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The halls are silent, as they always are. But the sound of flesh being struck still rings in his ears. To die serving the gods is the most honourable of deaths, but it is not easy. The whip does not distinguish between the sinner and the devout. Nor is the colour of the funeral pyre any different. No one mourns the deceased, most do not even know his name. Lan Wangji learnt it while carving the characters into the funeral tablet; Lan Fu, most fortunate in name and in fate.

The funeral procession is swift. The venerable elders cannot be expected to remain amongst lowly disciples for very long. It is gracious of them to allow a procession at all. A disciple who passes from old age or sickness does not receive such an honour. 

The elders bring with them the scent of the heavens, rich and pungent, unlike anything of this world, long robes trailing behind them. The gold-woven hems are as far as the disciples’ eyes are permitted to see. Lan Wangji remains deep in prostration in their presence, as do the rest of the disciples. A breath too loud could cause offence. They have all learnt how to temper their breathing and slow the cadence of their hearts as a show of respect. He hopes the younger disciples do not err today.

The gong has not yet sounded to signal the departure of the elders when suddenly the reverent silence of the halls is shattered. A wretched wailing resonates from every which way. Lan Wangji’s stomach drops, recognising the sound for what it is.

There is commotion as the elders quickly scatter. The heavy wooden doors rattle and slam, echoing almost as loud as the wails. It’s as if the whole mountain is shaking, screaming out in pain. Lan Wangji deepens his bow as far as it will go. The solid ground beneath his forehead trembles. The disciples have all stooped to the ground in prayer. But their collective chanting is but a mumble before the howls carried by the wind.

“He’s… he’s coming—!” Someone to his right is whimpering in fear. Lan Wangji cannot lift his head to look at the disciple, but he can almost taste the boy’s terror. The air is acrid with it. His nails dig into his palms, his teeth into his tongue. The wailing only escalates, becoming louder and more fevered. Like their prayers are a cause for anger, but nothing more. Hardly a deterrence.

Lan Wangji bites his tongue harder for having had such a thought. The mountain shudders again and he chants louder, prays harder. The whimpers of the disciple have turned into retching. He must be awfully young. Lan Wangji screws his eyes shut and prays harder. As hard as he can. As loud as he can.

There is a loud thump to his right as the poor boy collapses from fear. The massive door to the hall snaps clean off its frame and goes flying into the opposite wall, shattering into a thousand splintered pieces, as if it were made of fragile glass, and not solid, heavy wood.

And then there is silence. 

As quickly as the howling had started, it is gone. If it were not for the splintered wood strewn across the floor, scraps of the door still hanging miserably in its frame, it might seem like nothing was ever amiss. Sunlight shines through the windows once again, and the ground is solid and still. His ears ring in the absence of sound. There is blood in his mouth and on his palms from where he’s bitten and clawed himself.

Slowly he begins to push himself upright. He does not need to look around to know the others must be in similar states of disarray, legs shaky beneath them as they right themselves. They ought not to be so affected. For this is not a rare occurrence, not any more. The disturbances are only increasing, in frequency and in strength. And nothing seems to work any more. There is very little the disciples can do when even the immortal elders know it best to return to their heavenly abodes once the mountain starts screaming.

The still unconscious disciple is dragged out of the hall. He will be disciplined for his transgressions once he comes back around. Such shameful displays are not acceptable for a disciple of the Cloud Recesses. To give into one’s emotions is simply an invitation for immorality and corruption. The disciple will learn this lesson today. 

For the rest of the day there is a sombre quality to the air, the disciples unable to shake off what they’d witnessed. Lan Wangji wishes he could berate them. They have not yet witnessed anything at all, if the scriptures are anything to go by. And yet several seats in the dining hall remain empty, disciples too shaken up to stomach their meals. They will not be looked upon kindly for turning away from the blessing of food.

He swallows down his own bowl of gruel, mouthful after mouthful, no matter the unease he feels inside. It is hard to tell whether it’s the grain or his mouth that is stale. He wonders if there will be an end to this all, heroic like the tales of the original battle. If the elders will reign victorious again, subduing the evil seeping through the earth like they did once before, many aeons ago. The ancient tower atop this sacred mountain rattling but not yielding to the strength of that which it imprisons.  

Or if more and more lives will continue to be lost in the way they have been in recent times. They are honourable deaths, that much is true, but if the pace remains the same then it won’t be very long before the whole mountain falls empty. 

He falls asleep with his prayer beads clutched tightly between both hands. 

———

The wood is rough beneath his hands, splinters digging into his skin. It is but a small discomfort, he doesn’t stop to pull them out. Chopping down the trees and sawing the timber had been the easy part. The intricate patterns and sigils they are to chisel into the heavy wood is proving taxing. Carving sandalwood into smooth prayer beads is a task he is more than familiar with, the fragrant wood something of a friend to him, but this is different. The doors and shutters and floors that were destroyed on the day of the funeral all need to be remade. The room is ripe with the scent of fresh wood and sweat. If he could look upon the faces of the other disciples he’s sure he would see signs of strain.

As he chips at the block of wood before him, the tool slips from his clammy fist and slices the palm of his other hand. Blood springs to the surface and drips down onto the mess of sawdust and wood chippings on the ground, colouring them red. But it is not so terrible that he is forced to stop his work. His palm throbs with pain, but he chooses not to pay it any mind. It is nothing compared to the fingers, the limbs, the lives that have been lost in service of the gods. He is not blessed enough to be amongst those, so he simply tucks his injured hand behind his back and continues working.

It is then that a summon arrives for him from the Venerable Xiansheng. Lan Wangji can feel the whole room collectively holding its breath, for they all know this does not bode well. He wonders whether it is his profusely dripping hand or his imperfect carpentry that has called for him to be punished. Whatever it may be, he will face the punishment he deserves with his head held high as it can be when one’s gaze must remain lowered. 

He steps into Xiansheng’s study once he is granted permission. The room is exactly as it has always been, expansive, and with the lingering taste of dust in the air. Lan Wangji comes to a stop by the desk and bows.

It is strange. He stands before the only person on this mountain whose face he is allowed to freely look upon. The blood thrumming inside Lan Wangji’s veins, trickling down his palm, is the same as the blood pumping inside Lan Qiren. But he has not thought of Lan Qiren as his uncle for years now, certainly not since being beaten as a child for referring to him as such. So he does not look up. And after a lifetime spent with his eyes fastened to the ground in the company of others, he is not sure he remembers how to anyway. 

“Disciple,” Lan Qiren begins. “A decree has been issued by the heavens.” It sounds very much like a death sentence is about to be rolled out. Lan Wangji braces himself. “You have been chosen to guard the Cloud Recesses from the evil that approaches.”

It is beyond the last thing Lan Wangji had expected to hear. He frowns at the scroll still in Lan Qiren’s hands, bearing the official filigree of the heavens. His bewilderment must be evident, for Lan Qiren says, “You may speak.”

“Forgive me.” His voice cracks around the very first word. If it weren’t for their daily chanting of the scriptures he would likely have lost his voice entirely by now. “I do not understand.”

“You have been appointed guardian of the tower,” Lan Qiren tells him.

The hairs on the back of Lan Wangji’s neck rise. “Has something happened to the guards?” The lives of the disciples that stand guard outside the tower hang by a precarious thread at all times. Every moment they spend in such close proximity to what lies within is risking death. 

“The guards remain where they are. What you are to do is of far more importance.” He unravels more of the scroll. “The shackles forged by heroes of times past have been weakening. We all hear the sounds of the cage rattling atop the mountain, the disturbances, the disciples falling to madness. Evil is gaining momentum. If the barrier cracks—” Lan Qiren suppresses a shiver. “We cannot let that happen. The shackles must be tightened, the seals reinforced. And only the most honourable of disciples can succeed at this.”

Lan Wangji’s breath catches in his throat, his heart pounding, rapid and unsteady. “And I have been chosen for this task?” There is a nauseous feeling climbing up from his abdomen. He cannot believe what he is hearing. 

“Do you question what has been decreed for you, boy?” Lan Qiren shouts.

Lan Wangji cowers. “Forgive this lowly disciple. That was not my intent.” 

A while passes before Lan Qiren allows him to rise from his bow of repentance. The whorls in the wooden floor are his childhood friends, punishment upon punishment served in their company. They try their best to soothe the churning in his gut.

“You have been bestowed an honour like no other. You are the chosen disciple.” Lan Qiren retrieves something from behind his desk and passes it to him. Heavy and cold, Lan Wangji grips the object with both hands, and then startles when he sees that he has been handed a sword. A disciple is not permitted to wield weapons, even the tools they work with must always remain blunt and dull. And yet here he is holding a sword, heavy with spiritual power.

“The fate of the Cloud Recesses lies on your shoulders. Let the heavens down and eternal damnation shall await you.”

Those final, chilling words stay with Lan Wangji long after he has been dismissed. His cultivation is dormant enough to feel a small strain as he carries the sword by his side, but his legs are not shaky for this reason. To be rewarded so generously by the heavens should feel most gratifying. But he cannot say he feels anything of the sort. The pounding in his chest shows no signs of slowing down, nor does the pace of his breathing. His heart and his breath are both trying to escape him, trying to run away.

Away from the tower at the top of the mountain, where Lan Wangji has no choice but to go. 

———

He must wait for the shelter of the night before he can set off. His prayer beads provide little comfort at this time but he wraps them tight around his wrist all the same. The sword feels lighter in his grip, only because he has been practising his sword forms religiously. He doubts he would be able to wield it well when faced with actual danger, but it’s all he has. And as the last rays of daylight disappear behind the horizon, Lan Wangji secures the thick veil over his face and steps out into the night. 

He has traversed up the mountain before, with permission from the teachers, but not very often, and never so far. The climb, however, has never felt as difficult as it feels tonight. The wind batters down on his face, the rock slips beneath his feet. Even the fog seems to be trying to envelop and confuse him, intent to send him away. But Lan Wangji continues up the desolate path. It is a long trek and he loses track of time. Long gone is the hour by which all disciples must fall asleep. Perhaps it is yin shi, the time of the night in which predators rise, stretching their sharp claws and their hungry jaws to clamp around the racing pulse of prey.

The huge iron door is what comes into view first, imposing even in the black of the night, followed by the foot of the tower materialising as the fog slowly recedes. 

“Who goes there?” comes a gruff shout.

The meagre light of Lan Wangji’s torch has alerted the guards of his approach. “It is I,” he hastens to make himself known, holding up his token for them to see. The guards should be expecting him tonight.

There is a long moment in which the guards say nothing. He hears the light clank of their heavy metal armour as they move, perhaps to inspect his token, perhaps to look at one another in shared disbelief that this is really happening. Lan Wangji has no way of knowing, his veil too thick to see through clearly, their helmets covering everything except narrow slits for eyes and mouths.

Then three of the guards move to the centre of the door, where there is a large circular engraving. Each places the iron tokens hanging by their belts and places it into the engraving. Lan Wangji is called over and made to place his own jade token in the final empty slot. The engraving sparks to light causing the four of them to stumble away from the force of it. He steps to the side while the guards start to unlatch the door, bolt after heavy bolt. Each clang of the bolts booms terribly in the silence of the night, a blow to the gut every time.

It takes the might of all the guards put together to begin hauling the door open, even with their added strength as cultivators. The scrape of the metal pains his ears. Years of accumulated rust have rendered the door practically immobile, beyond the spiritual seals placed on it. He wonders how many years it has been since this door was last opened. Perhaps decades. 

When the guards have finally managed to crack it open enough for him to pass through, one of them addresses him, “Enter.”

It comes with a sense of finality, like there is no going back now. But Lan Wangji knows there has never been any going back, not since he was first chosen by the heavens. He has been destined for this, no matter the outcome. With an exhale Lan Wangji steps through the door, into the awaiting darkness. 

The light of his torch doesn’t reach very far at all. All he can see are the first few steps of the spiralling stairway before him. Lan Wangji takes his first step. He’s not sure what he expects, perhaps for the tower to collapse on top of him, or the howling screams that haunt the Cloud Recesses to assault him all at once. But nothing of the sort happens.

In fact, nothing happens at all. As he begins his careful ascent up the tower, he notes just how very silent it is. Unlike the silence of the Cloud Recesses, which rings in his ears day and night, not even the echo of his footsteps can be heard here. There is not a squeak nor a whistle of air, and even the crackling fire of his torch has quietened. Only the sound of his shamefully loud heartbeat pounds in his ears.

Under the firelight, Lan Wangji realises that the stone tower walls are filled with detailed carvings, characters upon characters piled atop each other. It takes him a moment to figure out that it is one long, continuous, protective talisman, carved directly into the stone. He has never seen anything of the sort before, so vast and painstakingly meticulous. The power of the talisman must be immense, for the carvings look as fresh as they might’ve the day they were first created. Nowhere has the stone crumbled, nor has any dust or rot settled into the crevices. 

If the circumstances were any different he may have stopped to inspect more closely, but as it stands, his shaky legs know he has somewhere to be. They lead him up the winding stairway at an alarmingly swift pace. He faces no obstruction, not even a thick curtain of cobwebs, or a birds’ nest or dwelling of bats, as one might expect in a building that has not been disturbed by humans in decades. 

But there is simply nothing.

Not until he reaches the very top of the tower where there is another huge iron door. The engravings on this one are similar to the one outside, but there is space for only one token here. With unsteady hands he places his token in the perfectly sized slot and breathes. This seal needs to be activated with a burst of spiritual energy. He is careful not to expend the entirety of his power, although it is a near thing.

Each intricate line of the sigils engraved into the door light up with a blindingly white light. Like milk flooding the paths of a labyrinth, he thinks hysterically. And then he hears the sound of the door unsealing itself. The circular panel in the middle of the door slowly begins to turn without Lan Wangji’s help. His breath sticks in his throat even though he knows this is how the door should open. He cannot help but be surprised by how easy it’s been to get this far. How it has taken only a singular jade token and a burst of spiritual energy to unseal a door that is said to contain the nightmares of the land.

The sound of the final bolt unlatching resounds. Lan Wangji heaves the door open and steps inside. 

He is met at once with the intoxicating fragrance of the heavens. In the pitch black of the room, it swoops over him like a wave of the ocean, flooding his airways and constricting his chest. Sweet, ever so sweet. Like a sprawling grove of the fabled peonies that bloom in the gardens of heaven but do not grace the earth. Lan Wangji cannot fathom why it smells like this here. He had expected to face blood and death and misery here, not pin-drop silence and a scent so heady it leaves him dizzy.

It takes a moment for him to shake it off. The room is steeped in a darkness that’s inexplicably different. His torch flickers like it has met with a draught, but the paper talismans plastered across the walls and strung from the ceiling do not so much as flutter. In all honesty, Lan Wangji had not expected to make it this far. Being struck down at the entrance of the tower had been the most likely outcome of tonight. And yet here he stands inside the talisman chamber, not a hair out of place. So far.

He places his torch in the rusted old wall mount, illuminating the whole room. The firelight reveals the furthest wall of the chamber to not be a wall at all, but a large iron hatch. Lan Wangji immediately looks away. It will be easier if he pretends he does not see it, does not know what is on the other side. He has been entrusted with a very important task, he cannot let the fear bubbling shamefully under the surface of his skin break through and stop him.

With a hesitant hand he reaches for the nearest talisman. The paper is as crisp to the touch as a freshly written scroll, no signs of age anywhere to be seen. Lan Wangji studies it closely. He has to check every character, every brushstroke, even the blank spaces between the lines of ink, to make sure everything is exactly as it should be. There are so many talismans he cannot see the stone walls beneath them, three thousand to be exact. It will almost certainly take him the whole night to check them all. He gets to work at once, unwilling to spend a moment longer here than is required. 

By the time he reaches the very last of the talismans, there is a slight shakiness in Lan Wangji’s limbs. His already minimal reserve of spiritual energy feels entirely depleted after reactivating three thousand talismans. But nowhere amongst them has he found anything strange or amiss. The room too has remained completely still and silent, as if it were any other room in the Cloud Recesses. It does not make any sense. The screams still ring in his ears, the sight of the lifeless bodies still fresh in his mind. And yet he has just spent hours deep within the heart of the tower but not a single speck of dust has moved out of place. 

Anyone else in his place might begin to doubt whether there really is anything on the other side of that looming door. Whether it might all be fairy tales to terrify children and keep disciples in line. But Lan Wangji knows better. He steers well clear of the welded iron, not willing to tempt fate.

His last task before he can return to the safety of the Cloud Recesses is to reactivate the protective seal beneath his feet. The stone ground has been engraved from wall to wall, much like the rest of the tower. But here molten metal has been poured into the carvings, turning the entire floor into an expansive seal. Lan Wangji kneels in the middle of the room. The cut on the palm of his hand is conveniently still open, all he has to do is press lightly on it for rivulets of blood to pour out. He places his bleeding palm into the centre of the seal, watching it gradually light up in a strange red glow.

A slight darkness passes before his eyes. His fatigue is catching up to him. He has to lean forward on both hands to stop himself swaying. The seal is warm under his palms and Lan Wangji feels oddly reluctant to move, like he could sink right into sleep on this stone floor. A light breeze moves through the room and the veil over his face flutters with it, the perfumed air once again sweeping over him. He closes his heavy eyelids and takes a deep breath. It would be so easy to just lie down, nestled in the safety of so many protective talismans. Just for a bit, just while he regains his strength. Nothing could possibly touch him here. 

He’s almost settled himself into a sleeping position on the floor when the breeze blows again, ruffling his hair. He huffs at it, amused. And that’s when he hears it. 

“Lan Wangji.”

Whispered right into his ear. He shoots up at once, the haze instantly clearing from his mind. There is nothing, no one else in the room. Everything looks exactly as it has since the moment he stepped into the room; undisturbed, abandoned. Except the paper talismans now rustle and sway with the wind while the flame of his torch remains completely still. The seal beneath his feet is still glowing the same as it was, but Lan Wangji is no longer sure it was ever meant to glow at all. He steps back quickly. He’s completed his task, there’s nothing left for him to do here. He needs to head back at once.

The breeze blows again, curling around him warm and sweet. Then a whisper against the shell of his ear, crystal clear.

“Lan Wangji.”

He immediately grabs his torch and makes a run for it. A part of him expects the door to slam shut in his face right as he gets to it, but he manages to make it through. By some miracle he remembers to snatch his token from the door as he slams it behind him. He thinks he hears the seal locking itself back into place but he cannot stop to check. His legs refuse to stop running, the beat of his heart thundering. He starts to descend frantically down the stairs, tripping over the darkness, and has to raise his torch high to light his way to safety. Only his stomach lurches at the sight before him. 

The engraved sigils that had been so pristine and untouched, now drip dark red with blood. He stumbles away, aghast, but there’s nowhere for him to go. The blood covers the walls as far as the eye can see, all the way down to the bottom of the tower. Lan Wangji can hear his own blood pounding in his ears, in his head, his heart feeling like it might pump right out of his chest. He cannot remember a single way to slow it down right now. All he can do is sprint down the steps as fast as his legs can carry him. Laughter echoes behind him, loud and menacing. He takes the stairs several at a time. It feels like he’s being chased by the wind. There are only a few flights left now when the wind brushes at his ankles, plucking at the hem of his robes. Lan Wangji decides to jump down the remaining flights, plummeting straight towards the door of the tower. 

Once he’s through the door he throws his whole body against it to slam it firmly shut. The same door that had taken several guards to heave it open now easily complies to his will. The guards startle, raising their weapons.

With a shaking hand he lifts his token. “It is I.” His voice is croaky, the words barely intelligible. 

There is silence from the guards, and then the sound of metal scraping as they sheath their swords. Lan Wangji stumbles away from the door to let them reseal it using their tokens. The first light of dawn seems to have broken through while he was in the tower. Yet his eyes still cannot see clearly, hazy as they are.

One of the guards approaches him, steps hesitant. He hands over a piece of cloth and for several long moments Lan Wangji looks down at the white fabric, completely out of it. It’s not until the guard taps his own wrist that Lan Wangji realises what it’s for. He puts the cloth over his wrist and holds it out. The guard places two tentative fingers over his pulse. Lan Wangji can hardly even feel the touch through the material, but it still makes him jump. The guard is checking to see if he’s been compromised by resentful energy. Lan Wangji isn’t entirely sure he hasn’t been. He can barely feel a thing outside of the tightness in his chest and throat.

But the guard nods at him, giving him the all clear. Lan Wangji feels his legs carrying him down the mountain but doesn’t remember telling them to do so. The way down is so much quicker than the way up had been, or perhaps it passes by in a blur. He finds himself back within the halls of the Cloud Recesses before he knows it, and the familiar walls look down at him with disappointment. Like they can hear his heartbeat, see the fear wafting from him like smoke. He is the chosen disciple and yet he is afraid. Shame curls in his gut. It is not an emotion he is unfamiliar with, but it’s not one he’s had much use for in recent years. There is no reason for shame when one follows the righteous path. But here he is, astray and ashamed.

He walks himself to the Discipline Quarter. There is already a short queue of disciples waiting outside, despite the early hour of the morning. They all stand a measured three chi away from one another, heads down and completely silent. Lan Wangji joins them, making his footsteps loud as he has been taught to. This way they are all alerted of each other’s presence without making the mistake of speaking, and no one will accidentally look upon the face of another. 

It is not long before another set of footsteps are heard making their way down the hallway. They all turn to face the wall, away from the approaching individual, but the footsteps come to a stop right beside Lan Wangji.

“Disciple.” He recognises Lan Qiren’s voice. No more words are said but he knows he must follow Lan Qiren into his study. He must deserve a punishment greater than what the Discipline Quarter can offer. He follows after the man, always remaining several chi behind, and bows as soon as he enters the room, ready for whatever punishment might be doled out on him. 

“Rise.” When Lan Wangji straightens, Lan Qiren is already seated behind his desk. “You are well.” There is a hint of surprise in Lan Qiren’s voice, as if he had not expected to see Lan Wangji alive and well again. Lan 

Wangji understands. He himself had not expected to make it through the night.

The room remains silent until Lan Wangji realises Lan Qiren is looking for a response. “Yes, Venerable Xiansheng. The task is complete.”

“I see.” There is more silence. “And what offence has led you to the Discipline Quarter?”

Lan Wangji swallows, his voice weak when he reveals, “This disciple felt… afraid.”

“That is your offence?” Lan Wangji nods and Lan Qiren says, “Tell me what happened in the tower.”

He shudders and recalls, “Nothing. Everything was as it should be. I did as instructed. But—” His breath speeds up again. “As I was leaving I heard—”

“What did you hear?” The question is asked with urgency. 

“Noises.” Something stops him from saying what he actually heard. “I am not sure. I ran,” he admits, shamefaced. “Forgive me, Xiansheng. This disciple is not worthy. ”

“Are all the seals in place?” At Lan Wangji’s nod Lan Qiren lets out an audible exhale. “Disciple,” he begins, but then stops himself. “Wangji.” 

Lan Wangji jolts. He has gone two decades without ever hearing the sound of his name being uttered. And now he’s heard it several times in the same night. He thinks Lan Qiren means it as a kindness, but it sounds strange, disconcerting, coming from him. Like he’s saying it wrong, like it doesn’t belong in his mouth. Not anymore, not since Lan Wangji has heard it elsewhere, wispy tendrils of the voice still wrapped around his ears. His skin feels too tightly stretched out over his bones.

“You have been chosen for a reason. You are an honourable disciple,” Lan Qiren reminds him. “But even the best of disciples is weak. It is what separates us.” He draws a horizontal line with his finger on the desk between them. It leaves a dark line in the dust. “Mortals are not infallible. Your mind is susceptible to evil until the moment you ascend.”

A shiver travels down Lan Wangji’s spine. He remembers how close he’d been to letting his guard down right there in the middle of the tower. How he’d turned tail and ran at the utterance of his own name. He is weak indeed.

“You must not see anything, you must not hear anything. It is all a trick.” Lan Qiren taps the centre of his forehead. “Do not let yourself fall into madness. Do you understand?” 

“Yes, Xiansheng,” Lan Wangji says with a bow. 

“You may rest for now. The night was long.” Lan Qiren stands abruptly. Lan Wangji hastens to follow. “You shall continue with your duty tomorrow.” And with that he is dismissed. 

On still weak limbs Lan Wangji drags himself down to his room where it is silent and empty. But whispers still echo in his ears. He clamps his hands over his ears but the sound only gets louder. He repeats Lan Qiren’s advice to himself, again and again. ‘Do not let yourself fall into madness’. As if saying it enough times will make it true. 

