Chapter Text
Lan Xichen favored the sect leader before him with the amiable smile he used to deflect conflict. The banquet at Koi Tower had reached the stage where the food had been reduced to crumbs and sauce smears. The dancers had fluttered off in a swirl of veils to be groped in private, and wine flowed like water – where it wasn’t standing puddles of spill.
The time when the cultivators bored with those pleasures sought other amusements – like getting Lan-zongzhu to break sect rules.
After Jin Guangyao became Jin-zongzhu, Lan Xichen had assumed that the excesses of LanlingJin would die a hopefully less sensational death than the former sect leader. He’d even once, gently, asked his sworn brother about it, knowing Jin Guangyao took no more interest in them than any of the Lan.
Let the elders and minor sect leaders have their little pleasures, Er-ge, Jin Guangyao had said with a bashful, dimpled smile when Lan Xichen had questioned the righteousness of it. If I push them too hard, they might accuse me of being subservient to the influence of GusuLan. And it’s a small sacrifice to make to secure their cooperation to protect the common folk.
So Lan Xichen had cast Silence on his own discomfort and done his best to support his sworn brother in their mutual goals. And after seven years of tireless politicking and practiced smiles, they’d succeeded. Jin Guangyao’s dream of watchtowers was now a reality supported by every sect large and small in the cultivation world. Lan Xichen supposed even the Lan disciplines allowed for reasonable celebration of that worthy goal.
But reasonable hardly included the cup he held being refilled a third time by a gregarious Sect Leader Yao. Lan Xichen wondered when it would be reasonably appropriate for him to escape and find his bed.
“Come, Zewu-Jun! Another toast. You’re the only tolerable Lan among your sect. Surely you can tolerate a bit more.”
Gracefully sidestepping the elbow aimed at his ribs, Lan Xichen lifted the cup with good-humored resignation. Ever since that disastrous banquet a decade ago, when he’d acceded to goading from Jin Zixun for him to drink, the other members of the gentry made it their mission to make him drink with them. Over the years, Lan Xichen became quite adept at walking the crack in the wall of Lan rules by burning off the alcohol before it could affect him. Only Nie Mingjue had ever seen the true effects of that broken rule.
It made him fleetingly envious of Wangji, who had no qualms about rudely walking away from a filled cup. Who, the one time he’d hesitated, had someone at his side to take that drink for him.
Quickly, Lan Xichen drained his cup to wash away that unworthy thought. No, he didn’t envy Wangji the depth of his mourning – nights spent in Inquiry and days in going to where the chaos was, always searching for the center of chaos that had claimed his heart and then spurned it to walk a crooked path.
Only when warmth began to suffuse him did Lan Xichen realize he’d let the alcohol rest almost too long. He swiftly burned it off, swallowing a burp that threatened to become a giggle and tasted of peach blossoms and springtime.
As though he had some sense for when Lan Xichen was in trouble, Jin Guangyao appeared at this side. Steadying Lan Xichen, he sent Yao-zongzhu off with a few practiced words and a dimpled smile.
“I’m sorry I wasn’t here to rescue you earlier, Er-ge. These events always keep me so busy,” he said, helping Lan Xichen out of the banquet hall and into the adjoining gardens. The fresh air should have helped chase away the residual alcoholic flush, but these weren’t the cool, evergreen-crisp heights of the Cloud Recesses. The air in Lanling was thick with lowland humidity and perfumed with the heavy-headed scents of peonies.
It made his nose itch and his head pound. He swayed on his feet, clutching his sworn brother for balance. “Please don’t trouble yourself. You already carry the weight of the cultivation world and your own sect – and often A-Sang’s sect as well. I wouldn’t want to be another burden.”
Jin Guangyao turned to face him, too quickly, and Lan Xichen’s questionable balance sent him swaying awkwardly into his friend. The smaller man caught him easily.
“Of everyone in the world, only you could never be a burden,” Jin Guangyao said softly, the words layered with more meanings than Lan Xichen could read. They itched under his dizziness like a rash of bug bites. He jerked away and found himself half-leaning on the railing of a decorative bridge.
“Er-ge? Are you alright?” Jin Guangyao’s face swam into view, concern obliterating his usual dimples. His hat was one black spot among the many that dappled Lan Xichen’s vision like sunspots. “Er-ge? Xichen?”
“Fine. I’m fine. I just need…”
Whatever he needed, he failed to recall before the blackness overtook him.
