Wei Ying doesn't know how he's gotten here, or where here even is. When he looks around, he finds he's in a room—a bedroom, to be exact. The bed in the corner is hardly big enough to fit two people, and beside it is a table that's stacked with worn books and empty mugs of tea.

Curious, he sits down on the bed and stiffens at the sound of the wood creaking under his weight. The tea inside the mugs have dried off; they must have been left there for days, forgotten by the owner—or perhaps they were simply too lazy to clear them away. For some reason, this amuses him. A small smile tugs at the corner of his lips.

He reaches for one of the books on the table. It's a book of fairy tales. In fact, as he gathers the other books onto his lap, he discovers that all of them are either fairy tales or legends of old.

Strange. He strokes the golden calligraphy on one of the covers. This is familiar, he muses. Somewhere, deep in the back of his mind, he recognises these books as if they're a memory waiting to wake up. He used to love reading these types of stories when he was younger; they were all his parents ever told him. Every night, he'd sit down on his bed and beg his mother and father to tell him more. He was too excited to go to sleep.

The memory tugs harder. Wei Ying frowns, pushing the books off his lap as he stands up. He takes in the entire room in front of him: the patchy red walls, clumsily painted and scratched; the numerous drawings done by a child, framed like prized art; the pages of these story books, worn and folded, as if they had been read every day and every night.

As realisation slowly dawns on him, he looks towards his right and freezes at what he sees. A wardrobe. The same wardrobe he'd hidden in as a child, the night his parents were killed.

Wei Ying swallows the thick lump in his throat. This bedroom belongs to his family. His real family.

Why is he here? How has he ended up here? Is he dreaming?

Confused, he turns around and spots himself on the mirror. He looks the same as usual; good old thirty-three years old Wei Ying, standing in a bedroom he only knew as a child. This is definitely a dream.

No, a voice in his mind says. He raises a hand, holding his stomach. Not a dream.

In a flash, he remembers standing atop a skyscraper. He remembers the starless skies, the cold wind biting his skin. He remembers Wen Chao's scream as he flings himself off the building. He remembers the bullet tearing through his guts, and, lastly, he remembers Lan Zhan's face before everything faded into black.

It's not a dream, he tells himself. You're fucking dead.

The first thing he does is laugh. Right. Dead. Of course he is. Dead. Fuck.

Wei Ying sighs, rubbing the temples of his forehead. Okay, he's dead, and somehow he's ended up in the house he grew up in before his parents were murdered. Is this the afterlife?

Damn, he was really hoping for something a bit more... bright. Endless sunshine. Fluffy clouds. Maybe a few angels on the side playing the trumpets to celebrate his life.

Now what?

He doesn't have an answer to that. What are you supposed to do when you're dead? Is he just stuck in this place for the rest of his afterlife?

Well, if he's going to be stuck here then he might as well explore. Wei Ying's memories of his childhood are very few and hazy. He doesn't even know what the rest of this house looks like, let alone remember the faces of his own parents. As he looks around the room, he's surprised at how small it is. He's always known that, back then, his family weren't the richest. They weren't struggling, but they certainly weren't as rich as Uncle Jiang and Aunt Yu.

This house only had one bedroom, and even then it was barely big enough to fit all three of them. Funny how things seemed so much bigger back when he was a child. When Wei Ying was young, he listened to the stories his parents told him and believed the world was at his fingertips. He couldn't wait to be older and experience what life had to offer him.

He forces out a laugh at this train of thought. Hilarious. Now, here he is, dead at the age of thirty-three after being shot by some crazy man who was convinced Wei Ying tortured him in a past life. Really funny what life throws at you when you least expect it.

Shaking his head, he leaves the room without sparing another glance. If he stays there any longer, he knows he'll just stare at that wardrobe and remember what it was like to hear his parents dying in front of him.

The rest of the house isn't much bigger. Wei Ying smiles at how much of a mess it is; it looks like he got his disorganized habits from his parents. Even though he has no idea what to do – or what he can do – he feels an odd feeling of... peace. If he really is dead, then that's pretty much it, isn't it?

Part of him is relieved. The other part is trying its best not to think about the people he left behind.

Wei Ying passes the living room, sparing a few moments to inspect the trinkets and ornaments his parents have placed on the shelves. They had so much that Wei Ying had to be careful not to knock any off the shelves; one nudge and they would all come tumbling down because they were that cramped. These were probably all of the souvenirs his parents bought from their travels.

Not wanting to break anything, he pulls his hand back and walks into the kitchen. As soon as he steps inside, he notices he's not alone.

There's a woman sitting by the table. Her head snaps up when she hears him. Wei Ying freezes at the grey eyes that stare back.

Before he knows it, she's got her arms around him and he's surrounded by the scent of vanilla. He freezes, not because he doesn't know who this woman is, but because it's so familiar, so warm.

She pulls back. All Wei Ying can look at are her eyes, exactly the same shade of grey as his.

When she cups his cheek with a hand and gives him a smile that brightens her entire face, it takes all of his self control to stop himself from tearing up.

“A-Ying,” she says, stroking his face.

Wei Ying doesn't remember what his parents look like—yet, at this moment, everything fits. He sees himself on this woman's face, her voice bringing him back to memories that he thought he had long lost.

“Mom?” he says, so quietly, as if in fear that the illusion will break any time now.

Chi Hong; that was his mother's birth name in this life, but there's also another name that echoes in his head now that he looks at her. Cangse Sanren. It's hardly a name and more a title; one that Wei Ying hasn't heard of until now. He repeats it in his head: Cangse Sanren, Cangse Sanren.

She strokes back his hair with a fondness in her smile. “You've grown up so much,” she says. “My handsome, little boy.”

