Chapter 1

The sacred lotus blooms in the summer.

He has traveled far from Gusu, so far away that the mountains of home seem to be almost myth, here in these lands. Around him, thousands of vivid soft purple flowers sway in the water of the lake, dancing to the gentle currents as his boat drifts by.

Lan Wangji has walked dusty roads and through rainstorms to reach this tranquil place, on the other side of Yunmeng. A place so rarely spoken of, it was unheard of for a son of Gusu to come here.

This day has called to him for many years, from the moment the idea of it came to him. His brother remarking in a subdued tone, that the new magnolia tree just outside the Library Pavilion, has become as lovely as the ancient one.

"A symbol of our home."

Our home. He had not responded and his brother with his gentle smile tinged with great sadness had not expected him to. Xichen's hands, always steady even when his heart was troubled, had simply continued bandaging his younger brother's wounded back, the silence between them comforting.

For him, the ancient tree had not been a symbol of home. It had been a symbol of his own, desperate foolish heart.

It has been years now, but for him and he suspects many others, the newness of the rebuilt sections of their home lingers still. Some of the pathways changed to accommodate new structures and the pattern of the buildings does not flow as it once did. It is beautiful and harmonious...but the difference is still stark.

There have been moments for all disciples, when their feet had carried them from memory to the wrong place.

For him it is the Library that remains so stubbornly new. It is not the room, where he studied with Wei Ying, where he slowly fell in love with a vibrant boy who rambled on about wild ideas and who pushed boundaries he barely understood.

The desk where he sat opposite Wei Ying, as the boundaries and fears that caged him slowly eroded under the constant onslaught of a rich voice and boundless mind. That desk had burned to ash in the fire set by the Wen Sect. The tree and so many of their prized books. There is a new desk by the window now. By some twist of fate, it is the same color and weight of the original. It is not the same one, but several years on he can stare wistfully at it and remember those summer days.

He had been so afraid he remembers. Emotions too strong to control, called like a spirit to Wei Ying's command, frothing beneath the surface of his calm face. He had struggled to accept himself and yet, somehow Wei Ying had accepted him.

The Library was not the sanctuary it had been during his early life. Books his only refuge from grief and expectation. Rarely did a day pass when he was not present within the walls of hallowed knowledge, standing between the shelves or sitting by the window with another tome. Then the fire. Even that did not stop him from trying to return that beloved space back to what it had been.

The Siege of the Burial Mound changed that.

It was three years before he was released from seclusion, but it had taken several months still before he entered the Library, haunted by what it was not, as much as what and who it represented now in his mind.

Gusu was no longer the same. The Lan Sect had been shaken to its very core, in his lifetime alone. Was he the same? Was anyone untouched?

Wei Ying's home... his former home in Yunmeng was gone. Burned long before he rose as the Yiling Patriarch. His home among the graves of the Burial Mound, had been destroyed. Both of his families forever gone from his grasp.

Where could he go to honor Wei Ying? Where else could he try Inquiry? Yunmeng was the obvious answer but he had no chance of safety calling Wei Ying there.

Here, he could. This lonely spot, where Wei Ying had come as a young cultivator, proving his skill against a water ghoul.

It is the middle of the year, the heat simmering and his skin prickles with the humidity. So used to the cool climates of his homeland, he is unused of this brutal warmth and the bright sunlight that changes the water to the bright shades of gold.

His thoughts spin like weaving thread, flying like the dragonflies over the calm water.

He does linger on his family, their confusion and disappointment. He tries not to worry about A-Yuan, left behind in his brother's care.

In Gusu the water reflects the sky and the mountains, a perfect mirror that Lan An called the clarity of thought. To see the reflection of your surroundings was to become one with yourself, in meditation.

The image of the spirits he calls with Inquiry, touching the water or skimming over the surface, does not fade. The bitter pain and the creeping melancholy remain.

