Chapter Text
All of the inn’s buildings looked the same from the outside; ornate, luxurious. Wei Wuxian would have to look inside to find out what each of them were for.
The first one, when Wei Wuxian entered, was not a disused stable. It was a private waterfront pavilion, meant for guests with deep pockets.
It was not empty.
“Oh, fu—” Wei Wuxian tripped on the threshold trying to back out again and landed painfully on his back and elbow. He looked up, dread consuming him.
“How convenient,” said Wen Chao. He had been seated with a view of the river; now he stood. Wang Lingjiao hung off his arm, Wen Zhuliu lurked in a corner of the room. Wen Chao was flanked by four stooges, two to each side; Wei Wuxian thought he recognized one on the left as an assailant from when Wen Chao had him beaten, before.
It was a trap. It was a trap. Fuck. Wei Wuxian hoped, suddenly, that Jiang Cheng wasn’t coming after all, and this whole setup had all been a mind game targeted at him alone—
“Get him,” Wen Chao instructed his stooges. Wei Wuxian tried to scramble to his feet, to run, but the fall had jarred something. When he tried to push up, his arm collapsed from a jabbing pain in his chest.
“Fuck,” he said aloud.
Two of Wen Chao’s entourage took up posts at the inside of the pavilion’s door. The other two grabbed him, one at each arm, and forced him to his knees inside.
“Fuck you,” Wei Wuxian added for good measure.
“Someone hasn’t been using that mouth properly,” Wen Chao sneered. Wang Lingjiao tittered along, and Wei Wuxian realized there was, in fact, a worse sound than Wen Chao’s laughter.
Wei Wuxian spat towards Wen Chao’s boots and Wang Lingjiao’s ugly beaded slippers.
“You—!” Wen Chao landed a kick in Wei Wuxian’s gut that forced him to double over.
“Is that the best you can do?” Wei Wuxian goaded.
Wen Chao bristled at that, winding up to kick again. Then he paused, relaxed, smiled that horrible self-satisfied smile again.
“No,” he said. “No, it isn’t. Jiaojiao, isn’t it good that Wei Ying has come to meet us here?”
“He’s just the man we wanted to see,” she agreed, giving Wen Chao’s arm a nauseating caress.
“I’m flattered,” said Wei Wuxian.
“Don’t be.” Wen Chao did a showy flourish with his free arm that caused the fabric of his sleeve to snap crisply. “Where is Jiang Wanyin?”
Wei Wuxian’s heart was in his throat. Did he know?
“He’s halfway to Meishan by now,” he lied.
Wen Chao gazed at him shrewdly. “That’s very unfortunate for you, Wei Ying. You see, my Jiaojiao had the most clever idea.”
Wei Wuxian hummed inquisitively, hiding his anxiety.
“Doesn’t he call you his brother? I wonder, will he turn himself in to save you?” He laughed, and Wei Wuxian felt a horrible coldness settle in his bones. “I thought we could start by taking a finger for every day he keeps running. Then toes, then your hands at the wrists, and then… well, you get the idea.”
He held back a shudder. But… that wasn’t necessary. Jiang Cheng was coming here, to this street if not to this inn; all they needed to do was prepare an ambush like the one that had taken him a moment ago. Did Wen Chao really not know? Had Wen Qionglin not told him?
Wei Wuxian’s thoughts spun like a wheel.
“Do you even have the guts to cut me, or were you planning to have Jiaojiao do it for you?” Wei Wuxian asked levelly. Stall for time. Dig for information.
Wen Chao’s face twisted.
“Have you been talking back to Qionglin this way, I wonder?”
“I wouldn’t dream of it—he’s a lot prettier than you.” The grip on his arms tightened at this, sending a shock of terror to his brain. “—And speaking of,” he fumbled, trying not to think of rope, “aren’t I his prisoner? You can’t treat me this way.”
Wen Chao tsked. “Who cares about that? Qionglin answers to me, it’s my prerogative to change my mind if I see fit.”
Jiaojiao cut in. “Anyway, if he’s lost track of you, he can’t complain if Wen-gongzi takes over.”
“He knows where I am,” Wei Wuxian retorted breathlessly. Technically, this could be true. “I’ve been—so good for him, he sent me on an errand.”
“Heavens!” Wen Chao guffawed. He leaned forward, grabbing Wei Wuxian by the chin and leering into his face. “Truly? And how good is that?”
