Chapter Text
“Jiujiu, were you going to say something earlier?”
“What?” Jiang Cheng said. “No.”
“Just now!” Jin Ling persisted. “I saw it. You were going to say something to Wei Wuxian, but you didn’t.”
After a long silence, Jiang Cheng shook his head. “There’s nothing to say.”
Walking shoulder to shoulder with his uncle, Jin Ling hesitated. As infuriating as it was to know that Jiang Cheng wouldn’t speak up, he empathized with the uncomfortable emotions that swirled in his chest and held his tongue back.
Guanyin Temple’s floors, once polished and clean, were drenched and defiled. Blood from the recently killed Jin and Su cultivator corpses strewn about mingled with the remnants of the thunderstorm that boomed over their heads not too long ago. If Nie Mingjue didn’t pulverize their bodies, Jiang Cheng’s Zidian made a show of splattering debris across the floors.
The Lan clan of Gusu remained the dominating force of the clean up operation. They worked efficiently and almost silently, their juniors helping gather the wounded into nearby medical tents that were set up so quickly, Jin Ling didn’t notice until the air began to hum with qi-transfers. Senior cultivators from the Jiang and Nie clans were taking evidence. It was a whole mess. It was suffocating.
The Jin clan of Lanling, whose leader was elected the Cultivation Chief, was in shambles with the aftermath of Jin Guangyao’s sins brought to light. The elders whispered to themselves about succession. Some clan members sat silently, mourning. Others were angry, hissing curses at Jin Guangyao’s retreating coffin. It was as if new winds blew in the political courts of Lanling, with slander riding each gust.
The coffin was being carried with the utmost care by six men, all senior cultivators from different clans. It would have been a beautiful show of clan unity, had the circumstances been different. At least, Jin Ling thought to himself, they’d have something useful to keep them busy for a while. He coughed without thinking, the atmosphere continuing to invade his senses.
The coffin had to be sealed away with decisive intention. A ceremony was being planned. The resentful energy emanating from it caused some of the lower level cultivators nearby to start coughing blood and bleeding from the ears. They ran as quickly as their bodies could, though some moved as though they were on the cusps of being possessed, jerking unnaturally.
Lan Qiren led a group of senior clansmen in surrounding the coffin and playing Rest on their assorted instruments. They calmly worked together to pacify the resentful energy as much as they could. It calmed Jin Ling down a touch, but the chaos inside his heart swelled once the song was far off in the distance.
“About time they got that thing out of here!” Lan Jingyi’s voice broke through the murmurs in the crowds. “Glad we didn’t have to carry it, right Sizhui? Hey, Sizhui! What’s wrong with you?”
Jin Ling’s attention turned back to the juniors nearby. Lan Jingyi was right; something was troubling Lan Sizhui. His polite smile was replaced with something Jin Ling had seen in Jiang Cheng when old wounds pressed too deep. His golden eyes squinted and he lowered his head to get a better view of Lan Sizhui’s face as he walked over to them.
What none of the juniors were aware of was the tidal wave of memories that were overwhelming Lan Sizhui at that moment. Lan Wangji had anchored Lan Sizhui back to the present when he called for the junior to return Wei Wuxian’s spiritual weapon, Chenqing. Though the exchange was brief, Lan Sizhui felt his hands prickling from where he held the flute. It was like he didn’t want to return it.
“The resentful energy in this place is unsettling.” Ouyang Zizhen remarked, hugging himself and glancing around. “Are you feeling unwell, Sizhui? You look-”
But Lan Sizhui couldn’t focus on the words coming from his friend’s mouths. He heard ringing in his ears followed by a child’s voice humming a familiar tune along a flute. A warm laugh followed instructions telling him to try again, slower this time. A large, careful hand was guiding his smaller one as he traced talismans in the dirt. An older woman’s embrace whose comfort would have been perfect, had her strewn hair not tickled his nose and mouth.
“...Sizhui?” Jin Ling’s voice cut through the haze, clear as a bell.
