Chapter Text
Lan Wangji walked the perimeter of the palace on a moonless night and tried to pretend his feet did not ache.
Lan Wangji had been a fully fledged royal guard for all of a month. At fifteen years of age, he could already see the rest of his life stretching out before him in a monotonous eternity.
He had not minded when the sum of his duties was practicing cultivation, spending as much time training his mind as his body. But now, on guard duty, it was night after night of walking the narrow path around the palace wall’s perimeter in a blur of exhaustion. A sheer rock cliff dropped off a short distance away, the lights of the city spread out below him in a field of stars, mirrored by the sky above. Lan Wangji no longer noticed the view, only that a single misstep could send a mortal plummeting down to earth in a tangle of broken bones. Even he would not land unscathed if he fell unprepared.
By the time he returned home every night, Lan Wangji fell asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow, without a moment’s time to continue his studies, much less to read for pleasure.
Lan Wangji was a filial son. His father was proud of him. That was the important thing, wasn’t it?
The tassel hanging from the spike at the top of his helmet fell into his eyes again, and Lan Wangji flicked it out of the way. The motion made the helmet shift awkwardly, obscuring his peripheral vision in his left eye. Guards did not receive their own fitted sets of armor for their first five years of service. Not unless they happened to be the prince, Jiang Wanyin. Lan Wangji’s assigned armor was ill-fitting, compiled from multiple discarded suits: the thigh and shoulder pieces too tight, the helmet and chest pieces too loose.
With a weary sigh, he raised a hand to adjust his helmet.
A whisper of sound came from behind him, and Lan Wangji spun around, drawing his sword. His helmet fell to the ground, and from the muted thumping sound, dented on impact. Lan Wangji winced internally. The captain of the guard would not be pleased, and Lan Wangji would once again be treated to a lecture over his supposed carelessness– how, if he did not put his heart into the job, kept startling every time a bird rustled the branches of a tree or a cat landed on the wall, he would never live up to his father’s legacy.
Lan Wangji could already hear his father asking what the point was of developing his golden core beyond the levels required for a guard, even the son of the Minister of Justice, if he could not tell the difference between a small animal and an intruder. It mattered little that Lan Wangji excelled at swordsmanship. There was always something that made him fall short in his father’s eyes.
He was not invited out with the other guards of his cohort. He could not converse readily with strangers. He was not his father’s perfect copy.
Except this time, it was not a bird perched on the wall, but a figure dressed all in black save for a red ribbon in their hair. Staring back at him, with half a dozen jars of wine hanging from their hand. Catching Lan Wangji’s eyes, they waved, flashing him a sheepish, yet bright smile that showed off all their teeth. The moon glinted off white bone, making them seem inhumanly pointed, though no demon had passed Lotus City’s fortified walls since Yunmeng’s first queen Jiang Chi slayed the Demon King.
Lan Wangji recovered from his shock and leapt for him, slashing with his sword, intending to knock the thief back into the gardens inside the wall. Belatedly, Lan Wangji remembered that protocol demanded he order the thief to stand down and let themself be arrested before resorting to violence.
Too late, now.
Inexplicably, the thief did not try to run. Only leaned backward to dodge his strike, maintaining their balance on the walls with preternatural agility. “Aiya, pretty guard, you’re supposed to keep people out of the palace, not in it.”
That made no sense. It was part of the definition of a palace guard’s duty to keep prisoners in. Not to mention the wine jars marked with the royal seal that could have originated nowhere but from the palace cellar. Lan Wangji jumped onto the wall, straining against the armor weighing him down. How were guards meant to keep the royal family and all others who dwelt within the palace walls safe if they were dressed purely for ornamentation?
“Thieves are unwelcome here.” He stumbled, his foot catching on the edge of the wall, but turned the motion into another strike as he caught himself.
The thief merely dodged to the side. Infuriating.
The thief laughed, incredulous, the sound reminding Lan Wangji strangely of sunlight and birdsong. They danced back as Lan Wangji’s attacks forced them to flee down the wall. “ Thieves ? Don’t you recognize me? Take another look, gongzi, you’ll see your mistake.”
“I see a thief. Surrender now, and the king may be lenient,” Lan Wangji snapped, though where he had failed to speak before, he now spoke too soon. The pointed silver cuffs on the top of the thief’s ears were not particularly valuable, but any theft was easily traceable, as they were worn only by one family in the entire kingdom.
A family with a son of Lan Wangji’s own age, known for his irreverence and ill-advised exploits. Lan Wangji did not cease his efforts to incapacitate the thief, even as he asked, “You’re the son of the king’s adviser?”
“That’s me! Wei Wuxian, at your service.” Wei Wuxian managed to turn dodging a swipe at his stomach into a shallow bow. “Now if you’ll just let me go on with my evening —”
Lan Wangji narrowed his eyes. “Do you have permission to take that wine?”
“I haven’t been expressly forbidden.” Now Wei Wuxian chuckled nervously and made a dash for it, leaping over the cliff’s edge without a second thought.
Lan Wangji hesitated only a moment before jumping after, Bichen in hand to direct his fall.
Wei Wuxian did not have a sword in hand, but hung from a dark stick that looked like a flute, of all things. Looking back over his shoulder, he spotted Lan Wangji and swore, urging his flying flute faster. Lan Wangji followed suit, the wind rushing past his ears, overpowered only by the sound of his own heartbeat, the lights of the city turned to streaking blurs.
He felt more awake, more alive now than at any point since his father first sent him to train for the guard. Lan Wangji preferred intellectual challenges as a rule, but this was an unfamiliar thrill, chasing a boy through the sky who was good enough to evade his every blow without even a sword in hand.
By the time they landed, jumping from the roofs of houses built into the cliff onto a street of shuttered stops and bustling taverns lit by the soft glow of paper lanterns, Lan Wangji had forgotten why he had ever worried about falling off that cliff. Wei Wuxian would not get away from him so easily.
He struck. Wei Wuxian dodged, and his veins were alight, a fuse burning ever shorter before the fireworks.
“You’re determined.” Wei Wuxian said, not even out of breath as they made their way down the street, which only irritated Lan Wangji more. “And talented, not just any guard can keep up with me. Are you that Lan Wangji that Jiang Cheng is always complaining about? You are, aren’t you? He failed to mention you were so good looking when he called you a boring stick in the mud.”
That should not have stung. Wei Wuxian was nothing to him. And yet. “Ridiculous.”
“Hey, now. You may be a stick in the mud — I’m just trying to bring some nice wine to a friend’s party, honestly — but you’re certainly not boring.”
Lan Wangji would not be tricked by insults or compliments or both rolled into one.
Light spilled out of a nearby teahouse as a patron emerged, illuminating Wei Wuxian’s face, lending a red cast to his eyes as he ran several steps up the inn’s wall and back flipped over Lan Wangji’s next blow. Wei Wuxian was not weighed down by heavy armor, free to flip off walls and leap onto roofs with nothing impeding him. Yet it did not seem like Wei Wuxian was truly trying to escape him, almost like he was just as entranced by the rhythm of their fight as Lan Wangji.
Finally, Lan Wangji struck a blow. Not to Wei Wuxian himself, but to his stolen property, severing the cords from which the wine held. Wei Wuxian squawked with indignation as the jars dropped, reaching out as if to stop their fall.
