on tails of fate

Imperial Dragon Prince Lan Wangji, titled Hanguang-jun, blinks himself awake. For a moment, he doesn’t know where he is or why, and the uncertainty makes him wary. The last thing he remembers is fighting the yao swathed in resentful energy, a surprisingly strong foe that had managed to take him by surprise. He’d trapped it eventually, of course, but in its death throes it had gathered its resentful energy in a tightly packed sphere it hurled at Lan Wangji. A flick of his wrist and Bichen sliced it into tiny ribbons—an action that then proved less than optimal as the resentful energy surged and enveloped him. And then—

Hm. He doesn’t remember. 

What happened then?

He takes stock of himself. He’s clothed in his underrobe only with the rest of his clothes in an undignified heap on the ground next to him with Bichen on top. His head is pounding and his body feels like one fatigued and bruised ache with a strange throbbing in his—

He pauses, narrows his eyes, and gingerly lifts his robe to take a look.

What he sees makes him grit his jaw hard enough to hurt.

He’s an adult which means he’s seen his reproductive organs many times in various stages of development and tumescence—but never quite like this. His genitals are sticky and slightly swollen, both appendages resting on his thigh like overfed slugs. Under his own musk, he senses the barest whiff of a stranger, an alluring scent that calls out to him.

The thought makes him freeze before he hurriedly covers himself again and takes a look around.

He’s lying on soft ground in a bamboo forest that shields him from the sun and, as far as he’s able to sense, he’s alone. Carefully, he pushes himself to sit up, closes his eyes, and extends his senses. Apart from the situation on his lap—he has a feeling the general bruised quality of his body is directly related to that—he seems to be perfectly fine. His spiritual energy is running perhaps slightly slower than usual but it circulates his meridians without a problem, another clear indication that he’s uncompromised. A relief.

He takes a deep breath and settles down to meditate—

—And that’s when he realizes he’s clutching something in his right hand.

Lan Wangji opens his eyes, tilts his head, and frowns at his hand. It’s clenched in a tight fist and for some reason, he feels reluctant to open it. 

Ridiculous, he huffs at himself and forces his fingers to uncurl, only to reveal a lock of dark hair and a few threads of something red. The hair feels silky and smooth in his hand and the threads sway slightly with the faint breeze rippling through the bamboo stalks. He has an irrational fear of the wind snatching the hair and threads from him and he hastily clenches his hand into a fist again, trapping the treasure in place.

Mine, he thinks and then pauses, gives an appalled look at his own fist, and wonders if he’s possibly losing his mind.

After making sure the yao is fully and completely dealt with, Lan Wangji circles the forest. He tells himself he’s merely following procedure and ignores the small voice in the back of his head that points out the futility of his endeavor. The bamboo forest is quiet, the clearing he woke up sheltered and clean, with no sign of what happened to him or who the lock of hair belongs to. With a slight frown on his face, he takes one, last look around before stepping on his sword and taking flight.

From the air, it’s easier to see the scope of the devastation his fight with the yao caused. Part of the forest is leveled and black scorch marks scar the forest floor, marking the area where the yao’s resentful energy had exploded. 

Curiously, it seems like a faint circle surrounds the small clearing he woke up in, too symmetrical to be natural. As he narrows his eyes at it, the circle wavers and slowly dissipates, leaving no trace behind.

Hm. A spell?

He detected no malicious intent when he woke up but it doesn’t mean there was none.

Irritated, Lan Wangji huffs out a breath that comes out in a cold plume, turns Bichen toward Gusu, and heads home, intensely aware of the lock of hair now carefully stored in a delicate qiankun pouch, tucked close to his heart.

”Wangji,” Brother says warmly when he bows to greet him. There’s a slight reproach in his voice as usual—Brother doesn’t care to stand ceremony in private but Lan Wangji has never let Brother’s opinions stop him from treating him properly. Brother is Lan Xichen, the Dragon Emperor titled Zewu-jun, and it is Lan Wangji’s duty as his brother, his Heir, and his subject to treat him with the deference his station requires.

”I trust everything went well?”

Lan Wangji opens his mouth to agree, then stops and blinks. Everything went well eventually but he is unsure of how to report the events. 

”Wangji?”

He shakes his head minutely. ”Apologies. There was an incident.”

”Incident?” Brother says with a frown. He stands up from the Dragon Throne and shoots a glance at their Imperial Uncle as he hurries to Lan Wangji. ”What kind of an incident?” he asks, hovering a hand over Lan Wangji’s arm. ”Are you hurt?”

Lan Wangji stifles a sigh and resigns himself to Brother’s gentle fussing. After coming of age and acquiring their full powers, there’s little in this world that could truly hurt grown dragons but that has never meant much to Brother. He still worries like Lan Wangji was still a boy barely able to shift.

”I am unharmed,” he says, leaning subtly away from Brother’s hands. ”The yao was stronger than I expected and as a last resort, it tried to submerge me in resentful energy.” He looks at Brother and then Uncle. ”It has been dealt with.”

Brother’s eyes meet his and for a fleeting moment, Lan Wangji feels the pressure of his power, almost as if Brother wasn’t quite sure he was being truthful. It’s gentle as is Brother’s way, more of an addition to his fussing than true unleashing of his abilities. 

Then it vanishes and Brother gives him a smile. ”That’s good to hear,” he says. ”If you feel like it, have dinner with me and Uncle tonight.”

Brother always poses his summons as optional but Lan Wangji knows an order when he hears it. Brother will be expecting an exhaustive report and he better have it ready by dinnertime. 

”Mn,” Lan Wangji says, bows, and leaves the throne room.

His rooms are separate from the rest of the Imperial compound, set a little ways from Brother and Uncle’s residences, and exactly as he likes them. He closes to doors behind him and takes a deep breath, feeling a weight drop from his shoulders. Someone has aired his rooms out and lit a fresh batch of incense, and there’s a tray with several covered bowls and a pot of tea waiting for him, all kept in stasis with a preserving talisman. Even without looking, he knows there’s a bathtub filled with hot water behind the privacy screen.

He sets Bichen on its stand and sheds his robes, leaving them on a low bench to be dealt with later. The water is almost scaldingly hot and he lets out a huff of breath, instantly cooling it to a more comfortable level. It’s a resounding relief to wash away the sweat and dirt from the fight with the yao, and even more a relief to finally clean up his crotch properly. He had removed the dried, sticky bodily fluids with a talisman before taking flight but washing himself with water and soap feels more right.

He refuses to think about the lock of hair still in the qiankun pouch, now resting on his nightstand.

After the bath, he eats his light lunch, then writes his report, then meditates. 

Everything feels normal.

It feels… he’s not sure how it feels.

The yao roared its dying defiance as Bichen slashed the ball of its resentful energy essence into ribbons. Lan Wangji had barely time to think ”Oh, no—!” before the small ribbons—now shaped like needles—descended on him. He was engulfed, immersed, the resentful energy burning on his skin and in his lungs and he couldn’t see or hear—

—Pain, searing and scalding and itching and burning—

—Need, arousal, hunger, need, need, need—

—And then just burning, burning, burning—

”Oh, shit!” a voice. ”That doesn’t look good—”

”Stay away!” Lan Wangji snarled—

”I’m really sorry about this—”

”No—don’t—!”

”Don’t worry, I’ll help—”

He was burning, burning, burning, searing hot and melting, his meridians like lava and his spiritual energy like a roaring forest fire and—

”I really hope you won’t hate me for doing this—”

Something cool and gentle, a pressure like a cold bath against his skin, an oasis in an embrace, cool relief on his lips—hunger—need—

A groan, a roar, need to trap and hold and possess and—

”Come on, come on—oh, ohhhh…that’s more like it—”

All-consuming, breathtaking, driving need to take and claim and mate and cherish, and he wrapped his hand around silky hair and held on, tucked his face into the crook of a neck and fucked in in in in in—

Lan Wangji gasps himself out of the meditation and realizes two things:

One, his antlers and tail are out.

Two, he is achingly, desperately aroused.

Displaying their features openly is subtly encouraged in the Cloud Recesses but Lan Wangji has always been private about them. Walking to Brother’s residence with his antlers and tail out will gather more attention than he’s comfortable drawing, not to mention the…situation in his pants.

It takes him uncomfortably long to calm down enough to get his control back.

”So…” Brother says slowly, reading the report one more time. ”The resentful energy triggered you?”

Lan Wangji wants to leave. ”Yes,” he says instead.

Uncle strokes his beard with his eyes half-closed. ”Extensive amount of yang energy…” he muses.

”And you said—” Brother traces his finger along the neat lines of text. ”—that someone ’helped’ you. As in—”

”Yes,” Lan Wangji says through his teeth.

There are pale pink splashes of color on Brother’s cheeks and he clears his throat. ”That would mean, ah—”

”That I have shared a season with someone, yes,” Lan Wangji grinds out. 

”And you have no idea who that person is.”

”Mn.”

Brother reaches out to pour them more tea and stops, realizing their cups are still full. ”Do you want to know?”

”It is not a question of want,” Lan Wangji says stiffly, pushing down the crooning Yes! in the back of his mind. ”It is only proper.”

Brother winces, then hastily smooths his face back into neutrality. Their parents’ union was not a love match but borne out of forced necessity, a fact that brought little joy to none of them. They’ve never actually talked about it but Lan Wangji knows Brother is a romantic and wishes a different outcome for both of them. Lan Wangji doesn’t have the heart to tell him his wishes are rather naive.

Sharing a mating season is an intimate experience and usually requires a lot of trust from both parties—especially so if the other party isn’t a dragon. Their seasons tend to be far and in between and the more powerful the dragon, the more intense the experience. It has the potential to be challenging, sometimes even dangerous, for a non-dragon’s health and well-being.

”Was there any blood?” Uncle asks suddenly. ”Your report mentioned bodily fluids and a trace scent of someone else. Was there blood?”

Lan Wangji frowns. ”No.”

”Hm,” Uncle says. ”Do you have any memory of your helper being in pain?”

”No,” he says and then adds, reluctant (and fully aware of his ears heating up) ”If anything, it was the opposite.”

Uncle lets out a considering noise and narrows his eyes, slowly stroking his beard.

”Uncle, what are you thinking?” Brother asks after a moment.

Uncle takes an unhurried sip of tea, sets the cup back on the table, and then looks Lan Wangji straight in the eyes. ”A Huli Jing.”

Brother chokes on his tea. ”On what basis?” he asks, bewildered. ”And aren’t Huli Jing extinct?”

Uncle shifts slightly, looking uncomfortable. ”Yes and no,” he says slowly. ”There is one line of foxes still remaining, or there was—” he stops, scowls, and clears his throat. ”The Huli Jing are creatures of yin energy, capable of shapeshifting, and drawn to yang energy,” he says, voice slipping into the familiar cadence of a teacher. ”They are crafty and mischievous, and they follow their own moral code that might or might not align with that of others. And—” he pauses and takes a breath. ”If they so choose, they can be compatible with all celestial descendants.”

