#not sure if Xue yang will be willing to turn down that fight

[deathbyoctopi]

Xiao Xingchen realizes from the get go who exactly is the injured person he finds, and still decides to help -with some precautions, of course. 

It takes quite a while, and there’s a lot of mistrust and issues to get past, but we eventually get to a similar degree of canon domesticity -with no secrets, this time! 

I just LOVE how Xue Yang just starts to think of them and their house as his turf, how he even mentally threatens the bug that dared munch on their vegetable garden like the little domesticated thug he’s become...  Gives me wonderful Gokushufudou vibes, it’s just great. 

Certainly one of my favourite XueXiao fics, by @veliseraptor + Rakiah. Thank you so much!!!

[needtherapy]

The Necromancer’s Apprentice

Xue Yang has seen The Dark House and he’s heard the rumors that a zombie, a witch, and a necromancer live there. It’s stupid, obviously, but...well...maybe he’ll just sneak in one night and find out.

It’s better than doing nothing. It’s better than going back to the group home. It’s better than sleeping on the street.

Aka, three mildly feral twentysomethings are forcibly adopted by one (1) very feral thirteen-year-old Xue Yang.

Read on AO3

Many thanks to @coslyons for co-writing this with me (all the funniest parts belong to them) and @kevinkevinson for beta.

There is a Dark House in Ballard, and people say to avoid it.

It is probably not called the Dark House because evil lurks inside, although there is some debate about that. It is called the Dark House because it is black from threshold to cupola, from shutters to frames, and it looms on a block where whimsical shops of brick and steel are far more common. Unlike the thrift store and the record shop, the hiking outfitter and the vegan patissiere, no ivy reaches toward the roof of the Dark House. Unlike the local yarn store, no dogs sniff the Dark House’s gate, although at least two cats—also black, naturally—are always sitting on the porch.

It may not be fair to judge a house by its color, but the local legends are clear. If you step on the cracks in the sidewalk, the Dark House will steal your soul. The wrought iron gate of twining snakes comes alive under the light of the full moon to snap at unwary joggers. Children who walk alone after dark get eaten, and the yard is full of bones that wail songs of their murders.

Xue Yang sits on a bench, across the street, eating ice cream and admiring the house. He wonders about the sanity of people who mow the lawn and trim the roses, yet painted their pretty little house black, until it occurs to him that he could just go inside and find out.

He waits until dark, not to stay hidden, but because it’s a more terrible idea, and Xue Yang always gives himself permission to do more terrible things whenever he gets the chance. The high iron fence buzzes with a strange kind of energy that crackles in his palms, so Xue Yang wraps his hands tightly in his flannel shirt as he climbs over. His mother always said he was a practical boy, back when she was still around to say things.

Xue Yang lands in the backyard with a quiet thump onto thin and scraggly grass. The center of the yard is dark under the watery moonlight, with the dirt churned up and loose, and for the first time, a tiny twinge of warning pings in the back of his mind.

He ignores it.

With a flick of his wrist, he summons his knife, a long black switchblade that is seven kinds of illegal and which he loves more than anything else he has ever had, not that there is much competition. With nimble and practiced hands, he slides the knife between the door and the frame, twisting just right when he reaches the lock. With a grin of triumph, he turns the handle, shaped like a gaping mouth, and opens the door.

In the center of the room, there is a long sort of table that seems somehow to pull all the darkness of the room toward it. The shadows gather most thickly around a large, human-shaped lump laid out stiffly on top of it. Xue Yang reaches out to poke it and feels something unexpectedly warm give slightly under his finger.

The shadowy lump on the table sits upright with a sudden jerk.

The shadowy lump on the table sits upright with a sudden jerk.

“AHHHHHHHHHHHH!” Xue Yang shrieks.

“AHHHHHHHHHHHH!” the shadowy lump shrieks back.

“Why the fuck is everyone yelling?” a voice says, and the room is suddenly filled with light.

The shadowy lump rips off the sheet and turns into a guy in his early twenties with a scraggly little beard and wicked bedhead. The voice belongs to a grumpy-looking woman wearing a fluffy pink bathrobe. She squints at him in the oppressive brightness, glaring for a long moment before apparently deciding to deal with the man on the table first.  

“Wei Wuxian, I’ve told you a thousand times that the workshop is not a place for sleeping.”

“Technically—” the man begins, before being abruptly cut off by the woman.

“If the next words out of your mouth aren’t ‘yes, Wen Qing,’ then I don’t care. Go to bed.” She rounds on Xue Yang and he takes a tiny, involuntary step back. “You. What are you doing here?”

Before Xue Yang can answer, another guy—this one with long hair, killer tats, and a dedication to the goth look Xue Yang has to admire—runs in with a baseball bat held in his hands like a club.

“Jiejie! Is there something wrong?”

The woman—Wen Qing, she’d said—pinches the bridge of her nose and says, “It’s fine, A-Ning. I’m just trying to figure out what this little hooliganthinks he’s doing breaking into my house and tripping all of my wards while I’m trying to fucking sleep .”

Xue Yang is now convinced that what he’s broken into is some kind of madhouse, and he pastes a charming smile on his face, the one he uses when fists are clenched and the smell of alcohol burns in his nose. The smile whispers words like “anger issues” and “prone to destruction,” and it’s usually weapon enough, but he holds his knife a little tighter too, just in case.

The woman snaps around like she’s felt his fingers grip the handle of the blade and holds out her hand. “Give it to me.”

No. He will not. His chin tips dangerously, his smile grows icy spikes.

Her eyes narrow. “I could just take it.”

They face off for a minute, the tension almost palpable. Actually, Xue Yang thinks, it’s not tension after all. There’s something else in the air. It reminds him of the buzzing fence, and he doesn’t like the way it confuses him.

“Ah, Wen-jie, let him keep her. Can’t you tell? The kid is scared, they’re both scared, and it’s not like he can hurt us.”

Xue Yang is offended. He is not scared, but he’s relieved that Wei Wuxian spoke up all the same, because even though Wen Qing purses her lips and looks annoyed, she drops her hand.

“Fine.” She crosses her arms again. “Wei Wuxian, make sure our little guest leaves. I’m resetting the wards in five minutes and going back to sleep.”

“Yeah, sure.” Wei Wuxian grins and shoots finger guns at Wen Qing. “Sleep well and dream of me.”

Wen Qing rolls her eyes. “Yes, because I love having nightmares.”

“Oh shoo.” Wei Wuxian flicks his hand at the goth man and Wen Qing. “To bed with you both. I can handle it.”

Their footsteps creak on the wooden floors as they walk further into the house. Xue Yang and Wei Wuxian wait in silence until the footsteps quiet, and then Wei Wuxian turns to Xue Yang. The grin he’d been wearing drops off his face and he looks serious, his eyes shaded and dark.

“Look kid, you should know better than to piss off powerful witches. It tends to be bad for the health.” The side of his mouth just barely tilts upwards, more wry than mirthful, and he looks old now. Old and grey and tired. “So, we’ll just call this a learning experience, and you’ll never come here again, right?”

Xue Yang snorts. “Are you kidding? If you’ve got real magic why the fuck would I leave now?”

“Toddlers shouldn’t swear.”

“I’m almost fourteen, fuck you very much.”

“Ah yes, I am now so convinced you are an adult.” Wei Wuxian rolls his eyes. “It’s two in the morning. You want to go home and go to bed. There’s nothing here for you to be curious about at all.”

Something sibilant and musical weaves its way through the words, and Xue Yang has his hand on the door knob before he fights off the slithering compulsion.

Holy fuck that was cool.

“Nah, I think I’ll stay,” he says, sauntering back casually, pausing to look at a weird painting of a monster facing off with an axe-wielding guy in front of a lighthouse. He feels a very strong sense of camaraderie with it right now.

Wei Wuxian sighs. “Sure, maybe you’ve got a little gift. But you’re a kid. Don’t you have parents who are going to, you know, notice you’re missing?”

Xue Yang stares him in the eyes, willing himself not to flinch. Something tells him this is a chance he’s never going to have again, a chance that requires honesty.

“No.” Xue Yang lifts his chin stubbornly. “I don’t.”

Wei Wuxian stares back, and Xue Yang gets the feeling that he sees all the years and all the disappointments that fit into that no. He doesn’t care. No one gives you what you want unless you take it.

This standoff lasts forever, or maybe it’s only a few seconds.

“She’s going to kill me,” Wei Wuxian mutters, and a little louder, “You can sleep on the couch tonight, but I’m locking you in the room and if you touch anything, I will turn you into a mannequin.”

He turns to leave, but looks back with a frown. “Wen Qing builds beautiful, elegant wards that you’ll never feel, never even notice if she doesn’t want you to. Mine will hurt. Don’t. Touch. Anything.”

Xue Yang decides, in the principle of magnanimity, to agree. “Whatever.”

Wei Wuxian shakes his head and points a finger at Xue Yang. “Go to sleep, kiddo.”

The words hold Xue Yang’s hand and lead him to the couch, make him lay down, and within minutes, he is asleep.

He opens his eyes to piercing sunlight and a pale face inches from his.

“What the fuck!” he yelps, instinctively grabbing for his knife and snapping it open.

“Mr. Wei, he’s awake and noisy,” the face says, and Xue Yang focuses on its features.

It’s the goth guy. His arms have full-sleeve tattoos, matching patterns of stark black geometric lines and circles, but his neck has weird black veins tattooed on it. His eyes, which are still way too close to Xue Yang’s, are so dark they’re practically black.

“Where’s the witch?” Xue Yang asks, sufficiently recovered to be an asshole.

“Boiling children,” Wei Wuxian retorts. He’s leaning over the table and taking notes in a tattered book, poking something with a tiny screwdriver. “It’s the only reason we let you stay.”

“Really?” Xue Yang can’t decide if that’s cool or terrifying.

“He’s always like that in the morning,” Goth Guy says conspiratorially. “By ten, he’s pretty nice again.”

“I’m never nice,” Wei Wuxian grumbles. “A-Ning, can you take our miscreant home, please? The last thing I need is cops knocking on The House door asking if we’re kidnapping children. Again.” “Okay, Mr. Wei.”

Xue Yang panics. He can’t go back there. Not since they found him alone with the fire. He knows what they’ll do, and he can’t go back. He won’t . He ducks under Goth Guy’s arm and has his knife angled under Wei Wuxian’s chin before he’s even processed the motor function commands “get up” and “don’t let him send you away.”

“No! You have to…” He scrambles though thoughts, desperate ideas, each one crazier than the last before he hits on words that work themselves loose from his mouth. “You said I had a gift, you have to teach me to use it.”

Wei Wuxian frowns, but instead of being afraid or angry, he tips his head and whistles, two notes that almost sound like a name. To his great shock and horror, Xue Yang’s knife vibrates in his hand, and his fingers snap open like a broken trap, dropping the knife onto Wei Wuxian’s waiting palm. He carefully folds the blade back into the handle.

“Jiangzai,” he says, almost affectionately.

It doesn’t mean anything, but then it does , and it hits Xue Yang so hard he collapses to the ground. The knife has a name, and he knows it’s right as soon as Wei Wuxian says it. Xue Yang’s heart pounds, and he hates it. He hates this motherfucker who just took his knife away and he hates the Goth Guy who is helping him back to his feet. He doesn’t want to stay anymore, and he shakes off Goth Guy, wishing he could throw his kindness on the floor and stomp on it.

Wei Wuxian rolls his eyes. “Okay, maybe you have a little bit more than a little bit of a gift. But you still can’t stay, and I’m not teaching you anything.”

Xue Yang snatches his knife— his Jiangzai—out of Wei Wuxian’s hand and stomps to the door. “Fine. Fuck you.”

He gets as far as yanking the door open and slamming it against the wall before he realizes that there is a person in the way, and she doesn’t look inclined to move.

“Here you go, kiddo,” she says, handing him a bag. “I bought you some clean clothes and a toothbrush. A-Ning will show you where the bathroom is. Come back down for breakfast when you’ve changed.”

This is somehow more terrifying than when she was yelling at him. Yelling he understands. Now she’s just being...creepy. He stares at her belligerently, and she sighs.

“Listen, you little shit,” she says, bending over to look him dead in the eye. She doesn’t have to bend very far, he realizes. She’s actually tiny, even though she seems as big as the Fremont troll. “You will either go willingly with A-Ning, who is very nice, or you can test my patience and get buried in the yard with all the rest of the naughty children who break into my house. Your choice.”

Yeah, that’s more solid ground.

“Fine.” He grabs the bag from her and waves at the Goth Guy. “Lead the way, A-Ning .” He means it to be an insult, but Goth Guy just grins.

Xue Yang hears Wei Wuxian ask, “Wen Qing, what the fuck,” before Goth Guy herds him up the wide staircase, and he doesn’t hear any more of her answer than, “A-Xian, I can’t let him leave. You don’t understand, I did a location…”

This close to the Goth Guy, Xue Yang decides to acknowledge that the pale translucence of his skin is probably not makeup.

“I’m Wen Ning, by the way. I doubt Mr. Wei or jiejie introduced me,” Goth Guy—Wen Ning—says in a casual tone.

“So are you actually dead or what?” he asks Wen Ning, and Wen Ning grins.

“Or what,” he answers enigmatically, and gently shoves Xue Yang in a bathroom with pink tiles and a claw-foot tub.

Once he’s bathed and changed, Xue Yang heads back downstairs. Breakfast is bacon, eggs, and toast, and he doesn’t even pretend it isn’t the best food he’s eaten in a week. It is, in fact, the first food he hasn’t stolen in a week, and that alone is a novelty.

