wuding | yiling.

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.

[He stays crumbled on the ground, catching his breath and looking down at the blood dripping from his thumb. The residual resentment circles around him like vultures and he doesn’t seem to notice what’s going on around him until Lan Zhan takes his hand to dab away the excess blood.]

I’m sorry.

[He’d been arrogant to think he could dispel the centuries of resentment pooling in this cave when his previous attempts had failed even with the aid of the Tiger Tally. They’re wasting their time here, aren’t they? No, worse than that. They’re actively hurting themselves.]

I’m sorry. [He says it again, only looking up at Lan Zhan afterwards. His husband looks worn. Brittle in a way he’s never seen him before.]

I brought you here to witness my failure. I’m not good enough. [He lowers his eyes back down to his hand, watching the blood continue to seep out of his thumb.] I’m sorry.

We do what we can.

( Seconds stretch and dilute between them. He dabs at the wound, rounds his layer of lace to choke out Wei Ying's hand. Releases his husband, finally, when the gash appears, if not satisfied, then at least momentarily dulled.

And he dips in to press his cheek against Wei Ying's in primitive, base reassurance, in the absence of words that suit. His nose crosses Wei Ying's cheekbone, his temple. By the time he pulls away, the energy of the cave is crackling and settling, spirits gone tame — and something in Lan Wangji has also quieted. )

The wards will hold tonight. ( He speaks it, and in one breath, somehow, he makes it true. ) Come. Wei Ying, come.

[He’s quiet while Lan Zhan comforts him, eyes closed and letting the feelings overwhelm his senses. Lan Zhan’s here. He’s still cherished by his husband after everything. He wants to savor this moment because of how fragile things feel whenever he thinks of Lan Zhan choosing the blood pool over him.

But Lan Zhan’s choosing him now, isn’t he?

He nods his head slowly, catching Lan Zhan’s sleeve again.] If the wards hold tonight, we can start our work tomorrow. If they don’t hold… I don’t think I’ll be able to see this through.

[He uses Lan Zhan’s support to get to his feet. Then he lets his husband choose how quickly they’ll leave the cave. The atmosphere is calmer right now than before, but he would have claimed the same before their break and meal. He doesn’t feel as confident as Lan Zhan seems to, but that’s a problem for them to face come morning. It would be unwise to attempt anything during the night because that’s when the spirits are their strongest.

He lets go of Lan Zhan’s sleeve and takes his hand instead. He squeezes it tightly and holds it close to him much like a child with a coveted toy. He doesn’t know how he can compete with himself, but for now it feels like Lan Zhan is here for him.]

We will see this through.

( Perhaps they must always complement each other, Wei Ying vulnerable only when Lan Wangji can reconvene himself to be strong. Even now, gathering his wits to himself, he feels the urgency to compensate, to give and give and give, until Wei Ying loses the capacity to take. Until he is made right again, and he is hale, and he is whole.

At first, his hand takes his husband's, gladly. Then, he moves it to round over Wei Ying's shoulders, dragging Wei Ying into his flank, as if Lan Wangji's core-bolstered warmth can heal whatever sickness of doubt consumes him.

They exit as a slowed, unwavering pace. They have nothing to lose, nothing to terrify them. They are, and he is arrogant in the conclusion as he leaves behind a cave that nearly consumed their hearts whole, in control.

Little Apple awaits at a distance, flimsily spooked. He steers Wei Ying, to the best of his ability. )

You are the Patriarch. There is nothing you cannot achieve.

[He doesn’t say anything, just shakes his head narrowly while they walk towards the entrance of the cave. He thinks he might have the strength to see this through, but not if it involves Lan Zhan and that cursed blood pool. As it stands, he’s still thinking about Lan Zhan staring longingly into that mess while he remains powerless in the face of it.

He leans towards Lan Zhan, taking comfort in his strength and confidence. The voices are quiet now. Mere whispers when they’d been screams before.]

It’s different now. I’m different.

