Chapter Text
PROLOGUE
The sky was engulfed in dark and murky clouds, and the smell of blood and copper permeated the air, a sense of woefulness hung heavy over the burial mounds. With their shoulders slumped and faces bloodied, the remaining cultivators helped carry the dead, the atmosphere strangely quiet, save for their shuffling feet and occasional sighs as they passed the crude houses lining up the mountain – burning and partially torn down.
Nie Mingjue bent down to pick up the sabers of the disciples he’d lost, to seal their resentful energy in a proper tradition. His hand shook slightly as he touched each hilt, his own golden core slightly shaken from the amount of resentful energy his saber spirit had consumed, and still starved for more.
He closed his eyes after a while, willing the bloodthirst away. This was not the ideal time for a qi deviation.
“Are you okay?” he looked up to find Lan Xichen’s concerned eyes, darker in shade and usually gentle, were now void of their usual composure and serenity.
His gaze traveled down to the specks of blood littering Xichen’s jaw. He wiped them off with his thumb before he softened his typically strict gaze and nodded. Xichen’s hand on his shoulder tightened a tiny bit before he let go. Xichen managed to put a tired smile on before he motioned for Mingjue to follow him.
They ascended a long trail, their feet sinking deep into the mud as they stepped over the thick burnt logs and skeletal remains, the dark leafless trees towering over them. The atmosphere reeked of death and misfortune.
“Have you found him yet?” Mingjue asked after a while, noticing how Xichen’s fist tightened at his question, but he didn’t mention it as he followed him further up the mountain. He had already figured out where they were heading.
The Demon Slaughtering Cave.
The infamous home of the Yiling Patriarch, a legend whose demise he’d just witnessed. He wasn’t sure where it all went wrong or how it had escalated so quickly, but losing a great cultivator was always unfortunate in Mingjue’s eyes. Despite any differing opinions, he would have much preferred to solve the whole dilemma without this much bloodshed, without this much loss.
“No, but I have a good guess of where he might be,” Xichen said, standing at the large entrance of the cave, his light blue robes billowing in the wind. He looked over his shoulder at Mingjue, a silent request in his eyes.
Mingjue nodded and stepped foot into the dark cave, the strong smell of blood and grime assaulting his nose, but his face remained composed.
As he surveyed the cavern’s depths, its vastness seemed endless, with sharp rocks jutting from both above and below, leaving scarcely any flat surface. A particular spot caught his eye; it resembled a deep body of water. He approached it calmly, the smell of copper growing stronger with each step.
It was a small lake, but the water looked red. It didn’t take long for Mingjue to realize that it was blood.
How strange.
Many spoke of the heinous acts that must've been happening in this place, each villager coming up with their own versions, and the storytellers gathering up audience to listen to the tales of the demon slaughtering cave, where beasts came to rest and screams failed to cease.
But the place seemed much more haunted, in its eerie quietude and stagnant smell, it didn’t need any beast guardians or shrill voices to keep wanderers away.
Amidst the darkness, a faint white light glimmered deeper into the cave. Mingjue quietly made his way toward it, his tall stature and broad shoulders doing little to diminish the grandeur of the place.
Sure enough, there it was—a Lan pendant, shaped like a cloud, embroidered onto a thin blue ribbon, clutched in a slender, pale hand that trembled slightly. Mingjue looked down at Lan Wangji’s face, his eyes closed beneath slightly furrowed eyebrows. Despite his straight sitting posture, there was a subtle tremor in his thin lips.
Wangji must have surely noticed his presence, but he made no signs of acknowledgment.
In the shadows, Wangji’s jawline appeared sharper, his aura menacingly threatening. But Mingjue’s renowned reputation wasn’t for naught; he had fought countless bloody battles and slain extraordinary beasts and demons—hardly anything shook him.
“Wangji.” He called out quietly.
Wangji remained unmoving, his form still as stone, and no reply came from the young man seated before him.
He slowly crouched down, maintaining a respectful distance from where Wangji sat.
“Wangji,”
Wangji’s grip on the blue ribbon tightened, but his expression remained stoic, his eyes firmly shut.
Mingjue sighed inwardly. Having watched the twin jades of Gusu grow up, he knew well their stubbornness, particularly Wangji’s unyielding nature. Yet, Mingjue was hardly known for his compliance either.
He knew the disappointment and concern that Xichen felt after witnessing Wangji fight alongside the supposed demonic Wei Wuxian. Hell, Mingjue would be damned if he said he wasn’t taken aback as well, though his focus had been more on controlling the rampant fierce corpses. With the stamina of most cultivators depleted, his priority was minimizing casualties, rather than delving into the complexities of the situation.
