Chapter Text
The heavy, cloying scent of Jin-manufactured peony incense hung thick within the grand guest chambers of Carp Tower, a suffocating reminder of Lanling’s immense wealth and stifling grip. Outside, the sprawling golden roofs of the Jin sect's primary residence gleamed under the midday sun, while inside, the atmosphere remained taut and cold.
Before the bronze mirror, Mo Xuanyu sat perfectly still. Her face was no longer her own; the Jin clan’s senior handmaidens had spent the last two hours transformationally painting her skin in thick, ghostly white powder and drawing small, stark crimson lips. It was a restrictive, severe style meant to obscure any trace of the girl underneath, rendering Jin Guangshan's unacknowledged, illegitimate daughter a flawless, silent offering. The handmaidens had sneered through their work, making passive-aggressive remarks about her mother’s low birth, before leaving her alone to await the arrival of the Gusu Lan escort party.
At seventeen, her life was being bartered away in a game she had never asked to play.
Four years had passed since the massive siege of the Burial Mounds. The cultivation world was still thoroughly drunk on the grand victory over the Yiling Patriarch, and the Lanling Jin Sect stood undisputed at the absolute pinnacle of power. Jin Guangshan wanted a permanent, compliant eye inside Gusu, and his eldest legitimate son, Jin Guangyao, had constructed the trap with terrifying, smiling precision. Together, father and son had backed the Gusu Lan Sect into a political corner right here in Lanling, leveraging a complex web of fabricated debts, rebuilding favors, and the sheer, unyielding weight of the other sects' opinions to demand this alliance before the entire cultivation world.
No one outside a few select Lan elders and the Sect Leader himself truly understood why Hanguang-jun lived in such total, unyielding isolation, or what he had suffered after the war. To the rest of the world, he was simply the peerless, silent second young master of Lan. And now, at twenty-six years old, he had been forced to travel to Carp Tower to enter an arranged marriage with a girl the Jin clan viewed as completely expendable.
"They think because he is silent, he will just accept this," Xuanyu whispered to the empty, shadowed room. Her voice trembled, cracking the heavy powder around her lips. "And they expect me to gather their secrets."
She knew what happened to people who failed to be useful to Jin Guangyao. If she couldn't gather the internal intelligence her brother wanted from the hidden corners of Gusu, she would simply disappear from the mountains, and no one would look for a bastard daughter. There was no escaping the reach of the Jin, and there would be no leniency if she stayed trapped here.
With trembling, desperate hands, she reached beneath the heavy layers of her red skirts, pulling out a hidden, jagged porcelain shard and a crumpled piece of parchment. It was a forbidden sacrificial manuscript—a dark, dangerous heresy she had secretly copied from the back shelves of Jin Guangyao’s private collection.
She sliced her wrist. The pain was sharp, but the blood flowed free, a vivid, hot crimson against the pristine floorboards of the Carp Tower pavilion.
Dropping heavily to her knees, Mo Xuanyu began to draw the jagged, sweeping lines of the array, her vision blurring.
*“Villainous ghosts, vicious spirits, dark gods of the netherworld…”* her voice cracked, hot tears finally cutting tracks through the caked makeup on her cheeks. *“I offer my flesh, my soul, my breath. In exchange, strike down my enemies. Save me from this cage. By the power of the Yiling Patriarch, Wei Wuxian—I summon you!”*
As she slashed her remaining three wishes into her flesh—wishes of absolute spite against her abusers, protection from the Jin's strings, and total freedom—the air in the room plummeted to a freezing chill. The wedding candles flared a violent, sickly green.
Mo Xuanyu closed her eyes, letting the heavy darkness take her as a thunderous crack of spiritual energy shattered the silence of the room.
---
Wei Wuxian blinked.
The first thing he registered was that he was breathing. The second thing he registered was that everything hurt. His limbs felt entirely too small, his core was a pathetic, fluttering thing of stagnant spiritual energy, and his left arm was covered in sticky, drying blood.
"Well," he muttered, his voice coming out much higher and softer than he remembered. "This definitely isn't the underworld. Did someone actually bring me back?"
He pushed himself up, rubbing his temples. He didn't feel the crushing weight of madness, nor did he feel the urge to weep over his tragic demise at the Burial Mounds. He had died. It had been messy, terrible, and entirely his own doing, but Wei Wuxian was not a man to dwell in self-pity or mourn the past when a bizarre present was staring him right in the face. If someone had given him a second chance at life, he was going to take it with both hands.
He caught sight of himself in the bronze mirror and winced.
"Oof. The Jin handmaidens really did a number on you, my friend. You look like a hanging ghost."
He quickly grabbed a discarded damp cloth from the vanity, rubbing vigorously at his face. He wiped away the ridiculous, thick layer of white powder, revealing a delicate, remarkably pretty face beneath. He noted the self-inflicted wounds on his arms. A sacrificial summoning. The memories of the body's previous owner flooded his mind in sharp, disjointed bursts.
