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“Idiot.”
The word bounces off the barren cave walls. But its intended target is too delirious, too unfocused to receive it. Were Wei Wuxian awake—were he lucid enough to bark back—he’d fire off some mouthy complaint, a cheeky grin plastered across his face.
Instead, he lies unconscious in Lan Wangji’s lap.
After three days of writhing, screaming, tossing, turning—doing everything in his weakened power to frighten and shout Lan Wangji out of his sight, out of his cave, out of his life—Wei Wuxian has finally succumbed to exhaustion.
“…Idiot,” Lan Wangji whispers once more, brushing a stray lock of hair from Wei Wuxian’s brow.
Still, there is no response. The man who once spewed nonsense across every surface of the Cloud Recesses and delivered a scathing speech at Golden Carp Tower mere months ago can barely manage a breath.
Even as Lan Wangji tilts Wei Wuxian’s head, adjusting him into a more comfortable position, there is no reply. Lan Wangji watches him for a few breaths, fingers slowly raking through the matted knots around his shoulders.
It’s the first time Wei Wuxian has been quiet since Lan Wangji arrived at the Demon Slaughtering Cave. And the silence is as disconcerting as it is unfamiliar.
Only the drip of musty water trickling from a distant crevice punctures the oppressive stillness. Within these walls, its steady cadence is the only indicator of passing time.
Lan Wangji takes a sharp inhale. He is no stranger to silence, to the tranquility it offers. Most days, he welcomes it.
But silence sounds different here.
Memories of days long past drift into his mind’s eye. A youthful Wei Wuxian, hair bouncing, robes billowing, chest heaving with laughter as shredded scrolls danced around him in the Library Pavilion.
Back then, Lan Wangji desperately craved peace. Silence. Structure. Stability. He couldn’t get Wei Wuxian out of his life soon enough. He couldn’t wait to send him as far away as possible, be it to the depths of that monster-infested lake or buried beneath a mountainous pile of lotuses in Yunmeng.
Now, Lan Wangji wants nothing more than to hear Wei Wuxian’s voice.
He yearns for that booming laughter to rattle the cave walls, loud enough to dislodge a few stones. Wei Wuxian would inevitably pick one up and toss it in Lan Wangji’s direction, a string of taunts not far behind.
He’d complain about everything under the sun. About Lan Wangji’s overprotectiveness. About his boring rigidity. He’d call him a stick in the mud, a fuddy-duddy—all with a bright smile plastered on his face. Lan Wangji would brush it off as always, despite knowing he would give anything to hear Wei Wuxian call his name one more time.
But Wei Wuxian’s voice is long gone. Only the rhythmic drip of water speaks to Lan Wangji now. And each deafening drop reminds him that time is a luxury Wei Wuxian does not have.
If something doesn’t change, he is going to die.
Lan Wangji exhales sharply.
He busies his hands in a futile attempt to bury the thought that has haunted him ever since he stepped foot into this forsaken cave. His fingers drift, tracing Wei Wuxian’s hairline before settling along the curve of his gaunt cheek. Wei Wuxian is beginning to resemble the corpses he calls his companions. Beneath the dull flicker of incense, the dreadful pallor of his skin is even more unforgiving.
Light does not penetrate the Demon Slaughtering Cave. And the effects of living in a place that sunlight cannot touch are becoming increasingly obvious. They show in the deep shadows that now paint Wei Wuxian’s once sun-kissed face. In the harsh lines carved where laugh lines once were. In the hollowed spaces beneath his heavy-lidded eyes.
Lan Wangji’s fingertips graze over a small scratch nestled just beneath Wei Wuxian’s eye—a self-inflicted wound from one of the harsher waves of pain.
The past three days have been relentless. Whatever dark energy has coiled around Wei Wuxian’s mind has siphoned away most of his sanity. It has stolen his strength. And the pain—the crushing weight of it—comes in random, unrelenting waves of agony.
It is during those moments that Wei Wuxian looks more animal than human. Contorting, twisting, writhing with every jolt. Howling with shrill cries that would make even the undead shiver in their graves. Clawing at his own skin as if trying to tear flesh from bone.
And even then, Wei Wuxian thrashes and protests, fighting off Lan Wangji’s best efforts to hold him down, protect him, console him, calm him. He fought until he could fight no longer. Until exhaustion claimed him where he stood.
Lan Wangji takes advantage of the momentary reprieve to perform yet another meridian check. As his hands settle over Wei Wuxian’s pulse points, Lan Wangji feels his own blood begin to thrum faster, heavier. He sends another filament of energy through Wei Wuxian’s spiritual paths, desperately willing even the faintest flicker of power to answer back. Praying that Wei Wuxian’s meridians will speak, even when he himself cannot.
But the result does not change.
And now, with Wei Wuxian’s life force steadily dwindling by the minute, Lan Wangji has no choice but to accept reality. Denial will only cost them time they do not have.
Wei Wuxian no longer has a golden core.
The truth should feel impossible. Absurd, even. And yet, some quiet, dreadful part of Lan Wangji had already begun to suspect it. There had been signs, subtle inconsistencies, moments that did not align—things Lan Wangji had noticed and deliberately set aside. He had dismissed them as exhaustion, as injury, as anything but this. Because the alternative had been unthinkable.
