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A soft knock at the door roused Lan Wangji from slumber. Fire burned down his back as he twisted himself to a sitting position before standing and pulling on a robe. He ignored the licks of lightning that travelled over his skin as the lightweight fabric settled over his shoulders. Upon opening the door, he was greeted by one of the younger cultivators from Cloud Recesses, Wen Yuan supported by one of his arms, his little body heaving in quiet sobs, tiny hands clasped around the disciple’s neck. The Lan youth attempted a polite bow, struggling to not dislodge his small companion.

“Apologies, Hanguang-jun,” he said.

Without replying Lan Wangji stepped aside, allowing the two to enter. The disciple murmured soft words, attempting to detach Wen Yuan’s clingy hands from around his neck. The quiet sobs grew louder.

“Shh. Hanguang-jun is here. You’re all right. Shh.”

A tearstained face lifted itself from the disciple’s shoulder, sobs quieting into wet hiccups.

“A-Yuan,” Lan Wangji said softly in greeting.

Wen Yuan’s tight grip on the cultivator immediately loosened as his short arms reached out towards Lan Wangji.

Lan Wangji stepped closer and plucked the child from his arms, once again ignoring the searing flames that burned across his skin. Two small hands slipped under the sweep of his hair before locking behind the back of his neck; a wet face pressed into his shoulder.

“Thank you,” he said to the disciple.

The young cultivator nodded and gave Lan Wangji a deep bow, this time a proper one, unhampered by a young child clinging to his chest. Without another word he turned and left, the door sliding shut behind him.

“It is time for sleep,” Lan Wangji said, carrying the child to his bed and unwrapping his arms from around his neck. The strain of lowering Wen Yuan down to the sleeping mat fanned the inferno raging across his skin, but his expression didn’t change as he sought to reassure Wen Yuan with a gentle tone. “I will remove my robe and join you. Then we will sleep.”

Wen Yuan’s dark eyes followed his movements as Lan Wangji removed the robe he had donned earlier. The tear tracks on Wen Yuan’s cheeks were illuminated by the faint light from the lantern. He watched as Lan Wangji settled himself on the bed, this time on his side instead of his stomach. Then he scooted closer to Lan Wangji, burying his face in his chest, squirming to burrow under the light cover Lan Wangji pulled over him, like a small woodland animal.

“Sleep,” Lan Wangji commanded, lips moving against the dark hair of the small head nestled under his chin. He felt a few of those soft hiccupy gasps against his chest before Wen Yuan let out a long soft sigh, his breath evening out peacefully. Lan Wangji closed his eyes, waiting for the throbbing in his back to recede to a bearable level before he was able to follow.

-o-

Lan Qiren was waiting when Lan Wangji arrived to return Wen Yuan to Cloud Recesses the next morning.

“Causing noise is prohibited, yet the child screams and shouts, disrupting the sleep of the entire dormitory. Venturing out at night is prohibited, yet my disciple must once again bring the Wen child down to you.” He began listing off the rules broken before Lan Wangji could even utter a word of greeting. “This cannot go on. The situation is untenable.”

Care for the weak, Lan Wangji thought to himself. Take pity on the desolate. Be sad for the suffering of others. He would not say these aloud. He would not argue with Lan Qiren.

Instead, he only said, “He will stay with me then.”

Surprise flitted across Lan Qiren’s features, but the angry visage remained. “You are in seclusion.”

“I know my duty.”

“Yet you have abandoned that duty in the past.”

Again, he did not argue. “And I have received my punishment and will continue my repentance.” Even now, the flames seared across his back, the weight of the child balanced on his hip putting strain on the muscles.

Had the child not been there, Lan Wangji knows what he would have heard, the litany of his failings—associating with evil, straying from the righteous path, attacking his elders. The list, in Lan Qiren’s eyes, was long. But A-Yuan was there, eyes big and dark, watchful as the two men spoke in clipped bitter tones. He should not have to hear such things.

After a tense silence, Lan Qiren nodded. “Very well.” Then after another pause, “He may return after he has learned some control and can comport himself according to our rules.”

The unyielding set of Lan Wangji’s jaw relaxed a minute fraction and he gave a slight nod of acknowledgment. He set Wen Yuan down next to him, freeing his arms to give a deep respectful bow towards Lan Qiren. When he was upright, he reached for Wen Yuan’s hand.

“Come,” he said. “Let us get your things.”

Wen Yuan stared up at him with his big dark eyes, but he took Lan Wangji’s hand and let himself be led towards the dormitories.

Wen Yuan did not have much—his rough robes from the Burial Mounds, now cleaned and mended, the Lan sect robes he was given on arrival, after Lan Qiren had reluctantly agreed to let the boy stay. Perhaps shufu had seen the uncompromising expression on Lan Wangji’s face; he had encountered his intractable stubbornness before. Lan Wangji gathered everything up, tucking Wen Yuan’s belongings inside his sleeve.

“Let us go,” he said to Wen Yuan, reaching out his hand.

Instead of taking it, Wen Yuan ran to a low chest against the wall of the dormitory. He knelt down and reached under the small space between the chest and the floor. Obviously struggling to reach whatever was hidden underneath, he lay down flat, his arm disappearing from sight, his little feet kicking out behind him. Then he determinedly pulled out his prize, a grass butterfly attached to a stick. Standing, he clutched it to his chest, as if daring Lan Wangji to deprive him of it.

As Lan Wangji stared at the toy, he was overtaken with a wave of longing so strong he almost swayed where he stood. A laughing face flashed through his mind, eyes dancing, bright and beautiful, like the first ray of sun reflecting on the surface of a still mountain lake. He remembered a day, a lifetime ago, where for a while, he was filled with the joy and contentment of Wei Ying by his side, sharing a meal, sharing conversation, sharing the pleasure of a little boy’s smiles as he played with his toys.

He raised a fist to his chest, pressing it against the scar over his heart, underneath his white robes. He shut his eyes for a moment, the edges of the brand pulling in discomfort, letting the wave of grief and pain and yearning pass through him, letting himself feel it, as he knew he must from time to time, lest it build up inside him, rendering him immobile and useless. He allowed himself only a moment, however. Now was not the time; others had lost more than he. Taking a deep breath, he centered himself, calming his emotions, tamping down the tumult within.

When he opened his eyes, Wen Yuan was still watching him, the toy gripped tightly in his tiny fist. Lan Wangji held out his hand again. “Of course, you should bring your toy. Is there anything else you wish to take?”

Wen Yuan shook his head no, stepping towards Lan Wangji and grasping his fingers. “Then let us go,” he repeated.

As they descended the mountain on Bichen, Wen Yuan propped on Lan Wangji’s hip, wind whipping at their hair, the farm house came into view. The simple rectangular wood and earth home was nestled at the edge of a wooded area, the kitchen shed out back. Facing south, the front door led to a courtyard with farmland beyond in the distance. A pond and the beginnings of a garden could be seen to the east.

They alighted and Lan Wangji set Wen Yuan down by his side. The child immediately clung to his leg, the toy butterfly still gripped tightly in one small hand. Lan Wangji stood in uncertainty, momentarily at a loss. He had not thought through his impulsive words to Lan Qiren. What did he know of raising a child? How could he care for another when he, himself, was only recently able to function on his own?

Yet as he looked down into the wide dark eyes, the same protectiveness surged through him as it had when he first found Wen Yuan, sick and feverish, clinging to the branches of a tree amidst the carnage of the Burial Mounds, its only survivor. He had raced there on Bichen, still barely able to move after the 33 lashes of the discipline whip had left him near the edge of death. Somehow, he had found the strength when the rumors of the demise of the Yiling Patriarch had reached his fevered ears. He’d refused to believe it. Would he not have known? Were their souls not bound together?

There was no sign of Wei Ying in the devastation, however. Not even a trace, save the scattered paper talismans, the trampled crops, the ruined lotus pond, poisoned with blood and the remains of the dead, relics of the life Wei Ying had carved from the barren terrain.

Then his sharp ears had picked up a sound in the eerie stillness, and he’d raced through the trees. The boy was almost unrecognizable, face damp with sweat and red-flushed, yet he clung to life as ferociously as he clung to the branches of the tree, a loosely-tied rope securing him there. There was nothing Lan Wangji could do for the others Wei Ying had risked so much to save, but for this one boy, this one precious boy whom Wei Ying had loved, Lan Wangji would do what he could.

The tug on his leg brought him back to the present, and he repeated the simple litany of words that had run through his head over and over as he struggled with his pain, his grief, his rage: medicine, food, safety. These, he could do.

“Let us put your things away.” He led Wen Yuan into the house and moved his own belongings from one of the shelves near the sleeping platform. He took the robes from within his sleeve and placed them there. “You may leave your toy here. It will be safe.” Wen Yuan still held it tightly, not ready to relinquish the grass butterfly. “When you’re ready,” Lan Wangji added.

He went through to the kitchen, Wen Yuan following along behind. “I will prepare food,” he said. He had intended to have Wen Yuan eat breakfast at Cloud Recesses before daily lessons began. Instead, he prepared congee under watchful eyes, then brought the bowls back to the main room where they ate in silence.

After their meal, that sense of uncertainty returned as the day stretched out before them. How was he to care for and educate this child on his own? He would need… he would need many things. He would need to make a list. He pushed aside his concerns for later. For now, there were tasks that needed doing.

“Come. We must change the water for the lotus seeds.”

Several wooden tubs were lined up in the courtyard. He led Wen Yuan toward them. Already Lan Wangji had spoken more this day than he had for many weeks prior. Nevertheless, he continued to speak to Wen Yuan as he went about the work, explaining in a low voice what he was doing.

“The seeds are waiting to sprout,” he told him. “The water must be warm and clean.” He picked up an empty bucket, pausing before reaching for the second. “If you would like to help, you may bring that one,” he said to Wen Yuan. The boy nodded, struggled to pick it up, but successfully toddled along behind Lan Wangji as he walked towards the well. After filling both buckets, Lan Wangji carried them back to the tubs of lotus seeds. He tilted the first, letting the old water drain away in rivulets across the courtyard, leaving only the seeds behind.

“Do you see them?” he asked Wen Yuan, who peeked over his shoulder to look. At his nod, Lan Wangji added, “I brought them here from far away. The shells are very hard. They protect the life within. The seeds can remain viable for many many years. Yet in order to grow, that shell cannot remain intact. The seedling within would be unable to break through otherwise. Here, feel this,” he said, plucking a seed from the water.” He placed the seed in Wen Yuan’s hand.

Wen Yuan used the finger of his other hand to stroke the outside of the seed.

“Do you feel how rough it is?” Lan Wangji asked.

Wen Yuan nodded.

“I used a sharp stone on the shell. The stone scarified the exterior, altering it to make it easier for the seedling inside. Then I put the seeds in water, letting the sun shine on them throughout the day. We should see them emerge soon. When they’re ready, they will live in the pond. Until then, we must tend them every day, first letting them sprout, then moving them to soil where they will begin to root, then to shade to harden, then finally to their home.”

His throat closed up as he said the words and he paused, blinking back sudden tears. His final trip to the Burial Mounds had occurred in secret. Lan Qiren, already enraged by his initial defiance to search for Wei Ying, insisted on three years of repentance atop his punishment with the discipline whip. But Lan Wangji could not leave the dead unburied. He was haunted by the sight of the carnage he had seen, the destruction of the Wen settlement and the last place Wei Ying had called home. He’d buried what bodies he could, though from what he’d been told, the majority of the Wens had been thrown into the blood pool, the final resting place of the Yiling Patriarch after the resentful energy he’d previously commanded had turned against him, pulling him down into its depths. Lan Wangji had played Inquiry to no avail and he’d let his grief unfurl, unfettered by the tight control he’d held on his emotions since he’d first heard of Wei Ying’s passing. And before returning to Cloud Recesses, he had carefully gathered the lotus seeds, tucking them away in his robes, pressed close to his heart.

Again, Lan Wangji had to tamp down his pain in order to focus on the task at hand. He took a deep breath, then directed a bit of spiritual energy at the clean water, ensuring the temperature was adequate, then he poured it into the tub over the seeds. They repeated their tasks until all the tubs had fresh, clean water.

By the time they were finished, Lan Wangji’s back and shoulders burned with fire from the exertion. Sweat trickled down his neck and exhaustion settled over him. Wen Yuan was rubbing his eyes as well. He would think about their evening meal later, the list he needed to make, what the days ahead would bring.

“Let us rest,” he said to the boy, nodding towards the house. Wen Yuan dutifully followed.

On the fourth day after Wen Yuan had arrived, Lan Xichen came down from Cloud Recesses. Lan Wangji was unsurprised. Well, he was only surprised it had taken till the fourth day; he had expected him sooner.

“Wangji,” Lan Xichen greeted him.

“Xiongzhang.”

“Uncle tells me Wen Yuan will now live with you.”

“Lan Yuan,” Lan Wangji corrected.

Lan Xichen raised his eyebrows.

“He makes his home with me. He is now Lan Yuan, courtesy name Lan Sizhui.”

“Wangji,” Lan Xichen said, brow furrowing in concern. Lan Wangji remained silent.

After a long moment, Lan Xichen sighed. “Not all burdens are yours to bear,” he said.

“He is not a burden,” Lan Wangji said in a tone more sharp than any he had ever used with his brother before.

The concerned furrow deepened. “Of course not,” Lan Xichen said in appeasement. “I only meant I worry about you. Especially after what happened before.”

Lan Wangji knew he referred to the brand on his chest. After he’d returned to the jingshi once the healers had declared him stable, he’d pulled out one of the bottles of Emperor’s Smile he’d hidden under the floorboards for Wei Ying, in hopes he would one day come back to Gusu. His sense of loss was so overpowering, he’d wanted to experience anything he could that would bring him closer to Wei Ying. Lan Xichen was the one who had found him, drunk and half-crazed with grief, the smell of burnt flesh in the air. Having discovered the Wen brand in the Lan store rooms, Lan Wangji had seared his own chest with the Wen sect symbol, its placement identical to the one Wei Ying had worn.

Lan Wangji looked away, still uncomfortable that something so private as the depths of his grief had been laid bare. “I have no desire to harm myself.”

Lan Xichen nodded. “Very well. Do you need anything?”

“We have enough. And the village is not far.”

“You know you only have to ask.”

Lan Wangji dipped his head in acknowledgment. “Will you stay for breakfast?” he asked.

Lan Xichen’s mouth turned up in a soft smile. “I would like that, Wangji. And I would like to say hello to Lan Yuan.”

The tension in Lan Wangji’s shoulders eased at hearing the name on his brother’s lips. “I’ll go wake him.”

-o-

Three days later, the lotus seeds began to sprout. Lan Yuan was again helping Lan Wangji with the daily water change. Lan Wangji beckoned him closer and pulled a seed from the water.

