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Chapter Text

He would be dead without Lan Wangji. They had been fighting their way through another village in Wen territory, following the trail of Wen Chao and way too many dead, mutilated bodies. Then an ambush, their disciples scattered, screams, fire, explosions, a weird, whistling wind, and then only Lan Wangji with his back pressed against his.

Jiang Cheng didn’t need this. A crutch for his back, straighter than his spine could ever be, completely unnecessary. Zidian zipped through their enemies, slammed them off their feet one by one, enveloping them in purple lightning. Perfectly fine. Wen after Wen running at them from seemingly all directions, their red robes catching the purple lightning, blue light intercepting, their faces only shadows, screams echoing in Jiang Cheng’s mind even when they were far away.

He bumped backs with Lan Wangji again, ignored him, kept his eyes on the road leading out of the village, slammed Zidian on it to knock a Wen off his feet. The earth crackled with sparks of purple lightning. And none of the cultivators running at him cared, ran and ran and jumped right at him.

Bichen wooshed between the flashes of purple, ice-cold blue slamming the enemy back into the shadows. And he really didn’t need that. He could do this with his few, untrained disciples.

That were nowhere to be seen. Screams in the distance. Far distance. How embarrassing. The heat flooded his face, and he was glad stupid, perfect Lan Wangji couldn’t see him right now while their backs pressed firmly against each other. He embarrassed himself as a Clan Leader right now. Unable to keep his people together. Unable to control the fight. Completely unable to compose himself from walking right into it.

Zidian cracked the floor. He slammed it too hard on the ground, with all his anger at himself. The force catapulted a Wen cultivator into the air, and another Wen lying in wait used the catapulted body like a shield to jump up into the air. Right at Jiang Cheng.

Bichen slashed into the attacker, threw and pierced him into a nearby wall, then returned to Lan Wangji’s hand.

Jiang Cheng growled. “Where are your fucking people?!”

Lan Wangji said nothing, probably didn’t even blink, which was probably better than an answer or a look. If Jiang Cheng hadn’t given some questionable orders in the first place, his disciples would have regrouped better, if they had regrouped better, the Lan disciples wouldn’t have scattered to fetch them, help them, rescue them. They were recent recruits that needed a leader with experience, not some young, hot-headed fool dashing into the fight head and sword first.

He was an embarrassment as Clan Leader. As a war comrade. As a brother.

At this rate, he would never find Wei Wuxian. No matter how much help he had.

Zidian crackled strangely at the next hit, and the attacker was barely lifted off his feet. Jiang Cheng breathed hard. Sweat rolled down his temple. They were at this for too long. His body gave in, trembled in the wrong places, and his spiritual energy seemed drained by every flash of violet lightning. Even that madly burning core inside of him seemed to have a limit.

Laughter. For a second, his exhausted brain thought it was his senior brother.

But the red-clad figure on the roof nearby was too small, too doughy-faced to have anything in common with Wei Wuxian. A whirlwind of talismans surrounded the cackling man. That sight, Wei Wuxian would have enjoyed it.

Jiang Cheng had seen that cultivator when they entered the city, and agitated by that cackle had dashed forward without much thought. Who could have expected the countless number of talismans hiding in the billowing sleeves?

“Jiang Wanyin.” Even Bichen flying past him, knocking another Wen disciple to the ground, was louder than that whisper of a voice. Cold, deep, somehow still soft and calming like a nightly breeze.

Jiang Cheng had almost grown used to it over the last weeks, the time that felt like two lifetimes searching for a sign of his brother. He turned, unsheathed Sandu and pointed it at the figure on the roof.

“Your talismans haven’t done much for you and your cannon fodder!” Jiang Cheng called, sweaty and exhausted, his knees about to give in if it hadn’t been for Lan Wangji’s weight supporting his back. He did not need that support, that comfort. He could win or die here by himself perfectly fine.

On the rooftop, the red-clad cultivator let out a low, sharp chuckle. “Clan Leader Jiang, this supervisory office is under my command exactly because of my talent for talismans. I know how to deal with two young masters playing hide and seek, thank you very much.”

“Jiang Wanyin.” Lan Wangji pressed back into him, made him move just enough to dodge a surge of spiritual energy thrown at them. Bichen had this under control. He didn’t want to, but he could rely on that experience. On Lan Wangji. To have and hold his back.

Jiang Cheng allowed Lan Wangji to move in, to help him turn safely in the midst of battle, and face that man on the roof. “Surrender now, come down and tell us where Wen Chao went!”

“Or what?” That cackle didn’t even vanish when he spoke.

“There’s no ‘or’. I’m not giving you an option,” Jiang Cheng said.

“That’s too bad,” the cultivator said, his talismans whirling around him almost protectively. “If I come down there, you know, I have nothing. No option, but also no information to give. I’ve seen your temper, Clan Leader Jiang, and fear you’ll slash my throat when you realise that. But from up here, I still have a chance to win. And my master will surely reward me if I bring him Hanguang-Jun’s white robes drenched in blood.”

That cackle and pretentious threat made Jiang Cheng roll his eyes. He side-glanced at Lan Wangji, who seemed unimpressed. Then he pulled his sword, whirled around in a flurry of white robes, and slashed an approaching attacker to the ground with admirable ease. Around him, every fight seemed to happen fast and slow simultaneously, every move precise and well-thought of, even on the spot. Everything dangerous and safe, exciting and frightening. A trap for an enemy and shield for a friend.

Jiang Cheng hadn’t even… He had noticed the attacker. He had decided to let Hanguang-Jun have this one.

Jiang Cheng focused, pointed his sword at the cultivator protected by his wall of talismans. “Surrender, or I pull you down and have you join the dead bodies of your companions!”

The cackle annoyed him more than Wei Wuxian flirting with everything that moved.

“Dead bodies?!” The cultivator could barely speak with his cackle bubbling out. “You’re easy to play, dear Clan Leader Jiang. I could watch this all night. One talisman to the chest, and your fickle brain is gone for hours.”

Sandu trembled. Jiang Cheng remembered the talisman burning into his chest when he entered the city, the cackle when the cultivator fled into an alley. He felt the impact on his ribs still, below that scar forever itching underneath his robes, and nothing else. No pain, no fickle brain. He was fine.

“You should be thankful for three lives that Hanguang-Jun stuck close, or you’d be dead by now.”

“What are you talking about?!” Jiang Cheng called. He stepped to the side as Lan Wangji turned with him in the same motion, and they struck another sudden attacker at the same time. There were still people coming at them from all directions. Seemingly from nowhere, like arrows shooting from the darkness and blurring into human shapes. How?

“I’m hardly average at swordsmanship,” the cackling cultivator said. “It’s magnificent to watch you two twirl and swirl from here, you know.” He stretched out both arms and the talismans sprung into a formation, the yellow paper completely still even in the wind. “I am, however, quite adapt at illusionary tricks.”

Jiang Cheng felt the pull of his sword as he readied himself to fly up at the cackling cultivator. “You –”

“Jiang Wanyin.” Lan Wangji’s voice was drowned by the screams of their attackers, coming from all directions. Great Hanguang-Jun could deal with them. Jiang Cheng would only need a minute. Not even a minute. A blink. Throats were quick to slash and cut, after all.

“There was never anyone but me in this city,” the cackling cultivator said as Jiang Cheng lifted off the ground, sword aiming for another life to take. The wind slithered ice-cold below his robes.

“Jiang Wanyin!” He had never heard Lan Wangji raise his voice like that, and he sure as hell didn’t need it now.

When the wall of talismans flew at him, he slashed through them with Zidian – only for them to dissolve into thin air. A distraction. And he fell for it. Easily. The cackle filled him with embarrassment, and his rage drove his sword forward.

Into another wall of talismans. Very real, burning hot, tearing at his skin.

A flash of white. Lan Wangji’s billowing sleeve covered his view of the talismans, the cultivator, everything but that indifferent, perfect face. Wrong moment to stare, be distracted once more by that disarming beauty right in front of him. A white lightning in the dark, smoke-filled night, hair still perfect and not a stray strand in that determined face.

Bichen slashed through the yellow paper wall, a dozen talismans bursting into flames. But Lan Wangji’s angle was bad, for whatever reason he kept his arm in front of Jiang Cheng, missing most talismans. They hit his body hard. The force slammed him back into Jiang Cheng, too hard and fast, and they crashed on the ground.

The cackling cultivator flared up in the blue light of a teleportation talisman and disappeared.

Jiang Cheng groaned.

Lan Wangji was on top of him, and he was heavier than he looked. The fall had probably bruised a rip or two, definitely broke his ego.

All the bodies surrounding them vanished into black smoke.

Jiang Cheng needed a painfully short moment to understand, suddenly everything so clear.

They were alone in a deserted city, a trap, an embarrassment. An illusion. A waste of time.

No hint where Wen Chao had fled to waiting here. Only the truth that he had more time to put distance between them now. And with that disgusting bastard out of reach, the hope to ever find his missing brother again seemed more and more like the greatest illusion.

Jiang Cheng tried to sit up. Lan Wangji stayed still on his chest. He grabbed him by the shoulder, shook him.