The sound of shattering porcelain never came.
A cloud of darkness enveloped the bottles just before they hit the ground, and the cloud moved, coming to rest by Wei Wuxian’s feet before dissipating. Wei Wuxian bent to pick one up, taking a messy swig that sent droplets escaping down his chin, his neck, over dark, detailed markings like the base of wings clinging to skin. His tongue flicked out over his upper lip, showing the sharpness of his teeth as it retracted. So that hadn’t been a trick of the light.
Smug satisfaction turned to horror, a shock like plunging into the lotus lakes in winter washing over him. The sharp teeth and eyes that sometimes seemed red, the dark feather-like markings at the base of his neck. Lan Wangji should have called for back-up the moment he saw the thief who claimed to be Wei Wuxian. His father was right. Lan Wangji was a useless guard.
At least he would not have to bear the weight of his father’s disappointment. Lan Wangji could not be lectured if he was dead, with the Soul Calming ceremony he had undergone as a child preventing him from lingering as a ghost.
“You’re a demon.”
Wei Wuxian, or the demon, froze with a drop of wine still on his lower lip. Which, Lan Wangji could not help noticing, was red and torn from frequent biting.
It all made sense now. And yet, it didn’t — how could a demon be here, when the very blessing Yunmeng was founded upon turned all demons, no matter how powerful, back at the city gates? If a demon had somehow gotten inside, why impersonate Wei Wuxian and steal just enough wine for a party when all it would take to bring down the wards was the death of the royal family? And if the demon was going to kill him, what was he waiting for?
“Well, shit. Beautiful and too clever for your own good.” The demon muttered something that sounded like just my type under his breath, but Lan Wangji must have misheard him. “Sorry about this.”
A ribbon of blue light shot out from Wei Wuxian’s hand and wrapped around the wrist of his sword hand. He yanked, forcing Lan Wangji to swing his arm out wide as his hand went numb, and Bichen dropped to the ground.
“Hey,” Wei Wuxian called out to a passing young messenger, flipping them a heavy gold coin. “Can you deliver these jars to the Wen household near the docks? Yeah, the one with the clinic? Tell them Wei Wuxian got himself into trouble, but he didn’t forget Popo’s birthday. Thanks!”
“Sure thing, Wei-gongzi!” The messenger bundled the jars into a sack and took off without more than a cursory glance at the guard Wei Wuxian held captive. Like Wei Wuxian, fighting guards in the street was a common sight. Part of Lan Wangji did not like that thought, not at all.
Wei Wuxian walked in the direction of the nearest steps that led up to the palace, keeping a careful distance between them so Lan Wangji could not attack again. The stairs led upward for a thousand and one tall steps, a daunting climb even without the weight of his armor. Usually, he took the gradual switchbacks closer to his family’s house, and left the armor in the guardhouse storage.
“Are you kidnapping me?” Lan Wangji asked when Wei Wuxian, previously so talkative, failed to give anything away unprompted. The way Wei Wuxian tugged him along seemed too gentle, if he intended harm.
“Kidnapping?” Wei Wuxian gave a startled laugh. “No, I’m taking you to see my mother before you give away Yunmeng’s most closely guarded secret.”
Their fight had been a brief reprieve in a confusing evening, where everything seemed to fall into place. Now Lan Wangji was right back where he started, only that sharp-toothed nervous smile was infinitely more dangerous and infinitely more alluring. Lan Wangji had a feeling that it would only get worse from there.
Thirteen Years Later
Long ago in a land far to the north, a girl by the name of Jiang Chi lived in a kingdom where the horizon stretched on as far as the eye could see across fields of tall, waving grass. Jiang Chi’s peaceful childhood was spent running through the grass, unaware that the reason her parents watched over her and her younger siblings so carefully was because with every year that passed, attacks by fierce corpses grew more frequent, up until her father and youngest sibling were stolen away. Their decomposing bodies were found half-eaten by carrion birds days later. The neighboring Qishan Empire denied responsibility for the mercenaries, but the Emperor’s ambitions of expansion and study of the forbidden arts was well known.
The people begged for the king to act, and he sent soldiers out to patrol the kingdom, but the fierce corpses only multiplied, and the capital was flooded with refugees from outlying towns. The harvest was poor, and there were too few hands to gather it. The kingdom’s stores began to deplete.
Jiang Chi cultivated a golden core against her mother’s wishes, and made a name for herself leading a group of seven young warriors to protect her community from the corpses. A lucky thing Jiang Chi did not join the army, for she may have been just one of thousands who perished when the garrison burned, and the Emperor came for the king.
As the capital crumbled to ashes, Jiang Chi and the Seven gathered those they could and fled, harried by hordes of corpses and human armies. They found other groups of survivors along the way, but many lives were lost under the relentless attacks. Turned away at the borders of kingdom after kingdom, the survivors began to lose hope. Jiang Chi, thrust into leadership at the age of one and nine by the death of the last remaining general, tried to rally them, but even she struggled to believe they would ever find shelter. By then, only three of her seven companions remained.
“Let me read the next line, Lan-gege!” Little A-Qing leaned over the boy seated in Lan Wangji’s lap, her arm arching wildly over her head as she grabbed for the book in his hands. “It’s my favorite part!”
Lan Wangji gently detached her hands from the pages and settled A-Qing back on her knees. “Please wait your turn, A-Yuan was just finishing his section.”
The boy leaning against Lan Wangji’s other side, Jingyi, stuck his tongue out at A-Qing. She returned the gesture.
“None of that, you two,” Lan Wangji said, but it was too late — A-Yuan shifted in Lan Wangji’s lap, uncomfortable with his friends’ arguing.
“A-Qing can read,” he said softly, handing over the book. “I don’t mind.”
A-Qing beamed, snatching it, and immediately launched into the next part, speaking loudly and quickly, even as she stumbled over longer words.
When all was thought lost, Jiang Chi’s lover, her most talented scout, stumbled on a verdant valley, surrounded by mountains on all sides, a place where they could build fortifications and make a last, desperate stand. The battles raged on long and hard, but slowly, the founders of Yunmeng pushed back the Qishan Emperor’s armies. Until, finally, they were left in peace. The Demon King made her nest on the highest peak of Shadow Mountain, still a constant threat to the people though she never regained her former strength.
The survivors looked around, exhausted and grieving, but surprised and relieved to be alive. Jiang Chi was proclaimed queen, though she had never wanted the role, and the Kingdom of Yunmeng was founded in the valley. They built Lotus City around the lakes and streams of the valley, making a new home to take the place of the one they had lost.
But while the valley flourished, they soon realized it had become a prison, for a demon haunted the only route out of the valley that did not border the Empire. No human could enter or leave Yunmeng Valley and live, no trade could flow, and from time to time, a farmer or an artisan, an entire family disappeared without a trace. All of Yunmeng knew they had been devoured by the Demon King of Shadow Peak. While the people knew they were lucky to have survived and none were eager to see the return of bloodshed, the threat of the Demon King hovered over them like an executioner’s blade.
Alone and in groups, champions braved the steep climb of Shadow Mountain to challenge the Demon King. None returned.
