarity' is beloved by the Lan Sect, it's the equivalent of throwing the contents of a waterskin at a forest fire in this case of resentment. And he's the damn Yiling Laozu, how does Nie Mingjue think he hasn't figured out the saber secret?!

Sighing heavily like the world's on his shoulders, he throws his already weak shame to the wind and looks at Nie Mingjue. 

"You know, Chifeng-zun, I'm owed a secret now. You know who I am. Let me ask you this, how long do you think you're going to live with that saber feeding off your rage, while you let Zewu-jun pretend to make a change with a method we both know works for no one?” He sees as both men freeze, tension tying through their bodies until they're both as taut as bowstrings. 

Chifeng-zun looks at him, resentment and anger and burning regret in his eyes while his mouth only scowls. Lan Xichen has closed his eyes, head bowed in a way that vaguely resembles defeat. Wei Wuxian is surprised at how much he hates that look on him. 

“No reply? Well, as you both know and have tried to kill me for in the past, I wrote the book on demonic cultivation. So, with all due respect Chifeng-zun, what are you doing?” Said man was now three seconds away from breaking Wei Wuxian's frail vessel in two, a risk that he easily dodges by moving slightly closer to the First Jade of Lan, who is so choked up in premature grief he doesn't even notice.

Wei Wuxian could have been more careful than this. He could have demanded he speak to Nie Mingjue alone, differences aside for the purpose of keeping said man alive. Something tells him that wouldn't have been enough to keep the skin on his back.

Because Nie Mingjue was strong, because he was stubborn, because he has signed a contract with death and evil as its only benefactors just as Wei Wuxian has, admit it or not. A man of his stature, with his current temper and the odd weeks both he and Wei Wuxian predict he has left, will not swallow his pride and not behead the Yiling Laozu where he stands. 

So someone had to get hurt. It stings that that someone is Zewu-jun, now Sect Leader Lan, before Xichen-gege, when he was teasing Nie Huaisang, Jiang Cheng in toe, in pavilions filled with forbidden laughter and teenage rebellion.

Chifeng-zun, accustomed as he must be by now to his deviation caused wrath, miraculously decides not to kick Wei Wuxian down the hills, who doesn't even doubt for a second it's because of the muted expression in Lan Xichen's face, who is still almost artfully draped in Chifeng-zun's outer robes, his long hair melting into the muted steel.

“What do you want?” Comes a defeated reply, almost a sigh, from the strongest cultivator, strongest man Wei Wuxian knew, who brought shivers to the skin of all, in reverence or in fear. For the Yiling Laozu, it had always been a mix of both.

But he is just a man, Wei Wuxian realizes. A man who has probably spent the last few months of his life, subconsciously or not, equally preparing all the people in his life for his inevitable absence, and having to deal with the terror of having no control, no control over his reactions, his words, his death.

Seeing someone you hold dear change must be heart wrenching, Wei Wuxian thinks, as he closes his eyes for a brief moment and remembers Jiang Cheng's anger and despair, his own regret and need. He can't even begin to think of Lan Zhan, reduced to begging him.

But it hurts much more to change.

Wei Wuxian sighs then,decides he doesn't want to take this particular stroll down memory lane today. Not with its path laid in blood and grief and hurt out of circumstance and necessity alike. 

“I want to help,” curse this fool's body, as Wei Wuxian's real voice would never betray him and weaken like that, nothing but a whisper at the end.

“Chifeng-zun knows I can, you both know I can,” He feels something knotted tight in his throat when it's not only Nie Mingjue staring him down, but a pair of warm brown, amber a few shades darker than his Lan Zhan's looking at him with what can only be barely rekindled hope.

“Let me do something,” Wei Wuxian thinks of blood splattered, he thinks of war, a big hand patting his shoulder after a successful but not-enough campaign. Wei Wuxian thinks of Nie Huaisang. Nie-xiong with his soft sceneries upon fans and his many silks and the weight of him clinging to his arm, giggling behind Lan Qiren’s retreating figure. He cannot let that man lose his brother, not like he did, not like Lan Zhan thought he would.

“Okay,” comes whispered with the wind from Zewu-jun. His eyes are closed again, and he looks weary and Wei Wuxian doesn't need to question why he answers instead. He waits for a reaction from Chifeng-zun too, though he doubts there's a single contradictory bone to him when it comes to Zewu-jun.

Instead of a reply, Nie Mingjue just sighs before sitting heavy next to Lan Xichen, arms crossed and brow in its permanent furrow. Wei Wuxian considers looking away when Zewu-jun's long pale fingers rub between his brows until Chifeng-zun's face is as relaxed as it gets. He doesn't, because he's as shameless as he was when he was a teenager. 

Nie Mingjue opens one eye and lazily glances at Wei Wuxian, more in peace than this entire interaction, maybe the first time Wei Wuxian has seen him like this since before the campaign. 

“What do you have in mind, kid?”