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Lan Wangji’s knees hit the hard ground below, sending a shock through his entire body, but he forced himself to keep his posture straight. His arms were wrenched back even further where they were tied behind his back, the rope digging into the skin of his wrists hard enough to hurt. Lan Wangji stared ahead, ignoring the Wen soldier at his back as well as he could.
They would kill him anyway, there was no doubt about it, so there was no point in bowing his head. Besides, perhaps his defiance would buy some time. He had often been told that his cold, controlled demeanor made him seem arrogant, that it angered people and made them feel like he was mocking them. People who were angry liked to take out that anger, and however long that took would be time spent not raiding the village Lan Wangji had been protecting.
It should have been an easy mission. In fact, he hadn’t even been the one meant to go on this assignment, as he tended to be needed at the frontlines. But he had volunteered when he’d heard that Wei Ying would be stationed close by, a needless allowance of sentiment that was neither wanted nor appreciated.
Lan Wangji had planned to evacuate the villagers as fast as he could, then join Wei Ying in the fray. He hadn’t expected the ambush.
He’d been able to hold off the attackers for a while, buying time to allow the villagers to flee, but Lan Wangji was tired. They were coming up on a year since the war had started in earnest and Lan Wangji felt like he hadn’t had a full night’s sleep in months.
No matter how hard he had fought, the Wen soldiers just kept coming, and eventually even his vast reserves of spiritual energy were exhausted. He hadn’t been able to stay in the air any longer, had to exchange the long-range attacks with his guqin for close combat with Bichen instead, but there had been simply too many enemies.
Blood dripped down his arm from a deep wound in his shoulder, falling to the ground and mixing with the wetness already there. Lan Wangji took a grim sort of satisfaction in the amount of blood, the mass of red-clad corpses lining the ground all around him. Even if he hadn’t bought enough time to save everyone in the village, the Wen force was decimated to the point that they wouldn’t be able to do a thorough sweep before the allied sects noticed something was wrong and sent reinforcements. In a way, his mission might have been a success after all, even if the price was higher than expected.
Something hit Lan Wangji’s cheek, knocking his head to the side and leaving behind a sharp sting. It took a moment for Lan Wangji to realize he had been slapped. “Pay attention when I’m talking to you,” one of the Wen soldiers barked. Lan Wangji glanced at his face for a short moment before demonstratively looking off into the middle-distance again.
That would be the captain then, the one who had stayed hidden as Lan Wangji had killed his men and only deigned to show his face after Lan Wangji had been subdued. Now he was holding Bichen like it was his own personal trophy.
“What, the great Hanguang-jun is too good to even look at lowly soldiers like us?” the captain sneered. Another slap, and Lan Wangji felt blood well up where his lip split under the impact and run down his chin. “Not so high and mighty now, are you?” The tone was mocking, and something about it sounded familiar.
This man had been present at the burning of the Cloud Recesses, Lan Wangji realized, cold anger bubbling up in his chest. The memory was clouded in a haze of pain and grief, but he could still hear the echoes of soldiers’ laughter as Wen Xu murdered Lan disciples and then broke Lan Wangji’s leg. He’d wondered if the memory would ever stop haunting him, but it didn’t seem like he’d have to worry about it for much longer.
“You know, I’ve thought about this before. All of you insolent little upstarts need to be put in your place, of course,” the captain said with a dismissive wave of his hand. Bichen’s sheath banged against the ground in his carelessness and Lan Wangji grit his teeth. “But you, on your knees, now that’s a sight to see.”
He laughed, cold and mean, and Lan Wangji forced himself to stay calm. It wasn’t the words themselves. Lan Wangji had never much cared about insults towards his person and certainly not from one of Wen Ruohan’s minions. No, the words didn’t much matter to him, but the implied threat of them couldn’t be discarded quite as easily.
Lan Wangji wasn’t scared of death, and even pain was something he’d become overly familiar with in the last months, but the smug satisfaction in the captain’s voice settled in his stomach like a lead weight.