Lan Qiren should have let him feel the blunt pain of the discipline stick. It is what he deserves. He digs his thumb into the palm of his hand, right where the flesh is sliced open. But the sharp, stinging pain he expects to feel does not come. Lan Wangji opens his eyes, shocked when he finds the skin of his palm completely whole. Perhaps he has got his hands mixed up, he thinks. But when he checks his other hand he finds it equally unscathed. The flesh that had been cut open and bleeding profusely not long ago has knitted itself together in the space of just hours. Not even a scab or any tenderness remains. It is like there was never a cut at all. He would think himself completely mad, delirious to the point of imagining wounds and blood that never existed at all, had it not been for the dried blood still painting his fingers.

Lan Wangji screws his eyes shut tightly. He does not wish to know.

———

Sleep has always been a solace. Lan Wangji doesn’t dream. Perhaps in his childhood he may have had a dream or two, but even this is a faint memory. He could not possibly guess what these juvenile dreams had been about, and there has been nothing since except complete silence. For years his sleep has been empty, devoid of any dreams or disturbances. But today he dreams. And in his dream he sees a man, tall and clad in dark robes. Lan Wangji never looks upon his face, his gaze remains lowered even in the dream. He does however hear the sound of this man’s voice. It is the same unforgettable voice, the one that had whispered in his ear. The soft echo of his own name reverberates.

He sleeps until the sun has reached its zenith, peaceful as he has ever been.

———

Night has fallen, as it always does. Lan Wangji finds himself at the bottom of the tower. The air is as still as before, but the flame of his torch leans backwards, reaching out for the door. Like it’s reluctant to head up. But it has no choice. He carries it up the steps, breath held in anticipation. The walls are no longer covered in blood. He does not know if they ever really were, or if it was all in his head the whole time. He would not be surprised either way. 

It is still just as easy to reach the top of the tower and open the door to the talisman chamber. Again he braces himself, but the room looks exactly the same when he steps inside. Gone is the red glow emanating from the ground, leaving the place looking dark and undisturbed. But Lan Wangji knows better. He will not repeat the same mistake again, he will not let his guard down today. 

Talismans flutter around him, like birds ready to take off, in a breeze that does not exist. He grits his teeth and begins to check them. They’ve gone years without ever needing to be looked at, so why they must now be checked and reactivated daily he’s not quite sure. Still he examines each one meticulously, looking over his shoulder the whole time. His hand grips the hilt of his sword tight enough to make it bleed. Or it would, had it not miraculously healed overnight.

Then there is a sound. It gets lost amongst the rustling of the paper at first and he doesn’t even notice it at first despite his vigilance. Then he hears it again and it makes him pause, still unsure if he’s heard anything at all. When several long moments pass and there is only silence, Lan Wangji turns his attention back to his work.

He is only about halfway done with the talismans, and then there is the dreaded seal he must activate. Just the thought of it sends his stomach into knots, but it is perhaps the most important part of this whole tower, turning a simple building into a spiritual cage, capable of trapping even the strongest of evils. The only reason why Lan Wangji has, against all odds, entered this room and yet still lived to see another day is the seal welded into the ground. That, and the iron hatch at the far end of the chamber. 

Lan Wangji shivers. One of the talismans that hangs from the ceiling refuses to activate on first go. He tries again, and then again, sending a slightly stronger burst of power at it, but it still refuses to budge. There is no mistake in the characters that form the talisman, not even a line out of place. He blinks up at it in confusion, head tilted and a frown on his face.

And that’s when he hears it again, no doubt about it this time. Laughter echoing around him, from one side of the room to the other. But it is nothing at all like the terrifying cackle that had chased him out of the tower, sinister and dark. No, this is amused, airy, as bright as the first rays of sunlight at dawn.

Perhaps Lan Wangji is not in the best place to judge, he has not heard real laughter in years. Not since he was a child, and even that was never so loud or free as this. He doesn’t even know what it feels like to laugh, cannot recall ever having done it himself. Laughter has always been forbidden in the Cloud Recesses, sinful as it is. But something about this laughter sounds distinctly melodious to him. There is a sweetness to it, a mirth. When it chimes in his ear Lan Wangji feels a tug inside him.

But it is all a trick, he reminds himself. The sort of trick that had him almost fall asleep on the cold stone floor of this very talisman chamber. He tries to shake himself out of it, focusing instead on the task at hand. Nothing in this tower can be called bright, or sweet. Not the fragrance, not the laughter, nor the soft notes of the dizi. Nothing. It is all a trick. 

He has no sense of time within the darkness of the tower but it feels like he is wading through thick mud. Familiarity has not made his task any easier. If he hadn’t counted them himself he would think the number of talismans has increased overnight. He has more than half still to go and the talisman before him remains unresponsive. It is possible that time moves slower in here. The scriptures speak of how the flow of time differs in the heavens. Seconds pass at a snail’s pace. A day in the heavens is worth several mortal decades. Could the antithesis of heaven also work by the same rules, each blink of the eye lasting several hours? 

Suddenly the talisman above his head, stubborn as it was, lights up by itself. It has somehow awakened without Lan Wangji doing anything. His head whips around in surprise but there is nothing for him to see. Nothing to explain how a talisman of this strength could come to life without needing any spiritual energy. Upon touching the paper he feels the energy thrumming through it, clear as day. He quickly lets go and steps away. That doesn’t make any sense. It’s impossible. Why would he—

Lan Wangji grits his teeth and stops his train of thought immediately.

“Golden.” 

The same voice that had whispered the syllables of his name, that has been replaying in his mind ever since. It takes a great deal of strength for Lan Wangji to not react. He must ignore. If he wishes to keep his sanity intact he must ignore everything the tower throws at him, just as Lan Qiren has instructed.

“Just like your mother.”

Lan Wangji freezes. He has no choice. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out what is meant by that; his eyes, the colour of them light like the golden flame flickering on the wall behind him. His hands shoot up to his face to make sure his veil is still in place. He finds it exactly where it should be, draped over his head, covering every feature. Even his eyes. It should be impossible for anyone to know the colour of them behind a veil opaque enough that he struggles to see out of it at times. His heart races.

He wishes he could tell himself that it is all in his head, a figment of his imagination, but Lan Wangji does not remember his mother’s face. The few familial relations he has known have all had eyes of a normal colour. He has certainly assumed that the distinct hue of his must be inherited from his mother, a fleeting connection to a long dead woman he has shamefully clung onto. Unbecoming behaviour for a good disciple. But no one has ever told him for sure, they have only ever mocked him for the unnatural colour. 

“And just as beautiful too,” the voice whispers, closer than ever. 

He whips around in its direction. To do what exactly, he is not sure, but he stops in his tracks when he sees what’s before him. Tiny sparks from the torch mounted on the wall are parting ways from the flame and floating towards him. Like a hoard of glowing fireflies, only they come to a standstill, hovering in the air with some kind of purpose. They swirl and twist around each other, like paint stirred by an invisible brush. And then he starts seeing it for what it is; tumbling hair, a smiling mouth, sparkling golden eyes. The sparks have come together to create the image of his mother.

Lan Wangji draws in a gasping breath. He did not remember her until this very moment, long faded as she was from his memory. But seeing the distinct lines of her face recreated, it all comes flooding back to him. A barrage of memories he had thought lost to time. The smile she reserved just for him, the way laughter danced silently in those unusual eyes, the quiet melody of her voice, lulling him to sleep in her soft lap. 

The sparks move ever so slightly and her smile widens, her eyes squinting with joy. A mere trick of his mind would not be able to conjure up such a vivid image of a woman he had long forgotten. No, this is more than that. There is a familiarity in the lines of this painting. If he didn’t know any better he would insist it could only have been made by someone who had seen her, who knew her. 

When the sparks finally begin to disperse, Lan Wangji foolishly wishes he could follow them. He rocks forward onto the balls of his feet, pulled helplessly after the fading mirage of his mother. It feels like a part of him fades with them. 

———

That afternoon after he is finished copying scriptures with the other disciples, Lan Wangji does not leave empty handed. Between the folds of his robe he slips a blank piece of paper to take with him to the privacy of his room. There, in an almost feverish state, he paints the image still fresh in his mind; the beautiful woman with the golden eyes. He cannot bear to forget it ever again but his pitiful memory cannot be trusted, so he must preserve her in ink and paper.

He has never painted a portrait before this. The scriptures and texts he has spent hours on end copying contain only pictures of heavenly sceneries and war epics. But once he sets his brush to paper he finds the method to be all the same. It is not a challenge to get her likeness down. The finished work looks as much like her as he could have possibly hoped for.

However as he watches the ink dry, the reality of what he is doing finally sinks in. It is forbidden for disciples to own any possessions besides their sacred forehead ribbons. Even their simple white robes are washed and shared amongst them all. Only the sinful hold attachments to objects of the mortal world, that is what they have always been taught. But this rule has already been broken for him by the Venerable Xiansheng. A sword, a jade token, an ink stone and brush to rewrite talismans that aren’t working; he has accumulated a small pile of belongings at Lan Qiren’s behest. So what harm could possibly come from holding onto a single leaf of paper.

He hides it carefully in the space between the wall and his bed to prevent anyone from finding it. But not too far out of reach, so that he can still take it out to look upon every day and refresh his memory. And now that he is capable of dreaming again, a part of him hopes that if her face is the last thing he sees before he sleeps, he might just meet her in his dreams that day.

———

There are nights that go by where absolutely nothing occurs. He climbs up the tower, checks three thousand talismans, and then climbs back down again, exhausted like one would be after completing any other laborious task. Then there are nights when it takes him at least twice the time it normally would, where everything goes wrong and he stumbles down the tower, fearing for his life. 

After the first few nights he quickly realises that Lan Qiren is unconcerned with the details and does not reckon any punishment is due, regardless of Lan Wangji’s conduct in the tower. As long as the talismans and seals are in place and the iron doors locked, it does not matter which rules he might have broken in the process; do not be fearful, do not show cowardice, do not run, do not doubt. As long as Lan Wangji does not see, does not hear, does not think about what he has seen and heard and felt. 

His bones itch. But the heavens are pleased with him, he is told, and that is an honour like no other. 

It does not, however, feel very honourable to trip and fumble his way up the spiralling stairway as he is tonight. His torch had extinguished the moment he walked past the guards into the tower, and refuses to reignite no matter how much spiritual power he expends on it. So he resigns himself to feeling his way up the tower in complete darkness. It is not easy but he is somewhat familiar with the way by now. There are three hundred and thirty three steps altogether and if he counts his way up he knows which of those are creaky, which ones ought not to be stepped on, and where he must turn onto the next flight. He sticks closely to the wall the whole way up, grateful that they remain free of blood tonight.

Up in the talisman chamber he tries to relight his torch once again, but it does not produce even a spark. Not even a hastily written fire talisman works. In a moment of frustration he tosses the useless piece of wood aside. It hits the wall and then rolls across the floor, sending the talismans aflutter in its wake. Lan Wangji sighs in embarrassment when it rolls all the way back over to his feet and finally comes to a stop.

Stood in the middle of the chamber in complete darkness, Lan Wangji feels terrified. There could be a dozen swords pointed at his throat, or a vengeful demon ready to tear his body to shreds, and he would be none the wiser. He has no idea what to do. He’s seen shrine cats toy with small mice, tossing them from paw to paw, still alive and squealing, until finally deciding to rip into them. It does not feel dissimilar to this. 

He almost turns to the room in hopes that it might help him. He remembers how a talisman had come to life by itself some days earlier and wonders if that could happen again.

“How audacious. You seek my help in imprisoning me?”

Lan Wangji’s hair immediately stands on end. The voice is not disembodied like it usually is. Tonight it sounds like there is someone else in the room with him, just a few paces away. 

“You Lans are ever so foolish.” His tone is mocking. His tone. The voice is undeniably male, but Lan Wangji should know better. The creature that stands before him in the darkness is no man.

“Oh, but woe is me!” The creature laughs. The sound is now familiar but no less disconcerting. Lan Wangji tries to slowly inch backwards, heart in his throat. “How could I ever say no to a face like that?”

Lan Wangji pauses, unsure if he’s misheard. The pattern on the hilt of his sword has embedded itself into his skin but he cannot loosen his grip. A small flash of light catches his eye as a talisman on the wall comes to life. Then another, and another, and—

“But first I wish for something in return.”

There it is, the catch. No further talismans light up. His grip around his sword has become slick with sweat. The room remains utterly silent as the creature says nothing more. Lan Wangji’s mind runs wild with every horrifying possibility. He will be made to pay with his soul, certainly. 

“Don’t be scared, little one,” the creature sing-songs. “I only wish to see your face, and to hear your voice. If you have one.”

It feels like a bastardisation of Lan Qiren’s instructions to him; to not see anything, to not hear anything while he is up here. He’s already gathered that the creature can read his every thought. It is a chilling realisation. He cannot even attempt to outwit something that already knows what his next move will be. 

A light breeze blows around him. Lan Wangji’s free hand instinctively goes to his veil, clutching the hem with a bloodless fist. He has been strictly instructed to remain veiled while in the tower, but it was never explained why. The creature has been able to see his face regardless, a veil useless in the face of his tricks. This too is surely a trick of some sort, but Lan Wangji is aware he has little choice. It is either this or he retreats down the mountain and admits failure to Lan Qiren and the elders. He is certain they will not take it lightly. He may survive the talisman chamber but there is no chance he would survive the discipline whip, no disciple has ever survived it. 

It is forbidden for disciples to look upon the faces of others, but he will not be the one seeing, he reasons with himself. The creature is free to do what it wills, it is already beyond salvation. With a deep breath Lan Wangji slowly lets go of his veil and nods slightly. The breeze blows again, tousling the fabric, and he waits for it to unveil him. But all it does is tease at the edges and nothing more. 

“I can’t hear you,” the creature says in his song-like voice. 

Lan Wangji is more than aware that he is being toyed with but there is nothing he can do right now except play along. He is unsure how to respond to the creature, but after thinking for a moment he wets his lips and says quietly, “You may.”

“I may what?”

“You may… lift my veil.” The words feel laden, out of place. Like there is more to them than Lan Wangji knows.

“Ah, that’s more like it.” 

Lan Wangji waits for the wind to blow once more and do away with his veil this time but instead hears footsteps slowly approaching. They are light and soft against the hard stone floor, but unmistakably there. His pulse thunders in his temple time with each step. It is still completely dark in the room. No amount of squinting allows him to see a thing, but he certainly feels. The footsteps come to a stop and Lan Wangji can feel the presence right before him. He is standing mere inches from the creature.

In the silence of the chamber he can hear the quiver in his own breath. There is no greater evil than the creature that stands before him; destroyer of nations, extinguisher of life, neither man, nor demon, but something altogether inexplicable. An indestructible entity powered by the hundreds of thousands of souls he has crushed. There is more blood on his soulless hands than there is water in all the great oceans of the world. 

The same hands that now skirt over Lan Wangji’s veil, rippling the fabric in their wake. No matter how immense the creature’s power might be, it should not be possible for him to have a physical presence. Not when the iron hatch is still sealed. It makes Lan Wangji’s blood run cold. 

The veil slides over his face as it’s pulled off. “Only a fool would keep hidden a face like this.” 

He still cannot see a thing, but he can feel the creature’s touch hovering by the side of face. Like a hand poised to strike his skin. He finds himself frozen to the spot, unable to get away. Ever so slowly the hand makes contact, warm fingertips brushing a lock of hair that has fallen in front of Lan Wangji’s face. His eyes fall shut as the hair is tucked gently behind his ear, a featherlight touch grazing past the shell of his ear. Lan Wangji takes a shuddering breath. He can feel the warmth of the creature’s body right before him. There is so little space between them that Lan Wangji feels the creature’s exhale against his own face. That too should not be possible. The creature is not human, he has no need for breath. And yet here they stand, sharing the same mouthful of air between them, back and forth, back and forth.

The hand has not moved from his hair. Barely there and yet ever so present. “The heavens write odes to such beauty.”

Even in this moment of peril, Lan Wangji thinks to himself, what would a creature like this know of the heavens?

The creature responds with laughter. “This creature knows a lot more than you’d think.” His fingers trail through Lan Wangji’s hair, like he’s trying to untangle knots that don’t exist. Lan Wangji finds himself tilting into the touch. “This creature knows that there is no sight in heaven quite as pleasing as the one that stands before me. Nothing quite so alluring.”

Lan Wangji cannot comprehend what is happening. He feels bewitched and wonders if a spell might have been cast on him. The words the creature speaks spark a warmth in him that he has never felt before. Like the heavens are pleased with him. “What have you done to me?” he asks.

“I have done nothing at all.”

It is still impossible for Lan Wangji to move away, to untangle the creature’s hand from his hair. “Unhand me,” he grits out. “At once.”

“Hmm?” The creature sounds amused. “But I am not keeping you held, Lan Wangji.”

The sound of his own name, velvety in the creature’s mouth, makes him shiver. He knows the creature must feel the way it runs through his whole body. It takes a long, treacly moment for him to realise what was said. When he tries to step away he finds nothing stopping him, the fingers easily unwinding from his hair. He blinks, not quite sure why he hadn’t tried to move away sooner. 

The creature sighs, “Now I suppose I must keep my end of the bargain.”

It is not until he sees the first talisman light up that Lan Wangji remembers their ‘bargain’ at all. He whirls around towards the creature, rules long forgotten as he tries to catch a glimpse in the feeble light. But the chamber is as empty as it always is no matter which direction he looks towards. The talismans light up one after another in quick succession, as if activating them requires little effort. What takes Lan Wangji hours at a time happening in a matter of minutes. The talismans twinkle in the dark like a thousand lanterns burning in the night sky. It is a sight to see, but Lan Wangji is too preoccupied looking around the room like a man crazed, trying to find any trace of the presence that had been here just moments ago. 

Then from behind him he hears, “You think paper can stop me?”

Lan Wangji turns around again but all the talismans go out at once, instantly plunging the room back into darkness. Disorientated by the dark, he loses his footing and stumbles right into something. Something that was certainly not there before. Warm and soft, like he’s walked straight into another person. He scrabbles away quickly, only to walk backwards into what feels like the same warm body. Something curls around his waist; an arm, he thinks, pulling him into the body behind him, a solid chest against his back, broad and ensconcing. Lan Wangji freezes, feeling catatonic with fear. Warm breath blows against the nape of his neck, making his hair rise on end.

“Ask me to unhand you and I will,” the creature whispers right into his ear, throwing Lan Wangji’s words back at him. His breath tickles the shell, and Lan Wangji feels his ears burn red hot. “Just say the word.”

“I…” Lan Wangji’s breath gets stuck in his throat, unwilling to say the words he knows he should. The ghost of a touch travels along his ear, down the column of his throat, into the crook of his neck. He imagines warm lips hovering just above the skin, not making contact but felt so viscerally. He has never felt anything quite like this, so close yet so far. The arm around his waist edges further, each tip of the finger dragging sparks across his abdomen. “I do not…” They’re still not the words he knows he should say, the words that had come so easily before.

When the creature lets out a huff of laughter, Lan Wangji feels it on the sensitive skin at the crook of his neck. “You forget I can read your every thought.”

The flush on his ears spreads rapidly across his whole body, heating him up from the inside out. It takes all his might to pull himself away, not because the creature is keeping him in place but because his own body does not wish to move. But somehow he manages, turning abruptly towards the door and exiting the chamber as fast as he can. No one stops him. No one chases him down the tower today, but he still sprints down the endless winding stairway with his heart trying to beat its way right out of his chest. 

It is foolish to expect a restful moment to so much as pass his way after such a night, even within the sanctuary of his own room. His thin mattress feels too firm, too cold, the sheets do not hold him like he wishes they could. If it were possible to see shadows in complete darkness he is sure his mind would conjure them up, a lingering aftertaste of what he’d felt tonight. He tosses and turns for what feels like an age before sleep finally, finally overtakes his rattled body. 

But even then he sleeps fitfully, feverishly, a thin sheen of sweat covering his body despite the cold. For hours on end he is plagued by dreams of an unspeakable nature. And when he wakes up, he finds himself in a state that is too shameful to speak of. 

———

He has not entirely been relieved of his normal duties as a disciple, his afternoons are still spent chopping and weaving and cleaning. He does occasionally wonder if the other disciples have noticed his absences, worried they might grow resentful that he is excused from morning tasks, not knowing he has been assigned a greater responsibility. Or perhaps they do not even recognise him amongst the sea of identical disciples, just as he does not know them.

It is one such afternoon when Lan Wangji is sat before his spinning wheel, spinning the fine fibres of silk in a room full of disciples doing exactly the same. Their clacking wooden wheels are collectively rather loud, but it is the only noise that can be heard anywhere on the mountain at this time. Which is why the small gasp that escapes his mouth when his wheel begins to spin out of control is still difficult to conceal.

Ever since he began his duties as guardian of the tower, manual tasks have gradually been getting easier for him to complete. It is a sure sign of the increasing cultivation strength that comes from continued use of one’s skills. What was heavy now seems light, what was arduous now seems easy. But not this easy! Lan Wangji thinks he might be going mad. His spinning wheel is spinning entirely by itself, even after he has let go of it.

He glances surreptitiously at the disciples around him. It doesn’t look like anyone else is in the same predicament as him, and they thankfully seem none the wiser about whatever is happening to Lan Wangji’s wheel. He hastily resumes his position before anyone notices that thread is being spun without him doing any spinning. They might accuse him of employing crooked tricks to avoid hard work when he isn’t doing anything of the sort. He isn’t doing anything at all. He is simply holding the silk fibre as his wheel does all the work for him, churning out bundles and bundles of thread without any effort. 

And that is just the beginning.

Footsteps accompany him as he makes his way through the silent corridors of the Cloud Recesses, skipping by his side like a light-footed companion. They stop when he stops and move when he moves. Wet footprints appear and disappear on the slate grey rocks, like his companion is pacing around in boredom while Lan Wangji does his laundry in the stream. A spray of water hits him, followed by a snicker of laughter. Lan Wangji wipes his face dry and looks around in confusion. Then suddenly he sees a large splash further downstream, almost like someone has taken a running jump right into the water. But he is completely alone at the stream, not even a bird in sight. 

That night he walks into the talisman chamber with the desire to confront the creature that dwells there. He wants to ask why he’s doing what he’s doing, what he’s getting out of causing so much meaningless mischief in Lan Wangji’s life. But in the end he does no such thing. He remains silent and the room remains equally silent in response. No laughter or music, even the seals do not give him any grief tonight. Several hours later as he makes his way down the tower and out into the morning light, he feels even more puzzled than he had before.

Some days it is hard to convince himself that he is not simply going crazy. Like when the scriptures he has painstakingly copied out start warping before his eyes, inked characters turning into shapes, faces, funny caricatures of his teachers with their features exaggerated and distorted. Or when in the blink of an eye his loom has woven a silky red ribbon out of pure white thread, the contrast of it eye-catching against his pale skin. 

Other times he finds himself uncaring of whether it is madness that overtakes him or something else entirely. Like when the shadows on the walls of his room come to life to keep him company during his endless hours of solitude. He watches as they dance to the gentle sound of the dizi that only he seems to hear, taking the shape of small rabbits hopping around, butterflies fluttering through the open sky, dragons weaving through the clouds.

He watches those same shadows slowly transform into two swordsmen jumping from rooftop to rooftop as they cross swords, like a well practised dance. Lan Wangji observes each move carefully, almost mesmerised. Their form is far too perfect and precise to be a figment of his imagination when he knows next to nothing of swordplay. It leads him to wonder if the creature might have been a skilled swordsman once upon a time. There is no such mention in any scripture or text. According to everything he has learnt, a creature so dishonourable could never wield a spiritual weapon, but his shadow tells an entirely different story. 

And sometimes, when the silence of his four walls feels especially maddening, Lan Wangji takes out his own sword and mimics the movements of the fighting shadows. The shadows wait for him to follow along, repeating their steps when he gets something wrong, leaping and bounding with joy when he gets it right on the first try. It no longer rattles him as much to remember that disciples are forbidden from wielding weapons. After all, Xiansheng had been the first to break that rule for him.

What does rattle him however is the praise from Lan Qiren. Mistakes do not ever go unpunished in the Cloud Recesses, but never before has he seen approval being shown, let alone by Lan Qiren. It feels unnatural, a strange, forced quality to it. Lan Qiren praises him for his hard work as guardian of the tower, noting the decrease in incidents ever since Lan Wangji began his duties. However Lan Wangji knows that he has not done anything of much worth, for if the creature’s words are to be believed then the daily activation of the talismans and seals means nothing to him and isn’t what is holding him back.

It seems much more likely that the creature has simply found himself a new toy in Lan Wangji, something novel to keep himself entertained with, instead of the usual death and destruction. Whatever the reason, Lan Wangji is content if he is in some way able to help save his fellow disciples from harm’s way, even if it means bearing the brunt of the creature’s attentions alone. He has come to expect the tricks that are thrown his way, almost finds himself looking forward to them on some days, whether it be a spinning wheel that spins itself or wind that whistles sweet tunes in his ear.

