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Lan Wangji’s mornings are the same. He wakes up and turns on the lamp by his bed. The room, pitch black, is lit by a warm golden glow. Beyond the white curtains, the outside world is dark. In the washroom, he showers and then dries himself. Afterwards, he brushes his teeth. His reflection stares back at him in the oval mirror mounted above the sink. Eighty seconds of brushing. He spits in the circular sink, the porcelain chipped near the faucet. He doesn’t enjoy the taste of toothpaste that lingers and rinses his mouth.
He returns to his room and gets dressed. A soft knit sweater one of the grandmothers in town gave him. A white forehead ribbon wrapped around his wrist, the ends tucked under the ends of his folded sleeves. The cloud symbol rests on the inside of his wrist, the metal cool enough to send a shiver through his body.
In the kitchen, he makes quick work of breakfast. It’s unlikely he will get a chance to eat lunch, so it’s a heavier breakfast. He warms bread in the oven, and takes out leftover rice from the fridge, heating it up. Meanwhile, he fries a couple of eggs.
He eats silently on the small table in the kitchen. The only sounds are the clacking of his chopsticks against the glass of his bowl, and the crunch of bread when he takes a bite. The flowers that sit in the centre of the table have begun to wilt and Lan Wangji sends them a little burst of qi, watching as the yellow flowers become vibrant once again. They have lived another day.
Downstairs, Bichen is already at work, cutting flower stems and placing the stalks in large buckets of water. She turns to look at him as he approaches, though her metal hands don’t stop their fast and precise movements. “Good morning, Wangji.”
Lan Wangji pulls on his apron and comes to stand beside her at the worktable. “Good morning.” His voice comes out quiet, as it always does this early in the morning. He pulls out his flower knife from the front pocket of his apron and begins to help Bichen with the flower stems.
“The azaleas have bloomed, I know you’re fond of them.”
Lan Wangji turns his head and looks up at Bichen. She is almost twice his height. She stares back at him kindly. Her circular eyes blink, an unnecessary movement she’s developed to appear more human.
“Have you heard—”
“No,” Bichen interrupts him gently. He has asked her this question every day for more than a decade and she’s never shown impatience once. And her answer has never changed. “Did you eat?” she asks.
Lan Wangji nods. His eyes, even after so many years, are drawn to the skilled ways in which her hands move. He watches as the white knuckles bend and her blue fingertips handle the flowers with a fine motor movement and gentleness that one wouldn’t think would come so easily to a hand made entirely of metal and other inorganic materials.
“Little A-Tong has fallen ill again,” Bichen says. “His mother called late in the night. The doctor advised her to give him a cough remedy. You will need to go retrieve a few ephedra stalks so the mixture can be created.”
“Mn.”
“I have also hired a delivery boy.”
Lan Wangji whips his head to look at her with a betrayed look. “Bichen, I told you we don’t need one.”
“And I told you, you must either hire help for harvesting or hire a delivery person. You ignored me and thus I made the decision for you. We cannot do everything on our own.”
“You and shufu were fine on your own.” Lan Wangji quietly bristles as guilt slowly crawls up his throat. Clearly he must be the problem. All of Bichen’s teachings and he’s still not good enough.
Bichen makes a whirring sigh noise. “Things have changed. This town has grown bigger and subsequently so has the workload. We must not overwork ourselves.”
“I don’t mind the work,” Lan Wangji says stubbornly. His hands have paused their work, and he stares at the table with shame.
“You work morning to night,” says Bichen, a quiet reprimand in her voice. “You should be having a little fun.”
“Working here is my joy.”
Bichen places a hand on his shoulder. “That’s good. But there must be other joys, Wangji. There is more to life than these plants and flowers.”
Not to me, Lan Wangji thinks, not anymore. “I will go forage for the ephedra.”
“If you see the delivery boy, be nice to him. I think you’ll like him.”
Lan Wangji doesn’t bother with an answer. He grabs a small woven basket and makes his way to the front of the house and out. The sun slowly rises over the horizon, lighting up the sky. The garden patch with the medicinal plants are located at the back of the farm, past rows and rows of flowers and vegetables. Lan Wangji’s boots crunch on the ground, and he revels in the coolness of the early morning.
He passes Units 1 and 2, two robots that have been decommissioned for as long as he remembers. Bichen tells him they used to help around the farm. If Lan Wangji knew anything of complex technology like this, he would have fixed them. That would have appeased Bichen enough not to hire a delivery boy.
Lan Wangji does not mind making the deliveries. This town—can it really be called that when it’s the only settlement on this planet—is small. Most of the people here are elderly, many without children or with children who left to pursue their lives elsewhere. Lan Wangji’s farm provides food for half the town, and medicinal herbs to all of it. The people here are simple and their joys can be found in the scents of fresh flowers, in receiving and giving them, in having small blooms of colour in their households. The flowers are Lan Wangji’s joy too.
Flowers are different. They hold memories in their stalks. Meanings in their petals.
Everyone in town is kind to him. Most of them have watched him grow up. No one lets him leave empty-handed when he makes a delivery. The grandmas scold him and stuff his hands with food and knitwear. Aiya, look at you! Skinny as a ruler. Make sure you eat all of this. Child, look at this weather. You children these days never dress appropriately. Here, here, take this jacket.
Lan Wangji would not mind continuing to do the deliveries. He wants things to remain as they always have been. The idea of a delivery boy is not something that appeals to him. How will this person know that Zhang-popo is deaf and does not hear her doorbell? Will he know how to sign to her? Will he know that Baoshan Sanren has been in seclusion for years and so her deliveries must be placed at her door so she’s not distrubed? He will not know the countless other small details that make up the life of this town. Is he even from here? If Bichen thinks Lan Wangji will like him, he must be his age, but there are no others close to Lan Wangji’s age here.
Lan Wangji already does not like him.
In the medicinal garden, he picks the ephedra he needs, careful not to burst any of the berry-like red pods. He picks a few other herbs that are in low stock in the house and places them in his basket, and begins his return home. The sun is at a higher point in the sky now and the daylight is a comfort.
From a distance he sees a figure standing by Units 1 and 2. This far, the silhouette is unrecognizable but clearly not Bichen, and Lan Wangji hurries his pace. This person is not from here. Upon getting closer, Lan Wangji realizes he does not recognize him from town. Before he can think, he drops his basket and runs the last distance separating them, grabbing the man’s wrist just as he tries to open Unit 1’s circuitry.
The man startles and tries to pull his wrist away. “Hey! What are you—” He blinks and a wide smile overtakes his face, brilliant and golden in the sunlight. “You must be Lan-gege! Lan Wangji! Lan Zhan!”
Lan Wangji grits his teeth. “How do you know my personal name?”
“What—your really cool robot told me. Hey! Aren’t you the one who hired me? How could you treat an employee like this?” he says with a pout.
Lan Wangji releases the man’s wrist. “She is not mine.”
The man rubs at his wrist where it’s red, a pout still on his lips, now with a matching frown on his face that does not belong there. “Well of course she’s not. I just meant yours, like you know. Yours. Like I would say your brother, or your mother.”
I have neither of those, Lan Wangji doesn’t say. “What were you doing?”
“Oh,” the man says, “your robots are broken.”
“Obviously,” Lan Wangji replies. He’s having a difficult time keeping his annoyance at bay.
“I was trying to see what’s wrong with them. Why are they just laying around here?”
“Because there is no one to fix them.” Even Bichen, as smart as she is, is limited by the knowledge she was given. This planet is alone in this solar system, and there is no contact with other systems. The only knowledge they have is what is here and what others bring in the rare instances someone comes here.
“Oh, well, I could give it a try,” the man suggests. “I haven’t even introduced myself! I’m Wei Ying, your new delivery boy.”
New unwanted delivery boy. “You’re not from here.”
The smile on Wei Ying’s face dims for a flash of a second. “I’m not! I got here last week. Wen-popo has been letting us stay in her spare room. I saw Bichen-ayi at the bakery yesterday and she offered me this job. I’ve been sitting around doing nothing, so I figured this is a good idea.”
Bichen-ayi. Lan Wangji wants to snort, helplessly endeared by Wei Ying and trying not to be. “It is not an easy job,” Lan Wangji says with mild annoyance. “If you’re simply here to pass the time, then—”
Wei Ying huffs, hands on his hips. “Aiyo, how can you be so mean? It’s awfully rude to make assumptions. Didn’t your parents teach—” he cuts himself off. “I’m here to do a good job, I promise. Won’t you give me a chance, Lan-gege?”
For a moment, Lan Wangji doesn’t answer. He doesn’t want to like Wei Ying. He doesn’t want Wei Ying to become a common occurrence in the life Lan Wangji lives. Wei Ying is annoying. He is a stranger. He smiles too much. Too brightly. Like he’s swallowed a star. Bichen would not be too angry if Lan Wangji sends him away. But Lan Wangji would inevitably see him in town. And Wei Ying is watching him with a naked hope on his face. This is a man who wears his heart on his sleeve, unafraid of nearby knives. Lan Wangji does not wish to be a knife.
“I have—had an older brother,” Lan Wangji finally says. He picks up his dropped basket and begins to walk to the house. “Let’s go.”
“Ah? Wait for me, Lan-er-gege!” The diminutive rolls off Wei Ying’s tongue in a teasing tone. He falls into step with Lan Wangji and begins to talk as if Lan Wangji’s mild acceptance of him has unlocked a vice around his tongue.
“This is a really nice farm,” he comments. He’s started to walk backwards in front of Lan Wangji. Lan Wangji hopes he trips. “How do you manage it all by yourselves? It’s so big. You should let me try to fix your AT Units. Those are specifically designed for farm help, aren’t they? You could probably use the extra set of hands. Good thing I’m here! Hey, I know I was hired for the deliveries, but if you ever want help with anything else, let me know. I’m good with my hands.” He grins mischievously and wriggles his eyebrows.
“We don’t need your help,” Lan Wangji says.
That doesn’t dissuade Wei Ying. “Well maybe you want my help?”
He has not stopped smiling. Or stumbled once. His overalls are stained with paint, and Lan Wangji tries not to stare at the purple smudge of paint on the toned bicep that peeks out from his red t-shirt. Lan Wangji does not want Wei Ying’s help, he wants—
He does not want him.
“Are those berries?” Wei Ying asks, and just as Lan Wangji says no, Wei Ying plops one of the red pops in his mouth.
Lan Wangji stares in horror as Wei Wuxian’s throat bobs as he swallows. Wei Ying’s eyes widen. “Oh no. Am I going to die? The first day on the job?”
“No, the bracts are not poisonous,” Lan Wangji says. He brushes past Wei Ying, causing him to stumble. “But you should not put things you’re unfamiliar with in your mouth.”
Wei Ying bounces back quickly. “Live a little, Lan Zhan!” He knocks their shoulders together as if they’re friends. “Don’t be so boring.”
Lan Wangji grits his teeth and doesn’t reply. Wei Ying does not stop talking the rest of the way back to the main house. He prattles on about the plants and flowers he sees, continuing to ask questions even when Lan Wangji never answers. By the time they’ve reached the house, Lan Wangji has drafted an entire argument in his head on why Bichen should fire this delivery boy.
Bichen awaits them just inside the house, the main room that is filled with indoor plants. She’s preparing bouquets and medicinal herbs and mixtures in brown paper packaging. “I see you found each other,” she says. Lan Wangji doesn’t understand how a robot can have a teasing glint in their eyes, but Bichen stands as proof of that right now.
Wei Ying bows and stands up. “Hi! Thank you for hiring me. Lan Zhan found me in the fields and brought me here. I even ate a not-poisonous not-berry. Lan Zhan is great.”
Lan Wangji feels his ears betray him and flush. Bichen gives him a knowing look. She says, “I’m glad you’re getting along.” Like they’re young children. She hands Wei Ying a piece of paper. “This is a list of today’s deliveries. Li-laoshi’s should be delivered first because it’s temperature sensitive. Just leave at his door. I’ve made a few notes about things to keep in mind for the rest of the deliveries. Wangji will help you carry the deliveries to your bike. Any questions?”
Wei Ying shakes his head. He seems to be vibrating in place. What could possibly be so exciting about making deliveries?
Bichen takes the basket of herbs from Lan Wangji and leaves for the workroom. Lan Wangji sighs internally and picks up a crate filled with bouquets. “Where is your vehicle?”
Wei Ying makes a weird sound. “Vehicle. Right. It’s out front.”
Outside, Lan Wangji stares at the strange contraption Wei Ying calls his vehicle. “What is that,” he says flatly.
“My bike,” Wei Ying says proudly. He gives the strangely-shaped seat a pat.
Lan Wangji puts his crate down and circles the ‘bike’. There are two wheels. A seat. Handlebars. Some sort of chain. There’s something akin to a large basket with wheels attached to the back. It does not look like Lan Wangji’s hoverbike. “How does it move?” he asks, standing in front of Wei Ying with the bike between them.
“You’ve never seen one of these? They’re vintage. You put your butt on the seat and your feet on the pedals and move them like this” —he makes a circular motion with his flat hands— “No battery needed.”
Lan Wangji looks at the bike with something akin to distaste. “It is…archaic.”
“But it’s fun, and it’s good exercise,” Wei Ying argues. “Want to try?”
“Try?”
“Yeah, try riding it.”
“Ridiculous,” Lan Wangji retorts and returns to bring out the last of the deliveries. He helps Wei Ying fit them into his absurd basket on wheels and watches as Wei Ying gets on the bike, resolutely not staring at Wei Ying’s butt on the tiny bike seat.
“I’ll see you tomorrow, Lan Zhan!” Wei Ying says and begins riding off. His bike tilts dangerously for a second before balancing.
“There are no deliveries tomorrow,” Lan Wangji calls after him, but Wei Ying just waves his hand and continues down the dirt path before turning and leaving Lan Wangji’s sight.
