Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

“Take care, Wangji.” Lan Xichen gave him a long, weighted look.

“I will.”

“He is dangerous.”

“So am I.”

The lobby bustled around Lan Wangji as he made his way to the front desk to check into the room his brother had arranged for him, a mid-level suite in one of the best hotels in Yalong Bay. His trip from the airport had left him sweaty and uncomfortable, and as the desk clerk passed him his keycard and smiled warmly, wishing his alias a pleasant stay, he nodded, setting his mouth in a thin line.

The hotel was well-appointed, with red pillars rising two stories to the ceiling and an impressive water fountain in the center of it all, around which guests stood, some of them tossing coins to bring themselves luck. Lan Wangji bypassed them with his small roller suitcase and made his way toward the elevator bank. As he did, he scanned the crowd from behind his reflective sunglasses, looking for the person he’d come to find. Not seeing any sign of the face he’d burned into his mind during his flight, he entered the elevator. A civilian woman gave him an interested smile as she stepped aside to make room for him, but he merely nodded his thanks and punched the number to his floor.

The suite was pleasant, neutral-toned, and luxurious without being over the top. The floor-to-ceiling windows gave a view of the ocean beyond, and there was a small balcony with two rattan chairs arranged on either side of a small circular table. Lan Wangji ignored the view and brought his suitcase into the bedroom, where he efficiently and quickly unpacked the clothes he’d brought, hanging his suit—not his best, but close—in the closet and wondering if he should have the small creases in the jacket pressed. He frowned slightly, ultimately deciding against it, and then going into the shower to wash off his fatigue and the residual plane stickiness.

He emerged some minutes later with a towel wrapped around his waist, and sat down on the edge of the king-sized bed. He had brought his qiankun pouch to store Bichen and a few smaller knives that would have gotten a questionable reception on his flight, and he unpacked them now, laying them out in a deadly row. They glinted at him like shark’s teeth. His brother’s warning returned to him again, but even more than that, it was the grief on his face that Lan Wangji couldn’t get out of his mind. Lan Wangji understood loss; they both did, but Xichen’s was fresher, this time.

He selected one of the smallest, sharpest knives and secured it to his body in his leather ankle holster. Then, he carefully rewrapped the rest of them and placed his bag in the hotel safe in case housekeeping got curious.

There were a few hours until dinner, but Lan Wangji was restless. He swiftly dressed in casual, cream-colored linen pants and a light blue shirt—vacation wear, chosen to make him look approachable while still showing off the broad line of his shoulders and hinting at the muscle beneath. His hair was shorter than he had worn it in years—a necessary sacrifice, if he wanted to blend in with the civilian population—but he didn’t dislike it. He ensured it was artfully tousled, and then sorted through the rest of the contents of his suitcase for his jewelry. A simple pair of yellow diamond studs in his earlobes completed the look, softening his chiseled jaw. Satisfied with what he saw reflected back at him, save for the dark circles under his eyes, he put his sunglasses back on, and went out.

It was not an overly large resort, comfortable without being ostentatious. Most of the tourists were Chinese, mainly couples here on a late summer getaway, though Lan Wangji noticed several foreigners among them as well. There was a private beach for guests, and the pool in the back of the hotel was expansive, surrounded by cabanas and tall potted plants and edged by a long granite bar. It was mostly empty, though it would probably be filled by now if it were still high season. Lan Wangji made note to come back for an early morning swim the following day.

Two men sat together in one of the thatched cabanas, both dressed in modest swimsuits. Their chairs were pushed close, and every so often one of the men touched the other’s shoulder, casually but intimately, drawing a smile from his companion. For just a moment, Lan Wangji imagined what it would be like to be on a real vacation, perhaps with someone, but he pushed the thought away. He had never had that, and probably never would.

He took a seat at the shaded bar and set the book he’d brought with him on its polished top. Seconds later, a young woman dressed in a crimson resort-branded outfit came over to him to take his order.

“Just a seltzer with lime, please.”

“Coming right up.” She nodded pleasantly but didn’t give him the fake smile he usually associated with waitstaff at upscale establishments. Lan Wangji flipped the paperback open to the first page, but it didn’t hold his attention, and he found himself reading the same sentence over and over again once the bartender served him his drink. Now that the flurry of preparations were over and he was here, the reality of what he was charged with felt heavy on his shoulders. He took a deep, cleansing breath. Perhaps he should have meditated to settle his spiritual energy instead of coming straight down to the bar.

Some time passed, perhaps thirty minutes, and the bar area began to fill up with guests ordering pre-dinner cocktails.

“Hey Mianmian, sorry I’m late,” said a clear, masculine voice, and Lan Wangji looked up from the page.

“No worries, Yu-ge, we’ve hardly got any customers, as you can see.”

A man had just arrived at the bar, obviously in a rush. He wore the same shirt as the woman, and like hers, his hair was long and done up in a high ponytail with artful wisps framing his face, tied with a red ribbon. It was bold of him to wear his hair like a cultivator. Lan Wangji had expected more of a disguise.

“Don’t be so nice to me,” he said, “or I’ll be late all the time. Actually, no I won’t—because then I won’t be able to spend time with you, my favorite coworker.” He winked at her.

She gave him a fond smile and rolled her eyes as he began clearing away some glasses that had been left by previous guests. He was slim, of average height, and his face was the most beautiful one that Lan Wangji had ever seen: wide-set dark eyes with long lashes, a strong, straight nose, and lips that almost looked like they were bitten red. Only his teeth, which showed when he smiled at the woman and were slightly too big for his mouth, were imperfect. But rather than detracting from his beauty, this small defect made him all the more charming. He had an easy, pleasant laugh which lit up his entire face as he and the other bartender—his friend, more?—teased and bantered with each other.

The photograph that Lan Wangji had memorized on the plane, taken several years before, hardly did him justice.

Lan Wangji turned his eyes back to his book. He should not be admiring a murderer, even if he was an exceptionally handsome one.

Several minutes later, the man approached him, a curious look in his eyes. “Hello there,” he said. “What are you reading?”

Lan Wangji wasn’t expecting the question, and he hadn’t truly been reading. He hardly even remembered the name of the book—some beach read he’d picked up at the airport to assist with his disguise. He closed it and set it down on the bar with the title facing up and toward the man.

“Ah, ah-ha, that one is supposed to be racy.” The man quirked an eyebrow and bit his full bottom lip. “Is it any good?”

