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Chapter Text

"Something’s comin’
Something’s on it’s way"

The triad, a union between Lan Xichen, Jin Guangyao and Nie Mingjue, was born from the ashes of the conflict that had engulfed the clans. The death of Wen Ruohan, an event that had shaken the foundations of power, had given Jin Guangyao a position of strength, but also an unbearable burden. His decisive act, killing Wen Ruohan, had marked the beginning of something new. An alliance. A pact sealed not only by blood, but also by unspoken words, undeclared ambitions, and hopes that now seemed far away, almost unattainable. 

At the heart of that triad, Lan Xichen continued to harbor hope that the alliance would lead to peace. His analytical mind, his calm and reflective nature, pushed him to believe that, despite the shadows already darkening their path, the sacrifices made would find meaning. He had thought that over time, that very fragile alliance between Lan, Jin and Nie would be consolidated by trust and unity of purpose. 

The weight of the triad, that fragile alliance, began to manifest itself as a disease that poisoned every thought, every interaction. Every day, the cracks in the foundation became more evident, as if the entire world was witnessing the collapse of something that would have been better off not starting. Lan Xichen, however, continued to look at Jin Guangyao with the hope that he was really what he seemed. Perhaps Lan Xichen saw in him a chance for redemption, as if believing in change was the only way to heal the wounds of a broken heart, his. Yet, how could you trust a man who had blood on his hands, a man who, despite having the face of a friend, hide the soul of a tyrant?

Nie Mingjue, however, did not give in to that hope. Jin Guangyao's every smile, every measured and thoughtful word, seemed more like a game than a truth. He couldn't forget Jin Guangyao's past, nor ignore the lies that he continued to weave like an invisible but solid web around their alliance. His heart, once so faithful, now trembled under the weight of the realization that something rotten was taking root in their bond.

Every word that came out of Jin Guangyao's mouth, no matter how elegant, seemed to be full of a double meaning. Every gesture, every grimace, that might seem innocent to others, was a test for him. His loyalty to Lan Xichen, which he had always defended with his heart in his hand, now crumbled like ash before his eyes. The promise he had made, to stand by Lan Xichen and protect what was dearest to him, now seemed like a cage slowly closing on him. And so, as Jin Guangyao's words became increasingly weighty, his friendship with Lan Xichen, increasingly fragile, seemed to fall inexorably. One afternoon, which should have been like so many others, fate changed the trajectory of his life.

The afternoon was unusually warm, but the air in the courtyard where they stood seemed thick, almost unbreathable. The sound of Jin Guangyao's footsteps echoed hypnotically, each step he took seemed to weigh more than the previous one. His elegant figure, in perfect control, advanced with that glacial calm of his, that posture that he had worn so hard to hide his true nature. Each movement, each step, was studied, calculated. He was like a predator approaching his target with the precision of an archer, ready to release his arrow.

When Jin Guangyao stopped in front of Nie Mingjue, the distance between the two seemed not only physical but also emotional, an abyss that no gesture could bridge. The warm light of the afternoon reflected on his impeccable clothes, but in his eyes, there was something empty, cold. His smile, almost imperceptible, couldn't hide the subtle pleasure he felt in seeing Nie Mingjue's discomfort, in seeing how tense he was, how much he needed a shock to collapse.

Nie Mingjue remained still, but his mind was starting to race. Every fiber in his body was on high alert. Every muscle seemed to contract, as if it were trying to hold back a force that was about to explode. He looked at him, yet didn't see him for what he showed. Jin Guangyao was just a shadow, a facade that hid something deeper and more dangerous. His presence was like a fog clouding the sky.

The expression of apparent calm he maintained, now perfect in its theatricality, trembled beneath the surface. The smile he gave him, the one he had learned to recognize as false and calculated, never reached her eyes. There was no heat in that smile. There was only an abyss hiding behind the mask, ready to swallow him.

"ChiFeng-Zun" began in a voice that sounded both sweet and venomous, as if he were saying a prayer to someone he could never save. “I need to ask a favor of you.”

Jin Guangyao's words echoed in Nie Mingjue's mind, like the ringing of a bell heralding a tragedy. That "favor" had nothing innocent about it. In Nie Mingjue's heart, every fiber of his being began to boil. He, who had always tried to protect Lan Xichen from any threat, now felt as if he were witnessing a friend fall into the trap of a deception he could no longer ignore.

"A favor?" he repeated, his eyes fixed on Jin Guangyao, but his voice betrayed his growing anger. "What do you really want from me, Jin Guangyao? What else can you ask me after everything that happened?" Jin Guangyao didn't seem to understand the intensity of the question, or perhaps he was deliberately ignoring it. He continued, as if he had never heard the challenge in Nie Mingjue's voice.

“I would like your blessing,” he said, the exact words that would spell the end of any illusions Nie Mingjue had had regarding Jin Guangyao's good faith. “To woo Lan Xichen.”

The words hit Nie Mingjue's chest like a blow, as if the whole world had collapsed on him. His breath hitched for a moment, and his eyes widened, staring at Jin Guangyao. There, at that precise moment, the sky seemed to have turned black. There was no breathing room, no chance for distraction. The air, which had once seemed thick, was now completely still, as if even time had stopped flowing for that single moment of shock.

“You ask for my blessing?” he repeated, his voice betraying the control he struggled to maintain. His heart was pounding, but not from fear. It was anger. It was the sound of frustration rising like unchecked fire. "To woo my best friend? After everything you've done?"  Every word was a blade, every word that came out of his mouth wasn't just a response, but an accusation that was becoming flesh. His body, tense as a string, vibrated with still energy, a calm that precedes the explosion. But inside him, the explosion had already occurred. There was no longer room for kind words, for control. The friend he had always defended, who he had always tried to protect, was now about to be betrayed again, and he was powerless to stop it.

His hand curled into a fist, his fingers white with tension, but his anger didn't subside. Instead, it grew. The feeling of betrayal was like a poison burning his flesh. He had given Jin Guangyao too much, too much of his trust, of his reserves, of his respect. And now… now he was asking for blessings to woo Lan Xichen? 

His body moved with a speed that amazed even him. It wasn't a reflex gesture, but a visceral reaction. His hand left his hip, slowly lowering towards his sword sheath. The skin on his palm rippled as he gripped his blade, the feel of the metal vibrating beneath his fingers, the cold making him shiver. The scabbard creaked slightly, a sound that seemed to echo in the silence, and the sword, when drawn, glinted in the afternoon light.

Every movement was slow, calculated, but filled with a fury that was making its way. The blade glittered, as a tangible sign that Nie Mingjue would not allow this betrayal to go unnoticed. "I won't let you do this," he declared, but his voice was more of a growl than a word. Every syllable seemed to shake the ground beneath his feet.

His eyes, which had only a moment ago reflected a broken friendship, now burned with an unstoppable fury. Nie Mingjue's eyes seemed to shoot lightning, a flash of desperation, of anger. The sword, in the hand, was no longer a symbol of defense, but a clear message. Jin Guangyao would have to deal with what he unleashed. His decision, his absurd request, would come with a price. And that price was something only he, Nie Mingjue, could pay. 

Jin Guangyao, with his usual air of false innocence, seemed to enjoy his confusion, his growing anger, as if it were a game he was having fun playing. His every word, every smile that never reached his eyes, was a farce, but a farce that he managed to act with impressive skill. His voice, so calm and melodious, but with an undertone of venom hidden in the folds, continued to buzz in Nie Mingjue's mind. "But I love er-ge" he had said, as if it were an inescapable truth. The sentence, so full of presumption, revealed his belief in being invincible, as if he already had everything under control. 

He had to stop it all. He had to protect Lan Xichen, but more importantly, he had to protect himself from the downfall that Jin Guangyao was trying to inflict on everyone. And if it meant destroying everything they'd built, he would. With or without Jin Guangyao. There was no return.

Nie Mingjue flew over the mountains, the saber under his feet, the wind whipping across his face and the sight of Gusu slowly growing closer. But Caiyi Town today did not seem like the quiet, majestic city he had always known. It no longer felt like home, but a prison, as if the very air was impregnated with betrayals and unspeakable secrets.

As he flew over the countryside, Nie Mingjue's thoughts chased each other. Every movement, every beat of his heart, seemed to bring him into a confrontation with himself, with what he had ignored for too long. His thoughts returned to that scene that he had seen so long ago with his younger brother, Nie Huaisang, and which now loomed before him like a lighthouse, the only handhold he could cling to.

It had been a calm afternoon in the garden of the residence. Huaisang sat in silence, his gaze fixed on something he didn't immediately understand. There was no movement in the air, no noise, just the rustle of leaves moving in the wind. But Huaisang, increasingly sensitive to what others missed, had seen something that he had not noticed. A viper, hidden among the tall grass, slowly approached a rabbit, unaware of the danger. A rabbit who, by his nature, trusted the nature around him, thought everything was peaceful.

"Two such different animals but they seem to get along, right?" Huaisang had said, his tone ever so enigmatic, suspended between innocence and wisdom. "It's a shame that the viper will always remain poisonous. And one day... it might eat the rabbit." 

Nie Mingjue didn't give any weight to those words, smiled and told him that he had to stop looking at the world like a fairy tale. But now, now that he was flying towards Gusu, those few, simple seconds of that scene seemed like the only truth he had ever had. The viper, cold and lethal, was Jin Guangyao. His cunning, his calm and controlled smile, hid a danger that Nie Mingjue had ignored. The rabbit, innocent and vulnerable, was Lan Xichen, who trusted without reservation, who saw only kindness in the gestures of those around him. And he, he who should have been the protector, who had seen the trap too late, who had tried to believe in something pure, as always, like an idiot.

He had always believed that his friendship with Lan Xichen was stronger than anything, that they would overcome any difficulty together. But betrayal was a poison that couldn't be seen, that slowly insinuated itself under the skin. When he saw his friend, his older brother, become so deeply involved, he felt helpless. And when Jin Guangyao, in such a subtle way, had asked for his permission to woo Lan Xichen, Nie Mingjue had understood that the world he thought he knew no longer existed. There was no longer room for honor or trust, only for calculation and lies.  

With a decisive movement, Nie Mingjue took another quick flight, his gaze fixed on Gusu who was getting closer and closer. It didn't matter what happened, it didn't matter how hard it was. He knew he had to act, that he had to protect his friend, even if it meant facing something that would test everything he had ever believed in.

Because a viper who has seen rabbits eaten too many times can never be forgiven.  

The wind blew through Gusu's high walls, carrying with it the scent of wet earth and the muffled sound of leaves trembling on bare branches. In the gardens of the Lan Sect, the air felt heavier than ever. The gray stones of the paths stretched like lines of demarcation between the past and the present, and the sound of Nie Mingjue's footsteps resonated eerily in the absolute silence. With calm breathing and heart pounding in his chest, Nie Mingjue approached the door of Lan Xichen's hall. The sound of his boots stomping on the cold ground sounded like an omen, but there was also a force driving him. An urgent need to face the truth, even if this would have led him to suffering that now seemed inevitable.

“I knew you'd come, A-Jue,” Lan Xichen said without turning, his voice as calm as a stream flowing gently between rocks. His tall, imposing figure was steady, but his shoulders looked tired. As always, his smile remained placid, but today it lacked the usual sparkle that once characterized it. "He warned me. A-Yao told me that you would have something to tell me." 

Nie Mingjue watched him silently for a moment, his gaze hard as stone, but his heart agitated. Lan Xichen's every word seemed to be another step towards disillusionment. His mind was in turmoil, but the truth he had to tell had to come out. There was no more time for diplomacy or beating around the bush.

"Don't call me that now," he said in a hoarse voice, irritation starting to take hold. "Xichen." His hand closed around the hilt of the sabre, the weapon that had accompanied him in a thousand battles, yet today it did not carry the usual security. "You don't understand, you don't see what's happening. Your blind trust in him is corrupting you!" 

Lan Xichen was silent for a moment, as if trying to gather the right thoughts. When he finally spoke, the tone of his voice was not aggressive, but soft and filled with a sadness that seemed inevitable, like a storm preparing to explode.

"It's not blind trust," he said with a soft sigh. "Jin Guangyao has suffered. He has lived a life full of humiliation and pain, and that's why I believe he deserves a chance. It's not a matter of ignoring his darkness, but of seeing the person he could become."

Nie Mingjue looked at him with eyes full of disbelief, and his voice became harder. “Ah, Xichen…” his sharp voice was like a steel wire that left no escape. “I was just wondering how long it would take you to reach this point.”

Lan Xichen, who was usually the picture of serenity, couldn't help but raise an eyebrow, a faint smile on his mouth, as if he was preparing for a trivial discussion. “I'm not sure I understand what you're getting at.” 

"Oh, you don't get it?" Nie Mingjue took a step forward, his gaze sharp as a blade, and the sarcasm in his voice became more evident. "Of course, I totally understand. You fell for it, didn't you? You really let yourself be duped by him." He glanced quickly at Lan Xichen, trying to sink every word like a thorn into his heart. "Jin Guangyao. A man with blood on his hands and a mouth sweeter than poisoned honey. He's making you dance like a marionette, Xichen."

Lan Xichen attempted to maintain his usual aplomb, but his expression grew more serious. "It's not what you think, Mingjue. Things aren't so simple."

"Oh, really?" Nie Mingjue laughed disdainfully, a bitter sound filling the room. "Tell the truth: you see him as a wounded man, don't you? A lost soul in need of your salvation. How sweet." His voice was a mix of sarcasm and cynicism. "Please, Xichen, don't let your goodness blind you. I've always told you that it's not your goodness that puts order in the world. But you never listen to me." 

"Ah, he's had a hard life, sure," Nie Mingjue said, rolling his eyes in exasperation. "Why does someone who doesn't have a difficult life end up becoming a murderer? And then, they start courting a man like you." He paused, his gaze hissing as he stared at Lan Xichen with sharp eyes. "Maybe he thinks your heart is easy prey, that he can win over with a smile and a few whispered words. Don't you realize he's manipulating you, Xichen?"

Lan Xichen opened his mouth to respond, but Nie Mingjue immediately interrupted him, giving him no time to defend himself. "You are a man of principle, a man who always had his eyes open and his heart pure... until he came along." The sarcasm in Nie Mingjue's voice was nearly palpable. "Well done, Xichen. Well done indeed. You were fooled like a novice. But I bet even the great Lan Xichen can't help but be fooled by poison disguised as sweetness." 

Lan Xichen, this time, couldn't keep his composure. "It's not like that!" he replied, but the tone of his voice betrayed an unease that he couldn't hide. "I believe that Jin Guangyao is a person capable of change."  Nie Mingjue didn't hold back. “Able to change?” He let out another bitter laugh, a cold sound that echoed off the walls of the hall. "He will never change. A man who has made such horrible choices, who has shed so much blood, cannot change. It is not only his soul that is corrupted, Xichen, but also his heart."

The sarcasm that oozed from Nie Mingjue's words left no room for interpretation. "But you, good as always at seeing the best in everyone, think he is a lost soul to be saved." He took a step forward, moving even closer. "How far are you willing to be deceived? To play savior while the rest of the world sinks?"

Lan Xichen looked at him, his face marked with internal struggle. But his voice, although firm, trembled with an incredible sadness. "I know you don't understand me. But I believe in him."  Nie Mingjue shook his head, as if disgusted by the response. "Xichen!" Nie Mingjue's voice suddenly became lower, but the tone was filled with a strength that could not be ignored. His eyes, which moments before had been full of sarcasm, were now dark, filled with a pain that he could no longer hide. “Please, listen to me.”

The step she had taken towards him now seemed to be the last one, the distance between them reduced to a few steps that seemed to weigh like boulders. "Don't do it." His voice trembled for a moment, as if for the first time in a long time he was no longer the infallible warrior everyone knew, but just a man who saw his people going to ruin. “Don't accept his courtship.”

Lan Xichen looked at him, surprised by the tone of his words. Nie Mingjue's expression was serious, almost desperate, and for a moment his usual calm faltered. “Mingjue, I don’t think you understand.”

Nie Mingjue didn't let himself stop, his voice now rough like a shattering stone. “No, Xichen. YOU don't understand.” His words were like shields thrown forcefully. "You're playing with something you can't control. You see him as innocent, you see him as someone who has suffered. But he's not." He paused, his breathing heavy as if each word were an unbearable weight. "He is not a victim. He never has been." 

His gaze deepened, as if he wanted to plant every word in Lan Xichen's mind. "Jin Guangyao is poison disguised as medicine. And you, Xichen... are poisoning yourself." His voice lowered even further, almost a whisper, but filled with an intensity that did not allow for a reply. "Please don't make this mistake. Don't let his smile blind you. Don't let his promises deceive you. I know how it works. And he's like a viper just waiting for the right moment to strike."

Lan Xichen was about to respond, but once again, Nie Mingjue stopped him, this time with an outstretched, almost pleading hand. “Xichen, if you do this… if you accept this courtship… it will be your downfall.”

There was a painful urgency in his voice, a helplessness that shone through forcefully. "I know, because i've seen it all before. I've seen what he did to others. And i don't want you to be a victim too." His expression became more stern, his eyes becoming blazing with determination. "I saw how he played with the feelings of those who trusted him. I saw how he pushed each of us to make his moves and then used them to his advantage." 

“Don't be like them, Xichen,” she said with a sincerity that left little room for interpretation. “Don’t give in.” Lan Xichen looked at him, a long silence between them, as the world outside seemed to stop. Nie Mingjue's heart pounded, each beat a call, a plea. But when Lan Xichen spoke, his voice was like a quiet breeze, but no less painful.

"Mingjue, I... I know you're scared. But I believe Jin Guangyao can change." His voice shook slightly, but the determination was evident. "It will not be the ruin you fear, but a possibility." Nie Mingjue widened his eyes in disbelief. "A possibility?" His voice got quieter, but the sarcasm was back, sharp as a blade. "Please, Xichen, don't tell me you really believe this fairy tale. His love for you, his kindness, is nothing more than a means to an end. It's not love. It never was love."

Lan Xichen looked at him, and for a moment he seemed to waver, but his expression became composed again, as if he was taking refuge in that armor of calm that had always distinguished him. "I know you have your reasons" he said with a sad smile, "but I have to do it. It's my choice. You can't ask me to give up what I believe, not even for you."

Nie Mingjue tried to remain calm, but he couldn't hold back a sudden gesture, as if he wanted to shake Lan Xichen, make him see reality. "And this thing you believe is really so important that you sacrifice yourself? And who gains from it, Xichen? Who gains from it in the end?"

Lan Xichen stepped back, his face became more distant, but there was no longer any trace of the lightness it had once had. At that moment, it almost felt like the entire weight of the world was on his shoulders, but it wasn't a weight he had the strength to shake off. 

“But i love him,” Lan Xichen said, his voice shaking but sincere, as if he was trying to convince himself as much as he was trying to convince Nie Mingjue. "I can't help but believe, when the heart calls its name."

The silence that followed these words was full of an intensity that almost oppressed the air. Nie Mingjue, who remained motionless for a moment, stared at Lan Xichen as if it were the strangest and at the same time the most painful thing he had ever seen. Then, in one swift movement, without hesitation, he raised his hand and dropped it with a sharp, sharp sound against Lan Xichen's cheek.

"But then you're really stupid," he said angrily, his voice full of contempt. His expression was not that of a friend trying to console, but of a man who could no longer bear to see someone dear to him destroyed like this. Lan Xichen's hand remained suspended halfway, as if the blow was not only physical, but also a direct impact deep within his heart. He did not move. He remained there, with his hand outstretched, his gaze fixed into space, as if that blow had taken away his ability to respond. The wound inflicted on him was not a matter of skin, but of soul.

"You're such a fool," Nie Mingjue repeated, this time in a lower tone, but still full of bitterness. Lan Xichen remained silent, but his gaze became emptier, as if those words were slowly penetrating his heart, despite the defense he had built around it. "I know," he finally replied, his voice sounding broken. "I know what you think, but when the heart calls, i can't ignore it. I can't..." His voice faltered, as if he were looking for a hold he couldn't find.

Nie Mingjue approached, face to face with Lan Xichen, and the anger in him had nothing to do with jealousy or resentment. It was pure desperation. "It's not love, Xichen. It's a trap. Can't you see he's using you? Jin Guangyao is using you like a pawn in a game you don't even understand. He'll let you fall, and when he does, there will be nothing left of you." . The words echoed through the room, filled with a weight that Lan Xichen could no longer ignore. But he couldn't give up what he felt either. The struggle between reason and the heart was a war that was destroying it from the inside. 

“You should trust me,” Lan Xichen finally said, with deep sadness in his eyes. The silence that followed was no longer as tense as before, but it brought with it the knowledge that perhaps Nie Mingjue's words would never change anything. Lan Xichen seemed too far away now, too caught up in his love for Jin Guangyao to see reality clearly. “I'm sorry, A-Jue,” Lan Xichen murmured, more to himself than to Nie Mingjue. “I'm sorry you have to see me this way.”

“I'm sorry too that you're not seeing the truth,” Nie Mingjue replied, looking at him one last time as if he were a man he would never meet again. 

Chapter Text

"They're wrong

Yeah, baby, they're wrong "

The afternoon was slowly giving way to evening, the sky turning an opaque blue, like a canvas faded by time. The light that filtered through the window, dim and uncertain, traced long and languid shadows on the walls of the room, a faithful reflection of that darkness that slowly enveloped Lan Xichen's heart. It was not a simple shadow, but a tangible presence, a weight that seemed to grow, whispering to him that there was no longer time for easy choices, for priceless dreams.

In front of him, Jin Guangyao's letter lay open, like a message not asking to be read, but understood. The words, written with grace and coldness, seemed to dig a deep furrow in his spirit, as if each sentence wanted to break him a little more. Lan Xichen looked at the letter without really seeing it, his gaze averted, lost in an abyss of doubt and uncertainty. Every word was a note of a harmony he couldn't play, every sentence a silent cry of a truth he didn't want to face. Yet, that letter remained there, a warning that weighed like a sentence, and he, prisoner of his own emotions, knew that there was no answer. Only the labored breathing of someone who has chosen his path, but still doesn't know where it will take him.

Then the door opened. The sound of creaking wood, like a broken promise, made Lan Xichen's heart leap into a thrill that he couldn't hold back. The figure of Lan Qiren appeared in the doorway, but his presence was so dense, so imbued with silence, that it seemed to fill the entire room, bending the very air under the weight of what he brought with him. His stature, tall and severe, imposing in his traditional dress, seemed like a mountain looming over Lan Xichen's fragile life, as if his very authority were a blade ready to strike, and yet, in that moment, more than ever, he seemed a barrier impossible to cross.

"Xichen," Lan Qiren's voice, deep and reproachful, drifted through the air like the sound of a distant bell. "I need to talk to you. One more time."

Lan Xichen looked up, but didn't respond right away. The silence between them was dense, as if every word, even the most innocent, had the power to shatter something irreparable. A sigh escaped his lips, silent, like a breath held in too long. He felt like a silk thread stretched to a point where he couldn't take any more pressure. Every fiber of his body, every thought, was as if it were suspended in a precarious balance, waiting for the truth, the truth he was trying to avoid, to overwhelm him.

Lan Qiren, however, didn't seem to notice any of this. His figure grew closer, his eyes fixed on Lan Xichen with that hardness that only he could express. There was neither tenderness nor patience in that look. Only the weight of a love that, in his own way, he wanted to protect, but which, in that moment, became more suffocating than Lan Xichen could bear.

"I don't understand," Lan Qiren's voice broke the silence forcefully, like a stone thrown into a still pond. "I don't understand how you can accept this, how you can allow a man like Jin Guangyao to enter your life so easily. It's not just wrong. It's dangerous, Xichen."

Lan Qiren's words settled on Lan Xichen like heavy sand, as if every single syllable wanted to swamp him. His mind tried to react, to come up with an answer that wasn't just a defense, but a truth. But the weight of disappointment and reproach burned too hard to think clearly. Every part of him, every cell, just wanted to scream, to rebel against that condemnation. But his voice remained imprisoned, and his eyes, desperately seeking refuge, ended up meeting Lan Qiren's again, filled with a sadness he no longer knew how to face.

"Shufu," he began, his voice trembling, but his soul was already shattered. "You can't keep looking at him like this. You can't reduce him to what he was, not now. Jin Guangyao has... he's done things, yes, but he's suffered a lot. And I..."

He couldn't finish the sentence. The words died on his tongue, as if he no longer believed what he was saying. 

"Xichen..." Lan Qiren whispered, but the sadness and determination in his voice left no room for any understanding. "You're confusing things. You're confusing desire with reality. It's not him you want to save, it's your need to believe that something, that someone, can be different from what he is." 

Lan Xichen didn't respond immediately. His uncle's words echoed in his mind like a distant echo, a sound he couldn't chase away. He couldn't get them out of his head, but his heart, however, was pushing him towards a path that he could no longer stop. The idea of Jin Guangyao as a danger, as a threat, he couldn't slip away, but at the same time he couldn't let go either.

Lan Qiren's every word seemed to penetrate Lan Xichen's heart like a sharp blade, digging deeper and deeper, exposing his deepest vulnerability. Yet, something in him, something old and strong, kept him from bending completely. Despite the pain, despite the weight of his uncle's words, something inside him continued to struggle not to lose that little spark of hope that still burned in his heart. 

“Shufu, stop,” Lan Xichen finally replied, his voice trembling, full of frustration and a tiredness that had pervaded him for too long now. “You and Mingjue don't understand. You don't understand anything! Jin Guangyao is not who you see. He’s not just what he seems. He suffered, he paid... he made mistakes, but who hasn't made them?”

His voice, already weakened by the words he had just spoken, seemed to struggle to continue. His own statements rang false to him, but he couldn't stop them. “And I... I can't deny what I feel. I can't ignore the good in him. I can't close my eyes to the possibility that there is more."

Lan Qiren was silent for a moment, but his expression did not relax. The cold eyes like steel fixed on Lan Xichen with such a force that it seemed to want to penetrate the young man's soul, delving into his beliefs, his fears, his most hidden desires.

"You don't understand, Xichen. You don't understand that you're playing with fire," he said, and his voice trembled slightly, as if the words themselves were forming from an unspoken pain, from a sacrifice that would change the course of their life. life. "Everything you do now, every step you take with him, could destroy everything we've fought for. The Lan clan, our family, everything that's right. Don't you realize the danger you're in? And then, There's a question I can't get out of my head, Xichen... What are you sacrificing for a chimera?" 

The words hit Lan Xichen like a whip, tearing the veil of illusion he was trying to keep intact. It wasn't just a reproach, it was an accusation, a shock that threatened to tear down his fragile castle of hope.

“What are you sacrifice?” Lan Qiren repeated, as if wanting to make him feel small, insignificant. "Your dignity? Your family? Your vsoul? Every step you take with him takes you further away from us. You are moving further away from yourself!" "It's not like that!" Lan Xichen blurted out, almost driven by the fury of a wound he didn't know he had. His voice, trembling but full of anger, echoed in the silence of the room.

"It's not like that, Shufu! You don't understand. You don't understand anything!" His hands clenched into fists, but his heart was pounding, as if he were trying to maintain control over something that was rapidly slipping out of his grasp. "Jin Guangyao is not just a monster like you think! I'm not blind like you, like Mingjue! You don't see what he is capable of being!"

"Xichen..." Lan Qiren whispered, but the sadness and determination in his voice left no room for any understanding. "You're confusing things. You're confusing desire with reality. It's not him you want to save, it's your need to believe that something, that someone, can be different from what he is."Shufu… enough!” Lan Xichen's voice trembled, but his heart pounded, blood burning in his veins.

Lan Qiren was silent for a moment, his gaze never leaving the young man's. “What you don’t understand,” he replied, his voice now a thread of ice, “is that his pain is just a mask. It's a cover up, Xichen. And you… you’re falling into a trap. Do you see it? Do you understand that?”

“So what?” Lan Xichen's response exploded like a fire that could no longer be extinguished. “So what? I'm not a child anymore, Shufu! I never was! But now I'm an adult, and if I want to do something, if I want to make my choice, I don't need anything from you! I don't have to tell you anything! I don't have to ask anyone's permission!”

The room seemed to tighten, every corner full of tension, of unspoken words, of hidden feelings. Lan Qiren remained standing, motionless, as if those words had hit him like an invisible whip. The look he gave Lan Xichen was not only reproach, but also a hint of disappointment, of pain that he couldn't hide.

“A-Huan” said Lan Qiren, his tone lower, but his words sharper than any accusation. “You're not the boy i raised anymore. You are no longer what I thought you would become. You're losing yourself, Xichen. And this... this is what I can't forgive you for. I cannot be part of this choice of yours. If you want to move forward with him, go ahead. But remember… You no longer have my support.”

The words hit him like a body blow. Lan Xichen felt a searing pain, as if his heart had been mercilessly ripped out. Anger and remorse mixed within him, but the void that Lan Qiren's words left in his chest was even greater. He felt as if he had been thrown out, as if that figure he had loved, that pillar of his life, no longer recognized him. As if the only thing he had left was the loneliness of a man who could no longer go back.

“Shufu…” Lan Xichen's voice became shaky, but it was too late. Lan Qiren turned and started walking away. His figure became an increasingly distant shadow, while the words of farewell still rang in Lan Xichen's ears.

Then, as if every last vestige of hope had vanished, Lan Qiren, pausing in the doorway, turned his head slightly, his eyes dark as a storm, and said, with a calm that only betrayed the depth of the pain that was making its way into his heart.

“I won't save you.”

And with those words, the door closed behind him, leaving Lan Xichen in a loneliness he'd never known before. The anger that had consumed him moments earlier dissipated, leaving room for a sadness that crushed his heart. He wasn't a boy anymore. It never would have been. But, in that moment, he felt more vulnerable than he ever had, more fragile than a child just learning to walk.

The days passed slowly, but the weight of the discussion with Lan Qiren did not ease. Lan Xichen sat in his study, Jin Guangyao's letter still there on the writing table. The glossy paper felt like a burden, but he couldn't throw it away. Every word written by Jin Guangyao challenged him, tempted him, and yet, his mind remained divided between the attraction he felt for him and the doubts that his uncle and Nie Mingjue had sown in his heart.

It was then that the door opened without warning, and Jin Guangyao entered like a ghost, his step light, but full of determination. Lan Xichen looked up and his heart pounded faster. Jin Guangyao looked at him with a sweet smile, a calm that seemed capable of calming even the storm stirring inside him.

“Xichen,” he said, his voice soft, almost soothing. “I'm so sorry for what happened. I'm sorry they made you believe I don't want to see you happy." His words, filled with a sincerity that seemed authentic, reached Lan Xichen's heart, but something in his chest refused to believe those reassurances. Despite this, he couldn't stop the grip of desire that gripped him.

Jin Guangyao took a step forward, approaching slowly, as if he didn't want to scare the fragile balance that had been created. “Don't let your uncle and Nie Mingjue's words distract you,” he continued with a gentleness that was almost tangible. "I know them, and I know they're too jealous. They don't want to see you happy, Xichen. They've always seen you as a threat, as someone to keep under control." He paused briefly, his smile growing sadder, as if he wanted to apologize for something he hadn't said yet. 

“It's not fair. He has no reason to accuse me. I wasn't the one who killed the guard commander when Xue Yang ran away and Wen Xu broke into the Nie Sect. I have always loved you, Xichen, I don't want him to take you away from me."

Lan Xichen tried not to believe those words, but the tears in Jin Guangyao's eyes hit him. It was a sincere sadness, a pain that seemed real, and his heart grew lighter, even if the doubt remained.

“And then,” he added with a sigh, “I'm sorry for how I treated da-ge when I went to the nightless city to kill Wen Ruohan. It wasn't an easy decision, but I knew there was no other choice, the only way to not blow my cover, to protect all of us." 

Lan Xichen looked at Jin Guangyao, his face bent on that table, his hands trembling with an anxiety he couldn't contain. His breathing was light, but his heart felt as heavy as a mountain. Seeing Jin Guangyao so vulnerable, so sincerely distressed, aroused an overwhelming desire for consolation in him.

And when Jin Guangyao moved closer, looking into his eyes with infinite sadness, Lan Xichen felt his heart give way. “You didn't have to do that, A-Yao,” he murmured. His voice trembled, but he couldn't stop. “You should never have…”

Jin Guangyao shook his head, bringing a hand closer to Lan Xichen's face. “But you understand, Xichen,” he whispered, his voice broken with pain. “I had to do what I did. I couldn't let the plan be destroyed. All I care about now is protecting you. Love you, Xichen. Only you can understand me." 

The words slipped like honey, sweet and enveloping, but there was something dangerous in that embrace of words. Lan Xichen felt his heart breaking, but his desire to believe what Jin Guangyao said was prevailing.

"Please," Jin Guangyao added, bringing his forehead close to hers, with an almost imperceptible sigh. "Don't be influenced by those who don't understand you. Don't let their words destroy you. I want you, Xichen. Only you truly understand me."

At that moment, the distance between them seemed to vanish. Lan Xichen felt that any resistance he had built was now useless. His hands were shaking, but he could not separate from him. The tension that was created between them was palpable, yet, beneath that surface, there was something even stronger: a bond that seemed inevitable, as if it were destiny that pushed them together.

But a voice in his mind kept saying: This is a game, Xichen. Don't be so naive. 

Lan Xichen stood still, his gaze fixed on the table. Jin Guangyao's words crept in like sweet poison, melting away his defenses. He had heard Nie Mingjue scream, he had listened to Lan Qiren's stern warning, but now everything seemed distant, a faded echo of a world that could no longer touch him.

Lan Xichen remained hunched over the writing table, his intertwined fingers trembling as if they were trying to grasp something impalpable, a sense of comfort still eluding him. Jin Guangyao's voice, soft and full of sweetness, wrapped him like a silk thread, delicate but inextricable, stitching invisible cracks in his heart.

The words slid like a clear stream, fluid, hypnotic. And, before he could even come up with a rational response, Lan Xichen's body reacted for him. The hands lifted, advancing hesitantly, like petals carried by an uncertain wind. Then, in a single, desperate movement, he grabbed him and held him close, like an injured child running into his mother's arms after a fall.

He held it with an urgency that left no room for doubt, his face hidden against Jin Guangyao's shoulder, seeking shelter in him from a storm that seemed to have no end. It was a naked, graceless gesture of that composure that Lan Xichen always showed to the world.

Jin Guangyao stood still for a moment, perhaps surprised by the fragility emanating from Lan Xichen's body, but his smile did not falter. With the patience of someone who knows the value of every move, she placed her hands on his back, caressing him with an almost superhuman tenderness.

“Xichen,” he murmured, his tone a soft chant. “You don't have to carry all this alone. I’m here.” I won't let them get you down."

Lan Xichen trembled slightly in his arms, and a solitary tear escaped, sliding slowly down his cheek and then getting lost in the fabrics of their robes. His hands clung tighter, as if he feared that if he let go, he would lose the only hold he had left in that sea of doubts.

“They don't understand,” Jin Guangyao continued, tilting his head slightly, his voice a whisper that almost sounded like an incantation. “Neither your uncle, nor Nie Mingjue. They don't see what I see. Your light, your pain, your power. I see you, Xichen, for everything that you are. And I'm here, ready to fight for us.” 

Those words filled the void that had opened up in Lan Xichen's heart, not only like a ray of sunshine melting the frost of an eternal winter, but like a warm rain after a long drought. Every syllable uttered by Jin Guangyao seemed to fall on a dry and cracked earth, carrying with it an illusion of life, an echo of hope that Lan Xichen no longer dared to seek on his own.

Yet, inside himself, like a shadow that cannot be ignored, a part of him fought to emerge. It was a feeble whisper, a doubt that couldn't make its way through the pain and tiredness. That sweetness, so perfect, so well-balanced, had a bitter aftertaste, like honey mixed with poison. But that suspicion remained suffocated by the weight of need, a need that overwhelmed him like an impetuous wave.

He let himself be lulled by that moment, his hands clinging to the fabric of Jin Guangyao's robes with the same desperation as a castaway finding a wreck to cling to. His breathing was shaky, broken by emotions he couldn't contain. Jin Guangyao, for his part, responded with disarming perfection, his arms wrapping around him firmly and tenderly, him fingers tracing reassuring circles on his back.

"You're tired," Jin Guangyao murmured, his voice as soft as silk. "You carried the weight of everything and everyone on your shoulders, never taking a moment to simply be Xichen. Let me help you. Let me support you, at least for a little while."

Every word was an invitation, every whisper an invisible thread that bound him more and more tightly. Lan Xichen closed his eyes, letting those words penetrate deeply, slipping into the most hidden recesses of his soul. He felt vulnerable, exposed, and yet for the first time in days, weeks perhaps, he felt a sense of warmth, a fragile semblance of safety.

Holding Jin Guangyao even tighter, as if his embrace was the only thing keeping the world from collapsing around him, Lan Xichen spoke in a broken voice, a barely audible whisper. "I don't want to fight anymore... I don't want to be judged anymore... I just want to... feel safe."

Jin Guangyao's lips curved into a light, almost imperceptible smile. He pulled him closer, with a gentleness that hid a cutting cunning, as his fingers continued to trace hypnotic paths on Lan Xichen's back. "And you will be, Xichen. With me, you will always be safe. No matter what anyone else says. I understand you. I am here for you."

Lan Xichen nodded weakly against his shoulder, like a man who, too exhausted to swim against the current, lets himself be carried away by the current, not knowing whether it will take him to safety or ruin. But at that moment, it didn't matter.

What mattered was the hug that held him close, the voice that reassured him, and the desperate need to believe that, perhaps, this time, he wouldn't be alone.

Chapter Text

" it was just you and me,  we were such a good team

Now I'm alone on the boulevard of broken screens

Just a thing to play and ,Then throw away"

Three months. 

Three endless months had passed without Nie Mingjue receiving any news from Lan Xichen. Time, which usually passed quickly for a man accustomed to action, now seemed to have stopped, turning into a vortex of silence and anxiety. Every day spent without a letter, without a messenger, without a single word, dug a deeper groove in his mind. Lan Xichen was a pillar in his life, a fixed point in a world of constant movement. And now, that stability seemed to have slipped away like sand through our fingers.

Nie Mingjue was not a man who gave in easily to doubt or fear, but this absence ate away at him. It wasn't just that Lan Xichen hadn't come to the Impure Realm as usual, or that Jin Guangyao, with his smile that he knew was both reassuring and poisonous, had also disappeared. It was the silence. A silence that seemed to have weight, like a cloud-covered sky that promised an imminent storm. 

Doubt insinuated itself like a black river, slow and inexorable, which invaded every thought, contaminating it with its poison. Nie Mingjue was used to facing battles, fighting visible enemies with the sharp blade of his sword. But how could he battle an invisible enemy? How could he reject uncertainty, fear, pain? Every possible scenario unfolded before him like an endless series of shadows, each darker than the previous one.

Was something wrong with Lan Xichen? Was he in trouble? Was he hurt, imprisoned, alone? Or—and this possibility haunted him more than any other—had he chosen to disappear? Seduced, perhaps, more deeply by Jin Guangyao's mellifluous words, those promises of comfort that always seemed to hide a thin thread of poison. Nie Mingjue hated Jin Guangyao with a fury that sometimes frightened him, but a part of him feared that despite everything, Lan Xichen could still trust him. What if that trust had led him far?

But it was more than just concern. It wasn't just the duty of a friend, of an ally. It was deeper, more visceral, more devastating. Every day that passed, every hour of no news, revealed something that Nie Mingjue had tried to keep buried, hidden even from himself.

He loved him. 

The awareness came to him like a blow from an axe, clear, devastating, leaving him breathless. Not with the sweet and measured love that he saw in the poems, not with the delicate and refined gestures that belonged to Lan Xichen. No, his love was wild, tormented, a storm that tore apart the sky and shook the earth. It was the love of a man who didn't know how to bend, who didn't know how to give up, and who nevertheless found himself broken under the weight of an absence that burned inside him like an unhealed wound.

He loved it. He loved him with the same intensity with which she hated what she couldn't control. He loved him with a fierceness that made him feel vulnerable, exposed. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw Lan Xichen's face: his composure, his gentle smile, those eyes that seemed to look beyond the surface of the world, beyond the surface of him. And now, those eyes were distant, perhaps lost forever.

And with the absence came regret. Regret for all the times he had been too abrupt, too quick in his judgement. For the times he couldn't find the words to say what he really felt. For the times he had hidden his affection behind the mask of authority, as if showing weakness was an unforgivable fault.

Was it too late now?

Every thought was a thorn that stuck deeper, every attempt to rationalize became a knot that tightened the chest. Nie Mingjue was a man of action, a commander born to solve with the sword what words could not mend, but now, his very nature was turning against him. How do you combat absence? How do you challenge an enemy who lives only in the mind, who hides in the heart and feeds on doubts?

And Lan Xichen. That name tormented him, a mantra of regret and longing that burned his throat like fire every time he whispered it in the silence of his room. In his memories, Lan Xichen was always calm, composed, his presence a light that brightened the darkness. And now that light was turned off, leaving him immersed in a darkness that seemed to have no end.  Nie Mingjue thought back to all their conversations, the quiet laughter, the smiles Lan Xichen gave him as if they were precious treasures. And he also thought back to the discussions, to the frustration he often felt at that gentle obstinacy that Lan Xichen showed when he defended Jin Guangyao. "I'm not a child," he told him firmly. “I am an adult, able to make my own choices.”

“You were never a child,” Nie Mingjue had thought, but he hadn't said so. Because he had never been a child himself, not in the way he would have liked. They had shared that burden, both forged too early by duty, too young to carry the burdens of their respective sects. It was perhaps for this reason that they found each other, like two stones that, although different, fit together perfectly.

Yet now that connection seemed broken. And all because of Jin Guangyao. Nie Mingjue clenched his fists, knuckles white, jaw tense. Every fiber of his being screamed at him that Jin Guangyao was not what he seemed, that behind that soft smile lay a poison ready to strike. But how could he make him understand? How could he save Lan Xichen, not only from Jin Guangyao, but from himself?

The regret consumed him. “If only I had been less abrupt… less rigid…” he thought. But he couldn't change what had happened. He could only move forward, search for answers, even when everything seemed shrouded in fog.

Nie Mingjue found himself in a whirlwind of thoughts that gave him no peace, like a drum that rumbled incessantly in the depths of his mind. The punctuation that Jin Guangyao had given to Nie Huaisang seemed to have become a symbol, a disturbing enigma that tore apart his certainties. Every time he thought about it, it was as if an invisible blade scratched his soul, raising shreds of suspicion and wounds that were not completely healed.

He clearly remembered the evening when he first heard the broken melody coming out of Huaisang's flute. It was out of tune, dissonant, like a voice breaking into a suffocated cry. He had felt anger, that familiar anger that rose in him like a raging wave every time his brother seemed to evade his responsibilities.

“Huaisang, you need to concentrate more!” he had said, his words as hard as stones thrown against fragile glass.

Yet, for once, that glass hadn't shattered. Huaisang had looked up, and there was a flame of resolve in his eyes that Mingjue didn't recognize.

“Da-ge, it’s not my fault. It’s not my concentration. It's that punctuation… there's something wrong with it.”

Those words had pierced him like thorns. For an instant he had rejected that idea, the inflexible logic of his mind had tried to deny it. Jin Guangyao? No. As wary as she was of him, she didn't want to believe he could go that far. And yet... the shadow of doubt had begun to creep in, slow and sneaky, flowing into the cracks of his thoughts like water eroding a rock. When Huaisang, with a firmness that was as rare as it was surprising in him, refused to play that punctuation again, Nie Mingjue felt a shiver run down his spine. A part of him had broken in that moment: the awareness that Huaisang, despite his apparent fragility, had seen something that he, in his blind determination, had ignored.

He looked at the flute placed on the table that evening, and for the first time it seemed to him to be a dangerous object, almost alive, as if it contained a hidden poison.

"What are you trying to do, Jin Guangyao?" he had murmured to himself, as his gaze moved between the instrument and the window beyond which the mountains stood out like silent sentinels.

Lan Xichen's absence mixed with these thoughts, making them even more cloudy. Three months without a letter, without a word, without that familiarity that usually bound them like invisible threads. Where could he have been? And, more importantly, what was keeping him from responding?

Anger and worry intertwined in him like snakes, tied in a knot impossible to untie. Lan Xichen had always been his counterweight, the calm that balanced his temper. Now, without him, everything seemed unbalanced, precarious, as if the whole world was about to collapse. Mingjue found himself fighting with himself: the part of him that wanted to believe in a simple explanation, and the part of him that screamed that something was terribly wrong. Part of him still hoped that Xichen was back in Gusu, safe and sound, too busy with his duties to write. But every fiber of his being told him that wasn't the case.

He decided he couldn't stay still any longer. He should have known. He had to see Lan Xichen with his own eyes, hear from his mouth that he was okay. That night, as he prepared to leave for Gusu, Xichen's punctuation and silence were like a single dark shadow following him, suffocating and inexorable.

When he arrived at the Lan Sect, the mists of Gusu seemed to have shrouded everything in a silence that echoed the emptiness he felt within. He hoped, against all logic, to see Xichen walking through the courtyards, his elegant step and calm emanating like a beacon in the storms. But there was no trace of him.

It was Lan Qiren who welcomed him, with his stern gaze that left no room for misunderstanding. But behind that stiffness, Mingjue saw a shadow of concern. "Where?" Nie Mingjue's voice was a low growl, an explosion of anger held back for too long.

Lan Qiren looked down for a moment, then looked back up, harder than before. "I don't know. And neither do you, apparently." The response hit Mingjue like a punch in the gut. "What does that mean? How could he have disappeared without anyone knowing anything?"

"He's not gone," Lan Qiren responded with icy calm. "He's... He's made his choice. A choice that you, like the rest of us, will have to accept."

Those words were poison that Mingjue couldn't swallow. "A choice? It can't be his choice to disappear like this! This is not Xichen, and you know it too. Jin Guangyao is manipulating him, using him! You can't stand here and let it happen." 

Lan Qiren stared at him, lips pressed into a hard line. "And what would you do, Nie Mingjue? Would you drag him away against his will? Would you force him to see the world as you do? Xichen is a grown man. He made his own decisions. You have no right to judge him, not do I , not to you."

But Mingjue couldn't bear those words. Every fiber of his being told him that Lan Xichen was in danger, that Jin Guangyao was pulling the strings of a cruel game. And, for the first time, he felt completely helpless. For if not even Lan Qiren, with his authority and wisdom, could see what was obvious to him, then what could he do?

As he left Gusu, the cold wind scratched his skin, but it was no match for the chill he felt in his chest. Lan Xichen was out there somewhere, and Nie Mingjue swore he wouldn't stop looking for him. Because no matter what the truth was, he could never forgive himself if he allowed Xichen to fall without doing anything. 

The banquet hall shone with warm and fascinating lights, but to Nie Mingjue, it was nothing more than a trap of cold and distorted lights. Every flash, every reflection, felt overwhelming, as if it were trying to swallow him up in a vortex. Every sound, every conversation that echoed between the golden and richly decorated walls reached him like a distant murmur, filtered through a fog that enveloped his heart. The room was full, but for him there was no one left there. Only the crushing weight of his loneliness and frustration crushed him like a boulder. He couldn't think of anything but Lan Xichen, how he wasn't there, how he wasn't at his uncle's side like he should have been.

Sitting beside him, Lan Qiren was nothing but an enigmatic figure, his face perfectly impassive. But he too, despite his serene face, couldn't hide that subtle restlessness that filtered through his eyes, eyes that furtively scanned the room as if he were looking for a sign, a clue. A sign from Lan Xichen. A sign from Jin Guangyao. The same worry that infected Mingjue's heart, but which Lan Qiren managed to hide under a perfect mask. Mingjue felt like he was trapped in a drama that he didn't write, but was playing out in every beat of his heart. Every moment that passed without a response from Xichen was a torture he could no longer endure. 

Mingjue's younger brother, with his ironic smile and his unmistakable master of ceremonies attitude, sipped his cup with an almost insolent calm. He seemed to enjoy the tension, as if it were a comedy he himself was witnessing, and Mingjue couldn't stand it. It was as if everything around him was a cruel joke, a drama that made no sense. But the anger that grew within him was nothing more than a fire that burned in every fiber of his being. It was a fire that threatened to devour him, to burn him in an instant, and yet he couldn't stop it. There was no time for silence anymore. There was no room for patience anymore. His mouth opened on its own, as if the words had to come out at any cost, as if his heart was ready to explode, driven by the fury of a broken love and the desperation of a betrayal he couldn't understand. 

Then, like a divine and cursed apparition, the door to the room opened. Lan Xichen entered, fragile and bright like an illusion of hope, but that vision soon became his nightmare. Lan Xichen was not lonely.  

Next to him, his smile burning like a white-hot mark on Mingjue's skin, was Jin Guangyao. Their hands touched, almost imperceptibly, but for Mingjue that touch was like a whip to the heart. Every fiber of his being trembled with anger and pain, and in that moment his entire body stiffened, as if he had been struck by lightning.

That scene, that gesture, that simple interaction, was imprinted in his mind like a wound that would never heal again. Lan Xichen, the man he had loved with all his soul, the man who should have been by his side, there with him in that hall, stood next to a man Mingjue had always seen as the ultimate traitor. A deceiver. A man who had manipulated and distorted everything that Mingjue had tried to protect.

In that scene, Mingjue felt like an old forgotten toy, left in a dusty corner, now useless, now broken, with its value ignored and wasted. The love he had given so generously, so desperately, seemed to have dissolved into the air like morning fog, like a broken promise. That touch of Jin Guangyao and Lan Xichen hit him like a hammer on a bell that tolled in a deafening silence, and his whole world was reduced to that terrible moment, to that vision that pierced his heart like a sharp blade, more deep, crueler than any physical wound.

It was as if a part of himself had been ripped away, a piece of his soul that would never return. Every corner of his existence turned upside down, every thought he had, every hope he had cultivated, collapsed. He felt torn and empty, like an abandoned object, with no more purpose, no more meaning. The betrayal was not just that of a man who had betrayed his trust, but the deception of an entire life that now seemed worthless to him. It was as if everything he had done, everything he had tried to build with Lan Xichen, was nothing more than sand slipping through his fingers, each grain disappearing as he watched helplessly.

The sight of Lan Xichen, there, next to Jin Guangyao, took away all his certainties. He felt like an old toy forgotten in a dark corner, having no use anymore. As if time had worn him away, as if the love he had once given was now reduced to a distant, dusty, irrelevant memory. It was as if everything he had experienced with him had been a fiction, a hall of mirrors that now shattered before her eyes. Every part of his being, every emotion he had poured into that relationship, seemed to collapse under the weight of the truth that was crushing him. He felt small, insignificant, as if he had been pushed aside, forgotten like a broken object. 

He couldn't remain silent. Not anymore. His voice, which until then had remained imprisoned in his heart, exploded like an unstoppable fury. "Xichen!" His voice rang out in the silence, full of disbelief, anger, pain. It was a scream that seemed to come from a bottomless pit. "What is this farce? What has become of all this?"

Lan Xichen stopped for a moment, but not like he had done before, with his usual reassuring look. No. This time, his eyes couldn't stare at Mingjue, they lowered, avoided contact. They seemed to be searching for an excuse, an explanation, but Mingjue didn't need answers. His hands were shaking, his mind was on fire, but he couldn't look away from Xichen. His voice, now broken by pain, continued to vibrate in the air, trying to bring out the truth that he could no longer ignore. "I hope you know where you're putting your heart, but I doubt you can see straight." 

Nie Mingjue's eyes were fixed on Jin Guangyao, and every fiber of his body despised him, as if that man was the cause of everything that was happening, of everything that had shattered into a thousand pieces inside him.

"It's you, right? You're the one who manipulated everything!" The words came out of him like an arrow, sharp, direct. His gaze was cold, but the anger, that anger that had kept him alive for months, made his voice shake. "How did you have the courage to show up here with him? How did you have the courage to stage all this?"

Jin Guangyao, as always, did not let himself be shaken. A poisonous smile formed on his lips, but in reality it was a smile of pure indifference, as if that pain was nothing more than a game orchestrated by himself. "You don't understand, Mingjue," he replied calmly, a calm that only expressed his superiority. "I came for what is right, for what is owed to me. Lan Xichen and I... we are made for each other. There is no reason to continue talking about old wounds."

Jin Guangyao's words only plunged the knife into the already open wounds in Mingjue's heart. It felt like it was trampling on his soul, and every fiber of his being screamed against the emotional violence. "Meant for each other?" he screamed, his voice cracking with pain, but also with rejection. "You're just a liar! And you allow yourself to walk here, in front of everyone, as if you were the most innocent of saints, while you... while you destroy... destroy our friendship!" 

Lan Xichen finally interjected. His voice, usually calm, now trembled with something hard to define. The defense he was trying to build looked more fragile than he ever imagined. But, against all logic, he stepped up. "Mingjue," he said, trying to appeal to his rationality, "Please don't misunderstand. Jin Guangyao did nothing wrong. The decision is mine, it was my choice."

Mingjue looked at him, his heart clenched. "Your choice?!" He couldn't believe his ears. Every word out of Xichen's mouth felt like a death sentence. It was as if every fiber of his being was screaming at him to stop, to wake up, but the void between them seemed insurmountable. "This is your choice? And what am I, Xichen? What place do I have in your life? I am nothing more than a part of your past that is no longer worth anything, am I?"

Pain invaded him, and those words, spoken like a blasphemy, seemed to resonate inside him, reverberate against his chest like a blow that would never stop.

Lan Qiren approached Nie Mingjue in silence, observing the scene with an expression that, despite its severity, hid a sadness that no one would ever notice. His step was slow, measured, but his gaze was far from impassive. When he arrived next to Mingjue, his gaze became softer, almost imperceptibly. “Mingjue,” he said in a low, but firm voice, “calm down.” 

Mingjue felt his blood boil in his veins as he shook off Lan Qiren. It didn't matter if the man spoke to him with his usual calm, trying to mitigate the pain that ran through him like a sharp blade. That calm, that pity, wasn't what he needed. Not now. Not when the world he had built was crumbling beneath his feet.

"Enough," he spat, the words filled with contempt, and as he let them fall like stones into the night, he took a step back, as if to run away from it all. From everyone. His voice, now broken, sounded like a muffled cry as he turned towards Jin Guangyao and Lan Xichen. "Be careful, Xichen. Your dreams are too fragile to bear the weight of a man like him."

With those words, his eyes closed for a moment, as if he wanted to expel all that pain that was overwhelming him. And then, without even turning to look again, he headed towards the exit, his shoes echoing on the banquet floor like the sound of a destiny already sealed. 

