Chapter Text
Lan Wangji walked in silence through the forest, each step even and careful, the leaves beneath him barely stirring. Shafts of sunlight spilled through the canopy in bright golden ribbons, scattering like playful brushstrokes across the ground. The air was clear, filled with the rustle of branches and the distant chatter of birds—but he paid them no mind.
His thoughts were elsewhere.
Wrapped around a single name that refused to leave him.
Wei Wuxian.
Wei Ying.
His steps slowed.
The name touched his mind like cool water over hot stone—unexpected, refreshing. He pressed his lips into a line, though the faintest quirk threatened at the corner. Worry. Fondness. Frustration. Something harder to name, but warm all the same.
The Wei Wuxian who had returned after three long months was no longer the same youth .
And though he had changed, though there was weight in him now, shadows clinging at his edges, still—he was Wei Wuxian. Still laughing when he shouldn’t. Still bending the world’s rules with maddening ease.
And recently—he had seemed brighter. Lighter. Clearer-eyed. His smile was sharper than Lan Wangji remembered, but no less dazzling.
The memory slipped in, uninvited but persistent: Wei Wuxian blindfolded with his own wrist ribbon, bow in hand, striking down every target as if it were nothing. His grin wicked, his voice teasing.
“Lan Zhan, how about you lend me your forehead ribbon?”
Lan Wangji’s hand tightened briefly at Bichen’s hilt.
Why did that moment linger? That voice, so infuriating. That smile, so unshakable. He had watched him then—like fire burning against the dark, reckless and proud, yet brilliant beyond measure.
And still—Wei Wuxian had not looked back.
Not in the way Lan Wangji wished.
But even so, there was something he could not deny. A need, quiet but fierce.
To guard.
To steady.
To be the hand that pulled him back when the world—or his own stubbornness—pushed too far.
It was illogical. He knew this. His thoughts should not rest so stubbornly on one person. His heart should not leap at the mere memory of his laugh.
And yet—it did.
Cloud Recesses. A place of stillness, of peace. If only Wei Wuxian would come. If only he could be persuaded to set his burdens down, if only for a while.
Perhaps then… he might laugh freely again.
Lan Wangji stopped, the forest pausing with him. Sunlight poured between the leaves like blessings scattered across the earth.
His jaw set.
He would try.
He had to.
Even if Wei Wuxian laughed at him. Even if he brushed him aside. Lan Wangji could not turn away—not now, not when the mischievous light in him was flickering beneath exhaustion.
His hand eased from Bichen’s hilt. He stepped forward again, each pace steadier than the last.
Wei Wuxian might never see him as more than a companion. He might never return the quiet, aching pull that twisted in Lan Wangji’s chest.
But that did not matter.
Because to Lan Wangji, he was zhiji—soulmate. Not by destiny, but by choice, as relentless as Wei Wuxian’s grin.
And if walking alongside him meant facing shadows, trouble, and rules broken one after another—
Then so be it.
__________________________________
The path narrowed, crowded with stubborn brambles and thorny vines. As Lan Wangji pressed forward, a flicker of movement caught his eye—a tiny bird, wings splayed and trembling, was caught in the cruel grasp of a rose bush.Its wings fluttered uselessly, chirps faint but indignant, as though scolding the plant itself.
Without hesitation, Lan Wangji stepped closer. He knelt, hands moving with quiet precision. Long, elegant fingers pushed aside the vines, careful not to damage the delicate creature. The bird blinked up at him, round eyes wary.
"Do not fear," he murmured, voice softer than the wind.
A final tug, and the bird burst free—zooming off in a flurry of feathers before pausing on a branch above to chirp loudly, as though announcing its gratitude (or perhaps its annoyance).
Lan Wangji, however, did not leave unscathed. A thorn pricked his fingertip, drawing the smallest drop of red. He stilled, more startled than pained, and watched as it fell onto the leaves below.
The moment it touched the plant, a light ignited beneath it. Hidden among the roots, an array flared to life, glowing with sudden brilliance. His eyes narrowed, hand reaching for Bichen—too late.
The light surged upward, curling into tendrils of shimmering energy. Before he could draw his blade, it struck.
A burst of force hit his forehead like a wave crashing against stone. He staggered back, breath torn from his lungs, pain blooming white-hot behind his eyes. His hands flew to his temples, but pressure and agony only deepened.
A voice echoed through the haze—distant, urgent.
"Lan Zhan!"
Familiar. Faint. Reaching.
Lan Wangji turned toward the sound, vision spinning, black creeping at the edges. His knees buckled.
And then—warmth. Arms catching him. Holding him.
A presence, strong and known, enveloped him. He didn’t know how long he drifted there—seconds, minutes, lifetimes.
Slowly, his eyes cracked open. The world was blurred and heavy, but through the haze, a face hovered above his own. Eyes wide with alarm, lips tight with fear and something fiercer.
Wei Wuxian.
He was holding him.
Lan Wangji blinked. Something inside him shifted. Clicked into place. A thought. A truth. A feeling too vast for words.
But before it could fully form—
Darkness took him.
_________________________________
The soft wind sighed through the trees, setting the leaves whispering overhead. Wei Wuxian lounged against the trunk of an ancient tree, posture utterly relaxed, one leg stretched out while the other bent carelessly. A strip of cloth sat tied over his eyes, not neat in the slightest but somehow stylish in its own roguish way.
Chenqing rested at his lips, and the tune he played wound through the forest like a mischievous spirit—light, teasing, with just enough flourish to make even the birds pause and listen. His fingers danced across the flute, precise yet effortless, every note carrying both discipline and a spark of rebellion.
After a while, he drew the last note out long, then let silence fall with a satisfied hum. Lowering Chenqing, he tilted his head back against the bark, the blindfold still in place, and a grin tugged at his mouth.
“That should do it for Lotus Pier. Actually—more than enough. Jiang Cheng owes me for this one.”
Pulling the blindfold free in one smooth motion, he blinked at the sudden brightness, then stretched lazily, arms reaching overhead. “Perfect hunt, perfect music—perfect me.” His smirk widened as he sauntered back toward the path.
And there—he froze.
A familiar figure in white knelt among a patch of wild roses, neat as if the dust of travel didn’t dare touch him. Lan Wangji, sleeves pristine, hair catching sunlight like a halo, was… untangling a bird. His expression calm, his hands precise, he gently eased the tiny creature from its thorny trap. The freed bird gave an indignant flutter and zipped skyward while Lan Wangji straightened, watching its flight with quiet focus.
Wei Wuxian exhaled in disbelief, shaking his head with a smile that softened despite himself. “Of course. Hanguang-jun—savior of justice, protector of small, helpless birds.”
He lingered a moment in the shade, eyes glimmering, before stepping forward with a lift of his hand, lips parting to call out—
Only to stop.
Lan Wangji had frozen mid-step, his hand rising suddenly to his forehead, face tightening in pain. Wei Wuxian’s grin vanished. “Lan Zhan?” he called, tone sharp with concern.
No answer. Lan Wangji staggered, his movements uncharacteristically unsteady. Wei Wuxian’s heart leapt into his throat. “Lan Zhan!”
He bolted forward, catching him just as his knees buckled. Wei Wuxian’s arms went around his shoulders, holding him upright with a strength born of instinct rather than thought. Lan Wangji was solid, unyielding, but Wei Wuxian didn’t falter, one hand supporting his back, the other brushing his cheek.
“Hey—wake up! Lan Zhan, come on.” His voice quickened with urgency, but there was an edge of stubborn teasing beneath it, like he refused to let worry win. “Don’t you dare faint on me, you’re way too proper for that!”
Lan Wangji’s breathing was steady but faint, his eyes closed, his features pale. Wei Wuxian swallowed hard, scanning the forest before huffing under his breath.
“Alright, then. Guess you’re coming with me.”
Shadows curled faintly at his fingertips, resentful energy responding to his resolve, but Wei Wuxian ignored the weight of it. With ease, he slipped an arm under Lan Wangji’s knees and lifted him clean off the ground, adjusting the unconscious cultivator against his chest.
“You always make things troublesome, don’t you?” His voice softened, almost fond, as he glanced down at the still face. “If you were awake, you’d probably scold me for carrying you like this… or worse, pull Bichen and slice me up for daring to touch Gusu Lan’s Second Jade.”
He gave a quiet huff, half amusement, half exasperation, and started down the path with steady strides.
Cradled in his arms, Lan Wangji rested silently, the forest shadows stretching after them as if reluctant to let them go.
__________________________________
Wei Wuxian moved swiftly, Lan Wangji cradled securely in his arms as he wove through the dense forest. His steps were sure, his grip steady, though his mouth curved with the beginnings of a smirk.
He glanced down at the pale, still face resting against him. Lan Wangji’s brows were faintly furrowed, like he was frowning even in unconsciousness.
Wei Wuxian huffed. “You better wake up soon, Lan Zhan. Otherwise, people are going to think you fainted just to get carried around by me. And honestly? That would be very unlike you.”
Sunlight spilled across them as he broke from the trees, boots striking the smooth stones of the training grounds. Cultivators turned—laughter dying, chatter breaking off mid-word.
Silence rippled outward.
There he was: Wei Wuxian, robes dark and wind-tossed, carrying the Gusu Lan’s Second Jade as though it were the most natural thing in the world.
Gasps. Whispers. Disbelieving stares.
Then—
“What is the meaning of this?!”
Lan Qiren’s voice rang sharp, furious. He strode forward, robes sweeping, indignation written across every stern line of his face. At his side, Lan Xichen paused, eyes flicking wide before settling into composure, though his worry was plain. Meng Yao stood a step behind, calm and curious, his polite smile sharpened at the edges.
Wei Wuxian didn’t stop.
He strolled on, steps deliberate, chin lifted. Around him, disciples shifted uneasily, hands going to their swords.
“What have you done to Hanguang-jun?!” one demanded, voice cracking with more fear than courage.
At that, Wei Wuxian halted.
He looked up slowly, sweeping the crowd with his gaze. His expression was unreadable, then—very deliberately—he arched a brow.
The air changed.
Not with the suffocating press of resentful energy, but with the kind of tension born when a fox strolls into a chicken coop wearing a grin. Shadows still clung, yes, but Wei Wuxian’s smirk played at the edges of something mischievous.
“Step aside,” he said, voice quiet but laced with the kind of confidence that left no room for doubt.
Disciples hesitated. Swords faltered. Wei Wuxian tilted his head, the faintest glimmer of red sparking in his eyes—not threatening, just enough to remind them that he could, if he wanted.
“Now, now,” he drawled, adjusting Lan Wangji’s weight in his arms as if carrying him were as casual as holding a wine jug. “Is this really the welcome you give to someone delivering your precious Second Jade safe and sound? Shame, shame.”
Lan Qiren’s mouth opened, thunder ready to fall—but Lan Xichen lifted a hand.
“Lower your swords.”
His voice was firm, final.
Reluctantly, blades slid back into sheaths. Awkward silence followed.
Wei Wuxian gave Lan Xichen the briefest glance, then looked forward again. He shifted Lan Wangji slightly in his arms, careful and steady.
“Questions later,” he said over his shoulder. “He needs treatment first.”
The hush deepened.
Lan Qiren looked ready to explode, only held back by Xichen’s hand at his sleeve. Meng Yao’s smile didn’t waver, though his eyes sparkled with calculation.
And Wei Wuxian?
He walked on, unconcerned, Lan Wangji close against his chest. Every step scattered whispers in his wake—shock, outrage, disbelief.
And above all—fear.
________________________________
Wei Wuxian marched into the infirmary with long, determined strides, Lan Wangji still cradled securely in his arms. The sharp scent of herbs and ointments filled the air, blending with the faint hum of spiritual energy that lingered in the walls.
He headed straight for the nearest bed, carefully lowering Lan Wangji onto the crisp white sheets. For all his bluster, his hands lingered gently on Lan Wangji’s shoulders before he forced himself to step back.
Lan Xichen entered a moment later, his robes fluttering softly, worry etched into his usually serene face. His eyes flickered between his brother’s pallor and Wei Wuxian’s stiff posture before he nodded to the healers rushing forward.
The head healer, an elderly woman with sharp eyes and steady hands, pressed two fingers to Lan Wangji’s wrist. Her expression didn’t change for a long moment before she finally straightened. “We need to perform a full examination. Everyone except medical personnel must leave.”
Wei Wuxian’s eyes snapped up. “I’m not leaving.” He crossed his arms firmly. “If there’s resentful energy, I’ll sniff it out before you can even say ‘protocol.’”
The healer’s mouth pinched. “Young Master Wei, protocol is precisely why—”
“I don’t care about your protocol,” Wei Wuxian cut in, chin lifting defiantly. “Lan Zhan needs me. I’m not going anywhere.”
Before the standoff could escalate, Lan Xichen stepped forward, placing a steady hand on Wei Wuxian’s shoulder.
“Wei-gongzi,” he said gently but firmly, “we must let the healers work.”
Wei Wuxian turned sharply, his brows knitting. “But what if there’s a curse? Or resentful energy? Or strange marks? I know how to deal with that. And besides—Lan Zhan—he shouldn’t be left alone.”
Lan Xichen’s expression softened, though his grip on Wei Wuxian’s shoulder didn’t budge. He glanced toward the healers, then back at him.
“Wei-gongzi,” he said quietly, voice dropping to a softer, more private tone. “Wangji…is a Pingheng Zhe.”
The words landed with an unfamiliar weight. Wei Wuxian blinked. “So?” he blurted after a beat, gesturing vaguely. “ So what if Lan Zhan is a Pingheng Zhe?”
Lan Xichen’s steady gaze didn’t waver. He simply waited.
Realization trickled in slowly, like sunlight through clouds. Wei Wuxian’s eyes widened; he looked from the closed infirmary doors to Lan Xichen, back to the doors, back again. “Oh,” he muttered. “Oh.”
Lan Xichen nodded slowly, his expression serene but tinged with worry.
"The physician asked that no one else be present. Pingheng Zhe cultivators... they are rare, and greatly revered. Their spiritual balance is delicate, and so is their dignity. Being seen in such a vulnerable state could cause lasting harm to Wangji’s reputation."
For once, Wei Wuxian was left speechless, his gaze dropped.
And then—mortification.
His mind betrayed him with a vivid memory: barging into the cold spring back in Gusu, laughing as he tried to tug Lan Zhan’s robes away, thinking it was the funniest prank in the world. Back then, he hadn’t cared about propriety, reputation, or… whatever Pingheng Zhe meant. He’d been just a teenager, loud and reckless.
Now? Now the memory made him want to curl up under the nearest bed and stay there forever.
His cheeks went scarlet. “Oh heavens,” he muttered under his breath, dragging a hand down his face. Brilliant. Absolutely brilliant. Wei Wuxian, the eternal idiot. This will haunt you at three in the morning for the rest of your life.
Wei Wuxian shifted back a step, shame, guilt, and a sharp ache twisting in his chest. For once, words failed him.
Silence stretched. He stared hard at the infirmary doors, half praying the healers would hurry up—and half wishing the floor would open and swallow him whole.
Lan Xichen’s voice broke the silence, gentle yet probing. "Wei-gongzi," he began carefully, "Can you tell me what happened? How did you find Wangji?"
Wei Wuxian blinked, as if he’d just been caught daydreaming. He turned to face Lan Xichen, scratching his cheek before answering. "Ah, well… I was in the forest," he started, his voice growing steady. "I’d been hunting...well, not exactly hunting, more like collecting enough for Lotus Pier—nothing exciting."
Lan Xichen’s brows lifted ever so slightly. "And then?"
"That’s when I saw him." Wei Wuxian’s voice softened. "He was kneeling by a rose bush. A little bird had gotten itself tangled. You know Lan Zha—Lan Wangji…he can’t ignore that sort of thing." A small, fond smile tugged at his lips. "Of course he had to stop and play hero for the bird."
Lan Xichen’s expression grew thoughtful. "And after he freed it?"
Wei Wuxian let out a sharp sigh and dragged a hand through his hair. "That’s when the trap sprang. There was a flash, some kind of talisman buried in the leaves. Light shot straight into him. He just—collapsed."
His grin vanished, replaced with worry. "I caught him before he could face-plant, at least. Small mercies."
Lan Xichen said softly. "A talisman, hidden in the forest?"
"Yes," Wei Wuxian said firmly. "Old, but powerful. Whoever set it up wasn’t playing around. I didn’t got time to poke at it longer—getting Lan Zhan out of there was more important."
Lan Xichen nodded slowly. "You did the right thing." His eyes warmed, though his voice stayed steady. "Thank you for bringing him back."
Wei Wuxian’s smile turned sharp, though the worry in his eyes betrayed him. "Hmph. Whoever dared target Lan Zhan better pray he doesn’t find me—or worse, that I don’t find them first. Because I *will* find them. And it won’t be pretty."
Lan Xichen placed a calming hand on his shoulder, firm but gentle. "We will investigate. For now, the healers must do their work. Wangji is strong. He’ll recover." His voice carried reassurance, like steady ground beneath unsteady feet.
Wei Wuxian exhaled loudly, not quite appeased, his gaze locked on the infirmary door. "He’d better," he muttered, then, softer: "Otherwise, I’m never letting him stop for birds again."
Lan Xichen’s lips curved faintly—just a flicker of amusement before he stepped back. "I’ll make the inquiries. Stay with him."
Wei Wuxian nodded absently, heart still knotted but a little lighter for having said it aloud. He would wait. Until those doors opened, until Lan Wangji walked out on his own two feet again—he’d be there, sharp-eyed and restless, guarding the space with every ounce of himself.
________________________________
The room was tense, the silence punctuated only by the flicker of candlelight and the soft crackle of spiritual energy. Wei Wuxian sat at the table, eyes closed, his hand hovering above a talisman placed neatly in the center. His fingers twitched occasionally, sending ripples of dark energy across the surface of the parchment, but his expression remained calm and focused.
Lan Xichen, Jiang Cheng, and Lan Qiren stood around the table, their eyes locked on Wei Wuxian’s movements. The talisman glowed faintly, shimmering with an eerie light as Wei Wuxian directed his energy into it. Minutes stretched long and heavy before Wei Wuxian finally exhaled, pulling his hand back and opening his eyes.
"The barrier on this talisman is...intense," Wei Wuxian began, his tone laced with reluctant admiration. "Whoever made this knew exactly what they were doing. I can’t break through it—not easily, at least."
Lan Xichen’s eyes narrowed thoughtfully. "What does it mean?"
Wei Wuxian tapped his fingers against the table, brow furrowing. "It means...it’s not ordinary," he said slowly. "This barrier...it’s made with resentful energy. Powerful resentful energy." He glanced up, eyes sharp and clear. "And I’m not sure what its purpose is yet."
The room went still.
Lan Qiren’s face darkened, his eyes narrowing with suspicion. "Resentful energy?" he echoed, voice laced with accusation. "Only you practice that vile path, Wei wuxian! Only you! So, tell me—what did you do to Wangji? What do you want from him?"
Wei Wuxian’s eyes snapped up, sharp and defiant. "I did nothing!" he shot back, voice edged with frustration. "I’m just as confused as you are! Who else would be using resentful energy? I thought I was the only one."
Lan Qiren scoffed, stepping forward with his hands clasped tightly behind his back. "Don’t play innocent! This dark magic is your doing—always your doing! If you think I’ll let you harm Wangji—"
"Uncle," Lan Xichen interjected gently, placing a hand on Lan Qiren’s arm. "Let us hear Wei-gongzi out."
Lan Qiren muttered but stepped back, though his glare could have scorched holes in Wei Wuxian’s forehead if such things were possible.
Wei Wuxian’s gaze darted to Jiang Cheng. "Jiang Cheng! You believe me, don’t you?"
Jiang Cheng’s eyes flickered with hesitation, his jaw tightening as he looked at Wei Wuxian, then at the talisman on the table. "I—"
Wei Wuxian stepped forward, his gaze sharp and unyielding. "I swear on Shijie," he said, voice ringing clear and loud in the room. "I swear on my Shijie’s life, I did nothing to Lan Zhan. I would never harm him.”
Jiang Cheng’s eyes widened, the breath catching in his throat. Wei Wuxian had never sworn on Jiang Yanli’s name—never. Silence settled heavily in the room, even Lan Qiren faltering at the declaration.
Jiang Cheng straightened his back, his eyes meeting Lan Qiren’s fierce gaze. "Wei Wuxian belongs to Lotus Pier," he said firmly, his voice steady. "No one has the right to blame him without proof. And he would never swear on a-jie falsely. Never."
Wei Wuxian’s eyes softened with relief, his shoulders relaxing just a fraction. Lan Qiren’s lips pressed into a thin line, his eyes blazing, but for once, he had no rebuttal.
Lan Xichen exhaled softly, his eyes filled with sympathy and understanding. "Thank you for clarifying, Wei-gongzi," he said gently. "We will investigate this further."
Wei Wuxian nodded, his gaze flickering back to the talisman, determination hardening in his expression. "We’ll figure out who did this," he murmured, more to himself than anyone else. "And when we do...they’ll regret ever laying a hand on him."
Their conversation was abruptly interrupted by the hurried footsteps of a Lan disciple entering the room. He bowed quickly, his face flushed with urgency. "Hanguang-Jun...he has woken up," the disciple announced breathlessly.
Wei Wuxian's eyes widened, and he shot to his feet almost instantly. "He woke up?" he repeated, disbelief and relief warring in his expression.
The disciple nodded firmly. "Yes, he regained consciousness not long ago. The healers are with him now."
Lan Xichen visibly relaxed, a small, relieved smile playing on his lips. "Thank the heavens," he murmured softly. "How is he?"
The disciple hesitated, his gaze shifting slightly. "He is...well, for the most part," he replied carefully. "The healers say his golden core is stable, though there are slight fluctuations. They couldn’t find the cause of his condition. It’s as if he simply...woke up."
Wei Wuxian’s brows furrowed, his hands clenched at his sides. "Slight fluctuations? What does that mean? Is he in pain?"
"No," the disciple assured him quickly. "There is no sign of discomfort. He is just...tired, but otherwise stable."
Lan Qiren exhaled sharply, the tension around his shoulders easing just slightly. "I would like to see him," he said brusquely, already moving towards the door. "We need to make sure he is truly well."
Wei Wuxian didn’t wait for permission; he was already moving, footsteps quick and determined. Jiang Cheng called after him, but Wei Wuxian barely heard it, his mind solely focused on reaching the infirmary. His heart pounded in his chest, the memory of Lan Wangji's pale face still fresh and vivid. He needed to see him—now.
Lan Xichen followed closely behind, his expression soft but filled with concern. "Wei-gongzi," he called gently, "please wait—"
"No," Wei Wuxian cut in, voice firm and unyielding. "I need to make sure he's fine."
Lan Xichen met his gaze, something flickering in his eyes. "Then let's go." Together, they made their way swiftly down the hall, the air thick with unspoken worry and anticipation.
_________________________________
They all entered the infirmary, the soft hum of spiritual energy lingering in the air as they approached Lan Wangji’s bed. He was sitting upright, leaning back against the cushions, his expression serene yet slightly pale. His eyes flickered up as they entered, softening just a touch when he saw Lan Xichen and Lan Qiren.
"Wangji," Lan Qiren greeted, his voice rough with relief and sternness all at once. He moved to Lan Wangji’s side, inspecting him with a critical eye. "You are awake... How are you feeling?"
Lan Wangji inclined his head, voice steady but softer than usual. "I am well, Uncle," he replied, his gaze slipping to Lan Xichen. "Xiongzhang."
Lan Xichen stepped forward, a gentle smile on his face. "You gave us quite a scare," he said warmly. "But I am relieved to see you awake."
Lan Wangji nodded, responding quietly to their inquiries. His posture remained perfect despite the clear fatigue lingering in his eyes. Wei Wuxian stood slightly to the side, watching the exchange in silence. His gaze lingered on Lan Wangji, sharp and assessing, as if searching for any sign of lingering pain or discomfort.
When Lan Wangji’s eyes finally drifted to Wei Wuxian, there was something unspoken in his gaze—an emotion that flickered too quickly to be named. Wei Wuxian raised an eyebrow, caught off guard by the intensity of Lan Wangji's stare.
After Lan Qiren and Lan Xichen finished their questions, Wei Wuxian finally stepped forward, his hands tucked behind his back. "Lan Zhan," he greeted, voice lighter than the tension in the room demanded. "You really gave everyone a fright, huh?"
Lan Wangji’s gaze softened, and to Wei Wuxian's utter shock, he inclined his head. "I will not scare everyone like that again," Lan Wangji promised, his tone earnest and filled with sincerity.
Wei Wuxian blinked, taken aback. His mouth opened and closed a few times before he found his voice. "You... you'll listen to me?" he asked, almost incredulous.
"Mn," Lan Wangji agreed quietly.
Wei Wuxian's eyes practically sparkled with disbelief. "Lan Zhan, are you sure you didn’t hit your head too hard? Since when do you agree with me? Don’t go making promises you’ll regret later—you’ll never hear the end of it."
To his astonishment, Lan Wangji’s expression did not harden—instead, it softened even further, eyes gentle as he met Wei Wuxian's teasing grin. "I will listen," he murmured, and for a moment, his gaze flickered to Wei Wuxian's eyes before shifting away.
Wei Wuxian laughed, the sound bright and unrestrained. "Ah, then I’ll be sure to take advantage of it while I can."
Lan Wangji inclined his head again, this time slower, as if weighed down by fatigue. Lan Xichen stepped forward, his hands gentle as he guided Lan Wangji back to lie down. "Rest, Wangji," he murmured soothingly. "You need to regain your strength."
Lan Wangji lay back without protest, his eyes drifting shut. Wei Wuxian turned to go, already stepping away when he felt a firm but gentle grip on his wrist. He stopped, glancing back in surprise.
Lan Wangji’s eyes were half-lidded, his hand still wrapped around Wei Wuxian’s wrist. "Stay," he murmured, his voice soft and almost childlike.
Lan Qiren stiffened, beard bristling as though it too wanted to protest. "Why would he stay?" he demanded sharply. "He has no business—"
Lan Wangji blinked, eyes still hazy with sleep, and looked genuinely confused. "Why would he not?"
Lan Qiren opened his mouth to retort, but Lan Wangji spoke first, his tone unwavering despite the exhaustion evident in his voice. "Wei Ying will stay," he said resolutely. "He can stay... he is my husband."
The room fell silent. For one stunned heartbeat, no one breathed.
Then—utter chaos.
Chapter Text
Wei Wuxian stood frozen, mouth slightly agape, as his brain scrambled to process the word that had just left Lan Zhan’s lips.
Husband?
Surely he’d misheard. Or maybe Lan Zhan was dreaming. Yes—that had to be it. Some strange dream brought on by too many Lan-lectures. Nothing else made sense.
He stared at Lan Wangji, who lay peacefully on the bed, serene as ever—like he hadn’t just tossed Wei Wuxian’s sanity into a pond with one word. Any moment now, he’d wake up, blink those pretty eyes, and say, Just kidding, Wei Ying. But no—he just kept breathing softly, oblivious to the chaos he’d left in his wake.
A sharp gasp shattered the silence.
Lan Qiren’s face had gone from pale to purple in record time. His beard practically quivered with outrage.
His eyes bulged as he turned to glare at Wei Wuxian, hands practically trembling with indignation.
"What nonsense is this?!" he demanded, voice trembling with outrage. He turned to Wei Wuxian, his eyes blazing. "What have you done to him?! Did you use your... your dark arts to manipulate his mind? How dare you—"
Wei Wuxian blinked, jerking back like someone just hurled a cabbage straight at his dignity.
“Hey! I didn’t do anything!” he said, throwing up his hands. His voice mingled with frustration.“I swear , I didn’t touch a single hair on his head!”
Lan Qiren scoffed, his face twisting with disdain. "Only you meddle with resentful energy. Only you tamper with dark talismans! Who else would have the ability to twist his thoughts like this?"
Wei Wuxian’s hands clenched at his sides. He opened his mouth to retaliate but stopped short, his gaze flickering to Lan Wangji’s peaceful face. His mind whirled, replaying the last moments—Lan Wangji’s soft tone, the gentleness in his eyes, the touch on his wrist that had lingered just a heartbeat longer than necessary. And that word: husband.
Wei Wuxian shook his head, stepping back until his shoulders bumped the wall.“No, no, no. This can’t be right. Why would Lan Zhan call me that? What kind of strange fever dream is he having?”
His eyes lifted suddenly, sharp and seeking, locking on Lan Xichen ."What happened to him? Why is he saying things like that?"
Lan Xichen, who had been watching quietly, stepped forward with expression soft but grave. “He’s physically fine,” he said gently. “The healers didn’t find anything unusual. No internal injuries, no disrupted energy. His golden core is almost stable. He simply woke up... and said what you heard.”
Wei Wuxian’s fingers twitched, uncertainty flashing in his eyes.
He blinked. “So... you’re telling me Lan Zhan just woke up and decided to play marriage games?”
“I wouldn’t quite put it like that,” Lan Xichen said diplomatically. “But... yes.”
Wei Wuxian made a strangled noise somewhere between a laugh and a groan. He dragged both hands through his hair. “Out of all the titles in the world... husband?”
“Enough!” Lan Qiren thundered, looking one glare away from combusting. “You are to stay away from Wangji! He needs rest—not more of your... whatever it is you bring.”
“My charm?” Wei Wuxian offered brightly.
“Corruption,” Lan Qiren corrected, aghast.
Wei Wuxian shot him a grin that was just a little too wide. “Lan Zhan isn’t so easily swayed, you know. I want answers as much as you do.”
“Answers!” Lan Qiren practically sputtered. “He speaks madness—and it can only come from you!”
Wei Wuxian’s smirk faltered as his eyes softened on Lan Wangji again.
He quickly covered it with another exaggerated shrug. “Fine, fine. I know when I’m not wanted. But don’t think I’m letting this go—I’ll get to the bottom of it. Even if I have to interrogate every single dream he’s had this week.”
With a dramatic spin, he swept out of the room, cloak flaring behind him, still muttering under his breath.
“Husband, huh? Out of all the things to call me, Lan Zhan... really?”
Behind him, silence settled again—broken only by the steady, quiet breathing of the man who had caused all the fuss.
Only he can stay... because he is my husband.
__________________
Wei Wuxian walked briskly through the cool evening air, his steps quick and unsteady—not from wine, but from the sheer chaos of thought tumbling through his head.
Husband.
He could still hear the word in Lan Wangji’s voice, soft and sincere, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. Husband. As if they’d been together for years, not divided by a chasm of silence, war, and too many painful memories.
He ran a hand through his hair with a shaky laugh. “First he chased me all over the cultivation world, then he played the guqin like he wanted to scold me through the strings… now this?”
He took out his jar of wine and uncorked it with a flick of his thumb. He took a long drink.
Wei Wuxian kept walking, faster now, as if movement would shake the memory loose from his head. But it clung stubbornly, playing on repeat like an annoying song.
Honestly, what was he supposed to do with that? Lan Wangji, stoic, silent, painfully upright Lan Wangji, who used to look at him like he was a walking rule violation, had called him his husband. Not a husband. His.
Wei Wuxian laughed—short, disbelieving. “ Wei Ying, you’ve really outdone yourself this time.”
Back in the Cloud Recesses, he had tried so hard to get Lan Zhan’s attention. He had cracked jokes, bent every rule in sight, pulled ridiculous stunts—all just to see a flicker of expression on that stoic face. He’d thought if he poked enough, teased enough, Lan Zhan might finally look at him like a friend, or at least not like a constant headache.
But the Lan Wangji he remembered always looked at him like he was something to be endured.
Now? Wei Wuxian scoffed. “Now he calls me husband in front of his family. Passed out in bed, no less.”
He climbed onto the edge of the balcony, balancing with casual ease. The camp below was quiet, lit only by flickering firelight and the pale glow of the moon. The night air was cool, brushing against his cheeks. He took another sip of wine, slower this time.
The knot in his chest didn’t vanish, but it settled into something dull and oddly warm.
He sighed. “He still probably hates me,” he said aloud to no one in particular.
Another sip. A little more warmth. A little less shame.
He squinted up at the moon. “Who in their right mind would call me their husband? I don’t even have a golden core anymore. Just a lot of charm and a terrible reputation.”
His chuckle was dry but not without amusement. At least the wine was on his side.
Just as he tipped the flask again, something caught his eye. A small figure near the edge of the encampment, half-curled under a shabby cloak. Alone. Still.
He blinked. “Huh?”
He leaned forward, squinting until the breeze nudged the cloak just right and pale moonlight caught a familiar profile.
His wine flask paused midair.
“Wen Qing?” he breathed, surprised.
That couldn’t be her. Wen Qing—formidable, composed, with a glare that could wither trees—was now hunched in on herself, looking far smaller than he remembered. Her face was shadowed and drawn, her posture tight with fatigue. She looked like she hadn’t slept in a week or eaten in two.
Wei Wuxian’s smile faded slightly, replaced by something softer. There was nothing funny about this. She looked... tired. Not just tired—worn down, like someone who’d spent every ounce of strength keeping others alive and had finally run out of pieces to give.
His heart gave a quiet lurch.
“Wen Qing...” he said again, this time with more resolve.
Without another word, he hopped down from the ledge with a soft thud and tucked the wine flask back into his belt. His feet moved before he could think twice, carrying him toward her with sudden urgency.
He didn’t know what he’d say when he got there—maybe something helpful, maybe something deeply embarrassing—but he knew one thing:
Whatever came next, he wasn’t about to let her sit out here alone.
Not while he was still breathing.
_________________
Soft rays of late sunlight filtered through the paper windows, casting warm patterns across the infirmary floor. The gentle rustling of leaves outside and the low chirping of birds filled the room with a sense of calm that felt at odds with the storm quietly simmering inside.
Lan Wangji stirred slowly, eyelids fluttering open, golden gaze unfocused as he tried to recall where he was. The soft scent of medicine lingered in the air. His body felt heavy but no longer in pain, merely fatigued—as though he had slept for far too long. As his vision adjusted, he realized he was in the infirmary.
Beside him, seated gracefully on a stool, was his elder brother, Lan Xichen, serene yet visibly weary. A faint smile touched Lan Xichen's lips when he saw his brother awake.
"Wangji," he said gently, voice tinged with relief. "You’re awake. How do you feel?"
Lan Wangji blinked slowly, taking a moment to process the question. His mouth felt dry.
"Thirsty," he murmured, his voice hoarse from disuse.
Lan Xichen poured a cup of warm water from the pot and carefully helped his brother sit up slightly before holding it to his lips. Lan Wangji drank slowly, his eyes never leaving his brother's face. When he finished, he looked around the room, a small frown forming between his brows.
" Wei Ying?" he asked quietly, his voice laced with concern.
Lan Xichen hesitated, the faintest flicker of worry in his eyes. "He has gone out for a while," he replied carefully. "There were some matters he had to attend to."
A shadow crossed Lan Wangji’s face. "Why is he not here?"
"Wangji," Lan Xichen said, placing a calming hand on his brother's shoulder, "you mustn’t overthink. You are still recovering. Let your body regain its strength first."
Lan Wangji nodded slowly, though his expression was troubled. He was quiet for a moment, gaze lowering to his lap, where his fingers unconsciously touched the loose edge of his white robes.
After a pause, Lan Xichen spoke again, carefully this time. "Wangji… may I ask you something?"
Lan Wangji turned to him, silent but attentive.
"When you were still unconscious… you called Wei Wuxian your husband."
Lan Wangji didn’t flinch, didn’t blush. He merely looked at his brother, wide-eyed and sincere.
"He is," he said simply.
Lan Xichen's lips parted slightly, and his gaze softened into something deeply pained. "Wangji… do you remember your marriage to him?"
There was a stillness in the room. Then, Lan Wangji frowned, his brows knitting together in concentration. He reached for the memories like reaching into fog. There was Wei Ying's face, laughter echoing, warmth like sunlight, hands brushing against his own. But—no wedding robes, no rites, no ceremony. Nothing concrete. He looked up, stricken.
"I… I don’t remember," he whispered. "But I know he is my husband."
Lan Xichen said nothing.
Lan Wangji continued, his voice trembling. "I remember seeing him hold my forehead ribbon… many times. Only a spouse can touch it. He held it gently. Carefully. Like it meant something sacred."
His fingers reached up to touch the ribbon now tied neatly across his forehead. His voice was so quiet that Lan Xichen had to lean in to hear.
"Xiongzhang… why don’t I remember our marriage? Why is Wei Ying not here with me? Did I… do something wrong? Did he leave because I forgot?"
The calm composure Lan Xichen always wore cracked, if only briefly, as he saw his brother’s expression—lost, afraid, so unlike the stoic Hanguang-jun.
He reached out and pulled Lan Wangji into a gentle embrace, one hand cupping the back of his head.
"No, Wangji. You did nothing wrong," Lan Xichen said softly. "There was a curse placed on you— meant to confuse you. But you are healing. Don’t let your mind spiral into guilt. Wei gongzi never blamed you. He… stayed by your side ."
Lan Wangji closed his eyes, leaning slightly against his brother.
"I want to see him," he whispered.
"You will," Lan Xichen assured him. "Tonight, there is a celebration in the main hall. You can meet him there, when you are a little stronger."
Lan Wangji seemed to hesitate, but then nodded.
Lan Xichen sat back and smiled gently. "Now, you must eat something and take your medicine. No arguments."
Despite the inner turmoil still roiling in his chest, Lan Wangji obeyed without protest. Lan Xichen summoned a servant who brought in a tray of warm broth, soft rice, and finely cut vegetables. Lan Wangji ate slowly, methodically, each bite reminding him that he was in his body again, present and awake.
Lan Xichen watched over him carefully. Once the meal was finished, he handed him the bitter-smelling medicine. Lan Wangji drank it with barely a grimace.
Once the food and medicine were done, Lan Xichen guided him to lie back down.
"You need to rest a little more before the celebration," he said. "I will be nearby if you need me."
Lan Wangji lay down again, fingers still twitching slightly as though reaching for something that wasn’t there. For someone who had so rarely displayed emotion, he now wore his vulnerability openly, painfully.
"Xiongzhang," he said softly as Lan Xichen adjusted the blankets.
"Yes, Wangji?"
"When I see Wei Ying… can I ask him to remind me of our marriage?"
Lan Xichen’s heart clenched. He reached out and squeezed his brother's hand.
"Of course. And I believe he will."
Lan Wangji nodded, his eyelids growing heavier. As he drifted back to sleep, a faint murmur escaped his lips.
"Wei Ying… husband…"
Lan Xichen stayed by his side, watching over him with quiet vigilance and an unreadable expression.
____________________
The grand hall of Jinlintai gleamed with polished gold and flickering lantern light. Silken banners in the Jin Clan colors hung from the high ceilings, and the scent of rich delicacies and perfumed wine filled the air. Servants bustled quietly, pouring wine, replenishing plates, and offering towels to the guests seated by clan.
The head of the Jin Clan, Jin Guangshan, sat tall and regal on a raised platform, observing the gathering with an air of lazy satisfaction. Leaders and disciples from every major sect had taken their place: Nie Mingjue with his quiet storm-like presence, Jiang Cheng with his rigid formality, and the Lan brothers, composed as ever.
Lan Wangji sat beside his brother, his posture immaculate, his expression stoic—but his eyes, a storm of gold, constantly scanned the room.
He searched for Wei Ying.
Lan Xichen, seated beside him, watched silently. The pain in his heart deepened with every glance his brother stole.
Suddenly, the heavy shuffle of steps echoed too loudly for the refined atmosphere.
Jin Zixun approached the Lan sect's table with a swagger in his gait and an arrogant smirk on his face. "Lan sect representatives!" he called loudly, raising a cup of wine with theatrical flair. "Let us raise a toast together. It's a celebration, after all."
Lan Xichen, calm as ever, gave a courteous smile. "Young master Jin, we appreciate the sentiment, but as you know, our sect abstains from drinking."
Before he could say more, Jin Guangyao appeared at his side, a strained smile on his lips. "Zixun, perhaps we should respect the Lan clan's customs—"
"What custom!" Jin Zixun cut him off with a sneer. "It would be a great mockery to the Jin Clan's hospitality if a guest refused a toast. Is that the Lan Sect's intention?"
Lan Xichen, sensing the growing attention from nearby clans, lifted the cup with graceful hands and drank it in silence.
Jin Zixun smirked in satisfaction. Then he turned to Lan Wangji.
His eyes ran over the younger Lan brother with unmistakable disrespect. "What about this one? So pretty and proper. Come now, Hanguang-jun, drink with us. Show some gratitude."
Lan Wangji's jaw tightened. His hand curled into a fist in his lap. "No."
"What was that?" Jin Zixun said, leaning closer, deliberately crowding into Lan Wangji's space. "Too good to drink? Or maybe you need someone to coax you?"
"Zixun!" Jin Guangyao hissed, reaching again to pull him back.
But before Jin Zixun could speak further, a hand shot out and snatched the wine cup from his grasp.
The hall fell silent.
Wei Wuxian stood between them, his dark robes fluttering slightly from his swift movement. His expression was unreadable.
He looked at Lan Wangji once, his gaze softening—just for a second.
Then he turned toward Jin Zixun with a smirk that did not reach his eyes.
"Lan Zhan doesn't drink," Wei Wuxian said coolly. "But since you insist, I'll drink on his behalf."
And with that, he tilted the cup back and drained it in one long swallow.
When he lowered the cup, he turned it upside down, showing it was empty.
The crowd erupted into murmurs.
Jin Zixun's face turned red with fury. "How dare you! You—"
But Wei Wuxian had already stepped back, placing himself squarely in front of Lan Wangji.
He smiled, but there was no mirth in it. "If you have another cup, I don’t mind drinking that too."
Lan Wangji's golden eyes were fixed on him, wide with recognition and something deeper.
The tension in the hall crackled like lightning.
Jin Zixun’s face twisted in fury. “You—who do you think you are?! This wasn’t for you! You dare interrupt and speak for the Lan Clan?”
Wei Wuxian smiled, not pleasantly.
“I do,” he said simply. “Because you were not offering a toast—you were taunting and harassing a guest under the guise of courtesy.”
The tension in the grand hall, seemed to thicken into something more tangible as Wei Wuxian stood defiantly before Jin Zixun. His dark robes, streaked with crimson, flared slightly with his rising resentful energy, even as his face maintained a calm—albeit sharp—expression.
Jin Zixun, simmering from embarrassment, sneered openly. "Wei wuxian always so arrogant. Thinking you can speak for others. What gives you the right to act like a hero when all you are is a stray dog barking for attention?"
Wei Wuxian’s eyes narrowed, the corner of his lips twitching slightly in displeasure, but his voice remained smooth. "Stray dog or not, you seem awfully threatened by a bark. How about we take this outside, Jin-gongzi? I need to speak to you. Urgently."
The invitation was anything but polite.
Before Jin Zixun could respond, Jin Guangshan raised a hand from his elevated seat. His voice was polished, diplomatic, with just the right hint of warning. "Wei-gongzi, this is a celebration. No need to darken the mood with... confrontations. Whatever business you have can wait until tomorrow. Come, sit, enjoy the feast. Let’s talk things over like gentlemen."
Wei Wuxian turned his head slowly toward the clan leader. His lips were set in a smile, but there was no warmth in it.
"With all due respect, Clan Leader Jin, this matter cannot wait. It’s urgent."
"Urgent or not," Jin Zixun cut in with a mocking scoff, "I’m not going anywhere just because some son of the servant thinks he can bark orders. You want to talk? Wait until I’m in the mood. Midnight, maybe. Or maybe not at all. Who knows?"
Laughter followed his words from a few of his sycophants.
Wei Wuxian's smile vanished. He took a step forward, and though his voice remained soft, every word struck like a whip.
"Jin Zixun, how long do you think you can keep pretending?"
Jin Zixun chuckled darkly. "Pretending? About what?"
"About Wen Ning."
At the mention of the name, a hush fell over the room.
Jin Zixun’s brows twitched. He quickly scowled, crossing his arms. "I don’t know anything about those Wen dogs."
Wei Wuxian’s eyes flashed. "Really? You were so fond of using them during your night-hunts. Don’t you remember? Wen Ning, silent and loyal, fetching you prey like a trained hound. And now you feign ignorance?"
"Shut your mouth!" Jin Zixun shouted, leaping to his feet. His face had gone red, the smugness replaced with rage and fear.
Jin Guangshan raised a calming hand. "Enough. Both of you. This is not the time. Wei-gongzi, we understand your concern, but there are more pressing matters for discussion."
He turned his gaze on Wei Wuxian, voice smooth like silk hiding a blade. "For instance, the dangerous power you wield. That artifact of yours, that army of ghosts you command. It’s too much for any one man to hold. Surely you understand the danger of a single cultivator holding such power unchecked."
The mood in the hall shifted. More than one clan leader nodded slightly in agreement. The whispering began—soft, poisonous.
Wei Wuxian’s gaze swept across the hall. "Ah. So that’s what this is about. The Wens are defeated, and now you want to take their place."
He turned back to Jin Guangshan, voice rising just slightly. "You call yourselves righteous sects, and yet you stand here talking about distributing power like war spoils, ignoring the lives of those you trample. You call them 'Wen dogs'? Most of them have done nothing wrong. They were healers. Farmers. Children."
His voice cracked slightly, pain laced behind his anger.
"And if their lives don’t matter to you," he continued, quieter now, more dangerous, "then tell me—does your life matter, Jin Zixun?"
Gasps echoed across the hall.
Wei Wuxian took another step forward, and his energy flared visibly around him, dark and furious, like a storm waiting to be unleashed. "If I decide to kill you right here, right now, who among you will stop me? Who is strong enough to challenge me?"
Crimson light flashed in his eyes, his resentment coiling like a living beast. His flute, Chenqing, began to hum at his waist.
The entire hall erupted into motion.
Several cultivators drew their swords instinctively. Lan Xichen stepped in front of Lan Wangji with a protective stance, though his eyes were wide with something unknown.
Jiang Cheng surged to his feet on the other side, hand already on Sandu.
Even Jin Guangyao took a step forward, a smile still on his lips but a flicker of something in his eyes.
Jin Zixun, for all his earlier arrogance, stumbled back, his cup clattering to the floor. "Y-You wouldn’t dare!"
Wei Wuxian didn’t move, but his presence bore down on them all like a tidal wave. "Try me."
Silence reigned again, broken only by the creaking of swords held too tightly and the quiet hum of Wei Wuxian’s power. It was raw, untamed, terrifying—and beautiful.
Just then, a soft but steady voice broke through the haze.
"Wei Ying. Stop."
Lan Wangji was beside him, his hand gently but firmly grasping Wei Wuxian’s arm. His usually impassive face was shadowed with worry, his golden eyes locked onto Wei Wuxian’s crimson ones.
"Focus. Calm yourself."
Wei Wuxian’s eyes widened slightly at the familiar voice. For a moment, the storm within him faltered. The crimson glow began to flicker, the resentful energy dimming like a tide pulling back from the shore.
He looked at Lan Wangji, truly looked—and then exhaled slowly.
He removed Lan Wangji’s hand from his arm, his expression returning to steel. Turning back toward Jin Zixun, he spoke coldly.
"I’ll count to three. Tell me where Wen Ning is."
Jin Zixun’s lips curled mockingly, but the sweat on his brow betrayed him. He didn’t speak.
"One," Wei Wuxian said, his tone low and unwavering.
Jin Zixun scoffed and folded his arms “As if I’d tell you anything—”
"Two."
The resentful energy stirred again, crackling faintly in the air.
Jin Zixun faltered, his mocking smile twitching.
"Th–."
“Wait! Wait!” Jin Zixun blurted, panic flooding his voice. “He’s—he’s at the prison camp at the Qiongqi path! We—he was taken there under orders—I swear I don’t know if he’s still there!”
The silence that followed was deafening.
Wei Wuxian’s energy stilled.
He smiled. “Was it that difficult.”
Wei Wuxian gave Jin Zixun one last look—a cold, unreadable glance—before turning his attention to the elevated seat where Jin Guangshan sat. With deliberate grace, he bowed, the gesture sharp and formal, lacking any warmth.
“Thank you for your hospitality, Clan Leader Jin,” he said, voice calm but edged with steel.
Then, without waiting for a response, he turned on his heel and began to walk out of the hall. His dark robes billowed behind him, resentful energy still simmering faintly at his back like a storm refusing to settle.
“Stop! Wei Wuxian, you dare walk out after threatening my people—!” Jin Guangshan’s voice boomed through the hall, red with outrage.
Wei Wuxian didn’t pause. Didn’t flinch. He didn’t even look back.
He walked out as if the fury behind him were nothing more than wind.
Lan Wangji stood frozen amidst the stunned cultivators, his gaze fixed on the doors through which Wei Wuxian had just disappeared. The echoes of his footsteps still lingered in the air, yet he hadn’t spared a single glance back—not even once.
It pierced Lan Wangji deeper than any blade.
Why? Why wouldn’t he look at him?
His heart clenched painfully, a silent ache blooming in his chest. Without another thought, he stepped forward, his body already moving to follow.
But a gentle hand caught his wrist.
“Wangji,” Lan Xichen said softly, his voice low, full of concern. “Don’t. He’s not himself right now. Let him calm down.”
Lan Wangji looked at his brother—troubled, confused, but resolute. “Xiongzhang, Wei Ying needs me. I will not leave my husband alone.”
His words rang like a bell through the hall.
Gasps rippled across the gathering. Cultivators turned, whispering furiously, eyes wide in disbelief. Jin Guangshan stood half-risen, mouth open in shock. Even Jiang Cheng froze in place, stunned beyond words.
But Lan Wangji paid no one any mind.
He gently pulled his wrist from Lan Xichen’s grasp and walked forward with steady steps, calm as water, unwavering as stone.
Not once did he look back.
Only forward—toward the man he loved.
_____________________
Lan Wangji arrived at Qiongqi Path, his robes billowing behind him as Bichen carried him through the sky. But nothing could have prepared him for the sight below.
Corpses littered the blood-soaked ground—clan cultivators with their eyes wide in terror, their swords scattered uselessly beside them. The air was thick with resentment, so suffocating it pressed against the skin like a storm about to break.
At the center of the carnage stood Wei Wuxian.
His back was straight, his head tilted ever so slightly as his fingers danced over the flute. Chenqing’s mournful melody echoed through the mountains, sharp and vengeful. Dark spiritual energy pulsed around him like a beast unchained.
Beside him, corpses moved with unnatural grace, slashing through the remaining cultivators who had dared attack.
Lan Wangji didn’t hesitate.
He descended swiftly and strode through the battlefield without drawing his sword, without raising his spiritual energy—without fear.
“Stop!” Wei Wuxian’s voice cut through the air like lightning, his red-rimmed eyes locking onto him as Chenqing lowered just slightly from his lips. “Don’t come any closer, Lan Zhan.”
Lan Wangji didn’t stop.
“I said—don’t!” Wei Wuxian snarled, stepping back instinctively, the resentful energy surging around him like a protective wave. “I won’t spare anyone who gets in my way. Not even you.”
His voice cracked slightly at the end, but his grip on the flute tightened.
Lan Wangji kept walking.
Step by step, until he stood within arm’s reach of Wei Wuxian.
Their eyes met.
Wei Wuxian’s widened—shocked that Lan Wangji dared breach his domain of death and fury. But before he could say another word, Lan Wangji reached out and pulled him into a firm embrace.
Wei Wuxian stiffened.
The hand holding Chenqing dropped limply to his side.
Lan Wangji’s voice was barely a whisper, spoken against the shell of his ear.
“I know you can never harm me.”
Wei Wuxian trembled, still frozen, unable to comprehend the warmth anchoring him amidst the storm he had unleashed.
As soon as the haunting melody ceased, the air seemed to still. The resentful energy around him began to dim, unraveling like mist in the morning light.
Corpses collapsed where they stood, the dark energy releasing them with a hollow gasp. Wen Qing rushed to her brother’s side, gathering him into her arms and cradling his head as if he were a child.
But Wei Wuxian remained frozen, unmoving in Lan Wangji’s embrace, his fingers twitching slightly as if unsure whether to hold on or push away.
His eyes finally focused, staring at Lan Wangji—still standing so close, so calm, wrapped around him like a lifeline.
“Why?” Wei Wuxian whispered, his voice hoarse and broken. “Why are you doing this?”
Lan Wangji looked into his eyes, confused. “Because I will never leave you,” he said quietly, earnestly. “Wei Ying is not alone. I am here. I will always support you. You are my husband.”
The word—husband—hit Wei Wuxian like a strike of lightning.
He blinked once. Then his expression twisted.
The resentful energy surged back like a tidal wave, rising furiously as he shoved Lan Wangji away with a snarl.
Lan Wangji staggered a step back, eyes wide with disbelief .
You’re not my husband!” Wei Wuxian shouted, eyes wild. “Don’t say that!”
Lan Wangji stared at Wei Wuxian, stunned. “Wei Ying…”
“I don’t know what this is!” Wei Wuxian shouted, flinging a hand out to the side. “I don’t know what you’re trying to do or why you keep pretending! What are you getting from all this? What do you want from me?!”
Lan Wangji’s lips parted, but no sound came. The blow of rejection, of confusion, struck him deep.
Finally, in a small, trembling voice, he asked, “Why…?”
Wei Wuxian’s breath hitched. “What?”
“Why are you denying our marriage?” Lan Wangji asked, his voice barely more than a whisper, fragile and confused. “Did I… did I do something wrong?”
His brows furrowed, his golden eyes shimmering with a pain he didn’t know how to mask.
“If I did,” he said earnestly, “Tell me, Wei Ying. I’ll fix it. Just don’t push me away.”
The battlefield had fallen silent, the only sounds now the soft rustle of leaves and the low murmur of Wen Qing comforting her brother.
But between Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji, a storm churned anew—one of hurt, confusion, and a love twisted by a curse neither fully understood.
A rumble of thunder cracked across the sky as if echoing the turmoil in Wei Wuxian’s heart.
Then—rain.
Heavy, relentless rain poured from the heavens, drenching the battlefield in moments. Water splashed over the broken stones of Qiongyi Path, washing away blood, ash, and traces of resentful energy. Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji stood still in the downpour, the storm soaking through their robes, plastering their hair to their skin.
Lan Wangji didn’t move. He stood there, soaked and silent, eyes locked on Wei Wuxian with a confusion so raw it hurt to see.
Wei Wuxian’s body trembled—not just from the cold, but from the war between the storm outside and the one within.
He opened his mouth to speak, then shut it, jaw clenching.
A moment passed, and then another.
Finally, his lips parted again, voice low and barely audible over the rain.
“You’ve done nothing wrong.”
Lan Wangji’s eyes widened slightly.
Wei Wuxian didn’t meet them. “We were never married, Lan Zhan.”
The name dropped like a stone between them.
“I was never your husband.”
Each word seemed to carve into the air like a blade, each syllable slower than the last.
Lan Wangji took a step forward, rain running down his face like tears. “Wei Ying…”
But Wei Wuxian stepped back, lifting a hand—not in threat, but in warning. “Don’t.”
His voice cracked.
“We’re not…” He swallowed hard. “We were never anything more than comrades. I don’t know what kind of curse this is, or why you keep saying those things, but…” He faltered, the pain in his chest nearly choking him. “Don’t confuse what’s not real.”
Lan Wangji stared at him, rain mingling with the tears he didn’t realize had fallen.
The world felt like it had stopped breathing.
But Wei Wuxian turned away.
He couldn’t bear to see that look on Lan Wangji’s face.
Lan Wangji staggered, his eyes clouded with disbelief. The words “Not married… never…” echoed in his mind like a curse.
His voice came out in a whisper, more to himself than anyone else, “Then… what about all the images in my mind?”
He clutched his head suddenly, sharp pain ripping through his skull like a blade. The intensity surged, burning through his thoughts—visions, memories, moments—each one blurring and overlapping, twisted by something he couldn’t comprehend.
“A-ah…” he gasped, agony exploding in his chest and behind his eyes.
Wei Wuxian’s head snapped toward him, his heart lurching in panic. “Lan Zhan!”
He barely saw the blood at first—just a single drop trailing from Lan Wangji’s nose. But then his knees buckled.
“No—!”
Wei Wuxian was by his side in an instant, catching him before he hit the ground. Rain soaked them both, but Wei Wuxian didn’t care. He held Lan Wangji tightly in his arms, cradling him close, his hands trembling.
“Lan Zhan! What’s happening?” he asked, shaking him gently. “Lan Zhan, talk to me!”
But Lan Wangji wasn’t conscious. His brows were furrowed in pain, face pale, lips parted with labored breaths. His eyes, heavy and unfocused, barely stayed open—yet they clung to Wei Wuxian’s face as if trying to memorize every detail.
Wei Wuxian’s chest ached. “Hey—wake up. Don’t—don’t look at me like that. I didn’t mean to…”
His words caught in his throat.
The resentful energy that had flared so wildly around him began to ebb. The cold rage was slipping away, replaced by something warmer and far more terrifying: fear.
He brushed the wet strands from Lan Wangji’s face, voice cracking. “Don’t you dare faint on me.”
Lan Wangji’s lips moved faintly, like he was trying to say something.
Wei Wuxian bent closer.
“…Wei…Ying…”
Wei Wuxian froze, his entire body stiff with dread. “Lan Zhan—Lan Zhan!”
Thunder roared above them, and Wei Wuxian pulled Lan Wangji closer to his chest, heart pounding wildly. Around them, the storm raged on—but all Wei Wuxian could hear was the silence of Lan Wangji not answering.
________________
The silence shattered beneath the squelch of boots on soaked earth. One by one, cultivators from various clans emerged from the forest path, swords drawn, eyes narrowed. At the front, dressed in snow-white robes stained slightly by the rain, were Lan Qiren and Lan Xichen.
Lan Qiren’s sharp gaze fell instantly upon the scene—the scorched battlefield, the corpses strewn like discarded puppets, and at its center… Lan Wangji, limp in the arms of a man cloaked in black and red.
A cry tore from Lan Qiren’s throat. “Wangji!”
Jin Guangshan pushed past the crowd, pointing a trembling but furious finger at Wei Wuxian. “Wei Wuxian! You dare stand here after killing so many cultivators? Surrender yourself now!”
Wei Wuxian didn’t flinch. He didn’t even blink.
But Lan Qiren’s voice rose louder, more venomous. “What are you doing with my nephew, you vile thing?!”
His rage, tainted with shame, exploded as he barked, “Wangji! Stop this shameless display and come here this instant! You will be punished for defying the rules of the Lan Clan, for standing in the arms of another man like some disgraced fool!”
Wei Wuxian’s expression twisted, eyes burning.
“Rules?” he spat, voice ringing with fury. “Your nephew is barely conscious, bleeding, and the only thing you care about is your precious rules?”
The cultivators stirred restlessly, gritting their teeth, gripping their hilts.
Lan Xichen stepped forward, heart aching, hands raised in peace. “Wei-gongzi, please… we only want to help Wangji.”
But Wei Wuxian didn’t move. Slowly, he shifted his body, keeping Lan Wangji firmly in his arms and raised his flute in warning. The message was clear: come closer, and you’ll regret it.
Around him, resentment rose again—thick and heavy, curling around his form like a storm.
“They’re all itching to kill me,” he said coldly, eyes scanning the crowd. “Even as Lan Zhan lies hurt in my arms.”
A high-pitched whistle pierced the air.
The fallen corpses twitched. Then, one by one, they rose—silent, grim sentinels forming a wall of protection around Wei Wuxian. Their glowing eyes stared down the cultivators, unmoving, unyielding.
“If your righteous sects can’t even protect your own, then I will,” Wei Wuxian declared, his voice carrying across the ruined battlefield. “He’s coming with me—and no one will stop me.”
“No!” Lan Qiren thundered. “You dare take him? You dare corrupt him further?”
Wei Wuxian laughed then. Not joyfully, but bitterly—laced with exhaustion and defiance.
“Corrupt him?” His gaze turned cold. “Then tell me, why was he the only one who came to me? Why was he the only one who saw me as more than a monster?”
He looked down at Lan Wangji’s semi-conscious face, a softness flashing in his expression for the briefest second before he hardened again.
“Wen Qing,” he said sharply. “Get the civilians. We’re leaving.”
Wen Qing nodded immediately, rushing to gather the remaining members of their group.
“No!” Lan Qiren stepped forward.
But it was too late.
Wei Wuxian sliced his palm and drew a glowing, pulsing sigil into the air with his blood—an teleportation array that hissed and sparked with dark red light. The corpses moved closer, shielding him from any interference.
“Lan Zhan’s not yours to command anymore,” he whispered.
As the wind howled and the sky cracked with lightning, the sigil expanded and consumed them in a burst of crimson light.
When the light faded—Wei Wuxian, Lan Wangji, Wen Qing,Wen Ning and the civilians were gone.
Silence fell once again, this time heavy with fury and disbelief.
Jin Guangshan screamed, “Search for them! Turn every region upside down until they’re found!”
And Lan Qiren, eyes dark with rage and grief, simply whispered, “Wangji…”
________________
The cultivators stood frozen, their fury still simmering, disbelief still etched across their faces. Rain had slowed to a thin drizzle, but the battlefield beneath their feet was slick with blood and resentment. Swords remained unsheathed. No one dared to speak.
Until—
“Hmph.” Nie Mingjue broke the silence, voice rough, low with disgust. His scowl swept across the wreckage before them.
“This... this is a mess. Wei Wuxian—he’s completely lost control.”
Beside him, Nie Huaisang clutched at his brother’s sleeve, trembling.
“Dage... it was so scary,” he whispered. “Wei-xiong... he looked like a demon. I didn’t think he’d ever become so... terrifying.”
Nie Mingjue didn’t look at him. His gaze remained locked on the battlefield.
“You need to learn to face reality, Huaisang. This is what happens when power festers.”
“But why did you drag me here!” Nie Huaisang whined louder now. “I told you I didn’t want to come! I want to go home!”
Nie Mingjue gave a sharp glare. “Stop acting like a child—”
“AHHHHHHHHHH!”
Nie Huaisang’s shrill scream tore through the air. He flailed his arms, eyes wide in horror as he pointed to a large black spider clinging to his sleeve.
“Get it off! Get it off! Dage—HELP!”
Before anyone could intervene, he panicked and stumbled backwards—his foot slipping over the edge of a steep slope.
“HUAAAAGHH!”
He tumbled down the slope, flailing and screeching until he hit the bottom with a wet splash. The drenched grass and slippery mud offered no resistance. Water splashed around him as he landed in a murky puddle, groaning.
“Huaisang!” Nie Mingjue roared, instantly leaping down after him.
Other cultivators turned at the commotion, watching the two brothers disappear from sight.
At the bottom, Nie Huaisang sat in a shallow pool of water, wincing and whimpering. Scratches lined his arms and his robes were torn and soaked. “I’m dying… I’m dying…”
Nie Mingjue stomped over and hauled him to his feet. “You’re not dying. Stand up!”
As Nie Huaisang staggered, his hand brushed against something under the surface of the water.
“What…?” He looked down—and screamed again. A shriek that echoed loud enough to shake birds from nearby trees.
“W-W-WHAT IS THAT?!”
He scrambled behind his brother, clinging to him like a terrified child. “Don’t let it eat me!”
Nie Mingjue’s eyes narrowed, and he stepped forward cautiously, then pushed aside the tall reeds and muddy water with the tip of his saber. The other cultivators had started gathering, watching curiously.
Gasps followed. One cultivator shouted in alarm. Another fell to his knees, retching.
Bodies.
Countless rotting, mutilated bodies floated in the water—most barely recognizable. Many were small—children. Others were clearly women. Some were scorched, some torn apart. All bore the same detail:
They had been killed by weapons bearing the Jin Clan crest.
“They’re all… Wens,” one of the cultivators whispered in horror. “They were slaughtered…”
“How long have they been here?” another asked, voice hollow.
Nie Mingjue’s jaw clenched, and his eyes flashed with fury. “Jin Guangshan!” he roared.
The patriarch of the Jin Clan, who had only just reached the slope, paused mid-step.
“You dare keep quiet?” Nie Mingjue bellowed. “What the hell is this?! Why are there hundreds of Wen civilians down here?! Women and children!”
Jin Guangyao, silent until now, stepped forward, his expression unreadable. “This is… unexpected. Perhaps… stragglers from the war.”
“Stragglers?” Nie Mingjue’s voice thundered. “They were butchered!” he pointed furiously at the mass grave, “this is three times the number of corpses Wei Wuxian just killed!”
The cultivators behind him fell silent, eyes wide, the weight of the truth crashing over them like a wave.
Jin Guangshan’s face turned pale, then twisted in anger. “That demonic cultivator is trying to frame us—he must have planted—”
“Don’t insult my intelligence,” Nie Mingjue snapped. “No one else had the manpower, the motive, or the weapons.”
Everyone looked again at the pile of bodies—and the unmistakable marks of Jin weaponry that left no room for denial.
The marks on the corpses left no room for denial.
Then—
“So what if they were butchered?!”
A Jin cultivator shouted from the back, face contorted with rage. “They were Wen dogs! Murderers! They killed my whole family! They deserved to die!”
More voices joined.
“They burned our villages!”
“They destroyed our sect!”
“They got what was coming!”
A ripple of agreement echoed across the crowd. Other cultivators, faces twisted in rage and trauma, began nodding. One after another, voices rose in support.
The crowd swelled with fury, a mob desperate to justify itself.
Nie Mingjue stood unmoving, his face like stone. His voice dropped—low and cold.
“So that’s it?”
The fury broke, quieting.
“Justice is only justice when it’s for your people?” he asked. “When it’s your swords doing the killing, it’s righteous?”
He pointed again, this time slowly.
“Look at them. Is this not a massacre? Or do the rules only exist when they’re convenient for you?”
Jin Guangshan stepped forward, tone righteous and sharp. “They were Wen! The very people who brought war upon us all. My men only defended what was right. But Wei Wuxian,” he sneered, “he has killed members of my clan! That cannot go unpunished!”
Some cultivators nodded. Others hesitated. The grave still rippled at their backs.
Then—
“If anyone dares to lay a hand on him—”
A voice cut through the rising tension, sharp and furious.
“—Step over my corpse first.”
Heads turned.
Jiang Cheng stood tall at the top of the slope, robes snapping in the wind, his glare a storm all its own.
“Wei Wuxian belongs to Lotus Pier,” he said. “He’s my responsibility. Who are you to punish him?”
Jin Guangshan sneered. “He killed cultivators under my banner. What gives you the right to defend him?”
Jiang Cheng laughed—cold and razor-thin.
“Who’s to say your men weren’t killed by someone else? Where’s your proof?”
Jin Guangshan’s eyes narrowed. “You think he didn’t do it?”
Jiang Cheng smirked. “Lan Wangji was there too. Maybe he did it.”
The crowd gasped.
“Jiang Wanyin!” Lan Qiren snapped. “You dare accuse—”
“I’m just pointing out the obvious,” Jiang Cheng shot back. “You accuse Wei Wuxian without evidence. Then anyone can be accused. Even your precious nephew—who, by the way, is still unconscious and unable to defend himself.”
“You—!” Lan Qiren barked, but Jiang Cheng cut him off.
“No.” Jiang Cheng turned on him. “You all don’t get to lecture me. You call Wei Wuxian demonic while your men hide corpses in water. You call it righteousness when it’s murder, as long as the dead wear the wrong name.”
He pointed down the slope.
“Go on. Tell them it was justified. Tell them those children deserved to die.”
The crowd wavered.
Some looked away. Others stared at the water, as if the truth could be unseen.
Nie Mingjue remained silent. He didn’t stop Jiang Cheng.
Because he couldn’t.
Jin Guangshan’s face darkened with rage—but the certainty was gone. The power had shifted.
Too many eyes had seen.
Too many ears had heard.
Too many souls had started to doubt.
And in the suffocating silence that followed, one question lingered—
sharp, dangerous, unspoken—
Who is truly righteous now?
_________________________________
Chapter Text
The array pulsed with light one last time—a fading glow of talisman energy—and the group landed at the edge of the Burial Mounds with a crackling hiss of spiritual resistance. Wind whipped around them, gusting their robes and tugging at loose strands of hair, stirred not by weather but by the resentment-infested earth itself.
Above, the sky stretched in endless ashen gray, clouds still brooding from the retreating storm. Mud squelched underfoot, clinging to boots. Raindrops slid down sodden sleeves and wrinkled hems.
Wei Wuxian stood first.
His arms remained tightly wrapped around Lan Wangji’s limp form. The man lay motionless against his chest, skin far too pale, dark lashes casting delicate shadows against his cheeks. His robes were soaked and clinging, but Wei Wuxian barely felt the cold anymore.
His eyes never left Lan Wangji.
Behind him, the group stumbled out of the array one by one—damp, weary, and shaken. Wen Qing dropped to her knees, drawing sharp breaths to steady herself. The Wen civilians huddled together, blinking at the cursed landscape before them.
The Burial Mounds lived up to their name.
Blackened trees jutted from the ground like broken limbs, and the very soil seemed to shift and breathe with quiet malice. The wind had died to an eerie hush, muffling even the faintest sound.
Women clutched at men’s sleeves. Elders reached for steadying hands. A toddler whimpered. Children stared with wide, hollow eyes.
Wei Wuxian finally turned to face them. His expression, drawn and tired, still softened with a flicker of gentleness.
“You’ll be safe here,” he said—not loud, but firm enough to carry. “We’ll stay here for now.”
Silence. Then:
“Safe?” an elder echoed, hoarsely, glancing toward a bone-white tree that looked as if it had grown from a corpse.
Wei Wuxian followed the gaze, his lips quirking—not in amusement, but in cold familiarity. “I’ve been here before,” he said quietly. “I know how to survive it.”
There was bitterness there, buried in the words like thorns. But also steel.
He turned to Wen Qing. “Let them rest. Find whatever shelter you can. I’ll clear the area, make it livable.”
She nodded, though her eyes lingered on Lan Wangji’s still form before she moved to organize the civilians. Behind her, one of the Wen cultivators carefully laid Wen Ning down onto the ground.
In a blink, Wen Qing was beside her brother. Her hands glowed faintly as she moved over his forehead, his throat, his chest.
“A-Ning…” she whispered, brushing wet hair from his face.
Wei Wuxian, meanwhile, walked toward a twisted tree that looked reasonably stable and dropped to one knee. Unfastening his outer robe, he spread it beneath the tree’s sparse branches before gently laying Lan Wangji down.
He brushed damp strands of hair from Lan Wangji’s face with trembling fingers.
Still no response.
Still too quiet.
A familiar ache twisted inside him.
“Wei Wuxian.”
He turned immediately at the sound of Wen Qing’s voice.
She looked up from her brother. Her face was pale, but her eyes burned with tears.
“He’s alive.”
Wei Wuxian rushed to her side in an instant. “He’s alive?”
Wen Qing nodded, placing a hand over Wen Ning’s chest. “His soul is damaged, but he’s still here. He can recover.”
Relief broke over Wei Wuxian’s face like sunlight through clouds. His lips curved in a tremulous smile, heavy with gratitude and grief. “He’ll get better,” he murmured, more to himself than anyone.
Wen Qing bowed her head and let the tears fall freely as she pressed a kiss to her brother’s forehead. “A-Ning… you’re safe now.”
Wei Wuxian gave them space, returning quickly to Lan Wangji. He dropped to his knees and cradled the other man’s face between both hands. Still pale. Still unmoving.
His heart twisted tighter.
He didn’t hear Wen Qing approach until she knelt beside him again.
Her expression had shifted—still serious, but now wary.
She placed a hand gently over Lan Wangji’s dantian and closed her eyes, her energy flowing into him with practiced precision. Her brow furrowed deeper by the second.
“There’s a disturbance in his core,” she said finally. “It’s not physical damage. It’s… spiritual fluctuation. His cultivation is being disrupted.”
Wei Wuxian’s eyes narrowed. “What do you mean?”
Wen Qing hesitated. “It feels like a curse.”
Wei Wuxian stared. “You can tell already?”
She nodded. “Yes. It’s subtle, but his spiritual flow is being redirected unnaturally. It isn’t just injury or shock—it’s something crafted. Deliberate.”
His eyes darkened. “A crafted curse…”
Curses strong enough to affect someone like Lan Wangji were rare. Forbidden. Dangerous. The kind people didn’t speak of lightly.
“I’ll need time,” Wen Qing added. “Time to study him properly. Then I might be able to pinpoint what kind it is.”
Wei Wuxian nodded, eyes dark with resolve.“Do whatever you need.”
But then—something changed.
The air shifted, heavy and cold.
A sound broke the stillness.
Footsteps.
Soft. Deliberate. Measured.
Wei Wuxian surged to his feet, robes flaring. He stepped in front of Lan Wangji instinctively, one hand already reaching for Chenqing at his waist.
Wen Qing rose beside him, eyes fierce, jaw tight.
The Wen civilians froze mid-step. A few women tightened their holds on children. Even the children quieted.
A low mist curled along the ground, drawn by something unseen.
Wei Wuxian narrowed his eyes, scanning the tree line.
“Someone’s coming.”
______________________
The footsteps grew louder, clearer—until a familiar purple-robed figure emerged from the mist.
Wei Wuxian blinked, startled. “Jiang Cheng?”
Jiang Cheng stood there, his face flushed from exertion, Zidian coiled tightly around his wrist. His eyes swept over the area, from the Wen civilians to the unconscious Lan Wangji, to Wen Ning, and finally, to Wei Wuxian himself.
Wei Wuxian’s expression hardened. “How did you know I’d be here?”
Jiang Cheng huffed, looking away briefly. “I don’t know. I—I can’t explain it. I just… thought you might be here. It’s confusing, alright?!” he snapped, frustration evident in his voice.
Wei Wuxian tilted his head, brow furrowed. “You came all this way… on a hunch?”
“It doesn’t matter how I got here,” Jiang Cheng snapped. “What matters is—what the hell are you doing here? Why did you bring the entire Wen clan to this cursed place? Are you trying to make enemies of every cultivation sect?!”
Wei Wuxian let out a dry, bitter laugh. “As if they weren’t already against me. Now that I’ve outlived my usefulness, they’re just waiting for a reason.”
Jiang Cheng took a step forward, fists clenched. “So you decided everything on your own? Didn’t even think to tell your sect leader?” His voice rose. “Do you even care how this makes Lotus Pier look? How am I supposed to protect you when you keep doing this?!”
Wei Wuxian’s smile vanished, replaced by something quieter. Sadder. “Then don’t.”
The silence that followed was deafening.
Jiang Cheng’s eyes widened, rage flashing. He lunged—spiritual energy crackling in his palm—but Wei Wuxian slipped out of reach, calm and unreadable.
“You’re making this harder than it has to be,” Jiang Cheng hissed.
“It’ll be easier if you just say I defected from the Jiang Clan,” Wei Wuxian replied softly.
That was it. Jiang Cheng’s patience shattered. He surged forward and grabbed the front of Wei Wuxian’s robes, jerking him close until their noses nearly touched.
“You’re leaving me? Leaving Shijie? For them?! For the people who burned our home to the ground and killed my parents?!”
His voice trembled with disbelief, with fury barely held in check.
“You think you can just walk away from everything we’ve built? From your family? From me?” His throat worked as he fought back more words. “You want to help them? After what they did?”
Wei Wuxian’s hand hovered near his flute, his voice sharp. “These people are innocent. I told you—they had no part in what happened. They’ve suffered too. They’ve lost everything.”
“Innocent?” Jiang Cheng’s voice cracked into a bitter laugh. “You’re blind. They’re Wen dogs—cowards who stood by while we burned. And you want to protect them?” His arms flung wide. “Because of a few pitiful faces? A few survivors? Wake up, Wei Wuxian! You’ve lost yourself!”
Wei Wuxian flinched—but just slightly. His voice dropped low, heavy with steel. “You don’t understand. This isn’t about revenge. It’s about not letting innocent lives pay for their clan’s crimes. You know what it’s like to be hunted. Don’t pretend you don’t.”
Jiang Cheng exploded. “You think I don’t know what it’s like to lose everything?!” His voice rose, sharp with emotion. “You think I don’t know pain? Rage? I watched them drag my father’s body from the ashes!”
Wei Wuxian opened his mouth, but Jiang Cheng cut him off, trembling now.
“You promised me,” he said, his voice cracking. “You promised we’d rebuild Lotus Pier together. You said you’d be there when I became sect leader. That we’d stand side by side—like the Twin prides of the Jiang Clan.”
He yanked Wei Wuxian even closer. “But now you’ve turned your back on all of it. All of us. For what? Some lost cause? Some twisted idea of justice?”
Wei Wuxian stilled. The words cut deeper than any blade. He looked into Jiang Cheng’s eyes—wild with grief, betrayal, love twisted into something unrecognizable.
“I didn’t want this,” Wei Wuxian whispered. “I never wanted to leave you.”
For just a heartbeat, Jiang Cheng faltered. Then the wall slammed back into place. He shoved Wei Wuxian away.
“You’re wrong,” he said, voice shaking. “I won’t let you throw everything away. I wont let you throw me away.I won’t let you leave me.”
Wei Wuxian took a breath, steadying himself. “Then stop trying to control me. Stop trying to make decisions for me.I’m not the same person I used to be.”
“I don’t care who you are now!” Jiang Cheng snapped. “You’re still my brother. And I will not let you throw your life away with them.”
Wei Wuxian’s voice was calm, but resolute. “They have no one else. If I leave them now, they’ll die.”
Jiang Cheng stepped forward, his voice low but unwavering. “Then bring them with you. To Lotus Pier.”
Wei Wuxian froze.
“You want me to bring them there?” he said slowly, as if unsure he heard right.
“They owe us,” Jiang Cheng spat. “They’ll help us rebuild what they destroyed. You can protect them—but not like this. Come back. With them or alone—I don’t care. But come back.”
Wei Wuxian’s heart stuttered. His throat closed around the words.
“A-jie is waiting for you,” Jiang Cheng added, quieter now. “She’s worried. She needs to see you. I won't let you disappoint her again.”
For a long time, Wei Wuxian said nothing. He stared past Jiang Cheng to the civilians—the women holding trembling children, the elders leaning on one another, Wen Ning still unconscious, Wen Qing watching from afar with bloodshot eyes.
He turned back to his brother.
His brother.
And saw the pain behind the anger. The desperation behind the fury.
A tear slipped down Wei Wuxian’s cheek. He wiped it away before it could fall, his face unreadable.
And he said nothing at all.
_____________________
The clouds above rumbled, low and threatening—but it was Jiang Cheng’s voice that cracked louder than any thunder.
His glare swept over the clearing… and stopped cold.
Right on the pale, unconscious figure beneath the tree.
Lan Wangji.
The Second Jade of Lan. Revered, reserved, impeccable.
Now lying soaked through, unmoving, his lips parted faintly, a thin sheen of sweat glistening on his brow. He looked fragile, breakable. Not at all like the quiet force of nature the cultivation world knew him to be.
Jiang Cheng’s jaw worked furiously.
And then—like a dam breaking—he roared:
“What the hell is this?!”
Wei Wuxian jumped. “What—?”
“Oh, don’t ‘what’ me!” Jiang Cheng thundered, pointing a dramatic finger at Lan Wangji like he’d just found a corpse in his soup.
“How bold have you become, huh? You kidnapped Lan Wangji—and that too right in front of his clan!”
“I didn’t—” Wei Wuxian quickly stepped in front of Lan Wangji, shielding him instinctively from the verbal lashing. “It’s not what it looks like!”
Jiang Cheng scoffed. “Not what it looks like? What is it then? A casual nap? Some revolutionary bonding ritual? Are you collecting Gusu disciples now to go with your new Wen pet project?!”
Wei Wuxian flushed. “He was cursed! He collapsed! I didn’t plan to carry him off like a—”
“Like a sack of radishes? Oh no, of course not,” Jiang Cheng interrupted, sarcasm cutting through the clearing like a sword. “You just happened to scoop him up bridal-style and disappear into a haunted mountain. Perfectly normal.”
Wei Wuxian looked like he might combust. “You make it sound so scandalous.”
“It is scandalous!” Jiang Cheng barked. “Do you have any idea what kind of political nightmare this is?!”
You think the Lan Clan is just going to sit quietly and sip tea over this? Lan Qiren is going to have a spiritual stroke!”
Wei Wuxian visibly winced at the mention of Lan Qiren. Images of the old man’s pinched face and rising blood pressure flashed through his head.
“I didn’t mean to—”
“But you did!” Jiang Cheng snapped. “And now I get to clean up this mess. Because you thought it was a good idea to disappear with one of the highest-ranking cultivators in the realm like you’re in some romantic drama!”
Wei Wuxian opened his mouth—probably to argue it was not romantic—but Jiang Cheng had already whirled on his heel, purple robes flaring behind him like an indignant storm cloud.
“Well?” he barked. “What are you waiting for?”
Wei Wuxian blinked. “Wait… what?”
“Tell everyone to get ready,” Jiang Cheng snapped. “We’re going to Lotus Pier. Now.”
A collective gasp rose from the Wen civilians behind them. Even Wen Qing arched a brow but wisely stayed silent, arms crossed.
Wei Wuxian’s brain stalled. “You—you’re serious?”
“This is not up for debate, Wei Wuxian,” Jiang Cheng said, quieter now.His eyes flicked down again to the figure beneath the tree. And this time, something shifted in his tone.
“He’s soaking wet. Unconscious. In this cursed mist. You want him catching pneumonia on top of being cursed? You want Lan Qiren to accuse us of torture?”
Wei Wuxian blinked. “You… care if he gets sick?”
Jiang Cheng scowled, looking utterly offended. “I care because I don’t want the Lan Clan declaring war over a cold.”
He crossed his arms and muttered under his breath, “Also, their lectures are worse than actual death.”
That earned him a helpless laugh from Wei Wuxian. The tension in his shoulders loosened just a little.
Jiang Cheng cut him a sideways glare. “Don’t look so smug. You’re still in trouble. But I’ll make sure he has a proper room back at the Pier. I’ll tell the servants he’s a guest. Not a prisoner.”
Wei Wuxian’s eyes softened. “Thank you.”
Jiang Cheng stared for another second, then turned away with a loud huff. He stalked past the Wen disciples and barked, “You heard me! Gather what you need. We leave in an hour. You’re coming to Lotus Pier!”
The Wen civilians murmured in confusion and disbelief, but Wen Qing was already stepping forward, calming them with her usual sharp efficiency.
As Jiang Cheng swept past Wei Wuxian again, he grumbled under his breath:
“Lan Wangji of all people… Really, Wei Wuxian? If you wanted trouble, you could’ve just slapped Lan Qiren.”
Wei Wuxian let out a strangled snort of laughter.
“I think I might have.”
___________________
The skies had begun to clear, though the wind remained sharp and the scent of rain still clung to the air like a fading memory. In the clearing where the confrontation had ended, Jiang Cheng stood at the front, his expression locked in a tight scowl as he oversaw the final arrangements. Rows of horses stood waiting, saddled and still, breath steaming in the cool air.
The Wen remnants—civilians, the elderly, and a few remaining cultivators still loyal to Wen Qing—moved cautiously through the clearing. Some murmured in disbelief, casting wary glances at Jiang Cheng. Others bowed low, gratitude and dread tangled in their eyes as they passed Wei Wuxian and Jiang Cheng.
It was an impossible sight.
The remnants of the Wen Clan—not prisoners, not enemies—but escorted as refugees, bound for the heart of Jiang territory under uneasy protection.
Wei Wuxian had personally seen to it that every person who couldn't walk long distances had a mount. Wen Qing stood among her people, guiding them onto horses with calm efficiency, her face unreadable. Jiang Cheng shouted brief orders to wen remnants, already exhausted by the weight of responsibility pressing down on him.
Wei Wuxian stood apart from the others, silent. His gaze hadn’t left the still figure in his arms.
Lan Wangji remained unconscious. His breath rose and fell in slow, measured rhythm, but his face was pale, far too pale, his features drawn with exhaustion. Warming spells had dried his robes—but he hadn’t stirred since the confrontation.
Wei Wuxian adjusted Lan Wangji keeping him closer before stepping toward one of the horses at the edge of the clearing. The animal shifted slightly as he approached, but stilled as Wei Wuxian mounted smoothly with Lan Wangji held securely against him.
From across the camp, Jiang Cheng’s head snapped up. His scowl deepened as he watched Wei Wuxian settle into the saddle.
Lan Wangji lay limply in his arms, his head tucked naturally into the crook of Wei Wuxian’s shoulder. One of Wei Wuxian’s arms wrapped around his waist with unconscious protectiveness, the other steady on the reins. The way they sat, close and seamless, was far too intimate for a battlefield recovery.
Something twisted in Jiang Cheng’s chest.
He strode over with purpose, boots crunching damp grass. His eyes flicked up to meet Wei Wuxian’s. His expression gave nothing away.
“What?” Wei Wuxian asked, brows pulling together in mild confusion.
Jiang Cheng said nothing at first. Just stared.
Then, his lip curled.
“It really looks like you're taking your newly married husband back home.”
Wei Wuxian blinked. Then—spluttered. “What—?!”
“I’m serious,” Jiang Cheng snapped. “You’ve already kidnapped him. Now you’re riding into Lotus Pier like you’ve just eloped from Gusu! All that’s missing is a red veil and a wedding procession.”
Wei Wuxian flushed so suddenly it looked like someone had lit a fire under his collar.
“I’m helping him!” Wei Wuxian protested, flustered and defensive. “It’s not like I could throw him over the horse like a sack of potatoes! He’s recovering—what do you want me to do? Let him fall off halfway through the ride?”
Jiang Cheng crossed his arms. “I want you to stop looking like the tragic hero in a storyteller’s drunken love ballad!”
“I am not—!” Wei Wuxian threw him a look of wounded disbelief. “You’re exaggerating!”
“Am I?” Jiang Cheng gestured up at him. “Look at yourself!”
Wei Wuxian did—and promptly winced.
Lan Wangji’s head had shifted just enough to nestle perfectly beneath his chin. His pale fingers had curled around the fabric of Wei Wuxian’s robes, while Wei Wuxian’s own arms cradled him with startling tenderness. Their bodies pressed close for warmth, their breathing almost in sync.
Wei Wuxian groaned softly. “I didn’t mean for it to look like this.”
“You never do,” Jiang Cheng muttered, half-exasperated, half-resigned. “And then I’m the one who has to explain to three sects, two elders, and every single gossipy handmaiden in Lotus Pier why our Young Master is parading around with Hanguangjun like it’s the finale of a wedding drama.”
Wei Wuxian grumbled, pulling the reins with more force than necessary. “Even if I was married, you’d still find a reason to scold me.”
“If you were married, I’d at least know you’d lost your mind permanently and could stop hoping you'd grow out of it.”
Wei Wuxian shot him a look. “Touching. Your faith in me is overwhelming.”
Jiang Cheng sighed, rubbing a hand down his face in pure, exhausted disbelief.
The caravan began to move.
Wen Qing rode near the front, flanked by her remaining cultivators. Wen Ning beside her, unconscious.
_________________
Lotus Pier’s gates had never looked so simultaneously familiar and foreign.
The sun was beginning to dip below the horizon, casting the water-logged rooftops of Yunmeng in molten gold. The journey back had been quiet—long, muddy, and awkwardly silent—like everyone was holding their breath. Wei Wuxian certainly was. Not because of the Wen remnants riding behind them, or even Jiang Cheng’s unrelenting silence.
No, it was mostly because he was riding into Lotus Pier cradling Lan Wangji close.
As they passed through the village leading into the sect grounds, people began to emerge—slowly at first, cautiously. Curious eyes peered out from behind doors and around corners. The civilians stared at the strange procession. Jiang disciples at the front. Wen remnants in the middle. And at the back, one very disheveled Wei Wuxian, riding a very tired horse, holding one very unconscious Lan Wangji.
Murmurs rippled through the crowd.
“Is that Hanguang-jun?”
“Why is he in Wei Gongzi’s arms?”
Wei Wuxian tried to sink lower into the saddle. Unfortunately, Lan Wangji's head chose that moment to nuzzle against his shoulder like a sleepy cat.
Oh, come on!
The gates of Lotus Pier opened. Disciples rushed forward to take reins and help the Wen civilians down. Wen Qing immediately took charge with her signature don’t-question-me tone, directing medics and scowling at everything that moved. Jiang Cheng dismounted with a stiff swing of his leg and marched ahead like he wanted this day to be over ten minutes ago.
Wei Wuxian remained where he was for a beat, staring at the courtyard. Then he saw her.
Jiang Yanli.
She stood at the center, lavender robes gently lifting in the breeze, her eyes fixed on him. And just like that, the tight knot in his chest unraveled a little.
Wei Wuxian carefully slid off his horse, adjusting Lan Wangji’s weight in his arms. He didn’t get far before—
“Ah-Xian.”
The voice cracked like soft thunder, and he froze.
He looked up. Jiang Yanli was already moving toward him. Her hands were trembling as she cupped his cheeks.
“You were really going to leave?” she whispered. “Leave Lotus Pier... leave me and Ah-Cheng?”
Wei Wuxian’s throat closed. His lips trembled as he swallowed thickly.
“No… I never wanted to,” he murmured. “It was never my intention to leave you both. I—I just… everything went so wrong. I thought I had no choice.”
She shook her head slowly, a tear slipping down her cheek. “We are your home, Ah-Xian. Always.”
Wei Wuxian looked down, guilt washing over him like a wave. He shifted Lan Wangji gently and took one of her hands in his own.
“I’m sorry, Shijie,” he said, voice hoarse. “Forgive your A-Xian once more. It was my fault… all of it. I’m sorry.”
Jiang Yanli's fingers tightened slightly on his cheek. She leaned forward, resting her forehead gently against his.
“You’ve always been reckless,” she said softly, “but you’ve also always had a kind heart. That’s why we can never stay angry at you.”
From the side, Jiang Cheng watched in silence. His arms were crossed tightly, and though his mouth was set in a firm line, something in his eyes flickered—something fragile and unspoken.
Jiang Yanli finally stepped back, brushing away a tear. And only then did her gaze shift to the person resting in Wei Wuxian’s arms.
Her expression shifted instantly.
“Is that… Lan-er-gongzi?” she asked, her tone startled. “What… what happened to him?”
Wei Wuxian opened his mouth to speak—
“He kidnapped him,” Jiang Cheng interjected sharply from behind.
Wei Wuxian spun around, sputtering. “I did not! He was cursed and collapsed in front of me—what was I supposed to do, leave him there?!”
Jiang Cheng sniffed. “You could’ve sent him back with his clan. Instead, you cradle him like a bride and bring him here in your arms.”
Wei Wuxian flushed. “That’s because he’s unconscious and injured! It’s not like I—! I didn’t—! Ugh!”
Jiang Yanli blinked between the two of them, then turned back to her flustered younger brother.
“So…” she said gently, lips twitching, “are you two married now?”
“SHIJIE!!” Wei Wuxian yelped, face turning a deep red.
“I was only asking,” she said with a light laugh, covering her mouth delicately. “You’re holding him so closely, and he does look rather peaceful there.”
“Don’t tease me!” Wei Wuxian groaned, looking like he wanted the ground to open up and swallow him.
Jiang Cheng shook his head, clearly exasperated.
Jiang Yanli, however, simply smiled and stepped closer. She brushed a hand lightly over Wei wuxian’s hair.
“Regardless of what happened, he doesn’t seem to be in pain,” she said. “Come. Let’s take him to the infirmary. We can speak more after he’s settled in.”
Wei Wuxian nodded quickly, eager for any excuse to escape the moment. Still pink-cheeked, he followed his sister into the sect grounds, Lan Wangji held securely in his arms, murmuring softly to him as he walked.
Behind him, Jiang Cheng sighed.
_____________________
Once Wei Wuxian disappeared into the infirmary with Lan Wangji still held carefully in his arms, the tension that had been tightly coiled around the courtyard finally began to loosen. Disciples hurried to tend to the horses, and some began leading the Wen remnants to the guest quarters.
Wen Qing remained in place, standing tall beside the Wen remnants . Despite the exhaustion clouding her eyes, her shoulders were straight, and her expression remained calm and controlled. She had not missed the glances from the Jiang disciples—the uncertainty, the wariness—but she met each look head-on without flinching.
And then—
Jiang Yanli stepped toward her.
Her lilac robes flowed with each step, a graceful contrast to the dusty, tattered travel garments of the Wens. When she finally stood in front of Wen Qing, silence swept over the courtyard once more. Wen Qing, momentarily uncertain, inclined her head slightly.
But then Jiang Yanli did something no one expected.
She bowed.
A full, proper bow of greeting—hands together, posture respectful.
Wen Qing’s breath caught.
“I am Jiang Yanli,” she said gently, rising with a soft smile. “Welcome to Lotus Pier. I understand your people have been through much. The disciples here have been instructed to see to your needs. If you encounter any problems or are in need of anything—anything at all—you may come to me directly.”
Wen Qing blinked, stunned into stillness for a beat. Then she slowly bowed in return, her voice soft but steady.
“Thank you, Jiang-guniang. We are grateful for your hospitality.”
Jiang Yanli’s smile only deepened. “There is no need for gratitude. You stood by A-Xian and helped him when no one else did. That alone makes you family to us.”
Wen remnants, standing behind wen qing, looked at Jiang Yanli with wide, awed eyes. Their hands fidgeted nervously with their sleeves, but there was unmistakable hope in their gaze.
Jiang Yanli gave them one last nod, then turned and began giving instructions to the nearest disciples to provide fresh robes, food, and medicine for the Wens.
For the first time since arriving, Wen Qing’s shoulders eased.
Maybe—just maybe—this could be the start of something new.
__________________
Inside the quiet infirmary chamber, a soft breeze fluttered the curtain edges as Wen Qing stepped back from the bed. Her expression gave away nothing, but her eyes—sharp and calculating—remained fixed on Lan Wangji’s still form. The faint glow from her diagnostic spell had faded, and now her hands hung stiffly by her sides.
She turned toward the doorway, where Wei Wuxian, Jiang Yanli, and Jiang Cheng stood just beyond the threshold .
“Come in,” she said evenly.
They obeyed at once. Wei Wuxian was the first to cross the room, robes still damp from travel. His gaze zeroed in on Lan Wangji, his worry radiating off him like heat. Jiang Yanli followed close behind, her eyes moving quickly between her brother and the healer. Jiang Cheng brought up the rear, arms crossed and mouth already pressed into a scowl.
Wen Qing gestured them closer. “I’ve examined him properly now,” she began. Her voice was calm—but underlined by something denser, heavier. “Wei Wuxian. Tell me exactly when and where you found Lan Wangji.”
Wei Wuxian didn’t take his eyes off Lan Wangji. “During the Phoenix Mountain Hunt. We were all scattered, chasing after spirit beasts . I saw Lan Zhan—at the edge of a clearing. He was… helping a bird.”
Jiang Yanli blinked. “A bird?”
Wei Wuxian nodded, almost sheepish. “Yeah. It was tangled in some thorns. He was trying to free it.” A soft huff of fond disbelief escaped him. “Of course he was.”
Jiang Yanli’s eyes shimmered, touched.
“But then,” Wei Wuxian continued, frowning, “he suddenly clutched his head. Like something hit him from inside. He staggered. Collapsed. I ran to catch him. He was burning up and completely out of it, so I brought him to the infirmary.”
Wen Qing nodded slowly. “Anything else? Talisman residue? Weird spiritual energy?”
Wei Wuxian scratched the back of his head. “There was a talisman near the plant. I thought it might be related, so I took it. I tried studying it, but the energy in it was corrupted—resentful. I couldn’t make sense of it. I’m not a healer, so I couldn’t figure out what changes had happened to him.”
Wen Qing’s eyes narrowed thoughtfully, and she moved to stand near Lan Wangji’s head, brushing his hair aside and checking his forehead.
“Anything happen after he woke?” she asked suddenly.
Wei Wuxian blinked. “Uh…” He scratched the back of his neck. “Well. Kind of.”
Jiang Cheng gave him a suspicious glance. “Kind of?”
Wei Wuxian hesitated for a long moment, cheeks beginning to burn. “He… he called me his husband.”
“What?!” Jiang Cheng snapped.
Jiang Yanli covered her mouth, her eyes wide in shock.
Wen Qing, however, sighed—long and deep, as if her suspicion had just been confirmed.
Wei Wuxian turned to her quickly. “Hey! What do you mean by that sigh?”
She folded her arms, exhaling again. “As I suspected. I’ve seen something like this before. Only once, in an ancient scroll.”
Everyone went quiet. Even Jiang Cheng didn’t interrupt.
Wen Qing continued, her tone now serious and edged with unease. “There’s a type of curse. Rare. Immoral. Long since banned by every decent sect—except, you know, the ones that don’t care. It targets a very specific kind of cultivator: Pingheng Zhe. Ones born with balanced yin and yang energy. Like Lan Wangji.”
Wei Wuxian stiffened, instincts bristling. “What kind of curse?”
Wen Qing looked him directly in the eyes. “A curse that manipulates the spiritual mind of a Pingheng Zhe. It makes them believe the first person they lay their eyes on after awakening is their spouse—someone they trust deeply, someone to whom they are already emotionally and spiritually bound.”
Jiang Cheng looked horrified. “You mean to say—?”
She folded her arms more tightly. “In the past, Pingheng Zhe were highly prized in marriage alliances. Because of their balanced qi, they could form equal bonds with either gender—without shifting power entirely to one side. A union with them meant equal control between sects, something rare and politically valuable. But their rarity made them difficult to obtain… and some couldn’t accept refusal.”
Her gaze sharpened. “So the curse was used. A manipulative shortcut. If the Pingheng Zhe could be made to believe they were already married, already in love, then the perpetrator could initiate real marriage and dual cultivation before the truth caught up. Once that bond was formed, it couldn't be undone—only accepted.”
Jiang Yanli’s voice was barely above a whisper. “How cruel…”
“And for the perpetrator,” Wen Qing added coldly, “it was a win-win. They gained political control and bound to someone considered spiritually extraordinary—and physically beautiful. Pingheng Zhe are often said to be ethereal, striking, unnaturally graceful. Having one as a ‘spouse’ wasn’t just a political prize—it was personal possession.”
Wei Wuxian looked like he might throw up. “So you’re saying… this curse was used on Lan Zhan to trick him into marrying someone?”
Wen Qing nodded grimly. “Yes. That’s exactly what this type of curse was designed for. Even after the illusion fades, if the bond is complete, the consequences remain. His spiritual energy will be entangled. His reputation—and his choice—gone.”
She paused, her expression darkening. “The original form of the curse would wear off in about one day. But in Lan Wangji’s case…” she gestured to the talisman, “this one was modified. It’s soaked in heavy resentful energy. I don’t know who changed it—or how long it will last.”
Wei Wuxian swallowed hard. His throat felt tight, his heart pounding in his ears. “But… he saw me. I was the first one he saw after getting cursed.”
Wen Qing gave him a pointed look. “Then it makes sense he called you his husband. To him, you are the one he is spiritually bound to—for now.”
A stunned silence settled over the room.
Wei Wuxian stepped back, shaking his head slowly. “But… I didn’t do anything. I didn’t take advantage—I would never—”
“No one’s saying you did,” Wen Qing cut in firmly. “In fact… in Lan Wangji’s case, it might’ve been his fortune that it was you who found him. Anyone else—especially someone with actual ill intent—could’ve…” Her voice trailed off grimly.
Jiang Cheng let out a long exhale and looked away. His voice, when it came, was low. “What kind of bastard would do something like this to Lan Wangji of all people?”
Wen Qing didn’t answer immediately. Instead, she turned back to the bed and covered Lan Wangji with another layer of silk blanket. Her voice was quiet when she finally spoke again.
“That’s what we have to find out. Who placed this curse, and why.”
Wei Wuxian remained silent, his gaze fixed on Lan Wangji’s sleeping face. A tangle of guilt, anger, and helplessness warred in his chest.
He had carried Lan Wangji from the place of his downfall—saved him, held him, watched over him.
But now… what if he couldn’t bring him back?
What if this curse left something behind even when it broke?
As if sensing his turmoil, Jiang Yanli gently touched his shoulder. “A-Xian… he’s strong. And he trusts you. That’s why… he saw you, and not anyone else. That matters.”
Wen Qing finally turned from the bedside and faced them fully.
“For now,” she said, “we let him rest. He’s stable. But the sooner he wakes up, the better. Then we can see how far the curse has taken root.”
Wei Wuxian’s gaze stayed locked on Lan Wangji’s pale, unmoving form. The stillness felt unnatural now that he knew more—now that he understood the weight of the curse. His voice trembled slightly when he spoke again.
“Wen Qing… there’s something else.” He turned toward her slowly. “Earlier, before he fainted… blood came from his nose.”
At once, Wen Qing’s eyes narrowed. “What caused it?”
Wei Wuxian hesitated. He felt Jiang Cheng’s stare on him again, and Jiang Yanli’s soft breath of worry behind him. Swallowing hard, he finally admitted, “I… I told him the truth.”
Wen Qing tilted her head. “What truth?”
“That I wasn’t his husband. That he was cursed. That what he was feeling wasn’t real,” Wei Wuxian said quietly, guilt heavy in his words. “And after that… he suddenly clutched his head, like something was hurting him. He looked so confused… then blood started dripping from his nose, and he collapsed. He hasn’t woken up since.”
The silence that followed was sharp.
Wen Qing’s expression darkened. “That explains it,” she murmured, almost to herself.
Wei Wuxian straightened. “Explains what?”
She turned toward the others, her voice clipped and professional, but there was an unmistakable thread of concern beneath. “This curse… it's not only invasive—it’s fragile. The talisman wasn’t meant to simply trick the victim. It forces a false reality on their mind, but it’s held together by a delicate thread.”
Jiang Yanli leaned in closer, her face drawn. “So telling him the truth…”
“Caused a backlash,” Wen Qing finished grimly. “Lan Wangji’s mind is in conflict. His instincts are reacting one way, but when someone—especially the one he believes to be his spouse—contradicts that illusion, the curse destabilizes. The pain, the bleeding—it’s the result of mental and spiritual discord. It could even become fatal if triggered too harshly or repeatedly.”
Wei Wuxian felt as though someone had punched the air from his lungs. “I didn’t know… I just—he was looking at me like… like I really was—”
“I know,” Wen Qing said gently, though her face remained firm. “But until we know how to safely remove the curse, you can’t try to break it like that again. It’s like yanking out a blade that’s lodged too deep—it’ll cause more harm than good.”
Wei Wuxian sank down beside Lan Wangji again, staring at the elegant features he knew so well. Even unconscious, there was a furrow of discomfort between Lan Wangji’s brows.
“I just wanted to do the right thing,” he whispered.
Jiang Cheng scoffed, though his tone wasn’t as sharp as usual. “The right thing is apparently the dangerous thing.”
“A-Cheng,” Jiang Yanli warned softly.
But Wen Qing nodded. “In this case, he’s not wrong. Wei Wuxian, from now on… do not contradict the illusion. Maintain it. Let him believe what he needs to believe, for now. The priority is stabilizing his condition until I find a way to reverse the effects.”
Wei Wuxian’s jaw clenched, torn between shame and helplessness. “So I’m just supposed to lie to him?”
“Not lie,” Wen Qing corrected. “Just… don’t correct him.”
The room went still again, the gravity of it all sinking in.
Wei Wuxian reached out, brushing Lan Wangji’s hair back from his damp forehead with a featherlight touch. “I’m sorry,” he murmured. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”
Lan Wangji didn’t respond. But the faint twitch of his fingers beneath the blanket made Wei Wuxian’s heart clench.
Outside, the Lotus Pier remained alive with sounds and voices—but inside the infirmary, time felt suspended, wrapped in the delicate, dangerous veil of a cursed illusion.
And Wei Wuxian, for the first time, truly feared what the truth could cost.
_____________________
The tension in the infirmary had barely settled when a disciple came running, breathless and pale. “Sect Leader Jiang! Lady Jiang! The Lan Clan delegation has arrived at the gates. They’re demanding to speak to the Sect Leader immediately.”
Jiang Cheng groaned under his breath, muttering with a sour twist to his lips, “Of course. Now I have to face that old man.”
Wei Wuxian winced slightly. “Lan Qiren?”
Jiang Cheng didn’t answer, just turned on his heel and stalked toward the courtyard, his robes snapping behind him like a thundercloud rolling in. Wei Wuxian and Jiang Yanli exchanged brief glances before following him out.
The Lotus Pier gates were already open, and the Lan Clan delegation stood with unyielding posture in crisp white robes. At their head was none other than Lan Qiren, his face stormy and severe, beard trembling in fury. Beside him stood Lan Xichen—calm as ever, hands folded neatly in front of him—but his eyes scanned the pier with urgent concern.
The moment Lan Qiren’s eyes landed on Wei Wuxian, his face darkened further. “You! Wei Wuxian!” he bellowed, storming forward. “Return my nephew this instant! How dare you take him without the permission of the Lan Clan?! Do you think the Cloud Recesses are so weak you can simply snatch one of our own?”
“ Uncle,” Lan Xichen said quickly, trying to de-escalate, but Lan Qiren was far too furious.
“You have crossed all bounds of decency! A high ranking cultivator abducted—and Wangji of all people! If anything happens to him—”
Jiang Yanli quickly stepped forward and gave a deep, respectful bow. “Elder Lan , please calm yourself. Lan-er-gongzi is safe. He is being well cared for and is currently resting. We have no intention of keeping him from his family.”
Lan Xichen bowed back gently. “Lady Jiang, thank you for your kindness. We are simply worried… may I ask to see Wangji?”
Jiang Cheng finally stepped forward, expression stony but his voice level. “He’s resting now, Sect leader Lan . And before we go any further—on behalf of my sect, I’ll apologize for any misunderstandings caused by my brother. But if you’re here to demand punishment for the earlier Phoenix Mountain massacre…” He looked Lan Qiren in the eye. “Then you might as well turn back. Wei Wuxian and the Wen remnants are under my sect’s protection. Anyone who touches them will be challenging the Jiang Clan.”
Wei Wuxian blinked in surprise. That was the first time Jiang Cheng had declared that so publicly.
Lan Qiren opened his mouth to protest, face going red, but Lan Xichen raised a hand, silencing him with a calm but firm look.
“We aren’t here to punish anyone,” Lan Xichen said gently. “We’ve seen what truly happened there. The Jin Sect has much to answer for. We’re only here because of Wangji. We feared for his safety. Now that we know he’s safe… I only wish to see my brother.”
Lan Qiren still looked like he might burst, but he held his tongue, clearly straining against it.
Before any further words could be exchanged, another Jiang disciple came running down the path from the infirmary, bowing hastily.
“Forgive the interruption! Hanguangjun… he has woken up.”
The tension fractured like a cracking stone.
Everyone turned sharply.
Wei Wuxian’s breath caught.
Lan Xichen’s eyes widened with relief. “Can we see him?”
Jiang Yanli smiled gently. “Yes. He should be stable now. Please… follow us.”
But as they turned toward the infirmary, Lan Qiren threw one last glare at Wei Wuxian. “This isn't over.”
Wei Wuxian exhaled slowly, rubbing the back of his neck. “Obviously.”
And with that, they made their way back—towards the infirmary .
___________________
The group entered the infirmary to the quiet sound of Lan Wangji’s breathing and the rustle of robes. Wen Qing stood beside the bed, fingers expertly pressed to Lan Wangji’s wrist as she monitored his pulse. She looked up at the approaching group and gave a short nod.
“Everything is stable,” she announced calmly. “He’s completely fine now. No signs of distress. His energy is steady, though weak. He just needs rest.”
A collective breath of relief passed through the room.
Lan Xichen stepped forward immediately, kneeling beside the bed. His hands gently reached for his brother’s. “Wangji,” he said softly, his serene tone trembling with emotion. “How are you feeling?”
Lan Wangji’s golden eyes blinked slowly open. His gaze drifted toward Lan Xichen and then, as if by instinct, toward Wei Wuxian. “Mn,” he replied, voice low and quiet. “I am well.”
A flicker of something unreadable passed through Lan Xichen’s eyes. He squeezed his brother’s hand once. “I’m glad,” he whispered, visibly relieved.
There was a pause before Lan Xichen turned to Wei Wuxian. “Wei-gongzi… may I speak with you alone?”
Wei Wuxian hesitated for a heartbeat, eyes flicking to Lan Wangji, then nodded. “Of course.”
They stepped outside together, silence accompanying them as they reached the quiet edge of the lotus pond, the sounds of distant waves lapping gently nearby.
Lan Xichen took a breath, his hands folded calmly, but his gaze sharp and searching. “What exactly happened to Wangji?” he asked softly. “Wen guniang told me only the basics. I’d like to hear it from you.”
Wei Wuxian recounted everything in a steady voice— how Wen Qing had recognized the effects of an ancient curse meant to subjugate powerful cultivators. Finally, he hesitated, then admitted, “Now, he… recognizes me as his husband.”
Lan Xichen’s face remained composed, but his eyes darkened slightly with thought. After a long pause, he said, “Wei gongzi… you are the only mistake my brother has ever made in his life.”
Wei Wuxian froze.
Lan Xichen continued, his voice still even but heavy with weight. “He has never disobeyed, never strayed. Except when it came to you. You’ve brought him nothing but turmoil… and yet he always followed.”
Wei Wuxian opened his mouth, but no words came.
“I do not wish for Wangji to suffer,” Lan Xichen went on. “If this curse—this illusion—can fade, then so be it. But if Wangji… chooses to stay, then I will not stand in his way. I will not chain him when he has already made up his mind.”
Wei Wuxian finally found his voice, soft and trembling. “I didn’t ask for this.”
“I know,” Lan Xichen said simply. “But he believes you are his husband. Even now, he looks for you the moment you’re not in sight. His emotions, his instincts—they are entangled with yours.”
He turned fully to face him. “I just need to know, Wei gongzi—what are your intentions? Will you stay beside him? Will you care for him until the curse fades? Or are you planning to run?”
Wei Wuxian looked down at his hands, stained with talisman ink and blood not his own. The memory of Lan Wangji’s peaceful face as he rested against his chest surfaced unbidden.
“I don’t know what’s right,” he admitted. “But I won’t leave him. I… I’ll stay.”
Lan Xichen nodded once, slowly. “Then, for his sake, I hope you mean it.”
They stood in silence, lotus petals drifting slowly across the surface of the water.
_______
When Wei Wuxian and Lan Xichen returned to the infirmary, the room was already tense.
Lan Qiren stood near Lan Wangji’s bed, arms folded tightly, lips thin with restrained impatience. “Now that Wangji is awake and stable,” he said sharply, “it is time for him to return home.”
