Chapter Text
- The Hall of the Golden Carp -
The grand hall of Lanling Jin was suffocating with the sheer number of people gathered inside. Only the sound of quiet breathing and the crackle of candles lined along the marble walls broke the dead silence. Heavy golden curtains made the air feel stifling, oppressive.
Jin Ling sat on the raised dais, in his rightful place as the young leader of the Jin Sect. The golden robes draped over his shoulders weighed heavier than ever. His fingers clenched around the armrests, though outwardly he appeared calm and proud, every inch the heir of Jin Zixuan.
In the center of the hall knelt a young man dressed in black. His hands were bound, his long hair hung loose, sticking to his face - a face that, only a few years ago, used to hold the kind of smile that could make people addicted. Now it was nothing but a mask of exhaustion, shame, and helplessness. A bruise marred his cheek, and a thin trail of dried blood stained his lip. He didn’t lift his head, his gaze fixed on the carpet beneath him, as if every thread of the intricate peacock pattern was more worthy of his attention than the semicircle of elders standing before him.
Jin Ling felt something tighten in his throat. If someone had told him back then that he’d ever see Sizhui like this - stripped of joy - he would’ve never believed it.
Why him? Why did it have to be him?
Whispers rippled around him
"I knew this would happen! He’s the son of the great Patriarch Yiling!"
"A child raised by Hanguang-Jun himself, walking the same path as the traitor!? Absurd!"
"This is Yiling Laozu’s fault!"
"What did we expect? He was a Wen, then raised by the Patriarch - now look! Another copy stands before us! The next Wen Ruohan!"
“Sizhui from Gusu Lan” - The voice of a Jin elder rang out, echoing off the walls. He didn’t say Lan Sizhui, and that stung. Of course, Lan Qiren couldn’t stand those who used Demonic Cultivation either. And now, Sizhui had no right to call himself a Lan after shattering so many of their rules. “Or rather… the Son of the Patriarch Yiling!!”
Wei Wuxian, standing off to the side, could only clench his fists so tightly his nails dug into his palms. No matter what he had done, no matter that he’d been cleared of all accusations after Jin Guangyao’s death people still hated him. And now he was forced to watch as the boy he’d helped raise stood there, looking like his mirror image from the dark days after the Sunshot Campaign.
He couldn’t do anything. Even if he wanted to cut them all down where they stood, he couldn’t. How badly he wished he could protect A-Yuan… Lan Wangji squeezed the shoulder under his hand, silently trying to say what words could not.
Because Wei Wuxian had already died once. And even that wasn’t enough.
A low rumble spread through the hall, elders murmuring darkly. Jin Ling didn’t flinch. He’d known this moment would come from the second they dragged Sizhui here.
“That’s not true.” — Lan Qiren’s voice cut through the murmurs, cold as steel and trembling with barely contained anger. Sizhui blinked in shock, Lan Qiren defending someone who had turned to Demonic Cultivation?? That alone was staggering. “Sizhui is not his son. The fact that my nephew raised him after the Patriarch’s death does not make him his child!”
“Not his son?” — another Jin elder barked out.
—“Oh, so he’s our son now, right, Lan Zhan?” The man turned to the tall figure behind him, hoping to provoke some reaction—but Lan Wangji’s silence was a wall of ice.
—“And yet he used his techniques! The demonic path is cursed, and he embraced it without hesitation! Our people saw it with their own eyes!”
Jin Ling couldn’t tear his gaze from Sizhui. He didn’t speak a word.
“Look at him, he won’t even defend himself! There’s no hope for this one.”
But Jin Ling knew why. He had always known what kind of person Sizhui was, if he believed he’d sinned, he would shoulder it all alone, no matter the cost.
Silence fell.
“Uncle…” Even Lan Xichen spoke now, standing near the Jiang Sect Leader, eyes filled with pity for his disciple.
And then the storm broke:
“He must be executed before it’s too late!”
“We cannot allow history to repeat itself!”
“Death is the only guarantee of safety!”
Death. The word struck like a hammer.
Jin Ling’s heartbeat thundered in his ears.
No. I won’t allow it. Not after everything. Not after all the nights hunting together, the shared travels...
He cut the thought off. He couldn’t even finish it in his own head.
“The Lan Sect will protect him” Lan Qiren said, his voice taut as a bowstring. “I will stake my own life on it.”