Burning questions race through Lan Wangji’s mind, his hands tightening around Wei Wuxian’s wrists, enough to leave faint red indents on his opaque skin. What happened? When? Why was Wei Wuxian so determined to hide it?
Without swift intervention, however, there will be no answers; Wei Wuxian will not survive another night like this. The only question that remains—the only question that truly matters right now—is who, or what, will lay claim to his soul: the malevolent forces assaulting his mind, or the cultivation world that marches closer each day.
“…Idiot,” Lan Wangji mutters once more.
Only this time, it is directed at himself. For foolishly expecting that calm discourse with Wei Wuxian was ever an option. For not paying closer attention. For failing to stand by Wei Wuxian’s side during his darkest moments.
And… for what he has to do next.
He has already tried everything. He always tries everything when it comes to this man. And yet, it is never enough.
Because if he had tried just a little harder, Wei Wuxian would not be like this. No better than a walking corpse. Haunted by bitter memories and dark energy, shunning those he once cherished more than himself.
And so, Lan Wangji commits to trying one last thing.
It is a ritual so forbidden, so unsightly, that it was hidden deep within the forbidden annals of the Library Pavilion, sealed away on dusty shelves among curses and contraband. Lan Wangji only happened upon it while searching for a miracle, for anything that could save Wei Wuxian from his dark path. But what he unearthed was anything but miraculous.
It was a sin masquerading as salvation.
The scrolls spoke of an ancient rite, forged in times of war when dual cultivation was necessary for survival. It was devised for desperate moments on the battlefield, when a cultivator lay dying and no other method could restore their core. The ritual allows one person to transfer portions of their own core to another through marriage, even if the recipient is unconscious or unwilling. But it is not without tradeoffs.
Completing the ritual requires a physical consummation of the bond. It requires an intimate union that, if successful, will bind their souls forever and irreparably sever what remains of their relationship.
There is no returning from this. It spits upon every foundation of trust that stands between them. It violates Wei Wuxian’s body, his autonomy. It mocks every moral that Lan Wangji upholds.
But it is his last chance to save the only person he has ever loved.
And so, Lan Wangji carefully gathers Wei Wuxian into his arms, quiet footsteps echoing against the cave walls as he makes his way deeper inside.
The walk is easier than it should be. Lan Wangji could tell at first glance that Wei Wuxian had already lost a dangerous amount of weight. But now, holding his frail frame, the thin lines of his torso are even more apparent.
If Wei Wuxian were strong enough to survive the journey, Lan Wangji would carry him out of this cave. He would take him somewhere impossibly far. Somewhere far away from the prying eyes, the hatred, the rumors, and the inescapable death. A place where the outside world could never touch him again.
Instead, he settles for the next best thing: the cave’s inner sanctum. The closest thing to “home” that Wei Wuxian currently has.
Within these walls, even the darkness feels heavier, more oppressive. Though Wei Wuxian’s presence clings stubbornly to every surface, the way it always does, the room has changed drastically since Lan Wangji’s last visit.
Bloody talismans hang like lanterns above them. Hastily sprawled research notes line the walls and floor, dampening the echo of Lan Wangji’s footsteps—heavier now, weighed down with uncertainty as he approaches Wei Wuxian’s sleeping mat in the corner.
There is no comfort to be found in a place like this. But at the very least, it is safe—for now.
The attacking clans are still a day or two away, if the latest intelligence is to be believed. And all who once lived here now join the ranks of the dead, bodies piled both above and beneath the earth.
Cradling Wei Wuxian to his chest, arms tight around his head and back, Lan Wangji slowly lowers him onto the sleeping mat. Then, he begins the quiet work of making the space as comfortable as possible.
He removes his own sash, folding it into a small square before tucking it beneath Wei Wuxian’s head. He clears away the rotten radishes pooled around Wei Wuxian’s feet. He stacks the toppled research notes that clutter the area like wilted paper flowers.
The stench of death is less pungent here, yet still sharp enough to sting the lungs. Lan Wangji retrieves a small incense burner from his robes and sets it upon a low stone table nearby.
He lights a stick, his attention drifting from Wei Wuxian just long enough to watch the flame flicker before settling into a slow-burning glow. The familiar scent of sandalwood soon follows, carrying with it memories of the Tranquility Room.
Lan Wangji allows himself a moment to close his eyes—to imagine that he is home, with Wei Wuxian safe at his side.
The fragile peace doesn't last. Wei Wuxian begins to grunt in his sleep, his body writhing, chest heaving as he shifts toward the scent. Lan Wangji moves swiftly to his side, easing him back down with a firm but gentle hand against his chest.
“...Are you in pain?” he asks, despite knowing no answer will come. “Do not fret. It will pass soon. Allow the scent to soothe you.”
Lan Wangji runs his hand through Wei Wuxian’s sweat-damp hair, attempting to tame the wild locks that have sprung free after three nights of thrashing. His hand lingers for a moment longer than necessary.
Once Lan Wangji is certain that Wei Wuxian has settled again, he resumes his preparations. He arranges the items he prepared for the ritual, carefully removing them from the depths of his satchel. His hands tremble slightly as he sets out the tools he once hoped he would never need.
A vial of soothing oil for lubrication. Topical salves to ease any pain or tearing. Protein-rich rations that Lan Wangji acquired from a traveling merchant, knowing Wei Wuxian would refuse anything sourced from the Cloud Recesses.