Wei Ying is taller than her by half a head, but he keeps this comment to himself. She ruffles his hair as you would a child. Although he's mainly confused and slightly embarrassed, he can't help but smile with her.

Ducking his head, he tries his best to blink back his tears. He's dead; he's gathered this much already—so is that the reason why his mother is also here? Is she a ghost with him or has he gone insane? Can you even go insane when you're dead?

“I don't... understand what's going on,” Wei Ying admits. “I am dead... right?”

The smile on his mother's face strains as she nods. “Yes. Yes, you are.”

“So...” Wei Ying looks around, frowning at the small kitchen. He can smell the strong aroma of hot pot—the last meal they had the night his parents died. “This place is the afterlife?”

Chi Hong's eyebrows furrow together. “Not yet,” she mutters. “Think of this place as a bridge. Once you cross it, then you can move onto whatever comes next.”

Move on. What does that even mean? Does moving on mean being reincarnated onto another life? Or... whatever comes next after you die? Wei Ying is having a difficult time understanding all of this. Then again, he doubts there's a step by step guide out there on what to do after you die.

“Oh. Then... how do I move on?” he asks. Wait a second. If his mother is still here, then does that mean that she hasn't moved on yet? “And... and you? Why haven't you...”

His mother shakes her head. “Let's not waste time,” she says. “A-Ying, how old are you?”

“Thirty-three.”

At this, her smile disappears entirely. Wei Ying doesn't have to guess twice to know that she's thinking thirty-three is an awfully young age to die.

But she doesn't look much older too, Wei Ying thinks. He doubts his mother reached thirty when she died.

He studies her face, still not quite believing she's right in front of him. From what Uncle Jiang told him, his mother was the type to tease you for fun, always joking around even when she didn't know the people she was talking to. It's not a surprise that she's beautiful. (Of course his parents are attractive; where else would he get his good looks from?) Aunt Yu always said that Wei Ying resembled his mother, both in appearance and the way he acted. Even so, Wei Ying still can't believe that this is her. His mother, in the flesh.

“What is it?” she asks.

Wei Ying tries to force another smile on his face. It must have come out looking like a grimace because he's pulled into another hug. In her arms, he forgets he's a middle-aged adult. He's six again, tucked between his parents in their tiny bed, waiting for the morning to come so they could tell him more stories.

“I-I just can't... I can't believe you're here... that I'm actually talking to you.” Wei Ying sniffs, looking back up. “Is Dad here too? Where is he?”

A pause. “I... suspect he's passed on.”

Wei Ying frowns. “Then we should join him, shouldn't we?”

The smile on Chi Hong's face doesn't reach her eyes. “We could.”

He doesn't know why she sounds so sad saying that. His frown deepens. Did he say something wrong? How long has his mother been staying here, if she hasn't moved on yet? And why?

All of these questions are giving him a headache. Sighing, Wei Ying scratches the back of his head and scans his surroundings as a way to chase his thoughts away. It's only now that he notices there's two small cups placed in front of each other on the table. There shouldn’t be anything strange about two cups but there's something about these that makes Wei Ying feel uneasy when he looks at them.

“What are those?” he asks, pointing at the cups.

“Before we move on, we have to forget all of our memories from the time we were alive,” she explains. “It's so we can live our next life with no regrets.”

We have to forget all of our memories. Wei Ying clenches his jaw, narrowing his eyes at the dark liquid inside the cups. “So, these... these will make us forget?”

She nods.

Wei Ying doesn't move. He remembers golden eyes and the comforting scent of sandalwood.

Chi Honglays a hand on his shoulder. “Not yet,” she says. “Let me show you something first, A-Ying. Follow me.”

He doesn't get the chance to follow her. As soon as he takes one step forward, their surroundings bleed away and he's suddenly standing in a completely different room. Wei Ying jumps, spinning around until he catches sight of his mother again.

“Where are we?” he mumbles. Around him, the walls are wooden, no longer the cluttered mess that was their kitchen. Chi Hong motions her head towards something and Wei Ying follows her gaze, looking over his shoulder.

His eyes widen. On the bed is a young couple huddled over a small baby. The first thing Wei Ying notices is that the baby is newly born, fast asleep in his mother's arms. The next thing he notices is that the mother is his mother. She has the same exact face; the only difference between these two women is that the woman on the bed is wearing traditional, white robes.

Wei Ying is beyond confused now. If that's his mother, then that means the man with her is...

“Dad?” Wei Ying tilts his head, trying to get a better view of the man. Neither of the couple look up. Can they even see them?

Shuffling to the side, he squints at the face of the man. His jaw is sharp but the smile on his face softens all of his features. Wei Ying recalls that Uncle Jiang used to tell him his father was the sort of person who only looked intimidating on the outside. Once you spoke to him, you'd realise he was one of the kindest and most loyal people you would ever meet.

Here, Wei Changze has loose, long, black hair, with the top half of it tied into a neat bun. There is a braid twisted into his hair, hardly noticeable at all but the small detail tugs at the corners of Wei Ying's lips.

Wei Ying feels as if he's just stepped into one of those historical dramas played on TV. The clothes his parents are wearing here looks exactly like the robes they wore in that drama show Meng Yao acted in.

“This is... This is the past,” Wei Ying says.

Chi Hong joins his side, smiling at the scene in front of them. She nods.

“Wei Ying,” Wei Changze calls. By instinct, Wei Ying straightens up, and then realises his father is talking to the baby in front of him.

He smiles, ignoring the small sting in his chest.

“Did you think of a courtesy name for him?” the other Chi Hong – Cangse Sanren – asks her husband.

“Already?” Wei Changze lets out a chuckle. “Aren't we supposed to think of that when he's older?”

Cangse Sanren's laughter brightens the whole room. In her eyes is nothing but the raw happiness of a new mother who is only too excited for the newborn child in her arms.

