Chapter Text
ix.
Lan Wangji has never experienced silence as loud as Jiang Wanyin’s.
Certainly, Wei Ying’s rare silences were never quiet either. They were filled with movement, an inescapable presence like the riotous tumble of water over stones. Fluid, mesmerizing, inescapable. Beautiful. Even if irritating, just at the beginning, due to its unfamiliarity. Due to Lan Wangji’s foolishness.
But where Wei Ying’s energized silences, whether a rare moment of true concentration—his fingers still twitching, knee bouncing as he sat sprawled in elegant disarray—or of imminent mischief—sly looks and dancing eyes—always felt like sunlight, like pulsing life, the imminent movement between seasons, something that cannot be fought or resisted, Jiang Wanyin’s silence is like a threatening storm.
Sitting next to Jiang Wanyin is like being at the shore of a deep ocean just as willing to drag one down and drown them in the depths as to bash them open upon the rocks. Jiang Wanyin says nothing, and yet every line of his body, every expression and rigid gesture speaks of rage and ill-temper and disapproval.
It is deeply unpleasant. Lan Wangji tolerates it, as he must.
They sit at a small fire across from one another, their disciples in two distinct groups a short distance away. Close enough to hear any order, but far enough to offer respect. Lan Wangji is quite used to this deferential isolation, prefers it in fact. Jiang Wanyin seems less at ease. Any attempt to appear unaffected is largely unsuccessful.
From what little Lan Wangji has witnessed so far, he is forced to admit that Jiang Wanyin is an effective leader. He manages people well and does not yell nearly as much as one might assume. But it is also as if the weight of it has settled hard and harsh on him. Heavy.
Still, he had not turned Lan Wangji away. For that Lan Wangji can only be grateful. In fact, Jiang Wanyin has only once addressed Lan Wangji’s unasked for presence.
“This is my mission,” Jiang Wanyin had said while Lan Wangji braced himself to assert his intentions. Intentions that remain largely unspoken. Lan Wangji does not speak of things that are obvious.
Not unless it is for Wei Ying, he thinks, remembering his promises to himself in a dank cave. To never look away from Wei Ying again. To speak the obvious and say things twice, if it seems that is what Wei Ying needs. For Wei Ying he is willing to labor through the difficulty of words.
But not for Jiang Wanyin.
But rather than telling Lan Wangji to get lost, Jiang Wanyin’s face had merely scrunched up, his chin and shoulders lifting. “You will follow my orders.”
Lan Wangji believes he controlled his face, did not show his surprise nor betray a flash of disbelief. Jiang Wanyin was correct, after all. This is his mission. And he is, by title, now Lan Wangji’s superior, even if not of his clan. Lan Wangji’s age and greater skill are no longer the measure of their relationship.
It matters naught to Lan Wangji. And so he’d bowed the exact height a Clan Heir would owe a Clan Leader and said, “Of course, Jiang-zongzhu.”
Jiang Wanyin twitched in response, though whether in irritation or discomfort, Lan Wangji could not ascertain. Did not care enough to try.
Jiang Wanyin then glanced at the small force of Lan disciples hardened by months of war and nodded his head in acceptance. “Right. Good talk. Which guy is your best scout.”
And that had been that.
Ever since they have moved through Wen-occupied Qinghe in uneasy coordination.
Officially, Jiang Wanyin’s sanctioned mission is to disrupt supply lines for the Wen forces currently occupying the Unclean Realm, to harass their rear line to soften the way for Nie Mingjue’s forces. Unofficially, there is zero doubt that Jiang Wanyin will be searching for information about his missing brother.
Not even Nie Mingjue, Lan Wangji thinks, would be foolish enough to try to tell Jiang Wanyin otherwise. A mark in Jiang Wanyin’s favor, this unmoveable dedication to Wei Ying, even if not quite enough to make his company tolerable.
Equally, neither Nie Mingjue nor Jiang Wanyin would be enough to stop Lan Wangji from going along.
Wei Ying is missing and they will find him.
The possibilities painted by Wei Ying’s extended absence primarily point in an unwelcome direction. Missing for so long without word, in an area overrun by Wen forces… The best hope is that Wei Ying has hidden himself away for some prolonged reason that Lan Wangji struggles to identify. Then again, his imagination has never been that strong. Capture is far too reasonable an assumption. As for the worst-case scenario—
No. Lan Wangji does not allow his mind to go in that direction. Would not accept it anyway, short of irrefutable evidence.
And so, the search.
They move at night and sleep in shifts during the day, Jiang Wanyin grumbling something uncomplimentary about Lan actually being flexible in something for once, as if war and preservation of life do not countermand any rule. As if night-hunting does not often require their sleep patterns to shift.
Lan Wangji ignores the insult as meaningless, but tallies the grievance all the same.
