Chapter Text

Ying was born in fire.

It was hot, he knew, and he was molded into shape by a hammer, in an unending beat of metal striking metal. He was brought into this world in that manner, by a forge and flames licking his back.

Past that heat, he did not know much. He was not bothered by this— something inside him felt fine with this curious blankness, and he was comforted by the burning world around him. It was a good heat, he felt, as if he was being cradled in a mother’s embrace.

After a while, he began to know more. Like all swords, he instinctively knew his name. Ying, of the Yiling Forge. That was not the name inscribed into him in the metal. For this one, it was his name to choose. It came almost immediately to him. Ying, he tried, and it felt right.

His other name, the one forged onto his blade, was not of his choosing, but rather, his wielder’s. With the curiosity of a newborn, he took a look at his sword vessel, still burning in fire, and the characters glowing red and inscribed.

Blinking, Ying began to laugh. Suibian, the two characters read, and he laughed and laughed until he was gasping for air and slapping his own thigh.

Suibian! What the hell, what sort of dumbass wielder had he gotten for himself?

His dumbass wielder was a young man by the name of Jiang WanYin. He had a good scowl, Ying thought with amusement, and he accepted the sword, Ying himself, from the blacksmith with reluctance, but politeness. Ying realized that he was probably a mistake. No one in their right mind would name a sword ‘whatever’ unless they were seriously drunk. This Jiang WanYin, he did not look like the type to order the creation of a high quality blade like Ying just to give it such a crappy name.

Strangely enough, Ying found himself unbothered by this. The name was definitely not an elegant one, but really, if it had been, then Ying would probably not be able to live up to it. He had not been born for long, but somehow he felt that he wasn’t going to be the classy, graceful type. Having such an ill-fitting name would probably just make this Jiang WanYin despair more.

Like all sword spirits, Ying could walk around like any normal human, though it took him a few tries to figure it out. Materializing his humanoid form into the physical plane, Ying caught Jiang WanYin by surprise, right as he was about to turn a corner and leave Yiling.

“Where are we going?” He asked with curiosity, ignoring Jiang WanYin’s shout of shock. It did not look like the man had a sword before him, so it was likely he was not used to sword spirits popping in and out of existence.

“Wha—  you—” He stuttered for a bit, and waffled. “You are… Suibian?”

“Yes, I’m very whatever, whatever’s fine,” Ying agreed, watching as Jiang WanYin winced at the joke. “I really am fine with wherever we’re going, I just want to know where exactly.”

Jiang WanYin scowled deeply, finding out that Ying was not what he was expecting at all. “I am Jiang WanYin, or Jiang Cheng,” he introduced himself stiffly. “Suibian, we’re returning to my home, the Lotus Pier.”

“Call me Ying,” Ying corrected. “Jiang Cheng, is it? The Lotus Pier sounds all fine and good. I don’t know what where that is, anyway. Would it be too forward to ask how I was born? And why I’m so ‘whatever?’”

Jiang Cheng told him in reluctant, halting words, that he had been incredibly inebriated the night he had ordered the making of a sword.

Unsurprised, Ying opened his mouth and commented with faux sadness, “Ah, so I was the product of an unfortunate one night stand? Oh daddy, how could you be so irresponsible?”

And that was the exact moment Jiang Cheng realized that he had severely underestimated the severity of his own mistakes.

Sword spirits were relatively common, these days. Before, only the massively wealthy could afford to order the making of a sword. It seemed cost of labor was lowered and sword forging techniques had been refined, so now even families that were barely living above poverty could probably scrape up enough money to forge a bad quality sword after saving up a little.

That was not the case for Jiang Cheng, and Ying was certainly not a bad quality sword. Jiang Cheng was the only son of a relatively affluent clan. He had recently turned twenty years of age, which signified the time one usually went to have a sword forged. Although young masters such as Jiang Cheng studied the blade all their lives, they did not receive their own sword, and by extension, blade partner until they were no longer children.

After all, it wasn’t as if Ying was just a hunk of metal. The process of training and bonding with a sword spirit like him was complicated and, depending on the sword, volatile, tricky process that required maturity and knowledge.

That was usually what became the problem with lower quality swords— their wielders were usually those who did not have access to knowledge on how to bond with the spirits, and the lower the quality of a sword, the spirits tended to be less easy to please.

Jiang Cheng was actually pretty lucky. He had gone to the blacksmith’s in Yiling while drunk, and the only thing he did out of the ordinary was name his sword Suibian. He even managed to get Ying out of it. Some other sword spirit might get mad at such a name, which would hinder the two’s bonding process. But Ying really didn’t mind, so it was fortunate that Jiang Cheng got him.

In general, Ying felt rather pleased. He was only born a little while ago, but he instinctively had some understanding of what was going to become of him. He was made for Jiang Cheng, his wielder. They would bond, and they would become blade partners— partners in battle. If their bond went deep enough, they might even begin to share thoughts with each other, and that would eventually lead to a sync.

“As of right now, there is only one set of blade partners alive that have synced,” Jiang Cheng said when Ying asked. “LianFang-Zun, or Jin GuangYao, the head of the Jin Clan, and his legendary sword Liebing.”

Ying hummed at that, as those names meant nothing to him. Although, Liebing was a rather pretty name. “Jiang Cheng,” he spoke up. “If you weren’t drunk, then what would you have named me?”

The man, and this was beginning to get really hilarious, winced again as Ying brought it up again. “I was thinking… Sandu.” He still spoke with a deep politeness that had probably been ingrained into him since he was young; under no circumstances was he to be rude to his sword.

It was too bad that Ying was not planning to do the same.

“Sandu? Three poisons?” Ying made a face. “Are you serious? That’s terrible, I like Suibian better.”

“It refers to the Buddhist phrase for the three evils in the world,” Jiang Cheng corrected stiffly, and his eyebrow was twitching. Gosh, what a short temper. “I thought it would be… appropriately threatening.”

Ying snickered. Threatening, huh. “And now you have me, Suibian. However are you going to threaten your enemies now, hmm? Shout ‘whatever,’ and then they’ll definitely flee in terror? Haha, I’m looking forward to bonding with you, you’re a fun one.”

“...”

It was not long before after they had reached the Lotus Pier that Jiang Cheng went to the training hall, eager to test his new sword.

He held up Suibian and began to move through some stances. He swung his new blade in a few standard moves, as well as some that were rather unique. Ying felt each movement, felt the wind he cut through with each slice. It was the first time someone had wielded him. In all honesty, he wasn’t sure if he enjoyed that feeling or not.

What he was sure of was that he loved what the feeling came with— fighting.

“Jiang Cheng, I really like it,” Ying quickly said, rematerializing. “Hurry up and use me more! I want to fight real people, not just air. Come on, use me to beat someone up!”

He was thrown an odd glance by his wielder, who could not seem to figure out Ying. He felt a bit of pity for Jiang Cheng— the man was obviously making an effort to be polite and courteous to Ying, while he acted very frivolously in front of him.

Jiang Cheng’s fighting style was pretty easy to comprehend. He liked being on the offense, but he was very strategic and manipulative about it. He did not like to take risks unless he absolutely had to. If Ying had to sum it up into a few words, it would be “a defensive offense.”

When Jiang Cheng finally stopped, he asked a little breathlessly, “Well? How was that?”

Ying thought about it. “Overall, it seems fine,” and then he admitted, “Although, it was sort of boring.”

“What!?”

“Your fighting style,” Ying elaborated. “You could have done a lot more. Like you took a pause right before you turned to attack again, right? Why did you stop?”

“I was trying to read my opponent’s next move.”

“Yes, but that time could have been spent attacking him instead! Maybe you didn’t want to close in immediately, but you could just do something long distance.” Ying mimed kicking sand, and Jiang Cheng flinched as he realized what he wanted him to do.

“You wanted me to blind my opponent? What sort of underhanded tactic is that?” He demanded. “I would never resort to such a thing!”

“Eh? It’s underhanded?” Ying had never thought of it that way, but it wasn’t as if he knew much. “How is it so? It seems pretty fair to me. After all, someone could easily do the same thing to you, right?”

“This is a fight of blades,” Jiang Cheng stressed the last word. “Why would I use anything else?” He seemed rather nervous by this conversation, though. It made sense— if a wielder and sword disagreed on sword technique from the start, it was troubling. It tended to imply that the two would not be compatible, and they would not be able to bond properly.

Then Ying frowned, until an idea came to him. “Then, how about you and I fight each other?” He suggested, and he found himself oddly happy with this suggestion. “It’s obvious that you and I have differing ways of wanting to fight, and the best way to learn about each other through practical experience, right? How about we duel each other to understand the way each of us want to attack. Go use a practice sword or something, I’ll use myself.”

It was definitely very unconventional, what Ying was offering. Sword spirits tended to not enjoy fighting in their humanoid form, although they technically could. It was just a bit odd, but no one could deny that they were infinitely better at wielding themselves than their wielder in the beginning.

Jiang Cheng hesitantly nodded, and quickly went to fetch a spiritless blade. Ying raised Suibian, its weight familiar, and he felt as if he had raised this sword hundreds of times. The two stood facing each other, until Jiang Cheng took the first move and ran forward.

It was a rather strange fight. Ying had just watched Jiang Cheng practice, so he had a vague understanding of how he was going to fight. Jiang Cheng, on the other hand, had no idea what was coming for him.

The first and last ridiculous was thing that happened was when Ying threw Suibian towards Jiang Cheng. He narrowly avoided the projectile, his expression priceless. What sort of swordsman throws their sword? While he was busy being distracted by that, he felt a fist meet his nose.

Jiang Cheng stumbled back, and Ying called Suibian back to himself. His right hand just had the satisfying feeling of punching someone, and he quickly pointed his blade to Jiang Cheng’s neck. “I win,” he said proudly. “That was fun, we should do it again.”

While Ying returned Suibian to Jiang Cheng, said man sputtered incoherently. “Did you just— you just punched me!” Shock had quickly passed, and now he was beginning to finally grow angry with Ying. “What the hell, what part of that was fair? Aren’t you a sword spirit? Why don’t you use your sword, not your fists??”

“But sometimes it’s easier to punch someone,” Ying pointed out. His fist was still tingling, and there was an odd feeling to it. Sword spirits really weren’t supposed to punch people, or really touch anything. He shouldn’t being wielding himself, or fighting his own wielder. But somehow, it felt a lot more fun than just passively allowing Jiang Cheng to use him. “Besides, we got to know each other’s styles better. You really like calculating things and knowing exactly what to do next, Jiang Cheng, but I’m telling you, sometimes it’s easier to just be ‘whatever’ about it.”

Jiang Cheng groaned. “What did I do to deserve an idiot blade like you?” He quickly realized how rude he sounded, and quickly backpedalled. “I mean, Ying, I understand that your style is your own, but I—”

Ying laughed cheerfully. “That sort of annoyed voice sounds a lot better on you,” he commented. “You really need to stop acting so polite around me, I know I’m annoying. Haven’t you realized that I’ve been trying to annoy you this whole time? Go ahead and yell.”

“You have been… trying to annoy me.”

“Yes.”

This time, he really exploded. “Fuck you!” He roared, and he angrily stabbed the ground with Suibian. “I’ve been trying to act all nice to you, you dumbass sword spirit! And you’ve just been making fun of me this whole time, haven’t you? I will destroy you! I will melt you down and reform you as a metal toilet!”

After that, Ying’s relationship with Jiang Cheng improved considerably. There was definitely a great deal of yelling, and oftentimes both of them would end a session sulking, but progress was being made. He felt a lot more comfortable when Jiang Cheng was not trying to purposefully be polite.

In the end, he learned to compromise to Ying’s unconventional style, and Ying learned to allow Jiang Cheng to calculate and predict. It was good to acknowledge and combine different styles of swordplay, and Jiang Cheng ended up becoming a better fighter because of it. He tended to have less openings and became less predictable in his movements.

Ying, however, found himself still preferring it when he got to wield himself. It was just easier, and every time Jiang Cheng indulged in his whims, he would proceed to whoop his ass in a duel. Jiang Cheng really wasn’t bad, but he always went into each fight expecting a clean fight, and always lost as a result of it.

This problem of Ying not liking it when Jiang Cheng wielded him was slowly beginning to solve itself, though. Eleven months in, Jiang Cheng and Ying were fighting a fellow youth, when he stumbled over some uneven ground. He managed to regain his balance, but their opponent took that moment to lunge forward, his blade grazing Jiang Cheng’s side.

Duck! Duck! Ying thought anxiously from within his sword vessel. If Jiang Cheng did not retreat and create some space between them, he was going to lose.

All of a sudden, he heard Jiang Cheng’s voice. “You think I don’t know that, Ying?” He snapped. “Stop distracting me and shut up!”

