Wei Ying staggers back. The portrait continues to stare at him. Its grey eyes are unblinking, unmoving, and in them hold a sorrow that stab at his chest. His own eyes are stinging with tears that he can't control but the painting in front of him has none. He stares as if he's tired, as if he's empty.

He can't look away. He can't move. The seconds that pass by are endless and his body is numb. He stands there, until the painting is gone, until the room around him blurs into nothing, and until he hears voices in his head that transcend across time and reality.

When Wei Ying blinks, he is met by crowds and crowds of people who want him dead.

They throw curse after curse in his direction and look at him as if he is the worst monster to ever grace this world. Some of the faces are faces that once admired him, hailing him a genius for cultivating the dark path to their advantage. Now, like everyone else, they are quick to condemn him into a deranged heretic. He accepts it all and feels nothing but the bitter anger that has long poisoned his heart. He wants to laugh, he wants to cry. Most of all, he wants to end everything.

As they declare the attack, he realises he's not scared. He's relieved.

Finally, they attack first! Finally!

He lays Chenqing at his lips and plays forth a song that conveys all of his frustration, all his of hurt and wrath; everything he wants to say to them and more. He plays a song they will never understand and watches with a cold gaze as undead hands rip through the depths of the soil.

Wei Wuxian stands atop the palace, gazing down at the madness he has caused. He feels no sympathy or remorse. He wants to destroy everything and everyone, rip this whole place into shreds until there's nothing left; not even him. He grips Chenqing tighter and plays louder, allowing the shrill notes to deafen all of his senses. Below him, the different colours of each sect blend into one as they struggle with his onslaught. The howling of his flute rises, the undead stir, and Wei Wuxian does not stop.

Suddenly, the harsh pluck of a zither interrupts his song.

Wei Wuxian knows who it is without needing to look, and still he turns around to meet the cold eyes that stare back.

There he is, sitting across a ridge from him, his guqin laying on his lap. Against the dark void of the night, his white robes billow in the biting breeze. Silence hangs between them; the chaos below is long forgotten. It is only them here in this battlefield; light and dark, oil and water. Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji.

“Lan Zhan,” Wei Wuxian says. Long ago, there was a time when he would greet him with a smile—but those days are gone. “You should've have known since long ago—Sound of Lucidity is useless on me!”

He raises Chenqing to his lips once more, but before he can play another song, Lan Wangji flips his guqin onto his back and lunges towards Wei Wuxian. The blade of his sword glints in the air, aimed straight at the flute.

A laugh rips through Wei Wuxian. So, it's come to this? Even Lan Zhan—Lan Wangji—would fight him? Even him?

He laughs and laughs, dodging the blade with ease. He can no longer see the Jade in front of him. His eyes burn with unshed tears and Wei Wuxian can only laugh louder, harder.

“Fine, fine,” he spits out. “I knew since the start that we’d have to fight a real fight like this one sooner or later. You’ve always found me disagreeable no matter what. Come on!”

Even as Wei Wuxian screams this, Lan Wangji only freezes. The grip around his sword loosens.

“Wei Ying!”

Wei Wuxian pays no attention to him. He was just the same as everyone. Like them, he's come here to watch him fall. All this time, didn't Lan Wangji insist on taking him back to Gusu? He wants nothing more than to punish Wei Wuxian for everything he's done! He's no better than everyone else!

He clenches his fists and continues to fill this pathetic city with Chenqing's shrill noise. He ignores the horror in Lan Wangji's eyes. Let him see Wei Wuxian for the monster everyone believes him to be. Let him stay there. Let him decide if he still wants Wei Wuxian near his precious home!

Everything blends together. Wei Wuxian hates everyone just as they hate him. He doesn't fear death—if they want to kill him then let them try! He would drag everyone down with him!

“A-Xian!”

Just like that, it all crumbles. He forgets Lan Wangji, he forgets the sects beneath them, he forgets the anger stirring in his heart and thinks of only one thing. Shijie.

Why is she here? She can't be here—not here—not her.

Sick with fear, Wei Wuxian jumps down from the palace and screams for her. The anxiety that claws at him is much worse than when he was thrown into the Burial Mound. He pushes past everyone and pays no attention to the blades and arrows directed at him. He can't breathe. He can't think. He stumbles through the crowd, spotting a white figure amidst the battlefield. Even among the hundreds of people screaming for his demise, he hears Jiang Cheng's voice, just as desperate as his, calling for their sister.

She doesn't belong here. She shouldn't be here. Why is she here?

Wei Wuxian panics. He's a lost child in a sea of people. He sees a corpse heading towards her, its grotesque face spitting and roaring—a sword gleaming in its hand.

“Stop it, stop it, right now, stop it!” Wei Wuxian screams, begs.

It doesn't listen. No one listens.

Not this—no, please—not this.

The corpse doesn't stop. It raises the sword above its head and slashes down at Shijie. Blood stains her back crimson and she falls onto the ground. Around her, the fight continues. No one stops. No one cares. Wei Wuxian is paralysed with fear and can do nothing as the corpse makes for a second attack.

Please.

Just as he thinks that everything is over, the corpse collapses, sliced into two. Wei Wuxian recognises Bichen soaring in the air before Jiang Cheng appears to cradle Shijie in his arms. Wei Wuxian staggers forward. There is no relief or gratitude. All of his emotions claw at him; it's nothing but a sickening mess of anxiety, regret, self-hatred. He'd done this. He hurt Shijie.

“Wei Ying! Stop the corpses!”

