Chapter Text
[A Small City
Outdoor]
The bridge stretched quietly over the narrow stream, its pale stone slick with rain, glistening under the faint golden light of lanterns that still hung from tall poles left behind by the festival decorators. The festival was nearly over; only a handful of townsfolk lingered in the distance, their muffled voices echoing faintly in the otherwise hushed night. The air was sharp with cold, a crisp breeze brushing against the skin like whispers of winter. The scent of rain still lingered, fresh and earthy, clinging to the cobblestones and the bark of trees like a memory that refused to fade.
Wei Wuxian’s steps slowed as he approached the foot of the bridge. His breath curled in the air in wisps, still labored from running, but his eyes were fixed on the figure ahead. Halfway across the bridge, beneath the dim glow of a single swaying lantern, stood Lan Sizhui.
The white of his robes was pale against the wet stone, his posture tense and still, like a painting come to life only to freeze in sorrow. The gentle breeze tugged at the ends of his sleeves and hair ribbon, but he didn’t move. He simply stood, staring out over the water that flowed beneath the bridge, slow and steady, reflecting the faint glimmers of floating lanterns in the distance—leftover from earlier prayers, drifting like small, flickering ghosts.
“Sizhui!” Wei Wuxian called out.
The name split the stillness of the night.
Lan Sizhui’s shoulders flinched, but didn’t turn.
Wei Wuxian walked forward, carefully, cautiously, each step measured as though he were approaching a wild bird perched too close to the edge. He didn’t dare get too near, not yet.
“Sizhui.” he said again, softer this time, but no less desperate.
Still, the young man didn’t look back.
Wei Wuxian’s heart twisted painfully. He felt it swelling in his chest like something raw and alive, bruising his ribs from the inside. He swallowed hard and tried again, this time his voice breaking with something deeper.
“…Baobei.”
That word, so tender and small, hung in the air like a thread tugged from the past.
Lan Sizhui shivered.
Slowly, so slowly it was as if time had dulled to a crawl, he turned his head.
His eyes, those distinct mauve-silver eyes that glowed like rare moonlit gems, were wide and shining. Unshed tears glistened at the corners, trembling with restraint. His face was a storm of emotions—confusion, fear, sorrow, hope. He looked so young like this. So small. As if he’d built a thousand walls around himself only for them to shatter the moment he heard that name.
Wei Wuxian felt something fracture inside him.
“Baobei…” he whispered, barely holding himself together. “Please… talk to me.”
Lan Sizhui fluttered his eyes shut, lips trembling as he shook his head once. Then, with a voice made fragile by disbelief and dread, he finally asked. “How… how do you know that name?”
Wei Wuxian took one step forward—just one—and stopped. He didn’t want to scare him off. He didn’t want to take too much. “I knew it.” he said slowly, tenderly, as though each word was something sacred. “Because I was the one who thought of it.”
Lan Sizhui didn’t move.
Wei Wuxian swallowed the ache in his throat. “It was because… every time I looked at your eyes, they reminded me of treasures. Of something beautiful. Rare. Something I didn’t think I deserved to hold. So I called you that. I called you baobei.”
Lan Sizhui choked on a sob, his lips parting as if to speak but no sound came. He squeezed his eyes shut again, and this time, the tears almost spilled over.
Still, no words.
Just… movement.
Lan Sizhui stepped forward. One slow step. Then another. Then another.
Wei Wuxian didn’t breathe. He didn’t blink. He didn’t dare move a muscle.
He stood perfectly still, waiting, letting Lan Sizhui choose—choose—if he wanted to come closer.
And finally, he did.
They stood just a breath apart.
Lan Sizhui raised his gaze, and though Wei Wuxian wore the face of Mo Xuanyu, those silver eyes searched him with fevered desperation. They looked past the skin and flesh. Past the disguise. As if trying to find the ghost of someone long lost beneath the surface.
Wei Wuxian didn’t speak. Instead, he hummed.
Softly. Gently. A melody almost lost to time.
A song. A tune made by Lan Sizhui, who created it for the Yiling Patriarch. Only two people knew.
Lan Sizhui froze.
His eyes widened and this time, a tear slipped down his cheek.
Then another.
And another.
Wei Wuxian kept humming, voice shaking, full of so much love it barely fit in the sound.
He lifted his hand slowly, fingers trembling, and hesitated until the tips of his fingers brushed against Lan Sizhui’s cheek. He wiped away a tear with the gentlest touch he could manage.
