Chapter Text
***
The conference Hall"s door closed behind him with the quiet hiss of hinges and a soft thud of polished wood. Like a knife cutting through a binding rope and making it fall to the ground in useless, broken coils. There was finality behind that sound. And a firm, unbreakable promise of freedom.
Despite the lightness of his step, Wúxiàn"s legs were failing him. He tripped over a stone, caught his balance against the nearest tree, and found no strength to keep standing. The grass was soft and a relieved sigh escaped him when his back met the warm soil. As his overexerted muscles relaxed at last, he let his thoughts roam.
The Láns stood up for him. All of them, even the Elders. His new clan protected him as one of their own. Wúxiàn knew he had a safe haven among them, but he had always assumed it was only true for as long as Lán Zhàn kept glaring protectively from behind his back. And yet... the Gūsū Lán had officially claimed him in front of the entire cultivation world and turned those worries to dust. A warm sense of belonging seeped into Wúxiàn"s bones as his dream of planting roots firmly into the solid rock of the Cloud Recesses solidified into reality at last. He had a home gain.
Then there was Huáisāng, who spent months chasing vague leads to find the ones responsible and bring them to justice. And not with a sneaky slash of a war fan"s blade in the darkness. Not with a vial of poison artfully mixed with a harmless drink. No. Instead, his friend had once again dragged the filth out into the open and exposed the ruthless greed for power. He worked tirelessly to discover the intricate web of connections just to make sure that his Wèi-xiōng was seen for the victim that he was and would be protected in the future. All that effort wrapped itself around Wúxiàn in a warm embrace, holding him together in the safety of unwavering loyalty.
Wuxian exhaled a concerned sigh thinking how Ā-Yuàn and the rest of the juniors put the ones who hurt him to their swords. They took the revenge he did not want, but one he very much needed to put his mind at ease. Wēn Níng, the ever-present guardian, made sure they were safe and he brought them all back to Wúxiàn, unharmed, like the most precious gifts. He brought back Chénqíng, too, the dízi pliant in his cold, dead hands, always playful and fond of the Ghost General. A tender smile stretched Wúxiàn"s lips, softening the sharp edges of his cracked self with the glowing warmth of a found family.
Last, but not least, his brother... no, his new friend... well, hopefully, sometime in the future... Ā-Che-- ah, Jiāng Wǎnyín. For Wúxiàn, he put his anger on a leash, as best he could, to make sure that the trial never got too far off the pre-planned track. He donned the Chief Cultivator"s mantle as if he was born for it and controlled the Conference Hall full of selfish, ungrateful, and greedy people with the same ease he controlled his disciples on the training ground. He took it all in stride because he loved his brother with the same difficult, sometimes toxic, love that Wúxiàn kept carrying in his heart for him...
A laugh finally bubbled up in Wúxiàn"s throat and echoed among the leaves. For the first time in forever that love did not feel like a heavy burden of duty weighing his guilty conscience down. Instead, it was warm like a flame chasing away the biting cold.
And if the brotherly love felt like that, Lán Zhàn"s devotion for Wèi Yīng defied any attempts at measure. Impossible to name, quantify, or even express in mere words, it could turn mundane into extraordinary and offer strength when there was none left. That love was the life itself.
Sitting up, Wúxiàn closed his eyes and did his best to not think about what was happening inside the Hall. About the marble floor stained crimson as Bìchén slashed bloody punishment into pliant flesh. About inevitable death that could never compensate for fear, debasement, and the three long days of wordless screaming. For suffering so great that it turned into spiritual energy and traveled a significant distance to seek comfort...
A sob ripped itself from Wúxiàn"s chest and he could no longer hold tears at bay. He let them spill, he let his shoulders shake, and he felt relief so overwhelming that it made his head spin.
“Xian-?”
Yuàn was crouching in front of him, a shy hand reaching out but not quite daring to touch the trembling man. Jǐngyí and Zizhēn stood right behind him, one chewing his lip to keep his emotions contained, the other crying without shame, soft whimpers lost in the warm breeze.
Wúxiàn grinned at them through tears that kept dripping from his chin. “I"m all right, little radish. Please, do not worry, my ducklings. I have never been more all right in this life. It feels so good that I just don"t know how to deal with it. So I cry... and I laugh.”
All three settled in the grass around him, tentative smiles brightening their faces. Wúxiàn spared each of them a long, reassuring look until his gaze snagged on Zizhēn"s pouting face.
“Why aren"t you with your father, silly?” He asked the young man. “He overcame his fears and did a very brave, righteous thing today, you should be proud of him and you should be telling him about it.”
The boy"s eyes went wide, his obvious surprise giving his father no credit. “I did try to talk to him, ask about that... punishment and seclusion Zéwú-jūn had mentioned. I do not understand any of it, but he just sent me away, told me to go play with my friends instead, as if I was still just a little kid.”