When he found himself out of sight of others, his body gave out, his knees collapsed onto the damp ground, and for a moment, he couldn't breathe. The rain covered him, but it wasn't enough. Nothing was enough. The sound of drops hitting the ground seemed to be the only noise he could hear in a world that had suddenly become foreign to him. Nie Mingjue's heart, which once beat with love, now beat only with pain.

“How could you?” he whispered, the words a broken whisper, as if he himself didn't believe what he was experiencing. "How could you, Xichen? After everything I've done for you, after everything I've given you..." His voice trembled, but he didn't stop. Anger, that anger that burned his insides, pushed him to continue, to launch himself against the world with every strength he had left. "Did you really think that my love was something to be used and then thrown away? That I could bear to be reduced to a faded memory while you make fun of me with him?"

It was as if every word that came out of him was a blade that dug deeper and deeper, tearing into every part of his heart that once belonged to Xichen. Every fragment of what she had felt for him now turned into hatred, into contempt. His love, which had been pure and powerful, now became dark, corroded by betrayal.

The rain continued to fall, but to Mingjue it seemed like nothing could put out that fire inside him. His soul was on fire, and the hatred he felt did not give him peace, but on the contrary slowly consumed him. "I hate you, Xichen," he screamed, the words echoing through the night like a wild, uncontrolled scream. "I hate you for showing me that my love meant nothing to you. I hate you for making me believe in a dream that didn't exist."

His hands clenched into fists, nails digging into flesh as if he could feel the physical pain like a valve for the torment tearing him apart inside. "Everything I have done for you… everything I have sacrificed…" The sound of those thoughts, so painful and hopeless, seemed to merge with the sound of the rain, as if the world was falling apart together with him. 

His knees buckled, body now too tired to bear the weight of his own suffering. He felt like an old broken toy, thrown into a corner, forgotten, abandoned. 

Nie Mingjue remained bent on the ground, the rain beating on his face like a punishment, and yet, in the midst of that torture, something inside him began to break even more. It was as if his body, exhausted, could no longer contain all that fury, all that frustration that had accumulated over time. His hands trembled as they clenched into fists, but something inside him slipped beyond emotion, beyond hatred. A sound that seemed strange and out of place escaped his lips: laughter. Slow and bitter, a laugh he didn't even know he wanted to make, but it slipped out anyway, a distorted sound of madness.

"Ah... ah, how absurd..." His breathing was heavy, the laughter that followed the sentence a mocking echo that came out of his chest as if he could no longer hold back the desperation that was enveloping him. He couldn't stop laughing, even though his heart cried out in pain, because at that moment everything seemed so ridiculous to him. "All I've done, all my sacrifice... for what?" His laughter turned into a scream of anger, a scream that seemed to want to free himself from an invisible prison that was squeezing his heart.

The rain continued to beat down on his face, yet he couldn't seem to put out the fire that was burning inside him. It was as if his very essence was burning, wasting away under the weight of a betrayal he couldn't shake. His soul seemed to separate from him, a shadow that was lost in the darkness of the night, while his body continued to tremble under the weight of anger and pain.

The laughter abruptly ceased, leaving an even heavier silence. His heart, crushed by suffering, beat like a drum, a painful beat that reverberated in every corner of his being. He felt as if the Qi inside him was going astray, going crazy, as if everything he had learned and built over years of struggle and discipline was vanishing. A corrosive, messy energy that he could no longer control.

"What is happening to me?" he whispered, the words choked in his throat. He couldn't understand, he couldn't feel anything but the pain, the frustration that was crushing him, while his Qi, like an uncontrollable force, dispersed in all directions, leaving him breathless. Qi's deviation was a clear sign, a physical manifestation of how broken he was inside. His body was screaming, but there was no one to hear him. 

“What a fool… what a fool I was…” The laughter that had once been bitter, now sounded like a mockery of himself. There was nothing left to do, everything that had been, everything he had hoped for, was shattering like glass. Every piece of her heart, every single piece of her love, was dissolving into the air, leaving only the cold reality of betrayal.

"I understand now," he murmured, his voice lowered, almost as if he were talking to the rain. “It was all a lie… I was never enough for you.” And in that moment, his laughter died, replaced by an anguished silence. The pain turned to hatred, pure hatred, burning inside him.

"There will never be anything between us again," he murmured, tears mixed with the rain wetting his face. “There will never be anything more, Xichen.”

The rain enveloped him, yet it couldn't calm the fire that burned inside him. Every drop that hit his face only seemed to intensify the torment that tore his chest, as if every tear that fell was a further wound inflicted on his heart now torn to shreds. His heart, once burning with passion, was now a pile of ash, fragile and consumed by the fire of disappointment. He couldn't breathe without feeling that pang in his chest, as if he had been reduced to nothing more than an empty shell. All he had given, all he had hoped for, had dissolved into the air, turned into smoke and dust.

There was nothing more to be done. The time for hope had passed, and now there was only bitterness that devoured him from the inside, a pain that had no end. Every hope, every broken promise had dissolved, leaving only the unsustainable weight of a betrayed love. His heart, which once beat for him, no longer made any noise, broken into a thousand fragments that now lay in a dark corner of her soul.

Now, his love for Lan Xichen, the one that had silently shone in his heart with the strength of a thousand stars, lay there, buried under the weight of a reality he had never imagined. Every dream, every hope he had put into him, every look, every gesture, every word he had tried to hide for years, everything that had tied him to him, was now reduced to ashes, forgotten. It was as if a dark veil had fallen over his soul, burying that feeling that had guided his heart, that had pushed him to fight, to believe that there was a possibility.

Now, his heart was just an empty memory, a distant echo of something that would never be again. The stars that had once shone brightly in his chest now lay extinguished, shattered by the revelation that he would never be loved in return, that his dedication and love had never found fertile ground. The heart that beat for Lan Xichen now lay among the ruins, buried in a pain so deep that it left no room for anything, not even regret. There was no light left, only the darkness of growing hatred, a hatred that, in a cruel irony, was born of his own love.

His love had never had the chance to fully manifest itself, had never had the chance to flourish. Like a plant that had never seen sunlight, it now rotted in the ground, suffocated by the rust of broken dreams. And yet, despite everything, a shadow of that lost love remained with him, like a scar that never disappeared, not even with the passage of time. There was nothing left to do but watch that feeling that had once shone so brightly, now reduced to a pile of dust. 

Chapter Text

"A shame, you’re knocking at the wrong gate, hey go home"

Three months had passed since that night, but to Nie Mingjue it seemed like centuries, an eternity of torment and loneliness. His mind, held in a painful and constant embrace, could not free himself from that banquet, from that scene, from those faces. The sight of Lan Xichen and Jin Guangyao together, hand in hand, came back to him over and over again, like an incision that won't stop bleeding, that won't stop screaming in his heart.

He had been missing for almost an entire month, but that month there had not been even a shadow of peace. He had tried to escape from himself, from his emotions, but the pain was bigger than him, bigger than any attempt at distraction. He had looked for it in every corner of the world, he had wandered among the shadows of unknown cities, he had taken refuge in seedy taverns, in places where the light never seemed to reach, where time expanded and life lost all meaning.

The wine slid down his throat like acid, but it only amplified his pain. Every sip only reminded him of how empty he was, how useless everything was now. The pieces of rose cake and glutinous rice, which he chewed absentmindedly, felt like sand under his teeth, grains of nothingness that dissolved in his body without a trace. There was no nourishment, neither physical or emotional, only a emptiness that widened inside him, a black hole that sucked away all hope.

The innkeeper, paid generously to keep quiet, couldn't erase the smell of failure that surrounded him. Yet, the silence was a painful journey, it wrapped him like a cold blanket. He couldn't escape from himself anymore, from the thoughts that tortured him. The mountain that had once been his strength, his armor, now gave way under the weight of a pain he couldn't tame.

When he finally returned to the sect, his body was the same, but his soul was gone. The dark circles under his eyes told stories of endless nights, of internal struggles, of battles that had never had a victor. His posture, solid as a mountain, was no longer hiding anything. Every step he took, every breath he took, seemed the echo of a broken promise, of a love that had shattered, of a loyalty that had dissolved in the air like smoke.

His life, the same life he had once ruled with an iron hand, now seemed like a sandcastle, ready to be destroyed by the first wind. The pain, immense and overwhelming, consumed him from the inside, but Nie Mingjue didn't give himself permission to show it. The indifference he tried to carry with him was nothing more than a mask that no longer held up. Every time he looked in the mirror, he no longer recognized the man reflected in it. 

It was a month later that Lan Qiren, accompanied by Lan Wangji, came to the Nie Sect at Nie Mingjue's request, to examine the punctuation that Jin Guangyao had given to Nie Huaisang. Lan Qiren and Lan Wangji quickly got to work, but they were the first to realize that something was wrong. Lan Qiren, with a furious look and a tense face, abruptly rose from his chair. His voice, usually calm and measured, now became high and vibrant, like a clap of thunder: “These notes... They don't belong in this punctuation. Apart of another, much more dangerous one. Something was manipulated, and we cannot ignore it.”

Lan Qiren's words hit Nie Mingjue like a whip, but in his heart there was another fear, a fear he dared not express. 

Nie Mingjue felt the weight of his desperation stronger than ever. His heart pounded in his chest, but he could no longer distinguish between what was right and what burned inside him. The thought that Lan Xichen could be involved with Jin Guangyao, that he too had been part of all this, consumed him, made him feel betrayed by every corner of his existence.

The images of Lan Xichen walking alongside Jin Guangyao, looking at him with eyes full of trust and love, came back to him like terrible visions, like a curse that he couldn't shake off. His mind never stopped tormenting him with the idea that Lan Xichen, the person he had loved with all his soul, was aware of everything that was happening, that he was complicit in that manipulation, in that dark plan that Jin Guangyao had woven with care.

Every time he imagined Lan Xichen alongside Jin Guangyao, his heart broke even more. How could he? How could this boy who he had seen as the light of his life, as a lighthouse in a stormy sea, be so blinded by that monster? How could Lan Xichen ignore the truth behind Jin Guangyao's soft eyes? His mind boiled with questions, with anger, with a pain he couldn't explain.

Yet, deep down, in the depths of his being, there was still a corner of hope, a faint light that tried to shine against all evidence. Maybe that wasn't the case. Perhaps Lan Xichen did not know. Maybe he was just trying not to see, to remain blind for the sake of that bond that he still, in some corner of his soul, continued to nurture. Maybe he wasn't an accomplice, but just a naive man, a man who believed in the good of those around him, despite everything. Nie Mingjue didn't want to believe it, but in his heart there was still that small part of him that held on to that idea.

But what if the reality was what he feared? What if Lan Xichen really was involved? What if Jin Guangyao had manipulated everything all along, using his love for Lan Xichen to put him under his control? What if it was all a setup? A plan to destroy him, to destroy everything he loved, everything that stood for his honor?

Yet, something still made him waver. A deep doubt, a small crack in his fury, whispering to him that maybe, maybe there was still a chance. What if it was possible to make a deal with Lan Qiren and Lan Wangji? What if he could put aside his pride and join forces to gather the evidence, to expose the truth that he himself, somehow, hoped wasn't what he thought? Wouldn't it have been easier to destroy Jin Guangyao together, and then face everything as a final, definitive battle? A secret alliance.

Nie Mingjue bit his lip, the idea taking shape in his mind was as repugnant as it was necessary. A dangerous game, a move that should have been executed with caution, but which seemed like the only escape route. He would pretend to be part of that plan, he would make Jin Guangyao believe he was on his side, to gather all the evidence that would prove his guilt. No matter how long it took, no matter how many lies he had to tell, if he had to play him own heart against him, he would.

No longer would he allow Jin Guangyao to win, to manipulate him, to manipulate Lan Xichen, to destroy everything he touched. This agreement would be his weapon, his revenge. There had to be an end to all this, an end to the burden he had been carrying for too long. What if that end was in Lan Xichen's hands? What if he had to make everyone believe that his heart was still there, in that broken and betrayed bond, just to get to the truth? He would have done it. There was nothing left to tie him to his previous life, to his loyalty. Only the desire to destroy the lie, to unmask the traitor.

If he were to die, he would die with the truth in his heart. But first, he would first make Jin Guangyao and Lan Xichen see everything they had tried to hide. 

The silence that weighed on the room was unbearable, like an invisible hand gripping Nie Mingjue's heart in a cold grip. Every breath seemed too loud, every thought like an echo bouncing around his brain endlessly. Anger, that fury that grew in him like a fire impossible to tame, consumed him from the inside, igniting every fiber of his being. It wasn't just the pain, it wasn't just the feeling of betrayal that crushed him, but it was the horror of having been deceived, of having let his guard down, of having believed that Lan Xichen was above it all.

Lan Qiren's voice, quiet and stern, seemed to come from another dimension, distant and alien. "Lan Xichen must be saved by Jin Guangyao," he had said, yet those words had no power to soothe his pain, in fact, they exacerbated it. “We cannot allow him to continue to manipulate us.” We cannot allow him to continue to be manipulated… These words sounded like a reproach, like a condemnation. There had to be a way out, a solution, but the truth seemed more and more distant, as if every step he took distanced him from that hope that, for a moment, he had dared to savor.

His heart, already beating wildly in pain, stopped for an instant. The truth hit him like a punch in the stomach: Lan Xichen knew everything. How could he? How could he have let himself be deceived by a man like Jin Guangyao? His mind was racing wildly, trying to understand, to find a justification that he couldn't find. He knew it and didn't say anything?

The blood pulsated in his temples with increasing force, and every thought seemed to bounce back on itself, fueling the anger that was devouring him. How could he? How could he trust a monster like Jin Guangyao? And above all, how could Lan Xichen, the man he had always considered his best friend, involve himself in this farce? Anger coursed through his veins like acid, burning away every corner of his heart, every memory.

"Please..." his voice was broken, a thread of desperation that he tried not to break, but he couldn't. “Let's do this as soon as possible.” His gaze was steady, but there was a trembling desperation behind those eyes full of pain. “I don’t want it to be too late.”

Lan Qiren's words, Lan Wangji's, were a distant background, like a melody that couldn't reach his heart. "We will help you," Lan Wangji said, his voice as calm as a flowing river, but too far away to calm the storm boiling inside him. "We won't leave you alone." But how could they help? How could they stop that pain that tightened around his soul like a rope that suffocated him? They had no idea what it meant, no idea how deep his betrayal was. 

Lan Qiren looked at him with eyes that, despite everything, showed a certain compassion, but what he tried to do couldn't reach the darkest part of his heart. "We are willing to do whatever is necessary," he said. His words were correct, but how? How could they save someone who no longer seemed saveable, someone who had already gone too far in his deception?

The anger suddenly exploded, stronger than any pain. "There's no time!" he grunted, his voice turning hoarse with fury. Every word felt like a weapon thrown against reality itself, a tear in the fabric of its calm. "Tell him I'm waiting for him!" His hand tightened into a fist, as if he wanted to grasp something solid, as if he wanted to strangle his anger so as not to let it explode into a thousand pieces.

Lan Qiren looked at him, his face stern, but his response was filled with a firmness that could not be ignored. "We will, but first we have to fix your qi," he said, but that sentence, that suggestion that was supposed to seem reassuring, infuriated him even more. Fix my qi? His anger had nothing to do with his body, his qi, his internal balance. What consumed him was something far beyond, it was the knowledge that everything he had loved, everything he had believed was right, everything he had believed was pure, was dissolving before his eyes. How could he focus on anything else when his heart had been torn apart like that? How could he put the pieces of his body back together when his soul was so shattered? 

Lan Qiren's hand rested on his shoulders, but he couldn't feel it as comfort. Every gesture, every word, every look seemed empty, insignificant in the face of the sea of anger that submerged him. “You will be able to deal with it,” Lan Qiren said, and Nie Mingjue felt that advice as mockery. "We won't leave you alone."

I can’t be alone. He thought, the voice of his mind roaring in tune with that part of him that didn't want to give in to despair. He didn't want to be alone in this, he didn't want to go through this without the only bond he'd ever had in his entire life, and now it was crumbling like sand between his fingers.

As Lan Qiren and Lan Wangji stood up to leave, to prepare to return to the Lan Sect, an empty feeling rose within him. There was no certainty, just the fear that it was too late. But, before they could leave, a flame of anger and pain exploded within him, and Nie Mingjue, without thinking, spoke.

"Tell him I'm waiting for him," his voice boomed through the room, filled with an anguish that made even the walls tremble. “Tell him I have to talk to him” But in his heart, the hope of facing Lan Xichen, of getting an explanation, was fading. There was only the desire to face it, to finally face that betrayal with all his strength, even if it meant losing everything.

Lan Xichen finally arrived, as if he had traveled for days without ever stopping. The silence in the room was oppressive, an emptiness that weighed on every unspoken word. Lan Xichen, his face pale and lined with fatigue, looked like a man tired of fighting against something he couldn't understand. His voice trembled, yet a flickering hope shone in his eyes, like a candle flickering in a storm. But to Nie Mingjue, that light was nothing more than an illusion, a glimmer that faded with each step Lan Xichen took closer to the cliff.

"Mingjue," he began in a low but determined voice, reaching out to the man who had long shared his pain and anger. "I know it's not easy, but we need to talk. There's something... wrong with Jin Guangyao. I don't understand what's going on."

Nie Mingjue's heart contracted into a painful lump, a sensation that started from his stomach and pervaded him all the way to his fingertips. Lan Xichen's voice, that heartbroken tone, sounded more like a confession than a cry for help, but Nie Mingjue didn't care. There was no room for compassion, or for forgiveness. Not after all that had happened.

A laugh, cruel and unforgiving, escaped his lips. It wasn't a laugh of amusement, but a laugh that burned like the chill of winter. “Oh, really?” His voice was sharp, like a knife scraping through flesh. "Now you realize something's wrong? What, did he tell you that you should lose weight? Or did he get angry about some bullshit like that?" The words slipped away with painful ease, filled with sarcasm that burned inside him. Each syllable was a blade, sharp and venomous.

He looked at Lan Xichen, who stared at him with confused eyes, trying to understand. Lan Xichen didn't understand, couldn't understand. "Oh, don't worry, dear, just tell them," he added, his voice coming out almost wheezy, "I don't want to miss the details of your new life with Jin Guangyao."

Lan Xichen looked confused for a moment, as if he didn't understand the poisonous edge in Nie Mingjue's words. He leaned forward slightly, trying to see a sign of openness in that indifferent facade. "I don't understand why you react this way," he said, his tone gentler, but the hint of frustration veiled his voice. 

Nie Mingjue chuckled, the sound that came out of his mouth more like a muffled growl. "You don't see anything, Xichen. Don't you see that every day you spend with Jin Guangyao takes you further and further away from yourself? Don't you see that you're just becoming a pawn in a game you don't understand?" Anger filled him again, but the next sentence fell from his lips with icy cynicism.

"Did you expect to find me ready to comfort you?" Nie Mingjue said, his voice as hard as a rock, but as cold as an icicle. "Oh, now you expect me to console you? I'm just waiting to see how far you can fall." The words came out with a ferocity he couldn't contain, but they were more an attempt to protect himself than an actual attack. Anger spilled from his lips like venom, yet he felt a burning pain deeper than any insult he could throw at him.

The words hit him like a hammer, and Lan Xichen, unfortunately, did not immediately understand. He was too focused on the hope that his friendship could still save something, that he didn't realize how far from reality it was. “Nie Mingjue, I don’t know what you’re trying to tell me, but…”

"Don't say anything." Nie Mingjue cut him off, his voice low but full of venom. "You just disgust me. If you start talking about Jin Guangyao and his bullshit again, I'll make you leave right now." Anger burned in his veins, but it wasn't just anger at what he was seeing, it was anger at himself, for letting all this happen.

Lan Xichen looked at him, almost pleadingly, as if he needed confirmation that their friendship could still be saved. "Mingjue… I can't do everything alone. I need to understand."

Nie Mingjue slammed his fist into the table, making it tremble under the pressure. "You don't need to understand. You only need to open your eyes, but it's too late." His voice was contained fury, a stormy sea about to overflow. "Jin Guangyao made you like this, manipulated you, made you blind. You will never see it, Lan Xichen, do you understand? You will never see it." 

Lan Xichen remained silent, his eyes drooping, as if he was finally acknowledging something he had chosen to ignore. But the knowledge didn't make him stronger. On the contrary, it made him more vulnerable, as if everything he had built was slowly collapsing under the weight of the truth.

Nie Mingjue didn't stop. "I saw you. I saw you change, slowly, as if a part of you was slowly being destroyed by him, and you didn't even realize it." His voice was full of contempt, but also a sadness that he couldn't completely hide. "But you still believe that your great friend Jin Guangyao is your savior. You continue to slaughter each other."

Lan Xichen now seemed shaken, his skin pale as a sheet, his face tense in a wrinkle of pain that was becoming deeper and deeper. “Mingjue, please…”

"Don't ask me anything." Nie Mingjue's voice had become a sharp sword. "Don't ask me anything more, because i won't help you. This is the price you pay for ignoring the truth."

His blood boiled in his veins. Anger was consuming him, and he couldn't hold back that fury that made him tremble. The truth he had had to swallow in silence was crushing him. Lan Xichen, the man he had always respected, now seemed like a stranger to him. A traitor. A man who chose to ignore the evidence of what Jin Guangyao was doing, to accept every manipulation as if it were an act of love.

There was no more room for remorse. There was no longer room for words of comfort or the attempt to rekindle that spark of hope he had once seen in Lan Xichen. All that was left was a deep void, a chasm of anger that was swallowing him up. His mouth opened, but the words that came out were nothing but venom. "You are so blind, Xichen. You are so blind that you don't see that every step you take takes you further away from yourself, and the closer you get to him, the more you lose yourself."

Lan Xichen didn't respond, his gaze now lowered, unable to sustain that fiery gaze. But the lack of a response only intensified Nie Mingjue's pain. Because, at that moment, he realized that Lan Xichen had already made up his mind. He was already lost. 

Nie Mingjue stood up from his chair with a sudden movement, the wood creaking under the weight of his body. His heart was beating furiously against his chest, and each beat was like a blow that tore him apart from the inside. But he couldn’t stop. His anger exploded, meeting every fiber of his being, like a burning flame, devouring every trace of serenity he once had. He looked at Lan Xichen, and in that moment it seemed that everything he had felt for him, all the passion, all the respect, all the love he had thought was eternal, was dissolving before his eyes. It was as if he had looked at the man he loved and seen not a companion, but a stranger. A betrayer. A ghost of what had been.

“What was all this?” His voice was full of venom, broken by the fury that bubbled inside him. Every word that came out of his mouth was like a rock, heavy, cruel. "What was it,  Xichen? What was all our bond, all my friendship? If you let it, then it was never anything! It was never anything, it was a game, a damn lie ." 

His heart was going to explode. His skin felt like it was burning under the weight of an anger he couldn't contain, yet he couldn't stop. Every word that left his lips was a punch, aimed at his own chest, at his own heart that now seemed ready to shatter. Disgust mixed with anger, like poison filling his mouth. The love he had felt for Lan Xichen, who he had revered and defended as if he were the purest thing in the world, was now just a distant memory, a shadow that was fading into nothingness.

“You let yourself be fooled like an idiot, and now all I see in you is your weakness!” His screamed words echoed through the room, sounding like the sound of a scream he couldn't bear. "You were a damn fool to think he loved you! Jin Guangyao is your executioner, and you don't even realize it!"

He couldn’t stop. Every word he screamed seemed to flow with ever thicker, ever more bitter venom. His mind screamed in pain and fury, and his vision blurred as the image of Lan Xichen before him grew increasingly hazy, like a nightmare he couldn't chase away.

Nie Mingjue's body trembled, not with fear, but with an anger so pure and devastating that he felt like he was losing control. The love he had felt, that connection that had bound him to Lan Xichen like a chain, now seemed to shatter under the weight of a truth too painful to accept.

His breathing was quick, labored, as if he were trying to hold back everything that was about to explode. His mind screamed, but the words that came out were more cutting than any accusation. "You don't even deserve my sympathy," he hissed, as if each word were a blow delivered directly to the heart of the man she once loved. "You deserve nothing from me, Xichen. Nothing!"

Then suddenly everything stopped. Silence fell between them, but to Nie Mingjue, silence was not peace. It was the painful awareness of what he had lost, of how irreparable he had become. For a moment, all he could feel was the feeling of being empty, an empty shell that he could no longer recognize. His love for Lan Xichen, which was once an overwhelming force, now lay buried under a river of contempt and anger.

The fury that had consumed his soul didn't seem to diminish. Indeed, it seemed to grow, expanding like a wave that could no longer stop. "I hate you," he whispered, his lips trembling with pain and anger. "And I hate what you've become."

Lan Xichen stood still, his face pale and his eyes filled with a sadness that not even he seemed to understand. He could no longer understand what was happening, and his gaze, which once sought to reach Nie Mingjue's heart, now seemed like a sign of surrender, an abandonment that increased Nie Mingjue's suffering. He was no longer the man she had respected, but a mirage, a reflection of what could have been.

Nie Mingjue's anger knew no bounds. Every fiber of his being was marked by betrayal, yet the most painful truth he had to face was that there was no longer any hope. The hope he had loved so intensely was gone. "Goodbye, Lan Xichen," he whispered, his voice now a broken thread. "Goodbye A-Huan."

Chapter Text

"Somebody told me that there's two sides to this life

I think I might've chosen darkness over light"

Lan Xichen returned to Jin Guangyao that evening with his steps dragging, as if each step brought him closer to an abyss he didn't want to face. The cold wind that ruffled his hair seemed to whisper Nie Mingjue's words, hard and sharp like broken glass. Every sentence uttered by the Nie leader had pierced him, leaving him with a sense of shame and betrayal that he couldn't shake.

When he reached Jin Guangyao's private chambers, a warm light filtered through the half-open doors, welcoming him like an invitation. Jin Guangyao was there, sitting upright, examining a stack of documents. His figure was surrounded by an aura of perfect, almost unreal calm. The smile he gave him, when he looked up, was light but genuine, enough to make Lan Xichen falter. “Xichen-ge,” Jin Guangyao began, immediately standing up with studied grace. "You seem tired. What happened? You look like someone carrying an unbearable burden." 

Lan Xichen sank into a chair in front of him, his hands trembling slightly, clasping themselves together in a nervous gesture. He couldn't hold back the words that poured out of him like a torrent: the argument with Nie Mingjue, the cutting accusations, the sarcasm that burned like an open wound, and finally the unbearable weight of disgust he saw in Mingjue's eyes. As he spoke, his voice cracked, and in the moments of pause you could almost hear the tears threatening to surface.

Jin Guangyao listened to him without interrupting, his face frozen in an expression of profound understanding. It was as if he was absorbing every word carefully, like a sculptor molding clay, ready to transform that pain into something manageable, useful. When Lan Xichen finished, he looked drained, as if every emotion had been dug out of his heart and placed on the table between them.

"Xichen-ge," Jin Guangyao began, approaching with a slow but determined step. He leaned down slightly to place a hand on his older brother's shoulder, his touch as delicate as a feather. "You shouldn't take it that way. You know Nie Mingjue: his temper has always been... intense. He overreacts, often for no real reason. He's always been like this, you know."

Lan Xichen looked up, but in his eyes there was only confusion. "But his words... Guangyao, they were so harsh. He made me feel like I was blind, like there was something I didn't see. What if he was right about you?"

The words fell into the air like stones in a calm lake, creating circles of tension. Jin Guangyao pulled back slightly, a shadow of hurt painted on his face. His smile cracked a little, and he sighed, like someone who has just realized he's been misunderstood.

“Right about me?” he asked in a feeble voice, his tone tinged with almost imperceptible pain. “Xichen-ge, do you really think I could harm you? I… I have always acted for your good. Everything I have done has been for us, to preserve what we have. But if you have doubts… then perhaps I am I have to ask myself if I still deserve your affection."

The words hit Lan Xichen in the chest like a poisoned arrow. The fear that he had disappointed Jin Guangyao, that he had doubted his loyalty, overwhelmed him. His breathing became ragged, and he shook his head vehemently. "No... Guangyao, I didn't mean that. I'm sorry. I should never have questioned your loyalty. You've always been by my side. You... you're the only one who truly understands me."

Jin Guangyao smiled, but his gaze was marked by a slight sorrow that Lan Xichen couldn't distinguish from genuine regret. "You don't have to apologize, Xichen-ge. I understand. I know the importance Nie Mingjue has for you. But... I wonder if he can see you for who you are, or if he prefers to judge you with his rigid sense of right and of the wrong. Look how he spoke to you, how he made you feel. Is this the behavior of a true friend?”

Those words, spoken with such sweetness, crept into Lan Xichen's thoughts like a thin fog. Was it true? Maybe Nie Mingjue had always judged him, always looked at him with critical eyes, unable to see his inner struggles. Maybe... Jin Guangyao was the only one who truly understood her heart.

Jin Guangyao tilted his head slightly, his gentle gaze tinged with almost imperceptible concern. He pushed away from the desk, advancing towards Lan Xichen with an expression that mixed sweetness and reserve, as if he was considering whether to say something too bold.

"Xichen-ge," he began in a measured tone, his voice so calm it seemed to dance in the shadows of the room. “I know you're upset. I can see it in the way you move, in the pauses in your voice. And I understand: Nie Mingjue is making you doubt. It's not your fault.”

Lan Xichen, still shaken by the day's events, looked up. His hands trembled slightly, gripping the hem of his robe. "I can't ignore what he told me, Guangyao. It's as if he thinks something is wrong, that there's something I'm missing."

Jin Guangyao sighed, stepping closer. Gently, he sat down next to him, maintaining a measured distance, but close enough to create a sense of intimacy. “Xichen-ge, can I tell you something I've always been afraid to talk about?” The question floated in the air for an instant, like a leaf hanging in the wind. Lan Xichen slowly nodded, his heart beating a little faster.

"I didn't want to tell you," Jin Guangyao continued, looking down as if tormented by personal pain. "But I think it's fair for you to know. Nie Mingjue… he never truly accepted you."

Lan Xichen stared at him, eyes wide. “What do you mean?” 

Jin Guangyao looked down, his hands playing with the sleeves of his robe in a seemingly nervous gesture. "It's not easy to say. But I've heard… things. And, unfortunately, I've also seen behavior that I can't ignore. Mingjue isn't just abrupt, Xichen-ge. He's… dangerous."

Lan Xichen tensed, his hands tightening on the sides of the chair. "Dangerous? Guangyao, what are you implying?"

Jin Guangyao sighed, looking up with well-calibrated suffering, and sat down next to him, as if to confide in him a forbidden secret. "I didn't want to tell you, but there was an incident… Some time ago, one of his subordinates dared to question his order. A simple question, nothing more. And Mingjue has…" He paused, his tone filled with an almost palpable pain. "He hit him so hard that the boy was no longer able to fight. He was cast out of the Nie sect, without help, without treatment. All because he dared to speak."

Lan Xichen looked at him, the disbelief in his eyes starting to mix with a subtle hint of anger. "This... doesn't seem like him. Are you sure? Maybe there was a misunderstanding."

Jin Guangyao shook his head, his face serious. "I wish I could say it was an isolated case. But it's not. Your instability is growing, Xichen-ge. And not just towards your subordinates. I've heard..." He stopped again, as if considering whether to go beyond. "I heard he spoke about you in… less than flattering terms."

Lan Xichen tensed, his gaze now fully fixed on Jin Guangyao. "What do you mean?"

Jin Guangyao gave a small apologetic nod, as if he didn't want to land the blow but was forced to do so for Lan Xichen's sake. "I heard him say that you are weak. That your heart is too soft to be a leader. That your ideals are a weakness, not a strength. He implied that your trust in me makes you an easily manipulated man. And ..." He stopped, his voice dropping further. "And that perhaps you are not worthy of the title you bear."

The words were pure poison, and Lan Xichen felt a knot tighten in his chest. "I can't believe it. Mingjue would never say something like that. We are sworn brothers."

"I wish it were like this," Jin Guangyao said, his voice a breath sweet and poisonous at the same time. "But it's not just a matter of words. It's the way he acts, Xichen-ge. It's the contempt I saw in his eyes when he talks about you. It's as if he feels superior, as if he considers your friendship a burden to bear rather than an honor. And it breaks my heart to tell you."

Lan Xichen shook his head, but doubt had already begun to creep in. "Mingjue isn't like that. He's… he's impulsive, yes, but he would never be that cruel."

Jin Guangyao placed a hand on his shoulder, his touch light but full of intention. "I wish I could say the same, Xichen-ge. But I've seen how he treats you. You don't deserve this. You don't deserve to be looked down upon by someone who should support you."

Lan Xichen remained silent, his heart a tumult of emotions. Jin Guangyao gave him a sad smile, pulling his hand away. "I don't say these things to turn you against him. I do it because I care about you. Because I want to protect you, even from those who you think are your friends." 

Jin Guangyao carefully watched Lan Xichen collapse under the weight of his own emotions, the trembling of his hands seeming unable to find purchase, as if his own will was abandoning him. There was something hypnotic about that moment: the contrast between Lan Xichen's vulnerability and the imperturbable control that Guangyao maintained, hiding under a thoughtful expression the perverse pleasure of seeing his canvas take shape.

When Lan Xichen buried his face in his hands, his sobs filled the room like the groan of shattering glass. The voice that made it through the tears was broken, a murmur almost unrecognizable in its fragility. “A-yao…” he said, each word a boulder. “How could Mingjue think that of me?”

Jin Guangyao remained motionless, his figure a beacon of orchestrated calm. But inside him, a flash of cold satisfaction passed through his thoughts. He knelt next to Lan Xichen, his hands gently resting on his shoulders. Every movement was calculated: not too fast that he seemed impatient, not too slow that he seemed insincere. His voice, when he finally spoke, was a soft, soothing murmur, a poisoned balm. “Xichen-ge…” he started, his tone tinged with studied compassion. “You don't have to go through this alone. I'm here for you. I have always been here for you.”

Lan Xichen's shoulders trembled under his touch. There was an obvious desperation in the way he seemed to cling to those words, like a castaway relying on a loose piece of wood. He raised his face, his red, puffy eyes searching Jin Guangyao's features for a more solid truth than he could find within himself. “I don't know what to think anymore, Guangyao,” he admitted, his voice cracking. “Everything I thought I knew about Mingjue… seems like a lie. It's as if the ground beneath my feet has disappeared."

Jin Guangyao tilted his head, the gesture full of apparent compassion that hid the surgical precision with which he was hitting his sworn brother's every weak point. He sighed, a soft sound full of fake empathy. Then he squeezed Lan Xichen's shoulders a little tighter, the gesture intended to be that of a confidant, of a devoted lover.  

“It's not your fault, Xichen-ge,” he said. “You have always been a man who believes in the best in people. It's one of the things I admire most about you. But... not everyone deserves your trust. Not everyone knows how to appreciate the generous heart you have." Lan Xichen looked at him, his face marked with almost childlike confusion. Jin Guangyao knew, at that moment, that he had found the exact moment to thrust the knife. “I can't abandon Mingjue,” Lan Xichen murmured, his voice full of pain that still clung to an idealized idea of their bond. “We are sworn brothers…”

Jin Guangyao leaned forward slightly, his expression becoming more intense, the tone of his voice an intimate whisper that seemed to be trying to protect Lan Xichen from the world itself. “But he abandoned you first, Xichen-ge,” he said with poisoned calm. “He questioned your integrity, your value. He judged you and despised you, and he didn't hesitate to do so. Don't you see? Nie Mingjue always looked down on you. For him, you will always be inferior."

Lan Xichen stiffened at those words, but Jin Guangyao didn't stop. He seized that moment of hesitation and used it as leverage. “I don't want to say that he never loved you,” he added, his tone now tinged with a sadness that seemed genuine. “But… it's clear that his idea of affection is conditioned. He will never accept you for what you are. And while he judges you, rejects you, I'm here. I have always been here for you."  

Lan Xichen collapsed, tears flowing again. And Jin Guangyao, with a smile he hid behind an expression of comfort, knew he had permanently poisoned that bond.  

Time in that room seemed to move like sand slipping through your fingers, slow, inexorable, like a river that carries everything with it. Lan Xichen no longer had any idea how long it had been since he isolated himself from the outside world. Every morning when he woke up, reality appeared to him as a thin fog, which would dissolve as soon as the first thought surfaced in his mind. There was nothing left to do except answer his uncle's letters, letters that seemed like only echoes of a past that no longer belonged to him. The answers he wrote no longer had meaning, they were words without substance, drawn on sheets of paper that were worn out and lost in the meanders of silence.

The sound of the pen on the paper seemed to be the only noise that filled the air, but it too, by now, had become familiar, like a repetitive melody that no longer aroused emotion. The light that filtered through the window illuminated the room with a delicacy that seemed to touch the soul, but Lan Xichen no longer noticed it. There was no more life around him, only the echo of what had been, of what he could still be if he had the strength to change. But the strength was now gone, overwhelmed by the weight of Jin Guangyao, who had insinuated himself into his mind and heart like a subtle poison, which spread relentlessly.

He sat at his desk, his shoulders hunched under the weight of an existence that no longer seemed like his. Lan Xichen's eyes were clouded, as if every thought was immersed in a sea of fog. His mind didn't react, it was as if he were suspended, waiting for a command that never came. Every time Jin Guangyao spoke to him, his honey-sweet voice entered his mind as easily as a sharp knife penetrates flesh. It was poison, but Lan Xichen felt it like the balm that eased a pain he didn't know he had.

"You have to be careful how you express yourself," Jin Guangyao said in a tone of voice that seemed to lull him, like a hypnotic chant. "Every word is a move in the game. We can't afford to look weak. We can't afford to make mistakes."

The words settled in Lan Xichen's mind as a universal truth. Every sentence, every piece of advice only confirmed what he now felt was right. His mind responded to him with an automaticity that scared him. He had to be careful, he had to stay on guard. He could never make mistakes, ever. This was the world that Jin Guangyao had shown him, the world where there were no bad choices, only perfect moves in a game that only he knew how to play.

Lan Xichen nodded, once, twice, three times, mechanically, while his gaze remained fixed on the sheet of paper in front of him. The mind, for an instant, detached itself from the body, as if its very being was far from what it was doing. Every movement he made seemed to be guided by an external force, an influence he could not repel. Jin Guangyao, with his serene and confident gaze, observed his every gesture, his every response. He looked at him with an expression that seemed to carry within it all the serenity of someone in control of everything. His every word seemed like a command that Lan Xichen didn't dare question. 

“Every word you write is a statement of who you are,” Jin Guangyao continued, his voice now lower, but filled with a strength that penetrated every fiber of Lan Xichen. "We cannot afford to appear vulnerable. Vulnerability is the end. Don't let others see your weakness."

Lan Xichen felt the words slipping inside him, like a fine rain soaking the parched earth. They no longer touched him, they didn't swirl him like they used to. He welcomed them, he made them his. He didn't realize how much he was changing. He didn't realize that he was losing himself, that he was becoming part of a plan that he didn't fully understand, but which he now felt was his only way of salvation.

Jin Guangyao looked at him with a satisfied look. "You see, Xichen-ge," he said with a subtle smile, "everything we do, we do to never fail. If we fail, we fall. If we fall, we never get up again."  Lan Xichen nodded again, slowly, almost trance-like. There was no doubt anymore. His life was there, with Jin Guangyao, in the world he had built, a world that seemed protected, safe, far from external dangers. He felt safe. There was nothing else other than this. There was no longer a "before" that could shake him. That was his place, in that room. And that room, with all its treasures and beauty, was his golden prison. A prison that closed slowly, but which seemed like the most natural thing in the world.

Every day, when Jin Guangyao guided him through the practices, through the decisions, through the reflections, Lan Xichen felt that his independence, his strength, his will, melted like snow in the sun. His heart, once strong and steadfast, was now just a beat responding to Jin Guangyao's call. His every word, his every move, tied him more and more to that golden prison, and for the first time, Lan Xichen was not afraid. He didn't feel the need to fight anymore. There was no longer anything that could destroy him. His place was there, safe.

The treasure room was a timeless and lightless place, a sanctuary hidden from the eyes of the world. There were no windows, and the only source of illumination came from a flickering lantern placed on a table in the center, its dim light dancing on the walls lined with shelves loaded with precious objects. Every corner seemed to hold a secret: ancient locked chests, rolls of yellowed parchments, and artifacts that exuded an aura of mystery.

The air was thick, still, almost claustrophobic. Lan Xichen was there alone, surrounded by the suffocating silence that characterized that place. Every sound, even his breathing, seemed magnified, as if the outside world no longer existed. For days, he had found comfort in that room, convinced that it was his refuge. There, safe, far from any judgment . My place is here, he had repeated himself several times. Yet, in that moment, something inside him stirred, like a shadow moving at the edge of his consciousness.

As his eyes wandered aimlessly, something caught his eye. On a small desk, hidden among piles of documents ordered with maniacal precision, a folded letter appeared. There was nothing extraordinary about its appearance: a simple sheet of paper, anonymous, but positioned in a way that seemed to invite him to reach for it. A sudden curiosity struck him, a sensation he hadn't felt in a long time. He hesitated, hands shaking as he slowly approached.

His mind, still clouded by Jin Guangyao's influence, tried to dissuade him. It's none of my business. I don't have to... But the desire to know was stronger. With a deep breath, he grabbed the letter, unfolded it carefully, and began to read.

“The plan to kill the great ChiFeng-Zun is going swimmingly, just as it is going with ZeWu-Jun.” 

Each word hit him like a sharp blade, penetrating deeply and leaving him breathless. His blood froze in his veins, and the world seemed to waver, as if the solid foundations of reality had crumbled beneath his feet. The letter trembled in his hands, a scrap of paper that felt like it weighed like a boulder. His eyes were riveted on those words, unable to look away, as if reading further could change the meaning of what he saw.

ChiFeng-Zun. Nie Mingjue The man he had always admired, despite their differences, the one who had always been a rock, a constant. And now his name appeared there, alongside a coldly described death plan. How could it be possible? The cynical reference to himself, ZeWu-Jun, was an even more cruel stab, reducing him to a pawn in a game whose rules he never knew. The very idea that Jin Guangyao had involved him in something so horrible was a betrayal he couldn't accept.

A part of him screamed, a deafening and furious inner voice that urged him to react, to tear off that mask of naivety that he had worn for too long. “No, no, that can't be true. There must be a mistake, an explanation..." But that voice, however loud, was drowned out by another, more subtle and cruel: "You saw the signs, but you ignored them. You have chosen to believe, you have chosen to remain blind.” 

The emotions rolled in like stormy waves, one after the other, each more devastating than the previous one. Lan Xichen felt trapped, as if the world around him had shrunk, turning the room of treasures into a prison with no way out. His hands trembled as he stared at the letter. Every word seemed to pulsate, carved into the paper with a violence that resonated in his head. “No… no, that can't be true.” Yet, the more he tried to deny it, the more those words took root in his mind. Nie Mingjue's name, written with glacial precision, seemed to almost glow on the page, a silent indictment of everything he had believed. “ChiFeng-Zun… the plan to kill…” His breath hitched, and he had to lean on the table to keep from collapsing.

His hands opened and closed around the letter, unsure whether to tear it or keep it as evidence of a nightmare that was all too real. He took a step away, then came closer again, as if an invisible magnet held him tied to that horrible truth. “Maybe… maybe it's a misunderstanding. Yeah, a lie, or a trap. Jin Guangyao would never do such a thing. Not him, not me, not… us.” His mind clung desperately to every possibility, but his heart was unconvinced. His heart, that silent voice he had always ignored, now tormented him with a truth he could no longer reject. “But what if it were true? What if he really…planned this?” 

He ran a trembling hand through his hair, feeling the cold sweat on the back of his neck. His gaze raised towards the room around him, looking for an escape from that spiral of thoughts, but the room was closed, without windows, without air. It was suffocating, and every object around seemed like a silent witness to his blindness. He stood up suddenly, almost knocking over the table. His breathing was labored, his chest rising and falling violently as he tried to put his thoughts in order. He paced back and forth, hands in his hair, eyes darting frantically between the letter and the objects around him. Each step seemed to bring him closer to the edge of a cliff.

Forward. He turned, took two steps towards the mirror, as if he wanted to leave everything behind. Back. He ran back to the table, grabbing the letter again as if he could find a different explanation in it. He folded it, unfolded it, read it and reread it, desperately searching for a mistake, a clue that would disprove the horror he had just discovered. “It can't be… it's Jin Guangyao. He doesn't..."   

Then, a sound. A whisper that broke the tension like a knife cutting through a piece of cloth.

"Er-ge, what are you doing?"

The voice behind him was calm, but had a cold undertone that made him stiffen. He turned slowly, as if in a nightmare, and met Jin Guangyao's gaze. The man's face was illuminated by the faint light of the lantern, and his gentle smile was imbued with an eerie calm. A smile that didn't reach his eyes. 

Chapter Text

Lan Xichen stared at Jin Guangyao, his heart pounding in his chest as he still clutched the incriminating letter in his hands. He couldn't speak, the words stuck in his throat by a confusion that consumed him. “Er-ge, you're strange,” Jin Guangyao said with a sad smile, his voice as sweet as honey but with a subtle venom beneath the surface. "What are you reading?"

Lan Xichen looked up hesitantly. "This letter... A-yao, what does it mean?" His voice trembled, filled with pain he couldn't contain. “It talks about a plan… a plan to kill Mingjue.” Jin Guangyao's eyes widened in perfect imitation of surprise, and then filled with tears. He took a step back, as if he had been hit. “Er-ge, you really don't believe…” He shook his head, his voice cracking. “You won't believe something written on a piece of paper? You don’t believe that I… that I would ever harm you or Nie Mingjue?”

Lan Xichen took a deep breath, trying to stay calm. “I don't want to believe it, but…” He pointed to the letter, desperate. “It’s written here! How can I ignore this?”

“How can you not ignore that?” Jin Guangyao retorted, her sharp tone cracking into a strangled cry. “Er-ge, have you ever thought that maybe… Nie Mingjue is trying to turn us against each other? He has never tolerated me. From the beginning, he always considered me inferior, unworthy. Do you really think he wouldn't be capable of something like that to destroy me?”

Lan Xichen reeled, doubt creeping into his beliefs. “Nie Mingjue would never do something like this,” he said, but her voice lacked strength. Jin Guangyao slowly walked forward, tears flowing freely down his face. “Really? Er-ge, think about it. Isn’t it true that, for years, he’s been trying to discredit me? He yelled at me, accused me of all sorts of betrayal, even physically threatened me. And you... you have always been there to defend him, to justify him. Have you ever stopped to think about how this made me feel?”

Lan Xichen gulped, confused and overwhelmed. “It's not like that… I tried to…” 

“For what, Er-ge?” Jin Guangyao interrupted, his voice rising in a mixture of desperation and anger. “To protect me? Really? Because I've never heard of it. Never. Whenever Nie Mingjue humiliated me, whenever he treated me like I was less than nothing, you were there. Not for myself, but for him. To calm him down, to reassure him, as if his fears were worth more than my dignity.”

The words hit Lan Xichen like sharp blades, leaving him breathless. “Yao, I didn’t—”

“No!” Jin Guangyao shouted, his voice breaking. “Don’t say anything. Don't try to justify yourself now. I did everything for you, to earn your love, your trust. I fought the world for you, Er-ge, but it was never enough. That was never enough for you, was it?"

Lan Xichen felt as if the world was crumbling beneath him, as if every certainty he had built over the years was dissolving into dust. The sound of Jin Guangyao's sobs pierced his ears, yet it seemed to come from a distant reality, as if he himself was watching from afar. Every word, every cry, felt like a blade piercing his chest, digging into his heart in a way he couldn't explain.

His eyes desperately searched for Jin Guangyao's face, but they couldn't recognize him anymore. That man he had loved, who he had admired as an impossible ideal, now seemed like a shadow deformed by anger, fear, disappointment. Lan Xichen felt lost, trapped in a sea of emotions he no longer knew how to control.

"A-yao… I love you. I believe in you." The words came out of his mouth, but they were like forceless whispers. There was no certainty in that tone, just a emptiness. His mind, usually clear and calm, was now invaded by the storm of doubt. How could he believe in something, in someone, when everything he knew seemed to slip away from his hands?

She watched him bend over, in a gesture that felt like total surrender, and her heart broke even more. There wasn't a single corner of Jin Guangyao that hadn't been marked by suffering, loneliness, disillusionment. Yet, at that moment, Lan Xichen couldn't understand if that suffering was real, or if it was just another well-orchestrated deception.

"Just tell me the truth, please. I can't… I can't stand this." The words came out as a muffled cry, but they were lost in the silence that followed. The truth. What did that word mean anymore? The truth of what had been? The truth of what was occurring? Lan Xichen could no longer discern. Everything seemed to escape him, like sand slipping through his fingers.

Jin Guangyao looked at him with those eyes full of pain and anger, and his words penetrated like poison. “Why can't you look at me like you looked at me before?” 

“Why?” Lan Xichen repeated, but there was no response. There was no response that would calm the turmoil within him. Lan Xichen's mind was a tangle of intertwining emotions, confusing love and betrayal, loyalty and disillusionment. How could he love someone who accused him of not love him enough? How could he explain to Jin Guangyao that every part of him belonged to him, that his loyalty was a promise he had never broken, even if perhaps he had never been able to say it right?

Every word that came out of Jin Guangyao's mouth seemed to carve a wall between them, a wall that Lan Xichen couldn't climb. He knelt beside him, but his heart was no longer whole. "I love you," he repeated, but that sentence didn't carry the weight it had before. It was as if the meaning had changed, as if his love had been distorted by accusations, by suspicion, by fear. "I love you, a-yao," he repeated, but inside himself he felt that there was no longer the same strength. There was no longer the same security.

Jin Guangyao stepped away, and Lan Xichen felt a wave of cold pass through him. “No, Er-ge. You love the idea of me." Those words echoed in his mind, sounding like an unbearable accusation. “The idea of ​​me.” Lan Xichen couldn't breathe. Did he love the idea of him? Had he ever really loved the man in front of him? And if so, what remained of that love now? What remained of that unconditional faith he had placed in Jin Guangyao?

“When the world turns against us, you always choose him.” Lan Xichen didn't know what to answer. Why did these words ring so true? He had always been the mediator, always been the bridge between people, but now he felt divided, unable to choose, unable to understand which side he was on. His heart hammered in his chest as the guilt consumed him. He couldn't deny it: his loyalty to Nie Mingjue, his loyalty to him, had somehow influenced his perception of Jin Guangyao. But it had never been like this. He had never been dishonest with him, he had never been deceitful. Yet, now, she betrayed him, and she no longer knew how to make up for it.  

Jin Guangyao stood up suddenly, his face convulsed with an expression of fury and desperation. His voice became sharp, the words coming out of his mouth like sharp blades. “You're like all of them, Xichen,” he said, his silver tongue cutting the air with each word. "All those who judge me without even trying to understand. Nie Mingjue, your father, your brother, and now you. All ready to condemn me without even asking me the truth."

Lan Xichen took a step back, as if he had been hit by an invisible whip.

"I don't want to believe this, a-yao," he said, his voice shaking, but he couldn't hold it back. "I don't want to believe you're saying these things. I… I don't want to believe you."

"Why? Why can't you see the truth?" Jin Guangyao sneered, but the sound was dissonant, as if it were something artificial, built to confuse and dominate. "Don't you realize that you're just like them? You're just like everyone who looks at me and tells me I'm a monster. Lan Qiren, Nie Mingjue... all ready to make me feel like I don't have the right to breathe , as if I were a mistake to be corrected."

Lan Xichen felt a twinge in his heart. It was all so wrong, yet Jin Guangyao's words found space in his chest, planting the seed of doubt. He couldn't deny it: his uncle, Lan Qiren, had never given his blessing to Jin Guangyao's courtship, nor Nie Mingjue, who had always seen him as an enemy, a danger.

"You're like them, Xichen," Jin Guangyao repeated, his voice growing lower and more venomous. "You listen to them. You listen to them when they talk about me, and you don't even have the courage to really look at me. Don't you see how much I'm giving you? Don't you see how much I'm suffering for you? But you, you don't trust me. You don't even trust of yourself."

Lan Xichen felt Jin Guangyao's words wrap around him like a net, holding him tighter and tighter. His mind was confused, his heart torn by an internal war that he could no longer fight. He didn't know whose side he was on anymore. How could he ignore the fact that even Lan Qiren, his uncle, had never given him permission to accept Jin Guangyao into his heart? Lan Xichen stood, hands shaking, as Jin Guangyao's crying grew louder, his tears a rain that seemed to never end. Every jolt of that fragile body, every sob that tore through the air, seemed to plunge a knife into Lan Xichen's heart. His mind was a confused vortex, a raging sea that he couldn't calm. He felt the fear of having made the wrong choice, but Jin Guangyao's words were like invisible chains, binding him even more tightly to his pain.

"Look at what you've done to me," Jin Guangyao sobbed, his eyes filled with torment and anger. "Look at me, Xichen. Are you really so blind that you can't see how much I'm hurting you? How much you're destroying everything between us?"

The words echoed in Lan Xichen's head, and she found herself looking at the man she loved, hunched over, his shoulders shaking under the weight of his own emotions. It was impossible for him not to feel the pain that Jin Guangyao expressed. Every word, every accusation seemed to come from the depths of a wounded soul, and Lan Xichen, in his desperation, felt forced to believe that it was all true.

"It's not your fault," Lan Xichen murmured, almost to himself, but his voice trembled, as if he were trying to convince himself more than Jin Guangyao. "I can't believe it's your fault... it's just that they don't understand, Yao. Nobody understands."

Jin Guangyao slowly stood up, his eyes filled with deep suffering. "And you believe them, Xichen. You believe everything they tell you. Your uncle, your brother, Nie Mingjue... they all look at me like I'm a monster. But you, you don't believe me. You never have believed all the way. That's why I'm suffering."

Lan Xichen felt his heart constrict, yet he couldn't escape the feeling. His mind told him that something was wrong, that his connection with Jin Guangyao was becoming dangerous, but the feelings he had for him were stronger than any rationality. And Jin Guangyao's words... those words stunned him, made him question everything, every other relationship he had ever had. It was as if, little by little, he was choosing to isolate himself more and more, moving away from Lan Qiren, from his brother, from Nie Mingjue… all of them who had never understood his love for Jin Guangyao. 

"Why don't you believe me?" Jin Guangyao insisted, moving closer, his voice becoming more broken, more desperate. "Why do you look at me with those doubts? You saw me cry, Xichen. You saw me suffer. Yet you choose to side with them, those who accuse me. Those who don't see that I'm just... just a man that needs you!"