Except Jiang Cheng had not said that out loud. His mouth had not moved, and Ying realized with a start that Jiang Cheng should not have heard him thinking. You don’t mean…

Wait, Jiang Cheng said. Have we…? His thinking was abruptly cut off as he was disarmed and Suibian went skittering away. As the sword left his hand, Ying felt whatever they had cut off. However, Jiang Cheng quickly called Suibian back, and as the blade flew back into his hand, Ying felt something spark.

Jiang Cheng, he called out. Can you hear me?

I can. I think we just reached the next level of bonding. Although Jiang Cheng sounded awfully nonchalant, Ying saw the gleeful look on his face. This was good news, in less than a year they could already communicate telepathically.

The communication had its limits. They could only do it when Jiang Cheng was holding Suibian or had some sort of physical contact with Ying. When one of them got distracted, the connection was fuzzy.

But Ying was incredibly heartened, because this was one step closer to a sync. In a sync, maybe he could finally enjoy being wielded. After all, it was said that it was like wielder and sword became one, and maybe things like who was what would not matter anymore.

The other odd quirk Ying had materialized itself, quite literally, in his physical manifestation. Jiang Cheng quite often found Ying hanging around Yunmeng by himself, pretending to be a human. He would steal Jiang Cheng’s money to buy wine that he could not even drink, or flirt with girls he couldn’t do anything with. He would pretend to sleep on trees, or play tricks on people, dissipating his form before he was caught.

Ying could probably drink wine, if he tried hard enough. It would take quite a lot of research, though. He had no idea how humans ate in general, and imitating that would be quite a feat. (Nor was he sure how exactly how he would manage to defecate.) With the girls, kissing was a maybe. He did technically have a mouth, but beyond that, it was the same as trying to create a digestive system.

Yet somehow, he felt as if he knew what wine tasted like. It was sweet often, he decided, and when it was strong it burned when going down your throat. Ying wasn’t even sure he had a throat the way a human did, so he was unsure of as to why he thought this, but he did. Kissing was the same— it was probably soft, and maybe it burned in its own way.

Ying could not sleep like a human, eat like a human, or love like a human, yet he pretended to anyway. It was an odd experience, and most of the time he was easily passed off in town a just another man walking through. It was easy to pretend, and he felt strangely comfortable with this farce.

“I’ve never heard of a spirit that likes to wield itself as much as you,” Jiang Cheng complained once, after he caught Ying wandering around town by himself. “Much less one that enjoys walking around like a human all the time. You really are an odd one, Ying.”

He had to agree. Sword spirits were born with the instinctual want to be used, to be wielded. Ying was starting to feel that his blacksmith might have been drunk as well when he was being made— maybe he had forgotten to put something into Suibian, and now he was missing something primal in his mannerisms. It wasn’t that he disliked it when Jiang Cheng used him, it was just that he felt he could fight just as well, if not better. That feeling of carrying a weapon and using it, it was far more fun that just being used to fight.

And most sword spirits probably didn’t particularly enjoy materializing on the physical plane. They did not feel the need to make their mark on the world in any way other than fighting. Ying did not know why he was not fond of staying within the confines of Suibian. He just felt the need to move, to talk to people, to joke around like all the people around him.

“It’s like you used to be a human or something,” Jiang Cheng sighed, and Ying could not help but feel strangely familiar with that comment.

Maybe he used to be a human, in another time. He would like to be a human, Ying thought. It would be nice, to be able to walk where he wished, go wherever he wanted, and wield a sword and not get strange looks. But he wasn’t, and Ying was not the type to worry over what-ifs. Jiang Cheng was a good man, and Ying truly did not mind that this was the one he would be bound to. This situation, he was content.

(… And what of the other, you ask?

The one whose name is written at the top of this page, in the signifying, accusing text— this is the one that Ying will love?

He is already in this story. He has been here the entire time.)

There was the reason beyond sword spirits not enjoying wielding themselves that they did not do it.

Since the tale’s completion, only a few months had passed, but it was already a well known cautionary tale, and the first time Ying heard it he felt nothing but deep sorrow.

Not so long ago, there was a self-wielding sword. Its name was Shanghua, and it was said its spirit, XingChen, was incredibly adept. He roamed the countryside by himself, ridding the world of evil in his own calm pace.

He once had a wielder— Song ZiChen, or Song Lan, a moral and upstanding swordsman. Yet, once he died, Shanghua chose to continue his wielder’s goal in helping the common people by himself. Many swordsmen came to him, requesting a chance to wield him, but XingChen rejected them all with the words, “I will fulfill Song Lan’s wishes before I can accept anyone else.” And Song Lan’s wish was unreachable, unfulfillable, so Shanghua’s true meaning was: I will never take another wielder.

There were some that did not respect his wishes, and tried to force a bond. XingChen was no defenseless thing; there were ways to cut off a bonding. For a sword spirit, it was easy as cutting a mental link— snipping an unwanted string.

And that was how he went, roaming the world and ridding it of evil. He went on like this for years, and finally, he met a youth by the name of Xue Yang, who he saved from bandits.

“I have no intention of disrespecting your wish,” Xue Yang said with deep gratitude. “I will not ask to wield you, although you are a beautiful sword. I only ask to stay by your side, so I can repay this debt.”

XingChen agreed, because although he did not want another wielder, it was lonely to travel by himself. So, Xue Yang joined him in his travels, and everything continued as it had before.

No one had suspected it, not even XingChen himself, that Xue Yang had been the one that had killed Song Lan to begin with. After all, Song Lan was murdered when his sword was not with him. Xue Yang was only here to bring misery to Song Lan’s sword, XingChen.

And misery he brought. He brought Shanghua to places where corruption ran rampant, where one sword spirit could not possibly attempt to fix everything. Yet, XingChen tried, with a calm and faithful heart. Even as they shattered him into a million pieces of bent metal and burned him in the flame he had been born from, Shanghua was a legendary, magnificent sword.

Xue Yang watched this all occur, never lifting a hand. At the very end, they say he laughed, picked up a broken, jagged piece of metal that was once a sword, and then he stabbed his own heart with it.

It became a tale everyone knew within weeks, and then it became a cautionary tale for blade partners— never let sword spirits wield themselves. They were too easily manipulated, and too easily destroyed. They were not human, so they should not be allowed to wander on their own, lest they end up with a tragic fate like Shanghua.

Things began to change a few months after, when the annual Discussion Conference was about to be held in Lanling. Ying heard about it from the townspeople, and it seemed to be a very big deal. It did not hold much significance to him, however, until Jiang Cheng came running in one day.

“Ying! We’re going to Carp Tower!” He announced with no small amount of childish excitement. “They’re holding a tournament for swordsmen my age, and the prize is amazing! We definitely have to win!”

Ying materialized in a flash. Although they could communicate mentally, he still liked talking to Jiang Cheng out loud sometimes. “Are you serious? A real fight? That’s great! What’s the reward?”

“The Jin Clan is hosting this, and they’re offering so many things to the one who wins. Money, prestige, a whole lot of precious metals. If we want, apparently we even get a chance to fight LianFang-Zun himself. What’s more,” Jiang Cheng lowered his voice. “There are rumors that they’re giving away a legendary sword.” He quickly added, “Not that I’m looking to replace you, Ying— although, sometimes I’m sorely tempted— but it would be an amazing to return home with such a sword. The Jiang Clan could greatly benefit from this.”

“Sounds like a fantastic deal,” Ying commented. “Although, why would the Jin Clan want to give away a legendary sword? It seems too much of a valuable thing to just give it away at a tournament, doesn’t it?”

“Normally, you would be correct,” Jiang Cheng agreed. “However, this isn’t a normal case. It isn’t just any legendary sword they’re giving away.

“They’re giving away the legendary Bichen.”

They arrived at Carp Tower a week later, and the first thing Ying noticed was the dozens upon dozens of swordsmen milling about. A lot of them were around Jiang Cheng’s age, and it was easily assumed that they would be participating in this tournament as well.

Do you know them, Jiang Cheng? Ying asked. Are any of them particularly strong?

Jiang Cheng scanned the various faces walking around, and replied, There’s definitely some strong people here. Look, that’s Jin ZiXuan— he’s probably the strongest contender for the win. I think I saw Wen Ning as well. Oh, and Nie HuaiSang, you don’t need to worry about him. I don’t recognize most of them, though. That means a lot of these swordsmen are from smaller clans.

His attention was quickly diverted by the large crowd gathered around some sort of display. Ying materialized in curiosity, and tugged at Jiang Cheng. “Let’s go take a look at whatever is over there; I think it might be interesting.”

When they got closer, it became clear what everyone was looking at. At the center of the crowd was a sword, and if there were so many people who were interested by it, then it could only be one thing.

“That’s Bichen,” Jiang Cheng hissed to Ying, confirming his suspicions. “Isn’t it gorgeous? Don’t be fooled, though, I heard that LianFang-Zun has been trying pretty hard to find a compatible wielder for its spirit. The original wielder of Bichen, a famous swordsman, was killed a while ago. But a good amount of time has passed, and Bichen’s spirit still won’t let anyone near him, much less wield him. He’s very temperamental, and won’t even tell anyone his name. That’s why this tournament is being held, to see if Bichen finds someone he wants to partner with.”

Ying whistled in appreciation. Bichen was indeed very fine— blue to the point where it glowed, elegantly made and just a sight to look at. It was sure to be quite formidable in battle. “Wow, I bet you wished I looked half as good. His wielder must have been one heck of a person if Bichen is still refusing anyone else. Then what was his name?”

“That’s the weird part, though,” Jiang Cheng answered. “No one knows why Bichen’s spirit is being so picky. His wielder was good, but back when he was alive, no one thought he and his sword were well matched. Their styles and characteristics were completely different. There’s no way the two were that far in their bonding.

“And his name? His name was Wei WuXian.”

At that, Ying frowned.

The name Bichen had sounded vaguely familiar when Jiang Cheng first mentioned it. This name, Wei WuXian, sounded even more so. It was like Ying should know it very well, yet he was sure he had never met anyone by that name his entire life.

How odd.

Even more odd was a strange buzzing that Ying was beginning to hear in his ear. He looked around, trying to look for the source, yet no one seemed to be noticing it. Was something wrong with his hearing?

He was quickly snapped out of his own musings when Jiang Cheng stated, “I think the tournament is going to start soon. Ying, let’s go!”

The tournament was the main attraction of the first day of the conference. As a result, it took place in a large stadium, and Jiang Cheng stood among the many contestants participating. Standing in front of them was a gentle looking soul with a familiar white and blue sword at his side.

Ying surmised, from within his sword vessel again, that judging by the yellow clothing, this must be the head of the Jin Clan, Jin GuangYao. His sword must be Liebing then. Shocked, he wondered, Why does Liebing look exactly like Bichen?

They’re part of a pair, Jiang Cheng explained quickly, and then Jin GuangYao began to speak.

None of the words he said were especially interesting, but Ying listened to enough to understand the rules of this tournament. This would not be a one on one fight— it would take too long. Instead, everyone would be fighting each other at the same time in a battle royale. It was up to the swordsman and his sword to choose when to surrender, but anyone who fatally wounded or killed another competitor would be punished.

“There is one last thing,” and Jin GuangYao smiled with elegance. “All of you must know that this tournament has many connections to the sword Bichen. It is true that Bichen is here today, and it is true that if he decides he likes anyone he may choose to do what he wishes. He is not the reward for winning, though, and what you may not know is that Bichen will be participating in this battle royale, as a self-wielding sword.”

Whispers immediately spread across the contestants and the crowd beyond. A self-wielding sword? That was dangerous, whatever could LianFang-Zun be thinking?

Jin GuangYao continued, “I know the dangers of a sword wielding itself. That is why I must urge you: under no circumstances are you to attempt to break Bichen. If the sword is damaged in any manner, there will be consequences.”

On that note, he wished them luck and the tournament quickly began.

Most of the competitors spread themselves out along the edge of the arena. Ying could see that some of them were already forming alliances and groups. It was a smart idea; in a battle royale, one could be easily defeated if they were ganged up on, so if one joined a large group it was safer, at least in the beginning.

There was a hush as everyone noted the one thing at the center of the stadium— the sword Bichen, stabbed into the ground. Its spirit had not yet materialized, and for now the sword was deceptively inconspicuous and motionless.

LianFang-Zun said to not harm Bichen, but that’s so misleading, Jiang Cheng complained. He probably did it on purpose; some people might forget that Bichen is a legendary and formidable blade. Even if he is self-wielding, wouldn’t that just make him stronger? Ying, you still beat me every time we duel, and I’m sure this spirit is better than you.

Most definitely, Ying agreed. I’m sure some people will definitely forget that, too. I think the best thing to do once this royale starts is to stay clear of the fighting, especially Bichen. Everyone is probably going to charge inwards, so stay in the outer rim. Start attacking people when it becomes less chaotic and a lot more people have surrendered.

