Chapter Text
Lan Qiren stood at the foot of Yiling's marketplace, his brow furrowed in displeasure. The bustling crowd pressed around him, merchants shouting, children darting between stalls, and the occasional smell of unfamiliar spices wafting through the air. Yiling was chaotic, a far cry from the order and discipline of the Cloud Recesses. Yet here he was, venturing into the heart of it, not for pleasure or curiosity, but for duty. And perhaps, he admitted to himself, for family.
His hand rested lightly on the hilt of his sword as he scanned the marketplace. Somewhere in this maze of people was the man he had come for.
Wei Wuxian.
A sharp sigh escaped his lips at the thought of the young man who had once been a thorn in his side during those chaotic months of teaching at the Cloud Recesses. Wei Wuxian, with his easy smile and unrelenting mischief, had pushed every boundary of the 3,000 strict rules of the Lan Clan. In those days, Lan Qiren had spent more time administering punishments to Wei Wuxian than he had teaching the rest of his students. But the boy had been undeniably talented, if frustratingly defiant.
Now, years after the war, the boy who had once seemed invincible had fallen into a shadow darker than any Lan Qiren had imagined for him. Resentful energy clung to Wei Wuxian like a second skin, marking him in the eyes of the world as dangerous. While against rumours, even the Cloud Recesses had heard of the rumors of his actions, and they were enough to chill the blood of even the most hardened cultivators. They spoke of a new Wen army, of stolen children and defiled brides. And of course, the demonic cultivation. He had become, to most, a living embodiment of what the righteous sects fought against.
And yet... Wangji…
Lan Qiren's heart clenched at the thought of his younger nephew, the boy he had raised alongside Lan Xichen after his brother’s seclusion. Lan Wangji was as disciplined as any Lan should be, and yet, when it came to Wei Wuxian, all that composure seemed to falter. Lan Wangji had always been drawn to him, even as a youth. After the war, despite all the rumors and accusations, the fights between the two, Lan Wangji had only become more protective of the man many now called the Yiling Patriarch. Lan Qiren had watched with growing concern as his nephew’s infatuation deepened into something more unshakable.
It was this concern that had led him here today, his fear for the repeating of a history. To prevent this, he would determine the situation himself after talking to Wei Wuxian, not as a Clan elder, but as his former teacher and, more importantly, Wangji’s uncle.
Never had he imagined himself needing to mingle in his younger nephew’s love life, if you could even call it that. Xichen had always been more loving, more open, more out there, in his own gentle way. He had been the nephew being caught with some of the female guest disciples, during their study. Lan Qiren had long since then made peace with the chance of having to interfere in Xichen’s life on that front, should it ever be necessary. Yet, it was Wangji actually following his father’s footsteps, however minimal, for now.
Suddenly, through the movement of the market, Lan Qiren's keen eyes spotted a familiar figure. Wei Wuxian was standing by a stall, haggling with a merchant over what seemed to be a handful of fresh vegetables. What struck Lan Qiren first was how much he had changed since he’d last seen him.
Gone was the vibrant youth who had exuded confidence and strength. In his place was a man who looked older than his years, older than his peers. His once-lustrous hair was tied back carelessly, his frame thin, his robes hanging loosely on him. A stubble on his face and shadows under his eyes.
But it wasn’t just his appearance that startled Lan Qiren—Wei Wuxian was holding a small child in his arms, a boy no more than two or three years old.
The child, round-faced and curious, if a bit too thin for a kid his age, was laughing and tugging on Wei Wuxian's robes. The contrast was jarring.
Wei Wuxian, the supposed demon cultivator, was doting on the boy with a softness Lan Qiren had never seen from him before.
The boy was pointing at him, as though he knew him. Considering Wangji had been here, perhaps he thought he was seeing someone else. It got Wei Wuxian’s attention all the same.
"Lan-laoshi," Wei Wuxian greeted, using the old title with a familiar but teasing smile, one that didn’t reach his eyes. “What brings you to Yiling? Looking to take a vacation? This is hardly a relaxing place.”
Lan Qiren frowned at the impertinence, but before he could respond, Wei Wuxian shifted the child in his arms, bouncing him gently. "Oh, right. This is A-Yuan. My son." His grin widened, mischievous as ever. "Isn't he cute?"
Lan Qiren's frown deepened, more out of confusion than annoyance. A son? There had been no mention of Wei Wuxian having a child. Rumors, however, were forbidden in the Cloud Recesses, and if there had been whispers of this, they had not reached him. Still, the sight of Wei Wuxian with a child, his son, seemed implausible.
“You... have a son?” Lan Qiren asked slowly, eyes flickering between the child and Wei Wuxian’s face, searching for answers.
Wei Wuxian smirked, the teasing tone from years ago fully present. “Of course. Who else would have such an adorable baby? I birthed him myself.”