Jin Guangyao's words slipped into his soul like poison, and Lan Xichen felt the lump in his throat grow tighter. There was something inside him that was breaking him. "A-yao." Lan Xichen whispered, as if the words were a bitter remedy for his distress. "I don't wanna lose you."

Jin Guangyao looked at him, a tragic smile appeared on his lips, but his gaze remained sharp, penetrating. “Then why aren't you actually choosing me, Xichen?” he asked, an evil calm seeming to slip into his tone. "Why aren't you hugging me like you should? Why are there still doubts in your eyes? Why do you keep thinking about them, instead of thinking about me?"

Lan Xichen felt his heart bursting inside him, frustration engulfing him entirely. "I can't... I can't abandon everything, a-yao," he muttered, his body shaking with confusion and fear. "I can't choose just you... if it means losing everything else. I can't."

"Then why don't you try hard enough? Why don't you show me that you love me?" Jin Guangyao's voice became more insistent, almost pleading. "You're destroying me, Xichen. You're making me believe that I'm not good enough for you. Look... look at what you've done to me." 

Lan Xichen found himself suspended in a whirlwind of emotions that he could no longer keep under control. Jin Guangyao's every word crept into his mind like a poison that had finally found its entry point. Every accusation, every insinuation, every complaint did nothing but confirm his greatest fear: that of having always been alone. Of never being understood, never truly loved by anyone but him.

“Only I understand you,” Jin Guangyao repeated, his tone soft but sharp. "Only I truly see what you are, Xichen. They... They judge you without knowing you. They don't understand the burden you carry. But I do. And you... you're the only one who understands."

Lan Xichen felt a weight on his chest, as if the air itself had become thicker and harder to breathe. His eyes were filled with a deep sadness, but also with a desperate hope. That hope that had guided him for so long. The hope that Jin Guangyao was indeed the only one who could see him, the only one who would never betray him. In that moment, it seemed like everything else, everything he had been taught, didn't matter. Love, loyalty, family... Everything he had tried to defend so far seemed to be collapsing, like a sandcastle.

"You gave me everything, Yao," he said with a trembling voice, trying to find meaning in that whirlwind of emotions. “You made me feel alive. I can't even imagine going back to that solitude. I don't want to be alone anymore.”

Jin Guangyao, seeing the surrender in his eyes, smiled, but it was not a smile of joy. It was a smile that spoke of possession, of control. "And you never will be again, Xichen. You never will be again, because I'm here for you. Only me."

Lan Xichen closed his eyes for a moment, feeling the heat of her words warming his soul, but also the pain tearing at his heart. Jin Guangyao was saying the right things, he was saying what he needed to hear. The words of his brother, of Lan Qiren, of Nie Mingjue... those voices that had always tried to distract him, to make him retrace his steps, now seemed so distant. There was no doubt about it. There was nothing else to hear. Only Jin Guangyao.

"You... you don't deserve this," Lan Xichen said, almost whispering, with infinite sadness. "You don't deserve to be judged." Jin Guangyao walked over, placing a hand on Lan Xichen's shoulder. "It's not your fault," he said in a soft tone, but with icy determination. “It was never your fault. It's their fault. They always made you believe that your happiness had to depend on them. That you had to be the way they wanted you to be. But that's not the case, Xichen. It's never been that way." 

Lan Xichen slowly turned around, his eyes now filled with incredible confusion, but also painful resignation. "Why... why didn't I ever realize this before?" The question came out without him being able to hold it back, like a broken prayer. “Why have I never seen them for what they are?”

"Because you are a good man," Jin Guangyao replied, with a tenderness that sounded false, but which at that moment, to Lan Xichen, seemed so true. "And they deceived you. But it's too late to turn back now. You're with me now, and it doesn't matter what they think. It doesn't matter if they think I'm evil. It's you and me, Xichen. Just the two of us."

Lan Xichen felt as if a veil had finally lifted before his eyes, but the resulting vision was not of a lighter world, but rather of a darker, more warped world. Jin Guangyao's every word had taken the place of everything he had ever known as right and true. His hands were shaking, yet he felt closer to him than he had ever been to anyone else.

Jin Guangyao, still with his manipulative smile, moved further closer. "Look at what you've done to me, Xichen," he said, his voice broken, but filled with an anger that seemed to fuel the fire of his suffering. "I can't believe you're so blind, but it's not your fault. It's their fault. But enough is enough. They're no one to you anymore, Xichen. And you... you don't have to listen to them anymore."

Lan Xichen slowly nodded, as if his words were finally reaching a breaking point. "I don't want to listen to them anymore. I just want you," he said, feeling his heart empty and fill at the same time. "I don't want to hear anything anymore that isn't your voice, anything that isn't you."

And Jin Guangyao, finally seeing Lan Xichen's total surrender, whispered, "Good." The words rang in Lan Xichen's mind, and he, now completely bound, could no longer distinguish truth from lie. The world that Jin Guangyao had created for him was now his reality, and every other voice that tried to wake him now seemed too far away to reach him. 

Lan Xichen was still trying to understand Jin Guangyao's words, his mind crowded with doubts and questions that he couldn't sort out. The letter. That damned letter that seemed to be the source of everything. An obstacle that had separated their bond, a small card that Jin Guangyao seemed to attribute to something much bigger. But what? Why?

“Explain to me,” Lan Xichen asked, his voice weaker than usual as his gaze desperately tried to detect a sign of sincerity in Jin Guangyao's face. “Why that letter? What was behind it?”

Jin Guangyao looked at him for a long moment, as if the pain he was pretending to experience had suddenly transformed into something more violent. Then, without warning, he raised his hand and gave him a hard, sharp slap, a noise that broke the air and sounded like a blow to Lan Xichen's heart.

“You don't even deserve an answer,” Jin Guangyao shouted, his face contorted with anger. "You're so stupid, Xichen. You don't even understand what you're doing. That letter, that letter that makes you suffer so much, Nie Mingjue put it there! He was the one who wanted us to be separated, do you understand?! He wanted to destroy us! To me, to you, to us!"  

Lan Xichen stood still, his hands shaking and his head throbbing. Jin Guangyao's every word, every accused rebuke, seemed to have a weight that was crushing him. "But... but it's not true," he murmured, feeling a pang in his heart. But deep down, he felt he deserved it. It had to be his fault, it always had to be. Because if it hadn't been like this, then his world wouldn't have been so destroyed. He shouldn't have spent all this time trying to find a way to justify Jin Guangyao, to convince himself that he wasn't doing anything wrong.

“You don’t understand anything, Xichen!” Jin Guangyao yelled, his voice full of anger and contempt. "Don't you understand that you are just a puppet in the hands of that beast! He is the one who separated us, he is the one who made you doubt me, while I... I have always given you everything, always! And you... you listen to him, you follow him, like an obedient dog!"

His slap rang through the air, a sharp crack that shook the room. Lan Xichen didn't move a muscle. He felt like he was sinking into an endless abyss, and every word Jin Guangyao shouted at him seemed to be a stone being thrown at him, causing him to sink further and further.

“Yes, it's Nie Mingjue's fault!” Jin Guangyao continued, his voice getting higher and higher, almost mad. "He's the one who put that letter! He's the one who convinced you that I was the monster, the traitor! But the truth, Xichen, the truth is that all this happened because he pushed you away from me! And you, you , you believed his lies!” Lan Xichen was trembling, but couldn't look away. Every word that came out of Jin Guangyao's mouth seemed to cut his skin, but inside him there was no response other than to bow his head, to accept his fate. “I apologize,” he muttered, unable to stop himself. The feeling of guilt was engulfing him. If Jin Guangyao was in pain, it was his fault, he thought. If their bond was broken, it was because he hadn't been strong enough, faithful enough.

Jin Guangyao looked at him with eyes full of contempt, as if he had just discovered him for the first time. "You don't even deserve an answer," he hissed, his voice cold, devoid of any mercy. "That's enough. Go get me some hot water, run a bath for me. That's the only way you can fix this."

Lan Xichen nodded wordlessly, his heart pounding in his chest, but he couldn't stop. Jin Guangyao's words rang in his head, and at that moment, he couldn't conceive of a reality where it wasn't his fault. He could see nothing but Jin Guangyao's face, which seemed to be the only point of reference left in his life, the only one who could understand his loneliness, his fragility.

“Go,” Jin Guangyao commanded, his gaze sharp as a knife. "Don't think for a second that you'll come into the tub with me. You're just an obedient dog, and for this little act you made me do, it's already a miracle that I'll let you sleep on the floor tonight. Go wash yourself at the lake, and don't make a fuss."

Lan Xichen felt suffocated. The words stuck in his heart like a needle, but he couldn't rebel. His legs trembled as he stood, as if he were walking on unstable ground, but there was no other way out. The idea that Jin Guangyao was the only one who understood him, the only one who gave his existence meaning, was consuming him. There was no room for doubts, for moral questions. He had to obey. He had to, because if he didn't, he would be a traitor. And a traitor could never be loved.

Jin Guangyao added, as a final deathblow, "And remember, all of this is Nie Mingjue's fault. Never forget it." The words echoed in Lan Xichen's mind like a curse. The world around him seemed to dissolve, and the only thing that remained was that voice, that presence which dominated him.

When he finally left the room, walking slowly towards the lake, his mind was blank. No thoughts. Lan Xichen walked slowly towards the lake, each step heavy, as if his legs could no longer lift without the unbearable weight of remorse crushing him. Every muscle in his body seemed distorted by suffering, yet he couldn't stop. It was as if, somehow, the walk towards the water was the only step he had left to pay for the guilt that Jin Guangyao had thrown on him. His mind, now distant, was completely shrouded in the darkness of Jin Guangyao's words, each sentence like a poison that infiltrated, infecting his heart and soul. “It's my fault.”

The repetition of those words rang incessantly in his head, a mantra that would never stop. My fault. My fault. Every thought that passed through his mind seemed like a confirmation of the pain he felt in his chest, a certainty that grew every time his gaze was lost in nothingness. His heart no longer beat properly, as if every beat was slowed by the weight of a torment that he couldn't shake.

Arriving at the edge of the lake, Lan Xichen knelt down without hesitation. His hands were shaking, but his mind couldn't form a thought. He knelt with his head lowered, his gaze fixed on the water that stretched before him. His eyes only reflected the emptiness that was expanding in his chest, as if every part of him had been emptied by the knowledge of how useless he was, how much of a disappointment he was. His cold skin and the darkness of the night almost seemed to mirror the cold that had taken possession of his heart.  

The hands, now without strength, touched the freezing water. A shiver ran down his spine, but it didn't stop him. He felt the sensation of cold make its way through his fingers, as if every drop of water was a small punishment inflicted on him by the world itself. Every movement, every gesture seemed to him to be an act of purification. Wash. Cleanse your skin, purify the body. And perhaps, he thought, in some dark corner of his mind, perhaps this would purify his soul too. But deep down, he knew it wouldn't be like that.

I deserve this.

It was a thought that hurt him like a blow to the heart. He knew he could never run away from what he had done, from what he was. In that moment, there was no other way to look at it. There was no room for hope, only a cold, cruel reality that engulfed him. Jin Guangyao's voice continued to echo in his head, clear, merciless. Shame on you, Xichen. Be ashamed of yourself.

Lan Xichen looked at his hands, dirty with water, trembling and useless. Why did he feel the need to do all this? Why couldn't he have stopped? He couldn't stop thinking that if he obeyed enough, if he was submissive enough, maybe he would stop hurting him. Perhaps Jin Guangyao would have looked at him more fondly, as a beloved, a man who had never truly understood. But those words... those words that accused him, that made him feel so inadequate, couldn't stop haunting him. You are a traitor, Xichen. A traitor.

Every single emotion he felt seemed to be a heavier burden to carry. There was no room for rationality, no corner of clarity in which he could find the strength to oppose. It's his fault. It's Mingjue's fault, this is all his fault. Yet, that part of him that tried not to listen, that tried to hide in the darkness, continued to rebel against that truth. But Jin Guangyao understands me, he thought, with the shadow of an increasingly faint hope. He alone sees what i am. The others…they don't understand. 

He deserved it all. Every tear that rolled down his face, every pain that dug his soul, every moment that consumed him. Because Jin Guangyao was right. There were no more doubts. Lan Xichen looked at his face, finally, as if he were a stranger. A man who never knew who he really was, a man who had never been enough for anyone.

His life, his path, were consumed in the shadow of others. Not for himself, but for others. His fault. His mind reverberated with those words. There was no excuse, no justification. It was his fault that every step he took felt like a betrayal. A betrayal of his father, who had never seen him as anything other than a diligent disciple, but not the son he wanted. A betrayal towards his uncle, who he had always considered an indestructible sword, a figure to respect, but never a person he could truly trust.

“I apologize… I apologize for everything,” he whispered, as if he could fix something with those words. But inside he knew they were just empty. They were just a reflection of a man who was trying to maintain some semblance of control while his soul was shattered.  But there was no longer anyone to whom he could apologize. Jin Guangyao was the only person left, the only one who, perhaps, could heal her broken heart. And I will, I will do it for you, he thought, looking down as his mind grew more and more confused. If this is what I have to do, if I have to kneel before you to be worthy... then I will. I will do this without hesitation.

But, in his mind, deep in that prison he had built for himself, a part of him wondered if there was another way. But it was too late. The question made no sense anymore. The answer was already given. There's nothing else.

There's just Jin Guangyao.

Chapter Text

"You fooled me from the start"

Nie Mingjue walked around the courtyard of the Nie Clan, his sword resting on his shoulder with one hand, his head tilted as he stared into the dark horizon. The evening had fallen heavily upon the residence, and the air was thick with tension. His heart, usually tempestuous and impulsive, was now as cold and silent as a frozen lake. The anger that had accompanied him in the past few days had now transformed into something deeper, something darker. Contempt. And a sad realization: Lan Xichen no longer deserved his protection. He was no longer worthy of his love.

With each passing day, the realization that Lan Xichen was now hopelessly lost in Jin Guangyao's game became clearer. In the days of passion and trust, Nie Mingjue had loved Lan Xichen like a brother, even something more. His affection for him had always been pure and selfless, so much so that, when the relationship between the two had cracked, the pain of seeing Lan Xichen give in to Jin Guangyao’s manipulations had been unbearable. But now? Now, all that pain had transformed into a disillusionment that burned like fire. Lan Xichen was no longer the man he knew. He was no longer the brother, the friend, the person who should have leaned on him.  He would never understand that, nor would he ever forgive that choice. Lan Xichen, fragile in his goodness and in his search for a perfection that did not exist, had lowered his head in the face of corruption. And now, Jin Guangyao laughed at him, used him, trampled him, and Mingjue hated him.  Nie Mingjue made his way through the stone corridors, his steps swift and heavy, a man in the throes of rage. Every step, every breath he took, it felt like his own body was screaming at him that he was ready to explode. His thoughts, clouded by frustration, tormented him like a continuous assault. His mind could not conceive that Lan Xichen, after all they had shared, was so blind, so devoted to Jin Guangyao.

"I can't protect him. I don't want to protect him anymore," Mingjue thought, the voice of his heart now sounding almost like a cold whisper. He had been a man of principle, one who had always put justice above all else, and his anger had been fueled by seeing Lan Xichen become trapped in the jaws of a deception that would destroy them both. And yet now, in a hidden part of his mind, Nie Mingjue no longer felt the desire to save him. He no longer wanted to snatch Lan Xichen from those jaws, he no longer wanted to protect a man who had willingly locked himself in Jin Guangyao's chains. 

Deep inside, Mingjue struggled with himself. A wave of anger filled his chest, yet, in those moments of solitude, he also felt the stinging pain of betrayal. It wasn't just his friendship that had been trampled upon; it was love, loyalty, trust. Lan Xichen had turned his back on him, yes, but the biggest wound wasn't the physical one. It was the emotion that tore his heart, that awareness that the man she loved more than anyone else had chosen to lose himself in a deadly embrace. "You're just blind," he snapped, looking at the sword. "And that will lead to your ruin." 

Nie Mingjue moved slowly in the dim light of the room, his hands clasped behind his back, his chin raised in a gesture that exuded restrained anger. Each step seemed to punctuate a precise thought, a silent reproach directed at Lan Xichen and Jin Guangyao. His gaze was hard as stone, without any trace of indulgence. He had once believed that Lan Xichen was the embodiment of honesty and virtue. Once, he had thought the bond between them was unbreakable. But now? Now there was nothing left but ash and bitterness.

"I don't want to see your face anymore, Xichen," he murmured, his voice low but full of venom, as if the words themselves burned his lips. It was a bitter admission, one that cost him more than he would have liked to admit. Once he would have given everything to protect Lan Xichen, he would have fought alongside him until the end, but now that person was just a shadow.

Mingjue stopped suddenly, gripping the edge of the table in front of him forcefully. The hardness of the wood beneath his fingers felt like an anchor, something real to hold onto as his thoughts spiraled into conflicting emotions. He had loved Lan Xichen. He had loved him with a purity he rarely gave anyone, and the knowledge of it hurt him even more. He had offered his trust, his loyalty, and now it had all been trampled on, thrown away like a worn-out garment.  The memory of Lan Xichen returned to his mind, bright and painful like the sun that blinds at first glance. He remembered their times together, the genuine laughter, the intense conversations. He remembered how Lan Xichen had calmed him in moments of anger, how she had seen in him something more than just a warrior. But those memories were now poisoned.

Nie Mingjue stood in the empty room, his eyes fixed on the corner of the wall, but his mind was far away, back in time, to a day many years ago. He was in Caiyi Town, still a young man at that time, not yet consumed by the harshness of the world. He was little boy, and Lan Xichen was a boy who by then already seemed to possess the calm and dignity of an older man. But on this day, Lan Xichen did not seem like the imposing figure he would later come to know. He was frail, pale, with a high fever, and tried to hide every time he coughed, convinced he didn't want to appear weak in front of Lan Qiren.

The scene returned vividly in Nie Mingjue's mind: Lan Qiren, stern as ever, observed his young student with scrutinizing eyes, while Lan Xichen struggled to remain impassive. The boy didn't want to be seen in that state, he didn't want to worry his master, yet his weakness was evident. Nie Mingjue had approached silently. He saw Lan Xichen sneaking away so as not to be noticed, but he couldn't ignore the way his heart constricted. That boy, who seemed so distant and perfect, was human, as fragile as anyone else.

He had noticed a stall a little further on, a small shop that sold candy in the shapes of animals. Lan Xichen's smile, which he had previously noticed but hidden, grew stronger in Nie Mingjue's mind as he stopped in front of the stall. It wasn't just the sweetness of that moment, but also a protective instinct that pushed him to act.  Without thinking too much, he approached the seller and bought a rabbit-shaped candy. His hand had extended the small dessert to Lan Xichen, whose initially confused expression had dissolved into a hesitant smile.

“For you,” Mingjue had said, his tone softer than usual, something that might never be repeated again. “I don't want to see you hide anymore.” Lan Xichen had looked at him, and in that moment the distance between them seemed to vanish. “Thank you,” he whispered, his face slightly blushing as he accepted the dessert, as if that little attention had broken something inside him. His shyness had melted away, leaving only a deep gratitude.

That memory, which had remained in his heart like a treasure for years, now turned into a wound. The warmth of that smile from Lan Xichen, that vulnerability he had tried to protect, now burned inside him like a brand. The anger Mingjue felt now was more than a passing emotion. It was like a flame that burned steadily in his heart, the same flame that had ignited the moment he realized that Lan Xichen would never take his warnings seriously. The disappointment had become so strong that it left no room for anything more. Yet as he stared at that wall, his body tense like a bow, he felt the weight of everything he had lost. Lan Xichen was no longer that boy from Caiyi Town who was surprised by a rabbit-shaped candy. No, Lan Xichen had changed, transformed into something unattainable. And Nie Mingjue, unfortunately, couldn't pretend he couldn't see anymore. He was no longer him partner, the boy he had loved with all his strength. Now it was just the result of a mistake he had never been able to stop, and every thought that crossed his mind filled him with pain. 

The memory of the rabbit-shaped candy still struck him, like a blade. Because, at that precise moment, he had seen something true, something pure in Lan Xichen. But now, looking at reality, he only saw a man who had lost himself in his own fragility. A man who had not been able to resist, who had been manipulated by Jin Guangyao, whose deception had consumed him.

“I wanted to protect you,” he said quietly, as if Lan Xichen could still hear him. But now, in all that darkness, he knew there was nothing left to do. He had seen Lan Xichen fall, but his companion would no longer be the one to rise again. It was nothing like it once was. And Mingjue, unfortunately, knew that there would be no redemption. He was just a man who, once, he had loved, but now he was faced with a memory that was slowly destroying him. And that pain would remain with him, like an open wound, for the rest of his life. 

Nie Mingjue paced relentlessly in his study, his footsteps ringing loudly against the stone floor, almost as if he wanted to break through the very reality around him. Every step was filled with tension, every movement with a fury that was building inside him like a storm ready to unleash. His heart was pounding, like a war drum, yet his mind was clear, cold, perfectly aware of what he had to do. How could Lan Xichen be this blind? How could he trust Jin Guangyao, that serpent who slithered in the shadows, weaving lies like a poisonous spider web? Nie Mingjue grabbed a book from the desk and threw it against the wall, the object crashing with a loud bang, but it didn't seem to ease his anger. The fury he felt was not only for his disappointment, but for the betrayal he saw taking place before his eyes. There was no more love, there was no more friendship. There was only the desire to destroy, to annihilate everything that had had the strength to assert itself over him.

Every move he made now, every word he spoke, every look he cast, were aimed towards the destruction of that castle of lies that Jin Guangyao had built over Lan Xichen. Lan Xichen, once so close, so loved, was now just the symbol of everything Mingjue hated: the weakness, the blindness, the inability to see the truth, to recognize the poison that was poisoning his heart. If Lan Xichen was unable to see, then he must be destroyed, and Mingjue would take his world with him, crumbling it under the force of his anger. He would see the collapse of everything that Jin Guangyao had built, and then he could look at himself, finally, as the one who had brought justice. 

His heart was broken, but that pain had now transformed into something darker. Every thought of Lan Xichen hit him like a whip. He had once loved him, perhaps more than he would have liked to admit. In the early years they had shared the same laughter, the same dreams. Their friendship had been so intense that sometimes Mingjue felt like that connection was the only thing he had ever had, the only thing he had ever wanted. But now?

Now, none of that sweetness was there. Every memory that surfaced in his mind was like a blade that cut him, leaving behind only a cold void. The love he had felt had dissolved in betrayal, in the knowledge that Lan Xichen had chosen his ruin. If only he had been able to see the truth... but perhaps Lan Xichen had never fully understood that Jin Guangyao's betrayal was not just a matter of politics, but a matter of the heart. And Mingjue, that broken heart, didn't care anymore. There was no longer room for forgiveness. Not for him.

"How could he be so blind?" Mingjue roared, his voice a deep sound that echoed off the stone walls of his study, the echo seeming to recede like a whisper of a menacing shadow. "We have proof! We've seen what Jin Guangyao is capable of doing! Yet Xichen continues to defend him, as if he were a victim, not an executioner!"

Lan Qiren, who sat with his back straight as an arrow, looked at him calmly. His presence was a solid rock amid the storm. "It's not blindness, Nie Mingjue. It's the emotional bond that Jin Guangyao has created. For Lan Xichen, breaking it would mean accepting that he was deceived by someone he loves. And this is a pain that many prefer to avoid, even at the cost of the truth."

In the silence of that room, where the colors of the cold, gray walls seemed to reflect the mood of those who lived there, Nie Mingjue stopped. His breathing was heavy, filled with anger he could no longer contain. Lan Qiren's words, which had hit him like a wave, rang in his mind. His calm, his coldness, had always had the power to calm him, but today, in that moment, there was nothing that could calm him. There was no room for rationality anymore. The pain had taken over, and revenge was the only thought that occupied his mind.  Even Lan Qiren, although he never openly expressed his dissent, was tormented by that situation. Sitting there, in the shadow of his apparent calm, he was reading the spy reports. Every detail that came in spoke to him of Jin Guangyao's growing influence, yet he couldn't shake the feeling that Lan Xichen was doomed to fail, doomed to be trapped in his own emotions.

“How much longer will he be able to ignore?” Lan Qiren asked himself, looking at the words written on the papers with a look that betrayed a certain bitterness. “How much will he have to suffer before he sees the truth?” Despite his calm exterior, Lan Qiren hated Jin Guangyao. He hated him for his ability to make himself loved and respected while ruining everything in the meantime. But he hated himself even more for failing to protect Lan Xichen from that trap. His position as an elder, as a leader, prevented him from acting as he would have liked. Yet, beneath that calm, there was the pain of one who had failed. 

The night was silent, but that apparent calm couldn't calm the storm raging inside Nie Mingjue. In the darkness of his room, the dim light of the moon that filtered through the closed shutters was not enough to dispel the shadows that stretched over his heart. Every single part of him, every fiber of his being, seemed to pulse with unbearable tension. He could not sleep. He couldn't stop that continuous whirlwind of thoughts that besieged him, that devoured him from the inside.

The weight of the night pressed him down. The darkness seemed to expand and swallow up every rational thought, every attempt to relax. He tossed and turned in bed, the sheets too hot or too cold, never finding the right balance. His breathing became heavier, his heartbeat accelerated every time he closed his eyes, yet no dream came to calm him. Only the memory of every document he had read, every piece of evidence against Jin Guangyao that accumulated like boulders on his soul.

Nie Mingjue's mind traveled relentlessly between the pages of fictitious reports, of falsified testimonies, of murders ordered with the same calm with which one orders tea. Every time he tried to escape from those images, every time he tried to look away, the truth assailed him, more brutal and crushing. There was no escape. His desire for justice, his desire for revenge, was so strong that it seemed more real than the very room he was in. Her mind constantly returned to him: to Jin Guangyao, to his blade-sharp smile, to the way he had manipulated everything and everyone. And in those moments of solitude, when there was nothing and no one to distract his attention, Mingjue longed for the truth to come out, with the same violence he felt inside himself. 

Every single detail he had studied with Lan Wangji, every discussion they had had about the plan to follow, seemed to have dissolved into the air of that night. The words dissolved, and what remained was only a brutal desire: to face Jin Guangyao. It was no longer enough to be behind the scenes, it was no longer enough to observe. He wanted that whole castle of lies to collapse before him. He wanted to look Jin Guangyao in the eyes and tell him that his pretense had come to an end. That the kingdom of lies he had built would disappear like sand blown away by the wind.

It was difficult to describe what was really going on inside him. The anger was a fire that consumed him, but it was not just anger. There was a desperation he couldn't quell, a sadness that grew every time he thought about Lan Xichen. His mind wavered between past love and present frustration. Every moment he had shared with Lan Xichen, every unspoken word, every unrequited gesture, now felt like open wounds that would never heal. He loved him, he had loved him with all his strength, but now that passion was consumed by bitterness. 

Meanwhile, at the Lan Clan, Lan Qiren was also in a restless night, but his torment was of another nature. Sitting in his study, surrounded by spy reports, his gaze fixed on those documents, he felt a frustration that he could not express. The evidence was beyond dispute. Jin Guangyao had manipulated every aspect of politics, of war, of the very life of the Clans. Yet, Lan Qiren couldn't see a solution. He couldn't find a way to free Lan Xichen from his emotional imprisonment, from the invisible trap he had put himself into.

"How much longer will he have to suffer?" he wondered as he absentmindedly leafed through one of the papers. His mind couldn't get away from the thought of Lan Xichen, who continued to defend Jin Guangyao as if he were his savior, as if there was nothing wrong. The vision of his nephew, more and more at the mercy of his blind affection, tore him apart.

But the answer did not come. His mind, while a beacon of calm, felt equally overwhelmed with frustration and desperation. Every evidence he was gathering against Jin Guangyao made him more helpless. There was not only politics to manage, but also the weight of Lan Xichen's heart, a heart that seemed to belong to someone else, to a man who had never been truly free. Yet, Lan Qiren couldn't help but believe that, somehow, that truth would have to come out, that that night of torment, that night of solitude, would lead to a conclusion. Maybe it was true that the Lan heart had never been a truly free heart. Maybe Lan Xichen would have to face the pain of seeing the truth, of stopping believing the lies, even if it would be a terrible price to pay. The truth has no timetable, Lan Qiren thought as he rested his head on the table, exhausted. He didn't sleep a full night, just like Nie Mingjue, yet their solitudes were different, their torments equally exhausting, but never similar.

The tension in the air was palpable, like a taut string about to snap. In the days that followed, the plan to expose Jin Guangyao was taking shape, but with every step the risk grew. Nie Mingjue and Lan Qiren, both obsessed with the need to see justice triumph, were looking for every possible angle from which to strike, without irreparably damaging Lan Xichen, the heart of all that chaos. But each decision, each move, seemed more so than the previous one: Jin Guangyao's shadow hovered over them like a threatening cloud.

It was in one of these moments, when silence reigned in the Nie Clan hall, that the door slowly opened, interrupting Mingjue and Lan Qiren's frantic thoughts. With a firm but discreet step, Lan Wangji entered, accompanied by a figure who carried with him the weight of crucial information. Nie Huaisang's spy, his face tense and the expression of someone who had just seen something that would change everything, held a paper in his hands, as if it were the key to a dark secret.

“This,” Lan Wangji said, his voice warm but without hesitation, pointing to the paper, “is what we managed to achieve.”

Nie Mingjue stood up immediately, almost snatching the paper from the spy's hands, his dark eyes piercing the document as if it were an enemy to be faced. Lan Qiren, never too demonstrative, grew more attentive, his body stiffening as he tried to decipher the contents. The words on the page, however, were not what they were expecting. There weren't just political accusations or subtle power plots. There was something darker, something that directly touched the people they loved.  

Jin Guangyao was planning to commit murder. A murder that would have had as its victim Jin Zixuan, who had just become a parent and in one fell swoop, would have destroyed the hopes of an entire clan. But the revelation that hit them hardest was another: Jin Zixuan, who was about to leave to prevent Jin Zixun from doing something horrible and irreparable towards Wei Wuxian, who for the celebration of the first month of Jin Ling's life, he would have been caught in a trap. A trap set by Jin Zixun, who had believed that Wei Wuxian was responsible for the curse that had struck him, that terrible curse of a hundred holes that had marked his life.  

The news hit Mingjue like a blow to the chest. His blood thickened, his heartbeat quickened as he felt his frustration and fury grow. Wei Wuxian… Jin Zixuan… Even though Jin Guangyao had managed to hide his demon face under that mask of charisma, now everything was coming to light. That plan, so precise, so ruthless, could have destroyed not only Wei Wuxian's life, but also that of Lan Xichen, without him having the slightest idea.

Lan Qiren, who had been silently listening, felt a pang in his heart. His mind raced, trying to see the significance of that move. Jin Guangyao was playing a dangerous game, one that would make Lan Xichen pay the ultimate price, and now, with the truth about that new threat, everything was changing. The ambush on the Qiongqi Path—the thought of Zixuan and Wei Wuxian, trapped, in a situation that perhaps they could have avoided if they had known about the trap, burned in his mind like a brand. 

“ChiFeng-Zun,” Lan Qiren's voice was slow and thoughtful, but behind the calm was a resolve that left no room for doubt, “we must act now. This is not just a political plan, it is a direct threat to our dear ones. If Jin Guangyao has done this, there is no more time to waste."

Nie Mingjue made his way to the window, looking at the landscape that stretched outside. His hands were clenched into fists, veins standing out, anger consuming him. Every thought was now centered on one idea: stopping Jin Guangyao before it was too late. No time for strategy; there was no more time to try to avoid conflict. The truth had to emerge, and Jin Guangyao would have to face his actions. 

“I was told that Jin Zixun also brought disciples of the Lan Sect with him.” Lan Wangji's words fell like a sharp blow, an echo that reverberated through the walls of the room, heavy, almost unbearable.

Lan Qiren froze, his gaze suddenly distant, lost in a deep void. Nie Mingjue took a step forward, his face tense like a bow, his dark eyes filled with an anger that had now reached its limit. Both of their thoughts aligned with painful precision. An idea that none of them had wanted to admit, but which was now irrefutable: Lan Xichen knew. Lan Xichen was helping Jin Guangyao. It was as if an invisible wall had shattered in an instant, as if a veil had been lifted, revealing the truth they had been trying to ignore for too long. Lan Xichen, the man they had always respected, the man they had seen as the pillar of justice and honor, was being part of it all. He was cooperating with Jin Guangyao, he was allowing his plan to be carried out, without scruples. And that knowledge, that truth, hurt them more than they ever imagined.

“Xichen…” Lan Qiren whispered, his voice cracking, a timbre of disbelief that no one could ignore. It was as if his strength had been sucked away in a single, shocking moment. How could he?

Nie Mingjue didn't hold back. “What now?” his voice was full of silent fury that shook every word. "What should we do with him?". 

Lan Qiren closed his eyes for a moment, feeling the weight of the revelation crush any hope he had ever had regarding Lan Xichen. Why? A question that echoed in his mind, without an answer. How had they not seen the signs? How did Lan Xichen hide that part of himself for so long? There were no excuses for it.

It was as if the entire world had begun to collapse, the bonds they had formed and maintained, the hopes placed in Lan Xichen, everything they had built together was now slowly shattering under the weight of the truth. Nie Mingjue made his way across the room, his anger was palpable, the intensity of his emotions burning his thoughts. He felt the betrayal in every fiber of his body. Xichen had chosen to be on Jin Guangyao's side, he had chosen to ignore the truth, to allow his family ties to be destroyed for a cause that had nothing to do with the common good, but only with the survival of a system of lies. Lan Qiren looked at him, aware of the same flame of betrayal consuming him. But underneath the anger, there was another feeling that tore at him, a deep pain that went beyond the simple loss of trust: a sense of failure. Lan Xichen, who he had raised, who he had seen as a son, now seemed to be the greatest traitor of all.

His mind, normally clear and calculating, now seemed clouded by fury and sadness. "There's no more time to waste," he said finally, his voice low and controlled but full of icy determination. "We must act now. Xichen has chosen his path. If we don't stop him now, it will be too late for everyone."  

Nie Mingjue nodded abruptly, a gesture that, despite its harshness, only reflected the intensity of his internal struggle. Each step they would take now would be heavier, more uncertain. Lan Xichen's betrayal wasn't just his betrayal. It was also the betrayal of his family, of his connections, of the entire Lan Clan.

"Shufu," Lan Wangji said calmly, his presence rock solid, "We cannot expose him again. We must protect Jin Zixuan and Wei Wuxian, and Xiongzhang first. This must be our priority."

Lan Qiren looked at him, her gaze sharp and piercing. "And when will the time be? When will Xichen definitively choose to be with Jin Guangyao, when will it be clear to everyone that he has chosen to betray us?" Lan Qiren's voice was sharp, but beneath the surface there was a sadness that couldn't be ignored.

"Okay," Nie Mingjue said, his voice tougher than ever, "we will do what is necessary. I will not allow another deception, another crime to go unnoticed. We must stop it. Now."

Lan Qiren silently nodded. The decision had been taken. But behind Lan Qiren's calm, he too felt the weight of the truth unfolding. Jin Guangyao, as always, was playing with the lives of others, and he had failed to protect Lan Xichen. But now, more than ever, he knew that there would be no room for doubt or hesitation. If they had to face the storm, they would do it together, with the certainty that justice would come to claim its price.

But in Nie Mingjue and Lan Qiren's hearts, the weight of the betrayal they had just discovered was burning like a flame impossible to extinguish.

Chapter Text

"Saw you turn around, but it wasn't your face"

The path wound like a snake through the bowels of the mountain, enveloped in a fog that seemed to breathe, changing shape and consistency with every blink of an eye. It wasn't just a mist: it was alive, pulsating, and its icy embrace penetrated through clothes, insinuating itself into the skin like a forbidden whisper. The tops of the trees, gnarled and ancient, bent towards each other, forming a gothic vault that shielded what little light remained. The sun, now low on the horizon, reflected on fragments of dew, creating cold, almost metallic glares that broke the darkness without ever completely dissipating it.

The wind danced among the branches, light and constant, bringing with it a chorus of subtle sounds; the creaking of distant branches, the murmur of brushed grass, and that distant moan that no one dared to name. Every breath was filled with the smell of wet earth, ancient moss and something deeper, something harsh, almost iron-like, that smelled of imminent danger. Walking there was like entering the heart of the mountain itself, a place that seemed to have forgotten time and men.

The group advanced in a charged silence, as if the world itself was holding its breath. Each step was measured, each movement studied. Their figures stood against the darkness like sculpted shadows, each imbued with a unique tension. Nie Mingjue led the group, his commanding presence a beacon in the darkness. His step was heavy, determined, but without his usual impetuosity. The anger inside him, always ready to explode, was now contained, compressed into a white-hot core that seemed to fuel him. There was no room for hesitation or distraction: each step brought him closer to the truth that awaited him at the end of that path.

Nie Mingjue's face was a mask of determination, but his usually fiery eyes betrayed something deeper. His anger was not only towards what he would find, but also towards himself. How could I allow it to get to this point? He wondered, even though he knew there was no answer. The mountain seemed to respond to his silence with a mocking whisper, the wind in the trees almost like laughter.

Lan Qiren walked beside him, his step more cautious, but just as purposeful. His eyes, penetrating and attentive, scrutinized every shadow, every movement, as if trying to anticipate an invisible danger. Master Lan had always been a man of rationality and discipline, but at this moment, even he could not ignore the weight of what he was about to face. His heart, usually so steady, beat at a faster, almost painful pace. Every breath reminded him of how fragile the line between control and chaos was. Yet, he wouldn't stop. 

This mountain is no different from the secrets we have kept, Lan Qiren thought, his gaze drifting into the shadows of the trees. Dark, silent, and ready to swallow anyone who dares get too close. Every so often, a small movement betrayed his anxiety, his worry. His rational mind was calculating every possible move, but even he couldn't deny the wave of fear coursing through him. He knew what was coming, he knew what truth would emerge, but he was determined to let it emerge. There was no more time for hesitation. Wei Wuxian was in danger, and with him, the last remaining thread of hope. 

Lan Wangji, moving like a shadow through the darkness of the path, seemed carved out of ice. Each step was measured, his silence an impenetrable barrier that separated him from the surrounding world. But anyone who dared to peer beyond the calm and austere surface would find a soul in turmoil, a churning ocean roaring beneath the seemingly still surface.

Every fiber of his being seemed to be in tension, as if his body was channeling all its energy into staying steady, lest it collapse under the weight of the emotions that consumed it. Love, pain, anger, and a sense of betrayal that had deep roots- everything was intertwined in a knot that Lan Wangji carried with him, hidden but pulsating, like a wound that could not be healed.

His eyes, fixed on the path before him, were like mirrors of liquid gold, reflecting every shadow that moved in the woods. But there was no fear in those eyes, just an iron determination. Wei Wuxian. Every step that brought him closer to the heart of the path was a step to protect him, to save him from a destiny that seemed intertwined with forces greater than them. Yet, that same road also brought him closer to another confrontation, a different wound: the betrayal of his older brother, Lan Xichen, the pillar of his childhood, the one he had always admired without reservations.

How could you not see? he thought, pain mixed with disbelief that burned like a flame. How could you let Jin Guangyao deceive all of us?

Lan Wangji's hands, gripped around the sheath of his sword, were still, but every muscle in his body was tense like a bowstring ready to spring. His white robes that covered his body seemed a symbol of the purity and discipline he had always embodied, but in that moment it was also armor, a way to keep away the chaos that threatened to overwhelm him.The forest closed in around him like a living prison. The trees, ancient and twisted, reached out towards them like claws, and the wind that blew through the branches brought with it whispers that seemed like the voices of restless spirits. The path was not just a place, but a boundary between worlds, between what had been and what was about to be.

But Lan Wangji did not waver. His heart, although agitated, was a compass pointing in one direction. Wei Wuxian. His name was a silent prayer, a lighthouse guiding him through the darkness. Whatever awaited them at the end of the path, Lan Wangji knew that he would face it all for himself. There was no room for doubt, there was no room for fear. With a deep breath, Lan Wangji advanced, his stride as smooth as a melody played on a tight string, his silence full of promises and oaths. The path seems to scrutinize him, but he would not have stopped. Not until Wei Wuxian was safe. Not until the truth was out. 

Lan Wangji walked in silence, yet each step on the wet earth of the path sounded like a beat of his heart. The darkness of the night only accentuated the isolation that surrounded him: the fresh air, full of humidity, seemed to weigh on him like his own breathing, a weight that he couldn't shake off. Every tree that surrounded him seemed to look at him with intense green eyes, a palpable restlessness that greeted him as he went deeper into the woods. It was a path he had always known, but at that moment there was nothing familiar about it. There was not only the forest observing him, but his own fears, his doubts, his anxieties, which emerged like ghosts from the depths of a soul that had always tried to be pure, but which now felt shattered.

The thought of Wei Wuxian tormented him, like a sad song he couldn't stop singing. Every laugh he had, every word whispered between them, every kind gesture he had made towards him… they were still fresh in his memory, but now they were like dust slipping from her fingers. I should never have let you go alone, Wei Ying. Guilt wrapped around him, took his breath away, made him feel heavier than he'd ever felt. 

The thought of Jin Guangyao, him calm face, his lying smile that had crept into every corner of the Lans' lives, cut his breath. How could he have been so blind? How could he not have seen that the man he had allowed to get so close had been the cause of everything? Betrayal had never just been about lies, it was about broken trust, destroyed dreams. Lan Wangji stopped for a moment, his hands tightened around the sheath of his sword, but he didn't feel the metal that usually reassured him. Instead, he felt only the constant pressure of doing the right thing, of saving what seemed irretrievably lost.

The thought of Lan Xichen, his older brother who had always guided him with a firmness that now seemed betrayed, was heartbreaking to him. Every memory of him seemed blurred now, like a painting ruined by time and bad decisions. Why haven't you seen him? Why haven't you stopped? The question tormented him, but he couldn't find an answer. What could he have done, how could he have warned him without everything falling apart?  

Lan Wangji stopped, his breathing quickening, but his body as still as an ice statue, his hands closed tightly around his sword sheath. The fog had grown thicker, as if the whole world was holding its breath. Every step he took seemed to weigh more than the previous one, every breath seemed to echo in the still air that surrounded them. The forest around him was shrouded in tense silence, as if every tree, every leaf was watching what was happening. Moonlight, pale and distant, filtered through the branches, casting long, distorted shadows that stretched across the path.

But it wasn't the physical darkness that made him blind. It was the darkness inside him, the one he couldn't chase away anymore. He had walked that path many times, at many times in his life, but never like this night. The awareness of what was about to happen struck him as an unbearable burden. The path he knew and loved now seemed like a dead-end maze, and every step he took took him further from the past he had always sought to protect.

There, among the trees, just a few steps away from him, was the truth he had tried to ignore for too long. Wei Wuxian. Wei Wuxian, who had always represented freedom, love and loyalty, now became the cause of his downfall. His laughter, his words, every smile that Lan Wangji had so jealously kept in his memory, now became heavy as boulders. Every time she thought about him, about how they lived together, about the hope that everything could be different, her soul broke a little more.

Still, he couldn't stop. Not anymore. 

Baxia roared as it emerged from the sheath, the sound vibrating like thunder ringing through the air, breaking the silence that had enveloped the path. The blade, shining and menacing, reflected the pale light of the day, which now fought against the gray clouds gathering above them. Nie Mingjue clenched his teeth, hands still on the hilt of his sword. Every fiber in his body was tense, blood coursing through his veins like fire, as anger and determination coursed through him in every breath. He had made a decision, one he would never regret.

Beside him, Lan Wangji didn't move, but his presence was immense, solid, like a mountain that never gives way to the wind. His gaze, cold and impassive, was aimed at Jin Zixun and Su She, but there was something more behind that calm, something that shone through his eyes. A hidden pain, a weight that would never be released, but which in that moment no longer mattered. He was ready too.

“We can't let him do harm anymore,” Nie Mingjue said, his voice hoarse but resolute.

Lan Wangji didn't respond, but the simple fact that his sword was drawn, that his stance was perfect, spoke a thousand words. The only sound he could hear now was his heartbeat, the sound of his own breathing getting louder with every step they took. The step of the fighter who knows that nothing matters except the task in front of him. And in front of them there was only justice to be done, a justice that burned like the fire that consumed the soul.

The clouds above them piled up, hiding the sky and blocking the sunlight, as if the whole world also wanted to witness the weight of the decision they were about to make. The forest around them was silent, as if every tree was holding its breath, as if all of nature had paused to observe that moment of inevitability. Every breath, every heartbeat seemed inadequate given the gravity of the situation. Nie Mingjue, his face framed by black hair that seemed to absorb the surrounding light, felt his mind go blank, but not in a sense of confusion. No, it was empty of anything but duty. The mission. The reason was clear, there was no room for doubt. Jin Zixun and Su She had chosen their path, that of lies, of betrayal, and now would be the time to stop them. 

Nie Mingjue's gaze shifted to Lan Wangji for a moment. There was something about his silence, a constancy that he had never had the pleasure of understanding until now. His apparent calm was not indifference, but a well-considered choice, a decision that went beyond any emotion, a decision that spoke only of what needed to be done. A respect that he, as far as he could understand it, would never have achieved.

At that moment, Nie Mingjue saw Lan Wangji as if he were an almost divine figure, as implacable as the sword he held. His mind went back a few years, when he had looked with the same serene expression at that young disciple of the Lan Sect who had saved his life, who had always appeared intransigent, as if nothing could shake him. But now, more than then, she understood the true weight of his dedication. It wasn't a burden of revenge, it wasn't a burden of hate. It was the weight of a heart that, despite being capable of deep feelings, knew that justice could not yield to compassion. And so, together with him, he got ready.  

The silence was charged, suspended in the heavy air like the prelude to a storm. The clouds above them were gathering more and more, like a dark veil that threatened to swallow up all hope. Jin Zixun, with his usual arrogance, turned around quickly, but the fatuous smile that until then had distorted his face immediately died out, torn away by the vision of what was unfolding before him. Lan Wangji and Nie Mingjue didn't need words. There was no room for anything other than the determination burning in their hearts, the same flame reflected in their eyes. A cold and calm fire, but inexorable. Su She, who was behind Jin Zixun, cringed, almost sensing the imminent defeat, the weight of his choices which now imprisoned him in a trap with no way out. He didn't move, knowing that, this time, their cunning would not be enough. Their trap was a distant echo now.

Lan Wangji took a step forward, the earth beneath his feet seeming to respond to his movement, almost in silent acknowledgment of his inner strength. Every fiber of his body was concentrated on the moment that was about to happen, while his breathing, slow and controlled, mixed with the air saturated with tension. The energy he released, that apparent calm, was nothing more than a reflection of a will that could not bend, could not be stopped. His sword shone under the light that filtered through the clouds, and in that reflection there was all his determination, his commitment to protect, to stop that madness before it once again destroyed everything he loved.

In the blink of an eye, the first movement: Lan Wangji's sword cut the air with an inhuman grace, fluid as water sliding between rocks, yet full of a power that could have broken even the hardest rock. His blade grazed the wind, and as his movement came to fruition, Nie Mingjue at his side roared with Baxia. His saber seemed alive, hungry for blood, ready to claim its justice. A blow that could have torn the sky apart, an unstoppable force hurling itself against the darkness.

No mercy, no hesitation. The sound of blades clashing against the air, the sound of battle ringing out like a sentence. It was too late for regret, too late for words. Action alone would speak now, and that would be the only truth that mattered.

Jin Zixun's hands trembled imperceptibly, but not enough to stop him. Su She, next to him, took a step back, but could not avoid the inevitable. Lan Wangji and Nie Mingjue were an unstoppable fury, a storm of righteousness that had nothing left to lose.

The air grew denser, as if the entire universe was holding its breath, watching. Then, contact. Lan Wangji's sword found its target with pinpoint precision, the blow no one could parry. Baxia, with a wild cry, completed his role in the deadly dance, his blade sweeping like thunder ripping through the night. The sky above them, gray and overwhelming, seemed to share the intensity of that moment. The wind, which had brought with it the fog, now became stronger, as if it was trying to suffocate the pain that consumed the soul of those who fought. Every movement, every blow, seemed to reflect the implacability of a destiny that now could not be changed.

The end had begun. And while Jin Zixun stood up, stunned, with his face marked by surprise and hatred, Su She, breathless, understood that this time there was no escape. Their trap had been destroyed, and the future would no longer have room for their dreams of victory. 

In the silence before the storm, the world seemed to hold its breath. There was no noise, only the distant echo of the wind stirring in the trees, the same trees that seemed to be watching, in silence, the beginning of a destiny that could not be avoided. Jin Zixun, in his arrogance, did not immediately realize the end was coming. His presence, his dreams of power, seemed insignificant, like dust beneath the weight of the inescapable. Lan Wangji and Nie Mingjue, wrapped in the darkness of that bare landscape, walked like shadows, carrying a weight that no one could understand. Every step they took seemed to mark the air, every breath filled with an intensity that linked them to something ancient, eternal. The earth under their feet had no mercy, but it was part of them, like the blood that flowed in their veins, like the pain that grew inside them.

Lan Wangji's blade, it was as if the sky itself had sighed, a deep breath, like an animal ready to unleash. His sword shimmered for an instant, like a reflection of light breaking through the mist, but its intensity was not of this earth. It was the wish to stop the suffering, the pain that had accumulated over the years. It wasn't just the protection of a friend, of a comrade. It was the need to stop something that had invaded their life, an evil that could no longer go unnoticed.

Nie Mingjue's hands tightened on Baxia, the metal that had known his heart and his vengeance. The saber was more than just a weapon. It was an extension of himself, his anger and his suffering. His breathing was heavy, his chest rising and falling like a regular heartbeat that counteracted his tormented spirit. He was ready. Yet, there was something different in his gaze, something he had never seen before: a surrender, an awareness that this battle, more than any other, would be the one that would change him.

The wind grew stronger, the dark clouds above them seemed to bring down the sky in an impending rain. But there was a light filtering through, faint but determined. As a sign that even in the deepest darkness, something pure could still be found. Lan Wangji's sword moved, fluid as water sliding between rocks, the blow that was the only right one at that moment. And Nie Mingjue, with Baxia, followed, his movement a trail of fire that traced the path to redemption, to justice.

When the shot reached its destination, the earth shook. Not a simple impact, but a shock that seemed to reach the roots of life itself. Every fiber of Jin Zixun's body trembled, but not from fear of pain. It was a tremor that came from deep inside, as if something inside him had broken forever. It wasn't just his body that gave in, but also his soul, condemned to die the moment he decided to betray. 

Blades met flesh and flesh met fate. The blood was not a river. It was a silent drop, which slipped like a lost memory. Jin Zixun's face, for an instant, showed nothingness, as if everything he had built was vanishing before his eyes. The disbelief, the arrogance that had always accompanied him, was now nothing, meant nothing. 

In the heart of that moment, when the world seemed to have stopped, Lan Wangji and Nie Mingjue's blades crossed in the void with the speed of a thought, like stars crashing into the darkness. Their sharp steel met not only flesh, but the essence of a life that was fading, that was losing its hold on something tangible, on something true. The swords didn't just cut through flesh, but crossed an invisible border, tracing a destiny written long ago, but which no one had ever dared to see until that moment.

And when the blood finally slipped from Jin Zixun's flesh, it was not like a raging, raging river, but like a drop sliding slowly and inexorably, a single tear lost in the vast ocean of time. That drop was silent, like a memory that vanishes in the wind, leaving behind an imprint that no one could ever fill again. There was no drama in that gesture, no final fight. Only the end of a man who had thought he was immortal, who had believed his actions would never have a price. But now, his body, marked by the blade, was nothing more than an empty container, a shell that no longer contained anything except the weight of its own failure.

Jin Zixun, his face carved in disbelief, seemed to have seen his own end the moment the blow reached him. His eyes widened, and for a moment, his face reflected nothingness – a void that belonged to no one else. Every mask he had built for himself, every facade of arrogance, of power, dissolved like dust carried away by the wind. There was nothing left, nothing that remained of him, not even a memory that could anchor him to the world he had tried to dominate. His existence, which he had tried to sculpt with violence and ambition, vanished before his eyes, and he, helpless, could do nothing to stop it.

It was the moment when his arrogance revealed himself to be his greatest illusion. He had always thought that power was something concrete, that bonds were chains that could be broken by force. But now, in his last moment, he understood that true power lay not in the hands, but in the heart. A heart that, in his case, had been empty, dry, incapable of understanding the strength of what cannot be seen, of what cannot be conquered.

The blades didn't stop right away. Every movement of Lan Wangji and Nie Mingjue seemed to extend into an endless world, as if time itself was trying to give itself a reason. But when the blow reached its endpoint, the world went silent. The blood that flowed did not have the force of a river in flood, but the delicacy of a leaf falling to the ground, every drop of red lost in the surrounding darkness. Like the memory of a pain that could no longer be contained.

Jin Zixun's face, now devoid of any trace of life, reflected an abyss in which the man was no longer there, except as a vanishing shadow. His disbelief was the same that had pervaded his eyes every time he saw his enemies bend before his will, but now, in turn, he was bent, his soul nailed to nothingness, with no escape. The fate he had tried to ignore had finally caught up with him, and now that it was all over, there was nothing left to do but accept that his existence meant nothing, that his story would dissolve with the same fate. speed at which the light goes out in the dark.

The sound of that drop hitting the ground was a distant call, like a chime that marked the end of a dynasty, the end of a dream. There was no glory in that sound, only the echo of a lost path, of a life that was extinguished without leaving a trace other than the memory of the harm it had caused. His death, neither celebrated nor mourned, but experienced as a shadow that will dissolve with the passage of time, seemed to be the only thing that remained.  Yet, in that void, there was also another breath, that of Lan Wangji and Nie Mingjue, who, in silence, were watching. It was not a victory. It was not even justice. It was just the end of a possibility, the conclusion of a journey that should never have been started. The world around them remained suspended, the clouds above their heads like a gray mirror that reflected a reality that could no longer be changed. The blood that had soaked the land now became part of that land itself, a sacrifice that no one could ever fully understand. 

In the heart of Jīnlín Tái, time seemed to pass with an almost palpable slowness, as if every second was suspended in a held breath, waiting for something inevitable to happen. Little Jin Ling's hundred day celebration was in full swing: an event that brought with it joy and hope, but there was something different in the air, a shadow that hovered among the laughter and whispered conversations.