For a moment, there’s complete silence.

”Oh,” Brother breathes.

There’s a roaring sound in Lan Wangji’s ears. ”I—” he starts, then stops, then opens his mouth again but nothing comes out. 

He knows of the Huli Jing. Everyone knows of the Huli Jing—there’s a reason they’re the most prominent subject of lurid tales and spring books not discussed in polite company. The idea of sharing a season, no matter how artificial and triggered by force, with a creature like that—

His scalp is itching and there’s a crawling sensation under his skin and he pushes himself to stand and, in an abhorring break of protocol, staggers out of the room without looking back. 

For reasons he decides not to examine closer, Lan Wangji tells neither Uncle nor Brother about the lock of hair. Instead, he carefully selects a locket from Mother’s few remaining things, curls the lock of hair into a tight, neat bundle, ties it with the red threads, and stores it in the locket, sealing it with a complicated talisman to keep it as safe as possible.

Uncle spies a glimpse of the locket a couple of days later when Lan Wangji bends to reach for a scroll on a low shelf and it slips out from under his robes. Uncle says nothing, merely presses his lips into a tight line and lets out a long, exasperated sigh as Lan Wangji tucks the locket back into his robes and turns away.

”I’m sending you out,” Brother says one afternoon. 

It’s been two months since the yao incident and Lan Wangji is honest enough to admit his dedication to his duties has been less than satisfactory as of late. While his days are appropriately filled with work, training, and reading, his nights are an endless loop of erotic dreams filled with soft sighs, giggling, the scent of something he cannot name, and an unbearable need to stay buried in his stranger for all eternity. He wakes up hard and panting, sometimes a touch from spending all over his night robes, sometimes his pants cooling from his release. It leaves him both frustrated and hollow, the most annoying combination, and his annoyance and distraction tend to seep into his daily work.

However, even more annoying and distracting is his growing need to leave the Cloud Recesses and try to find the object of his ardent dreams. He finds himself scenting the air for a whiff of what he encounters in his dreams and tilts his head to hear giggling that most definitely doesn’t belong in his Imperial home. He yearns and is beyond frustrated when meditating doesn’t help at all.

He’s slowly resigning to the fact that perhaps Brother isn’t the only naive romantic in the family.

”The aftermath of the collapse of the Wen Sect keeps causing unrest,” Brother continues. ”The main family line might have been wiped out but there are still people who think the surname Wen means they can be hunted down like animals.” Brother’s eyes flash and the breath that hisses through his elongated canines mists in the air.

The war against the Wen had been short but brutal, fueled by the need to make a stop to the atrocities and experiments their Sect Leader was inflicting on anyone he got his hands on. They’d thought that eliminating Wen Ruohan and his sons with extreme prejudice had been enough but apparently it hadn’t. The Imperial Dragons don’t usually get involved in the inter-sect power plays but tend to leave the sects to sort out their skirmishes independently, mostly because of the massive powers the Imperial Dragons wield but also because Brother likes to think of himself more as a benevolent guide instead of an Imperial Dictator. Those are Brother’s own words, not Lan Wangji’s. To Lan Wangji, anyone who doesn’t respect Brother’s absolute power over the whole Cultivation World is an imbecile.

He frowns. ”The remaining Wen are either common people or concentrate on medical cultivation who are in no way interested in power plays.” 

”Exactly.”

”Mn,” Lan Wangji says. ”Any specific instructions?”

Brother smiles. ”I trust your judgment, Wangji,” he says, which is an invitation to deal with the situation however he sees fit.

”Mn,” he says again.

”Uncle wants to see you in private before you leave,” Brother says, raises a brow, and gives him a knowing look. ”Safe travels.”

He ignores the look, nods, and excuses himself.

When Lan Wangji arrives at the Imperial Uncle’s residence, the sliding door is open and Uncle is standing by the window, his back to the door. He knocks on the doorframe and waits for Uncle’s subtle nod of acknowledgment before entering. 

For a moment, Uncle says nothing, then he lets out a sigh and turns, not quite meeting Lan Wangji’s eyes. ”Earlier, I said there was one line of foxes left,” he says without preamble. ”In truth, I don’t know. Immortal Baoshan Sanren was a direct descendant of celestial foxes, rumored to have at least one true child. Her mountain has been sealed off for centuries and it’s possible it has been removed from our world altogether.” Uncle falls silent and frowns, clearly contemplating something. 

Lan Wangji waits, knowing he isn’t done.

Finally, Uncle lets out a breath, visibly coming to a decision. He turns his head to give the side table a look and forms a seal with his hand. There’s a shimmer, and then there’s a small, brown object in the shape of a flame or perhaps a tail resting innocently on the table.

”Take it,” Uncle says without looking at him. ”The one who gifted it to me was once my friend.”

Lan Wangji takes an aborted step forward. ”Uncle—” 

”And remember, Wangji,” Uncle interrupts. ”A Huli Jing may trick you or make fun of you, but never lie.” He clears his throat, flips his sleeves back, and retreats into his bedroom, leaving Lan Wangji staring at what clearly is painful memorabilia from his past.

The object is a pendant, a token delicately carved from stone, and warm to the touch. Lan Wangji picks it up carefully and then bows deeply in the empty room before leaving.

He hangs the token in the same chain as the locket and for the briefest moment feels it thrum.

That night, for the first time since his return, he doesn’t dream of frantic coupling. Instead, he sleeps deeply, enveloped in soft, warm darkness, a second heartbeat echoing in his ears.

It would be lying to say any Lan could ever truly travel incognito—their white robes and forehead ribbons are too distinctive for anonymity. But those who are direct descendants and carry the ability to shift into their dragon forms don’t usually display their features when traveling. Their numbers are relatively few and they in general don’t venture much outside Gusu that apart from the formal gatherings, the attention tends to be more of a hindrance than an advantage. And Lan Wangji has never been one to enjoy attention.

The people of Caiyi Town are accustomed to all sorts of Lan disciples and rarely stop to stare. Perhaps that’s the reason Lan Wangji freezes when he feels someone’s attention zeroing in on him, sharp and curious. It doesn’t feel malicious but it’s definitely wilder than anything he’s so far encountered. Slowly, he turns to look around, lets his spiritual energy gently reach out for a potential threat. He sees and senses nothing alarming but the presence stays, almost like someone was curiously peeking over his shoulder. 

Interesting.

Hiding itself doesn’t take much spiritual energy but it does take a very strong cultivator—most definitely a descendant of some celestial being—to deliberately let him know he’s being watched while staying fully hidden.

He frowns, takes one last look around, and continues on.

If he’s completely honest, Lan Wangji would’ve most likely headed out even without the informal order. Brother’s worries aren’t unfounded. While he’d been alive, the former Sect Leader Wen (the last known Wen with the ability to shift into his phoenix form), had reached far and beyond, disregarded warnings and pleas and threats, summoning destruction on himself and his sect. His actions had sullied the Wen name and his death left a vacuum too many people are too eager to fill—most prominently the Jin Sect.

The Wen faction concentrated on medical cultivation had made the mistake of opposing their Sect Leader who decimated their village in a fit of rage and revenge, leaving the Dafan Wen crippled and homeless. The Jin have been vocal in their displeasure of letting the Wen remnants live, coming up with increasingly elaborate missives to Brother to justify the ongoing persecution. 

When the Dafan Wen one day vanished, it would’ve been easy to claim they’d been either slaughtered or assimilated into another sect if not for the Jin’s persistent nattering to hunt them down and ”bring them to justice.” If nothing else, their annoying pleas for Imperial aid mean that the Wen remnants are still alive.

People who are desperate to survive will take any port in the storm, and the more out of the way of the bigger sects, the better. Considering the long-standing animosity between the Wen and the Nie, it’s less likely the Dafan Wen survivors would head to Qinghe, so Lan Wangji heads to the South of Qishan instead. He flies his sword for the first leg of the journey until he crosses to the Jiang territory, and then continues on foot.

As the Heir and Imperial Prince, Lan Wangji is naturally acquainted with all major sect leaders and their families. While he might not enjoy meeting them, he knows the duties of his station—and even though he isn’t on an official Imperial mission, it is good manners to greet the ruling sect of the territory he’s crossing. So he stifles a sigh, walks to the gates of Lotus Pier, and politely inquires if Sect Leader Jiang would be available for a meeting.

”And who is asking?” one of the guards asks, looking Lan Wangji straight in the eye. She’s a robust woman with feathers peeking from her hair and something sharp and predatory in her gaze.

Without a word, Lan Wangji releases a sliver of his control and lets his antlers out.

The guard’s eyes snap into his antlers and then back to him. ”Yes, your Highness!” she says briskly. ”A-Qiu!” she barks at a young disciple crossing the yard. ”Inform the sect leader that Imperial Prince Hanguang-jun is here to see him.” 

The disciple nods and dashes away and the guard turns back to Lan Wangji. ”Please, follow me, your Highness.”

There’s a reason that, despite the heat and humidity and perpetual noise of Yunmeng, he likes it better than, say, Lanling. The Yunmeng people are frank and bold and, as someone who intensely dislikes political games, Lan Wangji finds it a relief. 

The route they take is longer than Lan Wangji remembers which is why he isn’t surprised to meet not only Sect Leader Jiang but the whole main family waiting for him, servants lining the hall, and tea ready to be poured.

He bows to the family and they bow back, and then they exchange pleasantries as tea is served. And then, finally, Sect Leader Jiang sets his cup down and asks, ”What can we do for you, Hanguang-jun?”

”I am on an errand on behalf of my brother,” he says, fully knowing that the Jiang family will understand the difference between brother and Emperor. ”There have been rumors of peaceful people being hunted for crimes they did not commit.”

”Hm,” Sect Leader Jiang says. His features aren’t showing but if Lan Wangji remembers correctly, that has never been his style. Next to him, Madam Yu stares at Lan Wangji with slitted eyes. For some people, that cold, unblinking serpentine stare would be too much. 

Lan Wangji is not some people.

”And who might those people be?” Madam Yu asks. ”Do they have a name?”

Lan Wangji inclines his head. ”They do, unfortunately.”

”Ah,” she breathes. It comes out as a hiss.

Next to their parents, Lady Jiang and Young Master Jiang glance at each other. 

”Mother, Father,” Lady Jiang says. ”The Imperial Prince must be tired from his journey. May we show him to the guest quarters to freshen up?”

Lan Wangji is neither tired nor does he need to freshen up but he says nothing.

Madam Yu’s unblinking stare turns to her children. ”Yes,” she says. ”That’s a good idea. Please, Hanguang-jun.”

He stands up, bows, and follows Lady Jiang and Young Master Jiang out of the receiving hall, acutely aware of Madam Yu’s stare on his back.

