They have been married for several years and Lan Qiren is content.
He doesn’t mean, of course, that he’s been discontent or unsatisfied before. He was…settled. Acquiesced to the fact that his role was to be the rock his nephews (and his sect) could lean on. He never thought he might need—or even deserve—a rock for himself.
Despite his initial doubts, he’s grown to appreciate his wife, her drive for knowledge and her dedication to human life, her pragmatism and her unflinching sense of justice. They share a home if not a bed, have similar interests, and are equally exasperated and reluctantly fond of Wangji’s chaotic husband.
It’s a strange life. Strange but good.
And then, one day when they’ve shared a meal in companionable silence, Wen Qing puts down her teacup, folds her hands on her lap, and looks at him straight in the eye.
”Husband,” she says. ”I would like to have a child.”
It’s not that Qiren is unaware of marital relations. Despite (or perhaps exactly because) their sect’s seemingly cold demeanor, the Lan put a great deal of significance on the mutual satisfaction in the bedroom. The part of the library only accessible to senior disciples has whole two bookshelves dedicated to manuals offering detailed instructions for different kinds of dual (and triad and…other combinations) cultivation, both in text and picture form.
It’s not that Qiren doesn’t know what he’s supposed to do.
It’s just that…well.
”I would require your guidance,” he says slowly. ”This is unfamiliar territory for me.”
Wen Qing nods. ”The act itself or everything else it entails?” she asks. Her eyes hold a clinical sort of curiosity and once again, Qiren finds himself grateful.
”I have read the required manuals,” he says. ”I—” He cuts himself off, annoyed at his inability to speak his mind.
”Qiren,” Wen Qing says and reaches out her small hand palm up and he takes it, squeezes it briefly. It’s one of their rare small gestures of domestic tenderness, something they both can tolerate and cherish, finding strength in the other.
”Husband,” she says. ”I said I would like to, not that I demand. If this is something you are against, I will not push.”
”I’m not averse to the thought of a child,” Qiren finally says slowly, frowning at their hands.
”It’s the making of that worries you,” his wife says, perceptive as usual.
”Mn,” Qiren says.
Qiren has never seen his wife naked. Naturally, he’s aware of her form, how she’s smaller than him, delicate yet strong, willowy and tenacious. But he’s never thought of how she’d look under her robes, mostly because he’s never felt the need for such thoughts. But now he does imagine—or at least he tries.
The thing is, he’s never had that many thoughts on any kind of naked body. He’s never felt the kind of burning lust his late brother felt for Wangji and Xichen’s mother, not the intense devotion Wangji seems to have for Wei Wuxian, or whatever that’s going on between Xichen, Nie Mingjue, and his unreasonably pretty deputy.
When he told his wife he’d read the manuals, he was telling the truth. He felt it was necessary knowledge when he was the acting father to his nephews, although he’s fervently grateful they both have figured out things on their own without his input on their thirst for knowledge. However, it has been a while and he thinks it would probably be prudent to refresh his memory.
In an unfathomably unfortunate turn of events, when he reaches the section housing these particular manuals, he finds that he’s not the only one there.
”Oh,” Wei Wuxian breathes out, violent red blooming on his cheeks. ”I—um—”
”Make sure to put the texts back in their appropriate places,” Qiren says curtly before turning to scan the shelves to locate the scrolls he needs and then making his way to the table on the other side of the room. He hopes his nephew’s husband is too embarrassed to notice Qiren’s own flaming cheeks. He also refuses to look up when Wei Wuxian re-shelves his books and flees the library because he has absolutely no wish to know what Wei Wuxian was researching. The whole Cloud Recesses is already way more familiar with Wangji and Wuxian’s marital life than they ever should be.
He shakes his head to clear it and concentrates on the task at hand.
Wen Qing sits on the edge of her bed, hands primly on her lap and a carefully neutral look on her face. ”It shouldn’t take very long,” she says, and even though her voice is calm, Qiren sees the slightest of tremors run down her frame. ”And as I told you, we can be…creative with the execution.”
Yes. She told him. Over tea, on an afternoon a couple of days after he agreed on a child. She told him that he wouldn’t need to do anything and that she could take care of the physical aspect of the deed from preparation to the finish line. And that he could, if he so wished, be unconscious through the whole thing.
Qiren didn’t wish so. While he appreciated her consideration, he felt this was a joint effort, something they should do together. As partners. As prospective parents.
Wen Qing had informed him earlier that week that her cycle would be opportune soon and the most auspicious day for conception would be today. And now, they are here, in her bedroom.
