Chapter Text
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“This party has turned into a bit of a scandalous vent fest, and you know I’m a bitch who loves me some gossip. Perhaps I’ll even share with you, my beloved listeners, at some point. For now, just know there are some serious secrets being spilled. Also people were yelling all night and all morning, so I got no sleep! You should see the circles under my eyes. Pop a face mask tip in the comments, and groove with me to the Yi City Trio...”
The Nie Huaisang Variety Hour, June 23rd, 3023
—
The stairs of Carp Tower are full of people and everything is very confusing.
Wei Wuxian is still waking up from what was a very unpleasant drugging, followed by a thoroughly unplanned experiment in electric cultivation, which was then followed by a confrontation with a war criminal and a very very stupid man with terrible eyebrows who might be dead now.
(Wei Wuxian doesn’t care much about the wellbeing of Jin Whatsits, truthfully. Rather the opposite. He definitely should’ve let Wen Ning finish the job in Yiling.
Or done it himself. He sure will next time.)
All of which is to say that he’s not super up on what’s going on. But he’s back to back with Lan Zhan, facing a bunch of Jins who are actively trying not to get too close and a worried-looking Lan Xichen trying to get through the crowd to the front.
Maybe Wei Wuxian should be worried too. But it’s him and Lan Zhan! Even though he’s still groggy and vaguely nauseous and waking up, he’s pretty sure they’ll figure this out. The Jin are less scary than any Wen-created constructs or resentful creatures they outfought in the war.
Except, hm. He’s injured, isn’t he. Or something.
He feels at his stomach, where the old scar is throbbing, and his core is aching with overuse.
Well, never mind that then.
“Lan Zhan,” he says. “Just let them take me. Shijie will take care of me; we can say I bamboozled you.”
“Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan says in that way he has, like Wei Wuxian’s name is a whole sentence in itself, soft and warm and exasperated. “Don’t be an idiot.”
"Lan Wangji," Jin Guangshan calls, and he sounds wrecked—wow, whatever Jin Guangyao's doing to him has him completely on the ropes. "Please step aside and let us get to Wei Wuxian. He's been running an illegal clinic in Yiling doing unethical research on the poor, poor residents, he came here under false pretences—"
How unexpected, trying to pin his own crimes on Wei Wuxian and Wen Qing. Wei Wuxian rolls his eyes.
He’s about to speak up for himself when Lan Zhan does.
"Wei Ying saved my life," Lan Zhan says. Calmly, simply.
Lan Zhan speaks the truth like it's the easiest thing in the world, and it undoes Wei Wuxian, every time.
"We know poor Lan Wangji has been ill," Jin Guangshan says, clearly implying to the crowd that poor Lan Zhan is mentally unbalanced. “He must be confused.”
Which he is, let’s be real here, Lan Zhan is totally confused, he should cut his losses and let them take Wei Wuxian. But Wei Wuxian has never been strong enough to turn Lan Zhan away.
He whispers softly, so that their onlookers will not hear, "Lan Zhan, are you sure? Really sure? I'm used to this, I'll be fine."
"This is the road I choose," Lan Zhan says. "I would choose it every time."
I would choose you, Wei Wuxian hears, and blinks rapidly. His eyes are burning a little.
He laughs instead, to cover his reaction. "Lan Zhan, you're so poetic. Since you’re sticking with me, are we going to fight them or what?"
"Enough talking," Lan Zhan agrees.
One swing of Lan Zhan’s sword, one extended thread of electricity from Wei Wuxian, and the warding weave springs to life around them, little sparks lighting the air with a whine of energy. It’s so easy, fighting with Lan Zhan.
It makes the Jins even more hesitant to push forward (sensible of them, really), which in its turn gives Lan Zhan room to attack, while Wei Wuxian expands their net further. Wei Wuxian wonders whether constant cultivation experimentation would make anyone better at joint combat, or if it’s just him and Lan Zhan.
