Few things bring Lan Wangji more joy than watching his husband happy and relaxed in their home. Wei Ying has been through so much, has endured hate and suspicion and violence and betrayal, and now that his name has been cleared, he has the chance to just be.
That said, Lan Wangji is highly aware of just how unable his husband is to be still—the only times Wei Ying’s frenetic body calms down is either when he’s asleep or when Lan Wangji has fucked him into a languid, exhausted, satisfied mess. But there’s a difference between being forced to be on the move and moving just because of the joy of it.
And this Wei Ying, this well-rested, well-fed, well-loved Wei Ying moves because he wants to, because he’s free to do so, because he knows he’s safe.
And Lan Wangji feels intensely satisfied with it.
Now, Wei Ying is half-hunched over his workplace, the fingers of his left hand drumming a restless rhythm on the table while he taps the end of his brush (luckily, not the brush end this time) against his cheek as he stares at the talisman design spread in front of him. He’s deep in his thoughts, humming under his breath as his narrowed eyes flicker from one part of the design to the other, connecting radicals and brush strokes in new, interesting ways. Lan Wangji couldn’t say whether the design is for temperature control, cleaning a spoiled piece of farming land, fireworks, or rocking a baby’s bassinet but he also doesn’t care.
For him, watching the process is at least as appealing as the result.
He starts to prepare dinner; sets out cups and plates and serving bowls that have heating talismans on them to keep the food hot, measures tea and water, places several different kinds of chili oil next to Wei Ying’s bowl for him to choose from, and finally places down two jars of Emperor’s Smile with their labels facing Wei Ying.
”Wei Ying,” he says.
When, predictably, his husband doesn’t hear him, Lan Wangji stands up with a fond look, walks to him, and bends down to gently lift his chin with a finger. He presses a lingering kiss on Wei Ying’s lips and feels a flash of smugness at the way Wei Ying tries to follow him as he draws back.
”Dinner,” he murmurs and brushes his thumb along Wei Ying’s lower lip.
”Lan Zhan!” Wei Ying gasps, acting tragically deprived. ”You can’t just kiss me once!”
”My apologies,” he says solemnly and kisses him again.
Wei Ying’s breathless laugh follows him as Lan Wangji stands up and returns to the table to place fried tofu and braised vegetables in Wei Ying’s bowl. He pours wine for Wei Ying and tea for himself and settles down for another lovely dinner with his husband.
Except that…
”Aw, wine, no,” Wei Ying whines, his lips drawing into a pout.
Lan Wangji makes a questioning sound.
”It’s…this—” Wei Ying takes another sip and scrunches his nose. ”This isn’t right.”
Lan Wangji frowns. ”Has it gone bad?”
”No? I don’t think so?”
Wei Ying takes yet another sip, then picks up the jar, examines it closely, even scratches at the label. ”Lan Zhan, this—this is not Emperor’s Smile!” He stares at the jar with a betrayed look. ”This is a fraudulent product! Someone dared to fake Emperor’s Smile!” He sets the jar down and his shoulders slump, adding to his pitiful look.
”Lan Zhan,” he says, looking at him with imploring, wide eyes. ”This is a tragedy! How can anyone be so cruel as to fabricate Emperor’s Smile? What am I going to do now?”
”Drink tea,” Lan Wangji says, moving his own tea cup in front of Wei Ying.
”But—Emperor’s Smile!”
Lan Wangji doesn’t look at him as he pours him a new cup of tea. ”The Emperor is clearly not smiling now,” he says mildly.
Wei Ying snorts and acquiesces, making only a mild face at the tea. After a moment of comfortable silence, he starts to explain to Lan Wangji about his new talisman—something to do with fabric production, apparently—and soon forgets about the unfortunate jars of wine.
Lan Wangji listens to him, lets out appreciative or questioning noises at proper times, and in the back of his mind, plans a strongly worded letter to the wine seller he purchased these jars from.
Lan Qiren sighed as he walked towards the Jingshi. Wangji’s return from Qishan had been delayed due to bad weather and he’d sent a word to Gusu, asking someone to check in on his husband. Considering who his husband was and the fact that both Sizhui and his…uncle weren’t in the Cloud Recesses, the honor of visiting Wei Wuxian fell on either Lan Qiren or Xichen.
And since Xichen’s mental state was still rather fragile, it left Lan Qiren no options.
(Honestly, he didn’t understand the fuss. Wei Wuxian was an adult and therefore should be perfectly capable of looking after himself for a couple of days. There was no reason for Wangji to send such an urgently worded message.)
The house was silent as he crossed the small yard and walked up to the porch.
”Wei Wuxian,” he called from the door, rapping sharply on the frame twice. There was no answer and he frowned—as far as he was aware, Wei Wuxian didn’t eat in the dining hall, and sleeping at this hour wasn’t exactly recommended unless one was sick.
Was Wei Wuxian sick? He shouldn’t be.
”Wei Wuxian,” he repeated. ”This is Lan Qiren. As per Wangji’s request, I’m checking in on you. I’m coming in now.” Without waiting for an answer, he slid the door open and stopped, shocked.
The inside was a mess: papers scattered all over the floor, half-eaten bowls of food here and there, several jars of wine (he sighed), and a couple of discarded robes crumpled in unseemly heaps. Next to Wangji’s table, Wei Wuxian sat in a slump, swaying slightly.
”Wei Wuxian!” Lan Qiren snapped. ”What is the meaning of this?”
The boy—because that’s what he was, a boy—jerked and nearly keeled over, and whirled around to squint at him. His eyes had a reddish tinge.
”Oh, Teacher Lan,” Wei Wuxian slurred and struggled to get up. Was he…drunk?! ”What are you doing here?”
Irritated, Lan Qiren snapped his sleeves back. ”Wangji sent a message that he’s going to be delayed due to the weather. He asked me to make sure you were alright.” He raised a brow and gave a pointed look at the mess.
”Ah. Ha. Eh. Sure,” Wei Wuxian said, mouth dragging into a grin that looked more like a pained grimace than a smile. ”I’m fine. Yeah.”
”No, you’re not,” Lan Qiren said, annoyed. ”Are you drunk?”
Wei Wuxian blinked slowly. ”Not anymore,” he muttered. ”Sorry.”
Lan Qiren gave him a long look. ”Are you apologizing because you were drunk before or because you’re no longer drunk?”
”Yes,” Wei Wuxian said, then blinked slowly and added, ”No.”
”I see,” Lan Qiren said dryly. He gave Wei Wuxian a critical once-over, took in the paleness of his face, the vacant look in his eyes, and the dark bruises under his eyes. ”When was the last time you slept?”
Wei Wuxian frowned. ”Yesterday? The day before?” He shook his head and nearly stumbled. ”When did Lan Zhan leave?”
”Almost a week ago,” Lan Qiren said. Had Wei Wuxian been awake for the whole time? Why would he do that? Instead of asking, he took a firm hold on Wei Wuxian’s upper arm and guided him to the bed. It didn’t look slept in which affirmed his suspicions. ”Lay down and get some rest,” he said gruffly, manhandling Wei Wuxian into the bed and tucking him in with brusque efficiency.
”I’m not tired,” Wei Wuxian mumbled, falling asleep before he finished his sentence.
”Obviously,” Lan Qiren huffed. He tutted softly under his breath as he picked up the discarded robes and scattered papers, setting the latter carefully on Wangji’s desk where Wei Wuxian would easily find them later.
He was picking up the bowls and wine jars when Wei Wuxian let out a whimper and a soft ”No, no, please—” He sounded panicky and when Lan Qiren hurried to his side, he saw tears streaming down his cheeks.
Ah.
With a heavy sigh, Lan Qiren sat down, manifested his qin, and started to play.
***
It was so late in the night that it was early when the door slid softly open to admit an exhausted and drenched Wangji. He stopped short when he saw Lan Qiren, eyes wide with surprise.
”He hadn’t slept while you were away,” Lan Qiren said stiffly. He didn’t meet Wangji’s eyes as he stood up and vanished his qin, casting one last, critical eye on Wei Wuxian. His breathing was even and his face relaxed. That was good.
”Mn,” Wangji says. ”Wei Ying has nightmares.”
As do we all, Lan Qiren didn’t say. He inclined his head and took his leave but stopped when Wangji cleared his throat.
”Thank you, Uncle,” he said softly.
Lan Qiren sniffed and looked his nephew straight in the eye. ”No need to thank me. He’s family, after all.”
”Lan Zhan! Lan Zhan! Look here! And here! Lan Zhaaan!”
Jiang Cheng grits his teeth and huffs through his nose. In front of him, Wei Wuxian flits from one stall to another, calling out to his husband at every turn, turning to show a trinket or a ribbon or what-the-fuck-ever that catches his eye. Lan Wangji trails behind him with the familiar blank look on his face, except for his eyes that follow Wei Wuxian with unspeakable intensity.
”Oh, what about this? Wouldn’t this be a nice souvenir for A-Yuan?”
Lan Wangji lets out a sound that apparently means something to Wei Wuxian who purses his lips and says, ”Yeah, you’re right. It would be a bit much.”
Jiang Cheng isn’t sure how Wei Wuxian was able to interpret that from Lan Wangji’s toneless hum, and also, just how a plain trinket would be ’a bit much’ for Lan Sizhui. Perhaps one of the thousands of rules forbids a Lan to have trinkets, who the hell knows.
It’s not the first time Wei Wuxian and his Hanguang-jun have visited Lotus Pier since the events of the Guanyin Temple but it hasn’t been long since those two got their act together and got married—not that anyone was invited; apparently they did their bows by the side of a road or something. Not that Jiang Cheng cares. Because he doesn’t.
”What’s this? Journals? Whose?”
Wei Wuxian’s intrigued voice draws Jiang Cheng’s eyes to him. It’s a condition he hasn’t been able to train himself away from; that tone promises either mischief or a manic invention spree that sometimes ends in explosions and he’d rather not blow anything up without supervision (Lan Wangji doesn’t count).
”No, it’s not demonic cultivation, obviously,” the seller says, sounding offended, as Jiang Cheng drifts closer. She’s a wiry, elderly woman in nondescript brown and grey robes, guarding an assortment of books and scrolls and artifacts that look mostly harmless. ”It’s just some stuff I picked up at a decrepit house near an abandoned shrine.” Then she seems to realize just who Jiang Cheng is and offers a hurried bow. ”I did not rob a shrine, Sect Leader.”
He opens his mouth but before he has a chance to say anything, he’s interrupted. Naturally.
”But they talk about resentful energy!” Wei Wuxian says, leafing through one of the journals. ”Wow, their handwriting is terrible.”
”That’s rich coming from you,” Jiang Cheng snorts.
”Hurtful!” Wei Wuxian quips back but he sounds distracted. ”Hm. Wow. Okay…wait—no.”
Jiang Cheng sighs and looks up only to meet Lan Wangji’s fondly exasperated eyes. Suddenly he realizes they have similar reactions to Wei Wuxian’s interest in the journals and it makes something clench in Jiang Cheng’s chest.
”I think I want these,” Wei Wuxian says, eyes bright and slightly manic in an achingly familiar way. ”All of these.”
”Of course,” the woman says. She subtly raises a brow and Jiang Cheng gives an almost imperceptible nod back. When Wei Wuxian reaches for the money pouch Lan Wangji is already holding out, she shakes her head and says, ”No, no, there’s no need for you to pay.”
Wei Wuxian’s eyes narrow. ”Why?” he asks, suspicious.
”The Jiang family’s purchases are always billed straight from the Sect,” the woman says.
Wei Wuxian blinks, looks at her, then at Jiang Cheng. ”But…I’m not?”
”Why the fuck would you say that?” Jiang Cheng barks. ”Of course you’re family.” Zidian crackles slightly, sending a smattering of sparkles along his arm. ”Pack up everything he wants,” he says to the seller. ”You know where to send the bill.”
”Jiang Cheng—”
If he looks Wei Wuxian in the eyes, he’ll do something he’ll regret. Like tries to hug him or something. Instead, he whirls around and calls over his shoulder, ”And that thing before is not too much for Lan Sizhui. He’s A-Ling’s friend. You can bill that on the Sect as well.”
He marches away from them with his head held high but before he turns the corner, he takes one, last glance over his shoulder and meets Wei Wuxian’s wide, wondering, hopeful eyes and tremulous smile.
Clearly, that was a mistake. Shit.
”Oh,” Wei Wuxian breathes when the swirling dreamscape clears around him. The incense burner always serves them exciting settings but this…
The small cottage looks worn and cozy, bathing in the sunlight. The roof is a bit stilted and the door slightly crooked but otherwise, it looks like a lovely, small home, warm and inviting.
And speaking of inviting—
”Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan says from the doorway. He’s wearing soft, worn robes that look comfortable and warm, and Wei Wuxian has a sudden urge to rub his face on it. So he does.
”Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan says again, now amused.
”I missed you,” Wei Wuxian mumbles against his chest, marveling at the feel and scent of the robe against his cheek.
Lan Zhan hums and holds him, rubbing a thumb on the base of his neck in the way that always makes Wei Wuxian want to arch into it like a cat.
A sound of small feet approach and then; ”Baba, baba!”
”Oh, it’s you, my radish!” he exclaims and leans down to pick the child up. He looks like he always imagined A-Yuan to look if he wasn’t tired and hungry: a round-cheeked, sunny little boy with sharp, inquisitive eyes and a gap-toothed smile.
