Chapter 1: Walk a Long Mile
Chapter Text
The curse struck forcefully, just above the bridge of his nose, splitting his head in half. Broken open, he found an empty center: the hollow of a melon, flooded instantly by the rushing noise of another. So loud! A thousand thoughts, impressions, and sensations which were not his own poured in. It was too much. Filled him up to the point of overflowing. His own thoughts—the input of his own senses—were forced to the very edge. He slipped away. Only the other remained.
Pain lances through Wei Wuxian’s head like a dagger in his eye. Stronger than anything else the monstrous clam has thrown at him yet, it feels almost like a curse. Accepting the pain, he takes a deep breath, and continues to play. The toddling boy with his little red rattle drum flickers out of existence. He was never really there.
“A-Lim,” his grandmother screams. “Not A-Lim!” Struggling against the strong arms of her neighbors, she fights to reach the water’s edge.
So many had already followed that translucent little boy into the dark water. So many resented it. None more than his mother. Whether little A-Lim was the first victim of the monstrous clam or had merely been taken by the sea too young, Li Xiuying had been the first to see his image. What was more natural than to follow the sound of her missing son’s drum? To reach for his offered hand? Li Xiuying grew up on the edge of these waters. This was the place she intended to raise her son to manhood. She had not feared the waves, then. She had not known what resided beneath them.
There was a monster hidden by the surf. By the surf, and its own illusions.
Whether or not the monstrous clam took A-Lim, it had taken Li Xiuying. She remembered its shell snapping down around her. The feeling of shattering bones. Something like an enveloping tongue, swallowing her whole. She remembered her husband. His arms, strong from hauling nets in high seas. His hands scarred after a lifetime spent breaking open oysters, tearing crab claws, deveining shrimp, rending guts and bones from fish. So gentle when he reached for the soft skin of his son’s cheek. So disarmed by the sound of that little drum. So helpless when he followed the footsteps of his dead wife into the snapping shell. Just as helpless as she was, watching restlessly.
Li Xiuying had not been violent in life. She could have forgiven much. Perhaps even her own death, the death of her husband, the death of her cousin, and the deaths of three of her neighbors. But how she resented the mirage: the use of her son’s face! That resentment was a tidal wave, powerful enough to wash away the entire cove. With a demonic cultivator to direct and focus that strength, she was easily a match for the monster that took her life.
Wei Wuxian might not even need the other angry spirits. Based on the force of the monstrous clam’s attack, its clear taste for human blood, the circumference and coloration of its shell—just visible at the lowest ebb of the waves—and the number of people already eaten, he has a decent assumption of its strength.
Numbers numbers numbers. If he understood the calculations less, perhaps he could let them wash over him more. But he did comprehend. That particular shading of red to pink on the shell was something he covered personally with many disciples over the years. A red shell on such a monster indicated a diet of things that bled—fish and larger animals—thus the creature would be stronger and more ferocious by a factor equivalent to the gradation of the color. The logic was sound. He just needed a few seconds more to follow the relation of the size of the clam to the rate of disappearances resulting in an approximation of its spiritual energy. But that was already gone. It was like reaching for the back of a cart only to be snagged in the spokes of a wheel, trampled by the horses. Too much. Too fast. Wei Wuxian was too smart. He always had been. Too smart for his own good.
When he first arrived in this little fishing village, Wei Wuxian played at being an orthodox cultivator. Meager as the golden core of his new body was, it existed. After six months of hard work and meditation, he could even draw Suibian again. As long as the fight didn’t last more than fifteen minutes, using a sword wouldn’t drain him to the point of passing out completely.
Besides, talismans weren’t unorthodox. Back when he’d been the first disciple of Lotus Pier, Wei Wuxian already believed in fighting strategically. A few clever spells, an understanding of the opponent’s weaknesses, and correct use of the terrain could resolve most problems without resorting to a sword. That hadn’t been enough to make him the pariah he became. For all the strength of the core he lost, Wei Wuxian had never been a powerhouse like Lan Zhan. There was no need to pretend he was one now just because he was playing a rogue cultivator.
But if he could make a name as an orthodox rogue cultivator—someone good and pure like his martial uncle Xiao Xingchen—maybe one day he would be a person who didn’t look too out of place standing next to Hanguang-Jun.
never never never
So he investigated normally, speaking to the living without troubling the dead. Wasted time skipping stones across calm waters with A-Lim’s older cousin, A-Chun. Left Chenqing quiet in his belt. And nearly allowed an old woman to follow a shadow into death.
It’s the same choice as always. He cannot protect the people who need him without strength, and those who have it to offer are right there waiting, begging him to use theirs. Six dead fisher-folk want their revenge. Li Xiuying will not rest in peace until monstrous clam is gone. If it simply leaves under its own will—to find a more populous village where people do not yet fear the sea—she may never rest at all. She has all the makings of a water ghost.
It is true. Such danger might have gone unseen so easily. Wangji would have recognized it, and known to exorcise her once the clam was dealt with. Not every disciple would. But this solution? Anathema! Vile! To wake the other five is to risk all six terrorizing the people. He’ll make the land uninhabitable. These shores were not Wei Wuxian’s desecrated Burial Mounds, where vengeful ghosts could do no further harm.
Rising to the surface, the monstrous clam brings with it an untimely tide. Water sluices down the pale pink indentations of its outer shell and up the sand. Up and up and up the sand: the rushing wave covers Wei Wuxian’s shoes, tries to sweep him off his feet. He sends five of the spirits to protect their neighbors. Like dark clouds, they swirl around the clusters of weeping, worried people, keeping the water at bay. Gauging the strength of each spirit and the force of the water striking his knees, Wei Wuxian unhappily concludes that he cannot protect any of the property on the beach while attacking. And he needs Li Xiuying to keep attacking.
One of the fishing boats breaks free of its mooring. Propelled by the unnatural wave, it crashes into the closest hut. Wood splinters, timbers crack, and the roof falls onto the already smashed boat, destroying both completely. Debris fill the swirling water as Li Xiuying’s anger finally manages to crack open the mouth of the monstrous clam, just enough for Wei Wuxian to see the nacre within.
Something sharp stabs into his thigh, but the dark water is up to his waist. Looking down is pointless. He keeps his eyes on the monstrous clam. He focuses on the music flowing through Chenqing, giving voice and power to Li Xiuying’s resentment.
He could leave some of the villagers alone. The huddled group of two. They might be able to run for higher ground. They might not. Either way, a spirit keeping two safe would be enough to protect him. If the water takes him, if he falls now, the monstrous clam will destroy the whole village. The resentful spirits will remain aroused. Can protecting his own position truly not have occurred to him? The thoughts move so quickly. There are so many. He must have considered it. Dismissed the stratagem recklessly. Always so reckless!
Li Xiuying takes the opening she made, snapping the shell in half with a crack. From the edge of death, the monstrous clam sends more water. It laps at Wei Wuxian’s chest as Li Xiuying pummels the clam’s exposed flesh. Bobbing waves circle his neck like a noose. Then it is over his head. He clutches Chenqing—waterlogged and silent—in his left fist and draws Suibian with his right.
Maneuvering the sword takes every iota of spiritual energy his weak little core can offer, but it’s the only way he has to escape. Breaking the surface of the water, he sees the red wreckage of the clam sinking beneath him. It cannot be allowed to slink away.
Hovering just above the waves, balanced on a sword that will fall when the last of his energy gives out, Wei Wuxian raises Chenqing one final time. Li Xiuying springs back into action. Water is no barrier to her rage; the clam’s shell is no protection from her. She pounds and pounds the beast into complete oblivion.
At last, the water recedes from the beach. With the dregs of his strength, Wei Wuxian manages to land gracefully on the sand, allowing a few final notes to drift from Chenqing and echo against the calming sea.
Li Xiuying and the other dead wake to full awareness. They know their vengeance has been wrought; the one who killed them is gone. He lets them see that their neighbors, their friends, their parents are safe. They have protected the people they wanted to protect. And all of them, even Li Xiuying, are liberated with the last somber note.
It was still a risk. Too much of a risk. He didn’t known for certain. The calculations regarding his own spiritual energy were dangerously inexact and he knew it!
Wei Wuxian takes a breath. Sheathes Suibian. Slips Chenqing into his belt. Blinks away some of his exhaustion. Feels a slap to his left cheek so hard it rattles his teeth and nearly sends him reeling to the ground.
Standing before him is the old woman. A-Lim’s grandmother. He is sure someone mentioned her name at some point. One of her neighbors catches her hand, pulling her back. So she spits at him instead of hitting him again. A small mercy. Swiping a wet sleeve over his cheek cleans the spittle away.
“I know who you are!” she cries. “Yiling Laozu! Pretending to be a cultivator! Saying you could help! But I know who you are. A true cultivator would have saved my grandson. My daughter!”
“Forgive her, Yiling Laozu,” says the man. “She is maddened by her grief.”
Wei Wuxian has the awful suspicion he is also supposed to know the man’s name. Had it been Bo-something? Bao-something? Or maybe Po-something? He looks around at the wreckage of the village. Most of the little huts are still standing, but anything within that couldn’t survive a thorough soaking is ruined. Two of the boats these people rely upon to make their living are irreparable.
A proper cultivator like Lan Zhan would have set disciples with simple barrier talismans to hold back the flood. Even three well trained juniors could have protected the entire village while Lan Zhan took care of the monstrous clam. There would be no lean times for the villagers then, while they fished from fewer boats and struggled to replace all that was lost.
And if there were no disciples? Could Wangji alone have done better? All the people lived.
Bowing with more respect than he would show to most clan leaders, Wei Wuxian apologizes. “This cultivator is very sorry for his failings.”
Walking tears at the injury to his leg. He suspects it’s bleeding badly, but stopping to look would only prolong an awkward situation. Marshaling his will, he strides across the washed out beach.
Happily, poor A-Lim’s older cousin A-Chun is waiting at the base of the rocky outcropping, holding Little Apple’s bridle. The lazy donkey looks fat and content after grazing on all the thistles atop the ridge. As always, she is utterly untroubled by her master’s recent difficulties.
A-Chun smiles shyly. She is a good girl. With a cleft lip and heavy brow she wouldn’t be considered pretty, but she picked up the proper flick of the wrist for skipping stones right away. Seven in a row is an excellent record for a girl who probably has the same number of years to her name.
Do not judge others by the features of their birth. A proper cultivator would not make note of the girl’s face, even in his private thoughts.
“Such a hard worker!” He grins. “Say, A-Chun, how about leaving your family behind and traveling with me? I can’t afford to pay you or feed you, but you can eat thistles with Little Apple! Your number one job is to let her kick you instead of me when she’s feeling grouchy.”
Instead of giving him a laugh, she tugs the donkey’s head a little closer to her chest so she can hide her face on a spotted cheek. Surprisingly, Little Apple allows this without biting. If Wei Wuxian tried something similar, she’d snap his nose right off.
“Are you really the Yiling Laozu?”
Oh. So she’d been able to hear what was said from up the ridge. He tries not to let his grin dim too much. “I am! But I promise I don’t actually eat children. To you I’m just Xian-gege or Wei Wuxian, okay? Now, Little Apple might eat you, but only because she’s such a glutton! You’re so thin she’ll just be grazing along and mistake you for a piece of grass.”
“She won’t eat me.” A-Chun pats the donkey’s soft nose. Astonishingly, all of her fingers survive the move. “We’re friends.”
“Master Wei!” Wei Wuxian definitely, almost certainly, knows the name of the approaching woman. She is definitely, almost certainly, A-Chun’s mother. Or possibly an aunt through marriage.
He puts his hands on his hips, which stabs sharp pain straight up his thigh. “Can you believe this little girl doesn’t want to come travel with the Yiling Laozu and be donkey food?”
The woman smiles. She doesn’t even try to slap him or pull A-Chun away. Instead, she offers him a small pouch. “Thank you for saving our village, Master Wei. And the life of my husband’s mother, though she will not admit it. We’re very grateful.”
With A-Chun right there, he can’t make the obvious joke about the relative value a daughter-in-law might place upon certain lives.
An unusual show of restraint.
Unfortunately, that means all he can do is gaze out at a village that doesn’t look particularly saved.
“No need for that sort of thing,” he says mildly.
“Please.” She presses the pouch into his hand.
It isn’t too heavy, by the feel of things. Probably only silver, though of course he can’t possibly check. Just money enough for a few nights at an inn while his leg heals, instead of sleeping out in the weather. A big meal or two could remind him what a full belly feels like. Maybe if he stretches it and doesn’t splurge on food, there will be money enough for a new outer robe. Even without inspection, he knows the rips in his clothing are going to require as much mending as the wound beneath. His outer robe is already so threadbare that the black is turning gray. People think him disreputable on sight. Soon they’ll think him a beggar. He doesn’t want to be a beggar.
Money makes everything so much easier.
Wei Wuxian crouches down so he can look A-Chun straight in the eye. A severe miscalculation. Pain lances up his leg so intensely that his vision blacks out for a frightening moment. Hiding the wince in a comic wobble, he mills his arms so wildly that he finally gets that laugh out of A-Chun. Such a sweet laugh she has! It’s throaty and repetitive like summer frog-song.
“Woah! Great news, a-Chun!”
“What?”
“I can pay you for donkey-duty after all!” He hands her the little pouch of silver. She is too young and happy to refuse. “Be a good girl and give that to your mother to help with household expenses, now.”
Wei Wuxian winks up at the woman. She shakes her head, but smiles at him.
Be generous. Perform acts of chivalry. Do not lead a luxurious and dissipated life. Bah! Could that be enough if he followed crooked ways and was already fallen to evil?
Continuing his show of bumbling ineptitude to hide the very real way he seems to be losing the use of his right leg, Wei Wuxian clambers up onto Little Apple’s back. Obligingly, she begins rambling over the rocks and up toward the road. Looking back over his shoulder, Wei Wuxian sees the pair still watching him. When he waves, they wave back.
They don’t hate him.
In a cruel world, having a few people who don’t hate him is the greatest blessing he can seek. The high, hot sun is already drying his clothing. Little Apple’s loping gait doesn’t jar his leg too much if he keeps one fist pressed hard against it. Once they go a short distance, he can stop to clean his wound. Stitching it up will help. In the meantime, he focuses his remaining spiritual energy on healing. He just. Trusts Little Apple to walk. And closes his eyes. For a moment.
One minute.
Warm sun.
Closed eyes.
Less bright.
“Uncle! Can you hear me?”
“Xichen.”
“Wei Wuxian must be asleep. We thought there was a chance you might regain consciousness at such a time.”
“Yes. The curse?”
“Lan Fen says the only way to safely break it is to initiate a normal telepathic link, such as the mind sharing spell. When that is broken, the curse will break as well.”
“If he dies?”
“Wei Ying has done nothing wrong. He will be found, but he will not be harmed.”
“Wangji, I’m sure Uncle is only clarifying—”
“No. He is injured. Badly. And alone. Fool. There was help available. Backlash. If he dies. My heart may stop. Be prepared.”
“Yes, Uncle.”
“Where. Where is Wei Ying?”
“The coast. A village too small for a name. South. Traveling South along the old coast road.”
“That is a long road.”
“Uncle! Uncle, please. Stay with me. Where is Wei Y—”
Wei Wuxian is falling. Falling and falling and falling to his first death. Caught by the resentful energy, but it doesn’t stop him falling. It pulls him down and down and down to hell. He is not allowed to die.
Wei Wuxian is falling. Falling and looking up at Lan Zhan as he falls and falls to his second death. It doesn’t hurt at all. He can die. He can rest. Lan Zhan and Jiang Cheng will be so much better off the further from them he falls. So he falls and falls and falls, but he is not allowed to die.
He wakes up when he hits the ground.
Everything is dark. Gravel digs into his cheek. Predictably, his clothes are stiff with salt from the sea. Little Apple snores nearby. His leg throbs. All of his muscles ache. Which means he can feel them. That’s probably better than the alternative. The gibbous moon drifts out from behind a cloud. It will be full soon. A full moon always makes him think of Lan Zhan. Lan Zhan standing alone on a bridge, looking up. The rooftops in Cloud Recesses, a full moon, and two round, white jars of Emperor’s Smile. Lan Zhan is always beautiful, but moonlight gives him an ethereal glow.
“Wei Wuxian! You will die,” says Wen Qing’s voice in his memory.
She’s right. Dreaming about Lan Zhan with an untreated wound on his leg is foolish, even by Wei Wuxian’s standards. Every nerve in his leg explodes with crippling, burning pain when he tries to stand, so he collapses onto his belly and doesn’t try to do that twice. Instead, he digs his fingers into the dirt, dragging his broken body out of the road toward where Little Apple is snoring on the grass. He notes she didn’t drop him on the soft grass. Just dumped him right in the gravel. So little care for her master! Such an unfeeling animal!
Beautiful as the moonlight is, he can’t actually see his wound by it. So he sacrifices a little of his precious talisman paper to the cause. Little Apple snuffles unhappily and turns her head away from the light of his illumination talisman. Such a lazy donkey! Wanting to sleep through the night is so selfish.
His leg looks awful. Whatever hit him was a lot broader than a sword, but a sword would have cut deeper. He can’t even see bone, just a lot of blood and muscle. How lucky! Unfortunately, he can also see about three hundred little wooden splinters. He wishes for Wen Qing. Even in the Burial Mounds when they didn’t have medicine, she still used her needles to numb pain. Besides, surely such a menial job was women’s work!
He remembers the terrifying face she used to make whenever he called something women’s work; it’s enough to keep him on task for the first hundred splinters or so.
pain pain pain pain pain
Shijie would help him, he thinks. She would be so kind about it. She would say, “I know it hurts. A-Xian is so strong and very brave to tolerate this much.” Even though he wasn’t either. Even though he is weak and wants to stop. Let it fester to spare himself the pain.
burning stinging sharp pain pain pain
“That’s what you do, isn’t it?” he imagines Jiang Cheng saying. “You give up. As soon as things get hard, you walk away. Lazy. Unfilial. Ingrate.” Maybe at the end it turns into Madam Yu’s voice. Jiang Cheng will be so angry if Wei Wuxian dies of an infection. Madam Yu will beat him with Zidan again if he doesn’t do what needs to be done.
No. That isn’t right. She can’t. She’s dead. Jiang Cheng will be the one to whip him for not cleaning his wound properly. He’ll hate that. Jiang Cheng pretends to be angry and unfeeling because he’s so soft at heart. He won’t want to hurt Wei Wuxian. So Wei Wuxian can’t deserve a whipping. He has to finish cleaning his wound.
There’s a little fresh water in his canteen. He should use it all on his leg. But his mouth is dry and tastes like salt. He steals the smallest sip for himself before washing away the last of the blood. Then he ties the wound off with a mostly clean rag from Little Apple’s saddle bag. At least the rag isn’t full of salt like the rest of his clothes.
So hungry. So thirsty. He needs strength to heal. After expending his spiritual energy, he needs something. Inedia cannot sustain from such a deficit.
The light from his talisman fades. Which means he must have taken quite a while just to clean himself up. At least there’s no one around to judge him for being so slow! Summer nights are short. He doesn’t waste paper lighting up another talisman. There’s no chance he could use it to find water. Not in a salt-desiccated land like this. If there was freshwater to be found, he could use a talisman to just do that.
Folding his legs up into a lotus, Wei Wuxian struggles to hold himself comfortably. Clearing his mind in such circumstances isn’t easy! It takes concentration to focus on the tiny seed of his golden core. Unfortunately, his demanding body refuses to be ignored. The salt in the air and in his mouth is drying him out in a way all the deserts and volcanoes around Qishan couldn’t. If only there was a way to get water without the salt—
Breaking the peace of the night, Wei Wuxian’s laugh rings out cheerfully. Little Apple isn’t the only one disturbed by it. She only grunts in annoyance. Away in the scrub brush, something chitters furiously. Ignoring this unwarranted judgment, Wei Wuxian grabs up his canteen and triumphantly draws a talisman on the side of it with a little of his blood. Instantly, it fills with sweet, drinkable water.
Such a minor modification. Water talismans draw from the water of the world. A typical water summoning would draw only saltwater in such a place unless there were heavy rain clouds overhead. Useful enough to put out a fire, but no good for drinking. Cleansing or another ritual purification would be required to make it potable. Injured, exhausted, and impossibly weak, Wei Wuxian solved a problem which has stymied cultivators for centuries. Truly is it said, “Hunger makes people resourceful.”