But maybe it’s just that the Jin suck. The Wen constructs in the war were never this easy to knock over, and the Wen guards were never this frightened, practically climbing over their fallen comrades to get away.
They topple the nearest guards and Lan Zhan holds his hand out to Wei Wuxian for a jump that would clear the stairs and leave them free to go, but Wei Wuxian feels a sting and staggers.
He looks up, sees Xue Yang leaning on a Jin guard, and then he looks down. A thin needle is sticking out of his ribs, and there was definitely something not-good on it.
“Motherfucker,” he gasps, and feels the world swirl around him, his meridians burning with acid. His mouth tastes—green? An acrid, awful taste, and his vision is rapidly narrowing to a tiny point, all the Jin disappearing from view.
He staggers, grasping for Lan Zhan’s sleeve but misses, pitching forward.
That’s going to hurt.
“Wei Ying!” Lan Zhan says, and it’s the last thing Wei Wuxian hears before everything goes dark.
—
When he sees Wei Ying fall, Lan Wangji doesn’t stop to think.
Swift as the wind and quick as lightning, fast as light itself, he finds himself on his sword, flying away from Carp Tower with Wei Ying deadweight in his arms, held close. He can hear the shrieking resentment build around him, behind him, rising from the ground to fuel his flight.
Wei Ying isn’t moving at all. It’s unnatural, the lively face and ever-moving arms immobile in whatever sleep this drug has forced on him. Unnatural and dreadful.
His breathing is laboured, shuddery and weak, and Lan Wangji can feel how fast his pulse is. He’s as pale as the white robes Lan Wangji wears, and his lips are faintly blue. He looks—no.
Lan Wangji swallows against the choking fear. It’s worse than when he came out of the Burial Mounds, because then he knew he was dead, or would be soon. Now he’s holding his own heart in his arms, and Wei Ying is cold and still and Lan Wangji can’t. He can’t.
If Wei Ying doesn’t live, Lan Wangji might as well be dead.
The ghosts at his back whisper louder.
What will he do? He can’t go all the way to Yiling, it’s too far, and so are the Cloud Recesses. There are no viable options. Momentarily the world swims before his eyes with his desperation and the ghosts shout in triumph.
He wrenches his focus back with an effort and looks down.
Below, there is a small house in a field.
Perhaps he can ask for help. He’s still wearing Lan regalia and looks every bit the respectable cultivator.
If the people in the house refuse to help–it’s unthinkable. He can’t. He mustn’t.
The resentment howls inside to keep Wei Ying safe no matter what, but he can’t hurt innocents, even for Wei Ying. The ghosts shriek at that thought; to them, not taking what you want is anathema.
Setting down carefully and sheathing Bichen, he walks up to the door of the house and kicks at it in lieu of knocking. He’s strong enough to hold Wei Ying up with one arm and knock but he just can’t let go; he needs to hold him close.
The door opens. The resentful voices whispering in his head that he should force his way in are shocked into silence, because the person who opened the door is a small child.
She peers up at him.
“Mom!” she calls, and runs off. Lan Wangji remains standing in the doorway despite his impatience and fear.
The next person who appears is familiar. Very familiar. She’s holding her sword and Lan Wangji blinks, momentarily seeing her in gaudy golden regalia, much the worse for wear by being mired knee-deep in the mud and terror of the war.
“Luo Qingyang,” he says, surprise momentarily replacing his desperate fear. He’s always thought of her as Mianmian, because Wei Ying insisted on calling her that, but it is not her name.
She doesn’t drop her sword but she gasps. “Lan Wangji—and Wei Wuxian! Come in, come in—“
Mianmian trained as a field medic in the war, which is evident now in the speed she hustles them into the guest room and the efficiency with which she strips the bed.
“Lay him out—is it an injury?”
“I suspect poison,” Lan Wangji says.