“Your life means nothing in the war,” a Jin elder sneered. “Before you can even draw your sword, you’ll be dust. And who will answer when he turns those cursed arts on us again? You? Or your… nephews?” His gaze slid toward Lan Wangji and Xichen. And then to Wei Wuxian, Hanguang-Jun’s husband. Words that still caught like thorns in some throats.
Wei Wuxian growled something through clenched teeth, but Jin Ling wasn’t listening anymore. The voice in his head was screaming louder and louder.
If I do nothing, they’ll kill him. Today. Now.
And the idea that had been coiling in the back of his mind since the moment he walked in exploded into clarity. There was no other way. No other escape.
“Enough.”
His voice cut through the uproar like a blade. Silence slammed down instantly.
Jin Ling rose slowly to his feet. He felt hundreds of eyes on him—but he looked at only one person. The boy kneeling in the center. The boy he could not lose.
“The Jin Sect will not execute Lan Sizhui” he said, his tone like iron. “We will take responsibility for him.”
A hushed ripple tore through the hall.
“What?!” someone barked. “The Jin Sect Leader—!”
“We’ll bind him to us.” Jin Ling lifted his chin higher. “I declare a marriage alliance. With him.” He pointed at the boy whose eyes widened, still fixed on the carpet.
Lan Qiren stiffened. Wei Wuxian’s mouth fell open but no words came. Even Lan Wangji turned his head slightly, gaze sharpening. Jiang Cheng, silent until now, stared at his nephew in shock. Had he completely lost his mind? Was he trying to reenact Jiang Fengmian and Madam Yu’s disaster? They’d married like this and it had destroyed everything for Wanyin!
“A political marriage,” Jin Ling added, voice steady though his stomach churned. “Once he becomes part of our clan, he’ll be… our property.” The last word clawed its way out like a bitter stone but he had to say it.
The elders muttered furiously. Someone scoffed:
“You… with him?”
“Yes.” Jin Ling didn’t blink. “Me. With Lan Sizhui.”
He looked straight at Sizhui. Finally, Sizhui lifted his gaze. For the briefest second, their eyes met. And in Sizhui’s eyes there was nothing. Just emptiness. As if none of this mattered anymore.
-You hate me now, don’t you?- Jin Ling thought. - And you’ll hate me for the rest of your life. But I’d rather have you alive, even if it means living with that hate.-
“Prepare the documents,” he ordered before anyone could speak. “Today. Now.”
The elders erupted again:
“Sect Leader Jin, you know this means immediate seclusion for Sizhui?!”
“I’m aware.”
Wei Wuxian’s glare burned into him like fire.
“Jin Rulan! Do you know what you’re doing?! I want to protect Sizhui too, but you’re stealing him right out from under me! I don’t trust you! What will you do to him once you lock him away in isolation?!“
And again silence.
-\-
The next day, the world felt emptier than it had the night before. Sizhui woke in what was supposed to be his “home,” though he could hardly call it that. The walls were bare and cold, the floor unwelcoming. Everything pressed down on him, and the silence was almost suffocating. His body still ached from the effort he had poured into demonic cultivation. Even sitting up from the hard bedding demanded every ounce of his will.
The first thoughts that came to him were of the little girl he had once saved. Was she safe? Had they found a proper family for her? Had anyone hurt her while he was gone, while he had been captured, dragged away from the people he had vowed to protect?
Anxiety coiled tight in his chest, and he sank lower into the stiff mattress, staring at the shadows in the corners of the room.
When he finally moved, it was to the window. Two guards patrolled the courtyard below, silent and watchful. He exhaled slowly, his hands gripping the windowsill as if it could anchor him to something real. The cold air pressed against his face, but it did little to cool the fire in his chest. He lowered himself to the floor by the cold, unlit fireplace, his head resting against the stone. He wanted nothing more than to smash head against the wall, to obliterate the relentless thoughts clawing at his mind.
Everything had been taken from him. Only his black robes clung to his body, a thin, threadbare comfort against the emptiness. The silence weighed on him, heavy and intrusive, forcing him to confront the marriage that had been forced upon him.
Jin Ling had taken him as a political measure, to keep him alive. Alive—but at what cost? Did the marriage truly protect him, or was it simply a cage gilded with intentions he could not trust?
He wondered briefly What did Hanguang Jun and Zewu Jun experience when they had similar experiences with their parents... Xichen one day told him the truth.
The thought left a bitter taste in his mouth. His chest tightened, his throat aching with words he could not voice. He had survived battles, curses, and wars, yet here, confined and stripped of choice, he felt powerless in a way that was almost worse than death.