Finally, he pulls out the last of his water reserves, his throat tightening. His hands hover over the bottle as he sets it down. Even a few drops would restore enough spiritual energy to carry them home.
But home means nothing without Wei Wuxian. And Wei Wuxian will need the water more when he wakes. Because he will wake.
He has to.
Lan Wangji sits on his knees, reviewing the next steps in his mind. For the core transfer to succeed, there must first be a formal union between souls: a marriage ceremony.
Offering a piece of oneself represents everything a marriage stands for. Forming an unbreakable union between two individuals, pledging to place another before oneself, making sacrifices for a loved one in sickness and in health.
On paper, this part of the ritual is no different from standard marriage vows. Only in an ideal world, they would be bowing to one another beneath twinkling stars, not buried beneath the weight of hundreds of bodies. Breathing in gentle night air, not suffocating under resentful energy that curls through the musky air like smoke.
And Lan Wangji would not be kneeling opposite a man who cannot kneel back.
At that moment, Lan Wangji suddenly feels grateful for the weeping cave walls that block the sky above. The heavens should not have to witness something like this.
He awkwardly wrangles Wei Wuxian’s limp body into the proper position for the first bow, no better than a child clumsily manipulating a doll until it breaks.
Wei Wuxian looks nothing like himself. His arms hang heavy and lifeless at his sides, dragging through the dirt with Lan Wangji’s every movement. What little fight he once had is long gone.
His body offers no resistance whatsoever as Lan Wangji folds him into position, tucking his calves beneath his thighs. His head lolls at an unnatural angle as his forehead meets the soft straw of the sleeping mat where Lan Wangji has positioned him.
Lan Wangji joins him, shoulders brushing as he lowers his own forehead to the edge of the mat, completing the first bow.
He glances over his shoulder, half-wishing he will find Wei Wuxian smiling back at him. But Wei Wuxian remains as motionless as ever, and a dark thought seeps into Lan Wangji’s mind.
Wei Wuxian looks like he belongs here. As though he is trying to sink into the earth and join the legion of corpses buried beneath them.
And Lan Wangji cannot help but wonder if he is fighting against nature itself. If saving Wei Wuxian’s life is a losing battle. If Wei Wuxian’s warm body is destined to wither and rot until it becomes the very soil Lan Wangji walks upon.
Death is meant to feel natural. Until now, Lan Wangji has never feared it. Death and renewal are two sides of the same coin, two halves of the world’s cycle. A reminder that all souls begin and end in the earth.
But a world without Wei Wuxian feels as unnatural as a world without air.
Heart hammering, Lan Wangji forces himself to finish the remaining bows. The second is even worse than the first. Shame festers deep in the pit of his stomach as he forces Wei Wuxian’s body up and down once more, twisting him into a degrading position that stands in cruel contrast to everything this proud, confident man once embodied.
The reality of what he is doing crashes down on him as his forehead touches the ground again. By the time he lifts his head, Lan Wangji can no longer bear the grief.
Holding back tears, he lifts and lowers Wei Wuxian for the final bow—the one meant for each other. The most intimate. The most sacred.
Only this time, Lan Wangji does not take his place beside Wei Wuxian.
Instead, he shuffles across the cave, his steps unusually unsteady. The ground beneath his feet is tacky, coated in a sludgy mixture of soil and decomposed matter. Despite the hard surface beneath it, the ground feels unnervingly soft and slippery, squelching with every step.
It is the furthest Lan Wangji has strayed from Wei Wuxian since arriving, and the distance feels like a blow to the stomach. He fights the urge to return, instead sinking to his knees in the filthiest corner of the sanctum. He casts one more glance toward Wei Wuxian, but the sight is too much.
Lan Wangji inhales a trembling breath, bites his lip until it bleeds, and slams his forehead into the ground.
The pungent stench of rot rises to greet him. Sickly sweet, laced with sulfur. Copper floods the back of his tongue as he presses his face deeper into the sludge, praying the earth will absorb the tears threatening to fall.
Thick sediment cakes his cheeks. His fingers claw into the ground, knuckles whitening with the force. Pebbles wedge beneath his nails as they splinter. Fragmented bone shards jut upward from the dirt, stabbing into the heels of his palms.
Another sharp prick pierces his cheek, but Lan Wangji does not flinch. He only presses deeper, bowing until his body curves toward the earth. Filth clings to every part of him. Vile moisture seeps from the bloated bodies below, soaking into his robes, his shoes, his skin.
The pressure builds until a shrill headache screams behind his eyes. Sludge and decay smear across the pristine white ribbon tied around his forehead, staining what was once cloudlike in its purity.
Lan Wangji presses his face deeper still.
He has already tarnished the Lan name. He no longer deserves to wear such immaculate white.
When he finally rises, blood rushes to his head. Chunks of filth still cling to his scraped palms. He wipes them across his inner robes, the only layer untouched by the cave’s corruption, before drawing a cleansing talisman from his sleeve.
With a flick of spiritual energy, the talisman ignites. A sharp spark scorches across Lan Wangji’s skin, burning away the remaining grime. He closes his hand around the talisman and crushes it into his palm, forcing it deep against his scraped skin. He holds it there long after the visible grime has burned away, heat searing through torn flesh until even the wounds themselves are cauterized clean.
He will not allow these hands to touch Wei Wuxian until they have been burned clean.