“Explain as we go,” Mianmian says, quickly laying out herbs. “I have the Five Minerals and a niu-huang; between those we can take care of most poisons, I should think.”
Lan Wangji, clasping the cold hand of Wei Ying, is only able to nod.
She looks at him. “We’ll get him through this,” she says. “His core is strong.”
It certainly is, or was, but whatever this poison is, Lan Wangji can feel it wreaking havoc along Wei Ying’s meridians. He’s feeding Wei Ying spiritual energy, something that is usually easy thanks to their mutual experimentation, but right now it’s like wrestling a yao.
His own meridians are filled with acid, the resentment doing its level best to overpower the protections that are in place. You failed, the voices are saying. You failed, and he will die.
Wei Ying’s chest moves once, twice. He’s still breathing, but it is sparse and so faint. His lips are a dusky blue. Lan Wangji can’t look away.
Mianmian is crushing powders and combining them, sniffing them every now and then.
"Here," she says finally, and Lan Wangji nods. He holds Wei Ying's head up so she can feed him the mixture. "He ought to walk around after, but we can't—" she trails off, touching Wei Ying's cheek gently.
"No," Lan Wangji says. Wei Ying isn't going to walk anywhere, possibly ever again.
Together, they get a few spoonfuls into Wei Ying. He swallows, coughs, and turns impossibly paler. His already laboured breathing goes high and thin.
"Ah, fuck," Mianmian says, looking troubled. "Sometimes it doesn't take right. What happened before the poison?"
"Torture and resentment," Lan Wangji says.
"Some details would be good," she mutters, but they have worked together before and she knows him well. "Perhaps something already shifted the balance in his qi."
It's an arduous process from there.
They try again, with a little more of the same mixture, and then they try moving his body to make the medicine flow through him, and then they must wait, observe any effects, and try yet again.
It takes so long, and there are so few positive signs that Lan Wangji longs for his brother or Wen Qing. He almost suggests going to get them, but it might land Wei Ying back in the Jin dungeons on the precipice of death.
Unthinkable.
The niu-huang is the first thing that seems to have any effect at all. Wei Ying regains some colour and his breathing shifts into what sounds more like sleep than the stuttered, barely-there breathing he was doing before. But he still doesn't wake up.
Eventually Mianmian says, "I can’t think of anything else to try. I think we just have to wait."
She hasn’t asked why Lan Wangji didn’t take Wei Ying to an actual hospital. Lan Wangji wishes everyone was as quick on the uptake as Mianmian.
"I will wait," Lan Wangji says. “Perhaps you could contact Wen Qing for me?”
Mianmian nods, taking his encryption keys and the number she needs to call Wen Qing directly. "Do you want anything to eat?" She doesn't look surprised when he shakes his head. He cannot fathom trying to eat right now.
And then he's left to his vigil, holding Wei Ying's hand in his.
Wei Ying's elegant fingers, lax in this drug-induced sleep. Lan Wangji wants to kiss them, wants to lay his head in Wei Ying's palm, wants to never move from where he's sitting.
"Wei Ying," he whispers. Wake up.
There's no response.
Lan Wangji strokes Wei Ying's hand. Hums the song he swore he'd never sing to Wei Ying again, after the time he sang it in the cave during the war as Wei Ying lay unconscious in his arms. Sings any Lan song he can think of that could help but shouldn’t harm.
Wei Ying moves his head restlessly when Lan Wangji hums his way through Cleansing, and Lan Wangji wishes foolishly that it had an effect on literal poisons. Though perhaps it is helping little, if Wei Ying’s meridians are affected by this substance.
He feels so powerless, sat here caught in waiting. Every minute shift in Wei Ying’s expression has his heart racing faster than the peregrine falcon can fly, no matter how much he tries to take refuge in Lan Clan meditation techniques. The treacherous hope is terrible in its seduction.
If only Wei Ying would wake. If only.