But now that it was over, he couldn’t help but feel a twinge of curiosity about the whole ordeal. Mingjue had been aware of the friendship between Wangji and Wei Wuxian; it was all his brother Huaisang could talk about, after all. But he had never imagined that Wangji would stand against his own sect, his own brother, for him.
Even now, instead of assisting his sect in carrying the bodies of their fallen cultivators back for a proper burial, Wangji seemed more invested in remaining in the lair of the man who was responsible for their deaths.
Frankly, Mingjue wasn’t interested in delving into the intricacies of the situation. He had more pressing matters to attend to—bodies to bury and a sect to lead. But for the sake of his own friend, he knew he had to take some action, at least to ease Xichen’s evident worry. Xichen’s distress had always rubbed him the wrong way..
Mingjue was well acquainted with Lan Qiren, and he knew that the elder would not let any of what had transpired pass without consequence. This realization likely added to Xichen’s great distress, and Mingjue felt a sense of responsibility to mitigate the fallout as much as possible.
Mingjue sighed, intimately familiar with the trials and tribulations younger siblings could bring. Heavens knew he’d weathered his own fair share from Huaisang. The thought of his chaotic younger brother softened his expression a fraction, prompting him to try again.
“Xichen’s worried,” he stated as he rose to his feet, his tone commanding yet tinged with concern. “I don’t know the full extent of what happened, and frankly, I don’t care to delve into it now. We’ve been struck by a great calamity, and our priority is to restore order to our lands. This is not the time for mourning. You mustn’t exacerbate his anguish. We need to pull ourselves together.”
Mingjue was never one for coercion or flowery words. He couldn’t talk down a man for the life of him. He was a man of action and battle—a general before anything else. Accustomed to trumpet calls and shouting orders, he found himself at a loss for how Xichen thought he could offer assistance in this situation.
It must've come as second nature for the first jade to come to him when in distress. But this wasn’t a declaration of war he needed support for, or a demonic monster to slaughter. Wangji was more of a wounded beast, and he usually just put those out of their misery - he wasn’t much of a healer.
Just as Mingjue contemplated stepping back to allow Xichen to take the lead, he noticed a subtle twitch in Wangji’s eyebrows—a telltale sign of the turmoil brewing beneath his stoic facade. It was a detail he wouldn’t have noticed had he not closely observed the young man’s growth over the years.
Wangji’s respect and admiration for Mingjue were well-known within their circles. Mingjue’s swift rise from a young sect leader to a revered battle hero had left an indelible mark on Wangji, evident in the youthful enthusiasm he once displayed during their encounters. Even as Wangji matured and adopted a more reserved demeanor, traces of that admiration lingered, albeit concealed beneath a veneer of stoicism. It was still there.
Mingjue might be renowned for his violent and ruthless nature, a monster bred for the battlefield. Yet, his role as sect leader demanded more than physical strength and a commanding voice; it required keen observation, strategic thinking, and an understanding of human nature. In war, schemes and strategies were just as vital as brute force, and Mingjue had honed his ability to read people over years of experience.
And judging from the way Wangji didn’t just scoff at his reprimand, even slightly so, mingjue knew it was still there. Because as stoic and cold as he was, Mingjue could always read him. The same way he’d read his disdain for Lan Qiren when he talked about his parents, or his envy for Huaisang’s carefree nature; the same way he was reading the grief in his pursed lips and closed eyes right then. He could read him clearly as his posture became one of resignation.
***
The looming gates of Cloud Recesses appeared even larger as Lan Xichen gazed up at them. Once pearly white and inviting, they now seemed somewhat intimidating to him. The thought of his uncle’s reaction filled him with reluctance about stepping into the sect. As he stood still, contemplating his next move, Lan Wangji breezed past him and ascended the mountains, disappearing amidst the white clouds and blossoms. It was evident that he just wanted to get it over with, albeit begrudgingly so.
Reflecting on the aftermath of the war, Xichen couldn't shake the image of Wangji’s weary eyes as he followed Nie Mingjue out of the cave, his shoulders slightly tense. It tugged at Xichen’s heart, but he felt immensely grateful for Mingjue's presence. Despite Mingjue's lack of acknowledgment, Xichen knew that his younger brother held a deep respect for the fierce general. He understood that Mingjue would be more amenable to him, and it slightly surprised Xichen that Mingjue still managed to coax Wangji through his heartbreak.
What surprised Xichen even more was the way his younger brother's shoulders tensed up further at Mingjue’s farewell. Was Wangji truly that uncomfortable with being left alone with Xichen? The thought lingered in Xichen’s mind, but he was sensible enough not to vocalize it. He didn’t want to make matters worse. Despite Wangji’s unreadable demeanor to everyone else, Xichen considered him an open book. And he knew what awaited them at Gusu was dreadful.