Lan Qiren’s lips pressed into a tight line, a familiar exasperation bubbling up. There go all his inquiries about the mother. “Wei Wuxian, this is no time for your foolish jokes.”
Wei Wuxian shrugged, shifting the child to his other arm with an ease that suggested familiarity. A-Yuan giggled, reaching for Wei Wuxian’s face and poking at his cheek. The warmth in Wei Wuxian's expression as he looked at the child was so at odds with the dark rumors swirling around him that it left Lan Qiren momentarily speechless.
Lan Qiren’s gaze swept over the marketplace again, noting the relaxed way the villagers interacted with Wei Wuxian. There was no fear, no signs that they saw him as the infamous Yiling Patriarch. To them, he was just a man, a father, bartering for vegetables with a child in his arms.
But why? Why did no one seem to recognize him? Were they unaware of his deeds? Or was Wei Wuxian intentionally hiding in plain sight? Surely these people had noticed the group retreating to the Burial Mounds, living this close to it?
“I came to assess the situation in Yiling,” Lan Qiren finally said, his voice regaining its usual firmness. “To determine the truth behind the rumours about you and the Wen remnants.”
“Rumours? Why, Lan-Laoshi, I thought those were forbidden on your mountain!”
Not deigning his dig with an answer, Lan Qiren glared at the young man, having learned that responding only fuels him to continue.
Wei Wuxian’s smile faded slightly, stepping away from the vegetable stall. “The truth is that they’re mostly old, frail, and harmless. I’ve stated as much before. But you wouldn’t believe that, would you?”
Lan Qiren regarded him carefully. “There are conflicting reports. You took them from a Jin work camp. You killed the guards.”
“I did,” Wei Wuxian admitted, his voice flat. “But I didn’t take an army of cultivators. Just people who didn’t deserve to die for what others did.”
Lan Qiren was reminded of what Xichen had told him, a while ago, just after Wei Wuxian had descended on the work camp. He had told him of only two people willing to look at the situation from Wei Wuxian’s point of view. One was, of course, Wangji, who had spoken up against Jin Guangshan when he had falsely claimed the demonic cultivator had been disrespectful toward his sect leader.
The other had been Luo Qingyang, a close friend of Jin Zixuan. While she had disagreed with his actions, she had objected to the claims he had indiscriminately killed Jin cultivators. She sought reason in his doings and was promptly ridiculed and shunned, effectively causing her to immediately leave the Jin sect. How had anyone allowed that to happen?
Lan Qiren felt a surge of frustration, both at his poor initiative and the situation at hand. “You should not have aligned yourself with them. The Wen name-”
“Is just a name,” Wei Wuxian interrupted, his voice low but steady. He looked down at A-Yuan, brushing a hand through the child’s hair. “And this one deserves a chance to live, doesn’t he?”
Lan Qiren opened his mouth to make clear on his meaning, but the child, A-Yuan, tugged at Wei Wuxian’s robes again, looking up at him with wide, trusting eyes. “Yes, baobei?”
The child seemed to whisper something in Wei Wuxian’s ear, a small hand shielding his words. It must have been something funny, as the young man gave a soft laugh before wanting to respond, but being interrupted by… something.
Wei Wuxian went rigid as his head snapped to the other side, staring at nothing. The air around him became colder, and Lan Qiren fought not to take a step back in surprise.
“Where?” The Yiling Patriarch asked, tone serious and face almost concerned. “How long?”
Whatever answer he received to that question spurred him into action as he took long paces the other way, walking out of the busy market place and to the slightly less busy dock. He only hesitated a second, looking down at the boy in his arms and back at Lan Qiren with trepidation.
Yet he still handed the boy over, all the while glaring at his former teacher and threatening, “If anything happens to him, the burning of the Cloud Recesses will not be the worst thing that ever happened to it.” Then he broke out into a sprint, while tugging his robes loose.
Lan Qiren was not one easily stumped, but now he stood there almost dumbfounded. He stared after Wei Wuxian, before peering down at the child in his arms, confusion surely shown on his face. The boy didn’t seem to care about his relocation, though he was clearly less at ease now than he was in Wei Wuxian’s arms.
Contrary to popular belief, Lan Qiren liked children. They were clumsy and loud, yes, but also kind and curious. They could be taught to be upright and honest, to be good men and women. They were what made him want to be a teacher, to try and help them on their way to greatness.
That didn’t mean he liked being saddled with a random child —the Yiling Patriarch’s child!— without any previous heads up or explanation.
A-Yuan pulled on his spotless robe and pointed the way his caretaker had gone. “Can we go too, Beard-shu?”
The question took the teacher from his shock and he began striding vastly after where the scoundrel had disappeared off to.
Lan Qiren’s long strides carried him through the winding streets of Yiling, A-Yuan bobbing in his arms as they followed Wei Wuxian’s path. The child’s small hands gripped tightly onto Lan Qiren’s robes, his wide eyes watching the marketplace as it faded behind them, replaced by the quieter, eerier stretch leading toward the river docks.