Lan Wangji sighs. Why has Bichen hired the most ridiculous man Lan Wangji has ever met? He can already tell Wei Ying will continue to bother him. Against his control, an image of Wei Ying’s smiling face comes to his mind and he huffs, patting his ears as if that will relieve the redness.
No use thinking of bothersome boys and their pretty smiles. There’s work to be done.
One day
—
Azaleas need specific conditions to grow, to bloom. They are slow to flower, but their blooms last several weeks. They prefer partial shade, and are often found growing by trees and rivers.
They come in a wide variety of colours. There are fields on this planet that are seas of red, pink and white. Lan Wangji loves the flower not only for its beauty, but for the grief it holds in each of its petals.
On the station Lan Wangji was born, azaleas grew, though they were not native. Nothing could be native to a small space station except the people born on it. Bichen says Lan Wangji was holding an azalea when he arrived. She says that azalea was planted right here and survived. Lan Wangji thinks she says that to comfort him. A flower would not have survived a three month journey in an escape pod.
Bichen says many things, not all of them true. Lan Wangji sighs and sits at the base of a large tree, careful not to crush any flowers. He wonders how Bichen learned to lie. He wonders what Bichen was like before she and his uncle had to learn how to raise a child.
“Lan Zhan!”
Lan Wangji’s head snaps up. The person running towards him is unmistakable Wei Ying. He’s waving his arm frantically as he moves, his face lit up with a smile, skin glowing in the sunlight. Lan Wangji almost chokes when Wei Ying gets close enough and Lan Wangji realizes he’s practically topless. He’s wearing a t-shirt with the sleeves and bottom cut off raggedly, showing off his midriff and arms. It’s loose enough that at the right position, his chest would be exposed. Shameless. At the very least he’s wearing pants—the same overalls as yesterday, the top half folded down.
“Lan Zhan!” he yells again. He drops beside Lan Wangji in a heap, kicking off his sandals hard enough they go sailing through the air and land with a quiet thump a little distance away, miraculously missing a patch of flowers.
Lan Wangji glares at him anyways. He tries to shuffle away but the flowers beside him leave no room to do so, resulting in Wei Ying being uncomfortably close. “I told you we have no deliveries today,” Lan Wangji says, staring straight ahead. “Why are you here?”
“I said I’d help around, remember? Besides, I’m really hoping you’ll let me take a look at your AT units.”
“You must ask Bichen. I did not hire you.”
Wei Wuxian ignores the subtle quip. “Besides” —he shuffles until he’s seated right in front of Lan Wangji— “I wanted to spend time with my favourite person here.”
There is too much skin in front of Lan Wangji, so he stares past Wei Ying’s shoulder. His stomach makes a funny swoop at Wei Ying’s words. “Ridiculous. We don’t even know each other.”
Wei Ying tilts his head, forcing Lan Wangji to meet his infuriating face. “Of course we know each other. I know your name, you know my name. We work together. You told me you have a brother. I have a brother and a sister.”
Lan Wangji does not correct his use of tense. “You know nothing about me.”
Wei Ying isn’t discouraged. “I know you like flowers, and these are your favourite.”
“How could you know that?” By his sides, Lan Wangji’s hands clench in the grass. Is he really so transparent?
“I saw the way you were staring at them. Why are they your favourite?”
They remind me of home. Lan Wangji doesn’t reply, stubbornly glaring at Wei Wuxian.
“I don’t have a favourite flower,” Wei Wuxian continues to say, “yet. I don’t know anything about flowers, but I’m sure I’ll learn a lot from you.”
“Why are you here?” Lan Wangji asks, patience finally snapping. Wei Ying talks like he’s here to stay, like his presence in Lan Wangji’s life is something inevitable and everlasting.
Wei Ying frowns. “You won’t even tell me why these flowers are your favourite, and you want me to share information that’s even more personal? That’s not fair, gege. What if I have a tragic backstory?”
Flustered at being called out for his discourtesy, Lan Wangji says nothing. He doesn’t want to apologize. He wants Wei Ying to continue to perceive him as standoff-ish for the slim chance he may actually leave Lan Wangji alone. I am not interesting, Lan Wangji imagines saying, I would not make a good friend. I do not smile or laugh the way you do. You will not find happiness in my presence.
But Wei Ying is unfazed by Lan Wangji’s lack of response. He seems immune to silence, immune to Lan Wangji’s unfriendly attitude. Lan Wangji could tell him you are annoying, go away and Wei Ying would laugh and stay, like he knows Lan Wangji wouldn’t really mean the words. Or perhaps he actually is just a bothersome pest.
“What are you doing out here, anyways?” Wei Ying asks. As if summoned by an external force, he stands up abruptly and begins surveying the surroundings as he bounces on his toes.
Lan Wangji gets the barest flicker of Wei Ying’s ankles, delicate bones and a stark tanline, before he pulls his gaze away. He summons his guqin onto his lap and answers, “Playing.”
Wei Ying squats, squinting down at Lan Wangji’s guqin. “What is this? An instrument? I’ve never seen a flat one like this.”
“A guqin. They are rare.” This one is his uncle’s. Lan Wangji was only taught the basics before his uncle left. He has tried his best to teach himself what he can using his uncle’s old musical cultivation books, but there is only so much that can be learned without an instructor. Lan Wangji’s cultivation hit a plateau a few years ago. There are few cultivators in this town, most of them old, so there is no one to teach him.
“Can I touch it?”
Lan Wangji stares down at the dark and shiny wood of his guqin. There are clouds engraved along the edges, and on one end, a branch of flowers. This guqin is one of the few things left of his uncle. It’s one of Lan Wangji’s most prized possessions. Even Bichen, though he would let her, does not touch it.
So he doesn’t know why he ends up nodding. Wei Ying looks like he’s been given something of opulence. He touches the edge of the guqin with gentle hands, stroking his hand over the smooth wood and then touching a string. It’s the slowest Lan Wangji has seen him move.
He meets Lan Wangji’s gaze, eyes sparkling. “Will you play me something?”
Lan Wangji hesitates. He rarely plays in front of others, with the exception of Bichen who’s bound to hear him practicing at home.
“Please,” Wei Ying wheedles. He shuffles back to sit beside Lan Wangji, hands clasped neatly in his lap. “I’ll be on my best behaviour. You can pretend I’m not here.”
With a deep breath, Lan Wangji begins to play, one of the first songs his uncle taught him, impossible to mess up. In a matter of moments, he becomes absorbed into the music, Wei Ying’s presence fading into the background. Lan Wangji plays with focus, transitioning from one piece into the next with ease. Parts that he usually struggles with are played perfectly. He ignores the thought that he’s trying to impress Wei Ying.
The first time he glances over at Wei Ying, Wei Ying is looking back with wide eyes and a parted mouth. He’s looking at Lan Wangji like that and Lan Wangji has to look away, embarrassed for reasons he can’t decipher. The second time he glances over, Wei Ying is asleep, head tilted back against the tree trunk, his body speckled with light that has made it through the tree’s branches.
Lan Wangji is entranced by the sight, so much so that he fumbles a note he’s playing, the awkward sound ringing through the air. But Wei Ying doesn’t notice and continues his slumber. His hair is disheveled, cut raggedly, curling under his ears. He has a mole on his shoulder, but there’s no tanline to be seen. Lan Wangji wonders how much time he spends shirtless outdoors.
With this planet’s distance from the sun, the sunlight here is not strong, providing only the barest of warmth most months. It makes for an excellent environment for cultivation of most flowers. Lan Wangji can’t imagine sunlight powerful enough to cause Wei Ying to tan like that.
Against his will, Lan Wangji’s gaze travels to Wei Ying’s mouth. He stares for a moment too long at Wei Ying’s lips, imagines placing his thumb at the dip beneath Wie Ying’s bottom lip and pulling his mouth open. Imagines kissing—
He looks away, feeling himself flush at the illicit thoughts.
The image stays with him for the rest of the day. Even after Wei Ying has left, telling Lan Wangji he’ll be coming back the next day. Bichen gives him a look when she notices him acting strangely while they work. In bed that night, Lan Wangji traces his lips and imagines if he had pushed Wei Ying against that tree and kissed him. The thoughts are intrusive and new. What is it about Wei Ying that makes Lan Wangji feel like this? Simultaneously irritated and—and—
Is it because of their closeness in age? No, there have been other visitors to their town before. Zhang-popo’s son who is Lan Wangji’s age left two years ago. Lan Wangji was not attracted to him.
Is it Wei Ying’s attractiveness? He is good looking—but Lan Wangji has seen attractive people before. Maybe it’s the way that in a matter of knowing him for a couple of days, Wei Ying has gotten on every single one of his nerves.
I don’t like him, Lan Wangji tries to convince himself. He’s confusing annoyance for infatuation. You cannot love someone you’ve just met.
Two days
—
“I’ve given Wei Ying permission to fix the AT units,” Bichen says next month, just as Lan Wangji is coming down the stairs.
“We don’t need—” Lan Wangji starts.
“His help. Yes, you’ve made your stance clear,” Bichen says wryly. She’s using a mortar and pestle to grind the root of a pungent plant. Lan Wangji can smell the powerful aroma even from the stairs. “Harvesting will be considerably easier with the AT units. When they were still working, it took half the time it takes you and I now.”
For a moment, Lan Wangji thinks she’s saying: You are slow. This farm operated better when it was just your uncle and I. Lan Wangji firmly shakes the doubt away. Bichen always says what she means. And she’s right. Harvesting could be faster. Functioning AT units would be helpful.
“Alright,” he agrees. Who’s to say Wei Ying will even be able to fix the AT units. They are older technology and have been left untouched for more than a decade.
“Good. You will help him.”
“Bichen,” Lan Wangji says desperately, taking the last few steps to the worktable. She ignores him, her hand moving the pestle in circular motions. “I need to plant the garlic,” he says, looking for excuses. “The fencing needs to be fixed around the—”
“I would like it if you helped him,” Bichen rephrases. “But you are not a child. Your time is yours to use and you are aware of your responsibilities.”
Something uncomfortable curls in Lan Wangji’s stomach. Guilt. Bitter. He can’t help but feel that he’s disappointed Bichen. But Bichen smiles at him, reminds him to plant the garlic bulbs shallowly, and tells him to return for lunch at noon because she’s created a new recipe that she wants him to try.
As he digs and plants the garlic bulbs, he replays the conversation over and over in his head. He doesn’t understand why Bichen keeps pushing him and Wei Ying together. What does she see that he doesn’t? Wei Ying will not be staying in this small town, on this lonely planet. There have been others like him before. Strangers who stay here for weeks or months and then leave. Strangers do not settle here; they do not make a home here. Wei Ying spoke of a brother and sister. Will he not return to them? There is nothing for him here. If Bichen has faith that he can fix the AT units then he must be brilliant. His talents would be wasted here. What would he do? Remain a delivery boy forever? There are no prizes, no commendations to be won for that. With his skills, he would be desired anywhere in the galaxy.
Lan Wangji huffs as he covers the garlic with mulch. A rabbit hops in front of him, carrying a large piece of lettuce in its mouth. It stops and looks at Lan Wangji. Lan Wangji gives it a half-hearted glare. “I do not want him to stay,” he tells it, and then, “the lettuce in these fields is not yours. I have told you this before”
The rabbit ignores him and hops away. Lan Wangji sighs and looks up at the overcast sky. It will likely rain soon. He puts away his shovel and the bags of mulch and soil in the small shed nearby and begins making his way back to the house. Wei Ying had not yet arrived when Lan Wangji left this morning and passed the AT units. But Lan Wangji can see his figure as he gets closer to the house. Lan Wangji internally prays for strength upon realizing Wei Ying is completely shirtless today. Don’t look at his arms. Or his collarbones. Or his chest. Or his stomach. Or his back and the dip of his spine—
“Lan Zhan!” Wei Ying yells, pulling his face away from an open panel in AT1 and waving a hand holding a wrench in the air. It’s as if he can always sense Lan Wangji’s presence.
“Wei Ying,” Lan Wangji says, gazing at Wei Ying’s work. AT2 is spread out on the ground. One of its arms is detached. Both of its wheels have rolled away farther down the path. AT1 has its entire chest cavity opened, exposing the internal circuitry. “Do you know what you’re doing?” he asks.
Wei Ying nods. “These models are old but it makes them easier to work with. The batteries are fried. You wouldn’t happen to have extras laying around, would you?”
“No, you will need to go to the store in town and likely order them from off-planet,” Lan Wangji answers. “Is that all they need to work again?”
“They’ll need to be reprogrammed.” Wei Ying tosses his wrench down. He grabs his shirt previously hanging on AT1’s head, and pulls it on. Lan Wangji politely stares at the ground. “Let’s go.”
Lan Wangji blinks. “Go?”
Wei Ying bounces on his toes. “The store. You’ll have to show me where it is. I could get lost by myself. I don’t know this place well yet.”
“There are only three roads,” Lan Wangji says blankly. Three roads in a town with a population of 75. How could Wei Ying possibly get lost? Hasn’t he already been here a week?
“Noooo, Lan Zhan, you’ll have to come with me.”
Lan Wangji opens his mouth to decline but Wei Ying grabs his wrist and goes running, forcing Lan Wangji to stumble and catch up with him. “Let me go,” he hisses.
“No! This is great! We’ll go to town and you can show me around.” Wei Ying brightens. “We can take my bike.”
“No, thank you,” Lan Wangji says furiously. He tries to rip his wrist out of Wei Ying’s grasp but finds that he can’t.
Wei Ying drags them to where his bike is parked in front of the house, leaning against a rusty and unused silver gate. He points at the stupid basket on wheels. “You can sit there.”
Lan Wangji isn’t sure what face he makes, but it’s unlikely to show even a fraction of the irritation he feels inside. Whatever his expression is, it makes Wei Ying burst into laughter. “Lan Zhan, you’re so funny.” He rummages around in the basket and pulls out a strange object that he attached to his bike. There is now a second seat above the back tire.
“I am not sitting there.”
