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The Burial Mounds were never entirely quiet - or at least, not to Wei Wuxian. He was acutely aware at all times of the whispers of the restless spirits there, the constant low thrum of resentful energy that seemed to press against him when he was trying to sleep at night, the way the very ground was suffused with unwholesome qi. He had liked filling them with life and chatter and growing things. He had liked the buzz of conversation, A-Yuan's giggles, and even Wen Qing's reprimands. It wasn't perfect, but it had helped to smooth the ever-present edge that living there had honed in him.
Wen Ning was created in those surroundings, and sometimes Wei Wuxian doubted whether he could have made the fierce corpse anywhere else - made him the way he was, rather, with his mind and spiritual essence intact and bound into a dead man's body. The Burial Mounds were a unique place, blending life and death together in overlapping layers, living things growing out of the dead, living souls thriving in the midst of death, and Wen Ning was the perfect embodiment of those seeming contradictions. People often wondered (in whispers, behind his back) how Wei Wuxian had managed it, and he wanted to say, "It's easy, all you have to do is try to turn a graveyard into a garden for a year or so, and you'll be on the right track!"
When Lan Wangji came there, just once, it was like a beautiful swan landing in a muddy marsh. It made Wei Wuxian suddenly self-aware of the grime of the place, the dust that got into every crack and made his eyes sting, the way he never felt entirely clean. Lan Wangji would not say anything so overt as to criticize or complain about the surroundings, but Wei Wuxian had copied the Lan Clan's rules enough times to know that he was breaking several of them just by being here. "Come back to Gusu," he had asked, and Wei Wuxian had, just for a moment, been tempted by the idea. By the thought of going to somewhere that was clean and comfortable and orderly, somewhere he could rest and be taken care of. Somewhere that would be quiet.
He couldn't do it. He covered his regret with a smile and maybe Hanguang-jun almost believed him.
After he left, Wei Wuxian went into his cave and sat there on his mess of a bed. The ever-present chatter and hum was like a dull ache, like a scar left behind from a wound that had healed but still itched. He clutched his head and squeezed his eyes shut and tried to keep from screaming.
"Wei-gongzi?" came the familiar soft voice from the darkness.
Wei Wuxian stifled a sigh and looked up to find Wen Ning there. "Yes?"
"I heard you calling out, so I came to see if you needed anything."
Wei Wuxian didn't think he had actually cried out loud. He thought he had managed to keep everything hidden inside. Maybe he was wrong. "Did I?" he asked, with an academic curiosity that he couldn't suppress.
"I thought so. I thought I heard you screaming."
"If I was screaming, wouldn't everyone else be in here too, checking on me?"
Wen Ning tilted his head slightly to the size, puzzled. "Maybe. Sometimes I think they're scared to bother you when you're in here alone."
"Oh," Wei Wuxian said, unable to argue with that.
"If I was wrong, I can leave," Wen Ning said shyly, backing away.
"No," Wei Wuxian blurted out, holding up a hand to stop him. "Don't go. Please."
Wen Ning obligingly came back and sat down on his bed next to him. He was quiet, Wei Wuxian thought. Not just that he wasn't speaking, although he wasn't. But he brought a sort of aura of quiet with him, a little bubble of peace in the constant nagging, scratching pressure. It felt good to have him there. Wei Wuxian leaned against his shoulder and closed his eyes, letting the quiet surround him.