wuding | yiling.

yiling.

( He had anticipated silence, nightmarish husking, a slaughter of dust and dreams. A vast, unending emptiness of possibility.

Instead, Yiling surprised him: in the wake of the war that toppled the Yiling Patriarch and his restitution thirteen years after, the village has thrived, a convenient settlement at crossed roads. The markets lack exotic produce or sophisticated offerings, but excel in popularity. Those who must eat will have their fill. The roads accept visitors, bandits still banished by the specter of the Patriarch that is said to still manifest against wrongdoers on his grounds. Yunmeng's commerce is, if not wholly restored, then tentatively rejuvenating.

They arrive on lukewarm morning, Yiling clinging to its suffocating humidity even at the turn of seasons. Begging leave of his retinue, the acting sect leader has entrusted Sizhui and Uncle Qiren to watch over the clan — and now only carries their wares, dragging Little Apple by a soft lead. The donkey trots obediently, sparing unconvinced glances each way as if to transmit that it is an animal debased by these surroundings and prefers a hey of higher quality.

They enter the village, well ahead of Wei Ying's distant cave settlement, on foot &dmash; to vocal offers of carrot, winter melon and... of course he buys a bundle of turnips, paying twice the local going rate, and still not half of what might be charged in Jinlintai. Appeased, the old lady that descended on him withdraws, patting her belly, then her thinning basket of goods, because, ah, what a day.

Lan Wangji, trailing after his husband, is still a little aghast and confused after his ambush. )

I believe they like me here. ( Certainly, they like his silver. )

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[It’s bittersweet to walk the markets he remembers. The buildings are all the same as they were a decade and a half ago, unlike the disorienting structural changes Yunmeng had undergone before his first visit there post-resurrection. He knows some of the merchants selling their wares, but it’s a one-sided recognition. There’s no point in announcing who he is, so he doesn’t. He greets them as if it’s the first time he’s met them and buys a few things here and there while he chats and pries for the latest gossip.

When he’s had his fill of socializing, he turns to Lan Zhan with a wide grin and something hidden in the palm of his hand.]

We should check into an inn before we go to the Burial Mounds unless you like the idea of sleeping in a cave.

[He takes Lan Zhan’s hand and turns it so it’s palm-up so he can deposit something onto it. It’s a trinket, really. A small, wood-carved rabbit that he’d seen at one of the toy shops. He’d bought it while Lan Zhan had been reverse-haggling over the price of turnips.]

They have good taste, then. There aren’t many prominent cultivators in the area. I bet they’d love to hear stories about your exploits and how well you knew the Yiling Patriarch.

[He hadn’t hid his identity back then, but he hadn’t announced it, either. His reputation in the eyes of Yiling was better than it had been in the rest of the world. They thought of him as an eccentric cultivator, but not a harbinger of doom. He’d cleaned up their ghost problems from time to time and just hearing his name could send bandits and the like running.

It’s refreshing to be here and even more so to remain anonymous.]

( ...ah. In his hand, glistening from finishing oils, the trinket is a pretty thing, likely the darling of children. He brings a second hand, cupped around the first, as if to sustain and balance it is a noble task and a single palm cannot rise to the occasion. His mouth breaks first in trembling lines, then the fond, easy affection of a man so impossibly pleased and well charmed.

He looks up, utterly infatuated. ) Thank you.

( Both hands fold around his treasure, and he slips it with delicacy in his qiankun purse, where it can sleep peacefully until it is returned among Lan Wangji's collection of other beautiful gifts from his honored husband, at home. For now, he only drifts behind Wei Ying, his silks a pale whirlwind reminding of a winter yet to come, while the rivers of people part to allow for the gentlemen cultivators.

He hesitates, once they reach the village's most passing inn, hand catching on Wei Ying's sleeve to latch a minimal objection. )

The cave. In truth, I do not mind. ( A pause, as he wrestles with his words, until finally recovering them: ) Perhaps we may create new memories there.