“If you knew how to ride a bike, I’d let you sit at the front, but you don’t, so” —he pats the seat with a grin— “hop on.”
Lan Wangji can—should say no. There is nothing stopping him from turning around and going inside. But he doesn’t. Instead, he gingerly swings a leg over the bike and sits on the back seat, shuffling with discomfort.
“Just put your feet on the rests once I start going. Aiya, you’re so tall,” Wei Ying says as he slips onto the bike with ease.
“We are practically the same height,” Lan Wangji comments.
Wei Ying ignores him, twisting his body so he can look back at Lan Wangji. “You can hold the back of my seat or wrap your arms around me so you don’t fall,” he emphasizes the last part with a wiggle of his eyebrows.
“Shameless,” Lan Wangji mutters.
When Wei Ying pushes off the ground with one foot, the bike careens forward with a wobble and Lan Wangji instinctively reaches for Wei Ying. One arm wraps around his stomach, and his other hand holds his waist. But the instability only lasts a moment, before the movement becomes smooth, Wei Ying’s feet on the pedal propelling them forward.
“You’re holding me!” Wei Ying crows with glee, turning his head to look back.
Lan Wangji huffs. “Pay attention.”
Wei Ying does as asked and Lan Wangji relaxes his grip. Riding on the bike is not as he imagined. It’s slower than his hoverbike but there’s a tranquility to the slowness. The fields pass by them with a honeyed blur, tall grass waving with the wind. The cool breeze makes the waves of Wei Ying’s hair flutter, so feathery and light Lan Wangji wants to run his fingers through the locks.
When Wei Ying misses the right turn, Lan Wangji frowns. “You missed the turn.”
“I know, I’m taking us on the scenic route.”
Lan Wangji rolls his eyes. So much for pretending to be lost and unfamiliar with this town. Wei Ying takes them along the river. The path here is less travelled, bumpier, but Lan Wangji feels no fear of falling. He gazes out at the water as they move. It sparkles with the afternoon sun, a myriad of clear blues. A large hill lies on the other side, with elevated levels of fields of canola. Among the sea of yellow is a small red house.
“That’s where Baoshan Sanren lives, right?” Wei Ying asks.
“Mn, you know not—”
“Bother her, yeah, yeah.” The words are mocking and lighthearted, but Wei Ying’s voice lacks the usual exuberance, more thoughtful. But Lan Wangji doesn’t get a chance to ask even if he wanted to probe, because Wei Ying shouts, “Hey, it’s the kids!”
Lan Wangji looks ahead over Wei Ying’s shoulder. The kids are just that—kids. The only teenagers in this town. Ouyang Zizhen. Lan Jingyi (unrelated). Wen Yuan. A-Qing. And today there is a fourth boy Lan Wangji has never seen before. Wei Ying brings the bike to a stop and the kids calmour around them. Two of them—Jingyi and A-Qing—are holding fishing rods. They’re also the two that look at Lan Wangji with raised eyebrows. Lan Wangji, still holding onto Wei Ying’s waist, refuses to be embarrassed.
“Xian-ge,” A-Yuan greets, “Lan-laoshi.”
Lan Wangji gives him a nod. Wei Ying rests his arms on the bike handles and leans forward. “What are you guys up to?”
“We’re teaching Jin Ling to fish,” A-Qing says with a roll of her eyes. “He doesn’t know how to fish, can you believe that?”
Jin Ling splutters, and Wei Ying laughs. “Yes, I can believe that. Lan Zhan, A-Ling is my nephew. He came with me.”
“Hi,” Jin Ling mumbles.
“Xian-ge, is Lan-laoshi your delivery today?” Jingyi cackles.
“Jingyi,” Zizhen hisses. He slaps a hand over Jingyi’s mouth and looks at them sheepishly. “Sorry, his parents never taught him any manners.”
A-Qing thwacks zizhen with her fishing rod. “You idiot, none of our parents taught us manners because we have none. We’re orphans.”
While technically true, the kids were taught manners, having been raised by most of the villagers in a group effort, mostly under Wen-popo’s care. Lan Wangji wonders whether Jin Ling was also included in A-Qing’s statement.
“I’m also an orphan but Lan Zhan can attest that I’m very well mannered, right, Lan Zhan?” Wei Ying teases.
Jin Ling scoffs. ‘Well mannered? I’ve literally seen you and jiujiu fight over—”
“Aiyo,” Wei Ying interrupts. “Don’t you kids know the best way to catch fish is with your bare hands?” he says, changing the topic.
“I’m not touching a fish with my bare hands,” Jin Ling says with disgust.
“Weren’t you raised on a lake?” Jingyi asks.
Wei Ying makes a settle down motion with his hands. “Alright, alright, don’t start arguing. Your Lan-laoshi and I need to get going. Zizhen, is your sister in the shop today?”
Zizhen nods and Wei Ying gives him a thumbs up. “We’ll get going then.”
“Be careful around the water,” Lan Wangji tells the kids. “It will rain today, so make sure you’re indoors soon.”
He receives a chorus of Yes, Lan-laoshi and Bye Xian-ge, bye Lan-laoshi! Wei Ying begins pedalling again, until the kids' voices fade out as they get farther away.
“So you know where the shop is,” Lan Wangji says casually.
“Ah?” Wei Ying laughs nervously. “I only kind of know, er-gege. I could still get lost all by myself. This planet is so big, and I’m just one small man. Won’t you guide this poor man, Lan Zhan?”
“You are ridiculous,” Lan Wangji huffs out, but his lips twitch, and he’s glad Wei Ying can’t see his smile.
“Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying says frantically. “Are you smiling? You sound like you’re smiling.” He tries to turn his head but Lan Wangji grabs his face and forces him to look ahead.
“Focus on the road.”
“But I’m missing your smile,” Wei Ying bemoans.
“I’m not smiling,” Lan Wangji says quietly. Wei Ying’s face is soft beneath his hands. His cheeks are warm.
“You’re lying. I bet you have a really nice smile. You’ll have to smile for me again, gege.”
“Only if you give me a reason to.” Lan Wangji’s smiles are rare and private. He smiles to himself sometimes when he’s working. Bichen, with her strange sense of humour, gets a smile out of him sometimes. Wei Ying, with his silly antics, has made Lan Wangji smile so easily.
“I will, I promise! I’ll make you smile every day, just you watch.”
Lan Wangji somehow doesn’t doubt him. Already, the irritation he feels for Wei Ying has begun transforming into something else.
Wei Ying, Lan Wangji comes to learn, practically knows everyone in the village. It takes them twice as long to get to the shop once they enter town, because every time Wei Ying sees someone, he stops by to say hello. He has a personality made entirely of warmth and a smile that makes Lan Wangji’s heart race every time he sees it. What is Lan Wangji’s smile worth, when Wei Ying smile contains the force of a dozen stars.
He speaks to Ouyang Zizhen’s sister as if they’re lifelong friends. Lan Wangji does not envy him for the ease in which he talks to people—no, he craves that warmth for himself, greedy in a way he has never felt before. He realizes how absurd it is that only a little while ago he wanted Wei Ying gone, and now he’s afraid of Wei Ying leaving.
Partway through the bike ride back to the farm, it begins to rain. The downpour comes suddenly, with a crack of thunder and a flash of lighting, the sky a dark and unforgiving grey. They get soaked in a matter of seconds, but Wei Ying just laughs, whooping delightedly.
They run into the house, dripping puddles on the floor of the foyer. Bichen takes one look at them and turns around. Lan Wangji hopes she’s getting towels. Wei Ying pulls off his shirt and wrings it and Lan Wangji is too weak to pull his eyes away from Wei Ying’s wet skin.
“See, Lan Zhan, wasn’t that fun?”
“No,” Lan Wangji says derisively. He is not a fan of being wet. The sensation of his clothes sticking to him is uncomfortable.
“You look like a drowned cat.”
Lan Wangji glares at Wei Ying. “A what?”
“Cat.” Wei Ying gapes. “You’ve never seen a cat?
Once they’re as dry as can be without a change of clothes, Wei Ying stands awkwardly. “Ah, should I go? I feel like I’m imposing.”
“Stay for lunch,” Lan Wangji says, surprising himself with the words. “Come, I’ll give you dry clothes to change into.”
Wei Ying flutters around his room like a bee drunk on sugar. He moves with uncharacteristic clumsiness, knocking against the posts of Lan Wangji’s bed and almost sending a vase of flowers crashing to the ground when he’s examining the items on Lan Wangji’s windowsill. Lan Wangji gives him a flat look and a spare set of clothes. He tries not to dwell on the warm and squirmy feeling he gets when Wei Ying emerges from the washroom wearing his clothes.
Wei Ying sniffs at the sleeve of his shirt. “It smells like you! What’s this scent?”
“Sandalwood oil,” Lan Wangji replies. He makes it himself, a tedious and long process using water distillation with wood from the sandalwood trees that are over a three hour hoverbike ride away.
“I like it,” Wei Ying says with a smile that makes his eyes crescent moons.
Lan Wangji turns to his dresser to grab a change of clothes for himself, an attempt to hide the redness he feels in his ears. “I can give you some,” he manages to say.
“No need! I’ll just keep stealing your clothes.” There’s a flopping sound and the creak of a mattress.
Lan Wangji turns, sees Wei Ying sprawled on his bed, snaps a flustered shameless and makes his escape to the bathroom. He changes out of his wet clothes and refuses to think of Wei Ying wearing his clothes and lying in his bed. He does not think of getting on the bed and trapping Wei Ying under him, kissing him senseless so he can finally be quiet.
In the kitchen, Bichen presents them with two bowls of noodles and vegetables in a green broth she’s never made before. Lan Wangji assumes it’s the strange vegetable they found growing in one of the fields. Wei Ying accepts the bowl with flourish.
“This looks amazing. Thank you for the meal, ayi.”
Bichen looks amused. “Taste it before casting judgement.”
Lan Wangji takes a sip of the broth. It’s a little sweet but flavourful, leaving behind a sour aftertaste he finds he likes. Wei Ying eats his noodles with enthusiasm, lavishing Bichen with praise about her cooking. Bichen, seated on the floor, so tall that she doesn’t need a chair for the table, smiles at Wei Ying and puts more food in his bowl. Just by the rate of her blinks, Lan Wangji can tell she’s happy. Though she can never taste any of it herself, she’s always found joy in cooking. Lan Wangji has grown up with her cooking and nothing feels like home more than a meal made by her.
“You know what would make this even better?” Wei Ying says after finishing his second bowl. “Chilli oil.”
Lan Wangji glares, offended on Bichen’s behalf that Wei Ying has the guts to make a suggestion. “What is that?”
“A condiment,” Bichen answers. “We’ve never had peppers here. They’re spicy, Wangji, you wouldn’t like them.”
Wei Ying makes a sound of surprise. “You’ve never had peppers? Of any kind? We have fields of them in Yunmeng. And lotus ponds! I guess you’ve never had lotus seeds either. Lan Zhan, you’ll have to come with me to Yunmeng one day.”
“Wangji would enjoy that very much,” Bichen says. “He’s seen nothing of the galaxy.”
Lan Wangji frowns down at his empty bowl and says nothing. Since arriving, he has not left this planet. Nor does he want to. He’s made his home here. He doesn’t even know where Yunmeng is. He doesn’t like the implication that Wei Ying will leave one day. He doesn’t like that Bichen wants him to leave.
The conversation moves to the repair of the AT units, carried by Bichen and Wei Ying. Lan Wangji doesn’t contribute. He stands by the stove and waits for the water to boil for tea, gazing out the window at the storm that brews outside. The rain falls diagonally, blown sideways by the fierce wind. The droplets hit the roof with a loud and torrential noise. Outside, the fields are protected by a mix of tarps and spiritual energy shields.
Perhaps he was a fool to let himself fall so easily for Wei Ying. He serves the tea when it’s ready and absentmindedly listens to Wei Ying and Bichen speak. Wei Ying has charmed Bichen so easily, and Lan Wangji realizes how absurd he sounds but Wei Ying looks like he belongs, sitting at this small kitchen table with them. He’s helpless to imagine Wei Ying living here, sharing Lan Wangji’s bed, cooking with Lan Wangji, and taking care of the farm together. There’s a nameless hunger in his chest.
A hunger for something he can’t have because Wei Ying stands up and says, “I’ve got to get going. Wen-popo will be worried and I need to make sure Jin Ling got home safe.”
“I will walk you out,” Lan Wangji manages to say past the ache that’s lodged itself in his throat.
Downstairs, they stand awkwardly by the entrance. Wei Ying pulls on his sandals, now dry, and sheepishly looks at Lan Wangji. “I’ll bring your clothes back tomorrow. I’ll wash them, I promise.”
“No need,” Lan Wangji replies. He doesn’t know whether he means Wei Ying should keep the clothes or bring them back unwashed so they can smell like him. In the background, there’s the distinct sound of rain hitting the windows, and farther away, the muffled sound of thunder. “It’s still raining.”
“Yep,” Wei Ying replies.
They stare at each other silently. “I’ll get going—” Wei Ying says while at the same time, Lan Wangji blurts, “Wear my jacket.”
“Huh?”
Embarrassment flushing through him, Lan Wangji opens the hall closet and pulls out his rain jacket, a hooded blue cape. There are talismans sewn along the edges of the fabric with the purpose of keeping the wearer warm and dry. Wei Ying takes it with a confused furrow between his eyebrows. He pulls it around his shoulder and fumbles with the ties at the neck, laughing nervously. Before he can have second thoughts, Lan Wangji steps forward and takes the strings from Wei Ying’s fingers. He ties the strings into a bow with surprisingly stable hands, swallowing dryly when his knuckles brush the skin of Wei Ying’s neck.
The softness of their breaths seems loud suddenly. Time slows so that every movement is languid. Wei Ying blinks, and Lan Wangji’s gaze flickers to his lips and away. His hand is still holding the ties at Wei Ying’s neck.