He sat there, silent, letting the minutes stretch. He traced the edge of the hearth with his fingers, feeling the cold stone bite at his skin. Thoughts of Yue flickered across his mind, each one a pang of longing. He remembered her tiny, trusting face, her delicate hands reaching out to him, and a dull ache pressed against his ribs. He had saved lives before, but never had the weight of helplessness felt so absolute.
Sizhui’s gaze drifted to the ceiling, to the shadows cast by the morning sun through the narrow window. The light did little to illuminate the hollowness inside him. He thought of Jin Ling, the man who had signed the marriage, who had claimed him as protection. Did he truly care? Or was he simply another hand guiding him into another cage? The questions pressed, urgent and suffocating, but there were no answers. Only the echo of his own ragged breaths filled the room.
He heard the door open and he still didn't look up.
Jin Ling stepped inside, careful, measured, holding something small in his hands. His gaze swept over Sizhui’s slumped form, noting the pallor, the exhaustion, the way the boy’s posture screamed of someone trying to disappear from the world.
“Sizhui,” he said gently, but even in gentleness there was command. “Look at me.”
Sizhui didn’t. He only shifted slightly, burying his face deeper into his knees.
Jin Ling sighed, placing the object, a small, ornate bottle on the floor beside him. “I brought her,” he said quietly. “Yue…is that her name? she’s safe. She’s… in good hands now. I promised that she will be safe”
Sizhui’s body stiffened at the mention of her name, and for a fraction of a second, his head lifted, his eyes flickering toward Jin Ling. The moment was fleeting, almost imperceptible. He quickly lowered his gaze, staring at the floor again, avoiding the leader’s eyes.
“I… I don’t want to see you,” Sizhui muttered, voice barely audible. “Don’t- don’t come near me.”
Jin Ling knelt, placing the bottle closer. “You don’t have to look at me,” he said. “Just… do this for her.”
Sizhui opened his mouth, as if to speak, but a sudden, violent coughing fit took over. His body shook with the effort. He hadn’t drunk anything in days, and the dry, bitter cough wracked his thin frame. Panic flared in Jin Ling’s eyes, but he stayed still, waiting until the fit subsided slightly.
Then he gently forced the strange bottle into Sizhui’s hands. “Drink,” he said, firm, almost relentless.
Sizhui scowled, weak and trembling, but finally obeyed. He tipped the bottle to his lips, drinking as Jin Ling guided him. Half of the bootle vanished in moments, and Sizhui scowled, almost indignantly, at how much he’d consumed. “You… you didn’t even give me a choice,” he muttered between gulps, his voice hoarse.
“I did it because it had to be done,” Jin Ling said, voice low but tense. “Because if you didn’t—if I didn’t—someone would have killed you.”
Sizhui set the empty bottle down, eyes dark, distant, cold. “I would rather have died than live in a marriage where both of us suffer,” he said quietly, the words cutting through the air like knives. “Rather death than this…”
Jin Ling’s jaw tightened. “This…?” he said, voice rising, a flash of frustration breaking through the calm façade. “You think I wanted this? You think I wanted to force you into anything?”
“I don’t care,” Sizhui whispered, tone brittle. “Everything ruined me, Jin Ling. And yourself. And this…” He gestured vaguely to the room, the house, the enforced protection that felt like a cage. “I’d rather—”
“Stop!” Jin Ling snapped, voice echoing off the walls. His anger surged, rising with every bitter word, every accusation. “You think this was easy? You think I enjoy seeing you like this?! I'm trying to help you!”
Sizhui flinched, still keeping his eyes down. His chest rose and fell rapidly, not from exertion, but from the pain, the emotional turbulence, the exhaustion. He wanted to argue, to escape the suffocating weight of Jin Ling’s presence and his own guilt—but the words died on his tongue.
Jin Ling’s hands clenched into fists at his sides, his shoulders tense. “I’m not asking you to like me. I’m not asking you to forgive me right now. But don’t mistake what I’ve done as cruelty. It was the only way. I… I can’t lose you. I can’t. You're the only person I like even a little..”
Sizhui’s hands twisted in his lap, knuckles white. He wanted to speak, to fight, to cry, to run but he remained still, a ghost in his own body, swallowed by exhaustion and despair.
Finally, Jin Ling let out a frustrated growl, shaking his head. “Fine,” he muttered, almost to himself. “If you refuse to listen, then leave me no choice.” He stood abruptly, footsteps heavy as he moved toward the door. “I cannot… I cannot watch you tear yourself apart like this.”
