forget me not: deja vu

by fefedove

Summary:

If only Wei Ying had turned around, he would’ve seen someone who was willing to follow him through life, death, and life again.

忘羡一曲远，曲终人未散
The story continues even after the melody fades.

Reincarnation story about a nobleman and a courtesan

Chapter 1: prologue

prologue;

 

Wei Ying had always been a free soul.

He always followed his own wishes and did whatever he wanted. He was always the first one to step forward, walk out, run to where trouble was and do what he thought was right—even if it meant going against the world.

And really, he was so selfless that he was selfish. He never thought about whether someone would think for him, care for him, worry for him, fear for him. He was so cocky, thinking that it was him against the world, that he never realized someone behind him. Even if the entire world was against him, there would still be someone standing within arm’s reach.

Why did he never think that someone could be chasing after him, trying to grab onto his hand? Why did he never think that someone would want to stand with him? Why did he never turn around?

If he did, he would’ve seen Lan Zhan.

He did at that last moment. Lan Zhan was finally able to grab onto his hand, yet Wei Ying only smiled.

Wei Ying, come back.

Lan Zhan, let go.

Noble idiot. A fool.

When night finally fell and morning crept over that bloody, ashy battlefield, a star fell away from the world.

He smiled as he plummeted and he mouthed something like goodbye. The words were buried by Lan Zhan’s desperate scream, but did he really think that it was a farewell?

He should’ve known that someone would follow him, even then.

 

In the first month after Wei Ying had died, Lan Zhan remained in what they called “seclusion.” Only he knew how his back had burned as it scarred and tried to heal itself, how cold the cave was when he was alone.

But he learned the nuances of every stroke that Wei Ying had written. He copied them all, page after page, not registering the rules that were supposed to be ingrained into his mind but savoring each lift and press of the brush, each splatter of ink. He copied them all, even the incorrect strokes and inappropriate pictures. It fit, after all, to wander even more astray.

It was the path they had chosen and he would follow it to the end of the world.

 

In the first year after Wei Ying had died, Lan Zhan went to the Burial Mounds without telling anyone. He didn’t find who he was looking for, but he did find a child burning with fever. This was the only survivor, the only remaining connection to Wei Ying. Even if it wasn’t the case, Lan Zhan wouldn’t have left him in this place of death.

He hid this child away and knelt in the snow, holding out the whip in his hands. His uncle ignored him. No punishment would bring him back anymore.

 

In the second year after Wei Ying had died, Lan Zhan visited Caiyi Town. He ordered a table of food glistening with red oil and brought back jars of that wine that had started this all. It burned as it went down his throat and through his veins, but he could understand why Wei Ying loved this taste.

It tasted like him. Why did everything about Wei Ying burn?

 

In the third year after Wei Ying had died, Lan Zhan got drunk again. No one knew because no one cared to listen to his heartbeat. They only knew that the esteemed Hanguang Jun went out of his mind and ransacked the archives, looking for something, someone, that he would never find. The next day, he woke up with an ugly brand on his chest of a sun that had long set.

Drinking the same wine as him, suffering the same pain as him—he did it all. And really, everything about Wei Ying burned.

 

In the fourth year after Wei Ying had died, Lan Zhan met a child who always caused trouble. He frequented the punishment room to copy the rules and never felt any remorse. The elders of the Lan Sect didn’t know what to do with him, but Lan Zhan thought it was alright. The boy liked playing with the bunnies, did the right thing even when the others said it wouldn’t work, did the wrong things just for fun, and had such a bright smile.

Lan Zhan hoped he would never change.

 

In the fifth year after Wei Ying had died, Lan Zhan dreamed of his mother. As a child, he’d waited for a door that would never open. Now, he waited for someone who would never return.

He was always waiting. He would wait, always.

 

In the sixth year after Wei Ying had died, Lan Zhan traversed miles to a lotus pond. It was night when he arrived, but they took pity on him and let him in. He didn’t want their pity. He just wanted to know if lotus roots tasted better with the stem or not.

It did. But while some of the roots were sweet, others were bitter. It was purely luck or fate which one he would get next, just like the scenes that filled his dreams.

 

In the seventh year after Wei Ying had died, Lan Zhan named that child Sizhui—chasing after longing. Lan Zhan taught him how to ask the spirits. “What is your name? Where do you come from?”

Perhaps Wei Ying would be more willing to answer to this child. But Sizhui’s spirits could choose not to answer and, alas, Lan Zhan never heard the name that he yearned for.

 

In the eighth year after Wei Ying had died, Lan Zhan broke into the archives and ransacked it again. He stared at his brother with red eyes.

“Flute… Where’s the flute?” The words that he would have never uttered now fell from trembling lips.

Understanding but not able to help, Lan Huan tried to placate Lan Zhan with his own flute.

“No, no, no.” Lan Zhan shook his head. It was so easy to see the pure grief in his eyes now.

“Where is it?” Where is he? ¹

As if giving up, Lan Zhan took the white flute and stared. He saw slender fingers dancing over it and a mole under the lip that played the instrument.

“He’s dead.” Lan Zhan looked up at his brother in bewilderment.

“He’s dead.” Now it was a statement.

“He’s gone.” Now, it was in mourning.

In the morning, he didn’t remember the tears shed, but he tried to play the stark white flute. It sounded horrible.

He would never hear that melody again, would he?

 

In the ninth year after Wei Ying had died, Lan Zhan finally visited the Burial Mounds again. The little lotus pond was filled with ashes. The rivers of blood somehow still glistened—wet and black. Ghostly wails slipped through the shambles. He tried imagining the men and women who’d once asked him to stay for dinner, but all he saw was the place that had taught Wei Ying the way of demonic cultivation.

Sitting cross-legged in the ruins, he wondered how it was possible to survive here for three months. He took the guqin out and placed it on his lap. There were so many spirits here. Perhaps one had the answer to his hopeless questions?

Wind whipped past him. His forehead ribbon danced frantically. The music couldn’t calm anyone, not even his beating heart.

It beat louder and louder. Pressure built up behind his eyes and sweat beaded on his forehead. Something was wrong. Nothing had been right since Wei Ying had died five years ago, but this was just…wrong.

The spirits didn’t listen. They flashed in front of him and screamed. A wisp curled its fingers at him, inviting him in on a secret.

Lan Zhan.

He listened. This voice snaked into his mind rather than pushing his fingers across the instrument strings. It spoke to him, bending him to its beck and call instead of the other way around.

Do you want to know where he is? Do you want to find him again? But he’s dead!

Lan Zhan shook his head, but the voice latched onto him, refusing to be shaken off. It seemed to know everything about him. It mocked him.

But I’ve never seen a love as beautiful as yours. Idiotic, but beautiful. I helped him before. I can help you too. The question is, do you accept my help?

“What is it?” Lan Zhan choked out.

In exchange for a bit of your cultivation and a few of your years, I can help you remember him through countless lifetimes.

“Yes, yes.”

You can continue chasing after him, as you always have. Your pitiful soul following him into death, into the next life, and on and on.

“It’s okay,” he whispered without hesitation.

He won’t remember you, he might not even turn around to see you, but—

“I don’t care.”

You are an idiot, just like him.

“Please.”

He woke up inside the cave, face pressed against the stone slab. After the ghostly voice faded, only one thought was in his mind.

Wei Ying.

 

In the tenth year after Wei Ying had died, Lan Zhan went to search for him.

Chapter 2: Unforgotten

Summary:

He often asks himself if the past life truly happened or was just a fever dream. He chooses to believe the former. The scars it left are still too deeply felt.

Notes:

i'm so surprised at all the love i got for the prologue !! asdfhad thank you so much and hope you all enjoy the rest of the novel

notes:
- i changed from using past tense to present bc my beta said so
- crammed all my history knowledge into this chapter, so be sure to check out the footnotes for explanations

Chang’an, Han Empire

7 BC

The residence before him is a scenic painting, complete with a gnarled and wise tree just inside the main entrance, flanked on either side by tall screens. Looking through the arch, he makes out a gurgling creek and lotuses. It has all the soft and elegant beauty of a southern garden—a breath of fresh air among the pompous and opulent northern imperial city.

The peaceful image is ruined by the chattering in his ear.

“He’s the most beautiful male courtesan of Chang’an, of the Han Empire! Even the emperor —”

Lan Wangji cuts him off. “I am not the emperor.”

“Oh, please .” The man beside him sighs, both flabbergasted and desperate. Fanning himself, he continues, “Lan-gongzi, my dearest cousin, just see it as helping me. Please?” He drags out the last word.

If it’s part of his character, Lan Wangji would be rolling his eyes now. He came all the way from Luoyang to Chang’an for the Imperial Examination^[1]. He’s grateful that his (very distant, many times removed) relatives, the Nie Family, offered him a place to stay for the time being. But when Nie Huaisang jumped on the chance to introduce him to the city, he didn’t realize that he’d be brought to a courtesan’s private residence.

Is he really surprised though? They only met two days ago, but Wangji has a good idea of his cousin’s character already. Huaisang, with his wide eyes, easy smile, and hobby of drawing erotic scenes in his study scrolls, is definitely the type to while his days away with pretty girls and boys. Lan Wangji, though, is not.

“No.”

Huaisang’s eyes widen even more. “No, no, please, you only have to write a few poems. Just let me have one—just one —glance at him. I’ll never ask anything from you ever again!”

To shut him up, Wangji looks emotionlessly at him and gives a terse nod.

But instead of shutting up, Huaisang’s face cracks into a wide grin and more words stream out. “My Ji-xiong, let me tell you, you really came at the perfect time! He only accepts one new client per year and the testing begins tomorrow. I’ve never passed the first round. I never even qualified to the round where I can give him money! Why is giving him money so hard? Ugh, honestly… What did I do in my last life for you, my savior, to appear now?”

Wangji honestly doesn’t care for Huaisang’s dramatics. And he also doesn’t care about the so-called most beautiful male courtesan who apparently forces his clients through a test just as rigorous as the Imperial Examination.