”I’m sure Your Highness is eager to be on his way,” Lady Jiang says as she leads Lan Wangji to a spacious guest house with strong privacy talismans lining the walls. ”We would be honored to offer you whatever small respite you might need.”

”Thank you,” Lan Wangji says, curious despite himself to see what this is about.

Young Master Jiang Wanyin closes the door behind them and with an impatient wave of his hand, activates the privacy talismans. Then he turns to face Lan Wangji with his head held high and asks, ”What do you want with the Dafan Wen?” 

Lady Jiang sighs. ”A-Cheng,” she chides.

”What?” he asks. ”We all know that’s what we’re talking about.” He sounds defensive but one look from his sister makes him deflate.

Lan Wangji considers them for a moment. 

It has never been a secret that the Meishan Yu serpent line overpowered the Jiang crane line, evident in Young Master Jiang’s slitted eyes and the scattering of iridescent scales over Lady Jiang’s cheekbones. Rumor also says that Lady Jiang’s features are purely decorative and that all power of the younger Jiang generation has been granted to Young Master Jiang. He isn’t sure that is completely accurate.

”I am indeed looking for the Dafan Wen,” Lan Wangji says calmly. ”My goal is to assess the situation and interfere if needed.”

”Interfere how?” Young Master Jiang snaps and crosses his arms on his chest.

Something ripples over Lady Jiang’s face, there and gone again so fast that if Lan Wangji wasn’t looking, he wouldn’t have seen it. She places her hand gently on her brother’s arm and a shudder runs through him, the bravado and pride subdued.

”Please excuse my didi, Your Highness,” Lady Jiang says and bows low. ”The Dafan Wen are…” she pauses, searching for words. ”We have dear friends among them,” she finally concludes. ”Their wellbeing is important to us. We mean no disrespect to the Imperial Prince, we are merely worried.” She swallows and looks Lan Wangji straight in the eyes. ”We have been worried for some time now,” she adds in a whisper.

Lan Wangji looks from her to her brother. ”Thank you for letting me know, Lady Jiang,” he says. ”I will take your worry into consideration.”

Her smile is like the sun emerging from behind a cloud and Lan Wangji thinks, Anyone who believes she’s the weak one is a fool. 

He stays just long enough to not be impolite, eager to be on his way. Instead of to the gates, Lady Jiang and Young Master Jiang lead him to the piers, apologizing that their parents’ obligations have them tied elsewhere. It’s a transparent excuse but Lan Wangji understands why—the scars of war are still too fresh even for a sect like Yunmeng Jiang to publicly stand with the Wen remnants.

He is, however, confused by the boat gently swaying in the river. He blinks and turns to the Jiang siblings when Young Master Jiang says in a low voice, ”You might want to head to Yiling.”

Ah. ”Thank you,” he says. 

As Lady Jiang bows her farewell, a small pendant slips from beneath the collar of her robes and catches Lan Wangji’s eye. It’s a small, delicate carving of a flame or perhaps a tail made of bronze-colored stone, looking almost amber as the sun hits it. Without realizing it, Lan Wangji’a features flow out as takes a step forward and reaches out, barely stopping himself from grabbing her arm.

”Where did you get that pendant?” he asks in a low rumble that plumes cold in the humid Yunmeng air. ”Who gave it to you?”

Next to her, Young Master Jiang jerks as Lady Jiang’s hand darts to his side, grabbing his wrist before—

—Ah. 

Young Master Jiang was about to draw his sword which would’ve been most unfortunate.

Lan Wangji steps back and wrestles back his control, reining in his antlers and tail. ”My deepest apologies,” he says after a tense moment and bows lower than his status would ever require. ”I—the token—” 

His words fail him and after a moment of frustration, he draws a deep breath and slowly takes out the chain with the locket and the token Uncle gave him. 

Young Master Jiang draws a sharp breath. ”A-jie!” he hisses. ”That’s like—”

”Shush,” Lady Jiang says without taking her eyes off Lan Wangji. ”May I inquire where Your Highness got that token?”

”From my Uncle,” Lan Wangji says, looking down at his token. It’s darker and slightly bigger than the one Lady Jiang has. ”He said a friend gave it to him long ago.”

Lady Jiang glances at her brother. ”This, too, was from a friend,” she says softly. ”We both have one.”

Wordlessly, Young Master Jiang shows a token hanging from his neck before tucking it back under his robes.

A strange feeling rises within Lan Wangji, resonating through him like a plucked qin string. These tokens are the same but also different, and the Jiang siblings clearly know their importance. ”What does this mean?” he whispers, gripping his token and locket in his hand.

Lady Jiang gives him a wry smile. ”Well, Hanguang-jun, it means that you really should go to Yiling.”

Yiling is a small town nestled in the shadow of the Burial Mounds, an ancient mass grave site that’s honestly been left stewing in its own resentment for far too long. It is nominally under the Jiang rule but in reality, it is a strange no-man’s-land, an unfortunate area no one is quite willing to take responsibility for. Ages ago, a mysterious barrier of resentful energy went up, sealing the Mounds—and the monsters—inside. No one knows how it came to be and no one has been particularly interested in finding out. 

Lan Wangji can feel the eyes on him as he walks the humble main street leading through the town. The gazes are not hostile but they’re not friendly, either. The Yiling folk are wary of strangers and he can’t really blame them.

He enters an inn, greets the proprietor, and sits down, setting Bichen next to him. Under his robes, the token feels warm on his skin. For a moment, it feels almost like it’s vibrating against his chest but when he touches it, it’s completely silent. 

He must’ve imagined it.

”What can I get for you, Sir?” The proprietor’s tone is polite and her eyes sharp. Lan Wangji has no doubt she’d be ready to throw him out if she didn’t want him in her inn.

”Tea, please,” he says. ”And if you have anything without meat.”

She huffs and raises a brow but a short moment later, there’s a pot of fragrant tea and a bowl of vegetable stew and rice in front of him. The food is simple but hearty and more than enough to fill his stomach. 

As he eats, Lan Wangji extends his senses. The inn is reasonably crowded with patrons eating in the common room and a handful of rooms occupied on the second floor. Several people flash brightly against his spiritual energy, marking them as cultivators or celestial descendants but he senses no ill intent from anyone. Outside, the main street and small market bustle with people going on with their business, chatter audible through the inn’s open doors.

”May I ask what you’re doing here, Sir?” the proprietor asks as she comes to check in on him. ”Not to be impolite but we don’t often see fancy people like you around.” She picks up the empty bowl and swiftly wipes the table with a rag. ”I hope the food was to your liking.”

”It was good,” he says. ”Thank you.” He takes a moment to think as he pours himself another cup of tea. ”I am here on a quest,” he says slowly. ”To find a doctor.”

The proprietor’s demeanor doesn’t change. ”Yiling is a humble town. I’m afraid we don’t have a doctor suitable for your status.”

”Then it is fortunate that I am not interested in status,” Lan Wangji says calmly.

The proprietor’s eyes narrow and she opens her mouth to reply when a customer hollers from across the room. ”Please, excuse me,” she says to Lan Wangji and turns without another comment.

Lan Wangji finishes his tea and leaves a generous payment on the table before exiting the inn. 

It’s a nice enough day even in the shadow of the Burial Mounds and he decides to take a stroll among the vending stalls lining the main street. Naturally, their offers are sparser and humbler than those in Caiyi Town but he still manages to find a small, charming painting for Brother and a new brush stand for Uncle. Satisfied with his purchases, he turns to go when something collides with his leg.

Something small. And clinging.

Bewildered, he looks down and sees a child. Clinging to his leg. And giggling.

Lan Wangji has never been good with children. In truth, he’s never really been good with adults, either but with adults, there’s always the option of staring at them until they go away. Children, his limited experience has led to understand, rarely respond the same way as adults.

”Um,” he says.

The small boy looks up and his face splits into a wide grin that’s missing the front teeth.

”Hello,” Lan Wangji says tentatively.

The child giggles again.

Feeling at a loss, Lan Wangji looks up and glances around. The people around him seem more amused than judging, some even rolling their eyes, indicating this isn’t a rare occurrence. He glances back down and the child lets go of his leg, raising his arms in the universal ”up!” plea instead.

Not sure what else to do, Lan Wangji tucks Bichen into his belt and picks the child up. He immediately grabs a hold of Lan Wangji’s collar, wrinkling it, and puts his head on his shoulder. He smells dusty and sweaty but underneath there’s a familiar scent Lan Wangji immediately zeroes on. 

Almost without realizing, he leans closer to take a deep breath and—yes, it’s the same scent—

”A-Yuan!” someone calls.

Lan Wangji turns around and immediately feels the same presence he felt in Caiyi Town. This time it’s sharper, almost as if it had teeth, and it sets him on edge, unsure of what prompted the change. He sees a young man in dark robes cross the street, hurrying to them—or more like hurrying to the child—and it isn’t until he’s right in front of Lan Wangji that he stops, looks up, and goes pale as he takes in Lan Wangji’s forehead ribbon.

”Your—”

”No need,” he interrupts, strangely unwilling to have his Imperial title declared in the middle of the street. 

”I-I’m so sorry, Your—I mean, Hanguang-jun,” the man stammers, bowing repeatedly. ”And I’m sorry for—A-Yuan, why are you—”

”Shiny!” the boy in Lan Wangji’s arms declares cheerfully and burrows closer.

”Y-yes, well,” the man says, wringing his hands. ”I’m so sorry—your r-robes—” he starts and then goes silent, eyes wide.

Lan Wangji glances down and is somehow in no way surprised to see that A-Yuan’s grip has opened his robes enough for the locket and token to slip out.

The man blinks several times, looks around, then straightens his posture. ”Follow me, please, Hanguang-jun,” he says, suddenly calm and collected.

Bemused, Lan Wangji follows him, acutely aware of the sharp attention still on him. The presence follows them through Yiling and along the path that leads straight to the Burial Mounds, and it vanishes only when the forest gives way to shriveled shrubs and white, skeletal trunks of long-dead trees. Behind the silent, ghostly tree sentinels is the smoky, opaque screen guarding the entrance to the Burial Mounds proper.

A tiny woman stands in front of the barrier, waiting for them. Even though she’s clothed in coarse, plain robes and there’s no jewelry in her hair, her bearing is regal enough that she’d be at home in Brother’s throne room. She holds her hands neatly in front of her as she calmly regards them approaching. 

”That’s far enough,” she says. ”A-Ning, take A-Yuan inside.”

A-Yuan whines when he’s taken from Lan Wangji’s arms but he obeys meekly enough. Just before the smoky barrier of Burial Mounds swallows them, he turns and waves at Lan Wangji with a wide smile.

Wen Qing, the legitimate heir of the Wen Sect and the leader of what’s left of the Dafan Wen faction, takes a step forward and says. ”Hanguang-jun. What brings you here?”

