Chapter Text
Huaisang unexpectedly meets Wei Wuxian in a small city near Xinglu Ridge.
The moment is awkward. Wei Wuxian, alone and pulling at a very reluctant donkey, is clearly surprised to see him, and Huaisang, alone and dressed in understated robes without adornment, is obviously trying to move about in anonymity.
Only two people in the whole world who might guess where I’m headed, Huaisang thinks, and I have the bad fortune to run into one of them.
Sixteen years have sharpened Huaisang’s ability to read people (not that his old friend has ever been all that difficult to read), and he sees the wariness in Wei Wuxian’s eyes. It should hurt and Huaisang thinks that maybe somewhere, buried deep in his heart perhaps, it does, but he also knows that this mistrust hasn’t exactly been unearned. A man who would murder a soul for his own gain is not someone to be trusted, after all.
He is about to give his excuses, wish good travels and continue on his way when Wei Wuxian flashes one of his brilliant smiles and invites Huaisang to share a drink
Huaisang is surprised, and honestly a little bit suspicious, but he can’t deny that he has wanted the chance to talk with Wei Wuxian now that … well, now that they both have the freedom to. It won’t be like before, of course, but Huaisang is not so lost in the before that he expects it to be. He has missed Wei Wuxian, missed talking with someone who wants nothing from him, who expects nothing of him, and at the very least, it will be a good way to tie up loose ends.
It is not like before. They sit across from each other in a modest wine house and the tension between them is palatable despite Wei Wuxian’s casual slouch and Huaisang’s fake cheer. Huaisang’s hand itches to reach for his fan, but they are supposed to be beyond such masks now, just two old friends finding the time to share a drink together. Thankfully, the alcohol soon helps as one drink becomes three becomes five; Huaisang feels himself begin to relax and Wei Wuxian’s words become more carefree. They talk about inane things - night hunts, old news from Lanling and Lotus Pier, and an upcoming art collection that Huaisang is sponsoring. He hedges around his reason for being near Xinglu Ridge and lets Wei Wuxian assume it's his annual check of the Nie ancestral tomb.
It is turning into a pleasant evening and Huaisang feels better than he has in a long time.
And then Wei Wuxian casually mentions that he’s not living at Cloud Recesses and, more importantly, he is not with Lan Wangji.
Huaisang snaps his fan open. These idiots. The best thing to come from this whole mess, well, besides Huaisang’s long-awaited revenge, obviously, was the reunion of Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji and now Wei Wuxian has the gall to admit they’re still not together?
He is almost positive his teeth are grinding.
“I suppose it’s boring staying at Cloud Recesses,” Huaisang finally manages. He would find it boring, can distinctly remember making a wish to never have to return there again. But he also doesn't have any ties to the place, or a person who has been pining after him for sixteen years.
Wei Wuxian laughs. “Yes, but I don’t actually mind. Ah, Huaisang, after everything … boring is a nice change. But it’s been a long time since I’ve been out in the world. I guess I’m on what you’d call a voyage of self discovery - ha!”
Huaisang rolls his eyes. What is never said about voyages of self-discovery is that you rarely learn anything good about yourself while on them. “And what about Lan Wangji?”
Wei Wuxian’s smile dims somewhat, and Huaisang is relieved that his old friend is at least not in complete denial about his feelings - he’s just decided that they don’t matter. Huaisang takes a deep, steadying breath. Of course. This is Wei Wuxian, who has never met a cause he couldn’t sacrifice himself for, and this time he has taken true love handed him on a fated platter and has decided to chuck it.
As for Lan Wangji, Huaisang can only assume he has some equally exasperating reason for not being with Wei Wuxian.
“Anyway, I am heading back that way for a visit,” Wei Wuxian is saying. “Eventually.”
Ah, Huaisang thinks. Drinks today are being used by Wei Wuxian as a deterrent to travel. He wonders how long his old friend has been putting off this trip. “That’s a shame,” he says lightly. “Cloud Recesses is especially lovely this time of year.”
“Cloud Recesses is always beautiful,” Wei Wuxian says with heavy longing and then, just as Huaisang is about to say something a bit unbecoming for a sect leader, his old friend suddenly looks up with a sly look on his face.
Alcohol has not dulled any of the warning bells in Huaisang’s head; he remembers that look from their youth. “What?” he asks warily.
“Come back with me,” Wei Wuxian says.
****
Cloud Recesses really is beautiful year round.