Huaisang glances at him. Somehow seeing (imagining) interest in Wangji’s emotionless eyes, he chuckles. “Yes, I know what you’re thinking now! What are the tests?^[2]Well, the first one…”

Ignoring the rites of customs and manners that a gentleman—a junzi —is supposed to follow, he grabs Wangji’s elbow and drags him to one of the screens. They exist to block the cold air in the winter and protect the modesty of the residence’s owner. But right now, this one is covered in lines of flowing writing.

“See this? The calligraphy is beautiful, right?” Huaisang gushes. “This is a poem that he wrote. You have to write one in reply and place it in here.”

With a flourish of his wide sleeves, Huaisang motions at a wooden container before the tree. It’s already teeming with scraps of papers and ornamental scrolls.

“The deadline is tonight. Tomorrow evening, the names of those who qualify to the next round will be written on the other screen. By his own hand! Just imagining him writing my name…”

It’s early spring, but Wangji knows the pink that dusted Huaisang’s cheeks and ears don’t come from the cold. 

“Anyway, thank the heavens you are here today, my dearest cousin who will probably be the top-ranked scholar after the Imperial Examination! My future depends on you.”

He looks over with puppy eyes, but Wangji’s attention is already on the screen.

The calligraphy style is strange. It holds so much personality and yet each stroke is standard and proper. The ink seems to be trying to break free from the edges and splatter onto the silken screen but remains encased in the lines. It is like someone disillusioned but still hoping and yearning.

Wangji loses himself in the storm under the calm waters.

“Ji-xiong, it’s great, right? Right?”

The reflection in the waters break. Wangji almost heaves a sigh.

“Do not disturb me.”     

“Oh, yes! I won’t disturb you!” Huaisang pushes him closer to the screen and then disappears somewhere under the shade so he can protect his skin.

Turning back at the mesmerizing calligraphy, Wangji finally takes in the words.

 

Orchids draw long shadows into the night.

Was the past a dream or play of light?

It once flashed past my eyes,

A finger plucking the strings of memories far and nigh.

I once embraced the world,

Only to live on in legends and lore.

Was our meeting nothing but a dream?

The past leaves only scars, it seems. ^[3]

 

The words are simple, but something sparks within Wangji. Something like hope but also fear.

He often asks himself if the past life truly happened or was just a fever dream. He chooses to believe the former. The scars it left are still too deeply felt.

“Paper and brush.”

“Here!” Huaisang zooms out of nowhere. “I’m sorry it’s not silk or xuan paper. He likes simple things, so I thought—”

Wangji takes the paper out of Huaisang’s hands and sits down before the screen.

“Lan-gongzi, you’re sitting on the ground?!”

Eyes not leaving the poem before him, Wangji intones, “Prepare the ink.”

“Huh—oh, oh, yes!”

They slipped out of the Nie Residence without servants, so now, Huaisang runs around to his orders like the over-eager puppy he is. (Not that Wangji is thinking about that now.)

When the ink arrives, he dips the brush in. But right before he lets it fall on the paper, his hand trembles.

Who is the man that he is writing for? The nameless courtesan, himself, or him ?

A dream or play of light… Sometimes, he can only remember the fire and blood and deep abyss.

 

The wind croons a song at night,

I gaze at the snow and memories of the light.

Do you still ask of the world's obsessions and plight?

Ask again just what is black and white, wrong and right?

Deep in the cloud recesses where we made a vow.

Perhaps you are still searching now.

Whether dream or not, I will never forget the past

Until you return to my side, at last. ^[4]

 

Huaisang snatches the paper out of his hands before Wangji can fully complete the last stroke. “Amazing!” he cries. “As expected of Lan-gongzi.”

Wangji stands up. His white robe is as pristine as ever. (He seems to have a halo that repelled dust and anything that could sully him.)

“But ooh , Ji-xiong, this is surprisingly romantic.” Huaisang peeks at him over the top of the paper. “Who did you write it for? I didn’t know you had a past lover!”

He goes to slap Wangji heartedly on the back, but Wangji steps to the side, making him trip on air. Composing himself, his eyes dart back to the paper. “Oh, I mean, you’d never do something so frivolous. It must be someone who deserves your respect. Is it your soulmate, your  zhi ji ?”

Huaisang wiggles his brows at Wangji. Taking his silence as admission, Huaisang snaps his fingers. “It rhymes! I can write a poem too. Let’s see… Lan Wangji, steals a chicken…for his zhi ji ! And it’s…so exciting!” ^[5]

Wangji ignores him and walks away, as one must in order to continue acting like a refined junzi instead of beating up one’s cousin in public.

“Wait! Ji-xiong, wait!”

Huaisang scribbles his name on the paper, places it carefully into the container, and scrambles after Wangji.

“You’ll come back with me tomorrow, right? Right??

“Let me buy you some wine!

“Stop walking so quickly! Do you even know your way back?”

~ ~ ~

Lan Wangji stays back while Nie Huaisang fights the crowd to look for his name on the silk screen. Wangji is sure the name would be there (he’s not the top poet of Luoyang for nothing, after all) and doesn’t want to be anywhere near Huaisang during his celebration.

He watches the boy make a fool out of himself from afar. Then the fool bounds over with a stupid grin.

“Ji-xiong, I owe you everything! Let’s go in now.”

Wangji shakes his head but follows.

“So for the next few days, we’ll drink wine with the other candidates while discussing important matters or reciting poetry or whatever. He’ll be watching from somewhere hidden and if he likes you, you’ll finally get chosen!”

“Next few days?”

“Yeah, it’s so he can see your character better. And you have to pay for the drinks each day, but I’ll gladly do that! I can’t believe I can finally make use of my money now. Ah…to be in the environment where he lives, breathing the same air he breathes…” Huaisang continues grinning dreamily. “And…” He nudges Wangji. “You’ll help tell me what to say, right? And then he might choose me?”

Wangji shakes him off and strides forward.

To make it clear, Wangji did not dress up for this courtesan. But looking down at the silver thread embroidered on his robes, subtle but expensive belt cinched at his waist, and the jade pendant hanging down, and now knowing that he won’t even see the courtesan, he does feel like he’d dressed up for nothing.

He expects to enter a quiet refuge from the bustling city outside, but when they enter the residence, he sees a beautiful garden with too many noblemen walking around. The dramatic competition almost makes sense.

As they walk along the corridor, Huaisang whispers to Wangji who the other men are. (He hides behind his fan to be discreet, but it doesn't really work.)

"See that guy in all that gold? The one with a red dot on his forehead and looks like a Buddha?"

Wangji glances in that direction and has to admit that Huaisang's description is quite accurate.

"That's Jin Zixuan. His father is a first level official. I don't know why he's allowed to wear gold^[6], but if you offend him, you'll probably get exiled to the western frontier. But he’s so annoying that I can’t help but argue with him all the time."

The corridor ends and they reach the pagoda in the center of the garden. Huaisang drags him to hide behind a fake mountain so he can continue gossiping. "That black-and-white duo over there are dangerous too. The one in white—oh no, they're coming over!"

Sighing, Wangji moves out from the pile of rocks and indeed sees two handsome youths walking towards them. Dressed in contrasting colors, they look like polar opposites as well. One stands straight and tall with politeness written all over his face. The other has almost boyish features but a look that seems to be daring everyone to challenge him. Huaisang tugs on the corner of Wangji's sleeve, but he shakes him off.

"Greetings," the youth in white says, cupping his hands before him as he bows. "I am Xiao Xingchen, Fuxin^[7] Xiao Family."

Wangji returns the gesture and Huaisang copies it messily. "Greetings. I am-"

"Lan Wangji of the Luoyang Lan Family. We all know," the boy in black interrupts. He smiles. One corner of his lips lifts higher than the other as if only half of him is willing to act nice. "Skilled in swordsmanship, strategy, literature, and the arts, you're quite well known throughout the empire. But I'm surprised. I didn't think you'd be interested in these events too."

"I am interested in poetry," Wangji answers simply.

Xiao Xingchen chuckles. "Of course. I am also here because Xue Yang-" He glances at the boy in black, who steps back to his side. "Xue Yang told me about Xianxian's reputation and I grew curious."

"Xianxian?" ^[8]

"Yes. If he was born in a noble family, he would definitely be within the top five of the Gongzi Rank. It is a pity."

"A pity? No matter how talented he is, he is only a courtesan and nothing more. There is no need to pity someone who doesn’t know his place.”

The four turn to see Jin Zixuan striding over with two servants in tow.

Wangji's brows crease ever so slightly. A strange mix of a cough and laugh breaks out of Huaisang and he brings his fan up. “Tell me what to say,” he hisses.

A junzi must never go back against his words, so Wangji sighs inwardly and ducks behind the fan as well. “What makes one noble comes from one’s actions and not one’s background,” he mutters.

Huaisang’s head pops back up and he repeats the words confidently. He might not be a good scholar, but he has perfect memory and is skilled at pretending to be smart.

The other three suddenly remember that he’s there. Jin Zixuan scoffs. “Yes, his actions with different men each night is not lowly at all.”

“If you think he’s so lowly, then why are you here? To lower yourself onto him?” Huaisang retorts instinctively.

Wangji sighs out loud while Xue Yang laughs. “I’m sure Nie-gongzi doesn’t think he’s lowly. He’s your role model, isn’t he?”

“You motherless b—”

“ What did you just say?!”

Xiao Xingchen finally stops watching the show. Dragging Xue Yang back, he says softly, “Let us take a seat in the pagoda and continue our conversation with some wine.”

Jin Zixuan huffs and turns with a flourish of his robes. The four make their way to the others. Huaisang latches onto Wangji’s arm. “How did I do?” he whispers loudly.

Wangji spares him a glance before looking away.

The night is an utter waste of his time. He sits and sips on his tea while the others drink wine. As they gradually grow drunk, their scholarly debates go from elementary to outright stupid. Being with them is an insult to his mind. After Huaisang stops listening to his suggestions, he gives up and leaves (escapes) the pagoda.