Lan Sizhui’s eyes regained their light as he inhaled sharply. He looked up to see his friends growing more concerned. He lowered the hand that had been clutching his chest and wrinkling his robes. Shaking his head, he regained his composure and forced out a polite smile.
“I’m sorry; I think I have to take a quick break. I’ll be fine.” He relented, but the strain in his voice made it seem unconvincing.
Jin Ling’s brow furrowed in alarm. What the hell did he mean that he has to take a break? This is Lan Sizhui: Hanguang-jun’s devoted disciple and arguably the top cultivator of their group, though he’d never admit it aloud. He stayed steady in the face of menacing yao and could withstand the icy waters of the Cloud Recesses cold springs without missing a beat. They’d ventured into more dangerous territory than a defiled temple before. Jin Ling’s heart began to race. He didn’t know how many more of his trusted companions he could stand to see lose their composure in one day before he loses it too.
“You’ve never looked like that, even after handstand punishments. Was it that flute? It wasn’t THAT ugly.” Jingyi jeered, elbowing Ouyang Zizhen and promptly being smacked lightly by his umbrella.
“Thank you, Jingyi. I just need to..” Lan Sizhui’s voice trailed off as his wandering eyes found who they were looking for. “I’ll catch up with you guys later. Check in with the medics to see who else needs help.”
The trio exchanged wary looks as they watched Lan Sizhui walk over to the Ghost General, Wen Ning. No longer sporting a hole in his abdomen from where Nie Mingjue’s fist landed, Wen Ning bowed to the approaching Lan junior and slouched to meet his eyes. They began to speak, but were too far for the trio to overhear them.
Before Jin Ling could investigate further, Jiang Cheng’s voice rang out from a medical tent several meters away.
“Jin Ling, get over here!” Jiang Cheng barked. “Let’s make sure your poor choices didn’t have any consequences.”
Jiang Cheng was beckoning Jin Ling to the medical tent where a few clansmen were already working spiritual energy into his body. His face was dark and clenched in concentration.
“I’m fine. You’re the one that got hurt, jiujiu.”
“Shut up and let them look at you.”
Jin Ling waved off the medics that were turning their attention to him and away from Jiang Cheng.
“You have eyes, don’t you?” Jin Ling bit. “Take care of the old man bleeding out on the bed. I’m fine.”
“Did that guqin string around your neck earlier take a chunk of the little sense you have left? Stay still and let them do their damn job.” Jiang Cheng responded, having trouble sitting up on the bed but controlling his breathing steadily.
Ears burning, Jin Ling inadvertently gulped and closed his eyes as the medical team accomplished their triage. Other than being tense and some slight qi wavering, Jin Ling was okay.
Jiang Cheng’s jaw softened a touch when they announced that Jin Ling was in good health. With a sigh, he leaned back and spoke.
“We’re going back to Lotus Pier.” It was not open for negotiation.
Jin Ling scowled, though Jiang Cheng didn’t see it. His eyes were closed in concentration. He didn’t bother to respond. Turning on his heel, his bloodied golden robes whipped around as he left the tent.
Fairy rose from the ground, her eyes following Jin Ling. Her black fur was matted with rainwater, but Jin Ling’s robes were already destroyed, so he didn’t mind her getting him wet. Her tail wagged happily and she curled into Jin Ling’s hand as he petted her head.
“You did incredible today, Fairy. I’m proud of you.”
She barked once in acknowledgement. For a moment, Jin Ling let out a half-smile until he remembered how ferociously she was howling when she was trying to keep him from scaling over Guanyin Temple’s walls. His hand grasped at his chest, remembering how close he was to being killed by the monk’s arrow.
“...aiyah, Fairy. What am I supposed to do… I’m losing everyone again… ”
Fairy’s ears quivered as she followed behind Jin Ling. She kept pace with her master as they traveled across the courtyard, eyes darting to anyone who got too close to them.
Jin Ling’s steps slowed to a cautious stride, stopping before a beautiful man in white robes who was seated on the steps of the temple. The clans had restored order to the courtyard, but only the kind that sits over rubble.
