Lan Qiren has never contemplated taking a spouse. In general, marriage is an institution necessary to ensure the continuation of the family line, a formal agreement either between sects or branch families who wish to form an alliance. For him, however, marriage is also something far more sinister: a whirlwind of madness, a dark possession that dooms not only one but four people (five, if he counts himself). It’s a perversion of the Lan legend of only loving once, a sickness that eats you up from the inside out, leaving behind only a hollow shell of bitter regret.
He remembers little of his—their—parents and nothing of their marriage. Father had been a stern man embracing his responsibilities and duties, his family just one among many. Mother had been a cordial if somewhat distant woman who had dedicated herself to the Healing Halls, spending most of her time tending to people other than her family. She’d passed away when Qiren was eleven and Zemin fifteen, and he can’t honestly say whether he mourned her or not.
Zemin’s choices left Qiren with two nephews and a house bathed in grief. He managed, of course, because that was his life now: two children under the age of ten and a sect to lead. He managed because he had no other choice. He managed because he had to.
In the coming years, A-Huan grew into Lan Xichen and A-Zhan into Lan Wangji, the Twin Jades of Lan, Qiren’s pride and joy. They’re first among their peers, shining beacons of the Lan prestige, examples of righteous and just cultivators. They’re children, and then juniors, then seniors, and Qiren will vehemently deny he’s feeling wistful.
Because children are supposed to grow up.
They’re supposed to be independent.
And it’s not like Qiren doesn’t have things to occupy his time—and his mind—with.
Feeling lonely is…irrelevant.
This year’s guest disciple lecture is proving to be both interesting and world-shatteringly infuriating.
Interesting because Wangji is attending and, while Qiren doesn’t share Xichen’s beliefs of Wangji needing friends, he recognizes the need for him to share space with his peers. As a learning experience.
World-shatteringly infuriating because first, Nie Huaisang is back again, and second, that—that—that boy, Wei Wuxian! Qiren has already consumed more calming tea in four days than he has during the past year, and he truly hopes Lan Xiaoqing had the forethought to stock on it. The head healer might be annoying in her pestering and prodding but she does have the knack to mix perfect infusions for different ailments.
However, as much as Qiren would like to blame that insolent boy for all his headaches, something else is afoot, proven by the red-clad Wen siblings staying behind after the main party finally left. Having Wen Ruohan’s second son—a disgrace, truly—strut in like he owned the place was beyond troubling; the two high-ranking Wen walking around only added to the impending sense of doom slowly brewing in his gut.
At least the boy attended classes, albeit he’s yet to apply himself—something about a weak constitution and stuttering. Qiren doesn’t mind silent and attentive students and to his reluctant, begrudging approval, Wei Wuxian has already befriended the Wen boy. For reasons completely beyond Qiren’s comprehension, Wei Wuxian apparently managed to draw the shy Wen boy out of his shell and is now tutoring him in his free time.
If only that boy would bother concentrating on Qiren’s lessons as well.
The other Wen doesn’t attend the lecture. On the surface, it’s unclear why she’s present—unless it is for her brother—but Qiren fears he knows far too well why she’s in the Cloud Recesses. The rumors of Wen Ruohan’s decline, his hunger for power and his dabbling with demonic cultivation are everywhere, including Gusu Lan that on principle tries to refrain from gossiping.
Wen Qing, Sect Leader Wen’s niece from a branch family, is looking for something.
Perhaps it’s a good thing they decided to refresh their wards and concealment talismans after yet another incident of that boy prancing over the wall like the complicated wards were nothing but cobwebs on his face.
Infuriating.
Qiren brews another pot of calming tea.
It’s a crisp, clear day when Qiren takes a walk to clear his head. He heads out for the waterfall, feeling like a longer walk is needed for today. Wei Wuxian’s comments on resentful energy had shaken him more than he’s willing to admit, and not only because that short speech had revealed just what a brilliant mind hides behind the perpetually smirking mouth and too-sharp eyes. Unfortunately, that conversation had also reminded him of the problem resting uneasily in the midst of their very home, which is also why he’s heading out for the waterfall.