“I know, but it doesn't hurt to think ahead,” she says. “I chose his birth name; I thought you would like to choose his courtesy name instead.”

Slowly, Wei Changze nods. “Hmm... What about... Wei Wuxian?”

“Wei Wuxian,” Cangse Sanren says, lifting her baby higher. “Wei Wuxian.”

At this, the baby reaches out for her with his tiny hands, letting out a small hiccup.

She laughs again. “I think he likes it. I like it.”

Wei Wuxian. Wei Ying plays the name again and again in his head. Wei Wuxian.

He doesn't realise he's clenching his fists tightly until his mother lays a hand on his shoulder.

Silently, Wei Ying watches the memory transform as the years pass. The small room changes into the many places his family travels to; forests, beaten paths with no shelters for days, small huts they manage to make from the resources they find. Wei Ying watches himself grow from a tiny, newborn baby and into a curious toddler that was always running off whenever his parents turned their backs.

He laughs at one memory where he tripped over a rock and broke his first tooth. Instead of crying about it, he quickly ran to his father and showed off his new smile.

“It was just the three of us...” Wei Ying murmurs, more to himself rather than meaning to say it out loud. Although these memories belong from a different life, he can't help but feel they belong to him.

“Of course,” Chi Hong says. “It was always like that. Just the three of us.”

Always like that... To her, maybe. All Wei Ying has left of his parents are their names. He knows even less of who they were in their original life.

As if sensing what's on his mind, Chi Hong looks up and flashes him a comforting smile.

“I had a teacher who was like a mother to me, but I left her as I grew older. Your father, on the other hand, was Jiang Fengmian's servant,” she explains, answering the many questions in Wei Ying's mind. “We met each other when I stayed in Yunmeng and, well... I suppose your father couldn't resist me.” She breaks off into an infectious laugh. “Eventually, your father left Yunmeng Jiang and asked for my hand in marriage.”

Wei Ying can't help laughing with her. He keeps his eyes fixed on the young Wei Wuxian, now aged five, running around the woods and shouting at the top of his lungs.

“This is the past, isn't it?” he mumbles quietly. Although he has the same face as this child, he still has no recollection of these memories at all. It's like watching a movie with an actor that looks like him. “Why am I seeing this? I didn't live this.”

“You don't believe you're the same as him?” Chi Hong asks.

Wei Wuxian laughs louder when Cangse Sanren calls after him. He climbs a tree in less than five seconds, clinging onto the branches and grinning brighter than the sun above them.

Amused, Wei Ying shakes his head to himself. He used to climb lots of trees with Jiang Cheng when they were younger.

“It's a lot to take in,” he admits after a while.

Chi Hong says nothing. He continues to watch the child, recognising the little habits he used to have. Even with different lifetimes separating them, he can't deny the fact this Wei Wuxian is a mirror copy of himself.

“But I guess I would like to know,” Wei Ying says, turning back to his mother. “About the life I used to have.”

Smiling, she nods and the forest around them changes once more. Sunlight darkens into night, and the laughter that came out of the young Wei Wuxian's mouth has turned into whimpers.

“Run back, A-Ying!” Wei Changze screams.

The sudden change in scenery startles Wei Ying. His heart drops at the sight of large beasts surrounding his parents, deformed and monstrous, each one more horrifying than the one beside it. They resemble bulls, but their horns are jagged and their faces malformed. When they move forward, they stagger, dragging their twitching legs behind them.

Wei Wuxian clings onto his father's robes. “But—!”

“Go!” Wei Changze demands, pushing him away. As soon as he does, one beast lunges forward with an angered roar. The sound of Wei Changze's sword blocking its horns echoes through the cold forest.

Cangse Sanren pulls him away, stroking back his hair. “Go back to that cave we stayed in last night. We'll join you after.” She kisses his forehead, wiping away the tears already falling down his round cheeks. “We love you, A-Ying. We love you so much.”

Wei Ying swallows down the lump in his throat. His own mother said that to him the night they were murdered in their own home. He would never forget those words.

He looks at her from the corner of his eyes. Like him, Chi Hong is tense, not moving a single muscle.

He tries to imagine he's watching something that's not real. This is all a nightmare and none of this actually happened. When the young Wei Wuxian tries to run, Wei Ying does his best not to flinch at the beasts that go after him. He's slow, small, and scared, and it doesn't take long for his short legs to trip over a branch on the ground.

From there on, everything is chaos. Wei Changze is in front of Wei Wuxian in less than a second. His sword buries deep into a beast's throat, stopping it just in time before it could harm his son. Behind him, Wei Wuxian is frozen and pale; the only signs of movement coming from him are the tremors that shake his small body. He appears to have gone into shock.

“Go,” Wei Changze says again, weaker this time. He pushes the beast off him.

It's only now that Wei Ying realises something has gone wrong. Wei Changze managed to block the monster in time, yes, but its horn had ripped itself straight into his guts. As soon as the monster slumps back, there is a gaping hole where Wei Changze's stomach should be.

The look on Cangse Sanren's face is one of the most painful things Wei Ying has ever seen. Her bottom lip trembles, yet no sound comes out from her.

The rest of the beasts lunge for them.

Even with the gaping wound in his stomach, Wei Changze fights alongside his wife to protect their son. It's endless chaos. Wei Ying is ashamed to admit he has to look away once he realises what's really happening here. He's not clueless. He knows that, in the past, he only remembered living with the Jiangs. Something happened to his real parents. Something always has to happen to his real parents.

Chi Hong must have realised he has stopped watching. She turns to him, pulling his head into her neck in a comforting embrace. “I'm sorry,” she says. “My biggest regret in life is that I've never been able to take care of you properly, not once.”