By doing so, Jiang Cheng reduced his chances of just getting hit in the commotion. Once the number of people in the arena dropped, then he could fully concentrate and isolate one opponent to take on as opposed to ten people at once.

And then, before Jiang Cheng could respond to Ying’s suggestion, a shrill screech resounded through the stadium.

The tournament had begun.

It was intense and fierce, the fight. Jiang Cheng steered clear of the center of the chaos, the way Ying had suggested. Still, there were quite of few others that were following this tactic as well, and they collided and exchanged blows.

The center of the stadium was still by far the most dangerous area. Ying could not see from his position what exactly was going on, but he heard yelling and dust kicked up from all the swordsmen running around. The crowd was restless, and there were shouts whenever someone was downed or surrendered.

It went on like this for just a few moment, until both Jiang Cheng and Ying realized with a start that the dust was beginning to clear.

It’s only been five minutes at most, Jiang Cheng thought with great despair. Everything was already beginning to settle, and that meant— that meant…

There was only one figure standing where the dust cleared. It seemed that there were still a few swordsmen lying on the ground. Ying noted the heavy gashes on their legs. None of the injuries were fatal, but it did prevent them from walking and continuing to fight. Most of them that had not already done so reluctantly took out their surrendering slips and activated them, disappearing from the stadium in a flash.

At the edge of the arena, there were a few competitors like Jiang Cheng that had kept away from the center. They began to edge towards it now, and but Ying knew that there was no way they would be able to defeat—

Even before he managed to finish the thought, the figure standing in the dust struck. The sword in his hands was blue and it glowed brightly in the hazy air. Ying could clearly see it parry the strikes from all directions in a demonstration of immense skill, and it was hopeless.

Jiang Cheng, stay back. You’re just going to get slaughtered.

Fuck, Jiang Cheng cursed. You’re right, but at this rate, it’s going to be a one on one though, and there’s no way I could win like that.

No one would be able to win against him, Ying agreed. This was just a one-sided slaughter. What had Jin GuangYao been thinking? Surely he knew that the difference in power would be eminent?

The one that Jiang Cheng had identified as Jin ZiXuan before stumbled out of the dust, his legs suffering similar wounds to the downed competitors from before. He vanished in as he pulled out his surrendering slip.

And then it was just Jiang Cheng and Ying in an empty arena, the crowd listless and muttering. Out of the dust, the lone figure stepped out.

The spirit of Bichen was gorgeous, Ying realized. His skin was pale, his hair was smooth and flowing. Pale, bleached irises and a flawless jawline. His presence was stiff and imposing, and he did not hide his strength and coldness. Everything about him was white and elegant. There was not a speck of dirt on his form, which made sense since he was a spirit. No one had managed to get a single hit on him, and Bichen quickly located his one remaining opponent. He lifted the glowing sword towards Jiang Cheng, a clear challenge.

Ying was not going to hold back. Jiang Cheng gripped Suibian tightly in his hand, and he thought clearly, Let’s do this.

I won’t let you down. Ying buzzed with excitement. Finally, a challenge! No more practice, no more stances and exercises. A real opponent, this legendary sword that had probably defeated thousands upon thousands of other blades and wielders on the battlefield. He did not know if they could win, but they would definitely try until they had given all they could.

(Although, he could not help but think to himself, This Bichen, he really is handsome. I would know if I saw such a face before, and I know I have not, yet why do I get the feeling I know him? )

Bichen swung in a wide arc, and Jiang Cheng easily avoided it. In the process of doing so, however, the sword spirit closed the gap between them and all of a sudden, his sword had pierced through Jiang Cheng’s guard.

To your right, Ying called out before he realized what had happened. Jiang Cheng quickly veered to left, trusting his partner, and Bichen just barely grazed his hair.

Thanks, Jiang Cheng said quickly, and Bichen’s eyes narrowed. It was obvious he had not expected him to dodge his attack. The crowd had noticed this, too— before, every opponent Bichen had faced fell in a single blow. Seeing this youth that was lasting longer, everyone’s interest went up a few notches.

He’s going to try a low sweeping swing next, Ying spoke up suddenly. Jump. Try to figure out a way to attack while still in the air.

Ying honestly had no idea what he was saying, and the buzzing sound was back again. It was covering most of his own thinking, yet somehow, he felt that he knew what Bichen was going to do. There was no basis to this feeling, just that insistent buzz.

Seeing as he had nothing to lose, Jiang Cheng followed his directions. Sure enough, Bichen did what Ying guessed he would.

Got any more tips? Jiang Cheng asked breathlessly. His mid air strike had been avoided, and he was still barely hanging on as it was. Bichen really was ruthless— each move from him was almost unavoidable.

Right, then left. He may or may not— Ying broke off as Jiang Cheng was hit. It was just a flesh wound on his left shoulder, so nothing serious, but it was still a hit. Even with Ying’s strange foresight, Jiang Cheng had not managed to hurt Bichen at all.

He’s not going after your legs, Ying said quickly, remembering all of the other competitors that had been unable to walk. Protect your upper body, he wants to disarm you. I think he knows you’re getting help from me.

Easier— said— than— done! You try doing this, why don’t you! Jiang Cheng wheezed as he parried another blow. Ying could feel his hands trembling from strain, and his grip on Suibian was weak.

Jiang Cheng was not going to last much longer.

Switch out with me, Ying directed with desperation. That feeling of buzzing in his head grew stronger, like something he ought to be hearing but he couldn’t. He almost felt as if he was losing his connection with Jiang Cheng in favor of this buzz, and that was worrying.

What? Ying, what are you planning— Jiang Cheng narrowly managed to avoid a hit as Bichen advanced quickly, rolling backwards. Argh, nevermind, I’ll just trust you. You seem to have a better understanding of what’s going on than me. Just try not to break yourself, or let me die, you hear me?

Jiang Cheng leaped back suddenly, causing everyone watching to wonder what he could be planning. Bichen raised his sword again, preparing for another strike, when Suibian suddenly flew forward, zipping out of its wielder’s hand. It met Bichen with a clash of metal, blue and white on black and red tassel.

A figure quickly took a hold of the black sword. His expression was playful, and his swordplay dynamic. He was in all black, and Suibian flashed in his right hand.

It was clear that this was the sword spirit of Suibian. Suddenly, this fight had turned into a battle between spirits!

While the other sword spirit quickly retreated, Ying breathed out quickly, taking a moment to orient himself while Bichen considered his new opponent. He had just exchanged a few blows, yet the force behind each strike and parry was ridiculous. No wonder Jiang Cheng had been overwhelmed so quickly; Bichen was just way too strong!

The spirit of Bichen had been frowning this entire time, and seeing Ying, his expression only grew more unhappy. Maybe it was his imagination, but Ying could swear that something beyond the general situation of swordsmen trying to defeat him was bothering the spirit.

The buzzing in his ear had not disappeared either; as a matter a fact, it had only become stronger. All of that was irrelevant for now, though. He should focus on defeating Bichen. Even thinking about it made Ying think it was impossible task.

But, what was it? The secret to every victory?

Ah yes, play dirty.

“Hey, Bichen,” Ying called, enjoying the way everyone’s eyes were on him, and the way Bichen’s piercing stare only saw him. Being the center of attention was surprisingly fun. “You’re really strong! The name’s Suibian. Pleased to meet you.”

Everyone felt a ripple of surprise as Suibian spoke. Sword spirits tended to dislike anything speaking, and if they did, it was almost always to their wielder. For a sword to call to another so everyone could hear him was practically unheard of.

Bichen did not respond. Ying did not expect him to, and he continued, “You really gave my wielder and I a fright.” While he was talking, he walked forwards, making sure Suibian was nonthreatening in his right hand. “Who knew the legendary sword was so vicious? You really didn’t hold back at all. It’s only been 10 minutes or so since this tournament has started, and already, you and I are the only ones left.”

What a chatty spirit! How strange, everyone thought as the spirit in black approached Bichen. “That’s all beside the point though. I just figured, as fellow sword spirits,” Ying finished brightly, “I should give you a decent warning beforehand.”

With that, he vanished. Suibian clattered to the ground, and Ying felt a great deal of satisfaction as just the barest flicker of confusion appeared on Bichen’s face.

When sword spirits materialized their humanoid forms, they could do so within a certain radius of their sword form. Suibian was currently lying in front of Bichen, and it was incredibly easy for Ying to soundlessly and quietly, while Bichen was still looking at the fallen Suibian, reappear behind the figure.

Bichen felt someone grab the back of his head, and all of a sudden, he was toppling forward from a push. He tried to regain his balance, only Ying quickly placed his foot in front of Bichen’s, causing him to stumble from both the top and bottom.

It was quite a strange, almost hilarious sight to see such an elegant and dangerous sword be tripped, and Ying resisted the urge to laugh. Bichen’s back was full of openings right now, and Ying quickly called Suibian back to him and began to point his blade to the smooth expanse of the sword spirit’s posterior—

(Wait, what?)

He managed to twist in time, and Suibian was blocked by Bichen. The clang of metal was loud, and the buzzing only became sharper and more distinct. With a calm and unbothered face, as if he was not currently fending off Ying’s attack with a single arm.

Bichen stood back up. Back to square one. This time, Ying had no words to say, just a wicked smile and a buzzing that was oppressively loud.

Not wanting to be taken off guard again, Bichen attacked first, and it became a close-distance battle of blocks and parries. At first, Ying was worried that Bichen would take the chance to attack the unarmed Jiang Cheng, but it seemed he was focusing on Ying.

An forceful swing towards Ying’s face. A smooth strike to his dominant arm, then left leg. He knew all of these things before they happened, just like when he was directing Jiang Cheng. Yet, something strange was happening. Bichen somehow seemed to be having an easier time fighting him than his wielder.

When Ying wanted to distract Bichen by pulling on his hair, Bichen suddenly leaned his head back, away from his reach. When he wanted to try anything at all, Bichen somehow managed to prevent him from doing it.

He did not know what any of this meant, nor was it the time to figure out. All Ying had to focus on was that at this rate, he was going to lose, because both of them knew the other’s style, and after that it simply came down to who had better technique, and who—

And then Ying stumbled. Bichen took quick advantage of this, and although he recovered fast enough to block the blow, he was now being pressed down on by the glowing sword, Suibian holding fast.

However, in a contest of pure physical strength, Ying was not going to win. His shoulders were already trembling from the strain. Strength between sword spirits was determined by the quality of the blade, and even a good sword like Suibian could not compare to the likes of a legendary sword like Bichen.

As he gave up another inch, Ying grit his teeth. How could he get out of this? No matter how he thought, he could not figure it out.

And then it came to him. It was a slow feeling that said, kiss him.

Ying had no idea what he was thinking, just that this was the right thing to do. Somehow, he knew every one of Bichen’s moves, and yet knew that even with this foresight, he would not be able to beat him. Bichen was reading him incredibly easily as well. It did not make sense; Ying’s style was unpredictability in of itself, how could he be know what he was going to do next?

So, he followed that gut instinct that told him to do it right.

They were in close proximity. Ying was being slowly overpowered, and Bichen’s unyielding force and uncompromising glare was just as overwhelming up close as it was from .

Ying leaned in, towards that frigid face that was icy with anger. Bichen was forcing his sword down onto him, and he was slowly bending over from the force. Time seemed to slow down, and he could hear his own heartbeat pounding in his chest (Since when did he have a heartbeat?). The adrenaline pulsing in him felt muted, and he was oddly calm. How long had Bichen been like this, he wondered, stuck in this permanent scowl? When his wielder died, had he just been mourning like this?

Ying thought, I should probably fix that.

With a calmness and something in him that felt that this was right, along with the incessant buzzing in his ear, Ying felt his lips meet Bichen’s.

They were cool, and tasted of something familiar and sad. He thought, I’ve done this before, haven’t I?

The buzzing became overpowering, and then, all of a sudden, it was not a unintelligible static anymore. He was— he was—

He is tired, but he cannot stop. They will not take him, not now. He knows this feeling, this buzzing sensation— where is he, where is he— and he knows he is near. He cannot leave, he cannot go yet. They have told him, all this time, that he is wrong but he has never lost faith. He hears the flutter of a bird, and sound of something he knows from a starstruck dream.

You are not dead. I would know it, and this bond would be gone. Are you here? Are you near? I’ve waited for you, and I will find you again. He is Bichen, and he will not yield to anyone, not unless it is him, the one who made him like this, hopeful and bound to a fate he does not want to deny. He is a living blade, he is—

And then Bichen pushed them apart.

It was undeniably, impossibly, a sync. A sync between two swords who had never met each other, and who could not wield one another. Ying’s lips burned as time went back to its normal pandering pace. Adrenaline returned with a vengeance.