Lan Qiren’s heart clenched with a growing sense of foreboding. Crowds had begun to gather by the water, people murmuring anxiously as they pointed toward the riverbank. The sight of Wei Wuxian, bare-chested and soaked through, knelt by the water’s edge, sent a jolt through Lan Qiren.
A murmur of shock rippled through the crowd, but not only because of the woman Wei Wuxian was dragging ashore. It was the sight of him, stripped down to only his pants, exposing a multitude of scars—deep lashes across his back from a whip, the Wen clan's brand seared into his chest, and a patchwork of old stab wounds covering his torso. He looked almost like one of the ghouls he raised, with how his ribs showed through his skin. How long had it been since he had taken in the Wen? His dark hair clung to his wet skin, and despite the murmurs around him, Wei Wuxian moved without hesitation, dragging the limp form of a woman onto the dock.
Lan Qiren stared, wondering what he had heard or seen that had told the young man about this recent death. The crowd began to grow louder as Wei Wuxian knelt beside the woman, his sharp eyes scanning her pale face, her lips already turning blue.
“A-Lian!” An older lady, the woman’s mother, cried out.
“She’s dead,” someone muttered in the crowd.
“Bad omen,” another hissed. “The Patriarch’s doing… another girl taken.”
Lan Qiren’s frown deepened. It seemed not all of the people in Yiling had warmed to the demonic cultivator, like the people at the market square had.
Wei Wuxian ignored them all, his focus entirely on the drowned woman. He didn’t even bother checking for a pulse, as if he already knew. Then, without hesitation, he leaned forward and began loosening the woman’s sash, pulling her robes loose, pulling them open to almost expose her chest. Though he seemed to have enough respect to not expose her breasts to the onlookers.
Still, the reaction from the crowd was immediate.
A gasp of outrage broke through the air, followed by harsh whispers.
“What is he doing?!” a man shouted.
“He’s defiling her!” a woman cried, covering her child’s eyes. “Wicked! Yiling Patriarch’s wickedness!”
Wei Wuxian paid no mind to their accusations, his expression one of grim concentration. With her robes loosened, he pressed his hands over her chest and began rhythmic compressions. The crowd, already on edge, recoiled further, their whispers growing into angry mutterings.
“He’s trying to use dark magic!”
“Don’t look—he’s raising her corpse with his sorcery!”
Lan Qiren’s heart clenched with frustration at their ignorance, but even he was unfamiliar with what Wei Wuxian was doing. This technique… It was no spell, no incantation. Wei Wuxian was working methodically, his movements sure and precise. It was something else entirely.
Wei Wuxian’s hands pressed down on the woman’s chest, his brow furrowed with effort. He paused to tilt her head back, pinch her nose, and blow air into her mouth. The act, which would have been shocking to anyone unfamiliar with lifesaving techniques, only added to the crowd’s horror.
The kiss of life, some called it. Lan Qiren remembered hearing of it now, way back when he was still a junior cultivator. It had baffled him, this technique, since it had been explained as a last resort, and an unnecessary one if you were a cultivator. Using spiritual energy, you could expel the water from one’s lungs and shock the heart into motion again. He had thought it needless, such a hands-on method.
A man at the front of the gathering spat in Wei Wuxian’s direction. “See? He’s putting something in her—his resentful energy, no doubt! I’ve seen this kind of thing before!”
“Yiling Patriarch!” another shouted. “He’s defiling the dead! Someone stop him!”
Lan Qiren felt his irritation surge, but he held his ground. Wei Wuxian was clearly not performing any dark rituals—it was an attempt to save the woman’s life. But the crowd’s hysteria was mounting, fueled by ignorance and fear.
Wei Wuxian’s expression remained focused, his movements tireless. He alternated between chest compressions and breathing into the woman’s mouth, ignoring the angry accusations hurled at him. Just when Lan Qiren feared the worst—that Wei Wuxian’s efforts might be in vain—a sudden cough erupted from the woman’s throat.
Water spluttered from her mouth as her body convulsed, gasping for air. Her chest heaved, and a shaky breath escaped her lips. The Yiling Patriarch pushed her to her side, allowing her to cough up the water, while he pulled her robes close at the same time.
The crowd fell into stunned silence, their accusatory words dying on their tongues as they stared at the woman, alive and coughing on the dock, rather than a raised fierce corpse.
“Oh, nannan! A-Lian!” The mother hurried over at the first sign of life of her child, tears already running down her face.
Wei Wuxian leaned back on his heels, breathing heavily, but a small, triumphant smile curved his lips. He wiped his wet face with the back of his hand, his eyes glancing toward the woman, making sure she was breathing steadily.
But the murmurs began again, this time tinged with awe and suspicion. The crowd seemed torn between fear and disbelief, uncertain of what they had just witnessed.
"He brought her back from the dead…" a woman whispered.