The lotus pond still shines under the night sky. It’s too early for the flowers to bloom, but it’s never been about them. His reflection in the water is like a ghost; the boy in his memories is so alive, burning like the sun.

Standing on the small bridge, he gazes up at the moon.

Are you still searching? Do you still remember?

He doesn’t know who he’s asking.

~ ~ ~

Lan Wangji allows his cousin to drag him back to the courtesan’s residence for four more nights. Thankfully, people give up as the nights drag on.

On the third night, everyone’s spirits grow a bit lighter when they realize Su She is finally gone. Wangji believes it’s because the man tried to show off but embarrassed himself utterly the night before, but Huaisang insists, “He’s just too poor. Didn’t you see how he fidgeted every time we had to pay? I bet he just ran out of silver, ha.”

Tonight, there are only familiar faces left: Jin Zixuan, Xiao Xingchen, Xue Yang, and a pretty Lu-gongzi.

Xiao Xingchen smiles warmly at them. “We are all old friends now, I suppose.”

“Only you suppose,” Jin Zixuan scoffs.

Xue Yang glares but keeps quiet for once. Huaisang fans himself even harder.

“Shall we just chat easily tonight?” Xiao Xingchen asks.

“Now, what’s the fun in that?” Jin Zixuan says, something glinting in his eyes. “All these days and I haven’t heard Lan-gongzi create a poem. I don’t wish to miss this chance.”

Wangji glances at him, really regretting letting Huaisang drag him into this petty fight. Before he can speak, Jin Zixuan continues, “We have a stream, lotuses, and wine. Let’s play a game.”

Immediately understanding, Huaisang groans out loud while Wangji groans inwardly—Huaisang, because he can’t cheat now and Wangji, because he can’t drink wine. The others, though, agree heartily and the group migrates to the gurgling stream for a quick winding stream party.^[9]  

“Ji-xiong.” Huaisang’s desperation practically drips from his voice. “It’s the last night and I’m so close. What do I do now? I can’t just—”

“Good luck.”

Ignoring the subsequent whine, Wangji settles down on a small rock beside the water. Jin Zixuan and Xue Yang sit down on either side of him.

“Xingchen,” Xue Yang calls across the stream. “I’m not playing, but I can drink your wine for you.”

The man in white covers his face, but it doesn’t hide the fact that his shoulders shake with laughter.

“Xiao Xingchen has the sense of humor of an idiot,” Jin Zixuan mutters under his breath.

For once, Wangji agrees with him.

Soon, cups of wine sitting on lotus leaves come floating from upstream. One teeters precariously but manages to get stuck on a protruding rock before Huaisang.

“No, this can’t be real!” he cries.

“Nie-gongzi,” Xue Yang laughs. “You know the rules.”

Pouting, Huaisang takes the cup off the lotus and drinks it all. “A-a-a poem, right? Uh…” His fan flaps like it’s a hatchling trying to fly. “Aha! I got it.” He clears his throat and grins at his cousin. “Lan Wangji, steals a chicken—”

Uproarious laughter from Lu-gongzi cuts him off. “My apologies,” he says,with a giggle still bubbling in his chest.  

“That was an ingenious rhyme,” Xue Yang says. A lotus floats past him and he snatches the wine. “I really didn’t expect anything less than that from you.”

Wangji considers getting drunk now. At least he won’t have to remember tonight. As luck would have it, a lotus comes to him, spins, and continues down.

Xue Yang catches it. “I’ll drink it for you. I know Lan-gongzi does not like these things.” If Wangji didn’t know that the boy is an alcoholic, he might think that he was being nice. “But please, I await your poem.”

“Oh,” Jin Zixuan chimes in. “Will I finally be able to hear Lan-gongzi’s golden words?”

Ignoring the eyes on him, Wangji searches for anything to help him create a poem on the spot and finds nothing. Lotus flowers bloom in his mind.

“To meet and to part is the cycle of life,” he begins, staring at the dark, rippling water. “Days flow on, the past buried under time. Yet our vow stands for evermore, unabated by the river and tide.”^[10]

“Lan-gongzi speaks little, but every word is worth thousands,” Xiao Xingchen praises. Huaisang and Lu-gongzi chime in their approval.

Xue Yang twirls the empty cup and tosses it back into the water. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but that doesn’t really rhyme or flow.”

Jin Zixuan just scoffs and the game continues. 

Halfway through, a servant appears. He bows deeply. “Lan-gongzi, Courtesan Xian wishes to see you.”

Everyone except Wangji has expressions of shock and incredulity. He’s loosened up from the cups of wine that Xue Yang didn’t intercept, so he takes in their looks and says smugly, “I win,” and follows the servant away.

Peace finally reaches Wangji’s ears.

“Why was I chosen?” he asks as they walk down the various corridors.

“Lan-gongzi will have to ask Courtesan Xian himself,” is the unsurprising answer.

Soon, they are deep within the residence and a rather humble abode appears before them. The servant bows and leaves without a word.

Not knowing what to expect, Wangji pushes the doors open. They swing in without creaking. The room is dark, save for the candles lit beside the bed. Red silk curtains drop down before the bed, making the light look like bloody fire.

Wangji cups his hands before him to greet the figure sitting behind the curtains. “I am Lan—”

“Lan-gongzi.” The voice that cuts him off is playful, cutting across this musk-scented room. “I did not think a junzi like you would help someone cheat.”

Wangji didn’t know what to expect, but this is not it. “I promised to help a friend and I kept my words.”

“Ah yes.” A light giggle. “And what about that noble vow you always mention? What is it?”

“The vow…” He swallows hard. “I swore to help those in need and live with a clear conscience.”

Laughter.

Slender fingers reach out of the red curtains and part them. “Greetings, Lan-gongzi. I am Wuxian and I am now yours.”

The birthmark over Wangji’s chest burns.

 

Notes:

[1] Chang'an (present-day Xi'an) was capital of Western Han dynasty (among many other dynasties). After the dynasty fell apart and the emperor set up Eastern Han, the capital was moved to Luoyang, which happens to be Yibo's home city

[2] all the tests in this chapter are legit for high-class ancient chinese prostitutes

[3] lyrics of wwx's solo ost (i spent a stupid amount of time translating the lyrics and making them rhyme lol)

[4] lyrics of lwj's solo ost

[5] chicken: ji (鸡) / soulmate: zhi ji (知己) / exciting: ci ji (刺激)

[6] gold clothing is only for royalty but jin zixuan's gotta wear gold so...

[7] Fuxin, a city in Liaoning (song jiyang's home province). some Han relic site was found there

[8] prostitutes gotta have cute names

[9] 流觞曲水 (liu shang qu shui): ppl sit beside a river. when wine floats over and stops or spins before them, they have to drink it and come up with a poem. (other variations they only drink if they can't think of anything). popularized by poet wang xizhi (he exited way after when this fic takes place but thats ok)

[10] wang xizhi made a compilation of the poems created when he played the game with his friends. this is a loose translation of poem 6

Chapter 3: Weathered

Summary:

He’s chasing—someone, a feeling, an unfinished promise, closure—but no matter what, it’s not the same. It’ll never be the same.

Wangji knows this.

But all he wishes is to hear that song again.

Notes:

all the thanks to my dear beta for roasting my work and making me sweat and thank you so much to everyone reading and commenting!! T_T

Toes peek out from the bottom of the red curtains. Slender fingers reach out and part the silk, revealing a pair of bare legs. Unwittingly, Wangji’s eyes follow them up to the thin white shift, long raven hair, and—

“Greetings, Lan-gongzi. I am Wuxian and I am now yours.”

Wangji stares.

There is something so familiar and yet unsettling in the porcelain skin, hazy eyes, red lips, purposely-mesmerizing posture…

It’s the fire, he realizes. Nothing about the man before him burns; it’s just smoke and ashes, asphyxiating him. And yet, the birthmark over Wangji’s chest throbs still.

“Lan-gongzi, come sit.” Red lips curl into a sultry smile. It’s too beautiful.

He shakes his head, trying to disperse the image that takes over his senses.

“Oh,” the courtesan says breathily. “Lan-gongzi must not be used to this. No need to be shy.”

Standing up, the white shift finally falling past his legs, he pads over to Wangji. His fingers dance up Wangji’s arm, but Wangji doesn’t budge.

“Why did you choose me?” he asks, schooling his voice.

The courtesan’s hands return to his side while his smile doesn’t falter. “Your words suit my taste. I liked what you said on the first day.”

Wangji stares into those eyes, but he can’t see anything—only supposed lust. “You arrange tests as if you are searching for something more, yet you act as a common prostitute would.” He spits the words out before he can control himself. The acrid taste in his mouth doesn’t leave. 

The courtesan laughs as if he hadn’t just been insulted. Or maybe it’s not an insult for him but an everyday fact. “Men come to me for pleasure and escape from their dreadful lives. I thought I could choose my own entertainment.” He gazes up, not shying away from Wangji’s eyes, and shakes his head. “I chose you,” he murmurs. “I should’ve known that you’re not like the others, hmm?”

The hope and fear that Wangji felt earlier simmer away and extinguish. Why does he feel disappointment?

It’s insulting to have treated those tests seriously, when the other thinks he only wants something so vulgar, he decides. It is anger that he feels.

He tries one last time to discern something from the courtesan’s eyes before turning to leave.

“Why did you say those words if you think the same as them?” 

The courtesan’s question hangs in the air. Wangji stills, hands hovering before the door.

“Were they only lies to help your cousin win this game?”

Wangji turns his head slightly. “Your actions told me what you truly are.”

“And yet you came and pushed open that door voluntarily.”

Those words. They slither around him like snakes, muddling his thoughts, just like the musk lingering in the air. Infuriating. 

He turns back toward the door.

“Lan-gongzi.” 

He pronounces the name as if he treasures it, tasting each phoneme before letting it fall from his red, red lips and it sounds wrong. All wrong.

“You may come and go as you please. A mere courtesan is in no place to order the likes of you.”

Wangji imagines a practiced smile ghosting the man’s face.

