Chapter 2: A Fragile Shelter
The Burial Mounds were not a place meant for life. The soil was gray and lifeless, the trees twisted like broken bones, and the air carried a heaviness that pressed down on every breath. But for Wei Wuxian, this wasteland had become home—if not for himself, then for the handful of people who followed him here.
Wen Qing, her sharp tongue hiding a bleeding heart. Wen Ning, gentle as the wind, yet feared as a ghost. And most importantly, the children—innocent faces who had seen far too much death, clinging to whatever scraps of safety he could provide.
Wei Wuxian stood at the edge of the crude huts they'd built from scavenged wood and stone. His black robes fluttered in the cold wind as he looked out across the barren hills. From this vantage point, he could see the faint trails of smoke rising from the cooking fires, hear the laughter of the children as they chased one another in a game that barely distracted them from hunger.
For a moment, his lips curled into a smile. That laughter was worth every sacrifice.
"Yiling Patriarch," Wen Qing's voice cut through his thoughts. She approached, arms folded, eyes narrowed as always. "Stop pretending you don't see it. The children are starving. The soil here is useless, and we can't keep living on scraps forever."
Wei Wuxian turned, grinning in mock defiance. "What are you talking about, Fairy Wen Qing? Look at them—healthy, full of energy! I'd say they're stronger than ever."
"Don't you dare make light of this!" she snapped. "You're the one who dragged us here. You're responsible for them now. If you can't protect them—"
"I will protect them." His voice softened, but the steel beneath it was unmistakable. His eyes lingered on the children again, and a flicker of something darker crossed his face. "I promised, didn't I?"
Wen Qing stared at him for a long moment, then sighed and turned away. "I'll go check the stores again. Maybe I can make the herbs stretch a little longer."
As she walked off, Wei Wuxian exhaled slowly, his smile fading. He knew she was right. The Burial Mounds were a graveyard. Trying to build a life here was like trying to grow flowers in ash. But he couldn't let them see him falter. If he crumbled, everything would collapse.
He lifted Chenqing, his flute, and pressed it to his lips. The low, haunting notes drifted across the settlement, weaving through the desolate air like a fragile thread of hope. The children stilled, then smiled, swaying gently to the sound. Even the restless spirits of the Mounds seemed to be quiet at his command.
For a while, there was peace.
And then, a voice—calm, steady, unmistakable—broke it.
"You shouldn't exhaust yourself like this."
Wei Wuxian lowered the flute and turned, already grinning. "Lan Zhan!"
Lan Wang ji stood a few paces away, dressed in his pristine white robes embroidered with the cloud motifs of the Gusu Lan. His presence was so stark, so utterly out of place in this wasteland, that it was almost surreal. Yet somehow, he seemed to belong—like a single unbroken note in a world of discord.
"You again?" Wei Wuxian teased. "What's this? Have you taken to haunting the Burial Mounds? Don't tell me you've fallen in love with the scenery."
Lan Wangji's expression didn't change. "You are reckless."
Wei Wuxian laughed. "Ah, I missed that. Straight to the point, as always. But come, don't just stand there. At least pretend to be happy to see me."
He closed the distance, his smile mischievous but his eyes searching. "So, what did you bring this time? More food? Medicine? Or are you finally here to join me in exile?"
Lan Wang ji set down a small bundle. Inside were dried rations, medicinal herbs, and a flask of water. The children immediately gathered around, their eyes wide with hope. Wei Wuxian waved them closer.
"Go on, little ones. Say thank you to Hanguang-jun."
The children bowed clumsily. Lan Wang ji inclined his head in return, his stoic face softening almost imperceptibly. Wei Wuxian caught it, of course. He noticed every small change, every flicker of emotion in Lan Wangji's guarded eyes.
When the children scampered off, Wei Wuxian leaned in, voice low. "You know, if the sects find out you're helping me, they'll have your head. Are you sure you want to keep risking so much for a scoundrel like me?"
"You are not a scoundrel." Lan Wangji's tone was flat, but the conviction behind it was unshakable.
Wei Wuxian blinked, momentarily caught off guard. Then his grin widened. "Lan Zhan, careful. If you say things like that, I might start believing you care."
Lan Wang ji said nothing. But he stayed.
The day wore on, and as the settlement settled into uneasy rest, Wei Wuxian found himself beside Lan Wang ji again, this time near the edge of the woods. They sat in silence for a long while, the moonlight casting pale silver across the barren ground.
Wei Wuxian toyed with his flute, fingers brushing the carved wood. "You know, sometimes I wonder why you keep coming back. Is it guilt? Duty? Or…" He tilted his head, mischief dancing in his eyes. "…could it be that you just can't stay away from me?"
Lan Wangji's gaze didn't waver. "You should not be alone here."
Wei Wuxian stilled, the teasing smile fading for just a heartbeat. Something unspoken passed between them—fragile, uncertain, yet undeniable. Then he laughed it off, leaning back on his elbows.
"Well, then, I suppose I'll just have to keep you around, won't I?"
For the first time that night, Lan Wang ji looked away.
Wei Wuxian watched him, his heart inexplicably lighter, and whispered to himself, "Maybe this place isn't so lifeless after all."
The night stretched wide above Gusu, stars scattered like shattered pearls across an endless black silk sky. The mountains, cloaked in silver mist, seemed to breathe with an ancient stillness. Lanterns flickered along the Cloud Recesses, their glow trembling in the quiet air as if afraid to disturb the sacred calm of the sect.