Two days later they are resting a short distance from a Wen patrol, waiting for full darkness before they attack. Lan Wangji supposes there was a time he would have found such tactics unsavory, waiting for his enemy to be asleep and unaware. But he has seen far too often the way these occupying forces treat the commoners. Has the smell of his own home burning bright in his nostrils. The memory of Wei Ying limping out of the Wen dungeons.
He does not question the necessity of these tactics. It is what he has been told to do by his seniors. His commanders.
And yet, in the fading evening light when Lan Wangji writes his daily letter to Wei Ying, he asks the questions he has no one else to ask. Doesn’t dare speak or linger on even in his own mind. Is Lan Wangji becoming vicious? Would Wei Ying still recognize him? Is this what war truly is? Trying so desperately not to become the one you are opposing?
He cannot let such things drive him or influence him. Cannot let it make him hesitate. And so he does not.
There is righteous action and there is unrighteous action.
Wen Ruohan has killed indiscriminately. He has taken up an unholy power. Turned his back on righteous cultivation. Therefore he must be stopped. It is a simple delineation. With each rule and pattern set aside for the necessity of war, this truth sits sturdy as his sole foundation.
He sets aside his letter to Wei Ying, and with it, his doubts.
This evening is also the time that he should write to Jiang Yanli. In the last two weeks he has news that she would most certainly wish to hear, even if he will not be able to send it right away. Still, he writes salutations, of his continued health, and in a break from all the past letters, is then able to tell her that at least one of her brothers has been found.
He renews his promise to continue to search for her other brother.
Writing this reminds him of another promise made to Jiang Yanli. He glances at Jiang Wanyin across the fire where he scowls at the flames. Taking a slow breath, Lan Wangji resigns himself to the necessity of speaking with Jiang Wanyin about something more than logistics.
He remembers Jiang Yanli’s kind smile and Wei Ying’s love for his siblings.
“I spoke with Jiang-guniang in Lanling,” Lan Wangji says, perhaps the most words he has spoken to the other man since they left Langya.
Jiang Wanyin’s face lifts with a jerk, his intemperate emotions an assault as always. “What? You saw A-jie?”
Lan Wangji merely stares past Jiang Wanyin’s shoulder. He has just said he had.
“Lan Wangji,” he growls. “You can’t just say shit like that and then shut back down into your best wall of ice impression. How was my sister? Is she being cared for?” He breaks off a moment, face creasing with some additional negative emotion that makes him look child-like. “Was she pissed off?”
Lan Wangji breathes through the barrage of questions, relieved not to be burdened by an amount of regard that might have him struggling to actually answer each one. He only need repeat Jiang Yanli’s specific words.
He has still, apparently, been silent too long, Jiang Wanyin’s hand tightening around his sword as if considering violence. “Lan Wangji!”
Lan Wangji takes another long moment to gather himself, some part of him determined to demonstrate what patience and moderation look like. “She asked that you take care and return to her.” He looks to the side, his letter to Wei Ying just visible out of the corner of his eye. “Both of you.”
Having dispatched his duty, he once again picks up the letter to Jiang Yanli, even though there is nothing left to be added. He can only hope Jiang Wanyin takes this as the signal that their conversation, such as it was, is now at an end.
His message must be clear, as Jiang Wanyin curses under his breath, still loud enough for Lan Wangji to hear himself being called a string of very unflattering names before shoving to his feet. “Have your guys ready to go in half an hour, Lan-er-gongzi,” he snaps and then storms off like a child.
A short distance away, the Lan disciples who have accompanied Lan Wangji since they first fled an occupied Cloud Recesses, give each other silent looks, but do not say a word, too well disciplined to make a comment about a Clan Leader’s behavior, no matter how childish.
The Wen patrol is dispatched with bloody efficiency that threatens to become commonplace. Lan Wangji’s disciples kill with the minimum of fuss, the Jiang disciples doing their best to follow their example, but still betraying the newness to the acts of war for some.
It is just stark enough of a difference to make the familiarity of violence once again abhorrent.
Lan Wangji kicks out to the side, impacting the chest of one Wen soldier before grabbing the wrist of a second, disarming him with a quick twist of a wrist. Out of the corner of his eye, Lan Wangji sees another Wen soldier coming up behind Jiang Wanyin’s unprotected back. He throws the sword, the soldier taking it in the chest, the momentum carrying him back and away, falling still on the ground.
Jiang Wanyin spares only a moment of attention to note the now-dead soldier, eyes darting to Lan Wangji, but Lan Wangji is already moving to retrieve the sword and find his next opponent.
In the end, only one Jiang disciple takes an injury to their arm, blood dripping down and off their fingers. They have suitably surprised the small Wen patrol, it seems. Though Lan Wangji cannot help but also note the age and relative inexperience of the Wen soldiers in this patrol. Beyond the one senior that Jiang Wanyin has subdued rather than killed, the others seemed…ill-prepared.
Conscripts, Lan Wangji suspects and tries not to feel any particular way about. He has his orders.