However it is still difficult to reconcile this harmless mischief with the tales of warning he’s grown up with, the horrors he’s heard the creature is capable of. Lan Wangji finds himself wondering just how long the creature’s interest in him will last, and what might happen once he gets bored. What will become of the Cloud Recesses then.

What will become of Lan Wangji?

———

He dreams again. It seems that all he’s capable of doing these days is dreaming. 

It’s not that Lan Wangji is overly forgetful, if anything he has always had an exceptional memory. Out of all the disciples he has always been the best at memorising scriptures, remembering rules, learning new lessons. But over the years he has seen a lot of his memories from his childhood disappearing within the blink of an eye. Not forgotten but stashed away somewhere far out of reach, hidden from view to make his days easier.

He is very young and very cold in this particular memory, lying prone on the floor of his room. The aftermath of a particularly hard punishment. His stomach rumbles loudly but he can no longer feel the hunger, just as he can no longer feel the burn in the palms of his hands. There is not much more to this memory and he assumes the dream will end soon enough, except that a pair of shoes enter his line of vision as someone walks up to him. When he looks up he sees a young boy looking down at him, a deep frown on his face. This isn’t part of the memory, there was no other boy in the room with Lan Wangji that day, least of all one so unusual looking.

The boy is a bit older than Lan Wangji is in the memory, by a couple of years perhaps, and dressed in messy, dark coloured robes, a red ribbon in his hair. And when he kneels down to get closer, Lan Wangji sees his big, curious eyes, the sunkissed colour of his skin, and it knocks him out of his daze a little. He shouldn’t look directly at the other boy’s face, it is entirely forbidden, but Lan Wangji is still young and still makes mistakes sometimes. His sore palms are evidence of that.

The boy helps Lan Wangji sit up. He shouldn’t be doing that either, it is forbidden to touch anyone to whom he is not related by blood, and there is no one like that left anymore. Everyone is gone, in some way or another. But the boy doesn’t seem to care about the rules very much. He doesn’t even hesitate as he takes both of Lan Wangji’s hands into his own, turning them palm side up.

“Oh, what have they done to you, little one?” he asks softly, looking aghast as he inspects Lan Wangji’s sore hands. When he blows on the horizontal strike marks left by the discipline stick, Lan Wangji flinches. “Shhh, let me take care of you.”

Then, ever so gently, he begins to rub something onto Lan Wangji’s hurt palms, a balm of some sort. It stings at first and his whole body tenses up. But as the boy continues to soothe the balm into his skin, the pain slowly starts to subside. The strike marks fade too and his skin gradually returns to its normal colour.

Lan Wangji however is preoccupied with the way the touch feels. Someone is holding him, he can feel the warmth of their skin against his own as they fret over him. Someone is worried for him, cares about him. No one has held him like this, not since—

Lan Wangji takes a deep, gasping, shuddering breath, as he suddenly remembers why he’s been lying here for days with his hands struck raw and his stomach empty. His mother has died. She has left him forever. No one has held him like this since the day she died. Instead they have beat him for asking for her again and again, for not understanding that she won’t ever return.

“She’s gone,” he croaks, his voice little more than a tearful whisper.

The boy stops what he’s doing and looks at him. When he sees the tears gathering in his eyes he takes hold of Lan Wangji’s face between his own hands and leans forward to press a gentle kiss to Lan Wangji’s forehead. “Let it all out, little one.” 

The dam is instantly broken like that was all Lan Wangji needed to hear, and he begins to sob terribly. The boy hugs him close, letting Lan Wangji bury his crying face against his chest. “There you go, let it all out,” he coos, stroking the back of his head.

And Lan Wangji does exactly that, finally letting it all sink in, finally letting himself cry. His mother is gone and he is allowed to cry, no matter what Lan Qiren or any of the elders tell him. 

———

The reports he writes for Lan Qiren have stayed the same since the beginning; brief and void of much detail. There is no real reason to disclose all the ways in which Lan Wangji may or may not be going mad. He is completing his duties and that is all Lan Qiren and the elders are concerned with anyway. 

As he walks through the corridor leading to Lan Qiren’s study he hears hurried footsteps heading towards his direction. Where once his only instinct would have been to immediately turn to face the nearest wall, now his ears perk up in a strange anticipation. However what he sees is not what he expects at all. Rushing down the corridor is a group of guards carrying something between them. It is only as they push past him to head into Lan Qiren’s study does he realise that what they are carrying is a body.

Lan Wangji finds himself frozen in place, watching as the guards place the body on the ground. The thin shroud draped over it slips off and he sees it for what it is; a young disciple, still alive but only barely. His body spasms and convulses on the hard polished floor. His skin is mottled with black, spidery veins and his eyes have turned a disturbing milky grey. He is just a boy, a child, who cannot have crossed his first decade yet. His sleeves fall well past his fingers, only pallid fingertips peeking out. He still has a way to go before he has fully grown into his robes. But a painful groan is dragged out of the boy’s lungs, long and haunting, and with one final spasm he falls still.

Deathly still.

Lan Qiren stands over the boy, as do the guards, simply looking down at him. The Venerable Xiansheng is a revered master of all fields of study, the arts of medicine and healing amongst them. Yet he had not made a move to do anything. He had not even questioned the guards about what happened to the boy, or attempted to revive him as he took his last gasping breaths. The boy’s glassy blank eyes stare up unseeingly. Nobody makes a move to shut them. 

When Lan Wangji steps forward to do something, anything, Lan Qiren startles. Like he had not been aware that Lan Wangji was standing just outside the open door of his study. The look on his face is hard to decipher. Lan Wangji does not have much experience reading, or even seeing, people’s faces, but even he can tell Lan Qiren’s expression is unnaturally blank. 

“Good. You have witnessed this for yourself,” he says. The choice of words makes Lan Wangji’s skin crawl. But he does not let it stop him from bending down to pass a hand over the boy’s face, closing his eyes. His skin is still warm, soft to the touch as most children are. He does not recall any rules that might forbid him from touching the skin of the deceased, but he doubts he would pay much heed if there were.

Lan Qiren calmly steps over the child's dead body, like it is not even there, like it is not due any respect, to come and stand beside Lan Wangji. “Your complacency has led to yet another needless death,” he says and strikes Lan Wangji hard across the face. “The guardian of the tower has failed.”

Lan Wangji feels sick to his stomach. He has caused this. He is the reason why this innocent child before them is dead. Bewitched by pathetic tricks and shameful mind games, he has become negligent of his duties as guardian of the tower. How could he ever believe anything the creature does to be harmless. The pale, lifeless body before him is more than proof of his depravity. But Lan Wangji is the one to blame for letting his guard slip, letting this happen. He is deserving of the greatest of punishments. 

He bows before Lan Qiren, but before he can get a word of apology out, Lan Qiren stops him, “You must do better.” He waves his hand in a dismissive gesture. “Now leave.”

A guard quickly slides the door shut behind him as soon as he has stepped out. Lan Wangji frowns at the closed door in utter confusion. He does not understand how he is being permitted to walk free after such failure. Surely he ought to have been punished, ought to have had his back flayed open for causing the death of an innocent child. He thinks of the small body still lying on the cold floor on the other side of the door and feels the sort of rage bubbling inside him that he has only ever read about. 

That night cannot come any sooner. As soon as a black curtain has fallen over the sky, Lan Wangji storms his way up the mountain. He can taste his fury in the back of his throat, simmering and ready to spill. The journey is shorter than it has ever been and before he knows it he is entering the talisman chamber. His torch once again extinguishes by itself but Lan Wangji is neither frightened nor amused by the creature’s antics tonight. He flings the useless torch wood against the wall so hard that he’s sure he hears it splinter and split in two.

With his now-free hands he draws his sword and points it at the empty talisman chamber. “Why did you kill him?” he demands. He has never heard his own voice so loud, so raw. The resounding silence he gets in response only makes him louder. “He did nothing to you, you coward! He was just a child! Why did you kill him?!”

Despite the complete darkness he feels it the moment the creature becomes physically present in the room. Lan Wangji is certain he will be struck down for his insolence, but he does not care. The image of the boy convulsing on the ground is still fresh in his mind. 

But what he hears is a quiet, “I did not kill him.” 

“Do not lie!” Lan Wangji strikes out furiously with his sword. He knows he cannot do much damage with his sword to a being as powerful as the one before him, despite how much easier it has gotten to wield. But he’d witnessed the poor child bleed and die before his own eyes, and now this creature, this demon, will not speak the truth. 

His sword-wielding arm is gripped tightly by an invisible hand, holding him in place. “I did not kill him,” the creature repeats softly, closer this time. Lan Wangji’s arm is forced back down by his side against his will. The hands do not let go of him, holding on tight to his wrists. Lan Wangji trembles. Fury and shame pour out of him like waves in tandem. He feels surrounded by the warmth of the creature’s body. 

“Do not blame me, blame them.” Lan Wangji struggles, enraged even further by the nonsensical words, but the creature’s hold only tightens. “The boy tried to leave.” He shakes Lan Wangji. “He tried to leave, so they killed him! I did not do anything.” Lan Wangji feels a palm being placed firmly on the centre of his chest. “You know it in here, Lan Wangji.” His touch feels searing. “I did not do anything.”

His heart beats against the creature’s palm. Lan Wangji feels himself break and crumble like an effigy of sand swept over by the tide. He is held upright only by the hold the creature has on him. His muffled sobs are loud in the quiet darkness that surrounds them. He no longer understands what’s happening, what on earth is going on around him. Nothing makes sense anymore. He is doing his duty and still lives are being lost. Perhaps has fully succumbed to his madness, just as Lan Qiren warned. Or perhaps the whole mountain has gone entirely mad and Lan Wangji is the only one still clinging onto his sanity by the tips of his bloody fingers. He just does not know.

All he knows is that at this moment he is being carefully lowered onto the ground. The stone is inexplicably soft beneath him. A gust of sweet air washes over him, and he thinks he hears the soft melody of a dizi playing somewhere in the distance, like a lullaby. His eyelids feel heavy, weighed down, desperate to shut no matter how hard he instructs them otherwise. After a long and fruitless fight he finally gives in and closes his wet eyes, letting himself accept the welcoming embrace of sleep.

When he wakes up at long last, he does not know how long has passed. It could be hours, or even days. It certainly feels like it may be. He feels well rested in a way that is unknown to him, a calmness settled in his bones. And when he opens his eyes he realises that he is lying in the warm comfort of his own bed, in the safety of his own room. His sword is propped up against the far wall, resheathed. His shoes and outer robe have been removed, placed neatly where they belong, but his forehead ribbon remains tied around his head, askew after a long, deep sleep.

He has no idea how he got here, has no recollection whatsoever of making his way back to his room. He wonders if he resealed the seals in the chamber before making his way down the mountain, if he locked the iron door behind him. He wonders if he made his way back down at all. 

———

The young disciple is still dead and the taste in Lan Wangji’s mouth is still terribly bitter with that knowledge. But Lan Qiren’s blank face flashes in his mind, as does the quiver that in the creature’s voice as he insisted he was not to blame for the death of the boy. Lan Wangji has been within arm’s reach, close enough to touch for months on end now. If bloodshed is what the creature desired then Lan Wangji ought to have been the victim of choice.

Just yesterday he’d been brimming with rage as he hauled open the door to the talisman chamber. Today he is overflowing with questions. Still he braces himself, one hand clutching the hilt of his sword as tight as he can, as he steps inside the chamber.

At first he’s not quite sure what he’s seeing. He blinks, and then blinks again as his mind takes several long moments to comprehend. He is not inside the talisman chamber, he is not inside at all. Lan Wangji has somehow walked outside into the darkness. He takes two hesitant steps back, retracing his steps out the door he has only just walked through, and finds himself exactly where he should be; back at the top of the tower, facing the imposing iron door of the talisman chamber. He pinches the skin on the inside of his elbow, hard. The pain is sharp and quickly confirms that he isn’t dreaming, so he steps through the door once again, back into the talisman chamber. 

A small gasp slips from Lan Wangji’s mouth as he is met with the exact same sight before him. He is standing outside, under a pitch black night sky decorated by thousands of brilliant stars. He has seen stars plenty of times before but never have they been so bright, so ample. The sky above the Cloud Recesses is too dull and overcast for them to ever shine so brightly. The night air here is cool as it blows through his hair, unlike the chilly nights atop the mountain. It is easy to conclude that he is no longer in the Cloud Recesses. His heart hammers through his chest. It is forbidden for disciples to ever leave the bounds of the mountain. He has never made the mistake before and never intends to make it again. But he has been tricked and transported somewhere far away, duped into committing a terrible transgression.

Lan Wangji feels sick to his stomach. There is no forgiveness for a sin so grave.

A wispy cloud drifts away in the sky and now the night is lit by a waxy full moon. In the distance he catches sight of a figure standing alone in the darkness. The figure is tall and slender, clad in dark, flowing robes and outlined by the pale moonlight, just like the man Lan Wangji has been seeing in his dreams. Even though his back is faced this way, Lan Wangji can tell that the man is holding a dizi to his lips. The music is by now familiar to him, carried through the silent night air between them, gentle and alluring even at this distance.

He has no choice but to head forward, towards where the man is standing. The ground underneath his feet is soft, loamy. Like the riverbanks and marshes he has read about in books. Water glistens up ahead, reflecting the twinkling starlight. It is still and vast, only light ripples disturbing the surface. He cannot hear the sound of running water and isn’t sure what exactly to call this body of water. It is not a stream nor a river, and is too large to be called a pond. After some thinking he decides it must be a lake. He has read about those too before. 

He picks his way through the tall reeds that surround the lake, glad he no longer bothers wearing a veil past the entrance of the tower. As pleasing as the fireflies are to look at, they do not do much to light the way. He would certainly slip and tumble into the water if he could not see his path well. 

He is just a few paces away when the man lowers his dizi and turns around. Lan Wangji jumps back in fright, barely just remembering to lower his gaze to the ground in time.

“Why are you still scared, little one?” the creature asks. “When you know I will not hurt you.”

There is no point in arguing when he knows his mind is an open book. He does not think the creature will harm him, hasn’t thought so for a while now. There are other, more pressing, things that must be addressed. “Where have you brought me? I demand you send me back at once.”  

It is laughable to demand anything of a being powerful enough to conjure tricks of such magnitude even when locked away in a spiritual prison. But the creature does not laugh at him. “You walked in of your own accord. You may walk out if you wish.” He gestures with his dizi towards the direction Lan Wangji came from. “I do not force, nor do I forbid.”

“No.” Lan Wangji feels his own jaw clenching. “But you do kill.”

“Mn. Occasionally,” the creature shrugs. It makes Lan Wangji’s blood boil. “But if it is A-Rong you speak of then no, that was not me. I have already told you.” 

“A-Rong?”

“Ah, you do not even know the boy’s name,” the creature sounds intrigued. “And yet here you were, seeking retribution for him with no regard for your own life.”

Lan Wangji cannot fathom doing anything different. “He was just a child.”

“So were you, not too long ago. But no one granted you the same compassion.”

He’s not quite sure he understands what that’s supposed to mean. “I— I was not hurt like A-Rong.”

The creature drags the toe of his shoe across the ground, drawing a straight line in the soft dirt. Then he steps cleanly over the line, moving closer to Lan Wangji. “Because you did not step out of line. You would have suffered the same fate as that poor child had you tried.” He tilts his head to look more closely at Lan Wangji’s face. It makes him seem even taller. “And it is not like they were much kinder to you for your subservience.”

“Do not speak in riddles.” Lan Wangji keeps his eyes trained firmly to the ground between them, on the footprints left by the creature in the dirt. “Tell me what happened to A-Rong. How did he die if it was not you?”

“The boy tried to leave the Cloud Recesses.”

Unbidden, Lan Wangji says, “But it is forbidden to leave the Cloud Recesses.”

The creature scoffs, “It is not just forbidden, it is impossible. Any disciple that tries to cross the iron gates of the mountain will suffer a terrible death, just like A-Rong did.”

Lan Wangji frowns. That isn’t right. Disciples devote their lives to the Cloud Recesses because it is the right thing to do, because they want to please the heavens. “Why would anyone want to leave?” Those who leave are damned for all eternity.

“Not everyone is like you, Lan Wangji! No one else is so pure of heart that they cannot see the wrong in what is around them.” He sounds exasperated. “There is a whole world out there for you to see, a life you could be living! So many have wanted that life for themselves, but they have all died trying to escape this cage you call a home.” 

Lan Wangji feels unsteady. “All those deaths were your doing. Everything wrong in this mortal world is down to you.” There is an edge of hysteria in his voice he cannot help. “You are the root of all evil, you are death and destruction. You are the creature!” 

He doesn’t know what he expects, but it’s certainly not that the creature will laugh in his face. “I am all those things and more. More than you could possibly fathom,” he says, voice gravelly and rough. “I could extinguish all life on this mountain in the time it takes you to inhale half a breath. And that’s with the shackles you have me in. Imagine just what I could do without.” Lan Wangji shudders at the words, his eyes fluttering shut. “But I did not kill those disciples. You know I did not.”

And that’s just the thing; the creature is right, Lan Wangji is no longer convinced that the creature is responsible for the death of little A-Rong. It has been niggling at the back of Lan Wangji’s mind this whole time. If the creature wished to kill random disciples he would not have missed out on Lan Wangji, the easiest kill of all. Lan Wangji who stands before him now with his guard foolishly lowered, barely any space between them, close enough to have his throat sliced in the blink of an eye. 

He thinks of all the disciples who have died in a similar manner to A-Rong, and those who have died like Lan Fu. That too had been the creature’s doing, had it not? Lan Fu was an honourable disciple, who had one day suddenly begun to loudly question the doctrines of the Cloud Recesses. Clearly the creature had possessed his body and turned him into a vessel of evil. The elders had no other choice but to use the discipline whip to chase the evil out of him. His mortal body had not been able to survive the ordeal, whipped past the brink of death. But it was an honour to die for the cause of the heavens, was it not?

“The soul of every disciple is bound to the mountain from birth,” the creature tells him. “And any bound soul that tries to leave the bounds of the Cloud Recesses will instantly perish.”

Lan Wangji vaguely recalls his mother saying something similar when he was still young enough to play in her lap, remembers her warning him to never try to leave the mountain or something very, very bad will happen. Lan Wangji had made it a point to follow her every instruction with conviction, without question. Anything he could do to stop her from being sad. 

“See for yourself if you do not believe me.”

They stand together in silence for a long while as Lan Wangji contemplates everything he has been told. His heart beats in time with the chirping of the crickets in the undergrowth. Wind rustles through the trees, weaves between the tall grass, and laps at the water in the lake. The sounds, the sights around him are more pleasant than anything he has seen before, but perhaps the most stunning amongst them all is the way the mist billows around the creature, playing with the hem of his robe, making the red ribbon in his hair flutter about like it has a life of its own. When the breeze blows towards Lan Wangji the edge of the ribbon reaches out and tickles his cheek. He bats it away but cannot stop himself from breathing in the sweet, flowery gust that comes from the creature, blown straight towards him by the wind.

“What is this place?”

“It is a place I knew once,” the creature sighs. “Long ago, when I was just a child.”

“Are we really there?” Lan Wangji wonders aloud.

“In a sense.”

“This is—” He looks around, disbelieving. “How is that possible?”

The creature spins his dizi between skillful fingers, the picture of nonchalance. “You think I have remained locked in your tower all these decades with nothing but stone walls and paper talismans to keep me company?”

“How long have…” Lan Wangji begins, before thinking better of it.

“How long have I been locked away?” As always the creature knows what is on his mind perhaps even before Lan Wangji knows it himself. “A very long time. I’m sure even the stone walls have lost count.” He can hear something akin to amusement in the creature’s voice, as if he is smiling while he speaks. “It does not matter much anyway. What matters is that you are here now.” The creature moves closer, his voice barely above a whisper, “I have been ever so lonely without you.” 

Lan Wangji feels his whole body tremble. He can hear the absolutely wretched sound of his breathing, loud and clear between them. It is like the creature has reached inside his ribcage and pried out the sentiment that Lan Wangji could not convey himself. Lonely. What a strange word. He has spent his entire life so intimately familiar with the word, and yet never known what it meant until now.

But it is just another one of the creature’s tricks, Lan Wangji reminds himself. It does not mean anything, it cannot. The creature has drifted even closer now, his whole body turned entirely into Lan Wangji’s side. Lan Wangji knows he must put distance between them, and tries to do so by turning away from the creature, towards the vast glimmering lake they stand at the very edge of. 

That turns out to be a very big mistake however, perhaps his biggest one yet. For in the undisturbed surface of the lake he sees a reflection that takes his breath away; the creature standing by his side, lit by the glowing moonlight. He cannot make himself look away. The ripples in the water distort the reflection ever so slightly, but it does little to take away from the sight of him. Tall and lithe, ink dark hair billowing around him like smoke. The light of the moon pales in comparison, lacking the warm hue that the creature’s skin possesses. Like there is sunlight shining on him despite the darkness of the night. 

Tales of the creature’s villainy have been passed down from generation to generation. By his own account he has been trapped in the tower for decades on end, enough to have lost count. And he recalls Lan Wangji’s mother’s face as if he has seen her with his own eyes. But the man reflected in the lake is perplexingly youthful, perhaps as young as Lan Wangji himself. How immense must his power be to allow for such miracles? 

Lan Wangji finds himself tilting forward towards the surface of the lake where the reflection lies, distantly wondering if this is what it feels like to be a moth drawn helplessly towards the bright light of a flame. 

“Careful, sweet thing.” The creature clutches him with a hand around his waist, just in time to stop Lan Wangji from falling headfirst into the lake.

Even through several layers of fabric he feels so viscerally, so woefully aware of every pore of his skin that is held in the firm, steadying grip of the creature. They are so close, so unbearably close to each other. From the tips of his toes to the roots of his hair his whole body feels aflame. He closes his eyes as tight as he can, no longer able to trust his own resolve. But that just amplifies the creature’s proximity, his warmth, the sweet smell that surrounds him. Lan Wangji takes a deep, aching breath, and inhales the scent of the creature, otherworldly and intoxicating. He wants to bury himself in it, he wants to drown in it. He wants to—

Lan Wangji yanks himself away abruptly, scrambling to put some distance between them. It takes several, stumbling steps backwards along the soft riverbank before he can take gasping gulps of the cool night air without it feeling like there are flowers from the heavens blooming in his airway. 

True to his words, the creature does not make any attempt to stop Lan Wangji as he hurries away, as he all but runs back in the direction he came from. There is relief when he has picked his way through the reeds and finally sees the intricately carved iron door of the talisman chamber appear before him. Relief and something else, strange and tight in the middle of his abdomen, like knots of rope tying him up from the inside. He shoves it all aside and reaches for the door.

But right at the very last second he finds his resolve crumbling all at once. He cannot stop himself as he turns around to look back. The creature is still standing exactly where Lan Wangji left him, by the edge of the lake silhouetted by the moonlight. He is too far away for Lan Wangji to see his face clearly. Yet the picture it paints in Lan Wangji’s mind is still utterly breathtaking.  

———

All day long he remains visibly distracted. It is just by a stroke of luck that he manages to avoid getting disciplined for his inattentiveness during his daily chores. His mind is far too plagued with thoughts of the previous night to pay attention to anything else. Question upon question festers within him, but asking questions has never been an option in the Cloud Recesses. He will be dead at the hands of the discipline whip sooner than he has any answers. His only option is to see for himself if what the creature said was anything but lies. Nightfall could not come any sooner.

When he steps out into the cold night air that night, instead of making his usual ascent up the mountain, Lan Wangji begins to journey downwards. In the cover of the darkness it is unlikely anyone will notice. It is an especially chilly night tonight and the mountain is shrouded in fog. He cannot see past a few paces in front of him, so does not know when he might meet the end of the mountain.

He has only ever seen illustrations in the scriptures of what the end of the mountain looks like; large, towering gates all around the base of the mountain, protecting the Cloud Recesses from the streams of blood and filth of the outside world, bloodthirsty demons and resentful spirits trying to claw their way inside, their faces twisted and ugly. There is a reason why it is forbidden to leave the Cloud Recesses.

Once he is a sufficient way down the mountain he figures it should be safe to use a light talisman. Using talismans feels like second nature now and he’s activated it within a second. The small orb of light it emits is not nearly as conspicuous as his usual fire torch would have been, but does a good job of showing him the rest of the rocky path down.  

Just a few more paces and then quite abruptly he realises he has reached the bottom of the mountain. He barely just manages to stop his rolling steps in time to not walk right into the gate. The orb of light floats overhead, giving him a clear view through the bars of the metal gate.