Lan Sizhui closed his eyes. A tiny, shaky breath left him.
And then, finally—finally —he whispered two words.
Wei Wuxian’s humming faltered, fading like mist caught on the edge of morning wind, when he heard his name—his real name—whispered in a voice trembling with disbelief and longing.
“…Wei Wuxian?”
It was barely audible, soft as a prayer, as if speaking it aloud would shatter the fragile hope in Lan Sizhui’s heart.
Wei Wuxian blinked, and the silvery sheen in his eyes grew, as if the moonlight within them had suddenly rippled. A quiet gasp escaped him, and his heart thudded painfully, echoing like a drumbeat in his chest.
He nodded slowly, voice thick with unshed tears. “Yes… it’s me, baobei.”
Lan Sizhui’s breath caught. His lips parted in a silent sob before his entire body, weakened by the rush of emotions of shock, joy, grief, relief, and then sagged. His knees buckled beneath him.
“Ah—!” Wei Wuxian reached forward just in time, catching him. They both sank to the cold, rain-kissed wooden planks of the bridge. Wei Wuxian cradled him close, arms protective, one hand instinctively shielding the back of Lan Sizhui’s head as if to shelter him from even the breeze.
Lan Sizhui’s trembling hands reached up, cupping Wei Wuxian’s face, brushing away strands of slightly damp hair as he gazed into his eyes. His own were brimming with tears now set loose, shimmering like polished glass. Despite the sorrow in them, something lit up in recognition, warmth, love.
“It’s really you…” Lan Sizhui whispered, awestruck. “Your eyes… now that I see them… they’re still the same.”
Wei Wuxian gave a fragile, watery laugh—half sob, half relief—as he nodded, their foreheads nearly touching. “I always thought they were too noticeable.” he murmured. “Maybe it’s a coincidence that Mo Xuanyu had the same eyes… or maybe when he used the sacrificial ritual, my soul changed something in his body. Maybe it altered the color, just a little, to make them mine again.”
His thumb brushed Lan Sizhui’s cheek as he spoke, gently wiping the trail of tears with a tenderness that made Lan Sizhui’s eyes flutter closed under the touch.
Lan Sizhui gave a small nod, accepting the explanation. A beat of silence passed between them, soft and sacred, as if the world around them had gone still just for this reunion.
Then, Wei Wuxian asked, carefully, gently. “Did you really… time travel?”
Lan Sizhui blinked in surprise. “How did you…?”
“I had a feeling.” Wei Wuxian said, voice quiet but honest. “I didn’t want to believe it at first. But… Wen Ning told me. And honestly, in a world where we can cultivate, fly with swords, and summon ghosts… is it really that impossible?”
Lan Sizhui chuckled faintly, almost bashfully. “No… I suppose not.”
There was a pause before he hesitated, then asked almost sheepishly. “Are you… mad? That I didn’t tell you?”
Wei Wuxian shook his head immediately. “No. I understand. Time is a dangerous thing to mess with. I’ve always known the rule—never interfere, never change too much. I think… you were protecting the balance.”
Lan Sizhui’s expression softened, shoulders releasing some unseen weight.
“I didn’t know how it happened.” he admitted. “I was fighting a malicious monster—something strange, warped. I used my sword, and there was this… light, this force, and the next thing I knew, I woke up there… in the past.”
Wei Wuxian watched him, eyes solemn.
Lan Sizhui’s gaze flickered to the side, hesitant. “I… did return to my timeline. After I died there.” He winced slightly at the words. “Sort of.”
Wei Wuxian’s chest ached.
Lan Sizhui continued slowly. “I don’t remember dying clearly. I remember the arrow. The pain. Then… I woke up in a temple. Ananta, the Hourglass Goddess, spoke to me. She said… I wasn’t meant to exist in your timeline. That I was needed in mine again. So she sent me back.”
Wei Wuxian hummed in acknowledgment, though there was a flash of something darker in his eyes.
Lan Sizhui looked up at him again, his voice soft and uncertain. “What happened… to me? In your timeline?”
Wei Wuxian flinched, a shadow passing over his face. His arms tightened just slightly around Lan Sizhui. “It’s better you don’t know.” he said, voice low and heavy with sorrow. “Some memories aren’t worth reliving.”
Lan Sizhui’s hand slipped down to Wei Wuxian’s chest, resting over his heart, as if to say I can feel it still… the weight you carry.