After draining the entire canteen, Wei Wuxian cheerfully slaps his new talisman on the side again, all too pleased with himself. He has plenty of blood to write with! Of course, once the demon of thirst is slain, hunger rears its gaping maw.
In the Burial Mounds, Wei Wuxian always told Wen Qing he couldn’t be bothered to keep track of minor household accounting. That was untrue. He just didn’t like to do it. When Wei Wuxian is alone, he always knows exactly how much food and money there is. He counts and recounts every crumb and coin so carefully. Sometimes, it fills his mind until all he can think about is exactly what he has and where he can get more.
Do not be miserly.
Lan Zhan would say, “Do not be miserly,” because Lans thought focusing too much on money begat greed. To which Wei Wuxian would be forced to say, “Being frugal is a virtue.” The line between the two is so thin. Just like Wei Wuxian’s poor waist! He has one piece of bak kwa, six dried lychee, and one sad loquat. He thought the loquat was a lucky find, and plucked it far too early from its tree.
He has one piece of silver and three coins, but it’s not like there’s a dumpling stand on this dark, abandoned roadside.
Wei Wuxian eats the loquat. Stiff and sour, it’s nothing like the warm loquats that can be bought in Caiyi town. One day soon, he’ll visit Lan Zhan to beg for ripe loquats, persimmons, and Emperor’s Smile. Maybe he’ll have money then, and can treat Lan Zhan to a meal! Or not. When Lan Zhan is near, Wei Wuxian doesn’t worry so much about money or food. Lan Zhan is so good that whenever he’s nearby everyone will be safe and no one will go hungry. So a mind can think about other things.
Someday soon—maybe when snow comes, maybe he doesn’t have to wait a full year—Wei Wuxian will return to Gusu. In the mean time, he should save the dried food for an emergency. He can catch a fish once the sun rises.
What does Wei Wuxian consider an emergency?
Less hungry, knowing the pain in his leg will make sleep impossible, Wei Wuxian decides to meditate for the remainder of the night. Usually he prefers a moving meditation, like the meditative swimming routines he first learned at Lotus Pier; but despite what Old Man Qiren used to think, he is capable of focusing.
Capability was never the question. Only will.
Staying in Cloud Recesses with Lan Zhan, smelling the sandalwood incense, Wei Ying found a peace in stillness so much greater than any he’d known before. He seeks it again. Centering himself on his golden core is easy. He lets his awareness spread to engulf everything around him, from Little Apple’s snoring to the distant waves of the sea, and he releases all of it. There is only his breath, his core, his qi. The pain of his body is as present and as distant as that gently rolling water washing in and out along the endless sand. Yet this body, his new body, a gift of strange circumstances, is the home of that core, his qi, and that qi can heal the body in turn.
When the sun rises and Little Apple begins rooting in the grass for breakfast, Wei Wuxian’s leg can bear his weight again.
Perhaps not entirely hopeless as a cultivator, if he would forego wickedness.
Using his new talisman—which he really should write Lan Zhan about—Wei Wuxian fills a drinking bowl for Little Apple. Far more interested in the grass, she doesn’t appreciate his efforts. So he’s perfectly justified ignoring her in turn.
Leaving the road, he shucks his outer robes and goes down to the water to fish. He likes fishing by hand. Feeling the warm sun on the back of his neck and the cool water around his knees is a great way to spend a day. On a day when his stomach isn’t aching and the salt water doesn’t sting his leg wound, that is. Hungry as he is, Wei Wuxian uses a talisman to lure some nice meaty fellows straight into his waiting palms.
With a little drift wood and his number one fire talisman, Wei Wuxian has four big bream roasting in less than an hour. He eats and eats and eats: eyes and bellies and flesh and all until only bones are left. It’s far more than three bowls. Lan Zhan would disapprove. Wei Wuxian is too full of fish to care. He collapses backward onto the sand, feeling the warm sun on his face, fat and happy.
“Uncle?”
“Xichen.”
“Please, take a little tea.”
“Thank you.”
“How fares Wei Wuxian? You seemed to be in less pain over the last few hours.”
“Yes. He will live. He is healing. Wangji?”
“Leading the disciples in a search. I can get a message to him if you have any guidance for us.”
“No. An unpopulated beach. Still likely heading south on the old coast road. Nothing helpful.”
“Wangji will find him.”
“Doubtless.”
“Here. I hope you will eat something while you have the opportunity.”
“Xichen.”
“Uncle?”
“Thank you.”
The sky broke open with cracking, purple lightning called down by Madam Yu, striking A-Xian’s hands. “Thief! All you do is take. There’s no end to your greed! Spoiled, spoiled boy!”
He should not have taken one of the osmanthus cakes, but they looked so good. A-Xian was still new to Lotus Pier, and Uncle said he never had to be hungry again. He thought one would be meant for him. He thought it didn’t matter so much if he ate the cake sooner or later, but it mattered. It mattered. It mattered. His hands burned with the lash of Zidan as it cracked down across his palms again, pitiless. Endlessly repeating. “I’m sorry,” he cried. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”
He can still feel pain sparking across his palms when he wakes. The hot sun hides its face behind a cloud. To dispel the dream, he tries to call up the memory of what really happened that day, but it’s all so fuzzy and distant. He knows Madam Yu probably only whipped him two or three times. She never whipped him more than three times in one go with Zidan until the Wen came to Lotus Pier. When he was very small, it was usually only once. Afterward, Shijie would always bathe him and baby him and feed him soup.
Madam Yu was right; Wei Wuxian was spoiled.
So he spoils himself a little more, bullying Little Apple into carrying him down the road as he further rests his leg. He messes around on his dizi, trilling a playful accompaniment to the sea birds. After a while, he drifts into Lan Zhan’s nameless song. It is so beautiful; it is so lonely without the sound of a guqin.
In winter, as soon as the snows come, he will go to Gusu. It won’t be a full year’s reprieve for Lan Zhan, but it should be time enough away. And Wei Ying won’t stay long. Not the whole season, just a week or two. Unless Lan Zhan asks him to. Maybe there will be a big snow in the mountains just when he arrives, and Wei Wuxian will have to stay for three weeks. Lan Zhan will insist, for the sake of safety. Three weeks in the jingshi, watching Lan Zhan write his correspondence with perfect calligraphy. Three weeks of having Lan Zhan pour tea just so. Three weeks with Lan Zhan.
Wei Wuxian goes back to harmonizing with the birds. For the sake of safety.
Even traveling peacefully down the road, his perceives too much. Not just the click of stones as a lizard skitters over rock—any trained cultivator notes such movement—but to compare the wave of its tail to the wave of the sea? To make note of the precise angle of difference between the two? And now to think about an ocean wave with the same amplitude shown by the lizard’s tail, he calculates the degree of storm that would necessitate. Moon and tide and force of wind all churn away in his mind even as he rides, trilling old folk tunes on his flute. He thinks too much! A quiet mind begets a peaceful life.
As morning gives way to afternoon, signs of civilization begin to dot the road. Away to the east, at least half a mile inland, he sees an orchard. Persimmons trees, he thinks, from the shape of the branches. Hardly worth leaving the road for, even if he is hungry enough to steal. Persimmons wouldn’t be ripe for months.
Immoral.
Little fishing huts dot the water along the seaside. Here and there he sees small docks with a boat or two, but nothing large enough to be called a village. He wonders if the fishing is bad or if the land is unsuitable in some way.
Further south, he discovers the answer to this little mystery. Perched at the edge of a jut of land thrust boldly into the sea is a small port town. With a few hundred houses and some taller ships docked beyond, it might even be called a city. No settlement grows that much without protection. There will be cultivators. A smart man would bypass it. He wouldn’t even have to leave the road to do so. He could just keep on the straight path instead of turning.
Wei Wuxian has never been one for the straight path.
No. He hasn’t. I know those walls. That port.
Low as the sun hangs over the ocean, vendors still line the marketplace. That none of them call to him or offer trials of their wares tells him just how awful his stiff, torn, bloodstained outfit is. Even dressed in the rags of the Burial Mound, the street vendors of Yiling always thought he might have enough money for grass butterflies or dumplings. How judgemental these port-town folk are! He has a donkey. Clearly he’s not a complete beggar.
With the sun baked cobblestones beneath her hooves, Little Apple is not happy about the afternoon heat. She barely follows as he tugs her lead, and balks every six or seven steps. He needs to beg a shaded stable for her.
The inn he finds is centrally located. Surrounded by bustling merchants, there is not a single patron within. As he’s hooking Little Apple’s bridle to the shaded post outside, a bowlegged old man stops him. “You’d be better off sleeping on the beach, traveler. I wouldn’t even eat a meal here in high summer.”
“Oh,” he asks. “Bad wine?” There’s really no helping that, but he can’t afford wine anyway.
“Not at all! They serve all four local varieties: something for every taste!”
“Then why?”
“The heat, sir. This place was built before the market grew up around it. Other buildings block the breeze. Nothing the owner can do will bring in patrons until the heat breaks. Such a shame! But don’t feel you’re missing out by spending a night on the beach; it’s cooler than anywhere in town during a hot spell like this one. Or, if you’ve the coin, there’s another inn down near the docks. They can be—selective—about guests, however.”
Laughing brightly, Wei Wuxian says, “You don’t think I’ll meet the standard?”
Blushing, the old man tries to apologize, but Wei Wuxian waves him off.
“You’re right! Of course you’re right! There never was as disreputable a man as me. Even so, how about taking a risk and making a bet with a stranger? Meet me here tomorrow at the hottest part of the day. If it isn’t a pleasant place for a meal just then, I’ll treat you to one anywhere you choose; however, if this seems like a comfortable place to stay, you have to buy two jars of your favorite wine and share one with me.”
Gambling. Taking advantage of an elderly commoner. Shameless.
“I’ll take you up on that friend! Mostly because you don’t look like you have the money to treat me, which means there’ll be a trick somewhere. Probably one I’d happily pay a jar of wine to see!”
With a chuckle of his own, he wanders off. Wei Wuxian enters the inn. It’s completely unlit within, and his eyes take a moment to adjust. The pretty lamps are some of the many fine amenities in the well appointed common room sitting unused and unappreciated.
Despite the disappearance of the bright seaside sun, inside is twice as sweltering as reported. Wei Wuxian is greeted at once by a young woman. Her hairline is damp with sweat and her eyes fever-bright, but her smile is welcoming.
“Good afternoon! Is the young sir seeking accommodation or a meal? We are happy to provide both at very reasonable rates.”
“Are you the owner of this fine establishment, madam?”
“My wife and I have that honor, yes. It has been in her family for generations.”
“Then you are absolutely the person I want to speak with! I wonder if you’d agree to an exchange of services?”
The welcoming smile turns wooden, as fixed as the support pillars of the venerable building.
“I’m afraid we have little need for a dishwasher at this time, sir.”
“That,” says Wei Wuxian, “is not the service I provide.” With lightning quick fingers, he dashes off six talismans, one right after the other. As each is finished, he flicks it toward a different window, sticking it to the frame. By the time he sets the last in the doorway, a pleasant breeze is circulating through the rapidly cooling common room.
“How long will it last?” the owner asks in dazed amazement.
Six hours. Unless that connected participle he included increases the efficiency of the—
“About a day,” Wei Wuxian admits. “Which is also about how long it would take me to carve a permanent version into the wood, both down here and in any rooms upstairs that you want cooled the same way.”
“You can make it permanent?”
“Well,” he hedges.
A constantly cooling array will not be a boon when winter storms blow in from the sea.
“You’ll want to deactivate it at the end of the summer. Which means you’ll need a cultivator to reactivate everything the next time the weather heats up. But they won’t need to do the real work again! Just give it a spark of spiritual energy. Anyone who charges you more than a silver piece for their time would be attempting robbery.”
She gives him a nod that’s all business. No hint of a smile remains in her mouth.
“How much do you want in payment? For what you call the real work.”
“Room and board tonight and tomorrow night for myself and my donkey. Someone to launder my clothes and mend them. As you can see, they need a lot of mending by a professional. A jar of each of the wines you serve. I know you serve four kinds, so don’t try to cheat me!”
As he ticks off each of his demands on his fingers, he watches her expression. It remains serious, so he hasn’t asked for too much yet. He chances it. “And talisman paper. Twice as much as I used on this little demonstration.”
She nods firmly. “Deal. There’s a merchant I know down by the docks who carries that sort of thing. You’ll do your carving in here during the morning hours, so you don’t disturb any lunch or dinner guests. Can you put something up in the stables for the animals?”
“I insist on doing that first!” says Wei Wuxian. “You have no idea how demanding Little Apple can be about her comforts. She is the laziest, pickiest, most recalcitrant animal that ever lived.”
At last, the woman gives him a real, genuine smile. “Donkeys can be like that. I grew up with a family of carters, bringing goods from the port inland. So I’ve known a few in my time.”
“Well, Little Apple could beat all of them for uselessness!”
“Then I look forward to getting to know her.” Bowing low, she introduces herself as Deng Bao.
Hesitantly, he returns the bow. “Wei Wuxian.”
Since there’s no shrieking or thrown wine jars, he assumes she doesn’t recognize his name. “Well, Wei Wuxian, how about sitting down to an early supper? You look like you’ve been on the road for quite some time!”
“I have,” he says, “I have! Let me tell you all about it.”
A few cups into his first jar of wine, Deng Bao’s wife comes from the kitchen carrying a meal so beautiful Wei Wuxian wants to weep. Oysters with ginger and shallots are served on the half shell alongside a peppery squid dish red enough to dye cloth. And rice! It’s been over a week since he last tasted rice. A-Chun’s family only served millet. Even the boring, unseasoned rice of Cloud Recesses would be delicious, but with so much good seafood, he’s willing to swear that the cooking of Deng Bao’s wife is the best in all the world.
“I’ll sign my name to it,” he vows. “When I’m doing the rest of the carving, I’ll put up a plaque! ‘Wei Wuxian ate the best shrimp of his life here,’ it will say.”
“That will not be necessary.” Deng Bao has an excellent eye roll that could give even Jin Ling a run for his money, though she barely approaches the magnificence Jiang Cheng has attained in the art.
As he finishes, other patrons start to trickle in a few at the time. With a wink, Wei Wuxian says, “I eat a lot, but I earn my keep.” Then he goes out to carve the first of his permanently linked talismans in the stables and settle Little Apple.
The animals do not like him. The horses shy away. Do they sense his demonic cultivation? Or is it merely a natural aversion to an energetic disposition in such heat.
It’s hot, meticulous labor, getting things set up properly in the stable. The inside of an oven would be more comfortable. No one should be subjected to such treatment, but Wei Wuxian supposes people are less considerate when it comes to the welfare of beasts. Not to mention that Deng Bao and her wife probably have to take whatever custom they can get. Unfortunately, the presence of unhappy animals makes for slow going when it comes to the delicate carving Wei Wuxian has to do. He’s bitten by two different mules as he sees to the comfort of their stalls. Nasty animals. Little Apple takes pity and doesn’t bite him; so, he lets her stay in the street until the entire stable is cool and sweet smelling.
After that, there’s a cold bath drawn in his room and a basket for all his soiled clothing. He soaks and scrubs his skin, taking time to carefully untangle his hair. Being off the road is such a luxury! In the stifling heat of his room, he’s even happy about the frigid water.
How he used to complain to Jiang Cheng about the cold baths in Cloud Recesses! Naturally, he could heat them up right away with a talisman, but it was the principle of the thing. Lans refused to heat their bathwater because they didn’t take pleasure in anything. Lan Zhan probably bathes for exactly as long as needed to get clean and not a second more. But he soaks in the cold springs sometimes.
Wei Wuxian can see him there so clearly. A waterfall of black hair over one shoulder. Silk smooth skin everywhere except the once broken places. Whip scars suffered on behalf of a boy who had never—could never—hope to deserve that kind of loyalty.
Wei Wuxian will never forgive Zewu-Jun or Lan Qiren for allowing it.
Punishment must be dealt and the equilibrium of justice maintained. Injury was dealt to others of the sect, and their pain must be acknowledged. Balanced.
Of course, the real blame belongs with the one who caused it. Hanguang-Jun should be set above the world, a shining beacon of righteousness, unsullied by the filthy hands of Wei Wuxian. Untouched by any who would harm him. If just anyone dared to hurt Lan Zhan like that, Wei Ying would kill them quickly, raise their corpses, and make them devour one another until nothing was left but bones and bile.
evil evil evil
But Lan Zhan loves his family. Zewu-Jun is one of a very few objectively good people in the cultivation world. Old Man Qiren hadn’t even been a bad teacher, all told. And those other nameless, faceless Lan had been hurt by Lan Zhan. Defending Wei Wuxian. It was all so impossibly wrong. Only one thing was certain: without Wei Ying, it never would have happened. If Wei Wuxian keeps his distance, Lan Zhan may never suffer such a hurt again.
He’ll wait until spring to visit Gusu, like he planned when he left. He’ll only stay a week. He won’t impose. He probably shouldn’t go at all. But the thought of never seeing Lan Zhan again?
pain pain pain pain pain pain pain
Flinging himself out of the bath, Wei Wuxian dries his body. Maybe the towel can scrub the indelible stain from his soul if he uses it roughly enough. Deng Bao or someone else left a few homespun things for him to wear while all of his own clothes are washed and mended. They’re folded neatly just beside the bath. He throws on the coarse garments and gets to work. By midnight, he has talismans carved into every window on the second floor. Unfortunately, the drinkers in the common room are still going strong. Now that the inn is the coolest place in town instead of the hottest there are plenty of customers.
Wei Wuxian’s side of the bargain explicitly includes not disturbing guests in that common room. So he has no more work to keep busy. He’ll have to go to sleep.
Are his dreams always so terrible?
Without physical pain or spiritual exhaustion to drag him down into slumber, Wei Wuxian winds up staring at the ceiling of his room for the first dark hour. He tries not to think about all of the people he’s failed, disappointed, or destroyed.
He mostly succeeds by mentally sketching out a calendar array. If he sets it up properly and lays it into the floor of the common room, he can save Deng Bao the trouble of reactivating the talismans every year. Instead, they should switch off and on using the power of the array at set times of year. It isn’t much of a problem. It isn’t much of a distraction.
The necessary calculations to set the array. The challenge of linking it to already carved talismans. The calendar: an ever wheeling span of time, always turning, ever turning, on without end. Overwhelming overwhelming overwhelming
He needs to sleep. He knows how. It’s so pathetic. As a boy he used to laugh about it with Jiang Cheng. They would talk about pretty girls and all the things they didn’t understand. Later he had Huaisang’s reading material to fuel his imagination, feeling world wise and free. In those days it was just fun. Illicit, harmless fun that he could have whenever he liked. After he gave away his golden core—after surviving the Burial Mounds the first time—it became the most certain way he could relax enough to sleep.
After he did what?
Lately, though, it feels wrong. Touching himself makes him think about things—want things—that aren’t his to think about or want. Things that hurt. It feeds the desperate need that threatens to swallow up his friendship with Lan Zhan. He shouldn’t. He won’t sleep if he doesn’t.
nonononononono
Wei Wuxian gets out of bed to fetch a cloth from beside the wash basin. He kicks his borrowed trousers off. He won’t make more of a mess than he has to of Deng Bao’s things. Sliding his thumb down the curve of his hip to the base of his cock, he encircles it with his forefinger. It’s a limp, lazy thing, but he tries to wake himself with plain friction. No thoughts, just the tug of a hand. A fingernail circling the tip, teasing at his foreskin. Would Lan Zhan like it that way?
nonononononono
His cock leaps enthusiastically into his palm, because it’s a wretched, impossible idiot that doesn’t know he’s not for them. Wei Ying isn’t going to do this again. His hand is his own hand. Lan Zhan’s hands are too pure to ever touch Wei Ying. Especially not like this. If Lan Zhan knew Wei Ying was thinking about being touched by him, he would vomit blood. Wei Ying’s cock flags like a collapsing balloon slowly sinking to the inhospitable earth.
Unfortunately incorrect. But best these thoughts cease. Best the activity ceases entirely. Inappropriate. Utterly inappropriate.
He needs to sleep.
Meditation. Healthy exercise. Jujube tea. Acupuncture.
Hanguang-Jun will never, ever touch the Yiling Laozu. Lan Zhan deserves to be touched by someone, though. Lan Zhan deserves everything good and pleasant; being touched isn’t explicitly against the rules.
Promiscuity is prohibited!
Promiscuity is prohibited, of course, so he couldn’t go with just anyone. Thinking about Lan Zhan indulging with just any person off the street is hilarious, though. He would never.