Seeing writhing corpses and vengeful spirits would have been less of a shock than the sprawling emptiness he is met with on the other side. As far as the light travels he can see nothing of any significance at all. The greenery from this side carries on beyond the gates, tall trees swaying overhead and mossy rocks underfoot. The night is just as quiet there as it is here. 

From the corner of his eye Lan Wangji catches a flash of movement on the other side of the gate. He immediately zones in on it, the orb of light travelling at his command to illuminate the area. He startles when he sees the culprit; a small white rabbit, long eared and beady eyed. He has never seen one before that was not drawn on the page of a book. It is a lot fluffier than he had imagined it would be, its nose twitching continuously as it sniffles around in the grass. The fur covering the animal’s body looks like it would be impeccably soft to touch. He wishes to call it through the gate so that he may pet it, feeling an inexplicable urge to cradle the animal in his arms. But the rabbit hops away and Lan Wangji remembers what he’s doing down here in the first place. 

He reaches down to pick a small rock at random from the ground. It fits comfortably within the palm of his hand. He lightly cuts one of the fingertips of his other hand and lets the blood drip onto the rock. Then while the blood is still warm, he takes several steps back up the mountain path and hurls the rock as hard as he can, over the gate and out towards where the mountain ends and the rest of the world begins.

Nothing happens at first. The rock simply disappears into the dark of the night without any fanfare. Lan Wangji feels particularly foolish, but perhaps a part of him is also relieved that the creature’s ridiculous claims have no truth to them. The Cloud Recesses is a place of piety and devotion, closer to the heavens than anything else on this earth. Not a cage or prison or whatever it is the creature was implying.

Just as he’s about to turn to make his way back up the mountain he sees a burst of light in the distance where his rock should have landed. The rock has exploded into a burning ball of fire, sending fiery fragments in every direction. Lan Wangji is frozen with shock. The creature was right all along; the disciples are all shackled to this mountain like prisoners.

Lan Wangji does not understand. Why must their souls be bound if remaining on the mountain is the right thing to do. Should it not be a choice that righteous disciples make for themselves? There must be a reason, there has to be. The scriptures and the venerable elders would not lie to them, it is impossible.

As he stumbles his way up the mountain he feels a weariness he has not felt in an age, dragging his tired limbs down. He is out in the sprawling emptiness of the night but he feels surrounded, the fog closing in around him, trying to confine him. It is difficult to breathe through the tightness in his chest. 

He expects to be met with mockery, with gloating in the talisman chamber. But the creature does not show himself that night. There is no one to answer the endless myriad of questions swarming inside of Lan Wangji, slowly choking him, except echoing walls and resounding silence. As if Lan Wangji does not have enough of that in his life already. He wants to pound at the walls till his fists bleed, till the stone crumbles and the walls collapse. He just wants someone to speak to him. 

But all he hears from the creature that night, in a voice that sounds just as weary as Lan Wangji feels, is a quiet,

“Forgive me.”

Or perhaps Lan Wangji is once again just hearing things. 

———

More often than not Lan Qiren is not in his study these days when Lan Wangji goes to deliver his daily report. Preparations are being made for A-Rong’s funeral and the elders are supposedly occupied with keeping the Cloud Recesses safe after the recent attack. Lan Wangji enters the empty study and makes his way over to the desk. There he places today’s report atop the small pile of almost identical pages. It is evident none of his recent reports have been read by Lan Qiren, the pile untouched and collecting dust, yet he is still expected to report daily. Not that it matters all that much, there is never anything of note in his daily accounts. Perhaps there is a word or two difference from day to day, but the pages before him are near identical.

He is walking out of the study just as Lan Qiren walks in. The man startles, which has been happening rather frequently as of late. It causes him to drop the large stack of books and scrolls he was carrying into the room.

“Apologies, Xiansheng.” The scrolls roll in several different directions and Lan Wangji hurries to retrieve them.

Lan Qiren shoulders past him to, quite unusually, recollect the fallen books for himself. He looks harried and Lan Wangji hastens his pace, wanting to avoid further ire. The books are rather old and tattered and pages have fallen out and scattered about. As he gathers them up he notices the messy handwriting. It seems less like pages from a carefully arranged book and more like an unruly disciple’s hastily written notes. At a glance they are completely illegible.

He hands the pages over to Lan Qiren just as the man is retrieving the fallen jade token that looks just like Lan Wangji’s own from the floor. “You may leave,” he says gruffly. 

Lan Wangji quickly moves to obey. He’s about to cross the threshold when he catches sight of an errant page tucked by the door so he stops to pick it up. But his steps falter when he sees what is on the page. Before him is the portrait of a young man, painted by a confident hand. The man wears robes as black as the night and a ribbon in his hair the colour of pouring blood. And on his face, below his bottom lip, is a speck of dark ink. He would think it a mistake, a slip of the brush, had he not already seen the same face reflected hazily on the moonlit surface of a lake.

There is little doubt about it. In his hands is a portrait of the creature. He has not even seen his face clearly and yet he would know it anywhere. His thumb digs into the paper, right where it says,

Wei Wuxian.

It takes a great deal of effort to stop his hand trembling as he hands the paper over to Lan Qiren. As soon as the man sees the portrait his eyes widen and his face drains of all colour. He snatches it out of Lan Wangji’s hand with such force that a corner of the page rips off.

“Just an old disciple,” he explains, quickly stashing it away, out of sight. Lan Wangji had not asked. “Now leave.”

Lan Wangji does not need to be told again. It is a good thing he knows the Cloud Recesses better than the back of his own hand, for he floats through the corridors almost unseeingly. He does not know what is worse; if the Venerable Xiansheng has just lied to his face, or if he has told the truth and the creature really was once a disciple of the Cloud Recesses. 

No, not ‘the creature’. He has a name now, a name Lan Wangji has never heard before but that feels strangely familiar. Like he was always meant to know it, like his tongue is already accustomed to the taste of its syllables before he has even uttered it once. 

Wei Wuxian; a thing of nightmares, a demon from the depths of hell, a young disciple of the Cloud Recesses, red ribbon in his hair and a bamboo dizi in one hand. 

The newfound knowledge weighs heavily on him as he checks the talismans and seals in a once again empty room. He watches as the talismans flutter, listens to the quiet rustling of the paper as he waits for something, anything to happen. But there is no sound, no movement, no sign of anything beyond the gentle breeze circulating in the room, and perhaps for the first time in his life Lan Wangji finds his patience growing thin.

He licks his dry lips and whispers, “Wei Wuxian.”

The breeze immediately stills. The previously airborne talismans fall limp against the stone walls all at once. His torch flickers in an alarming manner, the flame growing so large and wild for a moment that he worries the paper-filled room might catch fire. 

Then a figure appears right before him. The tips of their shoes almost touch, enough space for a breath and nothing more between them. “Wei Wuxian.” 

The sharp inhale is loud and clear in the quiet of the room. Wei Wuxian somehow manages to step even closer. “Look at me.”

Lan Wangji is alarmed. He keeps his eyes fixed to the fraction of ground between them. It is forbidden to look upon the face of another. Nothing good can come of it.  

A hand reaches up to carefully tuck a lock of his hair behind his ear. Lan Wangji does not have to chase the ghost of a touch as the hand moves down, two fingers placed solidly beneath his chin to tilt his face up. “Look at me, sweetheart. Please.”

And Lan Wangji finds he cannot possibly refuse a request like that. He lets his face be tilted, lets his eyelids slowly fall open. At long last he lets himself look at Wei Wuxian.

There is a drum beating somewhere nearby, deafening and irregular. It takes a while for him to realise it is the sound of his own heart. Wei Wuxian does not let go of him, still holding his chin gently. “Say it again.”

“Wei Wuxian,” Lan Wangji breathes. It feels like it comes from within the very depths of his chest.

“Oh, how I have longed to hear that name…” Wei Wuxian sighs.

It is impossible to look away, to even blink. He is frozen in place, staring at Wei Wuxian’s striking face, drinking in every feature like a man parched. A word reverberates in Lan Wangji’s mind, as loud as the drumbeat of his heart. It is not one he’s ever had use for before, certainly hasn’t uttered with his own two lips. But now as he glances upon the face before him, it is all he can think.

Beautiful. 

The moonlit reflection and the portrait in Lan Qiren’s study both pale in comparison to the real thing. His eyes doe-like, jaw sharp, mouth pink and beguiling. Without any flaw or imperfection. Like a siren calling to him in the night. He knows it cannot be real. It is undoubtedly another trick, the image clawed straight out of Lan Wangji’s own mind, his shameful desire personified to tempt him. He cannot let himself fall for such tricks.

“Flattered as I am,” Wei Wuxian laughs. Lan Wangji’s next breath is ragged, overwhelmed. “It is no trick. This is the very face gifted to me by my mother.”

Lan Wangji can feel himself turn a violent shade of red. Of course Wei Wuxian could still reach into his soul and read his thoughts like they were spelled out for him on a scroll. But he does not know how to contain his thoughts, how to change their shameful nature. 

“You do not need to hide from me, Lan Wangji.” He brushes his thumb lightly over Lan Wangji’s chin, just shy of grazing his bottom lip. Lan Wangji’s eyelids flutter. “You do not need to change anything.” His eyes are reminiscent of the starling night, trained as they are on Lan Wangji’s own. “You are the light in this tempestuous darkness.”

Lan Wangji shudders. His insides are caught in a perpetual tangle, knotted and woven over themselves like the silk threads in his loom. He does not know how to unweave them, he does not know if he wants to. 

Not when the echo of Wei Wuxian’s touch follows him through the day, fingers brushing lightly against his as he walks through an empty corridor, an exhale against the nape of his neck as he combs his hair, a steadying arm around his waist when he tires. Not when the sound of Wei Wuxian’s voice keeps him company through the tedium, teasing and jesting till Lan Wangji has to fight to hold back his laughter, something he has never before experienced in his lifetime.

Not when Wei Wuxian tugs gently at Lan Wangji’s outer robe with an invisible hand, lamenting over the boring white colour as Lan Wangji’s heart speeds up dangerously. He rushes to wrap the robe tighter around himself when all of a sudden it turns a stunning, startling shade of bright red. The tassels that hang from his sleeves and his headdress sway back and forth. There are no reflective surfaces anywhere in the Cloud Recesses, but he doesn’t need to see to know what kind of robes these are. His whole body flushes.

The robes quickly revert back to their original plain white, but he remains flustered for the rest of the day, worried they may turn red again in front of his fellow disciples.

“What do you want from me?” he asks Wei Wuxian in the privacy of the talisman chamber. 

“Want from you?” Wei Wuxian looks up from where he’s twirling Lan Wangji’s hair around his finger. He lifts the lock of hair up to his own face, drags it along his cheek, along the corner of his mouth, and holds it there. Lan Wangji shivers. “Nothing at all.”

“Then why must you torment me so?” He cannot keep the frustration out of his voice.

“You must know how pretty you look,” Wei Wuxian leans closer to whisper into his ear, “When I torment you.” The same word sounds so different from his mouth, like it has a different meaning altogether. “Blushing pink. From here,” He runs a fingertip faintly along the shell of Lan Wangji’s ear, barely even there. “To here.”

His knuckles whisper across Lan Wangji’s flushed cheek, not touching and yet still causing gooseflesh to rise in its wake. “All the way down…” He continues his path along Lan Wangji’s jaw, down to his neck, tracing the length of his throat. His mouth quirks up when Lan Wangji swallows. His fingers finally press down right where the lapels of Lan Wangji’s robes meet, and drag down his sternum. “Like a newlywed bride.”

Lan Wangji’s breath stutters under his hand. Wei Wuxian looks up at him from beneath his lashes, fingers still tracing patterns over his robe, directly above his heart, eyes full of mirth and something else indescribable. Lan Wangji has never seen anything quite like it. 

———

He winces when the bright morning sunlight hits his eyes the moment he steps through the door of the talisman chamber. No matter how many times it has happened by now, it never fails to shock him when the door leads him to somewhere new. It takes a moment for his eyes to adjust to the brightness before he can look around to see where it has brought him today. When he sees the mountain in the distance behind him he freezes with dread. 

“Come with me.” Wei Wuxian appears before him, a bounce in his step. “I want to show you something.”

“The Cloud Recesses…” Lan Wangji turns to look behind him again. It is forbidden to leave. It is impossible to leave. Even though it is just another one of Wei Wuxian’s tricks, it still does not feel right.  

“Don’t worry,” Wei Wuxian says. “They can’t hurt you, not while I’m here.”

Lan Wangji startles as Wei Wuxian takes him by the hand to pull him along. His palm is warm in Lan Wangji’s, slotting perfectly together. They bound across the grassy woodland, weaving through the trees and between the bushes. It is difficult to look anywhere but down at their joint hands, even as their uneven path threatens to trip him up. He wonders if the skin of Wei Wuxian’s hand is also buzzing like his is. When the ribbon in Wei Wuxian’s hair streams behind him in the wind and brushes Lan Wangji’s face, he does not bat it away this time. 

As they venture further, the trees start becoming more and more sparse and the grassy ground underfoot turns into a winding road. They slow down to follow the road at a more leisurely pace, walking together in silence. Neither of them lets go of the other’s hand. 

Then they turn a corner and Lan Wangji finds himself frozen once more. “Where have you brought me?” he asks, staring at all the people milling about up ahead. 

“Caiyi Town, not far from the bottom of the mountain.”

The name is wholly unfamiliar, not mentioned in any text Lan Wangji has come across in the Cloud Recesses library. It does not look even remotely like the horrors the scriptures describe will be found at the end of the mountain. “Are we really…?”

“In a sense,” Wei Wuxian shrugs, repeating his words from the lake. 

“What—” Lan Wangji looks around, completely bewildered. “What is this place?”

Wei Wuxian gives his hand a light squeeze. “This is a market. Where people come to buy and sell things.”

Lan Wangji nods in understanding. He knows what a market is, he has read about it before in a book, but it seems his imagination had not done a very good job. They are still a short distance away from the actual market but there is already so much noise, so many people around. He finds his steps dragging as they approach, wishing he could hide behind Wei Wuxian.

His apprehension must be palpable, for Wei Wuxian stops by his side and says, “Trust me.” Lan Wangji wants to laugh at the sheer absurdity of the statement, but he follows along. 

The buildings on either side of the road are covered in flags and colourful banners. He tries to figure out if there might be some rule or reason behind all the bright colours, but there doesn’t seem to be any. The shop owners have simply decorated their shops with whichever colour takes their fancy. It is shocking to see so many bright colours all in one place, but he does not feel particularly drawn in by any of them. Only the bright red of the streamers that decorate the street, fluttering in the wind in a familiar fashion, really catch his eye. 

Some of the signs hanging from the shopfronts and stalls look nonsensical. Either they are names of wares he does not know of, or jibes that he does not understand. He stares at one such sign, trying to understand the meaning of the chalk donkey drawn on it, when something flies overhead. He whirls around to see someone tossing bales of hay from a building on one side of the market to the other, directly over their heads. Wei Wuxian seems delighted by the hay raining down all over them. The yellow haystalks look like spun gold as they fall around Wei Wuxian’s laughing face, reflecting the warm sunlight. Lan Wangji cannot move.

Someone shoves past Wei Wuxian, knocking him forward into Lan Wangji’s space. “Come on,” he says, still laughing as he brushes away the hay from his hair. 

The further into the market they go the more people there are about. There are too many strange sights and sounds around to keep his eyes trained to the ground no matter how much he might wish to. Every face he sees is different to the last, their features, their clothes, even the words he hears them use are incomprehensible at times, perhaps belonging to a different language. 

No one pays them any mind, too busy to look twice at the two of them dawdling about, but Lan Wangji is beyond captivated. A mother walks by with an infant on her hip. The child babbles happily to himself and the woman drops a kiss on his downy head. Lan Wangji’s gaze follows them to the other end of the marketplace, all the way until they are out of sight.

The man behind one of the stalls nearby starts shouting loudly. Lan Wangji flinches at the sudden noise. 

“Don’t worry, little one,” Wei Wuxian reassures, once again sensing his worry. “He’s just trying to tout his wares.” But he directs Lan Wangji away from the loud hawker, over to a quieter spot where there is a food stall run by an old lady.

The smells wafting from the stall are unlike anything he’s smelled before. The air somehow tastes sweet, fumes of warm sugar and dough reaching his nose before he’s reached the stall. Lan Wangji finds his mouth instinctively watering despite not recognising any of the foods the woman is selling. He feels like an animal sniffing the air hungrily. 

“Back again?” the old woman asks, barely looking up from whatever it is she’s frying.

“I just can’t get enough of your food, Popo.” Wei Wuxian leans against the stall. “You have magic in those beautiful hands of yours, I’m sure of it.” 

The woman swats him away with both hands. They are wrinkled and knobbly with age. “What a sweet talker.” She rolls her eyes but her face is smiling. “You better be careful,” she says to Lan Wangji. “He could sweet talk a person out of house and home.”

He already has, Lan Wangji thinks to himself, though it makes little sense. He watches wide eyed as the two of them exchange jibes. It is hard to believe what he is witnessing.  

“Here, try this.” Wei Wuxian holds a bun of some kind out to him. There is steam rising from its freshly baked surface. 

Lan Wangji shakes his head. “Indulgence is forbidden.” He swallows down the moisture that is collecting in his mouth. 

Wei Wuxian looks at the bun in disbelief. “Indulgence?” 

“It is unnecessary.” Food in the Cloud Recesses is always plain and limited to only what is necessary, so that disciples do not become greedy. 

“Nothing your heart desires is unnecessary, Lan Wangji,” Wei Wuxian says plainly.

Lan Wangji falters for a moment. “But greed is wrong.”

“Hmm, that it is.” Wei Wuxian takes a large bite of his own bun. “And yet with every new moon your venerable elders throw themselves a feast.” His tone is derisive as he mentions the elders.

“A feast?”

“Those extravagant spreads you and your fellow disciples prepare every month.” He tilts his head curiously, still chewing his food. “What do you suppose those are for?”

Lan Wangji blinks. By now he should have stopped being taken by surprise by Wei Wuxian’s awareness of everything that occurs in the Cloud Recesses. “They are offerings to the heavens.”

“How peculiar. Heaven was never so hungry when I was there.”

Surely Lan Wangji has misheard. “What do you mean—”

But Wei Wuxian doesn’t let him finish, holding the bun up to his mouth. “Now eat before it goes cold.”

He pushes it against Lan Wangji’s lips, leaving him with no choice but to open his mouth and take a tentative bite. The bun is still warm and the small bite is full of flavour, the inside of the bun filled with some kind of sweet filling. He has swallowed the delicious mouthful before he knows it and licks his lips to savour the remaining taste. 

Wei Wuxian laughs, “Here.” He feeds Lan Wangji the rest of the bun and watches closely as he savours and swallows each bite. “I think you have a bit of a sweet tooth, Lan Wangji.”

Lan Wangji is just about to ask him what that means when he hears the sound of porcelain being smashed. A raucous bunch of men, unsteady on their feet, have broken out into a brawl over by the small tea house. Tableware and cutlery become collateral damage as they charge at one another, other patrons of the tea house quickly fleeing. 

“Oh dear!” the old lady panics as she watches the tussle spill out onto the road and head closer towards them. “My stall…”

The men are just a few paces away now and have drawn their swords. Cultivators, Lan Wangji realises. And the powerful kind, if their large swords are anything to go by. He steps in front of the woman and reaches for his own sword, hoping to protect her.

“Hmm?” Wei Wuxian glances casually over his shoulder at the fighting cultivators. “Oh, don't worry about them, Popo.” His eyes glow a bright, burning red for an extended moment, and suddenly the group of cultivators falls still, their heavy swords clanging to the ground. “Now give us some tanghulu, would you?”

Lan Wangji watches in complete bafflement as the cultivators walk off with their heads down, quiet and orderly as they quickly disperse from the marketplace. Like it had not been them but someone else coming to blows mere moments ago. The vendors around them breathe visible sighs of relief, putting down the precious wares they’d been clutching close to their chests. 

He turns back to Wei Wuxian hoping for an explanation of some kind, but is instead met with an ingenuous smile and a stick of something red and sticky looking held up to his face. “For you, Lan Wangji.”

“What is this?” He eyes it with suspicion. 

“Tanghulu. I think you’ll like it.” Wei Wuxian bites into his own identical stick and his mouth comes away reddened and shiny. 

Lan Wangji quickly looks away, accepting his stick of tanghulu. Very hesitantly he takes a bite of the strange snack, unsure what to expect. The burst of flavour on his tongue is like nothing he could have imagined. It is so overwhelmingly sweet it makes his throat seize up, his eyes water. Lan Wangji can’t get enough. He goes in for a second, third bite without needing any encouragement, getting the sticky sweet syrup all over his mouth in the process. 

“A sweet thing with a sweet tooth,” Wei Wuxian laughs, watching him polish off the tanghulu.

He takes the empty bamboo stick from Lan Wangji’s hand, tossing it aside, and wipes the sticky residue off his lip with a thumb. Lan Wangji feels his stomach jolt, amplified a thousandfold when Wei Wuxian brings that thumb up to his own mouth to lick it clean. He cannot stop himself from staring, eyes wide and trained to Wei Wuxian’s mouth where his red lips are wrapped tight around the digit, like he’s savouring the taste of the syrup. It looks like it tastes delightful. Lan Wangji swallows at the thought.

They get shooed away by the old lady, who says something about Wei Wuxian scaring all her customers away. He swipes up one last bit of bread before dashing off with Lan Wangji’s hand in his. A handful of pigeons are squabbling over a lone morsel up ahead. Instead of eating his bread Wei Wuxian tosses it towards the pigeons as he passes by. Lan Wangji watches curiously as they peck at the bread together, no longer having to fight over a single bite. 

Everything is so new and unfamiliar. The smell of smoke thick in the air, the ringing of bells as an ox cart passes by, the shocking sight of the large oxen themselves, laughter amongst a group of old men doing something with a stack of cards, children playing together freely in the middle of the market, no one and nothing to stop them as they shout and squeal.

He feels like a child himself, seeing the world for the first time. He cannot help but stop and stare in a way that he knows is most uncivilised, but Wei Wuxian does not reprimand him. Instead he looks amused, maybe even fond, as he points out the next banal thing for Lan Wangji to marvel at.

Like the cartload of flowers up ahead. It is overflowing with flowers of every colour, every size imaginable. Some are shaped so strangely they almost look like colourful birds from afar. Unlike the other vendors, the man selling them is making no effort to attract customers and yet people are lining up to buy from him.   

The breeze blows towards them, bringing with it a strong gust of fragrance from the flowers. It is reminiscent of heaven. Lan Wangji is unreasonably drawn to it, wants to follow the smell all the way into the cart. 

“Did you want something from here?”

“No, just wondering…” He watches as yet another person walks away from the stall with an armful of blossoms and a pleased look on their face. “Why are these people buying flowers?”

“It could be for any number of reasons. Decoration, offerings, as a token of affection for someone they love.” Wei Wuxian grins cheekily at him, “Want one?”

Lan Wangji shakes his head. “Offerings?”

“You see, most temples and shrines don’t require lavish feasts,” Wei Wuxian explains wryly. “The heavens are usually satisfied with just a stick of incense and a couple of flowers.”

“You speak often of heaven.” An intriguing amount, really.

“Too often for a creature so wicked?” 

“Mn.” There is no point in denying.

Wei Wuxian throws his head back in laughter. “Oh, Lan Wangji! Has there ever been a man so honest as you?”

Lan Wangji frowns. “Lying is forbidden.”

“And you think everyone abides by that?”

His first instinct is to say yes, to tell Wei Wuxian that of course everyone in the Cloud Recesses abides by the thousands of rules. It is not like they have much choice. But then he remembers little A-Rong, Lan Qiren’s lies, the portrait of Wei Wuxian. He recalls his own broken rules; the details he omits from his daily reports, the painting of his mother hidden away in his room, Wei Wuxian’s hand in his, his dark doe eyes looking directly into Lan Wangji’s, the echo of an arm around his waist.

Wei Wuxian smirks at him and Lan Wangji looks away with a huff. Something lands on his left cheek. A light pink petal, no bigger than a thumb, that has drifted over from the flower seller’s cart. It is velvety to the touch, nameless yet when he holds it up to his nose, it is sweet, familiar. It reminds him of—  

“Sure I can’t tempt you with a flower or two?” Wei Wuxian asks. Lan Wangji tosses the petal at his face and is rewarded with the brightest of laughter in response. 