As the path curves to reveal the view of the lake, Qiren’s steps falter as he sees a small, red form hunched into itself like in pain. Eavesdropping might be against the rules but caution is not, so Qiren slows down and hangs back, taking in the strange sight.
Wen Qing, the doctor-sister of the Wen siblings enjoying Gusu Lan’s hospitality, sits on a rock, seemingly oblivious to the world around her. There’s a crumpled letter in her clenched hand and on her face is a look of utter terror, and she’s heaving almost as if she’s about to be sick. The teacher in Qiren takes over and he steps forward, concerned and troubled, and to his bewilderment he’s almost at a touching distance before she whirls around, her hand shooting up.
They both freeze.
Qiren keeps his breathing even and stands still as a barely perceptible tremor travels down Wen Qing’s raised hand. Her fingers, holding a pair of glinting silver needles, are a hair-breadth away from his neck.
”My apologies,” she says in a choked voice as her hand darts down and she bows, the needles no longer anywhere to be seen.
Qiren clears his throat. ”No need,” he says. ”I startled you. It was not my intention.” He narrows his eyes and takes in her face as she rises from the bow, looking him straight in the eye. ”Are you alright, Miss Wen?” Qiren asks.
She blinks and her lips part slightly, showing she’s as surprised by the question as Qiren is. ”I—yes, Teacher Lan,” she says, bowing again. ”I was just preoccupied with my thoughts.”
”Hm,” Qiren says, pointedly not looking at the letter in her balled fist. He nods, ready to continue with his walk when something makes him stop. ”Miss Wen, no harm will come to you from within our sect,” he says over his shoulder. ”Your brother and you are quite safe within the walls of the Cloud Recesses.”
He doesn’t turn to look at what effect his words have on Wen Qing. He also refuses to think closer about what made him promise sanctuary to Wen Ruohan’s relatives.
The next week is pure agony. Qiren has obnoxious letters from obnoxious minor sect leaders to deal with on top of his usual lesson burden. In any other time, these two annoyances would even each other out but it turns out that Sect Leader Yao combined with that boy is nearly enough to make him swear aloud. To make matters worse, Lan Xiaoqing informed him that due to weather conditions or some other, inane reason, she’s unable to restock his calming infusion.
This means he really cannot be blamed for his mood when someone knocks on his door near curfew.
”Enter,” he barks tersely, only to bite back an apology when Wen Qing opens the door.
She bows and holds out a small pouch. ”I—” she starts, then closes her mouth, and then starts again. ”Teacher Lan might find this infusion beneficial,” she says curtly. ”It’s my own blend, designed to calm and relax without making you drowsy.”
Qiren raises a brow. ”And what makes you feel like I’m in need of such a brew?”
She tilts her head. ”Wei Wuxian complained you are being even more snappish and unreasonably annoying than usual,” she says dryly. ”His words, not mine.”
”That boy,” Qiren hisses under his breath.
”Mn,” Wen Qing says. ”May I?” she asks, pointing at the teapot.
Qiren nods, watching her every move with a slight frown. What is she doing? Why is she here?
”He’s annoying but I think it’s mostly because he’s bored,” Wen Qing says as she measures the blend into the pot and pours hot water over the leaves. ”My cousin—” She stops, presses her lips together, and smoothes her face into a cool mask that reminds Qiren of Lan Xiaoqing.
Must be the doctor in them.
He picks up the pouch and sniffs at the content, drawing a discreet poison-detecting talisman to check its safety. ”It smells sweet,” he says, his voice coming out slightly accusing.
She looks amused. ”I might be a doctor but I don’t necessarily think all medicine should taste vile. Especially if I’m using them myself as well,” she adds. She pours a bit into a cup, swirls it three times, and downs it. ”A moment more,” she says.