For Lan Zhan, it can only be the best of everything. She would be a beautiful widow, old enough and experienced enough to know what she wanted. Moon faced and voluptuous with wealth, wearing robes of tasteful gold to offset Lan Zhan’s white jade. She needs nothing from him save the honor of being the one to please him. He would never take advantage of gratitude or a person in need. But he might give of himself to someone worthy.
He lets her kneel. He lets her open his robes to kiss the tip of his cock. Lets her feel it grow in her mouth as she drinks him in. Wei Ying pushes two fingers against his own tongue. He sucks, imagining. Would Lan Zhan’s eyes grow dark? Would he smile in that slow, intimate way of his?
Wangji would never make such an expression! Never. No. No. No. Wangji was too young! Too young for an expression like that! Far too young for any of this nonsense!
He would fuck her mouth, just a little. Slowly, because he was a consummate gentleman, but he would. He gives it to her deeply enough to choke her. Would he like it? Would feeling her choke make him speed up, fuck her face a little more? She wanted it. Tears sting the corners of her eyes from the press of him in her throat. In gratitude for being allowed to do this. She’s so lucky.
It wouldn’t be enough. Lan Zhan was so kind. So giving. Surely he would give her more. Drawing his fingers from his mouth, Wei Ying imagines those strong arms. Powerful enough to flip a lover easily onto a bed. Relentless enough to push in steadily. Lan Zhan would fuck the same way he fought, with fluid grace, implacable strength, and perfect control. Sliding his fingers into himself, Wei Ying imagines—
nonononononononono
The woman. He imagines the beautiful widow. How much she loves the stretch of having Lan Zhan’s dick inside of her. His weight on top of her, holding her down, holding her. To be held in Lan Zhan’s arms without needing to be hurt or afraid first. To hold Lan Zhan in turn. To feel him, deep inside, working toward his own pleasure. Wei Ying tightens the hand on his dick. Lets himself go faster. Lan Zhan has unmatched stamina, but eventually he’d get close. Such a gentleman: he would come in time with his lover. When he did, when he did, he’d say—in just that voice—he would say—Wei Ying—
Pathetic.
Wei Wuxian wipes the mess off his belly, cleans his hands halfheartedly, and lets sleep pull him under.
“Xichen!”
“Uncle? Apologies. Wei Wuxian is not known for his regular hours, so I was sorting some of Wangji’s correspondence.”
“Xichen. Kill Lan Fen.”
“What!”
“Killing the caster will break the curse.”
“Yes, but surely this is not a crime that warrants death. Are you in danger once more? Is Wei Wuxian dying?”
“It is a violation. An unspeakable violation. It must end now.”
“Ah. I see.”
“Do not laugh!”
“Forgive me. I am very sorry for your discomfort, Uncle.”
“Some things should not be known. The boy has a right to privacy. He is not aware of my observation. It is wrong. Unequivocally so.”
“Yes. Yes, it most certainly is. Lan Fen will be punished. Though I still believe death too extreme.”
“Wei Wuxian is in Zhoushan Town. I do not know how long it will be until he begins dreaming. I should have said as much first.”
“Given the circumstances, your upset is understandable.”
“There were no circumstances!”
“As the master says.”
“Do not smile foolishly.”
“Thank you for correcting this disciple, master.”
Chapter 2: Lost Things Found
Summary:
In which family reconnects and a curse is finally broken.
Chapter Text
Wei Ying is weeding his potato patch, feeling the pleasant ache of well used muscles when he hears the approaching footsteps. There is his husband, with A-Yuan on his hip.
“We do not mean to interrupt,” says Lan Zhan, “but dinner is almost ready, and your son wanted to be the one to fetch you.”
“My two favorite people in all the world! Is that an interruption? Then I only ever want to be interrupted. I never want to do any task undisturbed ever in my whole life.”
Lan Zhan gives him a small, warm smile and hands him A-Yuan, who is already reaching for Chenqing.
“You don’t want me,” Wei Ying complains. Gently he takes the boy into his own arms, settling his son’s weight on his hip. “You just want your favorite chew toy.”
A-Yuan giggles as Wei Ying holds it just out of reach, booping his little nose with one end of the flute before handing it over. Wei Ying kisses his forehead. “So lucky you’re cute!” he says. “Because you’re a demanding, needy little creature.”
Lan Zhan slips an arm around Wei Ying’s back. Pressing a kiss to his forehead, he says placidly, “Truly it is said, ‘As with the father, so the son.’”
“You! Lan Zhan! How dare you be so funny at your husband’s expense?”
“Come,” he repeats. “Dinner is almost ready.”
Everyone is already seated at their tables in the hall. Granny Wen and Fourth Uncle and all the people who came with him to settle on his farm are there, of course. On a raised dias, Lan Zhan’s family—his uncle and Lan Xichen as well as a few Lan elders—are making idle conversation with Jiang Fengmian and Madam Yu. Jiang Cheng is standing near Wen Ning and Wen Qing. She only looks up disapprovingly, but Jiang Cheng scowls. “You’re late,” he says.
“You’re starting early!” Wei Ying complains, though he’s not sure if it’s true.
Jin Zixuan comes up to them with a howling baby, looking harried. Jiang Cheng and Wei Ying share a superior look as Jiang Cheng takes Jin Ling from his father. At once, the baby stops crying, happy to be in his uncle’s arms.
Then Yanli is there, smiling at all of them. “I’m glad my son is in such good hands,” she says, “but your soup is getting cold.”
Wei Wuxian wakes up weeping. He finds his clothes—soft, well laundered, and mended with such a fine hand that he can hardly find half the tears—just outside the door to his room. Dressing slowly, he tidies the room and makes the bed. He can’t wash his face just yet. It would be pretty useless to do so while unwanted tears keep dripping down his cheeks at random.
He’s such a failure. What gives him the right to dream about those people when he couldn’t keep any of them alive? When he couldn’t help Jiang Cheng aside from giving his core? When he practically killed Jin Zixuan and Yanli? When Wen Qing died for him?
Do not grieve in excess. A difficult discipline to follow. Perhaps the most difficult. To control oneself is a noble goal, but the heart will love and grieve, no matter the wishes of the mind.
In the morning light, he can see his own reflection in the wash bowl. He tries to breath. He tries to remember. The Jin killed Wen Qing and the rest of the Wen when they kidnapped Wen Ning. Su Minshan killed Jin Zixuan and Shijie using Wei Wuxian’s techniques.
Was the inventor of the knife responsible for every death, or was it the one who wielded the blade?
A-Yuan lived. Thanks to Lan Zhan, he hadn’t failed the Wen entirely. Wen Yuan was alive. Wen Ning was safe. That was enough. It was enough.
Eventually, he finds his center; the tears stop.
He gave his golden core to his brother. His sect leader. There is no sufficient reason to turn so fully from the righteous path. Better to live a mediocre life without cultivation. Was it better to stand aside and let the innocent die? Let the war be lost to Wen Ruohan? Lan Yuan was so small and helpless when Wangji brought him home. Wangji himself had been so young. Too young. In need of guidance. Guidance that the young Jiang of Lotus Pier did not have. Did Wangji know? Why did he never say?
Deng Bao’s wife greets Wei Wuxian with a, “Late start this morning?” when he comes down for breakfast. But she also greets him with a bowl of congee. It is so good.
Having someone feed him without asking is Wei Wuxian’s favorite thing in the whole world. Deng Bao’s wife is his new best friend! He really wishes he could remember her name. He knows they were introduced.
Anyway, she likes his idea about the calendar array. Moreover, she’s kind enough to let Wei Wuxian babble about technical particulars that can’t mean much to her. Since he got so much of the preliminary work done the night before, it only takes him half the morning to carve his talismans in the common room and create the array. It’s such a fun problem that he feels a little guilty.
Wei Wuxian is definitely getting the better end of their deal. Deng Bao gives him a big stack of talisman paper along with his second jar of wine once he activates everything. There is so much more than he asked for. Good talisman paper can be extremely expensive. He needs it, though. Badly. He doesn’t refuse.
“Don’t look at me like that,” she snaps. “I just took the profits from last night and bought as much of this stuff as the seller would give me. It’s only fair.”
At that, Wei Wuxian grins. “If you say so. I think it’s because you like me so much. You want me to stay forever and eat all your food!”
“It’s Little Apple that I like. She has the good sense to bite you when you deserve it.”
“Unfair! Unfair! I treat that donkey like my own daughter.”
“How I pity your daughter.”
“I don’t have a daughter; I have a donkey.”
“Who is welcome to stay as long as she wishes, unlike her master. You get one more night, mister.”
“Fine! I know when I’m not wanted! I’m off to look at the town. Don’t you try to tag along!”
She smiles. “I really would play tour guide, if only to see what exactly you get up to, but we weren’t prepared for the volume of business you’ve made possible. My wife and I have a lot of work to do.”
“Better you than me.”
“My future children will have to content themselves with the story of the time the Yiling Laozu stayed at our inn, and not his adventures throughout the port. I am reconsidering that plaque idea, though.”
Wei Wuxian freezes, but she’s still smiling. She doesn’t throw anything at him.
“One of the Zhou Clan cultivators came by last night to see what the fuss was about, but you were already in bed. He said he’d never seen such elegantly used talismans. Apparently they should have stopped working after about six hours?”
“I made a modification. Is he—did he say he was coming back?”
“No, he had some other business today. But you’re invited up to the clan house, if you care to go. He was pretty interested in discussing your process for making the system permanent.”
“Oh.” Bobbing like driftwood in the vast ocean, Wei Wuxian says, “Probably not. I’m just going to look at the boats today. I don’t—he didn’t say anything about Nightless City or vengeance or executing the unrighteous?”
“No. Just talismans. If you’re worried about people coming after you, giving me your real name was pretty stupid.”
“I’m not worried about it! I can take the Zhou Clan if I have to. I’d just rather leave town instead; no one needs to get hurt.”
Take the Zhou Clan. It isn’t hubris. They are a small clan, and Wei Wuxian is more than capable. Avoiding confrontation is merciful, as well as wise.
Deng Bao puts a hand on his forearm. “Zhou cultivators are good people. They’ve always kept the port clear of water ghosts and troublesome sea monsters. I don’t think they mean you harm.”
Wei Wuxian tries to smile. “That depends on what they believe makes a monster.”
Not a monster. You are a boy. You were always just a boy. Too clever for your own good.
He doesn’t say that he knows perfectly well what makes a monster. He doesn’t say that no good cultivator would ever let him near their territory, except Lan Zhan. He doesn’t say that he protects the best cultivator he knows by staying away. She doesn’t need any of that.
She must see some of it in his face, because she says, “Don’t leave without saying goodbye.”
“Hah!” He grins. She knows who he is and still isn’t trying to beat him with a broom. Just that is enough to make him giddy. He steals an apple from a decorative fruit bowl near the door.
“As if you’ll be rid of the dreaded Yiling Laozu so easily! Little Apple works for me, you know. She’s not getting off lightly, staying here to be coddled by you. Besides, I made a bet with an old man yesterday. I have to meet him here in the hot part of the afternoon. No way am I forsaking my winnings!”
“Have fun exploring the port, then. There’s a temple on the northwest end that we’re pretty proud of. Might be worth a look if you like architecture.”
“I will! I’ll come back with so many stories, you’ll regret not tagging along.”
“Only because I’ll never know if you’re telling the truth!”
“Have your wife make more of that squid. I’d return from the dead again to taste something like that!”
Dancing out into the streets, he takes a moment to enjoy the blast of sunbaked heat radiating up from the cobblestones. Deng Bao’s inn is so cool now. It’s a refuge like Cloud Recesses, removed and unaffected by the true weather of the world. Wei Wuxian is glad to leave. He likes the warmth, the bustle of people pushing past, and all the sights of a busy marketplace. He wants to turn around and go right back inside.
Twin jugglers in identical outfits with a trained monkey are putting on a show down by the dockside. Their tosses aren’t anything special, not when Wei Wuxian has seen far more daring catches done with cultivation blades, but he likes the comedy.
Frivolous. His moods are so tempestuous. To be so delighted by an ordinary monkey. Has anything ever made Wangji or Xichen this happy?
As the jugglers do their act, the monkey sits on a shoulder to snatch a shiny ring from the air and put it around his neck. While they juggle pins, he leaps to the ground and runs up the other juggler’s leg to cover her eyes with his little hands. She pretends to miss her next catch, taking the pin comically in the stomach before catching it with her knees to continue juggling in a squat.
Her sister switches to juggling with one hand, drawing a bright red apple from her pocket and holding it up for everyone, including the monkey, to see. She tosses it into the cascade of objects flowing between the two humans. Naturally, the monkey snatches it right out of the air, scrambling up to sit in the juggler’s hair. He takes a big, noisy snap out of his prize.
“Now, now,” says the juggler, “share with your friends.”
Clearly it’s a cue the monkey understands. He bounds down to the ground, racing over to the other juggler, and tosses the fruit up to her. She takes a slow bite before throwing it toward her sister. The monkey is already on the move! He flashes up the leg of the juggler he doesn’t like, snatching the apple just before it hits her hand. He takes another brash mouthful.
“Share!” the juggler commands, stomping a foot petulantly. So he runs down her body to carry the apple back over to her sister.
On and on they go, each darting catch by the monkey more impressive than the last as the apple becomes a smaller and smaller target. The juggler being denied gets more and more dramatic, pouting and begging the little monkey, complaining at how long their routine is, even as they add larger and larger objects to their cascade.
Everyone in the crowd laughs; no one laughs louder or longer than Wei Wuxian. When the time comes for the trio to bow and pass a basket, he tosses them his last silver piece.
Immoderate! Imprudent! Left to his own devices, the boy will starve.
Wen Qing would scold him so much! She always wanted him to be more frugal. But he only has himself to feed these days. He tries not to feel anything about that. The truth is, he needs to laugh far more than he needs a full belly.
Wei Wuxian feels hunted, now that other cultivators know he’s here. Technically, his name was cleared. That can’t erase decades of being hated, though. Nor does it greatly reduce the likelihood of some particularly obstinate cultivators deciding to make a name for themselves by killing the Yiling Laozu.
There are shadows in the marketplace. Cultivators are moving nearby. He can sense them. The only question is whether or not they’re moving to attack.
A sudden flash of white comes barrelling toward him out of the crowd. Wei Wuxian has a talisman in hand, but he holds it at the last breath, returning it to his sleeve. He hopes to be struck in the chest, but he is not. Lan Sizhui is too elegant for that.
“Senior Wei!” Extending his arms in a dignified bow, the young cultivator greets his senior with all appropriate decorum.
Relief. Sun after a month of storms. Joy. Unadulterated. Pure. Joy. Did he seem happy watching the jugglers? That was a star in the night sky. Sizhui is the dawn.
Torn between laughter and tears, Wei Wuxian nobly resists the urge to slap the boy’s hands down and pull him into an embrace. Instead, he returns the bow with a mocking tilt of his head.
“So formal, Sizhui! What brings you to this little town? Are you night hunting? Is it something good? This senior might be persuaded to assist if it’s a good mystery. If he’s asked nicely.”
“No, Senior Wei. Thank you for the offer, but I am not night hunting.”
With a graceful swirl of his sleeves and a quick flick of the wrist, Sizhui sends a small blue dot of spiritual energy out into the marketplace. Wei Wuxian recognizes it as a short ranged communication, meant to alert another cultivator. Less flashy than a Jin Butterfly, and not capable of carrying a message of any length, the little dot is modest and refined. A perfect Lan, just like his little A-Yuan.
“Oh? Perhaps you are here for a political reason then,” he speculates. “Are you visiting Zhou Clan?”
Sizhui is not alone. It wouldn’t be unheard of for such a promising junior to accompany a more experienced cultivator on a diplomatic visit. Unfortunately, for the Chief Cultivator to visit a little clan like Zhou, something incredible would have to happen. The town would be buzzing like a kicked beehive. Most likely, Sizhui is with Old Man Qiren or someone equally boring.
“Can’t you guess?” As ever, Sizhui’s smile is so polite. It’s almost impossible to suspect him of teasing. “I’m here looking for you, Senior Wei.”
Lan don’t lie. Still, there’s no good reason for a respectable young man to be looking for the Yiling Laozu. Which only leaves bad reasons. Best case scenario, he’s here with Wen Ning because something happened on their trip to Dafan to erect the cenotaph. Hopefully, Wen Ning isn’t hurt or in need of patching up. Maybe he just encountered something unusual and has an interesting mystery to discuss. There are any number of reasons to require a Master of Demonic Cultivation that don’t involve someone being horribly cursed, injured, or dead.
“Of course you are, A-Yuan! You miss me so much when I’m not around. Come with me, then! There are some very good jugglers just over here. Maybe we can persuade them to do their act again for you.”
Wei Wuxian grabs the boy by his hand, but Sizhui doesn’t allow himself to be tugged along.
“Forgive me, Senior Wei. We were sent to find you with some urgency. Unfortunately, I do not think I would be able to give the performance the attention it deserves.”
Two likely possibilities, then. One doesn’t bear contemplating, so he focuses on the more palatable alternative.
Giving Sizhui his wickedest grin, he asks, “Are you here to arrest me, A-Yuan? Going to bring the Yiling Laozu to justice?”
Unavoidably, he remembers a rainstorm. A-Yuan had been at his back then, with the rest of the Wen unjustly imprisoned in the work camp. It was Hanguang-Jun, in those days, upon whose judgment Wei Wuxian decided to live or die. Could A-Yuan have any less right?
He’d known, of course, that Lan Yuan was one of the Wen from the Burial Mounds. But he never made the connections that flash now through Wei Wuxian’s mind. A small boy, huddled in a terrible work camp among other common folk who happen to be named Wen. Beaten and starved by powerful cultivators who did not hesitate to kill. Lazy. Thoughtless, not to consider it before. Why did Wangji never say? Would Lan Qiren have listened?
Sizhui’s eyes widen and his smile drops away in shock. “Of course not! Senior Wei, we need your help.”
Lan Jingyi finally appears. Either he’s taking advantage of being out of Cloud Recesses, or the situation really is dire, because he runs.
Unseemly. Expedience is appreciated, but decorum might still be exercised.
Wei Ying tries not to let the world fall away beneath him. He’s used resentful energy too recently. Chenqing is too close at hand. There is a cemetery so near the town; ships have wrecked so close to the safety of the port. He feels—he feels—
panic panic panic
“Lan Zhan is still alive.”
It isn’t a question. He can’t make it a question. Sizhui was sent. Only Lan Zhan would ask for his help, or Lan Xichen on his behalf. Darkness seeps up from where he keeps it buried, deep within. He could blot out the sun. Easily. If they live now in a world without light, people should know.
“Yes,” Sizhui says quickly. “Hanguang-Jun is fine, Senior Wei.”
Resentful energy harms the temperament as well as the body. Lan Sizhui should play Cleansing to negate the ill effects. Perhaps Healing as well. Wei Wuxian’s battle wounds remain.
Sizhui puts a gentle hand on Wei Wuxian’s arm. A kind young man: he was the first person to show Mo Xuanyu courtesy after Wei Wuxian’s resurrection. He’s so polite to everyone, even the broken and the damned. Lan Zhan raised him so well.
“Xian-gege? Please breathe evenly. Hanguang-Jun is the one leading us to search for you.”
“Oh.” Everything is fine, then. Wei Ying notes the strategic use of ‘Xian-gege’ and is incredibly proud that his son has learned to manipulate others so well. Hanguang-Jun didn’t teach him that. “Lan Zhan is here?”
“Unfortunately, he is much further south. All we knew was that you were likely on the old coast road. As the fastest flier, Hanguang-Jun took the furthest search area for himself.”
“How foolish of him! If he needs my help, he should be the one to find me. Next time, he will have to come directly to where I am, instead of the most difficult place to search.”
Sizhui gives him a dimpled smile. “You will have to advise him so when he meets us.”
“Well, what are you waiting for?” Wei Wuxian waves an impatient hand. “Send him a message or put up a flare or whatever signal you’ve worked out for this situation. The great Wei Wuxian is found!”
Jingyi bobs his head. “I’ll handle it. You two should leave quickly. Where is Little Apple? I’ll bring her to Gusu for you, Senior Wei.”
“Oh? And what exactly is so urgent that I must rush off without my faithful steed? You can’t just throw around Lan Zhan’s name and expect me to do whatever you say.” They want him to fly with Sizhui. Trust the burden of his weight to A-Yuan. A-Yuan, who he has already pulled down into the Burial Mounds once.
fear fear fear fear fear
“Master Lan Qiren has been cursed,” says Sizhui.