Bichen had pushed him away, but only by inches, so that their mouths were no longer intersecting. The moment of gut instinct was gone, and Ying pushed everything out of his mind, all of his conflicting emotions and confusion and a nostalgic and fond feeling he could not deny. All that was important right now was Jiang Cheng and defeating this spirit, this handsome, arresting one he had somehow met before.

Said sword was still in surprise, tense and numb. His light eyes were shocked, as if a tidal wave were about to come crashing down on him and he was simply stuck still. Ying reacted first.

He kneed Bichen in the crotch.

It probably did not hurt. They were spirits, there was nothing down there unless one had willed it into existence, which was, much like Ying’s previous musings on a digestive system, easier said than done. Rather, it was just the shock value that had him blinking in surprise. Ying took the momentary distraction to raise Suibian in a wide arc, and in a simple motion forwards, he stabbed Bichen in the chest, where his heart would be if he were human.

It went through easily, as if there was no resistance. A spirit’s body was solid, but not truly existent on the physical plane the way a human body was. A sword was still a sword; the humanoid form was just an illusion, a gift that one could take. In the end, they were all beings of steel and metal.

If a spirit’s form was damaged, they did not bleed. They were not even hurt, not in the way a human would be. Rather, their form was forced to dissipate, and they returned to their sword vessels until they garnered enough energy to reform their human bodies again. Only if someone broke the blade itself would they be harmed.

Ying pulled Suibian out, which caused Bichen to stumble back. The sword spirit choked, his gaze returning to the one in front of him. His form was already flickering, and it seemed he did not have enough energy to repair it immediately. As soon as he disappeared, Ying and Jiang Cheng would have won.

He was dizzy with anticipation and disorientation, and Ying watched with bated breath as Bichen let out a small gasp. It was pained, and he felt as if that sound hurt him as much as it hurt the spirit in front of him.

There were two soft words the one in front of him uttered before he dissipated. They were questioning, with an almost hesitant tone, and he froze at the sound of Bichen’s low and deep voice.

“Wei Ying?” He asked, and his eyes were no longer cold, just gentle and confused.

And then Bichen was gone, his energy finally spent. The blue sword clattered to the ground in an ugly sound, and Ying was left standing at the center of the stadium in stunned silence while the people around him exploded into shouts.

“I hate you.”

Ying managed a distracted smile, fiddling with his hilt and scabbard. Jiang Cheng stood above him with an expression of pure fury. “Are you serious?” He exploded, “What did you think you were doing? Making a fool of yourself like that— you do realize that you’re my blade partner, right? You were just— j-just messing around with Bichen like that, don’t you know that’s going to reflect badly on me?”

“Jiang Cheng,” Ying began distantly, but the agitated man could not be deterred.

“Sure, you won. But did you really have to do it like that? It was a cheap shot to begin with. There are plenty of people who are going to question this win. Bad enough that I wasn’t even the one who was fighting; Suibian did it in such a underhanded way that it can barely be counted as a win! I know I said I wanted to win this tournament, but not like this! Y-Y-You k-k-kissed him! And kicked him! I-i-in the…”

He trailed off, and In a lower voice added, “What happened out there, Ying? For a few seconds, it felt like I lost connection with you completely.”

“When I was distracting Bichen?”

Remembering the kiss in excruciating detail, Jiang Cheng shivered in horror. “Yes, during that. Our bond isn’t especially strong, so we can’t communicate unless there’s physical contact, but I can usually feel you, especially since I wasn’t too far away. I thought your blade had cracked or something.”

Ying found the tassel attached to his pommel. Looking at it, he did not falter in his casual tone. “Jiang Cheng. There is something I need you to tell me.”

“What is it?” Jiang Cheng walked forward, annoyed. “Have you not done enough, what do you want now?”

“... How did Wei WuXian and Bichen become blade partners?”

The spirit of Bichen was born in ice.

The iciest of rivers, the freezing bite of frost and blizzard that tore the land asunder. The sword was made at the Gusu Forge from the purest of silver and clearest of steel, from freezing fire that burned to the touch. It was two of an identical pair, and unlike most swords, they had not been commissioned. Rather, they were works of art, and intended to be given to the strongest, and whoever the spirit themselves chose.

There was a tournament, much like the one today, at the Discussion Conference held by the Wen Clan years ago. Any young master nearing or just past the age of twenty was invited to participate, and the two prizes were the legendary swords of the Gusu Forge.

It was said that the two sword spirits themselves were there, with their glossy and clear blades lying, gleaming. Two figures of white and blue stood beside them, identical and glowing with the beauty of something newly created, and the one with a cold expression, a freezing breeze of an aura, was Bichen.

It was their choice, the two, to choose who they wished their wielders to be. They were treated with a respect beyond most sword spirits, and all the young men participating fought each other with vigor, eager to show their talents and impress.

In the end, everyone had been eliminated, except for two— the Young Master Wen and Young Master Jin. It was a difficult battle, but eventually, it was Jin GuangYao that eventually came out on top.

The two were brought to the head of the Wen Clan. To Jin GuangYao and to his own son, the swords were brought forth. The first, Liebing. The second, Bichen. In the order that they had been made, they stood with perfect jade posture.

The spirit of Liebing bowed in respect and smiled at Young Master Jin. He held up his own blade with both hands, and handed it to the youth with grace. As soon as Jin GuangYao clasped its scabbard, his human form vanished in a breath.

Yet, when the Young Master Wen approached Bichen, the remaining figure considered him coldly, and although he dipped his head towards the youth, finally, he slowly shook his head. The spirit turned away from him, not satisfied. It was said that his gaze was dispassionate, and he picked up Bichen and strode past the stunned people around him.

Past where the head of the Wen Clan and his son were standing, almost a hundred people were watching this occur. Many were competitors from the tournament, curious to see the two swords choose. Never had any of them thought Bichen would reject the Young Master Wen, but he had, and now he was walking towards this crowd with a set in his brow.

Everyone saw as the spirit wandered through the dozens of people with purpose, those near him holding their breath, wondering if they were the one he had chosen. Bichen sifted through the cluster of people, his figure tall and easily looking over the mass.

When he finally stopped in front of a person, it was the young master of the prominent Wei Clan, Wei WuXian. They say he was a handsome lad, and at that moment his usually relaxed face was drawn into an expression of pure astonishment. He was one of the defeated competitors in the tournament, and he was only here to watch and observe.

The same way Liebing had done it, Bichen bowed deeply in respect. Unlike the first spirit though, his mouth was still set in a grim line as he gravely offered himself to the youth.

Wei WuXian took the proffered blade, and the spirit of the legendary sword Bichen closed his eyes, let out an exhale, and vanished from sight.

Jiang Cheng recounted all of this with a matter-a-factness of one who had not seen it in person, but knew the story well. “After that, Wei WuXian only became more and more famous. Although he did not, he had been considered one of the top contenders to win that tournament, and with Bichen, he only became better. Still, I know people commented often that his style, both in and out of battle, and Bichen’s really did not match at all. They say Wei WuXian had a very suave, laidback way of doing things. Bichen, as his name suggests, is quite the opposite. That was what I was saying before. As a result, no one knows how deep their bond was, although most people think not far at all.

“It didn’t really matter, though, because Wei WuXian was apparently godly in his technique anyway. He went undefeated for years, until finally, he was killed at the Burial Mounds in Yiling. It wasn’t too long ago either, maybe a year, give or take a few months.”

“How did he die?”

“Again, no one’s sure. They just found his body there, along with Bichen. There were lacerations in his torso, but no one knew who, or what he had been fighting. Bichen has been uncooperative too, refusing to speak to anyone about it and refusing to find a new wielder. As the wielder of Bichen’s matching pair, Liebing, LianFang-Zun has been temporarily housing him since then.”

Ying took all of this information calmly, hiding his inner turmoil. A few things stood out to him, and he asked, “Bichen has never spoken since Wei WuXian died?”

“No,” Jiang Cheng shook his head. “Not a word. I told you, he won’t even tell anyone his name. It wasn’t common knowledge before, so there’s only one being in the world still alive that knows it right now, and that’s the spirit of Liebing, Huan.”

It was no longer true, that statement. Ying recalled the two words Bichen had said, and his head was in conflict again. “A few more questions. I forgot, how long ago was it that I was forged?”

Jiang Cheng thought for a moment. “Maybe… fifteen months, I think. Ying, what’s with all this? What are you thinking? Stop blocking me out, I can hear you thinking, but I can’t tell what you’re trying to figure out.”

Ying looked up at Jiang Cheng and stated, “Jiang Cheng. You and I are blade partners, so out of respect for that, I will say this: I really can’t say right now. The things I’m thinking are too crazy to voice at the moment. Just trust me, I’ll tell you once you answer this last question: Wei WuXian’s birth name, what is it?”

Jiang Cheng did not notice Ying’s use of present tense when referring to Wei WuXian, and he replied, “I think it was Wei Ying.” When he said the words aloud, he blinked, and looked at the spirit of Suibian with suspicion.

Ying, of course, already knew this before Jiang Cheng said it.

Wei Ying. That name was his own, the one he had chose for himself when he had been born, just fifteen months ago. Silently, he mouthed the unfamiliar family name attached to it. Wei. It sounded just as correct as Ying did, and now Ying was as unsure as Bichen’s voice had been, deep and mesmerizing, a confusion in the two words he uttered.

Jiang Cheng, he called out.

“What is it? Ying, what exactly is going on? You’ve been acting strangely since the fight. Did exchanging blows with Bichen fry your brains or something?”

If only that were the case. Ying could no longer hear the strange static. He could not call it that anymore, either. He knew now, it was the sound of a disconnect, of a blade partner trying to call the other.

Jiang Cheng, Ying repeated. I think… I’m sorry.

What? Seeing as Ying was insisting on communicating telepathically, Jiang Cheng followed his lead. Have you gone mad? I’ve never heard you apologize before. Look, I know I’m angry about the whole tournament, but I’m not that upset. You managed to defeat a legendary blade, Ying. I’m really impressed, and I… I really am glad you’re my blade partner.

That’s why I’m sorry, Ying said. He cracked a rueful grin. He hadn’t done anything yet to Jiang Cheng. But this discussion conference… he should have never gone to it. He should have just stayed at the Lotus Pier, continuing on his laidback, human-imitating life. I might have to do something that I’ll be sorry of soon. So, I’m apologizing now.

He changed the subject, Say, do we get that fight with LianFang-Zun and Liebing now? You said that whoever won would get the chance, right?

Yeah, that’s tomorrow. LianFang-Zun still wants to congratulate us, though. We should be meeting him soon. Come on, let’s get going.

“So, you would like a duel?” Jin GuangYao smiled kindly, and it was quite humbling the way he treated Jiang Cheng as if he was an equal. “I would be honored, Young Master Jiang. Your fight with Bichen was quite engaging. You have a lot potential.”

Jiang Cheng turned red, muttering his thanks with respect. “I only lasted a few moments. My sword was far more impressive than me.”

“Ah, yes. Suibian, was it?” As Jiang Cheng turned an even darker shade of embarrassment, Jin GuangYao continued. “Actually, I was wondering if I could meet the spirit of Suibian? I have some things to discuss with him.”

At that, Ying materialized. “LianFang-Zun,” he greeted with respect, then added somewhat cheekily, “What could I possibly do for you?”

“Suibian,” he greeted as well, and Ying was greatly amused, yet again, by the double meaning. “Congratulations on your win against Bichen. It was quite the feat, and the crowd was definitely quite entertained.” Whether he genuinely meant that or was quietly calling Ying out, he had no idea. LianFang-Zun had a perfect, smiling face.

With that, Jin GuangYao turned slightly to look behind him, Liebing at his side swinging slightly. Bichen was there, the blade silent and spirit nowhere in sight. “I’m afraid that the spirit of Bichen is still reforming. If he was here, I think he would like to speak with you. As it is, Young Master Jiang, would you mind if I spoke privately with your sword?”

Jiang Cheng quickly agreed, and Ying took Suibian as he took his leave. Once the door slid shut, Jin GuangYao began to speak again. “If you do not mind, what is your name?”

“Ying.”

“Ying, what do you know of Bichen?”

Ying spoke of everything Jiang Cheng had just told him, and when he finished, Jin GuangYao had a rueful look on his face. “That is most of it, yes. Although, some of that information is wrong.”

“I know.” Ying knew that the supposed lack of bond between Bichen and Wei WuXian was false. He knew the story of Bichen picking Wei WuXian over the son of the Wen Clan was missing many facts.

Jin GuangYao moved to a drawer, and from it, he pulled out a rolled up paper, and handed it to Ying. “Take a look at this, will you?”

How odd, that the head of the Jin Clan was treating a mere sword spirit like any other human. Ying had never been handed anything his entire life.