“But I do hope that you will return again, at a brighter time.”

He pushes open the door and a breath of cold air cleanses his mind. He steps into the night. Following his cloudy memory, Wangji searches for the correct corridor to leave this place for good.

He’s a fool to have felt hope from just a few words scribbled on a wall. He’s a fool to continue having hope even after the figure in his mind blurs to a mere feeling.

A flute’s song echoes in his mind.

How much longer before this feeling too is eroded by the river of time?

No.

The flute is not in his mind.

It sings under the starless sky. The lonely song breaks off and starts again without order—spontaneous sighs and questions that no one will answer. The notes latch onto somewhere within Wangji. They tug harder, sink in deeper, as he walks away, until the song fades and he is alone again.

~ ~ ~

“Xianxian, do you really think he’ll come back?”

The woman sets a bowl of soup before Wuxian and peers at him. 

They’re sitting outside in the garden. The spring sun doesn’t provide much warmth, but Wuxian basks in it. He moves his attention from the lone sparrow hopping around to flash a smile at the soup (and woman.)

“Yes,” he says confidently. “Yanli-jie, he’s different.”

Yanli gives a wry smile. “If he is different, then he won’t return.”

“You don’t trust me?” Wuxian whines, suddenly overtaken by a little kid.

“Okay, okay, I trust you,” the woman placates.

Wuxian’s pout instantly turns into a grin. “Really, Lan-gongzi is different, but he also feels familiar. The words that he wrote seemed to be speaking to me. It’s like he knows me. Others may think that his poems are nothing special—general and cliché, even—but they just…He seems to hate me but...” He looks off into the distance, not even noticing that his spoon is about to drown. “He just feels right.”

Yanli rescues the spoon and brings it to Wuxian’s mouth. “Drink your soup before it turns cold.”

Wuxian does so obediently. “Yanli-jie is always so good to Xianxian,” he says in a voice just between serious and joking.

“How can I not be?” Yanli laughs, patting Wuxian’s head. “I’m the one who found you.”

“And I’m grateful.” Wuxian nods solemnly. “Otherwise, I would never have been able to meet Lan-gongzi.”

“You brat!”

He jumps up and flees, laughter ringing through the air.

~ ~ ~

Huaisang was upset at Wangji, understandably so, but he couldn’t treat Wangji any differently because then he’d have to explain to his family just why he was upset. Not only would that be embarrassing, he’d also be locked up and forced to study from sun up to sun down.

So after a few days, he grows tired of the cold shoulder game and wanders over to Wangji’s quarters.

Surprisingly, he doesn’t find Wangji surrounded by scrolls. Instead, he’s deep in woodchips. Huaisang cranes his neck to see what Wangji is whittling away at.

“Step back,” Wangji mutters without looking up.

“Huh?” A wood splinter almost hits him in the eye. Clearing his throat, he tries again. “So,” he drawls, “How’s Xianxian?”

Wangji doesn’t answer.

Huaisang narrows his eyes. “D-don’t…Don’t tell me you haven’t gone to see him?”

This time, Wangji grants him a hum and Huaisang’s eyes widen. (His facial features labor to match his dramatic expressions.)

“No way! It’s been how many days? A week? You-you just…you took this amazing chance from me and you’re just wasting it?!”

Wangji lifts the piece of wood to his eyes and blows on it softly. Dust and splinters fly into the air and Huaisang jumps back again.

“Ji-xiong, I swear—” He breaks off and stares with a cocked head. “Why are you wasting time on a wooden flute instead of going to see my Xianxian?” He sounds close to tears.

“Bamboo.” Satisfied with his work, Wangji sets the flute down and finally looks at his cousin. “You are the one wasting my time.”

Huaisang almost cries.

“Whether I go see him or not, you will never be able to.”

Huaisang bites his lips and a tear rolls out of his eyes. “Ji-xiong, you—you, I like you better when you don’t say anything,” he blubbers. All his frustration pent up from the days of moping come out now. He’s probably the most unloved, underappreciated, and unluckiest man in the entire Han Empire.

“I wish to buy a pendant,” Wangji says as if he hadn’t just rubbed salt into Huaisang’s wounds.

The boy sniffles. “I can take you there, but you have to make it up to me.”

“I will go alone.”

“Wait, wait!” Huaisang latches onto Wangji’s arm just as he gets up. “I have a lesson later. Please tell my father I must go with you!”

 

Wangji, with his pristine white robe and icy aura, seems to repel the jostling crowd. For once, Huaisang doesn’t have to push and get pushed in the market. As they stroll down the busy streets, Huaisang tries to suppress his curiosity and fails.

“Ji-xiong, so…do you play the flute?” he asks tentatively.

“No.”

“So it’s a gift for someone?”

“Yes.”

Huaisang looks hard at Wangji who stares straight forward. “Is it for Xianxian?” The question ends in a hushed whisper.

No answer.

He starts fanning himself at top speed. “Oh heavens! I don’t know why I’m excited for you, because I should still be angry but wow. I never expected that the refined and cold Lan-gongzi would do something like this! Most people would shower him in gold and precious stones, but you, making a flute with your own hands … You really are a romantic. Don’t deny it.”

Wangji turns slightly toward him. “Huaisang?”

“Hmm, yes?”

“Has your father ever told you that you are too loud?”^[1]

Huaisang’s mouth drops open but nothing comes out. He wants to defend himself, but he can’t find any words to say. It’s almost as if Wangji cast a spell to mute him.

He sulks in silence, too mentally exhausted and hurt to try holding another conversation, until Wangji asks, “What do you know of Courtesan Xian?”

“I don’t know anything!” Huaisang replies instinctively.

“Nothing?”

“I’m serious, I don’t know, I swear,” Huaisang stammers. “I only know that he was a servant for a noble and became a prostitute after that noble died. He’s pretty and talented and knows how to make everyone happy, so he became popular. And since he’s so popular, he can pick and choose.”

Forgetting that he supposedly doesn’t know anything, he gets close to Wangji and whispers, “Let me tell you, when the emperor was still the crown prince, he went through the same tests as us. Some of his most classic poems were written during this time. He also shelled out so many silver and gold ingots and finally won. Now, he’s the emperor with thousands of concubines from noble families, but he still comes to see Xianxian.” Huaisang shoots a meaningful look at his cousin. “Do you know how lucky you are now?”

Wangji ignores the jab. “Why does the emperor not buy his freedom?”

“Who knows?” Huaisang replies, shrugging. “Some people think Xianxian is too uppity, but they’ll still do anything to kiss his feet. Maybe he likes that power.”

Wangji does something very close to rolling his eyes. He knows at least one person who would kiss Courtesan Xian’s feet willingly.

~ ~ ~

There are no servants or guards at the entrance of the residence. Wangji walks in and makes his way through the winding corridors and gardens without seeing anyone.

The forlorn song under the dark sky still echoes through his mind, but things look different basked in the afternoon sun. They look softer, warmer. Some nameless flowers have started to bloom as well.

Finally, he stands before the wooden door.

Raising his hand, he knocks twice. Try as he might to extinguish it, something still sparks within him.

The door opens to reveal a young woman. She is clad in a white duanru and soft purple dress.^[2] Her long black hair is done up with a single hairpin. Despite her simple attire, she doesn’t look to be a servant.

Wangji cups his hands before him and bows slightly. “Greetings.”

“Oh!” A smile shines in her eyes. “You must be Lan-gongzi.”

He nods.

The woman opens the door fully. “Xianxian is sleeping, but you can go inside.”

She takes her leave after Wangji enters hesitantly. The door closes and he’s plunged into darkness again. He finds himself alone with the courtesan behind the curtains on the bed.

Sleeping? Why is he sleeping at this hour?

But no matter what, Wangji isn’t the type to disturb a sleeping man. He places the flute onto the low table beside the bed.

He worked to replicate the flute in his memories, but try as he might, he can’t remember the exact pattern of grooves and texture. He doubts it’ll produce the same sound either. 

He’s chasing—someone, a feeling, an unfinished promise, closure—but no matter what, it’s not the same. It’ll never be the same.

Wangji knows this.

But he was stupid enough to have made the exchange with the spirit back then, and he’s stupid enough to have gone through a dozen more lives, pining for the shadow of a past long gone.

He’s stupid enough to keep doing so, even when all he truly remembers is the pain and regret. All he knows is that he must grab onto that hand and never let go. And he just wishes he could hear that song again.

 

Just as he’s about to leave, a rustle stops him.

He turns to see the courtesan sitting in bed, red curtains framing his pale face. His eyes stare at Wangji, through Wangji. How long has he been staring for?

“Courtesan Xian?”

The man jolts and his lips widen into a smile. “Lan-gongzi, I can’t believe you’re here.”

“You are surprised?”

“No, no. I just didn’t expect that my instincts would be so accurate.” He stays in bed this time, not inviting Wangji over and not going over to cling to him either.

Wangji picks up the flute and offers it. “For you.”

“For me?” Wuxian echoes. His eyes flit from Wangji to the instrument and back up.

When the man doesn’t answer, he accepts the gift. He turns the flute, fingers dancing lightly over it as he traces the carvings on the dark bamboo.

“You made this.” It’s not a question. “Thank you.”

Wangji’s outstretched hand returns to rest behind his back. 

Wuxian twirls the flute between his fingers with practiced ease. The tassel catches his eye and he stops to stroke the alabaster jade rabbit. “Should I name it?”

“If you wish.”

A laugh escapes from Wuxian’s lips. “I am horrible and all too casual at naming things. Lan-gongzi, do you have any suggestions?”

A name is at the tip of Wangji’s tongue, but he pushes it down. Times have changed, people have changed, and names should change as well.

“No," he answers.

Wuxian's finger goes from the tassel to the words carved into the side of the flute.

“ Cang hai sang tian… ” he murmurs. “As time passes, even the seas turn to fields of mulberry and back again.” ^[3]He looks up with those penetrating, knowing eyes of his. “Lan-gongzi, is that what you were thinking as you made this flute?”