“Not very,” Lan Wangji replied, for lack of anything else to say about it.

“Well, maybe you haven’t gotten to the juicy part yet.”

“Perhaps.” It was difficult for him to speak easily with strangers, and even more so for him to charm them or put them at ease, which was one of the reasons why he had initially resisted this assignment. Now that he had committed, however, he was going to have to put in the effort. “I think more likely, it is not the book for me.”

The man smiled again. “What kinds of books do you like to read?”

“All sorts. History, biographies.”

“Ah. A nonfiction kind of man. I prefer novels myself—juicy ones.”

“You are welcome to this one.” Lan Wangji pushed it toward him.

The man laughed like Lan Wangji had said something hilarious. “We’ve only just met! I can’t be stealing your naughty books. And speaking of, are you waiting for someone?”

The question hung in the air for a moment, several valences of meaning occurring to Lan Wangji all at once and nearly flustering him, until he realized the man was asking because he wanted to know if Lan Wangji was ready to order something else—he’d finished his drink. Of course. He shook his head.

“No. I’m alone tonight.”

“What a shame.”

“Mn. I find my own company agreeable, most of the time.”

“I would say that your company is probably very agreeable. Can I get you another drink? Mr . . . ?”

“Wu. Wu Hao. Yes, I’ll have a glass of white wine. And the rice noodles with no meat, please.”

“I’ll make them vegetarian for you—the cooks hate that, but they love me. And I’ve got a nice house Sauvignon Blanc, if that sounds good?”

“That will be fine. Mr . . . ?” He let the corner of his mouth tilt up, and the man’s face flushed slightly. Lan Wangji tracked the blush down his neck, to where the top two buttons of his shirt were undone. It was an obvious flirtation, a test.

The man’s smile broadened, his eyes glinting. Ah, so perhaps he wasn’t interested in the woman he’d been teasing before, or not only interested in her. This was something that Lan Wangji could use to his advantage.

“Mo. Mo Xuanyu. Let me know if you need anything else. Anything at all.” Mo Xuanyu, an alias, but of course Lan Wangji had expected no less. He watched while the man retreated to get his wine and considered his next steps.

Lan Wangji never drank, but in order to maintain the illusion he was a guest here on vacation with a reason for sitting at the bar, he had to make an exception. He would only drink half of the glass.

Mo Xuanyu brought the wine and another one of his beautiful smiles; he set the glass down on a napkin and slid it toward Lan Wangji.

“Thank you.” Lan Wangji picked up the glass and took a sip. The wine was slightly acidic but not unpleasant; if he drank much more on an empty stomach, however, he would be compromised.

“Your food should be out in a little while, okay? Enjoy your reading, Mr. Wu. Let me know if it picks up.” He winked again.

Business was certainly picking up, and Mo Xuanyu would likely be distracted by work for the next several hours. Eating would give Lan Wangji time to observe him, and perhaps to have more conversation. After a night’s rest, Lan Wangji would report back to Xichen and they would make a plan for how to proceed. Mo Xuanyu did not seem to be an imminent threat, and there was no indication that he recognized Lan Wangji, so he was not a flight risk. They were very far from Lanling now. This was not a cultivator hotel, and it had only been a chance encounter by one of the Jin sect that had alerted the cultivation world to his presence here. He had hidden himself well, until now.

The food was very good, lightly seasoned and fresh, with plenty of vegetables that had not been listed on the menu. Lan Wangji remembered Mo Xuanyu’s comment about the chefs loving him. It was no wonder; he was very good at charming people. He was flirtatious with both men and women, but innocently so, and obviously good at conversation, seeming to know exactly what to say to put his customers at ease. As Lan Wangji finished his dinner, he found himself frustrated that he had not received more of Mo Xuanyu’s attention, and then chided himself for thinking such things. He seemed so innocent, so lively; the idea that he could be a demonic cultivator seemed incredible. But perhaps he used this artifice to disarm people, to draw them in. It must be so, if he had done the things he was believed to have done.

After all, they had only been acquainted for a short time, and already Lan Wangji was doubting himself.

Finally, he was finished, and the bit of wine he’d drunk had made him even more tired. There was no more reason to linger tonight. It had been a long, tedious day of travel, and he was used to the discipline of his schedule at Cloud Recesses.

He gestured for the check.

Mo Xuanyu came to him quickly. “Leaving already?” He was almost pouting. “You won’t stay for another drink?” He eyed the half-empty glass of wine.

“I’m afraid not. It’s been a long day.” The last brilliant streaks of the orange sunset were fading from the sky.

“Ahh.” For just a moment, Lan Wangji saw something flicker across Mo Xuanyu’s face, but it was gone before he could name it. “Good night, then. It was a pleasure meeting you.”

Mo Xuanyu did not know that when he picked up Lan Wangji’s glass, he would activate a tracking talisman. Lan Wangji watched it happen with grim satisfaction, and then forced a smile. “The pleasure was mine.”

In the morning, Lan Wangji rose early and went to the pool to swim laps before any other guests arrived, then returned to his room to shower and call his brother. His mind was already turned toward the day and his next steps. Things were progressing faster than Xichen had expected.

“And you’re sure it’s him?” Xichen spoke on the other end of the line.

“Yes. The man is Baoshan Sanren’s disciple. Of that I have no doubt.” Lan Wangji looked down at the faded photograph in his hand, torn from a class yearbook, some boarding school for non-cultivators in a remote province. A young man of no more than eighteen peered up from it, face and features softer than they were now, still slightly round with baby fat, but his smile had not changed in the intervening years. Lan Wangji read the name under the picture to himself. Wei Wuxian. A rogue cultivator. A murderer. Someone who had even killed members of his own family.

“And you spoke to him? Does he suspect you?”

“No. I think that I will be able to enter into his confidence.”

“Do you think he was working alone? Does he have the Yin Iron?”

Lan Wangji considered the possibility. “I have yet to ascertain this.”

When the small group of major and minor clan leaders had met the previous week, it was decided that any direct attack would be too dangerous. There were some who believed Wei Wuxian had found a previously unknown piece of the Yin Iron, which had been thought to have been destroyed twenty years before, after Wen Ruohan’s defeat. Lan Wangji was here for reconnaissance and, if necessary, elimination, which he knew the vast number of them preferred. The Jin and Nie clans in particular, who had suffered recent losses of their clan leaders, were the most eager for a quick resolution. No one wanted a repeat of the Sunshot campaign, which had killed so many young cultivators before their time. Already, their way of life was a threatened, some believed dying, art.