***
“Nie-zongzhu? Nie-zongzhu! Someone’s coming. We have to… I can’t…” The voice in Lan Xichen’s ear hissed high and soft with panic, but even with his eyes closed he could tell it wasn’t Jin Guangyao’s. Opening his eyes didn’t give him much more to work with. The gardens were sunk in the darkness of a moonless night, the lamps and even the stars snuffed between one moment and the next. The only light came seeping through the seams of a doorframe – which, along with the stuffy air and dusty scent, told Lan Xichen he was no longer in the garden at all.
He swayed on his feet, his robes heavier than usual, almost like he was swathed in armor instead of silk. Something dropped from his nerveless fingers to clatter at his feet. Liebing? He couldn’t recall drawing his xiao from his sleeve, and the clatter was softer than pure jade on stone. More like… wood?
“Nie-zongzhu, please! We can’t be caught here.”
Lan Xichen sighed, the confusion of the world snapping into sense. He’d failed to burn off the alcohol in time, it seemed. Drunk, he’d lost time and woken in the middle of some trouble of A-Sang’s making. At least he’d escaped the head-pounding misery that usually accompanied such wakings. He’d crawled to awareness just in time to provide rescue.
“It’s alright,” he said. His voice was strange. His entire body was strange, weak and off-balance. His thoughts raced ahead of his usual calm like a horse escaping its traces, and his core lagged like a recalcitrant donkey. He hadn’t been this depleted since the Sunshot Campaign. Just what had he been doing while inebriated?
It was too dark to see much beyond the shape of the figure, but it wasn’t Huaisang. He must be cowering further in the shadows. Hopefully, he was close enough to hear. “It’s only Er-ge. Nothing to fear.”
“Uh… what?” asked the strange… boy? Young man? He stood as tall as Lan Xichen, but his voice held the wavering uncertainty of youth. Who was he?
Worries for later. Muffled footsteps were approaching, along with the voices that must have caused Huaisang and his friend to panic.
“Whatever trouble you’re in, Xichen-ge is here now,” he said, still for Huaisang’s benefit. He must be terrified indeed if he wasn’t sobbing into Lan Xichen’s sleeve and begging for help. “And you know you could never make A-Yao truly angry.”
The stranger whimpered, but there was still no response from Huaisang. The approaching footsteps were louder, words rising from the muffled echoes like stone peaks from clouds.
“… care about… playing house… blind man…”
Grabbing Lan Xichen’s sleeve, the nervous boy dragged him into the depths of the shadowed room. The thing he’d dropped clattered as he accidentally kicked it, and they cracked heads, both stooping to pick it up.
“… restless… move to… safer…”
“So get his pet cutsleeve to help! I have better things to do than play around with old corpses.”
Lan Xichen froze at the raised voice, the disdain sharper than the dull throb of his brow. He rubbed at the pain – something was off, and he couldn’t place what it was. But the panic-rapid breathing of his companion was a distraction, as were the voices.
“All you do is play around with old corpses!” They were just outside the door now, feet carving shadows in the faint light limning the frame.
“I play with fresh corpses, thank you.”
“That’s disgusting. You’re disgusting. I don’t know why Jin-zongzhu keeps you around.”
Lan Xichen had been resisting the strange boy’s pulling, still certain he could fix whatever trouble Huaisang had found, but his strength ebbed at those words. He relented, too stunned to resist. The boy shoved him through a heavy drapery into a space so confining that it was a wonder even one of them fit, nevermind both.
The drape swung shut, plunging them in darkness as thick as mud. Just in time, as the outer door opened and the green-tinged light of a night pearl flooded the room. Lan Xichen flinched as it cut through the space between the drapery and the wall, painting a stripe of light across his face. Too bright to see the two men, but…
“Xue Yang! You--!” Steel whispered, a sound Lan Xichen knew well from drawing Shuoyue ten thousand times. He tensed, torn between the urge to defend an unarmed man and the recognition of that name.
Xue Yang’s laughter rang loud and mocking. “Ah ah ah, Su-zongzhu. Dangerous to spill blood down here, and it might annoy Lianfang-zun if it’s mine. He finds me so useful, you know. That pathetic didi of his is a poor replacement.”
The boy pressed against Lan Xichen stilled like one of Wangji’s bunnies at a stranger’s approach, even his breath suspended. Shifting, Lan Xichen managed to peek through the crack at a slant.
Su Minshan, clad in his usual mockery of GusuLan blues and whites, withdrew his blade from where it threatened Xue Yang’s throat, leaving behind a trickle of blood. Xue Yang, madman that he was, swiped the blood and licked his finger clean, smacking his lips as though it were sweet candy.
Only the thin, tense boy at Lan Xichen’s side kept him from swaying out of shock and revealing their hiding place. Xue Yang! Alive! What justice was there in the world, that one like him could live when better men had died?