Lan Wangji, sitting upright against the pillows, turned his gaze slowly toward his uncle. Then, without a word, he looked past him—to Wei Wuxian.
His eyes lingered, hopeful. Waiting. Expecting.
But Wei Wuxian—silent, unsure, confused by the storm of emotions inside him—said nothing.
That silence struck Lan Wangji like a blade. His eyes dimmed, the faint hope in them fading. He turned his face away from Wei Wuxian, jaw tightening. Then, raising his chin with quiet dignity, he looked at his brother.
“No,” he said, voice calm but resolute. “I am already at home.”
Lan Qiren stiffened. “Wangji—!”
Lan Wangji continued, not looking at his uncle. His gaze now rested on Lan Xichen. “Wherever my husband stays… that is my home.”
The room fell into silence. Jiang Yanli’s eyes widened, Wen Qing’s brows rose subtly, and Jiang Cheng looked utterly scandalized.
Wei Wuxian felt like the breath had been knocked from him.
Lan Qiren exploded. “Absurd! You are speaking nonsense under a curse! Xichen, say something—this is madness!”
But Lan Xichen didn’t respond to him. Instead, he stepped closer to his brother, lowering himself again beside the bed. He took Lan Wangji’s hand gently on his own and looked him straight in the eyes.
“Wangji,” he said softly. “Do you truly wish to stay?”
Lan Wangji nodded without hesitation. “Mnn.”
Lan Xichen inhaled, then straightened. “Then Wangji will remain here,” he declared calmly.
“What?!” Lan Qiren barked. “You—”
“As the sect leader of the Lan Sect,” Lan Xichen interrupted, his tone still composed but final, “this is my decision. No one will take him anywhere without his permission.”
Lan Qiren looked stunned, betrayed even, but Lan Xichen ignored him and turned back to his brother. “Rest, Wangji,” he said warmly. “You are safe here.”
Lan Wangji’s tense shoulders slowly relaxed at those words. His fingers loosened around his brother’s hand. With his body still weak and overwhelmed, he leaned back against the pillows and soon drifted back into sleep.
The group quietly left the infirmary, closing the door behind them.
Outside, Lan Xichen turned to Jiang Cheng and bowed respectfully. “Sect Leader Jiang, I must ask a favor. Please allow my brother to remain here until he fully recovers. I will remain grateful for your generosity.”
Jiang Cheng gave a tight nod. “As long as he behaves himself, he can stay.”
Before Lan Xichen could speak again, Jiang Yanli stepped forward with a soft smile. “Please do not worry, Lan-gongzi. We’ll take good care of him. He’ll be treated like one of our own.”
Lan Xichen nodded, clearly relieved. “Thank you for your kindness.”
With that, the Lan Clan members began to take their leave. Lan Qiren followed with heavy steps, muttering darkly, but said nothing more.
Wei Wuxian stayed behind, unmoving, eyes still on the infirmary door.
His heart was thundering.
Lan Wangji had chosen him—without hesitation.
And all Wei Wuxian could do… was remain silent.
________________________________
Chapter Text
Wei Wuxian’s eyes fluttered open.
He blinked, squinting a little at the morning light trickling softly into the infirmary. For a moment, he was disoriented. His head had been resting on folded arms at the edge of Lan Wangji’s bed, and the wood had pressed faint grooves into his cheek. Had he really dozed off like that? Had he stayed by Lan Zhan’s side all night?
Lifting his head slowly, he rubbed the kink from his neck—then froze.
Lan Wangji was awake.
Not just awake, but sitting up quietly, leaning against the wall with the blanket bunched around his waist. He wasn’t moving, but his golden eyes were open—and fixed entirely on Wei Wuxian.
Wei Wuxian blinked back, wide-eyed. The look on Lan Wangji’s face wasn’t angry or scolding or even properly awake—it was distant, quiet, and oddly intense. Like he was looking straight through Wei Wuxian into another world entirely.
Well. That was unsettling.
“Huh,” Wei Wuxian said, rubbing the back of his neck with a sheepish grin. “You’re staring, Lan Zhan. Don’t tell me I talk in my sleep and drool.”
It was meant to be light, a harmless joke—but Lan Wangji didn’t laugh. He blinked slowly, as if dragging himself out of a long dream. Then, suddenly, those golden eyes truly focused—and locked onto Wei Wuxian with such startling clarity it made his breath catch.
His lips parted slightly, and something sharp and aching flashed in his eyes. And then—hesitantly, like he still didn’t trust the moment—Lan Wangji reached out.
Wei Wuxian didn’t move.
Fingertips brushed his cheek, barely a touch, feather-light, before trailing down, hovering near the collar of his robes. They came to rest softly over his heart.
Wei Wuxian’s breath hitched. The warmth of that hand was real, and it trembled.
Lan Wangji searched his face, as though double-checking that it was really him, really here. Then, slowly, wordlessly, he leaned forward.
His eyes darted up, then down, then back again—like he was studying every twitch of Wei Wuxian’s face for signs that he might pull away.
But Wei Wuxian didn’t. Not because he didn’t want to—but because he had absolutely no idea what was happening.
Still, Lan Wangji inched closer, until he gently rested his head against Wei Wuxian’s chest.
The silence stretched, filled only by the steady thump-thump-thump of Wei Wuxian’s heart, now racing a little too quickly to be dignified.
His arms hung awkwardly at his sides, caught between instinct and confusion. He wasn’t sure what to do—pat him? Hug him? Offer a snack?
And then—
He felt it.
A subtle dampness soaking into his robes. Not just warmth. Tears.
Lan Wangji was crying.
Not dramatically—no sobs, no gasps. Just soft, silent tremors in his shoulders, and tear after tear slipping from his eyes.
And that, somehow, hit harder than if he had screamed.
Wei Wuxian stood completely still, eyes wide, heart twisting in his chest. Lan Wangji held onto him like someone afraid that letting go would shatter everything.
And for once, Wei Wuxian—who usually had too many words—had none.
Lan Wangji’s quiet tears kept falling, steady as rain, and then, barely above a whisper, came a voice so soft it almost didn’t sound real:
“You are here… You are here…”
Wei Wuxian’s eyes widened. The relief in those words hit like a punch to the gut—so raw, so full of yearning that it made his own throat ache.
He finally moved.
Carefully, he raised his hands and cupped Lan Wangji’s face, tilting it up so their eyes could meet. His frown was small but full of worry.
“Lan Zhan…” he said softly, his frown tender, “what’s gotten into you? You’re crying like I just came back from the dead.”
Lan Wangji stared at him with wide, tear-filled eyes. His lips trembled.
“You told me to get lost.”
Wei Wuxian blinked.
Then blinked again.
Then, in a rush: “I did not! I might’ve said some… dramatic things, maybe, but not that. Definitely not that. That doesn’t sound like me at all! I’m much more poetic when I push people away.”
He leaned in a little, pressing his hand against Lan Wangji’s own where it rested over his heart.
“I don’t know what you mean—but I will never want to hurt you. Not like that. Never like that.”
Lan Wangji’s hand trembled under his. His breath caught again, but now he looked just the tiniest bit less lost. His fingers tightened faintly, like he still needed reassurance this wasn’t just a sweet dream.
And Wei Wuxian gave it—his other hand covering Lan Wangji’s, anchoring them both.
“I’m right here,” he said quietly. “I’m not going anywhere.”
Lan Wangji’s tears had slowed, but the look in his eyes was still impossibly intense—like a storm that had passed but left the ground shaking. The kind of gaze that made Wei Wuxian want to fidget.
So, naturally, he did.
“Aiya, Lan Zhan,” he said suddenly, standing a little too quickly and stretching his arms overhead with exaggerated effort. “Morning already! You must want to wash up, huh? Get out of this stiff old infirmary bed, eat something? I bet Jiang Shu made congee again—he puts too much ginger, but I’ll bully him into fixing that—”
He chuckled nervously, turning to step away.
But he didn’t get far.
A hand closed around his wrist, firm and just a little frantic.
Wei Wuxian paused, then looked back. Lan Wangji was holding onto him, his grip trembling ever so slightly.
Those eyes—always so quiet—were practically shouting please don’t leave.
“Lan Zhan…” Wei Wuxian said softly, crouching back down.
“I’m not going far,” he promised, voice light but warm. “Just outside, just for a minute. You can freshen up and then we’ll talk, alright? I’m not running off—I’ll even swear on Jiang Cheng’s temper, and you know how scary that is.”
Lan Wangji didn’t smile, but his grip eased a little. The panic in his eyes dimmed, just a touch.
Wei Wuxian offered him a small, crooked smile.
“I’ll be right back. I’ll ask Wen Qing to send someone in.”
And then, gently, he added—quiet and true—
“I promise.”
___________________
Wei Wuxian stepped out of the infirmary with the dramatic flair of a man who had just experienced something deeply confusing and emotionally compromising—and had absolutely no idea what to do about it.
Morning had fully arrived by now, painting the sky in soft gold. The air was calm, peaceful—even a bit too peaceful, like the world hadn’t gotten the idea that everything inside his chest was doing flips. He paused, eyes narrowing at the horizon like it had offended him, then took a breath and jumped lightly onto the infirmary roof.
The wind rushed beneath his robes as he landed, the familiar whoosh grounding him in a way that nothing else could. He crouched, settled cross-legged, and let himself sink into the moment—part meditation, part escape.
Beneath the roof tiles, he could still sense Lan Wangji’s presence—steady as ever, but… quieter now. Fragile, like a tune played just a bit off-key.
Wei Wuxian leaned forward, bracing his elbows on his knees. His fingers wrapped around Chenqing—not tight enough to snap it in half, but maybe tighter than necessary. His brows furrowed.
He hadn’t expected to see that look on Lan Wangji’s face. Not in this lifetime. Not in any lifetime.
The disbelief. The emotion. The unguarded softness.
Lan Wangji— his Lan Zhan, the picture of elegance and self-control, who never so much as flinched when Wei Wuxian poked at his bottom line with a stick. He used to treat it like a game: make Lan Wangji twitch. Make Lan Wangji sigh. Get him to glare, maybe even scowl. Bonus points if he earned a subtle eyebrow raise.
But this?
This wasn’t a game. The mask had cracked. No—shattered.
And it wasn’t funny. Or satisfying. It made something in his chest twist uncomfortably.
He tightened his hold on the flute with a little creak of protest from the wood. A thin shimmer of resentful energy curled up from it like smoke. He eyed it. “Yeah, yeah, you’re upset too, I get it.”
He didn’t bother pushing it away yet. Let it swirl.
That look in Lan Wangji’s eyes—like he was hanging on by the edge of a dream. Like he’d been told he wasn’t wanted, again and again, and had believed it every time. And still… he’d hoped.
Wei Wuxian pressed his lips together and looked up at the sky like it might have answers.
Because really—what would have happened if he hadn’t been the first person Lan Wangji saw?
Would he have clung to Jiang Cheng? Called him husband?
Wei Wuxian snorted so hard he nearly choked on his own breath.
Jiang Cheng would’ve thrown Lan Wangji into the nearest pond and lit it on fire.
If he hadn’t been the one Lan Wangji saw first—if someone else had walked into that forest—what would have happened? Would Lan Wangji have latched onto the wrong person? Trusted them? Called them husband?
Would someone have taken advantage?
He shut his eyes, gritting his teeth. That image sent a wave of fury crashing through him.
Whoever had done this… whoever had dared curse Lan Wangji—his Lan Zhan—would regret the day they ever set foot in the cultivation world.
Wei Wuxian would find them. He would hunt them down. And when he did, they would beg for mercy they wouldn’t receive.
His grip on the flute trembled.
He took a deep breath and let it out through his nose, a little puff of exasperation. The resentful energy fizzled out obediently, but the anger stayed—cool now, tucked away like a knife sheathed under his sleeve.
Lan Wangji hadn’t deserved this.
That much was crystal clear. He hadn’t deserved to be made into someone so lost and dazed and soft-eyed. It wasn’t fair. Lan Wangji, who had always walked so straight and steady even when the world shook—reduced to this?
Wei Wuxian leaned back slightly, letting the wind kiss his face and cool the heat in his chest.
And then, quietly, the doubt crept in.
Lan Wangji didn’t like him. He knew that. Had known that since the first time he got glared at for climbing a wall after curfew with stolen wine and a smirk.
Whatever this was—this devotion, this “you are here” stuff—it wasn’t real. Just some cursed talisman playing tricks, stirring up emotions and blurring lines.
Once the spell wore off, Lan Wangji would remember. Everything. Who they were. Who they weren’t. He’d probably go right back to being stiff and distant. Maybe even lecture him.
Maybe… he’d be angry.
Wei Wuxian could deal with that. He had practice. Lots of it.
He looked down at the flute in his hands and rolled it between his palms, not really thinking.
Even if Lan Wangji never looked at him like that again—even if this version of him vanished with the curse—Wei Wuxian wasn’t going anywhere.
He would stay.
He’d help him recover, keep him safe, make sure no more talismans messed with his mind. He’d tease him into drinking water. Tuck him in properly. Steal his porridge just enough to be annoying.
Because curse or no curse, memory or no memory, he couldn’t leave Lan Wangji like this.
Not when he'd always—quietly, stubbornly, maybe foolishly—considered him a friend.
Even if Lan Wangji never had.
But hey. There was still time to change that.
And maybe—just maybe—once this was all over, they’d laugh about it one day.
Hopefully after Lan Wangji stopped crying on his chest and calling him husband.
__________________________________
Wei Wuxian stood outside the infirmary for a while longer, letting the wind carry away the last remnants of resentment and anger that still clung to his skin. He inhaled deeply, then exhaled and stepped back inside.
The moment he entered, his eyes immediately found Lan Wangji.
Lan Wangji was sitting upright on the bed, his back straight as ever, though his posture carried a certain hesitance. He had clearly freshened up. His hair had been combed neatly and he wore a clean set of robes—not the white and blue of Gusu Lan, but the soft purple and silver of the Jiang sect. The unfamiliar colors looked strange on him at first glance, yet something about them suited him too—gentler, warmer.
Wei Wuxian’s lips quirked into a soft smile despite himself.
Lan Wangji turned his head at the sound of footsteps. The moment his golden eyes met Wei Wuxian’s, a subtle flicker crossed his face—relief, maybe. Maybe something else.
“You clean up nicely,” Wei Wuxian said lightly, breaking the silence as he walked over. “Too bad we didn’t have your usual stiff and icy robes, but I’d say purple’s a good look on you.”
Lan Wangji blinked slowly, as if trying to decide whether it was a compliment or another teasing remark. Wei Wuxian didn’t give him time to answer.
“Come on,” he said. “You must be hungry. I’ll take you to the dining hall. Let’s get some breakfast before Shijie scolds me for letting you starve.”
Lan Wangji hesitated only for a moment before nodding and rising to his feet. Wei Wuxian watched carefully, ensuring he moved without discomfort, then gestured for him to follow.
As they stepped into the main courtyard and made their way toward the dining hall, a few disciples stopped eating, their chopsticks pausing mid-air as they caught sight of the two of them walking in together. Their gazes lingered on Lan Wangji’s unfamiliar robes, on the slight closeness of their steps, and the odd atmosphere between them.
But no one said a word.
They merely returned to their bowls, murmuring amongst themselves with curiosity and barely concealed excitement.
Wei Wuxian ignored them and made a beeline toward a round table tucked against one side of the room, where Jiang Yanli and Jiang Cheng were already seated, halfway through their breakfast.
“Shijie, Jiang Cheng, Wei Wuxian greeted cheerfully. “Guess who finally decided to come out of bed?”
Lan Wangji paused beside him, then lowered his gaze and bowed respectfully. “Sect Leader Jiang. Jiang-guniang.”
Jiang Yanli immediately smiled and stood slightly. “There’s no need to be so formal, Lan-er-gongzi. Please, come sit and have breakfast.”
Jiang Cheng grunted in acknowledgment, not unfriendly but still a little stiff. His sharp gaze flickered briefly over Lan Wangji’s figure and then moved away.
Lan Wangji nodded and stepped forward. He took the seat Wei Wuxian gestured toward—between Jiang Yanli and Wei Wuxian.
Wei Wuxian plopped down beside him, reaching for a bun with easy familiarity. “Try the congee, Lan Zhan. Shijie makes it better than anyone. Just don’t let her catch you skipping it.”
Jiang Yanli chuckled lightly and placed a small bowl in front of Lan Wangji. “He’s right. You need something warm in your system.”
Lan Wangji looked down at the bowl, then at Wei Wuxian, and finally gave a single, small nod. “Thank you.”
Wei Wuxian turned away quickly before anyone noticed the way that one quiet word made his chest flutter strangely.
As they began to eat, the chatter of the other disciples returned to a low hum around them, and for a moment, everything felt… normal. Peaceful, even.
__________________
The breakfast table settled into a gentle rhythm.
Lan Wangji sat quiet as ever, every motion of his chopsticks precise, posture impeccable—even dressed in unfamiliar Jiang sect robes, he retained that graceful rigidity. Wei Wuxian, in contrast, had no such restraint.
He leaned over shamelessly, plucking different dishes and piling them into Lan Wangji’s bowl with enthusiasm.
“Lan Zhan, try this—Shijie’s pickled vegetables, they’re the best. Oh, and this egg dumpling, you’ll like it. And the lotus root too, sweet and crunchy! Just eat everything, I promise you won’t regret it.”
Lan Wangji said nothing, but his eyes followed Wei Wuxian with an unreadable intensity, letting the food accumulate as he obediently sampled what was given.
Across the table, Jiang Cheng scowled, his brows drawing tighter with every overzealous movement of Wei Wuxian’s chopsticks.
“You’re not feeding a toddler,” Jiang Cheng muttered. “He can serve himself.”
Wei Wuxian shot him a grin. “Aiya, don’t be so stingy, Jiang Cheng. Let me take care of him. He just woke up after a day of unconsciousness—you want him to get tired lifting his own chopsticks?”
“He’s not made of glass,” Jiang Cheng snapped, but the bite in his voice was less venomous than usual.
Jiang Yanli smiled into her teacup, watching them bicker, and then turned to Lan Wangji with gentle eyes.
“Lan- er -gongzi, you’re being very patient,” she said warmly, and then, as if it were the most natural thing in the world, passed another small dish across the table. “A-Xian, here—have your husband try this too.”
Wei Wuxian reached for the bowl with a distracted hum. “Mhm, thank you, Shijie—”
And then his hand froze.
He blinked.
A full second passed before her words finally registered.
Wei Wuxian slowly turned toward Jiang Yanli, horror creeping into his expression.
She was smiling serenely, as if she hadn’t just set off a bomb at the breakfast table.
“Aiya, Shijie!” he hissed, eyes wide and voice high-pitched. “How could you betray your little A-Xian like this?!”
Jiang Yanli laughed behind her sleeve, eyes twinkling with mischief. “I’m only teasing. You’ve been hovering over him like a concerned spouse since the moment he opened his eyes. It’s sweet.”
Wei Wuxian turned red to his ears. “I—I’m just being a responsible friend! A responsible friend who saved his life, mind you!”
Wei Wuxian, still reeling from Jiang Yanli’s teasing, grumbled under his breath as he set the bowl down. He tried to regain some of his composure, only to look up—and freeze.
Lan Wangji was staring at him.
Not with his usual blank, unreadable expression.
But something different.
Something intense.
Wei Wuxian blinked. “…Lan Zhan?”
Lan Wangji didn’t respond immediately. His gaze lingered on Wei Wuxian’s face, unwavering, as though every word just exchanged around him had struck a deeper chord. His brows were drawn slightly, lips pressed together—not in anger, but in something that looked painfully close to longing.
Then, softly, almost too quiet to be heard over the clink of chopsticks and hushed laughter at other tables, he muttered:
“…Not friend.”
Wei Wuxian leaned closer without thinking. “What did you say?”
Lan Wangji’s eyes locked with his, and this time, his voice was louder, though still heavy with something unspoken—something raw and sullen.
“…Husband.”
The word hung in the air like a guillotine.
Wei Wuxian’s heart thudded.
Time seemed to stop for a second.
His mouth opened, then closed. “Lan—Lan Zhan…”
From his other side, Jiang Yanli let out a very quiet cough and turned away with suspiciously bright eyes. Jiang Cheng nearly dropped his cup, choking for the second time that morning.
But Lan Wangji didn’t notice. Or maybe he didn’t care. His gaze didn’t leave Wei Wuxian’s face, as if trying to memorize every reaction.
Wei Wuxian sat back slowly, ears burning, his chest a confused mess of flutters and panic and something strangely warm.
He forced a laugh—too high-pitched. “Aiya, Lan Zhan… still calling me that, huh?”
But Lan Wangji didn’t smile. He only looked at him, steady and sure.
As if he meant it.
Wei Wuxian’s forced laugh trailed off into silence, his chopsticks hovering mid-air. His throat tightened as the weight of Lan Wangji’s gaze pinned him down again.
Lan Wangji’s voice came again, quiet but firm.
“It is truth.”
There was no hesitation in his tone. No uncertainty. Just the calm conviction that always carried so much weight when it came from him.
Wei Wuxian’s heart skipped a beat. The breath he didn’t know he was holding slipped out in a shaky exhale.
“Lan Zhan…”
But Lan Wangji wasn’t finished.
A pause passed. He looked down briefly at the table, his fingers tightening slightly around the edge of his sleeve. When he looked up again, there was something raw in his gaze—uncertainty laced with the faintest trace of fear.
“…Does Wei Ying not want to be my husband?”
Wei Wuxian froze.
Every sound around him went silent .
The words were simple, but the vulnerability beneath them hit like a punch to the gut. Lan Wangji wasn’t someone who asked questions easily, let alone ones like this. There was a quiet desperation to it, as if the answer could shatter him.
Before Wei Wuxian could say anything—before he could even begin to process—Lan Wangji added, softer this time:
“Do you… want me to leave Lotus Pier?”
Wei Wuxian stared at him, eyes wide. His tongue felt like lead in his mouth. He couldn’t speak—not because he didn’t have an answer, but because too many warred within him at once.
Lan Wangji looked down again, shoulders subtly tense, as if already bracing himself for rejection.
It hurt.
Wei Wuxian swallowed hard, feeling the tremble in his hands and the pounding of his heart.
“No!” he said quickly, too quickly—too loud, too panicked. The moment Lan Wangji’s eyes dropped in dejection, that raw look twisting his calm features into something heart-wrenching, Wei Wuxian had lurched forward slightly, unable to bear it.
“No, Lan Zhan, I don’t— I didn’t mean that,” he stammered, rushing to undo what had already been said. “I don’t want you to leave! Why would you think that?”
Lan Wangji looked at him then, searching, uncertain.
Wei Wuxian waved his hands like he could physically fan the awkwardness away. “And about the husband thing—it’s not that I don’t—I mean—it’s just—uh—look, I—” He made a helpless little noise and dropped his face into his hands with a groan. “Ugh, I’m terrible at this.”
Lan Wangji’s expression flickered—just for a second—and Wei Wuxian caught the tiniest glimpse of hurt starting to surface.
Not again, Wei Wuxian thought, horrified. I’m going to die.
The silence stretched, thick and heavy.
Then —
“Well then,” came Jiang Yanli’s soft, sing-song voice, cutting through the tension like a ray of sunshine, “A-Xian really needs to be punished.”
Wei Wuxian shot upright like he’d been struck by lightning. “Shijie?!”
“For making his husband sad like this,” she continued, her smile sweet but teasing, eyes sparkling with mischief as she reached out and tapped Wei Wuxian lightly on the forehead with a pair of chopsticks. “Look at poor Hanguangjun. How could you be so cruel?”
Wei Wuxian flushed, sputtering, “Shijie!”
Jiang Cheng made a strangled sound into his cup.
Jiang Yanli turned to Lan Wangji with a gentle smile. “Lan - er - gongzi, would you like to go to the market today?”
Lan Wangji blinked, expression shifting from quiet despair to faint surprise.
“I think,” Jiang Yanli continued, giving Wei Wuxian a pointed look, “A- Xian should take you there. You’re wearing Jiang robes now, but you should have some of your own, right? Something you like. And anything else you may need.”
She looked back at Lan Wangji kindly. “You’re part of the family here, so don’t be shy.”
Wei Wuxian gaped, caught completely off-guard. “Wait—Shijie, isn’t that—?”
“An order,” she said sweetly, sipping her soup with great finality.
Wei Wuxian groaned softly, but the red tint to his cheeks gave him away. When he glanced back at Lan Wangji, he froze again—Lan Wangji was still watching him, but the faint glimmer of hope had returned to his golden eyes.
And damn him, Wei Wuxian thought, heart pounding.
Damn him for looking like that.
____________________________________
The sun had risen high above Lotus Pier, casting a golden glow over the whitewashed walls and red-tiled roofs. The morning bustle had spilled into the streets, the market alive with vendors shouting, children laughing, and the occasional bark of dogs chasing each other through the alleyways.
Wei Wuxian walked just a few steps ahead, his black-and-red robes catching the sunlight with each energetic step. He glanced back every now and then, watching Lan Wangji quietly follow him.
It felt strange, seeing Lan Wangji like this. Out of place. Out of his world.
And yet, he followed, step for step, gaze fixed on Wei Wuxian with a quiet, unreadable expression.
"Lotus Pier has the best food stalls in the whole cultivation world, you know," Wei Wuxian said cheerfully, trying to shake off the weight of that stare. "Well, I may be biased, but still! You haven’t really lived until you’ve tried the fried lotus roots from Auntie Ming’s stall. She puts in a touch of plum vinegar—perfectly tangy."
Lan Wangji gave no reply but continued to follow him, his gaze flicking to the side as a child ran past, trailing ribbons and laughter.
Wei Wuxian slowed slightly until they walked side by side. "You're very quiet," he said, his tone light but probing. "Not that it’s unusual for you, Lan Zhan, but after the breakfast table declaration and all..."
He trailed off when Lan Wangji looked at him directly.
There it was again—that expression. Soft. Intense. Almost reverent.
Wei Wuxian turned his face forward, ears flushing.
They passed through the main gates and into the central square, where the market was in full swing. Stalls lined both sides of the narrow cobbled paths, overflowing with everything from shimmering silks to jade hairpins, paper fans, and jars of sweet preserves.
A butcher chopped meat behind his stall, rhythmic thunks echoing, while a fruit seller juggled three oranges to entertain a cluster of children.
"This way," Wei Wuxian said, grabbing Lan Wangji's wrist without thinking, pulling him through the crowd with the ease of someone born into the chaos.
Lan Wangji didn't resist.
They continued down the market, with Wei Wuxian pointing out stalls and talking animatedly.
"See that? That’s the sweets stall. Try the sugar peaches. They're famous. And over there, that’s the old calligraphy master who sells his scrolls for half price if you flatter him. Not that I’ve done that… too often."
Children ran past them laughing, and the scent of grilled meat and sweet rice buns filled the air.
Wei Wuxian turned to Lan Wangji. "See? It's always lively here. None of that boring silence like in Cloud Recesses." He nudged Lan Wangji playfully with his elbow. "You won't get bored here, that's for sure."
Lan Wangji didn’t respond with words but followed Wei Wuxian obediently, his gaze occasionally flickering toward brightly colored stalls or wandering musicians.
Eventually, they reached a modest but well-kept clothing store tucked near the corner of the market. A wooden sign hung above the door, painted with elegant characters: Elegant Silks and Robes.
As they stepped inside, the faint scent of roses and polished wood greeted them. Rolls of fabric lined the walls, and rows of folded robes in every shade and texture imaginable were neatly stacked on shelves.
The store owner, a middle-aged woman with kind eyes and a sharp look of assessment, glanced over and immediately stood. Her eyes flicked between Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji, and something about her expression turned a touch mischievous.
"What can I help you with, young master?" she asked, addressing Wei Wuxian but clearly noting Lan Wangji with interest.
Wei Wuxian grinned. "I'm here to buy some robes for him," he said, gesturing toward Lan Wangji. "He’s staying at Lotus Pier, and we don’t have any robes in his style."
The woman nodded knowingly. "Ah, I see. You’ve brought your... friend for a wardrobe upgrade, hmm? You’re in good hands. Come, come, I’ll show you the latest collection."
She led them to a section of the shop where soft robes hung delicately from carved wooden racks. She gestured gracefully at the shelves. "We just received a shipment of cloudweave silks and moonlight gauze. Soft on the skin, durable, and elegant. Perfect for a refined young master."
Wei Wuxian turned to Lan Wangji and grinned. "You heard her, Lan Zhan. Pick what you like."
Lan Wangji looked at the shelves, then back at Wei Wuxian. His gaze lingered on Wei Wuxian's excited face before he slowly turned to examine the robes.
Wei Wuxian busied himself picking up different robes and holding them up against Lan Wangji. "What about this one? Too bright? Hmm... this looks too dull for you. Oh, look at this shade of pale blue! Very Lan Clan, don’t you think?"
Lan Wangji remained quiet but allowed Wei Wuxian to parade various colors in front of him. Eventually, he reached out and selected a few robes—simple, elegant, mostly in pale tones with subtle embroidery that reminded one of clouds and water.
Wei Wuxian nodded approvingly. "Good taste as always, Lan Zhan. Now go try them on. I'll wait here."
Lan Wangji hesitated for a moment, then took the robes and walked behind the curtain into the changing area.
Wei Wuxian leaned lazily against the pillar outside the fitting room, arms crossed casually over his chest, a light breeze tousling his dark hair. His mind wandered a little, though the faint rustle of fabric behind the curtain kept him alert.
The quiet hush of the store was a soothing contrast to the storm in his heart. He had no idea how he’d been dragged into this situation — accompanying Lan Wangji of all people to buy robes. But here they were, and the absurdity of it only made his lips twitch.
Then the curtain parted, and Lan Wangji stepped out in the first robe — a pale sky-blue garment with silver embroidery running down the sleeves. The cloth draped elegantly over his frame, accentuating the fine lines of his posture, and Wei Wuxian stared, caught momentarily off guard.
He whistled low under his breath and grinned. “Lan Zhan, you look… really good. Like a young master stepping out of a painting.”
Lan Wangji blinked at him, then looked away slightly, but a faint tint of pink dusted his pale ears.
Moments later, he disappeared behind the curtain again, only to return in a slightly darker robe — this one a deep ocean blue with cloud patterns swirling at the hem.
Wei Wuxian leaned forward, pretending to inspect it seriously, but the teasing smile didn’t leave his face. “This one’s great too. You’re going to cause trouble dressed like that, Lan Zhan. People won’t be able to stop looking at you.”
Lan Wangji looked at him silently but didn’t protest, merely turned and went back to try on the next robe.
The routine continued, with Lan Wangji stepping out each time in a different robe — each seemingly tailored to his elegance and natural beauty. Wei Wuxian offered his compliments with a mix of genuine admiration and casual jokes, occasionally making dramatic flourishes with his hands or fake-swooning to get a twitch of a smile from Lan Wangji’s lips.
The shopkeeper, with sharp eyes and a shrewd grin, watched the pair with great interest. Clearly amused by their dynamic, she quietly approached Lan Wangji before he disappeared for the fourth time and handed him a special robe from the back.
“This one just arrived,” she said with a wink. “Why don’t you try this one, Young Master? I think it will suit you perfectly.”
Lan Wangji nodded politely and took the garment.
Wei Wuxian, humming an off-key tune, was entirely unprepared for what came next.
When Lan Wangji stepped out again, the world seemed to pause.
The robe was a striking deep violet, bordering on black, with fine gold threads forming faint patterns over the fabric that shimmered subtly in the light. It clung to his frame, fitting more snugly than the others, tapering at the waist before flowing down in clean, elegant lines. His pale hands adjusted the collar slowly, and his long dark hair, loosely tied, fell gently over one shoulder.
Wei Wuxian stood frozen, all air knocked out of his lungs. His heart thudded so loud in his ears it was a wonder the entire shop didn’t echo with it.
Lan Wangji looked up at him, adjusting the sleeves with habitual precision, but his eyes met Wei Wuxian’s — calm, quiet, a little uncertain.
The shopkeeper, arms crossed and eyebrows raised, leaned forward and asked, “What do you think, Young Master? This one looks especially good on him, doesn’t it?”
Wei Wuxian opened his mouth, but words betrayed him. He stared, his mouth working silently for a few seconds, and then he coughed — loudly and awkwardly — looking away for the first time in minutes.
“I… I mean…” He rubbed the back of his neck, his cheeks flushing a deep red. “Yeah. He looks good. Really good. We should… we should take this one too. All of them, actually. Pack everything he tried.”
The shopkeeper chuckled knowingly but said nothing, simply turning away to prepare the garments.
Wei Wuxian glanced at Lan Wangji again and immediately regretted it — the man looked like temptation personified, poised and utterly unaware of how badly he was affecting him. He averted his gaze quickly, internally panicking at the way his stomach flipped.
Lan Wangji remained silent, but there was a glimmer of something in his eyes as he stepped back behind the curtain.
Wei Wuxian exhaled deeply and muttered under his breath, “I’m so doomed…”
_____________________
Lan Wangji stepped out from the changing area, now back in his regular Jiang-colored robes. The two made their way to the front where their purchases were neatly folded and wrapped in silk bundles. Wei Wuxian thanked the shopkeeper, reaching out to take the packages when the shopkeeper, with a glance at Lan Wangji, asked pleasantly, “Young Master, are you married?”
Lan Wangji, silent for a heartbeat, looked towards Wei Wuxian. “Yes,” he said softly, voice calm and composed, but with an unmistakable note of truth, as if stating a fact that needed no explanation.
Wei Wuxian froze for a fraction of a second, heart skipping a beat at the intensity of the gaze, and turned to look at Lan Wangji with slightly widened eyes.
The shopkeeper, raising her brows in surprise and interest, smiled knowingly before leaning toward Lan Wangji with a conspiratorial tone.
“Ah, then there’s another section you might be interested in. We have robes especially popular among married individuals — softer fabrics, unique cuts. Would the young master care to have a look?”
Lan Wangji blinked, a little puzzled, but nodded politely.
Wei Wuxian, meanwhile, was still reeling from the casual admission of marriage — not that it was real, but hearing Lan Wangji say it so openly still shook him. He snapped back to attention when he noticed the shopkeeper discreetly motioning toward the back of the store.
“What did you just say?” Wei Wuxian asked, eyeing them suspiciously.
The shopkeeper turned with an easy grin. “I said there are some robes at the back of the store. They’re rather popular among people. Your friend here might like them, so I thought I’d show him.”
Wei Wuxian, still half-dazed but curious, nodded. “Oh? Then we should definitely see. Lan Zhan, let’s go.”
The three walked toward the rear part of the shop, where the lighting was softer and the fabrics on display glimmered faintly. The shopkeeper gestured toward a rack, and Wei Wuxian, curious and unsuspecting, reached out and pulled one of the robes into his arms to inspect it.
The moment he saw it clearly, he froze.
The robe — if it could be called that — was sheer. Almost entirely translucent, in fact. He could see the outline of his own fingers beneath the fabric. The collar dipped low, far too low. The sleeves hung loose, and the waist was cinched in a way that left very little to the imagination.
Wei Wuxian’s eyes widened comically, his face exploding in a furious blush. “W-what—! What is this?! Where is the rest of it? This isn’t a robe, it’s—it’s air! Did someone forget to sew the inner lining?!”
He flailed, tossing the robe back onto the rack as if it had burned him.
The shopkeeper chuckled good-naturedly, clearly used to this reaction. “Ah, no, young master. That is the robe. It’s meant to be like this — elegant and minimal. Married couples often wear these in private for their partners. It’s quite fashionable. I thought since your friend here said he’s married, he might wish to try one and see if it suits his taste.”
Then, turning to Lan Wangji, the shopkeeper smiled warmly. “Would you like to try one, young master? You may be surprised how it feels.”
Wei Wuxian choked on air. “No! Absolutely not!”
He lunged forward, grabbing Lan Wangji gently but firmly by the wrist, pulling him close with wide, horrified eyes. “Lan Zhan doesn’t want to try anything! Don’t you, Lan Zhan?!”
Lan Wangji merely looked at him, the corners of his lips almost twitching.
Without waiting for an answer, Wei Wuxian turned to the shopkeeper and bowed stiffly, still clutching Lan Wangji’s hand. “Thank you very much! Your shop is wonderful. We’ve bought enough today. Goodbye!”
And with that, he practically dragged Lan Wangji out of the store, robes and dignity trailing behind him.
Once outside, Wei Wuxian only let go after turning a corner and leaning heavily against a nearby post. His heart was pounding as if he’d just run a mile. He took a deep breath, trying to calm his racing thoughts, but his mind — the traitor it was — had already conjured the image of Lan Wangji dressed in that sheer robe. His face flamed crimson.
A soft voice interrupted his torment. “Wei Ying.”
Wei Wuxian startled, and turned slowly to see Lan Wangji standing nearby, his expression calm but eyes holding something unreadable.
“I—I’ll be right back!” Wei Wuxian blurted, pointing in a vague direction. “I need to get something from that stall over there!”
And before Lan Wangji could respond, he turned and strode off with stiff steps, trying very hard not to look like he was fleeing the scene of a crime.
“Damn it,” he muttered under his breath. “I’m not going to survive this trip…”
____________________
The sun dipped lower in the sky, casting golden hues over the marketplace as Wei Wuxian returned from the nearby stall, a few random purchases in hand to serve as his excuse for fleeing moments earlier. He slowed to a stop, glancing around, brows drawing together in mild confusion.
"Lan Zhan?" he called softly, expecting to find the other man where he'd left him a few minutes ago.
But the spot was empty.
A mild panic fluttered in Wei Wuxian's chest. He quickly scanned the bustling street, dodging a group of giggling children and moving between vendors. It wasn't like Lan Wangji to wander off without a word. His steps quickened.
It wasn’t until he passed a small shop tucked between a pottery seller and a scroll painter that he caught a glimpse of purple robes. He paused, peering into the stall. It was a quaint store, filled with small trinkets, musical accessories, and pendants designed to hang from different instruments. Among them stood Lan Wangji, his gaze serene as he browsed through the delicate tassels and engraved charms.
Relief washed over Wei Wuxian, followed closely by amusement.
"Lan Zhan," he drawled as he stepped into the shop, voice teasing, "Shopping for your sword now? Or are you planning to decorate Bichen like a lantern tree?"
Lan Wangji didn’t reply, his attention fixed on a set of pendants hanging on a polished wooden display.
Wei Wuxian sidled up beside him, humming thoughtfully as he picked up a pendant made of white silk and silver beads. "This one looks rather elegant. A bit too elegant, actually. Not you at all."
He grinned when Lan Wangji still didn’t respond.
"What about this one?" Wei Wuxian asked, grabbing a deep blue tassel adorned with small jade bells. He held it next to Lan Wangji's hip, squinting playfully. "Hm. You know, if you wear this one, I might just start calling you Fairy Lan."
Lan Wangji, ever unbothered, shifted his gaze to the display, plucking a pendant that stood out starkly from the rest.
Wei Wuxian's teasing faltered.
The pendant Lan Wangji held was striking—a rich blend of black and crimson threads, woven into a tassel of silken texture, with a small obsidian charm at the center. It was bold and dark, almost dramatic compared to the pale and subdued tones Lan Wangji usually favored.
Wei Wuxian blinked. "That one? It’s beautiful… but it won’t suit Bichen."
Lan Wangji gave him a glance that was unreadable. Then, without a word, he turned to the shopkeeper. "Pack this one."
Wei Wuxian tilted his head, confused but oddly pleased that Lan Wangji would choose something so visually dramatic. He raised a brow, but said nothing as Lan Wangji paid.
They resumed walking, the bustle of the market slowly fading behind them. The streets were calmer now, and they took a winding path through a quieter part of town. The soft scent of evening air and blooming wisteria lingered around them.
Eventually, they came across an old well nestled at the edge of a shrine. Wei Wuxian, spotting the communal ladle, moved toward it and began drawing up some water.
"You should drink," he said, pouring the water into a wooden cup and offering it to Lan Wangji.
Lan Wangji accepted it with a nod, his hand brushing against Wei Wuxian's fingers for the briefest second. They stood in silence for a while, the only sound the distant chirping of cicadas and the rhythmic creak of the well rope.
Just as Wei Wuxian tilted his head to stretch, he heard it.
"Wei Ying."
Soft. Gentle. Almost hesitant.
He turned, gaze immediately drawn to Lan Wangji. "Hmm?"
Lan Wangji reached into his robes, pulling out the same black and red tassel he had purchased. He held it out with a steady hand.
"This is for you."
Wei Wuxian stared at the tassel, not moving. His lips parted, but no words came.
"F-for me?" he echoed in disbelief.
Lan Wangji nodded once. "I noticed your flute had no tassel. This would suit it."
Wei Wuxian's eyes slowly lowered to Chenqing hanging at his hip. Indeed, the flute had remained plain ever since he'd crafted it, no adornment beyond the wood itself. He opened his mouth to reply, but all he could do was look at Lan Wangji, stunned.
Then Lan Wangji reached a hand out toward his waist.
"Let me put it on."
The movement was so deliberate, so gentle, and yet so intimate that Wei Wuxian's instincts sparked before he could think. His hand shot up and gripped Lan Wangji's wrist tightly.
"Don't touch it!" he said sharply.
There was a beat of silence.
Lan Wangji froze. His eyes lifted to Wei Wuxian's, and there was something there—a quiet ache, a flicker of something Wei Wuxian could not name. Hurt? Confusion? It vanished as quickly as it appeared, replaced by calm blankness.
Wei Wuxian realized what he had done.
He let go of Lan Wangji's wrist slowly, his expression melting into a sheepish, apologetic smile. "Ah, sorry, Lan Zhan. I didn’t mean to snap. It’s just… reflex."
He hesitated, then fumbled with Chenqing, fingers slightly trembling as he untied the binding cord. His cheeks were faintly pink now as he held the flute out with both hands, presenting it like an offering.
"Here. You can put it on."
Lan Wangji accepted it carefully. He turned the flute in his hands, inspecting its smooth surface with silent reverence. Then, with the same meticulous precision he showed in everything, he tied the black and red tassel to the base of the flute.
Wei Wuxian stood frozen, watching him.
Something about the sight of Lan Wangji holding his flute so gently, almost protectively, made Wei Wuxian's chest ache.
The colors of the tassel were bold, just like the music he played. It didn’t belong to Bichen. It belonged to Chenqing.
It belonged to him.
And Lan Wangji knew that. Had picked it out with that in mind.
When the tassel was secure, Lan Wangji handed Chenqing back. Wei Wuxian took it carefully, cradling it against his chest for a moment, unsure of what to say.
His lips curled into a soft, helpless smile.
"Thank you, Lan Zhan," he said quietly, voice almost shy.
Lan Wangji gave a single nod, his gaze steady. But his eyes—they held warmth. A softness that lingered, like the afterglow of sunset.
For a while, they said nothing, standing side by side at the edge of the shrine. The moment stretched, slow and sacred, as the wind lifted slightly, causing the new tassel to flutter gently against the wood.
Wei Wuxian looked down at it, fingers brushing over the silk. His heart beat too fast, emotions swirling inside him like a storm he didn’t yet know how to name.
But one thing was clear.
Lan Wangji had chosen something not for himself, but for him. Had thought about him. Had seen something missing, and quietly, without expectation, had filled it.
And in that simple gesture, something deep and unspoken passed between them.
Not flirtation.
Not duty.
Something more.
Something that made Wei Wuxian look at the man beside him not with teasing eyes, but with something close to awe.
He turned his head to speak—but Lan Wangji was already looking at him.
Their eyes met.
Wei Wuxian’s heart stumbled.
And for once, he had no words.
___________________
The late afternoon sun cast golden hues across the quiet garden of Lotus Pier, soft light filtering through the willow branches and resting gently on the cobblestone path. The air was warm, fragrant with the scent of blooming osmanthus and lotus.
In the heart of the garden, Jiang Yanli sat serenely on a bench carved of pale wood, a tray of tea resting beside her. She wore soft lavender robes today, her long dark hair pinned up with pearl hairpins that shimmered subtly under the sunlight.
Beside her sat Jiang Cheng, dressed in his usual purple robes, arms crossed, face drawn into his ever-serious expression as he stared into the distance. His sword, Sandu, leaned against the bench, gleaming faintly in the dappled light. Despite the tranquility around them, Jiang Cheng’s restlessness was palpable, his foot tapping against the stone tiles.
“Don’t fidget so much, A-Cheng,” Jiang Yanli said gently, pouring tea into the delicate porcelain cups. “It’s peaceful here.”
“I’m not fidgeting,” he muttered. “Just—waiting for that rascal to return. Who knows what kind of trouble he’s dragging back with him this time.”
As if summoned, a familiar voice rang out across the garden.
"Shijie! Jiang Cheng!"
Wei Wuxian bounded into view, robes fluttering, hair slightly tousled by the wind, his flute bouncing against his hip with every step. He looked flushed but bright-eyed, the kind of glow that came from laughter and sunlight.
Jiang Yanli turned with a soft smile, rising slightly. “A-Xian.”
Wei Wuxian slowed his pace as he approached, folding his hands politely. “I’m back. Did you two wait long?”
“You were out for hours,” Jiang Cheng said flatly. “Lan Wangji better be alive and intact, or you’re grounded for a week.”
“He’s alive, well, and very much intact,” Wei Wuxian replied, lips twitching. “Actually, more than intact. He’s elegant. Radiant. Graceful—”
“Wei Wuxian,” Jiang Cheng warned.
Wei Wuxian chuckled and turned toward Jiang Yanli, his expression softening. He moved closer and then, to her surprise, dropped to his knees by her side, resting both hands gently on her knees. His head tilted upward, eyes gleaming with affection.
“Shijie,” he said dramatically, “your little A-Xian worked so hard today. I accompanied Lan Zhan through the bustling market, protected him from overeager aunties and flirtatious merchants, and ensured he didn’t faint from hunger or overexertion.”
Jiang Yanli laughed lightly, brushing a strand of hair from his face. “Did you really?”
Wei Wuxian nodded solemnly. “All for the sake of harmony between the sects.”
“Stop acting like a child,” Jiang Cheng barked. “What are you, five?”
Without missing a beat, Wei Wuxian twisted dramatically and plopped his head onto Jiang Cheng’s lap.
“I’m three,” he said cheerfully.
Jiang Cheng recoiled slightly, eyes wide with horror. “What the—get off me, you lunatic!”
But Jiang Yanli leaned forward, tapping Wei Wuxian’s nose gently with her forefinger.
“Yes, yes,” she cooed with mock seriousness. “Xianxian is only three. Poor thing, so young and already doing so much.”
Wei Wuxian grinned up at her, soaking in the moment of peace. “At least someone appreciates me.”
Jiang Cheng groaned and looked away, muttering something about disgrace and embarrassment.
For a few moments, the garden was filled only with the sounds of birds, the soft rustling of leaves, and the occasional clink of teacups. Jiang Yanli poured a fresh cup and handed it to Wei Wuxian, who had righted himself and now sat cross-legged at her feet, happily sipping the tea.
Then, with gentle voice, Jiang Yanli asked, “So, aside from keeping Hanguang-jun safe, what else did you do in the market?”
Wei Wuxian paused mid-sip. His eyes darted to the side, then down to the flute at his side. Slowly, almost shyly, he set the cup down and reached for it.
His fingers brushed the newly attached tassel—black and red, with a silver cloud charm at the center. It swayed slightly in his grip, catching the light.
“…Lan Zhan gave me this,” he said at last, his voice uncharacteristically quiet.
Jiang Yanli leaned forward to get a better look. “Oh?”
Wei Wuxian lifted the flute with both hands and offered it for her inspection. The tassel swayed between them like a ribbon of ink and blood, elegant and rich.
“He said it suits me,” Wei Wuxian murmured, almost to himself. “That red is for passion. And black is for mystery.”
He was no longer looking at Jiang Yanli but at the tassel itself. His gaze had grown distant, soft with wonder. He held the flute delicately, almost reverently, as if it were made of spun glass.
Jiang Yanli didn’t say anything for a moment.
She looked at her little brother, truly looked at him.
At the faint blush dusting his cheeks. On the way his fingers lingered on the tassel. On the way he looked at the flute, not like a musician with his instrument, but like a person holding something cherished—a memento, a token of something deeper.
Her lips curved into a small smile. A knowing smile. A warm, quiet one.
It had been a long time since she had seen her A-Xian this way.
Happy.
Genuinely, quietly, and deeply happy.
Jiang Yanli folded her hands in her lap and watched as Wei Wuxian continued to admire the gift, unaware of the way he radiated contentment. Her heart swelled with affection.
She said nothing more.
Because some things, some truths, were better left unspoken for the correct time.
But inwardly, she offered a silent thanks to the quiet, serious Lan boy who had unknowingly returned joy to her brother’s heart.
And perhaps, just perhaps, something even more than joy.
___________________
The silver glow of the moonlight filtered through the sheer curtains of the ornate Jin sect meeting chamber. Inside, the atmosphere was far from serene. Tension crackled like a charged wire, thick and heavy.
Jin Guangshan, patriarch of the Jin Clan, stood at the center of the lavishly adorned chamber, his golden robes flowing around him like a storm cloud threatening to burst. His face was twisted in fury as he slammed his palm against the polished wood of the table, the loud crack echoing through the room.
" How could you be so careless, Zixun?" he roared. "You let them find out about the camp! Do you know what this means? Do you realize what you’ve done?!"
Jin Zixun bristled with indignation. "It wasn’t my fault! I did what I had to do. All was under control until those meddling cultivators stuck their noses in!" he snapped, eyes narrowing. "Don’t blame me when it's that son of the servant who constantly pokes around where he doesn't belong."
From the side, Jin Guangyao moved forward swiftly, hands raised. "Please, Jixun, Father, there is no need to argue. We can contain the damage, we simply need to act calmly and with coordination."
"You stay out of this!" Zixun snarled and shoved Guangyao hard, sending him stumbling backward. Guangyao's shoulder slammed against the carved wooden wall with a dull thud, and he gasped as his head struck the molding.
Silence fell for a heartbeat. Blood trickled lightly down Jin Guangyao's temple, but he did not cry out. Instead, he straightened slowly, fixing the silky ends of his robes, smoothing invisible creases. Then he walked calmly toward his father and knelt with grace.
"I apologize for the oversight, Father," he said with a faint smile, as if the scene a moment before had not occurred. "I tried my best to keep the operation hidden. But Jin Zixun's use of the Stygian Lure Flag on Wen Ning and the remaining Wen clan remnants caused significant spiritual disturbance. The resulting resonance... it was impossible to shield."
Zixun flared. "They're Wen dogs! They deserved to die. Why are we even pretending to care if someone found out? Let them all rot!"
Jin Guangyao kept his gaze low, smile never wavering. "If we are to continue experimenting with resentful energy, it must be done discreetly. We cannot afford another public scandal."
Jin Guangshan's eyes darkened. He stood abruptly, slamming a palm onto the table. "Do not presume to lecture me! Do you think just because I picked you up from that brothel and gave you a name, that makes you untouchable? Know your place! If you forget it again, it will take me no time at all to throw you back where you came from."
Guangyao's spine remained bowed, expression unreadable. "Yes, Father. I will remember. I will not make the same mistake."
Jin Zixun turned away with a sneer. "All of this is because of that bastard, Wei Wuxian. The son of a servant dares to oppose us, again and again. This wouldn’t have happened if we had killed him outright!"
Jin Guangyao finally looked up, though his posture remained humble. His voice, soft and measured, cut through the room. "Wei Wuxian is more powerful, more than we expected. But he is still human. And humans can be manipulated. We just need to be smarter."
Jin Guangshan huffed and turned toward the tall windows. His gaze lingered on the courtyard below, where golden-robed disciples moved with practiced ease. Then, as though something had only just occurred to him, he froze.
"That curse…" he muttered.
Jin Zixun blinked. "What curse?"
Jin Guangshan turned, eyes narrowing.
"Lan Wangji. That incident at the Phoenix Mountain Hunt. I didn’t even consider it at first, but now that I do… it was such a brilliant move. Who could have planned it?"
Jin Zixun frowned, confused. "What are you talking about?"
"The curse!" Jin Guangshan barked. "Lan Wangji was cursed—and in such a precise, devastating way. And do you know what the result would have been, if it was the Jin sect who had done that? An alliance with the Lan Sect and the Jiang Sect, sealed through marriage. The Nie Clan is already closely allied with the Lans. That would have made three great sects bound to us."
He began pacing now, muttering more to himself than to the others. "I could have used it. I could have orchestrated it myself. A political union through Lan Wangji. A simple curse to manipulate fate and bind him to our cause."
His gaze whipped back toward Jin Guangyao. "And yet you, you incompetent fool, didn’t think of it! Someone else did, and it worked better in their favour than I could have imagined!"
Jin Guangyao’s expression didn’t waver. He continued kneeling, blood still dripping unnoticed from the side of his head.
"It has to be Wei Wuxian," Jin Guangshan continued. "That brat already commands too much power. His cultivation is unmatched. He has the Stygian Tiger Amulet, and refuses to hand it over. And now he’s ensnared Lan Wangji in this curse. Don’t think I haven’t heard the rumors. That Lan Wangji sees him as a… husband. That’s not a coincidence. That’s a ploy. A ploy to gain even more power."
He leaned over the table, knuckles whitening as he gripped its edge.
"Dual cultivation. That’s what he’s after. And with someone like Lan Wangji… strong, pure, beautiful—it’s not just strength he gains. He gains legitimacy. Influence. With Lan Wangji beside him, he could do anything."
Jin Zixun made a disgusted noise. "That son of a servant thinks he can just rise above us all? He’s already too arrogant."
Jin Guangshan’s voice grew lower, more dangerous. "I can’t allow so much power to rest in one person. Especially not someone like him. A nobody. A bastard of Jiang Fengman. He needs to be put in his place."
"Handle it, A-Yao. No more mistakes. If I lose face because of you again... you won't have a place left in this world."
Jin Guangyao bowed his head until it touched the floor. "I will not fail you again, Father."
Jin Zixun crossed his arms, glaring. "If we want to succeed, we need to eliminate Wei Wuxian first."
Jin Guangyao finally raised his head, his eyes calm. "Of course. I will take care of it.
As the door shut behind him one by one, Jin Guangyao remained kneeling. The blood on his temple had dried, a dark crust against his fair skin. He did not wipe it away. His smile remained, eyes distant and glinting with unspoken calculation.
When he finally stood, it was with the grace of someone who had long accepted the art of survival – and who knew that patience was the sharpest weapon of all.
__________________
Chapter 5
Notes:
Author’s Note:
This fic is a slow burn, so the upcoming few chapters will focus on Wei Wuxian gradually navigating his feelings for Lan Wangji. Expect a quieter emotional build before the next major plot twist. Thank you for your patience and for joining me on this journey 💙
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
The moon hung heavy and pale in the night sky, casting silver light through the half-open window of the room where Wei Wuxian sat hunched over a spread of talismans. The candles had long since burned low, flickering feebly as if they too were exhausted by the burden of dark energy and lingering curses.
He rubbed his tired eyes, trying to concentrate. The talisman before him pulsed faintly, thrumming with residual energy—chaotic, fragmented, and cruel. The mark that had cursed Lan Wangji had layers upon layers of spellwork, not something easily untangled. Even with his vast knowledge of demonic cultivation, the curse was stubborn, clinging to its secrets like a dying man to breath.
He had been at it for hours.
Then came the knock.
Wei Wuxian jerked upright, blinking. He tilted his head toward the door, frowning. Who would knock on his door at this hour?
In Lotus Pier, even now, few came near his chambers unless it was necessary. Ever since his cultivation path took a darker turn and he began wielding resentful energy openly, disciples tread lightly around him, whispering when they thought he wasn’t listening. Even if he smiled, joked, and tried to appear unaffected, Wei Wuxian wasn’t blind to their fear.
So… who could it be?
Rising to his feet with a furrowed brow, he stepped to the door and opened it cautiously—
And froze.
“Lan Zhan?”
Lan Wangji stood at his doorstep, pale and ethereal beneath the moonlight. His robes fluttered lightly in the breeze, his long hair cascading down his back like night ink. His golden eyes were calm, unreadable, and unblinking as they met Wei Wuxian’s.
Before he could speak, Lan Wangji stepped past him without invitation, entering the room silently.
Wei Wuxian blinked after him, dumbfounded. “Wha—Lan Zhan?” he called softly. “What… are you doing here at this hour?”
"Lan Zhan...?"
Lan Wangji turned to look at him. "Wei Ying is not closing the door."
Blinking rapidly, Wei Wuxian stumbled forward and shut it, his mind whirling. He turned back, scratching the back of his neck nervously. "Um, did you need something? It's... pretty late."
Lan Wangji looked at him, expression as still as water. Then, in a low murmur, he said, "Wei Ying did not come."
Wei Wuxian blinked again, completely lost. "Come? Come where?"
Lan Wangji hesitated only a moment before answering, "To the room I was given."
"Why would I—?" Wei Wuxian started, only to falter as realization dawned. "Wait, Lan Zhan, are you saying... you thought I would come to your room? At night?"
Lan Wangji didn’t blink.
Wei Wuxian’s mouth opened and closed a few times. “Wait, wait… Why would I come to your room in the middle of the night? Lan Zhan!”
Lan Wangji’s gaze did not waver.
“ You are my husband.”
Those five words landed with the force of a spiritual blast. Wei Wuxian staggered half a step back, eyes wide, mouth gaping.
“Wha—what?”
“You are my husband,” Lan Wangji repeated, this time with the faintest trace of steel in his tone. Not a question. A fact.
“L-Lan Zhan,” Wei Wuxian stammered, face burning. “You’re not thinking clearly, alright? I… You …” He trailed off under that unwavering gaze.
“My mind is clear,” Lan Wangji said, “It is you who keeps on forgetting that you are my husband.”
Wei Wuxian swallowed hard, at a complete loss for words. His ears felt hot. His hands, usually so confident, fidgeted at his sides.
Lan Wangji stepped closer.
“Do you not like me?” he asked, and though his tone was still quiet, there was something raw beneath it—hesitation, doubt, something almost painful.
Wei Wuxian’s heart clenched.
“No! Of course not!” he said too quickly, too loudly. “Lan Zhan, no, that’s not—don’t even say that!”
Lan Wangji watched him intently. “Then… I will stay. Where my husband is.”
Wei Wuxian felt like the floor had just fallen out from under his feet.
He stumbled toward the table, flustered beyond words, raking a hand through his messy hair. “This is—Lan Zhan, this isn’t how things are done! You’re not in your right mind—no, I don’t mean it like that! I just mean, you’re recovering, and things are weird because of the curse and—!”
He was rambling. He knew it.
Lan Wangji simply walked closer until they were barely a breath apart. He looked down at the talismans on the desk and then back up at Wei Wuxian.
“You work late. You do not rest.”
“I’m working on—on your ….” Wei Wuxian mumbled, suddenly shy under that intense gaze.
Lan Wangji took a steady step closer. "I will sleep with Wei Ying."
That nearly sent Wei Wuxian to the floor.
He stumbled back until his knees hit the edge of the bed. “Sleep? Lan Zhan, d-don’t say it like that! People will misunderstand!”
“I understand.”
“No! You—You don’t—That’s not the point!” Wei Wuxian cried, hands flapping in the air.
Lan Wangji tilted his head, utterly serious. "Then I will not say it. I will simply do it."
“Lan Zhan!!”
Wei Wuxian’s brain sputtered like a wet firework. He made a desperate grab for logic. “Wait—wait! You can’t just stay in my room! That’s—look, it’s not appropriate! What if someone sees? They’ll think I’m trying to—trying to take advantage or something! Think about your reputation!
“But you are my husband.”
He said it again, and this time, there was a trace of steel in his voice. It was not an argument. It was a declaration.
Wei Wuxian sagged in defeat. His shoulders drooped. He rubbed his temples and groaned. “Fine. Fiiine! But you’re staying over there! On the bed. And I’m finishing my work first.”
Lan Wangji said nothing, only turned gracefully toward the bed.
Wei Wuxian hastily ducked back to his desk. He glanced out of the corner of his eye, only to go rigid when Lan Wangji started undoing the outer layers of his robes.
“What are you doing?!”
Lan Wangji paused, fingers poised mid-knot. "Bath."
Wei Wuxian spluttered. “Now?! Here?!”
Lan Wangji, face serene, nodded once and stepped toward the side room, where a bathing area was present.
Wei Wuxian shrieked internally. He made a beeline for the door, fleeing the moment he heard the faint splash of water.
___________________
Wei Wuxian leaned against the wall, heart pounding wildly in his chest.
“Why is this happening?” he whispered to the stars, one hand covering his face. “Why did he have to say that like it was the most normal thing in the world?”
His mind was a riot of forbidden thoughts. Thoughts of Lan Wangji’s smooth fingers, of his steady golden eyes, of that serene voice calling him husband—
Wei Wuxian slapped both cheeks with his hands. “Stop it!”
He pushed away from the wall and began pacing in furious circles under the moonlight, his robes fluttering around him like restless spirits.
“What’s wrong with me?” he muttered, voice sharp with self-directed scorn. “Why am I panicking like this? He just said he’ll be sharing the room. Big deal! We’re both men—what’s the problem? It’s not like I haven’t shared a room with anyone before.”
He threw his hands up, exasperated with himself. “I have even slept beside others during night-hunts! On the cold ground! With rocks for pillows!”
Wei Wuxian groaned and covered his face again, dragging his hands down over his cheeks as if he could rub the heat out of them.
“Get a grip, Wei Wuxian,” he hissed. “It’s not like he’s going to kill you.”
He stopped pacing and slammed a palm against the tree beside him, head bowed.
_____________________
Night had deepened, stars pricking through the inky sky like pinholes in velvet, but Wei Wuxian found no peace under their light.
He stood outside Jiang Cheng’s room, arms crossed over his chest, foot tapping impatiently against the wooden veranda as he raised his hand for the fifth time and knocked.
Silence.
Then, the unmistakable sound of stomping. Heavy, angry steps approached the door, and it flung open with such force that it rattled in its hinges.
"What?!" Jiang Cheng barked, eyes wild with sleep and annoyance. He wore only his inner robes, hair mussed, and a glare sharp enough to skin a demon. His face, however, dropped into one of baffled disgust when he saw Wei Wuxian's sheepish grin.
"Ah, Chengcheng," Wei Wuxian began sweetly, attempting his most charming smile. "Let me stay here tonight. Just for tonight!"
Jiang Cheng's eyes narrowed. "Why? What did you do now?"
"Nothing! I swear! I didn’t do anything wrong this time." Wei Wuxian held up his hands as if he were warding off accusations. "It’s Lan Zhan. He—he came into my room. Just walked in like it was his own, and then he said he was going to sleep there. With me!"
Jiang Cheng blinked. Then blinked again. Then smirked.
"You deserve it! Serves you right!" he declared, trying to close the door.
"Hey! Wait, wait! I’m serious, Jiang Cheng! He said he’s going to sleep with me. Like, actually share the bed! I didn’t know what to do!"
"Didn’t you drag him here in front of his clan? Boldly kidnapped him in front of everyone? And now you’re shocked he wants to sleep in the same room as you? You wanted this, didn’t you? Now suffer the consequences." Jiang Cheng shoved Wei Wuxian’s shoulder.
"That was different! I wasn’t thinking that far ahead! I didn’t think he’d take it so literally! He even started undressing in front of me!" Wei Wuxian squawked.
Jiang Cheng recoiled. "Ugh. I don’t need to hear that. Gross."
"It wasn’t like that! I think he just wanted to bathe! But still—!"
"Not my problem." Jiang Cheng took a step back and shoved the door.
"You can’t leave me out here—Jiang Cheng! A-Cheng! Be a good shidi!" Wei Wuxian knocked again.
No answer.
He sighed, resting his forehead against the door. “Heartless brute,” he muttered.
He stood there a while longer, hoping Jiang Cheng would have a change of heart. But the door stayed stubbornly closed.
With a heavy sigh, Wei Wuxian dragged his feet back toward his own room. The lights inside flickered faintly under the crack of the door, the candle he’d left still burning.
He pushed it open.
Lan Wangji was asleep.
Or at least, he appeared to be.
He lay on the bed, covered neatly by the quilt, his robes pristine, his face the very picture of serenity. His hands were folded over his stomach. He looked like a painting, so peaceful and perfect, Wei Wuxian nearly forgot to breathe.
Lan Wangji. Sleeping. In his bed.
It was so absurd he almost laughed.
He leaned on the doorframe, watching him.
How could someone so dignified, so composed and unshakeable, also be so—so ridiculous? Just walk into another man’s room and claim, with full conviction, that they were married and he had every right to stay?
It wasn’t his fault, he reminded himself. The curse. The curse made him think they were married. It wasn’t real.
Still, Wei Wuxian couldn’t bring himself to wake him up or ask him to move. He didn’t have the heart.
Instead, he turned and climbed up through the window to the roof.
It was cool out, the late spring air crisp but tolerable. The tiles beneath him still held a bit of the day’s heat, warming his legs as he stretched out and laced his fingers behind his head.
Above him, the stars blinked down, the moon pale and bright.
He sighed.
He tried not to think about Lan Wangji asleep just below him.
Tried not to think about how soft his expression had looked, how he’d said "Wei Ying didn’t come" like a heartbroken newlywed.
Tried not to think about how his heart had leapt at those words.
He closed his eyes.
Sleep was far away.
His mind spun with thoughts of cursed talismans and quiet declarations, of sleeping figures and gentle gifts. Of emotions he didn’t yet have a name for.
Below, the candlelight flickered.
And in the stillness of the night, Wei Wuxian lay awake on the rooftop, heart caught in the threads of something both fragile and terrifyingly real.
________________________________________
The stars had long faded behind the pale ink of approaching dawn when Wei Wuxian jerked awake.
The cold of the tiled roof pressed into his back, but it was the cold sweat clinging to his skin that startled him most. For a moment, the stillness of Lotus Pier was a lie, a veil over the memories clawing their way up from the depths of his mind. He gasped, back arching slightly as he sat up, trembling hands pressing against the tiles as if to remind himself of where he was—and more importantly, where he wasn’t.
"No..." he whispered to no one. The mists of the Burial Mounds clung to his thoughts. Faces blurred by pain and resentment flickered across his memory. The sound of screaming, the stench of blood, the feel of death crawling under his skin—it all came rushing back, suffocating.
His breathing grew ragged, chest heaving as he clutched his knees to his chest, trying to ground himself. Lotus Pier. This was Lotus Pier. Jiang Yanli’s warm smile. Jiang Cheng’s annoyed scolding. Lan Wangji’s steady presence—
A sound broke through the heavy fog of his panic.
A soft pluck of guqin strings.
Wei Wuxian froze.
He blinked, disoriented, turning his head slightly to the side. The melody filtered through the open window beneath the roof. Faint but steady, each note like a droplet in a quiet pond. It wasn’t any aggressive composition, no command of suppression or spiritual technique. It was simple. Gentle.
Lan Zhan.
Wei Wuxian closed his eyes, his breath catching in his throat.
The notes drifted upward, cradling the shattered edges of his nightmare with invisible threads of peace. He didn’t move for a long time, simply sat there listening, letting the guqin notes thread through him, unraveling the binding knots of fear and grief that had risen.
His heartbeat began to slow, each beat echoing in sync with the serene rhythm below.
He leaned back slightly, arms behind him to support his weight, head tilted toward the soft hue of the sky where pink bled into lavender. The sweat cooled on his skin, but he no longer shivered. The melody was wrapping around him like a warm blanket, shielding him from the ghosts of the Burial Mounds.
“Lan Zhan...” he murmured, voice hoarse and soft, not meant for anyone to hear.
He remembered those days all too clearly. The resentment, the loneliness. How many nights had he sat among the dead, the only sound being the whistle of the wind and the low cries of spirits that refused to rest? And now, here he was, shaken but not alone. Not completely.
The music paused.
Wei Wuxian’s breath hitched.
For a moment, he thought he had imagined the whole thing. Maybe he was still dreaming. But before the fear could return, another set of notes began. This time slower, more deliberate.
It wasn’t a song he knew.
His head tilted again. Lan Wangji was composing, perhaps?
The song was careful, but not hesitant. Each note strung with delicate precision, as if meant to stitch together something broken.
Wei Wuxian lay down slowly on the roof again, one hand over his chest. He watched the stars disappear completely, replaced by the paling sky. The music followed him down, a lullaby not to sleep but to awaken from his fear.
His lips curved slightly. A tired smile, but real.
The worst of the terror faded. He knew the shadows of the past would never leave him entirely, but with that soft, persistent melody beneath him, they didn’t feel quite so suffocating.
Wei Wuxian reached into his robes, fingers brushing the newly attached tassel on his flute. It was a silly thing to feel comforted by, he thought. A decoration. A thread.
But it was a gift. And it was a tether.
The music faded slowly as the first rays of sunlight kissed the Lotus Pier.
Wei Wuxian sat up again, eyes soft as he looked toward the sky.
The sky had only just begun to blush with the pink hues of dawn when Wei Wuxian slid silently from the tiled rooftop of his room, feet landing with barely a whisper on the wooden ledge. The misty air clung to his sweat-dampened robes and unruly hair, but the chill had long since been tamed by the melody that had drifted from within. A melody that soothed the howling in his chest.
He stood quietly at the threshold, his fingertips brushing the wooden frame of the door as he hesitated.
The interior of the room was aglow with the faintest threads of early light, still weak but enough to cast long shadows and gentle outlines. There, seated cross-legged on the floor near the large window that overlooked the waking Lotus Pier, was Lan Wangji.
Wei Wuxian's breath caught in his throat.
Lan Wangji looked as serene as a still pond, his white robes immaculate, his hair freshly combed and gathered in place with a simple yet elegant ribbon. The morning light caressed the side of his face, highlighting the curve of his jaw, the high arch of his cheekbone, and the barely-there crease between his brows as his fingers glided over the strings of the guqin.
The instrument rested gracefully on his lap, and from it came notes both melancholic and tender, like dew drops falling into a quiet stream. It wasn’t a song of grandeur or technique. It was something else—intimate, familiar. Wei Wuxian couldn't place where he had heard it before, yet it tugged at something deep inside him. A memory perhaps. Or maybe a dream.
He stepped inside. The floor creaked faintly beneath him, but Lan Wangji did not stop playing. His gaze lifted, and their eyes met.
Wei Wuxian swallowed. He expected a frown, perhaps a question. Instead, Lan Wangji's expression softened in that imperceptible way only he could manage. His fingers never missed a note.
Wei Wuxian quietly made his way over and sank down beside him, cross-legged but slightly slouched, his body heavy with the weight of a sleepless night. For a moment, he just watched Lan Wangji.
The man glowed in the pale morning light, his entire being wrapped in tranquility. It wasn’t something cultivated or intentional. It was simply who he was—the eye of the storm, the stillness in the chaos. And in this moment, Wei Wuxian wanted nothing more than to curl into that peace.
The music slowed, a gentle arpeggio winding down like a lullaby nearing its end. Then, after a breath of silence, Lan Wangji began playing again.
This time, the melody shifted.
It was softer, lighter. Not playful, but warm. And again, Wei Wuxian felt the brush of familiarity. He furrowed his brows, trying to trace the tune in his mind. Where had he heard this? Has someone played it for him? Had he… once tried to hum it to someone?
Lan Wangji didn’t speak, and neither did he.
Wei Wuxian slowly leaned back until his shoulders touched the floor, arms relaxed by his side. His hair fanned out across the smooth wooden planks, mingling with the edges of Lan Wangji's robes. He turned his head slightly, the edge of his vision catching Lan Wangji's composed profile.
"You know," he murmured, his voice half-drowsy, half-awed, "you’re really unfair, Lan Zhan."
The guqin music didn’t pause.
"You just sit there, looking like you walked out of a painting. Playing music like it's the most natural thing in the world." Wei Wuxian exhaled slowly. "How is anyone supposed to compete with that?"
Lan Wangji's eyes remained on the strings, but there was the faintest twitch at the corner of his mouth. Not a smile, but perhaps the ghost of one.
Wei Wuxian felt the pull of exhaustion settle deeper into his bones. The kind of tiredness that sleep alone couldn’t heal. The kind that lived inside the soul. But right now, with the notes wrapping around him like soft silk, the scent of sandalwood and morning dew filling his lungs, something loosened within him.
He closed his eyes.
The images that had plagued his dreams—bloodstained soil, screams echoing through the night, the biting cold of resentment gnawing at his spirit—began to fade, replaced by the soft cadence of the guqin.
He didn’t realize when his breathing deepened. Or when the tightness in his chest eased.
All he knew was that the ground beneath him no longer felt like something he had to survive upon. It felt like something he could rest on.
Time passed.
Outside, the birds began to chirp, heralding the sun’s slow rise.
Inside, the room remained wrapped in stillness, broken only by the gentle vibration of string against fingertip.
Lan Wangji's music slowed once more, the last few notes lingering in the air like feathers.
He looked down to see Wei Wuxian fast asleep beside him.
Wei Wuxian's face, so often animated with mischief or guarded behind layers of sarcasm, was now peaceful. There was a trace of weariness in his brow, as if even in sleep the past refused to release him entirely, but he looked… lighter. As if for the first time in a long time, the nightmares had loosened their grip.
Lan Wangji gently reached out, brushing a stray strand of hair from Wei Wuxian's face. His fingers paused, hovering near the curve of his cheek.
"Wei Ying," he whispered, so soft it could have been the wind.
Wei Wuxian stirred, a faint smile ghosting across his lips, but didn’t wake.
Lan Wangji returned his hand to his lap and sat silently beside him. The morning light grew brighter, creeping across the floor and slowly bathing them both in gold.
And there, in that quiet moment—in a room where grief still clung to the corners and hope cautiously peeked in through the windows—the two men found a fragment of peace.
No words.
Just presence.
And perhaps, for now, that was enough.
_______________________________________
A soft rustle of fabric, the distant call of morning birds, and a dim silence greeted Wei Wuxian as he slowly stirred awake.
His lashes fluttered as if unsure whether to return to the world or keep floating in a dream. Then, with a light grunt, he turned slightly, pressing his face into the warmth beneath him. It was a smooth, wooden floor, but a softness over his body made him pause.
A blanket?
He blinked his eyes open fully this time. The room was dark, shrouded in the gentle shadows of early morning. Pale traces of light peeked through the closed curtains, lining the edges of the room with a soft halo. He remained still for a moment, letting his senses adjust.
The first thing he noticed was how warm he was—strangely and comfortingly warm. A thick blanket was draped carefully over him, tucked around his shoulders. He lifted his hand to grasp it and stared at the simple fabric, his heart fluttering unexpectedly in his chest.
“…Lan Zhan?” he murmured softly, recalling the night before.
The soothing guqin melody… the soft expression on Lan Wangji’s face… the silence that spoke volumes more than words ever could.
A slow grin tugged at the corners of Wei Wuxian’s lips.
He sat up with a stretch, his back arching like a lazy cat, arms extending high above his head. “Aaahhhh~ What a good sleep!” he sighed blissfully, rolling his neck from side to side. “I haven’t felt this well-rested in ages. Maybe I really should sleep on the floor more often…”
His eyes fell on the closed curtain, filtering out the harsh morning light. His gaze then dropped to the blanket around him. A warm puff of laughter escaped his lips, as bright as the first rays of dawn.
“Who would’ve thought…” he murmured with amusement. “Lan Zhan—our beloved Hanguang-jun—not only didn’t scold me for being lazy and sleeping in, but even let me do so? Tsk tsk, old man Lan Qiren is definitely going to combust if he hears of this.”
He hugged the blanket around his shoulders, lips curled into a mischievous smile.
“Imagine! Me, Wei Wuxian, sleeping half the day away in Lan Wangji’s presence—on the floor no less—and not a single rebuke. The world is really changing. Maybe I’ll wake up tomorrow to find Lan Zhan playing drinking games and writing poetry with me.”
He snorted softly, laughter muffled by his hand as he pushed his hair out of his face.
The thought of Lan Qiren’s horrified expression if he ever found out about this whole arrangement was almost too delicious. Wei Wuxian could practically see the elder stomping into the room, face red, beard trembling in righteous fury, dragging Lan Wangji by the ear while muttering “unruly… inappropriate… disgraceful…”
He grinned wider and fell back against the wall with a dreamy sigh.
“I must really be losing my mind if I’m laughing to myself first thing in the morning,” he muttered, amused and fond all at once.
But deep beneath the teasing thoughts and exaggerated scenarios, there was a quiet warmth spreading through his chest—soft, unfamiliar, and gentle. The image of Lan Wangji covering him with a blanket, of those golden eyes watching over him while he slept…
It was enough to make something flutter in his stomach.
Not that he would ever admit that aloud. Of course not. No way.
…Maybe just to Jiang Yanli.
He rubbed his face vigorously, scolding himself lightly under his breath. “Pull yourself together, Wei Wuxian.You’ve gone through wars, ghosts, Night Hunts, Jiang Cheng’s temper—you can survive one pretty cultivator with a face carved by the heavens.”
He paused. “…Even if said cultivator thinks you’re his husband.”
Wei Wuxian groaned and let his forehead fall against the wall behind him with a soft thump.
“Why is everything in my life so complicated?”
Still, the warmth in his chest didn’t fade.
After a moment, he shook himself out of his daze and rose to his feet. His limbs were stiff but not unpleasantly so. With another stretch, he padded toward the water basin in the corner, running his fingers through his tousled hair.
He splashed his face with cold water and sighed in relief. The coolness grounded him. As he wiped himself dry with a cloth, he peeked at the tidy state of his room and chuckled to himself.
So neat. So Lan Zhan.
Every object perfectly placed, robes folded with precision, the guqin gently covered with its cloth. It was like he hadn’t woken up in a shared room, but inside a carefully tended shrine of peace and quiet. He almost felt guilty for simply breathing in it.
But that was also Lan Wangji, wasn’t it?
Serene. Consistent. Kind in ways that were silent but unmistakable.
And now, somewhere in lotus pier, that same Lan Wangji was probably going about his morning as always—dressed immaculately, expression stoic, hair tied neatly with not a single strand out of place. Wei Wuxian could already hear his calm footsteps in his mind.
He shook his head, still smiling, and patted his cheeks.
“Alright, time to face the day. Let’s just hope I don’t run into him right away or I might actually combust.”
And with that, Wei Wuxian picked up his hair tie, ready to start another absurd, confusing, yet strangely heartwarming day.
_________________________________________
The sunlight was warm and golden, casting dappled shadows over the familiar stone paths of Lotus Pier. Wei Wuxian practically bounced as he walked through the corridors, humming a cheerful tune. His robes swished around his legs, slightly rumpled, but his step was light and carefree.
"Morning, Senior Wei!"
"Good morning!"
"Wei-gongzi!"
One by one, disciples greeted him as they passed by, and he returned every one of them with a dazzling grin, offering a wave or a wink here and there.
"Morning, Ah-Yang! Try not to fall into the water again, alright?" he called, laughing, to a young disciple balancing a bucket near the pond. The child blushed and nodded furiously, nearly losing his balance at the same time.
Wei Wuxian shook his head in fond exasperation. Lotus Pier had always been a place of warmth for him, but today, that warmth seemed to seep into his very bones. Maybe it was the full night of peaceful sleep, or maybe...
His steps slowed as he spotted two familiar figures near one of the training courtyards. Jiang Cheng stood with his arms crossed, his usual frown present but not particularly hostile, while Nie Huaisang stood beside him with his signature fan partially covering his face.
Grinning wider, Wei Wuxian tiptoed behind them and suddenly threw his arms around both their shoulders from behind. "Aiya, what a rare sight! Jiang Cheng and Huisang, gossiping like old aunties in the market. Should I be worried?"
Jiang Cheng immediately tensed. "Wei Wuxian, don’t sneak up on people like that!"
"Haha! Don’t be so jumpy, Jiang Cheng," Wei Wuxian teased before turning his bright eyes on Nie Huaisang. "Huisang! What a surprise! What brings you all the way here?"
Nie Huaisang fluttered his fan dramatically, hiding most of his face except his amused eyes. "Shh~ I’m here in secret, hiding from my overly enthusiastic brother. Ever since those strange incidents in Qinghe and the political pressure from the other sects, he's been dragging me to train every single day. I swear he’s going to drive me into an early grave with his schedules."
Wei Wuxian chuckled. "Poor Huisang, forced into a life of discipline. No wonder you look like you’re about to faint."
"Hmph. I'd rather faint than swing a saber from sunrise to sunset. I barely escaped with my life!"
"I see. So you fled to Lotus Pier for sanctuary. Smart. Jiang Cheng might be grumpy, but he’s not as frightening as Sect leader Nie when he goes into general mode."
"Watch it," Jiang Cheng muttered, but he didn’t push Wei Wuxian away.
Nie Huaisang studied Wei Wuxian for a moment, tilting his head. "But you're looking suspiciously radiant today. Cheerful beyond your usual chaos. Did something happen?"
Before Wei Wuxian could respond, Jiang Cheng snorted. "Oh, he’s had quite the productive day, haven’t you, Wei Wuxian? Achieved a whole list of things in record time."
Wei Wuxian looked at him warily. "Jiang Cheng..."
Jiang Cheng kept a straight face, but there was a clear glint of amusement in his eyes. "Let’s see. He kidnapped a cultivator, became a husband, and even managed to share a room. All in one day. Impressive, really."
Wei Wuxian choked. "I didn’t kidnap anyone!"
Nie Huaisang gasped in mock scandal, closing his fan with a snap. "Wei-xiong! Is this true? You’ve taken a man and tied the knot in secret? Oh my!"
"No! That’s not what happened! It’s not like that at all!" Wei Wuxian flailed his hands in protest, his face turning crimson. "Lan Zhan—I mean, Lan Wangji—he got cursed and thought I was his husband and then... and then..."
"Then he shared your bed?"
"No! I slept on the floor! And it wasn’t a bed, it was just the floor! And he played guqin and I fell asleep listening to him, and—why am I even explaining myself to you two?!"
Nie Huaisang looked delighted. "Oh my. This is a side of Wei xiong I never thought I’d see. Flustered. Blushing. Stuttering. The legend lives on!"
Wei Wuxian groaned and buried his face in his hands. "You’re both the worst."
Jiang Cheng huffed but didn’t try to stop the teasing. If anything, he looked oddly content watching Wei Wuxian splutter like a boiling teapot.
"I swear," Wei Wuxian muttered behind his palms, "if Shijie shows up and joins you two, I’m fleeing the pier."
"She’s in the infirmary," Jiang Cheng supplied helpfully. "And she already knows."
Wei Wuxian let out a despairing groan.
Nie Huaisang leaned in. "I never knew you liked him."
Wei Wuxian froze. His hands slowly lowered, eyes wide.
“I don't!" Wei wuxian sputtered loudly.
Jiang Cheng cleared his throat. "Well. As long as you don't cause more trouble."
"I never cause trouble!"
"You are trouble."
"Jiang Cheng!"
Nie Huaisang laughed, his fan hiding half his face again. The trio stood in the morning sun, laughter echoing softly. For a moment, it was like the old days again—before war, before politics, before burdens too heavy for young shoulders.
Wei Wuxian rubbed the back of his neck, still red, but smiling now.
The day was just beginning, but Wei Wuxian felt lighter than he had in a long time. Maybe it was okay to hope. Maybe even to fall.
_____________________________________
The soft scent of medicinal herbs lingered in the air, mingling with the faint traces of incense that always burned quietly in the corners of Lotus Pier's infirmary. The morning light filtered through paper windows, casting calm shadows on the wooden floor. The quiet was only broken by the occasional rustle of cloth or soft clinks of porcelain jars as Wen Qing moved efficiently around her station.
At the far end of the room, Wen Ning lay motionless on a low cot, his pale face peaceful but lifeless, as though suspended in a slumber no dreams could touch. Wen Qing adjusted the cloth on his forehead, her sharp eyes flickering with concern masked beneath her usual composure.
The sound of footsteps echoed down the corridor, light and deliberate. Wen Qing looked up as the door slid open, and in stepped Lan Wangji, his robes pristine, his hair flawlessly tied with the white ribbon of discipline, and guqin strapped to his back.
"Lan-er-gongzi," Wen Qing greeted, bowing slightly.
Lan Wangji returned the gesture with a respectful nod. His golden eyes landed softly on the still form of Wen Ning. "I heard Wen Ning's condition has not improved. May I... attempt to help?"
Wen Qing looked surprised for a moment, then nodded. "If anyone can help... It's you. Please."
Lan Wangji unstrapped his guqin and settled on the floor beside the bed. The room became even quieter, holding its breath as he positioned the instrument on his lap. With a deep breath, he placed his fingers on the strings and began to play.
The first notes were soft, a healing melody known only to those of the Lan Clan, passed down through generations. It resonated gently, reaching into the spaces between breath and bone, soul and silence. The guqin's hum pulsed like a heartbeat, steady and calming.
Wen Qing stood to the side, watching. She saw how Wen Ning's fingers twitched slightly, his brow easing, as if something far away had responded to the call.
Lan Wangji continued for some time, the melody shifting subtly between tones meant for stability, peace, and soul-mending. When the last note faded into the air, he opened his eyes slowly.
"His soul is fragmented," he said quietly. "But he heard it. His spirit is responding."
Wen Qing's eyes softened. "Thank you, Lan-er-gongzi."
She poured two cups of tea and handed one to Lan Wangji, who accepted it with a nod.
There was a pause before Wen Qing spoke again. "You care deeply for Wei Wuxian."
Lan Wangji looked at her, the guqin resting on his lap. He did not deny it. "I do."
Wen Qing gave a small, knowing smile and sat down on a stool. "Then I think it’s time you understand the kind of man he really is."
Lan Wangji tilted his head slightly, indicating he was listening.
Wen Qing placed her cup on the table, her voice low and deliberate. "When the Wen Clan fell, and the remaining branch members were hunted, no one offered us help. We were labeled criminals just because of our name. I thought we were done for. Then, Wei Wuxian appeared."
Her voice turned wistful. "I was wary of him. Everyone was. He had emerged from no one knows where, wreathed in resentment and stories of dark power. But when he found out we were being held, tortured, and executed, he didn't hesitate. He broke into the camps and freed us. All of us."
Lan Wangji’s gaze remained steady, unwavering.
Wen Qing continued, eyes distant. "He gave us shelter. Protected us. And when people asked why he would do such a thing, he said, 'Because someone once helped me without asking for anything in return. I'm just repaying the debt.'"
Lan Wangji blinked. "Who helped him?"
There was silence.
Wen Qing’s lips parted as if to speak, but she stopped herself. Her fingers clenched around the tea cup. She tried to school her expression, but Lan Wangji caught the sudden shift—the flicker of guilt and something deeper. Sorrow.
She swallowed. "It doesn’t matter. What matters is... Wei Wuxian never forgot that kindness. And in return, he offered his own life."
Lan Wangji looked back at Wen Ning, his brows faintly furrowed. "He said Wen Ning saved the Jiang siblings."
Wen Qing nodded slowly. "He did. He helped hide them."
Lan Wangji tilted his head slightly. "How?"
Another silence. Wen Qing exhaled, realizing her slip. She looked away.
"It was dangerous," she said evasively. "Wen Ning disobeyed orders. If he had been caught, he would have been executed. But he did it anyway, because of Wei Wuxian... because the Jiang siblings needed to live."
Lan Wangji’s gaze sharpened. "There is more."
Wen Qing stood abruptly, retreating to the counter to busy herself with preparing herbs. "There’s always more, Lan-er-gongzi. You just have to live long enough with the guilt to see how much."
She realized she had said too much already. The tension in her shoulders was palpable.
Lan Wangji rose silently. "If Wei Ying repays kindness with devotion, then I am glad he has you."
Wen Qing glanced at him. Her voice softened again. "Just take care of him. He's not as unbreakable as he pretends to be."
With a silent nod, Lan Wangji turned, strapped the guqin to his back again, and left the room, the faint echo of his steps vanishing into the quiet halls of the infirmary.
Behind him, Wen Qing looked back at Wen Ning’s still form.
"Don’t worry, A-Ning," she whispered. "We’ll return the favour. We all will."
________________________________________
The sun peeked gently over the eastern hills, bathing Lotus Pier in a golden hue. The scent of dew-soaked lotus petals drifted through the air, mingling with the persistent sounds of carp leaping in the distant lakes.
Though the days of fire and ash had long passed, signs of rebuilding still dotted the landscape—scaffolding creaked as disciples carried planks, new roofs gleamed, and the clamor of hammers echoed across the estate.
At the far edge of Lotus Pier, a new settlement had begun to take form—modest homes, rows of vegetables, and clean wells. This was the Wen Remnants' quarters, a designated area carved away from the main estate where the survivors of the Wen clan could live under strict supervision.
Wei Wuxian adjusted the basket on his back and strode toward the plots, humming to himself. A few Wen children around 10-12 years old waved at him from where they sat arranging herbs, and he smiled brightly, waving back.
"Xian gege!" one of the children, a girl with cropped hair, shouted, running toward him with bare feet and bright eyes.
"Xian gege, come see! We've fixed the herb rows just like Qing-jie said!"
"Really now?" Wei Wuxian knelt down, peering into the small garden patch. "That looks very neat. You all did this on your own?"
The girl nodded proudly. "Qing-jie said we had to earn our stay, and we're helping!"
He patted her head gently. "Good job. Keep it up or Wen Qing will make you recite medical texts until your ears fall off."
The girl giggled and ran back to her group.
Wei Wuxian continued walking until he reached a clearing, where a few simple homes had been raised. He heard coughing from inside a tent and ducked in to find an elderly woman trying to calm a crying toddler.
"Wen popo," he greeted softly.
The old woman turned, looking surprised. "Ah, Young Master Wei. Forgive me, this one is being fussy again."
Wei Wuxian squatted beside the child. The boy looked barely three, tears glistening in his large eyes.
"Hey there, little one," Wei Wuxian said, softening his voice as he reached into his sleeve. "Don't cry now. I brought you something."
He pulled out a small carved rabbit and held it up. The child's sobs quieted as he stared at the wooden toy.
"It hops! Watch," Wei Wuxian said, placing it on the floor and gently pushing it. The rabbit bounced forward in clumsy hops. The child blinked, then reached out with chubby fingers.
The old woman let out a sigh. "His name is Wen Yuan. He lost his parents in Qishan."
Wei Wuxian looked up, eyes softening. "Poor thing... He reminds me of Jiang Shi in lotus pier, always curious, always watching."
The boy—Wen Yuan—had stopped crying and now crawled toward the rabbit with fascination. Wei Wuxian watched him for a moment, then turned to his grandmother.
"Would it be alright if I visit often? "
The old woman nodded with a warm smile. "You are already like family to us, Young Master Wei. A-Yuan will be lucky to have you around."
Just then, Wen Qing entered, her sleeves rolled up and her forehead glistening with sweat.
"Wei Wuxian," she called, surprised. "I was wondering where you'd disappeared. I should have guessed you'd be here."
"Where else would I be?" Wei Wuxian stood, brushing off his robes. "I'm supervising this entire neighborhood, remember? Chief babysitter and morale booster."
Wen Qing gave him a dry look. "That explains why the kids are trying to feed a cat spiritual herbs."
"Well," Wei Wuxian raised an eyebrow, "cats need spiritual enlightenment too."
Wen Qing sighed. "You're impossible."
They walked out together, past the vegetable plots and new homes. People bowed respectfully to Wei Wuxian as he passed. He greeted each by name, asked about their work, and joked about their complaints.
Jiang Cheng stood at a distance, arms crossed as he watched the exchange. Nie Huaisang beside him, flapping his fan, raised an eyebrow.
"He fits in surprisingly well," Nie Huaisang murmured.
Jiang Cheng snorted. "Of course he does. Wei Wuxian could make friends with a wild boar if given half a day."
"A very handsome wild boar," Nie Huaisang added with a teasing smile.
Jiang Cheng rolled his eyes but didn't respond.
Wei Wuxian finally noticed them and waved cheerfully! “ Jiang cheng, Huaisang! Come say hi to the new tenants."
Nie Huaisang grinned and walked over. "Ah, but I didn’t bring my fan collection. How tragic."
Jiang Cheng followed reluctantly. "We’re not here to play."
Wei Wuxian grinned. "Who said anything about playing? This is important work—integrating survivors, rebuilding trust, and, most crucially, not dying of boredom."
"You’re impossible," Jiang Cheng muttered.
"That’s the second time someone’s told me that today. I’m on a roll."
Nie Huaisang chuckled behind his fan. "But truly, Wei-xiong, this suits you. You’re glowing."
Wei Wuxian glanced over his shoulder at Wen Yuan, who now toddled outside holding the rabbit, giggling.
"Maybe," he said softly, "it feels like... like I’m building something again. Not just fixing what’s broken."
Wen Qing walked up beside him. "You’ve given people hope, Wei Wuxian. You’ve given us a future."
Wei Wuxian rubbed the back of his neck, flustered. "Ah, don’t say such things. I just... did what anyone should."
Jiang Cheng muttered something under his breath and walked away.
Nie Huaisang watched his retreating back. "He’ll come around."
Wei Wuxian looked up at the sky. "Let’s hope so. For now... we keep building."
And as the sun rose higher over the growing Lotus Pier, the laughter of children and quiet murmur of rebuilding filled the air with something long absent: peace.
______________________________________
The sun had just dipped below the horizon, casting a warm glow over Lotus Pier. Inside the grand dining hall, soft golden lanterns swayed gently with the wind, their light casting flickering shadows on the walls. A large table was arranged with freshly prepared dishes, the aroma wafting through the room and drawing out laughter and chatter from its occupants.
Wei Wuxian sat comfortably in his usual place, bright-eyed and full of energy. Beside him sat Lan Wangji, serene as ever, his posture upright and elegant, though there was a soft light in his gaze every time he looked at Wei Wuxian.
Across from them sat Jiang Cheng, arms crossed, his lips twitching in annoyance . Jiang Yanli sat to one side, her expression warm and graceful, gently ladling soup into everyone’s bowls.
Nie Huaisang lounged at the corner of the table, his ever-present fan in hand, eyes gleaming with amusement as he watched the interactions unfold.
"And then," Wei Wuxian was saying animatedly, waving his chopsticks for emphasis, "the little one waddled right up to me, tugged on my robes and just said, 'Hungry.' I was done for. Completely done. He’s this tiny thing, probably no taller than my knee, with cheeks like a steamed bun and eyes like the moon."
Jiang Yanli laughed softly. "He sounds adorable. What's his name, A-Xian?"
"Wen Yuan," Wei Wuxian replied with a grin. "Only three years old. The only one from his family left. His grandmother’s taking care of him. You have to meet him, Shijie. He's the cutest little radish I’ve ever seen."
"Little radish?" Nie Huaisang asked, chuckling. "That’s a new one. I thought you reserved vegetable comparisons for Jiang xiong."
Jiang Cheng rolled his eyes. "Hilarious. Next time he pulls on your robes, I hope he leaves them covered in mud."
Wei Wuxian grinned. "A-Yuan is much better mannered than I ever was. Lan Zhan, you should come with me sometime. I know you’ll like him. He’s quiet, well-behaved—your type."
Lan Wangji glanced at him, expression unreadable for a moment before he gave a single nod. "Mn."
"See? That means yes," Wei Wuxian said, beaming.
"Does he speak?" Jiang Yanli asked.
"A little. Mostly few words . But he understands everything. I taught him how to say 'Gege' and he’s been calling me that all day. My heart can't take it."
Nie Huaisang clapped his hands. "Wei-xiong, you’re turning into a doting father. Should we start calling you Wei-Gege now too?"
"You do and I’ll dump a pot of soup on your head," Wei Wuxian retorted, though his smile never faltered.
Jiang Cheng stabbed at a piece of fish with his chopsticks. "Great. Now Wei Wuxian has a husband and now he has adopted a child also. What next? Are you bringing in a puppy tomorrow?"
"Don’t mock me," Wei Wuxian said brightly.
"But seriously, Jiang Cheng, you should come meet them. They’re trying really hard. Even helped repair some of the outer walls today. Wen Qing's organizing everything, she’s amazing."
Jiang Cheng grunted but didn’t argue.
Jiang Yanli smiled as she placed a hand over Wei Wuxian’s. "You’ve done a good thing, A-Xian. Giving them another chance, giving that child a future... I’m proud of you."
Wei Wuxian looked away quickly, face turning a bit pink. "It’s nothing. Just... I saw them, and I couldn’t look away. They’ve lost enough."
Nie Huaisang waved his fan gently. "Still, this A-Yuan... I want to see him too. If he’s half as adorable as you say, I might adopt him before you do."
"Back off!" Wei Wuxian cried. "He’s mine. Right, Lan Zhan?"
Lan Wangji looked at him, and though his face didn’t change, there was the faintest warmth in his voice as he said, "Mn."
Jiang Cheng scoffed. "Two overgrown children, now fighting for custody. Great."
Laughter filled the room again, and the warmth was almost tangible. For a while, the horrors of war, the burdens of responsibility, and the ghosts of the past faded away, replaced by the simple joy of shared food and shared lives. Wei Wuxian leaned back in his chair, gaze drifting to Lan Wangji beside him.
"You know," he said quietly, mostly to himself, "this almost feels like home again."
Lan Wangji said nothing, but he reached forward and gently adjusted Wei Wuxian’s bowl, sliding it closer, his fingers brushing ever so briefly against Wei Wuxian’s hand. It was a simple gesture, but Wei Wuxian's heart did a quiet flip in his chest.
"Thank you, Lan Zhan," he said, smiling.
"Mn."
___________________________________
Wei Wuxian was animatedly narrating the events of his day, hands gesturing as he recounted his interactions with the Wen remnants. "I met everyone today , helped some of them with lodging issues."
Lan Wangji inclined his head slightly, the corners of his mouth tilting into the faintest shadow of a smile.
Wei Wuxian opened his mouth to continue when Lan Wangji's gaze sharpened.
Without a word, he lifted a hand slightly and pointed.
"You have something on your forehead," Lan Wangji said.
Wei Wuxian blinked, lifting his fingers to scrub at his forehead. "Here?"
Lan Wangji shook his head.
"No, a little higher."
Wei Wuxian tried again, frowning with growing frustration. "Here?"
Still no.
"Forget it! Let it be! Maybe it’s a sign of my hard work today," he declared dramatically, flopping back on his cushion. "A warrior’s mark!"
Jiang Cheng scoffed, not even looking up from his bowl. "More like dirt from rolling in the mud with kids."
"Oh come on, Jiang Cheng, don’t pretend you never got dirt on your face. In fact, wasn’t there that one time you tripped and fell face-first in the middle of a training ground?" Wei Wuxian grinned mischievously.
Jiang Cheng's glare could have scorched the rice. "At least I wasn’t parading it like a badge of honor."
"It was memorable!" Wei Wuxian insisted, raising a chopstick like a sword. "Every scar and speck has a story."
Nie Huaisang giggled behind his fan. "I must say, the two of you really do make the most charming performance duo."
Wei Wuxian leaned back, smirking. "Well, we do have a lot of shared history. Isn’t that right, Jiang Cheng?"
Jiang Cheng rolled his eyes. "Shared trauma, more like."
Wei Wuxian opened his mouth again, hand dramatically posed in midair when he felt it.
A hand.
Resting gently on his forearm.
The contact was light, but grounding — and unexpected. Wei Wuxian flinched hard, his entire body jerking back instinctively as if burned. His expression twisted, not in annoyance or confusion, but fear — raw and sharp, flashing across his face before he could hide it.
Everyone around them froze. Shock rippled through the room like a silent wave. Jiang Cheng’s brow furrowed. Jiang Yanli's breath caught.
Wei Wuxian blinked rapidly, as if waking from a trance, then laughed — too quickly, too loudly. He waved his hand with forced cheer. “Aiya, Lan Zhan, you scared me! For a moment, I thought you were a ghost coming to haunt me for all the trouble I’ve caused you.”
His laugh was airy, too casual, but no one called him out.
Lan Wangji, silent as ever, didn’t flinch at the reaction. Instead, with that same unreadable, steady gaze, he reached into the inner sleeve of his robes and retrieved a pale, folded handkerchief. Then, with deliberate softness, he reached out again.
This time, Wei Wuxian didn’t move.
Lan Wangji began wiping Wei Wuxian’s forehead.
Wei Wuxian didn’t move. Couldn’t move.
Time seemed to slow, the sound of chatter and clinking dishes fading into a soft hum in the background. He could feel every movement of the cloth against his skin, the warmth of Lan Wangji’s fingers beneath the fabric, steady and sure.
His eyes remained locked on Lan Wangji’s face. So close. Closer than he’d ever really let himself look.
Under the flickering lamplight, every feature of Lan Wangji stood out in breathtaking clarity. The curve of his brows, the long lashes that framed those deep golden eyes, the line of his nose, and the slight pursing of his lips in quiet concentration. A lock of his pale hair had slipped forward, catching the light like silk.
Wei Wuxian's heart thudded.
Lan Wangji’s expression didn’t change, but there was something... gentle. Protective.
Wei Wuxian could hear nothing but the rustle of fabric and the silent pounding of his own heart. He wasn’t used to stillness like this, especially not between them. It was usually banter or silence, but this...
This was something else.
And then, just as suddenly, it was over.
Lan Wangji withdrew his hand, folding the handkerchief neatly and tucking it away.
"It is clean now," he said, tone calm, as though he hadn’t just turned Wei Wuxian’s entire world upside down.
Wei Wuxian blinked several times, then sat back slowly.
"T-Thanks," he managed, his voice a little too high.
Nie Huaisang was grinning from ear to ear, and Jiang Yanli had covered her mouth with her sleeve, clearly stifling a giggle.
Jiang Cheng looked down at his rice like it had personally offended him.
"Oh no, please, don’t let us interrupt your... moment," he muttered dryly.
Wei Wuxian flushed scarlet. "Shut up, Jiang Cheng! It was just a speck of dirt! Nothing more!"
Nie Huaisang fanned himself more furiously. "It looked like something more. The gentle care, the silence, the way you were staring—" he sighed dreamily. "I thought I was witnessing a poem."
Wei Wuxian groaned, covering his face.
Lan Wangji, beside him, said nothing.
But for a fleeting second, as he looked down at his bowl, his expression softened.
Just barely.
And Wei Wuxian saw it.
And in his flustered heart, something bloomed.
Maybe the dirt on his forehead wasn’t such a bad thing after all.
__________________________________________
The warm glow of the lanterns faded behind them as Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji stepped away from the dining hall, their footsteps soft against the wooden planks of Lotus Pier's walkways. The moon was high, casting a silver sheen over the water, shimmering like threads of light woven through the dark.
Wei Wuxian walked a half step ahead, speaking rapidly with hands flailing in animated gestures, his words echoing softly through the peaceful night.
"—and that right there," he pointed dramatically to a crooked old tree by the corner of a courtyard, "is where I used to hide from Madam Yu whenever I skipped sword practice. I called it the Tree of Protection. Jiang Cheng used to say it was the Tree of Cowards. Hmph. He just didn’t know how to make good use of it."
Lan Wangji followed silently, hands tucked into his sleeves, expression calm. But his golden eyes were attentively on Wei Wuxian, never missing a word.
Wei Wuxian turned, walking backward now, facing Lan Wangji as he grinned. "You see, Lan Zhan, you missed so much by not coming here back then. I invited you, remember? Back in Cloud Recesses. You looked at me like I had sprouted another head. You missed the food, the pranks, the races on the training fields, and the view—oh! Let me show you something."
He turned around and led them to a quiet path between the buildings, pointing up ahead. A raised hill overlooked a lotus lake, the moonlight spilling silver onto the gentle waters. "There! That’s one of the best spots in Lotus Pier. I used to sit there when I was feeling down... not that it happened a lot! I mean, who could stay sad in such a fun place, right?"
Lan Wangji merely nodded, his gaze drifting toward the moonlit water. "It is peaceful."
Wei Wuxian turned his head and blinked at Lan Wangji walking beside him, the faint light painting soft hues across his elegant features. The wind rustled slightly, and loose strands of Lan Wangji’s hair moved with the breeze.
Something inside Wei Wuxian felt oddly still. Or maybe not still—light. Like laughter waiting to bubble out.
They walked in silence for a moment, shoulder to shoulder. The usual chatter fell away. Wei Wuxian looked at Lan Wangji, then the trees. And mischief sparkled suddenly in his eyes.
He darted off the path for a second, reaching up to pluck a small blossom from a low-hanging branch. Turning quickly, he stepped in front of Lan Wangji and without preamble, tucked the flower into his hair just behind the ribbon.
Lan Wangji blinked slowly. Wei Wuxian stepped back and crossed his arms, chin high in a comically scrutinizing pose.
"Ah, perfect! Absolutely stunning! If only Lan Qiren could see you now. Or maybe not. I might get accused of defiling the Lan Clan Heir!" he said, laughter just beneath his words.
Lan Wangji stood still. His fingers didn’t reach up to remove the flower. Instead, his eyes locked with Wei Wuxian’s.
Then he said, voice low and quiet, "Mn. Then I will wear it every day… if Wei Ying likes it."
Wei Wuxian froze. The grin wiped off his face. His eyes widened slightly.
"W-what?"
Lan Wangji’s expression was unreadable except for the slight pink coloring at the tips of his ears. He repeated nothing, but he didn’t look away.
Wei Wuxian’s mouth opened. Closed. He looked around as if someone else had heard. "Lan Zhan… you… are you serious?"
Lan Wangji only inclined his head slightly.
"Mn."
Wei Wuxian’s heartbeat thundered unexpectedly. He swallowed, then broke into a weak laugh, rubbing the back of his neck.
"Aiya, Lan Zhan, you can’t just say things like that, ah… You’ll give someone the wrong idea."
Lan Wangji said nothing.
Wei Wuxian glanced at him again. And again. His feet moved forward on their own, but his eyes kept trailing back to Lan Wangji beside him. The flower was still nestled in his dark hair, fluttering lightly with every step.
He looked...
Beautiful.
Too beautiful. Like something carved out of moonlight and silence.
Wei Wuxian cursed under his breath and quickly looked away, but not before Lan Wangji turned and caught his gaze.
He cleared his throat. "Anyway! You should see the training field tomorrow. It’s been fully rebuilt now. I made sure they kept the corner where I used to stash sweets. I’ll show you where to hide when Jiang Cheng comes after you with a wooden sword. Which he will, I promise. He hasn’t changed."
Lan Wangji murmured, "Mm."
They walked a little more, the distance between them subtly shrinking with each step, until their arms brushed lightly. Wei Wuxian pretended not to notice, but his ears had turned red.
He looked down at the path, then at Lan Wangji again.
"Hey, Lan Zhan," he said lightly, almost trying to return to his usual ease, "don’t think I didn’t notice. Your ears turned red back there. You actually meant that, huh?"
Lan Wangji paused for a moment. Then nodded once. "Mn."
Wei Wuxian inhaled sharply.
This time, he didn’t laugh. He didn’t tease.
He just smiled—a soft, genuine one that curled at the edges of his lips and reached his eyes.
"Then… maybe wear it again tomorrow. You look beautiful!"
Lan Wangji looked over at him. And nodded.
The moonlight danced over the two of them as they continued walking side by side, quietly, closely, the warmth between them now unmistakable.
Wei Wuxian didn’t speak for a while.
His eyes kept glancing at Lan Wangji, lingering on his profile, the flower, the steady expression on his face. There was a warmth in his chest now, blooming slowly.
He didn’t quite understand it. Not yet.
But he didn’t want it to end.
Not tonight.
Not this feeling.
And so, silently, he wished for time to move a little slower, and for moonlight to last just a bit longer over Lotus Pier.
_____________________________________
Notes:
End Note:
Wei Wuxian: “I don’t like him!”
Also Wei Wuxian: panics when Lan Zhan calls him husband, blushes at forehead wiping, dreams about him on the roof, tucks flowers into his hair, and smiles at him under the moonlight.
Sir. Please. 🙄
> What do you think—how long before he realizes what everyone else already knows? 👀
Should I let him stay delightfully oblivious a little longer, or give him a wake-up call soon?
Chapter Text
Wei Wuxian pushed open the door to their shared room, the wood creaking softly under his hand. The air inside was warm and calm, the faint scent of sandalwood lingering—a scent he now instinctively associated with Lan Wangji.
He turned to Lan Wangji with a grin, eyes sparkling under the flickering lamplight. "Lan Zhan, you can go freshen up first. I'll wait."
Lan Wangji gave a quiet nod and walked toward the bath chamber, robes rustling softly as he moved. Wei Wuxian stood still for a moment, watching the elegant line of Lan Wangji's back before shaking his head and laughing to himself.
He turned toward the study table, strewn with papers and a half-finished charm he had been sketching earlier that day. Sitting down, he picked up a brush and began to fiddle with it, the ink tracing playful curls that held more whimsy than actual function. Outside, the wind had begun to pick up, moaning against the walls of the Lotus Pier like some lost spirit calling to be let in.
Wei Wuxian didn't notice at first—so focused was he on balancing the flow lines of his doodles—but a low rumble of thunder vibrated through the walls, followed by a sudden, blinding flash of lightning that lit up the entire room for a moment.
"Whoa," he muttered, glancing up. The atmosphere had changed quickly. The calm of earlier was now completely gone. The air was thick, charged with the familiar taste of approaching rain.
The wind howled louder, gusting against the open window. The flames in the lamps trembled violently before one by one they extinguished with a flicker, as if blown out by an unseen hand. Wei Wuxian sat upright, brush still in hand.
Then came the thunderclap—loud, ferocious, and far too close.
The room went completely dark.
Wei Wuxian blinked, letting his eyes adjust. "Great," he muttered under his breath, standing and walking toward the window. The rain was pouring now, heavy droplets slamming against the roof and stone path outside, the rhythm loud and relentless.
He reached out to close the window but paused. In the distance, he could see the faint glow of lanterns still lit across the Lotus Pier, their warm orange hues flickering like stars in the storm. He smiled softly.
Suddenly, a loud crack of thunder tore through the night again, followed by a streak of lightning that arched across the sky like a vengeful dragon. The wind surged into the room, tossing the curtains wildly, sending papers flying off the desk and nearly knocking over a jar of brushes.
"Aiya!" Wei Wuxian exclaimed, rushing to catch the runaway papers. The storm was no gentle evening drizzle. It was fierce and wild, nature’s temper in full swing.
As he gathered the scattered papers, his mind flicked to Lan Wangji. He must still be in the bath chamber. Would he be worried about the storm? Probably not. But Wei Wuxian imagined Lan Wangji hearing the sudden thunder and picturing him, jumping and cursing.
He chuckled.