Once certain that the area is clear, Jiang Wanyin ties the bleeding patrol leader to a tree with Zidian, the purple ropes sparking and sizzling against cloth.
Jiang Wanyin asks sharp questions about the locations of other patrols, the supply train, and nearby villages, the smell of burning flesh growing stronger as Zidian burns through cloth. One of the Jiang disciple takes careful note of everything the man reveals in his agony.
Only once the questions of importance to their official mission are asked, does Jiang Wanyin ask about prisoners. About Wen strongholds where they may be kept.
“Where is Wei Wuxian?” Jiang Wanyin grinds out at last, the strands of Zidian tightening further to judge from the choked scream the patrol leader fights and fails to hold back.
Lan Wangji tries not to feel the sound of Wei Ying’s name like a sword to the chest, looking on as impassively as he can.
“Dead,” the Wen soldier manages to spit out.
“Lies,” Jiang Wanyin says.
The man just smiles, blood on his teeth. “I hear he begged, in the end.”
Jiang Wanyin lets out a guttural shout, Zidian tightening relentlessly. The clearing fills with the sound of bones breaking and the man breathes no more.
One of the Jiang disciples, little more than a child (yet no more than two years younger than Lan Wangji himself, he is honor-bound to admit), vomits into a nearby bush, face wan under a splash of blood across his face. Not his own, it seems, but an enemy’s.
Lan Wangji takes a careful breath and then gestures for his disciples to begin gathering the bodies into a pile for burning.
They are within their rights to burn the bodies and scatter their ashes as a final act against their enemies. Those who have violated them in turn. But even more prevalent in Lan Wangji’s mind is the suppression of resentment. Even if they did not rise again, if these men had calming ceremonies, to leave them to the scavengers risks rot and sickness for the land and the commoners who live here. Cremation is the most preventative choice. It can still be done with enough care to offer some protective passage this far from home. They need not scatter the remains, but burn quickly and then bury as properly as possible.
He tries not to think of the incongruity, killing one moment and being comforted by the rigid guidelines of caring for the dead in the next. The task he has been trained for.
Jiang Wanyin scowls, but doesn’t countermand the order. Even going so far as to provide some rather cleverly devised talismans to hasten the burning without drawing attention to their location by light or smoke.
Lan Wangji cannot help but suspect the true origin of these talismans.
Jiang Wanyin stays silent through it all, until someone approaches the collapsed and mangled body of the patrol leader.
“No,” he barks. “Leave him.”
The Lan disciples pause in their task, looking back at Lan Wangji.
“I said,” Jiang Wanyin repeats, each word spit like an arrow. “Leave him.”
“For what purpose?” Lan Wangji asks.
“So others will know.”
It is unlikely any other Wen patrol will pass this way. And if they do, it will only alert them to the presence of their infiltrating force. The only other people who might one day come across the mangled remains would be commoners in these lands, exposing them to a resentful menace they could have no hope to handle.
“That is unwise,” Lan Wangji says.
“Not your call to make,” Jiang Wanyin snaps and then strides away.
Lan Wangji leaves the body, but still sits in the clearing and pulls out his qin, playing the souls to rest. Snapping whatever thin threads might still be holding them to this place.
It is all he can do.
They do not linger once the task is complete, once more slipping into the darkness, towards the outpost location betrayed by the patrol leader before his death. As the sky begins to lighten, they stop at a cliff face, the rock curved above enough to offer slight protection.
They settle, the disciples quietly making a quick meal that some of the Jiang seem too unsettled to eat.
Jiang Wangji is agitated, even more than usual. It is possible he is embarrassed by the reaction of his men, as if they themselves hadn’t been pampered and unprepared children mere months before. The Lan disciples are perhaps better at hiding it, but Lan Wangji finds no shame in the honest reaction to unfamiliar brutality.
Or perhaps, to judge from the gruff yet not unkind way Jiang Wanyin claps his hand on his still-shaken disciple’s shoulder and orders him to eat, it is not that at all. Jiang Wanyin’s emotions have long been beyond Lan Wangji.
Once again left sitting apart with each other, Lan Wangji sits and eats his portion, doing his best to ignore the volatile energy emanating from Jiang Wanyin.
“Why are you even here?” Jiang Wanyin bursts out when their bowls are near half-empty.
Lan Wangji has apparently been far too premature in assuming Jiang Wanyin had accepted his presence. Using the excuse of his food, he ignores the question, not particularly interested in having this conversation, or any other.
Jiang Wanyin lets out a harsh scoff. “What, you can’t even say his name?”
Lan Wangji does not point out that his motives must be perfectly clear, or Jiang Wanyin would not be able to so easily narrow down on the most salient point enough to mock him with it.
Wei Ying.
Lan Wangji does wish to say his name, speak it out into the world, and yet cannot do so knowing the quick echoing response of his own name will never come in turn. That there is no Wei Ying to dance up into his space, press close and not slip back away. Say “Lan Zhan” in that teasing drawl.