The implication behind Wen Chao’s words made Wei Wuxian want to surge up and strike him; the touch made him want to run. Instead, he pasted on a breezy smile.
“Jealous?”
“He’s really gotten to you,” said Wen Chao, somewhere between delighted and incredulous.
“Don’t get any ideas.” Wei Wuxian tried to say this blithely, but the edge was there: get away. Don’t touch me.
Wen Chao bared his teeth at that and slapped him, and that was more comfortable. He braced himself against the blow and managed to look unconcerned. This served to further fluster Wen Chao.
“Zhuliu,” he gritted out, “hit him for me.”
Wei Wuxian laughed a little under his breath. Yes, if it was just another beating, that would be fine.
But Wen Zhuliu didn’t move.
“Zhuliu!”
“You shouldn’t offend Wen Qionglin,” said Wen Zhuliu, face impassive as ever.
Wen Chao scoffed, incredulous. “Why not? He’s pathetic!”
“Wen-zongzhu favors that family. Wen Qing is skilled. Wen Shenghua is… valued.” More highly valued than Wen Chao, was Wen Zhuliu’s clear implication.
“You made an agreement with him,” Wen Zhuliu added, the corner of his mouth curling in almost imperceptible distaste at the memory of what had followed.
The growl that came out of Wen Chao was probably meant to be intimidating, but it sounded more like a child having a tantrum.
“Take Wei Ying to Wen Shenghua, then! Qionglin can’t complain if it’s his father correcting his shoddy work.”
Wen Chao turned towards him again, eyes flashing with sadistic joy. “Have a care for your behavior, Wei Ying. Wen Shenghua is my father’s head of discipline. He’s very good at it—you’ll be begging to lick my boots when he’s through with you.”
Wei Wuxian swallowed shakily.
Wang Lingjiao looked a little uneasy as well, but when she spoke she returned to petulance. “Darling, I want to see him suffer for how he treated me now.”
Wen Chao grabbed Wei Wuxian’s face again, tilting it back and forth. “He is in quite good shape, isn’t he? What do you think, Jiaojiao, does he deserve to look so comfortable?”
“Not if his greeting to us is any indictment.” Wei Wuxian thought she might have meant to say ‘indication’. She smirked coyly. “Perhaps the marks just aren’t where we can see them.”
Wen Chao’s grip took on a cruel edge, nails digging into Wei Wuxian’s chin. “Is that it, Wei Ying? Shall we take a look?”
Wei Wuxian felt himself go ashen. River-weed whip marks that nobody should see and skin mottled by the boot of the man holding one of his twisted arms and nape laughter heat—
“You can’t,” he protested. He pulled in a breath, wide-eyed, and cast about for an excuse. “I mean, won’t Jiaojiao be embarrassed, seeing a man half-exposed?”
“What man,” retorted Wen Chao. “The only thing I see here is an unruly mutt.”
He dropped Wei Wuxian’s chin, reaching for a lapel, and Wei Wuxian tried, frantic, to get enough purchase with his legs to get away. It was no use; the grip on his arms was too tight, and his knees were pressed to the polished floor.
Wei Wuxian held his breath, heart racing.
The door flew open, knocking a guard to the floor.
Wen Ning stood in the entrance, the windblown dishevelment of his hair and clothes belying his attempt at an imposing posture. He glanced at the man he’d accidentally sent sprawling.
“Oops,” he said.
He looked quickly around the room as he stepped inside, gaze settling last over the grip Wen Chao had on Wei Wuxian’s lapel. His eyes blazed.
Wen Qionglin dropped into a brief and somewhat stiff salute.
“Cousin. If we had m-more warning of your arrival, we could have prepared a more— a, a better welcome.”
“Rather than spouting backhanded courtesies, you should leash your dog first,” complained Wen Chao. “If I expected hospitality from the likes of you, we wouldn’t need to take rooms here.”
Wen Qionglin saluted again. “Of course. The supervisory office… it’s n-not a place for the faint of heart right now. With the w— With the remaining wounded.” The veiled insult in that offhandedly delivered statement was clear to everyone. He continued. “Yet— we sent off the men you asked for earlier today, and I thought you would be quite, ah, busy, with the search for the Jiang sect heir. I w-wonder, then, what brings you here?”
“It’s the search that brings me here, Wen Ning. What do you think? Will he turn around and give himself up if his shixiong’s life is at stake?”
