wuding | yiling.

( No need to linger, says Wei Ying, but they both, all the same, still dally. There is a need to reassure one another through physical contact and to regroup their forces that Lan Wangji is determined not to neglect, for all it is tempting to simply walk away from their previous interaction. To pretend they were unharmed, unhindered and unchanged by the handful of minutes spent in the cave.

Drawing Wei Ying to himself again, he kneels on the blanket, coaxing his husband to rest his head in Lan Wangji's lap, if he does not wish to eat immediately. Come what may, despite the chills of the day, they should have their rest and a semblance of relaxation before resuming their exertions. )

As you lead. ( He can accept allowing Wei Ying to guide their efforts, in an environment where Lan Wangji's very qi appears antithetical to the forces on ground. )

It aches to think you dwelled in such circumstances.

[He moves closer, following Lan Zhan’s lead. He doesn’t realize how tired he is until he’s laying on the blanket next to his husband with his head comfortably elevated on his lap. He sighs out a long, heavy breath and shuffles around until he feels more comfortable on his back. This way he can look up at his husband’s lovely face.]

It was the only place I could think of that would accept the Wen remnants. It’s grown since back then, too. [He reaches up to touch Lan Zhan’s cheek.] It’s all in the past now. I’m here with you and that’s all that matters.

[It hasn’t been long since they exited the cave and every moment that passes feels clearer than the last. He had been too cocky and walked right in like he still owned the place. If he’d been smart, he would have prepared himself better. He wouldn’t have let the spirits get to him and he wouldn’t have upset Lan Zhan, either. At the very least, he could have warned his husband about some of the trickster spirits.

It’s too late now.

There’s something on his mind that he can’t shake. He thinks he knows the answer, but he needs to hear Lan Zhan say it.]

What did you see in the blood pool?

( For a moment, they are permitted their slow rest, Wei Ying's head a pleasant and anchoring weight as Lan Wangji begins to gently wade his hand through his husband's tresses, releasing long, silken hair from its binds. Ah, and what toil it is to keep it so soft and ink-like, cured of its knots and coils.

His thumbs parade down to circle Wei Ying's temples, as he applies himself wholly to the task of relaxing his husband before they return to their task. If Wei Ying will not
fill his belly, let him at least replenish his forces otherwise. )

A fleeting mirage. ( A boy, beautiful and strange. His eyes shutter, brow tense and hand rigid where it crosses Wei Ying's forehead. He startles himself back to attention. )

We need not speak of it.

( He suspects they both know the truth, and that it is best left unshared between them. Surely, no good can come of mourning a living man. )

[His hand stills on Lan Zhan’s face as he considers pushing the subject. For once, he makes the sensible decision and lets sleeping dogs lie. Lan Zhan had seen him, he’s sure of it. Likely the way he used to look. These ghosts had known him for years and it would be well within their power to conjure up his image. It’s the only thing that he can think of to cause Lan Zhan to have a lapse of judgment like he had done.

He wonders, not for the first time, how much happier Lan Zhan would be if he had his original body. There’s nothing left of it, as far as he knows, so he doesn’t think it’s possible for him to recover it.]

There was a considerable amount of resentment in there. You can meditate after we eat, if you want. We won’t start the heavy work until tomorrow, so there’s plenty of time.

[He hates feeling powerless, but there’s nothing he can do to help Lan Zhan recover besides being here with him.]

( For once, the prospect of meditation neither eases nor attracts him, sensitive to the inevitability that he is only delegated the task because he has failed, horribly and unerringly, to prevent resentment from tarring him. A short nod, grudging but fairly admitting: Wei Ying speaks reason he cannot deny.

On the footsteps of that, he rights his posture, slowly starting to churn the energies within himself and to study the qi that courses through his veins, even without plunging fully into meditation. That privilege can be safeguarded for after he has finished attending to Wei Ying. )

Your husband is not the cultivator he once was. ( And to think they say Hanguang-Jun is immune to jests. ) He cannot withstand all threats as readily.

( He can be allowed a brief moment of self-pity, as he gathers back his resources and strokes his lover's hair. ) You must defend him.

[He watches Lan Zhan straighten, caressing his cheek for a few more moments before he drops his hand and rests it on his own belly instead. He feels… not good, but better the longer they’re out here. Even Little Apple’s braying and kicking are pleasantly familiar.]

You weren’t the only one who underestimated the cave. [It’s a gentle correction.] I let it get to me. Being back here… well, it’s too easy to fall back into my old ways.