Lan Wangji bows. ”Lady Wen,” he says. ”My brother has expressed his worry over your people.”

”Your brother?” she asks. ”Not the Emperor?”

”Mn. Also…” his eyes drift to the smoky barrier. He can neither see nor hear anything through it but he has a feeling someone is watching him, listening very carefully to his every word. He glances at Lady Wen and then speaks to the barrier. ”As I crossed to the Yunmeng Jiang territory, I paid my respects to Sect Leader Jiang and his family. Lady Jiang and Young Master Jiang instructed I should come to Yiling.”

The barrier ripples slightly and from the corner of his eye, Lan Wangji spies Lady Wen’s head jerk sharply. 

”I see,” she says. ”In that case, you should come in.”

Whatever Lan Wangji was expecting when he walked through the cold smoke that makes up the protective barrier around the Burial Mounds, it wasn’t a bustling, cheery little settlement. There are vegetable patches and fruit trees, a chicken coop and a henhouse, and he’s certain he hears a cow somewhere behind the cluster of buildings. Several goats climb the nearly vertical mountainside, and in front of an entrance to a cave, an orange cat stares at him with a haughty expression that tells him that whatever he thinks he’s worth, he’s found severely lacking.

”Not quite what you expected, is it, Your Highness?” a wry voice says. He turns to see an elderly man standing a step behind him, hands behind his back and looking very pleased with himself. ”It’s not much but we’ve managed quite nicely, I’d say.”

Before Lan Wangji has a chance to reply, a weight slams into him, clinging to his leg in a very familiar way. ”Hello, A-Yuan,” he says and picks the boy up, ignoring the dusty handprints on his robes.

”A-Yuan! Don’t bother Hanguang-jun!” a harried-looking woman yelps, hurrying to them, clearly intent on snatching the boy away.

”I am not bothered,” Lan Wangji says. ”He can stay if he wishes.”

”Mama!” A-Yuan exclaims straight into Lan Wangji’s ear. ”Shiny!”

Lady Wen ignores both the boy and his mother. ”This way, Hanguang-jun,” she says, leading the way into the cave, walking around the orange cat with practiced ease. 

The cave is big and clearly used as a communal space. The Wen remnants file in and settle down, talking quietly amongst themselves. A handful of people serve tea and small, round buns. 

Lan Wangji looks up when a pot of tea and a basket of buns is set in front of him. 

”M-my apologies for not introducing myself earlier,” the young man he’d met in town says and bows. ”This one is Wen Ning, courtesy Qionglin.”

Lan Wangji inclines his head. ”No apologies needed,” he says.

Wen Qionglin bows again and hurries off.

”Eat up,” an elderly woman with white hair and kind eyes says. ”Imperial Prince or not, you are too thin.”

”Mn,” Lan Wangji says, bemused, and picks up a bun.

She nods and then leans in a bit, holding out a bun. ”A-Yuan, be careful when you eat. No crumbs on Hanguang-jun’s robes!”

”Yes, Popo!” A-Yuan says, snatching the bun from her hand.

Lady Wen clears her throat to talk but Lan Wangji doesn’t hear a word as the hairs on his neck suddenly stand up and a shiver runs down his spine. Very slowly, he turns his head just enough to spy a shape in the shadows. It’s listening carefully, sitting with its ears pricked up and a fluffy tail curled around its legs, the tip gently swishing back and forth. Lan Wangji deliberately turns his attention back to Lady Wen. She has an unreadable expression on her face as her eyes meet his and then flicker to the presence behind him.

”As I was saying,” she says, turning to face the Wen in the cave. ”Hanguang-jun—”

Whatever she’s about to say next is cut short by several bright flashes and a shrill sound ringing through the air. She grits her teeth and starts issuing sharp orders the Wen obey immediately. Lan Wangji feels the presence behind him vanish and whirls around to see a shadow flit out of the cave and head down the hill toward the barrier. Without a word, he hands A-Yuan to Popo and hurries out to follow it. 

He’s too slow to catch up properly but he is fast enough to see the loping shadow grow and stretch, and between one step and another, it has turned into a lithe man clad in black robes, a red ribbon in his hair trailing behind him as he runs.

Lan Wangji feels his lips draw into a smile as his teeth elongate and his antlers emerge. Ah! he nearly purrs. Found you!

When they reach the barrier, the man slows down and then tilts his head, and the smoky screen shielding the Burial Mounds parts. On the other side mills a motley crew of cultivators from different sects, a sneering man in Jin gold on the forefront. His features are out, clearly displaying his agitation and aggression.

”Wei Wuxian!” he yells. ”Give up the Wen rebel scum! You’ve been hiding them for too long!”

”I have no clue what you’re talking about,” the man—Wei Wuxian—calls back. 

His voice feels like a caress on Lan Wangji’s skin. He remembers the cadence but the amusement back during their encounter was delighted, not dark and biting like now. 

”It’s just a bunch of farmers in here. And half a dozen kids.” Wei Wuxian spreads his arms. ”I know kids can be pretty intimidating but it’s hard to believe a big, strong man like you would be afraid of them!”

The Jin’s face twists with rage. He draws his sword and charges forward with a yell, drawing the group of other cultivators with him.

Lan Wangji’s lip curls. Bichen is in his hand in a flash, sending out a freezing, pale blue sword glare that skirts around Wei Wuxian and slams into the charging cultivators with devastating force. They fall with alarmed screams but he pays them no mind because Wei Wuxian has whirled around and—

Lan Wangji gazes at this man who makes his heart sing even though this is the first time he properly sees his face; sharp cheekbones, wide eyes, and red lips that are partially open. A black dizi has appeared in his hand, resentful energy dances in the hems of his robes, and all Lan Wangji can think is, Oh, he’s beautiful.

”What—” Wei Wuxian starts when behind him, something glints, almost like light on a blade heading toward Wei Wuxian’s vulnerable back—

On instinct, Lan Wangji lets go of his control. His form flows into his full shift in a flash, flattening the area with a violent explosion of his spiritual energy as he coils forward, curling his tail around Wei Wuxian to keep him safe, and pins the Jin down with a sickening crunch.

”You dare!” he roars, his voice making the ground shake. 

Raising a sword against someone a dragon has chosen to protect means inviting immediate and swift death. Bichen’s sword glare should’ve been more than enough to inform everyone in the near vicinity of the status of its wielder—and if that wasn’t enough, Lan Wangji was standing right there with his antlers out, and this puny, despicable thing chose to attack anyway…

Lan Wangji curls his lips into a sneer and lowers his head to look at the ones who had the audacity to raise their swords against what is his. ”None of you should be here,” he growls. ”If you wish to keep your lives, leave now.”

The cultivators fall over themselves and each other in their hurry to flee, abandoning their weapons and the main Jin agitator still pinned under his claws. Lan Wangji doesn’t know if he’s still alive and he also doesn’t care. He stares after the fleeing cultivators with narrowed eyes, his breath frosting the earth and painting the scorched earth silvery.

”Um,” Wei Wuxian says from behind him.

Lan Wangji huffs, shakes his head, and turns to look over his shoulder. 

”Hi,” Wei Wuxian says and gives him a hesitant wave.

Lan Wangji inclines his head. ”We meet again,” he says in the deep rumble that is his voice in this form. He lowers his head to take a closer look and draws in the scent he’s been dreaming about for months.

Wei Wuxian looks sheepish. ”So, yeah, about that,” he says, rubbing his neck. ”I didn’t mean to offend you, Hanguang-jun. I only wanted to help—”

”Lan Wangji,” Lan Wangji interrupts. ”Or Lan Zhan.”

Wei Wuxian blinks, opens his mouth, closes it again. ”I—yeah, if your Imperial Highness—I mean—Wei Ying! That’s me!” he finally blurts.

”Wei Ying,” Lan Wangji says, tasting the name. It feels and sounds right and he lowers his head to gently nudge him. ”Wei Ying,” he says again, this time as a purr, drawing pleasure from how Wei Ying’s eyes go wide and two bright red spots bloom on his cheeks.

”Yeah, that’s my name,” Wei Ying says, sounding slightly strangled. ”Now, I seem to be kind of stuck here?” he adds, pointing at Lan Wangji’s tail curled around him, keeping him safe.

Lan Wangji doesn’t bother hiding his smugness. ”Yes.”

Wei Ying waits for a moment and when Lan Wangji doesn’t say anything else, he asks, ”Could you let me go?”

”No.”

”What do you mean, no?”

”No, I will not let you go.”

Lan Wangji watches through half-slitted eyes as Wei Ying’s eyes narrow and he points with his dizi. ”And why is that?” he asks in a dangerous, silky purr that makes something hot run through Lan Wangji.

”Because we’re waiting for Brother.”

”Your br— Lan Zhan!” Wei Ying’s tone turns from dangerous to bewildered. ”What do you mean—we’re waiting for the Emperor?!”

Lan Wangji closes his eyes and enjoys the feeling of Wei Ying—his equal, his mate—so close he can taste his spiritual essence.

Yes. 

Brother will arrive soon and explain everything to Wei Ying.

He’s distantly aware of someone cautiously approaching and opens his eyes to see Lady Wen. 

”Right,” she says. ”So, I guess we no longer have to fear an attack.”

”Mn,” Lan Wangji rumbles.

”Great.”

”Qing-jie, could you talk some sense in him?” Wei Ying pleads. ”He says he’s going to keep me here until his brother arrives. The Emperor,” he adds in a hiss.

”I’m fully aware of who his brother is,” Lady Wen says flatly. ”Also, I’m quite certain we’re now witnessing the consequences of your actions, Wei Wuxian.” She raises a brow at his outraged sputtering. ”You decided to engage in penetrative intercourse with the Imperial Prince during his mating season. Get ready to meet your future in-laws.”

Wei Ying holds up a hand. ”Yes but—wait. What?” he yelps. ”In-laws? What?”

”Have fun,” Lady Wen says and turns to go.

”Wen Qing!” Wei Ying yells after her. When it becomes apparent she has no intention to turn back, he slumps. ”Typical,” he mutters and then seems to remember where he is. ”Uh. Hi?” he says, sounding hesitant.

”Wei Ying,” Lan Wangji says, enjoying the syllables of his name.

”So…when is your brother arriving?”

Lan Wangji closes his eyes and tilts his head, reaching out to where he feels Brother’s presence rapidly approaching. ”Soon,” he says.

”Oh,” he says. ”But…why is he coming?”

”He felt my shift.”

Wei Ying is silent for a moment. ”…and?” he prompts. ”What about it?”

Lan Wangji opens his eyes. ”We do not generally shift into our true forms outside the Cloud Recesses, mostly because it tends to be…” he glances pointedly around. ”Destructive.”

Wei Ying blinks and only now seems to be taking in the leveled trees and splintered rocks around them. ”Ohhh. Okay. That makes sense. So he’s going to see what happened? And that you’re alright?”