Wen Ning’s neutral expression faltered. “And if he doesn’t?”
“Then we get to watch Wei Wuxian realize he’s been abandoned before he dies,” chimed Wang Lingjiao.
It seemed that Wen Qionglin really hadn’t told them Jiang Cheng was on his way here, to Yiling. Something about his expression, however, made Wei Wuxian fear that was about to change. He interrupted first.
“You’ve forgotten one important detail,” he said. “I’m not your prisoner to kill. Right, Wen-gongzi?”
He addressed this to Wen Qionglin, and Wang Lingjiao cut him off.
“Who are you calling Wen-gongzi?” she protested. “This Wen Ning isn’t the young master here.”
Wei Wuxian leapt on the weakness. “Oh, my mistake, my mistake. It’s only… it’s difficult to remember that I’m meant to give respect to someone I’ve held at swordpoint before, Wen—” he paused, lidding his eyes. “I’m sorry, what was your courtesy name again?”
Wen Chao jerked back, finally pulling his hand away and scoring a line on Wei Wuxian’s jaw in the process. Wen Chao’s face reddened like the flashing throat of a songbird.
Wei Wuxian couldn’t have picked a sorer point to pick at. It was up to Wen Ruohan to choose courtesy names for his sons. He should have done so once he felt they had reached a satisfactory level of skill, maturity, and refinement.
In other words, the fact that Wen Chao and Wen Xu had no courtesy names was a direct sign that their father still considered both of them to be children. Despite Wen Chao’s marriage, despite the position he’d been given as leader and general of the Wen forces in the south, his father thought too little of him to grant him a name.
“You—! You and Wen Ning both need a remedial lesson in respect!”
Yes, that was safer. Get angry, thought Wei Wuxian. Kill me, but don’t use me against my brother and don’t fucking touch me.
Wei Wuxian snarled a grin. “That’s not a lesson you’re qualified to give, Chaochao.”
Wang Lingjiao let out an indignant squeal. Almost inaudibly, Wen Qionglin coughed to suppress a laugh.
Wen Chao whipped his head around and snapped at his cousin.
“Answer for this mutt’s behavior.”
“Hmm?”
Wen Chao jerked his chin towards Wei Wuxian, still held with his arms in an awkward position by two of Wen Chao’s guards.
“His behavior was offensive. You’ve taken responsibility for him, therefore, it reflects on you.”
“Since you can’t control him properly,” added Wang Lingjiao, “We’ll go see Wen Shenghua and hand you back what’s left of him.”
Wei Wuxian saw Wen Qionglin’s hand twitch around the sheath of his sword.
“We can all go back to Qishan together,” Wen Chao said lugubriously. “Qionglin is too fussy and possessive, but Wen Shenghua knows who his sect leader is. He’ll make this Wei Ying scream and cry for forgiveness for how poorly he’s treated you.”
Wen Qionglin almost choked on a breath, his grip on his sword turning his hand white. His demeanor, more than anything Wen Chao said before, provoked a creeping sense of danger in Wei Wuxian, and the hands still gripping his arms made him want to claw his skin off. Even so; Wen Chao had, as Wei Wuxian had hoped, completely forgotten about the plan to use Wei Wuxian against Jiang Cheng.
“Fine,” he said hurriedly. “Let’s all go to Qishan, I’m not scared.” As long as it got them out of Yiling, as long as it got Wen Chao away from Jiang Cheng—
“That won’t be n-necessary,” Wen Qionglin interrupted emphatically. “Wei Wuxian w-will, will, he’ll apologize properly. Isn’t that so?”
Wei Wuxian startled, pulling indignantly at the hold on his arms. Wei Wuxian had already decided to die slowly if it would prevent Wen Chao from catching Jiang Cheng, but Wen Qionglin met his eyes with a look he would almost call beseeching.
No. Absolutely not. Wen Qionglin was one thing, but he had no interest in cooperating with Wen Chao. The collar of his robes still hung a little loose where Wen Chao had pulled at it; the skin beneath was cold.
“Wei Wuxian,” pleaded Wen Qionglin. “W- we, we don’t. Need to involve family in this. Just apologize.”
Was he— Was that finally a direct threat against Jiang Cheng? It didn’t clear up what Wen Qionglin wanted from him, but at least this way he knew what was immediately required of him. Do as Wen Qionglin said, or have Jiang Cheng’s whereabouts revealed. Was Wen Qionglin finally showing his true face, or… was Wen Shenghua that dangerous, even to his own son?