Shaking his head, Xichen made his way up the Cloud Recesses’ Mountain with a sense of unease. He mentally prepared himself for his uncle’s inevitable wrath. The disbelief and unbridled rage etched into his uncle’s face upon witnessing his beloved second jade’s disobedience had left a lasting impression on Xichen’s memory. He couldn’t deny that he had felt a similar mix of emotions, although for him, it was primarily worry— and he was better at hiding it.
“Disgraceful!” Xichen winced at his uncle’s roar. He hadn’t even reached the last step, yet he could already envision the scene awaiting him. And as expected, there was Lan Wangji kneeling in the middle of the courtyard, his icy stare fixed upon the ground as their uncle towered over him, his face flushed with anger and contorted in fury. None of the other disciples dared to lift their eyes or come to Wangji’s defense.
“You dare to return after raising your weapon against your own people? You sided with a demon over your own family, your sect! How outrageous!” Their uncle’s words fell upon deaf ears, as Wangji remained seemingly unperturbed, resigned to his inevitable punishment.
“You have tarnished the name of our ancestors and disgraced the teachings of our sect,” their uncle’s voice thundered, echoing through the courtyard. His hand clenched into a tight fist as he paced back and forth, his robes billowing with each furious step.
“To think that you would forsake your duty, your honor, and your blood for the sake of a demon—such cowardice is unforgivable!” With each word, his anger intensified, his face contorting with disgust.
He stopped in front of Wangji, his gaze piercing like a dagger. Wangji remained kneeling, his head bowed in silent acceptance, his hands resting calmly on his thighs.
Xichen worried for his brother. Before matters escalated further, he decided to intervene. Stepping up next to his uncle, he softly touched his shoulder in an effort to placate him.
“He understands the error of his ways, Shufu, that is why he came back,” Xichen offered gently, hoping to quell the storm of anger brewing within his uncle.
“How could he think this matter would go unpunished! He brought great shame upon our sect; this is no easy matter!” his uncle retorted. Xichen could tell his words came from a place of hurt, for his uncle, that had always translated into anger. He had always taken immense pride in his Twin Jades, to think one of them would lift his sword on him one day, that must've struck him deeply, Xichen understood.
“He acted out of misguided loyalty, but he has returned to face the consequences,” Xichen persisted, his voice calm yet firm. It did not matter whether his words were true. “Let us handle this matter with wisdom and compassion, Shufu. Punishment alone will not mend the damage done.”
“How dare you speak of wisdom and compassion after what he has done!” his uncle thundered, his eyes ablaze with fury. “He has brought shame upon our ancestors and our sect. There can be no leniency for such betrayal!”
Xichen recoiled slightly at the intensity of his uncle’s anger, but he remained resolute. “I understand your anger, Shufu,” he said evenly, “but let us not forget that Wangji is still family..” that was his last resort. Wangji was family. His family.
His uncle’s jaw clenched as he glared at Xichen, but the fire in his eyes began to flicker, tempered by the faintest hint of doubt. “You speak of forgiveness, Xichen, but forgiveness cannot erase the stain of dishonor,” he growled. “There will be consequences for his actions, and he will bear them alone.”
“He’s willing to accept any punishment. He’s expressed his regret over his actions,” Xichen said, his tone measured but determined. “In my humble opinion, he’s due for a three-year seclusion to reflect upon his mistakes and repent.”
His uncle narrowed his eyes, sensing the hint of deception in Xichen’s words. “And do you truly believe a mere seclusion is fitting for such a grave offense?” he challenged, his voice dripping with skepticism.
Xichen was bluffing, and his uncle knew that, Wangji didn’t look the least bit apologetic, and a seclusion for him was more like a reward.
Xichen held his ground, maintaining his facade of confidence. “I’ve spoken to Nie Mingjue,” he continued smoothly, “and he’s amiable to Wangji serving his seclusion in the Unclean Realm. We’ll take the necessary measures and send him off in the next few days.”
As gentle as Xichen was, he was also known for his overprotective nature when it came to his loved ones, and his uncle knew that well. Although his face twitched in fury, he didn’t defy Xichen’s words. Xichen understood the turmoil his young brother must have been experiencing; Wangji was punishing himself enough as it is. Xichen had no desire to exacerbate his suffering. However, he also knew not to test his uncle’s boundaries. So, the best course of action was to remove Wangji from his sight until the memory wasn’t as fresh in their minds.