“Look. Do you see how the seed has opened up? That green shoot is the lotus seedling. It will continue to grow and will reach for the sunlight. When the shoot is long enough to reach the surface, its first leaf will unfurl.” Lan Yuan stared silently at the tiny green shoot, reaching out a hesitant finger.

“Would you like to hold it?” Lan Wangji asked. At his solemn nod, Lan Wangji took Lan Yuan’s hand and turned it so the palm was facing upwards. He gently set the seed in his hand. Lan Yuan stared at it, face serious, before offering the seed back to Lan Wangji. Lan Wangji placed it back in the water. Then they continued their work and when all the tubs had been tended to, they went inside to rest.

They fell easily into a routine. Lan Wangji would prepare food in the morning while Lan Yuan slept. After breakfast they would tend to the seeds. Once they’d been transferred to aquatic soil to encourage roots, Lan Wangji began on the azaleas and the salvia, then the wisteria, then the canna lilies. When he tired, they would rest. The afternoons were filled with reading and instruction. Lan Wangji would prepare their evening meal and after they’d bathed, cleaned the dirt from under their nails, he’d pull out his guqin to play Lan Yuan to sleep. Once the boy’s breathing evened into slumber, Lan Wangji would begin a different tune, the notes of Inquiry drifting out into the night.

Spring turned to summer and the soil welcomed cassia and jasmine. The lotus plants, long past the hardening stage, had made their way to the pond and had begun to bloom. Lan Yuan accompanied Lan Wangji when he made trips to the village or into Caiyi Town, yet he hid behind his robes and clung tightly to his leg if anyone paid him any mind. Indeed, the only sounds that ever came from his mouth were the quiet repetition during daily lessons or the terrified wails in the early hours of morning when a nightmare had frightened him from sleep.

Lan Wangji grew more troubled as the days stacked up behind them. As his fingers pressed against the earth, patting down the dirt around a newly planted sapling, he turned the question in his mind, his feelings of inadequacy returning. The plants were thriving. He’d had access not only to the abundant texts in the Cloud Recesses library, but also to the wisdom of the villagers. He knew to stake the young tree for support, knew to dig a trough to collect water at its base. Yet for A-Yuan, he was at a loss.

That night, Lan Yuan fell asleep almost immediately, his little toddler body in need of rest. Lan Wangji was hardly much better; the effects of the discipline whip still ravaged his body and would continue to do so for quite some time. As tired as he was, however, his mind would not quiet. He lay awake in his bed long after the strains of Inquiry had faded and his guqin was safely stored away.

Gently, he brushed the dark hair away from A-Yuan’s sleeping face. The boy curled up beside him bore little resemblance to the one he’d first met in Yiling. He’d seen him crying loudly, lost and frightened in the marketplace. And then he’d seen him laughing and happy, vibrating with energy and vitality. And when they’d gone back to the Burial Mounds, he’d seen him doted on and adored, surrounded by a community who loved him. Now, he was somber and quiet. Were he here, even Lan Qiren could not have found fault with his behavior, dutiful and compliant as he followed Lan Wangji around like a little shadow. Lan Wangji had yet to see him smile.

Wei Ying—

Lan Wangji closed his eyes tightly at the familiar stabbing pain just the thought of his name elicited. He forced himself to take slow deep breaths, calming the ache in his chest, forced himself to slam the gate on the monstrous beast coiled tightly under his skin, always at the ready, eager to be unleashed. Wei Ying. He could hold the name in his mind; he did so every night while playing the guqin. Wei Ying. He could feel the wetness on his cheeks.

Wei Ying.

Wei Ying had acted so naturally with A-Yuan, almost as if the child had been his own. Lan Wangji recalled their easy affection, the obvious bond between them. The smile on Wei Ying’s face. The answering one on A-Yuan’s. They had so little at the Burial Mounds, not even leaves for tea. Somehow, though, Wei Ying had managed to give A-Yuan far more than Lan Wangji ever could.

Medicine, food, safety. These seemed so inadequate in comparison. He’d brought him to the healers, who’d nursed A-Yuan through fever and back to health. Lan Wangji had kept his belly full. He’d provided him with safety, clothes to wear, a roof over his head. But there was not only safety of the body; there was also safety of the mind, safety of the heart.

Tell me what to do, Wei Ying, he thought.

And suddenly he knew.

The next morning after breakfast Lan Wangji picked up the basket he had prepared earlier and said to A-Yuan, “Come. I want to show you something.” Reaching down, he hoisted A-Yuan up on his hip with his free arm then handed him the basket to hold. They rode Bichen up the mountain and Lan Wangji felt the energy barrier give to let them pass as they neared Cloud Recesses. He hadn’t been back since the morning he’d told Lan Qiren that A-Yuan would live with him. Before that day, it had been longer still.

After the incident with the Emperor’s Smile and the Wen sect brand, Lan Wangji had found the jingshi unbearable. Regret weighed upon his heart—for his misstep when he’d asked Wei Ying to come back to Gusu. For doing his duty and coming home to receive his punishment after whisking Wei Ying to the cave from the horrors of Nightless City. For taking Wei Ying back to the Burial Mounds, being absent for the siege. He did not regret attacking the 33 Lan elders who came to the cave, seeking to save his reputation by separating him from Wei Ying. He’d bear the scars for the remainder of his days, but he would do it again, and more, to keep Wei Ying from harm. In the end, he had failed.

His righteous path, the rules by which they lived, seemed meaningless against the loss he now bore. The minor rebellion of his younger self—the hidden stash of Emperor’s Smile—became an ironic reminder of the hopes he’d once cherished, now that there was no one left to drink. That had not stopped him from bringing the wine down from the mountain to the house where he now lived. Lan Xichen had tried to convince him to remain in Cloud Recesses, if not in the jingshi, then in Gentian House. But that too was a reminder of another loss he’d had to learn to bear.

Instead, he remembered the night in the cave, after the Lan elders, bloodied and battered, had returned back home, after the argument with Lan Qiren, who was convinced Wei Wuxian had corrupted Lan Wangji’s mind. Lan Wangji steadfastly assured him that no, things were as they appeared. He would protect Wei Ying no matter the cost. With mutterings about a son of the father, Lan Qiren had retreated in disgust. Terrified that Wei Ying, fevered and bloodied and ensnared by writhing tendrils of resentful energy, would not make it through the night, Lan Wangji had refused to leave his side, despite Wei Ying’s many entreaties for him to go. 

When he regained his senses at one point in the night, Wei Ying whispered softly, throat hoarse from shouting, about a dream he’d long carried, a small wooden cabin, some farmland to tend, a simple life.

“Wouldn’t that be nice, Lan Zhan?” he’d asked.

“Mn,” he had answered, throat too tight to speak, while carefully cradling Wei Ying in his arms.

He’d defied Lan Qiren again when he’d left Cloud Recesses to fly down the mountain when the thought of confinement in the jingshi became too much to endure. He’d scoured the landscape, seeking a small plot of land. He’d found it at the foot of the mountain and hired men from the village to build. Lan Xichen sighed heavily and his uncle had raged, but it was finally agreed upon; there, he would stay.

When Lan Wangji and A-Yuan reached the mountain path, they dismounted. “We will walk from here,” Lan Wangji said. The back mountain contained another of his youthful rebellions, gifts from Wei Ying: it’s forbidden to raise pets at Cloud Recesses.

A-Yuan halted in his tracks when they reached the warren. The hillside was dotted with white fluffy rabbits, scampering about. He stared in wonder.

“Here,” Lan Wangji said. “They like to eat these.” He pulled a carrot from the basket. Kneeling down, he waited, letting the rabbits come to them. “Like this,” he said, putting the carrot in front of a twitchy pink nose. As the rabbit gnawed at the carrot, Lan Wangji used his other hand to scritch it behind its ears.

He pulled another carrot from the basket, handing it to A-Yuan. A-Yuan squatted down and mirrored Lan Wangji’s actions, placing a carrot in front of a second rabbit’s nose. When it started to nibble, his eyes widened. “Now, pet it,” Lan Wangji instructed. “Like this.”

He took A-Yuan’s tiny hand in his own larger one and brought it to the rabbit’s head. “Gentle,” he said, as A-Yuan stroked the soft white fur, reverently and with awe. Then A-Yuan jumped up to grab a handful of carrots from the basket, attempting to feed several at once. The rabbits crowded around him, trying to get at the tasty treats. He backed away, but they only crowded closer, little paws reaching up his thighs as he held the carrots out of reach. Then with a stumble, he fell backwards in the grass, bunnies tumbling after. When one hopped across his belly he let out a startled sound, high-pitched and full of delight. Lan Wangji scooped up the nearby rabbits, placing them on A-Yuan’s legs, his chest, his arms, his shoulders, his belly, covering his entire body in wiggly white balls of fluff. A-Yuan’s shrieks of laughter could be heard all the way in Caiyi Town.

After the visit to the warren, Lan Wangji noted with satisfaction how Lan Yuan began to change. The laughter was rare, but smiles now regularly graced his face. No longer quiet and docile, he raced around the garden and rarely ended the day not covered head to toe in dirt. More than once, Lan Wangji had had to fish him from the pond when he’d fallen in by accident while trying to catch a frog. And sometimes, when he tired at midday, instead of compliantly following Lan Wangji to the house to rest, he’d lie down in the courtyard screaming and crying at the top of his lungs, face red and angry, little feet kicking furiously in defiance as he refused to go inside.

Lan Wangji, exhausted beyond measure, could only stare in bewilderment at A-Yuan, completely at a loss of what to do. Some days, it was only the promise of a visit to the warren that could entice A-Yuan to bed.

As tired as he was, as inadequate as he felt when navigating the mercurial moods of a three-year-old, Lan Wangji would not want his silent little shadow to return. Were it not for the nightmares that continued to plague A-Yuan’s sleep, Lan Wangji might even feel he was finally offering the kind of safety that A-Yuan so rightly deserved.

Some nights, it wasn’t A-Yuan who woke from a nightmare, but Lan Wangji, gasping for air, heart hammering in his chest. He’d see Wei Ying at Nightless City, black tendrils of smoke engulfing him until there was nothing left. He’d dream of the Burial Mounds, of racing to the tree where he’d discovered A-Yuan, only to find no one there. He’d see the sword that had pierced Jiang Yanli’s breast pierce Wei Ying instead. Endless variations on the same theme would disrupt his rest. Lying in the dark, he’d place a hand across A-Yuan’s back, feeling the reassuring rise and fall of his chest as he breathed quietly in and out. But nothing could ease the lonely terror of losing Wei Ying that such nightmares would bring.

-o-

As the days grew shorter, but before the harvests began, Lan Wangji again hired men from the village. When it had been just himself, he’d had no need for more space. Lan Yuan, however, should have his own sleeping platform and a room of his own. As they toiled in the garden, planting willow and osmanthus, peonies, and clumps of bamboo, a western wing was added to the house. As the days grew cooler, camellias made their way into the garden, then a magnolia tree. When it grew too cold to plant, Lan Yuan sat playing by the fire while Lan Wangji sketched out plans for the spring.

When snow no longer fell and the ground began to soften, more trees were added to the garden—peaches and cherry, a ginkgo and maple—in the courtyard, a flowering plum. More flowers were planted, climbing roses and chrysanthemums. And to the southwest the newly turned earth became home to an entirely different kind of flora, full of sweet peas and radish, cabbage and eggplant, beans and turnips, potatoes, carrots, chilis, and more.

During the heat of the summer Lan Wangji gathered stones, seeking flat surfaces with which to make a path. The sweat poured down his back as he toiled, and the lashes he’d received still burned, but the raging fire had subsided to the heat of a glowing coal. Lan Yuan had begun to spend occasional days in the village. One of the farmers who had helped build the house had witnessed a spectacular Lan Yuan tantrum one afternoon in Caiyi Town. He chuckled in sympathy at Lan Wangji’s obvious exhaustion and distress and told him help would come his way. Lan Wangji nodded politely, distracted by his wailing charge, thinking it no more than a solicitous turn of phrase. The next morning, however, the farmer’s wife had shown up at Lan Wangji’s door.

The first attempt to leave A-Yuan in her care was unsuccessful, as was the second, and the third. A-Yuan clung to Lan Wangji’s leg with the strength of a bear, unwilling to let him from his sight. The woman cocked her head in disapproval, but the thoughts running through Lan Wangji’s mind were the same as before—safety of the mind, safety of the heart—and he refused to leave him in distress. Only after A-Yuan was introduced to their friendly black cat did he begin to loosen his hold. With promises of a trip to the warren, a sweet treat to eat, and a new toy the next time they were in Caiyi Town, Lan Wangji had his first hours free of his constant small companion since he’d come down the mountain to live. Indeed, the separation was almost as unsettling for himself as it was for Lan Yuan, but they both grew used to the time apart. Eventually, Lan Xichen also sought to spend time with Lan Yuan, taking him back to Cloud Recesses to visit, even keeping him overnight.

On such days, Lan Wangji would focus on the tasks requiring physical strength, wresting great stones from the ground and carrying them back to the garden. The paths he made did not go straight; they bent and turned, this way and that. Each new twist brought a new perspective, an innovative point of view.  In the autumn he added sculptural elements, a small pool of water shaded by a ledge of overhanging rock. A large stone was submerged in the pool with only its curved top visible above the surface. In another corner of the garden he piled up earth and stacked stones against the incline, one on top of another forming a series of winding steps. At the top of the small mound, he leveled the dirt and placed a much larger stone atop it, rectangular in shape. Two more thin slabs of stone rested atop the larger rock, leaning against each other at an angle. In yet another area, he placed an enormous boulder, a mountainous mass of stone with jagged edges tapering to a point. It was so heavy he’d needed the help of three men to move it, but he stared with satisfaction once it was set in place amidst the peonies.

After another winter ended, Lan Wangji built a small bridge under the flowering fruit trees. A short pier now extended out into the lotus pond. A small boat lay overturned nearby should anyone care to row upon the water. Spring turned to summer; summer turned to autumn. And as another year shuttered its door, Lan Wangji’s years of punishment were behind him.

Their days continued on as they had before, working outside in the mornings, rest at midday, studies in the afternoons. The agony of the discipline whip had finally faded; only the itch and the pull of the scars remained. He had no intention to return to Cloud Recesses. Here, he’d remain, with his garden full of riotous color, vibrant and chaotic and bursting with life, with the boy he’d plucked from the trunk of a tree, a reminder that even a heart shattered beyond repair could still find love to give. As each evening closed, he’d pluck the strings of the guqin, sending A-Yuan off to sleep. Then as he had done every night for the past three-plus years, he played Inquiry, allowing himself the pain of grief and longing, like pressing on a bruise.

-o-

Lan Wangji woke suddenly in the dark of night. “Wei Ying,” he gasped. His heart was hammering, as if from a nightmare, but his mind held no lingering traces of disturbing dreams. He sat upright, trying to get his bearings, to determine what had roused him from the deepest sleep. A sense of urgency overtook him, formless, yet persistent. It was almost as if… Hurriedly, he donned his robes, tied back his hair, and went to wake A-Yuan.

