…Were I to walk from morning’s glow to night’s blackness, how many miles would be gained?
What virtue does moonlight hold, that it can daily rise from death?
What lurks in the moon’s dark places – perhaps a rabbit roams?
- From “Heavenly Questions” by Qu Yuan, translation by Mark Obama Ndesandjo
Everyone has heard the story of the lost Lan heirs, stolen from their rightful home by their wicked mother. Robbed of their position and inheritance, lost to the cultivation world forever. They had been promising boys, everyone says, developing golden cores at a young age and mastering techniques far beyond their years. No one has any doubt that they would have returned the Lan reputation—tarnished, just a little, by whispered speculation about why Qingheng-jun is never seen—to its former glory, perhaps even elevated it to new heights.
Wei Wuxian always thought there were a few holes in the story. Not surprising, for a tale passed from person to person through the whole cultivation world and beyond, but the holes irritated him. In Wei Wuxian’s experience, people—no matter how harsh or selfish—rarely lash out and take the life of another for no reason. Especially not someone who was so well-regarded that anyone who harmed him would be mercilessly punished. Why had Lan-furen killed the famous Lan scholar, and why had Qingheng-jun married her anyway? Why had she been kept in isolation in the Cloud Recesses and why had she waited over a decade to escape?
And that wasn’t even to mention how she had escaped. Wei Wuxian’s months in the Cloud Recesses, dreary as they were, had impressed on him the formidable wards protecting the place. How had one swordless woman stolen the two most precious treasures of the most revered of sects, escaped from one of the most well-guarded places in the world, and never been found?
It was the missing explanations for obvious questions that intrigued Wei Wuxian most. He had never spent much time thinking about the heirs themselves except to wonder whether they had wanted to be stolen. True, they were young when they disappeared, but surely if they had not wanted to go, they could have made enough noise to alert someone to what was happening. Wei Wuxian was almost grabbed off the streets of Yiling a few times, and he knew just how to kick up enough of a ruckus to draw eyes and make the would-be kidnapper realize that he was not worth the attempt. Besides, the Lan heirs would be almost grown now, the youngest around Wei Wuxian’s age, and surely both of them together could have figured out how to get away from one swordless woman. Though Lans, in Wei Wuxian’s experience, were unceasingly proper and quiet and rule-abiding, so maybe they would have held their tongues even while being kidnapped and thought it rude to run away once they were well and truly captured. Wei Wuxian wouldn’t believe that of anyone else, but Lans were Lans. Even if they were raised by homicidal rogue cultivators, they would be stiff and silent and boring, so Wei Wuxian never bothered wondering what they were like.
After everything that happened the year Wei Wuxian was nineteen, the entire cultivation world agreed that they had not been prepared for the Lan heirs’ return. But Wei Wuxian, perhaps, had been the least prepared of all.
Their arrival was almost laughably dramatic. An ambush; a grim, muddy battlefield; a desperate exhaustion; a tide turning against the embattled Sunshot campaigners. Wei Wuxian, fighting on despite a hunk taken out of his arm by a Wen sword, didn’t think they were going to lose this battle, but they sure as hell weren’t going to win it, not when they were this outnumbered and hadn’t slept for longer than he wanted to think about. They were just going to hack at each other until night fell and both sides withdrew to lick their wounds and fight another day.
That was one of the worst things about war—so much of it was so useless. Well, all of it was useless and pointless and ruinous. But the way that so many fought and died in battles or skirmishes that accomplished nothing at all? That was hard to swallow. Cultivators trained to nighthunt, to track down and seek out yaogui and the restless dead and other creatures who harried innocent people. It was difficult, to shift from that mentality to fighting to the death with other cultivators. The Wen had to be stopped, Wei Wuxian knew that. But the doing of that was eating away at him and all of his comrades in the Sunshot Campaign.
His limbs felt more sluggish than, back before the wa,r he had known was even possible, but he fought on, spying a flash of gold signaling that Jin Zixuan was off to his left, a snap of ribbons from the Lan troops to his right. There was Nie-zongzhu’s bellow, and the distinctive hiss and snap of Zidian that told him that Jiang Cheng fought on.