As he watches, she cleans up the pouch and measuring spoon, puts the pot and two cups on a tray, and sets the table for tea. She works in meticulous, calm moves with a practical air as she pours, and then she kneels down, inclining her head.
Qiren takes a sip.
And another sip.
Hm. ”Interesting,” he says, reluctantly approving. ”Different.”
She lets a small smile quirk the corner of her mouth. ”If you prefer the more familiar, bitter taste, let it over-steep. The effect of the blend won’t change, only the taste.”
He huffs, covering up his reluctant amusement.
They drink in comfortable silence and with every sip, Qiren feels his headache and the tension on his shoulders slip away. When the pot is empty, he realizes he’s reluctant for their shared moment to end. And yet, end it shall because it’s late and Wen Qing as an unmarried woman should not spend any more time in his quarters. (The only place where she’d be safer would be Wangji’s rooms and that is because one, Wangji isn’t attracted to women, and two, his interest has been piqued already. Qiren refuses to think about it further to stave off the migraine he just got rid of.)
”Thank you for your time, Teacher Lan,” Wen Qing says as she stands up.
”Thank you for your visit,” he replies, meaning every word.
She bows and turns to go, only to pause at the door. ”I don’t mean to overstep,” she says carefully, ”But give him the hardest problems you have at hand. You might enjoy the results.”
Qiren doesn’t need to ask whom she means.
Wei Wuxian smirks up at him when he deals out the test papers and lets out an overly theatrical sigh when he tells them to start. He makes sure to keep his face impassive but watches that boy from the corner of his eye to see his expression when he reads the question and feels unreasonably smug when the smirk drops and he looks up with wide eyes.
Hm. Seems like Miss Wen had a point.
It’s the most peaceful test Qiren has so far conducted on this particular group. Usually, Wei Wuxian spends the whole time making noise and being distracting, jumping up to leave the moment the time is up. This time, he looks up and around, drops his eyes back on the paper in front of him, and then looks at Qiren.
He gives in and turns to look straight back, raising a brow.
Wei Wuxian’s eyes go, if possible, even wider, and his lips part into a silent ’Oh.’ And then he—well. Qiren isn’t sure what he does exactly but the closest he can describe it is that Wei Wuxian dives into the test. He writes like a man possessed, scribbles haphazard shapes on another paper while distractedly twirling a lock of hair with his unoccupied hand. He’s still writing when Qiren calls for time, and he’s still writing when Qiren pointedly clears his throat to let even the last disciples know they have to stop writing. He keeps writing until Qiren sighs and walks to him, tapping him on the head.
Wei Wuxian looks up and blinks like a blinded owl. ”Oh! Sorry—is the time up already?”
”Yes,” Qiren says.
”Well. Shit.”
Qiren draws breath through his teeth. ”Vulgar language—” he starts.
”Is forbidden,” Wei Wuxian interrupts. ”Yeah, I know, it’s just—” He slumps. ”I had another three ideas for this talisman and now I don’t have time!”
”What do you mean, ’another three ideas’?” Qiren asks, incredulous. ”The assignment was to theorise if implementing talismans would be viable in these scenarios and which talismans would most likely produce the closest desired result.”
”Bah, theory is boring,” Wei Wuxian says with a shrug. ”And it’s not like it’s hard?”
”What isn’t, theory?” Qiren asks and huffs. ”I beg to differ.”
”No, talismans!” Wei Wuxian exclaims. ”Although it’s boring to just design them. Experimenting is a lot more fun and then you can fix the errors right away.”
Qiren stares for a moment. ”You modified talismans?”
”Well, I started with modifications but then it became too complex to alter them because there are too many variables to move around so I decided to design them from scratch. That’s what I usually do.”
