Chapter 1

I have become entranced by this amazing story Módào Zǔshī and this story would not leave my head. I just love Lán Wàngjī!

I have only read the parts translated by the amazing Exiled Rebels Scanlations and highly recommend giving it a go.

English is not my first language and I have no Beta. Any mistakes are my failures.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

He would never tell anyone what happened that wretched night. The truth that Wei Ying was gone settling in his bones like poison. The grief and the madness born from it, stole any sense he might have had.

He would vaguely remember later, falling to his knees, one hand buried in the black soil of the Burial Mounds, screaming until his throat bled, despair so potent that it took the very breath in his lungs. Wei Ying was gone. The thought a nightmare he desperately wished would end.

Blood-loss, the trauma of his skin flayed and the exhaustion of all but crawling to this mountain of terror and sorrow, brought him closer to the point of no return. The soil was soft beneath his hand, a laugh so carefree echoing on the wind, startling grey eyes so expressive...gone.

Blood ran freely down his skin, soaking his robes a vibrant red. It was fitting, he thought that his blood fell to the lands that saw the last breath leaving that beloved body, the place that was the cradle of his demonic path and a sanctuary for so many.

Wei Ying.

His long black hair fell as a curtain around his face, his white ribbon flying into the unforgiving wind, ripping another sound, a low cry from his lips. They had taken his life, murdered him with the joy of their terrible blood lust singing in their veins. They had wanted his death, craved it, planned it...

He should have been here. He should have protected him or at least stood with him at the very end.

When Ying had shouted "Get Lost!', cruel and bitterly angry, had he been trying to protect him?

Did Wei Ying know his fate? And knowing it had he pushed the one who loved him most of all, away to preserve someone? That was Wei Ying. In madness or sanity, he always sought to protect others. It was who he was.

Who he had been.

A softer cry was heard only by the black soil, absorbed into its endless depths of death and loss.

In the midst of this maelstrom of agony, he had a moment of pure clarity. A moment that stretched out into the ether of darkness, in this foreboding place. If Wei Ying was gone...why must he live?

If he gave his life, would he be able to see Wei Ying again?

Would his soul find his? Would he be able to stay with him, whether wanted to or not? His companion in the existence after death? Why must he live, take breath when they had robbed Wei Ying of his life?

Bichen was his blade, imbued with his energy, with his love for Wei Ying. It was a long blade and carefully maintained for the optimal sharpness, a perfect weapon to gift Wei Ying his life.

Wei Ying even at the height of his demonic madness, would have been horrified, he thought. His body found no doubt by his brother, held by the black soil of despair, filthy and clearly dead by his own hand. A final, everlasting disgrace.

The clarity is the eye of the storm, spreading a numbness that shields him, allowing him to reach for the blade. The agony is there but he cannot feel it, the despair still ripping at him, yet his hand does not waver.

His eyes open and he startles, sitting back on his heels to stare at the sight before him.

A tiny face with ocean blue eyes stares at him. Torn robes once white now stained with blood and the filth of the burial grounds. Barely more than two years old, sitting a breath away from the edge of a cliff, right before his knees, with wide innocent eyes, filling with tears.

A-Yuan.

A voice carrying laughter and consternation floated on the breeze, carried from memory. "He calls me Ma. No matter what I teach him Lan Zhan, he calls me his mother!"

A hand warm and strong pressing against his arm, a careless touch that felt like benediction and brought all his feelings of want and love to the surface. He pointed at him, bringing the child's attention, nestled in his arms, safe and loved, to Lan Wangji's face. "Lan!"

The child curious and happy said "Lan!"

Wei Ying pointed at himself and the child patted his face lovingly, "Ma! Xian Ge Ge!"

A-Yuan.

Wei Ying's adopted son, who looked at his father and called him Ma. A little boy lost and damned to this place of the death, who loved a man who was nearly so powerful his demonic skills nearly touched the Heavens. A man murdered and stolen from both of them.

The clarity does not fade just yet and so some truths are his now to remember.

Wei Ying is gone. The words feel wrong and fathomless, a concept so against what should be, but the agony cannot touch now, the world still around him.

If he dies here, if he joins Wei Ying in death's embrace, what will happen to A-Yuan?

His Brother will eventually look for him and find his corpse here on the dark soil, surrounding the dead and damned. Dead by his own hand. How long will that take? How long has little A-Yuan been alone, crying for Wei Ying?

It has been days since his death and the tragic little form before him is fading... death not far from claiming him.

Wei Ying would never forgive him for leaving his son, alone and lost, like he had been once upon a time. Damned to wander the streets, an orphan no one wanted, starving and alone, chased by feral dogs and shouted at by the adults who should care for him. Grief might hold him in madness, but he finds he cannot let that happen, cannot knowingly lose A-Yuan too.

A smaller cry interrupted his churning thoughts. "Lan! Ma! Xian. Xian Ge Ge."

A broken shrill little voice, as if begging this known man, a safe adult to find his mother, find Wei Ying or not leave him as Wei Ying was forced to do.

Bloodied fingers reach out an touch the stained cheek, warm from fever and starvation. The tiny child moved forward carried by energy he does not have, to crash into his chest. There are now tears soaking his robes, tears for a man lost to both of them.

His mind is incapable of many things in these endless moments of pain, but he decides that A-Yuan is a gift, a piece of Wei Ying that he must keep safe. He did not leave voluntarily, he was ripped from this world, murdered.

He and the child both choose to believe that Wei Ying will come back. A-Yuan might forget him in time, but Lan Wangji...no. Wei Ying's Lan Zhan will never forget, the knowledge that return will happen, sinking into his bones, filling every crevice hollowed out by agony, with a faith that cannot be shaken. Gone but not lost. Gone but not truly dead.

He sat back cradling the child that weeps as his heart was weeping, for Wei Ying and chose to believe. In clarity, he chooses to rise, unsteady and everything that he had trained himself to never be, ungraceful and unlike the Twin Jade he was suppose to be. Wei Ying would frown at him and then tease him to distract them both.

He would wait for him.

The little one clung on with fading strength and gold eyes looked around the barren, broken damned place that was not Wei Ying's final resting place. He would wait and he would raise A-Yuan, look after him as he had failed to look after Wei Ying. Be for this little child, what his own parents had failed to be, a constant supportive presence. The boy would know him as his guardian, he would learn about Wei Ying, the truth not the slander and the stories of death. They would teach him about the Yiling Patriarch. He would teach him about Wei Ying.

One step and then another, the world tilted and swayed but strength was always what he had most of. Not courage or power perhaps, for he had not saved Wei Ying nor died with him, but the child gave him strength to carry on, to leave the place of Wei Ying and travel the lonely path back to Gusu.