“Hanguang-Jun, Second Young Master Lan, I’m not a fucking pillow.” He couldn’t keep the worry out of his voice. This was the closest Lan Wangji had ever been. Usually, he kept at least two steps between them, between anyone that wasn’t Wei Wuxian, who just didn’t care about personal space. “Get up now. The bastard’s gone. Let’s find our disciples and regroup. Second Young Master Lan.”

He grabbed both shoulders now, pushed Lan Wangji up as he sat up. He felt limp. Streaks of ash covered the white fabric on his chest, even his throat and face. Jiang Cheng barely managed to sit up straight when Lan Wangji slid back against his chest, unconscious.

A hundred curses whirled through his mind, none of them left his mouth. He threw Lan Wangji’s arm around his shoulder and struggled to his feet. The gentle scent of sandalwood enveloped him, mixed with a prominent smell of burnt fabric.

“Anyone? Hello?!” He screamed for his disciples, for the Lan cultivators, and received no answer. The city seemed truly deserted. Not even a curious face in any of the windows.

Jiang Cheng pulled Lan Wangji to the nearest house and kicked the door open. No one inside, as expected. A dark, but well-kept place, quite small but with all the essentials. Apparently, it was left in a hurry. Pots and clothes lay on the floor as if they had been thrown around. Something had scared the residents. Maybe even someone. Fuck that cackling cultivator. Dabbling with evil, resentful energy. What a low level. Not that he should expect honour from someone on Wen Ruohan’s side.

Jiang Cheng heaved Lan Wangji on the small bed. He slumped forward, almost bumped his head against Jiang Cheng’s, the complete opposite to his usual perfectly straight posture. Jiang Cheng steadied him, one hand on his shoulder, another on his neck.

This was bad. The one person that helped him, the one person by his side right now, and he’d gotten him injured, hurt – not dead. Jiang Cheng sighed in relief and pulled his hand from Lan Wangji’s mouth where he’d checked for breath over and over. Checked one more time, just to be very sure.

There was ash on his cheeks, on his lips. But no injuries. He touched just to be sure. Soft. Very. Under any other circumstances, he would have been thrown across the room by Lan Wangji for even laying a finger on him. Right now, he didn’t even move.

“Please, don’t die on me. Hanguang-Jun? Lan Wangji? Come on.” Jiang Cheng grabbed Lan Wangji’s hand and put his fingers on his pulse, flooded him with too much spiritual energy at once.

“Ugh.” Lan Wangji twitched, tried to pull his hand away.

Jiang Cheng couldn’t hide his relief. “Sorry, sorry.” He watched those thick lashes flutter, but Lan Wangji’s eyes didn’t open. Again, he put his fingers on Lan Wangji’s pulse. “I’m not too good at this. Hold on.” He tried again, took a deep breath before letting his energy flow into the other body.

Lan Wangji ripped his hand free, grabbed his own wrist so tightly that his knuckles turned white. His eyes opened a slither. Brighter than the moon trapped on the night sky. Lan Wangji blinked like he was about to fall asleep.

“Oh, come on now. I’m trying to help. If you’re giving me that face, I’m going to throw you on the ground and just leave.”

Lan Wangji opened his eyes a little wider, giving him a surprisingly challenging look. Jiang Cheng felt challenged. He wanted to leave so bad, and he wanted to flood Lan Wangji with his admirable spiritual power until he was healed up and in awe of his talent.

“I’m getting you some water. Don’t move, understood?” Jiang Cheng hurried to the nearby kitchen and found some pots, mostly alcohol. Wei Wuxian would have loved that instead of water, but he wasn’t here, he wasn’t anywhere. So, Jiang Cheng filled a cup with water and carried it over to Lan Wangji.

“Here.” He almost slammed the cup into his face. Lan Wangji was swaying, and he had misjudged the distance. He tried his best not to look guilty, just annoyed. Tried hard not to look at the shaking, ash-covered hand grabbing the cup. At least Lan Wangji could drink like a normal person. Almost normal. Neither Lan brother drank like a normal person, all too perfect, every move efficient and elegant, never a drop wasted. Not like Jiang Cheng’s senior brother, who flung a cup of whatever into his face and hoped some drops would end up in his mouth.

As soon as Wei Wuxian was back, Jiang Cheng would force him to start drinking like a normal person. At least that. It didn’t have to meet Lan standards. And apparently, even the infamous Second Young Master Lan was deep down a normal person that could spill some water.

“Hold on.” Jiang Cheng pushed his hand under the cup to steady it under Lan Wangji’s mouth. Drops of water were already running over his chin. He was swaying badly. “Mind your manners, Hanguang-Jun. You’re alone with a Clan Leader, if I have to remind you.”

Lan Wangji’s eyes shot up, hard and piercing like knives. He smacked his lips, throat apparently still too dry. Jiang Cheng ripped the cup from his hand and refilled it.

“Do I have to help you?”

Lan Wangji ripped the cup just as forcefully back. And then bowed his head a little. “Thank you, Clan Leader Jiang.”

Jiang Cheng rolled his eyes. He left Lan Wangji to drink and moved to the window, glanced outside. No trace of any humans. “I’ll go and look for the disciples. There seems to be no more danger. Stay here and rest a moment.”

“I’ll go with you. You cannot be sure he’s left the city.” Lan Wangji rose from the bed, swaying like grass in the wind. The cup fell from his hand and he toppled over. Jiang Cheng caught Lan Wangji.

“Stubborn bastard. Do I have to tie you to the bed?”

Another flash of sharp eyes. A reddish tint to his ears. Jiang Cheng’s face grew warm. The weight of that body rested against him without restraint. Lan Wangji tried and failed to push himself off, away, only slumped against Jiang Cheng’s chest, almost sliding down to the floor. Jiang Cheng grabbed him tighter. He moved his arms under Lan Wangji’s, wrapped them around his torso for hold. Slimmer than expected, harder than imagined. His cheek brushed over Jiang Cheng’s. Softer than possible. Focus.

He manoeuvred Lan Wangji back to sit on the bed. With great difficulties. Pushing, almost wrestling him down in a way that reminded him of Wei Wuxian dropping from a dozen trees in Cloud Recesses to catch Lan Wangji off guard and only ending on his shoulders. A mad twirl of entangled humans when Lan Wangji tried shaking the boy on his shoulders off, only making him laugh like they were dancing, having fun. Lan Wangji didn’t have fun. Jiang Cheng had travelled long enough with that force of silence to know. Another thing to teach Wei Wuxian the moment he was back.

“Rest. For a moment at least.”

Lan Wangji pushed his hands away, but remained sitting on the bed.

Jiang Cheng sighed heavily. “Your own fucking fault. Why did you jump in front of me?” He glanced, but Lan Wangji’s face showed no trace of emotion. “That was a question, Hanguang-Jun.”

“I don’t have an answer. I just did.” Cold voice, barely more than a whisper, still stronger than a punch, and Jiang Cheng couldn’t breathe. He gulped hard, and something was wrong with him, fucking wrong. He felt his heart beating as he swallowed.

He looked away, quickly, that honest face in front of him felt like the worst decision to look at. Disarming honesty all the time, constantly, inescapable, cutting so very deep to all the wrong spots.

Lan Wangji just did, such honour, not even expecting something in return. Jiang Cheng had asked, had offered. He remembered walking into Cloud Recesses while going over everything he had to offer in his mind, entering the ash painted room Lan Xichen occupied ready to throw himself on the ground, beg and plead for help. Even clearer than that, as if it was happening right now, he remembered Lan Wangji standing at his brother’s side, pristine white robes shining determinedly against the walls of burnt wood, sharply cut shoulders and tightly wrapped belt emphasising his figure. His posture intimidating, straight and perfect, holding himself like a sword ready to cut down whoever dared to come close to his brother. Like he wasn’t just another boy losing too much to the Wen’s thirst for power, too. Just some shield void of feelings.

Their swords had still been in Wen hands back then, and Jiang Cheng had only a handful of disciples left. He had nothing but hopes for a plan and support. Lan Wangji had no sword and still showed no hesitation. Before Lan Xichen had offered anything, Lan Wangji had given him a look and stepped forward. No words, barely even a glance for Jiang Cheng, a nod that had said enough at the time. They were stuck together since then, somehow. He didn’t need a reason why. He didn’t want one anymore.

“I – uhm.” Jiang Cheng cleared his throat. If he ripped it out, that weird feeling would go away. He turned even further away, had his back to Lan Wangji now. Better. The door was nice to look at, but it would look better if it was open or behind him. He would go look for the others, regroup, and Lan Wangji would meditate for a bit, wash that ash from his face and turn back to saying nothing but “Mn” and “Clan Leader Jiang”, as he had for most of their months of travelling together. Sometimes “Jiang Wanyin”. Rarely. Too…

Jiang Cheng slammed a fist against his own chest. Zidian didn’t even crackle. His heart wasn’t impressed either. It didn’t stop with the nonsense.

If he left there was no way that stubborn bastard would take a moment rest. And who knew what those talismans did to him. Maybe he was clotting up blood on the inside. Jiang Cheng wouldn’t know what to do.

He didn’t know what to do now either. How to help, to comfort people had always been an elusive mystery for his siblings to naturally solve while he failed. Embarrassingly, usually.

“I go look for the others,” Jiang Cheng said. “Just stay.”

“No. Not advisable,” Lan Wangji said. “The enemy could still be close.”