( And baptize it with gladness, after years of agony, resentment and matted grief. )

[He’s looking around at the familiar scenery. Even the nameless crowds remind him of the times he’d come to town with Wen Ning or A-Yuan. Not all of the memories of that time in his life are bad ones. He’d been hungrier, soberer, and more exhausted than the comfortable life he’d had in the Jiang sect, but he was surrounded by people he’d grown to care about.

He’s just feeling thankful to have A-Yuan and Wen Ning back in his life when he feels the tug on his sleeve. He comes to a stop and turns to face his husband curiously.]

You’re sure? [And how does he feel about sleeping in his old haunt? Conflicted, but there are pros and cons of both options.] We’ll save a lot of time if we don’t have to travel back and forth.

[He nudges Lan Zhan’s side with his elbow.] I knew you wanted to sleep with me in the demon quelling cave. Should I change my hairstyle after we finish our work today?

[It all depends on how he’s feeling once they’re actually there. He’s already been back once since he’d come back to life, so he knows what to expect. The last time, he’d been so focused on the emergent siege that had been going on that he’d been able to avoid most of the hard stuff. There won’t be any distractions this time around.]

( At the end of every moment of hardship, a kernel of hope: for all they must cross hell first, Wei Ying can still afford to laugh and think of heaven. Fleetingly, he lets his husband's nudge propel him a step forward, before returning the affection with a gentle nudge to Wei Ying's flank. You are not so fragile, nowadays.

Does he wish to reclaim the cave as their own? Of course, indelibly. They have always negotiated an outcome where Wei Ying and Lan Wangji partake in the joys of their flesh and sate their appetites on the foremost avenue of their agony. But... today? )

We needn't, this evening. ( Later. Tomorrow. Whenever Wei Ying is prone and fit and not surrendering to love-making only to sate the reckless perpetuity of his storming thoughts. )

Let us see, once the ugly work is done. ( Once they have faced an abyssal volume of blood and spiritual energy, and Wei Ying has depleted himself repelling ghosts. )

If you prevail.

[He pouts for a moment, but it doesn’t last long. He knows Lan Zhan isn’t denying him with this, only redirecting. He doubts they’ll be finished with the task they set out after one night’s work. The blood pool is brimming with terribly strong amounts of resentment. He doesn’t know if they’ll purify the whole thing, but he wants to release the ghosts of the Wen remnants who had been murdered and thrown in the pool for corpse disposal.]

When I prevail. [Because he has no intention of leaving until the work is finished. And a good part of the first day there is to set up wards and other means of protection.]

I know another few places we can go to if we want to stick to our every day but not in the demon quelling cave. [Places with more nostalgic memories than the place where he lost everything.] Or, if you can behave yourself when I’m kissing you, we can be chaste until after our work.

[The gravity of what they’re setting out to accomplish has been trickling into his thoughts, but it hasn’t fully registered yet. He feels confident with Lan Zhan at his side. Like no matter what happens, Lan Zhan will see it through.]

I shall find the means to restrain myself. ( He offers dryly, because, come what may, they both know who lacks discipline between them, and it is not Lan Wangji, son of the early rise and evening fasts.

Even now, he falls in line, sufficiently at ease with his place in both the world and in this assignment to duly follow behind his husband, trailing diligently. The blood pool, he remembers, will want spiritual desiccation. The cave, cleansing. Wei Ying, too, will require support throughout. He is better to preserve his strength and dole it out strategically, only when his lover finds himself in need.

He must trust, above all, arms knitting behind himself in perfect composure — that Wei Ying will ask, when the moment comes. )

Lead the way, beloved. What remains of your wards will require your hand. ( A fragment of them, he knows all too well, would have been removed already by the waves of cultivators that assaulted Wei Ying's lair like vultures in the wake of him. )

And here I thought I was completely irresistible. [It’s all in good humor. He knows that there’s more to their relationship than mutual attraction and passion, so he’s not worried they’ll grow apart if they skip a few days of sleeping together. That doesn’t mean he wants to skip that sort of intimacy, he just doesn’t need the reassurance to feel like they’re okay.

