Chapter Text
Whoever pursues righteousness and love finds life, prosperity and honor.
~Proverbs 21:21
Lan Xichen certainly never thought he would set foot in an establishment such as this.
If Shufu could see him now, he would whip the skin from Lan Xichen’s back. And to do such a thing in the middle of war, when Wen Ruohan would surely love to have the head of a sect leader to make up for the deaths of his two sons! Shameful!
He couldn’t put this off. He would not be able to consider himself a sect leader if he did not do this. He adjusted the Wen Sect uniform Young Master Wei had stolen for them. His hair ribbon had been removed, knotted around his wrist for safekeeping, concealed by his sleeves. People who passed whispered about him, leering at his face, and it was all Lan Xichen could do not to duck his face from embarrassment. But he had to try. Had to act.
Incense wafted over, the floral smell hooking its fingers into his nose. He coughed and managed a pleasant smile as one girl giggled, pointing him out to her companion. This building was too warm. He felt as if he were boiling in the gazes of everyone around him.
Nie Mingjue looked even less comfortable than Lan Xichen felt. His face was redder than the color of the Wen Sect robes he wore. He’d shaved his mustache for this, but still, he looked so intimidating that all the girls who passed by looked scared of him, whispering to each other, clutching the wrists of other customers.
Floorboards creaked above them. Every now and then, a moan broke through, bawdy laughter hurtled through the air, and Lan Xichen felt like he was going to choke. Some of the girls for sale here looked too young to even be called up for battle. Lan Xichen wanted to vomit. A-Yao, is this how you grew up?
Nie Mingjue shifted, knuckles clenching as if it was all he could do not to grasp the hilt of Baxia and swing it at the foundation of this hideous place lit with lanterns tinted red and violet.
The madam came back down the stairs, her face coated in cracking makeup. Her eyes cold, she smiled, lips swollen. Red paint smeared one of her teeth. “The one you requested just finished with customers. They’re coming down now, but he’ll need to clean up before he takes more customers.”
With customers. He knew what that meant, but he couldn’t allow himself to dwell on that. Maybe it was something else. Maybe—
“No,” interrupted Lan Xichen. He wasn’t waiting. He’d already waited too long. “I don’t mind.”
The madam blinked, and then chortled. “Young Master, I don’t think you understand. He’ll break, and then where will we be, if he cannot work for—”
“I’ll pay,” Lan Xichen said. “I—” He couldn’t sound desperate, not too desperate, but he was. He wanted to plead, cry, but he didn’t think that would help, not here.
She hesitated. “How long do you want him for?”
“The rest of the night,” Lan Xichen answered, heart thumping.
The woman’s eyes bulged. “Not possible.”
Lan Xichen’s ears turned pink. “I will pay.”
“Hmph.” She snorted. “He isn’t that well trained. He might disappoint you.”
He held out a pouch with jangling coins to tempt her. Nie Mingjue looked as if he was about to throw the woman into the wall.
The madam licked her lips, smearing more paint.“Very well, then. I’ll go inform him to get ready.”
Lan Xichen made to follow her, and she shook her head. “It’s not seemly.”
He stopped, even though everything inside him was screaming to run after her, not to hesitate any longer. If he insisted, she might get more suspicious.
Just a few more minutes.
A few more minutes, and then he could save A-Yao.
Ten days earlier
He should have frozen Nie Mingjue’s qi and run.
He’d been considering it. He was already wearing a Wen Sect uniform, knew the moves from pure memory. He could do it, infiltrate, destroy Wen Ruohan from the inside.
Earn his father’s praise…
A simple smile and pat on the head was all he wanted. Instead, he was bowed before a commander, confessing to blood on his hands, the blood of that man’s friend. Awaiting judgement.
The commander stalked out of the tent.
Nie Mingjue had left. No, supposedly, he was still in the camp. But he was not here , and neither was Lan Xichen, and Meng Yao had no more allies. His teeth chattered. Nie Mingjue probably thought it justice, btu Meng Yao just wanted someone with him, someone who would—
You’ll be sending me to my death.
You will not die.
He wanted to believe that, but he had no faith in the Jin Sect as a whole. But surely, surely— Father, please. He’d dared to bring up his status as Jin Guangshan’s son to the commander, a shameless attempt to save his own skin. Even if unacknowledged, surely no one could harm him without a word to Jin Guangshan.
But Father might consider him a disgrace, view it as an opportunity to wipe away a stain. Meng Yao’s eyes stung.
He didn’t want the first time he met the man to be as a murderer, hands bound, kneeling, chin lowered in shame. And yet, even if Father would not want to kill him, others would, surely. The reason Father hadn’t accepted him had to be everyone’s opinion. Surely they even doubted that Meng Yao was his father’s son, but he was. He’d had the pearl. Of course Father couldn’t accept it in front of his wife, right?
It hurt, but he could forgive. Only—
See me.
Don’t wash me away.
The commander would not be so sensitive. No, on the contrary, the man would likely bring it up when Jin Guangshan was surrounded by people, unable to—but surely for his life—
He could still run. His legs stiffened, his hands tensed—he could—
The commander returned. Meng Yao’s heart pounded.
Would Father at least look at him?
No. The commander was alone. He held his sword. “Well, you won’t be executed.”
Father! Meng Yao craned his neck up. Hope burst inside him. The man truly didn’t want him to disappear?
I’ll make you proud of me. You won’t regret this. I’ll earn my redemption, I will—
“You should never have been in this army,” said the commander. “Sullying everyone around you with your whore’s blood.”
Meng Yao tensed. It was all he could do not to spring at the man, deck him. But his father had surely ordered him spared, spared .