“Even now you’re still so arrogant,” the captain continued, the amused lilt to his voice becoming even more present. “Come on, show some humility. If you beg I might even kill you quickly.”
It was likely an empty promise. Regardless, Lan Wangji was not inclined to beg even for his life, so he certainly would not beg anyone for his death, let alone this coward. He continued staring directly ahead, his head raised and his back as straight as the grip on his arms allowed.
“No, I didn’t think you would. Too bad really, you’re not going to like what we’ll do to you,” the captain mocked. He stepped into Lan Wangji’s field of vision, forcing Lan Wangji to look up at him or continue staring at his blood-red robes. Lan Wangji met his eyes with a defiant look.
The look of satisfaction of the captain’s face was vile. His hand reached out for Lan Wangji, but instead of slapping him again, he patted Lan Wangji’s cheek. Lan Wangji forced himself not to shudder at the unwanted touch, the warm, clammy skin against his face somehow a worse violation than any of the violence had been.
“Don’t worry,” the captain said, in a tone that could have almost been sweet if the mockery wasn’t so obvious. “We’ll make you beg for death before the night is out.”
Lan Wangji closed his eyes. He slowed his breath, focused on clearing his mind. Whatever they might do to him, he could bear it. He would not give in, would not give them the satisfaction.
Something touched his forehead. There was a forceful tug on his hair and something loosened.
Lan Wangji’s eyes flew open as he realized what was happening and he jerked upwards reflexively. “No!” The soldier holding his arms was nearly thrown off at the force, but another came to help him before Lan Wangji had even gotten one of his legs braced against the ground and together they pushed him down again.
Lan Wangji didn’t care, kept struggling even as his arms were bent at an even more painful angle. He tried to pull free, to get up so he could—
The captain smirked down at him, Lan Wangji’s forehead ribbon dangling from his closed fist, the metal cloud embroidery hidden in his hand. Bile rose up in Lan Wangji’s throat at the sight.
“I think I’m gonna keep this as a souvenir,” the captain gloated, swinging the ribbon back and forth like a pendulum. “Not that the sword isn’t already good, but this is something special, right? I remember that you can use it to get past your wards. I wonder what else it’s good for.”
Lan Wangji’s jaw clenched. The ribbon didn’t have any other powers, didn’t open any doors or reveal any secrets. But it was his. The symbol of his clan, of his restraint. Only one other person had ever touched it beside Lan Wangji’s immediate family and Lan Wangji hadn’t planned on ever allowing anyone else to lay their hands on it.
Just the sight of a stranger’s — an enemy’s — fingers wrapped around Lan Wangji’s ribbon filled him with a shame so overwhelming he could barely speak. He wanted to curl up and hide, wanted to struggle and take the ribbon back, but his captors’ grips were secure.
“Are you ready to beg yet?” The captain asked, amusement clear in his voice, and Lan Wangji hated him, hated him the same way he had hated Wen Xu for destroying his home, the same way he had hated Wen Chao for taking Wei Ying from him — overwhelmingly and with every inch of his being.
“Well?” The captain asked again. He let a bit more length of the ribbon slip through his fingers, stopping when the cloud emblem hung at a height with Lan Wangji’s eyes. “I’m waiting.”
Lan Wangji opened his mouth, not sure what was going to come out — if he was going to beg for his ribbon back or curse the captain and his entire family — but before any words made it past his lips, a shrill note pierced the darkness around them.
Some of the Wen soldiers looked up in confusion, but the grip on Lan Wangji’s arms didn’t ease and the captain didn’t look away, didn’t pay any attention to the disturbance. Lan Wangji’s heart started hammering in his chest, a heady mix of fear and relief coursing through his entire body.
More notes were carried over by a soft breeze that rustled the sparse leaves of the few trees around them, like someone gently brushing ghostly fingers along the branches. One of the Wen soldiers looked unsettled, his eyes glancing around wildly, trying to spot whatever was making the sounds, but night had started to settle around them, bathing everything in deep shadows.