He doesn't look, but he can still hear. The screaming blends with the sound of blades clashing, beast growling. Amidst it all, he doesn't miss the quiet sobs that belongs to the young Wei Wuxian, kneeling on the ground and crying for his parents.

When the screaming stops, Wei Ying is scared to look up. Chi Hong continues to hold him; the scent of vanilla in her embrace is overpowering. He takes a deep, deep breath and finally pulls away.

The first thing he sees is that they're no longer in a forest. His parents are slumped against the walls of a small cave, breathing hard. Wei Wuxian is still crying, clinging onto his mother as if it's the only thing he has left to hold onto.

It's hard to look at, especially with the large puddle of blood beneath them. Cangse Sanren is as pale as a ghost, struggling to keep her head upright. There's a large gash on her chest and her white robes are now stained entirely in crimson. By some miracle, she's still awake.

“G-Go to sleep... A-Ying...” she whispers, laying her head on the wall behind them.

“But... But you're both hurt!” Wei Wuxian cries. He lightly shakes his father, who has now fallen asleep.

By the looks of it, Wei Ying doubts Wei Changze will ever wake up again. His head has fallen onto Cangse Sanren's shoulder and his lips have gone blue. No matter how much Wei Wuxian shakes him, he doesn't stir.

Cangse Sanren gives her son a shaky smile. “It'll all be okay, A-Ying,” she says. “Everything will be okay. Go to sleep.”

The night is cold and unforgiving, but sunrise is worse. As soon as Wei Wuxian wakes up, he knows his parents are dead.

For someone who was now virtually all alone in the world, Wei Wuxian fends for himself quite well in the next couple of years. The night hunts he went on with his parents were good practice for the cruel, outside world. Wei Ying watches his younger counterpart grow up in the streets, shuddering at the many times he had to fight against dogs for food. Summers pass by, and winters grow colder with each cycle. Wei Wuxian is thin and malnourished when Jiang Fengmian finds him.

This Jiang Fengmian looks nothing like Wei Ying's Uncle Jiang. He wears clean, purple robes; a clear contrast to the ripped clothes Wei Wuxian has been wearing for years. Kneeling down, he offers the young child a piece of melon.

“Jiang Fengmian is a good man,” Chi Hong tells Wei Ying. Together, they watch the older man carry Wei Wuxian onto his back, gently explaining that he was now going to take care of him. “He gave you a family when we could not.”

“He gave me a home,” Wei Ying corrects, “but I... I didn't think it was right that I belonged in their family.”

His mother raises an eyebrow. “Why is that?”

Wei Ying grits his teeth, not wishing to reopen old wounds. He's long accepted that Aunt Yu didn't think of him as a son the way Uncle Jiang did—and that was fine. He never wanted her approval. He knew his place.

Nevertheless, he also knows he was one of the main reasons why their marriage went downhill. Looking at this Jiang Fengmian now, he wonders if it was the same for him. He wonders if history is just repeating itself.

As usual, his mother senses what's going on in his thoughts. She strokes the back of his head and runs her fingers through his unruly hair. “What happened in the past isn't your fault.”

Wei Ying can only nod. He's dead now. He's not sure if this is supposed to reassure him or not, but he's dead, and the past is the past.

Like before, his memories of this life play before him. Although they pass by in rapid succession, they greet him like an old friend he's reuniting with. With each memory that comes back, he feels the pieces clicking together, slowly unravelling the big picture. While the memories that play before Wei Ying are different from his own, there's an odd feeling of déjà vu that tackles him every time, like he has lived through all of this and he's only just remembering.

Well, what's to say that he hasn't? If this is his past life, then doesn't that mean this Wei Wuxian is him?

Sighing to himself, Wei Ying scratches the back of his head and decides that all of this is too surreal. In the space of a couple of days, he's gotten abducted, shot, died, and now he's somehow witnessing his past life with his mother who was murdered twenty-seven years ago. He's starting to get a headache.

The years that Wei Wuxian spends living with the Jiangs are uncannily similar to his own, down from Jiang Fengmian ordering for Jiang Cheng's puppies to be taken away, to Yu Ziyuan expressing her doubts about the whole thing. Wei Ying finds himself laughing when Jiang Cheng refuses to share rooms, pushing him outside and threatening to get dogs to chase after him.

“I see Jiang Cheng's still as charming as ever,” Wei Ying says, scoffing. Although this isn't the Jiang Cheng he grew up with, there's no denying this is basically the same person.

“I'm glad you grew up with someone like him,” his mother says.

Wei Ying's eyes soften. As badly as things turned out between him and his adoptive brother, he misses Jiang Cheng. If only he had been able to say goodbye before he died.

“I'm glad too,” Wei Ying says.

He grows quiet as soon as the memories show him Jiang Yanli, still as lovely as ever, dressed in purple silks.

How will his jiejie find out he's now dead? And Jiang Cheng? Would Lan Zhan tell them?

How would they react?

Wei Ying winces. It's best not to think about that. He can't do anything now, not when he's stuck here—wherever here is. At the very least, he hopes Jiang Cheng and Jiejie will live the rest of their lives being happy.

The next memory takes him several years later when he's finally fifteen years old, sitting atop a roof and looking up at the gigantic moon that stares back at him. Wei Wuxian happily lounges on the roof, drinking a jar of wine without a care in the world.

“Oh, this place...” Wei Ying mumbles, looking around. He recognises the mountains in the distance and the chilling bite of the wind. “I've dreamt about this.”

This is...

Right on cue, a young man wearing white robes gracefully joins Wei Wuxian on the roof. Wei Ying's had this dream countless times, and yet seeing it in front of him is a completely different experience. The man's long black hair billows in the breeze, like inky waves spreading through the night sky. He's younger, much younger, but there really is no denying it now.