The man peered down at him. His lips curved. “Sect Leader Jin told me to do whatever I thought was a fitting punishment.”
But not death. It wasn’t death. He could still redeem himself. “I will accept it,” he said quickly, obediently, gratefully.
Seven days ago
Lan Xichen couldn’t understand it when he heard. He gaped at Chifeng-Zun, the man he’d looked up to for so many years, the man he’d comforted when Chifeng-Zun’s father died, the man he trusted to send Meng Yao to, assuring him that he could earn honor under Chifeng-Zun. “He’s righteous. He won’t judge you for your background.”
“The people under him will,” Meng Yao had replied.
Lan Xichen’s stomach knotted because he knew it was true. He saw it in how the elder members of his own sect had looked at him and at Wangji when they were children: the sons of a murderer. “He will not. He will promote you fairly, praise you when you act in a praiseworthy manner.”
Meng Yao’s dimples revealed themselves as he smiled. “If Zewu-Jun says so, then, I will go.”
“No,” Lan Xichen said finally. “He could not have done—”
“He did.” Nie Mingjue swallowed. “I told him to confess his crime and accept his punishment. The man abused him, so his punishment will not be severe. Besides, he is under Jin Sect’s banner; what else can I do?”
Lan Xichen closed his eyes. He had seen it last time he saw A-Yao, the desperation, the raw bloody wound of his father refusing to see him even with Chifeng-Zun’s recommendation. He’d patted his shoulder, told him not to give up.
But now…
“I should find him,” Lan Xichen said. Meng Yao could probably use a friend, and Meng Yao had been there for him during the most shameful part of Lan Xichen’s life.
Nie Mingjue’s eyes narrowed, but he followed Lan Xichen. He likely wanted to see A-Yao too, but was too uncomfortable to seek him out on his own. Besides, they had to focus on planning the next battle. Wen Xu and Wen Chao might be dead, but Wen Ruohan was alive and well.
Lan Xichen did not like the stench of a recent battle, the smell of burning flesh on cauterized wounds and the cries in the distance. It reminded him too much of the day Wen Xu burned the Cloud Recesses. He wove his way through various tents, wiping sweat onto his robes, off his palms.
“Wangji?” inquired Nie Mingjue.
“I heard from him yesterday. A letter.” Lan Xichen swallowed. “Young Master Wei has been continuing to use demonic cultivation against the Wens.” He had heard rumors, though Wangji did not address them, of constant conflict between Young Master Wei and Wangji, but the last time he had visited, he saw no animosity. Conflict, yes, but no animosity. Wangji seemed to truly be worried about Young Master Wei.
“Hmph.”
Lan Xichen truly couldn’t tell if Nie Mingjue disapproved of the ignoble cultivation or if he figured that war required every weapon they had. He wasn’t even sure what he thought. He ducked, avoiding a low-flying crow.
Wangji always got along well with Young Master Wei while he was at the Cloud Recesses, with the exception of the time they both broke curfew and were punished for it—well, as well as Wangji got along with anyone. He seemed happy every time Wei Wuxian pestered him, acknowledged him, teased him, even if he was telling Wei Wuxian to get lost. It was good to see that gleam of light in his brother’s eyes. Now, that light had simmered into bubbling concern.
Lan Xichen finally found the right segment. After asking a few people who meted out punishments for internal matters, he and Nie Mingjue came face-to-face with a square-faced commander.
However, the man dodged their questions, too busy sipping what looked like water but smelled like anything but. “He accepted his punishment, and I haven’t seen him since.”
“Where is he?” asked Nie Mingjue. “He was formerly under my command.”
“Ah, well, he’s not under mine anymore.”
Lan Xichen frowned. “Which command is he under?”
“Not anyone’s,” the commander finally said, and Lan Xichen felt his words stab into him, cold as ice.
“Did you execute him? For such a petty crime?” demanded Nie Mingjue. His chest heaved. Horror clawed at his eyes.
“Of course not.” The man sniffed. “Sect Leader Jin trusted me to punish him accordingly, and I did so. He won’t repeat the same mistake again, I have no doubts about that.”
Something was wrong. The man’s voice sounded like slime oozing around them. Lan Xichen swallowed. “Did you demote him?”
“It’s not your affair.”
“Whip him?” asked Nie Mingjue.
“It’s not—”
“He is an old friend,” Lan Xichen pressed. “As Sect Leader Lan, I would very much like to speak with him, instruct him. If you please—”
“Who do you think you are, the Wens? You’re not our sect, so don’t put your beaks in our busi—”
“Excuse me?” demanded Nie Mingjue, leaping in front of the man. His eyes flashed. Baxia emerged.
“What did you do to him?” Lan Xichen whispered. The man’s evasion filled him with dread.
The man’s breaths came sharp. He focused on Baxia, trembling. “He k-killed my friend—he’s been returned to the pigpen he crawled out of.”
“The fuck are you talking about? Speak clearly!” Nie Mingjue grasped the man by his collar, hauling him up. The man gagged, spittle flying. Nie Mingjue glanced to Lan Xichen. “Xichen, take your sword.”
Lan Xichen couldn’t move.
“No!” squeaked the commander. “No, wait! It’s not what you think! I—I—he was sold off! He’s alive!”
“Sold where? How?”
“Sold off as a whore!”
Lan Xichen saw red. Nie Mingjue struck. Blood splattered, splashing his fingers. The man’s head rolled on the ground. Lan Xichen gaped.
Nie Mingjue turned to Lan Xichen. He glanced at the blood dripping from Baxia, the head, the commander he had just murdered. “I—”
Lan Xichen felt his own head floating, the commander’s words echoing and echoing. This can’t be. This can’t be true. “Mingjue-xiong, you—ee don’t even know where he is, and now we can’t!” Was he actually yelling at Chifeng-Zun? What was happening?