“Get it together!” the captain ordered, as more and more soldiers started looking around. “Why are you scared of some music?” Lan Wangji almost wanted to smile at his stupidity. He was fairly certain that there must be a number of ghost stories circulating around the Wen camps. Stories about flute music that drove people to their demise, stories of what had happened to Wen Chao and all his subordinates.
It seemed the captain either didn’t spend enough time among his men to hear the stories, or simply laughed them off as battlefield myths. He didn’t know he should run, if he wanted even the slightest chance of saving his life.
The first attack came in the form of black smoke, shapeless and billowing like a cloud, until it wasn’t anymore. The cloud condensed and sharpened like an arrow, then shot at the soldier standing to Lan Wangji’s right.
He screamed as he was thrown off his feet and the other soldiers gasped as they watched it happen, helpless to do anything. There was a loud crash as the soldier was slammed into a tree, and then the scream died off abruptly.
The music swelled, taking on some urgency as more black smoke swirled around them, faster and faster, splitting off into long tendrils and encircling the little group that held Lan Wangji captive.
One of the men holding Lan Wangji down broke first. He let go of Lan Wangji’s arms with a whimper of fear, threw his own arms up to cover his head, and tried to break through the smoke all around them. Perhaps he thought if he ran fast enough, the tendrils of resentful spirits wouldn’t have time to solidify enough to cause any damage, perhaps he was too scared to think at all.
There was more screaming as he reached the smoke, in agony rather than shock, and when Lan Wangji turned his head to look he saw that the man’s entire body was covered in open wounds, as if he’d tried to swim in a lake of broken glass. He ran a few steps further, then collapsed on the ground, his body writhing in pain for a moment before the smoke closed around him entirely, hiding him from view.
The soldiers around Lan Wangji were in a panic now, clutching their swords in shaking hands, trying to form a circle around their captain and their prisoner so the spirits couldn’t attack them from behind.
Even that was futile. Their swords could only disperse the resentful energy for a moment, each tendril that was slashed through reassembled only moments later. They were outnumbered too, as much as an endless supply of resentful souls could be counted in numbers.
Lan Wangji wondered if he would die like this, a great wave of resentment breaking over his head when he was unable to defend himself. It was possible Wei Ying didn’t even know Lan Wangji was here, caught by a group of simple soldiers. Perhaps he had only seen the red robes close by and sent his ghosts to take care of them.
If that was the case, Lan Wangji only hoped no one would blame Wei Ying for his death. He hoped Wei Ying wouldn’t blame himself. Even if their friendship was all but broken, even if Wei Ying didn’t care about him in particular anymore, Lan Wangji still could not imagine Wei Ying knowingly sacrificing one of their own to take out a group of simple Wen soldiers.
The music swelled to an ominous crescendo, and the wall of circling smoke lifted at one side. There was movement among the darkness, and everyone’s eyes turned towards it, swords raised but shaking.
It would have been a masterful diversion, had it been intended as such, but the attack didn’t come at them from a different direction.
Instead a figure became visible, shrouded in smoke and resentment, walking towards them, flute at his lips. The wind billowed out Wei Ying’s robes, making it seem like they were floating around his body, no longer bound by the rules of this world. His eyes were a startling, bright red that glowed even in the gloom.
Wei Ying’s eyes met Lan Wangji’s and for a moment the music stopped. The sudden silence was almost as disturbing as the constant noise had been, but Lan Wangji couldn’t look away to see if the soldiers were as stunned as he was. He could only stare at Wei Ying, looking beautiful and terrible in a way Lan Wangji had never seen before, his eyes glancing down Lan Wangji’s body to take in his injuries, before lifting back up to linger on Lan Wangji’s bare forehead.