Hands grab his collar, shaking him. Wei Wuxian doesn't bother to look up at Lan Wangji, nor does he listen to his pleas. He pushes him aside with all the strength left in his tired body and rushes to his sister.

The blood from her back pools beneath both brothers. Shijie is pale, gasping for breath. Wei Wuxian wants to beg for forgiveness and grovel at her feet, but his words are cut short as Jiang Cheng's fist collides with his cheek.

“What happened?! Didn’t you say you could control it?! Didn’t you say it’d be fine?!”

Wei Wuxian doesn't fight back. All he can do is stare at Shijie and beg her to be okay. He didn't mean for this to happen. Not her—everyone, anyone but her.

“I don't know either,” he pathetically says. “I can't control it, I just can't control it...”

As he says this, he feels the turmoil inside like a storm ripping him apart. His chest is tight and the blood beneath his skin boils. He can't stop shaking. He's scared and angry and desperate and lost, and everything is piling together in a cacophony of despair that makes Wei Wuxian want to explode. He repeats again and again that he can't control it because he can't. He's a panicking child who's been thrown into a crowd that wants to see him fall. He can't do this anymore. He can't.

Jiang Cheng is muttering something to their sister, saying again and again that it's just a small gash—it'll be fine, she'll be fine. She tries to sit up. The puddle of blood around them grows bigger.

“...A-Xian.”

Her voice is almost enough to make him cry. “Shijie, I... I'm here,” he mumbles.

“… A-Xian. Before… why did you run away so fast…?” she asks. “I didn’t even get the chance to look at you, or say something to you…”

Wei Wuxian's eyes widen. His heart lurches in his chest and he can't bring himself to look at her. What can he say? I'm sorry? Please forgive me? I didn't mean to kill your husband?

What can he do?

“I'm... I'm here to tell you...”

Her voice trails off as the questions fill his mind. Does she hate him as everyone does, as he hates himself? Does she blame him for the death of her husband? What does she want to tell him? He won't listen to anyone else but he'll listen if it comes from her. He'll listen to whatever she says, even if it hurts.

A sigh. “A-Xian, you… you should stop first. Don’t, don’t…”

He quickly moves. “Yes, I'll stop.”

The song he plays is tired, defeated, and so are the undead at his command. They reluctantly retreat, groaning and growling. Wei Wuxian's bloodthirst is long gone and all that's left is regret. He is tired of fighting. He doesn't want to do this anymore.

Hands shaking, he waits for his sister to talk. There are tears already pooling in his eyes but he will listen to anything she has to say. He waits, and waits, and waits.

It never comes.

Shijie's eyes widen. A gasp is frozen at her lips as she pushes him down. Wei Wuxian has no time to react. He falls onto the dirt.

When he looks up, there is a sword embedded deep into Shijie's throat. Her eyes are still open, her lips parted. There's blood gushing out of her neck and dripping down her chin, and the words she wanted to say to him are nothing more. The blade has torn straight through her neck, almost slicing it in half. She doesn't blink. She doesn't move.

Wei Wuxian stares. He waits.

What did she want to say?

Shijie's head dips to the right. Her eyes glaze over like empty glass.

No.

No.

No.

Blood continues to pour out of her. He doesn't know how long he sits there, frozen, staring into her lifeless eyes.

Wei Wuxian slowly looks up from the bloodied blade, following its path. He sees a small hand holding the hilt, recognising the young child whose brother he had killed.

“You thief! This is for my brother!”

No.

A drop in the water; the realisation of what's happened ripples through his brain, spreading, spreading, until he finally snaps.

Wei Wuxian screams. He screams his throat raw and he cries the tears he's been holding back for a lifetime. He lunges for the child and ignores his pathetic excuses. Underneath his hands, he feels the young boy struggling, but Wei Wuxian digs his fingers into his throat and silences him. He doesn't blink as he breaks the child's neck, listening to the deafening crack of bones snapping under his bare hands.

Within seconds, the child is limp in his arms.

Someone screams at him. In the depths of his anguish, Wei Wuxian hears them.

“You! Back then… you caused the deaths of Jiang Fengmian and his wife, and now you caused the death of your shijie. You suffered from your own actions, and yet you dared vent your anger on another! Instead of turning around, you took yet another life. Wei Wuxian, your crimes—shall never be forgiven!”

Wei Wuxian rises. Nothing matters anymore. Everything is over. He will drag everyone down with him.

They are right that he's a monster. He will prove it to them.

He reaches into his sleeves and takes out the two halves of the Stygian Tiger Seal. It is cold in his hands and the power resonates, threatening to take over. He doesn't hesitate to snap them together. It clicks into place and the world falters in its axis.

Wei Wuxian raises it into the air and welcomes the chaos that ensues as hordes and hordes of corpses rip forth from the ground. A monster, they called him. A demon. He repeats it again and again in his head, commanding every corpse to mangle anyone and everyone in sight. Leave no one untouched. Let them all burn. Let them all die. He would bathe this city in blood until there's nothing left of himself.

Tears roll down his cheeks. He stumbles back and falls on his knees. The battlefield distorts with each tear that escapes him. Every scream that begs for him to stop becomes distant, until they're but a ghost of a whisper in this room. He clenches his hands into fists, gasping, shaking. Seconds tick by again and time returns its rhythm. Wei Ying watches his tears drop onto the wooden floorboards, listening to the hollow silence that now blankets over everything.

He is back in the attic with the painting continuing to stare at him as if nothing has happened.

