Chapter Text
Chapter One
A Good Son
“A-Yao.” Lan Xichen reaches to grab the smaller man who kneels on the damp earth, caked in the drying splatters of blood. A fractured boulder lies beside him.
“Thank you, Zewu-Jun,” says Meng Yao, ever polite, struggling to his feet on his own. “I would not dirty you.”
“You could never dirty me,” says Lan Xichen with a kind smile. He recalls those same words when A-Yao he acknowledged his identity as that bastard of Jin Guangshan’s, the son of a prostitute.
“From what you’ve told me, your good mother raised a good son,” Lan Xichen had replied with a smile. “You could never dirty me, and she could never dirty you, no matter what people judge.”
Meng Yao swallows hard at the reference. “Thank you.”
He looks after Nie Mingjue’s retreating figure, sorrow and longing evident on his face.
“He will come around, I am sure. Your actions today saved countless lives,” says Lan Xichen.
“I took several, too,” Meng Yao confesses. Hoping to look innocent and pitiful.
Zewu-Jun, I see them.
I see their faces. Every single one I’ve tortured. I can’t forget them.
“From the sound of it, you indeed had no choice,” Lan Xichen reassures him, and Meng Yao nods. “I am certain Mingjue-xiong will rethink this. He is just... concerned for you. He is concerned for all who take on the appearance of evil.”
Meng Yao’s face is instantly troubled. “Is that what I am to him? Evil?”
Being a laughingstock was bad enough. But evil ?
“No, of course not,” Lan Xichen says with a wince. “That’s not what I meant.”
Meng Yao nods again, but Lan Xichen sees his lips tremble. “A-Yao, do you wish to talk about it? I will not judge you for what you had to do.”
Meng Yao hangs his head. His voice breaks. “I was his torturer.”
“A-Yao.” Lan Xichen places a sympathetic hand on his shoulder. His own heart breaks; the devices of the Fire Palace are well-known and well-feared.
“Sometimes, I wish I did not have such a memory,” confides Meng Yao, wiping his eyes.
“‘No one emerges from a war unscathed,’ do they?” Lan Xichen asks quietly, recalling the time they parted, himself knowing he would return to Gusu to find himself a Clan Leader, and begin his leadership with a war. Meng Yao was prepared to join Qinghe Nie, and he’d quoted Lan An to his friend to explain his fears.
“Your ancestors were certainly correct. But I would not change my actions,” admits Meng Yao. “No, that is not true. Perhaps that moment in Langya... I would wait until later to join Wen Ruohan’s army. So that I would not have had to harm Chifeng-Zun. But it was the perfect time... Ah, I wish I had another choice.”
“You will have many choices in the future,” Lan Xichen promises him. “Better ones. After all, it will be hard for your father to deny you as a hero now! He ought to accept you. If he doesn’t, Gusu Lan will.”
Meng Yao smiles wistfully. “Do you think…?”
Lan Xichen can only imagine the heartbreak of Chifeng-Zun’s letter rebuked, of being sent to work for an abusive commander instead.
He can imagine it’s similar to the heartbreak of the little boy who entered his father’s now-burned-down home to ask for a teaching from his father, only to be sent running by his father’s panic. “Breaking rules already – already tainted –Lan Huan, you’re doomed; I have nothing to teach you! Leave!”
He’d fled in tears to confess to Lan Qiren.
“Should I exist?” he’d asked his uncle, and to his shock, his uncle for once dropped the switch he’d meant to strike him with. It was the only time Lan Qiren ever reneged on a punishment.
“I do think,” Lan Xichen says, shaking off his memories. He offers Meng Yao a hand. “Let’s get away from here.”
“Where to, Clan Leader Lan?”
“Clan Leader Jiang is not far. I imagine that is where Clan Leader Nie will find himself, too.” Lan Xichen raises his eyebrows. “You may be privileged enough to see Young Master Wei’s corpses.”
“Ah, Wei Wuxian... I’m glad he did not approach. Clan Leader Wen spent plenty of time developing backlash for whatever demons he summoned,” says Meng Yao, rubbing his forehead. “Though I am interested in seeing it.”
“It is mesmerizing,” Lan Xichen says, although he knows Lan Wangji is troubled by it. He stands on Shuoyue and offers his hand to Meng Yao.
“I can fly on Hensheng,” Meng Yao says with a giggle. “Though it could not carry both myself and Nie Mingjue, hence my flight on foot.”
“Hensheng?” Lan Xichen’s eyes crinkle with concern at the name.