The lanterns suspended in the trees moved lightly in the wind, casting dancing shadows on the stone walls, as if they wanted to tell ancient stories, stories that no one would ever have the courage to listen to. The celebration, with its colors and sounds, seemed too bright to be true, like a scene that was about to be swallowed up by something bigger, darker. The smell of the dishes that were served was rich and enveloping, but to those who paid attention, its aroma seemed to overshadow another, more subtle smell that crept into the air; the metal of blood. A whisper of destiny that had not yet found a voice, but that everyone could hear, like an imperceptible vibration in the ground beneath their feet. Lan Xichen, dressed in his most elaborate clothes, moved among the guests with a serene face but with a growing feeling that he couldn't calm down. He felt something was wrong, something in the air, a distortion he couldn't decipher. His eyes slid nervously towards the door, as if a distant shadow was calling him, but no words escaped his lips, no gesture betrayed his restlessness. His mind, usually clear and reflective, was now trapped in a whirlwind of thoughts, a veil of premonitions that enveloped him mercilessly. 

With every step he took, the uncertainty grew, as if the earth itself, beneath him, wanted to move and reveal to him the truth that he was not yet ready to know. Little Jin Ling, playing in his mother's arms, seemed like a symbol of hope, a beacon of light amid the gathering darkness, but even he, somehow, couldn't shake that feeling of threat, as if his innocence was about to be tainted. 

Jin Zixuan walked beside him, talking about little Jin Ling's future exploits, but his words didn't seem to reach Lan Xichen's heart. Each sentence sounded distant, as if it were a distant echo of something yet to happen. Yet, beneath the surface of that celebration, a deeper current seemed to flow, invisible, but powerful. Lan Xichen couldn't help but feel like something was about to break. It was not a simple premonition, but a physical sensation, as if the very air was changing, preparing for something that no one could stop.

A sound, faint but penetrating, came from afar, almost imperceptible, yet capable of making the soul freeze. His mind registered the noise, but he could not decipher it. It was like a wind that you can't see but that shakes the trees, a vibration deep in the ground that speaks of something that can't be stopped. Lan Xichen closed his eyes for a moment, letting that sense of uneasiness fill him, but when he opened them again, the feeling hadn't gone away. Indeed, it seemed to have taken root in his chest, like a flame that did not want to be extinguished.

Lan Xichen, felt something was about to happen, but couldn't decipher it. It was like a small, whispering warning growing in the deepest corner of his mind, but which no words could express. The festiveness of the celebration seemed like an intruder in a place that was already preparing its funeral, silent and invisible. It was as if, somewhere far away, fate had pulled the strings of another story, one that would involve them without their ever having control over it. Then, just as the sound of crystalline laughter rose among the guests, the earth shook slightly. A small shake, which stopped the conversations for an instant, which made the light fall on the perplexed faces. It was all so fleeting, so elusive, but enough to make that feeling of imminent danger grow, as if a veil was lifting, but no one was ready to see what was behind it.

Lan Xichen stopped his pace, his eyes fixed on a distant point, as if he saw something that others couldn't even imagine. His hand tightened imperceptibly on the sword at his side, but the gesture was quick, like a reaction to a wave that threatened to submerge him. In his eyes shone the awareness that something had changed, but that no one, not even him, could stop. 

And at that moment, in everyone's hearts, there reigned a silence that could no longer be ignored. It was not a silence that promised peace, but one that preludes the storm, a void that waited, immobile and inexorable, to be filled by an explosion that would leave no room for questions or regrets. There was no longer any sound that could distract attention from that creeping sensation, like a shadow growing in silence, making every fiber of the body tremble. Each heartbeat seemed to slow down, as if even time had hesitated to move forward, to reveal what was destined to happen.

It was a heavy silence, filled with an intensity that crushed all hope. Not the silence of stillness, but that of imminent revelation, of the boundary that was about to be crossed. The laughter, the voices, the smiles - everything had vanished in an instant, as if the whole world had been swallowed up by that feeling that was creeping into my lungs, into my soul, with a force that didn't ask for permission. The party, which until recently was a flowering of colors and sounds, now seemed like an illusion, a fragile veil that hid a reality too raw to be revealed.

The light of the lanterns trembled as if it had been touched by a cold breeze, yet there was no wind in the air. It was as if the fire itself was flickering, as if it sensed that its own heat was about to be snuffed out by something no one dared to look at. The contours of the room, the faces, the figures, blended together in an indistinct shadow. And the earth beneath them, the one they had walked on for days and days, seemed to groan, struggling against a destiny that could no longer be ignored. Every step they took now felt heavy, as if the very surface could no longer support the weight of their souls.

The promise of change was in the air, subtle, but powerful. A change that could not have been stopped, that would have shown no mercy. There was no room for comfort, there was no more room for words of hope. The farce of the celebration, which seemed to envelop everything in a bubble of happiness and light, was about to crash against the wall of reality that was emerging. That party was nothing more than a mask that was now about to be lifted, revealing a truth too big, too overwhelming to accept. 

Fate, like a tight rope, was slowly, inexorably breaking. Every movement, every breath felt like a step towards a catastrophe that no one could stop. It was as if the whole universe, in all its vastness, was holding its breath, waiting for something to collapse. The fragile balance of that scene was shattering, and with it, the illusion that nothing could touch them anymore. The light of the lanterns trembled as if it were itself aware that its time was about to end, that the heat it emitted would no longer be able to warm anything. 

The earth groaned under the weight of an omen that no one, at that moment, could fully understand. Every blade of grass that brushed the ground seemed to whisper, as if aware of the change that was about to happen, of the fragile boundary that was about to be broken. The world did not tremble evidently, but deep down, where no eye could have seen, the pain settled like a root that stretched out in silence, breaking all resistance. There was no sound. Just the echo of a held breath, the beat of a heart that knew everything was about to change, and that there was nothing that could be done to stop it.

Every fiber of existence, even the most minute, seemed forced to give way under the growing pressure, but no one could see the enormity of the weight they were bearing. The wind was picking up, but it wasn't the wind everyone knew, it wasn't the breath of an approaching storm. It was something deeper, more ancient. A wind without sound, a wind that did not scream, but that meandered through the air like an invisible and all-pervading presence. He didn't need noise to be heard; his strength lay in his silence. It was the quiet before the final scream, the calm before the madness, the peace that conceals the chaos.

And in that silence, more powerful than any scream, more unbearable than any scream, the world seemed to breathe, but not in the way they knew it. It was as if the earth itself was breathing out its last breath of life, preparing its last breath, as if it were ready to shed a burden too great to bear. Everything seemed to lose its meaning, dissolve into dust, be forgotten, waiting for something that would come and that no one could stop. The wind became stronger and stronger, more and more impetuous, but it was not a wind of destruction. It was a wind of revelation, of expiation. The world was about to reveal its deepest truth, and no one could have avoided it.

Amid this surreal quiet, something inside Lan Xichen broke. An image made its way into his mind, like a fragment that couldn't be ignored. A vision, clear and devastating, that made him breathless. Jin Guangyao, stained with blood, his face distorted into a smile that had nothing human about it. A smile that seemed to slip away from him like a demon's mask dissolving into the darkness. But the image did not fade. It stared before his eyes, motionless, like a destiny that was waiting for him. The blood, which was no longer red but dark and insidious, flowed onto his hands, yet he smiled, as if everything was under his control, as if he had always been the one operating the invisible thread that tied everything together. A smile that didn't mean joy, but triumph, a victory that should never have happened.

Lan Xichen closed his eyes, but the image remained. The wind continued to rise, stronger and stronger, as if the world itself was responding to his vision, as if the breath of the whole earth had been held waiting for a truth that, at that point, could no longer be hidden. The earth groaned, but it was the earth of a world that was about to collapse, that no longer had time, no longer had any escape. 

Chapter Text

"Oh, my reputation's kinda clouded with dirt"

The tense quiet was suddenly broken when a scream broke from outside, tearing the curtain of calm that had enveloped the room. It was a sharp sound, distorted by fear, that cut like a blade through the air, making every soul present jump. Murmurs rose, like leaves rustling in the wind, as the guests exchanged confused and alarmed looks. The conversation that had been going on calmly until a few seconds ago was abruptly interrupted, the words dispersing in the air without being completed.

A gust of icy wind penetrated through the half-open doors, bringing with it something dark. It wasn't just the freshness of the air; it was a feeling of threat that crept into everyone's bones, like a premonition that no one dared mention. Each person seemed to breathe more slowly, as if the world itself was holding its breath waiting for something inevitable. The pounding of those footsteps outside the door, echoing like a drum, seemed to accompany the beating of Lan Xichen's heart, which was now bouncing against the walls of his chest with an increasingly frenetic rhythm.

In the middle of the room, Lan Xichen remained almost motionless, at the center of a conversation that he could no longer follow. The words of others, once so familiar, now seemed distant, confused, like voices from another world. Every sound was distorted, overlaid by the growing tension that tightened in his throat. He turned slowly toward the doors, his face blank, as if the rest of the world had ceased to exist. His breathing became heavier, yet his hands shook imperceptibly. He felt a strange energy, as if something large and uncontrollable was about to happen.

His heart, which had once been beating regularly, was now pounding out of control, as if trying to escape his body. Every heartbeat, every breath felt like a step closer to catastrophe, and yet he couldn't stop. The awareness that something was happening paralyzed him, but he couldn't place it. He couldn't figure out what it was, but something in his heart told him it would be something he could never forget. A cold, empty feeling, like the chill of a grave, spread through his muscles, making his skin burn. The thought that something irreparable was about to happen was consuming him from the inside. Voices rose, but Lan Xichen no longer listened to them. His gaze was fixed on the doors. Every step that approached, every external movement that he perceived, increased his state of anxiety. What was happening outside? He couldn't look away, as if that small, invisible thread that tied him to reality was breaking.

And then, when everything seemed frozen in the air, the intrusion occurred. The door opened with a crack, like a gust of wind overwhelming everything in its path. In that moment, as if time itself had decided to stop, Lan Xichen saw what he had never wanted to see.

In the corridor, beyond the large wooden doors, three figures appeared, and with them a feeling of inevitability. The first to be noticed was Nie Mingjue, his step determined and heavy like the beat of a drum shaking the floor. His presence filled the entryway, almost as if he brought with him a wave of darkness. Behind him, Lan Qiren's austere face seemed almost invisible, absorbed by the heaviness of the atmosphere. But what really caught everyone's attention was the following figure: Jin Guangyao.

Jin Guangyao's hands were tied behind his back, his pale skin taut as if every fiber of his body had been forced to respond to the humiliation of his imprisonment. The chains, thin but incredibly strong, clanged every time he moved, like the sound of a taut rope ready to snap. Yet, despite that condition, despite the evident humiliation that marked him, Jin Guangyao did not seem to be a reduced man. His face, though lined, held a mocking, almost superior smile, a smile that was more than a challenge, it was a shadow of something that couldn't be touched. It was as if his dignity had been forged not in victory, but in suffering, and every step he took was like a tangible sign of that inner resistance that made him disturbing once again.

Behind Jin Guangyao, like a mountain that never wavers, is Nie Mingjue. His presence is as imposing as it is glacial, a contrast that makes every step even heavier, every breath more full of meaning. He walks with an eerie serenity, as if everything is exactly as it should be, as if fate itself is bending under the weight of his will. There is not a hint of hesitation, neither in his eyes nor in his movements. Every step is calibrated, measured, like the march of a leader who has never known doubt, who has never wavered before the justice he has decided to pursue. His figure is a lighthouse that sweeps away all hope, a figure that at that moment seems above everything and everyone. There is nothing soft about his bearing: the tense face, the clenched jaw, the hard and sculpted features like those of a marble statue that refuses to move. His eyes, dark as coal, are cold, merciless, like an ice field where nothing can grow, where nothing can warm. His shadow seems to stretch over every corner of the pavilion, yet it is not a presence that threatens, it is a presence that imposes, that nullifies all resistance.

His every action is accompanied by an air of inevitability. The light of the lanterns reflects on his figure as if on a block of stone that refuses to be scratched, while his silent march towards the center of the room breaks any resistance in the air. Its command star, bright and impossible to ignore, illuminates every corner, making the rest of the room seem insignificant, unimportant. It is he who dictates the laws, he who commands the scene, and whoever finds himself in front of him must submit to this inexorable truth.

When he enters, his presence is like frost that cuts the air, like an endless winter that freezes every word, every thought, every breath. The sound of his steps is the only noise that makes its way through the waves of silence that follow him, marking a rhythm that seems to be the very heartbeat of the world that is about to fold. Yet, despite his power, there is a perfect calm in his eyes, a calm that he never gives himself to anyone else, an absolute control that does not allow compromises. He's not just a walking man. He is judge and executioner, and all eyes are on him, unable to look away from his authority. When he stops next to Jin Guangyao, with his gaze betraying neither compassion nor mercy, it is as if the whole world is holding its breath, waiting for him to pronounce his sentence. 

The scene in front of Lan Xichen fell apart. The world seemed to lose its meaning as his breath failed him and his heart pounded in his chest. Every beat was like a blow that tore something inside him. His gaze stopped on Jin Guangyao, the face of his past, his shadow, his obsession. His body seemed to grow old all at once, an eternity of bad choices and submission to a truth he had always refused to see.

"a-yao..." He whispered his name as if it were the only thing he could say, as if that word were the only lifeline he had left, even as his heart screamed in dissonance. His voice was weak, broken, as if he were trying to grasp something invisible.  Lan Qiren stood there, at Jin Guangyao's left side, in the center of a storm of emotions that threatened to overwhelm him. The hands, stiff as the wood of a dry tree, clenched into a fist. His fingers, trembling from the weight of the pain, twitched slightly, while his gaze fixed on Jin Guangyao did not stray even for an instant. What he felt was not just the chill of hatred, but the burning sensation of having lost something too great to recover. That elegant and ruthless figure, who now stood in front of him, was the cause of everything, and yet, it was him, the man he had let slip into the heart of his family, like a parasite growing in the dark, disguised as a son, as a friend.

"I should never have let him in," Lan Qiren thought, his heart beating faster and faster, as if it wanted to explode. The image of Jin Guangyao loomed before him, but it wasn't just the body he saw; he saw in his eyes, cold and calculating, that with their promises he had stolen Lan Xichen's innocence. That damned mask that Jin Guangyao had worn for years was a trap, and Lan Qiren felt like the hunter who, in turn, had been trapped by his own mistake.

His heart broke, but there was no room for despair. not yet The sight of Lan Xichen, his nephew who he had loved and protected like a son, made him sink into an abyss of frustration. Lan Xichen couldn't see the truth. His eyes, once so bright and full of clarity, now seemed clouded, distorted by the thin fog that Jin Guangyao had created. There was a sweetness emanating from Jin Guangyao's words, a sound that mixed with the rustling of silk, like an enchanting melody that blinded Lan Xichen to reality. "Blind... blind like never before," Lan Qiren thought, his soul swollen with bitterness. The idea that his nephew had become so vulnerable under the influence of that traitor made him seethe inside.

Lan Qiren watched Lan Xichen's face, his face distorted with confusion, his eyes unable to comprehend the world that was collapsing around him. “How can you be so blind?” it was a question that forced itself on him with the same force as a blow to the chest. “How could you let him envelop you, take every corner of your mind and heart, until it reduced you to this?” Lan Qiren's anger was a raging fire, but it was also stifled by desperation. Lan Xichen's every movement, every word that came out of him, hit him like a sharp blade. It was so clear, yet Lan Xichen couldn't see it. Trust, which was supposed to be a stainless foundation between them, had now become his golden prison.

Lan Qiren looked at him with a shattered heart, as if the truth he finally saw was a chasm that was swallowing everything, including him. He, who had spent his entire life trying to protect Lan Xichen from all harm, now found himself helpless. He could no longer defend him from the monster he had become beside him. Lan Qiren stared at Jin Guangyao, his face perfect, but with eyes that betrayed a depth of malice. And that smile, that smile that always seemed so affectionate, so innocent, but was now the symbol of betrayal. "You are the guilty one. It is you who destroyed him, who made him bend under the weight of this madness. It is you who made him what he is." Lan Qiren's anger grew, yet remained controlled, buried beneath a layer of decorum he could no longer sustain.

You stole my family from me. And there's nothing i can do to stop you. Nothing. Lan Qiren was devastated, yet there was no room for remorse. There was no room for pity. The knowledge that his nephew was about to lose everything that made him pure, his heart collapsing under the weight of guilt, made him even more incapable of moving. He looked at Lan Xichen, but there was nothing left he could say. The nephew he had raised, protected, was now just a distant memory. The end had come.  

Lan Xichen trembled, and it was no ordinary tremor, but a wave of cold that penetrated his bones and took his breath away. It was a deep tremor, hidden in the shadows of his heart, creeping through every fiber of his being. The eyes, usually clear and serene like placid waters, were now clouded by dark clouds. A fire burned behind them, blind and incandescent, consuming every certainty, every fragment of reality he had cherished his entire life. Yet, in that fire, there was no pain; there was only the need, a silent scream that asked to be answered.

The sword. Only the blade. He needed to hold him, to grasp he like a ring that anchored him to what was left of himself. With hands that no longer looked like his own, pale as the ghosts that surrounded him, he approached the scabbard. Every movement seemed to belong to another person, as if his hands were moved by a destiny that he could not escape. The sound of metal peeling away from the case echoed through the air, but inside his head it became the tolling of a death knell, a sign of what was already lost. Every screech of the blade sliding out of its refuge was a wound, a tear shed in the silence of his spirit. Yet when the tip of the sword emerged, shining in the dim light, Lan Xichen found no comfort, only the piercing cold of the metal. As if he had unsheathed a part of himself, buried in a grave that he had dug himself. The blade was pure, beautiful, and yet there was a stain within it, a stain that could not be washed away. It was the stain of all lost dreams, of all betrayed truths, of a love that would never see the light again. His hand shook, but he didn't let go of the sword. He couldn't do it.  

The metal was cold, yes, but his palm was heating up, as if the sword itself was consuming him. And that growing sensation of heat, the one he had never experienced, made him feel as if he was losing control, as if the pain was taking possession of him, a pain that he could no longer stem. The sword was all he had left, his only connection to a crumbling world. “Jin Guangyao… he is innocent.” Lan Xichen's voice was nothing more than a whisper, but inside his mind it echoed like a thunder. The words were not just words, they were a mantra, a desperate plea, a cry into the darkness. He tried to convince himself, but the doubt devoured him. Because he saw it, he saw it clearly in front of him. The face he loved, that he had loved, covered in a mask of pain and fake tears. Yet, in that moment, the whole world bent around that figure. There was nothing false in his eyes. There was only the truth, and that truth was that Jin Guangyao had never cheated. He had never betrayed on him. “He's not guilty. It's not..."

Lan Xichen repeated the words, but each time he spoke them, the sound became fainter, more distant, as if the truth eluded him with every breath. His heart accelerated, tightened into a knot impossible to untie. Every heartbeat was like a hammer hitting, like thunder shaking the foundations of his existence. Breathing became short, labored, as if the very air was disappearing. But he kept staring at Jin Guangyao. She saw him there, at the center of everything, at the center of her world, and her heart swelled with a love she no longer knew what to call, a love that now became her sole purpose.

"You don't get it. You don't get it! " The voice escaped him, loud and heartbreaking, yet he couldn't stop. Every word that came out of his mouth felt like another piece of himself flying away, vanishing into the air. But he continued to scream, as if, only with his words, he could stop the world from collapsing on him. He could not breathe. He couldn't think. There was only the sword, and the necessity to defend him. 

Every step he took towards Jin Guangyao brought him closer to the abyss, but he didn't stop. The sword's blade shone like a beacon of light in the dark, ready to protect, ready to destroy. The truth was becoming distant, yet Lan Xichen didn't want to see it. He didn't want to see the end of it all. He had to believe in something, he had to believe in Jin Guangyao, because if it wasn't so, if that hope was gone, everything would be over. Yet, inside him, a part of Lan Xichen hoped, hoped against all evidence that Jin Guangyao was not truly guilty.  

"I won't let you touch him" The words were serious, yet they sounded like a promise, a vow that he would never be able to honor now. The sword trembled in his hand, but he did not release it. The sword was his defense, his only reason to exist. But as he held it, he felt like he was losing everything. The pain he felt had no name anymore. It was just a scream echoing in the void. "It's all your fault!" Lan Xichen screamed, his voice breaking with crying that he couldn't stop. The sword he held trembled as his body swayed like a tree in a hurricane. "You offended him, mistreated him... and it's all your fault, you are the real culprits!" The words slipped out like poison, hitting anyone who dared to hear them, shaking every fiber of their being. Lan Xichen turned with the speed of a demon, pointing his blade towards Nie Mingjue, towards Lan Qiren, towards everyone, as if he could destroy every single part of the world that had betrayed him. "You are monsters! Blind people! You are the real monsters, not him! You understand nothing! Nothing!"

The blade shone in his hand like a shooting star, but his spirit was collapsing. He was no longer the man they had known. He was no longer Lan Xichen. He had become a fury, a beast defending the only thing he had left: Jin Guangyao, the only one who had welcomed him, who had fed him with promises and sweet words, the only one who had given him something to hold onto strict. At that moment, Jin Guangyao was no longer a man, he was an angel. He was a God. Lan Xichen's mind saw him like this, without distortion, without doubt.  "I will defend him with every fiber of my body!" Lan Xichen screamed, as his sword rose, like a fallen angel ready to avenge his Lord. He turned, madly, his sword straight at every person around him.

And it was at that moment that Lan Qiren, his uncle, the wise old Lan Qiren, faced him with those eyes that had seen everything. Those eyes that had once loved and protected him like a son. But now there was no more love, only the weight of judgment. Lan Qiren stared at him, his eyes steady like the judgment of a deity that could not be deflected.

"Stop, Xichen." Lan Qiren's words were cold, unforgiving. But, to Lan Xichen, they sounded like a blow to the heart, the sound of a heart that could no longer beat. "Stop? Stop what?!" Lan Xichen screamed, his voice filled with contempt, his sword now pointed at him. "Stop what, shufu? Defending the thing I love most in the world? Defending an innocent?! No, I won't! I won't let you destroy him, not even if I have to sacrifice everything, not even if I have to destroy you!"   His fury no longer had any boundaries. The sword in his hand, the sword that once was a symbol of justice, was now his judgment. "Why don't you understand?! You betrayed him, all of you!" Every word that came out of his mouth was a knife, every breath was agony.

Lan Qiren approached, without fear, but his eyes were no longer those of an uncle trying to protect his nephew. They were the eyes of someone who could see the abyss. "You are blind, Xichen. He manipulated you, and you allowed it. You allowed it, with every smile, with every sweet word. You have become his puppet."

"Enough!" Lan Xichen exploded, screaming as if he wanted to tear away those words, as if he wanted to tear apart the truth that he couldn't bear. "You don't understand anything! You're just a stupid old man!!" Lan Qiren didn't move, his face implacable, but his words cut the air like a knife. "You've lost control, Xichen."

Lan Xichen's laughter was not a laugh, but a piercing scream that exploded in the room, as if the entire world was crumbling under the weight of his despair. A dry sound, which penetrated the bones and pierced the soul. There was no joy, no liberation, only the echo of unspeakable suffering. Every laugh was a blow to the heart, every breath was a suffocating unshed tear, every vibration of his body was a torture that he could no longer bear. His tears were not tears of pain; they were the sign of an internal disintegration, of the collapse of every certainty, of every hope he had believed he had. They fell on his cheeks like the tears of a man who had seen the face of hell and was now, finally, letting himself go.

Each single tear was a betrayal. He didn't cry for the loss, he didn't cry for the deception. He cried at the helplessness that was consuming him. He cried because everything he had tried to build, every vision of justice, every sacrifice, had shattered in the face of that reality that was shouted in his face with unbearable cruelty. There was no more dignity. There was no more revenge. Only the bitter realization that his entire being had been reduced to dust.

“you…” His voice was broken, a crack that widened and deepened with each word, “You…what did you think you were doing? What did you think you were getting, shufu?” Every syllable was a blow to the heart, a blade that wounded him from the inside. “Did you think you could save me? To make me believe that everything was right? You're just another bastard, just like everyone else!”  He couldn’t stop. His hands shook as they gripped the sword, but his grip was firm. The armor of pain he had built shattered every time he spoke, every time that laughter, now incomplete, escaped his lips. The sword came out of the sheath with a sharp sound, like a last breath dying in the air, yet there was something so familiar in that sound, as if every single blow he had inflicted on himself was now contained in that blade . 

With a convulsive motion, the sword tip turned towards Lan Qiren. There was no reason left in him, only a blind fury, a fury that was dragging him away from any point of safety. There was nothing clear in his eyes, nothing comprehensible. The sword trembled in his hands, yet there was a certainty in his madness: he had to protect Jin Guangyao, no matter what the cost. He had to defend it, now that everything else had been destroyed. “Come get me, you bastard. You're too weak to stop me!” His words were pure poison, yet deep down he knew that every word was breaking him, was destroying him.

"You're just a blind old man!" The last word came out like a hollow shot, but at the same time, it was the hardest blow. "An old man who never understood anything about me, who I am, what I have become! You saw evil in every corner, but you never saw what was inside me, what I was becoming!" Each sentence was a lament that became more powerful, more ferocious, like a river making its way through the rocks, destroying everything in its path. Lan Xichen no longer saw anything, no longer heard anything. He had lost all sense of reason, yet he felt that anger burning inside him was awakening him, telling him that perhaps, in the end, madness was the only thing that remained.

"But you, you saw everything and understood nothing! You lost yourself in your role as 'right', in your role as 'father', and you never saw who I was, who I am!" His voice trembled as if he were screaming at himself, as if he needed to free himself from the weight of a life that didn't belong to him. His body moved convulsively, as if every part of him wanted to come out, wanted to escape from an unsustainable weight. "You were never my savior, you're just another monster who taught me to become one!"

Lan Xichen stared at him with teary eyes. Tears that were no longer of sympathy or pity. They were tears of surrender, tears of a man who had given up all hope. Yet, when his eyes met his uncle's, anger exploded within him. He could no longer see Lan Qiren as an authority figure. He saw him only as a judge, a false prophet who had condemned him, who had pushed him to become what he now was. "You don't understand!" he screamed wildly, his voice trembling with frustration and delirium. "You don't understand anything about me!" He whirled around, like an animal taken by surprise, a blind fury that no longer knew the line between reality and madness.

And in that moment, when everything seemed to be falling apart, when every word that came out of his mouth seemed like further condemnation, Nie Mingjue looked at him with disdain, a bitter smile painted on his lips. His cynicism hit him like a punch in the gut. “Ridiculous,” he said, with an icy calm. "What a pathetic sight. Xichen, you're just a rag, no more than that."   

Lan Xichen reacted like a wounded animal, his anger now directed towards those who had manipulated him, those who had grabbed him by the throat and made him feel alone. His mind was overwhelmed, the sword trembling in his hand like a broken thread of hope. He approached Nie Mingjue, torn by desperation, and when his words became darker, more cloudy, the air became unbreathable. His mind, stunned by confusion and suffering, trembled under the weight of betrayal, but the sword, like an extension of himself, became the only tool to express that impotent fury. The tip of the sword flew straight to Nie Mingjue's neck, but that gesture, despite its speed, was not the result of an impulse of defense, but of a desperation that attempted to shatter everything. “What makes you think you are better than me?!” Xichen's voice was filled with pain and anger, but also with an unanswered question. A muffled cry that couldn't find its way out.

Nie Mingjue remained motionless, a cynical smile never leaving his face. “Oh, Xichen…” his words came with an icy calm as he stared at the young man with palpable disdain. "Here he is, finally. The great Lan Xichen, all his pride and nobility reduced to this. A man who has lost everything, and now kneels before his own madness." His voice was venomous, every single word spoken with a lethal calm, but with an incredible satisfaction emanating from every syllable. There was no anger in him, there was no emotion, only the pleasure of seeing his rival, his friend, reduced to this. "I've been waiting for you, Xichen. I've been waiting for this day."

The blade grazed Nie Mingjue's skin, but did not come down. He didn't move, he didn't try to defend himself, he didn't try to stop him. Not from fear, but from contempt. Lan Xichen's every movement amused him, amused him in a cruel and cold way. "You are just like him. Another puppet, prisoner of his emotions." His laughter, cold and poisonous, echoed in the room, bouncing off the walls, as sharp as the sword that Xichen no longer knew how to wield. "And you thought you were different. Ridicular." 

Lan Xichen could no longer think straight. Every word that came out of Mingjue's mouth was like a punch to the stomach, and every laugh that made him feel his disdain was a wound he didn't know how to heal. “You don’t understand!” he screamed, his hand shaking more and more, unable to stop the spiral that was sucking him in. "You don't understand what I've done, what I've sacrificed! You can't… you can't understand!" But his words shattered against the wall of reality, the reality that Mingjue was revealing before his eyes. His desperation was growing, his inability to find a way out was suffocating him, and yet, somehow, he couldn't stop.

“Stop it, Xichen,” Mingjue continued, as if it were advice, but his tone was biting, deadly. "It's too late for you." His words cut like sharp blades into Lan Xichen's mind, every single word thrown in his face as if it were a sentence.   Lan Qiren, who had been watching silently, took a step forward. His eyes were cold and harsh, but there was something different about him. A pain he couldn't hide, a disappointment that drowned his voice as he shouted, "Disciples, take ZeWu-Jun and take him away from here!" His voice shattered the air like a sharp blow, but Lan Xichen didn't stop. Instead, his fury increased, his sword still shaking in his hand, slipping out of any semblance of control.

"No!" Lan Xichen screamed, trying to wriggle free, trying to push away whoever was trying to grab him. "You won't take me away! You won't take me away! I won't let you make me go away!" His face was contorted, his hands gripping the sword, as he was forcefully pushed by multiple disciples. His body struggled against them, but his strength was slowly fading. The laughter he had just made had now turned into screams of frustration and pain, with no sense of reason left.

In the chaos of that moment, when the disciples held him back, Nie Mingjue gave him one last contemptuous look, a cruel smile that made his words vibrate, like a blow in the chest. "Ridiculous." The word rang through the air, an ending that burned like a brand, as Lan Xichen was carried away with his head bowed, his face contorted in a mixture of fury and desperation.  

Chapter Text

"I'm begging, I'm begging, I'm begging."

Lan Xichen's world had shrunk to four white walls. The floor, cold as the marble of a tomb, reflected the milky light of an always lit lantern, a merciless illumination that left no room for shade or rest. The isolation enveloped him like a fog, thick and silent, extinguishing every sound except that of his thoughts. Those thoughts... they had once been clear, full of kindness, but now they twisted into knots, like snakes under a stone. He continually reviewed the scene in his mind, like an open wound on which he returned to rest his gaze. The sword in his trembling hand, his breath hitching as he screamed words of anger and betrayal. Nie Mingjue's face, still as rock, with those hard eyes that seemed to pierce him, as if he already knew it would end like this. And then the gaze of his uncle, Lan Qiren, unyielding and severe, but with a spark of disappointment that had pierced him more than the sword aimed at his neck.

Lan Qiren's words were still there, seared into his memory like a fire seal: “You have betrayed your lineage, your family, and yourself. I can't let you continue. You are blind, Lan Xichen, blind to the poison that consumes you. Until you open your eyes this will be your home." Blind. That word rang out like a cruel echo, making him clench his fists until his knuckles turned white. How could it be blind? . Jin Guangyao, despite everything, was the only one who understood him, the only one who had truly tried to protect him, to be a companion, a brother. Why couldn't anyone see it? Why did everyone insist on portraying Jin Guangyao as a monster? Lan Xichen raised his hands to his face - trying to erase those thoughts - but his fingers were shaking. In rare moments of clarity, a deeper voice tormented him; what if they were right? What if the evidence they were accumulating against Jin Guangyao was real? Every time that possibility crept into his mind, a ferocious anger devoured him. He preferred to believe that it was a plot, a machination. He couldn't bear the idea of having loved a lie.  Lan Xichen didn't feel like a prisoner of four walls, but of the entire world. Those cold and implacable walls protected him only from what he would have liked to forget, while everything else - the truth, the lie, the judgment - was there, hanging from the ceiling like a sword ready to fall.

His thoughts intertwined in an infinite spiral, and each time they brought him back there, to that moment, to that sword that trembled in his hand while the world collapsed around him. Nie Mingjue and Lan Qiren. The real executioners. They were the ones destroying everything he had tried to protect. They who, with their prejudices and their cruelty, had decided that Jin Guangyao should be guilty, that he should pay for sins that, he was certain, he had never committed. “It’s a mistake.” He repeated this to himself like a mantra. “They are making a mistake.” And the more he said it, the more that certainty seemed to take root in his heart, like a tree with gnarled and intertwined branches, whose roots sank into his blind faith in Jin Guangyao. He was a just man, a good man. A man who had suffered and struggled to find his place in a world that had always rejected him. A man who had loved him, Lan Xichen, when no other had. 

Yet, deep down, Lan Xichen couldn't believe that this was the case. He couldn't see Jin Guangyao as the monster others wanted him to be. No, Jin Guangyao wasn't the bad guy. He couldn’t be. Every time she thought of him, she saw him as the shadow of a man who had walked too long in the dark, a figure who had learned to lie, to manipulate, to survive in a world that had never given him another choice. "He's different," he repeated to himself, like a mantra he had to protect. “Jin Guangyao is different for me.” But that belief no longer seemed so solid, so unshakable. Doubts clutched him like invisible chains. He had to believe it, he had to continue to believe that everything they said about Jin Guangyao was false. That the man he loved, the man he saw as the savior, was truly so pure, so innocent. Yet, the distortion of reality that was imposed on him every day, the suffocating truth that was forced before his eyes, hurt him in a way he couldn't understand. Lan Xichen's rational mind rebelled against that pain, but his heart, the heart that continued to beat for Jin Guangyao, told him something different. Every time he thought of Jin Guangyao, of him soft voice full of compassion, of the light in him eyes when he looked at him, Lan Xichen's heart ached. How could he not see the suffering behind his facade? How could he ignore his pain, his need to be loved, accepted, finally. Jin Guangyao had been betrayed by life more than he himself could understand. He had been bent, shaped, shaped by a world he had never wanted to see.

“This is how life forms you, Xichen.” Jin Guangyao's voice, almost a whisper, rang in his ears. “We don't choose our destiny. Our destiny chooses us.” Those words, which Lan Xichen had ignored, now obsessed him, tormented him. What did they mean? Perhaps, in a way he never wanted to admit, Jin Guangyao was talking about his own life. Perhaps he too, Lan Xichen, had been forged by a cruel and invisible hand. Maybe he wasn't choosing at all. Every day, Jin Guangyao's face came back to haunt him, that young man's eyes seeming to shine with a light that could never go out. And in each glance, Lan Xichen saw love. A love that could never have lived without sacrificing something of itself. That love that others called illusion was his only lighthouse in the night. A lighthouse that shone only for him, that only he could see. 

Yet, he couldn't escape the weight of the voices that hovered around him. Voices following one another like a waterfall that never stops falling. “Traitor.” “Weak.” “Idiot.” Each word thrown at him like a stone sank deeper and deeper into his heart. The people who once admired him, respected him, now looked at him with disdain. “You are no longer a Lan.” They told them. “You're not even a man.” His reputation, his dignity, were crumbling under the blows of a truth that seemed inviolable. But how could he explain what he saw to them? How could he tell about Jin Guangyao, about what he had learned to read in his eyes, about that truth that was only his? The images of those nights spent together, of those hours stolen from the entire world, returned to his mind with the force of a hurricane. There was no falsehood in that memory. There was no deception, only love. Jin Guangyao had made promises that no one had dared to make, and Lan Xichen, in his heart, knew that they would never be betrayed. 

Lan Xichen walked in the darkness of his mind, enveloped in the thick fog of hatred that was slowly consuming him. Every corner of his mental prison seemed to echo to him the voices that judged him, that denigrated him. And, in the midst of all this, there were them: Lan Qiren and Nie Mingjue. The weight of their disapproval weighed on his conscience like a chain, tearing at his heart that he could not forget. Not yet. Not yet. But there was an abyss growing between them, an abyss made of frustration, of misunderstanding, of betrayal.

Lan Qiren's face imposed itself on him with its usual coldness, her unwavering gaze judging him with a harshness that broke him inside. The old uncle, always so certain of himself, always so convinced that he had the truth in his hands. Lan Xichen still remembered his words, those words that had been instilled in him like poison: “You are no longer a Lan. You are no longer worthy of the name." Those words had burned like fire on his skin, leaving scars that would never heal. He couldn't understand how it was possible that his uncle, the man he once admired more than anyone else, had become so blind, so incapable of seeing the truth.

"You don't understand, Xichen. You really don't understand." Lan Qiren's voice rang in his ear like a condemnation, a reproach that followed him step by step. "Jin Guangyao is a monster. You can't follow him. You can't justify him."

But how could, how dare, Lan Qiren speak like that? He had always tried to impose his vision of the world, his control on every single gesture, on every single word. And now, he accused him of betraying, of betraying the Lan Clan, everything they had built. But who other than Lan Qiren had betrayed the truth for his vision of justice?

Lan Xichen closed his eyes, but couldn't escape Nie Mingjue's face, his impassive gaze that had looked at him with disdain. Cult leader Nie, the man who had never seen anything outside the rigidity of his belief in right and wrong. Lan Xichen hated him for how he had treated him, for how he had tried to break him down, to put him under his heel without ever asking "Why?" Nie Mingjue, the champion of justice, how dare he lay his hand on him, how dare he destroy what he had tried to build with Jin Guangyao? A man without understanding, without compassion, without the slightest perception of what love meant.  On those lonely nights, when the silence was unbearable, Lan Xichen relived memories of Jin Guangyao. Jin Guangyao, who talked to him as if the world was a better place, as if his words could heal the wounds of a wounded soul. Jin Guangyao's eyes shone with a distorted truth, but a truth that he, Lan Xichen, accepted. Because Jin Guangyao spoke of Lan Qiren as a man who had put everything in danger. "He is so tied to his view of the world that he never sees the reality that lies before him, Xichen," he had once told him, her tone venomous but seductive. "He's nothing more than an old man who has lost touch with what really matters."

Then there was Nie Mingjue. Her words about him were harsh, cutting, but there was a sense of justice in the hatred she felt towards the commander. "He is no different. He too is a facade, a mask hiding a heart as hard as stone." Jin Guangyao laughed bitterly as he talked about him, as if he knew him better than he knew himself. “He believes in justice, but he never sees beyond his narrow vision.” Jin Guangyao's every word about Lan Qiren and Nie Mingjue seemed to be engraved in his memory like a brand. He couldn't shake it. Yet the more she thought about those words, the more him heart tightened in a knot of anger. How could they, who had rejected him, be more just than Jin Guangyao? How could they, who had spoken so much about truth and justice, not see the love he had for that young man, the love that he would have to defend at any cost? 

Lan Xichen often got lost in his thoughts, in the shadows of memories that slipped through his fingers like sand. A blurry image tormented him, a scene that he couldn't completely reconstruct, but that he had dreamed of hundreds of times. A child with fever, red skin and burning eyes. It was him. He'd forgotten, or maybe he'd tried to. But the memory, despite his effort, came back to him, stronger each time, accompanied by a sweetness he didn't expect. A gesture that he could not forget: Jin Guangyao, then just a boy, who had approached him with a sweetness that seemed out of place in that chaotic city, in that crowd that would never have stopped to look at a feverish child like him. "I don't want to see you hide anymore," Jin Guangyao had said, in that voice that, for Lan Xichen, sounded as familiar as it was mysterious. He had handed him a rabbit-shaped candy, and the gesture had made him smile, even if he couldn't remember it. He couldn't see the boy's face clearly, but his hand offering him that sweetness, that offer of comfort he didn't ask for and didn't expect, had remained engraved in his mind like a flame. Jin Guangyao was the only one who noticed him, the only one who cared about him.

He didn't remember the scene perfectly, but the sound of Jin Guangyao's words, the warmth of that invisible caress he had received then, tormented him like a recurring dream. Every time he thought about it, a painful lump formed in his throat, a sense of guilt and remorse that he couldn't shake. That simple gesture, that candy, that kindness... they had awakened in him a part of himself that he had wanted to forget, a part that he now hated. But he couldn't. He couldn’t hate him.

Jin Guangyao had reminded him of that unexpected scene, as well as made him see the truth that others refused to recognize. He had seen him, he had saved him from the darkness that threatened to suffocate him when he was a child, and now the same boy, now a man, was raising him from the ashes of his own pain. Yet, no one understood. Lan Qiren looked at him with contempt, Nie Mingjue accused him of betraying the clan, of compromising all that had been built. But they had never seen Jin Guangyao the way he saw him.  He hated them all. He hated them for not knowing. He hated them for not seeing Jin Guangyao as the light he showed him in his darkest moments. “They don't understand,” Lan Xichen thought as he lost himself in his memories. “Nobody understands. Only he really knows who I am.”

Every time Lan Xichen's mind returned to those moments, to the gesture that had affected him more than any other, the weight of hatred towards Lan Qiren and Nie Mingjue grew. They had never shown that kind of kindness. They had never seen beyond the façade of rigidity and honor. Only Jin Guangyao, with his enigmatic smile and calm, understood. And now, while others condemned him, he shielded himself from the truth that could not be revealed, but which he knew he carried within himself as an inviolable secret. "Why don't you understand?" Lan Xichen thought, his heart constricting in his chest. “Why don't you see what I see? Don't you see what Jin Guangyao has been to me?”

Every word Lan Qiren and Nie Mingjue had said about him, every accusation they had made against him, weighed like a stone on his chest. How dare they judge that? How dare they trample on the memory of that caress he had received, that sweetness that he could never forget? It didn't matter that so much time had passed. The memory of that innocent gesture, that rabbit-shaped candy, followed him like a lighthouse in the midst of the storm. Jin Guangyao had seen him, for who he truly was, and no one else had ever done so. And that was enough. It was enough to make him break down all the barriers others were trying to impose. 

Isolation was a boundless desert. The walls of the room seemed to close in on him, and every breath was a muffled echo of a void he couldn't fill. The silence was an enemy, a shadow that enveloped him, and his mind never stopped racing, he never stopped repeating those questions. Why? Why can't they see? Why can they not understand? Lan Xichen, sitting in the center of the room, felt his heart beating in his chest like a crazy drum, the sound pulsing in his ears. His hands trembled slightly, his fingers gripped the edges of his robes with a force that left his palms sore. He didn't even realize it. He didn't realize how much his body was sagging under the weight of pain that couldn't be contained. He had never known how much he depended on Jin Guangyao, how much his presence had become the center of his very existence, until he was ripped away from him. “This can't be true…” His voice was barely a whisper, broken like a string stretched too long. Memories overlapped, overwhelmed him mercilessly. Every laugh, every kind word, every little gesture of comfort that Jin Guangyao had given him now felt like a blade, a wound that never stopped bleeding. “You have always been my greatest ally,” he remembered Jin Guangyao telling him one night, his voice like honey, sweet but with a bitter aftertaste. Lan Xichen had believed every word of it. He needed to believe. Those words had been his refuge, his anchor, in a world that seemed to be made only of suffocating rules and expectations. But now, without him, the world was a void. He was lost. The nights were endless, filled only with the sound of his own breathing and the memories he couldn't turn off. And those memories, those moments that had kept him afloat, were now sunk.

An image made its way into his mind, violent like an open wound. The rabbit candy. The image of the boy who had extended that sweetness to him, so simple, so genuine. Jin Guangyao had reminded him of that gesture, had given it back to him, as if it were the common thread of an entire life. And now, how could she doubt him? How could he not believe that this boy was the same person who had saved him, again and again, from the darkness?

"It's us against the world," Jin Guangyao had said once, and Lan Xichen had nodded with conviction. But where was he now? Where was he, while the world collapsed on him? Why was he not here?  The hatred towards Lan Qiren and Nie Mingjue was a fire, but it wasn't enough to heat him. It wasn't enough to fill that void. Lan Xichen rested his head in his hands, elbows pressed to his knees. His thoughts crowded together, too fast, too loud. And what if they were right? No. No, they couldn't be right. Jin Guangyao was the only one who understood. The only one who really saw him. But then why wasn't he here? Why had he been left alone?  Lan Xichen was not a person anymore. Not whole, at least. He was like an empty shell, walking in the world no longer knowing who he was. His body, fragile and tense like a rope ready to break, no longer had an identity. He had lost all trace of himself, all anchorage to what made him alive. His mind, a labyrinth of distorted and fragmented thoughts, pushed him deeper and deeper into an abyss he couldn't avoid.

"Who are they without him?" The question obsessed him, a question that echoed incessantly in his head. Jin Guangyao had made him dependent on him, without Lan Xichen understanding it. Every word, every smile, every little gesture she had given him – everything had become her oxygen, her reason for existing. But now, without him, he was a hollow man. A man who walked through a world that no longer saw him. His heart no longer beat for himself, but for a shadow that wasn't there.

The memory of the rabbit-shaped candy returned, more vivid each time. As a symbol of something simple, pure and authentic. It was the last thing that Jin Guangyao gave him that wasn't a lie. An innocent sweetness that, now, burned inside him like a wound that never healed. "Do you remember?" Jin Guangyao said, but Lan Xichen didn't remember, not really. Because deep down, he didn't want to remember a time when he was just a child, too naive to understand the depth of what was happening. His mind had tried to bury that memory, but he couldn't. Every time he closed his eyes, that child's face would appear, only to immediately vanish, leaving him with a burning desire to see him again, to see that person who had seen him for who he was: a vulnerable little boy, incapable of protecting himself. Lan Xichen stood up, legs trembling, steps slow, uncertain. The room seemed to close in around him, as if the walls were breathing, pressing down on him. It wasn't him anymore. It had never been, perhaps. Every decision he'd made, every step he'd taken, he'd taken with someone else's weight on his shoulders, with a voice that wasn't his own whispering in his head. 

His heart, once safe, once capable of finding its place in the world, was now shattered into a thousand pieces. And there was no longer any way to put them back together. Why? Why? Because Jin Guangyao was gone. Gone. The tears he had never allowed to flow were now streaming down his face, but they were warm and bitter, like a poison that was slowly consuming him. His body felt like a prison, like a carcass that no longer served a purpose. “I hate them,” he thought. “I hate them for leaving me.” Lan Qiren, with his cold gaze, always so fair, always so detached. Nie Mingjue, with his smile of contempt, always ready to judge, to repress. He hated them both, for what they did to Jin Guangyao, for how they destroyed him. But hatred did not calm him. It didn't ease him. He hated them because they were the embodiment of everything that Jin Guangyao wasn't. He hated them because he had always seen them as enemies, but now there wasn't even a part of him that could see them as such anymore. He hated them, yes, but it wasn't enough.

He collapsed onto the floor again, his head hitting the cold wood. "Jin Guangyao..." He whispered her name, and heard it ringing in his ears, as if it were the only thing he had left. The only thing he hadn't lost. Yet, the emptiness wouldn't go away. It didn’t stop. Jin Guangyao was no longer there. He no longer knew how to be a person. His life, his choices, everything had been influenced by that man. But now? Now that it was all destroyed?  

Lan Xichen collapsed to the ground, his face pressed against the cold wooden floor. The breathing became slower, shorter, until it was almost no longer there. Breathing in had become difficult, as if the simple act of taking in air was a crime. And then he quit. He stopped breathing, allowing his chest to tighten, his heart to race in protest. It was an automatic, instinctive action, as if the body already knew what to do. Lan Xichen clenched himself, his hands shaking on his chest as he tried to hold in the air. Don't breathe. Don’t breathe. The choking sensation pressed against his throat, but he continued to fight, trying to hold every breath, as if that would somehow give him back the control he felt he had lost. His head was spinning, his vision blurry, his heart pounding in his chest, but he didn't stop. Don’t breathe.

He didn't remember exactly when Jin Guangyao taught him this. Perhaps it had been during one of those soft, intimate conversations, where every word seemed like a precious gift. "If you learn to control your breathing, you can control the pain," he had told him, in that soft, almost affectionate voice, as if she were telling a secret. And Lan Xichen believed every word of it. He would believe anything Jin Guangyao told him. He would have done anything to make him happy.

And so he had learned. He had never questioned the reason, nor had he ever wondered why a man like Jin Guangyao could teach him such a strange thing. It had never seemed necessary to him. Jin Guangyao was his guide, his sanctuary, his everything. If he had told him that stopping breathing could help, then it had to be true. Because Jin Guangyao never made mistakes. He couldn't go wrong. Lan Xichen held on to that lesson like a relic. Not breathing meant control. Not breathing meant staying calm. But ultimately, not breathing also meant abandoning yourself. Abandon pain, desire, guilt. "I did it for you," he thought, tears streaming silently down his face. "Everything I did, I did for you." He could almost hear him, Jin Guangyao, his voice so close, so sweet. "Don't cry, Xichen-ge. Breathe slowly. Or stop, if you prefer. It's okay, I'm here with you." 

But it wasn't there. It had never really been there, he realized now, in that moment when he was starting to run out of air. Yet, she would have done anything for him. He would have died if he had to. He was already dead, inside. With a broken sob, Lan Xichen finally let in a rush of air, his chest heaving painfully, burning. But the relief lasted only a moment, before a new wave of pain overwhelmed him, an awareness that devastated him. You didn't really love him. Xichen didn't look at him the way he looked at Jin Guangyao looked at him. But he… he would have given everything. He had already done it. 

"Why aren't you here?" he whispered, his voice cracking, gripping the floor as if he could find an answer hidden in the grain of the wood. "Why did you leave me?"

The room around him seemed to spin, warp. The world was blank, and Lan Xichen was blank with it. All that remained was a ghost of Jin Guangyao, a promise never kept, an illusion he couldn't let go of. But he couldn't stop. He couldn't let it go. For without him, Lan Xichen was nothing. It was never anything.

Chapter Text

The court room, flooded with dim light filtering through the high windows, was a prison of silence. The walls, thick and solid, had witnessed a thousand stories of pain, betrayal and death, but the one that was about to take place would mark the fate of many. In the central part, Jin Guangyao, now reduced to Meng Yao, was kneeling, his hands bound by chains which, although not physically painful, seemed sufficient symbol of his end. His gaze, impassive and astute, showed no sign of fear. He knew what was about to happen, but it wasn't fear that moved him. It was something more subtle, more dangerous. The awareness that everything he had manipulated was about to shatter, but his mind remained clear, ready to fight until his last breath.

There, in front of him, stood Lan Qiren, standing, but with a presence that seemed larger than his figure. It wasn't the authority that made the room tremble, but his still, impassive face as he read the accusations. The echo of his words was the call of final judgment, and those words were nothing more than an announcement of condemnation. But what Meng Yao heard were not Lan Qiren's words. It was Nie Mingjue's burning gaze that consumed him. Every word that came out of Lan Qiren's mouth, every piece of evidence that was presented, was like a gunshot aimed at Meng Yao. But what truly devastated him was Nie Mingjue's silent fury, his gaze burning like a living flame.

No one would ever know how deeply that anger ate away at Nie Mingjue. His head was a storm of memories and images, of moments of betrayal that came back to him, more violent than any physical punishment. It was not revenge that drove him. It wasn't just that Meng Yao had manipulated Lan Xichen, taken him for a puppet, and bent him to his will. No, what truly consumed Nie Mingjue was the desire to see his opponent, his nemesis, fall. Not only under the law, but under the weight of his own lies.

He wanted to see Meng Yao bend, kneel before him, no longer the puppeteer who had subdued Lan Xichen, but the executioner who was now about to be judged by his own actions. Every single word Meng Yao was speaking was like a poison sliding down Nie Mingjue's throat, making him more and more impatient, more and more eager to see him destroyed.

“I manipulated Lan Xichen's every move,” Meng Yao said with that smile he had never seen fade. "I made him feel like he couldn't live without me. I made him dependent on me." His words were biting, but it was the tone in which he said them that stung the most. Nie Mingjue couldn't stand it. His mind couldn't look away from this traitor, this man who had played with Lan Xichen's feelings as if they were pawns in a game. The fury he felt building within him was unbearable, and it was difficult to stay calm.

“You should have seen his soul broken,” Meng Yao said, now looking directly at Nie Mingjue. “And when he was bent under my will, when his every choice was my choice, I felt that I had won.” 

At these words, Nie Mingjue could no longer hold back his hatred. He wanted Meng Yao to collapse, to be destroyed by the same lies he had woven. But what made him burn the most was the fact that Lan Xichen had to go through all this without realizing anything. He had loved him, he had protected him, and yet he had allowed himself to be crushed by a figure who did not deserve any of this. “You are nothing,” Nie Mingjue said, his words filled with contempt. "You used Lan Xichen, you played with him like a puppet, but your end has come. You are the mouse who attacked his master, and now we watch you fall."

Meng Yao tried to answer, but something in his eyes betrayed his terror. He was no longer the man who had easily manipulated others, he was just a vulnerable human being who was about to be destroyed by his own actions. Nie Mingjue looked at him with disdain, like a prey who would finally get his justice.

“You think you won,” Nie Mingjue said again, taking a step closer, “but in reality, you were the one who lost all along.”

Meng Yao didn't answer. His hands trembled, his face white with fear. His arrogance, his confidence, was slowly slipping away, like sand slipping from his fingers. But before he could say anything, judgment was rendered. 

The court, filled with a leaden silence, found itself in an unstable equilibrium, like a scale that could not find its center. Every gaze was fixed on Meng Yao, kneeling, now reduced to a shadow of his former self. His once imposing figure now seemed consumed with remorse and defeat. But when he opened his mouth, his voice cut through the air with the precision of a razor-sharp blade, as if he had never been a prisoner of his own body.

"Xichen," he said, and the name fell from his lips like poison, "was well aware of everything."

His words, so simple and yet so devastating, fell in the air like a boulder that shattered the fragile silence of the room. The effect was immediate: every breath stopped, every heart stopped for a beat, and eyes opened wide, trying to comprehend what they had just heard. Lan Xichen. The Lan Clan's devoted son. The sign of honour. The man who was supposed to embody justice. Now he was accused of being part of a conspiracy that led to murder and treason. A man who had chosen to remain silent, to turn a blind eye to the truth.

Meng Yao did not pause. His voice was warmer now, almost pleased. “He knew about the plans to kill. He knew about every murder I had planned, about the betrayals I had orchestrated. Yet, he chose to close his eyes, to ignore what was happening. Because the truth scared him, or maybe he was more comfortable that way. , to remain in his golden world of lies. I preferred to believe that it was just a war of power, a game between clans. The truth is that he was an accomplice, that he gave me a free hand."  

Every word that came out of his mouth was a lash, a direct blow to the figure of Lan Xichen, who now seemed to be reduced to a ghost in the middle of the room. Meng Yao continued, the smile on his lips becoming more and more bitter, but in his eyes there was something darker: a satisfaction that could not find peace, that could not be satisfied. His gaze met that of Nie Mingjue, and the intensity of that contact seemed to consume them both. For Meng Yao, it wasn't just revenge. It was a triumph that fed off of Lan Xichen's suffering.