Hands shaking, he covers his mouth and muffles every noise that threatens to spill out. Nothing makes sense and yet deep down there's a part in his brain that understands what he has just seen. What's happening to him? Why is he seeing these things and why do they feel so real? What's going on? Why does it hurt so much?

He claws at the floorboards and wills himself to stand up. As soon as he faces the painting again, he tears his eyes away and runs. He can't understand any of this—what even is there to understand? No matter what angle he looks at this, how can he explain all of these things he's seeing? What is he supposed to think?

As usual, Wei Ying runs away. He slams the attic door shut and stumbles down the third floor. When he returns to Lan Zhan's room, his heart is threatening to pound straight out his chest. He slows down his steps and tries to calm his breathing, just in case he wakes Lan Zhan up.

He doesn't know how long he stands there in the dark, breathing in and out, in and out. Lan Zhan doesn't stir, and neither does he.

Once the room no longer feels like it's suffocating him, Wei Ying takes one step forward. And another. And another. He sits on the edge of Lan Zhan's bed, watching his chest rise and fall as he sleeps on, oblivious to everything. He looks so peaceful. If Wei Ying focuses on him, he can pretend everything is just the same as it was.

Except, he can't. The more he stares at Lan Zhan, the more he sees him with longer hair, white robes, a sword in his hand as he lunges towards Wei Ying.

I knew since the start that we’d have to fight a real fight like this one sooner or later. You’ve always found me disagreeable no matter what.

Wei Ying clutches his head and squeezes his eyes shut.

What does it all mean?

He wants to tear his hair out and cry or scream—anything for all of this to make sense. He's always been the type to keep his problems to himself. No matter what happened, he would make sure he didn't burden anyone. He'd become a burden to the Jiangs, and look where that led him. Wei Ying didn't want to make the same mistake. Not again.

But how can he face this himself? What is he even facing? What's happening to him?

He takes several deep breaths, shrinking into himself. As the seconds pass, Lan Zhan sleeps on. Wei Ying isn't sure if he's thankful for that or not.

Eventually, he sighs and looks back up. He slowly reaches for Lan Zhan, but his hand hesitates, trembling in the air. Wei Ying swallows the lump in his throat and shakes his head. He strokes the smooth locks back, moving Lan Zhan's hair away from his face. Even in his sleep, Lan Zhan leans into his touch, sighing.

Wei Ying wants to smile, but instead his eyes sting and he has to blink several times to compose himself.

“Lan Zhan...” Wei Ying murmurs into the darkness. “Who are you?”

There isn't an answer. Wei Ying waits and waits, and listens to nothing but silence closing in on him.

 

- x -

 

For once, Wei Ying wakes up before Lan Zhan. He can't even remember if he managed to sleep at all last night. After some time, he laid down in bed and stared at the ceiling until his thoughts stopped running around in circles. He thinks he must have fallen asleep, but his dreams were too much of a mess for him to consider that a rest. Wei Ying is glad to have woken up, even if his head is killing him.

He hears a faint groan coming from Lan Zhan's direction. Wei Ying remains where here is, sitting by the edge of the bed and pretending to scroll through the texts in his phone. The bed dips as Lan Zhan sits up, and still, Wei Ying doesn't move.

“Wei... Ying?”

He turns his head slightly. “You're awake.”

From the corner of his eyes, he sees Lan Zhan holding his head. “What happened?”

“You got drunk from the wine I gave you.” Wei Ying forces out a laugh. “Sorry, Lan Zhan. I didn't know you and your brother were such lightweights.”

“Brother?”

“Oh, he's fine, don't worry. Jiang Cheng stayed with him.”

“Did I... do anything?”

Wei Ying smiles at that. Yesterday feels so far away now that he thinks about it. Lan Zhan's crazy antics are a distant memory in his head, replaced instead by what he saw in the attic. Wei Ying wishes he can go back to yesterday.

“It depends what you mean by that,” he mutters. “Apart from almost killing Jiang Cheng with a shoe and vandalising a brick wall, you were fine.”

He can feel Lan Zhan's eyes on him the whole time. The more seconds that pass between them, the more Wei Ying fidgets under his gaze. With a sigh, he shoves his phone back into his pocket and finally turns around to face Lan Zhan properly.

Lan Zhan's jaw clenches ever so slightly. “Is something the matter?” he asks.

“Nothing's wrong,” Wei Ying answers, a bit too quickly. “I told you; you didn't do anything.”

For a second, Lan Zhan's hand twitches, as if he wants to reach out for Wei Ying, but he closes it into a fist and remains still.

“Something has been bothering you.”

“It's nothing,” Wei Ying insists. “I've just... been tired from work since we got back to Gusu. You know, gotta catch up with everything I missed.”

“...I'm here.”

“Huh?”

Lan Zhan sighs. “I'm here if you need me.”

That should bring Wei Ying comfort. He wishes it brings him comfort. He stares into Lan Zhan's eyes, repeating his sincere words again and trying to get his muddled brain to accept them.

Everything fades in and out of focus. In the space of an endless second, Wei Ying sees Lan Zhan in another time, another place. They are in a dilapidated house, and the distance between them is massive. Lan Wangji is quick to close it. He lunges at him with resolution in his molten gold eyes, sword aimed straight for Wei Wuxian.

“Lan Zhan, we’ve just met each other again after so long and you’re already trying to catch me. That’s not nice, is it?”

They continue this dance among them. Lan Wangji attacks, and Wei Wuxian steps back, his face devoid of the usual smile that lights up the entire room. After the third time, Wei Wuxian pushes Lan Wangji's hand away, gritting his teeth.