"Impossible," another muttered. "How could he have…"
Lan Qiren stepped forward, his voice cutting through the murmurs with the firmness of an elder. “Enough. What you witnessed was not sorcery.”
The crowd turned toward him, their eyes wide with uncertainty.
“What Wei Wuxian did was a technique used to save lives,” Lan Qiren continued, his voice steady but authoritative. “The Yunmeng Jiang have long practiced such methods, living as they do on the water.”
His words seemed to settle some of the crowd’s nerves, though suspicion lingered in their eyes. Still, a few began to back away, muttering under their breath. Some turned and hurried off, while others stayed behind, whispering amongst themselves but keeping their distance.
Wei Wuxian, still kneeling beside the woman, glanced up at Lan Qiren, a wry smile on his lips. “Thank you, Lan-laoshi,” he said, his voice low and somewhat teasing, though there was a weariness in his eyes. “I didn’t think I’d be getting help from you of all people.”
Lan Qiren’s lips pressed into a thin line. “You saved a life.”
Wei Wuxian chuckled, shaking his head as he glanced back at the woman, who was now slowly coming to her senses. He tugged his robes back into place,—murmuring something that sounded like ‘Wen Qing is gonna kill me if I catch a cold again’— covering the scars that had been on full display moments before, though the crowd’s whispers had already taken note of them.
Lan Qiren’s gaze softened slightly as he studied Wei Wuxian—his former student, the one who had caused him so much frustration in the past. He could see it now, clearly: the boy who had been full of life, talent, and mischievous energy, now burdened with scars both physical and emotional.
This was no villain—no demonic figure of evil intent. He was simply a man who had been through too much, trying to survive in a world that had already judged him guilty.
Could this be what Wangji had been seeing? Had he, unlike his father, kept righteousness near when observing Wei Wuxian, only to find him walking alongside that very prospect? He almost wondered how he could have overlooked this, though the answer was obvious as well.
A-Yuan, who had been watching with wide eyes, wriggled in Lan Qiren’s arms, reaching out for Wei Wuxian. “Xian-gege!” the boy called, his voice breaking the tension.
Wei Wuxian’s smile returned, softer this time, as he stood and took the child back into his arms. “Aiyah, such a clingy child.” He chided playfully, while kissing the boy’s head. “Let’s head back, hm? Wen Qing will shout at us otherwise!”
“Qing-jie only yells at you!” The boy giggled as Wei Wuxian turned around to leave the town.
Lan Qiren felt conflicted after all he had witnessed in his short visit to Yiling. Many of the official reports he had heard had already been debunked in the span of half a shichen. He ought to have turned complacent after the war, if he had let rumours take the shape of truth this badly.
With a shake of his head, he followed after the former Yunmeng Jiang disciple. “Wei Wuxian! I request entrance to the Burial Mounds.”
“Mmh, and why is that, Lan-laoshi?”
“It appears not everyone has the same information. I would like to confirm.”
This made Wei Wuxian pause and stare at his former teacher, as though he could gauge his intentions from that look alone. A-Yuan took a moment, looking from the man holding him to Lan Qiren and back, before trying to fix the older one with a similar look.
“I swear by my sword to not harm any of the living on that mountain, should your words hold true.”
Another moment passed before Wei Wuxian huffed out a breath and turned back around, continuing his way to the foot of the mountain. “Do as you please.” That was the best invite Lan Qiren could have hoped for at this point, so he followed suit.
The journey to the Burial Mounds was long, the path winding and steep, but Lan Qiren found himself surprisingly steady. He had visited countless places in his years as a cultivator, but nothing about this trek felt ordinary. The air was thick with resentful energy, a palpable weight that hung around them the closer they got to the peak. It was a stark contrast to the Cloud Recesses' pristine purity, and Lan Qiren’s instincts screamed to raise his sword and push the darkness back.
But he resisted. He had made his promise, and despite Wei Wuxian’s teasing, there was a quiet gravity in the young man now. The playful mask he wore for the villagers and even for Lan Qiren had cracked, revealing a depth of responsibility that went beyond what Lan Qiren had once perceived as reckless bravado.
Eavesdropping was forbidden, but since Lan Qiren didn’t know the way around these treacherous mounds, nor where the dangers were and where they weren’t, he couldn’t help but overhear the conversation being held by Wei Wuxian and his ward.
“Xian-gege… did you like the town jiejie?”
An amused sound answered the boy, teasing was sure to follow. “Oh? Why do you think so, radish? Are you looking for a new mother already?”
“Popo said you can only kiss someone you really really like!” The boy was pulling on Wei Wuxian’s robes and motioning with his little hand, emphasising how important it was, no doubt.
“Mmh, well if popo said so...”
“Then it’s true!”