[He knows that demonic cultivation can cause corruption, but it’s the first time he’s really felt it since coming back with a new body. He also tends to overestimate his tolerance for such things. He doesn’t want to be like he was anymore than he wants to deal with the other emotional side of being back here. Even now, he can almost hear A-Yuan playing and Wen Qing fussing about him taking a tumble and scraping his knees.]

But that doesn’t mean I won’t protect you! I’ll keep you safe and you can keep me safe, too. We’re going to need to work together on this or we won’t make it out unscathed.

We will prevail.

( Simple, iron-clad. Voice half steel, half stone, and all of him hardened. There is an edge to him when he faces the possibility of Wei Ying's suffering, when he looks at his husband and glimpses a world in which the Yiling Patriarch is once more bled, sundered or torn.

Not him. Not again. His hand joins Wei Ying's on the gaunt stretch of his belly, trickling warmth in the wake of a friction-led, hard caress. He catches Wei Ying's fingers, curling in. )

Then I shall take my husband to bed in an inn that charges coin obscenely. Five times the going rate.

( They will make do on the coin of Cloud Recesses, satisfying their base interests. In truth, Lan Wangji spends little as acting head: nothing on opulent silks, less on jewellery. No retinue, no choice cinnabar or waxes for his seals. No gifts, no flourish.

A rare, trip of luxury can surely be permitted. )

Yeah, we will. Nothing can stop us when we work together.

[He watches Lan Zhan with a little smile, urging him mentally to be the strong, capable cultivator he knows and loves. They both stumbled earlier, but that won’t happen again. He won’t let it. As long as they tread carefully and understand the dangers of their work, they’ll finish what they set out to do.

And if they can’t fully nullify the resentment of the blood pool, they’ll get stronger and return in a few years to try again.

He lifts their hands and brings them to his mouth for a kiss.] I like the sound of that. Somewhere with warm blankets, a soft bed, and an extra large tub for soaking. You know, I never hated baths before but I didn’t enjoy them unless I felt especially filthy. You’ve made me appreciate them a lot more.

[He kisses Lan Zhan’s hand a few more times before he sighs and moves to sit up again.] If I keep laying on you like that, I’m going to fall asleep. What did we bring to eat?

Wei Ying.

( At once fond and exasperated, the answer to every question, the punctuation of every declaration. They must eat Wei Ying, Wei Ying must come to accept bathing for its own merits. They will endure and succeed, yes.

Within his husband's hands, his own tremble, set alight by a litany of tender kisses. He peels them away and slips free, drawing his qiankun purse to open as if a treasury of riches and reveal the meal's pleasures, each morsel carefully and tightly packaged in cloth or vineyard leaf: rice balls, filled with meats for Wei Ying or seaweed and chopped vegetables for Lan Wangji. Buns in lidded pots, sealed with talismans to remain steaming. Even jars of wine, one dutifully presented as if a tribute to the Patriarch on his own grounds. And a handful of sweet plums and apples, for both them and their steed.

Their feast, laid out, feels common in comparison to the wealth of Cloud Recesses, but enough poor people or locals would count themselves blessed to eat so well. )

Unless my husband wishes we partake of the local turnip.

[The steamed buns smell divine as soon as they’re uncovered and he reaches for one without waiting for the rest of the food to be laid out. He hadn’t been hungry before but the aroma is enough to kindle his appetite.]

And wine too?

[He grins widely and takes the jug in his other hand. He braces it between his thighs so he can unseal it one-handedly.] You’re the best, Lan Zhan! I’m not just saying that because I love you, either.

[Maybe it’s being back in the Burial Mounds, but he’d expected some lesser meal to be presented. This spread of food might be one of the richest meals this area has witnessed in a century. The only contender he can think of had also come after Hanguang-Jun stepped foot into the Burial Mounds.]

You can keep your turnips to h yourself.

[He starts his meal with an oversized bite of bun, then he crinkles his nose and hands it over to Lan Zhan.] This one’s yours. [There’s not a single morsel of meat to be found. He takes one from the other pot and is pleased when he tastes chicken instead. Lan Zhan really did go all out on their preparations. Usually, his meat option is fish in Cloud Recesses.]

( And unlike Wei Ying, he might well enjoy the local turnips, also. But he does not offer that retaliation. He barely offers a glance, amused enough to make silent advance against his own meal, after slicing an apple over to entrust choice pieces to Little Apple, strewn at its tired feet. The creature eats fastidiously, with all the whim and gravity of an animal that has gotten pleasantly comfortable with regular and assured feeding.