“That cowardly, fat bastard. I hope he’s still here, then I make him eat the ashes of his disgusting talismans until he’s cursed even in his next life.” Jiang Cheng balled his fists, face burning with embarrassment. If he never mentioned that this was all his fault, Lan Wangji would continue to silently judge him, and they could pretend to pretend nothing ever happened. “But I doubt it. He was stalling for time, until he could sneak an easy kill or escape. I’ll go.”

“No,” Lan Wangji said again. “You have been hit by his illusionary tricks. It’s not advisable to go out alone in a state of such confusion.”

“Confusion?! I’m perfectly fine! Besides, you were just hit by a thousand of those talismans!”

“Not even a hundred.”

Jiang Cheng rolled his eyes. He felt like they were about to be stuck forever at the back of his head at this rolling rate.

“Use a signal. Regroup here.”

A fucking good idea, and he hadn’t even thought of it. Jiang Cheng grumbled incoherently, because he didn’t know what to say but wanted Lan Wangji to know he was angry. He searched in his sleeve, found nothing, then in the inside of his robes, still nothing.

“I…” Just go outside and pretend to send a signal, somehow find the others and say it all worked as planned. He would never know. “I have no signal.”

He could feel the glare in his neck. “You have no signal?”

Jiang Cheng turned around. And Lan Wangji did not glare. He just looked, unimpressed, questioning. Like it wasn’t the worst mistake a Clan Leader could make to forget to restock on signals for his disciples and himself.

“Just give me yours.” He reached out, walked closer, and something was wrong. Lan Wangji usually watched every step, always aware of distance, not allowing anyone too close, but never obtuse about it. Right now, he was blinking heavily. That hit of talismans had affected him more than he wanted to admit.

“All burnt up when I was hit.” Lan Wangji bowed again, eyes not moving. “My apologies, Clan Leader Jiang.”

Jiang Cheng wished that was sarcasm. But he was honestly sorry, as if all of this was his fault, and not that of a young, insecure leader too eager to storm ahead.

He wished Lan Wangji would forget his manners for a moment and stop reminding him that he was failing at being Clan Leader Jiang in all possible ways. There was no ill-intent behind any of Lan Wangji’s actions, no sarcasm and teasing. Simply no foundation between them for anything other than sticking to titles and courtesy, polite bows and distance.

Not too long ago, he had been at a point where he walked behind Lan Wangji and Wei Wuxian, listening to his brother calling him Lan Zhan with such ease that Jiang Cheng wondered if he should try a Lan-Xiong, Wangji-Xiong, Ji-Xiong, like Nie Huaisang did sometimes blurt out. All of it would sound wrong in his voice. No ease, no accident, only wrong.

“Whatever. Your disciples will send a signal, sooner rather than later, then we’ll find them.” Jiang Cheng looked out of the window, but the sky was filled with smoke and clouds. No signal. Not even the moonlight made it through. It was a weird kind of dark. Somehow the fog seemed to fill everything with a greyish light. Should he light a candle? At least the disciples would find them in this house then.

Jiang Cheng looked at Lan Wangji, not for help, that would be dumb. He seemed alright. More alright than a moment ago. As if a little quarrelling had refuelled his lost energy. The cup was empty on the floor but not broken. Jiang Cheng grabbed it and carried it back to the kitchen.

“You should clean up a little. Your disciples would be in shock of seeing the great Hanguang-Jun this dirty and disgusting. What would they think, hm?” Jiang Cheng filled a small bucket with water and dumped it next to Lan Wangji’s feet. He threw a towel on the bed beside him, then turned back to the kitchen.

Noises of water, a towel being squeezed behind him while he rummaged through the shelves. He found a small stash of unused candles and slammed one on the kitchen table, close to the window. The light wasn’t very obvious, but friend and foe would discover them. He hoped it was the latter and he could strangle that cackle before he ever heard it again.

Still water noises.

He glanced over his shoulder. Lan Wangji rubbed his hands clean. The robes were probably lost, to be honest. His face didn’t even suffer from dirt. Wei Wuxian said once that Lan Zhan was the easiest and hardest face to draw. Whatever that meant. The longer you stared at him, the more sense illogical nonsense seemed to make.

“There’s still some on your face,” Jiang Cheng said.

Lan Wangji scrubbed the wrong cheek.

“Other side.”

He missed again. His fingers suffered from a slight tremble, easy to miss if you didn’t stare at him like Jiang Cheng did right now.

“No. More to the… Well, the jaw. But. No. Oh, come on. You’re doing that on purpose now!” Jiang Cheng slumped on the bed next to Lan Wangji and ripped the towel from his hand. He reached for the dirty face.

Lan Wangji dodged, stared at him wide-eyed.

“Do you want to look like an unrepresentable juvenile? Think of your fucking reputation, Hanguang-Jun.”

“Don’t.” Lan Wangji said and dodged again when Jiang Cheng reached for his face. “That is inappropriate to ask of you.”

“Yes, it definitely is. But you didn’t ask. So, hold still.” Jiang Cheng reached again. Lan Wangji’s face was red from the scrubbing that had failed to catch the ash. He looked so young like this. What a dumb thought. They were even the same age. “We’re at war, so right now, we’re companions first. Understood?”

No answer, but also no refusal. Jiang Cheng lifted the towel. His first touch was too gentle, useless. Lan Wangji’s cheeks looked hurt and almost bruised from his own scrubbing, like he didn’t care about pressure and pain, and Jiang Cheng didn’t dare to accidentally hurt him. But with this fleeting touch he wasn’t doing anything else than stroking his face with a wet towel. Fuck, he’d fail as a parent.

He tried more pressure, and Lan Wangji blinked. His lids still closed heavily, like he was about to fall asleep, but he didn’t seem hurt. And the ash was coming off. His face looked more and more like his usual self. Except very tired.

The last months, day and night they spent together searching for his brother, and Lan Wangji had never looked tired. Naturally, because it wasn’t more than a mission to him. Something to aid the Sunshot Campaign. A weird motivation, hard to understand. And Jiang Cheng didn’t really want to try. He might grow angry and repulse the person willing to help him. Only because Lan Wangji liked to help everyone that asked. Nobody special to him. Worth a second look. Jiang Cheng didn’t…

Lan Wangji glanced at him when he accidentally stroked the same spot twice, a little too gently. He usually never had to look up at Jiang Cheng, a tiny bit taller than him, and now the position forced him to. He didn’t seem too bothered. His mouth opened slightly, full lips allowing a barely audible sigh to escape. Fatigue, exhaustion, least of all pleasure. No. No pleasure at all. What from. What of. Why.

“There, much better.” Jiang Cheng dropped the towel in the bucket, shoved it to the side with his foot. Then had nothing to do. Tapped the wooden floors, wrung his slightly wet hands, noticed they were wet and dried them on his sleeves. He glanced at Lan Wangji, looking like he was sleeping with open eyes. “How are you feeling, anyway?”

Lan Wangji forced his eyes open. “I’m fine.”

“I thought lying is forbidden? Show some respect for my concern, Lan Wangji.”

A glance, short and confused. “I am fine.”

Jiang Cheng sighed. “You got hit by those talismans that are supposedly creating hallucinations? Illusions? Whatever that was. If you start having living nightmares, I’d like to know before you attack me.”

“I won’t attack you.”

“Fair enough. I didn’t attack anyone I care about either. And apparently, I was hit right away when we arrived here,” Jiang Cheng said, trying to recollect their first encounter with the cackling cultivator. He didn’t quite manage. It was all rather blurry, just a lot of anger welling up inside of him again the moment he saw some red robes. And Lan Wangji didn’t help his memory, just looked at him as if he had said something weird.

“If that was an illusion, that attack by all those Wen disciples, why did you all see them too?” Jiang Cheng pondered. “You fought at my side. What did you fight, if I was the one hallucinating them?”

“Proximity,” Lan Wangji said.

“That’s nonsense. So, you saw them because you stuck close to me. Or they were created and then confined to an area?”

“The latter.”

“Which is why they affected and attacked everyone? The talisman that hit me created a sort of illusionary field? And during the initial confusion that bastard had enough time to summon more of them, driving us apart. Now that I think about it, we were never hurt by them.”

“Distractions. Meant to exhaust us.” Lan Wangji took a deep breath, closed his eyes. He seemed in pain. Talking was even more of an effort to him than usual.

“It still shouldn’t affect me, Hanguang-Jun. I’m wearing the bell of clarity.” Jiang Cheng touched it, not to check if he really did, just to show Lan Wangji that he wasn’t completely unprepared.

“Much worse if you wouldn’t,” Lan Wangji said. “Perhaps.”

He made it sound like he knew everything about anything, but Jiang Cheng realised, quite suddenly, that was impossible and dumb to even think. That crutch in his back, that wall of confidence supporting him, was just another teenager. Still learning.

“Perhaps.” Jiang Cheng shook his head. At Lan Wangji being a dumbass protecting him. At himself for being a general dumbass. At the fucking world for everything. “You were hit harder, and I’m prepared and protected.” It looked like Lan Wangji was about to faint, yet he would and could still kill a hundred more Wens.

“You are affected, Jiang Wanyin. Rest your mind,” Lan Wangji said in a hiss like he was struggling to breathe.

He wasn’t affected at all, but if it made Lan Wangji feel better. “Why aren’t you more affected? Hanguang-Jun, are you even human?”