Shame curled up in Lan Wangji’s stomach, hot and fierce and he averted his gaze. Of all the people he hadn’t wanted to see him like this, bleeding and dirty and kneeling on the ground, stripped of his dignity, Wei Ying was by far the worst choice.
The silence didn’t last long enough to allow the Wen soldiers any true respite. Wei Ying lifted his flute back up to his lips, and when he started playing again the music was softer, almost seductive in a way, though Lan Wangji wasn’t sure who Wei Ying was trying to seduce.
The swirling smoke calmed a bit, the movements becoming slower, more purposeful as it danced around Wei Ying. Then, all at once, it rushed towards the Wen soldiers, a greedy flood of resentful spirits sweeping over them, and Lan Wangji closed his eyes.
The noises were terrible; screams of terror and anguish mixing with the awful sounds of tearing flesh and splintering bone. Lan Wangji kept his eyes closed until the noises died down, leaving only the occasional whimper and the soft gurgling noises of someone choking on their own blood.
When Lan Wangji opened his eyes again, he was surrounded by corpses. The sight wasn’t new to him after a year at war, but he’d still never seen quite this level of carnage before. The bodies around him hadn’t been cut down with swords or spiritual tools. Instead they looked like he’d imagined someone who’d been tortured to death would.
Some soldiers were covered in so many cuts it was hard to tell if any part of their skin remained unblemished, others were bleeding from their noses and mouths like everything inside of them had been liquified.
Lan Wangji swallowed a mouthful of bile and tried to look at Wei Ying, but Wei Ying wasn’t where he had last seen him. Instead he was standing a couple of feet away, his back to Lan Wangji, standing over a body. A body that was still moving, if sluggishly.
“No, no, please,” came a shaky voice. There was the crunching sound of fragile bones breaking and a wail.
“Please what?” That was Wei Ying’s voice, though Lan Wangji had never heard it that cold before, not even after they’d found him killing Wen Chao and Wen Zhuliu and he had denied every bond Lan Wangji thought they shared. “Please kill you? I would, but I’m afraid that would be over far too quickly.”
Another crunching sound. It was hard to see in the dark. The black smoke had dissipated from where it had been swirling before and was now hovering around Wei Ying and the captain like menacing fog. Lan Wangji could make out just enough to see that Wei Ying was stepping on the captain’s hand.
“Please, I’m sorry!” the captain begged, voice frayed.
“This doesn’t belong to you,” Wei Ying said, ignoring the increasingly more distressed pleading. He bent down to retrieve something from the ground and Lan Wangji instantly recognized the familiar white sheath of Bichen. Even in the middle of this nightmare, it was a relief to see his sword again, to know he would be getting it back soon.
Wei Ying had already straightened back up, but then he paused, his entire frame going still for a moment, and leaned back down to gather something else that had fallen to the ground. “You never should have touched this.” His voice was like ice. “You never should have touched him.”
The captain seemed to have realized that any more words would only make his situation worse, so he remained quiet, only the soft whimpers escaping him as he tried to keep his eyes on the resentful energy encircling him again.
“Don’t worry,” Wei Ying said, his voice softer, sweeter, in a way that was much more dangerous than any coldness could have been. “I’m going to leave you alone now.” He patted the captain’s shoulder, ignoring his flinch. “But my friends are going to keep you company.”
The smoke started swirling faster again, the tendrils writhing around each other as if they were excited. “No, please no,” the captain begged again, but Wei Ying had already straightened back up, looking down at him with an expression Lan Wangji couldn’t see. He had picked something else up from the ground, but it wasn’t until he lifted it up to inspect it that Lan Wangji could see that it was the captain’s sword.
“I’m going to take this. I wouldn’t want you to end things early.” It sounded almost playful, in the way Lan Wangji had heard Wei Ying’s voice so many times before, a tone that should belong on top of moonlit rooftops and busy marketplaces, not in the middle of this bloodshed. A shudder ran through Lan Wangji’s body upon hearing it contorted like this. He let out a gasp as the pain in his arms flared up at the movement.
