When Lan Wangji enters the inn, he’s tired, hungry, and annoyed. Wei Ying would call him cranky but as Wei Ying is still in the Cloud Recesses recuperating from an experiment that landed him with a broken leg, Wei Ying doesn’t get a say. Therefore, annoyed it is.
The proprietor is a sour woman with a borderline hostile demeanor, and if this inn weren’t the only option within a reasonable travel distance, Lan Wangji would walk out. Instead, he schools his face into an even more unreadable mask than usual and hands over money, wishing that the promise of payment would do something to the proprietor’s attitude.
”I would like a pot of tea, whatever food you have without meat, and a room with a hot bath.”
”We’re out of hot water so you’ll have to wait,” the proprietor says, still sour but at least no longer hostile. ”I’ll go and check on the food.”
”Thank you,” Lan Wangji says flatly. ”Waiting is not a problem.” He turns around and heads for an empty table in the corner, ignoring the way the other customers try to stare at him without staring. A short moment later, he has a pot of mediocre tea in front of him. He only needs to wait a little longer to be served a bowl of stew, an assortment of pickled vegetables, and some sad-looking fruit cuts. The stew both seems and smells bland but at least it’s hot and the portion size is adequate.
The conversation in the room slowly picks up into a low murmur he tunes out, concentrating on his food. Wei Ying’s absence is a hollow, constant ache that doesn’t seem to abate even with the knowledge that Wei Ying is safe and sound (and probably bored out of his mind), and Lan Wangji is only a couple of days’ travel time from being by his side. It’s just that after years of desperate longing, every separation, no matter how temporary, hurts his very soul.
He becomes aware of a sudden silence only as someone stops right next to his table.
”Is this seat available?” a female voice asks.
Lan Wangji glances up, blinks, and hurriedly averts his eyes, shocked. Indecent! his mind hisses while he stiffly blurts out the first thing that comes to mind: ”I am married.”
”Good for you,” the woman says. ”Not what I asked, though.”
She doesn’t wait for his reply and sits down. Just like that. Lan Wangji glares at her and then scowls at his almost-finished food because he can see her chest.
The woman lets out a thoughtful sound. ”It’s the way I dress, isn’t it?” she asks.
”You are not,” Lan Wangji forces through his teeth.
”Dressed?” she asks, sounding amused. ”Of course I am. It just seems like the catsuit isn’t the standard in…where are we, exactly?”
Lan Wangji has no clue what a catsuit is and he has no intent to find out. He rummages around his qiankun pouch until he finds a spare travel robe and hands it to the woman. ”Please,” he says without looking at her.
She stands up and takes the robe with a put-upon sigh, shrugs it haphazardly on, and sits back down. ”Better?”
Lan Wangji looks up. Brown hair in a tight bun, flat, foreign-looking face with wide eyes, light skin…Her collar is still indecently open but at least she doesn’t look naked anymore. ”Mn,” he says. He gets a feeling she’s laughing at him.
”So, now that I’m covered, would you mind telling me where we are?” she asks, motioning at the proprietor for more to drink.
”You do not know?” Lan Wangji asks.
She shrugs. ”Stark was getting on my nerves so I went to see Dr. Strange.”
That makes no sense. ”Doctor…who?” Lan Wangji asks.
”Different guy,” the woman says and nods her thanks to the proprietor who hands her a wine jar. ”Anyway, I told him I wanted a vacation somewhere Stark couldn’t reach me. He gave me an address and I ended up here.” She takes a casual drink. ”So, yes, I have no clue where I am, although it looks like I’ve landed in ancient Asia.” She puts the wine jar down and holds out her hand. ”Maria Hill.”
Lan Wangji stares at the hand and then at her.
”Right,” she says and then brings her hands in front of her in an approximation of a bow. ”My name is Maria Hill. I’m the Assistant Director of a…hm. Let’s call it an organization that tries to keep common people safe.”
”I am Lan Wangji of Gusu Lan,” he says and bows back. ”We are currently in Tangxi.” He pauses and adds, ”You are not a cultivator.”
”I have no clue what that is,” Maria Hill says.
He frowns. Her mouth doesn’t move in time with the words he hears but he can’t sense any spiritual—or resentful—energy on her, and yet, there’s something…
”If you’re wondering how I ended up here, the answer is magic,” she says matter-of-factly. When he blinks, she shrugs. ”Your poker face is excellent but I spend my days around unreadable people. Also, your lips don’t sync up with your words, and yet I can understand what you say. Hence, magic.”
He inclines his head. ”That sounds like the most plausible answer.”
”Once you eliminate the impossible, whatever remains, no matter how improbable, must be the truth,” she says seriously.
”Mn.”
They lapse into a surprisingly comfortable silence as he finishes his food and sets the bowl aside.