“A-die?” A-Yuan asked sleepily, rubbing his eyes, confused.

Lan Wangji’s heart fluttered, as it did each time A-Yuan called him by that name. “Shh. Everything is all right. I am sorry to wake you so early. I must ask you to dress. There is business I must attend to. I am going to take you to stay with my brother.”

“Can I see the rabbits?” A-Yuan asked, still barely awake, but beginning to get out of bed to put on his robes.

“I will ask xiongzhang to take you to visit the rabbits.”

Lan Wangji combed his hair and tied his forehead ribbon while A-Yuan fumbled with the sash of his robe. Within minutes they were mounted on Bichen, A-Yuan in front of Lan Wangji, Lan Wangji’s steady hands on his shoulders, holding him close.

The hour was too early to enter Cloud Recesses, but Lan Wangji barely gave the Lan sect rule a second’s thought before passing through the energy barrier and alighting outside of the hanshi. He gave a soft knock at the door.

“Xiongzhang,” he said quietly.

After a moment he heard rustling within and then Lan Xichen appeared at the door, hair loose around his shoulders.

“Wangji,” he said, a note of urgency in his voice. “What is wrong?”

Lan Wangji paused, not sure how to explain his sense of urgency, his need to go.

“I… am unsure,” he replied. “I felt something. It woke me from my sleep. I need to return to the Burial Mounds.”

The concern on Lan Xichen’s face deepened. “You told me yourself there was no trace left.”

“I did. There was none.”

“What do you hope to find there? Please do not do this to yourself.”

Lan Wangji paused before responding, anger flaring up under his skin. He had not even dared to dream of hope. And yet… there was something in the pull he felt… He took a deep breath, calming himself. He did not need to argue with his brother; he knew his concern was based in care. “I do not know that I will find anything there. I only know that I must go.”

“Wangji,” Lan Xichen began again, as if to protest.

“I came to ask if A-Yuan could stay with you. If you are unwilling, I will take him to the village.”

“Of course, A-Yuan may stay,” Lan Xichen said with a smile in the boy’s direction. “I am always happy to spend more time with him.” Seeming to realize that Lan Wangji was resolute in his plans, he made no more efforts to dissuade. “How long will you be gone?” he asked instead.

“Several days, maybe more.”

Lan Xichen nodded. “And when do you leave?”

“Right away.”

“Please eat something first.”

“I will stop along the way.”

“Wangji," Xichen said in a chiding voice, as if knowing Lan Wangji would not, despite the rule at Cloud Recesses against lying.

“I will stop in the kitchens before I depart.”

Seemingly appeased, Lan Xichen turned to Lan Yuan. “We will eat soon as well. Why don’t you come inside and rest until it is time for the morning meal.”

Instead of replying, A-Yuan tugged on Lan Wangji’s robe. “A-die,” he whispered urgently, then mouthed, “the rabbits.”

The corner of Lan Wangji’s mouth twitched slightly as he nodded.

“Xiongzhang, A-Yuan would like to visit the rabbits while he is at Cloud Recesses.”

Lan Xichen smiled down at Lan Yuan. “We will visit the rabbits. We can go this afternoon if you would like.”

A-Yuan nodded his head vigorously.

“Then that’s settled.” He turned back to Lan Wangji. “Do you need anything from me?”

“No, just for you to watch over A-Yuan while I’m gone.” He paused. “Unless you have a transportation talisman?” There was a hopeful rise to his voice.

Lan Xichen grimaced. “I’m sorry. I have none prepared.”

The answer was as he expected. “Then I will be off.” He knelt down, eye-level to A-Yuan. “I will return soon,” he promised. “Obey the rules while you are here and mind my brother and Lan Qiren. Say hello to the rabbits for me.” A-Yuan nodded his head. Then the boy threw his arms around Lan Wangji’s neck, squeezing tightly. Lan Wangji swallowed a lump in the back of his throat from the ready affection and whispered quiet assurances in A-Yuan’s ear. Then with a kiss to the top of his head, he unwrapped the boy’s arms from around his neck, standing once again.

“I will stop by the kitchens on my way out.”

“Travel safely,” Lan Xichen said out loud; the concern that shone from his eyes said even more.

-o-

Lan Wangji flew fast and straight. The distance traveled, under normal circumstances, would typically take two days. A rest midway would allow the restoration of the considerable spiritual energy expended on sword travel. Lan Wangji, however, intended to cover the distance in one; he would make no stops on his journey. At the speed he was flying, he anticipated arriving at the Burial Mounds by nightfall. Before departing Cloud Recesses, in addition to his visit to the kitchens, he also made a stop at the healers, tucking medicinal herbs into his sleeve. He did not know what he’d find when he’d arrive—perhaps nothing—but he wanted to be prepared.

As the air rushed past, billowing his robes and hair behind him, Lan Wangji emptied his mind of thought, concentrating only on the journey. The hours stretched before him, and though it would be far too easy to let his mind wander freely, remembering other times he had covered this same ground, he kept his spiritual energy focused. The most he allowed himself to hope for was an answer to the question of what had awakened him from sleep; he dared not hope for more.

He felt the Burial Mounds before he saw them, the slight shift in the air, a sense of unease, the resentful energy seeping far out into the atmosphere, like a drop of ink dispersed in water. As he drew nearer, he felt the remains of the energy barrier Wei Ying had erected to protect the Wens. He wondered if the lingering magical traces still recognized him as a friend. They held no more power to bar anyone entry, and as Lan Wangji passed through where the barrier once stood, he felt a faint barely-there tingling, like the lightest touch of fingertips along his skin.

The settlement looked much as it had the last time he was here. The razed fields still lay barren, the lotus pond in ruins. As he alighted outside the cave entrance, the eerie stillness sent a shiver up Lan Wangji’s spine. He heard not a sound; not even an insect stirred, but he felt… something.

As he scanned the area, searching for some sign of what had brought him here, an almost imperceptible movement at the mouth of the cave caught his eye. A tendril of black smoke emerged from the darkness and began to snake down the steps and across the ground towards him. He drew Bichen and his senses sharpened into high alert as more tendrils followed, pouring out of the cave like water tipping over the edge of a cup. They rushed towards him, skittering like spiders. He whirled in alarm, slashing futilely at the strands as they swirled around his ankles, drawing him toward the gaping entrance. He was about to draw his guqin out when the resentful energy suddenly retreated, coiling back inside the cave and leaving him staring into the darkness. As his eyes grew accustomed to his surroundings, he watched as the tendrils of smoke swirled around a shapeless lump at the edge of the blood pool, as if something had crawled out from within its depths, but could go no further. The black smoke enveloped the shape and circled around, over and under the form, until it disappeared completely, as if the thing at the blood pool’s edge had absorbed the resentful energy within itself.

Lan Wangji’s heart thumped rabbit-quick. As he approached, he was able to make out that he was staring at a human form—whether a living being or a fierce corpse, he did not yet know. The hair was matted and caked with dried blood, the face turned away. The robes, too, were soaked through with blood, and the stone floor was stained red beneath him. Bichen still at the ready, Lan Wangji knelt down, gripping the body’s shoulder. Tugging, he pulled them over onto their back. As the high cheekbones, the curve of those lips, the smooth forehead came into view, the tempo of his heart increased. The sound of his pulse roared in his ears as he was overtaken with the impossibility of who lay before him. As he stared in shock at the blood-stained face, those beautiful beloved eyes blinked open slowly, staring up in confusion.

“Lan Zhan?”

Lan Wangji froze. Was this a ghost, a demon, a hallucination he himself had conjured from the depths of his grief?

“Lan Zhan, don’t look like that. I know I probably don’t look my best, but it’s really me.”

His voice was scratchy and weak, as if unused to speaking, but the sound was more welcome than the brightest musical score. The ill-timed humor, so familiar and dear, snapped Lan Wangji back into motion.

“Wei Ying,” he gasped. Bichen clattered to the stone floor of the cave as Lan Wangji knelt by his side. “Where are you hurt?” he demanded.

“Ah, no,” Wei Ying answered. “Lan Zhan, it’s not my blood.”

Hearing that, Lan Wangji leaned over Wei Ying and lifted him into his arms. He could feel his own shoulders shake and his throat tighten as he cradled Wei Ying close. He couldn’t speak as powerful emotions battered him from all sides. He didn’t even try to hold back his tears. One slipped down his cheek, down his jaw and it landed on Wei Ying’s upturned face. He lifted a shaky finger to wipe it away, leaving a smear of rust.

Wei Ying lifted his own unsteady hand, gently stroking his fingers across Lan Wangji’s wet cheek. “Lan Zhan, don’t cry,” he whispered, voice still scraped and raw. “I’m not worth your tears.”

Lan Wangji only hunched over further, pulling him even closer, silent sobs shaking his chest. They stayed that way a long time, Wei Ying clasped in Lan Wangji’s arms, Lang Wangji huddled protectively around him. When he could finally speak, Lan Wangji straightened so he could look into Wei Ying’s eyes, pouring all his yearning into the question, all his deeply buried hopes, his fear, his heartbreak, his devastation, his aching joy. “Come back to Gusu with me,” he begged. He couldn’t conceive of what he’d do if Wei Ying said no—perhaps disintegrate into dust.

Wei Ying stared silently up into his eyes, searching his face. The old rebellious spirit was nowhere to be seen. He looked broken and haunted, exhausted in a way Lan Wangji had never seen. He wondered what had happened to him, where he’d been these past few years. He did not need the answers; he only needed Wei Ying.

“Yes,” Wei Ying said and Lan Wangji’s relief was so acute it was as if he were splintering from the inside out. “Yes,” he repeated. “I’ll come back to Gusu with you.” Lan Wangji crushed him close again. Wei Ying gave no protest.

It soon became apparent that Wei Ying was too weak to travel. He could only stand for short periods at a time. Afraid that he’d slip from his shoulders if he tried to carry him on his back, Lan Wangji instead lifted Wei Ying into his arms, placing his hands around his neck.

“Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying protested. “Your robes will be ruined,” his tone full of dismay as the pristine white became even more smudged with streaks of rust.

“They are of no matter,” Lan Wangji replied.

He stopped at a stream outside of Yiling. He couldn’t bring Wei Ying into town in his current state. He stripped Wei Ying’s robes from him perfunctorily, ignoring his protests, leaving him in only his pants. Then he removed his own robes as well. He led Wei Ying into the water till they were standing waist deep. Wei Ying wrapped his arms around his chest, shivering, expression resigned, as if he no longer had energy left to complain. He was so thin. Lan Wangji could see every rib, every knob of his spine. His eyes roved over his body, cataloging every detail. When his eyes came back to Wei Ying’s face, he saw him staring at his chest where the Wen sect symbol was branded on his skin. He flushed, knowing Wei Ying had probably already seen the scars on his back as well.

As briskly as he could, Lan Wangji cleaned the dried blood from his body. He urged Wei Ying to tip his head backward, hand on the small of his back for support, so his hair could trail in the water, allowing the current to carry the worst of the blood away. When he was reasonably clean, Lan Wangji guided him back to dry ground. He kicked Wei Ying’s ruined robes aside and slipped his own under robe over Wei Ying’s head. When he opened his mouth as if to protest again, Lan Wangji’s stare quelled whatever he had been about to speak. As he bent to pick up Wei Ying up again, Wei Ying stopped him.

“Wait.” He knelt to rummage in the sleeve of his ruined clothing, pulling out Chenqing. He stood to face Lan Wangji, a hint of the old defiance in the set of his jaw. Lan Wangji only nodded and held out his hand for the flute. Wei Ying handed it over and watched silently as Lan Wangji tucked it in the sleeve of his robe. Then Lan Wangji mounted Bichen and scooped Wei Ying back into his arms.

Lan Wangji alighted directly outside the inn. Keeping Wei Ying from prying eyes as much as possible, he strode inside and asked the innkeeper to take them immediately to a room. Once through the door, he set Wei Ying down and stepped in front of him, blocking him from view as he spoke in a low voice to the innkeeper. He extracted payment from his money pouch and the innkeeper nodded enthusiastically, his eyes shining at the large sum being placed in his hand. Once he’d gone, Lan Wangji led Wei Ying over to the bed, saying, “Sit and rest. He is sending someone for some new clothing. And he will send up some food and drink, as well as a bath.” A knock sounded at the door almost before he had finished speaking. Lan Wangji moved the screen to shield Wei Ying from view, then opened the door to some servants carrying in a large wooden tub. After a few more trips, the bath of steaming water was ready in the corner. A few small vials and pots were placed on a table nearby next to several willow twigs in a dish of water. A tray of food had been delivered, along with a pot of tea and a jug of wine. Lan Wangji set a warming talisman on the meal to keep till later. No one had yet returned with the clothing, but Lan Wangji felt no sense of urgency, enjoying the look of Wei Ying in his under robe. He refused to examine his reaction too closely.

“What happened to you? Where have you been?” The words escaped his lips before he could rein them in. He could hear how plaintive he sounded. When his eyes met Wei Ying’s, he silently cursed himself. Whereas moments ago he had begun to relax, now, Wei Ying was tense and that haunted look was back in his eyes.

“Lan Zhan,” he said, almost desperately. “Can we talk about this later?”

Realizing he would be asking Wei Ying to relive his trauma when what he obviously needed was rest, Lan Wangji readily agreed. “Of course,” he said. “Come, the bath is ready.”

Wei Ying got slowly to his feet and turned his back on Lan Wangji as he undressed. Lan Wangji gently pried the under robe from his fingers and draped it over the screen. Wei Ying’s hands hesitated at the tie at his waist, but then he took a deep breath and pulled his pants over his hips, sliding them down his legs until they were pooled at his feet. Lan Wangji gripped his upper arms to steady him as he stepped out of the pants and into the tub. Wei Ying hissed as he sunk into the steaming water, the heat taking him by surprise.

Lan Wangji knelt beside the tub, pulling back his sleeves, and took the soft cloth draped over the edge of the tub and poured some of the soapy mixture from one of the small clay pots.

“What are you—” Wei Ying began as Lan Wangji dipped the cloth in the water and brought it to Wei Ying’s face. Gently, he wiped his cheeks, his forehead, his eyelids, his chin, systematically cleaning every bit of his face. Next, he rubbed the cloth over Wei Ying’s neck, his shoulders, his chest. He cleaned both arms, first one then the other, taking extra care at the bend in his elbows then giving each finger special attention, rolling each one between the cloth, massaging all the way to his fingertips. He did not meet Wei Ying’s eyes, simply focused on each inch of skin as if bathing him were the most important task in the world. In this moment it was.