He’s halfway done with his food when Wei Wuxian, who hasn’t touched a bit of his and looks as sullen as an orange, says, “I have been informed that there is some arcane rule about teaching a gift you discover, and my...how did you put it, dear Wen Qing? My immortal soul and earthly being will be in danger if I don’t capitulate to the inevitable?”

He glares at Wen Qing, and she smiles sweetly at him.

“Whatever,” Xue Yang says around a mouthful of eggs. “Are you going to eat that?”

Wei Wuxian passes him the plate of food, and Xue Yang closes his eyes in bliss. Food is amazing.

“There are conditions—don’t look at me like that, Wen-jie. I agreed, okay? I get to set conditions. First of all, you do whatever I tell you. If I tell you to sell turnips on the street corner, you better sell some goddamn turnips. Second, you don’t touch anything unless I say it’s okay. A lot of this stuff,” he waves his hand around the white and yellow room, which looks surprisingly cheerful for a kitchen in a black house, “is priceless and dangerous, so…”

Wen Qing clears her throat and glares at Wei Wuxian.

“Uh...don’t touch anything.” Wei Wuxian finishes, snaking a piece of bacon from Xue Yang’s plate and shoving it into his mouth before disappearing back into his workroom.

Wen Qing rolls her eyes. “I promise he’ll actually teach you stuff once he pulls his head—” She visibly checks herself. “Once he stops being an idiot. More bacon?”

The rest is on AO3

[spockandawe]

I’m so unbelievably weak against characters who make terrible choices because they’re hurting and upset. I love the subtler resentful decisions that quietly build up ill will, and I love the big dramatic choices that end with everyone going down in flames. But more than anything, I love love love hurting myself with the emotional flavor of a character struggling with the tension of simultaneously realizing that people hate/mistrust them (or how much people hate/mistrust them, or which people hate/mistrust them), while also realizing that those people just have... no idea where they’re coming from.

I was thinking about this first because of Mu Qing, who is honestly a very low-key version of this scenario (and it’s also quieter since he’s not a lead character and rarely takes the spotlight himself). But the first big tgcf flashback honestly made my heart ache, seeing him trying to walk a line between maintaining his own independence/pride and not belonging to someone he wants to be peers with, but when he tries to be tactful, people decide he’s being shady.  He was picking cherries, to bring a treat to his poor mother (and the poor children around his home), but then got accused of stealing, and then didn’t want to say that it was because his only remaining parent was living in poverty. And it continues through the present day! He knocks out Feng Xin so he can save him from a burning city, because Feng Xin refuses to leave, and people are like ‘>:OOO MU QING ATTACKED FENG XIN??’ In some ways, this character hurts me more than the others, because he rarely does anything wrong, he has a bad attitude, but his most significant “missteps” tend to be like ‘you could have been a little more kind, tbh.’

But also too, I’ve been working my way through the svsss extras again, and... Shen Jiu. God, Shen Jiu. This character is agonizing, and I love him so much. He makes terrible choices! He does terrible things! He tries to set up an actual literal child to die horribly, because he resents that this child had a parent who loved him, and that he found his way to Cang Qiong young enough to reach his full potential! It’s absolutely unforgivable! But nobody except Yue Qingyuan has any clue how much Shen Jiu has been through and how to possibly help him grow or heal or how to support him into better decision making. And Shen Jiu is so hurt by the way Yue Qingyuan left him that he refuses to let Yue Qingyuan help him now. Like! This child was a slave, begging for food on the streets, then was sold to a rich boy who abused him in sexually-flavored ways and planned to marry him to his sister so he could keep him forever, and then his “rescuer” was a scumbag adult who taught him to steal and murder. 

And while Shen Jiu was suffering, he thinks Yue Qingyuan, who came from the same beginning and who promised to come back for him, was living in careless pampered luxury in a prestigious cultivation sect. Shen Jiu’s own self-evaluations are incredibly harsh, from the moment he’s reunited with Yue Qingyuan. He calls himself terrible, he calls himself a thing, and once it’s clear that he’s going to pay the price for his bad decisions, he tries hard to shove away the one person who cares about him and find some way to protect him. Yue Qingyuan never stopped loving him and defending him, but literally nobody else in the world has any sympathy for him whatsoever. How am I not supposed to be heartbroken? Shang Qinghua sighs over how his readers used to hate on Shen Qingqiu for having no motivations, which, sure, that’s understandable from what’s on the “Proud Immortal Demon Way” pages, but seeing the trauma driving his choices in svsss and seeing his own self-awareness and self-loathing and knowing that one (1) person in-universe has any inkling of his internal world (and that person died trying to help him), I’m! In pain!!!

Plus, in svsss proper, I saw a post in passing once that was something like... ‘readers are hard on luo binghe, because he’s the only mxtx protagonist where we see the worst decisions of his life and aren’t in his head to understand why he’s making those decisions.’ Which I still find fascinating, and think about often. It makes sense to me. And as far as my terrible-decision-making children go, he’s very interesting to me because he doesn’t really deal with the widespread distaste/mistrust that mu qing and shen jiu experience, it’s very much targeted on one person. I live for the parts of svsss where all Luo Binghe has to do is breathe, and Shen Qingqiu flinches and bolts. And Luo Binghe is not acting in kind or well-considered ways, a lot of the time! But he was seventeen, and his beloved teacher had told him that ‘humans can be good or evil, demons can be good or evil,’ but the moment Luo Binghe turned out to be half demon, even though he’d just been fighting desperately trying to protect Shen Qingqiu, that teacher he trusted more than anything immediately turned on him, stabbed him in the chest, and threw him into hell.

That’s agonizing!!!! Even without the aftermath, that’s agonizing to read! And when Luo Binghe comes back, years later, he’s upset, he’s hurt, he’s lonely, he’s still stinging from that betrayal, of course he’s not making good decisions. I follow good blogs, because I haven’t seen any terrible Luo Binghe takes on my dash, but I’m kind of :c that these takes apparently exist. Again, it’s not that I think he makes good decisions, but I can see why he makes bad decisions, and I can see other characters missing that context, and I am rolling in terrible, glorious pain. Luo Binghe shows up secretly in Huan Hua Palace and starts taking it over and generally acts shady as heck? Well, Shizun wouldn’t let him beg for forgiveness when he was a disciple, and he’s afraid to face Shen Qingqiu until he can meet him on a semi-equal footing. Luo Binghe gets angry and spiteful when Shen Qingqiu asks if he’s responsible for the sowers? Yes he does! He’d always, always tried to do right by Shen Qingqiu, and trusted Shen Qingqiu when he said demons could be decent people, but the moment he turned out to be half-demon, Shen Qingqiu immediately started expecting the worst from him at every turn. It hurts! I don’t blame him for acting on that hurt! And I am so endlessly compelled by the way that Shen Qingqiu completely fails to recognize the context for where Binghe is coming from.

And like... I cannot leave out Xue Yang and Jin Guangyao. Xue Yang is fascinating in his own way, because the steps are... a lot more explicit and clear-cut than some of these other characters. Shen Jiu’s downward spiral is very internal and he curls up tight to hide his weak spots even with the person who values him most in the whole world, but Xue Yang very plainly tries to lay out his reasoning for his most important person. His whole world is crumbling by the time things reach that point, and it was probably beyond salvaging, but god! He tries so hard to explain the position the world placed him in, from childhood onward, helpless and vulnerable, and that nobody was going to defend him except himself. 

But when Xiao Xingchen doesn’t understand what he’s trying to communicate, when he realizes that the person he values most isn’t willing to hear what he’s trying to say, he starts lashing out again and trying to hurt. It’s the same lesson he learned when he was young, in some ways. ‘If I’m stupid enough to trust you, you’re going to use that to hurt me.’ And then the logical next step, ‘If you’re going to hurt me, all I can do is try to hurt you worse.’ You can see the trauma playing out right there on the page, and it’s agonizing. I can understand some people not enjoying reading things that make them hurt that way, but I have trouble Getting it when people don’t at least find that kind of dynamic compelling as hell. I’ll sometimes avoid media that I know is going to make me sad, but if I’m in the mood to Experience Sadness, I know a dynamic like this is going to grab me by the heart and shake me like a ragdoll.

And... Jin Guangyao. He was on my mind too, partly because I’ve seen a few takes on his motivations lately that honestly kind of baffle me? Like, to each their own, especially since mdzs never takes us inside his head. But I see posts that like... he was bullying Nie Mingjue, or what if Lan Xichen could Tell he was never genuine and mistrusted him on some level, and how to put this. It’s not that I agree with the choices he made, though I really don’t want to play fandom purity police in any way, shape, or form (murder is good, actually), but I understand the choices he made enough that those sort of interpretations that skew towards the cruelty-for-the-sake-of-cruelty territory honestly kind of upset me.

There’s some interesting comparisons to be made with Mu Qing, in some ways. They both grew up poor, without a father, in “shameful” single-parent situations (a sex worker mother vs. a father being executed for being a criminal). They were poor boys with ambition, but no matter how they tried to carry themselves with dignity, those poor beginnings were rubbed in their faces, years after the fact. I think it does make a real difference that Mu Qing’s shame is mostly based in his own history (sweeping floors) while Jin Guangyao’s is more external (son of a whore), and that Jin Guangyao’s also insulted a parent who he loved dearly, and that Mu Qing was seeking the respect outside of famiial structures while Jin Guangyao was desperate to be accepted by his father.

There’s so much of Jin Guangyao’s early life that’s like ‘I’m Just Trying To Live My Life, My Dude,’ and it hurts me to watch. He really didn’t have goals that were all that excessive! If his goals were excessive in some way, it’s only by virtue of how highly ranked his father was, which isn’t his fault. His goal: ‘I want my father to accept me into the family.’ What the world saw: “oh my god, this son of a whore SERIOUSLY wants to be brought into this noble family, lmaooooo.’ There are characters who are more compassionate than that, and a lot of that reaction is down to the nature of the setting, but LORD, man! It’s honestly a pretty restrained goal for a kid to have! Especially when his father totally promised to come back for him someday, and he waited patiently for years before setting out on his own.

And even once he gets kicked down the steps of Koi Tower and dials back his ambitions, he gets so little space to breathe. He’s learning cultivation late, he takes a position as a nobody in a different cultivation sect, he’s just trying to live. But no matter how he rolls with the punches, no matter how he smiles and bears it, he’s being constantly, constantly prodded in that old, painful bruise. I’ve been finally working my way through The Untamed, and it was painful to watch, in Gusu, when he’s trying to present the Nie Sect’s gift to Lan QIren, and people just start focking gossiping about him, right there, perfectly audibly. And when we see him back in Qinghe, he’s perfectly polite and deferential, and that one disciple is still like ‘fuck you, ur mom was a whore.’

He makes bad decisions, but even when he makes good decisions, he can’t win. I don’t get anything from him at all that suggests he had Hugely Lofty Ambitions from a young age, he just wanted some kind of decent life, but almost nobody would cut him a break. Nie Mingjue did cut him a break, and Lan Xichen was gentle and kind to him, and that made such an impact on him. But I also think it made it that much worse, when he made later questionable decisions, and Nie Mingjue refused to let him explain himself. Nie Mingjue’s rigidity breaks my heart in lots of ways, but especially when it comes to Jin Guangyao. I don’t want to make this all about personal attachment, but it’s kind of inescapable in this situation. Nie Mingjue sends him a loud, violent message that if he’s not perfectly morally upright, he’s Done. But by now, Jin Guangyao has years of history of people being cruel to him based on a history he never was able to control. Nie Mingjue protected him, but hes made it clear that protection was... conditional. There could be arguments about how conditional, and what the non-murdery limits would have been, but the murder has been done, and it was already clear that Nie Mingjue never had the power to protect him from everything.

I can’t read Jin Guangyao’s later actions without also reading that fear and insecurity into his decisions. He even tries to say it outright, that he’s afraid of everyone and everything, and Nie Mingjue misses the point. Jin Guangyao hurts me a lottle, because he suffers both in terms of the general public’s judgment of him, but also in the judgment of someone he cared deeply about. I can see the reasoning and trauma, but so many other people in the story can’t. Jin Guangyao gets pushed to the edge by how his father holds him at arm’s length from the family, the atrocities he tells Jin Guangyao to commit on his behalf (and then maybe I’ll treat you like my actual son, maybe), but when he tries to express that, Nie Mingjue is like ‘can’t you just endure more, though??’ He builds a temple with a statue with the face of his dead beloved mother, and the public is like ‘omg, he made that statue with his OWN FACE, can you believe it??’

In some ways, the way Lan Xichen determinedly loves and trusts him makes it all hurt even worse. I absolutely believe Jin Guangyao when he says that he never once wanted to act against Lan Xichen. So many of the terrible decisions Jin Guangyao makes tie so directly to him seeking either safety or security. But he works hard in social gatherings to keep the peace and people think he’s two-faced. He endures years of mistreatment before hitting back and people judge him for hitting back at all and say that well, what else could we have respected from someone with that background. Nie Mingjue threatens to kill him multiple times, and he was a very straightforward, honest man, of course Jin Guangyao was frightened of him and decided it was safer to see him dead. I live for the pain of seeing a character I love make decisions I strongly disagree with, understanding why they’re making those decisions, and seeing other characters not understand, and simply hate them for the decisions.