Sold off as a whore.
“We won’t leave him there,” Lan Xichen choked out. “We’ll get him back, Chifeng-Zun. We’re—getting him back, we won’t—” His knuckles whitened as he clutched Shouyue’s sheath. “We have to find Sect Leader Jin—speak to him. He can help.”
Surely the man wouldn’t approve.
Surely.
Right?
Present day
Three men clomped down the stairs, one of them still shrugging into his outer robe, their chatter sloppy from wine. Their words caught Lan Xichen’s ears.
“... one of the best whores I’ve ever had. He looked just like his mother when I fucked her years ago.”
“Did you see his panic when you said that to him?” asked the second, a weasley sort of fellow with a squeaky voice. He sniffed, wiping his nose.
“He started crying; only made him look more beautiful,” said the third man gruffly. “Made him look like a ravished virgin.”
“That’s how you tell the best whores from the ones who won’t survive long. They know how to please…”
The men passed them, stepping out into the night. Lan Xichen’s gaze met Nie Mingjue’s.
He didn’t know. He didn’t know it. There were many sold here.
He knew.
They were talking about—
Nie Mingjue inhaled. He swiveled on his heel. Panic now set into Lan Xichen. No, don’t risk—
“You’re taking too long,” snarled Nie Mingjue at one of the guards. “I’m going.” He stormed outside, already fishing in his robes for Baxia.
Lan Xichen closed his eyes, tears beading in them. So—he was too late—he’d known he would be; it’d been over a week, but—
“Young master,” called the madam’s voice.
Lan Xichen pried his lids up. He focused on her, standing at the top of a narrow staircase.
“Where is your companion?” She frowned.
“He was concerned about the wait,” said Lan Xichen. “But, it was his first time in such an establishment. I can still pay.” He dug through his coin pouch, pulling out several coins and placing them in the madam’s waiting palm.
“At his age?” She snorted, counting them with a greedy smile on her face. It was all Lan Xichen could do not to shake her and scream. Get on with it already!
Finally she finished, sliding the payment into her pocket. “He’s ready for you.” She gestured for him to follow her down a narrow corridor cramped with the stench of incense.
One step at a time, he climbed. His stomach churned. He hoped Nie Mingjue didn’t get himself killed—Sect Leader Nie, Sect Leader, that was right. And he was Sect Leader Lan.
No, I’m not!
Dad!
He would have been dead with his father or brought to Wen Ruohan if it were not for Meng Yao.
Seven days earlier
Lan Xichen couldn’t take it anymore.
He hadn’t been there when Father was wounded by Wen Xu, when the infection wound its way through his body, slowly poisoning every bit of him. He hadn’t been there when Wangji’s leg was broken. He hadn’t been there when Lan Wangji staggered home after killing the Xuanwu of Slaughter, collapsing in Lan Qiren’s arms.
Meng Yao had been there for him when he heard of his father’s death, when he was staggering through the forests, bruised and burned, skin boiled and raw. Meng Yao put his hand on his shoulder as he cried, told him that he had cried for his mother, and then stopped, biting his lip as if concerned Lan Xichen might think a prostitute not worth crying over.
Instead, Lan Xichen had rested his face in Meng Yao’s shoulder. He cried, and then he asked him what she was like.
That night, they slept in each other’s arms, and Lan Xichen could only chuckle to himself when he considered what Lan Qiren would say about that. He wasn’t laughing anymore, though, when he woke up with a hard-on. But it was innocent; they both simply needed comfort, and Meng Yao had grown up alone and Lan Xichen was missing his brother.
He was not leaving this man in hell.
Sect Leader Jin expressed horror when Nie Mingjue told him what had happened. “I surely would not have authorized such a punishment.”
“We will find him, Sect Leader,” Lan Xichen cut in, bowing.
“Is there a point, Sect Leader Lan?” Jin Guangshan’s voice came pleasant. “We must focus on the war first, not on tracking—he is a strong soldier, from Chifeng-Zun’s word that he wrote the man a recommendation, even if I never saw it. Perhaps that was because of the commander as well. I am sure he will break out and be fine.”
Lan Xichen’s stomach clenched. It was all he could do not to—
“Beast.”
The word came small, but clear.
Lan Xichen shifted his gaze over. Nie Mingjue was staring at Jin Guangshan in absolute disgust.
“Have you no shame?” Nie Mingjue said sharply. “If they can do that to a member of your sect, then—”
“What’s the good of fighting each other?” asked Jin Guangshan. “Sect Leader Nie, be reasonable. One soldier is not worth—”
“Your son!” roared Nie Mingjue. “Your son , Sect Leader Jin!”
“And did your father raise his son to raise his voice to his elders?” asked Sect Leader Jin.
Nie Mingjue’s gaze darkened. “You dare—”
“Mingjue-xiong.” Lan Xichen’s hand shot out, clutching the man’s forearm. There was no point arguing with Sect Leader Jin. They had to save Meng Yao.
“Do not forget,” said Sect Leader Jin. “The enemy is the Wens, who murdered Sect Leader Nie.”
Nie Mingjue swallowed. No one had scolded him since his father died, and to be scolded by such an unrighteous—
He turned on his heel, stalking off. Lan Xichen raced after him. “We can’t leave him, Mingjue-xiong.”
“Xichen,” Nie Mingjue eked out. “I—”
A light filled the air. Blue. Lan Xichen squinted, and then hope filled his chest.
Wangji.
One of the few people he could trust.
He told Wangji everything, swearing him to the secrecy he knew his little brother would never violate.