Lan Wangji will never ask anything else of the world, if only he can have Wei Ying back. It is as if there are cold leaves falling softly at his feet, as if he may be sat here asking for the only thing he wants until the end of time. My love. Return to me.
He thinks of Jiang Yanli, thanking him for loving Wei Ying. Saying Wei Ying deserves to be loved. He thinks of wild geese, flying across the sky, stunningly beautiful in their freedom but so sure in their destination, and of how Wei Ying always seems to come back to him, wild and free as he is.
If only his beloved wakes up, Lan Wangji will tell him that he is so very loved. If only he wakes up.
–
He sits by Wei Ying’s bedside throughout the night, holding his hand as the hours creep by so slowly they feel like years.
The night is quiet.
Only the sound of Wei Ying’s breathing interrupts the silence, and the feeling of his heartbeat under Lan Wangji’s fingers on his pulse. His skin is less clammy and cold now, and the soft beats of his heart keep Lan Wangji anchored in place.
Then, with the rising dawn, when the light begins to creep through the bamboo blinds, Wei Ying's eyelids flutter. Lan Wangji hardly dares to believe it.
“Wei Ying,” he breathes.
“Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying says softly, as if in a dream, and then he coughs and his eyes open. Open! He’s awake!
Lan Wangji’s heart sings. He feels lighter than air. Wei Ying is alive.
Wei Ying blinks at the ceiling, shifts, winces, and then his gaze lands on Lan Wangji and he visibly relaxes.
“Lan Zhan!” he says. “Where are we?” He almost sounds like himself, albeit with a hoarse voice, but his exhaustion is betrayed by the fact that he doesn’t try to sit up.
“Mianmian’s place,” Lan Wangji says. His happiness is a flock of birds in his chest, wings beating frantically against his ribcage, emotions threatening to spill into the room.
“I, huh, wow, I feel as though I got run over by one of those monster trucks, and then it backed up and tried again,” Wei Ying says, clearly not listening. He wrinkles his nose, shifting restlessly. “Fuck, I feel like shit.”
“Xue Yang poisoned you,” Lan Wangji says. “Wei Ying—” He’s trying to find the words for what he thought of throughout his long vigil, the emotions he’s carried with him for so long that they are as much a part of himself as his bones or his blood.
Wei Ying flushes. “Don’t look at me like that, Lan Zhan.” He smiles awkwardly. “I don’t, um.”
Lan Wangji would normally have let him escape the embarrassment with a laugh, the way all conversations where anyone tries to make Wei Ying talk honestly about feelings go.
Except.
Except that he nearly died, again, and Lan Wangji promised himself he would speak.
“Wei Ying,” Lan Wangji says, and kisses that lovely mouth. Softly, gently, so very carefully, making sure Wei Ying has space to breathe, and can move his face away if he wishes.
Wei Ying doesn’t attempt to pull away.
“What—” he says when Lan Wangji breaks the kiss. His eyes are very large, and his cheeks have lost a little of their pallor to a flush of embarrassment.
Lan Wangji cups that reddened cheek gently. “Wei Ying,” he says softly. His heart is singing.
Wei Ying swallows. “Lan Zhan,” he says, and leans away slightly to cough into his sleeve. “Why did you kiss me?”
Lan Wangji thinks of wild geese, and says, “Because you deserve to be kissed.”
“Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying says, sounding helpless. “You don’t have to—I know I’m a bit pathetic about you, but…”
He tries to sit up, cursing when the pain appears to overtake him. Lan Wangji gently pushes him back down, and suddenly the words are easy and there, welling up like the waters of a spring let loose by the thaw.
“Pathetic?” he says. “Wei Ying.” He takes a breath and starts again. “Wei Ying, I’ve loved you since our days in the army.”
Wei Ying flushes deeper, trying to speak, beautifully flustered, and Lan Wangji has to kiss him again. He’s hungry for it, suddenly ravenous, the gaping worry that was threatening to consume him gone.