A young man walking by gives them an amused smile. He has a single rose in his hand, freshly acquired from the flower seller. Lan Wangji’s curious gaze follows him as he walks over to the waterfront. There is a woman already there waiting for him, and when she spots him approaching she waves excitedly. His pace picks up and he’s by her side in a moment, handing her the rose. Words are exchanged between the pair but they are too far away for Lan Wangji to hear anything, though he can sense the woman’s shyness even from a distance.

As Lan Wangji watches them, the man and woman gradually drift closer to one another, until finally embracing. A gasp escapes Lan Wangji’s mouth at the shameful display and he hurriedly looks away. His eyes land on where his own hand is still clasped in Wei Wuxian’s. The sight is not entirely dissimilar to the pair by the water. The tips of his ears start to burn. He moves to extract his hand from Wei Wuxian’s hold.

But Wei Wuxian doesn’t let him, instead tightening his grip. “Ah, young love…”

Lan Wangji startles for a moment, before he realises Wei Wuxian is referring to the couple by the water. “Shameless,” he mutters, not entirely sure who exactly he is referring to.

Wei Wuxian pulls him closer by the hand. “Nothing shameless about love, Lan Wangji.” He shifts his grip so that their fingers are intertwined together. His thumb strokes the back of Lan Wangji’s hand. Lan Wangji feels it everywhere. “Nothing at all.”

“Move out of the way, Pretty-gongzi!” A gaggle of children comes hurtling towards them, led by a little girl with long plaits that swish wildly behind her. 

Lan Wangji immediately moves to give them way, but Wei Wuxian does the exact opposite and stands right in the children’s path with his hands on his hips. “No, you move out of my way!”

The children are too fast, too close, to be able to stop themselves in time. Lan Wangji stares in horror as the girl runs straight into Wei Wuxian’s legs while the rest of the children careen to either side to avoid him. Two of them bump into Lan Wangji and barely even notice through all their giggles as he steadies them. He hears a scream coming from the girl and whirls around just in time to see Wei Wuxian scoop her up and swing her around. Lan Wangji runs towards them, terrified for the girl’s safety but comes to a halt at what he sees.

The little girl has her head thrown back in loud, cackling laughter as Wei Wuxian spins her in the air. “Gongzi!” she squeals. “Put me down, gongzi!” 

“What's that?” Wei Wuxian stops spinning around. “You want me to put you down?”

But when he makes to lower the girl back down to the ground she whines, “No!” She stomps her little feet, making dust rise. “Again, again!”

Wei Wuxian lifts her up again and tosses her into the air before catching her. Her plaits bounce comically. The children gather around Wei Wuxian as he spins the girl around again. She laughs with such uncontained glee that Lan Wangji feels the corners of his own mouth lifting, a smile threatening to break out across his face. It is a feeling most unusual. 

“Me too, gongzi! Me too!” the other children chorus, pawing at Wei Wuxian as they plead for their own turn. 

It is hard to believe just how much noise they’re capable of making collectively with their high pitched screams and squeals of excitement. It is causing quite the commotion right in the middle of the market. Passerbys keep turning to see the cause of all the noise, and have to dodge and weave around Wei Wuxian and the crowd of children to get to where they want. Yet no one stops them. No one admonishes them for the noise, for their laughter, for playing. They get a few funny looks here and there but most people just smile and shake their heads fondly as they walk past. As they let the children be. 

The children look so happy, like they’re having the time of their lives in Wei Wuxian’s, no, in the creature's arms. They do not look like they know fear, like they’ve ever had to anticipate having their palms, their backs, the soles of their feet being struck raw for laughing, for speaking, for looking up, for crying out for their mothers. 

He watches in awe as Wei Wuxian gives each child a go, picking them up one by one and spinning them every which way. He pays no heed to their grubby hands, their muddy shoes, the spittle that flies from their mouths as they cackle in his face. There is a child under each arm and one on his shoulders when he turns towards Lan Wangji. The smile that adorns his face is blinding. 

Lan Wangji feels his breath stutter to a complete stop. He presses a shaking hand to his chest to feel for life. It is a surprise to find his heart still thrumming, his lungs still expanding, rattling and slamming against his unsteady palm. He feels adrift, unmoored, like nothing he has ever felt before. He doesn’t know the name for this feeling, doesn’t need to know. 

He is unable to move as Wei Wuxian lowers the children safely back onto their own two feet, and makes his way over. “You look like you’ve just seen your whole life flash before your eyes.”

And isn’t that exactly so. Everything his life is, has been, could be. In the space of mere moments, in the vision of Wei Wuxian’s smile. 

“I do not want…” He cannot finish the sentence, doesn’t know how to. I do not want to leave this place, I do not want to go back, I do not want to feel this way, so confused, so alone. 

Wei Wuxian smiles sadly, like he knows exactly what Lan Wangji means.

It is the smile that stays with him long after he has walked out of the market, out of the talisman chamber, footsteps slow and reluctant. His thoughts are plagued with nothing but Wei Wuxian; his intriguing words, his knowing smiles, his comforting touch. Even when he rests his head on his cold, hard pillow in the solitude of his room, all he can think about is Wei Wuxian. Sleep usually comes easily since knowing Wei Wuxian, but today it evades him. He feels restless, tormented by his thoughts, by the lingering presence of Wei Wuxian.

He tosses and turns and that’s when he notices something unusual. There is something on his bed. With a cautious hand he reaches out to feel around, grabbing a fistful of whatever it is and lifting it up to see. In the dim, barely there light of the first slivers of dawn, he unfurls his fist to find a dozen soft petals crumpled in his hand. They had certainly not been there when he’d laid down, but now they cover the entirety of his bed, as far as he can feel. 

He inhales deeply, breathing in the sweet, celestial smell of the peonies, and thinks, Wei Wuxian. It could be no one but him, the fragrance unmistakable, now as familiar to Lan Wangji as if he had known it for years, as if it were his to keep, to hold close and own. He brings his hand up to his face, still tightly clutching the handful of petals, and breathes it in. The soft petals sprinkle down on his overheated skin, making him hiss at the sensation.

It is like Wei Wuxian is in the room with him, close enough to touch, to breathe in, to sink into. He is all around, in every direction, surrounding Lan Wangji everywhere, in every way. So strong and sweet, he can taste the scent in the back of his throat. He turns his face into his pillow, covered as it is in petals. His breathing grows shallow, rapid. He cannot get enough of it, cannot sink himself deep enough.  

Lan Wangji buries himself in the achingly familiar scent of the sheets, submerged in the memory of Wei Wuxian, in the aftertaste of him. It is as if Wei Wuxian has lain in these sheets before, leaving behind a reminder, an echo of himself. It is like he is nestled within these sheets at this very moment alongside Lan Wangji, beside him, beneath him, above him, all over. 

He lets the redolence of flowers, of Wei Wuxian, settle onto his skin like a thick perfume. Lets it completely smother him as he drags his hands through his robes, through his hair, through the abundance of petals that cover the sheets. It causes an overwhelming gust of fragrance to erupt, just as Lan Wangji does, his head thrown back, heels digging into the mattress. 

Petals rain down on him from above like a light drizzle in a cool spring afternoon. Soft and sweet and soothing. He lets himself lie there and breathe it in. 

———

It cannot be said that Lan Wangji finds no enjoyment in the tasks assigned to him as a disciple. He likes working hard and spending his time productively, which is why library duty is something he has always looked forward to. The silence in the library is not asphyxiating like it is elsewhere in the Cloud Recesses. Here it serves a real purpose; to not disturb those who wish to study and learn from the texts kept within these four walls. It is a silence of respect not one of fear.

The Cloud Recesses library houses thousands upon thousands of books and scrolls and scriptures, some of them so rare that they can be found nowhere else in the world. It is a scholar’s dream come to life, and once Lan Wangji has completed all his logging and copying and supervisory duties, he is even permitted to read from the approved books and scrolls should he wish to. He has often sat here for hours on end, absorbing endless knowledge on every topic under the sun like a man parched. Until a few months ago, if someone had ever thought to ask him how he would like to spend all his time, his answer would undoubtedly have been to spend it all on duty in the library.

It is funny how much change just a handful of months can bring. Lan Wangji is not sure his past self would recognise him today, rushing through his assigned tasks with a distracted mind. No one else is scheduled to use the library today, his only task is logging the scrolls and ensuring no unauthorised visits occur. The irony does not escape him as he puts away the last of the scrolls and makes his way over towards the far end of the library pavilion.

Beneath the ancient tapestry that hangs from the wall is an equally old bamboo floor mat, nailed to the ground on all four corners. All it takes is a flick of the hand and two of the nails spring out of the floorboards by themselves. He rolls the mat up to reveal the trap door. It is strangely reminiscent of the iron hatch in the talisman chamber and despite everything, he still shivers at the thought.

Not many disciples know of the existence of this door and what it leads to, Lan Wangji is one of the trusted few. And amongst the trusted few, none know how to open the door. No one would dare try.

He takes out his jade token and places it at the centre of the trap door. It slots in perfectly. He waits several moments but when nothing further occurs, he sends a small spark of spiritual energy at it. Immediately the token sparks to life, turning and clicking into place, and with a loud creak of the floorboards, the trap door slides open. His guesswork has paid off.

When he peers inside, all he can see within is the very top of a stairway descending into pitch black darkness. Lan Wangji steps in. After numerous journeys into the pitch black tower, it doesn’t take very long for his eyes to acclimate to the dark. He makes his way down easily, coming to a stop at the bottom of the stairs. The curious blue lanterns dotted around the circumference of the room light up one by one, as if sensing his presence. And before him lies the forbidden chamber of the library pavilion. 

Dark and vast, it is certainly larger than the library pavilion it sits beneath. Less a chamber and more a giant cave carved straight into the cold grey rock of the mountain, held up by huge, hulking columns. Towering wooden shelves take up the majority of the space within, row after row as far as the eye can see. Each one is filled to the brim with books and scrolls that are unquestionably forbidden to all disciples. 

Lan Wangji has to force himself to not think about how big a transgression he is committing being down here, the punishment he will face if caught. Nor does he let his attention wander to the endless expanse of uncharted knowledge that lies before him. He is here for a purpose and time is not unlimited.

It would take months on end if he were to go through every single text to find what he is looking for. It is simply impossible. So instead he pulls out a bit of talisman paper and starts writing. After spending most of his life studying the theory of talismans, generating a few ideas of his own is not something that could be helped. He watches as the talisman he’d thought up for efficient record keeping in the library now comes to life, lighting up every text that mentions Wei Wuxian’s name. There are a lot. 

In the section where most of them seem to be shelved, a large tome on the Great War catches his eye. He has studied the Great War extensively, knows all there is to know of it. But the withered old pages of the tome tell a completely different story. He reads through it again, and again, hoping this time the words will be different, but they remain the same every time. 

Almost desperately he reaches for the next book, the next scroll, the sheaves of messy old notes bound together, more books, more scrolls. His hands have turned shaky, his vision gone blurry. No matter which text he pulls out and riffles through, they all tell the same story as the first tome. They all contradict everything he has ever been taught.

His legs are unsteady beneath him when he climbs back out of the forbidden chamber, threatening to give out at any moment. He crumples down beneath the ancient tapestry, barely managing to nail the bamboo mat back into place. No one had come looking for him while he was in the forbidden chamber, he has evaded punishment for now, but his stomach still roils. 

“Is it true?” He has barely even stepped into the talisman chamber before the question is out of his mouth, spat out like something bitter.

“Is what true?” Wei Wuxian appears before him in the blink of an eye.

“Do not act like you cannot read my every thought, Wei Wuxian!” Lan Wangji is furious, but he is not even entirely sure why. “Answer me!”

Wei Wuxian looks between Lan Wangji’s eyes for a prolonged moment and then looks away with a shrug. “More or less. I’m sure there were some minor embellishments here and there.”

“And I am to believe you? I am to take your word for it?” Lan Wangji scoffs. “Everything I have ever known, ever been taught… You expect me to believe it is nothing but lies?” He feels on the verge of tears. “That nothing has ever been true?” His voice breaks around the last word.

He receives only silence in response. Wei Wuxian does not say anything, except to look at Lan Wangji with eyes filled with sadness. Lan Wangji’s blood boils. “I am speaking to you, Wei Wuxian!” He grabs him by the collar of his robes. “Has anything been true?”

Wei Wuxian lets Lan Wangji shake him as if he were a defenceless ragdoll and not a thing of nightmares. “I have never lied to you, Lan Wangji.” He places his hands on Lan Wangji’s where they are still clenching his robe. “Not once.”

And Lan Wangji wants to scream, wants to sob. Because he knows it to be true. In a lifetime built on nothing but lies, Wei Wuxian has been the first and only flicker of truth. He has spent his whole life in fear, detesting the very creature whose hands now hold him, warm and unyielding as the world crumbles beneath him. “But you too did not tell me the truth.”

“What would you have had me tell you?” Wei Wuxian does not let go of his hands, even once Lan Wangji has let go of his collar. “You would not have believed a word.”

“You did not tell me that you are not—” He stumbles. Wicked. Bloodthirsty. Wrong. No word feels quite right, quite enough. “That you are… held captive—”

“And what did you think this place was, if not a prison? A bridal chamber?” Finally there is a frisson of anger in Wei Wuxian’s voice. The room flickers and turns into exactly that for a moment, gauzy curtains, red bedding, dried longan and dates on the sheets. 

Lan Wangji blushes viciously even after the room has reverted back to its usual appearance. “That is not what I meant.”

“Then what did you mean, Lan Wangji?” Wei Wuxian’s tone is mocking.

His thoughts are turbulent, threatening to overwhelm him. It is a struggle to articulate them. Lan Wangji thinks back to what he’d read in the forbidden texts. “It is by your doing that every soul here belongs to the mountain.”

Wei Wuxian throws his words back in disbelieving laughter. “Belongs to the mountain? How ridiculous! Every soul belongs to me, Lan Wangji.” He circles around until he is standing behind Lan Wangji and utters right into his ear, “You belong to me.”

Lan Wangji shivers pathetically, his skin breaking out into gooseflesh. “You are the reason no disciple can leave.” It is a confirmation of what he’d read in the forbidden texts — that Wei Wuxian is the one to have trapped them all.

He feels as Wei Wuxian steps away from him, taking the warmth of his body with him. “It was only ever meant to be temporary. Until the war was over. I only wanted to—” He lets out a long breath and doesn’t complete his sentence.

“To keep everyone safe.” Lan Wangji completes it for him. “You were protecting the Cloud Recesses.” He cannot believe these words are coming from his own mouth, but it is the truth, written in the Cloud Recesses’ own scrolls and hidden away for decades. The Great War had never been against Wei Wuxian. He’d helped defeat the evil and, inexplicably, protect the Cloud Recesses. He recalls Lan Qiren’s words, perhaps the only bit of truth Lan Qiren had spoken to him. “You were once a disciple here?” 

“Ah, you’ve caught me.” Wei Wuxian kicks at the ground in a way that makes him look deceptively like a shy, young disciple. “An aeon has passed since. It was not the oppressive monastery it is now, I had good memories here.” He smiles but it is a rueful smile. “I did not wish to see all those lives, all that knowledge destroyed.” And so he had bound everyone to the mountain, and the mountain to his own immortal soul. And he had saved them all.

“You are no demonic creature,” Lan Wangji says shakily. Sweet peonies fill his lungs, ever present. “You are immortal, like the venerable elders.”

Wei Wuxian looks at him, incredulous. “Your elders are no immortals.”

“What?”

“Their life forces are bound to me, just like everyone else on this mountain. They are immortal as long as I am immortal, they live as long as I live. And if I finally die tomorrow, they all die with me. Every last one of them.”

Lan Wangji feels overcome with dizziness. As if he were not rattled enough from the discoveries he’d made in the forbidden chamber of the library. His whole life is being rewritten before his eyes. He remembers every steep bow, forehead touching the ground, heartbeats slowed down. Thousands of rules, thousands of restrictions, a life of silence and loneliness. All for naught. Dictated by a bunch of pretenders, wearing opulent robes and playing dress up.

The real immortal stands before him, overflowing with power even in his state of captivity. But he does not punish Lan Wangji for his insolence, his disrespect. He is patient in the face of Lan Wangji’s accusations and questions, has been from the beginning. An entity with enough power to be the source of immortality for countless Lan elders… 

Lan Wangji cannot even begin to fathom how powerful Wei Wuxian must truly be. And yet somehow he is still trapped here. “How did—” He is not sure how to ask, doesn’t think there is a good way to ask this. “How did it lead to this?”

“Well you see, Lan Wangji.” Wei Wuxian plucks his dizi out of his belt, spinning it between his fingers. “You have inherited your righteousness from your mother. She was not a Lan.” Lan Wangji frowns. He had not known that, nor does he understand its relevance. “You must have read how the war was won.”

Lan Wangji nods. “You made Cloud Recesses momentarily indestructible and then razed the approaching armies to the ground.” A war spanning years and claiming thousands of lives and he had just made it sound so disgustingly simple. “You saved the world.”

“You flatter me.” Wei Wuxian scratches at his nose in a manner that has Lan Wangji’s heart doing something awfully strange within his chest. “It was not so easy. Even an immortal would be drained after an act so…” Heroic, selfless, good, Lan Wangji thinks. “Excessive,” is what Wei Wuxian goes with, unwilling to claim any glory. “I passed out.” He shrugs and leaves it at that. 

When it becomes clear that he is not going to say anymore, Lan Wangji’s eyes widen with dawning horror. “When you awoke…you were trapped?”

Wei Wuxian smiles. It is a small, sad thing. Lan Wangji feels sick down to his very core. They had taken advantage of Wei Wuxian in his weakened state and imprisoned him for good. After he had saved them all, had saved the world from imminent destruction. 

They stand there in prolonged silence as he tries to get his feelings under control. After several long moments he asks, “Is there no way out?” He remembers the wretched screams that frequently echoed through the halls, the doors blown off their frames, stone walls blasted through, teachers tossed and hurled through the air. How could someone so immensely powerful remain trapped here for decades on end?

“There is one way.”

He has no time to process the sudden glint in Wei Wuxian’s eyes before his sword is being drawn out of its sheath. Lan Wangji gasps, unable to do anything as his own sword is thrust into his chest, right between his ribs.

He blinks. There is no pain. When he looks down he sees Wei Wuxian has only thrust the blunt hilt of the sword at him. Lan Wangji grips onto it, heart still pounding loudly between them. There is a manic edge to Wei Wuxian’s grin as he lets go and trails his fingers along the flat of the blade, all the way down to the tip. Lan Wangji swallows to wet his dry throat. Wei Wuxian lifts the end of the sword and brings it to the crook of his own neck, barely a breath between the sharpened point and his jugular vein.

“There is one way,” he repeats. “If you wish to be free…” The prominent vein on his neck visibly pulsates, each beat of his heart bringing the sword point just a sliver closer. “You must kill me.”

Lan Wangji’s gaze is ripped away from the magnetic pull of Wei Wuxian’s bared throat. He realises with dread what is being asked of him and immediately lets go of the sword. It falls to the ground with a resounding metallic clang. 

“What’s the matter, Lan Wangji?” Wei Wuxian cocks his head curiously. “Do you not wish for freedom?”

“I— no.” He steps back abruptly, trying to put space between himself and the sword. “No… I cannot.” He’s not quite sure which he’s refusing; killing Wei Wuxian or being free.

Wei Wuxian just looks at him, like he too is trying to figure it out. “What a shame,” he says eventually. “But it’s not like I have not already tried.” He grins wryly. “The only flaw of my invention is that it has no flaw. I have made myself impossible to kill.”

Lan Wangji tries not to think about what Wei Wuxian means when he says he has ‘tried’. “That cannot be the only way.” 

“Have you ever seen a lightning storm?” Wei Wuxian asks suddenly.

“Yes…” Lan Wangji replies carefully, perplexed by the abrupt change of subject.

“Have you watched as a fork of lightning finds the tallest tree and strikes? From the highest branch—” He points up with his dizi and then spins it once before pointing it downwards, “—down into the deepest root, poisoning the surrounding earth. Just one step—” He takes a step closer to demonstrate stepping on the lightning struck earth and taps on Lan Wangji’s chest with the end of his dizi, “—and your heart stops.”

Lan Wangji frowns. “Where is this going?”

Wei Wuxian looks amused by his irritation. “That is how this tower works.” He knocks on one of the walls of the chamber. “Power is taken from my core, channelled down into the iron foundations and amplified through the mountain.” He folds his arms and leans back against the wall, disturbing the talismans. “My own invention bastardised to imprison me. Keeping you trapped and your elders immortal.”

“There ought to be another way,” Lan Wangji stresses.

“There is none. I must die for you to be free” he shrugs, as if it is a simple statement. “Want to give it another shot?” He gestures towards Lan Wangji’s fallen sword. 

Lan Wangji ignores him. There is far too much weighing on his mind, on his heart, for him to even consider the heavy honesty in Wei Wuxian’s supposedly joking suggestions. His chest hurts, but he suspects it is not a physical ailment. Sadness looms heavily over him. “What about you?”

Wei Wuxian frowns. “What about me?”

The next words out of Lan Wangji’s mouth surprise even him. “Is there a way for you to be free?” Insanity is too small a word to encompass it. 

Wei Wuxian seems confused. “No, but that’s not important.”

“What do you mean ‘it is not important’?”

“I have been here longer than the old pines that tower over the Cloud Recesses. I will be fine.”

His smile makes Lan Wangji feel ill. He barely notices the pain from where his fists are clenched, nails digging into his own palms. “You cannot remain trapped here forever,” he insists, despite how redundant it feels after Wei Wuxian has already spent an age trapped precisely here.

Wei Wuxian lifts a hand to cup Lan Wangji’s face ever so gently. His thumb traces the whisper of a path over a cheekbone. “I can,” he says, just as quietly. “If I have you by my side.”

Lan Wangji’s fists uncurl. “That is not enough.”

“It is enough for me,” Wei Wuxian smiles. 

———

All of Lan Qiren’s warnings about succumbing to madness seem laughable to Lan Wangji now when the real veil of madness has finally lifted from his eyes. He has spent a lifetime completely blind, and as he walks through the corridors of the Cloud Recesses, he finally sees things for what they are.. He has not turned into a madman or a lunatic, but it is hard not to scream at every pretence and hypocrisy that slowly makes itself apparent to him now. 

Their voices rise and fall in harmony as the disciples all chant together. Every head is bent, every gaze is lowered, prayer beads clasped tight in their hands. Lan Wangji looks down at his own beads, rolling the sandalwood between his fingers. If he rolls them too hard the thread might snap and the beads will scatter everywhere. What a terrible omen that would be. He continues to roll and twist the beads, unconcerned for omens when he knows they are all praying to false gods, reciting false scriptures. His lips remain sealed, refusing to chant veneration to those who are immortals only in name.

Wei Wuxian, he thinks instead. Wei Wuxian, Wei Wuxian, Wei Wuxian.

Whenever he sneaks back into the forbidden chamber now he uses the illusion talisman Wei Wuxian had taught him. It creates the illusion of his likeness sitting quietly at his designated spot within the library pavilion, while the real Lan Wangji climbs down the trapdoor to submerge himself in the endless expanse of knowledge that has been kept from him his whole life. 

Some of the things he learns, the ones that blow him away the most, are truly inconsequential. Like when he learns that animals are sometimes domesticated and kept as ‘pets’ which serve no real purpose except companionship. He thinks of the soft white rabbit he’d seen beyond the gates of the Cloud Recesses and wonders once again how it might feel to run his fingers through its snowy fur.

When he stumbles across the concept of courting and courting gifts he blushes from ear to ear and has to quickly put the book down. But he is enraptured by the illustrations he finds in a book on different types of garments worn across the land. It was truly foolish of him for not realising sooner that the world is not uniform in its cultures and traditions. He has so much more to learn, perhaps more than even the forbidden chamber can offer. 

Other discoveries he makes are much less trivial. Like finding out that the Cloud Recesses is not looked upon favourably by the common folk of Gusu. That they are viewed as self-serving fanatics, secluded from the rest of the world and its problems. Or when he realises that there is always an abundance of salt and grain in the Cloud Recesses while the neighbouring towns remain impoverished and ignored. 

Looking through Wei Wuxian’s notes is at first like trying to read whilst wading through murky water. Wei Wuxian finds the analogy hilarious when Lan Wangji relates it to him, thinking it is a dig at his incomprehensible handwriting. And perhaps it partially is, for characters are jumbled atop one another, ink blurring together, diagrams often obscuring the writing. But Lan Wangji means it more in the way that even Wei Wuxian’s simplest, most well written thoughts are sometimes difficult to comprehend for their complexity.

