"Wei... Ying... back..."
Wangji whispered, his voice cracking in a way he hadn't expected. Not from horror. Not entirely. Something deeper—a hopeless, tired longing that had been buried for years.
He didn't move. His golden eyes, usually dry as a forgotten pond, grew heavy with tears. The sensation surprised even him.
He felt himself cracking. Letting himself react like a human—something the rules had almost made him forget.
For once, he didn't care.
He squeezed his eyes shut, unable to look at the living skull before him. His own tears felt larger than they should. When he opened his eyes again, still tired but now somehow alive, he raised a hand toward its hollow cheek.
The skull tilted with a soft cracking sound.
"Missed me, Lan Zhan?"
The voice was barely formed—perhaps because he wasn't whole yet.
But unmistakably Wei Ying's.
Wangji didn't know how to form words. His throat felt like someone was gripping it. He had never been a man of more than two words, but even those felt too heavy now. The last moments crashed back into him. Guilt for everything. Every single thing. He'd had the chance to fix it, but he'd stood there like a statue and watched.
"Lot," he managed, barely above a whisper. His gaze stayed fixed, unblinking.
"My body is destroyed, right?" Wei Ying's skull asked. The words were soft but carried a heaviness, almost said in his usual playful manner. "Now I'm just... some bones. No tears to cry. No flesh to smile. Cursed."
Bony fingers played with Wangji's hair.
Wangji stayed silent for long seconds. It was painful to watch. To listen. He wanted to give back everything Wei Ying had lost. Even the flesh.
"It... died with you."
He meant both Wei Ying's body and himself.
He watched as Wei Ying visibly hurt—the realization that his existence had faded. This soul had truly wanted to live, yet had been thrown away like this.
Then suddenly, Wei Ying clutched his skull with an almost violent cry and wrenched back. The sound was violent to Wangji's ears—like someone tearing open his chest. Panic surged. Wei Ying would fade again, and Wangji didn't know if he could survive that.
"Wei Ying—!" He reached out, his golden eyes dark with a panic and pain that seemed to reflect from Wei Ying onto him.
He would do anything to stop him from crying.
Wangji moved closer. All the meditation he had mastered could not calm this fear.
His breath stopped when Wei Ying snapped his gaze toward him, his tone shifting.
"And you... let it." He tilted his head in a horrible way, the skull turning upside down. "You always... wanted me dead, Lan Zhan? I just wanted people not to have the life I had. But now people remember me as a curse. How beautiful—the story of a legend. Isn't it, dear Hanguang-jun?"
"No."
Wangji shook his head. He had never wanted this. He had been bound by rules. He had pushed Wei Ying—not to break rules, not to touch him, not to let his guard down. But not hard enough to make him fall from that mountain.
How could he explain when he couldn't think straight? How could he explain the years spent with this heaviness in his chest, a weight with no way to lighten? And that title—Hanguang-jun—he never wanted to hear it from Wei Ying's lips.
Wei Ying cried out again. Bones rattled together. Wangji felt like he was in the grave too, unable to breathe.
"I need flesh," Wei Ying hissed. "Give me flesh. I need my body. It's painful. Or I'll die again."
Wangji nodded immediately, the thought of losing him again unbearable.
His mind was already working—how to get flesh, how to restore Wei Ying's body.
Wei Ying stopped crying, his voice dull again. "You'll give me flesh, Lan Zhan?"
Wangji nodded once more, final in his decision. "I'll..."
***
The next morning, he left Wei Ying's bones waiting in the secret chamber.
He was unusually active—more than yesterday. He joined the same mission Xichen had excluded him from before.
But his purpose wasn't the mission. It was the flesh. Puppets. He would steal flesh from their bodies before they fully died and turned bone-dry.
Xichen glanced at him with mild surprise. Wangji looked preoccupied, consumed by something important—something his whole life now depended on.
"Wangji," Xichen called as they traveled.
Wangji snapped from his thoughts. "Hm?" He turned, his expression giving nothing away. But he knew why Xichen had called.
Xichen's gaze swept over his face before he offered a faint, polite smile. "Have you had too much liquor? You're unusually active today. Or is there something you're aiming to do?"
He struck close to home. But Wangji had already made his promise. He would become the black-robed man instead of the white. This lie felt like a faded water drop on his tongue.
"A little... for refreshment."
Xichen raised an eyebrow. "Really? I thought you never touched it."
Wangji swallowed softly. "Liquor is forbidden inside Cloud Recesses. I drank it outside. Just one cup."
The excuse felt weak—he wasn't using his head properly. His focus was elsewhere, searching for flesh without harming humans. Puppets were the best option.
Xichen chuckled faintly. "Poor... but logical. We are elders, not children."
Wangji nodded once, his expression determined despite the tired lines around his eyes.
"Mn."