EDIT: I am a goofus and forgot that AO3 and Fanfiction operate differently. On AO3, you can create a story, include the first chapter in it, and svae it as a draft without posting it. I forgot that Fanifiction does NOT work that way. I didn't mean to post this last night. I just wanted to save it, then edit it and post it today. So the version I uploaded last night was the rough draft. Apologies for the errors, I know there were a lot.
A/N: I should not be doing this. My aunt passed away and I just got back from her celebration of life (she wasn;t the type fro a funeral), and I'm still emotionally wrecked. But I'm rereading the Valdemar series by Mercedes Lackey, got the By the Sword, and wondered "what if?" Lan Xichen from CQL/The Untamed/MDZS deserved so much better than what he got in canon. He had the softest heart and had it destroyed in front of him over and over. I wonder if he ever managed to recover from the resulting depression.
This is technically a crossover, but only at the very end of this chapter. Thus, I'm keeping it as just The Untamed on this website because, honestly, it's notas easy to use as AO3. Also, this is established Lan Xichen/Nie Mingjue. It's minor, but definitely a thing.
So this is both a what-if and a fix-it.
For now, this is just a twoshot right now. This chapter is all Lan Xichen's perspective. The second chapter will be fro the other characters' side of this. If there's enough interest (either from y'all and/or from me), then I'll continue it. Maybe as a multi-chaptered fic or as a series of short stories, one-twoshots, etc. we'll see.
1: Empathy
"Lan Xichen, don't think I can't do anything just because you have strong spiritual power."
A compliment and a warning in the same sentence. Impressive. It seems Wen Chao did indeed learn something of intelligent speech after all. Considering the deliberate mess the man had just made on the mat mere moments ago, Xichen was beginning to wonder. The waves of condescension tinged with annoyance flickered on the edges of his senses like tiny, hungry flames. It was a good thing he'd thought to lower his shields while meditating before going to bed. Otherwise, he might not have noticed his unexpected and unwanted visitor.
Allowing himself a small, quiet smile, Xichen closed his eyes and breathed a sigh that might have been a laugh had he been in private. Right now, he had to be the mountain mist: calm and unaffected. Any outright insult from either side would cause too many political troubles and they both knew it. Xichen currently had the advantage of home territory, a more power golden core, and stronger cultivation. Wen Chao wouldn't dare attack him here, not directly.
"You truly must be made of jade, Zewu-jun," Wen Chao wondered aloud. "But even jade must eventually melt when subjected to the earth's liquid fire. Where is the other piece of the Yin Metal?"
Other piece? The Lan Clan only ever had one piece. Did Wen Chao think Xichen had it?
Xichen willed his heart to stay steady, his breathing to remain calm, and his posture at ease while his senses screamed at him of the presence of a predator who simply hadn't chosen to attack yet. Wen Chao sniffed and the tell-tale smolder of self-righteous arrogance followed closely by boots approached Xichen's unmoving form. The hairs on the back of Xichen's neck stood on end as Wen Chao leaned into his personal space, just close enough to whisper.
"I may be unable touch you right now," Wen Chao breathed into Xichen's ear, smug hatred grating on radiating from. "But don't forget that Young Master Lan Wangji just set off with his piece of the Yin Metal and no one to accompany him. We can wait for you to surrender your piece. But the road is a dangerous place. Strange things can happen, items can go missing, people can... vanish. My brother and I do so love a good hunt."
Wangji!
Fear sang along his nerves like a plucked guqin string, vibrating through his soul and echoing his brother's name in his mind. Breathe. Don't react. He wants you to react. Still. Be still!
His fingers twitched, and he knew he'd lost.
Vicious glee scorched him in invisible, incandescent flares against his mind as Wen Chao laughed victoriously. Even his stride, confidant stomps crossing the wooden floor, was different now. The sound shifted slightly when Wen Chao's booted feet moved from inside the room to the wooden walkway outside, but his laughter remained tauntingly the same.
The rain continued to pour unabated and thunder rumbled through the air as Xichen chanced opening his golden eyes. He wasn't alone, he could still feel Wen Chao's sun-hot emotions burning nearby, but he was no longer seen.
"Lan Xichen!" Wen Chao's voice called from beyond the view of the open doors. "Kowtow and submit your piece of the Yin Metal to the Qishan Wen Clan and I will forgive your snub. If not, your clan may not survive."
The Wen clan's Dire Owl screamed into the storm before the thunder drowned it out, leaving Xichen well and truly alone. Distant flickers of emotion brushed the edges of his mind as the Lan disciples readied for bed. The cool rain washed away Wen Chao's loathing, the lightning blazed away the conceited self-importance, and the thunder roared in dread where Xichen could not. Would not.
Wen Chao was gone, Xichen was alone.
And for once, the mere idea of being alone terrified him beyond words.
Wangji, please stay safe.