Lan Xichen lost his composure long before Lan Qiren scolded him. With his uncle having left to deal with the coffin, Xichen allowed his body to slump against the soaked steps of the temple. His face was in his hands. He was restless and despondent at the same time. His headband was slightly crooked and his hair wrapped around his sunken shoulders. Liebing and Shuoyue were resting neatly by his side, as if someone carefully collected them for the Lan sect leader, but were too hesitant to disturb him.
So, Jin Ling hesitated and took a deep breath.
“Excuse me, Zewu-jun.”
Jin Ling stood with his shoulders braced as if someone might swing at him for speaking. His eyes were red at the rims and the Jin crest on his belt dull. The cinnabar mark on his brow was showing signs of slightly fraying. A boy pretending to be iron, and failing in all the places that mattered.
As if roused by a gentle hand on his shoulder, Lan Xichen raised his face to see the young master coming up from his bow. His eyes softened and he soundlessly rose from the steps. He gave a ghost of a smile and slightly bowed. Lan Xichen was exhausted.
“Jin Ling. I’m sorry about A-Yao and everything that has transpired today. Are you alright?”
Jin Ling twitched almost imperceptively at his name. He didn’t miss how Lan Xichen’s voice quivered after apologizing. His eyes began to burn again, grief threatening to spill over.
“...mn.”
“If I had… If he hadn’t…” Lan Xichen, normally eloquent and intentional with his speech, was fumbling over what to say. “...sorry…”
Jin Ling’s fists clenched. He felt so powerless and pathetic. He was so angry, yet he couldn’t forget the affection that Jin Guangyao’s memory now haunted him with. Jiang Cheng had been the one to primarily raise Jin Ling, but Jin Guangyao was the person he trusted the most when Jiang Cheng’s anger became unbearable.
“He’s gone now. Nothing more we can do about that. But I ...I need a favor, Zewu-jun.”
Lan Xichen’s eyes widened slightly, the light faintly returning to them, but still dull. He readjusted his forehead ribbon, smoothed out his robes and cleared his throat. He waited for the youth to continue.
“Jiujiu wants to go back to Lotus Pier, but I…” Jin Ling trailed off, biting his lip, before rasping the rest out. “I need to find Wei Ying and get some answers. If I stay, everyone will tell me what to think until I don’t know which thoughts and feelings are mine. I promise, I’ll be safe and I’ll go back to Yunmeng. I just have to-”
Lan Xichen’s sigh stopped Jin Ling’s train of thought. He looked at him for a long moment and felt the ache in his chest move. He had just been bleeding out words he’d never meant to say, telling another man about the scars carved into his brother’s back for his sake. He had held medicine to the body of a sworn brother he could no longer recognize, only to hold the sword that pierced that same sworn brother moments later.
He had no weight left for composure. Only this.
“Jin Ling, your grief is not wrong.”
Jin Ling blinked at him, startled. He had braced for a scolding, a lecture in the Lan style, not this quiet permission. His shoulders lost a bit of their tension with this moment of being seen by an adult who is acknowledging his feelings. His chin came up like a challenge. He was so very young. At sixteen years old, grief doesn’t sit; it paces and demands doors to open.
“You would go alone?” Xichen asked.
Jin Ling swallowed. “If I have to.”
“Do not,” Lan Xichen said. “Not tonight.”
The boy flinched, expecting the refusal to come. It didn’t. Xichen’s voice stayed low.
“Have someone accompany you. You trust our juniors, Jingyi and Sizhui, isn’t that right?”
After a beat, Jin Ling responded. “Sizhui is already after them, I assume. He left with the Ghost General.”
“Good. If you cannot find a companion, you will send word before the morning bell. If no word comes, I will send a discreet group to fetch you before your uncle’s worry becomes a blade in someone else’s hand.”
Relief flooded his cheeks as the youth realized he would be allowed to leave with the support of Zewu-jun. He allowed himself to breathe.
“What are you going to ask when you find him?”