*Mo Xuanyu. Seventeen. Jin Guangshan’s bastard daughter. Jin Guangyao’s pawn. Arranged marriage to... *
Wei Wuxian froze, his hand stopping halfway through cleaning his cheek.
"Lan Zhan?" he whispered, his heart executing a sudden, violent flip that had nothing to do with the body's physical ailments. "They are forcing Lan Zhan into a marriage? With *me*? Well, with this body."
He pieced together the timeline from her memories. Four years had passed since his death. Lan Wangji was twenty-six now. A fully matured, peerless master, and apparently the target of Carp Tower's vile political scheming while his elders tried to appease the massive power of the Jin.
A slow, wicked grin spread across Wei Wuxian's new face. The Jin clan thought they could use this poor girl to infiltrate the Lan sect? They thought they could cage Hanguang-jun?
"Ah, Jin-xiong, Jin-xiong," Wei Wuxian chuckled, stretching his new, limber limbs. "You really should have checked what kind of soul your little sister was conjuring. You wanted a spy, but you got a menace."
He didn't have time to fully clean himself or change out of the heavy, elaborate bridal robes. The heavy wooden doors of the pavilion suddenly creaked open.
Wei Wuxian immediately dropped into a demure, head-bowed stance, letting the heavy red bridal veil fall over his face. He needed to assess the situation before making a scene.
"Mo-guniang?" a youthful, polite voice called out. It was hesitant, laced with a gentle discipline that practically screamed Gusu Lan. "The auspicious hour is approaching. The Grandmaster and Hanguang-jun are waiting in the central hall of Carp Tower."
Wei Wuxian peeked through the sheer fabric of the red veil. Walking into the room was a small group of young disciples wearing the pristine white robes and cloud-patterned headbands of the Lan sect, sent ahead to escort the bride out to the main courtyard. Leading them was a boy who couldn't have been older than ten or eleven, his posture impeccable, his face carrying an air of solemn maturity that felt entirely too heavy for a child.
Wei Wuxian’s breath hitched. There was something intensely familiar about the boy's brow, the quiet dignity in his eyes.
*A-Yuan?*
No, it couldn't be. A-Yuan had been at the Burial Mounds. He had been left behind in the chaos. But as the boy stepped closer, carrying a ritual tray with the traditional wedding cups, Wei Wuxian noticed the faint, lingering scent of a specialized fever-healing herb the Lan sect used, and a distinct lack of the typical arrogance found in other sect children.
"Sizhui," another young disciple whispered from behind the boy. "Is she alright? She isn't moving. You know what they say about the Jin clan's lady..."
"Jingyi, quiet," Lan Sizhui admonished gently, though his own eyes held a trace of anxiety. He bowed politely toward the veiled Wei Wuxian. "Mo-guniang, please do not be afraid. The Cloud Recesses—where we will return after today—is a peaceful place. Hanguang-jun is... a man of great honor. He will not mistreat you."
Wei Wuxian’s heart swelled. *Sizhui. Lan Sizhui.* Lan Zhan had saved him. Lan Zhan had taken the child from the ashes of the Burial Mounds and raised him as a disciple of Gusu.
The sheer wave of fondness and relief that washed over Wei Wuxian completely erased any lingering disorientation from the resurrection. Lan Zhan had protected what was left of his world. Now, it was Wei Wuxian’s turn to stir up some trouble and protect Lan Zhan from this ridiculous farce of a wedding.
"Mo-guniang?" Lan Sizhui asked again, taking a step forward as he noticed the faint smell of copper in the air. "Are you injured? There is blood on your sleeve—"
Before the boy could finish his sentence, Wei Wuxian threw back the bridal veil with a dramatic flourish.
Lan Jingyi gasped, instinctively reaching for his training sword. Lan Sizhui widened his eyes, taking a half-step back, though he kept his composure.
Instead of a weeping, trembling bride, they were met with a youth whose face was fresh, lively, and sporting a brilliant, utterly shameless grin. Wei Wuxian hopped up onto the vanity table, swinging his legs back and forth, the heavy red silk of the bridal skirts bunching up around his knees.
"Don't worry, little Radishes!" Wei Wuxian chirped, his voice bright and dripping with amusement. "No need to call the guards. Your grand bride is perfectly healthy—just had a little change of heart regarding the decor!"
"You... you..." Lan Jingyi stammered, his face turning red. "You are sitting on the table! In Carp Tower! Sitting like that is completely improper! Frivolous behavior is forbidden!"
"Oh, is it?" Wei Wuxian leaned forward, resting his chin in his hands, his eyes sparkling with a wild, unpredictable energy. "Well, it’s a good thing I haven't officially married into your clan yet, isn't it? Technically, I’m still a guest here. A very special guest."
Lan Sizhui stared at him, his brow furrowed in deep confusion. There was something about the way this person spoke, the sharp, frantic glint behind the wild demeanor, that felt strange. It matched the rumors of a highly unstable mind, yet there was an undercurrent of bizarre confidence to it.