That finally made Wei Ying turn around, and his expression melted from a cold, disdainful mask to a look of concern.
“Lan Zhan,” he said, voice soft enough to be a whisper. He walked towards Lan Wangji and the shadows closed behind him, ensconcing the captain within and hiding him in the darkness to do whatever they pleased with him. There weren’t any sounds, but Lan Wangji thought that was more likely due to the spirits swallowing all the noise, rather than the captain actually staying quiet in the face of the horrors attacking him.
Wei Ying dropped to the ground in front of Lan Wangji, the captain’s sword carelessly discarded at his side while Bichen was cushioned on his lap. “Lan Zhan,” he said again. “Are you okay?”
Lan Wangji wanted to nod, wanted to reassure him, but now that the actual danger had passed, his body was rapidly losing the last bit of strength he’d been holding on to. Just the small movement of his head sent a ripple of pain through his shoulder and down his arms.
Wei Ying’s eyes were wide and scared as he took in the smattering of injuries covering Lan Wangji, the largest cut on his shoulder, to the smaller ones on his arms, his torso. “No,” he said, almost pleading. “No, I told them— not you. I told them to keep you safe. They weren’t supposed to touch you.”
Before he could talk himself into a panic, Lan Wangji interrupted with a clear, “Not your fault.” At Wei Ying’s startled gaze he added, “The injuries. I had them before.” Before you unleashed your powers, before you rained down those terrors on them, before—
“Oh,” Wei Ying said, relief clear in his voice, then his face darkened. “I should have killed them slower.” His expression more than anything made Lan Wangji’s chest tighten.
“They are dead now, that is enough for me,” he said, voice firm, even if he wanted to clench his teeth against the pain. He wasn’t entirely sure if the captain had died yet or if he was still suffering below the dark energy churning close by, but there was no changing his fate now.
Wei Ying’s gaze fell to whatever he was still holding in his closed hand and when he looked back up at Lan Wangji, his eyes were filled with regret. “I’m so sorry, Lan Zhan,” he said. “I’m so sorry I didn’t come earlier.”
“Not your fault,” Lan Wangji said again. He should have said more, about how he hadn’t expected anyone to come for him at all, how he hadn’t been sure if Wei Ying even still had any interest in saving him, but the words wouldn’t come.
Wei Ying’s expression didn’t clear up. “I’m sorry they took your ribbon. I know how much you hate other people touching it.” He let out a humorless laugh. “You probably hate that I’m touching it right now, but it doesn’t look like you can put it on by yourself at the moment.”
That was more than true. In his original panic Lan Wangji hadn’t even noticed that his struggle against his captors had dislocated one of his shoulders, but it had become clear as soon as he’d tried to move his arms. Still, that wasn’t the most pressing concern.
“I do not mind you touching my ribbon.” It was, perhaps, shameful to so openly admit his feelings for Wei Ying, when Wei Ying had made it perfectly clear he no longer sought to associate with Lan Wangji, but it was also the truth and Lan Wangji wouldn’t start telling lies now.
Wei Ying’s eyes were wide. There was a smear of blood on his cheek—since he was clearly entirely uninjured, Lan Wangji wondered which one of his victims it belonged to. He wanted to reach out and touch Wei Ying and wipe away the stains.
His thoughts felt sluggish and somehow removed from him, like his body was stuck on the bottom of a deep pool, while his mind floated on the surface. It was possible the exhaustion of the day was catching up to him, the lack of spiritual energy and the pain making him feel dazed and unsteady.
“Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying said again, and Lan Wangji’s eyes dropped to his lips instead. They looked chapped from the harsh conditions on the battlefield around them, but Lan Wangji still wanted to trace them with his fingertips, had spent many hours thinking about how soft they might be.
He tried to reach out, but a sharp crack of pain raced up his arm in response. He must have made some kind of noise or changed his expression somehow because Wei Ying’s brow furrowed. “Lan Zhan, you’re injured.” The worry in his voice was displeasing — Wei Ying should never be worried least of all for Lan Wangji’s sake — but the way he moved closer was very welcome.