He flips the hood over Wei Ying’s head and lets go. “Get home safe.”
“Y-yeah, you too,” Wei Ying mumbles before he realizes what he’s said and runs out the door.
Amused, Lan Wangji watches from the window as Wei Ying mounts his bike and rides away. He startles when he hears Bichen come down the stairs. Like he’s done something wrong. He hasn’t.
“You two are getting close,” she comments, coming to stand beside him.
“No—” he starts to say, but the argument dies weakly on his lips.
“You invited him to stay for lunch.” Bichen glances at the open hall closet. “And gave him your jacket.”
“I was just—being polite.”
Bichen makes a non-committal noise. There’s an uncomfortable grinding noise and Lan Wangji looks up sharply at her. She holds up her right hand. “The gear is stuck again.”
“Let me fix it,” Lan Wangji replies, already moving to their work table and pulling out a small kit.
Bichen follows him, placing her arm on the table when he asks her to. “Don’t look so worried. It’s not serious.”
Lan Wangji says nothing, focused on opening the small panel in Bichen’s wrist. The circuitry and gears inside are small and delicate. Lan Wangji thinks Bichen is likely the most developed AI in existence. The details and engineering that make her who she is are intricate and complex. While she’s able to provide fixes for herself for most issues that pop up, this is one task Lan Wangji has learned to do. Bichen is right-handed and can’t use her left hand to fix issues in the right. When he was younger, still unused to his new caretakers, one of the first things Lan Wangji asked her was why she couldn’t just teach herself to be left-handed. For an android, it would be as simple as creating new code that would allow precise fine motor movements in the artificial nerves of her left hand and strengthen the relationship between her hand and her core processing unit. Bichen, wholly amused, asked him why he didn’t practice so he could use his left hand. Lan Wangji has loved her since.
Motherless, and then without an uncle, Bichen was—is everything to him. Family, a friend. He learned to—and insists on—fixing these little issues for her because it’s the only way he knows pay her back for something she would say needs no thanks. We’re family, she once told him early on, there is no need for gratitude between family.
Lan Wangji wonders how much she misses his mother and uncle. More than him perhaps, since time cannot heal grief for her like the way it does for him. Her memories are stored in perfect condition.
Lan Wangji unsticks the problematic gear. “Do you think he’s still out there?” he asks quietly. Every morning he asks her if she’s received a transmission from his uncle. He left soon after Lan Wangji arrived to go look for Xichen whose escape pod never arrived. Her answer is always the same. Often, he asks her this. Do you think they’re still alive? Her answer is always the same.
“Something tells me they are.” She curls her fingers. “I hope they are.”
It’s hope that keeps us alive, Lan Wangji’s mother used to say.
One month
—
“What is that?” Wei Ying asks, the twentieth time he’s uttered those exact words in the last hour.
“Jujube fruit,” Lan Wangji replies patiently, spreading out said fruit on a tray.
“Can I eat one?” This is also the twentieth time Wei Ying has asked this question regarding the items Lan Wangji is preparing.
This is the first time Lan Wangji says yes, considering the previous 19 ingredients had more powerful medicinal properties or could not be eaten raw. “You may. There is a seed inside, be careful.”
Wei Ying takes one of the fruits off the tray and pops the whole thing in his mouth. He makes a face and spits out the pit into his hand. “They taste weird.”
“You may like them candied,” Lan Wangji replies. He takes the tray and slides it into the oven. “I am drying them for medicinal purposes, but Liu-ayi candies them.”
Wei Ying, with his upper body sprawled on the table across from Lan Wangji, perks up. “Oh? Are you fond of sweets, Lan Zhan?”
Lan Wangji opens his mouth to answer but Bichen beats him to it. “He has a stash of candy that he thinks I don’t know about.” She’s by the stove, stirring a large pot of soup from a recipe Wei Ying gave her.
Wei Ying crows in delight at this fact and begins teasing Lan Wangji. Lan Wangji, for his part, ignores him, instead busying himself with stripping the bark off the willow branches he’d gathered earlier in the day. He’s not quite sure how he’s found himself in this situation, the three of them together. Wei Ying arrived this morning for his deliveries wearing the jacket Lan Wangji gave him a month ago and made no indication that he would be giving it back. He smiled, teased, and joked and left to make his deliveries. Lan Wangji went through his usual morning and after and tried not to think of his fingers touching Wei Ying’s throat or think of his lips. And then Wei Ying came late in the afternoon with a bag of groceries and an intent to make soup, which he proclaimed was a gift for Bichen for all the times she’s fed him.
Lan Wangji didn’t particularly trust Wei Ying around a stove, but his worries were abated when Bichen said she would make the soup and that Wei Ying should help Lan Wangji with his work. So now here they were: Bichen making soup, Lan Wangji working, Wei Ying watching and doing nothing to help. It’s astounding—and lovely— the ease in which Wei Ying inserted himself into their lives.
Two months
—
Wei Ying asks to help Lan Wangji with harvesting some flowers. Lan Wangji, who has realized that he finds it impossible to deny Wei Ying anything, agrees. Picking flowers is something that he usually does alone. The flowers are his responsibility, the vegetables are Bichen’s, and the medicinal plants are shared between them.
“Do I get an apron?” Wei Ying asks as Lan Wangji is gathering his materials—scissors, knives, buckets.
Lan Wangji glances up at Wei Ying. He’s wearing shorts and Lan Wangji’s shirt. Dirt seems to find him always and Lan Wangji doubts an apron will be able to protect Wei Ying in a flower field but he gets up and retrieves a spare apron anyways. Wei Ying takes it with glee, slipping it over his neck and then turns with his back to Lan Wangji, a wordless request.
Lan Wangji swallows and steps forward. He grabs the fabric and ties it at the small of Wei Ying’s back. For a second, he almost leans forward and buries his face in Wei Ying’s neck. But he doesn’t. He steps back and watches Wei Ying ooh and ahhh at the apron, twirling and exclaiming it has so many pockets! I’m going to steal this from you. Warmth fills Lan Wangji at the sight. Wei Ying is someone who finds delight in every small thing. There’s an uncontrolled need in Lan Wangji to keep a permanent smile on Wei Ying’s face, so he pulls out his spare floral clippers from his apron and holds them out.
“You should have your own if you will be helping.”
Wei Ying grins and takes the clippers. ‘Lan Zhan, you do like me.”
Lan Wangji rolls his eyes, which he knows is the reaction Wei Ying was looking for. It’s precisely because Lan Wangji likes him that he indulges him like this. Anyone else, Lan Wangji would have given them a flat look.
Today they’re picking chrysanthemums. Wei Ying has yet to see the flower fields and when they arrive Lan Wangji watches as the awe unfolds over Wei Ying’s face. They’re standing on top of a hill and below them are rows and rows of flowers, each row a different colour.
“There’s so many,” Wei Ying whispers. “How do you take care of them all by yourself?”
Lan Wangji shows him the flat screens at the beginning of each row of flowers. “They go under the soil,” he explains, “and create the appropriate environment for each type of flower. They are powered by spiritual energy, which also ensures longevity of the blooms.”
“It’s brilliant,” Wei Ying says. He’s squatting down and examining one of the flower batteries with fascination.
“They are my uncle’s creation.”
Wei Ying looks up at him curiously. “Did your uncle raise you?”
Not at first, and then only for a while. Parts of Lan Wangji were raised by his mother, parts by his uncle, and parts by Bichen. He is a culmination of their care and love. Wei Ying’s question is difficult to answer. Though shufu was only in his life for less than a year, his presence and teachings made a large impact on Lan Wangji’s identity and growth. In the end, he answers Wei Ying’s question with a yes and is thankful Wei Ying doesn’t follow up with more.
Kneeling side by side in the dirt, he shows Wei Ying where and how to clip the flower stems. What flowers are ready to be picked. Which angle to cut at. Which height. Wei Ying keeps up a constant chatter as they work. Though, like Lan Wangji, he doesn’t share much of his private life.
“Wen-popo says you must come for a meal sometime,” he tells Lan Wangji. The sun hits him directly in the face at this time, and he squints at Lan Wangji. Lan Wangji thinks, if there is a next time, he will make Wei Ying wear a hat.
Kneeling amongst a sea of pink chrysanthemums, bathed by sunlight, Wei Ying makes a stunning image. A flower amongst flowers.
There’s a serene smile on Wei Ying’s face as he looks up, shielding his eyes with his hand as he looks beyond the flower fields. “From the eastern hedge, I pluck chrysanthemum flowers and idly look towards the southern hills,” he quotes. It’s a line from a poem Lan Wangji remembers reading in one of his uncle’s antique poetry books. “Ah, Lan Zhan, living a humble life, picking flowers and drinking wine as the sun sets, that’s what I want.”
You can have it, Lan Wangji almost says, stay and I’ll give you all of it. Instead, he says, “Alcohol is prohibited.”
Wei Ying gives him a flabbergasted look. “What? Who says?”
Lan Wangji finds his confusion cute. “It was one of my uncle’s teachings.”
Wei Ying laughs. “I see, I see. But Wen-shushu makes really good wine.”
“I know,” Lan Wangji replies.
“You’ve never had any?”
Lan Wangji shakes his head. “Well, if you ever decide to, make sure I’m there. I want to see what a drunk er-gege looks like,” Wei Ying teases.
“It will never happen,” Lan Wangji assures him.
“I’ll just imagine it then. Should we start heading back?”
It’s not quite dark, but the sun is setting and in the evening light Wei Ying looks like a star burning on land. His apron is stained with soil and there’s dirt on his knees and he’s proudly carrying a bucket of flowers. He looks like he belongs here, and again, Lan Wangji thinks stay.
Two months and a half
—
The days pass, slowly and untroubled. Wei Ying has been their delivery boy for four months now. Lan Wangji has been in love with him for just as long, and they have been best friends, in Wei Ying’s opinion, for that amount of time as well. Wei Ying has so effortlessly carved a place in Lan Wangji’s heart, home, and town. He’s beloved by everyone and loves everyone in return. He makes no indication that he’s leaving, and in the quiet moments alone, Lan Wangji allows himself a little hope.
This particular day finds them working on the AT units. The batteries they ordered arrived the day prior and now Wei Ying works on installing them. Lan Wangji sits by him and ‘helps’, which consists of reading an old botany book for his own entertainment, and passing Wei Ying tools when he asks for them. Lan Wangji has become so used to his company that the rare moments alone during the day are suffocating.
“Ah, Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying had said a few days ago. “You must be bored of me being around here all the time. You can tell me to fuck off if I’m annoying you—”
“No,” Lan Wangji interrupted sharply, and then he was so overwhelmed with the need to tell Wei Ying that he could never be bored of him, that he wanted him to stay, that his tongue felt useless and he was at a loss of words for the next few minutes, struggling to find the combination of words that would express his enjoyment for Wei Ying’s company but not reveal the depths of his feelings.
“I enjoy being around you,” he ended up saying, and it was a little too raw and close to what he truly felt, but he didn’t regret it, not when the words made Wei Ying flush and stutter Lan Zhan! You can’t be so honest around me, it’s embarrassing!
Now, Wei Ying is tinkering with AT1, keeping up a constant commentary, interrupted every once in a while by Lan Wangji. He’s wearing the sun hat Lan Wangji bought him a few weeks ago, which makes a quiet sort of pleasure burst inside Lan Wangji.
“It’s probably edible.”
“Fine, eat it! See if I care if you die of poisoning.”
Lan Wangji sighs and looks toward the voices. Jingyi and Jin Ling are approaching them on the dirt path, the house farther behind him.
“Do you think they ever talk to each other without yelling?” Wei Ying asks.
Lan Wangji doubts it. Every time he sees them, Jingyi and Jin Ling are arguing about something. He doesn’t understand how they’re friends. They’re still arguing when they arrive, and Wei Ying cuts them off with a sharp clap, “Kids, please, let’s not give Lan Zhan a headache with all your yelling.”
Jingyi grumbles. “Sorry, Lan-laoshi.”
“Why do you call him that?” Jin Ling mutters without an apology.
“Lan-laoshi used to teach us when we were kids,” Jingyi says. Darkly he adds, “Before we were forced to do actual schooling.”
This is something Jingyi always finds a chance to complain about. “I cannot teach you things like mathematics, or space aviation,” Lan Wangji says pointendly. Jingyi hopes to become a spaceship engineer. “If you were still under my tutelage, you would be a florist.”
Jingyi huffs. “Maybe I should be, this thermal physics of spiritual energy exchange class is kicking my ass.”
“Oh? Maybe I could help. Want to help me install this energy core?” Wei Ying asks.
He receives an enthusiastic yes from Jingyi, leaving Lan Wangji sitting in the grass with Jin Ling standing awkwardly by him. Lan Wangji has not had many chances to interact with Jin Ling. Jin Ling, despite being quick to anger and the grumpy face he constantly wears, has become fast friends with Jingyi, Zizhen, Sizhui, and A-Qing.
“Sit,” Lan Wangji tells him, nodding to the empty patch of grass behind him. Wei Ying’s tools are scattered all over the ground.
Jin Ling sits, posture stiff and clearly uncomfortable. He’s holding a—something round and green. “What is that?” Lan Wangji asks.
Jin Ling shrugs. “I don’t know. It was in the package of the stuff dajiu ordered. Jingyi wants to eat it, but I told him he shouldn’t.”
Lan Wangji hums. “It was good of you to dissuade him from doing so. We must be careful with foreign flora, as there is always a risk of invasive species that may harm the ecosystem here.”
“Right. Do you want it then?” Jin Ling holds out the strange fruit. “Since you work with flowers and stuff.”
He is so awkward it’s almost painful, but Lan Wangji was probably like that at his age. He takes the fruit and tucks it away in his apron’s pouch. He tries to think of something interesting to say. What do boys Jin Ling’s age like? Is he even in school? He settles for silence when he notices Jin Ling casting discreet glances at the book in Lan Wangji’s lap.