"All of you," he said, addressing the room, as if he were the right spokesperson for the truth, "think that Xichen is a man of honor, that he was above everything. But the reality is very different. He is nothing more that a blind man who chose to ignore the truth, to save himself. He allowed me to destroy him undisturbed without asking why, without investigating what was happening under his nose eyes and let it all go in shatter."

His words were like poisoned arrows piercing the hearts of every member of the court, and as the hall became thick with whispers, Nie Mingjue's heart swelled with anger. His gaze was cold, like a blade waiting to strike, but what troubled him most was not so much Jin Guangyao's confession, but the weight of the truth that was coming to the surface. Lan Xichen had seen, he knew. Yet he had not acted. It hadn't stopped anything. 

As Meng Yao spoke, his figure now reduced to a shadow of its former glory, his smile showed his pleasure at seeing Lan Xichen torn to pieces in front of everyone, like a puppet ridiculed. His manipulation had been total, and the echo of his voice seemed to tear apart every vestige of honor that the Lan Clan had tried to keep intact. "He wasn't just an accomplice," Meng Yao said, "he was a silent ally. He supported my every plan, allowed my every step to be carried out, without ever questioning anything. Now, here, he's trying to hide behind a facade of innocence that never existed."

Meng Yao's every word was like a bitter truth that took your breath away, an injection of poison that could not be avoided. And as he spoke, Nie Mingjue, his gaze locked on him, felt the weight of his anger growing within him, like a fire that burned relentlessly.

A shudder went through the room. Jin Guangyao didn't stop. His mouth curved into a bitter smile, and a cold light shone in his eyes, like a predator that knows it has hunted its prey. “He has been like this forever: a pristine figure in everyone's eyes, but a weak man , incapable of making difficult decisions. He wasn't blind, not like everyone thinks. He was just… comfortable."

Jin Guangyao's every word was a mortal blow to the figure of Lan Xichen, a man who until then had represented the perfection of the Lan Clan. But now, thanks to Meng Yao, that veil of sacredness was torn away with cruel evidence. “Lan Xichen not only knew,” Meng Yao continued, “but he participated. He orchestrated, he created the conditions for all of this to happen. Maybe not with his hands, but with his choices. It was he who allowed me to destroy every thing, to kill whoever I wanted, without even stopping to ask 'why'. Because the truth scared him. The truth about him, about us."

The room murmured. But Jin Guangyao didn't stop, and his voice, full of quiet evil, grew louder. "And do we want to talk about how you organized Nie Mingjue's murder?" he said, addressing the court with a mocking gaze. "Don't think that I'm the only one who cared about his death. Lan Xichen gave his assent. He gave me the punctuation that was given to Nie Huaisang, a gift that he actually created himself ."

The statement fell like a rock. The punctuation he was talking about was a powerful symbol. A weapon that should have been used in secret, to make assassination not only possible, but inevitable. "Lan Xichen," Jin Guangyao continued with a smile that was now just a sneer, "thought that everything would be easy, that once I killed Nie Mingjue, everything would be solved. He thought that that punctuation would just be a small detail. But I had other plans. And he knew it perfectly, he believed that with his cunning and his position, he never understood that his weakness was his great enemy." 

The court was silent, a silence that seemed to swallow everything, an emptiness that grew deeper and deeper as Jin Guangyao's words fell like stones on Nie Mingjue's heart. “Not just you,” Meng Yao said, and her voice was sharp as a knife, addressed to the court, but also to him, as if every single syllable was destined to rend his soul. "But Lan Xichen himself is responsible for what happened. He allowed it. He participated."

The words hit Nie Mingjue like a blow to the heart, a pain so intense that he couldn't breathe. His body, which until then had tried to remain calm, began to tremble, to vibrate like a body teetering on a precipice. His once clear mind was now a battleground, where reason was crumbling under the weight of the truth. Jin Guangyao's every word felt like a nail nailing his reality to a wall of torment and suffering.

Nie Mingjue gripped the chair tightly, as if trying to hold back his existence from an imminent collapse. The pain he felt was tangible, physical, as if his heart was trying to break through his chest to escape. He couldn't breathe, he couldn't understand. How could Lan Xichen, the man he had always seen as a brother, a beacon of hope, a refuge in the midst of the storm, become the monster he was now shown? The memories of all those shared moments, the laughter, the unspoken promises, the hopes placed, appeared to him like blurry spots of color, now devoid of meaning. He saw them before his eyes, as if it were a film, but every scene was now distorted, ruined. There was that first meeting, that moment when Lan Xichen had looked at him with that calm expression, as if he were the only one he could always count on. And then, as time went by, he had become more than just an ally. It had become his rock, his anchor. But now, that rock was nothing more than dust. 

All he had believed, all he had hoped for, crumbled under the weight of those words. Lan Xichen was no longer the man who had reassured him, the man who had given him safety in times of fear. No, now he was just another pawn in a power game. And the worst thing was that he had allowed it. Not only had he been an accomplice, but he had acted of his own volition. He had seen it all, he knew it all, and yet he had done nothing to stop it. Every word of meng-yao seemed like a blade that penetrated deeper, every gesture of Lan Xichen's past, every smile he had given him, now became imprints of a betrayal that he could not forgive.

But what destroyed him, what hurt him deeply, was not just the knowledge that Lan Xichen had betrayed his trust. It was the knowledge that, somewhere in his heart, Lan Xichen had always hated him. Nie Mingjue hated himself, hated himself, for that jealousy he felt when he saw him and Jin Guangyao walking together, hand in hand, with that intimacy that he had never wanted to admit, and that he had so ardently desired.  

The truth stung him. That feeling he had cultivated in silence for Lan Xichen, that desire for something that would never come, now became a poison that devoured him. He couldn't bear the idea that Lan Xichen had seen his love as something to be ignored, to be rejected. But the worst part was that there had never been an opportunity, there had never been a moment when he could see Lan Xichen as anything other than what he was. And now, that thought tore his heart as meng-yao humiliated him in front of everyone, revealing every detail of the betrayal, every hidden shadow.

Meng Yao's words buzzed in his head, like a hammer beating incessantly, revealing Lan Xichen's hidden face. Every word was an accusation he couldn't ignore. Lan Xichen wasn't just guilty of betrayal, he was guilty of looking him in the eyes, of shaking his hand as if he were his brother, while behind that facade there was another man, a man who was part of a well-established power play. older, one who used him as a pawn and never looked back. And all this made him insignificant, nothing.

Nie Mingjue felt his body struggling to hold back his anger. Every fiber of his being wanted to pounce on Jin Guangyao, but his mind told him to remain unmoved, not to fall into the trap Meng Yao was setting. There was nothing rational about him anymore. Only the pain, the betrayal, the bitterness of those who feel deceived, of those who feel betrayed not only by a man, but by a part of themselves that they never wanted to admit. 

The trial room seemed detached from reality, as if time itself had stopped flowing. The death sentence for Meng Yao was read aloud, but the words did not reach Nie Mingjue. They were a distant murmur, a sound that bounced around without entering his mind. His attention was elsewhere, trapped in a vortex of thoughts that were consuming him, a vortex that had only one goal: to see Lan Xichen collapse, as the man who had destroyed his world was now collapsing.

Meng Yao, now reduced to a shadow of his former self, was about to pay the price for his deception and manipulations. But to Nie Mingjue, that moment of justice meant nothing. Meng Yao's death, the end of his race, was not what he really wanted. What he wanted, more than anything else, was to see Lan Xichen reduced to the same misery, the same ruin. Lan Xichen had to endure the same mental torture, the same betrayal that he had endured. e must suffer, as he had suffered. He had to collapse under the weight of his own guilt, because there was no justice without his pain. 

The truth was destroying him, but not in the way he hoped. There was no satisfaction to Meng Yao's pain, only an emptiness that loomed within him. What he felt now was only a feverish need to see Lan Xichen collapse, to see him humiliated in front of everyone, to see his heart broken as his had been broken.

Despite Meng Yao's imminent death, Nie Mingjue's mind could not free itself from the feeling of injustice he had suffered, from the betrayal that Lan Xichen had inflicted on him. Every gesture in the past that seemed to have been the fruit of friendship, of sincere brotherhood, now seemed to him just a lie. And that lie had to be exposed, not by Meng Yao, but by Meng Yao himself. Lan Xichen could not have continued to live in the shadow of that betrayal, he could not have continued to live as if nothing had happened. No, Nie Mingjue would be his downfall. As the death sentence was pronounced, Meng Yao's face contorted into an expression that Nie Mingjue knew too well. It was the expression of someone who realizes that he has lost, of someone who is facing the end, but there was no victory in Nie Mingjue's heart. Every part of his being was focused on just one thought, a thought that consumed him more than Meng Yao's death: What would it be like to see Lan Xichen fall?

He wanted to hear him beg. He wanted to see Lan Xichen face the same solitude, the same abandonment that he had experienced. He wanted to see his former battle brother struck down, reduced to an empty shell, without his reputation, without his honor. Lan Xichen had to suffer his own curse, that same curse of having chosen Jin Guangyao, of having loved him, of having preferred him to him, to those who had always seen him as an equal.

Meng Yao wasn't her revenge. Lan Xichen was. Every word Meng Yao had uttered, every accusation she had thrown at him, were nothing more than the prelude to the revenge that Nie Mingjue would have on Lan Xichen. Meng Yao's death did not affect him, the end of his career did not make him satisfied. It was Lan Xichen, the true traitor, who needed to be exposed for what he was: a man who had sacrificed everything, even honor and love, for power.

There was no mercy in Nie Mingjue's heart. There was no room for sympathy. What he was looking for was not justice, but a vengeance that should flow through Lan Xichen's veins, like the poison he himself had breathed. 

Nie Mingjue looked at Lan Qiren with a blank look, but Lan Qiren's eyes were full. Filled with a suffering that he could no longer hide. There was no longer the implacable cold that had always characterized that austere face, now there was only an excruciating pain, which transcended every word, every gesture. Lan Qiren was slowly slipping into the abyss, his soul worn, torn by the knowledge that, somehow, his own blood, his own grandson, had chosen to walk alongside a creature like Meng Yao.

Every tear that slid down Lan Qiren's face felt like a betrayal, not only towards one's family, but towards that unwritten oath that every uncle makes to his nephew: to protect you at all costs. Yet, Lan Xichen had chosen his own destruction, he had wanted to throw himself into the arms of a man who had nothing to offer but lies and betrayal. Lan Qiren couldn't look at him without feeling that pang in his chest, that feeling of having failed. His body trembled, not just from old age, but from a deeper pain, a pain he had never felt. Not for the death of an opponent. Not for the loss of a friend. But for the ruin of that nephew whom he had raised as a son, as if he were his own flesh. 

The tears Lan Qiren was trying to hide were becoming more and more evident, and there was nothing he could do to stop them. Those tears weren't just of pain. They were tears of disappointment, of impotence. How could he? How could Lan Xichen sink so low? He couldn't forgive, he couldn't understand. Every passing moment was like a further wound in his heart. He felt empty, destroyed, and his mind was consumed with remorse. He had had the power to stop all this. He should have stopped him. But he hadn't.

And, at that precise moment, in that excruciating pain that was overwhelming him, there wasn't even a word of consolation from Nie Mingjue. Only silence. Nie Mingjue, who had loved Lan Xichen like the most precious thing, they had fought side by side, now saw nothing but his downfall. He could no longer distinguish the man he had known from the one who now stood before him, a man who had sold himself, who had betrayed his own family, who had allowed himself to be manipulated. He couldn't even hear the sound of her tears. Not even when, finally, Lan Qiren looked up at him, with a look that spoke a thousand words.

“I'm sorry,” Lan Qiren whispered, almost as if he was asking Nie Mingjue for forgiveness for what Lan Xichen had done. But those words were not words of apology. They were words from a wound that would never heal. There was no forgiveness. There was no longer any hope.  

Nie Mingjue, whose heart was now consumed by resentment and anger, looked at the man he had considered like a father, looked at him with cold eyes, with a hatred that now burned like a fire that would never be extinguished. Lan Qiren had bent, like all those who had been betrayed by those they loved most, but it was not a bend of weakness. It was the bending of someone who had lived an entire life for the good of another, and now realized that that good had been destroyed. Lan Qiren had never imagined that the weight of failure could hurt so much, that it could destroy all his beliefs, all his hopes.

Nie Mingjue just watched, because a silent violence was erupting within him. He wanted to scream. He wanted to lash out against Lan Xichen, against that traitor who had ruined everything. And yet, there was no other enemy to fight. The real battle was within him, and it was the one he couldn't win. The battle to understand how it was possible that Lan Xichen chose to fall. The battle against himself, against the love he still felt for him, against the desire to see the man who had ruined everything collapse.

Lan Qiren would never see an end to that war. He didn't know it yet, but his heart was already collapsing along with Lan Xichen's. And Nie Mingjue? Nie Mingjue no longer had feelings for Lan Xichen. Only the sound of his fall, the sweet, bitter melody of betrayal that repeated itself incessantly. They looked at each other, their eyes meeting in a dense and heavy silence. Lan Qiren, his face streaked with tears, knew what was happening. His disappointment was palpable, like a blanket of darkness enveloping him. But Nie Mingjue no longer felt anything, no pity. Lan Xichen had abandoned him, destroyed him with his blindness, and Lan Qiren, his uncle, had never seen anything, had never understood. They all had failed.

“Lan Xichen,” Nie Mingjue finally said, his voice low and full of contempt. “How could you?”

Lan Qiren didn't respond. He simply looked at him, with those eyes full of pain and regret, but also with the awareness of having been betrayed by his own family, by his own flesh. The tears sliding down Lan Qiren's face spoke more than a thousand sentences.

Nie Mingjue looked at Lan Qiren one last time, his eyes full of anger, but also a sadness he had never known before. The love that Nie Mingjue had for Lan Xichen had been destroyed, trampled by a friendship that he had never had the courage to call by name. But what he felt now was only emptiness, a void that was swallowing him up and that would be difficult to fill. Lan Xichen would be his next target.

Chapter Text

"I'm still a boy inside my thoughts"

Lan Qiren walked slowly, as if each step was an act of effort, a struggle between what his heart desired and what reality imposed on him. The heaviness of his soul seemed to be reflected in his body, every movement slow and measured, while the cold of the morning seemed to enter his bones. His heart beat faster, but not from fear, rather from a pain that shot through him with every beat. That truth that he had tried to ignore, that he had refused to admit, was now overwhelming him. It was a truth he never wanted to know, but it had become too palpable to ignore. The trial of Jin Guangyao had destroyed him, piece by piece, like a hammer hitting red-hot iron.

Jin Guangyao's words pounded in his mind, yet he couldn't get them out. “Lan Xichen knew. ” Those words had come like a sharp blade, digging a deep groove in his heart. How could Jin Guangyao say such a thing so nonchalantly, with that terrible calm that only a monster could possess? And how could Lan Xichen, that boy he had loved like a son, be trapped in that web of lies and manipulation? Lan Qiren had always believed that his bond with Lan Xichen was unbreakable, that there was nothing that could separate them. But now, now that he had seen with his own eyes, now that he had heard those words, he understood that there was no longer anything pure in that bond. Lan Xichen was exploited. His innocence, his unshakable devotion, had been used as weapons, as pawns in a game that not even he had wanted to play. Lan Qiren felt the weight of that knowledge crush his heart, as if he had been abandoned in a hopeless desert.

Lan Xichen's eyes weren't what they used to be. There was no longer that serene light that had once characterized his gaze, that enchanting sweetness that made him seem so distant from everything that could hurt him. Now, his eyes were dull, dull, as if they had lost all hope of seeing the world through the same filter of innocence that had once protected them. There was no longer trust, there was no longer that intimate beauty that reflected unconditional love for others, not even for those closest to him. Now, his pale face betrayed all signs of life. His skin seemed to fade, as if the light that had always illuminated him had been progressively extinguished by an invisible force, which had no name, but which insinuated itself into him with silent violence.

Every time Lan Qiren tried to meet his gaze, every time he tried to touch that now wounded and paralyzed soul, Lan Xichen lowered his eyes, as if it were too painful, too heavy to bear the contact, as if every word, every question that would come out of his mentor's mouth, would tear apart what was left of him. His seraphic calm was no longer there, that reassuring presence that would never yield even to the most violent storms. It was as if an invisible veil had separated Lan Xichen from the rest of the world, a chasm that grew between them with every step Lan Qiren took towards him. Every attempt to get closer seemed useless, rejected by a force that, although invisible, seemed as terrible as it was devastating. Lan Qiren couldn't do anything to help him. Every word he tried to say was rejected, every gesture of affection only seemed to make things worse, as if the bond that once united them was crumbling under the weight of a pain too great to bear. There was something broken inside Lan Xichen, something that could never be repaired with simple words or gestures of consolation. It was as if an essential part of him had been lost, stolen by time and the manipulations to which he had been subjected. Lan Qiren knew it, felt it, but couldn't find the strength to accept it. He could do nothing but watch, helplessly, while the boy he had loved like a son lost himself within himself.

It was heartbreaking to see Lan Xichen in that state. He was no longer the boy he had seen growing up, the idealistic young man who believed in the goodness of the world and its connections. He was no longer that Lan Xichen who had smiled with confidence and serenity even in difficulties, who had faced the trials of life with an open heart, without ever being overwhelmed. Now there was none of that. His body, his mind, were tired, worn out by the long struggle against his inner demons. Lan Qiren felt that distance like a blade piercing him, a chasm that widened with each passing day, with each glance that was no longer returned. An abyss that he couldn't bridge, not with his words, not with his love. Yet, inside, Lan Qiren couldn't give up. There had to be a way to reach him, a way to bring Lan Xichen back, to give him back at least a small glimpse of what he had been. There had to be a way to show him that he had never been alone, that he would never abandon him, despite the darkness that seemed to have enveloped him. 

He didn't know how, but Lan Qiren was determined not to let Lan Xichen sink further. Every fiber of his being rebelled at the idea of seeing him lose himself definitively, without anyone there to hold out his hand. Lan Qiren would have done anything to reach that part of Lan Xichen that, even if clouded by fear and manipulation, was still there, in some hidden corner of his soul. He had to see that the world, despite the betrayal and the pain, still had room for him, that it was never too late to change, to recover. Lan Qiren would find a way to make him understand, even if it meant walking in total darkness next to him, step by step. He would never turn his back, ever.

Lan Qiren stopped at the door of Lan Xichen's room, his heart pounding. Every step he took brought him closer, but also further from the truth he didn't want to face. As painful as it was, Lan Qiren knew that his job wasn't just to punish or scold. It was supposed to be there for Lan Xichen. He was supposed to be a reassuring presence, even if the pain in his heart was unbearable.

He didn't know what would happen next, he didn't know if Lan Xichen could ever forgive him, or if he would ever find the strength to face the truth. But it did not matter. Lan Qiren knocked softly on the door and, without waiting for a response, entered. Lan Xichen was sitting at his desk, staring into space. He didn't turn, but Lan Qiren saw his shoulders tense, as if he was trying to protect himself, to hide behind a facade of calm that had never been there before. Lan Qiren approached silently, feeling the air feel thick and heavy. But he didn't stop. He couldn't afford it.

“Xichen,” he said, his voice low but steady. Lan Xichen tensed, but did not look up. "What do you want, uncle?"

Lan Qiren was getting lost in that silence, in that distance that seemed to grow more every day. Every time he tried to get closer, Lan Xichen retreated, and that invisible distance became heavier and heavier, as if it were a wall that Lan Qiren's heart could no longer climb over. But in the back of his mind, a small but tenacious hope began to take shape.

"If I can't talk to the adult Xichen..." Lan Qiren thought, as his heart tightened. "...I can at least cuddle him like i did when he was little."

Memories of when Lan Xichen was a child came back to the surface, a quiet river that took him to a time when everything seemed simpler, clearer. Lan Xichen, his beloved nephew, so pure and innocent, who took refuge in his arms when he was afraid, who sought comfort in his gestures and words. The child who loved to be cuddled, who asked Lan Qiren to comb his hair, who let himself be caressed gently while the old teacher told him stories. Lan Qiren closed his eyes for a moment, as if he were trying to recall that child, the one that still existed somewhere, hidden behind that facade of detachment and pain that Lan Xichen now wore. When he opened his eyes, his gaze was more determined. Maybe he couldn't turn back time, but maybe, maybe there was still a little corner of that love he could reach. 

He approached Lan Xichen, who seemed so distant, and in a softer than usual, gentler voice, asked, “Xichen… where are your comb and hair oils?”

The words were simple, but filled with a silent affection, like an invitation to go back in time, to a moment when the relationship between them was not steeped in pain and secrets, but in tenderness and care. Lan Qiren didn't look for answers, he didn't look for justifications, he didn't look for resentment. He just wanted to cuddle him, take care of that little fragment of Xichen that still lived inside him, under the weight of the world and the manipulations that had changed him. His heart trembled, but his gaze remained steady. That question, that request so intimate and full of care, was not only for the Xichen he saw before him, but also for the child he had loved, raised and protected. It was a gesture that spoke of silent love, of a bond that would never be broken, even by betrayal, not even by distance. In that small request, Lan Qiren hoped to find, even just for a moment, a reflection of the Xichen he still loved, despite everything. 

Lan Xichen, with a cold gaze and a heart like a wall of ice, heard Lan Qiren's voice penetrate the air like a fragile and thin thread, an attempt to get closer to him. The question she had asked him, so simple and affectionate, struck him like a gust of cold wind. At that moment, Lan Xichen felt like a wounded animal, every fiber of his body tense and ready to flee or attack. He couldn't understand what was happening, but a part of him - the one he had learned to protect, to hide - began to drift towards suspicion. “Why does he care about me now, after all this time?” he thought, his heart pounding. He couldn't believe that Lan Qiren really was so innocent, that he hadn't come to judge him, to criticize him for his choices.

A shiver of anger and frustration made its way inside him, and without thinking twice, he jumped up. His body was rigid, his posture defensive, like an animal ready to pounce and fight. He cast a fleeting glance at Lan Qiren, as if he feared that at any moment that old man, who had always given him love, would turn into something threatening, something from which he had to protect himself.

"There's nothing to say," he murmured to himself, his heart beating in his throat, "I don't need to be judged by you. Not today."

Lan Xichen was already about to sprint forward, to get away from that presence that seemed like a burden to him, when something happened that made him freeze on the spot. Instead of responding with a harsh word, as anyone else would have done, Lan Qiren took a step towards him, silent, but with a calm that seemed almost superhuman. Then, without even hesitating, he hug him.

Lan Xichen found himself in a whirlwind of emotions that he no longer knew how to handle. His usually calm and rational mind was now a battlefield. Frustration, confusion, fear were intertwined in a painful tangle. He couldn't trust anything, anyone, not even the blood that flowed in his veins. That blood which, in his heart, no longer felt like a sign of life, but like a silent condemnation, a bond that imprisoned him in his very existence. Lan Qiren's face was before him, but it was not what Lan Xichen wanted to see. Every word spoken to him during Jin Guangyao's trial burned in him like a bright fire. The idea that his uncle had believed those lies, that he had seen him as a traitor, made him feel as if the ground was slipping from under his feet. Yet, somewhere in his heart, a small part of him longed to believe that this was only a partial truth. He wished that Lan Qiren could be the man who would save him from himself, but at the same time he feared that if he allowed that desire to emerge, he would lose the last part of himself that he still deluded himself into controlling.

When Lan Qiren took that step toward him, when he wrapped him in a hug, Lan Xichen felt a jolt run down his spine. A hug. What is a hug? A gesture of protection, love, heat, but also vulnerability. And at that moment, Lan Xichen wasn't ready to be vulnerable. He wasn't ready to give in to the sweetness of that embrace, because it meant he would have to face everything he had tried to hide beneath the surface. Every emotion he had stifled, every truth he had ignored, every piece of himself he had disavowed, now poured into him like an unstoppable tide. “I can't… I can't,” he murmured, but the words were like sand slipping through his fingers. He tried to reject the hug, but he couldn't. His body, as if it had a will of its own, bent towards him, like a plant bending in the wind. Lan Qiren's arms were warm, fierce in their tenderness, and Lan Xichen felt as if he were burning. His breathing was labored, his hands trembled as he tried to stop himself, but his emotions overwhelmed him. Why couldn't he stop? Why couldn't he push him away?

Then, like a dam that can no longer hold, the tears began to flow. It was as if all the pain he had accumulated in his heart, all the regrets and guilt, suddenly exploded, pushing out every repressed feeling. His face scrunched up, his eyes burned, and every sob that escaped his lips was a direct blow to his heart. He couldn't stop it. The tears were the result of a suffering that he had tried to keep hidden, but which he could no longer contain. 

“I apologize…” Lan Xichen's voice was a heartbroken whisper, as fragile as a breath of wind on a stormy night, but the suffering behind those words was deep, too thick to contain. Every single word that came out of his lips felt like a stab to his own heart, as if every letter was a wound, a remorse that tore at his soul. "I apologize, uncle... please... sorry for everything... please..."

His hands trembled, as if the tremor came from an abyss that opened inside him, a void that he couldn't fill. Each beat of his heart seemed to be a painful blow that pushed him further and further away from the person he wanted to be, but the further he went, the more his conscience pushed him back towards what he felt was his failure. He couldn't stop. The words flowed like an unstoppable waterfall, filled with a weight that crushed him and seemed to have no end. Guilt devoured him, ate him alive, burning inside him like a fire that no tears could put out.

Every emotion was twisted into a mess that took his breath away. He didn't realize, however, that his pain, his suffering, were not just the result of his actions, but of the invisible network of manipulation that Jin Guangyao had built around him. He didn't know that his choices weren't really choices, but reactions to a lie that had been forced upon him as an absolute truth. He didn't know that, under the weight of those tears, he was losing himself, but he couldn't find a way to escape. The emptiness in his heart was growing, like a wound that never healed, and no gesture, no word seemed to be able to stop it. "I don't want… I don't want to be like this…" he continued to whisper, but the words were like smoke dissolving in the air. There was nothing solid left in him, no ground on which he could lean. He felt as if he were trapped in a dream he couldn't wake up from, his body drained of strength, his mind confused, his heart too crushed to resist. 

Lan Qiren, without saying a word, held him with a strength that seemed to defy the entire world. His presence was a solid rock in a sea of confusion, a safe haven that Lan Xichen couldn't understand but desperately needed. There was no reproach in his eyes, no judgment in his hands that wrapped around him. There was only silence, which spoke more than a thousand words, like a hug that spoke of forgiveness, of understanding, of unconditional love. Yet, as Lan Xichen let himself go into that warmth, a part of him pulled back, defying that welcoming gesture, as if he didn't consider himself worthy of being welcomed, as if the love he was receiving was a condemnation rather than a salvation.

It was an internal conflict that he couldn't calm down. A part of him wanted to give in, he wanted to be embraced by that security, but the other part, the one that had been forged in pain and fear, feared that that embrace hid a truth that would destroy everything. The fear of being judged, of being seen as weak, as guilty, made him rebel even when his own soul was seeking comfort. Yet, in that grip of pain, he felt the weight of his loneliness diminish, as if Lan Qiren, with that simple gesture, was sweeping away part of the darkness that had enveloped him for too long. The hug wasn't a solution, but it was something bigger: a sign that perhaps, despite everything, it wasn't too late to heal, to recover that part of himself that he thought was lost forever. Lan Qiren, without words, was reassuring him, telling him that even in his greatest failure, there was still hope.

And finally, his tears flowed away like a river in flood. He felt vulnerable, more than he ever wanted, but there was also a beauty in that vulnerability, an openness to a future he didn't expect, that he didn't believe possible. He couldn't stop, but now, between those sobs that shook him like a tree in a storm, he felt that maybe he was starting to heal. He didn't know how, or when, but that pain that seemed impossible to face, for the first time, no longer seemed so unbearable. "Please… I don't want to disappoint you anymore… I don't want… I don't want to be this person…" he pressed himself against Lan Qiren's chest, as if he could drown in his embrace, seeking refuge, trying to find some peace in the midst of chaos. Every sob, every word, was like a piece of his heart that was finally being freed, but the rest of him was still too fragile to understand that that pain was only the first step towards a new life. The truth, the one he should have seen, was still hidden behind the shadows of what he couldn't understand. 

Lan Qiren stood still, his heart beating faster than he wanted to admit. Nothing was simple at that moment. The hug he was giving to Lan Xichen, a nephew he loved as if he were his own son, was not just a physical gesture, but an act of hope and pain. It was as if every fiber of his being was connected to the tremor of Lan Xichen's back, to his ragged breathing, to his loneliness. Lan Qiren felt all this, felt his anguish seep into the bones of whoever was holding him. A pain so great that it seemed intolerable, but also a force that pushed him not to step back.

Lan Xichen's face, although hidden in his chest, spoke clearly: he didn't know what was happening. He didn't understand, or maybe he didn't want to understand. Every single tremor that ran through the young man's body, every single tear that ran down his face, pushed him to act with a strength he never thought he possessed. Lan Qiren couldn't help but hold him tighter, as if, at that moment, it was the only way to make him understand that he wasn't alone. That he would never be alone, even if the storm inside him was trying to swallow him. "I apologize…” Lan Xichen's voice came out trembling, as if it were a prayer, an attempt to free himself from the weight of a world he could no longer understand. Lan Qiren heard this, and deep down, his heart sank. Those words were not the words of a guilty man, but of a child trying to make up for something he couldn't understand. Lan Qiren stopped for a moment, the pain he felt was not only for what Lan Xichen had done, but for what he had not done: he had failed to protect his nephew from himself, from that cruel manipulation that was crushing. He couldn't understand how the young man, whom he had raised with so much love, had been so blinded by trust towards Jin Guangyao.

Lan Qiren felt like a drowning man, struggling against a current he couldn't stop. But at that precise moment, something profound clicked inside him. There was no more time for explanations, there was no more time for words. He just had to be there, there just had to be that hug. The truth, as always happens in these cases, was too difficult to face at the time. The knowledge that his nephew, the person he had loved and raised as a son, was suffering under the weight of his own illusions, could not be accepted in an instant. He had to wait, and the patience that had so often seemed to be his strength was now his weakness. 

Then, suddenly, Lan Xichen leaped, breaking away from the embrace, with a speed that left him breathless. His body trembled, his mind reeling. “Do not judge me,” he said, but his words were weak, desperate, almost as if he feared abandonment. Lan Qiren saw the young man trying to protect himself, like a wounded animal, like a creature that had lost faith in love and security. And there, at that very moment, Lan Qiren did what he had never done before: he opened his arms and took him in again. He did not push him away. He embraced him again with a strength that surpassed all barriers. Lan Xichen's hands tensed for a moment, as if he was trying to stop, not to give in to that fragility. But Lan Qiren's heart was a refuge, and what he was doing, what he was offering, was not judgment but protection, an embrace that said everything that words couldn't say.

Lan Xichen let go, and for a moment the world stood still. There were no more blame, there were no more regrets, there were no more fears. There were only Lan Xichen's tears sliding down Lan Qiren's chest, like a rain that erased any sign of suffering. "I apologize..." he repeated again, but this time, his words were more broken, more sincere. Lan Qiren didn't answer, there was no need to answer. There was nothing to say, except that in that moment there was only a love that transcended all mistakes, all disillusionment. A love that accepted, that protected, that made people breathe even when the world around them seemed to be dying.

Lan Xichen apologized, but what he didn't know was that there was no need to apologize. Not because of what he had done, but because of what he had become: a victim of his own chaos. Lan Qiren held him tighter and tighter, as if he wanted him to feel that truth. There was no shame, there was no sin in giving in to pain, in giving in to fear, because, despite everything, love does not judge. And if it wasn't possible to heal right away, if it wasn't possible to fix everything in an instant, Lan Qiren would continue to be there, for as long as it took. 

Lan Wangji walked silently, as always, his face impassive, his step determined, but his mind occupied with thoughts he couldn't chase away. It wasn't uncommon for his mind to wander, but this time, the feeling of heaviness was stronger than usual. Wei Wuxian, always ready to defy convention, had decided to stay at the funeral riots with the rest of the Wen, while Lan Wangji, with his sense of duty, continued to make rounds of reconnaissance of the Lan Sect. Every step, every corner he inspected, seemed to only increase his uneasiness, as if something inside him was suffocating.

The thought that Wei Wuxian was far away, so far away, seemed to grow on him like a shadow. Little A-Yuan, the child who clung to his legs and affectionately called him "rich-gege", could not dissuade him from the murky mix of emotions that pervaded him. Wei Wuxian had a way of making him smile, a way of making him feel more human in a world that seemed more and more distant. But that thought wasn't enough to calm his worry for his brother.

Lan Xichen… His worry for him had become a burden he couldn’t shake. Lan Wangji knew, deep down, that something was wrong. He saw his brother, who seemed more distant every day, more immersed in his pain, in his loneliness. And he didn't know what to do. Every time he tried to get closer, Lan Xichen would clam up, seeming to slide further and further away from him. There was a distance between them that Lan Wangji couldn't bridge, a distance that tore at his heart. His walk stopped suddenly, as if an invisible energy had pulled him towards it. He couldn't explain how he got there, but he was standing in front of the window of Lan Xichen's house. The window was open, just like when they were children, when the two brothers found themselves running and playing, hiding in their games without worries. Lan Wangji remembered that window clearly. When he was little, he had tried to climb over it to get in quietly, so as not to wake Lan Qiren, who always scolded them when they made too much noise. But this time it wasn’t a game. It was no longer game time. 

He looked inside, the scene that opened before him hit him like a blade, a blow that made his heart beat faster. There was Lan Qiren, standing, his face exuding the calm that only he knew how to have, as he combed Lan Xichen's hair. Lan Xichen, with his legs crossed, looked so fragile, so different from what Lan Wangji remembered. He was still, as if he didn't want to look up, as if he were trapped in a thought that he couldn't free himself from. Lan Qiren combed his hair with a gentleness that Lan Wangji had never seen before. The scene seemed so peaceful, so familiar, but there was a feeling of sadness creeping up in his chest. Lan Xichen, his brother, his beloved brother, was hurting, and Lan Wangji didn't know how to help.

Lan Wangji's breathing deepened, as if something was pushing him towards that door. Something he couldn't ignore, something that told him not to stand by and watch, but to do something. It was like he needed to be there, needed to do something for him. Without even realizing he was doing it, he found himself gently knocking on the door, the sound echoing in the silent air of the room. He didn't know what he was doing, but he felt it deep in his heart. He had to be there, he had to be there for Lan Xichen, even if he didn't know how. The silence that followed his action seemed eternal to him. Then, finally, the door opened, revealing the face of Lan Qiren, who looked at him with eyes full of a wisdom that seemed to have weathered every storm. "Wangji," he said, his voice calm, but with a hint of concern he couldn't hide. Lan Wangji looked in, at his brother, at Lan Xichen, who hadn't moved, who seemed lost in that little space of intimacy he had found with his uncle. Lan Wangji couldn't help but feel the weight of that absence, of that distance that separated him from Lan Xichen.  

Lan Qiren, without saying anything, moved slightly, as if to allow him entrance. Lan Wangji hesitantly took a step inside, his heart pounding in his chest. He didn't know what would happen, but in that moment, his heart told him he had to be there. He needed to be there for her brother, to help, to understand. 

Chapter Text

"Just you wait and you'll see...That you're swimmin' with sharks"

The room was filled with a heavy silence, as if time itself was suspended waiting for a revelation that would change everything. The candles on the long table flickered, casting eerie shadows on the faces of the three men sitting there, each with their own burden to carry. Lan Qiren, Jiang Cheng and Nie Mingjue were together in that isolated place, away from prying eyes, but the very air seemed filled with tension. Every word spoken in that room had the weight of a sentence, as if the fate of an entire clan was now hanging by a thin thread, ready to break.

Lan Qiren looked at Jiang Cheng and Nie Mingjue with tired eyes, marked by the disappointment and frustration that were now consuming him. His mind, which had once navigated the principles of honor and justice, was now trapped in a maze of painful choices. The Lan Clan's plight, its decadence, was becoming more and more palpable. The prestige of an entire family was vanishing into the air, as if it were a dream that was slowly losing substance. The blame fell heavily on him, but most importantly on Lan Xichen, his nephew, and his complicated relationship with Jin Guangyao. Lan Xichen's every gesture, every word seemed to weigh on the shoulders of the clan, and his very existence now seemed inextricably linked to a ruin that seemed impossible to stop.

"The Lan Clan is losing its honor," Lan Qiren began, his voice low, almost a whisper, but full of bitterness. Every word seemed to come from a place of desperation, as if his strength was failing him. "Not only among other clans, but also among people. With each passing day, our reputation crumbles. We must do something."

The silence that followed was dense, as if the words themselves were taking shape and weighing on those present. Jiang Cheng rubbed his forehead, thoughts mixing in his mind like an endless whirlwind. He was used to fighting battles, but his family's battles were increasingly difficult. Not only because the Lan Clan was losing its strength, but also because this was a war being fought within themselves. Family, honor, hope... everything seemed to fall apart. There was not only an external enemy to defeat, but the enemy that was destroying the clan was closer, more intimate. Nie Mingjue, who had been listening silently until now, shifted slightly in his seat, a deliberate movement that caught everyone's attention. His voice, when it finally broke the silence, was like a sword blow, sharp and decisive, without frills. "Lan Xichen has proven to be, shall we say, extremely... influenceable," he said, his tone betraying his frustration. "And while I have no intention of hiding my disdain for his inability to discern an ally from a manipulator, the fact remains that your precious nephew is, at least technically, a victim." 

The room, silent and tense, was full of an atmosphere that seemed to weigh on every breath of those present. Lan Qiren watched the table, his eyes slowly sliding over every detail of the room, but his mind was elsewhere. He couldn't help but think of Lan Xichen, his nephew who was once so confident, so devoted to the Lan Clan and its principles. Now, however, he seemed to have lost that determination, that strength that had once made him a point of reference for everyone.

Lan Qiren knew that it was not just an external influence that undermined his strength, but the same confusion and weakness that he himself had seen growing in Lan Xichen. The young man, once a source of pride, now seemed a prisoner of his own indecisiveness, of his inability to discern the truth from the false bonds that had formed around him.

When Nie Mingjue spoke, his voice was sharp, like a blade challenging an already precarious balance. "If no one else wants to save poor Lan, then I volunteer. At least someone will put an end to this travesty." Nie Mingjue's words were harsh, but Lan Qiren felt them like a punch in the gut. Not so much for the offering itself, but for the pain that his beloved nephew was experiencing. He knew that Lan Xichen would never be able to deal with the pressure of these events alone.

Lan Qiren stared at Nie Mingjue's figure with apparent calm, but within himself his heart tightened. That proposal, what seemed like bitter irony, struck him in the heart. Not just for what it implied, but for how much it seemed to represent the final break between him and the nephew he loved. Lan Xichen had been a beacon of hope, a young man in whom Lan Qiren had placed all of his faith. Now, he saw his image shattering under the weight of his choices and weaknesses. And Nie Mingjue's offer, although cutting and tinged with sarcasm, only emphasized how far the young man was from what Lan Qiren had hoped for him.

“Are you proposing to… woo Lan Xichen?” The question Lan Qiren asked Nie Mingjue was slow, measured, almost whispered, as if he wanted to find an explanation for something that, in the end, he couldn't even understand. His mind was trying to organize its thoughts, to rationalize the pain he was feeling. He could not and would not believe that his grandson, who had once walked proudly, was so vulnerable. He couldn't believe that another man, one who held Lan Xichen in contempt, was now taking on this role.  

Lan Qiren remained motionless, his face marked by an expression that betrayed more than he wanted to show. His mind ran in frantic circles, but his body remained rigid, trapped in the weight of the situation unfolding before his eyes. Nie Mingjue's words, spoken with icy coldness, penetrated his already aching heart like thin blades. Every single word felt like a blow, yet the real damage did not lie only in the proposal, but in the profound meaning it hid: the awareness that Lan Xichen was now trapped in a cycle of mistakes that never seemed to end.

The coldness of Nie Mingjue's voice left no room for any uncertainty. “Call it whatever you want. Remedy for disaster, act of mercy, political strategy. But yes… if it means fixing the mess he created, then I offer myself for the task.” That smile, devoid of warmth, only highlighted how distant Nie Mingjue was from everything concerning Lan Xichen. There was no affection in those words, only calculation, only an anger that was never expressed but which permeated every sentence.

Lan Qiren felt hurt, but tried to keep his cool. He was not an impulsive young man like Lan Xichen, he would not let his emotions overwhelm him. But his heart ached, and he couldn't shake the feeling that something fundamental had broken. Lan Xichen, his beloved nephew, the one he had watched grow up with such pride and hope, was now slowly sinking into a web of bad choices. A man who, for the sake of the Lan Clan, needed to stand firm, instead seemed to be reeling under the weight of the world. He won't do it for fun, Lan Qiren thought bitterly, his lips pressed into an imperceptible grimace. Every fiber of his being screamed against the idea that someone like Nie Mingjue, with all his disillusionment and contempt, could have any form of influence over Lan Xichen. But the awareness that the young man was now incapable of distinguishing his priorities distressed him. Lan Xichen, unfortunately, no longer seemed able to protect himself. He had become too vulnerable, too hesitant.

Lan Qiren didn't want to see his nephew as a puppet, but he knew the situation was already out of control. The idea that now it was someone else, and not him, who had to intervene tormented him more than he was willing to admit. His mind raced to all the choices he had made, how he had raised Lan Xichen to become the pillar of that now crumbling clan. Every mistake, every little shortcoming seemed to come back like a boomerang, and it was the young people, the ones he was supposed to protect, who paid the price.

He couldn't help but think that maybe, somehow, he could have done more. If he had done things differently, perhaps Lan Xichen wouldn't have been so vulnerable. But now there was no time for regrets, and Nie Mingjue's proposal, no matter how hateful, could not be ignored. In the back of his mind, Lan Qiren knew that perhaps it would be the only way to go. “It won't be easy,” he finally murmured, his voice betraying a deep sense of tiredness, as if the weight of the responsibility was now unbearable. His mind drifted into memories of a time when Lan Xichen was young and confident, when the clan was united and the choices always seemed clear. "Lan Xichen is not a puppet," he continued, as if to convince himself more than anyone else. "And I don't think a... forced courtship is the solution." 

In reality, his heart knew that the situation was much more complex. Lan Xichen was no longer a little boy to protect, yet Lan Qiren couldn't help but feel that weight, that frustration of not being able to stop him from falling into an abyss that, it seemed, was consuming every part of him .

The coldness in Nie Mingjue's words now seemed like the last slap, the last reminder of the distance that separated them. It wasn't just a gesture of contempt towards Lan Xichen, but an entire rupture, a gap that would never be bridged again. “Don't worry, Lan Qiren. I won't do it for fun,” Nie Mingjue continued, but Lan Qiren knew that what came next was nothing more than a sentence. The idea that it was someone like him who "saved" Lan Xichen, a man who thought Lan Xichen had failed everyone, made it even more painful.

Lan Qiren was silent for a moment, his gaze fixed on Nie Mingjue, as if trying to probe any intention behind those sharp words. His heart was heavy, the sense of helplessness that pervaded him was mixed with an anxiety that he couldn't shake. Lan Xichen, his grandson, the young man he had raised with so much love and care, was now in a fragile state, fragile like never before. Lan Qiren knew this, and he felt a pang in his chest every time he thought about how vulnerable he was.

Lan Qiren's voice, when he finally spoke, was calm, but held a harshness that left no room for misunderstanding. "Nie-zongzhu," he began, using the formal title but with a heaviness he couldn't disguise. “Don't do any bullshit.” Every word was like a warning, a warning that needed to be heeded seriously. "Lan Xichen is in a fragile state. I will not give you the luxury of thinking that your sarcasm and disillusionment can solve anything. If you truly care about the Lan Clan, if you truly think you are doing the right thing, you must understand that It's a game. It's not a game to win. Lan Qiren shook his head, as if to get rid of a thought that was weighing on his mind. "Lan Xichen is not a pawn on a chess board. He is my nephew. And I will not allow him to be treated as a bargaining chip."

His eyes locked on Nie Mingjue, his calmness now hiding a growing concern. "He's already been through enough. His choices... his heart... he's been influenced too much by people who never had his strength. The last thing he needs right now is another power play. "

Lan Qiren slowly rose from his chair, approaching Nie Mingjue with a measured step, almost as if he wanted to underline the gravity of what he was about to say. "I'm not blind," he continued, his voice lower but implacable. "I know that there have been conflicts between you. I know that you despise him, that you hold him responsible for many things. But if you think of acting with contempt, of humiliating him further with a farce, I will not allow you to do so. Lan Xichen is vulnerable , and that's what worries me. I don't want to see his heart broken by someone who plays with him like it's just a pastime." 

Lan Qiren stared at Nie Mingjue with a cold gaze, his calmness only a mask concealing his contained fury. His words came out with glacial clarity, cutting like a sharp blade. “If you plan to woo Lan Xichen to tease him, I will have your balls as a gift.” The threat was straightforward, with no room for misunderstanding. Lan Qiren wasn't talking casually, he wasn't playing games. Each word was weighty, like a sentence. There was no hint of playfulness in his voice, just a serious warning. The tension in the room seemed to grow suddenly, the silence that followed his speech weighed like a boulder.

Nie Mingjue, who usually appeared impassive and confident, couldn't help but sense the gravity of the threat. But despite the harshness in Lan Qiren's words, he did not retreat. His expression didn't change, but his eyes betrayed an understanding of the ferocity of that message. It wouldn't have been easy to play with Lan Xichen, much less Lan Qiren. Lan Qiren continued, his tone remaining equally icy. "If you really want to do this, be prepared to behave. I will watch you, and if i see even a hint of humiliation or manipulation, I will not hesitate to stop you. Lan Xichen has suffered enough."

Every word seemed to weigh more, as if Lan Qiren's very heart was trying to protect his nephew with every fiber of his being. There was no room for play or ambiguity. Lan Xichen, however fragile and indecisive, deserved respect, and Lan Qiren would not allow anyone to use him as a pawn in a game he did not ask for. His position was clear: no tolerance for cruelty, no mercy for anyone who tried to take advantage of Lan Xichen's weakness. 

Nie Mingjue had no qualms about playing the game that Lan Qiren wanted to avoid seeing. The tension that permeated the room did not touch him in the slightest, as if he were impervious to any form of threat or reproach. When Lan Qiren raised his voice, trying to intimidate him, he remained unperturbed, completely unconcerned. There was nothing that could move him, nothing that could shake him out of that disturbing calm.

As Lan Qiren's words echoed through the air, he took his time, relaxed, with that smile that betrayed nothing but cynicism and disdain. He ran a hand through his hair with a smug, almost boring gesture, as he stared Lan Qiren in the eyes, a contemptuous smile that only accentuated his total indifference. He seemed amused by everything, the situation, the threats, and even the tone of the man in front of him, as if it were a game he was deciding to observe from afar.

When he finally spoke, his voice was like a hiss, soft but sharp. The words came out with a carelessness that made them even more cutting. "Ah, Lan Qiren," he said with a wry smile. "You and your threats. Do you really think they intimidate me?" There wasn't the slightest sign of fear or respect in his words, just an awkward smugness. Unlike Jin Guangyao, who was skilled at manipulating and hiding his intentions, Nie Mingjue did not worry about appearing kind or maintaining a facade of politeness. He was brutal in his truth, and his truth was that he did not care at all about the gravity of Lan Qiren's words.

The laughter that followed was short, cold, a noise that sought not to soften the atmosphere, but to instill a palpable sense of contempt. "I'm not Jin Guangyao," he added, his voice growing rougher. The words, while seeming banal, had the weight of a silent accusation, a veiled reproach. It was not just a statement of difference, but a clear warning: "I don't play like him, I don't manipulate, I don't play hide and seek with feelings. I'm more direct. And yes, if I'm doing this, it's for my own satisfaction personal. But don't make it seem like more than it is."He didn't need to resort to Jin Guangyao's subterfuge or mind games. He played the game in a more direct, more brutal way. He didn't hide behind a veil of hypocrisy. His truth was that of a man who felt betrayed, who saw no reason to pretend that he was any different. And if it meant taking down Lan Xichen, he would do it without hesitation, without remorse.

The smile that had crossed Nie Mingjue's face slowly faded, as if it had been broken by the realization that what he was saying was no longer funny, but just an unnecessary burden. His lips, once curled into an expression of irony, tightened into a stiff line, as if he had lost all interest in the game he was playing. There was no longer any trace of that lightness that had characterized him a few moments before. His face took on a relentless hardness, an expression that combined amusement and contempt, but also a disenchantment that bordered on boredom. Almost as if the entire situation was beneath him, insignificant, and therefore worthy only of quick and cold disinterest.

His indifference was not accidental, nor an act of gratuitous arrogance. There was a cold realization in his eyes, an acknowledgment of how futile the situation was. Lan Qiren tried to intimidate, tried to reveal the truth, tried to make him falter, but Nie Mingjue was not a man who could be cornered by such threats. Lan Xichen, in his weakness, sought to protect his clan, but in the end he was nothing more than a pawn in a greater game. A game that Nie Mingjue was choosing to play in his own way, with his own rules and with his own strategy. And this awareness, which no one but himself seemed to possess, gave him an almost tangible power. Like a general who, observing the battlefield, sees every move of his opponents before they are made, knowing exactly how and when to act to gain maximum advantage.

Slowly, with a gesture that betrayed an almost painful detachment, he looked down at Lan Qiren, as if they were both mere chess pieces on a board that no longer deserved his attention. He saw them as two players who had made stupid choices, incapable of understanding the depth of the game they were participating in. Lan Xichen, in his fragility, had placed himself in a vulnerable position, and Lan Qiren, in his desperate attempt to protect what was left of the clan, was now threatening him. But to Nie Mingjue, none of it mattered. He never felt threatened because he knew he was above it all. His position was firm, solid as a rock, and no words from Lan Qiren could affect it.

"If you think I'm trying to tease him for fun, Lan Qiren," he said, his voice colder, "just know that I have no time for teenage games. I'm not interested in wooing him to pass the time." A glint of profiteering crossed his eyes as he continued, "But I can assure you that Lan Xichen deserves to suffer the worst for his stupidity. He ruined everything with his weakness, with his inability to see who is in front of him. He deserves a lesson, and I'm happy to give it to him."

His disdain for Lan Xichen was not just a result of his recent disappointment, but an overall vision of who he truly was. Lan Xichen had shown himself to be weak, and weakness was a sin that Nie Mingjue did not forgive. He saw him not only as a fool, but as someone who should have known better. If he wasn't able to see who was behind his actions, who was really behind Jin Guangyao's smile, then he deserved to be humiliated. And he would have done this with gusto, even if his smile didn't reveal it, even if it was now a little more icy. There was no longer any room for the enjoyment he had once found in the situation; just a sense of deep emptiness that pushed him to do what he felt was right. 

Ultimately, however, his true position was clear: he was a man who had accepted the game of suffering and humiliation as a price to pay. For him, the lesson to teach Lan Xichen was not just a punishment, but a way to make him grow up, a way to show him, in the cruelest way possible, that the world would not be kind to him. And unless he put himself out there, unless he faced the harsh reality, he would never be able to truly understand who he was. 

Nie Mingjue's mocking smile widened a bit as he leaned further back in his chair, as if he had settled comfortably into a position that expressed complete disinterest in the tension he had just created. His hands, now relaxed on his knees, did not betray even a hint of emotion while Lan Qiren, his gaze fixed and penetrating, observed him, his hands clenched under his sleeves. The air between them had grown even thicker, but to Nie Mingjue, everything felt like a game that was simply revealing its steps. Lan Qiren's threat, delivered with the usual firmness and strength of someone who feels in control, rolled over him like water over stone. He was there, sitting in front of them, without the slightest sign of fear or hesitation, as if Lan Qiren's words had no power to shake him even an inch.

“If poor Xichen needs a 'friend', then here i am,” Nie Mingjue said, his voice sharp as a blade, but with an incredible calm. "Ready to give him a hand." There was something unexpectedly cold and amused in his statement, as if his contempt wasn't so much for Xichen, but for the entire circus he was trying to set up. But the real venom was in his tone when he added, without any remorse, "But don't worry, I'm not Jin Guangyao. I won't manipulate anyone. Though, I might as well entertain him a little, let's see." The way he said that last sentence left no doubt: he was playing with them, playing with Lan Qiren as if he were nothing more than another pawn in a game that only he was winning.

His indifference was tangible, as if the entire discussion was too small for him. Lan Qiren's words, harsh as they were, had no power to make him waver even for a moment. Rather, his demeanor seemed almost amused by the tension the guardian was trying to create. There was no fear, no fear of losing him. Lan Qiren tried to intimidate him, tried to protect him from himself and what he was about to do, but to Nie Mingjue those threats were nothing more than air. They were no more than a formality, a minor obstacle in a game he never dreamed of losing.

“Do not be afraid,” Nie Mingjue repeated, looking up at Lan Qiren, “Xichen will have everything he needs. And if he wants it, even a little entertainment. Sometimes, all a person needs is simply to be treated the way you deserve, and maybe even something more." His smile widened further, almost cocky, as his attention shifted completely to Lan Xichen, who, despite being another scapegoat for his grudge, represented something he would never allow anyone to ruin too easily. Xichen, in his weakness, was a pawn, and like any pawn, he had his role to play. But Nie Mingjue had never been naive. He knew how to deal with the weak, how to use them and, when necessary, how to put them down without remorse.

The air in the room became even more tense, but Nie Mingjue didn't move even an inch, as if nothing could truly shake him. His strength lay in his complete imperturbability, in the knowledge that there was no one who could question him, that his game was bigger and deeper than anyone could imagine. Lan Qiren, with all his authority and determination, was nothing more than an extra in a drama that was being played out elsewhere, in a story that he would never have written. With that mocking smile still on his lips, he leaned back further in his chair, making it clear to Lan Qiren that no amount of threats or words of warning could stop him. He wasn't afraid of anything, not even an old guardian trying to protect a young man he just thought was stupid.

He, at least, had never been so naive.

Chapter Text

The square of the gallows seemed suspended out of time, like a painting of death and silence. Everything was still, frozen in an unnatural stillness, similar to the breath held by hundreds of invisible spectators. The air was thick, suffocating, like a lead veil dropped over the scene. It was heavy with anticipation and something darker: the weight of what was about to be broken, irrevocably. The wind, reduced to a whisper, barely grazed the bare pavement, raising tufts of dust and shreds of dead leaves. They moved like forgotten ghosts, carrying with them the harsh smell of damp earth and the ferrous scent of blood, which seemed to have been encrusted on the stones for centuries. The clouds, puffy and low, loomed over the horizon with oppressive gravity, as if the sky itself refused to look at what was about to happen. An inkblot, an omen that could not be erased.