Lan Wangji huffs. ”He knows why,” he says, amused. ”He is coming to see you.”

”What?” Wei Ying says faintly. 

Lan Wangji is spared from replying because, in the next moment, Brother has arrived. He’s over six centuries older than Lan Wangji which means he’s larger and his true form is almost enough to darken the whole sky. 

”Oh, shit,” Wei Ying whispers as Brother starts to descend, his form undulating and twisting around itself until he shifts into his human form, leaving his antlers and tail visible. His five (purely ceremonial) attendants land a short distance away.

”Wangji,” Brother says as he touches the ground. ”I see you found him.”

”Brother,” Lan Wangji says, bowing his head. ”This is Wei Ying.”

So, thing is… Wei Wuxian did not expect this. Any of this…this—this— marriage? Seriously?!

He shoots an incredulous look at the Dragon Emperor (the Dragon Emperor!) sitting on the other side of the shabby table listening to A-Yuan’s babbling with an attentive air and then ducks his head when said Emperor (the Emperor!!) meets his eyes with an amused quirk of his brow.

And next to Wei Wuxian sits Hanguang-jun, the Dragon Prince and Heir and the Emperor’s little brother(!!), and apparently he and Wei Wuxian are betrothed now? He had turned back into his human form only at his brother’s (the Emperor’s!) chiding prompt and then tied his forehead ribbon around Wei Wuxian’s left wrist. Something about it had felt both salacious and proprietary, and the Emperor’s exasperatedly fond look hadn’t helped a bit.

”Tea, Your Highness?” Popo asks.

The Emperor inclines his head. ”Yes, thank you.”

The tea they have at the Burial Mounds is cheap and bitter, nowhere near worth serving the nobility but the Emperor drinks it with a small smile on his lips and holds out his cup for more.

”Would His Highness the Emperor like a taste of our own fruit wine?” Fourth Uncle asks with mirth dancing in his eyes, holding out a clay jar. Behind him, Wen Qing closes her eyes, looking like she’d want to be anywhere but here.

”Perhaps later,” the Emperor says. Then he sets his cup on the table and looks Wei Wuxian straight in the eyes. ”Now, Young Master Wei,” he says pleasantly. ”Why don’t you tell me how you and Wangji met?”

Wei Wuxian swallows, clears his throat, and darts a glance at Lan Zhan—because Wei Wuxian is allowed to call him that!—then looks at the Emperor again.

”I— of course, Your Highness. I was out on a Night Hunt a while ago. Forced, actually, Qing-jie threw me out and told me not to come back in at least two weeks or preferably a month, so I was just running around, looking for things to do and people to help.”

The Emperor’s eyes flicker to Wen Qing who mutters under her breath, probably something unsavory, Wei Wuxian isn’t going to think about it very closely.

”I was in Runan when I heard rumors of a yao wracking havoc so I decided to take a look. I was barely in the area when I felt a surge of yin energy that definitely wasn’t mine, so even more of a reason to take a look. But when I got closer, the yin energy started to dissipate which was weird. It’s not supposed to do that, at least not that fast, unless something’s influencing it. 

”Imagine my amazement when the next moment I felt a massive amount of yang energy roll through the woods like a wave. If the yin surge was weird, this was even more so! Which meant that I had to investigate. I—uh—” he blinks and glances at A-Yuan still leaning on the Emperor (leaning! On the Emperor!) and clears his throat again. ”Anyway, eventually I arrived at a clearing where I saw a carcass with faint traces of yin energy—or, I mean, faint compared to the amount that it pumped out earlier—and next to it a beautiful man in obvious pain. He…um…was in a clear distress and.” He shrugs. ”Let’s just say that based on my skillset I could tell he was going to be in considerable discomfort and pain if I didn’t step in. So I did.

”I know I probably shouldn’t have. But…he was crying out and I felt so bad. I knew I could help! And I knew it would be safe for him!” He looks at Lan Zhan and then back at the Emperor who still has his pleasant face on.

”Did you know it would be safe for you?” the Emperor asks.

Wei Wuxian rubs at his neck. ”I mean…I didn’t really think about that?” he says and shrugs. ”I’m usually fine.”

Wen Qing mutters something again and when he chances a look, he sees her down a cup of Uncle Four’s wine like it’s tea.

”I see,” the Emperor says. ”Please, continue.”

”There’s not much else, Your Highness,” he says. ”I helped him and when his condition started to improve, I stabilized his meridians and replenished his spiritual energy, set the ward around the clearing to start to dissipate when he woke up and, well, left.”

The Emperor raises a brow. ”You did all that after taking care of him?”

Wei Wuxian blushes. ”I was, ah, very full,” he says sheepishly.

”I see,” the Emperor says again. His eyes are very bright as he holds Wei Wuxian’s gaze. ”And that is what happened?”

Ah, of course, Wei Wuxian realizes as he feels the push of power. The direct descendants who can control their full shift have the ability to sense truths and lies. 

”Yes, Your Highness,” he says, relaxing himself and looking the Emperor straight in the eye. ”That is what happened.”

He really should’ve known that Wen Qing was right again. She’s a dear friend and one hell of a medical cultivator, and one of her most annoying traits was that she was usually right. Like now. No surprise.

After the war and barely healing up before smuggling the Dafan Wen out of Qishan and into the Burial Mounds, Wei Wuxian had been on the edge, constantly refining the wards and the barrier surrounding the mountain. It was most fortunate for both his experiments and the Dafan Wen that the cultivation sects usually left Yiling alone. Something something monsters and terrible death and destruction blah blah blah—superstitious fear-mongering, if one asked Wei Wuxian. But since no one asked him he was more than happy to take custody of the place brimming with yin energy just waiting to be refined. 

Finding the place hadn’t been hard but figuring out the way to open the barrier and enter AND get rid of all the monsters was a bit more challenging. Not too hard, though! Not for Wei Wuxian!

Anyway. He’d been so intensely buried in his work that he might have forgotten to eat and drink and take care of himself and then Wen Qing had maybe yanked him out of the cave by his ear and dragged him to the barrier and told him not to come back in at least two weeks. She was awesome. Terrifying but awesome. 

He should remember never to let her and Yanli-jie meet again.

Thinking about the Jiang siblings made him wonder for a moment if he should head to Yunmeng. It had been a while since his last visit—Two years? Three? Five? He wasn’t very good at keeping count—but he had a nagging feeling that in his current slightly jittery state, he’d be just a bit too chaotic for Lotus Pier. Snakes and foxes don’t really mingle that well and despite their gratitude, he knew he’d stretched his welcome the last time perhaps a bit. Besides, his tails would keep Yanli-jie and A-Cheng safe.

So, he wandered.

He took care of small things here and there; a poisoned well and a horde of mutated cat yao and a talking crow that was actually just an ordinary, if highly intelligent, bird so he kept it around for some while just for company. There were a couple of bigger curses he had fun figuring out but most of the stuff he did was just mundane everyday things, helping out people who didn’t necessarily have anyone else to ask.

By the time he was nearing Runan, he started hearing rumors of a yao that had already killed at least eight or maybe seventeen people, the size of a pony or a house, and a voice like an owl or perhaps a cow. It was strange enough to make him curious so he headed straight in.

The surge of yin energy took him by surprise and raised his hackles. That was almost as much as he was able to release and…frankly, he was pretty sure he was the only creature currently roaming the cultivation world to comfortably wield such power. He paused and rolled his shoulders, let out his ears and two of his tails.

”Let’s see what you’re made of,” he murmured.

He barely made it half a dozen steps when a tidal wave of yang energy rushed over him. It tasted sharp and airy, left his tongue tingling and his skin dancing with sparks, and, wow. That was…what the hell was that? He started slowly creeping forward (only belatedly realizing he was getting ready to pounce like a damn kit—how mortifying), nose twitching, tails swaying languidly. He followed the pulsing yang energy into a clearing and saw something that took his breath away.

The most beautiful man he’d ever laid his eyes on sat in a lotus position exuding wave after wave of the most potent yang energy Wei Wuxian had ever tasted. His eyes were half-slitted and leaking golden light and in his white robes, he seemed to be almost glowing.

Wait.

White robes.

White forehead ribbon—

Oh.

Damn. That was a Lan right there.

Wei Wuxian had had his run-ins with major (and minor) sects and to be honest, most of the cultivation world didn’t really like him even without knowing he was a Huli Jing, and he usually wasn’t that into letting people know. Something something old tales of Huli Jing sexing their way up and down, sucking cultivators dry left and right, and so on and so forth. And while the stories might (possibly, most definitely, absolutely) have their roots in real events, that wasn’t what Wei Wuxian was. Honest. 

That said, he knew better than to cross a Lan. Better to be off then, no matter how delicious the air tasted.

So, naturally, that was when the Lan let out a pained groan and his form crumpled. Of course.

”Oh, shit!” Wei Wuxian yelped. ”That doesn’t look good.” He crept carefully closer, took in the flushed cheeks and rapid breathing, the frown between those perfect brows, and sweat pearling above the white forehead ribbon.

”Stay away!” the Lan snarled, sending out a stuttering wave of spiritual energy with his hand, almost toppling over. His attempt shifted his robes on his lap and revealed what was really going on.

It was common knowledge that nearly all Lans had been blessed with at least some features from their celestial forefathers, and this particular Lan had been very blessed indeed. Twice. And now something had pushed him into a frenzy, and considering the amount of yang energy he was pumping out and the near delirium he was in, Wei Wuxian was pretty sure he wasn’t going to make it out just by himself.

Fuck or die was an actual thing, no matter how much Wen Qing rolled her eyes at the name.

He bit his lip, ignored the voice in the back of his mind yelling at him not to do something extremely stupid (it sounded a lot like Qing-jie, actually), and shrugged off his robes. He let his spiritual energy spread out to check out the perimeter and, when he sensed nothing threatening, he nodded, and bit into his finger. He set up a protective border array in a flash, added several strong privacy talismans, and then rolled his neck with a satisfying crack.

”Well, here goes nothing,” he said and shook his full features out. His six tails fanned out plush and luxurious and the feeling of a gentle breeze on them felt amazing. It had been a while since he last let them out but he had a gut feeling (heh) that he’d need every last bit of strength stored in them.

The Lan was slumped in a very un-Lan-like position, leaning on his hands as he shivered. He flinched when Wei Wuxian walked close.

”I’m really sorry about this,” he said softly. ”I bet I’m not the one you want here for this but sadly, we’re out of options.”

”No—don’t!—” the Lan hissed when Wei Wuxian tried to peel the robe off him. It was sweated through and probably a bit (a lot) gross and unpleasant.

”You’re going to feel better after I get it off, Lan-gege,” Wei Wuxian said.

The Lan lifted his head and shook his head. ”Not—safe,” he ground out, gripping the robe closed.