(”I would feel more comfortable visiting your bed,” Qiren had said. ”As I can leave you to rest in the safety and comfort of your own rooms instead of forcing you to walk back.”
”It’s hardly a long walk,” Wen Qing had said, amused.
”Nevertheless,” he’d insisted.)
”I would—” Qiren starts now, then stops, annoyed at himself. Don’t be of two minds, reminds himself and then adds, wryly, Do not let your studies go to waste. He takes a breath and says, ”I would like to take my time. To make it pleasurable to you.”
”You don’t have to,” Wen Qing says gently.
Qiren frowns. ”I know I don’t have to. But I also know that your relaxed state and pleasure will increase the probability of conception. If this is the only sexual relation we will share, I’d rather the experience be pleasant than unpleasant for you.”
”And what about you, then?”
”As you said, my part shouldn’t take very long,” Qiren says dryly. ”You are the one who will carry the literal burden. I would be honored if you allowed me this.”
His wife looks at him for a moment, searching his face for something, Qiren doesn’t know what. Then she nods as something relaxes in her as she lays down, watching him as he unties his forehead ribbon and carefully sets it on the low shelf next to her bed.
”May I open your robes?” Qiren asks stiffly, feeling awkward like he isn’t quite in control of his own body. He hopes the feeling dissipates soon.
”You may.”
Wen Qing is only wearing a soft underrobe and he furrows his brows as he pries the sash open. Her skin jumps when he brushes her skin. He looks up, concerned, but she merely presses her lips together briefly and shakes her head.
Perhaps she feels as nervous as him.
Her skin is pale and cool under his palm as he moves his hands slowly, feeling her hips narrow to the waist and then widen with her ribcage. He keeps his touch gentle but not too light to avoid unnecessary tickling, and when he reaches her breasts, he makes sure to rub her nipples gently. It earns him a shiver and as he glances up, Wen Qing’s eyes are closed and a faint rosy hue has risen on her cheeks.
Hm.
Qiren brushes his thumbs over the nipples again, observes how they harden into nubs under his ministrations, and keeps an eye on his wife’s reactions as he continues. The manuals he read had made a point that a considerate lover will take care to give appropriate attention to each part of their partner’s body and pay attention to what they enjoy the most, and Qiren has always prided himself on being a diligent student. By the end of his exploration, Wen Qing is breathing rapidly and her skin is warm under Qiren’t fingers and lips. She’s moving her hips in aborted little thrusts, a sign that Qiren remembers indicates she’s aroused.
He draws back slightly and lets his palms slide down to cup her under her thighs (the manuals repeatedly reminded that unless otherwise stated, continuous touch is what most lovers prefer). The hair between her legs is glistening and when he brushes his fingers along the warm skin, they slide easily along the wetness (a sign of female arousal). Again, he makes sure to follow the instructions on how to move his fingers, and is again pleased at the bitten-out moan Wen Qing lets out.
Some of the books offered guidance on how to use one’s mouth to pleasure their partner to which his initial thought had mostly been baffled, why in the heavens’ name would anyone want to do that. However, now that he follows the way his fingers move and how Wen Qing reacts to the stimulus, he wonders. Would using his mouth bring more pleasure to his wife? Probably. He takes a discreet sniff at his fingers just to make sure to avoid any embarrassing reactions before settling down between Wen Qing’s thighs. And then he, well, puts his mouth on her.
The experience itself isn’t something he cares to think much about: it’s warm and wet and tastes mostly neutral (he knows his wife cleaned herself just as thoroughly as he did beforehand). He locates the stiff nub on her quite easily and uses the step-by-step instructions he memorized; his mouth to stimulate the nub and fingers to gently move inside her. It doesn’t take long for her to start whimpering and then she reaches the peak with a drawn-out sound, clenching around his fingers and arching her back.
Remembering the instructions, Qiren doesn’t stop but continues until she peaks for a second time, only stopping when she lets out a grumbling noise and pushes him away from her. He wipes his mouth discreetly on a small napkin and rises to his knees, sitting back on his heels to wait her out.
”Well,” she says after a moment, bright red stains on her cheeks. ”That was most definitely pleasurable.”
”Thank you,” Qiren says. ”Should we continue or would you wish to wait?”
She let out a small, contemplative sound. ”I think we should continue,” she says, looking at his groin with a raised brow.
Ah. Well. Apparently bringing pleasure to his wife resulted in an erection. Not that Qiren is unfamiliar with the sensation—he was a teenage boy once, after all—but it’s been…a long time since he last felt his penis throb like this. Feeling suddenly awkward, he opens his robes and lowers his pants to let his erection out and when it is, he. He has a moment of irrational disbelief, as if he suddenly doesn’t know what he’s supposed to do next. (He’s supposed to penetrate his wife and reach his own peak inside her to make conception possible. He knows this.)