“I am concentrating to keep my mind clear.”

“Clear of what?”

No answer, not even a twitch in that face.

“You really aren’t human, then. The great Hanguang-Jun, leaving battle after battle without a drop of blood on his white clothes, defeater of Xuanwu –”

“I did not defeat the black turtle. Wei Ying did. And…” Lan Wangji pulled his sleeve up and showed Jiang Cheng the inside. A streak of red. A small cut on his arm had sullied the perfect white, and somehow Jiang Cheng smiled at that. At Lan Wangji showing him that as if to offer comfort. Reassurance.

“Papercut?”

Lan Wangji nodded, eyes closed. Jiang Cheng wanted to see his eyes, how they looked when he was amused, just a little. Cause this was a joke. Right? At least a little? Forgetting their positions and politeness for a moment to indulge in comfort. Like fools.

He stared and stared at that face and felt there was nothing easy about it. Nothing human. Pure, untouched beauty. His fingers twitched, remembering the softness of that skin.

His father had warned him about that. Well, he had warned Wei Wuxian about it, and Jiang Cheng had been close enough to listen, making their talk awkward with his mere presence when his father noticed him, tried including him. Making it sound like there was no part of Jiang Cheng able to feel attraction towards anything ever.

Being young and close to beauty made you dumb, distracted you at the worst time. This wasn’t the time to be distracted by trivial things. Aside from the fact that he had a list, and already established that Lan Wangji didn’t fulfil most the requirements after just two weeks travelling with him. Not that he had thought about that before, no, never… Jiang Cheng shoved that thought back into the annoying corner of his brain and stared forward. He had no thoughts whatsoever. He was empty.

“You should rest. Nothing keeps the mind clearer than sleep,” Jiang Cheng said, and there came no arguing despite that sounding like nonsense. Dreams were dangerous. Not that he had any of those. No, never. “I wake you when the disciples arrive. Or when it’s morning. I’m sure they’re fine.”

No answer. He allowed himself another glance and saw the closed eyes, the relaxed mouth. He looked away. His face felt warmer than the cold night should allow, his heart beat uncomfortably. He had seen nothing.

“Stupid idiot, that’s not what I meant. At least lie down,” he told the wall, and Lan Wangji was too asleep to listen anyway. He must have been exhausted to fall asleep sitting up. And he was swaying again. Jiang Cheng noticed the unusual movement out of the corner of his eye. Not that he had ever watched Lan Wangji sleep, but while travelling together it couldn’t be avoided to catch a glance now and then. And nothing about Lan Wangji sleeping was improper. Jiang Cheng had been shocked to realise he even slept straighter than most people sat. Not that he had consciously looked. Only noticed.

Something hit his shoulder.

Jiang Cheng was ripped out of his memories and stupefied. Lan Wangji’s head was on his shoulder. Not resting there gently like in a daydream, but swaying and twitching. Heavy. His brow was furrowed, his breathing hard.

Stupid, stubborn fool. Pretending to be finer than he was.

Jiang Cheng looked, because how could he not? Lan Wangji’s hair was still perfectly in place. Not even a stray strand to brush back. Which was certainly a good thing. How would that even look? Lan Wangji with his hair undone?

Jiang Cheng clenched both hands, tight fists that didn’t dare to wander. “Lan Wangji. I’m not a pillow. Drop on the fucking other side.”

Lan Wangji’s head turned, about to desert him forever. Only that it seemed to turn in the other direction, closer to look up at him. Jiang Cheng was still looking at him, and when Lan Wangji opened his eyes, it was too late to stop. Lan Wangji pouted, looked like he was hurt by the mere suggestion to leave. He had never seen that perfect face with such a juvenile expression.

“Wangji is sorry.”

Jiang Cheng raised his eyebrows, then smirked. “What the fuck? Hallucinating now? Do you think I’m your brother? Your mother?”

“You’re not dead,” Lan Wangji said.

Great. Here Lan Wangji was, hurt and confused after an attack he took for Jiang Cheng, and all he could do was being an asshole.

“Get a fucking grip,” Jiang Cheng said.

“Mn.” Lan Wangji put a hand on Jiang Cheng’s thigh, hard, and pushed himself up, lifting his head until it was swaying without support from Jiang Cheng’s shoulder. He was trying hard. His hand was grasping so tight, then leaving, only a weird heat lingering, crawling where he had touched.

“Wh-What…” Jiang Cheng had forgotten how words worked. But he needed words now, anything other than touch, or thoughts lingering on touch. “Are you in pain or something?”

Lan Wangji shook his head softly. “Uncomfortable.”

“Ah, alright. That makes two of us. Do you need a blanket or something?”

Lan Wangji did that weird pout again. As if it wasn’t enough that he was exceptionally beautiful, handsome, frightening, no, he could also be incredibly cute. Fucking perfect bastard.

Lan Wangji shook his head, still wearing that pout. “Your energy is comforting.”

“Wh-What?” No one had ever said that about him. Angry, vigorous, flashing, that was his energy. Nothing warm or comforting about him.

Lan Wangji shrugged, his pout still lingering as if he wasn’t quite alright with being deprived of that apparent comfort.

“Great. You really are hallucinating. Here.” He grabbed Lan Wangji’s wrist, urged him closer, and put his fingers on his pulse. If he liked his energy, he could have it. Whatever.

Lan Wangji ripped his hand free, tugged it close to his chest. His face seemed redder than usual, from the scrubbing probably, and somehow his ears glowed just as red.

“No wasting,” Lan Wangji said, his voice low and incredibly soft.

“You’re getting weirder and weirder. Just… I don’t know. Keep close, then.”

Lan Wangji leant away, so Jiang Cheng scooted closer, and Lan Wangji tried to move away, but the wall left him no choice, and Jiang Cheng successfully trapped him.

“Just let me. You helped me, after all. And if you get anything out of it, whatever.” He grabbed Lan Wangji’s wrist and just held it, not purposefully running energy into him, just allowing a little trickle. That seemed alright. The pulse under his fingers was strong, even, a nice rhythm, unable to keep up with whatever his pulse was doing, running away with him.

Lan Wangji’s ears were crimson by now. Jiang Cheng stared and wondered… His thoughts seeped far away as he stared and stared at that face. When he shifted, the bell on his belt seemed drowned out by Lan Wangji’s pulse beating steadily against his fingers. He couldn’t hear anything but Lan Wangji’s slightly shaky breathing, deep but disrupted. Even the chatter from the piers outside seemed distant, the melody of the windchimes like the echo of a memory.

“Why are you helping me?” Jiang Cheng asked.

“I didn’t think, just acted,” Lan Wangji said. “I told you that already.”

“No, not back then.” Jiang Cheng caught himself stroking over that soft wrist, stopped, wondered how he could hide what he just did, and completely froze. No reaction. None at all. Lan Wangji sat there, blinked heavily and seemed focused to keep whatever tried to invade his mind out.

“Why are you helping me at all?” Jiang Cheng asked. “Not just today. With all of this.”

Lan Wangji turned his head again, rolling it over like it weighed heavier than the world, and blinked up at him. His eyes were glassy but beautiful, large and inviting to get lost in them. “Never a question for me to help you.”

Jiang Cheng’s heart skipped a beat, then ran forward twice as fast. Lan Wangji’s face was so close, so honest, so strangely open. He didn’t lie about this. There was a hundred other ways to interpret this, some of them perhaps even logical, and for once his brain refused to. Only allowed him to think of those eyes, that face, the soft, soft skin. They could die three times ever day, and he chose to be here. With him. Why misinterpret on purpose when it was that obvious? Especially with Lan Wangji almost back to hanging over his shoulder, swaying with exhaustion from the attack he took for him. For him. Without thinking. Following him to shoot down the sun. With him. Searching his comfort.

“Are you serious?” Jiang Cheng asked, his voice dropping to a low level.

Lan Wangji squinted as if he didn’t hear him well. “Mn.”

Jiang Cheng’s hand moved on its own, cupped Lan Wangji’s face. So warm, so soft. A heavy blink. Jiang Cheng thought he could see his own reflection in Lan Wangji’s eyes, a dumb, smiling fool. It hurt to smile like this.

For him. With him. His.

“Jiang Wanyin.”

That sounded so nice. Hardly anyone called him his courtesy name, for whatever reason. Especially not now that they could all call him Clan Leader Jiang.

“Wangji,” he tested, liked it, and leant in close. Those beautiful eyes grew wide before he shut his own, and kissed Lan Wangji. A breath against his lips, shaky and sudden, easy to swallow. He grabbed Lan Wangji’s face with both hands, pulled him closer, closer, opened that soft, soft mouth with his tongue. So warm, hot. His entire body flared up with heat. He pushed in even deeper, pulled him even closer.

“Hmn.” A hand on his chest, clawing into his clothing.

“Yes, yes, yes,” he muttered between kisses, pushed back and close, shoved Lan Wangji against the wall. The bed creaked under their weight. Lan Wangji groaned under his. His chest was hard, sturdy, warm, too much for his hands to explore. He ran his fingers over the white fabric, trailed the seams and lines, and pushed under the jacket. The undershirt was silky, thin, and unable to hide the heavily beating heart. Intrusive, so intrusive. He wanted to rip all that open and kiss, lick, bite into that pale skin.

