Lan Xichen's Promise

II

Disciples pound on the Jingshi doors. The telltale blue of his spiritual energy swirls around him, the magic bringing the array to life. His energy zaps more, but with every drop, the array brightens until blue is whirling around him like a tornado. It's blinding, and as the magic swallows him up and drags him into darkness, the last thing he hears is a broken scream.

"Ge!"

***

Lan Xichen is pacing Cloud Recess when he feels the tug. His spiritual energy pulls and strains, and he folds slightly, furrowing his brows and clutching his abdomen. His breaths come heavy, but it's not painful. It's like nothing he's ever felt, and before he can think, his feet start to march.

It's guiding him somewhere, like a gut instinct, and as he makes his way through his sect, he stops at the lectures.

Lan Xichen's hand still hovers over his core, the other gripping Liebing. He should consult the sect healers, but the tugging is impossible to ignore. He's lured to the lectures, to something in the room.

"Xichen," Lan Qiren frowns, having looked up to see his eldest nephew scanning the room, a complicated expression on his face and hunched slightly.

The room turns, and Lan Xichen flushes under the attention, "Shufu," He bows, "I'm sorry. I just..."

He's not quite sure how to explain himself, not without worrying his uncle and his little brother, who stares at him intently, trying to deduce whether or not he is alright. Something in the room still lures him in—a magnetism pulling him towards something.

Lan Qiren is about to follow up with further questions when another voice interrupts him. Wei Wuxian leans closer, concerned: "Zewu-Jun?"

Lan Xichen flinches. The voice is electrifying. A scorching blue floods the class, and he lifts an arm before his eyes, shielding himself. The light pours from the centre of the room, erupting the students into chaos. Swords are drawn, and people cower, but Lan Xichen is still in a haze, trying to decipher what in the room is attracting him as if his energy has tunnel vision for something.

Wangji jumps up. In a second, he's by his brother's side, sword drawn to protect him. "Xiongzhang," he says, but he receives no answer.

The light flickers like a candle and eventually extinguishes, revealing a man curled into himself, gasping to catch his breath on the ground. Swords stop an inch from him, but Lan Wangji and his brother are frozen.

The man is in white and blue robes, but they're tarnished with dirt and blood. They're ripped and rumpled; his hair is loose, messy, and tangled, and his hands are stained with soil, blood, and ink. Dirt is caked beneath his nails and in the creases on his knuckles.

Facing the man's back, Lan Qiren stands, "Who are you?"

The man is trembling, and as he lifts his head, the Lan brothers feel the air drain from their lungs.

Lan Xichen stumbles back, "You..."

Lan Wangji barely has the mind to rest a hand on his brother's shoulder, "Xiongzhang?" He whispers, and he's not sure which one he's addressing.

A Lan Xichen stares up at them. His face is smeared with dirt and grime, and hair sticks to his forehead. He's more dishevelled than anyone's ever seen him. He blinks several times, his eyes droopy, and then they focus on his counterpart.

The room is silent as he lifts a finger. He points, and it's accusing.

This Lan Xichen is older. He's from the future, and he's glaring at his younger self with such hatred that nobody can speak in the face of it.