Meng Yao shows him his soft sword, but cringes at the crimson that crusts it. He bends to wipe the bloodied whip on the grass. “There was no time to clean it after our escape.”
“I understand,” Lan Xichen says softly. Hensheng, a name whose darkness Wen Ruohan would have admired. A name Meng Yao probably meant for his life in Nightless City.
“Because of your actions, we do not have to hate our lives again. And you do not, either,” Lan Xichen says, and Meng Yao’s eyes turn red.
But as Meng Yao moves to stand on his legs, whether the spiritual power or the trauma of today has been too much, he sways, and Lan Xichen insists on carrying him instead.
“Clan Leader Lan.” Jiang Wanyin bows to Lan Xichen. He is young but unapproachable, intimidating and stately in his purple splendor.
The man by his side is no less intimidating, yet he’s as mysterious and wild as his loose black hair. A gleaming flute hangs by his side, punctuated only by a scarlet tassel. Before the introductions are finished, the man demands, “Is it true? Wen Ruohan is dead?”
“It appears so.” Lan Xichen turns to Meng Yao. “This is Meng Yao, the spy who killed him. He’s also from the Yunmeng region.”
Jiang Wanyin’s eyes widen slightly, clearly recognizing the name.
Wei Wuxian may or may not, but he crosses his arms and leans forward with intrigue. “How did he die?”
“Beheading,” Meng Yao says, uncomfortable.
“Good for you. Admittedly I’m jealous I didn’t get the chance.” He grins, however, without resentment.
“It’s probably best you didn’t. We’ve heard a lot about your methods, Master Wei. Clan Leader Wen had many dozens of plans to cause a backlash,” says Meng Yao.
Wei Wuxian’s eyes narrow.
“That he focused on you means that you were the person he feared most,” Meng Yao says hurriedly, sensing his displeasure. “An honor, if you ask me.”
Jiang Wanyin looks uncomfortable. Jealous, perhaps.
Wei Wuxian snorts. “I see. And yet the one he ought to have feared was right by his side.”
Meng Yao starts. There’s approval in Wei Wuxian’s eyes. He drinks it in.
He wants Jiang Wanyin’s approval, too. He’s always been greedy for approval. So he adds, “It seems many Yunmeng have made their way in this war. I imagine the Yunmeng Jiang Clan will be inundated with requests from potential disciples in the next few years.”
Jiang Wanyin relaxes. Words of flattery, but welcome flattery, nonetheless. “You are quite eloquent, Master Meng. Zewu-Jun, Master Meng, you must be tired. I can show you to your quarters, unless you are injured?”
“We are well.” Meng Yao looks at his bloodstained clothes. “I’m afraid this is not my blood.”
“You wear his well,” Wei Wuxian says firmly, and Meng Yao stifles a surprised laugh.
“I presume Clan Leader Nie passed by?” inquires Lan Xichen.
“Briefly. He merely rested for an hour before shrugging off the infirmary and heading back to his base,” says Wei Wuxian.
Meng Yao sags, and Lan Xichen sighs. “I see. And Wangji?”
“Waiting for you in your room, Zewu-Jun,” says Jiang Wanyin. “We’re a bit short on space, so you’ll have to share.”
“Of course,” says Lan Xichen.
“Better you than me. If he’s with you, he’s for once not scolding me,” says Wei Wuxian with an impudent grin.
Lan Xichen shakes his head, amused, and Meng Yao stifles another laugh.
He wishes he could have the freedom of Wei Wuxian, who spouts off whatever words he feels. But, free or not, it seems both of them are doomed to condemnation: him, from Chifeng-Zun, and Wei Wuxian from Hanguang-Jun.
Bathing should make Meng Yao feel clean, but the sight of his body has never comforted him, and right now, with that thing in his ever-so-slightly swollen belly, he can’t feel clean no matter how hard he scrubs.
Jiang Wanyin said he was composing a letter to Clan Leader Jin. If his father actually decides to visit, Meng Yao will have to wait to get rid of this burden. He can’t be ill when he sees his father; he must be fully coherent, advocate for himself, convince him that Meng Yao will be his most worthy disciple.
He will poison himself afterwards. It should only be a few days wait.
All he needs are herbs. The medics will have them, but he can’t ask, can’t abide the chance that they’ll suspect. He’ll have to sneak into the medical pavilion…
Better to get the herbs now, just in case. To have power in his hands, the power to cleanse the wretched filth growing inside him.