Wei Ying makes a little noise, a gasp of pleasure and Lan Wangji has to bite back a groan of his own. Wei Ying. Alive. His.
—
Wei Wuxian is so confused. Again!
He remembers being on the stairs of Carp Tower with Lan Zhan, Jin guards toppling like domino bricks and leaving the path free for them to escape. And how he felt a sting in his side and an unpleasant rushing sensation throughout his body, his meridians burning with it, his mouth tasting of acrid, moldy green and and then…
Nothing, before waking up in a bed with Lan Zhan looking at him like. Like.
The way he looks at Wei Wuxian when he is being particularly clever. Or that one time, in the Yiling apartment, when he woke up after the surgery. Or.
Ugh. Too much. That look is too much, so warm and fond and Wei Wuxian has done nothing to deserve it.
And then the kiss! Which abruptly takes precedence to all other thoughts because Lan Zhan kisses like he fights, all-consuming, and Wei Wuxian will never be able to think about anything else again.
And now another kiss! Lan Zhan’s lips are so soft. He really isn’t letting Wei Wuxian get a word in edgewise, which is very unfair of him, and Wei Wuxian is going to tell him so as soon as he is allowed to talk.
Not that he’s in a hurry. Lan Zhan’s mouth on his sets him aglow like, like fireworks, sparkling all over the sky. Lan Zhan has always felt like the star in his sky, someone Wei Wuxian can orbit around.
Wait. Lan Zhan said he’s in love? If, if that is true—Wei Wuxian makes a noise that he can only characterise as desperate.
It can’t be true. Why would Lan Zhan love him? He’s perfect, he could have anyone. He could just look at them and they’d fall all over themselves. Wei Wuxian certainly did. Does.
And he kept Lan Zhan in Yiling when Lan Zhan wanted to go, the way he clings to everyone like a baby gibbon hanging onto his mother, and they all leave, eventually.
But Lan Zhan stayed. And he’s here now. He says he loves Wei Wuxian.
It can’t be true.
When Lan Zhan finally breaks the kiss, he stays close, forehead against Wei Wuxian’s, fingers soft on Wei Wuxian’s face. Wei Wuxian feels dizzy with the proximity and the gentle way that Lan Zhan is holding him. His heart is thundering in his chest, so loud Lan Zhan must be able to hear it. His own fingers are somehow curved around Lan Zhan’s neck.
Wei Wuxian despairs at ever convincing himself to let go.
“Lan Zhan,” he whispers. “Lan Zhan, I—“ He doesn’t know what to say.
He tries again. “Lan Zhan, I—“
“Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan says. He sounds so happy. Wei Wuxian has never heard him sound like this. He hangs on Lan Zhan’s every word, and he has never heard him sound like this.
“Lan Zhan, I love you too,” Wei Wuxian finally manages. “But when you get sick of me, don’t worry, I’ll leave, you only ever have to say.”
“Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan says, and he sounds fond and affectionate and a little bit like he thinks Wei Wuxian is an idiot. “I will never grow tired of you.”
No, that can’t be true. Everyone leaves. Everyone.
Wei Wuxian still can’t bring himself to let go.
“I should call Mianmian and tell her you’re awake,” Lan Zhan says, voice absurdly soft, but he doesn’t make any move to let go either.
Wei Wuxian isn’t listening, really. He kisses Lan Zhan’s dear mouth again and wishes he didn’t feel so wobbly, because if not he could drag Lan Zhan into bed and kiss him absolutely everywhere, except that wouldn’t be seemly, not in Mianmian’s guest room—wait.
He pulls back.
“Are we in Mianmian’s house?” he says.
“Mn,” says Lan Zhan.
“You just accidentally ended up here? What luck,” Wei Wuxian says.
“Mn,” Lan Zhan says in the tone of someone who perhaps thinks there was slightly more than luck at work.
Mianmian comes in then, and after a happy exclamation she starts prodding and poking him in a very familiar manner.