He broke a rule that night. It definitely wasn't the first time and it certainly wouldn't be the last time either. If there was one thing every Lan knew, it was to never, ever break the rules. Unless, of course, it was necessary. It was an unspoken, unwritten rule. The 3,000 rules of the Lan Clan were to describe perfection and the difficult path of achieving it. No one was expected to be perfect. They were only ever to strive for perfection.
Now was not that time.
The storm still raged around Cloud Recesses, although the mountain itself was now in the clouds rather than below it. Thick, gray clouds blanketed Xichen's home, filling every crevice. Rain poured and wind gusted all around them. The very air illuminated as lightning danced around Cloud Recesses and the thunder shook him to his very core.
It was a relief really. Xichen would prefer quaking from thunder rather than from dread and worry. The first butterfly he released fluttered fitfully in the gale but was not tossed aside as it valiantly darted away. The second butterfly flew closer to the ground, keeping close to the buildings as it sought a safe route out of Cloud Recesses. The third and fourth butterflies followed almost the same route as the second.
Normally, Xichen didn't need to send so many butterflies for a single message. But Wangji… Wen Chao may have left Lan Xichen's home, but that didn't mean the Dire Owl had. Xichen couldn't risk all of his butterflies being intercepted before they reached their intended recipients. Wangji needed to be warned. He needed to be safe.
Though safety may not be something Xichen could guarantee anymore. Wen Chao's arrival, his words, his intense emotions were a warning Xichen could neither miss nor ignore. By keeping the location and existence of their piece of the Yin Metal a secret, the Gusu Lan Clan had declared its stance against the Qishan Wen Clan. Wen Chao's warning made it clear the Wens received the declaration and sought to punish them for their perceived rebellion.
Lan Xichen steadfastly hoped his home, his clan would escape this no worse for wear. But a niggling doubt in the back of his mind whispered what if? What if?
Thus, he stayed up past his clan's curfew and frantically sent out butterflies. Each butterfly was a warning to his brother and the Lan Clan's allies. If the Wens were moving against the Lans now, the other Clans wouldn't be far behind. The first two butterflies were for Wangji. He prayed at least one of them found his brother safe and unharmed. The last two were for Clan Leader Jiang Fengmian and Clan Leader Nie Mingjue respectively.
Mingjue.
A-Jue.
Xichen's worry-driven pacing slowed until he stood still and silent by the open doors of his home. The lone candle had long burnt out leaving him in shades of black, blue, and, when lightning flared, blinding white. How poetic. He was blinded no matter where he turned.
Thunder crashed accompanied by a minor spike of startled fear from Lan Qiren in his own quarters nearby. The spike faded almost as soon as it appeared and Lan Xichen sighed in relief. He was too distressed right now to sleep and too on edge to hold his shields in place. If Wen Chao or his damnable Dire Owl came back, Xichen needed to know. If that meant dealing with the discomfort of detecting every emotion in the vicinity without restraint, then so be it. The headache he would have in the morning would be murderous, but nothing he couldn't handle or had handled in the past.
Selfishly, he wished Wangji or A-Jue were here. Their emotions were familiar, passionate, and didn't grate against his nerves. They were… safe.
Wangji felt so intensely that just his presence often acted as a security blanket for Xichen. His little brother felt so much, so deeply, and yet had such strict control of himself. Even Xichen couldn't claim that level of control. He wasn't sure he wanted to. Wangji would never know how effectively he protected Xichen from the onslaught of emotions from everyone around them. Protecting his beloved Wangji from unwanted interactions was the least Xichen could do in return.
A-Jue…. A-Jue was a furnace of emotion that seared away Xichen's shields without the man ever realizing it. It wasn't the painful nails-on-sunburn sensation of Wen Chao, but the welcoming warmth of a hearth. It warmed, comforted, and cleansed while remaining fully capable of devouring Xichen completely.
Already, his heart was easing its fluttering and his breathing was slowing from near-hyperventilating to a more controlled and healthy sigh. He no longer felt dizzy and his legs no longer tingled with nervous energy. Still, he doubted he would sleep anytime soon.
Carefully, he removed his hair ornament, let his hair fall loose over his shoulders, stripped off his outer robes to the simple white silk underneath, and stepped out into the rain. It was much too late and the weather much too ornery for anyone to accidentally see him like this. Here, he was alone with his thoughts and the storm. The occasional flicker of emotion of dreamers was nigh undetectable now as the night wore on and the cool rain seeped through his clothes leaving him drenched and shivering.
" Kowtow and submit your piece of the Yin Metal to the Qishan Wen Clan and I will forgive your snub. If not, your clan may not survive."
Wangji.
Xichen released one last butterfly into the night and prayed it reached his brother. He might be overthinking this. He might be overreacting.
He might not.
Wind chimes (ominous). A mountain breeze (unseasonably warm). The scent of incense (and something else?). The emotional ebb and flow of those beyond this room (fluctuating more than usual). The soft sound of calm, even breathing (was that a hitched gasp?).
Confusion.