At long last, after twenty years of ruling well and wisely, Queen Jiang Chi decided she must face the demon herself. She climbed alone to the very tip-top of the mountain, and found the Demon King expecting her. Jiang Chi and the Demon King fought for eighty-nine days and nights, carving chunks from the mountain that fell into the valley below. Lives and buildings would have been lost, were it not for the efforts of the Queen’s remaining companions, who worked constantly day and night to redirect the falling boulders into Shadowfall lake.
“Shadowfall Lake?” Zizhen blurted out, bouncing in place. “My big cousin swam out to the rocks in the center on a dare just the other day! A-Niang yelled at him when he got back. Are those the rocks from the story?”
Lan Wangji patted the top of his head. “That’s right. You can still see the top of the rock pile at its center during the dry season today.”
“My turn!” Jingyi said, and made to grab the book from A-Qing, but Lan Wangji held him back.
“I will finish reading the story. And next time we will all…?”
“Wait our turns,” Jingyi and A-Qing grumbled in unison.
“Good.” Lan Wangji held his hand out to A-Qing, and she reluctantly placed the book in his hand. He did not like to take away chances to practice, but most of the other kids who came to his reading lessons had already had their turn for the day, and Jingyi and A-Qing would only continue their behavior in the next lesson. It was strange to think he spent more time stopping arguments now as a palace librarian than in his brief time as a guard, and there was a greater risk of bloodshed — albeit in the form of nosebleeds and scraped knees during the lessons he offered children from the city, rather than assassination attempts. He cleared his throat, and tried to make his voice less monotonous.
Finally, Jiang Chi’s sword pierced the last of the Demon King’s three hearts, and the great beast turned to stone there on the peak of Shadow Mountain, where it stands to this day with her sword still encased. Jiang Chi knelt at the top of the mountain, her life fading as she bled from a thousand wounds, and the god of the mountain revealed themself to her.
As a reward for her victory, Jiang Chi would be granted a single wish.
She did not use it for herself, but for the sake of her people and their descendants, stretching on through the ages.
Jiang Chi had faith in the kingdom she had built, but she was uncertain of the worthiness of her son to carry on her legacy. And so she asked the god to ensure the kingdom would always remain in good hands.
The god asked if she was sure, and Jiang Chi’s heart sang with certainty.
And so the god lay a blessing on our kingdom, conditions each monarch must fulfill before ascending the throne. First, strength of character to bring stability. Second, generosity to the people. Third, a fitting consort.
If those conditions were not met ,everyone in the capital city would fall into a deep sleep the moment the heir took the Lotus Throne that could only be broken with the arrival of a worthy ruler.
“But Princess Yanli isn’t married,” Jingyi pointed out. “A-Niang said her enthronement is next month. Are we all going to sleep forever?”
“What?” A-Yuan grabbed onto Lan Wangji’s arm, hiding his face in it.
Zizhen threw back his head to bawl at the ceiling. “But I don’t wanna sleep forever.”
“Do not worry. The crown princess still has time, she will meet the condition.” Lan Wangji patted A-Yuan on the head, trying to reassure him. There was not much time, but Lan Wangji knew plans were being made to ensure Jiang Yanli found someone suitable. “And she is not without guidance.”
The god left another gift, to guide each heir through the trials. A crown with three jewels that glow when the heir’s path is true, and fade if they have strayed toward darkness. No descendant of Jiang Chi has ever failed.
Yunmeng has been safe and prosperous, guided by the gods’ blessing ever since.
“But how can Taizi1 find someone she loves in a month?”
A motion from the doorway caught Lan Wangji’s eye, and he looked up to see Wei Ying peaking out from behind the library door for some reason, waving at him rapidly and grinning, ridiculous as ever. Warmth flooded his chest. “Sometimes princesses have to choose what’s good for the kingdom over their heart, but it’s possible she will grow to love the person she chooses. Or that she might fall in love at first sight.”
As Lan Wangji answered, Wei Ying placed a finger against his lips, and started tiptoeing into the room, ducking behind a shelf to avoid being spotted by the children.
“Gross!” Jingyi gagged, and pretended to clean off his tongue with his hands.
“ I think it’s romantic, looking into someone’s eyes and just knowing.” Zizhen declared, and several of the other children, quieter and younger than the four seven-year-olds who attended his lessons most regularly, nodded in agreement.
A-Qing screwed up her face. “For once, I agree with Jingy— oh my heavens!”
Wei Ying jumped out from behind the shelf and dropped into a crouch, pulling a grotesque face and hooking his fingers into imitation horns over his head. “You know, they say the Demon King could return someday. Right when you’re least expecting it.”
He pretended to lunge for the children, and they shrieked and scattered off into the shelves, giggling wildly.
Lan Wangji sighed, but accepted Wei Ying’s hand to pull him up, knees stiff from their long imprisonment by a child who seemed to grow heavier by the day. “Don’t tell them lies, Wei Ying.”
“You know it isn’t entirely a lie.” Wei Ying fiddled with the silver cap covering the pointed tip of his right ear. In the daytime, his teeth appeared less sharp, and his eyes did not reflect red when the light caught them, and the feather-like markings on his shoulders and back and tiger-striped tail were hidden by clothes. But as living proof that the story of Queen Jiang Chi and the Demon King had not gone exactly as recorded, Wei Ying always had to be aware of the things that set him apart. That Wei Ying had slipped up the night they met still made Lan Wangji feel special all these years later. “Besides, how else am I supposed to get you alone?”
From somewhere back in the stacks, Shufu yelped as the children ran past, intruding on his work. Shufu would track them down, and then it would be impossible to separate the children from him until it was time to make the trek down from the palace built into a cliff to the city. Children loved Shufu the way cats loved fathers who claimed not to want them, and with a great deal of feigned reluctance and protesting, Shufu enjoyed his time with them.
So Wei Ying really had gotten him alone.
“Trickster,” he said fondly.
“Demon.” Wei Ying leaned in, resting a hand on the shelf behind Lan Wangji. No matter how Lan Wangji tried to acclimate himself to Wei Ying’s sudden intrusions into his space, it always made his breath quicken and his knees weaken, like he had been transported instantly from lake-level to the peak of Shadow Mountain. “It’s in my nature. Though A-Niang is always saying that I take after my grandmother.”
Wei Ying’s grandmother, Baoshan Sanren, was the so-called Demon King who had placed Yunmeng under the curse its people — even those who knew the truth — usually considered a blessing. Five centuries of benevolent rulers, as defined by the unknowable standards of a curse whose caster had long since disappeared. Many a kingdom had fared worse.
“Too clever for my own good, A-Niang says, but at least her son invents devices to plow fields more quickly and hasn’t eaten any people or cursed any kingdoms. Right, Lan Zhan?” Wei Ying’s voice was right up against his ear, and though Wei Ying was joking about nothing in particular, Lan Wangji’s body reacted only slightly less enthusiastically than if the words were a stream of cock-based innuendos. Unfortunately, Lan Wangji had the experience to draw the comparison.
Once, Lan Wangji had hoped that his responses to Wei Ying would fade as he aged past his teen years, but so far, the only improvement was that he woke with sheets already ruined far less often.
Lan Wangji closed his eyes to steady himself. A mistake. He could feel the warmth of him, though there was no point at which Wei Ying’s skin brushed up against his. Wei Ying always radiated a heat that made Lan Wangji feel dangerously safe and wanted. A hunting adaptation, Wei Ying claimed. Lan Wangji had never been certain whether this was one of Wei Ying’s many jokes about his nature, but it would certainly be effective if he were Wei Ying’s prey.