Some believe that as years pass, grief simply fades like the ink on paper. Vanishing slowly and this is what his Uncle believes, claiming that pain is a river through the mountains and meditation will control such emotion...such a foolish thought. Grief can lessen, but it does not disappear. Death and loss could never make him love Wei Ying any less.

His Uncle has no respect for his grief or pain. That Wei Wuxian is gone from this world, is a relief to him.

It matters not. He will wear the pin of mourning, until the day of Wei Ying's return. He will call for him...dedicate himself wholly to Wei Ying's side. He will raise their son and tend to his education. He will walk this single-plank bridge, echoing Wei Ying's steps with all of his heart.

The birds sing from the trees with branches dipping down to meet the smooth surface of the murky water, the chorus of happy sounds mesmerizing. They sing as the strings of the guqin vibrate, a languid song rising into the early morning air. The sun is rising, painting the skies in orange, promising another burning day and Lan Wangji watches as it fills the sky, the lotus flowers opening to the touch of the light.

This is the heart of Wei Ying.

These flowers in purple and white seem so delicate, disappearing at night to rise with the morning sun, but to the man gently plucking the strings of his guqin, they were a symbol of more than purity or enlightenment. Wei Ying's soul was pure. Regardless of what anyone said, he knew in his own heart, that Wei Ying was not and never could be evil.

His tireless discoveries had brought a wealth of knowledge to the cultivation world, expanding what was understood even as they cursed his name.

But the lotuses...He had spoken of them often.

Lotus flowers are also a symbol of resurrection and unwavering faith. He has faith in Wei Ying and he prays in the lonely cold hours of the dawn and in the shadows of evening on long roads, for that bright mischievous soul to come home.

He watches the light play over the water and listens to the chirp of the birds, the buzzing of insects dancing over the water.

He looks up from the array of vibrant purples to stare into the distance, the weight of his grief unable to shift even beneath the light of hope.

A lone man stands near the dock.

A man in black and even from this distance he can see the red tassel, the ribbon in his long hair.

Certainty fills him as he stares, eyes raking over the beloved form. It couldn't be...

Wei Ying.

The oar is in his hands, his guqin on the seat opposite. With all his strength, he rows forward skimming over the lotus flowers, following the pathways between the flowers to the dock.

"Wei Ying!"

The man does not move, not even the breeze rises to stir his hair. He is a statue, staring at the water, morose and untouchable.

Wei Ying!

Still the man does not react, so he rows faster still the boat rocking as he surges forward.

The sunlight blinds him, a sudden gold haze and he shuts his eyes shielding them with his arm, even as he calls, "Wei Ying!"

The light is gone and he opens his eyes to see that twilight has fallen. He looks around wildly for the dock, for Wei Ying, his heart beating, fear its prison. There is no one around. His boat is drifting gently, the flowers caressing the wooden planks while he turns, now afraid that he had passed the dock in his haste.

"Lan Zhan."

Wei Ying's voice is mellow and gentle. It sounds so mournful as it settles into the air, the syllables of his name so sweet in that beloved voice.

He turns rapidly and startles as he looks at the man in question. Sitting so elegantly on the seat where his guqin had been not a moment ago, was the man he had been searching for.

Wei Ying.

Grey eyes touched by the purple of the lotus flowers stare at him, not in welcome or happy regard. A cool stare, the beautiful curve of his jaw tight with emotion, his hands loose as they rested on the sides of the boat. He was stunning and remote.

Not Wei Ying. The Yiling Patriarch.

"Wei Ying." He breathes and his hands shake with the need to reach out and touch.

Another blink and Wei Ying now sits bloodied, hurting as he was the last time he had seen him, the final time he had held his hand, whispering to him. Confessing his love in whispers that fell on ears that would never welcome his devotion.

The sight of those wounds tore at him. "Wei Ying." He shifts forward unthinking and desperate, hands reaching for his black robe, the cloth over the perfect knee closest to him. "Wei Ying."

He is gone.