It was moments like this, deep in a meditative trance, that Xichen could allow himself to relax and just feel. He could take his time parsing out his own emotions, separating them from those he sensed from others. He could identify them, analyze them, accept them, and feel them.
The soft pressure of the silken ribbon and silver crest resting on his forehead, warm from contact, helped center himself. It calmed him and reassured him that, no matter what he sensed, who he sensed, or how lost he got in the mess of foreign emotions, he was still a Lan. He belonged to the Lan Clan. He was home. He was safe.
Realization.
For these few minutes each day, he wasn't Clan Heir Lan Xichen. He was just Lan Xichen. A loyal clan member. A musical cultivator. A devoted older brother. An empath.
Fear.
But most importantly, he was Lan Xichen.
Pain!
The sensation was so sharp and sudden that it took every ounce of Xichen's control to not cry out in sympathetic pain. He still flinched, but he didn't leap to his feet in shocked horror.
Cautiously, he lowered his shields completely and sensed. The emotions were far enough away to be on the edges of his reach, but close enough for him to feel the sting of them. It was a gnarled mess of fearangerhatredpain that he only usually felt when fighting for his life.
Running feet approached and he opened his eyes and waited for the messenger to arrive. He heard their voice before he saw them. A youth in Lan whites but no headband raced into the room. An outer disciple? Su She?
"Zewu-jun!" the frightened Su She cried, falling to his knees hard enough to skid across the wooden floor. The boy raised his arms in a semblance of a bow and hurried to speak. "Wen Xu has surrounded every entrance of the mountain with his people. He says he will set fire and burn the mountain to the ground!"
What.
Pain!
Close. Immediate. Uncle?!
Seated across the table in the same lotus meditation position as Xichen, Lan Qiren abruptly coughed up blood. Casting aside decorum, Xichen scrambled to his feet and darted around the table to grasp his uncle's shoulders. Surreptitiously, he caught the older man's wrist and felt for his core. It was there, pulsing strongly, but with the faintest taint of-
"Poison?" he murmured in surprise.
"Qishan Wen Clan," Lan Qiren gasped, pressing a hand to his no-doubt aching chest, "so sinister and vicious."
Poison. But how? Xichen scanned his own meridians for any sign of poison, and found it. His own exposure wasn't as serious as Lan Qiren's, but it was there. The Wens did this? How?! When?!
Fire. Spirits above. Wen Xu was here and he wielded fire. How could Xichen have forgotten?
"Grand Master," he whispered, his mind racing to process the dreadful realization. "Wen Xu's Red Fire Talisman is poisonous. Do not be angry," Xichen pleaded, opening a qi path and funneling some of his spiritual energy into Lan Qiren's golden core from where he held his uncle's wrist. "Calm yourself. The slower you breathe, the slower your heart will beat, and the slower the poison will move."
But Lan Qiren shook his head and caught Xichen's arm in a punishing grip. "Wangji," he demanded. "Where is Wangji?"
Xichen didn't know. Heaven help him, he didn't know. He hadn't received a reply from any of his frantically sent butterflies several days ago. He hated himself because Wangji was his precious younger brother who felt so strongly and loved so completely and Xichen didn't know where he was.
His uncle must not have understood his silence. With a hoarse huff, Lan Qiren broke contact where Xichen had been supplementing his uncle's qi to fight off the poison and caught his cheek instead. Lan Qiren held Xichen so his dark gaze held Xichen's golden.
"Tell him to leave as soon as possible," the Grand Master of the Lan Clan commanded.
But Xichen couldn't do that.
"Tell him to never come back," Qiren said.
He couldn't. He didn't know where Wangji was. He didn't know.
"If he hides outside, then there's a chance we ca-" The elder's voice cut off with a throat rasping cough that hurt Xichen to listen to.
"Master Lan!" another Lan youth yelled, falling to his knees as well. His headband was crooked on his forehead where sweat and blood splatter mixed with the hopelessness and anguish that lashed at Xichen's unshielded mind. "Something awful has happened! Outside-"
Enough. Xichen's father, the Lan Clan Leader, was still in seclusion and refused to leave. The Grand Master was poisoned and unable to give orders. Lan Xichen was the Clan Heir and he would do his job.
"Lan Clan juniors," he commanded, standing tall and weaving some of his spiritual energy into his words, projecting his own determination and refusal to surrender onto those present, "never forget what I taught you. You are Lan. Face danger fearlessly."
The Lan Clan boy's eyes widened and corrected his bow as he tried to catch his breath. "Zewu-jun," he said, his voice calmer but no less urgent, "the Wen Clan has gone around the mountain. They've broken through the wards and set fire everywhere."
What? The wards were set by their ancestors. They were powerful and old. How could-
"The fire is almost to the houses where the inner disciples live," the youth continued, the fear Xichen's spiritual energy had soothed quickly returning as Xichen felt his own will falter.
So close? And they didn't know? How could they have not sensed them coming? How could he have not sensed them coming? Breaking the wards alone should have alerted Lan Qiren.
