Xichen does not get to see who moves first. Thunder cracks in the air—four times—and next thing he knows, the men are dropping on the floor. One by one, they lay there lifeless as blood slowly spreads from beneath them. He spends too long staring at the gaping hole on their skulls, listening to the rain, the rampaging of his pulse.

It dawns on him that noise earlier was not thunder. It was gunshots.

Gripping the hilt of his sword tighter, Xichen looks up. There, in the shadows, is a slender man that slowly reveals himself. He is still holding the gun in his hand, pointed straight at Xichen.

Xichen's eyes widen, not because of the gun, but because he knows that face. Although he has never spoken to him before – let alone spent enough time to know him – Xichen will never forget that face or his name. He saw him once in one of Lanling Jin's extravagant banquets, grinning at Meng Yao—or Jin Guangyao, as he was now known at the time. Nie Mingjue had demanded for his head but Jin Guangyao avoided every opportunity to heed that request. This man was the last disagreement that tore his sworn brothers apart.

Xue Yang.

He looks almost identical to his past self, just without the robes. Instead, he is wearing a black hoodie and black jeans, camouflaging himself into the night.

He grins. There are a dozen questions circling Xichen's mind, and all of them halt when he sees Xue Yang move. Xichen gathers the spiritual energy inside himself, preparing to strike—

“You caught me,” Xue Yang says, raising his hands. “I surrender.”

The warm energy in him stills. Xichen remains tense, keeping his eyes trained on the gun Xue Yang is holding. He doesn't move. Neither does Xichen.

Xue Yang lets out a bark of laughter. “You heard me. I've been taking part in the attacks too. You caught me.”

He shrugs, as if it means nothing to him, and takes one step forward. His foot kicks the chest of one of the corpses.

“Put the gun down,” Jiang Cheng orders. Xichen sees him from the corner of his eyes, pointing his own gun in Xue Yang's direction. He has to resist the urge to tell Jiang Cheng to go—but there is no point now. He has already seen enough. Jiang Cheng will never leave even if he insists; this is his job and Xichen has stupidly exposed himself in front of him.

Xue Yang smirks. The canines of his teeth peek out as he grins at both of them. He gives an exaggerated sigh and weighs the gun in his hand. Before either of them can react, Xue Yang throws the gun in the air. Jiang Cheng catches it just in time.

“Is that better?” Xue Yang asks, hands still raised. “Better arrest me before I get away.”

His smile is unsettling; his actions even more so. In the past, Xue Yang had killed an entire sect without a second thought, repairing the second half of the Stygian Tiger Seal to wreak havoc on innocents. After many years of evading his crimes, Gusu Lan sect finally managed to apprehend him. He was a sorry state by then; half deranged in his quest to repair a broken soul. No one ever found out why.

It was decided that he would be imprisoned for life. Execution was not a method Gusu Lan resorted to, and returning him to Lanling Jin was not an option either; not when it would only repeat history when they once failed to keep him rightfully imprisoned.

Nevertheless, it did not matter in the end. After several years in imprisonment, Xue Yang killed himself. Some believed it was because he had nothing left. Some believed it was because he failed to repair that soul he was so fixated on. In the end, no one could ever understand the unpredictable youth.

Even now, Xichen fails to understand him.

“Why are you saying this? Why did you kill them?” he asks, frowning at the dead bodies at Xue Yang's feet.

“Why not? Are they important?” Xue Yang looks down at them with no remorse whatsoever, then turns back to Jiang Cheng with a raise of his eyebrows. “Well? If this is what Gusu police is like, then it's no wonder you guys haven't been able to catch us yet.”

For a second, Jiang Cheng hesitates. He is still holding both guns, his own pointed at Xue Yang's smug face. Xue Yang continues to smile as if this is nothing but a pleasant meeting, as if he is not standing in a puddle of blood.

He is still so young, Xichen notes. Perhaps no older than twenty. He wonders what has led this Xue Yang into crime, and at such a young age too.

Most of all, he wonders what he is planning. Why is he so eager to be caught?

Xichen nearly stops Jiang Cheng when he approaches Xue Yang. He clenches his fists, keeping them by his side. Jiang Cheng can take care of himself but that does not mean Xichen will relax when they are dealing with someone as unpredictable as Xue Yang.

He does not know if he feels relief when Xue Yang does not move at all. He continues to look amused, even as Jiang Cheng handcuffs him. He is deviant and cunning, and certainly very dangerous, however Xichen strongly doubts he is the one orchestrating these attacks.

“Why are you letting yourself get arrested?” Jiang Cheng asks, keeping hold of him. “How do we know you're telling the truth?”

“I was the one following Xiao Xingchen a month ago,” Xue Yang says, just like that. At the mention of Xiao Xingchen's name, his smile is gone and he looks between Xichen and Jiang Cheng, waiting.

Xichen does not know what he means by that, but it seems Jiang Cheng does. He pulls Xue Yang closer with one hand, and uses the other to turn on the radio device in his breast pocket. Like before, Xue Yang does not make any moves to try and escape. In fact, he looks bored.

“Tell Chief Nie I need assistance,” Jiang Cheng says into the radio. “There's been another attack.”