The boat is empty. His heart seized in his chest, a scream caught in his throat as he falls to the other side, the boat rocking violently. It tips and he falls into the lake, his white robes swirling around him like ink in a pool of clean water. He chokes on a mouthful of water and tastes mud. It reminds him sharply of the Xuanwu Cave and the fight for survival.

When he surfaces, his arms stretch out into the shadowy water, keeping himself afloat. It is not that deep and his boots find purchase on a rock reaching from the bottom of the lake.

He can smell the unmistakable fresh scent of lotus flowers, the mud and now sandalwood. He spins around in the water, his hair fans out, twisting like a smooth black fish slipping through the water. "Wei Ying!" He shouts, afraid for him...afraid he will lose him again. He was here! He saw him. Where is he?

Cool hands glide over his shoulders and he stops his wild movements, the plan to swim ahead and catch the boat now drifting away on the currents. They slide tantalizingly down to his waist and the familiar gesture steals his breath. A chest, thin but toned with taut muscle fits against his back, pressing against the scars cut into his skin with the rage of his Elders.

Cold lips press a kiss to his earlobe and he shivers against his will as hot breath washes over his skin. "Lan Zhan."

He closes his eyes and tilts his head back, wanting more as his heart slows, his breath a gasp as those hands slide over him, possessive and so warm.

The ringing sound of a sword has his eyes opening in another breath. The clash and scream of metal, the voices as they rise and fall around them...this is battle. This is war.

Mud slides around his feet as he staggers, off balance and suddenly weak. A man dies in front of him, blood pouring from vivid fatal wounds. He sees the robes of the cultivators and registers the different sects and clans around him, but his eyes are seeking one man among the masses.

There!

There is blood dripping from perfect lips, staining pale skin already ashen from fatigue. Wei Ying moves and almost falls, his steady balance that carried him across rooftops in moonlight...gone. He is tired and hurting.

"Wei Ying!"

Tears run down those pale cheeks, from eyes bruised with exhaustion the grey orbs dull with pain...with grief.

They close and he runs. He does not care how many he cuts down, the ones who try to stop him. Their faces are blurred and he thinks that might be his own tears. He cannot breathe and his free hand reaches...

ChenQing drops from the long fingers, dripping blood to the dark, sodden ground.

Those perfect lips curl into a smile, tremulous and strained.

They mouth words he cannot hear but can so easily read. Words that etch pain with acid on his heart. "Thank you and I'm sorry."

The darkness rises from the ground, a black cloud of resentful energy, followed by the screams and growl of the undead.

No.

Wei Ying smiles again and it is sorrowful, but peaceful.

He falls back into the blackness and it tears at him. Ripping into that beloved body, breaking bone and stripping skin.

He screams and yet no matter now hard he tries he cannot get close, cannot reach him.

lan zhan

"Wei Ying." He gasps and opens his eyes to darkness. His breath catches in his chest, emotion simmering as he tries to make sense of reality. Frantic, with unnamed fear he searches the space around him and realizes that the ceiling above him is not that of the Jingshi...the quilt covering him is not the one that he has in the Cloud Recesses...it was a dream.

There is no battle or blood.

Shards come back to him, ensnared as he is in the dream. They are in an inn...

He is cold, the chill of fear and the pain of loss seeping like freezing water into his bones. The room is not. A cloud of humidity gathers in the room, his skin clammy from the dream and from the moist, uncomfortably hot air.

Too hot. Wei Ying said they should sleep without the covers...

Instinctively, he turns to the other side of the narrow bed searching for the form that should be curled into him, completely insensible to the world. The long legs that should be tucked against his own, the toned chest that rises and falls with every precious breath...the long hair untied and free to spread across the bed like black ink. That beautiful face, relaxed in sleep in the perfect sprawl of his body.

Gone.

There is a candle burning on the other side of the curtain and the space beside him is empty.

He cannot name the torrent of emotion that fills him, the panic that rises like the tidal force of the ocean. Wei Ying cannot be gone.

There is nothing in his mind but fear and the desperate need to find him, to know that he is safe, well and...alive. That the dream was wrong. He scrambles free from the bed, his inner robes splay open but he cannot notice. His bare feet carrying him across the floor, his heart pounding against his ribs.