This isn’t exactly new, this is why I’ll never be able to shake my love for Starscream, even if his quality of motivation... varies by continuity. And Pharma and Prowl are two of my favorite characters in all of idw1 for exactly this reason. I’ve got  at least three fics brushing up against Pharma’s resentment over ‘yes, i got ordered to run a hospital on a garbage planet I was sharing the most violent, sadistic decepticons in existence, I SURE WONDER WHY I WAS DRIVEN TO THIS DESPERATE POINT, BUT THE LOVE OF MY LIFE THINKS I’M JUST A TERRIBLE PERSON, SO I GUESS THAT’S THAT.’ 

And in the murderbot books, I genuinely get reduced to tears when murderbot has to deal with people compassionately interpreting its behavior instead of giving it no credit, the way its used to. I find the raksura books intensely, intensely satisfying in how Moon struggles to fit into a highly social, close-knit society after growing up so traumatized and alone, and how his colony gradually adapts to him and gets used to his quirks, instead of driving him out, the way he’s experienced so many times. No real conclusion here, I was just spacing out during a work training call, and got overtaken by how much I love characters who experience this particular flavor of emotional isolation.

[thebiscuiteternal]

“Sacrificial” Sangyao ship, Nie Age Swap, Murder, Guilt and Grief, Nightmares, Future Necromancy. Warning for abuse because Jin Guangshan is a prick.

__________

It always starts the same, with the feeling of elegant, clever fingers combing through his hair and deftly separating tresses to begin weaving.

"You two watch each other's backs out there. Yao-di, make sure my hot head brother doesn't get himself stabbed."

He covers his mouth with his sleeve to hide a smile as Nie Mingjue, his braids already fixed, rolls his eyes at his older brother. "I don't need him to hide behind."

"That's exactly the attitude I mean, didi. Don't be so eager to pick fights."

"I'll be happy to help the young master watch his tongue," Meng Yao teases, earning a scowl from said young master and a snort of amusement from his sect leader.

"At this rate, I should be expecting any minute to receive word that you two burned down Langya," Nie Huaisang says dryly as he finishes fastening a guan around the already completed braids.

Before Meng Yao can mourn the loss of contact, he and Nie Mingjue both are swept into an embrace tighter than outsiders would think Nie Huaisang could possibly manage.

"Both of you better come back safely, understand?"

"Yes, mother hen," Nie Mingjue snipes as if he isn't perfectly content being trapped in the circle of his brother's arms.

"Brat," Nie Huaisang chides fondly and doesn't let either of them go before making his little brother gag and squirm with an overly messy kiss on the cheek.

Meng Yao can't help laughing at their antics, his heart aching with affection at being included in them.

He will miss this.

The goodbyes said, he and Nie Mingjue collect their things and head for the door to go join everyone else.

When his fingers touch the doorframe, his insides go cold in a sudden wash of fear.

Don't turn around, he wills himself, don't turn around, dontturnaround, dontturnaround-

His body acts without his permission.

In the true memory, his lover had simply given him a sad, affectionate smile and waved him on. Here and now, Nie Huaisang stands before him, ashen pale, eyes rolled back in his head, a shattered teacup at his feet.

The sect leader crumples as if someone cut the strings holding him up, and Meng Yao lunges forward to catch him before he can hit the floor.

"Why?"

The question is only a figment of his mind though it sounds like it comes from his lover, struggling for air he will never breathe again.

"What have you done?"

That question comes from Nie Mingjue, who stands in the doorway and stares at them in shock, then fury. "What have you done?!"

The last thing he sees is Baxia aimed for his neck.

---

Jin Guangyao jerks awake, a sound somewhere between a gasp and a scream lodged in his throat. Every bit of him trembling, he sits up and rakes his hands through his hair in a desperate attempt to ground himself back in reality.

There are no braids, not even a crimp.

He is Jin Guangyao, not Meng Yao.

He is in Koi Tower, not the Unclean Realms.

He is dressed in the umbers and golds of a Jin, not the greens and silvers of a Nie.

He squeezes his eyes shut and bites his tongue to bleeding as he forces himself to acknowledge the last truth of his situation for yet another time.

That Nie Huaisang is dead by his hand.

---

He can't help the hiss of pain that escapes his mouth as he carefully paints makeup over the new bruise.

The new Sect Leader Nie may not have voiced any suspicions of him specifically, but it is clear that he believes Lanling Jin to have had a hand in his beloved brother's most untimely death.

Father is, of course, displeased.

Displeased that Nie Mingjue is not actually a mindless, easily controlled brute, that Nie Huaisang had managed to grind some measure of politics into that thick skull, but most of all by the fact that the man will not let the matter of his brother die as easily as his body had.

And when Father is displeased...

Jin Guangyao winces again when another bruise pulls, and his gaze is drawn to a small lacquered box carved with intricate mountains around its sides.

The rolled up scroll inside, barely wider than his palm, is one he had stolen from Nie Huaisang's room that night.

Or, not stolen. Simply claimed. The list of rules so carefully penned to the paper had been written for his sake, after all.

-"For once, I am quite serious, Yao-di. Before we take this even one more step, I need to know what you're okay with and what you aren't. I don't want to risk the possibility of hurting you, even just by accident."-

His hands clench on the dresser as he tears his eyes away from the dark wood and stares at the bruises he has yet to cover.

The longer he sits, the more the knots that have been steadily twining themselves in his heart and stomach tie tighter.

He can't help but laugh at himself because gods above, he is a fool.

He sacrificed a love freely given for a love dangled just out of reach, and in the end, he has nothing at all.

---

Of all people, it is Xue Yang that gives him a spark of hope, and not even intentionally. It's an idle comment tossed out in the midst of complaining about local corpses rotting too fast before he can get to them for his experiments.

"Doesn't the Nie sect use stone coffins instead of wood?"

"They do," Jin Guangyao murmurs without looking up from his notes.

And Qinghe is still half-frozen by winter, unlike the milder temperatures they have been experiencing in Lanling.

His heart begins to beat a little faster as the realization sinks in. It's... it's possible.

It's possible.

But there is the little nagging voice in the back of his mind that worries he will be too late. It has been over a moon since the funeral. What if-

He breathes in deep and braces himself.

He has to try.

"Change out of those clothes," he says as he gets up to begin putting their study materials away. "And gather what things you might need for a test run."

Xue Yang blinks at him, then a sharp, eager grin slinks across his mouth. "Yeah? What for?"

"We're going north."

[lady-of-the-lotus]

Xue Yang's ritual to resurrect Xiao Xingchen in Lan Xichen's body has failed.

Unfortunately for the wounded, guilt-wracked Lan Xichen, Xue Yang doesn't seem to realize this. All he knows is that he's finally got his daozhang back...

Stroking his hair, Xue Yang kisses his forehead, so gently that Lan Xichen almost cries. He doesn’t deserve this tenderness. Lan Xichen doesn’t, rather. But Xiao Xingchen— Xiao Xingchen deserves everything.

Xue Yang/Lan Xichen & Xuexiao - E - Ch. 1 Ch. 2 on Tumblr - AO3

Chapter 3 - The Coffin

Xue Yang’s fever breaks the next morning.

Lan Xichen sits up from where he’s fallen asleep at the table pushed near the bed. A light doze, plagued by nightmares. “How do you feel?”

Xue Yang blinks in the pale gold light streaming through the uncovered windows, then snatches at the bed as if reaching for the sword he slept beside before returning to Yi City.

“Jiangzai is safe!” Lan Xichen says before Xue Yang can panic at the missing sword. They’ve been through this many times over the past few days. “I even cleaned it for you.”

Xue Yang relaxes slightly. “What happened?”

Lan Xichen crosses the room to fill a bowl with cold rice. “You went out in the cold rain to fix the roof.”

“You don’t get sick from cold,” scoffs Xue Yang. His voice is hoarse, but it’s back to its old teasing, flippant self, with the new note of fondness it’s acquired since coming to the Coffin House. “I’ve been cold and wet more times than I can count.”

Lan Xichen imagines a young Xue Yang huddled outside in the rain and feels a twinge of—not regret, as there had been nothing he could have done about it while it was happening, but something akin to it.

“Your infection didn’t help matters,” he says, closing Xue Yang’s fingers around the bowl.

“Infection?”

Lan Xichen pours him a cup of water. He’s been trying to get him to drink for days, with little cooperation. “You can’t let things go like that again.”

Xue Yang grins through a mouthful of rice. “ ‘Again’? You think I’m going to run around getting slashed up by qi-deviating clan leaders again, daozhang?”

Daozhang. So he’s Xiao Xingchen again….

“Is that what happened to you?”

Xue Yang’s smile vanishes. “He attacked me.”

“Were you two…friends?”

Xue Yang shovels rice into his mouth, avoiding looking at Lan Xichen. “He reminded me of you,” he says, almost hesitantly. “Much better manners, of course, having been raised by gentry.” He grins to himself, as if Xiao Xingchen’s unusual upbringing is an old joke between them, but it’s not much of a smile.

“You sound rather...displeased with the man.”

“He turned on me,” Xue Yang says shortly, “as I always knew he would…I tried to help him, and he tried to strangle me.” Almost unconsciously he touches a hand to the pallid skin of his throat, and memories of purple bruises mottling that same throat spring to Lan Xichen’s mind.

Lan Xichen can’t imagine why he’d hurt Xue Yang. Why he’d do something like that to a smaller, weaker man—to anyone. The time before the Coffin House is increasingly hazy. A former life, a bad dream…

But despite not wanting to, he can remember that day at the Chang Manor, the bright blazing pain of that day like a beacon.

Lan Xichen had been distraught. Xue Yang had restored A-Yao to life, only for him to vanish in the morning. Temporarily, but Lan Xichen hadn’t known that, and he’d blamed Xue Yang...

But it wasn’t Xue Yang’s fault, A-Yao’s state of limbo. If anything, Xue Yang had done everything in his power to bring A-Yao back to him…

And A-Yao’s final decision to leave for good had not been Xue Yang’s fault. That had been A-Yao’s choice.

…No. He couldn’t blame A-Yao. A-Yao had simply done what he had to after Lan Xichen had destroyed everything about himself that A-Yao might have cared for.

And Xue Yang…

Lan Xichen has been avoiding these thoughts, but they break in on him now.

Xue Yang had tried sacrificing Lan Xichen to bring Xiao Xingchen back. Lan Xichen knows this.

But he, Lan Xichen had done far worse in his quest to bring back A-Yao, and unlike Xue Yang, Lan Xichen had a clan, a position, a life…

A family.

Who is Lan Xichen to judge someone such as Xue Yang?

He rises and refills Xue Yang’s bowl.

Xue Yang’s eyes follow him around the room.

“You’re wearing your old robes,” he says.

Lan Xichen glances down at his robes. They’re Xiao Xingchen’s white ones. “I thought you might like them.”

“No, no, of course not,” Xue Yang says teasingly. He’s…he’s blushing.

Lan Xichen bows, smiling despite himself. “I can take them off, if you’d like.”

Xue Yang laughs, wagging a finger. “Let’s wait until your stitches are out.”

"I..." Lan Xichen swallows and glances at A-Qing on the porch, hoping she hadn't overheard. He's been trying to avoid thinking of that terrible night together, of Xue Yang's hand inside his robes, of Xue Yang's tongue on his—on his—

Xue Yang laughs again, perhaps at the look on Lan Xichen’s face, and closes his eyes with his forehead slightly creased, as if he somehow doesn't want to see the white robes drifting around the Coffin House again. Though Lan Xichen thinks he must be imagining that part. Xue Yang is tired, that's all....

“Can you fix my hair later?” Xue Yang murmurs, long after Lan Xichen supposed he was asleep.

“Fix…”

“Braid it, like you used.” Xue Yang rolls over, pulling the covers up so only his eyes are visible. “I’ve been waiting for you to offer...”

Lan Xichen has never braided hair before, but he nods. “Once my wrist feels better,” he promises, though in truth it no longer pains him. He’ll have to practice on his own hair.

Xue Yang nods sleepily and drifts off.

It takes Xue Yang several days to recover his strength.

He spends most of them sleeping.

Lan Xichen cooks, changes his bandages and, while he sleeps, sketches, being sure to hide the drawings. There’s a large store of fresh paper and ink in the house, as if Xue Yang had prepared it for Xiao Xingchen somewhat recently.

On the third day Xue Yang gets out of bed. A-Qing sits in the doorway as usual, watching him with sightless eyes, while Lan Xichen sets the table.

Xue Yang kneels in front of the shelves in the corner, prying open a small casket Lan Xichen didn’t notice until now. Humming to himself, he messes around at the stove, pouring hot water into a small cup. He sets it down before Lan Xichen, eyes fixed closely on his face.

Lan Xichen sniffs at the fragrant steam curling up from the cup. “Is that…”

Every tooth in Xue Yang’s head is showing. “Jasmine tea. Your favorite.”

Jasmine has never been on Lan Xichen's list of teas he enjoys, but he blows on the steaming cup and takes a sip.

“It’s good,” he says, trying not to breathe through his nose. “Thank you.”

Xue Yang comes to stand behind him, slipping his arms around Lan Xichen, chin resting on his white-clothed shoulder.

“Wasn’t easy to find,” he says, nuzzling his ear, then pulls away.

Lan Xichen doesn’t eat much that night. He’s quite thin, but Xiao Xingchen’s robes are still a bit snug around his middle thanks to his larger bone structure. There isn’t much rice left, anyway. Tomorrow they won’t have anything to eat at all.

They sit at the table after dinner, Xue Yang with his brush poised over a sheet of paper, A-Qing motionless in the doorway, and Lan Xichen with a second cup of the vile tea. From the distance comes the haunting trill of a night bird, and the breeze from the open door is cool but not cold. A sprinkle of stars is visible in the crystal-clear sky, an enormous full moon casting long black shadows.

It’s…peaceful.