Xue Yang alive, and… Jin Guangyao knew of it?
No. It had to be a ruse. A misunderstanding. There must be some reasonable explanation. He only hoped that Huaisang, wherever he’d hidden, wasn’t foolish enough to leap out in defense of their San-ge.
Stay out of sight, A-Sang, he prayed. Er-ge will find the truth for you.
“… won’t be around much longer. His conscience is starting to overtake his curiosity.” Su Minshan used the sheathed butt of his sword to push through a pile of talisman papers scattered across a desk.
“Oh! Another fresh corpse for me to play with?” Xue Yang chirped. “Do you think the resentful energy will make a difference? I’ve never had a demonic cultivator to experiment on.”
“Don’t get ahead of yourself. Jin-zongzhu has plans that will shut him up without raising questions or corpses. Do you have what you need? I’m missing the banquet to bring you here.”
“One moment, one moment,” Xue Yang muttered, making a more thorough search of the desk than Su Minshan’s idle tossing. He came up with a sheaf of papers too messily bound to be properly called a book. The sort of disorganization that would drive Lan Qiren to drink if alcohol weren’t against the rules.
“Here. The last of the Yiling Patriarch’s writings. I knew that little rat kept something back for himself.”
“And this is what you need to finish your work recreating the Yin Hu Fu?”
Lan Xichen had stopped breathing like the boy beside him. A good thing, or he might have gasped at that casual blasphemy.
“Won’t know that until I’ve studied them.” Shoving the sheaf inside his robes, Xue Yang skipped to the door. “Let’s go. I want to play with our guest in the dungeon before I head back to Yi City. I think I’ve just about refined the process for making one of my own.”
Whatever other atrocities Xue Yang was hoping to refine would remain a mystery as the door closed and the bickering voices faded from hearing. Dizzy from shock and lack of air, Lan Xichen stumbled from their hiding place, nearly pulling the drapery down for something to hold on to. His robes felt too heavy, a weight like stone when he was used to being clad in mist.
He caught his balance on the desk, hunched over and breathing heavy. Yellow light chased away the darkness that threatened to overwhelm him. A lamp. The boy – Mo Xuanyu, Lan Xichen recognized him now as Mo Xuanyu, Jin Guangyao’s strange and skittish half-brother – held it up to study Lan Xichen through narrowed eyes.
“Nie-zongzhu?” he whispered.
Ah. Huaisang was here too. Somewhere. Lan Xichen had to collect himself, to be strong for Mingjue’s didi.
“Yes. Right.” Straightening, Lan Xichen smoothed his robes and realized it wasn’t just his own shock that rendered them strangely heavy. They weren’t his robes. Instead of airy, sky-shaded silks, he wore the thick, quilted brocade of scrub green and stone grey that was preferred in Qinghe. And… now that he thought about it, didn’t Mo Xuanyu seem unusually tall? Almost of a height with Lan Xichen, though he would have sworn before that he topped the younger man by at least a head.
A new dread seizing him, Lan Xichen lifted his hands to his face. No, not his hands. A stranger’s, slender-boned and soft-skinned, without the swordsman’s callouses he’d developed over the years. And fingers much too short to manage the stretch for playing a full-sized xiao.
And his face was wrong, too. Pointed nose and chin, smaller to match his smaller hands. And…
He tested the tenderness on his brow, from when he’d bumped heads with Mo Xuanyu. A brow naked, no forehead ribbon pressed against it in familiar weight.
Bringing his hands down, he stared at them once more in confusion. A stranger’s hands. And yet, not strange. Because he’d held these hands in his own, pried them from his robes when the owner clung in terror, patted them in comfort while the owner sobbed in desolation for a brother lost.
Why… why did he have Huaisang’s hands? His robes…?
Lan Xichen ghosted his stranger’s hands over his hair, mapping the unfamiliar texture, the braids, the sect leader’s guan of heavy bronze and iron. He reached for his golden core, seeking the steadiness and security of its warmth, and found it a flickering ember in comparison to the bright sun he knew.
His knees gave and he found himself sprawled on the floor, looking up at a stunned Mo Xuanyu. “What did you do? Where is Nie Huaisang?”
***
A flurry of excuses, apologies, and explanations passed before Lan Xichen felt he could stand, his equilibrium not quite returned, but at least it lurked nearby.
Hopefully, his body was nearby as well.
“So, let me understand this,” he said as calmly as he could when he spoke with a voice he was used to hearing in panic. “You were working from notes taken from the Yiling Laozu, using an array modeled after empathy to develop a talisman that could… do what, exactly?”