Laughing, Wúxiàn patted his shoulder. “Well, then just enjoy your last days of freedom, future sect leader. Speaking of sect leaders, where"s my fourth duckling?”
“He probably felt obligated to stay and watch the punishment to the very end,” Sīzhuī offered, his brows knitted in worry. “I wish he could have gone with us. Fight with us. It would... it would help him. Bring some... relief.”
Sighing, Wúxiàn wiped his eyes, but more tears rolled down his cheek anyway. “Sect leaders have no fun in life.”
“Ā-diē...”
“Ah, I"m not sad, Ā-Yuàn, not at all.” Another blinding grin proved his words true and the boys breathed a collective sigh of relief. “Now, let me check you all up. You sure you have no injuries from those nasty people?”
Zizhēn sniffled again. “You worry about us, but it was you that they hurt,” he murmured, his fingers curled into fists.
Heaving another sigh, Wúxiàn cupped the young man"s warm cheek in his hand. “They did. And they"re dead now because my ducklings took revenge for me.”
Jǐngyí nodded solemnly at that. “We so did. So very, thoroughly much.”
“That"s my boy,” Wúxiàn praised and allowed himself a dark chuckle. To his own surprise, it did not carry any resentment in it. “Now, about those injuries?”
Sīzhuī shrugged, though his expression carried a hint of unease. “We are unharmed. Uncle Níng, though...” He paused, hesitant eyes flickering towards the nearby bushes.
"Oh, no, he didn"t!" Wúxiàn let out a frustrated cry and jumped to his feet. “Wēn Qiónglín! Come out right this moment before I drag you here myself.”
The leaves parted and a very embarrassed Ghost General emerged, his eyes focused on the ground. “Gōngzǐ.”
“Don"t you gōngzǐ me now, why were you even hiding? Come close and show me where you"re hurt.”
“I am not capable of getting h-hurt,” Wēn Níng protested, but still approached to stand in front of Wúxiàn like a scolded son before his father.
“You are perfectly capable of having your body damaged,” Wúxiàn chided, looking him over but finding no wounds, “and I, personally, very much consider that as you being hurt.”
Jǐngyí flailed his arms behind Wēn Níng"s back and, the moment he caught Wúxiàn"s attention, patted himself on the back of his left shoulder. Wúxiàn took the hint, spun his friend around and pushed gently down to make him sit facing the three disciples. Settling on his haunches behind him, he finally noticed a long cut in the black robes and helped Wēn Níng shrug the ruined fabrics off. He couldn"t help a wince at the bone-deep gash across the pale skin.
“Shit. Do you have the supplies? If not, Ā-Yuàn can hop over to the Jīngshī for them.”
Before Sīzhuī, always helpful, could get to his feet, Wēn Níng untied a Qiánkūn pouch from his belt and handed it over. Wúxiàn dug in, pulling out a curved needle and a spool of thin spirit-binding thread. He got to work, hands steady and stitches even as they gathered the bloodless flesh and skin together. The thread kept glowing, saturated with Wúxiàn"s spiritual energy that would take over in the absence of a living body"s natural healing.
“Ā-Yuàn, make sure to infuse the stitches with your qì a few times a day so the flesh can knit faster,” Wúxiàn advised, finishing up and putting the supplies back in the pouch. “It should be all right to remove them three days from now, but do check first, just in case.”
Sīzhuī gave a solemn nod in reply, but all three youngsters kept staring wide-eyed at the whole process. Wúxiàn frowned.
“Don"t tell me you have never done that for him during your night hunts together...”
All three shook their heads.
“Níng-Gē never dresses his wounds where we can see him,” Jǐngyí offered by means of explanation.
Zizhēn blinked a few times and added: “Never asks for help, either.”
Expecting a sharp rebuke, Wēn Níng hunched over himself.
Wúxiàn shook his head. “And it takes him so much longer to heal without any qì to help.” Sighing, he glared around. “Next time, you will have to do what I just did: bully him into letting you take care of him. He"s got it into his head that he is indestructible, which isn"t completely wrong, but it does not mean he doesn"t need care and attention. And hugs. I"ll have you know, Wēn Níng here loves hugs.”
“Gōngzǐ!”
Wúxiàn chuckled, tugging the ruined robes up onto his friend"s back. Once they were secured in place, he pulled himself closer to wrap both arms around Wēn Níng"s waist and rest his chin on the broad shoulder. “Pile up!” He commanded, grinning at the young disciples in front of them. “Hugs are an important part of the healing process.”
They did as told, eagerly, despite the Ghost General"s weak protests that ceased when he gave up and gathered the three boys into his deadly arms. Smiling as much as he was able to, Wēn Níng held them close, enjoying their happy giggles and his best friend"s raucous laughter behind his back.