“I thought that we could be considered familiar with each other. You starting a fight with me without saying anything does sound a bit heartless, doesn’t it?”

Lan Wangji's face contorts into an emotion Wei Wuxian should be used to seeing on him. He's always snapped at him in anger—but this is the first time that Wei Wuxian takes it to heart. Now that he has witnessed Wei Wuxian controlling the dead, he has seen what he is capable of and it disgusts him—truly, utterly disgusts him.

So, it's come to this. Acquaintances or not, Lan Wangji really despises him and everything he stands for.

Wei Ying clenches his fists. The memory is gone but the voices remain in his head. He forces himself to look at Lan Zhan and it takes all of his strength not to flinch at the evident concern on his face. Wei Ying has to avert his eyes away, quickly rising to his feet.

“I know,” he mutters. Then, with a louder voice, he tries his best to change the subject. “Anyway, I need to head to work. Do you mind if I borrow some clothes from you? I don't have time to return to my apartment.”

Lan Zhan rises too. His gaze lingers on Wei Ying for a few moments until he finally replies, quieter than usual.

“Take what you need. I will drive you to—”

“No, you don't need to. You're probably hungover.” Wei Wuxian forces out a laugh. “I'll take the bus with Sizhui. You have a rest, Lan Zhan.”

Lan Zhan frowns. “I am fine—”

“And so am I. I'll take the bus with Sizhui. You stay here.”

He doesn't mean to snap. Wei Ying winces once he sees Lan Zhan's fists clenching. His lips press together, but he says nothing more and looks down at the ground.

As much as his head is killing him and as much as these memories are doing everything they can to drive a void between them, Wei Ying can't ignore that. Within seconds, he closes the painful distance between them and cups Lan Zhan's face. He kisses him and Lan Zhan responds almost immediately, holding him as tight as he can as if he doesn't want Wei Ying to leave. Wei Ying closes his eyes.

It is only Lan Zhan and him in this room. They will make it through this. Everything will make sense again.

He repeats that again and again and again, burying his hands into Lan Zhan's hair. They fall back onto the bed and Wei Ying forgets about the time, or the fact that he has work soon, or the countless memories wanting to be heard. He clings onto Lan Zhan and hopes he will stop him from drowning.

 

- x -

 

Xichen wakes up and instantly wishes he did not have to. As soon as he stirs, his head pulses with unimaginable pain. For a second, he thinks he is back in the Sunshot Campaign. His body is drained of all its energy and the aching in his bones reminds him of all the numerous fights he endured in order to survive.

Reality, however, is not that dramatic. He opens his eyes. Confusion replaces all emotion he is feeling when he sees Jiang Cheng glaring down at him, already dressed in his police uniform.

“You're finally awake?” he asks, with an edge to his voice. He sounds as if he's prepared for Xichen to attack him.

Groaning, Xichen forces himself to sit up. The world spins and Jiang Cheng's figure multiplies before him.

“Jiang... Cheng? Ugh, my head.” He winces, rubbing his eyes. “What... What happened?”

There is no answer. Jiang Cheng sits back and folds his arms, wrinkling his brows. Xichen has no idea why he's staring at him like that—or why he's even here in the first place. How did he get in?

“Jiang Cheng?”

Jiang Cheng's eyes narrow. “You don't remember anything?”

“I... I remember having dinner with Wangji and your brother...”

His voice trails off. Now that he thinks about it, he cannot think of what happened next. He was having dinner with Wangji and Wei Wuxian... They were chatting pleasantly, teasing Wangji, and... and...

“Yeah, and?” Jiang Cheng presses on.

Xichen clutches his head, frowning. More silence passes between them until Jiang Cheng sighs loudly, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“That idiot Wei Ying gave you alcohol. You and your brother were wasted.”

Oh. Well. That would certainly explain everything.

“Oh no,” Xichen says.

“You really don't remember anything? Nothing at all?”

He can recall the amount of times he's gotten drunk throughout the centuries on one hand—all of which did not end well according to past experiences. It is not something Xichen likes to think back on. Alcohol is truly a Lan's worst enemy.

“Did I do something bad?” he asks hesitantly.

Jiang Cheng's face says it all. He turns bright red, sitting up from his seat so fast that Xichen fears he'll trip over his own feet.

“Y-You—!”

Xichen has no clue why he is reacting like this. He is not sure if he wants to know. Still disorientated, he scans his apartment. To his surprise, it looks as if someone has done their best to make sure everything has either been knocked down or destroyed. Good grief.

He turns back to Jiang Cheng, who has not stopped looking at him in horror. Xichen squints. They are still on this sofa. Have they been on this sofa all evening...?

Then, like a beacon in the darkness, a memory resurfaces. Sofa. He was on a sofa. This sofa. And so was Jiang Cheng. His face was just as red as it is now and... and...

Xichen's eyes widen.

His heart stops.

Oh no.

“What? What?!” Jiang Cheng demands. “Have you remembered what you've done?!”

The memories aren't clear. They swim in and out; rippling images of him being on top of Jiang Cheng. Xichen lets his head fall into his palms.

“Did... Did I... Did I ki—”

“Don't say it!”

Xichen looks up. “I am so sorry. Jiang Cheng, I—”

“I said don't say anything! We forget this ever happened, okay? Nothing happened!”

He takes a deep breath. “If... If that's what you want. I hope I have not ruined anything between us. I really didn't mean to—”

“Nothing happened,” Jiang Cheng says for the billionth time. He throws one last glare at Xichen before turning away. “I'm going to work! Get yourself dressed and sorted out!”