“Then it’s true. That’s why it wasn’t a kiss! A-Yuan, can you do this?” He took a deep breath, exaggeratedly sucking the air into his lungs. A-Yuan copied him enthusiastically, his round cheeks even rounder as he filled them with air. “Ah, look at you! And here, feel this?” He placed the boy’s hand on his chest, presumably letting him feel his heartbeat. “When you breathe, it makes your heart beat. See, the town jiejie was in such a deep sleep that she couldn’t do either of that herself anymore, so I had to blow some air into her lungs to help her!”
Though the description was barely true to the reality of the situation, it seemed to explain enough of it for A-Yuan to be satisfied and awed. “Can I do that too?”
“Of course! I’ll teach you, but only when you’re bigger! You have to be a big, strong radish before being able to help a jiejie like that, okay?”
“Okay!”
As they ascended the winding path, Lan Qiren allowed the boy's innocent questions and Wei Wuxian’s light-hearted responses to fill the uneasy silence. A-Yuan’s laughter, bright and clear, cut through the oppressive air, making the oppressive journey up the Burial Mounds slightly more bearable. Yet, beneath the surface, Lan Qiren could feel the weight of what lay ahead.
The Wen remnants—those survivors whom Wei Wuxian had pulled from certain death, defying the righteous sects in the process—were still a contentious topic. The fact that they had not attempted any retaliation, that they lived in this forsaken place away from the prying eyes of the world, did not erase the fear their name invoked. The sects had their grudges, deep-rooted and bitter.
As they neared the peak, Lan Qiren saw the beginnings of what could almost be called a community. Crude structures—little more than patched tents and huts—dotted the landscape, all worn and weathered from the elements. What struck him most, though, was the land. This lived-in part of the mounds held life instead of death, and it seemed colour was returning to it. Some shy clumps of grass and even a couple of tiny, young trees. Resentful energy was lesser here.
His eyes, sharp as ever, caught sight of the people who lived here. Many were old, hunched over, their bodies frail and tired. Some younger men were working in a field that didn’t look like it should yield anything edible. Many women were gathered together, mending old clothes or preparing dinner. One of them was pregnant.
“Wei Wuxian,” Lan Qiren called, his tone less formal than before, edged with something close to disbelief. “These are the Wen remnants?”
Wei Wuxian glanced over his shoulder, a wry smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “What did you expect, Lan-laoshi? Soldiers? An army of fierce cultivators ready to burn the sects to the ground?” He shook his head. “They’re just people. People who were too old or too fragile to fight in the war. People who got swept up in a conflict they didn’t start, or have any part in.”
Lan Qiren frowned, his eyes sweeping the camp once more. These people—frail and destitute—were far from the threat the sects had feared and spoken of. They were survivors, yes, but they were not a danger. The old anger he’d held onto, the fear of what the Wen name represented, began to erode as he took in the reality of the situation.
“Popo!” A-Yuan wiggled in Wei Wuxian’s arms, a clear demand to be let down. As soon as his little feet touched the ground, he scurried to an old woman, probably the oldest here, and started recounting the spectacle he’d seen in town as soon as he was close enough. It was a domestic, strangely normal sight, and Lan Qiren was only human. In his mind he saw little Xichen hurrying towards him, running when he forgot himself, to share some of his newly gained knowledge from class. It made his heart ache a little, it had seemed so difficult, then, to take care of a young boy, but now he sees how simple it was. Far simpler than this, for sure.
A figure emerged from one of the larger huts—a woman in her mid-twenties, wearing simple but clean robes. Her sharp gaze fell immediately on Wei Wuxian, narrowing as she took in his damp hair and wet pants. “Wei Wuxian,” she started in a tone that carried both fondness and exasperation, “don’t tell me you jumped into the river again.”
“Ah, Wen Qing,” Wei Wuxian greeted her with a grin, though his tone held the same teasing undertone as always. “Just a little swim. Nothing too serious.”
Wen Qing’s eyes flickered to Lan Qiren and her expression shifted, becoming more guarded. She nodded respectfully but did not speak to him. Instead, she turned back to Wei Wuxian. “If you get sick again, I ought to let you suffer the consequences.”
Again? Cultivators rarely got sick, especially ones with strong golden cores, like Wei Wuxian. The common cold was virtually only a children’s sickness in the cultivation world.
Wei Wuxian waved her off. “I’ll be fine, don’t worry. I’ll just have to change.”
“Change into what? You gave your spares to A-Ning.”
“Right. Then I’ll just run around without pants! Lucky me it’s only autumn and not winter yet.”
Lan Qiren watched the exchange, noting the care with which Wen Qing addressed Wei Wuxian. There was something unspoken between them, a shared understanding that went beyond words. It was clear that this was more than just a group of refugees; they were a community, however small and fragile.
“Wen Qing,” Wei Wuxian said after a pause, “Lan-laoshi wishes to see the state of things here. I thought it might be better if he saw for himself.”
Wen Qing’s eyes flicked back to Lan Qiren, her gaze unreadable. After a moment, she nodded. “Very well. I’ll take care of him, you go inside. The fire in your cave has been burning long enough to have warmed it properly.”