Just then, another surge of wind forced the window wider. Wei Wuxian cursed and pushed it closed with effort, securing the latch tightly. The moment he turned around, he realized how utterly dark the room had become. The last of the light had been consumed by the storm.
He reached toward the table, feeling for the fire-starting talisman he’d kept nearby for such occasions. Just as his fingers brushed the familiar parchment, a soft sound of footsteps reached his ears.
Turning his head, he saw a silhouette emerge slowly from the darker end of the room.
Lan Wangji.
He had finished bathing, and the faint scent of herbal bath oils drifted in with him, blending with the stormy air.
"Lan Zhan," Wei Wuxian greeted, his voice warm despite the shadows. "Perfect timing. You missed the part where the room decided to go full ghost-cave on me."
Lan Wangji stepped closer, eyes scanning the disheveled state of the room—the curtains askew, the table in mild disarray, and the candles now dark.
"The storm came quickly," he said, voice even and low.
Wei Wuxian grinned, brushing hair away from his face. "That it did. The lamps all went out. I was about to light one."
He struck the fire-starting talisman, and a small flame flickered to life in the corner lamp. Soft, golden light began to push back the darkness, revealing the mess that had become of their room.
Wei Wuxian sighed dramatically, surveying the chaos. "Looks like we’re stuck with a bit of stormy ambiance tonight."
Wei Wuxian turned—and immediately went still.
Lan Wangji stood in the doorway, hair wet and unbound, dark strands cascading over his shoulders and back. He had no forehead ribbon, and instead of his usual robes, he was wearing Wei Wuxian’s black night robes. The fabric clung softly to his figure, a deep, black against the paleness of his skin, and the collar had slipped slightly lower than it should have.
Wei Wuxian's breath caught. His mind went utterly blank. His eyes, wide and unblinking, remained locked on Lan Wangji. He couldn’t look away—even if he wanted to.
Lan Wangji tilted his head, confusion flashing in his gaze as he noticed Wei Wuxian’s stare. He glanced down at himself.
His eyes widened, just barely, a flicker of realization dawning. “I… I thought I picked up my robe,” he said slowly, voice even lower in the darkness. “It was dark.”
Wei Wuxian didn’t respond.
He just kept looking.
Lan Wangji shifted slightly, unsure. “Wei Ying?” he called, a bit more insistently.
Still nothing.
A pause. Then, a sharper, louder, “Wei Ying.”
Wei Wuxian blinked, startled out of his daze. He shook his head quickly, laughing—too loudly, a little awkward. “Ah! Lan Zhan, sorry, sorry! I—I guess the storm startled me more than I thought!”
He waved a hand, trying to brush away the tension, but his eyes kept flicking back to the man in black standing in his robe, water trailing lightly from his damp hair, the soft glow of the rekindled talisman light painting his figure in golden warmth.
The storm continued to rage outside, wind howling, thunder echoing across the mountains—but inside the room, all Wei Wuxian could hear was the too-fast beat of his own heart.
And the silence that stretched between them.
____________________________________
Lan Wangji sat gracefully on the low wooden stool before the dressing table, the warm glow of the lantern casting soft shadows across his serene features. The room, though dimly lit, held an intimate calm that contrasted sharply with the storm raging outside.
His long, damp hair cascaded over his shoulders in loose, dark waves, strands still clinging to the nape of his neck. With a gentle, deliberate motion, he picked up the wooden comb resting nearby and began to run it slowly through his hair, each stroke methodical and careful.
As he combed, his gaze shifted naturally to the large mirror before him. At first, his eyes reflected only his own composed image, but then they caught a movement out of the corner of his vision — Wei Wuxian.
He stood by the study table, his posture relaxed yet oddly tense, his eyes fixed on Lan Wangji for a brief moment before flicking away hastily. Lan Wangji watched this subtle dance with quiet curiosity, noting how Wei Wuxian quickly averted his gaze and busied himself gathering scattered sheets of paper, as if eager to distract himself.
Lan Wangji’s brows knitted together slightly, a rare crease forming between his eyes. Why was Wei Wuxian looking at him so often, only to retreat into busyness the moment he was noticed? He caught Wei Wuxian’s reflection glancing again, furtively, and then averted his gaze once more as if afraid to be caught. This delicate hesitation, this tension wrapped in feigned nonchalance, intrigued Lan Wangji more than he cared to admit.
The silence stretched between them, filled only by the occasional creak of wood and the distant roll of thunder. Lan Wangji resumed combing, though his movements slowed as his thoughts grew louder.
He considered the storm outside, the flickering candlelight, and the strange warmth blooming in his chest. Eventually, the quiet was broken by his own voice — calm but laced with a hint of gentle questioning.
“Wei Ying,” he said softly, his tone carrying a hint of confusion, “are you not going to take a bath?”
Wei Wuxian froze mid-motion, the stack of papers half gathered in his hands. Then, as if caught off guard, he responded with a louder-than-necessary voice, “I am going... just in a moment.” His hand moved to the back of his neck, rubbing the nape awkwardly as he averted his eyes.
Lan Wangji regarded him quietly, noting the faint flush creeping onto Wei Wuxian’s cheeks, even in the soft lamplight. There was something tender in this small display of unease, something familiar that stirred a protective instinct within Lan Wangji. He didn’t press further; instead, he simply nodded once, returning his attention to the comb and the slow, soothing rhythm of brushing through the damp strands.
Wei Wuxian hesitated a moment longer before turning decisively and making his way to the bathing chamber, his footsteps light but determined.
Lan Wangji watched him go. The strange warmth lingered, and he found himself quietly thankful for the storm outside—its wildness somehow making the quiet intimacy of this moment all the more precious.
____________________________________
Wei Wuxian emerged from the bathing chamber with his hair damp and loosely tied, dressed in fresh night robes that clung softly to his frame. The room was quieter now, the flickering lamps replaced by the soft glow of a single lantern. Rain continued to patter gently against the roof tiles, the earlier storm having mellowed into a rhythmic drizzle.
He looked toward the bed and found Lan Wangji already fast asleep. True to form, the man was lying perfectly straight on his side of the bed, hands resting gently atop the blanket, expression calm and untouched by dreams. Wei Wuxian smiled faintly, a teasing glint in his eyes.
"Still the same, Lan Zhan," he muttered to himself under his breath, voice fond and soft. "Sleeping at nine like an old man."
He moved to the window seat, the wooden bench raised and covered in soft cushions. Sitting down cross-legged, he leaned against the wooden frame and let his eyes drift again to the sleeping figure. He didn’t know why he kept looking. Perhaps it was curiosity. Perhaps it was a habit. Or perhaps it was something deeper that he refused to name.
Lan Wangji looked ethereal in the dim light, his face bathed in a gentle amber glow. With his hair still slightly damp and his features relaxed in slumber, he seemed more unreal than ever—untouchable, unreachable. A perfect sculpture carved from moonlight.
Wei Wuxian let out a long sigh. His heart was restless, inexplicably so. To calm himself, he reached for his flute—Chenqing—lying nearby. Lifting it to his lips, he began to play, the notes soft and almost mournful, barely louder than the rain outside.
The tune swirled into the room like mist, curling between furniture and over the bed where Lan Wangji lay. Then, from the edge of the shadows, a faint shimmer of spiritual energy pulsed, and a form began to take shape.
A ghost—a woman in translucent robes—appeared before him, her presence calm and unthreatening. Her long hair floated slightly as if stirred by invisible winds, and her gaze was gentle as she looked at the sleeping Lan Wangji.
"He is beautiful," the ghost murmured, her voice soft and echoing.
Wei Wuxian didn’t stop playing, but his eyes flicked briefly to her before returning to Lan Wangji. A small smile tugged at his lips.
"He is," he whispered back.
The ghost drifted closer, hovering now just a foot away from the bed. Her eyes remained fixed on Lan Wangji.
"I remember beauty like that," she murmured. "Once, long ago. When I was alive."
Wei Wuxian lowered Chenqing slightly. The melody faded, leaving behind a silence so profound it felt thick.
"You remember your life?" he asked.
The ghost turned to him, head tilted slightly. "Not all of it. Only fragments. Colors. Faces. A child’s laughter. And grief. So much grief."
He nodded slowly. "You haven’t moved on?"
"I am not trapped," she replied. "Not in pain. Only waiting. Sometimes, I forget what I wait for. But tonight… I heard your song. It reminded me."
Wei Wuxian tilted his head. "Of what?"
"Of love."
A silence stretched between them. Outside, the rain continued its quiet song.
"You’re not here to harm him, are you?" he asked, voice steady but wary.
"No. He burns too brightly. He does not belong to the world of the dead." She looked at him then. "But you. You walk the boundary like it is a bridge. You draw the living and the dead with equal ease."
Wei Wuxian laughed softly. "Not everyone considers that a good thing."
“Perhaps," she said. "But the ones who can hear us—they carry a burden. They carry sorrow."
He didn’t answer. He didn’t need to. They both knew he carried more sorrow than most.
The ghost floated closer, her presence brushing lightly against his knee. She sat, somehow elegant even in her incorporeal form. Her gaze remained on Lan Wangji.
"He watches you even in dreams," she said quietly.
Wei Wuxian blinked. "What?"
"His soul is not entirely asleep. He listens for your voice."
His chest tightened at that.
"I… didn’t mean for him to get hurt," he said, voice low.
"You didn’t hurt him. Others did. But he chose you. Even now."
Wei Wuxian looked down at his hands, still resting on Chenqing. "He doesn’t even realize what he’s saying half the time. The curse—"
"Curses reveal what the mind hides and the heart dares not speak," she said simply.
"Then he’ll hate me when he wakes up and remembers," Wei Wuxian murmured.
"Will he?"
The ghost looked at him again, and her eyes were full of knowledge.
Wei Wuxian leaned back against the wall, closing his eyes for a moment. The flute rested in his lap. The rain became a lullaby.
"What was your name?" he asked drowsily.
"It doesn’t matter now. But once, they called me Mei."
"Were you loved, Mei?"
She smiled, a wistful expression blooming like a lotus in moonlight.
"I was. Fiercely. Briefly. Enough to linger until I forget why."
Wei Wuxian chuckled softly. "Sounds familiar."
Mei tilted her head. "You love him."
He didn’t answer. He himself has no idea.
Mei did not press. Instead, she looked down at Lan Wangji again, her hand hovering inches above his chest, as if to bless or protect him.
Wei Wuxian’s eyes began to drift shut. He didn’t even realize how heavy they were until he was already halfway to sleep.
"Will you stay?" he murmured.
"Only a while," Mei whispered. "Long enough to keep watch."
"Good," he breathed.
And with that, he surrendered to slumber.
The ghost sat by his knee, silent and shimmering, while the rain whispered secrets to the dark.
_____________________________________
A scream shattered the silence.
Lan Wangji’s eyes flew open.
The dreamless abyss he had floated in for what felt like eternity evaporated into cold, jolting clarity. His body surged forward with instinct, muscles clenching, breath escaping in a sharp gasp. His forehead was slick with sweat. The blanket pooled around his waist as he sat up in the bed, heart pounding in his chest like the warning of a war drum.
It took a moment for his surroundings to become familiar.
Lotus Pier.
The wooden latticework of the windows glowed pale with moonlight, filtered through the storm clouds that still lingered.
Then he heard it.
A soft whimper.
A sharp, pained exhale.
His head snapped toward the sound.
Wei Ying.
He was curled on the window seat, his head resting awkwardly against the pane. Moonlight poured over him, silvering the strands of his loose hair and illuminating the sweat glistening on his brow. But what made Lan Wangji’s stomach clench was the expression etched on his face—eyebrows furrowed, lips parted in a silent plea, his body twitching slightly, as if something within his dreams tormented him.
Fear.
Pain.
He looked so vulnerable.
Lan Wangji’s breath caught in his throat.
Then he saw her.
A faint shimmer, barely more than mist.
The ghost.
She stood near Wei Wuxian, close—too close. Her translucent fingers hovered over his cheek, then lightly brushed against his skin. Down his jaw, to the curve of his neck, over the front of his robes, touching the rise and fall of his chest.
Lan Wangji froze. His blood ran cold. And then—
His vision darkened.
His hands clenched into fists so tight his nails dug into his palms, almost drawing blood. A violent surge of protectiveness rose in his chest like a tide, raw and absolute.
She dared—
Without hesitation, he stood and summoned Bichen with a sharp flick of his wrist. The sword manifested in a soft shimmer of blue light, its blade gleaming with silent fury.
"Step away," Lan Wangji’s voice was hoarse, thick with restrained rage.
The ghost did not flinch.
Instead, she turned toward him slowly. Her hair drifted with a movement that did not belong to the physical realm. Her eyes, otherworldly and knowing, settled on him with a smile.
A laugh echoed—soft and distant, like a lullaby in a crypt.
And then she vanished.
The remnants of her presence dissolved like mist in the morning sun.
Silence fell.
Lan Wangji stood frozen, sword still pointed toward the place where she had stood. Slowly, he lowered Bichen, but his chest still heaved with each breath. His entire body trembled with the lingering residue of fury and fear.
He turned.
Wei Wuxian still trembled, lost in a nightmare that wouldn’t let him go.
Lan Wangji knelt before him.
“Wei Ying,” he whispered, brushing his fingers lightly along his forehead. “Wake up.”
No response.
Wei Wuxian twitched, a pained breath escaping him, and turned his face slightly into the cool pane of the window.
Lan Wangji looked around, then gently hooked an arm around Wei Wuxian’s shoulders and lifted him. He was warm—too warm. Fevered. His robes were damp with sweat. Lan Wangji carried him back to the bed, moving with care, and laid him down against the pillows.
He covered him with the blanket, smoothing the folds over his chest.
Wei Wuxian whimpered again, his fingers gripping the edge of the blanket as if it might anchor him.
Lan Wangji sat beside him, brushing strands of hair from his forehead.
He swallowed, the ache in his chest blooming as he looked down at the man who had always seemed larger than life. Wei Wuxian, who laughed in the face of danger. Who walked paths others feared. Who protected the helpless.
Now he was the one in pain.
“Wei Ying,” Lan Wangji whispered, his voice so quiet it nearly disappeared into the night. “What happened to you?”
He paused, gaze heavy with sorrow.
“How… how can I help you?”
He lowered his hand to Wei Wuxian’s chest, resting it above his heart. The steady thrum beneath his palm was erratic but strong.
Then something surfaced in his memory.
“…Would it help,” he murmured, almost to himself, “if I sang for you?”
His voice was hesitant at first, the words coming slowly. But as the melody took form, it wrapped around them in soft notes of light.
A cleansing song.
Old and gentle. Lan Wangji’s voice carried the weight of centuries of healing, of quiet strength, of prayers once sung in golden halls of Gusu.
He sang with his palm over Wei Wuxian’s heart, as if willing the pain to dissipate.
The music settled like snow.
Wei Wuxian’s body began to still. His brow slowly smoothed, the tightness around his mouth fading into a neutral line. His breaths deepened, became steadier.
Lan Wangji continued, eyes never leaving his face.
Then—
Wei Wuxian shifted.
Just slightly. Barely enough to notice. But his head tilted, turning subtly toward the sound. His hand moved beneath the blanket, fingers twitching as if seeking something.
He murmured something unintelligible in his sleep.
Then, blindly, his hand found Lan Wangji’s.
The contact was feather-light. Just a brush of fingertips.
But Wei Wuxian's fingers curled around Lan Wangji’s hand with familiarity, with desperate need. He tugged gently, pulling Lan Wangji’s hand to his chest as if he could hold the song within him.
Lan Wangji froze.
The touch burned.
Then slowly, he exhaled and let his hand be claimed. He continued singing—but the melody changed. He shifted from the ancient cleansing hymn to something else.
A song he had composed for Wei Wuxian.
Soft.
Full of longing.
Unspoken words put into melody: admiration, sorrow, grief, devotion. All the things he could never say with his voice, he said now through music.
Wei Wuxian breathed more evenly now.
He tugged Lan Wangji’s hand closer, pressing it over his heart.
Lan Wangji felt something in himself crack.
He leaned forward, letting his forehead rest against the edge of the pillow. He was still singing, but the notes had slowed, becoming more a hum than words.
The ghost’s image still taunted him.
Her touch on Wei Wuxian.
The laugh.
Her eyes.
He would make sure she never touched Wei Ying again.
But for now—
Wei Wuxian sighed in his sleep and curled slightly toward him.
Lan Wangji did not move.
He kept his hand where it was.
He closed his eyes.
He sang softer and softer until the notes faded into nothing.
And then, without meaning to—
He fell asleep beside him, the warmth of Wei Wuxian’s hand cradling his own.
The storm outside had long passed. Only the moon watched over them now.
_______________________________________
A gentle golden hue bathed the edges of the sky, signaling the quiet hour before dawn fully broke. The rain from the previous night had ceased, leaving behind the scent of damp earth and the soft, rhythmic drip of lingering droplets from the rooftops. In the room, everything was still, save for the subtle rise and fall of breath.
Wei Wuxian stirred.
His body shifted slightly, seeking comfort without yet waking. A warmth surrounded him, both familiar and oddly soothing. He was cocooned in soft heat, and his head rested against something—someone—that exuded a faint, calming scent of sandalwood. The fragrance reached into his dreams, grounding him, lulling him deeper into that gentle half-sleep where reality and dream blurred.
He nuzzled closer.
The pillow—at least what he thought was a pillow—was especially comfortable. Wei Wuxian murmured something unintelligible and pushed his nose against the source of the scent. His breath tickled over smooth skin. In a sleepy lapse of instinct, his tongue darted out, a lazy, subconscious action meant to wet dry lips but ended up brushing against warm flesh.
A heartbeat.
He tasted a heartbeat.
Wei Wuxian froze.
His mind, clouded just moments ago, suddenly cleared like a lake under a gust of wind. The fog of sleep shattered, and clarity struck like lightning. His eyes shot open.
It took him a second to process what he was seeing.
Pale skin. A firm neck. A jawline he could recognize in any realm—dream or reality. His face was buried in Lan Wangji’s neck, the elegant curve of it right against his nose, and he had just... just licked Lan Wangji.
Oh, no.
Oh, no.
Wei Wuxian jerked backward so violently that he almost rolled off the bed. His limbs, caught in a tangle of blankets, thrashed in a frantic attempt to put distance between himself and the person he had just violated with his sleepy affections.
His heart pounded like a war drum as his foot caught the edge of the bed. He teetered, arms flailing for balance, before managing to catch the bedpost and land with a thud on the floor instead of a full tumble.
“Fuck—!” he hissed under his breath, face already burning.
He straightened hastily, pushing himself up and staggering a few steps backward until he was fully upright and at a safe distance. Then he looked back at the bed, horror written across every line of his face.
Lan Wangji was still there.
Lying on his back, robe slightly rumpled from the night. His eyes were closed, the long fan of his lashes still resting peacefully on his cheeks. His breathing was slow, calm, untouched by Wei Wuxian’s chaos.
He hadn’t woken.
Thank all the ancestors.
Wei Wuxian let out a breath, pressing a hand over his chest to calm his heart.
“I did not just lick Hanguang-jun,” he muttered to himself. “That did not just happen. This is still a dream. Maybe I am dreaming. Maybe that ghost cursed me, and I’m hallucinating the whole thing.”
But no. The warmth lingering on his lips, the fluttering in his stomach, the faint scent of sandalwood on his clothes—none of that felt like a dream.
He turned and leaned heavily against the wall, sliding down until he sat with his knees up, groaning softly. “Of all the things I’ve done in my life,” he said aloud, “this might be the most embarrassing.”
He peeked back toward the bed.
Lan Wangji didn’t stir.
He looked peaceful, ethereal even, the early dawn light tracing gold over his high cheekbones and soft jaw.
Wei Wuxian’s hand crept upward to his own heart.
“Lan Zhan...” he whispered.
He hadn’t meant to fall asleep there. Hadn’t meant to cling to him like a child desperate for comfort.
He pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes and sighed again, trying to chase the flurry of emotions building inside him.
“Calm down, Wei Ying. Breathe.”
He got up slowly and walked over to the window seat. He needed to gather his thoughts, maybe splash water on his face, maybe meditate—or drink. Yes, a good drink would fix this morning.
__________________________________
The midday sun warmed the quiet village tucked at the edge of Lotus Pier. Birds chirped lazily overhead, and the scent of blooming plum trees drifted on the breeze.
Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji stepped through the threshold of one of the small houses, its walls lined with bamboo mats and shelves stacked with dried herbs, paper charms, and a few faded toys. The air inside was faintly herbal, clean and earthy.
A soft thud of tiny feet echoed across the wooden floor.
“Xian-gege!” came a bright, excited squeal.
A flash of red and brown hurled itself from the far corner of the room. Wen Yuan, almost three years old, tore away from his grandmother’s lap and sprinted toward Wei Wuxian.
“Ah-Yuan!” Wei Wuxian bent down, arms open, and caught the child with practiced ease. He lifted him high, spinning once before cradling him close.
“You’ve gotten faster!” Wei Wuxian said with a grin, brushing the boy’s hair back. “Have you been practicing your footwork while I was gone?”
Wen Yuan giggled, hugging Wei Wuxian around the neck. “ Waiting for you!”
“Well, I’m here now. And I brought someone special.” Wei Wuxian turned slightly, shifting Wen Yuan in his arms to face the man standing beside him. “Say hello to Lan Zhan.”
Wen Yuan peeked out from behind Wei Wuxian’s shoulder. His big brown eyes blinked at Lan Wangji. The moment stretched—silent, soft.
Then, shyly, Wen Yuan’s tiny hands flew up to cover his face. A little voice muffled behind his fingers whispered, “Pretty…”
Wei Wuxian choked on a laugh. “What was that, Ah-Yuan?”
Wen Yuan peeked out from between his fingers, cheeks flushed. “He’s… pretty…”
Lan Wangji’s ears turned pink instantly, the color creeping down his neck. He looked away, as if suddenly fascinated by a spot on the wall.
Wei Wuxian couldn’t contain himself—he burst into laughter. “Lan Zhan, you’re stealing hearts already! I didn’t know you were this popular with toddlers too!”
“I—” Lan Wangji began, then paused. He reached into his sleeve with practiced grace and pulled out a small object.
It was a butterfly—delicately carved from fragrant sandalwood, its wings painted with light strokes of blue and gold. When he held it up, it caught the light, casting soft shadows on the walls.
Lan Wangji stepped forward and offered it to Wen Yuan with both hands.
Wen Yuan’s eyes widened. “For me?”
Lan Wangji nodded. “Mn.”
With reverent hands, Wen Yuan accepted the toy. He turned it over gently, marveling at the craftsmanship. The butterfly’s wings fluttered slightly when he moved it, attached to a thin joint carved into the wood. He clutched it to his chest like treasure.
Wei Wuxian raised an eyebrow, elbowing Lan Wangji playfully. “So you came prepared, huh? Hiding gifts in your sleeves like some fairy prince. I bet you’ve got a whole collection of toys in there.”
Lan Wangji didn’t answer, but the slight softening of his eyes betrayed him.
“A softy,” Wei Wuxian declared. “You’re such a softy, Lan Zhan. Don’t deny it.”
Before Lan Wangji could reply—or perhaps protest—Wen Yuan tugged gently on his sleeve.
“Pick me up…?” the child said, glancing between Lan Wangji and his outstretched arms.
Lan Wangji paused. Then, without hesitation, he bent down and lifted Wen Yuan into his arms.
The boy fit against him snugly, resting his head on Lan Wangji’s shoulder, one small hand holding tightly to the butterfly, the other curling into Lan Wangji’s collar.
Lan Wangji held him with the ease of someone who had never done it before—but instinctively knew how. His arms were firm but gentle, one hand supporting the child’s back, the other resting against his legs.
Wei Wuxian stood beside them, blinking. Something in his chest tightened—something warm and achingly soft.
He watched as Wen Yuan shyly nuzzled against Lan Wangji’s neck, the butterfly still clutched in his hand. Lan Wangji didn’t flinch. He didn’t even look surprised. He simply stood there, holding the child as though it was the most natural thing in the world.
“You know,” Wei Wuxian said, trying to keep his voice light, “you look good like that.”
Lan Wangji tilted his head. “Like what?”
“With a child in your arms. Soft. Peaceful.” Wei Wuxian smirked. “Are you trying to make me fall for you , Lan Zhan?”
Lan Wangji gave him a steady look. “You are my husband.”
Wei Wuxian coughed, nearly dropping his flute in the process. “I—what?”
But Lan Wangji said nothing more. He turned slightly, helping Wen Yuan shift more comfortably against him. The silence that followed was thick with unsaid things, emotions unspoken.
They stayed like that for a long moment—one man holding a child, the other watching, the air between them humming with unspoken warmth.
From behind them, Wen Qing peeked in through the door, eyebrows raised. “So Hanguang-jun is now holding toddlers and carrying toys in his sleeves?”
Wei Wuxian grinned. “He’s full of surprises, Wen Qing.”
“I can see that,” she murmured. “Unexpected.”
Lan Wangji glanced at her, offering a polite nod. Wen Yuan yawned and nestled closer.
Wen Qing gave a soft smile. “Lunch is almost ready. You three should eat before Ah-Yuan falls asleep.”
They followed her into the dining room, a simple wooden space with floor cushions and a low table. Wen Yuan remained in Lan Wangji’s lap through the meal, too attached to leave his side. Wei Wuxian ended up feeding him sticky rice buns while teasing Lan Wangji for his 'sleeve of surprises.'
Later, as the sun dipped lower and the shadows lengthened, Wen Yuan finally fell asleep against Lan Wangji’s chest, a content sigh slipping past his lips.
Wei Wuxian knelt nearby, watching with a gaze full of emotion.
“I never imagined,” he said softly, “that you’d be the type to hold a child like this.”
“I never imagined,” Lan Wangji replied, “that I would want to.”
Wei Wuxian’s breath caught.
There were no dramatic declarations, no firework moments—but this… this was something else entirely.
This was peace.
And as Lan Wangji gently brushed Wen Yuan’s hair back, Wei Wuxian thought:
Maybe this is what happiness feels like.
__________________________________
Morning sunlight poured through the delicate lattice of carved wood, painting pale patterns across the polished floor of the private chamber.
The room was quiet save for the occasional rustle of silk and the faint chirping of birds outside, muffled by the heavy silence that had settled within.
Jin Guangyao stood before the window, clad in gold-trimmed robes, the hem pooling like spilled ink around his feet. His posture was relaxed, but his hand curled tight around the wooden sill.
Behind him, Su She stood with a deferential bow, his expression carefully measured, but the tension in his shoulders betrayed unease. His voice, when he finally spoke, was low and controlled.
"I tried everything, Guangyao. Every array, every tracking spell, every interrogation technique I possess. But I couldn’t find out who cursed Hanguang-jun. Whoever did it… they’ve hidden their tracks well."
Jin Guangyao’s fingers, where they rested on the window sill, tightened. The pale knuckles stood out against the smooth lacquered wood. His gaze remained fixed outside, watching the gardens below where disciples of his sect were moving through morning drills, their golden robes flashing like fireflies in the sun. He said nothing for a long moment.
Then slowly, deliberately, he relaxed his grip. His hand unfurled like a flower opening, and he turned with the grace of a man who had long mastered performance.
He smiled.
"Sect Leader Su," he said gently, almost with affection, "You have already done so much for me. I cannot thank you enough for the effort. It must not have been easy, tracking something so thoroughly obscured."
Su She blinked in surprise, the tension in his expression breaking, just slightly. His spine straightened. "Of course, Guangyao. I’ll continue searching. I won’t stop until I find who’s responsible. I swear it."
"Thank you," Jin Guangyao said again, his voice soft, warm, and sincere. His smile didn’t waver.
For a moment, the only sound was the wind brushing against the paper screens. Then Jin Guangyao murmured, more to himself than to Su She, his tone faintly musing.
"It’s not your fault. It’s this world that has gone strange. So many people… behave so differently."
Su She glanced up, brows furrowing. "What do you mean?"
Jin Guangyao’s expression didn’t change, but his gaze sharpened ever so slightly, his smile turning contemplative.
"For instance," he said slowly, stepping away from the window and walking to a nearby table where a pot of tea waited, untouched. "Sect Leader Jiang. You knew him. Harsh, unyielding, practically allergic to sentiment when it came to the Wen clan. Now? He tolerates them. He offers them shelter, protection."
He poured tea into two cups, the soft splash of liquid filling the silence. He offered one to Su She, who accepted it calmly.
"He even tolerates Wei Wuxian now," Jin Guangyao continued, sitting gracefully. "Wei Wuxian, the demonic cultivator, the same man with whom he has been compared since childhood. And Jiang Wanyin doesn’t even shout at him in public anymore. He lets him walk freely, lets him do whatever he wants, as if all his past insecurities have been wiped clean."
Su She frowned. "That... is odd. I thought perhaps he was pretending."
Jin Guangyao inclined his head. "Perhaps. But if so, what can be the reason for him to act."
He sipped his tea. It was bitter. He set the cup down.
"And then there’s Er ge. So gentle . So full of principle, so careful with rules. And yet he allows his brother—his most precious brother—to stay in Lotus Pier, of all places, beside Wei Wuxian. Near demonic cultivation. He condones it. He does nothing to intervene."
He didn’t bother hiding the chill in his voice at the end. His eyes flicked up, catching Su She’s uncertain expression.
"Does that sound like the Sect leader Lan we know?"
Su She hesitated. "No."
"And Sect Leader Nie," Jin Guangyao continued, almost musing now, as if the pieces were falling into place on a mental chessboard. "Dage, whose hatred of the Wen clan was so ingrained it bordered on madness. Now he sides with Wen remnants. I remember a time when he would have drawn his saber at the sight of Wen clan. But now… he feels bad for them."
Su She set his tea down slowly. His brow creased. "You think something has happened to them? A spell?"
Jin Guangyao looked thoughtful for a moment, then shook his head. "I don’t know. That’s what troubles me. I don’t know."
Then, after a pause, he said gently, "For the time being, Sect Leader Su… focus on what you wanted to do to Jin Zixun."
Su She looked up, startled. "Jin Zixun?"
"He humiliated you. Mocked you. Denied your merit. You’ve never had the opportunity to answer that disrespect. But now..."
Jin Guangyao’s voice trailed off, but his meaning lingered.
Su She’s eyes sharpened. A cold satisfaction gleamed faintly in them. He bowed slightly. "Understood."
Jin Guangyao watched him for a moment, still smiling faintly. Then he turned his gaze back toward the window. The gardens were emptying now, disciples dispersing. Clouds had begun to gather, casting shifting shadows across the stone pathways.
His voice was barely a whisper. "What could have happened? What could have gone wrong?"
He stood in silence, the gears behind his gaze turning slowly, measuring, calculating.
Behind him, Su She bowed again and took his leave. The door closed softly.
And Jin Guangyao remained, watching the clouds, his hands folded neatly in front of him, his smile long since vanished.
_________________________________
The garden was bathed in warm light, golden beams filtering through the new spring leaves. The scent of blooming osmanthus and peonies drifted in the breeze, mingling with the soft pluck of guqin strings.
Lan Wangji sat on the grass under the old magnolia tree, a serene picture in white robes tinged with the softest blue. His sleeves were pushed slightly up, revealing pale wrists as his fingers moved gracefully along the guqin strings. On his lap sat a tiny boy, chubby hands placed carefully atop his.
"Like this, A-Yuan," Lan Wangji said gently, his voice softer than the wind. "Do not press too hard. Let the string sing."
Wen Yuan— three years old but still affectionately called A-Yuan—nodded with exaggerated seriousness. His cheeks puffed as he focused, small brows furrowed. "Like this, Zhan gege?"
Lan Wangji tilted his head slightly, the trace of a smile flickering at the corners of his lips. "Mn."
From the edge of the garden, half-concealed in the shade of a willow tree, Wei Wuxian leaned against the trunk and watched.
He had meant to pass by—just check on them for a moment before heading off to help Wen Qing with her notes on spiritual meridians. But the sight had rooted him in place.
There was something achingly beautiful about the scene: Lan Wangji sitting cross-legged on the grass, hair half-loose and glowing in the sun, back straight as a blade, and little A-Yuan snuggled comfortably on his lap. The juxtaposition of elegance and softness, discipline and gentleness—it made Wei Wuxian's breath catch.
He watched the way Lan Wangji gently guided A-Yuan's fingers over the strings, the patient murmur of his voice when the boy made a mistake. He watched how Lan Wangji nodded slowly, approvingly, when the note rang clear. And he watched how A-Yuan beamed up at him, pure adoration shining in his eyes.
Wei Wuxian's heart gave a strange, helpless flutter.
He was so lost in it—in him—that he didn’t hear the footsteps approaching until someone beside him cleared their throat.
He blinked, startled out of his reverie, and turned.
Nie Huaisang stood there, fan half-raised to hide the smirk already tugging at his lips. His eyes sparkled with mischief.
"Wei-xiong," he said lightly.
Wei Wuxian blinked at him, vaguely. "Oh. Huaisang. Hey."
And then, as if magnetized, his gaze drifted right back to Lan Wangji and A-Yuan.
Nie Huaisang's brows lifted. He covered his mouth with the fan, eyes twinkling behind the painted crane.
"Wei-xiong."
No response.
Nie Huaisang tapped his fan against his palm, the snap cutting through the quiet.
"Wei Wuxian."
This time it worked. Wei Wuxian jolted upright. "What? What?"
Nie Huaisang gave him a look. "I asked if you were going to stare a hole through Hanguang-jun's forehead, or if you planned on actually talking to him today."
Wei Wuxian blinked. Then his face lit up with a familiar grin—too fast, too practiced.
"Ah, you saw that, huh? I was just... appreciating his teaching technique! Very refined. He has the patience of a saint. I mean, do you know how hard it is to teach A-Yuan anything that doesn’t involve sweets or toys?"
Nie Huaisang raised a brow. "Of course. That’s exactly what I thought. So refined. So noble. So completely unrelated to the way you were staring like a love-sick—"
"No, no, no," Wei Wuxian cut in quickly, wagging a finger. "You stop right there. Don’t say it. I wasn’t—whatever it is you’re implying."
Nie Huaisang gave a little sigh, dramatic and wistful. "I see. I suppose I misinterpreted the look of dazed yearning you had. Truly, my mistake."
Wei Wuxian crossed his arms and made a face. "I wasn’t dazed. I was thoughtful."
"You looked like you were halfway to composing poetry about his eyelashes."
Wei Wuxian gasped in exaggerated horror. "Huaisang! That’s libel!"
Nie Huaisang laughed behind his fan, eyes crinkling. "I’ll admit, it was quite a peaceful scene. Hanguang-jun teaching a small child the guqin beneath flowering trees, sun-kissed and serene. And you—frozen against a tree like some overgrown lovesick youth watching his husband with stars in his eyes."
Wei Wuxian choked. "I am not lovesick."
"Hm. Just in love, then?"
"Also no."
Nie Huaisang peered at him with mock pity. "Poor Wei-xiong. I didn’t realize denial was one of the lingering side effects of resentful energy."
Wei Wuxian turned away, grumbling. "You’re just making things up."
"Am I?"
He didn’t answer. He was watching again—watching as Lan Wangji leaned down slightly to reposition A-Yuan’s fingers, murmuring something low that made the child giggle.
Nie Huaisang sighed again, this time genuinely amused. "You’re hopeless."
"Look who’s talking. You had a full breakdown the last time someone handed you a sword."
"Exactly," Nie Huaisang said brightly. "Which is why I stay in my lane. Unlike you, who insists he’s not in love while very obviously imagining wedding robes."
Wei Wuxian made a strangled noise. "No one said anything about wedding robes!"
Nie Huaisang shrugged. "You didn’t have to. Your face said enough."
Wei Wuxian groaned, dragging a hand down his face. "I hate you."
"You love me," Nie Huaisang replied sweetly with a knowing look. Then he added, quieter but gentler, "It’s not a bad thing, you know. To care for someone like that. Especially someone who clearly cares back."
Wei Wuxian went still.
He didn’t answer. Just watched as Lan Wangji picked A-Yuan up carefully, dusted off his robes, and stood.
Nie Huaisang watched him with a knowing look. "Just don’t wait too long, Wei-xiong. Some people spend half of their lives waiting for a moment they’re too scared to take."
And with that, Nie Huaisang walked off, humming to himself.
Wei Wuxian remained under the tree, heart beating louder than before, watching as Lan Wangji turned toward the house—A-Yuan clinging to him like he was the safest place in the world.
Maybe he was.
______________________________________
The night air was warm, humming with the gentle lull of summer insects beyond the open lattice window. Moonlight spilled into the room in pale silver ribbons, brushing against the wooden floor and softening the outlines of furniture and folded robes. A faint breeze stirred the curtains, bringing with it the scent of lotus and lake water.
Wei Wuxian sat cross-legged on a floor cushion near the table, absentmindedly twirling a brush in his fingers. He was supposed to be writing talisman drafts, but his ink had long dried, and his paper remained untouched. His eyes, however, were far from idle.
They followed Lan Wangji.
The other man moved about the room with quiet purpose, folding his outer robe and placing it in the cabinet with his usual meticulous grace. His hair had already been unbound and was now loosely tied with a silk ribbon, a few strands falling over his shoulder as he reached for the oil lamp to dim the light.
Wei Wuxian didn’t mean to stare. He never meant to, really. But how could he not? The gentle lamplight made Lan Wangji’s pale skin glow like polished jade. His white inner robes shifted softly around him, Everything about him was too beautiful. Too composed. Too painfully soft.
And it wasn’t fair.
Wei Wuxian swallowed hard and tried to look away, but his eyes betrayed him.
Again.
Lan Wangji turned briefly to check if the window was shut enough to keep the breeze from chilling the room. Then, wordlessly, he began walking toward the door.
Wei Wuxian blinked. “Hey, where are you going?”
Lan Wangji paused mid-step and looked over his shoulder. “Guest room.”
Wei Wuxian frowned. “Why?”
Lan Wangji turned to face him fully now, his posture calm, voice level. “Sleep.”
Wei Wuxian stared at him for a second, trying to understand what he was hearing. “Wait… what do you mean, guest room? You’ve been sleeping here. Every night. What happened?”
The silence that followed made the air heavier.
Lan Wangji didn’t answer right away. He simply looked at Wei Wuxian—looked at him with those steady golden eyes that gave away nothing and everything all at once. His gaze was unreadable. Intense. Heavy enough to make Wei Wuxian squirm without even trying.
Wei Wuxian shifted in place, fingers twitching against his robe hem. “What? Why are you looking at me like that?” he tried to joke, his voice a bit too high-pitched to sound natural. “Did I grow another head?”
Still no response.
Just those eyes, watching. Waiting.
After what felt like an eternity, Lan Wangji finally spoke. “I do not wish to inconvenience you.”
Wei Wuxian blinked. Then stared.
“What—what the hell are you talking about?” he said, pushing up from his cushion so fast he nearly knocked the table over. “Since when have you ever been an inconvenience to me?”
Lan Wangji didn’t flinch, didn’t react, not even when Wei Wuxian marched closer, barefoot and fuming. He just stood there, shoulders straight, expression as composed as always, but there was something in his eyes—something tight and tired.
“You have not slept on the bed,” Lan Wangji said finally.
Wei Wuxian faltered. “What?”
“You always sleep somewhere else. Never on the bed”
Wei Wuxian’s lips parted, but no sound came out.
Lan Wangji looked away. Just slightly. “I assumed… you found my presence on your bed unpleasant.”
The words hit like a slap.
Wei Wuxian felt the breath punch out of him. He stared at Lan Wangji, genuinely horrified. “Lan Zhan,” he said, almost in disbelief, “You thought I—you thought I didn’t want you there?”
Lan Wangji said nothing.
Wei Wuxian took a step closer. Then another. “I never—I never slept on the bed because I didn’t want to wake you up. You always fall asleep earlier than me, and you look so… peaceful. I thought I’d disturb you. That’s all.”
Still silence.
Wei Wuxian clenched his fists. “Have I ever once said that I don’t want you there? That I don’t like having you near?”
Lan Wangji looked at him then. Really looked at him.
Wei Wuxian exhaled sharply. His face was red, his ears hot, and his mind in absolute disarray. “Lan Zhan, you’re the only reason I sleep at all these days. If you leave…”
He trailed off.
But the meaning hung in the air.
Lan Wangji’s fingers relaxed slightly from where they had curled into the sleeves of his robe.
Wei Wuxian turned abruptly and stalked to the bed, muttering under his breath. He pulled back the blanket, climbed onto the mattress, and flopped down dramatically, yanking the cover up to his chin.
Then he patted the empty side beside him.
“There. Satisfied?” he grumbled, not meeting Lan Wangji’s eyes. “Now if you don’t come here right now, I swear I’ll drag you back by your pretty hair.”
A breath of something light broke the tension—Lan Wangji’s lip twitched. Barely, but it was there.
He approached slowly, moving with the same grace as always. Then he sat down on the edge of the bed, removed his boots, and quietly slid beneath the blanket.
Silence stretched again. Wei Wuxian lay perfectly still, staring at the ceiling, heart hammering.
Lan Wangji didn’t say anything. He didn’t even shift closer. But his presence filled the space like incense—warm, calming, grounding.
Wei Wuxian closed his eyes tightly, face flushed to the roots of his hair.
He stayed in one place, rigid as a board, but the warmth radiating from Lan Wangji beside him was too much. Too distracting. Too comforting.
He bit his lip.
“Lan Zhan?” he whispered after a moment.
“Mn.”
“You… you can stay, you know. As long as you want. Not just tonight.”
A pause.
Then: “Mn.”
And slowly, slowly, the tension bled out of the air.
They both fell asleep .
____________________________________
Chapter Text
The sunlight filtered through the soft clouds, casting golden warmth on the Lotus Pier garden. Summer was in full bloom, the lotus flowers dancing gently on the pond, filling the air with their sweet fragrance.
Wei Wuxian lounged lazily on a low branch under the shade of a willow tree, his legs stretched out, one hand supporting his cheek while the other twirled a long blade of grass between his fingers.
Lan Wangji sat cross-legged on the grass, the calm picture of grace and composure. On his lap, nestled comfortably, was little Wen Yuan, who was currently giggling as Lan Wangji tried to teach him the names of musical instruments.
Wei Wuxian watched them with an indulgent smile, his eyes softening every time Yuan turned up with a beaming smile and Lan Wangji’s lips curled into the faintest of fond expressions.
"And this one?" Lan Wangji asked softly, pointing to a painted scroll of instruments spread in front of them.
"Guqin!" Yuan chirped, clapping his hands.
"Mn," Lan Wangji nodded approvingly.
Wei Wuxian chuckled, pretending to sigh dramatically. "Ah, such a smart little raddish. You learn faster than your shufu. Maybe you should be teaching me instead."
Wen Yuan giggled at that, his small body wiggling with joy atop Lan Wangji's lap. Lan Wangji simply glanced at Wei Wuxian, eyes glittering with softness.
While Wei Wuxian continued his relaxed teasing, Wen Yuan’s attention slowly shifted. Across the pond, a couple strolled by, their robes matching in style and tone, each holding one hand of a small child between them. The child squealed in delight as both parents swung him gently in the air, their laughter echoing across the garden.
Wen Yuan’s smile slowly faded as he stared at the scene, his bright eyes observing with quiet intensity. His gaze lingered on the child calling 'adie' and 'aniang,' .On the affectionate way the parents embraced their little one, and the warmth in their shared laughter.
Slowly, Yuan turned his face upward to look at Lan Wangji, still seated on his lap. He blinked once. Then again.
And then, with all the certainty of a child who had made up his mind, Wen Yuan softly said, "Adie."
Wei Wuxian froze.
His smile faltered. The blade of grass slipped from his fingers.
He sat up straighter. "Ah-Yuan? What did you just say?"
Wen Yuan looked at him, confused, and then turned back to Lan Wangji. "Adie."
Wei Wuxian scrambled to kneel before them, waving his hands gently. "Ah-Yuan, wait, no, that’s not—I mean, Lan Zhan is Lan Zhan. He’s Hanguang-jun, remember? Not… not… adie."
But before he could continue, Lan Wangji gently interrupted. "Mn."
Wei Wuxian stared at him, wide-eyed. "Mn? Mn what?!"
Lan Wangji looked at Wen Yuan and repeated, "Adie."
The little boy grinned, lighting up as if all the stars had been gathered in his tiny heart. He launched forward and hugged Lan Wangji’s neck, his little hands holding Lan Wangji’s robes with trusting affection.
Lan Wangji’s eyes softened further.
His ears turned a light shade of red.
Wei Wuxian had never seen anything so endearing and ridiculous in his life. His heart squeezed painfully and melted all at once.
He laughed, standing up and placing a hand on his waist. "So if he’s your adie now," he teased with a wide grin, "then what am I?"
Wen Yuan tilted his head to the side, thinking very seriously. He placed a finger on his lips, his brows furrowing adorably. After a long pause, he declared, "Aniang."
Wei Wuxian almost tripped over himself. "A-Aniang?!"
Lan Wangji turned his face slightly, coughing softly into his hand to hide what might be a twitch of his lips.
"Ah-Yuan!" Wei Wuxian wailed dramatically. "What about me makes you think I look like an Aniang?!"
"Because… because Adie is quiet and reads. You scold me and chase me and kiss me lots. Like A-niangs do!"
Wei Wuxian groaned, falling on the grass with an exaggerated thud. "My pride! My poor pride!"
Yuan giggled and scrambled off Lan Wangji's lap, already sensing the chase coming. Wei Wuxian jumped to his feet, eyes sparkling with mock vengeance.
"Alright, little raddish! Now you've done it. I'm going to eat you!"
Squealing, Wen Yuan ran across the garden, tiny legs pumping as fast as they could go. Wei Wuxian gave chase, arms wide, swooping in with loud, exaggerated growls. Every time he caught up to Yuan, he'd smother his chubby cheeks with kisses until the boy laughed so hard he could barely breathe.
Lan Wangji watched them from the side, lips curved in that near-invisible smile, eyes glowing with a softness few ever saw. The way Wei Wuxian let go around Wen Yuan, how he gave his all to make the child laugh—it stirred something warm and fragile in Lan Wangji’s heart.
After several rounds of running, Wen Yuan huffed and puffed his way back toward Lan Wangji, tugging insistently at his robes. "Adie! Pick me up! Save me! He's gonna eat me!"
With practiced ease, Lan Wangji lifted the boy into his arms and rested him against his shoulder. "Safe."
Wei Wuxian came to a dramatic halt in front of them, hands on his knees, pretending to pant. "Even your Adie can't protect you, little gremlin! I'm going to get you again!"
As he leaned forward, Wen Yuan squirmed, and just as Wei Wuxian moved in for another kiss attack, Wen Yuan turned his head quickly. The intended kiss missed his cheek—and landed partially on the corner of lan wangji’s lips, brushing over to the side.
The moment froze.
Wei Wuxian blinked.
Lan Wangji blinked.
Their eyes locked.
Wei Wuxian's heart stopped and then galloped wildly.
He stared into those familiar golden eyes that had never once let go of him, that held storms and gentleness alike. Lan Wangji's breath had caught. His lips slightly parted. His gaze didn't waver.
Everything else—the garden, the laughter, the rustling leaves—faded away.
It was just him and Lan Zhan.
And he couldn't look away.
It was Yuan's delighted giggle that broke the moment. Wei Wuxian jerked back, eyes wide, pulling away from the accidental kiss as if burned. He coughed, laughing too loudly, waving his hands.
"Aha, well! That—that was close, wasn't it! These kids, always moving around! Really, if you'd just held still for one second, Ah-Yuan!"
Wen Yuan looked at him with wide, innocent eyes, confused but still giggling.
Wei Wuxian turned away quickly, rubbing the back of his neck, feeling heat crawl all the way from his chest to his ears. He couldn’t meet Lan Wangji’s eyes. Not now. Not with that softness still lingering in them. Not with his own heart pounding so hard it threatened to jump right out of his chest.
"Ah, it’s hot today, isn’t it? Isn’t it? Very hot! Must be the weather! I'm going to go drink some water. Maybe splash my face a bit. Cool off. Hahaha!"
He dashed away, muttering excuses under his breath, leaving a quietly blinking Lan Wangji and a confused but still giggling Wen Yuan behind.
Lan Wangji looked at his retreating figure. Then, he looked down at Wen Yuan.
"Aniang," the boy whispered proudly.
Lan Wangji closed his eyes briefly, shaking his head with the smallest of smiles. "Mn."
His gaze drifted back toward the direction Wei Wuxian had gone, a quiet intensity in his eyes.
It lingered there.
Soft. Unspoken.
Steady.
________________________________
Wei Wuxian sprawled on the grass beside the pond, his robes slightly damp from an earlier splash, his hair tied loosely and clinging to his neck from the sun's warmth.
Little Yuan sat on his lap, head bobbing with excitement as he pointed at the colorful dragonflies flitting above the water.
"Did you see that one, Lan Zhan? It had red wings!" Wei Wuxian exclaimed, craning his neck to look at Lan Wangji, who sat beneath a shaded pavilion not far from them.
Lan Wangji looked serene as ever. His gaze, usually calm and composed, softened as he watched Wei Wuxian and Yuan.
The boy squealed as Wei Wuxian dipped his fingers into the pond and flicked a few droplets toward him, earning an indignant squeak and then giggles.
"You should try this, Lan Zhan," Wei Wuxian said, grinning. "Sitting by the water with a child in your lap, getting splashed, and then scolded for it. It’s the essence of cultivation, truly."
"Mn," Lan Wangji replied, a light nod that somehow managed to carry infinite fondness.
Just then, a young disciple hurried toward them, breathless but smiling. "Wei-gongzi! The others are heading toward the southern field. They’re about to start flying kites! Do you want to join?"
Wei Wuxian’s eyes lit up. "Flying kites? Absolutely!"
He turned to Lan Wangji with a bright grin. "You’re in Lotus Pier now, Lan Zhan. That means we’re doing things the Lotus Pier way. Swimming in the lake, flying kites until someone gets tangled in a tree, and maybe some lotus seed plucking on the way back. I hope you’re ready for the full Jiang sect experience."
Lan Wangji simply inclined his head, already standing and reaching out a hand toward Yuan, who eagerly grabbed his fingers. "We are ready," he said softly.
By the time they reached the wide southern field, several disciples were already gathered, holding brightly colored kites shaped like phoenixes, rabbits, and qilin.
Wei Wuxian beamed when he saw familiar faces. "Shi-Jie! Jiang Cheng! Huisang! I didn’t know all of you were here too."
Jiang Yanli turned, holding Yuan’s hand as the little boy ran towards her . She picked him up with ease, nuzzling his cheek. "How could we miss this? A-Yuan has been talking about flying a kite all week."
Nie Huaisang waved his fan dramatically. "And I’m here strictly for observation and emotional support. I refuse to run around sweating under the sun. But watching you all bicker and fall over your own robes? That, I wouldn't miss for the world."
Jiang Cheng snorted and turned towards Wei Wuxian. "Let me guess. You think you’re going to win, Wei Wuxian? You never even managed to hold a kite straight when we were kids."
Wei Wuxian gasped, clutching his chest. "Such betrayal from my own shidi! Didn’t I teach you how to tie the string? I should let A-Yuan fly yours instead."
"He'd probably do better than you," Jiang Cheng snapped.
Wei Wuxian chuckled and leaned toward Lan Wangji mischievously. "Just watch me. I’m going to defeat all of them today. You’ll see me reign as the undisputed Kite Master of Lotus Pier."
Several disciples who overheard this groaned.
"Shameless!"
"You haven’t even flown a kite yet!"
"Last time it was pure luck!"
Nie Huaisang fanned himself, eyes gleaming. "This is going to be delightful. I’m rooting for A-Yuan. The true dark horse of this race."
Yuan, now in Jiang Yanli’s arms, clapped excitedly. "A-niang fly kite! Win!"
Jiang Cheng nearly choked. "A-niang?! Did you teach him that?!"
Wei Wuxian looked unrepentant, ruffling Yuan’s hair. "Well, who else does all the pampering and meals? I might as well take credit."
Jiang Yanli giggled, ruffling Ayuan hair.
Lan Wangji, who had remained silent, merely observed with a soft expression, his gaze resting on Wei Wuxian as if the sun itself orbited him.
"You’re enabling him!" Jiang Cheng growled, jabbing a finger toward Wei Wuxian
"And you’re just jealous," Wei Wuxian added, eyes sparkling.
Jiang Cheng was about to snap back when the first kite launched into the sky.
A disciple called out, "Let the competition begin!"
Kites of every color and shape soared upward. The sky quickly filled with streaks of red, blue, and silver as the wind picked up. Wei Wuxian expertly unwound the string of his black kite shaped like a sleek serpent, grinning.
Jiang Cheng's purple crane darted upward with precision, catching the breeze perfectly. Nie Huaisang's delicate fan-shaped kite fluttered lazily, which he held loosely while sitting on a mat under a parasol.
Jiang Yanli stood with quiet grace, helping Yuan hold a simple kite with a rabbit on it. The boy’s laugh rang out every time the kite tugged on the string.
Wei Wuxian turned to Jiang Cheng, eyes gleaming with mischief. "Looks like you're doing well for now, but wait for the grand finale."
Jiang Cheng shot him a glare. "Just try to beat me. I dare you."
Wei Wuxian turned to Yuan with a conspiratorial smile. "What do you say, little bun? Should A-niang win this one?"
"Win! Win!" Yuan cheered, clapping his hands.
Jiang Cheng groaned. "Stop corrupting the child!"
Wei Wuxian laughed and turned to Jiang Yanli and Lan Wangji. "What about you two? Who do you think will win?"
Jiang Yanli smiled warmly. "I think both my brothers will try their best. But A-Yuan seems to believe in you."
Lan Wangji met his gaze. "You will win."
Wei Wuxian paused, momentarily stunned ,but then gave a crooked grin and a quick wink.
With a flourish, he tugged on the string of his kite. The serpent dove, twisted, and with a sharp flick, began cutting through the sky. One by one, the other kites wavered, their strings sliced cleanly by the serpent’s path.
"Hey!"
"That’s cheating!"
"No fair, you laced it with talisman silk, didn’t you?!"
Jiang Cheng's kite lasted the longest, but with one final twist, Wei Wuxian cut its string. The crane spun once and then floated down sadly.
Wei Wuxian raised his arms in victory. "Victory to the A-niang of Lotus Pier!"
Nie Huaisang cackled. "That was glorious. Absolutely evil. But glorious."
Jiang Cheng stomped over. "You planned that from the start! You were distracting us!"
"Naturally," Wei Wuxian replied with a smug grin.
He sauntered back to Lan Wangji, brushing his windswept hair back. "So, what do you think? Did your husband do well?"
He expected a sigh. Maybe a disapproving glance. Instead, Lan Wangji looked directly at him, his expression soft, eyes shining just a bit more than usual.
"Mn," Lan Wangji said simply.
Wei Wuxian’s mouth opened. Then closed. Then turned a deep, blooming red.
He stared at Lan Wangji, speechless for once, before muttering, "You can’t just say that with that face... it’s unfair."
Lan Wangji just looked at him with the same intense expression.
Wei Wuxian signed and then immediately composed himself, looking at Lan Wangji. "Let’s have a match then, just the two of us. Come on, Lan Zhan, I bet you’ve never flown a kite before."
"I have not," Lan Wangji admitted.
Wei Wuxian gasped, scandalized. "We must fix this immediately. Come here, Lan Zhan. I’ll show you."
With enthusiastic energy, he handed his kite handle to a nearby disciple, then walked to where Lan Wangji stood with his own unused kite. Wei Wuxian helped him tie the string and carefully handed him the handle.
"Hold it like this, but not too tightly," he said, watching as Lan Wangji's fingers curled around the thread. "These strings can be sharp. You might cut yourself. Here—"
Without thinking, he stepped in close and placed his hands over Lan Wangji’s. Then, without realizing how close he was, he simply continued guiding him, lost in the motion.
His chest lightly touched Lan Wangji's back as he adjusted the kite's angle. His cheek hovered just above Lan Wangji's shoulder, breath brushing faintly against his neck.
"Now, wait for the wind to tug—like that. Let it pull, don’t resist too hard. Good. Tilt your wrist slightly—"
Wei Wuxian's voice was low and focused, so immersed in teaching that he didn’t even notice he had slipped into a half-embrace, arms moving in rhythm with Lan Wangji's.
Their fingers guided the kite together as it rose into the sky, shaky at first but gradually finding its balance.
"You’re doing it! Look!"
A colorful kite burst into the sky, its tail fluttering triumphantly as it soared upward. Another moment, another twitch of the string, and it sliced through an opponent's kite.
"Lan Zhan! You did it! You got one!" Wei Wuxian exclaimed, spinning Lan Wangji slightly by the shoulders and grinning at him. "Your first kite kill! I’m so proud!"
Their eyes met.
Wei Wuxian froze.
The sunlight lit Lan Wangji's face from the side, and up close, Wei Wuxian could see the softness in his golden gaze, the flutter of his lashes, the faint rise and fall of his breath.
The wind stilled. The sounds around them faded.
Wei Wuxian just stared, utterly lost, heart thudding in his chest.
A shout broke through the moment. "Wei-gongzi! Hanguang-Jun! You lost your kite!"
Wei Wuxian blinked rapidly, stumbling back as if waking from a trance. "Ah! Sorry! I—I need to—that was—"
He rubbed the bridge of his nose sheepishly. "I think... you might need a few more rounds of practice. And then, then no one will beat Hanguang-Jun. Not even me."
Lan Wangji's ears were scarlet. But his face remained as composed as ever. "Mn."
A disciple suddenly came running. "Catch the kite! It's falling this way!"
Wei Wuxian leapt to reach it but missed. The kite swooped past and grazed Lan Wangji’s face, making him flinch slightly.
"Lan Zhan!" Wei Wuxian was at his side in a flash. "Are you hurt? Did it cut you? Let me see."
He gripped Lan Wangji by the wrist and turned him gently. Then again. Then again.
"Wei Ying," Lan Wangji murmured. "I’m fine."
But Wei Wuxian’s eyes narrowed as he spotted a thin red line near his eyelid.
"You’re not! You’re bleeding! You got cut—this could scar your pretty face!"
"It will heal by tomorrow," Lan Wangji said calmly.
Wei Wuxian was already pulling him toward the path. "Nope. We're going to the infirmary. No arguments. Shi-Jie! A-Cheng! Lan Zhan's injured! I’ll fix it!"
Their friends watched them go, Wei Wuxian dragging Lan Wangji by the hand like a flustered whirlwind, still muttering about ointments and face-saving creams.
Jiang Yanli exchanged a knowing smile with Nie Huaisang.
Jiang Cheng rolled his eyes. "Shameless."
____________________________________
Wei Wuxian did not stop until they were inside his room. The door clicked shut behind them with a finality that made the space feel oddly still.
A faint breeze stirred the air, soft and fragrant from the gardens below. Yet it wasn’t the breeze that raised the fine hairs on Wei Wuxian's neck—it was the man who stood in the center of his room.
Lan Wangji.
He was still, composed, his posture relaxed yet unmistakably controlled. His gaze remained lowered, unreadable. His robes fell in graceful lines, pale blue and silver a stark contrast to the darker tones of Wei Wuxian’s room.
Wei Wuxian crossed the room, his steps deliberate. He crouched by the small chest beside the bed, flipping it open with a soft creak. After rummaging through a handful of jars and folded cloth, he pulled out a small ceramic jar.
"Here," he said, holding it up as he unscrewed the lid. A faint herbal scent drifted up. "For cuts. Works miracles. Wen Qing made it."
He approached Lan Wangji, the jar cradled in his hand. Lan Wangji extended a hand to accept it, but just as their fingers were about to touch, Wei Wuxian pulled it back.
"I should apply it," he said. "It’s above your eye. You might poke it or smear it wrong. What if it gets into your eye and blinds you forever?"
Lan Wangji said nothing. He merely looked at Wei Wuxian with those golden eyes, steady and still, and then nodded.
Wei Wuxian gestured toward the bed. "Sit. It'll be easier."
Lan Wangji obeyed, moving with that characteristic grace, settling on the edge of the bed with his knees slightly apart, hands resting loosely on his thighs. He sat tall, unyielding, a picture of discipline and restraint.
Wei Wuxian walked toward him slowly. As he reached Lan Wangji, the scent of sandalwood reached him again. It was grounding, yes, but it also pulled him closer in an unspoken way, like a tether to something quiet and vast.
"Close your eyes, Lan Zhan," he murmured.
Lan Wangji closed them without hesitation.
Wei Wuxian dipped his fingers into the balm and stepped in, breaching that fragile circle of personal space. He lifted his hand and gently touched the skin just above Lan Wangji’s brow. His fingers were cool with ointment, but the heat of Lan Wangji’s skin seeped through with startling immediacy.
Lan Wangji flinched.
Barely. Just the faintest shift, like a reflex untrained to such proximity.
Wei Wuxian tilted his head, voice softer than before. "Don’t move. I’ll make it quick."
Lan Wangji shifted again, involuntarily.
Wei Wuxian sighed. He leaned closer and gently set his free hand beneath Lan Wangji’s chin, fingers curving upward. The touch was barely there, feather-light, but firm in intent.
"Lan Zhan," he said again, more quiet command than request. "Hold still."
Lan Wangji did. He stilled entirely, his face tipped up slightly, offered in silent submission. His lashes cast soft shadows against his cheeks. The breath from his parted lips was slow, almost imperceptible.
Waiting.
Wei Wuxian began to rub the balm into the wound with careful precision, tracing slow, soothing circles. The skin was delicate, the wound shallow but angry, red. Still, Wei Wuxian was mindful, moving gently. His thumb lingered just near the lid, the edge of his own hand brushing the soft skin below Lan Wangji's eye.
The moment stretched. Grew.
Lan Wangji did not move. Did not open his eyes. He simply let Wei Wuxian touch him, care for him.
And something about that trust, that stillness, that quiet surrender, sent a shiver down Wei Wuxian’s spine.
He continued his work, but slower now. Not out of necessity, but reluctance. He didn't want it to end. His thumb made another slow arc, brushing just above the eye, then down the curve of the eye. The balm had long since been applied. This was something else now—something indulgent, dangerous.
Wei Wuxian’s gaze wandered.
He didn’t mean to, but it was impossible not to.
The line of Lan Wangji’s nose was straight, elegant. His lips, just barely parted, were soft and pink, and so close. So impossibly close. They moved slightly as he breathed, trembling faintly.
Wei Wuxian's breath caught.
His heart thudded once, hard.
The balm remained on his fingers, forgotten. He stared at those lips, mesmerized. The faintest puff of breath brushed against his cheek, and he realized just how close he had leaned in. His hand still cradled Lan Wangji’s face. His own face hovered only a breath away.
A single breath.
His gaze flicked up, hesitated, then fell again to those lips.
He was drowning in the silence. In the warmth of Lan Wangji’s skin beneath his hand. In the restrained tension of a body too controlled, too careful. In the wild urge to taste something he shouldn’t.
He tilted his head.
He didn’t kiss him. But gods, he was close. His lips hovered a whisper away, his breath mixing with Lan Wangji’s. A heat curled in his stomach, pulled at his chest, made his skin feel too tight. His fingers trembled where they held Lan Wangji’s jaw, no longer just for guidance.
His thumb drifted along the line of his cheek. Slower. A caress now.
He wanted. Desperately.
Lan Wangji remained still, unresisting.
And that, somehow, undid Wei Wuxian more than any sign of passion could have. The stillness. The trust. The way he let himself be touched, held, cared for—not with desire, but something else. Something terrifyingly tender.
Wei Wuxian’s lips trembled.
Then he heard it.
"Wei Ying."
A whisper.
Soft.
Spoken low, barely audible. But it was enough. Enough to break him.
He jerked back as if burned, blinking rapidly. His breath came shallow, fast. His hand dropped to his side. The heat of Lan Wangji’s skin lingered on his palm, but his fingers now curled into a fist.
He took a step back.
Then another.
He couldn’t look at him. Not now. Not after what almost happened. Not after what almost didn’t.
"You’re good now," he mumbled. His voice cracked slightly, but he kept speaking. "The cut should heal by tomorrow."
He didn’t look up. He couldn’t. Because if he did, he might see those lips again. He might fall.
So he turned.
He didn’t say another word. Not even a goodbye. Not even a joke to mask the heat burning behind his ribs.
He crossed the room, his footsteps loud in the heavy silence. His hand found the door.
He slid it open.
And left.
Behind him, Lan Wangji remained on the bed, posture straight, hands still resting on his thighs. His breathing remained slow, measured.
But as the door clicked shut, he opened his eyes.
And blinked.
Confused.
Alone.
The balm still tingled on his skin.
The space where Wei Wuxian had stood pulsed with a silence filled with breathless things. Things that had not been spoken. Things that almost were.
__________________________________
The late afternoon sun hung low in the sky, streaking gold and amber across the Lotus Pier. Cicadas droned lazily in the background, and the scent of lotus blossoms floated faint and sweet on the breeze. Somewhere nearby, children laughed in the distance, chasing each other with wooden swords. But Wei Wuxian heard none of it.
He sat near the lake that nestled at the farthest edge of the pier’s gardens, legs submerged knee-deep in the cool water. His boots lay discarded behind him, tossed without care. The breeze toyed with his hair, and his robes were slightly open at the collar, damp where sweat had cooled on his skin.
He stared down at his own reflection, but all he could see was him. Lan Wangji. Lan Zhan.
The echo of what had just nearly happened played on an endless loop in his mind.
The soft hush of breath. The heat of proximity. The way Lan Wangji’s lashes had trembled just before those golden eyes opened. The curve of his lips—unbelievably close, unbelievably soft.
Wei Wuxian let out a soundless laugh and buried his face in his hands.
What the hell had he been thinking?
His fingertips still felt the echo of Lan Wangji’s skin. The smooth warmth of his cheekbone beneath the balm-slicked touch. The flutter of breath on his lips. He hadn’t kissed him, but he had almost—so terribly, desperately almost.
It had been instinctual. Not reasoned. Not planned. As if something inside him had reached out, selfish and hungry, before his mind could catch up.
His heart still pounded like a war drum against his ribs. He had come out here to breathe, to escape, but every breath was still laced with sandalwood. That scent lingered inside him like it had soaked into his skin.
Lan Wangji was cursed. Bewitched. His gentle words, his confusion, his strange obedience—they weren’t real. They weren’t his.
And yet Wei Wuxian had leaned in.
He had almost—almost—taken advantage of it.
He dropped back onto his elbows in the grass, eyes fluttering shut. The lake’s surface rippled gently around his legs. The water cooled the fire under his skin, but it couldn’t extinguish the shame that flickered inside him like an untamed flame.
“I nearly kissed him,” he whispered to the sky. “He thinks I’m his husband because of some spell, and I—” His voice cracked.
His chest ached, not from restraint, but from guilt.
The worst part was how easy it had been to forget. In that quiet, intimate moment, with the soft light glowing through the window, with Lan Wangji sitting obedient and trusting on his bed, Wei Wuxian had allowed himself to fall.
For a second, he had let himself believe. Let himself pretend.
Pretend that Lan Wangji had looked at him like that because he wanted to.
Pretend that the slight flush on his ears had been real.
Pretend that the way their breaths had mingled wasn’t an accident, wasn’t manipulation by the curse, wasn’t a cruel trick played by fate.
He yanked a lotus leaf off the water and crumpled it in his fist. The veins snapped, oozing green between his fingers.
“This means nothing,” he said aloud. “It was the moment. Just... the moment. He’s too beautiful. That’s all.”
His throat tightened at the words. He wished they didn’t sound so hollow.
Lan Wangji was beautiful. Devastatingly so.
Even now, the memory burned behind his eyelids—the graceful slope of his nose, the soft curve of his mouth, the way his lashes fanned against his cheeks like a painter’s brush strokes.
Wei Wuxian groaned and fell back into the grass completely, arms flung out beside him like he’d been struck down by the sheer weight of it.
“Just my luck,” he muttered at the sky. “Of all the people in the world to be cursed into thinking I’m his husband, it had to be Lan Zhan.”
It wasn’t fair.
It wasn’t fair that he should be the one to witness this gentler version of Lan Wangji—this soft, open, tender-eyed man who touched his sleeve to keep him near, who asked where he’d gone the moment he stepped out, who said, “I missed you” with such simple sincerity that Wei Wuxian didn’t know whether to melt or scream.
This wasn’t the Lan Wangji who had glared at him with disdain during lectures.
This wasn’t the Lan Wangji who had dragged him by the collar out of wine houses.
This wasn’t the real Lan Wangji.
And yet, somehow, it still felt like him. Like something buried beneath years of restraint and silence had finally surfaced.
That’s what made it dangerous. That’s what made it cruel.
Because if there was even a shred of truth behind those touches and stares—if even a tiny part of Lan Wangji had always felt this way—then when the curse broke, what would be left?
Wei Wuxian would remember. He would carry this ghost of a maybe in his chest like a wound. And Lan Wangji... Lan Wangji would go back to being cold and unreachable.
Maybe worse.
He sat up slowly, drawing his knees to his chest. The lake water lapped quietly around his ankles. The sun had begun to dip further, painting the sky in shades of orange and rose. Somewhere behind him, a cicada started up its evening song again.
Wei Wuxian clenched his fists in the fabric of his pants.
“This will all go back to normal,” he said firmly, as if saying it out loud could make it true. “He’ll recover. Wen Qing will find a way to undo it. He’ll return to the Cloud Recesses, and we’ll all laugh about it one day.”
Even as he said it, he knew there’d be no laughter.
Lan Wangji would not laugh.
He would probably look at him with disgust. Maybe accuse him of taking advantage. Maybe never speak to him again.
Wei Wuxian buried his head in his knees, his long hair falling like a curtain around his face.
“I didn’t mean to,” he whispered to no one. “I didn’t mean to want it.”
But he had.
And that was the truth of it.
Curse or not, spell or not—he had wanted that kiss. Had hovered at the edge of it, breathless and aching. Had leaned in with his whole soul reaching.
He had never seen anyone as beautiful as Lan Wangji in that moment—eyes closed, face tilted, trusting and still.
And gods, what he would have given to know how those lips tasted.
Wei Wuxian let out a long breath that trembled with restraint.
Get it together, he told himself. This doesn’t mean anything. You’re just weak to pretty things. You’ve always been like this. He’s just—too beautiful. That’s all.
He sat there until the sky turned indigo and the stars began to appear, one by one. The air grew cooler, and the night sounds replaced the day’s chatter. Still, he didn’t move. His legs had gone numb in the water, but he welcomed the discomfort. It was grounding. Real.
Not like the dream he had nearly let himself drown in.
Lan Wangji was probably still sitting on the bed, confused. Maybe wondering where he’d gone. Maybe not.
Wei Wuxian didn’t have the strength to go back. Not yet.
He looked down at his reflection once more.
And this time, all he saw was regret.
____________________________________
Wei Wuxian’s mind spun through regret and exhaustion—legs numb from the pond, heart aching—when someone called his name.
It was a junior disciple, breathless and wide-eyed:
“ Wei xiong , Wen Ning…he’s woken up!”
At the words, Wei Wuxian sat up straighter. His heart clamped tight. He shook his head as if waking from a nightmare, and breathed in deeply, regaining composure.
Wei Wuxian blinked. “Really?”
The boy nodded with a quick shake of his head. “Healer Wen said to call you.”
In a blink, the haze of self-loathing and emotional spirals evaporated like morning mist. Wei Wuxian was on his feet in an instant, snatching up his boots and hopping one-footed as he tried to jam them on.
“Why didn’t you say so sooner?” he cried. “I’ve been sitting here like an idiot talking to koi!”
The disciple blinked, confused. “Koi?”
Wei Wuxian didn’t explain. He took off in the direction of the infirmary, water droplets flicking from his pants as he ran.
Finally—something to focus on. Something that wasn’t golden eyes or temptation or cursed kisses that never happened.
His mind, previously in shambles, shifted smoothly into problem-solving mode. Wen Ning had been unresponsive for over two weeks, hovering between silent stillness and occasional trembling. If he was truly awake now—
“Wen Ning!” he burst into the infirmary, breathless.
Inside, Wen Qing stood beside a cot, arms crossed tightly across her chest and one foot tapping furiously against the polished wood floor.
“You absolute idiot,” she snapped, glaring down at her brother.
“Sorry, jiejie,” came the meek reply.
Wen Qing threw up her hands. “You scared me half to death! I should sew alarm charms into your sleeves.”
“Would they work?” Wen Ning asked earnestly, and Wei Wuxian nearly burst out laughing.
The two siblings turned toward him as he entered, with Wen Qing shifting immediately into her usual annoyed-but-secretly-grateful expression. Wen Ning, wide-eyed and pale, looked startled for a moment—then smiled shyly.
“Young master Wei,” he said softly.
A laugh bubbled up in Wei Wuxian’s throat before he could stop it. “There’s my best archer,” he said warmly, crossing the room in long strides. “Scaring everyone half to death and then apologizing like a baby rabbit.”
“I didn’t mean to scare anyone,” Wen Ning said quickly. “I—I just woke up, and then jie-jie started yelling, and I—”
“Not yelling,” Wen Qing corrected. “Loudly expressing concern.”
Wei Wuxian snorted. “With the volume of a thunder talisman.” He bent down beside the bed, examining Wen Ning with a critical gaze. “Are you feeling alright? Any weird energy pulsing through your meridians? Dizziness? Sudden urge to destroy your enemies in a blaze of bloodthirsty glory?”
Wen Ning blinked. “Um. No?”
“That’s good,” Wei Wuxian replied, nodding thoughtfully. “Very good. Let's just double-check.”
He placed his fingers gently against Wen Ning’s wrist and closed his eyes, reaching out with his resentful energy. It flowed easily—clear, quiet. Like a lake at dawn. No surges. No resentment. Just the steady, familiar calm of Wen Ning’s presence.
Wei Wuxian breathed a quiet sigh of relief. “You’re clean.”
“I had a nightmare,” Wen Ning murmured. “But then I heard music. A guqin. It helped me come back.”
“Oh?” Wei Wuxian’s eyebrows lifted.
That was when he heard it. Soft and elegant, like water over polished stones—the final notes of a guqin melody drifting in the air.
He turned, and there he was.
Lan Wangji sat near the window, back straight, robes pristine as always. His fingers plucked the last string gently before he lowered his hands, the music fading into silence like mist.
Wei Wuxian’s thoughts, which had just a moment ago been triumphant and coherent, scattered immediately.
Oh no.
Oh, no.
He’d been so close to having a normal, curse-free, guilt-free, Lan-Zhan-free moment. And now here he was, sitting like a painting come to life, as if he hadn't just flipped Wei Wuxian’s entire existence upside down a few hours before.
Don’t panic, he told himself. Just pretend to be normal. You're good at that. You’ve done it for years.
Lan Wangji, as if sensing his gaze, glanced over.
Their eyes met for exactly half a second before Wei Wuxian turned back to Wen Ning so fast he almost sprained his neck.
“Right! You’re awake! That’s what matters,” he said loudly, patting Wen Ning’s hand a little too enthusiastically. “We’ll throw a party. Or maybe a funeral. You’ve come back from the dead, after all—twice now! That deserves at least some festive paper lanterns.”
Wen Ning gave him a tiny, confused smile. “I don’t want a funeral…”
“Then celebration, it is!” Wei Wuxian declared, still very much not looking at the guqin player in the room. “Shi-jie makes the best red bean cakes. I’ll beg her for a batch.”
Wen Qing snorted softly. “You’ll beg her anyway. You’re always hanging around her kitchen like a stray dog.”
“I am beloved,” Wei Wuxian corrected. “Cherished. Adored. The most favorite shidi.”
“Uh huh,” Wen Qing said, though her mouth quirked into the barest ghost of a smile.
From the corner of his eye, Wei Wuxian saw Lan Wangji standing. He turned from the guqin and walked quietly toward them, his steps silent on the wooden floor.
Wei Wuxian's entire spine straightened instinctively. His heart did not skip. His palms did not sweat. Everything was fine.
Normal, he repeated in his mind. Just be normal. Don’t look directly at him like he’s the sun.
Lan Wangji stopped beside Wen Qing, bowing slightly in greeting.
“Wen-guniang,” he said in his usual low, polite voice.
“Lan-er-gongzi,” she replied, nodding back.
Wei Wuxian found a spot on the wall to stare at with intense academic interest. Was that a crack in the plaster? Fascinating. The texture of the paint alone—
“I was unaware the song you played for two weeks on the guqin would benefit A-ning so much ,” Wen Qing said, her voice betraying a hint of curiosity and gratitude.
Lan Wangji inclined his head. “It has calming properties. I thought it might assist.”
“It did,” Wen Ning offered quietly, still holding onto his sister’s sleeve. “It made the nightmare stop.”
Lan Wangji gave him a faint nod of acknowledgment, his expression softening by a degree.
Wei Wuxian, against his better judgment, snuck a glance sideways. Just a glance.
He really shouldn’t have.
Lan Wangji stood so close. His robe sleeves shimmered in the soft lantern light, and the faint line of his jaw was enough to ruin Wei Wuxian’s day all over again. And he was looking at him now.
Oh, heavens.
Wei Wuxian turned away immediately, nearly bumping into a hanging herb pouch.
“Whoops!” he said far too loudly. “Didn’t see that there! I’ll just—uh—go check on that... wall.”
Wen Qing raised an eyebrow.
“The wall?” she repeated.
“Very suspicious wall,” Wei Wuxian muttered, retreating a full step.
Lan Wangji said nothing.
Wei Wuxian was about to say anything—a joke, a distraction, a pun about bricks—when Wen Ning tugged gently at his sleeve.
“Young master Wei,” he said, frowning slightly, “are you alright?”
Wei Wuxian forced a bright, utterly fake smile. “Me? I’m fantastic! Look at me—healthy, charming, full of beans.”
Lan Wangji, speaking quietly with Wen Qing a few feet away, glanced back at them again.
Wei Wuxian smiled—brittle and alarmed—and gave him a small nod before whirling back around to Wen Ning.
“See?” he whispered. “Eye contact. Totally normal. Nothing to see here.”
Wen Ning nodded slowly, clearly still worried but choosing to let it go.
Wen Qing, who had definitely heard everything, covered a cough that sounded suspiciously like a laugh.
“I’m going to check his pulse again,” Wei Wuxian declared, leaning dramatically over Wen Ning. “Just in case any lingering resentment decided to sneak back while we were talking.”
“Young master Wei,” Wen Ning said gently. “You’re acting strange.”
“I always act strange,” he replied brightly. “It’s part of my charm!”
Behind him, Lan Wangji’s voice was steady as ever. “Wen-guniang, thank you for your care.”
“I should be thanking you,” she replied, still amused. “You did what even I couldn’t. He only woke up after you started playing.”
“It was not intentional.”
“Still. Thank you.”
Wei Wuxian resisted the overwhelming urge to crawl under the nearest bed.
He could feel Lan Wangji moving, hear the faintest brush of his footsteps, like his presence bent the space around them.
Then... a pause.
“Wen Ning,” came the gentle call from Lan Wangji.
“Yes, Hanguangjun?” Wen Ning answered immediately shyly.
Lan Wangji gave him a slight bow of respect. “I’m glad you are well.”
Wen Ning looked flustered and pleased. “Thank you. For helping.”
“You are welcome.”
And then—finally—Lan Wangji stepped away. His robes rustled faintly as he exited the infirmary without another word.
Wei Wuxian let out a breath like he’d been holding it since the previous century.
Silence fell.
Wen Qing arched a brow. “That was subtle.”
“Shut up,” Wei Wuxian muttered, slumping against the bedframe.
Wen Ning looked confused again. “Did something happen between you two?”
Wei Wuxian groaned. “Let’s not talk about it.”
Wen Qing smirked. “Too late.”
Wei Wuxian leaned forward, resting his elbow against the edge of the bed Wen Ning was lying on. He looked relaxed—grinning a little, shoulders slouched, like they were simply chatting about the weather. But anyone who knew him well—like Wen Qing—would recognize the glint in his eyes and the tightness around his mouth. Something was off, and Wei Wuxian was doing what he always did when bothered: pretending he wasn’t.
Wen Ning blinked at him, pale eyes wide and curious. His hair was still messy from sleep, and his body remained wrapped in a thick robe despite the summer warmth. Wen Qing had tucked a herbal pouch into his collar earlier, insisting it would ward off lingering chills. He looked a bit like a puppy that had gotten caught in a thunderstorm, bewildered and damp but endearing nonetheless.
Wei Wuxian cleared his throat. “Say, Ah-Ning... can I ask you something?”
Wen Ning nodded immediately, looking eager to please.
“Of course, Young Master Wei. Anything.”
“Mn,” Wei Wuxian said thoughtfully, tapping his fingers against his knee. “You know, when we found you, the Wen remnants said you’d been stabbed by the Stygian lure flag sometime during the night. We found you the next night. That’s nearly a whole day.”
Wen Ning’s brows drew together. “Yes...?”
“I’m just saying,” Wei Wuxian continued, his voice still casual, “you had a huge wound, and blood was still flowing when we got there. That’s not normal. Not for someone who’d been lying in the woods for a whole day. You should’ve—” He faltered, catching himself. “Well, I mean, I’m glad you didn’t, obviously. I’m really glad you’re alive, Ah-Ning. But doesn’t it seem a bit... suspicious?”
Wen Ning blinked slowly, eyes flicking to his sister. Wen Qing stood at a slight distance with her arms folded, a subtle crease between her brows. She didn’t interrupt, though—just waited.
“I... I don’t remember much,” Wen Ning murmured. He clutched at the blanket over his lap, fingers twitching nervously. “It was very dark... and I was hurting a lot. There was a sharp pain in my chest, and then I remember... the ground was cold. I was cold. And then... I don’t know.”
Wei Wuxian gave him an encouraging nod. “Try. Anything you remember could help.”
Wen Ning squeezed his eyes shut, as if trying to shake images loose. After a long pause, he said slowly, “I think... maybe... I saw someone.”
Wei Wuxian leaned forward. Wen Qing immediately took a step closer, all her attention focused on her brother.
“A person?” Wei Wuxian asked. “What kind of person?”
“I don’t know,” Wen Ning said with a helpless frown. “It’s all blurry. But I think there was a cloaked figure. They... they were walking among the bodies. Not just mine. Everyone’s.”
“Everyone’s,” Wei Wuxian repeated, his voice thoughtful now. “Like... inspecting them?”
Wen Ning gave a small nod, eyes still shut tight.
“Yes. I think... I think they stopped over me. And then... I don’t know what happened next. I felt... pain. A strange pain. But also... heat. In my chest. It was like something pressed inside me. I think I fainted after that.”
Wei Wuxian sat back, rubbing his chin. “And you’re not sure if it really happened or if you imagined it?”
“I’m not sure,” Wen Ning admitted, opening his eyes. “It was like a dream. It could’ve been real, but... maybe not. I was hurting a lot.”
“Even if it was a hallucination,” Wei Wuxian said, “it’s a specific one. You said you felt energy. Like someone transferred something to you?”
Wen Ning nodded hesitantly.
Wen Qing stepped forward at last. “Why didn’t you tell me this earlier?”
Wen Ning looked guiltily at her. “I wasn’t sure it mattered. And I didn’t want to worry you again…”
She sighed but didn’t scold him this time. Instead, she looked to Wei Wuxian. “If someone interfered, then it explains how he survived that long. But that also opens more questions.”
“Exactly,” Wei Wuxian said, fingers now drumming rapidly on his knee. “Who was that person? Why were they walking among the bodies like that? Why did they help Wen Ning—or did they even mean to help? What if it wasn’t help at all?”
Wen Ning paled. “You think they might’ve done something bad?”
“I’m not saying that,” Wei Wuxian said quickly, flashing a grin. “Just that we don’t know what they were doing, right? Maybe they meant well. Or maybe they were experimenting. Trying to control the Stygian energy or something. The fact they didn’t bring you straight to us... that’s strange.”
Wen Qing frowned deeper. “Maybe they didn’t want to be seen.”
“Which is even more suspicious,” Wei Wuxian said, eyes narrowing.
There was a long moment of silence in the infirmary. Outside, the cicadas hummed in the trees, and distant voices of disciples training could be heard. Inside, the air was thick with thought.
Wen Ning looked down at his lap. “I’m sorry... I wish I remembered more.”
Wei Wuxian softened. “Don’t apologize. You’ve been through enough. We’ll figure it out.”
Wen Ning gave a soft smile, then immediately looked nervous again when Wei Wuxian turned to him.
Wei Wuxian chuckled. “Don’t worry, Ah-Ning. If we uncover a cloaked stranger wandering through the battlefield doing mysterious things, I promise to drag them to you for questioning.”
“I-I don’t want to question anyone!”
“Exactly,” Wei Wuxian said, grinning as he reached out to ruffle Wen Ning’s hair. “Which is why I’ll handle the terrifying stranger part.”
“Don’t touch his hair,” Wen Qing muttered, swatting his hand away.
“Okay, okay,” he said, laughing again.
Beneath the light-hearted exchange, a seed of unease had settled in Wei Wuxian's chest. If someone really had interfered... who were they? What was their goal? If they wanted to help Wen Ning, why vanish afterward? If they didn’t—what had they done to him?
For now, though, he didn’t voice those darker thoughts.
Not when Wen Ning was smiling.
Not when he was alive.
__________________________________
Wei Wuxian reached the hallway outside his room with a deep exhale, slowing his steps for a moment before he crossed the threshold. The faint sounds of cicadas chirping in the late night drifted through the corridors of Lotus Pier, but within him, a different sort of song was stirring—one much harder to silence.
He placed his palm lightly on the wooden panel beside the door and whispered to himself with a determined smile, " It will be fine. That was just a moment this morning... nothing more."
He opened the door quietly, slipping inside. The room smelled faintly of sandalwood and fresh tea. His eyes scanned the familiar space—his bed to the side, scrolls and brushes lined neatly on the desk, soft golden light pooling from the windows and illuminating the corners. And then his gaze landed on the dressing table.
There, seated serenely, was Lan Wangji.
His snowy white robes were slightly parted at the back, exposing a glimpse of his neck as he slowly, methodically, brushed his long dark hair. Each pass of the comb was graceful, deliberate. The moonlight filtered across his face, giving his skin a luminous quality, softening his already delicate features until he seemed more like an immortal painting than a man of flesh and blood.
Wei Wuxian blinked. His breath caught in his throat, heart still, as if awaiting some verdict from fate.
"Ah," he murmured to himself with cautious delight, " It's not happening like I felt in the morning. See? It's nothing."
He stepped further in, the soft thud of his boots muffled by the wooden floor. One step, then another. Slowly, deliberately, as if drawing closer to some rare treasure he didn't want to startle. He stood behind Lan Wangji, his reflection clear in the mirror. Lan Wangji didn’t turn, but his brush stilled for a moment, and then resumed.
Wei Wuxian leaned slightly forward, grinning with a victorious gleam in his eyes. "See? It was a fluke. Whatever nonsense happened in the morning, it's all gone now. My heart's not racing. My palms aren't sweating. No weird emotions. Nothing. Wei Wuxian is back to normal."
But before he could celebrate further, a voice, quiet and calm, echoed from the reflection.
"Wei Ying is ignoring me."
Wei Wuxian's eyes snapped up to meet Lan Wangji's in the mirror. His mouth fell open slightly, surprised by the statement, before his gaze involuntarily flicked to Lan Wangji's lips and then back to his eyes again.
Those golden eyes watched him quietly, piercing and patient.
Wei Wuxian stammered, his entire body stiffening, "What? No… why would I ignore you? That's ridiculous! Lan Zhan, you're imagining things!"
Lan Wangji's expression didn’t change, but his eyes narrowed slightly with doubt. "Wei Ying is distant."
The words made Wei Wuxian panic internally.
Has he figured it out? Did I look too long? Did he notice I was staring? Maybe he sensed something... maybe he realized I was thinking disrespectful thoughts? Wei Wuxian's thoughts raced a mile a minute.
He waved both hands wildly in denial, his voice raising slightly as he laughed nervously, "Ignore you? Never! How could I? Don’t even joke about such things, Lan Zhan. I’d never ignore you, not in a thousand years!"
Lan Wangji looked at him evenly, not responding, which only made Wei Wuxian sweat more. He had to do something, quickly, to prove himself. To show Lan Wangji that everything was normal. That he was not thinking about how soft Lan Wangji's hair looked or how beautiful he looked in the moon light or how ridiculously fast Wei Wuxian's heart was pounding again.
"Here!" he exclaimed suddenly, clapping his hands once and then rubbing them together. "Let me brush your hair!"
Lan Wangji blinked, startled, his hand halting mid-stroke. "That is unnecessary."
But Wei Wuxian had already stepped forward, reaching out with both hands to gently take the comb and then sweep the long strands of hair into his grasp before Lan Wangji could stop him.
"Nonsense! It's not unnecessary," Wei Wuxian said in a voice far too high-pitched to sound natural. "This is a perfect way to show I’m not ignoring you! What better way to prove that I’m not being distant, right? Heh, heh."
Lan Wangji tried to raise a hand to stop him, but Wei Wuxian had already started, dragging the brush gently through the silk-like strands. He was quiet for a moment, too focused on calming his pounding heart to speak.
The sensation of Lan Wangji’s hair in his hands was more than he bargained for.
So soft. So smooth. How is it this soft? What does he use to wash it? This can't be normal hair.
Wei Wuxian cleared his throat, trying to anchor himself.
"You know," he said in a falsely casual tone, "brushing someone’s hair is a gesture of great friendship. I used to brush Shijie's hair sometimes when we were little. Though, I must say... her hair never made my palms sweat."
He instantly regretted the last part.
Lan Wangji remained silent, but he tilted his head slightly, allowing Wei Wuxian easier access.
"Are you angry?" Wei Wuxian asked cautiously, working through a small tangle with extra care.
"No."
"Are you sure? Because you sounded a little upset earlier. When you said I was ignoring you."
Lan Wangji turned his head slightly, eyes meeting Wei Wuxian’s in the mirror again. "I was simply stating what I observed."
Wei Wuxian gave a short, nervous laugh. "Well, your observations are off this time, Lan Zhan. Really. I’m here, aren’t I? Brushing your hair? You’re not being ignored!"
He continued his task, letting the rhythmic motion of the brush steady his thoughts. But it didn't help. Being this close, touching Lan Wangji so intimately, was doing the opposite of calming him.
Why is this affecting me like this? I’ve touched him before. Fought beside him. Fought against him. Slept beside him even. Why now?
Lan Wangji said nothing, his eyes lowered, but Wei Wuxian noticed his ears turning the faintest shade of pink. That only made things worse.
No, no, no. He can’t blush now. That’s cheating.
"You have a very nice scalp, Lan Zhan," he blurted.
There was a moment of stunned silence.
Wei Wuxian immediately shut his eyes. Why did I say that?!
Lan Wangji slowly turned his head toward him, not fully but enough to raise an eyebrow.
"I mean—" Wei Wuxian scrambled, ears burning now, "It means you’re healthy! Right? A healthy scalp is a good sign of health! I learned that from Wen Qing! Medical stuff!"
Lan Wangji stared at him for a long moment, and Wei Wuxian had to look away.
They remained like that for a few moments more, Wei Wuxian combing through the last few strands of hair with utmost care, fingers brushing lightly along Lan Wangji’s nape.
The silence between them was no longer awkward, but charged. It filled the air like the stillness before a storm, vibrating softly under the surface.
When he finally finished, Wei Wuxian sighed, setting the comb down with exaggerated care. He patted Lan Wangji's shoulder. "There! All done. Perfect. As expected of me, Wei Wuxian. I’m great at this, aren’t I?"
Lan Wangji gave a soft hum in response. He turned his head, and this time, looked directly at Wei Wuxian without the barrier of the mirror.
"Thank you."
Wei Wuxian froze.
It wasn't just the words. It was the way Lan Wangji said them, the sincerity in his voice, the warmth in his gaze.
Wei Wuxian opened his mouth to say something—anything—but he couldn't find words.
So instead, he laughed again. Not the nervous, high-pitched laugh from before, but a softer one, almost shy.
"Anytime, Lan Zhan. Anytime."
Once finished, he glanced up, eyes catching on the pale blue forehead ribbon still tied securely around Lan Wangji’s head.
"You know... I’ve seen you sleep without this before," he said casually.
Lan Wangji gave a soft hum of acknowledgment. "It’s removed before bed."
"Oh," Wei Wuxian said, moving to stand in front of him. "Then, should I help you with that too? Since I’m already being so helpful and all."
He reached out without thinking, fingers brushing the edge of the ribbon. But the moment his fingers grazed it, Lan Wangji flinched—just barely, but enough. It was instinctive, a subtle tension, but it was there.
Wei Wuxian froze.
Wide-eyed, he immediately pulled his hand back, laughing weakly. "Ah—right. I forgot. Sorry! You Lan people are super sensitive about your forehead ribbons, huh? It’s like... sacred or something. No worries! Do it yourself, I won’t—"
He turned to step away, heart thudding again—not with attraction this time, but guilt. But before he could move far, a voice called him back.
"Wei Ying."
He stopped.
Turned.
Lan Wangji was still sitting at the table, his reflection meeting Wei Wuxian’s gaze in the mirror. His head was lowered slightly, but his eyes lifted—deep and golden and unwavering. His ears were a deep shade of red.
"I don’t mind," he said softly.
Wei Wuxian blinked. "What?"
"You can touch it," Lan Wangji said. "Whenever you want."
For a moment, Wei Wuxian couldn’t speak. His mind blanked entirely.
"Lan Zhan... are you serious?" he asked, stunned.
Lan Wangji nodded.
Something warm and unfamiliar curled in Wei Wuxian’s chest. He slowly stepped forward again, cautiously lifting his hand. Lan Wangji remained still, his breath shallow, his gaze never leaving Wei Wuxian’s.
Wei Wuxian’s fingers brushed the ribbon, hesitantly at first. When Lan Wangji didn’t pull back, he grew bolder, loosening the knot and slowly drawing the strip of cloth away. As he did, he felt the other man’s breath hitch. The flush on Lan Wangji’s ears deepened.
Wei Wuxian was mesmerized.
He looked down at the ribbon in his hands. It was soft, simple, not decorated with any talismans or spells. Nothing magical about it.
"I never understood," he murmured, more to himself than anyone else. "Why this is so important to you. It’s just a ribbon."
But the moment he thought it, he felt the truth. It wasn’t just a ribbon. It was Lan Wangji’s trust, laid bare.
Carefully, he folded the ribbon and placed it on the table beside the brush. Then, lips tugging upward in a teasing smile, he leaned over Lan Wangji’s shoulder and said, "Well, now you’re ready for bed. A proper Lan, stripped of your holy ribbon and everything."
Lan Wangji’s ears turned even redder, but he didn’t look away.
In the mirror, Wei Wuxian saw him—not the stoic Second Jade of Lan, not the perfect heir of Gusu Lan—but Lan Zhan. The boy who once listened to his flute music under the moonlight. The young man who had stood against him on the roof of Cloud Recesses. The person who, now, was slowly allowing himself to be seen.
And Wei Wuxian… couldn’t look away.
Outside the room, a soft breeze blew past the window, stirring the curtains slightly. But inside, the air remained warm and filled with something fragile, something precious.
And very, very real.
Notes:
Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji are so soft right now… please treasure them. 😌
Just a gentle heads-up: this peace won’t last forever. Let’s just say my outline has… plans.
Knives, to be specific.You’ve got time before the heartbreak hits—but when it does… it won’t hold back.
So yes. Smile now. Cry later. Bring tissues. 🖤
Chapter Text
Lotus Pier thrummed with life.
The scent of fresh lotus blossoms drifted on the breeze, carried over the glittering lake that framed the sect grounds in a soft shimmer. Disciples moved briskly, their steps swift but quiet, placing fresh scrolls in the meeting hall, polishing name plaques, arranging seats with meticulous attention to seniority and sect hierarchy.
Bright silk banners of purple, blue, and white fluttered across the pavilions, proudly bearing the Jiang Clan’s emblem—alongside symbols of unity among the cultivation sects.
For the first time since the war, the discussion conference was being hosted at Lotus Pier.
And for the first time, it was Jiang Cheng—newly appointed as Sect Leader—bearing the weight of welcoming every great sect.
And he wanted everything perfect.
Not a speck of dust dared remain under his sharp scrutiny. He inspected every corner of the guest quarters, scolded junior disciples for crooked posture, and personally oversaw the layout of the main hall for the next morning’s conference.
“The tea must be changed every hour. Don’t let it go cold,” he snapped at a flustered servant. “And not too strong with the sachets. Mild lotus and cinnamon. We’re hosting a conference, not a sneeze festival.”
At the main gates, beneath an arch of plum blossoms and embroidered banners, Wei Wuxian stood with his hands clasped behind his back, watching the lake with lazy ease.
Lan Wangji stood beside him, calm as ever—dressed in flowing white and blue, his presence as serene as still water.
They had been waiting.
Then—hoofbeats, footsteps, and the shimmer of a sword’s flight split the quiet.
A white sword descended like a falling petal from the sky. Upon it stood Lan Xichen, graceful and poised, his expression warm as he caught sight of the two figures by the gate.
“Sect Leader Lan,” Wei Wuxian greeted, stepping forward with an easy grin. “You’re right on time.”
Lan Xichen returned the greeting with a slight bow. “Wei-gongzi. Thank you for receiving us. Lotus Pier is... beautiful. Sect Leader Jiang has outdone himself.”
Wei Wuxian laughed. “We’re all running ourselves ragged just trying to keep up with him. But enough of that—Lan Zhan, your brother’s here. Aren’t you going to say something?”
Lan Wangji inclined his head in a slow, dignified bow. “Xiongzhang. Welcome.”
Lan Xichen’s gaze softened. “Wangji. It’s good to see you well.”
Wei Wuxian gave them both a cheeky smile. “You two catch up. I’m off to check on the kitchen. If that peach blossom wine is even a day old, Jiang Cheng’s going to have a meltdown.”
He tossed a wink over his shoulder before strolling away, leaving the brothers behind.
Lan Wangji gestured silently, guiding his brother down a stone path toward the guest courtyard.
As they walked, Lan Xichen let his eyes wander over blooming lotus ponds, rustling trees, and the warm, everyday noise of disciples chatting in the distance. The tension in his shoulders eased. He turned to his brother.
“How have you been, Wangji?”
Lan Wangji gave a nod. “I am well.”
Lan Xichen tilted his head slightly. “Truly? You’re happy here?”
A pause.
Another nod.
“You’re not facing any difficulty? No discomfort?”
“None.”
Lan Xichen’s smile was faint—but genuine. “And Wei-gongzi? He treats you well?”
A small blink. Then—something soft shimmered in Lan Wangji’s eyes. “He is good to me.”
Lan Xichen watched him. That tone—low, even, and laced with sincerity—told him more than any elaborate answer could.
“If anything ever troubles you,” he said gently, “you’ll tell me, won’t you?”
“Mn.”
Then—
“Adie!”
A small voice rang out like a bell.
From between the garden walls came a flurry of motion—a small figure bounding forward, arms outstretched, hair tied in a slightly crooked ponytail.
Wen Yuan, dressed in pale lavender robes with a rabbit embroidered at the hem, launched himself at Lan Wangji’s legs, hugging them tightly.
“You didn’t wait for me!” he pouted.
Lan Wangji bent, placing a hand on the boy’s head. “You were with Aunt Qing.”
Wen Yuan gave a soft, stubborn huff and buried his face against his knee.
Lan Xichen blinked. Speechless for a beat. Then he chuckled.
“Wangji,” he said lightly, “you didn’t tell me you had a child.”
Wen Yuan peeked out from behind Lan Wangji’s robes, big eyes wide and wary. He clung tighter.
Lan Xichen knelt, voice warm. “Hello. I’m your Adie’s older brother. You can call me Bofu.”
The child looked up at Lan Wangji innocently, seeking guidance.
A subtle nod.
Wen Yuan stepped forward and bowed his little head. “Hello, Bofu.”
Lan Xichen smiled and ruffled his hair. “If I’d known I had a nephew, I would’ve brought gifts. I’ll fix that. Later, I’ll get you some toys, alright?”
Wen Yuan’s face lit up. “Really? Promise?”
“I promise.”
Lan Wangji watched silently. Amusement flickered in his gaze as Wen Yuan leaned happily against his brother.
Lan Xichen turned toward him again, his smile dimming into something more contemplative.
The difference in Lan Wangji was unmistakable.
His brother’s posture had relaxed. The familiar frown he’d carried since youth had softened. His golden eyes, once veiled, now gleamed with warmth. He looked... whole.
Lan Xichen swallowed around the lump in his throat.
“You look happy,” he said. “Truly happy.”
Lan Wangji blinked at the sudden emotion in his brother’s voice.
“I always hoped for this,” Lan Xichen continued. “For you to live freely. With someone you chose. Without fear. Without chains.”
Wen Yuan tugged on his sleeve. “Bofu… are you sad?”
Lan Xichen blinked fast and gave a watery laugh. “No, no. I'm just happy .”
He looked back at Lan Wangji—who stood quiet, still, and steady. But his eyes gleamed bright beneath the sun.
“I’m proud of you,” Lan Xichen said. “For choosing your own path. And for finding something beautiful.”
Lan Wangji was silent for a moment. Then he spoke.
“Thank you. Xiongzhang.”
And in that quiet phrase was all the meaning the world could hold.
Beneath the blue sky of Lotus Pier, the two brothers stood together while Wen Yuan babbled about rabbits and toys—safe, warm, and wrapped in the arms of a family that was slowly, beautifully growing.
___________________
Wei Wuxian stood proudly beside Jiang Yanli at the gates of Lotus Pier, his dark robes fluttering gently in the breeze. He greeted arriving guests with wide grins and sharp, confident bows, while Jiang Yanli, calm and composed, offered soft words and gentle smiles. Together, they formed a seamless front—siblings, hosts, and symbols of a rebuilt Lotus Pier.
Then came the sound of trumpets.
Golden-robed figures approached in a shimmering procession.
“The Jin Clan has arrived,” a disciple announced.
Wei Wuxian’s smile faltered, just slightly. Beside him, Jiang Yanli’s hands folded a little tighter at her waist.
Madam Jin swept forward in a flourish of glittering silk. Her painted lips curved into an emotional smile as she pulled Jiang Yanli into an embrace that was equal parts affection and possession.
“A-Li! It’s been far too long. You’ve grown thinner. Has Lotus Pier been treating you well?”
Jiang Yanli returned the embrace with practiced poise. “Madam Jin, I’m honored. Everything has been good here.”
Behind her, Jin Zixuan approached slowly, as if struggling to decide whether to advance or retreat. His eyes were fixed on Jiang Yanli. The usual stiffness in his expression had faded, replaced by something tender. Vulnerable.
He opened his mouth—just as a figure moved sharply between them.
“Ah, Young Master Jin!” Wei Wuxian interjected cheerfully, stepping directly into Jin Zixuan’s path with arms spread. “Welcome to Lotus Pier. You honor us with your presence.”
Jin Zixuan’s expression twisted into a reluctant scowl. “Wei Wuxian.”
“Yes?” Wei Wuxian grinned.
“…..Where is the guest pavilion?”
“Oh, don’t trouble yourself. Someone will take care of that. You must be tired from the journey—why not go freshen up first?” Wei Wuxian remained squarely in front of him, a wall of charm and iron.
Jin Zixuan shifted to the side. Jiang Yanli had barely stepped forward when Wei Wuxian mirrored her movement, subtly blocking her line of sight again.
“What exactly are you doing?” Jin Zixuan hissed under his breath.
Wei Wuxian’s voice was light, but his eyes gleamed cold. “Protecting my shijie from unnecessary heartache. If you’re here to play hot-and-cold again, keep your words to yourself.”
Jin Zixuan’s jaw clenched. “That’s none of your business.”
Wei Wuxian’s smile didn’t budge. “When it comes to my shijie, everything is my business.”
“You’re shameless,” muttered a Jin disciple behind him.
The air shifted.
A pulse of resentful energy rose from Wei Wuxian like smoke curling from embers—quiet, coiled, unmistakable. The light dimmed a fraction. Shadows flickered at the edges of his robes. Sect disciples glanced at one another, tense and wary.
Jiang Yanli’s hand moved to her chest. “A-Xian,” she called softly.
He didn’t hear her.
Jin Zixuan blanched but didn’t move. “Control yourself,” he said tightly. “You think just because you play with ghosts, you can intimidate—”
“Wei-xiong! Save me! He’s going to kill me!”
The standoff shattered like glass.
Nie Huaisang, swathed in green and halfway tangled in an unspooled scroll, came sprinting down the corridor, fan clutched to his chest like a shield. He skidded to a stop and threw himself behind Wei Wuxian with theatrical panic.
“Huaisang?” Wei Wuxian blinked. “What—”
“He’s here! My dage’s here! He’s going to kill me for sneaking away! I was only gone for a little while!”
The thunder of heavy boots cut through the courtyard.
Nie Mingjue stormed into view, robes swirling with fury, jaw clenched. “Huaisang! You ungrateful brat! You disappeared for weeks without a word, and now I find you hiding in Lotus Pier like a coward?”
Nie Huaisang peeked from behind Wei Wuxian’s shoulder, wide-eyed. “Dage, I was doing—important cultural research!”
“You were drinking wine and watching opera!”
“It’s for the arts!”
Wei Wuxian’s spiritual pressure vanished in an instant, replaced by exasperated amusement.
“You—” Nie Mingjue turned on him. “You encouraged him, didn’t you?”
Wei Wuxian raised his hands in mock surrender. “I swear I didn’t even know he was here. Though if I had, I might have provided snacks.”
“You’re not helping!”
Jiang Yanli stepped between them swiftly, placing a calming hand on Wei Wuxian’s arm. “Sect Leader Nie, please. Let’s not alarm the guests. Everyone is watching.”
And indeed they were. The gathered cultivators, once tense with hostility, now stared at the Nie brothers with reluctant fascination.
Nie Mingjue exhaled sharply, visibly trying to rein in his temper. When he turned to Jiang Yanli, his tone softened.
“Fine. But you—” he jabbed a finger at Huaisang. “We’ll speak later.”
Nie Huaisang beamed innocently. “Of course, Dage. Later. Much later. Maybe after the conference ends. Or the season.”
Laughter rippled through the crowd. The heavy fog of tension lifted like morning mist.
Wei Wuxian turned to find Jin Zixuan still watching, his face unreadable, emotions tightly masked.
“Looks like everyone’s excited for the conference,” Wei Wuxian said with a grin.
Jin Zixuan said nothing. He turned and walked away without another word.
Jiang Yanli’s sigh was barely audible. Nie Huaisang straightened his robes, fanned himself like nothing had happened.
“Whew,” he said. “That was close. I owe you one, Wei-xiong.”
Wei Wuxian’s smile thinned, eyes drifting to his sister—to the way her gaze still followed Jin Zixuan’s retreating back.
“No,” he murmured, more to himself than to anyone else. “You don’t owe me. I just wish people would stop hurting the people I love.”
__________________
The next morning dawned bright and breezy, with the lake glimmering like it was dressed for the occasion.
Lotus Pier bustled with purpose. Disciples scurried about with scrolls and tea trays, sleeves flapping, voices hushed but energized. Somewhere in the distance, a gong sounded faintly—far too official for Wei Wuxian’s liking.
“Wei Wuxian!”
The yell echoed through the courtyard like a thunderclap.
Wei Wuxian choked slightly on a mouthful of steamed bun, cheeks puffed like a chipmunk. He chewed frantically as he half-ran, half-skipped toward the pavilion.
Jiang Cheng was waiting at the top of the steps, arms crossed, looking like he’d bitten into something sour. A very large, loud vein pulsed at his temple.
“Do you intend to embarrass the Jiang Clan at every formal event?” he snapped. “You’re late. Again.”
Wei Wuxian wiped his mouth on his sleeve. “I’m not late. I’m fashionably delayed. There’s a difference.”
Jiang Cheng growled. “Shut up. Take this.”
He threw something at Wei Wuxian. It glinted in the morning light, spinning toward him—
Suibian.
Wei Wuxian caught it on instinct, fingers wrapping around the familiar hilt. The sword landed in his hand like it never left—but the weight of it was different now. Not heavier in metal, but in memory.
“Carry it with you,” Jiang Cheng barked. “Stop tossing it around like it’s worthless. You may not care about your reputation, but the Jiang name is tied to you whether we like it or not.”
Wei Wuxian looked down at the sword. Suibian felt like a breath from his past—unshakable, undeniable.
He nodded quietly. “Alright. I’ll carry it.”
Jiang Cheng blinked, clearly caught off guard by the lack of sarcasm. Then, with a huff, he turned and marched back into the main hall.
Wei Wuxian stood still for a moment, then slowly turned away from the gathering crowd.
He walked to the far end of the pier, where the morning mist lingered and the noise of the sect faded behind him. A weeping willow arched gracefully over the water, its long tendrils swaying in the breeze. Beneath it, he sat cross-legged, laying Suibian across his knees.
His fingers brushed the sheath, reverent and slow.
“Suibian,” he whispered. “I’m sorry.”
The sword lay quiet in his lap. But in the hush of dawn, it felt like it was listening.
“You never failed me,” he murmured. “You protected me when no one else did. I’m the one who walked away.”
His voice dropped, thick with the weight of old guilt. Mist clung to his boots, cool and silent.
“I thought… if I left you behind, I could leave everything behind. Pretend it doesn't matter. But it never works that way.”
He leaned back against the willow, tilting his face toward the pale sky. Sunlight filtered through the branches above, golden and soft.
“Forgive me,” he said. “If you can.”
The wind shifted gently, brushing against his skin like breath.
“I’ll try to keep you close now. Not because Jiang Cheng said so. Not for reputation. Not for show. But because you’re mine. And I should never have left you behind.”
The sword remained silent—but something in the air felt warmer. Lighter.
Wei Wuxian sat still, letting the peace settle. Letting morning wrap gently around him, for just a little while longer.
The sect would be calling soon. The world would return.
But for this quiet moment, beneath the willow and the morning sun, he could simply breathe.
And so he did.
___________________
The grand hall of Lotus Pier had not held such tension since its reconstruction began. Sunlight streamed through tall lattice windows, casting golden bars across the lacquered floors and catching the ornate carvings on the pillars—each bearing the Jiang Clan’s sigil.
Cultivators from across the cultivation world filled the hall, seated in a crescent around the central dais. The Jin Clan sat to the right, swathed in gold and arrogance; the Lan Clan to the left, cool and composed. Between them: the Nie Clan, and smaller sects like Qiu, Mo, and Yao—less powerful, but brimming with political weight.