But most of the world was mud and blood, the reek of the product of loose bowels, anguished cries and the snapping of bone. It was ugly, a kind of ugliness even Wei Wuxian’s years on the streets had not prepared him for nor months of war inured him to. It struck him like a slap, then ground down into his bones every time. He could feel it affecting those around him; the stagnancy that reached even high-level cultivators after enough of a soldier’s life. The battle carried forward mostly on momentum, on sheer determination not to die here, but the weariness was pummeling both sides.
And into that squalor and death two graceful figures in white glided down like migrating birds returning with spring and alighted in the middle of the field, pristine and elegant.
The sight was so unexpected that for a moment, both sides faltered. Then the two new arrivals raised their swords and leapt into the fray, targeting the Wen, and the battle closed around them, harsh as before.
But there was an urgency to it now, an energy that had not been there before. It was as though the sheer, sharp beauty of those two figures had galvanized every fighter left standing. Wei Wuxian himself felt a new surge of energy and pressed forward, hacking down the Wen in front of him.
Eventually, Wei Wuxian realized that he was fighting back-to-back with one of the cultivators in white. He didn’t know when they had fallen in together, but with each passing moment, it became clear that he was fighting beside a swordsman of the highest caliber and that somehow, inexplicably, he understood this cultivator. His style was different than any Wei Wuxian had ever encountered, though there was a sharpness to it that reminded him of the Lan. And yet somehow, it melded seamlessly with Wei Wuxian’s own.
Fighting had never been like this. Even fighting side-by-side with Jiang Cheng, whose every tic and habit Wei Wuxian knew as surely as his own, was not this fluid, this instinctive, this…right. He could dive into the most audacious moves, because this cultivator had his back, and when a Wen sword ventured too close to the cultivator in white, Wei Wuxian found himself deflecting it at just the right moment. It was like fighting alongside his own shadow—or perhaps, given his black to the cultivator’s white, he was the shadow. It was that natural.
It was a dance. The cultivator swirled close to him for a moment, a waft of white and the scent of sandalwood, and Wei Wuxian heard a single, sharp, “Ridiculous,” right beside his ear; it took him half a second to realize why: Wei Wuxian was laughing. Where before he had been dragging his body through the motions, weighed down with weariness, now he was grinning ear to ear, and every time the cultivator or he himself made a particularly impressive move, he let out a shout of laughter. And the cultivator was taking the time during the middle of a battle to chastise him about it!
Wei Wuxian had never had so much fun in his life.
He wasn’t sure when he became aware that the tide had turned, that Sunshot would win this battle. But the arrival of the new cultivators seemed to make it inevitable, and soon enough, the Sunshot survivors were standing, triumphant, on ground littered with the bodies of their enemies.
It seemed too soon to Wei Wuxian. He could have kept dancing with that cultivator forever.
As soon as he had the thought, he shoved it away. This was war, this was death, and it was no less ugly or destructive just because he had found a partner worthy of him. It was a betrayal of all those who had fallen to think about it as anything less than hell. He knew that.
And yet. And yet.
Wei Wuxian felt swollen with some unidentifiable emotion as he spun and came face to face with his battle partner. And again, he had to laugh, because it was absurd. Of course his partner was the most beautiful man in the world. Of course splatters of blood and mud only served to emphasize the glowing whiteness of his robes, the jade cut of his cheekbones, the unfaltering gleam of his eyes, the silken fall of his hair.
Of course it was in the middle of a battlefield, himself covered in grime and sweat and gore, that Wei Wuxian found him. He stared at this impossible, preposterous cultivator, and the cultivator stared back.
“Ridiculous,” the cultivator said again. And Wei Wuxian could do nothing but laugh.
“What the hell were you laughing about, you absolute idiot?” Jiang Cheng demanded as he jerked at the sleeve of Wei Wuxian’s robe to get a better look at his wound. “Have you finally lost your mind completely?”
“Just happy we won,” Wei Wuxian said, because it wasn’t like he could explain what had happened to him to his brother. He couldn’t have explained to Shijie, even, couldn’t have put into words why his fingers were still tingling, even with the adrenaline of battle ebbing.
Wei Wuxian still hadn’t taken his eyes from his partner. He was aware of the cleanup going on around them, of the throbbing of his arm, of the weariness creeping back in now that the dance was over. Aware, too, of the other Sunshot cultivators around them, moving between them, of the other white-clad cultivator—objectively just as beautiful, with a softer expression, but less compelling by far—hovering beside his partner.