Wei Wuxian looked between the two of them, weighing who knows what in his mind. Lan Qiren supposed he should be glad he didn’t know how the rascal’s mind worked. “You sure?”
“Yes, leave.”
Clearly defeated, Wei Wuxian gave a halfhearted wave before leaving to the side, heading in the direction of a cave mouth, presumably where he resided.
Wen Qing then properly turned to him, giving a perfectly executed bow in greeting. “This one greets Lan-laoshi. If my presumption is correct, your visit here will be for the better of us, for this I thank Lan-laoshi in advance.”
It was such a stark difference from Wei Wuxian’s indifferent and almost hostile welcome that it took Lan Qiren a moment before giving a nod back. “I strive for righteousness, and it has come to my attention that information about your situation has been withheld.”
Wen Qing led them deeper into the camp, pointing out the makeshift infirmary where she treated the sick, the small fields they had begun to cultivate to sustain themselves, and the various shelters they had built from the scarce resources of the Burial Mounds. The resentment lingering in the air seemed almost alive, twisting and writhing in the atmosphere, but the people here did not seem affected by it. They had learned to coexist with it, to survive despite it. The energy was also more at ease here in the settlement, less volatile and aggressive than it was outside the bounds.
This reminded him of the beginnings of life on this mountain again. Growing grass, budding trees, a baby… “One of the women is with child.”
“She is.” Wen Qing answered curtly, continuing along the path.
“This is no place for children.”
“No, it isn’t.”
As they walked, Lan Qiren’s mind churned with conflicting thoughts. He had come to Yiling prepared to confront a danger, to see with his own eyes what Wei Wuxian had become. But what he found was not the demonic figure the sects had whispered about. What he found was a man trying to protect those who had no one else to turn to, a man who had taken on a burden most would have shunned.
If that was not righteous, he couldn’t say what was.
Finally, they stopped at the edge of the camp, where a small shrine stood, dedicated to those who had been lost in the war and prison camps. It was simple, unadorned, but there was a solemn reverence to it that gave Lan Qiren pause. The names had been scratched into the wood, seemingly by nail. It was a dedication to family, one that could barely be translated correctly with only the crude material the maker had access to.
During this impromptu tour, Wen Qing had told him the basics of wherever they passed, but now she stayed quiet, looking at the pseudo shrine with a pinched expression. She had yet to mention her little brother, the now feared fierce corpse. The young man’s name was not part of the shrine. The question felt loaded, but also necessary. If he were to assess the situation, he needed all the facts.
“What of Wen Qionglin?”
“He made this.”
It wasn’t really an answer to what he wanted to know, what state the corpse was in, and yet, it gave him so many more questions. No fierce corpse had ever been sentient, yet Wen Qing claimed her deceased brother had made this sorrowful memorial. It should be impossible.
Leave it to Wei Wuxian to defy expectations.
“But he’s a fierce corpse.”
“He is… something like that. His heart had stopped after hours of torment, from shock. Yet, his body had been amendable. He had not been… gone long when we got to him.. We were able to heal his wounds. Wei Wuxian thinks there could still be a way to bring him alive, truly.”
“It’s been months! Surely such a thing would go against nature.” He couldn’t help his automatic response.
It earned him a glare, one he wouldn’t have tolerated if this were his classroom. It wasn’t, though. “I find murder for entertainment to go against nature. A-Ning has never hurt anyone, helped when he could, yet he bears the burden of someone who would’ve enslaved him too if he got the chance. There’s nothing natural about it, nor do I concern myself with it anymore. If there’s a chance I can save my brother, I will take it.”
To critique her further, after hearing that, would have been hypocritical. Lan Qiren couldn’t help but imagine himself in her place, with Xichen or Wangji barely alive, as good as passed. He, too, would try whatever viable solution there was to save them. Yet, anything unorthodox would go against at least a couple dozen rules. Would he have done the same for his own brother, if he could, he wonders. “How would it be done?”
“Ask the village crazy person, he came up with it to begin with.”
He conceded her unwillingness to proceed on the topic and let the conversation die. Wen Qing led him back to the settlement quietly, giving Lan Qiren the opportunity to think everything over.
As he was now being lead toward the cave in the side of the mountain, Lan Qiren’s mind raced with conflicting emotions. The sight of the Wen remnants—so frail and innocent in their plight—challenged every assumption he'd held since the war. The strict lines between right and wrong, light and dark, seemed to blur in the oppressive air of the Burial Mounds. His understanding of Wei Wuxian had shifted, but it was still unsettling to process.
Wen Qing’s quiet strength was a reflection of the resilience that had kept these people alive, but it was Wei Wuxian’s efforts that held them together. Lan Qiren couldn't deny that now, but what did it mean for the greater balance? Could one man's righteous defiance justify so many broken rules? Had the rules been truly broken, or only bent?