“I didn’t do it,” retorts Wei Wuxian.
Lan Jingyi has the temerity to laugh. Lan Sizhui frowns slightly at him. “Of course not, Senior Wei. However, you are an expert in curses. We must bring you to Cloud Recesses as quickly as possible to effect the cure.”
“Right.” Crossing his arms over his chest, Wei Wuxian waits for the whole truth. Lans don’t lie, but he’s known from the first that they don’t say everything, either.
“If it were something serious, Lan Xichen could come out of seclusion to help. A curse that can’t be cured by the Twin Jades of Lan working together hasn’t been invented yet. Also, if it’s something so urgent, just kill the caster. That will clear up most curses. Unless you think the caster is standing before you.”
“Nah, the caster is Lan Fen.”
“Jingyi! That is speculation.”
“It is not! I heard Zewu-Jun ordering her guards to maintain a strict perimeter. You don’t set a guard for an elder who coincidentally decided to go into seclusion just when the Master gets cursed.”
Gossip is forbidden.
“Gossip is forbidden!”
“It certainly is! Good point Sizhui,” Wei Wuxian agrees. “As punishment Jingyi, you should tell me anything else you’ve overheard about this curse. If you really want my help, I need to know.”
Shaking his head, Sizhui smiles in affectionate disapproval; however, he doesn’t put a stop to the conversation.
“Sorry, Senior Wei,” says Lan Jingyi. “I don’t actually know anything else. Except that Hanguang-Jun is convinced that only you can break it. We’ve been ordered to find you as quickly as possible and to fly you to Cloud Recesses so you don’t have to expend any spiritual energy. If you don’t agree to come with us, we’re to send word and ask you to wait for his arrival. But you would understand if you heard him give the order! His exact words were that the Master will not die from a delay in retrieving you, and the risk of trying to force you would be too great.”
A good curse can fit a universe of pain into the space between healthy and dead. Old Man Qiren was a powerful cultivator. He could survive any number of things that would kill a mediocre person.
He was powerful enough to wait for Lan Zhan or Little Apple to bring Wei Wuxian to him. What did Wei Ying owe to a man who put thirty-three painful scars on Lan Zhan’s back? Let him wait.
Foolish. You would be the most determined to hurry, if you understood.
“Come, come,” he says. “We might as well get off the street. I’m good friends with the innkeeper where Little Apple is stabled. She still owes me two jars of wine! You boys call Lan Zhan here. If he wants to bring me to Cloud Recesses, I’ll go with him.”
“I do not know anything about the curse itself,” Sizhui says slowly. “However, before we parted ways, Zewu-Jun told me some information about the circumstances of the unfortunate event. I believe he would not object to my repetition of that story. Perhaps the facts will sway you toward accompanying me to Cloud Recesses at once.”
“Sizhui?”
“A council of the Lan Elders interrupted Zewu-Jun’s seclusion. You were the topic of that discussion. Though the sect leader was vague, Zewu-Jun let me know that he took the occasion to reiterate his support for you personally. He also gave his unwavering approval to all decisions made by Hanguang-Jun during his seclusion. This angered Lan Fen. She said he would not feel so if he understood your evil character. She moved to curse him. Without understanding the nature of the curse, Master Lan Qiren took it upon himself. He would not allow such a thing to affect his nephew and sect leader when he could act.”
“Oh.”
“The nature of that curse has since been revealed to Zewu-Jun, who says it can only be broken by your presence.”
“Sizhui.”
“I was permitted to see the master before leaving Cloud Recesses to search for you, Xian-gege. With closed eyes Master Lan Qiren lay in bed, but there was no rest. Sweat beaded his brow. I heard him crying out in great pain, as I have never heard him do after a physical injury. He suffers.”
Throwing his head back, Wei Wuxian releases a gusty sigh. Then he drops his forehead into an accepting nod. “How ruthless my little A-Yuan has grown up to be!”
Persuasive. Eloquent. Filial. A true Lan.
Pointing across the marketplace, Wei Wuxian gestures to the inn.
“Jingyi, tell Deng Bao you’re to pick up my daughter and my wine. If she doesn’t give you the wine, I’ll never know which of the four I like best! Beg her not to make me weep with regret. And you bring it to Cloud Recesses! I don’t want to hear a lot of nonsense about rules.” He holds up three fingers. “I, Wei Wuxian, promise that no one will catch me drinking it.”
“Your daughter?”
Ignoring him, Wei Wuxian puts a hand on Sizhui’s shoulder. “Let’s go.”
Flying with Sizhui is easier than it should be. Wei Wuxian half expects memories of Wen Chao and his first death to overwhelm him, but there’s nothing more than the briefest flash. It helps that he stands behind Sizhui on the sword. A single hand on the boy’s right shoulder is enough for balance. Of course Sizhui is holding his weight with spiritual energy, but he isn’t holding onto Wei Wuxian. It makes a difference. This way, he doesn’t feel like a load of garbage being carried to the most convenient dumping place.
From below, Jingyi sends up a red flare in the shape of a cloud. Given the bright seaside sun, it doesn’t have much range. Before Wei Wuxian can comment, however, he sees the others. Two more red flares shot up further South, one right after the other. Presumably, that was the limit of his own vision. If they were being used by every search party simply to carry the message that he was found, then Lan Sect really was taking this seriously.
Wangji. Xichen.
He whistled low. “No expense spared, eh?”
Sizhui doesn’t turn back to answer so Wei Wuxian can’t tell if there are dimples, but he hears the smile in the boy’s voice. “Each search pair is also carrying two blue flares, if we find you but you do not wish to accompany us.”
“Two?”
“The second was to be sent up after dark by the pair that actually located you, to help Hanguang-Jun should he require a navigational aid.”
“Lan Zhan thinks of everything.”
“Hanguang-Jun is most admirable.”
Wei Wuxian shuts up to let Sizhui focus on flying. He's a strong cultivator for his age, but carrying the weight of a grown man, even one as skinny as Wei Wuxian, isn't nothing.
Happily, there is no great wind to battle against. The sun is high. The sea is a dark field of diamonds, sparkling in the light. Far below, the land is a rolling green of hills slowly growing into mountains as they get closer and closer to Gusu. If it wouldn't risk off balancing Sizhui, Wei Wuxian would take a nap.
Since that's out of the question, he goes through every curse he knows. Requiring the presence of a specific person for dissolution is helpful in limiting the list. More than a few curses can only be broken by the heartsblood or bile of the cursed person’s greatest enemy. After everything, Lan Qiren might consider him that.
no
Some cures simply needed to be cast by any enemy, but Wei Wuxian has a hard time believing Lan Fen wouldn’t qualify as that under the circumstances. Most likely, the cure has something to do with Wei Wuxian himself, given the intent of the curse. Lan Qiren probably has to beat, disavow, or otherwise harm him personally. Curses meant to compel a specific behavior could be nasty.
Believing Lan Fen would risk using one of those on her own sect leader, especially given the typical Lan Sect punishments for even minor infractions, was difficult. Except, of course, that her motivation was hating Wei Wuxian. That could drive people to anything. Probably she wouldn’t be punished, since hating him was so reasonable.
Not death. Xichen was right about that. Justice. A balancing. Without that greatest violation, perhaps merely three hundred strikes with the planks. One hundred for each productive day stolen from Lan Qiren seemed fair, given that he understood her fears and what caused her to act. More would have been vengeance for targeting Xichen, and that would be unjust. However, after the evening activities of Wei Wuxian, the matter could not be so simple. The discipline whip, perhaps. Three strikes would be considered excessive. He could not explain. To share the nature of the violation with others would be to compound it. Perhaps the true victim should be consulted.
“Hey, Sizhui! Lets take the stairs to be respectful, okay?”
The tired, grateful smile Lan Sizhui gives him says clearly that the boy isn’t fooled for a moment. He lands just outside Gusu all the same. Flying for hours carrying a grown man is a challenge for any cultivator. For a junior, it is a strain. Obviously, Sizhui would carry Wei Wuxian all the way to the warded gate of Cloud Recesses, quite possibly collapsing when they arrive. Although others likely see only a polite smile and even breath, it is terribly obvious to Wei Wuxian that A-Yuan is exhausted. Proof is in the way he doesn’t argue.
“Every climb up these steps seems to take longer than the last. Some might say it’s because we’re in such a hurry today, but I think they’re longer. Does Lan Sect add more stairs every year?”
“No, Senior Wei. The stairs are unchanged.”
“Unchanged. Perhaps they are! Well, distract me from my suffering, then. How is Wen Ning? Where did he go when you parted ways?”
“Not far,” Sizhui says. “Hanguang-Jun arranged a little land for him near Caiyi. He wants to see if he can grow—food there.”
“Food? He doesn’t eat!”
“I know, but he says he has fond memories of planting certain things when I was young. I believe he also intends to cultivate medicinal herbs. He was kind enough to offer to teach me the recipes he remembers from our family’s various remedies.”
Wen Qing. She is in his thoughts almost as often as his sister Jiang Yanli. So much loss for a young man. It is good that Wen Ning remains well. I should not have opposed Wangji giving him the land, fierce corpse or no.
“Ah! Don’t talk about that, Sizhui! You’ll make me cry. Tell me about your trip to Dafan instead.”
“Erecting a memorial cenotaph is happier than growing medicines?” Sizhui teases, but it turns out he and Wen Ning stumbled across a pretty good night hunt with some lantern makers. Well told, it’s an entertaining story about Wen Ning coming into his own.
Wei Wuxian always knew he could. Young as he was, affected as his spiritual cognition had been by Wen Ruohan’s greed, Wen Ning always had the makings of a great man.
A boy by the river side practicing archery. Sneaking into dungeons to paralyze dogs and pass medicine. Drugging an entire outpost including Wen Chao and Wen Zhuli to make a daring rescue possible.
Wei Wuxian gasps or laughs at the story in all the right places, and they reach the warded gate just as the golden sun is dipping into the horizon. While Sizhui speaks to the guards, Wei Wuxian looks out. The low summer sun spills fiery red and pale pink across the sky and all down the green leaves of the mountain side. With the cool breeze at such an altitude, it could almost be autumn. It isn’t, but it could be.
He never meant to return so quickly. Once Lan Qiren is cured, he’ll have to go at once. Maybe that would be best: to do a favor for the Lan Clan and leave without ever seeing Hanguang-Jun. If he does that, people won’t talk so much when he comes back for a proper visit.
Foolish, foolish boy. He was probably correct. If all that mattered was the appearance of propriety, it would be a fine course of action. It would break Wangji’s heart to learn that Wei Wuxian had come and gone without even greeting him.
Lost in his contemplation of the scenery, Wei Wuxian only notices Lan Zhan appearing out of the sun when he’s quite close. His white robes hint at the palest sky blue in places, floating like a diaphanous cloud as he descends. It’s easy to forget how beautiful he is: a celestial being too pure to set foot on common ground. When they’re apart, Lan Zhan’s beauty becomes a fact. Lan Wangji is handsome: all know this. In person, he is the moon. He is the light that graces a world suffocated by darkness. With perfect control, he drifts gently to the earth, Bichen already sheathed in his hand.
Wangji was showing off. It was an unnecessary expenditure of spiritual power to sheathe his sword so early.
Lan Zhan lands a polite distance from the gate, which is much too far away. Without deciding to move, Wei Wuxian is already hopping over to greet him. He keeps his hands twisted politely behind his back, but he doesn’t bother trying to stifle a broad grin.
“Lan Zhan! Lan Zhan, Lan Sizhui said you wanted me to visit, so here I am!”
“Wei Ying.” His warm voice fills the cracked, empty parts of Wei Wuxian’s heart. One corner of his mouth even lifts in a smile. “Thank you for coming.”
Wei Wuxian’s greedy right hand is already on Lan Zhan’s shoulder, feeling the sleek silk of his sleeve, the comforting strength of the muscle beneath.
“Lan Zhan!” His name tastes like the finest wine. Already drunk with it, Wei Wuxian wants to say his name a hundred times a day, every day for the rest of his life. “Sizhui said you were far to the south of where he found me. You must have flown so fast to catch up! Just as one would expect from the incomparable Hanguang-Jun.”
“I was fortunate to travel light.”
Unburdened. Of course Lan Zhan could fly that far and fast without Wei Wuxian’s weight to hinder him. Finger by finger, he manages to release his inappropriate hold. He smooths out the sleeve. To be polite. To feel the luxurious fabric one more time.
“Well, if it’s so important that even the Chief Cultivator is rushing around, let’s get to it! What can you tell me about this curse I’m here to break?”
The soft look on Lan Zhan’s face flattens into polished jade. “Unnecessary,” he says. “We know how to break the curse. All that is required is Wei Ying’s cooperation.”
If Lan Zhan is going to look so serious and untouchable, what can Wei Wuxian do except tease him? With his wickedest grin, he waggles a finger back and forth. “The cooperation of the Yiling Laozu? That’s going to cost you, my friend.”
“I will pay,” Lan Zhan says placidly, starting up the path through the warded gate.
Bouncing ahead of him, Wei Wuxian turns to walk backward so that he can still see Lan Zhan’s face. He should ask Lan Zhan to let him look at his face at least once every day in payment. He should ask Lan Zhan for a hug, a really long one, sometime after his leg heals up so that neither of them are hurt or in pain at all. He should ask to stay in the jingshi for two weeks straight.
These he considers his most unattainable wishes. As though Wangji would not be overjoyed to grant all.
“I’m not just talking about a free meal here, Lan Zhan.”
“Name your price.” He doesn’t smile again, but there’s an amused twinkle in his eyes. Behind him on the path, Lan Sizhui is grinning. So Wei Wuxian turns to face the curving path ahead and asks for what he needs.
“You could play Cleansing for me. If you have time. After I break the curse, I mean, obviously. A few days ago, I had to—”
“Wei Wuxian!” Lan Zhan’s voice is so sharp and unexpected that Wei Wuxian stumbles over air. He stops walking, but doesn’t turn. He remembers perfectly well how Lan Zhan looks when he says Wei Wuxian’s name that way. He never needs to see it again.
“I had to,” he repeats quietly. “I’ve been trying to cultivate the sword path, Lan Zhan. I promise. But sometimes the single log bridge is the only way forward.”
“Speak no more!” There’s an urgency in Lan Zhan’s voice that almost sounds like fear.
It is fear. Wangji fears what I will do. As though I could spend so long in the boy’s thoughts and still hate him for the pain he endures walking the twisted road. It was wise to ask Wangji for Cleansing. Cleansing will mitigate the damage to his health and temperament. Doubtless the lingering resentment exacerbates the weakness in his leg. Playing Healing for him would also be appropriate.
Wei Wuxian looks up at him, hoping to read something in his face, but Lan Zhan is gone. With long strides, he moves as quickly as possible without running. Wei Wuxian skips to catch up. “Lan Zhan! No excuses, I promise. I’m really sorry. Forgive me, okay? You can punish me however you want, just don’t be mad.”
When Lan Zhan whirls back to him there’s something fierce in his face. “Wei Ying will not be punished,” he says. Like he isn’t talking to Wei Wuxian at all. But that doesn’t make sense. Only Sizhui is with them on the path.
Wangji. All is well. I mean Wei Wuxian no harm.
“Lan Zhan?”
“Once the curse on Uncle is broken, I will play Cleansing. Do not consider the matter. Speak of other things,” Lan Zhan demands, resuming his implacable pace.
Someone is listening. It’s the only explanation for Lan Zhan’s behavior, but it doesn’t make sense. They’re in Cloud Recesses and eavesdropping is forbidden. A member of Lan Sect wouldn’t, and Lan Zhan would call out anyone else who tried. In essentials, the facts don’t matter. Lan Zhan clearly knows something about the situation that Wei Wuxian doesn’t, and what he’s asking for is easy enough.
“I invented a new calendar array,” he says. “For cooling hot buildings during the summer. Obviously cultivators don’t need it, but the innkeeper I set it up for was thrilled.”
“Interesting.” Lan Zhan doesn’t slow his pace, but some of the tension in the set of his shoulders eases. “Where does it draw the energy from to reactivate?”
“Well, this was on the seaside, so the tide was the natural choice. Especially since I’d already worked the lunar cycle into the calendar part of the array.” Talking to Lan Zhan and Sizhui about his invention is so much more fun than babbling at Deng Bao and her wife about it. They understand him. Intelligent questions about other applications take the conversation down new tangents. By the time the trio reach the main pavilion, they have half a design for something to heat buildings in winter drawing natural energy from winter winds.
“We’ll have to test it out on a pretty small scale, though,” Wei Wuxian muses. “The chance of accidentally lighting something on fire is a much bigger risk than me just blowing all the lanterns off the tables of Deng Bao’s inn.”
“I look forward to the experiment,” says Lan Zhan. Which is when Wei Wuxian realizes how presumptuous he’s being.
Forcing a laugh, Wei Wuxian waves a hand urgently. “No worries, no worries,” he says. “I can experiment on my own. I’ll let you know how it goes, if you’re interested. Obviously, His Excellency the Chief Cultivator has much more important things to do.”
“Can I help?” Sizhui asks. “My own duties are much lighter than Hanguang-Jun’s, and I am curious about how such experiments are done.”
“A-Yuan.” It would take a much stronger man than Wei Wuxian to resist touching a hand to that dimpled cheek. That is how Lan Xichen finds him with his fingers in the boy’s hair, perilously close to the forehead ribbon which only a father ought to touch.
Are these not the feelings of a parent?
“Zewu-Jun!” Whipping his guilty hand up into a friendly wave, Wei Wuxian grins in greeting. Then, remembering even more of his manners, he holds forth Suibian and bows.
A gentleman of breeding and refinement equaled only by his brother, Lan Xichen returns the bow. “Good evening, Young Master Wei. Welcome to Cloud Recesses. Thank you for coming so quickly.”
“No need for thanks! I’d go anywhere in the world for a chance to meet Lan Zhan. Besides, Gusu is so beautiful this time of year. In every season, the Cloud Recesses are a jewel made more precious by the veil of mist. Yet when the haze of summer heat smothers the world below, a man may truly appreciate the clarity only found here among the clouds.”
Lan Xichen smiles and shakes his head. “I see your talent for eloquent flattery has not waned, Young Master Wei.”
He means every word. He embroiders his language to hide the depth of his feeling, but he is sincere.
“Wei Ying, do not tease.”
“Right! I am here to work, after all. No one will tell me anything about this curse, Zewu-Jun. Exactly how much of my blood do you need to break it?”
The smile fades from Lan Xichen’s face. “No blood, Wei Wuxian. We must ask something you will be far more reluctant to give.”
Bile is fitting enough with Wei Wuxian’s luck, so he follows Lan Xichen without question. While the only way for an ordinary person to get an enemy’s bile isn’t something their foe can survive, it’s different for a cultivator. The process won’t be pretty or painless, but Wei Wuxian is in no real danger. Especially not with Lan Zhan waiting to play healing melodies on his guqin.
Maybe Lan Zhan will need to give him spiritual energy. Wei Wuxian tries not to think about a cool flood penetrating his meridians, spreading Lan Zhan’s essence through the whole of his body. He mostly succeeds. He tries not to imagine swaying on his feet after taking a heroic injury to help Old Man Qiren, and Lan Zhan catching him. He is less successful. There’s an opportunity here to be held in Lan Zhan’s arms, if he’s selfish enough to take advantage of the situation.
He won’t.
It probably won’t even come up.
Lan Zhan will see right through him if he tries it. Wei Wuxian definitely doesn’t have any feelings about Lan Zhan knowing he’s exaggerating for attention and indulging him anyway.
Longing. Need. Aching. Hope. Despair. Hope. Hope. Hope.
Old Man Qiren is lying abed, looking a lot better than Sizhui described. He’s not sweating or shaking, just rolling his eyes behind closed lids like a man caught in a vivid dream. Restful incense perfumes the room, which is clean and well cared for. As far as curse victims go, he looks comfortable. Wei Wuxian knows better than most that looks can be deceiving.
“Tell me what you need.”
“You must use the mind sharing spell with Uncle,” says Lan Xichen.
Revulsion. Alarm. Refusal.
Appalled, Wei Wuxian takes a moment to answer. The only person who has ever been inside his mind is Lan Zhan. It felt right to share their thoughts when fighting the Xuanwu of Slaughter. Not only did it give them a strategic advantage, the connection itself gave Wei Wuxian something important. Not just acceptance. His sister accepted him.