”Bunnies!” A-Yuan says. ”There!” And he points behind himself, leaning back with such force that Wei Wuxian would’ve dropped him if Lan Zhan hadn’t expected it and moved his arm to catch A-Yuan.
”Well. If there are bunnies,” Wei Wuxian says solemnly. ”Lead the way!”
They walk around the corner, past the vegetable patch and the chicken coop, past a small well and a paddock housing a very familiar-looking donkey, and down a small hill, until they reach a clearing filled with white bunnies.
”Bunnies!” A-Yuan says triumphantly.
”It’s a lot of bunnies,” Wei Wuxian agrees.
He didn’t have bunnies in his original dream of a small, quiet life he’d share with Lan Zhan. Neither did he have Little Apple. But he likes that they’re in it this time.
Next to him, Lan Zhan looks at him with such a soft expression that Wei Wuxian has to duck his head and swallow around something in his throat before he manages to get his voice to work again.
”Let’s go see the bunnies,” he says brightly.
And they do.
It’s a very, very nice dream.
When Senior Wei and Hanguang-jun were away from the Cloud Recesses, people didn’t go to the Jingshi. It didn’t matter whether they were planning to be away for a week or three months, their residence was generally left to its own devices. Only sometimes, if there was important correspondence Teacher Lan didn’t want lying around in his office, he asked Sizhui or—more rarely—some other senior disciple to take the letters to Hanguang-jun’s desk. And that was all.
Jingyi thought it was a bit…stupid? Like, sure, he knew Hanguang-jun was highly respected and Senior Wei was just as highly feared (although he didn’t exactly understand why?) but leaving their house unaired and un-dusted was just impolite. Hence, when Sizhui got word that his parents were coming back, Jingyi decided to act.
”I don’t know…” Sizhui said, biting his lip.
”They’ve been away for seven months!” Jingyi exclaimed (quietly), making significant gestures with his hands. ”The house is going to smell musty! It should be aired! And we should take fresh flowers and linen and—and food and Emperor’s Smile and—”
”I don’t think the food would stay fresh for their return,” Sizhui said. ”Is there a reason you are so worked up about this?”
Jingyi slumped. ”It’s their home,” he muttered. ”They should feel welcome.”
”I’m sure they feel welcome in their own home,” Sizhui said, patting him gently on the shoulder. ”They wouldn’t come back otherwise.”
”I guess. We could at least get some fresh apples for the demon donkey, though?”
Sizhui nodded. ”That we can do.”
***
Jingyi couldn’t get it out of his mind, though. That night, he tossed and turned and finally huffed in annoyance, got up, dressed, and then stared mutinously at the sliver of the moon and waited for the proper time to get up. It wouldn’t do to sneak around at night. He was the stand-in head disciple, after all.
When the sect started to slowly wake up, Jingyi let out a relieved breath and slipped out of the room, walking rapidly (but not running!) to the Jingshi. The house was silent in the pale early morning light as Jingyi walked around it with a considering air. He wasn’t quite brave enough to actually enter without Sizhui but there must be something he could do, right?
”Jingyi!” Sizhui’s hiss made him whirl around with his heart in his throat. ”What are you doing?”
”I want to surprise them!”
”I’m sure Baba and A-die will be surprised if they catch you sneaking around their house at this hour!”
Jingyi couldn’t help himself and he took a hurried glance behind him. ”They’re not home, aren’t they?”
Sizhui sighed. ”No. But still.” He made his way to Jingyi and squinted at him with tired eyes (because contrary to what everyone believed, Sizhui was not a morning person). ”What now?” he asked and bit back a yawn.
Feeling slightly lost, Jingyi looked around, searching. Then his eyes caught on the withered flowers leaning against the Jingshi’s wall. ”What if we weed those out and bring something better to replace them?”
”Like what?”
”Well…” Jingyi paused, cocking his head. ”What flowers do Senior Wei and Hanguang-jun like?”
”I—” Sizhui stopped, blinked, and turned to look at Jingyi. ”I don’t know!”
”How can you not know?” Jingyi asked, incredulous.
”It’s never come up,” Sizhui said with a frown. ”I know the music they like, the kind of food and the kind of drink they prefer but…flowers.” He shook his head.
Jingyi pursed his lips and narrowed his eyes at the flowers. Who could they ask? Teacher Lan might know but he’d most likely yell in a not-yelling-way so that was a bust. Zewu-jun might also know but Jingyi didn’t think he’d appreciate the interruption to his seclusion. The only one who might know Hanguang-jun’s flower preferences was Senior Wei and they couldn’t ask him. Now, Senior Wei’s preferences were known to Hanguang-jun and Sandu Shengshou and obviously, both options were out. Hm. Perhaps Wen Ning might know—
”Not that I’m not happy to see my favorite juniors but would you care to explain why you’re staring at our house like you’d like to light it on fire with your mind?”
Jingyi yelped and whirled around and—yep. They were here. Hanguang-jun and Senior Wei, tired from their travels and clearly not pleased. ”I wanted to bring you flowers!” he said. ”Uh—”
”Sizhui,” Hanguang-jun said.
”Apologies, Hanguang-jun. Jingyi and I wanted to make you feel welcome but…” his voice trailed away.
”By staring at our house?” Senior Wei asked, genuinely baffled.
”No! I was trying to figure out what kinds of flowers you like!” Jingyi said. ”Those are all withered and dead already.”
”Oh.” Senior Wei and Hanguang-jun shared a long, lingering look they used for communication. Finally, Hanguang-jun inclined his head slightly before he walked in, leaving the door open.
Senior Wei walked closer and gripped a hand on both Jingyi and Sizhui’s shoulders. ”Leave those flowers alone,” he said. ”Lan Zhan’s mother planted them. But you can come back tomorrow and help out with the pond, alright?”
”Alright,” Jingyi replied automatically. ”Wait, what pond?”
Senior Wei was already on his way into the Jingshi. ”That one,” he said, nodding at the pond on the other side of the porch. ”The stones need cleaning up.”
The first cultivation conference after the fall of the Jin sect was in Qinghe. Wei Yin had raised his brows when the invitation arrived but then he’d shrugged and said, ”Well, Nie-xiong always knew how to throw a good party.”
As Uncle flatly stated he wasn’t interested in going and Brother was still in seclusion, the duty of representing the Lan Sect fell on Lan Wangji and Wei Ying. They selected a small number of juniors to compete in the crowd hunt and departed well in advance to make the trip seem more like an extended training session than a diplomatic trip.
(In all honesty, Lan Wangji was sure Wei Ying treated the whole thing as a vacation.)
***
”It’s not that I’m doubting any of you—or especially you, A-Yuan, but are you sure you remember the new talisman designs?” Wei Ying fussed, straightening Sizhui’s lapels and brushing imaginary dust off his shoulders. ”Should we go through the one more time?”
”No need,” Sizhui said with a patient smile that bordered exasperation. ”I’m confident we all remember your teachings.”
”Do you have enough talisman paper?” Wei Ying continued as if he hadn’t heard his reply. ”Your first-aid kit? Emergency flares?”
”Yes,” Sizhui answered.
”Triple talisman paper, a selection of qi-replenishing pills, two emergency flares on each of us, and a pre-powered version of your new homing beacon,” Jingyi added. ”We’re good to go.”
Wei Ying sighed, his nervous fingers reaching back to touch Sizhui’s cheek. ”I guess so…”
”Wei Ying,” Lan Wangji said. ”They will be fine.”
”But ’fine’ isn’t enough, right?” Wei Ying huffed. ”They have been tasked with bringing glory and fame to the Gusu Lan and—”
”Tasked by whom?” Jingyi asked under his breath.
”—and to win with such a margin that everyone else will fall on their knees with shame!” Wei Ying ended with a pompous air. For some reason, it reminded Lan Wangji of Sect Leader Yao. He made a mental note to tell Wei Ying later—if nothing else, Wei Ying’s face when he learned about the resemblance would be a thing of beauty.
”The point of the crowd hunt is to compete in a friendly way in a controlled environment,” Sizhui said.
”Since when?” Wei Ying asked, sounding genuinely curious.
”Since forever, I’m sure,” Sizhui said firmly. ”Now. If you’ll excuse us, Hanguang-jun, Senior Wei…” he led the disciples into synchronised bows and then into the direction of the arena.
Wei Ying pretended to wipe tears from his eyes. ”They grow up so fast, Lan Zhan!” he lamented.
”Hm,” Lan Wangji said.
***
The Lan group won by a staggering margin.
Wei Ying crowed with delight for the whole evening and promised to treat all disciples with a lavish dinner.
”But no wine,” Lan Wangji added as they entered the establishment. All disciples except for Sizhui were Lan by blood which meant they shared the Lan allergy to alcohol.
”Lan Zhan, you’re no fun,” Wei Ying chided with a pout but then deflated. ”Fine. No wine for you!”
As the disciples argued over what dishes to order, Lan Wangji settled in the corner out of their way and watched Wei Ying drinking up Sizhui’s report from the crowd hunt with a small smile on his face.
Wei Wuxian is missing.
Or no. He’s not missing missing, he just wasn’t where jiujiu said he’d most likely be and now Jin Ling has to walk around Lotus Pier and look for him. It’s annoying.
Not that Wei Wuxian is annoying. He was in the beginning when Jin Ling still thought he’d killed his dad and caused his mom’s death, too, but then the terrible, horrible, awful truth came out and it turned out that as terrifying as the Yiling Patriarch was, Wei Wuxian isn’t him. At least not the whole time.
Anyway. Now he’s not where he was supposed to be and Jin Ling is the one who has to find him because if he tells jiujiu that he can’t find Wei Wuxian, jiujiu will yell and then look like someone ripped his heart out, and then he’ll yell more.
So, Jin Ling has to find Wei Wuxian.
The good thing about his going missing is that he’s at Lotus Pier with his husband, and Hanguang-jun is way too proper to get into trouble.
The bad thing about him is that he’s at Lotus Pier with his husband, and Hanguang-jun is way more terrifying than the Yiling Patriarch.
Jin Ling sighs, jumps over a couple of walkways, and heads off to the remote pier he likes the most. He’s going to sit for a moment and then start the search properly.
Except that when he approaches the pier, it’s already occupied by the exact people he’s been looking for: Hanguang-jun sits with his back straight and Wei Wuxian is—uh. Jin Ling’s cheeks go red at the sight because Wei Wuxian is lying on the pier with his head on Hanguang-jun’s lap! Shameless! He’s about to march in a hiss at them about being terrible when he hears—
”This was shijie’s favorite pier, you know?” Wei Wuxian says in a subdued voice. ”She was always doing so much, taking care of everyone and keeping peace…this was her special place.”
Something catches in Jin Ling’s throat and he sways slightly. His favorite pier was also his mother’s favorite pier? He had no idea!
Hanguang-jun lets out a small hum. His other hand is buried in Wei Wuxian’s hair and Wei Wuxian is holding the other, absentmindedly playing with his fingers.
”She’s the one who taught me the songs,” Wei Wuxian continues. ”And the dances. Madam Yu didn’t like it when I danced but she didn’t like most things I did, so…”
”I would like to see you dance,” Hanguang-jun says and that’s awful because he’s smiling and Lin Jing can’t stand this.
He sits down, quiet, careful not to disturb them.
Wei Wuxian talks in a soft, achingly tender voice, tells Hanguang-jun stories from his childhood; tales of him and jiujiu and mother when they were children and when they were teenagers, and Jin Ling drinks it all up, parched for anything that has to do with his mother. Jiujiu rarely talks unless he’s at the ancestral shrine and Jin Ling doesn’t like spying on him there. That’s jiujiu’s private time.
But this was mother’s favorite pier so Jin Ling has every right to be there.
”Do you think Jin Ling would one day call me da-jiu?” Wei Wuxian asks, snapping Jin Ling’s attention back to him.
”Wei Ying,” Hanguang-jun says.
”Aiyah, stop it,” Wei Wuxian huffs. ”You really should let it go. He was distraught and in pain. What’s a bit of stabbing when one is in pain?”
Hanguang-jun’s answering hum sounds very judgmental but he says nothing.
”Ah, he probably wouldn’t want to anyway,” Wei Wuxian says, sounding wistful. ”And I can’t blame him. I killed his parents.”
”You did not,” Hanguang-jun says and Jin Ling agrees. Does Wei Wuxian still blame himself? Isn’t that taxing?
Wait, is that why he keeps watching Jin Ling with his big, imploring eyes like he can’t believe Jin Ling is there? That’s…Jin Ling isn’t sure what that is but he doesn’t like it and he wants to change it. Luckily, he knows exactly how.
He stands carefully up and backs away before turning and taking a deep breath. Then he stomps forward and yells, ”Da-jiu? Hanguang-jun? Are you here? Jiujiu is looking for you and—oh. Here you are.”
Wei Wuxian’s eyes are wide and his mouth is slack with shock but he recovers quickly, grabbing Jin Ling into a tight hug with his usual over-the-top exclamations and theatrics. Jin Ling grumbles and snorts and rolls his eyes but hugs him back just as tightly.
And over Wei Wu—da-jiu’s shoulder, he meets Hanguang-jun’s knowing eyes for a moment before Hanguang-jun inclines his head in a slow, appreciative nod.