Wangji doesn’t answer; he meets the other’s gaze.

“Try it,” he says instead.

And so Wuxian brings the flute to his lips. Despite the name it carries, today, the flute produces a melody sweet and light, chirping through the dusky room. 

He closes his eyes as he plays and Wangji almost believes...

“Lan-gongzi, thank you.”

Wangji looks up to see that the flute is resting on the courtesan’s lap. He nods and turns to leave.

“Won’t you stay a little longer?” 

 

They end up in a pavilion near the lotus pond. The lowering sun sets the water on fire, complementing Wuxian’s dark red robe. He watches with his chin resting on the stone table as Wangji tunes the guqin.

“It was a gift and I don’t know how to play,” Wuxian explains apologetically for the nth time.

The twang of the strings gradually becomes less cacophonous. “I can teach you.”

“No need. I have this now.” Grinning, he straightens up and takes out his new beloved flute. It catches the waning light, shining like obsidian. “We can play together.”

Wangji replies with actions rather than words. The silk scratches softly as Wangji’s finger glides across the strings. Plucked notes and long vibrato intertwine into a melody that extends from the depths of his memories.

Wuxian listens, feeling the image and song, and joins in after a bit. The instruments are all too new and foreign, but their fingers move reflexively and there is only euphony in their improvisation.  

The flute dances and flutters freely. It experiments with melody and rhythm, confident that the steady guqin will anchor and support the harmony. When the guqin melody repeats a second time, the flute plays in unison, floating above in a higher octave.^[4]

They move together, finally together, safe and sound.

 

Whether dream or not, I will never forget the past

Until you return to my side, at last.

 

Notes:

[1] wang yibo fandom joke (a girl once kept trying to make conversation with him and he asked her if her family ever gets annoyed that shes so loud lmao)

[2] in the han dynasty, women wore a duanru (long sleeve shirt) and a long dress (pulled up over their chest and duanru) for easier labor. nobles wore fancier things

[3] 沧海桑田: chinese idiom about the great changes thru time. 沧桑 (cangsang) is the abbreviation and can mean being weathered/worn out

[4] insp by comment under an ost video: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OYdjRvAokPc&lc=z22fgpbisleqzjrcsacdp433pdl33ff22lpkq0ksdkdw03c010c.1567887124884966

Chapter 4: Unbridled

Summary:

“You don’t look drunk,” Wuxian states the obvious.

Without warning, Wangji grabs Wuxian’s hand and pulls him over. Wuxian is caught off-guard and falls forward, landing somewhat in Wangji’s arms.

Before he can move, Wangji positions his head over his own chest and traps him there. “Listen.”

Notes:

this chapter was impossible towrite T_T

also, for those who may be confused/wondering, wwx doesn't remember his past lives. wangji does but not in much detail. his feelings toward wwx now are like...sizhui when he first met wwx and thought he felt familiar but had no clue who he was. wangji thinks that wwx might be wei ying, but he can't really believe it bc they're also so different (like if you meet a long lost friend who used to be super happy and is now mostly sad and you're like who tf are you??)

Apparently, Huaisang is the type to live vicariously through others. He badgers Wangji until he goes to visit the courtesan and then badgers him more to recount everything that had happened. (Wangji does so sparingly.)

In the beginning, Wangji goes a bit unwillingly. Then it becomes a habit. Then he finds himself going to the residence by his own accord.

To remind him that Wuxian is the most sought-after courtesan in the empire, Huaisang makes sure to arm him with gifts each time—precious gems, baubles, treasured art, fans made from the empire’s best artisans, boxes of silver and gold ingots. Wuxian always accepts them with a smile that chafes at Wangji.

Is this a relationship only built on payment? Could they be anything else? But he pushes those thoughts aside, telling himself that it’s necessary.

He occasionally brings gifts on his own as well, but always when Wuxian is asleep. After waking, the man would find a new trinket left in the corner of his room as if it has always been there, or a new inscription on one of his paintings.

Time passes, spring melts into summer. Flowers bloom, filling the air with their sweet fragrance. It mixes with the scent of ink and scrolls as Wangji gets into the habit of studying in the pavilion beside the lotus pond. It brings him back to the library of long ago, but times have changed and they have all changed.

Whenever Wangji immerses himself in his studies, Wuxian sits on the side, either painting or reading. Most days, there’s only quietude without as much as a rustle or crinkle of a scroll. It’s easy to forget that the man exists, but to Wangji, the silence is a gaping hole.

The man from the past burns like fire while Wuxian is just smoldering ashes. Yet bits and pieces of him add color to the ghost that haunts Wangji’s dreams. The fragments of moments that they share in the residence almost bring him back to life.

Like when there’s a soft laugh and Wangji looks over immediately.

“I’m sorry.” Wuxian apologizes for the disturbance, though his eyes are twinkling.

When Wangji doesn’t reply but doesn’t look away either, he walks over with the painting he’s been working on.

Kneeling to the side, he offers the paper to Wangji. “This is my gift for you,” he says. “If you’ll accept it.”

Wangji accepts, of course. He unfolds and smooths the paper to find a sketch of…his side profile. It looks like it’s made up of offhanded brush strokes, but there’s somehow life in the black ink. His gaze slides up to meet Wuxian’s eyes filled with tentative anticipation.

“Lan-gongzi, do you like it?” Wuxian asks. After a pause, “I couldn’t help it. I just—”

“Yes.”

A smile finally blooms on Wuxian’s face. “I don’t draw people often. I usually paint nature, but seeing you always reading and writing so earnestly, I realized that Lan-gongzi is more beautiful than any flower I can find.”

Wuxian studies Wangji’s face for a reaction, but there’s no way he can see the pink tinge on the tips of ears hidden under long hair.

~ ~ ~

One midsummer day, Wuxian peeks over Wangji’s shoulder.

“Lan-gongzi, what are you writing today? Oh, your calligraphy style has changed?”

Wangji looks down too. It’s like he’d been in a trance earlier, robotically copying movements from when he’d been in seclusion in the past.

Wuxian scoots closer and gently slides the paper out from under Wangji’s hands. “Listen to the lonely flute,” he murmurs. “Singing in the night.”

He glances at Wangji as if he understands, but there’s no way that he can truly know.

“When I wake, please tell me it was all a dream,” he continues reading aloud. “Pour a cup of life and death, tragedy and joy for the youth.”^[1]

Reaching the end, he looks up, resting his chin on his hands. “Lan-gongzi, for the final part of my test, the candidate should have completed a poem according to my first few lines to see if we can fit harmoniously. I decided to forego it because it seemed unnecessary. But now, I regret not taking the chance to create something with Lan-gongzi.”

There’s a cautious request in his words and Wangji nods.

Smiling, Wuxian picks up Wangji’s brush. He holds his long sleeve and begins to write while Wangji watches, eyes never leaving.

Drink to his resilience and pride, drink to his hot-blooded vigor.^[2]
Face the music, unbridled and free.

It’s the same calligraphy style that had first attracted Wangji’s attention—wild but trapped. The words written seem to be a yearning and fantasy. Can anyone truly be unbridled and free? Maybe in another life.

Wuxian moves to add something, but the brush quivers and hovers over the paper and he sets it down to the side.

“You will not write your name?” Wangji asks, catching the minute action.

Wuxian brushes the tip of his nose with a finger and chuckles wryly. “It’s not proper,” he says.

But Wangji picks up the brush and with fluid strokes, he writes a Wang and a Xian. Then he sets the brush down on the porcelain stand as if nothing had happened.

~ ~ ~

Another time, it is Wangji peering over the other man’s shoulders and he can’t help but say, “Your style is unique.”

Wuxian glances up and smiles. “I kind of figured it out myself,” he says with both embarrassment and pride, looking back down at his calligraphy. “It’s not very orthodox, is it?”

“No,” Wangji agrees.

Wuxian studies Wangji’s features, trying hard to read his emotions. “Are you wondering how I learned to write? Well…”

He gives a half smile and picks up the stick of ink lying beside Wangji’s brush. Grinding it against the ink slab methodically, he begins, “My father sold me to a noble when I was young. I was a mere slave, but he allowed me to attend the same studies as the young master. I learned everything that he did—the Four Books and Five Classics, strategy, statesmanship, archery. Ah, music and art I learned secretly by spying on the mistress.”

He pauses to check if Wangji is still willing to listen.

“Anyway, I was expelled after my master passed away. I spent some time on the streets before Yanli-jie found me. And I’m grateful towards her. I’m not sure what else I could’ve done at that time, as someone who was educated like a junzi but obviously wasn’t one.”

“How long?”

Wuxian looks quizzically at Wangji. “On the streets?” He shrugs. “I can’t remember. It was too long ago, but it was probably just a short while.” He flashes a smile and turns back to the ink slab. “It was hard in the beginning and I know what people say about me. To be honest, I also thought it’s lowly and humiliating. But this is better than where I could be, and I am content now. I have a choice for what I do every day. I can choose.”

He speaks nonchalantly, almost jovially, and Wangji’s expression doesn’t change. But it feels as if the air thins bit by bit with each word that Wuxian utters.

~ ~ ~

One day, as the setting sun basks the garden in gold, Wangji stares at the pink blossoms and green leaves floating in the water. They burn in his mind even when he tears his gaze away.

“Why do you have a lotus pond?”

“They’re beautiful, aren’t they?” Wuxian turns to look at the flowers, while Wangji looks at him. “Born from the soil but unsullied. If only people can be like that too.”

“You are like that.”

Wuxian laughs in his face. “Lan-gongzi, you always have such a way with words.”

The more Wuxian speaks, the more he smiles, the harder it is for Wangji to breathe. Worlds and lives spin past him, but there’s still a question pressing in Wangji’s mind. As he gasps for breath, it slips out. “Do you fear dogs?”

“Dogs?” Wuxian cocks his head, not understanding the relation between the question. Still, he answers honestly, “No, they’re cute.”

An odd sense of relief fills Wangji.

“I have a fear of heights though. I’m afraid of falling.”

Oh.