“I’m not sure, but jiujiu won’t talk to me and Wei-” Jin Ling paused, not knowing how to address his uncle anymore. “I just want things to make sense. He forgave me after I hurt him, he saved my life and I’m tired of pushing away the people in my life that make me better. I need to be stronger, and if you tell anyone I said all of this, I will set Fairy loose on that secret rabbit garden you let Lan Wangji keep in Gusu.”
The last of his words overflowed until the heat rose to his ears and reminded him to stop talking.
A sound came out of Lan Xichen that was neither a laugh or a cry, but something in between. A little more light shone in his dark eyes.
Jin Ling turned his body to the side, not quite facing away but not willing to fully face Lan Xichen at the moment. Then, after a breath, he said something honest because he could not manage anything else. “After that, I’ll just say whatever feels right.”
Whatever feels right. Lan Xichen let the words pass through him. He thought of thirty-three lashes put down one by one onto his brother’s back. He thought of Wei Wuxian’s face when he’d learned it. He had remembered what speaking from pain buys: a moment of relief, a longer ache.
It should have been easy to be the elder he had always been: the jade of Lan. He could have weighed consequences aloud, delivered a tidy lesson and sent the boy to bed with a gentle instruction to trust his seniors. He could have picked up composure like a sword and wielded it through the night.
But he had no hands for that sword. He had already used them. He had used everything.
“If you must go, then go. But go like a hunter, not like a storm.” Lan Xichen added, hearing Qiren’s voice in his own, choosing the softer route anyways. “If Wangji is with him, listen to him first. He won’t lie to you.”
His throat tightened on the next words. “Wangji has… earned that from all of us.”
Jin Ling swallowed again as he saw Lan Xichen reach into his sleeve, finding a small disc of cool jade by touch alone, and pressed it into Jin Ling’s palm. The jade was cool and had a weight to it that calmed the boy before the depth of its appearance settled in his mind. This jade token had the Lan engraving on it that was specifically from Zewu-jun. If Lan patrol or others were to intercept Jin Ling, the token would serve as a physical cover for his coming and going. No one would question Zewu-jun’s authorization.
“Rear gate,” he said. “Cypress steps. Knock once if anyone looks your way; twice and the outer patrol will answer. Do not run. Running makes noise.”
Jin Ling curled his fingers around the jade as if it might vanish. “Zewu-jun… why?”
Because I could not save the ones who needed me. Because my brother bleeds where I cannot reach, and my sworn brother died on my blade. Because my uncle asks questions I cannot survive hearing. Because you are a child and your grief is honest and I have destroyed enough tonight.
Lan Xichen did not say any of that aloud.
“Because,” Xichen said, and let his voice be plain, “I will not add more walls between you and what you need to grow stronger.”
Jin Ling made a rough sound that might have been agreement, might have been gratitude. He bowed too hard, as boys do when they’re trying not to cry, and straightened quickly before his eyes gave him away.
“I will speak for you if questions are asked. Be safe. Do not let grief drive you into danger.”
With a look of desperate determination, Jin Ling nodded curtly. Lan Xichen extended a gentle, tired hand to Jin Ling’s shoulder.
“Even I cannot protect you from sect leader Jiang’s fury if you were to be too reckless.”
Tears pricked at the corner of Jin Ling’s eyes. He bowed deeply, walking off without another word. Behind him, Lan Xichen exhaled a breath that was almost a sigh. He did not move to follow. His heart felt as heavy as the silence that settled once Jin Ling’s footsteps faded from the courtyard. He could not save his sworn brother. He could not shield his own clan from sorrow. But this small mercy was still within his reach.
Fairy, sensing the energy swelled up in Jin Ling’s posture, followed behind her master as he unsheathed Suihua. She barked proudly as the spiritual energy coming from Jin Ling’s body fluctuated, becoming briefly visible before consuming Suihua in a light aura. She followed surely and patiently as Jin Ling prepared to take flight.
Jin Ling gripped Suihua’s hilt so tightly his knuckles burned white. He had mounted his sword in practice countless times, but never like this. Never with his pulse hammering like a trapped bird. The blade quivered beneath his boots as he urged his qi into it. His breath came ragged, uneven, the threads of energy slipping from his grasp as if mocking him. For one terrifying instant the sword pitched sideways, and he nearly toppled into the mud.