“The autumn wind enters through the window,

The gauze curtain starts to flutter and fly.

I raise my head and look at the bright moon,

And send my feelings a thousand miles in its light,” Lan Xichen recites.

“Winter wind.”

“…winter wind,” Lan Xichen corrects himself, though the poem, by an anonymous poet, is entitled “Midnight Song of the Seasons: Autumn Song.”

Xue Yang finishes the last stroke and lays the brush down. “I like this one.” He tugs at his hair, hard enough to hurt. Lan Xichen doesn’t think Xue Yang quite understands why poetry has an effect on him, or would be willing to admit it if he did. Or perhaps it’s all simply because it’s the daozhang’s poetry. He winks teasingly at Lan Xichen. “Better than all that stuff about flowers and birds and sunshine you used to write...”

He carries Xue Yang to bed that night after Xue Yang falls asleep at the table. He lays him out gently and pulls down the window's paper curtains so that they're not woken too early by the sunlight. He slides into bed beside Xue Yang but doesn't lie down. He's exhausted from days of tending to Xue Yang when his own strength is diminished, but he's afraid of falling asleep.

Sleep brings dreams.

There’s ink on Xue Yang’s face from where he fell asleep with his face on the table. Lan Xichen fights the urge to lick his finger and wipe the ink off.

Xue Yang’s face has lost much of its boyishness these past few weeks, the fever and wound taking their toll. He looks older, more worn, his once disarmingly innocent face finally matching how Lan Xichen views him.

Except…Xue Yang has been more like a besotted puppy these past few weeks than the hardened monster his reputation made him out to be.

Most of the rumors about A-Yao had been untrue…

Lan Xichen tries to shove the thought away, but another one springs up in its place like a corrupting weed: Xiao Xingchen couldn’t have fallen in love with the kind of man people made Xue Yang out to be.

Which must mean that…that…

Ridiculous. He knows it. And yet…

A-Qing rises and closes the door, shutting out the moonlight, and cocks her head at Lan Xichen.

He knows what that means. He wouldn’t have thought to look at her, but A-Qing, with no other entertainment, has developed quite a taste for poetry.

“Excerpt from ‘Last Night the Wind and Rain Together Blew’ by Li Yu,” he obligingly, keeping his voice low.

“Last night the wind and rain together blew,

The wall-curtains rustled in their autumn song.

The candle died, the water-clock was exhausted,

I rose and sat, but could not be at peace.

Man's affairs are like the flow of floodwater,

A life is just like floating in a dream…”

A mountain of white-robed corpses comes to him in his sleep that night, piled to the sky. Waterfalls of blood pour down the sides, gushing from beneath the once-stainless white robes, forming a crimson lake surrounding the towering island of dead cultivators.

He starts awake, heart hammering. Xue Yang murmurs something intelligible and draws him closer, arm around his chest, warm and solid and firm, but Lan Xichen can’t fall back asleep. He’s up early the next morning, still tired. To the accompaniment of the drumming of the rain that began overnight and the steady dripping of the leaky roof, he sifts through Xue Yang’s clothes until he finds a meticulously-maintained pale silk coin purse that seems out of place among Xue Yang’s belongings.

Lan Xichen wonders how Xue Yang survived before he came to the Cloud Recesses. Stealing? Certainly not begging. Perhaps he’d scrounged off the goodwill bought by his Xiao Xingchen mask?

“You stay here and watch over him,” he tells A-Qing. “Is there anything you would like me to buy you?”

He’s relieved when she gives a slight shake of her head. Xue Yang’s purse holds only a few coins, and he wouldn’t want to disappoint her.

He heads out into the rainwashed courtyard. A tapping sound stops him at the gate. A-Qing stands behind him, extending her stick to him.

“I couldn’t—”

She nods.

Lan Xichen bows. “Thank you, A-Qing. Now, why don���t you go inside out of the rain?”

The thin white material of his blindfold is already soaked, and he can see relatively clearly through the wet material and by peering out from underneath it, but he’s glad to have the stick as he ventures out of the courtyard for the first time.

He’s faced battle countless times without so much as a tremor, but his heart pounds as he taps his way past the abandoned houses surrounding the Coffin House courtyard and heads deeper into the city.

He isn’t sure what he’ll find. It’s been suspiciously quiet in the Coffin House’s corner of the city. But he finds shops in the center of town, and houses, though the city appears to be sparsely populated and run-down. The rain has emptied the streets, and he meets only the occasional pedestrian and a single donkey-drawn cart.

“This isn’t enough to pay for the vegetables or basket,” says the young man at one of the few stalls open despite the rain. He pokes at the coins set down on the table. “Just the rice.”

Lan Xichen swallows. He’d had no idea how much fresh food cost. Servants had always taken care of it, or Xue Yang. “I—I don’t have any more money.”

The young man starts to empty the basket. “Come back when you do, then.”

“A-Tong!” An old woman’s voice, shocked. “Are you being rude to the daozhang?”

He can’t see him clearly, but Lan Xichen imagines the young man making a face. An old woman-shaped shadow approaches him from the run-down house behind the stall.

“Is it really you?” The old woman bows low. “The daozhang, come back to us! My eyes are failing, but I would recognize you anywhere.”

Lan Xichen ducks his head, wondering just how bad her vision is. “Madam.”

“The daozhang, come back to us! I knew you would return. The good daozhang, returned to help us!” She bows again, and Lan Xichen averts his eyes.

It’s Xiao Xingchen she’s bowing at, not him. If she knew the things he had done—

“It’s been difficult since you left us, daozhang. Nobody cares enough to build a watchtower nearby, and there's talk of fierce corpses roaming the forest outside the city…” She bows yet again. “But now that you’re back, everything will be all right again. Here. Take this. Your money is no good here.” She fills the basket with vegetables. “You’ll have to come back when the rain stops for the rice. It’ll spoil in the rain.”

Lan Xichen returns her bows. He knows he shouldn’t be so affected by her kindness, that it’s merely another testament to the goodness and purity of the man whose name he’s soiling, but he is. “I am most grateful, madam. And if someone could help me find my way back to the Coffin House, I—”

“Anything for the good daozhang. A-Tong! Show the daozhang to the Coffin House!”

A-Tong glances curiously at Lan Xichen as they walk.

“I’ve heard about you,” he says. “And your friend in black. About how you used to protect the city and the village around here, and then you disappeared and left us on our own. Don’t know why my grandmother gave you all the free food. As if we can afford it! If it were up to me—”

He talks all the way to the Coffin House—not quite the Coffin House. He stops when they're just in sight of the courtyard.

“I’m not stepping foot within a hundred feet of that cursed place,” he says.

Lan Xichen wonders what happened here. Considers asking Xue Yang, decides against it. Doesn’t matter. It’s…

It’s home. For lack of a better word.

“Well, go on then,” says A-Tong. He turns and walks off, not soon enough for Lan Xichen, who had found himself wishing Xue Yang were there many times during the walk. Xue Yang would have had no compunctions about punching the young man in the face—

He winces. Since when are his thoughts so violent?

As if imagining a punch is any worse than what you’ve already done?

Xue Yang is pacing the porch when he returns.

“Where were you?” he demands, following Lan Xichen into the house. He tugs almost anxiously at the long thin wisps of hair framing his face. “I thought—”

Lan Xichen sets the basket down on the table. “We needed more food.”

“Yes, but…” Xue Yang grips the back of a chair. “You can’t just run off like that. You’re not fully recovered. You almost fainted the other day...”

Lan Xichen hands A-Qing her stick and lights the stove. “I didn’t expect you to be up so early.”

“I feel much better.” Xue Yang relaxes his grip on the chair, but he does it with a forced casualness. “Did anyone remember you…?”

“An old woman.”

“And she recognized you…? Did anyone else see you?”

“Her grandson.”

“What was her name?”

“I didn’t get a name, but she called her grandson A-Tong. A rather…unprepossessing young man.”

For the first time in weeks—months?—the thought of Gusu Lan’s rules flash through Lan Xichen’s mind.

Rule 900: Do not hold grudges

Rule 901: Love all beings

Rule 1,019: Speak not ill of others

Odd that memory of the rules should return over something so innocuous, of all things…

He tries blinking the thoughts away, but to his surprise, the words lie warmly in his mind, beckoning to him.

How much easier things were back then. How comforting it was to have a ready-made trellis upon which to wind his life. A proven morality, a sense of structure, a set path.

Too late for that now. Can’t go back. Can never go back.

Not now.

Not anymore….

But they’re coming for him. He’s certain of this. Any day now he expects to see the white of the Lan as they invade the grim gray peace of Yi City, any day he expects to be whisked away in spirit-binding ropes.

Back to the Cloud Recesses. To the one place he can never return to.

Even if he could go back…

He’s no longer Lan Xichen, Zewu-Jun, the Lan’s Clan Leader.

He’s…something else, now.

Someone else.

“A-Tong, and his grandmother the grocer. I know who that is…don’t run off like that again, daozhang.” Xue Yang bites his lip, drawing blood, then reaches for the collar of Lan Xichen’s soaking wet robes and tugs it aside slightly, revealing Lan Xichen’s collarbone.

Lan Xichen’s skin still crawls at his touch, but…Xue Yang’s hands are warm, and Lan Xichen’s skin is cold, and Lan Xichen welcomes the gentle heat.

Xue Yang brushes a thumb over his clammy wet skin, gazing at his exposed collarbone as if looking for a symbol he can’t find, perhaps one of the bruises he’s marked Lan Xichen with. His hands slide down to Lan Xichen’s waist, as if measuring it. Lan Xichen can just fit into Xiao Xingchen’s wide gray belt, but despite Lan Xichen’s thinness, it’s snug.

“You should change into dry clothes,” Xue Yang says, and he abruptly turns and heads out of the house.

Lan Xichen glances at A-Qing, glad that she couldn’t see Xue Yang’s hands on him. She shrugs as if she could see his glance and goes to sit on the porch.

After changing into dry clothes Lan Xichen busies himself with boiling water and slicing radishes, the extent of his culinary skills. After a few minutes he hears a scraping sound coming from outside and a rustling, thumping sound from the roof.

“Be careful!” he calls up through a window. "Wait till after the rain stops."

"Sure, sure. The roof is leaking."

He goes outside and peers up at Xue Yang, who’s perched on the roof. “I mean it, Chengmei.”

“Go nag A-Qing.” Back to his usual cheerful self, Xue Yang flashes a grin at him over the dripping edge of the roof and disappears again.

Shaking his head, Lan Xichen goes returns to the house.

“The grocer told me there are fierce corpses in the forest,” he tells Xue Yang as they eat the boiled eggplant and radishes, something Xue Yang gratifyingly declares to be as good as anything Xiao Xingchen cooked in the past.

Xue Yang looks up. His hair is still damp, and he gives off the impression of a wet black kitten. “Are they killing people? That’s good—I mean, it’s great that we’ll get to night hunt again.”

“Not until you’re stronger. You’ll get yourself killed in your condition."

“I was crawling around on the wet roof, no problem—”

“We’re waiting until you’re back to yourself,” says Lan Xichen firmly. “We can’t have you getting hurt.”

Xue Yang swallows hard. “Anything you want.”

Lan Xichen hesitates. “There is something else.”

“Anything!” And then, as if ashamed by his response, Xue Yang shrugs and repeats, “I mean, you know, if it’s not too hard.”

Lan Xichen lowers his voice. “A-Qing. What is she, exactly? She’s not a fierce corpse.”

Xue Yang glances at A-Qing sitting still and silent in the doorway. “I don’t actually know. Some form of ghost, I’ve always figured, or maybe a new breed of fierce corpse.”

“We need to set her at rest.”

Xue Yang frowns. “Kill her?”

“Of course not. We need to make sure she’s sent off properly.”

“Before she kills me.” Xue Yang grins teasingly. “Sometimes I think she’s haunting me.”

Lan Xichen doesn’t bother asking what Xue Yang might have done to deserve this. Couldn’t be anything worse than what Lan Xichen has done…

“She’s had plenty of chances to harm you since we got here, and hasn’t,” he points out instead.

Xue Yang turns towards where A-Qing is in her usual spot at the door. “You hear that, A-Qing? Oblige the daozhang and kill me quick!”

A-Qing raises several fingers in a vulgar gesture.

Xue Yang grins delightedly. “Takes her a while to come back to herself after her little naps, but seems like she's back to her old charming self," he says. “Isn’t that right, A-Qing?”

A second gesture, even more vulgar than the first. Lan Xichen winces, but Xue Yang thinks it's the funniest thing he’s ever seen.

“How much are you contr…” Lan Xichen tries thinking of a better way of wording it. “…how far is she under your influence?”

Xue Yang makes a face and begins to play with his hair. “Not much. I try to avoid using the Yin Iron as much as possible. Just to get her not to kill me in my sleep and stuff like that.”

“When you were laid out in the snow, she carried you inside when I couldn’t.”

“She did? She…well, I think she just doesn’t want me to die by anything other than her hand so she can be set at rest and all that.”

“But you could do it, with the Yin Iron. Set her at rest without her having to harm you.”

“Maybe, but she’s been with me here for years. She’s…” Xue Yang stops and glances down into his bowl of slimy eggplant, now cold. These past few weeks have revealed a myriad of surprising new emotions from Xue Yang, but this strain of bashful hesitancy is something entirely new.

“I wouldn’t want to—” Xue Yang stops. “I—”

Lan Xichen reaches out and rests a hand on Xue Yang’s gloved left hand, just as he’s certain Xiao Xingchen would have done to reassure the man he loved. His thumb touches the scarred skin showing through the palmless glove, sliding inside the glove, rubbing his bare skin. Caressing the disfigured part of Xue Yang, the part Xue Yang tries to hide from the daozhang.