He gritted his teeth and thickened his face. He’d do it, but he’d make it as unpleasant and embarrassing for everyone as he possibly could.
Tense in body but injecting honey into his voice, Wei Wuxian said, “Fine, I’ll apologize. But don’t misunderstand, ah, Wen Chao? It’s only because my Wen-gongzi asked me to.”
Wen Chao bared his teeth, but Wen Qionglin, flushing, interrupted before he could think of slapping him again.
“Wei Wuxian will give a full prostration. W-won’t you, ah, Wuxian?” Wen Qionglin spoke slowly, very carefully. A slight tremor still came through.
This was a farce. This was insulting. Wei Wuxian nodded curtly. For his part, Wen Chao looked very self-satisfied and ordered the guards to release him. They stepped back at his gesture.
“Go ahead,” Wen Chao said.
Rubbing at his arms, Wei Wuxian shot Wen Qionglin an agitated look. The other man had taken an aborted step towards Wei Wuxian— Looking closely, he was shaking.
Wei Wuxian sat back on his heels, positioned his hands in front of his knees. Slowly, hating every moment of it, itching from the sensation of Wen Chao’s eyes on him, he lowered his head towards the floor. He stopped moving a few inches above his hands, eyes straining to keep track of Wen Chao in case he made another move.
“I—” he swallowed quietly, and it felt like choking on bile. “This Wei Ying… has repeatedly offended the… honorable Wen clan’s second young master. He… begs for the young master’s forgiveness and lenience.”
“How insincere,” Wen Chao said above his head. He flinched as a foot lifted out of view, but did not move. It landed on Wei Wuxian’s shoulder, then pushed until his forehead smacked against the boards. He grunted, and heard a soft, pained noise from Wen Qionglin’s direction. But why?
“That’s better,” Wen Chao continued smugly. He ground his heel, pressing against an unhealed welt from Zidian. Wei Wuxian bit back a hiss.
“Are y-you satisfied?” Wen Qionglin sounded furious, and Wei Wuxian could not fucking figure him out. This was his idea, so why—
“I’m not, but no matter,” Wen Chao replied airily. “Let’s discuss Jiang Cheng.”
“What about him.” Wei Wuxian couldn’t see Wen Qionglin’s face, but his tone was terse.
“My little plan— What do you think, Wen Ning, will Jiang Cheng come to rescue his shixiong? Or is he too much of a coward?” Saying this, he leaned his weight on Wei Wuxian’s shoulder again. It stirred the helpless fury that Wei Wuxian already felt from his words, pressed his chest against his legs. The sheathed knife tucked in his sash dug into his ribs. ...Oh.
This was pointless. Distracting Wen Chao had failed, and for all he knew Jiang Cheng was getting closer to walking into an ambush every minute. His hands had been concealed under his body when Wen Chao pushed him down. He inched one into his sash, grasping the dagger’s hilt, and tensed, waiting.
“It won’t work,” said Wen Qionglin. “I’d expect Jiang Wanyin to m-m, to make for Lanling, and that takes him directly away from, from us. He w-won’t catch word of it, and then the Jins won’t let him give himself up.”
“Lanling?” said Wen Chao, shifting. Wei Wuxian got his toes under him, braced one arm against the floor. “How odd, your dog suggested he would run to Meishan. Haven’t you interrogated him at a—”
Wei Wuxian pushed off the floor with three limbs, knocking Wen Chao off balance. As he sprung to his feet, he pulled the knife free with his other hand and slashed at Wen Chao, aiming for his gut.
Then Wen Zhuliu was between them, and Wen Chao was landing on his back unscathed.
Seeing that his gamble had failed, Wei Wuxian turned to at least silence Wen Qionglin before he could make good on his threat and sell out Jiang Cheng.
“I’ve had enough of this,” screeched Wen Chao. “Zhuliu! Crush him!”
Wei Wuxian whipped back around, eyes widening, as Zhuliu tugged at his glove and thrust—
“No!”
Wen Ning bowled into him from the side, Zhuliu’s strike going awry and swiping them both across their stomachs. Wei Wuxian landed with Wen Qionglin half atop him, the knife clattering out of his grip and across the floor. There was a horrible agony building in his abdomen.