Lan Wangji bit into his lip, and Jiang Cheng moaned, shocks of white going through his body. Unlike anything he had ever felt before in his cold, cold life. His hips jerked forward, yanked by that sudden flash of incomprehensible desire. Every kiss only made it worse, not better, but worse was better, and he couldn’t, shouldn’t, would.

He closed Lan Wangji’s mouth with his. A muffled sound that he eagerly swallowed.

None of Nie Huaisang’s books had shown him any of this, the complete loss of control within a touch. He fought second for second to keep a bit of it, at least, and only thought more and more of ripping off these clothes and tear into Lan Wangji, fuck him hard and fast and so good that he would remember it for three more lives.

Because that was an option for a pathetic virgin that only dared to look at erotic books when everyone was asleep. Wei Wuxian and Nie Huaisang had giggled about them together, while he had pretended not to be interested. But he had looked at them. He had an idea what to do. And wanted nothing more than try it. All of it. Now. Right fucking now.

Jiang Cheng pushed his hands under Lan Wangji’s robes, found his trousers and pulled.

Lan Wangji made a strangled sound, turned his head out of the kiss and gasped for air. Breathed and breathed. “Wait. Jiang Wanyin. Your mind isn’t clear.”

“My mind’s completely clear.” He tugged and pulled the trousers all the way down to Lan Wangji’s ankles, then reached back between his legs. Lan Wangji’s eyes rolled back at that first touch. Very first, probably, hopefully. That thought crawled over his back like hot water, goosebumps all over his body. Lan Wangji, proper to his bones, detached from everything human, maybe never even touched himself like this.

Jiang Cheng kissed Lan Wangji, wrapped his hand tightly around him, felt the warmth of his cock, only half-hard while his own was nearly bursting. He changed that, a few quick strokes and the warmth grew into heat, the throbbing into a tremble through his entire body.

Lan Wangji threw his arm over his face, hid behind it. His mouth was visible, teeth biting into his lower lip. The sounds tried so hard to escape his mouth that every muscle in his throat and jaw tensed. Jiang Cheng licked over that visible line of muscle, the pulsing vein, up his neck and bit into his jaw. He kissed him again, hard and deep, his tongue pulling the moans from his throat. That voice, deep and calm, shattered because of his touch.

“Hanguang-Jun,” he groaned into the kiss. “Lan Wangji… Wangji.”

A sigh, so fucking loud it drowned his thoughts. He grinned against Lan Wangji’s lips, felt them vibrating under his breath, under his tongue. Teeth digging into his bottom lip. He kissed Lan Wangji out of that desire to bite his sounds back.

“Scream, I’d still want you. Whatever you want. My parents can’t hear us here.” Jiang Cheng could barely hear the windchimes from outside, the piers probably deserted at this hour. No boat on the lake anymore. Everyone asleep. He felt teeth on his lips, bit back first, and moved his hand faster, faster until that bite turned into a moan with nothing proper about it. “Let me take off your clothes.”

“Still out there. If it comes back… We can’t.”

“He’s not coming back. It’s just you and me,” Jiang Cheng said. “Take off mine…”

He moved his clothes out of the way as best as he could to quickly pull down his trousers. Lan Wangji watched him, eyes growing large, mouth slightly open. He reached out, so quick that Jiang Cheng thought his hand would be slapped away. He caught Lan Wangji’s fingers and moved them down to his cock, where they could do better things.

“Your clothes… already dry?” Lan Wangji mumbled.

“What? We can swim in the lake later… I pick you a lotus, yes? Yes?” Jiang Cheng leant closer to catch that soft voice, found himself catching his mouth instead, didn’t allow him to repeat or answer, kissed him. Teeth and tongue and damn those moans that vibrated into his mouth, down his throat, through his body.

Finally, that hand tightened around his cock, started to move. Hesitant at first, then each stroke gaining more determination. Skin burning over his flesh. Jiang Cheng licked his lips, let his breathing grow louder, harder, allowed it to turn into embarrassing moans.

“Wanyin.” A hand in his neck, gripping him tight, pulling at loose strands of disgustingly sweaty hair like he didn’t mind. “I can’t hear… the bell anymore.”

“Me neither.” It was stuck between their bodies, between the layers of clothes torn open and side. Strangled into silence. “Fuck it.”

“Where is…” Lan Wangji grabbed him so tight, the pain not feeling like pain at all. “Don’t leave me there again… Wanyin.”

“I have you.” Jiang Cheng grabbed him back, touched his face with his free hand, fingers running over his hot skin, stroking and searching, trembling. He rocked against him, up into that hand that kept stroking him, so warm, steadily, ripping him away further and further from everything.

“Have me,” Lan Wangji breathed. “Did you… ever want me back then?”

“Fuck, yes…” Jiang Cheng shoved his fingers into Lan Wangji’s mouth, moved them, in and out.

He couldn’t avoid the memories now. Those nights when the three of them tried to make fun of those erotic books, and Wei Wuxian started talking about how poor Second Master Lan surely never looked at anything like that, didn’t even know what that mouth of his could do – and Nie Huaisang starting to giggle at that way too flowery description while Jiang Cheng’s mind tortured him with a vivid image and his fists missed Wei Wuxian to punish him for painting it. No images in his mind could compare to reality, that sight, that feel of those lips over his fingers, nails, knuckles. He wanted to make all of it real and keep it forever.

His wet fingers slid eagerly between Lan Wangji’s legs, found that hole and pressed in. The gasp, so loud and surprised. He hooked Lan Wangji’s leg up with his elbow, changing the angle to slip in easier.

This should work, somehow. If not, next time. But his fogged-up mind couldn’t help but urge him to try. One finger, two fingers, even three seemed fine. The discomfort on Lan Wangji’s face was as hard to track as anything. He was so beautiful. All that mattered. The sharp lines of his face, the dark hair finally coming undone, thick strands falling into his eyes. The forehead ribbon came undone with it.

He pulled his fingers out, shifted between Lan Wangji’s legs, pressed into him with his cock. In and in. His hips rested against Lan Wangji’s, cold, hot skin keeping him for a moment. He steadied himself next to that perfect face, leant his forehead against Lan Wangji’s. His eyes caught him like the pools of water surrounding Lotus Pier. He wanted to storm forward and take it all, prove it, that he deserved to be here, on top of him, and no one else would ever be looked at like that but him.

He nestled his head closer, nose bumping against Lan Wangji’s, and moved his hips forward softly. The heat seeped into his body, boiled the blood in his veins. His voice was a pathetic breath, right against Lan Wangji’s open lips. He breathed at him like an idiot, clawed at his face and hair, his other hand digging into the bed for support.

And Lan Wangji breathed back. Just as hard. Just as shaky. His leg raised up, knee pressing into Jiang Cheng’s side, giving him an even better angle. And he pushed in. And again. Harder this time. Lan Wangji’s entire body moved because of him. His head fell back, sank into the pillow. Those eyelids still looked heavy like he was exhausted, dead-tired, but fluttered close and open like a fragile butterfly with broken wings.

Jiang Cheng pushed in deep again, slow and torturous for himself, just to watch what that motion, his cock buried inside of Lan Wangji did to that usually composed body. How his muscles tensed and spasmed, how his eyes grew so wide and dark, his skin flushed deep red. His breathing grew harder, louder with each push. The sighs, almost moans, tugged Jiang Cheng closer again. He kissed him eagerly, thrust his tongue into him the same moment his hips slammed forward with too much force. A hiss of pain hit him, then teeth dug into his lower lip, and he laughed. How he loved that. The truth that Lan Wangji would and could throw him off if he wanted to, that he could simply throw him around and fuck him back. And, oh, he wanted that. But not now.

Grinning, he pushed himself up just enough to look at him as he moved, and wiped that bruised spot on his lip that tingled from Lan Wangji’s teeth. His cock was throbbing, pulsing stronger each time he slammed into that unbearably tight heat. With each move, his body rubbed against Lan Wangji’s hard cock, then layers of clothes, a weird traction. He needed him naked, wanted to feel his skin, but his hands barely made it under all the layers.

Hands on his face, pulling him back down. A kiss, soft and gentle, then diving into him so forcefully he couldn’t breathe. He could have this every day, they were made for each other, could stick together forever. He was so in love.

He might have mumbled something like that. Embarrassment pinched his insides. He thrust and thrust until he didn’t need to think anymore. Until moans and groans drowned his confessions.

“I’m taking you home,” he muttered, kissed Lan Wangji’s throat and neck, thrust so deep his entire body trembled. “Please, come home with me. Please… Please.” That pulse in Lan Wangji’s throat pressed against his tongue. He licked up to his jaw, to his ear. “Please.” Couldn’t stop pleading like that. He was so close, his body moving on its own, his mind already lost. “Stay with me. I give you everything you want. What do you want? Say it. Tell me. Please.”

Lan Wangji’s eyes were so dark, so clouded. “Wei Ying.”

Jiang Cheng froze. He braced himself, pressed both hands on the mattress to stop his movements. The sweat on his forehead turned cold. His heart stopped, then pumped hard, not fast.

He’d misheard. He’d misheard. He’d misheard, please.

Hands came up to his face, cradled him, pulled him down. Lan Wangji’s clouded eyes couldn’t even reflect him anymore.