”Come,” Wen Qing says softly. She spreads her legs wider, reaches out a hand, and Qiren shuffles forward to hold it (with his clean hand, of course). The proximity seems to remind his body of what it’s meant to do as he curves over her. To poke her with his penis seems unseemly so he takes himself in hand (the wet one, which feels oddly appropriate) and guides it to her opening. The first touch surprises a hiss out of him—it’s hot and soft and—oh—it feels like it draws Qiren into a tight, wet embrace. He pulls back slightly and then pushes back in and—well—his body—knows—
It truly doesn’t take much time at all. He feels like he’s imploding and falling over a precipice as he spends inside his wife with a punched-out sound. She clenches around him (he really doesn’t have the presence of mind to say whether she climaxed again or not—probably not) and it prompts another round of uncontrollable twitching from him until he slumps over her, feeling wrung out.
She clears her throat a moment later, stirring him enough to remind him that slumping over her like that is hardly pleasant. He pulls out with a soft, wet sound and stands up to tuck himself back into his pants (the sensation is unpleasant but he will go and wash up in a moment) before tying his robe. From the corner of his eye, he sees Wen Qing curl to her side.
”How do you feel?” he asks.
She blinks like a lazy cat and lets out a hum. ”I think I’m going to take a nap before taking a bath,” she says.
Qiren nods and spreads a blanket over her, ignoring the pleased look of surprise in her eyes.
”Thank you, husband,” she says softly.
Qiren inclines his head. ”It is my duty and my pleasure, wife,” he says, meaning every word.
In the short moment it takes Qiren to retie his forehead ribbon and straighten his robes, she’s asleep, breathing softly. She looks young like this, relaxed and soft, and Qiren takes it as the privilege it is to be allowed the sight. Keeping his movements careful and silent, he brings a small washbasin next to the bed, applies one warming talisman on the basin and another on a folded towel next to it, and sets a pot of fresh water close, leaving the option of tea for Wen Qing’s discretion.
He takes one last look around the room to make sure everything is in order (after all, taking care of one’s partner after the lovemaking is as important as during the act) before leaving and closing the door quietly behind him.
They don’t talk about it later. There’s no need—they talked about it beforehand, they performed their duties, and now they wait. Qiren doesn’t pry other than making sure Wen Qing is comfortable and has everything she needs which is exactly what he’s been doing so far.
She will tell him if and when there’s something to tell.
However, he finds his gaze lingering on her waist. Not because he has any amorous feelings he wants to express (while the experience itself was satisfactory in its own way, it isn’t something he’s eager to repeat), but because he finds himself wondering if she is growing new life inside of her. Wen Qing notices but is courteous enough not to call him out on it for which he is grateful.
Two months after their intimate encounter, she finally sighs and says, ”It seems we were successful in our endeavor: I am indeed pregnant. It’s in the early stages yet and only time will tell if I carry to term.”
Qiren nods. ”I would like to know of anything you would want me to do to help you. Or if there are things you absolutely don’t want me to do,” he adds.
”Actually,” she says. ”I feel queasy in the mornings and have a blend that could help with it. Problem is, I cannot make it in advance, and it doesn’t really help that much if I have to get up and move around to prepare it.”
”Mn. Would you prefer I prepare it immediately after getting up or after my morning meditation?”
She smiles. ”You can do your morning routine in peace, husband. Thank you.”
He huffs. ”There’s no need to thank me for this,” he says. ”Anything else?”
”Not for the moment. I’ll let you know.”
As time goes on, Wen Qing’s pregnancy becomes visible, first as a softness easily covered by arranging her robes a bit differently and later as increasingly prominent roundness.
His nephews are happy for him—Xichen openly emotional and Wangji his usual stoic self—while Wuxian proclaims himself a proficient uncle already by courtesy of his sister’s children. His exuberance is annoying but a week or so after they make the knowledge known to their family, he presents them with a pile of increasingly complicated (and genius) talismans meant to protect pregnant mothers and infants. Wen Qing brandishes her needles to drive him out but Qiren sees how her eyes are bright and wet, belying her emotions regarding Wei Wuxian’s effortless displays of affection.
(Qiren makes sure to study the talismans and feels both proud and thoroughly exasperated when he understands only a fraction of how they’re constructed.)