Every sound had receded, as if sucked into the earth itself; there were no voices, no breathing, not even the distant call of an animal. There was only that intermittent rustle of the wind and a dull, irregular noise, a broken branch beating against a stone wall, like a drum marking the time of the wait. It was the heart of the square that beat slowly, inexorably, while every other beat seemed to have stopped. Even nature seemed to have bowed to that sentence. The shadows of the buildings fell heavy, misshapen, like fingers pointing silent accusations. The gray pavement, worn by the footsteps of other men before him, seemed to emanate an ancient cold, a chill that crept into the lungs and marrow, leaving everything empty and immobile.

In the center of that gray space, almost an amphitheater of ancient tragedies, Jin Guangyao knelt, a small man facing a judgment too great to be avoided. His figure, once impeccable and confident, now seemed to be shrinking more and more, as if collapsing in on itself. The body, previously elegant and well-groomed, appeared like a destroyed monument: the once sumptuous silk robes were reduced to filthy rags, torn and crumpled, impregnated with dust and shame. His neck, bent unnaturally forward, seemed to barely support the weight of his head, and his shoulders trembled, not from the cold but from a contempt that overwhelmed him. The skin, pale as a sheet, bore the unmistakable signs of days of torment. On his face, a mosaic of purple bruises and yellowish bruises mixed with the furrows of now dried tears. His lips were chapped, his breathing barely perceptible, as if every breath of air was an additional pain he didn't deserve. But what was really striking were his eyes.

Those eyes, which had seen too much and understood too late, stared at the pavement with a dark and cold light, full of an unshakable resentment. They had once been deceptive mirrors, windows to a sharp intellect and a poisonous tongue; now, all that remained was a cold glare, a barely restrained hatred, but also an ancient, silent and unbridgeable desperation. Jin Guangyao did not ask for mercy, because he knew that there was no mercy left for him. Yet, in that bent, almost painful posture of his, there was a thin thread of humanity, a last glimmer of life that desperately clung to a past that no one wanted to remember. 

The gallows stood out like a definitive sentence, a dark corner of a world that had stopped believing in redemption. The square was enveloped in an unreal calm, the air heavy like a blanket that tightened the lungs and bones. The silence was thick, almost tangible, a void that threatened to swallow every thought, every breath. Under the gray and livid sky, every single shadow seemed to focus on that one point, on that scene that would be written in blood. The clouds, full of rain, stratified above the city, blackening the sky as if even nature itself was witness to the absurdity that was being committed. The roofs and walls of the buildings were reflected on a stone floor that seemed worn by time and the weight of the events that had taken place above it. The surface of the square was rough, granite, implacable, as if every step was a sentence already written. The ground, now soaked with the sweat and broken dreams of those who had walked on it, seemed to hold on to a thin thread that threatened to break at the slightest movement.

Yet there was something more: a quiet that preluded the scream, an exhausted wait. All eyes, invisible yet omnipresent, were fixed on one man: Jin Guangyao. His body seemed more fragile than ever, kneeling on that platform of death, his robes worn and stained, his hair no longer the elegant framing of a man of power, but an unpresentable tangle that conveyed his total collapse. His every movement, every breath seemed swallowed up by the silence that surrounded him, as if he too was aware that the end was not just a punishment, but a liberation. 

Jin Guangyao, the great puppet master, the one who had orchestrated dozens of deceptions and ruined lives without batting an eyelid, now seemed emptied of everything that made him so. There was no longer the glimmer of calculation in his eyes, just a weakness that made his body smaller, more insignificant, more human. His hand trembled as he rested on the floor, searching for a hold that didn't exist, while his gaze turned towards Lan Xichen's face. And in that fixation, like an echo that gets louder from time to time, the desperation of a man who would realize too late that his every move had been in vain.

Lan Xichen stood motionless, but his face was like an open book. The gaze, fixed on Jin Guangyao, seemed to convey every emotion that was going through his heart, every beat of his heart that betrayed him. There was no longer the young man who had trusted, nor the man who had wanted to see the good in others. There was only a void, an unsustainable space that he couldn't fill. The knowledge that Jin Guangyao, his brother in mind and heart, was nothing more than an intruder, a disguised deception, seemed to crush his soul. His hands, which had sought peace in every heartbeat, now shook trembling at his sides, unable to stay still. Jin Guangyao's every move sent a physical pain that reflected in his chest, as if the man he had once called brother was breaking something fundamental within him. Not just trust, but something even deeper. A sense of betrayal that he could never truly understand until that moment, as if the entire foundation of his world had been razed to the ground, destroyed by the poison of his own beliefs.

Beside him, Lan Qiren was a silent figure. Not one whisper, not one word. His presence, in itself, seemed to be the only constant in that stormy sea. His figure as an austere elder, usually ready to impart lessons in justice and discipline, was now reduced to a helpless observer. His eyes searched Lan Xichen's face with a pain he never wanted to admit. He knew there was nothing he could have done to avoid the pain his nephew was experiencing. Not even he, in his wisdom, would have been able to stop the mechanism that had been set in motion. Lan Wangji, always one step behind, like a silent guard, watched with the same intense gaze, but his face was more than a hardened mask: it was the face of someone who had prepared himself for what was to come, but who, despite everything , he couldn't stop it. Behind him was a subtle tension, a held energy that seemed to resonate with Lan Xichen's, like two invisible threads intertwining in a bond that no sword blow would ever break. Lan Wangji didn't have to say anything; his presence alone, silent and solid, was enough to remind Lan Xichen that he had never been truly alone.   

The executioner had arrived. 

Nie Mingjue entered, his steps heavy but determined, a march that seemed to resonate like the beating of a war drum. His every movement seemed orchestrated with an icy calm, but beneath the surface there was a devastating force, ready to explode. His figure was an imposition, a presence that dominated everything else, a man who walked as if the world itself had to bend to his will. He wore his best sect leader robes: the dark silk cloak slipped over his broad shoulders, his profile was a shadow of power. The black armor glinted in the dim light of the sky, a light that seemed to hide from its authority. Every step he took seemed to weigh like judgment itself, as if the weight of his actions weighed on the air, on the whole place around them.

Nie Mingjue was no longer the leader of the war who was about to give up his cause. He wasn't even the heavy-hearted general who had made sacrifices in the name of his people. Now, in that precise moment, he was the executioner, the executioner, the one who no longer had to answer to anyone. His face, usually so severe, showed a calm that had the flavor of revenge, a terrible serenity that did not bode well for those who were about to face him.

Jin Guangyao lay on the ground, his hands shaking as he tried to stand, his skin pale like that of a man who knows he has no escape. Her lips were dry, her breathing was labored, but there was no escape. His mind, which for years had woven deceptions and falsehoods, now found itself completely uprooted from reality. The executioner looked at him with contempt, like a dog that finally gets its punishment. In that moment, the desperation that had always painted Jin Guangyao's face turned into something darker, a mixture of anger and madness that only a man who had lost everything would be capable of expressing. The mask of composure that he had loved to wear was no longer there, nor the fake smile that had accompanied him in his power games. He was reduced to an animal that felt death approaching, and that death wasn't just physical. It was the end of everything he had built, of all the lies he had woven with hands stained with betrayal. But that truth, that truth that was crushing him, led him to laugh, to laugh out loud, as if the only thing that remained was the paradox of his existence.

With a panting breath, Jin Guangyao, with a twisted grin on his lips, raised his head, staring at Lan Xichen with a look that was becoming more and more delirious. His voice, which had initially trembled, now vibrated with malevolent energy. "I hate you," he shouted, the fury in his eyes seeming to come to life. "I hate you, Xichen!"

The words were venom slipping from his mouth with furious speed, but there was no salvation in his hatred, nor in what he was trying to scream. It was too late. He already lost. Yet, in his desperation, he continued to speak, to launch accusations as if they could change his fate. The laughter, which seemed disjointed and out of control, took hold in his words, a bitter laugh that mixed with the sound of his broken voice. There was no longer any dignity in his screams, just a shadow of what had been. Jin Guangyao laughed, a sound that seemed to tear the air, as if he was trying to suffocate the pain that he no longer had any way to stop.

"I used you, Xichen. I made you believe in my lies!" His voice became a growl, his body trembling like a windswept leaf. "But you… you're the biggest idiot of all! You can't even see my real face!"

It was as if his mind was giving in completely, abandoning him to that raucous laughter, a sound that no longer had anything human about it. The anger, the disbelief, the fear of the imminent end mixed in a crazy tangle of emotions that made him even more dangerous, even more unpredictable. His insanity was no longer just an aspect of his nature; now it was his only company, and he clung to it like a shipwrecked man. But in that laughter, in that frenzy that slipped into the abyss, the Jin Guangyao who had conspired, who had manipulated, who had broken hearts in order to survive was no longer there. He was reduced to a man who was grasping at his last opportunity for revenge, but who was only digging his grave deeper in the process.

Nie Mingjue, who was observing everything from afar with a gaze that had never wavered, did not move. No longer was he the general who had fought for an ideal. No longer was he the man who had made sacrifices for his clan. He was just the executioner. The executor of a sentence that did not allow appeals. With his face unperturbed, his gaze impassive, he advanced towards Jin Guangyao with silence seeming to envelop him. There were no words to exchange. There was no need to answer anything. Jin Guangyao, with his face now distorted by anger and madness, tried to launch himself once again against his destiny, but at that moment, his end was already approaching. With a quick and precise gesture, Nie Mingjue raised the sword, which shone like a shooting star. Jin Guangyao's laughter stopped instantly, frozen in the air, as the blade came down with a precision that left no escape.

The scene unfolding before them was no longer just a punishment, but an act of raw and cruel truth. Jin Guangyao's head lay separated from his body, the blood mixing with the earth like an inescapable sin. Death had never felt so final, so certain. No resistance, no screams, just the stopping of breathing and the silence that followed. The executioner, the arm of justice, stood above him, but his eyes were not looking at the corpse. No, they were fixated on someone else, on the one who, despite having suffered more than anyone else, had never had the strength to see reality for what it was. Xichen.

"I hate you," Nie Mingjue murmured, and those words were like a spell, cast onto the red earth like a sentence. "But I don't kill you for me. I kill you for him." His words weren't poison, they weren't anger, but they were an echo of everything Lan Xichen hadn't wanted to see. They were the sentence of those who, despite being overwhelmed by pain, were not willing to give in to the luxury of compassion. At this moment, Nie Mingjue was not killing for himself, but for another. For that young man who, more than anyone else, had suffered deception, manipulation, the devastation of a love that should never have existed. He hated it, yes, but somehow, he also hated himself for being the silent witness to that suffering. 

He turned with a jerk, the blade still dripping with the betrayal he had just wiped from the face of the earth, and faced Lan Xichen. The sight of him did not arouse pity in him, but rather an implacable cold, as if that scene had already been written long ago, as if everything had already been decided. Lan Xichen, however, didn't even seem to notice him. His body was a dead weight, stiff, soulless, in Lan Qiren's arms.

Lan Xichen, though the purest hearted among them all, was now reduced to an empty shell, his limp body a testament to his shattered mind. Lan Qiren held him as if he were the most fragile thing in the world, as if he had to protect him not only from his surroundings, but also from what was happening inside him. His eyes, normally so severe, were now filled with worry, yet a shadow of sadness couldn't help but weigh on his every gesture. What to do when the soul of a disciple crumbles under the weight of betrayal and the truth? What to say when the vision of such a broken man offers no solutions, only more questions? 

Lan Xichen, lying in Lan Qiren's arms, almost looked like a sacred painting, an image of pain and forgiveness that could not find peace. His hands didn't move, his face no longer expressed anything but silent resignation. Every beat of his heart seemed to cry out for a love that had never been returned, for a trust that had been ripped away from him without warning. It was like a painting of hope and doom, an icon of a love that would never be realized, that now lay dead and buried in the arms of those who should have protected it, but could not prevent its fall.

At that moment, when Lan Qiren looked at his disciple with eyes full of pain, the sky seemed to have lost all color. The air was filled with something heavier than death itself. Lan Xichen didn't need words anymore. His body was his only voice, his breath his only regret. 

Lan Qiren looked at Lan Xichen's face, pale and marked by suffering, as if every line of his face was the reflection of a broken soul. The sweetness it once had was now gone, leaving room only for a silent sadness, as deep as the abyss. His hands, which were once firm and confident, now trembled imperceptibly as they supported Lan Xichen's body. The only sound that filled the silence was the labored breathing of the young man, who seemed to be struggling to stay anchored to life, as if every beat of his heart was a fight he no longer wanted to fight. There was nothing Lan Qiren could say or do to mend that broken heart. He wished his strength could heal the pain he saw in those drooping eyes, but he knew that his own strength was powerless in the face of the magnitude of the void that had engulfed Lan Xichen.

Yet as he held him in his arms, Lan Qiren realized an even more painful truth: he could no longer ask Lan Xichen to be the pillar he had always hoped he would be. That boy, who had once shown so much determination and strength, now seemed like a leaf suspended in the wind, unable to resist the storm that had knocked him down. And in that moment, Lan Qiren understood that the pain that united them both would never be healed by simple words of comfort. It was no longer enough to say “It's okay” or “It will pass”. That pain was too deep, too visceral, to be healed by those phrases that once could have soothed the heart of a boy who trusted him.

Lan Qiren felt it was impossible to fill that void. He looked at Lan Xichen and saw not only the boy he raised, but also the man who had lost his hope. He never thought that his role would be to be a spectator of Lan Xichen's pain. He never thought he would have to watch the boy he had tried to protect sink into the darkness of his mind and heart. Now, as he held him, he felt like an old man, tired, unable to stop the flow of time that had left scars too deep to heal. Lan Xichen, although weak, was still breathing. But Lan Qiren knew that the struggle he was experiencing within him was a war that would never end. And there was nothing, at that moment, that he could have done to bring him back. Nothing that could have changed that destiny that now seemed written. 

Nie Mingjue, however, didn't need to feel justified. He looked at Lan Xichen, his now abandoned and limp form, passed out in Lan Qiren's arms, and felt a bitter laugh rise from his throat. A laugh that wasn't amused, but rather a muffled scream of disillusionment. Because Lan Xichen had never been who he thought he was. The boy he had once tried to protect was now too far from him, too distant from his understanding.

"Welcome to the real world, Xichen," he said, his voice full of sarcasm and contempt. “Are you strong enough to face the truth now?” The question was not directed at him, but at the boy now sunk in his weakness, who could no longer see anything beyond his desperation. And yet, he was looking at him. Perhaps, in that moment, he was looking at him as if he were another stranger, as if he were another man he could never save.

The laughter grew louder, a laughter that held no joy, but rather revealed how empty he felt inside. He couldn't stop, he couldn't be compassionate. This was his destiny. This was what life prepared for him. And he was embracing it.  Then, Nie Mingjue's gaze fell on Lan Xichen, and the sarcastic smile he had displayed vanished, replaced by a deeper grimace, as if the specter of his own desperation had touched him too. "You loved him," he hissed, like a sentence. "And now here he is, lying here. You loved him as a God, and now there is not even a shadow of him left."

Nie Mingjue slowly approached Lan Xichen, his steps heavy, and his voice lowered to a malevolent whisper, as if he were able to penetrate Lan Xichen's very heart. “You were naive, fucking naive.” His sharp tongue slipped through the words. “And now you have to pay the price for that weakness.” Nie Mingjue's every word was like a stab. Every word was a reproach that he, finally, had the right to make. There was no room for compassion, there was no longer room for kindness.

Nie Mingjue slowly knelt down, as if the weight of the world was crushing his soul, as if every step that had brought him to this point was now irreparable. His body trembled, but it wasn't just the cold death he had just inflicted on Jin Guangyao that shook him. It was something deeper, something that burrowed into the recesses of his psyche, something he could never extinguish. There wasn't even a shred of peace in him, not even a moment of relief. Only anguish. His heart was beating so loudly it sounded like a drum that wouldn't stop, but there was no one left to hear it.

He bent over Lan Xichen's unconscious body, whose serene beauty, despite the suffering he had been through, hit him like a whip. Lan Xichen's face, pale and frail in Lan Qiren's arms, seemed more like a statue of a forgotten god than a man. His mouth, separated by a thin thread of breath, betrayed his inner struggle, his unbearable weakness in the face of that truth which he could no longer ignore. It was as if Lan Xichen had been transported to another world, far from him, from what had happened, as if his body was now just a relic of a past that could no longer be recovered.

Nie Mingjue bent further over Lan Xichen's body, his hands clutching desperately, as if he was trying to anchor himself to something tangible, but all he found was emptiness. His body trembled, his breath choppy from the scream that tore his throat. There was no control anymore, only the fury of an unmanageable rage, a torment that was consuming him alive.

“I hate you!” he shouted, the words coming out like a fiery blade. But inside his voice there was something breaking, a pain that poured out in a river of words he didn't even know he wanted to say. His face was now marred by tears sliding down his cheeks, the fury in his eyes mixed with the deepest pain, the shame that made him feel like he was sinking into an endless abyss. “I hate you,” he repeated, but this time his voice became lower, almost a plea that bounced between the walls of his heart. “I hate you, but... I still love you. I don't even understand what the fuck I'm saying! I hate you, hate you and love you at the same time! I can't... I can't resist anymore. I love you, but I hate you more than I hate myself!" His voice broke, like a whiplash, and a furious scream broke the silence. He leaned further into Lan Xichen's body, as if that position could give him some relief, as if it could somehow take away the pain. 

Nie Mingjue's hands tightened even more tightly on Lan Xichen's fabric, as if that grip could keep him anchored to something, as if his body, which was trembling with pure desperation, could receive a little of that stability that his heart , now shocked, could not find. His eyes, usually so impassive, were now wide, incandescent with a blind rage that mingled with a pain he couldn't even define. There was no clarity in him, only a fury that seemed to drag him beneath the surface, leaving him drowning in a sea of emotions he no longer knew how to control.

Every fiber of his body screamed in agony that had no name. His mind was a chaos, a silent scream that resonated in every corner of his soul. Why? Why had I betrayed him? Why had he made me feel like I was capable of hating... when I should have just loved him? The emptiness that surrounded him wasn't just an absence of Lan Xichen. It was the emptiness of himself, of everything he had lost and could never recover. He felt life slipping through his fingers, and the more he tried to hold on, the more his hands seemed to close on nothing, on an unresponsive body, a soul that had never been his.

"I can't..." his lips moved in a whisper, trembling, but the hatred the words carried within them made his very breath tremble. "I can't let you go..." His voice, broken, broken by convulsive sobs, was that of a man who had lost everything, even if his body was still there, bent over, asking for the forgiveness he knew he didn't deserve . Yet, he couldn't stop. He couldn't stop repeating that damned sentence, as if invoking it could stop the collapse he felt inside.

“I hate you…I hate you…and I love you.” The words he shouted were now fragments of what had once been. "I would hate myself... if only I could... but I can't... I can't do without you anymore..." His mind was lost in a whirlwind of images, of memories, of all those moments in which it should have been different, it should have been better. How could I not have seen? Every moment spent lying, betraying him, destroying him, became heavier than a thousand rocks on his heart.

There, as anger devours him, he begins to feel the weight of physical pain, the agony that never stops throbbing inside him, like a wound that has never healed. His soul, torn, no longer looked for justification or consolation. Every breath he took in that moment was a reminder of his failure, of how every step he had taken had led him to this surrender, to this moment of no return. Yet, in the midst of despair, he couldn't stop staring at Lan Xichen's still body. He couldn't take his eyes off him, as if looking at him could turn back time, as if that vision could give him the courage he had lost, the strength to admit that his anger had never really been against Lan Xichen, but against himself. Why have I done this to you? Remorse consumed him in every fiber, yet he did not stop clutching Lan Xichen's fabric, as if that were the last anchor he had left.

A scream, heartbreaking, exploded from his throat as his hands, now trembling, tried to sink into the edges of Lan Xichen's dress, as if they could take hold of something bigger than him, something he could never control. The frenzy with which he held him, the eyes shining with tears and hatred, spoke louder than any words. That anger, that pain that he couldn't vent, made him vulnerable, and in that vulnerability there was something so tragic that it seemed unreal.

"Forgive me..." he finally whispered, but the words didn't seem to come. There was no forgiveness for him. Not anymore. Not because of what he had done, not because of how he had treated the man who now lay in his arms, helpless, unable to respond. “Please… forgive me…” 

Nie Mingjue bent Lan Xichen's body against him, his trembling hands gripping the fabric of his robes as if it were the only thing still binding him to the world. The feeling of emptiness that pervaded him was an abyss that swallowed up every rational thought, every fragment of logic that could have justified his fury. Lan Xichen's face, pale and still, was not that of a dead man, but of someone who was about to be sucked into the same darkness that had invaded Nie Mingjue's soul. There was no life in his eyes, yet he wasn't dead yet.

“Why don’t you wake up?!” Nie Mingjue shouted, his voice filled with anger and desperation. His mind was collapsing under the weight of that silence, that calm that no longer seemed to belong to reality. He shook him, as if he wanted to squeeze the life out of Lan Xichen, but the body of the greatest Lan remained inert, like a cold and distant marble statue. There was no resistance in him, there wasn't even the breath that should have signaled the presence of a soul. It was just the flesh, the empty body he knew he had destroyed. The tears began to fall silently, like a river that could not be held back. “I hate you…I hate you…and I love you!” The phrase that once would have made people laugh now sounded like a curse. His voice cracked, shattered, like the rest of his being, like his hands shaking on Lan Xichen's body. He felt a deep hatred that devoured every fiber of his being, but at the same time there was a love so powerful that it imploded. A love that he had never dared to confess, that was now mixed with the fury, with the shame, with the remorse of a man who had destroyed everything he loved. 

“Why did you let me do all this?” His breathing became increasingly labored, yet in the heart of his desperation, Nie Mingjue couldn't take his eyes off Lan Xichen. Every detail of his face, every crease in his skin, seemed to carve into his heart as if every imperfection was evidence of his wickedness, his inadequacy. His mind screamed, but the words wouldn't come, they broke on the edge of his lips. How could it be like this, how could it have gotten to this point? Why was the truth hitting him so hard that he couldn't breathe?

His hands, which had previously grabbed him in anger, now leaned on Lan Xichen as if they wanted to hug him, but there was nothing left that could be hugged. There was no longer time, there was no longer the right moment to save what they had lost. There was no longer any way out, yet his hands continued to hold Lan Xichen's body, as if that last gesture could make the difference.

"I can't forgive myself," he murmured, his voice shaking with conflicting emotions, "I can't forgive myself for doing this to you." The desperation in his voice was so palpable that even the wind seemed to stop. “I can't… I can't…” his tears slid down Lan Xichen's face, but they no longer knew whether they were tears of anger or love. Perhaps, they were just the tears of a man who had lost himself the moment he lost the other. The scene was surreal. Lan Xichen, with his head resting on Nie Mingjue's chest, now looked like a fallen angel, unable to respond, to react. His fragility, at that moment, was heartbreaking. But that wasn't the real tragedy. The tragedy was that Nie Mingjue knew that he was the creator of that weakness. He had destroyed the only thing that had ever meant anything to him.

Lan Qiren, on the one hand, watched everything in silence, his eyes filled with contempt and anger. There was no compassion for him. Just a shadow of a betrayal that would never be forgotten. But even he, somehow, knew that Nie Mingjue's suffering was not a punishment. It was the end of a man who had never found the courage to do what he needed to do. Yet, in that scene, there was no victory. Just the end of everything.

Lan Wangji, behind them, was preparing to act, his sword ready to draw from its sheath. But the gesture he had thought about no longer seemed right. There was nothing left to solve with violence. The scene unfolding before his eyes was too great a humiliation, too painful a tragedy to be stopped with a sword blow. Nie Mingjue, while holding Lan Xichen in his arms, understood at that moment, perhaps too late, that every action had a price. That every lie, every betrayal, had dug a hole so deep that he could never get out. And yet, he could not let go. He couldn't stop looking for a sign that could save him from the darkness that was swallowing him. 

The tears no longer fell silently, but were a raging river that he couldn't stop. His face was set in a grimace of desperation. “Why don't you wake up?” His voice trembled, as if he wanted to extract the answer from Lan Xichen, from that body that seemed so far away, but which, if only he could, he would have embraced with all his soul. “Why don't you forgive me? Why can't you tell me that everything is fine, that we can forget?” There was no response. No justice. There was only pain tearing through every inch of him.

Lan Xichen, who had once walked beside him, now seemed so distant, as if he had been sucked into a world apart, a world that Nie Mingjue could not reach. And yet, despite everything, he couldn't let go. His mind was a hell. His soul a battlefield. But his heart… his heart continued to beat for him, even if everything around him was falling apart.

Suspended between hate and love, between guilt and desperation, Nie Mingjue felt his heart breaking as if every beat was a laceration. The hands that held Lan Xichen were not those of a man trying to protect, but those of a condemned man desperately seeking an anchor to hold on to, something that could make sense of the madness he had unleashed. Every fiber of his body trembled, not from fear of physical pain, but from the horror that had crept within him: the knowledge that, now, he would never be able to escape his own destruction.

The tears were no longer a symbol of weakness, but of a terrible admission: he had destroyed everything he had most precious, and now, at the moment in which fate presented him with its revenge, there was no way of exit. There was nothing more to be done. Only emptiness. Only the pain that tore at his mind, his heart, every corner of his being. His mind was screaming, but the words seemed to fall into the ocean of his madness, without any echo. There was nothing tangible left that could save him, no salvation, no hope. His soul was drowning in guilt and remorse. Every movement, every thought, seemed excruciating, a sentence he would never finish serving.

And, as the world around him shattered, Nie Mingjue bent over, almost as if he were trying to merge with Lan Xichen, to absorb the pain that he himself had generated. There was no longer the strength of the man who had commanded, of the warrior who had made every decision with confidence. There was only the man who had lost everything, and now, bent over Lan Xichen's robes, he was pleading for mercy for his own lost soul. 

Chapter Text

"Pendant ce temps, le temps passe, et je subis tes balivernes"

It was a day no one had chosen, yet no one could stop. A day that imposed the weight of tradition above every desire. The wedding ceremony, while not an act of love, represented a political necessity, a compulsion that would be carried out mercilessly. Lan Xichen, despite being a man, had to play the role of wife, as per ancient tradition. His figure, usually calm and measured, today had to wear a dress that represented not only a union, but an honor and a sacrifice.

His hanfu, long and sumptuous, was a triumph of red, the color of prosperity, happiness, and love, but which for him seemed to only dress the façade of a tradition that left no room for personal emotions. The dragon, symbol of man, was embroidered with gold threads on the chest of the dress, while the phoenix, symbol of woman, was traced on the wide sleeves, elegant, proud and distant. The golden embroidery, delicate and precious, had a profound meaning, but at that moment for Lan Xichen they were only symbols of a bond he was not looking for. The fabric, precious and heavy, slipped along Xichen's body, but not with the lightness of beauty, but rather with the weight of a responsibility that did not belong to him. The sleeves, wide and soft, swayed every time he moved, as if they wanted to reveal his inner fragility. But he didn't stop, didn't falter. He tried to maintain his proud appearance, despite knowing that under that traditional dress there was only a man who was not free to choose his path.

The xiapei cloak, a rich red covering, rich in golden fringes, shimmered with every step he took. His fengguan headdress, adorned with precious stones, shone under the flickering light of the candles, but its weight made him even more aware of the situation he was experiencing. It was a sign of authority, but also a burden that, for that day, she would have to carry as a symbol of a marriage that would never celebrate love. His face was emotionless, as always, but his eyes betrayed the sadness he felt. Lan Xichen wasn't pleased. Tradition forced him to be the figure who should be at the center of the ceremony, but not the person he would have liked to be. His position was not that of a true bride who could live her love freely, but of a symbolic figure, of a pawn who, by accepting that fate, had lost all control over his life. 

Lan Xichen was about to perform an act that would define not only his present, but also his future. His figure, wrapped in the sumptuous red hanfu, stood out solemnly in the room, but each step seemed to weigh more than the previous one, as if each movement was conditioned by a tradition that did not belong to him. The rich and opulent xiapei cloak fell on his shoulders with incredible grace, but its weight was anything but symbolic. Each golden fringe that glittered in the flickering candlelight seemed to bind him more firmly to his condition, as if the fate of the Lan Clan were stitched together in that rich, glittering fabric. There was not a corner in the room where the red of her dress was not visible, a color that in her mind did not evoke happiness or love, but only solemn and inevitable responsibility.

The fengguan headdress, which would have been the crowning achievement of any wedding, was like a bulwark that prevented him from escaping, not only physically but also mentally. The precious stones that adorned him, similar to brilliant stars, seemed to symbolize the greatness, the nobility of the clan, but the weight he felt on his head was not only physical. Every single gem reminded him that he was trapped in a role he hadn't chosen, a figure of symbol, of appearance, but not of substance. Every little movement he made to adjust it, every slight crease in his headdress, seemed to reflect his internal struggle, the desire to be something different, to feel free from that gilded cage.

The hands, which moved with the precision and composure that had always distinguished Lan Xichen, now trembled imperceptibly. It wasn't just a tradition he was about to make, but a forced choice that would mark his life forever. His fingers closed around the edge of his cape, but there was no comfort in the gesture. It was as if the dress itself was a prison he was trying to escape, but couldn't. The golden embroidery, symbols of prosperity and honor, seemed to be the hallmark of a freedom he would never taste. 

Nie Mingjue entered the room with his trademark confident, determined stride, but he couldn’t suppress a subtle uneasiness that was reflected in his eyes. His red wedding hanfu shone under the flickering candlelight, but his stiff, impassive posture hid the inner turmoil that was stirring beneath the surface.

When his eyes met Lan Xichen's, something changed. Despite the harshness of his facade, an unexpected sweetness emerged, very fragile and silent. Nie Mingjue tried to mask it with a mocking smile, that smile he used as a shield, but he couldn't completely hide the tremor in his voice when he spoke.

"You know," he said, his tone of sarcasm hiding the tension, "I might be a better husband than Jin Guangyao. Of course, I won't fill you with lies, but I think we can still get by."

But the sarcasm this time did not have its usual effect. Instead, the words slipped like sand through his fingers, uncomfortable and empty. Nie Mingjue's eyes could no longer move away from Lan Xichen, and behind the hardness he tried to maintain, something he couldn't repress was reflected: an open wound, a remorse he couldn't quell.

His eyes, always so determined, became moist, and although he tried to disguise it, a silent tear slipped down his cheek. It wasn't just a sign of sadness, but of a deep pain that only Lan Xichen had ever known how to cause in him. It was a pain that couldn't simply be ignored, that couldn't be overcome with a joke or a forced smile. Nie Mingjue hated seeing Lan Xichen in that position, hated seeing the man she had loved in that condition, forced to wear a dress that didn't match his spirit. But most of all, he hated himself for pushing him there. Her sweetness was a condemnation, one that burned inside him every time he looked at Lan Xichen's face and realized that that ceremony, that wedding, was not what they would have wanted, neither he or Xichen. Yet, there was an incredible tenderness in those eyes that Nie Mingjue couldn't ignore. He couldn't separate his love for Lan Xichen from the pain he felt, from the awareness that that bond, forced by a destiny they hadn't chosen, was also the only thing that truly united them.

At that moment, Nie Mingjue was no longer the warrior everyone feared, but a man who was trying to come to terms with his own vulnerability. When he approached, his hand was shaking slightly. He wasn't looking for control, but a small comfort, a gesture that could heal, even if just for an instant, the wound he had inflicted on Lan Xichen.

“I don't want you to think you're doing this for me,” he murmured, more to himself than to Lan Xichen, his tone turning soft, vulnerable. "I do it because it's the only way I know how to protect you." It was an admission of weakness, something Nie Mingjue would rarely let on, but at that moment his mask was broken. The reality of their situation, the knowledge that this marriage was only a symbolic act to maintain face for the Clan, was a truth that weighed on both of them. Yet, beneath that truth, there was the shadow of a love never confessed, never experienced, which now burned piercingly.

While Lan Xichen remained silent, unable to respond, Nie Mingjue leaned over him slightly, as if wanting to whisper something intimate, but the words didn't come. Only the heartbeat of both filled that silence full of meaning, of unfulfilled expectations, of a hope that now seemed distant.

The wedding that day was not just a ceremony. It was a meeting between two tormented souls, forced to confront a bond they hadn't chosen, but which they couldn't refuse either. And Nie Mingjue, with that smile now broken, knew that, despite everything, his heart would continue to beat for Lan Xichen, in spite of every sarcasm, every mask, every past mistake. 

And so, at the end of the day, Lan Xichen found himself in the heart of a residence that didn't feel like his. Despite its solemn and respectable appearance, Nie Mingjue's house was a golden prison, a place where the silence within the walls seemed to scream louder than any words. He had now worn his wedding dress which, although splendid, could not hide the feeling of strangeness that pervaded him. He was a husband, but he didn't feel like one.

Nie Mingjue's residence was imposing, austere, but lacked the lightness and serenity that Lan Xichen had known in the Lan Clan. Every corner, every room, seemed to be witness to an untold story, of a love never truly experienced. The ceremony, however grand and respected, was only a veil over the truth they both knew they had to face. It wasn't a real marriage, but a strategic move, a union desired more for the face of the Clan than for their love. Yet, somehow, they both knew that the real battle was not the one they had just fought between rituals, formalities and forced greetings. The real struggle would be that of the days to come, in the silence that would follow the words left unspoken and the promises never expressed.

Nie Mingjue, although more pragmatic than Lan Xichen, could not ignore the weight of that marriage. He had wanted to do the right thing, but he did it for reasons that had nothing to do with love. He had married because the Clan required it, because Lan Xichen was the man he himself had idealized, but also a man he felt was too distant. Yet, deep down, he couldn't help but feel broken, knowing that Lan Xichen would never truly be his, that this forced union would constantly divide their hearts.

But despite everything, Nie Mingjue couldn't completely separate himself from that bond. He felt, deep down in his tormented soul, that a part of him would always long for a deeper union, something that went beyond formality, beyond what marriage truly represented. The sweetness he saw in Lan Xichen that morning, despite their pain and the gravity of the moment, troubled him. And those unspoken tears, those silences that had been exchanged in the midst of the rituals, remained suspended in the air like a weight, an echo that followed him in every step he took.

When they found themselves in the large bedroom, the atmosphere became even more dense. Lan Xichen slowly took off his wedding dress, the red that symbolized prosperity and happiness now seemed too far from what they truly felt. He looked in the mirror for a moment, seeing in the reflection a man he no longer recognized. He was no longer the Clan's Lan Xichen, nor the man he had hoped to be. Yet, in that reflection, there was a resistance, a part of him that didn't want to give in completely. And despite the pain, the remorse, and the knowledge that it would be difficult, he would face that marriage, at least until he found the strength to do something different.

Nie Mingjue, while maintaining his impassiveness, couldn't help but look at him with a look that betrayed his vulnerability. His hand touched Lan Xichen's shoulder without thinking, as if he wanted to make him feel less alone, as if in that small gesture there was all the sweetness that he couldn't show.

“Are you sure you want to stay here?” he asked, his voice low, almost hesitant.

Lan Xichen looked at him, and for a moment, there was nothing but silence between the two of them. No immediate response, just the beating of their hearts that merged in that moment of suspended tension. They both knew it wouldn't be easy. They would never have the wedding they dreamed of, but the path ahead of them was not yet written. The truth, however, was that they would have to face it together, of course, even if Lan Xichen's heart was still divided, still searching for something he didn't know how to find.

Yet, there was something in him that couldn't let go of that hope, something that kept him tied to Nie Mingjue, even if their future seemed uncertain and distant.

The true union was not in the ceremony, the clothes, or the tea ritual. The true union would come with time, between unspoken words and gestures that would speak louder than any formal promise. But for now, they were bound by a story that had just begun, a chapter neither of them could have written alone. 

Months passed, but for Lan Xichen it seemed as if time had stopped that day, when he got married to Nie Mingjue. The red dress she had worn, now cast aside, still seemed stuck to her skin, like a memory too painful to forget. Despite the solemnity of the wedding, the reality of living under the same roof with Nie Mingjue had taken on a completely different form than what he had expected.

Nie Mingjue, despite not wanting to admit it, was a little amused by seeing Lan Xichen so... disoriented. Every day, he tried to mask his annoyance with cutting sarcasm, but behind those cynical comments, there was something he was trying to keep in check. That rude, yet sometimes sweet, demeanor was his way of getting closer to Lan Xichen without seeming vulnerable. And so, between one sarcastic joke and another, their living together became a silent dance, where neither of them wanted to take the first step towards admitting what they really felt. Meanwhile, Lan Xichen tried to ignore everything that linked him to Nie Mingjue. Every time his heart ached for the sweetness, masked by a cruel irony, of Nie Mingjue, he took refuge in work, in daily practices, in the commitment to keep his face impassive. Yet, he couldn't help but notice, every day, how his heart broke a little more. Because, despite everything, a part of him kept looking for Jin Guangyao, his lost love, the man he had loved only once in his life. A love that, over time, he had learned to recognize as such, but which he could not forget. 

However, Nie Mingjue never left him alone. It seemed like every day was a new way to tease him, in a joking way, but always with that very hidden the sweetness that came out unexpectedly. A wry comment on the way Lan Xichen made tea, a mischievous smile as she watched him try to focus on something else. "Don't worry, Xichen," he often said, "I take care of everything. I bet you wouldn't know what to do if I told you to cook dinner for me." And then he laughed, while Lan Xichen rolled his eyes, his heart beating a little faster.

Their relationship had become a kind of game of unspoken words, a continuous back and forth. But there was something Nie Mingjue tried not to show: that sense of loss he had never faced. It wasn't just the love that had never been true between them, but also the fact that he didn't know how to express that sweetness he felt every time Lan Xichen ignored him, every time he saw the sadness in his eyes. One day, while they were having breakfast, Lan Xichen had taken a pillow and, without thinking too much, had thrown it at Nie Mingjue, hitting him full in the face. Nie Mingjue stared at him for a moment, surprised, and then burst out laughing.

"Ah, I thought you forgot to throw pillows in my face, Xichen," he said with a mischievous smile. "I hope this is a sign of affection, don't you?"

Lan Xichen blushed, but didn't answer. For a moment, it was as if Nie Mingjue had broken that invisible wall that Lan Xichen had tried to build around himself. His mind was filled with a sea of conflicting emotions: resentment, unspoken love, sadness. His heart was beating fast and, despite everything, he felt that, perhaps, there was something true in that gesture, perhaps in that little joke there was a caress that he didn't want to admit.

The truth, difficult to accept, was that Lan Xichen still loved Jin Guangyao, even if all that remained of that feeling was a subtle poison that coursed through his veins every time he tried to think about it. The part of him that had once believed in that love, that part that had given so much without realizing it, was now only a shadow. Jin Guangyao was no longer next to him, yet Lan Xichen always felt him present, in his heart and mind, like a silent weight that he couldn't dispel. The bond they shared never completely disappeared, no matter how desperately his mind tried to deny it.

Every day, when he set foot in that house, now shared with Nie Mingjue, the feeling of disconnection became stronger and stronger. He felt like he was living a life that didn't belong to him, an existence that he had accepted, but that didn't feel like his. Far from the serenity he had sought in marriage, Lan Xichen felt like a stranger, a guest in a house that should have been his, but which increasingly seemed to him to be a place of emotional imprisonment. Nie Mingjue's house was no longer just a refuge, but a place where he was forced to confront his past, his unresolved emotions, and the immense sadness he carried with him.

Every time Lan Xichen looked in the mirror, he tried to see the man he should have been: the husband of Nie Mingjue, the respected head of the Lan family. Yet, instead of finding the security and strength he should have, he found a reflection that seemed increasingly alien to him. 

In the silence of the night, when no one spoke, when Nie Mingjue was sleeping in bed next to him, Lan Xichen would wake up in the dark, his heart heavy, still searching for answers he couldn't find. He had tried to fill the void left by Jin Guangyao with his work, with his habits, with the duty that he felt obligated to follow. But nothing seemed to fill that vacuum. Every corner of the house reminded him of his dissatisfaction, every gesture of Nie Mingjue reminded him of the failure of his love for Jin Guangyao, which now seemed light years away, but which was still, irremediably, part of him.

Every word Nie Mingjue spoke to him, every little tease that made him angry, made him feel like he was trapped between two worlds: one he had loved and now hated, and one he had to accept but couldn't feel was his. . The part of Lan Xichen that loved Jin Guangyao couldn't separate from him, but at the same time, the part that tried to rebuild himself alongside Nie Mingjue was more and more confused, more and more consumed by frustration. 

Despite the harsh reality, there was a part of Lan Xichen that sought a bond with Nie Mingjue. Even if he didn't say it, even if he didn't admit it, there was a part of him that realized that, perhaps, in that marriage, there was something that could have been. It wasn't the love he'd hoped for, it wasn't the love he wanted, but maybe it was something that, with time, could be healthier, more real. Yet, that thought wasn't enough to stop the pain he carried inside, it wasn't enough to forget what had been, what could have been.

In that house, in that new life that he didn't feel was his, Lan Xichen had to face the shadows of the past and the future that awaited him. With every laugh Nie Mingjue made, with every gesture that felt like disguised irony, a part of Lan Xichen hoped that, perhaps, there could be something more. But that desire was always accompanied by the fear that all of this was just an escape, and that, in the end, nothing could ever fill the void left by Jin Guangyao. 

Chapter Text

"Will I be known and loved?"

It had been months. Months in which the distance that once separated them had dissolved, slowly but inexorably, like snow in the sun. They were no longer just two men linked by a capricious destiny, but two lovers who shared the bed and the nights as if every breath was a promise, every touch an oath. Nie Mingjue found himself looking at Lan Xichen with an attention that bordered on veneration. He now knew every fold of that serene and at the same time enigmatic face, every nuance that his eyes took on in the reflection of the soft light. Every detail, from the delicate curve of his lips to the almost invisible crease between his eyebrows when Lan Xichen was lost in thought, was a mystery that Nie Mingjue wanted to decipher. And he fell in love again. It hadn't been immediate, but a gradual process, made up of small moments that accumulated like snow on a branch. A fleeting smile in the morning, a hand absentmindedly reaching out to touch his during a conversation. Nie Mingjue had fallen with a depth that still surprised him, a love so pure and devastating that Lan Xichen's every little gesture became a reason for him to believe. Every time their eyes met, Nie Mingjue felt his heart clench, a mixture of adoration and vulnerability.

Nie Mingjue's hands were a wave that ran through Lan Xichen's body with an unexpected delicacy, a touch that knew no rush, but which seemed to want to discover every secret hidden under the skin, every hidden corner of his essence. As his fingers slid across Xichen's shoulders, each movement felt like a whisper, an invitation to stay, to never part. His strength, usually implacable and resolute, dissolved in those moments, as if the need to hold Xichen in his arms revealed a part of himself that he had never shown to anyone.

Lan Xichen, for his part, couldn't tear himself away from him. His mind, in those moments, ceased to be dominated by rationality, and his heart, which for so long had tried to maintain a balance, surrendered to the intensity of that bond. His hands trembled slightly as they touched Mingjue's skin, as if even the simplest contact was a call to an overwhelming desire, a desire to merge with him in a way that went beyond the physical. It was a relentless search, a need to experience the reality of his presence, to confirm that they were still alive, still connected. Every caress from Mingjue was a silent promise, an oath not made in words, but in gestures. His deep breathing that merged with Xichen's, the warmth that emanated from his arms, welcoming his partner's body as if it were a safe refuge. In those moments, the room around them dissolves, leaving room only for the two of them, their sensations, the beats of their hearts that seemed to beat in unison. Their souls danced together, in a movement that needed no explanation, because everything was already written in the gestures, in the bodies that sought each other, in the kisses that spoke of a profound love, which did not need words to be understood.

When Nie Mingjue buried his face in Xichen's neck, every breath seemed to become an act of adoration. His tongue grazed the delicate skin, tracing invisible paths that only the two of them could read, and Lan Xichen's body writhed beneath him, a wave of pleasure overwhelming him every time Nie Mingjue touched him, kissed him, possessed him . There were no limits in that moment, no distance between them, only the desire that united their bodies and their souls in an embrace that seemed eternal. Nie Mingjue's lips slowly lowered to Lan Xichen's neck, leaving a soft, warm kiss that seemed to want to capture every beat of his heart. Every gesture was measured, full of a desire that found no outlet except in that intimate contact, in that skin that belonged to him like nothing else. His tongue slid delicately along the line of Lan Xichen's neck, tasting the salty taste of his skin, as if trying to imprint it into his memory. Xichen's breath trembled beneath him, and Mingjue felt the urge to prolong that moment, to lose himself in it for a little longer, to continue to walk every inch of that body with an adoration he couldn't hide.  

Nie Mingjue's mouth slid slowly, but with an intensity that left no room for doubt, towards Lan Xichen's neck, where the skin was more delicate, more vulnerable. Without warning, his teeth sank into that tender area, biting with a force that betrayed an overwhelming need, as if every fiber of his body were on fire. The bite wasn't violent, but every single millimeter of skin that his teeth touched seemed to emit a vibration, a wave of desire that bounced in Nie Mingjue's chest, a sign of a passion that was finally freeing itself, exploding. The intensity of that gesture was not just physical, but it was a symbolic, almost sacred act that marked Lan Xichen as his in a way that went beyond words. It was as if he were imprinting his love, his devotion, his jealousy into that body, making every pore of Lan Xichen recognize that he was his only possession, his only desire.

Lan Xichen let out a muffled moan, the sound that came from his throat like a whisper of pleasure mixed with pain, as if every single cell of his body was responding to that vice that marked him indelibly. Nie Mingjue smiled imperceptibly, a smile that had nothing malicious about it, but that spoke of a deep satisfaction, the one you feel when you finally get what you want, when you see that the other person is completely yours, in every single I wait. At that moment, his entire being seemed consumed by a certainty, that of being inextricably linked to Xichen. His smile was imperceptible, but the way his body relaxed ever so slightly, as if a weight had been lifted, spoke of a satisfaction that didn't need to be expressed in words. The grip wasn't just a physical sign, but a silent declaration, an oath that Mingjue had made with his body; You are mine, only mine, and this is our secret. 

Nie Mingjue pulled away from Lan Xichen briefly, eyeing the now marked skin from his mouth, before returning to kissing him, this time with a more urgent passion. His lips explored every corner of Lan Xichen's face, stopping at his mouth, sticking to that fleshy surface as if he couldn't help but feed on every kiss. Nie Mingjue's tongue slid into Lan Xichen's, not a simple kiss, but a profound encounter, an exploration that spoke of a desire that had become almost total, a desire to never separate, to unite as one being.

As Nie Mingjue watched Lan Xichen, a growing intensity washed over him, a wave of excitement hitting him stronger than any physical desire. Every detail of Lan Xichen's body, every expression, every breath made him almost unable to contain what he felt. Lan Xichen's appearance, so vulnerable and intimate beneath him, made him feel like he was looking at something sacred, something that could never be touched by anyone else. It wasn’t just a physical desire, not anymore. It was as if every part of Lan Xichen's body was a reflection of a deep connection, rooted in Nie Mingjue's very soul, and the more he observed it, the more that connection became visible.

Nie Mingjue's hands stilled for a moment as he looked at Xichen, his breathing becoming heavier, his heart racing. He couldn't take his eyes off the curved lines of Xichen's body, his skin glowing slightly under the soft light. Every part of Lan Xichen seemed to be the perfect complement to his being, a whole that complemented what he felt himself to be. The vision of Lan Xichen, so intimate and fragile, made him feel as if he had entered a private world, a hidden corner of his heart that only he could explore. Nie Mingjue felt his body react instinctively, but there was something deeper making him tremble. The awareness that, in that moment, Lan Xichen belonged to him in a way that went beyond the physical. His body was no longer just a form to touch, but a place where Mingjue's heart felt at home, where his emotions found tangible form.

It was no longer a game of desire, but a pure emotional connection, as if every touch was an exploration of his soul, a journey deep into his heart. The feel of Lan Xichen under his hands, her skin bending and adapting to his movements, made him feel like she was already a part of him, like they were always meant to find each other this way, to complete each other. The emotion he felt was not just the physical joy of possessing him, but the awareness that Lan Xichen was more than a lover, more than a companion. It was a reflection of what Nie Mingjue had always searched for, a part of himself that he had finally found. His heart was pounding in his chest, and an intense emotion tightened his stomach, almost painful, as his hands continued to traverse Xichen's skin with greater devotion, as if he wanted not only to know him, but to make him his in every possible sense. .

Each caress became slower, deeper, as Mingjue lost himself in the beauty of that vision. Lan Xichen's every movement, every breath seemed to speak directly to his heart, and Nie Mingjue felt his body respond to that call. Reality itself seemed to blur as his hands explored Lan Xichen, immersing himself deeper into a connection that transcended the physical. There were no words to describe what he felt, because it was something beyond rational understanding. It was a primal feeling, rooted in his soul, that bound him to Lan Xichen in a way that no words could express.

At this moment, Nie Mingjue no longer felt separated from Lan Xichen. There were no longer any barriers between them, just a fusion that united them, a bond so strong that it seemed to annihilate every other emotion. And as she continued to look at him, to love him, to possess him in every possible way, Nie Mingjue knew he could no longer do without him. That vision of Xichen, his vulnerability, his beauty, his purity, thrilled him in a way he never thought possible. Nie Mingjue wasn't just trying to possess Lan Xichen physically, he was trying to unite their souls in a single heartbeat, to merge their worlds in a single breath. At that moment, he realized that, perhaps, it was already inside him, always. 

At this moment, Nie Mingjue's hands spoke the language of devotion. There was no rush in his gestures, just a calm that emanated a silent strength, as if every touch was a hymn to respect and desire. His hand slowly sliding along Lan Xichen's skin was an act of exploration, not conquest. Every movement seemed to be written in the language of someone who knows and understands the other thoroughly. The delicacy of his fingers on Lan Xichen's body was not just a physical caress, but a gesture that told the story of a silent, yet infinite love. His hands, strong and sure, never tried to dominate. On the contrary, they just tried to get closer, to embrace that person with a tenderness that didn't need words to express. Nie Mingjue lost himself in Lan Xichen's warmth, in the scent of his hair, in the intensity of his eyes that met hers. Every touch was a promise of care, protection, welcome. There were no shadows between them, only a light that grew as their souls intertwined, like two rivers joining and becoming one.

In the silence of the night, their passion did not just translate into physical desire, but into an intimate sharing of everything they were. It was a meeting of souls seeking to belong to each other, in a way that surpassed any physical or terrible need. It was a passion that nourished, that gave life. Nie Mingjue found a sense of peace in every gesture he made for Xichen, as if he were cuddling him inside his own heart.

Every kiss Nie Mingjue gave Lan Xichen was like a silent statement of how grateful he was to have this moment, how important it was to him. His mouth seeking the other with sweetness was never rushed. Every movement was full of meaning, as if there was nothing more precious than discovering the depth of the feelings that bound them. The passion that was experienced in those moments was different from that of a casual encounter: there was no desire that was not accompanied by a deep and sincere respect. Every touch, every breath, every glance exchanged between them seemed to transcend time itself, as if everything they had experienced, and would experience, were united in that intimate moment.

The passion that united Lan Xichen and Nie Mingjue was like a fire that burned but did not consume, a bond that was intertwined in silence, in the gestures and whispers of the night. Each meeting, each touch seemed to tell an ancient story, a wordless melody that only their bodies knew. Yet, even in the midst of passion, his soul remained prisoner of a void that he could not fill. Nie Mingjue lost himself in Lan Xichen's warmth, but the shadow of another love, of another past, hung over him like a dark cloud.

When Lan Xichen's body yielded to his, when flesh met, Nie Mingjue felt the intensity of an unspoken love, but also the distance that permeated every kiss, every caress. Lan Xichen's skin against his was warm, but in his eyes, Nie Mingjue saw something deeper, a sea of loneliness he couldn't navigate. Every touch from Lan Xichen seemed to bring with it the memory of another love, of another name that was never spoken, but was always present in the air, between their hands, between their lips. Every time Lan Xichen approached Nie Mingjue, there was a tension in the air, as if an invisible thread bound them together in an intimacy that eluded language, but not sensation. Their love, if it could be called that, was made up of looks that didn't dare speak to each other completely, of silences full of undeclared meanings, of bodies that touched each other but never really possessed each other. When Lan Xichen's hands rested on Nie Mingjue's skin, there was a softness, a delicacy that seemed to want to touch his soul, but never truly penetrated it.

Lan Xichen's skin, warm and smooth, seemed to be searching for something in  Nie Mingjue, but he didn't know what. Yet, every caress, every touch of the other seemed to be a step towards a love that could not be fully experienced. When Xichen's breath caressed Mingjue's skin, every kiss that brushed him, every touch that ran through him, brought with it the feeling that there was always something else, a presence in some dark corner of Xichen's mind, hiding between his gestures and in his eyes. And Nie  Mingjue felt that presence like a shadow, an undeclared longing that veiled their passion.

Every time they met, Nie Mingjue would lose himself in the warm safety of Lan Xichen's body. Lan Xichen's skin against his was where he felt alive, but also where the loneliness grew stronger. The bodies that sought each other with a passion that did not need words were also prisoners of a love that never found its fulfillment. In the most intense moments, when Xichen's lips kissed him, when Xichen's hands ran over his body, Mingjue felt that there was something unattainable, something that eluded their union. An unspoken void that hovered between them, something that couldn't be filled even with the most overwhelming passion.

Lan Xichen's body yielded to his, but his eyes seemed to wander far away, always one step behind, as if searching for something that was no longer there. And Nie Mingjue saw it, felt it in the heat of his kisses, in the tremor of his hands. It was an illusion of intimacy, a dance of bodies coming together but never truly complete. Every touch from Lan Xichen seemed to bring with it the memory of someone else, of another love that wasn't there, but that was always present in the folds of his heart, like a wound that never healed. 

In the silence of the day, Lan Xichen seemed distant, a shadow of his former self. The sunlight revealed the distance between them, a distance that was not made of space, but of an absence, of a void that could not find a name. In his eyes, Nie Mingjue looked for a reflection of that passion they had shared in the night, but he couldn't find it. There was only a relentless calm, as if Lan Xichen were another man when the world lit up. There was no longer the thrill of the search, the desperate desire to possess the other that had united them in the darkness.