Jiang Cheng let out a strangled noise. Lan Wangji’s mouth covered his, and his legs wrapped around him, pulled him back into the heat. He came hard. Every effort, both his hands trying to push off, couldn’t win against the shock.

He was so pathetic, such a fool, an idiot. He wanted to get out and run away. He wanted to slump down and cry into Lan Wangji’s shoulder.

“Finish what you started.” Lan Wangji pecked him on the mouth. “We’ll be in this cave for days.”

“Fuck. Please.” Jiang Cheng pushed himself off, catapulted himself half across the room with too much spiritual force. His knees were weak, trembling, and didn’t catch him when he landed on the floor. He stumbled against the kitchen table, grabbed onto it for support.

The candle still burnt, illuminated his reflection in the window. Tears started running. And behind him, Lan Wangji was on that small bed. He sat up, legs bare, clothes torn messily apart and revealing his wrinkled undershirt. His ribbon had come loose and was stuck in his dishevelled hair.

Lan Wangji’s eyes couldn’t focus.

Jiang Cheng dropped his head, his own hair so messy it fell into his face in sweaty strands. He pulled his trousers up, tidied his clothes as best as he could. The clarity bell made no sound as he fastened his belt, tighter than necessary. His fingers trembled too hard.

Somewhere behind him that bed creaked and fabric rustled. Feet touched the ground.

Jiang Cheng let his body take over and ran for the door. The cold air tried to shove him back in, but he slammed the door shut behind him and stormed outside.

He wanted to hide, just hide, and bury himself in the ground. But he wouldn’t manage that in time, so he ran forward, stumbling with no grace at all, and flung himself into the darkest, dirtiest alley opposite the house.

Disgust, pure horror twisted his insides. He threw up behind a deserted merchant’s stall. Blood on his tongue. Even his core was revolting against what he’d done.

The tears wouldn’t stop. Jiang Cheng crouched down next to his bloody vomit and cried into his hands.

So stupid. So stupid. So fucking arrogant and stupid.

He sobbed, pressed his palms hard against his mouth, ready to leave bruises there, ready to strangle himself.

The cackle from behind scared his heart to a halt. He whirled around, breathed in pathetically loud, tears still streaming down his face, and looked at a small, doughy-faced cultivator laughing so hard he bent over, holding his stomach. The cackling cultivator couldn’t stop laughing, just like Jiang Cheng couldn’t stop the tears. His anger didn’t care, eagerly surged into Zidian as he clenched his fist.

“You know…” The cackling cultivator wiped a tear from laughing off his face, straightened to look at him. “I didn’t think this would be going in that direction.”

“You did this on purpose. You made me do that! Tricked my mind!” Zidian lit up the night around them, illuminated that disgusting smile of that scumbag.

“I did that on purpose,” he said, thankfully. “If you talk about taking Hanguang-Jun out with my talismans. Since I already got you very, very easily. If you remember. I mean. Who would have guessed that you take advantage of that poor, confused boy like this.”

“I didn’t… I didn’t…” Jiang Cheng clenched his fists so hard that Zidian seeped hot into his flesh. “What were you planning? Why show yourself now?”

“Cut you down in your sleep. Hanguang-Jun and you, chained by nightmares. Bring his bloody robes to my master.” The cackle hurt more than a sword in the side. “You messed them up first, though. I watched a little. Really eager, weren’t you, boy?”

“You watched?” His stomach clenched from the urge to throw up, right into that smirking face if he could.

“Had not much else to do while waiting,” the cackling cultivator said. “Wasn’t that interesting. Your temper even follows you between the sheets, huh?” He laughed so hard that the echo seemed to fill the entire city.

Zidian split the ground. Jiang Cheng whipped the string of purple lightning into the air, ready to kill. And missed.

“You’re still a bit messed up yourself.” The voice was right beside him. “Not a challenge.”

He whirled around, slashing Zidian at the spot – but the voice was gone, no body left either.

“I am aided by karma, after what you did.” The voice came behind him. “I’d grant you release by death, if I’d care. But this will be very important, fun information for my master to use against you at the right time, won’t it? What do you think?” His voice squeaked into a desperate tone, as if he was shocked to the core: “Clan Leader Jiang forced himself on Hanguang-Jun when he needed support. I saw it with my own eyes. You can’t trust a man like that. A scumbag, a criminal bastard! Oh, my eyes. To wash myself of the memory!”

Jiang Cheng slashed through the wall next to him, the house cracking down a level. No human hit. He whirled around, Zidian around him like a violet storm, and hit nothing. The cackle grew so loud, it seemed to be everywhere.

“What will your family say, Clan Leader?”

To the right. He hit the merchant’s stall and cracked it to pieces.

“What will the Gusu-Lan Clan say?”

He looked up, fear, pain, sickness welling up in his stomach. The cultivator stood on the roof above him. Easy to reach with a high jump. Jiang Cheng landed in a whirl of purple lighting, whipped Zidian at the cultivator. He was yanked off his feet, flew and flew, caught himself just before he dropped off the roof. The smirk was finally falling from his face. He pulled a yellow talisman paper from his sleeve. Zidian smacked it out of his hand, pulverised the paper. The cultivator reached into the other sleeve, and this time Jiang Cheng hit his hand.

The scream was bliss. It echoed through the night like his cackle, but refused to linger in Jiang Cheng’s head. If he never had to hear any sound from that man again, he might get another chance at happiness.

Zidian slapped the cultivator’s face so hard the recoil flung him off the roof. Jiang Cheng stared at the spot where the man had stood, then sat, laughing then crying. Nothing but darkness prickling with purple lightning.

He ran to the edge and looked down. Another alley with merchant stalls and laundry swaying in the wind. No man, alive or dead. He jumped down the roof and landed in the alley.

The laundry fell to a simple swipe from Zidian, revealed only more shadows. Jiang Cheng listened into the night, but suddenly that noisy man seemed keen not to make a sound. He listened, walked forward. A sheet hanging from the line to dry rustled in the wind. White, clean, a small tear in the lower left corner.

He whipped the sheet out of his view. Nothing hiding behind it, only more shadows, darkest night. Jiang Cheng growled, like an angry animal, and the echo trapped between the alley walls sounded even more inhuman.

Fitting, perhaps. For a scumbag criminal like him.

He walked further into the shadows when a noise rustled behind him. With Zidian crackling, he whirled around and slashed the talisman flying at him into a thousand sparks.

“You think those dirty tricks of yours will get you any kind of fame?” Jiang Cheng ripped through another two talismans, walked towards the figure hiding behind another whirlwind of yellow paper. His anger fuelled Zidian. The purple light shone so brightly the entire alley was glowing with it.

He tore through talisman after talisman, a nearly endless supply flying at him, trying to stop him. The cackling cultivator was bleeding from a cut on his cheek, his dreadful smile nowhere to be seen, just anger, wrath, everything that Jiang Cheng felt ten times more.

Jiang Cheng’s growl turned into a scream when he slashed through that whirlwind of talismans. Zidian wrapped around the cultivator’s throat and pulled him in, right against his drawn sword. He pressed the blade against his throat.

“I should feed you to the dogs, but I worry for their wellbeing,” Jiang Cheng said. The sheets and laundry hanging from lines around them fluttered from Zidian’s pulsing energy.

Another cackle, even now, even with his throat squeezed and already cut by a blade. “You…” His voice was only a strangled whisper. “You’re not better than me.”

“Ah?” Jiang Cheng pulled him closer, lifted him off his feet. “I can’t hear you very well.”

The grin sliced him better than a sword. Zidian sizzled, seemed to loosen. “I’ve seen the likes of you. Ugly, rich bastards that rape themselves through streets and clans, leaving bastards everywhere. No wonder that Lanling-Jin leader likes you so much. You’ll grow up into a man just like him, boy.”

Why did he let him talk? Why was he always letting people like that talk?

“It’s a good thing,” the cultivator rasped with what little voice he had left, “that your rotten clan was eradicated by us.”

Jiang Cheng threw him around, through a sheet that came flying with them, and slammed him against the wall. His blade already cut through skin, when he noticed the yellow tinted by Zidian’s flashing purple. Yellow everywhere. Papers were stuck to the sheet.

“Fuck.”

The sheet came alive, wrapped around his throat and choked him with more deadly intent than he ever had. His lungs remained empty, no matter how hard he tried to suck in air. Zidian’s grip on the cultivator loosened, and he dropped to the floor. His talisman trap tightened around Jiang Cheng’s throat. He pulled and ripped at it, but the sheet did not move even an inch.

Ah. At least he would never have to look Lan Wangji in the eyes again. Lan Wangji didn’t need him anyway. He would save Wei Wuxian on his own, maybe get what he wanted then, and they could be happy together without ever wasting another thought on him.

He wanted to look at Lan Wangji again. Please. His face was everywhere, cold, sharp, determined. A hint of sadness and worry. That second night of travelling on the road when Jiang Cheng woke up, clutching his sword in his sleep like a pillow, Lan Wangji holding watch on the other side of the burnt out fire. Please, once more.

His sight darkened, the strangled noises of failed breaths growing more and more pathetic.

The cultivator had rediscovered his cackle. That disgusting, doughy face was not the last thing he ever wanted to see. Please.

Then a cough, a splurge of blood from the cultivator’s mouth.