When he's finished talking, Jiang Cheng glances over at Xichen—or more specifically, the sword he is still holding. His lips part, as if he wants to say something, but he quickly closes them and averts his eyes to the mangled car in the middle of the road. In the space of less than fifteen minutes, they are surrounded by corpses and enough questions to last Xichen another century.

The police will be coming soon. He has no idea what is going to happen. In retrospect, he knows he didn't need to go through such lengths to protect Jiang Cheng. Maybe he could have left it at pushing him out of the way—but as soon as Xichen saw those men approaching, he didn't even consider anything else aside from ensuring Jiang Cheng was not hurt. Now, even with the risk of being exposed, Xichen cannot bring himself to regret it.

He sighs. Sparing one final look at Xue Yang, Xichen returns his sword in its scabbard and slides it back into his Qiankun bag. As he expected, Jiang Cheng's frown deepens although he says nothing as the blade disappears out of sight.

There is nothing Xichen can say to hide what has happened. Jiang Cheng is not clueless, and nor is he blind. He has clearly seen Xichen brandish a weapon out of nowhere, after surviving a car literally hitting him.

In Jiang Cheng's vocabulary, Xichen has truly fucked up.

It is difficult to panic about this now though—not when Xue Yang's presence is too much of a mystery. What does he want? Why is he partaking in these attacks? Why is he allowing himself to be caught, straight after killing these other men who were supposedly on the same side as him?

None of it makes sense. Not even the slightest.

Xichen is so lost in his thoughts that it is only when he hears Nie Mingjue's loud voice does he snap out of it. He looks up, spotting a group of officers already examining the morbid scene in front of them. Nie Mingjue is circling the group of dead bodies, and his frown gets deeper and deeper with each lap he does around them. There are other men holding Xue Yang now, just in case, but the only thing he is doing is smiling to himself as if he's the only one who can understand this joke he is playing. Not even Nie Mingjue's lethal glare is enough to wipe that grin off his face.

“What the fuck's happened here?” Nie Mingjue asks.

Jiang Cheng doesn't say anything. His gaze flickers to Xichen, and surely enough, Nie Mingjue turns to him as well.

Xichen cannot even think of a lie. He struggles to maintain eye contact with Nie Mingjue.

“Well?” the chief presses on, his voice raising.

“A car came out of nowhere,” Jiang Cheng says. “Xichen pushed both of us out of the way.”

Xichen grits his teeth. He repeats Jiang Cheng's words in his head, letting it sink in that he is actually lying for him. He cannot find it in himself to feel relief. Instead, the guilt claws at his chest and he has to resist this urge to silence Jiang Cheng with the truth.

“Then, they tried to attack us. He shot all of them dead,” Jiang Cheng explains, nodding towards the dead bodies and Xue Yang.

There are now other staff – investigators, most likely – taking pictures of the scene, as well as carefully examining the bodies. Xichen looks around the street, noting with relief there are no cameras in the vicinity that could have caught him. The relief is short lived, however; it will not be long until someone notices there is something amiss with this situation.

“What?” Nie Mingjue's frown, if possible, deepens even more.

Jiang Cheng nods. “He says he's part of the gang attacks too.”

“Then why did you kill them?” Nie Mingjue asks Xue Yang.

Shrugging, Xue Yang glances at the bodies. “Isn't it easier to arrest one guy instead of a whole group of us?”

Nie Mingjue visibly tenses. For someone who sees the world as black and white, good and bad, this is something that will hound at his head until it drives him insane. While the group of men that tried to attack them were the furthest from innocent, Nie Mingjue has always been the type of person to hate those that disregard human life as easily as Xue Yang does. It is one of the main reasons why he always criticised Jin Guangyao.

Xichen can see the gears of his head turning. Even now, Nie Mingjue is an open book.

“Bring him to the station,” he orders his men. His fists are clenched so hard they are almost white.

The other officers do as they are told without delay. Jiang Cheng stays where he is, watching Xue Yang go.

Seconds turn into minutes. The rain has now stopped and there is an uncomfortable silence that hangs in the air. Nie Mingjue turns away to inspect the car in the middle of the road. The dead body is still there, laying limp and almost unrecognisable in the wreckage. It is only now that Xichen remembers what he noticed before getting hit by the car; the driver had already been dead before impact. He had not been driving the car at all.

If that is the case, what moved the car? And why would they place a dead man at the driver's seat?

He clutches his head. These questions are endless and he despises how useless he feels not knowing any of the answers.

“What did the car hit?” Nie Mingjue asks.

Xichen grips his hair. Of course he would ask that. The car is in the middle of the road, but the dent at the front clearly looks as if it has hit something—or more specifically, someone. It is lucky the dent is not so obvious to implicate it has hit a body; although with the car being in the middle of the road with nothing else to indicate what exactly hit it, that is where Xichen's fortune begins to run out.

They cannot say the car has hit a wall, because there is no other damage done to any of the surroundings. None of the corpses have injuries that match a car accident, and even if they did, it would not be enough to cause a dent that strong.

Jiang Cheng walks closer to the car. The look on his face tells Xichen he has no idea what to say either.

“I... I don't know. I didn't see,” he says, quietly.