“Your heart is nobler than any other I know,” Lan Wangji hoped that praising Wei Ying beyond his expectations would make him back away. No such luck, although Wei Ying did emit a satisfying squeak. Out of self-preservation, he said, “Why are you here, Wei Ying? To check on the crown?”
They had shared no more than fleeting moments since the late king’s assassination. Wei Ying should still be far too busy to spend time with his most boring, yet closest friend.
“I’m here to see you.” Wei Ying snapped his fingers, and in a flash of golden light, a peony that matched the crimson shade of Wei Ying’s inner robes appeared in his hand. He tucked it into Lan Wangji’s guan, and as he pulled away, he trailed along the curve of his ear, stealing a lock of hair to wrap around his fingers. “I feel like I haven’t seen you in ages, between my attempts to update security and all the preparations for Yanli-jie’s enthronement ceremony. I miss you.”
As a friend , Lan Wangji reminded his heart, which had sped up into a rapid pattering. It was too much, too intimate for Lan Wangji to stand when he could not touch Wei Ying in return, not without feeling like he was crossing an illicit boundary, and Wei Ying would not even know it.
“Ridiculous,” he said, and Wei Ying pulled back.
“You can’t fool me anymore. I know you missed me too.” Wei Ying joked, but his smile did not reach his eyes.
“Of course I did.” Lan Wangji was helpless against the need to reassure Wei Ying, but he could not leave his heart so earnest and exposed. He paused, letting Wei Ying perk up and launch into the beginning of another teasing ramble.
“See, I knew it! Your days have been cloudy without me to bother you. I bet you even miss sprouting leaves when I ask you to test —”
Lan Wangji struck. “Missing you does not preclude the fact that you are ridiculous.”
“Oh, a dagger to the heart!” Wei Ying lunged to the side, clasping one hand over his heart, and pressing the back of his other hand against his forehead. “You’re so cruel to me, Lan Zhan.” But then he laughed, eyes crinkling, and slung an arm around Lan Wangji’s shoulders. “I’ll admit, I do need to check on the crown, but I volunteered because I wanted to see you. Walk me back? I want to hear about all the children’s mischief I’ve missed. Or what you’ve been reading, or how your mother’s garden is doing, or what I should want to punch your father for this week. Tell me everything.”
Lan Wangji was not good at leading conversations but with Wei Ying he did not have to. He led the way back through the stacks to the artifact room, answering questions as Wei Ying posed them. As much as Wei Ying talked, he was a surprisingly considerate listener; his questions often pointed to something Lan Wangji might wish to express, but that had not occurred to him that Wei Ying might want to know. The library was half a li long, and so Lan Wangji had time to explain Jingyi and A-Qing’s recent rivalry, and a summary of a recent novel he enjoyed before they reached their destination.
The entrance to the artifact room was hidden behind a scroll painting of the Queen Jiang Chi in full armor with the Demon King in the sight of her drawn bow, though the demon resembled a qiongqi, devourer of the righteous, more than Wei Ying and his mother. Depressing a knot of wood in a panel caused the illusion of a wall to dissolve into mist, leaving an archway wide enough for two people to enter side-by-side. They both had to duck slightly to avoid hitting their heads. Baoshan Sanren had built the room for someone of her own stature and not, as Wei Ying’s mother called them when imitating the long-missing Demon King, ‘creatures more like beanpoles than flesh and blood.’
On the edges of the rooms were shelves full of the swords of long dead heroes, even the bow of Queen Jiang Chi herself. The fragile original copies of the kingdom’s founding documents were carefully tucked away in a shadowed corner shielded from all light. It was Lan Wangji’s duty to renew the talisman every two weeks.
In pride of place on a pedestal at the center of the room rested the crown Baoshan Sanren had tied to the curse, where it had lain since the passing of King Jiang Fengmian. Inlaid in the base of the golden crown were three jewels the size of eyeballs, a diamond and two rubies. Two were aglow with some strange, inner light. The third, the left-hand ruby, was dark, seeming instead to suck in the ambient light around it.
Wei Ying poked the crown with his forefinger, and his whole body slumped. His arm slipped from Lan Wangji’s shoulders, leaving him cold, bereft, without the inhuman heat of him. “No change. At least it hasn’t gotten worse.” Clasping his hands behind his back, Wei Ying stared up at the ceiling, where, for reasons Lan Wangji could only assume were because she could, Baoshan Sanren had painted her true face. “The curse knows Yanli-jie will be a good queen. She just has to choose someone who isn’t that damn kingdom-ruining peacock, and everything will be fine.”
Jiang Yanli’s failed engagement to the crown prince of the Lanling Empire had seemed like a perfect love match at first. They met for the first time when Jiang Yanli made a diplomatic visit to the Lanling Empire, only her second trip outside Yunmeng without her mother at her side. The arrogant Jin Zixuan had mistaken Jiang Yanli for a servant in her traveling clothes — and so treated her kindly, where he had intended to insult her. Jin Zixuan’s father, the Emperor, had either not taken Yunmeng’s Blessing seriously, or simply did not care, and ordered him to court Jiang Yanli to merge Yunmeng with Lanling.
Jiang Yanli found the prince’s misunderstanding amusing, and so convinced him to sneak out into Lanling’s capital city for a festival with her. By the time they were found the next morning and Jin Zixuan learned her identity, they were in love, and Jin Zixuan had learned many a cruel truth about his father’s reign.
Jin Zixuan had even been willing to abdicate and move to Yunmeng for her, to form an alliance between Yunmeng and its most dangerous neighbor. He had loved Jiang Yanli, and more than that, respected her, even at the cost of his own power. Everyone in the palace, even Wei Ying, had thought that was the best possible outcome.
The crown had not agreed.
Fortunately, the ruby’s light had gone out before the engagement or abdication could be formalized. Consulting a fortune teller revealed that a dismal fate awaited if Jin Zixuan did not fulfill his destiny as the last emperor of Lanling. The empire had to crumble for Yunmeng to survive, and the heirs after Jin Zixuan in the line of succession would only be brasher versions of the present emperor.
When the engagement failed, it had been assumed that the princess had years to find a more suitable consort. And so in the three years since, Jiang Yanli had not been pushed to move on.
That was before the assassin Wen Zhuliu bypassed all of the palace’s guards and protections to murder King Jiang Fengmian in his bed, leaving Jiang Yanli with only a narrow period where it was acceptable to choose a consort between the end of the mourning period and the last possible day for her coronation. If she were not married, or enthroned, the curse would trigger, and the kingdom might sleep for an eternity.
“Has the Crown Princess started her search yet?” Lan Wangji asked. The official mourning period would end tomorrow, but it was not a secret that plans were being made.
“The Dowager Queen is announcing something this afternoon. I’m not allowed to know beforehand, though they did let me check that the curse isn’t opposed to the plan, at least.” Wei Ying scuffed his toe against the floor, permanently polished, thanks to another talisman, and grimaced when the painting of Baoshan Sanren seemed to grimace. “Every time I try to join court meetings, they tell me to go back to my workshop, when usually I can’t spend a shichen there without being dragged off to listen to petitions, which strikes me as —”
“Concerning.” Whatever the Dowager Queen and Cangse Sanren were planning, they were locked away with the crown princess, the ministers, and the palace officials for hours each day. If Wei Ying was not included, they thought he would try to stop their plan. Their intent might be for the greater good, but Wei Ying would be more likely to cause trouble if he was excluded, not less.