The sheet lost its grip and Jiang Cheng dropped to the ground. The tip of a sword stuck out of the cultivator’s stomach. Another spate of blood from his mouth when it was removed. He fell to his knees.

Behind him, a white-robed figure lifted his sword for the final strike. Lan Wangji stood there like a frozen lightning bolt, drops of blood on his loosely tied clothes. Nothing orderly about him right now. With his hair undone and flowing in the wind, he looked almost feral.

The cackling cultivator drew another talisman.

“Wangji!” Jiang Cheng screamed.

And Lan Wangji spun around, slashed his sword down and took the cultivator’s arm off. It fell on the street, still clutching the talisman. The scream filled the entire city.

Lan Wangji shuffled to the side, head rolling disoriented. Jiang Cheng drew his sword and jumped forward.

The cackling cultivator vanished in a light of blue, and his sword cut only through air.

Jiang Cheng noticed only a second later that the man was gone, when nothing stood between Lan Wangji and him. Nothing that kept him from approaching. He swayed. Still. His eyes were heavy. His hand trembled to the fingertips when he reached for Jiang Cheng.

“Are you alright?” Lan Wangji asked, voice weak and not his own.

Jiang Cheng ignored the outstretched hand and turned to look at the arm on the ground, swayed himself just from the turn. He felt pathetic. He felt terrible and useless and wanted to throw himself into Lan Wangji’s arms and hold him tight.

Jiang Cheng nodded. “Yes.” His voice had given the last strength to that scream, surrendered now to the pain from the sheets strangling him. Jiang Cheng rubbed over his throat, burning marks traceable. “He… He got away.”

“I apologise,” Lan Wangji said. “I’ll do better next time.”

“Are you stupid? That you can even walk in your condition! Why are you out here?!” And here he was, again looking at Lan Wangji instead of being a proper human being and embarrassed, ashamed.

“For you.”

“Don’t say things like that!” Jiang Cheng hit him in the chest. Lan Wangji stumbled, even from that little force that never had thrown his brother or anyone to the ground. Jiang Cheng clasped Lan Wangji’s arm, held him up. Lan Wangji’s head dropped, his heavy lids half-closing as well, and he still held Jiang Cheng’s gaze so hard as if that would keep him from running away.

Jiang Cheng held onto his arm, noticed his fingers stroking what he shouldn’t even be touching. “Don’t say things like that… I’m dumb, and stupid, and I misunderstand them.”

Lan Wangji rolled his head to the other side, questioning, challenging, something?

“Th-thank you,” Jiang Cheng said in a whisper. “Thank you for coming for me, Wang- Hanguang-Jun.”

“Mn.” Lan Wangji nodded. As if that thanks that felt so hard to say meant nothing to him.

Jiang Cheng turned away again, his cheeks flaring hot with embarrassment. He ended up staring at the arm, accidentally. “Damn it, Wangji, you’re brutal. Um, Hanguang-Jun, I mean.”

“Disarming.”

“That’s for weapons.”

“When you use talismans, your weapons are your hands.”

Jiang Cheng laughed, because that made no and so much sense. He laughed too hard, his sore throat actually hurting, and when he turned to smile at Lan Wangji, he was right beside him. So close.

Lan Wangji’s hand reached for his throat, touched the painful, hot mark from the strangling sheet. Jiang Cheng couldn’t breathe, again, felt it worse than with the sheet. Lan Wangji’s eyes trailed over his throat, and with the heavy lids, he looked like he wanted something else.

Only that he would never look at him like that.

“You’re hurt. Somewhere else?” Lan Wangji asked.

Jiang Cheng shook his head. “No, just… You know, until this I had the upper hand. I was this close to ending that bastard. He was terrified.”

“Mn.”

“You’re not believing me, hm?”

“You’re very capable, and a man of little cultivation talent would be afraid of a child with a sword. You deserve better praise than that man being terrified of you.”

Jiang Cheng blushed like a child receiving their first compliment. He hit Lan Wangji in the chest again, with no force at all. “I told you not to say stuff like that. Idiot.”

Lan Wangji nodded, and Jiang Cheng wished he had never said that. He wanted to hear more stupid stuff like that. Didn’t ever want him to stop. Because if Lan Wangji said it… Lan Wangji, renowned for his honesty… Lan Wangji, who after tonight should know fucking better.

“Let’s… um.” Jiang Cheng looked at the arm on the ground, wondered if they should leave it here, if maybe that guy would come back for it. “We should go back and sleep. Regroup in the morning. Oh, I don’t. I mean. Lots of houses here. Any will do. For you. For me. Not together. In one, I mean. Do you understand?”

Lan Wangji blinked like he didn’t. He huffed, then grabbed Jiang Cheng’s sleeve and pulled him back to the house. “No separating again. Come.”

He waddled after him like an idiot, completely dumbfounded.

What was wrong with Lan Wangji? Was his mind that far gone? Would he ever be himself again? Was he about to drop and die on him, choking on the clotted blood inside of him?

Had he already forgotten what Jiang Cheng had done to him, or had he never noticed at all?

They entered back into the house, and Lan Wangji let go of him, sat back down on the bed. He closed his eyes as if he was going to sleep sitting up again.

He looked so worn out. His hair down and dishevelled, clothes barely in order. Blood on him, his robes and on Bichen. Nothing about him looked like the proper Lan Wangji, pride of Gusu-Lan. Even his forehead ribbon was missing. It was next to the pillow, fallen there when he had gotten up, probably.

Jiang Cheng closed the door properly, checked on the candle. Still burning, attracting voyeuristic cultivators and hopefully their own people.

There was a chair near the kitchen table, small, barely higher than the floor. He could sleep on that.

His eyes trailed back to Lan Wangji. He hated and loved seeing him like that. Hated that his mind was messed up and deprived him of his entire consciousness. Loved how he looked, like he was in his private room, watching him get to bed, allowed to watch him.

But that was just a fucked up thought after what he had done. He wasn’t allowed to see him like this. He just intruded.

Jiang Cheng walked over and sat on the bed next to Lan Wangji. He took the ribbon from next to the pillow, felt the silky fabric caress his fingers. No one but Wei Wuxian had ever dared to just touch that, and no matter how often he told his brother what that meant for the disciples of Gusu-Lan, he still did it. Jiang Cheng wasn’t too versed in the entire meaning, just that it was a rather intimate symbol and they had been told in their first lesson to never touch another’s forehead ribbon.

“You should put this back on,” Jiang Cheng said. “What would your disciples think if they saw you without?”

Lan Wangji reached over with his palm open, asking for it. His fingers trembled so hard he couldn’t keep it still.

“Let me help.” Jiang Cheng leant over and wrapped the ribbon around Lan Wangji’s forehead.

Lan Wangji’s eyes shot up, wide and open, and Jiang Cheng refused to fall into their trapping gaze now. He moved the ribbon under that long, soft hair, as he had seen him usually wear it, and failed to get it as prettily tucked under the strands. He tried two more times until he was at least a little satisfied. What a nuisance. Jiang Cheng sat back to look at his work and smiled. Such a nuisance.

“Is it straight?” Lan Wangji asked, lifting his hand to check.

“I tried my best.” Jiang Cheng huffed, and Lan Wangji blinked when that breath hit his face. “So, no. Obviously it isn’t.”

“Thank you,” Lan Wangji said anyway.

Jiang Cheng felt his shoulders dropping, his head going with it. The floor seemed to pull him down, and he wanted to follow, crawl into the earth and die there.

“I’m so sorry, Wangji,” he said, dropped into a bow right at Lan Wangji’s chest. He should be on the floor and even then his apology wouldn’t be enough. “So sorry. I’ll repent for life. Whatever you want me to do, whenever, I’ll ask no questions.”

A hand on his shoulder, moving to his back, a push that made him fall forward, against Lan Wangji’s chest. When he tried to get away, the pressure kept him there. An arm wrapped around him.

Impossible. Lan Wangji hugged him.

Jiang Cheng breathed and rested his head on Lan Wangji’s shoulder. Just a moment. He closed his eyes and breathed, in and out, his bruised throat agitated by just that.

His arms did their own stupid thing and wrapped around Lan Wangji. He hugged him so tight his muscles tensed. He could feel the muscles, the bones of that body. The warmth. If he could sleep like this he would. Only his siblings had ever hugged him, and he didn’t remember feeling that safe, that warm, so very desperate.

Jiang Cheng lifted his head and Lan Wangji’s face was right there, his mouth not even a breath away. Lips full and red, probably as soft as earlier. Jiang Cheng closed the distance and kissed him again. Pressed his lips against his, trailed them with his tongue, pushed inside his mouth. The heat, the taste of blood.

Jiang Cheng pulled back. “I’m so sorry, sorry. I don’t know. Fuck.”

He grabbed Lan Wangji by the shoulders, didn’t dare to look him in the face.

“Sleep now. Just sleep. Please, get better.” He pushed Lan Wangji down on the bed, expected as much resistance as earlier and met none – fell on top of him. His body was not the weight he wanted to use to keep him down. Fuck.

The scent of sandalwood was everywhere, a little less than before, a little tainted by ash and sweat. Jiang Cheng gulped, pushed himself up again and accidentally looked at Lan Wangji’s face, found him staring back from underneath his heavy-lidded eyes. His mouth was slightly open, redder from that kiss. Maybe one more. One last time.