Wuxian’s playful grin reflects in his eyes. “But if Lan-gongzi is with me, holding my hand, I won’t be afraid anymore.”

A pair of hands seems to seize Wangji’s lungs, strangling him from the inside.

“Lan-gongzi?” Wuxian peers at him. “Oh.” It dawns on him. “I know you’re not comfortable holding hands.”

No.

“I wish to have a drink,” Wangji says instead. Maybe the fire will burn away the feelings of guilt and regret.

“A cup of life and death, tragedy and joy?” Wuxian teases.

~ ~ ~

“Why did you ask to drink wine when you’re such a lightweight?” Wuxian huffs.

“I am not.”

Wuxian repositions Wangji’s arm over his shoulder as they inch closer to safety. “Indeed. You are very heavy.”

Finally, they move from the pavilion into the bedchamber. Wuxian holds him carefully, but Wangji slips through his arms and falls onto the bed.

“I—I’m sorry!” Wuxian gasps.^[3]

Wangji doesn’t reply. He stares up, unblinking. His cheeks are like porcelain—devoid of any flush—and his eyes are as cold and hard as ever. But there’s a slight frown in his brows and his mouth is downturned.

“You don’t look drunk,” Wuxian states the obvious.

Without warning, Wangji grabs Wuxian’s hand and pulls him over. Wuxian is caught off-guard and falls forward, landing somewhat in Wangji’s arms.

Before he can move, Wangji positions his head over his own chest and traps him there. “Listen.”

Wuxian does so obediently.

Thump…thump. Thump.

“Your heartbeat…is uneven?”

Wangji stops answering. Wuxian listens for a bit longer. The heartbeat thundering in his ears is unsteady, but it anchors him there.

“So, people can’t see that you’re drunk, but they can tell from your heartbeat?” Shaking his head, Wuxian sits up. “That’s dangerous. If people can’t see it easily, you’ll have no excuse for your drunken antics.”

“Yes.”

Wuxian doesn’t try to decipher what that reply means. His hand is still trapped in Wangji’s grip and, despite how cold the man’s aura is, his hand burns. “Lan-gongzi, you can let go now,” Wuxian murmurs.

“No.” The hold tightens. “I will not. And you will not fall. Do not tell me to let go.”

Wuxian chuckles. He didn’t think that the man would care so much about his casual remarks.

“Do not tell me to let go again,” Wangji repeats. It almost sounds like a plea.

“Alright, alright.” Wuxian pats him with his free hand. “I’ll just sit here. I won’t go anywhere.”

Satisfied, Wangji closes his eyes.

People often speak genuinely from their heart when they are drunk, but Wuxian also knows that they all forget in the morning.

When Wangji falls into a drunken slumber, Wuxian slips his hand free. It’s the first time that the man has lain on this bed and Wuxian suddenly doesn’t know what to do. None of his usual actions feel acceptable now.

He goes to prepare a washbasin and washcloth. When he returns, Wangji’s hand is still clenched tightly over his chest, even though his hold is empty.

Wuxian gently moves it to the side. His fingers hesitate over the lapel of Wangji’s robe. He only wore three layers in the heat of summer. The two outer layers already came off during the drunken struggle—one in the pavilion when they first started drinking and one along the way back to the bedchamber. Now, only the most intimate layer is protecting him.

Wuxian dips the washcloth in the warm water. He takes a deep breath to gather his courage but instantly feels silly for doing so.

It’s just washing a drunken man. He’s done this too many times before.

After wringing the washcloth, he finally lifts the lapel of the white robe, exposing Wangji’s bare skin. The man’s chest rises up and down steadily. Could his heart still be beating erratically?

But it’s the mark that catches Wuxian’s attention. Standing in stark contrast to the pale skin, it looks like a burn, a brand.

His free hand moves subconsciously to his own chest. It throbs.

Notes:

[1] lyrics from wangxian (drama vers)
[2] lyrics from wangxian (anime and drama vers)
[3] have y'all seen the video where xiao zhan drops a cat

thanks to everyone that continues to support this fic! please let me know what you think uwu

Chapter 5: Unabashed

Summary:

"When you see white bunnies in the future, you'll be reminded of me."

Notes:

i had planned this chapter for mid-autumn's festival which was ummm...a month ago
then i decided to make it extra cheesy for xiao zhan's bday which was umm...a week ago
so now, let's just say this update is for park jimin's bday lol

*note: the traditions mentioned in this chap are a mix of those for mid-autumn's festival and lantern festival
*half the chapter is inspired by this pic

Wuxian stares at Wangji’s chest. 

The world melts away, shrouded by smoke, blood, and ash. Faceless figures whip past him; a shrill scream stabs into his brain. Black smoke permeates.

The ground beneath him disappears. He’s falling into the abyss and only the mark remains, burning in his vision like the sun. It draws him in and keeps him there until he feels like he’s underwater, blood pounding in his ears. He gasps involuntarily.

When he tears his gaze away from it, a pair of dark eyes are staring at him. The screams subside. It feels like he’d just been shaken awake from a nightmare.

“O-oh, Lan-gongzi,” he stammers. “You’re awake? I-I… would you like me to help you wash?”

Wangji doesn’t reply. He just takes Wuxian’s hand again. The washcloth falls down somewhere, forgotten.

“Do not let go.” 

A pregnant pause.

Wuxian’s eyes keep going to the marked chest. The pain and terror from earlier still lingers in the back of his mind. “Lan-gongzi, I heard… I heard that one’s birthmark shows how one died in the past life.”

“No,” Wangji says, tone final. “It is a scar left from the past.”

“Lan-gongzi, you cannot impress me by quoting my own poem.” Wuxian tries to chuckle.

“It is true.”

Wangji places their hand-in-hand on his bare chest and he goes back to sleep.

 

(If Wangji remembers anything from the night, he doesn’t mention it in the morning. Wuxian doesn’t remind him. He just ignores the searing pain that echoes in his own chest, throbbing with his pounding heart.)

 

~ ~ ~

 

The temperature persists, but the leaves turn into fiery reds, burning oranges, and rusted yellows, marking the passage of time. Wangji becomes a common fixture in the residence; Wuxian eases into his life.

Wuxian sheds the coquettish mask and his self-conscious timidness melts away as well. He almost transforms back into the playful youth from Wangji’s memories—a smile in his eyes and a heart filled with love for a world that didn’t love him back.

Still, things aren’t the same. During all those days and nights, Wangji never sees Wuxian step out of the residence. Back then, he would’ve never been able to stay indoors for more than a day. Wangji doesn’t know if Wuxian isn’t allowed to or if he just doesn’t want to be out on the streets again.

 

On the night of the Mid-autumn Festival, the room is filled with incense. They kneel before the moon spirit’s statue, fruits lining the altar. Muffled celebrations can be heard outside.

Wangji glances over. “Shall we?”

Wuxian looks up and lets out an ungraceful, “Huh?”

“Outside.”

Wangji stands up in reply, patting the dust off of his white robe.

“Oh!” Wuxian’s eyes curve into a smile when the answer dawns on him. “I want to buy mooncakes, and set lanterns, and play all the games, and—”

Wangji takes his hand and pulls him toward the door.

“Wait, wait.”

Wangji glances at him, eyes unreadable, waiting.

Gently loosening Wangji’s fingers around his wrist, Wuxian says, “I need to dress up for this occasion.” A coy smile creeps back into his features. “Go out and wait for me.”

Wangji almost sighs, but what can he do? He lets himself get pushed out of the door and he waits.

A while later, the door opens and Wuxian reappears before his eyes. Wangji studies him quizzically. He’s still dressed in his usual black garb, long hair pulled back with a simple red ribbon. The only new addition is the bamboo flute hanging at his waist. The jade rabbit is half-hidden in the folds of his dark robes.

Wuxian grins in reply to Wangji’s unspoken question. “I debated for a long time,” he says, walking over and slipping a hand naturally into Wangji’s. “Then I decided that no matter how I dress, I won’t be as beautiful as you. There’s no point in trying.”

Wangji turns around immediately and strides forward, ignoring the fact that another man’s fingers are intertwined with his.

“Lan-gongzi! Don’t be embarrassed by the truth!” Wuxian chortles as he stumbles to catch up. “Hey, don’t walk so quickly!”

 

As soon as they leave the residence, it’s Wuxian pulling Wangji instead. As if suddenly free of all restraint, he slips into the jostling crowd like fish in water. He occasionally looks back to check on Wangji. (After Wuxian nudges him enough times, his face isn’t as devoid of expression as before.)

Every time something catches Wuxian’s eyes, Wangji takes out his embroidered white pouch without speaking and pours out some coins.

The full moon is round and bright—but not as round as the mooncakes bought from the street vendor and not as bright as Wuxian’s smile. They share a double-egg mooncake and then Wuxian tries all the other flavors.

“Oh, this is too sweet,” he complains, features crumpling after tasting one with black sesame and lotus seed paste. “How disappointing.”

Wangji hands him a multigrain mooncake without bothering to tell him that he has a sesame seed stuck in his teeth.

Munching on the cakes, they move on to visit a street stall with lantern word games. The vendor greets them with a smile, but his face falls quickly when Wuxian solves puzzle after puzzle. 

“Are you sure you can carry all that?” The vendor eyes the wooden butterfly and dragonfly toys that Wuxian has picked. Thankfully, he didn’t choose any of the valuable prizes.

“Of course.” Wuxian takes one and slips it through the blue ribbon holding up Wangji’s hair. “Thank you for the gifts!”

He pulls Wangji away, who tosses a silver coin at the vendor for his troubles.

They continue down the street. Wuxian goes from stall to stall; Wangji just follows behind. The various lanterns, decorations, glittering jewels, and silk robes turn into a colorful, dizzying blur. For a moment, he’s afraid that he’ll lose Wuxian again.

“Lan-gongzi!”

When he looks up, he sees the man at the end of the street. Wuxian hops a little, waving at him. It’s quieter and darker here and the lantern that Wuxian has hooked onto his flute is like a beacon of light.^[1]

The Mid-autumn Festival is a night for reunions. This is close enough.