“I thought you couldn’t stand him,” Jiang Wanyin states as if a fact, some long held truth scribed onto bamboo and polished with age.
“Do not spread lies,” Lan Wangji bites out, hands tightening on his bowl.
“Then what is he to you?” he asks, something of a challenge there.
Lan Wangji owes Jiang Wanyin neither explanation nor the secrets of his heart. They are Wei Ying’s alone.
Jiang Wanyin looks away, his lips twisting with distaste. “He would never shut the hell up about you. Do you know that?”
Lan Wangji cannot know if this is meant as a blow, but feels it land all the same. A sharp spike in his chest.
Wei Ying, Wei Ying, where are you?
Jiang Wanyin seems to grow more and more angry as Lan Wangji doesn’t respond, refuses to be provoked.
“Tell me something. Have you just been fucking around with him? Or did you ever actually intend to do right by him? Because if you don’t think he’s good enough for you or whatever—"
“Jiang Wanyin,” Lan Wangji says in sharp warning.
“What?” he shoots back. “You’re the one who invited yourself along. I think I’m owed at least a little explanation.”
“No.” He owes Jiang Wanyin nothing.
“He’s my brother,” he says, refusing to have the decency to withdraw. “He’s—” Jiang Wanyin’s voice cracks and he looks away, furious and also something of a frustrated child.
Lan Wangji thinks of the patrol leader’s words.
Dead.
No. No, Wei Ying cannot be. Lan Wangji will not believe it.
Taking a careful breath, Lan Wangji bends just enough to provide the one most important truth. “I will not stop until I find him.”
And once he does, he will never let him go again.
Jiang Wanyin sits in his terrible loud silence, struggling with what Lan Wangji could not begin to understand. And then he stands abruptly.
“He isn’t yours to find,” he snarls. “He’s Yunmeng Jiang. And don’t you forget it.”
With that, he turns and stalks away into the lightening dawn.
They overtake another Wen patrol, this one having settled semi-permanently in a small village. It is little more than a collection of half a dozen homes and one community space where the soldiers have displaced the families into as they lived off the fat of their larders. The signs of brutality are everywhere, in the broken furniture, piles of trash, and the battered and drawn faces of the villages as they creep cautiously out to see the Wen bodies now lined in the dirt street.
The villagers are not relieved by this sudden liberation so much as wary. As if they might simply be replacing one occupying force with another. The young women, Lan Wangji notices, are either missing or hidden away.
He turns to Lan Qichang, getting his attention before glancing at the bodies and then the village head who is standing a few feet ahead of the rest of the people.
Lan Qichang nods and then moves to the bodies of the Wen soldiers, removing whatever money and goods can be found on them.
It would be better to burn them with their belongings, to make it more proper than merely punitive. But that is not what Wei Ying would do, Lan Wangji is certain, eyeing the starving and maltreated villages. A sight far too familiar in Lan Wangji’s wanderings these last months.
It is not plundering the dead when it is returning stolen property.
Jiang Wanyin watches nearby. It is hard to tell what in his silence is annoyance or disapproval. Or if it is just his normal state of anger. He says nothing though, so Lan Wangji carries on with his tasks.
The disciples hand the money and goods over to the villagers, and only then do they start to slightly relax.
“Were they holding any prisoners here?” Jiang Wanyin asks the village head.
“No, gongzi,” he answers, bowing deeply and seeming anxious to have to deliver such an answer.
Jiang Wanyin questions them further, asking details about how long the men had been here, what kind of messages they received, if they ever had reinforcements.
After this is done, one villager is brave enough to step closer, to mention some supernatural disturbance to the east that has been impacting their waterways and ability to fish.
With all the Wen have clearly taken from them, this source of food is no doubt needed.
“I will see to it,” Lan Wangji says, noting the exhaustion on his disciples’ faces. He instructs them to complete the burnings and burials and then follow any additional orders from Jiang Wanyin.
He turns and walks out the village to the east.
He comes across a single walking corpse on the way, stuck between the trunks of a bifurcated tree. It is easily dealt with and then he is able to continue to the stream in question. There he finds two water ghouls in the deepest part of the water. Not quite strong enough to begin dragging others into a shared fate, but on the verge of being a large issue for the small village.
It would perhaps have been wiser to rest and meditate after the earlier taxing fight rather than coming straight here. But Lan Wangji does not anticipate the ghouls being difficult to deal with. He is physically able.
His mind, however, is not as ordered as it should be and he cannot help but be haunted by the sudden memory of Wei Ying’s shining, beautiful face.
We Yunmeng Jiang have a lot of experience with water ghouls!
The memory of Xichen’s ill-concealed amusement at Lan Wangji’s turmoil.
But Wei Ying is not here. And neither is Xichen. So Lan Wangji is left to face the ghouls on his own.
It is the work of half a day to subdue the creatures and cleanse the river of any lingering malice. The villagers will be free to fish here once more.