With that, he storms out of the apartment and slams the door shut.

Xichen does not move for a while. His brain is still taking a while to process everything that has happened since last night. He massages his aching head with his fingers and attempts to calm himself down by counting to one hundred. It helps a little. Once he is done, he rises and heeds Jiang Cheng's words to heart. Get dressed and sorted out. He will do that and pray he can forget about his misdeeds.

He avoids thinking about what may have occurred between him and the officer. If he dwells on it, he will begin asking himself questions that he doesn't want to answer. Questions that revolve around the fact he may be getting too comfortable with Jiang Cheng's presence, more than he originally intended. It is difficult not to be, not when he sees him everyday and Jiang Cheng is a good distraction in his life.

When he is around, it is difficult to think of other things. Xichen will admit he has begun to rely on that too much.

Xichen sighs, washing his face. Has he not learnt from the past?

He does not want to think about such things—not with this headache. Xichen drags himself out of his apartment, praying that work today will be able to rearrange his mind into working order.

As soon as he steps out the door, he is surprised to find Jiang Cheng waiting outside.

“Oh. You are still here,” Xichen says. “Aren't you going to be late for work—”

“What do you mean you didn't mean to do it?” Jiang Cheng asks suddenly. “You do something like that and you brush it off so easily?”

Why is he still bringing this up? Did he not ask to pretend it never happened? Xichen runs his hand over the strap of his bag, mulling over an answer that will not worsen Jiang Cheng's mood. If such a thing is possible.

“I... Well, I don't wish to you make you uncomfortable. It must have been unpleasant for you.”

Jiang Cheng's eyebrows furrow. “Unpleasant?”

“To be on the receiving end of unwanted advances. I apologise. I don't know what came over me.”

That answer seems to be satisfactory. There is small victory to be had when Jiang Cheng's frown goes away.

“Why did you even kiss me?” he asks.

Xichen tenses. He did not expect Jiang Cheng to bluntly say it, and nor does he expect that question. It is impossible to think of an answer to that.

“I... I don't know,” he admits. Just like that, Jiang Cheng's glare returns. Xichen raises his hand, speaking fast. “I have enjoyed spending time with you. Perhaps my drunken state... exaggerated that.”

Jiang Cheng doesn't say anything. He only nods.

“I really am sorry. I hope you will forgive me,” Xichen says again.

“There's nothing to forgive,” Jiang Cheng says with a shake of his head. “Let's just... carry on as usual.”

The relief Xichen feels is overwhelming. He nods, surprised by the sudden weight that is now leaving his chest. He did not expect to be so worried about upsetting the younger officer.

“Yes, let's,” he says.

Jiang Cheng scratches his head. “Right. I'll, uh, see you later then.”

“Will you be coming round for dinner?”

“Not today. I'm working until late today.”

“I hope you don't overwork yourself.”

“You mean you hope Chief Nie doesn't overwork me.”

After that, they smile at each other and go their separate ways. Thankfully, Xichen's headache has calmed down and he can plan this day ahead without dreading how he can survive it.

It is cold outside and the skies are dark. Xichen takes a moment to pause and gaze up at the looming clouds in the distance. Everyone rushes past him, desperate to make it in time for their daily schedules, but he remains there and allows the cold breeze to bite into his skin.

A storm is coming, he thinks. It is so close he can almost hear the whisper of thunder in the air.

 

- x -

 

By the time it is four PM, the streets are soaked with rain. Everyone is running to seek shelter, covering their heads in a vain attempt to remain dry. Xichen watches them from the café and sips his tea, listening to the harsh pitter-patter of raindrops against the window. He is not keen to go home in this weather, and nor is he looking forward to stepping inside his messy apartment. He will go back later.

For now, he warms himself with this cup of tea, engrossed in the view outside. This rain came out of nowhere; for the past few days, it has been pleasantly sunny and clear.

“Xichen-ge. It's been a while.”

Xichen freezes. He glances up, only just now noticing there is someone standing by his table. It is none other than Meng Yao.

“Meng Yao,” Xichen says.

The actor smiles, nodding towards the empty seat opposite him. “I hope you don't mind if I sit here?”

It is not as if Xichen can refuse. He shakes his head. “Of course not.”

It has been well over a month since he last saw Meng Yao; enough time to almost forget about their encounter. Of course, watching Crimson Heart with Jiang Cheng meant he still had to see Meng Yao acting, but it is far easier seeing him behind a TV screen rather than have him sitting directly in front of Xichen. Xichen grips the handle of his cup tighter, keeping his eyes fixed on the actor.

He looks well. Today, his hair is tied into a short ponytail and he is wearing a yellow V-neck sweater. Even with the storm outside, he has a pair of sunglasses on; most likely to conceal his identity.

“How have you been? It's been a while since I saw you,” Meng Yao says.

Xichen sips his tea again. “I am fine. I have just finished work.”

“Oh yes, you said you were a librarian?”

“I am,” he says. This conversation is painfully stiff. He places his cup down and tries to smile. “Are you... well?”

“Yes. My manager is in Gusu today, so I am waiting for him.”

“Oh, I see.” Xichen's gaze trails outside again. The rain has gotten heavier. “I started watching your drama, Crimson Heart,” he says.

Meng Yao's laugh is light and reminds Xichen of brighter days. “Really? What do you think of it?”

His lips twitch up. “It's good. You portray your character very well.”

“Thank you. Many are torn about whether they like him or not.”

“Such is the way for villains.”

“Are you only on the first season?”

Xichen nods. “Yes, I am almost finished with it.”