Jiang Cheng shot up like a lightning bolt. He pressed one hand on Lan Wangji’s chest to keep him down. Just keep him down. Not feel if he was real, warm, hard, or soft, or anything. Just down.

“Mmh.” A touch tickled his hand. Lan Wangji’s fingers brushed over the back of his hand. He pulled that away as well, clutched it tight in his lap.

“Sleep now. It’s long past nine, Wangji.”

“Mn.” The rustling of clothes hinted that Lan Wangji settled down, from whatever he wanted to do just now, and his long sleeves brushed against Jiang Cheng’s thigh when he folded his arms to sleep. “Stay.”

“I’m not leaving, don’t worry,” Jiang Cheng said.

“Stay close.”

Jiang Cheng felt a twitch in his cheeks, maybe a smile, maybe just more disgust at himself. Because he wanted to misunderstand and lie down next to him. Put his head back on his shoulder. Rest. Find out how that would feel in the morning, waking up, not alone.

Instead he fell asleep sitting up, fingers clutching somewhere into Lan Wangji’s sleeve.

~*~

When he woke up, Jiang Cheng lay on the bed, blanket covering him, sandalwood scent embracing him.

Lan Wangji was standing next to the bed, a hand on Jiang Cheng’s shoulder, a yellow paper in the other. He had finished a handmade talisman from the material left in the sleeve of the cackling cultivator. A signal that finally led their disciples here when Jiang Cheng sent it in the sky.

All of them were alive, but looked like they had a rough night and needed a long bath. They bowed to Jiang Cheng, then lost the smiles on their faces. Their bows to Lan Wangji seemed stiff, their eyes glued to the ground. As they made their way out of the city, Jiang Cheng could hear them, particularly the Lan disciples mumbling to each other, questioning, wondering, something.

Jiang Cheng tried not to look and failed. Lan Wangji’s face showed nothing, not even exhaustion. His robes were a mess, his sword clean again, and his forehead ribbon looked like he hadn’t retied it after Jiang Cheng’s failed attempts to fix it. Nothing a fierce battle under the influence of whatever that was couldn’t explain away. And Lan Wangji didn’t seem bothered by the strange and many looks.

Maybe they could forget that night and pretend nothing had happened, continue to be… whatever they had been before. Companions, friends… nothing?

But of course that didn’t seem to be an option.

They rested on a small clearing by a river, the disciples cleaning their dirty faces a little, when Lan Wangji approached him.

“Clan Leader Jiang.”

Everyone instantly looked at them. Why? What did they see? Surely not any of the memories that flooded into Jiang Cheng’s messed up brain. Almost all the disciples were older than them, surely experienced something similar, and perhaps that stuff that should be hidden beneath blankets showed on someone’s face, someone’s body.

Definitely on his mind.

He was awake, he was healthy, not influenced by talismans, and all he thought at the sight of Lan Wangji’s face was how nice it looked flushed, with his hair down, eyes dark with want, desire, hunger. He blushed. At the memories, and at the thought of his disciples having any idea of him in that state. They couldn’t, surely?

“What?!” Jiang Cheng made every last pair of shy eyes look. Stupid voice. Why did he have such a loud voice?

Even Lan Wangji seemed confused at the sudden yelp, then actually fell in a bow.

Jiang Cheng grabbed his arms before he could do. “What the – Dammit. Mind your business!” he shouted at the disciples and forced Lan Wangji with him, hid him behind a pair of trees. “Wangji, if you ever bow before me again, I’ll leave you and your annoying disciples here.”

Lan Wangji blinked. His eyes did most of his talking, but Jiang Cheng refused to look too closely. “I meant no insult, Clan Leader Jiang, only to thank you for your care last night.”

Jiang Cheng blushed so hard he feared to go up in flames. Lan Wangji didn’t remember. He didn’t remember anything. Did he? He wouldn’t thank him then. He would have already stabbed him.

“That, um. I –” Jiang Cheng had to clear his dry throat, but his voice broke anyway. How pathetic. “You mean the…”

Lan Wangji nodded. Dammit, why couldn’t he talk, just this one time? What was that supposed to mean?

“That was… I didn’t. You took care of me, Hanguang-Jun. You saved my life. Twice,” Jiang Cheng said, and for the first time in his life, he felt no trouble admitting such a huge debt. Surely, because the greater debt could never be spoken about.

“I don’t remember,” Lan Wangji said.

Maybe it never had to be talked about.

“What…” Jiang Cheng’s throat felt even drier. “What do you remember?”

Lan Wangji turned his head a little, and Jiang Cheng dared to look at him again. A soft tint of red coloured his ears. “I remember you bringing me to safety, staying with me while I was… confused. My mind felt as if I was being pulled back and forth between reality and dreams. I apologise if I said anything insulting.” His voice raised at the end, as if he wanted to turn that part into a question and didn’t really dare.

Jiang Cheng took a deep breath, obviously shaky. “You…” He still felt that pain in his chest, as if Lan Wangji’s voice calling not his but another’s name, his of all people, was a sharp knife forever buried inside of him. “What did you dream about? Something unpleasant?”

Lan Wangji hated Wei Wuxian. He hated him. It couldn’t be like that. It stung and ached and hurt so much. Please.

“I felt stuck in the black turtle’s cave again. When my home and family seemed lost to me, my mind was… hard to detangle. I remember your voice there, when it couldn’t have been in that cave. Surely there is a connection the illusions tried to take advantage of, but I won’t linger on it. Nothing to be gained there.”

Jiang Cheng had a heart, but he couldn’t hear it right now. Couldn’t feel it.

You dreamt of being with my brother, he wanted to say. You dreamt of being with him, while I fucked you like a lovesick madman. And he wasn’t in love. He didn’t care. Which didn’t help to make it less horrible.

“What about you?” Lan Wangji asked.

Jiang Cheng frowned, looked at him. No bashful avoiding of his gaze, no reaction at all, just a hint of curiosity in his cold eyes.

“What? Me? What are you talking about?”

“After the talismans hit you at the city’s entrance, you were in a fit. I was afraid your energy was disrupted, so I stayed close. I meant no disrespect in your abilities.”

Jiang Cheng huffed, laughed, something in between. “I’m always angry and close to a fit. Ask my senior brother about it when we find him.”

“Mn.” Lan Wangji accepted that so easily that Jiang Cheng felt the need to explain himself unnecessarily. He bit that back, when Lan Wangji reached for his belt and pulled the tassel that was hooked to the jade token off. Dark and light blue threads mixed together in the only spot of colour of his otherwise completely white outfit. Lan Wangji held the tassel in his open hand, reached out to Jiang Cheng. “Take this.”

“What?”

“It was difficult to not lose sight of you, Jiang Wanyin. You said we’re companions for the moment, so a way to stay aware of each other’s position might be useful. I infused this tassel with a charm that tracks my position. It will serve for easier regrouping should we lose each other.”

Jiang Cheng hesitated. Something that would help him to always know Lan Wangji’s whereabouts? That seemed like a horrible idea considering he couldn’t even get close to him without giving into the urge of a kiss. Probably slurping at his mouth like a hungry dog, considering what repulsed commentary the cackling cultivator had given his efforts.

While he battled his own thoughts, his hand gave in without permission and grabbed the tassel. He really was an idiot. Jiang Cheng pretended to be very, very casual as he examined the tassel as if he had never seen one, and probably looked like the idiot he was.

“What a crafty trick, Hanguang-Jun. I didn’t know you were fond of those,” he said.

Lan Wangji lowered his gaze, said nothing. Even so, Jiang Cheng felt watched as he tested the talisman. A tug, strengthening the further away from Lan Wangji he went. Truly useful should they lose each other and their supplies again.

“No need to keep it on display,” Lan Wangji said, as Jiang Cheng moved to tie the tassel to his belt next to the clarity bell.

“I’ll think about it.” The tassel didn’t suit the purple of his clothes, but didn’t stand massively out either. The added weight on his hip felt as if it had been missing before. “It will be useful until we find Wei Wuxian. Thank you, Hanguang-Jun.”

“It will lose its strength before,” Lan Wangji said.

“I’ll try to keep close so you can renew it, then,” he said, not thinking, being stupid, and realising only when Lan Wangji blinked a little too fast how flirty he had sounded. Almost like his fool of a brother. “Let’s go, Hanguang-Jun.”

He quickly hurried off by himself and immediately felt a soft tugging on his hip. And for whatever reason, a wave of goosebumps washed over his spine.

He was so pathetic.

His heart was fluttering and he was smiling to the point that his disciples scattered away at the sight of him. So wrong, utterly wrong to feel this way.

He needed to tell Lan Wangji what actually happened that night. Pretending he didn’t know wasn’t an option. Not a good one. Hoping Lan Wangji thought everything was a dream wasn’t an option either. What if he only pretended very well and thought he was the bastard doing weird things to a confused man?

But…

The Lan disciples muttered to each other again, their eyes shifting from Lan Wangji to Jiang Cheng, already noticing the tassel.

If he lost that manpower, if he lost the great Hanguang-Jun, he and his anger would stand alone against the wretched Wens. No option there either. And he had already decided.

He was a disgusting bastard that deserved to rot in hell. But he needed his brother back and would do anything to accomplish that.