And Wei Wuxian let his head bow slightly, resting their brows together again as the lantern light from across the river danced gently around them. Orange and gold flickers against the darkness of night, against the silver of tears and the quiet shiver of a love longed for, lost, and found again.
They stayed like that, kneeling in the middle of the old bridge with their arms wrapped around each other, as if the world beyond their embrace no longer existed. Only this moment, only them. The wind whispered softly through the reeds, carrying the scent of the river and the lantern oil, and far-off laughter from the festival, distant and blurry like a dream. But here, everything was sharp; painfully, beautifully real.
Wei Wuxian’s fingers trembled slightly as they rose to Lan Sizhui’s cheek, fingertips brushing with reverence along the curve of his face, as if to confirm again and again that this wasn’t an illusion. That he was really here. That Lan Sizhui was warm, breathing, and in his arms.
Lan Sizhui tilted his head into the touch without hesitation, his eyes fluttering closed, a small exhale leaving his parted lips as if the contact alone soothed some ache buried deep within him. Their brows still pressed, their noses bumped, a feather-light nudge, and Lan Sizhui let out a soft, almost soundless sigh as his lips curved into a smile of contentment.
Wei Wuxian didn’t close his eyes.
He couldn’t.
He didn’t dare look away, not even for a heartbeat. His gaze roamed over Lan Sizhui’s features, his soft lashes, flushed cheeks, and tear-streaked skin still dewy from emotion. His hair glimmered under the lantern light, strands curling along his temple like ink on parchment. Wei Wuxian had memorized him once in another life, and now, he was memorizing him all over again.
“I missed you.” Wei Wuxian whispered, the words barely above a breath, as if even speaking them too loudly would fracture the fragile wonder of the moment. “So much. Every day, every hour... I missed you until it ached.”
Lan Sizhui opened his eyes, wet and shining, and smiled the sweetest, most radiant smile, so tender it made something inside Wei Wuxian splinter and mend all at once.
“I missed you too.” Lan Sizhui said, his voice a quiet confession trembling with affection. “More than I can ever say.”
Wei Wuxian’s eyes softened, lashes quivering, and he let his fingertips trail gently down Lan Sizhui’s cheekbone, tracing the slope of it with the lightest caress. He touched him like a memory come to life; delicate, trembling, utterly awed. His thumb brushed along the edge of Lan Sizhui’s lower lip, his breathing shallow as he took him in.
“You’re real.” he murmured, voice caught between disbelief and joy. “You’re alive.”
Lan Sizhui leaned forward then, pressing so close their chests touched and their knees bumped, and his hand rose to cup Wei Wuxian’s jaw. His fingers brushed along the curve of his throat, his jawline, curling lightly behind his neck as if to hold him there, as if afraid Wei Wuxian might vanish should he let go.
“I never thought I’d see you again.” Lan Sizhui whispered, forehead pressing closer, nose nudging softly against Wei Wuxian’s. “I thought—I thought I lost you forever. That not even the afterlife would let me find you. Not even reincarnation.”
Wei Wuxian’s breath caught, and his heart thudded so loudly in his chest he swore Lan Sizhui could hear it.
“But I’m here.” he whispered, lips barely moving, their mouths so close now. “I’m right here. With you.”
Lan Sizhui closed his eyes, unable to stop the quiet tear that rolled down his cheek, and he let it fall as he whispered. “And I’m never letting you go again.”
They stayed like that for a long moment; two souls who had crossed time, death, and fate, holding each other like lifelines. Wei Wuxian buried one hand in Lan Sizhui’s hair, cradling the back of his head, while the other remained splayed across his cheek. Lan Sizhui’s hands trembled as they held onto Wei Wuxian’s waist, then curled around his back, as if anchoring him to this plane, this reality.
“Touch me.” Lan Sizhui murmured breathlessly, voice muffled against Wei Wuxian’s shoulder. “Keep touching me so I know I’m not dreaming.”
Wei Wuxian smiled through another tear, soft and aching and full of adoration. “You’re not dreaming, Sizhui. Neither am I.”
He leaned in further, brushing his lips gently—barely, barely—against Lan Sizhui’s temple, a kiss of reverence and trembling emotion.
“I’m so happy you’re alive.” he whispered again, the words like a mantra, as he kissed him again, this time on the cheek, lingering, then lower, to the corner of Lan Sizhui’s lips. “So happy, Sizhui. I was so afraid…”
Lan Sizhui turned his head slightly, just enough to brush their lips together softly, barely a whisper, a shared breath, a silent promise.