Servants drifted through, silent as shadows, balancing porcelain teacups and trays of sweetmeats. The atmosphere buzzed with whispers and measured politeness. No one relaxed. Everyone watched.
At the head of the room sat the Jiang Clan. Jiang Cheng, in violet and silver, held himself like a blade—straight-backed, jaw set, fingers tapping faintly against the armrest. Young for a Sect Leader. Some admired that. Others... didn’t.
Beside him slouched Wei Wuxian. In black robes with a flash of red beneath, he looked out of place and entirely at home. One leg tucked beneath him, chin resting in his hand, his smile was subtle, amused—as if the whole gathering were a stage and only he knew the script.
Across the hall, Lan Wangji sat beside Lan Xichen, rigid and unreadable. His golden eyes kept returning to Wei Wuxian, gaze sharp and quiet.
A subtle furrow formed between Lan Wangji’s brows.
The initial discussions had unfolded in expected decorum—border patrol responsibilities, the logistics of sharing cultivation resources, support for rebuilding efforts in war-ravaged territories. Polite, diplomatic, orderly.
Then, the tone shifted.
A man from the Qiu Clan, tall, with a narrow face and an ornate fan he flicked with affected nonchalance, stood.
"And what of the Wen remnants?" he asked, his voice measured but imbued with a faint sneer. "Forgive my bluntness, but placing them here, in Lotus Pier, seems unwise. The Jiang Sect is still recovering from the devastation of the war. To take in those whose blood is tainted with guilt—" he waved his fan dismissively, "—that can only bring further instability."
A ripple went through the room. Heads turned. Some cultivators nodded faintly in agreement. Others kept their expressions carefully blank. No one interrupted him.
The man continued, emboldened by the silence.
"And Jiang Wanyin—" he inclined his head with mock politeness toward Jiang Cheng, "—with all due respect, he is young. A Sect Leader, yes. But perhaps too young to understand the full implications of such a dangerous decision."
Silence.
And then—
Laughter.
Low and dark, laced with unmistakable amusement. It came from Wei Wuxian.
He straightened, slowly, one leg sliding down until both feet were planted on the floor. He rested an elbow against the table, his fingers curled loosely under his chin. His smile had sharpened, barbed now with disdain.
"Oh?" he said, his voice smooth and sweet, like aged wine hiding poison beneath its sweetness. "Then perhaps you should enlighten us all. Tell us, Sect Leader Qiu, who exactly should we trust instead? You?"
The Qiu Clan leader's smile faltered.
Wei Wuxian tilted his head slightly, still smiling. "A man who wags his tail more loyally than his sword? Who follows the loudest barking voice like a well-trained dog?"
The hall erupted.
"Wei Wuxian!"
"Have some respect!"
"This is a formal summit!"
But Wei Wuxian didn’t flinch. Didn’t even blink.
He looked around, his expression cool. "I have respect—for those who deserve it."
His voice dropped, slow and deliberate, and yet every syllable rang across the hall with clarity.
"You insult Jiang Cheng in his own home, during a conference held under his name, while sipping his tea and resting on his hospitality. And you call him unfit?"
Murmurs surged again. Some embarrassed, some angry.
Wei Wuxian stood.
The shift in energy was immediate. He did not raise his voice. He didn’t need to.
"As for the Wen remnants—" he said, each word precise, "—they are under Lotus Pier’s protection. Which means they are under my protection."
He swept his gaze across the room. A challenge.
"If anyone here wishes to test that..."
He paused. Let the silence stretch.
"Come. Let’s see who has the power to challenge me."
No one moved. No one spoke.
Even the air seemed to pause.
Wei Wuxian’s smile returned, slow and mocking.
On the Lan side, Lan Wangji’s jaw tightened. Under his wide sleeves, his hands clenched faintly. His golden eyes did not leave Wei Wuxian.
Lan Xichen rose.
"Everyone," he said, his voice soft and calm, like a balm to the building tension. "Let us not forget why we have gathered. We have all seen these Wen remnants. Many are children. Elders. Civilians. Healers. These are not warriors, not soldiers. They were victims of their own kin’s madness."
The hall quieted.
Lan Xichen’s tone carried the weight of reason. Of empathy.
"And let us not forget," he continued, "it was not the Wen remnants who started this war. They did not burn Cloud Recesses. They did not enslave the sects. They are rebuilding, just like we are."
He paused, then inclined his head respectfully.
"My brother currently resides at Lotus Pier and has seen the conditions of these people. On behalf of the Lan Clan, we stand in support of the Jiang Sect’s decision."
Jiang Cheng blinked. A flash of surprise crossed his face. Then, slowly, he bowed his head.
"Thank you, Sect leader Lan."
Wei Wuxian turned to the Qiu Sect representative again, his smile now curved in pleasant mockery. "Anything else to say?"
The man paled.
Jin Guangshan’s laughter broke the moment. "Let’s not be so serious, Young Master Wei. I’m sure our friend meant no offense. They merely speak out of worry.”
Wei Wuxian’s gaze flicked toward him.
Jin Guangshan smiled with oily ease. "And naturally, we all know how... passionate you are in your convictions."
Wei Wuxian said nothing.
But he did smile. That smile sent a chill across the room.
And then he sat down.
Quiet returned to the hall, this time brittle and wary. Everyone sat straighter. No one met Wei Wuxian’s eyes.
Beside him, Jiang Cheng sighed through his nose and muttered, "Must you always make a scene?"
Wei Wuxian gave him a sidelong look. "Didn’t see you stopping me."
Jiang Cheng looked away, mouth twitching.
Across the hall, Lan Wangji exhaled through his nose. He leaned slightly forward, elbows just brushing the edge of the table, and let his gaze linger.
On Wei Wuxian.
Sharp-tongued. Fierce. Unbending.
And, despite everything—still protecting others.
Lan Wangji’s hands unclenched beneath his sleeves.
He watched as Wei Wuxian turned to take his tea again, calm as ever, as if the storm had never happened.
Then Jin Guangshan clapped his hands with theatrical delight. His voice rang out, oiled and smooth ,"Why don’t we talk about something more... jovial? The war is over, the clans are rebuilding. What better time to celebrate peace than a marriage?"
The great hall fell into a quiet hush. The tension, which had only just begun to settle, tightened again like a wire drawn taut.
Wei Wuxian went still.
Jin Guangshan continued, his smile stretching as he surveyed the room. "A union between the Jin and Jiang Clan would surely solidify this peace. What say we revive the marriage proposal between Jin Zixuan and Lady Jiang Yanli?"
For a breath, silence reigned. Then a ripple of murmurs began to spread through the assembly—curious, speculative, skeptical. It was the sort of announcement meant to dazzle, to distract, to manipulate through grandeur and civility.
But not everyone was fooled.
Wei Wuxian stood, the movement deliberate, slow. The air shifted subtly around him, like wind over glass. His eyes gleamed dark beneath the flickering torchlight, but his expression was unreadable.
"What marriage?" he asked, each word clear and hard as a blade drawn from its sheath. "That betrothal was cancelled. By Uncle Jiang himself."
Jin Guangshan's smile didn’t falter. If anything, it widened. "That was then. Circumstances have changed. We have all suffered. Rebuilding trust begins with goodwill. And your sister, such a gentle soul—"
"My Shijie," Wei Wuxian cut in, voice sharp as shattered ice, "deserves better than someone who insulted her whenever they got the chance."
Murmurs became whispers, some scandalized, others intrigued. The elders from smaller sects exchanged glances.
Jin Zixun leaned forward, smug and smirking beside his cousin. His voice carried just enough to be heard. "It's always about you, isn't it, Wei Wuxian? Jealous, maybe? That your sister might actually find someone of status? Or worried it won’t be you?"
The words hung like poison in the air.
Wei Wuxian's head turned, slowly, deliberately. His hands curled into fists at his sides, knuckles whitening. A faint pressure rippled through the room. A flicker of red lit his irises for a breath before vanishing.
His smile was a thing of death.
"You know," he said softly, too softly, "the last person who made me loathe them this much was Wen Chao."
He laughed. The sound was cold, hollow, cruel.
"You remember what happened to him, don’t you?"
Jin Zixun’s skin went pale beneath his finery. He leaned back instinctively, eyes wide.
"Do you want to try your luck, Jin Zixun?" Wei Wuxian murmured, voice heavy with power. The resentful energy surged around him in thin tendrils, snaking from his sleeves and crackling faintly.
The air in the room grew thick, heavy with dread.
A soft touch broke the growing storm.
Jiang Yanli had risen quietly, her hand finding Wei Wuxian's clenched fist. Her fingers were warm and steady, her touch an anchor.
"A-Xian," she said gently, her voice calm as a still pond.
Wei Wuxian turned to her, still trembling. "Shijie—"
She stepped forward, her posture composed, regal. With practiced grace, she turned to face the room and dipped into a respectful bow. Her tone, when she spoke, held no tremble, only gentleness.
"Please forgive my brother’s temper. He only wishes to protect me, as he always has."
The crowd murmured, some nodding, others unsure.
Jiang Yanli lifted her gaze and met Jin Zixun’s eyes.
"But I do believe an apology is in order."
Jin Zixun hesitated. He looked toward Jin Guangshan, who gave the slightest nod. Gritting his teeth, he muttered, "My words were unkind. I apologize."
"Thank you," Jiang Yanli said with a polite nod. Then, she looked toward Jiang Cheng.
"As for the proposed marriage, that decision rests with our sect leader."
Wei Wuxian's head snapped toward his brother. "Jiang Cheng, say no."
All eyes turned.
Jiang Cheng looked tired. He exhaled slowly and met his brother’s stare.
"The final decision rests with A-jie," he said at last. "However, I will permit the two to meet again, if she chooses."
"What?" Wei Wuxian exploded. "You can’t be serious!"
Jiang Cheng straightened. "It’s not your decision, Wei Wuxian."
"She deserves better!" he shouted, stepping forward. "You think I’ll sit here and let that smug bastard back into her life? After everything he said?"
"It’s not about what you want!" Jiang Cheng snapped, his voice rising to match his brother’s. “ You are not her keeper!"
" I am her family! I have tried to protect her since we were children!"
"So have I! You don’t get to decide everything just because you feel more righteous about it!"
The argument raged in the open now, too loud to be ignored. The elders sat still, uncertain whether to intervene. Lan Xichen’s eyes flicked toward Lan Wangji, who looked tense but didn't intervene. This was not their battle.
Jiang Yanli, standing between them, reached once more for Wei Wuxian, but this time he shook his head.
"I don’t agree with this," he said, voice low and flat. "I will never agree."
Then, without another word, he turned and stormed from the hall. His boots struck the marble like thunder, leaving behind only a trail of murmurs and the sting of fractured peace.
_____________________________
As soon as Wei Wuxian’s figure disappeared through the heavy doors of the grand hall, an uneasy murmur rose like wind rustling through dry leaves.
The silence that followed his stormy departure did not last long. Whispers broke the stillness—first tentative, then bolder, as if the moment Wei Wuxian vanished, a collective dam broke.
“How arrogant…” someone said under their breath.
“He walked out in the middle of a summit!”
“No respect for the sect leader—his own sect leader!”
A woman in a pale yellow robe from the He Clan shook her head. “This is why people say he’s getting dangerous. He’s not the same anymore.”
“And did you see?” muttered an older cultivator from the Yang Sect, lowering his voice but not enough to escape notice. “He left his sword behind. What kind of cultivator does that? Does he think he’s above discipline?”
“Swordless. Disrespectful. Reckless.”
“Jiang Wanyin can’t even control his own brother.”
“It’s an embarrassment.”
The murmur spread like wildfire. Voices dipped and rose, carrying judgment, fear, disdain. None loud enough to be directly confrontational, but none quiet enough to be kind.
At the front of the hall, Jiang Cheng sat stone-faced, shoulders rigid, jaw clenched so tightly that a vein pulsed at his temple. His fingers dug into the armrest of his chair, leaving faint indentations in the lacquered wood. He said nothing—perhaps because anything he said would betray too much: frustration, anger, or worst of all, helplessness.
Beside him, Jiang Yanli’s expression remained composed, but her fingers tightened imperceptibly around the teacup in her hands. She did not look at anyone, nor did she speak. Her eyes remained fixed on the doorway her brother had vanished through, sorrow resting quietly in their depths.
Lan Xichen lifted his gaze, scanning the room. His face remained serene, but there was a subtle tension in his brow.
Beside him, Lan Wangji stood.
The movement was quiet, but the motion was absolute. His tall figure straightened to its full height, robes flowing in pale waves like mountain mist at dawn.
Lan Xichen shifted slightly. “Wangji,” he said softly, lifting a hand, a subtle warning in his tone.
But Lan Wangji didn’t pause. He did not look at his brother.
And Lan Xichen, after a moment of studying his expression—calm, unreadable, but firm—slowly let his hand fall back into his lap.
The whispers faltered.
People noticed.
Lan Wangji descended from the raised platform with slow, measured steps, his pale robes brushing against the polished floor. His expression did not shift; it remained impassive, the very portrait of discipline. But there was something in the air around him, a ripple, a stillness that followed in his wake. He walked across the room with quiet purpose.
And then, without ceremony, he stopped before the dais where Wei Wuxian had been seated earlier—where a dark, sheathed sword lay across the table, forgotten.
Suíbiān.
The murmuring grew confused now. Puzzled glances darted toward each other.
Was he...?
Lan Wangji reached out and lifted the sword with both hands, handling it with respect. It was a deeply personal act, bordering on the intimate—for a sword, especially one not his own, to be touched was no small thing. It was a cultivator’s soul, their pride, their bond.
Lan Wangji cradled Suíbiān in his arms as if it were made of something far more delicate than spirit-forged steel. Then, he turned to face the front of the hall.
His golden eyes met Jiang Cheng’s.
There was no aggression. No challenge.
Only courtesy.
Lan Wangji bowed low.
A full, graceful, unflinching bow of respect.
“To Sect Leader Jiang,” he said, his voice steady and clear, “for hosting this conference. And for allowing my continued stay at Lotus Pier.”
Jiang Cheng stiffened, unsure whether to be irritated or moved.
Lan Wangji said nothing else.
He straightened, turned, and with sword in hand, walked out of the hall.
The silence he left behind was deeper than the one Wei Wuxian’s departure had carved.
No one dared speak.
No one quite understood.
But the tension had changed.
________________________________
The clamor of Lotus Pier's central market dulled into a distant hum from where Wei Wuxian sat on the upper balcony of a modest restaurant. The building, built with rich wood and faded red beams, had a clear view of the bustling street below. From his vantage point, he could see the world moving with purpose and routine. None of that purpose belonged to him. Not anymore.
He sat lazily, sprawled in a way that screamed exhaustion masked with nonchalance. A large jar of wine sat under his fingertips, his hand idly tracing the smooth surface without lifting it. His collar had come undone, exposing a sliver of collarbone. The late afternoon sun dipped low, casting a warm light over the rooftops, but nothing could thaw the bitterness simmering beneath his skin.
His thoughts were murky, heavy with the sting of whispers, judgments, the weight of glances filled with suspicion, fear, and betrayal. He was used to it—or he told himself he was. But even Wei Wuxian had his breaking points.
"He's sighing again," came a sing-song voice beside him.
"He looks sad," another said softly, her fingers playing with the sleeve of her pale silk robe.
"Maybe he needs cheering up," giggled the third, eyes bright as she leaned forward over the balcony railing.
Three women sat beside him. Ethereal. Impossibly beautiful. Their skin glowed faintly with the pallor of death, their features too symmetrical, too smooth to be entirely human. Ghosts. But not malicious. They'd come drawn by his aura, his resentful energy spilling like perfume into the air. And unlike the living, they did not judge him.
Wei Wuxian tilted his head toward them, a corner of his mouth twitching up. "You're all still here?"
"Of course," the first said, brushing her translucent hair behind her ear. "You have good wine. And we like your music."
"And your voice," added the second with a dreamy sigh.
The third, who had been leaning furthest forward, suddenly gave a soft squeak. "Ah! So handsome!"
Wei Wuxian blinked and turned his gaze toward her. "Who?"
She pointed eagerly down at the street below. "That man in white. Standing by the incense stall."
Wei Wuxian raised an eyebrow and shifted lazily in his seat to glance down.
And froze.
Lan Wangji.
There he stood. Straight-backed, expressionless, dressed in his signature white and blue robes, his forehead ribbon perfect as ever. He looked absurdly out of place amidst the crowd of merchants and townsfolk, as though the world bent itself politely away from him. Wei Wuxian's fingers stilled on the wine jar.
A slow smile tugged at his lips.
"You like that one?" he asked, flicking his gaze between the ghosts and the man below.
All three nodded enthusiastically.
"He's very beautiful," one said dreamily.
"Almost divine," added another.
"But not as beautiful as you," the third added quickly.
Wei Wuxian laughed, tossing his head back. "Almost divine, huh? That good?"
He leaned an elbow on the low balcony ledge, cheek in hand, and smiled down at the man below. "You're right," he murmured, eyes fond and laced with amusement. "He is very pretty."
As if sensing his gaze, Lan Wangji's head turned.
Their eyes met.
In an instant, the atmosphere shifted. Lan Wangji's golden eyes narrowed. His jaw tightened. His gaze swept the balcony, and then locked onto the scene before him. Wei Wuxian, collar half-loose, sprawled lazily with three beautiful women—ghosts—around him, whispering and leaning far too close for any cultivator's comfort.
Wei Wuxian watched the change come over him, curiosity sparking. He knew that look. It was the same one Lan Wangji wore when someone disrupted a sacred ritual. Or insulted a master. Or threatened someone he cared about.
Without hesitation, Lan Wangji began moving.
He entered the restaurant below, and within moments, his footsteps echoed up the stairs. When he stepped onto the balcony, the temperature seemed to drop a few degrees.
Wei Wuxian raised his jar in mock cheer. "Look who it is. Hanguang-Jun graces my humble table."
Lan Wangji said nothing. His eyes were fixed on the ghosts. Without a word, he drew his sword and raised it, pointing the blade toward them.
"Leave."
The word cracked through the air like a whip.
The three women recoiled instantly, expressions flickering with fear.
"But—"
"Now."
There was no room for argument.
They vanished in wisps of smoke and mournful sighs, disappearing into the shadows as quickly as they had come.
Wei Wuxian let out a slow whistle, placing the wine jar down. "Pity. I was just starting to enjoy their company. Even ghosts are afraid of you, Lan Zhan."
Lan Wangji lowered his sword but did not sheath it. He stepped closer.
"Why."
"What?"
"Why did you call them?"
Wei Wuxian stared at him, then laughed again, throwing his head back with abandon. "Obviously because I wanted beautiful company to pass the time. What else?"
Lan Wangji's jaw tightened further, fists clenching at his sides.
"Am I beautiful?"
The question hit the air like a thrown blade.
Wei Wuxian blinked. He tilted his head. "What? Lan Zhan, are you fishing for compliments now? Want me to recite a poem in your praise?"
"Answer."
Wei Wuxian sighed dramatically. "Fine, fine. You're beautiful. Absolutely stunning. Now, what is this about?"
Lan Wangji took a single step forward.
"Then call me."
Wei Wuxian blinked. "What?"
Lan Wangji's voice remained steady, though softer now. "Don't call them. If you want company...call me. I will come to Wei Ying."
The words hung between them, heavy and strange and electric.
Wei Wuxian froze, wine forgotten. His eyes widened as if trying to piece the meaning together. The air around them pulsed with something unspoken.
Then, slowly, his expression shifted.
He leaned back and gave a short, humorless laugh. "Ah... Of course. Hanguangjun can't stand it when I call ghosts. It's improper. Disrupting the dead. Using resentful energy. That's it, isn't it?"
Lan Wangji opened his mouth. But no words came.
His throat worked, but whatever he had tried to say dissolved in silence.
Wei Wuxian watched him. Something in his chest tightened, not quite pain, not quite anger.
"Never mind," he said at last, waving one hand. "Since you drove my companions away, you’ll have to take their place."
Lan Wangji stood still.
Wei Wuxian grinned, though it didn't quite reach his eyes. He gestured to the now-empty seat beside him. "Sit, Lan Zhan. Entertain me. Tell me a story. Pour me a drink. Make yourself useful."
Lan Wangji looked at him for a long time.
Then he stepped forward.
And sat.
Wei Wuxian didn’t speak for a while. The wine sat untouched between them.
The world moved on below. But for now, they sat together in the quiet, on a balcony where grief and longing clung to the railings like ivy.
Wei Wuxian finally murmured, "You're really not going to lecture me?"
Lan Wangji met his gaze.
"No."
The silence returned. But this time, it was gentler.
And perhaps, Wei Wuxian thought, just perhaps—he wouldn't mind the company after all.
____________________________________
The moonlight filtered through the paper windows, casting soft silver light over the room. The warm aroma of wine lingered in the air, curling like an invitation around Wei Wuxian’s senses.
Wei wuxian leaned back, cradling his wine cup in one hand, his other arm stretched casually behind him for balance. He gazed at the figure seated across from him—silent, still, composed.
Lan Wangji sat like a statue carved by divine hands. His posture was impeccable, spine perfectly straight despite the hour. His pristine white robes glowed faintly under the moon’s touch, and his long hair, meticulously tied, spilled like ink down his back. Yet despite his usual stillness, there was a subtle shift in him tonight. His eyes—those golden, haunting eyes—were half-lidded with sleepiness, and though his face was as serene as ever, the slight curl of his fingers on his knees betrayed a trace of unease.
Wei Wuxian couldn’t help the smirk tugging at his lips. He raised his wine in a toast, eyes gleaming with mischief. “Lan Zhan,” he drawled, voice rich and teasing, “why don’t you drink with me? Give this pitiful soul some company?”
He expected the usual response. A quiet, unimpressed ‘No.’ A faint narrowing of the eyes. Perhaps, if he was lucky, the tiniest twitch of a disapproving brow.
What he didn’t expect was silence.
He blinked, then tilted his head, curious.
Lan Wangji was looking at him. Not just glancing—really looking. His gaze locked onto Wei Wuxian’s face with the kind of intensity that always sent a jolt down his spine, leaving him unsure whether to laugh or flee. But there was something different tonight. No cold admonishment. No shield of silent judgment. Just raw, open hesitation.
“Will it…” Lan Wangji began, his voice soft and low, almost lost in the hush of the room. “Will it make you call only me, and not the ghosts?”
Wei Wuxian froze.
The teasing smile slipped off his face like petals in the wind, replaced by something startled—uncertain.
For a beat, he didn’t know what to say.
But then, before he could even form a response, Lan Wangji reached forward, lifted the wine bowl with steady fingers, and drank.
Wei Wuxian lurched up from his seat, eyes wide. “LAN ZHAN!”
The name came out as more of a yelp than anything else. He half-stumbled toward him, heart skipping. “You—! You just—! Why did you—?!”
But Lan Wangji didn’t answer.
In fact, the change was almost immediate.
Not ten seconds had passed before Lan Wangji’s elegant posture began to wilt. It was slow, almost comical—like a tree tipping over in exaggerated slow motion. His head tilted first, dipping as though weighed down by some invisible force. Then, like gravity had suddenly doubled its grip on him, he slumped forward, and with a soft thump, his forehead bumped against the edge of the low wooden table.
“Lan Zhan?!” Wei Wuxian called again, hurrying to his side.
Dropping the wine cup carelessly onto the tray, he reached out and caught Lan Wangji just before he could topple completely. His arms wrapped around his shoulders instinctively, pulling him into his embrace.
“Hey—hey, what happened?” he asked, voice rushing with worry. “You just took one sip!”
He lightly patted Lan Wangji’s cheeks, searching for signs of discomfort, his pulse racing. “Come on, talk to me. Don’t joke like this. I’m the funny one, remember?”
Still nothing.
Then, as he peered closer, he noticed something strange.
Lan Wangji’s face… was relaxed.
Too relaxed.
His lips were slightly parted, his breath slow and steady. His lashes lay soft against his pale skin, casting tiny shadows. Not unconscious. Not poisoned. Just—
sleeping?
Wei Wuxian blinked again. “Wait. You’re asleep? Already?”
A bubble of laughter burst out of him before he could stop it. He threw his head back and laughed, loud and open-mouthed, until his shoulders shook with mirth. “Lan Zhan… you adorable lightweight.”
He looked down at the man in his arms, shaking his head with disbelief. “One drink? One? And you’re already out cold?”
The absurdity of it filled him with warmth he hadn’t expected. This was a side of Lan Wangji almost no one ever got to see. Vulnerable. Soft. Completely at ease.
And for some reason, it felt like an honor.
He adjusted his hold, gently maneuvering Lan Wangji upright so his head could rest more comfortably against Wei Wuxian’s shoulder. The movement caused a few strands of hair to slip loose from the tie, brushing against Wei Wuxian’s collarbone.
He sat there for a moment, simply holding him.
The scent of sandalwood was stronger now, mixing with the faint trace of wine and the musk of night. It wrapped around him like a memory, like comfort. Like something he wasn’t sure he deserved.
“Honestly…” he murmured, half to himself, half to the man in his arms, “you’re lucky you did this with me. If Jiang Cheng found you like this, he’d never let you live it down.”
He reached for the jug of water sitting nearby, pouring a small cup. He shifted Lan Wangji slightly and held the cup to his lips.
“Come on,” he coaxed gently, “let’s sober you up a bit, sleepyhead.”
It wasn’t easy—Lan Wangji’s body had turned uncooperative, heavy with sleep—but with some careful tilting, he managed to get a few sips past his lips. A bit spilled, sliding in a delicate line down the curve of Lan Wangji’s cheek, catching in the hollow near his jaw.
Wei Wuxian sighed with exaggerated fondness. “Lan Zhan would definitely be scandalized if he saw himself like this.”
He reached out and, without really thinking, wiped the trail away with his fingers. His calloused thumb lingered a moment too long on that smooth cheek, the heat of Lan Wangji’s skin a quiet reminder of how real, how close, how alive he was.
He brushed the water away slowly, the pad of his finger tracing the gentle slope of Lan Wangji’s cheekbone, trailing the dampness with almost reverent care. The motion was unhurried, lingering. It was just water. It should’ve been nothing.
But it wasn’t.
His hand hovered.
And then, perhaps by accident—or instinct—or something else—his thumb moved lower. Brushed gently against the soft swell of Lan Wangji’s lower lip.
Wei Wuxian stilled.
The contact was faint, feather-light, but it shook something loose inside him. His breath caught as he felt the warmth of that mouth beneath his thumb. So soft. So real. Not the figment of a fantasy or a passing dream. No, this was Lan Wangji. Right here. Drunk—or near it—and asleep, leaning against him, lips parted slightly, vulnerable in a way Wei Wuxian had never seen him.
His thumb lingered.
Once more, it moved—slower this time, the pad of it grazing the curve of Lan Wangji’s lip from one corner to the other. There was an unbearable delicacy to the motion, as though the world had paused, holding its breath alongside him.
Wei Wuxian’s heart pounded against his ribs. Something about the contrast between his coarse fingers and those impossibly soft lips made his pulse race.
He swallowed, dryly. His gaze was fixed—riveted—on the way Lan Wangji’s mouth shifted beneath his touch, lips parting just a little further, as if responding in sleep.
He exhaled shakily.
A second passed.
Then another.
And then he looked up.
Golden eyes met his.
Wei Wuxian froze.
_________________________________
Chapter Text
Golden eyes met his.
Wei Wuxian froze.
Time didn’t just stop—it shattered.
Lan Wangji was awake.
Those wide, molten-gold eyes locked onto him—unblinking, unreadable. Calm, yes, as always. But beneath that surface…Something unreadable. Something that made Wei Wuxian’s stomach flip and his breath vanish.
Wei Wuxian stumbled back, limbs jerking with graceless panic. His heel caught on the edge of the mat and he nearly toppled.
“I—I wasn’t—Lan Zhan, I swear, I was just—!”
The words spilled out, frantic and useless. His heart thundered. His face burned. He felt thirteen again, caught red-handed sneaking wine from Jiang Fengmian’s study. His hands clenched reflexively at his chest, as if trying to ground himself.
He braced himself—for a scolding, for a biting remark, even for a sword drawn in righteous fury.
But Lan Wangji merely blinked. Slowly. Then, with the same stillness that made him so untouchable, so infuriatingly composed, he lifted a hand.
Wei Wuxian tensed.
But it wasn’t a slap.
Wasn’t a talisman.
Wasn’t even a reprimand.
It was a sword.
Wei Wuxian blinked. “... Suibian?” His voice cracked like a reed.
Lan Wangji gave the faintest nod. “Yours.”
Wei Wuxian blinked rapidly. He looked at the sword, then at Lan Wangji, then back at the sword again.
“You’re giving me my sword?” he asked, dumbly.
Lan Wangji didn’t reply. Just waited, patient and still, the sword cradled in his hand.
Wei Wuxian gave a short, incredulous laugh. “I—thank you. I must’ve dropped it earlier…”
He stepped forward, hand outstretched. His fingers brushed Lan Wangji’s—warm and steady.
The contact sent another jolt through him, less of a spark this time and more of a slow-blooming ache. He took the sword quickly, tucking it to his side, then backed away again. Awkward. Shaken.
Lan Wangji had already lowered his hand. Resettled himself. Perfect posture, unruffled expression. Or almost.
Wei Wuxian squinted. “Lan Zhan… are you drunk?”
“No,” came the immediate response.
Too immediate.
And just a touch sulky.
There was a beat of silence. And then Wei Wuxian saw it—barely there, but unmistakable. A slight downturn of the lips. A flush creeping across porcelain skin.
“…Are you pouting?” Wei Wuxian said, horrified and delighted all at once.
Lan Wangji didn’t reply. But his lips—those lips—jutted out ever so slightly. And his ears—just the tips—had turned a delicate pink.
Wei Wuxian gasped, hand to his chest. “You’re pouting. Lan Zhan! That’s adorable. You’re definitely drunk.”
“I am not,” Lan Wangji muttered, voice tight with wounded pride. He turned his head away, pointedly, like a sulky child refusing to acknowledge its embarrassment.
Wei Wuxian burst out laughing. It started as a giggle, then grew—too big, too loud, too full of relief and wonder. Laughter that cracked something open inside him.
“Oh heavens. Stoic, unflappable Hanguang-jun—undone by a single cup ! What next? Will you break into song? Recite poetry?”
Lan Wangji gave him a long look from the corner of his eye. A real look.
Wei Wuxian grinned wider, lips twitching with mischief. “Don’t glare at me like that, Lan Zhan. You look like you’re considering throwing me off the balcony.”
Lan Wangji didn’t answer. Didn’t deny it either.
Wei Wuxian’s laughter faded into something breathier. Quieter. His heart still hadn’t slowed from the earlier panic, but now it thudded for a different reason.
He turned toward the door, pausing with one hand on the frame. Behind him, Lan Wangji sat with all his usual elegance, robes slightly rumpled, golden eyes unwavering. A flush still lingered high on his cheekbones, softening him in ways that made Wei Wuxian ache.
Don’t look back. Don’t say it. Don’t ruin it.
But he looked.
And what he saw nearly undid him.
He swallowed hard. “Wait here, okay? I’ll get you something to sober you up before you do something very un-Lan-Zhan-like. Like… smile. In public.”
Lan Wangji considered this. Blinked once.
Wei Wuxian narrowed his eyes. “You’re actually considering it, aren’t you?”
A pause.
Then—finally—a blink that was far too slow to be innocent.
Wei Wuxian laughed again, though it came out quieter this time. “Drunk Lan Zhan is the most dangerous Lan Zhan.”
He took one step through the doorway. And still, he couldn’t leave. Not fully.
His gaze lingered.
Wei Wuxian’s breath caught. Something in his chest pulled tight, sharp with longing.
“Be right back,” he whispered.
And then, before the moment could collapse under the weight of everything unsaid, he slipped into the night.
______________________________
The quiet tap of Wei Wuxian’s boots echoed down the narrow hallway as he returned with a small flask of a gentle herbal mix used for sobering up. It wasn’t strong, but it would do. He'd made sure to choose the kind that didn't taste like boiled socks, just in case Lan Wangji refused to drink it unless coerced.
Wei Wuxian’s chest still fluttered from earlier. That moment—those golden eyes opening, calm and stormy all at once, their gazes colliding like flint and steel. The accidental brush of his fingers against Lan Wangji’s lips. The electricity. The silence. The ache.
He shook his head sharply. It was an accident. It didn’t mean anything. Probably. Maybe. Possibly.
Rounding the corner, he halted.
The room was empty.
Wei Wuxian blinked. He stepped in fully, gaze sweeping the quiet space. “Lan Zhan?” he called, voice soft but uncertain.
No response.
His eyes dropped. The boots were still there—neatly placed where Lan Wangji had been sitting earlier. But the man himself, the stoic, flushed, Lan Zhan of five minutes ago? Gone.
Panic bloomed, sharp and immediate.
He set the flask down and spun on his heel, darting into the corridor like a shadow. He checked side rooms, garden paths, alcoves. Nothing. The moon above spilled silver across the rooftops, but no trace of white robes caught the light. The quiet inn felt suddenly too large, too still.
“Lan Zhan!” he called, louder now.
He rounded a corner and was about to try the stairwell when the sound of murmuring and light gasps reached his ears. It came from the kitchen, which was odd, considering it was well past dinner and most of the staff should've been gone or at least cleaning in peace.
Wei Wuxian followed the noise on instinct.
And stopped cold in the doorway.
Lan Wangji stood in the center of the kitchen. Tall. Composed. Barefoot. Elbow-deep in a wooden chicken coop.
The kitchen staff had frozen in place, caught between murmuring and disbelief, their hands hovering mid-task. One of the servers noticed Wei Wuxian and gave him a wide-eyed, pleading look, as if begging him to resolve the strange intrusion.
Wei Wuxian smiled thinly and raised his hands. “Ah… terribly sorry. He’s, uh… not usually like this. Just a little… tipsy. Rare occurrence. Very rare.”.
A few nervous chuckles scattered through the room, but the tension remained until he made his way over to Lan Wangji.
“Lan Zhan,” he said gently. “What… exactly are you doing?”
No response.
Lan Wangji’s gaze was fixed inside the coop, brow furrowed in deep concentration. He moved birds aside with delicate precision, each one squawking indignantly as if affronted by his scrutiny.
Wei Wuxian leaned in, half-worried, half-delighted. “Are you… interviewing them?”
Still nothing.
Then, with solemn purpose, Lan Wangji reached into the coop and retrieved two fat chickens, holding them aloft—one in each hand—as if presenting divine offerings. He turned to face Wei Wuxian, expression serene.
“For you,” he said.
Wei Wuxian stared. At the birds. At Lan Wangji. At the birds again.
“For me?”
Lan Wangji nodded.
The chickens squawked in unison. A single white feather floated to the floor between them like punctuation.
Wei Wuxian opened his mouth. Nothing came out. There were no words in the dictionary—ancient, modern, or demonic—that could explain what it meant to be given live poultry by Hanguang-jun in front of a stunned kitchen staff.
Lan Wangji, meanwhile, stared at him with quiet intensity. Earnest. Hopeful.
And then—his bottom lip protruded. Just slightly. A pout. A real one. Visible. Devastating.
“I will find better,” he murmured, beginning to turn back toward the coop.
Wei Wuxian flailed. “No! No, these are perfect! Truly! Look at them! Prime chicken material—plump, loud, feathery. Just my type!”
Lan Wangji paused. Studied him. Then, slowly, he nodded. “Mn.”
Wei Wuxian breathed a silent sigh of relief.
"Alright," he said gently, "let's go somewhere else, yeah? Somewhere more fun?"
Lan Wangji tilted his head slightly, but allowed Wei Wuxian to step closer.
Wei Wuxian, sweating slightly, eased forward and took the chickens from him with forced cheer. As he backed toward the exit, he cast a sheepish look at the stunned staff. “Thank you for your patience. We’ll just… take our leave.”
As they exited, Wei Wuxian waited for Lan Wangji to look away and then deftly handed the birds off to a stunned kitchen boy who accepted them like sacred relics.
Outside, the cool night air washed over them, sweet with garden scent and moonlight. They walked a short distance, moonbeams tracing the hem of Lan Wangji’s robes.
Wei Wuxian finally let himself relax. He turned toward Lan Wangji—
And frowned.
He was barefoot.
Graceful, pale feet gliding over stone and grass like he was walking on clouds. Beautiful, yes. But bootless.
“Lan Zhan,” Wei Wuxian said slowly, “where are your boots?”
No response.
Lan Wangji continued walking forward like it was the most natural thing in the world.
“Wait—sit down,” Wei Wuxian called, gesturing toward a stone bench nearby.
Lan Wangji ignored him.
He moved as if to wander further into the garden, perhaps to chase moonlight or chickens—or stars. Whatever drunken whimsy was drifting through that regal, fogged-up head of his. Wei Wuxian narrowed his eyes.
“Lan Zhan,” he ordered , more firmly this time. “I said sit down.”
That did it.
Lan Wangji froze mid-step. His head tilted slightly, and for a moment Wei Wuxian wondered if he had overstepped. Then he saw it.
Lan Wangji's ears turned pink.
That unexpected splash of color against his otherwise cool, impassive expression caught Wei Wuxian entirely off guard. Lan Wangji turned, silent, and walked back to the bench with measured steps. Then, like an obedient child chided by a strict tutor, he lowered himself onto the bench, back straight, hands folded on his lap.
Wei Wuxian blinked.
What… just happened?
His mind raced to understand the reaction. He’d spoken sharply, yes, but not cruelly.
He didn’t understand it.
But now was not the time to analyze it.
Reaching into his storage pouch, Wei Wuxian pulled out the missing boots and knelt down in front of Lan Wangji.
"Tsk tsk," he muttered under his breath, feigning annoyance. "Who told you to go running around barefoot like that? Even if the moon is pretty and the garden's full of grass, your feet are still too precious for it."
He gently lifted Lan Wangji’s ankle, cradling it in his palm. The skin was soft, cool, heartbreakingly delicate. He slid the boot on with care. His fingers lingered a second longer than they should’ve.
Then the second foot.
Lan Wangji never moved. Never spoke. His eyes remained fixed on Wei Wuxian—soft, open, quietly watching. There was no sharpness in them, no resistance. Just an expectant, almost dazed anticipation.
Wei Wuxian could feel the weight of that gaze pressing on him. He didn’t dare meet it. Not while kneeling. Not with the heat rising in his chest.
When he was done, Wei Wuxian looked up with a grin, trying to dispel the strange tension twisting in his gut.
“There! Much better, right? Walking around barefoot might be poetic, but even poetry can’t protect your feet from sharp rocks.”
He laughed lightly and pushed himself to his feet, brushing dust from his robes.
Lan Wangji said nothing.
He just kept looking at him. The same intense, unreadable look. Like he was expecting something—something unspoken.
Wei Wuxian blinked.
“Lan Zhan?” he asked, uncertain. “You okay?”
Still no answer.
Only that stare.
Then, slowly, like a shift in the breeze, Lan Wangji’s lips curved downward. Just a little.
Wei Wuxian gawked.
“Oh no. Not again,” he muttered. “You’re pouting again. What now?”
Lan Wangji didn’t answer. His lips remained in that soft, disappointed downturn, his gaze never wavering.
Wei Wuxian couldn’t help it—he laughed.
“What? What is it this time? I put your boots back on! Isn’t that good?”
Still nothing.
Lan Wangji looked like a statue sculpted by a heartbroken artist. A quiet, beautiful man sitting with the moon behind him, his eyes speaking volumes he wouldn’t voice aloud.
And the pout—subtle, barely there—was like a dagger wrapped in silk.
Wei Wuxian crouched again, leaning forward until their faces were closer. “What do you want, Lan Zhan? Hm? Want another chicken? Or are you disappointed I didn't kiss your feet before putting the boots on?”
He was joking—clearly—but the moment the words left his mouth, he saw Lan Wangji’s gaze lower just a fraction. Just enough to make Wei Wuxian freeze.
The laughter caught in his throat.
The silence between them stretched.
Wei Wuxian cleared his throat, standing up again. “Right um. Maybe we should walk around a bit more, get some air. You're too drunk for logic and too cute for your own good.”
Lan Wangji made a soft sound—almost a hum of agreement—and fell into step beside him, calm and content.
Wei Wuxian kept sneaking glances.
The pout had faded, but that quiet look remained.
He didn’t understand it. Not fully.
But something inside him fluttered. And kept fluttering.
Like the start of something he was almost afraid to name.
_________________________________
The dock shimmered beneath the moonlight, a trail of silver leading into the velvet dark. Wei Wuxian walked alongside Lan Wangji, his steps light, his robes fluttering like silk banners in the night breeze. The water lapped gently beneath the planks, rhythmic and low, like a heartbeat echoing in stillness. Above them, lanterns swayed softly on their strings, casting warm halos that barely brushed the edges of the dock before fading into shadow.
Wei Wuxian glanced sideways with a playful smile.
“Come, Lan Zhan. I want to show you something. It’s beautiful this time of night.”
Lan Wangji blinked, slowly. Then nodded.
A small boat bobbed at the water’s edge, tethered by a weathered rope. Wei Wuxian stepped in first, the vessel rocking beneath his weight, and turned to offer his hand.
“Careful,” he said, grinning. “Take my hand.”
Lan Wangji hesitated for a breath—just long enough to make Wei Wuxian wonder if he would refuse. Then he placed his hand in his, cool and steady. Their fingers met—palm to palm—and something soft sparked between them, like a note struck on a guqin string.
Once settled inside, Wei Wuxian picked up the oars and began to row. The motion came naturally, smooth and practiced, as the boat slipped forward into the lake’s embrace.
The world fell quiet.
Only the hush of water parted beneath the boat and the gentle creak of wood moving against water filled the air. Overhead, the full moon bathed them in silver, casting twin reflections on the glassy surface. Ahead, patches of lotus blossoms floated across the lake like a field of stars scattered by the heavens themselves.
When they reached the heart of the lake—where the moonlight glimmered brightest and the lotus blooms clustered thickest—Wei Wuxian set the oars aside and leaned back with a contented sigh. The boat rocked gently, surrendering to the rhythm of the water.
Beside him, Lan Wangji sat silent, his gaze drawn to the lotus pods drifting between wide, green leaves. The expression on his face was unreadable—something soft, something still. A kind of quiet wonder.
Wei Wuxian chuckled.
“Lan Zhan, are you staring at those lotus pods like they’re cultivation manuals?”
Lan Wangji didn’t answer. He simply watched.
“They’re good to eat, you know,” Wei Wuxian added, leaning over the edge of the boat. He plucked a pod, snapped a seed loose with nimble fingers, and held it out. “Want to try?”
Lan Wangji’s gaze shifted—from the seed to the pod, then back again. His brows drew together.
“No.”
Wei Wuxian blinked. “No? You don’t want it?”
“Not that one.”
Lan Wangji’s voice was soft but firm, as if correcting a misconception. “It doesn’t have a stem.”
Wei Wuxian raised an eyebrow. He glanced down at the smooth, stemless pod in his hand. “With a stem? Why would that matter?”
Lan Wangji’s eyes narrowed slightly, as if Wei Wuxian had just questioned a long-standing truth.
“Pods with stems taste better.”
For a beat, Wei Wuxian stared at him.
Then he burst out laughing.
“What? Who told you that nonsense? They taste exactly the same!”
But his amusement faded when he caught the expression on Lan Wangji’s face. A pout—subtle, but unmistakable—had formed on his lips again. His gaze dropped to the water, ears tinged faintly pink. He turned his head away, almost sulking.
“Lan Zhan," Wei Wuxian said cautiously, leaning a bit closer. "Wait, are you… seriously pouting again?"
Lan Wangji didn’t reply.
Wei Wuxian swallowed his amusement and asked, more gently this time, "Okay, okay. Who told you that pods with stems taste better?"
There was a long pause.
Then Lan Wangji turned just slightly, looking at him through the sweep of his lashes.
“You did,” he murmured.
Wei Wuxian blinked. His finger pointed to his own chest. "Me?"
Lan Wangji gave a small nod, then turned his face away again—defensive now, like someone guarding a secret too long exposed.
And then it hit him.
A memory—vivid and sun-drenched—surfaced from the depths of years past: Cloud Recesses, a summer afternoon, disciples lounging in the shade. Wei Wuxian, always eager to impress, had once declared with mock gravity that “pods with stems are sweeter—fact,” plucking one dramatically to emphasize his point.
He’d been joking. Flippant.
But Lan Wangji had believed him.
Wei Wuxian reached out, fingers brushing lightly over the fabric of Lan Wangji’s sleeve. His voice, when it came, was barely a whisper.
“You… remembered that? After all this time?”
Lan Wangji didn’t speak. But his ears reddened , just a fraction more.
A swell of feeling rose in Wei Wuxian’s chest—strange and unnamable. Not joy. Not sorrow. Something deeper. Something that felt like awe.
He looked at the pod still in his hand, then gently let it fall overboard.
“Wait here,” he murmured.
He leaned over the edge of the boat, reaching into the tangle of broad leaves, careful not to tip the vessel. After a moment of patient maneuvering, he plucked a pod with a long, intact stem.
“Here,” he said, holding it out with both hands, like an offering. “One with a stem. Just for you.”
Lan Wangji looked at the pod. Then at him.
Wei Wuxian smiled, his voice catching on the breath between words.
“It’ll taste better. I promise.”
Their fingers brushed as Lan Wangji took it.
He studied the pod for a moment, then began peeling the seeds with quiet focus, his expression unreadable—but the pout was gone. In its place: a quiet calm.
Wei Wuxian leaned back again, watching him in the moonlight.
The way Lan Wangji sat—still, composed, strands of hair glowing under the stars—struck him breathless. Even the simple motion of peeling lotus seeds seemed sacred in his hands.
Wei Wuxian looked away, heart fluttering.
The boat rocked gently, suspended in the lotus-covered lake. Around them, the world felt paused—held in a breath. The moon hung like a guardian above. The lake shimmered below. And in the center of it all, two men sat close in a wooden boat—one peeling seeds, the other watching him like he was the most beautiful thing the night had to offer.
Wei Wuxian gave a quiet, almost bitter laugh.
“You really believed everything I said back then, huh? Even my stupid lies.”
Lan Wangji glanced at him.
“Not lies.”
Wei Wuxian blinked.
“What?”
Lan Wangji’s voice was soft, but sure.
“Not lies. Just your version of the truth.”
Wei Wuxian stared at him.
Somewhere, a frog croaked. Fireflies drifted slowly across the water. But for Wei Wuxian, all of it fell away.
There was only Lan Wangji—his quiet grace, his steady hands, his unshakable belief in things Wei Wuxian had long forgotten.
Wei Wuxian leaned forward, resting his arms on his knees, gaze never leaving him.
His heart beat softly in his chest—like a string drawn taut. Like something fragile, finally being heard.
He didn’t know what, exactly, was unfolding between them.
But whatever it was—it felt sacred.
_________________________________
The boat rocked gently on the surface of the lake, lulled by the hush of night. The oar drifted beside them, forgotten, its soft ripples joining the hush. All around, fireflies blinked like tiny stars, casting golden flares over the lake—brief flickers of light floating between white lotus blooms, their glow reflected in the still water like a dream held just beneath the surface.
Wei Wuxian couldn’t look away.
Lan Wangji sat across from him, utterly still. Moonlight softened the fine line of his jaw. His gaze was lowered, focused on the half-crushed lotus pod in his hand, the discarded stemless shell resting quietly beside him.
A faint blush tinted his ears.
Wei Wuxian smiled, though there was something caught in his throat. “Lan Zhan,” he said, soft as the night.
Lan Wangji looked up immediately.
So quick. So trusting.
Wei Wuxian’s heart clenched. That look—wide-eyed, gentle, unguarded—should not have been allowed. Not when Lan Wangji wasn’t in his right mind. And yet, it was so familiar, so devastatingly real.
Wei Wuxian leaned forward slowly, drawn by a force he couldn’t name. The boat creaked beneath his shift, but he kept his eyes on Lan Wangji’s, close enough now to see the gold specks in his irises glint beneath the moonlight.
“Will you answer something for me?” he asked, voice barely more than a breath.
Lan Wangji nodded. “Mn.” Earnest. Open. Like a man ready to offer anything if asked.
Wei Wuxian swallowed and met his gaze directly. "Answer truthfully, alright?" he said, voice lower now, almost a whisper.
Another nod.
He swallowed hard. “If you weren’t cursed… if you didn’t believe we were…” He paused, the word snagging. “...married. Would you still look at me like this? Trust me like this?”
Lan Wangji’s brows furrowed. The question clearly required effort to parse—his mind slow from wine, or something deeper. He tilted his head, eyes narrowed in hazy thought.
Then, softly, “Not cursed.”
Wei Wuxian gave a quiet laugh, but it didn’t reach his eyes. "Right, right, you’re not cursed," he said, his voice gently mocking. "But let’s pretend. Let’s say you didn’t believe we were... married. Would you still act like this with me? Would you still look at me like that?"
Lan Wangji focused again. For a long moment, he stared at Wei Wuxian as though trying to decipher some deep truth. And then he whispered, slowly, "Wei Ying... Husband... trust him."
Wei Wuxian exhaled and dropped his gaze, the smile on his face soft and a little sad. He leaned back and looked up at the night sky.
"You really are drunk," he said with a sigh.
It was foolish of him to expect clarity from someone in this state. But still, something inside him fluttered at those words.
Wei Wuxian looked back at Lan Wangji whose attention had shifted, caught now by the fireflies flitting through the lotus blooms. He stared at them with childlike wonder, something unguarded and luminous in his expression. Then, with slow reverence, he pointed toward them.
“Like Wei Ying,” he murmured.
Wei Wuxian snorted. “Are you saying I buzz around like a bug? Is that what Lan Zhan means?"
Lan Wangji turned toward him and answered seriously. “Bright,” he repeated . “Wei Ying… bright.”
It was spoken with such quiet reverence that Wei Wuxian froze.
It was as though time stood still for a moment.
His heart skipped a beat, then another. That single, soft utterance struck deeper than any poetic phrase.
Before he could respond, Lan Wangji reached forward again, body shifting as he stretched toward a drifting firefly. “Wei Ying…”
Wei Wuxian blinked. "Wait, Lan Zhan, don’t move—"
But it was too late.
The balance of the boat shifted sharply under Lan Wangji’s movement. Wei Wuxian reached forward to steady him, but the boat rocked violently. A second later, the entire vessel tipped sideways.
With a great splash, both men were thrown into the water.
Wei Wuxian surfaced first, sputtering. The water was shockingly cold, and his hair clung to his face, plastered to his shoulders and neck. "Pfffftt!" He wiped his eyes and looked around frantically. "Lan Zhan?!"
Lan Wangji emerged just behind him, disturbingly calm as he rose from the lake with water gliding down his face. His robes were soaked, translucent in places, clinging to his lean form, his hair splayed wet around his face.
Wei Wuxian couldn’t help but stare.
"Are you okay?" He swam closer.
Lan Wangji blinked at him slowly, lifting his arms out of the water. "Wet," he reported.
Wei Wuxian burst out laughing, unable to hold it back. "Yes, Lan Zhan, you are! Very wet! So am I, thank you very much."
The water was colder than it looked.
Lan Wangji had started moving towards the shore, but he wasn’t swimming—he was flailing, uncoordinated, his elegant robes heavy and tangled around his limbs. His brows were drawn together, mouth tight, but there was a clear flicker of panic in his golden eyes.
"Lan Zhan, do you—" Wei Wuxian stopped, watching for a beat more, and then asked, incredulously, "Wait… do you even know how to swim properly?"
Lan Wangji didn’t answer. He just stared at him with that ever-so-slightly downturned mouth, looking like a child caught doing something shameful. The water lapped up around his chin as he treaded poorly, clearly sinking.
Wei Wuxian groaned, half-exasperated and half-fond. “Lan Zhan!”
Lan Wangji still said nothing, but the faint red tinge on his ears betrayed him. His head bobbed lower for a second.
Wei Wuxian shook his head. “Alright, alright. Stay there, don’t move too much.”
He swam over swiftly, slicing through the moonlit water with practiced strokes. As he reached Lan Wangji, he slipped an arm securely around his waist and pulled him close, steadying him.
"There, there. You could have drowned," he muttered, tugging him gently until Lan Wangji was upright and no longer struggling. His grip tightened protectively.
“Honestly, what were you thinking?"
Lan Wangji didn’t resist. He just stared at Wei Wuxian, silent and solemn, long lashes dripping with water.
Wei Wuxian clicked his tongue. "Trying to catch fireflies, were you? In the middle of a lake? You don’t even know how to swim properly, Lan Zhan! What would you have done if I wasn’t here, mm?"
He leaned in slightly, eyes narrowed in mock scolding. "Would you have floated there like a very pretty log until someone fished you out?"
Lan Wangji’s brows furrowed slightly, but then he murmured, almost too quietly to hear, "Was catching… for Wei Ying."
Wei Wuxian froze.
He stared at Lan Wangji, the words slowly sinking into the space between his ribs and making everything ache.
"What?" he asked, blinking.
Lan Wangji's lips parted again, barely moving. "The light… pretty. Wanted to give it to Wei Ying."
Wei Wuxian’s mouth opened, but no sound came out. His heart thundered beneath his ribs, loud and fast. The moonlight caught the wet shimmer of Lan Wangji’s skin, making his usually stoic expression appear open and boyish.
He had fallen into a lake trying to catch fireflies for him.
“Lan Zhan…” Wei Wuxian whispered.
Their faces were close, almost too close now, but Wei Wuxian couldn’t move away. Not when Lan Wangji was watching him like this—open, unguarded, his arms limp in the water and body pressed gently against Wei Wuxian’s for balance.
He swallowed. "You're unbelievable, you know that? You don't even know how to swim, and still you—still you wanted to catch a firefly? For me?"
Lan Wangji nodded slowly.
Wei Wuxian let out a small, helpless laugh, the sound almost shaky. "You're going to be the death of me, Lan Zhan."
Lan Wangji blinked at him, his cheeks turning faintly pink even through the water. Wei Wuxian noticed how his fingers curled slightly at his sides, as if resisting the urge to reach out. But he didn’t move. He just floated there, completely and utterly trusting Wei Wuxian to hold him.
It sent a jolt of emotion through him that left him breathless.
Wei Wuxian didn’t realize when his hands had tightened around Lan Wangji’s waist. The chill of the lake water barely registered against his skin. All of his attention, every bit of his focus, was consumed by the man in his arms.
Lan Wangji.
So close, so breathtakingly close.
Water clung to Lan Wangji’s robes, turning the white silk translucent, hugging every contour of his body. The fabric plastered itself to the smooth plane of his chest, to the taper of his waist, and lower. Wei Wuxian was never one to shy away from beauty, but this—this stole the very breath from his lungs.
And then his eyes slid upward.
Lan Wangji’s collar had come loose in the scuffle, pulled apart slightly, exposing a pale expanse of throat and the fragile curve of a collarbone that gleamed under the moonlight and wet sheen. The movement of water down his skin was hypnotic, gliding from his throat and trailing down like a shimmering ribbon.
Wei Wuxian blinked. His gaze locked on something he hadn’t seen before.
A beauty mark, small and dark, resting just above Lan Wangji’s collarbone.
His breath caught.
How had he never noticed it before?
How had no one ever told him that Hanguang-jun, the most composed, cold, unattainable man in all of cultivation, had a hidden mark that felt more intimate than skin itself?
The droplets of water that clung to Lan Wangji’s skin now seemed like pearls cast on marble. His lashes, dark and wet, clung to his cheeks, and his lips—those lips were trembling ever so slightly, parted as he breathed. They looked soft, tender, and far too inviting.
Wei Wuxian swallowed. Hard.
He didn’t know when he leaned in. Maybe it had been gradual, a force of gravity he couldn’t escape. One moment he was scolding Lan Wangji about chasing fireflies in a lake he couldn’t swim in, and the next he found his nose brushing against the other man’s.
Their breath mingled.
Golden eyes stared into his. Unreadable, vulnerable, and yet full of something heavy. Something powerful.
Wei Wuxian’s eyes drifted down to those trembling lips.
A single droplet of water rested there—poised on the edge, just between his parted lips. It glimmered in the moonlight. Hanging. Waiting.
Wei Wuxian didn’t think.
His mind emptied, leaving only instinct behind. A low hunger pulsed inside him, desperate, feral, and yet tender. A longing he had hidden for too long.
With one fluid motion, he pulled Lan Wangji closer by the waist, as if afraid he might slip away with the current. Lan Wangji gave a soft gasp, lips parting wider—but he did not pull back.
Their lips met.
Hungrily.
It wasn’t a gentle, questioning kiss. It wasn’t hesitant.
It was desperate.
Lan Wangji’s lips were everything he imagined and more—soft, pliant, cold from the water yet sending heat racing through his chest. Wei Wuxian tilted his head, angling deeper, signing softly as his mouth moved against the other’s.
Lan Wangji let out the smallest of sounds—a gasp or a sigh, he couldn’t tell. But Wei Wuxian felt it in his bones. In that one moment, nothing else existed. Not the lake. Not the fireflies. Not the moon.
Just this.
Just them.
Wei Wuxian’s fingers tightened at Lan Wangji’s waist, pulling him until there was no space left between them. Their soaked robes clung to one another, and the cold water that lapped against their skin felt distant, meaningless, against the burning heat in their chests.
He kissed Lan Wangji like he was dying.
Like he had waited years, centuries, lifetimes for this one moment.
And perhaps he had.
His mouth landed on Lan Wangji’s with a force that surprised even him. He groaned into the kiss, one hand moving from Lan Wangji’s waist to cradle the back of his head, fingers slipping into wet strands of hair. His lips moved desperately, greedily, tasting, claiming.
Lan Wangji’s lips were soft, pliant, damp from the water and slightly cold, but they warmed quickly under Wei Wuxian’s relentless mouth. Wei Wuxian dragged his tongue along the seam of Lan Wangji’s lips, coaxing them open, then bit down gently , drawing a small, surprised gasp from the other man.
That was all the invitation he needed.
Wei Wuxian’s tongue slipped past Lan Wangji’s lips, plunging into the warmth of his mouth. He groaned again, the taste of Lan Wangji making his head spin. He kissed deeper, more hungrily, his tongue sweeping along Lan Wangji’s, dancing with it, demanding and bold. Every movement was laced with unspoken emotion, weeks of repressed yearning and something deeper he didn’t dare name.
Lan Wangji was breathless, his hands clinging to Wei Wuxian’s shoulders, fingers digging in slightly as if to anchor himself. The kiss left him trembling. He didn’t push Wei Wuxian away. Instead, he leaned in closer, as if surrendering.
Wei Wuxian broke the kiss just for a second, staring at the sight before him.
Lan Wangji looked utterly disheveled—his lips red and swollen from the kiss, his cheeks flushed despite the cool water, his chest rising and falling rapidly with each uneven breath. His eyes were half-lidded, dazed, golden irises burning with something unreadable. His entire expression was one of someone who had just been thoroughly ravished.
Wei Wuxian’s breath hitched. His pulse thundered.
Gods. It looked like he had taken complete advantage of Lan Wangji. And maybe he had. Maybe he was still doing it.
His gaze darkened.
And then he kissed him again.
This time even more desperately. There was no hesitation now, no pause, no breath between them. He took Lan Wangji’s lips in a desperate kiss, pouring all his longing, all his confusion, and all his craving into it. His tongue plunged again, searching for that same warmth, that same taste, pulling sounds from the back of his own throat.
His hand slid lower, resting once again at Lan Wangji’s waist, fingers digging into the wet silk. The other cupped Lan Wangji’s cheek, tilting his head to deepen the kiss further, angling them just right so their mouths could fit more perfectly, more intimately.
Lan Wangji whimpered softly into the kiss—a sound Wei Wuxian had never imagined he’d hear in this lifetime. It made his blood sing.
He finally, reluctantly, pulled back, both of them gasping for air.
They remained in the water, pressed against each other, foreheads resting together, breath mingling, hearts racing. Wei Wuxian didn’t say a word. He couldn’t.
And Lan Wangji, looking as if he was dazed out of his mind, still clung to him, as if he had no intention of letting go.
Wei Wuxian whispered Lan Wangji's name softly, reverently. His breath was still shallow from the intensity of the kiss, his heart pounding so loud he was certain the whole night could hear it. The taste of Lan Wangji lingered on his lips, sweet and sinful, like a forbidden fruit he had craved for too long. He licked Lan Wangji's lips slowly, his head swimming with desire, leaning in once more, his lips barely brushing against the other man's—
When Lan Wangji slumped forward, resting heavily against his chest.
Wei Wuxian froze.
He blinked rapidly, the daze of lust abruptly shattered. He looked down and found Lan Wangji’s face nestled into his chest, eyes closed, his breathing slow and steady.
Asleep.
"Oh no," Wei Wuxian whispered in horror.
The realization came crashing down like a tidal wave. He had kissed Lan Wangji—hungrily, selfishly—while he was drunk, vulnerable, and now unconscious in his arms. Panic surged through his veins.
"Oh no no no... what have I done?!" he hissed, looking down at Lan Wangji again.
Lan Wangji, beautiful even in sleep, his pale cheeks tinged pink from the cold and the heat of the moment, his lips red and swollen from the kiss. Wei Wuxian’s heart sank even deeper.
He gently shifted Lan Wangji’s head so he could see his face properly. The man’s brows were relaxed, his expression serene, and when he nuzzled closer in his sleep, seeking Wei Wuxian’s warmth, Wei Wuxian thought he would faint.
He had taken advantage. Even if Lan Wangji was acting affectionately due to the curse, even if he had seemed eager and responded to the kiss, he wasn’t in his right mind. He was drunk. And Wei Wuxian had kissed him with no restraint.
“I’m the worst,” he muttered, voice shaking. “He trusts me and I—”
But this wasn’t the time for self-loathing. Lan Wangji was still soaked, cold, and they were both shivering. First things first—he needed to get them back to safety.
Wei Wuxian took a deep breath, gathered his energy and in a swirl of resentful mist, he transported them back to Lotus Pier.
________________________________
Wei Wuxian stumbled slightly as he entered his room, still holding Lan Wangji close to his chest. His room was dark and quiet, only a small lantern glowing near the desk, casting soft amber light.
He moved carefully, laying Lan Wangji down on the bed, adjusting the pillows beneath his head. He stepped back and immediately noticed the wet trail Lan Wangji's robes left on the bedding. His hair clung to his face, his eyelashes spiked from water, and his lips...
Wei Wuxian quickly turned away.
“Okay, think, Wei Ying, think!” he whispered, pacing in frantic circles. “He’s wet. His clothes are soaked. If he sleeps like that, he’ll get sick. You need to change them. Everyone else is asleep. You can’t call Jiang Cheng. Absolutely not. Wen Qing? She’ll murder me. Shi-jie? No, no... too suspicious.”
His eyes darted back to Lan Wangji, still lying there peacefully.
“Should... should I do it?”
He shook his head violently. “No! No, absolutely not! I don’t trust myself. Not after what just happened. I’ll explode. I’ll kiss him again or worse. No, no, terrible idea.”
Then, a spark of an idea lit in his brain.
“Yes! Ghosts. My lovely ghosts. They won’t care. They don’t feel lust or shame or... or any of these insane emotions.”
Without wasting a second, he summoned a quiet spirit—a docile one, a woman in old robes with no malice in her eyes. She appeared silently in the corner, bowing her head in silent acknowledgement.
Wei Wuxian pointed at Lan Wangji.
“Change his robes. He’s soaked. Be gentle.”
The ghost floated toward the bed with eerie grace, her translucent form hovering close. She extended a hand and delicately traced a finger over Lan Wangji’s chest, toward the tie of his outer robe.
Something inside Wei Wuxian snapped.
“What do you think you’re doing?!” he shouted.
The ghost paused.
"I told you to change him, not—NOT TOUCH HIM LIKE THAT!"
The anger rose so fast, so sudden, it startled even himself. He didn’t even recognize the snarl in his voice. The ghost flinched and backed away.
Wei Wuxian stormed forward, placing himself between the ghost and Lan Wangji.
“Leave him alone. I don’t need you. Go away.”
The ghost bowed and vanished, her outline fading into the shadows of the room.
Wei Wuxian stood trembling, fists clenched, staring down at the bed.
Lan Wangji hadn’t stirred at all.
Wei Wuxian exhaled shakily, running a hand through his wet hair. His fingers paused near his mouth, and he felt the lingering warmth there, the memory of the kiss still pulsing on his lips.
“Gods, what is wrong with me...” he whispered.
He stepped forward, grabbing a clean towel from the chest and kneeling beside the bed. He gently wiped Lan Wangji’s face first, careful around his cheeks, brushing the wet strands of hair away.
When he looked at his mouth again, he hesitated. Then, guiltily, he moved on.
He fetched a blanket and draped it over Lan Wangji, wrapping him securely.
He would stay by his side the whole night. He didn’t trust himself to undress him, and he didn’t trust anyone else to touch him.
So he sat there on the floor, one hand loosely holding the edge of the bed, the other gripping his own knees.
Lan Wangji murmured something in his sleep. A soft, unintelligible sound that sounded almost like “Wei Ying.”
Wei Wuxian bowed his head, hiding his face.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered.
“I’m so sorry.”
________________________________
Wei Wuxian sat cross-legged on the floor beside the bed, his sleeves damp, clinging to his arms. Water dripped from his hair, trailing cold lines down his spine. In the dim glow of the night lamp, Lan Wangji lay still and sleeping—his dark hair fanned across the pillow like strands of silk, his expression soft in sleep, untouched by the turmoil that churned inside Wei Wuxian’s chest.
He didn’t know how long he sat there, just watching the steady rise and fall of Lan Wangji’s chest. Every small detail etched itself into his memory—the faint parting of his lips, the subtle flush that hadn’t faded from his skin, the curve of his collarbone where damp robes clung. The way his forehead ribbon had slipped askew during their fall into the lake.
Wei Wuxian reached out on instinct, fingers brushing lightly over the jade clasp tangled in Lan Wangji’s hair. The ribbon was wet, tight—he should remove it so Lan Zhan could rest easier.
His touch was gentle, reverent. The ornament came loose without resistance. Lan Wangji stirred slightly but didn’t wake. Wei Wuxian’s fingers hesitated above the ribbon now, trembling.
And then it hit him—Lan Zhan’s voice, from a distant memory:
"You may touch it whenever you like."
The words crashed through him like a wave.
Wei Wuxian jerked back, as if burned.
What was he doing?
He pressed his back against the bed frame, breath ragged, shame washing over him in a sudden, suffocating flood. He stared at his hands—hands that had cradled Lan Wangji, hands that had held him too long, had lingered too close.
He had kissed him.
Lan Wangji, drunk. Cursed. Vulnerable.
A sick twist curled in his stomach. “What have I done?” he whispered.
It hadn’t just been a kiss. It had been hunger—raw and shameless. He had taken comfort in a moment that didn’t belong to him. That wasn’t real.
Lan Wangji hadn’t known what he was doing.
But Wei Wuxian had.
He gripped his head, fingers tangling in wet hair as he folded in on himself.
He had never felt like this before. Not for anyone. Not for the pretty girls who used to give him mooncakes after practice. Not for the charming boys who sparred with him. He had flirted, yes, teased, yes—but this... this aching hunger, this desperate, dizzying pull? He had never known it. He had never wanted to know it, never thought himself capable of being consumed so wholly by someone.
Then why now?
Why Lan Zhan?
“It must be the curse,” he muttered, forcing the words past the tightness in his throat. “It has to be the curse.”
But even as he said it, he knew it wasn’t true.
The curse might have made Lan Wangji speak more freely. Smile more easily. But it hadn’t forced Wei Wuxian’s hands. Hadn’t pushed him to lean in, to press his mouth against another’s. That had been him.
And that was the part he couldn’t bear.
He curled tighter, shame clawing through his chest.
“Is this… is this what I’m becoming?” he murmured.
Jiang Cheng’s warnings. Jiang disciples' occasional wary looks. Had they all sensed it before he did—that something inside him was shifting, twisting?
That the resentful energy he carried was changing him?
Would he wake one day to find no trace of the boy he used to be? Just bitterness and power and ruin?
He dug his nails into his scalp, the pain barely enough to ground him.
“Madam Yu was right,” he breathed. “I ruin everything I touch.”
He pressed his palms over his face, trying to smother the pain, the guilt, the terror that he might become something truly unforgivable.
“I need to do something,” he whispered fiercely. “I’m losing control. I don’t know what I feel or do these days. I—” He paused, swallowing hard. “I need to break this curse. Immediately. Before it’s too late. Before he…”
Before he hates me.
He imagined Lan Zhan waking up tomorrow, remembering everything. The betrayal in his eyes. The shame.
The hatred.
His breath caught. The idea of being hated wasn’t new. He was used to it. But not by Lan Zhan. Not him.
He couldn’t survive that.
“I can’t let it happen,” he whispered. “I won’t.”
He forced himself upright, hands shaking. He had to think clearly. He had to fix this. He had to make sure Lan Wangji recovered—make sure he left. Before... before he did something worse.
Wei Wuxian turned back to the bed. Lan Wangji still slept, his face so calm, so trusting.
And Wei Wuxian felt like the villain in his own story.
“Tomorrow,” he said hoarsely. “I’ll talk to Wen Qing. We’ll break this curse.”
His throat tightened.
“And then you’ll go home, Lan Zhan. Back to Gusu. Away from me.”
His voice cracked.
“Away from monsters.”
_________________
Chapter Text
The first rays of dawn broke gently over the horizon, washing Lotus Pier in a pale, golden glow. The air was still. Birds had just begun their tentative song, and the world hovered in that fragile hush between slumber and full wakefulness.
Lan Wangji stirred at the fifth chime of the morning bell. It echoed faintly across the compound—distant, but unmistakable. A habit too deeply ingrained to forget, even in unfamiliar places.
His eyes opened slowly, blinking away the veil of sleep.
Something was wrong.
It wasn’t loud or obvious. It was a heaviness, a quiet dissonance that clung to his limbs—not exhaustion, but something else. Something physical. He shifted slightly under the blanket and froze.
A chill crawled down his spine.
His robes—though dry now—had the unpleasant texture of silk that had once been soaked and then dried while worn. They clung where they shouldn’t. The inner layers felt stiff, papery against his skin, the way garments did when wrinkled and dried out of shape. He could feel the faint itch of lingering dampness at the seams.
His brow furrowed.
His head pulsed—not sharply, but with a dull, rhythmic ache, like the muted beat of distant drums. Unsettling. Not painful enough to alarm, but far too present to ignore.
He scanned the room. The windows stood slightly open, letting in a morning breeze that stirred the curtains and carried the scent of lotus and dew.
It was Wei Wuxian’s room.
But Wei Wuxian wasn’t in it.
That realization sliced through the haze like a blade.
Wei Ying was many things—loud, irreverent, impossible—but he was not an early riser. He complained even at Gusu’s modest dawn routines, had to be dragged out of bed with threats and bribes alike. For him to be gone before Lan Wangji awoke was… strange. Wrong.
Lan Wangji’s fingers tightened in the blanket.
How had he ended up here?
His memory jolted. The restaurant. Yes. The wine. The ghosts. Wei Ying’s laughter. The moonlight on the water. Fireflies…
Then—nothing.
A blank stretch in his mind. A frustrating, impenetrable void.
Lan Wangji closed his eyes, trying to trace it backward, but the thread unraveled the moment he grasped it. He couldn’t remember leaving the boat. Couldn’t remember the walk back. Couldn’t remember changing or lying down or anything after—
He clenched the blanket tighter.
He never forgot himself. Never lost control. And now… had he spoken out of turn? Acted improperly? Troubled Wei Wuxian in some way?
The thought twisted his stomach.
He sat up slowly, the blanket falling from his chest. The robe’s stiffness resisted the motion, sticking faintly to his back. He raised a sleeve, inspecting it. The fabric crackled slightly as it shifted—yes, it had been wet. Very wet.
He hadn’t changed last night.
That, above all, disturbed him.
Lan Wangji’s routines were precise. Unyielding. Even drunk—and he had been drunk, he could admit that now—he would never have gone to bed in damp clothing. Which meant someone else had laid him there.
Wei Ying.
The thought struck him like a tuning string plucked too hard. His pulse fluttered.
No. He mustn’t dwell. Assumptions were dangerous. He needed clarity. Calm.
He stood and crossed to the window, kneeling onto the mat laid beneath it. Dawn had now fully blossomed over Lotus Pier, light spilling in golden sheets across the polished floorboards. Below, the courtyard was stirring with quiet footsteps and birdsong.
He closed his eyes.
Breathed.
Inhale. Exhale. Let the qi flow.
But it didn’t. Not fully. His golden core responded sluggishly, weighed down. His breath stilled as the familiar clarity refused to come. Fog lingered where there should be peace.
Still, he pressed on. He sought order in the fragments. The night, the boat, the water—
He remembered the sway of the boat. Wei Ying’s laughter, bright and ringing. The gentle ripple of lotus pods, Wei Ying teasing him for his preferences. The shimmer of fireflies all around them.
And then—
A tilt. A splash.
Yes. They had fallen in.
That explained the clothes.
His eyes snapped open. Had Wei Wuxian helped him out? Had he carried him back?
Had Lan Wangji truly been so drunk?
Heat crawled up his neck. His ears burned.
A Lan cultivator—he—should never lose such composure. It was disgraceful.
He tried to breathe through it, to chase away the shame, but it clung like the remnants of wet silk.
His gaze shifted back to the bed.
The blanket was rumpled. His head ornaments rested neatly on the side table. He lifted a hand.
His hair had been unbound.
He touched the ribbon on his forehead. It had been retied.
But not by him.
He stilled.
Wei Wuxian must have.
A shiver ran down his spine—not from cold, but from the strange sense of vulnerability the thought gave him.
Lan Wangji lowered his hand slowly, feeling the dull pain in his chest intensify.
What had he said?
What had he done?
Meditation had failed him. His mind remained crowded with questions and shadows.
He rose and folded the mat neatly. Wei Ying was still nowhere to be seen.
Perhaps… Perhaps the best course was to find him. To ask.
Assuming he had the courage to face the answer.
And pray he had not done something irreparable.
Or worse—that Wei Ying might regret.
____________________
The sun had climbed higher by the time Lan Wangji stepped out of the room, dressed impeccably in fresh white robes embroidered with the Lan Clan's signature cloud patterns. His hair was neatly combed and tied, his forehead ribbon perfectly straight across his brow. The morning wash had dulled the ache behind his eyes, and the ritual of routine—so familiar, so grounding—had soothed him somewhat.
But not completely.
Something inside him still churned.
He had hoped the clarity of ritual would restore his balance, that cold water and silence would scrape away the lingering fog. But the question of the night before remained, stubborn and sharp. Like a splinter beneath the skin.
What had he done?
Where was Wei Ying?
Breakfast was being served in the dining hall. Lan Wangji moved toward it with measured steps, the soles of his boots soundless against the polished wood. He was unsurprised by the murmur of voices drifting through the open doors, nor by the familiar scents—steamed buns, fresh porridge, pickled vegetables. But there was one voice he longed to hear above the rest.
It was not there.
That small, sharp absence struck deeper than he expected.
He hesitated—just for a moment—then lowered his gaze and entered the hall.
Jiang Yanli sat at the head of the table, her smile bright and warm enough to rival the morning sun. Beside her sat Jiang Cheng, his shoulders squared but expression unguarded as he spoke to the man seated across from him.
Lan Xichen.
Still here after the political conference. Still calm, still steady.
Lan Wangji felt the grounding pull of his presence like a lifeline.
"Hanguang-jun," Jiang Yanli greeted warmly, her eyes lighting as she looked up.
Lan Xichen turned, his smile quiet and filled with affection. "Wangji. You look more rested today."
Lan Wangji inclined his head. "Good morning, Jiang guniang, Sect Leader Jiang, Xiongzhang."
Jiang Cheng grunted without looking up, mouth full of mantou.
Lan Wangji moved to sit beside his brother, folding his robes with habitual grace as he settled down. For a moment, he let his hands rest quietly in his lap. Then, in silence, he reached for the teapot, pouring Lan Xichen a cup before filling his own.
Lan Xichen’s gaze lingered on him. There was no urgency in it—just quiet attentiveness.
“What happened?” he asked softly.
Lan Wangji paused.
His hand stilled on the cup.
“I am fine,” he said.
Not a lie. But not the whole truth either.
Lan Xichen gave a slight nod, accepting the answer for now. But the question didn’t vanish—it remained in the air between them, unsaid but present.
Across the table, Jiang Cheng launched back into conversation, drawing Lan Xichen’s attention toward cultivation patrols in the Yunmeng region and the expected arrival of Nie disciples the following week. Lan Wangji listened but did not speak. His mind had already drifted elsewhere.
Jiang Yanli noticed his silence. She turned her gentle attention toward him, voice soft.
“Did you sleep well, Hanguang-jun?”
Lan Wangji nodded once. “Well enough.”
“It was a warm night,” she said, pouring him another cup of tea with practiced ease. “Summer in Lotus Pier always feels heavy. And once the breeze dies, it can be stifling.”
He accepted the tea with both hands. “Thank you.”
They spoke of small things—the bloom of new lotus flowers, the kitchen’s preparations for lunch—but Lan Wangji’s eyes kept straying.
Once.
Twice.
A third time.
Always toward the door.
Jiang Yanli saw it. Of course she did.
She chuckled softly, lifting a hand to hide her smile. “A-Xian will be on his way soon,” she said with kindness. “A-Yuan insisted on going to fetch him personally.”
Lan Wangji froze.
His fingers tightened, ever so slightly, around his teacup.
The pale stillness of his face bloomed with a faint, unmistakable pink.
Jiang Yanli’s smile turned indulgent. She said nothing more, letting the moment stretch between them like sunlight on water—warm, unhurried, sweet. A quiet sort of teasing. The kind only someone who loved them both could give.
Lan Wangji lowered his gaze.
He opened his mouth, as if to object—then closed it again.
There was nothing to deny. She had seen him clearly.
He hadn’t even realized he was waiting for Wei Ying until the silence had drawn it out of him. Until his absence became louder than any presence.
And now—now it was too late to pretend otherwise.
He missed him.
Deeply.
The conversation continued around him, distant now. Words about disciples and summer heat and Lotus Pier's shifting tides.
But Lan Wangji no longer heard them.
His thoughts had turned inward once more.
What had happened last night? Why couldn’t he remember? Was there something Wei Ying was hiding—something he regretted?
Was he avoiding him?
And why did that thought hurt so much?
Lan Wangji looked down at the tea cooling in his hands, untouched.
His heart would not settle.
He would wait. He would ask.
He had to know.
But more than anything, he wanted to see Wei Ying again. To meet his eyes. To be sure that nothing had changed.
Because something in him feared, with quiet desperation—
That it already had.
He just didn’t know how.
___________________
The first light of dawn crept through the half-open shutters, cutting across the floor in golden ribbons. The air was thick with humidity, heavy with the scent of rain-soaked lotus leaves drifting in from the lake beyond.
Wei Wuxian sat hunched over his desk.
Ink-stained fingers gripped a worn brush, knuckles white. His eyes were bloodshot, veins webbing red across grey. He hadn’t changed out of his night robes—loose folds rumpled from hours of tossing, though he hadn’t really slept at all.
In front of him, the desk was chaos: torn talisman paper, smeared seals, scribbled notes, slips of energy residue. And at the center of it all—pinned down with a smooth river stone—lay the talisman.
The cursed one.
Wei Wuxian stared at it, like it might crack open and confess something if he just looked long enough. Long enough, hard enough, maybe it would explain its origins under the force of his sheer guilt-laced desperation.
He tried not to think about last night.
But Lan Wangji’s image kept pushing in.
Burned behind his eyelids. Flickering at the edge of his vision.
The way he had looked—breathless, dazed, lips parted, cheeks flushed red like heatstroke, eyes soft and unfocused. The way he sounded, sweet and ruined, gasping between kisses that Wei Wuxian had stolen with shaking hands and a heart already rotting with guilt.
He clenched his jaw.
What the hell is wrong with me?
He pushed the memory away like a splinter under his fingernail. Focus. He had to focus.
Adjusting the talisman, he leaned in, eyes tracing the intricate red etchings that pulsed faintly with residual energy. His spiritual threads itched from exhaustion, and a headache was already blooming behind his temples.
Focus.
Brush to ink. Ink to paper.
His strokes were careful, steady, re-tracing the curse’s seal across a fresh draft. He wasn’t experimenting anymore. He was dissecting. Trying to reverse-engineer the magic that had entwined Lan Wangji’s mind so perfectly it believed—he believed—that they were already married.
And the more he studied it, the more he realized:
This curse didn’t match anything he knew.
Not Jin. Not Nie. Not even Lan.
That scared him more than he wanted to admit.
His hand faltered as his mind betrayed him once more.
Lan Zhan’s mouth... Gods, he looked so soft. So open. So—
“Aaaaaargh!” Wei Wuxian dropped the brush, slapped both hands against his face, and yelped at the sting.
“Get a grip, Wei Ying!” he barked at himself. “You’re disgusting. You're sick. You’re—”
“…Unsurprisingly, completely losing your mind,” a dry voice drawled from the doorway.
He flinched so hard he nearly upended the ink pot. Whipping around, he saw Wen Qing standing there, arms crossed, one brow arched in unimpressed judgment.
She stepped inside, the soft thud of her boots landing with all the precision of a final diagnosis.
Her eyes scanned him—bedhead, dark circles, wrinkled robe, and a black smudge near the corner of his mouth.
Her gaze narrowed.
“You didn’t sleep at all, did you?” she asked flatly.
“Sleep is for those not under spiritual duress,” Wei Wuxian shot back, wiping hastily at his mouth and turning back to the desk like he could disappear into the paper.
Wen Qing walked closer, glancing down at the talisman.
A hum escaped her—half scoff, half intrigue. “You’re still on that?”
“Yes,” he muttered tersely. “I’m close to understanding the signature. There's a pattern in the layering. It’s not Jin or Nie. And Gusu doesn’t use this signature at all. It’s—off.”
“And yet,” she said, lightly touching the edge of the cursed talisman with one finger, “you look like you just committed a spiritual crime against humanity.”
Wei Wuxian stiffened.
Wen Qing’s lips curled. “Ah. I was right.”
Wei Wuxian whipped his head around so fast his neck cracked.
“Shut up!” he snapped, his voice cracking just enough to betray the tremble underneath. “I haven’t done anything to Lan Zhan!”
Silence fell like a guillotine. His own words seemed to echo in the room.
Wen Qing blinked slowly. Then her smirk stretched just enough to be wicked, her expression all knowing smugness and sharp-edged amusement.
“I never said Hanguangjun's name,” she said sweetly.
Wei Wuxian opened his mouth. Closed it. Made a sound of pure, anguished disbelief, and slumped face-first into his hands.
Wen Qing strolled past him with theatrical grace, tapping the talisman again like it might squawk a confession. “So. Hanguangjun, huh? That’s what’s keeping you up all night? Making you slap yourself in the face and drool on your brush like a lovesick teenager?”
“I wasn’t drooling,” Wei Wuxian mumbled defensively into his hands.
“No,” she agreed. “Just spiritually deranged. Over a man who, I remind you, is under a curse that makes him think you're already married .”
Wei Wuxian let out another wounded groan, dragging his hands down his face until they dangled limply at his sides. “You’re the worst.”
“No, you’re the worst,” Wen Qing said cheerfully. “But fortunately, I’m here to keep you from combusting. So tell me what did you do?”
“I kissed him,” he blurted before he could stop himself.
Wen Qing blinked. Then blinked again.
“Oh,” she said. Then with a smirk, “...Did you?
“I kissed him,” he repeated, frantic now. “Gods, he let me. He looked at me like—like I was everything, and I—I used that. I used it. He’s cursed, and I—”
“Okay,” Wen Qing cut in, raising a hand. “First, breathe before you start cultivating resentment in my infirmary. Second…” She tilted her head. “He let you. Are you sure he didn’t want it?”
Wei Wuxian looked at her helplessly. “That’s not the point! He thinks we’re together because of the curse! Not because he actually—”
His voice cracked. He buried his face in his arms again, muffled and low:
“I’m the worst. The absolute worst.”
“Yes,” Wen Qing agreed, with no hesitation at all. “But at least you’re our worst.”
He turned his head, cheek mashed to the wood. “Do you think he hates me now?”
Wen Qing scoffed. “Lan Wangji? That man would follow you into the abyss if you smiled at him halfway through the fall.”
Wei Wuxian stilled.
The memory surged back—Lan Wangji’s breath on his lips, his hand curled tight in his robes, that look in his eyes. Raw. Honest. Wanting.
His face went scarlet.
“I have to fix this,” he said suddenly, sitting upright. He seized the talisman, inspecting the etched marks again. “If I break the curse—if I undo this—I’ll know what’s real. I won’t… I won’t risk hurting him again.”
Wen Qing didn’t answer at first.
Then she stepped closer, voice lowering. “Wei Wuxian. Do you really believe everything will go back to normal once the curse is broken?”
He hesitated.
“…I don’t know,” he whispered. “And that’s what terrifies me.”
Wen Qing’s hand touched his arm, light and steady. “Then find the truth,” she said. “But don’t destroy yourself to get there.”
His eyes met hers.
For a moment, her expression softened. Just a flicker. Then it vanished behind her usual smirk.
“Also,” she added, “clean yourself up. You look like a teenager who got caught stealing mooncakes.”
Wei Wuxian barked a laugh—low, hoarse, but real.
“Yeah,” he said. “Yeah, I do.”
And for the first time since the sun rose, Wei Wuxian felt like he could breathe again.
____________________
Wei Wuxian returned to the talisman with renewed focus, narrowing his eyes at the symbols drawn in red. There was something about the spiritual pattern—
an echo,
a familiarity.
On impulse, he gathered a sliver of resentful energy from his core, letting it slither down his fingertips and into the seal.
The moment the resentful energy touched the talisman, the paper shimmered.
A faint pulse throbbed through the air.
“Wen Qing,” he said sharply, excitement rising in his chest. “Come here! I found something.”
She stepped forward quickly, alarm fading into intrigue.
“What is it?”
“The energy in this—it’s responding to me. It’s… it knows my energy,” he said, brow furrowed. “It doesn’t reject me. It’s almost… familiar.”
He fed a bit more resentful energy into the seal.
The talisman flared.
Then, like old paint curling away from heat, a thin, nearly invisible layer began to peel back from the surface.
Beneath it, a second layer of ink emerged—far older, etched in deep black.
Wei Wuxian and Wen Qing leaned in at the same time.
There, scrawled in a small, stylized script—barely legible against the aged paper—were four characters:
亚陵老祖
“Yiling Laozu?” Wei Wuxian muttered.
He blinked at it.
“Who the hell is that?”
Wen Qing raised an eyebrow. “Never heard that title before.”
Wei Wuxian leaned back, frowning.
“What kind of lunatic signs a cursed talisman? That’s like putting your name on a murder weapon.”
He stared at the name a moment longer, then shook his head.
“Must be some self-important dark cultivator,” he muttered. “Probably lives in a cave somewhere and eats rats.”
His voice was flippant—too flippant for the unease creeping up his spine.
The ink glowed faintly.
Wen Qing was silent.
The name pulsed again.
Wei Wuxian exhaled sharply and straightened his posture.
“Well, at least we know who made this talisman now,” he said, tapping the corner where the name lingered.
“This Yiling Patriarch person. That gives us a direction. We just need to find him.”
Wen Qing gave him a dry look.
“Find a mad cultivator with enough resentful energy to twist reality and sign his name in a cursed talisman? Oh yes, sounds simple.”
Wei Wuxian grinned—without humor.
“Compared to other things I have faced, it’s manageable. Besides…”
He turned back to the talisman, eyes narrowing.
“Now that the first layer is peeled away, I can feel there’s more underneath.”
His fingers hovered above the paper, reverent now.
“The talisman isn’t just a curse—it’s a puzzle. One I intend to solve.”
His voice dropped.
“I’ll uncover it all and break it. For Lan Zhan. For my sanity.”
Wei Wuxian looked down at the glowing talisman, eyes hardening with resolve.
Whoever this Yiling Patriarch is,
he thought grimly,
he won’t get away with this.
Not after what he did to Lan Zhan.
His thoughts were abruptly interrupted by the sound of tiny, hurried footsteps pattering down the hallway.
“A-Niang!” a sweet voice called.
“A-Niang! Breakfast is ready! Come eat before it gets cold!”
Wen Yuan burst into the room, cheeks flushed from running, his little arms thrown wide as he skidded to a stop beside Wei Wuxian’s chair.
He blinked up at him with innocent impatience.
“You promised, A-Niang! You said you'd eat with me today!”
Wei Wuxian blinked, startled.
Then, slowly, a smile bloomed across his face.
Some of the tension drained from his shoulders.
“You’re right,” he said softly, reaching down to ruffle Wen Yuan’s hair.
“Let’s go eat. Work can wait.”
He cast one last glance at the talisman.
But not for long.
____________________
The morning sun spilled gold across Lotus Pier, casting long shadows over lacquered wood as Wei Wuxian strolled toward the dining hall with Ayuan clinging to him like a monkey. The boy giggled in his arms, hair tousled from sleep, face flushed with delight as Wei Wuxian tickled his sides.
“Ayuan, are you going to eat all the sweets again and leave your poor A-Niang with just porridge?” Wei Wuxian teased.
Ayuan giggled. “A-Niang eats faster than me!”
“Oh no, have I been exposed?”
Their laughter echoed through the corridors. Wei Wuxian pushed open the dining hall doors—
And stopped.
His smile faltered. The laughter died in his throat.
At the far end of the table sat Lan Wangji.
Upright, composed, every line of him familiar—too familiar. White robes pristine, silver headband gleaming in the morning light. He wasn’t looking at Wei Wuxian, then—
Their eyes met.
Golden. Steady.
Wei Wuxian’s breath caught. His grip on Ayuan tightened.
Last night flashed back in too much detail—Lan Wangji, close, warm, murmuring his name in the dark. The kiss.
He forced a grin.
“You’re late,” Jiang Cheng grumbled, not even looking up from his bowl. “Everyone else managed to arrive on time. Even our esteemed guest.”
Wei Wuxian slid into the empty seat between Jiang Yanli and Jiang Cheng, plopping Ayuan onto his lap and patting the boy’s head.
“Blame Ayuan,” he said cheerfully. “He insisted on dragging me to see the turtles first. You know how persuasive he is.”
“A-Niang is lying again,” Ayuan said solemnly.
Lan Xichen chuckled. “It's a rare gift to be this shameless so early.”
Jiang Yanli leaned in with a soft, knowing smile. “Someone here was quite eager for you to arrive. Looking at the door every few minutes.”
Wei Wuxian’s gaze snapped to her, eyes wide. She was smiling gently, her voice teasing but innocent. Yet the implication was clear.
His eyes flickered, unwillingly, to Lan Wangji.
Lan Wangji, who was now looking down at his bowl of congee, completely unreadable.
Wei Wuxian quickly looked away, his heart thudding uncomfortably. He picked up a steamed bun and offered it to Ayuan, his voice suddenly louder and more animated.
“Lotus paste, Ayuan! I stole it just for you. Don’t tell Shijie.”
“A-Xian!” Jiang Yanli laughed. “You didn’t even let me have my morning tea first before informing me of the theft.”
The table fell into a light-hearted rhythm. Jiang Cheng and Lan Xichen spoke in quiet tones about cultivation affairs, trade agreements, and recent border reports. Jiang Yanli discussed the upcoming lantern festival and what colors she should choose for decorating the pier.
Wei Wuxian threw in comments here and there, laughing too loudly at his own jokes, nudging Jiang Cheng until the other growled at him to sit still.
But through it all, Wei Wuxian didn’t call Lan Wangji’s name. Not once. Not even when he made a particularly clever remark that would normally have been aimed at Hanguang-jun to see his reaction.
And yet, every few minutes, his eyes betrayed him.
A sip of water. The light sound of the porcelain cup touching the table. Wei Wuxian looked up.
Lan Wangji tilted his head slightly, pale throat bobbing as he swallowed. Wei Wuxian’s breath caught for a second, his eyes trailing the motion involuntarily. It was absurd—he’d seen Lan Wangji drink tea a thousand times. Why did it look…different now?
He tore his eyes away, only to have them wander back a moment later.
Lan Wangji was chewing slowly, elegantly, lips slightly parted with each bite, utterly unaware of the havoc he was wreaking on Wei Wuxian’s sanity.
“Stop it,” Wei Wuxian whispered to himself, popping a bun into his own mouth and chewing so aggressively Ayuan turned to look at him in concern.
“Aniang, are you angry at the food?”
“No, sweetheart,” Wei Wuxian said around a mouthful. “Just passionate about buns, that’s all.”
Across the table, Lan Wangji lifted his gaze again. This time, Wei Wuxian didn’t look away quickly enough. Their eyes met. Held.
Lan Wangji blinked once, slowly.
Wei Wuxian felt his cheeks heat, his grip tightening slightly on Ayuan.
He looked away.
“A-Xian,” Jiang Yanli said softly, leaning in. “You’re unusually quiet this morning. Did something happen?”
“Quiet? Me?” Wei Wuxian gave her a dazzling smile. “Never. You’re imagining things, Shijie. I was just admiring how our A-Cheng is finally learning to use chopsticks properly.”
Jiang Cheng let out a snort. “I will throw this at your face.”
“Ah, violence. So early in the morning. Is that how the Sect Leader of Yunmeng cultivates harmony?”
Ayuan clapped. “Aniang is winning!”
“See? The child has spoken the truth!”
Everyone chuckled, and the moment passed. But Wei Wuxian could still feel the weight of that golden gaze. Like a tether that kept drawing him in no matter how far he tried to drift.
His fingers brushed against Ayuan’s soft hair as he fed him little bites. But his thoughts were elsewhere.
He shouldn’t have kissed him.
He shouldn’t have touched him like that.
Lan Wangji had been vulnerable, possibly drunk or affected by the curse, and he—Wei Wuxian—had lost control. Again. And now he was sitting across from him, pretending everything was fine, while every cell in his body screamed to look at Lan Wangji again.
Just a glance. Just a little peek.
No. Stop it.
Lan Wangji drank more tea.
Wei Wuxian glanced.
He watched a droplet escape the edge of Lan Wangji’s lips and trail down the side.
He immediately looked down at his own bowl and pushed it away, muttering, “I think I’ve lost my appetite.”
“So dramatic,” Jiang Cheng muttered.
“I think he’s love-sick,” Jiang Yanli whispered just loud enough for Wei Wuxian to hear.
He choked on air.
Ayuan patted his chest, alarmed. “Aniang?”
“Fine! I’m fine!” Wei Wuxian wheezed, waving his hand wildly.
From the corner of his eye, he saw Lan Wangji quietly placing another bun on his plate. One he hadn’t touched yet. One he knew Wei Wuxian liked.
Wei Wuxian stared at it.
He didn’t say thank you. Didn’t even acknowledge it.
But he didn’t give it to Ayuan either.
And a few minutes later, he quietly picked it up and bit into it, savoring the sweetness with something like guilt and longing pressing at his ribs.
Lan Wangji didn’t look at him.
But Wei Wuxian didn’t miss the faintest curve at the corner of his lips.
Breakfast continued. No one spoke of last night. No one asked where Wei Wuxian had gone before bed, or how Lan Wangji had returned soaked, or why there was a tension in the air so light and invisible yet too present to ignore.
But Wei Wuxian knew it. Felt it.
And as he laughed along with his family, ruffled Ayuan’s hair, and teased Jiang Cheng again, his eyes still betrayed him.
Always falling back to Lan Wangji.
Always wondering if Lan Wangji remembered.
And fearing the moment he would.
___________________
The afternoon sun spilled golden warmth across Lotus Pier, making the rebuilt courtyards shimmer with the quiet pride of progress. Wei Wuxian, however, was not basking in it like a proud architect of peace. No, he was ducking behind one of the storage sheds with the stealth of a hunted man.
“Is he gone?” he whispered to Wen Ning, who stood beside him with the kind of expression that screamed he’d rather be anywhere else.
Wen Ning glanced around obediently. “I don’t see Lan-er-gongzi.”
“Good,” Wei Wuxian exhaled dramatically, straightening up. “Excellent. Perfect. Now, quick, distract me before I run into him by accident and combust on the spot.”
“You’re... acting strange again,” Wen Ning said honestly.
“Flattery won’t get you out of this,” Wei Wuxian replied, slapping him on the shoulder. “Come on! A-Yuan’s out in the courtyard. Let’s go have some fun with the kids.”
“May I know why you are hiding from him?”
“No,” Wei Wuxian said breezily, “You can't know.”
Wen Ning just blinked at him, the ghost of a sigh barely escaping his lips.
But as soon as they turned the corner, Wei Wuxian’s dramatic escape was instantly rewarded with the joyous shriek of “A-niang!!”
He barely had time to brace himself before a miniature rocket in the form of A-Yuan flung itself at his legs, nearly knocking him over. The little boy clung to his robes with the strength of an overenthusiastic octopus.
“Ah-Yuan!” Wei Wuxian scooped him up and spun him around, both of them laughing. “Didn’t I tell you to use your indoor pouncing?”
A-Yuan just grinned, cheeks flushed, and poked his tiny fingers against Wei Wuxian’s cheek. “A-niang made a funny face again!”
“That’s just my regular face, thank you very much,” Wei Wuxian huffed, pretending to be offended. “And who taught you to bully your elders, huh? Was it Wen Qing? I knew she was a bad influence.”
More giggles bubbled from the gaggle of children who had now gathered like ducklings around him. One was clutching a fabric chicken, another had a flower crown slanted across their head like a lopsided halo, and a third was actively trying to balance a spoon on their nose.
“You’re late!” one of the older kids, Lian, called out with a pout. “You said we’d play tag after nap time!”
“Ah, yes,” Wei Wuxian said solemnly, putting A-Yuan down gently and dusting off his sleeves like a great warrior preparing for battle. “I had urgent business—very suspicious walls to investigate. But now, I am here.”
“Suspicious walls?” A little girl wrinkled her nose.
“Yes. They’re everywhere,” Wei Wuxian said with a serious face. “They whisper. Plot. Scheme to trip up innocent cultivators. I had to interrogate one.”
The children all gasped, utterly enraptured.
“What did it say?” one whispered.
“It said… ‘Look behind you!’” Wei Wuxian shouted, spinning dramatically, arms flailing.
The children screamed in delighted terror and scattered like fireflies.
And so began the most chaotic game of tag Lotus Pier had witnessed since its reconstruction.
Wei Wuxian was a whirlwind of exaggerated falls, clumsy chases, and loud declarations of betrayal whenever one of the children tagged him. At one point, he was down on all fours, growling like a “feral spirit-dog,” chasing A-Yuan, who screamed in glee. Another time, he let himself be “ambushed” by three children pretending to be night hunters and collapsed onto the grass with a loud, theatrical moan.
“I have been DEFEATED! My body… dissolves… into… tofu…”
“You can’t dissolve into tofu, A-niang!” A-Yuan declared.
“That’s what you think,” Wei Wuxian wheezed, lying dramatically in a spread-eagle pose. “Watch out, next time I’ll come back as soup!”
Just then, one of the smallest girls climbed onto his stomach and peered at him seriously. “You’re not soup. You’re warm.”
Wei Wuxian blinked, then smiled. “That’s because my heart is full of love for you all.”
A collective “Ewww!” chorused through the clearing, and Wei Wuxian pretended to be struck again. “Uncultured brats! When I was your age, I wept for poems!”
“Did you write them too?” one of the boys teased.
“Of course,” Wei Wuxian said proudly, springing up and dusting grass from his robes. “Would you like to hear one?”
“Nooo!” came the unanimous reply.
He clutched his heart. “Ungrateful! Betrayed! Overthrown in my prime!”
The laughter was enough to make the birds nearby flap away in alarm. Wei Wuxian grinned as he watched the children tumble and roll on the grass. He felt light, free. For a moment, the war, the politics, the accusations , Lan wangji—all of it slipped away.
And then, fate decided to be cruel.
He was mid-chase—doing a rather elegant slow-motion leap toward A-Yuan—when something caught his wrist.
Not something. Someone.
Warm fingers closed around his pulse point, firm and steady.
Wei Wuxian landed on his feet and froze. The laughter of children echoed around him, but in his ears, it was muted by the rush of blood. He turned slowly, half expecting it to be Wen Ning with some news.
It wasn’t.
Lan Wangji stood just behind him, his expression unreadable as always—but his hand was still wrapped gently around Wei Wuxian’s wrist, thumb brushing against his skin.
“We need to talk,” Lan Wangji said quietly, eyes meeting his.
Ah. So this was how it ended. Not with a sword, not with a scandal—but ambushed during tag, with grass in his hair and children climbing trees behind him.
Wei Wuxian swallowed, trying for nonchalance. “Can it wait? I think I pulled a hamstring and also, someone tied a chicken to my leg.”
Indeed, the stuffed toy chicken was now tangled in his sash.
Lan Wangji did not blink. “Wei Ying. Now.”
“O-oh.” Wei Wuxian laughed nervously, trying to tug his hand free. “Haha. Of course. You know me—always free to talk. But maybe after snack time?”
“No,” Lan Wangji said again. “Now.”
There was no anger in his voice. No ice, no judgment. Just a calm, unwavering certainty that brooked no evasion.
Wei Wuxian gave a pained, sheepish smile to the kids who had gone silent, sensing the mood change. “Be good while I’m gone! And if I’m not back in ten minutes, avenge me by stealing all the steamed buns!”
A-Yuan gave a thumbs-up. “Yes, A-niang!”
As Lan Wangji gently tugged him away from the field, Wei Wuxian muttered under his breath, “Curse my bad luck.”
Lan Wangji raised a brow slightly but said nothing.
___________________
The afternoon breeze stirred the trees, rustling leaves with a quiet hum. Sunlight filtered through the canopy above, flickering against the ground like fleeting dreams.
By the roots of an ancient tree, Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji stood in silence, the space between them thick with unsaid words.
Wei Wuxian’s posture was tight, like a coil pulled too far. His fingers fidgeted at his sides, and his breath came too quickly, as if the weight of what had been left unspoken was suddenly bearing down on him. He couldn’t bring himself to meet Lan Wangji’s eyes. The feeling of being caught in the act—of whatever this was, whatever this… confusion was—left him paralyzed.
His heart beat too fast, thunderous against his ribs. His throat was tight, strangling the words that tried to rise. Words tangled in fear.
Fear of what Lan Wangji might say. Or worse—fear of what Wei Wuxian might admit, even to himself.
He tried not to look at Lan Wangji, tried not to see the quiet intensity that seemed to radiate from him like an unspoken question.
The silence stretched, long and unyielding.
Finally, after what seemed like an eternity of watching the ground, Lan Wangji’s voice broke through the stillness.
“Why?”
It was soft. Barely a breath on the wind—but it landed like a stone in Wei Wuxian’s chest.
“Why are you avoiding me?”
The question hit harder than he expected. His hands clenched, nails biting into his palms.
He stared at the ground. His chest rose and fell with shallow breaths. Panic crawled cold up his spine.
“I…” His voice cracked—dry, uncertain. He swallowed. Tried again. “I’m not…”
He glanced up. Briefly.
Their eyes met.
And for a heartbeat, everything stopped.
A jolt shot through Wei Wuxian—sharp, breathless. Lan Wangji’s golden gaze was calm, but beneath it was something far more fragile.
Wei Wuxian looked away immediately, staring at the ground once more, ashamed of his own inability to voice the truth. “I’m not…” He murmured, voice barely a whisper now, “I’m not ignoring you.”
But the words sounded hollow, even to his own ears. The truth of it felt far too complicated, too messy to fit into those simple words.
Lan Wangji was silent for a moment. Wei Wuxian’s stomach twisted, anticipation building in the quiet. What would he say? What would Lan Wangji think of him now?
Then, softly, so softly that Wei Wuxian almost didn’t hear it, came Lan Wangji’s voice again, laced with something almost fragile. “Did I… Did I do something?”
Wei Wuxian’s heart skipped a beat. That single, quiet question tore at something deep inside him. His breath caught, and he froze entirely, unable to move. His heart clenched in panic, and for a moment, he thought he might suffocate on the weight of it.
The vulnerability in Lan Wangji’s voice was a sharp contrast to the usual calm, composed exterior that Wei Wuxian had grown so used to. Lan Wangji—always so composed, so in control—was now looking at him like… like he might break.
Wei Wuxian blinked rapidly, trying to hold himself together, but his chest felt tight, like there was no air left. “You…” he whispered, but his voice trembled, and he couldn’t find the right words. “You didn’t do anything.”
But the way Lan Wangji looked at him… it made his own words feel like lies.
The space between them felt unbearable.
Lan Wangji’s gaze lingered. Concern, gentle but unrelenting, shadowed his face. “Wei Ying…”
Wei Wuxian’s heart stopped for a split second. That was it, wasn’t it? The moment when everything broke. The moment when the mask he’d been wearing since morning, the walls he’d built, shattered entirely. The way Lan Wangji had said his name—it wasn’t just a question. It was a plea.
And now Wei Wuxian had to answer.
He lifted his eyes again, just for a second, locking them with Lan Wangji’s. For a moment, he saw only confusion and an unspoken fear in those eyes. The kind of fear that was worse than anger, worse than disappointment. It was the fear of loss, the fear of being abandoned.
“You don’t remember?” Wei Wuxian whispered, barely believing his own words.
Lan Wangji blinked, his brows furrowing slightly. “Remember what?”
A cold shiver ran down Wei Wuxian’s spine. He could hardly breathe. The storm of emotions that had been brewing inside him for days surged forward, threatening to drown him.
“No… nothing?” Wei Wuxian repeated, his voice barely audible.
Lan Wangji tilted his head slightly, his expression unreadable, but the slight hesitation in his gaze only made Wei Wuxian’s heart race harder. “No. I don’t… remember.”
The silence that followed was suffocating. Wei Wuxian’s chest tightened as a new wave of guilt and confusion washed over him. He could feel his heart racing, his pulse pounding in his throat. How could he have forgotten? How could he—
But there was no time for him to dwell on it.
Wei Wuxian forced himself to speak, the words tumbling out of his mouth before he could stop them.
“Maybe you should be asking me what I did.”
Lan Wangji blinked.
“Maybe I did something to you. Something unspeakable. Maybe…” Wei Wuxian’s voice dropped, “maybe I kissed you.”
The words hung in the air like a bitter truth.
For a moment, Lan Wangji’s expression didn’t change. But then, his eyes softened just slightly, and he looked at Wei Wuxian with an intensity that made his heart thud painfully in his chest.
“No,” Lan Wangji said firmly. “You did not.”
The certainty in his voice, the absolute lack of doubt, sent a shock through Wei Wuxian’s system. He froze, eyes wide, looking at Lan Wangji with a mixture of disbelief and something far more complicated.
“How can you be so sure?” Wei Wuxian whispered, his voice cracking under the weight of the question. “How can you be so sure I didn't do something like that? If I did… would you forgive me?”
Lan Wangji didn’t answer right away, his gaze fixed on Wei Wuxian. His silence stretched between them like an unspoken promise, and when he finally spoke again, his voice was steady, yet tinged with an emotion that Wei Wuxian couldn’t quite name.
“If you did,” Lan Wangji said quietly, “I would not mind.”
Lan Wangji’s quiet voice broke through the storm in Wei Wuxian’s chest again, soft but filled with the same unshakable conviction.
“But I know… Wei Ying would never do something like that to me.”
No hesitation. No doubt. Just belief—deep, blinding belief in him. And for some reason, it made something inside Wei Wuxian snap.
His breath hitched. Anger—hot, irrational, stifled—bubbled up in his throat. Not at Lan Wangji, not truly. At himself. At how undeserving he felt of the unwavering faith in those words. At how utterly wrong Lan Wangji was.
“You…” Wei Wuxian whispered, voice trembling.
Lan Wangji tilted his head ever so slightly, the edges of his expression soft, quiet. Still, unreadable.
Wei Wuxian’s fingers curled into fists. He took a step forward.
Lan Wangji blinked once, calmly watching him.
Wei Wuxian took another step, and another—his emotions surging forward like waves finally breaking through a dam. The guilt, the self-loathing, the unbearable affection, the longing—twisting and turning and choking him.
“Stop saying that,” Wei Wuxian said, barely above a whisper. “Stop saying I wouldn’t do it. Stop… looking at me like that.”
Lan Wangji’s brows knit together, faint concern brushing across his otherwise still face. He took a small, instinctive step backward—only to find his back pressed firmly against the rough bark of the tree.
There was nowhere else to go.
Wei Wuxian stood just a few inches away now, his breath coming faster. His heart thundered with panic and frustration and something else—something even he couldn’t name.
“You think too highly of me,” Wei Wuxian said bitterly, voice breaking. “You shouldn't.”
He lifted his hands slowly, arms braced against the tree on either side of Lan Wangji’s head, caging him in without touching him. His sleeves fluttered with the breeze. The dappled sunlight through the leaves painted both of their faces in gold.
Wei Wuxian leaned in, just slightly, eyes locked onto Lan Wangji’s face, onto the soft line of his lips, then back up to those ever-patient, ever-gentle golden eyes.
“I’m not like you,” he murmured. “I’m not righteous. I’m not good. I’m not…” he exhaled harshly, “incapable of doing something unspeakable.”
His voice cracked as he spoke, as if the truth of it hurt to admit. His eyes flicked back down to Lan Wangji’s lips again. So close now.
“I could do terrible things to you,” he whispered, not even sure if he was warning Lan Wangji or daring himself.
Lan Wangji didn’t move. Not away. Not forward. He simply looked at him, gaze steady, expression unreadable—but there was no fear. No rejection. No alarm. His hands were still by his sides, open, unthreatening. His chest rose and fell evenly.
And when he spoke, his voice was softer than ever. A whisper frayed with something fragile. Something painful.
“You won't.”
Wei Wuxian froze.
His eyes widened. The words hit harder than any accusation could have.
Lan Wangji said it again. The same belief. The same certainty.
There was no accusation. No suspicion. Just belief. Quiet, steadfast, devastating belief.
Wei Wuxian stared at him, heart pounding painfully in his chest, throat tight, something twisting deep inside him.
“Why?” he choked out. “Why are you so sure? Why do you always—why do you always trust me like this?”
He leaned in even closer, his breath brushing across Lan Wangji’s skin. Their noses were a mere whisper apart now.