Qiren feels like he should perhaps be sitting down for this conversation. ”Wei Wuxian, let us be absolutely clear here: you think designing talismans from scratch is easy?”
The boy frowns and purses his lips. ”Well…I wouldn’t say it’s easy? But it’s not hard, either? Mostly it’s just fun! Especially with explosions.”
”…Explosions.”
Wei Wuxian shoots him a blinding grin.
Wangji is hovering by the lecture hall doors like an anxious maiden but fixes his expression into an indifferent scowl when Wei Wuxian bursts out.
Wei Wuxian looks overly delighted as he exclaims, ”Lan Zhan! Were you waiting for me?”
”No,” Wangji snaps.
Qiren watches with tired resignation how Wangji’s ears turn red and he doesn’t seem to be able to tear his eyes away from Wei Wuxian’s smile. He doesn’t even step away from the boy as he tugs at Wangji’s sleeve.
”Wangji,” he says with a sigh. ”Wei Wuxian’s punishment has been modified,” he says, ignoring Wei Wuxian’s indignant squawk. ”He is to test each and every talisman design he comes up with—” now he ignores Wei Wuxian’s whoop of joy, ”—and to write a three-page long essay on the uses, benefits, and dangers of each.” He looks at Wei Wuxian and finds contentment in ignoring his pout. ”You said designing talismans isn’t hard. Prove it.”
Wei Wuxian narrows his eyes.
Qiren turns to Wangji who stares at him like he’s suddenly grown an extra head. ”Wangji, your responsibility is to make sure he doesn’t set the mountain on fire.” He pauses. ”Or blow it up.” He pauses again. ”Or do anything else to endanger the stability and structural integrity of the Cloud Recesses. You can use the back fields for the testing.”
As he walks away, he hears an, ”Are you sure your Uncle isn’t possessed?” and a furiously hissed, ”Wei Ying!”
He doesn’t find the strength to wonder when those two became close enough to use each other’s personal names.
Wei Wuxian turns out to be an even bigger genius and a natural talisman designer than Qiren would’ve ever dared to imagine. He tells himself it doesn’t make the boy any less infuriating in class.
He sees Wen Qing again during one of his walks. This time, it isn’t to alleviate his headache but to ponder on one of Lan An’s early texts. It used to be one of his favorite things; to pick a text, read it, and then take a long walk while his mind worked on it. He hasn’t had much time for indulgences like this in a while.
He’s so preoccupied that he nearly collides with Wen Qing.
”My apologies, Miss Wen,” he says, oddly flustered. ”I was too deep in thought and didn’t pay attention to my surroundings.”
She bows back and waves away his apology, turning back to peer across the lake. On the other side Wei Wuxian stands next to Wen Qionglin holding a bow, and slightly behind them stands Wangji, a hand behind his back, relaxed, and seemingly content to just watch. Qiren watches as Wei Wuxian gently corrects Wen Qionglin’s pose, adjusts the bow and arrow, and points where he’s meant to shoot. Under his ministrations, Wen Qionglin straightens up into a more confident pose Qiren is yet to see from him and when he shoots, he hits the target.
Wei Wuxian’s exuberant praise echoes across the lake and he gives the other boy a hug he can’t reciprocate due to the bow being squished against his chest. Instead, he ducks his head and nods several times, even turning to Wangji who inclines his head.
Qiren opens his mouth to comment on the display but when he glances to the side, his words die in his mouth. Wen Qing watches the young men with a naked hope on her face and a wet gleam in her eyes, and then her expression shutters into resignation.
Qiren finds he doesn’t like it.
”Your brother is a good archer,” he says tentatively.
Wen Qing plasters on a fake smile. ”He has an excellent teacher,” she counters, nodding at the boys who are now apparently staging an impromptu archery competition.
”Mn,” he says. ”Would you walk with me, Miss Wen?” he asks. She looks surprised but nods, and he starts slowly along the path that rounds the lake.