Xichen did not take Jiang Cheng for a liar. He doubts he is a liar. The fact he is doing this to hide what he has seen is only making Xichen feel worse. He is relieved, of course, that Jiang Cheng is not exposing him, but that relief is gone when the guilt inside him drowns it out within seconds. All Xichen can do is remain where he is, staring at Jiang Cheng and trying to understand what is going through his head at the moment.

Is he doing it because he doesn't understand what's going on? Is he doing it because he knows Nie Mingjue will never believe him even if he were to tell the truth? Is he doing it for Xichen?

It seems all Xichen can do tonight is ask questions.

Nie Mingjue's eyes narrow. He squints at Jiang Cheng for a couple of minutes before nodding towards the bodies still on the ground. “One of the guys wasn't shot. He looks like he was stabbed but whatever's stabbed him has gone through his whole body. Did that kid do that as well?”

That would be the sword. Xichen swallows the lump in his throat and watches as Jiang Cheng holds his forehead in his palm.

“I don't know,” he sighs. “I just remember Xichen pushing me down. Next thing I know, that guy's shooting everyone and there's dead bodies around us.”

Slowly, Nie Mingjue nods. He spins to face Xichen. It is difficult to look into his dark eyes.

“Is this true?” he asks.

“Yes,” Xichen says, and hates himself for saying it.

Just then, another officer joins them. He looks much younger than everyone here; perhaps only in his early or middle twenties.

“Maybe there's conflict within the gang?” he suggests.

That sounds like a reasonable explanation—although it does not explain why Xue Yang has given himself in to the police. For all Xichen knows, this could may well be a trap.

Eventually, Nie Mingjue lets out a frustrated grunt. The surrounding place is blocked off and there are more orders being barked around, but Xichen has stopped paying attention to everything. He stares at the wreckage of the car and wonders what will happen next.

This is not the first time they have risked being exposed. In the past, there have been times when people grew suspicious because he and Wangji did not age. Many centuries ago, in a time when the world still believed in witchcraft, they were even accused of dabbling in dark magic to maintain their youth. It was not difficult to evade those accusations and escape the country back then. They did not have anything tying them down.

Xichen did not know when it started happening or why, but their rule of not getting too attached to their surroundings have stopped. The thought of having to leave Gusu now does not sit well with him. He had begun to think of this place as his home again. He does not want to leave—not now, not ever.

It is dangerous to think like this. He cannot afford to get attached to something that is temporary when he himself is not. Sooner or later, everything will be over, and he will have to start again, and again, and again.

“I'll bring us back to the station,” Jiang Cheng tells Nie Mingjue.

The only response he gets from the older chief is a nod and a dismissive wave. Jiang Cheng nods once at Xichen, and then turns to leave from where they came from. Xichen spares one last look at Nie Mingjue, who is still frowning at the car wreckage, and swiftly follows Jiang Cheng.

It is quiet. Jiang Cheng does not say anything to him. He does not even look in his direction.

What is he thinking? Is he in shock? Is he contemplating whether to tell Nie Mingjue the truth?

As the questions circle Xichen's head, Jiang Cheng suddenly grabs him by the elbow and pulls him into a darkened alley.

“What was that all about?” he demands in a hushed whisper. His hand is still gripping Xichen's elbow. It doesn't hurt, yet Xichen cannot help but stiffen at the question he asks.

Xichen ignores it. “Why did you lie for me? That will get you into trouble if they find out.”

Jiang Cheng looks at him as if he has gone mad. “What the fuck was I supposed to say?” he asks. “I saw you get hit by a car and then you got up like everything was fine? Then you took a sword out of nowhere and flew across the street to stab a guy in the stomach?”

Grimacing, Xichen averts his eyes away. “I don't know what to say to you.”

“How about start off with how the fuck you did that?”

Xichen presses his lips together, frowning at the ground rather than staring back at Jiang Cheng. No matter what lie he comes up in his head, he cannot bring himself to say any of them out loud. There is no point—not when Jiang Cheng clearly saw everything.

It also feels wrong. Jiang Cheng lied in order to protect him, and yet here he is thinking of deceiving him in return.

But if he were to tell him the truth, what good would that do?

Xichen knows the consequences of attaching himself to people. Nie Mingjue, Jin Guangyao... He had been so happy to become sworn brothers with them. In the past, he even believed that, perhaps, what they had was more than brotherhood, more than companionship.

He was young, naïve. He was happy.

Happiness, Xichen has found, is a dangerous thing. He has allowed it to cloud his judgement in the past. Now, he has also let himself get attached to this temporary respite he's thought of as happiness. He's allowed himself to slip again.

“Well?” Jiang Cheng presses on.

Xichen tries to pull his arm away. Jiang Cheng keeps his grip on him, and Xichen does not try again.

“Please don't make me answer that,” he says.

The grip on his arm loosens. Jiang Cheng leans back. There is a vulnerability in his eyes that makes Xichen feel even worse.

“Even if I were to tell you, you would never believe me,” Xichen adds on.

A scoff escapes Jiang Cheng. “What's that supposed to mean?”

“I can't. I can't tell you, I am sorry.”