But all of it had blurred to a mud-grey smudge, a backdrop for the man who was still looking back at Wei Wuxian. His eyes were unreadable, his face impassive. He didn’t look away, either, not even when his brother leaned in to whisper something to him.
Because of course they were brothers. And of course they were the lost Lan heirs.
Wei Wuxian laughed again, because that was funny, too. No one had ever seen them before, but everyone knew instantly who they were. That beautiful, that graceful, that skilled despite not wearing the colors or emblems of any known sect? Who could they be but the lost Lan heirs?
The brother was confirming it to Nie-zongzhu now. “I am Lan Huan, courtesy name Xichen. This is my brother, Lan Zhan, called Wangji.”
Wangji. Lan Zhan. That was his name, and he was looking at Wei Wuxian, too, his gaze unwavering. The younger one, the one who had been all of six when he disappeared. The one who was just about Wei Wuxian’s age.
Lan Wangji’s gaze finally moved away from Wei Wuxian as he bowed and accepted the introductions from Nie-zongzhu. His eyes flickered back to Wei Wuxian when Nie-zongzhu gestured towards him and Jiang Cheng with an explanation about Jiang-zongzhu and his head disciple.
“We appreciate your help,” Nie-zongzhu said, managing to sound both sincere and suspicious. Admiration and wariness dueled in his eyes as he looked at Lan Xichen. “Things were going badly for us.”
“You were heavily outnumbered,” Lan Xichen said graciously. “Reinforcements at the right moment can make all the difference.”
“Indeed. Lucky thing you arrived when you did.” Nie-zongzhu’s tone made it clear that he didn’t think it was a coincidence.
“Not luck at all.” Lan Xichen was so very good natured, nothing like the block of jade that was his brother. His brother who was looking back at Wei Wuxian again with unreadable eyes. “Wangji and I have been searching for you.”
“For us?” the Peacock echoed.
“Yes,” Lan Xichen confirmed, and what he said next caught even Wei Wuxian’s attention. “We have come to join the Sunshot Campaign.”
“This is unacceptable!” Lan Yunfei was dangerously close to shouting. Wei Wuxian stared, fascinated—he had never seen a Lan show so much emotion before. The man was actually red in the face. “You cannot possibly accept strangers like this! Inviting them to meetings of sect leadership? For all they know, they could be Wen spies!”
“I find that unlikely,” Nie-zongzhu said.
The highest-ranking cultivators of the various sects were in his tent, debriefing after the battle. Wei Wuxian stood beside Jiang Cheng, a temporary bandage tied around his arm. Jiang Cheng had wanted him to see one of the healers, but there was no way Wei Wuxian was going to miss this. He knew it would be dramatic, and it was kind of incredible how it was the Lan who were bringing the fireworks.
Lan Yunfei was not the sect heir, not in name. Lan-zongzhu, Qingheng-jun’s younger brother who had reluctantly taken on leadership of the sect after his brother’s death, had not bestowed that title on him. But he was the highest-ranking Lan left, some cousin of the returned heirs. The family resemblance was there, even if Lan Yunfei only reached mere handsomeness instead of the heights of beauty of the two newcomers.
“But you don’t know. We cannot trust them. Even if they are not working for the Wen, they could be imposters.”
“Surely you remember me, Yunfei?” Lan Xichen said. “You were there the first day I was given a practice sword. I believe I dropped it on your toe.”
Wei Wuxian grinned as Lan Yunfei went redder than before. He opened his mouth to protest, but Lan Wangji cut him off.
“This should be sufficient proof of our identities,” he said, cool as winter, holding out his hand.
The object dangling from it was recognizable to everyone in the room. The light of the braziers caught on the cloud emblem of a Lan forehead ribbon.
Lan Yunfei made a face as though someone had spit in his food. “That changes nothing. No one knows where you have been for thirteen years. No one knows what that woman has done with you!”
Lan Wangji took a step forward, his posture as full of danger as a tiger on the prowl, but Lan Xichen caught his wrist, pulling him to a stop. “I will thank you not to speak of our mother that way,” Lan Xichen said, and for the first time, his voice was as cold as his brother’s. Lan Wangji’s eyes were even colder as he glared at Lan Lan Yunfei as though he could skewer him with his gaze.