“Yes. If I just knew what was happening...” Wei Ying sighed, leaning slightly on Lan Wangji, and took his hand, playing with his fingers, making sparks run up his arm. “I want Yanli-jie to have someone who makes her happy. At least we’ll know tonight. Maybe then I can figure out a plan.”
Did Wei Ying have someone in mind? Lan Wangji opened his mouth to ask, and a crash sounded from somewhere among the stacks, followed closely by nervous childish giggling and Shufu’s voice, barely restrained from snapping.
“That sounds important. I should let you go.” Wei Ying pouted, swinging their joined hands between them. “But I don’t want to.”
“I’ll see you soon, Wei Ying.”
Wei Ying let go of his hand and walked backwards in the direction of the library’s exit. “Track me down tomorrow if I get caught up in something. Promise!”
“I promise. Tomorrow.” Sometimes Lan Wangji hesitated to reach out first, afraid Wei Ying would see right through him if he let even a fraction of how much time he wanted to spend together be known. But if Wei Ying asked first, Lan Wangji could be as greedy as Wei Ying let him be.
As he made his way through the stacks, Lan Wangji could not help reaching up to touch the soft petals of the peony in his hair.
The table in the courtyard was set for the evening meal when Lan Wangji returned home to the old Lan family compound that evening. Shufu grumbled the whole way down the winding switchbacks from the palace about the children’s antics. Lan Wangi made the appropriate noises, half listening. Though Shufu was complaining about Lan Wangi’s own educational programs, he knew Shufu was simply contrary by nature, and did not truly mean it.
His brother and brother’s husbands, visiting for the weekly meal, were already seated with his mother around the table, talking companionably, as his father was not yet there.
“The same city guard has come to A-Jue’s shop five times in the last month because he broke a different piece of his armor. This time he even managed to chip his spiritual sword, can you believe it?” Xiongzhang was saying when they arrived. “He said it was a training accident again, but I’m starting to get suspicious.”
Nie Mingjue snorted. “Starting? You’re still far too trusting, A-Huan.”
“It might have been a training accident,” Meng Yao said. Both of his husbands squinted at him like he had been replaced by a shapeshifting monster, for giving anyone the benefit of the doubt — until he continued. “But if so, it wasn’t training with the city guard. I handle accounts for the city guard, and this Su She’s name disappeared from the salary list three months ago, and resurfaced recently in the rolls of an underground combat league. He’s being paid to lose.”
“And you didn’t tell me so I would have an excuse to turn him away?” Nie Mingjue grumbled.
“A regular, paying customer?” Meng Yao gasped in pretended horror. “When you know A-Huan doesn’t want to charge for his mediations?”
Xiongzhang had disappointed their father by using his skill at negotiating to help with disagreements between neighbors, or employees with employers at no charge. That was how he met his husbands, when Nie Mingjue was convinced his bookkeeper, Meng Yao, was cheating him, and asked Xiongzhang to intervene. It had turned out that one of Nie Mingjue’s regular customers was paying him in partially counterfeit coins, and Meng Yao had been trying to figure out which before informing him. To Lan Wangji’s enduring confusion, that had somehow led to a relationship.
Though Fuqin disapproved of the relationship from its start, he had not tried to disinherit Xiongzhang until he eloped.
A blacksmith and a bookkeeper? In their family? Fuqin was horrified.
“Can we save the bickering until Fuqin might not walk in at any time — Wangji! Shufu!” Xiongzhang stood, as much relieved as excited to see them. He beckoned for Lan Wangi to take the empty place between himself and A-Niang. “It’s been too long!”
It had been two days since Lan Wangji had last had dinner at Xiongzhang’s place, a house in a small compound that hung partially over Shadowfall lake on stilts, that Xiongzhang and his husbands rented from a three-generation family. It was small, but close to Meng Yao’s accounting office, and the smell of smoke no longer clung to everything they owned, as it had when they lived in the rooms above Nie Mingjue’s blacksmith shop as newlyweds.
Shufu let up from his grumbling to greet A-Niang, and even smiled at her as he settled on her other side, leaving the only empty space between himself and Nie Mingjue.
A-Niang barely acknowledged his greeting, staring instead just above Lan Wangji’s head.
He remembered too late that the peony Wei Ying had given him was still in his hair, its bright color in stark unmissable contrast to his pale garments. Lan Wangji reached up, intending to hide it away behind his back, but too late.
A-Niang plucked the flower from his guan. “A-Zhan, what’s this?” She twirled the peony’s stem between her fingers right in front of Lan Wangji’s eyes, teasing him. Despite how many times Lan Wangji had touched it, the petals were pristine, as only a flower constructed from magic could remain. “This can’t be from one of your kids. Do people who are just friends give each other peonies the color of passion now?’
Lan Wangji felt his ears flush, but said nothing to acknowledge the knowing smirk that only grew the longer he ignored her. Why couldn’t Wei Ying have made a simple wildflower that might have been from a child? Anything to stop his mother from misinterpreting their relationship as anything but friendship. Tinged with pining on his side, yes, but on Wei Ying’s, only the same flirtatious teasing he used on everyone from aunties at the night market to A-Niang herself.
A-Niang tucked the flower back in and patted his cheek. “You’ll see one day.”
“How was your day, A-Niang?” He asked, pointed.
“Oh, I practiced the qin for a while and spent the rest in the garden, growing flowers myself since I no longer have handsome young men lining up to give them to me.” A-Niang could not help continuing to tease him. Her skirts were still coated in dirt from a morning spent in her garden, and there was a radiant glow to her cheeks, a sign that confirmed she was still keeping separate bedrooms from his father, as she had since Fuqin’s reaction to Xiongzhang’s elopement.
“But why shouldn’t they, A-Niang?” Xiongzhang asked. “You’re still lovely and gracious.”
Lan Wangji nodded in agreement, and Shufu added, “Or perhaps the seeds of rare flowers and herbs, so you might have the satisfaction of growing them yourself.”
“You know how busy your brother is these days.” A-Niang took a sip of tea that had been poured before Lan Wangji arrived, covering a grimace when she realized it had cooled. “My day wasn’t entirely boring. I think I’ve created a soil mixture that doubles the production of certain difficult to grow medicinal herbs!”
A-Niang’s smile still looked painted on.
If A-Niang showed the slightest intent of ending the marriage entirely, Lan Wangji would support her, as would his brother, and Shufu. But for the moment, she still insisted on weekly dinners with the entire family. A family Lan Wangji suspected had been broken long before Xiongzhang chose to follow his heart. To an extent, Lan Wangji understood why it was a difficult decision. Lan Wangji himself had only said no to his father once, and then he had already taken the critical step of submitting his resignation to the captain of the guard.
Once his resignation was accepted, Fuqin could not force him to retract it.
“And how was the library today?” A-Niang asked. “What did you read with the children?”
“We spent the afternoon reorganizing the entire biography section.” Shufu complained, before Lan Wangji could answer. “Children have no respect for the rules of the library these days.”
“Were you not telling me just the other day how proud you were of A-Zhan for developing these lessons?” A-Niang patted Lan Wangji on the forearm, giving him a look that said, isn’t your Shufu so silly?