Finally, Jiang Cheng lets go of him. He pushes his arm aside and a glare makes its way onto his face. There it is; the anger that comes so easily when Jiang Cheng is faced with something he does not like. He is predictable, but it does not make it any easier to look at him.

“That's it? You pull that off and you're not even going to explain anything?”

Xichen gives a stiff nod. “I will tell Chief Nie the same story you told him.”

“That's it?” Jiang Cheng repeats. His voice rises.

Xichen sighs. “What is?”

Jiang Cheng's blue eyes narrow. In the night, they look much darker than they normally are. There is a scrape on his cheek, possibly from when Xichen pushed him onto the floor.

“Don't you think I deserve an explanation?” he says. “You can't expect me to just forget about that!”

He deserves much more than an explanation but Xichen cannot give him anything. Swallowing the lump in his throat, Xichen does his best to wipe his face of any emotion.

“It is best if you did.”

Jiang Cheng vehemently shakes his head. “No. You can't... You can't do that!”

“The main focus is finding the source of these attacks. Now that you have a suspect, you will be able to get answers from him,” Xichen quickly says, ignoring the way Jiang Cheng tries to interrupt him. He speaks again, louder this time. “I only defended you. Regardless of how I did it, you should not be wasting your time on me.”

“That's not the point!” Jiang Cheng snaps. “Doesn't it occur to you that I may want to know? Don't you think I deserve an explanation?”

Xichen grits his teeth. Every fibre in his being wants to yield and tell Jiang Cheng everything. It is tiring having to pretend to be something else; to pretend everything is normal and you are doing nothing more than living like every human in this large world. He is thankful he has Wangji, and he is also thankful his uncle and Sizhui are aware of the truth. He is not necessarily alone.

But looking at Jiang Cheng now... Xichen has not felt this helpless in ages. Centuries. A lifetime.

He finds it hard to talk.

“Why would you?” he says in a voice that is barely audible.

Jiang Cheng manages to hear it. “I thought we were at least friends! Something—I don't know!”

Something.

Before he knows it, he is thinking back to all of the afternoons he's spent with Jiang Cheng; the countless dinners they've shared, the episodes of Crimson Heart they watched together. It had become a daily routine for them; after work, they would share dinner, sometimes with Jin Ling, sometimes not. It was nothing special, but it was the first time in a while that Xichen felt his days were not the same monotonous drawl that he'd been living through for all these years. It was nothing special, but it was something.

He takes a deep breath.

The memories with Jiang Cheng are gone, replaced with the fates of his sworn brothers.

He cannot afford to slip. He cannot hurt anyone again because of his own selfishness. He cannot.

“There's nothing,” Xichen says. “Please forget it all.”

Just like that, the anger on Jiang Cheng's face is gone within seconds. His eyes widen and he lets out a shuddering breath that Xichen knows he does not mean to. It only lasts for a short moment until his fists shake and he forces yet another glare to hide the weakness he has allowed.

Xichen hates how easy it is to read Jiang Cheng.

“Please,” he says again. “Just... forget everything. I am sorry to have troubled you.”

“That's it? That's all there is? Nothing?”

Xichen stares at him straight in the eyes. He does not know how he does it, but he nods.

“Yes,” he says. “That's it.”

He expects Jiang Cheng to be angry, maybe even yell at him. He welcomes it, because he knows he deserves that and more.

So, when Jiang Cheng shakes his head and turns away, Xichen has to stop himself from grabbing his arm and apologising. Jiang Cheng says nothing else. He walks away without another word, or another glance, and all Xichen can do is watch him leave.

He does not stay long there in that alley. Xichen follows Jiang Cheng back to the station. The distance between them is worlds apart.

In the station, Xichen recalls Jiang Cheng's story to the police. They ask him all sorts of questions and he makes sure his answers match what Jiang Cheng has said. Every lie bites deeper into him, reminding him of the truth he could not even share with Jiang Cheng.

This is for the best. Xichen has no idea what the future is going to bring, and dragging an innocent human into that is not acceptable. If he must risk his friendship with Jiang Cheng, then so be it. If Jiang Cheng hates him, then... so be it.

It is nearing eleven PM when the police allow him to leave. They tell him he may need to come back tomorrow for further questions and Xichen is too tired to think about what that might mean for him. He has answered everything as best as he can, hiding his real identity while making sure he does not risk getting Jiang Cheng in trouble. He has told so many lies tonight that it's almost laughable he used to live a life that forbade lying at any cost.

As he leaves the station, Xichen sighs and stares up at the sky. It is empty and devoid of any stars or clouds. The rain has long stopped and there is now an eerie silence in the air that makes him wish the storm would return.

There is nothing, save for this emptiness.

Xichen shakes his head. It has been a long night.

He walks back to where his car is parked. Before he reaches it, he sees Jiang Cheng driving past. He does not spare him a glance. Xichen watches him disappear off into the streets, noting that he is driving in the opposite direction of where their apartments are.

He forces himself to stop looking. There's nothing, he repeats. It is best he stays away from now on.

 

- x -

 

Jiang Cheng drives faster. Xichen's words repeat in his head but he does his best to shove them away. He only has one destination in mind. Lan Xichen is nothing. That's what he said, right? Nothing. It doesn't matter. Jiang Cheng doesn't care.

