For a long time, as much as there was "time" after his death, Wei Wuxian had very little except grief, rage, despair, and the struggle to evade the summoning rituals that kept snatching for him.

Eventually, however, his spirit settled into a wrung-out calm, as he had believed it would. Having survived the Burial Mounds and grasped the Yin Iron Sword cast the resentful energy welling up from his own soul in a certain manageable perspective. If not for that, perhaps he could have been a terrifying fierce ghost.

Or maybe it was just that he didn't actually "resent" anyone. Not that he lacked hurt or anger or lingering attachment, far from it, but he had better things to do.

Especially since, as he settled into being a properly "wandering" ghost rather than a fleeing one, he found the experience interesting. Of course, it was no simple thing to bring useful knowledge about being a ghost into one's next incarnation, but that was no reason not to try, and certainly no reason not to indulge his curiosity.

So he floated as high into the air as his attachments to the earth would let him. He strolled through lake bottoms and river beds. His project of examining lightning up close had to be let go in frustration, but he stood through storms and gales.

And, most particularly, he saw how human interactions with ghosts looked from the other side.

He sat in on funerals. Sometimes the spirit of the departed was soothed in their pain by the offerings and prayers. Sometimes they calmly accepted their place in the rituals. Sometimes they raged at the insincerity of their survivors. Sometimes, there was no spirit there at all.

Never did they take any notice of the visiting ghost Wei Wuxian. Without the qi energy of a living body, it seemed he couldn't influence other ghosts or communicate with them at all.

That was the biggest drawback to being a ghost. It could get very lonely.

Continuing his investigations, he followed the fragrance of joss incense to the temples and shrines and niches where people laid out offerings for the dead, and now and then, if he was sure the intended recipient wasn't around and thus wouldn't mind, he sampled the fruits or cakes that had been left. It wasn't as if he could pick one up and put it in his mouth, but when he touched them, he could savor their presence like a scent or a flavor and even get a vague sensation of nourishment. Even if he wasn't hurting anything, though, taking food meant for someone else left him with a sour taste.

People did also make offerings for wandering ghosts like himself, who had no one to care for them particularly. He learned to distinguish those by the smell of the incense ― cultivators didn't use the same type for ghosts and ancestors, so common people probably didn't either, even if the sticks looked just the same. The food on offer was palatable, but bland. Even the apples felt like mealy, tasteless ones, no matter how bright their skins. After all, he supposed, people didn't serve their best meat and wine to beggars. If he'd been hungry, it still would have been a godsend; he knew what a meal like that would have meant to him when he'd wandered alone as a living child, and surely it was like that for many ghosts.

But Wei Wuxian wasn't hungry.

Maybe it was because he'd practiced fasting cultivation in life, especially in that last year when it could sometimes pass as an excuse to leave more for ―

He froze. The memory of that last year was tender, aching more than burning now but still a stunning force. He hoped Wen Qing and Wen Ning and their clan weren't in his situation, or a worse one. He hoped their spirits could find peace despite the injustice, or at least could talk to each other.

And then there was A-Yuan. Before he'd left for Golden Unicorn Tower and ultimately Nightless Heaven, Wei Wuxian had drawn a protection talisman on a cloth and told A-Yuan to wrap it around himself and go to the town if Brother Xian didn't return ― but what did he think was going to happen then? There was no "Uncle Jiang" to come for him; that much was clear. Could A-Yuan even follow such a cold strategy rather than wait and hope for the one person he had left? For all the awful tales people told about him, Wei Wuxian thought that walking away from a crying child might be the true worst thing he'd ever done in his life.

What could ghost food amount to, in the face of something like that? It was a little interesting, a little pleasant, but it couldn't provide any of the things he really needed.

Or so he thought.

It must have been years after his death when he first caught the scent. By then a village had adopted a strange custom of burning joss papers with "Eternal Sage of Yiling" written on them at wandering-ghost rituals ― who knew what huckster had put them up to it? ― and Wei Wuxian was trying to figure out just what this practice was meant to achieve when he noticed a unique and powerful incense smell, coming from very far away.