”You are as safe as I could make you,” Wei Wuxian tried to reason. ”I set up a barrier and privacy talismans. You’re safe, Lan-gege, don’t worry. I’ll help you.”

The Lan hissed. ”Not—safe…for—you.”

”Me?” Wei Wuxian scoffed. ”You know, apart from another dragon, I’d bet I’m the safest partner you can have. But thanks for the consideration—although you probably won’t remember it tomorrow.” 

A full-body tremor traveled through the Lan and he whimpered and, well. That settled it.

”I really hope you won’t hate me for doing this,” he said and then gripped the Lan’s head between his hands and kissed him, sucking in a mouthful of heady, strong yang energy. 

It was like kissing a furnace. According to the lore, Dragons usually ran cool but this Lan was burning up. He gasped into Wei Wuxian’s mouth and surged forward, meeting him with desperation and need. Wei Wuxian let him devour his mouth and slid his hands under the sweaty robes, pushed them off, and let his palms map the smooth, hot skin and trembling muscles.

When he drew slightly back, the Lan let out a growl and chased after him. It was thrilling and in some other scenario, he might’ve indulged his instincts to see where they would take them, but right now this Lan-gege was too far gone and in too much pain for games.

”Let’s get those pants off you,” he murmured, reaching for the waistband and then letting out a small whimper when the cocks sprang free. ”Lan-gege truly is blessed,” he said faintly. Even one would’ve been a lot, and there were two of them. Two very big, very hard cocks.

The Lan growled again and tackled him on the ground, thrusting blindly into the crease of his groin. It felt nice but it obviously wasn’t what the Lan needed, although Wei Wuxian appreciated the friction on his cock. He wasn’t fully hard yet but he didn’t need to be for this. Instead, he focused a sliver of his spiritual energy into his hole, let it get wet and relaxed. It wouldn’t be enough but. Well. He wasn’t going to break. Much. He hoped.

”Come on,” he murmured softly, pushing the Lan to get him on the right track. ”Come on, a bit— yeah…oh—”

His voice broke into a thready moan as a cock slipped in (only one, thankfully). It felt just as huge as it had looked and he spread his legs, circulated his spiritual energy to make more room, shimmied a bit—

”Ohh…that’s more like it,” he crooned as the Lan jerked his hips to push further in. ”Mm…come on, go for it, Lan-gege.”

After a couple of fumbling attempts, the Lan picked up a frantic rhythm and started fucking him in earnest, coming fast enough to confirm that he had been trying to hold on alone (probably meditating, poor thing) for way too long. He slipped out and immediately pushed back in with his other cock and started over. Wei Wuxian murmured encouragements and let himself be used, basking in the warmth of the yang energy pouring into him.

”Feeling any better, Lan-gege?” he asked after the Lan had come again. He was slumped on him, heavy and hot, still trembling wherever Wei Wuxian stroked him, face buried in the crook of his neck, heaving in big gulps of air. At the sound of Wei Wuxian’s voice, he lifted his head and looked at him, glowing golden eyes narrowed into slits. 

”Ah. Nobody’s home yet?” Wei Wuxian asked. ”That’s okay. You take what you need, Lan-gege.”

The Lan let out a subvocal sound he felt through his core and without further ado, pushed back in. He held Wei Wuxian’s hips up and fucked him with equal fervor and force as before and all he could do was to lie there and take it. It wasn’t hard (ha) because he was swimming in yang energy, syrupy and golden and bright and delicious, and there was so much of it. He almost didn’t notice when the Lan came and switched cocks again, and then he switched again because apparently when a Lan gets going, he can just…go on and switch cocks because a dragon descendant anatomy was ridiculous like that.

He lost time and lost himself in the endless expanse of yang energy, and came to an indeterminate time later, lying in a pool of fluids. The Lan was hunched over him and making abortive, short thrusts and letting out a frustrated whine.

”Wha…?” Wei Wuxian slurred, feeling dizzy.

Naturally, the Lan wasn’t capable of speech, he merely tried to thrust in with—oh. Both cocks at the same time.

”Not like this,” Wei Wuxian said and pushed at the Lan. It was like pushing at a stone fortress except that stone fortresses didn’t usually growl. He huffed and pushed again, this time with enough spiritual energy to stave off the over-eager Lan. ”I need to turn around for you, silly Lan,” he said, flipping around to all fours (and away from the pool of semen and slick). He spread his knees wider, took a breath and let it slowly out, lowered his chest on the ground, and let go of his spiritual energy at the same time as he swept his tails to the side.

The effect was immediate.

The sound the Lan let out could only be described as a roar. He gripped Wei Wuxian’s hips hard enough to bruise and forced both his cocks inside Wei Wuxian. Even with all the preparation of the previous rounds, even with Wei Wuxian’s Huli Jing anatomy, it hurt. A lot. He bit his lip and whimpered as the Lan rammed inside and started fucking him even harder than before. If he was unrestrained before, now he was feral, and Wei Wuxian’s mewls and gasps only seemed to spur him on. His hands held Wei Wuxian in a vice grip and he could’ve sworn he felt sharp pricks of talons but that—only the ones capable of full shift had talons and he hadn’t seen anything else but the twin cocks. Which, fine, were very distracting but he was pretty sure he would’ve noticed antlers or a tail.

”Lan-gege! So forceful” he whined. ”You’re going to ruin this poor Huli Jing for good!”

With a hiss, the Lan reached up, hooked an arm around his chest, and yanked Wei Wuxian up. The change in position forced his cocks even deeper and the feeling was indescribable, beyond pain and pleasure. Wei Wuxian screamed and then was left gasping helplessly like there was no room for air in his body. He felt as if he was being split in two as the Lan gripped him and pressed even closer, twitching deep inside of him. Arms tightly around him, the Lan bit down on Wei Wuxian’s shoulder and let out a growl that vibrated through Wei Wuxian’s chest, and then a vortex of yang energy swept him away and he was just—

—gone—

///

He swam back to consciousness through the syrupy-sticky hold of sated exhaustion and opened his eyes to a dim forest clearing. The Lan was out cold next to him in his naked glory, face slack with sleep, brow smooth and relaxed. He looked young—or as young as cultivators (and especially Lan cultivators) wanted to look—and almost vulnerable in his nudity. Wei Wuxian poked at his shoulder once, and then a second time, harder, when he got no reaction. 

”Yeah, okay, you really are out,” he chuckled and then winced as the mere act of soft laughter twinged at something in his belly. Or. Well. Belly, ass, hips, neck, throat; everything. His whole body ached and felt used to the bone and yet at the same time, he was brimming with yang energy, fuller than he’d ever been. He ran his spiritual energy through his meridians a couple of times, directed tendrils into places that needed tending to (he was keeping the bruises on his hips, though, thank you very much), and finally stretched, arching himself into a bow that felt so good it made him chitter with happiness.

His tails were a mess and he was covered in love bites, bruises, and flaky, mostly dried semen. He cleaned himself up with a talisman and pulled up his pants before turning to the Lan.

”I’m going to need to touch you, Lan-gege,” he said, ”because there’s no way in hell I’m willing to leave you splayed out here with your cocks out.” For a moment, he wondered how to clean the man—or whether to clean him at all—but he figured it would probably be more disconcerting for him to wake up completely clean and with either a hazy memory or no memory of what happened. So, he cleaned out the worst mess with a talisman before dressing him in his underrobe, making sure to cover his bits properly, and then folded his clothes as best he could. The gorgeous, white-and-silver sword radiated power and he apologized to it formally before picking it up and placing it on top of the Lan’s clothes so that he’d see them the moment he opened his eyes. Finally, he gently took his wrist and ran his spiritual energy through him, made sure his meridians were fine, and transferred back some of the yang energy he’d so vigorously poured into Wei Wuxian.

That done, he circled the clearing once more, refreshed the barrier array and privacy talismans, and set them to start slowly dissipating when the Lan woke up. He still felt ridiculously full of yang energy and let out a small laugh just for the joy of it.

”Well, Lan-gege, I guess this is it,” he said, taking one, last look at the beautiful man. ”Perhaps we’ll meet again, hopefully with our clothes on. I have absolutely nothing against your cocks—I enjoyed them thoroughly, thank you—but I’d like to talk to you, too.”

With that, he darted off, heading back to Yiling with a bounce in his step and a wide grin on his face.

The Emperor breaks the connection and blinks several times. ”Ah,” he says, opens his mouth, closes it, and plasters on a slightly pained smile. ”Well.”

”Brother,” Lan Zhan says stiffly.

”Like I said, Your Highness, I was fine,” Wei Wuxian says and shrugs, going for nonchalance and probably (most definitely) failing, what with his furiously red face and all.

The Emperor clears his throat. ”I did. See.” He reaches out for his cup, discovers it empty, and turns to Uncle Four. ”I’ll take that wine now, thank you.” Uncle Four pours him a cup and he throws it back all at once while A-Yuan blinks at him with wide eyes.

Wow.

So…yeah…perhaps watching his own little brother go feral and fuck the living daylights out of someone wasn’t an experience he’d had before?

Wei Wuxian feels a hysterical giggle bubbling somewhere inside him and ruthlessly smothers it down. 

”Brother,” Lan Zhan says again, this time through gritted teeth.

The Dragon Emperor Zewu-jun closes his eyes and takes a couple of steadying breaths. When he opens his eyes again, he looks as unruffled as he did before his front-row seat at his little brother and Wei Wuxian’s sexy adventure. ”I apologize for the intrusion on your privacy, Wei Wuxian, Wangji, but I deemed it necessary, considering the circumstances.” 

He inclines his head which is mortifying enough—at least he didn’t bow. That would’ve been terrible. Wei Wuxian opens his mouth to brush off the apology but closes his mouth with a snap when the Emperor raises his hand.

”First things first, I would like you to call me by my name.”

Wei Wuxian gapes. ”I couldn’t possibly—” he stutters.

”Of course you could,” the Emperor says with a blinding smile. ”I’m to be your brother-in-law, after all.”

He swallows. ”I didn’t do it for—I mean, I just wanted to help,” he says, looking earnestly at the Emperor. 

”I know,” he says.

Wei Wuxian whirls to face Lan Zhan. ”Not that it was a hardship! Because it wasn’t—I enjoyed myself very much, had the time of my life, really, even though you didn’t talk very much but your performance really made up for it and—oh, shit, Heavens, somebody shut me up!” he groans, burying his face in his hands. He peeks through his fingers and meets Lan Zhan’s intense, half-lidded stare, and tries to hide behind his hands again. It doesn’t work because Lan Zhan pries his left hand off his face and grips his wrist. The one with the forehead ribbon. 

Ah. Right. That means something?

Wen Qing sighs. ”My apologies, Your Highness, this is how he is.” Wei Wuxian squeaks in outrage but she ignores him and instead addresses the Emperor. ”What happens next?”