Gripping the wheel tighter, Jiang Cheng narrows his eyes at the road and watches as the streets blend into greenery. He drives until he leaves the city, until there's no other car left on this motorway but his.

No matter how fast he drives, he can't shake off the memory of Xichen holding that sword. Jiang Cheng wishes he was mad. He wishes he can shake it off and pretend he's hallucinating, pretend this is all some elaborate joke Xichen decided to play on him—but he can't. It was all there right in front of him. Xichen got hit by a car and survived. Xichen took a sword out of fucking nowhere and killed someone.

Jiang Cheng quickly rounds a corner. He slams his foot on the breaks and winces as his head jerks forward at the sudden stop. His car skids onto the grass, stopping right in front of the woods.

Panting, he stares at the darkness in front of him. It's so late he can't see anything through the trees. He can't even hear a sound.

Seeing Xichen with a sword confused him, and maybe – if he's willing to admit it – part of him was also scared—but that's not all.

As he watched Xichen, he felt a nostalgia overtaking him. He looked at Xichen and thought I recognise this. I should know what this is.

He must be going insane.

Sighing, Jiang Cheng opens the door of his car and steps outside. He makes sure to lock it before he ventures into the forest.

He really must be insane.

He's not the type to care for any of these things, but there is something that's always bothered him. For as long as he can remember, he would have these recurring dreams about a forest—this very same forest, to be exact. At first, they were nothing too exciting; just him walking around this place. He'd wake up and shrug it off; it was likely normal to dream about the same things anyway. A forest wasn't anything too worrying—and besides, he didn't give a shit about any of these things.

As the years passed, the dreams got more vivid, more tense. He was no longer walking; he'd be running with his heart pounding at his chest. He didn't know if he was running away or towards something, but he knew he needed to run. He needed to do something. The dreams continued, and still, he thought nothing of them. Dreams are just dreams. Nothing harmful.

And then Jin Ling started appearing in them. He'd be older, maybe early twenties. His hair was longer and he was dressed in strange clothes that didn't look like they belonged in this century, but Jiang Cheng knew it was Jin Ling.

Like him, Jin Ling was running. Not by his side, though. Sometimes, he was running behind him. Sometimes, he was running away. Jiang Cheng never understood why.

Tonight, when he saw Xichen do... whatever it was he was doing, it reminded him of the dreams. Somehow, there's a link with them. Somehow, he thinks Xichen knows the answer behind them—but of course, he won't say anything. Because there's nothing, he said. There's nothing.

As Jiang Cheng walks deeper into the forest, he knows it's not all in his head. He's been here before. He was here when he first met Xichen, when he was standing in the middle of nowhere holding that stupid sword—but it's not just that. He's been here before all of this. Jiang Cheng knows it. This is the same forest in his dreams.

Jiang Cheng looks around. He turns on his flashlight and winces as his eyes are assaulted with the sudden brightness. He points it at all of the trees that surround him, trying to relive whatever his dreams put him through.

In his dreams, he has a sword, just like Xichen. It's covered in blood and he's in a state of panic and desperation. Jin Ling is somewhere—anywhere—and he screams for him again and again until Jiang Cheng is forced awake.

He stares into the darkness, squinting at every tree that towers over him. He doesn't know how long he stands there, listening to the remnants of a dream. There is nothing that greets him in return. Nothing at all.

What does he expect? What does he want?

Jiang Cheng scoffs to himself. Why does he even care about some silly dream? This isn't like him.

Frustrated, he shakes his head and makes his way back to his car. This is all Xichen's fault. He pulls off some Twilight shit and suddenly Jiang Cheng is prancing around in forests, thinking he's going to see a fucking vision or something. Ridiculous.

He returns to his car, slamming the door close and resisting the urge to bang his head against the wheel. He needs to go home and get some sleep. Tomorrow, he'll help Chief Nie with the investigation. The sooner they get to the bottom of this, the better.

But what about Xichen?

He hates his brain for thinking about him, but how can he avoid it? How can he explain what he saw tonight?

Is he safe?

Is his family the same? If so, then what the fuck are they?

Not for the first time tonight, Jiang Cheng's mind goes in a direction he wishes it wouldn't.

Wei Ying is dating Xichen's brother.

Does he even know about any of this?

Jiang Cheng shouldn't give a shit about him. He doesn't.

He doesn't.

He shouldn't.

Gripping the car wheel, he starts the engine again and drives away from the forest.

Pathetic, he thinks. He's so pathetic.

Tomorrow, he'll help Chief Nie with the investigation. Tomorrow, he'll try to forget about Xichen and whatever the fuck he did tonight.

And tomorrow, he'll talk to Wei Ying and warn him. He shouldn't care, but he does. No matter how much he tries to deny it, he does.

 

- x -

 

It is past eleven at night and Wangji cannot sleep. He drove Wei Ying home several hours ago and ever since then, his mind has not been at peace.

Wei Ying is hiding something.