His curiosity piqued, he followed the scent, and the further he followed it, the more curious he became. The fragrance filled and soothed him; it seemed to surround and hold the painful places inside him, not erasing them but supporting them and easing their burden. To say that it smelled like his Senior Sister's lotus root and pork rib soup would be completely wrong, and yet there was something about it that was similar. To say that it sharpened his hunger like the smell of good food in life would be wrong, too, because the scent and the substance weren't separate things for a ghost, but it made him aware of a desire and of something that could fulfill that desire. It didn't leave him hungry, but still it drew him on to get closer, to want more.

And, very quickly, to have suspicions. Incense that could make itself felt at such a distance clearly wasn't normal. Worse yet, the scent appealed to him in such a personal way that perhaps it had been made for just that purpose. The pace of summoning rituals he had to fend off had slackened, but some of the latest ones had been rather sophisticated. He remained confident that he could handle whatever this scent was leading him toward, and that gave his curiosity the upper hand over caution, but he considered it most likely that he was being led into a trap.

His suspicions were entirely confirmed when the trail led him to Gusu and the mountains overlooking the Cloud Recesses. Wei Wuxian had been doing his best to avoid any cultivation sects since his death, but this was one of the last places he would have wanted to go.

Second-last, to be precise; only Lotus Pier would have been worse. Going there would be asking to have his soul torn to shreds by Jiang Cheng. Worse yet, if Senior Sister's spirit were there at the ancestral hall, the very sight of her might crush his soul to dust. He preferred to imagine that she had already become a divine being ― if anyone could, surely it would be Jiang Yanli ― and he would have chosen to keep imagining that, no matter how good a smell was coming from where.

But no, it was coming from the Cloud Recesses, and of course it was Lan Zhan who was the stubborn one. A hundred years could have passed and he wouldn't have given up. One wrong move here, and Wei Wuxian knew he was sure to be swept up in a spirit-trapping pouch and bundled off to some stifling, white-robed purification ritual.

But here, it wasn't so simple to turn away. Here, there was nothing he couldn't handle, or at least if he began to retreat he would start telling himself so. Besides, Lan Zhan might be stubborn, even brilliant in a hidebound sort of way, but he had never been one for such devious snares as this incense seemed to be, so what could explain it? Wei Wuxian's curiosity only increased.

Down one slope of the mountains lay risk; down the other slope lay self-denial. It would take a worse disaster than the Lan Sect to make Wei Wuxian choose self-denial.

There was no reason to throw caution to the winds and rush in, though, so he lingered in the rocks and groves, observing all he could of the task ahead of him. Carefully, he moved in for closer views, avoiding the disciples and any obvious places of power like the Cold Spring. Even the rabbits ― they had lost their shining forehead seals when Lan Yi left the world, but they were still her rabbits and might be capable of snitching, so he resisted the temptation to visit them. Mostly.

Even avoiding all that, he was able to get close enough to learn what he needed to know.

Getting in without a jade pass turned out to be no great difficulty. Every morning, regular as a water-clock, merchants came with vegetables and supplies; after all, who could imagine those elegant Lan disciples hoeing in the dirt or tromping home with baskets of cabbage on their backs? So every morning they opened their barrier at a side entrance for deliveries. It would have been difficult to slip through unnoticed in life, but they didn't seem to be checking if any ghosts rode along. As usual, practicality was not the sect's strong point.

Locating his target was no great difficulty either. Lan Zhan had always stood out, and once Wei Wuxian had spotted him, he even seemed to glow, easily tracked from a long way off. And, sure enough, Lan Zhan led him to the source of the mysterious scent, right there in his own "Quiet" room. In that, he was as guileless as ever ― and as diligent as ever. Every morning just after five and every evening just before nine, regular as a water-clock, the scent redoubled.

Wei Wuxian withdrew to the wooded slopes. The path was laid out; now he only had to watch and wait for an opportunity.

It took a good deal of waiting. At times he saw Lan Zhan's silver glow fly away on his sword, but that might mean a quick, sudden matter, from which he could fly back at any moment. So Wei Wuxian waited and waited. No matter; enjoying that scent amid the cool rocks, shading groves, and laughing streams was quite pleasant, and after so long without being caught, he began to feel comfortably bold. Finally, his patience reaped its reward. Lan Zhan left the front gate on foot with a group; one of the distant figures even looked like his brother. This was likely to keep him for days.