”How do you feel about becoming a father?” Xichen asks him one day. Wen Qing’s pregnancy is around the midpoint and she’s reached the stage where her morning sickness has passed and she seems to be full of energy. Qiren would never say it to her aloud but he finds it exhausting.
”The experience isn’t exactly new to me,” Qiren points out.
Xichen ducks his head with a smile. ”It isn’t the same and you know it, Uncle,” he chides. ”Wangji and I are adults now. You are older. And you don’t have the responsibility of carrying the whole sect on your shoulders,” he reminds gently.
”Mn,” he says, furrowing his brow. There is— Hm.
Xichen lets out a small hum and rises to make a new pot of tea even though there’s still plenty left. He moves around Qiren’s office with familiar ease, and he lets his eyes linger on his older nephew.
”Do you ever wish I did things differently?” he finds himself asking.
Xichen pauses, tilts his head, and finishes rinsing the pot and filling it with fresh water. He selects the tea and returns to the table with a carefully neutral expression.
Oh. That bad.
Xichen spends way more time steeping the tea as is necessary, stirring the pot, and finally pouring them both a fresh cup. They drink in silence which feels expectant, and it feels like an eternity before Xichen sets his cup down and meets Qiren’s eyes.
”There are many things that, in hindsight, I wish were different,” Xichen says mildly. ”Perhaps not for myself but for Wangji. But with age, I also see how much you had to deal with. You acted in good faith in the boundaries set for you.” He pauses and trails a finger along the rim of his cup. ”I wish—” He pauses again, opens his mouth, then closes it again.
”Xichen,” Qiren sighs.
He squares his shoulders as if he’s facing a battle. ”Our sect is honorable and traditional, and Uncle is a strict and wise teacher.” He swallows. ”This nephew wishes Uncle to remember that love is just as important in child rearing as discipline.” His voice cracks slightly at the word ’love’, making him sound younger than his years.
Qiren feels suddenly like he’s been drenched in icy water. ”I—Xichen, you must know that I—” he starts, almost desperately.
”I know,” Xichen rushes to interrupt him. ”I know,” he repeats, softer, as the sudden dread leaks out of Qiren, leaving him feeling brittle. ”I only mean that even though there are ways different from us, it doesn’t mean they’re wrong.”
Wei Wuxian is openly affectionate with the younger children, smiling and hugging them even when he reprimands them, always ready to pick up a toddler or three when he visits the creche. Wangji, who usually doesn’t like people other than Wuxian, Xichen, or Qiren near him, tolerates small children climbing him like a tree, and somewhere along the way has developed an uncanny ability to make even the most rambunctious children quiet down with a touch and a couple of soft words.
Wen Qing is always gentle with her brother, and Qionglin has become the one to whom the shyest disciples gravitate even without realizing it.
Apparently, he’s been quiet long enough to make Xichen anxious. ”Uncle, I didn’t mean to offend—”
He raises a hand. ”You did not. Thank you, Xichen. You have given me a lot to think about.”
Xichen still looks slightly worried but acquiesces and pours them both more tea.
”What is on your mind, husband?” Wen Qing asks later that day. Her legs are on Qiren’s lap and he massages them while she makes notes on her medical journal.
”What are your thoughts on showing physical affection to children?” he finally asks, focusing on the arch of her left foot to avoid looking her in the eye.
She hums and sets down her journal. Qiren glances up; her eyes have the faraway look he’s learned to associate with her time in the Nightless City.
”Back in Qishan any show of affection was dangerous,” she finally says slowly. ”It could be used as leverage or a threat.” She falls silent as she presses a hand on her belly. ”I would like our child to grow up without such fears,” she says in almost a whisper.
Qiren meets her eyes. ”They will,” he promises.
It’s one of the easiest promises he’s ever made.
Their daughter is born under auspicious stars on a crisp autumn day when frost crinkles the grass and makes the leaves burst in bright colors. She has wide, curious eyes and she holds Qiren’s finger in her small hand with a mighty grip, almost as a claim and a declaration.
He barely pays attention to Elders who come to pay their respects or his nephews who brush her cheek gently (Wangji) and press a soft kiss on top of her head (Xichen). He’s distantly aware of Wuxian activating a protective array that makes something pop in his ears and Qionglin who checks the baby with practiced ease before going to help his sister.
Qiren sits with his daughter in his arms and knows with absolute, iron-clad certainty that this child will never need to doubt just how loved and cherished she is. She will grow up strong and righteous, nurtured and bolstered by the love of her whole, extended family.
She will be a daughter any father would be fiercely proud of.
And Qiren will do his everything to be a father worthy of her love in return.