The inn room is long and narrow, with a thin wall separating the sitting area from the sleeping platform.

His hand, trembling with fear plucks Bichen up from where he had left it, the weight of his blade giving him strength.

Then he stops.

Around the curtain in the sitting area, is Wei Ying.

The fear and all words he might say die in his throat. His hand lowers Bichen and he lingers hidden in the shadow of the room, his feet still and his heart overflowing.

Something is wrong. There is hurt in his posture and he sits so still.

Tonight it seems is one of grief.

In his devotion to Wei Ying he accepts his love. All of him.

In the months since the Temple and the death of Jin GuangYao they traveled together along old roads and into new dangers. He rejoiced in every single day, in the every expression on that beautiful face, every laugh and every moment.

They were together. Wei Ying loved him and had promised to stay with him. There was nothing beyond that single truth, for him. He was free devote himself to Wei Ying, to care for him and rejoice in every breath.

He dreamed of a future now. To live together, sharing their heart and all between them. He would give Wei Ying a home, if not in Gusu then somewhere. A place that was theirs, for all that Wei Ying freely gave him each day.

Wei Ying so vivid and carefree, taking his hand...spinning in the sunlight with wild joy. Brimming with mischief and sensuality, driving him to the brink of madness. The power in those hands and smooth, deft way he hunted beneath the canopy of the stars. A cunning fox who moved with the grace of a wild cat.

He was breathless watching him and walked with immense pride through the towns and busy streets, for he alone could walk with Wei Wuxian. Only he was allowed and given this gift.

To wake beside him was something he openly cherished, where before it could only have been a guilty pleasure. A secret, illicit and never to be his. The passion and fire between them, the love and pleasure...they burned together and Wei Ying instead of pushing him away, pushed him closer. Demanded more, until all of him lay in Wei Ying's hands. Cradled by those hands, loved.

Hands that could destroy him, drowned him in affection, in small possessive gestures and the whipping winds of Wei Ying's personality. Petted, guided, stroked and kissed. An hour did not pass without Wei Ying's regard. He treasured every moment half-afraid that might be dream.

He committed these treasures to his heart and slowly piece by piece eroded some of the hurt. Thirteen years could not be washed away even by the sweetest happiness, in just a few months. A lifetime of trying to meet expectation, crafting himself stone by stone until a night on a battlefield, when the man he loved staggered, slipping on mud, bleeding onto the unforgiving ground.

Faith and devotion had been answered. Love accepted and lovingly given in return.

Mornings of bleak cold, nights of tears, chanting a name in broken whispers.

Yet, there were still moments of fear. Learning to trust when Wei Ying left his side, that he would return, safe and whole to him. Constant aching worry that in this new body, without his remarkable wits and the power of resentful energy, he was vulnerable.

Surviving thirteen years had only been possible, with the unshakable belief in Wei Ying, that he would return and for the love and duty of raising their son.

To lose him now?

The old fear and cruel memories were a reminder of his loss. A reminder that he must be vigilant and careful, so he could ensure that Wei Ying lived, free and happy. Enemies were around every corner and he would not become his own father, keeping Wei Ying a captive.

He tried to keep the fear tucked away, letting it guide some of his choices but never taint his life with his heart. He would walk every step with Wei Ying, now and forever.

Staring at Wei Ying from the shadows now, he realized so belatedly that he was not the only one struggling with the past.

Wei Ying had been forced by the choices of others to walk a lonely, damned path on a single-plank bridge, that led despite his best attempts, to his own cruel death. His murder.

For many that would be all they would think of. Their own death and how greatly they had been wronged. Framed and criticized, until murder lay in the hearts of almost everyone he knew.

Wei Ying thought only of those he had lost.

He never spoke of it.