The next morning, Wei Wuxian made his move.

The kitchen entrance was even easier than he'd anticipated. The path across the compound, however, was a hazard he hadn't reckoned on. Looking down from the mountains, he could see that everything had been rebuilt very nearly as it had been before the Wen Sect's torches, but now, moving through the walkways and courtyards as he had in his youth, the restoration also brought back ghosts of the past at every turn ― Nie Huaisang gesturing hopelessly with his fan, himself and Jiang Cheng bickering like brothers ― and he already knew that this trap could prey on his most intimate vulnerabilities.

Wei Wuxian lowered himself to the ground. That altered the scenery enough to avoid those dangerous reminders, and even added an element of fun. Crawling and rolling about in the Cloud Recesses' snow-white gravel was a bit of mischief he'd never indulged in before.

In that way, he reached the Quiet Room and slipped inside.

Here, the scent was so enveloping that tracing it to a single point proved a challenge, but after thorough exploration, the exact source stood revealed.

It was a small cabinet standing on the shelves near a corner, overlooking a table that held a neat stack of music books ― probably the table where Lan Zhan practiced his guqin. The cabinet looked perfectly ordinary, made of dark-stained wood and standing about an elbow-to-fingertip high, like a place for storing charms or small magical tools.

But Wei Wuxian faced off against it as though it were a most wily and dangerous enemy.

If he were alive, he would have opened it with a carefully chosen spell. As a ghost, however, he couldn't open it at all. The only way to see inside was to go inside ― to step directly into the snare.

The only alternative was to turn around and retreat. But as Wei Wuxian hovered there, afloat in that enticing, embracing fragrance, looking at the thin layer of wood that stood between him and his goal, he couldn't bring himself to retreat.

He felt like that less fortunate of storied monkeys, the one who could easily escape a trap if he would only drop the fistful of food he'd been tempted into grabbing, but who never did escape.

Lan Zhan really had become devious. Maybe he even deserved to win.

Wei Wuxian didn't know how long he'd been staring down a small piece of furniture when the door of the room suddenly slid open. It couldn't be Lan Zhan, there was no way he wouldn't have noticed ―

It was even worse. It was Lan Qiren.

Wei Wuxian tried to think of an escape route or stratagem, but there was no time. His old harsh teacher swept into the room, walked smoothly to the cabinet, drew a deep breath as if confirming its scent himself, and opened it.

Nothing happened.

For a long moment, the room stood in silence.

Then Lan Qiren let out a sigh.

A disciple who had followed him queried, "Teacher?"

"I will deal with this," he answered. "When my nephew returns, tell him I wish to speak to him."

As he spoke, Teacher Lan turned to the disciple. He clasped his hands behind his back, where they wobbled in restrained annoyance. Not once did he glance toward Wei Wuxian; not even one whisker prickled in awareness.

And as he turned, he at last cleared the view of the open cabinet. The bait in the trap lay bare.

Wei Wuxian reeled at what he saw, slightly embarrassed but mostly impressed at how he'd been outfoxed.

It was so simple.

It was so obvious.

Lan Zhan was brilliant.

The cabinet held a stand of incense, looking for all the world like ordinary joss sticks bought on the street, and a bowl of ash where a burned-down splint now stood, perfectly straight and centered. A small dish held crackers, dried fruits and peppers, snacks that wouldn't spoil while Lan Zhan was away. Across from the incense stand was a jar of Emperor's Smile wine, still stoppered, with no cup, but since when had Wei Wuxian needed those?

And in the center of the arrangement was a wooden plaque, as plain and pale as if Lan Zhan had sliced it out of a tree with his own sword, but somehow elegant and dignified for all that. Inked on its face in Lan Zhan's meticulously trained hand were two characters:

Wei Ying

The disciple walked away, having been dismissed. Teacher Lan turned back to the cabinet, and for a moment, unknowingly, he regarded the little altar along with Wei Wuxian.

And then he began to take it apart.