When he unfurled it, it turned out to be a picture of a man. He was fairly handsome, and whoever had drawn it had made him smirk in a very infuriating manner. At his waist was an elegant white sword, and it juxtaposed the entire image of the man.

“This is a portrait of Wei WuXian,” Jin GuangYao said, which confirmed Ying’s suspicions. Wei WuXian did not look like him at all, beyond some basic facial structures and body shape. “As you know, he and Bichen were blade partners for six years. Apart from Huan and I, he and Bichen were the only blade partners of their time to achieve a sync. This is not common knowledge, and Wei WuXian wanted it that way.”

A sync. Ying took a long look at the drawing that had been given to him, then to the Bichen that was lying in the room. His look was unreadable, and he finally said after a long moment, “LianFang-Zun. What exactly are you trying to imply?”

Jin GuangYao sighed. “I have housed Bichen at the Carp Tower for over a year. In that time, he is as all sword spirits are when their wielders die— disconsolate. Yet, he was the only one that became incredibly insistent in his will.” With this, he unconsciously felt for the sword at his side.

Seeing this, Ying remembered that Liebing and Bichen were two of a kind. It was likely Jin GuangYao felt a responsibility towards Bichen simply due to the almost brotherlike status of the swords.

“I know a sword sync when I see one,” Jin GuangYao said, and his words were not accusing. “Even if I could not recognize it in Bichen, Huan could. I cannot pretend to know what you are doing, Wei WuXian, nor do I know why you have assumed that form. But you must decide quickly what you want, before you hurt your wielder or Bichen.”

It was a bit too late for that. Not for a moment had he forgotten what a formidable person Jin GuangYao could be. It was likely that the entire time, he had been communicating with Liebing telepathically. Every word was likely said with intent, a slow reveal that he knew who Ying was, and even now he found himself not understanding what exactly was going on. For what reason was this tournament even created? Why had Bichen been participating in it? Ying kept a smile on his face, and he did not let his cheer falter. “Thank you, LianFang-Zun. I greatly appreciate your advice.”

His words rang false, because Ying could not mean them. He had only a vague understanding of what was going on and who he was, so how could it be true? Jin GuangYao frowned at that, for it simply sounded like Ying did not care about Bichen or Jiang Cheng at all.

“Do not misunderstand, I know I will have to make a choice soon,” Ying elaborated. Even if he did truly understand everything, he knew this much at least. “But really, LianFang-Zun, it is hard to take your advice to heart. I have already hurt Bichen, and if I wish to help him, I will hurt Jiang Cheng.

“No matter what, I will definitely make a mess of things.”

“So what did LianFang-Zun want to talk about?” Jiang Cheng asked him after Ying returned to their sleeping quarters. “Was it about you beating Bichen? He sounded really impressed.”

“Something like that,” Ying agreed easily. “It’s getting late. Are you going to sleep soon?”

“Yeah… I know you’re probably going to go wander around and explore tonight. Just don’t go causing any trouble, you hear me?”

In about an hour, as soon as Jiang Cheng’s breathing evened out and his form was still, Ying picked up Suibian and exited the room. He wandered down hallways, past gardens that were quiet and peaceful.

It was a surprisingly warm and windless night. Ying was not affected by weather the way humans were, but it was still pleasing in its own way. Above, the sky was cloudless and the moon was almost full.

Ying was not here for play. He set out with a purpose, looking for a destination. This entire day had been a mess, and he needed to clear everything up for himself tonight.

He turned to the left. Suddenly, he could hear the disconnect again. The buzzing only became stronger as he walked forward, and Ying quickened his pace.

The entire area was deserted. Everyone was sleeping, and a lone sword spirit scampered through, led by nothing except for a sound that only he could hear. He was not expecting for anyone to be out at this time of night, so although he was careful not to make any loud sounds, he did not slow down as turned corners.

Because of this, Ying found himself colliding with someone with considerable impact.

This someone was bigger than him, and soon as they made skin to skin contact, that disconnect of static disappeared. Ying felt arms wrap around him, and there was a low exhale by his ear.

Ying was a spirit, and he did not get much physical contact. No one had ever hugged him before, yet it felt familiar and he found terrible longing for it to never end. There was no odd instinct to not touch anything as there usually was, either. The one that was hugging Ying was not of physical plane, after all.

The newly reformed spirit of Bichen clung to Ying for a moment longer, still in the night. Ying let himself be held, and when Bichen finally pulled away, he looked up at him.

In the moonlight, he simply looked ethereal. Ying was no poet, but his face was as if someone dropped a handful of celestial stars onto earth and molded it into the shape of a man. There was nothing ordinary or plain about him, and this spirit, the one with eyes the color of those stars, was focusing all of his attention on Ying. Right now, that face was nothing like the frigid and bleak look he had during the tournament. Instead, it was calm and tranquil.

“Wei Ying,” he greeted, and that name had him smiling faintly. On Bichen, it was a awe inspiring look.

Ying brought up a hand in wonderment, and he tugged gently on a strand of his hair, the way he had wanted to earlier. With a tolerant look, Bichen allowed him to do as he wished. Nothing made sense, yet Bichen was as divine as always, in all the years they had known each other, that had not changed.

And then.

“Hello, Lan Zhan,” The one that was once known as Wei WuXian whispered, and Bichen’s name came as easily to him as his own.

“It’s been a while, hasn’t it?”

Wei WuXian was born in his mother’s womb.

His birth was like any human’s, ordinary, yet unique in its own way. He grew the way children grew, with a careless youth and a want for chaos. With the help and support of being born as the only son in an affluent clan, his childhood was free of worries.

When he was nineteen, he attended the discussion conference held at the Wen Clan, and he lost in tournament that would determine who would be the wielders of Liebing and Bichen. It was a little embarrassing, he lost by his second match. His opponent was Jin GuangYao, and when Wei WuXian was disarmed, he easily admitted loss and wished his competitor well. And his competitor did do well, he defeated every one of his opponents and was even chosen by Liebing.

What Wei WuXian did not expect, though, was that the spirit of Bichen would choose him, a nameless loser that did not even reach semifinals, over the Young Master Wen.

“What is your name?” He asked his new sword once he left for his home.

Bichen spoke slowly and with articulation, “Zhan.”

Zhan. Zhan was an anomaly, an even greater anomaly than Wei WuXian was himself. He could not understand why he would be chosen, and it seemed dreadfully rude to question this sword’s decisions.

Luckily, he had no problem being rude and asked anyway.

Zhan did not even blink, did not even move. Instead, his eyes slid over to where Wei WuXian was in an oddly sharp manner, so predatory that it was attractive. Without bothering to answer, he simply dematerialized, leaving Wei WuXian alone holding a blue blade.

And Zhan was simply silent like that, for a long time. Wei WuXian often found himself talking to a motionless sword in an attempt to get his blade partner  to open up to him, but it was often to no avail.

One day, Wei WuXian said, “Zhan. Will you duel me?”

In the way he had with Jiang Cheng years later, Wei WuXian coaxed his blade partner into just one fight. He lost bitterly, but when Zhan set Bichen down, Wei WuXian cracked a grin and said, “Your way of fighting is so boring.”

Zhan jerked, his brow furrowing, and Wei WuXian continued, “You’re definitely better than me, but why do you never do anything interesting when you fight? Gosh, it’s like you only know how to attack. Use things other than your sword, punch someone, kick them, use your terrain. I think your style could be a lot cooler that way.”

In his usual terse and simple manner, Zhan said, “I am a sword spirit. I fight with a sword.”

He disappeared again, and Wei WuXian yelped as he lunged forward to catch Bichen from falling to the ground. Zhan was a very typical sword spirit— he did not enjoy materializing in the physical plane, he was not fond of speaking, and he did not try to pretend he was anything other than Bichen, the legendary sword.

They reached their first level of bonding about a year and half after the discussion conference. It was about an average pace, and the first time Wei WuXian heard Zhan speak in his mind, he was chatting with a girl in the streets of Yiling.

Stop, was the first thing Zhan ever said to him in this manner,  and Wei WuXian jerked in surprise when he heard it.

After apologizing quickly to the girl and looking around for him, Wei WuXIan directed his thoughts carefully. Zhan? Is is that you?

There was no response, until finally, Mnn.

Wei WuXian quickly realized that they had achieved the lowest level of bonding, and he asked, What do you mean, stop? Is there something wrong? Zhan? Zhan, don’t ignore me, now I know you’re just doing it because you don’t want to talk to me. Zhaan, you don’t even have to manifest to talk to me anymore. Zhan! Zhan, Zhan…

Since they could now telepathically communicate, the time Wei WuXian spent talking to Zhan increased as well. To his delight, Zhan would respond slightly more in this manner of communication, although not by much.

Zhan! Zhan, Zhan, Wei WuXian took to calling often, until one day he said, You know, I feel like your name is too short. Calling it just doesn’t seem to have the same satisfaction as it does for something longer. Maybe I should add an extra character to Zhan? A surname of sorts. His gaze wandered to the glowing blue sword in his hand, and he offered, How about Lan? You’re even blue, so Lan should work. Lan Zhan sounds nice. Lan Zhan, listen to me, what do you think I should do when I’m attacked from above? I feel like it’s best if I…

Since then, he took to calling his blade partner Lan Zhan, since the sword spirit did not seem to care either way.

Wei WuXian was actually somewhat worried by this. He was decently sure that Lan Zhan did not hate him, but he did not seem to hold any sort of affection for him either. This was troubling since they were blade partners. Their styles were already so different, and if their personalities could not get along, then that did not bode well for their bond. It had somehow managed to reach the first level, but in order to advance to the second, the two had to have stronger sentiment toward each other than a general apathy.

But, Lan Zhan had picked him to be his wielder, hadn’t he? Surely that meant something? And Wei WuXian genuinely enjoyed his blade partner. Although he was not especially talkative, he was a furious blue force in battle, and he was surprisingly good at listening at whatever Wei WuXian wanted to blabber about at the moment. It helped that he had a good voice and face when he bothered to use them; Wei WuXian was fond of pretty things.

Yet, in the end, it only took six months to reach the second level of bonding.

The second level of bonding was almost imperceptible in terms of effect. The only difference between it and the first level was that the telepathic connection widened. While before, only deliberately directed thoughts would be transmitted, now any sort of thought about the other would be heard.

For example, Wei WuXian was about go to sleep one night, he heard Lan Zhan say, … He sleeps too little.

Lan Zhan? Wei WuXian frowned. How odd, for someone who usually answered with as little words as possible, Lan Zhan actually said something incomprehensible on his own. Who was he talking about?

He heard me, and then Lan Zhan materialized beside the horizontal form of Wei WuXian, his expression still passive. He has not figured it out yet— he sleeps too little. It makes him tired when he wakes, and it makes the skin darker around his eyes— Wei Ying, it is the second level of bonding.

Dumbfounded, Wei WuXian struggled to understand the different threads of conversation in Lan Zhan’s words. After a while, he understood and he said aloud the most pressing thing on his mind, “Lan Zhan, you’re worried about how much I sleep?” That was… surprisingly cute! He had just recently taken over the position as head of the Wen Clan, so he had been a bit stressed with various things. Sword spirits could not sleep themselves; Lan Zhan must have been paying attention to how long Wei WuXian spent in bed each day.

“Sleep,” Lan Zhan snapped, interrupting his musings. Wei Ying realized that he must have heard all that. His icy tone, however, was softened by his own thoughts: He noticed. Wei Ying is always awake— he noticed. He is hearing this now, and now he knows that I—

“We should probably learn,” and Wei WuXian yawned, “To control that telepathic bond again. You can do that, right? They say you can relearn how to use telepathy with your partner so that you’re no longer bombarded with too much at once, but it takes a bit of practice. Let’s… do that… tomorrow…” And it was nice, to know that Lan Zhan didn’t dislike him— oh, he heard that, didn’t he— and was actually worried for him… maybe that was why they were already at the second level…

It was only the next morning that Wei WuXian realized how dreadfully fast their advancement had been. Six months? That was ridiculous! This couldn’t just be explained by “turns out Lan Zhan doesn’t hate me”, it would have to be on the level of “Lan Zhan actually holds a great deal of affection towards me that I’ve managed to misread as apathy this entire time.”

As soon as he realized this, he gulped. And then he realized that Lan Zhan had heard everything he had just thought. This was a bit sad; Wei WuXian had never managed to misinterpret someone as badly as he had Lan Zhan.

I like it when Wei Ying talks to me, Lan Zhan thought, and it seemed oddly non sequitur. He talks too much, but he says it to me. No one has talked to me so much.

Or, perhaps that was simply his way of saying he did not mind anything he heard from Wei WuXian. “You like it when I talk?” Wei WuXian repeated.