“Did you talk to Wen Qing?” he says when she asks about the electricity. Theoretically Lan Zhan could’ve told her, he supposes. But he somehow thinks Lan Zhan hasn’t been discussing cultivation practice with Mianmian.
“We have been in communication,” Mianmian says. “Lan Wangji gave me the encryption keys for the setup you guys have. It’s very nifty; I might copy it for the local cultivator network.”
“I thought you left all that,” Wei Wuxian says, because Mianmian famously walked away from the clans. It was so scandalous it even reached him and the Wens in Yiling.
“I take care of ordinary people,” she says fondly, ruffling his hair. “We need ways to communicate around here that can’t be listened to.”
“I’ll help,” he says eagerly, because it’s the least he can do. “Do you need things that’ll run in a blackout? I’ve been thinking about that—“
“Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan says, sounding both exasperated and amused.
“Later,” Mianmian says, laughing. “Let’s get you on your feet again first.”
“I’m fine,” Wei Wuxian protests, and doesn’t miss the way Lan Zhan and Mianmian trade glances. “Stop looking like that. What’s a little poison? I’ve walked off worse—“
“Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan says, and this time it sounds like “my love”; how does he do that? “Please be more careful with yourself. For me.”
Ugh.
“Unfair tactics,” Wei Wuxian complains, because how is he supposed to refuse anything Lan Zhan says when he looks soft like that? How. “Fine, I’ll rest. I guess.”
Lan Zhan looks very satisfied with himself, as well he might, because now Wei Wuxian has to stay in bed and he’s going to be so bored.
“You have to entertain me, Lan Zhan,” he says.
Mianmian makes a very funny noise.
Lan Zhan also looks a little embarrassed, the tops of his ears going pink. What—oh.
“Not like that!” Wei Wuxian says hastily. “Lan Zhan will, er, read me poetry. Or something. Right?”
“Mn,” Lan Zhan says, still looking embarrassed, but also amused. Like maybe he wouldn’t mind entertaining Wei Wuxian in that way.
“I’ll leave you to it,” Mianmian says. “And rustle up some congee.”
“And chilli oil,” Lan Zhan says, giving Wei Ying a look. Mianmian laughs and leaves.
Chilli oil! For him!
Lan Zhan is just too thoughtful, Wei Wuxian decides. He can’t bear it, it isn’t allowed.
He tells Lan Zhan that, but is only met with another infuriatingly beautiful smile.
“You like chilli oil,” Lan Zhan says.
Ugh.
"Don't be so nice," he says. "Lan Zhan, you don’t really need to be nice to me.”
"I wish to be nice to you," Lan Zhan says. "I want nothing more than that."
"Lan Zhan—" Wei Wuxian starts.
"Wei Ying," Lan Zhan says mildly."You deserve kindness."
"People are plenty nice, all the time," Wei Wuxian says.
Lan Zhan tips his chin up and kisses him again, long and slow. "Not enough," he says, still holding Wei Wuxian's face. “You deserve so much more.”
"Lan Zhan!" Wei Wuxian says, raising a hand to cover Lan Zhan's. "You can't just. Just." He wants to argue that he needs a warning before Lan Zhan says things like this, because it’s not fair, it’s just not.
Somehow the words wither away on his tongue, because the way Lan Zhan is looking at him is just so, so very, so much, and Wei Wuxian knows they have many things to take care of as soon as he can move again, but.
"Kiss me again," he says instead of any of that, and because it's safer to be kissed than to be talked at.
Lan Zhan obliges, long and slow and altogether wonderful. Wei Wuxian melts back into the pillow, fingers tugging at Lan Zhan to follow him. He wants Lan Zhan’s weight, wants to be pressed into the bed. He wants.
Infuriatingly, Lan Zhan doesn't oblige, because "You're injured," he murmurs, moving his lips to nip at Wei Wuxian's earlobe.