Guilt niggles at the back of his mind. Filth? He remembers stories Mother told him, of hiding his growth from the Madame until it was too late, of loving him from the moment she expected his arrival.
He always assumed that he would adopt children someday, treat them well, be a good father.
And now he has the chance to be a father, but he doesn’t want this. Doesn’t want anything of his .
Meng Yao once vowed that he would never make anyone feel as though they ought not to exist. But he doesn’t want this thing growing in him to exist. And, for that, he feels guilty.
“Your father doesn’t wish to be reminded of your existence. I am merely doing him a favor by leaving your name off,” the commander in Langya said. “Or do you think that being the spawn of Jin Guangshan gives you the right to command me?”
“Of course not, but the idea was mine,” Meng Yao maintained.
“Pfft. I am your commander. Any idea you have belongs to me.” The commander shook his head. He chuckled. “But perhaps you haven’t been taught correctly. I imagine not. Son of a prostitute – your mere existence is a disgrace. if you really cared for Lanling Jin, you’d acknowledge your shame and kill yourself.”
Meng Yao’s throat tightened. “No matter my origins, I saved Maiden Qin today. Without me, horrible things would have happened to her!”
“Well, I’m sure you know the disgrace of whores,” sniffed the commander. And then he kicked Meng Yao over, snickering.
Meng Yao covered the torn fabric as best he could, and lay on the floor as the man kicked him over and over. Not fighting back, not yet. But one thing was clear: there was no path forward in Langya.
As Meng Yao slips out of his room, he stops short at the sight of a man drinking wine in the moonlit hall.
“Meng Yao. Maybe you’ll be Jin Zi-something soon.” Wei Wuxian waves. “Join me.”
Meng Yao obeys. Wen Ruohan had forbidden him from drinking wine, but now, he’s free. He can. “Do you think...?”
“You’re oddly vulnerable for a spy, you know that?” Wei Wuxian waves his hand. “What father wouldn’t want you? Hell, I’d adopt you, but I think you’re actually older than me.”
Meng Yao can’t help but laugh as he accepts the cask of wine. “How old are you, if I may ask?”
“Twenty,” Wei Wuxian says.
“Twenty-one,” acknowledges Meng Yao.
“Damn it. Well, they say my cultivation is unnatural, so what’s wrong with having a son older than me?” Wei Wuxian snickers.
Meng Yao laughs. “Young Master Wei, Zewu-Jun did not lie when he said you had the wildest imagination he’d ever encountered.”
“Ha, did he really? I’d like to lend it to his brother, if I could.” Wei Wuxian shrugs.
Meng Yao thinks that an odd comment, but he doesn’t press further. “Do you not sleep? That was one of many rumors in Qishan.”
“Ha! I do sleep, but sometimes, I simply prefer not to.” Wei Wuxian forces a smile.
“Sometimes, having a vast imagination hurts during the night, doesn’t it?” Meng Yao says cautiously.
Wei Wuxian meets his eyes. For one moment, both understand the grief and horror in each other’s gaze.
Wei Wuxian abruptly changes the conversation. “I should probably warn you. Your brother, Jin Zixuan, is an arrogant peacock. Would you like to hear the story of my expulsion from the Cloud Recesses for punching his pretty face? Or the story of how just last month, Jin Guangshan and Jiang Cheng had to drag me away from turning him into another of my corpses?”
Meng Yao’s mouth opens. Wei Wuxian might be drunk. Or he may simply be unhinged. Either way, he’s mesmerizing. “Expelled from the Cloud Recesses ?”
They talk until the sky glows grey with dawn. Wei Wuxian stands to stretch, and Lan Xichen’s pleasant voice drifts down the hall. “Good morning, Young Master Wei, A-Yao.”
“Is it five already?” Wei Wuxian exclaims.
Meng Yao stands hurriedly, but as he does, a sudden pang of dizziness erupts in his mind.
“A-Yao?” Lan Xichen asks in alarm.
“It’s nothing,” Meng Yao rasps, pressing a hand to his forehead. “Fatigue, perhaps.”
“It can’t be the wine; you’re too coherent.” Wei Wuxian peers at him with concern.
But when Lan Xichen takes his pulse, he’s alarmed at the rapid pace. At the clamminess of Meng Yao’s hands. “A-Yao, is it possible Wen Ruohan cursed you?”
“Pardon me, Zewu-Jun?”
“You’re ill.” Lan Xichen laughs weakly. “I am afraid he may have cursed any servant who betrayed him. You need to see a doctor.”