His running start left something to be desired. He didn’t know how much time had passed since Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji had disappeared from Guanyin Temple. He didn’t know if Lan Sizhui and Wen Ning were with them or not. He just knew that he had to leave the temple and fast. No one was there to acknowledge the stinging tears or how when he wiped them away, with Jin Guangyao’s blood leaving faint stains on his cheeks.
Suihua had plenty of spiritual energy. It glowed faintly, its white tassel following behind as the wind whipped it back and forth. If Jin Ling’s own mind and heart were under control, it would have been a peaceful flight. Instead, Jin Ling’s arms flailed in the air as he cursed every wind that threatened to blow him off course. He followed the dirt road leading away from the temple as Fairy tracked the familiar scent of sandalwood that would lead him to either Lan cultivator. He needed Lan Wangji to lead him to Wei Wuxian. He needed Lan Sizhui to lead him to... He just needed… someone!
The misty fog left behind from the thunderstorm made it harder to spot low hanging branches that whipped Jin Ling’s body as he flew. The impacts brought back memories of Jiang Cheng smacking him to the ground in the temple. His teeth clenched and he waved his hand in front of him, as if to swat the memory away.
“Hold steady,” he hissed, his voice shaking. “Just… just go.”
Suihua lurched forward, dragging him upward into the open evening air. The forest swelled beneath him, black ridges of trees stretching into a horizon smudged with clouds. Wind tore at his hair, ripped at his robes, stung his wet skin until it felt raw. Fairy barked furiously below, a dark streak racing after him between the trees.
The higher he climbed, the thinner his qi felt. It slipped away like water between clenched fists, forcing him to push harder. His chest ached with the effort. His teeth ground together.
Still, he pressed on.
The temple lights dwindled to pinpricks, until the only illumination came from the sunset strained through the clouds above. For a moment, it almost felt like freedom. He could outpace the whispers, the scoldings, and the endless weight of Jinlintai’s halls.
Then the rays of sunlight began to blur.
His vision smeared at the edges, the clouds bleeding into shapes that weren’t there. A soft voice gently curled into his ear. It was his mother’s, he thought, though he had no memory of her. Just the words other people had given him, painted onto her ghost: A-Ling, don’t cry. Be good.
His chest hitched, and Suihua bucked underfoot. He nearly slipped, heart jerking into his throat as he flung his arms for balance. The sword steadied, but his qi flared painfully, causing a sharp pain in his ribs.
The voice faded. Another filled its place: stern, clipped, carrying disappointment. Stand tall, A-Ling. Do not shame us. His father? Or was it only his own mind, inventing what Jin Zixuan might have said? The imagined tone sliced sharper than the cold air.
“Enough,” Jin Ling rasped, though his throat was dry. “Stop it.”
His knees weakened and his stance faltered. Suihua trembled, tilting in the current of his unsteady qi.
Far below, Fairy barked again, a sound more frightened than angry.
Jin Ling forced his gaze forward, but the horizon spun. His legs shook violently.
“Not now,” he whispered, the words breaking like glass in his mouth. “Don’t… don’t you dare stop!”
But his grip slipped, his qi frayed, and the sword dipped hard, sending him into a spiral toward the dark tree line. The spiral broke hard. Air screamed past his ears as the sword pitched downward. His stomach lurched into his throat. Branches whipped against his arms, tearing at his sleeves and snapped like whips against his face.
He hit the ground with a bone-jarring crack. The impact knocked the breath clean from his chest. Suihua clattered away into the underbrush, dimming without his qi to sustain it.
For a long moment, Jin Ling lay sprawled in the mud, staring blankly at the dark canopy above. His ribs ached with every shallow gasp. The ringing in his ears drowned out even the rustle of the forest.
Then Fairy was there, her wet snout pressing against his cheek, her bark sharp and insistent.
“I’m fine,” he croaked, though his voice rasped as if the word itself had cut him. He pushed onto his side, coughing, spitting mud and blood. His hands shook so violently he had to clench them into fists just to steady himself.