“Wangji, this is making me nervous. I should have come with you.”

“I can handle him, xiongzhang.”

Lan Wangji had been chosen because of his relative anonymity, having spent most of his recent years in study at Cloud Recesses, and his deadly skills. He looked at the picture again. Lan Wangji thought of bringing a blade to that soft, inviting throat, and he swallowed the conflicting emotions that rose up in him. His years of training should have been enough to tamp down the instant attraction, but he was surprised to find he was struggling to put it into practice. Perhaps he had not been the best choice for the task after all.

“All right.” Xichen sighed on the end of the line. “Please, take care. The most important thing is getting you out safely.”

Lan Wangji did not bother to protest. His older brother had always been protective of him, ever since their parents had died. He was even more so now, after the death of Nie Mingjue, which had hit him extremely hard, given how close they had been. “I will do what I have to do.”

“I know you will.”

Lan Wangji activated the tracking talisman from the previous evening and reached out with his qi, feeling the trail of it stretch beyond the room. He could feel Wei Wuxian’s life force pulsing, so warm, but yes, there . . . was darkness there, too. The charm worked like a one-way bond, undetectable by the one being tracked, but it could have serious effects on the cultivator doing the tracking. It could lead to attachment, which is why he had to work quickly now.

He found Wei Wuxian down near the beach on the walking path; he had obviously just finished a long run, and he glistened with sweat, his sleeveless gray shirt soaked through. Lan Wangji had been waiting, leaning against the wooden rail and looking out at the sea, hoping he appeared like a schoolteacher taking a well-deserved break from his students.

“Ah—hey. Wu Hao, right?” Wei Wuxian wrinkled his nose, squinting in the sunlight.

Lan Wangji did his best to look as though he was just as surprised to see Wei Wuxian. “Yes, hello, Mo Xuanyu.”

“You remembered.” Wei Wuxian grinned and trotted the rest of the way over. Lan Wangji tried very hard not to appreciate his bare legs, the solid, lithe muscles of his thighs bunching. His running shorts were very, very short.

“I rarely forget a name.”

“That’s a good quality to have. I seem to forget as soon as someone tells me, so I work extra hard to think of a way to remember. Sometimes I do rhymes or word associations, or make a little observation about the person.”

“And how did you remember my name?”

Wei Wuxian started to stretch, bending one leg behind him and gripping his ankle. His energy was quick and light—happy. “For some reason your name was easy to remember.”

“Mn.” Lan Wangji thought he detected a faint flush on Wei Wuxian’s cheeks, but it might have just been the exertion of his workout. “Did you have a nice run?”

Wei Wuxian stretched his other shin and then lifted one of his legs up parallel to the ground, resting his heel against the wooden rail. His shorts rode up even higher, and Lan Wangji had to dig his nails into his palm to drag his attention away. “Yeah. I love coming down here before there are too many people. It’s nice. I’m so busy, but I try to get a run in at least every other day. Helps with stress. Do you run?”

“Sometimes, yes. I mostly do yoga.”

“I’ll bet you do.” Wei Wuxian was obviously ogling him now, and Lan Wangji raised an eyebrow. He supposed that flirting was acceptable if it got him closer to his goal.

“Will you be working tonight?” Lan Wangji let his lips turn up, and Wei Wuxian nodded, sweaty ponytail bobbing. He lifted his other leg gracefully.

“I’m on the evening shift again. Maybe . . .” He bit his lower lip, indenting it with his teeth. “Listen. I’m not . . . supposed to do this, but if you wanted to come by at around ten, that’s when I’m off work.”

Lan Wangji caught Wei Wuxian’s grey eyes and held them for a beat, which stretched out longer than he intended. His stomach swooped with a possibility he could never pursue, even as he knew he had to take this opportunity under false pretenses. He nodded.

“I will be there at ten.”

Wei Wuxian’s eyes glittered. “I’ll see you then, Wu Hao.” Then, with a brief touch to his shoulder, he jogged off.

Lan Wangji closed his eyes and breathed deeply, feeling the residual warmth from the contact dissipate, replaced by a tug of electricity from the tracking spell, a bright burst of energy calling him to watch. He waved his fingers and dissolved it, a part of him shamefully regretting the loss.

Lan Wangji strapped his sharpest blade to his ankle and went down to the bar at ten, as promised.

The evening was pleasant, warm without being too humid, and a breeze blew in from the ocean, making the air soft and slightly chilled. Lan Wangji had dressed casually but with care in designer jeans and a white linen button-down, the left arm of which he had made into a qiankun sleeve, and as he approached the bar, Wei Wuxian was whispering together with the young woman from the night before. A hot spark of jealousy flared in Lan Wangji’s chest as he watched them laughing together, but he tamped it down quickly before it could become a flame. His features stayed carefully neutral as he walked up to the bar and sat down on the same stool he had occupied the previous night.

“Wu Hao,” said Wei Wuxian. He smiled, eyes creasing slightly at the corners. He was still as beautiful as Lan Wangji remembered. This was going to be difficult. “I’m glad you came.”

“I always keep my appointments.”

“Of course you do.” He cast a look back over his shoulder toward the woman and started untying his apron. “Mianmian, I’m taking off, okay? Stay out of trouble.”

“Only if you do,” she called back.

“You might as well tell the tide not to come in, or the sun not to shine. Tell the grass not to grow, the—”

“So dramatic.” She rolled her eyes.

Wei Wuxian ducked under the bar and came around to where Lan Wangji sat. “I thought we could take a walk on the beach?”

“Mn.”

“You don’t talk much, but you’re cute.” Lan Wangji felt his ears burn and was glad for the darkness. “Come on.”

A walk on the beach sounded innocent enough, but Lan Wangji was wary as Wei Wuxian led him through the bar area toward the boardwalk that would take them down to the sand. There were still people around, but not many. His senses were alert to any sign that Wei Wuxian had sinister motives, but as he talked, chattering on about his customers and making funny, stray observations about life working at a hotel, Lan Wangji began to relax.