“Ah, then I won't spoil the second season for you.”

“There's a second season?” Xichen did not expect that. As far as he could tell, it was only one season and it had a sad ending, considering how much Jingyi wails on about how it made him cry for weeks.

“Yes, it just released a few weeks ago,” Meng Yao says.

“I look forward to it then.”

Neither of them speak afterwards, although it is not nearly as awkward as it was before. As Xichen drinks the rest of his tea, he cannot help but compare this to the times when he would visit Meng Yao—no, Jin Guangyao—back in Koi Tower. They would sit just like this and find comfort in each other's presence, whether it was in silence or not.

Back then, Xichen liked to think that Jin Guangyao let his guard down around him. He knew he kept a façade up, always smiling to hide his insecurities and problems. Deep down, Xichen believed there was no need for such walls between them. He hoped Jin Guangyao trusted him, much more than he had ever trusted anyone in his life.

It was selfish and egotistical. It was also the reason why Xichen was blind to Jin Guangyao's true nature.

He wonders just who he is with now; Meng Yao, or Jin Guangyao?

“I hope you don't mind me asking... Your stage name; why did you choose it?” he asks, watching as Meng Yao tilts his head with a frown.

“Jin Guangyao?”

“Yes.”

Another smile makes its way to his lips. “It's a silly reason,” he mutters, but continues nonetheless. “My father hated my mother and only remained with her for her appearance. After he grew bored of her, he left us. Mother grew very depressed and neglected her health. She passed away when I was six.”

He says it quickly, as if it is nothing but a story he's grown used to telling. It is hard to read his expression with those sunglasses; they hide his eyes and the smile on his face barely moves. Xichen doesn't know what to think.

“I am very sorry,” he says.

Meng Yao shrugs. “I lived with my father and my two half-brothers after that, but Father never acknowledged me. Even after he left us, I remember that my dream as a child was to make my father proud enough for him to consider me his son.”

He pushes his drink forward. The cup is now empty and Meng Yao runs a finger over the handle, up and down, up and down; staring off into space.

“I used his surname as my stage name as a tribute to him—but like I said, it's a silly reason.”

Xichen nods. It is sad to see that Meng Yao's fate of being neglected by his father remains the same. He hopes the similarities with Jin Guangyao end there.

“Anyway, after my manager scouted me, I realised what it was like to truly have a role model that appreciated your efforts.”

“Oh?” Xichen raises his eyebrows.

Meng Yao smiles. It is so wide Xichen can even see the happiness through his dark shades. “You could say I stopped caring about my father after that. I owe everything to my manager.”

“You are happy,” he says, as a matter of fact, because there is truly no denying it. Meng Yao is content with this life and Xichen does not know what to think about that.

“Yes,” Meng Yao says. “Yes, I am.”

Xichen gazes down at the table. Is it really so simple as that? Meng Yao is different because time has been kind to him?

It is difficult to grasp. Xichen has lived for so long that the idea of changing so easily with each lifetime unnerves him. If you are reborn with new memories, new experiences, a new personality, are you even the same person anymore? Perhaps you share the same name and the same face, but what if the similarities end there? Is life really as fickle as that? Is there nothing holding the past together? Is he expected to move on, to accept these changes and forget the memories that have haunted him forever?

With Meng Yao sitting in front of him, Xichen realises it is always the same. He will never understand Meng Yao, no matter how much he tries to.

Humanity is fragile and ever-changing. Xichen, as usual, can only stand outside of it and ask questions he will never get answers to. One day, he will accept this. One day.

Meng Yao sits up suddenly. He reaches into his bag, frowning at the phone now vibrating in his hand.

“Oh, speaking of which—my manager's just outside. I should go,” he says with a grin.

Xichen nods, looking outside. As he said, there is a tall man waiting out in the rain, holding a large umbrella. He turns, meeting Xichen's eyes.

Realisation hits Xichen like thunder in the distance. He knows that face. He knows those eyes.

The storm is muted as every thought in Xichen's head screams. Meng Yao's story—the past—everything spins together and all Xichen can do is stare at that face. No, he thinks. No. Why did this elude him? Why is he only just finding this out now? Why?

Neither of them move. His hair is much shorter and he is no longer wearing the lavish robes he was always seen with, but Xichen will never forget those burning eyes. He remembers them in his nightmares, in all the years he spent fighting a war that felt endless at the time.

“Your manager... is Wen Ruohan,” he says, struggling to bring the words into existence.

Meng Yao gazes out the window as well. “You know him?”

Rain continues to pour. Wen Ruohan has not moved at all. He stares at Xichen, unblinking, as if he can read every thought that is ripping his head apart.

I owe everything to my manager.

Meng Yao had said that, didn't he?

“Xichen-ge?”

Xichen grips onto the table and forces himself to look at Meng Yao instead. The actor has pulled down his sunglasses, peeking at him with concern evident in his eyes. For a second, he's transported back to the past and Meng Yao looks just as young and vulnerable as Xichen remembers him, back when the walls of a brothel was the only thing hiding them from the world.

“N-Nothing. Sorry, I have not been feeling well all day,” Xichen says. “It's... It's been nice talking to you.”

“I've enjoyed talking to you today too. I hope we see each other again,” Meng Yao says, beaming at him. It is impossible to return the smile.

“Yes,” Xichen murmurs. “I hope so too.”

Meng Yao leaves, running out into the rain to stand under Wen Ruohan's umbrella. They walk off down the city and Xichen watches them until they are nothing but specks in the distance. The rain continues to pour harder than ever. Xichen does not move. He listens to the downpour, wishing it would silence this anxiety poisoning his thoughts.