Lan Wangji smiled in agreement, but only slightly, so Shufu would not notice that his younger nephew, too, did not take his complaints seriously.
“I’m very proud of Wangji. He has accomplished more in a handful of years than I have thought of in all my decades as a librarian!. It’s good to see bright young faces taking an interest in knowledge.” Shufu nodded at him, proud, and promptly scowled again. “I simply wish the parents of these children would teach them that behavior appropriate for games in the streets of Lotus City is unacceptable in the palace library.”
Lan Wangji might have agreed if it was the parents engaging in such behavior, but if children forgot themselves and yelled or knocked an entire section of books off shelves, that was only to be expected on occasion. Rare and fragile books were not kept in the main library. Though of course such behavior wasn’t to be reinforced.
“Aw, Xiaoshuzi, did a small child pull on your beard aga—” A-Niang cut off as the gate creaked open, sending a pall of silence over them.
Lan Wangji sat straighter and narrowly resisted the urge to stare down at his empty bowl rather than greet his father.
“I see you all made it.” Fuqin swept in to take his seat without sparing a glance for either of Xiongzhang’s husbands, and began piling food into his bowl. He was still in his navy ministerial robes, with his tall, rounded cap covering all his hair. Like this, his neatly trimmed full beard took over his features. “Again. Does anyone have news more important than children’s storytime? No? Then we’ll start with my news today, which will shape the future of Yunmeng.”
“Wangji is doing excellent things for the children of the city,” Shufu leapt in to defend him. “His work does not deserve your dismissal.”
“Yes, it’s so very important that future farmers and carpenters learn to read and do their sums.” Fuqin said, entirely without expression, like it wasn’t even worth his time to argue. “Though at least one of my sons is keeping himself busy in a moderately prestigious institution.”
Picking up the teapot, Xiongzhang smiled thinly, and poured a cup for each of them, starting with Fuqin.
“Both our sons have accomplished wonderful things, but I would love them even if they lazed about the house all day.” A-Niang barreled over whatever Fuqin would have said next with, “You said you had important news?”
“Yes, very important. The enthronement is imminent and yet still, she remains unmarried.” Fuqin announced, projecting his voice as if giving a speech to a large audience, and not to his family at an intimate dinner. “Today, the Dowager Queen has finally announced a competition for the princess’ hand to commence in three days’ time. Invitations were sent out to our foreign neighbors weeks ago, but any unmarried citizens of Yunmeng below the age of forty-five are eligible to compete in a series of three challenges. I told the Dowager Queen that it would only waste our time weeding out unqualified commoners, but Taizi and that Minister of Rites she has in her pocket convinced her otherwise.”
A competition? That would explain why it had been kept secret from Wei Ying. He would have raised objections every step of the way and insisted on vetting every candidate, as well as coaching one of his own. With only three days to prepare, Wei Ying would likely find a candidate, but if they progressed through the challenges, it would be entirely of their own doing.
“Nevertheless, the competition does give us an opportunity,” Fuqin continued.
Shufu dabbed at his mouth with a cloth, cleaning away a drop of sauce before it could reach his beard. “How so?”
“You are aware that it is likely the princess will, in her misguided youth, replace me as Minister of Justice.”
Jiang Yanli often clashed with him. Mainly because Fuqin still treated her, a woman over thirty, like a small child, acting dismissive of every idea she brought before the court. Just as he so frequently did with his own family.
“When I become her father-in-law, such a move would not be appropriate.” All Fuqin received in response was blank stares, and a gasp from Meng Yao, so he added, “Wangji will join the competition, of course.”
Lan Wangji could only blink as the sky crashed down around him. A piece of tofu fell from between his chopsticks as his fingers spasmed, landing on the wood. He let it rest there with sauce sinking into the wood, too shocked to register it needed cleaning.
As if from a distance, he heard Fuqin saying, “He is the perfect candidate. Knowledgeable about the kingdom’s laws and history, an accomplished cultivator to balance out the Princess’ weakness. He has a strong sense of justice that will serve him as well as Consort as it would have in my ministry. You will announce your intention to compete for the Princess’ hand at the festival that begins tomorrow.”
Lan Wangji’s father had not given him so much praise since he learned sword flight at the age of ten, when some parts of the man A-Niang had fallen in love with still remained. Or when he still hoped to mold both his sons in his image. Yet Fuqin spoke as if Lan Wangji was not in the room, volunteering him to marry a woman he was not in love with, entirely unaware that love was what mattered most to his younger son if he were ever to marry.
Which he would not, for he had already given his heart away to one who thought it was a gift of friendship.
As Fuqin only continued to list more plans, Lan Wangji struggled to speak. His jaw felt like it had been nailed into place. Finally, with as much calm as he could muster, he croaked, “I cannot marry Taizi.”
Fuqin cut off mid-sentence, “Whyever not?”
If he said it was because he was not interested in women, Fuqin would only ask what that had to do with anything in a political marriage, as if he had not married A-Niang against the opposition of his own parents. The few bites of food Lan Wangji had managed to swallow sat leaden in his stomach.
“No good argument, I see. We will go over the stages of the competition tomorrow to prepare —”
“I am already courting someone.”
As a rule, Lan Wangji did not blurt things out. He measured his thoughts and formulated sentences before ever speaking aloud. And yet the words that would damn him simply rolled off his tongue.
Fuqin coughed violently into his fist, a few grains of rice shooting out before he could cover his mouth. “You haven’t proposed, have you? Certainly not, without my blessing. Courting is not a guarantee of marriage. I’m sure they’ll understand you can’t miss this opportunity if they don’t intend to compete themselves. Not like those fools your brother ran off with.”
“Those fools are sitting right here!” Nie Mingjue bellowed.
“I’m sure I didn’t just hear you saying your son should break someone’s heart.” A-Niang raised her cup to her lips, leveling her husband with a pointed look over its rim.
“I suppose, if they are of sufficiently high status, you may continue courting them,” Fuqin conceded. “Well, who is it?”
The only possible answer was, “Wei Ying.”
Lan Wangji could only hope Wei Ying would understand, and agree to help him. Likely he would enjoy the temporary deception, unaware of Lan Wangji’s heart crumbling away with every false gesture of affection.
A-Niang gasped, jumping in her seat high enough to make the dishes rattle, and clasped her hands together. “Oh, A-Zhan, you finally confessed? Or did he , when he gave you that flower? I’m so excited for you, you must be so happy . I can’t believe you didn’t tell me!”
Oh, no. In his panic, Lan Wangji had forgotten to consider this. When an engagement failed to materialize, it would not only be Lan Wangji’s heart that broke, but his mother’s as well. Why could he not be like Xiongzhang, and simply leave when ordered to do things he did not wish to?
But he was not like Xiongzhang, and he could not take back his words now.
Xiongzhang, too, was teary eyed when he said, “I’m happy for you, Wangji.”
Shufu simply gave a gruff, “Finally.”
Lan Wangji knew Shufu was grudgingly fond of Wei Ying, in much the same way he was of children, for his role in convincing Lan Wangji to leave the palace guard and become a librarian. However, he had not thought Shufu cared one way or another how Lan Wangji’s relationship with Wei Ying developed.