“I’m here.” he whispered and for the first time, he finally have this chance and he refused to waste a second of this opportunity. “I love you.”
Wei Wuxian’s eyes widened just slightly, his breath caught, and the last of the weight he’d been carrying all this time—the grief, the fear, the guilt—began to lift like morning mist.
“And I love you.” he whispered back, voice cracking on the word.
They kissed softly, lingering, slowly. Not rushed. Not desperate. Just there. As if they had all the time in the world now. As if time owed them this. A reunion not written in any scroll or scripture, but written in the aching space between two hearts who had always found their way back to each other.
Their lips brushed again—a tender, breath-warmed glide that trembled with emotion. It wasn’t demanding, it wasn’t hungry. It was reverent. Wei Wuxian felt the faintest tremor in Lan Sizhui’s breath as their mouths barely parted, only to meet again, as if rediscovering the shape and softness of one another in slow, drawn-out strokes.
Wei Wuxian tilted his head just slightly to the right, a subtle shift, and the next kiss deepened; not in urgency, but in meaning. The angle allowed their lips to press more fully, more securely, sealing them together like the closing of a vow. He could feel Lan Sizhui’s inhale, felt the way his hands curled tighter against his back, holding him close, closer still, as if anchoring himself in this shared moment of truth.
Their brows still touched. Noses brushed, tips nudging softly with every tilt and tender movement, creating a rhythm all their own, silent, slow, sacred. Lan Sizhui’s hand slid up from Wei Wuxian’s waist to the middle of his back, fingers splaying wide, then slowly creeping up to his shoulder. The warmth of his palm soaked through the fabric of Wei Wuxian’s robes, grounding, trembling, real.
And Wei Wuxian’s hand remained at Lan Sizhui’s cheek, thumb sweeping in the gentlest motion along his skin, mapping the curve from cheekbone to jaw, from jaw to the corner of his mouth. His fingers traced him like a sacred text he had once lost but now found again.
Their lips parted, barely, and Wei Wuxian lingered in the breath between them. He exhaled slowly, feeling the ghost of Lan Sizhui’s breath mingling with his own.
Then they kissed again; slightly firmer now, still slow, still gentle, but rich with emotion that pulsed through the space between their hearts like a shared heartbeat. The angle shifted once more, and Lan Sizhui turned into it with quiet need, sighing softly through his nose as he molded closer. Wei Wuxian could feel the smile breaking against his lips—small, shy, and impossibly sweet.
It made him want to cry. It made him want to laugh. It made him want to hold Lan Sizhui forever and never let go.
Wei Wuxian let his fingers drift, stroking the line of Lan Sizhui’s ear, the back of his neck where the hair was soft and warm, and felt Lan Sizhui’s hand mirror the gesture, fingers lifting to brush behind Wei Wuxian’s ear, trailing into his hair. The contact sent a ripple down his spine, not from desire, but from a closeness so raw and genuine it left his chest aching.
When they finally paused, lips hovering, foreheads pressed again with quiet, almost bashful affection, Wei Wuxian let out a soft laugh—just a puff of air, hushed and trembling with joy.
Lan Sizhui opened his eyes slowly, his lashes brushing against Wei Wuxian’s cheek. “You kiss like someone who never thought they’d be kissed again.” he whispered, voice full of awe.
Wei Wuxian smiled, brushing his thumb along the corner of Sizhui’s mouth. “That’s because I didn’t.” he murmured. “Not like this. Not with you. ”
Lan Sizhui blushed, his lips curving, eyes glassy but bright. “Then kiss me again.” he whispered, voice barely more than a breath.
Wei Wuxian did.
This time, his hands cradled Lan Sizhui’s face as if it were something precious, irreplaceable. And their kiss; sweet and deep and lingering, was filled with all the words they hadn’t spoken, all the moments they had lost, and all the promises yet to be made.
Wei Wuxian could feel Lan Sizhui breathe into the space between them, like he didn’t want to let go, like he didn’t want this spell to break. Their lips parted only to find each other again, again, and again, mouths brushing like the soft flutter of butterfly wings, full of aching wonder.
But then, Lan Sizhui’s hand shifted, sliding down Wei Wuxian’s chest as they pressed close, fingertips moving absentmindedly until—
His touch paused.
There was something beneath the layers of Wei Wuxian’s inner robe—solid, smooth, and small.