She stands straight, head held high, hands clasped in front of her. Wei Wuxian knows her well enough to recognize the fear lurking behind her cool gaze and he’s once more filled with adoration and awe at this woman who will fight tooth and nail to protect her family.

The Emperor regards her for a moment before asking, ”Who are you to Wei Wuxian?”

”His family,” Popo says before Wen Qing has the chance to reply. ”He met us when we were fleeing for our lives and didn’t hesitate to step in. He’s fought for us, bled for us, cried for us, and killed for us, and in return, we stand in for the sisters and brothers, aunts and uncles, cousins and grandparents he no longer has.” She gives the Emperor a fierce look. ”And we will make sure he is well taken care of.”

”I can totally take care of myself!” Wei Wuxian interjects and deflates when both Popo and Qing-jie shush him. Even A-Yuan gives him a reproachful look, the traitor. 

”I’m glad to see my didi’s mate is loved,” the Emperor says, giving Wei Wuxian a warm look that makes him want to sink under the table. ”Considering you are his family and his new home will be in Gusu, would you be amenable to moving closer to him? It wouldn’t be proper to leave you here, considering that you don’t cultivate the sword path but are medical cultivators and civilians.”

”The distance between Gusu and Yiling is, indeed, quite big,” Wen Qing says mildly.

”Excellent!” the Emperor beams. ”There will, naturally, be official papers. I trust that both Lady Wen and Elder Wen are willing to help me to fill them properly?”

Wei Wuxian mouths the words Elder Wen, but both Wen Qing and Popo nod. He’s feeling a bit like he’s lost control of his own life. ”Lan Zhan, what’s happening?”

Lan Zhan hums. ”Brother and your family will write the preliminary draft of our marriage contract.”

”It’s mostly for people other than us,” the Emperor explains. ”The Lan will recognize Wangji’s claim automatically.”

”Uh, sure,” Wei Wuxian says faintly.

”Unless you protest,” Lan Zhan adds quietly. ”You will not be forced.”

”I—it’s not—” Wei Wuxian groans and jumps up, feeling jittery. ”Isn’t it the other way round? Aren’t you going to be tied up with me?” he asks. ”Are you sure you want that?”

”Why not?”

Wei Wuxian stares at him for a moment. ”Because! I’m—I’m this!” he motions at himself, oblivious to how Lan Zhan’s eyes go dark. ”I’m not from any prestigious sect! I’m penniless and basically homeless because honestly, the Burial Mounds doesn’t count. I’m an orphan who never truly knew his parents! And I’m—I’m a Huli Jing harboring fugitives!”

”And?”

”What do you mean, and?” Wei Wuxian exclaims. ”Isn’t that enough?”

Lan Zhan gives him a cool look. ”You are strong and smart and cunning. Your cultivation is very high and your skills exemplary. You are righteous and you have a strong sense of justice. You care about people.” He pauses and his eyes flash momentarily. ”You are beautiful,” he continues in a lower voice, almost crooning. ”You are alluring. And we are highly compatible. Wei Ying, why wouldn’t I want you?”

The longer Lan Zhan speaks, the hotter Wei Wuxian’s cheeks grow until he has to press his palms over them. ”Lan Zhan!” he hisses. ”Why—you can’t—you—” He glances around, mortified, and sees the Emperor holding his hands over A-Yuan’s ears and looking smug while Popo grins and Qing-jie looks unimpressed.

”I can and I will,” Lan Zhan concludes with the air of finality.

”Wangji, perhaps you and Wei Wuxian should talk?” the Emperor suggests and then adds in a complete deadpan, ”In private. With clothes on.”

Wei Wuxian wants to die. ”Ah. Yes. Your Highness, that would probably be smart, yeah.”

”What did you just call me?” the Emperor asks, raising a brow.

”Uh. Lan…Xichen? Your Highness?”

”Mn. Getting there,” the Emperor—Lan Xichen!! Because he told Wei Wuxan to call him by his name!!—says.

Wei Wuxian is saved from more mortification by getting dragged away by Lan Zhan.

Ten days later, Wei Wuxian stands in front of the Cloud Recesses’ front gate and stares.

The gate is big but not as ostentatious as he would’ve thought. Two guards stand in attention on both sides, staring impassively forward, ignoring their retinue.

”Xian-gege! SHINY!” A-Yuan yells from the top of his little lungs. He’s been declaring everything shiny as of late and Wei Wuxian is sort of convinced it’s A-Yuan’s word for clean. Not that they’d lived in filth but…it was the Burial Mounds. Keeping ash and soot from getting everywhere was an almost impossible challenge.

A white-clad Lan disciple with a smattering of pale scales on her cheeks stands right outside the gate, clearly waiting for them. She bows once and, without a word, motions them to follow. She never looks back but somehow manages to pick up a pace just right for Popo, and leads them up white stairs and into a beautiful, pristine, and suspiciously empty courtyard.

The rest of the Wen are asked to wait and the disciple leads Lan Zhan, Wei Wuxian (holding A-Yuan who refuses to be put down), Wen Qing, and Popo into the imposing building that turns out to be the reception hall. The Emperor—ah, Lan Xichen—stands before the dragon throne with an older man bearing a strong family resemblance under the sour scowl on his face next to him. They both have their antlers out and iridescent scales running down their necks.

”Welcome to your new home, Wei Wuxian. Wangji, I trust the journey went well?”

Lan Zhan nods and Wei Wuxian bites back a snort. The journey went just as well as one could imagine: rent luxury carriages, stuff the people inside, ply them with food and books and blankets, and you get one happy group of people. The kids had been a bit more of a challenge but before he left, Lan Xichen (the Emperor!!) had produced a heap of toys from somewhere. That had kept the kids entertained for most of the journey.

”Excellent!” Lan Xichen beams. ”We have guest quarters prepared for your family, Wei Wuxian. I’m sure they are eager to settle down but it would ease my mind if they stayed in the main compound for now and let our healers examine them.” He pauses and inclines his head at Wen Qing. ”Our head healer is excited to meet you, Doctor Wen.”

Wen Qing bows back and shoots a tense look at Wei Wuxian. ”And after the examination?” she asks carefully.

Lan Xichen glances at the older man. ”You can choose where you live—we have space in the main compound and we have space down the mountain if you’d rather settle there.”

”Hm,” Wen Qing says in a carefully neutral tone.

”Our Imperial Uncle, Lan Qiren, is the head of education here in the Cloud Recesses,” Lan Xichen continues, inclining his head at the man next to him. ”If you allow it, he will personally meet with each child to see if they have the potential to cultivate.”

Wen Qing executes a perfect bow, and something eases in the old man’s scowl. ”And the ones who don’t have the potential?” she asks.

Lan Qiren clears his throat. ”No matter what you choose, the children are welcome to study here,” he says. ”We—” he pauses, searching for words. ”It has been a long time since there last were children in the Cloud Recesses,” he finally says.

Oh, shit, Wei Wuxian thinks, catching the way the old man’s eyes almost flickered to Lan Zhan. Was Lan Zhan the last kid the Lan had? Wow.

Lan Xichen inquires about Popo’s health and offers some suggestions for the schedule of the first couple of days in their new home before summoning a servant to lead Wen Qing and Popo to the guest quarters. A-Yuan is reluctant at first but when he’s promised sweets, he relents and agrees to let go of Wei Wuxian’s collar. Wen Qing whispers something into his ear and he bows, clumsily, and thanks the Emperor and Imperial Uncle with his clear voice. Wei Wuxian is pretty sure he isn’t imagining the yearning look in the old man’s eyes. 

After the door closes behind Popo, Qing-jie, and A-Yuan, Lan Zhan flows into a partial shift, bows deeply, and says in a formal intonation, ”Brother, Shufu, let me introduce my mate, Wei Ying.”

Wei Wuxian is momentarily stunned by Lan Zhan’s antlers—he’d seen his full shift, of course, but the look of cold majesty still takes his breath away—and scrambles a bit to let his own features out, flushing at Lan Xichen’s amused air. 

”Um. Yes. I’m honored to meet you as well,” Wei Wuxian hurries to say as he bows.

”I knew your mother,” Lan Qiren says. ”You look like her.”

”Really? I—I do?” he blurts. ”She died when I was young. I barely remember her.”

Lan Qiren inclines his head. ”She was a formidable cultivator and an annoyance,” he says. ”She saved my life and for that, I am forever in her debt. She left me one of her tails before she left and I never heard from her again.”

Wei Wuxian’s hand flies to his chest where the tail rests, warm against his skin. ”Do you want it back now?” he asks in a small voice. He doesn’t want to give it up but it belongs with the Imperial Uncle. Mama gave it to him, not Wei Wuxian.

Lan Qiren shakes his head. ”No. I believe she left it with me for a reason and now it has served its purpose: it led Wangji to you.”

”Oh,” Wei Wuxian says.

Lan Qiren clears his throat and snaps his sleeves behind him. ”I will talk with you about her later,” he says before he offers a shallow bow at Lan Xichen and leaves the room.

Wei Wuxian glances at Lan Zhan who is looking at him with an air of deep satisfaction, and then turns to Lan Xichen. ”So…what happens next?”

”Wangji, your rooms have been prepared for your return,” Lan Xichen says. ”Please, take your time to rest and,” he coughs lightly, ”make yourselves at home. Your presence won’t be required tonight but I hope you both join us for dinner tomorrow.”

”Yes, Brother,” Lan Zhan says. 

Lan Xichen’s lips twitch. ”That’s all for now.”

Wei Wuxian imitates Lan Zhan’s deep bow and then follows him out of the throne room. There are people moving around seemingly on their errands but the way they linger to peek at Wei Wuxian tells him that despite their distant nature, the Lan are just as curious as other people. No one points at him but he can feel their eyes on his features—especially on his tails—and he wonders if he should just hide them.

”Should I put my features away?” he hisses at Lan Zhan.

Lan Zhan looks around with narrowed eyes and the other Lans hurry along. ”You don’t have to,” he says. ”But you can, if it makes you more comfortable.” He tilts his head and adds, ”Wei Ying is my mate. You and your family are safe in the Cloud Recesses.” His voice resonates and even though the volume stays the same, Wei Wuxian is sure his words were just projected throughout the mountain.

He isn’t sure whether to be mortified or turned on by the display.

Lan Zhan leads him a little ways away from the main compound to his private rooms. They’re surrounded by a thick forest on the other side and an almost wild bush of purple flowers on the other side, with a gently bubbling stream next to the buildings. It’s a surprisingly small building, modest and quiet, and at first glance not something one might assume to be the Imperial Prince’s personal residence.

”Come,” Lan Zhan says, holding out his hand.