Then, he would just have to keep talking, wouldn’t he? It was something he was good at, after all, and his blade partner liked it. Turns out Lan Zhan was really a good spirit— not only was he pretty, a fantastic weapon, but he also liked it when Wei WuXian blabbered!

He thinks I’m pretty.

Oops. He found himself incredibly unbothered that Lan Zhan was now aware of this fact.

Eventually they managed to curb their communication so that only what they wanted to pass through would be heard by the other person. Still, the entire experience changed Wei WuXian’s relationship with Lan Zhan. From then on, he felt more comfortable talking to him casually. Lan Zhan still did not say much, but he would always acknowledge him.

It was only three weeks later when Wei WuXian offered, “Lan Zhan, why don’t you walk with me?”

I am always with you.

“I know that,” and Wei WuXian ran his fingers down the white scabbard of Bichen admiringly. “I mean in your human form. Why don’t you try it, just once? Come on.”

There was hesitance, like there always was. You don’t have to do it again if you don’t like it, Wei WuXian pointed out. Just once?

After a moment, Lan Zhan appeared before him. He was as cold looking as he always was, and Wei WuXian tried his best to match that look with the cautious feeling he knew Lan Zhan must have.

I— Lan Zhan began to speak, but Wei WuXian quickly interrupted him.

“If you want to do this, you have to speak out loud.”

Frowning, Lan Zhan said, “Wei Ying.”

Seeing as he had nothing else to say, Wei WuXian said, “Let’s go.”

He led Lan Zhan down the busy streets of Yiling, and to his great amusement, Lan Zhan was actually gathering a lot of attention. His pure white clothing stuck out, and his cold and regal expression was the only reason why everyone steered clear of the two.

When they stopped in front of a store, Lan Zhan abruptly stopped. Sensing his growing apprehension, Wei WuXian quickly said, “Don’t worry, Lan Zhan, if this is too weird for you, go ahead and dissipate.” Spirits really weren’t supposed to be doing this, it was no surprise he was uncomfortable.

Lan Zhan held an unreadable look with Wei WuXian for a long moment, and finally dematerialized.

Only, it did not end there. Wei WuXian wandered around Yiling a lot to fool around, and sometimes he would jolt in surprise, for Lan Zhan would join him. It would be in short intervals of time, and any time Wei WuXian wanted to step into a public building, he would disappear, but it was still significant. During this time, the number of times he saw the spirit’s human form more than tripled; he could quite literally count the number of appearances Lan Zhan had before that with his fingers.

It was clear that Lan Zhan was incredibly uncomfortable with it, yet he continued following Wei WuXian around in this form. Wei WuXian asked him why, and Lan Zhan only shook his head. His eyes were clear though, and his human form was entrancing to look at, so Wei WuXian simply let him do what he wished.

This went on for a month, until Lan Zhan stopped at the front of yet another store, and he stared long and hard at the door. Wei WuXian patiently stood at the doorway, waiting for this almost regular ritual to complete itself.

Jokingly, he said, “Lan Zhan, would it help if I held your hand?”

He was not even remotely serious, so when Lan Zhan turned his head to look at him seriously and nodded, Wei WuXian was unsure whether he wanted to tell him he was joking or not… But, Lan Zhan really did want him to hold his hand, so he supposed would do it.

Alright, then hold out your hand. Obediently, the spirit did so, and Wei WuXian calmly placed his own hand on top of it.

Immediately, Lan Zhan stiffened. Again, spirits were not supposed to touch things. Still, he seemed to get acclimated to it quickly, and the hand holding Wei WuXian’s gradually relaxed.

And then, Wei WuXian began to feel the feeling of incredible happiness. It was almost unnatural, how pleased and overjoyed he was right now. This was because it was unnatural, and it took him several moments to realize that this happiness was not his.

The pleasure in him slowly morphed to a flicker of confusion, then comprehension and apprehension.

Wei WuXian looked at the spirit who was holding his left hand evenly, and whose emotions he could clearly feel in his heart. “Lan Zhan,” and he let his confusion and awe float through. “You are truly the most amazing sword spirit.”

It had been two months since they had advanced to the second level.

Yet, they were already on the third and final stage of bonding. Almost no one reached this level in a lifetime. The only thing beyond this was a sync.

There was a feeling of wide happiness that returned with a vengeance at his words. It was wide in the way that it seemed to spread all around Wei WuXian. He laughed, and he placed his free hand on top of the two clasped together. “Lan Zhan, this is your happiness I’m feeling? You can feel mine, right?”

Still serene and calm, Lan Zhan replied, “Yes.” Yet, Wei WuXian could feel something that felt wonderful float over him. Lan Zhan was happy, really happy.

“I don’t understand at all,” Wei WuXian said excitedly, and he pulled Lan Zhan aside so they did not stand in the way. He let himself pat Lan Zhan on the shoulder, squeeze his hand with more strength in his excitement. I don’t understand why we’re at the third stage at all, but I’m really glad! You really are the best, Lan Zhan.

And that feeling of pleasure within Wei WuXian grew.

It was at this point where Lan Zhan truly began to change. Before, he had always been quiet and short in his words. That was still true, but it was the beauty of reaching the third stage of their bonding process— they no longer needed words to communicate.

Show me how you see the world, Lan Zhan, Wei WuXian said one day. Say, this room. Show me how you look at this room.

Lan Zhan sent him a feeling of familiarity. Softness in the blankets and sheets in the bed. The smell of wood from the floor.

Hmm… how about food?

There was a feeling of polite perplexity, and confusion as people ate. A fragrant smell, perhaps.

Wei WuXian laughed, and returned the feeling with the sensation of swallowing, the spicy taste of local dishes, the texture of hard candy and burn of liquor.

They asked each other how various things felt, and the more he asked, the better Wei WuXian understood his blade partner. Lan Zhan was someone with few words, but he thought deeply and spent much of his time noticing, examining. There were infinitely many things he had never told anyone, nor would he ever be able to find the words.

There was fondness in every word Wei WuXian spoke to Lan Zhan, and every feeling and sensation he sent to him. Lan Zhan had been with him for a quite a while now, and simply by being there for him, he had become quite important to him.

It was so odd— when he had first met Lan Zhan, he really had been so cold that Wei WuXian was concerned for their relationship. Their swordsmanship was still a bit lopsided, especially when Lan Zhan attempted to suggest certain moves that did not come naturally to Wei WuXian, or Wei WuXian did something that jolted the spirit. (he stopped throwing Bichen at people— apparently it was quite disorienting.) Still, Lan Zhan was not cold at all once you got to know him. He was just very quiet, with an overpowering presence that was sometimes mistaken as apathy.

Wei WuXian woke up one day to find Lan Zhan in his human form, sitting by him. It was exactly the same position he had been in when Wei WuXian went to sleep. Lan Zhan? Have you been here the whole night?

Yes.

Why?

Before, Lan Zhan definitely would not have answered. Now, he silently sent Wei WuXian a collection of thoughts and emotion.

It was difficult to sift through, and many of them were simply the feeling of watching Wei WuXian sleep. A lot of curiosity, and something that felt awfully like wistfulness.

After a moment, Wei WuXian said, … Is this related to you following me around outside?

To that, Lan Zhan sent out more. Watching Wei WuXian walk beside him, curiosity. A great deal of discomfort, something that felt determined, and something that was, most definitely, wistfulness.

When Wei WuXian failed to reply immediately, Lan Zhan frowned and sent more. There were many, many impressions of simply watching Wei WuXian conduct his life, whether it be simple things like talking to someone, or more complicated, like him reading and studying. There were the feelings of curiosity, then the feeling of discomfort when Lan Zhan attempted it, and then, wistfulness.

“Lan Zhan,” Out loud, he spoke slowly. “Do you… want to be a human?”

This was the moment he truly understood why their bonding process had been going so fast. At this moment, it had been roughly two years and three months since he had met Lan Zhan. They had reached the last level of bonding just a week ago.

Lan Zhan blinked slowly at the word “human”, and his piercing stare was mesmerizing. The feeling of conflict rose within Wei WuXian, sent straight from the one who was staring at him.

“Don’t move,” Lan Zhan spoke calmly, and the foreign feeling of discomfort increased. Wei WuXian felt this, but he did not want to disobey the spirit, so he simply lay in his bed as Lan Zhan leaned down.

Just one week after Wei WuXian and Lan Zhan reached the third stage of bonding, they synced for the first time.

With a heart full of conflict, Lan Zhan leaned down and let his lips press down on Wei WuXian’s. His eyes widened in surprise, and then

Zhan is born in ice.

In his coldness, he houses a thousand words, carries them in his palms, unused. Wei Ying does not know what Zhan thinks, and he does not know how to shove all these large thoughts into the words he holds. He throws them away in disgust; he will find a better way.

Wei Ying is a man, and he lives the life of one with no shame. He is unashamed, shameless in this, and Zhan wonders, how may I, too, understand that unabashedness? That way of life?

He is alive, as well. He is as alive as he was the time he first saw Wei Ying, two years ago at that tournament. He still remembers that purposeful slip of the hand, the easy surrender Wei Ying gives to that Jin GuangYao. He is lying, Zhan remembers thinking. He is losing on purpose.

He remembers the way Jin GuangYao wins, as if he must. It is Huan who wonders what is he winning for? and it is Zhan who wonders what did he lose for? And it is in that way that they part ways— Liebing to the one who must win, and Bichen to the one who wants to lose.

And now it is now, where Wei Ying has already won. He has won, for Zhan has never questioned who is. He is the sword spirit of Bichen. He is content with this, and he has never been the type to ponder over what could have been. But that is no longer true, for he has seen Wei Ying and his way of life.

It is not that Zhan envies it, the physicality and materialism. Rather, he finds himself wanting it because Wei Ying lives it. Wei Ying, who has given him a human name and words— walk with me. Hold my hand. Do you want to be human?

Lan Zhan. Lan Zhan— it is a name that is his, yet not.

Wei YIng takes women to his home sometimes, with coy words and a promise of a night together. It takes Zhan a while to understand it— what could Wei Ying ever gain from something like this?

It is physicality and materialism, the things he neither wants nor understands. But now he does want them, because Wei Ying derives pleasure from something he cannot be.

Why does he care, he wonders, and it takes him back to the way he had dropped his sword and surrendered. The way he had once spent months not sleeping.

It was in that time, that sleepless time where Wei Ying destroyed his own thinking. Zhan knows he has avoided the thought of it.

The way Wei Ying’s parents had been killed during that time, yet he does not even let himself think of it. The way he buries them in great affection and respect, and continues on with misery and determination. Wei Ying spends sleepless nights, he wastes away and suffers alone. He does not allow himself to think of anything but what he has to do next, the new head of the Wei Clan. Not once does he bring it up to Zhan, and he doubts he even brings it up to himself.

Because that is simply how he is.

Wei Ying is a free spirit, and he and Zhan are infinitely different. Zhan cannot help but want to know more, and then he remembers every word, every promise Wei Ying has said to a beautiful woman, and he thinks, I cannot be that.

He has never wanted to be that, but now he cannot stop himself.

He is no man, he thinks with a deep despair. Not in the way Wei Ying is, a pumping heart and breath after breath. He is a being of metal, of silver and eternal shine. He cannot address Wei Ying as a man, and Wei Ying cannot address him as he would any human being.

Because that feeling of hearing Wei Ying talk, of staying ever constant at his side, in battle and in times of peace, is that not? Is that not!? Is that not

Was it not love?

Wei WuXian gasped, and their sync cut off with a start. Lan Zhan immediately jerked back, as if he had touched something burning.

The force of their sync had him breathing hard for a moment, and in that time Lan Zhan carefully retreated to a corner of the room, where Bichen had been carefully laid. Still, he did not dematerialize, and through half lidded eyes, he looked at the man breathing heavily.

And he knew that Lan Zhan had heard that last thought before they broke apart. After a pause, Wei WuXian said, “Lan Zhan. Am I not correct? Is that not love?”

He sat up, and approached the figure in all white standing in the corner. Lan Zhan watched him carefully, dangerous in the way he tracked Wei WuXian’s every movement, like a wild animal was approaching him.

“I’m a bit stupid, aren’t I?” Wei WuXian muttered. In a sync, thoughts and feelings were no longer communicated. There was no more communication at all, because Wei WuXian was Lan Zhan in those moments, and Lan Zhan was Wei WuXian. “They way you think— it’s beautiful, Lan Zhan.”

He never realized that…

If you don’t mind, Wei WuXian said, and with a vague feeling of permission given, he gently felt for Lan Zhan’s hand.

What does Wei Ying mean, it is beautiful? The way Wei Ying thinks is brilliant, glowing. He thinks large thoughts, kind thoughts. Lan Zhan has never been viewed quite the same as Wei Ying sees him— someone who, what is this feeling he finds—

Zhan learns what it means to press their lips together, and he does not understand it. It makes his lips tingle awkwardly, but he does not mind. This is Wei Ying, he will do it for him. If it makes him stay with him, whisper promises then he will do it.