“You’re courting that disrespectful tr—” Fuqin grunted and directed a furious glare at A-Niang. “I… suppose that is acceptable. That Wei Wuxian certainly isn’t a blacksmith.” The blacksmith in question received a comforting one-armed hug from Xiongzhang, while Meng Yao gripped his chopsticks like a dagger. “Even if he is a tinkerer who convinced my once obedient son to rebel, he is the closest companion of the crown princess and her brother. Yes, that will do. When may we expect an engagement?”
Lan Wangji realized A-Niang must have nudged Fuqin under the table, for him to spare even that much of a good word for Wei Ying.
“It’s — it’s all very new —” Lan Wangji scrambled to delay.
“Nonsense. You’ve known him for years. Though I suppose waiting would be prudent, so your wedding is not outshone by the princess’.” Fuqin stroked his thumb across his beard, considering, one of the few mannerisms he shared with his brother. “You will attend the upcoming events surrounding the competition with your Wei Wuxian, and we will see how your courting progresses.”
His hands fisting in his robes beneath the table, Lan Wangji nodded. He could see no other option. Go along with it, and he could speak to Wei Ying tomorrow.
But A-Niang jumped to her feet. “Oh, I must go see Cangse Sanren immediately! We have so much to discuss!”
Leaving her meal half-eaten, she gathered her skirts and raced out the door, unsheathing her sword as she went.
Apparently, it was hubris to hope that A-Niang would not inadvertently do anything that would test his claim.
Xiongzhang stood next. “If A-Niang isn’t here, I’m not going to sit here and listen to my husband being insulted any longer. Congratulations again, Wangji. Shufu, I will see you soon.”
He left with his husbands, discussing which stall to pick up more food from on the way home. That left Lan Wangji with his father and uncle, who ate in a tense silence, and his whirling thoughts. A-Niang would likely be occupied with Cangse Sanren for some time, but how much time did he have before one or both spoke to Wei Ying? Wei Ying, who would be entirely unprepared. What if he laughed, and sent Lan Wangji’s ruse to pieces?
He had to get to Wei Ying first, to explain, so Wei Ying would not think this was a desperate ploy by Lan Wangji to trap him into marriage.
“Wangji,” Fuqin said, “If you must go through with this courtship, I’d like you to speak to the princess about a ministry —”
Lan Wangji put both hands on the table to push himself to his feet. “I should speak with Wei Ying. We… were not planning to tell anyone so soon.”
With that, Lan Wangji fled.
Wei Wuxian etched a final character into a golden plaque and sat back, stretching his hand and rolling his stiff neck from side to side. Since the assassination of Jiang Fengmian, Wei Wuxian had been tasked with strengthening the palace defenses, creating a trap that not even Wen Zhuliu, the deadliest member of the Qishan Assassin’s Guild, and Jiang Fengmian’s murderer, could slip through.
Nevermind that while Wei Wuxian’s official title was Royal Inventor, he had previously spent his time designing whatever caught his fancy. Which had mostly been devices to the monotonous portions of the jobs of the ordinary people of Yunmeng pass more quickly and smoothly, from devices to help harvest root crops without bending over to twining thread. Talismans to cool indoor spaces in the heat of the summer. The occasional prank, like the talisman he had used on Lan Zhan when they first met — when Wei Wuxian had been too consumed with teasing the pretty guard to remember he had somewhere to be, much less to guard his identity.
When it came to weapons, Wei Wuxian had always been satisfied with the ones he already had. His flute, a bow and arrow. Teeth and claws, if he did not intend for his opponent to survive.
This was an entirely different challenge.
With the engraving done, there was nothing more to be done until Lan Zhan was available to test it. Which meant Wei Wuxian had nothing to distract him from the damned competition the Dowager Queen had organized for Yanli-jie’s hand. Putting her up for auction like a prize calf, when there was already someone Wei Wuxian knew would make an excellent consort, if they would just talk to each other.
But he would deal with the arduous task of convincing his candidate to enter the competition tomorrow.
A very familiar noise of strangled surprise came from the doorway. His tail shot straight up and curved at the tip, quivering with delight. “Lan Zhan, you’re back! Let me try the new security device on you? You’re the only one I can ask who’s near Wen Zhuliu’s level of power.”
His favorite person, twice in one day? And Wei Wuxian had thought himself lucky to secure a promise of a visit for tomorrow. Unless it already was tomorrow. Wei Wuxian glanced out the window.
Nope, still sunset.
His hair was ever so slightly disheveled, a few extra strands falling down to frame his face, like he had been flying at full speed just to see Wei Wuxian. That was wishful nonsense, of course. More likely one of the kids had tried to play with it. Every time Wei Wuxian saw Lan Zhan with a hair out of place, flustered, blushing, it felt like he was seeing something illicit, and it only made him crave the sight more.
“Your um, tail is out.” Lan Zhan was looking to one side, inspecting a device consisting of interlocking plates and levers intended to automate copying text. It was covered in dust because Wei Wuxian had set it aside three years ago.
“Usually no one enters my workshop without knocking, for fear of explosions,” he explained. Though Wei Wuxian was used to confining his tail beneath his garments, it wasn’t exactly comfortable. At least when his wings sprouted from the markings on his shoulders and back — which wouldn’t happen for another seventy or so years — they would always vanish back into his skin. Lan Zhan had never seemed uncomfortable with it before. “Do you mind? I can cover it.”
Despite his words, his tail drooped.
“No, I — you are fine. My apologies for intruding,” Lan Zhan hurried to assure him, but though his eyes darted toward Wei Wuxian’s tail, they immediately moved away again, and his flush deepened.
“No! You’re welcome anytime, Lan Zhan. Besides, you can handle yourself. No mere magical mishaps will spell the end of my Lan Wangji.”
That made Lan Zhan roll his eyes, even as Wei Wuxian cursed himself internally for the possessive. Some of the tension Lan Zhan carried eased, and he finally stopped acting like he had caught Wei Wuxian calling out his name with a hand on his cock — which was. Not an impossibility, if he visited at the wrong time. He should really start remembering to lock and silence the door. But now Lan Zhan was meeting his gaze instead of the remnants of a failed experiment. “You wished for me to test a device?”
“Yeah! It won’t hurt you, just capture. I want you to try to break free.” Wei Wuxian picked up the plaque and pointed the engraved side in the direction of Lan Zhan. “Now I want you to draw your sword.”
Without question, Lan Zhan brought his hand to Bichen’s hilt. Less than a cun2 of steel emerged from the hilt before ropes of light the width of his thumb shot out from the plaque, arching toward Lan Zhan to wrap him from shoulder to thigh, trapping his arms against his sides.
Lan Zhan’s lips parted, his eyes widening. A startled groan tore from his lips.
And Wei Wuxian realized he had made a terrible mistake.
The workbench hid the tenting of his pants, at least, but his tail was vibrating fast enough to produce a sound. Maybe Lan Zhan would think it was merely anticipation, nerves as he waited to learn whether the device worked, and not an entirely different kind of excitement. Wei Wuxian had entirely failed to consider that succeeding with this device, this trap, would place Lan Zhan at his mercy. Leaving Wei Wuxian with an all too real memory of the way Lan Zhan’s breath hitched as the ropes constrained the expansion of his chest, the way his eyes lost focus and his hands flexed as he tested the tightness of the ropes.