“I do not,” Meng Yao says, his fear spiking. “I don’t ever recall him doing such a thing. It’s true he was paranoid, but he also considered himself above all. Any servant who stopped short of worship was killed as a spectacle in front of him; I would not be different.”
Wei Wuxian raises an eyebrow; Meng Yao’s face is paler by the second.
He takes two steps forward before collapsing into Wei Wuxian’s already waiting arms.
“I’ll call a physician.” Lan Xichen turns, but Wei Wuxian stiffens.
“Wait,” he says sharply.
“What do you mean?”
Wei Wuxian gives him a strange look before whisking Meng Yao back into his bedchamber.
“Young Master Wei?” Lan Xichen demands, following him.
“Shut the door,” Wei Wuxian says irritably.
Lan Xichen obeys. Wei Wuxian leans over, opening Meng Yao’s lapels. After a second, he curses and refastens them.
“What are you doing? Is he hurt?” Lan Xichen hurries over.
Wei Wuxian glances around. “Zewu-Jun, are you aware that your friend is actually a woman?”
Lan Xichen blinks, not comprehending. “What?”
“Meng Yao is a woman.”
“That can’t be,” he says.
Wei Wuxian gives him a strange look. “I assure you, she is. She appears to be using something to bind her chest. I could feel something odd through her clothing, so… ”
A woman… Lan Xichen’s mind whirls. How could he not have noticed?
“Stay with her. I’ll fetch a doctor I trust,” says Wei Wuxian, backing away.
“Why – how –?” Lan Xichen stares at Meng Yao, who looks lovely as a doll even while unconscious.
“I don’t know why she’s gone out of her way to disguise herself, but I can’t imagine it’s something she did lightly.” Wei Wuxian nods quickly to Lan Xichen before departing.
“I’m fine,” Meng Yao insists as soon as he awakens. “Zewu-Jun, I was just fatigued. Master Wei and I were talking for a long time, so I neglected sleep.”
Lan Xichen has no idea what to even say. Where to begin.
“I’ll be the judge of that,” replies a firm voice as the door opens.
A doctor – a Wen doctor? Wen Qing?
Lan Xichen frowns at Wei Wuxian, but he replies, “Wen Qing is the best around, and I know she is trustworthy. Without her and her brother, Jiang Cheng and I would be long dead. And they’ve not fought in this war. We were allowing them to pass through to Ganquan, as we approached Qishan, but it seems… we may need her.”
Meng Yao squeezes his eyes shut. His heart hammers.
“So, you’re the spy everyone’s talking about. Were you ever tortured?” Wen Qing asks practically.
Meng Yao hesitates. Lan Xichen’s heart aches at the thought.
Wen Qing sighs. “Undress. Let me see your wounds.”
“No,” Meng Yao says sharply. “I am fine. Zewu-Jun, Doctor, please, do not trouble yourselves.”
“It’s no trouble. A-Yao, we are merely concerned,” Lan Xichen protests.
And you’re ruining everything! Meng Yao wants to scream. Aloud he whispers, “I am grateful for your concern. But I am fine.”
“Then undress.” Wen Qing crosses her arms.
Meng Yao clenches his hands. He looks trapped. His eyes flicker back and forth. A bead of sweat trickles down his forehead.
“We will grant you privacy, A-Yao,” Lan Xichen says, and Meng Yao wants to thank him but he also wants to scream don’t go , so he merely watches as his lone friend leaves the room alongside Wei Wuxian.
At least an hour passes before Wen Qing exits with a grim expression.
“Is she all right?” Lan Xichen asks anxiously.
“I wouldn’t be here if she was,” Wen Qing says briskly.
“Can you fix it?” asks Wei Wuxian.
“In a manner of speaking. I gave her something for the dizziness; it’s common around this time.”
“‘This time?’” Lan Xichen’s heart sinks in apprehension.
Wen Qing looks straight at him. “She appears to be about four months pregnant.”
Lan Xichen staggers. “What?!”
“I won’t say more, other than that I have my own suspicions, but I strongly, strongly suggest you speak to her and gain her confidence,” Wen Qing says. “And quickly.”
“Did she say who –” Wei Wuxian breaks off.
“There was proof enough on her body, if that’s what you’re asking.” Wen Qing crosses her arms as Lan Xichen’s ears roar.
Meng Yao stares at his chest. Which has always been slight, but these things are still larger on him than he’d prefer. Taunting him. And they ache, and the ache reminds him of how they hurt under his hands.