”Headaches again, Teacher Lan?” she asks after a moment.
”Actually, no,” he says and then admits, ”You were right. Giving him more complicated problems to solve has significantly reduced my headaches. Although now I have new reasons for headaches,” he adds dryly.
She snorts.
It’s peaceful and pleasant, sharing space with her. She’s a smart young woman, brilliant in her field, and she clearly loves her brother. Lan Xiaoqing appreciates her views and has only good things to say about her. Coming from the head healer, that’s high praise indeed.
And then, Wen Qing asks out of the blue, ”Have you thought about marriage?”
Qiren stumbles, whirls around to stare at her with his mouth open. ”Excuse me?”
”I asked—oh, no. I—” Her face turns furiously red and she presses a hand over her mouth. ”I meant between Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji! I didn’t—I wouldn’t presume—”
”Oh, right, of course,” Qiren says and clears his throat. He clasps his hands behind his back and continues along the path, staring resolutely ahead, pretending his cheeks aren’t bright red as well. ”I have…resigned to the reality of future negotiations between us and the Jiang, yes.”
”Not too far in the future, I hope,” Wen Qing says. ”Then again, it’s a good thing they’re both male. No risk for a pregnancy.”
Qiren chokes. ”Indeed,” he says weakly.
”Unless Wei Wuxian comes up with a talisman for that,” Wen Qing mutters.
That’s a joke. Isn’t it? Qiren fervently hopes she’s joking.
As they walk, a thought keeps nagging Qiren. It’s not as unpleasant as he would’ve presumed a year ago—frankly, he finds it almost appealing. He mulls it over in his mind and when they’re nearly done with their walk, he stops and turns to face her. ”Miss Wen, would it truly be impossible to presume?”
She stares at him for a long time, almost like she’s searching for something. ”Why?” she finally asks.
”I find your company comfortable,” he says slowly. ”You are a brilliant doctor—according to Lan Xiaoqing, perhaps the best of your generation—and a hard worker. You are smart and strong and clearly care about your family.” He pauses. ”And you stopped trying to spy on us months ago.”
She doesn’t comment, merely raises a brow, her hands neatly held in front of her, a look of polite, detached interest on her face.
”I—” Qiren frowns. ”As you are probably aware, there is a legend of the Lan only loving once.” He waits until she nods. ”I saw it in my brother. I’m seeing it in Wangji right now. I’ve seen it in many others. However, I have never felt the need for anything like that for myself.” He pauses for a moment before slowly adding, ”However, I have lately felt like there could be space for more. Companionship, perhaps.”
”Is that so?” she says mildly.
”Yes.”
She inclines her head, lets out a non-committal hum, and turns to continue down the path.
She doesn’t look back and Qiren doesn’t try to catch up with her.
”Do you find me attractive?”
Qiren has been observing the novices’ first lessons with spiritual swords—simple practices of tentatively reaching out with their spiritual energy, nothing more adventurous than that—and Wen Qing’s sudden appearance with a question like that throws him into a near conniption.
”I’ve been trying to figure out a way to convince my uncle that you’ve fallen in love with me,” Wen Qing continues calmly, ”But it would be significantly easier if I had your agreement on how to word your interest. And, frankly, ’good at being silent’ doesn’t really cut it.”
”I—”
”Obviously, I’m not expecting any grand declarations of love,” Wen Qing continues as if this was a perfectly normal afternoon conversation.
”Obviously,” Qiren echoes faintly.
”But considering your sect’s reputation of tragic and raging romantics, something public would help.”
Qiren feels slightly at a loss. ”Is that something you would appreciate?”
She’s wearing a small smile that looks like a well-worn mask. ”I think we both know well enough that what I would or would not appreciate is irrelevant.”
”Untrue,” Qiren counters. ”Rule—”
”Lan Qiren,” Wen Qing interrupts. ”Please, don’t recite your sect’s rules to me.”