Everyone no matter how strong had a breaking point. Wei Ying had found his, on QiongQi pass. He had thought A-Yuan to have been murdered and blamed himself, but it was his sister's death which had finished him, breaking what was left of his heart. They gave him no way out and Lan Wangji had not been there. Wei Ying had died abandoned.

Lan Wangji closed his eyes and thought of the lotus flowers.

He opened them and looked at the man who was his very heart.

Wei Ying sat before the low table, in the dim light of one small candle. A sharp breath left Wangji's throat surprisingly quiet, when he saw that Wei Ying was only wearing a thin pair of ku. His upper body was bare, showing his supple arms, the gorgeous planes and angles of his chest. He could see so clearly the marks of love, he had left on his neck and shoulder and flushed. Across his own body, Wei Ying had left bites that stung slightly in the air and bruises he cherished.

Wei Ying shifted and he looked at him adoringly. A slender body that had known abuse from the harsh hands of others, now sheltered the soul of a man who had survived a war. Long fingers cradled something in his lap and eyes that are the grey of a coming storm were staring at the candle flame.

Unlike him, Wei Ying was not as affected by the weather, by the humidity and endless heat.

Mo XuanYu's body was acclimatized to heat thankfully, coming from near Lanling, where the temperature soared to rival Yunmeng and dropped far below what was typical for Lotus Pier. And Yunmeng...

In his previous life this weather was entirely normal. Yunmeng after all was famed for its rainstorms, the cold, dry winters and hot, humid summers. Wei Ying years ago, had told him stories.

Of how he had spent most of his youth training outside, even in the height of the yearly humidity. Longing for the end of session so he could join the others in the Lake. Stories where there had been years when the humidity remained for weeks or months with no rain in sight. The leaves on the trees wilting along with the people, every attempt at sophisticated swordplay only turning to dragging exertion.

Days when he had sweat running down his spine, dripping into his eyes during archery practice. Days when both he and Jiang Cheng had stolen minutes in the water or in the shade, a hot cloud of sweat drenched hair and robes, sticky, irritable and drained.

Days when they would take a small boat to the quiet waterways that offered the shelter of the trees, where it was cooler, just to get away from the sun and Madam Yu. Early evenings sitting with his beloved Shijie, her amber eyes bright with laughter and care, her voice soft and so much younger.

The weather had brought to Wei Ying's heart an odd mood, he tried his best to conceal. But Wangji for his blindness, focused all of himself on Wei Ying now. Every expression and tone, pressed to his heart.

Wei Ying's rich precious voice would offer up the same complaint as the locals, as they passed through this lonely city, the same hope that the storm will break, bringing with the soothing rains. Now, looking at him, he wondered if it reminded him of the past of the good days he yearned for, even determined as he was to move forward.

Midnight black hair tinged blue in the dim light, cascaded over one perfect shoulder, spilling like ink over the table and his lap. Wild and unbound it let shadows played across the beauty of his chiseled face, highlighting the somber expression and trembling lips.

Gone were the days, Wei Ying would suffer alone.

Bare feet turned the corner while a slim hand dropped Bichen on the bed. His inner robe trailed after him, loose on his shoulders and open at the front. The still, stiflingly hot air more bearable with skin alone.

He knelt beside Wei Ying, staring at his grieving face, with his heart in his hands. His own grief had his hands rising, clasping Wei Ying closer. He breathed in the scent of him, somehow the same no matter the different body.

It was the bell.

For all his time in Yunmeng, Wei Ying had worn the Jiang Sect bell with great pride. After being disowned by his own brother and last family member, Wei Ying could only look at it with pain.

'Keep it Lan Zhan." His eyes had been distant and sorrowful. Then he unexpectedly smiled. "I like knowing you have it with you."

Now he must have gone looking for it. Found it inside the many seams of Wangji's outer robes carried as a token of love, rather than a symbol of Wei Ying himself. His heart hurt at the thought, alone and grieving he had found the bell. A symbol of Wangji's love and Wei Ying's pain.