He waits until they’re out of the market street to slow down to mount Little Apple again. After giving the picky beast one of the apples he’d brought from their stash in Gusu, of course. The grass in Yiling isn’t as green and healthy as the grass back at home so the donkey will just have to swallow his pride if he wants to be fed.]

You can clean up while I take care of the warding. [They’d left it a complete mess the last time they’d been there. Then again, Sizhui and Wen Ning could have cleaned up some or all of it.

He lets Little Apple choose the speed, which is a little faster than sluggish. He guides the beast with his reins and leads the way like he’d been asked.]

We haven’t been married in Yiling yet. Want to celebrate once we’ve finished the work?

You are irresistible.

( This, fleetingly, without heat or defensiveness. Wei Ying stutters through his courtesies, constantly deflecting any sign of hurt through humour. It is best, at times, to remind him that he is wanted, avidly. That he is beautiful, constantly. That he is a blunt instrument of power beyond control or understanding, to both fright and delight.

And that Lan Wangji loves him, throughout these matters. At times, for them. )

Would you consider the union blessed in Yiling? ( There is a natural reticence Wei Ying appears to harbor about the Burial Grounds that Lan Wangji cannot begrudge him. Too much bloodshed rained on the grounds, too much deep-rooted tragedy befell them.

As Wei Ying loiters to feed Little Apple, Lan Wangji takes the time to balance their wares, tying up rolls of thick blankets and purses of parchment. They do not travel light, for once, and Lan Wangji's covert qiankun purse thrums with silver to share among the sick, the poor and the orphaned upon their departure.

He awaits Wei Ying's signal to continue their pilgrimage, falling geacefully in tow until the maws of the cave greet them, toothless and raw, coal-black but somehow still glistened with distant, long-cleansed carnage. The energy of the grounds is mournful, consecrated, foul.

He breathes in. Out. Settles his hand squarely on Bichen's hilt, prepared for an ugly draw and ensuing confrontation. )

Tell your spirits to withdraw, Patriarch.

[When Lan Zhan puts it that way, it does make him feel somewhat superstitious. Would he risk their marriage upon unstable spiritual grounds? He wouldn’t feel comfortable marrying him in the Burial Mounds itself, but does that extend to all of Yiling?]

It’s more like Yiling will be blessed by our marriage, huh? I wasn’t kidding when I said I want to marry you all over the world, but maybe we’ll see how we feel after we’ve finished what we came here to do.

[Along the way, Wei Wuxian spares Lan Zhan anecdotes about A-Yuan’s exploits as the youngest member of their group. He doesn’t have as many as he would otherwise like because he’d spent an unreasonable amount of his time holed up in his cave tinkering and working. Especially at first before he’d been able to restore Wen Ning’s consciousness. But he has a few cute stories to share.

As they get closer to their destination, his commentary becomes more scarce. He still points things out, but it’s more surface-level instead of personal. Until they’re finally in the territory of the Burial Mounds where the atmosphere feels heavier and the stench of the dead lingers on the breeze.

Little Apple seems displeased by the new location, so he jumps off him and has to tug him along.] Why are you like this? We’re not going back to town today, so you may as well get used to it. It’ll be safe, I promise. Here, have a bite of apple. If you want the rest, you’ll have to follow us.

[He looks at Lan Zhan, noticing at once that his hackles are up, too. He feels the hairs on the back of his own neck rise too, but he’s more used to it than either of his companions.]

Good idea.

[He hands off Little Apple’s reins and half-eaten snack so he can use Chenqing. He can feel the hum of resentment energy flowing through it even before he brings it up to his lips. His commands are simple today and the dead seem willing to listen to the message carried through the subdued notes. Rest.