When Lan Zhan entered his mind to hear all of his thoughts, from the ridiculous to the righteous, he had approved. The person whose opinion mattered most in the world had seen all of Wei Wuxian, and had not been disappointed. Wei Wuxian knew, because he had seen all of Lan Zhan’s thoughts in turn. He’d been privileged to witness the discipline of that orderly mind. Sometimes, Wei Wuxian thinks about doing it again. At his weakest, he imagines Lan Zhan wanting to do it again.
Mind sharing is special. Allowing that access to anyone but Lan Zhan is wrong.
“Breaking the link will break the curse,” says Lan Zhan. “You may break the link immediately once it is established. Please do so at once.”
“Such a hurry, Lan Zhan!” Wei Wuxian laughs, and hopes it masks his horror.
Lan Zhan is in a hurry. Someone unknown was listening on the stairs. It was a person Lan Zhan feared discussing demonic cultivation in front of. What sort of curse can be broken by linking two minds and then severing that link?
In a single motion, Wei Wuxian breaks the smallest finger of his left hand.
pain pain pain pain pain
“Wei Ying!”
On the bed, Old Man Qiren flinches and cries out. It’s a sharp, wordless sound of agony. His left hand balls into a fist. Sweat beads his brow. Sizhui wasn’t exaggerating. He looks bad. Being so completely caught up in another person’s suffering that you can’t maintain your own face must be awful. Wei Wuxian thinks the indignity must hurt the master just as much as any pain he’s being forced to feel.
Pressing two fingers to his own forehead, Wei Wuxian begins casting. He clears his mind of all other thought, and touches Lan Qiren just above the bridge of his nose. The connection takes. He hears one thought. Just one.
“Wei Wuxian—”
He breaks the connection. Lan Qiren’s eyes flutter open, and he sits up. Instantly, Lan Xichen is at his side offering assistance. The old man waves him off gently.
“It is done, Xichen. Thank you.”
“How long?” Wei Wuxian manages to keep his voice mostly even.
Straightening up into perfect posture, Lan Qiren meets his eyes. “The monstrous clam.”
Wei Wuxian nods. It would be nice to think that he could have noticed such a powerful curse connecting to him. With his luck, however, it makes perfect sense that the connection was made while he was distracted in battle. His stomach lurches. Acid burns the back of his throat. Blood fills his mouth. He swallows it down. Violated as he feels, he’s not going to vomit in front of Lan Qiren. The old master shouldn’t have to witness even more of his depravity.
Suddenly, white fills his vision. Lan Zhan stands half in front of Wei Wuxian, as if shielding him bodily, but he bows politely.
“Uncle. I am glad Wei Ying was able to break your curse. We will go now. Please excuse us.”
“The jingshi?” Wei Wuxian doesn’t like the uncertainty in his own voice. The words are half a question and half a request. But when Lan Zhan turns his head so that Wei Wuxian can see his face, his mouth is soft. He nods once.
“Absolutely not,” says Lan Qiren.
Lan Zhan’s jaw sets into a solid, stubborn line of jade.
“Guest quarters should be arranged,” says Lan Qiren. Because he knows. He knows.
Erupting into laughter, Wei Wuxian puts himself forward, pushing Lan Zhan away from his uncle with both hands. “Yes,” he agrees quickly. “Yes, absolutely! How kind the Master is to grant us the benefit of his wise counsel. Thank you, sir! Guest quarters are an immensely kind offer. Much too kind for the likes of me, in fact. I’ll find somewhere in Gusu to stay for tonight. Or Caiyi Town! Caiyi Town is probably better.”
Lan Zhan stops allowing Wei Wuxian to move him. “Wei Ying, it is too late in the day for you to travel to Caiyi Town. On foot, you would not arrive before midnight.”
“Don’t be foolish,” Lan Qiren agrees. “You will stay in Cloud Recesses. In appropriate guest quarters.”
“No, no, no!” Taking Lan Zhan’s arm, Wei Wuxian checks to see if he’s more amenable to being pulled out the door. Unfortunately, he is as immobile as a particularly stubborn boulder. “I couldn’t possibly impose. I won’t! I’ll make myself so scarce there will be no need whatsoever for the Master to consider my existence ever again.”
“Wangji,” says Lan Xichen, “clearly Wei Wuxian is overtired from his journey. If you are willing, please permit him to stay with you in the jingshi, since that is where he is most comfortable.”
“Thank you brother.”
Lan Qiren’s face twists in disapproval, but he doesn’t contradict the sect leader. Instead of listing all the reasons Wei Wuxian absolutely should not be trusted in Lan Zhan’s rooms, he only huffs. “Wangji, do not forget to play Cleansing. Healing would also be appropriate.”
In answer, Lan Zhan bows low, first to his uncle, then to his brother. For a wild, hopeful minute, Wei Wuxian thinks they might escape unscathed. Then he hears the parting words of his old teacher.
“We will speak in the morning.”
Chapter 3: Alone, Together
Chapter Text
Cleansing always improves Wei Wuxian’s mood to an embarrassing extent. Part of that is undoubtedly the pleasure of listening to Lan Zhan play. Unfortunately, he has to admit that mostly it’s purging the resentful energy. Apparently resentful energy does, as everyone throughout the history of the cultivation world agreed, negatively affect Wei Wuxian’s health and temperament. Not to the degree they all thought, but a bit. Sneakily, Lan Zhan played some of his healing melodies as well. Both the broken finger and Wei Wuxian’s bad leg are perfectly mended before the Chief Cultivator puts his guqin away.
“Ah, Lan Zhan! His Excellency is much too good to this humble demonic cultivator. You have cured all my pains, repaired my wounded spirit, and eased my troubled heart. Of course, you did all that with a touch of your hand. So to share the gift of your music on top of that is surpassing kindness, it is the soul of benevolence.”
“Did I touch your hand?” Sitting at the table, Lan Zhan flips his sleeves back elegantly. He sets out one cup, then another. In the first he pours a decorous measure of Emperor’s Smile from a round white jar, as though the very act was not absolutely forbidden in Cloud Recesses. In the second cup, he pours gently steaming tea.
“So cruel! I took your arm, Lan Zhan! Did you already forget? Doesn’t our every point of contact live in your memory for all time?”
“Two days more of Cleansing is needed, to expel the last of the resentful energy.”
“If you say so.” Wei Wuxian looks down at his cup of wine, but he doesn’t drink it. Lingering resentment makes him violent and bad tempered, he can’t blame it as easily for being maudlin. Yet he wonders—in a small, insecure part of his heart—if this will be the last cup of Emperor’s Smile Lan Zhan ever offers him. “Provided your uncle lets me stay for two more days.”
“Wei Ying. Uncle cannot bar you from Cloud Recesses. I will not allow it. Neither will my brother.”
“You might, once he says his piece.” Throwing back the wine, Wei Wuxian enjoys the smooth glide over his tongue; savors the light, complex flavor.
With grave dignity, Lan Zhan holds back one refined sleeve and breaks the precepts of his sect once more to refill Wei Wuxian’s cup. “Nothing in this life will make me forsake our friendship.”
At that, Wei Wuxian had no choice but to drink his wine or cry. He firmly blames his fragile feelings on the lingering resentful energy. Obviously, Lan Zhan didn’t do as much to dispel it as they thought.
“Don’t promise that until you hear.”
Lan Zhan has a placid, expressionless face. Clearly, he will neither argue nor change his mind.
“It’s very annoying to be so stubborn, you know. Highly unattractive. No woman is going to marry you once she finds out you act this way.”
Lan Zhan pours him another cup of wine.
“Lan Wangji!”
“Wei Wuxian.”
Looking down at the clear, shimmering liquor in the beautiful blue-green cup, he caresses the smooth porcelain with a single finger.
“I’d rather tell you myself. Instead of waiting for your uncle to tell you tomorrow. He’ll say it in the worst possible way, but there is an explanation. Not an excuse. You can be mad at me about it. You should be mad at me about it. There’s no excuse.”
“You are not talking about demonic cultivation, or getting injured on a night hunt.”
“No.”
“Wei Ying, is this something private that my uncle witnessed, which you would prefer not to share with me?”
“Yes.”
Had Lan Zhan’s expressions once been difficult to decipher? He’s so obviously uncomfortable now. Upset, even. A quick mind like his can’t be far from figuring out the truth.
“Do not speak of it. Your business is your own. It is not my place—nor my uncle’s—to restrict your behavior as you travel freely through the wide world. If this thing you did gave you pleasure and did no harm to your partners in the act, it is of no consequence to me. Other than that I take joy in any happiness of yours.”
“Oh. Lan Zhan! You can’t mean it. Do you?”
“Lying is forbidden.”
Wei Wuxian takes a pointed sip of his forbidden alcohol.
It’s not enough to win a smile, but Lan Zhan’s eyes go soft and twinkle with amusement. “As I said, any pleasure of yours brings happiness to me. Do not concern yourself with my uncle’s opinion.”
Wei Wuxian sits with that for a moment. He wishes reality could be as simple as Lan Zhan tries to make it. Unfortunately, he imagines a hundred ways that it might become all too complicated during their audience with Lan Qiren.
“Can I tell you anyway? I don’t want you to be surprised.”
When he takes a deep breath and straightens up, as though steeling himself for a fight, Lan Zhan looks very much like he would prefer to postpone the confession indefinitely. If Lan Qiren wasn’t going to cut them both with the truth, Wei Wuxian would let him. As old soldiers, however, they both know how foolish leaving a vulnerability unaddressed can be.
“I am ready.”
“I have trouble sleeping.”
Wei Wuxian toys with his empty wine cup for so long that the stoic, silent Second Jade of Lan eventually breaks the silence. “While you are in Cloud Recesses, I would be pleased to play Rest for you.”
Who could refrain from smiling at an offer like that? “Who could have trouble sleeping in Cloud Recesses when Lan Zhan is near? Nightmares flee from Hanguang-Jun like shadows escaping light. I don’t need Rest. Unfortunately, sometimes I need to rest and I don’t have the comfort of Lan Zhan or the silk sheets of Cloud Recesses. So I use certain techniques instead.”
“Cultivation techniques?”
“No.” Sometimes the only way to say something is to say it. “I masturbate. I think about you when I do it. I am very, very sure your uncle knows.”
Lan Zhan’s mouth parts ever so slightly. His eyes widen imperceptibly. On any other face, it would be nothing, barely an expression. Even so, Wei Wuxian recognizes absolute shock when he sees it.
“What do you think about?” Lan Zhan’s voice is not rough or angry, just deeper than the darkest sea.
It’s still too much. Looking away, Wei Wuxian appreciates the summer foliage of the small trees in Lan Zhan’s garden. “Do the details matter?” he asks softly. “I’ll stop if it bothers you.”
“Yes,” says Lan Zhan urgently. Which is fine.
Of course he’s bothered. Who wouldn’t be bothered to learn they were the subject of the Yiling Laozu’s most perverted fantasies? Wei Wuxian decides to watch the way the mountain breeze ruffles the dark green leaves until autumn comes and they change color. He’ll simply keep his eyes open for the rest of his life. As long as he doesn’t blink, he won’t cry. Lan Zhan shouldn’t have to see him cry. Not over this.
There’s a hand on his chin, turning his head. Lan Zhan is so close. How did he come around the table without Wei Wuxian noticing? But his bent knee brushes against Wei Wuxian’s thigh. He must know they’re touching.
“What do you think about?”
Without waiting for an answer, Lan Zhan closes the final distance.
The press of lips is impossibly gentle, unbearably brief. Wei Wuxian swallows hard, tasting Lan Zhan’s tea. Dark eyes search his face. Wei Wuxian doesn’t know how to respond. If there was a question, he doesn’t know how to answer. Fortunately, Lan Zhan must not hate whatever he sees in Wei Wuxian’s face, because he tilts his head to the side. He lifts Wei Wuxian’s chin.
There’s a second kiss. This time, it’s much longer. Lan Zhan’s still gentle mouth coaxes Wei Wuxian’s open. His tongue slips between sharp teeth, as if searching for a taste of forbidden liquor. Wei Wuxian hopes he doesn’t find anything. The slightest sip gets Lan Zhan drunk. How could he bear it if Lan Zhan fell asleep and forgot about this?
“What do you think about?” The question is murmured against his lips before Lan Zhan slides lower to kiss his jaw. Teeth bite Wei Wuxian’s throat. The sound he makes in response isn’t human.
“Lan Zhan.” It isn’t a proper answer to the question. He’s incapable of that. It’s just the only thought in his head.
Somehow, Wei Wuxian is standing. Lan Zhan’s forehead ribbon is gone. At some point, it must have been removed. Did Wei Wuxian do that? He doesn’t remember. He would remember getting to touch the forehead ribbon again. Warm hands are sliding beneath his clothes, slipping off his over robe, opening his shirt. Black silk hair covers the lower half of his face. Whatever Lan Zhan is doing with his mouth on the joint of Wei Wuxian’s bare shoulder immediately makes it his favorite body part. All his shoulder has ever been is a way to move his arm. An inconvenient place to be injured. To think, it was secretly a sexual organ this whole time! The kissing, sucking, scraping feeling is so sensual, so erotically charged, that Wei Wuxian is going to come in his pants.
Except he’s not wearing pants. Or socks. He is, in fact, completely naked. He realizes this as his bare skin is pressed down against the bed. More importantly, Lan Zhan is mostly naked. He still has pants, but his chest is bare. His chest is bare. His chest and arms and stomach and shoulders are all completely uncovered. Wei Wuxian’s greedy hands can touch skin. They roam freely over the soft planes of his muscles, the rough shape of his scars, they circle his nipples in wonder.
“What do you want?” Lan Zhan’s eyes are dark. His voice is velvet, but he’s cruel. He’s so, so cruel, because he stands up. He takes his perfect jade smooth skin out of reach. As he finishes undressing, Wei Wuxian forgives him. For all his teenage spying and the close proximity required on their various travels, Wei Wuxian never managed to catch a real glimpse of Lan Zhan naked. He’s perfect. Every inch of him is perfect. Every massive inch.
“Wei Ying. What do you want?”
Eventually, Wei Wuxian manages to stop staring at Lan Zhan’s extremely large, exceptionally beautiful endowment and go back to staring at Lan Zhan’s eyes. “Kiss?” he tries. “Can I kiss you? Please.”
He gets the slow smile that stretches one corner of Lan Zhan’s mouth into a soft, private curve. He gets the low, intense gaze that makes him feel like the only person alive in the world. He gets lips brushed against his own. He gets a warm tongue in his mouth. Then Lan Zhan starts teasing: pulling away, biting Wei Wuxian’s lower lip, opening up both of their mouths, but not giving Wei Wuxian anything. Slowly, stupidly, he manages to understand. He slides his own tongue into Lan Zhan’s mouth, tastes every corner, feels Lan Zhan sucking on him.
When Lan Zhan pulls away again, he wants to cry. He tries to bring him back with needy hands, but Lan Zhan doesn’t allow it.
“I want you.”
Once again, Wei Wuxian can’t quite comprehend the words. Too impossible to be real, they make no sense. “Anything,” he promises. “I’ll do anything. Can I—”
Lan Zhan comes back to him. He gets another kiss, long and sweet, with Lan Zhan pressing him down into the bed. Above him, Lan Zhan shifts gently. He can’t mean for it to happen. Yet Lan Zhan has such perfect control over his body that it can’t be an accident either. His cock slides against Wei Wuxian’s. They’re touching. Not only is Wei Wuxian’s cock being touched by a part of Lan Zhan’s body, the part that’s touching him is Lan Zhan’s dick. Technically, he’s touching Lan Zhan’s dick.
From the midst of a thick fog, an idea surfaces in his mind. Bar none, it is the best idea that he has ever had. It is quite possibly the best idea that anyone has ever had.
He could touch Lan Zhan’s massive, beautiful cock with his hand. He’s starting to suspect that Lan Zhan might allow it.
Before Wei Wuxian can work up his courage, Lan Zhan pulls away again. Straddling Wei Wuxian’s thighs, he slides a firm, confident hand down his dick. There’s some sort of unguent in his palm. It feels slick and soft and tight and wet and amazing. Biting his lip hard, Wei Wuxian manages not to spill all over that perfect hand. Instead he stares some more. Lan Zhan’s long, round fingers, so elegant on the strings of a guqin, are wrapped around him. They leave him cold to scoop a little more slick from the pot on the bedside and return to stroke him once again.
“Please,” he begs when he is left bereft. “Please.”
“Yes,” Lan Zhan says, but he doesn’t put his hand back. Instead, he rises up with perfect control before sinking down to envelop Wei Wuxian.
It’s so much tighter—so much hotter—than a hand. He’s inside Lan Zhan. Wei Wuxian is inside his body. Lan Zhan’s eyes flutter closed. He leans his head back, displaying the jade-smooth column of his throat. Amid a thousand ecstatic sensations, Wei Wuxian feels long hair brush against his knees.
He’s going to spill. He’s going to lose control and shame himself, his parents, his ancestors, Jiang Clan, Baoshan Sanren, the whole world. Even as an ignorant teenager laughing with Jiang Cheng, Wei Wuxian knew it would be an embarrassment to fall to pieces the second he entered a lover. Everyone knows that. It doesn’t matter. Lan Zhan is a furnace and a vice and so beautiful. He can’t resist. He didn’t know it was possible to feel this good. Surprisingly, it’s Nie Huaisang’s words that save him. In a flash, he remembers the three of them laughing and joking in Jiang Cheng’s dormitory room.
“What a disappointment that would be,” Huaisang said back then. “To think you were going to be well fucked only to have your lover come the second he got inside!”
A disappointment. The word echoes in his mind. He can’t disappoint Lan Zhan. He won’t.
Above him, Lan Zhan sighs softly, gazing down at Wei Wuxian with heavy lidded eyes. He rises gently, floating away, leaving. Then he sinks once more and it’s even better. The slide of his body, the yielding, clutching pressure surrounding Wei Wuxian, is overwhelming. He speeds up. Up and down, in and out, forward and back, like waves bringing in the steady tide to flood a beach.
Wei Wuxian doesn’t flood. He is still and careful and so, so grateful. One of Lan Zhan’s fingers presses into the bruise on his shoulder, the soft sensitive place Lan Zhan made there. His hips jerk up reflexively and Lan Zhan moans. Lan Zhan likes it. Daringly, Wei Wuxian moves a little more. They part and come together in an ever accelerating rhythm that is nothing at all like sparing or dancing or plowing. He is fucking into Lan Zhan’s body. It’s like nothing else in the world.
He needs Lan Zhan to feel it too, to enjoy it just as much. Impossible, of course, but he has to make an attempt.
Fumbling on the bed clumsily, he finds the little pot and gets some of the unguent on his hand, wraps his fingers around Lan Zhan. Lan Zhan groans, loud and low. On anyone else, it would sound pained, but Wei Wuxian has seen Lan Zhan walking on a broken leg, seen him cut, bruised, bleeding near death: he doesn’t make a peep when he’s in pain.
He speeds up, fucking eagerly into Wei Wuxian’s fist, meeting every lift of Wei Wuxian’s hips with a welcoming fall of his ass. With parted lips and deep, wordless cries, he makes his satisfaction known. For Lan Zhan’s pleasure, Wei Wuxian can do anything. Will do anything. He could go for days.
Then Lan Zhan says it. In exactly that voice, the one Wei Wuxian always knew he would use, rough and deep and impossibly gentle, he says it. He says, “Wei Ying.”
The world goes white.
Time probably passes because the next thing Wei Wuxian is aware of is a warm, wet cloth wiping Lan Zhan’s come off his chin. He follows the path of the cloth down his chest, mourning the loss of the sticky white streak.
“You could leave it,” he says when the idea occurs to him. “I like it.”
“Another time.” Lan Zhan presses a small kiss to the clean skin over Wei Wuxian’s heart. He blinks, letting the words echo in his mind. Fills his soul with the promise of them. They might do this again. Lan Zhan might want to do this again.
“Wow,” he says eventually.
Lan Zhan gives him a small huff of laughter and presses their lips together. A soft, joyful light shines in his eyes. The last vestiges of a summer sunset linger at the corners of the room. “It is almost nine,” he says. “Time for sleep, Wei Ying.”
A yawn cracks Wei Wuxian’s jaw, and he nods. Blinks slowly to find Lan Zhan settling in beside him wearing night clothes.
“Sleep here?” he asks. “With you? I can move to the window bed.”