“She is a murderer and a kidnapper. Why should we believe that she has not raised you to be the same?”
“That’s enough!” Nie-zongzhu growled. “Bring up Lan-furen again, and you’re leaving this tent, understood?”
Lan Yunfei was trembling with indignation, but he kept his mouth shut. Nie-zongzhu turned back to the Lan heirs.
“But he’s not wrong about us knowing nothing about you. Or where you’ve been for thirteen years. You’ve had training, that’s clear enough. We could use talents like yours. But we need to know where you’ve been and why you’re returning now. We’ve been fighting this war for six months now, and you decide to join us now?”
“We assumed that your campaign would defeat the Wen on your own,” Lan Xichen said. He didn’t sound offended at the thinly-veiled accusations. “Only now that it seems the Wen will defeat you were we given permission to leave the mountain to assist you.”
And then, while everyone else in the room was looking from annoyed to outraged that this stranger has just called them out for losing, that’s when it all came together for Wei Wuxian. The entire sweep of the last thirteen years, the answer to the question of where the Lan heirs had been hidden. “You’ve been with Baoshan Sanren!” he shouted.
Jiang Cheng jabbed his elbow into Wei Wuxian’s ribs—he wasn’t supposed to speak in these meetings without permission first. But Wei Wuxian didn’t care. Every person in the room had turned to look at him, including Lan Wangji.
His eyes were sharp as a hawk’s as he tilted his head in acknowledgement. “Shigong gave us safe haven on her mountain.”
“Shigong? Who is your shifu?” It wasn’t really Wei Wuxian’s place to ask, but he wasn’t going to let that stop him.
“Our mother.” It was Lan Xichen who answered, since Lan Wangji was too busy studying Wei Wuxian.
“Then she is my shishu! Wow, we’re practically related!”
Awareness sharpened Lan Wangji’s gaze. Lan Xichen also looked interested, but Wei Wuxian cared less about that. “Then you are the son of Cangse Sanren,” Lan Wangji said.
“At your service!" He made his showiest bow. "Wei Ying, courtesy name Wuxian. But you can just call me Wei Ying since we’re so close.”
“Wei Wuxian!” Jiang Cheng barked, then hissed under his breath, disbelief thick in his voice, “Are you flirting? Here? With him? Really?”
Was he? Jiang Cheng considered a lot of things flirting that Wei Wuxian only thought of as being friendly or charming. And really he’d only said it to keep this Lan Wangji looking at him. Was that what flirting was?
“That backbend you did to escape that arrow was sick, Lan Zhan,” Wei Wuxian said. And he only said that to see how Lan Wangji would react.
Something flared in Lan Wangji’s eyes, but Wei Wuxian didn’t know what it was. Lan Xichen let out a little cough behind his hand.
“Wei-gongzi, if you’re finished, we will return to the question of the war we are fighting,” Nie-zongzhu said in the too-weary-to-be-exasperated tone he always used for Wei Wuxian.
Everyone turned their attention back to Nie-zongzhu, though Lan Wangji looked away from Wei Wuxian a heartbeat later than everyone else. Wei Wuxian gave him his most charming smile; he did not receive one in return.
“You have been with Baoshan Sanren since you left the Cloud Recesses?” Nie-zongzhu asked.
“Yes,” Lan Xichen confirmed. “When we left Gusu, we went directly there. As Wangji said, Shigong offered us a home and became our mother’s master. We grew up there, and this is the first time we have left the mountain.”
“They’re lying!”
Everyone turned to stare at—who was that guy in gold? Wei Wuxian didn’t know him, but he had to be a Jin if he was in gold. Probably one of Shijie’s stupid ex-fiance’s stupid cousins. That seemed likely, if he was in this tent.
“Zixun,” the Peacock said, a warning.
“They have to be. Baoshan Sanren wouldn’t take a murderer as her disciple!”
If Lan Wangji looked dangerous before, the way he turned to face this mouthy Jin guy was murderous.“My mother killed in self-defense,” he said, voice very quiet. “Do you deny her right to do this?”
