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“You should be afraid,” Wen Qing had told her the first time they met.
Qin Su had stared up at her with a short sword in her trembling hands as the sounds of battle continued all around them. “Why would I fear the one who rescued me?”
Their eyes flitted to the corpse of the Wen soldier that Wen Qing herself had killed. He should have known better than to attack a medic.
Qin Su had been barely more than a girl then, her eyes growing wide and fearful when Wen Qing had flashed her fangs.
Still, she had not run—not then, and not now.
…
“Wen Qing?”
She raises her head and finds a woman swathed in golds and pinks. It should be gold and lilac, she thinks, but then again, Jiang Yanli is dead.
The woman grows closer, and the lamp illuminates the soft, familiar features of Qin Su. “Oh, Tian ah,” she gasps, dropping the lantern on a table full of torture devices and sprinting. “What have they done to you?”
Now, there is no fear as Qin Su approaches her in the dungeon where she has rotted for years.
Wen Qing hisses, pulling at the chains locked by this woman’s husband.
“I mean you no harm,” Qin Su says, and then draws her sword, a fine, filigreed thing that they both know has never seen true battle.
Death would be the most merciful thing to happen to Wen Qing in this cell, so she simply watches Qin Su and waits, wondering if her soul will somehow find Wei Wuxian’s in the afterlife—if he will be there with the rest of her family.
The sword comes down, but instead of death, Qin Su grants her freedom.
It is a mistake.
The moment her chains are loosed, Wen Qing presses Qin Su to the wall with an arm at her throat. “You should be afraid,” she says, an echo of their first encounter.
Qin Su’s deep brown eyes still hold no fear, and Wen Qing releases her, wondering why.
“I need help,” Qin Su says, and there, now, is the fear, reserved not for Wen Qing and her ravenous thirst, but for whatever has driven the lovely new Jin-Shao-Furen into the depths of Koi Tower’s dungeons.
“Why should I help a Jin?” Wen Qing asks, bitterly. They have stolen everything she had left. Her freedom, her dignity, and most unforgivably, her family.
“Because your brother is still here, and I’m your only hope of getting to him.”
Wen Qing stills. “You lie.”
Qin Su places a hand on her rounded belly, which Wen Qing can now see clearly through the thick layers of her robes. “I swear on the life of my child that Wen Qionglin is here. Undead, and unconscious, but intact.”
Wen Qing’s knees buckle, her body overwhelmed by emotion and exhaustion.
Qin Su offers her wrist. “You must be starved. Take what you need.”
Perhaps against her better judgement, Wen Qing sinks her fangs into the pale flesh, the first taste of blood sweet on her tongue. For so long, they have kept her clinging to the edge of life with only the diluted blood of the beasts, trickled down her throat once each full moon.
Qin Su sucks in a breath and hisses in pain, so Wen Qing slows her frantic pace as soon as her body allows her a breath. She runs her tongue across the skin, encouraging it to heal when she pulls her fangs free.
She wipes her mouth on the back of her hand looks up at Qin Su. “What kind of help do you need?”
“I need to get out of Koi Tower just as much as you do,” she replies cryptically.
“Are you not the daughter-in-law of the sect leader?”
Qin Su’s face twists. “You would think. But my baby will not be safe here.”
Wen Qing clutches Qin Su’s shoulders. “And Jin Ling? Is he safe?”
“A’Ling?” Qin Su blinks in surprise. “Of course. He is doted on by his grandparents and his uncles.”
Good. Jiang Yanli and Wei Wuxian would want him safe. He must be safe. “But your child won’t be?”
Qin Su nods.
“Because of his parentage?” she guesses. Jin Guangyao will always be nothing more than a bastard and a tool in his father’s eyes.
The complicated expression on Qin Su’s face intrigues Wen Qing but does not divulge any secrets.
“Fine. Take me to A’Ning. After that, I’ll see about getting you out.”
…
Qin Su may not be a warrior, but she is an accomplished gentry woman with strong cultivation.
She casts glamours almost as well as Wei Wuxian had. In her shadow, Wen Qing sneaks through Koi Tower.
The bulk of the staff and disciples are gathered in the Great Hall, she learns, as there is a discussion conference this week.
They arrive at the Fragrance Hall, and she watches Qin Su take a steadying breath. “Let’s go.”
Within the shared bedchambers of Jin Guangyao and Qin Su is a gilded mirror.
Wen Qing watches as Qin Su places her hand on its surface and slips into a hidden chamber. She extends her other hand to Wen Qing.
Though she does not yet trust this woman, she follows, willing to risk nearly anything for A’Ning.
Inside the mirror is a treasure room lined with stolen artifacts. Wen treasures fill the shelves along with loosely bound stacks of paper written in a handwriting Wen Qing knows almost as well as her own.
She picks up the nearest booklet, this one on the categorization of resentful spirits. “How long has it been?”
Qin Su’s expression softens. “Wei Wuxian died nearly three years ago.”
She bites back a sob and stuffs the papers into her robes.
“What is this room?” she asks, running her hand along the sheath of the assassin’s dagger, once gifted to her by her uncle. It vanishes into her sleeve.
“This is my husband’s treasure room. It will only open at the touch a bloodline Jin.”
And then Wen Qing sees the awful picture clearly. She looks at Qin Su, but Qin Su is looking down, her hands cradling the unborn life she carries.
“I am sorry,” she says, though it is insufficient in every way. She picks up Wei Wuxian’s sword, knowing Suibian will not obey her, but unwilling to leave it all the same. “Take me to A’Ning. We’re getting out of here.”
Qin Su nods and leads her deeper into the vault, the tomes and trophies fading into chains and the tools of torture she knows well from her youth in Qishan.
Down a flight of stairs, they come across a cell.
Inside, A’Ning hangs from chains.
“I have no key,” Qin Su says, “or I would have freed him first. My sword cannot cut the lock.”
Wen Qing, no longer starved, rips the metal door from its hinges.
…
After three weeks of careful, companionable travel, they arrive on the outskirts of Caiyi Town. The whole jianghu is abuzz with Qin Su’s disappearance, and they must be cautious, but they need Lan Wangji for what comes next.
“He has not been seen since the bloodbath at Nightless City,” Qin Su says. “He is in secluded meditation. I do not know if he will come.”
Qin Su still sends a messenger butterfly, and then they wait, hidden in an inn in a disreputable part of town. A vampire, a runaway noble, and a fierce corpse.
Wen Ning is not himself. Wen Qing has felt the metal nails in his head. She can sense the damage they have done. Lan Wangji’s musical cultivation had once helped Wei Wuxian stabilize her brother’s mind.
Now, she can only hope that a duet can still work as a solo performance.
Lan Wangji arrives at nightfall with sweat on his brow and a stiffness in his gait.
“You’re injured,” she says in lieu of greeting.
His eyes widen a fraction as he takes them in. “Wen-Guniang, Jin-Shao-Furen.” He then sees her brother, and his eyes sharpen. “The Jin have lied.”
“About more than you know,” Qin Su agrees. She pulls out a qiankun bag that is heavily warded and still reeks of resentment. “Wei Wuxian was set up. Nie Mingjue was murdered. There is a man in Koi Tower who is being paid to recreate the Yin Hufu.”
Lan Wangji sits, and Wen Qing notes the carefulness in his movements. She will have to examine him later.
“Tell me,” he urges.