They left their shoes at the top of the beach and went down to the ocean. It was calm, the bay not being known for its large waves, and the wet sand was hard-packed and pleasant to walk on. Lan Wangji was careful not to roll his jeans and wished he’d worn a different knife holster. Wei Wuxian had no such compunction. He rolled his pants to the knee and splashed in and out of the surf, so carefree and happy Lan Wangji was again struck by the incongruity of the man. He found himself wondering—hoping—that the rest of the cultivation world was wrong, and he knew it was a dangerous hope.

They talked about trivial things—how Lan Wangji was enjoying the hotel, where he was from. His carefully constructed cover story about teaching middle school was very close to the truth, offering just enough to be natural without giving him away. He relayed it to Wei Wuxian, who smiled and nodded like Lan Wangji was the most interesting person he’d ever met. After they had tired of walking, they retraced their steps back to the hotel and sat on the beach next to each other, close enough that Lan Wangji could feel Wei Wuxian’s body heat.

“How long are you staying?”

“A week.”

“Oh, that’s good. Long enough to get a nice rest. Get in a little light reading.” He was teasing again, eyes sparking with mirth.

“I have to confess I abandoned that book.”

“I have a whole shelfful, if you want to borrow something. Probably not boring enough for you, though.” Wei Wuxian checked his shoulder. “I don’t have any history.”

It was easy to forget the real reason for his being here tonight. Lan Wangji realized he should use the opportunity to get as much information as he could; despite all his talking, Wei Wuxian had yet to disclose anything significant about himself.

“How long have you been working here?”

“Oh, about six months. It’s kind of a crappy job but the pay isn’t bad, and I get to meet a lot of people. It keeps me busy.” Wei Wuxian leaned forward and buried his toes in the sand as he spoke; he obviously found it difficult to sit still. It drew Lan Wangji’s attention to his finely boned feet and hands. They seemed delicate. It would be easy, Lan Wangji realized, to overpower Wei Wuxian now—they were alone on the beach, and he was physically much stronger. He could take Wei Wuxian unaware, before he had time to react.

He felt sick at the thought. Why was Wei Wuxian being so careless coming here alone with a stranger, when he must know the cultivation world was looking for him? “What did you do before this?”

“Ah, ha ha, well. I was a grad student, actually. Electrochemistry, if you can believe that. But you don’t want to hear about it. I didn’t finish my dissertation. Just one more failed academic working in the service industry.”

Lan Wangji’s heart skipped. Wei Wuxian was skirting close to the truth, he could tell. “It sounds interesting.”

“Mmm. Yeah. I mean it is. It was. I loved it.”

“What made you leave your program?”

Wei Wuxian gazed out over the ocean, a melancholy expression falling over his features. It made him look tired, older. The change was so different from how he usually appeared, it felt wrong. Not for the first time since he had accepted this assignment, Lan Wangji wondered why—why Wei Wuxian had killed Baoshan Sanren, why he had killed the sect leaders. When he looked back at Lan Wangji, his eyes were hollow and haunted, and just for a moment, he looked like a man who might be capable of anything.

“Let’s not talk about it.” He smiled again, but this time it didn’t seem real.

“Of course. Apologies if I brought up something unpleasant.”

“You’re so polite, Wu Hao. Your mother must have raised you right.”

Lan Wangji swallowed deeply. He had not accounted for questions about his parents, but since Wei Wuxian had offered a kernel of truth, he decided to do the same. “My mother died when I was very young. I was raised by an uncle.”

“Oh. Oh fuck. I guess that’s something else we have in common.”

Lan Wangji did not know anything about Wei Wuxian’s parents, or really much about him at all, other than the fact that he had been living apart from the cultivation world for some time, and that he was no longer in touch with his foster family, the Jiangs. He found himself intrigued, but at the same time he knew it was reckless to let his guard down this way.

“I am sorry to hear that.”

“Ah, it was a long time ago. We can’t regret the past, we can only move forward. Isn’t that true?” Wei Wuxian’s face was very close, his eyes dark and intent on Lan Wangji’s own.

“It is.” Lan Wangji nodded.

“You know, I like you, Wu Hao. You look like someone who has a lot more going on under the surface than meets the eye. I’ll bet you have hidden talents.”

“Mn.” A cold frisson went up Lan Wangji’s spine, and he wondered if he’d given too much of himself away. Could Wei Wuxian know who he was? He supposed it was possible. The man was intelligent—he’d hidden himself away for months—and he was obviously a consummate actor. How much of what Lan Wangji had seen of him was real? He decided to take a risk. “I think the same is true of you.”

“Maybe.” Wei Wuxian licked his lips.

The tension that had been building all night stretched tight between them, an almost physical force, and Lan Wangji wondered what he was capable of in the darkest corners of his heart. Could he kiss this man . . . could he fuck this man and then . . .?

He turned his face away. “It’s getting late.”

“Ah, ha ha.” Wei Wuxian laughed quietly. “Sorry for keeping you up past your bedtime. I know you—” He paused. “I know you should be getting back.”

Lan Wangji nodded, and that was when he noticed the glint of silver around Wei Wuxian’s neck. The chain of a necklace, hidden by the collar of his shirt. The Yin Iron?

Wei Wuxian’s hand went to his chest as he scrambled quickly to his feet, and Lan Wangji wondered if he had stared too long.

When Wei Wuxian turned back to offer a hand to Lan Wangji, his features were smooth and easy, but even in the darkness, Lan Wangji could see that it was a mask. He knows, Lan Wangji thought, putting his hand into Wei Wuxian’s and allowing himself the help, though he did not need it. Once he was on his feet, he did not let go. Wei Wuxian gave him a helpless look, but allowed it. They walked holding hands to their shoes, shuffling awkwardly through sand, with the cool-warm ocean breeze at their backs.

Lan Wangji considered his options as he put on his shoes, watching Wei Wuxian doing the same out of the corner of his eye. If he was correct, and Wei Wuxian did suspect him, he couldn’t let him leave. He was now a flight risk.

“Are you here to kill me, Lan Wangji?” Wei Wuxian asked softly, stopping Lan Wangji’s thoughts in their tracks.

He set his mouth in a grim line. “How long have you known?”

“I suspected yesterday. Your accent gave you away a little bit. But I didn’t know for sure until tonight.” Wei Wuxian looked at him with eyes cold as the ocean beyond them. The blade strapped to Lan Wangji’s ankle felt very heavy. “I meant what I said, though. I do like you.”