Five days earlier
But Lan Wangji did tell one person. He knew approximately where to look, which person would be enraged by hearing this, a son of a servant empathizing with the son of a prostitute.
Just sons.
He found Wei Wuxian polishing his flute, a jar of wine open in front of him. As the last time he had seen him, there was no sword hanging by his side. Still, Wei Wuxian set down his flute, greeting him with the same smile as always, teasing Lan Wangji by offering him a chance to drink.
Come back to Gusu with me.
He hadn’t meant it like that.
“So, Lan Zhan,” said Wei Wuxian. “What brings you here today? What sins have I committed now? Come on, list them.”
There was no way around it. His chest burned. “I need to find a prostitute.”
Wei Wuxian choked on the jar of wine he had been drinking. “You need to—what?”
“My brother’s friend,” Lan Wangji told him. “Meng Yao. Sect Leader Jin sold him for displeasing him.”
“His own son?” demanded Wei Wuxian. He leaped to his feet, chest heaving. “What the fuck are we even fighting for, then, Lan Zhan? To go from Wen to Jin? That fucking—”
Lan Wangji remained silent, face tilted downwards. “Would you help?”
Wei Wuxian’s face flushed. “I have never—” He cleared his throat. “You really think I’m that unrighteous, that I go around whoring?”
Lan Wangji’s eyes widened when he took in Wei Wuxian’s embarrassment. Now he was embarrassed. He hadn’t meant to insult him. “I’m sorry.”
Wei Wuxian blinked. “Wait. You’re apologizing?” He cackled.
Lan Wangji kept his focus on his feet.
“I’ll help you find him,” Wei Wuxian said quietly. “But not alone. I might be overwhelmed by pretty girls, you know.”
Lan Wangji’s eyes narrowed.
“You’re coming with me.”
Lan Wangji wanted to die. No, no, no. When he thought of going to a brothel, well, that was bad enough, but to go with Wei Wuxian, who would surely find the girls beautiful even if he was actually a virgin like he claimed—pure torture!
He had no choice. It was for Xiongzhang.
“I don’t even want to know,” Jiang Wanyin said when Wei Wuxian informed him. “Yeah, sure, go. I trust you, shixiong.”
Wei Wuxian laughed. He grinned at his brother and headed off with Lan Wangji.
“Where is your sword?” Lan Wangji asked.
“Ah, forgot it.”
Forgot? In a war? “We will need them to fly.” Lan Wangji gestured for him to return.
“Eh.” Wei Wuxian pinched the bridge of his nose. “Nah. He’s probably close. The—”
Lan Wangji noticed the flute hanging from his waistband. An idea began to form in his mind. Could it be that—
Can you use your spiritual power the normal way?
“Fine.” Lan Wangji grabbed Wei Wuxian, pulling him onto his sword. Wei Wuxian yelped.
The brothels were the stuff of nightmares Shufu warned him and Xiongzhang about once, telling them to never set foot in the Cloud Recesses again if they so much as set foot in such a place of debauchery. Girls with painted faces, covered in sweat and perfume, slung their arms around him, and Lan Wangji did not like to be touched. Wei Wuxian’s flirty, chattering nature was beneficial; though. He was able to charm many a prostitute and get answers easily.
“You’re such a fuddy-duddy,” teased Wei Wuxian after they left the first place. His gaze swept up and down Lan Wangji. “Not aroused at all.”
Lan Wangji’s face flushed.
“Will you ever marry?” Wei Wuxian asked. “Don’t you ever wonder, or love—”
I love you.
I don’t like women. Not like that.
He did not say a word.
“I wouldn’t ever visit one of these places, though,” Wei Wuxian said then. “Those girls do not have choices. I—” He shook his head.
Lan Wangji’s heart skipped a beat. He nodded.
“I wish we could rescue them all,” said Wei Wuxian.
Lan Wangji hesitated. “After we save Meng Yao. We can.”
“You gonna buy them all? Wonder what your uncle will—”
“No buying,” said Lan Wangji. “Humans cannot be sold.”
“They still have to provide for themselves, Lan Zhan,” pointed out Wei Wuxian, walking backwards. “It’s not enough to just free them.”
He swallowed. What to do?
He followed.
Present day
Meng Yao stared at the coins the men had left behind as a tip for him, wiping tears from his eyes. He tried to close his shaking legs and cringed, in too much pain.
He still lay on the bed, crying silently as the men’s scents lingered behind in the reeking room. He should be entitled to an hour to himself. He was supposed to get cleaned up, make the bed, get ready for the next round.
He couldn’t bring himself to. He’d been tied down the first few days, gagged the first, even. He couldn’t fight back.
The man had sealed his cultivation for a week at a time. And this brothel was frequented by enough Wen cultivators that another had repeated the maneuver a few days ago, before he could fight back.
Mother…
She had always told him he would have a better fate. To think he’d ended up a whore…
Help me, he prayed.
And then the madam stormed in, and Meng Yao scrambled back on his haunches, gasping in pain from the sudden movement. Everything below his waist felt raw, stung. Those men were rough, and three of them wanting him in one hour—it was too much.
“Get yourself cleaned up! You have another customer!” She spat at him. “Paid extra for you, so you better not disappoint him.”
Extra? Meng Yao’s heart sank. And what happened to his hour? He glanced around the room, terrified. How much did this person pay for him, and why? Was it like the Wen commander who had been here the day before?
“Make yourself presentable. Clean up the mess.” She wrinkled her nose as she glared at the sheets. “You have only a few minutes. Do it or so help me, I’ll sell you to the ones who like to use whips!”
Meng Yao couldn’t even speak. He could still taste—them. He got to his feet, shrugging into his thin silken robe.