So lost in thought, in memory...Wei Ying startled. Those grey eyes flying up to meet his own and Wei Ying half-turned towards him, lips parting in surprise. Wangji gave him no time, to throw up the ages old walls of a smile and a laugh, a joke or deflection. His lips found Wei Ying's, his hand caressing his pale cheek as his other found the thin waist, pulling him closer.

Tenderness filled him and he pressed closer still when Wei Ying gave a muffled sound, a soft huff of laughter. One slender hand gripped his inner robe and Wangji's mind blessedly went blank.

Want and desire banked from earlier came to the surface, but he kissed Wei Ying with all the love in him. Gave him no chance to push him away, to hide.

He was here. He was safe.

Another huff of laughter had him pulling away, gold meeting grey. "Couldn't sleep?" He asked mirth in those foxfire grey eyes.

He thought of the boat and the battlefield, of the fear that had drowned him.

"Wei Ying."

He smiled fast and brilliant. A genuine smile and something eased in Wangji's chest. Fear giving way at last.

Then his lips twisted, remembering no doubt that without Wei Ying, he was prone to nightmares, admitting this truth one night after a cup of wine. Telling him much to his eternal humiliation, just how often he had cried for him, sleepless and grieving.

Somehow the fates had been kind and Wei Ying had never talked about it, never mentioned it. Not even in jest, or in that endless childlike curiosity.

Deliberately, Wei Ying set down the bell on the table. It clinked as it met the wood and Wei Ying seemed to suppress a flinch. "Wei Ying..."

The Yiling Patriarch, fearless and so feared rose up to his knees, flicking his beautiful long hair over his shoulder, grey darkening to black as he pulled Wangji closer still. Like a moth to a naked flame, Wangji tilted his head and kissed his jaw, the underside of his chin with reverent lips.

"I dreamed you were lost."

Wei Ying made a choked sound and he pulled back, to see those dark eyes watching him. "Lan Zhan. My Lan Zhan." Wei Ying whispered, his words and breath caressing his heated skin. Then a sigh, "The heat made me think of Yunmeng...of the attack."

His heart had seized the moment he had heard that Yunmeng had been destroyed, desperate panic taking flight in his chest...for Wei Ying to think of it...

Clever hands pushed his inner robes back, down off his shoulders and he slid forward over his knees, to slot so perfectly on Wangji's lap. A tug of his hair had Wangji's head tilting back further still, grey eyes sparkling as that clever mind came to a decision. "Let's forget about dreams Lan Zhan. I'm here.. You're here. Together."

"Wei Ying."

This time the kiss was flame and love, a slender hand finding him hard and heavy beneath the cotton of his own ku. His hands caressed and teased Wei Ying's skin, curving sinfully around ardent hips. A strong part of him wanted to sink back into that tight heat, to drive all thought from Wei Ying's mind, but his love rose higher on his lap, a dark god or a savior rising from the shadows.

When Wei Ying was like this, what Wangji wanted most was to be reminded that Wei Ying had survived, that he was here in his arms, that he was wanted. The boat and the lotus flowers drifted back into is mind, the sharp agony of loss dimmed but not blunted. Wei Ying drenched in blood...dying.

"Wei Ying..." He whispered against his lips. A mumble or a plea he wasn't sure.

"I'm here Lan Zhan." Wei Ying said softly.

He was here. They had a future together and one day he hoped, that the dreams will fade. The echoes of war that annihilated a Sect and led to the death of the one he loves may finally be silenced. Thirteen years of pain may finally drift into memory, the breathless gasp of panic no longer tightening his chest when he thinks of Wei Ying gone again.

Perhaps he will think that Wei Ying is sleepless. Perhaps he will remember this night and the fear will not suffuse his body and mind. One day they might walk free of the chains that hold them.

One day Wei Ying will no longer sit alone by candlelight mourning his sister, his home and his brother. He will never forgive himself. Wei Ying is not built for that, but Wangji will love him anyway.

As he lies back on the floor by the table, Wei Ying straddles his lap. He laughs and there is life brimming in his eyes. His heart overflows as he thinks, let this be forever.