He’s pleased when the shuffling slows as the spirits respond to his command. There are a lot of dead here, even more than there were when he’d lived here after so many corpses were desecrated and moved here after being stripped by Jin Guangyao from their proper burial sites. But they respond much the same way as the ghosts that came before them.

If they ever decide to cleanse the whole of the Burial Grounds, they‘ll be here for months. Today’s task alone will likely take days or even weeks.]

They’re responding to me, so that’s a good sign. Let’s get into the cave and I’ll get those wards up. If any of them get too close, I trust that you know what to do.

( The donkey and its apple surrendered, turned to Lan Wangji for safe-keeping. Wei Ying himself removed, subject to the silent whimsicality of his powers, unshackled. From a timid distance, Lan Wangji only... watches in silent wait of all that which he has been bred to disdain, cultured to question. Resentment grows and bolsters and yet never bursts, a dead weight on his shoulder.

He shudders, gut lead and iron and all things dark, and spirits coiling and winding before him. His mouth turns terse and a hard line — and then, he remembers himself. Wei Ying is not the enemy, but his single, most beloved companion. What lies before him is a show of strength, not one of competition or unkindness.

He must educate himself back into that discipline, must not waver. First, he peels away parchment, summoning the tools to crystalise a ward that enshrouds him and Wei Ying. The energies might not wish to feed off his husband, but they are unlikely to make the softest attempt, under the circumstances.

At first, he hovers, hand tender as it lands on Wei Ying's back to convey less his strength than merely his approval, leading them into the cave. It is... as he expected. A relic, struggling on its feet, massively deteriorating. Time has not spared it, nor improved its circumstances. The stench of blood sleeps long. )

Half a shichen. No more. The energies will corrupt us past — ( No sense to speak to Wei Ying, who does not believe in crafty tricks, of purity. Better: ) Efficiency. Agreed?

( His mouth seeks to shed its tension, while the rest of his body bears it. He cannot say what he will do, if Wei Ying denies him. )

[The atmosphere in the Burial Mounds is so oppressive that those without a hint of a gold core can feel the weight of it viscerally. For someone like Lan Zhan, it must be nearly overwhelming. He can see it in his husband’s posture and on his face as Wei Wuxian brings the flute away from his lips after Lan Zhan wards the two of them.

The ghosts are as settled as they’ll ever be. Some of them meandering about while others fall into dormancy. It’ll be enough to give them the time they need to prepare the cave for its visitors and the work they mean to accomplish.]

Time to get to work.

[He lets Lan Zhan guide him into the cave. It’s still light enough outside that he can see the state of it without any illuminating talismans or lanterns. He shudders a little when he hears a phantasmal welcome that prickles the back of his neck like a cold breeze. You’re home now.]

Half a shichen. [He agrees, looking around for the source of the ghostly voice. He assumes Lan Zhan hasn’t heard it.] If that includes the time it’ll take to ward the place, we won’t make any progress until later.

[They can negotiate a schedule when they take their first break. For now, he goes deeper into the cave to make sure there are no ghosts to evict before he gets started.]

Still think you’ll be able to sleep in here?

( This is his partner, his companion. The man to whom Lan Wangji owes care, consideration, the dignity of a fair response. And so, pained by his own limitations, he still murmurs as he enters the cave as if it is the mouth of madness — )

I do not know. ( A hard truth and bitter medicine. He does not think of the tarnish the admission gives to his pride. Wei Ying is his lover, yes, but also on this day, his partner in their night hunt. To lie to him is to endanger him — a fault inadmissible.

Deep inside, the cave feels — husked, gored of its entrails. Left barren, like the womb of a crone. Everywhere Lan Wangji steps, trails of resentment follow, curious and drawn to him like moths to a flame. He hears them whispering sweet nonsense in his ear, touching his arms, kissing his cheek. At times, they call out to Hanguang-Jun, darkly knowing. At others, their trembling exhalations betray their sullen anguish.