Lan Wangji ignored Wei Ying’s sharp intake of breath as his hands dipped beneath the water to rub over his ribcage, his belly, down his hips, through the rough hair at the juncture of his thighs, over his sex. His movements were perfunctory and not at all sexual, but he could feel the stirring underneath his hands and hear the squeak from Wei Ying’s mouth. He didn’t linger, but moved down his thigh, behind his knee, down his calf, to his ankles and graceful feet. Again, he gave each toe careful attention and pressed into the arch of his foot before moving to the other leg and doing the same.

He looked up then to see Wei Ying staring intently at him, eyes dark, his cheeks flushed pink, whether from embarrassment or the heat of the water or another reason altogether, Lan Wangji did not know. He pushed aside thoughts of his younger self, how much he had ached for the beautiful boy who enraged and intrigued him all at once, how many times he’d lain awake reliving the memory of the stolen kiss on Phoenix Mountain, the feel of Wei Ying’s plush lips under his own, the catch of his breath, the way his body had gone plaint beneath him. He would have given much to see Wei Ying like this, completely bare, and the object of his attentive gaze.

But his desire to touch him was not sexual in nature, at least not in this moment. He sought to assure himself Wei Ying was alive, that this was not some fever dream. He needed to know he was whole and uninjured, that there was not some hidden wound that could steal him away once again. He wanted to cherish and care for him, to tell him with gentle hands and tender touches how very much he had been missed.

Lan Wangji stood to walk around to the other side of the tub. He knelt down again at Wei Ying’s back. He pushed down on his shoulders, directing him lower in the water.

“Please wet your hair,” he said.

Wei Ying did as instructed, submerging himself for a few seconds before surfacing again. Lan Wangji took another of the pots that had been provided and poured the rice water over his head. His long strong hands worked the mixture through Wei Ying’s hair, massaging his scalp with rhythmic strokes of his fingers, carding them through the long strands, then massaging his head again, from his temples to the nape of his neck. Wei Ying seemed to melt under his ministrations, shoulders relaxing, head leaning back into the press of his hands. He let out a sigh.

“Feels good,” he slurred tiredly, as if on the verge of sleep.

“Almost done,” Lan Wangji assured him. “Rinse.”

Wei Ying groaned, but obediently slid beneath the water again, staying under longer this time as Lan Wangji worked the mixture out of his hair. When he was satisfied it was clean, he nudged Wei Ying’s shoulders, motioning him to resurface. Then he gathered Wei Ying’s hair into one hand and pulled it over to the side, exposing the long stretch of his neck. With a gentle press of his fingers, he tipped Wei Ying’s head forward and gave into the impulse he’d felt since discovering him alive at the Burial Mounds. Leaning over, he pressed a soft kiss to the back of Wei Ying’s neck.

Wei Ying stilled, but before either could speak, there was a knock at the door. Lan Wangji released his hold on Wei Ying’s hair, stood, and adjusted the screen once again before opening the door. A servant stood there with several sets of robes, a new pair of boots, and a comb. Lan Wangji set the items by the bed and went back to help Wei Ying from the tub. While he stood, Lan Wangji poured clean water from the additional bucket that had been left for them. When he was satisfied that he had rinsed all the soiled water from his hair and his skin, he helped Wei Ying out of the tub, wrapping a bath towel around him.

As much as seeing Wei Ying in his under robe satisfied him in a primitive fundamental way, Lan Wangji pulled one of the new under robes and pants from the clothes that had been delivered and handed them to Wei Ying. He removed his own soiled outer robe and also slipped into a new under robe. In the past they had been as intimately dressed when trapped together in the cave of the Xuanwu, and Lan Wangji had just touched every inch of Wei Ying’s skin, yet he felt strangely shy and nervous. Wei Ying, now dressed with hair hanging wetly down his shoulders, seemed to also retreat inward, eyes cast downward. He swayed unsteadily on his feet, as if he were about to fall asleep where he stood.

“Wei Ying,” Lan Wangji said softly. Wei Ying looked up. “Sit and eat. And then you can sleep.” Wei Ying nodded in agreement. They sat across from each other at the low table. Lan Wangji poured Wei Ying a cup of tea. Then he filled a bowl for Wei Ying, giving him the choicest pieces of meat. He opened the jug of wine and poured a cup as well, sliding it across the table. Wei Ying glanced up in surprise, eyebrows raised questioningly, but Lan Wangji only plucked another piece of meat from the tray and placed it in Wei Ying’s bowl. “Eat,” he said.

Only after Wei Ying had taken several bites and drank his first cup of wine did Lan Wangji begin his own meal.

After their bowls were empty and Wei Ying had made his way through a good portion of the wine, Lan Wangji led Wei Ying over to the bed. “Sit,” he said. Wei Ying looked as if he could barely keep his eyes open, but did as Lan Wangji said. Lan Wangji retrieved the last of the vials left by the servants, the comb, and one the willow twigs. He handed the twig to Wei Ying, who put it between his lips and began to chew on it. Lan Wangji sat down next to him and placed the comb in his lap while he poured some osmanthus oil into his palm. He rubbed his hands together, coating them before stroking them over Wei Ying’s still-damp hair.

“Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying said, as if about to return to his earlier protests.

“Let me do this,” Lan Wangji said, not letting him speak further.

Wei Ying stayed silent, a small thoughtful frown appearing on his brow, but he turned his body away from Lan Wangji to give him easier access to his hair. Lan Wangji was careful, working through any snarls without pulling on Wei Ying’s scalp. He methodically untangled every inch until the comb ran smoothly through the entire length of his hair. He continued to comb, enjoying the way Wei Ying’s shoulders began to relax, the way his head dipped and his breathing slowed. Only when Wei Ying’s head jerked, as if stopping himself from slipping into sleep, did Lan Wangji put the comb aside.

He pulled the willow twig from Wei Ying’s mouth and gently grasped his arm, urging him to turn back towards him. “Sleep now,” he said, and Wei Ying nodded, eyes heavy, movements slow. He lay down then slid over to the far side, leaving a wide expanse of bed open.

“Lan Zhan,” he said, voice slurry with sleep.

“We will talk tomorrow,” Lan Wangji said, answering his unspoken question.

Wei Ying nodded, shut his eyes, and almost immediately succumbed to sleep. Only then did Lan Wangji feel his own exhaustion settle over him, like a heavy fog on a mountain path. He had intended to send a message to Lan Xichen. He wanted to play the guqin for Wei Ying to help him recover his strength. He decided these things could wait till morning. His own reserves of spiritual energy needed replenishment after his long journey. He cleaned his teeth, took off his hair ornament and forehead ribbon, and stood by the bedside, staring at the sleeping form of Wei Ying. He should sleep on the floor, he thought. That would be the courteous thing to do. But Wei Ying had left so much room, almost as if in invitation. And they had already been far more intimate this evening than sleeping side by side would entail. In truth he knew there was no choice to make. As tired as he was, he didn’t think he’d be able to sleep without the assurance of touch to believe Wei Ying was truly here. He dimmed the lamp, got into the bed, then reached out his hand to encircle Wei Ying’s thin wrist. The steady pulse under his fingertips lulled him to sleep.

Even after the long day and late night, Lan Wangji woke with the sunrise. His heart thumped painfully as the first sight he saw upon opening his eyes was the face of Wei Ying still fast asleep, his wrist grasped in Lan Wangji’s hand. Now, in the dawning light, he allowed himself the luxury of lying in bed, staring at the face he’d thought he’d only see in memory. He watched the steady rise and fall of Wei Ying’s chest, felt his blood coursing underneath his skin. Alive. Wei Ying is alive. He still found it hard to believe. But the proof was inches away. The tumultuous emotion he’d felt at the burial mounds as he sobbed and shook at the side of the blood pool, Wei Ying cradled in his arms, threatened to overwhelm him again He centered his mind, forcing himself into calm. He could fall apart later, if necessary; his focus needed to be on Wei Ying.

Reluctantly, he released Wei Ying’s wrist and got out of bed. He dressed, arranged his hair, and donned his forehead ribbon, knowing the breakfast he’d requested would arrive soon. Moments later, he heard the soft tap at the door and he took the laden tray from the servant with thanks. Even without the exhaustion he’d seen on Wei Ying’s face, he knew it would be hours before he’d wake. Lan Wangji ate his meal and drank his tea, then set a warming talisman on the tray.

Next, he sent a message to Lan Xichen. He was careful with his wording and did not mention Wei Ying by name, but he knew his brother would understand his meaning. He let him know it would be many days before their return and requested a favor, a list of items to be brought to the house. He also asked him to keep Lan Yuan at Cloud Recesses until Lan Wangji sent for him.

As the butterfly talisman took flight, Lan Wangji’s thoughts dwelled on A-Yuan. He should have told Wei Ying he’d survived. He’d been too caught up in his own emotions to think beyond the immediate. He wondered if A-Yuan would remember Wei Ying. He thought he must if his attachment to the grass butterfly toy was any indication. Selfishly, he hoped the presence of A-Yuan would entice Wei Ying to stay when they returned to Gusu. He knew he was getting ahead of himself. He did not yet know where Wei Ying had been these past few years, nor of his plans for the future. Yet he couldn’t help but envision what a life with Wei Ying might look like.

A scream jolted him out of his daydreams. He was on his feet in an instant, eyes snapping to Wei Ying on the bed. He watched in horror as Wei Ying’s body jerked in spasms before going taut. Black tendrils of resentful energy began seeping out from under him, before swirling around his still form, encasing him in a writhing black cloud.

“Wei Ying!” Lan Wangji shouted, reaching through the smoke to grab his shoulders, giving him a sharp shake. “Wei Ying,” he said again, more urgently. “Can you hear me?”

Wei Ying’s body stiffened under his hands, then he sat up gasping, eyes wide with alarm. Lan Wangji saw his expression morph from terror to confusion to understanding to determination. As Lan Wangji watched, the black smoke retreated and seemed to coil back in on itself, the tendrils growing smaller and smaller until there was nothing left at all.

“What—” Lan Wangji started to ask before he was interrupted by a pounding on the door. Keeping his eyes on Wei Ying the entire time, Lan Wangji went to answer it. The innkeeper was on the other side.

“We heard a scream,” the innkeeper said, trying to peer over his shoulder and looking around suspiciously.

Lan Wangji stepped in front of him, shielding Wei Ying from view. “Only a nightmare,” Lan Wangji said, reaching into his money pouch. He pulled out a large sum of money and pressed it into the innkeeper’s hand. “Please accept my apologies and payment for an additional night. It will not happen again.” A silencing talisman would see to that.

Immediately appeased, the innkeeper pocketed the money. “No worries, no worries at all. Can I have anything else sent up for you?” he asked.

Lan Wangji said. “Dinner again this evening with more wine and a bath.”

The innkeeper nodded and hurried off. Lan Wangji returned to the bed and sat next to Wei Ying. “What happened? Are you cursed?” he asked.

Wei Ying wouldn’t meet his eyes. “It was as you said, a nightmare.”

“Wei Ying,” Lan Wangji said with a hint of admonishment. When Wei Ying seemed to grow smaller, almost as if he were crumpling in upon himself, Lan Wangji immediately regretted his tone. In the morning light he could see far more clearly the gauntness of his cheeks, the dark circles under his eyes, the haunted expression on his face. How unbearably exhausted he still looked.

“Can we talk about this later?” Wei Ying asked, almost desperately.

Much softer, Lan Wangji replied, “We do not need to talk about this at all if you wish.” Whatever Wei Ying wanted, whatever Wei Ying needed, Lan Wangji would give it to him were it within his power.

Wei Ying looked up at him then in surprise. Seeing the expression on Lan Wangji’s face, his own softened. “Lan Zhan,” he said, but didn’t follow it with more, as if he were at a loss for words.

Lan Wangji softly squeezed his wrist, unable to stop himself from touching Wei Ying while sitting so close. “I will bring you your breakfast. Then I will play for you. You must rest.” He rose from the bed and retrieved the tray, setting it next on the bed. He poured a cup of tea and handed it to Wei Ying, then served him a bowl of food. When he was satisfied Wei Ying had eaten, he removed the tray then retrieved his guqin from its quinkun pouch.

As he sat with his hands resting on the strings of his instrument, he paused. Clarity was suitable for the circumstances. It could help ease Wei Ying’s mind and calm his spirit. The last time he had played the song for Wei Ying, however, was at Nightless City, when they’d almost come to blows, when Jiang Yanli had raced onto the battlefield, throwing herself in harm’s way for Wei Ying’s sake. No, Clarity was not the song for this moment. There were other healing songs, and he’d play those for Wei Ying, but for now, when he plucked the strings of the guqin, the notes that sprang forth were the same as those he’d played in the cave of the Xuanwu, the song he’d composed for Wei Ying—Wangxian.

Wei Ying’s eyes widened in recognition as he listened to Lan Wangji play. “You never told me the name of this song,” he said.

Lan Wangji didn’t respond. He continued to play, noting with satisfaction how Wei Ying’s eyes started to droop, tiredness creeping back over him now that his belly was full. He played until Wei Ying’s eyelids dropped closed and his breaths evened out into sleep, then he played the song again, hoping to hold his nightmares at bay. Then he played it a third time for himself as much as for Wei Ying before channeling his spiritual energy into healing songs.

Lan Wangji played as the sun rose high in the sky. He played all through the afternoon and still Wei Ying slept. When the knock came at the door for their evening meal and the bath he had requested, he put away the guqin to let the servants in. After they had gone, he turned around to find Wei Ying awake, watching him.

“How are you feeling?” he asked.

“Better,” Wei Ying said.

Lan Wangji nodded. “Our food has arrived. Come eat.”

Wei Ying sat up and stared at Lan Wangji. He self-consciously clutched at the neck of his under robe where it gaped wide open and held the fabric closed. Lan Wangji frowned. Wei Ying should never feel uncomfortable around him. He realized then the discrepancy in their dress. Although these were not the fine robes of the Gusu Lan, he was fully dressed and his hair was up with his ornamentation in. He reached up to take the hair piece out and set it by the bedside. Then he untied his outer robe and slipped it from his shoulders draping it over the screen.

He sat down at the table and began to pour the tea. Looking up, he said again, “Wei Ying, come eat.”

“Ah, Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying said, coming to sit across from Lan Wangji. “You didn’t have to do that. I could have gotten dressed.”

“No need. I will be bathing after the meal anyway.” He pushed the tea across the table to Wei Ying and began to fill his bowl. Once Wei Ying had started to eat, he poured him a cup of wine.

Wei Ying looked up with an almost-smile. “You’re too good to me, Lan Zhan.”

Lan Wangji froze. Guilt clawed at his insides. He had not been good to Wei Ying; he had failed Wei Ying. He had taken him to the Burial Mounds and had left him there while the political climate was so uncertain, allowing duty to call him home. He had failed to protect him, and he had suffered every day since with a heartache more excruciating than thirty-three lashes of the discipline whip. Given this second chance, things would be different, he vowed. He would be good to Wei Ying. He’d do anything, absolutely anything to keep him from harm.