Now they were ringed by fire and surrounded by men. There were still visiting disciples who needed to be escorted to safety and clan members who needed to be protected. The Clan Leader needed to escape. The Grand Master needed to escape. Wangji needed to be warned to stay away.
"There's more," the disciple continued, his misery finally breaking through his control and smashing into Xichen with the force of a physical punch. Tears streamed down the boy's face as he said, "Zewu-jun, they're turning our own against us."
"What?" Lan Qiran gasped, his horrified disbelief mirroring Xichen's own.
"It's true," the boy insisted, finally breaking down in sobs. "The wounded… They just… We were fighting and she was wounded. It wasn't serious but…" He sobbed. "Zewu-jun," soulful brown eyes full of dismay and heartbreak lifted to Xichen's warm gold, "her eyes turned white and she turned on us. It's not just her either. It's happening all over. It's… It's awful."
Xichen drew a deep breath and took a moment to collect his thoughts. This wasn't supposed to happen. Wangji. A-Jue. Xichen felt his heart stutter. He didn't want to die. But he would if it meant protecting those he cared for.
"Qingheng-jun!" a voice Xichen recognized but could not name called from a distance. Although there was no mistaking that scorching arrogance of Wen Clan young master. It wasn't Wen Chao's whining tones. That meant...
"Wen Xu," Lan Qiren murmured.
Xichen nodded distractedly as his mind tried to place Wen Xu's location based on the sound of his voice and scorching sensation of his emotions. It felt like it was coming from near the Lan Clan Leader's sanctuary. Father!
"Your clan has offered the Qishin Wen insult," Young Master Wen Xu shouted, amusement dripping from his words. "Surrender Zewu-jun and your clan will be spared the sun's cleansing fire!"
Three sets of curious eyes locked on him as barely smothered fear and disbelief radiated from them. They were so close and their feelings so strong that he would never have missed them. Yet he could barely comprehend them through the turmoil in his own mind and soul. This was waiting?! It had barely been a week since Wen Chao's unannounced visit late that stormy night. Xichen hadn't had the chance to finish his plan to distract the errant Young Master Wen with a fake Yin Metal. He was still pulling the strings to make it work. He hadn't-
"Clan Heir Lan Xichen," Grand Master Lan Qiren said, his tone low and firm. Xichen's face went white. "What insult does he speak of to name you specifically?"
Xichen knelt once more and took a deep breath before explaining. "Young Master Wen Chao visited the Hanshi late last week."
Startled, Lan Qiren tensed. "When was this? I don't remember allowing him entrance."
"He did not ask," Xichen replied. The Grand Master's sneered, the expression made darker by the dark blood still dribbling from the corner of his mouth. "It was the night of the storm," Xichen continued. "The Young Master entered my home and demanded I remove the other piece of the Yin Metal from where we have hidden it and surrender it him."
The Grand Master's dark eyes widened briefly in surprised confusion before narrowing in calculation. "The other piece?" he said slowly.
Xichen nodded slowly, lifting a single eyebrow. Lan Qiren hummed, lowering his chin in a subtle nod of comprehension.
"You did not give it to him then?" his uncle pressed, the faintest hint of dry amusement gleaming in his eye.
"No, Grand Master, I did not. The Young Master took insult when I refused. He threatened Wangji," he confessed, the familiar fierce protectiveness he always felt for his little brother blossoming in his chest and flushing away his fear
Lan Qiren hummed in approval, which quickly became a cough. It muffled whatever else Wen Xu yelled next, but Lan Xichen would never mistake the instant intent became action. There was a loud crashing sound followed by screams and the distant shing of metal striking metal.
Xichen thought fast. He could work with this. Cloud Recesses was under siege and the Lan Clan was woefully unprepared. The Wen Clan no doubt came armed to the teeth and ready for battle. The Lan were peaceful by nature and not ready for an unexpected assault on their sacred home. But the Wens believed Lan Xichen had a piece of the Yin Metal. Wangji was... away, hopefully alive and safe. But Xichen was here. If he could keep the Wens busy, buy time for the Grand Master to gather the Lan Clan's sacred relics and ancient texts in the forbidden room of the Library Pavilion and escape, buy time for the disciples to flee to the Cold Pond Cave...
Without a word, Lan Xichen got to his feet and stepped back from the Grand Master of the Lan Clan. Steeling himself, he and spoke the words he never imagined he would say. "Grand Master, the Lan Clan is facing a devastating disaster greater than we anticipated. Please, I beg of you," he bowed deeply and formally, "go to the Library Pavilion, take the ancient relics and the Yin Metal piece I've hidden there, and leave Cloud Recesses."
The silence that followed was stifling and almost as oppressive as the brutal emotions of warfare moving steadily closer to their location.
"If I leave," Grand Master Qiren asked, concern tinging his words despite the calculation in his old, wise eyes, "what about you? What about the rest of you?"