Had someone told Lan Wangji that he’d have Wei Ying on all fours in front of him and he wouldn’t immediately descend upon him to claim him in a passionate tryst, he would’ve thought them mad.
However.
”Lan—Lan Zhan!” Wei Ying cried out. His voice was choked up and his whole frame shook as he fell victim to another hysterical bout of laughter. ”Lan Zhan, er-gege, my dearest—” More giggling. ”How do you find your Wei Ying now?”
”Ridiculous,” Lan Wangji huffed. Then he slipped and ended up on his face in the mud. Again.
They’d followed a small group of weasel-shaped yao over a hill and frankly, that had been a mistake: the area had gotten heavy rains the previous week and it took very little to turn the other side of the hill into a literal mudslide. Wei Ying had slipped first, going down with a startled yelp that prompted Lan Wangji to hurry after him and, well. When they finally came to a stop in a puddle of mud at the bottom of a small ravine, they were drenched. Wei Ying had stared at him for a moment before he started to laugh.
He hadn’t stopped since.
Lan Wangji bore the experience with his usual stoicism but deep inside, he felt helplessly fond. Wei Ying rarely laughed like that, gasping for air and holding his sides, tears streaming down his muddy cheeks, hiccups and giggling disturbing whatever he tried to say. If it was anyone else, Lan Wangji would’ve felt deeply uncomfortable and embarrassed. With Wei Ying, though…he didn’t have to.
Besides, Wei Ying did look ridiculous.
Chenqing was clogged and Bichen was stuck deep on the ground out of Lan Wangji’s reach so their only way out of the small ravine was to climb out. It was easier said than done due to the aforementioned mudslide. They’d been in it for a while now and suffice to say, their attempts hadn’t been successful.
”Master Wei?” When Qionglin’s hesitant voice called out for them.
”Stop!” Wei Ying yelled. ”Don’t come near unless you want to end up in the mud pool with us.”
”The…mud pool?” Wen Qionglin repeated slowly.
”Yeah!” Wei Ying replied. ”Everything is mud! Me, Lan Zhan, our clothes, everything!” He glanced back at Lan Wangji and started laughing again, and, as a result, lost his feeble grip on the muddy bank and slid back down into the small ravine with his giggling echoing after him.
Lan Wangji sighed.
***
They made it out with Wen Qionglin’s help: he fetched a rope, tied the other end around his middle, tied a sturdy piece of wood on the other end, and tossed it down to them. And then he dragged them up. They even managed to retrieve Bichen on their way up.
”Are you alright, Master Wei?” Wen Qionglin asked, worried, as Wei Ying flopped on the grass on his back.
”Oh, I’m great!” Wei Ying grinned. ”Filthy and tired but great.” He turned his head to look at Lan Wangji where he was sitting in an undignified heap and pointed. ”Poor Lan Zhan, though.”
”I am unharmed,” Lan Wangji said. ”But also filthy and tired.”
”There’s a stream a little ways over there,” Wen Qionglin said, pointing to the side. ”You might want to get the most of the mud off before it dries on you.”
”Oh, good call,” Wei Ying said and made no move to stand up. It fell upon Lan Wangji to heave himself upright and then take Wei Ying’s hand and haul him vertical with him. His clothes clung to him in unpleasant ways and the mud smelled. Luckily, the stream wasn’t far.
They waded in with their robes on and watched the water turn brown with the mud that slowly seeped from their clothes. Wei Ying took no time to remove his robes and only complained a little under his breath as he sat down to wash most of the mud from his hair.
”Despite the mess, that was fun, right?” he asked, looking up from under his wet hair. ”Or perhaps not for you. I’m sorry you went down with me.”
”I will live,” he replied, giving his outer robe a critical once-over. It might be a lost case even with the protective talismans stitched in.
He didn’t say that he’d bathe in a pool of mud if it made Wei Ying laugh like that again. (He had a feeling Wei Ying knew anyway.)
When Lan Wangji opens his eyes, Wei Ying is sitting next to him on the floor, leaning his back against the bed, reading what seems like a junior’s essay.
”Mngh,” Lan Wangji says.
Wei Ying turns around and smiles softly. ”How are you feeling, Lan Zhan?” he asks.
”Hm.”
”Ah.” Wei Ying nods knowingly. He stands up and reaches for a pitcher on the side table, pours a cup of water, and hands it to Lan Wangji. ”Here. Drink up.”
He drinks.
His memories from last night are hazy glimpses at best. Something about bunnies and…honey?
”At first, you wanted me to braid your hair,” Wei Ying says and pours him another cup of water. ”Then you wanted to pet my hair. You said it was soft.”
”It is,” he agrees with himself.
Wei Ying’s eyes draw into crescents with the force of his smile. ”Then you wanted to see the bunnies. They were asleep and slightly disgruntled but you just wanted to stare at them. You said they, too, are soft.”
”Mn.” He pushes himself to sit up properly and runs his spiritual energy through his meridians a couple of times. ”And then?”
”Then you wanted something sweet.” Wei Ying’s voice turns mischievous. ”Apparently I wasn’t enough so you dragged me to the kitchens to raid Granny Lan’s secret honey stash.”
Lan Wangji blinks. He never considered Granny Lan’s honey stash before but now that he thinks of it…
”You ate four pieces of honeycomb and fed me two,” Wei Ying continues with a grin. ”And then you were sticky like a toddler and I had to give you a bath.” He pauses and adds, ”You wanted bubbles in your bathwater. I gave you bubbles but refused to make them red because that would’ve looked too much like the blood pool.” He leans forward and taps his forefinger once on Lan Wangji’s lower lip. ”You pouted.”
The thought makes his ears heat with embarrassment even though he knows there’s no need. They don’t often do this—usually Lan Wangji is more than content to keep Wei Ying company as he enjoys his wine but sometimes, occasionally, Lan Wangji joins him. He never knows where the night will take him and what new things he’ll learn about himself (honeycombs! red bubbles in the bath water?) but whatever it’ll be, he knows he can trust Wei Ying to look after him.
And…if he’s completely honest…there’s something freeing about it, acting on a whim and (literally) forgetting the rules and regulations for a moment.
”And then you wanted to lie down with your head on my lap and asked me to sing to you. So I did,” Wei Ying finishes. He sits next to Lan Wangji on the bed and leans against his side.
”Thank you for looking after me,” Lan Wangji says quietly, takes his hand, and twines their fingers together.
Wei Ying’s eyes are full of something warm and loving. ”Thank you for trusting me,” he replies as he always does, and leans his head on Lan Wangji’s shoulder.
Lan Qiren stifled an irritated sigh. Jinlintai had never been a place he’d especially appreciated even though it had turned slightly better after everything that had happened. It was gaudy, gauche, too loud, too perfumed, too backstabbing. None of those were attributes Lan Qiren liked, although he was resigned to the fact that his liking anything about another sect was an exercise in futility.
However, not only was he in Jinlintai, but he was also stuck in his rooms and currently forced to share his quarters due to some administrative error that was taking far too long to solve. Sharing wasn’t the problem, though, it was that he was forced to share with his least favorite person: Wei Wuxian.
As if summoned, his bright laughter cut through the carefully cultivated bubble of serenity Lan Qiren had managed to meditate around him.
”—not like that at all!” Wei Wuxian said in an unreasonably loud voice. ”A-Yuan, really, where did you get that idea?”
”From Jingyi,” Sizhui said. His voice carried an audible smile in it and.
Well.
Lan Qiren would’ve preferred Sizhui had no dealings with Wei Wuxian but he had been forced to resign to the fact that, as lurid as the thought seemed, Wei Wuxian was (had been) a sort of father figure to Sizhui. Sizhui was a good boy, a bright young mind, a polite and well-mannered junior; he was being filial. Lan Qiren could deal with that. (Reluctantly. But he could.)
”Aiyah, that boy, he has such wild ideas!” Wei Wuxian scoffed which honestly was rich coming from him.
In all honesty, Lan Qiren wouldn’t preferred Jingyi had no dealings with Wei Wuxian either but he’d been forced to resign to the fact that Jingyi was a lost cause. Where Sizhui went, Jingyi followed. The only saving grace was that if properly managed, Jingyi would be a tremendous, loyal second to Sizhui when he became Sect Leader.
He tuned the duo out and tried to sink back into meditation. Even after well over a decade, he still felt the residual effects of the injuries he got during the Burning of Cloud Recesses, and the demonic arm had done far more damage than he was willing to admit. It irked him to be this affected. (He refused to think he was getting old.)
Wei Wuxian’s sharp sound of dismay yanked him out of the meditation and he abandoned further attempts as futile. He would have to return to his routine when he was left in peace, whenever that bliss might come.
”—and I don’t want to hear any more of that,” Wei Wuxian was saying in a low voice.
”But aren’t there occasions where it would be justified to use it?” Sizhui asked.
Wei Wuxian sighed. ”One can justify anything if one bothers to try,” he said. ”Trust me, kid. I know.”
”But there were extenuating circumstances,” Sizhui insisted earnestly. ”Father says—” he stopped short and continued after an awkward moment, ”My apologies, I shouldn’t have argued.”
There was a rustle and Lan Qiren opened his eyes just a sliver to peer through the privacy screen. He could only see vague shapes through it but it seemed like Sizhui’s head was lowered and Wei Wuxian was reaching out to him.
”You can always argue with me, A-Yuan,” Wei Wuxian said softly. ”And what comes to Lan Zhan…” he paused and huffed. ”Lan Zhan thinks way too highly of me.”
Lan Qiren agreed.
”I thought you said earlier that Father is never wrong,” Sizhui said wryly, making Wei Wuxian crow in unseemly delight.
”My radish is talking back at me! How unfilial of you!” Wei Wuxian’s shadow shrugged. ”But in this, he really is wrong.”
Lan Qiren was spared from more of Sizhui’s earnestness when the door slid open and Wangji entered the room, and then he had to suffer through Wei Wuxian’s theatrics about being bullied and Sizhui calmly stating how he only spoke the truth and then Wangji declaring his devotion through multiple words. It was excruciating.
He was forced to remind the others of his presence with a fake cough to make sure the situation didn’t evolve further. Hearing the echoing sounds of Wangji’s marital life with his husband in the Cloud Recess was bad enough, he absolutely did not want to risk being witness to the act itself.
It’s not that Wen Ning doesn’t like the loud Lan boy. He’s lively, funny, and brave, and he deeply cares for A-Yuan which usually makes a person a good person in Wen Ning’s eyes. But sometimes the boy is just weird in a…well, weird way Wen Ning can’t quite grasp.
Like now.
”Ah, I don’t think there’s a need for that,” Lan Jingyi says airily while his face spasms oddly.
Wen Ning cocks his head. ”But Master Wei asked me to deliver these scrolls as soon as possible,” he says, gently insistent.
”But not too soon, eh?” Lan Jingyi moves as if he’s about to nudge Wen Ning but aborts the attempt halfway, ending with a sort of twitchy, jerky lurch.
Wen Ning blinks. ”Are you feeling quite alright, Young Master Lan?” he asks politely.
”Oh, I’m great! Superb! Absolutely fine!” Lan Jingyi says, then adds, ”And so are they.”
Again with the face spasms.
”I’m glad to hear that,” Wen Ning says slowly, moving slightly to the side to edge around Lan Jingyi. ”So…I’m just going to drop these off—”
”No!” Lan Jingyi yelps, waving his arms like Wen Ning was a charging beast about to get him. ”You don’t want to do that,” he says, pronouncing each word with overly meticulous care while furiously waggling his brows.
Wen Ning stops, at a loss for what to do. Lan Jingyi is behaving very oddly and, in some other situation, Wen Ning would feel tempted to check for any malignant influence like a curse or poison. But they’re in the Cloud Recesses and Wen Ning is the only thing of resentful energy in the whole mountain.
He’s spared from further confusion by A-Yuan, walking up to Lan Jingyi with an exasperated look. ”Jingyi, what are you doing?” he asks, and something about his voice reminds Wen Ning of Hanguang-jun.
”He wants to see Senior Wei,” Lan Jingyi whispers. Wen Ning isn’t sure why he’s bothering to whisper when it’s still loud enough to hear clearly.
”And?” A-Yuan asks.
”Senior Wei is…indisposed.” This time Lan Jingyi’s whole body is twitching and jerking and spasming. Wen Ning hopes he was as good a doctor as jie because the boy looks like he needs a doctor.
A-Yuan looks at him for a moment before shaking his head a little with a sigh. Then he turns to face Wen Ning. ”Uncle Ning, Senior Wei and Hanguang-jun have been reunited after spending some time apart. I think it would be best if we gave them a moment. Would you like to accompany us to the rabbit field to wait?”
Ah.
Why didn’t the Lan boy just say so? Sometimes Wen Ning marvels how people seem to forget that while he isn’t a doctor, jie trained him to be her assistant. His own body might be mostly dead now but it doesn’t mean bodily needs are foreign to him.
”I would like that,” he says to A-Yuan. ”I like the rabbits.”
***
Master Wei and Hanguang-jun find them petting the rabbits a good while later. ”A-Ning!” Master Wei calls out, waving his hand. ”I didn’t know you’d be here!”
”I arrived a short while ago,” he says mildly. ”I’ve been catching up with A-Yuan.” He reaches into his qiankun pouch and retrieves the scrolls. ”I have these.”