“Well aren"t you an adorable pile of flesh.” Jīn Líng"s gruff voice broke them all out of reverie. “Like snotty kids playing in the mud, all five of you.”
“I have never claimed to be older than three,” Wúxiàn pointed out in all seriousness while Jǐngyí reached out for the hem of the peony robe to pull his friend in. Jīn Líng managed to step away, his expression a mix of horror and unease.
“What"s wrong?” Jǐngyí teased. “We suddenly not good enough company for you?”
Alarmed by the dark look on his nephew"s face, Wúxiàn patted Wēn Níng"s back and stood up to approach the young sect leader. “Jīn Líng? What happened? I"m here, you can tell me.”
“Yeah, sure, you"re here now!” Jīn Líng spat, angry fear almost making him choke on the words. “But you almost weren"t! You almost got killed and I didn"t know! I almost... I almost... lost you, too!”
His eyes wide, Wúxiàn tried to offer a consoling embrace, but Jīn Líng shrugged him off, sobbing openly this time. “Why did no one tell me? Neither you nor ! Why wasn"t I allowed to... to be here for you? Why? What if you... died and I wasn"t here to say... to... fuck, why?”
Ignoring all protests after that outburst, Wúxiàn grabbed a handful of the expensive robes and pulled the frantic boy into a hug, holding him in his arms even while he struggled against them. He waited patiently until the angry thrashing stopped and Jīn Líng settled for crying silently on his shoulder.
“Because I was too broken, Ā-Ling,” Wúxiàn said softly, stepping back when he was certain his words would be heard and understood. “I would not be able to touch you, hold you, reassure you like I can do now. It hurt me to be touched, for a long time.” He winced hearing Ā-Yuàn gasp at that revelation and promised himself to make it up to the boy later. “I would not be able to even see you. So you would have to suffer like Sīzhuī and Hánguāng-jūn did, forced to keep distance, to watch me stumble and collapse and be afraid of myself. And you"d be unable to help me, at all. I... did not want that for you. Even if... if I had died, I wanted your last memory of me to be one of a happy, laughing dà-jiù, not a broken shell of a man that I was turned into.”
Jīn Líng let out a pained howl and, in a sudden, jerky move, crushed his uncle against his chest, squeezing tight enough to make the man let out a small whimper.
“Next time you call for me and let me be here for you or I"ll break your legs,” he threatened in a tender voice. “You hear me?”
Wúxiàn managed a chuckle and a nod in reply. “Hope there won"t be a next time, but if there is... I will call for you, Ā-Líng. I promise.”
Jīn Líng nodded, satisfied. “See that you do. Or else.”
“I know. Legs.”
“Yeah. Both of them.” Releasing Wúxiàn at last, Jīn Líng wiped his eyes and nose with a gold-threaded sleeve.
With the atmosphere lightened again, the other three approached to offer their own reassurances, but the young sect leader dodged them yet again to glare at Wúxiàn.
“That Hánguāng-jūn of yours is insane, by the way.”
Wúxiàn tilted his head, brows creased, unsure how to take such a statement. He cast a quick glance at the Hall"s door, but it remained firmly closed.
Jīn Líng snorted a cheerless laugh. “Yeah, he"s not done yet. I just left because I got sick.”
Wúxiàn paled. “Sick?”
Folding both arms on his chest, his nephew graced him with a scoff.
“If anyone asked me, which those assholes in there won"t, it"s a damn língchí not a duel,” he explained. “Even though your crazy husband made absolutely sure it resembles a proper sword fight. Not like the Yáo piece of shit deserves any better after... after all that was done to you, but... fuck, he was still alive when I left, but there was barely anything remaining of his upper body, just bloody scraps hanging off bare bones. He couldn"t even scream anymore, yet he kept standing and clutching at his sword... only thanks to his golden core, I"m sure. And because Hánguāng-jūn knows exactly where to cut to make it last.”
Ignoring the sudden greenish shade to Zizhēn"s skin, Jǐngyí whistled in awe. “Now I wish I had stayed to watch.”
Wēn Níng placed a heavy hand on his shoulder and squeezed lightly. “No, Ā-Yí.”
Nodding, the young Lán winced and let out a deep sigh. “Yeah, you"re probably right, gē.”
“Lán Zhàn needed that,” Wúxiàn whispered, his gaze fixed on the Conference Hall hiding in the first shadows of the late afternoon.
Jīn Líng sneered. “Obviously. Since he"s doing it.”
“Not like that, Ā-Líng.” Wúxiàn shook his head. “My husband is not a cruel man. Think about how hurt you felt knowing that I might die. He felt the same. And worse. Much, much worse, because he had already lost me once. He mourned me once. He knows exactly what it feels like to have me ripped out from his life. I asked for that duel so he could put those fears to rest. So he doesn"t have any more nightmares about watching me die.”