”I—”
She closes her eyes for a moment and takes a deep breath, then lets it out slowly. ”I’m trying to find a way to save my family,” she says in an almost whisper. ”My needs are irrelevant.”
Qiren watches her for a moment; this petite, delicate young woman with a spine of steel and the weight of warring responsibilities trying to break it. She would be a good fit for Gusu Lan and, he believes, a good companion for him. It takes barely an effort to see them working side by side, sharing space and life and home.
During the past fifteen years, Qiren has been so very rarely selfish.
He decides to be selfish now.
He reaches out and takes Wen Qing’s hand, squeezes it gently, and then raises it slowly to his lips. Her eyes open, startled and wide, and he gives a barely perceptible nod before kissing her knuckles. Her hand is small and warm in his, skin warm and roughened by repetitious washing and handling herbs and poultices. It’s a strong hand, the kind that knows and loves work.
He likes it.
Somewhere on his left, he hears a yelp that sounds depressingly like Wei Wuxian, and he resigns to the fact that by dinnertime, everyone in the Cloud Recesses knows Teacher Lan kissed Wen Qing’s hand.
He releases her hand and she ducks her head, looking like a bashful maiden with her rosy cheeks. ”That will probably do it,” she murmurs.
”Mn,” he says. ”I do find you aesthetically pleasing,” he adds carefully. ”But I would not expect from you anything more than you would give out of your own, free will.”
”And if I wanted children?” Wen Qing asks, sounding like she’s humoring Qiren.
He clears his throat. ”I would find a way to…perform accordingly.”
She laughs then, a warm, throaty chuckle. ”Walk me back to my quarters, Lan Qiren,” she says, and this time, her smile looks genuine.
It suits her.
Two days later, after they’re done with the sect business, Xichen gives him a knowing look as he refreshes their tea.
”You look happy, Uncle,” he says. ”Anything I should know?”
”Xichen,” he says sourly.
He hides his smile behind his cup. ”Two weddings in the main family,” he says. ”I’m feeling a bit left out.”
”Don’t be ridiculous,” Qiren huffs. And then it hits him, ”Wait. Two?”
Xichen nods. ”Wangji told me he proposed to Young Master Wei and he accepted.” His lips twitch. ”Actually, I think half of the Cloud Recesses heard his enthusiastic reply.”
Qiren closes his eyes and pinches the base of his nose. ”He what,” he says flatly, not bothering to specify which young man he means.
”I’m happy for you, Uncle,” Xichen says after a moment. ”I’ve feared that you feel lonely now that both Wangji and I have grown up and live our own lives.”
”Nonsense,” Qiren huffs. ”I’m perfectly well and I have more than enough to occupy my time with.”
”I’m well aware of how much you have to occupy your time with, Uncle,” Xichen chides gently. ”But now that I’ve relieved you from the Sect Leader duties, it’s time you think about yourself.” He pours Qiren more tea. ”I think Miss Wen and you suit each other well.”
Later, Qiren will roll his eyes at Sect Leader Jin’s lecherous congratulation letter and barely refrain from ripping to shreds Sect Leader Yao’s overly saccharine words about finding love in his old age (he’s barely forty, thank you very much).
Later, Qiren will feel a deep sense of accomplishment when his wife gets lost in thought and her eyes are warm and intense with her whirring thoughts as she ponders a complicated patient case instead of barely concealing panic about what is to come.
Later, Qiren will travel to Qishan to attend his wife’s Uncle’s funeral, and find he detests Wen Xu only slightly less than Wen Chao.
Later, Qiren will learn to sigh and shake his head as his wife and his nephew’s husband get into screaming matches over something overly intricate medical talisman he knows he’ll never truly understand, and has tea with his nephews instead.
Later, Qiren will wonder just how his life took turn to this new, happier direction and how much quiet joy he finds in it.
But for now, he hums and sips his tea. It warms him almost as much as Xichen’s words.