Lan Sizhui pulled back slightly, breath still warm against Wei Wuxian’s lips, eyes curious and glimmering in the lantern light. “What’s this?” he asked softly, leaning down to peer where his hand had found that hidden shape.
Wei Wuxian blinked, then let out a quiet breath, his lips curving faintly. “Ah… you felt that, huh?” He reached into his inner pocket, fingers slipping past the lining until he retrieved a small object—a bracelet of smooth jade beads, pale green and cool in the night air. He had subconsciously shoved it in his inner pocket without thinking while he ran after Lan Sizhui.
He held it between them, palm open. The beads glowed faintly under the moonlight. “It’s not the exact same as the one I gave you.” Wei Wuxian murmured, voice soft as he gazed at the bracelet. “I bought it without thinking because it’s really similar. Doesn’t it?”
Lan Sizhui’s fingers hovered over the bracelet, as if afraid that touching it might make it vanish. “It is.” he whispered. “So close. The carvings, even the way the jade is threaded…” He looked up, eyes shining with both fondness and regret. “I was upset when I realized it didn’t come with me when I returned to this timeline. I—I searched for it, even though I knew it wouldn’t be here.” His brows furrowed slightly. “I’m sorry, Wei Wuxian… I lost it.”
But Wei Wuxian only smiled, warm and full of love, brushing his fingers over Lan Sizhui’s cheek again. “Silly baobei.” he said gently. “It’s just a thing. Just an object. I’d give away a hundred bracelets, a thousand, if it meant I could have you here. Alive. Breathing. In my arms.”
Lan Sizhui’s face flushed with a soft, radiant blush. A bashful smile bloomed on his lips, eyes watery with feeling. He nodded wordlessly, letting his fingers curl slightly against Wei Wuxian’s chest.
Wei Wuxian’s hands moved again, so careful, so loving as he took Lan Sizhui’s left hand, cradling his wrist. He slipped the bracelet over it, sliding the smooth beads past his knuckles until they settled just above his pulse. Then he lifted the delicate wrist to his lips and pressed a slow, reverent kiss.
And another.
Then he turned the palm upward and kissed that too, letting his eyes fall closed, as if sealing some unspoken vow into the skin beneath his lips.
Lan Sizhui watched him silently, breath caught in his throat. His fingers slowly came up to brush back a lock of Wei Wuxian’s hair, tucking it behind his ear, his touch full of sweetness and wonder. “When… when did you come back?” he asked softly, voice trembling with the need to know.
Wei Wuxian opened his eyes and looked up at him. There was no teasing in his expression, only honesty, raw and open. “That morning…” he whispered. “That’s when Mo Xuanyu put me into his body. I woke up… and there you were, at that Mo Manor’s main hall.”
Lan Sizhui’s eyes widened, lips parting in surprise. “That morning? That would mean… it has been weeks. Why… why didn’t you tell me then?” His voice faltered, just slightly hurt.
Wei Wuxian’s gaze dropped, and he gave a small, self-deprecating chuckle. “I… I wasn’t sure. I wanted to believe it was you, I hoped it was you—but you hadn’t aged a day since I last saw you. It didn’t make sense. You died in my arms. So, it felt too impossible, too fragile. Like if I named it out loud, it would vanish.”
Lan Sizhui’s eyes softened, understanding blooming as he nodded slowly.
“I’ve been struggling with it for so long.” Wei Wuxian admitted. “I kept watching you. Every word, every glance. But it wasn’t until I saw your forearm, the old scar just here—” his fingers moved to gently touch the place on Lan Sizhui’s left arm, ghosting over the skin “—that I knew. ”
“This scar?” Lan Sizhui’s voice trembled. “The one from when I got resentful energy poisons from the dark spirits…” he recalled how he was reckless to return that Dead Woods, and he ended up getting hurt and poisoned instead.
Wei Wuxian smiled gently. “It took months to heal your wound while you were under healing slumber in that cave. I am very familiar, intimately, with your scars.”
Lan Sizhui looked down at the place Wei Wuxian had touched, his breath catching. “So… that’s how you knew. That I’m really the one you know as Sizhui in your timeline.”
Wei Wuxian nodded. “That was my confirmation. My proof. That my baobei… is alive and real in my arms.”
Lan Sizhui blinked fast, eyes glassy again, a hand coming up to cover his mouth before he laughed—soft, shaky, joyful. “I am always yours.” he whispered.
Wei Wuxian leaned in and kissed him again.
This time slower.
Deeper.
As if he would never let him go again.
.
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..
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