“Lan Zhan...” Wei Ying breathes out. “So it really was Lan Zhan all along.”

Ever a rule-abider, Lan Zhan asks Wei Wuxian what's in his hands. Nothing on his expression seems amused; regardless, Wei Wuxian greets him with a cheeky smile and casually waves the jar of wine in front of him.

“It’s Emperor’s Smile! If I share a jar with you, can you pretend that you never saw me?”

Unable to help himself, Wei Ying laughs out loud. He laughs harder when Lan Zhan's first response to this is to literally take out his sword and lunge towards Wei Wuxian.

“Wow, he really didn't like me,” Wei Ying smirks.

To his credit, Wei Wuxian is able to dodge every strike Lan Zhan delivers, all the while chatting his head off about how they should be friends instead of fighting like this.

His mother laughs with him. “You broke several rules on your first night. It wasn't a good first impression.”

That's an understatement. At the moment, young Lan Zhan is currently glaring daggers at Wei Wuxian as if his looks could kill.

“Lan Zhan looks so young and cute...” Wei Ying muses, not at all intimidated by this mini version of him. If he isn't technically a ghost now, he would run there and squeeze his cheeks until they're red.

More memories pass by; Wei Wuxian spends the majority of his time in the Cloud Recesses annoying Lan Zhan or slacking off with his studies. Wei Ying isn't too surprised to see that he eventually got kicked out of the Cloud Recesses, more so when the reason he got kicked out was for punching Jin Zixuan in the face. Yup, he thinks as soon Wei Wuxian's fist wipes that arrogant smile off Jin Zixuan. This is definitely me.

It's only when he sees himself being branded by the Wens that he gets confused. He knows that brand, precisely because that's the same brand that's on Lan Zhan's chest.

If that's the case, then why does Wei Wuxian have it?

Wei Ying frowns at the angry red burn on Wei Wuxian's chest, right above his heart. In the background, he sees the horror on Lan Zhan's face, having just witnessed everything as well.

When he asked Lan Zhan how he got his scars, he said that they had been for him. What could he have meant by that? How and why would Lan Zhan have the same scar as he did in the past? None of it makes sense.

“Lan Zhan has that same mark on his chest,” Wei Ying says.

“The Wen brand?” Chi Hong asks.

“Yeah. I've always wondered how he got it.”

His mother doesn't say anything. Wei Ying can't shake off the feeling she knows the answer and just won't say it. Although he tries not to dwell on it too much, it sticks with him like a weight that refuses to lift.

The weight gets heavier as soon as he hears Lan Zhan singing. Outlined by the golden glow of the small fire between them, he sings for Wei Wuxian, filling the silence of the dark cave. Wei Ying's heard this song in his dreams so many times that he would recognise it at the first note.

His Lan Zhan sung it for him ages ago, back when they barely knew each other. Come to think of it, it was when they first called each other's phones; he had sung the same song for Wei Ying through that call, sending him to sleep with the sweet lullaby.

“That's... That's the song he sang for me. He said he made it for someone,” Wei Ying says, now even more confused than ever.

Chi Hong nods. “He made it for you.”

“For me?” Wei Ying frowns.

From what he can gather so far, these memories can only mean that Lan Zhan and him knew each other before, way back in the past. Didn't Lan Zhan say the exact thing when he was drunk? 'We know each other'; those were his exact words. Then, if that's the case, then Lan Zhan also started remembering his past life like Wei Ying. Was that the reason why he had been so kind to him all along?

“Lan Zhan and me... We knew each other before,” Wei Ying mumbles. He nods at the distant figures of Lan Zhan and Wei Wuxian huddled between the fire. “We knew each other here.”

Silently, his mother nods, waiting for him to continue.

“But... he sang the same song for me before we even started dating in my life, when we barely knew each other—and he still said he made that song for someone special. He couldn't have made that song for me, because Lan Zhan wouldn't have remembered all of this.”

Chi Hong turns to the younger Lan Zhan, tilting her head slightly. “What makes you say he wouldn't have remembered?”

“I didn't remember, not until recently...” Wei Ying follows her gaze. Although he looks younger, this Lan Zhan still has the same grace and maturity as his Lan Zhan. He really hasn't changed at all. “Do you reckon he remembered waaaay earlier than I did? Would he have made the same song for me, even if we hadn't met yet?”

That was the case for Wen Chao, wasn't it? He had been remembering since he was a child, and that had been the reason why he had turned insane. Was Lan Zhan the same...?

“That's it though, isn't it? Mom, we knew each other from before, from that life,” Wei Ying insists. He has to resist the urge to shake his mother's arm, suddenly filled with the satisfaction that this is all starting to make sense to him. “But then we died, and when we were reincarnated, we somehow found each other again. That's why I've been getting all these strange dreams and hallucinations.”

Despite his enthusiasm, Chi Hong's gaze doesn't break away from Lan Zhan. Her eyebrows tug into a small frown that has Wei Ying questioning his conclusion. “You were reincarnated,” she says. “I'm not sure about him.”

Wei Ying's confusion multiplies tenfold. “What do you mean?”

His question is interrupted by a sudden burst of fire. The next thing he sees is the whole of Lotus Pier engulfed in flames, illuminating the entirety of the night sky with amber and smoke. Again, he's dreamt of this countless times, waking up in the middle of the night drenched in sweat and frozen with anxiety. It doesn't make it any easier to watch in person. Wei Ying's mother grips his shoulder, either in comfort or to stop him from trying to run there himself in a futile attempt to stop the attack.

From there on, to say that Wei Wuxian's life goes downhill is an understatement. Wei Ying can certainly understand why he had hated Wen Chao so much; he was pathetic and spoilt, and he had also ruined the Jiangs' lives in one single night. Unlike the one Wei Ying met, this Wen Chao didn't hesitate in killing anyone. The worst thing about it was that he didn't have to raise a finger; he screamed his orders and let other people do the dirty work for him.