It is inevitable, when he follows one too closely to the belly of the cave, where the dregs of blood waters linger, and he looks in to see rippling, to see his broken quietude, to see his face — then Wei Ying's, as he once was. Feverishly furious, confident, strong. Repudiating him.

He kneels down, hands hovering over the waters, still recalling enough of his old cautions not to touch. So beautiful. )

[He starts by assessing the condition of his old wards, ultimately deciding he’ll need to start from scratch. He can hear Lan Zhan’s footsteps behind him going deeper into the cave. He’s not too worried about him, since he’s an excellent cultivator and night huntsman, but he remembers the way this cave in particular can chip away at the psyche.

As it is, the spirits seem exceptionally chatty. Even though he should be used to the whispers of the dead in this cave, it’s enough to raise his skin in goose flesh.

It sounds like Lan Zhan’s stopping at the blood pool. Is he using the time to investigate for their work? Curious, he follows after him.]

Lan Zhan?

[Alarmed to see Lan Zhan so close to touching the blood water, he slows his approach so as not to startle. He can almost see the expression on Lan Zhan’s face, but not quite. As worried as he is, he’s a little irritated too. He won’t have time to do any work if he has to babysit his husband. Really, he should know better than to get so close!]

What’s gotten into you?

( For a moment, he cannot peel himself away, impossibly enraptured, in awe of the cherished thing before him. Then, Wei Ying speaks again — and he murmurs his acknowledgement, slow to loosen from the waters.

He falls back, nearly. Watches, hopes, waits. Then, softly behind himself: )

Nothing. ( As if it will help. As if Lan Wangji, served the same answer, would he himself believe it. But they are not of a kind, and Wei Ying has ever surrendered more prettily to his husband's pronouncements.

With a parting look to the blood-born reflection, he scuttles close to Wei Ying, trailing after his lover's long shadow. )

Forgive me. I dallied.

[He takes a step closer, pausing when Lan Zhan moves back much less gracefully than he usually would. He knows that the spirits here are strong enough to play tricks on the living. To lure them in with promises of power, but Lan Zhan isn’t the sort of man to fall prey to that sort of thing.]

It’s a lie.

[What is? The unconvincing way Lan Zhan denies there’s something going on? Well, that’s obvious. But he’s talking about the spirits.]

They’ll make promises they can’t keep and use you up until you’re almost as dead as they are if you let ‘em. You should know that already.

[There’s only one thing that he can think of that would make Lan Zhan stumble and he doesn’t like it one bit. He reaches out and takes Lan Zhan’s hand, tugging him further from the pool and closer to him.]

You’re good?

( He bristles, the cut of Wei Ying's voice far too sharp for their typical kindness and indulgences. There is a point past which he cannot suffer his lover's appetite for cruelty, so seldom stirred. But then, Wei Ying was raised in Yunmeng, unwanted child at the door of a venom-tongued mistress. He has learned the drip of her toxicity.

Obediently, he trails after his lover, hand soft and limp in Wei Ying's grasp, attentively pursuing. Beneath his feet, gravel rolls and pebbles quake, and spirits whisper. This is how it starts, this is how he was, before.

Cold. Indifferent. Prone to rejection. The Wei Ying of them, entrapped in the blood waters Lan Wangji peers at again, to catch parting glimpses of the reflection. )

See to your work. I shall... ( And what can he do, then? ) Hold the ground.

[This had been a mistake. He doesn’t like how limply Lan Zhan’s holding his hand. He doesn’t like that he’s getting annoyed by his husband’s behavior. He doesn’t like the tendrils of resentment preying on them. He tries to resist, as he always tried, but it feels freeing to give into his negativity. Without the tiger tally, he should be able to resist for longer.

He lets go of Lan Zhan’s hand when they’re closer to the mouth of the cave. He needs to work quickly to shut out all the voices.]

If you want to do something, you could collect the old wards or see to Little Apple. It’s probably best we go back to town tonight, so we can come back tomorrow without her.