[He doesn’t have the power he used to have. He cares more about himself and his own clarity, thanks to Lan Zhan’s frequent encouragement. He doesn’t want to lose himself to the corruption just to have more power. He doesn’t need to with Lan Zhan at his side.

They emerge from the cave and he feels the cool breeze from before nipping at his sweat-soaked skin. Just getting out of the cave takes care of some of the storm brewing inside him, but he doesn’t feel whole anymore. Fractured. Part of him is missing and it’s in the blood pool seducing his husband.

When they get to Little Apple, he untethers her from the tree. She’s safe and by far the least afflicted out of the three of them. Good. He pats at her face and doesn’t move to mount her.]

We’ll know what we’re up against tomorrow. We should take precautions before going back in there. [He glances up at Lan Zhan, love of his life and the best thing that’s ever happened to him. Yet here they stand close, touching, and he still feels morose.]

Are we okay?

( There is a part of him that remembers how simple it would be to capture Wei Ying in his arms and raise him, before bearing him down on his mount. He can be forced to straddle, to behave, to become convenient — the benefits of his new body, subdued.

Unlike the old one, on a par with Lan Wangji, strong, supple, in its prime. Beautiful, even when Wei Ying's mouth shaped the words —

He startles himself back to attention with a low shiver, slipping at Wei Ying's side, willing to assume Little Apple's reins. Then, just as he is about steer the beast, he stops, stills, watches his lover's silhouette. So different from his once-love, lost. And yet, Lan Wangji whispers over his shoulder: )

'Get lost.'

[He waits for an answer that doesn’t come. There’s no use forcing it if things are as broken as they feel. He hands off the reins without a protest and he does what Lan Zhan tends to do when things are ill at ease between them and busies himself with showing affection to the only other creature around. He strokes Little Apple’s neck and shoulders. She doesn’t seem to mind it.

And then Lan Zhan says that to him. He doesn’t recall trying to shoo the spirits away from him with those same words. His stomach feels like he ate heavy stones and he’s rooted into place.

It hadn’t been his imagination. Things really are shattered between them.]

Lan Zhan… I… Okay, if you need some space, I’ll stay here, but take Little Apple back to the village. I’ll be alright.

[He won’t be.]

( An instinctive reaction: Wei Ying says he will stay, when they both know Lan Wangji is determined to depart, and his hand coils tightly around his husband's wrist, shackling. On its footsteps, he doubles down, calling forward a talisman — one of Wei Ying's own, the binding one, whose serpentine rope twines across both of their wrists, ensuring they rest together.

Anger burns bright in him, incandescent. He does not raise his voice. Does not require to do so, a contrary chill blooming within. )

You told me, once. Here. Get lost. ( Worse. It will always be worse, somehow, between them, before it is better. They have yet to earn their evening respite. )

Today. Get... lost.

( That was not Wei Ying, Lan Wangji knows. It is a foolish thing to hold his lover accountable for the work of his spirits, yet he cannot help that temptation, how it eats at him. Someone must pay for his hurt.

He tugs Wei Ying's wrist. ) Are we... all right?

[It’s only natural for a prey animal to struggle when it finds itself bound and he’s no different. As soon as the sorcery takes its hold and binds them together, he tugs at it and digs his heels into the ground so that Lan Zhan will have to drag him where he wants him.

Trapped. In the Burial Mounds. Surely, Lan Zhan wouldn’t do this to him. Not here! Not again!

And does he notice that Lan Zhan is tied to him? Not at first.]

I don’t know what you’re talking about! I didn’t do anything!

[He stumbles forward when Lan Zhan tugs him, tripping over his own feet. His heartbeat is erratic and he feels the panic setting in. He continues to pull and struggle.]

Don’t leave me here! Don’t leave me here, Lan Zhan. I’ll be good. I’ll do whatever you want. Just don’t leave me here.

( Wei Ying erupting in motion, in violence. Wholly and completely lost, at the mercy of his fear and impulses. It would coax Lan Wangji's compassion on any given day, but now he only answers in kind, anger emboldening him to catch Wei Ying's wrists in his hands and contain him, forcibly.