Have you always thought that way about me? Lan Zhan did not answer, and Wei WuXian continued, I didn’t notice. How could you tell I lost to Jin GuangYao on purpose? I never thought you would have worried over me when I stopped sleeping. I didn’t even worry about myself, until I realized I was not fooling you.

The figure in white sent feelings of bitterness. He could not help it, he just noticed these sort of things, Wei WuXian mused. I’m glad you did, though. We moved through our bonding process so quickly. It was because you’ve always been looking out for me, right?

Because, somehow, this perfect, unordinary sword spirit, had fell for a human emotion. Wei WuXian recognized it in every thought, and he laughed and repeated. “Sorry, Lan Zhan. I’m a bit of an idiot.

“Maybe you noticed I’m very good at hiding things from myself?” And to that, Lan Zhan nodded. There was confusion in his thoughts though— he did not know what Wei WuXian was trying to say.

Wei WuXian let every thought he had withheld from himself go, and then he pulled them under a sync again.

Wei WuXian was nineteen years of age when he lost to Jin GuangYao, the bastard son who had nothing but determination and a million things to prove to the Jin Clan. Everyone knew his name, but only because he was a disgrace. This was his chance to cement his place in the Jin Clan, and Wei WuXian knew that. So, he lost. It was easy, and it wasn’t as if he needed to win anyway. This situation, he was fine with it.

He got Bichen anyway.

“Your style is so boring,” he stated, but he felt admiration in every word. Bichen was beautiful, stunning, and graceful. Wei WuXian thought, there is no one that could defeat this blade. He also thought, how could I ever wield him? Zhan probably deserved someone better than him, not so informal and impromptu.

Wei WuXian was almost twenty-one when he found his worries were unfounded, that wielding Bichen was incredibly natural, and Lan Zhan whispered techniques to him as he swung the heavy blade easily, its glare blinding his opponents. Perhaps it would be fine in the end, and they would be able to match.

He realized this when his clothing was drenched in blood, the air stank of it, and his eyes were alight in rage, the fallen bodies of his parents behind him. Later, he dug graves and buried these thoughts, along with the sword glare of Bichen.

He could not sleep, and Lan Zhan thought, He sleeps too little. They broke through to the second level of bonding, and Wei WuXian thought, He is beautiful. He thought that too often, and he also buried that thought.

Yet, he still thought it too much, and before long, it resurfaced. And then Lan Zhan began to follow him around town, and Wei WuXian realized that he no longer wanted to live his life on his own. He liked it when Lan Zhan was with him. He stopped flirting with other people.

Before long, he realized what had happened, and Wei WuXian only felt regret. What a fool he was, what an idiot. Of all the humans in the world to fall for, he chose the one who was not human at all. Lan Zhan was not like him, and this sort of feeling was not important at all. No one needed to know he had fallen in love with a sword, and it could just keep going like it always did. This sort of love was not worth anything, not if Lan Zhan would not be able understand it.

Bichen— “to avoid worldly matters.” What was Wei WuXian if not worldly? He was firmly rooted on the physical plane of existence. He was a human, he loved as any human would: with his body, with words and actions. What was that to a sword spirit, who was ethereal and celestial in his being?

So he buried that thought too, underneath layers of mindless chatter and jokes and laidback character. It mixed in with the sensation of knowing he was going to lose, the sensation of pulling Bichen out of a murderer’s gut, the stench of blood, and a hopeless thought, I will never be able to love Lan Zhan the way I should.

It was Lan Zhan who broke the sync this time, his surprise clear. Wei WuXian’s lips curved into a wicked smile, and he laughed. We’re idiots, idiots, the both of us. We fit each other perfectly.

I— As always, Lan Zhan thought before he spoke. Wei Ying. Please do not—

Do not what? Pretend that I love you? Why not? Was it truly pretend when Wei WuXian believed it? We are two of a kind, Lan Zhan. Lan Zhan, Lan Zhan. You are a sword spirit that wants to love as human. I am a human who wants to love as a sword spirit.

Beauty. What is beauty, then? Wei Ying thinks he is beautiful. He cannot— what does mean? His skin? His eyes, hair, voice. Those are his, but is he not just a blade in the end? That form is a means to an end, what does it matter if it is beautiful? Of course it is important, if Wei Ying wishes to love a human

“What is beauty?” Wei WuXian challenged. “Of course, I find you like this attractive.” He carefully placed his hand on Lan Zhan, making sure it was received with tolerance. “But aren’t you beautiful anyway? You have such amazing things to say, Lan Zhan. You rarely ever say them, but does that stop making them something not worth hearing?

“Does it matter what is about each other we find worth wanting? Yes, I am a human and you are a sword. Who cares if it is a relationship that can’t be consummated, or something we can’t tell anyone? You are someone who is hard to understand. Perhaps you would argue that you are not even someone, just an ‘it.’ But, you think. You like things, you dislike things. You have feelings, and I enjoy your thoughts. Does that not make you someone worth wanting?”

This was what a sync was— complete and utter understanding of one’s partner. Syncing with Lan Zhan felt natural, like it was what they were looking for all this time. Lan Zhan could not understand the feeling of being human. Wei WuXian could not understand Lan Zhan. And then, that gap between their understanding that had lasted the entire two years they had known each other… ended. A simple kiss to the lips, and then all their worries and hidden thoughts were swept into the open, cleared as easily as dust.

“You don’t need to kiss me,” Wei WuXian said pleadingly, and something in Lan Zhan flickered as well. He could feel it in the hope rising in his own chest. “You don’t need to hold my hand if you don’t want to, you don’t even need to ever materialize again, Lan Zhan. I don’t want you to try to become something you don’t want to be just for me. I’ll definitely stay with you anyway.”

Wei Ying is making him a promise, just like the one he had to all the women he took home. It is a promise he likes. Wei Ying loves him. Wei Ying calls him name so often, talks to him affectionately. Zhan marvels in that feeling, like in the thousands of words that are scattered on the ground, unnecessary and useless. He has found another way, another way past the glacial vocabulary of his.

Lan Zhan leaned in and he wrapped his arms around Wei WuXian in a surprisingly forceful hug. Knowing that it must be uncomfortable for him, he sent out a feeling of concern.

The spirit returned it with a sensation of awkward tingling, but with plenty of satisfaction and a feeling of having someone close to him, and the acknowledgment that they were safe and here. He added a feeling of strangeness at the lips, and the same feeling of closeness. I liked it, Lan Zhan said, and he embraced Wei WuXian harder. “I like you,” he spoke out loud, and Wei WuXian laughed at the spoken words.

And this was the broken, rushed tale of Wei WuXian, the legendary swordsman and his famed blade, Bichen. It was told in jagged fragments, with Wei WuXian hiding parts of his own life from himself. He achieved a sync in just two years, an improbably and impossibly fast time. He went on to be a formidable clan leader, and for many years, Yiling was under his power and influence.

He was born, he lived, and when he was twenty-nine, he was killed.

The Burial Mounds were at the edges of Yiling, and there was a day Clan leader Wei heard word of an infestation of evil spirits. He quickly went to investigate, his white sword at his side.

This was three hours before his death, when he went to the Burial Mounds. When he arrived, there were already two figures there, surveying the hill.

One of them held a gentle and benevolent smile. There was a sword in his hand— a high quality one. His expression was clear and held purpose.

The other was shorter, and he was also smiling. It was playful, relaxed. He had no sword.

Clan leader Wei quickly asked the two to leave, as the area was dangerous. Bichen’s spirit, Zhan, suddenly alerted him, The one with the sword. He is a self-wielding blade.

The self-wielding blade smiled, said with no discomfort, “Do not worry about us. Clan Leader Wei, is it? We should introduce ourselves.” Spirits did not enjoy materializing, did not enjoy speaking. This spirit had obviously been doing this for a long time, so long that he could pass off as a human easily.

The spirit said, “I am XingChen, spirit of the blade Shanghua. This is my good companion, Xue Yang.”

The youth beside him, the one who would kill Wei WuXian in an incredible feat of trickery and subterfuge, smiled even more widely. It was not that he had any sort of grudge against him, but in the following three hours, Wei WuXian would prove to be far too perceptive for his own good. When Xue Yang killed Wei WuXian, XingChen would not even know, not even when Shanghua was melted and cracked to pieces four months later.

There was only one who knew, and that was Bichen. But a sword spirit is easy to defeat if taken off guard— a simple injury and they are forced to vanish. Threaten to crack their blade, threaten their wielders. Xue Yang was good at lying, and even better at killing.

This would have been the end. Yet, in some strange turn of events, the moment Wei WuXian took his last breath, a drunken youth had just finished talking to the blacksmith at the Yiling Forge, mumbling, “Whatever is fine, the name is whatever…”

Whatever, indeed.

And so, Ying was reborn in fire.

“It’s coming back,” Ying admitted. “Some of it, at least. I remember you very clearly, Lan Zhan.”

Lan Zhan seemed uninterested in that, though he hummed in acknowledgement. For now, he was focused in sending him images of himself, of Ying smiling wickedly and Suibian flashing in his hands.

I missed you, Ying said. I didn’t know I missed you, but I did. You knew I was alive this entire time, didn’t you? I never noticed that I could feel our bond even when we were so far away. It was distant, but I tried I would definitely be able to sense it.

Even when he and Jiang Cheng had began to bond, he could still sense it. It was definitely fainter after that, but it was still there. The disconnect he had been feeling the entire day was because he had been so close, but was not acknowledging the bond.

Of course he knew every one of Lan Zhan’s moves— he had used them often, as often as Lan Zhan got used to Ying’s style of playing dirty.

Xue Yang. You never told anyone it was him?

… No. In hesitant thoughts, Lan Zhan sent him various feelings and narration. He had tried to tell someone, but Xue Yang had done something to Bichen, cursed him to be unable to speak. That was why everyone thought the spirit of Bichen had been refusing to speak. It had taken the swordmasters at the Jin Clan half a year to break, and by then both Xue Yang and XingChen were dead.

Lan Zhan explained that he had been staying at the Jin Clan so he could tell them who was responsible for Wei WuXian’s death. After Xue Yang died, he wanted to leave. He wanted to travel, to look for Ying. The bond had never fully disappeared, and he knew his wielder was somewhere. Yet, Jin GuangYao refused to let him go. Swords were not to travel and wield themselves, under any circumstances. With the tragic story of Shanghua still hanging recent in the air, it was even more so.

(Quietly, Lan Zhan sent a picture of Liebing, and a feeling of brotherly attachment. Ying understood; it had been Huan, not Jin GuangYao that did not want him to leave.)

Lan Zhan had raged, in a display of fire and spite that he had never felt before. He wished to leave, and that was final. Yet, Jin GuangYao did not falter as well. In the end, in his compromising and sensible manner, he offered Lan Zhan another option.

“If you think your wielder is still alive, then let him come to you. The next Discussion Conference will be held here. I will spread word of tournament, and I will include your name in the list of prizes. If Wei WuXian is truly alive, then he will come.”

And come Ying did, albeit not because he remembered. When Suibian first saw Bichen, that disconnect of static began, and Lan Zhan quickly requested something else— he wanted to participate in the tournament. Surely, surely, even if Wei WuXian was not participating (why would he? Lan Zhan was his blade partner, without a sword how could he fight?) he would see Lan Zhan in plain sight in the arena.

Ying did see him. Ying was in the stadium with him, and he even managed to defeat Lan Zhan.

And then it was now, where Lan Zhan and Ying were two sword spirits, blade partners no longer, one of them no longer human.

Lan Zhan sent a feeling of deep melancholy. He brushed Ying’s unfamiliar face, marveling in the way it was not human, the way it did not feel uncomfortable to touch. A spirit and a spirit— it was different, but not unwelcome.

Ying let himself enjoy it, too. They basked in each other’s emotions, channeling back and forth feelings of I missed you and how have you been?

Finally, Ying said, “Lan Zhan, I need… to break a bond.”

When Jiang Cheng awoke the next morning, Ying was sitting in a chair beside the bed.

“Ying,” he yawned as he sat up. “Can you not stare at me when I sleep?”

He said this was his usual amount of bad-natured snark, to which Ying usually snickered and replied with some sort of laughable retort. This morning, though, Ying simply looked at him with a straight face.

Plainly, and without beating around the bush, he said, “Jiang Cheng, I have already said I am sorry. I won’t say it again.”

Before Jiang Cheng could reply, Ying acted quickly. He mentally felt for it— him and Jiang Cheng’s bond. It was vibrant, full of mutual insults and hidden fondness past a liking for poking fun at the other. It was a good bond. Though it was not especially strong, it was full of spunk and spirit.