The flames die slowly, leaving his skin dry and raw. When Lan Wangji returns to Wei Wuxian’s side, he warms his hands briefly over the sandalwood incense, cupping the smoke as though he could carry its calm with him.
He carefully turns Wei Wuxian onto his back. At first glance, nothing has changed. Wei Wuxian remains just as still, just as silent, just as lifeless. But there is a new hesitation beneath Lan Wangji’s touch.
They are married.
And now, Lan Wangji must consummate that marriage.
He swallows thickly, forcing himself to move before his guilt overwhelms what little courage he has left.
He begins by undressing Wei Wuxian.
First, he removes the sash. Wei Wuxian’s waist has grown so thin that the sash nearly wraps twice around it. Lan Wangji folds the fabric neatly before adding it to the makeshift pillow beneath Wei Wuxian’s head.
The outer robe comes off next. It’s drenched with sweat and mottled with bloodstains—some old, some fresh. Lan Wangji folds it with the same careful precision, using the simple task as an opportunity to steady his breathing.
Layer by layer, the barriers between them disappear until only Wei Wuxian’s sheer inner garment remains. The thin fabric clings to his damp skin, outlining the sharp ridges of his ribs. Lan Wangji carefully peels it away, taking great care not to tear Wei Wuxian’s fragile skin.
But as the cloth slips free, Lan Wangji freezes. His gaze catches on a scar running straight down Wei Wuxian’s chest. A thin line splits his sternum from clavicle to ribs. It appears recent—within the past year, judging by its color. The edges are clean and precise.
This was not the result of an injury. And it certainly wasn’t the handiwork of Wen Zhuliu. No, this was deliberate. Intentional.
Surgical.
Wei Wuxian wanted this.
Lan Wangji’s jaw tightens. His fingers dig into the thin flesh of Wei Wuxian’s side as a wave of realization crashes over him. Wei Wuxian would never do something like this without reason. Nothing he does is half-hearted. Everything he chooses serves a purpose.
Removing his golden core could not have been any different.
And if Lan Wangji knows Wei Wuxian at all… it was done for someone else.
Rage surges through him. He drives his fist into the dirt, head tipped toward the cavern ceiling as he imagines the words he will one day say to this reckless, foolish, heartbreakingly selfless man when he wakes.
The anger stirs something deep inside him, hot and restless. The same burning impulse that once drove him to loose an arrow during the Wen archery competition all those years ago.
His mouth finds Wei Wuxian’s before his thoughts can catch up. But Wei Wuxian’s lips do not yield the way they once did on Phoenix Mountain. They’re dry and cracked, fragile enough to bleed.
The taste of iron touches Lan Wangji’s tongue, yet he does not pull away. He deepens the kiss, brushing his tongue along the seam of Wei Wuxian’s lips before drawing the lower one gently into his mouth.
His fingers trace the sharp lines of Wei Wuxian’s cold, hollowed out cheekbones. Lan Wangji kisses him again and again, as though he might breathe his own spirit into Wei Wuxian through sheer force of will.
But Wei Wuxian remains unresponsive. And Lan Wangji feels the weight of it in every kiss that is not returned. Both times have been like this—only possible because Wei Wuxian cannot resist.
Still, Lan Wangji does not allow himself to stop. His lips trail downward, pressing slow, open-mouthed kisses along the length of Wei Wuxian’s scar while his hands gently strip away the last of Wei Wuxian’s inner garments.
Wei Wuxian’s skin prickles beneath the cave’s cold air, goosebumps skittering across his pale flesh. Above him, Lan Wangji feels as though his own body has been set aflame. His robes suddenly feel suffocating. Heat creeps up his neck and ears as his hands move instinctively to soothe the chill spreading across Wei Wuxian’s body.
It is the first time he has seen him naked like this since they were boys.
Back then, Lan Wangji had no words for the strange, confusing sensations blooming inside him. All he could do was shun him, shout at him, scold him—anything to chase the uncomfortable feelings away.
But Lan Wangji cannot look away now. Not when Wei Wuxian lies beneath him like this. Bare, exposed in the most intimate way imaginable.
Even emaciated, Wei Wuxian is hauntingly beautiful.
Lan Wangji glides his palms over the slope of Wei Wuxian’s torso, over the sharp lines of his hips. His own body responds immediately, heat flaring with every touch. He knows better than to fight it now.
There are some thoughts he has never managed to silence. Wei Wuxian has always held a strange power over him. It is no different now. Even lying motionless beneath him, exposed and vulnerable, Wei Wuxian has the ability to uproot Lan Wangji’s carefully cultivated restraint and twist it into a storm of feeling.
Nothing has ever been able to extinguish the quiet, burning desire he carries for this man.
And in moments of weakness, Lan Wangji has given in to that sinful longing—fingers exploring his own body on long, sleepless nights when the ache grew too strong. When reciting precepts and enduring hours in the Cold Pond could not begin to quiet it.
Lan Wangji’s body reacts now the same way it always has whenever thoughts of Wei Wuxian intrude upon his mind. His robes tent with the growing heat of his erection pressing insistently against the fabric.
This time, he does not attempt to recite precepts or flee to icy water. Instead, he searches for justification.
This is no different from a medical procedure. This is to save Wei Wuxian’s life. It is simply an examination.
Those are the words that repeat in his mind as he spreads Wei Wuxian’s thighs and settles between them.