Wei Wuxian first felt a naive sense of outrage at seeing the food and incense ash removed. When Teacher Lan reached for the wine, he barely mastered the urge to call out, Hey, that's mine! But in a moment he remembered himself, and then he could only cover his laughter. Lan Zhan had finally drawn him in and bound him surprisingly firmly. It was more than anyone else trying to summon or trap his spirit had ever managed, and even now he wasn't at all sure he could have escaped. How many months or years had it taken to achieve this? And in one moment, on the very point of success, the fruit of all that patience and diligence was being thrown away.

Wei Wuxian wondered, not for the first time, how Teacher Lan turned out such brilliant students when he himself could be such a fool.

Teacher Lan removed the incense ― in his hand it even smelled like nothing special ― and finally he took the wooden plaque. Strangely, as each item was moved, it was the plaque that carried the mysterious scent; perhaps the wood had absorbed the smoke over time. Then he closed the empty cabinet, gathered up the remains of the little altar, and walked away.

Wei Wuxian relaxed in the silence. The glee of his improbable escape was dampened with a sadness he couldn't quite account for, but in any case he had been set loose. There was nothing left to see.

As he crept back to the kitchen gate, he felt the lingering scent that had led him here mingle with the smell of charring wood and finally vanish.

In the uncounted years that followed, Wei Wuxian did catch that fragrance again, here and there, from time to time. Never again did it build and last in one spot, but it would occasionally come wafting from deep in the mountains of Gusu, from Caiyi Town during the Ghost Festival, from the many far-flung places where Lan Zhan traveled for night-hunts. Perhaps he had changed tactics and was now hoping to cast his hook in the right place at the right time.

Wei Wuxian knew better than to approach. When the scent came to him, he would just take in the delicious comfort for as long as it lasted, and smile.

But he never knew what Lan Zhan was doing to transform the incense he'd seen into such unique and compelling magic.

Epilogue

The breathy rumble and hiss of cloth unfurling and sliding against cloth nudged Wei Wuxian from sleep toward wakefulness.

It had to be five o'clock.

Sure enough, when he pried his eyes open, he saw Lan Zhan dressing, delicate colors of dawn light playing over the shifting white planes of his robes.

Rolling over and going back to sleep was an option, but instead, Wei Wuxian blearily spoke. "Hey, Lan Zhan, I was just having a dream…" ― one he wanted to share before it flitted away into oblivion. Already it was beginning to scatter, and he just tried to gather the essential pieces. "It was before this body… You were trying to lure me in with incense, but then your uncle threw it away…"

Lan Zhan turned and drew breath. It would scarcely count as a gasp from anyone else.

But Wei Wuxian levered himself up from the bed, waving it off. "It was just a dream, you don't need to pick a fight with him" ― again. Besides, there was still the last piece of the dream: "When I saw him take it away, it seemed like just normal incense, but somehow it had smelled so good, like a banquet of all my favorite food just for me. And I couldn't figure out, 'What was Lan Zhan adding to it?'"

"Nothing."

Wei Wuxian had begun dressing as well and had one arm in and one arm out of a robe when it dawned on him: Lan Zhan had just answered his question about a dream that presumably only he had been having. He barely had his mind around that when Lan Zhan spoke again.

"No. There was something."

He put on his other sleeve and wagged a finger. "Ah, so there is a secret―"

When he turned, Lan Zhan was already less than a breath away from him; white-draped arms were already sweeping around him in an embrace that pressed his upraised hand between their two chests.

"Not a secret. Not anymore." Lan Zhan spoke the words into his ear, soft and deep, then turned his face. His lips cupped the arch of Wei Wuxian's cheek in a slow, firm kiss.

Wei Wuxian eased his arm free to return the embrace ― and then the pieces came together.

It was so simple.

It was so obvious.

"Lan Zhan, you're brilliant!" he laughed, tears warming his eyes, and he turned his face to return the kiss.

End

* "Eternal Sage of Yiling": This is how I've chosen to render Wei Wuxian's title Yiling Laozu, normally translated as "Yiling Patriarch." According to Taming Wangxian, laozu refers to Daoist deities and to the legendary author of the Tao Te Ching, and I'd rather not apply the specific connotations of "Patriarch" to that.

* "Less fortunate of storied monkeys" ― implying a more fortunate one. I have a headcanon that Wei Wuxian loved Sun Wukong stories when he was a kid (and Jiang Cheng might be permanently burned out on them).