He touches his blindfold with his other hand, quickly removing his hand at the slight bulge of his eyes beneath the material.

“You won’t be alone, Chengmei,” he says, very quietly. “I’ll still be here.”

Xue Yang stares down at his hand for a long time in silence. Lan Xichen wonders if he shouldn’t have touched him, if he should have used his other hand, the hand without that odd little wrist wound he still can’t account for, if he misread things entirely.

“I won’t leave,” he tells Xue Yang, putting it into as simple words as he can.

Xue Yang pulls his hand away. “You did before,” he says, almost blurts.

The accusation is like a dart to the throat before Lan Xichen remembers it was Xiao Xingchen who had abandoned Xue Yang, not him.

But he cannot not blame Xiao Xingchen for leaving Xue Yang, just as he can’t blame A-Yao for leaving him.

Xiao Xingchen must have had a good reason, as he had for everything he did.

Just as A-Yao had.

Lan Xichen can’t think of what to say to Xue Yang, who sits staring off through the window. Instead of speaking, Lan Xichen pulls a paper-wrapped candy from his robe. The old grocer had sent it “for his friend in black.”

He sets the candy down on the table, a little offering of friendship.

Xue Yang shakes his head and steps out past A-Qing, disappearing through the courtyard gate.

But the candy is gone when Lan Xichen wakes the next morning.

Happy as he is to have the bed to himself, Lan Xichen again dreams of dead bodies that night.

Dead bodies bobbing in the darkness, illuminated by Shuoyue’s solemn silver-blue glow. By its light he can see the white uniforms of the Lan, the silver of the Nie, the skewered body of Wu Shen, the mutilated corpse of Chang Ping.

Floating amidst the corpses is a figure in white, its face blurred save for a white blindfold that stands out stark and clear.

It says nothing. Just stares reproachfully at Lan Xichen through the blindfold while a disembodied old woman’s voice whispers around him, over and over: The good daozhang, returned! The good daozhang—the good daozhang—

Lan Xichen wakes in a sweat.

The bed is cold and empty.

Xue Yang sets a bowl of rice down on the table at Lan Xichen’s seat. Half-filled, as usual. Lan Xichen looks up at the sound.

“Where were you last night?”

Xue Yang grins. “Miss me? I was night hunting. Killed two fierce corpses. Had to check it all out before I let you anywhere near it.”

“Where did we get the rice?”

Xue Yang taps the basket on the table. It’s overflowing with rice, fish, and dried meat. Near the door he sees three more, each with rice, fruit, and vegetables. “Someone left food at our door with an anonymous note addressed to you. Guess word’s out that you’re back.”

“A note?”

“It blew away in the wind. Welcoming back the good daozhang in white.”

Lan Xichen recognizes the color and weave of the baskets as ones on display at the old grocer’s stall. “Do you think it was the old woman from yesterday?”

Xue Yang eats a few mouthfuls of rice before responding. “I doubt it. They’re moving away today.”

Lan Xichen frowns. “Moving?”

Xue Yang shrugs. “That’s what I hear. Some relative died and left the old woman and her grandson a house or something in another town. They won’t be back.”

“Really? She made it sound like she would be around for a while yet…Perhaps I can catch her before she leaves, thank her for her kindness—”

Xue Yang looks up in something approaching alarm. He really doesn’t want Xiao Xingchen wandering around the city, Lan Xichen thinks. He had no idea Xue Yang could be so protective, not even of the people he cared about.

As soon as I go night-hunting with Chengmei, he’ll be forced to acknowledge that I've recovered enough to go out on my own again, he thinks, and is about to ask about the weather when Xue Yang speaks, as if eager to change the subject on his own.

“I have a better idea than running after the old grocer,” says Xue Yang. “What you said yesterday about A-Qing—” and all thoughts of the old woman or the weather are driven from Lan Xichen’s mind.

Lan Xichen, trained his whole life in diplomacy and the social graces, finds himself completely unable to find a way to address A-Qing.

Xue Yang explains things to her instead. “I’m going to set you at rest, or whatever it's called. How does that sound, Little Blind? Ah, you’re speechless.” He laughs as if this is a joke, stopping when Lan Xichen frowns at him.

“Can she speak?” he asks.

Xue Yang makes a face. “Well…she doesn’t breath, so she doesn’t have a voice, and I hated to see her try to talk, so…”

“Let her speak, Chengmei.”

Sighing, Xue Yang does something, though Lan Xichen’s not sure what, and A-Qing gets to her feet and eyes Xue Yang coldly.

“Well, A-Qing?” Xue Yang says. His tone is a bit too cheerful. “It’s been fun, no?”

A-Qing bows in Lan Xichen’s direction. “Thank…you….” she croaks, and Xue Yang was right, it’s an awful sound, all throat and no breath. “Can’t…leave…you…with…him…”

Xue Yang laughs. A bit too loudly, as if to cover anything else A-Qing might want to add. The pathetic sound of his old friend must affect him terribly, Lan Xichen thinks.

“You talk to her,” Xue Yang says, and he goes to stand on the porch, close enough to intervene if necessary. Lan Xichen would never do anything to distress A-Qing, but he appreciates Xue Yang's concern for her.

"Please let us help you, A-Qing," Lan Xichen says. "I can't bear to see you living like this."

"Not...leave....you...." she rasps out.

“I’ll be fine, A-Qing."

“….happy?”

“Yes,” says Lan Xichen. He’s surprised at how readily he responds, though he hasn’t given it any thought. Happiness had not been something he’d been raised to need or want. Duty and moral rectitude were. Two things he’d abandoned.

And yet—

“I’m as happy as I deserve to be,” he says, trying to untangle his thoughts, but when he remains just as confused as before, he moves on. “But don’t think of me, A-Qing. You’ve been through enough. You deserve to rest. You deserve peace.”

She cocks her head stubbornly. “Kill…him…”

Lan Xichen feels a pang of pity for both the girl and Xue Yang. “I know you feel some kind of…animosity towards him, but don’t you see that’s only keeping you trapped here? I’ve forgiven him for what he’s done. If you can’t let go of it and set yourself at rest, then allow him to repay you for what he's done by freeing you.”

A-Qing glances towards the silent Xue Yang. The makeshift Yin Iron is in his hand, and he’s staring just past her without so much as a trace of a smile on his face.

“…come….back…for…you…one…day…” she tells Xue Yang in a croaking rasp that’s truly awful to hear. Her clouded eyes glow like white-hot coals, and Xue Yang looks away.

Lan Xichen closes the door and goes to sit on the bed.

Xue Yang enters almost an hour later.

“It’s done,” he says shortly.

A bit shakily, Lan Xichen goes out into the courtyard. It's empty.

Xue Yang follows him out. “She’s over there,” he says. He jerks a finger at the large lacquered black coffin underneath the awning. Beside it is a smaller one in blue and gray.

Lan Xichen bows at the blue and gray coffin.

“The high tower is a hundred feet tall,

From here one's hand could pluck the stars.

I do not dare to speak in a loud voice,

I fear to disturb the people in heaven.

“Rest well, A-Qing.”

Xue Yang gives him the smallest of smiles. “If you think she got into heaven, I suppose there’s hope for any of us.”

Feeling slightly dizzy, Lan Xichen lays a hand on the black coffin to steady himself, and all expression drains from Xue Yang’s face.

Lan Xichen removes his hand.

He dreams that night of the lacquered black coffin.

He is both inside it and outside it, watching his hand creep over the coffin’s rim, watching himself watch himself as he rises, standing upright in the coffin.

His flowing white robes are stained with blood, the coffin filled with it. As he watches the coffin grows into an immense lake rimmed with lacquered black wood and bare white trees with clawed branches. Boiling blood laps at his waist as the coffin’s bottom sinks lower and lower, finally giving away altogether and plunging him into the crimson lake.

White and silver-clad arms reach up out of the roiling red surface to drag him down, covering his mouth so he can’t so much as scream as they rip him to shreds.

A-Yao is there too, grasping at his wrist, puncturing it, leaving a small red mark—

He wakes with a smothered gasp.

“What is it?” Xue Yang is sitting at the table, sifting through a stack of poems. He crawls back into bed with a handful of poems, pressing his forehead to Lan Xichen’s. “Another bad dream?”

“I’m fine, I’m fine—”

“You’re shaking.”

“I’m fine, I’m fine—”

Smoothing his hair, Xue Yang kisses his forehead, so gently that Lan Xichen almost cries.

He doesn’t deserve this tenderness.

Lan Xichen doesn’t, rather. But Xiao Xingchen—

Xiao Xingchen deserves everything.

Lan Xichen raises his hand, touching the bandages on his wrist.

He remembers now. A-Yao, seconds before he disappeared for the last time. Gripping his wrist, leaving a soul mark:

“Goodbye, Xichen. Find me—”

And then he had vanished in a handful of golden sparks, dissipating into the gloom of the temple.

Lan Xichen shuts his eyes against the memory.

“I was going through your old poems,” says Xue Yang quietly. “Do you remember this one? Your only good one.” He kisses Lan Xichen again, so he knows he’s only joking, and reads aloud:

“I tip my cup to the bright moon

The moon, its shadow, and I make three

Fleeting friends we three, the moon, its shadow and I

Still, let us make merry ’til the end of Spring

The moon swaying as I sing...”

“The black coffin,” Lan Xichen whispers into Xue Yang’s throat—Chengmei’s throat. His shoulder is pressed against Chengmei’s chest, and he can feel Chengmei’s heart start to pound at his words. “I know what’s inside it.”

Chengmei doesn’t bother asking him how he knows the coffin is black. “And?” he says, a new sharpness entering his voice. He’d snaked one arm around Lan Xichen while kissing his forehead, and now his fingers dig into the thin material of Lan Xichen’s inner robe.

Lan Xichen raises himself up onto one elbow, looks down at Chengmei. Chengmei stares up at him, face deathly pale.

“I think it’s time,” he says.

Xue Yang swallows. His breath seems stuck in his throat. “Time?”

Lan Xichen struggles to remember. Where had he learned what he’s about to say? At the Coffin House? At Guanyin Temple? The past month is a hazy blur of corpses and coffins and fever and rain. “I remember, when we wer at the temple…”

“Remember?”

Lan Xichen winces at his own clumsiness. “Not…not remember. Heard. As I…” He stops.

There’s an odd look on Chengmei’s face. “Not remember,” he repeats. “Heard, as you were coming back.”

“Yes. Exactly. I heard. It wasn’t at the temple, it was while you were sick here in the Coffin House. You said that you wanted to…to…” He sits up all the way and glances out the window at the large black coffin, standing out darkly against the gray of the courtyard. He’s finding it difficult to put his thoughts into words. “That I was not meant to stay like this. That the body in the coffin was meant to…”

He makes as if to get out of bed, and Chengmei grips his elbow, guiding him back beside him.

“Are you sure?” he asks Lan Xichen. He’s gazing at Lan Xichen as if he’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen, something Lan Xichen knows is not the case. After all, he does not look like Xiao Xingchen…

“I didn’t want to say anything,” Chengmei continues, his voice barely audible. “I thought you might…” He trails off. “I don’t know.”

“We’ll do it in the morning. One final use of the Yin Iron.”

Chengmei nods, swallowing hard, and turns so his back is to Lan Xichen, drawing Lan Xichen’s arm around him and covering his hand with both his own.

His glove is off.

Lan Xichen melts into the other man’s warmth. Outside it has begun to rain, a heavy patter as the large cold drops fall on the trees, fill the courtyard, speckle the window. But the roof is repaired, the Coffin House snug, Chengmei warm beneath the covers beside him.

Tomorrow…

Tomorrow, the mark on his wrist will be gone.

Tomorrow, everything will be as it should be.

A part of him knows it’s only a matter of time before the Lan find them. Only a matter of time before this interlude is over and the Coffin House collapses around them.

But for now...

Chengmei squeezes his hand.

Moonlight pours over the windowsill, casting long shadows on Lan Xichen’s face and filling the Coffin House with a soft silver glow.

He drifts into a dreamless sleep.

* * * *

Liked it? Spare a reblog? A kudos? A comment? It means a lot! : ) Without reblogs, nobody actually sees it.

[wormsound]

THOUGHTS ON NIE MINGJUE

HHHHHHHH OKAY NIE MINGJUE I HAVE MANY THOUGHTS ON NIE MINGJUE! most of them are just I LOVE HIM and he deserved BETTER and the rest of them is just kind of incoherent screaming in my brain BUT I shall try 2 make words out of them

OKAY SO tbh I don’t know when my brain decided to get on the love for da-ge train but it did and oh boy it’s not getting off any time soon. I think I watched fatal journey and vaguely considered nielan for A Bit Too Long one time and now I’m just kinda stuck here. 