Huaisang has tried to paint Cloud Recesses once or twice but his brushwork has never quite captured it correctly. He thinks idly of this failure as they make their way through the main gate and towards wherever the Chief Cultivator is. He wonders if the problem is one of aptitude or apathy. He has always excelled at landscapes but perhaps his time as a student here has colored his perception or has turned his eye too clinical; his paintings have always been perfectly correct in line, shade, and depth and have always also been perfectly boring.
Or perhaps, until very recently, Huaisang has had other things on his mind. His mouth quirks in a quick smile. Vengeance is a kind of beauty, after all.
Huaisang then stifles a sigh and puts aside thoughts of vengeance. That is done with now and it is his own fault that he never considered what he would do after, which was shortsighted indeed if his new role in life is now as a matchmaker.
Nie Huaisang, he thinks in bemusement. Head-shaker and Mender of Relationships. Nie Huaisang, Fixer of Broken Things.
Huaisang tries not to think of Lan Xichen. He has tried not to think of Xichen for three months now and so, naturally, this means that Huaisang thinks about him often.
They are escorted to the jingshi, even though Wei Wuxian should know the way; Huaisang suspects that the Lan disciples are also determined to keep the pair in a room until they work through their bullshit. Huaisang and Wei Wuxian are hardly a few steps inside when Lan Wangji is suddenly in the doorway and … oh, it is as painful to watch as Huaisang feared. The world takes an immense pause as Lan Wangji’s face registers an infinitesimal amount of surprise, then as much joy as Huaisang supposes one can expect from human statuary. Wei Wuxian is smiling softly and obviously doesn’t realize how much his whole body is starting to lean towards Lan Wangji.
Huaisang thinks he might be starting to have a migraine. He wonders how Lan Xichen ever dealt with these two without wanting to knock their heads together or bash them over the head repeatedly with his xiao.
He bows, starts to offer to step outside for a moment, and then surprises everyone, himself included, by asking if he can see Lan Xichen.
Lan Wangji’s eyes narrow, probably because he has noticed Huaisang for the first time. He looks briefly at Wei Wuxian, who predictably squirms as he can hardly say that Huaisang is here to make sure he doesn’t abandon the noble quest to not throw himself into his beloved’s arms. Huaisang is trying to decide how he can walk back his words or maybe spontaneously combust.
“My brother is in seclusion,” Lan Wangji says.
“Oh, I didn’t know,” Huaisang lies. Of course, he knows. Everybody knows. And even if it hadn’t been reported to him, show a world where a Lan didn’t stew in his own grief and Huaisang would show you a Jiang Cheng who could go a whole banquet without swearing at someone. He expects Xichen to be in seclusion for six months at the minimum.
But Huaisang is also now curious. Lan sect seclusion will be nothing like our Nie sect seclusion, he thinks with a dark chuckle. And Huaisang can admit that he has been concerned for Lan Xichen, especially since Huaisang was one of the reasons the man was in seclusion in the first place.
“But your Excellency,” Huaisang attempts. “There have been some … incidents in the Unclean Realm lately, and I badly need his advice.”
Lan Wangji says nothing.
“Of course, I would greatly welcome Your Excellency’s excellent advice, it’s just Zewu jun has been aiding the Nie sect for several years now and I think he’d know the intricacies of our little problem best.”
Lan Wangji doesn’t blink.
Huaisang takes a deep breath and decides to use his one advantage. He looks over at Wei Wuxian, who is still stupidly basking in the glory of Lan Wangji’s light, and then back at the Chief Cultivator. He raises an eyebrow.
Look here, Wangji, he hopes his look conveys, I brought your love back to you. Twice. Let me see your brother.
Lan Wangji finally exhales. “He’s in the hanshi.”
****
Huaisang doesn’t know why he’s here.
He had decided to come back to Cloud Recesses because he had been needed, and obviously Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji were hopeless if they needed his help. But asking to see Lan Xichen was beyond idiocy. What was he even suppose to say?
I’m sorry for not confiding in you, but I knew you’d try to stop me?
I’m sorry but if I had the choice to do it all over again, I would?
I’m sorry?
Huaisang snorts - more useless words have never been spoken - and then realizes he has alerted Lan Xichen to his presence when the other man calls faintly from inside.
He considers running. Just leaving Xichen and the lovebirds and any other problems behind and continuing on his way to Xinglu Ridge, to a bridge spanning over a deep abyss and the pavilion that waits for him beyond the darkness.
It would be easier to run, so maybe that’s why he doesn’t. He has always preferred taking the easier path but, if anything, the last several years have taught him that he’s perfectly capable of taking the longer and more difficult road if he has to. Huaisang sighs; this visit is long overdue. He has to.
He enters the hanshi.