His body is heavy with fatigue by the time he returns, mind still tormented by thoughts of Wei Ying, his brother, the things outside of his control. He is pleased to find that his disciples are all asleep, having found places in the community center to bed down now that the villagers have been able to return to their homes.
Jiang Wanyin sits at a table, a map spread in front of him and a plate of food at his elbow.
“What was it?” Jiang Wanyin asks by way of greeting.
Lan Wangji takes a breath and refuses to be provoked. “Water ghouls.”
Jiang Wanyin nods. “I suppose you handled it.”
Lan Wangji doesn’t see the need to respond.
Jiang Wanyin scoffs. “Sit. Eat.” He pushes the plate across the table.
Trying not to show any surprise, but knowing food to be a good idea, Lan Wangji sits. It is simple fare and he is grateful for it. He nods his head in acknowledgment and begins to eat, aware of Jiang Wanyin’s continued scrutiny as he does.
“You know what they’re calling you,” Jiang Wanyin says.
Lan Wangji does, in fact. Has heard it whispered from time to time. And more recently even on the tongues of fellow cultivators.
Hanguang-Jun.
Jiang Wanyin sneers at him, gesturing at his robes. “That’s what you get wandering around in pure white like a maiden in mourning.”
They both freeze and stiffen, the words hanging horribly between them.
Some days Lan Wangji finds it very hard not to hate Jiang Wanyin.
Another week and they finally come in range of the supply train at the core of Jiang Wanyin’s mission. It is a long, lumbering line of wagons defended by a large force of cultivators and common soldiers, some on horse and others ranged out on either side on foot.
A larger force than expected. Much larger.
Lan Wangji can only assume the Wen patrol leader’s body Jiang Wanyin left ‘to make a point’ has done exactly that.
“Oh, fuck off,” Jiang Wanyin says in response to Lan Wangji’s pointed silence. But his neck is also a little red, so perhaps the nature of his blunder is clear even to him.
They follow at a distance for a day, two of their disciples ranging much further ahead to make sure no reinforcements linger nearby.
It will be a difficult task, but one made unexpectedly easier when a portion of the forces avail themselves of the liquor portion of their cargo. The logistics of maintaining an occupying force in a foreign land already ravaged by war is not insignificant. Lan Wangji has heard Xichen and Nie Mingjue discuss the endless challenge of enough rice and salt meat, not to mention enough fresh food to keep illness at bay. It does not surprise him to see such a large portion of the supplies here dedicated to alcohol. A boon for them, for sure, as a full third of the forces drink themselves into a stupor.
“Well, that will help,” Jiang Wanyin notes grimly. “Enjoy your last drink, assholes.”
Lan Wangji shoves down the unhelpful thought that he would so much prefer to be back at the stream subduing water ghouls.
The lives of their own men must be preserved, both because it is Lan Wangji’s duty to them but also because this war they must win, the side of good, of righteousness, cannot afford to lose even one soldier.
He nods, not allowing anything else to intrude.
And so they are able, in the latest hours of night before dawn, to slip into the camp and quietly slit the throats of enough men to even the numbers.
As Lan Wangji moves from sleeping form to sleeping form, he tries to think only of the starved and maltreated villages, the way Wei Ying limped coming out of the Wen dungeon, the smell of burned wood and paper. Of burning bodies. Cultivators with white eyes and crawling black lines, damned to a living death.
The very least he owes the men whose lives he takes is to treat the act with the solemn control it deserves.
He never feels less like Hanguang-jun than in that moment.
The quiet does not last, and soon enough the fight is brought out into the open.
There is no space left to think about anything but survival.
By dawn, the Wen are defeated at the cost of two Jiang disciples and one Lan. Two others have serious wounds that should not cost them their lives but will require medical attention. No one is left unmarred by some small injury at least. It was a hard fight.
Lan Qichang attends to the injured, having the greatest training in healing among them, while Jiang Wanyin sends two of his healthiest disciples to search the tents for any hiding soldiers or any prisoners. It is unlikely that a prisoner would be carried into the occupied areas, but Lan Wangji still understands the impulse.
Other than the unarmed drivers and servants who surrendered immediately, only two Wen soldiers still live. Jiang Wanyin himself questions them and Lan Wangji forces himself to attend.
They learn nothing of Wei Ying, but are told that Wen Chao sometimes keeps prisoners in the Indoctrination Site that his father granted him supervision over. His own little fiefdom. That when he isn’t in Yunmeng, he’s there. Playing. Just out of reach of his father’s growing instability.
Lan Wangji thinks back to those days of Wen Chao attempting to lord over them from the stairs of the Indoctrination Site. His cowardly behavior in the cave. The thought of Wei Ying in his hands is not a pleasant one.
No less pleasant than the stories of Wen Ruohan’s growing powers. The fear these men seem to hold for their leader.
Jiang Wanyin completes his interrogation, and this time does not stop Lan Wangji from adding the bodies to the others in preparation for burning.
“Zongzhu!”