He refuses to talk to Wangji, much less look at him. Wangji feels helpless not knowing what is wrong, and even more so when he does not know how to help Wei Ying. This afternoon, Wei Ying had looked so shaken in the school parking area. Something must have happened, but no matter how many conclusions Wangji tries to reach, he cannot think of what it could be that had Wei Ying in a state of panic.

Wei Ying is stubborn and he has too much pride; he is not the type to let something shake him so easily.

Hours of running around the same question has resulted in Wangji fearing for the worst. He worries that Wei Ying is starting to remember, if such a thing is even possible. He has never encountered an incarnation that has remembered their past life before. Sizhui's past incarnations have never remembered their other lives. He may have asked questions, however they were the result of present curiosity, not memories from the past.

Back then, didn't Wei Ying ask him if they had met before? Many months ago, when Wangji was still struggling to approach him; they had their first dinner together and Wei Ying's eyes had glazed over as Wangji played the guqin. After, his whole demeanour changed and he had asked out loud if he and Wangji had met prior to this.

At the time, Wangji wondered if it was the music that brought forth such a reaction. The body remembers what the mind has forgotten. It could have been a déjà vu, a nostalgia that transcended lifetimes.

Part of him did wonder if it also meant Wei Ying was starting to remember.

Wangji feared what that would entail, so he had tried not to think about it. It is only now that his worries are beginning to return.

He knows he will have to tell Wei Ying the truth one day. He had hoped it would not be so soon.

“I just need a rest,” Wei Ying had said when he drove him back to his apartment. “Don't worry about it. I'll be fine tomorrow.”

Wangji knows when he is lying. It is excruciating waiting for tomorrow.

The sound of his phone ringing makes his breath hitch. He quickly reaches for it, unable to deny the disappointment when he sees it is not Wei Ying.

“Brother?” Wangji answers, sitting up on his bed.

It is odd of his brother to call him at this time. What could be the matter?

Xichen inhales a breath from the other side. “Wangji, I may have exposed us.”

Wangji takes a while to let those words sink in. Even as he registers them in his head, he cannot understand what this means, or how—why—

He reigns his thoughts in and tries to compose himself.

“What do you mean?” he asks.

His brother sighs. Wangji hears a faint tremor in his voice.

“Let me start from the beginning...” he says. “Earlier today, I saw Wen Ruohan. He is Meng Yao's manager.”

Wen Ruohan. Wangji has not heard that name in ages.

“Wen Ruohan saw me as well but he didn't do anything,” Xichen continues. “Tonight, I was walking with Jiang Cheng when a car came out of nowhere. I didn't have much time to react. I did what I could. I pushed Jiang Cheng out of the way but the car still managed to hit me. He saw everything.”

Wangji frowns. Hearing this over the phone... It does not feel real. He cannot imagine this has just happened tonight. He sits up straighter, wishing this conversation was face to face with his brother rather than over the phone. Wangji feels powerless not knowing what to say.

“Are you... hurt?”

“Of course not. That's the problem, Wangji.” His brother sighs. “And then... There was a group of men who were about to attack Jiang Cheng. I didn't think. I took out Shuoyue and killed one of them.”

He cannot stop the grimace that makes its way to his face as Xichen says those words.

“What happened after?” he asks.

“Do you remember Xue Yang?”

The name rings a bell. As Wangji repeats it in his head, he thinks he remembers a vague memory of a young man in one of Lanling Jin's banquets. He proudly killed a whole sect and paid for his crimes, but ultimately died by his own hands.

“A bit,” he says.

“He appeared and killed the remaining men, and then said he was part of the gang attacks too. Nie Mingjue has taken him in for questioning now.”

The frown on Wangji's face deepens. “I... do not understand.”

His brother lets out a frustrated noise. “Neither do I. He seemed... eager to be arrested.”

“It may be a trap.”

“Hm. That's what I am thinking.”

“What do we do?”

He feels as if he is being transported back to the times when they were still children, back when Wangji was clueless and lost, and all he could do was look up to his brother for direction.

It is a while until Xichen answers. His voice is tired. “Jiang Cheng... was lying for me. He has not told anyone what he has seen yet.”

“Will he tell?”

“I don't know. I am sorry, Wangji. I know you and Sizhui have just settled here.”

The fear that claws at him is surprising. He has not felt something as strong as this in ages. He thinks of having to leave Gusu, fleeing to another country where he must start again and pretend as if this is a new beginning. He thinks of leaving Wei Ying—no. He cannot even think of it. It's impossible.

If they are exposed... How will they live on? How can they avoid this? What will happen?

“What do we do?” Wangji asks again, hating the desperation that is beginning to break his usual composure.

“I... I don't know. Perhaps Jiang Cheng will not tell anyone, but I...” His brother trails off. Now, Wangji is glad this conversation is over the phone. It is bad enough having to listen to Xichen being so shaken. He does not think he will be able to stand it if he sees his face.

“I do not have a good feeling about Wen Ruohan or Meng Yao,” Xichen mutters after a while.

“Meng Yao?”

“Yes. I... I cannot get my head around it. I'm sorry, Wangji.”

Wangji shakes his head. “Do not be sorry.”

“I thought it was best to call you, in case you wished to do something about Wei Wuxian.”