Master Wei makes eager grabby hands even though Wen Ning is already handing them over. ”Ohh, great! I’m so glad these still exist. Did you know, A-Ning, that I was just talking about these theorems to Lan Zhan—”
He launches into a happily bubbling explanation that mostly goes over Wen Ning’s head but he doesn’t care. Master Wei is gesturing animatedly and his eyes are shining, and there’s a certain kind of glow about him. Next to him, A-Yuan and Lan Jingyi hang onto his every word, and Hanguang-jun pets a tiny bunny and at times gazes at his husband with such warmth that it would make Wen Ning blush if he was still able to.
It makes Wen Ning deeply happy to know his friend is thoroughly loved.
7th Day of the 4th Month,
To the highly honorable Hanguang-jun,
Second Jade of Lan,
Lan Wangji
The Cloud Recesses,
Gusu
This lowly cultivator would like to most humbly beg a moment of the honored Hanguang-jun’s time in order to apologize for the terrible incident that happened during the cultivation conference held in Jinlintai ten days ago.
This lowly cultivator wishes to make it absolutely clear that, unlike it has been claimed, the words Sect Leader Yao said during the conference were his own and only his own and not any kind of joint endeavor to besmirch the name of honored Hanguang-jun’s husband, the deeply, highly respected Wei Wuxian. Those shameful words caused an unseemly spectacle and brought up old grievances that should have been put to rest ages ago.
This lowly cultivator took it upon himself to settle the matters after your departure. The aftermath and the resulting discussion were, in the end, too much for this one’s father; it seems that arguing with his old friend was too much for his frail health and he has, as for now, entered seclusion to balance his qi. Unfortunately, the generational gap between Sect Leader Yao and this lowly cultivator has proven to be challenging, and the relations between our sects have slowed down significantly.
In the coming years, it is this lowly cultivator’s fervent wish that this incident hasn’t done irredeemable damage to the relations between Baling and Gusu. If there is anything we can do—offer our humble aid or help with anything you might think of, please, let us know.
With the most sincere and heartfelt apologies,
And in the hopes of a better future,
Ouyang Zizhen,
Acting Sect Leader
Baling Ouyang
***
16th Day of the 4th Month
To Acting Sect Leader Ouyang
Ouyang Zizhen
Baling
I will take your letter into consideration in the future.
Lan Wangji
Ah, Zizhen! Don’t mind Lan Zhan, he’s still feeling all huffy. I know you had nothing to do with the old buffoon’s words, don’t worry about it! How are you feeling? Taking up the responsibilities of the sect leader is always a big thing, even when you have the support of your Elders. (You do have the support of your Elders, right? Let me know if you don’t, I’ll come pay them a visit.)
Wei Ying will not pay the Baling Ouyang Elders a visit.
Haha, ignore him, Zizhen!
Make sure you get enough sleep and remember to eat! And have some fun, if you have the chance! Hopefully we’ll see you in the crowd hunt next month, I know Sizhui and Jingyi are eager to see you again!
— Wei Wuxian
On a day like this
When the sky is clear and the air smells of autumn
When the leaves in the trees start to shyly blush
When the morning chill bites the cheeks and the afternoon sun still makes the air warm
On a day like this
The world seems to be far away
And thoughts quiet down to contemplation
Letting the restlessness tickling under the skin simmer into a slow hum
On a day like this
An ordinary day
A lovely day
A solemn day
On a day like this, under a sparkling rainbow
They climb to the roof
And think back on loved ones, missed ones, dear ones
With gentle sorrow
With longing
With acceptance
And
On a day like this
They breathe
And
On a day like this
They feel at peace
Wei Wuxian has a problem.
It isn’t what most people would consider a big or a serious problem but to him, it’s a significant one. See, he is almost out of his most favorite chili oil. It’s the brand he gets from one seller in one specific small Yunmeng village, and it’s so potent that the seller doesn’t even have a stand at the local marketplace: the mere scent of the stuff makes people cough and their eyes tear up. Wei Wuxian bought seven jars the last time he was nearby and he’s been trying to be mindful of it.
And now, it’s almost finished.
Now, to be fair, it’s not the only chili oil brand he has, far from it: nowadays there’s a whole shelf for his spices in the Jingshi’s small kitchen area, a place to put the jars and bottles on display like they’re something precious. They clash horribly with the Jingshi’s elegant aesthetic but if we’re being honest, it’s far from the biggest clash. After all, Wei Wuxian lives in the Jingshi now.
He lets out a forlorn sigh and tips the bottle carefully, pouring a thin, fiery red squiggly line over his food. It’s nowhere near enough—the amount is barely sufficient to make his lips tingle but he has to be mindful of how much he has left. It’ll be ages until he has the chance to visit the village again and if he isn’t careful, he’ll run out sooner rather than later.
Lan Zhan quirks a brow and gives him a questioning look.
”Ah, it’s nothing,” Wei Wuxian says, waving a dismissive hand.
”Are you not feeling well?”
”What?” he asks, genuinely confused. ”I’m fine. Better than fine. Why?”
Lan Zhan’s eyes dip into the bowl and the pitiful amount of chili oil in it.
”Oh, this?” he asks, pointing his chopsticks at the food. ”I’m low on my favorite chili oil. It’s fine, though, I have other brands.”
It isn’t the same, though. The winter is harsh in the Cloud Recesses and Wei Wuxian remembers the echoes of the warmer Yunmeng winters. His favorite chili oil helps; it keeps him warm on the inside and Lan Zhan keeps him warm on the outside, and their combined powers help Wei Wuxian’s new body cope with the biting cold of Gusu.
”Mn,” Lan Zhan says with a barely-there furrow in between his brows. Then, holding elegantly back his sleeve, he reaches across the table, picks up the chili oil, and unceremoniously pours it all into Wei Wuxian’s bowl.
”Lan Zhan!” he yelps. ”What—why—I—” He pinches at the base of his nose. ”My dearest, my love, it’s not that I don’t appreciate your determination to properly spice up my food, it’s just that I was trying to save that and…” His voice trails away as Lan Zhan stands up and walks to the kitchen. ”Lan Zhan?”
There’s a sound of pots being moved and then Lan Zhan walks back, holding a huge clay pot. He places it next to Wei Wuxian before he rounds the table and sits in front of his own food with an air of smug satisfaction.
”Um…” Wei Wuxian says.
”You said you were almost out of your favorite chili oil,” Lan Zhan says calmly. ”I wanted to show you that your statement was wrong.” He inclines his head at the pot.
Wei Wuxian looks at Lan Zhan, then at the pot, and then again at Lan Zhan. ”It was?” he asks.
”Mn.”
Curious, Wei Wuxian struggles the wax seal of the pot open, and the familiar, dearly loved smell of his favorite chili oil wafts from the pot, making his eyes water.
(Yes. It is the chili oil that’s making his eyes water.)
”Lan Zhan!” he wails. ”My heart!” Eagerly, he dips into the pot, unable to keep the delighted grin from his face. ”When did you even manage this?”
The look in Lan Zhan’s eyes is unbearable. ”I wrote the man who makes this and asked him to make an extra batch just for you.”
Wei Wuxian’s mouth drops open. ”You—what?”
”There are several more pots in the kitchen,” Lan Zhan says and adds, ”I asked her to make them as spicy as possible.”
Oh, no.
Wei Wuxian’s chili oil problem has been solved in the most devilish way possible.
Now, he has a new problem.
See, his mouth is on fire in the most wonderful and delicious way possible, courtesy of the new, improved chili oil. But he also wants to kiss his terrible, horrible, lovely, best, cruel husband and he can’t because his mouth is on fire and he can’t bully Lan Zhan like that.
It’s a terrible problem indeed. The worst.
It had taken Uncle a long time to reconcile with the fact that Wei Ying was and would always be an inseparable part of Lan Wangji and Sizhui’s lives. It had taken him even longer to come to terms with the shortcomings of their sect—a process that was slow, agonizing, and not unlike pulling a large splinter from a festering wound. It hurt if left alone, it hurt to remove, and it hurt after it was gone, but removing it was imperative for the wound to heal.
With Uncle, the problem wasn’t as much with hate or disdain at Wei Ying’s disruptive presence but more with the rigidity: how to reconcile with the fact that a wrong was committed and the rules…weren’t quite right.
But he was slowly coming around. Lan Wangji was glad; he cared deeply about a handful of people, and Uncle was one of them.
***
A knock on the door disrupted his and Wei Ying’s slow morning. Having a day off to spend with his husband was a luxury Lan Wangji cherished and while the interruption wasn’t enough to sour his mood, it was displeasing.
Holding a small box, Uncle stepped in. ”Wangji,” he said, inclining his head slightly, and after a minuscule pause added, ”Wei Wuxian.” And then he fell silent.
Wei Ying shot a bemused glance at Lan Wangji and stood up. ”Is there something you need? Was there something wrong with the warming talismans?”
Uncle cleared his throat. ”The talismans were perfectly sufficient. Thank you.”
Wei Ying’s face lit up with a smile. ”That’s great! I was merely having fun with them but I thought you might like them. Let me know if you want me to fiddle with them some more.”
”Mn,” Uncle said. He opened his mouth and…still, nothing.
”Uncle, are you unwell?”
Uncle made a small move with his head almost like he was about to shake it and, with a resolute air, held out the box. ”Lan Bao was cleaning out one of the long-term storages when she came across this.” He paused and seemed to visibly steel himself. ”It was your mother’s.”
Without further ado, he set the box on the table, snapped his sleeves back, and left the Jingshi.
***
What a marvel, Lan Wangji thought with a fragile sort of wonder, as he cradled the delicate cup in his hand and carefully rubbed the edge with a soft cloth. It was pale green with a small pink flower motif painted on its side, with another cup and a small teapot of matching design. He didn’t remember ever seeing the set in use at Mother’s house—then again, he barely remembered Mother’s face, remembering a tea set she used was too much to ask from a six-year-old.
”White or green?” Wei Ying asked softly.
Lan Wangji swallowed around a suddenly dry throat. ”White,” he finally managed. ”It was Mother’s favorite.”
”Mn,” Wei Ying hummed and started preparing tea with meticulous care, measuring tea leaves and water into the freshly washed pot with a small, wistful smile. ”You should invite your brother over for tea later,” he said.
Lan Wangji made a small, agreeing sound.
Later, he would go to visit Brother in his seclusion, ask him about what he remembered of Mother, and serve him tea from her cups.
This first tea service belonged to him and Wei Ying.
The atmosphere in Jinlintai is subdued, almost somber, and Wei Wuxian doesn’t wonder about it even a bit. Celebrating the death of a villain like himself he could well understand, and celebrating the death of someone like Jin Guangyao, too. But remembering him on the anniversary of his death?
Neither he nor Lan Zhan really needed to talk about it, the decision came naturally: Lan Zhan stayed in the Cloud Recesses and held vigil with (or perhaps for) Xichen, and Wei Wuxian is on his merry way to delight his favorite nephew.
”My favorite nephew!” he calls out as he saunters into the receiving hall, flashing sharp grins at the Jin elders who were flocking to the room.
”I’m your only nephew,” Jin Ling grumbles and makes a token protest at Wei Wuxian’s hug before succumbing to it. The poor boy is trembling and seems to come apart from the seams which means it’s time to stage an intervention.
”I’m taking you to lunch,” Wei Wuxian informs. ”Any places with proper spice levels and good enough wine around here?”
”We have food here in Lanling,” Jin Ling huffs. ”And of course, our wine is the best.”
”Slander!” Wei Wuxian cries and throws his arm around Jin Ling’s still too-narrow shoulders, not-so-subtly guiding him out of the hall. ”Emperor’s Smile is the best! Everyone knows that! Even Lan Zhan knows that, and he doesn’t drink.”
Jin Ling rolls his eyes which is exactly the reaction Wei Wuxian was after. ”You and your Lan Zhan,” he mutters. ”Where is he anyway?”
Wei Wuxian waves his hand dismissively. ”He stayed back to cheer Zewu-jun up.”
Jin Ling flinches, so hard he would’ve wrenched himself away from Wei Wuxian if he hadn’t been squeezing him so hard. ”Oh. I—” He swallows and ducks his head. ”Is he alright?”
Nowhere near alright, Wei Wuxian doesn’t say. Instead, he lets out a non-committal hum and says, ”Mmm…it’s a process.”
”Yeah.”
***
Jin Ling doesn’t really do any leading. He follows meekly where Wei Wuxian steers him, and they end up on a private balcony of a frankly gaudy establishment overlooking the bustling street. The proprietor nearly bows himself to the floor with the delight of serving the young sect leader and only throws a narrow-eyed look at Wei Wuxian. This is progress, clearly.
”I miss him,” Jin Ling says suddenly, frowning into his cup. ”I know I shouldn’t but…”
Wei Wuxian waits for a moment and when it becomes apparent Jin Ling isn’t going to continue, he shrugs and takes a long drink from the bottle. Huh. The wine is actually pretty good.
”He was your uncle,” he says. ”After Jiang Cheng, he was the closest adult in your life. Of course you miss him.”
The boy—because that’s what he is, a boy—looks at him with a strange confusion in his eyes. ”I thought—I mean…”
”You thought I’d tell you to hate him?” Wei Wuxian asks wryly. ”Hating someone who hurt you is easy. Yeah, he was pretty terrible but it doesn’t change the fact that you cared about him.”