“Do you like plants?”
“I guess,” Jin Ling replies in the tone of someone who very much likes plants but is trying to appear uninterested.
“Do you have a favourite?”
“Lotuses,” Jin Ling mumbles. “My mother’s favourite.”
Lan Wangji has only ever seen them in books. “I have never seen one in real life.”
“We have so many lotus lakes at home. Maybe you can come with us to see when we go back.”
“Go back?” Lan Wangji repeats, his stomach sinking.
Jin Ling nods. “Dajiu and I are staying for another few months and then going home.”
Lan Wangji can’t find his voice to reply. The afternoon heat is suddenly stifling. The botany book is heavy in his lap. The wild flowers around them, so vibrant a moment ago, now seem colourless. Going home. Of course. Lan Wangji was foolish to hope. No matter how easily Wei Ying fits into his life, no matter what future Lan Wangji imagines for them, Wei Ying has a home elsewhere.
“Are you okay, Lan-laoshi?” Jin Ling asks.
Lan Wangjie clears his throat. “Yes. Would you like to borrow this book? I have others you may also be interested in.”
“That would be cool,” Jin Ling says, a little shy.
“I can also show you around the farm one day if you would like.” Lan Wangji hands Jin Ling the botany book and stands up. “You may keep it for as long as you like. If you would excuse me, there’s something I need to take care of.”
Lan Wangji is proud of his composure as he walks away and towards the house. He’s glad Bichen isn’t home so that she doesn’t see what must be a devastated expression on his face. He makes his way up to his room and sits numbly at the edge of his bed.
He’s always known Wei Ying was bound to leave at some point. He knew from the first day Wei Ying barged into his life. So why does the confirmation that Wei Ying will be leaving still hurt? Lan Wangji doesn’t have a claim over Wei Ying. They are not lovers. Wei Ying calls them best friends but when he leaves, that will be something that drifts away. Lan Wangji doesn’t even know where Yunmeng is. Wei Ying’s home could be galaxies away, and Lan Wangji has no plans to ever leave this planet. Perhaps he’s selfish then, for expecting Wei Ying to stay.
“Lan Zhan?”
Lan Wangji didn’t even hear Wei Ying come up the stairs. He’s standing in the doorway, eyes wide with worry, an expression Lan Wangji has so rarely seen.
“Wei Ying,” Lan Wangji replies.
Slowly, Wei Ying comes to sit beside Lan Wangji. He leaves no space between them. He smells like soil and flowers. “Is something wrong?”
Lan Wangji shakes his head. He’s afraid if he speaks, the storm of emotions inside him will tumble out.
“Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying whispers. He leans forward and tilts his head so he can look at Lan Wangji’s face. “You look sad.”
Lan Wangji shakes his head again. “I’m fine. Did you install the energy cores?”
“They just need to be charged. You’d tell me if something’s wrong, right?”
Lan Wangji nods. Wei Ying looks wholly unconvinced but says nothing further on the topic. He keeps sending worried glances at Lan Wangji for the rest of the day but Lan Wangji for his part, tries to act as if everything is normal. Which it is, should be. Nothing has changed. He always thought Wei Ying would one day leave and now it has been confirmed. There’s no use in yearning or being sad over something he can’t have. Wei Ying still has time left here, and Lan Wangji will make sure to savour every moment of it.
Four months
—
“Can I make Baoshan Sanren’s delivery this time?” Wei Ying asks one day.
Until now, even with Wei Ying in charge of deliveries, Lan Wangji has made the deliveries up the yellow mountain himself. It isn’t that he doesn’t trust Wei Ying, but Baoshan Sanren does not like visitors. She has been in seclusion on the mountain for years. Lan Wangji has never even spoken to her—he deposits her deliveries at her door and leaves. All he knows is that she’s an esteemed cultivator, a legend of sorts.
There’s a pleading note to Wei Ying’s voice, and so Lan Wangji agrees. “You must not bother her,” he reminds him.
Wei Ying grins. “I promise! It’s the only delivery today, right? I’ll come back straight after, can’t leave my Lan Zhan alone for too long.”
Ten minutes later and my Lan Zhan is still playing over and over in Lan Wangji’s mind. Twenty minutes later and Wei Ying still isn’t back. Another ten minutes pass and then another, and Lan Wangji paces in front of the house restlessly. It’s unlike Wei Ying to be late. What if something happened? Maybe Wei Ying crashed his bike or—before Lan Wangji can think of any more worst case scenarios, he pulls out his hoverbike from the shed and drives off.
He finds Wei Ying sitting at the steps in front of Baoshan Sanren’s home, arms wrapped around his knees and his bike leaning against the fence. Lan Wangji rushes off his own bike, catching Wei Ying’s disjointed movement of wiping his cheeks before he notices Lan Wangji.
Lan Wangji kneels in front of him, taking stock of Wei Ying’s red rimmed eyes and the tear tracks on his face. “You’re crying,” he murmurs. “Are you alright?”
Wei Ying laughs, a quiet sound that has none of his usual joy. “I’m fine, Lan Zhan, why’d you come all the way out here?”
“You did not return,” Lan Wangji replies. In a moment of bravery, he raises his hand and wipes Wei Ying’s cheeks, warm beneath his thumb. The sight of Wei Ying’s unhappy tears makes his heart clench painfully.
Wei Ying gives him a wobbly smile. “Sorry, Lan Zhan.” He sighs. “I guess you want to know what happened?”
Lan Wangji moves to sit beside him on the steps. “Only if you would like to share.”
Wei Ying doesn’t say anything, and Lan Wangji joins him in staring ahead. There are fields of yellow canola beneath them, and then farther down the hill, the river flows. There is a light breeze and it makes the flowers ripple in waves.
“One of the reasons I came here,” Wei Ying starts, “was to find Baoshan Sanren. I only knew she was in seclusion and there were rumours that she was somewhere in this galaxy.” He pauses before rushing to say, “But I promise this wasn’t all a ploy to find her! Getting hired and working with you I mean. I guess the—the asking to make the delivery today was deceiving, but other than that, I wasn’t using you, Lan Zhan, I promise—”
“Wei Ying,” Lan Wangji cuts him off as gently as he can. “It’s alright.”
“You’re too nice to me, gege.” Wei Ying smiles weakly.
“Why were you trying to find her?”
“Back in the day, Baoshan Sanren was a rogue cultivator. She had a ship and a crew of disciples. My mother was one of those disciples. I just—my parents died when I was young. I barely have any memories of them. I have nothing physical to remember them by. I wanted to see whether Baoshan Sanren could tell me anything—stories, memories, something.”
Loss is something that has etched itself into Lan Wangji’s bones. He understands the never-ending search to remember, to find something that will keep a loved one alive. “I hope you found what you were searching for,” he tells Wei Ying.
This time, the smile on Wei Ying’s lips is genuine, small and sweet. “I did. Baoshan-sanren had a lot of stories to share. She’s even invited me back! She has a few things of my mother’s too like recordings and stuff. Want to listen?”
Lan Wangji nods. Wei Ying flips through the holographic options on his wrist watch before a recording starts. “If you’re decommissioning your ship and none of the others want it, I’ll take it! I know it’s a scrap of junk by now but Wei-gege and I can fix it, have it ready before the little one arrives…”
Lan Wangji frowns. There’s a memory just out of reach. Aw, who’s this little guy? Want to meet my son? I think he’s just your age. Come on, say hi, A-Ying. “I recognize her voice,” Lan Wangji says.
Wei Ying pauses the recording. “What? How?” There’s confusion written all over his face.
“Have we met before?”
Baffled, Wei Ying shakes his head. “No?”
“As children,” Lan Wangji presses. Is he making things up? Is his mind playing tricks on him?
“I grew up on my parent’s ship,” Wei Ying says. “We never settled anywhere long enough for me to make friends but—oh. The boy from the space station. Lan Zhan, was that you?”
“Your parents—were they intergalactic couriers?” A rush of realizations are washing over Lan Wangji, untethering him from stability.
“Yeah. There weren’t that many ships that could travel between galaxies. My parents’ ship was one of the few so they were space couriers.”
Lan Wangji was born on a space station that was alone in its system, light years away from any other settlement or planet. It was where he lived for the first few years of his life until—
He dreads Wei Ying’s answer as he asks, “How did your parents die?”
“They were answering a distress call,” Wei Ying says. The words clearly pain him, hands fisted in the fabric of his pants. “A star was suddenly on the verge of collapse and there was a space station in its orbit. My parents were too late and didn’t make it out.” Wei Ying pales, distress written into every line on his face. “I guess your parents didn’t make it either,” he adds quietly.
Somehow, Lan Wangji manages to speak past the grief in his throat. “My mother. “
“How did you survive? And said you had—have a brother.”
“There were two escape pods—stasis pods,” Lan Wangji explains shakily. “My mother programmed them to come here. My brother’s pod did not make it.”
There are tears in Wei Ying’s eyes. He takes Lan Wangji’s hand and squeezes. “I’m sorry.” He doesn't ask why Lan Wangji was raised on a space station in the middle of nowhere. He doesn't ask why there were only two escape pods. He doesn’t even make any indication that he harbours any blame on Lan Wangji for his parent’s death. Instead, he shoulders Lan Wangji’s grief as his own.
Lan Wangji shakes his head. “No, I’m sorry. Your parents…” he trails off, at a loss for words. There are so many points in time, people, he can blame for the death of his mother and Wei Ying’s parents, and yet for some reason he blames himself the most, despite the illogic.
Wei Ying’s hand around his becomes a vice grip. “No, no sorries, Lan Zhan,” he insists. “I’m proud to be their son. I’m proud of what they did. They saw someone who needed help and despite the risks they still went. I’ve always wanted to be like them. Brave and righteous.”
“You are,” Lan Wangji says with conviction.
Wei Ying stares at him, wide-eyed. “Lan Zhan, you’re so…” he whispers.
He leans forward and Lan Wangji’s heart rate skyrockets. When Wei Ying’s lips brush his, Lan Wangji inhales in surprise, eyes wide open. It only lasts seconds before Wei Ying pulls back. He smiles and Lan Wangji feels as if his stomach is filled with a dozen shooting stars. Wei Ying stands up and offers his hand to Lan Wangji. “Let’s go back before Baoshan Sanren yells at us to get off her porch.”
Lan Wangji’s lips tingle. He takes Wei Ying’s hand and lets himself be pulled up.
He thinks of the kiss for the rest of the day and well into the night.
—
He does not see Wei Ying the next day. There are no deliveries, and as such, it’s one of Wei Ying’s days off. But Wei Ying is always on the farm on his days off, and so when noon hits and Wei Ying still hasn’t shown up, Lan Wangji feels as if he’s been thrown into freezing waters. A dozen terrible thoughts run through his mind—Wei Ying regrets the kiss. It was a mistake. He’s left. It was just something impulsively done in an emotional moment. He did not mean it. He will not want to see me ever again.
“Grind the seeds any harder and they’ll be dust.”
Pulled out of his thoughts, Lan Wangji stares down at the large red seeds he was supposed to break into pieces.
“You’re distracted,” Bichen comments. She’s standing across the large work table. Her side is covered with buckets of flowers. Her arms make gentle whirring noises as she assembles centrepieces. Zizhen’s sister will be getting married in a few weeks and Bichen and Lan Wangji have been splitting the floral duties and preparing arrangements ahead of time. With the right temperature, water, and a little spiritual energy, the flowers won’t wilt for months.
The overhead light glints off the metal plates off Bichen’s arms. Lan Wangji watches as she inserts a wire at the base of a flower stem, and then coils a second wire around the stem before bending the first wire over the coil to support the heavy head of a peony. When the front doors open, he can’t help the way his eyes jump to the door. The flood of hope is washed away as soon as he sees it’s Jingyi.
“Lan-laoshi! Ayi!” he greets them, practically sprinting across the large room to reach them. He deposits two large paper bags on the table. “I brought food from the bakery. There’s supposed to be a big storm tonight, so I brought you some stuff just in case you can’t make it to town.”
Bichen gives Jingyi a pat on the head which makes him preen. “Very thoughtful, thank you, Jingyi.”
“Are these for the wedding?” Jingyi exclaims, grabbing one of the arrangements. With an exaggerated movement he brings it to his nose to smell and then swoons dramatically. “When will someone from off-planet sweep me off my feet?”
“But I thought you like—” Bichen starts before she gets cut off by a screech from Jingyi. “Ayi! Ayi, I told you that in confidence. You can’t just spill my secrets in front of Lan-laoshi! This is so embarrassing.”
Lan Wangji barely manages to refrain from rolling his eyes. Bichen, who has a giant soft spot for Jingyi, just laughs and says, “Get going so you have time to get home before the storm starts.”
“Okay, you guys stay safe. Also, I’m stealing this!” Jingyi grabs a large peony bloom off the table and runs off with a cackle.
Lan Wangji does roll his eyes this time. He pours his ground seeds into little sachets so they can be brewed.
“Are the fields prepared for the storm?” Bichen asks.
Lan Wangji nods. “I double checked the qi barriers this morning. They should hold.”
“It has been a while since the last snowstorm.”
Snowstorms were rare, but this planet has a strange orbit around the sun. Two times a year during the part of orbit when the planet is its farthest away from the sun, they get something akin to a winter season for a couple of weeks.
“The temperature will be good for the hyssops,” Lan Wangji says.
For a while, neither of them speak, silent except for the snip of scissors and the sound of the pestle and mortar. Then, without looking up, Bichen says, “Wei Ying hasn’t come by today.”
Lan Wangji stiffens. He shrugs, but the movement is more tense than nonchalant. Bichen, thankfully, says nothing more about the topic. The rest of the day passes slowly. Lan Wangji’s eyes keep flickering to the door, as if Wei Ying will suddenly appear with a smile and a laugh.