They turn, and a Jiang disciple is hurrying over to Jiang Wanyin.
“Report,” Jiang Wanyin says.
“In the tent, Zongzhu,” he says, looking winded and perhaps a little flustered.
“What is it? What did you find?” Jiang Wanyin demands, taking an eager step forward. “Prisoners?”
The Jiang disciple starts to nod, only to shake his head and then stop again, clearly not certain how to answer the question.
Jiang Wanyin rolls his eyes. “Just show me.”
Lan Wangji follows behind, heart in his throat as they cross over to a tent near the temporary paddock holding the horses and livestock for pulling the wagons.
Jiang Wanyin flips back the tent opening to reveal…
Women.
They are varied in age, quite a few too young to be rightly called women at all. Some clutch each other near the back of the tent, clearly frightened. A few more sit staring as if at nothing, not even noticing their sudden intrusion. The rest seem to be staring back at Jiang Wanyin and Lan Wangji with assessing gazes.
Women, not soldiers. Not even cultivators. Packed in together just as tightly as the bags of rice and boxes of liquor. Supplies like any other.
Lan Wangji’s jaw tightens, turning his eyes deliberately away from them.
One of the women near the front is the first to react, standing gracefully with a smile on her face that Lan Wangji assumes is likely meant to be inviting. Perhaps even enticing. She peers up at Lan Wangji, but refuses to look at her straight on. She steps closer to Jiang Wanyin next, eyes lowering so that she is peering up at him through her lashes.
“Oh, gongzi,” she says, voice slightly breathless. “Have you come to rescue us?”
Jiang Wanyin blinks back at her, looking, for once, completely lost. “Um,” he says.
None of the women are dressed in Wen red, nor in the manner of cultivators. Some wear the thin gauzy layers that Wen Chao’s mistress had worn, like the one currently speaking to Jiang Wanyin, but the rest are in simple village homespun. Lan Wangji considers the missing women from the last village.
The woman sidles another step closer and reaches out to touch Jiang Wanyin’s chest. “Can this lowly one repay you in some way?”
That finally seems to push Jiang Wanyin back into motion, grabbing her hand and lifting it away from his body. “Hey. Knock that off. We aren’t—You’re not—” He breaks off, face beginning to turn red. “Just stay in here and don’t cause problems.”
With that, Jiang Wanyin drops the tent door closed again and strides towards where most of their disciples are waiting.
Jiang Wanyin appears to struggle a moment before turning on them with narrowed eyes. “If any of you even think about touching them, I will personally remove the thoughtless parts of your body. You got me?”
“Yes, zongzhu,” his men immediately respond.
Jiang Wanyin nods, glancing briefly over at Lan Wangji before looking away again.
Lan Wangji is not certain what it is he wants of him in this situation.
Jiang Wanyin tells one of his men to watch the tent and then strides off to assess the supplies.
It is enough, of course, to feed an army, as it is intended to. Vital supplies the occupying Wen forces rely upon to keep their hold of the region. The question now is what to do with it.
“It would be easiest to just burn it all,” Jiang Wanyin says.
They are too few to safely transport it back to their own army, and yet the thought of this food being wasted in such a way sits ill with Lan Wangji.
“What?” Jiang Wanyin snaps, though Lan Wangji has not said a word. “If you have a better idea, feel free to share.”
Their options are very limited.
“What would Wei Ying do?” he asks before he can stop himself.
Jiang Wanyin gives him a swift look. “Cause as many problems as he could, probably.”
Lan Wangji stares back at Jiang Wanyin with his most unimpressed expression.
Jiang Wanyin sighs. “We’ve already got prisoners now to handle, not to mention all the women.”
“The village,” Lan Wangji says.
His brother, or Wei Ying, would understand if they were here. Jiang Wanyin just stares at him. “What about it.”
“The women,” Lan Wangji grudgingly adds.
Jiang Wanyin stares back at him. “What.”
Lan Wangji is truly beginning to wonder if Jiang Wanyin is lacking some fundamental intellectual capacity. Or perhaps Lan Wangji himself has made a base miscalculation. “Do you mean to keep them?”
“The women?” Jiang Wanyin says, voice high and scandalized. “Of course not! What use would I have—” He cuts himself off abruptly. He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath as if in pain. “You’re saying you want to take them back to that village.” His eyes snap open. “You think some of them were taken from there?”
It is possible. Though not likely that all come from there. But they cannot leave the women here alone. And the village is already struggling to feed its current population. Food and livestock might go a long way to making the women’s presence acceptable. Maybe even allow them to return to wherever they came from.
“Okay, so we load up one of the wagons with the women, and as much supplies as we can get on there, including all the fresh stuff and take them back to the village,” Jiang Wanyin summarizes, finally catching up. “That still leaves us with a lot of stuff!” He looks around. “Though, if our army moves through this region, it would really help. We make a cache with the rest?”
It would have to be hidden well enough to ensure the Wen do not get their hands back on it.