Xichen crouched down next to his brother, gently placing his hand on top of Wangji's and giving it a reassuring squeeze. He could tell that Wangji wasn’t paying them much attention; his icy gaze seemed distant, as though he was lost in the depths of a turbulent past. To anyone else, Wangji appeared the same as always—composed, stoic, and aloof—but Xichen's heart ached at the sight of his brother's obvious agony.
At least he had managed to spare Wangji further suffering; a seclusion in Qinghe was far less dreadful than whatever punishment their uncle had in mind.
Now, all he had to do was actually speak to Mingjue.
Sigh.
***
To say Mingjue was confused would be an understatement. His brow furrowed as he tried to make sense of the situation. A three-year seclusion, in Qinghe? It made little sense to him. Why would a punishment from the Gusu sect be requested to be carried out in his own sect? Was there some hidden significance to this arrangement that he was missing?
His mind raced with questions, each more perplexing than the last. He had enough responsibilities of his own to handle without taking on additional burdens, especially ones that seemed so out of place.
But as he looked at the younger man’s face, pale and weary with the weight of his own turmoil, he found himself unable to voice those thoughts.
His straight, thin eyebrows, strikingly dark against his jade-like skin, were bent in a slight plea, hope shining through his almond eyes.
Cultivators often spoke of the number one beauty: Lan Xichen. Mingjue never cared for such a system, but even a blind man could see it was a title well deserved.
More so, Xichen’s benevolent and gentle nature was a wild contrast to Mingjue’s strict and authoritative one. Yet, they had become closer than Mingjue had anticipated. The first jade’s serene temperament often calmed his own.
It had always been hard for the strict general to deny Xichen anything. Mingjue found himself silently relenting to the unspoken plea in Xichen’s eyes.
“Are there any special requirements?”
Xichen relaxed his face into a soft smile, his kind eyes set to melt Mingjue’s stone heart, who, in a rare occurrence, smiled back.
After Xichen left, Mingjue strode out of the meeting hall, immediately spotting his younger brother’s figure attempting to sneak away.
“What are you up to now?” his gruff voice resounded, halting Huaisang in his tracks.
Huaisang straightened up and spun around, a mischievous smile spreading across his youthful face.
“Is it true that Lan Zhan is coming here?” he asked, revealing his eavesdropping tendencies without reservation.
“Don’t get any funny ideas,” Mingjue warned sternly. “He will be here to serve his punishment. Communication with him will be forbidden.”
“Mhm, yeah, okay!” Huaisang grinned before quickly hiding his face behind his paper fan and making his way out of the east pavilion.
Mingjue couldn’t muster much enthusiasm for the situation, his mind still grappling with the confusing circumstances surrounding Wangji’s impending seclusion.
***
The white walls and light blue roof of Lan Wangji’s assigned quarters stood out distinctly amidst the dark grey walls and black roofs of the neighboring pavilions in the sect. Beside the stone path leading to his lodging, two lively carps darted swiftly under the clear water of the pond, while the white lilies surrounding it added an ethereal touch to the ambiance.
Located in the far west of the Unclean Realm, isolated and distant from the others, the pavilion was positioned according to Xichen’s request.
However, that didn’t deter Huaisang from visiting every day under the pretense of delivering food, which Wangji hardly touched. The tray always returned untouched, a fact that Huaisang never failed to express concern over to Mingjue.
As Huaisang prattled on about Wangji’s refusal to eat or engage with others, Mingjue sighed inwardly. It was a familiar refrain, one he had heard countless times before.
“That’s how seclusion works,” Mingjue drawled, his voice laced with irritation as he sifted through the countless report scrolls on his work table. It was one of the rare moments where he showed patience with his brother, and Huaisang seemed intent on milking it for all it was worth.
“But he’s already been punished, he doesn’t need any more suffering!” Huaisang protested, his voice tinged with frustration.
Mingjue didn’t acknowledge his statement. He wasn’t interested in hearing about how ‘the death of his companion was enough punishment’ from his brother any more than he did the first time, which is to say not at all. Instead, he resorted to his favorite tactic.
“Since you have enough time to run your mouth, how about you go to the training groun-”
“Ah! Apologies brother, I forgot a few important matters I have to immediately attend to!!” Before Mingjue could finish his sentence, the brat had already scurried off.
Mingjue shook his head fondly at his retreating back. He’d long given up on trying to mold his brother into a traditional cultivator; Huaisang was far more interested in paper fans and artworks than in swordsmanship or meditation. He was different, and Mingjue had come to accept that. The best he could do was to protect him himself.
As for the second jade, it had only been four months. His golden core was more than capable of lasting him for years, as long as he didn’t recklessly deplete his spiritual energy. Though, Mingjue had yet to go see the young man.