Jīn Líng scowled for a while, processing his words, then shrugged. “Shit. I get it, I think.”
Just as he had said that, the Hall"s door opened and people began spilling out. Some wore solemn expressions on their faces, some looked agitated, and some were visibly sick. The juniors surrounded Wúxiàn, Wēn Níng standing guard behind him. Jīn Líng placed himself at the front of their small group, fully intent on shielding the one in the middle from any passers by, but whenever someone did need to walk past them, they just greeted the Yílíng Lǎozǔ with a quick bow and hurried away. The majority of the cultivators remained in the courtyard in front on the Hall, however, discussing the events of the conference among themselves, doing their best to not cast any glances.
When, at long last, Wàngjī himself had appeared, his pristine white robes billowed on the cooling afternoon wind. There was not a speck of blood on him and not a hair out of place on his head.
“Lán Zhàn!” Wúxiàn immediately ran to him and threw himself into his husband"s waiting arms.
People gave them space, but many were openly staring and whispers circled around like whirlwind. Wàngjī expertly ignored the gossip, his eyes focused solely on the excited man looking up at him as if Wàngjī was his whole wide world.
“Wèi Yīng is safe. It is done.”
“Just like you promised.”
“Mn.” Kissing the top of his husband"s head, Wàngjī smiled into the unusually neat hair and the two intertwined ribbons holding it together. “My Wèi Yīng looks beautiful in these robes I got for him.”
Wúxiàn laughed, inhaling Lán Zhàn"s smell, enjoying the strength of the Lán arms around him, and the added warmth of the flowing sleeves at his back. Placing an ear to the broad chest, he heard Wàngjī"s heart... beating a little faster than it normally would. An impish smile crept onto his lips as desire unexpectedly sparked to life deep inside him.
“Lán Zhàn, I am going to kiss you now,” he announced to his surprised husband, then tiptoed and pressed their lips together.
With a small sound in his throat, Wàngjī pulled him closer, one hand around the slim waist for support, the other resting at the back of Wúxiàn"s neck, long fingers tangled into the inky hair as he leaned into the kiss. He parted his lips in a warm welcome, ready for Wèi Yīng to take the initiative and let their tongues touch if he so wished. He did not have to wait long.
***
Jiāng Wǎnyín emerged from the hall, squinting a little against the sun perched atop the mountain peaks and still flooding most of the area with its golden light. The first thing he saw when his eyes adjusted, were the two husbands, one looking ready to climb the other like a tree, soft whimpers escaping him while they devoured each other in blissful, utterly shameless abandon. Wǎnyín scoffed, but found himself unable to feel anger. He felt no urge to spin on his heel and stomp off, or radiate his usual disapproval. Instead, he scanned the crowd, finally noticing Huáisāng standing all alone on the side. The Niè"s face was hidden behind the fan and there was a wistful spark in his eyes as he watched the two kissing.
With a focused expression and determination in his step, the Chief Cultivator marched over to him, replying with curt nods to any polite greetings given to him on the way. Standing beside Huáisāng, he hesitated for just one more moment before putting an arm around the smaller man"s waist and pulling him flush against his side.
His bold action was rewarded with a flurry of shocked murmurs around them, but Wǎnyín found it surprisingly easy to ignore them when Huáisāng let out a barely audible, but very adorable squeak, and looked up at him with impossibly wide eyes.
“Excellency?”
“Shut up.” Jiāng Chéng growled, the effect ruined by a warm chuckle that immediately followed. “I want to have our wedding in Qīnghé.”
“W-what? Why?” Huáisāng sputtered at that announcement and it felt amazingly good to see him flustered for once.
Wǎnyín"s fingers dug deeper into his lover"s hip while he turned his eyes back to the kissing couple. “Because my idiot brother does not wish to come to Lotus Pier ever again.”
“Oh.” The richly decorated fan stilled and Huáisāng"s brows twitched, his mind already busy with extensive planning. “We can do that. We can absolutely do that.”
Jiāng Chéng huffed a small laugh. “Of course we can.”
Regaining his usual composure at last, the Niè grinned like a cat that had caught a delicious mouse. “And the walls are thicker at the keep. No one will hear it when I make you scream my name during our wedding night.”
The Chief Cultivator blushed to the roots of his hair. “Shut up, I said.”
Delighted at coaxing such a strong reaction, Huáisāng giggled until worry flashed in his eyes. “But how are we going to make it work with you being the Angry Excellency now and me, a smitten sect leader?”
“I don"t fucking know.” Wǎnyín shrugged. “But you"ll figure something out.”
“Hmm.” Resting his head on his future husband"s shoulder, Huáisāng basked in another wave of gasps from the people around them. “Yes, I absolutely fucking will.”
***
THE END
(a happy one, just as I promised)
***