Needing to put a stop to this before his heart stopped in his chest, Wei Wuxian cleared his throat. “Lan Zhan? Did it work?”
Lan Zhan startled, and the bright ropes of energy dissolved to nothing around him. He blinked a few times, and for a moment, Wei Wuxian wondered if he wasn’t certain where he was, if maybe Lan Zhan was as affected as he was. But then Lan Zhan adjusted his robes, and quickly took a seat on the slightly singed cushion of the stool Wei Wuxian kept across from his workbench, and the delusion passed.
“Damn. Back to the drawing board, then.” Wei Wuxian waved a hand over the plaque, sending a small burst of white-hot energy into it. The characters bled beads of molten metal until the surface was smooth once again.
Fuck, he was going to have to go through this at least one more time. Possibly more. Despite the enthusiasm of certain parts of his body at the thought, Wei Wuxian wasn’t certain he was strong enough to survive. But he would do his best to cling to life long enough to ensure Yanli-jie would not meet the same fate as her father.
“The workings of the device are clever, but could be overwhelmed with sufficient spiritual energy alone. I do not believe the average cultivator would not be able to free themselves before aid arrived,” Lan Zhan said. It was sweet of him to say, but entirely unnecessary.
“Half-measures aren’t good enough this time. Lan Zhan, I need your help because you’re so far above average the gods must know your name.”
“Wei Ying.” It was a protest, and a contradiction. It was true that the reason they became friends was because Wei Wuxian was so excited to meet his match that he forgot himself, but the palace was already protected from demons. Wen Zhuliu was entirely human.
“It’s not excessive praise if it’s the truth. You’re exceptional in everything you do.”
“As are you.”
Wei Wuxian was developing along perfectly normal lines for his rare species of demon, in fact, but he knew better than to argue with Lan Zhan. It would only lead to more complements, and he was already in enough of a state after Lan Zhan let him tie him up. For science.
But Lan Zhan made it worse by adding, with an earnestness that made his heart skip a beat, “You are brilliant , Wei Ying. Who else could have invented a lift to move items up stairs just because you saw an elderly woman struggling with her purchases?”
After helping her carry them and being sent away with a bag of sweets that had ultimately gone to Lan Zhan, he did not have to add. Someone would have invented a similar device eventually, Wei Wuxian was certain.
And that was far too much praise for one day. He cast around for a change in subject. “Wait, don’t you have a family dinner tonight?”
The tension Lan Zhan had arrived with returned all at once, his shoulders stiffening. “I do. Did. You remembered?”
“Of course. It’s the same time every week.” Wei Wuxian had definitely not remembered just then what day it was. “But you came all the way back here, and from the looks of your hair you flew. What did he do this time?”
One of these days Wei Wuxian was going to throw that man off the peak of Shadow Mountain for everything he had made Lan Zhan believe.
“It was regarding today’s announcement. I was startled, and it is possible that I —” Lan Zhan stopped, swallowed, and stared down at his hands, unable to find the words to continue. Touch was complicated for Lan Zhan, but this looked like one of times when he needed the encouragement the right contact could offer.
Fortunately, Wei Wuxian’s dick had lost interest at the thought of Lan Zhan’s father, and he could round his desk to sit on it. He took Lan Zhan’s hand and lifted it to rest on his knee, massaging between the joints. “Whatever you said, he deserved worse.”
“I did not insult my father, Wei Ying. I told him that I was, that we were.” Lan Zhan swallowed heavily. “Courting.”
“What? What possessed you to say that? ”
Even as he spoke, Wei Wuxian knew that was the worst possible way he could have reacted. There was no way Lan Zhan could have known how the word courting made his stomach lurch, his heart leap and just as quickly fall. Because he recognized it for a lie, not a declaration of intent.
Lan Zhan pulled his hand away and hid both his arms behind his back as he stood. “He wanted me to join the consort competition. I did not think.”
“Oh, Lan Zhan, I didn’t mean —”
“I will apologize to my mother for lying. She will help me think of something else. I am sorry that I could not stop her from telling your mother.” Horribly, Lan Zhan bowed to him, and started to back out of the room.
“Lan Zhan wait, sit back down .”
To his amazement, Lan Zhan did, and his expression said he was just as surprised as Wei Wuxan that he had obeyed.
“Of course I’ll help. I’m honored to be your excuse. I was just surprised.” That Lan Zhan had thought of his name in a romantic context, however fake — his lungs constricted, and he could not get enough air. Wei Wuxian was far too eager to have his heart broken living a too-brief falsehood, and he sounded it. He couldn’t be so obvious, if he wanted to keep Lan Zhan’s friendship when this was over. “I mean, I’ll help you on one condition.”
“Anything,” Lan Zhan promised all too quickly.
Wei Wuxian was going to drop Lan Zhan’s father into a volcano. “Come to the festival with me tomorrow.”
Lan Zhan blinked once, slowly. “That’s it?”
“I need your help convincing someone who loves Yanli-jie that they can and should win this ridiculous competition. We’ll save the kingdom, and get your father off your back. Win-win, right? I’ll act so smitten with you that no one will doubt my feelings.” All it would take was letting the feelings Wei Wuxian had spent so long concealing show. No problem whatsoever. “And you can — smile at a few of my jokes? If they’re actually funny, of course. No one would believe it if you pretended to like a stupid pun.”
“I do like your puns,” Lan Zhan lied, and frowned. “If the princess already has someone, then why…?”
“Who wouldn’t be afraid, after what happened last time Yanli-jie fell in love?” Wei Wuxian had always known he would have to trick both of them into admitting their feelings, but the reality of having to actually pull it off felt like an impossibility alone. With Lan Zhan by his side, he could do anything.
Except admit how much he needed him.
“I accept your condition,” Lan Zhan said, so seriously, so himself that Wei Wuxian could not stop his face from splitting into a silly, fond, smitten grin. He didn’t understand how Lan Zhan never noticed. Wei Wuxian was so very obvious, and no one who saw him so much as glance at Lan Zhan let him forget it. But as Lan Zhan stared back at him, all he saw reflected there was relief.
As if Lan Zhan could not have asked Wei Wuxian for the sun, the moon, and all the stars in the sky, and Wei Wuxian would not have found a way to steal them for him.
From out in the hallway, the sound of steps on wood was accompanied by a loud voice with a rhythm much like his own, only a few octaves higher. “If I know my son, he’s so caught up in some project he’ll answer all our questions before he even realizes we’re there.”
Insulted by his own mother. “Did you say your mother already told mine that we’re courting?”
Lan Zhan nodded.
“And before we’ve even had a chance to get our stories straight.” Wei Wuxian stepped onto the sill of the open window. With the sunset behind him, he turned back to offer a hand to Lan Zhan. “What would you say to starting this courtship with running away together before we find ourselves married off for real?”
Lan Zhan’s touch was light, sending sparks racing from his sensitive palm up his arm until Wei Wuxian tightened his grip, and their hands fit together like they had been crafted as mirror images. He pulled, and Lan Zhan’s body collided with his, hot against his side. They stepped onto Bichen together as the door slammed open to reveal their mothers, laughing with jars of wine in their hands.
The indomitable Cangse Sanren’s jaw slackened as Wei Wuxian gave her a jaunty wave, and let them drop away from the window.
1 Crown Princess
2 3.2 cm