Regardless, Wei Ying is still horrified when he sees Wei Wuxian—when he sees himself—torturing Wen Chao. He didn't have the stomach to watch everything; instead, he heard the gurgled screams of agony that came from Wen Chao, enduring an endless eternity of the twisted torture Wei Wuxian had in mind.

Wei Ying would like to think that isn't him. He can barely recognise himself: pale skinned, thin, demented red eyes... Wei Wuxian looks like someone straight out of a horror movie. His actions, above all, are nothing short of insane.

“Is that really me?” Wei Ying mutters, his voice barely audible through the sounds of Wen Chao shrieking.

His mother doesn't say anything. Unlike him, she is observing the scenes in front of her without flinching. Wei Ying almost feels like he should be ashamed that his own mother is witnessing this.

The shame grows as soon as Lan Zhan enters the picture. It's not a surprise that he's not too happy to see Wei Wuxian going down this demonic path; from an observing audience, Wei Ying can see why he would disapprove, especially after witnessing what happened to Wen Chao.

Still, seeing Lan Zhan so opposed to him isn't a good feeling.

“After all, on the topic of how my heart is, what could other people know about it?” Wei Wuxian asks, his eyes cold and unreachable. “Why should other people care about it?”

The cold shell around Lan Zhan cracks. He glares at Wei Wuxian, his voice raising higher than Wei Ying's ever heard it.

“Wei Wuxian!”

Wei Wuxian rises to meet it. His eyes are beginning to glow red again. “Lan Wangji!” He throws an arm out and the fierce corpses at his feet stir, mirroring their master's agitation. “Do you really have to make this difficult at such a point in time? You want me to go to the Cloud Recesses for the Gusu Lan Sect’s confinement punishment? Who do you think you are, what do you think the Gusu Lan Sect is?! You really think that I won’t resist?!”

Wei Ying sighs. It's the only thing he can do as he watches himself part ways with Lan Zhan. Based from his recurrent dreams, he had expected that they didn't have the best relationship. Nevertheless, he is still disappointed to see this was the way things turned out.

“He really didn't like me going down the demonic path, huh...” he mumbles, watching the distance between Wei Wuxian and Lan Zhan grow bigger and bigger as the years passed.

“He was worried about you.”

Wei Ying's shoulders droop down. “He hated me.”

He can't really blame the past Lan Zhan for reacting like this. As far as he knows, the peak of their relationship (if you could call it that) was when they worked together to eradicate the Xuanwu of Slaughter. After that, whatever respect Lan Zhan had for Wei Wuxian slowly began to crumble the more he saw him turn to demonic cultivation. It's to be expected; they were never close friends back when they studied together in the Cloud Recesses, and now, everything Wei Wuxian stood for was the complete opposite of what Lan Zhan believed.

Lan Zhan's reaction was reasonable now that Wei Ying watches it from a different perspective. At this rate, he's starting to wonder how he and Lan Zhan managed to get along so well in their new lives. If Lan Zhan remembered everything before he did, wouldn't he have been driven away by these memories instead?

Still busy pondering over this, he's too distracted to pay attention to what Wei Wuxian is doing right now. In the corner of his eyes, he sees him lounging on a tree, playing his dizi while the sun casts a golden blanket over his features. There's a blindfold around his eyes – because of some cultivation contest that Wei Ying didn't pay attention to – and, for once, he looks like the carefree boy he used to be; no fierce corpses at his command, no demonic energy clinging to him.

It only occurs to Wei Ying how young he had been—or, better yet, how young everyone was. They had barely reached adulthood and yet the first experience they had was war. It didn't seem real at all; more like a nightmare.

Wei Ying is glad that, at least, he had memories like this to remind him that not everything had been one tragedy after another. He smiles at the rare image of Wei Wuxian relaxing under the sun, playing various songs on his dizi without a care in the world.

His smile transforms into a confused frown when he spots Lan Zhan slowly approaching Wei Wuxian. What the hell is he doing?

Blindfolded, Wei Wuxian has no idea who it is. How could he? Lan Zhan is as quiet as a ghost; there was no telling who it could be sneaking up on him.

Then, out of nowhere, Lan Zhan grabs Wei Wuxian, pushes him against the tree, and kisses him.

Wei Ying splutters.

His mother laughs into her hand. “Do you still think he hated you?”

If he hadn't gone into shock, he would have responded to that. However, he has gone into shock. At the moment, all Wei Ying can do is stare at Lan Zhan kissing him as if his life depended on it.

What the hell?

Pushing aside the fact that kiss looks very enjoyable, Wei Ying has to wonder if, maybe, Lan Zhan actually didn't hate him after all. He never struck Wei Ying as the type of person who would casually touch others like this; in fact, Wei Ying's noticed that Lan Zhan rarely touches anyone unless he really needed to. (He's a completely different story, of course. As soon as they started dating, they couldn't keep their hands off each other—but, again, that's a different story.)

Did Lan Zhan hate Wei Wuxian's path to demonic cultivation because... he actually cared for him?

As if seeing the gears of his brain working, Chi Hong laughs again. This time, Wei Ying manages to shake out of his shock to throw his mother an embarrassed scowl.

“Don't laugh,” he says, just as Lan Zhan punches a tree in half after running off. “This is serious. Lan Zhan's currently destroying half the forest.”

At this, his mother laughs harder. Wei Ying's lips tug up, unable to stop the chuckle that escapes him as well. Okay, the sight of Lan Zhan reacting so badly to losing control is kind of funny. Sad, but funny nonetheless.

“Your father did something similar, you know,” Chi Hong says after her laughter subsides.