”Why did you come to me?” he asks, inclining his head at the room in general. ”There are several tables available.”
”There are,” she agrees. ”I was curious. The room went silent when you entered. Not in a scared way, more like ’Oh wow, I can’t believe he’s here with us normal people’ kind of way.”
Ah. ”It is a side-effect of my status.”
She raises a brow. ”Are you a prince or something?”
”There are no princes in the Cultivation world,” he corrects. ”After the war…” he pauses to gather his thoughts. ”I spent a lot of time moving around. Helping people. Going where I was needed.” Going where the chaos is, as common people still say. In his mind, he can hear Wei Ying’s snickering I’m the chaos!
”Yeah. Keeping busy helps to deal with loss,” Maria Hill says softly. When he gives her a sharp look, she shrugs. ”People die in wars.”
They drink to that.
”But sometimes they come back!” she adds and Lan Wangji chokes on his tea.
”How did you know—” he starts.
”Wait—yours too?” she asks. ”Wow.”
”How?” he asks.
”Magic. Questionable medical procedures. Probably several human rights violations. Luck. Pick your poison.” She takes a drink. ”Yours?”
”A forbidden soul-summoning sacrifice,” Lan Wangji says.
She makes a face. ”Ouch. Sounds bloody. But they’re alright now?”
”Mn.” Then he corrects, ”He has recovered from the resurrection but is currently bedridden with a broken leg.”
That is a lie. Wei Ying is not bedridden but probably hopping around and not getting enough rest. All the more reason for Lan Wangji to get home.
”They’re a bad patient?” she asks, amused.
Lan Wangji sighs. ”Wei Ying has an active mind and very little patience.”
”I know the type,” she says. ”Ours was physically alright pretty soon but the treatment nearly drove him insane. Too much alien DNA fucked up with his brain.”
Alien DNA sounds a lot like resentful energy. ”But he is better now?”
Maria Hill has emptied her wine jar. ”Oh, yeah. He needed to get it out of his system. Went a bit dark there for a moment but he’s alright now.”
”I am glad to hear that,” Lan Wangji says.
The proprietor clears her throat next to him. ”Hanguang-jun, your room is ready,” she says. ”Would you like more tea or…” she glances at Maria Hill. ”…wine?”
Maria Hill raises a brow. ”Your choice, my friend,” she says, her informal manner making the proprietor’s eyes widen.
Lan Wangji considers. On the one hand, he is tired and would like to wash up and go to bed. On the other hand, Maria Hill is interesting and frankly, he’s already picturing Wei Ying’s smile when Lan Wangji tells him about her.
He comes to a decision. ”Yes. Another pot of tea and a jar of wine.” He pauses. ”Good wine,” he adds.
The proprietor bows. ”Of course, Hanguang-jun.”
”Hanguang…” Maria Hill muses as the proprietor hurries to the back room. ”Something about carrying light?”
”Mn,” he says. ”It is a title.”
”Ah,” she says and then gives him an exaggerated once-over. ”Is it based on appearances or achievements?”
He gives her a flat look. ”The latter.”
”A man of few words, aren’t you,” she says, not unkindly. ”See, where I come from, we have all kinds of titles: Nobel prizes, best actor and actress nominations, Miss Cupcake of the Year, sexiest man alive, sports champions, pageant queens… Some of them are based on talents and achievements, some are just about who has the best PR team.”
Even if Lan Wangji doesn’t know what a pr team is, he understands the implications and finds them distasteful.
Maria Hill snorts. ”Yeah, depressing, I know.” She takes another drink. ”Do you have beauty pageants here?”
Lan Wangji considers the question for a moment. ”I do not think so,” he says slowly. ”Young masters of the gentry are expected to master the Six Arts, and cultivation tends to affect the way we look.” He pauses and then allows with a sigh, ”There is a ranking list of the young masters of each generation.”
”Oh, really? What’s your ranking?”
”Second,” he says dryly. ”My brother was the first.”
She raises a brow. ”Why? Is he prettier than you?”
”He smiled more,” Lan Wangji deadpans.
She laughs and something about it—about her—reminds him of Wen Qing. The same no-nonsense attitude, the calm way she challenged the men around her, the same cool demeanor hiding steel underneath.
The proprietor brings the tea and wine and Lan Wangji is pleasantly surprised to notice the tea, too, is of better quality than what they served him previously. He pours wine to Maria Hill and tea for himself, conscious of her eyes on him.
”To unexpected, yet not unwelcome meetings,” Maria Hill says and raises her cup.
”Mn,” he says.
When he’s getting ready to bed (a lot later than he originally anticipated), he wonders if this Doctor Strange would be willing to help Maria Hill visit a second time. He would very much like Wei Ying to meet her.