The world smelled of damp earth, sharp pine, and rain-soaked rot. His robes clung to him, heavy and sticky with sweat and grime.
His vision pulsed at the edges. When he blinked, light shimmered in the dark. The lights were like the lanterns bobbing across Lotus Pier’s waters. They were like his mother’s warm hands reaching to steady him, her face hidden but her love ever present. He reached out before he realized his hands were empty.
You poor thing, her voice seemed to say, threaded with sorrow. You shouldn’t have to bear this.
Tears stung his eyes, but then another voice cut through. It was deeper, sterner. You must be stronger, A-Ling. The clan is watching. Do not falter.
Jin Ling groaned, pressing his palms to his temples as if he could crush the voices out of his skull. “Shut up,” he whispered, his throat hoarse. “You’re not real. You’re not-”
Fairy barked again, sharp and grounding, dragging him back. She used her nose to ring the clarity bell hanging at his waist. It chimed bright and clear, like a rock disturbing a still pond’s surface. He blinked hard, forcing the phantoms to scatter like mist.
Four breaths in. Hold for four. Release for six. White robes with cloud designs came to Jin Ling’s mind as he remembered the breathing technique he and Lan Sizhui practiced together when they suffered from the corpse poisoning in Yi City. He wasn’t poisoned, but his spirit felt like it was.
He shoved himself to his feet, swaying, every muscle trembling. His qi felt shredded, fluttering in his veins like torn paper in the wind. Suihua’s weight tugged at his hip when he sheathed it, heavier than it had ever felt.
At last, a glimmer of hope came. The mud ahead bore tracks. There were two sets, pressed fresh into the earth. Lan Sizhui’s light, precise steps were tucked next to Wen Ning’s slower, dragging stride.
Jin Ling swallowed hard, his throat raw. He couldn’t fly, not now, but he could walk. He had to walk.
And so, he walked. His calves burned and his posture was contorted in a way to accommodate the bruises that were more than likely forming on his back. Fairy was quiet but present, keeping pace. Other than the occasional whine, followed by a glare from Jin Ling, she sniffed around and continued to track the Lan cultivators.
It was only when the low, familiar bray of a donkey cut through the gloom that Jin Ling stopped. Jin Ling’s heart lurched.
He had seen this animal before, tied outside an inn, trailing behind Wei Wuxian like some ridiculous banner of shamelessness. Little Apple.
The donkey blinked at him, unbothered, chewing slowly.
Jin Ling’s hands trembled as he reached out, stopping short before his fingers brushed the coarse mane. The sight was absurd. After Guanyin’s chaos, after his uncle’s silence, after his own near fall to death, this was what the world gave him: a stubborn donkey waiting in the mud. But the absurdity caught in his throat and cracked into something jagged. Because if Little Apple was here, that meant Wei Wuxian was near.
Fairy seemed curious by Little Apple, drawing closer to the donkey before Jin Ling’s hand found her fur and guided her away.
“Go.” Jin Ling whispered, his voice cracked. “Not this time.”
She whined, confused and unhappy. She tried to nuzzle against the hand that gently shoved her shoulder.
“Go! Find somewhere else. Don’t let him see you!”
Fairy hesitated once more before slinking back into the shadows.
Jin Ling breathed a sigh of relief before turning back to Little Apple.
“Where’s your irreverent master?”
As if on cue, Wei Wuxian’s laugh carried through the leaves. The answer that rose in Jin Ling’s throat died when breath turned into breathlessness on the other side of the thicket. Clothes rustled. A muffled gasp. Lan Wangji’s breathing, rough and close.
Jin Ling froze. Heat shot up his neck. Of course. Out here of all places. Shameless. He backed a step, then another, careful on the wet ground, every twig suddenly loud.
“...there’s no way. There’s no fucking way. What the hell?!” Jin Ling thought to himself, his cheeks burning.
He absolutely did NOT want to get caught peeping. His stomach did backflips at the thought of it. Unfortunately, he took too long to move a safe distance away and Jiang Cheng’s training made his ears too sensitive, too attentive.