If Lan Xichen is surprised to see Huaisang, he doesn’t show it. It is Huaisang who is surprised as he comes to stand across from the other man. At first glance, there is nothing about Xichen that seems out of place. He is sitting at his table, possibly reading several messages Huaisang can see stacked beside him, possibly in the middle of mediation that Huaisang has interrupted. But the lighting in the room doesn’t even have to shift before he can see that something is very wrong.
Huaisang bows awkwardly, trying and failing not to stare. Between the two Lan brothers, Huaisang had always considered Wangji the more beautiful, a man carved from jade, an ethereal being gracing the world with his presence. But Huaisang hadn’t fully realized the radiance of Xichen until it was gone.
I did this, Huaisang thinks with horror.
This Xichen is dressed in white robes and looks thinner in both figure and spirit. His hair is barely swept back from a too pale face, and that face is tired and sad. The hint of mischief that Huaisang has often caught in Xichen’s eyes is completely gone.
He looks like a portrait of mourning entitled Lan Xichen, a Twin Jade of Grief.
Lan Xichen, a living cenotaph in the memory of Jin Guangyao.
No, Huaisang thinks. No, he did this.
Huaisang is unprepared for the wave of sudden unrestrained fury that rises in him.
“The best thing he ever did,” Huaisang spits, “was to make sure you didn’t die with him in that temple. But I see you’re still trying to do that anyway.”
Lan Xichen’s mouth drops slightly open. Huaisang might have been shocked as well, if he didn’t feel so murderous. “Huaisang,” Xichen starts, his voice hoarse.
“Xichen-ge,” Huaisang returns, the words a sharper stab than he intends. But it doesn’t matter. These Lans and their grief! If Xichen can still care about that … that monster, then why should Huaisang care about Xichen’s feelings? And if he really intends to go to Suoxian Pavillon, it is better to leave with no uncertainties.
“I lied,” Huaisang says.
Lan Xichen reacts slowly but enough to know that he understands, that he’s probably always understood. It is the easiest lie in the world, Huaisang thinks, to look away, to hide your face behind a fan and claim ignorance, but it only really works if the other person doesn’t know you. Jin Guangyao hadn’t really understood Huaisang at all, but apparently Lan Xichen had.
And yet …
“Huaisang, is it true,” he says, mocks, before Xichen can try to pretend otherwise.
Somehow that pale face draws even paler and then color starts to slowly spread, a slight flush of pink across Xichen’s cheek, as if Huaisang has slapped him.
Huaisang wants to. He wants to slap reason back into him and tear this love of Jin Guangyao from him and into pieces. He wants to burn the pieces so they can never haunt anyone again.
Will I never be free from Jin Guangyao?
“Xichen-ge,” Huaisang fake-stammers, “the way you are asking, now I can’t be certain … I don’t know.”
Lan Xichen is looking at him like he’s grown a second head or, more exactly, like Huaisang is a crazed murderer that has invaded his peace. “Huaisang,” he tries again. “What are-“
“I don’t know,” Huaisang repeats. He watches emotions flash across Lan Xichen’s face: hurt, confusion, and then the smallest flicker of anger, and he feels a small sense of victory. “I don’t know, Xichen-ge.”
“Huaisang,” Xichen says slowly. “You need to stop.”
“I don’t know,” Huaisang almost sing-songs in return. “I don’t know, I don’t know, I don’t know."
“Stop,” Xichen says firmly and now there is a warning note in his voice.
But Huaisang can’t stop. He wants to. He doesn’t want to hurt Lan Xichen anymore than he already has; Xichen is probably the most warm hearted soul he has ever known, and he has always been there for for Huaisang and his family.
But an angry Lan Xichen is better than a half dead one, and Huaisang thinks he can live with Xichen’s hate.
“I don’t know,” Huaisang says, like a challenge. Like a curse.
“Enough,” Xichen says flatly, and there is finally, finally, some emotion other than despair in his eyes. Huaisang had never imagined a day when he’d see Lan Xichen direct such anger at anyone, least of all him, but then Huaisang had never imagined a lot of things.
“I really don’t know, Xichen-ge,” Huaisang says with a shrug. “So why didn’t you?”
Xichen’s eyes widen. Then he stands. “Get out.” His expression is now barely contained rage, enough to quell even the bravest cultivator and certainly leave any junior disciple shaking in their boots.
Most people would run screaming from such a promise of violence.
Most people didn’t have Nie Mingjue for a brother. Xichen’s fury is nothing compared to his brother’s infamous temper.
Huaisang delivers the final blow. He lets himself smile, false and pleasant, a near perfect copy of the monster who has claimed Xichen’s heart.
“Make me,” Huaisang says.