Lan Wangji reaches for the vial of lubricating oil, unable to tear his gaze away from Wei Wuxian’s body. His fingers grow slick as he coats them, excess oil dripping over Wei Wuxian’s groin as his hand hovers closer.
The scrolls spared no detail regarding the consummation, describing in meticulous terms the preparation required for a male partner’s body. And since Wei Wuxian cannot prepare himself, Lan Wangji must do it for him.
“Wei Ying,” he starts, speaking softly against Wei Wuxian’s temple, “I am going to touch you now.”
He begins exactly as the instructions described. His index finger circles the tight rim, spreading oil generously before pressing the tip carefully inside. Immediate resistance greets him, warm flesh gripping his finger like a second skin.
Wei Wuxian groans beneath him. His knees draw weakly together in a faint attempt to squeeze Lan Wangji’s arm, though the movement carries little strength.
Lan Wangji’s heart sinks. Even now, Wei Wuxian’s body is fighting him on instinct.
“...It is alright,” he murmurs, soft and slow, right into Wei Wuxian’s ear. “I am here. And I will not do anything to harm you.”
The words tumble out, even though Wei Wuxian wouldn’t be happy to hear them. He’s probably still cursing Lan Wangji, deep within whatever unforgiving hellscape his mind has locked him in.
Lan Wangji presses deeper until his finger reaches the second knuckle. Wei Wuxian groans again as Lan Wangji begins a slow, careful motion, circling his finger as though applying a soothing balm. The lubricant eases the movement, and Wei Wuxian’s body gradually begins to yield.
When the tension lessens, Lan Wangji adds a second finger. It slides inside with less resistance than the first, Wei Wuxian’s body slowly opening to the stretch.
Lan Wangji watches his face intently for any change. Wei Wuxian’s eyes remain tightly shut, his brow drawn together with discomfort, yet it is different from the agony that had twisted his features before.
With every careful movement, Wei Wuxian’s expression shifts into something more difficult to read. Lan Wangji almost wishes he were awake, if only to hear his honest thoughts long enough to make this easier on him.
“Shh,” he murmurs softly, pressing reassuring words against Wei Wuxian’s hairline as he presses deeper, speaking with undeserved confidence even as his breath hitches. “The pain will ease. You are safe, Wei Ying.”
He adjusts his angle again and again in search of something gentler, but nothing seems to ease the strain. Wei Wuxian continues to writhe uncomfortably underneath him, bringing back harsh visions of those agonizing waves of pain that threatened his life.
Without thinking, Lan Wangji begins to hum.
The sound vibrates low in his throat, soft and steady as it resonates against Wei Wuxian’s chest while Lan Wangji presses gentle kisses to his collarbone. The melody comes instinctively, the same song that once helped calm Wei Wuxian’s spirit in the depths of another cave.
Wei Wuxian stills at the sound. The tension melts from his body almost immediately. Even the tight muscles around Lan Wangji’s fingers soften slightly.
Encouraged, Lan Wangji slowly adds a third finger. His humming grows a little stronger as he works it inside, the quiet melody filling the cave and drowning out the soft, slick sounds of his careful movements.
His mind races through the instructions recorded in the scroll, desperate to find ways to make this moment more pleasurable, more comfortable for Wei Wuxian. Several places had been marked as particularly sensitive. The most accessible, for the moment, are the nipples.
Lan Wangji drags his free hand through the slick coating Wei Wuxian’s groin before sliding it slowly up his chest.
“Wei Ying,” he breathes softly, circling the dark rim of Wei Wuxian’s areola, “I am going to touch you here now. It may… distract from the pain.”
He rolls the soft peak between his fingers, the lubricant easing the motion. His other hand continues its careful work, fingers pressing deeper while his thumb teases the sensitive bud until it hardens.
“Is this… alright?”
He is desperate for any sign of life. Any reaction at all. Anything to confirm that what he’s doing is helping.
At last, he receives one.
Wei Wuxian arches his back, the most he has moved on his own since losing consciousness. A quiet moan follows—not a pained sound, but a soft, breathy noise. And beneath Lan Wangji’s hand, Wei Wuxian’s body responds even further—heat gathering low in his groin, his half-limp length stirring with involuntary life.
Lan Wangji stills for the briefest moment at the sight, breath catching in his throat, before he repeats the motion. His fingers press deeper while his other hand flicks gently across the hardened nipple. Wei Wuxian moans again, a little louder this time.
“Wei Ying,” Lan Wangji murmurs, “do you like being touched… here?”
His hand moves to the other side, coaxing the second nipple into the same stiff peak. Wei Wuxian answers with another low sound, his breathing growing heavier, hips shifting faintly beneath him.
Lan Wangji bends his head. His mouth closes around the neglected nipple, warm breath washing across Wei Wuxian’s chilled skin as his tongue flicks out gently.
The sound Wei Wuxian makes this time is obscene. His back arches higher as he presses his chest deeper into Lan Wangji’s mouth, his arousal unmistakable where it brushes against Lan Wangji’s wrist.
“…You do like this,” Lan Wangji murmurs softly.
His movements grow faster now. His mouth works one nipple while his hand toys with the other, and his fingers continue stretching Wei Wuxian open. By the time a fourth finger slips inside, there is little resistance left.
Lan Wangji groans quietly as Wei Wuxian’s sounds grow louder.
Relief, guilt, and forbidden pleasure twist together inside him. The echo of Wei Wuxian’s voice bouncing off the cave walls does dangerous things to his restraint.