When Lan Sizhui and Lan Jingyi exchanged knowledge on how to disguise books as erotica in the Cloud Recesses, Jin Ling couldn’t believe it. Lan Jingyi made vulgar gestures, praising Wei Wuxian for his irreverent genius. Lan Sizhui’s ears would not revert back to their normal shade and he refused to look at the novels for too long, despite the idea being his. He muttered about propriety and shoved the books back. Ouyang Zizhen nodded along, chuckling at Lan Jingyi’s antics and commenting on how much trouble they’d be in if Lan Qiren found out.
Jin Ling had scolded them in a low voice, trying to overpower their stifled laughter without alarming any seniors nearby. His face burned as his eyes betrayed him and glanced at the pictures in the erotic novels. He was partially disgusted but infuriatingly curious. It felt like a game you weren’t supposed to take seriously.
But this was not a game. The sounds of intimacy were vulnerable, tender and unashamed. It made those novels seem like scrap compared to the flesh that was carrying it out. It wasn’t funny anymore. It was trust, bare and terrifying.
He caught himself reaching for the cool disc in his sleeve. The jade token Lan Xichen had pressed into his palm sat there like a small, certain island. It did not give him answers, but it cleared a path. Someone older had told him to go like a hunter. He could borrow that steadiness until his own returned. He let the sounds behind the thicket belong to the men who made them, and eased back another step.
Maybe this was what his parents had. He had heard rumors of Jin Zixuan initially disliking Jiang Yanli in their youth. Yet somehow, despite all the political pressure, his grandfather Guangshan’s affairs, the initial destruction of Lotus Pier and the eve of demonic cultivation, they found each other in that same space of intimate vulnerability. And they’d found enough safety in each other to anchor down and create a life.
His stomach twisted. What did it feel like, to be wanted without having to earn it? To rest your whole heart in another’s hands and not fear it would be crushed?
He thought of Jin Guangyao’s silken praise, what used to be an unconditional affection now wrapped around chains. He thought of Jiang Cheng’s sharp voice, love forged into the shape of scolding and training drills. If he was useful, if he was strong, if he never embarrassed them, only then did he feel the ghost of affection. It was never free. It was never safe.
He had learned love as a ledger of debts and duties. What he was hearing in the thicket did not keep accounts. It was not anchored in fear of disappointment.
Wei Wuxian didn’t have to be strong for Lan Wangji to want him. Lan Wangji didn’t have to be composed for Wei Wuxian to hold him. The unguarded and ragged sounds Jin Ling heard told him they were enough as they were. There was no test to pass. No punishment if they faltered. No approval dangled like bait.
Intimacy and security in another person existed, and it was close enough he could hear it in the next breath of air, but it wasn’t his. It had never been his. The only face that rose when he reached for it was-
Lan Sizhui.
“...shit.”
As if called on purpose, Lan Sizhui’s voice rang in Jin Ling’s memory.
“Everyone has their preferred breath count. I found that 4-4-6 works for me. Try it out, Jin-gongzi.”
Jin Ling refused to acknowledge the peace that Lan Sizhui’s breath count gave him. Breathe in for four. Hold for four more. Out in six. Again.
Sizhui had tapped the numbers into his fingers once, patient as water, until Jin Ling’s chest remembered the pace on its own. His body remembered what steadied it before his mind agreed. On the third cycle, the noise in his head softened. On the fourth he could think again.
Little Apple flicked an ear, unimpressed. Jin Ling almost laughed as he backed away from the thicket. He clicked his tongue once, soft, and Fairy slipped out of shadow to heel.
“Come on, Fairy.” He whispered. “Find Wen Ning and Lan Sizhui.”
She tilted her head sideways, ears twitching.
“The shameless lunatic is too busy to give me answers right now. He will be for a while. He deserves the break. Find the others.”
He turned away and eventually found the prints in the mud: a precise step and a slower drag. Lan Sizhui and the Ghost General. Good.
“We go like hunters, not storms.”