He thinks about Xichen and the brittle, awful fragility in him. He trusted and loved Jin Guangyao and the revelation of his betrayal shattered him, and now he’s lost an integral part of himself—the ability to trust himself.
***
A couple of days later, when Wei Wuxian had annoyed Jin Ling enough to make him yell, he deems his nephew’s mental state sound enough to return to Gusu.
”Lan Zhan!” he sighs as he falls into his husband’s arms. ”Did you miss me while I was gone?”
”I always miss you when you aren’t next to me,” Lan Zhan cruelly replies, making him blush and his heart soar. It’s terrible. ”How was Jinlintai?”
”Boring, gaudy, and everything was gilded in gold,” Wei Wuxian says with a shudder. ”Jin Ling was sad, though.”
”Hm,” Lan Zhan comments, his nonverbal hum more than capable of informing him just how little he cared.
”Aish,” Wei Wuxian huffs and pecks a kiss on his cheek. It turns into a second kiss, then a dozen, and only moments after that, a lot more than just kisses. Later, when his breathing has evened out and he’s resting his cheek on Lan Zhan’s chest, he says, ”I think we should invite him over.”
Lan Zhan makes a questioning sound.
”I just think he and Xichen both would benefit from talking with each other.”
”Perhaps,” Lan Zhan reluctantly amends.
Wei Wuxian hums. He’ll raise the question later. He really thinks it’s a good idea.
On some nights, when Wei Wuxian can’t sleep, he rests his cheek on his Lan Zhan’s chest and traces a finger over the scar over his heart. He doesn’t touch as he doesn’t want to wake Lan Zhan, although he’d be more than happy to stay awake with Wei Wuxian, hovering so close to the skin he can feel the warmth radiating from it.
That scar.
It had taken Lan Zhan some time to admit where it had come from despite the fact that he doesn’t remember—he was blackout drunk at the time, after all. It’s still painful to think about—that Lan Zhan was willing to brand himself to remember Wei Wuxian, to carry the same scar as him, to have something tangible with him at all times. It doesn’t matter that Wei Wuxian has told him time and time again that he doesn’t want Lan Zhan to hurt himself—it only earns him a fondly exasperated look and a gentle reprimand of how Lan Zhan doesn’t want Wei Wuxian to hurt himself, either. (He’s tried to tell Lan Zhan it’s not the same at all but so far he’s had little to no success.)
Under that scar beats a heart that seems strong but is so much more fragile than Wei Wuxian would ever have even thought possible. There are very few things he regrets but hurting Lan Zhan is one of them. Lan Zhan’s heart is a bruised, tender thing, capable of immense devotion and so very, very vulnerable because of it. It was treated badly before Wei Wuxian and then he kept piling new hurts on top of the old ones, and while he didn’t mean any (or, well, most) of it, it doesn’t diminish his responsibility in the least.
He lets out a slow, steady sigh, and presses the flat of his hand on Lan Zhan’s chest, covering the Wen brand with his palm. He can feel the bumps and ridges of the uneven skin, the scarred tissue strangely soft and unyielding at the same time. There’s no feeling in the brand itself but he knows the skin around it is sensitive—a fact he’s taken great pleasure in finding. On the other side of Lan Zhan’s ribcage are the scars from the discipline whip, just as unyielding and unfeeling as the brand on his chest.
And in between those hurts is Lan Zhan’s heart.
Sometimes it terrifies him, the careless trust Lan Zhan has offered him. Him! Wei Wuxian! How can he be trusted with something as precious as Lan Zhan’s heart? It’s incredibly reckless and irresponsible! He can hardly take care of himself, how can he care for Lan Zhan’s heart? And yet, that’s exactly what Lan Zhan trusts him to do.
It’s the most important thing Wei Wuxian has been tasked to do.
He isn’t worthy but Lan Zhan didn’t ask him if he thought he was worthy. He decided Wei Wuxian was—just like that.
It’s terrible.
Lan Zhan makes a soft sound in his sleep and turns his face slightly toward Wei Wuxian, seeking him out even in his sleep. His arm tightens around Wei Wuxian’s waist and his other hand wraps around Wei Wuxian’s wrist, almost like making sure his hand stays where it is: splayed over the Wen brand.
What a silly man.
Wei Wuxian smiles into Lan Zhan’s warm skin, closes his eyes, and lets the steady heartbeat lull him back to sleep.
Qian Guang is beyond furious.
”One thing,” she mutters under her breath. ”He only had to do one thing, and he fucked that up.” She bursts out through the wide open doors and sprints onto the street, looking desperately around for—
There!
”Please, wait!” she yells, throwing decorum and manners aside.
The two men stop and turn around, and so does everyone else on the street as well, but she doesn’t care about the others, only these two. Holding up her skirts, she runs after them and bows deeper than ever in her life.
”Please, allow me to offer my deepest apologies for the despicable behavior of my father,” she starts, staying in the bow. ”What he said was spiteful, shameful, and also not true. Our humble establishment would be overjoyed to host you but we fully understand if you never wanted to visit this part of Gusu ever again.” She feels light-headed and struggles to draw a breath, desperate for them to hear her, desperate for her sincerity to be believed.
”Hm,” says the other man.
She closes her eyes and drops onto her knees. ”I’m so sorry,” she whispers.
”Aiyah, what are you doing on the ground on your knees!” the other man exclaims, and soon gentle, insistent hands are tugging her to stand up. She does but doesn’t look up. She doesn’t dare.
It’s not the first time her father has spat on potential customers. It’s not the first time he’s spewed filth and vitriol about cutsleeves or derisively mentioned how women who love other women should be taught what a man’s touch truly means, implying it would cure them. He’s done this time and time again, growing more hateful with age and drawing perversive pleasure in watching the look on Qian Guang’s face.
He knows his daughter is a cutsleeve. It only spurs him on.
”Oh, come on now,” the Yiling Patriarch says, steering her back towards the inn. ”It’s not that bad.” On her other side, Hanguang-jun glides along like an ethereal being, his face calm and impassive and his sharp eyes taking in everything around them.
”It really is,” she hiccoughs. ”I’m so sorry you had to hear that, it’s not what my inn is, it’s not what it’s ever been—”
”I believe you,” the Yiling Patriarch reassures. ”Take a breath now, yes, that’s good, now breathe out, yes…”
”—I threw him out years ago. He has nothing to do with my business but he still hangs around—”
”Mn,” Hanguang-jun says.
”—he’s allowed to come in and have a drink if he keeps his silence and he’s unable to do even that—”
”Stairs,” the Yiling Patriarch says. ”Doorway.”
”—he only had to keep his fucking mouth shut and he couldn’t even do that! I mean, he had one fucking job and—wait,” she says as the Yiling Patriarch pushes her to sit down. ”How are we inside again?”
He looks at her with amusement dancing in his eyes. ”Magic,” he says with a wink. ”How about a drink?”
”Yes, please,” she says automatically and then goes violently red and jumps up, bows again. ”Oh, heavens, what am I doing! I should be serving you—no, sit down, both of you—tea and wine, obviously, and food—”
”Lan Zhan, I think she’s going to faint soon if she doesn’t sit back down.”
”Mn.”
Another pair of hands, bigger, stronger, grip her shoulders gently and push her back down. She doesn’t think she could fight their hold even if she wanted. ”But I should—”
A pot of tea, two jars of their best wine, and a plate filled with snacks appear on the table in front of her and she glances up to see A-Dong’s quirked brow and a wink.
”Now,” the Yiling Patriarch says as he sits down opposite her and picks up a wine jar. ”Why don’t you tell us about your day.”
And—
She isn’t sure just how it happens but she ends up talking about her day and her life to a very attentive Yiling Patriarch who is sharp and witty and a little mean but in a funny way. It’s clearly, glaringly obvious he’s deeply in love with his husband, and the soft, fond look on Hanguang-jun’s face tells the feeling is very much mutual. Now, Qian Guang has heard the stories and seen several plays about the epic love story of the Yiling Patriarch and Hanguang-jun but seeing them in front of her makes it all more real.
”So who is this A-Ping you keep mentioning?” the Yiling Patriarch asks with a twinkle in his eye. ”Someone special?”
She blushes. ”Yes,” she admits, basking in the easy acceptance of the men sharing her table.
”Are you absolutely sure?”
Sizhui dips his head in respect. ”I am, Grand-Uncle. I wasn’t able to find either Hanguang-jun or Wei Wuxian in their usual places.”
”Where could they have gone,” Grand-Uncle mutters with a dissatisfied twist on his lips. ”Were they aware Sect Leader Yao was arriving today?”
”I couldn’t say,” Sizhui murmurs.
Which, strictly speaking, is absolutely true.
When Grand-Uncle had tasked Sizhui with fetching Father and Baba to deal with the unpleasantness of meeting with Sect Leader Yao, he had first gone to the Jingshi and, when finding it empty, walked to the bunny field. When that had proved to be a futile endeavor as well, he’d slowly made his way to the waterfall and beyond that to a remote, closed-off grove that not many people knew about. He proceeded with extreme caution—not because he had anything to worry about but because the grove was the place where his fathers sometimes conducted their…ah…intimate acts.
He’d walked in on the once.
He never wanted to repeat the experience.
He made a ruckus and called out their names loud enough for them to hear from a distance but when he arrived at the grove, it, too, was empty. It didn’t make Sizhui worried, though, as there were very few things that could cause harm to his fathers. But he’d been looking forward to spending the evening together and if they’d left the Cloud Recesses…
Well.
He’d pushed down his slight disappointment and decided to head back via a circuitous route in order to preserve the location of the grove (he didn’t want anyone else walking on his fathers, either), and was crossing a ridge when he saw them: Father sitting cross-legged and slightly bent over Baba who was lying on the ground, his head on Father’s lap. There were flowers braided in Father’s hair and the look on his face was so tender that Sizhui felt heat rise to his cheeks. They hadn’t noticed him so he backed hurriedly away and made his way back to the Cloud Recesses proper.
Sizhui is a good, filial disciple. So, when he tells Grand-Uncle that he could neither find Father or Baba in their usual places nor tell where they were, he’s telling the absolute truth.
It’s Grand-Uncle’s own fault if he doesn’t ask whether or not Sizhui actually saw his fathers or not.
Lan Wangji narrows his eyes and casts an assessing look at the shelf. It’s cluttered, yes, but he thinks that if he moves the pebbles painted bright blue slightly to the left, it could free some space for the twisted branch, and that would, in turn, make it possible for—
”Lan Zhan, what on earth are you doing?”
He shifts his gaze from the shelf and turns his head slightly, taking in Wei Ying’s sleep-rumpled attire and the way his eyes are still hazy from his nap.
”Wait—you haven’t—Lan Zhan!” Wei Ying’s hands go to his hips as his voice takes a scolding edge. ”Please tell me you haven’t kept every little trinket and silly thing I’ve brought back?”
He lifts his chin lightly and says, ”Lying is forbidden in the Cloud Recesses.” It makes Wei Ying snort and the sound sparks a flash of warmth within him.
”You ridiculous man,” Wei Ying grumbles, making his way to him. He sneaks his arms around Lan Wangji’s middle and hooks his chin over Lan Wangji’s shoulder, gently knocking their heads together. ”All of them?” he murmurs.
”Mn,” Lan Wangji says. He knows it’s a bit silly; Wei Ying comes home to him, there’s no need to preserve literal sticks and stones. Lan Wangji’s duties might prevent him from traveling with Wei Ying but he likes the idea of Wei Ying’s travels having a permanent home within the walls of their house.
”It’s full already,” Wei Ying points out. ”We should add another self next to it.” There’s a tentative note in his voice, almost like he isn’t sure the proof of his presence isn’t welcome. Ridiculous.
”Not next to it,” Lan Wangji says. ”On the opposite wall. Or the other end of the house. In each room.” Yes, that sounds better. Wei Ying’s mementos should have a shelf in each room.
Wei Ying’s snort makes his bangs dance on his cheek. ”Each room?” he teases. ”Then this whole house would be just one giant trinket display!”
”Good,” Lan Wangji says calmly and basks in the light of Wei Ying’s laughter.
As a rule, Wei Wuxian tries not to dwell on the past. It’s literally in the past and while he might regret some of the choices he made (and especially what the choices resulted in), there’s nothing he can do to change things now. He lived, he died, he paid for his choices.
In this life, he tries to do better.
It helps that he has Lan Zhan by his side. Lan Zhan with his calm demeanor that hides unimaginable depths, his cool countenance that breaks only for Wei Wuxian to see, his seemingly cold and aloof nature that’s only a front for the devotion he feels for those he loves.
Wei Wuxian is truly fortunate to be one of those few. He isn’t sure just how he is worthy of Lan Zhan’s love but…he’s getting there. It’s a process.
And days like these help, too: slow, unhurried hours spent in the Jingshi, each working on their own projects and warmed with the knowledge of the other being at a touching distance. Tea and dinner and music and lovemaking and sleep, what else could a person want from life?
A drop of ink splatters on the talisman design on the table, jerking Wei Wuxian from his daydreams. The splotch spreads, rendering the design unusable but…eh, it was just an idea anyway, he can always start over. Most of his talisman design works like this anyway.