His erection strains harder against his robes. Without meaning to, he presses forward, his length brushing the soft curve of Wei Wuxian’s thigh. The contact sends a sharp pulse of pleasure through him.
It takes all of his strength and self-control to stop himself from rutting into Wei Wuxian’s thigh like a beast in heat.
The ritual requires consummation. He cannot finish yet. Not until he has joined with Wei Wuxian completely. And judging by the way Wei Wuxian’s body now yields around four of his fingers—by the way his hips begin to move, shallow and uncoordinated, chasing the sensation—that moment is close.
Wei Wuxian lets out a broken sound, body tightening suddenly. His back arches sharply, breath catching as pleasure overtakes him all at once. Streaks of white spill across his stomach in uneven pulses, his body trembling through the release.
Lan Wangji freezes. For a moment, all he can do is watch. Relief soon follows, sharp and overwhelming, as the tension in Wei Wuxian’s body eases, if only slightly. His breathing steadies, no longer as strained. And the tightness around Lan Wangji's fingers softens even more.
It sends a dangerous surge of heat through Lan Wangji’s body, tightening low in his gut.
Wei Wuxian whimpers quietly as Lan Wangji withdraws his hand just long enough to strip. There is no ceremony to the motion. His robes are torn away hastily, falling into the mud beside them.
He returns immediately, bare chest pressing against Wei Wuxian’s as he captures his lips in another sharp kiss. His hand wraps around his own length, breath hissing through his teeth as he coats himself with the same slick still dripping from Wei Wuxian’s body. One hand braces against the ground while the other guides his erection, lining it up to Wei Wuxian’s stretched, dripping entrance.
"...Wei Ying," he whispers, "I am going to... consummate our marriage now."
With a sharp exhale, he slowly pushes himself inside. The warmth that envelops him is unlike anything he has ever known.
Wei Wuxian’s body clings to him, tight and impossibly hot. Lan Wangji’s breath shudders as he sinks deeper, fingers digging into the earth until the veins in his forearms bulge sharply.
When he is fully seated, he stills. He forces himself to breathe. He forces himself to wait, to give Wei Wuxian time to adjust to the fullness, even as his entire body screams at him to move.
The ritual texts had not prepared him for how good this would feel.
Remaining still goes against every instinct in Lan Wangji’s body. His breath turns ragged, eyes narrowed as they bore into Wei Wuxian’s face while he waits for any change in his breathing.
Once Lan Wangji is certain that Wei Wuxian has settled—that his groans have quieted into soft, uneven whimpers—he finally begins to move. At first it is slow and tentative, much like when he first used his fingers. Then it becomes something else entirely. Lan Wangji moves as though possessed, every primal instinct telling him to take, to claim, to unravel the body beneath him.
The barren cavern amplifies every lewd sound. The slick slide of oil and flesh. The wet slap of hips meeting skin. Lan Wangji’s heavy breaths, breaking into uneven gasps.
He bites down on his tongue, desperate to silence the indecent noises rising from deep within his throat. With every thrust, he sinks deeper. Wei Wuxian’s body yields to him readily now, curving around him as though it had always been meant to fit this way.
The pace grows harsher, sloppier. Lan Wangji’s control unravels as he chases the rapid rise of pleasure coiling low in his stomach. His thighs tremble as he drives forward. His breathing sharpens into quick, desperate inhales. A low groan escapes him before he can stop it. He is going to finish. He can feel it building, seconds away—
But then, the guilt arrives.
It rises rapidly, like bile crawling up his throat. Lan Wangji goes still, and his gaze drifts up to the cavernous, bloodstained ceiling above. Because every time he looks down, the truth waits there for him.
Wei Wuxian never agreed to this. He lies unconscious beneath him, arms limp in the dirt, his head rolling helplessly with the force of Lan Wangji’s thrusts. Though he moans and arches faintly into the touch, it does nothing to hide the truth.
He is not awake.
They are joined in the most intimate way two people can be, and yet Wei Wuxian has never felt farther away.
Lan Wangji clenches his jaw and slams his palm into the ground. He cannot watch this any longer. He cannot bear to see himself desecrate Wei Wuxian’s body. He cannot bear how much he enjoys it.
With a shuddering breath, he collapses forward. His hips still as he gathers Wei Wuxian tightly against his chest, burying his face in the dark strands of his hair. He inhales sharply, drawing in the faint scent of sandalwood that lingers there.
His thoughts wage war against each other. This is wrong. This is necessary. This is grotesque. This is intoxicating. This is saving him. This is violating him.
Among them, one truth rings louder than the rest: Lan Wangji despises himself.
He hates how desperately he wants this moment. He hates knowing that he has imagined it more times than he can count. He hates all the lonely nights he has spent touching himself beneath pale moonlight while imagining Wei Wuxian’s bright face.
The memories become unbearable. Lan Wangji slams his eyes shut, wanting nothing more than to escape from this reality. A sudden, ragged inhale drags him violently back into the present.
His eyes snap open. He pulls back just enough to search Wei Wuxian’s face, panic flashing through him until he finds the faint rise and fall of his chest. Wei Wuxian is still here. He’s still alive.
And the only way to keep it that way is to finish this ritual.
Lan Wangji steadies himself with the cool press of Wei Wuxian’s skin beneath his hands, with the scent of sandalwood threading through his hair.