“With me.” Lan Zhan gathers Wei Wuxian in his arms. Darkness washes the last of the sunlight from the walls of the Jingshi. Wei Wuxian lets the tide of sleep pull him into a deep and dreamless ocean.
Waking, Wei Wuxian feels fingers tracing the hair along his temple, back behind his ear, over and over again. His pillow has a heartbeat and smells of sandalwood. When he manages to open one eye, he sees the golden light of morning glowing on light mats and dark wood.
“Lan Zhan?”
The hand in his hair stills. Soft lips press against his forehead. “Good morning.”
Finding Lan Zhan’s other hand, Wei Wuxian threads their fingers together. Presses his palm against Lan Zhan’s sword callouses. It’s allowed. Lan Zhan rubs his thumb along the back of Wei Wuxian’s hand. It’s too much. Wei Wuxian has to smother himself against Lan Zhan’s chest for a few minutes.
“Wei Ying?”
“Did that really happen? Did you really—you really let me—”
Wei Wuxian bolts up so that he can see Lan Zhan’s face.
“Did I let you what?” Lan Zhan’s eyes twinkle with amusement. A pleased smile teases the edges of his mouth.
“I had sex with you!” Wei Wuxian really can’t be expected to control the manic grin stretching his face. “Me! Yiling Laozu!”
Nodding gravely, Lan Zhan says, “Yes. I have joined the long list of the Yiling Laozu’s many conquests.”
Frantic, cackling laughter explodes from Wei Wuxian’s throat. He sounds like a territorial monkey.
Instead of laughing or taking pity, Lan Zhan narrows his eyes and tilts his head to one side. Then, with no regard for Wei Wuxian’s weight sprawled across his body, he rises from the bed. “Breakfast,” he says. “Wei Ying should eat more.”
The over-robe laid out next to the privacy screen is not his serviceable, graying hemp one, so frequently torn and most recently mended at Deng Bao’s inn. Instead, it is black silk embroidered with subtle clouds in midnight blue. Faintly outlined lotuses decorate the sleeves in a purple so dark it might as well be black. None of the embroidery can even be seen in anything less than the full, natural light of a summer sun. That doesn’t make the garment any less luxurious or expensive. Wei Wuxian slips it on over suspiciously comfortable underclothes that may also be new for all that they’re the plain whites, blacks, and reds he would usually choose.
On top of that, breakfast isn’t unseasoned rice with medicinal herbs as one might expect in Cloud Recesses. Lan Zhan has that in his own bowl, but Wei Wuxian’s place is set with hot scallion pancakes, chili sauce, and a bowl of congee so red it could start a fire.
“Lan Zhan, you’ll spoil me!”
“Talking while eating is forbidden,” Lan Zhan says smugly.
Delicious as the food is, Wei Wuxian can’t help pausing time and again to study Lan Zhan’s face. Exceptionally beautiful as that face may be, it remains mild and expressionless. Wei Wuxian’s foolish heart tells him that he woke up in a new world, one where everything he wants is his for the taking. So many impossible things have already happened! He knows now what it feels like to be held in Lan Zhan’s arms without being in pain or afraid. He never really believed that was something a person like him could know. It certainly isn’t something he deserves.
It’s the same world. If he tries to reach for more than others want to give him, he’ll wind up with a hand full of barren soil.
“You’re really okay with me staying for two more days?” he asks. “Your uncle will definitely want me gone first thing, especially if you’re not planning to let him beat me bloody for all the awful things I’ve thought and done over the last few days.”
Clearing away the dishes with his usual economical movement, Lan Zhan says, “Wei Ying may stay as long as he likes.” Wei Wuxian tries to study his face, but his eyes are focused on the task and impossible to read.
“I’m warning you!” He waggles a joking finger. “If you don’t tell me to leave now, you won’t be rid of me. I’ve had to channel a lot of resentful energy, not just against that monstrous clam. And I’m shameless enough to let Lan Zhan cleanse it all away for me instead of doing the work myself.”
“Good.”
Letting his playful grin fade into a real smile, Wei Wuxian takes a minute to appreciate his fortune. Staying in the jingshi for three nights! Three whole nights with Lan Zhan, so much sooner than he ever thought it could happen. Since the visit came under such unusual circumstances, maybe he can even come back in the spring—a year from the first time he left—as though this visit doesn’t count against him.
Of course, Lan Qiren couldn’t have been cursed in a more inconvenient way. As much as the old teacher always hated him, Wei Wuxian knows it will be a thousand times worse now. But if Lan Zhan is serious, that doesn’t matter. Lan Zhan isn’t a junior to be beaten with a discipline whip anymore. He’s Chief Cultivator. If he says Wei Wuxian can stay, Lan Qiren can’t make him leave. For two more days. They may not even use the second bed.
That thought fills Wei Wuxian’s mind with steam, blocking out everything else. It is extremely lucky that the curse was broken before Lan Zhan let Wei Wuxian have sex with him. Anyone hearing Wei Wuxian’s thoughts now would think him an imbecile. He is one, a bit. There is absolutely no reason to think Lan Zhan is going to share a bed with him again.
He did say, “Another time.” So there was one reason. A stupid reason that only a braindead fool would rely on.
“Lan Zhan.”
“Yes?”
“Most people say ‘another time’ to mean never. It’s just more polite than an outright refusal. Hanguang-Jun is the most polite person alive, so he probably uses it the same way. Right? If you said, ‘another time,” it might mean never, really.”
Meeting his eyes, Lan Zhan raises an eyebrow. “Are you referring to the proposition that I should come all over your naked body, painting you with my spent seed over and again, only to leave you lying filthy and exhausted on once clean sheets? I am perfectly amenable to doing so at any mutually agreed upon time you desire.”
Arousal lances through him like a sword thrust to the gut. The instant, aching hardness in his lap is almost an afterthought. Wei Wuxian says, “Oh.”
“Is that something you desire?”
Wei Wuxian nods. Noticing his mouth is partly open, he closes it. Realizing Lan Zhan probably doesn’t find gaping idiots particularly attractive, he smiles winningly. “If you want!”
“Wei Ying, that time cannot be now.”
Wei Wuxian nods again. Shakes his head. “No, of course not,” he agrees. “Another time. Maybe. In the future. The next time I visit. Or the time after that! Whenever you want is fine. Lan Zhan is a very busy man!”
“Tonight.” Lan Zhan’s voice is a vow. “I imagine a hasty cleanup would cheapen the experience for you. We must meet with Uncle before midday; dressing appropriately for that occasion would be best.”
Nodding vacantly, Wei Wuxian accepts the wisdom of this proposition. The word ‘tonight’ fills his head, pushing out every other consideration. It’s so much more—so much sooner—than he could possibly expect. Tonight! Truly, Lan Zhan’s generosity knows no bounds. In gratitude, Wei Wuxian decides to offer to help sort his correspondence, or entertain himself if Lan Zhan has other work to do.
Unfortunately, when he opens his mouth what comes out is, “I am very poor, Lan Zhan. You know it’s good for me to live cheaply! Cheap things really can be the best, sometimes. Won’t you take pity on this humble, impoverished cultivator? Isn’t frugality a virtue in Lan Sect?”
Lan Zhan huffs a laugh, which is a victory irrespective of any other outcome. Even if he sends Wei Wuxian away for the rest of the day, it’s worth playing the fool to make Lan Zhan laugh.
“Choose something else.”
Biting his lower lip, Wei Wuxian tries to look contrite. “Sorry, Lan Zhan. Let’s visit the rabbits in the back hills. I haven’t seen them in so long! They will have forgotten all about me. I need to bribe them with lettuce and carrots so they like me again.”
A faint frown twitches one corner of Lan Zhan’s mouth downward. “Is there nothing else you desire? Surely despite the laudably soporific effect, we have time for a briefer assignation. You might nap afterward for a little while, if that is the cause of your hesitation.”
After some period of time, Wei Wuxian manages to swallow. His parched tongue is thick in his throat; he seems to be mute. It almost sounds like Lan Zhan really would willingly touch him again right now. He’s not a complete dullard. He knows that can’t be right. On a bright summer morning, Lan Zhan must have any number of dutiful, productive tasks planned. That must be what he means: Wei Wuxian should take a nap to entertain himself and stay out of trouble.
“Sure!” He nods to emphasize how fine he is with this plan.
In answer, Lan Zhan raises an expectant eyebrow. “You must tell me what you want.” His eyes are laughing again.
Blinking, Wei Wuxian wonders if his new light silk outer robe isn’t too warm for summer. Heat reddens his cheeks and his neck prickles with sweat. Lan Zhan is going to let him do something. Wei Wuxian could be the one privileged enough to kneel for him, to suck his cock, to stroke his thighs and touch his naked back. All he has to do is ask.
“Wei Ying.”
Today, Lan Zhan is wearing a light blue under robe, just visible at his collar beneath heavily embroidered white. His hair is styled neatly with an elaborate silver guan, but a thick strand falls over his shoulder alongside the white, the blue, the flawless jade of his throat. If Wei Wuxian can find the words, he could ask to touch it. To brush that hair back. To press his lips against Lan Zhan’s throat, just above the white and blue. He can try all sorts of things until he learns what Lan Zhan likes best.
He will get it wrong, ask for too much, and ruin any chance of ever touching Lan Zhan again.
Narrowing his eyes minutely and permitting the slightest tension in his lower jaw, Lan Zhan shifts his expression from remotely amused to considering. This is the way he looks at problems requiring solutions. It’s fine. Wei Wuxian is used to being a problem. At this point, it would be more unusual for him not to destroy his own chance for something good.
Closing the distance between them, Lan Zhan slides a hand along Wei Wuxian’s jaw line, cradling the back of his head, kissing him thoroughly. When he pulls back, there is barely a breath between their lips. Wei Wuxian can’t resist. He steals a second kiss. A third.
“What do you want?” murmurs Lan Zhan.
“You.” Hopefully it’s answer enough.
Drawing his hand back along Wei Wuxian’s jaw line, he slides a calloused thumb over his lower lip. Greedily, Wei Wuxian opens his mouth. Looking pleased, Lan Zhan lets him suck on it. When he waggles his eyebrows and pulls a silly face, Lan Zhan even smiles slightly, before pressing it deeper against the back of Wei Wuxian’s tongue. At that, Wei Wuxian has to angle his body forward and press his aching, needy cock against Lan Zhan’s hip. It’s allowed. Lan Zhan’s smile widens to something a normal person might notice as he draws his thumb away.
“Will you do something for me, Wei Ying?”
“Anything.” Giving Lan Zhan his best, brightest smile, he hopes a firm hand will push him to his knees. Obviously he’s never put anything as big as Lan Zhan’s cock in his mouth, but he’ll figure it out. If he avoids using his teeth, tries not to drool too noticeably, and doesn’t come in his own pants, everything will be great.
Or maybe he could come in his own pants. Maybe Lan Zhan would like that, for Wei Wuxian to come untouched.
“I want you to touch yourself.”
“Yes,” Wei Wuxian agrees instantly. “Yes, don’t worry about that. You don’t have to do anything. Just tell me what you want.”
Lan Zhan blinks and his smile is gone. He’s going to withdraw. After all of their fighting, Wei Wuxian knows what Lan Zhan looks like before making a tactical retreat. He can’t allow it. Grabbing Lan Zhan’s face with both hands, he reels him in for a deep kiss. Wei Wuxian really is a genius because the strategy works brilliantly. Lan Zhan opens his mouth immediately and groans around Wei Wuxian’s tongue like it’s the best thing he’s ever tasted.
Brilliant or not, he messes up the execution somewhere. Lan Zhan pulls away.
“Wei Ying, I want to see you.”
Oh. “Oh!” Finally, Wei Wuxian catches up enough to understand Lan Zhan’s request. Obviously he’s familiar enough with the concept. He’s a man of the world! He shared his youth with Nie Huaisang. “I can do that,” he says. “Sit, sit, sit.”
With an indulgent smile, Lan Zhan lets himself be pushed down into a seat.
“And now,” he announces, “all the way from the streets of Yiling, our most infamous dancing girl: Wei Wuxian!”
At that, Lan Zhan huffs a laugh and he shakes his head slightly, but he watches. Swirling through the first dozen forms of a dance routine is easy enough. Wei Wuxian manages a good imitation of the sort of dancers one would see at a refined gathering in Carp Tower. Unfortunately, he’s never actually seen the sort of dancer he wants to mimic. It was just the kind of thing he joked about with Huaisang and Jiang Cheng when they were young. He’d never found the idea appealing enough to seek out that kind of place. Now, the heat of Lan Zhan’s eyes as he slips off his outer robe during a complicated twirl: that is very appealing.
Always, he wants Lan Zhan’s attention. He has it. The parting of his lips, the ever intensifying sharpness of his gaze as Wei Wuxian reveals more and more skin is self evident. His breath is calm and even. So perfectly even that he’s clearly working hard to keep it that way. Wei Wuxian does a back tuck—flipping through the air like a spinning loquat—to take off both of his socks at once. He doubts its a move used by many dancing girls, but he figured out how to do it as a boy and it always made his sister clap.
Lan Zhan claps, too. “Very nice,” he says with obvious amusement.
Preening under the compliment, Wei Wuxian spins and slips and twists out of his remaining clothing, running his hands over his nude body, finishing his dance. Hungry eyes follow his hands eagerly, but Lan Zhan doesn’t stand up or give additional direction. So Wei Wuxian takes a few steps toward him, giving his slowest, most flirtatious smile.
“I have to touch myself,” he informs his fully clothed friend, loving the pure desire etched in every line of Lan Zhan’s face. “No one else is offering to do it.”
Lan Zhan swallows, but he doesn’t lift a hand to stop Wei Wuxian from flouncing over to the bed. Arranging himself to kneel in profile only takes a moment. Carefully checking that Lan Zhan can see both his erect penis and at least part of the curve of his ass without seeming like that’s what he’s doing is a little more complicated. Lan Zhan definitely notices, because he looks amused again.
It’s almost better than the look of want. Who knows why Hanguang-Jun deigned to have sex with Wei Wuxian? The fact that it happened at all is incomprehensible. Wei Wuxian has no idea how or if he’s going to make it happen again. But amazingly, Lan Zhan likes him. Has always liked him. If all the things he’s done weren’t enough to end that liking, it isn’t something he can lose. He grins.
“Hey Lan Zhan! Do you have a good view? Should I turn so you can see my butt more? I think my butt is even better now than it was before my death! I was so skinny then. What do you think?”
“Wei Ying is always beautiful. I like this view.”
Once again, Wei Wuxian puffs up under the praise. Of course he’s famously good looking, but compliments from Lan Zhan are rare. Hanguang-Jun only speaks the truth, after all. Gathering his hair, he plays with it a little, twisting it over one shoulder to be sure that the deep purple bruise on the other is completely exposed.
“This is where Lan Wangji touched me,” he murmurs, as much to himself as Lan Zhan. Digging his thumb into the tender skin lights a pale mirror of the night before. In sympathy, Lan Zhan offers up a soft hum, a bare echo of his eager moans.
“Where does Wei Ying touch himself?” Soft as Lan Zhan’s voice may be, Wei Wuxian imagines he can hear an undercurrent of fraying patience.
So with a flirtatious wink, he licks his palm and gets to it. He’s been hard since Lan Zhan said the word ‘proposition’ ages ago; it won’t take much. With the warm weight of Lan Zhan’s attention, he could probably do without his hand entirely. Still, Lan Zhan wants a show. Wei Wuxian pumps slowly, toys with his foreskin, runs his other hand along his chest and back up to his bruise. He touches it again—the place where Lan Zhan touched him.
“Wei Ying. Talk to me.”
“Hah! A first. Lan Zhan wants me to talk. Apparently he—ah—won’t be annoyed by my chatter if he has something nice to look at. I should take advantage! Oh. Tell him about all the times I had to use demonic cultivation now when he won’t get mad.”
“I always want to hear Wei Ying. Right now, I would like to hear about his desires. What do you think about when you touch yourself this way?”
“Lan Zhan.”
Some of the flush that heats him now comes from failure, not the rush of Lan Zhan’s regard. Admitting to the things he thinks about when the empty darkness of a lonely road swallows him whole isn’t sexy. Those aren’t things Lan Zhan will like hearing. He keeps working his cock, and scratches the side of his nose. It stands to reason that the things Lan Zhan allowed the night before are things he likes.
“I think about fucking you open,” he says sweetly. “The tight heat of your body is so much better than my hand. I think about you pinning me, holding me, keeping me inside. Oh!” Oh. Too much. Much too much. He backtracks. “I think about kissing you. About being kissed by you. About how much I want you to bite my shoulder.”
“Wei Ying.” Disappointment weighs heavily in Lan Zhan’s voice. The bow of his lips curve unhappily downward.
At once, Wei Wuxian stops. He presses his sweaty palms to his bare thighs. His eyes fall to his own lap. Seeing further discontent in Lan Zhan’s once heated gaze would destroy him completely. “Guess this is an area where my natural showmanship doesn’t quite hit the mark.” He’s not even good enough to play the whore for Lan Wangji. Well, that’s not new information, but it does deflate his cock a bit.
Slapping his thighs he puts on a wry smile and meets Lan Zhan’s eyes. His perfectly impassive face is the one with tension in the corners of his eyes and along the line of his lower lip that means he’s thinking. It’s certainly better than the dissatisfaction; it isn’t enough.
“Hey, Lan Zhan! Tell me how to do this right or lets do something else, okay? I’m not having fun.”
Rising to his feet, Lan Zhan unties his forehead ribbon, setting it aside. Then he proceeds to strip off the rest of his clothing. He doesn’t make a show of it, aside from the efficient elegance that always distinguishes his every movement. “My apologies, Wei Ying. I have been demanding and unfairly critical, which was not my intention.”
He hangs his clothes neatly on the privacy screen, taking the time to do so with Wei Wuxian’s haphazardly discarded things as well. While naked. Wei Wuxian can see the old scar of a Wen brand over his heart, the whip marks on his back, but none of that can possibly mar the miles and miles of perfect skin on display.
“Can I make it up to you?”
Nodding, Wei Wuxian avoids swallowing his own tongue. Apparently he didn’t mess up too badly, because Lan Zhan is as stiff and proud as a man can be. How can he move so fluidly unaffected by such a massive weight between his legs?
“Is there some way in particular I could best make amends?”
Without waiting for an answer, he kneels on the bed behind Wei Wuxian, who parts his own legs a little more in welcome. Warm hands slide down Wei Wuxian’s arms. Lan Zhan drops a kiss to his bruised shoulder and another to the side of his neck.
“Yes.”
Lan Zhan’s dick rubs against the curve of Wei Wuxian’s ass, sliding into the space between his cheeks. It’s as warm and smooth as the hands on his arms.
“How?”
Teeth find his bruised shoulder, deepening the mark there, sucking it into a hot, wet mouth. His clumsy, greedy hand reaches back to cup Lan Zhan’s jaw. Feeling that smooth skin beneath his fingers, he slides them further to twist in Lan Zhan’s silken hair.
“Yes.”
Laughing against his shoulder, Lan Zhan says, “Wei Ying.”
Blinking, Wei Wuxian tries to shake away some of the foggy lust dragging him under. Belatedly, it occurs to him that Lan Zhan asked for the same type of direction he himself wanted so much.
“I love any way Lan Zhan will touch me,” he promises. “He doesn’t have to touch me a lot, if he doesn’t like it. I can touch you, Lan Zhan. Or not! I’ll do whatever. Anything you want! Just explain it to me so I get it right. I can’t bear to get this wrong.”
The cock slides lower along the line of Wei Wuxian’s ass, slipping against his entrance like a reward. “Any way I want to touch you?”
“Oh, please.”
A flat palm taps between his shoulder blades. Instinctively, he catches himself with his hands rather than plant his face in the mattress. Deeper instincts tell him to use the momentum to kick up, roll forward and try to catch Lan Zhan on the chin. That would be fun, but he doesn’t really want to spar. Not when Lan Zhan still has his cock teasing around the edges of Wei Wuxian’s hole.
The pot of liniment reappears, slick and cool between Wei Wuxian’s cheeks as Lan Zhan applies it with one hand. His other hand slides from the center of Wei Wuxian’s spine to his bruised shoulder, squeezing.
“Is it fun yet?” Lan Zhan’s voice is so cool a snowflake wouldn’t melt on his lips.
Wei Wuxian laughs. The heat of Lan Zhan against his back is nothing compared to the warmth in his heart. Arching his hips back, Wei Wuxian tries to angle Lan Zhan inside, but he’s denied. Lan Zhan keeps teasing, working more of the unguent over his own cock.