He glances up at Lan Zhan grading test papers at the table near the window, posture perfect, brush moving in precise, small movements as he points out logical or factual errors, offers insight, reminds the junior of the relevant texts where to check their reasoning. A beam of sunlight filters through the trees outside and casts a dappled light over Lan Zhan and his work, turning him into something almost ethereal, a spirit or an apparition of something otherworldly.
Wei Wuxian leans his chin on his hand and drinks in the sight of his husband.
Lan Zhan gives no sign that he’s aware of Wei Wuxian’s blatant ogling but he knows. He always knows. And he’ll let Wei Wuxian know later; make him know just how his appreciation is returned tenfold, and Wei Wuxian will squirm and blush and also probably cry because Lan Zhan will be so sincere and intense and cruel in the most wonderful way.
He lets out a sigh and smiles.
He is, indeed, so very, very fortunate.
”Wei Ying finished the talismans,” Wangji says.
”It was about time,” Lan Qiren grumbles, making small corrections to his notes.
”Wei Ying finished the talismans two weeks ago,” Wangji elaborates in a flat voice. ”He deemed them not to be of great importance as Uncle never asked about them.”
Lan Qiren frowns and sets down his brush. ”Two weeks ago?” he asks, ignoring the rest of Wangji’s comment.
”Mn.”
That sounds almost unbelievable but considering how prickly Wangji seems already, Lan Qiren lets the matter rest.
***
”This is too complicated!” Lan Lihua complains. ”I’m sure no one has ever solved this theorem before and it’s here just to taunt us!”
Lan Qiren is making his way past the classroom and pauses to peek in. Ah. The Flowing Ribbon dilemma. That is notoriously challenging, even for experienced cultivators.
”Yes, they have,” Lan Bin says. ”Just not when they were juniors.”
”Incorrect,” Wangji says from the lecturer’s stand. ”Wei Ying solved the dilemma during his time in the Lan course.”
The juniors sputter and Lan Qiren sputters with them (but silently). He’s never heard about Wei Wuxian solving the dilemma! Preposterous!
”Was it very hard for him?” Lan Lihua asks.
Wangji tilts his head slightly. ”Wei Ying has a flexible mind that shies away from traditional thinking.”
”So we should try that as well?” Lan Bin asks, dubious.
”Not everyone’s mind works the same,” Wangji says, sounding blatantly smug.
(Lan Qiren will later learn that Wei Wuxian solved the Flowing Ribbon dilemma almost by accident while trying to avoid his punishment in the Library. He isn’t sure whether to be impressed or irritated by it and settles for annoyed instead.)
***
”—and if you try it like this, it might help with the balance and your overall performance.”
That’s Wei Wuxian’s voice coming from the training yard where the disciples start their flying lessons. What on earth is he doing there? Lan Qiren pinches his lips together in irritation and strides forward.
Wei Wuxian stands in the middle of the yard surrounded by young disciples who seem to hang onto his every word. Lan Qiren opens his mouth to order him away from the children when Wangji suddenly steps in between them, shielding Wei Wuxian behind him.
”Uncle,” he says calmly.
”What is he doing?” Lan Qiren demands.
”Lan Xin has a congenital challenge that causes her troubles with her balance,” Wangji says. ”Wei Ying is helping her.”
”And why isn’t she getting help from the healers?” Lan Qiren asks sourly.
Something about Wangji’s presence goes cool. ”There’s nothing wrong with Lan Xin. She’s different. Wei Ying knows how to help her.”
”Just like that?”
That damnable smugness again. ”Yes, Uncle. Just like that.”
***
The cursed ring rests innocently in the box, looking like a perfectly normal piece of jewelry.
”Interesting,” Wei Wuxian murmurs, tilting his head slightly and tapping his cheek with his black flute.
”What is?” Lan Qiren barks. ”It’s cursed. It should be purged.”
”Yes, yes, of course,” Wei Wuxian says almost absently. ”But it’s…hm.”
Next to him, Wangji watches him with his usual, besotted barely-there smile. Lan Qiren turns his gaze away, annoyed.
”What if…” Wei Wuxian says before he brings the flute to his lips and plays a short melody that makes the hairs in Lan Qiren’s neck stand on end.
”What do you think you’re doing?” he hisses but Wei Wuxian ignores him, concentrating on the ring instead. After a moment, a wispy form emerges, hovering above the box, looking at Wei Wuxian with a startlingly pleading expression. A moment of some more playing, and then the wisp—ghost?—dives back into the ring.
Wei Wuxian stops playing, closes the box, and tucks it into his robes. ”I’ll be on my way then, Lan Zhan!” he says cheerfully, gives him a kiss (a kiss! In public! Shameless!), and saunters out of the door.
Lan Qiren stares after him and then turns his furious gaze to Wangji.
”Wei Ying had a conversation with the ghost,” he says mildly. ”He’ll escort the ghost and its residence to the woman it rightfully belongs.”
”…how?”
Wangji shrugs. ”Wei Ying is very talented like that,” he says. He is, again, so very, very smug about his husband.
If Guang-er is going to fuss more, she’ll have a conniption and then the whole day will be ruined.
Luo Pinghong takes a breath and gently steers her wife (wife!!) out of the kitchen.
”But A-Ping—!” Guang-er says, looking behind her in agitation.
”Cai Dong knows what he’s doing,” Pinghong says sternly and pushes Guang-er forward into the common room. ”Trust him.”
”I do!” Guang-er says and immediately refutes the statement with, ”But I just want to make sure everything is just right for them.”
They again. Luo Pinghong shakes her head slightly and reminds herself that she loves Guang-er dearly and her stories of the Yiling Patriarch and Hanguang-jun visiting her inn must be real—for her. It’s hardly likely the esteemed cultivators visited their village anyway, let alone stayed in Guang-er’s inn after listening to his father. They were probably some other pair—black and white robes are an archetype many Daoist cultivators use, after all.
She practically forces a cup of tea into Guang-er’s hand and makes her drink it, then pours herself a small cup of wine and downs it in one go. Their guests are about to arrive any moment now and they should be ready—
”Are we late?” a worried voice trails from the street. ”Lan Zhan, I told you we should’ve left the donkey behind. She’s way too slow and now we’re going to be late!”
Guang-er’s head whips up and she hisses, ”A-Ping, they’re here!” at the same time as two men walk in.
They’re both unreasonably pretty: the one in black has his hair tied in a half ponytail with a bright red ribbon and he’s wearing a bright, curious smile, eyes darting around the room. Behind him, at a slightly steadier pace, a man in white robes and impeccably done hair, cool and beautiful face impassive.
Luo Pinghong stares. They’re… They…
”You came!” Guang-er exclaims and rushes to the men.
The man in black—the Yiling Patriarch!—lets out a delighted laugh. ”Of course we did! You invited us to your wedding!” He looks around and adds, ”We’re not late, are we?”
”You’re just in time,” Guang-er says and hurries to bow.
”No, no, don’t bow, you’re the bride! We should bow to you!” the Yiling Patriarch says and he bows. He. And. Hanguang-jun. Bow. To Guang-er and then to Pinghong.
”And you must be Qian Guang’s A-Ping?” the Yiling Patriarch asks.
Luo Pinghong’s face feels hot. She steps forward and stammers, ”Yes. Luo Pinghong. That’s. Yes.” Then she tries to bow and also experiences a fussing no bowing you’re also a bride for Heaven’s sake tell them, Lan Zhan!
”Congratulations on your wedding day,” Hanguang-jun says. He has a deep, serious voice and Pinghong is pretty sure he could say anything and she’d believe it as a truth.
”Thank you. Thank you both,” she stammers. ”And thank you for coming, Yiling Patriarch and Hanguang-jun. Guang-er has been waiting for you.”
”Of course!” the Yiling Patriarch says. ”And call us by our names! No need for titles here, we’re all friends, right?”
”Right,” Pinghong says weakly. She glances at Hangu—ah. Lan Wangji who nods.
Wei Wuxian claps his hands together. ”Is there anything we can do? Cleaning? Cooking?”
”No cooking,” Lan Wangji says flatly.
”Aww, Lan Zhan!” Wei Wuxian says, drawing his mouth into a pout. (A! Pout! The Yiling Patriarch pouts!) ”I was trying to help!” He turns to Pinghong and whispers, ”Lan Zhan doesn’t trust my cooking skills.”
”Wei Ying once tried to cook rice and the pot exploded,” Lan Wangji adds.
”That was one time!” Wei Wuxian gasps theatrically. He and Lan Wangji continue to bicker as they move forward, making way for other guests who are gawking at the door.
Pinghong stares after them for a moment before shaking her head and concentrating on their other guests.
***
It’s a lovely day. The best. Absolutely wonderful. Luo Pinghong is married, her wife is the most beautiful woman in the world, and she herself is the luckiest woman in the world. They have wine and food and music and laughter and everything is perfect. They don’t even have to worry about Guang-er’s father ruining anything as he died a year ago. It’s lovely.
Earlier, Wei Wuxian gifted them with a stack of talismans including but not limited to a messenger talisman that would alert them if Guang-er or Pinghong ever ended up in trouble. Then he and Lan Wangji graced them with a musical performance that enchanted the whole audience and made several people teary-eyed. Now, Wei Wuxian is entertaining the kids (and their parents) with wild tales that Pinghong thinks are mostly (hopefully) exaggerated, and next to him, Lan Wangji looks at him with such tenderness in his eyes that it’s making Pinghong slightly uncomfortable.
But they’re married. Pinghong can understand Lan Wangji. Because now she’s married, too.
And it’s pretty amazing.
Ouyang Zizhen is never going to be able to look either Hanguang-jun or Senior Wei in the eye ever again. Ever. Not after this.
He stumbles forward, apologizes hastily to aunties and uncles calling after him in annoyance and irritation, and wishes he was anywhere but here. Why did he accept Jin Ling’s invitation anyway? He could’ve just stayed home and been relentlessly teased by his little sisters but he chose to meet with his friends instead.
This is terrible.
His face is so red he must light up the whole town with his mortification. No wonder everyone keeps giving him weird looks. He knows this because he can see the looks from between his fingers.
”What are you doing?” Jingyi’s exasperated voice greets him. ”And why are you holding a hand over your eyes?”
”I—” he starts and falls silent. He can’t say what he saw! It would be…it would be…
”Wait,” Jin Ling says flatly. ”No way.”
”What?” Jingyi asks.
Something clangs, probably Jin Ling slamming his chopsticks on the table. Zizhen doesn’t know for sure because he’s still holding a hand over his eyes.
”Wei Wuxian,” Jin Ling says.
”Where?” Zizhen yelps and whirls around to look behind him. No Senior Wei, though.
Jin Ling lets out a deep, aggravated sigh that sounds like a copy of Sect Leader Jiang’s sighs. ”Because it’s always Wei Wuxian,” he grumbles.
”Zizhen, what happened?” Sizhui asks, leaning forward with a look of concern on his face.
”I—” Zizhen tries again and then clamps his hand over his mouth and shakes his head.
”After a show like that, you have to tell us,” Jingyi says reasonably, raising a brow. ”What did Senior Wei do this time?”
”And where?” Asks Jin Ling, and then he hurries to huff, ”Not that I care.”
Zizhen can feel their combined curiosity pressing down on him and he swallows. ”I—”
”And could he have done anyway?” Jin Ling continues. ”The only shops around here sell either food, wine, spices, or clothes and accessories, and there’s nothing embarrassing about them.” He pauses. ”Right?”
”And then there’s the special shop around the corner,” Jingyi says, making Zizhen wish the ground opened under his feet and sucked him down.
”What special shop?” Jin Ling snaps.
Jingyi raises a smug brow. ”The kind young mistresses like you shouldn’t know about,” he singsongs. ”Spring books and all kinds of paraphernalia needed to enjoy them.” He emphasizes the word ’enjoy’ and leers, adding a rude gesture to really drive through the point of what kind of a special shop he’s talking about.
”You!” Jin Ling hisses, face red.
Sizhui sighs and ignores them. ”Zizhen, really. Are you alright?”
”Yes?” he says. ”But—”
”Sizhui?” a familiar voice behind him says. ”I didn’t know you would be here.”
Sizhui smiles and stands up to bow. With a sense of dread, Zizhen stands up as well and turns to face Hanguang-jun.
”Jingyi and I are meeting with Jin Ling and Zizhen to discuss the upcoming cultivation conference,” Sizhui says.
”And night hunt!” Jingyi adds.
”And night hunt,” Sizhui agrees with a slightly strained air. ”I left a note at home.”
Hanguang-jun inclines his head.
”Is Senior Wei around?” Jingyi asks, peeking behind Hanguang-jun as if Senior Wei was hiding behind his back—which, considering Fairy was sleeping next to Jin Ling, would’ve been plausible.
”Wei Ying is in the Cloud Recesses,” Hanguang-jun says.
Jingyi frowns. ”Oh? I thought Zizhen said he saw him…shopping…” Jingyi’s voice trails away as his eyes gain a slightly vacant look.
Zizhen swallows as Hanguang-jun turns his gaze to him. ”I was purchasing a souvenir for Wei Ying,” he says.
”I hope it’ll be to his liking?” Zizhen offers weakly. He wants to die.
Hanguang-jun’s face is completely devoid of any emotion. ”It will,” he merely says before inclining his head to the others and walking away.
Zizhen whimpers as he sinks into a chair.
”I thought—”
”Hanguang-jun—?!!”
”WHAT SHOP—”
This is terrible. Zizhen is going to die of mortification the next time he sees Senior Wei.