"I will stay and attempt to negotiate with Young Master Wen Xu while the Lan retreat to the Cold Pond Cave," Lan Xichen said firmly. "No one without a forehead ribbon can enter. They will be safe there." He would do everything in his power to ensure as many of his charges made it there alive, even if it meant he died trying.
But the Grand Master was shaking his head, his face drawn and showing his age. What? Why?
"No, Lan Xichen," the Grand Master said in a weary voice. "You will go, I will stay."
No. Xichen fell to his knees, bowed once more, and pleaded with his uncle. "Grand Master, please! Look at the situation. Cloud Recesses is not prepared for an invasion of this scale. No matter what, we must save the foundation of the Lan Clan and keep the Yin Metal from Qishan Wen hands. You must do this. You must live."
Again, the Grand Master shook his head. Desperation danced through Lan Xichen's mind, enhancing the fearhatredpain that continued to advance towards their vulnerable position. His plan was good! Why would uncle reject it?
"Xichen."
Startled by the unexpected use of just his courtesy name, Xichen dared to lift his head and meet his uncle's dark, steady gaze.
"Please, do not say another word."
Warmth, respect, pride, and love washed over Xichen in waves from Lan Qiren; their intensity startling him speechless. Love for him, for Xichen. No. No please.
"You go-"
No!
"-and I will stay."
No! "Grand Master!" Xichen implored, tears prickling his eyes.
But Lan Qiren held up a silencing hand and spoke softly. "If you still consider me your uncle-" Always. Always! "then find Wangji, warn him to stay away, and go."
He couldn't do that. He couldn't leave his uncle behind. Don't ask him to do this. "Grand Master-" Hear me, uncle! Hear me please! "-I am the Heir of the Lan Clan. I swear I will never leave Cloud Recesses."
Love. So much love and pride. It warred with the fearhatredpain and threatened to drown Xichen in it. Uncle Qiren felt so strongly, it almost felt like Wangji was here. The Lan may feel romantic love only once in their lives, but their love for family and friends was boundless and enduring. Had they been alone, Xichen would have wept. But they weren't alone. The two junior disciples who may never live to see twenty years of life were still here, listening, and, hopefully, believing all they heard.
The deception of the Yin Metal could be useful. But the devotion of his uncle for his nephew was all too real and present. Xichen clamped his lips shut to prevent shameless pleas from spilling out and focused his gaze on the middle space to prevent the tears from slipping down his cheeks. He didn't know where Wangji was. His brother was lost but hopefully alive and anywhere but here. The Wen Clan was here and they were invading, killing, burning, destroying. And Uncle Qiren was here, grasping Xichen's arms, pushing him up and out of his formal bow, forcing their gazes to meet, and brimming with love and pride and it was breaking his heart.
Lan Qiren, Grand Master of the Lan Clan, smiled proudly and Xichen felt his heart splinter.
"It is because you are the Lan Clan Heir that you should be the one to leave," Uncle Qiren said, leaving no room for argument. Xichen's ears were ringing and his heart was aching and his eyes were burning and still Uncle Qiren held him in place. "You are a junior yourself whom I trained myself. You are the Clan Leader in all but name. You have been for quite some time. Your father will not leave his seclusion. I will not leave Cloud Recesses. But you must. You and Wangji are the hope of the Lan Clan. If you two survive, then so will our clan."
Xichen's breathed stuttered as he started to shake his head in denial. But Qiren's grip remained steady, firm, and unyielding.
"Save the ancient relics, take the Yin Metal," there was a faint twinkle in his eye, "and flee this place. Flee and live," Qiren commanded. He coughed once more, blood dribbling from his mouth as the untreated poison continued to move through his veins. "Do this, and the Lan Clan of Gusu will survive. Live Xichen."
The tears escaped his control as the love and pride, endless pride, engulfed him. This wasn't the plan. This was never the plan. Xichen didn't want this. He wanted to protect his family, to protect his clan and home. How would fleeing do that? What were relics compared to lives? There was a weight to his uncle's words that beleyed the brevity of the Yin Metal deception. A weight which hung from Xichen's neck like a millstone.
This wasn't a farewell. This was a goodbye. And both Xichen and Qiren knew it.
"Uncle," Xichen whispered, his voice broken from his raw throat.
Despair clawed at his heart, but he would live. He would live because his uncle commanded him to. He would not die. He couldn't. As his heart fractured, he kowtowed before his uncle. This was likely going to be the last time they ever saw each other alive. Xichen would make sure his uncle knew how much he loved and respected him.
"Pass my orders," Grand Master Lan Qiren declared, getting to his feet and turning to the two junior youths. "All inner disciples, bring the outside and visiting disciples to the Cold Pond Cave."
The youths' frightened footsteps faded as Xichen got to his feet. He swallowed back his tears and gazed at his uncle, committing him to memory. Tall, proud, determined, and unbroken. Uncle Qiren turned back to him and rested his steady hand on Xichen's shaking fingers.
"Go," his uncle said softly. "We will buy you time."