 

Wangji walks over and he can finally see the lantern more clearly. Its decoration features a childish painting of a rabbit.

“Lan-gongzi, I want to buy a lantern.”

Wangji points at the one he’s holding. “Did you pay?”

“Pay for what?” Wuxian hides it behind his back and latches onto Wangji’s arm with his free hand. “I want to buy a kongming lantern. I have a wish to make.”^[2]

An odd feeling rises up within Wangji. His heart pounds and blood thunders as it courses through his veins. But on the surface, he just nods.

They soon find an open area, each man with a lantern in their hands. Wuxian lights the candle, places it inside, and sets the lantern free. As it floats away, he closes his eyes and brings his hands up in prayer.

When he opens his eyes again, he sees Wangji staring at him. “I’m not telling you what I wished for,” he says with a teasing smile. “If I tell you, it won’t come true.” 

A beat later, he makes a face. “Lan-gongzi, don’t just stand there! Your candle is going to burn up soon!”

He prepares the lantern for Wangji and hands it back to him. Wangji accepts it and lets it fly up into the sky.

He remembers the vow he made back then. What should he wish for now?

What is important to Wuxian? What is important to himself in this life?

In the end, what truly matters?

He places his hopes and deepest wishes onto the lantern. It joins the others in the sky, mingling with the stars.

 

Wuxian lies down on the grass and cushions his head with an arm. He twirls the flute with his other hand, the pendant on the end knocking against his knee. The full moon is low, almost hanging right over their heads. “Lan-gongzi, do you think there really is a rabbit in the moon?”^[3] he asks with childlike curiosity.

“Anything is possible.” Wangji picks up the bunny lantern, long forgotten on the ground.

“Oh!” Wuxian sits up. “This is my gift for you. Lan-gongzi, I think it suits you.”

Wangji’s stare goes from Wuxian to the lantern and back. His brows furrow ever so slightly, but before he can reply, Wuxian claps.

“You’re smiling!” he exclaims, delighted. “Lan-gongzi, you’re smiling! I knew you like these things.”

“No-”

Wuxian waves him off, taking the lantern from him. “It’s okay. You don’t have to admit it. I think I’ll hang this outside my door so it’ll welcome you whenever you come to visit me. And then when you see white bunnies in the future, you’ll be reminded of me—”

Wangji grabs Wuxian’s hand and the lantern that he’s holding, and starts pulling him somewhere.

“Hey, where are we going? Lan-gongzi, why do you keep dragging me around today? This isn’t what a junzi does. Lan-gongzi?”

 

Wangji doesn’t let go, even after they come to the foot of a mountain.

“Lan-gongzi,” Wuxian pants, out of breath and utterly lost. “Where are we? The city gates won’t open until tomorrow morning! How will we get back?”

“No matter.”

They’re in the back mountain of the Nie Family’s summer manor. It’s just outside the city walls of Chang’an. There is peace here, free from the restraints of class and status. And more importantly, there are white balls of fluff in the grass.

Wangji had brought one with him from Luoyang and tricked Huaisang into taking care of it when he was busy. Clearly, it had attracted others and reproduced.

It’s hard not to miss them, standing in stark contrast to the dark surroundings. Wuxian notices them immediately and forgets about being stuck in the wilderness for the night. He gets on all fours, trying to get closer to them.

A moment later, Wuxian catches one. Sitting cross-legged, he brings the bunny to eye-level. It bops him in the nose. A surprised laugh escapes from his lips, ringing under the night sky. He looks up at Wangji with amazement.

“Lan-gongzi, look how adorable they are!”

Wangji nods.

“How did you find them? Why-”

Some curious and braver ones hop into Wuxian’s lap, nestling in his robes. They distract him from whatever questions he has for Wangji. He puts all his attention to these little creatures; Wangji stands to the side, watching Wuxian only.

Pink blossoms still in bloom flutter down with the autumn breeze. The moonlight bathes Wuxian in silver light, making him glow. He seems entirely free, alone in his own world with the white rabbits. He seems to forget that Wangji is there too, but it's okay.

Wangji tries to commit his features to memory--the way Wuxian’s eyes crinkle when he smiles, the beauty mark under his lip, how his laugh sounds when it’s completely unrestrained, how he holds the bunnies gently but still teases them mercilessly. Wangji wills himself to never forget these details again. 

He must not forget again.

 

Glancing at the lantern hanging from a nearby tree, swaying in the wind, a smile ghosts his lips.

I vow to stand by your side, no matter what.

Notes:

beta told me to start using twitter so here it is?? come talk to me lol

don't you want to know what wuxian wished for? :D

notes:
[1] references poem written by a song dynasty poet for lantern festival. he searched for his lover everywhere during lantern fest celebrations (he was surrounded by too much light and girls in flashy jewelry), but when he turned around suddenly, he saw that she was standing where the light was sparse

[2] you write down your wish on the lantern and set them free (or make a wish without writing it)

[3] the legend of chang'e says that she ate some divine medicine (for varying reasons) and flew to the moon. she also brought her rabbit, which turned into the jade rabbit

Chapter 6: Unfazed

Summary:

As they sit in the bumpy sedan, Wangji says, “Tell me about Jiang Wanyin.”

Huaisang stops looking at pretty girls outside the window. Letting the curtains fall down, he wiggles an eyebrow. “I’m glad you asked. There are actually some very interesting things about him.” He pauses for dramatic effect, but Wangji doesn’t offer any reaction. 

Unfazed and rather used to this, Huaisang starts his explanation.

Notes:

i didnt abandon this fic. just blame my busy life and beta for getting me into tgcf (but this chap isnt beta'ed lol)

“Ji-xiong, you’re always covered in white like you’re mourning someone’s death! Can’t you add some color to your outfit today?”

Lan Wangji stands still, tuning his cousin out as Huaisang fusses over him like a matchmaker trying to make him presentable. Even the servant stands on the side, looking helpless and dizzy.

“We’re going to visit Jiang Wanyin, Jiang-gongzi. It’s his birthday! Plus, his father is a respected official. The emperor might even show up today! You should at least look festive, right?”

Huaisang finally stops putting different robes and pieces of jewelry against Wangji’s body, taking a break. “Ji-xiong, I know you don’t like these showy and superficial things, but we’re in the imperial city. Some things can’t be ignored.”

He cocks his head, trailing off. Suddenly, it looks as if he’s gotten the best idea ever. Huaisang pulls different garments out of his own wardrobe and the dizzying flurry starts up again, with Wangji as the eye of the storm.

Finally, it’s over and Huaisang starts replacing Wangji’s clothes with his chosen pieces of garments. The plain inner robe becomes one light blue in color. Huaisang layers a sheer white robe over it, so that the blue shimmers underneath, subdued but definitely there. A delicately embroidered collar crosses over his chest while a dark blue sash cinches at his waist.

The servant helps Wangji into a blue outer robe. The fabric flutters in the slight breeze, long sleeves flowing to the ground like a gentle stream. White embroidery lines the arms like offhanded yet careful strokes of calligraphy.

Together with his long black hair and soft blue ribbon, he is a picture of grace and elegant lines.

“Perfect!” Huaisang exclaims. “Only two colors to fit your style, but not as deathly boring as you usually are.”

Wangji’s brows furrow slightly. Since when was Huaisang brave enough to insult him subtly like this?

Huaisang notices Wangji’s minute change in expression and instantly falters. “I mean—I mean, your usual dress is perfect, very noble, elegant, but perhaps not suitable for a celebration.” His eyes dart around his chamber. “Ah! Here, take this. It’s my gift for you!”

He shoves a fan into Wangji’s hands. Judging by the texture of the wood, Wangji can tell that it’s a rare piece of art without even opening it.

“No need.”

“No, no, no.” Huaisang grasps Wangji’s hands and stares imploringly at him. “Please take it. In fact, you can take all of them when we get back tonight! My father threatened to burn my fans yesterday. I think they’re safer with you. You’ll protect them for me, right?”

Wangji can only sigh.

He goes to wait outside as Huaisang dresses himself in an ornate and festive outfit. The Nie Residence is littered with fallen leaves and they crunch under his white boots.

The months have passed quickly.

This pretentious birthday celebration that he must attend today is a reminder of what he is here for—connections, politics and his future. To be honest, Wangji can barely remember what he’s done in Chang’an, other than immersing himself in his studies and the moments with Wuxian. It’ll come to an end soon, with the imperial examinations approaching.

And then…

Huaisang’s trademark “Ji-xiong!” shakes him out of his thoughts. The man bounds over to Wangji and they begin the noisy journey to the Jiang Residence.

 

As they sit in the bumpy sedan, Wangji says, “Tell me about Jiang Wanyin.”

Huaisang stops looking at pretty girls outside the window. Letting the curtains fall down, he wiggles an eyebrow. “I’m glad you asked. There are actually some very interesting things about him.” He pauses for dramatic effect, but Wangji doesn’t offer any reaction. 

Unfazed and rather used to this, Huaisang starts his explanation. “First of all, we won’t be seeing that Jin Zixuan today. The patriarchs of the Jin and Jiang families were the left and right-hand man of the previous emperor. Which, of course, means that the families are rivals. Even though the emperor himself might come today, Jin Zixuan definitely won’t. He really is an arrogant peacock. Secondly…”

Huaisang leans forward and lowers his voice. “He dislikes prostitutes and courtesans and hates Xianxian the most of all. Some people think he got his heart broken once or something like that. Don’t let him know about your close relationship with Xianxian. He can’t do anything about the emperor, but he can definitely give you a hard time. And oh, he can be so annoying when he starts on his tirades, like…”

That’s about when Wangji stop listening. This Jiang Wanyin isn’t someone he’d want to be friends with but he could probably get through this night. That’s all he needed to know. (It also helps that Jin Zixuan wouldn’t be there.)

 

Things don’t go nearly as smoothly as he imagined.

