"Brother," I fell to my knees, disbelief and disappointment washing over me. I couldn't tell what my brother regretted more: Wei Wuxian's lost memories or my defiance against him and Uncle.
"Not only did Wangji talk back to him, he even fought with his fellow Gusu Lan sect cultivators…" Xichen continued, his voice heavy with implications.
"I-I didn't know… I really…" Wei Wuxian mumbled, his guilt palpable. I longed to comfort him, to tell him it wasn't his fault, that he mustn't blame himself.
"After he insisted on sending you back to the Burial Mound, he returned in low spirits to receive his punishment—thirty-three whip scars! One for each person. You should know how much it hurts when it lands on your body!" Xichen's words cut deep. Stop blaming him, I begged silently, tears streaming down my cheeks.
"Even so, when he learned about your death, he still dragged himself to the Burial Mound to see you, no matter what…" Xichen continued.
"Wangji was a model disciple when he was young and a prominent cultivator as he grew. THE ONLY MISTAKE HE EVER MADE IN HIS LIFE IS YOU! AND YOU SAY… AND YOU SAY YOU DON'T KNOW!" His voice rose in anger.
My breath hitched. Mistake? No, my Weiying isn't a mistake; my love is righteous...
"Young Master Wei, after you returned in your body, how did you pester him and confess? Every night… every night you had to… and you say you don't know?"
No, no! Don't say it! It can't be true! Panic surged within me. Weiying wouldn't have done that because of my brother's words!
Suddenly overwhelmed, Wangji gasped awake as the incense's effect faded. Tears continued to flow as dawn broke—around 6 AM. Wei Wuxian usually woke around 8 or 9 AM, unaware of Wangji's turmoil.
"Lan Zhan… What happened?" Wei Wuxian murmured drowsily, concern lacing his voice.
Weiying's heart raced as he watched Wangji, his beloved husband, dissolve into tears. The sound of Wangji's sobs echoed in the stillness of Jingshi, each cry a dagger to Weiying's chest. What happened? Why won't he tell me? The questions swirled in his mind like a tempest, amplifying his worry and insecurity. He reached out instinctively, wrapping his arms around Wangji, hoping to provide comfort, but Wangji pushed him away with a force that felt both foreign and devastating.
No, don't walk away! Weiying thought desperately as he watched Wangji retreat. He felt a cold grip of helplessness tighten around his heart. I can't lose him; he's my last hope. The silence in Jingshi was deafening, contrasting sharply with the chaos inside him. His heart screamed for action, urging him to chase after Wangji, to fix whatever had shattered between them. But his mind countered with cruel reminders of past losses—of friends and family slipping through his fingers despite his best efforts. You were wrong; you're his mistake, it taunted.
As the day dragged on without Wangji's return, Weiying sat in the dim light of their home, his eyes hollow and unseeing. The air felt thick with unspoken words and unresolved feelings. He could almost hear the echoes of their laughter from happier times, now replaced by an oppressive silence that weighed heavily on his chest.
On the other side of Jingshi, Wangji was wrestling with his own demons. The alcohol coursing through his veins dulled the edges of his pain but couldn't erase the memories that haunted him. Weiying loves me; I know it, he reassured himself, though doubt gnawed at him like a relentless beast. The words he had heard before replayed in his mind like a broken record: You're not enough; you'll only hurt him.
A Fragile Reunion
The next morning brought a fragile sense of hope as Wangji stumbled back into Jingshi. Weiying was still there, waiting with bated breath. "Wangji!" he exclaimed, grabbing Wangji's arm to steady him as he swayed unsteadily. Please don't fall, Weiying thought fiercely. It was an instinctive reaction; after all, Wangji had always been his shield, protecting him from harm even when it meant bearing the brunt of pain himself.
Weiying gently guided Wangji to the table, feeling the warmth radiate from their shared space despite the chill in the air. He fetched a wet cloth and began to clean Wangji's mouth and hands with tender care, each stroke imbued with love and concern. As he carefully replaced Wangji's robes with fresh ones, he noticed the tears welling in Wangji's eyes once more.
"Lan Zhan… My husband… Will you tell me what's bothering you so we can fix it?" Weiying asked softly, cupping Wangji's face in his hands.
"You," Wangji whispered, his voice cracking under the weight of unshed tears.
"I...? I'm bothering you?" Weiying's heart sank at the thought.
Wangji shook his head slowly, confusion clouding his features. "No...?"
"Then who's bothering you?" Weiying pressed gently.
Wangji pointed at himself with trembling fingers."You are bothering yourself?" Weiying sought clarification.
Wangji shook his head again but added quietly, "Bothering Weiying."
"No," Weiying said firmly yet lovingly. "You're not bothering me; my Lan Zhan can never bother me." He pressed a soft kiss to Wangji's forehead, wishing to soothe away the turmoil within him.
"Hurt Weiying," came Wangji's pained admission.
"No," Weiying replied passionately. "My Lan Zhan never hurt his Weiying and will never do that."
"We had… but you don't want… you did for brother."
"Lan Zhan," Weiying said softly but firmly, "I don't understand. Will you tell me what we had and what I don't want?"
"S'x," Wangji murmured, shame lacing his voice.
"Weiying never wanted… did for brother."
In that moment of vulnerability, they stood on the precipice of understanding—a fragile bridge built on love and fear—waiting for one another to take that crucial step forward into healing together.
"Lan Zhan, what are you saying? I don't understand," Weiying stammered, confusion swirling in his mind. The warmth of their shared moments felt distant as he tried to grasp Wangji's words. What could Zew Wu Zun have said?
"You had it with me 'cause brother said," Wangji replied, his voice trembling with emotion.
Had what? Weiying's heart raced as he searched Wangji's eyes for clarity.
"In Guanyin Temple, brother told you…" Wangji continued, and suddenly the pieces began to fit together in Weiying's mind.
"Lan Zhan, how do you know about that?"
"Incense burner," Wangji murmured, his gaze dropping.
"Oh! So you think I had it with you 'cause Zew Wu Zun told me to?" Weiying's voice was barely above a whisper, disbelief washing over him.
"Lan Zhan," he said slowly, "we shared a bed before your brother told me that. I went to Jiang's ancestors hall with you and took two bows in front of my late adopted parents. I won't take anyone unless I consider them my soulmate. I've always loved you, Lan Zhan." His heart swelled with the weight of unspoken truths. "I do things I like; I like being with you, my husband."
"And I'm still willing to have…" Weiying whispered seductively in Wangji's ear, feeling the heat radiate between them.
That night, as they became intimate, it was a dance of love and emotions—a perfect harmony of their souls intertwining. Each touch deepened their understanding of one another, unraveling layers of vulnerability and desire that had long been hidden. In that sacred space, they found solace and strength in each other, forging a bond that transcended words.