“It couldn’t have been self-defense.” Lan Yunfei was competing with the Jin guy for biggest idiot in the room, it seemed. “The elders would never have locked her away if it was!”
Perhaps Lan Wangji could skewer Lan Yunfei to death with his glare. “You are not qualified to speak to me,” he said, voice like stone, and Wei Wuxian could have swooned.
“I’d believe Baoshan Sanren over your stuffy elders any day,” Wei Wuxian couldn’t resist saying. “They don’t give anyone a fair trial. Ow! Oh come on, Jiang Cheng! You know they never asked me why I did anything, just punished me anyway!” His few weeks in Cloud Recesses really had been the most boring of his life: constant punishments until they kicked him out on his ass. Which was a relief, frankly. No wonder Lan-furen had run away from that place.
“We are not going to relitigate an incident that happened before most of the people in this room were born,” Nie-zongzhu said in his my-word-is-final tone. “We will figure out a way to determine motives later. At the moment, I want Lan Xichen to answer my questions.”
Wei Wuxian wondered if Lan Yunfei was going to deviate, but Nie-zongzhu didn’t seem to care. “Everyone knows that Baoshan Sanren doesn’t care about the cultivation world,” he said to Lan Xichen. “Why would she let you come down to help us?”
“Shigong has many criticisms of the way the sects operate,” Lan Xichen said, and wow, this guy was a natural diplomat. That was an understatement if Wei Wuxian had ever heard one. “But she retains her concern for the common people. They will only suffer more the longer this war drags on. When Wangji and I presented this argument, she acquiesced.”
“So it was your idea,” Nie-zongzhu said.
A tightness appeared around Lan Xichen’s eyes, the first expression to mar his placid agreeableness since Lan Yunfei’s comment about his mother. “It was. Shigong would have preferred we stay, but she approved of our desire to end a destructive war.”
“And your mother?” Wei Wuxian asked, ignoring the sigh from Jiang Cheng that immediately followed. Again, every head in the room turned to look at him, but he had kept any kind of judgment out of his voice. He didn’t feel judgmental towards Lan-furen anyway. Lan Wangji had said it was self-defense, Baoshan Sanren had taken them in—as far as Wei Wuxian was concerned, the debate was over. “You left her behind? You can’t go back to the mountain if you’ve left.”
Nie-zongzhu looked annoyed that Wei Wuxian had interrupted again, but it was clear he also wanted an answer to that question.
“Our mother has descended as well,” Lan Wangji said, and again Wei Wuxian felt a frisson at having his attention. “She is working with the refugees in Meishan.”
Pretty much as far from Gusu as it was possible to be, though certainly a great many refugees had fled there as it was out of the main sprawl of the war.
There was a scoff from Lan Yunfei and again Lan Xichen had to put a hand on his brother’s arm to hold him back. Lan Xichen’s voice held just the slightest edge as he said, “Our mother did not think she would be welcome. She will help as she finds need.”
“I’m done with interruptions,” Nie-zongzhu said. “I’ll talk to Lan-da-gongzi alone and we’ll have a conference later. You all, clear out. You know what you should be doing, so go do it.” Lan Yunfei and the Peacock’s cousin both looked like they wanted to protest, but Nie-zongzhu didn’t give them time. “Wei-gongzi, since you’re so close to Lan-er-gongzi, you can find him a place to sleep and some food.”
Wei Wuxian didn’t even try to stop the grin that burst out on his face despite Jiang Cheng’s long-suffering sigh. “Yes sir!”
“Try not to embarrass us,” Jiang Cheng muttered under his breath as the tent’s occupants began to file out. “If these guys really are here to help us, I’d rather you didn’t run them off with your being you.”
“I don’t think they’ll be so easy to run off,” Wei Wuxian said and then turned back to where Lan Wangji was approaching. “Right this way, Lan Zhan.”
The narrow look Lan Wangji gave him was unimpressed. “Shameless,” he pronounced as he fell into step with Wei Wuxian, and again Wei Wuxian had to laugh, holding back the tent flap for them both to leave.
“That’s me! Shame is just that thing that keeps you from having fun. Who has time for it? I was serious about the Wei Ying thing, by the way.” Well, as serious as Wei Wuxian ever was when he was poking at someone to get a feel for them. He really had said it just to keep Lan Wangji’s attention and see whether he could fluster all that cool poise, but he liked the subtle reaction he got from Lan Wangji when he used his given name, so he was going to keep doing it. It was only fair for Lan Wangji to use his in return.