There was no way of knowing if that was true, and Lan Wangji couldn’t trust it. He couldn’t trust anything that Wei Wuxian had said, he reminded himself. “I’m sorry, but I cannot let you go.”

“How are you going to stop me, Lan er-gege?”

Lan Wangji didn’t see the talisman until it was too late. Wei Wuxian’s reflexes were quick, and the paper flared into fire, momentarily blinding Lan Wangji as he grabbed for his knife. The precious seconds lost by the distraction were enough for Wei Wuxian to get a head start, and he ran, feet barely touching the ground. Lan Wangji followed swiftly on his heels.

They ran through the parking lot and up a street running perpendicular to the hotel, into the interior of the island and away from the opulent beach houses and hotels on the shore. Lan Wangji’s heart pounded in his chest, allowing his core to supply the energy needed to boost his speed, letting it flow through his meridians. Wei Wuxian was agile, easily jumping over cars and deliberately choosing a difficult path to present Lan Wangji with obstacles meant to trip him up. They passed an old woman out walking her dog, and she let out a frightened shout, but there was no time to be concerned about civilians now. The streets were otherwise deserted, and they zig-zagged up a low gradient hill, with Lan Wangji slowly gaining ground. Wei Wuxian was fast, but he seemed to be flagging.

Suddenly, he changed tack and veered into a narrow alleyway between two three-story buildings, throwing another talisman Lan Wangji’s way as he did. Lan Wangji darted to avoid it, and with what must have been a substantial burst of energy, Wei Wuxian propelled himself off the ground, up to the top of the roof.

Lan Wangji followed, his muscles straining at the effort. It had been a long time since he had faced such a fast, worthy opponent, and he found himself admiring Wei Wuxian even as he gripped his knife and landed on the roof with a little more impact than he’d intended.

There seemed to be no one there, at first, and Lan Wangji scanned the roof, wondering if Wei Wuxian had escaped. Then he saw a dark shadow at the very edge, or rather, dark shadows moving around in a slow, ever-widening circle, coiling up from the ground and down from the sky as the first trills of a dizi echoed into the night.

Wei Wuxian’s hair had fallen from its ponytail during the chase, and it now cascaded down his shoulders, the ends of it swirling as the shadows wrapped around him, as tender as a lover’s touch. He was breathtaking, holding the instrument to his lips, his dark eyes flashing red as they latched onto Lan Wangji.

The coils of darkness struck out.

Lan Wangji backflipped to avoid them, his mind racing with the realization that Wei Wuxian truly was a demonic cultivator. He had never seen a human command resentful energy this way before, having been too young to participate in the Sunshot Campaign against Wen Ruohan. He pushed his own feelings about that aside and skirted around the edge of the roof, narrowly avoiding the dark coils lashing out again and again. He had WangJi in his qiankun sleeve, but he wanted to avoid using Chord Assassination if possible. He needed to try to take Wei Wuxian alive, to find out if he was working on his own, or with someone else.

Wei Wuxian played faster, and his eyes widened as Lan Wangji got closer, successfully averting his attacks.

Are you here to kill me, Lan Wangji?

If he could just get to the flute.

“Wei Wuxian,” said Lan Wangji. “Stop this.”

Wei Wuxian lowered his instrument, but the dark coils still swirled around him, faster now. “You really are not afraid of me.” He let out a hollow laugh, and his eyes were sad, though thankfully they were dark now, instead of red. “I didn’t know you would be so brave. Jiang Cheng never said—”

Suddenly, he dropped the dizi. It clattered to the ground distantly, and with a snap of Wei Wuxian’s fingers, the tendrils of resentful energy were gone too. “I’m tired.”

He was still standing on the ledge. Lan Wangji saw one of his feet drift slightly backward, onto nothing. They were high enough that a fall would kill him.

“Wei Wuxian!” He reached out, but was afraid to do more, lest his approach frighten Wei Wuxian into doing something he could never take back.

“Isn’t it better this way? Wherever I go now, I will be hunted. I will never be free. My family—” He shook his head. “They’re better off without me.”

“You don’t have to do this.”

“Don’t I, though? Isn’t that why you came? I did kill Baoshan Sanren.”

“Why?”

“It doesn’t matter. I didn’t kill the others—that doesn’t matter either.” Wei Wuxian’s eyes glistened, a single tear streaking his pale cheek.

“Who did?”

“Ah, Lan Wangji. I wish I knew.”

“I can help you.” Lan Wangji reached out his hand, taking a tentative step closer. “Tell me what happened. If you didn’t kill Jin Guangshan and Nie Mingjue, we can figure out who did . . . together.”

“I’m tired,” Wei Wuxian said again, and he did look tired. His body trembled slightly, and then, there was a flash of certainty in his eyes, a tiny smile on his lips. “You’re something special, Lan Wangji.”

Lan Wangji lunged forward. He grabbed Wei Wuxian’s arm just as he flailed backward, and his weight was heavy in Lan Wangji’s grip. Lan Wangji strained to hold him, using his core strength to keep himself from falling. Wei Wuxian let out a surprised gasp.

They tumbled back to the roof, with Wei Wuxian landing on top of Lan Wangji, his body warm and solid—alive. For several moments, neither of them spoke. Lan Wangji could feel Wei Wuxian’s breath against his lips. His heart felt as though it were beating out of his chest.

“You would save a demonic cultivator. A murderer,” Wei Wuxian said, his voice hoarse. His eyes were red-rimmed and wide.

Lan Wangji swallowed. He could not answer for himself. Only yesterday he had been ready and willing to do what had to be done, but now things had changed. There was a side to the story that Lan Wangji needed to hear. “I want you to tell me,” he said. Wei Wuxian rolled over and sat up, hugging his knees to his chest. He looked more like the boy he had been in that photograph. “I would like to know the truth.”

Wei Wuxian sighed. “You won’t believe me.”

“I’ll be the one to decide what I believe.”

“Okay. I guess I have nothing left to lose.”

Your life, Lan Wangji thought as they both stood, brushing themselves off. He glanced at Wei Wuxian as he fixed his hair, pulling it back up into a ponytail with one of the bands he wore on his wrist.

In spite of everything, Lan Wangji thought Wei Wuxian’s life might be worth it.