Everything Wei Wuxian does has a purpose; everything Lan Wangji does is for Wei Wuxian. And if his arms cannot carry Wei Wuxian to safety, then perhaps his voice can.
He swallows hard, nuzzling his nose gently against Wei Wuxian’s temple.
“Wei Ying,” he whispers softly, beginning to move again, slower this time. “Do you know where we are right now?”
His hips rock forward in a careful rhythm, lips gliding across Wei Wuxian's forehead.
“...We are floating among the lotus flowers in Yunmeng.”
He thrusts deeper with each motion, one hand steadying the back of Wei Wuxian’s head as he hums into his hair.
“The water is calm tonight,” he continues quietly. “Our boat drifts slowly across the pond.”
Wei Wuxian lets out a faint sound beneath him, and Lan Wangji presses a soft kiss to his temple.
“The lotus blossoms are particularly beautiful this year,” he murmurs. “It almost looks as though someone has taken an ink brush and—"
His voice falters, breaking slightly. He bites back the swelling emotion and forces himself to continue, no longer sure who the words are meant to comfort.
"...And painted the surface of the water… with bright pink strokes.”
His eyes close. And for a brief moment, they are somewhere else entirely. Not in a cave filled with death and rot, but drifting quietly together in a world filled with flowers and light.
Lan Wangji allows himself to imagine a different life where Wei Wuxian reaches for him willingly—where warm arms wrap around his back and pull him closer, urging him deeper.
He can almost hear Wei Wuxian’s voice. Teasing him. Laughing softly even as pleasure breaks through his words. Poking and prodding in the insufferable, endearing way that is so unmistakably him.
And that vision is what finally breaks him. A hot, thick release spills inside Wei Wuxian as Lan Wangji comes undone. He muffles his groan against Wei Wuxian’s shoulder, body shaking as waves of pleasure ripple through him.
Chest heaving, he collapses forward as the aftershocks fade, their bodies pressed impossibly close.
The moments that follow are agonizingly still.
Lan Wangji catches his breath, waiting for something—anything—to happen. His hands roam frantically across Wei Wuxian’s body, checking every major pulse point along the meridians. His wrists. His neck. His heart. His stomach. Each one yields the same result.
Empty.
Wei Wuxian’s spiritual pathways remain as barren as before.
Lan Wangji’s hand trembles as he brushes the damp hair from Wei Wuxian’s face, searching desperately for any sign of life.
“Wei Ying… Wei Ying…” he pleads, the name falling from his lips like a prayer as he presses frantic kisses along Wei Wuxian’s jaw. “Please… say something. Please.”
When no answer comes, he lowers his mouth to Wei Wuxian’s chest, nuzzling his nose along the thin line of the scar. At the same time, his hand claws at his own chest, as though he might rip out his golden core.
He would trade anything to take even a fragment of Wei Wuxian’s pain away. The excruciating agony of tearing his own flesh apart would be nothing compared to the torment of watching Wei Wuxian wither away like this.
He waits and waits, helpless. Powerless. He does not dare withdraw from Wei Wuxian, even as his own spend slowly seeps out around his softening erection and sticks to his thighs.
Lan Wangji grits his teeth. With every passing moment, the dreadful possibility that he may have needlessly violated Wei Wuxian in his final hours grows clearer.
Waiting becomes unbearable. He moves to strike his own chest, to punish himself for his foolishness—but his body refuses to cooperate.
A strange heaviness settles over him, like the dull weakness of illness dragging his limbs down. His movements grow sluggish. A pulsing ache blooms behind his eyes. A sharp pain seizes his chest, as though an iron vise has clamped around his heart, and each breath becomes harder to draw.
And beneath him, something miraculous begins to happen.
The color slowly begins to return to Wei Wuxian’s face, like the first pale wash of dawn spreading across the earth. A faint glow begins to bloom beneath his skin. It radiates softly from the center of his chest, pulsing with gentle light that makes his skin appear almost translucent.
Lan Wangji’s breath catches. He places his trembling hand over the glow, feeling warmth flicker beneath his palm like a newly lit candle.
Just as Lan Wangji presses his palm down, Wei Wuxian coughs. His chest jerks violently beneath Lan Wangji’s hand, heaving with the sudden effort. He drags in a ragged breath of air, inhaling so sharply that he goes rigid, mouth falling open.
And then—
Slowly—
Wei Wuxian’s eyes open.
Lan Wangji stares down at him in stunned disbelief, almost convinced that the eyes blinking up at him are a hallucination, a cruel trick of the mind. They are unfocused at first, distant and dazed as Wei Wuxian's consciousness returns. He coughs again, gasping between inhales, brow twisted with effort as he struggles to speak.
“Lan… Zhan…?”
Emotion crashes through Lan Wangji so suddenly it steals the air from his lungs.
His fingers curl desperately into Wei Wuxian’s skin as the tears that he's fought so hard to contain finally break free, spilling down his cheeks. They fall onto the soft glow beneath Wei Wuxian’s skin, tracing the steady flow of newly awakened spiritual energy as it pulses through his body like a rushing river.
“...Mn… I am here…” he manages at last, voice catching in his tight throat. His trembling hands rise to cradle Wei Wuxian’s face, feeling warmth where death had lingered only moments before. “...And so are you.”
The ritual worked.
He’s alive.
Wei Wuxian... is alive.