It takes him several days to work through Wei Wuxian’s notes on the tower and even then he is not sure he has a complete understanding. What he does know is that ingenious is too small a word to encompass Wei Wuxian. So many of his inventions are used in the Cloud Recesses on a daily basis with no recognition. Like the spirit warding flags that line the walls to ward off evil, or the numerous protective seals around the halls, even the technique the disciples use to slow down their heartbeats. He spots more of Wei Wuxian’s notes in Lan Qiren’s study and wonders which of his inventions or talismans they plan to steal next. 

That is when he hears a strange noise. At first he thinks he may be hearing things but when he listens closely it continues. The sound is low and pained, like the muffled sound of a trapped animal mewling. And it is coming from the room adjacent to Lan Qiren’s study.

Lan Wangji is shocked to realise he had forgotten about this room, burying the memory somewhere far. The Discipline Quarter is used frequently, queues of shamefaced disciples lining up outside it every day, waiting for their designated punishments to be doled out. Even the whipping post is in the main hall, a constant reminder for all disciples of what their fate will be if they err. However he had not had to worry about the confinement chamber in years. Hidden from view and hardly used, the last he’d heard of it was when—

‘Paying heed to rumours is forbidden.’

He repeats the rule to himself again and again to forget the useless whispers from the past as he tries to open the door. It is locked but there is no lock for him to turn, no hole for a key. By now he knows that regardless of what they might say, no teacher or elder is able to tell when cultivation is used within the Cloud Recesses. So he uses it freely, first trying to unlock the door using spiritual energy. When that does not work he tries a talisman. 

The door unclicks and Lan Wangji slides it open. It is dark inside and he does not spot the occupant until they’re hastily scrabbling away from the door, a small lump of white on the floor. “No, no, please! Please forgive me!”

Lan Wangji’s heart stops. The disciple before him is so young, curled in on himself like a scared little cub. He cannot think of a single reason why a child so young would be given the punishment of solitary confinement. He crouches down to be level with the child. “Do not worry.” His voice sticks in his throat. “I am not here to punish you.”

The boy does not stop whimpering, but he does look up from his curled up position to peer momentarily at Lan Wangji. And then he seems to remember the rules and immediately looks back down. “Please forgive me…” His eyes are wet and bloodshot from crying for heaven knows how long.

“It is alright. Shhh…” He doesn’t really know how to comfort the child, he has never done anything of the sort before. But he remembers how Wei Wuxian had comforted him in his dream and slowly edges closer, placing a gentle hand on the boy’s shoulder. “Are you injured?” The boy shakes his head in response to the question, but clutches his stomach in the same breath. Lan Wangji’s worry spikes. There are no visible cuts or bruises on the boy but he cannot be sure. “Where does it hurt?”

“My tummy,” the boy sobs. The sight of his lower lip quivering makes something inside Lan Wangji tremble. “It hurts so much.”

“May I check?” Lan Wangji asks. He waits for the boy to nod before he very carefully begins to prod at different parts of his abdomen. He keeps an eye out for the boy to wince or show any other signs of pain, but gets none. That is when he recalls many of his own punishments from his childhood. “When did you last eat?”

“I—  I don’t know. I can’t remember.” The boy looks frightened, like he thinks Lan Wangji will punish him for not being able to remember correctly.

“Do not worry,” Lan Wangji repeats, too overwhelmed with sadness to figure out what else to say. Then he remembers that after teasing him once again for his sweet tooth,  Wei Wuxian had given him a handful of loquats last night, refusing to explain where he had procured them from. He pulls them out of his pocket and hands one to the boy. “Here, eat this.”

The boy takes the fruit from him with a hesitant hand and frowns at it. “What is this?”

“Loquat. My favourite fruit.” He’s not sure why he blushes a little as he shares that. “They are quite sweet.”

There is an excited look about the boy as he lifts the fruit to his mouth. But just as he is about to take a bite he stops all of a sudden, eyes wide with fear. “Is this a trick?”

Lan Wangji feels like crying. “No, this is no trick. I promise.” However the boy still does not seem convinced and refuses to take a bite, despite how painfully starved he is. Lan Wangji takes another loquat out of his pocket and brings it to his own mouth. “See. I too will eat. It is no trick.”

The boy is finally convinced, biting hungrily into the fruit. He doesn’t even realise Lan Wangji has not bitten into his own loquat, saving it instead for the boy. One by one he feeds the boy the whole bunch. He wishes he had more food so that he could give it all to the boy, but with every bite he sees how the boy perks up and starts to look less pale and sickly. After he has watched him scarf down the last yellow loquat, he uses his own sleeve to wipe the residue of juice from the boy’s face and hands with great care.

“Are you an angel?”

Lan Wangji pauses, still holding the boy’s hand. “No. I am a disciple of the Cloud Recesses, just like you.”

“But you’re kind.” There is a look of genuine confusion on the boy’s face.

Lan Wangji has to take several deep breaths before he can speak again. “What is your name?”

The boy frowns for a moment. “A-Yi. I think.”

“My name is Wangji.” His own name feels strange on his tongue. He does not think he has ever uttered it aloud before. “Will you tell me why you are here? I would like to help you.”

A-Yi’s face becomes downcast once again. Lan Wangji squeezes his hand in reassurance. “I… I vomited in front of a ven— a vener— an elder.” He cannot even pronounce the word ‘venerable’ yet. Lan Wangji notices his missing milk teeth. “It was an accident, I promise! I promise, I promise I won’t ever do it again!”

“…Is that all?”

A-Yi nods and Lan Wangji feels sick. After everything Wei Wuxian has told him, he should not feel so shocked by the elders’ cruelty. Yet he is still aghast. The child before him is so young, so small. To punish him so severely just for becoming unwell. Only the most depraved could do such a thing.

“It was not your fault,” he tells A-Yi.

He wishes he could do something, anything at all, to help the boy. He’d be willing to face any punishment if it meant A-Yi would not have to spend a moment longer in here, but his hands are bound. No matter what he does, whether he helps A-Yi escape or confronts Lan Qiren, A-Yi too will be made to suffer the consequences, and he cannot let that happen. All he can do is try to help A-Yi get by.

“When I was younger I too was often punished like this.”

“Really?”

“Yes. That is when I learnt a special skill. Would you like to know what I learnt?” A-Yi nods curiously and Lan Wangji continues, “I learnt that if I am very good and very quiet, if I don’t make any noise, the teachers will not punish me anymore.” He wishes he did not have to give such advice to the boy, but it is what got him through the hardest days of his own childhood and he does not have much else to offer.

A-Yi looks contemplative. As contemplative as a child his age can be. “Be good and do not cry.”

“Mn.”

He leaves A-Yi with the promise that he will be back very soon and sneaks out of the confinement chamber, thankfully undetected. If it were possible to make time move faster he is sure he would have made it happen today. He restlessly counts down the seconds until the dining hall is opened. The slow, orderly rows of disciples grate on his nerves and he wishes he could push through them all and take the ladle in his own hand.

Though it feels like an age, it is not long before he has reached the front of the line. He accepts his singular bowl of food and is about to rush away when there is a loud bang at the other end of the hall. Everyone startles and turns towards the noise, fearing the worst.

Lan Wangji takes the opportunity to grab another bowl of food and slip away unnoticed. His silly noise talisman had served well as a distraction. He makes his way back to A-Yi as fast as he can without attracting attention. It is fortunate Lan Qiren is so busy these days. He slips into the confinement chamber unnoticed, closing the door behind him.

When he places both bowls before A-Yi, the boy gasps in shock. “For me?”

“Of course, y—” He is startled speechless when A-Yi throws himself at Lan Wangji, hugging him tightly. 

“Thank you!” A-Yi sobs. “Thank you, thank you!”

Lan Wangji carefully lifts his arms to embrace him in return. It is unfamiliar yet familiar all the same. “Shhh, little one.” He bites his lip at the endearment that has slipped out of his mouth. “Eat your food. We do not have long.”

A-Yi hurries to do exactly as instructed, scarfing down the food so speedily that Lan Wangji actually has to tell him to slow down. He watches A-Yi eat with an enthusiasm that almost has him forgetting just how tasteless the gruel served to the disciples in the Cloud Recesses is. He can only imagine how the boy would react to even the mundane set of foods from the marketplace Wei Wuxian had taken him to. Lan Wangji lets out a long, wistful sigh, but A-Yi only smiles toothlessly up at him, unaware of what all he is missing out on. 

He makes sure A-Yi finishes every last grain of food in both bowls and then gives him the cup of water that he also managed to sneak out of the dining hall. Once he is convinced that starvation won’t claim the boy during the night, he tells A-Yi that he must leave once again. A-Yi looks so dejected, his tiny face overtaken by a sad little frown. Lan Wangji has to stop himself from scooping A-Yi up and making a run for it.

Because he has nowhere to go. 

Instead he promises that he will be back in the morning and lulls A-Yi to sleep. He has tried to remain as calm as he can around the boy, but by the time he gets to Wei Wuxian he is frantic with his concern. He does not know how much longer A-Yi will be able to survive, hungry and alone. 

“Please, there must be something you can do!” he pleads with Wei Wuxian. The bitter irony does not escape him; his only hope is someone who is similarly trapped under the weight of this mountain. “An illusion talisman of some kind. One that will respond just enough to avoid suspicion. Anything that will let me take A-Yi out of there, please. He is so small, Wei Wuxian…”

“Hmm, none of that will be necessary,” Wei Wuxian says dismissively.

Lan Wangji whirls around, outraged. “What do you mean ‘not necessary’?” This cannot be the same Wei Wuxian he has come to know. He would not refuse to help. “If you do not have a solution, then just say.”

Wei Wuxian laughs, getting unnecessary close for how incensed Lan Wangji feels right now. “As always, so quick to anger. It takes such little to make your blood rise.” Lan Wangji’s traitorous face heats up, as if to prove Wei Wuxian’s point. “What I mean is that no talisman will be required. All that is needed is a whisper in Lan Qiren’s ear,” he whispers in Lan Wangji’s ear in demonstration.

Lan Wangji suppresses the resulting shiver as much as he can. “What does that mean?”

“It is already done, Lan Wangji. You need not have even asked.” His eyes sparkle in a way that puts the bright flame of Lan Wangji’s torch to shame. “There is no world in which you wish for something and I do not make it happen.”

Lan Wangji feels an overwhelming swell of emotion he cannot explain or even begin to understand. “How?”

“All it took was a whisper. Your uncle has already decided to release A-Yi as soon as the sun rises,” Wei Wuxian tells him. “And he thinks the idea was his own.”

Where once he would have felt fear faced by the sheer magnitude of Wei Wuxian’s power, now he feels nothing but awe. Awe and something else. “You… Is there anything you cannot do?”

He means it rhetorically but Wei Wuxian gets a mischievous look on his face. “Well there is one thing.” He gestures at the tower around them. Lan Wangji bites his tongue in regret. 

As soon as the morning comes he rushes to check on A-Yi. It is only by habit that he still knocks on the door, so when he hears Lan Qiren’s gruff voice answer from the other side he is startled. After so many days of being otherwise occupied, the man has chosen today of all days to be back at his desk, scribbling away. It takes all of Lan Wangji’s strength to not look in the direction of the door that leads to the confinement chamber. It takes just as much strength to not upend Lan Qiren’s desk.

With no other choice, he places his report on the desk and turns to leave. That is when Lan Qiren huffs. “Disciple. Sort these.” He points at a stack of what looks like younger disciples’ essays. “There are more important things for me to do than this.” His tone is scornful.

And after years of fear and veneration, Lan Wangji finally sees Lan Qiren for what he is; a bitter, cruel old man. Nothing more, nothing less.

However he is grateful for the opportunity handed to him all the same, and folds down at the desk to sort through the essays. As soon as he is sure Lan Qiren won’t be returning, he is at the door to the confinement chamber, unlocking it with a swiftly written talisman. 

But inside the chamber is empty. No sign of A-Yi, or anyone at all. As if there was never a child in here, curled up and wailing in hunger. Lan Wangji feels awfully conflicted. He knows he should be overjoyed, the empty room can only mean that A-Yi has been freed. There have been no announcements of death, no small, shrouded bodies being carried away, that might suggest otherwise. A-Yi has been released and is as free as a disciple of the Cloud Recesses can be.

Lan Wangji only wishes he could have seen it happen with his own two eyes, just for his peace of mind. He will have to keep an eye out for the boy in the halls and the corridors. They are bound to cross paths sooner or later and then Lan Wangji’s mind will finally be put to ease. 

———

The Cloud Recesses is rife with action in the way it only ever is once a year. While it still remains as silent as it always is, disciples fill the corridors, lugging huge bags of grain and rice and ingredients they have never tasted into the kitchens. The lunar new year is almost upon them. It is time to prepare the biggest, most extravagant feast of the year in offering to the heavens. 

Lan Wangji has no choice but to participate, despite the bitter taste in his mouth. He carries a heavy sack of salt on his shoulder, eyes still lowered, pace still slow. He can see other disciplines struggling under the load they are bearing, but he cannot do anything to help. 

All he can do is stand at this scorching open fire and laboriously stir the huge cauldron of broth he is not allowed to taste. Many days have passed but he still hasn't seen A-Yi. He obsessively checks the log of the deceased in the library pavilion every day, hoping, praying, begging that he does not see a new entry in it, does not see a familiar name. The only disciple whose name he knows, the only name that is still alive and breathing. He uses every breath he has to pray that it stays that way. 

All he can do is stir, and stir, and try not to scream. He cannot do anything to help anyone.

A gust of wind sweeps in, bringing with it the scent of the heavens — Wei Wuxian. Lan Wangji’s heart soars, but his wishful illusions are instantly shattered by the resounding sound of the gong. It is not Wei Wuxian but those who have leached his power, his essence from him. The venerable elders are here to grace the lowly corridors of the Cloud Recesses.

He feels repulsion down to his very bones. The fragrance of heaven belongs to Wei Wuxian and Wei Wuxian alone. They have stolen it from him, turned it bitter and acrid. Wei Wuxian is an endless grove of flowers, fresh like the first bloom of spring, sweeter than an orchard of the ripest fruits.

But this smell, the one that follows the elders, is tinged with something foul. Like it is teetering right on the precipice of rot. Barely there but impossible to ignore now that he knows better.

The elders have started to frequent the Cloud Recesses far too often. His teeth will be dust soon with how they grind every time he is forced to kneel to them. They swoop through the halls in their elaborate robes, heavy with the gold and jewels woven into the rich material. Ornaments of jade worn in their hair, their arms, around their necks, even at the ankle. The same greed the disciples are always warned of, standing right before them. 

Lan Wangji wonders if the elders are here to make demands and ensure the feast is exactly to their tastes. So when no one is looking, he empties an entire sack of salt into the soup. The flame burns bright yellow. He stirs thoroughly until the salt and the broth are one. The wood of the stirring spoon splinters in his grip. 

But a ruined feast is far from enough.

He wishes he could scream, shout, tear down the walls with his bare hands and free every disciple from this miserable existence. His days are restless, his sleep is fitful. Every moment spent within the Cloud Recesses is suffocating. It would be easy to accept this fate if it were just his alone. But now that he can see things for what they are, he sees all the ways in which the other disciples are made to suffer; from the beatings, to the starving, to the lies, to the silence.

“I cannot take this any longer!” He strikes out with his sword with all the strength he has.

The blow is immediately parried by a much more proficient blade. The force of it has him sliding backwards. He struggles to regain his footing, sending roof tiles crashing down to the ground below them. 

“What troubles you tonight, my love?” Wei Wuxian strikes back and Lan Wangji has to jump backwards through the air onto the next rooftop to avoid being hit. Wei Wuxian follows after him and their swords meet again with an echoing clang.

“Everything!” Lan Wangji shouts. He meets Wei Wuxian’s sword blow for blow, feels the power of each blow reverberating through his bones, and tries to give as good as he gets. It is impossible to best Wei Wuxian at swordplay, just as it is impossible to best him at everything else. But Lan Wangji puts his all into it, ducks and uses the element of surprise to strike at Wei Wuxian’s legs. 

“Ah, good,” Wei Wuxian laughs, jumping up just in time to avoid being hit. Lan Wangji lets out a noise of frustration and lunges forward with his sword. Of course Wei Wuxian manages to weave away from it with ease. “Let it all out.” His sword comes straight for Lan Wangji’s neck and Lan Wangji immediately parries. Wei Wuxian looks inordinately pleased. “Perfect.”

He has been adamant from the start that Lan Wangji has some sort of natural affinity for the sword. Lan Wangji cannot say he agrees. Not when it takes him so much effort to only barely keep up with Wei Wuxian, whose every strike is lightning fast, enough strength behind it to slice clean through bone. He wields his sword as if it were an extension of his own body, feather-light and just as lithe and nimble as he. It takes the entirety of his strength and about twice the wit to maintain the illusion of going toe to toe with Wei Wuxian. 

Still Lan Wangji cannot get enough of it. The thrill of watching as Wei Wuxian stalks closer with his sharp sword in hand, a predator with a glint of hunger in his eyes, body limber and powerful and ready to pounce. It has his blood rushing, his heart pounding. He grips his own sword tighter. The rush he gets just from being able to wield his sword, to strike and parry and fight with it, is nothing short of exhilarating. He has never felt more alive.

“What have you done to me, Wei Wuxian?” He follows after Wei Wuxian as he jumps off the rooftop and lands on the cobbled ground. 

“Done to you?” Wei Wuxian asks with a sly grin, walking backwards around the small lotus pond between the buildings. “I have done nothing at all to you, Lan Wangji. Those waters remain uncharted.” Suddenly he bends down and splashes water from the pond right into Lan Wangji’s face. “For now.” His laughter is like the softly tinkling wind chimes that hang from the porches around them. 

Lan Wangji wipes his face off with a sleeve, trying his hardest to not react to Wei Wuxian’s suggestive words. The cool water does little to calm his blushing skin. He blames it on the warm weather and jumps over the pond to get to Wei Wuxian. 

But Wei Wuxian is quicker and has already leaped away, across another pond and over a wooden walkway. Lan Wangji runs after him, weaving through the protruding lotus flowers to get to him quicker. This place that Wei Wuxian has brought him to today seems to be built around the lakes and rivers in the same way that the Cloud Recesses is built around the mountain. 

He chases Wei Wuxian down the long, narrow pier that leads down the lake, and manages to overtake him, stopping him in his tracks with his sword pointed at Wei Wuxian’s chest.

“If there was no way out and nothing to be done, then what need was there to enlighten me?” Their swords cross again and again, faster than the words leaving his mouth. “Why not leave me as I was, ignorant and content?”

Wei Wuxian gives him a look. “You were anything but content.”

They both know this to be true, but it only serves to irritate Lan Wangji further. “And what am I now?” he questions as Wei Wuxian drives him backwards down the pier with his sword. “My every waking moment is spent in torment, knowing there is nothing I can do to help either of us, to help anyone.” 

Wei Wuxian blocks his next blow but doesn’t push it off, instead bringing himself right into Lan Wangji’s space with it, their swords crossed between them. “Would you like to forget?”

“What?” Lan Wangji stumbles over the threshold of the pavilion at the very end of the pier, far away from the shore. 

“I could make you forget it all, the tower, the scriptures—”

“And you?” Lan Wangji asks, a strange sickening feeling rising in his stomach. “You would have me forget you?”

Wei Wuxian steps into the pavilion with him. His beautiful, dark eyes are coloured with sadness. “If… if that is what you would like.”

Lan Wangji strikes so viciously with his sword that for a split second he nearly, nearly overpowers Wei Wuxian. “You would not succeed.” He doesn't give Wei Wuxian the chance to retaliate before spinning around and striking again. “I would prise open my own mind, layer by layer with my bare hands, and find you again.” There is no lifetime in which he could forget Wei Wuxian.

Wei Wuxian stops still. His chest rises and falls with rapid breaths as he stares at Lan Wangji. “You—” He lets his sword slip out of his hand. It falls onto the cushioned floor of the pavilion without any noise. “What is it that you want, Lan Wangji?”

And isn’t that a question. He wants so much, too much. Things that are wrong to want, things that he doesn’t even understand. He feels hungry with it, he feels voracious. It is incomparable to anything, except perhaps the hunger felt during adolescence when food was withheld from him as a punishment, his stomach a yawning chasm. If only it were so simple now. If only this ever growing hunger within him now could be satisfied by mere food. He would raid the kitchens, regardless of consequence, and eat, eat, and eat. He would consume every last grain of rice within the walls of the Cloud Recesses until this ache inside of him was quenched, once and for all. 

But it is not so simple. His whole body has been hollowed out, emptied, like his insides have been scooped out and tossed aside to make room for nothing but this heedless want. Even his appetite has developed an appetite. He has become a madman, overcome by this shameful want. 

“It is not wrong to want,” Wei Wuxian says quietly.

Lan Wangji whirls away in shame, knowing Wei Wuxian has seen his thoughts clear as day. There is nowhere for him to go except the other side of the pavilion, looking out at the lake and watching as the sun begins to ebb its way towards the horizon. 

He feels the heat of Wei Wuxian’s body as he comes to stand behind him. His fingers find Lan Wangji’s where they are still gripping his sword. Wei Wuxian carefully unfolds Lan Wangji’s fingers from around the hilt and reaches around to resheath his sword for him. When he does not let go, Lan Wangji looks down and finds his thumb tracing the patterns on the pommel of the sword. He feels a tug in his stomach and immediately looks away. 

Once again in the still surface of the lake he finds the two of them. The picture their reflection paints is scandalous, making it look like they are embracing. Like Wei Wuxian is holding him against his own body with a firm arm around his waist, not a whisper of space between them. Like Lan Wangji is leaning back into him, head tilted to bare his neck for Wei Wuxian’s touch. 

He only realises that last one is true when he feels Wei Wuxian’s fingertips graze his neck as he brushes Lan Wangji’s hair away to the other side. “It is not wrong to want,” he whispers this time. Lan Wangji feels the words more than he hears them as they’re breathed right into the sensitive shell of his ear, making him shiver.

From the corner of his eye he sees Wei Wuxian’s hand travel down to his side. He expects him to take his hand, by now that is not unfamiliar to them, but his hand does not make contact. Instead he ghosts his fingers over the back of Lan Wangji’s hand, making his fingers twitch instinctively, like they’re asking to be held. But Wei Wuxian does not give them what they want and continues up to his wrist, then his forearm. 

Lan Wangji feels the distance between their skin so keenly, feels the trail of goosebumps that rise at the crook of his neck as Wei Wuxian traces the very edge of Lan Wangji’s collar, and then tugs just slightly. Water laps at the sides of the pavilion, just as waves of some unnamed emotion rise and fall within him. More of his neck and shoulder become exposed to the cool air. He gasps when he feels Wei Wuxian’s lips at the crook. 

“Look at me, my love.”

He turns in Wei Wuxian’s arms, heart thumping in an erratic rhythm. Wei Wuxian pulls him in with one hand at the small of his back, their bodies finally meeting. His other hand reaches tentatively for the side of Lan Wangji’s face and Lan Wangji turns into it, resting his cheek in Wei Wuxian’s palm, eyes fluttering closed. “Wei Wuxian…” he breathes.

The next touch he feels is Wei Wuxian’s petal soft lips against his own. They seem to carry the same want, the same aching need that Lan Wangji has been weighed down with for days, months on end. Every point of contact, every touch scorches him. When he opens his eyes he sees Wei Wuxian painted in the golden hues of the sunset, mouth almost as red as his silky ribbon. It is altogether too much, it is nowhere near enough. 

Wei Wuxian’s rich fragrance surrounds him. He feels like he is nestled amongst a field of soft peonies, not the cushions that are scattered across the pavilion floor. His presence is so overwhelming, so consuming. It blankets him in a way that has him uncaring when his robes slip off his frame, when his back hits the cushions, when his forehead ribbon is removed. All he can see, touch, even think about is Wei Wuxian.

Nothing but Wei Wuxian and his miles of golden skin, his midnight dark hair, how he holds Lan Wangji like he is something to be revered, touches him with such veneration as if it were an act of worship. How he surrounds Lan Wangji, devours him whole, breathes new life into him with every touch of his lips to Lan Wangji’s skin. He unravels in Wei Wuxian’s hands, sees stars when there is still sunlight, lets himself be Wei Wuxian’s. 

———

He is not sure how much time passes, if time passes at all while he is with Wei Wuxian. They are still amongst the cushions, Lan Wangji with his head resting on Wei Wuxian’s chest. He hears his heart beating loud and clear, in synchrony with his own. The sun has long since taken its leave, made bashful perhaps by their intertwining. His own skin is yet to cool down, still burning a shy, vibrant pink. But he recalls something Wei Wuxian had said many months ago, in the middle of the heaving marketplace;

‘Nothing shameless about love.’ 