If only they spoke, perhaps, but Lan Wangji already feels subhuman, white of his teeth showing in the glistening line of a ferocious growl. )

Enough. ( And when has anger ever soothed another? Especially one already descended to shivers and frenzy? He gravitates closer, as if to enclose Wei Ying in his arms, while poor Little Apple breys once at a distance, wishing her humans calm. )

You go where I go. You stay where I stay. No one gets lost.

[Lan Zhan’s anger slashes at his already weakened resolve and he can’t seem to catch his breath. His heartbeats pound in his ears, too fast and frenzied to be reined in. His heart hurts and he feels like he might pass out, but he still struggles.

If it were anywhere but here, he might have been able to hold onto his senses.]

I’m sorry!

[He practically spits it out and his legs feel weak under him. He starts to crumple again, but Lan Zhan’s holding his wrists so he ends up hanging there off of him with his head hanging heavily forward.]

I don’t know — [He chokes on his words, gasping pitifully under the weight of them.] — What you — [It hits him again.] — Want!

[But it doesn’t look like Lan Zhan is going to leave him after all. He’s relieved, but his body hasn’t gotten that message yet. He doesn’t know what’s happening to him, but he knows he doesn’t like it.]

( In the end, his binding talisman proves to be an earnest complication: meaning to drag both arms around his husband, he instead finds he is also drawing Wei Ying's arm with him, preventing his affection. It culminates as an awkward embrace, one arm tightly bound over Wei Ying's shoulders, another, its wrist bound, anchored on his lover's waist.

He catches Wei Ying as much as he bears him upright, assuming the better part of his husband's weight and slipping his mouth over Wei Ying's shoulder, all the better to allow their bodies to mould together: flesh to flesh, warmth to warmth. The sigh that breaks from him all but sunders his flesh. )

...you. All I want. Have ever wanted. You.

( He should kiss Wei Ying or punctuate his confession with a dramatic gesture of affection, but finds himself paralyzed, too petrified by his lover's breakdown to risk any further shock or complication. Their limbs bind together. He holds Wei Ying as close as their position allows. )

Breathe. Breathe.

[He only struggles a little bit longer until he realizes that Lan Zhan’s trying to hold him. The position isn’t exactly comfortable compared to their usual embraces, but it helps ground him. Lan Zhan’s here. He doesn’t want to go separate ways. All he wants is him, which is perfect because all Wei Wuxian wants is Lan Wangji.

The dam on his tears breaks with a choked sob and he curls in on himself, pulling Lan Zhan whenever he moves his arm. Like when he lifts his wrist up to wipe his face.]

Lan Zhan. [His breaths still come in hiccups, but he feels like things are a little better now. Easier.

This has to be some defect of Mo Xuanyu’s body, right? He’s never succumbed to such an affliction before. It almost feels like coming face-to-face with a dog. Only it lasts longer and he doesn’t know what exactly triggered it.

It takes some time, but he recovers under Lan Zhan’s patient care. His bound hand feels a little numb, but he only opens and closes it to encourage blood flow. When he feels like he can speak again, he does.]

All I ever want is you, Lan Zhan.

( And just so, he follows down.

On his collar, Wei Ying's tears. Wei Ying's small fists beating his chest. Wei Ying's fragility made flesh, a man startled, lonesome, lost.

Lan Wangji's tightens around him. Sullenly, slowly, he releases the binding talisman so he might complete the embrace without condemning Wei Ying to a gainless configuration of limbs and misplaced enthusiasm. They are, fleetingly, about to fall into each other, before Lan Wangji draws back and fully lifts his husband in his arms, pillaring his back and the bend of his knees. No better than a doll, he supposes, or an overwhelmed bride.

Do not tell me to 'get lost' again is on the tip of his tongue, but to watch Wei Ying now, he could not bear a further scolding. Later, perhaps. Much later, as Lan Wangji starts a slow-paced return to the village. Little Apple trots behind them, for once wholly obedient, as if sensing the difficulties at hand. )

Sleep. I shall broker an inn and deliver you.

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