[He glances over at Lan Zhan as he takes his blank talismans out of his qiankun purse and sets them out on a convenient rock he used to use as a desk. His wards before were all demonic cultivation, but he can mix in a little traditional cultivation this time. He hopes it will make them more effective.

Maybe it will clear the air so he can feel a little more like himself again.]

( If he wants to do something. As if Lan Wangji is a burden, an attachment, a child. He feels — brittle, all at once, keenly aware that he would not have breathed such disappointment mere days gone, and that his vulnerability is only the relic of revisiting a troubled, haunted place.

Wei Ying attempted to warn him, in his own way. To remind Lan Wangji that the grounds of Yiling were the territory of troubled paths and that they chance their own undoing, tempting fate as they visit. He has only himself to blame for persisting, as he withdraws once his lover relinquishes his hand, seeking his purpose on the opposite end of the cave.

The wards, Wei Ying instructs. So be it. A simple task beneath the notice of even a skilled junior disciple. Lan Wangji still applies himself, determined to prove that he was assigned deftly and will not fail Wei Ying in his responsibilities: first, disrupting the lingering flows of energy with his own talismans. Then, collecting the parchment or wiping loose the blood seals that had sealed the wards. Finally, he eliminates the last of the residual, tainting presence with a soothing purification song on his hastily summoned guqin.

It is slow, meticulous work, repetitive. He thanks his years of training at Uncle's knee for the ability to perform it without question.

In the end, he crawls back to Wei Ying, soul fragile but mind steadied, anchored and calmed by exercise. )

Twenty-eight pieces. ( An excess, in any house but this. ) You are holding pace?

[He focuses on his work, quiet other than when he mutters nonsense to himself. He doesn’t really notice he’s doing it. He barely notices any time has gone by until Lan Zhan is back at his side. He doesn’t look up from his work, knowing that once he sets the wards, things will be better for both of them.]

Only eight are missing?

[He takes the time to gesture towards the pile of talismans at his side.] Want to start placing these where you found the others? [He can take care of any adjustments that need to be made when he’s finished with his current task — he’s well over halfway done. And all that would be left is activating them.]

Once the wards are up, the air will clear a bit.

[Unfortunately, he doesn’t notice quite yet that Lan Zhan is anything but fine.]

( Once the wards are set up. They must be, and quickly. He expedites, hand soft but swift to take control of the fresh, recently charged talismans, calculating the perimeter of their new placements before sitting each in its rightful corner.

Apart, every talisman has potential, a quiet but absurd, shrill and undeniable apart. Together, they vibrate in synchrony, the strength of their eradicative cleansing building up to purify the grounds.

It is slowly, tenuously done, but he is pleased to greet the end of it, satisfied with his arrangement. It is for Wei Ying to activate them now, unless — )

Shall I feed them my qi? ( ...unless he surrenders that duty to Lan Wangji. )

[He finishes the last of the talismans, then joins Lan Zhan in setting them into place. He skims over his husband’s work, and it’s as immaculate as expected. He takes a step towards Lan Zhan with one blank talisman in hand.]

At the same time?

[He takes a small knife out of his purse and holds it against his thumb. He just needs a drop of blood for this method of activating the talismans otherwise it would take a lot longer and he’d have to channel the resentment through his body. As it stands, he feels like it’s getting to him faster than it used to.

He signals to Lan Zhan to begin as he slices into the pad of his thumb. He smears a red streak onto the talisman paper, then blows on it to spread the range of the reagent. The air darkens as the resentment gathers then spreads across each of the talismans.]

Just weave your qi through mine. [By ‘his,’ he means the resentment qi he’s controlling.] Don’t back down if you feel any resistance.

( There is no resistance — it is a tidal, unwavering force turned hostile and immutable the moment that Lan Wangji reunites his qi with his husband's energy. Already, the union is volatile and difficult to control, Lan Wangji's qi at once eradicative and preyed upon by resentment. He feels as if he must combat both Wei Ying's power and the dark, wicked energies that coil, surrounding them, and he lacks the vigor to sustain both campaigns.