Wei Ying, unlike his mount, still eats with famish and the feverish uncertainty whether today's meal guarantees tomorrow's. Lan Wangji has learned, through time, not to hasten his progress: only to have patience and allow Wei Ying's nerves and habits to settle in their own time. For now, he accepts the rice ball presented to him, obediently taking a few bites and finding his own body comforted by the replenishment.

It isn't just Wei Ying who was at a loss, after all. A shudder quakes his shoulders, a satisfied moan bubbling out of him. )

Take care. Inns are frugal with heating braziers. Your ankles depend on your husband.

[As soon as he’s finished with one rice ball, he reaches for another. There are plenty, more than he can eat in one sitting, but they should stay good for another day or so. He’s gotten better about eating like a starving man, but the atmosphere here brings it back out in its fullest form. So much that he is quiet until he’s finished eating the second rice ball.]

I’ll protect your ankles at all costs! [Now that they’re settled, he scoots close enough that their knees are touching. With a grin, he reaches over for a third ball, though he nibbles at it at a more sedate pace.]

We should get back to town before night falls. I’m going to set up some talismans to siphon resentment from the blood pool overnight. It’ll probably just replenish it as fast as it’s drawn out, but it’ll give me some reserves that I won’t have to channel through my body to use. [He’d only thought about it when he could tell the resentment inside the cave was affecting him negatively.] Tomorrow, we can start addressing individuals one by one. Once I know we can separate and handle each one, I want to focus on the Wen remnants. If we’re not lucky and they can’t be handled one at a time, we’ll have to cleanse them as a whole and that’ll be a lot more difficult to manage.

( Like his husband, he eats slowly, with a learned delicacy sharpened by discipline. In his hand, each rice ball is first carefully enveloped, peeled loose then revealed in its tender glory for slow, regimented bites. He makes a point to watch whenever Wei Ying's pace hastens, hoping to imbue his husband with the spirit of waiting and measuring himself.

At long last, as Wei Ying outlines their plans, he nods along, obeying the silence that enshrouds all Lan meal times. Then, his last bite finished: )

Will the resentment relocate? ( A pause, weighing his words, for surely energy is hardly a person. ) Can it drift to the village and corrupt civilians?

( Surely the risk exists, if these energies have gathered for years. )

Must we first return to ward them?

[By now, he’s used to Lan Zhan focusing on his meal before discussion, so he doesn’t pester him with questions while they eat. He takes his own meal between bouts of speaking, sometimes with his mouth still full.]

It’ll relocate to the surrounding area, sure. There are tales of how dangerous it is going into the Burial Mounds that keep most of the civilians out of harm’s reach, but there will always be some who ignore the warnings and come into dangerous territory. Those ones are the ones that might be affected.

We could put up wards around the Burial Mounds to keep the corruption inside the area, but it’ll make our breaks out here less relaxing. How about after we make some progress in the cave, we’ll put up those wards?

[It’s something he should have done when he lived here before. He reaches for a fourth rice ball and picks at it. He’s not full yet, but he’s getting there.]

Should the spirits grow too strong to be repelled by then?

( But his voice stays soft, some part of him inevitably placated. Wei Ying speaks reason with the certainty of a consummate professional, who might have stepped away from traditional orthodox cultivation but still thrives in the exercise of his craft.

Pulling back, he starts the task of packaging their remaining meal components, expending time, care and energy to meticulously reseal each ward to retain the freshness of the ingredients. At the last moment, he saves another sugared plum out, slipping it beside his husband, before resuming his toil. )

Perhaps we should divide efforts. One for the village, the other here. ( But then, before Wei Ying might volunteer for the uglier work: ) I am capable to linger.

( Not always the most intuitive at wrestling down spirits without eradication, but even Gusu Lan admits the first step of exorcism is placation. )

They won’t be as concentrated as they were congregating in the demon quelling cave. We could ward the whole village instead, but that won’t save anyone who ventures out of the parameter.

[He raises his eyebrows when Lan Zhan gives him the plum. He’s not the one with the sweet tooth, but a little something sweet at the end of a meal isn’t a bad thing. He’ll likely eat part of it and give the rest to his husband.]

I know you are, but if we split up, I should be the one to stay here. [Of course, Lan Zhan knows him well enough to expect this from him. And the thought of leaving Lan Zhan alone with the blood pool doesn’t appeal to him. He knows Lan Zhan’s capable enough to take care of himself, but he doesn’t like it. What if the blood pool tries to use his image again?]