Wen Qionglin pushed up to his knees, his hands fluttering against his own side. He whimpered, sweat already beading on his brow. “W-Wei-gongzi, you— Are—” He gasped, collapsing onto Wei Wuxian’s chest and lapsing into broken moaning.
“Why?” Wei Wuxian asked him, voice cracking. “I don’t— I don’t get it. I don’t understand you.”
He saw Wen Chao getting to his feet, and wrapped an arm around Wen Qionglin’s shoulder without thinking about it.
“Look what you’ve done!” said Wei Wuxian, dismissing the tearing sensation in his own gut. “Wen Zhuliu, ah Wen Zhuliu, if this Wen Shenghua is so important, what will he think of your assault on his son?”
“He threw himself in front of it!” protested Wen Chao. “It’s his own fault!”
Wei Wuxian laughed, because it was more dignified than shouting in pain. “How convenient!” He pushed up with his free arm, shaking with the effort, tingling from the suddenly erratic flow of his qi. “Of course, of course, nobody here would dare say it was an unprovoked attack. Nobody would admit that you, Wen Chao, just lashed out in frustration over your own incompetence.”
“Because I didn’t!”
“Hmmm,” agreed Wei Wuxian, manic with pain and with sudden inspiration. “I’m sure that Wen Shenghua will be very understanding of the accident.” He huffed. “He sounds like such a reasonable man.”
Wen Zhuliu hesitated. “No matter. He is the sect leader’s son.”
"His second son,” breathed Wei Wuxian gleefully. “One he can’t even be bothered to name. What is that—” he recalled the crumpled note from his room, the quiet expectation that infused Wen Shenghua’s handwriting “—to a first son whose father and sister both have Wen Ruohan’s ear?”
“You’re wrong!” Spittle flew from Wen Chao’s mouth.
Wei Wuxian tightened his arm around Wen Qionglin. “And are you willing to bet your life on that?”
Wen Chao hesitated. Wang Lingjiao, at this point cowering behind a guard, made a small distressed noise.
“Wen Zhuliu,” Wei Wuxian demanded, groaning, “Take us to Wen Qing. Now.”
“No!” Wen Chao shouted, getting to his feet. Wang Lingjiao scrambled over to him, but he shook her off. “You— You’ve both been playing me for a fool! Was this your plan, Wen Ning? Get me out of the way and— Well it wouldn’t have worked!”
Wen Ning, curled up with limbs shaking and his forehead pressed into Wei Wuxian’s arm, didn’t reply.
“Even if— Even if your arrogant father might think to bring grievance against me, it won’t matter!” Though Wen Chao said this, Wei Wuxian could see the fear in him.
He paced the room. “This never happened,” he said finally, glaring at Wen Zhuliu and at his four guards. “We never saw Wen Ning tonight. He got himself in over his head playing around with a dangerous prisoner, and Wei Wuxian probably killed him and left his body in a ditch.
Wei Wuxian let out a pained and bitter laugh. “You’ll— Hah, you’ll kill your own cousin. You really are a piece of work.”
“Shut up!”
“Do it, then,” Wei Wuxian challenged. “The faster—” he gasped “—the faster I die, the faster I can— Haunt you.”
It was fine if he did die, at this point. If Wen Chao had to scramble to cover his tracks, he’d have no time to pursue his brother. Something… something was wrong with his core, anyway. Zhuliu’s power, he assumed: failing to destroy it when his strike went awry, but still causing damage.
“I’ll become a ferocious ghost and – ugh – hunt you down,” he murmured breathlessly. He was starting to feel muddled; his tongue felt clumsy in his mouth. Wen Qionglin’s weight felt like a brand against his chest. “Maybe this one will come along…”
The room seemed to swim, then, in the face of the wrenching in his gut. He heard more speech as if from far away – Wen Chao, Wang Lingjiao, Wen Zhuliu – and he felt shocks of more immediate pain when they pulled Wen Qionglin away, when they lifted Wei Wuxian by the arms again and dragged, lifted, flew him into the dark. Even the sensation of falling felt dreamlike and far away.
But the landing jarred him into awareness.
First the shock of impact, felt in every bruise in his chest and also at least one fresh break in the arm he’d landed on.
Then, in an abrupt intensification of the pain emanating from his core – and a sensation like insects crawling inside his skin – and the screams—
Peering through dry and wind-chapped eyes, he thought at first that it was night, and hours had gone by while he was dazed— But no, it was only late twilight. The grass, brittle under his hands, was shadowed by the steep slopes of the landscape, dark not with night but with its own unnatural, ashy grey color.