Wangji grips the phone tighter. He swallows the lump in his throat and exhales the breath he's been holding in. What can he even do about Wei Ying? Does he need to tell him everything? If he does, will Wei Ying believe him? Or will he run away and cast him aside?

“Will you tell him?” his brother questions.

“He... has been acting strange these days.”

“What do you mean?”

“Is it possible for someone who has reincarnated to remember their past lives?”

He hears his brother stirring. He sucks in a breath. “Why are you asking?”

“I am worried Wei Ying is beginning to remember,” Wangji says.

“Don't you want him to know about you?”

If he was selfish and unafraid, Wangji would have revealed the truth by now—but no, Wangji is a coward, and on top of that, he cares about Wei Ying more than his own happiness. If Wei Ying remembers everything, he will remember the painful details of his own past. He will remember the deaths of those he loved, the hatred that everyone threw at him, the downfall of his own mental state... Wangji would rather Wei Ying never remembered him if it meant being safe from those memories.

“His past is painful,” he says. “And... I am not sure how to approach the subject.”

The silence that answers him is not helping. Wangji remains still, staring at the floor while he waits for his brother to say something, anything.

“Our days have been repetitive and empty, but that has been necessary to keep our identities a secret,” Xichen slowly says. He wavers slightly and trails off with a tired sigh. “I am beginning to think we have lived for far too long, Wangji. It's impossible for us to keep on living like this.”

Wangji almost wishes his brother had not spoken at all. He clenches his fist and allows those words to sink in.

He should be used to this life. After all, they have lived for almost three thousand years. In all those years, Wangji has lost count of the amount of times he's had to move to a different country. He's said goodbye to Sizhui—and sometimes, he would not even say goodbye at all. He would leave, because it was easier for Sizhui to forget about him rather than confuse him with the idea of immortality. It was hard and the guilt tore at him, but he had learnt to move on because that is the only option left for immortals like them. Move on, or let everything else move on without you.

Now, he does not want to do that. He is tired, and – he realises and admits – he is scared.

“Then what do we do?” he asks again. He knows asking the same question will not provide them with an answer but it is all he can say.

“I don't know. I... I wish I knew,” his brother mumbles. “I'm sorry. Let me gather my thoughts, Wangji. I will call you back.”

He nods, even though his brother cannot see. Xichen hangs up and Wangji is alone with this silence. He stares at the floor, repeating their conversation in his head.

It is indeed impossible for them to live like this forever, but what else is there for them? What other options do they have?

In truth, Wangji has been avoiding this subject for many years. Unlike his brother, he no longer keeps his sword with him. He has hidden most of his things from when he was still a mortal cultivator up in their attic. He is not one to let things upset him so easily, although there are times when the reminder of how long he has lived for will sting him much more than he expects it to. And so, he avoids it, because there is nothing else that he can do.

Sighing, he finally rises to his feet. One look at the clock tells him it is not even midnight yet. Tonight is endless.

He leaves his bedroom, turning on the lights in the corridor. Sizhui is fast asleep and there is only the sound of the howling breeze outside that greets Wangji in the night. He listens to it as he walks towards the stairs, his steps slow, almost hesitant. The sound of the floorboards creaking is too loud.

Wangji climbs up the stairs to the third floor. He has not been here in ages; that much is evident with the thick dust that coats everything. His eyes roam the numerous boxes on the floor. His uncle would be ashamed of him if he were to find this floor in such a disorganised state.

He ignores the urge to tidy this floor and walks through the many piles of boxes. The attic is just round the corner, almost hidden by yet more dusty furniture. Wangji ducks his head, pushing the door open and slipping inside.

The first thing he sees is Wei Ying's face.

Wangji clenches his jaw. The cloth covering that painting must have fallen off.

His brother had kindly painted the portrait for him many centuries ago. Wangji once voiced that he was worried about forgetting what Wei Ying looked like, and – ever the thoughtful brother – Xichen began painting him the next day. Like with any gesture his brother had done for him, Wangji was thankful.

However, it did not lessen the pain. He remembers looking at the painting and feeling frustrated. His memories were blurring together; he did not know if Wei Ying's eyes were that exact same shade, or his face was this thin. His brother's artistic abilities were excellent, but Wangji's fading memory of Wei Ying's face only fought with the portrait in front of him. It hurt to look at Wei Ying, not knowing if this was exactly how he looked like.

In the end, he could not bear to glance at it any longer. He hid the painting, covering it with a blanket for all these years. He never told his brother, not after all the effort Xichen went through to paint it. Nevertheless, Wangji had a feeling he knew anyway. He could never hide anything from his brother.

Looking at it now, there are not too many differences. The colour of the eyes are different, and Wei Ying now is not as thin as he is on this painting. When he was the Yiling Patriarch, he rarely took care of himself, forgetting to eat just so he could fiddle with his inventions.

Wangji shakes his head to himself, reaching down for the cloth on the floor.

That is when he sees it.

Suibian.

His eyes widen. His heart stops.

Suibian is out of its scabbard.

That is not possible. Wangji has kept Wei Ying's sword in a glass case, preserving it with numerous talismans, as with all of the items in this attic. Suibian should not be on the floor, out of its scabbard, because it is impossible.