If you want to see to the village, take Little Apple with you. She’s getting spooked by all the ghost activity here.

...no. ( An unkindness to Little Apple, but perhaps he'll be forgiven. The donkey is naturally restless, prone to fright. Inevitably, it has also learned to settle, finding itself at the perpetual mercy of Lan Wangji and Wei Ying's travels.

Even now, the beast draws back with a muted, hoarse sound that resembles entirely too well a grudging huff. Lan Wangji leans in, careful to soothe her with a few slow caresses and a silent offering of the other half of Wei Ying's leftover sugared plum. )

If we must stay together, we stay together. ( Come what may, even as he rises, both determined and resigned to see the matter through. The reins of Little Apple weigh heavy in his hand. He drags them after himself, trailing, the creature falling at slow step. )

Come.

[Staying together would undoubtably be the safest option for both of them. There’s a reason most people might hunt in pairs or groups. Still, he feels confident that they’d be fine splitting up anyway, but if Lan Zhan’s changed his mind, he’ll welcome the company.]

Maybe we should tie Little Apple to a tree so she doesn’t run off on her own if something scares her.

[As more of the resentment from the cave diffuses into the area surrounding it, the corpses are getting restless again. He readies Chenqing to lure the ghosts into placation again. As far as commands go, rest is a simple one that isn’t as discordant as more active commands. Just like before, the shuffling slows as soon as he’s finished.

Little Apple still looks nervous, but she still follows after Lan Zhan dutifully.] Why does she behave for you and not me? If I were the one leading her, she’d be kicking and whining! [He hurries a few steps closer, patting the donkey on her rear.]

Because you touch a lady's private parts.

( He murmurs without sparing so much as a glance to where he hears Wei Ying reward Little Apple with a few tepid taps. He suspects, for all of Wei Ying's objections, that the donkey both anticipates and tolerates far more than she is given credit, and she harbours a deep affection for her prickliest master. Even now, trailing obediently after Lan Wangji, she spares rare glances behind herself to ensure Wei Ying yet follows.

The stream of corpses seems to thicken around them, a residual discipline barring their advance. The flue, he does not say, and steels himself when one steps and nearly touches, hand perpetually short of landing. They covet him, he understands; quick to accept Wei Ying as one of their dead own and to discard Little Apple &mdash cleverly bound before they inch too close to the cave, rope choking a tree's width — as unhuman, Lan Wangji attracts them. His warmth. His life.

Hissing, he draws closer to Wei Ying, no better than a fragile thing seeking solace. )

Must they hunt me?

You’re not a lady and yours are the only private parts I regularly touch. [Other than when he’s the one in charge of bathing their youngest son. Most of the time, the nursemaid tends to that duty these days.]

They have good taste. [He snickers at his own joke and brings the flute back up to his mouth. This time, the notes are higher. Piercing. Scatter, he tells them and they obey. A few will come their way, but most will choose a random direction to start walking. He keeps the flute in hand after lowering it.]

If I were a walking corpse, I’d single you out, too. [He presses his empty hand to the small of Lan Zhan’s back and rubs a few comforting circles on it.] Know my favorite part about going back to town to sleep? We won’t have to skip our every day, after all.

Ready? [He comes to a stop outside the cave, waiting to hear his husband’s answer before going in.]

Ready. ( He confirms, and he abstains from comment against the spirits that still give them chase, against his husband's crude reassurances. There is a time and a place for love-making, vulgarity or the liminal space between them — when threat thickens near him is not the best circumstance.

He does not criticize — enters first, in his only feat of brazen disregard, and the breath is nearly punched out of him to notice the >density of the negative charge that assails the cave, now. It is as if, left for not even a shichen amid the fledgling wards, the space has now reproduced every seed of spirit to bloom into a garden.

His hand clutches his chest for a moment, steps slowed. Paralysed. Then, he remembers himself: Hanguang-Jun, a veteran cultivator. He will not be stayed by this, for all he hisses and, finally, calls his own ward-talisman, a protective bubble enshrouding them. Inside, the voices seem maddened, at once contained and infuriated — a constant storm.

Don't say farewell. And this time, he knows the blood pool. This time, walking toward the waters, he knows his husband's old voice. )

Perhaps... we need not make haste to eradicate.