As they entered the cave, Lan Qiren spotted Wei Wuxian sitting near a makeshift hearth and a low table, cluttered papers and notes everywhere, A-Yuan happily playing with two grass butterflies next to him. The Yiling Patriarch, still damp from his earlier rescue, looked exhausted, yet there was a glint of satisfaction in his eyes as he watched over the boy. The sight of him, so at ease in this place that most cultivators would avoid at all costs, struck Lan Qiren once more. This man was no longer the unruly student he remembered, nor the villain that rumors had painted him to be, but someone else entirely.
"Lan-laoshi," Wei Wuxian called out with a smirk, as if sensing Lan Qiren’s gaze. "Did Wen Qing tell you all the terrible things we’ve been up to?"
Wen Qing shot him a warning look before stepping further into the cave, a hand settling atop A-Yuan’s head in a gentle ruffle. “A-Yuan, want to come with me to help popo out?”
The boy looked up, only to frown and grab Wei Wuxian’s arm, his butterflies forgotten. “Can Xian-gege come?”
Said man leaned onto the child, exaggeratedly dramatic, putting on a show. “Boabei, Xian-gege has to talk long and boring with Rich-gege’s uncle.”
“Rich-gege?”
“Mhm…” Wei Wuxian whispered, though all in the cave could hear it, it showed the supposed secrecy of what he was saying. “Maybe he can convince Rich-gege to visit again.”
It was all the convincing the boy needed, as he jumped up, gathered his grass butterflies in one hand, before taking Wen Qing’s hand in the other. He pulled the woman along with sudden haste, leaving the two men in the cave. Lan Qiren remained silent for a moment, unsure of where to begin.
"I must admit," Lan Qiren said finally, his voice more thoughtful than accusatory, "this place is not what I expected. Nor are you."
Wei Wuxian tilted his head, eyes glinting with amusement. "Oh? What did you expect, Lan-laoshi? Dark rituals? A horde of angry spirits at my command?" His tone was teasing, but there was an undercurrent of weariness to his words.
"I expected…" Lan Qiren hesitated, realizing how narrow his expectations had been. "I expected to find someone who had abandoned righteousness. But instead, I see a man who has been abandoned by it."
The words hung between them for a moment, heavy with meaning.
Wei Wuxian's smirk faded into something more genuine, and for once, he didn’t offer a sarcastic retort. He looked away. "It’s not that simple, is it? Righteousness, justice… People like to think they’re clear-cut. But out here? Sometimes the right thing doesn’t look the way you want it to."
Lan Qiren frowned, struggling to reconcile the boy he had known with the man before him now. "And what of the path you’ve chosen? The resentful energy, the fierce corpses—do you believe there is no danger in what you’re doing?"
Wei Wuxian’s expression darkened for a moment, but he held Lan Qiren’s gaze. "I know the dangers better than anyone else.” He said crudely. He seemed to get especially snappy when the matter of cultivation was brought up and Lan Qiren couldn’t help but wonder why.
“That is no explanation. How can you expect help when no one understands what you’re doing?”
“Maybe I don’t need help.”
“And maybe you’re too quick to deny it! I see the good in what you’ve done, saving these people, and I wish to aid you. But I can’t, in good conscience, align myself with a man choosing resentful power over righteous cultivation.”
“Power? Try survival. And don’t dare forget that I’ve won us the war with this horrible resentment of mine. No one had any complaints when I used it to destroy the Wen, yet as soon as I barely fight, barely intervene in the Cultivation world, I am shunned and blamed and hated!” Wei Wuxian got up from where he was seated, an angry frown painting his face. “No one gets to tell me what I can and can not do with my “demonic” cultivation! No one even understands it, yet I get called a demon and heretic for cultivating a path I’ve founded myself and excelled in using!”
“You’re cultivating energy left by the deceased! They should be put to rest, not wrongfully used!”
“The only time I’ll admit to having wrongfully used borrowed energy was when I hunted and felled that dog Wen Chao, but I can’t remember anyone hating me for taking him down.”
Lan Qiren watched the young man before him, so fiercely independent yet burdened by an isolation that seemed to weigh heavier than his own defenses. He had prepared himself to confront a heretic, to confront the arrogance and recklessness that had turned the cultivation world against Wei Wuxian. But what he saw was a man who had been forced into a corner, fighting back with all he had, misunderstood at nearly every turn.
Lan Qiren took a slow breath, steadying himself. He’d thought he knew who Wei Wuxian was, or who he had become—someone lost to recklessness, to his own unorthodox ambitions. But now, seeing the haunted defiance in the young man’s eyes, he felt the rigid framework of his beliefs shift uncomfortably. This was not the arrogance he’d expected, nor the malice others insisted upon. No, Wei Wuxian was angry—angry and hurt, as though the world’s judgment had cut him deeper than he’d ever let anyone see.
“Do you think,” Lan Qiren said slowly, carefully, “that I would be here if I only wished to condemn you?”