It’s a very, very rarely known fact that Lan Zhan is a picky eater. If Wei Wuxian were to say it aloud, he’d only get scoffs and snorts and eye-rolls as thanks. But it’s true.
The thing is, the Cloud Recesses and its terrible, horrible, not-good food have ruthlessly conditioned Lan Zhan’s palate into accepting the blandest, bitterest, most flavorless food as the standard. Lan Zhan is perfectly capable of eating the tasteless dishes with a thick face and no one would know better.
Except that Wei Wuxian knows.
It was purely by happenstance: they were returning from a night hunt and stopped by a small inn. Their food was humble but filling, nothing fancy; rice and broth and lightly roasted vegetables seasoned with fresh herbs. And if he hadn’t been gazing lovingly at Lan Zhan at the time, he would’ve completely missed the moment when his chewing stuttered slightly, his eyes widened a fraction, and the tiniest shiver ran through him.
It happened again several months later, and then again, and it got Wei Wuxian thinking. He contacts the inns they’d stayed at, consults the cooks of his favorite restaurants in Caiyi, and digs up information on several herbs that seemed to be the connecting element in all the dishes Lan Zhan had seemed to react to the most. While doing that, he misses his shijie with a fierceness that sometimes makes it hard to breathe. She always had the knack of making her food taste like home and belonging and he wishes he’d made the effort to find out while she’d been alive.
He lights up incense and talks to her instead. It helps, a little.
***
When he places the small bowl next to Lan Zhan, he gets a raised brow. ”It’s seasoning,” he says. ”Like my chili oils but not anything like my chili oils.” He offers Lan Zhan a bright smile. ”Try it!”
Lan Zhan, because he’s a ridiculous man who’s always willing to do whatever Wei Wuxian asks him, sprinkles a tiny amount of the sauce on top of his food with meticulous care. As Wei Wuxian stares at him, eager to see his reaction, he picks up his chopsticks and takes a bite. Immediately, his brows shoot up, his mouth goes slightly slack, and his eyes snap to Wei Wuxian’s.
”Do you like it?” Wei Wuxian asks hopefully.
Lan Zhan swallows hastily and sets down his chopsticks. ”Wei Ying…what?” He swallows again. ”How?”
He feels so happy he wants to squirm. ”I saw your reactions in some of the restaurants we visited. You seemed to like the way the food was seasoned so I did some investigating.” He leans forward, his own food forgotten. ”Did you like it?”
Lan Zhan is still staring at him. ”You did this for me?” he asks.
”Yes? You’re always doing little things to make me happy, I wanted to do something for a change. And if I can have chili oil to make my food taste better, you should also have your seasoning to make yours bettempph!”
His words get cut off when Lan Zhan lunges across the table and pins him to the floor, claiming his mouth in a hungry kiss.
He’s going to take that as positive feedback.
It’s actually a pretty nice place: a small hill overlooking a grassy meadow filled with the greenest grass and prettiest flowers Wei Wuxian has seen in a while. It’s a good last resting place.
The grave has already been filled and the small mound covering Little Apple is covered with offerings: apples, carrots, hay, grass, and small cubes of sugar in a clumsily sewn pouch. The memorial tablet reads: ”Little Apple; the best, most ornery and argumentative donkey of all times.”
”Safe travels, Little Apple,” Wei Wuxian sighs and pours a good amount of wine on the ground before taking a long pull from the jar. Behind him, someone blows their nose. Zizhen, most likely.
”Mn,” Lan Zhan says next to him. He takes a perfectly round, red, shiny apple from his sleeve, polishes it so that it shines in the sun, and carefully places it on top of other apples.
”She was a terrible donkey,” Jingyi says in what is probably meant as a whisper. ”Why do I miss her?”
”Because you’re an idiot,” Jin Ling huffs but then adds in a reluctantly approving mutter. ”But…she was okay, I guess. Fairy liked her.”
”Your dog likes everyone,” Jingyi says.
”She doesn’t like you!” Jin Ling shoots back.
”She does!”
”She doesn’t!”
”She does—!”
Sizhui’s pointed cough cuts through the bickering and the boys fall quiet. Wei Wuxian smiles and shoots a glance at Lan Zhan from the corner of his eye.
(Old Man Qiren hadn’t approved of this, not at all. He’d nearly spat blood when Lan Zhan had informed him that they were going to bury Little Apple on Gusu soil. ”It’s an animal!” Lan Qiren had yelled. ”And not a very accomplished one!”
”Mn,” Lan Zhan had merely said while staring at nothing over Lan Qiren’s shoulder, then he’d bowed and walked out of the room and straight to the building that stored gardening supplies. He’d picked up a shovel and walked out of the Cloud Recesses, the same indifferent look on his face.
Heavens, Wei Wuxian loved his petty, stubborn, beautiful husband so much.)
Next to Sizhui, Zizhen clears his throat. ”I would like to say a few words if that’s acceptable,” he says, sounding almost formal.
”Sure,” Wei Wuxian says. ”Go ahead.”
Zizhen nods, takes a folded piece of paper from his sleeve, and proceeds to recite a poem. About Little Apple. It has verses about glowing coats and flowing manes and majestic sounds, none of which are attributes Wei Wuxian would’ve ever attached to his recalcitrant donkey. He pinches his lips together to keep himself from grinning and listens attentively until Zizhen, choked up with emotion, dear boy, comes to the finishing lines.
”A brave, good, donkey you were,” Zizhen says in a trembling voice. ”May your apples be always crispy and grass sweet.”
There’s a moment of silence and then, ”What the fuck?” Jingyi whispers.
”Thank you, Zizhen,” Lan Zhan interjects quietly. ”Your words are appreciated.”
Zizhen bows, eyes red-rimmed and the paper crumpled in his hand.
”That was beautiful,” Wei Wuxian says, completely sincere. ”I don’t think I appreciated the damn donkey properly while she was alive.”
”She knew,” Zizhen says confidently and wipes his eyes with his sleeve. ”She was wise like that.”
Jingyi and Jin Ling turn to give each other incredulous stares. ”What the fuck?” Jin Ling mouths.
”Should we head back?” Sizhui asks with a beatific smile. ”I think it’s almost time for dinner.”
It’s nowhere near dinnertime but they head back anyway. Wei Wuxian grins at Lan Zhan as they trail after the juniors, Jin Ling and Jingyi teasing Zizhen and Sizhui shaking his head at their antics.
”She was a good donkey,” Wei Wuxian says softly. ”Terrible manners, but a good donkey.”
”Mn,” Lan Zhan says and takes his hand.
He looks up at the sky and thinks he’s going to miss her.
”And then there is the matter of the infestation,” Lan Ting, a crotchety elder who never seemed to be contented with anything, added in a huff.
Lan Xichen stifled a sigh. ”The infestation?” he asked.
”In the back hills,” Lan Ting said. ”It has been going on for far too long.”
”I see,” Xichen said. (He didn’t.) ”I will look into it. If there was nothing more…?” He let his voice trail away and probably was unable to keep the look of profound relief from his face when the elders stood up and ambled out of the hall in pairs and small groups.
He hadn’t remembered the daily dealings of a sect leader were this tedious. Or perhaps he had and he’d just pushed it out of his mind as he did for most unpleasant things nowadays.
He probably should do something about it. At some point. Soon. Ish.
There was a headache brewing behind his eyes and he decided to take a stroll to stave it off. Who knew, it might even help—it was late autumn and the air was getting chilly and crisp, and it wouldn’t be the first time when cold air helped with his headaches. Admittedly, his headaches in the past had been mostly about Wangji’s seemingly unrequited love and the constant bickering between his sworn brothers. He wasn’t sure if his current headache would be susceptible to a breath of cold air.
Xichen’s steps led him to the back hills almost out of their own volition. It was a remote area where most Lan cultivators didn’t bother going which was the exact reason he’d suggested Wangji to place the bunnies Wei Wuxian had gifted him in his previous life. The animals had thrived and multiplied in abundance, clearly enjoying their life.
As he neared the main field, he heard the unmistakable sound of Wangji’s qin and he slowed down and stopped behind a copse of trees to enjoy the music. It had been… gods, ages since Wangji had last played like that. Back when he’d been young, he’d kept to the appropriate Lan sheet music, changing to pining love songs when he’d fallen for Wei Wuxian, nearly driving Xichen and Uncle out of their minds. However, Xichen would’ve taken the love songs multiple times over the continuous, heart-aching, devastating notes of Inquiry Wangji had played for years with no reply.
So, when Xichen heard his brother play soft, beautiful, gentle songs filled with love and happiness, his heart soared despite the pain of how they’d gotten to where they now were.
A quiet giggle danced over the notes and Xichen couldn’t quite help himself: he leaned slightly to the side to take a peek and saw Wei Wuxian on his knees next to Wangji, holding up a bunny. A second one was already sitting on Wangji’s lap, curled snugly in apparent ease, and several more were sleeping on Wangji’s other side. As Wei Wuxian placed the second bunny on Wangji’s lap, Wangji tilted his face up with a smile and received a languid kiss, heated enough to make Xichen’s cheeks heat as he ducked back behind the trees to give them a semblance of privacy.
For some reason, he didn’t leave yet, though, and he refused to think closer why. Perhaps because his house was silent and cold, perhaps because the love Wei Wuxian and Wangji radiated was strong enough that the short glimpses he saw warmed him. Perhaps it was pure envy.
Some while later, the sound of dizi yanked Xichen from his thoughts. When he took another peek at the pair, Wei Wuxian was sitting with Wangji’s head on his lap, playing an old Gusu lullaby in his black dizi, a dozen or so bunnies were gathered around them. The picture they painted was peaceful and full of something Xichen remembered from the short times he’d had with Mother.
He listened for a moment until Wei Wuxian switched to a song Xichen knew all too well. He had no need to witness where this rendition of Wangji’s love song took the pair so he withdrew slowly, making sure to make no sound.
Besides, he’d now done what he’d promised. He’d looked into it. No further looking was necessary as there was no infestation to be seen.
After all, love and home weren’t an infestation. Not this kind of love, anyway.
Ouyang Zizhen is not nervous. There’s no need to be! His sect’s relations with Gusu are as good as one can imagine a minor sect to have with a major sect. His personal relations with Gusu are even better, considering his close friendship with Lan Sizhui and Lan Jingyi. He can even claim to have a personal relationship with Hanguang-jun and Senior Wei, considering how much they hung around Sizhui back when Sizhui was younger.
And now, they’re coming over to visit. Baling Ouyang. The sect Ouyang Zizhen is the sect leader of. It’s their first visit since the unfortunate incident that resulted in Zizhen’s father entering seclusion and Zizhen taking up the mantle of Sect Leader Ouyang.
Oh, and it’s also his son’s 100th-day celebration but that’s beside the point. Somewhat.
”Why on earth are you fretting?” Yaling asks, exasperated.
”You know why,” Zizhen huffs, straightening the lapels of his robes for the umpteenth time. Yaling slaps his hands away and tucks his robes in order, brushes his shoulders, and taps him on the nose.
”I know and I order you to stop,” she says imperiously.
”Yes, dear,” Zizhen replies meekly.
Fan Yaling is not a cultivator which means that despite her formidable character and understanding of what a cultivator’s life is, she can never quite grasp what Hanguang-jun and Senior Wei mean to the cultivation world. Zizhen has tried to explain but every time he ventured past the world of what one can see or hear and entered the world of more poetic descriptions, her eyes glazed over.
Yaling is his wife and he loves her dearly but she doesn’t have a romantic bone in her body. It’s probably the reason his mother likes her so much—she says she balances his ridiculous whims perfectly.
”Besides,” Yaling says, ”You extended our invitation via Lan Sizhui who is their son. It would be extremely discourteous of them to not come.”
He takes a breath, holds it for a moment, and then lets it out slowly. ”I know.”
”Good,” his wife says. ”Now, shoo.”
He does.
***
When he hears Senior Wei’s voice from the yard, he can’t help tensing up. Next to him, Jin Ling rolls his eyes but bumps his side and it helps. A hush goes through the room as the other guests realize who has arrived but they remember all too well the incident, and stay carefully silent as Hanguang-jun and Senior Wei enter.
”Zizhen! All grown up and a father now!” Senior Wei exclaims. ”Congratulations!”
”Wei Ying,” Hanguang-jun says, resulting in an eye-roll.
”Fine,” Senior Wei says. And then they bow.
Zizhen clears his throat. ”Baling Ouyang is honored to receive Hanguang—” he stammers to a stop at Hanguang-jun’s unimpressed look. Next to Zizhen, Jin Ling makes a sound like a bitten-off snort.
”Aiyah, none of that,” Senior Wei says. ”You know you can call us by our names.”
Zizhen swallows. ”Ah. Right. Yes.” He takes a breath and starts again. ”Baling Ouyang is honored to receive Lan Wangji and Wei Wuxian for the 100th day celebrations of Ouyang He.”
”And we’re so happy to be here!” Wei Wuxian exclaims. ”Right, Lan Zhan?”
”Mn,” Lan Wangji says.
”Jin Ling!” Wei Wuxian exclaims next. ”Is your uncle here?”
”Yes.”
Wei Wuxian blinks, then looks around, then looks back at Jin Ling. ”Where?”
”I’m looking right at you,” Jin Ling snaps. ”Why are you so embarrassing!”