Eager for more information about his parents, Wei Ying grins, motioning for her to carry on.

Chi Hong shakes her head, amused. “He accidentally kissed me, and then proceeded to destroy everything in sight during that night's hunt.”

Wei Ying's laughter is short. He can't stop himself from asking one more question.

“Do you remember everything?”

His mother raises her eyebrows. “Everything?”

“You said night hunt, so I'm guessing that was from when you were Cangse Sanren instead... So, do you remember all of your memories from before, and also your reincarnated lives?”

He'd been wondering about this for a while. His mother's been talking about both the past and present as if she's lived both—which, in a sense, she has, but it still struck him as odd... He's having difficulty understanding that all of this was his life from before; his mother looks like she's long accepted it.

Slowly, she nods. “When you spend long enough in this place, everything starts to come together.”

Wei Ying remembers the two cups on the kitchen table; the ones that make you forget as soon as you drink their contents. His mother was looking at them before she noticed his arrival.

“Why haven't you moved on?” he asks.

“If I had, I wouldn't have met you like this,” she says, as simple as that.

He tries to protest against this because he shouldn't have to be the reason why she hasn't found peace yet, but his mother shakes her head and nods towards the next set of memories that play.

These memories are the ones that Wei Ying would have rather forgotten. Jin Zixuan's and his jiejie's deaths are hard enough; watching himself slowly lose what little of his sanity he had left is even harder. He had experienced what it was like to destroy yourself and no longer care about life. It was one of the main reasons why he had turned to alcohol in his early twenties.

For the longest time, he had tried to pretend he was strong, that he could handle everything by himself in order to avoid being a burden. Instead of getting help for the trauma of having to see Uncle Jiang and Aunt Yu die in front of him, Wei Ying relied on alcohol for distraction. It worked for a while—but there was only so much that he could take. He didn't have a war to focus on like Wei Wuxian had. He didn't have anything to fight for. All he had was the guilt.

Then again, Wei Wuxian didn't have the second chance that Wei Ying was able to get. By the end, Wei Wuxian had nothing, and no one, left.

Wei Ying frowns to himself.

Why do you talk about him like he's a different person? As unrecognisable as he is, this man in front of him is still... him. Wei Wuxian is Wei Ying, and Wei Ying is Wei Wuxian. They're the same person, just living in different times.

Wei Ying lets out a bitter smile. “Even in the past, I still fucked up.”

His mother turns to him, shaking her head. “None of it was ever your fault, A-Ying.”

Wei Ying remains silent. He hasn't missed the similarities between his lives at all. History can only repeat itself if nothing has changed.

He feels his mother carding her fingers through his hair before she pulls him into a hug. “I'm sorry I was never there when you needed me.”

Wei Ying stiffens. “No, that's not... Mom, you shouldn't be sorry—”

“But I am.” She pulls away, giving him a sad smile. “How can I not be when my little boy has struggled so much and I couldn't do anything for him?”

She tightens her hold on him, enveloping Wei Ying in a warm, vanilla-scented embrace. All he can do is stand there, blinking back tears that threaten to escape him. What would life had been like if he never lost his parents? Would he have been a different person? Would he have been happier?

As much these things hurt him, he doesn't know the answer to that. He's thankful for the Jiangs and everything they've done, but there's a part of him that still wishes for a family; that remembers his mother and father sharing their adventures with him, making him believe that, one day, this is exactly what his life would be.

Ever since he was young, Wei Ying's idea of a dream life was to start a family as loving as his memories had been. He wanted what his mother and his father had. Deep down, as much as he likes to convince himself those were just useless fantasies he'd grown out of, he knows he still yearns for it.

He relaxes into his mother's arms, closing his eyes. Maybe in the next life. Maybe.

“Wei Ying. Please, I'm here.”

Wei Ying pulls away, listening to Lan Zhan's low voice calling out for him. They are now in a cave; Wei Wuxian is slumped on the floor, covered head to toe in blood that does not belong to him. Holding his hand, Lan Zhan refuses to leave his side, repeating again and again that he is here, he is here.

There's nothing left of Wei Wuxian but the shell that sits there on that cave floor. All he says is the same phrase that he's been repeating ever since they entered that place: Get lost. Yet, no matter how much he says this, Lan Zhan stays where he is and reminds him, time and time again, that he is here, that he won't leave his side.

“I don't understand why he would go through so much effort to defend me,” Wei Ying says.

“He cared for you,” his mother responds.

“But... why? I was so horrible to him.”

She fixes her grey eyes on him as if the answer is clear as day. “He loved you.”

With the way Lan Zhan looks at Wei Wuxian like he's scared he'll lose him, Wei Ying can't even deny that. “What happened to him?” he asks, quietly. “I mean... I remember I died, but... what about him? How did he spend the rest of his life?”

Was he happy? Did he find someone else?

For some reason, his mother avoids his gaze. She doesn't answer, clearly ignoring the questioning look in his eyes.

Both of them are quiet as the last set of memories are revealed. Wei Wuxian greets death like an old friend; he smiles at the hoard of fierce corpses lunging for him and doesn't fight back when he's torn into pieces. He has long accepted this fate long ago.

Shivering, Wei Ying rubs the goosebumps all over his arms, as if he can feel the claws of the zombies all over him too.

Wrapping his arms around himself, he scans the vast nothingness of the battlefield they stand on. The shouts of men that have come here to kill him drown everything out. Wei Ying searches the crowd, trying to find his face. He sees Jiang Cheng in the distance, gripping Zidian and glaring down at the ground. If Wei Ying did not know any better, he would think that he was crying.

He forces himself to tear his gaze away from him. Looking at Jiang Cheng hurt. In the past, they couldn't reconcile. Even now, nothing has changed.