 

- x -

 

Wei Ying sighs, quickly gathering his things. Today has been too long. He can't wait to go home and rest—as in, properly rest, and not just lie in bed staring off into space while his thoughts run around in circles. He needs a good night's sleep. Maybe then he can stop feeling like he's slowly turning insane.

It's still pouring when he steps outside. Wei Ying tugs on the hood of his coat, ducking his head down as he runs out the building. He's quickly soaked to the bone with how heavy the rain is but it hardly matters to him. He crosses the courtyard and makes his way for the main entrance, noting that there's barely anyone left in the school now.

Shivering, he rounds a corner—and walks straight into someone.

“Shit, sorry—”

A hand firmly grabs his wrist. Wei Ying is yanked forward and his hood falls down. When he looks up, he's met by dark, beady eyes staring at him in horror.

The man grips him tighter. In the back of Wei Ying's mind, he thinks of snatching his arm away and yelling. He does neither. Both of them stand there under the rain, staring at one another as Wei Ying is once again hit with images from far away.

A never-ending storm, raging deep in Burial Mound. The air is so thick with resentful energy that breathing it in will make one feel cursed for a lifetime. Wei Wuxian is kicked onto his knees. There are hands that pull at his hair and force him to look down at the endless expanse of death before him. Burial Mound is endless and real, and the voices of the dead call out, beckoning him to join them.

“When a living person goes in here; both the body and the soul, they cannot return, unable to get out for all of eternity.”

The hand gripping his hair tightens, angling his head so they can laugh at his face. Wei Wuxian takes in his gleeful grin, the sheer enjoyment in his eyes, and vows he will come back—one way or another—to kill him as slowly as he can, in the most humiliating and painful way possible.

Wen Chao. He burns his name and face into memory. He will never forget it, not even in death.

“You. It's you!”

The voice pulls Wei Ying back to the present. He frowns at the hand still holding his wrist.

“I... Get off,” he says. He tries to twist his arm away, but this person's grip is surprisingly strong. Wei Ying's heart lurches and he finds it difficult to breathe. “I said get off!”

They let go of him just as he tugs his arm as much as he can. Wei Ying stumbles back, panting, and rubs the sting that's spread through his wrist.

The man doesn't move. He wears a black suit and looks like any average guy in this city, but every fibre of Wei Ying's existence is screaming at him. He takes a step back before he can stop himself.

“What's going on here?”

Wei Ying jumps. He spins around.

Shen Yuan steps out, holding an umbrella. His gaze flickers between Wei Ying and the unknown man, waiting for an answer.

He receives none. In the end, the man whirls around and leaves through the front gate, leaving without a word or a second glance. Even when he's gone, Wei Ying is having trouble breathing.

“Who was that?” Shen Yuan asks. He angles his umbrella so Wei Ying will be covered as well, regardless that he is already soaking wet.

Wei Ying is still rubbing his arm. “I... don't know.”

“Be careful,” Shen Yuan advises. “I saw him waiting around for a while so I went over to see if anything was wrong.”

Wei Ying doesn't know what to say to that. He takes several deep breaths. That man had looked at him as if he had murdered his entire family... As if he knew who Wei Ying was.

None of this makes sense. It's all becoming too much for him.

“Maybe... Maybe he mistook me for someone else,” Wei Ying mutters.

Shen Yuan sighs. He doesn't believe that, and neither does Wei Ying. “Like I said; be careful. There's been those attacks going round the news.”

“...Yeah. I will, thank you.”

He runs to the car park and ignores every puddle he steps in. Lan Zhan's car in the distance is a relieving sight; Wei Ying runs faster and all but dives inside. It's warm and all of his senses are overwhelmed with Lan Zhan's scent of sandalwood. Wei Ying breathes it in, listening to the uneven beat of his pulse as he struggles to comprehend what just happened.

“What is wrong?” Lan Zhan asks. His brows knit together in worry and he reaches out for Wei Ying.

Shuddering, Wei Ying holds his head and shrugs off Lan Zhan's hand. He breathes through his teeth, out his nose, desperately repeating that in the hopes that everything will make sense again.

But nothing does. The car is suffocating and small, and Wei Ying can't stop thinking of places that don't exist—of faces that hate him and voices that scream for his death—of men that kill his entire family and laugh—of golden eyes and white robes—of everything and anything—

Lan Zhan grabs his hand. “Wei Ying, please talk to me—”

Wei Ying snatches it away.

“Just go!” he snaps, and then covers his mouth. The rain pours harder. Lan Zhan slowly closes his fist, moving it back to his side. Wei Ying sighs. “Just... Just go. Please. Please take me home.”

Lan Zhan says nothing. He grips the car wheel and starts the engine.

Their journey home is quiet, but Wei Ying's thoughts are louder than this storm outside.

 

- x -

 

When Xichen arrives at the police station, they are already expecting him. He follows one of the officers who lead him to Nie Mingjue's office, where Jiang Cheng is also apparently inside.

The door is closed. Xichen waits. It's not long until he hears Nie Mingjue's voice booming out from the other side.

“I've got things to do tomorrow, Huaisang! I don't have time to go to some stupid awards show!”

Huaisang? Is Nie Huaisang here?

There is no response. Instead, Nie Mingjue shouts again—louder this time.

“I didn't mean that! Stop overreacting! You're giving me a headache!”

Is he on the phone? Xichen looks around the station, noticing that everyone in the vicinity is doing their best to stay busy, as if they do not want to be caught listening in on the conversation either.