”I’m embarrassing?” Wei Wuxian asks and launches into a well-worn tirade, a variation of the similar conversation he and Jin Ling go over almost every time they meet. Zizhen doesn’t quite understand it but he figures he doesn’t have to.
He looks at Lan Wangji.
”Sizhui and Jingyi will arrive later,” Lan Wangji informs him before he glides after Wei Wuxian.
Well. That went well?
”Breathe,” Yaling murmurs.
***
Later, after all his friends have arrived and there’s been food and wine and toasting and gift-giving and only one idiotic cousin removed, Zizhen sits back with a cup of tea and lets his shoulders relax. A couple of tables over, A-He is burbling contentedly in Wei Wuxian’s arms, having a seemingly very lively conversation with his ”honorary uncle,” as Wei Wuxian declared himself the moment he laid his eyes on A-He. Next to him, Yaling looks both radiant and critical, which is a very good look on her.
From the corner of his eye, he sees Lan Wangji, likely on his way to Wei Wuxian, which is why Zizhen is surprised when Lan Wangji stops in front of him.
”Congratulations again,” Lan Wangji says. ”You have done well.”
”Thank you,” Zizhen says.
He has a feeling Lan Wangji isn’t talking just about successfully producing an heir.
”—so when the spirit attacked, I knew that—A-Yuan? Are you awake?” Wei Wuxian stopped his narration of his and Lan Zhan’s latest encounter with the strange spirits and raised a brow at the junior.
A-Yuan was listing slightly to the side, his head nodding as his eyes slid shut. At Wei Wuxian’s question, he righted himself and blinked his eyes open, ending with a comically startled look. ”I’m awake, I’m awake, Senior Wei,” he said, and immediately yawned so deeply it almost drew Wei Wuxian with it.
”Sizhui,” Lan Zhan said gently. ”You are tired.”
”I’m not tired!” A-Yuan protested in a voice that bordered whining (as much as A-Yuan’s voice ever could), and then he yawned again.
”Aiyah, you,” Wei Wuxian said, leaning over the table to brush his fingers along the side of his head, trailing the side of his forehead ribbon. ”You’ve been herding children the whole day, then you supervised the juniors’ flight lesson and then helped your Grand-Uncle out with grading the tests. It’s no wonder you’re exhausted.”
”But—” A-Yuan started earnestly before biting his lips and ducking his head.
Wei Wuxian shared a look with Lan Zhan. It was a pseudo-formality; he knew Lan Zhan missed A-Yuan just as much as he did and if Wei Wuxian asked A-Yuan to stay over, Lan Zhan would agree, radiating quiet contentment at having both Wei Wuxian and A-Yuan under his roof.
”My apologies,” A-Yuan said, making to stand up. ”I should leave you to—”
”To do what?” Wei Wuxian interrupted. ”To waste away alone while our wayward son traipses out of the door? To forlornly mourn the lost hours that could’ve been spent together in quiet contemplation? To—”
”Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan interrupted just as he was getting ready to unleash a theatrical sigh.
”Aish, fine,” he pouted at Lan Zhan’s amused eyes. ”What I mean, A-Yuan, is that you should stay over.”
It spoke of A-Yuan’s level of sleepiness that he blinked several times like an owl before he asked, ”Really?”
And yawned. Again.
Lan Zhan stood up and walked to the side room to prepare the cot for A-Yuan, leaving Wei Wuxian to fuss over their tired boy. Which he did. Enthusiastically. It was rare that he got the chance nowadays—Lan Zhan was always so well put together and usually A-Yuan was as well. But now that he could, he was going to embrace the role of Fussing Parent with his whole heart. (His relationship with Lan Xichen wasn’t at the level of comfortable fussing and the mere thought of fussing over Jiang Cheng or Jin Ling made something hot squeeze in his chest so he didn’t think about it.)
In no time, A-Yuan was half-asleep leaning onto his shoulder, a small smile on his lips. Wei Wuxian tutted and looked over at Lan Zhan who wore a similar small smile, and their combined power of gentle smiling was nearly enough to fluster him silent. Nearly. But not quite. Keeping up with the hushed scolding, he guided A-Yuan to the cot and tucked him in, taking his time to make sure the blanket was snug and smooth and perfect before he stood up and took a step back.
Lan Zhan said nothing as he curled an arm around him, drawing Wei Wuxian into his embrace.
”He’s such a good boy,” Wei Wuxian whispered.
”Mn,” Lan Zhan said, pressing a kiss on top of his head.
Wei Wuxian was in no hurry so he leaned his temple on Lan Zhan’s shoulder and let out a contented sigh, reveling in the moment of having both Lan Zhan and A-Yuan right there, under his roof.
”Look,” A-Fai hissed. ”They’re here!”
You turned to look with the others, unabashedly ogling at the men strolling slowly down the street. They’d arrived a couple of days ago; one in brilliant white robes and the other in black and red robes riding the most contrary donkey you’d ever seen in your life. They’d rented a room at the inn right across from A-Xu’s shop and your small group of friends have been obsessed ever since.
And why wouldn’t you be? A-Xu’s husband had died the previous spring, leaving her to take care of both the shop and their three children. A-Fai’s husband was a useless drunk, Qin-er’s betrothed had run away with a man, and you yourself had never trusted a man enough to bother giving a relationship a go.
So, if gazing upon a pair of men so obviously in love with each other brought joy to all of you, it was harmless fun, right?
And they were so very, very beautiful.
”Lan Zhan, look!” the one in black and red robes exclaimed, pointing at something or another with a wide grin. You couldn’t hear the reply but there obviously was one as the man turned to his lover with a look of exaggerated pout and, as a result, the one called Lan Zhan handed over the money and— oh. It was a bunny-shaped candy.
”That’s cute, right, A-Hua?” Qin-er murmured.
You shrugged. ”Mmm…I guess,” you said just to be contrary.
A-Fai slapped you on the shoulder lightly. ”Aish, no guessing. Those two are the cutest thing we’ve seen this year!”
You watched as the pair made their way to the next stall and observed how the one in black and red robes only needed to point at something for ”Lan Zhan” to buy it for him. In no time, he was blushing and waving his hands in front of himself as if to stave off further gifts only to be gently but resolutely plied with even more gifts.
”Oh my,” A-Xu breathed as the one in black and red robes froze in place, wide eyes staring at ”Lan Zhan” as he carefully wiped a smudge of sauce from the corner of his mouth and then paused to rest his hand on his cheek. The look in his eyes could only be described as smoldering.
The sight would’ve been more in place in a spring book than on full display on the street but none of you protested. In the privacy of your mind, you wondered if you might be more amenable to courting if a man looked at you like that.
”Is it me or is it getting hot in here?” Qin-er murmured, fanning herself with her hand.
The man in black and red robes let out a small laugh, shook his head, and grabbed ”Lan Zhan’s” hand to drag him back into the inn.
No, it definitely wasn’t just Qin-er getting all hot and bothered.
When Wei Wuxian enters the Cloud Recesses, it’s so late it’s early. He greets the guards at the gate with a smile, leads Little Apple to the stables, and waves away the yawning disciple to scrub the donkey down himself before climbing the pristine white stairs up to the sect residence proper. The whole mountain is silent as the disciples are just starting to wake up, making the experience almost eery.
He lets his feet carry him to the main kitchens and stops at the doorway to wait. Granny Lan is commandeering her staff in the breakfast preparations but she notices him right away, raising a brow and giving him an appraising look.
”How are you here so early, A-Ying?” she asks. ”Did you work through the night again?”
She’s the only one after Mama who has called him A-Ying, and the informal address makes something warm and happy lodge itself under his ribs. He has to clear his throat to make his mouth work and even then, his voice comes out a little bit choked.
”I just arrived, Granny,” he says. ”I was wondering if there was anything I could take back so that Lan Zhan doesn’t have to come and fetch breakfast.”
Granny Lan tuts and shakes her head. ”’Anything,’ he asks,” she chides. ”As if I had extra breakfasts lying around, what with the actual breakfast to prepare.” As she talks, she packs a basket with leftover small cakes, a big bowl of piping hot congee, a smaller bowl of pickled vegetables and yet another bowl of thinly sliced tofu skin, and tops it off with a small bag of loquats. She hands him the basket and says, ”Wait,” and then proceeds to pick several filled buns straight from the steamer into a fresh cloth she deftly wraps into a hot, fragrant package.
”There,” she says, carefully placing the bun package into the basket. ”That should tide you over until lunchtime.”
”Granny,” Wei Wuxian protests, holding back a laugh. ”This is more than enough!”
”Nonsense!” she says and pinches his cheek, then cups it for a moment.”You are too skinny, A-Ying. I will remind A-Zhan that he needs to feed you properly.” She smooths her apron down and narrows her eyes. ”Run along now, I have chores to get to.” She says that as if he’s a small boy and not an adult man, the husband to the Lan’s esteemed Hanguang-jun and the living nightmare of countless cultivators.
Then again, to her, everyone is a small boy.
”Yes, Granny!” he says, bows, and starts toward the Jingshi.
As he leaves the main buildings behind, it feels almost like walking into a fairy tale: there’s mist dancing over the ground adorned with dew that sparkles like pearls in the dim early light, and there’s a hushed, expectant quality in the air. He can barely hear any birds yet, his footsteps the only thing breaking the quiet.
The Jingshi emerges from the mist like an otherworldly apparition, an island removed from the rest of the Cloud Recesses. It’s dark save for a single light, announcing to him that Lan Zhan is already awake. Wei Wuxian lets his steps slow even more as he carefully creeps closer. It’s not that he wants to spy on Lan Zhan—it’s more that when Lan Zhan wakes up, he’s usually still asleep, and seeing Lan Zhan go through his morning routines isn’t something he’s had the chance to do much.
The doors are still closed and the porch has several slightly loosed boards that would give him away so he tiptoes carefully over to the window and peeks inside. Lan Zhan looks painfully casual like this; his hair down and his forehead ribbon unfastened, loose sleeping robes flowing around his bare feet as he makes his way to the back of the house to wash up. The Jingshi feels like it, too, is still slumbering and Lan Zhan’s ghost-like presence isn’t enough to rouse it yet. Wei Wuxian uses the moment to his advantage to put the breakfast basket down and get into a better position, and gazes lovingly upon his husband when he finally emerges again, forehead ribbon in place and robes fastened. For some strange reason, his feet are still bare.
Lan Zhan fills a kettle with water, makes preparations for tea, and then leaves the teapot and kettle as is, sitting down to meditate instead. Is this something Lan Zhan always does, Wei Wuxian wonders. He doesn’t know because he’s usually still deeply asleep at this hour, and when Lan Zhan finally pries him awake, he’s already fully clothed and there’s tea and breakfast ready. Additionally, in the few times Wei Wuxian had been awake at this hour, Lan Zhan was a sight to behold. Carefully put together, serene, and calm like a placid lake, beautiful beyond comparison.
Not that he isn’t a sight to behold now but there’s something off.
Lan Zhan looks slightly rumpled and there’s a flicker of unease on his face. Is he ill? But Lan Zhan is never ill—his cultivation is so high and his composure so impeccable that illness doesn’t dare touch him.
So…what is it?
As Wei Wuxian watches, Lan Zhan opens his eyes and gazes into the direction of their bed and—
No.
No way!
Lan Zhan sighs.
Wei Wuxian slaps a hand over his own mouth to keep the small squeal inside as Lan Zhan lets out another forlorn sigh, shakes his head, and then closes his eyes again to resume his meditation which Wei Wuxian couldn’t care less about right now because Lan Zhan sighed twice and gazed upon their bed!!
Is he moping?
Suddenly, he’s had enough of just gazing upon Lan Zhan. He picks up the basket and hurries around the building without a care about how much noise he makes because he needs to be with Lan Zhan now, he needs to be hugging him and telling him how loved he is, and most importantly, that Wei Wuxian is home and there’s no need to be sad anymore!
Lan Zhan looks up with startled, wide eyes as Wei Wuxian yanks the door open. ”Did you miss me, Lan Zhan?” he blurts out before Lan Zhan has the chance to say anything. ”Because I missed you so much! I almost stayed at an inn but then I decided to ride through the night which Little Apple didn’t like at all, honestly, I need to make it up to her later—but anyway, I got breakfast!”
Lan Zhan stands up with an uncharacteristic stumble. ”Wei Ying,” he says. ”You’re here.”
Wei Wuxian smiles, suddenly teary-eyed even though he doesn’t know why. ”Yeah,” he says. ”I’m here.” He opens his arms at the same time Lan Zhan falls into him and squeezes him tight. He’s still barefoot and Wei Wuxian still has his boots on and the dichotomy makes something squirm inside him.
”You’re here,” Lan Zhan repeats. ”I’m not dreaming?”
Oh. Oh, Lan Zhan…
”You’re not dreaming,” Wei Wuxian whispers, leaning slightly back from the hug to cup his face. ”I came home early. I’m here.” He kisses him then, a light peck on the lips first, then several smooches all around his face, then another kiss—longer, deeper—on his lips.
Tension that he hadn’t even noticed leaks out of Lan Zhan and he kisses back with an intensity Wei Wuxian feels to his very soul and he surrenders to it with joy.
Later, much later, when Lan Zhan has welcomed him back in every way he can think of, Wei Wuxian lets out a long sigh.
It’s good to be home.