“It… it was supposed to allow someone to experience another’s existence, without the limitations of death that… empathy… imposes…” Mo Xuanyu’s soft voice faded to nothingness under whatever expression Lan Xichen was making. He didn’t seem to have his usual control. He felt twitchy, his thoughts a rockslide he couldn’t control, that he could only ride to destruction.
“There is a reason for those limitations,” was all he said, even as his usually optimistic mind mapped out the myriad abuses that Mo Xuanyu’s experimental talisman could be put to.
Like an innocent person picking one up out of curiosity and accidentally activating it. Though Lan Xichen was still unclear why Huaisang had switched with him. It had burned up on use, and Mo Xuanyu was too distraught to remember which version of the experimental talisman Huaisang had used.
“This is exactly why Wei Wuxian became the scourge of the cultivation world. He only thought of what he could do, and never the consequences or harm to others!” Lan Xichen snapped, unfamiliar anger making his heart race and his face flush. It pulsed in his anemic golden core, making him stronger, but also more unstable. His thoughts were scattered, fluttering and shifting, expanding and contracting like a murmuration of starlings. Was it always like this in Huaisang’s head? No wonder he could never keep still.
Drawing a deep breath to calm himself, Lan Xichen said, “What was Nie-zongzhu doing down here? Why were either of you down here?”
Mo Xuanyu cringed as though finally realizing that the person he faced wasn’t the harmless Headshaker, and that Lan Xichen’s famed affability was as worn as threadbare silk. “He… he wanted to know… about my research.”
“Your research.” On the Yiling Laozu’s old notes. Demonic cultivation, and who knew what worse things, if Xue Yang was still alive and involved. But Mo Xuanyu had come to Koi Tower as a boy, and he could barely be called a man now; he couldn’t be his own master here.
Still certain he must have misunderstood what he overheard, Lan Xichen said, “Your research… for Jin-zongzhu?”
He barely heeded Mo Xuanyu’s hesitant nod. Jin-zongzhu. Not Jin Guangshan, who’d been dead for years, who’d died before Mo Xuanyu’s voice had broken. For Jin Guangyao. A-Yao.
Who’d sworn to their Da-ge that Xue Yang was dead. Who’d been at Lan Xichen’s side when the dizziness assailed him. Who might this moment be with a panicking Huaisang who wouldn’t know to keep quiet.
Drawing the wood-boned fan like it was a sword – which it might well be, as it was the only weapon Lan Xichen had to hand – he said, “Mo-gongzi, I need to get to the banquet garden. Now.”
Scurrying like the rat Xue Yang had compared him to, Mo Xuanyu led them through a confusing maze of corridors and warded doors. Lan Xichen followed as quickly as his shorter legs would allow. The heavy Nie robes swished and caught between his calves, nearly causing him to trip, until he tossed aside propriety and gathered them high in a fist.
The dungeons led out into a part of Koi Tower that Lan Xichen had never ventured, though the kitchen house couldn’t be far given the mingled scents of woodsmoke, roasted meats, and boiled rice. They managed to slip past the banquet hall without drawing much notice. Mo Xuanyu was an ignored shadow in dull gold, and the few who noticed ‘Nie Huaisang’ flinched and turned away as though they feared he might latch on to them.
“You should go,” Lan Xichen told Mo Xuanyu as they slipped into the gardens. “It’s better if Jin—if nobody knows you know… me. Come to the GusuLan guest rooms later, but only if you can do so without being seen.”
Leaving Mo Xuanyu in the shadows, Lan Xichen smoothed his robes, opened his fan, and hurried towards his own voice.
“—the stars!! They’re so sparkly!! And so many of them, A-Yao!! I wonder if there are more stars than rules!! I should count them!! One!! Two!! Three!!!” Arms spread to embrace the entire sky, Lan Xichen – or rather, Nie Huaisang in Lan Xichen’s body – spun in a circle.
The real Lan Xichen lurched to a stop, so distracted by the display that he only noticed Jin Guangyao when Huaisang stumbled into him and nearly sent them both sprawling.
“Whoops!! I’m sorry!! I’m so strong!! A-Yao, do you know how strong I am?! I bet I could lift you to the stars!!”
Jin Guangyao let out an inelegant squawk when Huaisang caught him under his pits and hefted him like a sack of barley. “Er-ge. Please. Before someone sees. Let me take you—”
“Home!! I need to go home!! Wangji needs me!! It’s a big brother’s job to take care of his didi!! I need to… I need to…” Dumping Jin Guangyao as quickly as he’d lifted him, Huaisang turned to the nearest bush and batted through its leaves. “Where’s my sword?! I need to go home!!”