Wei Wuxian’s apartment was on one of the nearby side streets, a place where locals lived, not tourists or out-of-towners with second homes. Wei Wuxian pulled out a set of keys as they stopped in front of a humble bungalow, and Lan Wangji waited behind him. He could tell by the slope of Wei Wuxian’s shoulders that he was exhausted. And then there was the matter of what had happened up on the roof—he was still not sure if Wei Wuxian had tripped, or if he had intentionally tried to fall. He wondered if Wei Wuxian was still that desperate.

“This place belongs to a friend of mine from school,” Wei Wuxian said. “She’s not here now, though. Her . . . brother is sick, so she went to be with him. I’m kind of house-sitting for her.”

Lan Wangji nodded, taking it all in as Wei Wuxian turned on the lights and kicked off his shoes. In deference to politeness, Lan Wangji removed his as well, though it lent a surreal air of familiarity to the evening they’d had.

The bungalow was small but well kept, with one large central living area and an efficiency kitchen off to the right. Nothing had been updated in quite a while, but it was clean, save for a few loose items of clothing on the couch and a pile of dirty dishes on the counter. Wei Wuxian hastily gathered the clothes and threw them into what Lan Wangji assumed was the darkened bedroom beyond. The couch was leather, worn and comfortable looking. Wei Wuxian gestured.

“You can sit. I need a beer. Do you want anything? Tea? I know you Lans don’t really drink.”

Ah, so he had given himself away with that after all. “I would rather we stayed together.”

Wei Wuxian rolled his eyes, looking more like himself, or at least more like the man Lan Wangji had originally met at the bar. “We can make the tea together, then. Come on.”

The kitchen was not large, and as Wei Wuxian filled the kettle and plugged it in, he danced around Lan Wangji, who did his best to stay out of the way. It was another odd moment of domesticity, watching this man who had just confessed to the murder of his mentor make a pot of jasmine tea, humming quietly as he did so, as though this were a night like any other. Finally, it was finished, and Wei Wuxian offered Lan Wangji a cup, almost shyly.

“You saw me make it. I didn’t put anything in it, I promise.”

“Mn.” Lan Wangji accepted the cup.

It smelled good, fragrant and warm. Lan Wangji took a careful sip while Wei Wuxian fished a beer from the refrigerator and popped it open. He took a long pull from the bottle, tipping his head back as his throat worked, and Lan Wangji watched his Adam’s apple bob. Wei Wuxian was on the wrong path, but the demonic energy hadn’t destroyed him—not yet. It hadn’t made him any less beautiful.

“Ah, that’s much better.” Wei Wuxian wiped his wet upper lip with the back of his hand. Lan Wangji eyed him warily and sipped his tea again. “Let’s sit. I don’t know if I can do this standing up.”

They returned to the living room and sat on opposite sides of the couch, Lan Wangji with his tea and Wei Wuxian with his now half-empty beer. He held it between his knees, gazing down at the bottle and absently running a finger around the mouth of it.

“You asked about Baoshan Sanren. What do you know about her?”

“She helped defeat Wen Ruohan during the Sunshot Campaign. She used a fragment of the Yin Iron against him and later helped destroy it.”

Though Lan Wangji had only been a child, he knew the history well enough. As Chief Cultivator, Wen Ruohan had wanted to dominate the other clans, and planned to use the Yin Iron to create an army of fierce corpses to further his agenda. To stop him, the other clans had bound together and conducted a guerilla campaign, which resulted in many cultivator deaths on both sides. Of those who survived, many had decided to live civilian lives, giving up cultivation entirely.

Baoshan Sanren had been one of those, a scientist by trade and one of the most talented cultivators of her generation. After the Sunshot Campaign, she had lived as a civilian until she was discovered dead. Lan Wangji grit his teeth thinking about what had been lost. Good things had come of it, too—the Chief Cultivator position had been eradicated, and all clans now had an equal say regarding cultivation policy. And Lan Wangji did have hope for the future—the younger generation of cultivators studying at Cloud Recesses was very talented.

“Well, what you might not know is my mother was her disciple, Cangse Sanren.”

“The rogue cultivator?” Lan Wangji frowned. “I didn’t know she had a child.”

“Well, no one did. Except Auntie Yu and Uncle Jiang, of course—they were the ones who took me in, after . . .” He trailed off. “I only found out when Auntie Yu told me before I went to boarding school. She had never liked me. I’m guessing it had more to do with my parents than me, probably, but yeah. That’s why I didn’t go to Gusu with A-Cheng. He told me about you, you know.” Wei Wuxian glanced over at him, a small smile on his lips. “He said you were insufferable.”

Lan Wangji remembered the Jiangs arriving for lectures when they were sixteen. Jiang Wanyin had been a difficult person to get along with, easy to anger but also a dutiful son. Lan Wangji had not known, at that point, that there was another boy, a missing boy, who should have been there as well.

“I am not surprised that Jiang Wanyin thought so.” They still butted heads on occasion. “Why did they send you away?” It seemed an extraordinarily cruel punishment to send a cultivator child to a regular boarding school, no matter who Wei Wuxian’s parents had been or what they had done.

Wei Wuxian shook his head, obviously wary. “It doesn’t really matter, does it?”

It did matter, in that it gave Wei Wuxian motivation for their murders, especially if he was as bitter about it as he seemed to be, and trying to hide his reaction.

“I started studying cultivation theory on my own. There was a private cultivator library near my school, and I found a book my mother had written just before she died.” He took another sip of beer. One of his knees was jumping restlessly, and Lan Wangji had the strangest impulse to reach out to still it with his hand.

“About the crooked path.” Lan Wangji had heard of such a book. It had been purged from the Cloud Recesses when he was a boy, too dangerous to even be held in the Room of Forbidden Books.

“I know you don’t believe alternative cultivation can ever be used properly, but my mother was onto something. The Yin Iron was a blunt object. It built up resentful energy over time, instead of disbursing it, which is why it was so dangerous.” Wei Wuxian leaned forward, animated and gesturing with one of his hands. “But my mom had an idea of how to harness the power of resentful energy by using music to draw it in and then refracting it through a different kind of metal conductor, splitting it off from the source so that the actual souls of the dead aren’t disturbed. The cultivator gets to use the energy, but once it’s been exhausted, the spirit is put to rest, and the energy dissipates. A win-win.”

“But she was not successful in the end.”

“No,” Wei Wuxian seemed reluctant to acknowledge it. “But that doesn’t mean the science and theory behind it weren’t sound.”

Lan Wangji still didn’t understand the draw, not when the risks were so clear. “‘Why use alternative cultivation at all, when a more appropriate path exists?”