When he looked back over his shoulder, he saw that the madam had taken his tip. He wanted to cry again. Give me those coins.
What even for? He could not buy his freedom, not even if he saved for years. And he would not survive a year.
No time. He gargled water, spitting it out, and chugged back another gulp of stinging cheap wine to dull his senses. It didn’t work. He still felt filthy inside and out. He wanted to lean his head against the windowless wall, surrender and die, but he couldn’t. He fumbled to soothe his smudged makeup, sharpen the eyeliner and apply red paint to his lips, straighten the bed. No time to change the sheets, so he arranged them so that the stains were hidden.
The madam kept her arms crossed, watching him. Apparently he wasn’t fast enough. “Useless!” She slapped him.
Meng Yao stumbled. She grasped his wrist, righting him, and then slapped him on the other cheek. “Next time, use more rouge, so I don’t have to do this! You look like a ghost, and no one wants to sleep with death!”
He hunched his shoulders. “Yes, Madam.”
She nodded. “Bite your lips. Make them look larger. God, did those last people not believe in kissing or something? I’ll bring him in now.”
Meng Yao clutched his wrist, breathing deep, trying not to vomit.
Two days earlier
Lan Wangji and Wei Wuxian returned to Lan Xichen, who was searching with Nie Mingjue while also trying not to neglect the battlefield.
Two wars.
Was Meng Yao worth the cultivational world? Lan Qiren had demanded that of his nephew, though Lan Xichen had not told him that Meg Yao was anything but merely missing, and Lan Xichen could only say that a world that fought for freedom and did this was a world built on the still-smoldering ashes of Qishan.
“We found him,” Wei Wuxian said. “At least, we found where he likely is. Trouble is, Wens are in the area.”
“No trouble at all,” said Nie Mingjue icily, wiping Baxia.
“Xiongzhang,” Wangji said, gaze lowered. “We could not save him there. He wasn’t there anymore. We traced the commander to a town where we found a brothel owner had sold a ‘golden peony’ to a member of the Wen Sect. Likely they know of his parentage.”
Lan Xichen wanted to vomit. “So they—”
“The brothel where he was,” said Wei Wuxian. “Is a place for Wen Sect sympathizers and soldiers to spend themselves on wives of officers, daughters, captives. They would have deflowered him there, and then sold him to a common brothel. People only stay there for a few nights at most, apparently.”
So Meng Yao had been passed around between brothels? Lan Xichen thought he might faint.
Lan Xichen met Nie Mingjue’s gaze. He was not backing out. Not now.
Wei Wuxian found Wen Sect uniforms for them to infiltrate in. They worked out a plan—in enemy territory, they would have to be covert.
“Honestly, it’s probably best if one of us pretends to buy him,” said Wei Wuxian. He sighed.
“Where is your sword?” demanded Nie Mingjue.
“Forgot it,” Wei Wuxian replied. Nie Mingjue’s gaze flashed with indignation, which Wei Wuxian ignored.
How odd. Lan Xichen was used to Young Master Wei’s flippancy, but he had always been very skilled with his Suibian.
“We can take him back afterwards, protect us,” said Wei Wuxian. “Jiang Cheng won’t mind. Your Sect Leaders work on ending Wen Ruohan.” He fiddled with his flute. “Although, he might need medical treatment, and quickly after we find him.”
Lan Xichen nodded. He knew Meng Yao likely would need it, but—
Who could they trust? The Lan Sect was too far away, and the Jin and Nie Sect… even Nie Mingjue had to know that his threats would not prevent people from talking.
Nie Mingjue did not even try to brashly proclaim that he would. Yet, what choices did they have?
“If you will allow me,” Wei Wuxian said quickly. “There is a village in the area with a Wen doctor who—helped Jiang Cheng and I escape after the massacre at Lotus Pier.” He swallowed.
“A Wen?” snapped Nie Mingjue.
“She helped us,” Wei Wuxian repeated, gaze meeting Chifeng-Zun’s.
“Has this woman tried to stop Wen Ruohan, or just—”
“She will stay silent,” said Wei Wuxian. “I know she will.” His voice trembled. Lan Wangji suddenly looked pale. “Lan Zhan and I can get her while the two of you rescue Meng Yao. We’ll meet you just outside of Wen territory.”
Present day
The madam pushed the door to the room at the end of the hall open. No windows, Lan Xichen noticed. It reeked of sweat and debauchery, the floral perfumes failing to cover the scent up.
Lan Xichen tensed. He held his breath as he spotted Meng Yao perched on the edge of a bed, hands clenched, shoulders hunched, face tilted down demurely. Like a prostitute. His face was flushed and he had dipped crimson on his lips. His fingers clenched around his thin robe, wringing the silk, revealing how distressed he was. His hair was woven into braids across his scalp, falling in soft ink across his shoulders. The robe was loose around his chest, falling open to reveal a sliver of skin.
“Does he please you?”
He nodded at the madam, unable to speak for fear that he would explode what he really thought onto her, destroy her. Meng Yao still wouldn’t look at him.
The madam left the room, closing the door with a click. Footsteps echoed as she walked away.
Lan Xichen’s hand flew out, grasping his shoulder.
Look at me.
A-Yao.
Meng Yao swallowed, a lump bobbing in his throat. His voice came husky: “What would you have me do?” He lifted his face, eyes ringed in black, biting his lips.
He froze. His eyes latched onto Lan Xichen’s. His mouth fell open. His eyes filled.
A cry broke through his lips. A cry of utter humiliation.
“I’m here for you,” Lan Xichen blurted out, crouching down in front of him. “I—I’m here to save you. Chifeng-Zun and I; we’re here for you. Chifeng-Zun is going to kill those men, the three who were just here—”
Meng Yao’s face looked paler and paler. The makeup looked truly ghoulish on him. He shook his head, squirming backwards. “You—you—know that they—?” His voice cracked, raw. He jarred a pillow.