His voice dropped to a hoarse murmur. “Why do you always look at me like I’m—like I’m good?”
Lan Wangji’s lashes fluttered once. His breath stirred the air between them.
“Because you are,” he said softly. “Because I know you.”
Wei Wuxian’s hands trembled against the bark. His arms trembled from the weight of holding himself back.
He couldn’t take it. He couldn’t take the way Lan Wangji looked at him like he was someone worth saving. Worth trusting. Worth… loving.
And all he wanted, right then, was to test the edge of that trust. To close the space between them. To press his mouth to those lips and see if the world shattered or held.
He leaned in.
Closer.
His breath warmed Lan Wangji’s cheek.
He tilted his head, eyes fixed on Lan Wangji’s lips.
He was a whisper away.
He could feel the warmth of him. Could see the way Lan Wangji’s eyes were slightly parted, his pulse fluttering just beneath his jaw.
And then—
Lan Wangji looked straight at him. Unflinching. No fear. No surprise. No rejection.
Only sadness. A fragile ache.
“I know you would never do such a thing,” he said again. “Not to me.”
And this time—this time it hurt.
It was like a blade made of hope being driven into Wei Wuxian’s heart. The kind of certainty that made his own self-loathing roar.
That pained vulnerability in Lan Wangji’s voice—he said it like he had hoped… but never dared to believe. Like doing something like this would hurt him… not because he didn’t want it—but because he wanted it too much.
Wei Wuxian flinched, as if burned.
His breath hitched. His hands dropped from the tree bark to his sides. His knees felt weak. His heart stumbled against his ribs, a stuttering panic laced with guilt and longing and grief.
And then—
A noise.
A loud one.
Laughter. Shouts. Footsteps.
Children’s voices rang out from the edge of the lake, sharp and high-pitched.
“Xian-gege !! Come quick!”
Wei Wuxian blinked, dazed. The spell—the tension—it all snapped at once.
He turned his head slightly, just enough to catch the source of the sound.
A group of children were waving from the edge of the field. They were near the lake, something clearly exciting them. Someone had apparently fallen into the shallow edge of the water, judging by the delighted shrieks and splashing.
Lan Wangji took a small breath. The barest motion. But Wei Wuxian felt it. Felt the shift. Felt the moment—fragile, intense, dangerous—slip through his fingers like smoke.
He stepped back, slowly. A full step. Then another.
The air felt cooler already.
Wei Wuxian looked at Lan Wangji, whose posture had returned to calm. He didn’t look away, didn’t flinch, didn’t speak. But his eyes—his eyes held something raw. Something real.
Wei Wuxian opened his mouth to say something. Anything.
But he didn’t know what.
And so, he just turned his head again toward the lake and forced a smile—too wide, too quick.
“I think someone’s causing chaos,” he said, his voice falsely light. “Better go before Wen Qing decides to hunt us down for allowing children to start water fights.”
He laughed.
It was hollow.
Lan Wangji said nothing.
Wei Wuxian stepped away. The wind rustled through the leaves.
“I’ll go check on them,” he said, not looking back. “You should… You can follow if you want.”
And with that, he left.
His hands were shaking. His chest ached. His heart was caught between guilt and something that felt like grief.
Because Lan Wangji believed in him.
And somehow—that was the hardest thing to bear.
___________________
Wei Wuxian stood at the main gates of Lotus Pier, his flute hanging from his hip, sword at his back. His robes fluttered lightly in the breeze, black as ink with the faintest hint of red peeking from underneath—just like always.
He looked every inch the confident cultivator, relaxed and ready, a picture of easygoing charm.
But internally, Wei Wuxian wasn’t quite as composed as he appeared.
The case he was taking on was nothing of importance. A minor spiritual disturbance in a village three hours’ journey away—one that the junior disciples could have handled in their sleep. It was likely just a restless spirit or a creature displaced by the recent sect movements. Routine work.
But Wei Wuxian had insisted he’d go himself.
No one had argued. Jiang Cheng had rolled his eyes. Jiang Yanli had simply smiled. Wen Qing had muttered something suspicious under her breath, but Wei Wuxian had left before she could question his motives.
Because the truth was, this hunt wasn’t about the hunt.
It was about space.
About breathing.
He needed a moment—just a few days—to clear his head. To remember what it felt like not to ache every time Lan Wangji was near. To not tremble with guilt when their eyes met. To stop reaching for his hand in the dark like some love-sick fool.
“Aniang!”
The shrill voice cut into his thoughts, and before he could turn fully, a small body collided with his leg, hugging it fiercely.
“A-Yuan!” Wei Wuxian laughed, startled out of his spiraling thoughts. “Are you trying to knock me over before I even leave?”
A-Yuan clung tighter, his round face squished into the folds of Wei Wuxian’s robe. “Don’t go without me! I want to fight monsters too!”
Wei Wuxian crouched down and lifted him easily into his arms, spinning him around once to make him giggle.
“You want to fight monsters?” Wei Wuxian said, raising a brow with exaggerated shock. “But… but A-Yuan is still so tiny! Look at this! You haven’t grown at all!”
A-Yuan pouted immediately, puffing his cheeks. “I have grown!”
Wei Wuxian cupped his chin, humming dramatically. “Hmm… nope. Same height as last week. At this rate, we’ll have to plant you in the ground with spiritual fertilizer so you sprout properly.”
“No!” A-Yuan shrieked, squirming in his arms. “No planting!”
“You said you wanted to be a big brave cultivator,” Wei Wuxian teased. “How will you be tall enough to hold a sword if you don’t grow?”
“I’ll grow on my own!” A-Yuan cried indignantly. “You said I would grow with lots of food and good sleep!”
“Well, yes,” Wei Wuxian admitted, tickling under A-Yuan’s arms until the boy erupted into laughter again, “but I also said you’d grow even faster if you let me stick you in a pot under sunlight.”
A-Yuan slapped his little hands against Wei Wuxian’s chest, indignant and squealing with laughter. “A-niang is bad!”
Wei Wuxian gasped dramatically. “Bad? You wound me, A-Yuan! That’s it! I’ll go slay monsters all alone and cry in the woods!”
“Good! Cry!” A-Yuan stuck out his tongue and giggled.
“Wei Wuxian!”
The sudden bark of his name made both of them jolt. Wei Wuxian turned with a sheepish grin just in time to see Jiang Cheng striding toward them, robes immaculate and brows drawn together in irritation.
“You’re leaving for a night-hunt and this is how you behave?” Jiang Cheng snapped. “Flirting with a toddler and making a scene at the gates like a street performer!”
Wei Wuxian blinked. “First of all, I’ll have you know A-Yuan is very forward. He flirted with me. And second, I was educating him on the benefits of spiritual horticulture.”
“You were threatening to bury a child in the dirt.”
“It was a metaphor!” Wei Wuxian called back.
Jiang Cheng exhaled sharply through his nose, clearly at his limit. “You’re a disgrace.”
Wei Wuxian handed A-Yuan to one of the passing disciples and gave him a pat on the head. “Go on now, little sprout. If you don’t eat your vegetables tonight, I will find a pot big enough for you.”
A-Yuan only giggled and skipped away.
Wei Wuxian turned with a grin, striding up to Jiang Cheng like a man preparing for battle.
“Ah, Jiang Cheng, how will I ever survive this hunt without your sunny disposition? I’ll miss you dearly.”
Jiang Cheng crossed his arms. “Good. Maybe you’ll fall in a ditch and reflect on your idiocy.”
“Touching,” Wei Wuxian said. “Such moving brotherly concern. If I didn’t know better, I’d think you cared.”
“I don’t.”
“You do.”
“I don’t.”
“You cry when I leave.”
“I cheer when you leave!”
They were face to face now, voices rising, postures bristling like two cats in a street brawl. Neither of them noticed Jiang Yanli approaching until she was standing directly between them, laughing softly.
“A-Cheng, A-Xian,” she said, gently placing a hand on each of their arms, “do you have to fight every time one of you blinks?”
“He started it,” Jiang Cheng muttered.
“He did,” Wei Wuxian confirmed cheerfully. “As usual. He woke up and chose violence.”
“You—”
“Shh,” Jiang Yanli said, smiling at them both. “The disciples are watching.”
Wei Wuxian immediately took cover behind her, peeking over her shoulder with a mischievous grin. He flicked his tongue out at Jiang Cheng.
Jiang Cheng glared. “How old are you?”
“Mentally? About A-Yuan’s age.”
“Then I will stick you in a pot.”
“Shi jie, help,” Wei Wuxian said, ducking behind her again, clutching at her robes dramatically. “He’s threatening his own brother with gardening! Call the guards!”
“Both of you,” she said fondly, “are hopeless.”
Wei Wuxian peeked out again and stuck his tongue out one more time for good measure.
Jiang Cheng looked like he was about to pop a vessel.
Jiang Yanli just shook her head and patted Wei Wuxian’s cheek. “Go safely, A-Xian. If you’re not back in two days, I’ll send A-Cheng after you.”
“That’s a threat,” Wei Wuxian said solemnly. “Duly noted.”
She leaned forward and fixed his collar with a motherly touch. “Don’t do anything reckless.”
“Reckless?” he echoed. “Me? Never.”
Jiang Cheng made a noise of deep disbelief.
Wei Wuxian winked at both of them, stepped back, and turned toward the road beyond the gates.
But as he walked, he let his smile slowly fade, the laughter melting behind him with the voices of those he loved most.
He adjusted the hold on his flute and exhaled, long and quiet.
Lan Wangji’s absence at the gate didn’t go unnoticed.
He hadn’t expected him to come, of course. Had hoped he wouldn’t. Seeing him might have made this harder. Much harder.
Wei Wuxian kept his eyes forward.
Just a few days.
Just a little space.
He could do this.
He had to.
____________________
The small market at the edge of the village buzzed with life. Merchants called out their wares over the clatter of wooden carts and the chatter of children darting between stalls. Lanterns swayed gently overhead, and the warm scent of grilled chestnuts drifted in the air. Wei Wuxian passed through without stopping, hands in his sleeves, humming a cheerful tune that didn’t quite reach his eyes.
The villagers had pointed him toward a shrine in the woods a little west of town—a common spot for minor spirit activity, and just the kind of easy hunt he’d hoped for. The flute tucked in his belt pulsed faintly, already reacting to the aura nearby.
Good. This would be quick. In and out. Then maybe he’d spend the night camped under the stars with nothing but wine and bad poetry for company. No expectations. No guilt. No—
A sudden tug at his wrist made him stop mid-step.
Wei Wuxian blinked, looked down… and stared.
There, tied loosely around his wrist, was a thin, almost-invisible spiritual thread. So fine that in daylight it would be impossible to see—but under the dimming twilight, it shimmered just enough to catch his attention. His brows furrowed as he turned, tracing the direction of the line.
It stretched several feet back through the marketplace and ended at—
“Oh, come on,” Wei Wuxian muttered under his breath.
There, standing as still as a statue among the lantern-lit stalls, was none other than Lan Wangji.
Clad in white and pale blue, robes fluttering gently in the breeze, face as expressionless as ever. Unmoving. Unapologetic.
Wei Wuxian stared.
Lan Wangji stared back.
Chapter 11: Teaser
Chapter Text
Teaser from future chapters :
Teaser 1:
The sound was vile, a wheezing, gurgling mockery that echoed across the desolate clearing.
"What will you do now, The great founder of demonic cultivation?" it rasped, hovering closer. "Your flute is gone. What use are you now?"
Wei Wuxian’s lips tightened. He didn’t rise. Didn’t respond. His eyes flicked to the side—Chenqing lay a few meters away, but the spirit hovered too close. He wouldn’t make it in time.
"Wei Ying, use your sword," Lan Wangji said, stepping in front of him.
Wei Wuxian’s eyes widened.
He stared at the hilt at his waist—Suibian, the blade that once sang with every swing, now silent and heavy like a corpse.
The spirit chortled, shrieking again, louder, madder.
"He can’t! He won’t!" it screeched.
__________________________________
Teaser 2:
"Shijie... what do you do if you can’t stop thinking about someone? If your eyes always find them first, even when you’re not trying? If being around them feels like... breathing?"
Jiang Yanli didn't respond at first. Her hand stilled in his hair. The lantern beside her flickered with the breeze.
Then she smiled gently. "Then, A-Xian, they're in love. And they should confess their love."
Wei Wuxian’s breath caught. "Confess?"
She nodded, eyes twinkling. "Mm. Before it's too late."
Wei Wuxian swallowed. His fingers fidgeted with a loose thread on the hem of his sleeve. “But… how?” he asked, voice low, uncertain. “How do you even… do that?”
___________________________________
Teaser 3:
“Wei Ying... what are you doing? Get away.”
Wei Wuxian caught lan wangji hand easily, fingers curling around Lan Wangji’s wrist, firm but not cruel.
“What am I doing?” he said with a crooked grin, voice rich with mock surprise. “Just trying to fulfill my husbandly duties. You’ve been neglecting them, Lan Zhan. I thought I should help.”
Lan Wangji’s jaw tightened. His other hand balled in the sheets beside him.
“Don’t tease,” he said, low and strained, though his voice lacked its usual steel.
Wei Wuxian leaned down slowly, letting his hair brush against Lan Wangji’s cheek as he whispered next to his ear, “Is it teasing if it’s true?”
Before Lan Wangji could answer, Wei Wuxian took the hand he held and brought it to his own chest. He pressed Lan Wangji’s palm flat against his skin—warm, bare, and racing with a pulse he couldn’t hide.
Lan Wangji flinched.
But Wei Wuxian didn’t stop.
His fingers moved, guiding Lan Wangji’s hand up the center of his chest, over his collarbone, across the curve of his shoulder. He watched Lan Wangji’s face the entire time, watched the way his breath stuttered, how the tips of his ears turned red and the flush began to spread down his neck.
“What’s wrong, Lan Zhan?” he asked, voice dark and soft, almost fond. “Isn’t this what husbands do?”
____________________________________
Teaser 4 :
“No more masks. No more politics. I know you did it.”
Jin Guangshan’s hand trembled slightly, and he masked it by curling it into a fist.
“You think anyone will believe you?” he spat. “You’re already condemned! The world has already turned against you. You’re a cursed creature with a murderer’s reputation. No one will believe a single word you say!”
Wei Wuxian didn’t blink.
“I’m not here to make speeches.”
His voice dropped to a whisper.
“I came to end this.”
He raised the flute to his lips.
_______________________________
Chapter Text
Wei Wuxian stared.
Lan Wangji stared back.
With exasperation blooming across his face, Wei Wuxian lifted his bound wrist and shouted across the distance, “What is this?!”
Lan Wangji didn’t hurry.
He simply began walking toward him, calm as moonlight.
Wei Wuxian stared, dumbfounded, shaking the bound wrist as if outrage alone could snap the thread.
“Lan Zhan! I’m in the middle of a hunt! Did you tie a spiritual thread to me like I’m a roaming chicken?!”
Lan Wangji stopped in front of him, utterly composed.
In a voice flat as a temple bell, he said,
“Your invention. You named it ‘Companion Tether’ in the past.”
Wei Wuxian gaped at him. “I know what it is! But it’s not called that! I called it Yin si! I made it to prank disciples who wandered off—not for creepy stalker uses!”
Lan Wangji tilted his head faintly. “You were the one who said it symbolized a bond stronger than distance.”
“I was teasing!”
Wei Wuxian groaned, dragging his hand down his face. “Okay, but still—what are you even doing here? And why did you tie our wrists together?!”
“I want to go with you.”
The answer came so plainly, so calmly, that Wei Wuxian blinked.
“To the night-hunt,” Lan Wangji clarified, as if the request were entirely logical.
Wei Wuxian sputtered. “Lan Zhan! You could’ve just asked! You didn’t need to sneak into a village like a beautiful ghost and tie me up with spiritual thread!”
Lan Wangji looked at him blankly.
Wei Wuxian narrowed his eyes. “Don’t give me that look. That was objectively weird.”
There was a pause.
Then Lan Wangji said, in his ever-neutral tone, “You would not have agreed.”
Wei Wuxian lifted a hand, as if to say touché, then let it flop dramatically against his side. “Fine. Fair. You’re right.”
He sighed and flung his arms wide in mock despair. “I wouldn’t have agreed. But that’s because it’s a simple case! Just a little wandering spirit. It doesn’t need a cultivator as powerful and dramatic as Hanguang-jun.”
“I will go.”
“Lan Zhan—” Wei Wuxian pinched the bridge of his nose. “You should stay in Lotus Pier. Just two or three days. I’ll be back before you even finish reciting the Gusu Lan morning rules.”
Lan Wangji held his gaze for a long moment. His voice, when it came, was quiet.
“I am staying in Lotus Pier because you are there.”
Wei Wuxian stopped breathing.
Lan Wangji continued, soft and steady, “If you are not there, why would I stay?”
The words hit like a strike to his chest.
Wei Wuxian’s heart thudded painfully. He turned away, mouth twisting—unsure if he wanted to laugh or scream.
“You really don’t make this easy,” he muttered. “I just wanted a couple of days to myself, you know. Is that too much to ask?”
Lan Wangji waited in silence.
Wei Wuxian tipped his head back, groaning to the sky.
“Why, god, why. I asked for one thing. Just a few days. A little breathing space. A tiny emotional break. Is that too much?”
The heavens, as expected, remained silent.
He turned back to Lan Wangji, grumbling,
“Fine. Fine. Come along. Tie our ankles too, if it makes you happy.”
Lan Wangji gave the smallest nod. His eyes, however, held the faintest glimmer of satisfaction.
“Unbelievable,” Wei Wuxian muttered as they started down the road together. “You’re like a persistent stray I fed once, and now I’m stuck for life.”
Lan Wangji glanced sideways.
Wei Wuxian caught the look and waggled his brows.
“Should I start calling you by the name I gave that stray?”
Lan Wangji didn’t answer, but the faint flicker in his eyes suggested mild exasperation.
They walked in silence for a while, their steps falling into rhythm, the spiritual thread still binding their wrists—like a promise neither had the strength, or the will, to break.
After a while, Wei Wuxian spoke again, quieter now.
“I meant it, you know. That it’s just a small hunt.”
Lan Wangji said nothing.
Wei Wuxian glanced at him.
“You know I’ve handled worse.”
“I know.”
“So you’re just here because…” Wei Wuxian’s words trailed away.
No answer came.
He didn’t press.
They kept walking, the market fading behind them, the forest ahead thickening with mist.
Wei Wuxian let himself watch Lan Wangji’s profile—the wind tugging a few strands of hair loose, the calm in his eyes, the quiet strength worn like a second skin.
He sighed again, softer this time, not quite frustrated.
“You’re really something, Lan Zhan.”
Lan Wangji turned his head slightly.
Wei Wuxian gave him a smile—not bright, not teasing, but quieter. Tired, maybe.
“You always show up. Even when I try so hard to be alone.”
Lan Wangji didn’t reply.
He didn’t need to.
The thread tugged lightly between their wrists with each step.
___________________________________
The market they passed through was livelier than the last, tucked between forested slopes and crisscrossed with colorful fabric banners fluttering in the breeze. Lanterns swayed gently, and stalls bustled with activity—traders calling out prices, steam rising from fresh food, children darting between baskets of dried fruit and hand-carved toys.
Wei Wuxian lit up like a firework.
“Oh look!” he said, grabbing Lan Wangji’s sleeve and pointing ahead with glee. “That’s the shop I told you about! Their almond cakes are divine. You have to try them!”
Lan Wangji’s gaze followed his finger to the modest sweet shop at the end of the path. His expression remained unmoved. “No, thank you.”
Wei Wuxian pouted dramatically. “Tch. You never want to try anything fun.”
“I do not like sweets.”
“You said that about peach wine too, and yet you drank it.” Wei Wuxian grinned. “And passed out. And mumbled about rabbits in your sleep. You can’t be trusted.”
“I did not.”
“You did,” Wei Wuxian insisted, eyes twinkling. “You said, ‘Bùyào… tùzǐ’ in the most pitiful voice I’ve ever heard.”
Lan Wangji gave him a long look, unimpressed.
Wei Wuxian waved a hand. “Fine, fine. Stay here and sulk. I’ll get the sweets. And when you ask me for one later, I’ll definitely say no.”
Lan Wangji made no move to stop him, simply standing still at the edge of the road like a solemn guardian, his robes catching the breeze.
Wei Wuxian turned to go, paused, and glanced back once, gaze lingering.
The thread that had been tethering them earlier had dissolved sometime ago, likely due to the shifting aura of the spiritual seal they’d passed on the village border. He should’ve felt relieved.
Instead, his chest felt oddly tight.
He gave Lan Wangji one last look—stoic, beautiful, perfectly still—and ducked inside the sweet shop with a cheerful, “Wait right there!”
As soon as the door closed behind him, the smile dropped from his face.
Wei Wuxian let out a slow breath.
His fingers flexed at his sides. His pulse was just a little too fast.
He hadn’t been able to shake Lan Wangji since the moment they’d left Lotus Pier. Not that he didn’t want Lan Zhan around. It was just… hard. Hard to think. Hard to breathe. Hard to not lean into the quiet presence always by his side.
And that was exactly the problem.
Because if he leaned too far, he might never pull back.
Wei Wuxian glanced toward the counter. A girl behind it was cutting almond cakes into neat squares.
He took a step toward the window instead.
It was old, slightly crooked, the shutters half-open to let in the breeze. One glance outside confirmed it faced a narrow side alley. The perfect escape route.
“I’m sorry, Lan Zhan,” he murmured with a sigh, swinging one leg over the sill. “But I need a moment alone. You’ll get the message eventually.”
He slipped out quietly, landing in the alley with a soft thud, brushing off his robes.
Wei Wuxian straightened and turned with a smirk, already half-talking to himself. “There. One clean break. By the time he realizes I’m not in the shop, he’ll go back. Problem solved.”
He looked over his shoulder.
No sign of Lan Wangji. Good.
He grinned and strolled down the alleyway, whistling under his breath. The sun was beginning to set, casting everything in soft gold. “Ah, freedom,” he muttered happily. “Just a day or two without the pressure of being silently watched for my every breath. Is that too much to ask?”
He turned a corner.
And collided with something solid.
“Ah—! Sorry, I—”Wei Wuxian’s body reacted on instinct. His arm snapped forward, steadying the other person before they could fall. His palm landed firmly against a waist. His other hand gripped an elbow. He caught the scent first—cool and clean, with that faint trace of sandalwood and ink.
His breath hitched.
Then he looked up.
Golden eyes met his.
Wei Wuxian froze.
Time slowed.
Lan Wangji stood before him, utterly composed despite the sudden collision. His long lashes cast delicate shadows on his cheeks, and a faint breeze stirred the ends of his hair. He was, as always, still and silent—like a painting come to life, like something too graceful to belong in a world as noisy and clumsy as Wei Wuxian’s.
Wei Wuxian’s heart gave a sharp, painful thump.
He stared for just a second too long.
The edge of Lan Wangji’s hair brushed his shoulder. The warmth of his waist lingered under his palm. That face—flawless and stoic and somehow endlessly familiar—was only inches from his.
Oh no.
He blinked, suddenly remembering to breathe.
Abruptly, Wei Wuxian released him and took a quick, awkward step back, nearly stumbling over his own feet in the process.
“I—uh—fancy seeing you here,” he managed, weakly laughing . “I was just coming back from the sweet shop! Through, um. The window. For ventilation.”
Lan Wangji said nothing.
His gaze was unreadable, calm, focused on Wei Wuxian as if seeing straight through the flimsy lie.
Wei Wuxian cleared his throat. “Right. So, the cakes were out. I was just going to buy something else. Yes. Maybe something bitter, you like bitter things, don’t you?”
No answer.
Wei Wuxian gave a nervous laugh. “Okay, okay. You caught me. Maybe I was escaping. But don’t take it personally! I just needed to—uh—stretch my legs! Think about my cultivation path. Deep, resentful stuff. Enlightenment!”
Lan Wangji remained silent, the corner of his mouth barely twitching.
Which made it worse.
Wei Wuxian groaned and rubbed the back of his neck. “Lan Zhan, please, just go back. I’ll be fine. I’ll come back to Lotus Pier in two days. Promise.”
Lan Wangji did not respond. He simply stepped aside, turned, and began walking forward in the same direction they had been headed earlier—clearly expecting Wei Wuxian to follow.
Wei Wuxian stared.
“Oh, come on!”
—-------
Attempt two happened outside a tea house.
“I’m just going to ask for directions!” Wei Wuxian said brightly, and before Lan Wangji could argue, he disappeared into the building.
Ten minutes later, Wei Wuxian shimmied down from the second-floor balcony, landing in a quiet courtyard.
He dusted off his robes. “He won’t expect me to exit through the tea garden. I’m a genius.”
He strolled two steps.
Lan Wangji was already standing at the gate.
Wei Wuxian’s mouth opened. Then closed.
“…Seriously Lan Zhan!?”
—------
Attempt three involved a crowded parade of festival dancers and a lot of colorful smoke bombs that Wei Wuxian may or may not have "accidentally" released from a passing merchant’s cart.
He’d darted into the chaos, laughing as confetti exploded around him. “Sorry, Lan Zhan! Looks like destiny says I must frolic freely!”
He sprinted down an alley, heart pounding with gleeful mischief.
And skidded to a stop.
Because Lan Wangji was already there, standing in a swirl of pink paper streamers, looking absolutely unfazed and not even mildly out of breath.
Wei Wuxian dropped to a crouch, covered his face, and groaned.
“Okay,” he muttered. “You win. I give up.”
Lan Wangji waited in silence as Wei Wuxian stood slowly, dragging his feet over.
“You know,” Wei Wuxian said as they resumed walking side by side, “you could’ve just tackled me the first time and saved me the effort.”
Lan Wangji didn’t look at him. “You would have tried again.”
Wei Wuxian sighed deeply and tilted his head toward the heavens.
“I asked for a few days, god,” he said. “Just a few! I wasn’t asking to elope or start a war. But nooo. You send me Hanguang-jun. Like a divine punishment with perfect and beautiful cheekbones.”
Lan Wangji blinked once, unimpressed.
Wei Wuxian threw his hands up. “I’m not mad! I’m just… tired. Okay?”
They kept walking, passing beneath a row of cherry blossom trees whose petals drifted in the wind like snow.
Wei Wuxian shoved his hands into his sleeves, voice softer now.
“I just wanted a little time to think without… feeling like I’m being watched.”
“You are not being watched,” Lan Wangji said evenly. “You are being… accompanied.”
Wei Wuxian blinked.
He looked at Lan Wangji.
Lan Wangji looked straight ahead.
Wei Wuxian bit his lip.
Then he sighed again and muttered, “You’re really not going back, are you?”
“No.”
Wei Wuxian tilted his head up at the sky once more, shoulders slumping in surrender.
__________________
Wei wuxian and Lan Wangji continued along the winding village road, the stone path dappled with fading sunlight and shadows from the trees overhead. A gentle breeze rustled the banners that hung from storefronts, and the warm smell of roasted chestnuts drifted in the air. It should have been peaceful.
But Wei Wuxian wasn’t feeling peaceful.
He walked a half-step ahead of Lan Wangji, hands loosely tucked into his sleeves, but his eyes kept wandering—sideways.
He glanced once.
Then again.
Then a third time, longer than he meant to.
There he was—Lan Wangji, walking quietly at his side, silent as a statue, his posture as straight and graceful as ever. His robes fluttered faintly with every step, white and pale blue edged with silver, not a crease out of place. His face remained expressionless, calm, unbothered.
As usual.
Wei Wuxian let out a long breath and looked away.
Only to glance back again.
It wasn’t his fault, really. How was he supposed to not look? Lan Wangji was infuriatingly easy on the eyes. It would be easier to ignore a full moon rising beside him. That fine jawline, those lashes, the way sunlight seemed to glow against his cheekbones—
He looked away again, scowling this time.
Why did he feel like a thief caught admiring treasure behind glass?
And yet, it wasn’t just him.
That was the part that really started to get under his skin.
They passed a group of girls lingering near a flower stall, and Wei Wuxian caught them glancing—no, staring—at Lan Wangji. Wide eyes, hushed giggles. One of them elbowed the other. Another clutched a bouquet of chrysanthemums like it might fly out of her hands.
They weren’t being subtle.
One of them murmured something that sounded suspiciously like “fairy immortal.”
Wei Wuxian grit his teeth.
They turned a corner and came upon two cultivators resting on the side of the road. Their eyes also tracked Lan Wangji’s form, trailing upward from his boots to the flow of his robes to the sharp line of his collarbone where it met the curve of his neck.
Wei Wuxian’s scowl deepened.
They walked through the village square and a stall vendor nearly dropped a bowl while gawking. Someone whispered, “Is that Hanguang-jun?” and a young woman nearby actually blushed.
And Lan Wangji?
Didn’t even blink.
His eyes remained forward, his steps measured, as if completely unaware that he was collecting sighs and stares like a walking celestial miracle. He carried himself with that same dignified quiet, like none of this reached him.
Wei Wuxian, however, was not so unaffected.
He kept his expression neutral—mostly—but his fingers had tightened subtly around Chenqing, knuckles faintly white.
It wasn’t like he didn’t understand. Objectively, he knew Lan Wangji was beautiful. No, not beautiful—transcendent. But did that mean the entire world had to ogle him like he was a rare gem on display?
He didn’t even do anything. He just existed, and the world collectively forgot how to breathe.
And Wei Wuxian—
Well.
He found himself staring too, didn’t he?
Which just made it worse.
He glanced sideways again. Lan Wangji hadn’t reacted to a single admirer. He hadn’t twitched, looked up, blinked faster, nothing.
Of course not. Lan Wangji didn’t care about appearances. He didn’t even notice how people looked at him.
Wei Wuxian narrowed his eyes.
It irked him. It shouldn’t, but it did. The way Lan Wangji carried himself like a silent painting, oblivious to how many people were falling in love with him at first glance, was beginning to gnaw at Wei Wuxian’s patience.
He turned his head and caught another passerby stealing a glance.
That was it.
A low hum of spiritual energy thrummed through Chenqing. It wasn’t much—barely a flicker, just a whisper of aura coiled around him. But it was enough.
The giggling girls fell silent.
The passing cultivators suddenly stiffened.
The vendor fumbled and quickly turned away.
The air shifted subtly, and it wasn’t just the wind—it was the feeling of a low, heavy pressure, like the whisper of ghost energy in the air. Unseen, but felt. Not threatening—yet. Just a hint. Just enough to unsettle.
The next time they passed a group of people, no one even glanced in their direction. In fact, they stepped aside quickly and averted their eyes entirely.
Wei Wuxian exhaled slowly.
There.
He hadn’t meant to use spiritual intimidation, not really. It had just… slipped. Reflexively. If people were going to ogle Lan Wangji like he was some kind of unguarded treasure, they should at least feel nervous about it.
A little fear never hurt anyone.
Lan Wangji, still walking beside him, gave no indication that he noticed the sudden shift in the air—or the fact that the villagers now seemed to be fleeing as if from a phantom cultivator. His posture remained steady, his gaze forward.
Wei Wuxian, meanwhile, gave a slow smirk.
He didn’t meant to react like this. But somehow, seeing Lan Wangji being admired by every stranger with eyes was giving him a headache. If a little ghostly aura cleared the street and eased that ache?
Then, really, it was a win-win.
As they turned onto a quieter path beyond the village square, the last murmurs of the crowd faded behind them. The breeze carried birdsong now, the road flanked by bamboo and the light crunch of gravel underfoot.
The atmosphere shifted back to something calm.
Wei Wuxian relaxed his grip on Chenqing.
He stole another glance at Lan Wangji.
Still unbothered.
Of course.
Wei Wuxian sighed, deep and dramatic. “You know,” he said aloud, “you could at least pretend to be annoyed by the attention.”
Lan Wangji’s eyes flicked toward him for the briefest moment. “Mnn?”
“ It’s unsettling!” Wei Wuxian threw up his hands. “You walk around like you’re completely oblivious, while half the population is probably composing poems about your eyelashes!”
“I do not notice.”
“Yes. That’s the problem!” Wei Wuxian said, exasperated. “You don’t even realize you’re a walking catastrophe for the integrity of entire provinces.”
Lan Wangji blinked once. “That is… exaggerated.”
Wei Wuxian clutched his chest. “You wound me, Lan Zhan. I speak only the truth. I should start charging people for looking. Proceeds to go to me for emotional damage.”
Lan Wangji remained stoic, but the tip of his ears have reddened—slightly.
Wei Wuxian narrowed his eyes suspiciously. “Are you blushing?”
“No.”
“You lie.”
Silence.
Wei Wuxian laughed to himself and looked ahead, finally easing into the rhythm of their steps again. The flare of irritation still simmered under his skin, but at least the village had faded behind them. It would be just them again soon—just trees, and starlight, and the quiet path ahead.
Just him and Lan Wangji.
For better or worse.
__________________
By the time the sun dipped completely below the mountains, the forest had grown dense with twilight, and shadows stretched long and dark between the trees. Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji moved quietly along the dirt path that led to the shrine the villagers had described. The lanterns in the village were now far behind them, their light swallowed by the trees.
The air grew colder with each step.
Wei Wuxian exhaled and watched his breath curl visibly in the dusk. “Classic haunted forest weather,” he muttered. “Why is it always cold?”
Lan Wangji walked beside him, silent and composed, the soft brush of his robes against dried leaves the only sound he made.
“It’s supposed to be a simple case,” Wei Wuxian said more to himself than anyone. “One angry spirit. No complex curses. No blood rituals. No kidnapping. I almost miss the boring kind.”
Lan Wangji raised a brow. “You almost miss it?”
Wei Wuxian grinned. “Well, chaos has its charm. But tonight, I’m aiming for ‘uneventful and over quickly.’ Maybe we’ll even have time to find a tavern after.”
Lan Wangji said nothing, but the faint shift in his gaze suggested his agreement was not out of the question.
They continued on until the path narrowed, branches hanging lower, gnarled roots twisting out of the earth like skeletal fingers. The further they walked, the heavier the spiritual energy became—faint at first, then gradually more noticeable, humming low and cold at the edge of their senses.
Wei Wuxian paused and let his fingers brush against the bark of a tree. “Feel that?”
Lan Wangji gave a short nod. “Lingering resentment.”
“Exactly,” Wei Wuxian said, withdrawing a talisman from his sleeve. He murmured a quiet activation chant, and the paper ignited with a faint blue glow. The light trembled in his hand, pulsing weakly.
He frowned. “It’s unstable. That means whatever’s out here is still active, not just traces.”
“Recently awakened?”
“Maybe. Or disturbed,” Wei Wuxian said, crouching to inspect the ground. “The villagers said a group of travelers tried to camp near the shrine last week. One went missing for hours, said she saw her sister walking into the woods and followed her, only to find she was completely alone.”
Lan Wangji tilted his head slightly. “A mirage-type spirit.”
“Yeah,” Wei Wuxian said, eyes sharp now. “That’s what it sounds like.”
They reached a small clearing, and the crumbling stone steps of the old shrine came into view, overgrown with vines and moss. The structure was little more than a slanted roof held up by pillars, a worn statue of some forgotten mountain god sitting in its center, head tilted forward as if sleeping.
Lan Wangji scanned the area. “No fresh offerings.”
“Which might be the problem,” Wei Wuxian murmured. “Spirits bound to forgotten places tend to get grumpy when neglected.”
He pulled out Chenqing and held it lightly in one hand, walking forward with careful steps. “Let’s see what we’re dealing with.”
Lan Wangji followed without a word.
As they approached the shrine, the air turned noticeably colder. Frost kissed the edges of the moss, and the tree branches above seemed unnaturally still.
Wei Wuxian lifted Chenqing to his lips and played a single, soft note—pure and slow, drawn from deep breath and past memory.
The sound lingered.
A whisper rose in response. Faint. Distant. Sad.
Lan Wangji’s eyes narrowed, and he drew Bichen from its sheath, the blade singing softly as it met the air.
“Left,” Wei Wuxian whispered.
They turned just as a pale figure flickered between the trees.
It was a woman—half-transparent, her long hair tangled around her face. She moved like wind, not quite touching the ground, her feet gliding just above the leaves. Her head tilted as she stared at them, and her mouth opened in a silent scream.
The spiritual pressure spiked.
Wei Wuxian stepped forward quickly, raising his hand in a calming gesture. “We’re not here to hurt you.”
She twisted midair, vanishing and reappearing behind them in an instant.
Lan Wangji moved without hesitation, stepping between her and Wei Wuxian, blade raised.
“No,” Wei Wuxian said quickly, reaching out to grab Lan Wangji’s arm. “Don’t strike. Look at her hands.”
Lan Wangji paused.
The spirit wasn’t attacking. Her hands were outstretched—but not as claws. She wasn’t reaching to harm.
She was reaching… to grasp something.
Wei Wuxian lowered his flute. “She’s lost. Not malevolent.”
The spirit trembled, flickering with pain. She opened her mouth again and this time, a sound came out—broken and choked.
“…I can’t find her…”
Wei Wuxian’s brows furrowed. “Her sister,” he said softly. “She’s looking for her.”
He stepped forward slowly, his voice gentle. “Your sister is safe. She went back to the village. She’s waiting for you.”
The spirit blinked. Her form wavered like smoke in a wind.
Wei Wuxian continued softly, “You don’t need to stay here anymore. It’s okay to let go.”
There was a long moment of silence.
Then, the spirit gave a soft sigh. Her body began to dissolve into motes of light, curling up into the air like drifting petals.
She vanished.
The wind stirred again, warm this time.
The pressure lifted.
Wei Wuxian let out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding.
Lan Wangji stepped beside him. “You did not purify her with force.”
“She didn’t need it,” Wei Wuxian said, turning to face him. “Not every spirit is a monster. Some are just… lingering.”
Lan Wangji was quiet for a moment, his gaze lingering on Wei Wuxian’s face.
“You are gentle,” he said finally.
Wei Wuxian blinked. “I’m dangerous.”
“You are both,” Lan Wangji said simply. “But tonight, you chose gentleness.”
Wei Wuxian laughed softly, brushing hair out of his face. “Well, it was that or another scuffle with restless ghosts. This time, I vote peace.”
They lingered by the shrine a few minutes longer.
Wei Wuxian reached into his sleeve and pulled out a small cloth pouch. From it, he carefully removed a few offerings—some dried plums, a piece of sugarcane, and a single folded paper lotus—placing them gently before the moss-covered statue at the center of the shrine.
“People forget these old spirits need care,” he murmured. “A little fruit, a little incense, and maybe they wouldn’t get so angry in the first place.”
Lan Wangji stood silently behind him, his hands clasped behind his back, watching as Wei Wuxian bent forward to place the last item—a fresh talisman, glowing faintly with residual warmth.
Just as he withdrew his hand, something caught his eye.
Beneath the soot-darkened stone, nestled in a tangle of dried leaves and dirt, was a scrap of burned paper. Wei Wuxian frowned and reached for it, gently brushing the ashes away.
It was a talisman—singed at the edges, almost fully consumed, but enough remained to see the faded marks of an exorcism seal. The ink was rough, the strokes erratic, and the spiritual energy that clung to the scrap was faint… but dark.
Wei Wuxian’s brows drew together.
“Huh,” he said, holding it up to the light. “Looks like someone already tried to do a little ghost-busting of their own.”
Lan Wangji stepped closer, his eyes narrowing slightly as they scanned the remaining characters.
“Improper formation,” he said quietly.
Wei Wuxian nodded. “Yeah. The spiritual flow’s all wrong. Whoever did this didn’t know what they were doing—or maybe they rushed it. The intent’s clear, though.” He looked back at the empty clearing where the spirit had vanished. “They weren’t trying to help her move on. They were trying to force her out. Banishment.”
He studied the paper again, frowning deeper. “No wonder she reacted the way she did. She must’ve been frightened. Confused. Spirits like that don’t attack at random—something pushed her into instability.”
Wei Wuxian held the talisman between two fingers, thoughtful. The faint traces of lingering resentment clung to it like the aftertaste of spoiled wine.
“Could have been a wandering cultivator,” he said, voice quieter now. “Or maybe a villager who thought they could do it themselves.”
“Or someone testing,” Lan Wangji murmured.
Wei Wuxian turned to look at him, brows lifting.
“Testing what?”
Lan Wangji didn’t answer immediately. His gaze had shifted again—now studying the stone floor of the shrine, the way the earth had been disturbed, the old scorch marks half-hidden beneath lichen. Not fresh. But recent enough.
Wei Wuxian let out a slow breath, fingers curling around the charred scrap.
“Guess this little hunt had more layers than expected.”
Lan Wangji looked at him, and their eyes met. The expression on Lan Wangji’s face was unreadable as always—but something in it was sharper now. Watchful. A thread of quiet suspicion, not yet fully formed.
Wei Wuxian gave a small, crooked smile and turned towards Lan Wangji .
“Well,” he said lightly, “if someone was trying to mess with restless spirits out here, they did a terrible job of it. But I suppose we’ll just have to keep an eye out, won’t we?”
Lan Wangji gave the faintest of nods.
The night wind whispered through the trees again, carrying the soft rattle of dry leaves and the distant cry of an owl.
Wei Wuxian stood and dusted off his knees, brushing a few stray specks of ash from his robes.
He glanced toward Lan Wangji again—and though the case was technically closed, the feeling in his chest was no longer just the light satisfaction of a job well done.
There was a chill that hadn’t come from the ghost.
As they walked side by side, Wei Wuxian glanced at Lan Wangji, watching the way the starlight caught in his hair, silver threads glinting in the dark. He looked calm. At peace.
Wei Wuxian looked away.
His heart was too full.
It had been a simple hunt.
But it didn’t feel simple anymore.
______________________________
The first droplets had started as a gentle patter against the leaves—barely enough to warrant concern. But within minutes, the skies had opened up in earnest. The rain poured in sheets, washing over the forest trail in silver streaks and turning the dirt path to sludge beneath their feet.
Wei Wuxian cursed under his breath, keeping his hand up and peering through the downpour. "Lan Zhan! Over there—see that? That roof?"
Lan Wangji turned his gaze toward the direction Wei Wuxian pointed, his hair and robes already soaked despite the warding spell he'd cast. A narrow trail veered slightly off the main road, and barely visible through the thick curtain of rain was the angular silhouette of a cottage tucked against the treeline.
Without waiting for a reply, Wei Wuxian bolted forward, boots slipping in the mud, water dripping from his hairline. He heard the soft sound of Lan Wangji's footsteps behind him, steady even now.
The cottage was small, aged, and clearly abandoned for years. The wooden door groaned as Wei Wuxian pushed it open, revealing a single room, musty but dry. There was a small hearth in one corner, a few rickety shelves along the far wall, and a bed with a moth-eaten blanket tucked against the back.
Wei Wuxian slammed the door shut behind them, shaking out his sleeves. "Well, not exactly Cloud Recesses level elegance, but at least it’s not leaking."
Lan Wangji said nothing, only gave a small nod as his gaze swept the room. A thin draft crept in from the cracked windows, but the structure was sound enough. They’d had worse.
Wei Wuxian ran his hand through his drenched hair, wringing it out with a loud sigh. "I’ll get a fire going. You look like a drowned cat, Lan Zhan. We can’t have Hanguang-jun catching a cold. The cultivation world might collapse."
Lan Wangji didn’t answer, but he stepped away from the damp wall and quietly began removing his outer robe.
Wei Wuxian had just begun stacking the driest bits of wood from the small pile near the hearth when he heard the soft rustle of fabric behind him.
"We’ll need to dry our robes," came Lan Wangji’s voice, low and even.
"Mn," Wei Wuxian replied distractedly, arranging the kindling into a cone shape. He struck a flint, watching the first sparks catch on the dried leaves.
Then he turned.
And froze.
Lan Wangji stood beside the hearth, his damp outer robe folded neatly over the bed. He was now in his white inner layer—thin, semi-translucent from the rain, clinging slightly to the lines of his body. With both hands, he gathered his long, wet hair and pulled it over one shoulder, squeezing the water out methodically. Droplets slid down his pale skin, trailing over the fine angle of his neck, his collarbone, the hollow of his throat.
Wei Wuxian’s throat went dry.
He stared for half a second too long before jerking his head away like he’d been burned. His heart thudded once—hard, hot.
“Gods,” he muttered under his breath, fumbling with the flint again. “I’m going to die in this cottage and it won’t be from the cold.”
Behind him, he heard the subtle shift of Lan Wangji moving again, the soft pat of cloth being rung out. Wei Wuxian didn’t look back. He focused intently on the fire, coaxing it to life, grateful for the sudden excuse to keep his hands busy.
The flames caught at last, casting warm, flickering light across the wooden floor. He leaned forward, absorbing the heat, trying to will away the flush in his face.
“Rain’s still heavy,” he said aloud, voice a little too casual. “Might be stuck here for a while. Not that it’s a terrible thing. I mean, it’s dry. Sort of cozy. If you squint. And pretend you’re not sitting on a possible nest of rats.”
Lan Wangji sat down silently on the floor beside the hearth, his posture composed, elegant even in a half-drenched inner robe. He began untying the sash at his waist, expression unreadable as always.
Wei Wuxian risked a glance, then quickly looked away again.
“Right,” he muttered. “Totally fine. Nothing strange about two grown men stuck in a one-room cottage with one bed during a storm. Completely normal.”
Lan Wangji made no reply.
Wei Wuxian poked the fire harder than necessary.
The wind howled outside, rattling the shutters, and rain pelted the rooftop like a drumbeat. Inside, the fire crackled gently, casting soft shadows across Lan Wangji’s face as he sat beside it—calm, composed, unknowingly alluring.
Wei Wuxian closed his eyes.
This was going to be a long night.
__________________________________
Wei Wuxian sat with his back against the cold wooden wall, legs stretched out, arms folded loosely. The fire had died down to glowing embers, and the storm showed no signs of easing. Water continued to pour down the roof in steady rhythms, like a lullaby with no melody.
He closed his eyes, willing his thoughts to quiet. To not think of Lan Wangji. Not of damp robes, not of that curve of his throat, not of the way those golden eyes had looked under the firelight.
Just don’t think.
He didn’t know how long he sat like that, but then he heard it—a soft murmur, his name, spoken almost like a secret:
"Wei Ying."
His eyes flew open.
The voice was soft, but the way it was said sent a shiver down his spine. That voice didn’t sound like the Lan Wangji he knew—it was the same voice, the same tone, and yet something about it coiled tightly in his chest.
Wei Wuxian turned his head.
Lan Wangji was sitting near the opposite wall, across the narrow room. But he wasn’t sitting stiffly or properly—he was sprawling. One leg bent, one stretched out, his back relaxed against the wall, head tilted slightly.
Wei Wuxian’s breath caught.
He had never—never—seen Lan Wangji like this.
His robe clung to him, still faintly damp, the collar loosened just enough to reveal the smooth line of his collarbone. His hair was down, still drying, clinging in dark strands to his cheeks and neck. And his eyes—his golden eyes—were watching Wei Wuxian intently, calmly, with something unreadable but burning behind them.
Wei Wuxian swallowed.
"L-Lan Zhan?" he croaked, voice embarrassingly dry.
Lan Wangji didn’t reply. He smiled softly. It was not the usual polite twitch of his lips—it was slow, deliberate.
Then, with quiet grace, he rose to his feet.
Wei Wuxian didn’t move. Couldn’t.
Lan Wangji walked toward him, steps unhurried. The firelight made every shadow stretch, every glint of golden eyes sharper. He knelt down beside Wei Wuxian, close. Too close. Their knees brushed.
Wei Wuxian’s breath stuttered.
The scent of rain and sandalwood clung to Lan Wangji’s skin. His robe hung open just slightly at the throat. A droplet of water clung to the curve of his neck.
“I—” Wei Wuxian started, voice cracking. “We… should, maybe, talk about—about—"
Lan Wangji tilted his head.
His gaze was innocent.
Too innocent.
Wei Wuxian blinked, caught.
Then Lan Wangji leaned in.
His breath brushed against Wei Wuxian’s ear.
He whispered, low and soft, "I’ve always wanted to know… what it would feel like."
Wei Wuxian froze, pulse slamming behind his ribs. His eyes widened. The space between them was a breath, a heartbeat, and then Lan Wangji was leaning closer—
Wei Wuxian’s breath caught in his throat. He whispered, barely able to speak, “What… what do you mean? What are you doing?”
Lan Wangji didn’t answer immediately. He leaned back just enough to look into Wei Wuxian’s eyes.
Then, slowly, deliberately, he reached for Wei Wuxian’s hands, lifting them in his own.
Wei Wuxian barely had time to react before Lan Wangji guided his hands up—until they were resting on his waist.
Wei Wuxian froze.
Heat rushed up his neck, his heart pounding in confusion and panic.
Lan Wangji leaned closer, voice a breath against his lips. "Isn’t this what Wei Ying wants?"
Wei Wuxian’s eyes went wide. He tried to pull his hands back, but Lan Wangji held them in place gently—too gently, too sensually.
“I-I don’t—I don’t know what you mean,” he stammered. His voice cracked under the strain of resisting something he didn’t understand.
Lan Wangji looked at him with those golden eyes, soft and wide, almost hurt. "But… I thought Wei Ying wanted me. As much as I want him."
Wei Wuxian’s heart slammed against his chest. His lips parted in shock.
“You… you want me?” he whispered.
Lan Wangji smiled again, too sweet. He raised one hand and pressed a single finger to Wei Wuxian’s lips.
“Shhh,” he said, tracing his fingertip across the softness of Wei Wuxian’s lower lip. "Don’t say anything. Just feel."
Wei Wuxian’s breath hitched. His whole body felt taut, like he was balancing on the edge of a blade.
Lan Wangji’s finger left his lips and moved to the underside of his jaw, trailing down, brushing along his throat… his Adam’s apple…
Then he leaned in again.
Wei Wuxian felt the warmth of lips brushing against his earlobe. A kiss—soft, almost reverent.
And then a whisper, dangerously close:
“Doesn’t Wei Ying desire me as much as I desire him?”
Wei Wuxian shook, stunned, lips parted to speak—then gasped softly as Lan Wangji’s lips ghosted down the side of his neck.
A slow, deliberate kiss.
Then another. And another. The pressure light at first, but deepening with each movement.
Wei Wuxian’s hand gripped the hem of his own robe. “Lan Zhan… don’t. Don’t do this.”
Lan Wangji’s lips continued to move along the line of his throat, unhurried, hungry in a way that set every nerve alight. “Why not?” he murmured. “You want this. I can feel it.”
"No..." Wei Wuxian breathed, but it lacked conviction. His heart betrayed him. His fingers trembled.
Lan Wangji's mouth trailed downward, pressing heat against the skin just beneath his collarbone. The fabric shifted. His hand brushed Wei Wuxian’s chest. And then…
Wei Wuxian moved to pull back.
But before he could, Lan Wangji grabbed his collar and pulled him forward—not harshly, but with strength that brooked no resistance.
And then he kissed him.
The world stilled.
It was soft at first—hesitant, even. But then Lan Wangji deepened it. His mouth moved over Wei Wuxian’s, insistent, demanding. Teeth grazed his bottom lip, and then—
A bite. Sharp.
Wei Wuxian gasped.
And all at once, the dam broke.
Wei Wuxian gripped Lan Wangji by the waist, hauling him onto his lap with a roughness that shocked them both.
Their mouths crashed together again. This time, Wei Wuxian was no longer frozen. He kissed Lan Wangji like he’d been starved for years—like the hunger had always been there, buried deep, waiting to be set loose.
And something in the back of his mind screamed—wrong, wrong, wrong—but he couldn’t hear it over the thunder of his pulse and the taste of Lan Wangji on his lips.
Wei Wuxian’s eyes fluttered shut, lost in the overwhelming sensation of Lan Wangji’s mouth on his. It was a kiss filled with all the things he’d never dared to say—desire, yearning, and a need that had been building for so long he could hardly remember a time when it wasn’t there. His hands roamed Lan Wangji’s back, feeling the warmth and solidity of him, his fingers tangling in the damp strands of hair that had fallen from the tie.
Everything blurred.
He couldn’t remember the moment their mouths collided again—only the taste, the heat, the desperation that fueled it.It wasn’t calculated or conscious; it erupted from the unbearable weight of days spent holding back. Now, unshackled, he kissed Lan Wangji like a starving man finally allowed to eat, like a condemned soul offered one last chance to touch heaven.Wei Wuxian kissed Lan Wangji like he was afraid this would be the only chance he’d ever get.
They moved, stumbled, maybe fell. Wei Wuxian couldn’t tell if he tripped or pushed, or if the floor simply rose to meet them. All he knew was that suddenly, Lan Wangji was beneath him, back pressed against the warm wooden floor, dark hair splayed out like a halo around his head.
Lan Wangji lay beneath him, half-lit by the flickering firelight, pale skin flushed, lips parted and swollen from their kisses. His golden eyes were dark with heat, watching Wei Wuxian with something between worship and want.
But then Lan Wangji lifted his chin slightly, eyes never leaving Wei Wuxian's, and whispered, "Wei Ying..."
That was all it took. The thread snapped.
Wei Wuxian leaned down and kissed him again, greedier this time. His tongue swept along Lan Wangji's bottom lip, coaxing, begging, and when Lan Wangji parted his lips willingly, he dove in like a man who had just remembered how to breathe.
Lan Wangji met him with equal fire, hands gripping Wei Wuxian's robes, pulling him closer. Their bodies aligned in a clash of heat and tension and trembling restraint finally given leave.
Lan Wangji gasped softly against him, and that sound drove Wei Wuxian wild. He deepened the kiss, sliding his tongue inside, slow and exploring, then more demanding, until Lan Wangji moaned softly and tangled fingers in the fabric at Wei Wuxian’s waist.
Wei Wuxian broke the kiss only to trail his lips lower, along Lan Wangji's jaw, down to the elegant line of his neck. He pressed his mouth there, sucked gently at the skin, licking over the spot with reverence and need. Lan Wangji’s skin tasted like incense and something inherently his—something that made Wei Wuxian dizzy.
He fumbled with the collar of Lan Wangji's robe, tugging it aside until he could see the pale expanse of skin he had dreamed of touching. There it was, that tiny beauty mark above Lan Wangji’s collarbone.
Now, he kissed it.
Then he bit it, just softly.
Lan Wangji gasped.
The sound was raw, unguarded, and it went straight to Wei Wuxian’s core.
“You drive me mad,” Wei Wuxian murmured hoarsely, pressing another kiss to the same spot, then another, trailing down with agonizing slowness.
“You make me feel…”
“So good,” Lan Wangji whispered, voice low, ragged. “So needed… I love you.”
Wei Wuxian froze.
The words rang in his ears like a chime through still air.
His mouth lingered against the skin of Lan Wangji’s neck, but he didn’t move. Didn’t breathe.
“I love you.”
The fire flickered.
Wei Wuxian slowly pulled back, lifting his head. His heart pounded too loudly in his ears.
Wei wuxian stared down at Lan Wangji, who lay sprawled beneath him, cheeks flushed, eyes half-lidded, lips curled in a soft smile. It should have been everything he’d ever wanted.
But it wasn’t.
His body still sang with desire, but his mind rang with warning.
Something isn’t right.
He reached out and cupped Lan Wangji’s cheek, thumb brushing gently along his jawline.
"Lan Zhan..." he whispered. It felt like a question.
The man below him reached for him, fingers trailing up his chest. "Wei Ying," he purred. "Come back."
Too smooth.
Too practiced.
Wei Wuxian’s hand dropped. His heart pounded.
He pulled away from Lan Wangji’s body completely, stumbling back onto his knees, breath sharp.
Lan Wangji sat up slowly, golden eyes watching him. “Wei Ying…”
“No,” Wei Wuxian said softly, then louder, “No.”
His hand went to his waist. He drew Chenqing, and the flute felt steadier in his grip than his own thoughts.
He raised it, pointing it directly at the man before him.
“Who are you?” he demanded. His voice shook with rage and something far more vulnerable beneath it. “You’re not Lan Wangji.”
The figure smiled .
And then, it laughed—slow, sultry, a sound made of honey and poison.
Chapter 13
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
The figure smiled again.
And then, it laughed—slow, sultry, a sound made of honey and poison.
“Oh, Wei Ying,” it purred. “So very close. So full of yearning. I was right—you taste like heartbreak.”
Wei Wuxian’s expression turned to steel. He didn’t speak. He played.
The first notes of Chenqing echoed through the room like a blade cutting through silk—sharp, vibrating with power. The moment the music touched Lan Wangji, the figure shivered, the seductive smile faltering.
Wei Wuxian closed his eyes, letting the resentful energy swirl around him. It pulsed outward like a wave, wrapping around Lan Wangji in black mist. The air turned colder. The firelight flickered.
He stepped closer, music rising, commanding the energy to hold Lan Wangji still. The body stiffened, as though something within it struggled.
Then, eyes narrowing, Wei Wuxian reached forward.
“Forgive me,” he murmured under his breath.
His hands moved with purpose, guiding Lan Wangji’s arms upward. The body resisted for a heartbeat—then slackened, restrained by the resentful force. Wei Wuxian turned Lan Wangji’s head carefully, searching.
There.
At the nape of his neck, barely visible beneath the damp strands of hair, was a black mark—a rune drawn in ancient script, pulsing with unnatural energy. A curse.
Wei Wuxian grit his teeth. “No wonder,” he hissed.
He brought his fingers to the mark, letting his own energy surge to the surface, mingling with the darker strands that obeyed him. They wrapped around the curse like tendrils, seeping into the edges, unraveling it from within.
A scream—not from Lan Wangji, but from the spirit—echoed through the cottage, voiceless but deafening. The flames in the hearth jumped. Shadows danced wildly.
The mark sizzled, then cracked.
With a final note from Chenqing, the curse shattered.
Lan Wangji collapsed forward into Wei Wuxian’s arms.
His breathing was shallow. His body trembled.
Wei Wuxian held him tightly, cradling him against his chest, one hand splayed over his back protectively. “Lan Zhan?” he whispered, voice almost too soft to hear. “Lan Zhan, are you—?”
Lan Wangji stirred.
His eyes fluttered open.
Confusion.
Then clarity.
He blinked, looking around slowly—first at the room, then at the fire, then at Wei Wuxian’s hands clutching his arms.
Then at himself.
He was half-undressed, breathing hard, chest pressed close to Wei Wuxian’s. Their legs were tangled.
Wei Wuxian felt the moment Lan Wangji realized it.
His body went still.
Then, gently but firmly, he pulled away.
Wei Wuxian let him go.
Lan Wangji sat back, avoiding his gaze, adjusting his robe with trembling fingers. His golden eyes were wide, stunned.
He said nothing.
Wei Wuxian stared at the ground.
The cold air returned.
That moment—those kisses, those whispers—were never his to keep.
They had been stolen, and now they lay between them like broken glass.
Wei Wuxian’s heart twisted.
Not because Lan Wangji pulled away.
But because he understood why.
And he would never stop blaming himself for it.
Wei Wuxian opened his mouth, uncertain of what to say. The weight of silence between them stretched taut—an invisible barrier of confusion, guilt, and unresolved emotions.
“I—” he began.
But before he could finish, Lan Wangji’s hand moved. Swift. Precise.
With a sharp exhale, he unsheathed Bichen and threw it—straight at Wei Wuxian.
Wei Wuxian’s eyes snapped shut, breath caught, heart slamming in his chest.
A hiss—sharp, searing—cut through the air.
But nothing touched him.
He opened his eyes.
Bichen had pierced the shadows just behind him, embedding deep into the wooden floor. From the darkness, a figure pulled free—wailing, hissing, angry.
A spirit.
It shimmered in the firelight, flickering with instability. A woman, once beautiful, still half-beautiful—but the other half of her face was scorched, melted as if burned by flame. Her eyes glowed with fury. Her robes—tattered, flowing—dragged like smoke as she hovered just above the ground, as if caught between fire and fog.
Wei Wuxian stepped back, blood still pounding in his ears. His lips were still swollen. His clothes—disheveled. Lan Wangji’s hand, just moments ago, had been on his skin.
That hadn’t been Lan Zhan.
“You—” Wei Wuxian hissed, gripping his flute even as his hand trembled. “You were …. Controlling him. Using him—”
The spirit shrieked, high and cold, enough to send a chill crawling up his spine.
“Of course I did. He was perfect,” she snarled, voice rich with resentment and a terrible, seductive cadence. “So strong. So obedient. And you—” Her glowing eyes turned toward Wei Wuxian, narrowing. “You didn’t even notice. You wanted it.”
Wei Wuxian’s breath caught.
Lan Wangji had moved to stand beside him now, silent, face as unreadable as ever—but his jaw was tight, and his knuckles white around Bichen’s hilt. He didn’t say a word, didn’t even look at Wei Wuxian, as if ashamed that his body had been used.
“I noticed,” Wei Wuxian said sharply, eyes on the spirit. “You slipped. He doesn’t act like that. He wouldn’t.”
The spirit gave a throaty, mocking laugh. “Wouldn’t he?” she purred. “What if I only pushed him a little, unlocked what he already buried inside? You were so eager. So soft beneath his hands.” Her eyes glinted. “Do you truly think there was nothing of him in that kiss?”
Wei Wuxian’s stomach turned.
Lan Wangji flinched, almost imperceptibly.
“You disgusting—” Wei Wuxian lifted Chenqing, but the spirit hissed, circling them both.
“Ah, but you don’t want to kill me just yet, do you?” she crooned. “You want answers. Why I touched him. Why I chose him.”
“I don’t care why you did it,” Wei Wuxian spat. “You had no right—”
“I was burned alive!” the spirit shrieked suddenly, her form flaring with firelight. “Innocent! Accused of seduction, of witchcraft, for merely loving the wrong man. I was dragged from my home and tied to a stake—by his kind. Cultivators with strong core!”
She pointed a finger at Lan Wangji, whose expression remained unreadable, though a muscle in his cheek twitched.
“I have waited. Hunted. Fed. I needed someone worthy—strong enough to hold me, resist me. His spirit was clean, pure… but cracked. A single weakness. A thread. All I had to do was pull.”
Her voice turned low, almost reverent.
“And what a vessel he made. So beautiful. So restrained. So… repressed.”
“Stop,” Wei Wuxian growled, stepping forward. “Don’t talk about him like that.”
“Why not?” the spirit smiled, slow and wicked. “I was gentle. I used no force. I whispered what he already feared to want. And you—”
Her eyes snapped to Wei Wuxian, narrowing with amusement and something colder.
“You liked it. Don’t pretend you didn’t. His hands on you. His lips. You melted for him like wax.”
Wei Wuxian’s face burned— with shame, with rage. “You’re trying to twist this,” he bit out. “What you did was violation. You used him as a puppet. Whatever you made him do wasn’t him.”
“Wasn’t it?” she whispered again. “Even now, he stays silent. Why? Afraid you’ll see the truth?”
Wei Wuxian turned sharply to look at Lan Wangji, heart pounding. “Lan Zhan…”
Lan Wangji’s eyes finally met his. They were unreadable.
His voice, when he spoke, was low and clipped.
“She lies.”
The spirit laughed again, high and chilling. “Do I? ”
Bichen flared with blue light as Lan Wangji took a step forward, but Wei Wuxian lifted an arm in front of him.
“No,” he said firmly. “Not yet.”
Lan Wangji’s brow furrowed faintly, but he didn’t object.
Wei Wuxian turned back to the spirit, lowering Chenqing slightly.
“You said you were burned alive,” he said, tone cooling. “Where? When? What clan?”
The spirit’s smile twisted bitter.
“They called me Yu Meiran. I was a healer. A midwife. I tended to a lan disciple on a mission—young, foolish. He loved me. I loved him back.”
She floated forward, hair swirling behind her like tendrils of smoke.
“But when his elders found out, they said I had corrupted him. They blamed me for his lust. Accused me of witchcraft. He never defended me. Let them drag me away.”
Wei Wuxian’s eyes narrowed. “That’s why you’ve haunted lan disciples.”
She nodded. “I swore vengeance. Fed on spirits, grew stronger. Waited for one like him—”
She gestured toward Lan Wangji again, with something that looked like both envy and yearning.
“—so perfect I could slip into him unnoticed. And through him, I could punish you all.”
Wei Wuxian’s grip tightened on Chenqing.
“You violated him,” Wei Wuxian spat, voice shaking with fury. “You possessed him. Just because you were wronged , it didn't give you right to harm others for your twisted vengeance.”
The spirit tilted her head, smirking. “Twisted?” she echoed mockingly. “What do you know of cruelty, Wei Wuxian? You, who plays with death like a child with a favorite toy. You, who calls resentful energy to your side and thinks yourself righteous?”
“I never use others for my own gain,” Wei Wuxian snapped. “ I don’t strip away their choices and pretend it’s kindness.”
The spirit's smile wavered. A crack. A memory. Perhaps her humanity still smoldered beneath the ash.
But it wasn’t enough.
Lan Wangji, silent all this time, finally moved. He stepped in front of Wei Wuxian—calm, straight, eyes cold with steel.
“You are wrong,” he said softly, but his voice carried like frost on metal. “What you did—was violation.”
His hand tightened around Bichen. “And you will answer for it.”
The spirit hissed, her glamour rippling, unraveling. Flames licked up her arms. Her beautiful face twisted, scorched side darkening, lips peeling back to bare sharp, blackened teeth.
“So be it,” she snarled.
And then she lunged.
Wei Wuxian brought the flute to his lips.
A high, piercing note cut through the darkness. The spirit let out a screech in return, writhing violently, smoke and blood-colored mist exploding around it as it was driven back by the force of Wei Wuxian’s music. Each note he played struck the spirit like a whip, slicing through her malevolence, trying to bind its fury.
She howled, rearing its head. Then, with a surge of spiritual energy that cracked the earth beneath them, she shrieked — a sound so shrill and forceful that the very air shuddered. A blast of raw force barreled toward them, and before Wei Wuxian could brace himself, something struck his chest like a hammer.
He flew back several feet, crashing hard into a nearby tree. The impact drove the air from his lungs, and his fingers—
Chenqing.
His flute skittered across the ground, vanishing into the tall, jagged grass.
"Wei Ying!" Lan Wangji’s voice sliced through the chaos, taut with alarm.
Wei Wuxian coughed, forcing himself upright. Pain flared along his side, but he barely noticed it. His eyes darted around frantically, searching for the glint of his precious instrument. Without Chenqing, he couldn’t—
The spirit laughed.
The sound was vile, a wheezing, gurgling mockery that echoed across the desolate clearing.
"What will you do now, The great founder of demonic cultivation?" it rasped, hovering closer. "Your flute is gone. What use are you now?"
Wei Wuxian’s lips tightened. He didn’t rise. Didn’t respond. His eyes flicked to the side—Chenqing lay a few meters away, but the spirit hovered too close. He wouldn’t make it in time.
"Wei Ying, use your sword," Lan Wangji said, stepping in front of him.
Wei Wuxian’s eyes widened.
He stared at the hilt at his waist—Suibian, the blade that once sang with every swing, now silent and heavy like a corpse.
The spirit chortled, shrieking again, louder, madder.
"He can’t! He won’t!" it screeched. "He has no golden core! He’s powerless without his tricks and toys!" She circled above them, a whirlwind of malice and claws.
Lan Wangji’s gaze sharpened.
"Wei Ying," he said again, more urgently this time, eyes boring into his. "Take it."
Wei Wuxian looked down at the sword as though it were a viper.
He didn’t move.
The spirit laughed, swooping low again, hands twisting into claws, spiritual energy curling off it in angry waves. "He gave it up! Threw away his power like a fool! And now he hides behind your sword, Lan Wangji!"
Wei Wuxian grit his teeth. He stood up slowly, pushing past the pain.
"Enough!" he snapped.
But still, his hand hovered inches away from Suibian’s hilt and did not grasp it.
The truth echoed cruelly in the spirit’s words. He hadn’t used a sword in years. Not since...
Not since the cave. Not since he had laid there, silent, and let Wen Qing take what was left of him so Jiang Cheng could live.
Suibian had never unsheathed for him since. As if it knew he no longer deserved it.
Lan Wangji slashed at the spirit again, driving it back, but the resentment was growing. It surged and billowed like a storm cloud, feeding on Wei Wuxian’s hesitation.
Wei Wuxian clenched his fists.
He could see Chenqing, barely out of reach. But to go for it meant leaving Lan Zhan exposed. And if the spirit struck again—
His heart pounded.
He remembered the countless lives saved with that flute. The enemies defeated. The allies protected. He had built an empire of fear and power with Chenqing, but now—
Now he felt naked without it.
"Stop hiding," the spirit spat, eyes gleaming with hate. "Show them what you really are. A coward."
Wei Wuxian took a deep breath, then looked at Lan Wangji.
"Lan Zhan," he said quietly, his voice raw, "cover me."
Lan Wangji nodded instantly, stepping in front of him like a wall of silver and white.
With a burst of speed, Wei Wuxian darted toward the grass. The spirit shrieked and tried to follow, but Lan Wangji was faster. Bichen flashed in a wide arc, slicing through its spiritual form with a sound like shattered glass.
Wei Wuxian dove, his fingers curling around Chenqing. The moment he touched the flute, a warm thrum of power surged through him, familiar and grounding.
He rolled, twisted, and brought Chenqing to his lips.
The spirit let out a scream of fury.
The melody rose once more—fierce now, no longer mournful. It crackled with righteous anger. The ground trembled as resentment was forced to obey. Ghostly chains erupted from the earth, wrapping around the spirit’s limbs, dragging it down.
Lan Wangji moved with him, their attacks now in sync, like dancers in perfect rhythm.
The spirit fought, tearing through chains, snarling and shrieking, but the music didn't stop.
Wei Wuxian played with fire in his breath, his notes pushing back against every attack.
He would not yield.
He would not be powerless.
Not again.
The spirit was weakening. Its body flickered, becoming translucent. It howled in fury, in fear.
"You think you've won?" it screamed. "You think power will save you again?"
Wei Wuxian lowered the room flute for just a moment, eyes blazing. "I never needed power to do what’s right. I just needed the will to stand up."
And with that, he raised the flute one last time.
A final note pierced the night like a dagger.
The spirit exploded into smoke, its resentment vanishing with the wind.
The final note lingered in the air, a whisper of power and mourning, before it faded into silence. The wind died. The pressure was gone. But the stillness that followed was not peace—it was weight. Heavy. Tense.
Wei Wuxian stood motionless, Chenqing lowered at his side, chest heaving. Rain continued to fall beyond the shattered walls of the cottage, soft and steady, the only sound in a world suddenly too quiet.
Lan Wangji stood a few paces away, sword lowered, face unreadable. He did not speak.
The silence stretched on—oppressive, thick with all the things they hadn’t said, all the things they had felt. Wei Wuxian shifted awkwardly, glancing at Lan Wangji out of the corner of his eye.
He couldn’t take it.
He clapped his hands together and forced a bright grin, his voice rising with mock cheer. “Well, that was something, wasn’t it? Spirits these days—so dramatic. Honestly, the nerve! Telling the founder of demonic cultivation that he’s powerless?” He scoffed, letting out a laugh—sharp, brittle. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say she was telling the truth. What kind of spirit calls someone coreless, huh?”
Lan Wangji did not laugh. He didn’t even react. He stood still, gaze fixed on Wei Wuxian, golden eyes as calm and deep as a still lake—but not peaceful. No. Something swirled beneath the surface. Something dangerous and quiet.
Wei Wuxian faltered.
“Lan Zhan?” he said lightly, teasingly. “You know she was lying, right? Fabricating everything just to get a rise out of me. Can you believe her? Saying all those things—”
“Wei Ying.”
The words cut through the air like a blade. Soft. Measured. Devastating.
Wei Wuxian’s breath caught. His throat went dry.
Lan Wangji had taken a step forward. Then another. Slowly, without hurry, but with a purpose that sent a shiver down Wei Wuxian’s spine. Wei Wuxian instinctively took a step back, eyes flickering to the hand that reached for him—pale, elegant, trembling ever so slightly.
The fingers brushed his sleeve, then paused.
Wei Wuxian flinched.
“Don’t—” he whispered, voice cracking like brittle porcelain. “Don’t do anything. Just… don’t.”
His heart was pounding. His voice dropped, broken now, strained with something close to desperation. “Please.”
But Lan Wangji did not retreat. He did not push. Instead, with infinite care, he reached forward again—this time to take hold of Wei Wuxian’s wrist.
Just the wrist.
His fingers curled gently around the pulse point, cool and steady. He didn’t speak. His head was bowed slightly, his eyes lowered. He was simply… feeling.
Wei Wuxian held his breath.
It was such a small touch. Barely more than a brush of skin. But it felt like standing on the edge of a cliff.
A moment passed.
Then another.
Lan Wangji’s brow furrowed almost imperceptibly. He was searching—for the golden core that should not have been there. Wei Wuxian felt the soft flicker of spiritual energy brushing his meridians, searching, seeking.
He took a sharp breath. “Lan Zhan—”
Still, Lan Wangji said nothing. His head remained bowed, his face partially hidden by strands of damp hair. His hand did not let go.
“I’m fine,” Wei Wuxian said with a weak laugh. “Really. Still in one piece, just slightly damp and full of unresolved trauma. You know, the usual.”
But even as he spoke, trying to deflect, to turn the moment into something manageable, he felt it.
A single drop of water.
Warm.
It struck his wrist—right at the place where Lan Wangji’s hand held him.
Wei Wuxian froze.
The second tear followed almost immediately, soaking into his sleeve. He stared down, unable to process it.
“…Lan Zhan?” he said, voice barely more than a breath.
He reached out slowly and touched Lan Wangji’s chin, lifting it gently. And when their eyes met, the air left his lungs.
Lan Wangji’s expression was blank. Calm. Unmoving.
But tears streamed silently down his cheeks, carving tracks through his face. He didn’t make a sound. He didn’t tremble. But the tears kept falling.
Wei Wuxian panicked.
“Hey—hey, don’t—don’t cry!” he said quickly, trying to tug his wrist free. “Lan Zhan, don’t—stop—why are you—”
He stumbled over the words, tripping over each syllable as if they were pebbles in a rushing river. “I’m fine, I said I’m fine! Don’t cry over me, I don’t—”
But Lan Wangji didn’t move. Didn’t respond.
Just stood there. Holding his wrist. Letting himself weep.
It was the quietest grief Wei Wuxian had ever seen—and the most unbearable.
He felt the panic rise in his chest, too fast, too loud.
“Please,” Wei Wuxian begged. “Please don’t look at me like that.”
Still, no answer. Only that devastating silence.
“I didn’t mean for you to—” His voice cracked again. “I didn’t want—I thought it was over. I thought I could just… keep going. You don’t have to cry.”
Lan Wangji blinked slowly, the motion causing fresh tears to spill. His lips parted slightly, but no sound emerged. He looked down again, and the hand holding Wei Wuxian’s wrist gripped just a fraction tighter, as though grounding himself with the touch.
Wei Wuxian stood there, feeling utterly helpless.
It was too much.
Too quiet.
Too raw.
And all the laughter he had forced earlier, all the bravado and clever words, crumbled to ash in his throat.
Lan Wangji was crying.
Not because he had been hurt, or frightened, or manipulated. But because of him.
Because of what he saw.
Because of what Wei Wuxian had lost.
“I’m not… worth crying over,” Wei Wuxian whispered.
Lan Wangji’s eyes finally lifted. They were red around the edges now, his lashes clumped with wet. But his voice, when he spoke, was steady.
“You are.”
The words were so soft, so absolute, that Wei Wuxian had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep himself from collapsing.
“You still see me that way?” he asked, more bitter than he intended. “After everything?”
Lan Wangji didn’t flinch. “Yes.”
“But I—I lost my golden core. I let myself be corrupted. I—”
“You are not corrupted,” Lan Wangji interrupted.
Wei Wuxian stared at him, stunned. He didn’t know what to say. He didn’t know how to breathe.
So instead, he took a step forward—and, without thinking, brushed his fingers along the side of Lan Wangji’s face, catching a tear as it fell.
“Idiot,” he murmured.
Lan Wangji blinked slowly, gaze never leaving him.
Wei Wuxian couldn’t take it.
He turned away, facing the broken arch where light tried to pour in through the clouds, as if the sky itself was too ashamed to fully shine.
Then, with a forced laugh and a theatrical sweep of his arm, he declared, “See? I’m fine, Lan Zhan. Look.”
He turned fully to face him again, arms outstretched, as if presenting himself like an exhibit.
“No limbs missing. No scars—well, no new ones. And sure, maybe my golden core is gone, but it wasn’t that strong to begin with! Just a standard one. Solid. Dependable. Nothing special. You know? Like an average sword.”
He grinned, too wide, too bright.
“But now—now I’m better! Stronger!” Wei Wuxian continued, voice rising with performative bravado. “I don’t need a golden core. I’ve made something new. Something more powerful. You saw what I did, right? That spirit didn’t stand a chance. I’m practically invincible.”
He spread his arms again with mock pride, head tilted arrogantly. “So really, no need to worry about me. I’m fine.”
Lan Wangji didn’t say a word.
He didn’t move. Didn’t speak.
Just stared at him.
And those eyes—
Wei Wuxian faltered.
Those eyes were still wet. Brimming. They shimmered in the half-light, and they burned.
No anger. No judgment. Only sorrow. So much sorrow.
Wei Wuxian’s smile faltered, cracked like old porcelain. “Lan Zhan…” he said, softer this time. “I said I’m fine.”
Still, Lan Wangji did not answer.
Wei Wuxian took a breath, but it caught in his throat.
He couldn’t look into those eyes anymore. Not when they made him feel seen. Too seen. Like everything he tried to bury had just been dug up and laid bare, bone by bone.
He lowered his arms, the grin falling completely.
The silence returned. It was deafening.
Then, Lan Wangji spoke.
“Does it hurt?”
The question was so soft, so tender, it might have been a breeze. And yet it hit Wei Wuxian like a blade to the ribs.
He blinked.
“What?”
Lan Wangji stepped forward. His voice was calm, even—but there was a tremor underneath it, something raw.
“Your golden core,” he said again, more clearly. “Does it hurt?”
Wei Wuxian stared at him.
And then, with a laugh that was sharp and bitter, he shrugged. “What, you mean physically? Nah. I got used to it. Doesn’t really ache anymore, unless I overuse the flute. Or try to do too much at once. Or—” he paused, looking up at the cracked ceiling, “—you know. Breathe.”
He smiled again. Lopsided. Crooked.
“But it’s not like it’s a wound. It’s not bleeding. It’s just… not there.”
Lan Wangji was silent.
Wei Wuxian turned away again, stuffing his hands in his sleeves as if that might keep them from shaking. “Honestly, I was too reckless to know what I had before I lost it. I just… did what I had to do.”
Silence.
“And I’m alive, aren’t I?” Wei Wuxian said, forcing another laugh. “We’re alive. That’s what matters.”
The rain outside had slowed to a drizzle now, pattering softly on the broken wood. Wei Wuxian kept talking, even though his voice had gone hoarse.
“Besides, it’s not like I regret it. Not really. What good is a golden core if it can’t protect the people you love?”
Still, Lan Wangji didn’t answer.
Then, without warning, he crossed the space between them.
Wei Wuxian blinked. “Lan Zhan—?”
And Lan Wangji wrapped his arms around him.
It wasn’t a fierce hug. It wasn’t desperate or crushing.
It was gentle.
But complete.
Lan Wangji’s arms slid around his back and held him close, with such quiet reverence that it knocked the air out of Wei Wuxian’s lungs. His chin rested lightly on Wei Wuxian’s shoulder, his breath warm against his neck.
Wei Wuxian froze.
He didn’t move. Didn’t breathe.
It had been so long since someone held him like this.
So long since someone had offered him comfort without condition.
He opened his mouth to say something—anything—but nothing came out.
And then—quietly, softly—a tear slipped from his eye and rolled down his cheek.
It landed on Lan Wangji’s shoulder.
Wei Wuxian didn’t notice it until the second one followed.
And then the third.
And then the dam broke.
He made a strangled noise, low and aching, and his hands—clenched tight until now—gripped the front of Lan Wangji’s robes as he buried his face in his shoulder.
He wept.
He wept like a man who had never been allowed to cry. Like a man who had swallowed grief for years and finally choked on it.
He cried for the golden core he lost.
For the family that had splintered.
For the future he once dreamed of.
For the years stolen.
For the pain endured.
For the guilt that clung like a second skin.
He cried until his legs gave out, and Lan Wangji sank to the ground with him, still holding him tightly, anchoring him through every sob.
Lan Wangji didn’t shush him. Didn’t try to make it better.
He just stayed.
He held him through it all—unmoving, unjudging, unshakable.
Wei Wuxian clung to him, chest heaving with every breath, soaked through from rain and tears, and broke apart in the safest arms he had ever known.
Eventually, the sobs quieted. Weakened. His body trembled with exhaustion.
His voice, when it finally returned, was raw.
“I—I didn’t mean to fall apart like this,” he whispered.
Lan Wangji’s hold didn’t loosen. “You needed to.”
Wei Wuxian pulled back slightly, just enough to look into his face.
“You always do this,” he murmured, voice trembling. “You always show up. Even when I try to push you away.”
“I will not leave you,” Lan Wangji said simply.
Wei Wuxian stared at him, something aching in his chest. “You should.”
“No.”
“I’m—” Wei Wuxian choked on the words. “I’m not what you think I am.”
“I know what you are.”
Wei Wuxian shook his head, tears springing fresh again. “No, you don’t. I’m not good. I’ve done terrible things. I’ve hurt people. I’ve lost everything.”
Lan Wangji lifted a hand and touched his cheek, brushing away the tears.
“You are still here.”
Wei Wuxian closed his eyes, leaning into the touch despite himself.
“And I will stay,” Lan Wangji said.
The words settled between them—soft, steady, unshakable.
A promise.
The words were quiet. So quiet that they could have been missed.
But Wei Wuxian heard them.
The rain had stilled. Only the wind whispered now—gentle, almost reverent, as if nature itself dared not intrude.
Lan Wangji’s arms were still around him. Wei Wuxian had never known a touch to be so soft, so steady. He didn’t even realize he’d begun crying again until he felt the damp against his own cheek, matched by the warmth pressed into Lan Wangji’s shoulder.
He should’ve pulled away.
He didn’t.
His throat was tight, raw with everything he couldn’t say—but the worst had yet to come. The one truth he’d buried even deeper than his shame.
“Lan Zhan…” Wei Wuxian whispered, barely audible.
Lan Wangji didn’t move, didn’t loosen his hold.
Wei Wuxian swallowed thickly, breath catching as guilt twisted hot and bitter inside his chest.
“Even after everything,” he rasped. “Even after how I… took advantage of you…”
Lan Wangji stilled.
His breath hitched—only once, only for a heartbeat. But it was enough to make Wei Wuxian wish he’d bitten off his own tongue.
The silence that followed was excruciating. Wei Wuxian stared at the floor, blinking through blurry eyes, waiting for Lan Wangji to pull away, to leave, to say—
“You were manipulated.”
The words were firm, unwavering. Lan Wangji’s voice, though soft, was laced with quiet fire.
Wei Wuxian looked up slowly, stunned.
Lan Wangji’s golden eyes were damp but clear. “The spirit controlled me. You were not at fault. You would never—Wei Ying, you would never do something like that. Not to me.”
A broken sound burst from Wei Wuxian’s throat.
“But I did,” he said, laughing—sharp, wounded, brittle. “You weren’t in your right mind, and I— ”
He squeezed his eyes shut, his voice cracking. “I still touched you. I still let myself —”
“You didn’t hurt me,” Lan Wangji interrupted gently.
“I let it happen,” Wei Wuxian choked.
He couldn’t continue. He turned away, ashamed.
But Lan Wangji reached out again. His hand found Wei Wuxian’s shoulder, then slid to his back—comforting, grounding. His voice came again, hoarse but resolute.
“It was I who took advantage of you.”
Wei Wuxian froze.
“No—no!” he blurted instantly, snapping his head around. “Don’t say that. Don’t you dare say that.”
His hands came up, shaking. “You were controlled. You weren’t yourself. You didn’t—You had no say—!”
“I still touched you,” Lan Wangji said, quiet and broken. “I still kissed you. Even if I was not in control… it was still my body.”
Wei Wuxian’s eyes widened, horror blooming in his chest. “Stop it! Why are you apologizing?! It was my fault! I should’ve pushed you away—I should’ve stopped—”
“It was my fault,” Lan Wangji said again, firmer now, though his voice cracked on the last word. “You were manipulated. You saved me. I hurt you. I violated your trust—”
“No! I violated yours!”
They were shouting over each other now—both trembling, both raw. The words collided and overlapped, tangled and jagged, as they tried to shove blame onto their own shoulders.
Wei Wuxian laughed suddenly, wild and wet with tears. He wiped at his eyes and tried to speak, but a hiccup escaped first, making the next words softer, almost like a sob.
“…If we keep going like this,” he whispered shakily, “we’ll end up apologizing to each other until dawn.”
There was a beat of silence.
Then, to Wei Wuxian’s surprise, Lan Wangji gave a single, quiet breath .
Wei Wuxian glanced up at him.
Lan Wangji, still too pale, still visibly shaken, tilted his head slightly. “Then… you should stop apologizing.”
Wei Wuxian blinked. Then laughed again—tired, defeated, but a little more real.
“Fine,” he muttered, wiping at his cheeks again with his sleeves. “Fine. No more apologies.”
He drew in a breath, let it out shakily.
“We’ll forget this happened. That whole thing… everything the spirit did. We’ll just forget it.”
Lan Wangji didn’t respond.
Wei Wuxian forced a smile, trying to fill the space between them with anything other than guilt. “We’ll go back to how things were. Pretend none of it happened. A simple exorcism, nothing more.”
Lan Wangji’s face remained unreadable.
Wei Wuxian nodded firmly. “Yes. Forget it.”
But even as he said the words, a weight settled in his chest.
Because he knew.
He could never forget.
He could never forget the way Lan Wangji’s mouth had felt against his. The warmth. The longing that had belonged to him—It had stirred something so real, so deep it terrified him.
He would never forget how he let it happen. How he’d wanted more.
The guilt clung to him like cold water. No matter how tightly he wrapped himself in justifications or logic, it seeped through.
He looked down at his hands, flexing his fingers slowly. “I’m sorry,” he whispered again just to himself, even though he’d just promised not to say it.
________________________________
Wei Wuxian didn’t know when he’d fallen asleep. The storm had passed long ago, and now the world was wrapped in a gentle hush. No thunder. No lightning. Only the occasional drip of rainwater falling from the eaves of the ruined cottage.
Warmth cradled him.
Soft. Steady.
He blinked slowly awake, consciousness returning like mist rolling in over a quiet lake. The air smelled faintly of sandalwood. Of fire and rain.
And music.
A quiet melody drifted through the air—low and haunting, fragile like a reed in the wind. It curled around his senses with something tender, something deeply familiar.
Wei Wuxian didn’t move. He lay still, too comfortable and dazed to speak.
The music was beautiful. A song he had heard before. Not once or twice, but many times. A song that seemed wrapped around the threads of his memory, like a distant dream he couldn’t quite grasp. He didn’t remember the name, nor when he had first heard it—but the ache it left in his chest was undeniable.
The notes caressed him, each one sinking into his bones. Melancholy and serene.
He blinked again and realized his head was resting on something soft.
No—someone.
Lan Wangji.
Wei Wuxian tilted his head slightly and saw the pale fabric of Lan Wangji’s robes under his cheek. His heart skipped.
He was lying on Lan Wangji’s lap.
Lan Wangji sat against the cottage wall, still and poised, eyes half-lidded as he hummed the tune, fingers gently brushing over the fabric of his sleeves. The expression on his face was tranquil, distant, as if he were lost in the song’s memory too.
Wei Wuxian didn’t speak right away. He watched him instead—watched the way his lashes cast shadows on his cheeks, how his brow remained smooth, serene. Beautiful. Almost ethereal.
A soft, breathless murmur slipped from his lips.
“…Lan Zhan.”
Lan Wangji’s eyes opened.
Golden and quiet.
He looked down, met Wei Wuxian’s gaze. Their eyes held.
Wei Wuxian gave a small, sleepy smile and asked, “What song is that? I’ve heard it so many times before. I just can’t remember where.”
Lan Wangji was quiet for a moment. Then he answered softly, “I composed it.”
Wei Wuxian’s eyes widened. “You…?”
Lan Wangji nodded, eyes turning back toward the wall.
Wei Wuxian sat up slowly, shifting until he was cross-legged beside Lan Wangji, rubbing his eyes. “You wrote it? When?”
Lan Wangji didn’t answer immediately.
“I’ve heard it before, haven’t I?” Wei Wuxian pressed, curiosity blooming. “You’ve played it before… more than once.”
Lan Wangji’s gaze returned to him. “I told you its name once.”
Wei Wuxian blinked, caught off guard. “You did?”
“Mn.”
“I don’t remember that.”
“You forget many things,” Lan Wangji replied, voice soft but teasing, with the barest flicker of amusement in his eyes.
Wei Wuxian leaned forward, narrowing his eyes. “Oi, I have an excellent memory, I’ll have you know.”
Lan Wangji said nothing, only returned his gaze, calm and patient.
Wei Wuxian huffed. “Fine. Then tell me again. What’s its name?”
Silence.
“Lan Zhan…” Wei Wuxian dragged his voice dramatically. “Tell me…”
Lan Wangji turned his head away slightly, lips pressed together.
Wei Wuxian gasped. “You’re not going to say?”
Lan Wangji remained immovable.
Wei Wuxian pouted, shifting onto his knees to lean closer, his hands resting on the edge of Lan Wangji’s robe. “Not even a hint?”
Lan Wangji shook his head faintly.
“I can be very persuasive,” Wei Wuxian warned, lifting his brows mischievously.
Lan Wangji raised one perfect eyebrow in return.
Wei Wuxian sighed and leaned closer, looking up at him from below, his voice dropping to a whisper. “Lan Zhan…”
Lan Wangji’s breath hitched.
Wei Wuxian froze. He hadn’t meant it to come out like that—so soft, so… intimate. But now they were inches apart, and Lan Wangji’s golden eyes had darkened slightly, reflecting the fading candlelight like twin suns veiled by clouds.
And in that space, where words failed and the air was too thick to breathe—
Wei Wuxian blinked.
And suddenly whispered, almost afraid, “Lan Zhan… don’t you want to know… how I lost my golden core?”
Lan Wangji’s gaze steadied.
The moment hung.
“No,” he said.
Wei Wuxian blinked again, lips parting in surprise. “What?”
“I do not need to know unless you want me to.”
The words were simple. Calm. Without pressure or weight.
And yet they floored Wei Wuxian.
He stared.
“You… really don’t?”
Lan Wangji didn’t look away. “It is yours to tell. When you are ready.”
Wei Wuxian’s throat tightened.
He let out a breathless laugh and leaned back slightly. “Why are you always like this?” he muttered. “So calm. So kind. Don’t you get angry? Don’t you want to scream at me for keeping things from you?”
Lan Wangji was quiet.
Wei Wuxian shook his head. “I kept it from everyone. I thought… maybe if I didn’t say it aloud, it wouldn’t matter.”
He lowered his eyes.
“But it did matter.”
Lan Wangji said nothing. He waited.
So Wei Wuxian told him.
Not in defense. Not in shame.
But because he wanted Lan Wangji to know. Because maybe, just maybe, it was time to stop carrying it alone.
And when he finished, silence settled once more.
Wei Wuxian didn’t look up right away.
But he felt the change in the air. The quiet reverence. The pain Lan Wangji didn’t voice, but wore like an invisible robe around his shoulders.
“Do you…” Wei Wuxian’s voice was quiet. “Do you think I’m a coward? For giving it up so easily?”
Lan Wangji turned to him. There was something in his gaze that Wei Wuxian couldn’t name—something deep and tender and unshakeable.
“You are not a coward.”
Wei Wuxian’s lip trembled.
“I didn’t even think twice. I just said yes. As if it was nothing.”
“You were protecting someone you loved.”
Wei Wuxian’s shoulders hunched. “And now I’m… nothing. No core. No cultivation. No immortality.”
“You are Wei Ying.”
Wei Wuxian looked up.
Lan Wangji’s eyes burned with quiet conviction.
“You were never your core.”
Wei Wuxian opened his mouth, closed it. “But you—”
“I consider you my Zhiji.”
The words dropped like stones into still water.
Wei Wuxian choked on his breath. “Lan Zhan…”
“You will always be,” Lan Wangji repeated, firm now. “No matter your strength. No matter your core. No matter anything.”
Wei Wuxian looked down at his hands, trembling.
And whispered, “Even now?”
Lan Wangji reached out.
And held his hand gently.
“Especially now.”
_________________________________
Wei Wuxian sat still beside Lan Wangji, staring into the dark. His fingers curled around the rough fabric of his sleeve, clutching his own arm like a child trying not to shiver.
He wasn’t cold.
He just didn’t know how to speak.
Lan Wangji’s presence beside him should have been reassuring. It had been, once. But now… now it was too much. Too generous. Too kind.
He couldn’t bear it.
A laugh broke from his throat—quiet, bitter, shaky.
“Lan Zhan,” he said, and the name tasted strange in his mouth, like sorrow dressed up in silk. “You know… I can’t be your zhiji.”
He didn’t look at Lan Wangji when he said it. Couldn’t.
“I’m not your equal. I’m not even close. I’m… nothing, now. No cultivation. No strength. No future. Just a shell. Just a memory.”
He laughed again, but this time it was thinner, sharper. “And you… you’re still Hanguang-jun. Still the cultivator every sect looks up to. Still the man everyone reveres.”
He swallowed.
“Maybe you’re not thinking clearly right now. Maybe you’re being soft because of everything that happened. But later—later, you’ll regret this. You’ll regret thinking someone like me could ever be your zhiji.”
Silence.
And then—
Lan Wangji’s breath hitched, so soft it was nearly inaudible.
Wei Wuxian turned his head just slightly.
Lan Wangji had bowed his head.
And when he spoke, his voice was low. Trembling. “The only thing I regret…”
He paused. A breath. Then—
“The only thing I regret, and still regret… is not being there when Wei Ying needed someone.”
Wei Wuxian stilled.
“I wasn’t there,” Lan Wangji whispered. “Not when he needed help. Not when he was hurting. Not when he lost his golden core. I was not there. I didn’t understand him. I never asked if he was fine. I just—lectured. I scolded. I judged.”
His voice cracked.
“I thought… if I followed the rules, if I told him what was right, he would come back to the light.”
Wei Wuxian turned to face him fully now.
“But I didn’t see,” Lan Wangji continued, voice now hollow. “I didn’t see how much he was carrying. How alone he was. I was too afraid to reach out properly. I watched him fall.”
A tear slipped down Lan Wangji’s cheek.
He didn’t wipe it away.
“I keep thinking,” he murmured, “if I had spoken earlier… if I had asked, just once, if he was alright… maybe he wouldn’t have suffered alone.”
Wei Wuxian opened his mouth, but no sound came.
Lan Wangji’s hand trembled slightly in his lap. “I regret it. Not knowing. Not understanding. Not… being with him.”
The tears came silently. One after another. Each one carving through his expression like water breaking stone.
Wei Wuxian couldn’t take it.
“Lan Zhan—” he whispered, his voice breaking apart.
Lan Wangji said nothing, his shoulders rigid, his mouth drawn tight.
Wei Wuxian’s heart shattered.
And then he moved.
Slowly. Hesitantly.
He reached out, unsure if he had the right, unsure if he would be pushed away. But Lan Wangji didn’t resist. Didn’t flinch.
So Wei Wuxian slipped his arms around him.
Held him.
And to his shock, Lan Wangji leaned in—just slightly—but enough. Enough for Wei Wuxian to feel the trembling in his chest. Enough to know the tears weren’t stopping.
Wei Wuxian rested his chin on Lan Wangji’s shoulder and closed his eyes. “It’s okay,” he whispered, not sure if he was lying. “You’re here now.”
Lan Wangji said nothing.
Wei Wuxian’s arms tightened. “You’re here now, and I’m here now, and that has to be enough, doesn’t it?”
Still silence.
He felt the slight movement—Lan Wangji’s hand slowly curling around his back, uncertain but clinging. Like he was afraid to be held, but even more afraid to be let go.
Wei Wuxian swallowed hard, biting the inside of his cheek. “Don’t cry,” he murmured. “Please.”
But the tears continued. And for once, Lan Wangji didn’t hide them.
And so Wei Wuxian did the only thing he could do.
He rocked them gently, whispering comfort in a voice that shook.
He let Lan Wangji cry—for all the things he never said, for all the moments he missed, for all the years wasted in silence.
And somewhere in the middle of it, Wei Wuxian found himself crying too.
Not loudly. Not even noticeably.
Just tears. Quiet, persistent.
Because maybe they were both guilty.
Maybe they had both failed each other.
But here, in the ruins of a cottage, two souls clung to each other and forgave what the world never had.
And that, perhaps, was more powerful than any cultivation.
________________________________
Wei Wuxian woke slowly, as if from the soft pull of an old lullaby.
There was no abrupt jolt of consciousness, no startle or gasp—only the gentle drift of thought returning to his body. It was still dark, but not fully night. The shadows were tinged with silver, and the air tasted faintly of dew.
He didn’t open his eyes at once. He didn’t need to.
He could feel the stillness in the air—the kind of peace that comes after a storm. That impossible stillness that blankets the world when something painful has ended. The kind of stillness he hadn’t felt in years.
Then the ache in his arm pierced the quiet.
Wei Wuxian winced softly. A dull, throbbing pressure ran from his shoulder down to his fingertips. It wasn’t sharp pain—more like the aftereffect of being trapped in one position too long. He shifted slightly, trying to pull his arm back, but it didn’t budge.
Something—someone—was lying on it.
His eyes opened.
And he found Lan Wangji asleep, his head pillowed gently on Wei Wuxian’s outstretched arm.
The pain was forgotten instantly.
Wei Wuxian stared.
Lan Wangji’s face was so close. Close enough that he could count the soft sweep of his lashes, the gentle rise and fall of his chest. His pale skin glowed faintly in the silvery pre-dawn light, and his long, ink-dark hair spilled over both of them like a curtain of night.
They were tucked against each other, their bodies close but not tangled, resting in the soft circle of warmth they’d built during the night. One of Lan Wangji’s hands had slipped, resting lightly over Wei Wuxian’s ribcage.
Wei Wuxian swallowed thickly.
How… did we end up like this?
He remembered the night in flashes. Lan Wangji crying. The tight embrace. Their whispered confessions, their shared guilt. The way Lan Wangji had wept—not just with sound, but with his whole being. Wei Wuxian holding him. Rocking him.
And after that…
He must’ve fallen asleep with Lan Wangji still in his arms. But now, here they were, with Lan Wangji slumped peacefully on his arm like he belonged there.
Wei Wuxian smiled slowly. Softly. His chest ached in a different way now.
He didn’t want to move. He didn’t want to disturb the moment. The pain in his arm was worth it.
Lan Zhan looks so peaceful like this.
Wei Wuxian had never seen him like this. Not even back at Cloud Recesses. Lan Wangji was always sharp angles and unreadable eyes, proper posture and stiff silence. But now…
He looked young. And tired. And beautiful.
So painfully beautiful.
Wei Wuxian studied his face for long minutes, taking in the small, vulnerable details: the faint pink tinge at the tip of his nose from the cold, the way his lips were slightly parted, the softness in his brow. Without the weight of his name and title, Lan Wangji simply looked… human.
He felt something stir inside his chest—tender, quiet, fragile.
It had been so long since he felt safe. So long since he had been held. So long since someone had offered him warmth without expectation, arms without demand.
The memories of last night washed over him, gentle as the ocean tide: the way Lan Wangji had listened, really listened; the way he’d cried in silence, burying himself into Wei Wuxian’s shoulder like he didn’t want to be seen but needed to be held.
Wei Wuxian blinked fast, a smile tugging at his lips.
Who would’ve thought Hanguang-jun, the coldest cultivator in the world, looked like this in his sleep?
With exaggerated care, Wei Wuxian lifted a hand and reached forward, gently brushing a stray strand of hair behind Lan Wangji’s ear. The tips of his fingers lingered near his jaw, reluctant to retreat.
He leaned in a little, whispering mischievously, “How come you're even prettier when you're unconscious, Lan Zhan? Should I be worried that you’re stealing hearts in your sleep?”
No answer.
Wei Wuxian grinned wider.
Then, his eyes caught sight of some dried straw scattered beside the bedrolls made from leftover mats and cloaks.
A wicked idea bloomed.
Carefully, stifling a laugh, he reached for one of the longer pieces of straw and turned back toward Lan Wangji with all the gleeful mischief of a child about to break a rule.
Let’s see how unshakable Hanguang-jun really is.
With delicate movements, he held the straw just above Lan Wangji’s face and lowered it toward the tip of his nose.
The result was immediate—and adorable.
Lan Wangji’s nose twitched.
Wei Wuxian bit his lip.
He tried again.
This time, Lan Wangji’s whole face scrunched slightly, as if fending off a phantom itch in his sleep. His lips puckered faintly. His brow furrowed.
Wei Wuxian clamped a hand over his mouth to keep from laughing aloud. His shoulders shook with suppressed glee.
The third time, Lan Wangji shifted his head and murmured something completely incomprehensible into the crook of Wei Wuxian’s arm, then settled back down, completely unaware.
Wei Wuxian almost died.
He set the straw aside and leaned in again, closer this time, his lips brushing Lan Wangji’s ear.
“Lan Zhan…” he whispered, voice light and teasing, “wake up. It’s five in the morning. Time for morning meditation, remember?”
Nothing.
Wei Wuxian grinned deviously and reached out again, placing both hands on Lan Wangji’s shoulders.
“Rise and shine, oh most perfect cultivator.”
And then—he pushed.
Not hard, just enough to shift Lan Wangji upright.
But the result was glorious.
Lan Wangji stirred, blinking furiously as he was jolted into sitting. His body swayed, unbalanced by sleep, and he nearly toppled forward into Wei Wuxian’s chest.
“W-Wei Ying…?” he mumbled, voice rough, brow furrowed in sleepy confusion.
Wei Wuxian lost it.
He burst into laughter, loud and wild, clutching his stomach as he leaned back on his elbows. “Hahaha—Lan Zhan! What happened to your legendary Lan grace?! That was so undignified!”
Lan Wangji blinked again, his face blank with confusion. His hair was mussed. His robe collar had gone slightly askew. He looked like a cat rudely shaken from its nap.
And it was beautiful.
“You…” he muttered again, dazed, trying to orient himself. “…moved me.”
Wei Wuxian wiped tears from his eyes. “Yes! I did! And it was worth every second of sleep I lost for this moment!”
Lan Wangji frowned faintly, reaching up to smooth his hair. “Boring.”
Wei Wuxian sat up, still giggling. “Aw, don’t pout. You’re lucky I didn’t draw eyebrows on you with ink while you were out cold.”
“…You considered it?”
“I considered a lot of things,” Wei Wuxian said with a wink.
Lan Wangji sighed again, adjusting his robe with practiced grace despite his lingering drowsiness.
Wei Wuxian watched him, the laughter slowly fading into something gentler. “You know… I’ve never seen you look so –”
Lan Wangji looked at him, one brow raised in question.
“You looked peaceful,” Wei Wuxian said, softer now. “I mean, I always assumed you were the kind of person who meditates for six hours and calls it rest.”
“I usually do.”
Wei Wuxian blinked. “Wait—you’re serious?”
Lan Wangji nodded.
“You meditate instead of sleep?”
“Mnn.”
“That explains a lot. No wonder you’re always so composed. I’d probably ascend to immortality too if I didn’t have to deal with morning drool.”
“You drool?” Lan Wangji asked flatly.
Wei Wuxian gasped. “How dare—I do not! That was hypothetical!”
Lan Wangji blinked at him. “Mnn.”
“…You’re teasing me,” Wei Wuxian whispered, scandalized.
Lan Wangji said nothing.
Wei Wuxian pointed a finger at him. “You just smirked.”
“I did not.”
“You totally smirked!”
Lan Wangji turned his head, pretending to inspect the far wall.
Wei Wuxian narrowed his eyes. “This is the beginning of your villain arc, isn’t it?”
Lan Wangji looked back at him, finally fully awake now. “You started it.”
Wei Wuxian barked a laugh and flopped back onto the ground. “I can’t believe you’re cute and smug. It’s unfair.”
There was silence for a moment.
Then, from somewhere above him, came the soft, unguarded reply.
“You are the unfair one.”
Wei Wuxian blinked.
He looked up.
Lan Wangji was gazing down at him—not stern, not impassive, but warm. His expression was still soft with sleep, but there was no confusion left. Only clarity.
“You’re unfair ,” he murmured. “You woke me forcefully before five .”
Wei Wuxian, still lounging on his back with his hands behind his head, burst into laughter, rolling onto his side to face him with a gleam of pure mischief in his eyes.
“You say that like it wasn’t my sacred duty,” he teased. “Lan Zhan, did you forget how many times you woke me up at dawn in Cloud Recesses? Not gently, mind you. Not sweetly. Noooo, you dragged me by my robes out of bed like I was a sack of rice.”
“You were late,” Lan Wangji replied, expression flat .
“Exactly!” Wei Wuxian pointed at him. “I just wanted to return the favor. Let Hanguang-jun have a taste of his own medicine.”
“You were late every day.”
Wei Wuxian gasped dramatically. “That’s slander!”
“You often skipped lectures entirely.”
“I strategically avoided the boring ones.”
Lan Wangji looked at him with narrowed eyes that clearly said: All of them were important.
Wei Wuxian grinned wider, loving every second of it. “Come on, Lan Zhan. Admit it. You used to enjoy waking me up just so you could watch me trip over my own feet and scramble into class with leaves in my hair.”
A pause.
Then: “Mnn.”
Wei Wuxian blinked, stunned. “Wait—what?”
Lan Wangji replied with infuriating calm. “You were entertaining.”
Wei Wuxian gaped. “Lan Zhan! That’s—! You—! I was a victim!”
“You were,” Lan Wangji said, then added dryly, “deserving.”
Wei Wuxian flopped back onto the bedding with a loud groan, one arm thrown over his eyes. “I can’t believe this. The cold, stoic Hanguang-jun of Gusu Lan just admitted he enjoyed watching me suffer.”
“You were not .”
“I was! How can you say that? The early morning bells! The rules! The writing punishments! My hands still cramp at the memory.”
Lan Wangji, unbothered, began smoothing the sash at his waist with elegant efficiency. “If you had followed the schedule…”
Wei Wuxian sat up abruptly, pointing an accusatory finger. “There it is again! That Lan lecture tone! I thought we buried everything last night!”
Lan Wangji didn’t smile, not quite. But his eyes glittered in the sunlight, golden and amused.
Wei Wuxian gave a long, suffering sigh and leaned in with mock pleading. “Lan Zhan… after everything I’ve been through, surely I’ve earned the right to wake you up with a little poke to the nose and some lovingly applied mischief.”
“You used straw.”
“Lovingly applied!”
“It itched.”
“You twitched like a bunny,” Wei Wuxian said, eyes sparkling.
“I do not twitch.”
“Oh, you twitched,” Wei Wuxian insisted. “Lan Zhan, do you know how close I was to drawing whiskers on you while you slept?”
“You would not dare.”
“Wouldn’t I?” Wei Wuxian said, leaning close until they were nose to nose. “You forget, Lan Zhan. I am the most shameless one in the whole cultivation world”
Lan Wangji stared at him, unblinking.
Then, with the faintest raise of an eyebrow, he looked at Wei Wuxian as if to say , Try it again… and you’ll find out what else you’re willing to risk.
Wei Wuxian blinked.
Then he grinned.
“Ooooh? Is that a threat? Are you threatening me, Hanguang-jun?”
Lan Wangji looked away, hiding his expression behind his perfectly straight posture. But the warmth in his ears betrayed him.
Wei Wuxian fell back onto the bedding again, laughing into the morning light.
They didn’t speak for a moment after that.
The cottage was quiet again, but this time it was the silence of peace, not pain.
Wei Wuxian tilted his head to the side, watching the dust motes dance in the air above them. His smile lingered, soft now, faded at the edges like a fond dream.
He looked back at Lan Wangji, still seated with perfect poise, gazing out through the broken wall where sunlight began to pour through.
And in that moment, Wei Wuxian thought: This… is happiness.
Not the loud, drunken kind he used to chase through the streets of night markets. Not the pride of acclaim or the thrill of power.
But this.
Morning light.
Warm air.
Someone who stayed.
A gentle argument. A laugh shared. And the ability to wake up next to someone who would still be there when the sun rose.
Wei Wuxian folded his hands behind his head again and let the light wash over him.
“Lan Zhan,” he said quietly, voice teasing but fond. “Thank you for letting me poke your nose.”
Lan Wangji glanced at him. “Boring.”
Wei Wuxian winked. “Well. You’re welcome anyway.”
__________________________________
Notes:
Okay, I know what many of you are probably thinking—why is it always Lan Wangji getting cursed or controlled, even though he’s supposed to be the strongest cultivator? 👀 Well… maybe right now he’s not quite at his peak. You’ll see why in future chapters. Anyway—next up, Wangxian’s little date!
Chapter Text
The fifth watch had barely passed when Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji stepped out onto the threshold of the weather-worn cottage.
Beyond them, the forest lay steeped in a pale, lingering mist. Rain-soaked leaves bowed under the weight of the night’s memory, and the air was thick with the scent of damp earth and pine bark. Somewhere in the canopy, a breeze wandered through the branches, carrying with it a whisper too faint and weary to form into words.
Lan Wangji adjusted the sleeves of his robe in stoic silence while Wei Wuxian, unusually quiet, rolled his shoulders and stretched with a yawn that felt more like routine than fatigue.
He had barely slept—but it hadn’t felt like a loss.
After what had passed between them in that dim, ruined space—after the way Lan Wangji had looked at him, held him, listened—there had been a strange stillness in his chest. Not the stillness of numbness, but the stillness that comes when something long spinning finally slows, rests.
They descended the moss-slick steps of the cottage side by side.
But as they passed along the weathered side wall, something caught Wei Wuxian’s eye.
He paused.
There, etched faintly in the wood, was a pale square mark. The kind left behind when paper hung too long in one place and was torn away. The edges of the mark were slightly curled, as if whoever removed it had done so recently.
It was such a small thing—barely noticeable in the dim light—but something about it made him stop.
Wei Wuxian stared at it, frowning faintly. “A talisman used to hang here.”
He stepped closer, brushing the surface with his fingertips.
The wood beneath was dry despite the night’s rain. He could feel a trace of spiritual energy lingering there — the kind that clung to talismans meant for monitoring, not defense or attack.