The almost-smile faltered on Wei Ying’s face at Lan Wangji’s stillness, and he dropped his gaze back to his bowl. He again avoided Lan Wangji’s eyes.

“Wei Ying,” Lan Wangji said softly.

Wei Ying did not look up.

“Wei Ying,” Lan Wangji said again. “Look at me.”

Reluctantly, Wei Ying lifted his head and met Lan Wangji’s gaze. His breath gave a little catch at the expression he saw.

“You deserve good things,” Lan Wangji said, steady and sure.

“Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying said, breathless, a tinge of exasperated fondness in his voice, maybe a little embarrassment.

“You do,” Lan Wangji insisted.

Color stole across Wei Ying’s cheeks. Lan Wangji wanted to press his hands against his face and feel the heat of his skin against his fingertips. He couldn’t tear his eyes away.

“No talking during meal times,” Wei Ying said, gaze dropping again.

Lan Wangji let out a surprised huff and his heart soared. He felt the corner of his mouth twitching upwards and marveled at the miracle of this moment. He never thought he’d be able to feel this light again.

They finished their meal in silence, but the atmosphere was comfortable and Lan Wangji was pleased to see that Wei Ying appeared to have more of an appetite than the day before. After they were finished eating, Lan Wangji urged Wei Ying to lie back down while he bathed.

“Lan Zhan, I slept all day. I can at least stay up and keep you company.”

“I would prefer you get your rest. If you feel up to it tomorrow, we will travel.”

“Oh, of course. You’re probably anxious to get home. I’m slowing you down.” He went and sat on the edge of the bed, looking a little lost.

Lan Wangji sat down beside him. “Wei Ying.”

He did not answer. His shoulders hunched inwards and he stared at the floor.

Lan Wangji continued. “The journey will take as long as it takes. If you are not well, we will stay until you are.” He reached out his hand and placed two fingers under Wei Ying’s chin, tipping his face up to meet his eyes. “I am where I want to be.” He had no time for dissembling, for hiding what he felt.

Wei Ying’s face flushed pink again and this time, Lan Wangji gave in to the impulse to touch the skin of his cheeks, feeling the bloom of life beneath his fingertips. His heart sang with joy.

Flustered, Wei Ying could only whisper a helpless, “Lan Zhan,” unable to tear his gaze away from Lan Wangji’s face.

I want to kiss him, Lan Wangji thought.

The desire was not new. He’d felt that way about Wei Ying since… since the beginning, he admitted, since before he even realized what those tumultuous youthful emotions meant. He would not act on those desires, however. At least not now. Now, it was enough Wei Ying was here and he was alive. He pulled back his hand and released Wei Ying’s face.

“Rest,” he said. “If you are still awake when I am finished with my bath, I will play for you.”

Wei Ying swallowed and gave a slight nod, moving to lie down on the far side of the bed, again leaving a wide expanse open.

Lan Wangji moved the screen so that he would still be able to see Wei Ying from the bath. He cared not for modesty; he only cared to keep Wei Ying within his sight. He couldn’t bear the thought of having him so near, yet hidden from view. He disrobed quickly and stepped into the tub. When he looked over, Wei Ying’s eyes were upon him. It was only fair, he thought. He had seen Wei Ying completely bare. He had caressed his naked flesh and learned the lines of his body through the touch of his hands, from the top of his head to the tip of his toes. The weight of Wei Ying’s stare caused his own skin to flush; that frisson of heat underneath his skin felt like its own type of caress.

Once he was clean and his hair washed and rinsed, he redressed quickly. Wei Ying still watched, but his eyes were now heavy-lidded. He looked on the verge of sleep.

“Shall I play for you?” Lan Wangji asked in a soft voice.

Wei Ying shook his head no. He patted the bed where his body curved towards the open space. “Come to bed, Lan Zhan,” he said. “I know how early you go to sleep. You must be tired. And you said yourself we will travel tomorrow.”

Lan Wangji stood, uncertain. “I want to help you heal. And I enjoy playing for you.”

“I enjoy listening to you play. But…” he hesitated. Again, he dropped his gaze and chewed at his bottom lip. He would not meet Lan Wangji’s eyes.

Lan Wangji walked to the bed and sat on the edge. “But what?” he prompted.

After a long pause, Wei Ying let out a weary sigh. “I woke from a dream in the middle of the night. It was…” He shook his head as if to shake off the memory. “But then I felt you holding on to me. I…” he trailed off again.

Lan Wangji waited. He let the silence settle in the room, knowing Wei Ying would want to fill it. Finally, Wei Ying continued.

“It helped, knowing you were there,” he whispered.

Lan Wangji discarded any notion of playing the guqin that evening. He dimmed the lamp and lay down on the bed beside Wei Ying. He reached for him, pulling him towards him so that Wei Ying lay in his arms, cradled against his body, his head resting in the crook of Lan Wangji’s shoulder, on top of his chest. “Go to sleep, Wei Ying,” Lan Wangji murmured, gently carding his fingers through Wei Ying’s hair. “I am here.”

Again, Lan Wangji woke in the early hours of the morning. He lay for a moment, reveling in the feel of Wei Ying still pressed close against him, the gentle rise and fall of his chest serving as an essential affirmation that Wei Ying truly lived. Lan Wangji pressed his face into Wei Ying’s hair, filling his lungs with the scent of him. He closed his eyes and kissed the top of his head before carefully extricating himself from Wei Ying’s embrace.

Their morning meal arrived just as he finished dressing. Like the day before, he drank his tea and ate, setting a warming talisman on Wei Ying’s breakfast. He would wake Wei Ying in a few hours if he did not wake on his own. It would be good to begin the journey home. He had never been away from A-Yuan for this long before, not since he had come to stay. Thoughts of A-Yuan were a reminder he had not yet spoken to Wei Ying about the boy’s survival. When Wei Ying woke, he thought. He would tell him then. 

While Wei Ying slept on, Lan Wangji meditated, replenishing his spiritual energy. He had expended much during his journey to the Burial Mounds and again while playing healing songs throughout the day. The closer he was to full strength, the more he’d have to give to Wei Ying.

And again, like the previous morning, a scream split the air. Lan Wangji’s eyes snapped open and were met with a similar sight to the day before—Wei Ying was writhing on the bed, surrounded by a cloud of resentful energy. The strands of black smoke twisted and curled around him, like some sort of monstrous lover. Lan Wangji was by his side in an instant, gripping his shoulders to shake him awake. “Wei Ying,” he said, voice biting and harsh. “Wake up.”

Wei Ying jolted awake and stared wildly at Lan Wangji while the energy continued to swirl around him. And like yesterday, recognition dawned. He gathered himself, brow furrowed in concentration, and seemed to somehow quell the resentful energy, recalling it into himself until there was no trace visible at all.

“Are you all right?” Lan Wangji demanded.

Wei Ying’s expression was haunted, as though the nightmare was still fresh in his mind, but he nodded his head yes.

“I should not have left you to sleep alone,” Lan Wangji said.

Wei Ying looked pained. “Don’t be ridiculous. I’m sure you’ve already been awake for hours. What could you do, just lie in bed next to me, waiting for me to wake up?”

“Yes.”

The steady sureness of his answer seemed to shock Wei Ying. “Lan Zhan,” he said weakly.

“If what you need is in my power to give, then that is what I shall do.”

Wei Ying stared at him helplessly. Lan Wangji returned his gaze, hiding nothing. He would do far more than sacrifice a few waking hours for the privilege of sparing Wei Ying discomfort or fear.

After a moment, Wei Ying looked away and gave a small nervous huff. “I almost forgot,” he said.

“Almost forgot what?”

“The way you just say things sometimes.”

Lan Wangji could say much more, were he inclined, how Wei Ying’s face, sleep creased and tired, cheeks gaunt with dark shadows beneath his eyes, was still more beautiful than a garden in full bloom, more dazzling than the night sky streaked with stars.

Instead he said, “Do you need more rest or are you able to travel?”

“I can travel. I know you want to get home.”

This was the opening Lan Wangji needed. “We will take as much time as you need,” he said. “However, there is an important reason I wish to return to Gusu.” He did not lead into it, deciding that stating it plainly was the best course. “A-Yuan is there.”

Wei Ying tensed, attention immediately focusing in, like a skilled marksman training a bow on its target. “A-Yuan?”

Lan Wangji nodded. “Yes. Wen Yuan, now Lan Yuan. He is to be called Lan Sizhui. He survived the siege. I found him hidden in a tree and brought him back to Cloud Recesses.”

“A-Yuan,” Wei Ying choked, then tears spilled down his cheeks. “I thought… I thought they were all gone, every last one, that no one had survived. A-Yuan,” he said again, shoulders shaking as emotions overwhelmed him. He had both hands over his face now, crying heavily, his thin frame shaking.

Not able to sit motionless while Wei Ying was in such distress, Lan Wangji pulled Wei Ying towards him, lifting his hands away from his face to draw his head down onto his shoulder. He wrapped his arms around him and rubbed soft circles into his back. Wei Ying held on tight, fists gripping the fabric of his robes, breaths coming in heaving, painful gasps. Lan Wangji’s heart ached at the recognition of Wei Ying’s pain, how joy and grief could coexist together side by side. Eventually, Wei Ying’s sobs subsided and he pulled back in Lan Wangji’s embrace.

“Ah, Lan Zhan, I’m ruining your clothes again,” he said, brushing at the shoulder of Lan Wangji’s robe, which was damp from his tears.

Lan Wangji did not bother to address such an inconsequentiality. He cupped the side of Wei Ying’s face with his palm and used his thumb to brush away a stray tear.

Wei Ying took a slow shuddering breath. “He really survived?”

“Yes.”

“And you came to the Burial Mounds.”

“Yes.”

The unspoken words lay between them. I was looking for you.

“Did anyone else…” Wei Ying couldn’t finish the question.

Lan Wangji shook his head no. Then he felt his mouth forming a question he had not intended to ask. He had been willing to wait for Wei Ying to share his story. And if he never told the details of his whereabouts these past several years, Lan Wangji was prepared to never know. That Wei Ying was alive would always be enough. But as they spoke about the siege at the Burial Mounds, the words spilled from his lips. “Wei Ying, how did you survive?” He inwardly winced at the naked longing in his tone, the way his grief imbued each word. Why did you go, his heart silently screamed.

Wei Ying pulled back from Lan Wangji and gave a sad smile. “I did not survive,” he said. “Or I did, but—” he stopped speaking abruptly.

“You do not have to tell me. You owe me no explanation.” He would not put pressure on Wei Ying when he was in such a fragile state. He had no right to know.

“Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying said with a bit of the old exasperated fondness. “I want to tell you. It’s just… difficult.”

Lan Wangji waited.

“What do they say happened?” Wei Ying asked.

“They say you lost control of the resentful energy and it turned on you, pulling you into the blood pool where you drowned. You never resurfaced.” I searched for you, he added silently. Every night, I played Inquiry, searching for you.

Wei Ying nodded his head. “That’s not wrong,” he said. “But it’s not exactly right either.” He sighed. “I did lose control, or thought I had. I was pulled into the blood pool and did not resurface. But I did not drown.”

“Then…?” Lan Wangji prompted, a puzzled frown creasing his forehead.

A shadow crossed Wei Ying’s face. “I was bound by the resentful energy, held in a sort of stasis. I had no need to eat or breathe, but I was aware of the passing of time. There were stretches of days, months even, where I was unaware of anything but the energy all around me, as if I were a part of it, but at other times, I had conscious thought. Those periods were the worst. I knew I was trapped, perhaps for eternity. I thought I might go mad. It was very… lonely.”

“Wei Ying,” Lan Wangji exclaimed, distraught. He wanted to wrap Wei Ying in his arms. He wanted to protect him from every peril, nurture him to health and keep him safe from harm. Remembering how Wei Ying had said it had helped, waking up to find someone holding on to him, Lan Wangji reached out to grip his wrist, telling him with the pressure of his fingers that he was here. If Wei Ying would allow it, Lan Wangji would ensure he’d never be lonely again.

“Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying said, covering Lan Wangji’s hand with his own. “You are always so good.”

Lan Wangji could argue, but he wanted, needed, to know more. “How did you escape?”

“Ah, in my more lucid moments I came to realize I had not lost control, not really, but I do believe control was taken from me.”

“Another demonic cultivator.”

Wei Ying nodded. “There must have been. Eventually, I worked out how to manipulate the resentful energy to break free of the bond. Then I had it carry me to the surface where I climbed out of the blood pool. And then you found me.”

Lan Wangji squeezed Wei Ying’s wrist a bit tighter, savoring the answering squeeze from Wei Ying. He marked the moment in his mind, Wei Ying, alive, here, touching and being touched. Then a new concern struck him.

“Your nightmares, the energy—”

Wei Ying immediately understood where his thoughts had gone. He hastened to reassure. “No. No, Lan Zhan. It can’t hurt me anymore. I control it now.”

“But if the other demonic cultivator learns you have survived—”

Again, Wei Ying cut in. “It won’t matter. I understand it, how to manipulate it, how to master it. I won’t get caught again.”

“You have only just returned. Can you be sure? What if they have been learning new tricks these past few years while you’ve been gone?”

Wei Ying removed his hand and Lan Wangji had a moment of panic as he saw him moving away, withdrawing back into himself. He reached out with the hand not gripping Wei Ying’s wrist and grabbed the retreating hand.

“Wei Ying,” he said urgently, trying to convey it was worry only that caused him to voice such concerns. He had just gotten him back; he could not bear the thought of losing him again. Wei Ying stilled and suddenly softened, leaning back towards Lan Wangji.

“Lan Zhan, Lan Zhan.”

He would never tire of hearing his name on Wei Ying’s lips.

“I promise. It can no longer hurt me. Do you believe me?”

If Wei Ying said it was so, it must be so. He would have to learn to deal with his fears on his own. “I believe you.”

“Good. Now is that my breakfast I see over there on the table? How can you keep this poor resurrected cultivator talking about his terrible ordeal without feeding him first?”

Inwardly grimacing at Wei Ying’s casual reference of his death/not death, Lan Wangji nevertheless appreciated his attempts to lighten the mood. He did his best to play along, as much as his mind wanted to turn over all the things he had learned this morning. “If memory serves, it has never been necessary to keep Wei Ying talking. He does that fine on his own.”

The feigned outrage on Wei Ying’s face almost put a smile on Lan Wangji’s own.

The journey back took far longer than Lan Wangji’s rush to reach the Burial Mounds. Wei Ying was weak and tired easily, still growing accustomed to fully inhabiting his human body once again. He insisted on standing in front of Lan Wangji while they rode Bichen through the air, but when his legs became unsteady shortly after they took flight, Lan Wangji’s strong arm around his waist was ready with support. He scooped Wei Ying up in his arms, placing Wei Ying’s hands around his neck and ignored the grousing of his passenger, who complained how embarrassing it was for the dreaded Yiling Patriarch to be carried like an infant.