“Why are you going with that Wen scum?” Nie Mingjue hisses from his office.

Xichen narrows his eyes. Wen scum? Are they talking about...?

“You don't need him. You're fine enough with your own agent!”

They are... As far as he is aware, Nie Huaisang is an actor—but under a different management from Meng Yao. Despite this, they have worked on a lot of similar projects and are always competing with each other in terms of popularity, even though they are both new actors.

“I don't have time for this!” Nie Mingjue snaps. “Just don't do anything stupid!”

A second barely passes after he finishes that sentence. The door suddenly slams open, and Nie Mingjue stomps outside with a raging scowl that rivals the ongoing storm. He scrutinises Xichen for a moment, glaring down at the laptop bag he is carrying. Jiang Cheng follows him shortly after, looking tired and worn.

Nie Mingjue grabs the bag from Xichen and shoves it into Jiang Cheng's chest.

“Just transfer the files and go,” he orders.

“I thought you wanted me to stay?”

“I said just transfer the files and go!”

Jiang Cheng sighs, but nevertheless says nothing. He exchanges glances with Xichen before disappearing back into the room with the laptop.

Xichen glances down at his watch. Eight thirty PM. It is getting late.

With nothing else to do, he sits down nearby and waits until Jiang Cheng is finished. He doesn't have to wait for him at all; Jiang Cheng never asked, but Xichen does not have anything better to do. If he returns home by himself, he knows he will spend all night with his own thoughts. He would rather not be alone with them today.

It is almost nine PM when Jiang Cheng is done. He looks surprised to see that Xichen is still here, but for once he remains quiet and stays that way until they leave the police station. Xichen does not think he has ever seen Jiang Cheng look so tired before.

“Sorry about that. As you can tell, everyone's stressed,” Jiang Cheng mutters.

“I can imagine,” Xichen says. He remembers Nie Mingjue's conversation over the phone. “Chief Nie... did not seem happy with the mention of Meng Yao's manager.”

“Wen Ruohan?”

“Yes.”

Jiang Cheng shrugs. “There were some dodgy rumours about Wen Ruohan and Chief Nie's dad was trying to investigate him. Halfway through the investigation, he died of a heart attack and I think Chief Nie blames Wen Ruohan for that. Must have been the stress or whatever.”

Slowly, Xichen nods. That is oddly familiar.

“I see... What were the rumours about?”

“I don't know, I'm not the best person to ask about this. I just know people had their suspicions about him from the start but that's died down now. You know, typical gossip to keep the news interesting.”

“Oh.”

He doubts it is typical gossip, as Jiang Cheng lightly puts it. This is all too much for it to be a coincidence... If Nie Mingjue's father suspected Wen Ruohan, then could it be possible that Wen Ruohan killed him—just as he had done in their past lives? If that were the case, then what does that mean for everyone here? What did that mean for Meng Yao, who is supposed to be working for Wen Ruohan? What does it all mean?

Xichen does not like having these questions. He feels as if he is being paranoid. Maybe, it is as simple as the fact that things have changed. Just because they all have the same faces as their past lives, does not mean they share the same fate. Xichen needs to let go of the past; not just for himself, but for everyone around him.

“Where are you parked?” Jiang Cheng asks.

Xichen nods towards the next street. “Just down the street. And you?”

“Same.”

For now, the rain has calmed down and the streets are empty, quiet. Xichen walks alongside Jiang Cheng, keeping his eyes straight forward but his thoughts elsewhere. Today has been too long, and what's worse is that he does not know if tomorrow will be much better.

He will go home. He will go home and call Wangji, warn him that he has seen Wen Ruohan today. There is a possibility Xichen is being paranoid and Wen Ruohan has done nothing to warrant such suspicion, but he cannot shake off this anxiety ever since he laid eyes on him. It is better to be safe. They have survived this long because they have always played it safe. They cannot afford to slip now.

Xichen sighs, keeping his eyes down. His foot steps into a puddle and he watches the ripples from the centre of his shoe.

He looks up.

He hears it too late. The screeching of tires, the roaring of an engine.

Xichen's eyes widen. He doesn't spare a second to look at the car that has come skidding out of nowhere. He pushes Jiang Cheng as hard as he can, just in time to get him out of the way. The blinding glare of headlights block everything and the world splinters as the car collides straight into Xichen.

Metal and glass explode around him. Through the chaos, Xichen sees a driver in the car; pale, eyes wide with frozen shock. He is already dead. Time slows down, stills, and as Xichen is knocked back several yards with no damage whatsoever to his own body, he realises that the driver is dead too soon. He had been dead before the car has even hit him.

He gets up. In front of him, what's left of the car is a mangled wreckage. He does not have time to think about what's just happened—not when he sees five figures stepping out of the shadows, right behind Jiang Cheng.

Xichen spots the knives they are carrying. One of them has begun to advance.

He reacts in less than a second and buries his hand into the Qiankun bag he carries around. Jiang Cheng's wide eyes are the last thing he sees as he lunges forward, driving the blade straight into the man's gut.

The remaining four stagger back, staring at him in horror. Rain has begun again, mingling with the blood now staining Xichen's sword. He grits his teeth and pulls it out, watching as the limp man falls onto the ground with shock permanently etched on his face.

“Xi...chen...?”

Behind him, Jiang Cheng's voice is barely audible. Xichen does not dare turn around. He keeps his eyes on the four men and waits for them to strike, or to run.

No one moves, and neither does he. The rain continues to pour.