It reminded him of the seals used to signal when a barrier weakened or a spirit turned violent. The kind a watchful cultivator might place to keep track of something they didn’t want to face directly.
His brows furrowed.
“Wei Ying,” Lan Wangji’s voice called softly behind him, already several paces ahead.
Wei Wuxian blinked, turned around. “Coming, coming!” he said, masking the edge in his voice with a grin. “Don’t go running off without me, Lan Zhan. You wouldn’t survive out there without my sunshine personality.”
Lan Wangji gave him the flattest look possible, then resumed walking.
Wei Wuxian gave the mark one last glance before jogging to catch up, the faint dryness of the wood still prickling at the back of his mind.
________________________________
The path toward Lotus Pier stretched in winding, sun-dappled curves, but Wei Wuxian’s mind was elsewhere. Every now and then, he glanced sideways at Lan Wangji—silent and steady, walking with the calm grace of a scholar and the quiet awareness of a blade.
Eventually, he said, “Lan Zhan… there’s something I need to check before we head home.”
Lan Wangji looked at him. “Where?”
Wei Wuxian didn’t answer. Instead, he turned off the path, boots crunching on leaves and roots, retracing the steps they had taken yesterday.
Lan Wangji followed.
They returned to the old shrine, where yesterday’s exorcism had taken place. The moss still clung to the stones. The offerings Wei Wuxian had left—sugarcane, dried plums, a paper lotus—remained where he had placed them.
But Wei Wuxian wasn’t looking at the altar.
He knelt down beside the scorched patch near the statue—the place where he’d found the half-burned talisman.
And there it was again. The talisman fragment. Still here. Still wrong.
He held it up, fingers brushing over the charred edge. The spiritual residue was faint now, nearly gone—but it still thrummed faintly under his touch.
Lan Wangji came to stand beside him.
Wei Wuxian didn’t look up. “I had a hunch yesterday. I didn’t trust it.”
He focused his energy and directed it into the talisman. The paper shimmered faintly… then flared. A second layer of ink bled through the surface—revealing hidden characters, tangled sigils embedded beneath the first seal.
“A hidden formation,” Wei Wuxian whispered.
Lan Wangji’s eyes narrowed. “Concealment. Suppression.”
Wei Wuxian nodded. “Someone cloaked it under a regular exorcism charm.”
He stood, brushing ash from his palms, and turned to the base of the statue. There, he traced the lines of an ancient symbol half-covered in moss.
“First spirit was bound,” Wei Wuxian said, voice sharper now. “Not to this shrine… but to something else.”
He glanced toward Lan Wangji. “To the spirit that attacked us in the cottage.”
Lan Wangji’s lips pressed into a thin line. “It was released when we freed the first spirit.”
Wei Wuxian nodded grimly. “The shrine spirit wasn’t dangerous. She was confused, yes—but passive. And when we helped her pass on, it broke the binding.”
“The second spirit,” Lan Wangji said slowly, “the one in the cottage—it didn’t attack others. It was waiting.”
Wei Wuxian looked at him, his gaze suddenly darker. “Waiting for us.”
There was a long silence.
The morning wind had picked up slightly, stirring the trees. The shrine’s offerings fluttered faintly, the paper lotus swaying as if listening.
Lan Wangji turned the talisman in his hand. “This wasn’t accidental.”
Wei Wuxian’s jaw clenched. “No. This was premeditated. Designed.”
His voice dropped. “Engineered.”
“To isolate us,” Lan Wangji said.
“To manipulate us,” Wei Wuxian corrected. “The first spirit lured us here with the bait of innocence. And when we exorcised her… the trap was sprung.”
Lan Wangji’s eyes hardened. “The cottage spirit targeted you.”
Wei Wuxian looked away. “She used you. Controlled you. Made you… do things.”
Neither of them spoke for a long moment.
Then Lan Wangji said, “She didn’t harm us with claws or blade.”
“No,” Wei Wuxian murmured. “She attacked differently. She used emotion. Memory. Regret.”
His fingers curled into fists.
“That’s not something a wandering ghost does on its own. That’s the work of someone with knowledge—of cultivation. Of resentment. Of us.”
They exchanged a long look.
Lan Wangji spoke at last. “Who?”
Wei Wuxian exhaled slowly. “I don’t know. But it wasn’t random. It was too precise. Someone wanted to test how we’d react. What would happen if…”
He didn’t finish the sentence.
Lan Wangji didn’t need him to.
They both knew what it meant.
To fracture them.
To plant doubt.
To break them.
Wei Wuxian’s voice was low, hard. “We weren’t just hunting a spirit. We were being watched.”
“We’ll find out who,” Lan Wangji said, his voice steady, cool as moonlight. “Soon.”
His words lingered in the air as they stepped away from the ruined shrine, the forest slowly closing in behind them. The trees rustled with early morning wind, the faint sunlight trying to break through the pale mist that still clung to the earth like a breath not yet released.
Wei Wuxian walked slightly ahead, the hem of his robes trailing over wet leaves, but his heart was far behind—caught somewhere in the shadows of the night before, tangled in the lingering coldness of the spirit’s voice.
You liked it. Don’t pretend you didn’t.
That was what she said.
What she saw.
What she revealed.
And she wasn’t wrong.
Not completely.
Wei Wuxian tilted his head toward Lan Wangji’s footsteps behind him, listening to the way each step landed lightly, precisely, as if Lan Zhan weighed nothing—an untouchable immortal walking just out of reach.
He thought bitterly, If only you knew…
Lan Wangji had spoken with such conviction, such calm certainty—“You would never.” Those words had been a lifeline last night. But now they chafed.
Because he had.
Because he would.
Because the spirit hadn’t shown him anything new. It had only torn down the last of the barriers he kept tightly wrapped around his heart. It had only given voice to the longings that had always hidden behind every teasing smile and lingering glance.
He’s beautiful, Wei Wuxian thought as he watched Lan Wangji’s pale profile through the corner of his eye. Too beautiful. Too good. Too… unattainable.
He laughed quietly under his breath, the sound without humor.
If Lan Wangji knew the full truth—if he knew how easily Wei Wuxian had given in, how much of last night had not been the spirit’s doing—would he still speak those same words?
Would he still look at him like that?
Wei Wuxian scoffed internally. Did the one who implanted the spirit truly want it to do what she had done? Or had they simply meant for her to expose his deepest, most hidden memories—his desires—something he had never shown anyone? Maybe they were searching for some secret agenda, some plan he was hiding. If so, they had failed spectacularly. Because the spirit had done something entirely different. His deepest, most hidden desire had nothing to do with strategy or schemes—it had always been Lan Wangji. Recently, his thoughts had been full of Lan Wangji, and so the spirit had seized on that, twisting it, using it to control Lan Wangji and make him… do that.
“You’re quiet,” Lan Wangji said softly, stepping beside him now, golden eyes sweeping the forest with habitual caution.
“Me?” Wei Wuxian blinked and pulled on his grin like a mask. “I was just admiring the view. Very misty. Very mysterious. Very ‘someone’s trying to murder us again,’ don’t you think?”
Lan Wangji’s eyes narrowed slightly, but he didn’t argue. Instead, he walked a few paces in silence.
Wei Wuxian’s fingers curled slightly, brushing against his sleeve .
This is something I can never tell you.
He glanced at Lan Wangji’s hand, which rested near the hilt of Bichen.
If I did… you might never trust me again.
That thought hurt more than anything else.
They continued walking. Occasionally, a bird chirped or something cracked underfoot, but the silence that clung between them was heavier than any ambient noise. And Wei Wuxian couldn’t stop thinking—couldn’t not think—about how the spirit had mocked him.
You melted for him like wax.
She wasn’t lying.
He had melted.
Because deep down, there had always been a part of him that wanted that touch. That softness. That closeness.
And that part of him had surfaced without a fight.
The worst part was—it hadn’t been manipulation.
Not entirely.
He’d wanted it. He’d welcomed it. The only difference was that now he knew—someone had been watching. Someone had pulled the thread.
But the desire? That had always been his.
__________________________________
The scent of sizzling tofu and sweet lotus buns drifted down the village street, winding around the corners like a beckoning hand. The restaurant ahead was modest but well-kept, its polished wood and hanging red lanterns a sign of quiet success. Wei Wuxian slowed his steps and turned to Lan Wangji with a grin that didn’t quite hide the fatigue in his eyes.
"Let’s take a break, hmm?" he said. “Even celestial beings need food.”
Lan Wangji gave a faint nod and followed without complaint.
Inside, the restaurant was warm, filled with soft chatter, clinking porcelain, and the scent of spice. A few heads turned—then turned again, eyes widening. Murmurs followed them like ripples across still water.
“Is that—?”
“—Hanguang-jun, isn’t it?”
Wei Wuxian’s smile strained.
He waved a bit too cheerily at a gawking server before guiding them to a quiet corner table near the window. It was semi-enclosed, perfect for privacy. Lan Wangji sat with his usual grace, robes folding flawlessly around him as if stitched by the wind itself.
Wei Wuxian gave a nod. “I’ll just ask if we can use a room to bathe after the meal,” he said, already walking off before Lan Wangji could answer.
He strode toward the counter, speaking briefly with the owner, negotiating for a washroom rental. They chatted lightly; the owner was cooperative and offered him the key to a modest private bath upstairs.
Wei Wuxian turned, key in hand, ready to return to the table—and then he froze.
His eyes narrowed.
A young waiter stood beside their table, practically vibrating with excitement. He leaned in—too close—and his cheeks were flushed bright pink. His hands fluttered uselessly with the order tablet as he rattled off dishes.
“…and we also serve peach blossom wine, or perhaps osmanthus cakes, if Hanguang-jun has a sweet tooth,” the waiter was saying, the tone breathless, reverent. “It’s… it’s really an honor. I’ve heard of you , but I never dreamed—”
Lan Wangji sat silently, calm and untouched by the flustered energy. He offered a polite nod, answering in his usual single syllables.
“Mn.”
The waiter looked as if he had just been kissed.
Wei Wuxian’s jaw tightened.
Unbelievable.
He stalked across the floor, smile gone, and instead of sitting across from Lan Wangji as usual—he slid into the bench beside him. Close. Deliberately close.
Lan Wangji blinked.
Wei Wuxian crossed his legs leisurely, one arm reaching behind Lan Wangji’s back to rest on the bench. Then, with elegant possessiveness, he let his fingers settle lightly at Lan Wangji’s waist.
Lan Wangji tensed.
Slowly, he turned his head to look at him—confused, startled, maybe even a little curious. His golden eyes searched Wei Wuxian’s face for answers.
Wei Wuxian just smiled sweetly and picked up the menu.
Across the table, the waiter fumbled with his tray.
“I’m sorry,” he stammered, face flushed. “I—I was just recommending some dishes—”
“Oh?” Wei Wuxian’s smile didn’t reach his eyes. “And here I thought you were reciting poetry to my husband.”
The waiter choked. “H-h-h-h-h-husband?”
Wei Wuxian pulled out his flute—Chenqing—and placed it carefully on the table, his fingers lingering meaningfully on its dark surface. The message was subtle as a hammer.
The waiter stared at the flute. Swallowed. “I—I didn’t—um—”
“Thank you,” Wei Wuxian said cheerfully, turning to Lan Wangji with exaggerated fondness. “But there’s no need. I can order for my Lan Zhan.”
Lan Wangji’s eyes widened slightly. Still unreadable. But his ears were faintly pink.
Wei Wuxian hummed under his breath. Then turned to Lan Wangji.
“What would you like, Lan Zhan?” he said lightly. “Let me guess. Something plain and boring. Lotus root soup with no spice? Rice with… rice?”
Lan Wangji blinked slowly. “…I do not mind spice.”
“Ah! ” Wei Wuxian clapped once. “Excellent. Then, spicy mapo tofu, chili oil dumplings, beef noodles with double pepper, and… hmm, lotus plum tea to balance it out?”
Lan Wangji gave a single nod.
Wei Wuxian turned to the waiter. “You can go now.”
The poor boy fled as if chased by demons.
Though the young man was gone, Wei Wuxian’s eyes stayed locked in the direction he had vanished, fingers tight around the body of Chenqing. His grip had gone white at the knuckles. He didn't even realize he was trembling slightly, fury burning in him like a lit fuse.
Lan Wangji noticed. Of course he did.
“Wei Ying,” Lan Wangji said quietly.
Wei Wuxian blinked.
Then he turned, startled as if yanked from a trance. His expression morphed from stormy to sheepish in the space of a heartbeat. He looked down and found his arm—his arm—still draped behind Lan Wangji’s back, fingers possessively curled near the curve of his waist.
“Oh—oh no, sorry, Lan Zhan,” Wei Wuxian laughed too loudly, too falsely, quickly yanking his hand back as if the very act of touching Lan Wangji had burned him.
He clapped his palms together, then smoothed them over his robes, then ran them through his hair, then reached for his tea cup—and missed it entirely.
Lan Wangji tilted his head, gaze calm, but observant.
“What are you doing?” he asked, voice soft but undeniably curious.
Wei Wuxian forced another laugh, clearing his throat. “Doing? Nothing. Just, uh, ordering some food. That’s all! Helping you out. You know. As your devoted... dining companion.”
Lan Wangji raised a brow slightly. “You called me your husband.”
Wei Wuxian froze.
He blinked once.
Then twice.
And for a glorious half-second, it looked like his soul had departed his body and left only a shell behind.
“I—I did?”
Lan Wangji didn’t answer. He didn’t need to.
Wei Wuxian coughed into his fist, trying to hide the glow creeping up his ears. “Aha. Aha. Slip of the tongue. I must be more tired than I thought.”
Lan Wangji just stared at him.
Wei Wuxian, floundering now, blurted out, “Well. Isn’t it true?”
Lan Wangji blinked.
“Isn’t it?” Wei Wuxian repeated, now grinning in that reckless, teasing way that always spelled danger. He leaned forward, elbow propped on the table as he spoke in a tone laced with mock drama. “Lan Zhan, don’t tell me you’ve decided to remove me from the post? Am I no longer your husband? What a tragic turn of events!”
Lan Wangji said nothing.
He looked away, eyes turning toward the open window beside them. The breeze stirred the silk tie at his collar. The golden light caught on his cheek.
But he didn’t respond.
And that silence made something squeeze painfully in Wei Wuxian’s chest.
He looked down at his fingers, still resting on the table, trembling faintly from the adrenaline rush. It had started out as an impulse. A taunt. A petty jab at a flirty waiter.
But now…
Now it felt like the words had weight. Like the title he had tossed out in a moment of jealous impulse actually meant something.
______________________________
The market was alive.
Colorful banners fluttered overhead, their silken cloth dancing with the breeze. Merchants called out praises for their wares—sizzling chestnuts, lacquered hairpins, hand-woven talismans—and the laughter of children rang through the air like wind chimes.
Wei Wuxian walked ahead, eyes wide and sparkling, the spirit of youth and chaos wrapped in black and red robes. Beside him, Lan Wangji moved in his usual composed rhythm—calm, collected, the world falling away with each of his serene steps.
And still, even amid this sensory overload, Wei Wuxian’s eyes locked onto one thing.
“Ooh!” he exclaimed, grabbing Lan Wangji’s wrist before the other man could protest. “Lan Zhan, look, look! Over there! A portrait stall!”
Lan Wangji turned, blinking at the small booth tucked between a teahouse and a cobbler. An elderly painter sat behind an easel, his brush flicking confidently across parchment. A young couple stood in front of him, posing awkwardly yet sweetly—clearly in love. A rough sketch already took shape behind them.
“Come on!” Wei Wuxian tugged Lan Wangji toward the stall. “It’s perfect! Our first night-hunt together—just us, no interruptions. We need a memory!”
Lan Wangji opened his mouth, as if to remind Wei Wuxian this was not necessary. But it was already too late. Wei Wuxian was glowing, excitement written into every movement, every word.
They reached the stall, and Wei Wuxian turned to the painter with a bow and an eager grin. “Two portraits, please. One for us to keep, one for you to hang—so everyone knows your most handsome models came by.”
The painter chuckled, dipping his brush into black ink. “Then stand how you’d like to be remembered.”
Wei Wuxian turned to Lan Wangji, rubbing his hands together with glee. “Alright, warrior pose! We’ll both draw weapons—me with Chenqing, you with Bichen—and look all majestic and heroic. How about that?”
Lan Wangji gave him a sidelong glance. “Warrior pose?”
“Yes! You know—dramatic, powerful. Like we’re in the middle of some epic battle.” He paused, squinting. “Actually… no, not too serious. That’s your thing. Something bold, but charming. Striking but casual.”
Lan Wangji looked unimpressed.
Wei Wuxian clicked his tongue. “Don’t give me that look! Here—like this!” He stepped beside Lan Wangji and pulled out Chenqing, tilting his chin and arching one brow dramatically. “Come on, Lan Zhan! You’ve held Bichen in actual war—this should be easy!”
Lan Wangji hesitated… then relented. He unsheathed Bichen slowly, its blade gleaming silver-blue in the morning light, and assumed a dignified stance—feet apart, blade low, posture like still water before a storm.
Wei Wuxian stared. “Damn. You really were born to look like a hero.”
He stepped closer, placing himself just a hand’s breadth away, shoulder brushing Lan Wangji’s lightly. With Chenqing held high and a half-smile playing on his lips, Wei Wuxian grinned at the artist. “Alright, old master! Immortalize us!”
The painter began, brush gliding smoothly over paper.
Minutes passed in stillness.
Wei Wuxian didn’t mind staying frozen—not when he was this close to Lan Wangji, not when the breeze was soft and the world was warm. A rare moment, suspended like amber.
At last, the painter lifted his brush. “Done.”
They relaxed at once. Wei Wuxian blew out a long breath. “Finally! I thought I’d lose all feeling in my arms.”
Lan Wangji silently returned Bichen to its sheath.
Wei Wuxian strode over to inspect the portrait.
And froze.
There it was—two men side by side. One with a flute raised, wild grin on his face, robes sweeping like flame. The other calm, composed, blade at his side, silver headband glinting. And between them—a space that felt magnetic, like a thread of invisible energy connected them.
Wei Wuxian laughed. “Wow, I look amazing.”
Then his gaze slid to Lan Wangji.
And his laughter faded.
Because Lan Wangji was looking at the portrait with a softness Wei Wuxian had almost never seen. His expression—barely there—was one of peace. A smile, small and honest, touched his lips.
It stole Wei Wuxian’s breath.
The painter noticed too. “You two fit together like water and wind,” he murmured. “Balance. That’s rare.”
Wei Wuxian didn’t answer. He couldn’t.
He only watched Lan Wangji watching the portrait—his face touched by sunlight, golden eyes warm, as if the inked version of them was more real than the flesh-and-blood one.
A hand brushed his sleeve.
Wei Wuxian startled, looking down to find Lan Wangji gently pressing one of the portrait copies into his hand.
“You should keep it,” Lan Wangji said softly.
Wei Wuxian blinked. “Me?”
Lan Wangji nodded.
“For remembering,” he added after a beat.
Wei Wuxian’s throat tightened. He smiled again, but it was softer now, reverent.
“For remembering,” he echoed.
And in his mind, he thought:
Not just a night-hunt. Not just a picture. But a moment when you looked at me—and smiled.
_________________________________
Wei Wuxian was holding the potrait, his expression animated, halfway through another exaggerated compliment about his own "ravishing warrior aura" when it happened.
It was faint at first—an echo from down the street. A low, sharp sound. A bark.
Wei Wuxian froze.
He didn’t laugh. He didn’t blink. He didn’t even breathe.
The second bark came clearer, louder, and this time it was unmistakable.
Woof!
His fingers trembled. The smile drained from his face.
The painter, oblivious, was still smiling kindly at them, asking if they wanted a second copy. Lan Wangji turned his head slightly at the sudden change in Wei Wuxian’s aura. The energy that had been buzzing with delight was now curling in on itself like a withering vine.
Then the third bark came.
And it was close.
Wei Wuxian's head jerked sideways, eyes wide with sheer horror, neck stiff as he slowly turned toward the sound.
There, not even five paces away, stood a dog.
It wasn’t particularly large. A street dog, shaggy and thin, looking more curious than threatening. But to Wei Wuxian, it might as well have been a spiritual beast. A demon. The Dog Emperor of Death itself.
The dog looked at him.
Then it barked again, excited.
Wei Wuxian screamed.
"LAN ZHAN!!"
He moved so quickly he knocked over the painter’s brush pot, the portrait still clutched in one trembling hand. Without even thinking, he dashed behind Lan Wangji and latched on—arms wrapping tightly around Lan Wangji’s waist from behind.
He pressed his face between Lan Wangji’s shoulder blades, shivering violently.
"Lan Zhan, save me, please!" Wei Wuxian whimpered, voice breaking like a terrified child’s. "It’s looking at me—it’s planning something! I just know it!"
Lan Wangji stiffened instantly.
His spine went straight, his hands half-lifted in confusion as he processed the sudden warmth of another body pressed fully against his back. He glanced over his shoulder—only to see a grown cultivator clinging to him like a terrified toddler.
The painter blinked slowly.
The dog barked again.
Wei Wuxian let out another high-pitched noise—not a word, not even a scream. It was somewhere between a squeak and a sob. He squeezed tighter around Lan Wangji’s waist, fingers digging into his belt.
Lan Wangji cleared his throat, tone even. “Wei Ying… it is a dog.”
“I know it’s a dog!” Wei Wuxian hissed, peeking from behind his back for only a second before squeaking again and hiding. “That’s worse! Dogs are evil, cunning creatures. They have a sixth sense. It knows I’m afraid. It can smell my fear!”
Lan Wangji blinked again. He had no idea how to respond to that.
He raised his hand slowly, placed it over Wei Wuxian’s where it clutched his belt, and said softly, “It is not approaching.”
“That’s what it wants us to think,” Wei Wuxian mumbled, clutching him tighter. “It’s planning. Waiting. Waiting for me to lower my guard.”
“It is wagging its tail.”
Wei Wuxian peeked again, eyes darting to the dog, which had now sat down and tilted its head. A playful woof.
Wei Wuxian wailed into Lan Wangji’s back. “It’s mocking me, Lan Zhan! It knows I’m weak!”
Lan Wangji remained very still. The situation was absurd—yet the tremble in Wei Wuxian’s voice wasn’t faked. His whole body was trembling violently, muscles locked with old instinct.
“Breathe,” Lan Wangji said, softer this time. “I am here.”
Wei Wuxian nodded quickly against his back, breathing in deeply—but it came out more like a hiccup. “Please… don’t let it near me.”
Lan Wangji stepped forward slowly, turning just enough to shift Wei Wuxian behind him fully. His body became a barrier. A shield. He raised one hand toward the dog—not threateningly, but firmly.
The dog tilted its head. Then, at Lan Wangji’s subtle, deliberate movement, it blinked, stood, and trotted away with a huff, nose sniffing at a nearby food cart.
Wei Wuxian peeked again.
Gone.
He didn’t move for several seconds. He kept his face buried in the back of Lan Wangji’s robe, breathing deeply, eyes stinging.
Only when Lan Wangji gently reached behind and placed a hand on his shoulder did Wei Wuxian slowly, slowly, loosen his grip.
“Is it…” Wei Wuxian murmured, hoarse. “Is it really gone?”
“Yes.”
Wei Wuxian exhaled. “Good. Good.”
Lan Wangji turned to face him.
Wei Wuxian immediately stepped back, trying to gather what remained of his dignity. He dusted off his robes, cleared his throat, and said, “Well! That was traumatic.”
Lan Wangji’s expression didn’t change. “You were shaking.”
“I shake when I’m moved emotionally.”
“By dogs.”
Wei Wuxian flailed. “Lan Zhan!”
The corners of Lan Wangji’s mouth twitched, just once.
Wei Wuxian groaned and dramatically covered his face with the portrait he still hadn’t let go of. “Forget the night-hunt. This is the day I die of humiliation.”
“You are not hurt.”
Wei Wuxian peeked out between his fingers. “No. But I might be scarred.”
“You are safe.”
Wei Wuxian dropped his hands slowly.
And there was Lan Wangji—eyes steady, calm, one hand still slightly raised as if he might comfort him again if he asked.
Wei Wuxian laughed softly, shakily, but real.
“Thanks,” he said. “Really.”
Lan Wangji gave a slight nod. “Mnn.”
Wei Wuxian grinned, though his cheeks were red. “Next time, I’ll make sure it’s not a goose or a particularly aggressive butterfly.”
“I will still protect you.”
Wei Wuxian blinked.
Then looked away quickly, clearing his throat.
"You're too good, Lan Zhan," he muttered. “Really. I don’t deserve this kind of royal bodyguard service just because I can’t deal with furballs.”
“You deserve protection.”
Wei Wuxian looked at him again, stunned into silence.
And then he smiled. This time, with something warm, something soft, something dangerously close to fondness.
_______________________________
The road to Lotus Pier was familiar—quiet winding bends, low mist curling around the base of reeds, and the sound of cicadas humming through the thick summer air. But it had been years since Wei Wuxian had truly seen this place through soft eyes. Not as a soldier, not as a cultivator. But as someone coming home.
He and Lan Wangji walked side by side, the silence between them not uncomfortable. There was a rhythm in their steps, an ease that had grown between them—shared battles, shared nights, shared gazes that lingered longer than they used to.
And then Wei Wuxian saw it.
A gnarled tree—broad, heavy with moss and years. Its branches curled upward like fingers, bark dark with age. The same tree. The one from so long ago.
He stopped walking.
“Lan Zhan,” he said softly, almost to himself.
Lan Wangji paused, glancing back.
Wei Wuxian smiled faintly, staring at the tree. “This place… it’s special to me.”
Lan Wangji tilted his head.
Wei Wuxian didn’t explain right away. His gaze stayed fixed. “When I was little… maybe eight or nine… Jiang Cheng threatened to sic dogs on me. Said he’d let them loose if I didn’t leave his room . I ran like hell.” He laughed quietly. “Climbed up that tree like a cat chased by lightning.”
He stepped closer, placing his hand against the bark.
“I stayed up there, yelling and crying. Then I slipped and nearly broke my arm falling.” He smiled softer now. “Shi jie caught me. I still remember how small her arms were. But she held me like she’d catch the whole world.”
Lan Wangji said nothing. But he was watching, silent and steady.
Wei Wuxian turned to him, eyes alight. Then suddenly—without thinking, without planning—he stepped back, glanced at the branches, and grinned.
A wicked grin.
“Lan Zhan!”
Lan Wangji blinked.
“Stay right there.”
“What are you—”
Wei Wuxian was already climbing.
“Wei Ying!”
“Just humor me!” he shouted from halfway up the tree, feet balanced on the bark, arms reaching like he was a boy again.
Lan Wangji took a single step forward, alarm flashing in his usually calm eyes.
Wei Wuxian climbed to the tallest branch he could stand on. “Hey, Lan Zhan!” he called down, grinning like a lunatic. “Catch me!”
Lan Wangji’s expression turned stark. “Wei Ying, no—”
“Too late!”
Wei Wuxian leapt.
There was a sharp intake of breath. A flash of panic.
Lan Wangji surged forward, arms opening instinctively—and then, with a dull thud, Wei Wuxian landed in his embrace, toppling both of them onto the grassy earth.
Lan Wangji grunted softly beneath him.
Wei Wuxian laughed. Loud and delighted. His arms looped lazily around Lan Wangji’s shoulders, hair falling into his eyes as he looked down.
“You really caught me,” he whispered.
Lan Wangji opened his eyes slowly.
They were nose to nose. Chest to chest. Wei Wuxian above him, barely inches away. And in Lan Wangji’s arms, cradled carefully, as if he were something precious.
Neither of them moved.
Then Wei Wuxian blinked.
And something… shifted.
His laughter faded, caught halfway. He looked into those steady, solemn golden eyes—and it hit him.
Not like thunder. Not like a storm.
It hit him like spring sunlight breaking over river water. Like a slow realization that had lived inside him all along, blooming in secret.
I love him.
Wei Wuxian’s breath hitched.
I love Lan Wangji.
There was no denying it anymore. No more laughing it off. No more blaming curses or tricks or fevered dreams.
He loved Lan Wangji with a fierce, desperate joy that clawed up his throat and made him want to cry.
“I…” he started, but the words caught.
Lan Wangji’s brow furrowed slightly. “Wei Ying?”
Wei Wuxian’s eyes widened. He blinked quickly and shook his head, lips curling in a luminous grin.
He rolled off Lan Wangji with a huff, pulling him up in one fluid motion.
Lan Wangji barely had time to catch his balance before Wei Wuxian grabbed his hands and twirled him. In broad daylight. In the middle of the path.
“What are you—”
“I’m happy!” Wei Wuxian laughed, the sound wild and bright. “So, so happy!”
He spun Lan Wangji once more, ignoring the stunned look on the man’s face.
Lan Wangji let himself be pulled, caught off guard.
“You caught me!” Wei Wuxian said again, breathless. “You really caught me.”
“Mnn…?”
“And you always do.”
Lan Wangji didn’t answer.
Wei Wuxian stopped moving him, holding his hand loosely now, his chest rising and falling with exhilaration. His smile was soft now, quieter. “Lan Zhan,” he whispered, voice trembling with something new. “You don’t know what you’ve done to me.”
Lan Wangji looked at him, solemn and steady, hand still in his.
But Wei Wuxian didn’t speak more.
He just stood there, heart full, sun setting behind them.
And for the first time in years—maybe ever—he didn’t feel afraid of what he felt.
He felt home.
__________________________________
The road curled gently beneath their feet as Lotus Pier loomed ever closer. Wei Wuxian could already see the familiar rise of rooftops in the distance, nestled between willows and shimmering lake waters. It was late afternoon, the sun filtering through scattered clouds in soft gold patches. Birds flitted overhead. The world, for once, seemed at peace.
Wei Wuxian was not.
His heart hadn’t stopped pounding since the fall. Since Lan Wangji caught him in his arms like it was the most natural thing in the world. Since the moment he looked into those eyes and realized—truly, achingly—that he was in love.
Love.
Not admiration, not fondness, not gratitude. Love.
It was so obvious now, so glaring, he couldn’t believe he had been blind to it. How could he not have seen it in the way his chest tightened every time Lan Wangji got near? Or the way his own smiles came easier when Lan Wangji was around? Or how he remembered the smallest details—his favorite teas, the barely visible crease of his brow when he was deep in thought, the beauty mark above his collarbone…
He had loved him for longer than he’d dared to admit.
Now that the realization had struck him, Wei Wuxian felt like a different person entirely—bubbling with an energy he couldn’t contain. He wanted to dance, to yell it at the sky, to laugh until his lungs gave out. But more than anything, he wanted to reach out and hold Lan Wangji.
He glanced sideways.
Lan Wangji walked beside him, as serene and silent as ever. His steps were even, his posture perfect, his gaze fixed forward.
Wei Wuxian's fingers twitched at his side.
He hesitated—just for a moment. And then, without letting himself overthink it, he reached out and took Lan Wangji’s hand in his own.
Lan Wangji stiffened slightly.
His head turned, surprise flickering across his otherwise unreadable face.
Wei Wuxian gave him the brightest grin in his arsenal, the one that made his eyes crinkle . “What? I thought you were supposed to protect me.”
Lan Wangji blinked. “…From what?”
Wei Wuxian leaned closer, voice dropping to a mischievous whisper. “I heard barking.”
Lan Wangji’s brows drew together. “There are no dogs.”
Wei Wuxian gave an exaggerated shudder and clutched his arm. “That’s what they want you to think. But I heard it. Faint… distant… but real.”
“…Wei Ying.”
Wei Wuxian nodded solemnly. “So naturally, I needed to hold onto my mighty protector’s hand.”
Lan Wangji stared at him for a moment, unmoving. Then, slowly, his gaze dropped to their joined hands.
He didn’t pull away.
Wei Wuxian's chest fluttered.
Lan Wangji turned his face away again, but not before Wei Wuxian caught the faintest pink blooming at the tips of his ears.
Victory.
They walked on like that—hands linked, steps synchronized. Wei Wuxian swung their arms lightly, unable to contain his glee. Every few steps, he’d look down at their fingers, still entwined, and smile to himself.
The breeze was gentler. The air smelled sweeter.
Lan Wangji didn’t say a word. But his hand was warm.
Wei Wuxian held on tighter.
“This,” Wei Wuxian murmured, almost to himself, “is nice.”
Lan Wangji looked at him briefly. “Hm?”
“This moment,” Wei Wuxian said, eyes soft. “It’s… really nice.”
They didn’t speak after that for a long while. There was no need. Everything Wei Wuxian wanted to say lived quietly in the space between their palms.
Still, Wei Wuxian being who he was, couldn’t remain quiet for too long.
“You know,” he said eventually, teasing creeping into his tone, “if you keep catching me and letting me hold your hand, I might start thinking you like me.”
Lan Wangji’s steps faltered for just a fraction of a second.
Wei Wuxian grinned wickedly. “Not denying it? Interesting.”
“You are imagining things.”
“Am I?” Wei Wuxian leaned into him, bumping their shoulders. “I don’t know, Lan Zhan. This is suspicious behavior. Catching me when I fall, holding hands, putting up with my jokes. You’re going to give people the wrong idea.”
Lan Wangji’s voice was quiet but firm. “Let them.”
Wei Wuxian blinked.
He looked at Lan Wangji, stunned.
Lan Wangji met his gaze.
And smiled.
It wasn’t a full smile—barely there, soft as moonlight. But it was real.
Wei Wuxian’s heart squeezed painfully in his chest.
He wanted to say it.
I love you.
He almost did.
But instead, he squeezed Lan Wangji’s hand and whispered, “I’m really glad you’re here.”
Lan Wangji didn’t answer with words.
He just held his hand back.
And that was enough.
___________________________________
Lotus Pier bloomed before them—soft blue waters curling at the shore, tall stalks of lotus flowers stretching toward the sun, and the elegant roofs of the Jiang compound basking in late afternoon light. The wind that rustled the lake’s surface brought with it memories—some sharp, some sweet, all tinged with the scent of home.
Wei Wuxian’s hand remained tightly wound with Lan Wangji’s, warm and unwavering.
He hadn’t let go since the moment he had reached for it hours ago, in the golden afterglow of realization. And Lan Wangji hadn’t pulled away. It was silent, unspoken—but the weight of that small gesture carried between them like the final line of a vow.
As they stepped into the familiar path leading into the outer courtyard, their footsteps slowed in quiet reverence.
And then—a familiar voice broke the stillness.
“A-Yuan, that one’s called Snowdrop Lotus. See the pink edges? They only bloom at the start of spring.”
Jiang Yanli’s voice, gentle and lilting, carried over the breeze. She stood in the garden, her soft robes dusted with flower petals, her arm gently guiding a very excited Ayuan who was hopping between flowerbeds. She pointed at blossoms with patient affection.
Wei Wuxian’s entire face lit up.
He raised his free hand and cupped it around his mouth. “A-Yuan! Shijie!”
The little boy whipped around the moment he heard his name. “Aniang!” he shrieked.
Before Jiang Yanli could stop him, Ayuan let go of her hand and bolted toward them, robes flapping, laughter echoing in the air.
Wei Wuxian grinned and opened both arms wide. “Ah, you missed your A-Niang so much, didn’t you?”
But to his horror—and theatrical betrayal—Ayuan didn’t run into his arms.
Instead, the boy ran straight past him and launched himself at Lan Wangji. “Adie! Adie!”
Wei Wuxian stood frozen, mouth agape, arms still open mid-hug.
Lan Wangji blinked down at the child now wrapped around his leg. A-Yuan grinned up at him expectantly.
Then, very gently, Lan Wangji bent and scooped the boy up into his arms.
Wei Wuxian let out a loud gasp and clutched his chest as if mortally wounded. “Unfilial child!” he declared. “A-Niang was right here with open arms! And you—how dare you—betray me for a pretty face!”
Ayuan looked over from Lan Wangji’s shoulder with wide, guilty eyes. “No! I want A-Niang too!” He stretched his arms desperately toward Wei Wuxian.
Wei Wuxian gave a dramatic sniff. “Too late. A-Niang’s heart has broken into tiny pieces and scattered into the wind.”
Lan Wangji, deadpan as ever, shifted Ayuan slightly to face Wei Wuxian. Ayuan pouted. “Please, A-Niang…”
“Hmph,” Wei Wuxian said, but he was already reaching to take the boy. Lan Wangji handed Ayuan over carefully, his fingers brushing briefly against Wei Wuxian’s.
Wei Wuxian kissed Ayuan’s cheeks loudly and repeatedly, making the boy squeal with laughter. “You’re forgiven. But only because you’re cute.”
“A-Niang, nooo!” Ayuan giggled, trying to squirm away. “Adie, save me!”
Lan Wangji watched from the side, expression softened, the faintest glimmer of amusement in his golden eyes.
Jiang Yanli approached at last, her hands folded delicately before her. Her eyes, ever warm and watchful, had taken in every detail—the linked hands, the playful banter, the way Wei Wuxian looked at Lan Wangji as though the sun rose and set in his eyes.
“You’re back,” she said softly, her voice like a balm.
Wei Wuxian beamed. “And we’re both alive. Impressive, right?”
Jiang Yanli chuckled. Her gaze shifted to Lan Wangji. “Hanguang-jun,” she greeted politely.
Lan Wangji gave her a respectful nod. “Jiang-guniang.”
She tilted her head, eyes thoughtful. “You know,” she said gently, “A-Xian looks happy.”
Wei Wuxian, who was still blowing kisses at Ayuan, didn’t hear.
Jiang Yanli turned her misty eyes to Lan Wangji. “And I know it’s because of you.”
Lan Wangji blinked.
“I don’t remember the last time he smiled so much,” she continued, her voice quiet with emotion. “He’s…carefree again. Just like he was when we were young. I’m grateful to you for that.”
Lan Wangji, silent for a moment, shook his head. “There is no need to thank me. I have done nothing.”
Jiang Yanli gave a soft, amused breath. “You’re just like A-Xian. Never seeing what you’ve given others.”
Lan Wangji said nothing.
She smiled. “May I call you Wangji?”
A pause.
Lan Wangji nodded. “Mn.”
“Then I shall be your Shijie as well,” she said with warmth. “You are part of this family now, aren’t you?”
Before Lan Wangji could answer, Wei Wuxian strolled over with Ayuan perched on his hip like a proud accessory. “Oi, oi—what are you two whispering about over here? Are you slandering my good name while I’m distracted?”
Jiang Yanli arched her brow. “Wouldn’t dare.”
Lan Wangji looked away, a faint pink blooming at the tips of his ears.
Wei Wuxian narrowed his eyes. “Lan Zhan. Tell me honestly. What bad things were you telling my Shijie about me?”
“Nothing,” Lan Wangji said flatly.
Wei Wuxian turned to Jiang Yanli. “Shijie. Betray him for once. Tell me the truth.”
Jiang Yanli laughed, shaking her head. “ Wangji hasn’t said anything improper.”
Wei Wuxian gasped dramatically. “So now he’s ‘Wangji’?”
“I called him Wangji because of you,” she said sweetly. “He is now a part of our family.”
Lan Wangji, flustered, suddenly found a spot of the garden very interesting.
“Adie is shy,” Ayuan whispered loudly.
Wei Wuxian cackled, tossing Ayuan slightly in the air and catching him again. “He’s adorable when he is shy, isn’t he?”
Lan Wangji’s lips parted slightly—whether to protest or not, no one knew—but he didn’t speak. He just… stood there, hand still faintly tingling where Wei Wuxian had held it.
It was only a moment. But in that moment, surrounded by laughter, sun-warmed lotus petals, and the scent of home, everything felt right.
It felt like peace.
It felt like family.
_______________________________
Night had gently fallen over Lotus Pier, blanketing the sky in silvered hues. After dinner with the Jiang family, the warmth of laughter and the flicker of lanterns still lingered like the scent of lotus blossoms in the air. Wei Wuxian walked side-by-side with Lan Wangji, both of them quiet now, but Wei Wuxian’s steps bounced with residual glee, his smile wide and unrestrained.
Lan Wangji, hands folded behind his back, walked with the same composed grace he always did, but there was a softness to his gaze that hadn’t been there before the meal. Perhaps it was Jiang Yanli’s gentle teasing, or A-Yuan pressing sweet cakes into his hands, or maybe it was just the echo of peace that hung over Lotus Pier tonight.
He didn’t comment when Wei Wuxian suddenly turned, tugged his sleeve, and whispered, “Let’s not go back just yet.”
Lan Wangji raised a brow.
Wei Wuxian grinned. “The lotus lake, Lan Zhan! It’s so pretty in the moonlight tonight. Don’t you want to see it?”
There was a beat of silence.
Then Lan Wangji gave a quiet nod.
Wei Wuxian all but dragged him by the hand.
________________________________
The moonlight shimmered across the surface of the lake like spilled silver ink. The water lilies were closed for the night, their pink and white heads bowed in slumber, but the vast green leaves floated like little boats under the sky. Fireflies blinked near the reeds. A soft breeze rippled through the air, fragrant with lotus and wet earth.
Wei Wuxian let out a breathless laugh. “See? Didn’t I tell you?”
Lan Wangji merely looked. His golden eyes scanned the lake, the lilies, the way the moon cast shadows across the dock and the sand. He didn’t speak, but his eyes softened—minutely, but unmistakably.
Wei Wuxian took that as a victory.
Without hesitation, he bounded forward, stepping carefully onto a small, flat patch of earth by the shore. He tugged at the ties of his pants, pulling the legs up past his knees, and plopped himself down on the soft ground.
With a sigh of satisfaction, he dunked his bare legs into the cool water.
“Aaaaahh,” he sighed dramatically. “That’s it. This is heaven.”
He kicked his feet a little, sending ripples across the surface. The moonlight wobbled with each movement, and small fish darted away into deeper shadows.
He turned, grinning up at Lan Wangji, who still stood a few steps back, straight as a blade, hands folded neatly in front of him. His white robes practically glowed under the moon.
Wei Wuxian patted the ground next to him. “Come on, Lan Zhan! It’s so nice! You won’t know until you try.”
Lan Wangji blinked once, unmoving.
Wei Wuxian tilted his head, feigning offense. “What, afraid of the water?”
Still no response.
“Ohhh,” Wei Wuxian said, lips curling into a mischievous smile. “I get it. It’s the white robes, isn’t it? You don’t want them to get dirty. Heaven forbid Lan Wangji, Second Jade of Lan, gets a little lotus mud on his hems.”
Lan Wangji’s gaze flickered.
With exaggerated exasperation, Wei Wuxian stood up halfway, shrugged off his outer robe, and spread it neatly on the ground beside him.
“There. A perfect, Lan-approved seat,” he declared, patting the robe with enthusiasm. “You won’t even have to touch the dirt. Isn’t that thoughtful of me?”
Still, Lan Wangji didn’t move.
Wei Wuxian leaned forward, voice dropping into a wheedling lilt. “You know… I brought you here to see the lake. I wanted to share this with you. It’s special to me, Lan Zhan.”
He turned his face, letting his eyes grow soft, lashes dipping. “You won’t sit with me?”
He gave a sniff for good measure, lower lip jutting out just slightly. “How heartless.”
Lan Wangji stared.
And sighed.
The sound was soft, barely audible, but Wei Wuxian beamed in triumph.
Carefully, with utmost precision, Lan Wangji lowered himself onto the robe Wei Wuxian had spread, tucking his legs neatly to one side. His posture remained perfectly upright, like he’d been placed there by a sculptor. He made no move to touch the water.
Wei Wuxian side-eyed him, grinning. “That’s a start.”
Lan Wangji gave him a look—bored, unimpressed, but not truly annoyed. There was a flicker of indulgence in his expression, a faint softening at the corners of his eyes that only Wei Wuxian would ever dare interpret as fondness.
“Your legs won’t melt, you know,” Wei Wuxian teased. “You can dip them in. I swear the water won’t bite. Might even thank you for gracing it with your presence.”
Lan Wangji didn’t reply.
Wei Wuxian leaned back on his elbows, sighing dramatically again. “Fine, fine. You just sit there like a lofty celestial, too good for mortal joys. I’ll enjoy it all for the both of us.”
He let his toes swirl through the water, flicking tiny splashes toward the reeds. The night hummed with cicadas. Crickets chirped a lazy melody. For a long moment, the two of them sat in companionable silence, broken only by the sounds of night and the rhythmic ripple of water.
Wei Wuxian turned his head, eyes softening. “You know,” he said quietly, “when I was little, I used to come here a lot. When I couldn’t sleep, or when things were… hard. The lake made it better.”
Lan Wangji turned to look at him.
Wei Wuxian smiled, this time smaller, real. “I’m glad you’re here.”
Lan Wangji did not smile, but he nodded, the motion slow and steady. “En.”
The silence that followed was deeper.
Softer.
“Do you… ever miss your home?” Wei Wuxian asked, voice tentative.
Lan Wangji glanced up at the moon. “Sometimes.”
Wei Wuxian looked away. “You can go back, you know. You’re not… bound to stay here.”
“I am not leaving,” Lan Wangji said simply.
Wei Wuxian blinked, heart stuttering.
“Oh.”
He dipped his legs deeper into the water to hide the warmth flooding his face.
Beside him, Lan Wangji sat still, composed, like a figure from a dream. Yet in that stillness, there was something alive. Present.
Wei Wuxian laughed softly, breaking the moment before it grew too much. “You’re really not going to put your feet in?”
Lan Wangji turned to him with a faint exhale. “Robes will get wet.”
Wei Wuxian’s grin returned. “Aha! So you do have a weakness.”
“It is not weakness to dislike discomfort.”
Wei Wuxian laughed again. “Spoken like a true Lan.”
They stayed there for a long time—one with legs in the water, one pristinely dry, both wrapped in moonlight and quiet companionship.
And in that shared silence, something settled between them. Not spoken. Not touched. But understood.
The lake had always soothed Wei Wuxian.
Now, so did Lan Wangji.
And that terrified him more than anything else in the world.
Wei Wuxian's eyes drifted to the man beside him again, soft and unreadable. His heart twisted, uncertain. The words came out before he could stop them.
"Lan Zhan... do you believe in love?"
Lan Wangji turned to him slowly, golden eyes calm but unreadable.
Wei Wuxian chuckled, a little embarrassed. "I mean, not the kind people throw around casually, but real love. Deep, consuming love. The kind where... where one person's existence starts to matter more than your own."
Lan Wangji said nothing. His silence wasn't cold; it was contemplative.
Wei Wuxian looked down at the rippling lake water, his smile faltering just a little.
"Does it make sense to you?" he continued, voice quieter. "That someone could become so attached to another person that their whole life starts orbiting around them? That just their presence... can soothe even the most bruised part of you? That the thought of losing them makes it hard to breathe?"
His voice cracked, almost imperceptibly. The lake shimmered.
Wei Wuxian forced a grin, laughing it off. "Isn't that person the biggest fool, Lan Zhan? A hopeless, pathetic fool?"
Still, Lan Wangji did not speak.
But he was looking at Wei Wuxian with an intensity that spoke volumes.
And Wei Wuxian, without daring to look up, could feel that gaze on his face, his chest, like a brand.
"No," Lan Wangji said, his voice soft but firm. " Not a fool."
Wei Wuxian blinked.
Lan Wangji turned his gaze back to the lake. "To love someone like that... is not foolishness. It is clarity."
Wei Wuxian listened, stunned into silence.
Lan Wangji continued, each word gentle and reverent, as if he were describing something sacred. " If breathing becomes difficult in their absence, it is only because they taught you how to breathe in the first place. If their presence brings healing, then perhaps they were the medicine the world could never offer."
Wei Wuxian’s throat tightened. He could barely breathe.
Lan Wangji's voice grew quieter. "Even if they are far away... even if they may never return that feeling... It teaches you to feel beyond yourself. To remember. It is the most honest thing one can do."
Wei Wuxian turned to look at him, heart thundering. The question slipped out before he could stop it.
"Lan Zhan... have you ever been in love?"
Lan Wangji looked at him then. Directly. His expression unreadable, his gaze deep and unwavering. And if one looked hard enough, if one knew what to search for, there was something vulnerable shimmering there.
Something unbearably raw.
Wei Wuxian opened his mouth to say more—
—and suddenly winced.
A burning sensation spread across his chest, sharp and immediate. He looked down, startled, and saw that the front of his robe was glowing faintly, a pulse of golden light radiating outward.
Alarmed, he reached inside.
His fingers brushed warm paper.
He pulled it free.
It was the talisman he’d created months ago—an alarm, meant to detect danger.
And it was blazing.
Wei Wuxian shot to his feet, heart pounding. "Something's wrong."
Lan Wangji was already rising, eyes narrowing.
The peace of the lake shattered.
And the night held its breath.
__________________
Chapter 15
Notes:
Hello, wonderful readers! I couldn't bring myself to make you wait until Sunday. So, here's Chapter 15 today!
This isn't a one-off. I'm happily reinstating the twice-weekly schedule. The next chapter (16) will be up this Sunday, and we'll continue with regular updates on Wednesdays and Sundays.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
The talisman blazed in Wei Wuxian's hand, crackling with golden energy that arced like small bolts of lightning. It cast a strange glow across his face, highlighting the sharp set of his jaw and the fierce glint in his eyes. Lan Wangji watched silently from a step behind, his gaze steady, calm, but alert.
Wei Wuxian didn’t speak. He turned on his heel, his expression tightening with renewed focus.
"Come on," he said sharply, his voice low but charged. There was no space for protest in his tone, only urgency.
Without another word, he began striding down the narrow path that led deeper into Lotus Pier. His steps were fast, purposeful, and unlike his usual easygoing gait, there was a tension in his shoulders that made Lan Wangji’s brow crease slightly.
Lan Wangji followed without hesitation.
They passed through the familiar stone walkways of the pier, but in the late hour, the world felt changed. The moon hung low and pale in the sky, casting long shadows across the flagstones. Scattered torchlight flickered dimly in the distance, but even that seemed to retreat before the heavy, pressing stillness in the air. Somewhere far behind them, the crickets had stopped their chorus.
Wei Wuxian led the way in silence, winding past gardens and courtyards, skirting the usual paths until they reached a section of the estate that had long fallen out of use.
Lan Wangji recognized it vaguely from previous visits—a cluster of older structures, half-concealed by overgrowth and shadow. He hadn’t given it much thought then. Now, the way Wei Wuxian moved with familiarity through the gloom made it clear this wasn’t some forgotten corner—it was deliberately hidden.
They stopped before a modest structure nestled against the slope of a hill. It was so plain, so unremarkable, that one could pass by it a hundred times without sparing it a glance. A weather-worn door stood slightly ajar, creaking faintly in the breeze. Wei Wuxian pushed it open without hesitation and stepped inside.
The door groaned shut behind them, swallowing the moonlight. Inside, the room was sparsely furnished—just a single rug and an old wooden table pushed into a corner. Dust swirled in the dim light of the talisman still clutched in Wei Wuxian’s hand.
He crossed to the far wall, knelt, and pressed his palm flat against the wood. For a moment, nothing happened.
Then, with a soft hum, a shimmer of light pulsed outward from his hand.
Lan Wangji watched closely as the wall responded. There was a click, faint but unmistakable. A hidden panel shifted and swung inward.
Behind it, a stone corridor stretched forward, its walls carved with subtle sigils, the path lined with torches that flared to life as they entered, casting an eerie blue glow.
The air turned colder. The hum of energy in the corridor was low but constant, the weight of centuries-old spiritual work saturating every stone.
“This place is well-hidden,” Lan Wangji said softly, his voice barely above a whisper.
Wei Wuxian nodded but didn’t respond immediately. He walked ahead, talisman still glowing faintly in his grip. Every few steps, he would glance at the walls, checking the wards and runes carved deep into the stone.
At last, he said, “Someone tried to enter this area.”
Lan Wangji’s eyes narrowed slightly. “What is inside?”
Wei Wuxian’s steps didn’t falter, but his voice took on a heavy, measured cadence.
“After the war, I sealed the Stygian Tiger Amulet down here. Away from anyone who might seek it. Even me. This ward shouldn’t trigger unless someone tried to force it open. Just now, someone did.”
The words hung in the air, thick with implication. The Stygian Tiger Amulet—one of the most powerful and dangerous artifacts to ever exist. A creation born of death and war, its energy unstable and alluring to anyone who sought power without discipline.
Lan Wangji’s jaw tightened.
They moved deeper into the corridor, which twisted subtly as if trying to obscure its own path. The torches cast long, flickering shadows that danced along the walls. The closer they came to the heart of the chamber, the heavier the air felt—thick with warding spells and residual magic.
At the corridor’s end stood a massive stone door. It loomed over them, easily twice the height of a man, its surface etched with layers of runes, talismans, and protective seals that pulsed faintly with light. It was a beautiful piece of spiritual craftsmanship—deadly and impenetrable, designed to hold back even the most determined intruders.
Wei Wuxian slowed as they approached, his eyes scanning the intricate carvings. And then he stopped cold.
“Blood,” he muttered.
Lan Wangji stepped up beside him.
There, smeared across one of the runes near the frame, was a streak of dark red. The blood was dry—maybe a few hours old, glistening faintly in the glow of the blue flames.
Wei Wuxian held the talisman up. The moment it came near the blood, the energy in it flared, reacting violently. Lightning-like arcs sparked from its edges.
"Someone tried to break in. The barrier repelled them. They were injured, but they escaped."
Lan Wangji studied the smear carefully. “A cultivator?”
Wei Wuxian didn’t answer right away. He reached into his sleeve and pulled out a thin slip of paper. He pressed it against the bloodstain, murmuring an incantation under his breath. The paper glowed briefly before turning a faint green—confirmation of spiritual energy.
“Yes,” he said grimly. “A cultivator.”
Lan Wangji’s gaze deepened. “Who?”
Wei Wuxian shook his head. “I’ll find out soon enough. Still... to even attempt this… they’d have to know exactly where to look.”
He turned away from the door, his expression clouded.The talisman should have reacted as soon as someone entered but it has reacted now after some hours had passed. Someone strong enough to tamper with the talisman mechanism .
Wei Wuxian thoughts churned. The Amulet was supposed to be buried, forgotten. Very few even knew of its final resting place—only those closest to Wei Wuxian, and a few trusted elders. The breach suggested not just recklessness, but deliberate knowledge. It suggested betrayal.
Wei Wuxian stepped forward and extended both hands, drawing complex sigils into the air. Each stroke of his fingers left behind glowing trails: the shapes twisted and looped in mid‑air, a silent mantra of power wrought into light. The glowing marks spiraled outward, forming an intricate, rotating array of symbols that hovered before the ancient stone door. They spun like celestial bodies caught in a slow, deliberate orbit. Wei Wuxian’s focus was absolute, his brow furrowed, every breath measured and intentional.
Lan Wangji watched from a short distance—his posture erect, hands folded respectfully before him. He could almost feel the hum of spiritual energy shifting the very air around them. The torches lining the hidden chamber’s corridor flickered and flared, as though startled by the power Wei Wuxian wielded. The deep blue flame felt alive, mirroring the drawing of those sigils—each runic line amplifying the wardwork that held the door shut for all these months.
The seals on the door—carved into stone and bind‑sealed with layers of refined resentful energy—responded. The protective wards pulsed once, rhythmically, as if in recognition, and then faded with a low, sonorous hum. The door that had remained sealed for months groaned and shifted, a crack appearing along its surface like an eyelid flickering open. A fine line glowed with rune‑fire for a moment, then vanished. The stone panel creaked and parted, as the seals loosened.
A breath of cold whose weight could be felt flowed out. The air smelled of dust and… anticipation. It was thick, heavy, like walking into a crypt. Flames dimmed instinctively, repelled by the chill. Wei Wuxian, chest rising with that breath, did not immediately step forward. Instead, he turned to Lan Wangji, and in that flash of torchlight, the playful glint that usually danced in his eyes was gone. He looked unreadable—guarded, cautious, distant.
“Wait here,” he said quietly, low enough that only Lan Wangji could hear. The air between them carried the weight of fate.
Lan Wangji stiffened, mind and body honed to detect any shift. He met Wei Wuxian’s eyes. “Why?”
The question was not a challenge—just… concern. An honest, open question from the man who trusted him most.
Wei Wuxian’s gaze dropped to the floor for the barest moment, as if weighing his words. He looked back up, darkness flickering behind his shadowed expression. “The Stygian Tiger Amulet is… dangerous,” he said softly. His voice was clipped but careful. “The resentful energy inside is intense. It could hurt you. Even someone as strong as you… shouldn’t go near it.”
Lan Wangji’s brow creased. “And you?”
Wei Wuxian let out a low, wry laugh—an almost sad half‑smile touching his lips. “I made it.” He extended his hands, and the air around them shimmered with embers of light—reflections of the amulet’s own power. “It recognizes me. It won’t hurt me.”
Lan Wangji, still as unmoving stone, softened only at the corners of his eyes. “Let me come with you.”
Wei Wuxian turned back to the opening door, deliberately locking eyes with Lan Wangji. “I said I’ll be fine.”
But Lan Wangji took a step forward—small, silent movement, but in that cramped chamber, the echo of loyalty was deafening. His eyes searched Wei Wuxian’s. “Please,” he said, voice hushed but steady. “Let me help you.”
They stood there—a heartbeat suspended in time. Wei Wuxian said nothing, and Lan Wangji did not step back.
A breeze from the open door rustled the brush of their hair and warmed Wei Wuxian’s cloak against his skin. He closed his eyes briefly, inhaled that cold, expectant air.
Then, with a tenderness he rarely let shine, he reached out… placing his fingers gently on Lan Wangji’s hand—the one resting against his sleeve.
“Lan Zhan,” he murmured. “I promise. You’ll find me intact. Just… like before.”
The silence that followed hummed with meaning. Neither of them spoke. Neither moved. It was the promise of brotherhood, of love that asked for nothing but offered everything.
And then Wei Wuxian-withdraw—just barely—taking a breath, meeting Lan Wangji’s eyes. There was steel behind that gaze, yes—but it was tempered by affection, by history, by the understanding that trusting one another had brought them this far—and would carry them forward.
Then Wei Wuxian turned his back to Lan Wangji. He stepped forward, into the cold breath of the chamber. Each step was deliberate, measured, as if memorizing the weight of the stone beneath his feet. He disappeared through the open door. The sound of the stone crashing closed echoed like a gong in the silent corridor.
Lan Wangji stood there motionless. His chest was tight. Not just fear exactly, but… a drumbeat of concern. His hands unclenched—then clenched again. His breath was shallow, but he forced it deeper. A man who lived by discipline, now caught off guard by vulnerable worry.
He said nothing aloud. But his heart roared—an echo of everything that could go wrong, and a vow against it. His shoulders straightened, his chin lifted.
Lan Wangji waited.
__________________________________
The night had settled thick over Lotus Pier, cloaking the world in a velvet darkness broken only by the flickering lanterns that lined the walkways. Silence reigned, serene and almost sacred—except for one lone figure standing by the corridor, unmoving.
Lan Wangji stood beneath the covered walkway. His posture was as rigid as ever, but his eyes—those gold-flecked eyes—remained trained on the door across the corridor, waiting, unwavering.
It creaked open at last.
Wei Wuxian stepped out, bathed in the soft glow of the lanterns behind him. His robes were rumpled, a little disheveled, and his hair had come loose in strands that framed his pale face. Yet he smiled—tired, a little crooked, but warm.
His eyes found Lan Wangji immediately, and the smile softened. "Lan Zhan," he called, his voice low and gentle, tinged with affection and fatigue.
Lan Wangji turned, his gaze sharpening. Though he said nothing, the stiffness in his shoulders eased as he watched Wei Wuxian take a step forward.
Then another.
But on the third step, Wei Wuxian paused.
A sudden pulse of pain surged behind his eyes, making him stumble slightly. He swayed, trying to blink the sensation away, when something warm dripped from his nose.
Blood.
A single drop fell, dark against the wooden floor.
Lan Wangji’s expression shifted, alarm flashing across his otherwise stoic face. "Wei Ying."
Wei Wuxian gave a short, breathless laugh and took one more step. But his legs buckled.
Lan Wangji was there before he could fall, arms around him, holding him upright.
Wei Wuxian let his head rest on Lan Wangji’s shoulder with a sigh. "Lan Zhan," he murmured, his voice faint, "take me to our room."
He leaned into him with the complete trust of someone surrendering all strength.
Lan Wangji’s arms tightened around him protectively. He shifted Wei Wuxian’s arm over his own shoulder and slid his arm around his waist, steadying him. Beneath the layers of robes, he could feel the tremors running through his body, the unnatural chill of his skin.
There was blood at his collar. Fear bit into Lan Wangji’s chest.
Without wasting a word, he guided Wei Wuxian down the walkway, footsteps light but quick. They passed under hanging lanterns, their shadows stretching long on the polished wooden floor. Every creak of the boards beneath them made Lan Wangji move faster.
They reached the private wing of their residence—quiet, sacred, familiar. Lan Wangji pushed open the door and led him inside. The room was bathed in the soft glow of a single oil lamp. The guqin rested by the wall, undisturbed. The bedding was turned down, untouched.
Lan Wangji helped Wei Wuxian sit on the bed, supporting his back against the wall. Wei Wuxian let out a soft sound, almost a groan, but his eyes found Lan Wangji’s, and he tried to smile.
"See? Not too bad," he murmured. "I still came back in one piece."
Lan Wangji knelt beside him and reached out, brushing a few strands of damp hair from Wei Wuxian’s forehead. His hand lingered on his cheek, the coolness of his skin unnerving.
"What happened?" Lan Wangji asked, voice low and taut.
Wei Wuxian shook his head slowly. "Just tired," he said, the smile never quite reaching his eyes. "Overdid it. It’s been a while since I used that much energy all at once."
He laughed weakly—only to be overtaken by a brief, harsh cough.
Lan Wangji’s brows drew together. His eyes searched Wei Wuxian’s face, the pale color of his lips, the faint sheen of sweat across his temple.
Wei Wuxian noticed. He reached out and took Lan Wangji’s hand, holding it lightly.
"Look, I’m fine," he said. "See? I came back intact."
Lan Wangji didn’t reply. But his fingers closed gently around Wei Wuxian’s.
The silence between them was thick with unspoken fear.
Then Wei Wuxian tilted his head and, with a faint grin, asked, "Won’t you play for me, Lan Zhan?"
Lan Wangji blinked.
"I want to hear Cleansing. You always play it when I’m sick. It helps."
There was no resisting a request like that.
Lan Wangji stood and crossed the room to the guqin. He returned moments later with it and sat on the cushion beside the bed, resting the instrument on his knees. He positioned his fingers with practiced grace, his face serene though his heart was not.
Wei Wuxian watched him from the bed, eyes growing heavier. Then, quietly, he shifted, dragging himself slowly toward Lan Wangji.
Lan Wangji paused, startled, as Wei Wuxian nestled down beside him and gently laid his head in Lan Wangji’s lap.
"Ahh," Wei Wuxian whispered, "this is better."
Lan Wangji said nothing. He began to play.
The first note of Cleansing echoed in the quiet room, pure and resonant. Each pluck of the strings wove a melody that shimmered like moonlight on water—soothing, sorrowful, and filled with unspoken longing.
Wei Wuxian sighed softly, cheek against Lan Wangji’s thigh, his fingers curling into the folds of his robe. His breathing began to slow.
Lan Wangji continued to play.
Outside, the night deepened. The breeze rustled through lotus leaves and distant waves lapped gently against the piers. But inside this room, time seemed to still. There was only the music, the warmth of two bodies pressed close, and the unrelenting tenderness in every movement.
As the final note faded, Lan Wangji set his hands in his lap. He looked down at Wei Wuxian, whose eyes were closed and had fallen asleep.
With infinite gentleness, Lan Wangji lifted his hand and stroked his hair.
Wei Wuxian murmured something too soft to make out, his fingers brushing Lan Wangji’s robe in a feeble gesture of comfort.
Lan Wangji leaned down and pressed a kiss to the top of his head.
___________________________________
The morning sun spilled lazily across the gardens of Lotus Pier, casting long slants of golden light that filtered through the leaves. The gentle rustle of the lotus trees in the breeze mixed with the distant hum of cicadas, a sound so constant and lazy that it nearly blended into silence.
Wei Wuxian leaned against the bark of a tall willow tree, the trunk rough and familiar against his back, as he stared across the garden. Just ahead, seated beneath the shade of a flowering magnolia, Lan Wangji was meditating. His posture was perfect, as always: spine straight, hands resting lightly atop his knees, eyes closed, face tilted ever so slightly upward toward the sun.
He looked ethereal.
Wei Wuxian’s gaze lingered, drawn in despite himself. He let his eyes trace every familiar line—the arch of Lan Wangji’s brows, the softness of his lashes resting against pale skin, the way his hair caught the sunlight in threads of midnight silk. But more than that, it was the way he sat in stillness. Not stiff, not distant. Just... calm. Present.
A small, almost helpless smile curled at the corners of Wei Wuxian’s mouth.
"How can anyone not fall in love with him?" he murmured under his breath, the words escaping before he could stop them. His voice was barely more than the rustle of leaves, but it rang with the quiet awe of truth.
It wasn’t just Lan Wangji’s beauty—though that was undeniably striking. It was everything else. The way he stood firm in what he believed, even when it hurt. The way he cared so deeply and yet spoke so little of it. The way he protected others not for praise, but because he could not not protect them. His goodness was not loud. It wasn't showy. It was simply there, constant and strong, like the river’s current beneath still water.
"Maybe I’ve been in love with him since the very beginning," Wei Wuxian said with a soft, rueful chuckle. His arms folded loosely over his chest, eyes distant with memory. "Since the first time I saw him in those ridiculous white robes, glaring at me like I’d just kicked a rabbit. Gods, he looked so serious. So determined to make me behave."
He grinned, warmth spreading across his chest at the recollection.
"Chasing after me during lectures... trying so hard to catch me breaking the rules. It was so much fun to rile him up. His ears would go all pink. Every time. I thought it was just a game back then. Just teasing. But now..."
His voice trailed off. He watched Lan Wangji’s chest rise and fall in steady rhythm. The sight filled him with a quiet kind of peace.
"Now I know," he whispered. "It wasn’t a game at all."
Wei Wuxian shifted against the tree, his grin tugging at one corner of his mouth.
Of course, what really amazed him wasn’t just how perfect Lan Zhan looked sitting there. It was that he didn’t care—at all—about things everyone else in the cultivation world thought were so important. His golden core? Gone. His sword? Collecting dust. His so-called reputation? Trampled into the mud a hundred times over.
And yet Lan Zhan had never so much as blinked.
Wei Wuxian chuckled under his breath. “Other people look at me and see a disaster waiting to happen. Lan Zhan looks at me and thinks, mn, yes, this one—let’s hold onto him tighter.”
He shook his head, remembering the night when he could barely stand, when the resentment gnawed at him until his hands trembled. Lan Zhan had held him then, steady as a mountain. No frown, no lecture, no ‘Wei Ying, behave.’ Just those quiet arms and that ridiculously calm expression, like hugging a half-unconscious demonic cultivator was the most natural thing in the world.
Wei Wuxian huffed a laugh. “Honestly, he’s too much. Who does that? Who decides they want me when I can’t even draw a sword anymore? He should have run for the hills.”
His smile softened, eyes lingering on the figure beneath the magnolia.
“But he didn’t.”
He stood there for a moment longer, memorizing the moment as if committing it to memory—a snapshot of golden light, fluttering petals, and one man sitting in perfect stillness.
__________________________________
The day had turned warm and sun-drenched by the time Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji reached the Wen settlement nestled on the gentle slope just beyond the mountains of Yunmeng.
Lan Wangji sat beneath a tree, its broad canopy spilling shade in dappled patterns across his white robes.
Just a few feet away, Wei Wuxian was up to no good.
“Hold still, A-Yuan!” he declared with great drama, as he crouched beside the small child buried waist-deep in the soil of the garden patch.
A-Yuan giggled uncontrollably, his little arms flailing in the air as he tried to twist away. "Nooo! I'm not a plant! A-die, help! "
Wei Wuxian was grinning ear to ear, clearly delighted by his mischief. He patted down the dirt gently around the boy’s legs. "Nonsense! You said you wanted to grow up big and strong, didn’t you? This is how it works! We plant you, water you, and poof—you bloom into a full-sized cultivator!"
Lan Wangji, without opening his eyes, responded with a faint, "Mn."
That only encouraged Wei Wuxian further.
"There, there," he said with mock seriousness, pressing down a little more soil. "I’ll even fertilize you with—well, we’ll figure that out later. But first, sunshine! Plenty of sunshine for our little sprout!"
A-Yuan dissolved into squeals. “ Ning gege! Help! A-niang is burying me!"
Wen Ning, hovering nervously a few steps away, looked unsure whether to intervene or not. "Wei-gongzi," he said hesitantly, "maybe you should stop. If... if Ajie sees this..."
Wei Wuxian waved him off grandly. "Oh please, as if I’m afraid of her. Let her come! This is educational! Gardening! Cultivation! It’s all about growth—"
He froze.
The shift was instant and unmistakable. Every hair on his neck stood up. The temperature dropped several degrees—or maybe that was just the sheer weight of the aura that had descended behind him.
He turned slowly, smile already in place, trying not to let the sudden nerves show.
"Ah...Wen Qing!" Wei Wuxian greeted, as Wen Qing stood with arms crossed, her expression thunderous. "Come look at how well I’m helping A-Yuan grow! See how responsibly I’m nurturing his development?"
Wen Qing didn’t say a word.
Her gaze flicked to the half-buried child, to the patch of dirt, and then finally to Lan Wangji—who looked calmly back, unmoved and unbothered.
She turned her sharp eyes on Lan Wangji. "You. You’re just going to sit there and let him do this?"
Wei Wuxian interjected, rising to his feet and brushing his hands off. "Now, now, Wen Qing, no need to pull Lan Zhan into this. He’s meditating! He’s being a good influence. Very stabilizing."
Wen Qing’s stare could have carved stone.
Wen Ning, bless him, tried to soothe her. "Jie-jie, I don’t think A-Yuan minds—"
"That’s not the point," Wen Qing snapped. She pointed at Wei Wuxian. "If it’s so easy, then you can be the one to clean him up and bathe him tonight."
Wei Wuxian balked. "What? Oh come on, Wen Qing, don’t joke like that—it’s women’s work!"
The silence that followed was lethal.
Wen Qing’s expression twisted into something unholy.
Wen Ning took a quiet, instinctive step back.
Wei Wuxian raised his hands in surrender, grinning sheepishly. "Fine, fine! I’ll do it! No need for murder. It’s child’s play, after all."
Wen Qing snorted. "Good. And A- Ning, you’re not to help him. Understand?"
Wen Ning looked torn but nodded under his sister’s glare.
With that, she spun on her heel and stalked off, muttering under her breath about grown men and their shared brain cells.
Wei Wuxian turned to Wen Ning with wide eyes. Wen Ning offered a helpless smile.
"You abandoned me!" Wei Wuxian accused.
"I like living," Wen Ning replied with a shrug.
Wei Wuxian turned dramatically toward Lan Wangji and collapsed onto the grass beside him, face twisted in theatrical despair. "You saw that, didn’t you? I’m being punished for being an excellent teacher! They’re making me bathe a mud monster!"
From the dirt, A-Yuan yelled, "I’m not a monster!"
Wei Wuxian groaned. "See? Already rebelling."
Lan Wangji glanced sideways at him. "I will do it."
Wei Wuxian blinked. "What?"
"I will bathe him."
The words had barely left Lan Wangji’s mouth when A-Yuan was suddenly, inexplicably, no longer in the ground but in Lan Wangji’s arms—muddy, giggling, and squirming with delight.
Wei Wuxian dusted his hands smugly. "There! All yours."
Lan Wangji stared down at the giggling child now gripping onto the front of his robes with sticky fingers. Then up at Wei Wuxian, who looked entirely too pleased with himself.
The second-born Lan blinked once. Then again.
"Shameless," he said quietly.
Wei Wuxian beamed. "That’s me."
And somewhere behind them, Wen Ning had to hid his smile .
___________________________________
The golden haze of afternoon had ripened into a mellow warmth by the time Wei Wuxian made his way toward the bathing quarters at the back of the Wen settlement. The path was quiet, the air laced with the lazy scent of summer—lotus leaves warmed by the sun, still pond water gently stirred by dragonflies, and the faint trace of steam from the stone vents Wen Qing had painstakingly constructed last autumn.
It had been a good day.
He could still feel the lingering warmth of A-Yuan’s laughter ringing in his ears, still feel the ghost of soft grass pressed against his back where they’d tumbled down a hill in childish play. His robes were proof of it—rumpled, streaked with green stains at the knees and arms, his sleeves dappled with dry mud. But he didn’t care. He wore the evidence like a badge of honor, a mark of joy. The kind he hadn’t felt in a long time—not like this. Not freely. Not without the sharp edge of guilt.
There was a bounce in his step as he turned the corner around the moss-lined path. A crooked smile tugged at the corners of his lips, refusing to be tamed.
The bathhouse came into view: a modest structure of wood and stone nestled at the base of the hill, shaded by old trees and overgrown vines. It had once been a storage hut, but Wen Qing had transformed it with her clever hands. Now, a small system of fire-heated tanks and channels kept the water comfortably warm, even in the dead of night, and a steam vent near the back wall ensured the air stayed cozy. It wasn’t luxurious by any means, but it was home.
The door was ajar. From within came the gentle, rhythmic sound of water sloshing and the low hum of a voice—deep, quiet, familiar.
Wei Wuxian paused with his hand on the frame. “Lan Zhan?” he called out lightly, leaning his head in. “Are you finished bathing A-Yuan?”
He never finished the sentence.
The words caught in his throat like a fishhook, sharp and sudden, and for a moment, he simply stood there—his body half-cast in sunlight, one hand still resting on the wooden door as if afraid that moving would shatter the delicate image before him.
Inside, bathed in the golden hush of late afternoon light, Lan Wangji knelt beside the wide wooden tub. His sleeves were neatly rolled to the elbow, exposing long, pale forearms. A pale linen apron was tied around his waist—likely borrowed from the kitchens—shielding his pristine robes from the inevitable chaos of bath time. Even so, a few droplets of water clung to his cheek and neck, glinting in the slanting sunlight like pearls.
He was murmuring something too low to hear, voice barely above the sound of water and bubbles. His hands moved with precise gentleness, fingertips brushing through wet hair with the kind of care Wei Wuxian had only ever seen him use with a guqin.
A-Yuan sat happily in the tub, half-submerged in frothy soap bubbles that clung to his cheeks and hair like little white clouds. He was babbling nonsense—something about a fish he’d seen in the pond and how it had blinked at him—and moving far too much for a bath. He kicked his legs, sending ripples across the surface, and twisted to scoop up the floating suds with both hands. Water splashed over the sides, but Lan Wangji didn’t flinch.
“Sit still,” he said, voice calm and even. “You’ll slip.”
A-Yuan pouted dramatically, but obediently stilled for a moment. Lan Wangji lifted a ladle of warm water from a nearby bucket and gently poured it over the boy’s head, rinsing soap from his dark hair. He guided the water with his free hand, shielding A-Yuan’s eyes from the suds. Each motion was measured. Each touch reverent.
Wei Wuxian’s heart thudded hard against his ribs, a sudden ache blooming behind his sternum.
He imagined—for the briefest of moments—that this was his life. That he could walk into scenes like this every day. That this was his everyday.
That he would always find Lan Wangji like this, sleeves rolled up, hair a little loose, hands wet with warm water and soap. That A-Yuan would always be here, growing, laughing, safe. That there would always be a place for him here, in this bathhouse, in this settlement, in this fragile world they’d built with their bare hands.
He wanted it so badly his throat burned with it.
He shook his head, trying to dislodge the feeling, but it clung to him like humidity—persistent and cloying.
Forcing a smile to his lips, he cleared his throat and stepped inside. “Wow,” he said, drawing out the word with exaggerated surprise. “This is some serious bathing business. Am I intruding on a ritual cleansing, or is this just normal Lan discipline now?”
Lan Wangji did not turn around, but Wei Wuxian didn’t miss the minute softening at the corners of his mouth.
“He would not sit still,” Lan Wangji said simply, reaching for a clean cloth to wipe A-Yuan’s face.
“Clearly,” Wei Wuxian replied, crouching beside the tub. A-Yuan’s eyes lit up instantly.
“A-niang! A-die washed my hair three times!”
Wei Wuxian clutched his chest theatrically. “Three times? Heaven preserve us! That’s not a bath, it’s an exorcism! Have you been initiated into the Lan sect in secret?”
A-Yuan dissolved into giggles, wriggling in the water. “He said I was dirty!”
“Well, you are dirty,” Wei Wuxian sniffed, affecting an air of mock offense. “Rolling around in the grass like a little piglet. And you bit me earlier!”
“You made me dirty!” A-Yuan protested, indignant.
“Oh? Now I am the villian?”
“Yess!”
Lan Wangji reached out again, this time gently dabbing the boy’s face. “You volunteered. You are even at fault.”
Wei Wuxian chuckled. “Always so fair, Lan Zhan. I can’t even win against a toddler with you.”
He leaned closer to the tub, fingertips brushing the surface of the water. “This seems very serious. Isn’t it boring, doing everything so properly?”
Before either of them could answer, he scooped up a handful of soapy water and flung it—gently—right at A-Yuan’s face.
The splash landed with a soft splat, bubbles clinging to the boy’s nose and eyelashes.
There was a moment of silence.
Then A-Yuan shrieked with delight and retaliated with both hands, sending an explosion of sudsy water in all directions. Wei Wuxian threw up his arms with a yell of mock horror, laughing as droplets hit his face and chest.
“A-Yuan!” Lan Wangji said, sharply but not unkindly. He moved to shield the wooden floor from further splashing, reaching for a towel as though that could stop the chaos.
But it was already too late.
Wei Wuxian grinned, dipping both hands into the tub again. “You’ve done it now! You’ve awakened the water demon!”
“Nooo!” A-Yuan squealed, flailing.
Lan Wangji’s sigh was quiet, long-suffering, and strangely fond.
“Control,” he said, more to Wei Wuxian than to the child. “There is still soap in his hair.”
“Control?” Wei Wuxian repeated, eyes gleaming with mischief. “Lan Zhan, there’s a war going on here.”
Lan Wangji didn’t look up at him. He began scooping water over A-Yuan’s back with practiced precision, careful not to let it slosh into the boy’s eyes. But then, slowly, he turned his head.
His expression was unreadable, but his brow lifted by a precise fraction—just enough to make his opinion perfectly clear. This is chaos.
“Behave,” he said, tone calm, quiet, and lightly exasperated in that distinct Lan way.
Wei Wuxian grinned, the challenge dancing in his eyes. “Aw, Lan Zhan,” he said with mock innocence, “don’t be such a spoilsport. It’s bath time, not a cultivation lecture.”
Without warning, and with all the impish precision of a child who’d been given too much sugar, Wei Wuxian flicked a scoop of frothy water directly at Lan Wangji.
The splash hit him across the shoulder and chest, a soft flurry of bubbles exploding against his otherwise pristine robes. A droplet of water slid slowly down his collarbone, catching on the tie of his apron.
He blinked. Once. Slowly.
The silence that followed was immediate and profound. Even A-Yuan froze, wide-eyed, as if sensing the world had momentarily tipped.
Wei Wuxian clasped a hand over his heart. “Now look at him, A-Yuan,” he said solemnly. “Isn’t he adorable when he’s wet? Like a grumpy cat.”
Lan Wangji said nothing at first. His gaze lingered on the splash mark on his chest, then flicked to Wei Wuxian with something that could almost be called a warning.
Then: “Wei Ying.”
“Mn?” Wei Wuxian tilted his head, lips twitching with a barely-restrained smile.
“Stop.”
The word was quiet, but firm. An unmistakable edge behind the composure.
Wei Wuxian feigned scandal. “Stop? Or what?”
The splash came faster than he expected.
Perfectly aimed, efficient, and disarmingly precise, it hit him square in the face—warm, soapy water drenching his forehead, dripping down the bridge of his nose and into his eyes.
“Ah!” he yelped, stumbling back with both hands flying to his face. “Lan Zhan! My eyes! It stings! I’m dying!”
He dropped to one knee beside the tub, fluttering his fingers in exaggerated distress. “Tell Shijie I loved her—tell Qing-jie the new medicine stinks—tell Jiang Cheng he owes me five hundred taels!”
A-Yuan gasped in horror. “A-niang!”
The poor child scrambled in the water, bubbles flying everywhere as he leaned over the edge, reaching toward Wei Wuxian with wet, slippery hands. “A-niang, don’t die!”
Wei Wuxian peeked through his fingers, just enough to see Lan Wangji rising smoothly to his feet and moving toward him with controlled urgency.
“Wei Ying,” he said, softer this time—concern cutting through the warning. He knelt beside him, close enough that Wei Wuxian could feel the heat of his body, the faint scent of sandalwood and lotus soap clinging to his skin. “Be still.”
“I—uh—” Wei Wuxian tensed, startled by how close Lan Wangji had come. That calm presence, always a little too sharp and steady, was suddenly right there—so close he could feel the warm breath brushing against his cheek, smell the mix of sandalwood and bath soap in the air, clean and quiet and grounding.
He still had his hands half-covering his face, but that no longer served as a theatrical gesture—now, they were a flimsy shield for how his heart had lurched unreasonably hard at the sight of Lan Wangji kneeling beside him.
The corner of his mouth twitched. He couldn’t help himself.
Wei Wuxian’s hands fluttered again, wringing dramatically. “Too late, Lan Zhan. You struck me down in the prime of my youth. A-Yuan will have to be raised without his aniang —”
“Enough,” Lan Wangji said, his voice low and rough with something trembling beneath it. His eyes—wide, intense—were filled with emotions Wei Wuxian couldn’t name, deep and sharp like storm-tossed water. Before he could say anything more, Lan Wangji reached out and gently—but unshakably—caught his wrist, halting his theatrics with a touch that sent a shiver straight through him.
And that was the moment everything started to fall apart.
Because Wei Wuxian, ever dramatic, again begun to sway in mock agony when Lan Wangji’s fingers closed around his wrist—clean, warm, steady—and Wei Wuxian’s exaggerated flailing gave one last sudden jolt.
Lan Wangji, balanced on one knee and not expecting resistance, slipped.
It wasn’t a dramatic fall, not even an ungraceful one—but it was sudden. The bathhouse floor, made slick with steam and soap, offered no traction.
There was a quick sound—thud—and Lan Wangji landed squarely on the floor, pressed up against the wooden tub, robes slightly askew, hair slipping over one shoulder in a dark, damp line. His eyes widened fractionally as he exhaled, more from surprise than pain.
Wei Wuxian blinked.
Then he burst into helpless laughter.
“A-Yuan,” he called through his laughter, pointing at Lan Wangji. “Look! Look at your adie! See how dignified he is, how noble! Lying in puddles of his own making, defeated by slippery floor and excessive cleanliness!”
A-Yuan, uncertain whether this was a good thing or a bad thing, blinked owlishly at them both. Then, giggling, he threw a handful of bubbles into the air and declared, “Adie fell down!”
Lan Wangji exhaled once, controlled and slow—clearly summoning every shred of his internal discipline. His gaze, sharp with warning, locked on Wei Wuxian’s—who only grinned wider, if that was possible.
“Don’t worry, Lan Zhan,” Wei Wuxian said benevolently, “I shall help you up, since I’m still alive and miraculously spared.”
He extended a hand toward Lan Wangji with mock solemnity. But the floor—traitorous, treacherous thing—chose that exact moment to remind Wei Wuxian that wet skin, soapy water, and polished wood were not a stable combination.
The world tilted slightly. His balance faltered.
“Oh—!”
One foot slid. Then the other.
Wei Wuxian made a valiant attempt to catch himself on the edge of the tub, fingers scrabbling for purchase—but the slick wood offered no grip.
He pitched forward.
Reflexively, he slammed his hand against the side of the tub to break the fall—succeeding in halting just enough of his momentum that he didn’t crash bodily into Lan Wangji. Instead, he hovered above him, one knee grazing the floor, his palm flattening against the rim of the tub.
And Lan Wangji—still attached with the tub—stared up at him.
They were close. Too close.
Wei Wuxian didn’t move.
Couldn’t, really. His hand, slippery with soap, was already sliding down the slick edge. His elbow bent slowly as his body weight pressed downward.
His face inched closer. The space between them narrowed, breath by breath.
Lan Wangji’s golden eyes were wide, alert, staring straight into his.
Wei Wuxian's heart tripped over itself.
There was no time to make a joke. No space for teasing.
Just the sound of water lapping gently against the tub, the distant gurgle of a drain, the rhythmic pitter of water droplets falling from their soaked robes.
And the warmth of Lan Wangji’s body beneath him.
His hand slipped again.
Their noses bumped.
Wei Wuxian froze.
His breath caught in his throat, and he didn’t dare exhale. The tip of his nose pressed against Lan Wangji’s. His eyes flicked instinctively down—only to be drawn right back up again, because there was nowhere else to look. Nowhere safe.
Lan Wangji’s eyes were wide, the pupils dilated slightly, as if caught between surprise and something heavier, deeper.
The space between them wasn’t even a space anymore. Wei Wuxian could feel the slight hitch in Lan Wangji’s breath, could see the flutter of his lashes, the faintest sheen of water clinging to his lips.
Time slowed. Or stopped.
Wei Wuxian stared. Openly now.
There was no hiding behind laughter or mischief. No distraction from the heat climbing in his chest.
He could feel Lan Wangji’s heartbeat—steady, firm, beneath him. He could feel his own, wild and unruly, thrumming like a drum against his ribs.
His body hovered, poised on the edge of something. Not a fall. Not this time.
A moment.
And Lan Wangji… hadn’t moved.
Not to shove him off, not to sit up. Not even to turn his head.
He just looked at him, breathing carefully through parted lips, eyes unreadable and yet full of something so intense it made Wei Wuxian’s head spin.
For once, he couldn’t speak.
He simply watched—watched as a droplet of water slid down the side of Lan Wangji’s jaw, traced the elegant line of his neck. Watched as Lan Wangji’s lips parted slightly, then closed again, like he, too, was caught in something delicate and uncertain.
He swallowed, throat suddenly dry despite the water all around them.
“Lan Zhan,” he whispered, the name slipping out softer than he meant, reverent.
The golden eyes flickered—like a candle flame drawn toward him.
Their noses brushed again. An accident of breath, of closeness.
Wei Wuxian's balance shifted again, making him dip fractionally closer. Their foreheads touched now, gently, pressing together in a way that felt too intimate, too quiet.
He hadn’t meant for this to happen. Not like this.
And yet… he didn’t want to move.
A giggle broke the spell.
They both startled slightly, blinking in unison as A-Yuan clapped his hands and splashed the surface of the water again. “A-niang fell too! Yay! Adie treated him!”
Wei Wuxian coughed into his hand and pulled away slightly, color rising to his cheeks despite the cool water still dripping from his hair. “Well,” he said, voice deliberately bright. “That was… effective. Thank you, Lan Zhan. Very gentle. Might recommend you to Wen Qing.”
Lan Wangji straightened without a word. But the tips of his ears, betraying him utterly, had turned an unmistakable shade of pink.
Wei Wuxian let himself grin—just a little.
He turned to A-Yuan, ruffling the boy’s hair affectionately. “What do you think, little radish? Are you done attacking your poor, innocent A-niang?”
A-Yuan beamed at him, suds stuck to his cheeks like white paint. “It was fun! Can we throw more water? Pleeeease?”
Wei Wuxian chuckled. “Tempting. But if we soak Lan Zhan’s robes again, I’m afraid he’ll really launch into Lan discipline mode, and then we’ll be scrubbing floors until spring.”
A-Yuan gasped. “Nooo!”
“Exactly,” Wei Wuxian said, leaning in conspiratorially. “So let’s behave before Wen Qing walks in and decides to use me for her next experimental poultice.”
Lan Wangji resumed rinsing A-Yuan’s hair, but his movements had changed. Not slower, exactly—but softer. The silence in the room felt different now. Not tense, not awkward.
Just charged.
Alive with something unspoken.
Wei Wuxian stayed where he was, settling back against the tub’s edge, his sleeves dripping water, his heart still thudding in his chest.
He didn’t speak. For once, he didn’t feel the need to.
He simply watched Lan wangji helping Wen yuan to clean himself.
This was who Lan wangji was when he thought no one was looking. When he wasn’t being a Hanguang-jun, but just a man. A man with a careful heart and a steady hand. A man who knew how to hold small, fragile things with reverence.
Wei Wuxian’s eyes softened. A warmth curled low in his belly. He didn’t try to hide it.
A-Yuan leaned back in the tub and sighed. “I’m clean now,” he announced. “Can I be done?”
Lan Wangji nodded once. “Yes.”
Watching the two of them together—quiet, trusting, whole—was almost too much.
He didn’t know what struck him more—the sight of Lan Wangji in this unguarded, domestic moment, or the overwhelming longing that surged up in its wake. It was the kind of yearning that rose sharp and unbidden, catching him off guard with its intensity.
Was this what a family looked like? Was this what home could feel like?
Notes:
Coming up: An intruder. A letter. A riddle about chains and curses. Wei Wuxian will have to decide—ignore it, or chase the truth that could destroy them both.
Chapter Text
Moonlight bathed the Jiang family garden in a soft silver glow, casting long shadows through the swaying willows. The night was still, save for the gentle chirping of crickets and the occasional rustle of wind in the trees.
Wei Wuxian lay stretched on a thick blanket spread out beneath the tree, lazily lounging like a cat that had just been fed. The scent of dinner still lingered in the air, rich and savory—Jiang Yanli's signature lotus root and pork bone soup. Porcelain bowls, recently emptied, lay to the side, though one still held a decent helping.
Jiang Cheng, as ever, guarded that last bowl like a soldier protecting a sacred relic.
"One more ladle," he declared firmly, pulling the bowl closer as if Wei Wuxian might try to snatch it in the dark. "I work harder than both of us everyday. I deserve it."
Wei Wuxian sat up with a dramatic scoff, brushing a loose leaf from his sleeve. "What a tyrant! Shijie, did you hear that? Hoarding the last of your heavenly soup like a common bandit. What kind of shidi does that?"
Jiang Yanli, seated elegantly beside a small lantern with her robes tucked neatly beneath her knees, smiled patiently. "A-Cheng, A-Xian, you do this every time. There was more than enough."
"Not when he eats like a starving beast!" Wei Wuxian protested, lunging for the bowl. Jiang Cheng blocked him without even glancing.
"I was here first. And I'm younger."
"By a few weeks!" Wei Wuxian wrestled playfully, reaching again. Jiang Cheng twisted and cradled the bowl protectively.
"Still counts. Younger means more soup."
"Where is that written? Who made that law?"
"I did."
"Then I make a new law: older siblings who bring light and joy to the household get double helpings."
"You bring chaos," Jiang Cheng muttered, taking a victorious sip.
Jiang Yanli sighed, but the fondness in her eyes softened her tone. "Honestly. Grown men."
With a huff, Wei Wuxian sat up straight, brushing invisible dust off his robes. "Fine. Let him have it. The great Wei Wuxian yields."
Jiang Cheng narrowed his eyes suspiciously. "You're giving up? Just like that?"
But Wei Wuxian only smiled and turned. With graceful theatrics, he strolled over to Jiang Yanli and dropped to the ground beside her, resting his chin on her knees like a lazy fox seeking warmth.
"Shijie~" he sang, eyes sparkling, "You love me more, right? You’ll make more soup tomorrow just for your poor, overlooked A-Xian?"
Jiang Yanli chuckled, brushing wind-blown strands from his cheek. "Of course. Anything for my little Xianxian."
Wei Wuxian turned just enough to stick his tongue out at Jiang Cheng, who rolled his eyes and focused on his soup.
As her fingers wove gently through Wei Wuxian’s hair, Jiang Yanli tilted her head. "You seem unusually happy tonight, A-Xian," she murmured. "Won’t you tell your Shijie why?"
Wei Wuxian blinked, grin faltering slightly. His eyes flicked to Jiang Cheng, who was too busy with his bowl to listen, and then back to her.
"What? Can’t a man be happy after a good meal and a quiet evening? You’re here, Jiang Cheng hasn't yelled at me in over an hour—miraculous, really."
Jiang Yanli hummed, unconvinced.
After a pause, Wei Wuxian slowly shifted, sitting upright. The laughter in his eyes dimmed, replaced with a softness seldom seen. He picked up a fallen petal and rolled it between his fingers. For a moment, he hesitated, then spoke quietly:
"Shijie... What do you do if you can’t stop thinking about someone? If your eyes always find them first, even when you’re not trying? If being around them feels like... breathing?"
Jiang Yanli didn't respond at first. Her hand stilled in his hair. The lantern beside her flickered with the breeze.
Then she smiled gently. "Then, A-Xian, they're in love. And they should confess their love."
Wei Wuxian’s breath caught. "Confess?"
She nodded, eyes twinkling. "Mm. Before it's too late."
Wei Wuxian swallowed. His fingers fidgeted with a loose thread on the hem of his sleeve. “But… how?” he asked, voice low, uncertain. “How do you even… do that?”
Jiang Yanli’s smile deepened, her fingers resuming their gentle motion through his hair. She tilted her head slightly, studying him with amusement and something far gentler beneath it—something knowing.
“Does our A-Xian want to confess to someone?” she asked sweetly, her tone light but her gaze steady and warm.
Wei Wuxian face turned bright red, and he started stammering. "N-no! Not me—I mean, I—a shidi! One of the juniors asked me and I... I didn’t know what to say, so I thought I’d ask. That’s all."
Jiang Yanli chuckled. "A shidi, is it?"
"Yes! Yes, of course! Helping the youth, passing on wisdom!"
"You’re blushing quite hard for someone helping a confused youth."
"It’s the night air! It’s warm out! I must be overheating!"
"Mhm."
Wei Wuxian groaned and buried his face in his hands.
"You're getting mad," Jiang Cheng muttered from across the blanket, watching the exchange with a dry, unimpressed expression. He lifted the last spoonful of soup to his mouth but paused, eyeing Wei Wuxian like he was a strange animal in a cage.
Wei Wuxian seized the opportunity to pivot. "Mad? Says the man who tried to stab me with a soup spoon earlier. If anyone's cracked, it’s you."
"You started it."
"Because you were being selfish!"
"You were being dramatic!"
"It’s called flair, A-Cheng!"
"It’s called nonsense."
Jiang Cheng growled under his breath and raised a hand as if to cuff him.
Wei Wuxian immediately leapt back with a loud gasp, holding up both hands. "Shijie, look! He’s attacking a fragile person like me in the dead of night! What if I get injured? I could fall and break something! My handsome face, perhaps!"
He turned to Jiang Yanli, wide-eyed and pitiful, clearly expecting a shout or a dismissive remark from Jiang Cheng.
But instead, Jiang Cheng's expression turned sharp. He straightened his back and narrowed his eyes.
"Now that you mention it... a servant told me this morning that you were seen limping last night. Said Lan Wangji was helping you walk back to your room. You looked like you were hurt."
The air shifted.
Wei Wuxian blinked, caught off-guard. He laughed a beat too late. "W-what? Who? What servant? They must be mistaken. How can i be hurt?”
Jiang Cheng didn't budge. "So? What happened? Or were you just being your usual shameless self ?"
Wei Wuxian’s expression shifted. The lightness faded. His smile dropped, and something hard and calculating passed through his gaze.
He whispered, voice lower, clipped. "Last night, someone tried to steal the Stygian Tiger Amulet."
The effect was immediate.
Jiang Cheng straightened. "What?!"
Jiang Yanli sat bolt upright, her eyes wide. "A-Xian—"
"How is that possible?" Jiang Cheng barked. "No one knows the location except us. And the most trusted."
Wei Wuxian gave a bitter, sharp laugh, standing slowly. "Then clearly, Jiang Cheng, all of them are not as trustworthy as you believed."
Jiang Cheng's jaw tightened. His fists curled at his sides as his voice dropped into a growl. "Who do you think tried to do it?"
Wei Wuxian's gaze turned dark. "Who else could it be but the Jin clan? They've been sniffing around the Lotus Pier since the last conference. Their eyes were never off the back halls."
"I knew they were watching us," Jiang Cheng said, pacing now, agitation radiating off him. "I knew it. I’ll launch a full investigation. We’ll sweep every sect contact, every servant, every guard."
"Do that," Wei Wuxian said softly, his arms folded, expression unreadable.
Then Jiang Cheng turned on him with a scowl. "Why the hell didn’t you tell me this the moment it happened?!"
Wei Wuxian shrugged one shoulder. "I forgot."
"You forgot?!"
Wei Wuxian offered a lazy grin, but it didn’t reach his eyes. "I got distracted."
Jiang Cheng looked like he was ready to explode. He opened his mouth to shout again but then stopped. His expression twisted, as if some thought struck him.
And then, loud and accusing:
"You showed that place to Lan Wangji, didn’t you?"
Wei Wuxian blinked. "What?"
"You did!" Jiang Cheng snapped. "He was here. You spent days with him. You trusted him enough to bring him near the core of our sect’s secret place!"
Wei Wuxian's brows drew together. "He’s Lan Zhan. He’s the most righteous, most dependable man I know. He would never betray me. Never betray us."
Jiang Cheng's eyes narrowed, and something sharp glinted behind them. He stared at Wei Wuxian, silent for a long, tense beat.
Wei Wuxian fidgeted under the stare. He shifted his weight, rubbed the back of his neck. "What? Why are you looking at me like that?"
Jiang Cheng's lip curled. "Don’t tell me... don’t tell me you've actually fallen for him. Wei Wuxian, are you really that stupid? Are you starting to believe all this 'husband' nonsense?"
"What?! No! I—"
"Don’t lie!" Jiang Cheng shouted, stepping forward. "He’s cursed, remember? That's why he looks at you like that. That's why he's soft with you. You said it yourself. The Lan Wangji we know could barely tolerate being in the same room with you before."
"That was before!" Wei Wuxian shot back before he could stop himself.
Silence.
Wei Wuxian immediately looked away. "I mean… I know. I know he's cursed. I haven’t forgotten. How could I? You think I’m so naive that I’d just fall for someone like him—so cold and upright, like he swallowed his clan rules whole? Please. I was only… playing around. He’s just a friend."
Jiang Cheng scoffed. "You better remember that. Don’t come crying to us when this whole thing comes crashing down on your head."
Wei Wuxian forced a grin. "Me? Cry? Over Lan Zhan? That would be the day."
But his voice rang hollow.
Jiang Yanli had remained quiet during the argument, but now she stood and stepped between them, placing a calming hand on each brother’s shoulder.
"Enough," she said gently. "This isn’t the time. If someone truly tried to steal the amulet, we need to be unified, not fighting. A-Xian, A-Cheng, please."
Jiang Cheng huffed and turned away, muttering under his breath.
Wei Wuxian stared at the grass, smile fading, something unreadable in his eyes.
_________________________________
Wei Wuxian walked without thinking, past the quiet halls of Lotus Pier, past the lanterns flickering low, past the disciples who bowed and said nothing. His feet carried him out into the night, into the wilderness that bordered the sect grounds, until he reached the edge of the lake.
The surface shimmered like black silk, stitched with stars. A faint mist hovered above the water, stirred by the breeze. The moon hung low, casting silver across everything. The world felt distant, suspended, unreal.
Wei Wuxian sank down on the grass at the lake’s edge. Slowly, he pulled off his boots and dipped his legs into the cool water. It sent a small shiver through him, but it grounded him. Anchored him.
His mind, however, was anything but still.
Jiang Cheng’s words echoed in his skull like ghost bells.
“He’s cursed. That’s why he’s good to you.”
“Don’t forget how he couldn’t even stand your presence.”
“You better remember it.”
Wei Wuxian laughed, soft and bitter. He ran a hand through his hair, pulling it back from his face as his gaze remained fixed on the lake.
"How could I be so stupid," he muttered.
He let his legs swing slightly in the water. Ripples distorted the reflection of the stars, of the moon. His own face stared back at him, broken into fragments.
"Dreaming of a life with Lan Zhan. Of a future, a quiet place, a home…"
He laughed again, but it was hollow.
He was a fool.
How easily he had let himself believe. The gentle glances, the shared silences, the soft touch of fingers brushing his wrist, the sound of his name spoken with reverence instead of scorn. He had wanted it to be real.
He had wanted Lan Wangji to look at him and truly see him.
But Jiang Cheng was right. Lan Wangji had always been repelled by him. Before the curse, before this strange tenderness, there had only been disdain and cold judgment.
“You are the kind of person I dislike the most.”
The words surged up from memory, unbidden, unwanted.
Wei Wuxian blinked at the surface of the water.
It shimmered. And then it changed.
A memory, faint and spectral, played across the lake like a dream woven of mist and moonlight.
The cave.
Lan Wangji, pale and bloodied, sitting beside him with a twisted leg and clenched jaw.
Wei Wuxian offering him his shoulder, holding him up, trying to joke even as blood soaked their robes.
And then—
Pain. Sharp and sudden. Teeth against his skin.
Lan Wangji had bitten him.
The memory flared.
“You are the kind of person I dislike the most.”
Wei Wuxian stared as the image faded, the lake returning to calm. His own face looked back at him again, pale and stunned.
Then the laughter came.
Broken, disbelieving, sharp around the edges.
It spilled from his chest like something rotting inside, something bitter and painful. He pressed a hand over his mouth to muffle it, but the sound pushed past anyway.
He didn’t even notice the tears at first. Not until they dropped onto the lake surface, rippling away like broken pieces of a forgotten past.
He wiped at his face with the back of his sleeve.
“Lan Zhan hates me,” he whispered. “He always has. After I came back from the Burial Mounds, he was angry. He couldn’t understand. He stood in front of me like a wall and told me I was wrong."
His voice cracked.
"Even when I was trying to fight the Wens, he thought I was choosing the dark path. That I was falling."
Wei Wuxian curled his knees up, wrapping his arms around them.
“He’s righteous. Always has been. That kind of person… could never love someone like me.”
He looked up at the stars again. They were still there, indifferent and endless.
He wondered if Lan Wangji had ever looked at the night sky and thought of him. If any of those soft, stolen glances had been real. Or if they were only a side effect of the curse.
What a fool he was.
What a goddamn fool.
And yet—
Despite it all, part of him still wanted to believe.
That the way Lan Wangji said his name meant something.
That the way his fingers trembled when they brushed his wrist was not entirely false.
That in some corner of Lan Wangji’s unshakable heart, there had once been space for Wei Wuxian.
But maybe that was the biggest lie of all.
Wei Wuxian drew his knees closer and rested his head against them.
The night was silent.
And he let the tears fall without stopping them.
___________________________________
Wei Wuxian returned to his quarters long after midnight.
The lanterns in the outer halls had long burned down to embers, casting only a faint orange glow along the walls. The corridors were still, cloaked in silence, and each of his steps echoed like an apology in the dark. He slipped into his room quietly, fingers brushing the doorframe as if to steady himself.
Inside, the room was bathed in soft moonlight pouring through the half-open window. The light pooled across the floor, reaching the edge of the bed—and the figure lying peacefully upon it.
Lan Wangji.
He lay on his side, facing the far wall, long hair spilling like silk over the pillow. His face was calm, serene even in sleep, the sharp lines of his brow softened by dreams.
Wei Wuxian froze.
Something twisted in his chest—a sharp, unexpected pain that stole the breath from his lungs.
He pressed a hand over his heart, as if he could quiet it.
But it kept pulsing, heavy and hollow.
He stood there for a long moment, watching the man before him. Watching the way Lan Wangji’s lips parted slightly with each exhale, the way his brow relaxed in the dim light. How could someone so strict look so painfully gentle in sleep?
Wei Wuxian moved slowly, soundlessly, crossing the room like a shadow.
He slipped onto the bed beside him, cautious, careful not to disturb the stillness. He lay on his side, facing Lan Wangji, close enough to feel the warmth radiating from him, but not touching. Not yet.
His eyes never left Lan Wangji’s face.
How many nights had he spent watching him like this in silence? How many moments had he carved out in memory just to survive the day?
Wei Wuxian lifted a hand slowly, trembling fingers reaching out. He brushed a knuckle against Lan Wangji’s cheek. The skin was warm. Soft.
His heart clenched again.
Lan Wangji didn’t stir.
Wei Wuxian’s voice broke the quiet, no louder than a breath.
"Madam Yu was always right about me."
He swallowed.
"She said I keep taking. More and more. Like I never know when to stop."
He shifted, just slightly, sliding closer until his forehead nearly brushed Lan Wangji's shoulder.
"And maybe I don’t," he whispered. "Maybe I really am selfish. Maybe I always was."
The ache in his throat grew unbearable.
Slowly, he reached out and curled his hand around Lan Wangji's upper arm, pulling himself close. The contact was gentle, reverent, as if even now, he feared it might shatter.
He pressed his face into the crook of Lan Wangji’s neck, breathing in his scent—calm, clean, quiet like rain on a rooftop.
His voice cracked as he whispered into the silence:
"But I can't stop. I have to take what I can."
His arms tightened, holding Lan Wangji closer.
"Just a little longer. Just one more night."
A tear slipped down his cheek, soaking into the collar of Lan Wangji’s sleeping robe.
"I have to keep this. I have to remember it."
His breath hitched. His body trembled.
"Because I know it won’t last."
The words caught in his throat.
"He doesn’t love me. He can’t."
More tears followed.
"And when this curse lifts, he’ll remember. He’ll look at me the way he used to. Like I’m a mistake he wishes he hadn’t made."
He buried his face deeper into Lan Wangji's shoulder, body curling in around him.
"So I have to keep this. Just this. I have to hoard it."
His voice broke, raw and honest.
"Because it’s all I’ll ever have."
____________________________________
The room remained dim, filled with moonlight and soft breathing. Wei Wuxian lay curled around Lan Wangji, clinging to him with a desperate tenderness he could no longer hide. The ache inside him had dulled into a quiet resignation, and though sleep refused to come, he felt strangely weightless, suspended in this moment of closeness.
Then—a sound.
Soft. Subtle.
A rustle of air, like a feather brushing the surface of a drum.
Wei Wuxian’s breath hitched. He tensed, lifting his head slightly. His body, trained through years of instinct and danger, recognized the disturbance for what it was.
Not natural. Not random.
Movement.
His eyes snapped toward the window.
For a moment, there was nothing. Just the breeze, lifting the curtains.
Then he saw it: something fluttering gently on the windowsill. A thin slip of parchment, pale against the night.
Wei Wuxian slipped out of the bed with careful, fluid precision. Lan Wangji did not stir.
He crept across the room and flung the window open.
The paper lay flat, pinned by a small rock. There was no seal. No name.
His eyes narrowed.
Without thinking, he vaulted out the window and landed soundlessly on the tiled rooftop. His gaze swept the darkness. For a heartbeat, there was only wind and moonlight.
Then—a shadow moved.
Down the roof. Over the edge. Across the courtyard.
A cloaked figure, vanishing into the deeper dark.
Wei Wuxian shot forward.
He leapt from the roof and landed in a silent crouch, then sprinted after the retreating figure. His robes snapped around him as he crossed rooftops, shadows blurring past.
The figure was fast. Very fast. They vaulted over walls with the ease of someone intimately familiar with the terrain.
Wei Wuxian narrowed his eyes and pushed harder.
Through the gardens. Over the eastern courtyard. Onto the high wall that bordered the edge of the inner sect.
Then—gone.
He landed hard on the stone path and scanned the shadows. Nothing. Not even the sound of retreating footsteps.
His teeth clenched. He inhaled deeply through his nose.
Traces of qi shimmered faintly in the air. Cold. Controlled.
"Damn it."
Wei Wuxian stood still for a long moment, listening. But the intruder had vanished. Like a whisper swallowed by the wind.
He turned and began the long walk back to his room, each step echoing with frustration.
The paper.
Whoever they were, they hadn’t attacked. Hadn’t even spoken.
Just left something.
A message.
By the time he climbed back into his room, Lan Wangji had not moved. Still lying on his side, peaceful and unmoving, as if the world hadn’t shifted around him.
Wei Wuxian ignored the twinge in his chest and reached for the letter.
He leapt up onto the rooftop and settled into a cross-legged position under the moon, the paper clutched in one hand. His fingers hovered over it for a moment longer.
Then, he unfolded it.
The ink was bold. Precise. No name.
"To sever the chain, one must know the shackle. To break the curse, one must find its mirror. Seek the black sun buried in forgotten ash. There, where the earth still weeps, you will find what the heavens have denied. Ask not the righteous, but the fallen. They know the true face of freedom."
Wei Wuxian's brow furrowed.
A riddle.
He leaned back on one palm, letting the wind play through his loose hair. His mind moved quickly, dissecting each line like a blade through silk.
"To sever the chain, one must know the shackle."
The curse itself. If he wanted to undo it, he had to understand what bound Lan Wangji in the first place. Not just the mechanics, but the root. The emotional or spiritual core.
"To break the curse, one must find its mirror."
A reflection. An opposite? A counterpart?
Or… a distortion of the original? A parallel.
"Seek the black sun buried in forgotten ash."
Wei Wuxian exhaled. That line sent a shiver down his spine.
Black sun. Ash.
Only one place came to mind.
The Burial Mounds.
"There, where the earth still weeps, you will find what the heavens have denied."
He had once thought of the Burial Mounds as his grave. It was where he had been reborn, yes—but it was also where he had buried everything: innocence, peace, his core, his future. It was earth soaked in resentment, sorrow, and broken dreams.
"Ask not the righteous, but the fallen."
He didn’t need a sect. He didn’t need theory. He needed truth.
And truth, it seemed, still lived in the rot and ruin he had left behind.
He folded the letter slowly, carefully, tucking it into his inner robe.
A chill had settled around his spine, but not from the air.
He didn’t trust the messenger. Whoever they were, they knew far too much. The letter was anonymous, the presence silent and quick. Someone well-trained. Someone who had studied him, perhaps for a long time.
But the message itself—it felt… correct. Not in tone, but in resonance. As if it was pointing toward a truth he already suspected.
Lan Wangji.
The curse.
Whatever bound him, whatever twisted his emotions and choices, had to be undone. Wei Wuxian couldn’t let this continue.
Because if he didn’t act soon—he would become selfish. He would keep Lan Wangji here, by his side, pretending that none of it was false. He would keep stealing nights like this one, moments like the ones they shared, and call it love.
But love wasn’t theft.
It was sacrifice.
Lan Wangji had a home. A sect. A family. A life.
Wei Wuxian could not—would not—be the chain that bound him to a lie.