After only a few hours, Lan Wangji began his descent, heading towards a town below. As an inn came into view, Wei Ying started slapping at his shoulder. “Lan Zhan, put me down. I can stand. Really, this is embarrassing.” Again, Lan Wangji ignored him, alighting at the inn’s front door. He walked up the front steps, still carrying a pouting Wei Ying in his arms, and requested a room, tea, and wine for now, and a meal to be sent up later.

When they were inside the room, Lan Wangji finally put Wei Ying down. “Lan Zhan,” he exclaimed, indignant. “Why are we stopping? It will take days to get back to Gusu at this rate.”

“You are not well. You need rest. I will play for you to help speed your healing.”

Wei Ying made as if to protest, but when he swayed unsteadily on his feet, Lan Wangji admonished him with a sharp, “Wei Ying,” and guided him to sit on the bed.

Looking a little sheepish, Wei Ying conceded, “A rest is probably a good idea.”

At the knock on the door, Lan Wangji left Wei Ying’s side to retrieve the tray that had been delivered. He set it on the table and picked up the bottle of wine, bringing it over to Wei Ying, who immediately brightened.

“Lan Zhan! You truly are good to me.” He tipped the bottle, drinking a generous amount.

“Are you hungry?”

“Not yet. The wine is perfect for now. It’s not as good as Emperor’s Smile, of course, but it’s still very delicious. This was a good idea, Lan Zhan.”

“Mn.” Lan Wangji sat and pulled his guqin out of its quinkun pouch. Once again, he began with Wangxian, letting the notes convey all the feelings he could not speak aloud.

Wei Ying’s expression softened as he played, and he set the bottle of wine to the side, listening intently. When the final note trailed off, their eyes met and neither moved nor looked away. The song is for you, Lan Wangji thought, always you. And it seemed as if maybe Wei Ying understood. After a moment, his cheeks flushed and he turned his head, breaking their gaze. He cleared his throat.

“Play another song for me, Lan Zhan.”

Lan Wangji nodded. “Lie down and rest. I will play a song of healing.”

Wei Ying did as he asked, lying on the bed, body curled towards Lan Wangji, like a flower bending toward the sun. His hands were folded up under his chin. Lan Wangji placed his fingers back on the strings of the guqin and played.

When their evening meal arrived, Lan Wangji put away his instrument and woke Wei Ying by sitting on the edge of the bed and softly calling his name. Wei Ying’s eyes fluttered open and he blinked in confusion for a moment before his lips lifted at the corners in recognition. “Lan Zhan.”

Lan Wangji’s heart gave a painful thump at hearing his name in that sleep-worn voice coming from Wei Ying’s beautiful lips. He wanted to kiss the words from his mouth.

“How do you feel? Are you rested?”

Wei Ying stretched out languorously, yawning widely, and Lan Wangji tracked each sensual movement with hungry eyes. He wanted to lie down beside him and cover his body with his own. With the press of his weight and the touch of his hands he would tell Wei Ying how dearly he’d been missed.

“Mmm, I feel much better. How long have I been asleep?”

“A few hours. Our meal has arrived. Are you ready to eat?”

Sitting up, Wei Ying nodded. “Yes, I’m hungry.”

“Good. Come sit.” He went to the table and waited for Wei Ying. Once he had sat down across from him, Lan Wangji poured a cup of tea and prepared a bowl with food, sliding both across the table. They ate in silence.

When they had eaten and the dishes had been cleared, Wei Ying said, “Tell me about A-Yuan.”

Lan Wangji could feel his own face soften as his heart gave a different sort of pang; feelings of tenderness and protectiveness suffused him. “He is sweet, intelligent.”

“Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying said with a small whine to his voice. “Give me a little more than that.”

How could he convey the entirety of the boy who had upturned his life, their early struggles, the fierce love he held, the life they now lived together in the house with the garden at the base of the mountain? “He is almost six years old. He will be much bigger than when you saw him last.”

Wei Ying rolled his eyes at Lan Wangji’s obtuseness. “Lan Zhan,” he whined again, louder and with exasperation.

“He loves to visit the rabbits.”

Eyes brightening, Wei Ying sat up straighter. “Ah, Lan Zhan! You still have the rabbits!”

“Mn. There are more now.”

“There are? How many?”

“Many more.”

Wei Ying rolled his eyes again at Lan Wangji’s inability to be more forthcoming. His lips quirked, as if he knew he was now being teased, but he let the answer stand. “I’m glad,” he said. “I’m glad you still have them.”

“I will take you to see them. We will go with A-Yuan.”

The nascent smile faltered and Wei Ying’s lip trembled slightly. His eyes shone with tears. He reached up a hand to hastily wipe them away.

Lan Wangji ached. He wanted to bear all Wei Ying’s pain and sorrow as his own. “I did not intend for you to become sad.”

Bringing his sleeve up to wipe at his eyes again, Wei Ying shook his head. “No, it’s all right. I’m just tired.”

As Wei Ying had done just moments ago, Lan Wangji let the obvious lie stand. He stood and walked over to Wei Ying, pulling him to his feet. “Then we will go to bed.” He helped Wei Ying get ready, untying his outer robe and folding it carefully before removing his own. He climbed into bed after Wei Ying then pulled him close, nestling his head against his chest. “Go to sleep, Wei Ying,” he said. When Wei Ying’s breaths evened out and his body grew heavy, Lan Wangji turned his head, pressing a soft kiss onto his forehead before following him into sleep.

They got a late start the following morning. As Lan Wangji had said he would, he stayed in bed long after he awoke, holding Wei Ying while he slept. It was not a hardship. He catalogued the features of his beloved face, sleep soft and slack, the slant of the brows, the curve of his jaw, the mole under his lip. He noted it was still too thin, though the dark circles under the eyes were beginning to fade. He counted his breaths, each rise and fall or his chest precious proof of the life he cradled in his arms. And when Wei Ying finally stirred and opened his eyes, Lan Wangji dreamed of seeing this sight every morning for the rest of his life.

After two more days of similar travel, they finally reached Gusu. As the house came into view, Lan Wangji had to suppress another bout of overwhelming emotion. Wei Ying was here. Wei Ying was going to be stepping through his front door, walking in the garden, eating food at his table. Sleeping in his bed. It was almost more than he could comprehend. As they alighted in the courtyard, Wei Ying looked around curiously, a puzzled frown on his face.

“We aren’t going to the jingshi?”

“No. A-Yuan is with my brother. I will send a message to him tomorrow.”

The frown deepened, but Wei Ying did not ask more.

Lan Wangji walked up the front steps before setting Wei Ying down. “Are you hungry? Would you like to rest?”

“Both” Wei Ying said, stifling a yawn.

Lan Wangji gently guided him towards the sleeping platform. “Wait here and lie down. I will prepare us a meal. And then I will ready you a bath.”

Wei Ying complied, eyes darting around the room, taking in all the details. “You live here.” It was not a question.

“Yes.”

When he didn’t say more, Lan Wangji left the room, heading to the cooking shed in back. When he returned with a pot of tea and two bowls of food, he found Wei Ying still awake, eyes still taking in the details of the room.

He set the laden tray down on the table then went to a cabinet against the wall and pulled out a bottle of Emperor’s Smile.  Wei Ying’s eyes lit up.

“Is that—?” he began.

Lan Wangji nodded. “Come eat.”

Wei Ying scrambled off the bed, an eager expression on his face, and Lan Wangji wanted to weep. He held the bottle out to Wei Ying, who took it immediately, uncapping it to drink. His head tipped back and Lan Wangji watched, mesmerized at the long line of his neck, the way his throat moved as he swallowed the wine.

Smacking his lips in satisfaction and with a deep sigh, Wei Ying said, “It’s even more delicious than I remembered.” He stilled when he caught sight of Lan Wangji.

“Lan Zhan?” he asked, hesitant, concern evident in his voice.

Lan Wangji wasn’t sure what was showing on his face; his heart was not large enough to contain the depths of his emotions. He dipped his head towards the dishes of food and tried to regain his composure. Holding back his sleeve, he poured Wei Ying a cup of tea, then slid the food across to him, along with a small bottle of chili oil. It was a simple meal of rice and vegetables, quickly and easily prepared.

“Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying said again in a much different tone of voice. “I can’t believe you have chili oil. Does A-Yuan like it?”

He didn’t know if A-Yuan liked chili oil; he had never thought to offer it. He prepared meals the traditional Gusu Lan way. Instead of answering the question he said, “The chilis are from the garden.”

“You will have to give me a tour,” Wei Ying said.

“Mn. Tomorrow. After you’ve rested.” He stood up. When Wei Ying made to do the same, he stopped him. “No, wait here. I will prepare the bath. It won’t be long. The water is already heating.” He went to the kitchen shed and got the buckets he had left to warm. When the tub was full, he went back to Wei Ying, who was still sitting at the table, and held out his hand to help him up. “Your bath is ready.”

Lan Wangji reluctantly released his hand as Wei Ying stepped behind the screen to disrobe. As he sunk into the steaming water, he let out an appreciative sigh. Lan Wangji wanted to allow him as much privacy as he was able, but he was still loath to have him out of his sight. He glared at the screen in resentment, even though he was the one who had placed it there. He tried not to imagine Wei Ying’s bare body just a few feet away as he listened to the small splashes of water from behind the screen. He busied himself with folding up the discarded clothing and replacing it with one of his own soft sleeping robes.

When Wei Ying asked, almost shyly, “Lan Zhan, will you wash my hair again?” his pulse quickened and he felt warm all over.

His voice stuck in his throat, but after a moment, he managed to reply. “Yes.”

There was something different about doing this in his own home, in the same tub where he and A-Yuan bathed, than when he had washed his hair at the inn in Yiling. He removed his outer robe before kneeling down behind Wei Ying. His hair was already wet, so Lan Wangji poured the rice water over the top of his head and began massaging it through his hair with strong presses of his fingers.

“You’re so good at this, Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying said, head dropping forward as Lan Wangji worked his way down to the nape of his neck. He took far longer than was necessary, allowing his hands to knead against the knob of his spine and across the width of his shoulders. It would take nothing at all to sweep the hair to one side and bend down to taste his skin. He could lean right over and press his teeth to the join where his neck met his shoulder. He could bite down, soothing the skin afterwards with his tongue. Would Wei Ying cry out? He wondered what kinds of noises Wei Ying would make.

Coming back to himself with a start, Lan Wangji realized he had abandoned his hair completely and now had his thumbs pressing down the center of his back. He brought his hands back to his head and finished with the washing before directing Wei Ying to rinse.

“I will comb your hair once you’re dressed,” he said, standing to give Wei Ying his privacy once more. He tried not to read into the way Wei Ying’s eyes followed him across the room.

When Wei Ying emerged from behind the screen, Lan Wangji almost lost his breath. Dressed in the thin white robe with his wet hair falling around his face, he looked so much like the boy who had bewitched him in the cold pond cave. It seemed a lifetime ago. Could it really have only been a few years? He wanted to go back in time and rectify the mistakes he had made, undo the damage of the past. He wanted to untie the ribbon from around his forehead and wrap it around his wrists, binding Wei Ying to him so he would never leave.

Lan Wangji sat on the edge of the bed and patted the spot next to him. “Come sit.” Wei Ying did and turned his back towards him. Like the night in Yiling, he carefully combed through his hair. There were far fewer tangles, even after days of flight, so the comb slid easily. He almost wished it were more of a mess so that he’d have an excuse to groom it longer. Once it was smooth, he took the vial of sandalwood oil that he used on his own hair and applied it to Wei Ying’s. When he was finished, he said, “I am also going to bathe. Would you like some tea or more wine?”

“I’m fine. I may lie down.”

“I will be quick.” As promised, he was dressed in his sleeping robe and back by the bedside in minutes. “Would you like me to play for you?” he asked.

Wei Ying shook his head no. “It’s late. You must be tired too. Come to bed, Lan Zhan.” The words were like a flash of lightning before a summer storm, the charge lingering afterwards in the air. Lan Wangji dimmed the lamp and slid into bed beside Wei Ying. Once again, he pulled him into his arms. A wave of fierce possessiveness swept through him as Wei Ying, wearing his clothes and smelling of his scent, settled against his side. He wanted this always. They lay quietly, Lan Wangji gently stroking his back, fingers trailing through his hair.

“Do you think he’ll remember me?” Wei Ying asked sleepily.

Lan Wangji’s hands didn’t falter; he continued his soothing motions without interruption. “Yes,” he said.

“I hope so.” He sounded barely awake.

“Go to sleep, Wei Ying.” This time, he didn’t wait for his breathing to deepen. He tipped his head to press a soft kiss against his forehead.

Wei Ying sighed and burrowed in closer. Lan Wangji’s heart overflowed.

It was almost midday before Lan Xichen arrived with A-Yuan. Wei Ying hung back on the porch while Lan Wangji stepped out into the courtyard to greet them. A-Yuan didn’t wait for Shuoyue to come to a halt. He leapt from the moving blade and stumbled to his knees before jumping up and attaching himself to Lan Wangji’s legs. “A-die! You’re home!”

Lan Wangji knelt and A-Yuan released his legs in order to fling his arms around his neck. Lan Wangji hugged him tightly and kissed the top of his head, saying softly, “I missed you.”

A-Yuan pulled back so he could look into Lan Wangji’s eyes. “I missed you too, A-die. You were gone a very long time.”

“I was.”

“I don’t want you to go away that long again.”

“I will try not to.”

“Where did you go?”

Having thought about how best to approach their reunion, Lan Wangji decided to be honest and direct. “I went to the Burial Mounds. I brought someone home with me.”

A-Yuan stiffened at the mention of the Burial Mounds, but Lan Wangji gave him a reassuring squeeze. He stood up and took A-Yuan’s hand, intending to walk him over to where Wei Ying was waiting. But when he saw who was walking down the steps towards them, he pulled his hand out of Lan Wangji’s and raced to Wei Ying, hurling himself against him so hard that they both stumbled. Wei Ying landed on his bottom on one of the steps, suddenly finding himself with a lapful of crying boy. “Xian-gege, Xian-gege,” A-Yuan repeated over and over, sobbing into Wei Ying’s shoulder.

Wei Ying was crying too. He kept touching him, lifting him away from him so he could stare at his face, as if to assure himself he was real. Lan Wangji understood the impulse. Watching the two of them together soothed something jagged and raw, deep inside of him, the hollow spaces filling like water poured over a collection of stones in a jar.

“A-Yuan, you’ve gotten so big. How did my little radish get so tall?”  

A-Yuan cried even harder. “I’m not a radish,” he choked out, each word punctuated with a sob.

Lan Xichen came to stand by Lan Wangji’s. He placed his hand on his shoulder. “It really is him,” he said.

“Mn.” He didn’t trust himself to speak.

“I admit, I was hoping you would one day come back to live at Cloud Recesses. I thought maybe when A-Yuan was old enough to study and live in the dormitories you might return.”