[He follows Lan Zhan into the cave, stumbling only a little when the resentment hits him squarely in the chest. The wards should have reduced the amount of malevolence but it seems like it’s merely sealed it like wax over the lip of a wine jar. He takes a deep breath and sighs it out to ground himself.

This time, he sticks with Lan Zhan as he walks towards the blood pool. He looks at the rippling surface and only sees their reflections looking back at them.]

Eradication is the main reason we’re here at all.

[He pinches the fabric of his husband’s sleeve and tugs on it a little.] I’m going to get to work preparing those talismans. It should redirect some of the resentment so that the blood pool is weakened, but it might make the atmosphere in here heavier temporarily.

[He’s able to maintain more clarity in himself than when he’d first come in here. He doesn’t feel as angry, but the worry is still there and so is a vague feeling of sadness. Jealousy, too.]

I’ll work fast so we can get out of here. I changed my mind about trapping resentment in talismans. There’s just too much and it would overflow. I might be able to channel it through my body, but I’ll only do that if I have no other choice. For now, I’m going to try to redirect it out of the cave. I’ll just have to build a pathway for it between the wards.

[He lets go of Lan Zhan’s sleeve and looks up at the back of his head.] You can look, you know. Just don’t get too close.

( He knows, it strikes him. Wei Ying knows whatever truth is trickling between Lan Wangji's own fingertips, desperately eluding his active awareness. He thinks he understands why the blood pool draws him, why he finds himself inching toward the edge of the waters to kneel again, immune even as Wei Ying recites his rash recourse to contain the spirits.

Waved, his hand flickers over the red pond. Upsets the waters with the promise of touch that never comes, the qi clinging to his flesh rousing spiritual energy to rise up by way of a sudden wave. He pulls back — and flinches, when the pool calms to show the perfect, beautiful reflection of the true Yiling Patriarch, as he once was.

He loved this man, then. Loves him now, still. And yet the old affection feels somehow sundered from the new. And he calls out to Wei Ying, bloodless and faintly lost: )

How may I assist you? ( As if, in the midst of this, it's finally occurred to him that they have come with a purpose here. )

[Though he’s just told Lan Zhan that he’s going to start working, he ends up standing back and watching his husband being lured like a moth to a flame towards the blood pool. He feels… ignored. And it hurts to come to that realization. All at once, he feels not good enough.

The image never manifests for him, but he still knows what it must be. The spirits know it, too. They whisper discouraging things in his ears. They tell him that he should stay here where he belongs. That Lan Zhan would rather stay here with the real Wei Wuxian.]

Get lost! [He’s not talking to Lan Zhan, but those voices are getting on his nerves. Their giggling cuts through the air like a sword’s edge. He takes a step back, then another. And in this, the spirits win because they’ve divided the two of them.]

No, no, not you, them.

[Has it always been this bad? He knows he had mood swings when he was living in this cave, but he never felt like this. Not when he had the Yin Tiger Tally, anyway. But he doesn’t have that now. He’s just a demonic cultivator out of his depth.

He reaches into his qiankun pouch and retrieves his blank talismans. He hastily writes out a few characters on each and aggravates the wound from earlier so new blood drips. He smears a bit onto each of them to activate them. A few of the more noisy ghosts shriek in protest as their essence gets sucked in and imprisoned within the talismans themselves. When that’s finished, he drops his hands, huffs a heavy breath out, and practically drops to the floor to sit down.]

( Get lost.

Anywhere. These words, anywhere but here.

They break him from the hunt for Wei Ying's shadow, the dregs of his reflection. He stares, first at the waters ahead — then, gaze owlish and trickling, at his husband. A beautiful, vicious, known, lost... stranger. And he can't breathe.

The spread of wandering spirits ruptures, in the wake of Wei Ying's talisman, the aggression and uncertainty of the cave depleted through the single, punctured pressure point. Wailing, first — then funerary silence.

Get lost. Ahead, red and wet and glistening on Wei Ying's hand, where the wound's deepened. He thinks, as if the revelation strikes a different man, he should clean the wound. Thinks too, there is no urgency. He is not desired. Must get lost.

For a moment, they glance askance. He crawls to Wei Ying, the heft of his silks a silent burden, his back bowed, bones weighted. He feels — alight. Incandescent. And suffocating. Silently, only passing his palm once over the littered talismans to imbue his own qi and substantially strengthen their spell, he reaches out for Wei Ying's slashed hand, cleansing it with the rim of his sleeve. )

Cut deeply.

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