I honestly didn’t really give Nie Mingjue that much thought at all until I watched fatal journey and then the thoughts came through with reckless abandon. in fatal journey you certainly see NMJ in a very different light compared to what you see in CQL. you see his raw emotion and his thought process, his tactics as a leader and first and foremost you see how he functions as an elder brother. BUT this is bearing in mind all of this is while he is heavily under the influence of Jin Guangyao’s version of the song of clarity. you see much more of how much JGY’s remix is actually changing him and how different he has become in comparison to the Nie Mingjue you see in the earlier episodes of CQL. it is much clearer that it wasn’t just enhancing the resentment of the sword spirit within him. it was enhancing every little feeling and emotion tenfold.

you see this probably the most clearly with the different way he interacts with Nie Huaisang from the start of CQL to the start of fatal journey. when you’re first introduced to NMJ in CQL you see that he is annoyed and frustrated at NHS when he finally returns from galivanting around with WWX, yet it is no more than a sharp look and a sigh, mostly coming from the worry that NHS didn’t come straight home when he said he would. when Nie Huaisang’s actions frustrate him again at the start of fatal journey (when under the influence of the JGY remix) he lashes out at NHS so much that he nearly physically hurts him. of course, he never does because he cares for him so much and not matter how much the song of clarity enhances his rage and frustration, it also enhances how much he would never want to hurt his little brother and its why he never does, because he can’t. when he’s almost completely taken over by it and kills Zonghui and the rest of the disciples, he can’t hurt Huaisang. and even when he is dying he can still fight through it when he sees his little brother. 

NMJ is fiercely protective of his loved ones and his little brother is clearly at the top of that list. I’m pretty sure that his overprotectiveness - particularly for Nie Huaisang - stemmed from his father’s death. when his father received a severe injury from taking NMJ on a night hunt and later died as a result, it left Nie Mingjue - only a teenager – with the responsibility to step up as sect leader, to raise his little brother and to carry the burden of the soul spirit and the curse of the Nie sect. all this as well is weighed down by the fact that NMJ would undoubtedly blame himself for his father’s death and the fact that he was unable to prevent it. this is what shapes him into a strong willed and determined sect leader, strict with rules and discipline. he uses the guilt he feels over his father’s death and channels in into running the Nie sect. determined to keep the Nie sect as strong as possible, he follows the same routes his father and ancestors did; running it in a military like style and continuing to allow sacrifices to be made to the sword spirit. Nie Mingjue knows what his sword spirit will eventually do to him, that he will not be around to pass it on to another generation and the fate will befall to his younger brother. so, when it comes to Nie Huaisang, all NMJ wants for him is to do well within the cultivation world, for him to be able to grow into a strong sect leader in the way he knows he himself will never live to become. he is strict with him because he wants his little brother to be able to be strong enough to never have to burden himself with the sword spirit. and it’s the knowledge that one day NHS may have to that ignites his frustration with him when Nie Huaisang shows so little interest in following in what he wants for him. because all he ever wants is for Nie Huaisang to be able to do better than he has done in his life. he wants to be able to always protect him and it kills him that he will one day be no longer able to do that. so, when Nie Mingjue is dying, when he is qi deviating, the need to protect his little brother is still there, in fact it so strong that it breaks through everything else. the need for NMJ to still be there to protect NHS is stronger than his rage and hate for JGY. in that moment, if JGY hadn’t intervened further NMJ could have most likely been pulled back from that edge. Jin Guangyao pulled every string in NMJ’s brain and increased every little thing he was feeling until he was nothing but a ball of rage and hurt and sadness and a tremendous amount of love and protection for his brother and the others he cared about. it’s why in the end, it didn’t work. JGY still had to have Xue yang cut NMJ’s head off to kill him. he never considered the other parts of Nie Mingjue he was changing when he put his little plan into action, the things that would still anchor him down and keep him human. and in the end, his cruel way of revenge and killing NMJ for his own gain ultimately backfired on him and led him to his own downfall.

what hurts so fucking much about what JGY did to NMJ is that it wouldn’t have worked it NMJ didn’t let it. obviously he had no idea what JGY was doing to him but he allowed him to be close enough for it to work. ultimately NMJ tried to work with JGY as best he could. he was devastated abt what meng yao did and that he had to banish him. he still worries about what became of him after he left and inquires after his wellbeing when he thinks he went to Jinlintai. his true distrust in JGY only starts – quite rightly so - after the events during the Sunshot campaign. and imagine how NMJ must have felt when he saw what JGY was capable of during Sunshot? NMJ saw meng yao, an outcast bullied by his peers and degraded for his parentage. so, he gave him a chance, stood up for him when everyone else was kicking him (literally) to the curb. all JGY wanted was the recognition of his father and NMJ figured he deserved the chance to get that. he built him up and gave him a strong position of power, even wrote to Jin Guangshan to persuade him to recognise his son. but then when JGY turns around and abuses that power he gives him and uses it to get away with literal murder and to crawl his way up the ranks, NMJ would’ve felt responsible for JGY actions because he was the one who enabled him to be in that position in the first place. NMJ had very strong, very rightful doubts about JGY after he killed his captain and his disciples during Sunshot, yet he cared about him in the past and he saw that some of JGY’s actions benefitted the good, and he saw how much trust LXC has in him and he allowed it to sway his gut feelings. you can see as they become sworn brothers that the distrust is still there quite strongly so I like to think that initially NMJ agreed to become sworn brothers with JGY as a way of “keeping the enemy close”. he would’ve wanted to keep a close eye on him, protect LXC if necessary, and partly because he still wanted to see if the good he once saw in him was still there. he wanted to believe that he was wrong and that JGY wasn’t lying. LXC suggested the sworn brotherhood as a way to build a bridge between NMJ and JGY, and honestly? it worked. but only on one half. and that half is Nie Mingjue, not Jin Guangyao.

in order for NMJ to let JGY play him the song of clarity in the first place, the trust he originally lost in him, he must have started to regain again over the years as his sworn brother. he would’ve seen JGY do good work and rise up the ranks, step ‘humbly’ into Jin Zixuan’s place and he would’ve seen how much trust LXC had in JGY. each little thing lessened that distrust to the extent he allowed JGY to know of how the sword spirit resentment affected him, and to trust him enough to let him try heal him. his distrust in JGY clearly never went away completely, but during those 16 years, NMJ trusted him enough to put his life in JGY��s hands and ultimately paid the price for it. 

but this is where I think Jin Guangyao went wrong. he never saw past the rage and distrust NMJ had in him at the start and instead used it as another excuse for his actions. he never considered the fact in allowing JGY to get so close that he could try kill him in such a way, that that was the very reason not to. and even if he did realise that NMJ trusted him again, he was too far in his grab for power to stop. instead, Jin Guangyao took the small amount of distrust that NMJ still had in him, and then increased it and made him feel it ten times worse over and over and over, until NMJ finally snapped with him. JGY made NMJ resentment for him ten times worse for himself to finally give him more means to justify killing him than it simply being that NMJ stood in the way when it came to his grasp for power. but in the end, all JGY was doing was sowing the seeds of his own destruction.

putting aside all the depressing plot stuff for a minute bc if I think abt it any harder for any longer I think I’m gonna combust SO I’m gonna jump back to just how much I LOVE HIM and I just DO I don’t fucking know why, I suppose I have a lil bit of a thing for tragedy and oh boy is the life of Nie Mingjue a tragedy, and I guess I have a soft spot for the “guy with a tough exterior is in reality really soft and goofy around those he loves and cares abt” trope. I guess what I also love abt him is that not many people see it. yes, he has an incredibly tough exterior that many people find it difficult to see past, but NMJ is soft, he is kind and he cares so very deeply about the people he loves. you see him so different once you go back and watch CQL from the beginning knowing the plot and having seen NMJ screaming and sobbing in his brother’s arms, his death looming ever so close on the horizon. You can see past his exterior and realise that he isn’t just Nie Huaisang’s angry older brother. you see him kind and eager and teasing with Lan Xichen and what can be first seen as anger with NHS is really just worry. and… it just makes everything just so much more heart-breaking. Because you realise what’s going to happen to him, what he is going to go through and you realise just how much he never fucking deserved it.

and now I’m very sad and feel like I should go write smthn abt him retiring with LXC and taking up beekeeping or smthn idk I just want him to be HAPPY :( 

i probs could write more but im not gonna bc yikes this got long and probably is just still a bunch of incoherent rambling if it feels like there’s stuff missing there probably is my brain has the thoughts lmao it just doesnt have the capacity to realise what they are and get them written down SO 

tldr;

NIE MINGJUE IS SOFT AND KIND AND CARES ABT EVERYONE HE LOVES SO GODDAMN MUCH AND HE REALLY FUCKING DIDN’T DESERVE WHAT HE GOT

[inthedepths-ofshadows]

Little songxiao fic

Hiii! I said I was going to write some little one-shot type of fics, so here’s the first one. The ending is a bit strange, because I also plan to make this a longer fic. But for now, it’s just a canon compliant one-shot. 

Sorry if there are any mistakes! I proofread this pretty quickly, so I wouldn’t be surprised if there are errors anywhere. Feel free to point them out. 

On AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29155305#main

~~

Xiao Xingchen raised Shuanghua and blocked Fuxue, before swiftly turning the sword towards Song Lan’s chest. He saw Song Lan’s dark eyes, unreadable and cold, narrow. Song Lan dodged and deflected Shuanghua, his arm hitting the flat of the blade. Fuxue came up on Xiao Xingchen’s side, a move the man barely avoided, springing backwards and landing lightly.

Song Lan and Xiao Xingchen circled each other for several breaths. Suddenly, Song Lan lunged forward and thrust Fuxue at Xiao Xingchen’s heart. It was a matter of seconds—seconds of metal clanging and rapid maneuvering—before the two cultivators came to a standstill. Fuxue was held at Xiao Xingchen’s throat and Shuanghua at Song Lan’s heart. Another few heartbeats passed. With two smooth movements, the two silently withdrew and sheathed their swords.

“You were a bit more aggressive today, Zichen,” Xiao Xingchen commented. He fell into step with Song Lan as they headed back to the inn they were staying at. Most days, they went into the forest to train and spar with each other. In the beginning, Xiao Xingchen beat Song Lan nine out of ten times, but between Xiao Xingchen’s patient guidance and Song Lan’s stubborn persistence, their matches had evened out considerably. They tied more often than having a clear winner.

Xiao Xingchen was still facing forward but saw Song Lan glance at him out of the corner of his eye. In the two years they had known each other, they had learned each other’s mannerisms and how to communicate with simple gestures. Xiao Xingchen knew Song Lan in so many ways that others didn’t.

He knew that Zichen didn’t like being touched, even through robes. He also knew that he was one of the only ones Zichen allowed to have physical contact with him. He knew that Zichen hid a spectrum of emotions behind a stern and unforgiving facade. Xiao Xingchen also knew that he was one of the only ones Zichen let go of that mask in front of. He knew that Zichen was harsh and strict and merciless, quick to anger, and always willing to fight. He also knew that with Xiao Xingchen, Zichen enjoyed laughing and talking for hours, their conversations often going late into the night, accompanied by a bottle or two of liquor.

From the first day they met—during a nighthunt near Qinghe—Xiao Xingchen could tell he liked Song Lan. He had an aura around him that Xiao Xingchen couldn’t help but be drawn to. And so, for the next two years, he had learned what every strike of Fuxue felt like. If they were both blindfolded, they’d still be able to find each other, blow for blow. Song Lan knew Xiao Xingchen just as well as Xiao Xingchen knew Song Lan.

In response to Song Lan’s look, Xiao Xingchen continued.

“You ended the fight faster than usual. Don’t think I can’t tell you’ve been on edge recently. What is it?”

“I’d rather not say; you won’t like it,” Song Lan said, “But I suppose you’ll find out soon anyway.” Xiao Xingchen tilted his head.

“Oh?”

“Nie Mingjue died of qi deviation, and Chang Ping recanted his allegations against Xue Yang. Lanling Jin is releasing him.” Song Lan said the last part quietly.

Xiao Xingchen stopped abruptly. “What? Weren’t most of the major cultivation sects present at Xue Yang’s trial? How can he simply be set free?”

“Most likely through Lanling Jin’s scheming. He was, after all, one of their guest cultivators.”

Xiao Xingchen’s head drooped, and he let out a rare sound of frustration. “Why is it so hard ƒor them to see what Xue Yang has done? Why does it still matter that he was a guest cultivator? They were just too afraid to go against Qinghe Nie. Cowards.” The last word was mumbled under Song Lan’s breath.

“You are better than they are. You could squish them beneath your feet, but you don’t and that’s what makes you better. Remember why you left the mountain. To improve this cruel, corrupt world.”

“And we’ll achieve that by building our own sect and raising orphans to become cultivators. Yes, Zichen, I remember. You make sure I always do.” Xiao Xingchen gave the other cultivator a gentle smile. Song Lan, too, smiled slightly in response.

~~

After reaching their room in the inn, Xiao Xingchen set Shuanghua down by the wall and glanced outside. “It’s still early. Would you like to go find some other food to try or stay here to eat?”

Xiao Xingchen was always eager to try new foods. On the mountain, he’d had some amount of variety, and the meals were by no means bland. However, there was a certain novelty around eating among unknown people who may or may not be cultivators, eating food that a stranger made with their own hands. He’d also developed a liking for spicy foods. Xiao Xingchen had realized that while Song Lan could handle spicy food, he generally didn’t enjoy it as much. Xiao Xingchen didn’t really mind, as he got more of the dishes he liked.

“Let’s stay here. We should figure out what to do about Xue Yang too.” Song Lan said. Xiao Xingchen nodded and sat on their bed. To save money, they always got one room with two beds. There had been the rare occasion that there was only one bed, so they shared beds once in a while too. This time, they were sharing. “He told you to remember him. Do you suppose he’ll come to find you?” Song Lan asked, sitting down next to Xiao Xingchen.

“Hopefully. That way we can apprehend him quickly. It’d be much more difficult if he made us chase him around.” Xiao Xingchen said. “You’ve been wanting to go back and visit Baixue Temple, right? You should go now, then we can meet back up to go find Xue Yang. I’m not sure when you’ll get another chance.”

“Mn,” Song Lan nodded but looked away. Xiao Xingchen tilted his head in question.

“Is there something else?”

