Love has no face.

Wangji felt the crushing weight of his brother's sorrow settle over him, heavy and suffocating. He had always prided himself on discipline, on never succumbing to self-pity. But now—after the humiliation, after the pain, after the ruin he believed he'd brought upon their clan—he couldn't escape the gnawing guilt that hollowed him out, leaving him brittle and empty.

"I'm so sorry, Gege…" he whispered, his voice raw and trembling, barely more than a breath beneath the thick blanket cocooning his fragile form. "It's all my fault… I'm the reason you're suffering."

Xichen, eyes shining with unshed tears, leaned closer, desperate to bridge the chasm between them.

The words spilled from Wangji, sharp and unrelenting, each syllable a fresh wound. "Maybe… maybe I should have accepted his proposal," he choked, voice breaking. "Maybe then none of this would've happened. I ruined the clan's name. I humiliated you all. I defied him in front of everyone… and now you suffer because of me."

He turned away, unable to bear his brother's gaze, clutching the blanket so tightly his knuckles blanched. "I'm not pure anymore… I'm not the 'Jade' everyone praises. I'm not worthy of your affection, your pride. You should have let me go, Gege… I could've protected everyone by agreeing. Maybe… if I had gone with him… the clan would still stand tall."

His voice cracked, the words barely holding together. "My life could've saved the Lan name… you should've let me go."

Each confession landed in Xichen's heart like a blade, twisting deeper with every word. He reached out, yearning to comfort, but Wangji recoiled, shrinking behind the blanket—building a fortress of shame and sorrow. The silence that followed was suffocating, thick with pain and things left unsaid.

Xichen's lips parted, but nothing came. *How do you reach someone drowning in their own self-blame?* He wanted to shout, to shake Wangji free of the poison eating at him, but found himself voiceless, paralyzed by his own grief.

Then, the door slid open with a soft, gentle sound.

—

Lan Qiren entered. His presence, always so rigid and cold, felt different now—like a winter wind that somehow carried warmth. His hands, so often clasped in stern discipline, were open, reaching.

"Wangji," he said, voice gentle, almost trembling. He crossed the room not as a teacher, but as family, and knelt by the bed. His touch on Wangji's arm was feather-light, but to Wangji it felt like a lifeline thrown to a man adrift.

"My young nephew…" Qiren's voice cracked with emotion he rarely showed. "…I'm so happy to see you awake."

Wangji stared, startled—not by his uncle's presence, but by the softness in his gaze. There was no anger, no censure—only a tenderness Wangji hadn't seen since childhood.

"You've been so strong, Wangji. So strong, even when you shouldn't have had to be."

Wangji's lips trembled. "Uncle… you're not… disappointed?"

A faint, sorrowful smile flickered across Qiren's face. "You are my nephew, Lan Wangji. No crime was ever yours to bear. You said 'no' to someone unworthy, and they retaliated. That is their shame, not yours. Your pain will never be a blemish on our name."

Tears welled in Wangji's eyes, his breath hitching. "But I—"

Qiren's voice grew firmer. "You did nothing wrong. No honor is lost in protecting your dignity, even if the world does not understand. The Lan name will not be defined by your suffering—but by how we stand beside you."

The words shattered the dam. Wangji broke down, sobs wracking his body—silent, shaking, raw. This time, when Xichen reached for him, Wangji did not pull away. He let himself be gathered into his brother's arms, held tightly, fiercely, without judgment or shame.

Qiren rose, pausing at the door to rest a gentle hand on Wangji's head—a blessing, a benediction.

"You are still the Second Jade of Gusu," he said softly. "No fire can take that title away."

And for the first time since the nightmare began, Wangji let himself believe—just a little—that he was not alone.