The room fell silent again, Sizhui left alone with his thoughts, the distant memory of Yue’s small face, the bottle now empty at his feet, and the oppressive awareness that no matter how much he resisted, Jin Ling would never truly let him go.
-/-
The night was silent, except for the soft fall of snow onto the frozen ground. Sizhui’s breath came out in shallow, uneven puffs, visible in the cold air. He had spent the entire day in that room, replaying every humiliation, every restriction, every desperate moment in his mind, and by nightfall he could take it no longer.
He rose quietly, careful not to alert the guards stationed nearby, his thin black robes offering almost no protection from the biting cold. Every movement hurt; his muscles ached from lack of rest, his joints protested, and the chill penetrated to his bones. But determination burned brighter than pain. Tonight, he would reclaim even the smallest fragment of freedom.
Sizhui’s eyes scanned the room, memorizing the pattern of the shadows, the positions of the guards’ breaths visible in the cold air, the way the faint moonlight fell across the window frame. When the moment came, he climbed silently, barely making a sound, and slipped through the narrow window. The snow crunched softly beneath his bare feet as he moved, his long hair clinging damply to his face.
He moved quickly, instinctively, as if the air itself might betray him. The path to the river was etched into his memory, a line of ice and stone from his past. He pushed forward, ignoring the cold that bit his skin, ignoring the numbness that crept slowly through his toes and fingers.
Finally, he reached the riverbank. The water ran dark and half-frozen beneath the falling snow, the surface broken only by occasional ripples. Sizhui paused on the bridge, the old wooden railing rough under his fingers. He took a deep, trembling breath, letting the cold bite at his lungs, letting the snowflakes cling to his damp hair.
In the silence, he whispered apologies—softly, in his head, to all who had touched his life: Qiren, Yue, Jin Ling, Wei Wuxian, Lan Wangji, Lan Xichen, Jingyi… even to the strict rules of the sect that he had been born into. Each name was a stone dropped into the freezing river of his conscience. He closed his eyes, his heart thudding painfully against his chest.
The water called to him, dark and unyielding. For a long moment, he just stood there, teetering on the edge, letting memories, guilt, and exhaustion swirl around him. And then, with a silent, final breath, he let go.
The plunge was immediate, icy, and merciless. The water swallowed him whole, shocking every nerve. Pain flared, numbness followed, and he felt the world slip away. His limbs refused to obey, his breath left him in ragged bursts, and darkness began to creep into his vision. For a terrifying moment, he forgot everything but the cold.
Somewhere above, in the watchtower and along the riverbank, the guards noticed a dark shape moving unnaturally in the water. Alarm bells rang out in their minds before words could even form. “There—there’s someone in the river!”
They acted instantly. Shouting, diving, stretching out hands, ropes, every second was critical. Sizhui’s body, battered and frozen, floated limply, but their grip was unrelenting. Hands dragged him out, breaking the surface, dragging him to the snow-covered bank. His teeth chattered violently; his lips were blue, and his skin was pale as death.
The news of his fall spread like wildfire through the Carps’ Tower. Jin Ling, and the other were roused from sleep; panic and horror pulled Jin Ling upright. He stumbled into the corridor, heart hammering, eyes wide with dread. His gaze locked on the dark, trembling figure being carried by the guards, and for a moment, it seemed the entire world had narrowed to the fragile, shivering boy.
Sizhui coughed violently, choking on the freezing water that had filled his lungs. His body shook uncontrollably, but the warmth of human touch, of hands desperately trying to save him, kept him tethered to life. Jin Ling, barely thinking, reached for him, trying to offer some comfort, some reassurance, his own panic threatening to overwhelm him.
“Stay with me, Sizhui! Stay with me!” Jin Ling whispered, though his voice cracked, revealing the fear he rarely allowed himself to feel. “You’re going to be fine. You hear me?”
The guards finally carried him into the tower’s medical room, a heated chamber filled with herbs and blankets. They laid him carefully on a bed, rubbing his arms and legs, coaxing him to retain warmth. Jin Ling hovered at the edge, too terrified to leave, hands clenched at his sides, stomach twisting with dread.
Outside the room, the snow continued to fall, soft and indifferent, a quiet witness to the night’s terror. Inside, Jin Ling stayed by Sizhui’s side, heart hammering, praying silently that the boy’s next breath would come easier than the last, that the cold would loosen its cruel grip, and that somehow—somehow—they would survive the night.
“Sizhui...”
It's worse than it looked.