Lan Wangji didn’t respond; his eyes were still glued to the two on the steps and their emotional reunion.

“So he will be staying?”

“It is Wei Ying’s decision. But that is my wish.”

“There are still many who would seek to harm The Yiling Patriarch were it to become known that Wei Wuxian survived the siege.”

“They may try,” Lan Wangji said, a dangerous edge to his voice. His hand instinctively reached for Bichen, and his fist tightened around the sword.

“Wangji—” Lan Xichen began.

“I need to know if Wei Ying staying here in Gusu is going to cause difficulties.”

Lan Xichen sighed. “You once asked to bring Wei Wuxian back to Cloud Recesses to hide him.”

The reminder was painful. His motives had been different then. Regret still weighed heavily. “I did.”

“You have no need to fear anyone will learn of his whereabouts from the Lan Sect members. I will speak to shufu.”

“Thank you, xiongzhang.”

Lan Xichen gave another pat to his shoulder. “I will take my leave now. A-Yuan and Wei Wuxian deserve a chance to get reacquainted. I do want to hear the whole story, but that can wait for another day.” He paused, staring at Lan Wangji thoughtfully. “I’m very happy for you.”

Later that afternoon Lan Wangji and A-Yuan gave Wei Ying a tour of the gardens. They started with the vegetable garden. A-Yuan chatted happily, eager to show Wei Ying everything, while Lan Wangji stayed mostly silent, only interjecting a small comment of correction or clarification when necessary. Wei Ying was an enthusiastic participant, making appreciative noises and asking many questions, just to give A-Yuan the pleasure of answering them. When they reached the lotus pond, however, he grew uncharacteristically quiet. He stood on the pier, staring at the display of blossoms before him. “Lan Zhan,” he said softly under his breath. Their eyes met and Lan Wangji wondered how much Wei Ying understood. I missed you. I wanted to be near you, any way I could.

“A-die and I grew these from seeds,” A-Yuan said proudly. “They came from very far away. We changed the water every day.” He paused then added with a dash of dramatic emphasis, “It was a lot of work.”

“It looks like it must have been,” Wei Ying agreed, but he was not looking at the pond; his eyes were locked with Lan Wangji’s. As A-Yuan bounded around, telling him about the best place to find frogs, how they take the boat out when it’s time to harvest the seeds, Wei Ying still stared, searching his face. This time, Lan Wangji looked away first. He had no wish to hide from Wei Ying, but he felt stripped bare, the extent of his hopeless longing spread out before them in a sea of pink and green.

Neither spoke as A-Yuan led them through the rest of the garden, identifying all the flowers and trees by name. He mentioned all his favorites and which ones he’d planted in the ground. Wei Ying took careful note of every detail, a thoughtful expression on his face.

Soon, however, he began to falter. Lan Wangji was at his side instantly. “You need to rest. I will carry you back to the house.”

“Lan Zhan,” he whined. “You’re not going to embarrass me in front of A-Yuan, are you?”

“There is no reason for embarrassment. You are not well. A-Yuan is capable of understanding.”

“I don’t want to upset him.”

Lan Wangji paused, considering. At that moment, A-Yuan, noticing they were no longer following, hurried back to where they stood, his little brow knit with worry. Lan Wangji saw the sense of Wei Ying’s words and led him over to a large boulder to rest.

To A-Yuan he said, “Wei Ying is tired. We will rest a moment then go inside. I will make tea.”

Where he had been excited and talkative before, now A-Yuan was silent and anxious. Wei Ying sought to reassure him. “I’ll be fine, A-Yuan. I just need to rest.”

A-Yuan looked to Lan Wangji for corroboration, who nodded. “Wei Ying has been ill,” he explained. “He is still recovering. But there is no need to worry.” He laced the words with as much steady confidence as he could. A-Yuan looked somewhat mollified, but the anxious expression did not completely leave his face.

“Keep me company, A-Yuan,” Wei Ying said, patting the boulder.

Instead of sitting next to him, A-Yuan sat on the ground at Wei Ying’s feet, wrapping his arms around his legs. Lan Wangji felt a tug inside his chest. 

“Lan Zhan tells me you like to visit the rabbits.”

A-Yuan’s face brightened and he gave a vigorous nod of his head.

“Did you know I gave Lan Zhan his first ever two rabbits?”

As Wei Ying regaled a rapt A-Yuan with tales of their youth, Lan Wangji thought about their younger selves. They were the same, but not the same. Wei Ying’s beauty still put all the blossoms in the garden to shame. But his eyes held a darkness now, and he knew his own held the same. Back then, his attention was confusing and aroused so many conflicting emotions in a boy who had been far too solitary for far too long. But it had been pure, too, in the way of youths whose hearts had not been weighted by the shadow of war. It was already too late to spare A-Yuan from events that etched themselves indelibly on the soul, but he’d do everything in his power to keep him from making the kinds of choices he and Wei Ying had been forced to make.

After tea, Wei Ying’s exhaustion was clear to see and Lan Wangji insisted he lie down. That he gave no protest, not even a token one, was evidence of how tired he must truly feel. A-Yuan hovered nearby anxiously and Lan Wangji took his hand to lead him away from the bed, saying quietly, “Come. We must let him sleep. I will play a song of healing on the guqin. You can work on your lessons.”

A-Yuan sat down at the table with a brush and ink while he played. He poured spiritual energy into the notes, as if by pure will alone he could restore Wei Ying to health.

That night, Lan Wangji was awoken by A-Yuan’s shrill scream. Wei Ying was still asleep in his arms, so he quickly and carefully extricated himself from his embrace and went to A-Yuan’s room. He was sitting up in the middle of the bed, eyes wide with fright. Lan Wangji sat on the edge of the bed and A-Yuan crawled into his lap, bursting into tears.

“I’m here,” he said while rubbing small circles on his back. A-Yuan’s shoulders still shook with sobs; the sounds he made were breaking Lan Wangji’s heart. When he eventually began to quiet down, Lan Wangji asked, “Do you want to tell me about it?”

A-Yuan pulled back, damp face shining in the dim light. “Everyone was gone. Granny was gone, Qing-jiejie was gone, Ning-gege was gone, Xian-gege was gone.” His eyes filled again and he began to wail. Lan Wangji could only hold him close, chest aching.

It had been months since A-Yuan had had a nightmare. Lan Wangji had almost begun to think they were a thing of the past. It made sense that Wei Ying’s return would cause old wounds to reopen.

“It is a lot to bear, especially for a little one. But I am here,” Lan Wangji repeated. “Wei Ying is also here. He is asleep right next door. Do you want to see?”

A-Yuan nodded his head against his shoulder, and Lan Wangji shifted him so that his arms were wrapped around his neck. He scooped him up in his arms and propped the boy on his hip.

When they walked through the doorway to the other room, A-Yuan once again began to scream, high-pitched and hysterical. He squirmed frantically, trying to escape from Lan Wangji’s arms. Wei Ying lay writing on the bed surrounded by a cloud of twisting black smoke. Even after witnessing the sight several times previously, Lan Wangji’s eyes widened in alarm. The sight must be terrifying to A-Yuan. He held the struggling boy more tightly and barked out a sharp, “Wei Ying.” When he didn’t respond, he shouted again, “Wei Ying!” This time, Wei Ying’s eyes flew open. The resentful energy spiraled out from his body and around the room as he instinctively reacted to the shrieks of the small petrified child in Lan Wangji’s arms. Angry with himself for not anticipating this situation before they entered the room, Lan Wangji ignited a flame talisman, and the candles and lamp flared to life, illuminating the room with light. As Lan Wangji tried to calm A-Yuan, Wei Ying reined in the black tendrils of smoke. After a few moments of chaos, the room was silent, save for the frantic sobs of A-Yuan, whose face was buried in Lan Wangji’s shoulder.

Lan Wangji rocked the boy while murmuring calm words of reassurance in his ears. His eyes were on Wei Ying, though. He looked so small sitting alone in the bed, hair wild, guilt written all over his face. That haunted look had returned to his eyes. As much as Lan Zhan wanted to rush to his side, press reassurances against his skin with his lips, until A-Yuan calmed, he didn’t feel he could. Finally, the soft words he’d been speaking seemed to penetrate A-Yuan’s fear-shocked mind.

“You are all right. Wei Ying is all right. The energy cannot hurt him. Look, see for yourself.”

A-Yuan lifted his face from Lan Wangji’s shoulder to stare at Wei Ying. “Lan Zhan is right. I had a nightmare too. Sometimes that happens, but it can’t hurt me. See? I am all right.” He held out his arms and turned them, as if to show they were completely free of black smoke.

“The fault is mine. I should have woken you before going in to A-Yuan.”

“Lan Zhan, you can’t stop everything just to keep me company while I sleep.”

“I can.”

Wei Ying opened his mouth to speak then snapped it shut. After a minute he said, “I’m sure you have much better things to do with your time.”

“I said I would hold you while you slept. I failed to do so. It will not happen again.”

“You’re being ridiculous.”

“We both know that of the two of us, you are the ridiculous one.”

Wei Ying’s mouth dropped open. He looked at A-Yuan, who had been following the exchange closely. Speaking directly to the boy, he said with exasperation, “I see that the illustrious Hangjuang-jun is still as stubborn as ever.”

Lan Wangji was about to retort with a comment of his own about Wei Ying’s willingness to suffer while suffering was unnecessary when an unexpected sound came from the vicinity of his shoulder. A-Yuan let out a small giggle.

The tense atmosphere in the room was immediately diffused and Lan Wangji stared at A-Yuan in astonishment; his anger melted, like snow on an open flame. Even while in pain and hurting, newly raised from the almost-dead, Wei Ying brought smiles of joy wherever he appeared. Deciding to let Wei Ying win the argument for now, he said to A-Yuan, “Would you like to come over with me to see for yourself that he is fine?”

At A-Yuan’s nod yes, he walked to the sleeping platform and sat him down on the bed. A-Yuan scrambled across the mat to where Wei Ying sat and threw himself into his open arms. Feeling exhausted after the emotional day and the night’s turmoil, Lan Wangji said, “I will put out the candles. A-Yuan, you will sleep here for the rest of the night.”

When he returned to the bed, A-Yuan and Wei Ying were already lying down, curled up together, A-Yuan’s face pressed to Wei Ying’s chest. He was almost asleep. Lan Wangji lay down beside them, facing Wei Ying. He reached his arm over them both to rest his hand on Wei Ying’s hip. Wei Ying dipped his head to press a kiss onto A-Yuan’s hair, and then he stared across the small dark head; his eyes shone in the moonlight. Lan Wangji’s fingers tightened their grip. His throat was suddenly dry and he had to swallow before he could speak. “Go to sleep, Wei Ying.”

Wei Ying, it turned out, had been right after all. Lan Wangji could not stop everything to lie in bed all morning, not while he had a small boy to feed. He could seek help from the village, but he was reluctant to have an interloper intrude on their home; he did not want to share Wei Ying, not yet, at least. Except with A-Yuan, of course. Each day they spent in each other’s company was like a balm to the heartache of the past. It was A-Yuan who offered the solution they eventually settled on.

“I can stay with Xian-gege while you make breakfast, A-die,” he said very seriously. “I can help chase nightmares away.”

Lan Wangji put down the book of poetry he was reading while waiting for Wei Ying to wake and considered A-Yuan’s proposal. The two shared a grief he was set apart from. As much as he wanted to be the one to give comfort to Wei Ying, perhaps it was right that the two have the opportunity to give comfort to one another. “We will ask Wei Ying when he wakes.”

A-Yuan nodded, satisfied, and curled back up between them with his snack of lotus seeds.

Their days shifted into a new routine. Lan Wangji woke and prepared breakfast while A-Yuan and Wei Ying slept. He played healing songs on the guqin, his spiritual energy funneling into Wei Ying, while A-Yuan ate and then did his lessons. And when Wei Ying woke, they went out to work in the garden. Wei Ying, still weak, would sit and watch them work. He was quieter than he used to be and a shadow often crossed his face, but the haunted look was slowly fading and the hollows beneath his cheeks were filling in. Lan Wangji’s eyes were constantly drawn to where he sat nearby. Wei Ying was often staring at him, and he’d hold his gaze whenever their eyes met. Lan Wangji’s breath caught and he felt warmed from the inside, like the sun against his back.

Eventually, Wei Ying grew stronger and stayed awake throughout the day. Instead of sitting, he’d take long walks through the garden. Though Lan Wangji would become anxious when Wei Ying was out of sight, he forced himself to remain focused on his tasks and simply breathed a sigh of relief when he came back into view. One afternoon, he did not see Wei Ying for many hours and his concern grew. This time, he couldn’t stop himself from searching and walked the entire garden without finding any trace. He finally found him in the house, sitting at the table, talisman papers and ink scattered all around.

“Wei Ying,” he said, more sharply than he had intended; fear had not yet loosened its grip.

“Ah, Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying said, with excitement in his voice. “Sorry for the mess. I had an idea for a new talisman and I couldn’t wait to try and work it out. I don’t think I have it quite down, but I know I’m on the right track. I promise I’ll clean everything up.” He started gathering all the discarded paper.

“There is no need. I only wondered where you had gone.” He had no desire to quell Wei Ying’s experimentation, not when this was the most animated and talkative he had seen him since he had arrived. This glimpse of the old Wei Ying touched something fragile and tender inside of Lan Wangji; he turned away before his face betrayed how close he was to tears. He cleared his throat. “I will call A-Yuan and start preparations for our evening meal. We can eat out on the porch tonight.”

“Thanks, Lan Zhan. I won’t be long. I think if I just—” he trailed off, once again absorbed in his work.

The next day, after Wei Ying was awake and was eating his morning meal, Lan Wangji said, “I need to go to the village today. I would like you to accompany me.” He didn’t want to tell Wei Ying it was because he would feel too apprehensive to be separated from him for so long.

Wei Ying looked up with curiosity.

A-Yuan chimed in. “Yes, Xian-gege, you have to come. I can show you the black cat. She’s my friend. She always purrs when I scratch behind her ears.”

“Then I definitely must go. It’s decided.”

“We will ride Bichen. It is not too far to walk, but you are not yet fully recovered.”

“I am mostly recovered.”

“You are not fully recovered.”

“Lan Zhan, I can walk.”

“We will ride Bichen.”

A-Yuan, whose eyes had been darting back and forth during this exchange let out a giggle.

“Oh, it amuses you when your A-die and Xian-gege argue, does it?” Wei Ying asked in a teasing tone.

A-Yuan vigorously nodded his head yes.

Lan Wangji’s heart gave a flutter at the casual way Wei Ying referred to the two of them together, but he only said, “We were not arguing.”

Wei Ying raised his eyebrows and A-Yuan giggled again.

“Fine,” Wei Ying said, capitulating. “We’ll ride Bichen.” To A-Yuan he said, “I have to let him have his way some of the time, or else he’ll get grumpy.”