Lan Xichen spotted a stain hidden by the pillow. He clenched his abdomen, fighting a retch. “It wasn’t your fault; it—”
Meng Yao clutched his face. “I’m a—he’s a—I’m—” He was trying not to scream, hitting himself with his palms.
Lan Xichen grasped his wrists, putting his face close to Meng Yao’s. He smelled the wine on his breath, saw petechiae scattered on his cheekbone as if he had been hit. “I’m helping you escape.”
Meng Yao gaped, and then guttural sobs broke from his lips.
He really didn’t think they would come, did he?
“A-Yao, no one deserves this, no one—you don’t—not you, not you—”
He was still sobbing. “My—my father—”
Lan Xichen wrapped his arms around him, and Meng Yao didn’t pull away. He rested his face in the crook of Lan Xichen’s neck, hot tears gushing down. “Shh,” Lan Xichen said. “Shh, shh, A-Yao.” His body, quivering, felt so small.
“They—they made me—”
“You don’t have to talk about it.” He spotted a few traces of blood on the edge of the sheets, and gritted his teeth so hard that a sharp pain jolted through his jaw.
Meng Yao pulled back. He tried to wipe the makeup off his lips, the powder off his face. Lan Xichen got to his feet, grasping a pitcher of water and soaking his sleeves with it. He used them to help wash Meng Yao’s face, Meng Yao’s teeth still chattering in fear.
“They sealed my cultivation.” He was trying to explain. Trying to defend.
Of course they had. Lan Xichen reached out, tapping several acupoints. “Not anymore.”
Meng Yao exhaled. “They won’t let me go easily.”
“Do not worry about that.” If only the room had a window. Well, no matter. Either way. Either way, Lan Xichen was not allowing Meng Yao to spend another moment in this place. He took off his outer robe, cringing. “The sleeves are wet.” He helped Meng Yao to his feet and then into the robe, tying it over the silken robe that hid next to nothing. It almost swallowed his small frame.
“Zewu-Jun, your—”
“Lan Xichen,” he corrected, clutching Meng Yao’s shoulder. I will not disavow you .
“Lan Xichen,” Meng Yao repeated. “Are you just going to fight your way out?”
Er… “Of course.”
Meng Yao swallowed. He hung his head, wringing Lan Xichen’s robes. “I—Sect—Lan Xichen, you may think me wanton for this, but…”
“What?” He would never think such a thing.
“I cannot walk well,” he whispered, eyes reddening.
Oh . Lan Xichen hitched his breath.
“If—if you really want to—if you carry me, you can simply say you want to show me off. No one will notice until we’re downstairs, and then, from there—” Meng Yao’s face flushed with shame at what he was asking Lan Xichen to do.
Ah, of course. Lan Xichen nodded. “A good idea.” He took Meng Yao in his arms. Meng Yao gulped.
“Hide your face,” Lan Xichen said softly.
“I’m a good actor.”
“Act while hiding. You don’t have to see it.”
Meng Yao pressed his face into Lan Xichen’s shoulder. He wrapped his arms around his neck.
Lan Xichen kicked the door open, carrying him in a princess style down the stairs. Meng Yao nuzzled his neck, pretending. The madam rushed over. “Young Master, is he not—”
“He’s shy,” said Lan Xichen. “But—good.” He didn’t know how to lie. He had to. “I—want him to feed me some grapes.”
“Ah, of course, of course!” The madam rushed for the kitchen.
The hell with this. Lan Xichen bolted for the door. He raced outside, sword slapping against his thigh. He’d never been outside so undressed in his life, but— His gaze searched every nearby street as he ran. Mingjue-xiong—
He smelled iron in the air and skidded to a stop by a certain alley. Three men lay on the ground, all of them without their heads, without their—well—and Nie Mingjue towered over them, panting, Baxia shaking in his hand as if he couldn’t believe he had just—
The savagery turned Lan Xichen’s stomach, but he was glad for it. He only wished he could.
Am I a murderer?
These three men had raped Meng Yao.
“Mingjue-xiong,” said Lan Xichen.
Meng Yao refused to lift his head, clinging tightly to Lan Xichen. He thought he felt Meng Yao suck in his breath at the mention of Chifeng-Zun.
“Is he—” breathed Nie Mingjue.
“He’s all right,” said Lan Xichen, but the truth was that he could feel a few droplets of blood already damp on the backside of Meng Yao’s robe. “We need to—”
“There they are!” bellowed a voice. Nie Mingjue grasped Baxia again. Meng Yao gasped.
“No!” Lan Xichen cried out. “We have to get out of here!” He set Meng Yao down, shifting him to his back as he mounted Shouyue.
Nie Mingjue cursed, but he climbed onto Baxia, and they flew off.
Nie Mingjue had come for him?
Did he have any regret?
Bitterness churned inside Meng Yao. You sent me to a fate worse than death.
Lan Xichen’s body was warm. His felt cold, felt foreign after being claimed by so many. His hips hurt, his lips, his wrists from being held down, his genitals and ass, his nipples and throat.
There was no place they hadn’t touched, hadn’t polluted.
He lifted his gaze towards the stars, white pearls embroidered on fine blue silk. Mother…
I’m free, but Father doesn’t want me, and I can’t fault him.
Mother, I’m gross.
Tears slipped down his cheeks, and he felt no cleaner for them.
They landed a little while later at a village. Lan Xichen set him on the ground, and pain stabbed through his midsection. He sucked in his breath, trying not to double over as he hobbled. Lan Xichen quickly remembered and grasped him in his arms again, but not before Nie Mingjue saw.