Lan Xichen had no memory of the few times he’d been drunk, but Nie Mingjue had teased him often enough about how exuberant he got, every word of declaration of joy expressed at a volume guaranteed to break several Cloud Recesses precepts.
Had Huaisang inherited Lan Xichen’s low tolerance when he entered his body? That made more sense than the alternative – that he was pretending to be Lan Xichen instead of immediately telling Jin Guangyao what had happened and begging him to fix it.
Which meant there might still be time to protect him. Lan Xichen hurried toward the pair, letting himself stumble over his swishing robes and fall into Huaisang. It was like falling into a wall. A comforting, warm wall. He latched on to his sleeve, as he’d seen Huaisang do so many times.
“Ah, Er-ge! San-ge,” he wailed in what he hoped was a fair impression of Huaisang. “So this is where you went. How could you have fun out here and leave me alone with all those boring sect leaders. Everyone’s asking me where you went. Why are they asking me? I don’t know! I really don’t—Er-ge?!” He drew back, flipping open his fan to hide his face in what he hoped looked like scandalized delight. “Are you drunk?!”
Huaisang stooped, peering at Lan Xichen like he was small text seen across a room. “Is that…” he whispered, and Lan Xichen’s heart seized for a moment when he was grabbed and lifted. “A-Sang!!”
All he could do was clutch at Huaisang’s shoulders – his own shoulders, broad and flexing strong beneath silk robes – as Huaisang spun him around in dizzying circles. “Ah, Er-ge. If you keep this up, one of us is going to be sick on the other.”
At least that got him back on his feet. Huaisang slapped both hands around his cheeks, holding him still to peer into his eyes. “You are A-Sang!! And I am your Er-ge!!”
“Ah. Yes. Exactly.” Lan Xichen said, because it was true – after a fashion – and because it was necessary until he knew what Jin Guangyao’s involvement in this was. Grateful that Huaisang seemed to be playing into the situation rather than questioning it, Lan Xichen patted his cheek in return. Then he pulled away enough to meet Jin Guangyao’s curious gaze over Huaisang’s shoulder.
“Ah… San-ge. You shouldn’t ignore your duties as Xiandu. Why don’t I take Er-ge back to his rooms while you deal with…” he waved his fan at the light spilling from the banquet hall.
“A-Sang is so responsible. Perhaps one day soon he will stand on his own and won’t need my help at all,” Jin Guangyao said with a dimpled smile. Even though it was a compliment, it felt like a criticism. Lan Xichen stiffened, and Huaisang jolted like he’d been slapped. But then Jin Guangyao continued, “Since Er-ge seems content with your company, I’ll leave him to your care. Please keep him out of mischief. And don’t give him any more to drink.”
Lan Xichen was almost offended on Huaisang’s behalf. He might tease and play, but it was never mean-spirited, never the sort of thing to do Lan Xichen harm. Jin Guangyao should know that.
“Don’t worry. I’ll care for Er-ge like you cared for Da-ge,” Lan Xichen said, which he thought was safe enough, but Huaisang shivered. Jin Guangyao’s dimples fled, and an awkward silence descended.
“I’ll depend on you, then,” Jin Guangyao said after too long a pause. He left with a bow. Surprisingly docile, Huaisang allowed Lan Xichen to guide him to the GusuLan guest courtyard.
He wrested himself free the moment the door was closed. “Privacy talisman,” he said, and plunged a hand into Lan Xichen’s robes like a lecher at a brothel.
Or like a man searching through his own pockets, Lan Xichen realized as Huaisang pulled out several talismans and slapped them on the door. When he turned to Lan Xichen, all traces of drunkenness were gone. All traces of indecision and helplessness, too.
He knows, Lan Xichen realized – a rare sort of insight for him, when he usually prided himself on seeing the best in people. First A-Yao, now A-Sang. What was happening to him, that he was suddenly suspicious of everyone’s motives?
“It was no accident, the talisman,” he said, piecing the whole together from mere shreds. “And no accident that you switched with me. You wanted me to see what was going on underneath Koi
Tower.”
“Ah. Hahah.” Huaisang grimaced, which was a strange expression for Lan Xichen to see on his own face. “To be fair, I didn’t expect it to work like this. I just thought… if you could see what I saw, you might… you might believe me when I told you what I know.”
“And what do you know?” Lan Xichen asked, dreading the answer even as he assured himself it couldn’t possibly be worse than Xue Yang alive, and apparently working under Jin Guangyao’s orders to recreate the Yin Hu Fu.
“Jin Guangyao killed Da-ge.”
“Oh.” Lan Xichen’s thoughts took off again, a dark miasma of starlings.
It was worse.