“Mn,” Lan Wangji agrees.
“Great,” Jiang Wanyin says, and gestures to get the attention of one of his disciples. “Have everyone refill their personal supplies and enough for the prisoners.”
It takes most of the day to get the women and the supplies for the village set in two wagons, and the prisoners and bodies of their fallen disciples in another. Lan Qichang returns in the afternoon having found a suitable site for the supply cache.
By dawn, they have everything organized. Their mission accomplished.
And yet, the most important task still remains unfinished.
Jiang Wanyin is staring into Qishan, his arms crossed over his chest when Lan Wangji approaches him. “Where the hell is he, Lan Wangji?”
Lan Wangji takes a moment to breathe, to find a way to speak around the tightness in his chest.
Wei Ying.
“The Indoctrination Site,” Lan Wangji says, the only option left in front of them.
Jiang Wanyin turns to look at him, movements quick and startled.
It is close to Nightless City. Far too close. But it is the only logical location. The only possible lead they are left with. One Lan Wangji is not willing to let go of.
He would have to be very careful, move mostly at night. To find Wei Ying, he will do it.
“Chifeng-zun hasn’t cleared that,” Jiang Wanyin says, finding joy in saying the obvious. “Those weren’t my orders.”
They would be, technically, moving without orders. Jiang Wanyin and his men were to return to Langya for further instructions.
“I had no orders,” Lan Wangji says.
“What,” Jiang Wanyin snarls. “You’ll go on your own?”
He will, of course. Has he not already told Jiang Wanyin? He will not stop.
Jiang Wanyin curses, looking back over at the carts of food. “If you think I’m going to let you go search for him without me…”
“The supplies,” Lan Wangji reminds him.
“My men could escort the supplies back to Langya after dropping off the women. Report that the mission has been completed. There’s enough of them that they could keep it safe. With those carts slowing them down, we could probably even catch back up with them before they made it all the way. Especially if we got our damn swords back.”
All of that is true, though contingent on many conditionals.
“The Lan Clan would be honored to have your support,” Lan Wangji says in his most formal tones.
Jiang Wanyin glares at him sideways at this reminder that he would be joining a Lan contingent, rendering him a guest, not a commander.
Lan Wangji is not quite petty enough to return Jiang Wanyin’s words back on him--this is my mission. You will follow my orders—but Jiang Wanyin seems to hear it all the same.
“Oh, fuck off, Lan Wangji,” he says.
Somehow, for once, he sounds more amused than angry.
With the bulk of the Wen army in Qinghe trying to hold on to that territory under the command of Wen Xu, and Wen Chao still occupied in Lotus Pier, they are able to slip through the Qishan countryside with relative ease.
The fight at the Indoctrination Site itself is not difficult. The place seems poorly protected, and Lan Wangji is not certain if that is over-confidence on the part of the Wen, or merely their close proximity to Nightless City—the sheer recklessness of this foray such that no one would expect it of them.
No doubt Chifeng-zun will berate them both for taking the risk.
Lan Wangji will take whatever punishment assigned but will not regret it.
The most difficult part of the entire foray is the information provided by their captured Wen prisoners. Tales of Wei Ying being caught by Wen Chao. Being thrown into the Burial Mounds. For all the Wen soldiers seem to believe it, it must be gossip. Hearsay.
No one could survive the Burial Mounds, not even their soul. It is a damnation far beyond death, beyond the sparse if not respectful cremations they have done for their own enemies.
Who, even in this endless brutal conflict, could be that cruel?
It is an abomination that Lan Wangji will not accept, not just a life without Wei Ying in it, but an soul extinguished for all time, for all lives.
He will not allow it to be true.
As Lan Wangji stands, looking out over the flow of lava and breathing the irritating sulfur air, waiting for his heart and mind to settle, his disciples return, arms full of swords.
They hand him Bichen, the power of sword reaching back to him almost as greedily. The earth, it feels, finds some solidity it has lacked for longer than Lan Wangji can even pinpoint. He takes a deep, steadying breath, and sinks himself into the familiar, cherished feeling of his sword in hand.
Letting Bichen fall back to his side where it belongs, Lan Wangji lifts his head once more. Lan Qichang holds out another sword, this one nearly as familiar. Nearly as beloved.
Wei Ying’s sword.
Lan Wangji’s whole body freezes, caught out by the unexpected sight. In his moment of hesitation, Jiang Wanyin gets there first, reaching out to take it in hand.
He’s not yours to find.
Lan Wangji can’t look away as Jiang Wanyin holds the sword in front of him, reaching for the handle and pulling the blade free. He studies it for a long moment before sliding it back home with a snap, the sound harsh and final.
Lan Wangji flinches.
This hated, horrible place settles with a miasma of quiet devastation, like a sickening fog.
“We won’t stop looking,” Jiang Wanyin says.
Lan Wangji meets his gaze and for once there is nothing of rage or annoyance or roiling agitation, just calm surety matching Lan Wangji’s own.