Shit.
They hurried to an inn. Meng Yao tensed as Lan Xichen nodded at the innkeeper, hurrying up the stairs and into a large room.
Lan Wangji was there, as was—that must be Wei Wuxian, he realized, noticing the flute. And two Wen Sect disciples.
Panic shot through him. He squirmed. Lan Xichen—
“Wen Qing is a doctor,” explained Lan Xichen. “She will help us.”
“I-I-I’m her br-brother,” stammered the boy.
“We’ll take Wen Ning for tea,” Wei Wuxian said quickly. Lan Wangji followed the two of them out.
“They did not tell me why you need a doctor,” Wen Qing said finally. “I presume it’s him who does.”
Lan Xichen set Meng Yao down again, gently this time. “Yes.”
So, then, Wen Ning wouldn’t know… Lan Wangji must, but Wei Wuxian—
Meng Yao realized Nie Mingjue’s eyes had latched onto a purple bruise on his neck and covered it with his hand. His stomach lurched.
Wen Qing had seen it too. She let out a sigh and pursed her lips, turning towards her medical satchel. “I’m sorry.”
Meng Yao couldn’t speak. He was too afraid to so much as look at Nie Mingjue.
Whore .
“There are medicines I’ll give you, Meng Yao, to prevent any infection or disease,” Wen Qing said. “Other than that, if you have any injuries… I can treat you for those as well.”
He wanted to shrivel up and rot away already. He couldn’t speak.
“Do you have injuries?” Wen Qing asked.
Lan Xichen could easily say what he had told him. But he did not, Meng Yao could feel blood still leaking from him, blood and—other fluids. He gave a small nod.
“You should both stand guard at the door,” directed Wen Qing. “This type of—exam—is personal.” Her voice softened. “I’ve given it to people before. If you feel uncomfortable, Meng Yao, then—”
He did not want to be alone with a Wen Sect member. Meng Yao cringed. But how could he say such a thing?
“One of them could stay with you, if you wanted,” Wen Qing added, as if she could read his mind. “Whatever you are most comfortable with.”
Meng Yao wanted to speak. He still couldn’t. His throat tightened.
“I will stay,” Lan Xichen said quickly. “Mingjue-xiong—”
Meng Yao finally lifted his gaze again, seeing that Nie Mingjue was looking in horror at his robes, at—
Dammit. Blood splotched the back of them, he was sure. He turned away again, but not before a sniffle broke through his lips.
Nie Mingjue glared at Wen Qing. “You better treat him well, Wen-dog.”
Meng Yao flinched. Certainly it hadn’t been Nie Mingjue’s idea to work with a Wen.
“I will, but not because you ordered me to,” snapped Wen Qing. “I’ll treat him well because he’s an innocent. I will not take out your rudeness on him. Now, before I have to ask again: get the fuck out.”
That such a beautiful woman could say such words—Meng Yao coughed. Nie Mingjue spluttered, but he stormed out. “Xichen, I’ll be guarding the door.”
“As I suggested,” Wen Qing said pleasantly. She smirked at Meng Yao.
She was trying to make him laugh. Meng Yao managed a weak smile.
“You also might want to get hot water and a bath brought up here in a little bit. I am sure your friend will want to bath,” Wen Qing added.
“Hmph!” Nie Mingjue closed the door.
A bath. He hadn’t had one since arriving at the second brothel not quite a week ago—not a proper one. He’d been wiping himself down with damp clothes, but he was only bathed before being sold for the first time that night, and the first night at the second place, and he was not able to do it himself.
Would he finally feel clean? His heart pounded.
He met her gaze. “I’ve killed Wens. I—” am not innocent.
“It’s war,” Wen Qing said. “None of our hands are clean, but this—” She gritted her teeth. “Are you hurt anywhere besides…”
“My chest,” he admitted softly, still feeling the skin throbbing there.
“Lie down on your side, if you can. I’ll only uncover whatever I need to be working on, and I’ll talk to you about what I’m doing as I do it, okay?”
He wanted to die of shame, transform into a worm, hide under moist earth and never pop his head out again.
“How many?” she asked as he gingerly lay down on his side. “Were you with?” Her voice was low, but he knew Lan Xichen could still hear.
“Three tonight. Before…” He closed his eyes. “I don’t know. Dozens.” At least.
“That’s okay,” said Wen Qing. “Mouth, too?”
He nodded, trying to imagine Lan Xichen’s face when he heard such a thing, when he undoubtedly realized that Meng Yao was corrupted inside and out.
Wen Qing set to work pulling out several herbs and elixirs from her medicinal pouch. She turned to Lan Xichen, whom Meng Yao finally dared to look at. His face was as white as his robes.
“Lan Xichen,” said Wen Qing. “Boil these. That will create a brew that will protect you from most diseases and treat any you might have.”
A tear worked its way out of his eye. Humiliation pressed into him like a branding iron. Still, he couldn’t stop shivering.
He was so dirty.
She parted the chest of his robe to examine the bite marks on his chest, rubbing a salve into them and muttering. A sweet smell filled the air as Lan Xichen boiled the elixir. Meng Yao didn’t want him to see, but he couldn’t hide the wounds. They stung, and one was certainly infected.
“When did you get these?”
“Two days ago,” he said. “I washed them with soap, but it wasn’t good quality. I asked him not to.” And he had gotten a slap for it.
“You don’t need to keep assuring me of that,” Wen Qing said. “These are not on you.”
The salve stung against the infected one. He winced.
“Are you injured anywhere else?” she asked gently.
“Just… there.”