Suddenly, Wei Wuxian feels nervous—they’re going to be here alone and it means something. It’s stupid because Lan Zhan had already fucked him within the inch of his life but that had been an emergency and Lan Zhan hadn’t really been himself. Now he is and—what if he doesn’t like Wei Wuxian? Lan Zhan is a dragon and Wei Wuxian is just a scrawny fox, and it’s more than obvious who got the better deal here. What if—

”You are thinking very loudly,” Lan Zhan murmurs.

Wei Wuxian lets out a sheepish laugh and shrugs. ”It’s just—”

”Strange?” Lan Zhan says, stepping closer. ”Unbelievable?” He reaches out to trail a finger along Wei Wuxian’s ear and it twitches. ”Like a dream?”

Wei Wuxian lets out a breathy sound when Lan Zhan noses the crook of his neck. He feels a hint of teeth and lets his head tilt to the side to give him more access. It feels daring, dangerous, exhilarating to have an apex predator so near his jugular and the thrill of it makes his heart thrum. During the journey from the Burial Mounds to the Cloud Recesses, they hadn’t had the opportunity to do much else than hold hands and exchange a heated kiss every now and then, and now he feels like he’s about to burst from his skin.

”Lan Zha—ah!” he gasps as his robe slips from his shoulder and sharp fangs trace his skin from the neck to the nipple, drawing goosebumps in their wake. Lan Zhan lets out a deep rumble of satisfaction, presses his nose close, and draws in a deep breath.

”I—uh, Lan Zhan, I haven’t bathed?” Wei Wuxian stammers. ”I probably don’t smell very good—”

”Untrue,” Lan Zhan states. ”But we shall bathe.” His eyes glitter as he withdraws, gaze heavy and intense as he takes in Wei Wuxian’s disheveled appearance. 

The bathtub behind the privacy screen is huge but probably for a reason—it’s meant to accommodate a partially shifted dragon after all. The water is scaldingly hot and Wei Wuxian hisses slightly as he checks the temperature, only to huff a laugh when Lan Zhan cools it with a breath. His attempts to undress himself are thwarted and he ends up standing still as Lan Zhan peels him bare layer by layer, trailing kisses on every slip of skin he reveals. It doesn’t take Wei Wuxian long to start to tremble with anticipation and arousal, a reaction Lan Zhan audibly approves of.

When he’s finally naked, Lan Zhan helps him into the tub like he’s some dainty maiden and proceeds to bathe him with meticulous care. He closes his eyes and loses himself in the warmth and the careful, repetitive motions that feel more like a ritual and claiming than a straightforward bath. It’s been ages since the last time he had the chance to wash his tails properly and even that hadn’t been a hot bath, and the sensation is glorious. He barely notices when Lan Zhan slips into the bath with him and gathers him on his lap. He feels warm and weightless and comfortable and safe and with a small slurring chitter, he burrows close and inhales the cool, clear scent of his mate.

Ages later he swims back to consciousness with a gasp, arousal curling hot and heavy in his gut. Lan Zhan’s hands are kneading the base of his tails, making him squirm and pant and grind down, chasing release and escape from the delicious pressure. He raises his head to meet Lan Zhan’s heavy-lidded eyes and surges up to claim his mouth. Lan Zhan answers with a growl and grips him harder, and the barest hint of talons on his skin pushes him into a sudden peak.

”Lan er-gege!” Wei Wuxian whines, boneless with pleasure. ”So sudden! How rude!”

Radiating smugness, Lan Zhan nudges his cheek with his nose. ”My apologies,” he murmurs. ”I shall take responsibility.”

”You better—aaaahh!”

Wei Wuxian’s mock pouting turns into a squeak when Lan Zhan stands up from the bath in an effortless display of power that would make him weak in the knees if he wasn’t already limp. Water droplets roll down the iridescent scales coating his chest and arms, drawing Wei Wuxian’s gaze. 

Lan Zhan does something that expels water from his tails, leaving them puffy and unkempt. He turns to take a look at them—or more like tries to because Lan Zhan walks to the bed, presses him to the mattress belly down, and starts to comb them.

It feels—

It feels—

It—

Wei Wuxian lets out a long, shuddery moan when Lan Zhan’s comb gently starts to tease snags and small bits of matted fur from his tails. He wants to wiggle and shiver but Lan Zhan’s heavy hand on the small of his back keeps him still and the weight itself makes him want to wiggle even more. 

”Lan Zhan!” he groans. ”What are you doing to me?”

”I’m taking care of my mate,” Lan Zhan says. 

Wei Wuxian is going mad. He’s losing his mind and probably going to combust at the sensory overload from his tails. Lan Zhan knows exactly how to comb him and how to massage the base of his tails and how to apply pressure that makes him feel deliciously pinned and he’s achingly hard and leaking, both from his hole and from his core, yin energy pulsing from him, calling out for Lan Zhan. At some point, he gives up on trying to hold in his whimpers and moans, a wise decision because of the noise he lets out when Lan Zhan finally—finally!!—pushes into him is indecent.

It feels like that time in the clearing and it’s nothing like that time in the clearing because if Lan Zhan was a beast when he was in the frenzy, he’s a monster now when he’s clear-headed. He holds Wei Wuxian tightly and teases him ruthlessly no matter how much he begs, and it takes no time at all for him to slide into an incoherent, pleasure-filled haze where the only thing that exists is Lan Zhan’s voice, Lan Zhan’s hands, Lan Zhan’s cocks, Lan Zhan, Lan Zhan, Lan Zhan—

He’s swimming in yang energy that feels like the sun; bright and hot and searing but it doesn’t burn—no, it rushes along his meridians and into his core, cradles him, and intertwines with his yin energy and it feels so good and so right and he has no words, nothing; only the feeling of beight exactly where he’s supposed to be. 

Home.

He wakes up the next day, deliciously sore and brimming with yang energy, still groggy from their coupling. Lan Zhan is awake already, sitting up against the head of the bed and watching him with the now-familiar intense gaze.

”You seem to have a new tail,” is what he says, freezing Wei Wuxian’s lazy grin into place.

”What?”

Lan Zhan reaches down a bit and brushes his fingers along something new-but-old, a strange sensation he thought he lost years ago. Bewildered, he twists around and stares at his behind and, well, there it is: a new tail that looks exactly like his other tails except for a thin, silvery line that runs from the root to the tip.

”Wow,” Wei Wuxian whispers.

Suddenly he feels like crying.

”Wei Ying?”

He turns and burrows into the blankets. ”It’s nothing, I’m just—it’s so stupid!” he wails.

Lan Zhan says nothing, merely rests his hand on Wei Wuxian’s hip, a solid, grounding weight that helps him breathe through his minor meltdown.

Lan Zhan hums, then he bodily hauls Wei Wuxian into his embrace, curling his tail around him and holding him so tightly his ribs creak. 

”I didn’t think I’d get them back,” he finally whispers.

”Mn. After you gifted your tails to Lady Jiang and Young Master Jiang?”

Wei Wuxian’s head shoots up. ”How did you—!” he starts, incredulous.

Lan Zhan moves his shoulder slightly in an approximation of a shrug. ”I saw their pendants when they bid me farewell, and I saw Wen Qionglin’s reaction when A-Yuan exposed your mother’s tail from under my robes. It was not very hard to deduce what they were.”

Wei Wuxian scrunches his nose. ”They’re not really tails,” he says and frowns. ”They’re like…an essence of a tail? A manifestation of a powerful wish to keep someone safe? A sort of a portable lifeguard spell?” He settles back on Lan Zhan’s chest and presses his ear close to listen to the steady beating of his heart. 

”They’re keyed on a specific person or persons,” he says quietly. ”So the one I have right now won’t do anything for me because it’s meant for your Imperial Uncle.”

”Yours, too.”

”Huh?”

Lan Zhan taps him gently on the nose. ”Uncle is your uncle now, too.”

Wei Wuxian blinks. ”Uh. Sure,” he says and then decides not to think about that more closely.  ”Anyway. After I used the tail Mama gave me, it’s nice to have her last one with me.”

Lan Zhan goes still and then asks, very carefully, ”What do you mean, you used the tail?”

”Oh, that was when I was fighting a Xuanwu of Slaughter.”

”A what,” Lan Zhan says in a flat tone.

”Remember the war?” he starts and immediately mentally congratulates himself on his idiocy. ”Sorry, yeah, of course you remember. But did you know all Sect Heirs were meant to die before the war even started?”

Lan Zhan’s disapproving hum resonates through Wei Wuxian. ”We suspected that, yes,” he rumbles. ”But we had no proof.”

”Ah, yeah. See. That might’ve been my fault?” he says. ”They were using the heirs as live bait and it wasn’t like I could just let it happen, right?”

”True,” Lan Zhan says. ”You are righteous and seek justice.”

Wei Wuxian coughs and waves his hand. ”So, there was this murder turtle and then Wen were trapping all the heirs in without their weapons. So I stepped in. I distracted the Xuanwu and A-Cheng and I almost managed to get everyone into safety when one of the heirs slipped and hit his head and…” he shrugs. ”It was either to fight or let everyone die.”

It had been a terrible horrible not good fight and he only managed to get out of it alive with Mama’s tail boosting him and because, as foul as the Xuanwu’s energy was, he actually could command and redirect it. In the end, it fucked him up good—he’d been delirious for weeks after, and when he finally woke up weak as a kit, he’d been in Wen Qing’s infirmary. She told him Yanli-jie had hauled both him and A-Cheng there even though she’d been burning up and coughing blood on Wen Qing’s doorstep. He’d paid them back with a stack of defensive and protective talismans and a tail pendant for each before they returned home.

He doesn’t regret wishing Yanli-jie and A-Cheng to be safe so hard he transformed two of his tails into those talisman pendants but he doesn’t want to think about it very hard, either. It had been agonizing and the feeling of hollowness that remained had nearly made him claw through his skin and tear into his stomach. Qing-jie had yelled at him when she’d realized what he’d done. It had been way more pleasant than Yanli-jie’s crying when she found out. Not something he ever wants to experience ever again. Ever.

”Anyway!” he exclaims brightly, plastering a smile on his face. ”Now I have seven tails which is one more than this morning! Hanguang-jun’s yang energy truly is potent!”

”Your yin energy is just as potent,” Lan Zhan says and twists around to press Wei Wuxian to the mattress, leaving him slightly breathless with anticipation.

”You said we are highly compatible,” he murmurs, walking his fingers up Lan Zhan’s arm. It’s gorgeous like everything else about him. Wei Wuxian wants to lick it.

”I did,” Lan Zhan agrees, raising a brow.

”But are you sure?”

Lan Zhan narrows his eyes.

Wei Wuxian blinks his eyes wide and tilts his head. ”I mean…should we check again?”

He thinks he sees amusement dancing in Lan Zhan’s eyes but then his wonderful, gorgeous, and most terrible husband-to-be growls (growls! Lan Zhan! How brutal!) and claims his mouth, and then Wei Wuxian thinks of nothing more for a long, long time.