"Mo-guniang," Lan Sizhui said carefully, his voice lowering. "If you are unwilling to go through with this marriage... if the Jin clan forced you... you must speak to the Grandmaster. Hanguang-jun himself did not wish for this, but the Sect Leader—"
"Oh, don't worry about me!" Wei Wuxian interrupted, waving a hand dismissively as he hopped down from the table, landing silently on his feet. The hidden wounds on his arms twinged, but he ignored the pain with practiced ease, throwing his arms out in a wide, erratic gesture. "Nobody forces me to do anything I don't want to do! I've just decided I'm ready to see my beautiful groom. Let's go, let's go! Lead the way!"
"Wait!" Lan Jingyi cried out, pointing at Wei Wuxian’s face. "Your sleeves are covered in blood, and your veil is off!"
"It's called a fashion statement, my young friend," Wei Wuxian said, slinging the red veil carelessly over one shoulder like a scarf, leaning into the eccentric, unhinged persona expected of the discarded Jin daughter. "And trust me, it’s going to make a fantastic impression."
---
Without waiting for the bewildered disciples, Wei Wuxian strode out of the pavilion. His steps were light, entirely lacking the demure grace expected of a maiden. The golden, sprawling walkways of Carp Tower lay ahead, lined with peony banners that rippled in the breeze. He was alive. He had a new body, a fresh start, and an entire assembly of cultivation elites to shock.
He marched down the pristine wooden paths, Lan Sizhui and a frantic Lan Jingyi trotting behind him, trying and failing to maintain a dignified pace while keeping up with the erratic bride.
As they approached the central ceremonial hall of the Jin sect, the heavy atmosphere of a formal political affair hung thick in the air. The hall was filled with elders and leaders from various sects, their expressions a mix of grim curiosity and calculation. At the front of the hall stood Lan Qiren, his beard twitching with palpable distaste at being forced into this Jin-orchestrated arrangement, and beside him, Lan Xichen, whose usual gentle smile was strained and hollow. Nearby, Jin Guangshan and Jin Guangyao watched with smooth, satisfied smiles.
And then, there was Lan Wangji.
Wei Wuxian stopped at the threshold, his breath catching in his throat.
Lan Zhan was twenty-six now. The boy he had teased by the cold springs had completely vanished, replaced by a man of breathtaking, devastating authority. He wore the formal white wedding robes of the Lan clan, embroidered with silver threads that caught the light like frost. He stood perfectly still, a statue of pure jade, his eyes fixed on the floor, looking entirely detached from the grand opulence of Carp Tower around him. But Wei Wuxian’s sharp eyes didn't miss the faint, tense set of his shoulders, or the way his hand rested just a fraction too close to Bichen’s hilt.
He looked magnificent. And he looked utterly miserable.
*Ah, Lan Zhan,* Wei Wuxian thought, a rush of fierce, protective warmth blooming in his chest. *They really tried to back you into a corner, didn't they? Don't worry. Your master of mischief is back.*
"Announcing the bride, Mo Xuanyu of the Lanling Jin Sect!" the herald called out, his voice echoing through the massive hall.
Every eye turned toward the entrance.
Expectations of a weeping, trembling maiden were instantly shattered. Instead, Wei Wuxian stepped into the hall with a wide, theatrical stride. His bridal robes were wrinkled, the red veil was draped carelessly over his shoulder, and his arms were visibly stained with fresh, dripping blood.
A collective, sharp intake of breath echoed through the grand hall.
"What is the meaning of this?!" Lan Qiren roared, slamming his hand down on the table, his face turning a dangerous shade of purple. "Insolence! Utterly uncultivated!"
Lan Xichen’s eyes widened in profound shock. The Jin hosts shifted uncomfortably, recognizing that their perfect plan was derailing in real-time.
But Wei Wuxian didn't look at them. He kept his eyes locked entirely on Lan Wangji.
At the sound of the commotion, Lan Wangji slowly raised his head. His pale, light-colored eyes, previously dull and indifferent, swept over the chaotic figure of his supposed bride. He took in the blood, the shameless grin, the wild, unbothered posture that violated every single rule of decorum.
To Lan Wangji, this was a complete, deeply offensive display of disrespect to the ceremony. A heavy furrow formed between his elegant brows. He looked upon this unhinged, disheveled youth with nothing but cold, tight-lipped displeasure, his fingers tightening against his sleeve as he braced himself for what was clearly going to be a humiliating, politically forced nightmare.
Wei Wuxian saw that icy glare and felt a sudden, familiar thrill.
"Apologies for the delay, everyone!" Wei Wuxian announced, his voice ringing clear and joyous through the stiff, silent hall as he took a casual step toward the altar. "I had to handle a few... family matters. Now, where do I stand? Let's get this wedding started, shall we, Hanguang-jun?"