With Wei Ying leaning over him like this, all Lan Wangji had to do was let himself fall. His face buried into Wei Ying’s shoulder and he breathed in deep, catching traces of Wei Ying’s very own scent underneath the battle sweat and sharp metallic taste of blood in the air.
There was a sharp intake of breath somewhere above him but Lan Wangji barely paid it any mind. His whole body was so heavy and it felt good to let Wei Ying take some of his weight. The fabric of Wei Ying’s robes was soft against his cheek as he turned his head to press his face further into Wei Ying’s neck.
He could feel Wei Ying’s pulse, his heart beating unexpectedly fast. Lan Wangji had always assumed he stayed perfectly calm as he unleashed his terrifying powers on his enemies. His expression certainly never betrayed any possible nervousness or doubt.
The realization softened something inside of Lan Wangji’s chest and he couldn’t help but smile. It was good to know that possibly, deep down Wei Ying hadn’t changed that much. That the new darkness that always surrounded him just served to hide his real self. That he was still the same person Lan Wangji had fallen in love with.
He couldn’t help but press his lips to the skin of Wei Ying’s throat. He barely needed to move his head with the way he was already leaning on Wei Ying. Something in the back of his mind tried to protest, but Lan Wangji ignored it.
Wei Ying’s skin was as soft as he’s always imagined it, though perhaps a bit colder.
“Lan Zhan?” Wei Ying’s voice was higher than usually, almost squeaky and with how close they were Lan Wangji could feel him shivering. He frowned, dissatisfied until it occurred to him that Wei Ying likely didn’t enjoy having him so close. They weren’t even friends anymore, and now Lan Wangji was taking liberties.
“Ah,” he murmured, his voice almost slurring in his exhaustion. He tried to lift himself up just a little, just to put some distance between them. “Forgive me.”
A hand settled on his back, pulling him closer like they were genuinely embracing instead of just keeping Lan Wangji from collapsing. Despite the perfunctory nature of the action, it still felt good to be held by Wei Ying.
“Lan Zhan.” Wei Ying buried his face into Lan Wangji’s neck as well, his forehead braced against the top of Lan Wangji’s shoulder. “I thought I’d lost you.”
Lan Wangji made a dismayed sound against Wei Ying’s skin, earning himself another quick inhale of breath. “You cannot lose me,” he said, slow and careful to enunciate each word clearly. It was getting harder and harder to speak, but this was important. “You cannot lose me,” he repeated. “I am yours. Your soulmate.”
The grip on Lan Wangji’s back tightened abruptly enough to be painful, but Lan Wangji no longer even had the energy to make a noise of complaint, let alone deny that he would want to.
“Lan Zhan, what— what do you mean?” Wei Ying’s voice was shaking. Perhaps he was scared. Lan Wangji wished he could reassure him, could comfort him somehow, but he found that he was no longer able to keep his eyes open. “Lan Zhan?”
He tried to make a noise, but his entire body was heavy. “Lan Zhan!” There was no need for Wei Ying to sound so panicked, Lan Wangji only needed to rest his eyes for a moment, he would be fine, he would be—
“No, no, no, you can’t— you can’t say something like that and then— Lan Zhan! Don’t— don’t leave me, I—” Wei Ying broke off, something like a sob wrecking his body. “I can’t even heal you,” he added, voice low and distraught. “What kind of— what kind of soulmate am I, if I can’t even—”
There were other sounds now, the soft hiss of air being displaced, voices coming closer, and Wei Ying stiffened before jerking upright. “Here! We’re over here! Jiang Cheng!”
Relief flooded through Lan Wangji’s body. If anyone would make sure that Wei Ying made his way back to camp safely it would be Jiang Wanyin. He would be fine.
With that final thought, Lan Wangji let the darkness take him away.