“Lan Zhan wasn't part of the siege?” Wei Ying asks, still unable to find the stoic man in the endless sea of faces.

His mother shakes her head. “No, he wasn't there.”

“Why not? Where was he?”

“He was... bedridden for months.”

“Bedridden? Why?”

In the blink of an eye, the battlefield around them ripples away and they're back in the Wei household. Wei Ying rubs his eyes, adjusting back to the bright lights of the dining room. Like before, they stand in front of the table; the two cups that wipe your memories remain where they are, untouched.

“His sect whipped him thirty-three times,” his mother says. Her voice is as quiet as a whisper of a rumour you're not supposed to spread.

Wei Ying's eyes widen. “Why would they do that?”

“He attacked thirty-three of his elders in order to protect you. It was his punishment.”

'How did you get your scars?' Wei Ying had asked Lan Zhan the night he was too drunk to think properly, and Lan Zhan had replied with 'For you.'

He clutches his head, trying to slow down the million thoughts running through his head. That piece falls into place—but that doesn't explain the glaring anomaly right in front of him. Lan Zhan still has those scars, and the brand.

“But... how? Was he whipped again in this life? Why would he still have those scars?” Wei Ying asks. His pulse beats faster. He's not sure why the answer scares him.

His mother looks down. “He wasn't whipped again.”

“What do you mean?”

Her eyes lift up to meet his. “Those are the same scars, A-Ying.”

He slowly shakes his head. “What? You mean he was born with them? Is that even possible—”

“No, A-Ying.” She grasps his hands, leaning closer. “You remember what cultivators are now, don't you?”

He nods. They had been cultivators in their original life, gifted with abilities that no normal humans had...

“And you know what happens if a cultivator reaches the peak of their cultivation?”

He answers the question before he thinks about it.

They turn immortal.

And now, everything clicks into place.

He feels ice sliding through his veins at the revelation that's slowly, but surely, answering all of his questions for him. Lan Zhan had always been too strong; he struggled with technology, as if he was some old man living in the past; his attic was filled with things they owned as cultivators... Jiejie started to get better, straight after Lan Zhan visited her.

Wei Ying pulls his hands away. “He... He wouldn't.” He shakes his head, hating the way his emotions betray him. Desperately, he blinks back his tears. “There's no way... It was all so long ago...”

Chi Hong nods. “Almost three thousand years.”

“He wouldn't.”

His mother takes his hands again, squeezing them tight. “He did.”

Again, Wei Ying can only shake his head. Almost three thousand years. That's too much. That doesn't seem real at all. That can't be real.

It's not.

It is, his mind says, slipping through his desperate attempt to ground himself. You know it is. The attic. He kept Chenqing and Suibian just for you. He had a portrait of you. He remembered the song he made for you.

All this time, he's been waiting for you.

“Why would he?” he desperately asks.

Smiling, his mother wipes away the lone tear that had escaped him. “Because he loves you.”

Not knowing what to do, he ducks his head down. He can't even put it into words. All he knows is that it feels like his heart is breaking. He's dead, and Lan Zhan is all alone. Why? Wei Ying can't imagine what it's like to live through thousands and thousands of years. Why would anyone put themselves through that?

“But... But why? Why me? I'm... I don't understand him,” he says, now unable to stop the tears from leaving him.

He doesn't want to be dead. He wants to be with Lan Zhan. He wants to go back and tell him that he remembers; that he knows everything that he's ever done for him; that he's sorry and he never meant to tell him to get lost.

Most of all, he wants to tell Lan Zhan that the person he sees himself spending a future with is him. Wei Ying's shoulders shake, hating the realisation that he knows he's too, too late. He's dead and there's no way he can say any of this to Lan Zhan's face.

“Mom, I love him too,” Wei Ying says. “I don't want to lose him.”

As he sobs into his mother's arms, a sudden burst of light flashes behind his closed eyelids. His mother continues to stroke his back, even as he looks up to inspect what in the world that flash had been. Around them, white wisps of light swarm like fireflies, dancing in circles. The seconds pass, and the room brightens more and more, until it becomes hard to keep his eyes open.

Wincing, Wei Ying leans back, rubbing his eyes.

“You can tell him that yourself,” Chi Hong says, stepping back.

Wei Ying frowns. “What?”

She lets go of him. “Go. It's not your time yet.”

“What do you mean?” Wei Ying's breath hitches, looking around the room. Everything is now too bright. On the table, the two cups are left abandoned, gleaming the dark liquid that he's supposed to drink. “I thought... I thought I was dead?”

“Not anymore. Go.”

Wei Ying turns back to her. “What about you?”

She smiles, as usual, but her eyes are tinged with a sadness that only makes Wei Ying panic. When he tries to reach for his mother, his fingers slip through her like dust.

“We'll meet each other again,” she says.

It's difficult to breathe. Wei Ying shakes his head, still trying to reach her. “No, come with me.”

Chi Hong sits down by the table, stroking the rim of one of the cups. “I can't,” she says, keeping her head down. “It's okay. Next time, I'll make sure that we can be a proper family. I promise.”

She looks back up, nodding at him. Her eyes are wet with her own tears and the smile she has on her face reminds Wei Ying of the night she died.

“I'm glad we got to talk,” she tells him as white light fills the entirety of this room. “I love you, A-Ying.”

It's the last thing he hears before he's blinded.

In one flash, he travels through everything and anything he's ever known; all of the years, the emotions, the memories and thoughts and hardships; everything that made him, him. It comes rushing back like an ending to a story he's always wondered about, an unknown constellation in the sky he's been staring at for the rest of his life. When the stars align themselves again, everything restarts and the whole jigsaw of his existence is presented before him. Everything makes sense.

Wei Wuxian wakes up.