“With your parents, you never had a chance. You should be proud of yourself for coming this far,” Wen Ruohan had breathed as his body pushed Meng Yao onto his thick mattress.
And while he was so much gentler than usual, Meng Yao knew he was only gentle then because he wished to use Jin Guangshan’s son to breed sons, and he would rather have been fucked on the floor like a dog again.
Meng Yao really regrets not letting Chifeng-Zun slice him at least a little yesterday.
He pokes his abdomen. Shrivel and die .
He’ll take poison. But the doctor said four months.
I thought it was two at most.
How am I so small?
The doctor said four months.
It’s too late.
He has to try. He needs to join his father’s clan.
“A-Yao?” The door opens, and Meng Yao shrinks. He wraps his arms around his chest. His breathing becomes shallow.
“Zewu-Jun.” Meng Yao maintains his smiling mask, but his eyes search his friend’s. Lan Xichen knows.
His shoulders slump. He bows his head.
Lan Xichen sits beside him, silent for a moment. “A-Yao, I really had no idea. Would you rather I call you Maiden Meng?”
Meng Yao shakes his head so fast his hair flies every which way.
Lan Xichen chuckles.
“Was it for your father? Not accepting a daughter instead of a son?” Lan Xichen ventures. “Did you think he’d say worse about you if he knew you were a woman?”
Meng Yao glances at him. And he wonders. If maybe sweet, kind, affable Lan Xichen, Lan Xichen who doesn’t judge others, would believe him. Or at least try to understand.
“I am his son,” he whispers.
Lan Xichen’s forehead furrows.
“I... In the brothel. Ever since I was a child, I’ve wanted to be a boy. Mother went along with it, because I was safer anyways, disguised as a boy. But it’s not just clothing. Or what I call myself. I... I hate my body. I want to be a boy. I cannot think of myself as ‘she.’ I’m not a she. I just know it.”
“Okay…” Lan Xichen says slowly, as if he’s not quite comprehending, but not judging.
“I used to say I wanted to learn enough cultivation to transform myself into a male body.” Meng Yao laughs.
Lan Xichen smiles sadly. “That is not possible.”
“No,” Meng Yao admits. “Although with Wei Wuxian’s inventions, who knows?”
Lan Xichen’s eyes shine. “A fair point.”
“But, until then, I cannot live as a woman. Please do not force me to; I’d rather die. I am at your mercy; please do not tell anyone.”
“I won’t, A-Yao. I... I don’t understand, but I trust you. You have no reason to lie,” says Lan Xichen resolutely, and Meng Yao sighs in relief.
Lan Xichen smiles sympathetically. “Master Meng.”
A smile blossoms onto Meng Yao’s face.
“I am sure that Wei Wuxian will not tell anyone, either. He is the one who noticed, and specifically brought Wen Qing to keep the secret,” assures Lan Xichen.
Meng Yao makes a rueful expression. “I see it took me fleeing Nightless City to finally meet the famous Wen Qing.”
Lan Xichen chuckles. And then, his stomach turns as he asks, “How much did the doctor tell you?”
Meng Yao stares at him. Suddenly, two tears roll down his cheeks.
“Is it…”
“Please, stab me. Please. It would be less painful.” Meng Yao’s knuckles have turned white.
“Did you have a lover?” Lan Xichen asks. Hoping, although the hope makes him queasy all the same.
Meng Yao wrings his hands. “Would anyone love a man in this body?”
Lan Xichen starts.
“Zewu-Jun, please, do not ask me more,” says Meng Yao, a tremor to his voice. “If you wish to help, stab me, or fetch as many herbs as you can.”
“You’re seeking your own death,” says Wei Wuxian, striding back in. “That’s the problem. The doctor said – four months is risky, anyways, and you’re too injured in critical places.”
Meng Yao stares at him, his face flushed. “But I have to.”
“You can’t, unless you wish to die.”
“ I have to !” Meng Yao begs. “If my father comes, I have to. Please, just let me do this. I’d rather – I’d rather be dead than endure this. Please .”
He punches himself in the stomach, but Lan Xichen restrains his hands. “If your body cannot take it, you’ll only hurt yourself more.”
Meng Yao stares up at him, agony written across his expression. “It’s not too late. Don’t tell me I’ve come this far and now it’s too late. Please.”
“I won’t let it be too late,” Lan Xichen promises, and he doesn’t know why or how, but he can’t help but promise.