He stood slowly, brushing dew from his robes. The wind tugged at his sleeves.
His decision was already made.
He would return to the Burial Mounds.
If there was any place on earth with enough resentful energy to test the curse—to force a reaction, to reveal the truth—it was there.
He would go alone.
He would make sure.
Before his own heart became too entangled to let go.
Before the dream became too sweet to wake from.
Before the hope inside him grew fangs.
________________________________
Wei Wuxian stood at the edge of the Burial Mounds, the chill of the early morning mist clinging to him like a damp cloak.
The sky was still a deep indigo, star-pricked and tinged faintly along the horizon with the first gray of dawn. It was so early that most of Lotus Pier was still asleep. Wei Wuxian had risen before five, careful not to make a sound as he dressed.
He'd left so early that the lanterns hadn't even been lit along the piers. That was exactly how he liked it — in silence, so that nobody would stop him, so that Lan Wangji wouldn’t know he was going.
Lan Wangji.
He paused for a moment on the narrow path that led up toward the Mounds, gaze unfocusing as the man’s name ghosted across his thoughts. If Lan Wangji had gotten wind of this trip, he would have come too — insistent, steadfast as always — even if Wei Wuxian assured him it wasn’t necessary. Even if it was dangerous.
And dangerous it would be.
That was precisely why he had left without telling anyone.
He didn’t need someone else bearing this burden.
He pulled his cloak a little tighter around himself and took a deep breath of the chilly air, forcing the thoughts away. He was here for one thing only — answers.
The Burial Mounds loomed ahead like a jagged tooth against the lighter sky.
___________________________________
The first stirrings of resentful energy greeted him like an old, unwelcome friend as he crossed into the outskirts of the Mounds.
He’d been here for a long time before, and even though he had long since left this place as his temporary refuge, its atmosphere was unchanged — it was a place that had never been meant to hold life. Even the wind here sounded different, thinner and colder as it scraped across the cracked hillsides.
Wei Wuxian paused at the threshold, surveying the landscape with a critical eye. Mists tangled through dead trees and craggy stones. Every so often, the distant cry of a crow broke the hush, making him feel as if unseen eyes were following his every move.
He adjusted Chenqing at his belt — an unconscious gesture for reassurance — and took a cautious first step.
That was when the arrow struck.
A sharp hiss sliced the air, and then — thwack — an arrow embedded itself in a blackened, withered trunk only a breath's width from where he was about to step.
Wei Wuxian spun around instantly, heart leaping into his throat.
His hands flew to Chenqing, fingers tense as they hovered over the flute's polished surface.
Yet… no one was there.
He scanned the surroundings carefully, senses straining. Every shadow seemed alive with possibility, every jagged rock a lurking threat.
But all was silent.
Slowly, cautiously, he moved toward the tree that had taken the arrow meant for him. The wood was dead and brittle beneath his fingers as he reached up to tug the shaft free.
The arrow itself was plain — fletched with black feathers, its shaft a dark varnished wood. Nothing on its surface indicated the clan it belonged to.
And then his gaze caught the parchment tied just below the arrowhead, and his brow furrowed.
A talisman was tucked against the parchment too — its yellow paper aged, its red ink worn as though someone had handled it countless times.
Wei Wuxian pulled them loose carefully.
The parchment’s writing was neat, deliberate.
“ This is the original talisman of the curse you’re looking into.”
The simple message sent a ripple of unease through him.
He unfolded the aged talisman next, and his eyes narrowed. The design was intricate — one of the most complicated curse-seals he had ever seen — and eerily familiar.
This was what he had been seeking.
He had spent days trying to reverse-engineer the strange altered version of this talisman that had plagued him and the person dearest to him — a changed version that felt like someone had deliberately warped the spell into something more dangerous, more personal.
And here was its source.
He glanced around the Burial Mounds again, heart thudding.
Someone was helping him.
That much was obvious. But who? And why?
Why go to the trouble of sending him this — anonymously — instead of reaching out directly? What did they want?
He carefully slipped the parchment and the talisman into his inner robe.
And then, without wasting another moment, he pressed deeper into the Mounds.
____________________________________
The path toward the Blood Pool was familiar, even in this eerie light.
Every dark ridge and hollow felt like stepping into a ghost of his past.
He walked quickly, sure-footed as if pulled by some inner compass. Occasionally, he paused to scan the shadows, feeling the occasional prickle of resentful energy across his skin — not threatening, just present.
Before long, the jagged mouth of a cave appeared before him — the same cave that housed one of the most dangerous places in the Burial Mounds: the Blood Pool.
The gaping entrance was partly obscured by a curtain of dead vines and jagged stones. Beyond, only darkness.
Wei Wuxian paused, feeling a shiver chase up his spine.
He had seen too much here before. Too much pain, too much blood and grief.
But this was also where some of his most desperate work had been done.
And it was what he needed now — raw resentful energy, a crucible powerful enough to help him dissect the cursed talisman.
He pushed inside.
The cave swallowed him in cold, damp air.
He summoned a wisp of spiritual light to his fingertips, casting a faint blue glow across uneven stone walls. The faint scent of iron and wet earth filled his nose.
And there — deeper in — the Blood Pool glimmered like a dark jewel.
Its surface was ink-black, unnaturally still. Even the air around it felt charged, humming with a dark resonance that brushed against his spiritual sense like a distant scream.
He paused a moment at its edge, allowing himself to breathe, to center himself.
Then Wei Wuxian slowly sat down cross-legged before it.
He pulled the two talismans into his lap — one original, one altered — and held them side by side, scrutinizing every intricate stroke of their designs.
He was going to need every ounce of focus to do this properly.
He closed his eyes and took a slow breath.
He began drawing a series of new seals in the air — glowing red sigils that spun into a circle around him. Tiny sparks of light flared and danced across the jagged cave walls, the resentful energy responding to him like ink stirred into water.
With careful hands, he unfurled the talismans and let them hover mid-air between his palms.
“Show me,” he murmured.
And he began to chant an incantation to unravel the threads of spiritual power stitched into each spell.
As his chant deepened, the raw power of the Blood Pool answered.
Wisps of dark energy rose like mist, coiling around his hands and up his arms. The cave trembled, and a thin sheen of sweat broke across Wei Wuxian’s brow as he held his focus firm.
Lines and symbols glowed brighter — and slowly, painstakingly, the differences between the original talisman and the cursed one began to shimmer before his inner sight.
The original was elegant — a precisely calibrated design intended for manipulation.
But the altered version was tangled with something else. Tiny deviations in the stroke order, extra twists of energy tucked into its very core — all so subtle they might have been overlooked by anyone less skilled.
But not him.
He saw them all.
And each revealed a deeper story.
Someone had crafted this curse with immense skill — and immense knowledge.
That much was obvious.
Yet someone else — perhaps the one who’d sent him the original — wanted him to have a chance to fight back.
Why?
And who?
Wei Wuxian’s fingers flexed as he held the glowing design steady. Threads of resentful energy quivered like taut strings between them.
In that quiet, suspended moment, he thought of Lan Wangji.
If only Lan Zhan was here to ground him.
Suddenly, the energy surged.
The Blood Pool darkened further, its surface shimmering as though something beneath had moved.
Wei Wuxian’s eyes flew open — only to find himself face to face with a dark reflection of himself staring up at him from the Pool.
His reflection, yes, but darker. Twisted with all the wrath and regret he kept locked inside.
The reflection-Wei Wuxian moved, and his own hands moved in tandem — and for one terrifying heartbeat, he felt the blood pool’s energy try to reach into his soul.
“No.”
Wei Wuxian’s voice was sharp, breathless — and fueled by a stubborn, indomitable will.
He channeled his own energy into the blood pool , directing its resentment into the glowing talisman around him, igniting every character at once.
White-hot light flooded the cave.
And the talisman dropped into his hands, humming faintly but stable now — revealed, their secrets unlocked.
He sat back slowly, exhausted but triumphant.
The cave was silent again. Only his own ragged breathing and the steady drip of water from the stones kept him company.
____________________________________
Wei Wuxian’s hands trembled as the talisman hovered between his fingers.
He sat on the cold stone floor of the cave, where the only light came from the faint blue gleam of resentful energy swirling over the Blood Pool. The pungent, metallic scent of that eerie water filled his nose, but he hardly noticed it now.
Every inch of him felt frozen as he stared down at the glowing strokes of spiritual script that glimmered across the talisman. His heart thudded dully in his ears like distant war drums.
And then —
slowly —
the full weight of what he had deciphered sank into him.
He couldn’t believe what he was reading.
The talisman was not what it seemed.
That was the most shocking part. Every cursed talisman he’d studied up until this moment had one purpose — to harm, to twist the soul into knots of pain, to control or destroy.
But this one was different.
Its outer appearance mimicked the original curse he had been researching so desperately — the one that manipulated someone’s spiritual sense so that they would believe the first person they laid eyes on was their fated one. A bond so deep and absolute that they would follow that person into death.
Yet this talisman, hidden in plain sight, was… a counter-spell.
More than that — it was a clever deception woven into the strokes.
A counter disguised as the curse.
Wei Wuxian felt his hands begin to shake again.
The deeper he looked, the clearer the pattern became. This talisman carried a touch of resentful energy resonance — the kind only someone who truly understood soul and spirit would dare to manipulate.
And whoever had crafted this knew the curse well enough to counteract its most dangerous aspects.
This version still manipulated the spiritual mind of the Pingheng Zhe — making them believe whoever they saw first was their most cherished one.
That much was the same.
But this version included a small but profound change.
It weakened the blind intensity of that attachment.
Where the real curse forced absolute devotion — unyielding, irrevocable, a need to follow the “spouse” above all else — this version dampened that effect.
If the first person the Pingheng Zhe saw failed to evoke strong emotional reactions, the talisman’s influence would fail to anchor itself completely.
And more importantly — the most powerful difference —
This counter-talisman was designed to burn itself out quickly.
Wei Wuxian sucked in a sharp breath as realization hit him like a thunderclap.
The real curse, he knew, was merciless. Once activated, its effects would last till the perpetrator had achieved their goal. But this version — whoever had created this had programmed the spell to undo itself.
Within a day — few at most — its effect would vanish as if it had never been.
That meant whoever had been “cursed” by this talisman would have no lingering attachment after that short time.
And that also meant —
He closed his eyes, trembling all over.
That also meant that Lan Wangji — if Lan Wangji had been the one exposed to this version of the curse — was never truly cursed at all.
Whatever feelings he had displayed — the gentle devotion, the quiet longing that shone in his golden gaze, the fierce protectiveness that kept him close — none of those were compelled by dark magic.
That after the first few days, any hold this talisman had on him would have vanished forever.
And that every single thing Lan Wangji had done — the way he spoke softly to him, the way he looked at him as if he were his entire world, the way he followed him everywhere without hesitation —
Every last bit of it was by choice.
Wei Wuxian’s hands slackened.
The talisman slipped from his fingers, fluttering to the damp ground like a fallen leaf.
He hardly noticed.
His entire body felt hollow, his heartbeat loud in his ears as he stared blankly into the dark space before him.
He had been so sure that what Lan Wangji felt had been a kind of borrowed, manipulated affection — an artificial bond created by a cursed spell.
And so long as he could hide behind that excuse, so long as he could believe Lan Wangji was only looking at him that way because of some clever spiritual trick, Wei Wuxian could pretend it wasn’t real.
That this unyielding devotion, this gentle affection, this quiet loyalty — none of it was real.
But it was real.
That was what the talisman told him.
That was what it had been telling him all along, and he hadn’t seen it.
That Lan Wangji had chosen to stay — chosen to care — all on his own.
That Lan Wangji had looked at him after the spell had already dissolved.
And kept looking.
____________________________________
Wei Wuxian didn’t know when he had started moving.
His legs carried him up and out of the cave as though they belonged to someone else, his hands numb at his sides.
The morning light had finally broken over the jagged hills of the Burial Mounds, bathing the world outside in a pale gold glow.
But Wei Wuxian barely noticed.
He felt like a ghost.
Each step was unsteady as if his soul had been left behind in that cave, shattered into a hundred tiny shards.
He could hardly catch his breath — his chest was too tight, his heart too loud — and all he could see was the glowing strokes of the talisman etched into his mind’s eye.
The truth they revealed was so dizzying it nearly made him stumble.
And beneath all that, the one question roared in his thoughts like an ocean.
If the spell had vanished days ago —
If Lan Wangji had been free of any compulsion, any lingering spiritual tug —
Then why was he still acting like this?
Why was Lan Wangji still following him, still reaching for him, still looking at him as if Wei Wuxian were something impossibly dear?
And most terrifying of all —
Why did Lan Wangji’s gaze feel warmer every day?
The questions chased him, breathless and unrelenting, as he stumbled along the cracked paths away from burial mounds.
His hands flexed uselessly at his sides.
His eyes stung, though he couldn’t tell if it was from exhaustion or something deeper.
And his heart —
his heart felt too big for his ribs to contain, aching with a strange, trembling heat.
He thought of every moment since the “curse” began.
That first morning after he’d woken to find Lan Wangji watching him —
the way his brow had softened, relief brightening his face when Wei Wuxian finally stirred.
The way Lan Wangji had insisted on keeping close by, despite Wei Wuxian’s protests — always just one pace behind him, like a shadow that did not need commanding.
Each scene flooded him.
And each one now glowed with new, aching light.
Because if all of that had been real — uncolored by spell or deception — then all along, Lan Wangji had been choosing him.
And Wei Wuxian had been too frightened to believe it.
He felt suddenly exhausted — drained and dizzy as he reached the wooden bridge at the edge of Yilling market.
He paused there, one hand braced against the railing, breaths shivering in his chest.
And he thought, truly thought, of all the times Lan Wangji had looked at him across a room — gold eyes steady and unflinching — and he had thought it was the spell.
Of all the times Lan Wangji had stayed when he could have left, when the talisman would have long since faded — and he had told himself it was the curse holding him there.
But there was no spell anymore.
There hadn’t been for weeks.
And still, Lan Wangji was here.
Still, Lan Wangji had chosen him.
Wei Wuxian’s hands tightened on the wooden railing until his knuckles ached.
And for one dizzying, terrifying heartbeat, he wondered —
If none of this was the curse, then what was left?
And in that empty space, with the morning sun glinting across the water and a single lotus bobbing gently near the shore, he could almost feel it —
the raw, fragile seed of something he had never dared to hope for.
A tremor broke across his chest — part disbelief, part joy, part aching terror at what it might mean.
And above all, the question that refused to leave him —
If this was not a spell at all, then what was it?
And what was he going to do about it?
___________________________________
Wei Wuxian hesitated outside the tavern door.
Night had fallen over Yiling, and lanterns glowed warmly along the street, casting their golden light across uneven cobblestones. The narrow path was nearly empty, most sensible folk tucked away in their homes.
And that was exactly what he had been hoping for — solitude.
He wasn’t sure what had possessed him to come here. Perhaps it was the constant hum of his thoughts, or the ache in his chest every time he thought too long about Lan Wangji — about what the talisman had revealed earlier that day.
And now, as he paused before the tavern — its wooden sign swinging slightly in the breeze — Wei Wuxian thought again about turning back.
If Lan Wangji were here, he thought absently, he’d look at me with those eyes and wonder what nonsense I was up to.
That thought, painful and tender all at once, was enough to make him sigh aloud.
And so, without further hesitation, Wei Wuxian pushed open the door and slipped inside.
____________________________________
The tavern was warm and loud, a comforting contrast to the chill outside.
Bamboo lanterns cast soft light across the wooden tables, where customers drank, laughed, and spoke in voices like the low murmur of distant water.
He kept his head down as he crossed the room, intending to slide into one of the empty booths at the far end — some quiet corner where he could drink until the thoughts stopped chasing him.
But then —
His gaze snagged on a familiar figure seated near the center of the tavern.
Nie Huaisang.
Wei Wuxian stopped in his tracks.
Nie Huaisang was surrounded by two or three people, an elegant fan held aloft as he gestured dramatically. Even from this distance, Wei Wuxian could hear the excited rhythm of his voice and see the way his audience nodded and laughed.
“You simply must see this one,” Nie Huaisang was saying, flourishing his fan. “The strokes — oh, the strokes! — it’s the most exquisite painting of a swallow you could imagine.”
That was enough to draw a chuckle from Wei Wuxian.
He shifted course and wove his way closer, sliding up behind the small group until he was just a breath away.
And then —
“Nie-xiong,” he drawled, voice light with mischief.
Nie Huaisang jumped as if struck.
He spun toward Wei Wuxian, eyes going as round as saucers.
“W-W-Wei-xiong?!”
And then, as recognition flooded him, his face split into a grin.
“Look who we have here,” Wei Wuxian teased, crossing his arms and putting on his most innocent expression. “I could have sworn I heard yesterday that someone was too sick to travel. Too sick to even leave lotus pier without a litter. Yet here you are — drinking, laughing, and entertaining crowds.”
He let a teasing brow arch upward as he spoke, and the three people seated around Nie Huaisang paused in their conversation, glancing between him and their friend.
Nie Huaisang’s grin never wavered — if anything, it brightened.
“Wei-xiong!” he exclaimed, fanning himself rapidly as if to wave away the accusation. “What a pleasant surprise — and such unfair teasing too! Ah, yes, yes, I was indeed most terribly ill just yesterday.”
He gave a theatrical cough into his sleeve for good measure.
“But as you can see,” he went on breezily, “it seems my illness has taken pity on me. I feel much better today — better enough to enjoy a drink before heading to Qinghe. Dage has been torturing me, you know,” he added, voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, “insisting I return to Cloud Recesses to work on my cultivation. Clearly I must go home and try to move my brother’s heart at least a little.”
He offered Wei Wuxian a wink over the rim of his fan.
Wei Wuxian laughed.
“Oh yes,” he agreed, settling easily into the chair across from him as Nie Huaisang shooed his former companions away.
Wei Wuxian, tinged with sympathy, kicked one boot up against the chair leg. “Poor Huaisang,” he drawled. “What will Dage do to you this time?”
“Ugh.” Nie Huaisang slumped, looking every inch the put-upon little brother as he gestured to a nearby waiter. “More drills, more shouting, more pestering to come back to Cloud Recesses,” he grumbled. “And all without wine, too.”
That was enough to provoke a burst of laughter.
“Well,” Wei Wuxian murmured as the waiter approached, “perhaps we can remedy the wine part at least.”
Nie Huaisang grinned like a fox and made quick work of ordering a jar of house wine.
And then — eyes narrowing with the most casual curiosity — he asked, “But enough about me. What about you? What are you doing all the way out here in Yiling, Wei-xiong? And without your esteemed husband at your side?”
That last part was so pointed that Wei Wuxian felt his face tighten despite himself.
“Ah…”
Nie Huaisang was watching him, fanning himself slowly again, sly gaze sharp as a knife. “I rarely see you two apart,” he went on conversationally. “And this time you seem to have left him behind entirely.”
Before Wei Wuxian could conjure up a suitable excuse, the waiter returned and set the jar of wine between them with a low bow. Wei Wuxian reached for it immediately as though salvation itself had been delivered in clay, tipping it back and drinking straight from the vessel in a long swallow.
Nie Huaisang gave a soft, delighted whistle at the sight.
“Ah,” he said with mock envy, “you really are still a master of your craft.”
Setting the jar back down with a breathless exhale, Wei Wuxian offered a cheeky smile.
“Some talents,” he quipped, lips damp with wine, “never fade.”
Nie Huaisang gave a chortle and began pouring himself a smaller cup, though his eyes never left Wei Wuxian’s face. They drank in a comfortable lull, lantern light rocking in gentle waves across the wooden tabletop. Outside, a gust of autumn wind passed the door; inside, it was warm and humming with idle conversation.
And somehow — despite the crowd, despite Nie Huaisang’s chatter and their easy rhythm — Wei Wuxian felt a peculiar emptiness threaded through him.
Maybe it was the wine. Maybe it was the ache that had driven him here to begin with.
Nie Huaisang must have sensed it too, because after a moment of idle gossip about a mutual acquaintance — an outlandish story that coaxed a reluctant chuckle from Wei Wuxian — he let a silence stretch between them before reaching once more for his fan.
“You seem far away tonight,” he observed lightly, voice pitched just low enough that the surrounding noise swallowed it. “Is everything all right, Wei-xiong?”
Wei Wuxian paused mid-sip.
That was the thing about Nie Huaisang — forever behaving like a fool, forever fluttering at the edge of serious matters, and forever, forever seeing more than most gave him credit for.
Wei Wuxian lowered the jar and considered him in the mellow light.
“Do you ever wonder,” he asked at last, voice softer than before, “why would someone continue to lie about something that brings them no gain at all? Even when all it does is complicate their own life?”
Nie Huaisang tilted his head like a curious sparrow. “Oh?”
“You read a lot of books,” Wei Wuxian went on, swirling what remained in the jar as though searching for an answer there. “Tell me. Why would someone do that? Why stay close to another person under a false pretense — like claiming to be a relative, or a cousin, or someone’s sworn brother — if they get nothing from it?”
For a long moment, Nie Huaisang simply looked at him.
Then his lips curved into a wicked grin.
“In the kind of books I read,” he said slowly, savoring each word as if it were its own sip of wine, “this sort of thing usually leads to sex.”
That earned him a splutter from Wei Wuxian, who hastily wiped a sleeve across his chin and glared.
“Nie-xiong,” he protested, face hot and ears tingling, “no, no — not like that at all! Spirits, you’re incorrigible.”
Nie Huaisang only fluttered his fan faster, unrepentant, eyes glimmering with delight.
“Is that so? My mistake.”
“You know what I mean,” Wei Wuxian went on hurriedly, one hand up as though to ward off further teasing. “I mean someone who’s lying about — oh, I don’t know — who they really are. And they stay close anyway. Even if they don’t need to. Even if they could leave.”
And there it was: the unspoken weight of the confession he couldn’t voice aloud.
Nie Huaisang, perceptive as ever, allowed the teasing to dissipate like mist. Folding his fan into his hands, he propped his chin on one palm and regarded Wei Wuxian seriously for what might have been the first time all evening.
“You mean,” he said softly, “someone who stays because they want to. Even if it means living a lie.”
Wei Wuxian felt his breath catch.
He glanced away, fingers tightening on the clay neck of the jar until his knuckles whitened.
“You could put it that way,” he muttered.
Nie Huishang fluttered his fan up, shielding his face just enough so his eyes could sparkle wickedly over the top. “That kind of behavior, you mean? Where someone lies just to stay near? Seems rather straightforward to me,” he said breezily. “In most of the novels I read — and I read quite a lot of them — it usually happens for one reason.”
Wei Wuxian leaned forward despite himself. “And what reason is that?” he asked, breath caught, dark eyes shimmering with something fragile and hopeful.
Nie Huaisang let his lips curve into a knowing smile. “Why, they must be in love, of course. Absolutely smitten. Desperate to do whatever it takes just to spend a few more moments with the one they admire.” He gave a light shrug as if it was obvious. “In the stories, someone might pose as a long-lost relative, or pretend they’re sick, or any number of silly things. But at the heart of it?” His fan flicked as he spoke. “It’s usually a way of saying I want to be close to you, without daring to speak it aloud.”
Wei Wuxian’s breath hitched at those words — so soft and barely audible that most people might have missed it. But Nie Huaisang heard it. The faintest trembling of Wei Wuxian’s hands around the jar, too.
“You think so?” The question tumbled out of him like a confession all its own. It was hushed, raw around the edges, tinged with a fragile kind of longing that was wholly unlike his usual teasing bravado.
Nie Huaisang hid his smile behind the fan once more, lips pressed into a careful line to keep his sympathy from spilling into something too obvious. “Mm,” he hummed thoughtfully, dragging the moment out as though he hadn’t noticed the way Wei Wuxian was watching him so closely. “That is what I’d wager. At least, in my novels. I can’t say for sure about real life. Who am I to judge another’s secret motivations?”
He paused, then added in a singsong tone, “If someone truly wishes to know what’s in another’s heart… well, there is one sure way to find out, isn’t there?”
That earned him a sharp look from Wei Wuxian — bright with both apprehension and something like cautious hope.
“And what would that be?” Wei Wuxian asked, voice lowered as though someone might be listening.
Nie Huaisang peeked up from behind the fan, eyes crinkling in amusement. “Why, have them confess,” he replied simply, with a lazy wave of his fan. “Or better yet… perhaps someone brave enough ought to make them confess. Push them just a bit, so they can’t hide behind their clever stories and careful pretenses.”
Wei Wuxian didn’t answer right away. The tavern’s noise surged around them, and yet all he could hear was the erratic beat of his own heart in his ears.
The implication had hit him with more force than he’d expected — the idea that what Lan Wangji had been doing all this time was not just some fleeting pity or unexplainable honor, but something deeper, something real.
The thought tangled with all the other things he’d been feeling — his confusion at the talisman, at Lan Wangji’s gentleness, at his unyielding devotion. All those countless moments that had been both a burden and a comfort began to look different now, refracted through the possibility of love.
Nie Huaisang, sensing the depth of Wei Wuxian’s reaction, didn’t say anything further. Instead, he reached for his fan and gave it a light, sympathetic flicker. “But what do I know,” he added in his usual breezy tone. “My expertise is mostly limited to my brother’s temper and my own harmless little fancies. Besides, my novels tend to end with rather… passionate conclusions, so I may not be the best judge of real-life matters.”
That, at last, earned him a choked laugh from Wei Wuxian. The sound was fragile and uncertain — but it was there.
“Trust you to ruin a perfectly serious conversation,” Wei Wuxian muttered, though a tiny smile pulled at his lips despite the blush still painting his cheeks.
“Oh, I am very good at ruining things,” Nie Huaisang replied lightly, leaning back as if satisfied with himself. “And you, my dear Wei-xiong, seem very good at allowing your thoughts to tie themselves into knots. Perhaps you ought to take a breath. Have another drink.”
Wei Wuxian sat in thoughtful silence for a long while after that. The jar was warm between his hands, the tavern alive with its usual boisterous energy — and yet all he could see in his mind’s eye was Lan Wangji’s quiet face. The way his eyes softened in a way they never did for anyone else.
And perhaps, Wei Wuxian thought as he brought the wine to his lips and took a slow, measured drink, perhaps that was all the answer he truly needed.
__________________________________
The air over Lotus Pier was soaked in moonlight and silence. The gates creaked open slowly, as if unsure whether to welcome the one who stood before them.
Wei Wuxian stepped inside with steady steps, his robes fluttering slightly with the breeze. A faint trace of incense still lingered in the air from the evening prayers. But all Wei Wuxian could hear was the faint sound of water lapping against stone.
It had been a long journey back—not in distance, but in everything else. And now that he was here, that he had crossed the threshold, everything inside him had stilled.
The ghosts of guilt, longing did not rise to greet him. Only the soft glimmer of lantern light brushing over the tiled roofs, and the faint swaying of lotus leaves over the water.
His gaze lifted.
There—across the lotus lake, stood the bridge. Pale stone curved in an elegant arc, etched with familiar motifs that once framed the backdrop of childhood pranks and adolescent pride. But now, they bore witness to something else entirely.
Wei Wuxian’s eyes landed on the figure standing at its center.
Lan Wangji.
Bathed in silver moonlight, he stood as though carved from stillness itself. His robes shifted faintly with the breeze, his hands resting behind his back, posture straight, gaze lifted to the sky. The moonlight kissed his face gently, lighting up the fine lines of his cheekbones, the curve of his mouth, the quiet reverence in his gaze as he stared upward.
Wei Wuxian stood at the edge of the lake, unmoving.
His breath caught.
How long had it been since he had simply looked at Lan Wangji like this? Without the weight of guilt or fear or longing? Just stood there, in the presence of someone who had always felt like gravity—distant, inevitable, and oddly comforting.
Lan Wangji turned.
His head shifted just slightly, and then completely. His gaze settled on Wei Wuxian with the calm intensity of someone who had known he would be there.
As though he had been waiting all along.
As though he always would.
Wei Wuxian smiled, wide and helpless.
Not the sharp grin of a troublemaker, not the cocky smirk of a warrior—no, this was something raw, warm, and unguarded. A smile painted with longing and relief and a love so old it felt like coming home.
He took a step forward. Then another. The bridge, once seeming so far, narrowed with each stride.
He stopped just a few paces away from Lan Wangji.
Lan Wangji’s eyes were quiet, unreadable. But there was something there—familiar and solemn.
Then, softly, like a breath carried on wind, he spoke.
"You came."
It wasn’t a question. Not really. It was a whisper, a truth spoken to the night.
Wei Wuxian laughed, quietly. There was no teasing in it, just the pure affection of someone who had missed another with his entire soul.
"I came," he whispered, like a promise.
The silence that stretched between them was peaceful. The moonlight on the lake shimmered, and the soft rustling of lotus petals made it feel as if the entire night had been holding its breath for this moment.
"Were you waiting for me?" Wei Wuxian asked, voice still light, but tinged with something tender.
Lan Wangji’s lips parted. A single sound escaped him.
"Mn."
That was all. Nothing more. But it was enough to make something tremble inside Wei Wuxian's chest.
He exhaled shakily, fingers twitching at his sides.
How many nights had he imagined this? Standing here, beside him, with no more lies, no more curses, no more wondering. Just this—quiet affirmation that he had been missed, that he had been wanted.
Lan Wangji looked at him for a long moment more, then turned his gaze slightly, toward the sleeping quarters, and said quietly, "Come. Get freshened up."
Wei Wuxian blinked, startled by the casual direction. "Are you saying I stink?"
Lan Wangji blinked slowly, then inclined his head with maddening calm.
"Mn."
Wei Wuxian gasped. "You—you—you heartless block of ice! I crossed all this distance, scaled cliffs, ran through mist and shadow, and the first thing you say to me is that I stink?"
Lan Wangji’s expression didn’t change, but there was the faintest twitch at the corner of his mouth.
"You should wash," he said simply.
Wei Wuxian let out a dramatic sigh, clapping a hand to his chest. "Lan Zhan, you wound me! Here I thought we were having a heartfelt reunion! Where’s the soft music? The yearning glances? The faint, almost imperceptible eye twitch that means you're overwhelmed with happiness?"
"You’re sweating," Lan Wangji replied.
"Of course I’m sweating! It’s humid! And emotional! And you—you’re supposed to be poetic, not pragmatic!"
Still, even as he protested, Wei Wuxian couldn’t stop smiling. Not the performative kind, but the real one. The kind that made his cheeks ache and his heart feel warm.
Lan Wangji turned, beginning to walk slowly toward the end of the bridge. He paused, waiting.
Wei Wuxian trailed after him, bumping their shoulders together. "You didn’t deny it. That you missed me."
Lan Wangji said nothing. But his hand brushed briefly against Wei Wuxian’s as they walked, a touch so light it could’ve been the wind. And yet, it burned hotter than any fire.
They walked through the silent corridors of Lotus Pier together, the stone halls echoing faintly beneath their feet.
Wei Wuxian paused outside his room.
"Are’nt you coming?" he asked.
Lan Wangji turned to him. His gaze was unreadable. "I will bring dinner for you."
Wei Wuxian gave him a look. "You mean you don 't want your 'husband' to sleep on an empty stomach?"
Lan Wangji stared for a long moment with an unreadable expression and then whispered. "You must be hungry."
Wei Wuxian groaned and pushed the door open. "You’re lucky you’re pretty. I’d have left you at that bridge otherwise."
Lan Wangji made no reply, but his gaze lingered on Wei Wuxian’s face for just a moment longer. As if committing him to memory.
Wei Wuxian, watching him from the doorway, suddenly felt an ache deep in his chest. The kind that said: I love you too much to speak it out loud. Not yet. Not while you’re still lying to me.
He gave a small nod, retreating inside.
Lan Wangji stood outside for a long time.
Then finally, he whispered, so soft it was nearly lost to the wind:
"Welcome home."
____________________________________
Chapter Text
The candles inside the room burned low, their golden light melting shadows along the edges of the walls and pooling into the crevices of the floorboards.
Wei Wuxian stood before the mirror, the sash at his hips loose, the black fabric on his legs a vivid slash of color against his otherwise bare frame. The rest of his robes lay discarded nearby, stained from the road and tossed without care.He watched himself with half-lidded eyes—expression unreadable, yet not without mischief.
A flicker of presence stirred outside the door.
Footsteps—soft and deliberate.
Wei Wuxian stilled, his brush pausing mid-stroke. He didn’t turn. Instead, he watched the mirror.
The door slid open with a quiet sound, and the flicker of light expanded to reveal Lan Wangji standing in the doorway. He held a tray in his hands, steam curling gently from two covered bowls. The delicate clink of porcelain shifted as he stepped inside.
And then, he froze.
Wei Wuxian saw it all in the mirror—the way Lan Wangji’s eyes widened slightly, the way his spine locked rigid, the minute tremble in his fingers as he adjusted the tray. For just a heartbeat, he looked every inch the man caught between restraint and instinct. Wei Wuxian’s mouth curled slowly into a wicked grin.
Ah, so even Hanguang-jun could be caught off guard.
He took his time setting the brush aside, fingers dragging idly through the last few tangles in his hair.
"Let’s see," he murmured, just for himself, voice like a secret whispered into still air, "how long you can keep up this cursed act, Lan Zhan."
He turned.
And painted a mask of innocence over his grin.
"Lan Zhan, you came at the perfect time!" Wei Wuxian’s voice rose, cheerful and falsely sweet. "I’m starving."
He stepped forward with fluid grace, bare feet soundless against the wooden floor. Every motion was deliberate, each step like a note played for effect—close enough to invade personal space but far enough not to touch.
Lan Wangji, for his part, didn’t look at him. His gaze darted briefly toward the bed, then resolutely fixed itself somewhere over Wei Wuxian’s left shoulder, as if that unremarkable spot held all the answers of the universe.
"Your... clothes," Lan Wangji said stiffly.
Wei Wuxian blinked, feigning surprise as his brow arched. "Clothes? Ah, those old things? Filthy from travel. I’m about to take a bath anyway."
He leaned in, voice lowering with practiced intimacy. "And besides, there’s no stranger in the room, is there? Just my husband."
The word hung in the air like incense smoke—sweet, provocative, and dense with implication.
Lan Wangji's eyes widened slightly. His ears flushed, a brilliant red blooming from the tips . His fingers clutched the tray with faint desperation.
Wei Wuxian didn’t relent.
He stepped closer, hands light as air, and reached for the tray—but instead of taking it outright, he let his fingers brush against Lan Wangji’s wrist. The contact was brief. Lingering. Charged.
A shiver rippled through Lan Wangji’s frame.
"Come, come," Wei Wuxian coaxed, his voice warm, teasing. "Let’s eat together. I’m so hungry I might collapse. You don’t want your poor Wei Ying fainting, do you?"
He smiled sweetly, the image of boyish innocence—but his eyes said otherwise.
Lan Wangji’s grip on the tray tightened, the muscles of his arm tensing as though to steady himself. He still did not meet Wei Wuxian’s gaze.
But Wei Wuxian was patient. He had always been patient when it came to Lan Zhan.
And so he waited, silent and near, gaze intent. He watched every microexpression—the slight parting of lips, the tightening of his jaw, the way his throat bobbed in a swallow he couldn’t quite suppress.
Finally, Lan Wangji glanced at him.
Just for a moment.
But it was enough.
Wei Wuxian seized it like a hunter catching sight of prey.
He let his gaze dip—slow, purposeful—pausing at Lan Wangji’s lips before raising it again.
"I hope I’ll be completely satisfied tonight," Wei Wuxian murmured.
Lan Wangji froze.
Wei Wuxian waited a beat longer before adding, with a gleam in his eye, "—with the food, of course."
Silence.
Tense. Electric.
Their eyes locked.
And for a second, Wei Wuxian swore the air in the room changed.
Lan Wangji didn’t speak, but the tray trembled again. Wei Wuxian reached out and steadied it with both hands, brushing their fingers together deliberately before taking it and setting it down on the low table in the center of the room.
"Sit with me," he said, more gently now.
Lan Wangji hesitated.
But then, after a breath, he obeyed.
He knelt with his usual grace, arranging his robes to cover his knees with meticulous care. Wei Wuxian plopped down across from him with far less refinement, already uncovering the bowls. The scent of jasmine rice, tofu stew, and something spiced filled the air. His stomach growled audibly, which he didn’t even try to hide.
"You made all this yourself?" he asked, chopsticks already in hand.
Lan Wangji nodded silently.
Wei Wuxian grinned. "Ah, so diligent! How could I not fall in love with you?"
Lan Wangji stilled . His hand paused halfway to his bowl.
"That was a joke, Lan Zhan," Wei Wuxian said breezily—though his heart was no longer calm. "You don’t have to take everything so seriously."
Lan Wangji slowly picked up his chopsticks.
But Wei Wuxian saw the flicker of emotion in his eyes. It was faint—unreadable, perhaps even confused—but it was there.
Wei Wuxian picked up a pair of chopsticks. He twirled them between his fingers for a second, then half-heartedly reached for a dumpling. But before he could make it to the tray, his hand paused, hovered, then fell limply back onto his lap with a soft groan.
Lan Wangji, who had taken a seat across from him—knees folded, back perfectly straight, and face composed in that infuriatingly serene Lan way—looked up immediately.
“What is it?” he asked, tone quiet but concerned.
Wei Wuxian pressed the back of his hand to his forehead with theatrical flair. “Ugh. I’m exhausted, Lan Zhan,” he said, drawing out the syllables like a long complaint. “All that traveling,I barely have the strength to hold my chopsticks, much less feed myself.”
Lan Wangji’s eyes flickered briefly down to the tray of still-steaming food and back to Wei Wuxian’s face. “You must eat,” he said simply.
“Yes, yes, I know,” Wei Wuxian muttered with a small, put-upon sigh. “But it’s so bothersome. So much effort. My arms ache.”
A glimmer of mischief lit in his gaze as he peeked at Lan Wangji through his lashes.
Let’s see what you do now, Lan Zhan.
His lips curved slowly into a grin, and he leaned forward, closing the distance between them until their knees nearly touched. He breached Lan Wangji’s meticulously guarded personal space, eyes sparkling as they met the other man’s gaze head-on.
“Lan Zhan,” he said, voice suddenly sweet and utterly shameless, “why don’t you feed me?”
Lan Wangji blinked once.
Wei Wuxian tilted his head, as if confused by the lack of response. “I mean,” he went on, voice dropping into a playful, coaxing murmur, “I’m your husband, aren’t I? You brought me food with such care, like a doting spouse. Isn’t feeding me the next logical step?”
Lan Wangji stared at him, expression unreadable. His face was calm, yes, but there was a faint tension in the line of his jaw, a stillness that wasn’t quite natural. His hand, resting on the table near the tray, had curled just slightly into a fist.
Wei Wuxian was delighted.
When Lan Wangji made no immediate move, he leaned in even closer, their faces now separated by a breath.
“Look,” he said dramatically, opening his mouth wide, then pointing into it with a finger like a child demanding candy. “I’m starving. I’m going to wither away. Be a diligent husband and save your pitifully weak spouse.”
Lan Wangji remained still. Only his eyes shifted, dropping to Wei Wuxian’s mouth—and lingering. It was a mere second. But Wei Wuxian caught it.
“Come on, Lan Zhan,” he purred, reaching over with slow, deliberate intent. He took Lan Wangji’s hand—warm, steady, familiar—and closed it gently around the chopsticks. His own fingers wrapped around the back of Lan Wangji’s hand like a guide, smooth and unhurried.
Then, still holding Lan Wangji’s hand, he reached out with the chopsticks and picked up a dumpling.
“Like this,” he said, softly now, almost coaxing, eyes fixed on Lan Wangji’s. “Just like this.”
He drew the dumpling to his lips, still using Lan Wangji’s hand, and took a bite. The sauce was hot and savory, and he made a small hum of appreciation as he chewed slowly, eyes fluttering closed in exaggerated delight.
When he opened them again, Lan Wangji’s face hadn’t changed much. But his ears—oh, those traitorous ears—were flushed red again, and the faintest hint of color crept into his usually pale cheeks.
“See?” Wei Wuxian said cheerfully, chewing the rest of the dumpling and then licking a bit of sauce from the corner of his mouth with deliberate slowness. “You’re a natural. I always knew you’d make a perfect husband.”
Lan Wangji said nothing.
Which was fine—Wei Wuxian could fill silence better than anyone.
“I mean, this is only fair,” he went on, still guiding Lan Wangji’s hand to pick up another dumpling. “I spent months looking after you in the Cloud Recess . Made your days meaningful and fun in Cloud Recesses, remember? You owe me at least a few meals.”
Lan Wangji looked at him then—really looked at him. His golden eyes were intense, sharp like sunlight filtered through honey. Not angry. Not even flustered anymore. Just... focused.
Wei Wuxian’s teasing grin faltered for a second under the weight of that gaze. Just a second. But then he laughed and tilted his head.
“Careful, Lan Zhan,” he whispered, voice slipping lower, velvet-soft, “if you look at me like that, I might start thinking you actually like feeding me.”
Lan Wangji's grip tightened around the chopsticks. For a moment, he looked as though he was about to speak—but then, slowly, deliberately, he picked up a piece of stir-fried lotus root and held it up to Wei Wuxian’s lips.
Wei Wuxian blinked.
Lan Wangji didn’t say a word.
But his eyes didn’t leave Wei Wuxian’s.
Wei Wuxian’s heart skipped.
Then he opened his mouth and let Lan Wangji feed him again, this time without touching the hand. The lotus root was crisp and sweet, tinged with the delicate spice of ginger. Wei Wuxian chewed slowly, maintaining eye contact.
He swallowed. “Mmm. That’s good.”
Lan Wangji reached for another piece—eggplant this time, glistening with sauce—and brought it to Wei Wuxian’s lips once more.
“You’re really doing it,” Wei Wuxian whispered between bites. “Feeding me properly. Obedient indeed.”
Lan Wangji’s expression remained stoic. “You said you were hungry.”
“I did,” Wei Wuxian said, lips quirking, “but I didn’t expect you to play along.”
“You are tired,” Lan Wangji replied, as if that were the only reason needed.
Wei Wuxian watched him for a moment, silent. Something about Lan Wangji’s gaze—it wasn’t just duty. It wasn’t just kindness. There was something else under the surface, something unreadable but tangible, something that made Wei Wuxian feel warm in places he didn’t want to acknowledge.
He blinked it away with a lopsided grin.
“I should pretend to be tired more often,” he mused aloud. “Maybe next time you’ll bathe me too.”
Lan Wangji’s hand froze in the air.
Wei Wuxian laughed outright then, reaching up to swat his hand playfully away. “I’m joking, I’m joking!”
Lan Wangji set the chopsticks down with practiced calm, but his ears remained pink.
Wei Wuxian reached for another dumpling himself now, no longer pretending to be too weak to lift his arm. “You’re too easy to tease, Lan Zhan. One day, I’m going to push you too far, and then what will you do? Tie me up with silk rope?”
Lan Wangji looked at him, and for a flicker of a moment, his expression changed. It was so fast Wei Wuxian almost missed it—a tiny twitch of the lips, a spark in the eyes.
Wei Wuxian choked on the dumpling.
He coughed and waved a hand frantically while Lan Wangji stood in one smooth movement and fetched a cup of water from the tray. He handed it over, his fingers brushing Wei Wuxian’s again.
Wei Wuxian drank, still coughing slightly, and narrowed his eyes.
“You did that on purpose,” he accused hoarsely.
Lan Wangji sat back down and lifted his cup. “En.”
Wei Wuxian stared.
“You’re learning to tease back.”
Lan Wangji just looked at him over the rim of the cup.
Wei Wuxian slumped sideways, arms folded on the low table, chin resting on top.
“I don’t know if I’m more alarmed or impressed.”
Lan Wangji didn’t answer, but Wei Wuxian saw it again—the almost-smile. Barely-there. But real.
And suddenly, despite all his teasing and dramatics, Wei Wuxian found himself quiet. His gaze softened as he looked across the flickering candlelight, at the man who sat across from him—poised, calm, yet so full of depth, warmth, loyalty, and now... the faintest hint of playfulness.
“Lan Zhan,” he murmured, voice quieter now, not teasing, not demanding—just sincere.
Lan Wangji looked up.
“Thank you,” Wei Wuxian said, a little awkwardly, fiddling with the edge of the robe draped loosely around his hips. “For bringing me food. For... putting up with me. For feeding me, even when I’m acting ridiculous.”
A pause.
Lan Wangji nodded, gaze unwavering. “ Not ridiculous.”
Wei Wuxian snorted. “Don’t lie. I’m very ridiculous.”
“You are not,” Lan Wangji said again, firm this time. “You are Wei Ying.”
And with that simple truth, spoken with so much gravity, the room seemed to quiet entirely. The shadows flickered, the candles burned lower, but the warmth between them stayed steady.
Wei Wuxian swallowed thickly and offered a lopsided smile.
“Fine,” he said, voice light again, but softer. “Just don’t get used to feeding me, Lan Zhan. I might demand it every night.”
Lan Wangji met his gaze calmly. “If you are hungry, I will feed you.”
Wei Wuxian blinked.
Then, slowly, the grin returned—lazy, pleased, and just a little overwhelmed.
“Oh?” he whispered, eyes dancing. “I might hold you to that, husband.”
And this time, when Lan Wangji didn’t deny it, Wei Wuxian felt something shift inside his chest—something giddy and something terrifying all at once.
But he didn’t run.
He just reached for another dumpling.
________________________________
The moon hung like a polished pearl in the ink-black sky, its silvery light spilling through the open window and bathing the Lotus Pier room in a quiet, melancholic glow.
A breeze whispered through the wooden lattice, stirring the sheer curtains and ruffling the tendrils of Wei Wuxian’s loose hair. He sat curled up on the window seat, one arm wrapped loosely around his knees while the other dangled at his side. The night had long fallen into silence, but his thoughts remained noisy, too loud for sleep.
Behind him, Lan Wangji slept with the stillness of a painting, his chest rising and falling in calm rhythm. The blanket covered him up to his chest, one pale hand resting outside the cover, fingers curled slightly as if reaching for something in his dreams. His face, in repose, was a tranquil canvas: long lashes, soft lips slightly parted, golden skin like fine porcelain under moonlight. Wei Wuxian had told himself not to look again. But he looked.
And then he groaned.
“Ah, Wei Ying, you absolute idiot,” he muttered to himself. “You were supposed to interrogate him. You were going to confront him. Instead, the moment he looks at you with those eyes, like you’re his whole world, you just melt. You forget everything.”
He thunked the back of his head lightly against the wooden wall.
“This can’t go on,” he whispered. “You need to get a grip.”
When Lan Wangji had first woken up from the curse, calling him husband with that innocent, sincere tone, Wei Wuxian had panicked. Everyone had panicked. Wen Qing had explained the nature of the curse, and the bizarre circumstances made sense—logically. But Wei Wuxian had watched Lan Wangji since then. The way he looked at him. The way he touched him. The way he followed him around like a silent shadow. It wasn’t just a curse. No, it was too deliberate. Too precise. Too knowing.
It wasn’t supposed to be like this.
Wei Wuxian sighed and leaned his head back against the wall again, closing his eyes for a long moment before turning slightly to glance at the sleeping form again.
“Lan Zhan,” he murmured quietly, like saying his name might dispel some of the confusion crowding his thoughts. “Why are you lying?”
His voice, usually vibrant and mocking, was soft now, hushed, tired.
“Isn’t lying one of your forbidden rules?” he asked the sleeping figure. “What are you getting out of this?”
Wei Wuxian frowned, eyes shadowed. Was it really what Nie Huaisang had suggested? That Lan Wangji had used the curse as a cover to stay close to him?
“But why?” he whispered. “What do you gain by being close to me? Are you pitying me? Is this one of your righteous duties?”
The words tasted bitter. But beneath them, deeper and darker, was a more vulnerable whisper of thought:
Or is it real?
He shook his head hard as if trying to dislodge the thought.
No. No, this wasn’t the time. There were more important matters.
He didn’t know who had cursed Lan Wangji. That was still the biggest mystery. What exactly had they planned? Did they really want to target Lan Wangji? Or was Lan Wangji just a convenient pawn to get to him?
There was also the issue of the altered talisman—he had seen its markings. It wasn’t purely evil, not entirely malicious. Someone had tampered with it, warped it, changed its working mid-craft. But for what purpose?
And now someone was helping him.
That strange message, written in riddle only an advanced talisman master could recognize. Someone was feeding him the puzzle pieces. Guiding him. First the deciphering runes. Then the confirmation that the curse activated on a compatibility matrix. And then the implication—clearly written—that Lan Wangji had not simply been cursed, but might have chosen to maintain the illusion.
But why?
What would they get out of sowing distrust between him and Lan Wangji? Who would benefit from a rift between them? Was the mysterious helper a friend trying to warn him? Or someone manipulating him from the shadows?
Wei Wuxian scowled and buried his face in his arms.
“Damn it,” he muttered. “Why is everything so complicated?”
His thoughts swirled into one another like an inescapable whirlpool. Each time he tried to focus on the mystery of the curse, he drifted back to Lan Wangji. His scent. His voice. His gaze. His quiet presence beside him at meals. The way he called him “husband” like it was the most natural thing in the world.
It had started as confusion. Then disbelief. Then embarrassment. Then something else. Something terrifying.
It had started to feel real.
And that was the most dangerous part of all.
“I have to make him say it,” Wei Wuxian whispered to the dark. “I have to make him break. If he really is pretending, then he has to slip up. I’ll tease him. I’ll push and prod until he can’t take it anymore.”
He raised his head, eyes gleaming now with a mix of determination and mischief. It was a familiar look, one that heralded trouble for anyone on the receiving end. The Wei Wuxian of old stirred inside him.
“Let’s see how long you can hold out, Lan Zhan,” he said under his breath, a smirk curling on his lips. “Tomorrow, the real game begins.”
___________________________________
The sky was still a deep indigo outside, the air in Lotus Pier cool and quiet, the moon a sliver behind drifting clouds. Even the crickets had grown lazy in their song, chirping softly like they, too, were reluctant to wake.
Inside the sleeping quarter of Wei Wuxian, the scent of last night’s sandalwood incense still clung faintly to the air, mingling with the subtle warmth of two people sharing the room—one serene, composed, and very much asleep; the other... very much awake and scheming.
Wei Wuxian sat cross-legged beside Lan Wangji on the bed, staring at him with the kind of intent that usually preceded some manner of nonsense.
The first rays of predawn light peeked faintly over the edge of the windowsill. The room was dim, shadows stretched long, but Wei Wuxian had always been able to find mischief even in the quietest hour.
Lan Wangji lay on his side, still lost in sleep, breath slow and deep, his hair spilling like ink across the pillow. His brow was uncreased, mouth relaxed. In sleep, he looked unguarded in a way he never allowed himself while awake. Peaceful. Almost heartbreakingly beautiful.
And that, of course, made him a perfect target.
Wei Wuxian leaned over slowly, soundless as a whisper, and reached for his shoulder. His hand hovered for a moment. Then—
“Rise and shine, husband!” he chirped with far too much glee.
He shoved Lan Wangji’s shoulder just firmly enough to jolt him upright in one swift motion.
Lan Wangji sat up so suddenly he looked like someone had yanked him into consciousness by the collar of his robes. His eyes blinked open, unfocused and wide, and he stared at Wei Wuxian with the bleary confusion of someone trying to recall what realm they were currently in.
His hair was mussed slightly on one side. His face, still creased with the softness of sleep, carried a look that was part betrayal, part bafflement.
Wei Wuxian immediately grinned like the cat that had caught every single canary in the cage.
“Oh,” he sighed dramatically, placing a hand over his heart. “That face. Just as cute as I remember. Lan Zhan, you really do have a specialty in making mornings worth living.”
Lan Wangji blinked again.
“…Wei Ying,” he said at last, voice scratchy with sleep.
“Yes, it’s me!” Wei Wuxian said cheerfully, reaching out to gently shake his arm like a child trying to rouse a very tired sibling. “Husband! Wake up—it’s morning!”
Lan Wangji stared at him in silence for a moment. Then he looked at the window, then back at Wei Wuxian.
“…It is not,” he said with quiet certainty.
Wei Wuxian tilted his head to the side, scrunching his nose in theatrical confusion. “It’s not?”
He glanced at the faint light outside as if seeing it for the first time, then looked back with wide, innocent eyes. “Really?”
Lan Wangji gave him a long look. A very long look.
The kind of look that did not need words to say, I know what you’ve done.
The kind of look that clearly translated to: This was intentional, and you know it, and you are evil for it.
Wei Wuxian turned his face slightly to the side to hide the delighted twitch of his lips. Oh, he knew that look. He remembered that exact expression from the very first time he'd pulled this same stunt, dragging Lan Wangji out of sleep to tease him.
Lan Wangji had glared at him then, too. Just like this. Sleep-soft and beautiful and full of quiet rage.
You’re right, Lan Zhan, Wei Wuxian thought gleefully, hiding his smirk as he turned away just a little more. I’ve done this on purpose. And it’s only the beginning. The whole day is still left.
He turned back toward him with his most charming smile, eyes glittering in the low light. “Husband,” he said sweetly.
Lan Wangji visibly stiffened.
It was subtle—most people wouldn’t have noticed. But Wei Wuxian noticed. He noticed the way Lan Wangji’s spine straightened a fraction, the way his breath caught just slightly.
Ah, Wei Wuxian thought. There it is–the first mischief of the day, and he’s already tensing.
He reached out and pinched Lan Wangji’s cheek, just lightly. “I’m going to bathe,” he declared breezily. “And my pretty, dutiful husband will, of course, prepare my robes for the day. You know. As a husband should.”
Lan Wangji, still processing the shift from sleep to chaos, remained frozen, a statue carved in moonlight, looking entirely like he’d been struck by lightning and hadn’t recovered yet.
Wei Wuxian gave him one last teasing glance, then turned on his heel and padded toward the adjacent bathing room, robes swishing with every step.
Behind him, Lan Wangji was still sitting on the bed, unmoving, blinking slowly at the space where Wei Wuxian had been.
Wei Wuxian chuckled softly to himself as he slid the door shut behind him. You’re lucky you’re cute, Lan Zhan, he thought fondly. Otherwise I’d have no mercy.
___________________________________
Inside the bathing chamber, the warm steam had already begun to fill the space, curling lazily through the air. Wei Wuxian slipped out of his night robes with practiced ease, tossing them over a wooden screen as he stepped into the shallow pool.
The water was warm, fragrant with lotus petals and a hint of sandalwood. He sighed, sinking in up to his chest, letting the heat seep into his bones.
Today is going to be fun, he thought with an impish smile, dipping his head back and submerging to his ears. And by fun, he meant he would torment Lan Zhan to the brink of collapse and then continue to do so until Lan Wangji was forced to confess the truth .
A splash echoed softly as he raised a wet hand and dragged it through his hair.
He’d made a decision when he left the Burial mounds, when the truth of the talisman had knocked the wind out of him. He’d decided that if Lan Wangji really wanted him—if all those gentle glances, those warm touches, those wordless moments of care had truly come from him—then Wei Wuxian would never again let fear silence his joy.
He was going to be annoying. Loud. Lovingly insufferable. He was going to say “husband” as often as it made Lan Zhan’s ears turn red. He was going to steal every stolen second the heavens would give him.
He rinsed the suds from his hair, scrubbing gently with the cloth provided, and smiled up at the ceiling.
Outside, he could just barely hear soft movement. The faint creak of the bed frame. A rustle of fabric.
Wei Wuxian pictured Lan Wangji sitting exactly where he’d left him, staring at his hands, maybe blinking slowly like a deer caught in the lantern light. Maybe reaching slowly—dutifully—to pick out a fresh robe for him.
Wei Wuxian laughed, a soft breathy sound. Lan Zhan, so responsible even while stunned.
His gaze flicked toward the closed door with the sharp glint of someone crafting their next offense.
His lips curved.
His eyes danced with mischief.
He raised his voice, the perfect blend of urgency and innocence, rich with theatrical flair. “Lan Zhan! Come inside! Help me!”
He pitched it loud enough to be heard across the room, but not quite enough to draw attention beyond the quarters. And it worked.
There was a beat of silence.
Then, footsteps.
Rapid ones.
The door slid open with haste, and Lan Wangji stepped inside, his face already painted with concern, eyes scanning the room. “Wei Ying—?”
His voice cut off.
Time seemed to stumble.
Wei Wuxian, chest bare and glistening in the haze, looked up at him through lashes still beaded with water. The bath came up just past his navel, and beneath that the ripple of his stomach disappeared into the shadowed water. His skin glowed in the low light, droplets slipping down his collarbone, trailing across the lines of his chest and shoulders.
Lan Wangji’s entire body froze.
Wei Wuxian didn’t miss the way his eyes widened before abruptly flicking away, nor the immediate, furious flush that crawled up the shells of his ears. Even from across the room, Wei Wuxian could see the way his hands clenched tightly at his sides, the white of his knuckles stark against the fabric of his robes.
He smirked.
“What?” he said, tilting his head with affected innocence. “You came in so fast, Lan Zhan. You look like you saw something scandalous.”
Lan Wangji, without meeting his eyes, turned away with rigid grace. “I… will come later.”
He moved to leave.
Wei Wuxian’s eyes sparkled. “Lan Zhan,” he called.
And the way he said it—
Soft. Low. Almost a purr.
It made Lan Wangji stop as if struck by lightning.
His feet froze. Shoulders tensed.
Wei Wuxian rose.
Slowly.
Water sloshed gently around him as he straightened to his full height in the bath, standing tall and utterly unbothered. The water ran down his chest in rivulets, curving along muscle, dripping from his fingertips. His hair, long and soaked, clung to his back and shoulders, plastered to his skin in dark ribbons.
Lan Wangji’s gaze, despite himself, flickered—once—toward him.
And then immediately turned away again, as if contact burned.
Wei Wuxian stepped out of the tub, barefoot on the warm tile, droplets trailing behind him like tiny pearls. The only thing he wore was a pair of soaked, clinging inner pants—white, now translucent, molded tight to his hips and thighs.
“Lan Zhan,” he said again, voice lilting, “I thought you were here to help me.”
Lan Wangji took a single, sharp step back.
Wei Wuxian followed.
Step by Step.
He closed the distance slowly, watching with delight as Lan Wangji retreated like a startled rabbit. His eyes refused to lift. His jaw was tight. His entire posture screamed composed panic.
Wei Wuxian’s smile widened. His hair was still dripping, the ends heavy with water.
He tilted his head forward.
A cascade of droplets fell.
Right onto Lan Wangji’s face.
Lan Wangji flinched—visibly—and then his eyes shot up, locking with Wei Wuxian’s.
That was when Wei Wuxian leaned in just a little closer, voice low and silken. “Really, Lan Zhan,” he murmured. “You didn’t even ask what your Wei Ying needed help with. You just ran away.”
His tone turned mock-wounded. “Is that the kind of dutiful husband you are? Leaving your poor spouse alone in the bath, wet and helpless?”
Lan Wangji’s throat bobbed with a hard swallow. “Wei Ying,” he said, voice tight, “do not tease.”
Wei Wuxian burst out laughing, delighted. “Oh, Lan Zhan. When I tease you, I promise you’ll know. Right now I’m being entirely sincere!”
He circled Lan Wangji slowly, playful, almost prowling. “All I wanted…” He leaned in, lips nearly brushing Lan Wangji’s cheek, “...was some help drying my hair.”
Lan Wangji didn’t move.
Didn’t speak.
But he was holding himself stiffly, like a man balancing on a wire stretched too tight.
Wei Wuxian stepped closer. His shoulder brushed against Lan Wangji’s chest.
His hair brushed against Lan Wangji’s robes.
“So?” Wei Wuxian said, voice softer now. “Won’t Lan Zhan help me?”
There was a long pause.
Then, barely above a whisper:
“If that is what Wei Ying wants.”
Wei Wuxian stilled.
The teasing grin slipped into something softer. Gentler.
His breath caught for a moment at the sincerity in Lan Wangji’s voice.
There was no resentment in it. No anger. Just quiet willingness, wrapped around something far more fragile.
Care.
Even now, flustered and red-faced, Lan Wangji would do anything he asked.
And for a moment, the mischief in Wei Wuxian’s eyes gave way to something deeper. A glimmer of emotion he didn’t speak aloud.
He stepped back, allowing Lan Wangji space to breathe. “Then help me, Lan Zhan.”
He turned, walking over to a stool by the wall where a towel and comb had been placed earlier. He sat, motioning for Lan Wangji to join him.
Lan Wangji followed, movements precise, his expression composed but his ears still glowing crimson and eyes refusing to meet his.
Wei Wuxian presented his back, posture relaxed, hair dripping freely over the towel.
Lan Wangji stood behind him in silence.
The first touch of his fingers was tentative. Gentle.
Wei Wuxian closed his eyes.
He felt the towel lift. The careful pat of fabric against his scalp. Down to the nape of his neck. The warmth of Lan Wangji’s hands through the cloth.
Each motion was reverent. Practiced.
He moved slowly, methodically, drawing the towel down strand by strand, absorbing the water without tugging, without rush.
Wei Wuxian’s shoulders relaxed.
Silence hung thick between them, but it was not uncomfortable. It was tender. Weighted with a thousand things neither of them had said yet, and a thousand more that lived in every gesture.
Lan Wangji paused once, fingers brushing a tangle.
Wei Wuxian’s voice was soft. “You can pull. I can handle a little pain.”
“I would rather not,” Lan Wangji said quietly.
Wei Wuxian’s throat tightened. He smiled, faint but real.
After a while, the towel was set aside. He felt the comb replace it—cool wood teeth gliding through damp strands, slow and steady.
His eyes fluttered closed.
The feeling was…intimate.
Not in the usual way he teased Lan Wangji. This was not mischief.
This was comfort.
This was being cared for.
And it made something in Wei Wuxian chest ache—quiet and sweet.
He didn't want to open his eyes yet.
Didn't want to break whatever this moment was becoming.
Lan Wangji eventually stopped, the comb stilled at the final pass, and Wei Wuxian heard him shift to set it aside. His fingers lingered a second longer on the ends of Wei Wuxian’s hair, before withdrawing like something precious being let go too soon.
Wei Wuxian exhaled, and only then opened his eyes.
“Lan Zhan,” he said softly, voice slipping out like the warm steam that surrounded them, “dry my body too.”
Silence.
He watched from the corner of his eye as Lan Wangji froze for a full breath. His posture didn’t change—still standing behind him, still composed—but Wei Wuxian felt the subtle ripple of hesitation in the stillness. The small tension in his breathing. The quiet betrayal of a man holding himself together by force alone.
Then, just as calmly, just as inevitably, Lan Wangji reached for the towel again.
And Wei Wuxian’s heart gave one traitorous thump.
The cloth touched his nape first, gentle as wind. Lan Wangji dabbed along the curve of his neck, then the slope of his shoulders. Each pass was careful, deliberate—each movement precise in its modesty. But it didn’t matter. Not to Wei Wuxian.
The towel may as well have been fire.
His skin burned under the touch.
He kept his eyes shut tight, not trusting himself to meet Lan Wangji’s gaze.
The towel moved lower, tracing down the line of his spine. A soft brush here, a firm press there—each motion slow and maddeningly thorough. Wei Wuxian bit his lip to keep a sound from escaping. His heart was thudding hard now, thumping behind his ribs like it was trying to escape.
Calm down, he told himself. It’s just a towel. It’s just Lan Zhan. He’s helping. Nothing to—
The motion stopped.
Wei Wuxian dared to open his eyes just in time to feel Lan Wangji shift to stand in front of him. The warmth of his presence moved like a tide.
The towel moved next—across his collarbone, then down to his chest.
Wei Wuxian swallowed hard, lashes fluttering. He could feel Lan Wangji’s fingers beneath the cloth now, guiding it with the kind of slow attention that unraveled something deep in his belly. His skin prickled where the towel passed—over ribs, across sternum—
And then—
Lan Wangji’s fingers brushed the burn mark on the left side of Wei Wuxian’s chest.
The cloth caught for a heartbeat. Lan Wangji had paused, fingertips pressing lightly against the edge of the old wound.
Wei Wuxian hissed.
Not from pain.
No.
The sound left him without warning, raw and sharp, the result of nothing but the contact of Lan Wangji’s bare fingers against his skin. It was barely a touch—just the ghost of pressure—but it ignited a fire across his chest and sent heat surging through every inch of him.
His eyes flew open.
And met gold.
Lan Wangji was already looking at him, brow furrowed, concern darkening his gaze.
“Does it still hurt?” he asked softly, hand still poised there.
Wei Wuxian couldn’t answer.
Couldn’t lie. Couldn’t tell the truth either.
Because the pain wasn't the kind Lan Wangji meant.
And the ache wasn't from an old injury—it was from how gently Lan Wangji was holding him. How his golden eyes looked not just at the scar, but through it. How his fingers, unadorned, unhurried, trembled just slightly against Wei Wuxian’s chest.
Wei Wuxian didn’t speak.
Couldn’t.
He just stared back, helpless under the weight of that quiet, unwavering gaze.
He wondered—did Lan Zhan know? Did he feel it too?
How , even this simple act, born of duty or care or maybe some deeper reason, had begun to crack open every defense Wei Wuxian had left?
Lan Wangji blinked once, slowly. Then, withdrawing his hand, he murmured, “You should dress.”
He stood.
Wei Wuxian watched him as he turned, robes ghosting across the tile, as silent as moonlight on water.
Lan Wangji paused at the door, one hand against the frame.
He didn’t look back.
“I will be outside.”
Then he was gone.
The door closed behind him with a gentle click.
Silence settled over the room again.
Wei Wuxian sat there, stunned, towel still draped loosely across his lap, water glistening along his collarbone. The space where Lan Wangji’s hand had touched his chest felt marked, like the echo of a brushstroke on paper long after the ink had dried.
He blinked.
Then groaned—loudly—and dropped his head into his hands.
“Ughhhhhh…”
The sound echoed off the stone walls.
“What am I even doing,” he muttered, voice muffled against his palms.
He sat up straight, throwing the towel aside with a scowl.
“I was supposed to be in control,” he grumbled. “I was the one who was going to tease him until he confessed. That was the plan.”
He flung himself back onto the stool, dramatically throwing an arm over his face.
“And instead—what do I do? I melt the moment he touches me. One brush of his hand and I’m suddenly dumb, mute, completely useless!”
He sat up again, pacing a few frantic steps before remembering he was still almost naked. He grabbed a fresh robe from the bench and tugged it over his shoulders with more force than strictly necessary.
“Seriously, Wei Wuxian, you’re pathetic,” he scolded himself under his breath. “You had one job. Tease. Push. Make him confess. Instead you sat there like a maiden in a poetry scroll!”
He ruffled his still-damp hair in frustration, cheeks flushed with residual heat.
“He didn’t even blink when I asked him to dry my body. Didn’t protest. Just—just did it. And I’m the one who forgot how to breathe.”
He groaned again, flopping back onto the stool like a puppet with cut strings.
“He won again,” he whispered bitterly. “Without even trying. Argh!”
After a moment, he sat up, hands on his knees, eyes narrowing with renewed determination.
“Alright. Fine. So I got flustered. One time. One moment. That doesn’t mean I’m out of the game.”
He squared his shoulders.
“I’ll come back from this. I’ll win. Just wait, Lan Zhan. This isn’t over. You may have touched my chest and scrambled my brain, but I’m not defeated.”
He stood, pulling the robe tight around him, and stalked toward the door.
As he slid it open, sunlight from the adjacent room spilled in, golden and warm. He paused on the threshold, eyes scanning for the familiar silhouette.
And somewhere inside him—beneath the frustration, beneath the fluster—was a growing, gnawing truth.
That maybe it wasn’t about winning.
Not really.
That maybe he didn’t want Lan Wangji to confess so he could win a game.
Maybe…he just wanted to hear it.
To know it.
To believe it.
Because if Lan Wangji truly felt the same way—
Then Wei Wuxian wouldn’t need to tease anymore.
He’d finally let himself fall.
___________________________________
Afternoon sun filtered in through the lattice windows, painting golden grids across the wooden floor of Jiang Cheng’s study. The light was soft, but the air between the two brothers was anything but.
A gentle breeze stirred the edge of the scrolls laid out on the desk, and somewhere in the distance, the faint clink of training swords echoed from the inner courtyard. But inside the room, the only sounds were the low murmur of voices and the slow simmer of tension threatening to boil over.
Wei Wuxian sat cross-legged on one of the chairs near the low table, idly twirling a brush between his fingers, his expression unreadable. Across from him, Jiang Cheng stood stiffly with his arms crossed, jaw tight, eyes dark with irritation that had been building since the conversation began.
“It’s been three days,” Jiang Cheng said, his voice clipped. “And we still don’t know who tried to break into the vault.”
“I know,” Wei Wuxian replied calmly. “And we’re not going to find them if we just run around interrogating people.”
“I’m not running around,” Jiang Cheng snapped. “I’ve been tracking every movement of our inner guards. Cross-checking duty rosters. Interrogating servants. No one’s talking. And no one’s made a mistake yet.”
Wei Wuxian sighed, lowering the brush. “I didn’t say you weren’t doing your job.”
“Then don’t act like I’m wasting my time.”
“I’m not,” Wei Wuxian said, more tired than irritated. “Look, I reinforced the barrier around the vault . The old array had weaknesses. It was meant to alert, not repel. I’ve rewritten it—it’s fortified now. They try again, they won’t just be spotted, they’ll be trapped.”
Jiang Cheng looked at him sharply. “You didn’t tell me you were changing the wards.”
“I didn’t have to.”
“You didn’t think I deserved to be informed?”
“I thought you’d approve.”
“That’s not the point!”
The room went quiet for a moment.
Wei Wuxian looked away, jaw tightening. “Fine. Next time I rework a defensive ward on the most dangerous object of mine, I’ll hold a meeting about it.”
Jiang Cheng’s hand slammed down on the desk. “Don’t deflect.”
Wei Wuxian’s eyes snapped back to him.
Jiang Cheng leaned forward, eyes sharp and furious. “Where did you go yesterday?”
Wei Wuxian blinked.
“I asked around,” Jiang Cheng continued. “You disappeared. Before dawn. You didn’t tell anyone. Not even Shijie.”
Wei Wuxian let out a breath, fingers tightening slightly around the brush. “It wasn’t important.”
“Not important?” Jiang Cheng’s voice rose, disbelief laced with anger. “Wei Wuxian, do you even understand the state the Jiang sect is in right now? How much pressure we’re under? And you vanish without a word!”
“I was careful.”
“You’re never careful! You say that every time, and every time we’re left cleaning up the mess you leave behind!”
Wei Wuxian flinched, just a little.
Jiang Cheng didn’t stop.
“You think this is just about you?” he spat. “You think you can keep wandering off, doing whatever you want, and we’ll all just keep shielding you from the consequences?”
“That’s not what I—”
“I’m the sect leader now, Wei Wuxian,” Jiang Cheng growled. “And in case you haven’t noticed, we’re barely holding onto that title.”
He stalked to the window, shoving it open to let in more air, then turned back, eyes burning.
“Do you even know the kind of rumors that are going around? That you’re experimenting on the Wen remnants. That you’re using resentful energy to create a new kind of magic. That I’m letting you do it. That the Jiang sect has turned into a nest of ghosts and monsters.”
Wei Wuxian stiffened.
Jiang Cheng's voice dropped, but the bitterness only deepened. “Some of the minor sects have already started severing ties. Quietly, of course. No formal declarations yet. Just missed invitations. Late responses. Slipping loyalty.”
He ran a hand through his hair, frustrated and weary. “The others still stay… but only because they’re afraid of us. Afraid of you.”
Wei Wuxian looked down at his hands.
“I never asked for that,” he said softly.
“But it’s what they see,” Jiang Cheng snapped. “You walk around Lotus Pier with Wen survivors, talking about energy no one else can control, while the whole cultivation world whispers about the day you’ll turn all of us into corpses dancing at your whim.”
There was a pause.
Wei Wuxian’s voice, when it came, was quieter than before. “You think I want to hurt anyone?”
“I think,” Jiang Cheng said slowly, “that you never think ahead.”
Silence fell again, heavier now.
Wei Wuxian stood, brushing imaginary dust from his robes. “I went to the Burial Mounds.”
Jiang Cheng blinked, caught off guard by the sudden confession.
Wei Wuxian continued. “I didn’t tell anyone because it would have made a scene. And because I didn’t want Lan Zhan to follow me.”
Jiang Cheng’s brows furrowed. “You went alone?”
Wei Wuxian nodded. “I needed to… check something. A talisman I found. It might be related to the curse on him. I needed the Blood Pool’s energy to confirm it.”
Jiang Cheng’s expression was unreadable. “And?”
Wei Wuxian hesitated. “I don’t know yet. It’s complicated. But I’m close.”
Jiang Cheng turned away, arms crossing again. “You’re always close.”
“I’m trying.”
“Are you?” he snapped. “Because sometimes it looks like all you’re doing is making this harder.”
Wei Wuxian flinched again, but this time didn’t speak.
Jiang Cheng exhaled hard through his nose. “I can’t protect you forever, Wei Wuxian.”
“I never asked you to.”
“Well maybe you should have!” Jiang Cheng exploded. “Maybe then I wouldn’t have spent the last two years tearing my throat raw defending you behind closed doors while you ran off chasing shadows.”
“I didn’t ask you to do that either.”
“Of course you didn’t,” Jiang Cheng spat. “You never ask. You just act. And you think because your intentions are good, everything else doesn’t matter.”
Wei Wuxian’s fists clenched at his sides.
“I’m doing what I can,” he said, voice low. “The world is full of resentment, and no one’s doing anything about it except kill or ignore it. I’m trying to find another way.”
“At what cost?” Jiang Cheng demanded. “How many bridges have to burn before you realize people don’t trust what they don’t understand?”
“Then let them learn,” Wei Wuxian said, finally meeting his eyes. “Or let them leave. I’m not going to stop just because people are afraid.”
Jiang Cheng stared at him, shoulders tight with rage—and something else. Something bitter and sad and old.
“You’re going to get yourself killed,” he said, not angrily, just matter-of-fact.
Wei Wuxian smiled, bitter and tired. “Probably.”
They looked at each other for a long time.
Then Jiang Cheng turned back to the window, his voice quieter.
“Just… next time you go, tell someone. Even if it’s just me.”
Wei Wuxian nodded slowly. “Alright.”
Jiang Cheng didn’t look at him, but after a moment, he muttered, “Good.”
Wei Wuxian walked to the door, hand resting on the frame.
“I’ll keep working on the curse,” he said. “And I’ll strengthen the inner halls, too. You shouldn’t have to keep carrying all this alone.”
Jiang Cheng didn’t respond, but the slight shift of his posture said he heard.
Wei Wuxian stepped out into the hall, blinking into the afternoon light.
He exhaled slowly.
The scent of lotus drifted on the wind, and far away, someone was laughing. Children, maybe.
The world moved on.
Even if it was falling apart.
________________________________
The afternoon was heavy with humidity, the kind that clung to skin and made every breath feel steeped in water. Lotus Pier, usually vibrant with motion and laughter, had grown unusually quiet. Even the birds seemed subdued, their songs faint and far between.
Wei Wuxian stood at the edge of the lake, a solitary figure outlined against the water. His sleeves fluttered slightly in the breeze, but he stood still, unmoving, save for the sharp, rhythmic motion of his arm as he cast stones out across the surface.
Each stone skipped once, twice—then vanished into the depths with a soft plunk.
Ripples spread out in growing circles, blurring the reflections of clouds overhead.
The sunlight glinted in silver arcs across the lake’s skin, but Wei Wuxian didn’t look up. His brows were drawn, mouth tugged into a deep frown. He hadn’t said a word since leaving Jiang Cheng’s room. His mind spun with unspoken questions, spiraling anxieties, and a quiet undercurrent of regret.
The truth was simple, and awful: he was tired.
Tired of lying. Tired of being feared. Tired of pretending he wasn’t hoping, every day, for something he still believed he could never truly have.
He bent to pick up another stone, fingertips brushing the earth.
“You’re upset again, Young Master Wei.”
Wei Wuxian turned toward the voice, his expression easing a little.
Wen Ning stood a short distance behind him, his posture gentle, hands at his sides. His eyes, pale and innocent, were fixed on Wei Wuxian with concern.
Wei Wuxian grinned. “Ah, Wen Ning. I’m not upset. Just... brooding. It’s very on-brand for someone like me, don’t you think?”
Wen Ning didn’t answer. He simply came closer, standing beside him, gaze moving toward the lake.
There was silence between them for a while. Only the distant murmur of water lapping against stone and the rustle of reeds at the bank.
Finally, Wei Wuxian spoke again.
“Have you ever made someone angry just by existing, Wen Ning?”
Wen Ning tilted his head. “Yes.”
Wei Wuxian looked at him, surprised.
“The cultivation world... hated me long before I even held a sword,” Wen Ning said softly. “I was weak. Later I became the remnant of a clan everyone hated. That made it worse.”
Wei Wuxian’s smile returned, this time quieter. “You and me both.”
Another stone sailed out over the water, skipping several times before sinking.
“Sometimes I wonder,” Wei Wuxian murmured, “if it wouldn’t have been better to just leave all this behind. The sects, the amulet, everything.”
“But you wouldn’t,” Wen Ning said.
Wei Wuxian glanced at him. “Why not?”
“Because you care and most importantly Hanguangjun is here.”
The words were simple. Honest.
And Wei Wuxian had no response.
A gust of wind brushed past them, stirring the hem of Wei Wuxian’s robes.
And then—
A sudden flare of heat against his chest.
Wei Wuxian jerked back with a hiss, clutching at his inner robe. “Ah—!”
Smoke curled up from the front of his tunic. His fingers dove in, pulling out a half-charred talisman—its edges glowing faintly, the sigils etched across it writhing like angry snakes before fading into ash.
“Not again,” he groaned, flicking the remains away. “I just changed that ward!”
Wen Ning took a step closer. “Young Master Wei?”
Wei Wuxian’s expression had already changed—gone was the soft melancholy. In its place, sharp focus. Alert. Eyes narrowed.
“They’re back,” he muttered. “Someone’s trying to breach the vault again.”
Wen Ning tensed. “Do you think it’s the same person as last time?”
“I’d bet my flute on it.” Wei Wuxian’s fingers flexed, already calculating the best path to the underground vault. “But this time… they won’t get away. The new ward is a trap, not just a warning.”
He turned to Wen Ning, his expression serious now. “Stay here.”
“But—”
“No.” Wei Wuxian shook his head. “If this is a decoy, I can’t risk leaving the whole place undefended. If anyone else tries anything while I’m distracted, you can gather help immediately . Stay by the lake, keep watch.”
Wen Ning hesitated, but finally nodded. “Be careful.”
Wei Wuxian gave him a crooked smile. “Aren’t I always?”
He turned and began to run.
_____________________________________
The path through Lotus Pier blurred past him—stone corridors, familiar courtyards, long winding steps veiled in shadow.
Wei Wuxian’s mind was already turning, dissecting the wards, retracing the path to the sealed chamber beneath the pier. The new ward he’d placed was different from the original—woven with layers of script and sublayers that would engage only once someone crossed the second seal. The intruder might have slipped past the outer alarm, but they wouldn’t reach the amulet itself.
At least, not alive.
His boots thudded against the stairwell as he descended deeper into the compound.
The air grew colder with each step, more stale. The scent of damp stone and faint spiritual energy clung to the walls. The underground level was rarely accessed—even fewer knew how to bypass the minor illusions he’d placed around the true entrance.
Wei Wuxian pressed his palm on the wall. Spiritual energy rippled outward. A false panel dissolved with a shimmer, revealing a narrow hallway lit by talisman lanterns.
He stepped inside.
_____________________________________
Wei Wuxian approached the vault chamber, his steps slow, senses sharp.
No movement yet.
But something felt off.
He could feel it—the ambient energy around the door was unstable. The wards were holding, but they were under strain.
He raised his hand, summoning a sliver of energy into his fingertips, and pressed them lightly against the runes etched into the stone.
A pulse answered him.
The trap had been sprung.
Someone was inside the array.
Wei Wuxian’s eyes narrowed further.
He moved forward, gathering his robes with one hand and reaching into his sleeve for his flute.
The corridor opened into a circular stone chamber, ringed with eight inscribed pillars and a large sealing circle in the center of the floor. The amulet itself—glimmering faintly with resentful energy—hovered just above the pedestal.
And opposite the amulet—
A figure stood frozen in place, caught mid-step.
A barrier of translucent blue-white light encased them, holding them locked in the circle like an insect in amber.
Wei Wuxian stepped into view slowly, letting his presence be known.
“Well,” he said, voice cold now, no trace of teasing. “You’ve got nerves. I’ll give you that.”
The figure inside the trap didn’t move. Couldn’t.
Wei Wuxian stepped closer, studying them carefully. They were cloaked—face obscured, robes unmarked and dark. But he could already see the energy fluctuating around them. They’d used a disguise talisman.
“Let’s see who’s so curious about my little toy,” he muttered.
He raised his hand and pressed his fingers to one of the array’s corners.
With a spark of talisman light, the hood of the figure’s cloak dissolved.
Wei Wuxian froze.
Then his entire body went still.
___________________________________
The flickering talisman lights of the underground chamber bathed everything in a pale, cold glow. The trapped figure stood motionless within the glowing seal—a blur of black robes and impenetrable silence, suspended in a cage of spiritual energy.
Wei Wuxian took another step closer, brows drawn tight in focus.
He hadn’t expected the intruder to be so calm. Most would be clawing at the edge of the array by now, trying and failing to escape. But this one… this one just stood there, utterly still. Unbothered. Even confident.
But it wasn’t just that.
What truly unsettled Wei Wuxian was the mask.
It wasn’t a simple cloth cover or a typical sect-issued half-veil. This was a full-face mask, seamless and strange, made of smooth black stone or lacquered metal—he couldn’t tell which. There were no visible openings, not even for the eyes. Not a single expression, no markings or symbols—just a blank surface reflecting the talisman light like water in shadow.
A chill ran down Wei Wuxian’s spine.
He forced a chuckle. “Wow. Extra cautious, aren’t you?” he said aloud. “Wearing a full mask underground like you’re afraid even the rats might recognize you.”
The figure said nothing.
“Too scared to let your face show?” Wei Wuxian smiled coldly. “Let’s fix that.”
He raised his hand, focusing his energy into a sharp, precise pulse. His intent was clear—to knock the mask clean off. His array was still holding, the trap circle humming steadily beneath their feet, resonating with his will.
A thin line of light crackled between his fingers.
But then—
The masked figure moved.
Or more accurately—sounded.
It was a gesture so subtle Wei Wuxian almost missed it. One hand lifted, fingers curling into an unfamiliar mudra, pressing against the other hand’s palm. Then, movement—sliding, gliding, like striking unseen strings between air and skin.
And then—
Music.
Not from a flute. Not from a guqin. Not from any visible instrument at all.
But the air sang.
The sound was strange—thin and bright, like a bell made of wind, echoing with layered vibrations. It pulsed outward in a wave, harmonic yet sharp, and it hit the array with devastating clarity.
Wei Wuxian’s eyes flew wide.
The array cracked.
With a groan of tearing spirit energy, the glowing net of the seal fractured. Scripts twisted and sputtered, talismans curled inward and blackened.
“No—!”
The array shattered.
Wei Wuxian lunged forward, reaching for his flute, already forming the first note to counter, but—
The figure moved.
Upward.
Effortlessly.
Like gravity had lost interest.
They leapt high, body twisting midair, robes trailing behind like smoke. For a breathless second, the figure hung suspended in the blue-tinged air, as though untouched by earthly rules.
Then—gone.
By the time Wei Wuxian’s boots hit the broken seal, the intruder had vanished.
Vanished without a sound. No echo, no exit spell left behind. Only the faintest shimmer of displaced energy where they’d torn through the barrier and vanished into Lotus Pier’s tunnels above.
Wei Wuxian stood frozen.
His breath caught halfway through a shout, hands still raised.
Nothing.
Not even a spiritual signature to follow. Just the sputtering fragments of talisman light and the ringing memory of that music.
For a moment, all he could do was stare.
The trap—the one he’d designed himself—had been unraveled in seconds. Effortlessly. Not through brute force or brute spiritual power—but through music.
Wei Wuxian’s lips parted slowly.
“Music cultivation…”
He’d seen it before. He’d practiced it himself. He knew its strengths, its depths. But this—this had been advanced beyond anything he’d ever encountered.
This wasn’t just a tune to lull spirits or slow an enemy’s pulse. This was intricate. Tuned to specific harmonics of the spirit array itself. Notes woven in a sequence designed to mimic and disrupt spiritual energy within the formation.
It was genius.
Terrifying genius.
Wei Wuxian’s mind began to race. His heart pounded in his chest like a war drum.
Who?
Who could do that?
Who even knew how?
The cultivation world had a few music cultivators, yes—but none like this. Not with this speed, this precision. Certainly not enough to dismantle one of Wei Wuxian’s wards.
The top clans trained in sound to a degree, but even the Lan clan’s guqin teachings didn’t breach into the kind of aggressive musical combat he’d just witnessed. They used music for purification. For control. For suppression.
Not for…
That.
He turned back toward the pedestal where the Stygian Tiger Amulet still hovered, untouched—pulsing gently with restrained resentment.
His thoughts churned. Faces flickered in his mind.
He eliminated them one by one.
Until only one remained.
A thought.
A whisper.
It came unbidden, cold and horrifying.
He tried to push it away.
But the image had already formed.
Wei Wuxian stiffened.
His breath caught in his throat.
“No,” he whispered aloud.
He shook his head violently.
“No, no. What’s wrong with you, Wei Ying? Why would you even think—?”
But the thought kept returning. Like a persistent echo.
Music cultivation.
Silent escape.
Unparalleled spiritual precision.
Graceful movements. Exact control.
And something more.
The figure hadn’t even tried to hurt him. Hadn’t attacked. Hadn’t even looked surprised when Wei Wuxian arrived.
They’d known what they were doing.
Wei Wuxian staggered back a step.
“No,” he said again, but softer now. “He wouldn’t…”
_____________________________________
Chapter 18
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Wei Wuxian thought of golden eyes, cool fingers brushing a comb through his hair. He thought of the touch on his chest. The way that voice, that name—Wei Ying—could still unravel him like a thread in an old robe.
Lan Zhan.
Lan Wangji.
No.
No.
He had always been constant. Steady. Loyal beyond reason. Even now, even in the face of danger and judgment and curses, Lan Wangji had stayed.
Why would he—
Why would he come here like this?
Masked.
Hiding.
Running.
Why would he not tell him?
Wei Wuxian’s knees gave slightly, and he sank down onto the chamber floor, hand bracing himself on cold stone.
The chamber hummed softly, empty once more.
The amulet floated above its pedestal, quietly pulsing.
Wei Wuxian stared at it.
And all he could hear was music.
That strange, haunting sound—bright and uncanny—resonating in his skull.
He clutched at his robe, fingers tightening near his heart.
It couldn’t be him.
It couldn’t.
But no matter how he denied it, no matter how he tried to reframe what he saw—
The possibility sat heavy in his mind.
If it was him….why?
_______________________________
Wei Wuxian’s footsteps echoed across the paved corridors of Lotus Pier, uneven and fast, his robes trailing in a rush of motion behind him. His heart was pounding—not just from the sprint down through the underground chamber, but from something sharper. Hotter.
Fear.
Not fear of the intruder. Not fear of danger. Not even fear of the Stygian Tiger Amulet slipping into the wrong hands.
No. This was something worse.
This was the fear of being right.
His hands trembled as he turned down the next path, eyes scanning frantically through the haze of golden afternoon light. Servants passed him, startled, nodding greetings. He didn’t acknowledge them.
Where is he?
The intruder’s escape still looped in his mind—the mask, the silence, the impossible use of music cultivation to dismantle a ward even he had labored over.
That sound.
Those hand gestures.
No. No, no, no—
“Lan Zhan!” he called aloud, turning another corner. “Lan Zhan!”
No response.
Only the rustle of leaves and the distant clatter of training weapons from the juniors.
Wei Wuxian bit his lip, speeding his steps. His thoughts were a storm now, logic clashing violently with disbelief.
He wouldn’t.
He couldn’t.
But if not him—who?
He had to find him.
He had to know.
He rounded the last bend toward the lakeside training field and paused, eyes scanning again.
There.
Wen Ning and A-Yuan sat near the shade of a tree. The boy was playing with a stick in the sand, drawing circles. Wen Ning watched with quiet patience, speaking softly.
Wei Wuxian darted toward them.
“Wen Ning!” he called out, breath short.
Wen Ning rose immediately, concerned. “Young Master Wei?”
Wei Wuxian crouched low beside A-Yuan, eyes urgent.
“Have either of you seen Lan Zhan? He’s not in the quarters, not by the library, not in the east gardens—have you seen him?”
A-Yuan looked up, stick stilling in his hand. His round eyes blinked slowly.
“Adie?”
Then, with a small pout, he shook his head. “No... didn’t see him.”
Wen Ning glanced around, then at Wei Wuxian. “I haven’t either. Not since this morning.”
Wei Wuxian stood slowly, his pulse quickening again.
He tried to mask the desperation in his voice, but it slipped out anyway. “Are you sure?”
“Yes,” Wen Ning replied gently. “If I saw him, I would tell you.”
Wei Wuxian nodded once, curtly, then turned.
“Stay here,” he said over his shoulder, already moving again. “I’ll be back.”
The longer he searched, the worse the ache became.
Corridor after corridor. Walkway after walkway. A servant said they’d last seen Hanguang-Jun near the eastern wing—but the garden there was empty. Another said they weren’t sure, but thought he’d gone toward the kitchens. Wei Wuxian doubled back, frustrated.
With every failed corner and empty alcove, something inside Wei Wuxian curled tighter. Doubt seeping through every seam.
What if it really was him?
Wei Wuxian turned into a quiet corridor lined with white paper windows and froze.
At the far end, lit in the soft gold of the afternoon sun, a familiar figure stepped into view.
Wei Wuxian’s breath hitched.
Lan Wangji.
Walking calmly, a tray balanced in both hands.
Wei Wuxian surged forward.
“Lan Zhan!”
The name tore from his throat, raw with urgency.
Lan Wangji looked up just in time to see him rushing forward.
Wei Wuxian reached him in two strides, nearly knocking the tray aside as he seized both of Lan Wangji’s hands, holding them tightly between his own.
“Where were you?” he demanded, voice rough, eyes wild.
Lan Wangji blinked, startled. “Wei Ying…”
“Where were you?” Wei Wuxian repeated, louder this time. “Tell me—where did you go?”
Lan Wangji stared at him in silence, emotions flickering briefly across his composed features.
Before he could respond, a soft voice cut through the air behind him.
“He was with me.”
Wei Wuxian turned.
Jiang Yanli walked toward them, her robes trailing gracefully behind her, her smile gentle but confused. “Wangji was with me in the kitchen.”
Wei Wuxian stared at her.
“What?”
“I said,” she repeated kindly, “he was with me.”
Wei Wuxian’s mouth worked for a moment, but no sound came. He turned back to Lan Wangji, then again to Jiang Yanli.
“For how long?” he asked, voice low and tight. “Since when?”
Jiang Yanli tilted her head, bemused. “Why? Did you miss him so much?”
“ShiJie,” Wei Wuxian pleaded, taking a step closer. “Please—tell me.”
She sobered slightly, sensing the urgency.
“For the past few hours,” she said, more carefully now. “Since midday. He asked for my help in the kitchen. We’ve been there since.”
Wei Wuxian's eyes widened, disbelief crackling through his expression.
He looked again to Lan Wangji.
The tray.
He hadn’t noticed it before—too consumed by panic.
But now—
The scent hit him.
Lotus root.
His favorite dish.
Lan Wangji had made it.
For him.
Jiang Yanli smiled. “Wangji asked for help making lotus root and pork rib soup. He wanted to try preparing it the way i do. I thought it was very sweet.”
Wei Wuxian turned slowly, gaze falling to the tray Lan Wangji still held—steady despite everything. The bowl was steaming softly, the aroma unmistakable. Delicate lotus slices floated in clear broth, ribs tucked beneath.
For a long moment, Wei Wuxian couldn’t speak.
The contrast between what he feared and what he saw struck him like lightning.
He looked back up.
His throat felt dry. “For me?”
Lan Wangji met his eyes.
“Mn.”
One syllable.
That was all.
But it was enough.
Wei Wuxian’s grip on his hands loosened slightly. His own hands were trembling now, not from panic—but from something else entirely.
He’d doubted him.
He’d believed, even for a moment, that Lan Wangji could be hiding something so dangerous, so cruel. That he could have been the masked figure in the vault. That he’d used music cultivation to—
He couldn’t breathe.
Lan Wangji was standing in front of him holding soup.
Soup.
And Wei Wuxian—idiot, fool, coward—had let his fear make him forget who this man truly was.
“I…” Wei Wuxian started, voice cracking. “I thought—”
He stopped himself.
He couldn’t say it aloud.
Jiang Yanli’s smile lingered as she turned back to look at her younger brother, sensing there was something more behind the frantic way he’d approached Lan Wangji. Her eyes, always soft but far too perceptive, settled on the pair of them—Wei Wuxian still clutching Lan Wangji’s hands, breathing fast, flushed not from exertion, but something deeper. Her gaze flickered, curious.
“A-Xian,” she asked gently, “what happened?”
Wei Wuxian startled slightly, as if only just remembering she was still present. He blinked at her, then glanced down at his and Lan Wangji’s joined hands. Realizing he was still gripping them tightly in front of everyone like a drowning man clutching driftwood, he quickly let go, coughing awkwardly into his sleeve.
“Oh—uh—nothing! Nothing at all!” he said too quickly, too brightly.
He waved his hands in front of him as if to erase the tension in the air. His grin was lopsided, sheepish, and absolutely Wei Wuxian.
Jiang Yanli arched an elegant brow, not quite believing him.
Wei Wuxian scratched the back of his head, eyes darting between her and Lan Wangji. He tried to recover, to spin something—anything—that might redirect attention from the panic that had so obviously seized him moments before.
“I just…” He shrugged, grinning wide now. “Just missed my husband, that’s all!”
There was a beat of silence.
Then: “Missed him so much, in fact, that I thought something terrible had happened!” He laughed, overly cheerful. “And look! There he was, toiling away in the kitchen, slaving over lotus root and ribs just for me! So hardworking, my Lan Zhan.”
Jiang Yanli gave him a knowing look, lips twitching. “Is that so?”
“Yes, yes!” Wei Wuxian said, nodding quickly. “A devoted, thoughtful, unbelievably handsome husband working himself to the bone just to bring me soup—how could I not worry? I mean, really, what if he cut his delicate fingers on a lotus root? That would be a tragedy!”
Lan Wangji remained utterly silent beside him, expression unreadable—but the tips of his ears were pink.
Jiang Yanli chuckled lightly, covering her mouth with her sleeve. “You’re very dramatic, A - Xian.”
Wei Wuxian placed a hand over his heart, feigning injury. “Dramatic? Me?”
Jiang Yanli turned to Lan Wangji, smile softening. “Thank you, Wangji. For making his favorite.”
Lan Wangji gave her a slight nod. “It was no trouble.”
Jiang Yanli looked between them once more, then offered Wei Wuxian one last look—warm, amused, but laced with quiet insight.
“Well,” she said, “I’ll leave you two to enjoy it. Don’t let the soup get cold.”
And with that, she walked away, the soft swish of her robes trailing behind her like petals on wind.
Wei Wuxian sighed, turning to Lan Wangji with a sheepish grin.
“Close one.”
Lan Wangji said nothing, but his gaze lingered—steady, questioning, and just a little too sharp to be fooled by Wei Wuxian’s deflection.
Wei Wuxian laughed nervously again, rubbing the back of his neck.
“Okay,” he muttered, “maybe I overreacted a little.”
Lan Wangji remained silent.
Wei Wuxian picked up the tray.
“…But this does smell amazing.”
Lan Wangji: “Mn.”
Wei Wuxian smiled softly. “You really made this for me?”
Lan Wangji’s eyes met his.
“Mn.”
And for a moment, the world was quiet again.
Just them.
And the soup.
And the relief flowing through Wei Wuxian veins.
__________________________________
The sun hung low in the sky, casting a warm golden glow across the rebuilt courtyard roofs. Below, the air buzzed with motion and sound—laughter, orders barked, the rhythmic clatter of crates being moved into place. Colored banners had been strung from one side of the pier to the other, fluttering in the wind like streamers of flame and silk.
Servants hurried across walkways with trays and fabrics. Disciples lugged stacks of lanterns and ceremonial weapons. The usually dignified air of the sect had become a whirlwind of excitement, nerves, and festive tension.
From the second floor of the library, Wei Wuxian leaned on the railing of the wide wooden balcony, watching it all unfold with a half-lidded smile, arms crossed loosely in front of him. His expression was unreadable—somewhere between wistful and smug.
Lanterns, music, and people.
It had been so long since this place had felt alive.
Behind him, the soft shuffle of a chair echoed against polished wood, followed by slow footsteps. Jiang Cheng came into view at his side, eyes narrowed against the sun as he stood just far enough not to brush shoulders with him.
Wei Wuxian didn’t look at him. He merely tilted his head toward the view and said brightly, “Look at that, Jiang Cheng. Preparations are taking shape faster than expected. After so long, Lotus Pier is finally going to hold a celebration again!”
Jiang Cheng folded his arms, unimpressed. “You say that like it’s not a disaster waiting to happen.”
Wei Wuxian finally turned to glance at him, his grin widening. “No faith in your brilliant older brother?”
“Brilliant?” Jiang Cheng deadpanned. “I’m still waiting for evidence.”
Wei Wuxian laughed, throwing his head back .. “Come on. For once, just trust me.”
“Not in this life.”
“Alright, alright.” He held up both hands in mock surrender. “But listen—this celebration? It’s the perfect opportunity.”
Jiang Cheng raised a brow. “Opportunity for what? For you to get drunk and fall into the lotus pond again?”
Wei Wuxian gasped. “That happened one time.”
“Three times.”
“Details, details.” He waved him off. “No, no. This is the perfect chance to catch the intruder.”
Jiang Cheng blinked. “…You’re turning a celebration into bait?”
“Exactly!” Wei Wuxian clapped his hands together like it was the cleverest idea in the world. “Think about it. The intruder’s already tried twice. They’ll know security’s tighter. They’ll expect stiff patrols and boring old wards. So, we do the opposite—look distracted. Celebrating. Laughing. Drinking. Obviously focused on entertaining guests. They’ll think we’ve let our guard down.”
Jiang Cheng snorted. “Or they’ll think we’re idiots.”
Wei Wuxian circled him slowly, grinning. “Idiots are harder to resist. Trust me, I know.”
Jiang Cheng gave him a flat look. “…I’m aware.”
Wei Wuxian leaned in conspiratorially. “We’ll even leave a flaw in the array around the vault. Just enough to tempt them.”
Jiang Cheng snorted. “And if they’re not dumb enough to fall for it?”
“They will,” Wei Wuxian said confidently. “Because desperation makes people reckless.”
Jiang Cheng looked appalled. “You’re inviting them to break in.”
“I’m inviting them to lose,” Wei Wuxian corrected. “Because once they reach the artifact and try to take it—”
“They’ll vanish again,” Jiang Cheng interrupted darkly. “Like last time.”
Wei Wuxian grinned and wagged a finger. “Ah, but this time is different. Because this time… they won’t get far.”
He leaned forward conspiratorially, voice dropping to a whisper. “The artifact’s been altered.”
Jiang Cheng’s eyes narrowed. “Altered how?”
Wei Wuxian straightened, clearly enjoying himself. “I’ve linked it to myself. It won’t respond to anyone else. No one—not even you—could lift it now.”
Jiang Cheng raised a skeptical brow. “And if they try?”
“They’ll get burned,” Wei Wuxian said simply. “The artifact will reject them violently. Painfully. The more they try to hold it, the worse it gets.”
Jiang Cheng raised both brows now, intrigued despite himself. “And how do we know they won’t mask the injury with spiritual energy?”
Wei Wuxian’s grin widened like a cat showing its teeth. “Because they can’t. That’s the beauty of it—the injury won’t heal until the link is broken. No matter how powerful the cultivator, spiritual energy won’t mend it.”
Jiang Cheng was silent for a long moment, clearly weighing the risks.
Finally, he said, “And if they get away again?”
Wei Wuxian’s smile didn’t fade. “Then all we need to do is find the one person nursing a fresh wound they can’t explain.”
Jiang Cheng let out a soft exhale through his nose. “Hmph.”
Wei Wuxian turned his head toward him, expectant. “Well? Genius plan, isn’t it?”
Jiang Cheng’s expression didn’t change. “...It’s not entirely idiotic.”
Wei Wuxian gasped, hand to chest. “Did you just almost compliment me?”
“I said not entirely idiotic.”
“Which, by your standards, is practically a declaration of admiration.”
Jiang Cheng rolled his eyes and turned back to the view below.
Wei Wuxian laughed, leaning once again against the rail.
Together, they stood in companionable silence for a few moments, watching as lanterns were hoisted onto tall posts and banners bearing the Jiang sect’s colors were unfurled.
Wei Wuxian’s smile softened as he watched.
Lantern light, laughter, music in the distance—this place had been full of screams not too long ago. Now it would echo with celebration.
His voice was quieter when he spoke again. “You know, Jiang Cheng… this celebration isn’t just a trap.”
Jiang Cheng glanced at him.
“It’s a chance,” Wei Wuxian continued. “A chance for the cultivation world to see what Lotus Pier really is now. That it’s rebuilt. Stable. Strong. That there’s no Wen army hiding in the shadows, no secret resentful experiments humming beneath the floors.”
Jiang Cheng’s jaw clenched slightly.
Wei Wuxian looked straight ahead, his voice calm. “We need this. Not just to catch the intruder. But to show everyone that we’re not living in ghosts and rumors anymore. That the Jiang sect is still standing.”
Jiang Cheng’s jaw tightened slightly.
Wei Wuxian’s tone softened. “We don’t have to prove anything. But reminding them wouldn’t hurt.”
Jiang Cheng made a low, dismissive sound—but the line of his shoulders eased.
They stood quietly as the wind tugged at their robes. Down below, disciples finished arranging a long banquet table, then promptly tripped over each other in the process.
Wei Wuxian tilted his head, amused. “Funny, isn’t it?”
“What is?”
“We used to have festivals here all the time. Remember? Ghost-warding nights, spring hunts…”
Jiang Cheng snorted. “You’d always find a way to put something on fire.”
Wei Wuxian beamed. “And you’d always find a way to yell at me for something I didn’t even do!”
“You always did it.”
Wei Wuxian laughed, then smiled faintly. “I miss those days.”
Jiang Cheng didn’t answer right away. But after a moment, he said gruffly, “Maybe tomorrow will feel like them again.”
Wei Wuxian blinked, surprised by the softness in his voice.
He smiled warmly. “Wouldn’t that be something.”
From below, the sound of tuning instruments floated upward. The sun dipped behind the mountains, shadows lengthening across the glittering water.
Lotus Pier had been through fire.
But tomorrow, it would glow with lantern light.
_________________________________
Wei Wuxian slowed as he reached the threshold of his room, one hand resting lightly on the carved wood of the doorway. The corridor behind him was hushed, the soft sounds of Lotus Pier's celebration preparations muffled by distance. The scent of incense drifted faintly through the air, along with the lingering heat of a summer evening.
Inside, the glow of a single lantern cast a warm circle over the room.
And in the center of it, Lan Wangji sat at the dressing table, robes pristine, back straight, comb in hand.
Wei Wuxian stilled, watching him.
Long, pale fingers moved through his damp hair with graceful efficiency, each stroke calm and measured. His forehead ribbon was already loosened, hanging slightly askew, a rare sight that made Wei Wuxian’s chest tighten with something he couldn’t name. The gold of the comb caught the lamplight, glinting like fire against the ink-dark strands of Lan Wangji’s hair.
The moment was peaceful. Unassuming.
But for Wei Wuxian, it was a battlefield.
I should tell him, he thought. About the real reason for the celebration. About the intruder. About the trap.
And yet—
He hesitated.
He wanted to believe it had never been Lan Wangji. That his mind was playing tricks on him after years of fear, guilt, and watching everyone he loved disappear in one way or another.
It’s Lan Zhan we’re talking about, he told himself fiercely. He wouldn’t lie. He wouldn’t hide something like this. And tomorrow, once the intruder is caught—this doubt will be gone.
But for now—
Now, he needed something else.
Answers.
Truth.
He needed Lan Wangji to tell him everything—to confess.
Wei Wuxian narrowed his eyes, thinking fast.
Come on, Wei Ying, think. What can make Lan Zhan combust? What’ll make him lose that perfect self-control?
And then—he remembered.
A moment from Cloud Recesses. Library pavilion. Prank done by Wei Wuxian . Lan Wangji’s ears turning red like fire. The way he’d gripped his sword like he wanted to kill him right then and there.
Wei Wuxian grinned, wicked and triumphant.
Yes. That.
Let’s see, Lan Zhan, how you handle this attack.
He stepped into the room, quiet as a whisper.
Lan Wangji stilled for only a second—just long enough to register the presence—but then continued combing his hair as if nothing had changed.
Wei Wuxian came closer, stopping just behind him. He watched in the mirror as Lan Wangji’s lashes flickered once. His movements didn’t falter. But his body had subtly straightened, spine just a little more rigid than before.
Wei Wuxian leaned forward, lips curved.
“Here,” he murmured. “Let your husband do this.”
He reached out and slid his fingers over Lan Wangji’s hand, gently prying the comb from his grasp. Lan Wangji let him take it without resistance, though his hands tightened briefly before settling in his lap.
Wei Wuxian began combing with careful, reverent strokes, watching Lan Wangji’s face in the mirror as he worked.
His movements were slow, bordering on sensual. The comb whispered through the silken strands of Lan Wangji’s hair, drawing it out over his shoulders, down his back.
“Your hair’s beautiful,” Wei Wuxian murmured. “Like ink poured over moonlight.”
Lan Wangji’s only response was a subtle breath, barely audible.
Wei Wuxian’s gaze dropped to the ribbon.
With a deliberate pause, he set the comb aside and reached for it.
Lan Wangji didn’t move.
Wei Wuxian watched him carefully in the mirror. Their eyes met—and held.
Then, slowly, he untied the forehead ribbon.
It slid free like silk over skin, folding into his hands. Wei Wuxian held it with a strange reverence for a breath, then carefully set it beside the comb.
He leaned forward.
Lan Wangji didn’t flinch—but his breath hitched just slightly.
Wei Wuxian’s voice was soft. Intimate.
“Aren’t we husbands now?”
No answer.
“But we haven’t done the most important part of marriage yet,” he whispered near Lan Wangji’s ear.
That did it.
Lan Wangji stiffened.
Wei Wuxian saw it all—the way his spine locked, the way his fingers curled tightly against his robes. His face remained composed, but tension had coiled around every inch of him.
A pause.
Then a voice, barely audible, low and rough.
“…What?”
Wei Wuxian didn’t reply.
He moved.
Without giving Lan Wangji a chance to retreat, he stepped around the chair, leaned forward—and suddenly grabbed both of Lan Wangji’s hands.
Lan Wangji looked up in surprise, but before he could speak, Wei Wuxian sharply tugged him up from the chair and directly into his arms.
His hands settled lightly—yet firmly—around Lan Wangji’s waist.
He didn’t pull him close. Not yet.
He gave him time. Gave him space.
Let him choose.
If Lan Wangji wanted to pull away, he could. Wei Wuxian was bracing for it.
But—
Lan Wangji didn’t move.
He stood completely still.
Only the faintest tremble in his chest gave him away. And the flush—barely there, but unmistakable—rising in his ears.
Wei Wuxian’s heart thudded loud in his chest.
His voice dropped to a whisper again—this time bolder. Playful. Wicked.
“We haven’t consummated our marriage yet.”
Lan Wangji’s breath caught.
His golden eyes widened—just a little.
Wei Wuxian’s grin was soft, slow, wicked. “Isn’t that what comes next, Lan Zhan?”
Lan Wangji said nothing.
But Wei Wuxian felt it—the heat. The tension. The way Lan Wangji’s hands curled tightly at his sides.
Wei Wuxian leaned closer, almost brushing their foreheads together, soft as a kiss.
“Should I keep teasing you,” he murmured, “or will you finally admit it?”
Lan Wangji finally moved—just a breath away, just a subtle tilt of his head away from the touch.
“…Admit what?” he asked, voice hoarse.
Wei Wuxian narrowed his eyes slightly, studying him. Still holding out, aren’t you? Still pretending you don’t know?
He smirked, mischief gleaming across his face like moonlight on blade edge.
But you don’t know who you’re facing.
He stepped back just a little, pulling away from Lan Wangji’s embrace. The contact broke with a quiet whisper of fabric, and immediately Lan Wangji’s hands fell to his sides, rigid. The flush across his ears remained, as did the unmistakable tension in his shoulders—but he said nothing.
Wei Wuxian tilted his head, giving him a theatrical sigh.
“Oh, Lan Zhan,” he said, voice full of exaggerated pity. “So this is how it’s going to be?”
Lan Wangji blinked, wary.
“You’re really going to pretend,” Wei Wuxian said, one brow arching, “that you don’t know anything about consummation?”
Lan Wangji’s eyes widened—just slightly—but enough.
His ears went from faint pink to a deep, molten red.
“Stop,” he said, voice lower than usual, with an edge of warning that did nothing to cover the embarrassment clinging to him like dew on silk.
Wei Wuxian laughed, delighted.
“Oh no. No, no, no,” he said, circling Lan Wangji as if he were sizing up a prey animal pretending to be a tree. “You don’t get to stand there—stoic, expressionless—and then react like that the second I mention something a little scandalous.”
Lan Wangji’s jaw tightened, but he said nothing.
His ears were glowing.
Wei Wuxian grinned, teeth flashing, before suddenly stepping forward, catching Lan Wangji’s hand again—not to pull him into an embrace this time, but to drag him in the opposite direction.
“Come with me, Husband,” he said sweetly.
Lan Wangji did not resist—couldn’t, really, not when Wei Wuxian had already turned, tugging him with a cheerfully wicked bounce in his step. His free hand pointed toward the far corner of the room, where a low study table sat by the windows, the night wind gently rustling the hanging scrolls on the wall.
Wei Wuxian led him over, and with a flourish, pushed gently on his shoulders.
Lan Wangji sank into a kneeling position beside the table, regal as ever even with the growing bewilderment and color in his face.
Wei Wuxian bent down to his level, still grinning.