"Come on!" Wei Wuxian whines. Sure, he was poisoned, and he can tell there's still something funky going on with his meridians, but… "You can't just start something and not finish, Lan Zhan, it's not fair!"
"Mn," Lan Zhan says, something mischievous lurking in his eyes. "Wei Ying could stand to learn some patience."
"Lan Zhan," Wei Wuxian says plaintively. "Don't you want to—" he trails off helplessly, because the way Lan Zhan is looking at him says that he very much wants to, thank you.
"You're injured," Lan Zhan says again, and then, elegant fingers trailing over Wei Wuxian's abdomen, dangerously close to the hem of his shirt, "you can think about what you want while you wait."
"What about what you want?" Wei Wuxian says.
Lan Zhan lifts one of Wei Wuxian's hands to his lips, kissing the inside of his wrist.
Fuck.
Wei Wuxian feels like a mouse being mesmerised by a snake.
"Everything," Lan Zhan says, lips moving against Wei Wuxian's skin. "I want everything you'll give me, Wei Ying. But I want you well first."
"Fine," Wei Wuxian says weakly, and then rallies—or tries to. "It's your responsibility to entertain me, then, so that I don't die of boredom or, or from needing sex, Lan Zhan, you have to take responsibility! If you’re not going to distract me you should let me get out of bed." He tries to make sheep’s eyes at Lan Zhan, who frowns.
"Wei Ying," he says. "If you don't rest, you won't get better."
"I will so," Wei Wuxian says. "My core is a lot better since we've been working together, you know that. I’m practically recovered!"
Lan Zhan blinks. "Recovered?" he says.
Oops. "I mean," Wei Wuxian prevaricates, "we did all that cultivation practice! In Yiling. It was really good for us, don’t you think?"
"Recovered from what," Lan Zhan says dangerously.
"I, um," Wei Wuxian says. "Oh, here's Mianmian!"
She bears congee and a bottle of red oil, and Wei Wuxian smiles winsomely at her. "You're a queen among women," he says, accepting the bowl and the bottle from her.
"Wei Ying," Lan Zhan says. "Tell us."
Urgh. He puts the bowl down and holds the bottle between him and Lan Zhan, like a shield, sort of.
"I might've—donated part of my core? Listen, Jiang Cheng was dying, and then also Wen Ning after the experiments, and we hadn't worked out the grafting process completely then, but now we've got it figured out."
Lan Zhan and Mianmian are looking at him like he's a taotie with his eyes on his shoulders.
"Grafting process?" Lan Zhan says.
"You know about the surgeries!" Wei Wuxian protests. He does, they did several while Lan Zhan was with them in Yiling.
"Yes," Lan Zhan says. "I was unaware that you had undergone any such procedure."
"Well," Wei Wuxian says, "it wasn't on purpose. I mean, Jiang Cheng needed help, and we had to improvise, sort of."
Mianmian looks horrified. "You mean Wen Qing performed core transplants? She told me she was working out of her apartment!"
"Yeah, yeah," Wei Wuxian says. "But she's a genius, and it was fine. Is fine."
"You really ought to take him to a clinic, or get Wen Qing here," Mianmian says to Lan Zhan, who looks unhappy.
"It's not possible," he says. "I might be able to join my brother in secret."
"Take me back to Gusu?" Wei Wuxian says, laughing a little. "Old man Qiren would love that."
“Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan says. “You must recover.”
“I can recover in Gusu, I guess,” Wei Wuxian says carelessly, feeling his stomach lurch at the thought.
“Let’s see what Huaisang writes first,” Mianmian says, waggling the tablet she had wedged under her arm when she came in.
"Oh, I don’t need food, give me that," Wei Wuxian says immediately. Huaisang might've figured out all the weird intrigue in Carp Tower, who needs congee with the prospect of that?