The storm begins in the evening. Lan Wangji allows himself a moment outside to experience the gentle start of it. Snowflakes flutter down lazily and the fields become picturesque. Green trees and colourful flora under falling snow that does not touch them. For a quiet and lonely moment, he allows himself the childish act of opening his mouth and letting the snowflakes land there. The first time you saw snow, Bichen told him once, you refused to come inside. Your uncle called you a snow rabbit, but he sat with you in the snow and kept you warm until you fell asleep and he could bring you inside.
Lan Wangji shivers and gives the sky a final look of longing before returning inside.
Uncle, is it foolish of me to still hope? It has been many winters since you left. Have you found ge? In my dreams, I imagine you’re both in a galaxy far away, years and years away, and you’re slowly making your way back.
—
By the time it darkens, the storm is beginning to hit its most powerful. In Lan Wangji’s bedroom, snow covers half of the glass of the window outside. A glance out shows a blanket of snow covering the ground. Father away, the qi shields are still holding strong. Lan Wangji is just about to return to his work when movement catches his attention.
Despite the orange lights that line up the pathway in front of the house, the strength of the storm stil makes it difficult to clearly see anything and yet—it looks like there’s someone trudging through the snow. Heart in his throat, Lan Wangji rushes downstairs, startling Bichen.
She looks up from her book. “What’s wrong?”
“There’s someone outside,” Lan Wangji says, fumbling as he pulls on his boots. Who would go outside in a storm like this? He doesn’t even bother with a jacket before pulling open the door and running out.
The snow makes the visibility poor but he can faintly make out a shadow walking towards him. The snow whips at him, stinging his cheeks and settling heavily on his sweater. A strong gust of wind sends him tumbling forward, almost crashing into—
“Wei Ying?” The bewilderment gets caught in the howling wind and blown away.
Wei Ying, wearing Lan Wangji’s jacket, grins at Lan Wangji. Lan Wangji wants to yell at him and push him into the snow because how can one man be so stupid.
“Why are we just standing here!” Wei Ying yells and shoves at Lan Wangji.
Lan Wangji just barely manages to restrain himself from shoving back. Instead, he grabs Wei Ying’s arm and begins pulling him towards the house. The world is plunged into silence once they’re inside, the whistling wind becoming a distant sound. Lan Wangji shivers at the temperature change and begins to shake the snow off his head. Wei Ying, for reasons Lan Wangji can’t begin to fathom, is laughing.
Bichen, towering over them where she stands, looks highly unimpressed, her mouth set into a flat line. “These conditions are not suitable for being outdoors,” she berates them.
Lan Wangji looks at her with betrayal. What was he supposed to do? Let Wei Ying get lost in the storm? “You should have let me go outside,” she says to him and then to Wei Ying, “I cannot imagine Wen-popo would have let you leave in this weather. You endangered yourself by going out.”
Wei Ying’s laugh turns into a nervous stuttering thing, face falling at Bichen’s reaction. “I’m sorry? I’m sorry. I snuck out. I know it was dangerous but—I really wanted to see Lan Zhan.” He glances shyly to the side and Lan Wangji swallows.
“You could have waited a few days until the worst of the storm passed,” Bichen says. “But you’re here now. Go upstairs. Wangji will give you something warm to eat.”
Wei Ying nods eagerly, repeating his apologies again. He pulls off his shoes, takes off the jacket—Lan Wangji, quietly pleased, notes that his clothes are completely dry—and hangs it in the hallway closet before running up the stairs without even a word to Lan Wangji.
Lan Wangji, annoyed, worried, wet as the snow on his clothes starts to melt, releases a heavy sigh. It’s amazing how Wei Ying manages to incite feelings of annoyance and fondness simultaneously in him. He hesitates for a second longer downstairs. Only when Bichen makes an exaggerated turning of her page does he begin making his way up the stairs. His stomach clenches with unease, anxiety churning. I really wanted to see Lan Zhan. That is likely a good thing, Lan Wangji tries to convince himself—unless Wei Ying wants to see him to talk about the kiss, or tell him he’s leaving or any number of other terrible things that will hurt Lan Wangji.
Upstairs, Lan Wangji doesn’t find Wei Ying in the kitchen. When he enters his room he finds Wei Ying sitting on his bed against the headboard, a scene he’s encountered many times before but today, after that kiss, feels much different.
“Lan Zhan, fancy seeing you here,” Wei Ying says.
“It’s my room,” Lan Wangji points out. He moves to his wardrobe and pulls out a long-sleeve shirt to change into. When he turns around, Wei Ying has managed to take off his sweater, leaving him in a sleeveless shirt. Lan Wangji hates that shirt. He slips into the bathroom and gets changed. He takes a deep breath before emerging. What is Wei Ying doing in his room, wearing that stupid threadbare—
Shirtless.
Lan Wangji freezes. He doesn’t know where to place his gaze. Wei Ying’s stomach? His chest? Arms? He settles for face lest his own combust from warmth. Wei Ying smiles sheepishly. “It’s hot.”
There’s a snowstorm outside, Lan Wangji thinks hysterically. And then, because Wei Ying deserves revenge for what he’s inflicting on Lan Wangji with his shamelessness, Lan Wangji says the thought aloud.
“Yeah but I’m—you’re. Hot. It’s hot,” Wei Ying finishes lamely. There’s redness travelling up his neck.
Lan Wangji stares at him. The eye contact lasts several seconds while Lan Wangji’s brain works at maximum to comprehend Wei Ying’s words, before Wei Ying just rolls off the bed and then under it.
Bewildered, Lan Wangji approaches the bed slowly and kneels down. He bends over and lowers his head to peek under the bed. Wei Ying, lying on his stomach, has his face buried in his hands. Lan Wangji is confused. Wei Ying looks flustered. Wei Ying rarely looks flustered. He flirts with and charms everyone in his path, he doesn’t get shy.
“Wei Ying,” Lan Wangji murmurs. “Why are you under the bed?”
“I’m hiding,” Wei Ying mumbles into his hands.
“From what?” From me?
Wei Ying groans. “From embarrassment.”
“I don’t understand. What is there to be embarrassed about?”
Wei Ying lifts his head, and Lan Wangji makes a half-aborted movement towards him, afraid that he’ll hit his head against the bed, but he doesn’t. He peeks at Lan Wangji. “I took my shirt off.”
“Yes?”
“I was trying to—” Wei Ying mumbles the rest, unintelligible.
Lan Wangji frowns. “What?”
“I was trying to—oh this is terrible, this is the worst,” Wei Ying continues mumbling. He huffs and then, “I was trying to seduce you!” he yells.
Lan Wangji chokes. “Seduce. Me.” He feels lightheaded. “You were trying to seduce me. By sitting shirtless on my bed.”
Wei Ying whines, hiding his face. “Lan Zhan, stop. Don’t tease. This is so embarrassing.” Quietly, he adds, “I just wanted you to kiss me.”
Lan Wangji can’t make his throat work to say anything—not that he has anything to say considering his brain is currently a repeating litany of I just wanted you to kiss me.
“You didn’t really kiss me back yesterday,” Wei Ying continues. “And I thought if you really liked me and saw me like that, maybe you’d kiss me. I don’t know. I guess it doesn’t make sense. I made things awkward, oh no—”
Lan Wangji can’t keep listening to this ramble. He says Wei Ying’s name. It comes out hoarse. He has to clear his throat and speak again. “Wei Ying, come out from under the bed.”
Wei Ying’s face falls. He wiggles out and sits up, kneeling in front of Lan Wangji. He looks ready to bolt. He’s watching Lan Wangji carefully, almost hunched in on himself. “I’m sorry.”
“You wanted me to kiss you,” Lan Wangji confirms. He feels like he can barely breathe.
Wei Ying scrunches his eyes shut. “Don’t be cruel, Lan Zhan. I said I’m sorry.”
Lan Wangji grabs his face and kisses him. Wei Ying gasps in surprise but his arms wrap around Lan Wangji’s neck and pull him closer. His lips move against Lan Wangji’s with urgency, pulling back for seconds at time before they kiss again. There’s barely any finesse to it but Wei Ying’s mouth is warm and so wet.
They only spring apart when the back of Wei Ying’s head hits the edge of the bed. Wei Ying is breathless. There’s a shine on his parted lips. His eyes are wide as he stares at Lan Wangji. Lan Wangji is sure he looks the same, completely enraptured by Wei Ying.
“You kissed me,” Wei Ying says. He swallows and Lan Wangji wants to bite his neck, place his lips on his Adam's apple.
“I wanted to,” Lan Wangji says. And he wants to do it again and again.
Wei Ying wets his lips. “Because you like me.”
Lan Wangji’s hands settle on Wei Ying’s waist, his naked waist, all warm skin. “Yes,” he says and possibly no word he’s uttered before has held so much conviction. “And you—?”
Wei Ying blinks at him slowly. His hands encircle Lan Wangji’s wrists. “Yes, of course I like you, Lan Zhan. Everyone could tell.” He laughs, and the joy rings through the room. “All these months, everything I did was to get you to look at me. Lan-er-gege. Lan Zhan. I want to kiss you again. And sleep with you. I want to garden with you and put flowers in your hair. Will you let me, Lan Zhan?”
“Anything,” Lan Wangji breathes. “All of it.” I want you to kiss me again. And sleep with me. I want you to garden with me and put flowers in my hair and I’ll do the same to you.
I want you to stay.
For the rest of the night, Wei Ying is his usual self, pestering and teasing Lan Wangji until Lan Wangji has to kiss him. He’s uncharacteristically shy the next morning, as if he’s embarrassed that he’s woken up in Lan Wangji’s bed. Lan Wangji is not embarrassed. No, he’s filled with an elation the likes of which he’s never experienced before. Wei Ying likes him. Kissed him. Slept with him in his bed. Woke up in his bed. He’s sitting at the small round table in Lan Wangji’s kitchen, hands wrapped around a mug of tea, wide-eyed as if this is his first time sitting in the kitchen. He was quiet through breakfast. Afterwards, he argued that he should wash the dishes, but Lan Wangji managed to outstubborn him.
Now, Lan Wangji wipes his hands dry after the last of the dishes and joins Wei Ying at the table. Downstairs, there are the faint sounds of Bichen moving around. The storm stopped partway through the night, leaving a thick layer of snow outside. The sky is clear and the sun shines a long rectangular patch of light through the window and across the room, painting one of Wei Ying’s arms gold.
“You may have to stay here another night,” Lan Wangji says. “It will take a while to clear the paths.”
“As long as you don’t mind.”
“I don’t. You can stay as long as you want.”
For a fraction of a second, Wei Ying looks caught off guard. Then he grins, the classic mischievous tilt of his lips that’s sure to raise Lan Wangji’s heart rate every time. Perhaps all he needed was confirmation from Lan Wangji regarding his affections to return to his usual boisterous self. “Er-gege, you can’t bear to be parted with me, huh?” he teases. “Were those kisses last night not enough for you? You want me all to yourself?”
More shameless than he ever has been in his life, Lan Wangji nods.
Wei Ying’s smile turns sweeter. He slides a hand across the table and Lan Wangji takes it. “I guess I’ll have to stay then,” Wei Ying says.
“Mn.” But for how long? Lan Wangji wants to say, how long will you stay?
Five months
—
Clearing the snow with Wei Ying always takes twice as long as it has in the past because Wei Ying is more interested in playing with it then shovelling it.
“We don’t have snow in Yunmeng!” he tells Lan Wangji. “It’s warm for most of the year.”
Lan Wangji watches with an exasperated fondness as, for the dozenth time, Wei Ying jumps into the large pile of snow Lan Wangji has shovelled. He emerges pink-cheeked with snow on his eyelashes. He’s wearing Lan Wangji’s jacket, a pair of Lan Wangji’s old mittens, and a pair of snowpants that make a swish-swish sound every time he moves. Lan Wangji wants to hug him and hold him tight. Lan Wangji wants to shove him in the snow and kiss him senseless. His thoughts about Wei Ying always come in juxtapositions.
Wei Ying waddles over to him and tilts his head up. Lan Wangji, blinded by affection, thinks he’s asking for a kiss and instead gets a faceful of snow courtesy of a snowball in Wei Ying’s hand. He splutters and drops his shovel, raising a hand to wipe at his face once he’s recovered from the shock.
Wei Ying’s laughter increases when he sees Lan Wangji’s glare. “Lan Zhan!” he says, barely able to speak through the giggles. “Your face! Ahaha, you look so funny. Ah—!”
Lan Wangji pushes him down against the snowbank and straddles him. Wei Ying wiggles beneath him, chest rising and falling rapidly with breathless laughter. Unforgiving, Lan Wangji grabs a handful of snow and shoves it down Wei Ying’s shirt. Wei Ying screeches, bucking against Lan Wangji, but he continues to laugh. Cheeks flushed with the cold and exertion, eyes crescent moons. He’s the very picture of joy.
“Lan Zhan,” he says once he’s calmed down a little. “Are you angry I threw snow at your face?”
Lan Wangji nods.
“I like it when I make you angry. And when I annoy you,” Wei Ying confesses. “I like getting a reaction out of you.” He pauses and his voice drops to a murmur. “Lan Zhan, are you hard? That’s not the type of reaction I was talking about.”
Lan Wangji is not hard—not fully anyways. Not that Wei Ying would be able to tell through the two layers of snowpants and pants between them. “Are you?” Lan Wangji challenges, despite the flash embarrassment he feels.
“Like I said, I like it when you’re angry,” Wei Ying says. He rolls his ups upwards to make his point.
Lan Wangji can’t actually feel Wei Ying through the layers separating them, but just the thought of Wei Ying being hard, the movement of his hips, sends his blood rushing down. “We’re outside,” he points out.
Wei Ying pulls him down and kisses him. “You’re right, someone might see.”
“Bichen does not leave the house when it snows,” Lan Wangji says. He lowers his head and kisses Wei Ying’s jaw right by his ear. “But it’s inappropriate, still.”
Wei Ying makes a noise that’s halfway between an agreement and a moan. “And it’s cold. We could go inside where it’s warmer,” he suggests.