Wei Wuxian’s face darkened. “Not everyone has the ability to cultivate the sword path.”

Lan Wangji took in those words with careful consideration. There was something Wei Wuxian was not telling him, something to do with his own cultivation. He would not press. Yet.

“Anyway, after that I went looking for Baoshan Sanren. She was working as a professor at Yiling University, living a regular life. She wasn’t surprised to see me, but didn’t want to take me on after what happened to my mother. I wanted to figure out what she had gotten wrong.”

What had killed her. Lan Wangji felt a tug of sympathy, but kept his expression impassive. It was more important than ever that Wei Wuxian not see how he was affected by the story; it would make him even more vulnerable to manipulation, if Wei Wuxian was lying. He thought to himself that he already might be playing right into Wei Wuxian’s hands. Still, he couldn’t deny the story he had heard so far was intriguing, and he knew he would listen through to the end.

“You got her to agree, eventually.”

Wei Wuxian smiled ruefully. “I’d like to say it was my charm, but I think I annoyed her into it, to be honest. I can be very persistent when I want something.”

Lan Wangji was sure that was true, and it was a trait that he shared, though perhaps not so obviously. He shifted on the sofa and drank his tea, trying not to remember the way that it had felt to be connected to Wei Wuxian through the tracking spell. Luckily, Wei Wuxian did not seem to notice the direction his thoughts were drifting. He went on, speaking so quickly his words tumbled out on top of each other, like they couldn’t wait to be heard.

“The theory is so interesting; that’s what originally drew me in. My mother had figured out that when resentful energy came into contact with the electrons in the outer shell of the Yin Iron, it caused static. Sometimes nothing happened, but sometimes it rebounded on the cultivator, causing a qi deviation. Silver is the best conductor, but you can get the same problem with energy passing too freely and that can damage the qi as well. I tried so many different kinds of alloys, and well. . .” He paused to finish off his beer and set it down on the table. “I can’t give away all my secrets.”

Lan Wangji thought again of the necklace Wei Wuxian had been so eager to hide back on the beach. Not the Yin Iron after all, but something even more intriguing.

“You said you killed Baoshan Sanren.”

Wei Wuxian didn’t speak for a long beat, but then he exhaled sharply and rubbed his hands over his face. “We were out at my lab. That’s what I called it, a graveyard near campus, and I asked Baoshan-laoshi to come with me. I was doing a test on my latest—it was so close to the right combination, finally. But as soon as I started playing Chenqing, something went wrong. Something was happening to her. There was screaming in my ears—it was her spirit.” He shuddered, lost in the memory. “Nothing like that had ever happened before. I stopped playing, but it was too late. Her face—it was awful.”

Lan Wangji clenched his jaw. He himself had seen the effects of the qi depletion first hand, and it was not a pleasant sight. Something cold and angry rose up in him, that had earlier been muted by Wei Wuxian’s desperation and seeming vulnerability.

“You lost control.”

“That’s the thing—I didn’t. I almost thought I heard someone else playing—although I could have imagined it. But even if there was someone else there, she wouldn’t have died if I hadn’t asked her to come. If I hadn’t pushed her to help me to begin with. I take full responsibility for what happened to her.”

They looked at one another. Lan Wangji could see the little silver chain around Wei Wuxian’s neck, whatever sigil or amulet he wore tucked under his shirt, out of sight. Wei Wuxian’s eyes were bright with unshed tears.

He flushed slightly, looking down at his empty hands. “I left school after that. But I couldn’t go back to Lotus Pier, either. I traveled around for a while, but I didn’t have any money. Then I started hearing about the civilian murders in Xingtai, in Linyi—that someone was using demonic cultivation to do it.”

Lan Wangji set his empty tea cup down on the table, feeling slightly ill at his own memories. “Five people were found outside Cloud Recesses, in Caiyi Town, desiccated like they had been long dead.”

Wei Wuxian closed his eyes and slumped back against the couch. “I didn’t know that,” he said softly.

“No one else knows the details of your research?”

“No one, other than Baoshan-laoshi. I know what happened to the sect leaders and Uncle Jiang and Auntie Yu. It sounds like the same thing that happened to her. I know how it looks—because yes, I didn’t have a great childhood with them. But I didn’t do it. Never—I never would have done that to A-Li or A-Cheng, take away their parents like that.” His voice shook, and he clenched his jaw, looking away.

Lan Wangji maintained his neutral expression with some effort. He wanted to grab Wei Wuxian by the shoulders and shake the truth out of him. The motivation for Wei Wuxian to kill his adoptive parents had seemed simple—resentment and revenge. As far as the other deaths, the other clan leaders had assumed Wei Wuxian had been corrupted and was trying to sow discord and throw the cultivation world into chaos. With all of them painting a bloodthirsty, power-hungry picture of Wei Wuxian, it had been easy to let the assumption stand as the truth.

“Think about it, Lan Wangji. I’m here—you saw me working the bar. I’m always working. I’ve been here for six months.”

“There have not been any killings for some time.” Things had quieted measurably since Nie Mingjue’s death.

“I told you that you wouldn’t believe me.” Wei Wuxian sighed.

“Should I?” Truthfully, Lan Wangji did not trust himself. He was not sure if his attraction to Wei Wuxian was making him more susceptible to his version of the story. Still, setting that aside, the explanation Wei Wuxian had offered tonight was disconcerting. If true, it meant that there was another cultivator out there, perhaps more than one, committing these atrocious acts against the clans and not suffering any consequences. Getting away with it at Wei Wuxian’s expense. Or, another part of his mind whispered, Wei Wuxian could be working with an accomplice himself. Everything that happened tonight could have been carefully orchestrated to shift blame onto a shadow partner. Wei Wuxian knew Lan Wangji was coming. He’d had time to prepare his approach, perhaps more carefully than Lan Wangji and Xichen had prepared theirs.

“I don’t know.” That expression was back, the hopeless one that Lan Wangji had seen on the roof. It felt like something heavy had been pressed upon Lan Wangji’s chest.

“We should rest.” It was already past 3:00 a.m. Lan Wangji would be getting up in two hours if this were any normal day, and he had expended a great deal of spiritual energy during the chase and fight. He needed to meditate at the very least to regain some of his strength, though sleeping would be better. Wei Wuxian had heavy, dark circles under his eyes.