This time, Lan Zhani raised a single eyebrow a fraction of an inch. Wei Wuxian could already tell that that was a big reaction, and it warmed him. “Wei Ying is the son of Cangse Sanren,” Lan Zhan said, and hearing him say his given name like that made Wei Wuxian feel set alight. “But the head disciple of the Yunmeng Jiang.”
“Yeah. We’re headed toward that over tent there, see? My Shijie’s there, she’ll get us something to eat. Maybe soup! My dad was Jiang-shufu’s servant.” He said it with the same hint of defiance he always used to speak about his father’s status, but Lan Wangji didn’t even blink. “After my parents died, he took me in.” There was no need to go into the whole sob-story now, though there was something about Lan Zhan’s intense attention that made him think that it might be good to speak about these things to him. Nobody but Shijie ever wanted to hear them.
“Shigong speaks of your mother.”
“Really?” Wei Wuxian couldn’t tamp down his excitement. “What does she say?”
“That Cangse Sanren was brilliant. But irreverent.” There was something arch in the look that accompanied these words.
Wei Wuxian laughed. “That sounds about right. Everyone always says I take after my mother more than my father. I wish your mother had come with you. I want to hear more about what it’s like to be Baoshan Sanren’s disciple.”
Was he imagining that slight softening in Lan Zhan’s face, the hint of surprise in his eyes? “It is better for her to be elsewhere,” Lan Zhan said carefully—Wei Wuxian was kind of impressed with himself that he could already tell when Lan Zhan was being careful. Well, more careful than usual. He was clearly a careful guy.
“Yeah, of course. The fuss these guys would put up if she showed up! It was smart to help somewhere else. There are bandits targeting some of the refugees, can you believe that? These people have only what they could carry when they ran, and some opportunistic bastards are trying to steal their family heirlooms or attack the women. They’ll be glad to have your mom to look after them. Just like we’re glad you’re here!”
“Not all seem to be,” Lan Zhan said.
“Well, no, but who cares about what they think anyway? They're the worst, and Nie-zongzhu will shut them up.”
“You believe he will accept our assistance?”
“Of course! Anyone with eyes can see you’re really here to help.” Honor and integrity radiated off Lan Zhan and his brother like comfort off of Shijie’s soup. “We could use a hundred more of you, but we’ll take what we can get. And you two are as good as ten other cultivators.”
Did Lan Zhan look pleased at this? Wei Wuxian thought so. “Da-ge and his zhiji will join us soon.”
“Da-ge and his zhiji?” Wei Wuxian echoed, intrigued.
“Mn. Xiao Xingchen of the Bright Moon and Gentle Breeze and Song Zichen, He Who Stands Proud Amidst the Snow and Frost.”
“Oh! I’ve heard of them! They wander the world together, nighthunting and protecting the innocent!” Something about their story always tugged at something in Wei Wuxian’s chest. It had taken a long time to figure out that it was longing. “I never thought I’d get to meet them.”
“I am anxious to see him,” Lan Zhan said. “He has written, but I have not seen him since he left the mountain several years ago.”
“Wow! The lost Lan heirs and Xiao Xingchen and Song Zichen. We might really have a shot after all,” Wei Ying said as they reached the tent.
Lan Zhan’s face didn’t change, but as he paused outside the tent, he suddenly seemed even more intense. Somber, maybe. “Is the situation very dire?”
Wei Wuxian allowed himself to adjust to the seriousness of the question. “It's dire,” he said after a moment’s thought. “It’s the corpses the Wen have on their side, you know? You can cut them down, but they get back up again. There’s more all the time. We’re going to have to come up with something really creative to really defeat them.”
“Perhaps Wei Ying will be the one to devise such an ingenious plan. He seems to have the audacity.”
Wei Wuxian laughed again, this time with the same joy he’d felt on the battlefield. “Maybe so!”
Right now, with this Lan Zhan looking at him and holding Wei Wuxian’s name safe in his mouth, Wei Wuxian felt capable of it, too.
The Lan heirs had returned, and brought hope with them.