He couldn't speak. He could barely manage a nod before breaking several rules and running as fast as his feet could carry him to the Library Pavilion. His uncle, his clan, his people were going to buy him time. He would make sure their loss was not in vain.
The sun shone bright in the clear sky above as if to mock him. He could smell the acrid smoke as it blew from the fires that were devouring his treasured home. He heard several disciples call out to him but he ignored them. His uncle gave him orders and he would follow them.
He turned a corner and almost wept in sadness. Bodies in Lan Clan white and blue lay strewn across the ground mixed with a handful of Wen Clan bodies in red and black. Xichen hiked his robes higher in his hands and ran through his war-torn home, dodging the fallen disciples and wishing that, for once, he wasn't feeling nothing from them.
Air whistled by his ear. Instinctively, Xichen ducked and twisted to the right just as a blade sliced through the air where his body had been. Reaching for the qiankun pouch at his belt that held Shuoyue, he looked up at his assailant and-
It was a Lan.
Panic pulsed through Xichen veins. His attacker was a Lan clansman. Their white and blue robes were streaked with blood and their sword was bathed in it. The disciple turned his head to stare at Xichen revealing blank, unseeing white eyes and the familiar web-patterned burn marks that snaked up their throat, across their cheeks, and distorting their appearance.
It was the same as the body Wangji brought to Cloud Recessed at the start of the Lan Clan's visiting disciple lessons. Except this body wasn't dead and stiff with rigor mortis. They were alive and moving, attacking.
Worse. They were empty. Xichen could feel nothing from them. They were still alive; the pulse in their throat and the still bleeding wound on their forearm proved that. But there was nothing there. No emotion whatsoever. If Xichen hadn't heard their blade sweep towards him, he never would have known they were there.
A true puppet.
The Lan puppet's sword swept towards him again, their movements not as smooth or as graceful as they should have been. Xichen dodged to the side, holding up his left hand with his palm open to catch the flat of the puppet's blade, preventing it from making a return strike. His right hand clenched into a fist and slammed into the puppet's throat, crushing the hyoid bone into the esophagus. The puppet hesitated, dropping their sword and clutching their throat as they tried unsuccessfully to breathe.
He couldn't watch this. He refused to be a party to forcing his clansman to suffer like this. Xichen picked up the puppet's fallen sword and struck quick and sure, beheading the puppet in one strike.
Silence. No surprise. No panic. No pain. Nothing.
Like the dead.
Xichen stood over the body, letting the other blade slip from his numb fingers. He swore an oath to watch, lead, and protect his family, his clan. He never wanted to see this day. He needed to spread the warning. If this was what the Wens were capable of now, then what would they be capable of tomorrow? Turning their own enemies into puppets then turning those puppets loose on the battlefield like psychological weapons sowing fear, despair, and anguish on the other clans?
Unacceptable. How could evil such as this exist? Bringing his fingers to his lips, he let loose three butterflies, sending them flying to the Nie, Jiang, and Jin Clan Leaders. They needed to be warned of this new type of warfare. Then, tossing one last look at the empty, headless puppet, Lan Xichen turned on his heel and fled.
The Library Pavilion was still standing when Xichen arrived. Thankfully, the doors were unlocked so he didn't have to pause before he burst inside. Several young disciples sat huddled on the floor, their terror striking Xichen like blades to the heart.
"Go to the Cold Pond Cave," Xichen ordered. "Go and do not look back. Go!"
He waited until he was certain the children obeyed before rushing to the secret door leading down into the forbidden section of the library. One qiankun pouch hung at his hip holding Shuoyue and Liebing, but it wouldn't be able to hold all of the texts and relics stored here. Moving from years of habit, Xichen grabbed three more qiankun pouches from where they hung on the wall by the hidden door. It would be a tight fit, but he would make due.
Summoning Shuoyue and Liebing from his personal qiankun pouch, he placed them on the floor and began filling the now empty bag with relics as well as every book he could grab. He didn't pause to read the titles. He knew them all by heart. He knew which ones must be saved and which ones could wait. His hands shook as he grasped the scrolls and books from off their shelves. Some were old and dusty from disuse. Others were well worn and required careful handling. Still others were sturdy and well bound.
The scent of smoke made him cough and stung his eyes but he couldn't stop. If he did, his mind might actually have time to process what was happening and he would lose himself in his own panic. It was bad enough he could feel the terrified emotions of his clansmen as they fought and fled for their lives.
Each time an emotion was silenced, Xichen flinched. To many emotions were being silenced. Too many deaths. The murderous glee of the Wens was beginning to push back the tide of the Lans' horror.
They were losing.
Wangji! A-Jue!
Without thinking, two tiny, delicate butterflies fluttered fitfully from Xichen's fingers and away, seeking their recipients. Wangji. Please stay away. If Wangji died, it would destroy what was left of Xichen. A-Jue, I'm so sorry.
A hot breeze rustled Xichen's robes at the same time a cloud of black smoke engulfed him. He collapsed into a fit of coughing and gagging. He couldn't breathe! He couldn't stop either. Three of his four qiankun pouches had been filled and there were still more relics to save.