During the day, Lan Xichen did not look for him, as if the shadows of the night had never existed. His hands, which had once caressed Nie Mingjue with burning tenderness, now seemed strangely still, as if they no longer knew how to move towards him. Every meeting, every glance exchanged, seemed to be missing something – a spark, a heartbeat. It was as if the passion that united them was a distant memory, a dream that vanished with the dawn.

Nie Mingjue felt that absence like a nail driven into his chest every time he met Lan Xichen's eyes during the day. There was no longer the intensity of a search, the need to cling to each other in the frenzy of the night. Just a calm, a normality that left him empty, as if he had never really been there. An absence between them, a distance that could not be filled with words, because words would never have been able to tell what was in his eyes. He, Nie Mingjue, always wondered, in those moments of silence, whether it was really enough. Whether what they shared was real or just a reflection of what Lan Xichen longed for in the dark. During the day, Lan Xichen seemed detached, as if he didn't need him, as if he could live without those nights, without that longing that had consumed them. And Nie Mingjue, who loved her with every fiber of his being, felt like a fire burning alone, without the ability to warm anyone. The distance between them seemed insurmountable, as if an invisible barrier, never spoken of, but ever present, separated their hearts. During the day, there were no caresses, there were no sweet words. There was only silence and the sound of footsteps leading them away. Every time Lan Xichen wasn't looking for him, Nie Mingjue felt smaller, more distant, as if he were just a shadow in the existence of someone he could never truly hold on to.

Yet, in the darkest moments of the night, when everything was silent and the world seemed to stop, Lan Xichen returned to him. But it was always an incomplete return, because deep down, Nie Mingjue knew that every night, every kiss, every caress, couldn't fill the void that Lan Xichen carried with him during the day. A love that could never be fully possessed, a love that seemed to only exist in the reflection of the moon. And Nie Mingjue, who loved him, loved him with all of himself, wondered if that silent desire burning in the dark was all he would ever have. 

The silence that surrounded their house was heavier than the night. In his eyes, Lan Xichen carried the weight of an absence that Nie Mingjue couldn't grasp, like sand slipping through his fingers. Every glance exchanged seemed like a goodbye, a hug that wasn't there, a kiss that wasn't given. Yet, in the solitude of that distance, Nie Mingjue felt his heartbeat breaking, as if he were trying to grasp a dream that was falling apart in his hands.

In the dark of night, when Lan Xichen finally found him, Nie Mingjue wondered if he was real. Every touch, every caress, felt like a distant echo of what they should have been. Her eyes, which searched him desperately, reflected a sadness that spoke more than a thousand words. Lan Xichen never looked at him like he used to, with that intensity that had lit the fire between them. Every caress was now elusive, a shadow of what had been. Yet, when their bodies met, when Lan Xichen's hands rested on his skin, Nie Mingjue felt a bittersweet sweetness, like the scent of a fading rose. The love that united them was no longer a raging river, but a slow current that slipped away, leaving behind a void that nothing could fill. Daylight brought with it the truth that no night could hide. Lan Xichen walked beside him, but it was as if there was a gulf between them, a void he couldn't fill. There were no sweet words, no looks full of love. Only silence. The distance between them seemed to grow every time the sunlight lit their path. And Nie Mingjue, in that silence, wondered if he was the one who was never enough, if he would never be able to fill that void that Lan Xichen carried inside.

Whenever they met during the day, there was a feeling of unbridgeable loneliness. Lan Xichen never looked for him, as if he had been a shadow in her life. And Nie Mingjue felt empty, like a wandering soul, seeking a presence he could no longer find. Every kiss Lan Xichen gave him seemed distant, an illusion that faded as the sun rose.  

Yet, every night, when Lan Xichen took him into his arms, Nie Mingjue felt a hope, but it was a sad hope, filled with nostalgia, like a dream that he knew had to end. Every caress from Lan Xichen told him that he loved him, but Nie Mingjue always wondered, deep in his heart. How much of this love is actually mine? How much of you remains in me, Xichen?

The love they shared was like a song that had lost its rhythm, a melody that no longer sounded like it used to. And Nie Mingjue, despite loving him with every fiber of his being, felt that this song would never find its end. The sadness he carried in his heart was deeper than any passion, heavier than any desire. And every night, when Lan Xichen held him close, Nie Mingjue wondered if that was really the answer, if that was really all they had. A sad poem written in the silence of a love that, perhaps, could never have been complete.

Chapter Text

"When I look at you, And when you look at me

Oh, there's still two lovers

So who the hell are we?Who the hell are we?"

Nie Mingjue sat on the edge of the bed, his mind filled with thoughts that collided with each other like rushing waves against a rock. His hands, clasped together as if to hold his soul, trembled slightly, but he did not let go. The gaze fixed on the shadows, the moonlight that filtered through the window, danced on the walls with slow and silent movements, like a memory that could not fade, like an unkept promise. The room was filled with a tense, almost palpable silence, yet nothing seemed more deafening than the beating of his heart.

Nie Mingjue's frustration was like a raging river that threatened to overwhelm him at any moment, a constant pressure throbbing in his chest, aching with every beat. As he stared at the shadow of Lan Xichen in the bed next to him, his mind bounced from one question to another, unanswered, endless. Every thought crashed against the wall of his pride, but also of his fear. Afraid of facing what he already knew, afraid of destroying what he still tried to protect, afraid of admitting that perhaps, by now, that bond was already over, without him even having had the courage to look at it in the face. His hands intertwined forcefully, trying not to give in to the temptation to lash out against the whole world, against that wall of silence that Xichen had built between them. His mind screamed, but he couldn't find the words. There was no one to turn to, no voice to console him. Lan Xichen slept, or seemed to, but his distance was unbridgeable. Every gesture that could have filled the void, every look that would have been the sign of a shared understanding, was rejected with a coldness that hurt him more than he had ever thought possible.

The moonlight filtered through the window, but it failed to illuminate the darkness that was creeping into Mingjue's heart. There was no heat in the room, there was no longer that warmth they had shared, that labored breathing that once marked their every meeting. Now, everything was cold, distant. The frustration grew, rose, overwhelmed him, yet he couldn't find the courage to scream, to shake Xichen, to ask him: "Why don't you look at me? Why don't you want me anymore?" He felt helpless, as if he had no right over him, but at the same time, as if everything he had given had been emptied without him even realizing it.

He was tired of feeling invisible, tired of being a body that was wasted in the solitude of an unrequited love. Anger mixed with pain, and his heart, torn with confusion, beat furiously against his ribs. But, as always, Mingjue restrained himself. He couldn't give in to the anger, he couldn't face it, because the truth he would have to face was too painful. It was the truth he feared more than anything: that perhaps, Lan Xichen had never loved him. In the middle of the night, Nie Mingjue lay next to Lan Xichen, but the distance he felt between them was more than physical. It was as if the bed itself had become an icy river that separated their bodies, an unbridgeable distance that grew more and more every day, leaving him helpless and breathless. Nie Mingjue's mind was like a whirlwind of thoughts, each more confused than the last, but one, in particular, tormented him relentlessly: Where are you with your thoughts?

Every gesture, every look that Lan Xichen gave him seemed too distant now, as if it were an echo of something that had once been real. Lan Xichen's skin, which he had known and adored in moments of passion, now seemed foreign to him, cold and distant. When his hands touched that skin, it was like touching window glass: a contact that couldn't penetrate him, that he couldn't feel anymore. Nie Mingjue felt as if he had sunk into an endless abyss, a void he couldn't fill. Their nights together, once full of passion and warmth, now seemed like empty shadows, memories crumbling between his fingers. Every time he tried to get closer, there was that invisible barrier, that distance that made him insignificant, a body without a soul lying next to someone who no longer really looked at him. 

Nie Mingjue's heart beat hard, painfully, as if each beat was a wound that couldn't heal. Frustration was growing inside him, accumulating like a weight that he could no longer bear. Every breath he took felt like a muffled cry, but he couldn't get rid of that feeling of being invisible, of having already disappeared from Lan Xichen's eyes. It was as if he himself had become a part of a forgotten landscape, a piece that Lan Xichen no longer wanted to see. In the silence of the night, the question burning inside him finally exploded in a whisper, a broken voice, trembling with emotion. “Are you thinking about someone else?” The words came out, but Nie Mingjue cursed himself for having said them. He was afraid, afraid that that question was too much, afraid that answering that truth would mean destroying everything he still tried to protect. But he couldn't keep quiet. The pain within him was too strong, too unbearable.

Lan Xichen turned slowly, but there was nothing in that movement that resembled an answer, or the consolation he desperately sought. His eyes, which had once shined for him, were now dull, distant, as if they no longer belonged to him. That smile forming on his lips never reached his eyes, as if it were a mask Lan Xichen wore to mask something deeper, an emptiness that Nie Mingjue feared discovering. “I'm sorry,” Lan Xichen said, but his voice carried neither warmth nor emotion. It was an empty sentence, an automatism that Nie Mingjue couldn't even hear. 

"Why?" asked Nie Mingjue, but there was no hope in his voice. “Why do you look at me like i'm nothing to you?” The question was there, hanging between them, but it was never spoken, because Nie Mingjue knew that answer would make everything fall apart. He knew that that truth would definitively break the fragile bond he was still trying to hold together.

Frustration was growing, swelling inside him, yet all he could do was look at Lan Xichen. With each passing second, he felt more and more lost. There was no longer any word that could cure that pain, no gesture that could fill that void. It was as if Lan Xichen was already gone, already gone, but Mingjue didn't want to admit it, didn't want to face it. 

The thought that Xichen was thinking of someone else consumed him, destroyed him. In the most intimate moments, when their hands intertwined, when their bodies joined, Mingjue felt Xichen's coldness, that invisible barrier that no gesture of passion could break through. He could see it: his eyes closed as if he were looking for someone else, as if his body was there, but his soul was elsewhere. His mind refused to admit it, but his heart couldn't keep quiet. It's not me he's looking for, it's not me he wants.

Every night, when Lan Xichen slept peacefully next to him,  Nie Mingjue lay awake, his heart heavy as a stone. Why don't you look at me? Why don't you ever look for me? He felt invisible, as if he had become a shadow in Lan Xichen's world, a shadow that could no longer make the slightest noise. Yet every time she stood next to him, the silence between them screamed, a muffled scream that neither of them wanted to hear. The frustration grew, like a vortex that sucked in his every thought, every emotion. He didn’t know how to get close to him anymore, he didn’t know how to reach him anymore. He tried, yet every attempt seemed futile, like trying to grasp water with his hands. And anger consumed him: anger at himself for failing to understand what was happening, anger at Xichen for never truly opening his heart. Every little thing became an insult. His absence, his empty words, him smile that never reached his eyes. Every time Lan Xichen responded evasively, Nie Mingjue felt a blade cutting inside him, a pain that grew deeper and stronger. Why can't I do anything to show you how much I love you? Why can't I be enough for you?

Loneliness surrounded him, heavy and unbearable. Every unanswered moment became a wound he couldn't heal. And yet, he couldn’t talk about it. He was afraid. Afraid to hurt Xichen. Afraid to see what he didn't want to see. But that fear was slowly eating him away. Because deep down he knew that if he hadn't been the one to speak, that distance between them would only grow. Yet, he couldn't take the step, he couldn't scream his pain, for fear that that voice would never come.

So, he tried to stay calm, to hide his frustration behind a smile, but inside himself, the anger grew, and with it the awareness that maybe, maybe it would never be enough. 

Lan Xichen woke up every morning as if his body were dragged by an unbearable obligation, as if the simple action of getting out of bed was a challenge, not so much to his tiredness, but to his own soul. His eyes, which once shone with determination and passion, now appeared dull, dull, devoid of any spark of life. Every movement he made, every gesture he made, seemed to be just an obligation to fulfill. He stood up because he had to, because his position required it, because life continued to revolve around him, even though he no longer wanted to participate in it. Breakfast was a mute ritual: one bite, one sip, without taste, without desire. Only the bare minimum, to maintain the facade. There was no point in eating anymore. There was no longer any taste or pleasure. There was nothing left to nourish him except the fear that something might collapse, that he himself might collapse. Yet, there was something that pushed him not to give up completely, something that kept him alive, like a thin and fragile thread that threatened to break at any moment. But he couldn't afford it. Not yet.

Interactions with others were kept to a minimum, short and cold. Superficial exchanges of words, formal responses. His mind wandered far away, trapped in thoughts that wouldn't go away, memories that grabbed him at the most unexpected moments, while the rest of the world went on without him.

Every time his eyes fell on Nie Mingjue, he felt a detachment that he couldn't overcome. His words, his looks, everything seemed to have become an unbearable burden. Sometimes she wondered if he would ever be able to look at him the way he once did. The distance between them seemed to grow with every passing day. Yet, he didn't rebel. He felt obliged to honor the promise he had made, the one that bound him to Mingjue, the one that forced him to maintain a semblance of normality. He didn't really love anymore. He didn't love anything anymore. The nights, then, were another time of obligation. The body that joined his, the hands that entwined in a gesture that no longer had passion, only a duty. He did it because he had to. Not because he felt the need, but because he couldn't escape what now seemed like a sentence to be served. Every movement was devoid of desire, every touch mechanical, almost as if his body were foreign to him, forced to respond to a call he no longer felt.

But in moments of solitude, when he finally found himself alone with himself, in those pauses of silence that stretched out like endless hours, Lan Xichen's thoughts went to a past that he couldn't forget. Memories appeared in his mind, distorted, idealized, like gold dust reflecting a now distant light. There was a moment, a single moment that still made his heart beat. A smile, a kind gesture, a whispered word in the dark of the night. He remembered it with a sweetness that mixed with remorse, a remorse that now strangled him, but which somehow justified his torment. He had been so sweet to me, he thought, as if those words had the power to cancel out the pain he felt now. Why can't I forget it? He held onto that memory, that distorted sweetness that made him feel less guilty, less condemned.

But he also knew it wasn't right. He knew he couldn't continue like this, but he couldn't free himself from that vision of the past, from that figure that seemed to still be so alive in his mind, even though it was far from him. And as Nie Mingjue watched him, as he tried to get closer, he retreated, far away, unable to offer anything other than his body. That's all I can give you, he thought. And deep down, he felt betrayed, Nie Mingjue was responsible. When Nie Mingjue looked at him, with that hope still in his eyes, Lan Xichen felt a wave of frustration hit him. As if every look was a condemnation, every word a plea that he could no longer answer. His mind was filled with silence, a silence he couldn't fill. Why can’t I just forget you? He asked himself, yet, in some hidden corner of his heart, the past continued to call him, sweet and elusive. 

Lan Xichen had withdrawn, and every step he took seemed to be an escape, not only from the world around him, but from himself. His presence had become increasingly evanescent, as if he was trying to hide behind a mask of calm that he could no longer wear. The garden, with its silence broken only by the sound of the trees bending in the wind, had become his refuge. Hours spent staring at nothing, walking aimlessly through the shadows of the bushes, perhaps hoping that the wind would take his thoughts away. But it didn’t. There was no escape. The stables were another solitary corner. The horses, which he once loved to carefully care for, were now just another distraction, another way to avoid an encounter with reality. Lan Xichen moved among their manes, his mind elsewhere, his eyes empty. His body, increasingly fragile, bent in a gesture that did not belong to him: a retreat into himself, a surrender that he could not understand. His heart, now far from any emotion, seemed lost, unable to find meaning in that new existence in which Nie Mingjue had become an unbearable shadow.  

Lan Xichen walked away from Nie Mingjue as if every step was a necessity rather than a choice. Every action, every word he exchanged with him seemed forced, as if it had a weight that he could no longer bear. It was no longer a passing behavior, but something that was growing in him, an instinct that pushed him to maintain an increasingly marked physical and emotional distance. At the beginning it seemed just a reluctance, a way of avoiding a direct confrontation, but as the days went by, that detachment became more and more conscious, more and more profound. Every time Nie Mingjue tried to get closer, to talk about it, Lan Xichen retreated. He didn't respond to his looks, he no longer sought physical contact. His body, which previously adapted to Mingjue's touch, now tensed, as if the simple act of moving closer had become unbearable. He didn’t do it out of malice, but for something deeper and more elusive: the need to separate, to breathe away from him, to be free from the weight of a connection that now felt like an unbearable bond.

When Nie Mingjue called out to him, Lan Xichen ignored him. Nie Mingjue's words, once a source of comfort, now bounced off him as if they didn't belong in his world. Every attempt to communicate, to resolve the malaise that was devouring them, seemed to slip away from them without leaving a trace. He tried not to answer, not to look at him, as if he no longer wanted to be found. It wasn't an explicit refusal, there was no anger in his words, just an impenetrable emptiness. His voice, when he spoke, was flat, detached, as if someone else was speaking for him. The warmth that once animated his words was no longer there, only a cold and distant courtesy.

The tension grew. Nie Mingjue, while trying to maintain his dignity, began to feel frustrated, unable to understand why his companion had remained in such profound silence. His mind, no matter how much he tried to rationalize, couldn't banish the thought that there was something more, something hidden behind that coldness that he couldn't decipher. Yet, he couldn't do anything. Lan Xichen pushed him away every time, as if he no longer wanted their relationship to continue.

When they pulled together, Lan Xichen seemed alien to himself, as if he were only fulfilling a duty, a necessity that no longer had meaning. There was no warmth in his embraces, no desire. It was as if the body was present, but his soul was far away, in another place that Nie Mingjue couldn't understand. Nie Mingjue watched him, more and more troubled. He wondered where the man he had loved had gone, the man who had once filled every corner of his life. Every attempt to make contact, to get him to talk, seemed wasted. Lan Xichen seemed like a shadow retreating further and further into himself, a reflection of a love that was now extinguished. Every day, every night, it became a burden that Nie Mingjue had to carry without ever having answers, without ever having explanations.

And Lan Xichen, deep down, lost himself in his own silence. He didn't answer Nie Mingjue, he didn't try to justify himself. The distance he created between them was his way of defending himself, his response to the pain he felt he had to endure. He couldn't tolerate Mingjue's closeness, as if his love had become a painful memory, something he no longer wanted to face. He knew that every step he took away from him took him a little further away, but it was as if he couldn't do otherwise. His mind was a battlefield, and Mingjue, was the cause. 

Every day, every gesture, every word that was not said, pushed him further. His mind took refuge in memories, but even these were darkened by remorse and sadness, distorted by a pain he could no longer understand. Far away from Mingjue, Lan Xichen found peace. Every evening, when the lights went out and quiet fell upon the residence, Lan Xichen retreated to his solitary corner, closing his eyes as if he could quickly fall asleep to escape the pain that gripped him. But he couldn’t. The thought of Mingjue, his voice, his body, never left him. I can't love you anymore, he thought, and yet, somehow, the memory of what had been consumed him. The resentment he felt for him grew day after day, like a morbid obsession. It was as if he no longer wanted to remember the happy moments they had shared, but destroyed them with his own contempt, trying to erase every trace of what they had built. 

Chapter Text

"The skies are crumbling as I pray "

Every day it seemed like the pressure between Lan Xichen and Nie Mingjue increased, like a tight rope ready to snap. The silence surrounding them was oppressive, but even when the words were thrown like stones, they never seemed enough to unleash the storm that simmered inside Lan Xichen. It was in the middle of the night, when tiredness and hatred mixed in an internal storm, that the situation exploded. Lan Xichen had once again refused to eat, as he had forced himself to do to try to atone for his sins. His hands were shaking, his mind was confused and distant, and he didn't even have the strength to smile at Nie Mingjue's sharp eyes.

“What do you plan on doing with yourself, Xichen?” Nie Mingjue's voice broke the silence, sharp as a blade. “You're destroying yourself for what? You're not even capable of taking care of yourself anymore. What brought you to this point?” His words were no longer one of concern, but of contempt. "You're not worthy of whatever you're inflicting on yourself." Lan Xichen stood up abruptly, his eyes filled with anger, his hands clenching as if grasping the very air to destroy it. You disgust me, Mingjue! You're the one who doesn't understand anything about me!" His voice was a scream, a scream that didn't want to come out, but that exploded anyway, revealing the desperation he had tried to hide. His fury was palpable, the tension in the air thicker than ever .

“Why don't you leave, then?” Nie Mingjue stepped forward, his presence imposing like an unshakable mountain. “If you hate being with me, if you don't want to be here, stop. You can go, but perhaps it would be best for you to look within yourself, Lan Xichen. What do you plan to do? Stay here and feel sorry for yourself?”

The tension that hung in the air was palpable, like a tight thread ready to snap. Lan Xichen, although burdened by the weight of his own existence, continued to reject every gesture of affection, every word from Nie Mingjue. Everything his lover said to him was like the scratch of a blade on his heart, and yet, there was a part of him that still felt irremediably attracted to that same blade.

That night, the quiet was more unbearable than usual. Lan Xichen stood up from the table, his face tense like a statue's, trying to suppress the scream that was forming in his throat. “I don't know what you're asking me, Mingjue,” he said in a sharp voice, as if he wanted to detach himself from everything.  

Nie Mingjue didn't respond immediately, staring at him with those eyes filled with an anger that could no longer be hidden. He was exhausted, physically and mentally. Every day he saw his beloved shrink more and more, as if a piece of him was slowly vanishing into thin air. And yet, that evening, his torment reached a breaking point.

“It was never about what I thought, Xichen,” he replied, his voice trembling slightly, but with a vehemence that couldn't be ignored. "Yet, you continue to hide behind this mask. Do you really think I can ignore all this? Did you really think I could remain indifferent to your self-destruction?" Lan Xichen looked at him, his eyes filled with disdain and frustration. There was no hint of love, just the regret of a man who felt betrayed by his own life. "You're an imbecile, Mingjue. You don't understand anything." Every word that came out of his lips seemed to get heavier and heavier, like a burden he couldn't bear anymore.

"You still haven't understood, have you?" Nie Mingjue's voice grew louder, his exasperated tone verging on sarcasm. "You disgust me, Xichen. Yet I go to bed with you. Despite everything, I rub myself against you, because I know you like it. And you continue to sleep with me, despite everything I've done to you. You're such a miserable." Lan Xichen exploded. "Shut up! Enough! I don't want to hear from you anymore!" His eyes filled with unshed tears, with a suffering he couldn't shake. "I hate you, I hate you every time you touch me"  Lan Xichen couldn’t look Nie Mingjue in the eyes. He felt as if every word that came out of the man’s mouth was an electric shock, a blow that penetrated his bones and forced him to stand, to suffer, but never to respond as he wanted. The dim light of the room seemed to grow dimmer, as if his very body was slowly dissolving in the pain of the moment. The heart that once beat with unstoppable force was now a distant drum, the beat crazed and fragile. Every breath he took felt like an act of self-destruction, as if the body itself no longer wanted to live. Yet he was there, despite the unbearable weight he felt on him. Like he was trapped, like his veins were filled with sand instead of blood.

“I look at you, Xichen,” Nie Mingjue said, his voice sliding over her name like pure venom. His smile was a mask, but his eyes, those eyes, were filled with contempt. "And I just can't believe it's the same man. Where have you gone, huh? Where has the man gone that I once might have called worthy of respect?" The tone was icy, but filled with silent anger. “Oh, wait… You sold it to someone else, didn't you?”The words were not a question. They were a sentence. Each syllable a direct blow to Lan Xichen's heart. He felt reduced to nothing, as if everything he had tried to build over the years had been torn down with a simple sentence, as if his entire identity had collapsed under the weight of that criticism.

Lan Xichen closed his eyes, trying to contain the shaking that threatened to overwhelm him. A deep, but empty breath. "I have nothing to answer," he thought, "He was right about you, he had always been right but I was too blind and deaf to believe it." The anger he felt burned in his throat, but the pain was stronger, too strong. As if his emotions were at war, tearing apart without mercy. "Oh, no answers?" said Nie Mingjue, making room for him. He took a step forward, getting even closer, as if to ensure that Lan Xichen couldn't escape. "Don't worry, Xichen, I understand you. It's not easy to admit that you've lost, that you've slipped so low. It's not easy to look in the mirror and see that you're no longer the man you thought you were."

Lan Xichen couldn't hold his breath any longer. Nie Mingjue's every word seemed to dig deeper, scratching away at his skin, reducing him to living flesh. His mind tried to elaborate an answer, but that voice, so biting and implacable, canceled out all his thoughts. "You disgust me," Nie Mingjue continued, with a coldness that left no room for compassion. "For what you have become. You, who hide behind your mask of perfection... Do you think no one sees?"

Lan Xichen felt his mind sinking deeper and deeper. It was as if every word was a nail getting under his skin. I'm nothing anymore, he thought, I'm nothing anymore. Nie Mingjue's words buzzed in his head, becoming tangled like a twisted thread. He felt as if he had stopped breathing.

“I feel sorry for you,” Nie Mingjue said, and this time his voice was soft, almost amused. A smile that had never been there before appeared on his lips. "Really, Xichen. I look at you and I only see an empty shell. A man who doesn't have the courage to look inside himself, to admit how fragile he is. You keep pretending that nothing has changed, but you know it very well, right? You're destroying yourself . And I'm watching you do it." 

"I can't believe a Lan could sink this low." Nie Mingjue's voice was hoarse, as if every word was a targeted strike. "Your uncle would be proud of you... or maybe not. After all, who are we to judge our own shame? But look at that, Xichen, you've become a really good example." The words seem to vibrate in the air, like a sharp note scratching the silence, yet Lan Xichen doesn't react. He doesn't look up, he doesn't even react angrily. He's too tired now, too drained to launch into a response. His mind is a battlefield, but it's tired of fighting. Each of Nie Mingjue's attacks enters the flesh like a blade that slides in without leaving any marks, but slowly consuming its energy.

“You are no longer a Lan,” Nie Mingjue continues, his smile a sharp sneer that seems to gather every fragment of desperation that lies within Lan Xichen. "You never were, after all. Maybe your uncle should have seen in time how rotten you already were." The words hit like a punch in the stomach, but it is the memory of what happened that tears him the most. 

“Don't you think this is funny, Xichen?” Nie Mingjue's voice is lower now, but equally full of sarcasm so acidic that it seems to burn the air. "Jin Guangyao, how ironic, he talked so much about you. He said that if it wasn't for you, he would never have been able to kill all those people without being noticed. You didn't realize that he was using you huh? But it's because of you, Xichen, that he had his freedom. Your love, your righteousness, meant that he was able to do what he wanted, while you stood by and believed that was all.  'Right'." 

Lan Xichen frowns, a sign of confusion creeping onto his face. It's a familiar feeling, that of not fully understanding the weight of what he's being told. He doesn't understand, he can't believe that Jin Guangyao was really the being that was described to him. He can’t.

“That's not true,” Lan Xichen replies, his voice a quivering whisper, but with a determination that isn't yet willing to be broken. "Jin Guangyao isn't... that's not true"

"Isn't that what I say?" Nie Mingjue cackles, his poisonous laughter bouncing off the walls of that room like the sound of an object falling into the abyss. "Your dear Jin Guangyao, said that you were his accomplice. Do you know that? Yes, did you know that? He said that if it hadn't been for you, he would never have been able to do all those things, all those atrocities without attracting suspicion. You were its refuge, its silence, its cover. And you still defend it." Lan Xichen hesitates, his heart seems to stop for a moment, but he isn't ready to accept this truth yet. It cannot. He doesn't want. He feels betrayed by a revelation he still doesn't want to believe. "They are false words," he replies, but he is no longer convinced. It's as if his own words ring hollow, as if he's trying to protect himself from a reality he can't face yet. “He…would never…” 

Nie Mingjue takes a step forward, like a predator who knows he's got him cornered. "He would never have? But you know it, Xichen. You know it very well", with a sarcastic smile that seems to force him to look hell in the eyes once again. "Jin Guangyao talked a lot about you, Xichen. He said that if it weren't for you, he would have been just another ordinary man. But thanks to you, he became the demon who destroyed the lives of many, leaving no traces. seems ironic? And you, who thought you were so clean." The words become more venomous, more heartbreaking, and Lan Xichen feels as if his skin is slipping away, as if each word is making him further and further away from the memory of what once was. Every sentence Nie Mingjue utters seems to erase his dignity, his integrity. Yet, he can do nothing.

"And you," Nie Mingjue finally says, pushing his attack further, "you not only believed it, but you even allowed this world to keep turning while he did what he wanted, and you did nothing but love him. You fell into bed with him, as if it were the most natural thing, as if there was nothing wrong. Do you remember when you lay next to him, Xichen? Do you still feel so pure? the right side when you have nothing to offer hide, but you had a heart as dirty as him. And now look at you."

Lan Xichen wants to shout, but he can't. Every breath seems to cost him enormously. Nie Mingjue's voice has bound him, imprisoned in a spiral of remorse that he has no way of stopping. His mind is invaded by memories of those nights with Jin Guangyao, when he abandoned himself to him without wondering what was really happening. Because he trusted, because he believed that the love he felt was genuine, that there was no other reason. 

Lan Xichen lowers his gaze, unable to respond. Nie Mingjue's words hit him like an electric shock running through his body, but he can't admit it. Not yet. His mind is shrouded in a fog of denial, and he can't conceive how what Jin Guangyao told him could be manipulative. He cannot even conceive that he himself, innocent as he feels, was the vehicle for his crimes. “And you,” Nie Mingjue continues, his sarcasm sharp as a blade, “you got into bed with him. You woke up next to him, you trusted him. And now, when it's all over, you have the courage to look me in the eyes and tell me it wasn't like that? And that you were in love, huh? You think Jin Guangyao wasn't a monster?"

Lan Xichen stiffens, hurt now mixing with anger. He doesn't want to hear, he doesn't want to listen, but the words come to him like sharp blows, each one a wound that he can't heal. Yet, inside himself, a part of him begins to give way.  Nie Mingjue shrugs, a smile that doesn't reach his eyes. "In the end, what do you want to do? What do you hope to achieve? Are you still trying to save him? Are you still trying to believe everything he told you? Can't you see that you've lost him long ago? You've lost him, Xichen. And Now it's your turn to deal with what you've become."

Nie Mingjue's words ring in the air like an echo. Lan Xichen feels like he's drowning in a sea of truths that he's not yet ready to face. He doesn't want to. He can't. Lan Xichen's face was like a storm ready to erupt. Anger burned in his veins, sharp and hot. It wasn't just the torment boiling inside him. There was something deeper, a fury that erupted whenever he heard Nie Mingjue's voice. He couldn't believe that this man, this hopelessly cynical being, would allow himself to speak with such contempt, while he, Lan Xichen, was still trying to hold together the pieces of a life that had been destroyed by his own love.

“I don't want to hear your stupid words, Mingjue,” he shouted, his voice rough, sharp as a knife. "Did you hear me? I don't want to hear from you anymore."

Nie Mingjue, with his sour smile, approached, his sarcasm laced with a cynicism that could have brought down anyone but Lan Xichen. Lan Xichen didn't give up. He couldn't afford to give in. “Ah, but don't worry, Xichen,” Nie Mingjue said, his tone hissed. "I understand your anger. But you can't hide behind it forever. You can't hide behind your kindness and your pride Lan. At some point, this all falls apart." The fury inside Lan Xichen grew even more acute. A wave of resentment, of hatred, invaded his heart. "Don't think you understand me," he said, his hands trembling with frustration. "Don't think you'll ever understand me. You have no idea what you mean to me. You killed Jin Guangyao, Mingjue. You destroyed everything."  His words came out like a strangled cry, but there was no repentance in his eyes. There was only a burning, raging anger that had found no place to go. "And now," he continued, hatred distorting his face, "you come to lecture me? You, who have never been a man who deserves to be trusted?"

Nie Mingjue looked at him silently, with an evil smile that couldn't even hide the incredible contempt she felt for him. "He said that you were his refuge, his perfect cover. He killed, Xichen, and you were never there. You allowed everything to happen while you climbed into bed with him, calm in your little illusion. And you still Do you feel superior? Do you still think you're better than me?"   Nie Mingjue's words burned his skin, but it wasn't enough. The fury that was building inside him would not subside. "Don't talk about him," she screamed, her eyes filled with venom. "Don't ever speak of this again! You have no right."

“Ah, Xichen,” Nie Mingjue continued, with another sneer. "You've done more than you know. And now you're here, in front of me, trying to appear to be something you're not. But the truth follows you, the truth you can't ignore. You can keep running from me, hiding, but I know that underneath this facade... you're afraid to really look at yourself. And you hate it, Xichen. You hate me, you hate yourself." Lan Xichen shuddered, his anger rising like a storm that could destroy everything he had built within himself. "Don't talk about me like you know me, Mingjue. Don't say you understand anything about me when you've never understood anything!"

“You see,” Nie Mingjue replied, his sarcasm now as sour as a wound, “that's the point. You can't even look at yourself, you can't admit what you did. But I see it. And you know it too."

Lan Xichen, gripped by pain and fury, stepped forward. Every cell in his body screamed for revenge, but he didn't know against whom. Nie Mingjue's every word pierced him like an arrow, but the same hatred he felt for him couldn't make him stop. He had never felt so angry, so destroyed, and yet he felt that anger made him more alive than he had ever felt.

"You're a bastard," he muttered, his voice a whisper full of venom, "and I won't let you play with me. You never will." Nie Mingjue laughed, a low, sharp sound that seemed to scrape against the walls of the room, making them vibrate as if they were about to give way under the weight of the poison he carried with him. "You don't need to tell me, Xichen. I play with you every day. I pull every certainty from you as if they were threads too worn to resist. And you know it."

Lan Xichen clenched his hands into fists, his knuckles white with tension. The blood pounded in his temples, his heart beat furiously, as if it wanted to tear itself out of his chest. "You are nothing more than a murderer hiding behind his own shadow," he hissed, his voice filled with hatred. "A coward who takes pleasure in destroying everything he cannot understand." Nie Mingjue narrowed his eyes, that half-smile curving his lips was a sharp blade. "Interesting. This is what Jin Guangyao said about me, remember? Isn't it true?" Sarcasm shot through him like a whip. "And yet, even when you were absent, you protected him. You covered for him. Oh, yes. Your name was on his lips as he confessed to his crimes, Xichen. How many lives did he take thanks to you, without you even knowing it?"

The room seemed to get smaller, suffocating. Lan Xichen took a step forward, his eyes locked with Nie Mingjue's, the air between them tense like a thread ready to snap. "You know nothing of what we went through. Jin Guangyao is not the monster you think he is. And if he was, know that he was no different from you." Nie Mingjue raised an eyebrow, amused by that venomous reaction. "Maybe you're right. Maybe we are more similar than you think." Then he tilted his head with that grin that burned every nerve. "But there's a difference, Xichen. I ended his life with my own hands. You, on the other hand, let him live here—" he brushed a finger against his temple, almost delicately, "—and in our bed, I wish you peaceful dreams."

Lan Xichen's breathing caught. Anger exploded, a flash of hatred so blinding that his hands shook. "You are repugnant."

“I know,” Nie Mingjue replied with icy calm, without a trace of shame. “And you love me for it.”

Lan Xichen stood, his figure as rigid as a stone statue, but his body marked by fatigue, by the pain he couldn't chase away. The punishment was his condemnation, a sentence he could never escape. Every tense muscle, every bone groaning under the weight of his own torment, reminded him that there was no way out. The world around him seemed wrapped in a veil of eerie silence, his breathing labored and his heartbeat accelerating to a rhythm he could no longer control. Standing under the relentless weight of his guilt, Lan Xichen stared at the floor, his eyes drooping. The room was immersed in the darkness of the night, and he, in that solitude, felt every movement of his body like a betrayal. His mind was lost in a whirlwind of thoughts that mixed together: the unconditional love for Jin Guangyao, the veneration that made him feel as if he couldn't live without him, and at the same time the hatred that was nourished in deep in his heart, a hatred that he couldn't control towards that someone who had destroyed him without mercy.

Lan Xichen leaned forward slightly, his posture betraying a tiredness he could no longer hide. Every fiber of his body, which was once tense in a search for perfection and balance, was now completely distorted by the weight of his punishment. Fatigue no longer made itself felt like a sweet caress of rest, but like an invisible vice that tightened his heart and mind, closing every breath in a silent lament. Every breath, every heartbeat seemed like the sounds of a condemnation, a rhythmic hammering that revealed him without mercy, tearing away his soul with every step he took.

His gaze, which he tried to remain lucid, was fixed on Nie Mingjue, lying in bed, completely unaware of the storm hitting Lan Xichen. She watched as his body relaxed into a sleep that seemed as blissful as it was irrelevant, as if everything about Lan Xichen had been swept away from his very existence. Nie Mingjue didn't see, he didn't hear, he didn't understand the torment that was taking over Xichen's heart, and this thought blinded him even more. His figure, lying in bed, defenseless, made him even more unbearable in Lan Xichen's eyes. Not a single gesture of consideration, not a sign that he had noticed her suffering. Not a word, not a movement. Just a man who had stripped himself without even a thought for the other, as if his presence were of absolute insignificance.

It was as if being there in his bed had transformed Nie Mingjue into a distant, unknown figure. He looked at him and yet he could not feel him as a living presence. All there was was his loneliness, his suffering, and the silence that separated them. Lan Xichen felt every beat of his heart like a betrayal of himself, as if every moment he spent looking at Nie Mingjue's indifference was a knife that cut him without him being able to stop it.

Lan Xichen's mind began to waver, as if the pain, physical and mental, merged into a single breaking point. Every thought that crossed his mind mixed with the noise of his emotions, and Nie Mingjue's silence in his sleep seemed to amplify that storm. Every single breath of him relaxing into his indifference made Lan Xichen sink deeper into that spiral of despair. "You don't see me," he thought, "you don't hear me. You don't understand me." That knowledge was the burden that crushed him. Hatred for that calm that didn't belong to him took hold of him. Nie Mingjue, in his calmness, in his apparent tranquility, became for Lan Xichen the embodiment of everything he could not have: detachment, indifference, the strength that he could no longer find.

In that silence, Lan Xichen heard Jin Guangyao's voices creeping into his mind again, like a poison that slowly spread, without him being able to do anything to stop it. Every thought that Jin Guangyao had put in his head resonated like an echo that never stopped. "You don't deserve love," Jin Guangyao's voice told him, "you don't deserve anything. You're not behaving well." The poisonous sweetness of those words swallowed him up, dragged him into an abyss from which he could no longer escape. The love for Jin Guangyao, that veneration that he couldn't stop feeling, destroyed him. Yet, even in the hatred he felt for Nie Mingjue, he couldn't separate himself from that bond, from that dependence that destroyed him. Lan Xichen felt torn. On the one hand, his heart screamed for liberation, to finally be free from that net that imprisoned him. On the other, his mind was trapped in a love that couldn't be, that would never be reciprocated. Jin Guangyao possessed him like a god who left no room for any other emotion, no other feeling, and yet Lan Xichen hated him for the same power he held over him. His every gesture was a sentence to be her slave, yet he couldn't escape it. 

The moment had come. Lan Xichen separated himself from everything around him, as if everything had become superfluous, as if nothing except himself and his doom no longer mattered. He knelt, his back bent like that of a man who has lost all hope. His mind tormented him, like poison coursing slowly through his veins. Every time Jin Guangyao's name rang in his mind, something inside him died, as if he were trapped in an invisible cage.  

Lan Xichen, kneeling on the ground, his hands trembling, felt as if he was about to break. Yet, he couldn't stop. Hatred for Nie Mingjue, who slept unaware, who had never truly understood what was happening inside him, blinded him. Hatred for him grew inside him like a fire he couldn't put out. He, who didn't understand, who didn't feel the pain that was consuming him, he who judged him feeling above everyone. Lan Xichen hated him, despised him. Every tear that rolled down his face was like an open wound, a strip of bare flesh being torn away, slowly and mercilessly. They were not tears of physical pain, but a cry that settled deep inside, where Lan Xichen's heart, now almost dead, was looking for some type of redemption that never came. Every sob he tried to hold back was like a suffering he could no longer hide, a silent prayer rising towards something that wasn't there, an echo bouncing in the emptiness of his solitude.

That prayer was not asking for mercy. He didn't ask for forgiveness from those who had betrayed him, or for the love he could never obtain. He was simply asking to be freed. Freed from that cage that he had built with his own hands, that prison made up of poisonous thoughts, of desires that could never be satisfied. “Why can't I let him go?” he wondered, but the answer never came. Every sob he couldn't hold back was a little death. Every breath he took took away a part of himself, a fragment of that dignity he was no longer able to reclaim. Yet despite everything, he couldn't stop. He couldn't stop thinking about Jin Guangyao, about his sweet and poisonous face, which spoke to him so seductively, but which destroyed him every time he gaze met him.

Lan Xichen no longer wanted to be who he was. He no longer wanted to suffer, he no longer wanted to be a shadow, a puppet in someone else's hands. But how to break that chain? How to free himself from an addiction that consumed him? Yet, as his hands trembled, as his body buckled under the weight of what he inflicted on himself, he knew that release would never come. Every tear that fell was like a symbol of that resignation that he didn't want to accept. Every sob he couldn't stop was a sign of a battle he couldn't win. But maybe, maybe, in those tears, in that never ending cry, there was also a small fragment of hope. A desire that, despite everything, still wanted to be liberated, still wanted to find a way out of that endless suffering. But that wish would never be fulfilled.

Yet, as his hands trembled, as his body buckled under the weight of what he inflicted on himself, he knew that release would never come. as him heart broke, as his tears continued to flow, he couldn't imagine a future where that pain was no longer his reality. 

Chapter Text

"Are you still playing the game, Or breaking the rules?

I can see all the pain (before the party's over), In the way that you move"

The tensions between Lan Xichen and Nie Mingjue had now become the incessant beating of a sick heart, pulsating with frustration and misunderstanding. Every day, every word, every look exchanged between them seemed to be charged with electricity, like a tight rope ready to break. The Nie Sect had become the stage for an endless drama, and the two men, who had once stood side by side, now found themselves struggling against the demons within themselves and against the differences that drove them apart. Conflict had become their common language, every speech a battle, every silence a sentence. Lan Xichen could no longer see the road that brought them together. He could no longer feel the same solid connection with Nie Mingjue, what had once been his anchor, his strength. Now, all he saw was a battlefield, where Nie Mingjue's every word seemed to rage on his soul, while his own response was the poison of sarcasm that hid his anguish. Every look they exchanged was a reflection of what they had lost, what they could no longer recover. 

Yet, on that stormy night, something once again shook the apparent calm of that silent war. A letter, carried by a messenger with a pale face from haste, reached the Nie Sect, and with it came the information that would alter the course of events. Jin Guanshang was about to launch an assault on the Burial Mounds, the place where Wei Wuxian and the rest of the Wen had taken refuge, and at Wei Wuxian's side was Lan Wangji, his brother.

The air grew thicker, a veil of cold enveloped Lan Xichen as his eyes fixed on the letter, the seal burning like a brand in his chest. Lan Wangji, his brother, the one who would give his life for him, was now risking everything. A wave of terror, mixed with his unconditional love, overwhelmed him. Without a moment's hesitation, he rose. His eyes, which until then had been fixed on a world of conflict, now shone with a determination that nothing could stop. His voice, barely a whisper, trembled with a ferocity that pushed him towards the unknown. "I'm going to save him," he said, his voice breaking but sure, like a thread that could no longer be held. But as he moved, Nie Mingjue stopped him. With a firm gesture, solid as a mountain, she stood before him, her body an impenetrable wall. His eyes, usually firm and stern, now turned into an abyss of concern. “Xichen, stop,” he said, his voice strained. "We have to act sensibly. We can't just run into danger. We can't just abandon everything without thinking. We can't act without preparation."

Lan Xichen looked intently at Nie Mingjue, but no longer saw the man he had known. He no longer saw his battle companion, the friend who had walked at his side in silent understanding. His mind, which had once found serenity in Nie Mingjue's words and gestures, was now a battlefield where every thought was pierced by excruciating pain. The image of Nie Mingjue came to him distorted, blurred, like a shadow trying to grab him, to imprison him in a reality that was now unbearable for him. Every look they exchanged felt like a blade hitting him. Lan Xichen felt as if a pang of cold ran through his heart, as if Nie Mingjue's every word was a wound that he couldn't heal. “He's my brother, mingjue,” he murmured, his tone low but so clear that it cut the air between them. His voice trembled, not from fear, but from an inner frenzy that was growing like a storm. Lan Wangji, his brother, his half. That strength that had kept him upright even in the darkest moments. Without him, there was nothing anymore.

The words that came out of Nie Mingjue's mouth were like a poison trying to creep into his mind, but they were too weak to penetrate Lan Xichen's heart. His mind had now become a prison, a place where every thought was imprisoned in a corner, unable to escape. "No matter how much you want to stop me," he said with an icy coldness, "I cannot stay. Lan Wangji needs me. I need him." Nie Mingjue tried to respond, but his voice couldn't reach Lan Xichen's heart. His words, although full of worry and fear, seemed to slip away, like water that was unable to wet the dry earth. “Xichen, you are talking as if there is nothing else. It is not just a matter of life and death, but of everything you have built. Not only yourself, but us, the Nie Sect, our future. We cannot allow us to act without thinking."

Lan Xichen, however, couldn't hear any of this. His mind was too far away, too overwhelmed by pain to focus on anything else. Nie Mingjue's words were just distant noises, noises that failed to touch the depths of his heart. He felt only a silent scream burning inside him, a flame consuming everything he had built, everything he had tried to protect. The image of Jin Guangyao, his impossible love, tormented him, filled his mind, heart and flesh. His desire for a world that no longer existed consumed him. "I don't want to hear anything else," he said in a tone that brooked no reply, a tone that seemed drained of all emotion, as if his heart were already empty, as if he were ready to detach himself from everything and everyone. "If you don't let me go, I will fight you." 

The rain began to fall, silently, like a harbinger of torment, soaking the ground and turning the landscape into a muddy swamp. Each drop seemed to fall with a certain determination, as if the sky was trying to erase the past, to annihilate the entire scene that was unfolding in front of them. Lan Xichen, his body trembling, but his mind clear with a fury that had begun to grow within him, stared at Nie Mingjue with eyes filled with a hatred he never imagined he would feel. The man he had considered as a brother, as a life partner, now seemed only a distant figure, an enemy who rejected him with every word, with every gesture.

Nie Mingjue, with his mocking smile, stood, as if the world was nothing but a game in which he was the only one in charge. The rain was soaking his form, but he didn't seem to care. His expression was of superiority, of coldness, as if he were immune to everything that was happening around him. Yet, deep in Lan Xichen's eyes, there was a tremor that he couldn't hide. His fury, now visible, like a streak of lightning across the sky, pushed him beyond the limit, beyond rationality.

“You can't even stand,” Nie Mingjue said in a voice that sounded like a slash. The words came out of his mouth as a challenge, as a mockery. "What do you want to do to me, huh? Do you really think you can compete with me, under these conditions? You are a shadow of your former self, Xichen." Nie Mingjue's words fell like pebbles on Lan Xichen's body, each one a small wound that made him tremble, that shook him to the bone. But despite everything, despite the tiredness that consumed him, Lan Xichen didn't stop. His hand, already slipped with a certain ease on the blade of the sword, now gripped it with the determination of someone who has decided not to retreat, even if the world was collapsing around him. The rain ran down his face, mixing with the tears he didn't want to show.

Each movement, each breath was heavy. Lan Xichen's body seemed to struggle to react, the sword trembling in his hands, but his mind left no room for anything. "If you don't let me go," he said, his voice trembling with the rising fury within him, "I swear to you that I will fight you, even if the earth beneath me crumbles. I will fight you with every fiber of my being." His breathing was agitated, almost hoarse. The rain beat against his body, but it couldn't seem to put out the flame burning inside. Every word that came out of Nie Mingjue's mouth felt like a sharp blade cutting through his heart, yet he didn't stop. He didn’t want to. The thought of Lan Wangji, his life, his heart, everything it had ever meant to him, urged him not to stop, not to give in.

Nie Mingjue raised an eyebrow, and his smile grew even more ironic. "You've lost your mind," he said with a calmness that betrayed his disdain. "You are no longer the one I used to respect. You are reducing yourself to a shadow." His words were like sharp blades, but Lan Xichen no longer heard them. There was no longer room for rationality, for reasoning. That anger that had accumulated in his heart was pouring out in every movement, in every gesture. The rain wrapped around him like a straitjacket, but he couldn't stop his impulse, his fury. In the silence before the explosion, Lan Xichen unsheathed his sword. The movement was rapid, almost an instinctive gesture, but full of primitive power. The blade rose into the air, glittering and sharp, ready to cut through the darkness that surrounded them. Every muscle in Lan Xichen seemed tense beyond measure, like a string that could no longer hold its tension.“You don't understand,” he cried, his voice rising above the sound of the rain. "But that's enough. That's enough!"

Nie Mingjue, with a mocking smile that defied the pouring rain, took a step forward, his hand slowly sliding onto the handle of Baxia, the saber that had always been his faithful companion. The sound of metal being pulled from the sheath was distinct, like a harbinger of a storm. The blade shone for a moment, reflecting the confused lights of the sky above them, but what could be read in his eyes was something much deeper: a mixture of contempt and amusement, as if he were witnessing a tragic spectacle, but inevitable. “So, finally,” Nie Mingjue said, his voice hissing through droplets of rain. His laughter, rough and cruel, cut through the air like a poisonous arrow. “Did you really think you could stop me with a sword you can't even swing?” With an almost exaggerated gesture, which betrayed sadistic pleasure, he put himself in a fighting position, like a predator preparing to strike its prey. "But what an illusion, Xichen... You really seem like a man who has lost all logic."

Baxia hissed in the air as he twirled it in one fluid motion, and as if the world itself was taking a breather, Nie Mingjue tilted his head slightly. Lan Xichen's dark eyes were full of fury, but also a sadness that he couldn't hide. Yet, Nie Mingjue did not give up. The rain, his blade, everything seemed insignificant in the face of the torment that was taking place between them. Nie Mingjue's smile was no longer just ironic, but also disturbing, as if he was enjoying every single moment of Lan Xichen's disillusionment.

"You really want to fight me, Xichen?" he chuckled, his voice a mix of mockery and malice. “Your blade is heavier than your mind.” Every word was a blow delivered with surgical precision, a poison that penetrated the heart of his opponent. "You're no longer capable of fighting like you once were. And you know it." Lan Xichen, however, did not give in. Pride kept him standing, and his determination became more and more visible as he gripped his sword tighter, his eyes no longer able to see anything but the image of someone he had once loved, the man who had destroyed him and who somehow continued to torment him. Nie Mingjue's every word felt like a lunge, but there was a fire within him that burned stronger than ever, an urgency to challenge not only his opponent, but also his own mind, now twisted by confusion and betrayal.

“If you don't let me go, I swear I will fight you,” Lan Xichen said, his voice almost breaking from the weight of his own words. "You don't understand, you don't understand anything… But enough is enough." The cry, which had formed in his chest, sounded loud, disjointed, and in his gaze you could read all the desperation of someone who was no longer able to hold back the fury that consumed him.

Nie Mingjue, however, remained unmoved. There was no fear in his eyes, just a sharp contempt, as if he were preparing to swat a bug that wasn't even worth his time. "You're so pathetic," he muttered, and then darted forward with unexpected speed, his arms maneuvering the saber with the grace of a master. “What happened to the Xichen I knew?” His laughter that followed the movement seemed to resonate like a death sentence, as the blade moved through the air, ready to rend Lan Xichen's heart, who could no longer distinguish between reality and the echo of his own fears . The storm raged like an angry god, the dark sky above them was breaking, with each drop of rain sliding across their body like a silent wail, a blanket of pain enveloping them. The ground under their feet was muddy, slippery, but neither seemed to care. They were two souls who threw themselves into the abyss, one against the other, driven by a hatred that went beyond understanding, fueled by illusions and disillusions. Each drop was a hammer that hit the skin. The sound of the blades, the labored breathing, the rustle of the rapid and powerful movements, everything mixed with the roar of the rain in a symphony of death.

Nie Mingjue had been the first to lunge, like a wounded beast with nothing left to lose. His Baxia saber danced through the air, a strike that cut through the moisture and fog as fast as lightning. Lan Xichen, with his sword in hand, did not flinch. The blade slid across his, a metallic swish that rang through the air like a battle cry. Their bodies collided in a burst of movement, with Lan Xichen quickly moving to the right to avoid a lethal strike. The rain splashed everywhere, but he didn't feel the cold, he didn't feel the pain. There was only fury building inside him, a fury he could no longer control. 

"You are no longer the Xichen I knew," he said, with a laugh that seemed to echo in Lan Xichen's heart like a distant echo, a poison that consumed him inside. "You're just a weakness disguised as a warrior." Nie Mingjue's every word was a blow stronger than the metal of swords. A contemptuous smile appeared on Nie Mingjue's lips, who no longer saw in front of him anything but a man barely holding himself together, but it was too late to stop, too late for regret. "What do you want to do, Xichen?" He challenged him, launching himself into a lunge with Baxia again. "You can't stand up, you have nothing left to give. It's just a matter of time."

Lan Xichen, panting, counterattacked with a series of rapid strikes, his blade a trail of cutting light through the darkness, each movement calculated, each shift precise. But Nie Mingjue's body was like a wall, imposing and indomitable. He parried with Baxia, blocking every attempt at a slash to his left side, but with each blow that was absorbed, the tension in Lan Xichen's heart grew. His body trembled under the strain, his legs buckling with fatigue. But every time he felt Baxia's weight blocking his sword, he pushed forward, more and more determined.The blade came down hard on him, but Lan Xichen didn't let it slip away. Every muscle was screaming at him, his side was bleeding, but there was only one purpose in his heart, a flame that burned brighter than any wound. "This isn't how it's going to end," he replied in a broken but determined voice. "I won't allow it."

Yet, his mind was a mess. The image of Jin Guangyao insinuated itself into his thoughts like a parasite, poisoning his every action. His veneration for that man, which was now revealed as a cruel lie, tormented him at every moment, in every blow he delivered. Each movement was like an unheard prayer, an attempt to find his salvation, to do justice to what had been broken. But in this sea of pain, Lan Xichen felt lost, more and more distant from himself, more and more distant from reality.

The storm around him was but an external reflection of the storm that was devouring his heart. Every drop of rain that hit his skin only accentuated the feeling of emptiness that tore him apart, a feeling of loneliness so profound that it seemed to swallow him whole. His arms, once strong, now trembled, not from physical fatigue, but from something that lurked deeper; a silent, inexorable disintegration of what he believed was his identity.