Wei Wuxian rolled to one side with great effort and heaved out a glob of blood, hacking for a half-minute afterward from the way it strained his chest.
“What the fuck,” he finally choked out.
He heard a rustling in the grass several feet away.
“What’s there?”
Receiving neither answer nor ambush, he dragged himself over and found Wen Qionglin. He was a mess; his red and white robes were smeared with dirt, and his hair looked like someone had grabbed him by the ponytail before dropping them in. Miraculously, Zhuguang was still tucked in his belt.
He writhed, not obviously damaged by the fall, but too lost to pain to make a noise or to notice his surroundings. Whatever Zhuliu did had hit him worse, and also—
In the last of the evening’s light, Wei Wuxian saw curse marks drawing across the skin of Wen Qionglin’s hands and neck and face, a mirror to the crawling sensation in his own veins. What— Where—?
Letting out a particularly painful-looking soundless wail, Wen Qionglin knocked into Wei Wuxian, who grabbed his shoulder to hold him still. Like a static shock, the phantom screaming on the wind grew louder when they touched, and Wei Wuxian was lost to it.
He knew this feeling. He knew this—
—eyes that pass over you without seeing and squatting in spaces that don’t won’t ever belong to you and death, death, rot and death and you left me here, you abandoned me, aren’t I human, aren’t I owed at least a memory of warmth aren’t I owed revenge—
— he heaved a desperate breath.
Oh.
They were in the Burial Mounds.
They were in the Burial Mounds, and the Burial Mounds was in them; its resentment crawling through their flesh and their blood and their meridians, feeding on every drop of spiritual energy if could wring out of their wounded cores.
Wen Zhuliu hadn't managed to destroy his core, but now the cracks he'd made wrenched wider every moment that it strained against the drain, against the curses pouring into Wei Wuxian's body. It… ah, it burned. Like Wen Qionglin burned against him. Even had they been whole, Wei Wuxian suspected that this deep inside its borders, the Burial Mounds could kill them in minutes without protection.
When they died here, they’d be swept up into the cacophony of wailing voices. Nothing left the Burial Mounds. There would be no haunting, no revenge, no seeing Jiang Cheng and Jiang Yanli just one more time before passing on. No passing on at all, in fact.
Wei Wuxian realized that he had to live. He took every scrap of will he had, and pushed back against the metaphysical pressure on every part of him.
For a moment, he felt weightless.
Then resentful energy surged again, and on instinct he tried to grasp it—
—one of us, part of us, can you feel the life under your hands take it take it you are owed this much, do you want revenge, do you want to live, can you feel it—
—“I can,” Wei Wuxian rasped, looking down at Wen Qionglin with alarm.
As if sensing vulnerability, the curses pressed down at them, at Wen Qionglin, with double fervor, seeking to devour the only spot of heat and light in a sea of darkness. This time, Wei Wuxian could feel the resentment like a shape instead of a shadow.
“No,” breathed Wei Wuxian.
He scrabbled at Wen Qionglin’s belt, pulling Zhuguang loose from its sheath. Its glow was weak, flickering like Wen Ning’s energy. Even so, it was a spiritual blade whose purpose was to fight evil. Holding it across their bodies, he channeled into the blade every drop of his own energy that he could spare. Fuck, channeling energy right now hurt like trying to move with a broken rib— But it kept the hunger of the Burial Mounds momentarily at bay.
In the unsteady light the sword cast, Wen Ning’s face was deathly pale under a sheen of sweat. He panted soundlessly against Wei Wuxian’s collar, muscles seizing, pressed thigh to thigh, hip to hip. Dying.
“What a night we’re having,” Wei Wuxian said sardonically, hand shifting on Zhuguang’s hilt. “Say, Wen Qionglin – Wen Ning, do you think we can share this one candle?”
…No. Zhuguang’s protection was not going to be enough. Not for both of them.
He raised up his free arm. It was the broken one, but it didn’t hurt anymore. He felt numb. He dropped his hand on Wen Ning’s mussed, dampened hair. He stroked, once. His forehead was warm. He was alive, still.
“Okay,” said Wei Wuxian. “Okay.”
And then, shifting Zhuguang so it only covered Wen Ning, he breathed Death in.