Lan Wangji aches to gather him into his arms, to press burning kisses along every inch of skin he can reach, to hold him so tightly that he can never slip away again.
Wei Wuxian watches him closely, clearly struggling to follow the sharp turn in Lan Wangji’s emotions.
His expression twists as his gaze slowly drifts to the sticky mess trailing down his stomach, before finally settling on the place where Lan Wangji is still buried deep inside him.
Lan Wangji recoils as if burned. The relief vanishes in an instant, replaced by bone-deep shame. His chest tightens painfully, as though disgust now flows through his veins in place of blood.
“Lan… Zhan… you…” Wei Wuxian manages between shallow breaths. “Why are we…?”
His words falter, and Lan Wangji cannot tell whether it is from pain or something worse.
Silence settles between them, thick as the resentful energy coiling through the cave. Lan Wangji turns his head away, words failing him entirely. No explanation could make this right.
“…You were dying,” he says at last, barely above a whisper. “I had to… There was no other way to save you.”
He pulls out carefully, refusing to look Wei Wuxian in the eyes. Yet his gaze lands on the mess smeared across his own skin, an inescapable reminder of what he has done.
His pulse stutters. He reaches for Wei Wuxian’s discarded robes, movements still sluggish, desperate to cover him.
“Lan Zhan..." Wei Wuxian coughs harshly. "Where are you—”
Lan Wangji cuts him off.
“…I should give you space.”
He stands too quickly, averting his gaze as he drapes the inner robes over Wei Wuxian’s body with unsteady hands. With his back turned, he fumbles with his own clothing, fastening it hastily, heat creeping up his neck.
But the moment he moves to step away, something tugs him back. Thin fingers, weak but unyielding, hook into the end of his headband.
“…Don’t go,” Wei Wuxian rasps. “Stay.”
Lan Wangji stills.
His breath catches somewhere in his throat.
Slowly, hesitantly, he turns.
Wei Wuxian is watching him intently. His grip trembles, knuckles pale against the soiled ribbon, but his gaze has changed. The haze has thinned. Beneath it, something sharp and familiar flickers to life.
Lan Wangji’s chest tightens. He should pull away. He should free the ribbon before the filth stains Wei Wuxian’s hand. Yet he cannot convince himself to move.
“But you—” His voice breaks. “...You must hate me.”
Wei Wuxian lets out a small, breathless sound. He shakes his head faintly, wincing with the effort. “I don’t.”
“You should,” Lan Wangji insists, the words tearing loose.
“Why…?” Wei Wuxian murmurs.
Lan Wangji’s jaw tightens. It is such a Wei Wuxian question—deflecting, prodding, refusing to name the obvious.
“I acted without your consent,” Lan Wangji replies, more forcefully. “I touched you… knowing you wished me gone.”
Wei Wuxian exhales a weak laugh.
“I thought you hated me,” he says, glancing faintly downward. “Looks like… I was very wrong.”
His fingers tighten slightly around the headband. A faint smirk pulls at his lips, stubborn even now.
“Hanguang-jun,” he starts, “you’re really just going to marry me… fuck me… and run away?”
Lan Wangji’s eyes widen. “I would never—”
He stops.
“…Wei Ying,” he says slowly, something fragile breaking through his confusion. “How do you know that we are… that we…”
“Married?” Wei Wuxian murmurs. His eyes drift shut, but his grip remains firm. “You never do anything… out of order.”
His free hand lifts weakly, pressing against his chest. “And I can feel you… here.”
Lan Wangji stills.
He senses it too. A steady warmth threads between them, subtle and constant. Like a cord drawn taut, binding them together no matter the distance. No matter how far he tries to pull away, he knows the other end will always remain in Wei Wuxian’s grasp.
“…How do you feel?” Lan Wangji asks, quieter now.
Wei Wuxian inhales slowly, as though the damp cave air is the first real breath he has taken in months.
“Better than I have… in a long fucking time.”
His eyes open again, softer now.
“…Thank you,” he adds.
Something in Lan Wangji’s chest gives way. The tension he has been holding since entering the cave fractures, just enough for breath to return to his lungs.
“Wei Ying, I—”
Wei Wuxian tugs weakly at the ribbon. “Now get the fuck out of here.”
Lan Wangji’s heart drops. But the smirk that follows dissolves the fear before it can take hold.
“The clans are still coming for me, right?” Wei Wuxian explains. “If they find you here… they’ll have your head.”
“They cannot harm you now,” Lan Wangji replies steadily, despite the tremor in his chest. “You are bound to me. By law… and by soul.”
The words settle between them.
Wei Wuxian studies him for a long moment. Then, he laughs—soft, tired, but unmistakably himself.
“Lan Zhan,” he murmurs, twirling the end of the headband, “you’re an idiot. You know that?”
“…Mn,” Lan Wangji replies quietly, the faintest curve touching his lips. “I am aware.”
This time when he moves, it is not to leave.
He lowers himself beside Wei Wuxian instead, carefully drawing the robe closer around his shoulders. Wei Wuxian’s fingers remain tangled in his headband, stubborn and unrelenting—as though even now, he refuses to let Lan Wangji slip away.
Outside, the world still burns. The clans still march. There will be questions, consequences, and battles yet to come. But for now, none of that matters. Wei Wuxian is alive. And Lan Wangji is still here.
For this brief, quiet moment in the darkness, that is more than enough.