With a simple thought, Ying snapped that bond into two.

It was easy to break a bond on the spirit’s side, he mused. It was especially easy for him, for he already had a stronger bond, one of pastel lights and deep hues, of every possible imagined emotion packed into it.

For Jiang Cheng, though, it hurt. He gasped, and immediately clutched his head in excruciating pain. That brought Ying pain as well, but he pushed it aside. This was his fault to begin with, Ying shouldn’t pity himself.

“They say it hurts less if you aren’t expecting it.”He waited for Jiang Cheng’s response.

It did not come for a few seconds, and when it did, Ying was already expecting it. Jiang Cheng rose to his feet. He stumbled over to Ying, and he forcefully pulled him out of the chair by the collar.

“Why?!” He snapped, and his eyes were still burning from the pain. “Why, Ying! I thought— I thought we were— I thought you enjoyed what we had, I thought you liked me! What we were, was it not good enough for you!?”

Ying did not react at this look of anguish from Jiang Cheng, though it made him flinch internally. He felt for Lan Zhan, and immediately, he was swamped with an enveloping motion. He said, “Jiang Cheng, do not misunderstand. I think you are a good man. We were, and still are, very compatible. You have never hurt me, and despite your short temper, you have always tried your best to accomodate for me. I have always understood that.”

It was incredibly difficult for Ying to speak of this. He knew exactly what he had to do— he had to explain his actions, and he had to appease Jiang Cheng.

How easy it would be, to simply tell him a lie. It would be simple for Ying to say, “You have not satisfied me.” It would be simple to say that Jin GuangYao had offered him something last night, and he was willing to give up Jiang Cheng for it. It would be easy to make something up, to make Jiang Cheng hate him, maybe even say almost the truth: “I want a blade partner that isn’t you.”

Do not, Lan Zhan interjected sharply, and Ying resolved himself to the whole truth.

“Then why!?” Jiang Cheng demanded, and angry tears were beginning to spill out. “Why!? Tell me why, Ying. Don’t you know how much this hurts?! Was this whole thing just a joke to you? Why do you look so calm?!”

“It was never a joke,” Ying promised. “Jiang Cheng, I think of you fondly. You cannot pretend in a bond, you know that. We never would have bonded so quickly if I thought otherwise.

“The truth is, I already have another bond.”

Those words stopped the man in a start. “... What?”

“I already have another bond,” Ying repeated. “Before I ever met you, I already had a blade partner. I didn’t know this, otherwise I never would have taken another. But I did, and then I was stuck. No one can have two bonds— they interfere with each other. You felt it, right? When I disappeared during that fight with Bichen.”

“You already had a wielder?” Jiang Cheng asked incredulously. “That’s impossible! I was the one who ordered Suibian to be forged! It’s true that I couldn’t feel you during that fight, but there must be another explanation for it.”

Ying shook his head. “I’ve already met him. I’ve known him for a long time. Even if I wanted to, Lan Zhan isn’t someone who I could just break my bond with, Jiang Cheng. We already reached the third level. We’ve already synced. If I tried to break that, I’m not sure if either of us would survive the mental damage of it.”

“You’ve synced?” Jiang Cheng gaped. “Why have I never heard of it? The only blade that’s synced with someone and still exists is Liebing. You’re pulling my chain.”

“I’m not lying,” Ying responded evenly.

Jiang Cheng sputtered for a few moments, and the anguish in his expression was still there, but there was also mounting confusion. “Suppose you are telling the truth,” he hedged. “I still don’t forgive you. You and I were partners. You were still the one who broke our bond. You were still the one that made me feel this way. You think, just because you used to have some sort of really good wielder, that it’s just going to make me feel alright with this!? Aren’t I your wielder too?”

There were a million regrets that Ying wished he could voice. Instead, he said, “I don’t expect you to forgive me. This is definitely my fault, and you should blame me entirely.”

Not your fault, Lan Zhan whispered.

“If I stayed with you, it would have just hurt everyone more. This is an excuse, but it’s still true.” Ying took a deep breath. “I’ve made arrangements with LianFang-Zun. You won the tournament, so you’ll get everything he said you would get, as well as an opportunity to have the best blacksmiths at any forge you want make you a new blade.”

He held out a wooden slate, which Jiang Cheng took numbly. “Keep that and show it to any swordforger.” Ying looked sadly at the bitter looking youth in front of him. “I won’t lie and say your new sword will be a replacement for me. It isn’t, but it’s my way of trying to fix my mistakes.”

At the very least, Jiang Cheng deserved a new sword. A blade partner that would not abandon him the way Ying did. “Go get your Sandu, Jiang Cheng,” He said. “You don’t deserve just ‘whatever.’” He never deserved it.

The man did not respond. Ying was out of words to say, he walked towards the door. It was likely he would never cross paths with Jiang Cheng again. Even if he did, he doubted the man would want to meet with Ying.

Before he stepped out the doorway, he spoke. “I don’t forgive you,” Jiang Cheng said, and it was with vicious vitriol. “Fuck you. I hate you, you know that? I hope I never see you again.

“But… you’ve always been an asshole. That hasn’t changed one bit. That ‘Lan Zhan’ of yours… if he treats you wrong, I’ll punch him in the face for you.”

There was immense relief from those words. Ying didn’t turn around, and he felt bemusement linger from Lan Zhan. “I know,” he responded easily. “If Sandu turns out to be a prissy little mistress of a spirit, I’ll make sure to challenge you to a duel often.”

“Fuck you.”

“I’ll miss you.”

“... Get out of my sight.”

There was only one more thing to do.

Jin GuangYao greeted him kindly inside the emptied training hall. “It’s the second day of the conference, everyone is out watching the entertainment.” He looked at Wei Ying. “Did you give Young Master Jiang the slate?”

Wei Ying nodded easily. Beside him, Lan Zhan looked at Jin GuangYao evenly. Both of the spirits were standing with their respective sword vessels strapped to them.

“You remember the terms we discussed yesterday, yes?” Jin GuangYao held up Liebing. “I cannot, in good conscience, allow two self-wielding blades to wander about on their own, even if they are bonded.”

How much of that sentiment was Liebing’s? Lan Zhan said, Much.

What a spirit, that Huan. He was so concerned for Lan Zhan, Wei Ying thought. Although, if he were Liebing, he would probably be worried too.

“If you can defeat Huan and I in a duel, I will agree to this.” Although he said this humbly, one could not forget that Liebing and Jin GuangYao had synced as well. Jin GuangYao had never been a bad swordsman, and Liebing was sure to be at least on par with Bichen.

Wei Ying had not been expecting Jiang Cheng and his chance to fight Jin GuangYao to turn out like this, or his second fight with him to be like this in general. This time, though, he had no reason to lose on purpose.

I’ll go first? Wei Ying offered, and Lan Zhan agreed.

Out loud, he said, “Of course, LianFang-Zun. I have to clarify, though, that the statement ‘two self-wielding blades’ is not accurate. You see, I am not a self wielding blade.”

At that, Lan Zhan vanished. With a neat catch, Wei Ying caught Bichen with his free hand. He calmly set Suibian down— unfortunately, it was impossible to learn to dual wield in one night. That would have to be something attempted later.

“I am not a self wielding blade,” Wei Ying repeated, and he settled into a stance that imitated Jin GuangYao’s, both of them holding matching blue swords. “I am a sword that wields other swords.”

And with that, he leapt forward, and allowed himself to fall into a sync.

Concentrate, Lan Zhan and Wei Ying thought together, and quickly shared a feeling of alarm as Liebing was about to make contact.

Bichen blocked the attack with grace, and Wei Ying had to admit that Jin GuangYao was strong, stronger than Lan Zhan yesterday. He had gotten a lot better in the eleven years they had not met. There was a deep calmness in him that spoke of a sync— Liebing and LianFang-Zun were definitely syncing, and that added to their strength and cohesiveness.

Yet, they were not the only ones who had gotten better. Wei Ying was no longer the sword spirit he was yesterday. How could he be, when suddenly, he began to remember a decade’s worth of battles and with Lan Zhan in his mind?

A sync in battles was exhilarating. He was both the wielder and the blade— he could feel everything at once, and he was everything at once. They thought in tandem, and his style became a unique mix of his own and Lan Zhan’s. This smoothness was not instinctual— after they had synced for the first time, it had taken them at least another year to achieve this sort of cohesiveness to their fighting.

Bichen tingled in his hand— Wei Ying was still a sword spirit, and it went against his nature to wield other swords. Since when had that ever mattered to him? There was an exhilarating, euphoric feeling in their shared mindscape that overpowered anything.

Wei Ying and Jin GuangYao were just about evenly matched. Neither of them were especially stronger than other, so it became a battle of endurance. Wei Ying had an advantage in this— he did not feel fatigue the way humans did anymore.

Lan Zhan thought, and by extension Wei Ying thought, I’ve won.

It seemed, however, that Jin GuangYao had one last trick up his sleeve. The glare of Liebing grew even brighter, and Wei Ying was forced to rapidly blink— gosh, two glowing swords fighting were awfully hard on the eyes— and in that moment, Jin GuangYao flung a knife from who-knows-where at him.

A knife! He could barely contain incredulity as the smaller blade pierced his abdomen, and Wei Ying cursed his luck. What sort of swordsman used a knife when they had such a respectable looking sword in their hands? And he couldn’t even say that it was an illegal move— having two blades was perfectly acceptable. Were he and Lan Zhan not, quite literally, two swords?

With a wheeze, Wei Ying gave Jin GuangYao the evil eye. What a sneaky bastard! As if sensing his thoughts, the man said sympathetically, “Do not look so upset. I promise it won’t be too bad living at Carp Tower. This is not a prison.”

Before Wei Ying could respond with a curse, he was forced to dissipate.

Jin GuangYao lowered Liebing, and he was about to walk forward and pick up Bichen, he felt a sharp intent directed at him. He looked up in alarm, and…

In a furious swing, the black blur that was Suibian was only stopped by a quick maneuver of Liebing. Suibian’s wielder, the sword spirit by the name Zhan said coldly, “We have not lost yet.”

Jin GuangYao quickly understood what was going on. This had been their strategy to begin with— one of them would wield the other, and if they were defeated, then they would switch positions as wielder and sword.

Huan was familiar with Bichen’s style, though. Perhaps it would have shifted through his sync with Wei WuXian, it fundamentally would not have changed too much.

That was what Jin GuangYao thought for all about three seconds, when Lan Zhan picked up the fallen Bichen from where Wei Ying had dissipated, and proceeded to throw it at Jin GuangYao’s head.

“...” He easily avoided the projectile, but he was shocked. What sort of swordsman threw their own sword? He was busy thinking about that, he almost missed Huan’s warning. He narrowly avoided Lan Zhan’s left fist, for his right was still holding Suibian, which had been aiming at his nose.

Jin GuangYao was forced to arch his back backwards in order to avoid the punch, and he was disoriented enough that he could not avoid the next blow.

With elegance and grace, like he was about to climb a set of stairs, Lan Zhan calmly lifted his knee. It met Jin GuangYao’s private parts with incredible force, and he was forced to topple to the ground.

From Suibian, Wei Ying was cackling and wheezing, slapping his own nonexistent thigh. Lan Zhan, Lan Zhan Lan Zhan, I didn’t know you had it in you!

Indeed, Lan Zhan thought, and his amusement was deep, like most of his emotions were. He brought Suibian up to Jin GuangYao’s neck.

With huffed laughter, he conceded defeat.

I am not human anymore, Wei Ying said later, an indeterminable amount of distance away from Carp Tower. Yet, I find myself pretending to be one. Isn’t that strange, Lan Zhan?

Lan Zhan sent a feeling of patience, and contentedness. He liked Wei Ying as a spirit. He was the same as him, and they no longer had a gap in their understanding of each other that could only be fixed by a sync.

Wei Ying thought back to his time in Yunmeng, how he had spent his days being a false human. He did miss it, he realized. It was no longer a what-if, it was what had been.

Carefully, Lan Zhan asked, Would you return to being a human, if you could?

Wei Ying did not know. Being a spirit wasn’t so bad either, especially that now he could feel exactly how Lan Zhan felt. But there so many things to his human life that had been left unfinished before he died.

He was never going to be as spirit-like as Lan Zhan. He still enjoyed hugs and kisses more than the other spirit, he still enjoyed walking around. That was just how he was.

That was fine, Lan Zhan assured him. Everything was fine.

“It is, isn’t it?” Wei Ying stood up. Despite everything, Bichen was still a comforting weight at his side, and Lan Zhan was forever in his mind. “I suppose everything will be alright, in the end.” He had a lot of regrets, but that was simply how life went.

“Lan Zhan, we should learn to dual wield soon…”