Wei Wuxian’s eyes flickered, a guardedness that Lan Qiren noted with a pang. “You’re here because you think I need to be stopped. Or saved,” he added bitterly, as if the very word left a sour taste.
Lan Qiren held his ground, though he could feel the weight of Wei Wuxian’s frustration pressing between them. This man before him carried a heaviness that had not been there before, a wariness that spoke of too many battles fought alone.
“Yes. And you do. You’ve not done anything that requires being stopped yet, but continue down this road and you’ll be forced into a corner with your only option being to lash out. You can yet be saved from that fate, if you allow people to help you, boy.”
“And how would you do that?”
“These people have done nothing more than share a name. We show your settlement to the sect leaders, and they will form the same opinion. We can relocate the Wen to a safe place, then you’ll have no need to continue down this road, would you? I’m offering you resources from the Lan to aid you in your cleansing. You can return to the sword path.”
“Yeah, sure.” Wei Wuxian almost scoffed.
Lan Qiren balled his hands at the tonal shift, hearing something he perceived as disbelief. “I’m serious! Why must you deny any chance to return to the right path?”
“It’s not so simple.”
“It can be, and will be if we plan it right. You’ve done no more wrong than the people on this mountain, we simply have to show this fact.”
“I won’t return to your stupid bright path.” The man grumbled, starting to lose the little bit of patience he had started gathering again.
“Why not?”
“Why would I? I’m more powerful than any other cultivator around.”
“By using a volatile power that corrupts one’s core! You may think you have it under control, but if you keep this up, you may never be able to use your golden core again!”
“I do have it under control.”
“Nonsense! You can not just negate the effect both energies have on each other. Sooner than later your core will give under the burden of-“
“I don’t have a fucking core!”
A cold rippled through the cave and the fire sputtered, shivering in the gust of resentful energy that came off Wei Wuxian with his exclamation. He reeled it in just as fast, though it left the cave a little colder than it was, the fire calming.
A stunned silence was all Lan Qiren could manage. The admission, too rough and raw to be anything but genuine, was something he hadn’t even considered before. Of course, after so much use, there was a possibility to have already corrupted a core. Though from what he knew, a core broken by resentful energy would have ruined the meridians and left them unable to heal. A person would not survive long after the initial crack in their core. How could that possibly be neutralised?
He cleared his throat, threading carefully, unwilling to further step on any toes. “It’s broken.. however if you have managed to survive it’s breaking, perhaps there is still a way to heal it yet. It’s certainly never been done before, but-“
“Lan Qiren.” Wei Wuxian had a complicated expression on his face, it didn’t suit him. He turned slightly, facing the fire instead of the other person in the cave. A heavy sigh left him, and he crumpled, curling into himself further. “It’s not even there. I didn’t break it, because it wasn’t there in the first place.” He spoke slowly, like he didn’t want to say the things that left his lips.
“You.. ah. Was it Wen Zhuliu?”
“No. And it doesn’t matter now.” Wei Wuxian shook his head, turning back to face the older man. He continued quickly, not giving Lan Qiren the time to ask further.. “But that’s why I’ll have to decline your offer. I truly can not return to the sword path.”
Ah… this knowledge certainly cleared up the hesitation from the young man to ask or receive any help, and his resignation made sense now too, since the boy had convinced himself help would always be conditional.
Lan Qiren wanted nothing more than to tell the kid this, tell him his warped views are wrong. That his offer had been meant to help him as well as the Wens, but he felt his usual way would not be well received in this moment, so instead he gave a soft hum, using the tone he used to read his nephews stories with. “The help I’m offering with the Wen is not dependent on your ability to cultivate your core. We can deal with the Wen first. Perhaps afterwards, we can revisit your cultivation.”
“…Must we?”
“Yes, boy. It will be inevitable. Lies about you have been spread, you are a threat to someone and they want you painted in a bad light. Demonic cultivation won’t help your plight, and your seal will only worsen it. It will need to be dealt with and talked about, whether you want to or not.” Lan Qiren took a moment, before deciding the hostility was depleted and Wei Wuxian was open to his plan at least, before he sat down at the shabby table. He took paper and a brush from one of his qiankun pouches, the ink on the table still wet. “You won’t be doing this yourself anymore, I won’t allow it. I’ll contact Mingjue and Xichen, have them come and have them share their thoughts on what should happen after they’ve met these people. Should I write Jiang-zongzhu as well?”
There was no answer.
Lan Qiren looked up from his arranging of the paper before him to see Wei Wuxian stare wide eyed at him. He looked no better than he had all day, pale, gaunt and shabby, yet there was a spark returning to his eye that made him seem more alive.
“Are.. you sure..?” There was something else there, a reason why the boy was hesitant to lean into this hand he was offered with his full weight, but Lan Qiren didn’t need to know what it was, to know he simply needed reassurance.
“Of course.”