Chapter Text
He had long forgotten about the world, the wind that blew through and the water that ran wild. For years, decades and ages, he remained a prisoner, held as a captive, overlooked by the world, left to rust in a cell made of iron and blood. He was isolated from life with no witness to watch him descend into madness except for the spirits that lingered inside the walls.
He had long forgotten how to live, surviving on instincts alone and a crushing hope that refused to diminish, even when he was long misremembered, erased from history books and the memories of those he held dear.
Who would remember him when everyone he loved had long ceased to exist, falling in their battles against the harsh world. They were stolen from him by a ruthless mastermind and a cruel world, just as he was snatched from them by greed.
Jiang Cheng was murdered, body dismembered with nothing was left to bury, the sole evidence of his existence a silver ring hidden inside Wei Wuxian's tattered robes.
Lan Wangji was stolen from the world by a plague beyond their knowledge, leaving behind a whole clan to mourn.
Jiang Yanli was snatched from a loving husband, brutally taken by the harshness of labour, leaving behind a son who had her eyes as her legacy.
Wei Wuxian was denied the decency to bury them just as they were denied the right to mourn him. He was a spirit that lived in a dungeon surrounded by metal bars and rigid walls, a prisoner with no rights. As far as the world knew, he was a criminal executed for his crimes, with no rights or identity.
It had been years since his faked death, ages and decades since he was thrown away to be forgotten, and the hope diminished with even passing year, never fading, always crushing. He could no longer remember the faces of the people he once loved. His memory was never the sharpest, and time in isolation had not been kind to his clear-mindedness.
He wished he had been able to say goodbye, wished he could've protected the brother who always walked by his side. He yearned to have married the man he always carried in his heart and who had loved him back. He ached to see the boy his sister birthed.
Wei Wuxian was not given a chance to say his farewells. Still, he was a ghost given an opening to avenge the fall of his brother, and even in the haze of insanity, he grasped the opportunity with bloodthirst and madness, aiding his abductores in spilling the blood of their enemies.
Where had things gone wrong? How did his life turn into a nightmare? Wei Wuxian was the adopted son of a marquis, a Jiang Clan member, a pillar of the kingdom. He had spilt blood to dethrone evil and slay a tyrannical Emperor. He was one of the leading forces that won the war and crowned Jin Guangshan as their kingdom's leader.
He should've seen the plot against him and his family.
He should've foreseen their future.
He shouldn't have failed his newly titled brother and his kind sister.
Wei Wuxian wanted to support their family to protect the Jiang clan's remnants, but he became the catalyst that focused enemies upon them. He was the blade used against his noble family.
His suffering would never pay for his crimes. He vowed to spend the remaining of his life atoning for his brother's life.
He would start with spilling the blood of those who dared slaughter his brother, and then he'll make the Jins pay; he'd make them suffer for every moment that his family suffered beneath their rule.
Wei Wuxian was forsaken by the world, forgotten by his loved ones, crushed by hope and shattered by loneliness, and yet he still loved, persisted in hopes of watching their enemies' blood paint the ground and water the world.
Decades had passed, his health was gone, and his future was stolen by greed. Wei Wuxian had long forgotten what the world was like, just as he knew in his heart that Lan Wangji wouldn't have waited for a deadman, that his betrothed must have married and sired a child.
He was renounced by love, declared dead, never to see the outside world ever again. Wei Wuxian knew there was no longer a home that would house him. There was no place where he belonged. He was a ghost, and vengeance was the sole thing he sought.
Hope had long crushed him until nothing remained, not even memories to ease his pain.
"Jiang Cheng, A-Jie, I'll avenge you, and then I'll be joining you in the afterlife. I'm sorry. Lan Zhan, wait for me."
His throat was hoarse with disuse, his voice broken and the words a slurred whisper heard by no one but the aggrieved ghosts that haunted his home.
A prison would always be inhabited, plagued by the stories and spirits of those wronged and those that had done wrong. Wei Wuxian knew his soul would linger as well; it was not his home, but it was where he belonged, the place that imprisoned him until nothing of him remained.
"Young Master, Wei." The words jolted him out of his haze, tugged him back to the world he wished to renounce just as it had abandoned him, forcing him to meet the cunning eyes of his imprisoner.
Wei Wuxian could vaguely remember that once upon a time, Jin Guangyao was an ally he could trust until he turned against him and stabbed him in the back, scheming to get him under his grasp. He held him as a hostage, used him like a blade to threaten the Jiang Clan. They stole him from the world, watched him resist their order and demands, tortured his mind and soul until they gave up on him and left him to rot like a lifeless corpse.
Wei Wuxian accepted his fate, but held onto hope, grasped faith and belief in his palms and waited for his fiance and family to claim him back; he was not dead; after all, they wouldn't give up on him so quickly and with no fight.
He waited with held breath and anxious anticipation, counted the minutes and the days, marked the date by the rise and set of the sun until a year had passed and no one came to pull him into their arms. He was forgotten, dead to the world with no ally around.
Wei Wuxian accepted his fortune, he was happy to die, but he refused to harm the people in his heart, especially not by aiding an emperor that saw them as nothing but enemies and threat.