At Lan Wangji’s chiding “Wei Ying,” A-Yuan leaned across and whispered conspiratorially, “He looks grumpy now,” before dissolving into giggles again.

 Wei Ying leaned in closer too. “Have I ever told you about the way Lan Zhan and I used to fight when we were younger?”

A-Yuan shook his head no.

“I used to make him so angry!”

Lan Wangji watched fondly as A-Yuan listened attentively while Wei Ying regaled him with tales about their days together in Cloud Recesses. Somehow, thinking of the past was not as painful as it once had been.

Days after their trip to the village, men arrived to begin to build an east wing on the house. A-Yuan had gone to stay with Lan Xichen while their home was in disarray.

“You need a room of your own to work,” Lan Wangji had said to Wei Ying, who had been busy chatting with the farmer’s wife and petting A-Yuan’s favorite cat while Lan Wangji had made arrangements. “When A-Yuan came to live with me, I had the west wing built. You should have your own space too.”

Wei Ying turned away, a troubled furrow on his brow.

Lan Wangji felt some of the old panic begin to surface. Perhaps Wei Ying did not want to stay, now that he was almost recovered. Perhaps he wanted to return to Lotus Pier and make amends with his brother. His spirit had always burned so brightly. Perhaps this life was too small for such a bright flame.

“What is wrong, Wei Ying?” he asked.  He would not repeat the mistakes of the past.

“Oh, nothing, nothing,” he replied unconvincingly. “It’s thoughtful and generous. You are always so good, Lan Zhan.”

“Wei Ying,” he persisted.

“Of course, you want your own space back. You’ve always been so private. And here I am, invading your home, making a mess of your things, taking up half your bed. I can see why you’d want to move me into my own room.”

He had missed the way Wei Ying used to talk non-stop, but he had not missed the way he would assume the most unfavorable interpretation of events regarding himself. The earlier tendrils of panic became replaced with determination. Lan Wangji had always been better with actions than with words. In this case, however, he could clear up one misunderstanding quite easily. “I like you in my bed,” he said.

Wei Ying’s mouth snapped shut. His cheeks flushed pink. He was so beautiful.

“I would like you there even after your nightmares have receded and A-Yuan returns to his own room.”

“Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying said helplessly.

“Come,” Lan Zhan said. “Walk in the garden with me.” He reached for Wei Ying’s hand and tucked it into the crook of his arm, leading him down the steps.

Do you see? Lan Wangji thought as they meandered the crooked path, bright color bursting all around them. Do you understand?

Wei Ying broke the silence. “This isn’t what I expected.”

“What isn’t?” Lan Wangji asked.

“When you asked me to come back to Gusu with you.”

Lan Wangji was silent waiting for him to continue.

“I thought you’d take me to Cloud Recesses. I thought I’d be listening to Clarity every single day.”

“The first time I asked, that is what I intended.” His biggest mistake, his greatest regret. Cloud Recesses was no longer a home to him; it could never be, not if Wei Ying was not welcome there.

“And what if I’m still using my dirty tricks, if I still intend to pursue demonic cultivation?”

They passed the clump of bamboo. If Chenqing had been lost, I would have carved a new dizi for you.

“You said you were able to control it.”

“Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying said with exasperation. “What kind of answer is that? I do not intend to pick up the sword again. Are you telling me you’re OK with that?”

“Mn.”

“What? You’re seriously telling me you have no problem with me using resentful energy to cultivate?”

They had reached the small overhang of rock with the rounded stone emerging from the pool of water.

“What do you see here?” Lan Wangji asked, interrupting Wei Ying’s spluttering.

Wei Ying stared at the scene before him, momentarily confused by the change of topic. After a moment he said, “It looks like a cave.”

“Mn,” Lan Wangji confirmed.

“Wait. Is that… Lan Zhan, is that the cave of the Xuanwu?” he asked.

“Yes,” he said, pleased Wei Ying had discerned his intentions when he’d created the scene, the top of the curved stone representing the tortoise’s shell. A maple tree grew nearby.

“Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying said delightedly. “Who knew you were so creative! It’s very clever, but you were always the most clever student of us all.”

Lan Wangji would disagree, but he was gratified by Wei Ying’s enjoyment.

“Show me more. What other secrets are hiding in your garden?”

He guided Wei Ying to the series of steps winding up the mound of earth. At the top rested the rectangular stone with the thin slabs perched above.

“I’ve walked past this so many times, but it seems obvious now. This is Cloud Recesses, isn’t it? That’s the rooftop. I don’t know how I didn’t see it before.”

“Yes. Where we first fought.” Where I first fell in love with you.

Shocked, Wei Ying raised his eyes to Lan Wangji’s, almost as if he’d said the second part out loud. He could see the workings of Wei Ying’s mind, unspooling the thread of meaning laid out in earth and stone and greenery all around him.

“Lan Zhan,” he whispered.

Wei Ying.

“Come,” he said, leading Wei Ying farther down the path. The huge mountainous stone set amidst the peonies came into view.

“This must have something to do with the Jins,” Wei Ying surmised, recognizing the flora around the base of the boulder. “Phoenix Mountain?” he guessed correctly. Then he frowned, and Lan Wangji could see him rethinking his earlier conclusions. He would put that uncertainty to rest.

“Yes,” he confirmed. “Where I first kissed you.”

Wei Ying sucked in a breath. Lan Wangji’s heart thudded painfully as Wei Ying turned to him, lips parted, eyes wide. They stayed locked in that moment, so much unspoken in the air, and then he reached up with a trembling hand to slip it behind Lan Wangji’s neck. He pulled his head down towards his own, and he kissed him. At the touch of their lips, it was Lan Wangji’s turn to gasp and then he was lost, lost in the feel of Wei Ying’s mouth on his, plush lips soft and pliant, body pressing close. Wei Ying, his heart sang. Wei Ying. He was alive and beautiful and kissing him. He’d wondered many times if the stolen kiss on Phoenix Mountain could possibly have been as incendiary as he’d remembered. Could the taste of his mouth have really been so sweet? Could his body have yielded so effortlessly? Now, he knew the truth of those old memories, yet they paled in comparison to the reality of this moment, these kisses, ones given willingly and knowingly.

Wrapping his arms around his slender form, Lan Wangji crushed Wei Ying against him, bending him backward to plunge his tongue into his mouth, tasting the honied-sweetness of its depths. Wei Ying’s fist twisted into the front of his robes and the other tangled in his hair. He was not passive, letting Lan Wangji take what he willed. He responded enthusiastically, meeting every sweep of his tongue with the slide of his own. Soft little noises escaped his mouth, and every sound from his lips sent Lan Wangji’s pulse racing; he felt like fire was thrumming under his skin. The heady desire that engulfed him eclipsed anything he had ever known. He’d wanted this for so long, probably for as long as he’d known Wei Ying, wanted to touch him and hold him and taste every inch of his skin. And now, here he was, gasping and panting, trembling in his arms, wanting this too; it was almost too much to bear.

Lan Wangji mouthed down his jaw and then to his throat, sucking and nipping at his skin, breathing in deeply, getting drunk on his scent. He pushed Wei Ying’s robe aside and fastened his mouth to the join of his shoulder, the place he’d ached to feel under his lips each time he’d washed Wei Ying’s hair. Wei Ying gasped and his hands convulsed, fingers gripping more tightly. When the movement pulled at Lan Wangji’s forehead ribbon, he moaned and sunk his teeth into his skin.

Wei Ying cried out, and his legs buckled beneath him. Lan Wangji twisted his body as they collapsed to the ground, cushioning Wei Ying’s fall. He soothed the skin that he’d bitten with his tongue then brought his mouth back to Wei Ying’s, kissing him as he lifted Wei Ying’s body atop of his own. He buried his own hand in Wei Ying’s hair holding his head in place while he ravaged his mouth. His other hand roamed down his back, finding the curve of his rear. He bent his knee, pressing it between Wei Ying legs and felt his hardness against his thigh. When Wei Ying cried out and rocked down against him, then did it again, Lan Wangji felt as if he would burst into flames. As Wei Ying’s hips bucked frantically, Lan Wangji held his buttocks, fingers digging into his flesh, his large hand holding him flush against his thigh. He pulled away from their kisses to mouth at his ear, breathing hotly while groaning his name. He needed more, wanted to taste more, so he sucked on his neck below the ridge of his jaw. When he bit down once again, Wei Ying shouted and shuddered against him, before collapsing bonelessly atop his chest.

Lan Wangji’s head was spinning, and he felt almost dizzy with desire. Carefully, he rolled to his side, laying Wei Ying on the ground. He lay half over him, pressing his own painful erection against Wei Ying’s hip. He gathered him close, rocking against him, panting into his ear while he chased his own release. When Wei Ying turned his head and said a breathless “Lan Zhan” before capturing his lips with his own, Lan Wangji went taut and moaned as he came.

A few minutes later after he’d caught his breath, Lan Wangji lifted his head and braced himself on his elbow to look down at Wei Ying. His face was flushed and streaked with sweat and his hair was in disarray. His lips were red, kiss-bruised and swollen and he had bite marks along his neck. Lan Wangji knew he had never seen a sight more beautiful.

“I’ve ruined your robes again,” Wei Ying said, a soft smile on his face. Lan Wangji loved him so much.

“They are of no matter,” Lan Wangji replied. “We will have no need of robes tonight.”

“Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying exclaimed, scandalized. “Does the cultivation world know that the upright Second Jade of Lan, the honorable Hangjuang-jun, has such a filthy mind?”

“That is for Wei Ying alone to know,” Lan Wangji said before dipping his head for another kiss.

-o-

Lan Wangji stood on the pier and looked out at the lotus pond. The flowers would soon be in bloom. He would take Wei Ying out on the boat and let him drag his fingertips through water, surrounded by pink and green. Perhaps he’d ask his brother to bring their young cousin Lan Jingyi for another visit so the two boys could play. He would be sure to be well-rested on such a day. He never thought he’d meet someone who had as much of a penchant for trouble as Wei Ying had had in his youth, but Lan Jingyi came close. He was good for A-Yuan, though, who was still far too serious than a young boy of his age should be.  

Next, he strolled through the garden, checking their spring plantings to see how they fared. He passed the row of pines that Wei Ying had insisted on adding, strong and stately and providing a break against the wind. He had made other additions, too—a straight pathway, a hollowed trunk of a tree.

It was almost time to prepare the evening meal; he wondered if Wei Ying and A-Yuan would be home soon. Wei Ying spent many days in the village when he wasn’t working in his room. He bartered talismans in exchange for cooking lessons and knowledge about farming. All the women of the village adored him and made quite a fuss over him. The farmers respected his innovative improvements to their methods. Lan Wangji tried not to begrudge their time with him.

“I want to contribute, Lan Zhan. I want to be useful. You shouldn’t have to do everything.”

“It pleases me to take care of you.”

“Lan Zhan, you can’t just say things like that,” Wei Ying said, flustered.

Lan Zhan cupped his face and kissed him, slow and deep. Wei Ying’s arms slid up around his neck and soon there was no more talking at all.

The first time he’d walked to the village on his own, however, Lan Wangji had received a message from a sheepish Wei Ying who had needed to be fetched by sword for the journey home.

“You were right, Lan Zhan,” he said over their evening meal. “I’m sure that makes you happy. I guess mostly recovered is not fully recovered after all.”

A-Yuan looked on in eager anticipation waiting to see what his A-die would say.

“No talking while eating.”

At A-Yuan’s pout, Wei Ying gave him a wink eliciting his giggles.

The next day Lan Wangji had returned from the village with a small donkey, red tasseled bridle around his face.

Radish, the black cat, sunned himself in the courtyard, lazily licking its paw. He had arrived after another of Wei Ying’s trips to the village. The black cat A-Yuan was so fond of had given birth to a litter of kittens, and Wei Ying, unable to resist, had brought one home tucked in the folds of his robes.

“We can keep him, can’t we Lan Zhan? Look how cute he is!” He held the mewling kitten up to his face and rubbed his soft fur against his cheek.

A-Yuan jumped up and down excitedly. “Say yes, A-die! Please say yes!”

As if there could be any other answer when Wei Ying asked something of him.

Radish ignored Lan Wangji, tolerated A-Yuan, and adored Wei Ying. He spent most of the winter curled up in his lap in front of the fire.

Occasionally, Wei Ying would glance up to see Lan Wangji brooding as he stared at Radish, the recipient of Wei Ying’s gentle strokes and scritches. He’d tease, “You’re not jealous of the cat, are you, Lan Zhan?”

Lan Wangji would quickly look away, schooling his face into impassivity. “Ridiculous,” he’d scoff.

But inevitably, Wei Ying would crawl into his lap, a mischievous smile on his face, saying, “Poor Lan Zhan. I’m sorry Radish ignores you. If you need someone to sit in your lap, I guess I’ll have to do.”

All in all, his stand off with Radish worked out well for the both of them.

Looking towards the village, Lan Wangji finally saw them approaching in the distance. Wei Ying was perched on Apple’s back while A-Yuan walked energetically beside them. They were engaged in spirited conversation. Bits of laughter caught on the breeze.

His heart felt full. Sometimes, it seemed hard to believe they were the same people they had been even a year ago. Lan Wangji couldn’t even recall the last time a nightmare had disrupted their sleep. He thought back on those early days with A-Yuan, his own bewilderment trying to raise a traumatized child on his own while suffering the scars of the discipline whip, the old hopelessness and grief, the haunted look in Wei Ying’s eyes when he’d emerged from the blood pool among the devastation of the Burial Mounds.

But the lotus seeds had come from that devastation too, with their hard shells, encasing new life within. They’d also been scarred and tended with care, then given a chance to put down roots. When they’d grown stronger, they became able to withstand the shade. And now they flourished in the pond, next to their home with their garden, nourished by sunlight and blooming bright.

Suddenly, Lan Wangji saw the future unfolding, like a colorful tapestry. In a few years, A-Yuan would be old enough to receive instruction at Cloud Recesses and live in the dormitories. They’d miss his constant presence, but enjoy the freedom to spend some time together, just the two of them. He and Wei Ying could travel and go on night hunts. Perhaps they’d take A-Yuan and Lan Jingyi when they were older. Maybe Wei Ying would eventually desire to return to the wider cultivation world. They could track down the demonic cultivator who had trapped him in the blood pool and bring him to justice. They would clear his name and repair ties with Jiang Wanyin. He could meet his nephew Jin Ling.

Just then, Wei Ying and A-Yuan caught sight of him as he stood there waiting.

“A-die!” A-Yuan yelled, breaking into a run. “A-die, we’re home!”

Wei Ying waved his arm above his head and shouted, “Lan Zhan! Lan Zhan!” He futilely kicked at little Apple’s sides, trying to get the donkey to pick up the pace.

Their eyes met and warmth bloomed in his chest. Wei Ying’s smile was as dazzling as the sun.