“Ahem,” Mianmian says pointedly. “You can eat while I read you this.” She swipes at the screen. “Okay, so. Huaisang says that Jin Guangyao seems very upset, like something has gone terribly awry. They say they can mostly tell because Jin Guangyao’s hat is not on straight, and I kind of know what they mean, actually.”
She of course is familiar with Jin Guangyao from before she left the clan, and Wei Wuxian wonders how she feels about him. Does she too think he’s virtuous or would she believe them if they told her of his true nature?
“Xue Yang—is this the Xue Yang, the one you two apprehended at the beginning of the war?—anyway, he has disappeared, which might mean he’s dead or he’s on the run, or just hidden in the tower.” She frowns. “Jin Zixun is in a coma. Zewu-Jun is not himself, apparently. Huaisang says he’s been very strident in their private discussions.” She arches an eyebrow. “Presumably not about Jin Zixun’s well-being.”
“So Huaisang still hasn’t worked out who’s running the secret research, not for sure. Like, solid evidence sure,” Wei Wuxian says musingly.
Lan Zhan nudges the congee closer.
“Fine, fine, I’ll eat.” Wei Wuxian dumps some chilli oil on the rice and takes a bite.
“Besides being worried about you,” Mianmian says, looking at Lan Zhan, “is there something else Zewu-jun might be concerned about?”
"My brother has placed his trust in someone who might prove untrustworthy, but it is complicated" Lan Zhan says, which is a lot of words for him.
Wei Wuxian huffs. He doesn't think it's all that complicated; he personally overheard Jin Guangyao and Jin Guangshan. Pretty black and white, really.
But on the other hand, the experiments are puzzling. Why is Jin Guangyao experimenting on Yiling citizens with war wounds? Jin Guangshan can’t have a war-related problem, he didn’t do anything in the war.
Is Jin Guangyao attempting to replicate what Jin Guangshan has and then experimenting with remedies? Wei Wuxian can’t remember anything about Jin Guangyao having medical expertise.
Or poisoning expertise, because of course he might be the one poisoning his father, but Wei Wuxian can’t think where he would’ve learned to do something so advanced that Jin Guangshan’s doctors wouldn’t be able to detect it. Jin Guangyao famously didn’t start learning cultivation until very late.
Then again, he was undercover during the war. He might've learned quite a lot from Wen Ruohan. Aiyah, it is complicated.
Wei Wuxian wrinkles his nose, thinking it all through. "Can’t you talk to your brother?" he says. The Lans have a famed system of tokens that allow entrance to the Cloud Recesses but also direct encrypted long-range communications, and he’d assumed Lan Xichen would’ve given Lan Zhan a token at Koi Tower.
"Not easily," Lan Zhan says. "Ge was going to give me a new token, but then—"
Right, Wei Wuxian disappeared at the party and everything escalated quickly.
“What does Huaisang think we should do?” he says.
Mianmian frowns at her screen. “Unclear,” she says. “The rest of the message is very elliptical—stay out of sight, I think and something about surprises. Surprises down below?”
Lan Zhan looks as confused as Wei Wuxian feels.
“Did you see anything in the cells?” Lan Zhan says.
“Uh, not really. Did you? I was mostly in the walls, although….” Wait. “There was a lot more wiring going deeper,” Wei Wuxian says. “I could feel it stretch for miles.”
“You could feel it—“ Mianmian shakes her head. “What are they building down there? I think I don’t want to know.”
“Probably best not,” Wei Wuxian agrees. Mianmian, of all people, has earned the right to not take responsibility for the Jin Clan’s doings.
“I’ll send a message to Huaisang and tell them this,” Lan Zhan says. “If I may borrow your device?” He inclines his head toward Mianmian, as cordially as a cultivator of old.
Her mouth quirks but she hands it over, and then Wei Wuxian is left alone with his rapidly cooling congee. He resorts to dumping chilli oil on it to make it edible, and then wolfs it down, because it turns out recovering from a poison is hungry work.
—