“I know.” She left the robe covering him. He closed his eyes, pulling his knees up to his chest at her direction, trying to stifle his sobs.
A hand on his brow. He cracked his eyes open to see Lan Xichen there, facing him, thus assuring Meng Yao he wasn’t watching as Wen Qing worked to stop his bleeding. Lan Xichen stroked Meng Yao’s hair, eyes turbulent, opening his mouth a few times and closing it, unable to say anything. His fingers fumbled to undo the braids as Wen Qing worked, and when Meng Yao flinched, Lan Xichen didn’t react, only kept combing his hair with his fingers.
Thank you.
“You’re going to be fine,” Wen Qing said finally, stepping away from the bed. “Lan Xichen, pour that tea. It should help.” She uncapped a small vial, adding it to the tea as well.
“What’s that?” Meng Yao managed, sitting up.
“To help you sleep. It takes a while to work, though, so you can bathe before. And put this salve on your injuries after.” She pressed a container into his hand. Lan Xichen handed him the potion. It tasted sweet, but as if the sweetness was covering up a bitter sting. He gulped it quickly.
“Did you eat much?” Lan Xichen asked. “Do you want me to get you any food?”
Meng Yao shook his head. He wasn’t hungry. Wen Qing went and told Nie Mingjue to bring in the bathtub and water, which he did, still not looking at Meng Yao.
“I’ll be right outside,” Lan Xichen assured him.
Don’t go, he wanted to say, but he couldn’t.
The moment the door shut and he was alone, he stripped and stepped into the tub. He wanted these men’s sweat off of him. He wanted the water to boil him until he was completely clean. He wanted—he wanted—
Mother.
Who would want him? Where would he go? Even if everyone kept it silent, it would surely come out.
His father let him be sold as a whore.
Tears streamed down his face. He didn’t want to cry. He didn’t want to not cry. He didn’t want to do anything at all.
He slid his head under the water, wishing he could breathe it in, but he couldn’t.
I want to live.
He just didn’t want this life.
Lan Xichen waited outside the room with Nie Mingjue. Wen Qing had gone off to get food, or some water, or something.
Neither of them spoke. Lan Xichen tried not to shiver. It wasn’t from cold. He just couldn’t—the little Meng Yao had said—
“How is he?” Nie Mingjue asked.
Lan Xichen met his gaze. He felt words deserting him, too tired to give an honest answer. “How do you think he is?”
Nie Mingjue cursed. He turned towards the door, swore again, and then stomped across the hall. “I can’t believe Jin Guangshan is such a pig.”
“Meng Yao is a wonderful friend,” said Lan Xichen. “He’s a good person, really, Nie Mingjue. Despite…” His voice trailed off.
Mother, you were a good woman too, right?
Nie Mingjue rubbed his temples. “I—I—two wrongs do not cancel each other out.”
Lan Xichen recoiled. “I’m not asking for that to be—don’t you think he’s suffered enough?”
“Of course I do! I just—” Nie Mingjue closed his eyes, tilting his head back. “This was not justice. Not at all. Not even related to the idea of killing someone for his lack of credit—”
“Credit?” interrupted a voice behind him. A snort. Nie Mingjue turned, Lan Xichen too.
Wei Wuxian stood there, arms folded. “I’d say he is doing everything he can to earn his father’s approval, Jin Guangshan knows it, and he decided to tell his son exactly what he thinks of him by allowing this to happen to him. He punished his son for wanting to impress him, for wanting to be a part of his family, by showing him what family he thinks he’s a part of.”
Lan Xichen doubled over.
“It was the commander, and I’ve already—” Nie Mingjue looked down at his shoes.
Wei Wuxian snorted. “You really think a commander would do this to a sect leader’s son?”
“Mn,” said Lan Wangji, appearing with Wen Ning. “Because Jin Guangshan does not care about his son. He would rather forget. He cannot be bothered. Though, indeed, the commander likely worked based on that logic.”
Wei Wuxian’s eyes widened. He blew his breath out.
Somehow that felt worse. Lan Xichen rested his head in his hands.
“Excuse me,” said Wen Qing’s voice.
“Maiden Wen,” said Nie Mingjue, voice stiff.
“Not going to lop my head off?” She snorted.
“What should we do?” Lan Xichen whispered.
Wen Qing rubbed at her temples. “This kind of thing has an effect on the mind even more than the physical. He’ll live, but he’ll be hurt. He is hurt, and there are injuries I cannot heal.”
Lan Xichen nodded. “What do we do? What can we do to help him?”
“Don’t fault him for what happened,” Wen Qing said. “Yes, even if he killed that commander; I heard you talking. Don’t even bring that up, not right now. He just needs comfort for the time being. The medicines I gave him, and the salves, should protect him from venereal disease.” She folded her arms. “If he wants to talk, let him. Don’t treat it like it’s something shameful, but understand he might be ashamed of it.” She pushed through them, knocking on the door. “Young Master Meng? Are you there?”
No answer.
Lan Xichen’s heart started to pound.
She knocked again, and then swore. She pushed the door open. “Ah.”
Lan Xichen burst in behind her. Relief surged through him when he saw that Meng Yao was okay, chest rising normally. He had wrapped himself in Lan Xichen’s robe again, curling up on the bed with his hair still damp.
“The potion must have worked,” Wen Qing remarked.
Lan Xichen nodded. But he knew when he saw the pinch in A-Yao’s brows. He’d woken to this man’s face quite a few mornings, and he knew how Meng Yao looked when he slept, and when he pretended.
You’re not asleep. Not yet.
Meng Yao just didn’t want to face them.
He sat next to the bed. “I’ll stay on the floor tonight.” You won’t be alone .
Gradually, A-Yao’s breaths evened out.