“Okay. I guess you’re staying?”

“Mn.”

“Not exactly what I’d—well.” Wei Wuxian gave him a wry smile. “I only have one bed.”

The sleeping arrangements would be problematic. If Lan Wangji stayed out on the couch, even if he did not sleep, Wei Wuxian could easily lock the door to his room and perhaps escape out of the bedroom window. Yet sleeping together was out of the question.

“You take the bed. I will sleep on the floor.”

He did not plan to actually sleep, but a few hours of resting and thinking would help to settle his mind as to his next course of action.

Wei Wuxian nodded, as though he’d expected it. “Ah. I’ve got to go . . . I’ve got to piss, Lan Wangji, to tell you the truth. Can I do that in private, or do you want to watch?”

Lan Wangji felt his ears heat. He’d noted the small bathroom next to the kitchen did not have a window. Wei Wuxian could lock himself inside, but he wouldn’t be able to escape from the house.

“Please, do what you have to do.”

Lan Wangji checked his phone while Wei Wuxian was otherwise occupied. There were several messages from Xichen, increasingly urgent. He sent his brother back a quick message to let him know he was fine, and that he had information to impart in the morning.

When Wei Wuxian returned, he hovered awkwardly near the door to his bedroom. “If you need to use the bathroom, feel free. I’m honestly not in any shape to be escaping anywhere tonight, okay? Plus, you have Chenqing.” His dizi was tucked into Lan Wangji’s qiankun sleeve—they had retrieved it from the street before returning, and for some reason it hadn’t broken.

His face was very pale. A protective instinct that Lan Wangji had rarely felt before rose up in him, but he tamped it down. He had seen what Wei Wuxian was capable of, and it would be foolish to underestimate him.

“I will put a ward on the door.”

“Okay.” Wei Wuxian looked warily at him.

Lan Wangji warded the door and then, on second thought, the windows, before going to relieve himself and wash up. When he returned to the bedroom, Wei Wuxian was already under the blankets, back turned toward the door. He had placed a pillow and a sleeping bag on the floor, as though they were having a sleepover.

The gesture tugged again at something inside Lan Wangji that he did not want to examine too closely.

He lay on the floor and tried not to think of anything at all.

Several hours later he snapped awake and reached out, his hand connecting with a limb. For a moment, he had no idea where he was, only that he had not meant to fall asleep. He pulled, tackling whoever it was to the ground, only coming fully awake as he realized he was tangled up in the sleeping bag, with a half-naked Wei Wuxian underneath him. Wei Wuxian blinked up at him, color high on his cheeks. “I . . . Lan Wangji!” He rocked a little from side to side, trying to free himself. “I was going to get something to drink. I’m thirsty.” His lips looked raw and chapped, like he’d been biting them. “I was trying not to wake you.”

Lan Wangji wrenched his eyes away from those tempting lips and slid off, allowing him up. “Apologies.”

“You’re like a cobra or something.” Wei Wuxian didn’t quite seem angry about it. He sounded almost impressed. Lan Wangji decided not to examine that too closely either. “And anyway, your wards are still in place. I tested them. Oh, don’t look at me like that. You would have done the same.”

Lan Wangji pursed his lips. “Mn.”

“So . . . going to get some water and something to eat. You want something? I can make a pretty good congee. I don’t have much else in the house.”

Lan Wangji nodded, his footing a little unsure—he had for all intents and purposes made Wei Wuxian his prisoner and tackled him to the floor of his bedroom, and yet he was doing things like offering Lan Wangji a place to sleep and feeding him.

Wei Wuxian excused himself to the kitchen, and Lan Wangji listened to him for a moment, the domestic sounds of breakfast being prepared. Then, taking advantage of the time alone, he called his brother, who answered on the first ring.

“Wangji, I’ve been worried. What happened last night?”

“There have been some interesting developments. I have spoken with Wei Wuxian.”

“Spoken—oh. He knows?”

“Yes. I think it is possible that he is not the right person.”

“Didi, you know that there’s no one else—”

His brother always used the diminutive when he wanted to exert his authority as sect leader. Lan Wangji cut him off. “I don’t think we do know that, xiongzhang. Wei Wuxian’s story is compelling. I would like to bring him back to Gusu with me while we figure out what is going on. If he is telling the truth, there is a larger conspiracy at work here.”

“Bring him back here?” The note of surprise was one that Lan Wangji has been expecting, but it still elicited a slight discomfort. Of course, Xichen could not know that Lan Wangji was attracted to Wei Wuxian, but their own family history made it impossible for Lan Wangji to remain unconflicted with his resolution.

“I can’t let him go, but I don’t think we should turn him over, not at this point. I would appreciate it if you would allow me this. If we could keep it between us.”

“What will we tell the other sects?” There was a resignation in Xichen’s voice, and Lan Wangji knew he had been successful in his request.

“Simply that I need more time here.”

“Wangji, if anyone is hurt—”

“No one will be hurt. You have my word.”

His brother sighed. “Very well. But when you get back I expect you to tell me everything.”

“I will.”

“And Wangji—be careful.”

Lan Wangji hung up the phone, a new certainty compelling him forward. He always felt uneasy without a plan, but now he had direction, and he wanted to get on with it.

Wei Wuxian stood outside the door, holding a warm, steaming bowl. His expression was unreadable.

“How much did you hear?” Lan Wangji asked.

“Enough. You’re . . . you want to take me back with you. As a prisoner.”

“Not a prisoner.”

“What else?”

Lan Wangji could not answer. He swallowed, discomfort twisting in his gut. He didn’t want to take Wei Wuxian as a prisoner, but he would not be coming willingly, so truly, what other way was there to describe what he was? “You will be safe at Cloud Recesses while we figure out what to do next.” While I validate your story, he did not say.

“What about the others? Your brother?”

“Zewu-jun can be trusted. I will make sure you are not harmed.”

“So you believe me? About what happened?” The hope in Wei Wuxian’s voice was as painful as any knife wound. Lan Wangji could not answer him.

“I will need your necklace before we go.”

“I—” Wei Wuxian’s hand gripped at his throat.

“I will keep it safe.”

“And if I don’t give it to you?”

They stared at each other. “I will have to take it.” He spoke the words softly, but even so, he could see the pain flash across Wei Wuxian’s face, the knowledge that he was not trusted after all.

In that moment, Lan Wangji hated himself.