Love is Righteous!

Part 1.

**A Return to Gusu**

After returning home from the Guanyin temple, Wei Wuxian carried an unsettling weight in his chest—a heaviness that seemed to seep into his bones, clinging to him with the persistent dampness of Gusu’s mist-laden air. Each breath felt thick, as if the sorrow of the past days had become a physical presence, pressing down on his heart. He glanced sideways at Lan Wangji, whose presence was a quiet balm to his troubled spirit. Wangji’s steady, unwavering gaze held a flicker of hope, a silent promise that things would get better, yet Wei Wuxian could sense the unspoken worry etched in the furrow of his brow and the tightness of his jaw. Will time truly heal these wounds? he wondered, the familiar pang of uncertainty gnawing at him. The comfort of being beside Wangji was undeniable, but the shadow of recent events loomed large, casting doubt on the possibility of peace.

For Lan Wangji, bringing Wei Wuxian back to Gusu had been a cherished dream, a vision he had clung to through years of hardship and longing. Yet, as reality unfolded before them, it felt starkly different from the idyllic reunion he had imagined. The streets of Gusu, once alive with laughter and the warmth of camaraderie, now echoed with an uncomfortable silence. Even the soft chirping of birds seemed subdued, as if the entire city was holding its breath. Each step they took along the familiar stone paths felt weighted with the burden of unspoken grief and the ghosts of what had been lost. Everyone lost something yesterday, Wei Wuxian thought, feeling the collective sorrow wrap around him like a shroud, suffocating and cold. The air itself seemed to mourn, heavy with the scent of rain and regret.

As they approached the imposing walls of the Cloud Recesses, Wei Wuxian’s gaze was drawn to the Wall of Rules. It had grown taller, more forbidding, now adorned with an additional fifty prohibitions—each one meticulously inscribed in stark, unyielding calligraphy. The new rules loomed over him like a thundercloud, their words sharp and accusatory: Do not interact with Wei Wuxian. Do not stay with him at the same place. Don’t talk with him. Do not let him teach you a crooked path... Each rule felt like a dagger, a fresh wound layered atop old scars. Though his name had been cleared, acceptance remained a distant dream, always just out of reach. The injustice of it all—the way suspicion and fear clung to him despite everything—was suffocating.

He sighed deeply, the sound echoing in the stillness, feeling once again the sting of exclusion that had become all too familiar. Why does it always have to be this way? The question echoed in his mind, bitter and unresolved. Yet, as he looked at Wangji—who stood at his side, steadfast and unyielding—Wei Wuxian felt a flicker of warmth amidst the chill. Wangji’s efforts to make him comfortable, to carve out a space for them in a world that seemed determined to keep them apart, did not go unnoticed. In that moment, Wei Wuxian realized that their bond was a lifeline, stronger than any rule or judgment. We only need each other, he thought resolutely, drawing strength from Wangji’s presence. The world around them may have changed, grown colder and more divided, but their connection remained a beacon—a steadfast light in the darkness. Together, they would navigate this new reality, one uncertain step at a time.

As the days slipped by, Lan Wangji became acutely aware of the subtle shifts in Wei Wuxian’s demeanor. The vibrant spark that once danced in Wei Wuxian's eyes had dimmed; his words grew fewer, his laughter—a sound that used to fill the air with joy—now surfaced only rarely, and when it did, it felt brittle, forced. Wangji could see through the mask of cheerfulness that Wei Wuxian wore, especially within the confines of Gusu, where the weight of unspoken rules pressed down on him like an invisible hand. Only when they ventured beyond the city’s boundaries did a genuine smile occasionally break through, fleeting and precious, illuminating Wei Wuxian’s face with a glimpse of the man he used to be.

Determined to uncover the reasons behind this change, Wangji poured his heart into making Wei Wuxian happy. He orchestrated quiet moments of comfort, shared silent walks beneath the moonlit sky, and offered gentle reassurances. Yet, six months passed in a blur of routine and longing, with only Lan Sizhui and Lan Jingyi remaining by Wei Wuxian's side in Jingshi. The other junior disciples offered polite greetings, but their words felt hollow, their smiles tinged with unease. The camaraderie that once defined their circle had faded, replaced by a cautious distance that left Wei Wuxian feeling more isolated than ever.

One night, as they lay nestled together in the sanctuary of Jingshi, the sweet scent of sandalwood incense curled through the air, wrapping them in a cocoon of warmth and safety. The world outside faded away, leaving only the gentle rhythm of their breathing and the soft glow of lantern light. In the depths of slumber, a dream unfolded—a surreal, unsettling encounter with Jin Guangyao.

“Master Wei, how do you know this place? Please don’t tell me you and Hanguang-Jun are here on vacation,” Jin Guangyao’s voice echoed, mocking and insidious.

“Whatever the reason is, it’s none of your business; you’re not in a position to ask!” Wangji thought fiercely, but in the dreamscape, his voice was lost, swallowed by shadows.

Wei Wuxian’s voice, however, rang clear, cutting through the tension. “Lian Fang Zun, you hid quite a significant land deed in the secret chamber of the fragrant palace, right beside my manuscripts. Don’t you remember?”

“Oh, that would be my fault. I should’ve put them separately,” Jin Guangyao replied with a nonchalance that bordered on cruelty, his eyes devoid of any hint of regret.

Zewu Zun stepped forward, his posture heavy with shame. “Ashamed. I was fooled by lies and lost my spiritual powers. Even with Shuoyue and Liebing, they will not be of much help.” In this strange dream world, Wangji remained unseen and unheard, a silent observer trapped behind an invisible barrier. Helplessness gnawed at him as he watched Wei Wuxian navigate these treacherous waters alone, the burden of reality pressing down with renewed force.

Wangji’s thoughts churned with frustration and regret. If only you had believed us, brother, we wouldn’t be in this mess. He watched as Wei Wuxian maintained his composure, his cheerfulness a brittle mask that threatened to crack at any moment.

“No need to feel ashamed. After all, lying is one of Lian Fang Zun's greatest skills,” Wei Wuxian replied, his words sharp and sincere, slicing through the dream’s oppressive atmosphere.

Jin Guangyao’s probing question lingered in the air: “Hanguang-Jun is not with you?” Wangji clenched his fists, anger bubbling beneath the surface. Who does he think he is to question us?

“How are you so sure that Hanguang-Jun would come?” Wei Wuxian countered, his voice steady but laced with defiance.

“Of course he'll come. Since you were suspicious of this Guanyin temple, Hanguang-Jun naturally will know that something strange is afoot,” Jin Guangyao smirked, his words laced with malicious amusement.

“Young Master Wei, if Wangji is around, why is he not with you?” Jin Guangyao continued, mimicking the sect leader's tone with calculated cruelty.

“We split up,” Wei Wuxian replied curtly, his tone clipped. Wangji’s mind drifted back to their last heated night together—moments of confusion and miscommunication that now seemed so trivial in the face of everything they had endured.

“I heard you injured yourself when you left the Burial Mound,” Jin Guangyao said, his voice dripping with feigned concern.

How would he know? Wangji wondered, realization dawning that Jin Guangyao must have been informed by someone else. The sting of betrayal was sharp and immediate, another reminder of how isolated they had become in a world rife with secrets and deceit.