Neither of them make a move to get up. Instead, they kiss again. Wei Ying’s lips are cold but they warm quickly. When he grabs Lan Wangji’s face, the wetness on his mittens makes Lan Wangji shiver, and then shiver again when Wei Ying tilts his hips up just right, just enough for there to be a little friction, the idea of Wei Ying’s length.
Despite the snow they’re on and the freezing temperature, things get heated quickly, enveloping them in a bubble of warmth. Lan Wangji grinds down against Wei Ying, instinctively seeking pleasure as Wei Ying does the same, moaning into Lan Wangji’s mouth and keeping up a constant barrage of filthy words.
“Lan Zhan, you feel so good,” he says. “I want to do this without clothes. I want to feel you, and get my hand on you—and my mouth. I bet that would feel good. Do you want me to suck you off, gege? Do you want to make me shut up? You’re always staring at my mouth—”
“Wei Ying,” Lan Wangji groans. Be quiet. Keep talking. Don’t stop talking. Your mouth, your mouth, your mouth. I love it, I love y—
He comes with a muffled moan against Wei Ying’s mouth, the pleasure shocking him into stillness, a few long seconds where he feels outside of his body before it fades. Wei Ying follows him a second later, mouth parted and eyes squeezed shut. Lan Wangji wants to make him fall apart like that again.
When he’s come down from the high, Wei Ying looks up at him with a small laugh. “Lan-er-gege, you always call me shameless but look who’s the shameless one now, pushing me down and having your way with me.”
“I did,” Lan Wangji says.
“You should do it again.”
“Later,” Lan Wangji promises. “We need to finish clearing the snow.”
He begins to sit up but Wei Ying tugs him down for another kiss. They don’t get up for another fifteen minutes.
Five months and a half
—
“Lan-laoshi.”
“A-Qing.”
Lan Wangji does not fidget under a seventeen year old’s gaze. A-Qing, sitting behind the counter, looks at him curiously. “Is there something I can help you with? Do you have a package to pick up?”
Lan Wangji hoped it would be Sizhui manning the village’s only store today. Whatever he tells A-Qing today will spread to everyone’s ears by the end of the day. “I would like to order something,” he tells her.
A-Qing raises an eyebrow. She leans forward, chin in her palms. “You rarely ever order anything, Lan-laoshi. Whatever it is, I’ll make sure to find it for you!”
“Pepper seeds,” Lan Wangji says, regretting it the moment A-Qing begins to smile. “The spicy type.”
A-Qing wolf whistles. “Your taste has changed, Lan-laoshi. I’ll make sure to find you the hottest pepper seeds for the special hot person in your life—”
“Respect your elders,” Lan Wangji interrupts her.
A-Qing laughs, which is the opposite of respectful. “Sorry, I’ll behave, I promise.”
“See that you do,” Lan Wangji says and then more gently, “Do you still plan on leaving soon?”
A-Qing nods eagerly. “I want to explore! You know I love it here, but there’s more out there for me. Xian-ge says he has friends who might let me join their crew.”
“It will be good for you,” Lan Wangji tells her. It saddens him a little every time someone leaves but A-Qing was not born to be trapped on land. The heartache will be twice fold this time around. Wei Ying and A-Qing will both leave soon.
“I’ll make sure to visit, don’t worry, Lan-laoshi. I know you’ll miss me.”
“That is debatable,” Lan Wangji says with a straight face.
A-Qing laughs, like he expected her to, and he leaves. It hits him, as he gets on his hoverbike, that Wei Ying’s departure is only a few months away. He only has a few months with Wei Ying. after that—
Wei Ying treats their relationship as something that will last and Lan Wangji wonders what he imagines for them once he leaves. Is this a one time thing? Something for him to pass the time while he’s here—but no, Wei Ying is not cruel. Will they break up? Become long distance, separated by star systems until they drift apart? Has Lan Wangji set himself up for heartbreak by allowing this thing between them to flourish?
But if there is one thing Lan Wangji has learned, it is that there’s no grief in loving people for the limited time you have with them. That is never something to be regretted. His mother, his brother, his uncle. Wei Ying. Lan Wangji has always treasured the limited time he has with his loved ones and he will do the same with Wei Ying. He will love him no less for leaving.
Six months
—
“Lan Zhan! Hop on!”
Lan Wangji, in the middle of pruning the peony bushes that line the house’s exterior, gently places his clippers down and turns around. Wei Ying waits for him on his bicycle, one foot on the ground to keep the bike upright. He waves enthusiastically, the power of a thousand stars on his lips in the form of a smile. The breeze makes his shirt flutter, loose. It slides up his forearms from the stretch of holding the handlebars. Lan Wangji wants to kiss his wrists.
It says a lot about how he's changed that he doesn’t even question Wei Ying’s command, he straddles the bike behind Wei Ying and wraps his arms around Wei Ying, sliding his hands under his shirt so that he touches skin. Wei Ying turns his head, greets Lan Wangji with a chaste kiss, and pushes off the ground to get the bike going.
“Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying says, once they’re outside the farm. “You didn’t even ask me where we’re going. What if I’m kidnapping you!”
Lan Wangji, with his cheek resting against the back of Wei Ying’s neck, replies, “Terrifying.”
“Hey! I could be scary,” Wei Ying argues.
“Alright, where are you kidnapping me to?”
“Tsk, Lan Zhan, it wouldn’t be a kidnapping if I told you. You’re being a bad kidnapee.”
“My apologies.”
Wei Ying laughs and the bike swerves. Lan Wangji tightens his arms. “Pay attention.” They’re on the path by the river. Thick cattails blow back and forth with the wind as they pass them by, lining the edges of the river. There’s a humidity to the air today, and Wei Ying’s skin is warm beneath his cheek. It should be uncomfortable but Lan Wangji finds any discomfort is always dampened by the closeness of Wei Ying’s presence.
“Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying sing-songs.
“Mn?”
Lan Wangji can hear the smile in Wei Ying’s voice when he says, “Nothing, I just wanted to say your name. You have a nice name. Lan Wangji. Lan-er-gege. Lan Zhan.”
Warmth curls pleasantly inside Lan Wangji. He turns his head and kisses the nape of Wei Ying’s neck. “I like it when you say my name,” he says quietly, the type of confession that could easily be swept away by the wind.
“And I like saying it!” Wei Ying says. “I like it when you say mine too. Sometimes it’s Wei Ying! Like you’re really annoyed with me. Sometimes it’s an exasperated Wei Ying with an eye roll. Sometimes it’s—”
“Wei Ying,” Lan Wangji says softly, hoping Wei Ying hears what Lan Wangji has left unsaid in the tenderness with which he says those words.
“Yeah, like that,” Wei Ying replies, hushed like there’s something to be shy about. He teases Lan Wangji shamelessly all the time but he becomes flustered the moment he receives affection.
“Where are you taking me?”
Wei Ying huffs. “Tsk, Lan Zhan. Can I simply not want to take you on a romantic bike ride?”
Lan Wangji kisses his neck again. “You can take me wherever you’d like.”
So long as I’m with you.
Seven months
—
“What’s that?” Wei Ying asks with narrowed eyes. “What’re you hiding behind your back, Lan Zhan?”
Lan Wangji tries to will his ears to cool down as he presents Wei Ying with the white bottle. There’s a pretty blue ribbon tied around the neck in a bow. Lan Wangji tied and re-tied the bow more than a dozen times, Bichen watching with amusement the entire time.
“Is this Wen-shushu’s wine?” Wei Ying asks. He examines the bottle carefully.
“Mn.” Lan Wangji has never in his life felt the urge to fidget until now.
Wei Ying pulls out the stopper and wax seal, taking a whiff. His eyes widen. “Oh! This smells good. This isn’t one of Wen-shushu’s usual wines is it?”
Lan Wangji pulls out a cup. “Let me pour for you.”
Wei Ying hands him back the wine. There’s a twinkle in his eyes. “What an honour to have the most beautiful man pour me wine.”
“You are ridiculous,” Lan Wangji tells him as he pours.
Wei Ying takes the proffered cup and downs the contents in one go. Some of it spills down his chin and neck. He makes an obscene sound and licks his lips. “Lan Zhan! This really isn’t the usual wine!” He thrusts the cup out and Lan Wangji refills it.
“It is not.”
Wei Ying drinks slower this time. “It’s sweet, almost fruity?”
“The flavour comes from osmanthus flowers.”
Wei Ying whistles. “That’s fancy—wait, did you make this wine, Lan Zhan?”
Lan Wangji’s ears burn. He busies himself with refilling Wei Ying’s cup. “I merely provided Wen-shushu with the osmanthus flowers to flavour the wine.”
“For me.”
Lan Wangji nods. “You once said you wished to taste Emperor’s Smile. That wine is no longer made and the instructions to brew it no longer exist. It is often described as sweet and mellow and I hoped to create something similar. I hope you—”
“Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying interrupts. His cheeks are flushed—from the wine or embarrassment, Lan Wangji doesn’t know. “You made wine. For me. We picked flowers and the sun is setting and you brought me wine.”
“Yes. For you.” Lan Zhan bridges the space between them and tilts Wei Ying’s face to kiss him, a soft brush of their lips. Wei Ying’s lips are sweet and Lan Wangji chases the taste with his lips. He has no interest in alcohol, but the taste of it on Wei Ying’s mouth is more than intoxicating.
“Lan Zhan, can we spend every evening like this?”
“Yes,” Lan Wangji indulges him. One of his hands has come to rest at Wei Ying’s waist, dipping beneath his loose shirt. “But we will run out of flowers.”
For a second there’s a bewildered look on Wei Ying’s face before he bursts into laughter. The movement makes his body shake, and the alcohol in his cup sloshes dangerously. Lan Wangji grabs his wrist to still him, the fondness inside him threatening to spill over. He doesn’t know how to explain it, but the sound of Wei Ying’s laughter suits these fields. Music, especially music imbued with spiritual energy, can help plants grow. Considering the way Wei Ying’s laughter makes Lan Wangji’s heart grow, he imagines flowers would love the sound too.
Wei Ying’s laughter peters out, leaving a soft smile on his face. “What should I call this alcohol, Lan Zhan? Hmm, maybe Flowers in the Sunset? Fragrant Beauty? Taste of Osmanthus? Or” —he pokes the corner of Lan Wangji’s mouth— “Lan Zhan’s Smile?”
The corners of Lan Wangji’s mouth twitch up. “Silly,” he tells Wei Ying.
“Is it?” Wei Ying says. His finger has moved to rest at the swell of Lan Wangji’s bottom lip. “It’s precious to me.”
“The drink or its namesake?”
“You know which,” Wei Ying says, his voice barely louder than a murmur.
They kiss again, Wei Ying practically climbing into his lap. The cup of wine falls from his hand but neither of them pay it any mind. Lan Wangji’s hands settle on Wei Ying’s hips, as if he can pull them any closer together. The waves of Wei Ying’s hair brush against Lan Wangji’s face and his hands are warm where they rest on Lan Wangji’s cheeks. Lan Wangji marvels at being in his orbit, close enough to feel the slick wet heat of his lips and tongue.
When he pulls back, Lan Wangi instinctively tilts his head forward, chasing his lips and Wei Ying’s huff of laughter makes him frown. “Are we going to fuck out here in the field?” Wei Ying says.
Yes, Lan Wangji wants to say, let me love you against a bed of flowers. “We did it in the snow,” he points out.
Wei Ying squacks. “That was different! Besides, it’s getting dark. I’m confident in my ability to find your dick in the dark but I don’t want to traumatize the poor flowers.”
“They cannot—”
“Shh, I know.” A pause. “Hey, Lan Zhan.”
“Mn.”
“If I were a flower, what kind would I be?”
Lan Wangji doesn’t have to think. It was something he began thinking about the moment he met Wei Ying. Is it normal to think of what type of flower someone would be upon meeting them? Perhaps not.
“Oxalis,” he tells Wei Ying.
“Oh?” Wei Ying’s eyes sparkle. “I don’t think I know what they look like. Are they big flowers? Pretty? What does it mean?”
“It's a weed,” Lan Zhan says, because it’s true but because he likes to see it when Wei Ying gets mock-offended.
“A weed?” Wei Ying pouts. “Lan Zhan, seriously, a weed?”
“Mn.”
“Is it because I weedled my way into your life?”
Lan Wangji huffs and rolls his eyes. He stands up and offers Wei Ying his hand. “We should go inside.”
“Great idea. My body is too fragile to fornicate on the hard ground,” Wei Ying says with a wiggle of his eyebrows as if Lan Wangji didn’t see him crash his bike yesterday and stand up and say he was perfectly fine.
“Don’t say fornicate,” Lan Wangji says.
“Hm, what should I say then? Copulate? Make love?”
Lan Wangji is thankful it’s dark. His ears are burning. “Silence is also an option,” he tells Wei Ying dryly.
“You love it when I talk,” Wei Ying replies. He takes Lan Wangji’s hand, but instead of pulling himself up, he pulls Lan Wangji down and then goes running, cackling loudly as he heads towards the house.
Once the initial shock of hitting the ground disappears, Lan Wangji smiles to himself before getting up and giving chase.
Eight months
—
“Lan Zhan, would you still like me if I was one of the bunnies who steal your vegetables?”
“I like the rabbits,” Lan Wangji replies. “You would be a cute bunny.”
Wei Ying makes an unintelligible and garbled noise that’s 50% a scream, before continuing, “Would you still like me if I was one of those bugs that eat your flowers?”
Lan Wangji pretends to mull this over, rolling his eyes fondly when Wei Ying makes an indignant sound. “I still would. I would grow a garden just for you.”
“Just for little bug me.”
“Only the best for bugying.”
“Bugying!” Wei Ying yells. “What about humanying!”
“Oh, humanying also desires a personal garden?” Lan Wangji teases. He thinks, I would plant you the most beautiful of gardens, one that would rival even the ones emperors built for their lovers.