“Wait here, Lan Zhan,” he said, his voice teasing but strangely warm. “I’ll be right back.”
Lan Wangji opened his mouth as if to ask something, but Wei Wuxian was already moving, turning on his heel and striding across the room with all the enthusiasm of someone enacting a plan that was equal parts ridiculous and brilliant.
Behind him, Lan Wangji sat where he was placed, very still.
The table was low and elegant, built from dark lacquered wood with calligraphy tools neatly placed to the side. Wei Wuxian’s scrolls and half-finished sketches from earlier in the day were still laid out. Moonlight filtered in through the windows beside it, casting pale silver across the floor and across Lan Wangji’s face.
He sat straight-backed, his hands resting on his knees, expression unreadable save for the lingering flush painting his ears. His eyes, however, followed Wei Wuxian’s every movement.
Wei Wuxian could feel them—like heat on his skin.
And it made him smile.
Let’s see how much composure you can keep tonight, Lan Zhan.
You started this fake marriage silent and strong. Let’s see how long that lasts.
_____________________________________
When Wei Wuxian returned to the room, it was with an absurdly large stack of books piled in his arms, the topmost threatening to topple off at every step.
Lan Wangji looked up from the low study table, his golden eyes lifting without expression—until they landed on the stack of texts.
Then he blinked, once.
Wei Wuxian grinned like a fox, practically glowing with wicked delight.
He dumped the books dramatically onto the table with a thud, the impact rattling a few ink bottles nearby and sending a single brush rolling off the edge. Wei Wuxian didn’t seem to notice—or more likely, didn’t care.
Lan Wangji’s gaze lingered on the mountain of literature with a mixture of suspicion and dread.
Wei Wuxian plopped down beside him, far too close, their robes brushing as he leaned in with a gleam in his eyes.
“Lan Zhan,” he said sweetly, “you’ve been such a dutiful husband lately—but I think you still need some lessons.”
He gave Lan Wangji a pointed wink.
Lan Wangji, ever composed, narrowed his eyes.
“What lessons,” he said slowly.
Wei Wuxian made a show of scanning the pile with the exaggerated solemnity of a scholar preparing for an imperial exam. “Oh, let’s see… ah! This one.”
He pulled a slim book with a red cover from the stack and held it up like it contained the secret to immortality.
“Very educational,” he declared with mock gravity. “We’ll read it together.”
Lan Wangji’s brows drew slightly together, but he said nothing. His gaze followed the movement of Wei Wuxian’s hands as he opened the book and set it flat between them.
The first few pages were simple. A hand-inked story about two cultivators traveling together, slowly warming up to one another over the course of long nights under the stars. The art was detailed but innocent—smiling glances, shared meals, the brushing of hands.
Lan Wangji glanced at Wei Wuxian once, suspicious. Wei Wuxian grinned, motioning to the pages.
“See? Good story. Good moral. Togetherness. Husbandry.”
Lan Wangji, still wary, continued to read.
The pages turned. One, then two. The characters embraced. A gentle kiss. Mutual pining. A declaration of love beneath a moonlit tree.
Lan Wangji began to lean closer, just slightly, drawn in.
Wei Wuxian watched him from the corner of his eye, anticipation practically buzzing in his fingertips.
And then—
The next page.
Lan Wangji turned it.
And froze.
Wei Wuxian bit the inside of his cheek to keep from bursting.
Because suddenly, the next image showed far more than emotional intimacy.
It was detailed.
It was graphic.
And it most certainly involved two very naked men doing very marital things to each other in an array of suggestive positions that would scandalize even the most liberal of cultivator sects.
Lan Wangji’s entire body went stiff.
His eyes locked on the image, then instantly snapped away. His face went from pale ivory to cherry blossom red in an instant. He slapped the book shut so hard it made a sharp crack against the wood of the table.
Wei Wuxian let out a long, exaggerated gasp. “Lan Zhan!”
He leaned forward with faux innocence. “What happened? Why’d you stop? We were learning.”
Lan Wangji didn’t answer. His jaw was tight, his fingers clenched around the edge of the table.
Wei Wuxian reached forward and opened the book again, flipping through it with casual delight until he found the page Lan Wangji had closed.
He turned the open book toward Lan Wangji, one finger tapping at the very explicit artwork. “You stopped here, huh?”
Lan Wangji inhaled sharply. “Wei Ying. Stop.”
But Wei Wuxian was having far too much fun.
He leaned in closer, voice low and teasing. “Come on, Lan Zhan, we’re already married. We should be learning about this stuff, right? Which one do you like better?”
He pointed to an image on the left—a muscular man pinning the other to the floor, their expressions flushed, eyes half-lidded.
“Do you like this one?” Wei Wuxian asked, eyes glittering. “He looks strong. Confident. In control.”
Lan Wangji’s hands tightened into fists, the knuckles pale.
Wei Wuxian leaned closer, breath brushing the shell of his ear. “Or maybe…”
He flipped to another page.
“I like this one.”
It was worse.
Intimate. Messy. Undeniably graphic.
Wei Wuxian sighed, feigning dreamy admiration. “So tender. So trusting. Don’t you think?”
Lan Wangji’s breathing had quickened, though his face was still turned rigidly away. His skin glowed red beneath the lamplight, his ears visibly trembling.
“I mean…” Wei Wuxian murmured, now dragging his gaze deliberately down Lan Wangji’s body. “You do look like you could pull this off.”
Lan Wangji turned sharply to him, and Wei Wuxian grinned back, full of heat and mischief.
“Should we try it?” he asked.
The question was soft, deceptively innocent, but Lan Wangji’s reaction was immediate. His spine snapped straight, his jaw tightening as though the syllables themselves had burned. Slowly, he began to rise from his kneeling position, his hand pressing against the low table for balance.
But Wei Wuxian was faster.
“Oh, no you don’t.”
He reached out, palm firm against Lan Wangji’s chest, pressing him lightly but insistently back down onto the mat. His other hand slid the open book between them, turning it with practiced ease until the page once again displayed the explicit illustration in its inked, unapologetic detail.
“Look, Lan Zhan,” Wei Wuxian said, his tone maddeningly coaxing, as though he were showing him a delicate brushstroke or a clever talisman instead of two men entwined in a scandalous embrace. He tapped the page with one finger, eyes glinting with mischief. “Tell me—which one would you be? The one on top… or the one beneath?”
Lan Wangji’s throat moved with a swallow. His gaze had flickered, unwilling, but Wei Wuxian caught it instantly—the split second his golden eyes darted to the page before jerking away again, as if the ink could scald him.
“Wei Ying,” he said tightly, voice low and strained, “enough.”
But Wei Wuxian only leaned closer, his hair brushing against Lan Wangji’s shoulder, his grin sharp and teasing. “Enough? We’re only getting started! Come on, Lan Zhan, I’m trying to learn here. Be a good husband and teach me.”
He tilted his head, tapping the page again with mock earnestness. “So, what do you think? Should I push you down on the floor like this—” His hand shifted to another figure in the drawing, the one sprawled beneath, face flushed in abandon. “—or are you planning to bend me like that?”
The word bend rolled off his tongue deliberately, provocatively, as his grin widened.
Lan Wangji’s composure cracked. His usually steady hands clenched into fists so tight his knuckles shone white. His breath hitched audibly, sharp and uneven. His ears—already red—flared to a deeper shade that climbed all the way down the line of his neck.
His eyes, when he finally risked looking at Wei Wuxian, no longer held the faint irritation of earlier. This was something rawer. Startled. Panicked.
He drew a sharp breath.
Then, suddenly, violently, Lan Wangji pushed to his feet. The motion was stiff, almost desperate—like flight was the only answer left. He turned at once, robes whispering as he made for the door, his posture too rigid, too brittle, betraying the chaos under his skin.
But Wei Wuxian wasn’t done yet.
He reached up and caught Lan Wangji’s wrist, holding it loosely but firmly.
He didn’t rise from the mat. He just looked up at him, his voice dropping, almost a whisper now. “Where are you going, Husband?”
Lan Wangji didn’t turn.
Wei Wuxian rose to his knees, still holding the wrist, and said, in a voice edged with something deeper than teasing:
“You better be prepared.”
He leaned in, voice brushing like silk against the silence.
“Because we are going to consummate our marriage soon.”
Lan Wangji didn’t speak.
But his hand trembled in Wei Wuxian’s grasp before he gently, carefully pulled it free and walked away—his steps quick, his composure crumbling like a paper seal in rain.
Wei Wuxian watched him go, lips pressed tight together.
And then—
He burst into laughter.
It was loud and delighted, echoing through the room like music. He dropped back onto the floor, arms splayed out beside the open book.
“Oh, Lan Zhan,” he gasped, grinning into the ceiling. “You should’ve seen your face!”
But as he turned his head back toward the book, the laughter faltered.
The images stared back at him.
Explicit.
Beautiful.
Intimate.
Wei Wuxian swallowed.
He reached out and flipped to another page, slower this time. Then another. And another.
And somewhere between the third and fourth image, his face began to turn red.
“…Shit,” he muttered, closing the book and flopping face-down onto the floor.
His voice was muffled in the fabric of the mat.
“Why does it suddenly feel like I’m not going to get any sleep tonight?”
_________________________________
It was night inside Jin Guangshan’s room, the chamber lit by the soft glow of a low-burning brazier that kept the space pleasantly warm.
At the center, Jin Guangshan reclined in his seat like a man used to command. Before him, a table was laid with a small spread of wine and dried fruits, untouched.
Standing respectfully beside him, with his hands folded behind his back and head slightly bowed, was Jin Guangyao.
Jin Zixun lounged against the opposite wall, one leg crossed over the other, the sleeve of his ornate golden robe thrown back to show the bandaged arm beneath it.
The air in the room was thick—not just with incense, but with tension.
“Have you placed them?” Jin Guangshan’s voice was casual, but there was an edge beneath the smooth tone.
Jin Guangyao inclined his head. “Yes, Father. Several eyes have been discreetly positioned near the Wen remnants and Lotus Pier. They report to me regularly. There has been no unusual movement.”
“And yet we still don’t have the artifact,” Jin Guangshan snapped, eyes narrowing. “What were you waiting for, A-Yao? A personal invitation?”
“I had identified the vault,” Jin Guangyao said calmly. “The artifact was heavily warded, and I intended to study the array thoroughly before attempting to—”
Before another word could be said, Jin Zixun stood abruptly, his chair scraping harshly against the floor.
“So now it’s my fault, is it?” he spat, glaring at Jin Guangyao. “That’s what you’re trying to say, isn’t it?”
Jin Guangyao turned to him, expression still serene. “I only meant that—”
“That you should’ve told me more?” Jin Zixun barked. “That I should’ve waited for your delicate little observations while the opportunity slipped away?!”
“I meant no offense,” Jin Guangyao said with his usual politeness, his hands folded carefully at his waist. “Only that it would have been better to coordinate—”
The slap echoed like a whip crack.
Jin Zixun’s hand struck Jin Guangyao across the face, snapping his head to the side.
“You son of a prostitute,” Jin Zixun growled. “Don’t you dare tell me what I should have done.”
Silence filled the room.
Jin Guangyao straightened slowly. A red mark bloomed across his cheek, but he did not raise a hand to it. His eyes did not meet Jin Zixun’s. Instead, he turned back to Jin Guangshan, bowing once more.
“My apologies, Father,” he said softly. “The failure is mine.”
Jin Guangshan didn’t move.
He didn’t scold Jin Zixun.
Didn’t even glance at the hand that had struck his son.
Instead, he waved a hand dismissively. “You should’ve done better, A-Yao.”
A single flicker passed across Jin Guangyao’s face. Barely there.
A breath of pain. A flash of something fragile and bitter—then gone, buried beneath the practiced smile he wore like armor.
“Yes, Father.”
The silence lingered.
Jin Guangshan shifted in his seat, fingers drumming once on the lacquered table. “Tomorrow we go to Lotus Pier for their so-called celebration of rebuilding. With the sects gathered and distracted, it will be the perfect opportunity. We’ll take action then.”
Jin Guangyao stiffened. “With respect, Father, I advise against that.”
Jin Zixun let out a scoff. “Of course you do.”
Jin Guangyao’s gaze didn’t waver. “The situation has changed. I received word from one of our spies within Lotus Pier. There was a second intrusion.”
That caught Jin Guangshan’s attention.
“What do you mean, second?”
“After the initial attempt by Jin-Jixun,” Jin Guangyao said smoothly, “someone else tried to enter the vault.”
Jin Zixun’s face darkened. “Who?”
“We don’t know,” Jin Guangyao said. “But they were not one of ours. They bypassed a reinforced array—one reportedly laid by Wei Wuxian himself—and vanished without a trace.”
Jin Guangshan leaned forward, interest sharpening. “And they didn’t succeed either?”
“No,” Jin Guangyao confirmed. “But that makes two separate attempts in a short span.”
Jin Zixun sneered. “Probably one of Wei Wuxian’s pets trying to act clever.”
Jin Guangyao shook his head. “According to the report, the intruder used sound-based cultivation to disrupt the wards.”
Jin Guangshan’s brow furrowed. “Sound?”
“There are very few who can manipulate music cultivation at that level,” Jin Guangyao added. “Which means this person is powerful—and likely independent of both the Jiang and Jin sects.”
“So you want us to sit back and do nothing,” Jin Zixun accused.
“I want us to avoid walking into a trap,” Jin Guangyao replied, voice still light. “Wei Wuxian is impulsive, but not foolish. If there was one array before, there will be another. And this time, it may not let the intruder walk away.”
“You seem awfully interested in protecting him,” Jin Zixun hissed.
“I am interested,” Jin Guangyao said carefully, “in ensuring the Jin sect does not humiliate itself again by acting prematurely.”
That earned a narrow-eyed glare from Jin Zixun.
Jin Guangshan exhaled, rubbing his temple.
“Then what do you propose we do?” he asked at last, voice like blunt steel. “Just wait? Let some faceless cultivator steal the artifact from under our noses?”
Jin Guangyao didn’t flinch at the sharp tone. He only smiled, the corners of his mouth curving with practiced ease.
“Why not?” he said mildly. “Let the intruder make the first move. Let them face whatever it is Wei Wuxian has buried in the dark. Let them burn themselves out trying to reach the artifact.”
He took a step closer to the table, lowering his voice ever so slightly—just enough to suggest intimacy, secrecy, control.
“We keep our eyes open. Our ears sharp. And when the fight breaks out, when Wei Wuxian is too busy chasing shadows to watch his back—we step in.”
He let the words linger, then added with a soft chuckle, “A well-timed step is far more powerful than the first one.”
Jin Guangshan’s eyes narrowed slightly. He was silent for a long moment, as if weighing the suggestion.
Jin Zixun bristled again, but for once, said nothing.
Jin Guangyao waited. He knew better than to speak further. He knew how to set the stage—and when to step back and let his father take credit for the performance.
Finally, Jin Guangshan nodded once, slow and approving. “Hmm. You may be useless at many things, A-Yao, but even a blind dog finds a bone now and then.”
Jin Guangyao bowed slightly. “I live to serve.”
“Good,” Jin Guangshan said. “Then do not make any more mistakes. Keep your people in place. Watch everything. And if this intruder does strike—be ready. I want that amulet before the Jiang or Wei brat even realize it’s gone.”
“Of course, Father,” Jin Guangyao murmured.
Jin Guangshan waved a hand. “Get out.”
Jin Guangyao bowed deeper. “Yes, Father.”
He turned smoothly on his heel and walked toward the door, his steps slow, measured, completely unaffected by the undercurrent of threats and bruises—verbal or otherwise—that hung in the air behind him.
As he reached the threshold, he paused with one hand on the carved wooden frame. For a heartbeat, he glanced back—just long enough to see Jin Guangshan turn to speak with Jin Zixun, dismissing him from thought as if he were dust.
Jin Guangyao’s eyes turned distant.
He stepped into the hallway, gently closed the door behind him, and turned.
The corridor was dim, lit by distant lanterns and fading afternoon light. Voices and footsteps echoed distantly from outside, but this hall was quiet, shadowed and still.
He stood there for a moment.
Then, softly—barely above a whisper—he murmured:
“Yes, Father. The plan will work.”
A pause.
His smile twisted, too sharp to be soft, too knowing to be innocent.
“But perhaps not the plan you think.”
He reached up and touched the spot where Jin Zixun had struck him, fingers brushing his cheek with thoughtful detachment. Then, with a single breath, he straightened his robes, adjusted his cuffs, and resumed his usual expression—placid, mild, obedient.
His footsteps down the corridor were light. Purposeful. Measured.
The golden robe of a dutiful son swept behind him.
But his shadow—long and silent—moved differently.
__________________
Notes:
✨ End Note ✨
The mystery won’t stay hidden for long—just 2–3 more chapters and the intruder’s identity will finally be revealed 👀.
Until then, please sit back and enjoy Wei Wuxian’s shameless antics driving Lan Wangji to the brink of madness 😂💕
Chapter Text
The celebration had begun in earnest.
Lotus Pier shimmered under daylight, its newly rebuilt structures polished so bright they looked like they’d never been touched by fire. Silk banners in deep purple and silver fluttered proudly from high posts, the Jiang sect crest practically shouting at every turn: Look! We survived, and we look good doing it!
Servants moved quickly through the courtyard, balancing trays of plum wine and chrysanthemum tea like seasoned generals commanding an army of teapots.
Wei Wuxian stood near one of the outer walkways, arms folded, expression tight. He had dressed handsomely for the occasion—dark robes with silver embroidery and tiny plum blossoms stitched along the hem—but his usual sparkle was… mysteriously missing.
He wasn’t smiling.
Not even a little.
(A very suspicious sight indeed.)
In truth, he had been hoping—though he would never admit it out loud—that Lan Xichen might come. At least then, there would be one calm, sensible person to balance out the inevitable chaos of the cultivation world gathering in one place. But that morning, a letter had arrived. Polite. Apologetic. Full of Lan Xichen’s signature elegance.
Urgent sect matters, deepest regrets, warmest wishes, etcetera, etcetera.
Wei Wuxian didn’t blame him. Not really.
Still—he might have sulked. Just a little.
And then—
Then Jin Zixuan arrived.
Wei Wuxian had spotted the flash of gold from across the main pavilion and immediately thought: Of course. Who else would blind us before the ceremony even begins?
The Jin sect never traveled modestly. Their entourage glittered like a walking treasury—robes thick with gold thread, hair ornaments polished to mirror shine, and expressions smug enough to reflect the sunlight.
At the head of it all, Jin Zixuan looked as he always did: composed, proud, infuriatingly handsome. Handsome in a way that made Wei Wuxian want to grit his teeth and roll his eyes at the same time.
Naturally, he greeted Jiang Cheng with a stiff little nod, bowed to Jiang Yanli, and then lingered on her just a moment too long before turning to his fellow Jin elders.
Not once—not even for half a breath—did he hide his eyes from straying back to her.
Wei Wuxian’s fingers twitched.
Coward, he thought, glaring. All these years of being a pompous peacock and now you look like a guilty cat stealing fish.
Jiang Yanli, of course, was perfectly polite. She smiled, soft and unreadable, as if nothing had ever happened. Which only made Wei Wuxian grumble more internally. He couldn’t hear what she said, but that didn’t stop him from imagining it. Maybe Jin Zixuan was apologizing. Maybe he was pretending the past didn’t exist. Maybe he thought shiny boots alone could smooth everything over.
Wei Wuxian scoffed under his breath. Hmphh! As if it could make up for years of stupidity.
He stayed near the edge of the courtyard, posture casual, jaw tight. A few nervous guests from smaller sects glanced at him—whispering, wary—but he ignored them. Let them wonder.
Because really, this wasn’t about them.
It wasn’t even about Jin Zixuan.
This was about the celebration. The trap. The artifact. The very serious business they had planned.
Wei Wuxian straightened, schooling his expression. He had work to do.
But—well. He allowed himself one more glance across the courtyard.
There was Jiang Yanli, profile turned toward Jin Zixuan, her polite smile still perfectly in place.
Wei Wuxian narrowed his eyes.
That smile was lovely, yes—but he couldn’t help wondering if, somewhere behind that fake smile, she was thinking of what it had cost her to wear it.
__________________________________
Wei Wuxian pushed open the door to his room with the familiar ease of someone who never bothered to knock. His fingers were still damp from the chilled tea he’d hastily sipped on his way back, the sounds of laughter and chatter from the courtyard fading behind him as the door closed.
He stopped mid-step.
Lan Wangji was already there—just about to leave.
He had turned, calm as always, reaching for the latch of the door when he noticed Wei Wuxian entering. For a heartbeat, the two stood in perfect symmetry on either side of the threshold.
Lan Wangji wore his usual white—immaculate, flowing like mist over stone. His hair was neatly bound, his forehead ribbon fastened once again, the edges of his sleeves drifting slightly with movement.
To anyone else, he looked the same as always.
To Wei Wuxian—he looked like temptation wrapped in the colors of heaven.
Wei Wuxian’s eyes gleamed.
He stepped directly into Lan Wangji’s path, stopping just short of brushing against him. Lan Wangji blinked, and at the last second, paused mid-step to avoid a collision.
“Wei Ying,” he said sharply.
Wei Wuxian only grinned, raising a brow. “Hanguang-Jun scolding me the first thing I walk in the room? What would people say?”
Lan Wangji narrowed his eyes, but Wei Wuxian only leaned closer.
Then his expression shifted—gleam fading into something darker, more amused.
He stepped forward, just slightly.
Lan Wangji stiffened—and took an almost imperceptible step back.
Wei Wuxian’s gaze moved slowly over him from head to toe, lingering in a way that was entirely deliberate.
“My husband,” he murmured, voice low and sweet, “is looking a little plain for a celebration.”
Lan Wangji’s eyes flickered.
Wei Wuxian tilted his head. “White robes again? Honestly, Lan Zhan, you’ll be standing beside me. Don’t you think you should dress like a man who’s lucky enough to have Wei Wuxian as his husband?”
The silence that followed was thick enough to touch.
Lan Wangji’s jaw tensed slightly, and his voice came out quieter this time, almost like a warning. “Wei Ying.”
But Wei Wuxian ignored it completely. He reached forward, grabbed Lan Wangji’s hand—and with a grin that promised nothing but chaos, pulled him firmly back into the room.
“Wei Ying—”
“Nope,” Wei Wuxian sang. “Don’t even try. I’ve made up my mind.”
He shut the door behind them with his foot and strode straight toward the wardrobe with the kind of purpose that suggested a man about to set fire to propriety and decorum both.
Lan Wangji, still caught mid-motion and adjusting to the sudden change in trajectory, said nothing—but he remained in the room, his brows faintly drawn in wary confusion.
Wei Wuxian flung open the doors of the wardrobe, surveying the neat row of robes within. Predictably, it was a sea of pale whites and icy blues. He flicked through the hangers with increasing dissatisfaction.
“Too pale. Too cold. Too ghostly,” he muttered, rejecting robe after robe with a furrowed brow. “Lan Zhan, if I didn’t know you better, I’d think you were trying to vanish into the clouds.”
Behind him, Lan Wangji stood with arms crossed, silent.
Wei Wuxian grinned to himself, even as he kept rejecting robes.
Until—ah.
There it was.
At the far back of the wardrobe, tucked behind layers of formality and minimalism, a single burst of color glowed like a ruby among stones.
Wei Wuxian’s hand stilled.
He reached out and pulled it forward.
A robe—rich wine red with understated gold embroidery along the hems. Elegant. Striking. Unapologetically bold. It practically shimmered under the lantern light.
Wei Wuxian turned, eyes alight.
“Well, well,” he said, holding it up like a victorious general presenting a captured banner. “What have we here?”
Lan Wangji blinked.
Wei Wuxian strode toward him and held the robe up against his chest, measuring the cut and length against his frame.
Lan Wangji glanced down—and immediately tensed.
Wei Wuxian stepped back, admiring. “Hmm. The color really brings out your eyes.”
Lan Wangji looked down at the robe again.
Then at Wei Wuxian.
Then back at the robe.
“No,” he said flatly.
Wei Wuxian gasped, dramatically offended. “No? What do you mean no?”
“Too much,” Lan Wangji said.
Wei Wuxian hummed, twirling the robe lazily over one shoulder. “Too much? You mean too perfect. Admit it, Lan Zhan. You’re afraid to be seen wearing something that isn’t muted and moonlight-colored.”
Lan Wangji’s lips thinned, but he didn’t argue.
Wei Wuxian took that as a win.
He tossed the robe lightly onto the bed and stepped closer. “But think about it. Red symbolizes joy, celebration, good fortune. You’re my husband. Don’t you want to match the mood?”
Lan Wangji didn’t answer.
Wei Wuxian leaned in, voice lowering to a purr. “Don’t you want to match me?”
A pause.
Then—very, very quietly—
“I do not match you,” Lan Wangji said, the faintest note of exasperation slipping into his voice.
Wei Wuxian smirked, enjoying himself far too much. “Ah, you’re right. I’m chaos. You’re order. But opposites attract, don’t they?”
Lan Wangji remained silent, but his gaze flicked toward the robe again.
Wei Wuxian reached up and pointed towards his own robe, revealing the striking red-and-black robe he’d chosen for the day—embroidered with lotus motifs and tied loosely at the waist.
“Look at this,” he said, spinning in a slow circle. “We’ll look so good together. Fire and snow. Passion and control. The cultivation world won’t know what hit them.”
Lan Wangji exhaled slowly.
Wei Wuxian held the wine-red robe out with a flourish, draping it across his arms like a ceremonial offering. “Go on. Change. I’ll even help you if you want.”
Lan Wangji gave him a long look.
Wei Wuxian held up his hands innocently. “No funny business. Well, not unless you want there to be.”
Lan Wangji didn’t reach for it.
Instead, he stared at Wei Wuxian and repeated in a steady tone, “I will not change.”
Wei Wuxian’s grin widened the instant Lan Wangji said no. It was not the polite curve of lips he used when flattering sect leaders, nor the roguish smirk he wore in the streets of Yunmeng, but the kind of grin that came alive in his bones — sharp, reckless, already gleaming with mischief. His eyes sparked like a firework just waiting for detonation.
“Aha,” he said, stepping forward in mock solemnity, as if Lan Wangji had given him exactly the answer he’d been waiting for. “I knew it. You’re nervous, aren’t you?”
Lan Wangji’s brows twitched almost imperceptibly. “Wei Ying.”
Wei Wuxian ignored him entirely, pushing both sleeves up his forearms with a dramatic flourish, the gesture far too theatrical for the simple task of rolling up silk. He rubbed his palms together as though preparing for battle. “Don’t worry. I’ll help you. That’s what husbands are for, isn’t it?”
He took a bold step forward, every ounce of shamelessness radiating from him. Lan Wangji stiffened in place, gaze sharpening into warning.
“Wei Ying.” This time his name came low and wary, the sound of a man accustomed to discipline but confronted with a force he could not restrain.
Wei Wuxian’s grin only grew brighter. “Lan Zhan, you make it sound as though I’m about to do something improper.” He raised his hand deliberately, reaching toward the fold of Lan Wangji’s robe, fingers just a breath away from the immaculate fabric.
But before he could touch, Lan Wangji shifted smoothly to the side — a movement so seamless it almost seemed like water slipping away from an unworthy grasp. Wei Wuxian’s hand landed on air.
He blinked. “Huh?” Then, with a laugh bubbling out of his chest, he tilted his head. “Lan Zhan, what are you moving around for? Stay still. I need to change your robe.”
“Wei Ying, behave.” His tone was firmer now, carrying the quiet thunder of warning.
Wei Wuxian clicked his tongue, grinning as though nothing could possibly be more entertaining. “Ai, don’t be so stubborn. Come on.” He pitched his voice into an exaggerated coaxing lilt, the sort reserved for bribing children with sweets or coaxing a cat down from a roof. “Good Lan Zhan, stand still. Just a little change, you’ll look very pretty, I promise.”
Lan Wangji’s jaw tensed. Wei Wuxian’s grin turned wicked, the mischief pouring off him in waves. He was clearly doing this on purpose — not just to dress Lan Wangji in red, but to enjoy watching the unflappable Hanguang-Jun shift, dodge, resist. It was rare treasure, rarer than gold. And Wei Wuxian, greedy as ever, would not let the moment slip away.
Lan Wangji retreated another step, his back brushing against the edge of the table. His posture remained straight, dignified, but the faintest crease appeared between his brows.
Wei Wuxian stopped just short, tilting his head, studying him with an amused squint. Then he clapped his hands together, tone all faux sympathy. “Ohhh, I see. The mighty Hanguang-Jun, behaving like this. What would your uncle say, hm? Lan Qiren, seeing you dance around like a maiden avoiding her wedding night? I think he’d faint.”
Lan Wangji’s eyes flickered dangerously, the faintest ripple of irritation beneath his calm. Wei Wuxian’s grin softened into something sly, the edge of laughter in his throat. “Lan Zhan, you know what your problem is? You care too much about rules, too much about appearances. But now—” He leaned closer suddenly, dropping his voice to a conspiratorial murmur. “—you’re married to me. Which means you have no chance of escape.”
And before Lan Wangji could react, Wei Wuxian moved like lightning — quick, cunning, unpredictable. He darted around the table in a sudden burst, cutting off Lan Wangji’s retreat, and pressed him back firmly against the wall.
Lan Wangji’s eyes widened ever so slightly, his usual composure momentarily shaken. He did not push Wei Wuxian away, but the rigid line of his shoulders spoke volumes.
Wei Wuxian braced one hand against the wall beside his head, leaning close with the grin of a street hooligan. “Now, now,” he purred. “Where will you go?”
The wine-red robe still dangled from his arm like a trophy. With the other hand, he reached boldly toward Lan Wangji’s collar.
Lan Wangji’s breath hitched almost imperceptibly. His voice came out firm. “Wei Ying.”
But Wei Wuxian’s hand hovered over his knots, his grin shameless. “Don’t worry. As your husband, I’ll help you today. You don’t need to be shy.”
In one fluid motion, he slid his hand over the tie at Lan Wangji’s waist and tugged it loose, never breaking eye contact. His lips curved wickedly. “So, how many robes will I need to remove? One, two, three—don’t tell me you Lans actually wear five layers because your rules demand it. Do you all really dress like this to guard against sword strikes, or against hooligans like me?”
He laughed low, making a dramatic show of preparing to peel the robe away. “Don’t worry, I’ll be quick.”
Lan Wangji didn’t even blink, gaze steady on him. His voice was calm, unyielding. “Will it make you happy?”
Wei Wuxian faltered, blinking. “Huh?” The grin slipped, replaced by confusion. He muttered, half to himself, “I guess…”
“Mn.”
Wei Wuxian blinked. “Wait. What?”
Lan Wangji didn’t look away. “I will wear it.”
Wei Wuxian gaped, the grin slipping from his face. “You’ll… wear it?”
Lan Wangji nodded once. “If Wei Ying wishes it.”
There was no teasing in his tone, no sharpness. Just that calm, resolute certainty that had
always been his hallmark.
Wei Wuxian felt his heart stutter—once, twice—and then begin to pound.
This wasn’t supposed to happen.
He had expected resistance.
Embarrassment. A glare. Maybe even a Lan-style lecture about
sect rules and minimalism.
He had not expected agreement.
He had not expected Lan Wangji to look at him like that—as though it was the most natural
thing in the world to wear something he would normally never even consider, just because
Wei Wuxian asked.
“You…” Wei Wuxian started, struggling to find his usual composure. “You’re really going to
wear it? Just like that?”
“If Wei Ying wants,” Lan Wangji said simply.
Wei Wuxian’s mouth opened, then closed.
Shit.
He had only been teasing.
Well, not only teasing. He had wanted to see Lan Wangji flustered. Maybe get a “no.” Maybe
force a stoic refusal that he could needle at for the rest of the evening.
He hadn’t wanted—
This.
Wei Wuxian braced one hand against the wall, muttering under his breath as he began pacing the room like a man possessed. His hair, slightly mussed from all the exaggerated dramatics, bounced with each turn. “Shit, shit, shit,” he hissed, dragging both hands through his hair, tugging at the strands as though the pain might force his brain to work. “How can Lan Zhan even agree to this? How can my plan backfire ? You absolute idiot, Wei Wuxian. Think, think, think. You can’t just let him win so easily. If he says yes this easily now, what will he say yes to next? He’ll walk all over you!”
He stopped mid-rant when a quiet, steady voice broke through his panic.
“Wei Ying.”
Wei Wuxian froze, halfway between two steps, then slowly turned toward the bed where Lan Wangji sat as calm as a mountain. His narrowed eyes fixed on Lan Wangji suspiciously, as if to say: You clearly did it intentionally, didn’t you?
Lan Wangji’s expression, as always, was unreadable—pale face smooth, lips a thin line, eyes serene. But to Wei Wuxian, it looked like mockery, like those golden eyes were saying without words: Wei Ying, give up. You can’t win against me.
Wei Wuxian’s brow arched sharply, his grin returning in a flash as if to say: Lan Zhan, don’t provoke me. You clearly don’t know how shameless I can be.
In reality, Lan Wangji tilted his head slightly, confusion flickering across his face. Wei Wuxian’s sudden glare, the exaggerated eyebrow waggle—it was baffling. He tried again, more softly. “Wei Ying.”
But Wei Wuxian was already clapping his hands together with a bright, triumphant sound. “Aha!”
He marched across the room toward the wardrobe, throwing the doors open with a flourish. Lan Wangji’s eyes followed him as he began rummaging through neatly folded robes, pulling one out, rejecting it, stuffing it back, muttering to himself.
Lan Wangji finally rose to his feet and came to stand behind him. “What are you doing?”
His voice was quiet, but Wei Wuxian heard the faint trace of suspicion hidden beneath the calm.
Wei Wuxian didn’t look back, still elbow-deep in Lan robes. “Lan Zhan, you’ll know soon enough!”
Finally, after a victorious hum, he straightened and turned, holding a white robe high in the air like a prize he had hunted himself. His eyes sparkled as he presented it dramatically. “Look what I found!”
Lan Wangji gazed at the robe in his hands, then at Wei Wuxian, his expression unchanging. A question lingered in his eyes.
Wei Wuxian grinned wider. “Lan Zhan, guess what I’m going to do with this robe.”
Lan Wangji merely looked at him, silent.
Wei Wuxian pointed an accusatory finger at him. “Tch! You’re no fun. Do you know that? No fun at all.”
Then, lowering his voice, he leaned close, the grin turning mischievous, almost seductive. “I’m going to dress like you.”
Lan Wangji’s eyes widened slightly. Just slightly. Enough for Wei Wuxian to notice, and delight in.
Straightening, Wei Wuxian smirked and waved the robe like a flag of victory. “Isn’t it fun? You’ll dress like me, and I’ll dress like you. Hm? Just imagine it, Lan Zhan. The looks on everyone’s faces! The whole cultivation world won’t know what to do with itself. Jiang Cheng will be so mesmerized he won’t even be able to yell at me. Imagine—Jiang Cheng, at a loss for words!”
Lan Wangji’s voice came, incredulous for once. “You will wear this?”
“Of course I will.” Wei Wuxian smirked, tossing his head back. His eyes locked with Lan Wangji’s, dark with promise. “Watch closely.”
And then, without hesitation, he tugged at the belt of his own robe. It loosened with a sharp flick of his wrist, falling discarded to the floor. The sudden action made Lan Wangji stiffen, his posture tightening.
Wei Wuxian’s grin widened at that. He licked his lips—deliberately, slowly—before slipping his robe off his shoulders with an exaggerated, seductive flair. The crimson fabric slid down his body and pooled at his feet. He stood there, chest exposed, head tilted in a look that was both challenge and invitation.
Lan Wangji’s breath hitched—barely audible, but audible enough. His fingers twitched at his side.
“What…” Lan Wangji’s voice caught. He had to steady it. “What are you doing?”
Wei Wuxian tilted his head innocently, though his eyes gleamed with wicked satisfaction. “Lan Zhan, what are you staying so still for? Come help.”
With unhurried ease, he slipped into the white robe, tugging it on, letting the long sleeves swish dramatically as he adjusted them. Once the belt was tied, he spun around on his heel and posed, chest thrust forward, one hand on his hip. “Well? Do I look like you?”
Lan Wangji looked at him—at the too-wide collar hanging open over his chest, at the mischievous glint in his eyes, at the loose belt—and said, with ears turning faintly red, “Improper.”
Wei Wuxian threw his head back and laughed, a rogue’s laugh, full and bright. “Improper, he says! Lan Zhan, you wound me. Isn’t it your duty, as my husband , to make me proper?”
He took a step closer, raising both arms theatrically, as if inviting Lan Wangji to fix him. His grin turned sharp. “Well then. Why not make me proper, Lan Zhan?” He winked.
Lan Wangji remained rooted to the spot, face unreadable, though his ears had turned a deeper shade of red.
Wei Wuxian bent close, lowering his voice into a whisper that brushed against Lan Wangji’s ear. “Help me, hm? If not, I’ll just have to go outside like this.”
Lan Wangji’s eyes narrowed ever so slightly. His gaze dropped—inevitably—toward Wei Wuxian’s collar, which had slipped so low that most of his chest was on display. The sight alone was enough to make Lan Wangji’s throat work as he swallowed.
Wei Wuxian followed his gaze, then smirked knowingly. “Ah, pity. If you don’t help, all the cultivation world will see me like this. So many maidens out there, Lan Zhan. What a shame.”
He began to turn toward the door—but then, abruptly, he was pulled back by the collar of his robe. Wei Wuxian’s eyes widened as Lan Wangji, face tight with something almost like anger, yanked him closer.
Without a word, Lan Wangji began adjusting the robe—smoothing the collar, tugging the belt tight, securing the ties with precise, practiced motions. His touch was firm, his movements quick, controlled.
When he was satisfied with the state of the robe, his expression eased slightly, though still unreadable. He stepped back and said, simply, “Done.”
Wei Wuxian blinked, then grinned slyly. “Oh, Lan Zhan.”
He spun toward the mirror in the corner, twirling a few times with exaggerated flair. “Mn, not bad, not bad at all,” he muttered, admiring himself. “But… wait. Something’s missing.”
He rummaged through a small table, snatching up a brush and a pot. Leaning toward the mirror, he applied deft touches to his face. When he turned around again, leaning against the table with shameless ease, his eyes glittered dark with kohl, and his lips were painted a tempting shade of red.
He batted his eyelashes seductively. “How do I look, Lan Zhan?”
Lan Wangji froze. His eyes widened. His ears flushed dark red, the color creeping down his neck.
Wei Wuxian smiled in satisfaction. Slowly, deliberately, he walked toward Lan Wangji, each step measured, hips swaying faintly.
He leaned close, lips almost brushing Lan Wangji’s ear. His breath was warm, teasing. “How do I look, Lan Er-gege?” He blew a soft puff of air against his ear.
Lan Wangji’s breath caught sharply. He stumbled back a step, as if burned. The red deepened down his neck, his fists clenching at his sides.
Wei Wuxian’s grin widened. “What’s wrong?” he asked innocently, eyes sparkling. He winked. “So shy.”
Lan Wangji’s breath came unsteady now, his eyes widening with something dangerously close to panic. He turned sharply on his heel, as if to flee.
But Wei Wuxian caught his hand, tugging him back. “Lan Zhan, where are you going?”
Lan Wangji’s jaw tightened. His voice came out strained, gritted. “Change robes.”
Wei Wuxian tilted his head, smirking, his tone dripping with mock seduction. “Ohh, but you haven’t taken the robe yet.”
Lan Wangji refused to meet his eyes, turning stiffly to grab the wine-red robe Wei Wuxian had chosen for him earlier. His movements were sharp, hurried.
Wei Wuxian smirked, pressing the robe into his hands—but not without letting his fingers trail deliberately over Lan Wangji’s chest. His touch lingered just long enough to make Lan Wangji stiffen further.
“I’ll wait for you here,” Wei Wuxian purred, voice singsong, shameless. “Come quickly, Lan Er-gege.”
The final word landed like a blow. Lan Wangji’s composure cracked just enough for him to take three swift steps toward the washing area, robe clutched tightly, ears and neck blazing red.
Wei Wuxian leaned against the table, victorious and delighted. His reflection in the mirror winked back at him—rouged lips, kohl-lined eyes, and the unmistakable look of a man who had just completely overturned the great Hanguang-jun.
He let out a low whistle, sing-song and utterly insufferable. “Lan er gege~” he called, voice dripping with mischief. “Call me if you need my help bathing.”
Lan Wangji didn’t pause, didn’t even look back. His answer was clipped, firm, but unmistakably tight around the edges. “No need.”
He stepped into the washing area and slid the door shut behind him with calm finality.
The moment it clicked closed, Wei Wuxian slapped a hand over his mouth, shoulders shaking with laughter he could no longer contain. It spilled out in muffled bursts, then louder, until it filled the quiet room with warmth and delight. He bent slightly, clutching his stomach, eyes shining.
“Finally,” he gasped between laughs. “A small crack in your composure. Just wait, Lan Zhan. Just wait and be prepared.” He wiped at his eyes, grinning wider than ever. “You’ll regret ever becoming a subject of my shamelessness.”
_____________________________________
Lan Wangji stood in the washing area, framed by quiet lamplight and the faint steam rising from the copper basin. His expression was perfectly composed, his posture upright, his movements slow and deliberate. Anyone looking at him at that moment might have thought him serene.
But his ears betrayed him.
They were still flushed pink, burning stubbornly against the paleness of his skin, refusing to cool down no matter how steady his breath.
He let out the faintest sigh — so small, so tightly contained that it barely disturbed the air. His gaze dropped to the robe he wore now.
Red .
The color glowed in the lamplight like a living flame, the gold embroidery catching the light with every shift of fabric.
Wei Wuxian had added a black outer robe with the remaining red robes — his own robe, offered without hesitation — yet even with its weight around his shoulders, the crimson beneath blazed through.
Lan Wangji had straightened the folds three times already, fingers smoothing the front with meticulous care. But no matter how neat he made it, it remained… red.
Wei Wuxian's colour.
Lan Wangji, second jade of Gusu, stood in the forbidden brilliance of a robe that could only be described as shameless and bright just like its owner.
His reflection in the polished bronze mirror did not lie. It stared back at him, dignified and silent, but with a faint edge of happiness hovering in the downcast line of his eyes.
He adjusted his forehead ribbon. Straightened his hair. Stilled his hands. Slowly, carefully, he turned toward the door to step out.
That was when he heard it.
From the other side of the wooden frame, Wei Wuxian’s voice carried through — as though he were talking to himself, except loud enough that Lan Wangji could hear every word.
“No, no, not this one,” Wei Wuxian muttered dramatically. There was the faint rustle of cloth, like someone rummaging through boxes. “It won’t be perfect for Lan Zhan. Hm… maybe this one. Yes, this one, this one, and—oh! Even this one. All of this will look good on Lan Zhan!”
Lan Wangji froze mid-step. His eyes widened just slightly, the faintest ripple of confusion breaking his mask.
Outside, Wei Wuxian’s voice rose in sing-song triumph. “Lan Zhan, come quickly! I’ve chosen so many jewels for you. I know you will agree to wear it just like the robes .Today, I’ll make you so pretty!”
Lan Wangji’s spine stiffened, a faint tremor of unease working through him. He took a step back from the door without realizing it.
Wei Wuxian’s voice dropped again into muttering, this time with the rustle of boxes being shuffled about. “This will suit Lan Zhan… and this… oh, even this hairpin. Hm, a touch of rouge here… aiya, Lan Zhan will look so beautiful all the maidens will faint from jealousy—”
Lan Wangji’s breath caught sharply. A shiver ran down his back, utterly unbidden.
His gaze darted to the door, then away. His body remained rigid, but his mind — disciplined, controlled, usually as steady as the mountain — was suddenly a battlefield.
His eyes flickered toward the side, where the smaller servant door waited at the far end of the room. A simple wooden frame, built for practicality, not honor. It led outside, to the back courtyard where servants carried water for baths.
His gaze snapped back to the main door. Wei Wuxian’s voice was still there, warm and relentless, weaving its way into the washing area like smoke.
“Lan Zhan, come! Look at this rouge, it’s the best I’ve ever seen. Just a little on your cheeks and lips and you will be as beautiful as me. Everyone will be jealous! Lan Zhan, hurry—”
Lan Wangji’s throat tightened.
And then, like a ghost rising from the depths of his mind, came a voice.
“Wangji,” said his uncle’s unmistakable tone, stern and full of the weight of rules carved into stone. “This is disrespectful. This is improper. Wangji, do not even think of such actions.”
Lan Wangji’s jaw clenched. He looked again at the two doors.
The main door, where Wei Wuxian waited with rouge and jewelry and endless shamelessness.
The servant’s door, where silence and escape beckoned.
His uncle’s voice thundered in his skull: Face your duties. Endure indignity with composure. Never flee. To run from responsibility is disgraceful.
Lan Wangji’s hand twitched at his side.
Outside, Wei Wuxian trilled in singsong, his tone mischievous and seductive: “Lan Zhan, come out! Today you’ll be the most beautiful, even more than me. Even the moon will hide in shame! Ah, I can already imagine it—everyone staring, everyone whispering, ‘Look at Hanguang-Jun, so pretty, so dazzling!’”
Lan Wangji felt his composure tremble on its axis. A chill swept through him, then heat, then something perilously close to panic — though his face remained expressionless, save for the faintest tightening around his eyes.
His uncle’s voice boomed again in his head, a stern chorus of rules: No running. No undignified behavior. Stand firm.
Wei Wuxian, oblivious, cheerfully added, “Lan er gege, I even brought the best rouge for your lips! I’ll put it on with my own hands. Just a touch here, a touch there—ah, you’ll look so beautiful even Jiang Cheng will faint!”
That was the breaking point.
Something in Lan Wangji’s spine snapped taut like a bowstring, and without another moment of hesitation, he moved.
He turned from the main door in a swirl of red and black silk, crossed the washing area in three measured steps, and slid the small servant door open with the silence of a man trained in stealth since childhood. The cool air kissed his face, fresh and mercifully free of Wei Wuxian’s shameless muttering.
One last glance — at the main door, where Wei Wuxian’s voice still spilled through in unstoppable waves. At the small door, where freedom waited.
His uncle’s voice rose up again: Wangji. This is disgraceful. Wangji, you will shame yourself. Wangji, do not—
Lan Wangji stepped outside.
The servant’s door shut softly behind him.
He stood for a moment in the empty backyard, bathed in silence, the night air cool against the heat in his ears. His back remained perfectly straight, his face calm, his robe immaculate. Only the faintest redness lingering at the tips of his ears betrayed what had driven him here.
In his mind, his uncle’s voice continued to scold, endless and unyielding: Wangji, this is unacceptable. Wangji, you disappoint me. Wangji—
But outside, at last, there was no Wei Wuxian.
---
Meanwhile, inside the room, Wei Wuxian triumphantly lifted another piece of jewelry — a hairpin shaped like a lotus, polished silver catching the lantern light. He turned toward the door with his widest grin.
“Lan Zhan, come quickly! I’ve chosen everything. Ah, just wait until you see yourself—”
He stopped.
Silence.
Wei Wuxian blinked. Tilted his head. The silence on the other side of the door felt… wrong. No faint sound of robes moving, no shift of feet, not even the weight of Lan Wangji’s presence pressing through.
He frowned, stepping closer. “Lan Zhan?”
Nothing.
His brow furrowed deeper. He pressed an ear to the door, listening. Still nothing.
Then, like a storm breaking into sunlight, realization dawned. His mouth fell open. His eyes widened. And then, slowly, a laugh spilled from his lips — incredulous, gleeful, unstoppable.
“No way,” he whispered to himself. Then louder, doubling over with laughter: “No way! Lan Zhan, you didn’t—hahahaha—you really didn’t just run away!”
He staggered back from the door, clutching his stomach, tears threatening his eyes. “Through the servant door, no less! Hahahaha—Lan Zhan, you’re going to regret this!”
He collapsed into the chair by the table, laughter ringing through the room, echoing into the night.
He gasped, wiping his eyes with the heel of his hand. “Lan Zhan, you can’t escape me forever. Just wait. Just you wait.”
His grin turned sharp and gleeful, shameless as ever. “The more you run, the more fun it’ll be when I catch you.”
____________________________________
The market of Yunmeng was alive with sound—a stark contrast to the silent, servant’s door exit still making Wei Wuxian laugh miles away.
Vendors shouted from behind their stalls, hawking steaming buns, fresh fish, bolts of silk dyed in Lotus Pier’s signature purple, and small trinkets that glittered under the late morning sun. Children ran between the crowd, their laughter rising above the din, while ducks squawked indignantly as they were carried off by housewives.
At the far end of the market, beneath a canopy patched with cloth of three different shades, a stall was laid out with gleaming bronze hairpins and jade pendants. Two men stood in front of it, squabbling over which trinket to buy for their wives.
“Eh, this one will suit her better. Simple, not too flashy,” the taller of the two said, pointing to a jade bangle.
“Simple? Do you want her to throw it back at my head? She’ll say I’m stingy!” the shorter one replied, slapping his friend’s hand away. “This one, with the gold filigree. Now that says ‘I care.’”
The shopkeeper smiled blandly, used to their bickering.
They were interrupted when a group of young cultivators in plain uniforms — clearly from one of the smaller sects, judging by the unrecognizable crest embroidered on their sleeves — passed by, talking amongst themselves. Their presence alone was enough to stir the air of the market. Everyone knew that with the reconstruction of Lotus Pier finally complete, cultivators from every sect had been invited to the celebration. The thought of so many proud sect leaders descending on Yunmeng had people buzzing with curiosity, nerves, and just a little too much imagination.
The tall man nudged his companion and muttered in a stage whisper, “Look, look — did you hear? All the sects are going to Lotus Pier. Every last one of them!”
The slightly shorter man frowned, tugging at a ribbon between his fingers. “Mm. And why should that matter to us? Celebrations don’t fill my stomach.”
But the taller man wasn’t to be deterred. “Aren’t they scared? Don’t you remember what happened
the day the Wen remnants came there.”
That caught the attention of other customers as well as half a dozen passersby, who subtly slowed their steps to listen.
“What happened?” asked the shorter man at the stall, eyes wide.
“You don’t know? Uncle Xu died that very day!”
The shopkeeper perked up, clearly more invested in the story than in making a sale. “Wasn’t Master Xu half-blind and drunk more often than sober? My brother said he tripped on his own shoe.”
The taller man's expression darkened with frustration. “That’s what they say! But you don’t understand—his wife passed away the very next day!”
Another voice piped up from the crowd. “But wasn’t she ill for a long time?”
The taller man threw up his hands. “Ill? Coincidence? No! Don’t you see? Two deaths on the same day the Wen remnants set foot in Lotus Pier? Hah! I tell you, the ancestors must be furious. Furious that the very sect who slaughtered them is now being sheltered there as if nothing happened!”
A hush spread briefly through the little circle of eavesdroppers. Someone gasped softly. Someone else muttered, “Heaven protect us.”
But then the shorter of the two customers shook his head. “Bah, you’re just scaring yourself. Superstitions! The Wens were given protection by Sect Leader Jiang, were they not? If the Jiang Clan agreed, what reason do we little folk have to complain?”
That sparked an even livelier reaction. A woman selling melons from the next stall leaned over her cart, voice dropping into a conspiratorial whisper that was far too loud to actually be private. “Agreed? Hah! Everyone knows why Wei Wuxian keeps them around. He’s using them, obviously. My nephew swore he saw him with his flute, raising spirits again. Do you think it’s compassion? No, no — it’s to get stronger! Stronger than everyone else.”
“Exactly!” the taller man jumped in eagerly. “If he really wanted peace,if he truly wasn’t hungry for power,why doesn’t he just hand over the Stygian Tiger Amulet, why would he keep such a dangerous thing? Chief Cultivator asked nicely, didn’t he? But no, he refused. That tells you everything you need to know.”
The bean-curd woman from a nearby stall rolled her eyes. “It tells me nothing except that if I had a powerful treasure, I wouldn’t hand it over to a bunch of squabbling sect leaders either.”
The melon-seller clapped a hand over her heart dramatically. “Pah! Don’t you see? Even Hanguang-Jun is under his spell! Poor man, I heard he hasn’t smiled in years, and now suddenly he’s following Wei Wuxian everywhere like a shadow. If that’s not demonic influence, what else could it be?”
“Influence?” someone scoffed from a tea stall across the lane. A thin scholar with ink stains on his sleeves turned in his seat, lifting his cup. “Or maybe it’s just affection. Did you ever think of that? Two people walking together doesn’t mean sorcery.”
The market went utterly still for half a beat — and then burst into scandalized murmurs.
“Affection?!”
“Between them?!”
“I knew it! I told you, didn’t I say something was strange about those two?!”
The round-faced man near a stall nearly ,dropped the ribbon he’d been fingering. “You—you dare suggest Hanguang-Jun would— would—” He flapped his hands helplessly, unable to even form the words. “With Wei Wuxian?!”
The scholar sipped his tea calmly. “Better than with a corpse, wouldn’t you say? And Wei Wuxian never lacked charm.”
Half the crowd cackled at that, while the other half spluttered in horror. Someone actually dropped a cabbage.
The shorter man, unfazed as ever, tugged his companion’s sleeve. “See? You worry too much. If even Hanguang-Jun can’t protect himself, what chance do we have? We might as well sit back, eat melons, and enjoy the spectacle.”
The melon-seller perked up at the unintended pun. “Yes, yes, eat melons while selling melons! That’s exactly what I’ve been doing!” She pushed a ripe one into the shorter man’s arms with a grin.
All around them, gossip flew faster than sparrows.
A boy from another stall burst out, “My cousin’s friend swore he saw Wei Wuxian call down thunder during the Phoenix Mountain hunt! With a single flick of his hand—bam! Lightning everywhere!”
“That’s nothing,” said a fishmonger, leaning forward with relish. “My nephew told me that at night in Lotus Pier, if you walk too close to the burial sites, you can hear the cries of the dead. Groaning, calling his name. Wei Wuxian, Wei Wuxian… like ghosts begging him to release them!”
One of the customers visibly paled. “Heaven preserve us.”
The taller man who started the rumor nodded sagely, basking in the attention. “And if you think that’s frightening, listen to this. Even Madam Yu and Sect Leader Jiang—do you know why they died?”
All eyes turned to him. He lowered his voice to a conspiratorial whisper.
“It was because of him.”
A shocked gasp swept through the crowd. The shorter customer dropped the jade bangle he was holding, and it rolled across the table with a clink.
“What do you mean?” the shopkeeper demanded, half-thrilled and half-horrified.
“They say—” the man paused for dramatic effect “—that Madam Yu died because she stood in Wei Wuxian’s way. And Jiang Fengmian too. You really think it was fire and battle alone? Nonsense! He could have saved them if he wanted. But he didn’t. Why? Because the path he walks needs sacrifice. Blood sacrifice.”
Gasps and mutters filled the air.
“Sacrifice?”
“Blood?”
“Terrifying!”
One woman clutched her child closer to her chest.
Another cultivator scoffed loudly, trying to break the tension. “You exaggerate! If Wei Wuxian really killed Madam Yu, would Jiang Cheng still tolerate him?”
“Ha!” The taller man jabbed a finger in the air. “You think Jiang Cheng can do anything? Don’t you see? He has no choice. Wei Wuxian is too powerful. Who dares oppose him openly? Even Chief Cultivator Jin could only ask politely. Ask! Not demand! And what happened? Wei Wuxian refused him right to his face.”
Someone muttered, “Bold…”
Someone else muttered, “Reckless…”
And a third said quietly, “Frightening.”
The gossip spread like wildfire, each listener eager to add their own tale, true or not.
“I heard Wei Wuxian drinks ten jars of Emperor’s Smile in one sitting—”
“No, no, twenty! And still walks straight!”
“They say he once made a fierce corpse dance on the Jin sect’s roof just to annoy them—”
“My cousin’s sister’s husband swears he saw Wei Wuxian flying in broad daylight without a sword, just standing on resentful energy like it was a cloud—”
“That’s nothing. My aunt said his flute can summon a hundred corpses at once!”
“A hundred? Fool, it’s a thousand!”
“Didn’t you hear? He once split a mountain in half just to test his powers!”
“No, no, that was the landslide! Nature did it!”
“Nature, pah. Only Wei Wuxian could control nature like that. Isn’t it said even the dead rise when he commands?”
On and on it went, ridiculous, exaggerated, frightening, and funny all at once.
One old woman shook her head and sighed. “He used to be such a bright boy. Always laughing, always helping people. Who would have thought he’d become this?”
“Bright?” The taller man smirked. “Or hiding his nature all along?”
Another leaned closer and whispered, “If even Hanguang-Jun can’t protect himself from him… what can we ordinary people do? I’m scared. But where will I go if I leave the Jiang Sect’s lands? The Lotus Pier is our home too.”
A silence fell briefly, heavy with unspoken fears.
Then the shorter man broke it with a shaky laugh. “Well, if he’s so powerful, maybe we should all just be careful not to offend him, eh? Smile, bow, keep our heads down.”
The crowd chuckled nervously, half-joking, half-serious.
“Careful not to offend him?!” the fishmonger exclaimed. “I’ll send him a basket of my fattest carp every month if it keeps him from looking my way!”
That set off laughter, a little too loud, a little too forced, as though laughter could ward off the chill running down their spines.
But still, even as they laughed, their eyes darted nervously toward Lotus Pier in the distance, where banners fluttered in the wind.
And among the chatter, the name Wei Wuxian spread again and again—half joke, half warning, entirely inescapable.
_____________________________________
Wei Wuxian was walking briskly, trying to make everything perfect for the celebration .
The celebration pulsed all around him—music, lanterns, soft laughter drifting like wind chimes—but his mind was elsewhere.
Then, as he passed a secluded corridor that opened toward the lakeside gardens, his eyes caught something that made his breath hitch.
There—at the far edge of the path, past the flowering archways and soft light of hanging lanterns—stood Jiang Yanli.
And she was not alone.
Jin Zixuan was with her.
They stood near the lake, just out of earshot, the moonlight dancing on the water behind them. Jin Zixuan’s golden robes shimmered like sunlight caught in amber, and he was leaning slightly toward her, speaking earnestly. Jiang Yanli was listening—her head tilted, her hands clasped neatly in front of her, answering politely.
Wei Wuxian’s entire body went still.
His hands clenched into fists at his sides.
He took one sharp step forward, anger rising like a tide. How dare Jin Zixuan try to talk to her like this? After all the things he said? After how he humiliated her in front of the world—
He was going to throw him into the lake.
Maybe tie a stone around his ankle for good measure.
His second step was more forceful.
But just as he moved to march forward, a voice called from behind him—
“Wei Ying.”
Wei Wuxian froze mid-step.
His heart skipped, stuttered, then dropped.
He turned.
And forgot how to breathe.
Lan Wangji was walking toward him from the opposite corridor—each step measured, graceful, silent. The wind teased at the hems of his robes as if even nature was in awe of him.
But it wasn’t the usual white of Gusu he wore.
It was the robe.
The robe Wei Wuxian had chosen.
Wine-red silk, flowing like molten garnet, adorned with golden threadwork that shimmered with each step. The high collar framed Lan Wangji’s face in perfect symmetry. His forehead ribbon still held firm, a gentle contrast to the boldness of the robe.
Wei Wuxian’s breath caught in his throat.
Beautiful.
There was no other word for it.
Lan Wangji looked radiant, unreal, like a painting of an immortal come to life. Not cold or distant as he had always seemed in white—but alive, striking, so vivid Wei Wuxian could do nothing but stare.
His hands slowly dropped from their fists.
His anger, his purpose, even his memory of Jin Zixuan faded like mist under sunrise.
Each step Lan Wangji took was unhurried, graceful, silent as silk on stone. His gaze was steady, trained on Wei Wuxian alone. The red shimmered around him—not overwhelming, but powerful. A quiet kind of boldness.
Wei Wuxian’s throat felt dry. He didn’t even realize he was staring until Lan Wangji stopped in front of him.
His heart thundered in his chest, caught between disbelief and awe.
He wore it.
Not just wore it—carried it. With elegance, with confidence. As if it were second nature. As if he had always worn red. As if—
As if he were standing at the end of a wedding aisle with him.
The thought struck Wei Wuxian with such force that his breath caught.
Would he look like this… in wedding robes, fully dressed in red with no black?
It was ridiculous. Impossible. But the image rooted itself in his mind—the soft rustle of red and black silk as Lan Wangji stepped into view, expression solemn, eyes steady, walking toward him with the same quiet certainty he always carried.
His lips parted slightly, words forgotten, breath suspended.
Lan Wangji spoke again.
“Wei Ying.”
Wei Wuxian blinked.
He was still staring.
He hadn’t moved. Hadn’t said a word. He couldn’t.
“Mn,” he answered absently, the sound leaving his throat without conscious thought.
Lan Wangji’s brows lifted by the slightest degree, the expression so subtle most people would have missed it—but Wei Wuxian saw. And then—
“You are staring.”
Wei Wuxian’s mouth opened. Closed. Then it opened again.
“I…”
He was too far gone to think of something witty. Too stunned to pretend.
So he told the truth.
“You look so…”
But the words faded.
Because in the distance, behind Wei Wuxian’s shoulder, Jin Zixuan’s voice suddenly rang out—too loud, sharp with some unknown emotion. It shattered the fragile stillness of the moment, broke the spell that had wrapped itself around Wei Wuxian’s heart.
He startled slightly, turning his head toward the sound.
At the lakeside, Jin Zixuan had stepped closer to Jiang Yanli, his face red, his voice raised again—but the words blurred at this distance. Jiang Yanli’s posture had shifted, her hands held slightly out as if to calm him.
Then—
“I wanted you!”
The words tore across the garden like a thrown stone skimming water.
Wei Wuxian’s jaw dropped.
Jin Zixuan’s eyes widened a moment later, as if only just realizing what he had said aloud. His face flushed to the ears. Then, without waiting for a response, he spun on his heel and fled, disappearing into the shadows of the pavilion with the force of a man escaping his own humiliation.
Wei Wuxian gaped after him for a long moment.
“…What just happened?”
He turned back to Lan Wangji—but the man in red was still looking at him, composed and unreadable, as though none of the chaos nearby could touch him.
Silence followed.
Then Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji both moved.
They crossed the path and arrived at Jiang Yanli’s side.
She was still standing there, hands lightly clasped in front of her, face glowing—her cheeks tinted red not from embarrassment, but something softer. Deeper.
Wei Wuxian reached her first.
“Shijie,” he asked, frowning, “what happened? Did Jin Zixuan misbehave again? Do I need to—”
“No,” Jiang Yanli said quickly, voice gentle, but full of emotion. “Nothing happened.”
Wei Wuxian blinked at her. “But he shouted—he …”
“I heard,” she said, covering her mouth with a small smile. “But… nothing happened. Not anything bad.”
Her cheeks were pink, eyes shining. She looked both stunned and utterly at peace—like someone who had been waiting a long time for something they never believed would come. And now that it had, she didn’t quite know what to do with the joy.
Wei Wuxian stared at her, confused.
He looked between her and the path Jin Zixuan had vanished down, disbelief still evident on his face.
Beside him, Lan Wangji stood silent, watching Wei Wuxian’s expression more than the exchange itself.
Jiang Yanli turned to him then, giving a small bow.
“Wangji. You look… very handsome today.”
Lan Wangji nodded politely. “Thank you.”
Wei Wuxian still looked bewildered.
“You’re sure you’re okay, Shijie?”
Jiang Yanli reached out, took his hand, and squeezed.
“I’m more than okay,” she said.
Wei Wuxian nodded slowly.
“Okay,” he said. “But if he hurts you again…”
“He won’t.”
Her certainty startled him.
Lan Wangji watched the exchange in silence, his hand brushing lightly against Wei Wuxian’s sleeve as if to ground him.
The moment lingered—full of changes, full of things unsaid.
And behind it all, the lake shimmered, the celebration carried on, and the red threads of fate tightened silently around hearts not yet ready to name their wants aloud.
________________________________
Chapter 20
Notes:
Author’s Note:
I’ve made a small change to the robe scene in the previous chapter after a helpful suggestion from Yugikitten (thank you again! 💕). If anyone wants to check it out, you can go back and reread that part. I hope you’ll enjoy the change!
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
The celebration was in full bloom.
The air buzzed with music from guqin and flute, the laughter of visiting cultivators, and the fragrant steam of sweet lotus root soup and seasonal pastries.
Wei Wuxian, in the heart of it all, was radiant. Dressed in the pristine white robes of Gusu Lan, he stood with his hands folded behind his back, watching a group of young disciples attempt to pin a paper lotus to a moving target with growing amusement.
Only—none of them were actually looking at the target. Their arrows wobbled pitifully off-mark, their gazes flicking again and again toward the man in white. The pristine robes made his figure striking, every fold neat and flowing, his smile brighter than any lantern light. The more they tried to hide their staring, the more obvious it became.
Wei Wuxian raised an eyebrow, biting back laughter. After all, Lan Wangji was right there behind him—dressed in red and black, severe and commanding as ever—yet the disciples’ eyes kept sneaking back to him, the counterfeit “Lan.”
He leaned to one side, watching their poor attempts with a smirk tugging at his lips, as if daring them to admit where their attention truly lay.
Just then, a shy voice piped up from his side.
“Gongzi…”
He turned, curious.
A girl—young, maybe no older than seventeen—stood before him, clutching a single pink flower in both hands. Her face was flushed, and she kept her gaze lowered, not daring to look directly at him. After a second’s hesitation, she thrust the flower toward him with trembling fingers.
Wei Wuxian blinked, surprised. “For me?” he asked.
At that, the girl finally looked up. Her eyes flickered with confusion—then widened in fear as she realized who stood before her instead of Hanguang-jun.
Wei Wuxian caught the change, his grin widening in playful mischief. “Ah, so not for me, I guess?”
The girl immediately shook her head, flustered, her words tumbling out in a rush. “For you!” And before he could reply, she turned and hurried away, trying very hard not to look like she was fleeing.
Wei Wuxian blinked after her, momentarily puzzled. Then his expression lit up with mischief. With a small click of his tongue, he called over his shoulder, “Tch, Lan Zhan, see? Your admirers have mistaken me for you. How well I’ve dressed up like you, hm?”
He turned fully, expecting to see Lan Wangji standing calm and untouched, perhaps arching a disapproving brow.
What he saw instead made his smile drop entirely.
Lan Wangji stood a few paces behind him, utterly still.
His arms were full—absolutely overflowing—with flowers.
Long-stemmed roses. Delicate blossoms tied with silk threads. Small paper-wrapped bouquets. A bright blue one that looked suspiciously enchanted. Wei Wuxian had no idea where they had all come from, but there were at least a hundred.
And Lan Wangji...
His face remained impassive, but his posture—slightly tilted, fingers curled stiffly around the mountain of petals—betrayed everything. He had clearly been too polite to refuse any of them and now stood like a statue carved by an overwhelmed gardener.
Wei Wuxian’s smile tightened.
His jaw clenched. Jealousy—sharp, stupid, irrational—spiked up his spine like a thorn.
So many admirers. Of course. Hanguang-Jun. Revered. Beautiful. Distant. It only made sense they’d come in droves, flocking to him, offerings in hand.
He pushed the thoughts aside, stepped forward with a too-bright grin.
“Well, well,” he said, his voice teasing and just a touch too sharp. “Looks like Hanguang-Jun has quite a fan club.”
Lan Wangji looked at him, expression unreadable, but his eyes flickered just slightly.
Wei Wuxian stopped beside him, head tilting, hands on his hips.
“Do you even know how many admirers you have?” he asked, gesturing at the flowers. “You might start a sect just from your suitors alone. Hm. The Cult of Hanguang-Jun. I can see the banners now.”
Lan Wangji remained silent, only adjusting his grip slightly as a tulip began to slip from the top of the pile.
Wei Wuxian laughed and stepped forward, reaching for the bouquet. “Lan Zhan, you must be tired. Let me help you.”
Before Lan Wangji could respond, Wei Wuxian gathered the whole stack into his arms in one dramatic motion. It took effort—there really were a lot—but he managed it.
“See?” he said cheerfully. “I’m such a good husband. Carrying my spouse’s admirers' offerings for him.”
Lan Wangji's brow shifted by a millimeter with something unknown .
They began walking again, side by side.
Wei Wuxian kept the flowers balanced for a few steps, pretending nonchalance.
Then—
He stumbled slightly.
The flowers fell.
All of them.
Dozens of blooms spilled onto the stone path in a chaotic rain of petals and stems. Some rolled into puddles of water from the nearby fountain. Others scattered underfoot, crushed by the passing of two children racing each other.
Wei Wuxian looked down, blinking.
Then he sighed, his voice flat. “Aiyaa, my hand slipped.”
Lan Wangji turned slightly toward him.
Wei Wuxian shrugged, giving him a guilty smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Don’t worry, Lan Zhan. I’ll find better flowers for you later.”
Lan Wangji looked at the crushed blossoms, then back at Wei Wuxian. There was a brief pause.
Then he said, softly, “Mn.”
And began to walk forward again, as if nothing had happened.
Wei Wuxian lingered behind.
His eyes dropped to the pile of now-sullied flowers lying in the dirt.
He should have left it. Let them be.
But something in him still simmered.
With one slow step, he crushed a violet bloom underfoot.
Another step. A rosebud. A jasmine. A whole bouquet of blue-white lilies.
By the time he reached the last of them, the entire pile was bruised, broken, and unrecognizable—like the remnants of something once beautiful, now discarded.
Satisfied, he smiled.
Then he jogged to catch up with Lan Wangji, falling into step beside him as though nothing had happened.
His voice was light. “Where to next, Husband? Tea? Or shall we go collect more flowers together?”
Lan Wangji didn’t answer immediately.
But after a moment, he glanced sideways—just briefly.
And then his expression softened.
Just a little.
Just enough.
____________________________________
The celebration buzzed in the background with music and laughter, but where Lan Wangji knelt beside a low table, all was still.
A-Yuan sat on a cushion across from him, holding a small ceramic bowl with both hands, trying his best to keep it steady. His cheeks were puffed in concentration, brows furrowed as he slowly brought the bowl to his lips and took a careful sip of the warm lotus root soup.
Lan Wangji watched him in silence, one hand lightly on the table in case the boy needed help. His expression was calm, gaze soft—almost imperceptibly so, but A-Yuan could always feel it.
A little too eager on the next sip, A-Yuan tilted the bowl just slightly too far.
A splash of soup slid over the rim and landed right on Lan Wangji’s sleeve.
The child froze. His eyes went wide.
“Oh no!” he gasped. “A-Die!”
Lan Wangji blinked, then looked down at the sleeve, where a pale stain was spreading into the red silk.
“I’m sorry!” A-Yuan said immediately, lower lip trembling. “I—I made your robe dirty!”
Lan Wangji reached over, plucked a cloth from the table, and gently wiped A-Yuan’s chin.
“ Not your fault,” he said, voice quiet but clear. “Go to your Aunt. I will join you after I change.”
A-Yuan hesitated, clearly distressed, but nodded.
Lan Wangji gave him a small nod in return, and A-Yuan scurried off in search of Wen Qing, still looking over his shoulder as though the robe stain might follow him.
Lan Wangji rose smoothly, gathering the edge of the robe in one hand to minimize the spill. He turned—
And found himself face-to-face with Jin Zixun.
The other man leaned against a post just beyond the shade of the pavilion, his mouth twisted into a smirk, eyes gleaming with the smug cruelty Lan Wangji had seen too many times before.
“Well, well,” Jin Zixun drawled, giving him a slow once-over. “Isn’t this a sight.”
Lan Wangji said nothing.
Jin Zixun pushed off the post, walking toward him with lazy arrogance. “Hanguang-Jun. One of the Twin Jades of Lan. Stoic. Revered. Unattainable. And now?”
He gestured mockingly at the robe, the soup stain, the empty space where A-Yuan had sat moments ago.
“Now you’re running after brats in dirty robes and wiping soup off their faces like some glorified wet nurse. Who would’ve thought? The great Hanguang-Jun brought low.”
Still, Lan Wangji did not respond. His face remained blank, gaze fixed forward.
Jin Zixun’s eyes narrowed slightly at the lack of reaction. He stepped closer.
Too close.
And then, voice low and dripping with insinuation, he added:
“What’s next, Hanguang-Jun? Are you going to drop to your knees too? Beg to be used, by the son of the servant you’ve shackled yourself to?”
The words echoed in the stillness, heavy with implication.
Lan Wangji blinked once.
Then, slowly, deliberately, he took a step back—out of Jin Zixun’s reach.
“You,” he said, voice cold and flat, “do not deserve to speak to me.”
The silence after those words was like a crack of thunder.
Jin Zixun’s face flushed deep red. His mouth opened, sputtering with indignation—but before he could muster a reply—
A low whistle broke through the tension.
Both men turned.
Wei Wuxian was approaching, arms folded and mouth twisted into a slow grin. His eyes gleamed dangerously, though his posture was deceptively relaxed.
“Well, well, Lan Zhan,” he said, voice loud enough to be heard clearly. “What a fitting reply.”
He reached the two of them and came to a stop beside Jin Zixun, who stiffened instinctively.
Wei Wuxian glanced down at him with that smile still in place—wolfish, dark, all mischief overlaid with something far colder.
“So what are you still standing here for?” Wei Wuxian asked pleasantly. “You’ve got your answer. Or do you want my reply too?”
His hand tightened ever so slightly on the flute resting at his waist.
The air around him chilled.
Jin Zixun, for all his arrogance, recognized a threat when it stood inches from his face and smiled while preparing to ruin him.
He took a sharp step back, muttering something under his breath that sounded like “filthy lunatics” before turning on his heel and stalking off.
Wei Wuxian didn’t watch him go.
Instead, he turned to Lan Wangji, expression shifting.
“Lan Zhan,” he said, clapping him lightly on the arm, “you really are something. Didn’t even raise your voice.”
Lan Wangji looked at him.
“He was not worth it,” he replied calmly.
Wei Wuxian grinned. “Still. That line. You do not deserve to talk to me. Gods. I need to write that down.”
Lan Wangji raised an eyebrow. “You would forget it?”
Wei Wuxian opened his mouth for a clever retort—
And promptly shut it when he caught the faint curve of Lan Wangji’s lips.
It wasn’t quite a smirk. It wasn’t even a full smile.
But it was an expression.
And it was directed at him.
Wei Wuxian went red.
“Lan Zhan!” he gasped, scandalized. “Was that a joke?”
Lan Wangji turned slightly.
“I must change my robe,” he said.
And walked away.
Leaving Wei Wuxian behind, mouth hanging open, face flushed, brain whirring.
“Lan Zhan!” he called after him. “You don’t get to be clever and leave! Come back and let me tease you properly!”
But Lan Wangji didn’t pause.
Only raised one hand in a faint gesture of parting.
Wei Wuxian stood alone under the lanterns, equal parts impressed and utterly undone.
“…I’m doomed,” he muttered.
And smiled.
____________________________________
Lotus Pier pulsed with life.
The great courtyard had been transformed into a sea of silk and lanternlight. The celebration was in full swing, with all the major sects represented in clusters—mingling, smiling, drinking cautiously from finely carved cups.
At the heart of the festivities, a dance performance had begun.
Graceful figures, dressed in layered robes the color of lotuses and dawn, spun across the stage erected before the main platform. Their sleeves fanned out like waves, bells jingling softly with each turn. Petals fell like confetti from the sky above, catching the light and drifting down in glowing spirals.
Wei Wuxian slouched elegantly beside Jiang Cheng on the raised dais, sipping wine he had no intention of finishing. Jiang Yanli sat on his other side, serene as ever, her expression attentive but faintly dreamy.
“Didn’t know you liked this kind of thing,” Wei Wuxian muttered, leaning toward Jiang Cheng and nudging him with his elbow.
Jiang Cheng didn’t look away from the stage. “What are you talking about?”
Wei Wuxian pointed subtly with a finger, eyebrows raised. “The performance. You’re watching a little too closely. Fancy a dancer, do you?”
Jiang Cheng sputtered, his composure cracking. “I’m observing the event, not—what is wrong with you?!”
Wei Wuxian grinned. “If you say so, Sect Leader Jiang.”
Jiang Cheng scowled. “Don’t call me that like it’s a joke.”
Wei Wuxian winked. “You’re so defensive, it’s suspicious.”
Jiang Cheng’s scowl deepened. “Shut up. Shouldn’t you be observing the guests? Instead you’re busy playing house-house with Lan Wangji.”
His gaze flicked over Wei Wuxian, lingering on the pristine white robes. A look of pure disgust twisted his features. “It’s a good thing Lan Qiren isn’t here. He’d have shouted himself hoarse and killed you first—for daring to defile their sacred robes, and for dragging their Second Jade around dressed like you.”
Wei Wuxian laughed, throwing his head back, the sound bright and shameless. “Hahah—don’t I look good, Jiang Cheng?” he said, mischief sparkling in his eyes.
Jiang Cheng’s lip curled. “You look ridiculous. Like a stray dog that rolled into someone else’s courtyard and stole their clothes.”
Wei Wuxian leaned toward him at once, pulling an exaggerated face of wounded sorrow, so close that Jiang Cheng nearly leaned back to avoid him. In a singsong tone, he said, “Jiang Cheng, I’m hurt.”
“Enough!” Jiang Cheng shoved him away, his voice sharp with irritation. “Stop your shamelessness. In case you’ve forgotten, we’re supposed to be watching for signs.”
“I am watching,” Wei Wuxian said innocently, stretching his legs and glancing lazily over the crowd.
His gaze swept across the guests—cultivators from minor sects, representatives from Lanling Jin, Qinghe Nie, Gusu Lan, and a few wandering cultivators eager to curry favor. Most were preoccupied with the spectacle or engaged in muted conversations beneath veils of propriety.
From a distance, nothing looked amiss.
But Wei Wuxian didn’t trust surface appearances.
Jiang Cheng leaned closer, voice low. “Do you really think the intruder will act today?”
Wei Wuxian’s lips curved slightly. “Definitely. It’s been a week since the last attempt. Long enough for them to study what went wrong and get desperate again.”
Jiang Cheng narrowed his eyes. “You still suspect the Jin sect?”
Wei Wuxian didn’t answer right away.
His eyes swept toward the golden figures of Jin Guangshan and Jin Zixun, standing like peacocks near the wine table. Jin Guangyao, ever the polished diplomat, stood slightly behind them, eyes lowered in deference.
“I don’t trust them,” Wei Wuxian said finally. “There’s something off about their timing. Their presence. Too polished. Too still.”
Jiang Cheng hummed. “That’s how they always are.”
“I know,” Wei Wuxian said. “That’s why I know when they’re hiding something.”
He turned to continue, but suddenly paused—mid-sentence.
His gaze dropped to the talisman in his sleeve. It didn’t glow. It didn’t pulse.
But he felt it.
A thread of energy tightened against the fabric like a plucked string. Subtle. Exact. Enough for him to know—
They were in.
Jiang Cheng turned to him sharply. “What are you doing now?”
Wei Wuxian didn’t move. His expression shifted—gaze narrowed, smile sharpening.
“I don’t think we have to wait anymore,” he murmured.
“What?”
Wei Wuxian’s eyes were fixed now on a distant point beyond the celebration, but not on the crowd.
He was looking inward—downward—toward the sealed underground vault beneath Lotus Pier.
“The intruder has taken action,” he said quietly. “They’re inside the vault.”
Jiang Cheng’s breath caught. “Are you sure?”
“Completely.”
For a beat, they said nothing.
Then Jiang Cheng hissed through clenched teeth, “Then what are you waiting for? Go!”
Wei Wuxian straightened slowly, adjusting the cuffs of his robe.
He stretched once, grinned, and turned to Jiang Cheng with an almost playful bow. “Watch the guests. Keep your eyes open and your sword closer. Discreetly shut the exits.”
Jiang Cheng nodded.
Wei Wuxian turned to Jiang Yanli, who had been watching them with a serene smile that had just begun to fade.
“Shijie,” he said gently, “stay here. Don’t worry.”
She nodded once, her gaze sharper than usual. “Be careful.”
Wei Wuxian smiled, not quite roguish this time.
Then he stepped off the dais, his gait smooth and casual, blending effortlessly into the crowd. He passed beneath a string of lanterns, their red glow painting his hair in flickering warmth, and disappeared into the maze of shadows that led to the deeper levels of Lotus Pier.
The celebration continued around him as though nothing had happened.
But the stage was set.
The trap had sprung.
And Wei Wuxian was already halfway to the heart of it.
___________________________________
The vault chamber was hidden deep within the roots of Lotus Pier. The air was heavy with old stone , silence so absolute it swallowed even breath.
In the center of the dark chamber, the Stygian Tiger Amulet floated—untouched and pulsing—its resentful energy simmering in dark currents like a storm caught mid-roar. It cast no light, yet the darkness around it seemed to bend toward its presence, as if drawn by its insatiable hunger.
A figure stood at the base of the platform.
Cloaked from head to toe in black, the figure’s face was hidden behind a full mask—metal, smooth, and featureless, not even the eyes visible. A hood covered the rest, making them one with the shadows.
They extended a hand.
Spiritual energy—subtle, precise—flowed from their fingers, weaving through the air, testing the boundaries of the protective ward that surrounded the platform. The barrier flared once, faint and golden, resisting.
Then it cracked.
With practiced finesse, the figure broke the ward in silence.
The amulet hovered, untethered now, its pull stronger—more eager. The figure waited, still as stone, watching for consequences. When nothing happened—no traps, no alarms—they stepped forward onto the platform.
Instantly, the resentful energy pushed back.
The figure staggered, momentarily thrown by the force of it. But they did not retreat. They pressed forward with stubborn, silent determination until they stood directly beneath the amulet.
Their hands reached out.
The moment their fingers touched it, the backlash came.
A shock of pain ran up their arm—raw, violent, alive. The amulet retaliated like a wounded beast, lashing out with poison that seeped directly into the meridians. The figure shuddered, shoulders twitching, but they did not cry out.
They held on.
Their grip tightened.
The injury deepened.
Skin began to crack beneath the robe. The masked figure swayed, breath uneven, but still they tried—fingers curling more tightly around the cursed artifact.
Then—
Whistle.
A single, sharp sound broke the tension like a stone through still water.
The figure froze.
Their hand dropped from the amulet instantly, body twisting around.
A figure leaned against the chamber wall, arms crossed, smile sharp as broken glass.
Wei Wuxian stepped into the open, the tail of his robes fluttering behind him. His expression was half-mocking, half-curious, and his resentful energy coiled beneath the surface like a net drawn tight.
“If I were you,” he said casually, “I wouldn’t have held on any longer. But then again, maybe you’re more foolish than you look.”
The cloaked figure said nothing.
Wei Wuxian tilted his head. “Still silent? Not even a hiss of pain? That’s impressive. You must be in agony.”
No answer.
Only silence.
Wei Wuxian clicked his tongue and stepped closer, unhurried. “You’re trying to act like you’re fine, but I know what that amulet does. Your arm must be burning by now. Don’t bother trying to suppress it. The injury isn’t normal. And unless I remove it, it’s only going to get worse.”
The figure remained unmoving.
Wei Wuxian gave a soft laugh. “But go ahead—try escaping again. I won’t stop you.”
He stepped back, gesturing to the open chamber door. “There’s the exit. But remember—every step you take, that wound’s going to dig deeper.”
He thought the figure would hesitate.
They didn’t.
In a blink, the masked intruder turned and dashed for the exit, feet silent on stone, robes barely whispering in the wind they created.
Wei Wuxian’s smile vanished.
“You really are stubborn,” he muttered.
With a flick of his sleeve, Chenqing was at his lips.
A single piercing note tore through the air.
A wall of sound slammed into the fleeing figure—an auditory net of force designed to bind and paralyze. But instead of crashing to the ground—
The figure played back.
Not with a flute. Not with a voice.
With hands.
A sharp, resonant wave of music—distinctly cultivated—rose from the masked figure’s palms, crashing into Wei Wuxian’s technique and unraveling it with practiced precision.
Wei Wuxian’s eyes widened. “You…”
He dropped into a crouch, eyes narrowing, resentful energy already gathering again.
With another sharp note, he aimed a new technique—this time focused, direct.
The masked figure was fast, but this one struck—a pulse of energy that cracked the edge of their mask.
The figure stumbled.
Wei Wuxian moved instantly.
With a twist of his wrist, Chenqing became a whip of black light, snapping through the air and catching the edge of the mask. It flew off, clattering against the stone floor.
Wei Wuxian stepped forward—
But the figure spun away.
Not toward him.
Away.
Wei Wuxian only saw it for a second.
A glimpse.
A sliver of pale skin—partially concealed by hair—but unmistakable.
The curve of the neck. The line of the jaw.
And the back of an ear.
One ear.
Just enough to freeze his breath in his throat.
The shape was familiar.
The masked figure turned sharply, seized the moment of Wei Wuxian’s hesitation—and vanished.
Spiritual energy surged, a burst of movement that cracked the air, and they were gone. Slipped through the shadows, leaving only their mask behind like a snake shedding its disguise.
Wei Wuxian didn’t chase.
He couldn’t move.
He stood, trembling slightly, heart pounding against his ribs like it wanted to escape.
He knew that ear.
The curve.
The impossible familiarity.
“No,” he whispered, eyes wide. “It can’t be.”
But even as he said it, his body was already moving—fast, instinctual, like something ancient and primal had gripped him by the bones and dragged him forward.
Out of the vault.
Up the stone stairs.
Through the torchlit halls.
Wei Wuxian didn’t stop.
His mind roared. His thoughts were scattered, unfinished, but his feet knew where to go.
He had to see him.
He had to see him now.
___________________________________
Wei Wuxian burst into the room like a storm with no warning—doors thrown wide, breath ragged in his chest, hands shaking at his sides.
“Lan Zhan?” he called, voice sharp.
No response.
The bed was undisturbed. The table—neat. His eyes swept across the room like a man searching through smoke, heart thudding so loud it was all he could hear.
Where?
The fear had not let go.
Not since that glimpse in the vault. Not since the back of that ear, the tilt of the jaw, the impossible idea that had lodged itself like a thorn in his ribs.
He moved fast, faster than thought, faster than reason, toward the back of the room.
The bathing area.
Without knocking, without calling again, Wei Wuxian grabbed the handle and forced the door open.
Steam hit him in the face—a wave of warmth, scented faintly of lotus root soap and pine oil.
In the center of it, Lan Wangji sat in the wooden tub, water swirling around him, his hair unbound, floating behind like dark silk in a moonlit lake.
He looked up in surprise. “Wei Ying?”
Wei Wuxian didn’t answer.
He dropped to his knees beside the tub, hands already reaching.
Lan Wangji flinched slightly, questions clear in the furrow of his brows, but did not resist.
Wei Wuxian grabbed Lan Wangji’s left arm first, yanking the sleeve up roughly to the shoulder.
Nothing.
No burns. No signs of injury. No blackened meridians.
His breath caught—half a sob, half a laugh.
Then he took the other arm, yanked the sleeve up with equal force.
His hands trembled as he turned Lan Wangji’s arm over, his fingertips dragging over smooth, unmarred skin.
Nothing.
No infection. No cursed scarring. No pain.
Wei Wuxian stared at the arm for a long second before he finally let it fall back into the water.
He sat back, knees weak beneath him, and collapsed against the edge of the tub, his back hitting the wood with a dull thud.
His face dropped into his hands.
He was still shaking.
He tried to breathe, but it was too much—his heart hammering against bone, breath catching in his throat. The sheer relief of it hurt. He hadn’t realized just how deeply the fear had gotten into him, how much he’d believed—
No. Don’t.
He pressed his palms harder to his face, trying to force calm into his lungs.
Lan Wangji had not spoken. He was still seated in the water, unmoving, patient.
But his gaze never left Wei Wuxian.
Then—
“Wei Ying,” Lan Wangji said softly.
The voice pierced through the haze.
Wei Wuxian slowly lowered his hands.
And froze.
Oh.
It hit him all at once—where he was, what he had done, what he was seeing.
Lan Wangji, still seated in the water, watched him with quiet eyes.
But it wasn’t the face that caught Wei Wuxian’s breath.
It was everything else.
The thin white inner robe clung to Lan Wangji’s body like mist—transparent now, nearly invisible beneath the water. It hung open at the front, slipping lower with each movement. His chest was fully exposed, water trailing down the hollow of his throat, over his collarbone, across the firm lines of his chest.
Drops slid down the angles of muscle, pooling briefly against his ribs before falling back into the water.
Wei Wuxian’s eyes dragged over every inch of it.
Oh gods.
His throat went dry.
He couldn’t look away.
Lan Wangji was…
Sinful.
Not just the kind of beauty that stopped people in the street or silenced rooms. No, this was something different—dangerous. Sacred and forbidden and completely unguarded.
And he had touched him. Gripped his arms. Rushed in like a madman.
Lan Wangji spoke again, voice lower this time. “Wei Ying?”
Wei Wuxian’s gaze snapped to his eyes.
Golden. Calm.
And entirely aware.
He flushed so hard it hurt.
“I—!” Wei Wuxian shot to his feet, stumbling backward so fast his knee nearly cracked on the edge of the tub. “I’m—sorry! I didn’t mean to— That is— I thought— I—!”
He turned.
Practically ran out of the room.
Slammed the door behind him.
Then leaned his entire weight against it, heart in his throat, face burning hotter than the sun.
His chest heaved.
He covered his face again, groaning quietly into his palms.
Why did I do that? Why didn’t I knock? Why did I look so long? Why is he so—
He slid slowly to the floor, back against the door, legs folded to his chest.
His mind was no longer filled with fear.
No.
It was filled with Lan Wangji.
Dripping wet.
Almost naked.
Staring at him with those golden eyes and saying his name like it meant something.
Wei Wuxian groaned again, dragging his hands down his face.
“Lan Zhan, you are going to kill me someday.”
____________________________________
The sounds of laughter and music still drifted from the outer courtyards, but they felt distant now—like echoes from another world. Wei Wuxian sat on the edge of his bed at first, elbows resting on his knees, chin in his hands. But the stillness pressed on him too tightly, so he rose and moved to the window.
The night was soft beyond the paper pane, illuminated by the warm flicker of lanterns strung across Lotus Pier. Gentle waves shimmered across the lake’s surface, reflecting golden light like scattered coins. The air smelled of sandalwood, soup spices, and summer bloom.
But for all the warmth outside, Wei Wuxian’s chest remained cold.
His hand braced against the wooden frame of the window. His forehead rested on the back of it.
The silence of the room pressed in, heavy.
“…I’m sorry,” he whispered to no one, his voice thin in the air. “I’m so sorry, Lan Zhan.”
He closed his eyes.
The memory of his panic in the vault came rushing back—the sharp slap of certainty in his chest when he thought, even for a breathless second, that Lan Wangji might be the one beneath that mask.
He had run.
Run to check. Run to make sure.
The touch of Lan Wangji’s skin still lingered on his fingers—not with desire now, but with shame. He had looked. He had searched for a wound, for proof. And even after finding none, the fear had not gone.
And that said more than anything.
“I shouldn’t have doubted,” he murmured. “Not even for a second.”
The guilt hollowed him out.
Lan Wangji—who had stood by him when no one else would. Who had worn red for him. Who had never once faltered in his faith, no matter what the world had said.
And he—Wei Wuxian—had thought…
His stomach turned.
There was no mark. Of course there wasn’t.
The injury from the amulet couldn't be hidden by spiritual energy, no matter how powerful the cultivator. If it had been Lan Wangji, Wei Wuxian would have seen it.
So it wasn’t him.
It could never be him.
He knew that now.
But then… who?
Wei Wuxian pulled back slightly from the window, his gaze distant.
Music cultivation.
That was the key. The intruder had used it instinctively—precisely—to counter one of his most refined resentful attacks. The control, the force behind it… it hadn’t been improvisation. It had been discipline.
Someone who had trained with music not as a hobby—but as a path.
And very few in the cultivation world practiced music to that level.
Lan Wangji.
Himself.
And…
Wei Wuxian’s eyes widened.
“No.”
He said it aloud, but it came out as a breath—barely a denial, more like a protest.
Don’t think about it. Don’t say it. Don’t.
But the thought had taken root. It clawed its way into his mind, unrelenting.
Lan Xichen.
The image came, unbidden: calm, graceful, kind-eyed Lan Xichen with his flute. The eldest son of Gusu Lan. The Sect Leader. One of the few people whose strength—musically and spiritually—could rival his younger brother.
And…
He wasn’t here.
Wei Wuxian’s heart dropped into his stomach.
Lan Xichen didn’t come to the celebration.
He had sent a letter—duties, matters of the sect, apologies.
But it didn’t feel like him.
And the masked intruder—
The height, the build, the fluid way they moved. It hadn't look like Lan Wangji’s fighting style. But there had been something about the set of the shoulders. The quiet intensity.
And then the back of the ear.
Just a flash.
But he’d seen it.
Not Lan Wangji’s.
Too close, too alike. A resemblance.
Wei Wuxian backed away from the window now, his mouth dry.
He didn’t want it to be Lan Xichen.
He had never had much to do with the man, but Lan Xichen had always been… steady. Kind. Protective of Lan Wangji. Gentle in a way that didn’t seem forced.
Could it be?
Could it really be?
Wei Wuxian sank back to the bed slowly, mind racing.
Why would Lan Xichen want the amulet?
What was he trying to do?
Who was he trying to protect—or destroy?
Wei Wuxian didn’t know.
But every thread he tugged led to the same knot. And at the center of it was a name he hadn’t wanted to think about.
He looked down at his hands.
Then stood.
There was only one way to find out.
And he had to find out before anyone else did.
____________________________________
The paper doors of Jiang Cheng’s study slid shut behind them with a muted clack. The celebration outside had died to a distant hum—laughter, music, and clinking wine cups all muffled beneath the thick walls of Lotus Pier’s core.
Inside, the air was heavier. Warmer. Tense with unspoken words.
Wei Wuxian stood near the table, arms crossed loosely, gaze distant. The flickering lamplight cast golden shadows across the shelves and papers, painting everything in quiet, burnt tones. His hair, still loose from earlier, swayed gently with the breeze leaking through a window cracked open.
Jiang Cheng stood with his back to him, facing a spread of documents and reports—guest registries, search orders, sect surveillance notes. His fingers tapped once on the wood before he turned sharply, brows drawn low.
“What happened to what you said?” he demanded. “That the intruder wouldn’t be able to escape this time?”
His voice wasn’t angry, not entirely. It was frustration wrapped in urgency, in disappointment. In worry.
Wei Wuxian let the silence stretch a moment before he replied, his tone calm, almost tired. “I said they wouldn’t be able to escape unscathed.”
“Unscathed?” Jiang Cheng echoed, incredulous. “Wei Wuxian, we’ve already had our people discreetly check through the guest quarters. As many as we can without causing alarm. If they were injured, someone would have noticed.”
Wei Wuxian finally looked at him. “Not necessarily.”
Jiang Cheng’s brow furrowed. “What do you mean?”
Wei Wuxian took a slow step toward the window, fingers brushing the edge of the frame as he stared out at the lantern-lit courtyards. “I told you—the injury from the amulet can’t be hidden by spiritual energy, true. But that doesn’t mean they can’t hide themselves. The guests we searched? They may have just been decoys. The real one might never have returned to the guest quarters at all.”
Jiang Cheng’s jaw tensed.
Wei Wuxian continued, voice low and certain. “But no matter how well they hide, it won’t matter. The wound will keep worsening. It wasn’t just a warded trap, Jiang Cheng—it was a curse woven into the amulet itself. Anyone who tries to take it without my permission suffers it. And it’s not just pain.”
He turned back toward his brother, dark eyes solemn.
“If left untreated, it will kill them. Maybe not today. Maybe not tomorrow. But it will eat away at their meridians until they collapse from within.”
The room was silent for a moment.
Jiang Cheng’s eyes narrowed slightly. “So we just wait? For them to drop dead somewhere?”
Wei Wuxian shook his head. “No. We watch. Whoever it is—they’ll get desperate. They’ll seek a cure. They’ll expose themselves eventually.”
Jiang Cheng exhaled through his nose and turned back toward the table, scanning a list without really seeing it.
“You’re sure of that?” he asked after a beat.
“Yes,” Wei Wuxian said quietly.
But his gaze was no longer on Jiang Cheng.
It had drifted—outward again, through the crack in the window, to the edge of the courtyard below, where the shadows ran deep between lantern posts and celebration tents.
He couldn’t tell Jiang Cheng. Not yet.
Not until he was sure.
If this suspicion, this terrible whisper in his mind, was nothing more than fear masquerading as logic…
And if he voiced it—if he told Jiang Cheng, who would never be able to hold that accusation with the delicacy it deserved—
Lan Wangji would suffer.
And Wei Wuxian couldn’t bear that.
If Wei Wuxian pointed a trembling hand toward Lan Xichen—only for it to be wrong—
It would break Lan Wangji.
I won’t do that to him, Wei Wuxian thought, jaw tight. Not unless I have proof. Not unless I’m sure.
Jiang Cheng’s voice snapped him out of it.
“You’ve gone quiet.”
Wei Wuxian blinked and turned. “Just thinking.”
“About what?”
Wei Wuxian offered a half-smile. “About how irritating it is to deal with clever intruders. They’re never polite enough to follow expectations.”
Jiang Cheng rolled his eyes but didn’t push.
He watched Wei Wuxian for a long moment, something unreadable in his expression.
Then he said, “Whoever it was, if they come back—if they try again…”
“They won’t succeed,” Wei Wuxian said.
Jiang Cheng nodded.
Wei Wuxian didn’t speak again.
Because if it was Lan Xichen—if this impossible, unbearable suspicion proved true—then everything was going to change.
And if it wasn’t…
Then Wei Wuxian would carry this guilt alone, never breathing a word of it.
For Lan Wangji’s sake.
For the love he could not yet speak aloud.
____________________________________
The door creaked softly as Wei Wuxian pushed it open.
The candles had been dimmed. A warm orange glow pooled on the floor, flickering faintly across the bedrolls and books scattered neatly along one side. The faint scent of sandalwood drifted through the air, gentle and grounding.
Lan Wangji stood in the corner, methodically folding a white inner robe and placing it aside. His hair was half undone, a dark cascade falling smoothly over his shoulder, the rest still bound near the crown.
Wei Wuxian stopped in the doorway, silent for a breath, just watching him.
There was something deeply peaceful about Lan Wangji’s presence at rest—no swords drawn, no world-saving to do. Just the quiet rhythm of evening. A stillness so rare it felt sacred.
Wei Wuxian smiled to himself, heart warming at the sight.
Then, of course, the smile turned into a mischievous grin.
“Lan Zhan!”
Lan Wangji turned slightly, blinking in surprise.
Wei Wuxian strode toward him with purpose and took hold of his wrist. “Come, come, you’re being summoned!”
Lan Wangji allowed himself to be pulled, eyes narrowing slightly in curiosity. “Wei Ying…”
“No questions,” Wei Wuxian said airily, dragging him toward the window alcove where soft cushions and a long bench sat against the wall.
He pushed Lan Wangji gently down onto the window seat, then dropped to his own knees with a dramatic flourish, settling in front of him.
Lan Wangji blinked at him, calm but visibly puzzled.
“Wei Ying, what—”
“Hush,” Wei Wuxian said, wagging a finger. “No ruining the mood.”
He reached into the folds of his robes with an exaggeratedly mysterious air.
Lan Wangji’s eyes followed, silently.
Wei Wuxian dug around, tongue poking out in concentration, then pulled something free with a theatrical gasp.
“Behold!”
He held out… a bouquet.
But not of flowers.
It was loquats.
Perfect golden loquats, round and ripe, still attached to short stems and gathered carefully with leafy branches. They had been tied loosely together with a bit of ribbon at the base. The leaves curled gracefully around the fruit, and though it looked unusual, it had a rustic, almost comical charm.
Lan Wangji stared.
Wei Wuxian beamed. “Your bouquet, Lan Zhan.”
“…Loquats,” Lan Wangji said.
“Yes! You see,” Wei Wuxian said, shifting his voice into one of mock guilt, “someone dropped all your flowers earlier today. Terribly clumsy, that person. Can’t imagine who.”
He clasped a hand dramatically to his chest. “And I thought—how could I make it up to poor, poor Lan Zhan?”
Lan Wangji remained still, expression blank. But Wei Wuxian swore he saw the faintest twitch at the corner of his lips.
“So I thought to myself,” Wei Wuxian continued with a grin, “I could get you more flowers. But then I thought—flowers are just for show, they wither. Pointless.”
He leaned in closer, eyes twinkling. “So what about something you can eat? Something Gusu people love? Something thoughtful and delicious?”
He pushed the bouquet closer.
“Loquats.”
Lan Wangji looked at it again, then up at Wei Wuxian’s face.
A pause stretched between them.
Then, Lan Wangji reached out and gently accepted the bouquet.
“Thank you,” he said softly.
His tone held no mockery. No hesitation. Only quiet sincerity.
Wei Wuxian’s eyes widened slightly in pleasure. “You… you like it?”
Lan Wangji nodded once. “Mn.”
Wei Wuxian gave a joyful laugh and sat back on his heels, hands on his thighs. “Aha! See? I knew it. I knew you’d appreciate the effort.”
He wrinkled his nose. “Not like those useless cultivators who were flinging flowers at you like they were petals at a wedding.”
Lan Wangji blinked. “Petals are common at weddings.”
Wei Wuxian snorted. “That’s not the point. The point is—this,” he gestured grandly at the loquat bouquet, “is one of a kind.”
“Better,” Lan Wangji said simply.
Wei Wuxian’s head snapped up. “Huh?”
Lan Wangji looked him in the eyes. “Your bouquet. Better.”
Wei Wuxian’s jaw dropped. Then he flushed, suddenly overwhelmed with pride.
“Ha! I knew it!”
He folded his arms smugly, muttering under his breath, “As if those cultivators ever stood a chance. Tsk. Lan Zhan liked my bouquet better. Take that, imaginary flower-throwers.”
Lan Wangji stared at him in silence, the bouquet resting neatly on his lap.
Wei Wuxian looked up again, a mischievous grin returning. “You’re going to eat them later, right? I mean, you have to, now that you accepted it.”
Lan Wangji considered for a moment. “We can eat them together.”
Wei Wuxian blinked.
His heart skipped.
Lan Wangji didn’t blush. Didn’t fluster. Just said it plainly.
And somehow, it landed harder than any flirtation Wei Wuxian had attempted.
He swallowed. “Together, huh…”
Lan Wangji gave the smallest nod.
Wei Wuxian tried to hold onto his grin, but it turned shy at the edges. “Then… yeah. Okay.”
___________________________________
The morning light was warm and golden, spilling across the walkways and courtyards of Lotus Pier. Birds called cheerfully in the distance, the air crisp with late spring breeze. After breakfast, the halls buzzed with the usual activity, but Wei Wuxian was unusually quiet as he walked back to his room.
He hadn’t seen Lan Zhan since the meal.
A frown tugged at the corner of his mouth.
When he opened the door and stepped inside, the sight that greeted him made his breath catch.
Lan Wangji was at the side of the room, methodically folding his robes into a travel satchel. His movements were precise, fluid, but there was no denying the truth.
He was packing.
Wei Wuxian’s steps quickened, voice sharp.
“Lan Zhan?”
Lan Wangji turned, blinking.
Wei Wuxian came closer. “What are you doing?”
“I am returning to the Cloud Recesses ,” Lan Wangji replied calmly, as if announcing the weather.
Wei Wuxian stared. “Now?”
“For a few days,” Lan Wangji said. “I have already received permission from Sect Leader Jiang.”
Wei Wuxian’s face darkened instantly.
“Jiang Cheng gave you permission?” he said, voice rising. “How dare he!”
Lan Wangji paused, clearly confused by the sudden flare of anger. “I… informed him of my intentions. He had no objection.”
Wei Wuxian stepped forward. “What about me?”
Lan Wangji stilled.
Wei Wuxian’s voice dropped—softer now, but no less intense. “You didn’t even think to tell me? Just pack up and inform me like I’m some outer disciple you needed to notify? Am I just—an outsider to you?”
There it was.
The hurt.
Raw, unguarded, bleeding through every word.
Lan Wangji’s eyes widened, lips parting faintly. “Wei Ying… I didn’t mean…”
Wei Wuxian let out a bitter laugh, trying to cover the pain twisting inside him. “Of course you didn’t. You’re Lan Wangji. You never mean harm.”
He stepped closer again, irrational heat bubbling in his chest.
“But you’re so fond of calling me ‘husband,’ aren’t you? But when it comes to something that actually matters…”
His voice cracked.
“…you don’t even think I should know.”
Lan Wangji said nothing.
Wei Wuxian’s anger surged.
“No?” he said, louder now. “No protest? No ‘Wei Ying, you misunderstood’ or some honor-bound explanation?”
He took another step, irrational, heart beating too fast.
The thought of not seeing Lan Zhan nearby—of opening the door and not finding him braiding A-Yuan’s hair, or fixing robes, or reading quietly at the window—it hurt.
Lan Wangji took a small step back.
Wei Wuxian followed, stopping just in front of him.
“Tell me the truth,” he said, eyes narrowed. “You’re running away.”
Lan Wangji’s brows drew together. “Ridiculous.”
“Is it?” Wei Wuxian challenged, leaning in closer. “You’re running away because you are afraid .”
Lan Wangji’s gaze flickered—just for a moment.
Then he turned his eyes away.
Wei Wuxian saw it.
His jaw clenched.
“Just say it, Lan Zhan.”
“I am not.”
“You are.”
Before Wei Wuxian could say more, a small voice cut through the rising tension.
“Adie?”
Both of them turned.
A-Yuan stood in the doorway, blinking wide-eyed at the two of them. He was clutching a little wooden lotus flower in one hand, his eyes darting between their faces.
“Aniang… Adie fighting?”
Wei Wuxian’s heart dropped.
Instantly, his expression softened. He turned and crouched low, sweeping A-Yuan into his arms with practiced ease.
“Fighting? Us? Never.”
He stood up and bounced the boy slightly, grinning with forced cheer. “We were just talking loudly. You know how dramatic your aniang gets.”
Lan Wangji remained silent, but his gaze followed them both.
A-Yuan pouted. “You looked angry.”
Wei Wuxian poked his nose. “Angry? I was just saying we should take a little trip. Right, Lan Zhan?”
Lan Wangji blinked.
Wei Wuxian turned back to him with a glittering smile. His voice dropped an octave—teasing, pointed.
“Lan Zhan. Weren’t you saying you were going to Gusu?”
Lan Wangji nodded cautiously. “Mn.”
“Well then…” Wei Wuxian tilted his head, holding A-Yuan with one arm and gesturing broadly with the other. “How can you possibly go alone? Wouldn’t it be strange to leave your husband and “our” son behind?”
A-Yuan gasped. “We’re going to Gusu?”
Wei Wuxian grinned. “If your adie says yes.”
Lan Wangji stared at him, clearly caught off guard.
He looked at Wei Wuxian’s face—smiling, yes, but with a flicker of something deeper behind his eyes.
Wei Wuxian’s teasing smile remained fixed in place, but his eyes flicked toward Lan Wangji, waiting—testing.
Lan Wangji hesitated.
Then, in his calm, composed voice, he said, “You don’t need to come. It’s only a few days.”
The words dropped like pebbles into still water.
Wei Wuxian gasped, scandalized.
“Did you hear that, A-Yuan?” he said, eyes wide in mock betrayal. “Your adie doesn’t want us to come!”
A-Yuan blinked. “Huh?”
“He said we don’t need to come!” Wei Wuxian exclaimed dramatically, holding the child tighter. “He’s abandoning us!”
A-Yuan let out a tiny shocked sound and wiggled in Wei Wuxian’s arms. Wei Wuxian set him down, and immediately the boy ran over to Lan Wangji, latching onto his leg.
“Please, Adie,” A-Yuan said, looking up with wide eyes. “Take us! I want to see the clouds! And Xichen-gege! Please?”
Lan Wangji looked down at him—at the round face full of innocent pleading, the tiny hands gripping his robes.
Then he looked down at the folded robes in his hands.
A silence passed.
Wei Wuxian didn’t speak.
Neither did A-Yuan.
And then, Lan Wangji simply said:
“…Mn.”
Wei Wuxian blinked.
A beat.
Then he smiled—genuine, this time.
A little crooked. A little surprised.
“See?” he said to A-Yuan. “Told you your adie couldn’t refuse us.”
A-Yuan giggled in delight.
Lan Wangji looked at them both—still unsure, still full of unsaid words—but there was a light in his eyes now.
____________________________________
Wei Wuxian leaned casually against the bedpost, watching with an unreadable expression as A-Yuan clung to Lan Wangji’s leg, already excitedly asking whether there would be rabbits in Gusu, and if he’d get to sleep in the same room. His voice was animated, his small hands tugging at Lan Wangji’s robes as if trying to pull them all toward the Cloud Recesses already.
Lan Wangji, patient as ever, simply let him chatter, offering quiet nods.
Wei Wuxian tilted his head, expression thoughtful now, the flare of earlier anger having cooled to something quieter—cooler.
Why was I so angry just now…?
He breathed in slowly.
It hadn’t even made sense. Lan Zhan was free to go wherever he wanted. He didn’t belong to Wei Wuxian—there was no obligation to explain his every step.
And yet, the moment he saw those travel robes being folded, his heart had seized in his chest.
But now, as A-Yuan beamed and Lan Wangji gently smoothed his hair, Wei Wuxian’s eyes narrowed slightly, calculating.
This might be the perfect opportunity.
He could go with them. Be by Lan Wangji’s side. Watch. Observe. And in Gusu, on his home turf, Lan Xichen might reveal something—something Wei Wuxian had missed. A mistake. A truth.
I’ll find out the truth myself.
Wei Wuxian’s lips curved into a small, cunning smile.
Yes, he’d gotten angry.
But now that he thought about it—
This is perfect.
He pushed off from the bedpost and strode toward Lan Wangji and A-Yuan with renewed energy, slipping back into the role of the affectionate, over-the-top husband with ease.
“Lan Zhan~” he drawled. “Since we’re all going, do I get to sleep in your courtyard ? Or will your elders faint if they see your husband making tea half-naked in the morning?”
Lan Wangji’s ears tinged faintly red.
Wei Wuxian only laughed, heart alight with purpose.
Let’s see what secrets Gusu holds for us this time.
____________________________________
Notes:
Some of you might be frustrated that Wei Wuxian still hasn’t caught the intruder. I promise, the wait is almost over—next chapter, their identity will be revealed. Thank you for being patient with me!