Suibian sealed itself. There is no one on this earth who can unsheathe it.

No one, but Wei Ying.

Wangji staggers back. He sees now that the glass case has been opened. The painting is unveiled. Suibian is unsealed.

Wei Ying.

Everything pieces itself together; why Wei Ying looked so shaken and confused, why Wei Ying refused to talk to him.

No.

Wangji whirls around. His breath quickens. The whole world is beginning to tilt as he thinks about Wei Ying in this same room, seeing everything he is seeing at the moment.

No.

He runs out of the attic with his heart hammering against his ribs. He needs to find Wei Ying. He needs to talk to him.

 

- x -

 

Wei Ying doesn't want to sleep. He sits on the sofa, hugging his knees to his chest, listening to the TV but not letting it sink in what it is they're saying. He stares at the coffee table in front of him, simply letting time pass by.

For now, he's stopped thinking. He's spent the last few hours asking the same questions, remembering the same memories. No one ever answered, and the memories have done nothing but mentally tire him. He accepts defeat. Today has been too long.

Still, he refuses to sleep. He's not sure if he's ready for the dreams that will surely come.

He hugs his knees tighter and yawns. His eyelids are drooping. Groaning, he grabs the remote control and raises the volume, high enough for it to wake him up for the time being. He slumps against the sofa and rests his feet on the table, staring at the TV before him.

He doesn't even know what show this is. Wei Ying flickers through different channels, scowling at each one that fails to grab his interest. In the end, he gives up and turns the TV off; it's not like he's in the mood to watch something right now anyway.

Now, the silence is even more deafening. He lays back down on the sofa, yawning for the second time. He hasn't even gotten changed into his pyjamas yet. He should probably do that.

Even with that in mind, Wei Ying makes no effort to leave from his position. He stares up at the ceiling, counting the different stains and marks on it. Ever since he started dating Lan Zhan, Wei Ying began sleeping a lot in his house instead of his own apartment—and who could blame him? This place is a dump.

Lan Zhan... Wei Ying sighs. He winces, remembering how he had snapped at him earlier. It's not Lan Zhan's fault that he keeps getting strange dreams and flashbacks—even if a lot of them actually involve him for some insane reason. Now that he's had all night to think about it... Wei Ying still has no idea what to do. All of these visions are getting clearer and clearer, but that doesn't help at all. If anything, it makes everything worse.

He has no idea why there's someone who looks exactly like Lan Zhan in his dreams, and he certainly has no idea why this Lan Zhan imposter seems to hate him so much. Better yet, doesn't know why he's getting these dreams in the first place and why Lan Zhan has a painting of him in his attic, along with a collection of swords that Wei Ying is convinced he's seen before.

None of this makes any sense, and frankly, he's tired.

He sits up and reaches for his phone. Eleven PM. Is Lan Zhan even still awake? Wei Ying stares at the screen, contemplating. It's too late to be doing this now. For all he knows, Lan Zhan is fast asleep in bed. The last thing he'll want is his boyfriend asking weird questions like Did we know each other before? Do you secretly hate me? Why do you have a painting of me in your attic?

He's never been known for his patience. Now that he's set his mind on it, he won't be able to rest until it's out of his head.

Wei Ying groans. He begins typing.

He's surprised Lan Zhan is awake. As he waits for him to get here, Wei Ying attempts to put all of his questions into order.

It's probably best to mention the painting first. At least then, Lan Zhan will know he has a reason for being paranoid. What do you even do when your boyfriend has an ancient painting of someone who looks exactly like you in their attic?

Most people would freak out. Run away, maybe.

Wei Ying can't do that. Whoever, or whatever, Lan Zhan is, Wei Ying believes he's a good person. He hopes he's a good person.

Of course he is, his heart says.

His brain argues back: But what do you even know about him?

Wei Ying clutches his head. His questions don't end there. He has a million others—and not just about Lan Zhan. The more he thinks about it, the more he's starting to believe that he really is turning insane—

There's a knock on his door.

Wei Ying frowns. That was quick. It hasn't even been ten minutes yet and Lan Zhan is already here?

He gets up and stretches his arms. All of the questions he's piled in his head are gone the moment he stands up, crossing the room to open the door. Whatever happens, he knows Lan Zhan will listen to him. Wei Ying hopes talking will at least soothe his mind.

Taking a deep breath, he opens the door.

It's not Lan Zhan.

Wei Ying's eyes widen, recognising the face almost immediately. He quickly slams the door close and fumbles to lock it.

His heart hammers in his chest. Wei Ying slowly backs away, holding his breath. It's that man. It's that man from the school. Why is he here? How is he here? What does he want?

There's no other noise. The man doesn't knock again, but neither does Wei Ying hear him leave. He doesn't dare to breathe.

Silence.

And then, Wei Ying hears it. A faint stir behind him.

He spins around, just in time to see a blurred face of a man. He moves quickly—too quick. Wei Ying stumbles back and sees the fist moving towards him. In the back of his mind, something flashes—a memory of fire and blood, of a fist emanating with energy, draining the life out of anyone it harmed. Pain erupts in every limb of Wei Ying's body as the man's hand collides straight into his chest, and then—

There's nothing. Everything turns to black.