He struggled to see through the increasingly dense smoke, dropping to his knees where the air was clearer to catch a breath, hold it, stand, and continue to store away his clan's ancient texts. Finished with this section, Xichen whirled and hurried to the other set of shelves. These shelves weren't nearly as well stocked as the others. Thank goodness. The final qiankun pouch was nearly at capacity.
Heat licked his ankle and he cried out in surprised pain as flames began to cling to and climb his pants. Falling to his knees, Xichen patted out the fiery blooms. So fast?! Lifting his golden gaze up to the stairway leading to the Library Pavilion's main floor, he was alarmed to see it aflame. The stairs were the only way in or out of this hidden room.
He was trapped.
Panic clutched at his chest, twining with the fearpainterrordespair of his clan and threatening to send him into a qi deviation or an early grave. A piece of flaming wood fell from the ceiling and Xichen scrambled away from it. A pained gasp escaped him when something hard and sharp dug into his back hard enough to bruise. Turning, he saw an old, well used guqin sitting undisturbed on a low table. He swiped it and stuffed it into the last qiankun pouch.
The pouch's drawstrings pulled taught and Xichen knew there was no more room. He needed Shuoyue to fly away on and he couldn't lose Liebing. Perhaps it was selfish, but Liebing was his and he couldn't… He just couldn't.
Clamoring to his hands and knees, Xichen crawled to where his sword still lay next to his xiao on the floor. Tucking the xiao into his belt, he unsheathed Shuoyue and held the sheath at the ready. He couldn't fight with his sword while he was flying. The sheath would have to do.
Then the ominous groan of wood pushed to the limit of its strength filled Xichen's ears and he froze. No. No no no no no!
He turned just in time for the compromised ceiling to collapse under its own weight in a blazing inferno. Xichen instinctively curled into a ball against the far wall, arms covering his face and clutching the precious qiankun pouches between his chest and legs. The heat was intense and burned him by mere proximity. The smoke darkened the room making it nigh impossible to see.
But there was light. Up. He had to go up.
Getting to his feet, wincing as his burned ankle twinged, Xichen stepped onto Shuoyue's bare blade and willed himself to rise. He trusted his sword. Smoke and ash stung his eyes as Xichen rode his sword up through the open hole in the library's main floor, then further up and out through the burned-out roof.
All around him, smoke and fire filled the air. There were no green trees, no dark wood and white paper buildings, no more carefully maintained gardens, no more soft laughter of disciples wandering the pathways of his home. Cloud Recesses was burning. The Lan Clan of Gusu had fallen.
Uncle, save them. Wangji, live.
I'm so sorry.
He fled.
Shuoyue streaked through the smoke-riddled sky towards the sea. If he could get over the ocean, it would be harder to see him and catch him. He could follow the coast up to Qinghe without stopping. He couldn't afford to stop. He couldn't afford to rest. His clan was dying. He wouldn't rest until he'd followed his uncle's final commands to the letter and was safely in Qinghe.
If the Wen were in Qinghe then-
No. He wouldn't believe that. He refused to-
He coughed and stared at his now bloody hand in exhausted distress. So Wen Xu's Red Fire Talisman poison was finally affecting him. A brief, periphery scan of his meridians revealed the extent of the poison. It was advancing, but it wasn't enough to kill him. The further he got from the noxious smoke of Cloud Recesses and the Wen's infernal blaze, the further he got from the poison. With any luck, his limited exposure would not prove deadly.
His throat felt like it was scraped raw and he coughed from the smoke inhalation. That would need to be treated. Later. When he was in Qinghe, he would take care of himself and his injuries. Not yet.
The sun burned his eyes, reflecting painfully off the blue-green ocean below. Why did something so good for the world come to be wielded by such evil? He pushed his spiritual power into Shuoyue, compromising his mental shields as he did so. There were no emotions to detect out here in the open expanse above the ocean. Nothing but an occasional spark of a lone fisherman, there and gone from the speed at which he flew.
The sky began to darken to the same red and gold the covered Cloud Recesses before black draped over the land like a death shroud. Clouds moved across the sky, obstructing his vision and adding turbulence to his flight. He emerged from more than one cloud with ice crystals clinging to his hair and his clothes soaking wet. He could barely see the flickering glimpses of civilization on the coastline as it arched away into the darkness of his left.
A part of him wished he'd had the time to create a transport talisman. It would have cost him valuable spiritual energy but would have bought him more time. His golden core was straining from the spiritual drain already. Shuoyue twitched towards the shoreline but Xichen urged it to continue. He couldn't afford to step foot on land short of Qinghe. He couldn't risk being caught.
Yet again, Shuoyue twitched towards the coast. Xichen staggered, catching himself an instant before he tumbled off the blade. Perhaps… Perhaps he could risk one quick strike inland to orient himself. The moon and stars were no longer visible through the cloud layer and Xichen dared not pierce through for risk of losing sight of land.