Wei Wuxian has procured a lotus flower from somewhere and has been teasing Lan Wangji with it, dragging the soft petals over his face, his neck, his chest, chasing Lan Wangji’s blush with the similarly coloured flower. Lan Wangji sighs and lets him, fighting hard to stop the corners of his mouth from curling up into a smile. This, inexplicably, feels like it might be the closest he has ever come to feeling content.

Eventually he will have to leave. For now all that matters is how Wei Wuxian is stroking his hair, looking down at him fondly. He is nowhere near as reserved with his smiles and Lan Wangji is thankful for it, for his smile lights up the dark night sky in a way even the moon cannot hope to.

He bends down and presses a gentle kiss to Lan Wangji’s bare forehead. “You will be free,” he whispers. “I promise.”

Lan Wangji exhales. He knows that is not possible and he will make peace with it soon enough. Wei Wuxian’s words only mean to soothe his restless heart and Lan Wangji cannot hold it against him.

Something buried deep inside of him, small and hidden, thinks perhaps there is no need to be free. Not when he has Wei Wuxian by his side.

———

When the door slams shut behind him, Lan Wangji feels it in his chest. He takes a deep breath and faces the cold mountain air. He will be back tomorrow night, as he has been for months on end, but it is still difficult to walk away. 

He braces himself when he sees the guard approaching. Until now this has been little more than a perfunctory task, but today he knows the outcome could be very different. He tries not to show any hesitation as he takes the proffered cloth and places it over his wrist, holding it out to be checked. He flinches when the guard touches him, but that is not unusual. He remains unused to anyone but Wei Wuxian touching him, does not ever want to be used to anyone but him. 

He waits for the guard to say something, to raise the alarm and have the others seize him once it becomes clear that Lan Wangji has finally been corrupted by resentful energy. But nothing of the sort happens. Instead he is given the same all clear he is always given, and allowed to make his way back down the mountain.

Lan Wangji is stumped as more of the Cloud Recesses’ lies continue to unravel. If the guards were unable to detect any resentful energy on his person it can only mean that the source of Wei Wuxian’s power is something else entirely. It doesn’t really mean much to him either way, which is why he’d not thought to ask Wei Wuxian about it. It has him wondering what else he might have missed. 

As always, the first thing he does when he awakes from his sleep is to write his daily report for Lan Qiren. Today however his brush hovers over the sheet of paper as he hesitates to write even the first word. It just does not feel right. It is not that he is overcome with a sudden urge to be honest, no. He has by now perfected providing as little information as possible in his daily reports and still managing to satisfy Lan Qiren.  

But today, after everything, to put his brush to paper and write that nothing of significance occurred… He cannot think of anything worse. It feels disrespectful to the memory of Wei Wuxian’s touch, to the reverence with which he held Lan Wangji. His hand cramps around the brush. It is a sacrilege to pretend nothing happened, to pretend that the lines of Lan Wangji’s palms were not rewritten in Wei Wuxian’s hold. He bites his lower lip, his teeth slotting perfectly into the indent left behind by Wei Wuxian. It makes him shiver, makes him ache.

He has no choice but to pretend nothing at all occurred between them.  

———

He thinks nothing of it when he is summoned by Lan Qiren in the middle of the day. It seems the feast this year will be more grand than ever before, so they are constantly being assigned new responsibilities, rushing to prepare things in time. He leaves the scrolls, happy at least that he will not have to continue copying these lies, and heads to Lan Qiren’s study. 

He expects Lan Qiren will have some new task lined up for him, which he will have to begrudgingly complete. What he does not expect is for Lan Qiren to say, “Disciple, you are relieved from your duties as guardian of the tower from today.”

Lan Wangji freezes. His mind races through every possibility, wondering if he has been caught, if Lan Qiren knows. He does not think he would still be standing here if anyone knew the truth. 

“You may speak.”

He folds himself into a deep bow. “Has this lowly disciple done something to displease, Venerable Xiansheng?” 

“No,” Lan Qiren tells him, but it does not bring the relief it should. “You have been… useful.”

“Then why?” He should not be questioning Lan Qiren, it will only lead to more trouble. But he needs to know what has gone wrong, he has to know so that he can correct it. So that he can see Wei Wuxian again. 

“Do you question the decree of the heavens?”

There is no decree, Lan Wangji wants to scream. It is all made up, concocted by some crazed elder or another. Still he grits out, “Forgive me. I merely wish to be sure I have not offended the heavens.” 

“You have not,” Lan Qiren tells him. “The heavens have sent down a solution to our problems. The tower will no longer be needed.”

Lan Wangji’s blood runs cold. With a shaking voice he asks, “What— What do you mean, Venerable Xiansheng?”

Any other day Lan Qiren would have reprimanded him for all his questioning and thrown him out of his study by now. But today he seems to be in an uncharacteristically permissive mood. “With the coming of the new year, evil will be defeated once and for all.” Lan Qiren smiles to himself. It is a ghastly sight. “The Cloud Recesses will prevail once again.”

Lan Wangji had been devastated at the thought of not seeing Wei Wuxian again but this is worse than anything he could have possibly imagined. “There will be another war?”

“No, foolish boy. What need is there for war when the enemy has rolled over?”

“He cannot—” He immediately realises his mistake when he sees Lan Qiren’s eyes narrow. “I mean, I do not understand, Venerable Xiansheng.”

Lan Qiren comes closer and puts a hand on his shoulder. Lan Wangji visibly flinches at the touch. “When the new moon rises, he will be defeated.” He tightens his grip, digging his fingers painfully into Lan Wangji’s shoulder joint. “And nothing can stop us.”

“You cannot do this.” Lan Wangji sees no reason to pretend any longer. “You cannot! He is innocent. You know he is—”

Lan Qiren strikes him across the face with the back of his hand. The pain is sharp and his lip immediately splits, blood trickling down his chin. “I should have known you were too weak,” he sneers. “You have let your mind be corrupted by evil.”

Lan Wangji rights himself and spits out the blood that has gathered in his mouth. “Wei Wuxian is not evil!”

“Quiet, boy!” Lan Qiren lunges at him, slamming him into the wall with a hand clamped tight around Lan Wangji’s mouth and nose, cutting off his airways. His eyes are wide with fear. “Another word and I will forget the blood we share and drag you to the whipping post myself.”

Lan Wangji yanks the hand off his face and gasps in air. But when he tries to speak, not a word comes out. He has been forcibly silenced by Lan Qiren with a silencing spell. No amount of straining or scratching at his throat allows any sound out. All it does is choke him. He is doubled over in a coughing fit, struggling to breathe through the effects of the spell, when he feels himself being seized. 

Several pairs of hands are trying to restrain him. He tries to fight them off, he knows he can, even as more guards come pouring into the study to seize him, even as he feels Lan Qiren getting the rope talisman around him. After everything Wei Wuxian has taught him, he knows he could fight them all. But then what?

Even if he manages to overpower them all and run, he has nowhere to escape to, no way to leave the mountain, to save Wei Wuxian. He won’t even have reached the tower before the elders and the rest of the guards are alerted. In his split second of clarity, he realises there will be no one left to help Wei Wuxian if Lan Wangji dies. 

So he does not put up a fight. He lets himself be shoved to his knees and held down without a struggle. He keeps his head lowered and lets Lan Qiren think he has surrendered.

“That’s better.” Lan Qiren sounds unnecessarily smug for someone who had to call in a hoard of reinforcements to seize one unarmed disciple. He is still audibly out of breath. “A momentary lapse. Nothing that cannot be fixed in the Discipline Quarter. Isn’t that right, disciple?” Lan Wangji does not reply. His tongue is still sealed so he could not reply even if he wanted to. Lan Qiren comes closer and grabs him by the hair, wrenching his head backwards. “Isn’t that right, disciple?” 

For a moment their eyes meet and Lan Wangji sees the fear in Lan Qiren’s eyes, hidden underneath this feigned assertion of power. Lan Wangji lets him have it. He looks down and nods his head in acquiescence, as much as the painful grip on his hair allows.

He is dragged off to the Discipline Quarter as promised. The discipline stick leaves disciples incapacitated for a good while, he knows from firsthand experience. It will be less than ideal when the moon of the new year is fast approaching and he has little time to waste. But at least it is not the whip. No one has ever survived the whip.

He clenches his teeth and waits for the first blow of the heavy stick against his back. But it does not come. He can clearly see from the corner of his eye as the disciple wielding the stick strikes him, again and again. But he does not feel a thing, not even a blunt impact. He looks over his shoulder just to be sure he is being hit and gets his head shoved down for his efforts. The sound of the stick hitting him is loud and clear, as are the grunts of effort from the disciple wielding it. But he feels no pain at all.

Wei Wuxian.

There is no other explanation except Wei Wuxian. Tears spill down his face as Lan Wangji weeps silently. Even now, when he is in such dire circumstances himself, Wei Wuxian is trying to protect him, to keep him out of harm’s way. He must know, he has to know what the elders plan to do to him. Lan Wangji does not understand why he hasn’t done anything to save himself, why he didn’t just nip this plan in the bud before it could even take root in any of the elders’ heads. He is so unbelievably powerful even while imprisoned. All it had taken was a whisper for Lan Qiren to have a change of heart about A-Yi’s punishment. Surely Wei Wuxian could use the same method to save himself.

Unless. Lan Wangji’s heart and stomach both turn and threaten to spill out of his body. He thinks back to Wei Wuxian’s cryptic promise in the pavilion on the lake. He’d thought of it as nothing but harmless placation, a way to soothe Lan Wangji’s restless heart. But nothing Wei Wuxian says has ever been meaningless. He promised Lan Wangji freedom and he meant it.

And the only way for Lan Wangji, or any of the disciples, to be free is if Wei Wuxian is no more. He doubts any solution has been sent down from the heavens, and the elders certainly aren’t capable of figuring out something Wei Wuxian had said was impossible. It could only be Wei Wuxian himself. 

Wei Wuxian, who has decided to sacrifice himself for Lan Wangji’s freedom. 

Waves of nausea overtake him as he is dragged out of the Discipline Quarter and thrown into the confinement chamber. The room seems so much smaller than he remembers it being. Or perhaps he is a lot larger than A-Yi, so the walls do not loom menacingly over him as they had done the child. Instead they suffocate him, as if they are pushing in from all four sides, crushing him between them.

He wishes they would crush him. He wishes it had not been salt that he poured into the broth for the feast, but poison. He wishes he could have just one more night with Wei Wuxian, just a handful of moments even, enough time to convince him not to do this, not to leave Lan Wangji. 

But Wei Wuxian does not respond to him. No amount of calling out or crying for him gets an answer. No amount of begging or pleading works. Gone are their conversations held through his dreams, the shadows that kept him company at night, the tricks that Lan Wangji had come to find amusing. It only serves to confirm Lan Wangji’s suspicion that this is all Wei Wuxian’s doing. It only drives him more insane. 

There’s a sliver of a gap between the floor and the chamber door. Not enough to see out but just enough to tell from the shadows of pacing footsteps that the door is being constantly guarded. If he attempts to escape when someone is there he is bound to get caught and will lose his only advantage. He has to bide his time.

But as more time passes, the last remaining dregs of his hope begin to dwindle. The lunar new year is almost upon them. In the dark emptiness of this room he will begin to lose track of time very soon, and if he misses the new moon, if he lets anything happen to Wei Wuxian, Lan Wangji will not ever forgive himself. 

Wei Wuxian may have gone silent on him, but Lan Wangji thinks of him with his every waking, breathing, living moment. There is an old, rickety spinning wheel in the confinement chamber that had certainly not been there when A-Yi was in here. It is the only other thing in this room, apart from Lan Wangji and his endless incantations of Wei Wuxian’s name. Lan Wangji spins, and spins, and spins the wheel, and with every turn of the rattling wood he thinks of Wei Wuxian. 

He spins until his fingertips bleed, and then dyes the thread he’s spun deep red with his warm blood. It is the exact same hue as the ribbon in Wei Wuxian’s hair. He holds the tangled web of silk thread up to his face and breathes it in, but it is nothing but a cheap emulation of the real thing. 

And yet Lan Wangji repeats the process all over again. His robes have become torn and stained with his blood. He laments as his bloodied fingertips heal before they can fester or bleed out. The footsteps outside do not stop pacing and the sharp spindle of the spinning wheel begins to look more and more enticing with each new step. He wonders if that was why the wheel was left in here for him, in the hopes that he’d solve yet another one of the elders’ problems for them, without them having to lift a finger. 

It is the middle of the night when Lan Wangji first realises he can hear nothing in the silence except the pained ringing of his own ears. He does not believe it at first, thinks it is just a trick of his desperate mind, but there are no footsteps, no shadows, nothing on the other side of the door. He puts his ear to the door and listens closely, holding his breath and slowing down his heart to hear well. An ant is crawling by the door of Lan Qiren’s study, but apart from that there is not a sound to be heard. The confinement chamber is no longer being guarded.

Lan Wangji immediately jumps into action. It is the night before the new moon is due to show. He’d given up any hope of sneaking out unseen and planned to storm through the guards today, but it seems his facade of repentance finally paid off. Lan Qiren has let his guard down. Still, Lan Wangji cannot afford to make any mistakes. He activates the talisman he’d made from a torn strip of his robe and written with his blood. An illusion of himself comes to life in the middle of the room, sitting at the spinning wheel spinning silk slowly.

He unlocks the sealed door of the confinement chamber using another talisman and slips into Lan Qiren’s study, closing the door shut behind him. As expected, it is completely empty, but he breathes a sigh of relief all the same. He is about to step out into the hallway when he has a thought. He goes straight to Lan Qiren’s desk and feels along the polished wood in the dark. His fingers catch in the small ridge he recalls from his childhood. 

When the hidden compartment comes open, Lan Wangji could not be more thankful for Lan Qiren’s arrogance. Inside, amongst pages of what look like more of Wei Wuxian’s old notes, are both the sword and the jade token that had been taken away from Lan Wangji when he’d been thrown into the confinement chamber. He grabs them both and slinks into the corridor. 

At this time of night no teachers, and certainly no disciples, are likely to be around, but Lan Wangji remains vigilant. He tiptoes on silent feet, gripping his sword tight so that the metal does not clink. Even bloody and dirtied as they are, his white robes are bright in the dark night. He sticks close to the walls, hoping to not stand out too much. Wei Wuxian’s dark robes would have given him both the cover and the comfort his pounding heart so desperately needs right now.

He gets to the end of the corridor and checks several times in every direction before sprinting across the open hall. As soon as he has reached the opposite end he quickly hides himself amongst the shadows of the wall. So far he has not come across anyone but there are still several big hurdles he needs to cross before he can even get to the tower.

At the last corner before the entrance of the Cloud Recesses, Lan Wangji stops and ducks behind one of the tall, white pillars. There are two guards at the entrance today and the door is tightly shut. He could take them on successfully, he doubts they get much practice with their swords despite being cultivators. The purpose of their weapons is to intimidate the disciples into never stepping out of line, more than anything else. But he doesn’t know if they know that, or if they too are blinded by some false sense of duty like he once was.

Besides, he does not want Lan Qiren and the elders to be alerted. So instead of duelling he quietly takes out two more blood soaked talismans written in the endless hours of his confinement and aims them at the guards just so. The talismans hit the guards at the exact same time, just as he’d hoped. Both men immediately freeze, still and unblinking as if they were statues.

Lan Wangji rushes forward. The stunning talismans will not last very long, but if the effects wear off at the same time and things are exactly as they are meant to be when the guards regain awareness, then both men will remain none the wiser. He hurries to open the door as quietly as he possibly can and slips out into the pitch black, moonless night. 

He has no torch tonight, could not use one even if he did, for it would alert any onlookers of his presence. Even a light talisman might be spotted, so he begins his way up the mountain in the thick darkness. The path is as rocky and uneven as it always is, but he knows it like the back of his hand now. He feels his way further and further up the steep mountain, retracing the same footsteps he has taken time after time to see Wei Wuxian. He wonders if they have been etched into the surface of the rock the same way they have been etched into the surface of his heart. 

The dark is so heavy and enshrouding that he has nothing but his instinct to rely on to figure out how far up the mountain he has come. He stops at what he thinks is the large, craggy boulder that hides the entrance of the tower from view when making the ascent up. He hopes he remains equally as hidden as he stops to catch his breath. It will be much harder to get through the guards that stand at the entrance of the tower. They are far more skilled than other guards around the Cloud Recesses and he needs to somehow acquire their iron tokens from them in the complete darkness without alerting them.

He peeks over the boulder and sees only four guards guarding the entrance today. One of them is holding a torch, its flickering flame hardly illuminating past the tops of the guards’ helmets. But it is just enough for him to see that the hulking iron door is cracked open ever so slightly. And four tokens are already placed in the circular engraving; three iron, one jade. Someone is already inside the tower. 

Lan Wangji blinks in disbelief. He doesn’t understand who could be inside. Lan Qiren had said Wei Wuxian would be defeated with the rising of the new moon, but the new moon has not yet arrived, the pitch black of the night is proof of that. His stomach turns as his mind flashes through countless possibilities. Lan Wangji will never forgive himself if he is too late. He will embrace madness with open arms and follow Wei Wuxian straight into the darkness.

For now he rips more strips of cloth from his robes and blindly writes four talismans, one for each guard. Then he flattens himself to the ground and crawls out from behind the boulder, getting as close as he can to them before the dark no longer conceals him. It is still not very close, he will have to rely entirely on his aim. He focuses his vision on the shine of their metal helmets, holds his breath and waits for the wind to still. As soon as it does, he throws the talismans at the guards.

If their sudden stillness is anything to go by, it looks like all four talismans have hit their targets, but he cannot risk it. He picks up a small rock from beside him and tosses it in the opposite direction. The sound of the rock hitting the ground is audible, but not one of the guards reacts, not even a turn of the head or a jangle of their armour. Lan Wangji lets out the breath he was holding and stands up. It is easy from there to slip past them, through the cracked open door and into the dark tower.

Once he is inside he does not even need to think. He would be able to make his way up these three hundred and thirty three steps blind, bound, while taking his last breath. There is no need to feel his way up or count the steps, but he has not forgotten that there is someone else already inside. He keeps his steps light, soundless, and his sword ready in hand.

At the top of the steps he finds the door to the talisman chamber ajar, light trickling out of the room. His stomach turns, unsure what he might find inside. He tightens his grip on the hilt of his sword and steps in. 

Inside he finds the talisman chamber completely empty. It looks almost exactly like it has always done, only he quickly spots something wrong with the paper talismans that line the walls. The previously crisp paper has browned and rotted, like it has aged decades in just a handful of days.

The scent of fresh flowers fills the air, as strong as it has ever been, and Lan Wangji is momentarily filled with hope, believing it can only mean Wei Wuxian is still alive. That is until he realises that the iron hatch in the far wall has been opened.

Lan Wangji’s blood runs cold. With shaky steps he approaches the hatch door. There is a light mumbling coming from inside, a lone, unfamiliar male voice, but he cannot make out what is being said. He takes a deep breath and edges through the hatch.

He cannot say what he’s expected to find inside. When he’d first come to the tower he’d thought Wei Wuxian’s prison was behind the hatch. But he’d quickly realised that Wei Wuxian was everywhere, is everywhere. No prison could hold him wholly, not even one of his own making. However he had not given the iron hatch much more thought beyond that. Now he sees that inside the hatch is another room, much smaller than the talisman chamber. And inside the room is an old man wearing the distinctive robes of a venerable elder.

The man has his back to Lan Wangji and doesn’t realise someone else has entered the room. He remains hunched over the raised iron dais in the middle, busy grappling with something. “Why won’t you… just, let go—”

The moment he comprehends what is laid out on the dais, Lan Wangji feels overcome by a sudden swell of rage. “What are you doing to him?”

The elder whirls around and stares at Lan Wangji in shock. “How dare you address me, boy?” He raises his sword with one hand, his other hand is already occupied with a dagger. “Kneel!”

When Lan Wangji looks closer he realises it is not a dagger but a large, wrought iron nail, dagger-sized and dripping with blood. Wei Wuxian’s blood. “What have you done to him?” he shouts.

“I said kneel!” The man charges at him, sword aimed straight for Lan Wangji’s chest.

Lan Wangji has no choice but to raise his own sword to defend himself. He easily blocks the strike. Despite the surprise on his face, the man doesn’t relent and strikes again. This time when Lan Wangji blocks he uses the momentum to push the man away. It gives him a clear view of Wei Wuxian laid out on the dais. He is covered in talismans and flags, his skin hardly even visible underneath it all. But what is more than visible is the blood dripping from his prone body, soaking the talismans and pooling on the floor. His stomach lurches at the sight and he rushes at once to help him.

Only the elder manages to right himself and while Lan Wangji is turned away, he tries to run him through with his sword from behind. Lan Wangji spots him from the corner of his eye and turns around just in time to stop him. But he is far quicker on his feet than either of them could have predicted, and his sword stabs the elder right in the chest.

They both freeze; Lan Wangji frozen still with shock, while the elder could not move even if he wanted, skewered as he is at the end of Lan Wangji’s sword. He pulls the sword out of the man’s chest and regrets it immediately. The feeling of bones crunching under the blade of his sword is the worst thing he has ever experienced in his life, the pained, gurgling sound the man makes is a close second. The elders’ sword is first to clang to the ground, followed closely by his body. He can do nothing but stand and stare as blood gurgles out of the old man’s mouth, ruining his ornate robes. He takes several terrible, gasping breaths before finally falling still. However his eyes remain wide open, his lifeless frozen in agony.

Lan Wangji cannot believe what he has just done. He struggles to swallow down the bile that keeps rising up his throat. He has just killed a man. He has just killed a venerable elder. There can be no forgiveness for an act so deplorable. But when his eyes fall once again on the iron nail still gripped tightly in the man’s hand, he knows it is what had to be done. 

He stumbles away from the corpse back to Wei Wuxian’s side and frantically begins tearing the talismans off him. He doesn’t bother to stop to read them, they are far too bloodied to be decipherable anyway. The air is full of shredded paper floating to the ground by the time he has removed them all. He reaches for the flags next, but when he tries to rip the first one off it yanks Wei Wuxian’s skin with it. Lan Wangji stills his hand at once. His insides turn and he has to clamp a hand to his mouth to stop himself from throwing up. Each flag is sewn directly into Wei Wuxian’s skin, all over his body, even the delicate skin of his face.

Lan Wangji looks around helplessly, trying to figure out how to remove the flags without hurting Wei Wuxian anymore than he already is. He does not have a pin to unpick each stitch, nor does he have the time. It becomes apparent that he has no other choice but his sword. He kneels on the ground, his knees becoming soaked with blood, and takes several deep breaths to still his shaky hands. Then with the very tip of his sword, he carefully cuts just one stitch and pulls at the thread. 

The rest of the stitches around that flag slowly come undone, but the sound of the thick thread dragging through Wei Wuxian’s skin makes his teeth hurt. One by one he removes each flag. They look very much like the spirit warding flags around the Cloud Recesses, but most of the characters on these flags are strange and unfamiliar. He makes out the words power, focus, magnify, amongst them, but none of it makes any sense. 

As he pulls off the last of the flags, his whole body falters at what he sees. Wei Wuxian is confined in a metal contraption of some sort, thick iron bars clamping his body down to the dais. But most nauseating of all are the large nails that have been driven through the centre of his left palm and his abdomen, right where his golden core is situated. The blood is pouring freely out of these wounds into the grooves of the large seal underneath his body, lighting it up. 

Lan Wangji turns away and retches onto the already stained stone floor, unable to hold his stomach down this time. Bile splatters over the sprawled legs of the dead elder and Lan Wangji remembers how he had been trying to drive the third nail through Wei Wuxian. He wrenches it out of the corpse’s hand and rushes to Wei Wuxian’s other side to assess the damage. 

But instead of an injured, bloody hand, he finds Wei Wuxian’s hand holding a peony. Lan Wangji’s breath stutters. The flower is fresh and fully bloomed, the sweet smell as familiar to him now as the beat of his own heart. He recalls what the elder had been mumbling when Lan Wangji entered through the hatch, but when he tries to uncurl Wei Wuxian’s fingers now, they come away as easy as anything. And Lan Wangji knows beyond a shadow of a doubt that the flower is for him, one final gift from Wei Wuxian. He closes Wei Wuxian’s hand back around the stem and lifts it up to his lips, kissing the backs of his fingers and breathing him in. His tears trail down his chin and onto the thin, unbroken skin of Wei Wuxian’s wrist.

That is when he hears a loud noise. Like the heavy iron door all the way at the bottom of the tower is being hauled open wider and then shut. His heart sinks. He’d thought he would at least have the chance to somehow get Wei Wuxian out of the tower before anyone was alerted. It doesn’t make sense why anyone is here before the night of the new moon, but he has no time to sit and wonder. He quickly blows out the elder’s torch with a snap of his fingers and creeps out of the talisman chamber.