Huaisang leads him into the Jiang Residence. They pass by some familiar men, most notably the black-and-white duo, and walk to a man clad in dark purple. He is apparently the star of the night, but his features are set in a stern expression and one hand never leaves the sword hanging at the side of his hips. 

His frown only deepens when Huaisang calls out, “Jiang-gongzi!” in his trademark voice. 

Huaisang bounds over, Wangji a few steps behind. “Jiang-gongzi, I wish you a happy birthday. And I hope you like my humble gifts.”

The Nie Family’s servant hands over a bundle to the Jiang Family’s servant. The master doesn’t even take a glance. 

“Thank you,” he replies, looking at Wangji instead.

Huaisang pulls Wangji over. “Ah, and let me introduce you! Jiang-gongzi, this is my cousin, Lan Wangji.”

Wangji puts his hands together and bows his head slightly. “Greetings, Jiang-gongzi. I am--”

“Lan Wangji of Luoyang,” Jiang Wanyin cuts him off. 

“Oh?”

Jiang Wanyin crosses his arms with a flutter of robes. “As the man who won the rights to the most sought-after courtesan of the empire, you definitely became the talk of Chang’an. I’d have to be utterly isolated and ignorant to not know your name.”

The undertone of sarcasm isn’t subtle.

Huaisang’s eyes dart between them nervously. This is starting to get scarily similar to the last conversation his cousin had with Jin Zixuan.

“Jiang-gongzi, you flatter me,” Wangji says simply.

Jiang Wanyin scoffs. “You should be careful though. You never know what a prostitute is hiding under their pretty face until it’s too late.”

“Do you speak from experience?” Wangji speaks with more bite than usual.

“He’s bad luck. Don’t say that I never warned you.”

Huaisang coughs, either to try and stop the conversation or merely because he’s too nervous and choked on his own spit. Regardless, things are put to a stop when a servant announces, “His Majesty has arrived!”

All conversations fall silent and everyone falls to the ground, prostrating themselves. 

“Long live the emperor!”

Eyes trained on the ground, Wangji listens as a procession of footsteps draw near and stop. 

“Rise. Everyone, please rise.”

The voice that Wangji hears isn’t as one would expect. Instead, he sounds every bit like a young nobleman who is ready for a night of feasting and entertainment. 

The previous emperor did die too soon.

Everyone climbs up from the ground in a rustle of expensive fabric. Huaisang leads Wangji to the line of junzi waiting to greet the emperor. 

When it’s finally his turn, he bows deeply and gives the usual, “Your Majesty, I am Lan Wangji of Luoyang.”

“Oh, no need to be so formal,” the emperor says, and Wangji straightens to see his eyes crinkle into a smile. “Ah, so you’re the famous Lan-gongzi.”

“Famous?” Huaisang echoes from behind Wangji.

Wangji’s brows furrowed imperceptibly. What has the imperial city been talking about him while he spent all his time at Wuxian’s residence? Or rather, what have people been saying because he spends all his time there?

“Since we have the same taste,” the emperor continues with a knowing look as if they’re in on the same secret. “I’m sure you will be able to serve me nicely, so I hope you do well with the imperial examination.”

“Thank you, Your Majesty,” Wangji replies as expected.

“By then, you’d be spending most of your time in the palace. Perhaps it’ll be time to bring Xianxian in as well, for us both. You won’t need to go far for pleasure. Heaven knows how much I suffer when I’m trapped in the palace from work and cannot have Xianxian help me relax. It’s unbearable.”

Not knowing how to reply, Wangji bows lower and his turn with the emperor is over. Bile, fire, or something else rises up within him. He swallows hard, pushing it down. It just leaves an acrid taste behind.

 

He drinks without hesitation at the banquet.

One cup.

Another cup.

Another…

 

Everything is spinning, but the white rabbit on the lantern before him stays in place, anchoring him to the world.

It doesn’t matter how he got here. But now he’s here and he walks to the door by muscle memory. 

He raps on the doorframe. The knock echoes. 

A breeze brushes past, not quite cutting through the haze clouding his mind.

He stares at the wood, studying the lines and shadows and patterns. Finally, it opens to reveal a man in a thin red shift. He looks like an otherworldly spirit, almost glowing in the darkness.

“Lan-gongzi?”

Wuxian’s hair is mussed and his red and swollen lips part in shock. He quickly wraps his robe more tightly around him and opens the door wider to let Wangji in.

But Wangji remains standing outside.

Wuxian cocks his head. “You won’t come in? And where’s your outer robe? Aren’t you cold?”

No response.

“Are you...drunk?” 

Wangji pulls Wuxian over and presses the man to his chest.

Feeling the uneven heartbeat thumping in his ear, Wuxian chuckles. “Oh, what to do with you?” He frees himself from the embrace, but his hand is still trapped in Wangji’s grasp. “How did you manage to get here? People must be worried if you slipped out.”

He catches the beginning of a pout on Wangji and laughs.

“A drunk Lan-gongzi let loose in the wild is a danger to the imperial city,” he teases.

The next moment, Wangji is dragging Wuxian out of the residence.

To be honest, Wuxian is almost used to getting dragged around by Wangji without any explanation. It’s the hold on him that’s still surprising. It’s soft and warm, but when he tries to move, it becomes a death grip.

Don’t let go.

Wuxian steals a glance at Wangji and sees the man staring right at him. 

“Lan-gongzi, please watch where you’re going… Wait, no, where are we going?”

He doesn’t get a reply, of course. Wuxian gives in with a sigh and picks up his pace. 

“So, what is it tonight? The bunnies again? I do want to play with them again. They’re so cute…”

 

He gets his answer a few minutes later, when Wangji suddenly ducks into an alley and starts climbing over a fence.

“Woah, Lan-gongzi? Is this part of the Nie Family territory too?”

“No."

Wuxian glances around, only to see a poor peasant’s shack. “Lan-gongzi, this is trespassing?”

Before he can process things, Wangji is shoving a chicken into his arms from the other side of the low fence.

“Wha-”

“For you.”

“But-”

“Do you like it?”

“Well, I guess, but-”

“For you,” Wangji utters in his monotone and insistent way that doesn’t allow for objections.

So Wuxian finds himself holding a squawking chicken while Wangji wanders off into the darkness. 

Is Wuxian the one who’s drunk and hallucinating? Wangji did some questionable things the last time he got drunk in Wuxian’s residence, but stealing chickens is something different altogether. 

“Lan-gongzi… Lan-gongzi?”

He could only see a scrap of pale fabric in the distance. It was like a ghost in the night. Wuxian throws himself over the fence, stuffs the poor chicken back in its coop, and runs over to catch up.

If Wangji wants to commit petty crimes in his drunkenness, then Wuxian would let him. It’s not like he can say no, right? He’ll just... clean up after Wangji’s mess. 

But when he finally makes it over, he sees Wangji standing under a tree and looking up thoughtfully. 

“Lan-gongzi, what are you doing here?” 

“Berries.”

“Uh...what about them?” Wuxian asks, hoping it’s not the answer he already thought of. 

“Do you like them?”

“Uh…”

Taking that utterance as an affirmative, Wangji lifts his wide sleeves and steps toward the tree.

“Wait, wait!” Wuxian grabs him, pulling him back. “You are not going to climb a tree when you’re like this.” He looks down and then his head shoots back up. “Lan-gongzi, your shoes aren’t even on the correct foot.”

Wangji looks at him. Even when drunk, his eyes are clear and cold as water. “Berries,” he says, apparently intent on repeating himself until he gets his way.

“You want berries? Fine, I’ll get them for you.”

“No,” Wangji says sternly. “For you .”

He pries off Wuxian’s fingers and gets a step closer to the tree.

Wuxian sighs in exasperation and latches onto Wangji’s arm again. “Fine, for us both. But I’ll climb the tree and Lan-gongzi, you just stay put.”

“No.”

“Lan-gongzi, you’re drunk and can barely walk properly.”

“The tree is tall.”

Wuxian might really be hallucinating now, but there’s a tinge of worry in Wangji’s eyes. Worry for...whom? 

“Uh...not really that...tall,” Wuxian says. But when he looks again, the berry tree is much taller than he thought.

Probably thinking that Wuxian is too dense, Wangji finally elaborates, “You cannot go up. If you are afraid of falling.”

“I--” Wuxian utters before he processes what the other man said. His voice cuts off when his heart does an odd flip. He shakes the flustered feeling away. “No, you stay put. I’ll go get berries for you.”

“For you ,” Wangji repeats, sounding mildly frustrated.

Wuxian walks over and quickly starts climbing the tree before he can regret this. Because what even is he doing? Climbing a tree at midnight because a drunk nobleman wants to let loose and go wild?

And--

Wind blows against his face. It’s so much colder at this height. He reaches over for a cluster of berries nearby and the branch under him sways under the tug.

His movements freeze.

He peeks down, despite knowing that seeing how far the ground is will terrify him even more. But instead, he sees a figure in white looking up at him. Wangji’s face is even colder under the moonlight. His eyes are something else though, burning like coal.

“Lan-gongzi, you can let go now.”

“No.” The hold tightens. “I will not. And you will not fall.”

Suddenly, a timid yet very reckless thought creeps into Wuxian’s mind.

If I fall, will he catch me?

But before he can entertain the thought of falling purposely, his foot slips. 

The world turns upside down.

His heart lodges in his throat.

And he lands on something soft yet firm. 

His eyes crack open. At first, all he can see is white and the pale blue underneath. He tilts his head, pressing his cheek against the soft fabric, and Lan Wangji’s eyes come into view. The fragrance of sweet wine and warm sandalwood fills the short distance between them.

They’re close. So close.

“L-Lan-gongzi…”

“I’m here.”

“Let’s...go back.”

“Mn.”

 

The heart beating in Wuxian’s ear is uneven but steady.

Notes:

.....and then shit will hit the fan (potentially)
also, i'm subbing the mdzs audio drama, so check it out hereeee: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zux66wDCQas&list=PLQb5QWClSR_rUR1tgXb0_ZyPt-0vQUp8h

Series this work belongs to:

• Part 1 of three lives, three worlds