The shore was dark, no doubt from the very late hour. Mist brushed his face and stuck to his already damp clothes in the cool breeze. He shivered and wrapped his arms around himself to both hold in heat and keep himself from falling apart. He was so very tired.
Shuoyue tugged him left towards dry land and, this time, he didn't resist. He trusted Shuoyue. His blade was loyal and would never deliberately do him harm. The ground was rugged and uneven with odd shadows dancing in the leaves.
Leaves?
Squinting through his smoke and exhaustion blurred vision, Xichen felt faint surprise. It was indeed leaves. He couldn't make out much detail through the darkness and the pain in his eyes but it appeared trees towered tall and thick across the ground without break. He couldn't remember there being such a dense forest near the shores of Qinghe. Then again, he could barely think past Escape! Get away! Must not fail! either at the moment. He must be more tired than he thought.
His golden core ached in his gut as it squeezed whatever spiritual power it could spare into Shuoyue. Then something struck his burned ankle, tripping him, and sending him hurtling off his sword and down into the darkness. Branches struck him as he fell, slowing but not stopping him.
Shock!
He struck the ground with enough force to knock the air out of him. Shuoyue's sheath dug into his side where he'd tucked it into his belt. Thank goodness he hadn't fallen on it. That would've been painful. He absently sent a prayer to the heavens for allowing him to be a cultivator. A fall like that would have killed a civilian. It still hurt and he was fairly certain he'd possibly broken something, but he was alive. He hadn't broken his promise.
Curious.
Still, he couldn't stay here. He had to move. He had to get to Qinghe. A-Jue would help hide him. A-Jue would help him find Wangji. A-Jue would help keep Wangji safe. He had to get up. Slowly, he pushed himself up to his hands and knees.
Alarm.
Odd. His legs were shaking. He felt like he'd run all the way to Qinghe. He'd flown. That shouldn't make him feel so drained. Shuoyue. A dull gleam to his left caught his eye and he reached for it. A sigh of pained relief escaped him when his fingers closed around the familiar hilt. Pulling it close was harder than it should've been considering his arm strength.
He planted the blade in the ground and braced himself against Shuoyue's sturdy steel as he stood. Pain zinged through him when he tried to straighten causing him to immediately bend over and clutch his chest. His breath escaped him for several frightening seconds before the pain ebbed away into a foggy sort of there-but-not state.
A slow, hesitant breath assured him that his lung wasn't pierced. Likely just a broken rib then. Serious but not life threatening yet. Qinghe. Once he reached A-Jue in Qinghe, he could rest and heal. Did A-Jue know he was coming? Did his butterflies reach him?
He should send another just to be sure. The wisp of spiritual energy required to make a butterfly messenger was typically negligible. But right now, it felt like it was ripping through him as if scraping a clean bowl. He tried to focus his thoughts into words to implant into the tiny, golden butterfly. He wasn't sure if he managed it, but hopefully he got the point across. The little glowing creature fluttered up into the treetops and away into the sky.
Shock!
Indeed. It was a shock. He hadn't expected his butterfly to fly up. They typically didn't fly very high. Why would that be?
Threat.
Hmm? A butterfly a threat? How ridiculous.
…so tired…
:You must not sleep!:
The ground beneath him rocked and- Er, no, that couldn't be. The trees weren't moving, only he was. Something hard and solid struck his right leg and he coughed, liquid warmth dribbling from his mouth. It was so hard to breathe. He reached up to rub it away when his hand came back wet.
Wary.
Wary? Perhaps. He'd been expecting the red. But the clear liquid was strange. He didn't remember his cheeks being wet too. Was he… was he weeping?
:I'm coming! Hold on.:
Coming. Who's coming? He staggered back to his feet and took one weary step forward. He wobbled but stayed upright. Mostly. One foot, now the other, again, again. Chimes.
Something flickered at the corner of his vision. Lifting his heavy head, he saw a blur of white radiance bounding towards him. Odd. White wasn't A-Jue's favored color. But it was Wangji's.
"…Wangji?" he called. Brother? "Wangji!" He could barely hear his smoke-hoarse whisper. Drawing Shuoyue from the earth, he sheathed it and reached out with both hands as darkness crowded around the edges of his vision. Brother. Brother! "…didi…"
Soft, living warmth touched his palms and bright, brilliant blue shone-
:I found you, Chosen. I'm here.:
Warm, living qi that was not his own flowed through him with the force of a river freed from its dammed bondage. Easily one hundred times more powerful than the steady stream of a cultivator sharing their qi. His dilapidated shields slammed back into place, reinforced by the foreign qi and it was suddenly ever so quiet.
:You're safe. No harm will come to you.:
White nudged his chest gently like when Wangji brushed up against him. Safe. He was safe. It was a promise. A statement. A fact. A truth with no room for doubt. Spoken like Wangji.
"…didi…" he whispered, daring to lean into the warm, white, qi. "Wangji?"
The world tilted and he knew nothing else.