“Boring.” Wei Wuxian immediately ruins his impression of the young Lan Zhan by arching his neck around to grin at his friend.
Lan Zhan’s smile is so intimate and sweet that it’s several long seconds before Wei Wuxian even notices the intrusion into his body. Hands burn against his hips like a branding iron and the hot length of Lan Zhan presses in further. Taking a cock is far more intense than diddling himself with his own bony fingers, but Wei Wuxian knows his body. He tenses and relaxes around it, learning the steps of this new dance.
When Lan Zhan completes his slow slide, hips flush against the curve of Wei Wuxian’s ass, he leans forward. Moving his hands up and along Wei Wuxian’s sides, he presses his lips back to the shoulder bruise and threads their fingers together. For a long minute, seated completely in Wei Wuxian’s body, Lan Zhan simply holds him.
Wei Wuxian dies again then. He must. A heart cannot be as full as his without bursting.
Lan Zhan kisses his neck, then bites the lobe of his ear. “Are you ready?”
“Yes,” lies Wei Wuxian.
How could a body be ready for Lan Zhan to withdraw? To pull away. To leave him bereft. But Lan Zhan doesn’t go far. His hands settle on Wei Wuxian’s hips. Once more he presses implacably into the depths of Wei Wuxian’s body. The second withdrawal is unhesitating and thus more tolerable, but when Lan Zhan pushes back in: lightning. Wei Wuxian shouts.
“Good.” Lan Zhan sounds like he’s commenting on some adequately neat calligraphy. He fiddles with the unguent pot again as though he didn’t just reorder Wei Wuxian’s entire universe.
“Please.” His voice is a hoarse, needy thing. “Please, please, please.”
“Yes,” says Lan Zhan, and begins moving the way only he can.
Grace, speed, and power imbue his every thrust as he pounds ecstasy into Wei Wuxian’s soul. All the world falls away to nothing. Only the place where their bodies join exists. Only Lan Zhan. Lan Zhan. Lan Zhan. And—
“Wei Ying.”
Seed and Wei Wuxian’s face spill forward into the mattress as pleasure rolls over into rapture. Lan Zhan doesn’t allow his hips to fall. Holding them in burning hands he continues fucking relentlessly into Wei Wuxian until he finally plants himself deep and finishes with a groan.
Vaguely, Wei Wuxian mourns the empty feeling that comes when Lan Zhan pulls away. He considers rolling away from the sticky wet puddle beneath his belly, but it seems too much like work.
When he wakes, Lan Zhan is fully dressed, seated at the table writing letters. For a long while, he allows himself to enjoy the precision of Lan Zhan’s brush, the dignified way he holds his sleeve back when reaching for the ink. At the end of his letter Lan Zhan says, “You have time for a bath, if you want one.”
Looking over, Wei Wuxian sees a tub of steaming water, several warming talismans affixed to the side. He smiles. “And if what I want is to lie here watching Lan Zhan until the last possible moment when I absolutely have to dress to meet your uncle.”
“You may do so.”
There isn’t a trace of self consciousness or embarrassment in Lan Zhan’s voice, so Wei Wuxian doesn’t try to tease him further. Instead, he rolls out of bed and heads for the bath. He doesn’t bother to drag the bedsheet with him, though. Sure enough, that makes Lan Zhan look up.
“Like the view?” Waggling his eyebrows, he grins at Lan Zhan.
“Shameless,” he says, but he smiles fondly and keeps watching.
Much as he wants to keep flirting, the luxury of a hot bath can’t be ignored. Scrubbing his skin, soaking his weary muscles, he pays special attention to his shoulder. Matching purple bruises now decorate his hips in the shape of Lan Zhan’s fingers. Wei Wuxian presses the washcloth against each one in turn, adoringly. He hopes they never fade. When he has to leave Cloud Recesses, he wants to carry these marks with him always.
“It’s time.”
Nothing good ever lasts long, so it’s important to take advantage when you have it. Dressing quickly, Wei Wuxian ties off his belt and grins up at Lan Zhan. “How do I look in my fancy new clothes?”
“Handsome.”
“I’m on to you, Hanguang-Jun! Now that I know how much you want me, giving me new clothing is hardly charity. You buy me nice wrappings and think about peeling them off of me.”
“Yes.”
Delighted, Wei Wuxian laughs loud and long at that. Then he says, “If you like me so much, you should kiss me quick. Your uncle is definitely kicking me out of Cloud Recesses this morning.”
“I will not permit it,” says Lan Zhan, but he bends obediently to kiss Wei Wuxian.
Sandalwood incense mixes with sweet mountain air. For one perfect moment, strong arms encircle Wei Wuxian, holding him steady. When they separate to leave the Jingshi, a cold mist swirls around his legs.
Chapter 4: The Tracks We Leave
Summary:
In which two overdue conversations are held.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
If one did not quite understand the differences of hierarchy in the Lan Sect, walking through Cloud Recesses with Hanguang-Jun would be an excellent way to learn. Laughing to himself, Wei Wuxian makes a little catalog of the people they pass.
Outer disciples, who wear Lan robes but no ribbons, bow low and wait for him to pass. Inner disciples with their plain, solemn ribbons pause to bow but continue about their business once the Chief Cultivator gives them a nod of acknowledgement. Then there are the clan members. Apparently, having clouds to decorate their forehead ribbons means these people do not have to bow. Instead, they pause respectfully, nodding to him as he passes.
None of them look in Wei Wuxian’s direction at all.
Lan Sizhui breaks the mold, of course. Coming straight up to Wei Wuxian first, he gives them both a smile. “Good morning Senior Wei, Hanguang-Jun.”
Unable to resist, Wei Wuxian hugs him. It simply can’t be helped. Unlike Jiang Cheng or most of the people Wei Wuxian has hugged in his life, Sizhui does more than allow it. With a happy hum, he wraps his arms around Wei Wuxian’s chest, leaning his head against his shoulder for a moment.
“Good morning, A-Yuan.”
The same impulsive nature that made a hug unavoidable also means Wei Wuxian has to punch the boy’s shoulder lightly when they separate. It’s really the only way he can keep his eyes from tearing up.
“Will we do your experiment today?”
“If Master Lan doesn’t hurl me bodily down the mountain for my many sins, sure!”
“Wei Ying will not be harmed.”
“Then I will see you later! Senior Wei. Hanguang-Jun.”
Sizhui does bow then, more formally than his cloud-bedecked ribbon would suggest he needs to. However, Lan Zhan returns the gesture at nearly the same depth. Wei Wuxian thinks between them it’s practically a hug, in the distant manners of the Lan. Refraining from throwing his arms around them both and squishing them together takes a real act of will. He hopes they appreciate his restraint.
Seated in the main hall, the pair who do not rise to greet Hanguang-Jun are of an entirely different class. Incense wafts around Lan Qiren and Lan Xichen, a subtly different flavor of the sandalwood which suffuses Lan Zhan’s room and clothing. Like the mist outside, it drifts in a gauzy gray veil while Lan Zhan and Wei Wuxian wait.
When Lan Xichen opens his eyes, he smiles. It is the unreadable smile of a politician. When Lan Qiren opens his eyes, they flick to where the back of Wei Wuxian’s hand is brushing against Lan Zhan’s sleeve. He frowns. It is too easily understood.
“You wanted to speak with us,” says Lan Zhan.
“Wei Wuxian and I must speak,” corrects Lan Qiren.
At once, Lan Zhan steps forward to play the human shield.
“Wangji.” Lan Xichen’s voice is firm, and it moves his brother not at all. If anything, Lan Zhan looks even more stubborn in response. He does not speak.
“It’s okay.” Wei Wuxian puts a hand on Lan Zhan’s bicep.
He owes the old master something, after all. Whether he knew what he was doing or not, he hurt the man. He forced the orthodox teacher to experience demonic cultivation from the inside, to listen to the manic chittering that fills Wei Wuxian’s thoughts most of the time, and to feel his pain. Even without lusting over Lan Zhan, it was pretty damning. When Wei Wuxian tries to imagine being in the mind of someone thinking that way about Jin Ling or Lan Sizhui, his brain skitters to a halt.
He put Old Man Qiren through a lot, is the point. If shouting at Wei Wuxian makes him feel better about things, he’ll allow it.
Giving Lan Zhan a wry, almost amused glance, Lan Qiren rises to his feet. “We will walk.”
Following him to the door, Wei Wuxian tries to look as dignified and polite as possible, holding his hands behind his back. However, he can’t resist a quick glance back at the Twin Jades. He half expects to see Lan Xichen physically restraining his brother.
Of course that isn’t the case. Lan Xichen remains seated. Lan Zhan meets his eyes, as unmovable as the mountain beneath his feet.
“Two days more of Cleansing are needed,” he says. It’s a promise that warms Wei Wuxian down to his toes. A grin threatens to split his face in half, and he skips away happily.
Feeling light enough to dance on the mist, Wei Wuxian is still bouncing through the garden while Lan Qiren walks at a measured pace. It’s a mistake.
“Ludicrous,” says the old man.
Biting his lip, Wei Wuxian tries to behave a little better. Show some dignity. Lan Qiren knows what two more days in the jingshi means to him. Worse, he knows why Wei Wuxian wants it so much. Rather than challenge him, Wei Wuxian bows his head.
“I presume the master wishes to discuss the matter of punishment with me.”
Surprise flickers across Lan Qiren’s face. One corner of his mouth twitches up, and he looks almost pleased.
“I do. My first inclination is three strikes of the discipline whip: one for each day.”
Dizzy with relief, Wei Wuxian can’t agree quickly enough. “That’s terrific!”
A tension between the old master’s shoulder blades releases. “Good. I was not certain you would feel it sufficient.”
“Hah!” It’s actually so much better than he could have hoped for. Injuries from a discipline whip take months to heal, not days. If he’s allowed to stay, that would mean more time with Lan Zhan than he’s had since they were teenagers. He follows up the performative laugh with a genuine giggle. “Well, whatever you think is fair seems best to me, Master. My golden core isn’t much, but I won’t die from three strikes. You’re letting me off easy! Make it four with one to grow on. I’ll recover before learning my lesson, otherwise.”
It’s too much. He shouldn’t have mentioned a recovery period. Apparently, the old man didn’t consider Lan Zhan’s likely reluctance to kick Wei Wuxian out while injured. He stops walking, whirling on Wei Wuxian with a furious expression.
“No.”
“Three’s fine,” he says quickly. “Three is perfect.” Greedy, greedy boy: always asking for more than people want to give.
“Wei Wuxian! You are not going to be punished for what has occurred. As Lan Fen’s other victim, I am consulting you regarding a just sentencing for her.”
“Oh!” He tries to swallow down his disappointment. “The discipline whip? I know my head is an unpleasant place to be, but that seems like a little much.”
Softening his scowl minutely, Lan Qiren says, “I was uncertain how pained you were by the violation of your privacy.”
Once again, Wei Wuxian considers the thought that someday, forty or fifty years down the road, someone may think his little A-Yuan is a marriageable prospect. His mind shies away, so he grins.
“Less pained than you, sir, I imagine. Unintentional or not, I put you through a lot.”
Nodding, Lan Qiren starts walking. “Xichen and I did consider an alternative. It is this: never again will Lan Fen sit with the other elders in council. If she must resort to curses rather than persuading with logic and wisdom, her intellect will not be missed in our deliberations.”
On the surface, it seems far more lenient than some of the truly draconian beatings Lan Sect usually gives out, but there’s that word: never. As an elder, Lan Fen probably has excellent cultivation. She may live in the sect for a century or more. The pain of a beating would come and go; this will determine her influence for the rest of her life. A petty, vengeful part of Wei Wuxian’s heart purrs in satisfaction. He tries not to notice.
Bowing, he says, “The master is wise.”
If that’s all they had to talk about, he hopes to be released quickly. He can do some experiments with Sizhui in the back hills until Lan Zhan feels like playing with him in the jingshi. During a three day visit, why should he waste precious minutes talking with Lan Qiren? Unfortunately, he is not dismissed.
“Wei Wuxian. You will not be punished for anything that occurred while I was cursed. However, what I have recently learned about your person, your life, and your cultivation must be addressed. I can not ignore it and consider myself virtuous.”
The hair on Wei Wuxian’s arms rises. In his belt, Chenqing grows heavy. This is when it happens. He understands. Making him leave isn’t a punishment; it’s a simple measure to protect Cloud Recesses. While he’d certainly rather be beaten and allowed to stay, he cannot deny that this makes more sense.
Maybe Lan Zhan will walk him out. If they happen to be near an inn too close to dusk in Gusu or Caiyi, then Wei Wuxian can still have tonight. It’s a disappointment after being promised three days in the jingshi, but he always knew that was too good to be true. He’s already been given far more than he deserves.
“You will know from your study of our Lan Sect rules that members of the inner clan are permitted to invite another into the clan.”
As the pause goes on, Wei Wuxian says, “Sure. That’s rule 532,” confused by the non sequitur.
“This stems from the fact that our clan originated monastically, and not all clan members wished to have children of the body, instead focusing on their cultivation. Although it is not explicitly stated, traditionally an inner clan member only invites one individual to join the family.”
“That’s how Lan Zhan brought Lan Sizhui into the family,” he supposes.
“Yes, this is the rule he used to avoid objections or questions about the boy’s origins. Such an invitation is far more serious than an outer disciple joining the sect. Indeed, it is generally only offered to disciples who have proven their knowledge and dedication to the Lan Sect over many years. Once a cultivator joins the clan, they are family. For better or worse. Forever. As are their descendants.”
Wei Wuxian feels his own jaw set. If Lan Qiren needs to shout about demonic cultivation or punish Wei Wuxian as recompense for all that has happened, that’s fine. However, if he makes a single threat or harms the smallest hair on A-Yuan’s head, Wei Wuxian will end his life. Sizhui is the perfect Lan. Anything Lan Qiren recently learned about a boy who was once a Wen can be tossed into the sea as far as Wei Wuxian is concerned.
“Given the history of our clan, joining the family is not the same as an adoption. Changing the surname is unnecessary. Nor would it preclude other unions which may or may not take place in the future. However, to join the clan is to join the sect as well. Our rules are strict, and to accept them voluntarily is a very different thing than being subjected to them as a visitor. Such an invitation could only ever be extended to an already good man. One who is capable of living simply, unencumbered by the vulgar concerns of wealth, yet who also behaves chivalrously, showing all people true respect rather than a performance of manners—that man might join the Lan.”
Sizhui is that man, for all that he’s just a boy. The second Lan Qiren dares suggest otherwise, he will die.
From within his sleeve, Lan Qiren draws a pristine forehead ribbon decorated with clouds. Wei Wuxian doesn’t understand. The old man is already wearing one exactly like it.
“Join our clan, Wei Wuxian,” says Lan Qiren. “You are a fine cultivator and by all reports a good teacher. Despite your long history of ignoring our rules, I believe you embody our principles as few others ever have. Moreover, you deserve somewhere to rest and call home. The Could Recesses might be that place, if you wish.”
Home. Cloud Recesses could be his home. He could stay. For a little while at least.
Feeling a slow, mischievous grin steal over his face, he looks up at Lan Qiren. “You’ll be stuck with me, you know. I’m like a burr: difficult to be rid of.”
“Burdock is a useful medicinal plant that has been grown in Cloud Recesses for both food and the treatment of illness since the establishment of this place. Minor annoyances pertaining to the harvest and cultivation do not lessen its value.”
Startled, Wei Wuxian looks away. He admires the trees. Something wet hits his cheek, but he brushes it away quickly. Taking a statement like that at face value would be idiotic. Obviously, the old man is still feeling some after effects from the curse. A better man would decline an offer made under such circumstances. Wei Wuxian is not that man.
He can milk this opportunity to stay in Cloud Recesses for months. Maybe even years.
“This disciple is honored to accept the master’s offer, and humbled by his good opinion. If Lan Clan will accept such an unworthy cultivator, nothing will prevent the discharge my duties to the precepts of the sect.”
Kneeling, he presses his forehead to the ground with all the elegant formality of a proper salute. When he rises, it is only to his knees, looking up at the master for a cue. Lan Qiren smiles. Bending forward, he presses the ribbon into Wei Wuxian’s hands. Lowering his head once more, Wei Wuxian binds himself.
“The sacred ribbon represents self regulation. In life, a Lan must regulate themselves to behave morally and follow the precepts of the sect. Abandoning it when it becomes inconvenient diminishes us all. Be well regulated always. Only remove it in the presence of the married spouse you will love and cherish. Parents, children, and spouses alone are permitted to touch the ribbon. Use it as a reminder. As a member of our sect, follow our ways, and you will have a place in Cloud Recesses.”
“I will.” It won’t last. Behaving well is something Wei Wuxian has never been able to do, but at least he knows what is expected in Cloud Recesses. He has four thousand guidelines to know what is and is not allowed. Nothing will catch him by surprise. When he fails, he’ll know it right away. And maybe he can keep the ribbon when he goes.
“Come,” says Lan Qiren. Wei Wuxian rises to his feet.
Together they walk some time without speaking, enjoying the gardens, the stately buildings, the elegantly arranged pathways.
“You are yet young,” remarks the master. “The last sixteen years did not pass the same way for you as they did for the rest of us. While you will make a fine teacher for the juniors, I hope you do not feel yourself past the point of education.”
“No member of Lan Clan should ever be so old as to give up on learning.”
“Indeed not. Will you learn from me?”
“Certainly! I really am very grateful to be allowed to stay, Master Lan. Set me to copy the rules a thousand times if you like. I’ll even do the handstands, though I doubt this weak body of mine can manage one for long just yet.”
“Do not be flippant! I did not ask if you were willing to study or perform, Wei Wuxian. Well do I know that you would happily accept a crippling wound to extend your stay here. I ask if you consent to learn.”
Considering this carefully, Wei Wuxian tilts his head to the side. “Please correct my understanding, Master. I am uncertain where you feel the difference lies.”
“You are clever. Already you have a vast knowledge of cultivation techniques and crafty tricks that come readily when you require them. In the application, you have a strong sense of justice and chivalry. Yet there are certain foundational principles lacking. I invite you to consider them with me, in the hopes that doing so will change your perspective over time.”
Scratching the side of his nose, Wei Wuxian can’t restrain a wicked smile. “And if I change your perspective?”
“You already have.”
He laughs. “I suppose we’ll see! Yes, yes, I consent to sit at the feet of the Master. I will think carefully and learn.”
“Then, our first lesson.” Lan Qiren stops walking to contemplate a pair of warblers flitting about the branches of a plum tree. “Your life has value. That innate value is no greater than the life of a peasant. It is no less than the life of a sect leader. All human lives have an equal intrinsic value.”
“Yes, obviously! I accept your postulate, Master.”
Raising a hand, Lan Qiren cuts him off. “Do not answer now. Contemplate the matter. We will speak again tomorrow.”
“But I agree! I’m not arguing.”
One of the warblers flits away into the mist. “Then tomorrow you will easily be able to explain why you do not even consider defending your own position in battle when there is a clear strategic advantage to doing so.”
Wei Wuxian has a ready retort for this, but Lan Qiren only raises his hand higher, turning to walk away. “Consider it. Answer tomorrow.”
Frowning, Wei Wuxian mouths the words at the old man’s back, sticking his tongue out and not caring if any passing Lan see him being disrespectful. Unfortunately, the words echo in his mind. It’s a stupid postulate. Of course he values his own life! Arguably, he values his life more than other lives. He has a long list of proofs.
For one, he’s killed all sorts of people for no better reason than that they were trying to kill him first. If equal value is the sticking point, there’s a simple answer. He is far more capable of defending himself than most other people. Naturally, he has to do what he can to help them. He doesn’t always leave himself exposed to do it. Old Man Qiren just happened to see a bad fight and is judging him for no reason. Wei Wuxian is a tactical genius, thank you very much. It isn’t like he died. Again.
The second warbler flies off to find its friend.
Returning to the main hall, he sees Lan Xichen and Lan Zhan. Sitting with their perfect posture, incense curling in the air between them, they seem twice as serene as any given statue. However, the pair are human enough. As soon as he enters, Lan Zhan looks up. His eyes dart to Wei Wuxian’s forehead, going wide with shock.
Folding his hands behind his back, he skips up to Lan Zhan. “How does it look on me? I hope I didn’t put it on crooked! If I did, you should fix it for me Lan Zhan.”