“You’ve always wanted to visit more sects and learn different techniques. Baixue Temple is a small sect that’s fairly peaceful, but I’m sure there’s still something you could learn. Or maybe teach. You did well at improving my sword technique. And also- so- you should just come with me.” Song Lan rushed through the words before ending rather abruptly. Xiao Xingchen brightened at this.

“Really? I wouldn’t be intruding?” Song Lan blinked.

“Of course not. You’re the rogue cultivator who was raised by Baoshan Sanren. The bright moon and gentle breeze. You think they wouldn’t welcome you?” Xiao Xingchen’s face colored slightly and he looked away. “Besides, you’re my friend, so that counts for something too.”

“Ah, I suppose when you put it that way… But yes, I’ll come with you.” Xiao Xingchen turned back to Song Lan.

“Then we’ll leave tomorrow at noon. The sooner we get there, the sooner we can go find Xue Yang, and then we’ll be done with him.” Song Lan decided.

“That’s what we thought last time, remember?” Xiao Xingchen reminded.

“I’ll kill the brat myself if I have to.” Song Lan grumbled. Xiao Xingchen opened his mouth to reprimand Song Lan but closed it when he realized he’d do the same. Song Lan, seeing this, chuckled.

“Stop,” Xiao Xingchen elbowed Song Lan, but couldn’t stop himself from smiling too. “Let’s go order food.”

~~

“You know, I’m quite interested to meet your master. I wonder how well I could fare against him.” Xiao Xingchen said as he and Song Lan prepared to sleep.

“You’d most likely beat him easily. His sword technique is fierce, but he cannot compare to you. He’s more of a scholar. I’ve learned much from him.” Song Lan said with a fond look. “He’ll like you.”

Xiao Xingchen just shrugged in response. He lay down on one side of the bed and waited for Song Lan. “Either way, I’m glad we’re going together. Goodnight, Zichen.”

“Goodnight, Xingchen.”

~~

If you’re still here, thank you for reading!

[sassassassins]

turn the white snow red

[AO3]

3k, Teen & Up Audiences, wangxian, angst, blood & injury, tw: mild eye gore (mentioned, not more than canon)

Interlude between chapters 13 and 14 of cicer's love, in fire and blood, which, if you aren't reading, you should be. It probably won’t make sense if you haven’t read that fic.

Wei Wuxian returns home to find out he was wrong about his husband, in the worst way possible.

Watching Xiao Xingchen worry about Song Lan was almost worse than looking at Song Lan’s ruined eyes, Wei Wuxian thought. The injury had been gruesome when they first arrived—Xue Yang had been thorough—but under Wen Qing’s careful care, his eyes had been tended and wrapped neatly with a clean bandage. Song Lan seemed disoriented more than anything else, unused to being so dependent on others to walk and move, but he was perfectly willing to entrust himself and his safety to his husband. Xiao Xingchen, on the other hand, had grief and worry written so clearly on every line of his face that it was difficult to look at him directly. Perhaps if Song Lan had been able to see him, he would have tried to mask his emotions, but that was exactly the problem—Song Lan couldn’t see him. He might never see him again.

Wei Wuxian rocked back on his heels, itching with impatience that he would not voice aloud, not with Song Lan injured like this. The sooner they were back in the Burial Mounds, the better. Xue Yang could be anywhere. He could be hidden in the trees of the clearing near the temple that they were resting in, watching their every move from the shadows. He could even be in the Burial Mounds attacking the undefended Wens and the disciples. Wei Wuxian had a sneaking suspicion that the wards would not keep Xue Yang out, and he had left his people with few defenses besides Lan Wangji. That was, of course, assuming that his husband turned out to be a defense and not a threat after all.

They were in a clearing some distance away from the temple wards. It was relatively hidden, but they were still in unfamiliar territory and far too exposed for Wei Wuxian’s liking. They had needed some place of relative safety for Wen Qing to examine and treat Song Lan as best she could, but it itched, being somewhere so undefended. He trusted in his own power, but Xue Yang had already hurt one of his people tonight. They weren’t safe yet, and this night was far from over. They needed to leave.

“Do you need much more time here?” he asked, trying to sound neutral. Judging by the look that Wen Qing shot him, he did not succeed, but she began packing her things away in her medical kit.

“I’ve done all I can do for now,” Wen Qing said. Xiao Xingchen nodded at her, offering a small, tense smile in gratitude.

Wen Qing stepped back from her patient and watched as Song Lan levered himself to his feet. He was leaning heavily on his husband’s elbow, and Xiao Xingchen was murmuring to him, soothing, but the lines around his eyes were tight. Wei Wuxian turned away to give them some privacy and idly surveyed the trees surrounding them, which rustled in the evening dark but offered no answers. They had to go back to the Burial Mounds, but he couldn’t leave without performing one more sweep of the area. Leaving Xue Yang here, free to do more harm, would be unforgivable.

As he turned, preparing to reach out with his qi to survey their surroundings, the signal talisman in his sleeve began to burn. Lan Zhan. He stopped in his tracks, weighing his options, and found he didn’t like any of them. He could assume the signal talisman was a trap, stay here to search for Xue Yang, and possibly leave the undefended villagers at the Burial Mounds to be slaughtered. He could bring everyone back and instantly be caught in a trap, exposing an already injured Song Lan to more danger. Or he could go back alone, and possibly leave Song Lan and Xiao Xingchen exposed to attack here. There was no good solution.

“What is it?” Wen Qing asked, watching him with her sharp eyes.

Grimacing, he pulled the signal talisman out of his sleeve. The characters on it burned red, and he could feel the tug in his qi pulling him back towards Lan Wangji’s location.

“Lan Wangji?” Wen Qing asked.

Wei Wuxian nodded, then scratched his nose. A suspicion that had begun to die down in his heart flared to life once more. Could this have been the plan all along? Had his beautiful, surprisingly sweet husband been playing the longest con in existence, waiting for his accomplice to come along and help him with a perfect assassination? He wouldn’t put it past Xue Yang, but he had found himself wanting to believe Lan Wangji when he said he didn’t lie. He found himself wanting too much these days, which was precisely the problem. He wanted Lan Wangji to be real. He wanted, so badly, for their marriage to be real. He wanted to kiss his husband’s cheek (well, not just his cheek) and tease him and watch his ears flare red. He wanted everything, more than he had ever wanted from anyone before, but that, in and of itself, was suspicious. He let out a frustrated breath.

“Well?” Wen Qing asked. “Are you staying, or are you going?”

“We can’t trust him,” Wei Wuxian said, but then he sighed. “But that doesn’t matter, does it. Your family is there.”

“They are,” Wen Qing agreed. Her face was stoic, but there was fear in her eyes. Still, she would respect his decision. He knew that.

He sighed again. It all had to come to a head eventually. They had planned for this moment, waited for it, even tried to bait Lan Wangji into it. Over the past few months, the tension had become nearly unbearable. He thought of Lan Wangji’s careful hands holding a razor blade and scraping delicately along his jawline. He remembered his husband, drunk and demanding and warm in his lap, and viciously brushed the thought away. He would have his answer by the end of tonight, and then... well. No use planning until he knew for sure whether he could trust his husband or whether he was about to have his heart broken.

Looking over to the other two cultivators, he locked eyes with Xiao Xingchen, who nodded elegantly at him, mouth set in a grim line. “We’ll come with you,” Xingchen said. “We’ll only be exposed here.”

“You know we may be walking into a trap,” Wei Wuxian warned.

Xiao Xingchen only smiled. "We’ve walked into worse,” he said mildly, which was true enough. Wei Wuxian nodded, turned, squared his shoulders, and activated a portal talisman. Here goes nothing.

As they stepped through the portal back home, Wei Wuxian winced. The Burial Mounds were quiet, but their resentful energy was not. A thousand screaming voices cried out to him, telling him of a fight and blood and death with so many overlapping sounds that he could barely understand a single word. Something was deeply wrong.

“Get them inside,” he said to Wen Qing, and started up the mountain as fast as he could move.

The snow slowed him down, an annoyance dragging at his feet, but he pressed forward. He kept a wary hand on Chenqing, eyes flicking to the side to catch any hint of a sword in the dark. The resentful energy shrieked and swirled around him. With every step, the image of Song Lan’s eyes and Xiao Xingchen’s worried face pulsed behind his eyes like a headache.

Finally, he reached the place where the signal flare pulled him, just over a slight ridge behind the main settlement. He reached the top of the ridge and his breath froze in his lungs.

The scene came to him in pieces. First, a splash of blood, bright against the snow. Then an arm—that explained the blood. Then the corpse of Xue Yang, grinning even in death. If Xue Yang was dead, then that meant… his stomach lurched. Lan Zhan. There was no one else in the settlement who could possibly killed him, no one else with enough power and experience. His husband was innocent, and Wei Wuxian had trapped him in this marriage and in this place for no justifiable reason.

“…Laozu? Laozu!!” came a familiar voice, desperate and distraught. Wei Wuxian’s eyes ripped away from Xue Yang’s corpse to meet Zhang Huizhong’s tear-filled eyes, looked down to see her bloody hands pressing a stained robe against his husband’s stomach. Blood bloomed bright in the snow like the red of their wedding robes.

“No,” he gasped, dropping to his knees before he had even fully processed the sight of Lan Wangji sprawled inelegantly on his back, laying unnaturally still in the snow. He grabbed for his husband’s wrist, and for a desperate moment he couldn’t find his husband’s pulse. He could barely hear anything over the pounding of his own heartbeat in his ears.

His fingers fumbled, searching, and he reached out with his spiritual energy. There, finally, there was the pulse, barely a weak fluttering, and his husband’s qi felt thready, skittering and nervous like a rabbit when it should have welled up to heal him. Something was wrong beyond the blood pouring from his stomach.

“Is Wen Qing with you?” Zhang Huizhong asked, panic in her voice.

He nodded, beginning a steady transfer of spiritual energy even as he turned to roar over his shoulder, calling for Wen Qing. When he yelled, the voices of the Burial Mounds yelled with him, layering and overlapping until his voice was a legion crying out in unison. His eyes might be glowing again, but that hardly mattered now.

Movement flickered in the courtyard. The settlement was waking up, awoken by the disturbance and the noise. Where was Wen Qing?

“What happened?” he asked, turning back to Zhang Huizhong. His voice was still smoking at the edges.

“I don’t know,” she said. “I don’t- I found him. Like this. I-“

She began crying again. Wei Wuxian didn’t want to cry, not yet. He wanted to scream. He wanted to shake Lan Wangji and ask why he had to be so thoroughly, improbably good, why he couldn’t have stayed safe in his bed and let Xue Yang wait to fight Wei Wuxian, like he’d clearly intended. But that wasn’t who his husband was. He knew that now. It might be too late to do anything about it, but this proved his husband’s innocence more thoroughly than anything else could have.

Where was Wen Qing? He turned, watching as she came running out of the back entrance to the Burial Mounds. Good. Then, she paused, looking at something dark in the snow. What was she doing?

“Wen Qing!” he called. She didn’t seem to hear him, reaching down. He nearly growled in frustration. His husband was bleeding, dying, and she was causing an inexcusable delay. What could be more important than this?

“A-Ning!” Wen Qing called back towards the compound, and Wen Ning, presumably roused by the noise as they returned to the settlement, rushed out of the dark doorway towards his sister. He reached down and picked up the dark shape, which resolved itself into the limp body of A-Qing, so small in Wen Ning’s arms. Wen Qing murmured some quick words to her brother, who nodded. Wei Wuxian felt a sickening surge of rage and worry, so strong that the winds of the Burial Mounds picked up around him. Zhang Huizhong looked faintly alarmed, but she kept the pressure on the wound. “Laozu,” she said, her voice a warning.

Wei Wuxian took a deep breath, and let the winds die down. He turned back to his husband, increasing the flow of spiritual energy into his body, but the qi that rose up to receive his donation felt weaker. His husband was fading, right in front of Wei Wuxian’s eyes, slipping right through Zhang Huizhong’s fingers, and there was nothing he could do about it besides pour more and more of his considerable energy into his husband’s body and hope it would be enough.

Wen Qing finally came running over to them, kneeling on the other side of Lan Wangji. She took his other wrist with her usual medical efficiency, feeling his qi and examining the placement of the wound, then looked up to meet Wei Wuxian’s eyes. “It’s bad,” she said.

“How bad?” he asked. He looked down at his husband’s pale face, heart racing. Perhaps it had never stopped racing.

She sighed, dropping the wrist and moving into her medical kit. “I don’t know,” she said as she pulled supplies out of her bag. “We can’t treat him here. It’s too cold.”

“Wen Qing,” Wei Wuxian said. “How bad?”

“I can’t make any promises, not with a wound like this,” Wen Qing said, looking straight into his eyes. “But I’ll do my best.”

With that, she turned back to her patient and Zhang Huizhong. “Can you keep the pressure on?” she asked, and Zhang Huizhong nodded.

“Good,” Wen Qing said. “Let’s hope you got to him fast enough.”

Wei Wuxian took a deep, shuddery breath. “What do I do?” he asked, and was startled to find that he barely sounded like himself. His hands were shaking almost as badly as his voice.

“Don’t stop with the energy transfers,” Wen Qing said, glancing up at him. “Whatever you do, don't stop. Follow my lead. We’ll have to move him inside. I can’t work here.”

Wei Wuxian nodded. Whatever it took. He could not allow his husband to die, especially not now that he owed him a lifetime of apologies.