Life was cruel, though, because his brother was destroyed, slain by a war that shouldn't have disturbed their world, and he grasped the chance to avenge him by finally giving in to their Emperor's persistent demands.
He was not the boy of their youth who could hold a sword and run through the battlefield, slaying demons and enemies alike. He wasn't the genius known for his intellect and talent either. Wei Wuxian had become a cripple, haunted by nightmares and weakened from malnourishment.
"We've caught our enemies thanks to your strategy. The Emperor wishes to reward you by allowing you to witness the rebels' trial. You can finally get your revenge."
He was not given a choice nor the chance to respond.
He was dragged and moved like a ragdoll, pulled through the vast hallways and out of the dungeons' darkness by two guards. Wei Wuxian had long accustomed to being manhandled like a tool; he had long learned to ignore his uselessness and focus on the world just as Jin Guangyao had learned that Wei Wuxian would not be able to stand for long on his own.
This was not his first trip beyond the cell bars. He had not counted the number of times that he was pulled by guards behind Jin Guangyao and into the study of an emperor whose eyes sparkled with greed and power. But this time was different; the scenery was altered, and the golden walls were brighter, a sentiment of power and wealth.
The scenery was a familiar road to Wei Wuxian, a man who had once walked these roads as an official serving the Emperor of their kingdom.
The throne room was bustling with sounds, loud with shouts and yells, buzzing with chatter and life. It was jarring to a man who had long forgotten how to live among others, a man who had lost his sanity to isolation and loneliness. Wei Wuxian forced his senses to shut down, directed his attention away from the jarring liveliness of the hall and the people around him until he found himself held next to the Emperor, facing the forms of kneeling men.
There was a familiarity in the colours of their robes and their forms. Something in Wei Wuxian recognized the men kneeling in front of the Emperor, bound and struggling against their captives, and it left him shaking with a fear he could taste on his tongue and feel in the speeding beat of his heart.
He had long given up on praying, but he begged to be wrong.
"Wei Ying!" One of them called, and Wei Wuxian's heart stopped beating, his soul stuttered, and his spirit wept. Oh, how he had craved to hear that voice call his name again. He thought he had forgotten their faces, assumed he would not be able to recognize them or their voices, but faced with reality; there was no denying that it was the voice that haunted his dreams.
It was the voice of the man who had stood by his side for years, as a friend and a betrothed.
"Wei Ying." He called again, and this time Wei Wuxian could hear the desperation and the disbelief in that tone because he could read Lan Wangji; every tick, every blink and every sound was a clue.
If he had tried to deny it at first, there was no denying it now; his soul and heart had recognized the man in white as the man who had stolen his heart. Wei Wuxian wanted to slip back into his world, a place safe from guilt, one where he did not betray his loved ones.
"Well, Wei Wuxian, look at you now, looking down at your brother and betrothed. Such loyalty to your Emperor! We would not have been able to subdue the rebellion without your contributions."
There was a deafening ringing in his ears, a sound that drowned out the world, and Wei Wuxian wanted to choke, to drown in his own tears and guilt. He was played like a fool, strung around and used. He was no longer a mere blade. He was the treacherous son, brother and betrothed that struck down his family and burned down his home.
Tears blurred his vision, and a lump formed in his throat; a sob never sounded out, but a burst of maddening laughter rang loud, echoing through the shocked hall, filling the ears of the men that watched Wei Wuxian descend into insanity.
He no longer looked like the genius nobleman that he once was; he was the image of a madman who had lost his mind. Wei Wuxian leaned against the side of the soldier as he laughed, aware of the eyes that watched him, careless of their thoughts as he focused on the image of his brother on his knees like a criminal.
His body was shaking, trembling as a scream lodged in his throat and echoed in his mind.
He wished Jiang Chang was as dead as they had claimed him to be, wanted to grasp and reexamine the ring that he knew once rested on his brother's finger, a proof of his lineage and their mother's love.
More than anything, Wei Wuxian wished he was never born, wished he had died long before he fell into the grasps of Jin Guangshan, long before he had betrayed their clan.
His fingers trembled, but there was no hesitance in his movements as he wrapped weak digits around the hilt of the guard's sword. Wei Wuxian pulled the blade out of its sheath and, with a burst of madness, flung himself at Jin Guashang, using the silence and his weight to impale the sword in his enemy's body before his own gave out. He crumbled to the ground, shattered, broken and mad, pulling the blade to let the wound bleed out.
The world descended into chaos as Jin Guangshan fell on top of his decayed form, blood seeping out of the open wound and dripping to the ground. He could feel as the Emperor's heart sped up before it finally gave out, and the life had drained from his ruthless heart.
There was no satisfaction in his death, his heart still sang for the vengeance he had craved, but Wei Wuxian had at least redeemed himself, had proven his loyalties and had punished the man that had used him as a sword to strike down his clan.
He had won his brother's rebellion even when he was as useless as a cripple.
"Lan Zhan." He mouthed, and as if summoned, the man kneeled next to him, pushing off the lifeless body of their torturer.
"Wei Ying, I'm here." And for the first time in years, Wei Wuxian could feel himself smile, the delight reviving the life in his eyes.
He was finally home.