He nods in agreement.
They will never stop.
They fly far enough to be near the border of Qinghe, the sheer joy of having Bichen once more at his side battling with the despair threatening to choke Lan Wangji.
At dawn, they land and risk a campfire to cook. In the moment of immobility as they wait, Lan Wangji finds his eyes tracking Wei Ying’s sword, still tucked close into Jiang Wanyin’s side.
Jiang Wanyin definitely notices, but doesn’t say anything, almost deliberately looking away. It is an obvious and bullish move that is kind in its own way and Lan Wangji can’t help but appreciate it.
Understanding the implicit permission, Lan Wangji reaches over and picks up Wei Ying’s sword. The wood grain is warm and textured against his palm. It is wild and unexpected and unconventional, just like Wei Ying. Holding it is as if holding part of his soul, this sword he loves so well.
Lan Wangji rubs his fingers over the characters carved into the swirling grain of the wood.
Suibian.
It’s an inappropriate name for a spiritual tool. Insolent. On the edge of disrespectful. Willful. And yet unrelenting and carefree and a declaration of the way Wei Ying moves through the world. Unapologetically. Instinctively.
Wrapping his hand around the hilt, Lan Wangji gives in to the urge to pull the blade free, some instinctive urge to be closer to Wei Ying.
His hand jerks to a halt.
The sword does not open.
He pulls harder a second time, hard enough for Jiang Wanyin to give up the pretext that he is not watching.
“What? It’s sealed itself?” he shouts, getting to his feet.
It doesn’t necessarily mean that Wei Ying has died. Lan Wangji knows this. It could just as easily mean that Suibian is deeply loyal to Wei Ying and refuses to be wielded by anyone else. But the fact that it was not sealed just hours before is damning. Horridly damning. How could Wei Ying’s bond with the sword have changed when he isn’t even here? What could have happened in so short a period of time?
We threw him into the Burial Mounds!
Reaching over, Jiang Wanyin tugs at the hilt, the sword sliding free without complaint.
Lan Wangji lets out a shaky breath.
Jiang Wanyin gives Lan Wangji a confused glance. Sheathing Suibian once more, he holds it out. Lan Wangji wraps his hand around the hilt and pulls.
Nothing.
It is possible it only refuses to budge for Lan Wangji himself? Something deep inside Lan Wangji roils at the thought. At what it could mean.
“What?” Jiang Wanyin snaps in disbelief, tugging the sword back.
“Perhaps it is just particular?” Lan Wangji ventures, trying not to sound like his heart is trying to climb up his throat. “You are his brother.”
Jiang Wanyin gives him a look like acid. “But it won’t let you handle it? The way Wei Wuxian never stopped mooning over you—” He breaks off, words choking him as his face pulses with sadness. He loudly clears his throat. “That doesn’t make any fucking sense.”
“If it is just me,” Lan Wangji says, no matter how much it hurts.
Jiang Wanyin holds it out across the fire to Lan Qichang. After a brief glance at Lan Wangji, he reaches out and attempts to draw the sword, but Suibian does not pull free, staying stubbornly in place.
Lan Wangji’s anxiety melts back into confusion.
Jiang Wanyin moves through the camp, demanding every person attempt to draw Suibian. Person after person, no one else can unsheathe it.
Jiang Wanyin holds the bare blade out now, firelight glinting off the steel. His face is still set in a perpetual frown as he studies it, his mind no doubt traveling unfathomable twists and turns. After another long moment, he sends a surge of qi through the sword, the blade singing in response, powerful and bright and strong enough for Lan Wangji to feel it like a warm pulse in the air. Almost familiar.
This is not mere acceptance. This is ownership.
Lan Wangji does not understand.
Jiang Wanyin seems similarly stunned. “But…why?”
Lan Wangji cannot account for it. Even Shuoyue, if it deigned to let Lan Wangji wield it, would not react in such a way.
To judge from the slow dawning horror on Jiang Wanyin’s face, this unprecedented reaction does start to make sense to him.
“You asshole,” Lan Wangji hears Jiang Cheng mutter as he stares down at the sword, one hand pressed low to his stomach. “You absolute asshole.”
There is no heat to the words though, just the shocked paleness of his cheeks. Something like devastated love underneath.
Lan Wangji is given no explanation.
A few hours later, they break camp, heading for Langya. Suibian is tucked into Jiang Wanyin’s belt, his face wan and determined, looking as if he has not slept at all. Strangest of all, it feels somehow as if his silence is still and quiet at last.
Lan Wangji finds he likes it even less than his normal noise.
“We must return,” Lan Wangji says.
He is not capitulating, but they have been gone long and they have no next step. And these swords they now carry could help turn the tide of the greater conflict. They both know this.
Jiang Wanyin simply nods his head, strangely agreeable. “Let’s go.”
Together, they set their backs to Qishan, their quest still unfulfilled, but not forgotten. Never forgotten.
They lift up into the sky.