* * *

Later, after three hours of surgery, after countless spiritual energy transfers, after the most harrowing night of Wei Wuxian’s life (and there had been several strong contenders), after the blood had been gently cleaned from his husband's skin and he had been changed into clean robes and placed gently into his bed, Wei Wuxian sat slumped in a chair staring at Lan Wangji with dull eyes. He still held his husband's hand, even though the spiritual energy transfers had finally stopped as his husband stabilized and slept. He had not touched his husband so much since the night he got drunk, but he felt oddly detached from his own limbs. It had been impossible to think about anything beyond the fear, and now the guilt in the aftermath. The fear had abated somewhat, but he had a sinking suspicion the guilt was only just beginning.

He turned to look at Wen Qing, who turned away from the basin where she had been washing the blood out from underneath her fingernails. She looked as exhausted as Wei Wuxian felt. Through the overwhelming guilt and the numb rage that still coursed through him, he felt a surge of gratitude for Wen Qing. Not many could do what she had done tonight. With a less skilled physician, he would be mourning a husband he'd never had the opportunity to truly know.

“You know what this means, don’t you,” Wei Wuxian said to her, after a moment.

“We were wrong,” Wen Qing murmured.

“We were wrong,” he echoed, voice hollow.

“We couldn’t have known he was trustworthy,” Wen Qing said. “We didn’t know anything for sure. They’d already tried so many times to kill you. Why would he be any different?”

Wei Wuxian scrubbed at his eyes. The skin of his face felt greasy. He was sure he looked a mess, but he had poured so much energy into his husband that he couldn't find anything left to care about his appearance. He felt whiplashed, bruised, irrevocably shaken.

“I should have known,” he said, his voice cracking. “No. I did know. Deep down, I did know. He’s different than they are. Honorable. Good. Too good for his own good.”

Wen Qing sighed, looking down at Lan Wangji where he lay unmoving on the fresh sheets.

Wei Wuxian's eyes stung, with anger or exhaustion or tears, he didn’t know or care. “Will he wake up?” he asked.

“I’ve done all I can do,” Wen Qing answered. She pressed a hand to Wei Wuxian’s shoulder, brief and firm. “You should get some rest.”

Immediately, Wei Wuxian shook his head. “I need to stay here.”

“Wei Wuxian,” she said, his real name a warning.

“I need to be here when he wakes up,” he said. “I owe him that much.”

With one final sigh, and one more firm press of his shoulder, Wen Qing left the room.

“Wei Wuxian…” she began, then sighed. “I won’t treat you if you collapse again.”

"So mean to me,” he said, but his voice was a whisper, entirely lacking the humor he’d meant to infuse into it.

On the second day, after checking over her patient and changing his bandages, Wen Qing told Wei Wuxian to get some sleep. He replied that immortals didn’t need sleep, which earned him a deeply unimpressed look. He had a feeling if Lan Wangji’s situation weren’t so dire, she would be threatening him with needles, but one more look at the all-too-still shape of his husband on the bed and she stepped away with another one of her deep sighs.

On the third day, Granny Wen came to the door with a fresh pitcher of water and sympathy in her eyes. She handed it off to Wei Wuxian at the door. He didn’t want to let anyone else in the room besides Wen Qing, not yet. It was irrational—Granny Wen was beyond trustworthy, but he still couldn’t shake the shiver in his chest when he thought of how close he’d come to losing Lan Wangji. How he might still lose him if he never woke up. From the gentleness in her hands as she handed the water over, she clearly understood.

On the fourth day, A-Yuan and the other children clamored in the hallway, trying to come visit. Granny Wen chased them away, but hearing their anxious little voices somehow made Wei Wuxian feel even worse, which he honestly hadn’t thought was possible. That evening, he finally let himself cry, clutching at his husband’s limp hand. He didn’t let himself leave, even after the tears had dried up. If this was his penance, then he had well and truly earned it for everything he had done to the best man he had ever known.

Then, finally, on the fifth day, when Wei Wuxian was truly beginning to worry that he'd never have a chance to apologize, his husband opened his beautiful eyes.

[words-writ-in-starlight]

modern reincarnated song lan/xiao xingchen first meeting with both their memories back 👀

KIDS IT’S BEEN A WHILE SINCE I WROTE A FIC TO PROVE IT (I’mso sorry Les Mis fandom) BUT REINCARNATION FICS ARE STILL MY JAM and oh boy amI ever going to make it the Songxiao fandom’s problem.  It’s also been a while since I postedsomething for that five headcanons meme, but I’m on lockdown and except for goingto the grocery store a week ago I literally haven’t left my apartment in goingon five weeks, so like, I’m officially still doing that meme.  Not QUITE the prompt, but a cousin of theprompt, and it’s 3:18 AM so you’re not my boss.

ONE

Song Lan remembers the very first time he sees XiaoXingchen.  Xingchen is eighteen, a yearolder than he was when they met before, wearing a white shirt and a messy bun, andSong Lan takes one look at him in a grocery store and almost knocks over adisplay of oranges.  It’s—a lot to takein.  Xingchen looks exactly like himself,like Song Lan remembers him from—from before. He’s talking with a store employee, a basket in one hand and the otherholding up an apple.  He looks apologetic,with the mild smile that he always wore when he felt like he was imposing onsomeone’s time, and he’s saying something about being sorry, but please couldhe have some help choosing.

Song Lan’s ears are still ringing and his chest is still aching andhis hands are still shaking, but his voice is clear and steady when he hearshimself say, “I can give you a hand.”

Xingchen turns toward him, a startled look on his beautifulface, and Song Lan’s throat threatens to close up on him, because Xingchen’seyes are a clear light brown more familiar than anything in the world, and theydo not focus on him.  He has a white canetucked into the corner of his arm—blind, still.

“I couldn’t impose,” Xingchen demurs immediately, and Song Lanshakes his head.

“It’s no imposition.  I—I don’thave anywhere else to be.”  Song Lan castsaround a little desperately for an excuse, a good reason for Xingchen to lethim help, let him stay under the light of that smile, and says, “I’m supposedto be studying for an exam and if I didn’t get out of the apartment I was goingto tear up my textbook.  You’d be savingme three hundred and fifty dollars.”

Xingchen laughs, then, and Song Lan doesn’t know what hisface does, but the employee gives him a mildly pitying glance.

“Well, I suppose I had better, then,” Xingchen says, warm andamused.  “I normally come with one of myroommates, but one of them is sick.”  Heholds up the apple to Song Lan and says, “I’m Xiao Xingchen.”

I know,Song Lan almost says.  He doesn’t.  He takes the apple and says, “This one isbruised.  I’m Song Lan.”

TWO

Xiao Xingchen, for his part, doesn’t remember for three weeks.  It’s a piling up of little things that weardown the wall hiding the past, for him, but the last straw, the crack that bringsthe dam down, is nothing at all: his roommates are usually good about makingsure to keep all the silverware in their assigned places, so that Xingchen canfind them, but that day, one of them, a study-abroad student named Morgan,forgets, and he slices open his palm on a knife.  She’s horrified and sorry and he has to talkher down from calling an ambulance, and she still insists on bandaging his handfor him, which he appreciates.  It hurtsand pulls all evening, and when he goes to sleep, he has a terrible nightmare.

This is nothing new.  XiaoXingchen has had terrible nightmares all his life.  Sometimes he even sees in them, which hewould find academically interesting if it were happening to anyone else—all thecolors are right, every line detailed and familiar.  He can’t read characters, but he knows theengravings on the swords.

It’s not a seeing dream that night.  It’s a dream about darkness and lies anddying, and there’s blood drying sticky and hot on his hand and sleeve when he sobshimself awake, from where his hand is clenched into such a tight fist that itseeped through the bandages.  His handfeels like someone’s laid a match to the cut, and he has a headache likenothing he’s ever felt, a bone-deep spike of pain behind his eyes, and he needs—

His hands shake as he grabs his phone and manages to pull upSong Lan’s number.

THREE

Song Lan has the gift of waking up to a vibrating phone—which isto say, he worked in retail for three years before he got into teaching school,and still has anxiety about it.  Thephone is already at his ear and he’s saying “This is Song Lan” before he’s evenawake.

“Zichen?”

“Xingchen?”  Song Lan issitting up and doesn’t really remember how that happened, and he’s staringwide-eyed at his desk through the dim city-twilight creeping around his darkcurtains, and Xingchen’s voice sounds ravaged on the other end of theline.  “What’s wrong?”

“I—please, Zichen, I—”

“Are you hurt?” Song Lan demands, and he’s already on his feet,the phone pinned between his cheek and his shoulder as he grabs whateverclothes are near at hand.  

“No,” Xingchen says faintly. “Wait—yes.  My hands—no.  Just my right hand.”  He makes a noise that sounds like it might,theoretically, be a laugh, if he stopped crying.  “I cut it on a knife, Zichen.”

Song Lan thinks about the world-ending feeling of remembering XiaoXingchen, and tries not to love the sound of Xingchen’s voice saying Zichenagain, and that moment, when he’s already dragging on socks with his keys inhis hand, is when he finally, finally catches up.

He stops cold, one shoe on. “Xingchen—do you remember me?”

“Yes,” Xingchen whispers. “I remember everything.”

Song Lan shuts his eyes for a moment and really, really hatesXue Yang.  “I’m coming over.”

FOUR

Xingchen’s roommates are not going to appreciate him having his “weirdfriend with the scary face” show up at three in the morning and waking them upby knocking on the door, but on the other hand, Xingchen knows he probablylooks…bad.  He knows he has blood leakingfrom his hand, and he can feel that the cut is probably worse than he thought,and he can hear one of them make an alarmed sound as he wavers on his feet inhis bedroom door, but then Song Lan stops knocking politely and startshammering on the door with the side of his fist.  Xingchen makes a helpless gesture with his bleedinghand, and hears someone fumble the lock open and immediately scramble back toget out of the way.  They’re scared ofSong Lan for some reason.  

Xingchen can’t imagine being scared of Song Lan.

“Xingchen,” Song Lan says, Zichen says, and Xiao Xingchenknows, like he knows his own name, that Song Lan doesn’t like to be touched,but he can’t stop himself from reaching out. He stops when he can feel the warmth of a body beyond his fingertips anddoesn’t go any further.

“Zichen.”

Song Lan’s hand closes around his bare wrist without hesitation,and he forces Xingchen’s hand palm up, and says, “You’re bleeding.”

“Yes,” Xingchen says, starting to laugh.  He’s not sure why he’s laughing.  He thinks he might still be crying.  But Song Lan is here, touching Xingchen inthe measured, intentional way he always did, and it seems obscurely hilariousthat he expects Xingchen to care about something as petty as bleeding.  “Yes, I am.”

“All right,” Song Lan says softly, like he’s answering aquestion that hasn’t been asked.  “Comeon, Xingchen.  Let’s get a look at yourhand.”

Xingchen hates to be led around by the hand, like a child, buthe goes easily when Song Lan pulls him toward the bathroom.  Song Lan lets him rest his head against SongLan’s hip, while those familiar hands dab blood from his skin and peel away thesoaked bandages, and Xingchen listens to Zichen’s low voice, and tries tobreathe.

FIVE

So, Song Lan isn’t going to class tomorrow.  He send the emails from the emergency roomwaiting area, on his phone, with Xingchen sitting beside him and holding asmall pile of gauze to his palm.  Xingchenhas been quiet since Song Lan announced that they were going to the hospital,but he went without a fight, admitted that the laceration was worse than it hadbeen before—from the clench of his fist in his nightmare, apparently.  His hair is tied back into a braid that curlsover his shoulder, and he forgot his cane, and Song Lan washed the smearedblood from his face and didn’t throw up at the memory of watching Xue Yang dothe same, and—

“I missed you,” Song Lan says quietly, and Xingchen turns towardhim.  All at once, all the things thatSong Lan planned and imagined and dreamed of saying are piled up behind histeeth, trying to force their way out in a rush. “I’m—so sorry, Xingchen. Everything—it was all my fault, I was so cruel to you.”

“Zichen,” Xingchen says, and he sounds so tired.  His head tips toward Song Lan’s shoulder, buthe stops, just like he did before, just like he always has, a little distancefrom touching.  Xingchen always lets SongLan be the one to close that last gap, always lets him choose how and when andwhere he’s willing to be touched.  Hedidn’t need it explained to him when they first met and doesn’t need it thistime.  Song Lan has missed him so much.

“I’m not—I never had your gift with words,” Song Lan goes on, somefeeling rising in his chest that he can’t name, something nearly frantic,because he’s not Xingchen, has never been Xingchen, has never had the rightwords at the right time even when he needed them most desperately.  He wrote so many versions of thisconversation in his head, before, that he can’t pick one now.  “But I—I am so sorry, Xingchen.  I should have done better by you, I was—I wasthoughtless, and you suffered for it--”

“Zichen,” Xingchen says again, weary, and Song Lan shuts up.  “I only regretted being blind when it killedyou,” he says, in a low murmur.  “When itkilled all those—and that—that was not your fault.”

“But—”

“Enough,” Xingchen says.  “You’reforgiven.  You were always forgiven,Zichen.”  He smiles a little.  “Besides, I should be the one apologizing.”

“I won’t listen,” Song Lan says, trying for humor.  He never did have the talent for being funnywhen he meant to be, but Xingchen smiles a little more.

“I missed you too.  Allthe time.”

Song Lan thinks briefly about kissing him.  Maybe later. Instead he reaches up and tips Xingchen’s head onto his shoulder, andsays, “Keep pressure on your hand.”

“It’s not bleeding anymore.”

“Good.  Keep pressure onit.”

AndXingchen laughs, with his cheek resting on Song Lan’s shoulder, and Song Lansmiles a little himself.