Jin Guangyao… that perfect figure, that presence that had filled his life with hopes and illusions, was now just a farce, a shadow that intertwined with every corner of his soul. Lan Xichen tried to look beyond, to see the man she had loved, but every time she tried, the image of Jin Guangyao transformed, becoming a more distorted, darker shadow, like a parasite that devoured all his certainties . Yet, in some hidden corner, there was still a residue of veneration, an echo of a love that couldn't stop tormenting him, that prevented him from seeing clearly, from escaping his mental prison. Every blow he threw at Nie Mingjue was like an act of desperation, a need to express something he couldn't define, something that had been stolen from him mercilessly. His mind wandered, getting tangled up in thoughts of Jin Guangyao. “I was too blind,” he told himself. "I believed in him. I gave him my soul, my confidence." Yet, in every reflection there was the torment of a love betrayed, of a broken promise. His blows, which should have been decisive, precise, were now full of blind rage, moved by the fury of a heart that tried to destroy what had destroyed him.

"You are not worthy of anything, Xichen." The voice, thin and sharp, resonated in his head. Every single sentence he had uttered that time, every flattery that had deceived him, now appeared to him like a knife sticking into his chest, slowly, inexorably. "You're not enough for me." The memory of those words crushed him, crushed him. How could he be so naïve? How could he have believed it was all true? Was the love he thought he saw in Jin Guangyao ever genuine? The man now in front of him, Nie Mingjue, challenged him with the same contempt he had learned to feel for himself. Every blow from Baxia pushed him further down, every movement from Nie Mingjue brought him back to the painful reality: he was no longer that confident Xichen, but an emptied man, reduced to a shadow trying to rebuild himself through blood, sweat , and the scars that had accumulated in his heart. 

As he fought, Lan Xichen felt his heart torn, the weight of deception he couldn't shake off. Yet, something dark was making its way through his thoughts, an awareness that wrapped him like a heavy mantle. His mind wouldn't stop screaming, wouldn't stop wondering why he allowed Jin Guangyao to enter so deeply into his life, into his soul, if in the end it turned out to be an abyss of lies. Yet despite everything, his mind refused to separate from him completely, like a disease that poisoned him from within, until his every action became a reflection of his shattered existence. The rain seemed to wash away all traces of rationality, all hope. The strength that had once supported Lan Xichen now seemed to have dissolved, engulfed by an endless pain, an anger that consumed him. It was as if he were in a dream that he couldn't wake up from. Every blow that landed on Nie Mingjue was an attempt to find an answer. Every swing of his sword only made him scar deeper, more painful. Jin Guangyao's face appeared to him again, like a perfect face of a demon chaining him to itself. Yet, every blow dealt to Nie Mingjue, every cry that came out of his mouth, seemed to take him a little further from that vision, a little closer to himself.

The storm howled like a wounded beast, the sky had torn into a thousand streaks of black, and the clouds, swollen with rain, seemed to want to swallow the earth beneath them. The rain came down incessantly, hitting the muddy ground violently, as if every drop was a sentence, a punishment that knew no end. Every step the two warriors took took them further down, further from any hope of redemption. The mud stuck to their shoes, their swords, their hearts. But nothing slowed the fury consuming them. They were trapped, yet they fought. Lan Xichen, his face wet with a sea of rain that slid like tears through his messy hair, gripped his sword with a strength that betrayed desperation. His every movement, every blow, was a fight against himself. There was no longer any trace of the grace that had always distinguished him, that lightness in swordsmanship that fascinated anyone who observed him. Now, his sword moved through the air like a body trying to cling to life, but feeling its fall inevitable. Every exchange of blows with Nie Mingjue seemed to tear off a piece of him, a fragment that was shattered, with no possibility of recomposing itself. 

Lan Xichen's every movement seemed like a silent cry, a muffled scream that tried to tear away the grip of his own pain. There was no longer the serenity that once accompanied his sword, now every blow was a pang, as if his very essence was breaking under the weight of desperation. His hands trembled imperceptibly, but it wasn't just his body that was shaking. His soul was giving way, bent by an unbearable pain that he was trying to suppress, like a stormy sea that refused to remain calm. The sword was no longer an extension of him, but a part of the torment he couldn't stop. Each thrust seemed to push him further, too far, where his spirit could no longer follow him.

Every blow he launched at Nie Mingjue was a request that no one could hear, a prayer bitten by the wind, a moan that was lost in the immensity of the storm. It was as if he was desperately trying to hold on to something that no longer existed, to hold onto a flame that was now about to go out. His sword, which once danced with the grace of a poet, now moved with the heaviness of one who knows that there is no escape, that fate has already marked him. Every jerk of his body seemed like a cry for help, but his mouth couldn't utter a single word. Every thrust, every block, was the breathing of a part of him that was dying, without even having the courage to scream for salvation. In front of him, Nie Mingjue looked like the very embodiment of primordial fury, a storm that had taken the form of man. His presence was like the shadow of an ancient God, an uncontrollable force that did not need to be contained. Baxia, his saber, was no longer simply a weapon; it was a predator that hurtled through the air, hungry for destruction, as if it had a will of its own, a desire to wipe out everything in front of it. Nie Mingjue's every move was a symphony of power, every slash a blow from a god who didn't care about the suffering of others. The rain sliding down his face didn't seem to touch him, as if he wasn't even there. His muscles tensed like steel cords under the weight of the struggle, but in his eyes there was no fury of those at war. There was an eerie calm, like that of a man who knows he has to do something he has no choice in, that he has to fulfill a destiny he never wanted. 

Every blow he dealt to Lan Xichen was not just an attack, but a pain that went beyond flesh, beyond blood. It was as if he were trying to tear apart a memory, to destroy something he had loved, but which now belonged to him only in the form of a wound that would not heal. In his eyes, the bitterness of what he had lost mixed with the remorse for what he had to do, yet his hand did not waver. It was the movement of a man who accepted his condemnation, who understood that each blow only dug deeper into his heart, leaving a scar that would never heal. But there was also a deep sadness, an awareness that no victory, no pain, could ever fill the void that existed between them. It was the sadness of those who know that the battle, whatever it was, would always and only be a defeat. 

“It's not you anymore.” Nie Mingjue's voice broke the silence of the storm like an ax blow separating the tree from the root. It wasn't anger, it wasn't pain, but a truth that insinuated itself like a poison, slowly and inexorably, into the very heart of the battle. There was no accusation in the tone, just a bitter and definitive observation, which floated between them like an unbearable weight. There was no mercy in his words, nor hope. There was only the awareness that everything they had known, everything they had shared, had now vanished, dissolved into an abyss that would never return anything.

Lan Xichen looked up slowly, his face dirtied by rain and mud, as if every drop of that storm had taken a piece of him. His eyes, once bright and full of determination, were now lifeless, like broken reflections in the mirror of stagnant water. There was no longer that flame of hope that had always animated him, that strength that challenged destiny with the grace of someone who knows he is right. His hands, which had once danced gracefully, now gripped the sword tightly, almost as if they wanted to crush it, destroy it, as if it were no longer worthy of bearing its name.

With a labored breath, the words came out of his mouth like flames, in a hiss of contempt that cut through the air like a sharp knife: "You are a monster, Nie Mingjue. A monster who masquerades as a warrior, but inside he is just a animal that does not know what honor means." Xichen's voice didn't tremble, but there was an incredible harshness in every sound, as if his words were the fruit of a resentment that had been harboring for too long. Every syllable was a burden, an attack that didn't need swords to be devastating. Nie Mingjue stood still for a moment, his face impassive, but a fierce light shone in his eyes, a fire that quickly responded to the challenge. The storm around them seemed to intensify, as if even the sky understood that nothing would ever be the same again.

Lan Xichen, without waiting for a response, launched into the attack. Every movement was a whip, every blow full of hatred and pain, as if he was trying to tear apart that bond that, for too long, he had tried to maintain. His sword no longer danced, it slashed the air violently, like a man who knows that, no matter how hard he tries to strike, he will never be able to destroy the wound he has caused himself.

The sound of the shots echoed through the storm, a frantic, uninterrupted beat, as if the sky itself responded to the violence of that battle. Lan Xichen and Nie Mingjue had become moving shadows, the mud covering their bodies like the dust of a war that never ended. Each of Lan Xichen's attacks was filled with frenetic energy, but his sword seemed to graze the air rather than hit it, as if he were trying to free himself from an invisible prison. The fury that drove him was not the same as it had once been, it was not the determination that had once defined his being. No, now there was only blind, uncontrolled rage that came out of him in waves, as if every blow was a piece of his soul he was trying to rip away.

Every swing of his sword was an act of self-destruction, a desperate attempt to find an escape route that didn't exist. The air was dense, the weight of the rain that showed no signs of stopping seemed to slow down every gesture. And yet, despite the slowness, the violence of the blows did not lose strength. Every time his blade met Nie Mingjue's, the resulting metallic sound sounded like a scream. The vibration passed through their bones like a painful reminder, a message that no one wanted to hear. Nie Mingjue didn't seem overwhelmed at all. His posture was perfect, his movements fast, precise, but not without a certain brutal grace. Baxia lunged like a snake, each slash delivered with a ferocity that mirrored the intensity of his heart. Yet, behind that fury, there was something more: a sense of resignation that was reflected in his eyes, as if he too knew that the battle was not only against the other, but against himself, against something that he would not have never been able to defeat.

Each strike from Nie Mingjue seemed to push Lan Xichen one step further back, yet Xichen did not relent. His breathing became increasingly labored, his body tired, and yet, despite the growing pain, he couldn't stop. Every movement he made seemed like a repetition of a mistake he couldn't correct. The sword clashed with Baxia, the clang filling the air like a cursed symphony, but each blow Xichen blocked seemed to drain a little more of his life force. 

Lan Xichen jumped back, his body now shrouded in sweat and rain, yet there was no relief. Every muscle screamed in pain, but his heart beat differently, frantically, as if every beat was a call that tied him to the fury he couldn't stop. With a muffled cry, he took a step forward, trying to throw himself at Nie Mingjue with all the strength he had left. But his sword, now stained with mud, found no resistance only in Baxia's metal. The real fight was happening inside him, against a part of himself that he couldn't recognize, against a loneliness that he no longer knew how to face. Nie Mingjue, seeing the intensity of his attack, responded with another perfect motion. Baxia streaked through the air, an unstoppable force, and in a flash, Lan Xichen's sword was forced to bend under the pressure of the blow. Xichen's breathing stopped for a moment, his hand almost unable to maintain its grip. His heart was hammering in his chest, and the fury he had felt moments before seemed to dissolve, leaving only the chill of a surrender he didn't want to admit.

"Again?" Nie Mingjue asked, his voice low, as if he were talking to himself more than Xichen. "Do you still think you can win? Or that it's worth continuing this little show?" 

Xichen stared at him, her eyes filled with something that wasn't just pain, but a kind of resigned desperation. But before he could respond, Nie Mingjue struck him again, forcing him to defend himself, to launch again into another attack that, by now, seemed to have no other purpose than to keep alive a battle that they both knew would not lead to nothing but ruin. Lan Xichen, with a determination that did not belong to him, clenched his teeth and threw an angry blow, but this time he was no longer trying to protect anything. There was no longer the sense of duty that had once driven him: now there was only destruction, the desire to bring down that reality that he could no longer bear. Nie Mingjue parried the blow with disarming ease, but there was something in his eyes that betrayed an emotion he didn't want to admit. His body was tense, but not with the same ferocity anymore. There was a weariness weighing on him, an awareness that this battle would never have an end that could bring them peace. But his hand didn't tremble, his saber slipped as if he were trying to get rid of a weight he could no longer lift.

The raindrops that fell from their robes were stained with blood, a red that mixed the fury of combat with the sadness of a fight that would never have a purpose, a purpose that was greater than the pain they carried. Every blow, every parry, seemed only to push them towards an abyss that no victory could bridge. The storm continued to rage above them, as if the sky itself wanted no trace of what they had tried to build.  The sky seemed to be collapsing on them, as if the storm itself wanted to make them sink together with the wet earth. Lan Xichen's breathing became increasingly labored, his heart pounding against his ribs as if seeking an escape from the pain that gripped him. His mind was clouded, his thoughts confused. His sword trembled in his hands, the steel marked by the scars of battle, yet the force that animated it was now weak, reduced to a glimmer that was about to go out. An internal cry pushed him forward, a desperate desire not to give up, not to let himself be overwhelmed by a destiny that seemed sealed.

With a strange determination, Lan Xichen lunged forward, taking a firm step towards Nie Mingjue. Every fiber of his body screamed, but his mind was blank, as if his spirit had chosen to abandon his body and let instinct alone speak. The movement he made was similar to a dance, but without grace, as if he were a man who was now surrendering to his ailing body. The sword, raised in a final rush, hurtled towards Nie Mingjue with a speed that seemed more the result of desperation than strength. 

But Nie Mingjue, ever impeccable, parried the blow with Baxia with lethal precision. The clang of colliding metal rang through the air like a deathly rumble. Lan Xichen, his body now soaked in sweat and rain, felt the last shot resonate in his bones, like an echo of destruction coursing through his veins. The pain, sudden and ferocious, hit him like a whip, making him lose control. One step, another uncertain step. The strength that had pushed him this far was fading, and as his eyes tried to fixate on Nie Mingjue's face, everything around him was becoming increasingly blurry. His vision wavered, the air grew heavier and heavier, and yet he fought, fought to stay upright, to keep from collapsing right in front of him. But his body no longer responded. “There is nothing left to do, Xichen,” Nie Mingjue said, his voice sharp, but strangely empty. "You know, don't you? That there's no escape. That this is the end."

A trembling step, and then, like a marionette whose strings have been cut, the body trembled like a leaf shaken by the wind, the head swaying as if it wanted to give in to the void. With a muffled cry, he fell backwards, the ground closing in on him with a speed that seemed to have no end, Lan Xichen fell backwards. The impact was violent, the damp ground greeted him with a coldness that seemed to want to swallow him. The earth mixed with the mud that covered his face, but he couldn't even react. His sword, unable to maintain its position, slipped from his hands like a useless object, a dead weight. Every muscle, every fiber, seemed to have abandoned him. His eyes closed slowly, but not with the peace he once wanted. Rather, they were the eyes of a man who, despite having fought until the end, knew that that blow was his last breath.

Nie Mingjue stared at Lan Xichen as his body succumbed to the weight of defeat, and a shadow of something more than contempt crossed his face. The warrior, who had always faced battles with unwavering ferocity, now found himself facing a man who no longer seemed like a threat, but a fragile reminder of what he had been. Lan Xichen lay on the ground, his snow-white robes, once a symbol of purity and grace, now stained by mud, rain, and the scars of war. Yet, despite the misery in which he lay, it seemed like something more. Something he never wanted to recognize.

Nie Mingjue watched for a long time, almost in a trance, as the storm raged overhead. Xichen's face was pale, marked by fatigue, but there were no obvious wounds, no sign of a fatal blow. Only tiredness, that terrible tiredness that had consumed all resistance. His sword lay a few feet away, like a traitor who had abandoned him to his fate. But what struck Nie Mingjue most was the stark contrast between Xichen's purity, her figure dressed in white, white as snow, and the reality of the mud that covered her body. The robes, once shining and flawless, were now stained, torn by the fury of battle. Yet, in that scene, in that chaos that surrounded him, Xichen seemed like something different. He looked like a fallen god. 

The words formed in Nie Mingjue's mind like a painful whisper, a revelation that struck him in the heart with devastating force. He approached him, his breathing deep and heavy, his hands shaking as he looked at Lan Xichen’s form lying there, frail, as if one more breath could break him. His heart tightened in a knot of sharp pain, a pain he didn't know he felt, that he didn't expect to feel. It wasn't just worry about his life that was crushing him. No, it was something deeper, a paralyzing realization. He had always thought that his hatred for Xichen was the truth, that it was their destiny, their way of being, but now… now all that was left was the weight of a love he had ignored for too long. Nie Mingjue’s eyes locked on Xichen’s form, and in that moment he felt the violence of his heart struggling against a reality he could no longer ignore. He had loved this man. He had loved Xichen with a passion he had never recognized, with a love that he had dragged into silence for fear of admitting it, for fear of breaking the armor he had built around himself. But now, in front of him, that wall collapsed, and with it, his soul.

Nie Mingjue's breathing deepened, his heart beating against his chest with a force he could no longer bear. He had seen Xichen fall so many times, but this time it was different. There was no anger, there was no hatred: there was only an emptiness that was consuming him from the inside. His mind rejected the idea that it had really happened, that the man he had always loved, with whom he had fought and shared so much, was now there, lifeless at his feet. His eyes didn't leave him, as if he hoped that somehow Xichen could rise, rise again, go back to being the warrior he knew, the one who had never given up. But the truth was undeniable: Lan Xichen was no longer fighting, he was no longer breathing like a man, he was just surviving himself . His hand shook as his sword, Baxia, slipped from his fingers, falling to the ground with a dull sound. He couldn’t even lift it, couldn’t continue the fight. What would the fight be without him? What was left of this war they had fought together, if in the end, all that was left was a man lying on the ground, helpless, his face painted with pain and surrender?

Nie Mingjue slowly made his way towards him, but when he was close enough to touch him, he stopped. His hand stopped a few centimeters from Xichen's body, unable to touch him. There was something sacred, untouchable, in that instant. He wanted to hug him, lift him up, tell him he loved him. He didn't touch it. He simply stared at him, his eyes filled with a pain he couldn’t put into words. He loved this man more than he had ever loved anyone else, and yet, in this moment of fragility, in this silence that hovered around them, he understood how far away he was from him. There was no more space between them, no wars, no shared dreams: there was only a pain too great to bear.

Nie Mingjue stood there, motionless, his heart pounding in his chest as his eyes stared at Lan Xichen, lying on the ground like an angel fallen from heaven. The rain continued to fall relentlessly, mercilessly, and yet, in the midst of that deluge, there was something extraordinarily delicate about Lan Xichen. His chest rose, almost imperceptibly, like a feather blown by the wind, a movement that seemed to want to escape the weight of the pain that had bent him to that point. Every breath, light, fragile, seemed like an attempt to fight against the death that was calling him, a silent struggle that filled the air with a soft, almost unreal tension.

Nie Mingjue, staring at him, saw that small movement as the only proof that Lan Xichen wasn't completely lost, that somehow there was still a spark of life in him. His mind, tortured by conflict, refused to accept the idea that it was all over, that the man he had loved with every fiber of his being was so close to being finished. The rain, now, no longer seemed just an external element, but a reflection of the turmoil within him, which crushed him under its own weight. Every drop that fell on Xichen's skin, every reflection of light that was lost in her dark hair, seemed like a reminder of everything they had shared. His breathing, slow and deep, became louder, as if the weight of everything he was experiencing was about to explode. He couldn't take his eyes off Xichen, his face still so serene despite the pain. The rain wet his face, mixing with tears he didn't even know he was shedding. There was anger, there was frustration, but above all, there was pain so great that he couldn't find a way to express it.

Yet, Xichen's body continued to breathe, each breath a breath of hope that he could not destroy. Lan Xichen, even in his exhausted state, would not give up, and that fragile strength that still allowed him to live seemed to awaken something ancient and powerful in Nie Mingjue. A love, a desire for protection, to never let him go again, but also an irrational fear of never being able to do enough to save that bond, to stop the torment that was consuming them both. And yet, he did not touch him. He remained there, standing, like a monument to pain, while the rain continued to beat, never stopping. The distance between them seemed more and more unbridgeable, an abyss that had been created between them over time, but in that moment, in that fragile breath of Xichen, Nie Mingjue felt closer to him than he had ever been before . Yet, he had to remain far away, unable to get closer, unable to break the silence that surrounded them.   

Nie Mingjue finally knelt next to Lan Xichen, his gaze fixed on Xichen's face, trying to read in his expressions, in his breaths, a trace of that strength that had once always distinguished him. But all he found was a broken man, a man who seemed to have slipped out of time, out of every possibility of salvation. His heart tightened in a dark corner of his chest, where remorse and suffering mixed with the awareness that perhaps, everything they had been through, all the battles fought side by side, had brought them right there, to that point of no return. Can I still save him? he thought, his breathing becoming labored. Can I still bring it back? The question buzzed through his mind like an unstoppable nightmare. Was it still possible to bring him back, to make him go back to being the Xichen he loved, the one who had fought at his side, who had dreamed of a bright and promising future with him?

But as his gaze scanned Xichen's face, he sensed that the man was no longer there. That figure lying before him was not the Xichen he had known, it was not the man who had stolen his heart with his calm, his serenity, his ideal of justice. No, there was something different in front of him; a carcass of that warrior, reduced to a memory of himself, beaten down by the reality that had overwhelmed him, broken over and over again until he fell into that tiredness that would never have more able to heal. Nie Mingjue's eyes became teary, the weight of that question ringing in his head like a hammer. Every moment that passed seemed to increase the distance between him and Xichen, yet there was a part of him that couldn't let go, that refused to believe that it was really too late. But inside him, like a stone that was making its way to the bottom of his heart, the truth began to emerge. What if I had been the real executioner?

The thought hit him like a punch to the stomach. He was, perhaps, the real executioner. Not just Jin Guangyao, who had manipulated him and used him for his own purposes. No, it was he, with his choices, with his actions, with his rude judgments, who had become an accomplice to this ruin. He had seen Xichen suffer, he had seen how the war and their battles had changed him, how that weight had built up inside him, day after day. Yet, what had Nie Mingjue done? He had ignored him, he had pushed him further and further, he had let him fall without grabbing him, without offering him a way out.

The image popped into his mind, that figure who had manipulated the minds and lives of everyone he had ever been close to. But even he, Nie Mingjue, wasn't so different after all. He too had taken part in the power game, the game of resistance and revenge. He had seen Xichen approaching that viper but he hadn't stopped him, he hadn't protected him as he should have. And now, in front of that carcass, he realized that he had been no better than the viper who had eaten the rabbit in one bite.

He had taken part in this slow and inevitable fall. And somehow, like Jin Guangyao, he too had been a tormentor, an executioner disguised as a lover, disguised as a partner, but unable to see how far he was pushing his heart to give in.  He had closed his eyes to the truth, he had distracted himself from the pain that the other was hiding, and now, that pain was swallowing him up. His mind reeled under the weight of that realization. The anger he had felt towards Xichen, the hatred he had hidden behind his apparent calm, were merely mirrors of a love that, unfortunately, had never been healthy. He had always been twisted, corrupted by the fear of losing the other, by the fear of not being enough, of never being able to be what the other needed him to be. And now, with Xichen's body lying on the ground, heartbroken, he realized that he had contributed, without knowing it, to breaking it.

Jin Guangyao's face was confused with his own, with his own face, as impossible as it was to accept it. He too had taken part in that fall, in a way he never wanted to see. His hands trembled as he leaned on the ground, almost looking for a hold, something to anchor him to reality. But the truth was now as clear as the gray and hopeless sky above them. There was no turning back.

What remained now, if not the remorse and silence of a battle now over, of a love destroyed by the same force that had forged it? 

Chapter Text

The sky had grown dark, the sunset was no longer able to warm the freezing air which fell over them like a blanket of worry. Lan Qiren strode forward, his gaze fixed and implacable, as always, but this time there was something different: a shadow of anger that could no longer be ignored. At his sides walked Lan Wangji, who didn't say a word, and Wei Wuxian, with A-Yuan clinging to his side, clinging to him like a small refuge in the middle of a world that seemed broken. Wen Ning and Wen Qing followed them silently, but the tension between them was palpable. And Jiang Cheng, with his face as serious as ever, gave the impression that he was ready to kick everything that wasn't already destroyed.

As they arrived at the gates of the Nie Sect, Lan Qiren paused for a moment. The disciples, dressed in their traditional black clothes, awaited them. Every movement, every breath seemed filled with an almost annoying expectation. The disciples exchanged a quick look, the kind of look you would only see among those who have been placed in an uncomfortable situation, one of those moments when they know that no matter what they say, it will never be enough.

“Where is Nie Mingjue and Lan Xichen?” Lan Qiren's voice rose like a whip through the air, breaking the silence that surrounded the entrance of the Nie Sect. It was low, but vibrated with such tension that it made the disciples gasp. Each word was engraved with the precision of a blade, short and sharp, full of an authority that brooked no reply. That tone wasn't just a question. It was a sentence waiting to be executed. The disciples, lined up in line under the portico, seemed petrified. Nobody dared to move or look up. The wind blew lightly between the beams of the large gate, lifting the edges of their clothes, but their bodies were still. Lan Qiren looked at them one by one, as if he could read inside their minds and reveal the secrets they tried to hide.

Wei Wuxian stood behind him, with a raised eyebrow and a wry half-smile on his lips, but he said nothing. Even Jiang Cheng, who usually never missed an opportunity to make snide comments, refrained. The silence was too heavy, as if they had just crossed the boundary of a sacred and forbidden place. After a wait that seemed interminable, one of the disciples came forward. His footsteps rang on the wood of the porch, soft but unmistakable. His shoulders were stiff and his hands were clenched behind his back, but when he stopped in front of Lan Qiren, he avoided looking him in the eyes. He bowed respectfully, keeping his gaze down as if the words he was about to utter weighed too much to bear. “I'm in the infirmary, great master Lan”

The words fell on the air like a sentence, freezing all other sounds. Lan Qiren didn't move for a moment, his gaze fixed into space, as if he were trying to make order out of the chaos that was before him. Wei Wuxian, trying to lift the tense atmosphere, exclaimed with a nervous smile: “And I thought I'd find them arguing over a bottle of wine. Instead they are sharing a bed in the infirmary. Romantic” Lan Wangji stopped for a moment, his golden irises scrutinized Wei Wuxian's slender figure with that granite calm that characterized him.

“Wei Ying.” There was no reproach in Lan Wangji's voice, only that low, deep tone that touched his heart more than a thousand words. Wei Wuxian noticed the slight relief shining slightly in his eyes and allowed himself a small, more sincere smile, the kind of smile he reserved only for him. “I was joking, Hanguang-jun.” Wei Wuxian's voice lowered, almost as a sign of respect towards the silence that surrounded them. “Oh, well, so they're not throwing plates. I could bet they were in a corner arguing like a pair of frustrated lovers.”

Lan Wangji never took his eyes off Wei Wuxian, but his warm, solid presence was a silent reassurance. Wei Wuxian continued to smile, but deep down he felt that something was going terribly wrong. Jiang Cheng, who had barely contained his irritation, took a firm step towards the infirmary. “If you're done with the bullshit can we see if they're alive please?” His voice was cold, devoid of the usual anger that resonated in his inner battle.

When they entered the infirmary, the atmosphere became oddly heavy. The low ceiling, the dense and silent air seemed to blind the senses, as if every corner of the place was imbued with a suffering that no one dared to face. Lan Xichen lay on the bed, his face pale and motionless, as if he had become a marble statue. Her beauty, normally luminous and imposing, now seemed reduced to a fragile form, marked by struggle and pain. His robes, once white as snow, were now stained with mud and blood, but in that cold, faded light they still looked beautiful, albeit battle-scarred. Nie Mingjue stood beside him, stiff and silent, like a sentry who didn't know how to protect the one he loved anymore. His powerful figure seemed more fragile than ever, his hands tightened in an invisible grip as if he feared that Lan Xichen's fragile body might vanish at any moment. There were no words between them, just silence. The silence of a fight now over, but no less painful. The air was heavy, as if every breath was a burden too great to bear.

Lan Qiren walked over to Lan Xichen's bed, but his heart seemed to have stopped. He bent down slightly, staring at the young man's face, but did not speak. He didn't know what to say. Nie Mingjue slowly looked up, as if coming out of some sort of emotional stupor, and finally noticed the presence of Lan Qiren and the others. He didn't move, or even make a move toward them. His posture remained proud, but there was something tired, as if his strength, once so unstoppable, was now consumed by the impossibility of facing a reality that he could no longer dominate. His eyes, which usually shone with determination and strength, were now dull, marked by a suffering that he could not hide. There was no anger, no hatred, just a painful silence that seemed to pass through him like an open wound.

Lan Qiren, his face lined with sadness, took a step forward, his breathing heavy and deep. When he spoke, his voice was not that of an angry man, but that of someone who had seen too much conflict, too much suffering, and who now found himself faced with a truth he could no longer ignore. "What happened here?" The question seemed simple, but his tone, grave and sad, revealed the depth of his pain. He wasn't just looking for an answer to what had happened; he was trying to understand something deeper, an explanation that went beyond the actions and penetrated to the very heart of the tragedy. Nie Mingjue didn't respond right away. He sighed, as if the weight of his own voice was too much to carry. Then, with an almost imperceptible gesture, he shook his head slightly, as if he were trying to free himself from a thought he couldn't shake. When he finally spoke, his voice was calm, but there was no emotion in his words, only the cold acknowledgment of a truth that he no longer had the strength to fight. “What was supposed to happen happened.”

Wei Wuxian approached Lan Xichen's bed, shrugging with an indifferent gesture that masked a subtle restlessness. His crazed smile couldn't hide the tension that was in the air. The humor was a mask, but his tone was rougher than usual, as if he feared breaking the spell that had silently been created between them. You guys hit each other until you collapsed?” he asked, his smile mocking but at the same time a half-question, suspended in the heavy air. The room seemed to freeze for a moment, the light streaming through the window casting a soft, cold shadow on the faces of others. Nie Mingjue, who had been watching Lan Xichen with a thoughtful gaze until then, moved slowly. His lips curved into a smile that never reached his eyes, one of those bitter smiles that hold within them more pain than words can tell.

Nie Mingjue didn't respond right away. His gaze dropped to Xichen again, staring at that pale, distant face, as if trying to find something in it that wasn't just an exhausted body. His mind was a whirlwind of thoughts that he couldn't put in order, and his mouth remained closed in a painful line for a long moment. Then, finally, he let out a response that sounded more like a confession, more like a burden revealed with a sharp sound. "Something like that." His voice was low, yet each word felt heavy as lead, sinking into the air with a force no one expected.

There was something in that bitter smile that spoke of a secret suffering, an awareness that couldn't make him express it differently. In that moment, in his eyes, there was the unspoken truth, the silent admission that despite everything that had happened, despite the battles fought, he and Xichen had reached the point of no return, and that reality had become unbearable . It wasn't just the fatigue of physical struggle they faced; it was the weight of everything they had experienced and had never said to each other, the sacrifice not recognized, the love hidden under layers of pride and violence. Nie Mingjue, with that broken smile, stared at Lan Xichen for a moment that seemed eternal, as if he wanted to grasp a part of him that was escaping. Then, as if he had decided to let go of that painful thought, his expression became severe again, but his eyes betrayed a fragility that no one would have ever imagined seeing in him. 

Before Lan Qiren could explode, screaming at the top of his lungs, Nie Mingjue's behavior was not acceptable at all, something he would never tolerate under any circumstances, a contempt that was turning into uncontrollable anger, a contempt that it burned inside him. His voice, powerful and inclement, was about to come out, but was interrupted by the sudden entry of a medical disciple who, followed by two other nurses, burst into the room. The doctor, who seemed almost frightened by the tumult that hung in the air, pushed his way with determination among the figures lined up next to Lan Xichen's bed. With rapid but delicate movements, he approached the master's body, now lying without strength, lifeless, with pale and cold skin, a body now shaken by wounds and fatigue. The doctor leaned over him with apparent calm, but his hand trembled imperceptibly as he began to inspect the wounds, trying to understand the extent of the damage Lan Xichen had suffered.

Meanwhile, Lan Qiren, his face contorted with anger, couldn't take his eyes off Nie Mingjue, as if he wanted to incinerate him with his gaze. His hands, closed in tight fists, trembled slightly. The disbelief he felt towards Mingjue's behavior was eating him up from the inside. He had seen the man in front of him countless times, yet in that moment, that face he knew so well, that face that had been a part of his life for so long, seemed so foreign to him. How had he gotten to this point? How could he do this to Lan Xichen? Lan Wangji, who was standing next to Lan Qiren, didn't say a word. His eyes, however, shone with a silent fury that would have been capable of consuming anyone in his path. Lan Wangji's gaze was fixed on Nie Mingjue, but there was no trace of compassion, only hidden hatred, the kind of hatred that lurks beneath the surface, ready to explode at the slightest contact. He had never seen Mingjue like this, and the anger he felt towards the man who held such an important part in Xichen's heart seemed to grow with each passing moment.  Meanwhile, Nie Mingjue, who until then had kept his head down, sensing Lan Wangji's piercing gaze on him, remained motionless. He didn't look up, he didn't defend himself, but his heart was beating fast. With each passing second, the weight of what he had done was crushing him more and more. There was a conflict in him that he couldn't resolve, a sense of guilt that made him incapable of responding, incapable of lashing out at anyone. 

The doctor, with measured movements, finished his examination of Lan Xichen's body. Xichen's forehead was warm to the touch, and his pulse, unfortunately, was weak and irregular, but nothing that was beyond repair. The doctor slowly turned to face those present, massaging his tired eyes, as if to ease the weight of the emotion he was feeling at that moment. It wasn't easy to deal with such a delicate situation, but his experience had prepared him to handle even the most extreme circumstances.

A tired but reassuring smile spread across his face. His voice, while trying to sound warm and sympathetic, betrayed a note of severity. “He's just tired,” he said, his tone softer than it had been up to that point. "It's as if he hasn't slept for days, as if his body has collapsed under the weight of too many sleepless nights. Tiredness has overwhelmed him, and now he's just trying to regain some strength." Then, without any hesitation, his gaze fixed on Nie Mingjue, and his voice, which had previously been soft, now took on a hardness that left no room for excuses. “But your behavior…” the doctor paused, searching for the right words. "It is deplorable. To fight a man in this state, in pouring rain, without any regard for his condition? Not only is it irresponsible, but it is inhumane." 

The silence that followed his statement was tense, and Lan Qiren's eyes, which until then had burned with anger, became even darker, while Lan Wangji continued to stare at Nie Mingjue with the same intensity, his anger silent that could not be ignored. Then the doctor turned to Nie Mingjue again, with a question that almost sounded more like an accusation than simple curiosity. “Does he eat enough?” he asked, looking directly at the man he had always had before his eyes with an expression that seemed to solicit a response. But Nie Mingjue didn't respond immediately. His face tightened, and his eyes seemed to search into space, unable to form a clear answer.

He himself had noticed Xichen’s strange behavior in the past few weeks. His husband, now so distant, no longer spoke like he used to. Eating, resting, even simple conversations: nothing felt the same anymore. But he couldn't find the courage to ask, and Xichen, no matter how much she looked at him with eyes of complicity, had never given him clear answers. “I… I don’t know,” Mingjue finally answered, his voice low, as if the words were stuck in his throat. “I saw that he wasn't eating as he should, but when i asked him, he never answered.”

Chapter Text

"I want to hold you like you're mine"

Two years had passed since those tumultuous events, since the scars, both physical and emotional, had begun to heal, and yet the path had not been easy. Nie Mingjue and Lan Qiren had fought together to help Xichen find some serenity, come to terms with his inner demons, and reveal what he had kept quiet for too long. Things had never been simple, and at certain moments it seemed that Xichen's suffering was something indelible, like a burden that he could never throw away.

But there was a moment when the words had finally found a way out, and although it was difficult for Xichen to express himself, he had finally started to talk about everything he had kept hidden, and he had let those words free him, at least in part. Nie Mingjue wanted, at times, to bring Jin Guangyao back to life just so he could put him underground again, but he knew that even the idea would be in vain. Instead, he had chosen to focus on what really mattered: helping Xichen climb back, day after day, from the abyss into which he had been thrown. Things had been difficult in the beginning. Xichen had chosen the deepest silence, like a dry river that refused to flow, and hid, seeking shelter in places that told more than he wanted to admit. One day he ended up in the horse stable, as if that straw and that silence could suffocate his thoughts. “I spoke badly of a-yao,” he said, like a curse he couldn't get out of his mouth, as if his remorse could be buried under the hay.

Lan Qiren, his face frowning like a rain cloud, couldn't understand the escape. But Nie Mingjue, with surprising calm, had followed him into the darkness, like a father who, even if he didn't fully understand, knew he had to be there. One night, with the same determination as a man who knows that the cold can do nothing to you if you have a good blanket, Nie Mingjue had taken the pillow, the blanket and headed towards the stable. There were no words, just the sound of his steps, slow but sure, like those of a man who knows he is on the right path, even if it is dark and winding.

Lan Xichen, huddled in a remote corner of the stable, looked like a shadow of himself. The heavy blanket he had brought with him was clutched so tightly in his hands that his knuckles were white, as if the fabric were the only boundary between him and a world he could no longer understand. His eyes shied away from contact, low and lost, as he settled awkwardly on the straw, his hands trembling slightly as he folded the pillow with almost obsessive precision. It was a portrait of a frightened child trying to hide from the monster under the bed, an image that struck straight to Nie Mingjue's heart. Watching him from a few feet away, Nie Mingjue took a moment. He did not look at him with pity, nor with reproach. It was a silent tenderness that was reflected in his eyes, a warmth that melted even the rigidity of his usually impassive face. There was something incredibly vulnerable and, against all logic, lovely about Lan Xichen in that moment. The blanket wrapped around his thin body, the small, uncertain movements, the way he clutched the fabric as if afraid that it too might be taken away – all of this made the refined leader of the Lan Sect appear like a wounded puppy searching for desperate to protect what little he had left.

Nie Mingjue said nothing. It was not the time for words, nor for orders. With his pillow and blanket under his arm, he approached without fuss. The bale of hay in the opposite corner of the stable seemed to welcome him without judgment, and there he settled. He spread out the blanket with measured movements, lay down on the creaking hay, and placed the pillow under his head, all without ever giving Xichen too much of a glance. He didn’t want to scare him, didn’t want to disrupt that fragile balance.

But as he was about to close his eyes, his gaze slipped once again to Lan Xichen. The other man, with his knees bent to his chest and his face half hidden by the blanket, moved slowly, almost as if he was trying to disappear into the straw. Nie Mingjue noticed the way his eyes occasionally peeked over the edge of the blanket, alert and wary, and the way his breath hitched ever so slightly every time their gazes almost met. He was like a wild animal who didn't know whether to trust, but didn't have enough strength to escape. Yet despite everything, Nie Mingjue found the scene terribly sweet. There was something about that vulnerability that made him feel incredibly protective, as if every fiber of his being was telling him to stay there, standing firm, as a shield against the rest of the world. So, with a small smile on his lips and an arm casually resting at his side, he closed his eyes. No need to speak. It was enough to be there.  His body automatically curled up, as if trying to merge with that little recess of intimacy he had created for himself. He could only feel the pounding in his chest, but his breathing became slower and deeper. He knew that Xichen stood there, in his corner, terrified and hopeful at the same time. He could feel it.

The night slipped away silently, and morning came with a wisp of light filtering through the stable door. The sound of a small door opening, and then footsteps coming closer. Lan Qiren and Nie Zonghui looked into the stable with faces rigid with worry, the scene they found seemed to come out of a painting that told of comfort and tenderness. Lan Xichen was curled up against Nie Mingjue's chest, one hand clutching the other man's robe like a castaway clinging to the only piece of wood left afloat. Nie Mingjue, lying haphazardly on the straw, snored softly, with one arm raised to encircle Xichen's waist. The quiet of their position contrasted with the chaos that had accompanied them up until that moment, as if, for one night, all the pain in the world had dissolved in the soft light of dawn.

Lan Qiren sighed deeply, letting go of a weight he didn't know he was carrying, while Nie Zonghui, as much as he tried to remain composed, couldn't help but crack a smile. They didn't know if this was a definitive victory, but for the moment, seeing those two find refuge in each other was enough. And perhaps, after all, it was already enough.

The months passed silently, like a canvas that was slowly tinged with softer shades. Lan Xichen seemed to have found a new peace in the small habits which, although the result of a slow adaptation, seemed increasingly comforting to him. One of the first things he noticed, and which gave him a feeling of tranquility, was the bed that Nie Mingjue had made specially for him, divided into two sides, so that each had their own space. But, as usual, there was something more subtle about the changes: a small detail that Nie Mingjue had never mentioned but that Lan Xichen was beginning to notice. Every night, when he got ready for bed, he found himself with more blankets than he would have ever asked for, and a sprig of lavender always hidden under his pillow. At first he thought it was a coincidence, but he soon realized that this was not the case. He didn't dare ask, but that small kindness gave him a feeling of comfort he hadn't expected. Sometimes, when he woke up in the middle of the night, the scent of lavender enveloped him like a hug, leading him to sleep again with more serenity. Nie Mingjue never said anything, but there was a silent attentiveness in his demeanor that spoke a thousand words.

Yet, it wasn't just the extra blankets and lavender that made the difference. Another change, which never escaped Lan Xichen's notice, was the way Nie Mingjue's room had been arranged. The two beds, despite their imposing size, were always placed so that Lan Xichen could feel safe, without invading Nie Mingjue's space too much. But it didn't end there. In the following months, Xichen began to find little surprises in the room: fresh, seasonal fruit, steamed buns filled with vegetables, rose cakes that, while not perfect, had the taste of sincerity. Nie Mingjue, with his always decisive and sometimes a little gruff way, had started to cook for himself. And yes, there had been accidents: once the flour had spread everywhere, another time he had burned the cakes, but he tried, and that was what mattered. Every time Lan Xichen saw one of those dishes, he felt a knot in his heart, a warm sense of gratitude that he couldn't fully express.

Kitchens had been another place of confusion at first. The servants and cooks, perplexed, didn't really know how to behave. It was unthinkable that a man like Nie Mingjue, sect leader of such a respected and feared clan, would appear in the kitchen with an apron tied around his waist and start asking questions, curious to understand how the dishes were prepared. Baxia, who usually never separated from her master, had been taken off his back and placed in a corner, without the usual menacing weight that the sword brought. It was strange to see Nie Mingjue like this, yet when he entered the kitchens, his demeanor was that of someone who wanted to learn. Certainly not with the same naturalness as an expert chef, but with a determination that no one dared to criticize. Before long, he was improvising. Not that he had a specific recipe in mind, but he put the ingredients together as if it were some sort of experiment. A jug of sesame oil, a bag of flour that he found in a corner and some ingredients that seemed random, but which took a precise shape in his gestures. Sometimes he observed the cooks, then silently imitated them, taking the time to understand every single step. What was most amusing, however, was the fact that no one ever expected the feared Nie Mingjue to engage in such… everyday activities. The cooks, incredibly embarrassed, didn't dare say anything, limiting themselves to exchanging glances full of confusion and, sometimes, admiration.

During the Qinghe festival, the atmosphere was filled with sound and color, with stalls extending like a river of voices and laughter. The soft lights of the lanterns created golden reflections on the faces of the people walking by, while the smell of local delicacies mixed with the crisp air. The group of Lan Qiren, Lan Xichen, Lan Wangji, Wei Wuxian, and Nie Huaisang stood in the middle of it all, an unusual, but not unfamiliar, presence among the crowds.

Nie Mingjue walked with a determined step, but his expression was calm, distant, almost as if he was trying not to get too involved in all that chaos. Lan Xichen, on the other hand, was looking around with eyes full of curiosity and a slight smile that he couldn't completely hide. Lan Wangji, always silent and of few words, was the linchpin who kept the group in order, a protective shield for Wei Wuxian, who couldn't hold his tongue, especially when Nie Huaisang was involved.

The little argument between Wei Wuxian and Nie Huaisang was reaching its climax above a merchandise stall. Wei Wuxian, with his usual impetuosity, was making his point about the price of an object, while Nie Huaisang, calmer but no less decisive, responded with his usual irony. The scene attracted the gazes of those passing by, including smiles and curious glances. The trader, visibly embarrassed, didn't know how to handle the situation, but he couldn't help but observe the scene with a tight smile, trying to understand when an intervention would arrive. It was Lan Wangji who took matters into his own hands. With an implacable gaze and a calm that did him credit, he took the coins from his bag and handed them to the merchant, avoiding any comment. But his presence seemed to have a side effect: both Wei Wuxian and Nie Huaisang, unfortunately, couldn't help but throw digs at each other even at that moment. While the merchant thanked him, Lan Wangji simply shook his head, as if he had seen everything but had no intention of paying attention.

Meanwhile, Lan Xichen had moved a little away from the group, attracted by another stand, that of a trader selling small animals. With a kind smile, he approached the cage where there were some white rabbits, and bent down, enchanted by the sweetness of one in particular. The little white rabbit, with fur as soft as snow, seemed affectionate, but, strangest of all, he didn't seem to be particularly interested in the man who was petting him. No, his gaze was fixed on another animal – a black cat, which sat in the corner of the stall, with a distinctive white spot on its ear. The cat, with bright green eyes and a cheeky expression, looked at the rabbit as if ready to pounce, but then began to meow loudly, a shrill sound that attracted the attention of everyone nearby.

The rabbit, with an awkward movement and a scrutinizing face, looked at the cat as if he were scolding him, as if he were his greatest enemy. He settled on his hind legs, raising his muzzle towards him, while the cat, undaunted, continued to meow, as if he wanted to chase that little rabbit away from his attention. Lan Xichen couldn't help but smile at the scene - the contrast between the two animals was too funny. The rabbit, who seemed so delicate and innocent, and the cat, who with his bold and irritating behavior, seemed to gain the upper hand, despite his obvious physical inferiority. Nie Mingjue watched Lan Xichen smile sweetly, his face illuminated by the soft light of the lanterns, as he gently stroked the little white rabbit. The scene had something surreal, almost as if the world around them had slowed down, dwelling on that simple, yet deeply significant moment.

With a determined step, Nie Mingjue approached, attracted not only by the rabbit's tenderness, but also by the serenity that Lan Xichen exuded. Reaching down, he began scratching the black cat's head, which seemed to hesitate at first, but then pushed back against his hand with a satisfied hum. The sect leader smiled slightly, a smile that rarely opened, but which had a genuine warmth. After a few moments, he looked up at the merchant.

“How much do you want for both?” he asked, his voice deep and firm, as he continued to pet the cat, who was now stretching lazily under his fingers. The merchant, visibly surprised by the question, was about to answer, but Nie Mingjue interrupted him with a second addition: "And I also want the entire rabbit cage." Lan Xichen turned sharply towards him, his eyes wide with shock. "Mingjue, you don't need to buy all these animals!" he protested, his voice full of sweetness and confusion, while the white rabbit tightened even more in his hands, almost mirroring the pout that was now painted on Lan Xichen's face. Nie Mingjue, undaunted, simply shrugged, a small, amused smile curving his lips. Continuing to scratch the cat, which now seemed completely won over, he replied simply: "I've always dreamed of having a cat."

His statement, so sincere and direct, made Lan Xichen's protest falter, and his pout became even more evident. It almost seemed like a reflection of the rabbit he was holding, both with a tender and slightly hurt expression, as if they felt betrayed by that impulsive decision. The trader, however, didn't seem to have any problem with the proposal. He bowed repeatedly, his face lit up with almost excessive happiness, and assured that he would prepare everything immediately.

And so, two years had passed, two years punctuated by small gestures and sweet rituals that had stitched their lives together like a precious fabric. Lan Xichen's rabbit, now his inseparable companion, never stopped following him, hopping behind him with a tenacity that made everyone smile. The black cat, with those green eyes like jade and the spot on his ear, never missed an opportunity to annoy the rabbit, chasing him or suddenly crouching down to sprint like a predator. Yet, every morning, the two were found curled up together under the covers of the bed – now joined at Lan Xichen's request. Nie Mingjue hadn't protested when the bed was pushed together, but secretly kept placing a sprig of lavender under Lan Xichen's pillow, hoping it would bring him peaceful dreams. For his part, Lan Xichen always left a fresh flower on his pillow, a simple gesture that Nie Mingjue treasured. Every time he found it, he couldn't help but smile – an open, sincere, almost silly smile, like that of a teenager with his first love.

They were building those moments. They were getting closer, little by little, like two rivers meeting, mixing their waters until they became a single stream.

Lan Qiren watched, his eyes always stern, but today there was something different in that piercing gaze, as if the distance between him and the present had vanished for an instant. He watched Lan Xichen and Nie Mingjue, a hidden smile playing on his lips as he remembered the days gone by. The two young people who were now building a life together, alone, no longer the weight of that past that had once marked them so deeply. Those days of innocent games in the Lan o Nie sect, those days when the future seemed only a vague promise of worry-free adventures, were long gone. Every now and then, the memory of those days popped up, bringing with it a feeling of tenderness that Lan Qiren couldn't shake. Perhaps because, in those moments, he had seen the two grow, learn from their mistakes, and forge their path with the same determination with which a craftsman carves stone. But there was something in them that had never ceased to fascinate him: that ability to always get back up, to never give up, not even when the world seemed to be going against you.

Lan Xichen, once marked by an invisible pain that lingered in his eyes, now walked alongside Nie Mingjue with a serenity that spoke for itself. There were no longer any shadows in his gaze, only the light of someone who had finally found peace after years of internal torment. Yet, Lan Qiren knew it: even serenity was the fruit of a long journey, of a journey that had not always had a clear direction. But now, now that light was stable, like a flame that no longer flickered. 

The bickering, the arguments that sometimes made anyone who watched them shudder, had become their way of loving each other, their way of affirming their individuality while remaining together. Like two old trees that, despite the wind, storms and changing seasons, still find a way to intertwine under the skin of the earth. They argued, but every unspoken word, every sharp word that came out of their mouths, was just another step towards a deeper understanding, a bond that could no longer be broken. Lan Qiren, with his faraway gaze, smiled softly. Those bickerings no longer bothered him. On the contrary, he liked it. It was their way of proving that they were alive, that there was still room for emotion, for change.

Meanwhile, as Lan Qiren reflected, the wind continued to blow softly, like a caress in her hair. When he found himself back in Gusu, his mind focused on a new image; Lan Wangji, now the sect leader, looking stronger and more confident than he had ever been before. And at his side, Wei Wuxian, always impetuous, but finally calm, like a river that had found its bank. Wei Wuxian, whose spirit was as indomitable as always, but who now walked with the confidence of someone who had found his place in the world, and in that place was Lan Wangji. And there was that ceremony, the one of which Lan Qiren would always remember the funniest details: Wei Wuxian who, with his usual enthusiasm, had presented himself with the red wedding veil, but without being able to move without bumping into All. That scene would have made even the most serious smile, but there was everything in that smile: there was love, there was understanding. Lan Wangji, ever impassive, had guided him with the patience that only he possessed. Lan Qiren, despite being a man of few words, couldn't help but smile to himself. It was clear that, in that family, love was not always expressed as in books of poetry, but it was still there, strong, visible in every gesture.

Lan Wangji's light smile, which made its way through his typical seriousness, almost seemed to belong to a different, softer world, where every gesture was calibrated like a caress. Wei Wuxian, in his usual frenzy, wandered around the ceremony with that typical distraction that never left him, yet at that precise moment, Lan Wangji was there, constantly at his side, always ready to stop him before he could trip over something or , worse yet, crash into someone. And that small smile on Lan Wangji's lips that Lan Qiren could have sworn was love. 

Yet, it wasn't just Lan Wangji's sweet smile that caught the attention. There was also Jiang Cheng, his face marked by exasperation, who seemed to have taken on the role of guardian of a situation he could no longer control. Next to him, Nie Huaisang, who had let himself go completely, crying uncontrollably behind his fan, exasperated by his own emotionality, but also overwhelmed by the sense of beauty he found in observing that wedding. The contrast between her theatrical crying and Jiang Cheng's more contained, almost indifferent expression made the scene even more fascinating. There was a silent exchange between them, a sort of complicity that manifested itself not in words, but in the small gestures they exchanged, in the small looks that passed between them.

Lan Xichen, however, was a different story. No words were needed to understand what he was experiencing. Her tears flowed silently, unhindered, as if that moment of happiness, of liberation for her much-loved brother, was a burden that she was finally able to let go of. He was not crying because of sadness, but because of the joy that he could no longer hold back. Lan Xichen had always carried within himself a kind of reserve, an armor of serenity that he only allowed to give way on rare occasions. But today, today, that protection was gone, as if her tears were a testament to how much she had finally learned to give space to what she felt. The weight of his past years, of his choices, no longer burdened him as before. Next to him, there was Nie Mingjue, whose gaze fixed on the table could not hide all the tension that had accumulated inside him. He was not a man to let go easily, but in that moment, with his large, protective hand on Lan Xichen's back, he gave everything away. It was as if that hand meant that, despite the silence that surrounded them, there was a connection that went beyond words. A gesture which, in its simplicity, spoke of total protection, of an affection that asked nothing more than to be there, in that precise moment.  

Lan Qiren looked around, hands clasped behind his back, eyes scanning the horizon where sky and earth seemed to merge in a silent embrace. Every fold of his wrinkles told stories of uncertainty and struggle, but in that precise moment, the stories seemed less weighty. There was an air of serenity that could be felt around him, almost imperceptible, but which seemed to whisper a message of hope. The young people, the generations that he himself had seen grow up and who were now making their way in the world with uncertain but determined steps, were creating something that had not been imposed, but which had come from them. The rigidity of the past was no longer there, there was no longer the fear of making mistakes. There was the beauty of finding your own path, of wanting to do things according to your heart, with the knowledge that every mistake would only be a step towards greater growth.

Looking at Lan Xichen, with his face marked by emotion, but also by the strength of someone who had finally found the courage to express himself, Lan Qiren felt a pang in his heart. Lan Xichen, this boy he had raised with so many expectations and who now walked in his own light, not as the perfect successor to the clan, but as a man who had learned to be himself, made him incredibly proud. There was no longer that weight in his heart, the one that had tormented him for years, worried that his nephew wasn't up to par, that he couldn't really be what the clan needed. Now, Lan Xichen was more than that. He was a man who knew he was loved and, in turn, knew how to love. And seeing this change in him, in Lan Xichen, filled him with a kind of peace he had never known before.

Nie Mingjue, alongside Lan Xichen, was also a reflection of that path. His apparent hardness, which often hid a softer heart than he cared to admit, was now mixed with a tenderness that he had never had the opportunity to express in the past. Lan Qiren couldn't help but smile, deep down, every time he saw how Nie Mingjue behaved towards Lan Xichen: a man who had always lived for others, who was now learning to live for himself, without the burden of old traditions that had always held him back. 

Yet, despite everything, Lan Qiren felt the lightness of a joy that, although silent, seemed to envelop him with warmth. The world was changing around him, and he was changing with it. He was no longer the man who had lived for clan and duty, but had become something more: a witness, a mentor, someone who had allowed himself to look at things from a different perspective. That, Lan Qiren thought, was the beauty of life: you don't always get what you want, but you end up with something that is just as valuable, if not more so. His heart, once so solid and ruthless, now welcomed even the small happiness that life offered him.

With the sunset falling slowly, like a painting gently fading, Lan Qiren allowed himself to breathe deeply, to let go, if only for a moment. His hands trembled slightly, but not with fear. They seemed to tremble for all he had seen, all he had experienced, and all he would yet see. After all, perhaps he had never looked for anything other than the right moment to really be able to look at the world with different eyes. Now, that moment had come, and with it the knowledge that, even though it could never be perfect, it was enough.