From the top of the tower he can see the long shadows cast against the walls as a group of men approach, their own torches in hand. He stands with his back to the wall, hidden well out of sight, and listens closely to their conversation. They sound excited, gleeful even, as they talk about new moons, and rituals, the deities of thunder and lightning, and most chilling of all, burning someone’s heart. He knows they can only mean Wei Wuxian’s. 

At once Lan Wangji uses the same trick and with a click of his fingers, extinguishes all their torches at once. The tower is plunged into pitch darkness and the elders’ fright is audible. He hears them stumbling and whimpering in fear, he hears them praying to immortals. Lan Wangji wants to laugh in their faces. He throws a bunch of noise talismans down the tower and stands back and listens to their terrified screams. He listens as they swing their swords wildly in the dark, and hears the anguished shout as one elder fatally injures another.  

“He’s coming!” one voice screams. “He’s here! He’s going to kill us!”

They’re not wrong, Lan Wangji thinks. He is going to have to kill them to save Wei Wuxian, they’ve just got the wrong ‘he’ in mind. He draws his sword and begins to make his way down the tower, no longer trying to keep his steps quiet. The men sound frantic at the sound of his approach and start charging up the stairs towards him. In the complete darkness he sees nothing but the slight flash of their swords, just as they must see his.

He dispatches the first man easily, but it does not feel any easier knowing that he has taken a life, even if it is the life of a vile individual. The next two come at him at once, but they are both charging blindly where Lan Wangji has become intimately familiar with the spiralling backbone of this tower. He flattens himself against the wall to dodge their attack and lets the hard stone of the steps do his job for him. The sound of the man’s skull hitting the ground is sickening.

The other man comes at him again, bringing with him two more, and Lan Wangji confronts them all head on. He listens for the sounds of the swords cutting through the air to parry their blows, tracks the glint of the blades to duck and weave away from their attacks, and focuses on the men’s huffs and grunts to locate them and strike them down, one by one. 

“Wei bastard!” a man somewhere further down the tower shouts. He sounds like he’s close to tears. “Show yourself, you coward!”

As if Lan Wangji was not furious enough already, now it feels like his blood is boiling and searing right through his veins. “Wei Wuxian is no coward.” He clicks his fingers and several torches come alight again. 

There are gasps of shock at the sight of him. “A disciple?” But Lan Wangji does not see any signs of recognition in their faces. To them he is just another nameless creature amongst a sea of subservient disciples, beneath them in every way. They do not even know him as guardian of the tower.

All they know is that he is a lone disciple, not the powerful Wei Wuxian they are all so afraid of. There is a renewed vigour on their faces as they attack him once more, all of them charging towards him at once. Lan Wangji had expected just as much. He meets them with equal force, cutting down one man and then spinning around and cutting down another. He swings himself over the side of the stairs, down onto the next flight to meet the next group of elders head on.

One of them is holding a torch and swings it in Lan Wangji’s face. “He’s possessed by the creature!”

Lan Wangji ducks away from the flame, first left and then right. Perhaps he should let them think he is possessed so that they remain fearful of him. But he wants them to know why he is doing what he’s doing. “I am not possessed.” He grabs the man by his torch-carrying arm and uses it to hit the elder that was charging at him from behind across the face. Then he throws both men, one after another, over the railing of the stairs. The sound of them hitting the ground echoes through the tower. “I have been shown the truth. I see you all for what you are.”

“And what are we?” the elder closest to him sneers.

“Liars.” Lan Wangji blocks his sword. “Pretenders, traitors.” He jumps away as someone tries to strike him from behind. “Pathetic.” He grabs the man by the collar and slams him into the wall, the fear palpable in the pallor of the man’s skin, the widening of his eyes. He slashes the first man through the chest without even needing to turn back to look at him, and in the same movement takes out the second. “Mortal.”

That seems to anger the elder carrying a shield. “Not for long!” he shouts, slamming Lan Wangji with it. He’s the only one amongst them all to have one. It makes Lan Wangji wonder what exactly this man intended to do to Wei Wuxian tonight that meant he would need a shield. “After tonight our immortality will be permanent.” He can’t get close enough to attack with his dagger so he slams his shield into Lan Wangji again, knocking him off his feet. “Your Wei Wuxian’s heart will be ash and his core will be ours!”

He bends to stab Lan Wangji on the floor, but Lan Wangji reaches up and grabs the man’s shield, pulling him down with the force of it. He rolls over so that he is on top of the man and smashes his own shield down into his head. It only takes one blow for the man to stop moving. 

From the corner of his eye he notices fire. He turns around to look and sees that while he was down on the ground, one of the elders took their torch and set the bottom of Lan Wangji’s robe on fire. “Pathetic,” he says again, laughter almost just coming to his lips, and with a click of his fingers sets the fire out at once.

“It’s Lan Qiren’s boy,” someone gasps, finally recognising him. Lan Wangji does not even blink in acknowledgment. There are more swords coming at him than he can count, and he spins and kicks and strikes in quick succession. The man who had recognised him stands before him now, their swords crossed in fight. “So you’ve finally gone mad,” he says, an indiscernibly smug look on his face. “Just like your insane mother.”

Lan Wangji sees red. With an infuriated roar he rams into the elder with the entire length of his sword. The force of the blow is so hard that the man goes flying into the wall at full velocity, his body smashing right through the stone and falling out into the cold, night sky. He leaves a gaping hole in the wall behind him, ruining the long, winding sigil carved into the stone wall.

Lan Wangji turns his back to the rain that drizzles in from the hole and strikes at the next man. For Wei Wuxian, he thinks, as he slashes across the man’s throat. For A-Yi, as he leaps down to the next flight and charges at two men at once. For A-Rong, someone’s arm goes flying, their body following shortly after as Lan Wangji tosses them over the railing. For his mother, he remembers her soft hands, her warm lap, her loving words, her beautiful, golden eyes. He loses track of how many men are struck down with each new memory. 

He jumps over another railing to face the next set of murderous elders, only to realise there are no more. He has reached the closed door of the tower and there is no one else left inside the tower except for him and Wei Wuxian. He looks up the spiralling tower and sees bodies strewn across every flight of stairs, blood dripping down the railings and splashed across the steps. The whole tower now smells like metal and viscera, distinctly mortal and nothing at all like the sweet smell of Wei Wuxian’s blood where it pools on the cold stone and iron of the dais he is bound to. 

Lan Wangji sprints back up the tower, weaving through the bloody corpses to get to the talisman chamber once again. His breath is ragged, his hands wet with blood and shaking. He thinks he might be bleeding from somewhere but he cannot figure out where and doesn’t really care to. He may have dealt with the elders but Wei Wuxian is still exactly as he left him, still as death and steadily bleeding. 

He grabs the first of the metal bars that clamp Wei Wuxian’s body down and pulls at it with all his might. It creaks and groans under his hands and he feels the exertion in his whole body, his bones creaking, his muscles being strained well beyond their limit. But slowly the metal begins to give way, and as Lan Wangji continues to heave at it with his entire weight, his entire strength, he manages to wrench the bar open and away from Wei Wuxian’s body. He repeats the process with the rest of the contraption, sweat pouring down his face, a bone-deep pain shooting through him. His arms feel like they have been torn out of his shoulder sockets by the time he has pried Wei Wuxian’s body free. 

That leaves the nails. Even after seeing all the blood and guts that now decorate this tower, his stomach still turns most at the sight of the iron nails that have been driven through Wei Wuxian’s hand and core. He doesn’t know whether it’ll do more harm to take them out or leave them in, but he has to free Wei Wuxian somehow. So he grips the nail that is stabbed through Wei Wuxian’s palm, closes his eyes and pulls.

It takes far more effort than he’d expected for a piece of metal stuck through flesh, as if the iron does not wish to part with Wei Wuxian. Lan Wangji refuses to feel kinship with the weapon that is tearing through Wei Wuxian’s tendons, forcefully binding him to the tower. He grits his teeth and yanks it out, stumbling back several paces across the room as it finally comes free.

He rushes back over to Wei Wuxian’s side to staunch the blood that comes spurting out of the gaping wound in the centre of his hand left behind by the nail. But his eyes widen in shock when he sees the wound carefully begin to knit itself back together, sinew by sinew. Hope fills his lungs and makes him gasp out loud. He quickly grabs the nail sticking out of Wei Wuxian’s abdomen, plants one foot on the side of the dais to anchor himself, and pulls at it with every last drop of his strength. It sends him flying across the floor when it comes free but Lan Wangji doesn’t register a scrape, scrambling up at once to watch as slowly but surely, Wei Wuxian’s oozing, spilling abdomen begins to weave itself back together like the thread in his loom.

Lan Wangji looks at the nail still gripped tightly in his hand, dripping with blood and tissue, and realises something. The surface of the thick nail is strangely uneven and not smooth like he would expect it to be. He uses his robe to wipe away the blood and lifts it closer to inspect. Welded all down the length of the nail are a tangle of characters and symbols. They are hard to decipher but he recognises some of them from the flags that were sewn into Wei Wuxian’s skin. He finds the other nails and all three of them have the same runes engraved into their bodies, and on the flat head of each nail is carved the word ‘power’.

He is no scholar. He does not have years of wisdom behind him, nor is he remarkable enough to have ascended to immortality before reaching his third decade. All he is is a sheltered, voiceless disciple. But he has always had an insatiable desire to learn, and every piece of knowledge he has accumulated over the years has made itself a place in his mind. Fragments come to him now, from his frequent trips to the forbidden chamber of the library, from overhearing the elders, from Wei Wuxian’s notes, from Wei Wuxian’s words.

He sees the iron nails, made to pierce through the main focal points of Wei Wuxian’s meridians. He remembers the analogy Wei Wuxian made some time ago, the explanation he’d given of this tower. With a hammering heart he gathers all three nails and rushes out through the hatch, out of the talisman chamber and down several flights of stairs. 

He comes to a stop next to the gaping hole that has been left in the wall of the tower, where the body of an elder was blasted through it. The rainfall is so much heavier now, thunder rumbling faintly in the distance. Lan Wangji grips the edges of the crumbling wall and hoists himself out into the night air.

The stone is wet and difficult to gain purchase on. His feet slip as he tries to climb up the tower, threatening to send him plummeting down to his death. He is blinded by the dark of the night and the heavy rain as it plummets down on him, getting into his face and his eyes, but he cannot stop to write any talismans. He is certain to slip if he averts his attention for even a moment. That is when he remembers that he has a light talisman somewhere on his person. It takes every ounce of strength to fish it out of his soaked, tattered robes, without falling off the tower. 

With the talisman lighting his way it becomes just a fraction easier to climb up. Lan Wangji climbs and climbs, even as his already aching body screams out from exhaustion. He is gasping and choking on rainwater by the time he reaches the roof of the tower. From there he scrambles over to the centre of the roof where there is a tall metal spire that reaches up into the clouds.

Lan Wangji takes the iron nails out of his robe and washes them under the pelting rain, making sure to wipe every last drop of blood out of each crevice of the nails, leaving behind no trace of Wei Wuxian on them. Then he hammers them into the base of the spire, one after another, using the hilt of his sword to really drive them in and then stamping on them for good measure. The rumbling of the thunder is getting louder, the storm fast approaching. Once all three nails have been secured into place, Lan Wangji hastens to make his way back, scaling down the side of the tower so much faster than the climb up had been. 

He is drenched down to the bone as he clambers back through the hole in the wall, trailing puddles of water across the blood splattered stairs. Wei Wuxian is no longer bleeding down the sides of the dais, but that is about all the difference. He is still far from conscious, his usually golden skin upsettingly grey, his pulse just a distant murmur that nearly has Lan Wangji screaming his throat raw until he finally finds it. Lan Wangji tries to shake him awake, kisses him with a plea on his lips and a tearful prayer in his heart, begging him to wake, but nothing works. And he does not have time to try anything else. He needs to get them both out of here. 

He lifts Wei Wuxian’s body off the blood soaked dais, finding him lighter than a man of his height and build should be. But there is still a slight tremble in Lan Wangji’s limbs from all the exertion he has put his starved, sleep deprived, mortal body through today. For a moment he considers carrying Wei Wuxian over his shoulder to make it easier to carry him, but cannot bear the thought of tossing him around like a lifeless object. So he grits his teeth and carries him down the endless spiralling stairs in both arms, like one might carry a newborn babe, or a lamb, or— 

Something he had read about in one of the books from the forbidden library chamber. 

He reluctantly rests Wei Wuxian on the ground at the bottom of the stairs and hauls the heavy door of the tower open by himself. The guards on the other side barely get the chance to turn before he has stunned them again with his talismans. He does not care much for being surreptitious anymore. All he needs is to get Wei Wuxian as far away from the tower as quickly as possible, everything else be damned.

Wei Wuxian’s body remains limp in his arms as he trips and stumbles down the rocky mountain path, but not once does he let Wei Wuxian slip or so much as graze the jagged mountain, taking the impact of the fall on his own knees instead. They feel like they’ve been scraped completely open, the bare bone of his kneecaps exposed to the sharp sting of the rain, to every brush of his wet robes against them.

The thunder has become louder than ever, and every so often the dark sky lights up with the faint flash of lightning. Lan Wangji’s heart thunders almost as loud as the sky. The time that passes between the flash of lightning and the clap of thunder is getting shorter and shorter. He tries to count the seconds between the two but gives up as soon as he realises his feet are slowing down. The storm is getting closer, the deities of thunder and lightning almost upon them, yet he is still stumbling his way down the mountain, carrying a helpless Wei Wuxian in his arms.

The lightning is almost directly overhead now. Lan Wangji uses the brightness of the sky to bound down the mountain. He is onto the final stretch of the path now, the entrance of the Cloud Recesses visible up ahead. But the hairs on his skin begin to stand on end, a metallic taste in the air. Lan Wangji’s pace speeds up beyond what he’d thought was possible, as does the pounding of his heart. He can see the wet strands of his hair beginning to float in the air, Wei Wuxian’s equally soaked hair rising just the same. He has mere seconds to get to shelter before everything falls to pieces.

Instead of trying to run the last few paces, Lan Wangji launches himself through the air, throwing his whole body at the door of the Cloud Recesses. It bursts open under his force and he skids into the hall just as lightning strikes directly overhead, bringing with it a boom of immediate, deafening thunder. He races to the altar at the end of the hall and carefully lowers Wei Wuxian onto it.

Just then the lightning strikes again, almost utterly blinding. Wei Wuxian gasps where he is laid out on the altar, his whole body convulsing as he takes in a terrible, rattling inhalation of breath. Lan Wangji looks out through the still open doors to see the bright fork of lightning striking the spire of the tower. The thunder keeps roaring, just as the lightning does not relent, refusing to let go of the spire for even a moment. Lan Wangji watches as the whole tower lights up, the lightning travelling down its entire length, down into the mountain it sits on. 

The guards that were stationed at the door seem paralysed with shock, too scared to do anything about anything. They too watch as the blaze spreads across the mountain, as it surrounds the Cloud Recesses and its perimeter. Just as Wei Wuxian had described, channelling his power down to the iron foundations embedded deep within the mountain and binding everyone to it. There could be no other way to kill Wei Wuxian except to take his own power, amplify it through the mountain, and redirect it back into his core, into his heart.

His heart will be ash, an elder had said.

Lan Wangji shudders at the thought, placing his trembling hand on Wei Wuxian’s chest, feeling his steadily beating heart. The elders thought they would be free of Wei Wuxian after tonight, that his core would still be theirs to feed their immortality, but that Wei Wuxian himself would be no more. They did not realise he was puppeteering them to create the instruments for their own deaths. 

The iron nails have done their job, exactly as Wei Wuxian planned. But instead of burning through Wei Wuxian, it seems like Lan Wangji’s desperate, frantic guesswork has paid off. The catastrophic surge of power was not redirected into Wei Wuxian but back into the mountain, back into the trap that held him captive. Now the mountain is alight as their prison burns to the ground around them. 

The noise is enough to have woken most of the Cloud Recesses. Disciples come pouring out of their rooms, looking frightened by the sights before them. Some whimper and cower to the ground, others chant and pray as they have been taught to. Lan Wangji is too busy worrying over Wei Wuxian’s still unconscious form to care who sees him. The whole tower is engulfed in flames, he’s sure the mighty gates at the base of the mountain must also be submerged in the blaze. And yet Wei Wuxian still does not wake. Lan Wangji presses an ear to his chest to be sure he is still breathing, rubbing his icy palm between his own hands in hopes of warming it up.

“What is the meaning of this?” Lan Qiren bellows as he storms into the hall with his sword in hand, looking red, no, purple with fury. Lan Wangji immediately straightens up and draws his own sword. But he watches as the colour drains rapidly from Lan Qiren’s face the moment he lays eyes on Wei Wuxian’s body laid out behind him. “What have you done, boy?”

“I have righted your wrongs.” Lan Wangji stands in front of Wei Wuxian’s body with his sword raised with one hand, the other arm held out protectively to shield Wei Wuxian from Lan Qiren. He can sense the ripple of shock amongst the disciples and teachers alike when they hear him answering back. “I have saved him.” He hopes against all hopes that he is correct. 

“Seize him!” Lan Qiren orders the guards with an aggressive gesture of his hand.

Several guards come towards him at once but Lan Wangji is quick with his sword. He fends them off easily and then strikes out in an arc, incapacitating them all in one fell swoop. More gasps and cries can be heard amongst the gathered crowd. He will not let anyone come anywhere near Wei Wuxian. 

Lan Qiren looks afraid. There is a sheen of sweat covering his face. “You have let evil corrupt you!”

“Evil?” Lan Wangji scoffs. “The only evil here is you all!” He points his sword at Lan Qiren and the other teachers that have gathered around, looking every single one of them directly in the eyes.

He feels it the moment Lan Qiren puts a silencing spell on him, but Lan Wangji will not be stopped. He wrenches his mouth open through sheer force of will. His lips become bloodied,  his throat feels like it is on fire, but he makes his voice continue to work, much to Lan Qiren’s dismay.

“You beat these poor children senseless, starve them, feed them lie after lie!” He thinks of little A-Yi and his eyes fill with tears. “You kill them.” His voice trembles around the word. “Is that not what you call evil?”

Lan Qiren glances anxiously at the disciples. “These are not your words, these are his words!” He points at Wei Wuxian behind Lan Wangji. “There is no forgiveness for what you have done. You have freed the creature and now he possesses your mind.”

“His name is Wei Wuxian, and you will utter it with reverence!” Lan Wangji’s voice bellows in a way he had not known it could. It rings around the hall, bouncing off the cold, marble walls and echoing through the Cloud Recesses. Wei Wuxian’s name reverberates endlessly around them, like an incantation, like a prayer. The disciples are stunned into silence.

Except there is a whisper and then shuffling, and then someone is trying to push their way through the gathered disciples. Lan Wangji watches in confusion as the sea of indistinguishable white robes parts and something comes darting towards him.  

“Angel-gege!”

Lan Wangji cannot believe his eyes. It is A-Yi frantically running towards him through the crowd, uncaring of all the raised weapons, of the state of Lan Wangji’s blood soaked robes. “A-Yi!” He moves his sword out of the way as A-Yi throws himself at Lan Wangji’s side. “You are well…” He cannot explain how his heart swells at the sight of the boy, alive and well.

“Gege, I’m scared,” A-Yi sniffles.

“Do not worry, little one.” Lan Wangji squeezes the boy’s hand and then shifts him behind himself, out of the way of any swords or spells. He feels A-Yi gripping onto his tattered robes with all the strength a child of his size can muster. “Everything will be alright.”

The disciples are mumbling amongst themselves, something Lan Wangji has never seen happening before. Their voices are gradually growing louder. They seem stunned by more than just the flames lapping at the side of the mountain.

Lan Qiren also notices. “Everyone leave, at once!”

Some of the disciples begin to turn away, obedience drilled into them since birth, but Lan Wangji sees their reluctance, sees the ones who don’t move.

“No. Everyone stay right where you are.” The disciples stop where they are as instructed, shifting nervously in place. “I want them all to hear the truth. I want them to know the real reason why we’re all trapped in the Cloud Recesses.”

A talisman is thrown towards him by one of the teachers, but Lan Wangji slices it in half with his sword before it even reaches him. He looks at the disciples to address them.

“There is no creature, there never has been. Just as the Lan elders are no immortals,” he scoffs. “Wei Wuxian is the immortal who won the Great War for us!”

Lan Qiren looks aghast. “Enough of this nonsense, you—”

“And would you like to know how he was rewarded for this great deed?” Lan Wangji continues over him, still addressing the disciples. “The Lan elders imprisoned Wei Wuxian in the tower so that they could steal his immortality and keep us all bound to the mountain like captives!”

He hears murmurs of shock, confusion, outrage from around the hall. He sees older disciples turning red with fury, younger ones on the verge of tears. He feels the questions, the accusations brewing within them.

“Isn’t that right, Xiansheng?” He turns back to Lan Qiren and the other teachers. “Each and every single one of you knows the truth. But the promise of immortality is so enticing that you have relinquished all righteousness for it.” He can feel his mouth turn up in a sneer. “If you ever had any.”

“How dare you!” Lan Qiren explodes, rushing at him with his sword aimed for Lan Wangji’s throat. 

Lan Wangji pushes away from A-Yi, meeting Lan Qiren in the middle and blocking the man’s path towards A-Yi or Wei Wuxian. He stops every strike of Lan Qiren’s sword, even as Lan Qiren surreptitiously pulls out a dagger and tries to stab him in his stomach with it. Lan Wangji narrowly avoids it, and then whirls around and knocks both weapons out of Lan Qiren’s hand with the hilt of his own sword. 

Lan Qiren stumbles back and tries to reach for the fallen weapons but Lan Wangji stops him in his tracks with his sword pointed across Lan Qiren’s neck. “Another step and I will forget the blood we share, Uncle,” he spits the man’s words back at him. 

Lan Qiren stares at him with wide, fearful eyes. The lightning strikes viciously once more outside and suddenly all the banners, flags and talismans inside the hall go up in flames. Disciples gasp and tremble in fear and if Lan Qiren had looked fearful before, now his face is painted with terror as he looks over Lan Wangji’s shoulder, his body quivering like a leaf. Lan Wangji knows at once that this can only mean one thing; Wei Wuxian has risen. 

Light footsteps resound through the hall as Wei Wuxian approaches. Lan Qiren scrambles away like a prey animal trying to escape the clamped jaw of its predator. Wei Wuxian slinks over to Lan Wangji and takes his extended arm, lifting his hand to his lips and kissing it so delicately, letting the back of Lan Wangji’s fingers trail over his own face. His eyes glow a burning, blood red, and tendrils of thick, black smoke emanate from his body. It feels like Lan Wangji’s heart has finally returned to its rightful place, deep within the warm cavity of his chest, nestled safely inside his ribcage. He is the most beautiful sight Lan Wangji has ever seen, will ever see. 

“Is there a problem, my love?” he asks, still not letting go of Lan Wangji’s hand.

Before Lan Wangji can even think to answer, the altar behind them is consumed with fire, followed quickly by the offerings laid out around the hall for tomorrow’s feast. Lan Qiren and the teachers try to run, where to Lan Wangji has no idea and he does not get the chance to find out. For they are all lifted into the air like they weigh nothing at all, and thrown against the walls. There they remain pinned like insects, legs dangling, mouths screaming for help. Their screams are swiftly silenced and their weapons, whether on the floor or in their hands, disintegrate in a flash, falling to the ground as heaps of steaming ash.

Doors and windows are blown right off their hinges, out into the blustering, stormy night. Even the rain outside looks like it has caught fire, pounding down onto the already burning mountain like fireballs. Inside the Cloud Recesses everything is in disarray. Disciples huddle together in fear, in awe. None of the burning destruction so much as grazes past them. Scriptures and scrolls fly out of the library, out of classrooms, out of shelves and desks and drawers, shredding themselves in the air and raining down on them all. 

It is finally over. They are all free, every last one of them.

Wei Wuxian turns to him with that brilliant, beautiful smile of his, framed by the burning blaze of the fire and the endless downpour of paper around them. And Lan Wangji is overcome with joy, overcome with love. 

“Not anymore,” he replies at long last.

———

A coin drops onto a wooden surface, spinning furiously on the spot for a long moment before finally coming to a stop. A woman glances up at the disturbance, her wrinkled face unfurling into a smile when she sees who is standing before her. “Back again?”

“You know I can’t get enough of your food, Popo,” Wei Wuxian says with that terrible, terrible smile of his, hoisting A-Yi up onto his hip. “Isn’t that right, Lan Zhan?”

Lan Wangji smiles. “Mn.”