“Ah well,” Wei Ying says with a shy shrug. “I would love a garden, but I love the gardener more and I don’t want him spending all his time away from me.”
Lan Wangji becomes helpless when Wei Ying says things like this. He pushes Wei Ying down against the grass, cradling the back of his head and kisses him. Wei Ying’s fishing pole gets caught between them and Wei Ying laughs as he tries to push Lan Wangji off. They’re supposed to be fishing—in other words Wei Ying is fishing and Lan Wangji is sitting there and feeding him snacks.
“Stop, Lan Zhan!” Wei Ying says, with a firm hand against Lan Wangji’s chest. “I’m supposed to catch you the biggest fish, remember? I promised.”
Lan Wangji barely refrains from rolling his eyes, but he relents and lets Wei Ying sit up. He can’t tell if catching a big fish is some Yunmeng courting ritual or if Wei Ying is just like that. But Wei Ying is cute with his narrow eyed look of concentration as he holds his fishing pole and watches the river.
“Perhaps there are no fish to be caught today,” Lan Wangji says, a barely concealed excuse to get them to do a more exciting activity.
“Lan-er-gege, do you have any other thoughts in your brain?”
“When I’m around you, I only think of you,” Lan Wangji answers honestly. It shocked him at first, how honest and bare he could be around Wei Ying, but now it’s something that speaks to the easy comfort he feels around Wei Ying.
Wei Ying fumbles with the fishing rod as he splutters a mix of Lan Zhan! And shameless! At the exact moment something pulls at the line. He pitches forward and Lan Wangji, who instinctively grabs his arm, falls into the water with him.
Lan Wangi splutters as his head gets dunked underwater and coughs when his head emerges, waving his arms to keep himself afloat. Wei Ying, in front of him, is wiping his wet hair away from his face while he laughs hysterically. Lan Wangji doesn’t think any of this is funny. His clothes are wet and he dislikes swimming—especially abrupt plunges into rivers.
Wei Ying wades closer to him. “What’s with the pout?”
“I’m not—” Lan Wangji huffs, and says instead, “my clothes are wet.”
Wei Ying grins. Everything about him looks sun-warmed. Underwater, his hands grab the hem of Lan Wangji’s shirt, pulling at it insistently. “If you don’t like wearing wet clothes, gege, there’s an easy solution. Take them off.”
Lan Wangji presses his lips into a flat line. “We’re outside. Not everyone is as shameless as you,” he says, referring to the fact that Wei Ying has been shirtless the entire afternoon.
“There’s no one here,” Wei Ying replies. His hands slide under Lan Wangji’s shirt, fingers moving languidly over the skin there. Despite the warmth of the water, the action makes Lan Wangji shiver.
“Take it off, take it off, take it off,” Wei Ying starts chanting, and Lan Wangji relents with a fond sigh, raising his arms and allowing Wei Ying to pull the shirt off. He throws it away and Lan Wangji glares as it floats away. “We can fish it out later,” Wei Ying promises.
“You can fish it out later.”
Wei Ying’s arms wrap around Lan Wangji’s neck, pulling them closer together. “Lan Zhan, ah, Lan Zhan, you have better things to be thinking about other than your shirt.”
Lan Wangji doesn’t bother with a reply. He leans forward and presses their lips together. Kissing Wei Ying is a previous novelty every time. The intimacy of it, of having Wei Ying so close, is something Lan Wangji could never tire of. It feels even more intimate kissing outside like this. The air is warm and there’s nothing but the sound of insects buzzing nearby.
“Mm, Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying murmurs. There’s water on his eyelashes and it drips down when he blinks. “I’m going to miss this when I’m gone.”
Lan Wangji, busy kissing Wei Ying’s neck, freezes. He pulls his face away and looks at Wei Ying. “Leaving.” He knew already, of course, but—
“Yeah—wait, I thought you knew? I told Bichen when she hired me and—I thought everyone in town knew? Jin Ling sure hasn’t kept it a secret.” Wei Ying swallows, a mixture of confusion and guilt on his face.
Lan Wangji can’t bring himself to speak. He nods. He did know. So why does he feel hurt now hearing Wei Ying say it?
“Lan Zhan?”
“We should get out of the water,” Lan Wangji says. He wades past Wei Ying, and pulls himself up on the dock, shivering as his skin is exposed to the air. He’s not sure what to do with himself as he stands there. His pants are wet. His shirt is lost somewhere in the river.
He hears Wei Ying emerge from the water behind him but doesn’t turn around. He knows he should say something. He’s known for a while now that Wei Ying would leave. He’d accepted the fact, happy to have whatever time they could together. But the reality of it now, hearing Wei Ying confirm it, makes it hurt more.
“Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying says again, standing in front of him. His hands flutter at his sides before he grabs Lan Wangji’s hands, letting them hang between them. “What’s wrong?”
“You’re leaving,” Lan Wangji manages to say, the words punctuated by gripping Wei Ying’s hands tightly as if he’s afraid of him leaving now.
“Yes,” Wei Ying confirms hesitantly. He seems unsure what to say. “Why do you look so sad? Are you going to miss me?” he tries to tease but the joke falls flat.
The flash of hurt Lan Wangji feels is unbearable. “Yes, I will,” he says. And you? Will you miss me? Does this hurt you the same way? If Wei Ying can joke about it, then perhaps not.
Wei Ying seems to be at a loss.
“I’m sorry,” Lan Wangji says. “I wanted you to enjoy our last few weeks together. Let’s find your fishing rod.” He tries to pull his hands away from Wei Ying but Wei Ying doesn’t let him.
Wei Ying frowns. “I’m confused. Why do you make it sound like they’re our last few weeks together forever? I’m coming back.”
“What.” Lan Wangji’s ears ring.
“I didn’t tell you?”
Lan Wangji shakes his head. Wei Ying looks embarrassed. “Ah, I thought I did—or I wanted to. I was going to mention it before I left. I just wasn’t sure—” He shrugs.
“Sure what?”
Wei Ying looks away, flustered. “That you’d want me to come back.”
“Wei Ying,” Lan Wangji says softly because he can say nothing else. How does he express the multitude of emotions he feels at Wei Ying’s confession? All of this time all he wanted to say was stay, Wei Ying. Come back Wei Ying. With the back of his hand, he strokes Wei Ying’s cheek, wiping away an errant tear as Wei Ying makes an embarrassed noise. He can’t bear the thought of Wei Ying not knowing so he says, “I want you to come back. Come back and stay here with me.”
“Ugh, Lan Zhan, hug me,” Wei Ying cries.
Lan Wangji hugs him.
“Tighter,” Wei Ying grumbles, muffled against Lan Wangji’s neck.
Lan Wangji hugs him tighter.
Wei Ying sniffles. “I’m so glad, Lan Zhan. I was only going to drop Jin Ling at Yunmeng. I really want to stay.”
“Then stay,” Lan Wangji murmurs and hugs him even tighter.
—
“I’ll come back. A month tops,” Wei Ying promises.
Lan Wangji holds the promise close to his heart and watches Wei Ying leave.
Nine months
—
The days grow long. The sun becomes warmer and the weather, already lovely, becomes lovelier and more suited to the growth of some crops and flowers. Longer days and the arrival of true summer mean more activity in the village. The kids get a break from school and take odd jobs around town, running errands in exchange for sweets. The three teenagers, now missing Jin Ling and A-Qing, often help around the farm.
Every day they ask Lan Wangji if he’s heard from Wei Ying. The answer always disappoints them. He reminds them that the journey to Yunmeng is long and interstellar communication is limited on such long trips. And when Wei Ying and Jin Ling arrive at Yunmeng they will be busy with reunions and settling in—or in Wei Ying’s case, preparing to leave again.
Sometimes, his own words sound weak to his ears but he tries not to lose faith. Even when a month passes and he’s heard nothing from Wei Ying, he tries to take comfort in Wei Ying’s promise.
He tries his best not to worry but he has no way of contacting Wei Ying. He quietly harbours a terrible fear that Wei Ying and Jin Ling never even made it to Yunmeng. Will Wei Ying’s return be another that Lan Wangji holds foolish hope for? Perhaps Lan Wangji’s love is always meant to be in the waiting, so entwined with hope.
He stores bottles of Wei Ying’s wine. Smiles fondly when he passes little patches of oxalis flowers. Maintains Wei Ying’s bicycle that he’d left behind, another promise of his return. One evening, he picks flowers by himself and drinks Wei Ying’s wine as the sun sets. The lonely moon rises in the sky and it’s a bitter sight without Wei Ying to share it with.
In his absence, Lan Wangji takes to using Wei Ying’s bicycle instead of his own hoverbike. The sentimentality of doing so is almost embarrassing, especially considering Lan Wangji loses his balance on it more than once and crashes. Wei Ying will come back for his bike. He will come back for his wine.
He will come back for me.
Ten months
—
Preparing Smilax glabra as decoction requires a patient and skilled hand. Lan Wangji has spent the better part of the morning drying the roots and now he’s boiling them. The roots must be boiled at a precise temperature for a specific length of time before the aqueous extract can be obtained. It’s a tedious process but one Lan Wangji finds comfort in.
“Are the deliveries ready?” Bichen asks.
Lan Wangji nods. The packaged deliveries of medicinal remedies and flowers are all by the door. “I need to finish this and then I will deliver them.”
“No need,” Bichen replies. “I hired a delivery boy.”
Lan Wangji, who was facing the stove, whirls around. Bichen is already moving away from the work table to the deliveries by the door. “What delivery boy?” He can’t keep the betrayal out of his voice. He doesn’t want another delivery boy. Not if it’s not Wei Ying.
“You can’t keep making them yourself, it’s about time we had someone to make the deliveries again.”
Lan Wangji turns back to the stove and glares at the boiling pot, fingers clenched tightly around his wooden spoon.
“Won’t you come out and meet him? He’ll be here any minute.” Bichen asks.
“No, thank you,” Lan Wangji says. He knows he sounds stubborn, perhaps childish, but he has no desire to meet the person who’s taken Wei Ying’s role. So many of Lan Wangji’s beloved memories of Wei Ying revolve around him making deliveries. The way he would arrive on early mornings with bleary eyes, only waking up when Lan Wangji prepared him a cup of coffee. The way he would refuse to leave until Lan Wangji gave him a kiss. Lan Wangji can make the deliveries himself. He doesn’t need a delivery boy and has no desire to interact with them. He wants Wei Ying.
The front door opens again and Lan Wangji expects it to be Bichen asking him again to come out and meet their new delivery person but—
“Hey, do you mind if I borrow that bicycle you have out front? I’m the new delivery boy.”
Lan Wangji drops the wooden spoon. For a split second, he’s too afraid to turn around, but when he does, he can’t contain the way he gasps out, “Wei Ying.”
There’s already a smile on Wei Ying’s face and at the sound of his name it only gets bigger. “Lan Zhan.”
Lan Wangji has to grip the counter behind him to anchor himself. He doesn’t know where to look, what part of Wei Ying to take in first, his brain unable to believe that Wei Ying is actually standing in front of him.
“You came back,” Lan Wangji says, choked.
“I did. I promised.” Wei Ying’s smile dims. “I’m sorry I’m late. I couldn’t come back empty handed—”
Lan Wangji doesn’t give him a chance to finish. He’s already crossed the distance between them, enveloping Wei Ying in a bone-crushing hug. He feels the same and smells the same and Lan Wangji doesn’t know how he lived months without him.
Wei Ying hugs him back just as tightly. “Lan Zhan, I missed you so much.”
Lan Wangji can’t reply, choked by the swell of longing that’s finally receding. I missed you, he wants to say. Thank you for coming back. I love you. Stay with me this time.
“Lan Zhan, won’t you give your Wei Ying a kiss?”
Lan Wangji will give him anything. He takes hold of Wei Ying’s face and kisses him hard, a crush of lips that should be uncomfortable but Lan Wangji has been parched of this affection for months and he wants Wei Ying as close as possible.
Wei Ying’s hair has gotten long enough that it’s tied back and Lan Wangji’s fingers tangle in the short ponytail, tugging at it just to hear the small moan Wei Ying makes against his mouth. They only pull apart when the smell of burning starts and Lan Wangji breaks away to turn the stove off and pull his pot away from the burner. The Smilax glabra he’s worked hours on is a lost cause but Lan Wangji can’t find it in himself to care in the face of Wei Ying’s bright laughter.
“We almost burned the house down!” he says. “Er-gege, I didn’t know you were so careless to leave a boiling pot unattended.”
Lan Wangji’s ears flush. “You are distracting.”
“Well, can I distract you some more?” Wei Ying asks, and the grin he sports is nothing if not mischievous. “Bichen left to make the deliveries. She said she won’t come back until the evening.”
“You’re staying?” Lan Wangji says, because there’s still a fragile part of him that’s afraid this is only temporary.
“I’m staying,” Wei Ying confirms. “For as long as you’ll have me.”
“Forever then,” Lan Wangji says, feeling as if his heart will burst,
The joy that takes over Wei Ying’s face is like a sunrise. “You promise? Come seal it with a kiss.”
Lan Wangji seals it with more than one.
One year
—
The next morning, he wakes up and goes through his morning routine. It takes him an extra ten minutes to go downstairs after he’s done because he’s too busy staring at Wei Ying. Wei Ying’s asleep on his stomach, arms under his pillow, the blanket kicked away and tangled in his legs. The expanse of his back is on display, and Lan Wangji leans down to place a barely there kiss on one of his shoulder blades. Wei Ying mentioned something about refusing to come back empty handed, but he never got a chance to elaborate. Lan Wangji wonders what he meant.
Helpless, he places another kiss on Wei Ying’s temple, gently tucking his hair out of the way.
Downstairs, Bichen is waiting for him, already at work. She bids him good morning and teases him about their new delivery boy.
Lan Wangji asks her the question he asks every morning.
Today, Bichen says yes and she smiles.