Lan Zhan’s mouth opens, but he doesn’t answer.
“Wei Wuxian!” There is a laugh in Lan Xichen’s voice. “Please do not flaunt the sect rules so openly in front of me right away. The only person who may appropriately touch your ribbon is Lan Sizhui.”
“Oh.” Wei Wuxian has to look at the incense burner for a minute or two, watching the smoke curl up and create its little clouds. “That is very kind of Zewu-Jun to say. A-Yuan isn’t really—”
“It would not be inappropriate,” the sect leader interrupts firmly. “Nor is it necessary. I hope that you will be happy and comfortable as a member of the clan, Wei Wuxian.”
Overwhelmed, Wei Wuxian grins at him helplessly. “I will. Believe me, Sect Leader Lan. Obedience doesn’t come naturally to me, but I can be a good disciple. I know my reputation, but a lot of that rebellion was staged between me and Jiang Cheng. We didn’t want defending the Wen to blow back on Lotus Pier during the reconstruction. Anything you need, just say.”
It’s a dangerous promise to make. For the Yiling Laozu more than most. Even so, he means every word. Zewu-Jun is the clan leader least likely to ask for a demonic army to take over the cultivation world. Logically, Gusu Lan may be the only sect Wei Wuxian can safely join without starting yet another war. This isn’t a logical decision. He trusts Lan Huan. It isn’t even a decision; it’s a fact.
Sadness steals into the corners of Lan Xichen’s eyes. “I know. You forget I overheard much of what passed between you and your brother in Guanyin Temple. Uncle learned something of it as well, and asked me what I knew. I informed him that I consider the matter internal to the Jiang Sect.”
“Thank you.”
“Respecting your privacy is not deserving of thanks. Gossip is forbidden.”
“Giving me a home is. I can never thank you or your uncle enough for that.”
“You have always been welcome to stay in the jingshi with me, Wei Ying.”
“Yes,” he agrees faintly. “Lan Zhan is so kind, so charitable. But joining the sect is—Zewu-Jun, I mean it. Anything you want me to do.” He’s trouble. He’s always been trouble. But Wei Ying likes to think that what he can do is sometimes worth that trouble. After their time together, Old Man Qiren must think so too. If Lan Xichen can believe it, if the other Lan can be convinced, Wei Wuxian might be able to stay in Cloud Recesses for years. A year, at least, until he manages to screw it all up.
“I believe Uncle intends to add you to the teaching schedule for the junior disciples. Hopefully, that will be a sufficient starting place. I am—my seclusion has not ended, you understand.”
“I do.” Appearing focused and present is the easiest thing in the world. This is an important conversation, but Wei Wuxian lets his mind race ahead. There are lists and lists of things he can do or make to be useful in a sect, even one as removed from worldly concerns as Gusu Lan.
“If there is anything else I can do to facilitate your entry into our clan,” Lan Xichen says softly, “it will be done. Do not doubt your welcome.”
“I don’t.”
“And, of course, if another union were to take place, it would be my great honor to witness it.”
“Brother.”
“What?” Feeling that he’s missed something important, Wei Wuxian looks back and forth between the Twin Jades. Each in their own way is utterly unreadable.
Before he can ask for clarification, Lan Xichen rises to his feet, bowing stiffly. “Now that this matter is concluded, I will return to my contemplation.”
“Oh!” Returning the bow, Wei Wuxian says, “Are you sure? Lan Sizhui and I have some pretty fun experiments to do in the back hills. Zewu-Jun would be most welcome to join us.”
“Thank you for letting me join in this occasion.” Lan Xichen’s smile seems a little more genuine. “It is a joy to welcome you to the family, Wei Wuxian. I look forward to a day when we will call each other brother. Unfortunately, I have not yet ordered my thoughts regarding all that occurred. Seclusion is best for me, for now.”
Lan Zhan looks terribly sad to hear this, but he bows low and doesn’t try to stop his brother. Wei Wuxian’s mind skitters over reasons that he might call Lan Zhan’s brother his own. Instead, he offers the elder Jade of Lan a steady smile, allowing him to leave first.
The thoughts keep circling his brain, crows harrying a hawk, throughout his experiments with Sizhui. Even when he’s back in the Jingshi with Lan Zhan, they won’t leave him alone. He’s been babbling about Lan Clan Rules, and how he’ll have to stash the alcohol Jingyi brings with Little Apple at Wen Ning’s house instead of drinking it in Cloud Recesses. Like everything else that’s happened, that seems more fortuitous than unlucky. He wants to visit Wen Ning, to see his house.
“I have a pretty high opinion of myself, right Lan Zhan? I mean to say, other than Hanguang-Jun, I’m probably the most powerful cultivator alive. Not to mention famously good looking and incredibly witty. Most people would agree that I’m full of myself: proud and untamed.”
Hands still the guqin strings, silencing the music. “Most people do not know Wei Ying.”
“Not like Lan Zhan does! So go ahead: be brutally honest. I won’t be able to improve if you don’t call attention to my faults. I can stand to learn some humility, right?”
Lan Zhan doesn’t look at him, but he doesn’t return his attention to the guqin, either. He says, “True, you are powerful, handsome, and too intelligent not to recognize your own abilities in all areas.”
“Hah! Yes, exactly. I am matched only by Hanguang-Jun, and I know it well. Though of course I also acknowledge the superiority of my new sect leader, Zewu-Jun.”
“Even so, it is apparent that Wei Ying does not think he deserves certain things which he would be the first to proclaim as basic rights if others voiced a need for them.”
“Lan Zhan?”
“For some time, I believed Wei Ying did not want these things at all. It is—enlightening to learn otherwise.”
Scratching the side of his nose, Wei Ying pays attention to the conversation he’s actually having instead of the crow-thoughts nibbling his mind. From the moment they met back up, Lan Zhan has been tense. Taciturn and aloof, not just quiet. Either he’s unhappy about Wei Wuxian joining the Lan Clan, or he’s upset about something else. Given the way he occasionally softens when his eyes flick to Wei Wuxian’s newest accessory, something else seems likely.
“Lan Zhan, are you jealous of your uncle?”
Still not looking at Wei Wuxian, Lan Zhan says nothing.
He grins. “Lying is forbidden.”
At last, Lan Zhan turns his head to meet Wei Wuxian’s eyes. Oh. He’s not upset; he is furious. “Will Wei Ying follow that stricture now that he is part of Lan Clan?”
“Is that what you’re upset about?” Of all people, Lan Zhan should know that Wei Wuxian won’t be capricious when it counts. “Sure, I wasn’t a model guest disciple when we were young, but I’ll be better this time, Lan Zhan. Being close to you and Sizhui is a much better inducement than getting to attend lectures on material I already knew.”
“I am.”
“What?”
“Jealous of my uncle. It is difficult for me to reconcile your easy acceptance of his offer while you refer to my desire to care for you as charity.”
Nervous without quite understanding why he should be so, Wei Wuxian offers up a friendly grin. “Come on, Lan Zhan. You know there’s a big difference between a friendly invitation to stick around and an offer to join a clan.” Turning his smile into a smirk, he cracks his knuckles. “Your uncle finally recognizes my skill! Took him long enough, but I don’t hold a grudge.”
“Charity,” repeats Lan Zhan, ignoring Wei Wuxian’s antics.
“I couldn’t just sleep in your bed and eat your food without earning my keep.”
He nods. “Yes. Wei Ying believes his worth is determined by what he does for other people. Apparently, if he is not useful he is undeserving of food and shelter.”
“Lan Zhan! That isn’t what I said. Why are you twisting my words?”
Dark eyes meet Wei Wuxian’s, full of fury. He pulls back, swallowing hard.
“You wanted to stay. You wanted to stay here with me. I invited you to do so. To the detriment of your own happiness, you left. Why?”
Rolling his eyes, Wei Wuxian shrugs. “What was I going to do, mooch off of you until you finally got annoyed enough to kick me out?”
“You cannot believe me so inconstant.”
“No.” He has to smile. No one could believe that about Lan Zhan. “Maybe you never would ask me to leave. Maybe you would just get annoyed and never say anything about it at all. You understand how much worse that is, right?”
Lan Zhan’s mouth opens, as if to answer, then presses into a thin line. It’s pretty rich that he clearly wants to say something about never being annoyed by Wei Wuxian’s presence when he is currently actively annoyed at Wei Wuxian. Instead of speaking, he grabs Wei Wuxian by the back of the neck and crashes their lips together.
Instantly, Wei Wuxian happily concedes the argument. He’s not even sure why they were fighting in the first place. Being pulled into Lan Zhan’s lap and kissed is a much better use of everyone’s time. When Lan Zhan murmurs, “I want you,” all he can do is nod in mute agreement, grinning and going in for another kiss.
“You do not understand.”
“Yeah, no, probably not. Just tell me what to do, though. I’m a fast learner. And apparently very humble!”
“From the day we met, I have wanted to bring you here, to make you mine, to keep you. Only my belief that you needed the wide world and the open road to be happy restrained my tongue.” Lan Zhan’s eyes track up along Wei Wuxian’s face as one hand drifts alone the line of his hair. At the last second, just before he can touch the forehead ribbon, Wei Wuxian pulls back.
Shock sends Lan Zhan’s eyes wide, giving him the second most expressive air Wei Wuxian has ever seen on his face.
Forcing a laugh, Wei Wuxian tries to turn his reaction into a cool, casual lean. Unfortunately, seated in Lan Zhan’s lap, there’s nothing behind him to lean against. It probably looks even more awkward.
“I don’t make promises I don’t intend to at least try to keep,” he says quietly, hoping it doesn’t set off another fight.
At once, Lan Zhan’s entire face goes soft. Placing a deliberate hand on Wei Wuxian’s chin, far from the sacred ribbon, he offers up a gentle kiss. Grinning, Wei Wuxian starts unknotting the ribbon himself. Lan Zhan stills his hands.
“No need.”
“Oh, there’s a need! I don’t plan on restraining myself just now, Lan Zhan.”
That earns him another kiss, slow and sweet, with just a taste of tongue.
“You value it.”
He laughs a little, scratching his neck. “I value Lan Zhan more. And I still don’t know why you’re mad at me. So let’s do something fun! Sex, or a nighthunt, or playing with rabbits. You choose, Lan Zhan!”
Sighing, Lan Zhan looks at their joined hands, held close between their bodies. Hoping to cheer him up, Wei Wuxian drops a little kiss to his knuckles. With his neck still bent, he peeks up into Lan Zhan’s lowered eyes, smiling.
“I am trying not to be envious of my uncle.”
“That should be easy! Lan Zhan surpasses all others in cultivation and his mastery of the four arts. If you think I bonded with Old Man Qiren while I didn’t even know he was in my mind—well. Maybe we did, a bit. But I assure you: he is not my type.”
“He saw the truth of your heart.”
“You see my heart, Lan Zhan. More than anyone in this world, you always have.”
That gets Lan Zhan to look up. The anger is gone, though Wei Wuxian has no way to know what distance. In this moment, however, those dark eyes are soft. Almost vulnerable.
“We could use the mind sharing spell,” he offers casually. “If you really want to.”
Silence is the only answer. Lan Zhan’s face doesn’t even twitch to offer him direction.
Laughing quickly, he says, “Just joking, just joking. No need for Lan Zhan to subject himself to that.”
“Wei Ying. Lying is forbidden.”
Unbidden, two of Wei Wuxian’s fingers trace the line of his new forehead ribbon. Made of the finest silk, it feels too nice for rough hands like his to touch.
“That will take some getting used to,” he admits. Despite the scolding, Lan Zhan’s face is still gentle. “Maybe I wasn’t joking. However, I have reconsidered the idea and determined it to be a particularly terrible one.” Scrunching his smile into a playful frown, Wei Wuxian gives a mocking nod. It’s his best impression of the old man sitting in judgment; Lan Zhan smiles.
“Not so terrible. One day, I should like to take you while we share minds. I will know exactly how you feel, and nothing will be hidden between us.”
Just like that, Wei Wuxian the genius called Grandmaster of Demonic Cultivation, is rendered completely incapable of thought. Take him. Lan Zhan will take him. Squirming a little closer in Lan Zhan’s lap, he slides one greedy hand down along Lan Zhan’s stomach. Silk slips between his seeking fingers.
“Take me? Like this morning? Was it fun, Lan Zhan? Did you like it?”
Lan Zhan catches his wrist before the guilty hand can make too much mischief. Raising it gently, he presses a kiss to Wei Wuxian’s palm. Another brushes against the pulse fluttering beneath a black silk sleeve.
“Mn.”
“We could do it now. No time like the present!”
“No.”
Wei Wuxian swallows quite a bit of disappointment before remembering they have other plans. “Oh! Oh, of course not. I’m so forgetful! Lan Zhan’s going to make a mess of me tonight.” Planting a kiss of his own at the corner of Lan Zhan’s mouth takes courage, but he is instantly rewarded. Tilting his head, Lan Zhan takes possession of Wei Wuxian’s lips for a long, blissful minute.
“No.”
“Huh?”
“Promiscuity is forbidden.”
Red burns across Lan Zhan’s ears. Only the sheer hypocrisy of the statement keeps Wei Wuxian in his lap instead of hurtling out of the room, and possibly down the mountainside. Lan Zhan is not a hypocrite. Therefore, Wei Wuxian misunderstood his meaning.
“Is this promiscuity?” Wei Wuxian wiggles seductively against the muscular thigh beneath him.
Apparently immune to all seduction, Lan Zhan simply smiles at him. “Not for me. Not if it is Wei Ying.”
“Not for me either, Lan Zhan. I swear. People say things, and I like flirting, but I wouldn’t take advantage of you. I couldn’t.”
Lan Zhan laughs, but the little huff of air sounds like something breaking. Unhappy eyes flicker up to Wei Wuxian’s new ribbon. “Uncle believes I could take advantage of you. Perhaps because he knows, as I did not, how greatly you desire to remain in the Cloud Recesses.”
“Ah!” Burying his own laugh in Lan Zhan’s shoulder is the only choice. Wei Wuxian sighs. “Don’t remind me. He’s already extorting me so much, Lan Zhan. Protect me, Hanguang-Jun!”
Protective arms encircle Wei Wuxian, strong and certain. “Extorting.”
Helplessly, he laughs again. “Oh, fine. Not really. Not at all. He says I need remedial lessons. Instead of handstands and writing out rules, the old man wants to talk. I don’t mind.”
“Extorting.”
“His current postulate is that I don’t value myself. Me!”
“Mn.” Lan Zhan doesn’t release him exactly, but his hands slide down to rest against Wei Wuxian’s lower back. “Accurate.”
“Lan Zhan! You can’t agree with him! Is that why you don’t want to play with me tonight?”
A warm, broad hand cups Wei Wuxian’s cheek. Night deep eyes meet his. “I want you. Always.”
He laughs. It’s impossible. Lan Zhan doesn’t lie. Thinking properly in Lan Zhan’s lap is more difficult than expected.
“We should not use the mind sharing spell tonight because I must practice this. Saying aloud words you deserve, perhaps need, to hear.”
“Lan Zhan?”
“I love you. Much as I honor and respect your actions, your choices, they do not change my love for you. I have desired the Yiling Laozu, the first disciple of Jiang Clan, the war hero of the Sunshot Campaign. Once, there was a boy in white holding two jars of Emperor’s Smile; since that time, my soul belongs to Wei Ying. There has never been, will never be another: I am yours. No matter what, wherever I am, you will always have a place beside me.”
“Lan Zhan!” Lying is forbidden. Therefore, it must be admitted that Wei Wuxian is crying. Wet streaks keep racing down his cheeks. Hopefully, they’re dignified, manly tears that aren’t messing up his looks too much. Overwhelmed, he can only repeat himself. “Lan Zhan! You—”
“Love Wei Ying without expectation or requirement. If I have expressed my affection poorly in the past, made Wei Ying doubt his place with me, I hope to improve.” A thumb brushes away Wei Wuxian’s tears. Warm. Caring. Kind. A thousand other things that Wei Wuxian could never hope to deserve.
“Me too! Not—you’re being very silly. Improving Lan Zhan is impossible. Lan Zhan is perfect in every way! I like you so much. Lan Zhan, I love you too. Lan Zhan! I’m going to say your name a thousand times right now, okay? My Lan Zhan.”
He does not, in fact, say anything else at all. Lan Zhan, smiling and soft, draws his mouth into a gentle kiss. His tongue belongs in Wei Wuxian’s mouth. They should never, ever, ever stop kissing. At least Lan Zhan leaves his hand on Wei Wuxian’s cheek when he withdraws.
Once again, his eyes flick upward, drawn to the ribbon on Wei Wuxian’s forehead. Unable to resist, Wei Wuxian lets his lower lip droop and wobble in the way guaranteed to make women coddle him. “Are those all the kisses I get? Do you really like me so much if you only give me a few kisses?”
Laughing, Lan Zhan bites his pouting lip, pulling his mouth open, thrusting his tongue deep enough to push every single thought out of Wei Wuxian’s head. Even after he stops, Wei Wuxian is allowed to kiss his jaw, to nibble at one red earlobe, to suck that jade-smooth neck.
“Wei Ying.”
“Mn?”
“I will love and desire you if you break every single rule of the Lan Sect systematically.”
That is so sweet. Wei Wuxian rewards him by scraping his teeth across the column of his throat. Lan Zhan shudders, his hips arch up reflexively, lifting Wei Wuxian like a wave.
“Do you want to?”
“Do you want me to?”
The little noise Lan Zhan makes in response isn’t fun. It’s helpless and anguished. Wei Wuxian jerks back immediately. He’d tumble out of Lan Zhan’s lap and across the room, but strong hands catch him and keep him. Searching that stoic face, he can’t read what he did wrong. Yet again, Lan Zhan’s eyes slide up to the ribbon.
“Lan Zhan! We covered this! It’s not promiscuity. I’ve actually put quite a bit of thought into this. It doesn’t break any rules at all, not if you like me as much as I like you!”
“That depends.”
“Depends on what?”
“Do you believe me?”
“Lan Zhan.”
“I love you as much as I say I do.”
“I believe you. Of course I believe you. Lying is forbidden! Even if it wasn’t, Hanguang-Jun only speaks the truth.”
“I want you today. I will want you tomorrow. Every day. No matter what.”
“Me too! It’s exactly the same for me, I promise.”
“But do you want to do this now, Wei Ying?”
Burying his face in Lan Zhan’s shoulder, Wei Wuxian breathes deeply. He tastes the sandalwood that infuses all of Lan Zhan’s clothing. He doesn’t answer for a long minute.
“It isn’t breaking any rules.” His voice is muffled by the silk covering his mouth, but he can’t turn his head. “I’ve thought it out. It doesn’t break any rules.”
A warm hand cradles the back of his neck. Another rubs slow circles between his shoulder blades.
“It feels like breaking rules. Your uncle certainly won’t like it.”
“Mn.”
“We could behave properly.”
“Marry.”
Sitting up, Wei Wuxian studies Lan Zhan’s face intently. As always, he’s a difficult man to read, but something in his eyes hints at hope.
“Do you want to marry me, Lan Zhan? Is that how much you like me?”
“Yes.”
At once, a cackle bursts from Wei Wuxian’s throat, free and unrestrained. “Other unions! Your uncle and your brother both kept talking about other unions I should make within the clan! Did you hear?”
“Yes.” His ears are red again. It is the cutest thing in the whole entire world. Wei Wuxian considers what Lan Zhan deserves, what kind of husband could possibly be worthy of Hanguang-Jun. Yet the most severe old man in the Lan Sect spent three days in the mind of the Yiling Laozu and didn’t find him wanting.
“Well we have to marry now! Not marrying would disappoint them too much. You have to be a filial nephew. Also, I gave you my virginity! Take responsibility Lan Zhan.”
“I will.”
“My Lan Zhan.”
“Yes.”
Resting his head against soft silk, he nuzzles Lan Zhan’s neck. “My husband will have to let me look at his handsome face whenever I want. He’ll have to hold me even when neither of us are injured, pour tea for me, and give me kisses just because I like them. Not to mention all the times I’ll make him play music with me or go see rabbits. It’s a big job. I’m very demanding.”
“I am equal to the task.”
“Most importantly, he will have to keep his promises.”
“I will.”
“We’re betrothed now, Lan Zhan. Your family is going to approve.”
“Yes.”
“My betrothed promised to make a mess of me tonight.”
“He did.”
He does.
Notes:
Come talk to me about The Untamed on tumblr. I was late to the party and need people to flail with.
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