He flinches, but forces himself to stand in place, accepting Wei Ying's energy alongside his own and, as the twain bind, watching coils of resentment and spiritual debris be banished in harsh wisps that overwhelm the cave. A chill spreads, malignant, while spirits scream, wail or sob.

Don't back down. Hissing, he injects more of his qi, whiling the storm until it finally breaks, the cave rattled by gasps and spasms of raw power, Lan Wangji himself brought to one knee — before their wards finally activate, holding back the remainder. Peace, for a time. He senses, as no doubt will Wei Ying, the underlying tremors of spiritual resentment that still lingers.

His mouth feels raw, limbs cold, fingers clenched. He searches Wei Ying's face. )

You are well? ( Neither of them, he suspects, will be well for some time. )

[Controlling one type of qi takes a certain amount of focus and strength, but forcing the yin and yang energies into harmony is a different beast entirely. He's only accustomed to it because of practice, but he'd overlooked how much that practice is essential for things to go seamlessly. Lan Zhan's qi is pure and clean and it acts as a repellant more than his own qi seems to do. Does that mean that even though he's in a new body, he still has some amount of corruption from the Yin Tiger Tally? He must harbor it in his soul.

When the task is complete, he puts a hand on Lan Zhan's shoulder to steady himself when he feels a wave of lightheadedness from the sudden spiritual suppression. Still, he nods his head and meets his husband's gaze.]

Yeah. At least, I think so. That was trickier than I thought it would be, but it seems a lot quieter in here now.

[The ghosts that had been needling their way past his personal defenses are quiet now, at least. In fact, it seems stiller and more calm than it ever did when he had been here on his own. He can tell that there's still malevolence brewing in the blood pool, but his wards had never fully quieted it before, either.

He offers Lan Zhan his hand and a half-smile.]

Want to take a break before we assess the state of the blood pool?

[He doesn't want to let Lan Zhan near it without supervision after he saw how close his husband had been to touching the cursed thing.] Think you can eat? I'm not hungry myself, but we need to keep up our strength.

A break.

( He agrees, but neglects both Wei Ying's hand and his second question, faintly uncertain on his feet as he rises to evacuate the cave. His husband will follow, he knows, and bitterness refreshes him on the sharpness of Wei Ying's retorts, mere moments prior.

To their fortune, Little Apple has stayed a loyal thing, waiting obediently outside the structure as if the great tremors of resentment meant little to its leathered hide. Lan Wangji greets the donkey, content to stroke the silken spread of its mane and whisper his apologies that they delayed for so long, conveying so little. It forgives them, he supposes.

Then, finally, he turns to his husband again. Here, even among a theater of stone, crisp air in his hair, the world feels a safer, normal place. )

We underestimated the cave. ( He underestimated it. )

[It’s not like he doesn’t remember being short with Lan Zhan earlier; it’s that he doesn’t think it had been such a big deal. He’s only confused for a handful of moments when he doesn’t feel any of the warmth Lan Zhan usually spares him. His hand drops his husband’s shoulder and he follows at a sedate pace.

The air outside the cave still feels oppressive without the wards he had set up around the tiny village, but compared to the cave, it feels easier.]

Hmm? Yeah, I suppose we did. It’s grown in resentment since I lived here. [No doubt in part because of the sieges that took place.] It feels more personal now. I’m not sure if having a golden core is making it worse or better.

[He leans against the mouth of the cave and watches Lan Zhan interacting with Little Apple. Had he been too harsh? Probably. He’d been easily irritated. Scared. He’d been worried after seeing Lan Zhan at the blood pool and it came out colder than he intended.]

You’re okay? [He wants to ask about the blood pool but he doesn’t think it’s a good idea until they clear the air first.] I was a jerk.

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject