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Chapter Text

Wei Wuxian left Cloud Recesses before Lan Zhan got mad enough to kick him out himself.

He moped around for a time, participating in the occasional night hunt, never anything too impressive. Lan Zhan would have had a fit to see what he did alone, but then again, if Lan Zhan cared so much, he could’ve accompanied him.

As it turned out, Lan Zhan did care so much. He found Wei Wuxian on a hilltop in Gusu, Chenqing held to his lips. Lan Zhan’s steps, so quiet in the grass, so familiar to him and impossible to miss. Lan Zhan said his name, and Wei Wuxian turned around, the smile spreading across his face like the first warm breeze of summer over the glass lakes of Lotus Pier.

Wei Wuxian flung himself at Lan Zhan, wrapping his arms around his neck, up on his tiptoes, slightly taller this way. He clung to him like a bur until the sun went down, and Lan Zhan’s palms, hot at his waist, burned him up the whole time. Finally, they parted, Wei Wuxian leaving the shoulder of Lan Zhan’s robes damp and salty. Lan Zhan’s placid, content gaze searched his face. He reached up between them and deliberately smoothed a flyaway strand of Wei Wuxian’s hair. Wei Wuxian caught that hand in his own.

“Lan Zhan,” Wei Wuxian said. He held their joined hands to his flushed cheek. “My dearest friend.”

For months, the two dear friends travel together. With Zewu-jun returned from seclusion and resuming his rightful place as Chief Cultivator, Lan Zhan’s schedule has opened up and his sect duties have diminished, leaving him free to roam the world at Wei Wuxian’s side. They occasionally meet up with the juniors to assist with particularly tricky night hunts, but for the most part, it remains just the two of them, Wei Wuxian atop Little Apple while Lan Zhan walks in front, holding her reins and urging her forward.

Their night hunts are, for the most part, uneventful. Lan Zhan’s reputation for being where the chaos is was never incorrect, but Wei Wuxian does learn the long way around that “chaos” can exist on a wide spectrum. There are children who wander away from home and into nearby fields, low-power spirits that do little more than scare unwitting passersby, and the occasional trek into the woods surrounding tiny villages that involves taking care of a rabid animal. Cultivation-related or not, Lan Zhan tends to it. And because Lan Zhan tends to it, Wei Wuxian tends to it. He loves to watch Lan Zhan work, no matter the job. He takes every single call for help seriously, and despite Wei Wuxian often having fallen prey to the cultivation world’s love of investigating only the shiniest and most interesting night hunts, he finds room in his heart for the quieter triumphs too. 

In between night hunts, they see incredible sights. Forests of stone pillars that disappear into the mists high above. Pearl Mountains, so named for their unnatural roundness, like the sun dropped out of the sky for a day and landed in front of them. A river that roars through the earth, far beneath their feet. Lan Zhan, with apologies to Little Apple, scoops Wei Wuxian into his arms and leaps across it, landing on the stone platform in the middle, sprayed with a fine mist of river water, while Wei Wuxian laughs and marvels and tugs at Lan Zhan’s sleeve in delight as they stand together near the center of the world. They see aquamarine waterfalls and prairies the color of fire. They see expansive deserts and badlands looped through with light and dark colors like the candies children buy in the night market of every major city, flavored with honey and fruit juices. They see mountains splashed with colors of the rainbow so breathtaking Wei Wuxian actually has to hold onto Lan Zhan’s arm to keep his knees from buckling, laughing ruefully into his shoulder. “Lan Zhan!” he says. “Every single thing we’ve ever argued about! Every single thing anybody has ever argued about! What’s the point!” He looks at Lan Zhan then, before gesturing frantically to the sight in front of them. Lan Zhan looks at him, expression gentle, and warm, and kind, and Wei Wuxian, overwhelmed, cries, “My thoughts exactly!”

To Wei Wuxian’s delight, they stumble onto a shiny and interesting night hunt at last. It involves a lot of bloodshed, a chance for Wei Wuxian to deploy some experimental talismans he’s been working on, and a chance for Lan Zhan to put his swordsmanship on display, which always gives Wei Wuxian a thrill.

What started as a routine hunt on the outskirts of Qishan quickly descends into chaos, ending with Wei Wuxian and Lan Zhan back-to-back, surrounded by a circle of roaring, gray-skinned and reptilian dao lao gui in the midst of a thunderous rainstorm. The skies opened up in the gray light of morning and haven’t shut once between then and now, twilight rapidly approaching.

Lan Zhan plays his qin one-handed and holds Bichen in the other, slashing out at any beasts that sneak behind his musical attacks. Wei Wuxian, less protected but more mobile, flings talisman after talisman, crowing with delight when they hit and hissing oaths when they don’t, or, even worse, get weighed down and rendered useless by the rain. He’s been grazed by one of the darts of a female dao lao gui. He can only tell because if it had been one of the males, he would already be dead. Pain is radiating across his shoulder and down his arm, but he fights past it, flinging an incredibly new talisman at an approaching male, watching in delighted awe as it gets thrown so far back into the trees that its yowls of rage echo back to them, even through the storm.

An arm, strong as iron, knocks Wei Wuxian out of the way with ease as Lan Zhan uses Bichen to deflect another dart. He catches Wei Wuxian’s eye and nods, and Wei Wuxian grins. Lan Zhan turns back to his original position, the sound of steel rending flesh sizzling into the air around them. A spurt of dark liquid hits Wei Wuxian in the cheek. He laughs, loudly, and darts out into the fray. Lan Zhan calls his name—he warned him to stay close—but Wei Wuxian is too excited, too desperate for a fight, and he can’t help himself. Lan Zhan has always been able to look after himself in combat. Wei Wuxian has never once worried about that. The problem is his presence almost makes things too easy. It’s been so long since he’s needlessly thrust himself into the center of a good battle, blood singing and heartbeat throbbing at his pulse points. He flings and kicks and rolls through the mud, slides between wide-set demon legs and hurls endless talismans, ignoring the pain in his arm that is rapidly making its way across his chest, creeping up into his neck and down into his stomach. He takes out enough dao lao gui that it would be impressive even for a cultivator with a golden core, braying laughter in the pelting rain, because he is having fun, and he can only feel so bad that their boring noble night hunt has taken such a dramatic turn.

“Lan Zhan!” he bellows with no idea if they’re close enough for his voice to carry. “This is the life! You and me!” A dao lao gui jumps at him, teeth ripping into his arm, and Wei Wuxian slaps a talisman against its head that dissolves it on the spot. Blood stains his dark robes, plastering them to his body. He staggers a bit and slides precariously in the mud before taking out two more. He could be back at Lotus Pier as a child, running afternoon-long sword drills with Jiang Cheng. Those drills always ended with them goofing off and threatening to stab each other, hitting each other with the hilts and leaving hilarious bruises they would show off to the other disciples the next day. He feels like a child, sparkling and bright, even as the world starts to spin around him.

He’s prowling through the trees, searching for another dao lao gui, when he collapses directly into Lan Zhan’s white-clad arms. “Wei Ying.” Lan Zhan’s voice is ragged. Wei Wuxian almost can’t hear him over the storm. Lan Zhan pulls him closer, hastily brushing the hair off his sopping face.

Wei Wuxian blinks up at him. There is something so deliciously human about Lan Zhan in the rain. It makes him seem younger. More accessible. Wei Wuxian strokes his cheek with white, water-soft fingers. “Lan Zhan! What a fight! We should do this more often.”  

“Where is the dart?” Lan Zhan demands. He’s already tugging at Wei Wuxian’s robes, trying to find it himself.

Wei Wuxian giggles. The world moves in waves. “It was just a graze on my shoulder, Lan er-gege! It’ll be fine!”

Shoulder. Lan Zhan rips Wei Wuxian’s robes off. The arm that took the hit is swollen red, the point of impact sunken black. His eyes go wide. “Wei Ying!” Lan Zhan snaps. He picks him up in his arms.

As Wei Wuxian’s consciousness fades, he feels the telltale swoop in his stomach that means Lan Zhan has mounted Bichen and they are going up, up, up. Now that the nausea is setting in, Wei Wuxian turns his face way from Lan Zhan’s chest, terrified of ruining yet another set of his beautiful robes.      

Wei Wuxian wakes to the soft, welcome sounds of Cleansing. He is in a small, warm hut, lying on a bed of straw. Lan Zhan sits in the corner of the room, plucking away. Wei Wuxian is sated and content and his shoulder only hurts a little. When he examines it, he sees a new pink scar, the width of two fingers. He is wearing one of Lan Zhan’s underrobes and has the distinct memory of Lan Zhan ripping his last one apart in the rain. The image is so scandalous he giggles, and the qin quiets as Lan Zhan glances up at him.

Wei Wuxian smiles. “Hi.”

“How do you feel?” Lan Zhan says. He doesn’t look particularly happy.

“Fine!” Wei Wuxian chirps. At Lan Zhan’s deepening frown, he continues, “Seriously, Lan Zhan. My shoulder only hurts a little. I told you it was just a graze.”

“Without a golden core, you are more susceptible to these things,” Lan Zhan reminds him. “You must act with caution.”

“Lan Zhan,” Wei Wuxian says, grinning wickedly. “You can’t expect us to be cultivation partners and both act with caution all the time? Where’s the balance in that?”

Occasionally, Wei Wuxian can hook Lan Zhan into some playful banter. It delights him every time, and the tips of Lan Zhan’s ears always go red by the end of it, even if his expression remains grave-droll for the entirety of the bit. Today is clearly not one of those occasions, as he shakes his head curtly. “You dying as a result of your own recklessness offers no such balance to our dynamic.”

“That is true, which is why I took great care not to die!” Wei Wuxian grins sunnily. Lan Zhan’s dark eyes are still disapproving as he sweeps away his qin under his palm and stands, striding over to Wei Wuxian’s bedside. He kneels beside him, carefully pulling back the silk underrobe to inspect his wound. As Lan Zhan prods gently at the pinkened flesh, feeding it spiritual energy, Wei Wuxian says, looking around, “Where are we, anyway? Back at the village, I assume?”

“Yes,” Lan Zhan says. “The villagers are cleaning up the corpses and recovering what intact darts they can. They are then used in the antidote to the poison of the female dao lao gui, like what you received.”

Wei Wuxian does, indeed, have another memory of Lan Zhan’s wet hands desperately forcing some kind of disgusting concoction down his throat. He says, sheepishly, “I think I may have had a bit of a tantrum when you fed it to me.”

Lan Zhan nods. His mouth quirks, barely. “I am much stronger than you. It was no matter.”

Wei Wuxian’s eyes crinkle when he smiles. “Clearly my injuries cannot be so horrible if my dear friend continues to wound me like this!”

Lan Zhan stands, forearm tucked against his lower back. “You will fully recover with a day’s rest. The villagers have offered room and board in exchange for our services.”

Wei Wuxian taps his nose in thought. “I will accept your proposal if you take me to Yueyang after my day of rest and we sup together in celebration of our heroic victory over the evil dao lao gui.”       

“It was not a proposal,” Lan Zhan says.

“Yes, but will you take me?” Wei Wuxian pouts. “Please, Lan Zhan, I am injured. We fought together bravely and we deserve to celebrate! I want to celebrate with you!”

“We will celebrate together,” he confirms, fondly exasperated.

When he turns away, Wei Wuxian reaches out with a grimace and grabs the hem of his robe. “Hey, Lan Zhan! Where are you going without me?”

Lan Zhan shakes his head exactly once. “I am going to help the villagers.” He delicately steps out of Wei Wuxian’s grip. “You are resting.”

Wei Wuxian glances around the sparse hut. “Alone?!” He lies back, draping the back of his hand across his forehead and closing his eyes. “Lan Zhan, you can’t be telling me I’m just supposed to stay here for a full day!”

“That is the definition of rest.”

“But—” He cracks open one eye. Lan Zhan has turned around, watching him dubiously. “All by myself?” he tries again, slipping a reedy plea into his tone.

“I will return to you,” Lan Zhan says, with perhaps more devotion than the situation deserves, as the situation is Wei Wuxian whining about something that doesn’t matter because he is bored. That being said, Wei Wuxian is not a perfect man, and he wedges himself into the opening Lan Zhan has ill-advisedly left him.

“And when we go for supper,” Wei Wuxian says, turning onto his side. He idly twirls an errant strand of hair around his index finger. “You’ll buy me liquor?”

Lan Zhan glances at Wei Wuxian’s finger and then back to his face. “Yes.”

“And… And…” Wei Wuxian desperately tries to conjure up anything else he’s vaguely desired as of late, both to strike while the iron is hot and to keep Lan Zhan here for longer. With his hair looped around his finger, he tugs thoughtfully at it. “Ah!” he says. “Yes, Lan Zhan, my hair ribbon is fraying. Very sad. I need a new one!” At Lan Zhan’s nod, Wei Wuxian says, “Maybe I will even change it up, try something different.” He grins wickedly at Lan Zhan. “Should I have you buy me a comb, Lan Zhan? How shameless would that be?”

Lan Zhan swallows. “Very,” he confirms.

“Hmm,” Wei Wuxian says. “I’ll think about it. What kind of comb would you buy me, Lan Zhan?”  

Lan Zhan turns on his heel and leaves. Wei Wuxian pouts after him.

In Yueyang, Wei Wuxian buzzes around for much of the afternoon, examining the wares of the merchant stalls but mostly using his browsing as an excuse to ask the vendors where he can find the spiciest food in the city. After the fifth one suggests the same place as the previous four, Wei Wuxian takes them at their word and drags Lan Zhan by the forearm through the rest of the market until night falls and it becomes an appropriate time to start celebrating. When they pass a stall selling combs and other jewelry, Wei Wuxian bursts out laughing. Lan Zhan steams behind him all the way to the inn. When they arrive at the front door, he turns around, tugging Lan Zhan close by the forearm he hasn’t let go of since they arrived. “Lan Zhan,” he chides. “Don’t worry about it, I’m just teasing! Your virtue will remain intact!” He runs a fingertip across Lan Zhan’s chest. Lan Zhan’s arm twitches beneath his hold. “Now, come on. It’s time to buy me some dinner. And you can have some too, if you want.”

Lan Zhan pays for their rooms for the night and then joins him at their table. The inn is in a quiet, tucked away part of the city, with few patrons. Wei Wuxian has eaten in much sketchier places on lesser recommendations, and isn’t worried.

As promised, because Wei Wuxian was mostly good during his full day of rest, Lan Zhan buys him alcohol. It’s been a long few weeks of night-hunting with none readily available, and Wei Wuxian drinks eagerly, perhaps a little too fast, even for him. He’s beaming drunkenly at Lan Zhan before their food even arrives.

On the other side of the tearoom, a couple sits across from each other at a table. Wei Wuxian only pays them any amount of attention because of the occasional wild burst of laughter the woman emits. He glances at Lan Zhan, mouth quirked. “Surely, the man can’t be that funny.” Wei Wuxian sneaks another peek. “Then again, I’m not sure what else he could have going for him, based on that face.” He raises his eyebrows. “Maybe he has a huge—”

“Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan chides.

Wei Wuxian smiles sweetly. “I’m just being generous, Lan Zhan. Maybe he just has a really really really big—”

When Lan Zhan doesn’t stop him this time, Wei Wuxian cuts himself off, chagrined. He glances at Lan Zhan, who watches him placidly. “A really really really big what, Wei Ying?”

Wei Wuxian purses his lips. “Dick.” A flash of humiliation. His cheeks heat. “I mean. You’re being a dick, Lan Zhan.”

“Mm,” Lan Zhan says, the mirth in his eyes undisguised.

Wei Wuxian pouts. “Why are you so mean to me? Don’t you even love me?”

The amusement drains out of Lan Zhan’s expression. His gaze drops to the table between them. “I am mean to you because we are friends,” Lan Zhan says.

Wei Wuxian lets the awkwardness flow over them. He cracks it open with a giggle and says, “Lan Zhan! I know. I’m emotionally manipulating you for fun. Don’t take it so seriously.”

Lan Zhan watches him with such wry scrutiny that Wei Wuxian bursts out laughing. “Or maybe you’re emotionally manipulating me! You, who has my heart in a vise always! Ah, Lan Zhan. You know how to keep a man on his toes.”

Lan Zhan shakes his head. “Ridiculous.”

“You certainly are,” Wei Wuxian says, reaching for his cup, cheeks warm. 

Despite knowing he’s much too drunk already, Wei Wuxian continues to drink. Lan Zhan watches him with a slightly furrowed brow, but says nothing. He does push a few cups of tea toward Wei Wuxian over the course of the night. Wei Wuxian drinks them obediently between jars of mediocre liquor.

The food makes his eyes stream, which he finds delightful. Lan Zhan, who has suffered through many red-tinged dishes at his behest, orders stuffed mushrooms instead. When he offers one to Wei Wuxian, he can’t even taste it.

Once Wei Wuxian has eaten too much, he stands to briefly retreat up to his room to wash his face, and knows immediately that he has made a mistake. He sways dangerously. Lan Zhan is up in an instant, cradling him in his arms. “You should sleep,” Lan Zhan says. “I will escort you upstairs.”

“No!” Wei Wuxian says. He tries to keep it down. Somewhere deep in his mind he knows he’s already made a scene. “Lan Zhan, I don’t want this night to be over just yet. Let me sit with you.”

“You are already sitting with me.”

Wei Wuxian shakes his head. “No. Let me sit with you. Beside you.” The couple in the corner have long left, but before they did, Wei Wuxian watched in scandalized delight as the woman whined her way into the man’s lap, obnoxiously stroking his face with her fingers and holding his arms around her waist. It was hilarious, even if Lan Zhan, resident fun-ruiner, had nothing to say about it.

Lan Zhan leads him back around the table, placing Wei Wuxian’s cushion beside his and helping him get settled on it. The moment he sits down, Wei Wuxian clamors into his lap, almost falling over and only stopped by Lan Zhan’s hand at his waist. Into Lan Zhan’s ear, breath hot with alcohol, Wei Wuxian says, “This is okay, right?” He giggles. Once he’s steadied, Lan Zhan removes his hand.

“Yes.”

“Great!” Wei Wuxian says. “I just think this will help because I’m sooo drunk and I need somewhere stable to sit. That’s my thinking, anyway. Do you agree, er-gege?”

Lan Zhan is silent for long enough that Wei Wuxian is about to repeat himself, when he quietly clears his throat and says, “I will catch you if you fall.”

Wei Wuxian taps Lan Zhan’s nose the way he would tap his own when sober. “That’s what I thought! My Hanguang-jun, always so steady. Always keeping me safe from the ills of the world.”

They sit in silence for a few moments, neither moving. Wei Wuxian stares at Lan Zhan’s unfinished plate of mushrooms in a daze, until he realizes, “Lan Zhan! How can you eat if I am in your way?”

“I can’t,” Lan Zhan says.

“That won’t do,” Wei Wuxian says. “But I refuse to move. So…” He leans forward—Lan Zhan puts a hand at his waist again—and grabs the plate of mushrooms and Lan Zhan’s chopsticks. “I will feed you! The perfect solution to our problem.” Though he is fully resituated in Lan Zhan’s lap, there is still a hand at Wei Wuxian’s waist.

With the chopsticks, Wei Wuxian plucks a mushroom off the plate and holds it to Lan Zhan’s mouth. He smiles. “You have to open up, Lan Zhan!”

Slowly, Lan Zhan opens his mouth, eyes on Wei Wuxian the whole time. Wei Wuxian pops the mushroom in, and when Lan Zhan closes his mouth to chew, Wei Wuxian cheerfully taps his lips with the chopsticks. “Good boy! We make an excellent team.”

Lan Zhan chews slowly and methodically, and Wei Wuxian watches the movement of his mouth, entranced, for quite a while before realizing that may be off-putting and lying his head against Lan Zhan’s shoulder instead. Only when he watches the column of Lan Zhan’s throat move to swallow does he sit up again to feed him another mushroom. This time, when he feeds Lan Zhan, he leaves the chopsticks in his mouth for long enough that Lan Zhan’s mouth closes around them. With a sweet grin, Wei Wuxian pulls them out and touches them to his own lips, before placing them on his tongue and sucking thoughtfully.

Lan Zhan stops mid-chew, eyes glued to Wei Wuxian’s mouth.

Wei Wuxian places the chopsticks back on the plate. “I just wanted to see if I could taste the mushrooms yet,” he says. “No luck. I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to taste anything again.” He places his head back against Lan Zhan’s shoulder, nuzzling at the bolt of his jaw.

Lan Zhan continues to chew, then swallows. Wei Wuxian is getting ready to sit up and feed him again when Lan Zhan takes the plate out of his hand and places it back on the table. While there, he takes a clean linen and begins to dab at Wei Wuxian’s face.

Right. Wei Wuxian had originally stood up to go wash his face of all the spice residue. Lan Zhan tends to him carefully, wiping the dried tear tracks, then gently going over his lips, the shape of a rounded fingertip pressing against Wei Wuxian’s mouth making him squirm.

From somewhere behind them, the sound of a throat clearing. Wei Wuxian is drunk enough that he simply plants his face back into Lan Zhan’s neck and trusts him to deal with this intrusion into their friendly celebration.

“Daozhang,” someone says, exceedingly polite. So politely, in fact, it almost circles around to being an insult.

Wei Wuxian’s eyes are closed, but he feels Lan Zhan’s nod. Generally, people in the regions surrounding Cloud Recesses know him on sight and refer to Lan Zhan by title. The further they travel, however, the less likely people are to recognize either of them. The first time they got hit with the generic title, it was like the world had slid out from under Wei Wuxian. Now, he’s more than happy to be a nobody out here, known only by Lan Zhan. Certainly, the Pearl Mountains hadn’t cared that he was once the Yiling Laozu. He wraps his arms around Lan Zhan’s neck with a happy sigh. Lan Zhan’s hand returns to his waist, grip tightening protectively.

“How is everything?” the intruder inquires. Wei Wuxian recognizes his voice. It’s the proprietor of the inn. As far as Wei Wuxian knows, he is a perfectly pleasant man. In this moment, he hates him.

“Adequate. Thank you.” Lan Zhan’s voice is cool. Wei Wuxian can feel the vibration of his words in his throat, so close to his own lips.

“Is there anything else you require?” A slight pause. “It can be brought up to your room, if you so choose.”

“Water, please.” Lan Zhan also pauses, significantly. “For the table.”

A very slight sigh. An inhale, with a hint of gumption. “Of course, Daozhang. Right away. You and your wife will not be left wanting.” There’s a hint of wryness in his voice, of teasing. A hint of chastisement, too, but enough plausible deniability not to lose him the business.

Against Lan Zhan’s neck, Wei Wuxian’s closed eyes fly open. When the proprietor leaves, Wei Wuxian pulls back, gaze feral. Lan Zhan’s face is perfectly still, sculpted from marble.

Wei Wuxian finds it in himself to burst out laughing, wriggling deeper into Lan Zhan’s lap. “Could you imagine!” He crows in delight. “Me! Your wife! Lan Zhan, you would kill me within the year! I would annoy you so much! You would have to kill me in self-defence because I would annoy you to death!” He leans further back, hands twined behind Lan Zhan’s neck and Lan Zhan’s grip on his waist—both hands, now, firm and hot and big—are the only things keeping him from sprawling onto the ground. “Husband and wife!” He chortles. He’s quite flushed from the alcohol. “Such good friends and we get mistaken for a married couple! I should hope so many people are as lucky as I am when it comes to the company they keep. Personally, I think more friends should be mistaken for lovers! The world may be a nicer place, then.” He grins dopily at Lan Zhan, who stares back at him with—well, Wei Wuxian is very drunk and can’t quite place the expression on his face.

At his waist, Lan Zhan’s thumb rubs a circle against him, overtop his robes. “Mmm, Lan Zhan,” Wei Wuxian says, leaning forward again, both palms flat against his chest. When he next glances up, Lan Zhan’s face is close enough to his that their noses almost touch. “You treat me so well, Lan Zhan,” Wei Wuxian says. His face cracks into a grin. “You treat your little wife so well!”

Lan Zhan’s brow furrows. “Wei Ying,” he says, as if pained. His grip flexes on Wei Wuxian’s waist again, tight enough to make him gasp.  

He looks like he’s going to say something else when the proprietor returns, jug in hand. The hollow sound of him depositing it on their table, with such force that water sloshes over the rim, breaks the strange atmosphere that had settled over them like a fine mist.

“My apologies, Daozhang,” he says, and leaves without offering to clean up the mess.

The lines of Lan Zhan’s body go rigid with annoyance, and then, slowly, ease. He takes a breath and pulls Wei Wuxian properly back into his lap. Wei Wuxian chews on his bottom lip in silence while Lan Zhan dips the linen in the jug before returning to tend to Wei Wuxian’s face, the water a balm on his overheated skin. Wei Wuxian’s brain is still swimming in liquor, but he’s conscious enough to mumble his appreciation. He says into Lan Zhan’s neck, “Lan Zhan, I want to be with you forever.”

There is a moment of silence, and then Lan Zhan says, while he presses the linen to the corner of Wei Wuxian’s mouth, “I want this as well.”

Wei Wuxian wakes with a jolt, headache hitting him like a boulder off a cliff. He made it through the night without vomiting, but has to take deep, calming breaths to keep the nausea at bay.

He lies curled on his side, miserable and paralyzed by a cartwheeling stomach. It’s been a long time since he was this hungover. Stupid of him. He used to wear his hangovers like a badge of honor. Now he just feels like an asshole.

He drags himself out of bed sooner than he would prefer, but the least he can do is give Lan Zhan the early start he generally prefers. Unlike Wei Wuxian, he doesn’t like to waste daylight. He drags his fingers through his messy hair, wincing at every knot. It takes him longer than usual to become presentable thanks to the occasional doubling over until the next wave of misery passes. Maybe he should’ve made Lan Zhan buy him a comb after all.

After drinking all the water that Lan Zhan left for him, Wei Wuxian slaps himself in the face a couple of times and exits his room, bright-eyed and pink-cheeked and ponytailed. He raps smartly on Lan Zhan’s door, chirps his name, and lets himself inside without waiting for a reply.

Lan Zhan looks, as ever, immaculate. Like he turned to stone overnight and only rejoined the world of the living moments ago. He sits in the center of the room, meditating, but opens his placid eyes at Wei Wuxian’s intrusion, brow furrowing slightly. Usually, he does Wei Wuxian the courtesy of at least looking neutral the morning after he makes a drunk fool of himself. Sometimes, the corners of his mouth even curve up when they first lay eyes on each other.

Wei Wuxian swallows, smiling past it. He strides forward, draping himself languidly along Lan Zhan’s open windowsill, the morning air crisp and refreshing. He takes a moment to bask in the watery early spring sunlight. Someone must have a garden nearby, because a sweet, floral scent drifts inside. Lan Zhan’s cool gaze follows his movements.

“A beautiful morning, Lan Zhan!” Wei Wuxian says. The pitch of his own voice makes him wince. “Shall we get started? On the road to nowhere and everywhere?”

Lan Zhan rests his hands in his lap. “I have a destination in mind.”

“Oh? Did someone send word in the night?”

Lan Zhan stands, practically glowing. “No.”

Wei Wuxian’s grin sputters. “Okay… then where are we going?”

Lan Zhan, always tranquil, is so glazed he looks like he’s been spun into a spider’s web when he says, “I am going to collect my betrothed.”

Wei Wuxian blinks. “What?”

“I am betrothed.”

Wei Wuxian blinks again. “What?”

Displeasure flashes through Lan Zhan’s eyes before he reverts back to his icy neutrality. He enunciates every word. “I am betrothed.”

“Sorry, Lan Zhan, I can’t hear you. Every time you open your mouth there’s just this horrible ringing noise in my ears. It almost sounded like you said you were—” He swallows. Laughs, high pitched. “It sounded like you said you were betrothed. To—to someone—someone else.”

Lan Zhan nods once.

Whatever horrible semblance of a grin Wei Wuxian is still wearing freezes dead on his face. “WHAT?!” The speed and pitch with which Wei Wuxian’s protest falls from his lips barely resembles human language.

Lan Zhan stands there in his immaculate, cloud-patterned Lan robes, watching him calmly, one fist tucked up against his back. “I am betrothed.”

Wei Wuxian blinks. “Are you…” He tries to laugh. Again, it sounds inhuman. “Is this about last night? Are you mad at me? I only remember some of it, Lan Zhan. I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable. I’m sure whatever I did I was just—” He gestures uselessly. He remembers being warm in Lan Zhan’s lap. He remembers fitting snugly in Lan Zhan’s lap. Wrapping his arms around Lan Zhan’s neck. Nosing at his jaw. “… playing around.”

“This has nothing to do with you, Wei Wuxian.”

If Wei Wuxian were walking, he would have stumbled. If he were drinking, he would have choked. “Lan Zhan?” he says quietly.

Suddenly, loud footsteps on the stairs. Moments later, the proprietor appears at the open door to Lan Zhan’s room, chest heaving, staring at them. “Is everything okay?” he gasps out. “There was a noise, unlike anything I’ve heard before. I thought some horrible demon had entered my establishment!” He looks between the two of them. “Is something—is something happening?”

Wei Wuxian clasps his hands behind his back. “Yes,” he says faintly. His head is spinning. “My friend—my dear friend is—” He swallows. “My friend is getting married. He is, apparently, um, betrothed. And I am, apparently, um—no, I mean, I am, definitely—happy for him.” He meets Lan Zhan’s eye, barely. “Congratulations, Lan Zhan,” he means to say, and instead it grates out of his throat, like his voice has been stolen by an impish spirit.

Lan Zhan nods in acknowledgement.

The proprietor appears to be suffering from some kind of neural event. He shakes his head minutely. “Daozhang, you—” He glances at Wei Wuxian, then back to Lan Zhan. “You’re betrothed to…?”

Lan Zhan says nothing. Wei Wuxian manages, weakly, “He’s kind of a private guy.”

The proprietor’s face turns red. “Last night,” he sputters, “you two, in my tearoom, and now—?!”

Wei Wuxian buries his face in his hands. Muffled, he says, “Please don’t remind me.”

Lan Zhan says, “Wei Wuxian’s actions were influenced by alcohol, and indeed inappropriate. They will be addressed.”

The proprietor looks between them one more time. His face hardens. “Daozhang, I respect the work you do, but I am going to have to ask you to leave.”

“What?” Wei Wuxian squeaks. “Why?”

“The public display of affection was inappropriate enough, that is true. But I run an honest establishment, and I will absolutely not tolerate adultery within these walls.”

That’s enough. Wei Wuxian faints.

He goes down hard. It’s been quite a while since he’s passed out and Lan Zhan hasn’t been there to catch him. For a blissful few heartbeats, the world fades away.

Then, unfortunately, he returns to a world where Lan Zhan is betrothed.

He blinks up at the ceiling. Lan Zhan and the proprietor stand over him.

Lan Zhan asks, with a chilly remove in his voice like he’s annoyed with his antics, “Wei Wuxian. Are you all right?”

The proprietor bends down next to him. Lan Zhan remains standing. Wei Wuxian scrunches his face up to force the tears back into his eyes. Maybe he is dying and this is some strange, horrible, punishment hallucination before his spirit fully leaves this world. Not that he doesn’t deserve that and more, but this does seem surprisingly and specifically cruel.

“I think I’m dying,” he says.

The proprietor’s eyes go wide. Lan Zhan bends at the waist, feels for Wei Wuxian’s meridians. He touches him clinically, like a healer would. After a moment, he says, “No. You are fine.”

Wei Wuxian pushes himself up onto his elbows. “Great,” he says.

The proprietor lets out a sigh of relief as he stands. “Take a moment, if you need it,” he says. “And then please leave and do not return.”

He sweeps out of the room.

Wei Wuxian watches him go, then turns back to Lan Zhan, but he has already straightened up and begun readying himself to leave.

Wei Wuxian’s chest goes tight. “Lan Zhan,” he says from the floor. “Why are you calling me by my courtesy name?”

“‘Once betrothed, it is improper to refer to anyone other than your future spouse, relatives, or children by their birth name,’” Lan Zhan quotes. “With that being the case, please refer to me by my courtesy name as well.”

“A fucking obscure Lan rule, are you fucking kidding me, Lan Zhan?”

Lan Zhan glares at him.

Wei Wuxian shakes his head, jaw tight, and says to the ceiling, “Lan Wangji.”

“You congratulated me,” Lan Zhan says. “Did you not mean it?”

Wei Wuxian’s hands tighten into fists and then, slowly, relax. He pulls himself to his feet, brushing off his robes. His ponytail has half fallen out of its ribbon. Normally, Lan Zhan would fix it without him even noticing, let alone asking. Wei Wuxian suspects he might be on his own this time. “Of course I meant it, Lan Zh—Wangji.” He bares his teeth, the closest he can get to a smile. “You just—you really caught me off guard! All this time we’ve been traveling together. How did you even have time to sneak away and—” He clears his throat. “—fall in love, ah? Haha, with a girl, too! I mean—a woman! Haha. Ah.” He scratches the back of his very warm neck. “What’s her name? Who is she, Lan Zhan?”

“Wangji.”

“Sorry. Lan Wangji. Who is she? Are you—did Zewu-jun write you? Are you to marry someone from another clan? Is it a political match?” That would make sense. Not that Wei Wuxian has ever spent much time thinking about it, despite it being a distinct possibility based on Lan Zhan’s standing.

Wei Wuxian doesn’t know what he expects, but when Lan Zhan says, fondly, “Zhang Xiaolian,” he feels…

“Nothing,” he says, after a minute of wracking his brain. In this, at least, he is sure. “I don’t know that name. Is there even a Zhang clan? They must be one of the smaller ones. What color do they wear? Why would Zewu-jun marry off you to a clan so small I’ve never even heard of them? No offense, Zhang clan. But why?! What do the Lans get in return?!”

Lan Zhan says, “She is not from a clan.”

“Okay… so… what, you were sneaking out every night to fly on Bichen to meet her? Where does she live? We’ve been all over the place! We couldn’t possibly be near her at all times! Where did you meet her? How didn’t I meet her, even once?” Something occurs to him. His eyes go wide. “Have I met her, Lan—Wangji? Have I met her and forgotten her? Surely, if that’s the case, if she isn’t memorable enough after a single meeting, she isn’t worthy of you. I met you once and never forgot you! You should only marry someone like that, Lan Wangji.”  

“You have not met her.”

“Is she pretty?”

Lan Zhan stares at him.

“I’m only asking because as your friend, I have my own standards for who deserves to love you and be loved by you for the rest of your life, and one of those standards is that she has to be prettier than me.” Wei Wuxian remembers how to smile and flashes Lan Zhan his best one. “Which, of course, is a mighty undertaking, indeed. But I’m sure there are a few girls out there who are prettier than me. Not many. But a few. We could probably find them, somewhere. It may take a while, but I believe in us.”

“Wei Wuxian. I apologize if anything I have done has given you the impression that you have a say in who I marry.”

“Hm,” Wei Wuxian says, pouting. “Well. That hurt my feelings, Hanguang-jun. I thought we were friends.”

“We are,” Lan Zhan says. “But I am already betrothed. There will be no others.”

“Ah,” Wei Wuxian says. “Of course. Why would we go looking for a wife for you when you already have one waiting for you in the wings?”

Lan Zhan nods.

“Right right right right right.” Wei Wuxian taps his nose. “Ah! And you are going to her? Now?”

“Yes.”

“And where is she, again?”

“Northwest.”

“Wow!” Wei Wuxian beams. “I’m also going northwest, what a coincidence!”

“To where?”

“The north, and the west! What about you?”

“There is a village beyond Qinghe—”

“Great, great! Yeah, I’m going that way! Haha, Lan Zhan, this is great. Let’s keep traveling together for now, yeah? I promise you can get rid of me when we get to your betrothed, but I mean, why not stick together while we can? Maybe we’ll even run into a few night hunts along the way, for old time’s sake! That would add on some extra travel time, but I’m sure if your betrothed is worthy at all of you, she will understand that the esteemed Hanguang-jun and his, uh, buddy, are busy assisting the weak.” He shrugs. “And, hey, who’s to say there won’t be some more sights to see on the way? Maybe we’ll camp underneath the stars again like we did that time in Tangxi? Or—or—I think there’s some pretty amazing forests in that direction? Or even a desert, if you go far enough north? Could you imagine all that sand, Lan Zhan? Like a beach, but no water! Yep, that’s the definition of a desert! Or, haha, this is so funny, remember over the winter in the mountains in the north of Baling, when we were fighting the nian? And, um, we got stuck in that icy cave, and I was injured and it was so cold and the dead of night and we were underdressed, but you were still warm because of your whole—your whole core deal—and I wasn’t warm because of my whole—my whole core deal—and I was blue and shivering and you, uh, you said my name and we—well, we—you know—and it’s just like how sometimes in war you need someone to—’cause there’s only so many women to go around, right?—it’s just that sometimes you need to share body heat to stay warm and I mean, I don’t really think about it much, it’s not like we’ll ever need to do it again, haha, I don’t even—I barely even remember it, it’s not that noteworthy a life event, you know? It was just, um, I only brought it up because I was thinking about how cool the mountains were, how fun that night hunt was, even with the cold, and, anyway, I was just thinking how great it would be if we could do a few more before we… you know. Pack it up as cultivation partners.” As he runs out of steam, so does his voice, ending in a rasp like he’s been shouting himself raw for hours straight. He swallows.

Lan Zhan’s expression is… complex. Lots of little ones ripple across the most highly trafficked areas of his face; the corners of his mouth, between his brow, his eyes. Always his eyes, so molten even when the rest of him is ice cold. His mouth opens and for a moment nothing comes out. Then he says, “Wei—Wei Wuxian.” He shakes his head minutely, expression settling into something closer to his usual self, tranquil. “There will be no detours. We will go northwest. You may accompany me, if you wish.”

Wei Wuxian closes his eyes and rubs his temples. “Yeah. Yeah, okay. I’ll accompany you, Lan—fuck. Again. Sorry. Lan Wangji. Hanguang-jun. My friend.” He takes a deep breath, opens his eyes, and forces himself to meet Lan Zhan’s—Lan Wangji’s—gaze, cool as a lotus pond in the gray before sunrise. “Yeah, Lan Wangji. Let’s go find your wife, ah?”          

Wei Wuxian is jittery. Not that this is new. But he is very jittery. Moreso than usual. He buzzes around Lan Zhan like a mosquito for hours, waiting to be swatted, but Lan Zhan barely even spares him a glance. Occasionally, he tells Wei Wuxian to stop being ridiculous. Or shameless. And not in the way that used to make him want to do whatever it was that prodded that reaction out of Lan Zhan in the first place again, and harder.

For a while, he natters on about nothing, like the entire world hasn’t toppled over. He spins long tales about what he expects to do now that Lan Wangji has gone and gotten reasonable and found himself a wife. He is quite adept at traveling alone, after all, if being drunk most of the time counts as being adept. Not that he would ever tell Lan Zhan this—although at this point, he probably wouldn’t care even if he did—but he did, in fact, complete more than one night hunt with a bottle of alcohol in his hand. In the end, though, it all worked out. It was all fine. He stumbled over a sleeping shanxiao once in a forest and almost got his face torn off, but it was fine. He fell down the side of the mountain and into a stream and that really sobered him up enough to fight it off.

Eventually, even Wei Wuxian runs out of things to say. He didn’t think it was possible. He sighs and walks beside Lan Zhan in silence, rubbing awkwardly at his elbow and wondering if he’ll be invited to the wedding.

They walk in silence for hours across green rolling hills. It’s a balmy spring day, perfect for travel, with a slight hint of mist in the air. It’ll undoubtedly be a romantic night, rain falling soft on the roof of their tent while Lan Zhan brushes out Wei Wuxian’s hair like he always insists on doing when it’s especially messy.

And then, Wei Wuxian realizes, he won’t. Whenever the last time Lan Zhan brushed out his hair was, that’s exactly what it was: the last time.

“Aha! Lan Zhan!” he cries out. His voice sounds a little strangled.

“Wangji.”

“Wangji!”

“Lan. Wangji.”

“Hanguang-jun!” he settles on. “I just realized how many things I’m going to have to do on my own again!” He puts a hand theatrically to his chin. “Make my own food! Brush my own hair! Pull my own donkey’s reins! Oh, Hanguang-jun, would you really leave me to my own devices like that? How cruel!”

Lan Zhan says, “You are perfectly self sufficient, Wei Wuxian. You can take care of yourself.”

Wei Wuxian blinks rapidly. “I know,” he says. He blinks again. He wrenches it back. “But I’m lazy and don’t want to!”

“You will learn.”

Wei Wuxian feels like a child tripping alongside an adult as it tries to keep up with impossibly long strides, despite the sliver of difference in their heights. Casting his mind around, he says, slowly, “Hey, Lan Wangji…”

“Mm.”

“You’ve given me an idea. You know I have servant’s blood in me. Do you and your new wife want a servant? I could be your servant! What better way to learn how to be self-sufficient than making sure someone else doesn’t have to be! I’ll do whatever you want. I’ll tend to your every need. I’ll even warm your bed at night! Uh,” he coughs. “Your marriage bed, that is. For you and your wife.”

Lan Zhan casts a neutral gaze at him. “You are not very warm.”

“Wh— Hanguang-jun? Was that a joke?” Wei Wuxian feels like he’s going to cry. From delight, surely. He loves when Lan Zhan makes jokes.  

“I was stating the truth. Stop being ridiculous.”

Wei Wuxian keeps stumbling after him. “Whatever you want,” he says demurely. “Sounds like a servant to me! Hanguang-jun, I want you to have me! I think my wedding gift to you should be me.”

“No,” Lan Zhan says.

Wei Wuxian pinches the bridge of his nose. “No! Yeah! That would be crazy. Haha. Would it? I mean, it totally would. Wow, my back hurts! Lan Wangji, can you give me a lift? Just onto Little Apple. I’m so old, really.”

“Self sufficiency,” Lan Zhan reminds him.

“Oh, yeah, totally,” Wei Wuxian says. “Couldn’t agree more. But why not once more for the road, huh? For old time’s sake!”

Lan Zhan ignores him.

“It’s just that I think you’ll get flabby if you don’t haul me around like a sack of flour sometimes. Sometimes, I think you like hauling me around like a sack of flour. I don’t know if it’s a power trip thing or what.”

“Shameless.”

“Aiya. Please. You wanna be flabby for your pretty wife? Put me on Little Apple. Work your muscles. I’ll be your practice wife until we can get you to your real one.”

Lan Zhan glares at him.

“Ah!” Wei Wuxian feels feverish. “Above the waist, only! Promise!”

Lan Zhan shakes his head as he wraps his hands around Wei Wuxian’s waist and lifts, more likely out of annoyance than anything involving genuine sentiment.

Delight and disquiet rip-roar through him as he dangles in the air. Overcome, he wraps his arms and legs around Lan Zhan’s immediately rock-hard torso. “Ah, Lan Zhan!” He cries into Lan Zhan’s neck. “Sorry, Lan Wangji, I know! I know! I hope this marriage makes you as happy as you deserve! Don’t let me joking around ruin a good thing. I’m just playing, I promise. I’m just teasing. You are going to look so handsome in your wedding robes, I’ll probably cry all day.”

He pulls back, carefully at first lest Lan Zhan drop him in an unceremonious heap on the ground. But Lan Zhan is holding him securely, watching him with a slightly furrowed brow and slightly parted lips. Wei Wuxian puts one palm to his cheek. “Lan Wangji. Lan Wangji. Lan Zhan. Thank you for being with me through it all.” He blinks. A tear falls. “What friends we are, hm? Now. Now, dearest Lan Zhan, I promise as soon as you stop touching me I’ll be perfectly polite and call you by your courtesy name, as is befitting Lan Clan rule number whatever.”

Lan Zhan does not put him down.

Wei Wuxian smiles. He awkwardly pats Lan Zhan’s hand where it holds him at his lower back. “Let me down, Lan Zhan. I was just playing again. I can climb on Little Apple myself.”

Lan Zhan takes two steps forward, untangles Wei Wuxian from around his torso, and deposits him gently onto Little Apple. She huffs loudly.

Wei Wuxian says, softly, “Oh.”

Lan Zhan takes two steps backward, and nods. “We shall continue,” he says, face blank.

When he turns around, Little Apple’s reins in hand, Wei Wuxian buries his face in his palms.

Because it worked out so well last time, Wei Wuxian gets drunk at dinner. He’s had a couple days of travel to sit with the news, and a couple nights of being banished to his own tent to really marinate in it.

The conclusion he has drawn is that he is so happy for Lan Zhan it makes him cry. And drink. In celebration. Of his marriage. For every mouthful of rice, there are three swigs of wine. To this point, Lan Zhan has—begrudgingly—continued to pay for his meals. Which is incredibly good news for Wei Wuxian, who has hardly once thought about money since he came back from the dead. Lan Zhan has always been there, steady at his back, sizeable coin pouch in hand.

It is also good news because otherwise, Wei Wuxian would have no money for alcohol with which to celebratorily toast Lan Zhan and his new bride.

“To you and—aha, ah! Lan Wangji. Your bride’s name. I forgot it! I’m so sorry.” He takes a drink.

“Zhang Xiaolian.”

“Right right. Of course. Lan Wangji and Zhang Xiaolian. How good your names sound together!”

Lan Zhan takes a graceful bite of steamed carrot.

Wei Wuxian says, “Haha, Lan Zhan. “Guess I should get a wife, too, huh? If you’re going to be so busy with your own from now on and leave me all alone.”

“Wangji. It would be proper for a man your age.”

“Yeah, that’s what I figured,” Wei Wuxian says, waving his chopsticks around as he speaks. Lan Zhan’s gaze follows them, eyes slightly narrowed. When Wei Wuxian realizes, he smiles apologetically and stills his hand. “Since you’re an expert, you wanna give me some tips? Where do I, ah, find a wife? On the street? At a merchant’s stall? A stall full of wives…” He muses. “That would make my quest much easier, actually! I could just go and browse at my leisure and pick the prettiest one! Or the one with the worst sense of humor, because I wouldn’t want her to be funnier than me. Or maybe the one with the best? I don’t know. I guess I’ll have to think about it! I’ve never really thought in great detail about what kind of woman I would marry. And then we’ll… get a home together? And have a kid? Or two or three?” He taps his chin. “Yeah. Yeah, that sounds right. We’ll do that. Me and my wife. Hey, maybe we can live in Caiyi or Gusu? We’ll come visit you guys all the time. It’ll be like, uh, we’re going on a date together! I mean—like, you and your wife and me and my wife!” Wei Wuxian smiles and stabs his rice with his chopsticks. “It’ll be great!”    

Lan Zhan takes a serene sip of tea. “There is no wife stall.”

“Aw,” Wei Wuxian says. He puts his elbow on the table and rests his chin glumly in his palm. “Guess I’m out of luck, then.”

“There are many women in the world,” Lan Zhan says.

“I know that, Lan Wangji,” Wei Wuxian simpers. “I am simply saying that going to the market would be easier, since in real life I’m too flirtatious with them. I’m so well known for my ways with fair maidens that I’m not sure I’d be able to convince any of them to marry me.”

“I haven’t heard that,” Lan Zhan says.

“Then I guess you haven’t been listening hard enough.”

Lan Zhan eats another carrot.

Wei Wuxian says, “I’m sure there’s a maiden out there for me, huh? I’m sure there’s at least one woman out there who would marry me. I just have to find her. I just have to find. A woman. To be married to. I mean, to marry.” For a moment, he swims in the soup of his own inebriation. Then, he beams at Lan Zhan. “You will be such a good husband! To your. To your.” He takes another long swig and raises his jar of liquor. “To your wife, Lan Zhan! To you and… oh no.”

“Zhang Xiaolian.”

“Zhang Xiaolian! I’m sure she’s very pretty. Whoever and wherever she is.”

“My betrothed. In a village to the northwest.”

Wei Wuxian gulps down alcohol until his throat burns, and then keeps going until he finishes the jar. When he’s done, he leans back onto his elbows and says to the ceiling, “Lan Zhan, you would not believe how badly I want to crawl into your lap right now and curl up there like a little woodland creature while you pet me.”

Somehow, he can hear Lan Zhan blinking at him from across the table. After a moment, he says, “That would be inappropriate.”

“I know,” Wei Wuxian says. “That’s why I’m telling you instead of doing it.” He sighs. “Haha, Lan Zhan. Remember the mountain in Baling?”

“Mn.”

“Ha,” Wei Wuxian says. He throws an arm over his eyes and continues to laugh. “Talk about inappropriate!”

“That was to ensure your survival,” Lan Zhan says tonelessly. “There was nothing inappropriate about it. You sitting in my lap is ridiculous play.”

Wei Wuxian pouts. “I’ll give you ‘play’. But ‘ridiculous’?”

“And shameless.”

“Aiya.” Wei Wuxian waves him off. He flicks his head down, so he’s meeting Lan Zhan’s gaze. His face swims. “You have a good lap, Lan Zhan. It’s important to me that you know that. I just hope your wife appreciates it.”

Wei Wuxian nurses yet another shitty hangover. They continue to head northwest. He’s spent the day thinking about the wife he’s going to set out to find after saying his farewells to Lan Zhan and his betrothed, whose name he still can’t hold onto.

Women do tend to like him, initially. He can do a quick flirt on the go without a thought. However, the idea of having to keep a faceless, nameless woman entertained for the rest of his life fills him with dread. Wei Wuxian can talk about anything, but what would he talk about with her? Would she want to hear him say whatever comes to his mind? Would she want to kiss him every morning? Would she want to have sex every night? 

He’s cared for women in his life. He’s known women in his life. Perhaps not a ton. He’s certainly flirted with more women than he’s known. His face has done a lot of the heavy lifting, but he’s managed a sweet comment or two in his time. The maidens always giggle and bow their heads and blow him kisses and he has always caught them and pressed them to his cheek, which in turn pinkened theirs. If this ever happened when he was with Lan Zhan, he would simply turn to him, grinning big, and press the caught kiss to his cheek instead. The girls loved it, especially since most of them were too afraid to directly flirt with Lan Zhan. Lan Zhan would only shake his head in admonishment, ears tinged pink. Wei Wuxian always asks him, “Lan Zhan, why don’t women ever flirt with you? You’re so handsome!” The only answer Wei Wuxian ever received, if any, was a curt shake of the head.  

Who could’ve known this whole time that his heart belonged to someone else?

Wei Wuxian stays up late, tending to their fire. Lan Zhan retired at his usual time with a polite nod, and disappeared into his tent. He looks at his own, sad little tent nearby. The day Lan Zhan had announced his marriage, they had picked up a second one. Anything else was inappropriate, of course.

It actually was a bit of a shock, even in the warming spring nights, to lose Lan Zhan’s body heat. Even after all this time, Wei Wuxian still runs cold without a core. Now, he prefers to be awake by the fire instead of half-asleep and chilled to the bone. He pokes restlessly at it with a stick and it pops and crackles back at him in response.   

The mountain cave in Baling had been too cold for a fire, which Wei Wuxian had thought impossible. Their talismans burned up in moments, eaten by the chill. Lan Zhan had been low on spiritual energy after using most of it to haul Wei Wuxian up the side of the mountain, above the cloud line.

Still, the herd of nian had followed, their horrifying claws piercing the icy side of the mountain as easily as Lan Zhan rose on Bichen, and almost as quickly. Their roars followed them for hours.

Finally, they got situated in the cave, at the top of the world. The only light was from the mouth, many twists and turns back, as Lan Zhan dragged Wei Wuxian to relative safety. He had spelled the entrance to the cave shut, and it would hold for the night, at least.

Wei Wuxian had been slashed, fairly badly, by one of the nian during their original fight in the forest at the base of the mountain. That one, at least, he had been able to finish off after it tried to slice open his belly.

Lan Zhan, suddenly on his own against a slowly tightening circle of enemies and largely outnumbered, had gathered Wei Wuxian in his arms and fled. He bled all the way through the forest, and then all the way up the mountainside until the air got cold enough and his wound clotted. He spit up a bit of blood as they went, for good measure. Lan Zhan held him closer and put a hand on his cheek. He had said, “Wei Ying. Please.”

In the cave, Wei Wuxian had stopped bleeding thanks to the cold. Lan Zhan fed him spiritual energy against his will, but he had so little left there wasn’t much he could do. Wei Wuxian leaned against the freezing rock wall of the cave and Lan Zhan sat beside him. Again, Lan Zhan said, “Wei Ying.” Outside, a nian roared. It echoed around the mountain and into the cave like a lightning strike.  

Wei Wuxian said, “Oh, this is pathetic. Like we’re teenagers, again, Lan Zhan. Fighting a giant tortoise. Nothing ever really changes, does it?”

Lan Zhan stared at him, close enough to touch. Close enough that Wei Wuxian could feel the heat emanating off him. They had dressed for the base of the mountain, not the top of it. Wei Wuxian shivered. Lan Zhan watched him with a furrowed brow and disquiet in his eyes. “Things change,” he said, so significantly that Wei Wuxian’s body rallied mightily and offered him a surge of heat in his cheeks.

“Well,” he said around his teeth starting to chatter. “That’s good! I guess. Hopefully that means we get out of here before we freeze to death.”

“I will not freeze,” Lan Zhan said.

Wei Wuxian laughed at that and pulled his robes tighter around himself. “I’m very glad to hear that. The noble Hanguang-jun will not die in a no-name mountain cave surrounded by nian and beside the Yiling Laozu! What would people say! The scandal! The shame to your sect, Lan Zhan!”

Lan Zhan’s gaze was molten when he said, “Wei Ying. Stop.”

Wei Wuxian laughed. “Relax, Lan Zhan. I’m just teasing. Mostly.”

“Conserve your energy by no longer speaking.”

“That’s the nicest way anyone’s ever told me to shut up!”

They sat. The nian prowled. The sky darkened. Wei Wuxian turned blue.

“Lan Zhan,” he stuttered with frozen lips, later. “Haha, Lan Zh—Zhan, I just want you to know how m—much I’ve enjoyed our time t—t—traveling together. Haha. Oh, it’s chilly in here, huh. I had forgotten.”

Lan Zhan moved closer. He held Wei Wuxian by the shoulder and pressed a finger to his forehead, almost touching. Sluggish almost-heat coursed through Wei Wuxian and he sighed, and then protested, “Lan Zhan, stop! There’s no way your spiritual energy has regenerated yet! Hey, stop!”

Lan Zhan did not stop, so Wei Wuxian knocked his arm away. It was difficult. He was breathing hard.

Lan Zhan frowned at him, then wordlessly shoved him back against the cave wall, holding him down no matter how much he squirmed. He continued to feed him spiritual energy, and the slow return of feeling to his limbs felt so good and hurt so much Wei Wuxian had to bite his lip to stop from groaning. “Seriously, Lan Zhan,” he begged, “please, please, I feel better, okay? Just—” He shifted awkwardly. Lan Zhan was merciless, his hold on Wei Wuxian’s chest unrelenting. “Lan Zhan! My wound is bleeding again.”

He would have said it anyway to get Lan Zhan to let go of him, but in this case, it did happen to be true. It was slow, sagging like not-quite-melted butter under a warm dish.

Lan Zhan dressed the wound with a strip of cloth from his bag. He took Wei Wuxian’s hand and placed it over the bandage. “Pressure,” he said.

Wei Wuxian pressed.

Silence, again.

When the cold threatened to creep in at the edges once more and Wei Wuxian shivered, Lan Zhan, already looking at him, narrowed his eyes. “Wei Ying.”

“What!” Wei Wuxian said. “Like I can help it! Are the nian gone yet? Stupid cat-things. I hate them.”

“No,” Lan Zhan said. “I can still sense them. They are hungry. They smell blood.”

“Great,” Wei Wuxian said.

“They will leave. Eventually.”

“Great,” Wei Wuxian said.

The next time his teeth chattered, Lan Zhan said, deliberately, “I am going to hold you.”

“What?!” Wei Wuxian blurted as he was being manhandled into the circle of Lan Zhan’s arms. He squeaked in protest. When he tried to fight Lan Zhan off, he only tightened his grip.

“Wei Ying,” he said, breath hot against Wei Wuxian’s ear. He shivered, and not with cold. “I am warm. I will warm you.”

“Actually,” Wei Wuxian said, voice breathy, “you can let me go. I’ll be fine. I think my golden core regenerated in the past ten seconds.”

“No,” Lan Zhan said serenely. He firmly rubbed his palms up and down Wei Wuxian’s arms. He maneuvered Wei Wuxian so that Wei Wuxian’s back was pressed against his—admittedly pretty warm—torso.

“Hm,” Wei Wuxian said, an octave higher than normal. “We did not solve our problem in Dusk Creek Mountain like this, Lan Zhan.”

Lan Zhan’s hand, trailing warmth wherever it went, landed at Wei Wuxian’s hip. Lips so close to his skin he could feel them brush the short hairs at the nape of his neck, Lan Zhan murmured, “Things change.”

“Hm!” Wei Wuxian said again, voice jumping another octave. He didn’t move. He was afraid to move. “Um, Lan Zhan—” he started, but Lan Zhan tightened his grip and— Wei Wuxian’s pulse jumped in his throat. He jolted and tried, once more, to scrabble away. He was unsuccessful. “Lan Zhan! Did you just bite my ear?!” His free hand formed itself into a fist at his side. Warmth crowded under his jaw, stifling.  

“Be quiet,” Lan Zhan reminded him. “Tuck your legs in. Do not argue.”

Wei Wuxian indeed thought about arguing, swallowed past it, and tucked his legs in. Lan Zhan crossed his legs around Wei Wuxian’s hips, hooking his knees around Wei Wuxian’s, fully bracketing him on all sides now. The fit wasn’t perfect, with their floor-length robes and minimal height difference and Wei Wuxian’s longer legs, but that didn’t deter Lan Zhan. He simply adjusted them until it worked, arms wrapped around Wei Wuxian’s middle, searing hot mouth almost—almost—pressed to Wei Wuxian’s shoulder.

Wei Wuxian was speechless. Wei Wuxian also was, to his great horror—and despite being badly injured and freezing to death in a mountain cave—half-hard.

“Uh—” he said, and then immediately stopped, for fear of Lan Zhan biting him again. Lan Zhan was very hot at his center, where Wei Wuxian sat tucked up against the V of his legs. It made him feel insane, his brain scrambled. He bit his lip and breathed deeply, before saying, all in one breath, “Lan Zhan don’t bite me again please I just want to say something.”

Lan Zhan was silent and also didn’t bite him. Wei Wuxian took that as a good sign.

He said, aiming for casual, “Are we going to stay like this all night?”

“If the situation permits.”

“That’s really nice of you and all, Lan Zhan, but I don’t think that’s gonna work.”

Lan Zhan said nothing.

Wei Wuxian didn’t know how to explain that that his body was very confused at the moment and full of adrenaline and was manifesting that as an erection, so he said, instead, “My legs will cramp up.”

“I will tend to them. You need to stay warm.”

“Hah,” Wei Wuxian said weakly. “Lan Zhan, my friend, this is—” He cast around somewhere in his mind for the words. Usually he had so many. “Lan Zhan. This is not usually how two men spend a night in a cave together. You may remember this from the last night we spent together in a cave.”

Lan Zhan, always still, went stiller at his back. “You’re uncomfortable.”

Wei Wuxian took stock of his body. Cold feet. Hot line all the way up his back. Pink face. Chest desperately trying not to heave. Horrible, traitorous erection in his lap. Hands awkwardly hovering over it, unsure if covering it up would only draw attention to it. “That’s a word that accurately describes my situation,” he choked out.     

“You need heat,” Lan Zhan said.

“Mhm,” Wei Wuxian agreed, pained. He tested Lan Zhan’s grip. It remained very tight. “Can I just—if we’re gonna be sitting here a while, I have to adjust my position, okay?”

Lan Zhan’s arms loosened a fraction. Immediately, Wei Wuxian drew his knees up to his chin and wrapped his arms around his calves. “There.”

Dubiously, Lan Zhan said, “Your injury?”

Wei Wuxian had forgotten that not long ago, he had been bleeding out. He supposed it hurt. Not near as much as trying to explain to his closest friend and cultivation partner why he had an erection while wrapped up in his arms, at least. “It’s fine.”

Lan Zhan resumed his iron grip. Being tightly held by Lan Zhan—they had never done anything like this before. A once in a lifetime event. By morning, they’d be laughing about it. Well, Wei Wuxian would. Loudly. Brashly. No matter how much Lan Zhan admonished him. By tomorrow afternoon, he would have forgotten about it completely.

That thought more than anything soothed him, and he relaxed in Lan Zhan’s arms. Lan Zhan, for a friend, was certainly more comfortable a pillow than a cave rock. Wei Wuxian leaned his head against Lan Zhan’s chest. “Lan Zhan,” he said. “Even though I’m being a brat about it, you’re probably saving my life by doing this. There is no better cultivation partner. I’m sorry you have to be in such a compromising position because of me.”

Lan Zhan said, “Mn.”

Wei Wuxian chuckled. “But I guess that’s the story of our friendship, hm? Lan Zhan has to defend the terrible Yiling Laozu in the eyes of the world. And you do it every time without fault. You really are too good.”

Lan Zhan said, very quietly, “Mn.” He pulled Wei Wuxian tighter against him. “My spiritual energy should be restored in the morning. From this vantage point, I will be able to defeat the nian, using the cave mouth as a bottleneck.”

“Very smart, Lan Zhan,” Wei Wuxian cooed against his collarbone. “An excellent idea.” He closed his eyes, pressing his cheek more firmly into Lan Zhan’s chest.

Lan Zhan said against his hair, “Go to sleep, Wei Ying.”

 Wei Wuxian nodded. Tucked up and in by Lan Zhan, he sought out the gray quiet of unconsciousness.

The fire has died down somewhat, only half as high as it was before Wei Wuxian, flushed and feverish, pressed the heel of his palm to the front of his trousers, kneading. He didn’t last long there before lying flat on his back directly in the dirt—in the days before Lan Zhan was betrothed, he would admonish Wei Wuxian for being careless and getting detritus in his hair before reaching into his bag to pull out a comb, amused glint in his eye that would immediately shutter if Wei Wuxian called him on it—and slipping a hand under the silk, wrapping his palm around his cock and thumbing at the precome beading at the head. He licks his lips, closes his eyes because the idea of staring at the stars while he jerks off is too pathetically insignificant, even for him.

He strokes himself dirty and rough, misses a line of heat at his back, and arches into his own hand. One day, his wife will do this for him. His repertoire for such an activity is sorely lacking, but he tries to call a picture to mind anyway. A sweet, heart-shaped face. Narrow shoulders. Small, well-groomed hands that work away diligently at him. He will love it, probably. Certainly, powerful men have destroyed entire lands over the pleasure of women and sex. Wei Wuxian imagines ever feeling so strongly about such a thing. That must come with marriage, though. With a betrothed.

He pictures Lan Zhan. Lan Zhan, glowing ethereally under even the wateriest of winter sunlight. Lan Zhan, pale and corded muscle and lines so strong they should be drawn in ink. Lan Zhan, with his wife. Wei Wuxian doesn’t have the brainpower to pull another image. He can only borrow his own imaginary wife for the role of Lan Zhan’s betrothed. As he keens into his palm, he sees Lan Zhan kissing her, big hand on her face, sweeping back to fondle the red hair ribbon that’s fallen over her shoulder. He watches Lan Zhan kiss her neck—she sighs into it; Wei Wuxian sighs along with her—and shove her up against the nearest vertical surface. He ravishes her, leaving marks on her neck and her chest and tugging at her long, black ponytail. Lan Zhan parts her dark robes, just barely, and sneaks a hand under them.

Wei Wuxian runs a callused thumb over his own nipple, breath coming hard out his nose. He times his ministrations, flicking at his nipple every time he’s just started on a new downstroke, wishes he had a third hand to grab his hair and pull. He’ll have to let his wife know, when she’s not busy being railed by Lan Zhan, that he likes having his hair pulled. He thinks he would, anyway. Not that anyone has ever done it but himself.

Lan Zhan’s hand, still under her robe, drifts lower. Wei Wuxian swallows. His trails his own hand on his chest down, past where his other hand still works—dry-wet, he doesn’t care, he’s never been too picky—and stops at his upper thigh, fingertips curling slightly into the downy hair there.

Lan Zhan pulls his wife away from the wall, only to push her back against it, hard. She moans, the good kind, the interested kind. Is his future wife going to want Wei Wuxian to push her around like that? To shove her up against things and ravish her? He could do that. He would most likely be bigger and stronger, and it would probably feel weird to shove a woman around in the context of anything other than a night hunt where she’s actually some kind of horrible spirit in disguise, but if she wants it, Wei Wuxian would do it. He’ll be a devoted husband to his imaginary wife who is currently getting fingered by his cultivation partner.

Where his fingers rest against his thigh, he goes lower. Inner thigh, drawing circles, he shivers, then higher, then further back, and—it takes him just a moment to find it—pulling the pad of his index finger across a tight furl of muscle that makes his vision briefly white out. He says, out loud, “Ah,” and doesn’t think any longer about his imaginary wife when he presses his finger inside himself, up to the first knuckle.

It hurts, and even as it hurts, and drags, he comes. His whole body jerks with it and he makes noises that he registers somewhere very far away in his brain as hideously embarrassing and much too loud, but all he can do is ride the wave all the way to its sticky, gruesome end.

In this case, the sticky, gruesome end being him shivering alone in the night by the remains of a fire, covered in dirt and semen, and thrumming with the need to be held.      

As they walk through a wide-open yellow field, toward stark white mountains on the horizon, Wei Wuxian says, “Lan Wangji.”

Lan Zhan stops and turns slightly, head canted towards him, listening.

“You really think I can find someone to spend my life with? You really think there’s someone out there for me?”

Lan Zhan’s dark gaze meets his. Since leaving Cloud Recesses, he doesn’t wear his hair quite so severely anymore, and only one elaborate hairpiece, if any at all. Seeing him all at once, as if from the outside looking in—Wei Wuxian hadn’t realized how much they’ve unspooled in each other’s presence over these past months. He purses his lips and swallows while he waits for Lan Zhan’s answer.

Lan Zhan only nods.

Wei Wuxian drops his head forward. “Haha. People really can’t stand me, you know? And all the ones that could are either long dead, far away from here, or you.”

Lan Zhan says, slow, like he’s underwater, “We are friends, Wei Wuxian, and will always be such.”

Wei Wuxian blinks rapidly. “Yeah, Lan Zhan,” he says. His eyes are hot and itchy. “Yeah. Thanks.”

Lan Zhan opens his mouth like he’s going to correct his improper name usage, then thinks better of it, closes it, and nods.

Wei Wuxian clears his throat. “Uh, you go ahead. I’m gonna hop on Little Apple for a bit.”

Without another word, Lan Zhan departs.

They are well past the border of Qinghe. Wei Wuxian glares at the mountains ahead of them with narrowed eyes. Somewhere beyond them, Lan Zhan’s betrothed waits. 

Usually, Wei Wuxian loves to explore unfamiliar cities with Lan Zhan. He is interested in the people, the sights, the sounds, and especially the smells, if they promise exciting and exotic food. The routine they have fallen into since they started traveling together involves Wei Wuxian dragging Lan Zhan around by the sleeve for hours, haggling and chatting with vendors and cheerfully touching everything he can, holding their wares up close to his face to examine them from every angle until he grows bored.

Sometimes, there are great fountains in the centers of cities where Wei Wuxian likes to sit in the spray, or statues of local gods he’s never heard of and whose likenesses he dreams up later in idle doodles while Lan Zhan meditates. He likes to bump shoulders with people in the crowd and scoot between heavily packed bodies to see what the commotion is, if there is one. He strolls the streets, tugging Lan Zhan along—not that he’s ever detected any hint of resistance from him regarding this particular ritual—as they gaze up at shopfronts and teahouses and inns, dipping in where they want, passing what they don’t.   

Some of Wei Wuxian’s most treasured memories from their travels take place in quiet shopfronts, watching Lan Zhan discuss a new set of robes with a tailor or explain to a cobbler about the cracked sole of his boot. Lan Zhan enjoys browsing booksellers’ wares, endless seas of scrolls stacked up to the ceiling while dust circles, settles, caught in the daylight streaming in through the windows. In honor of their friendship, Wei Wuxian always keeps up a litany of complaints when Lan Zhan turns into yet another bookseller, grinning at his back the entire time as he follows him inside. He often accompanies Lan Zhan through the aisles, sometimes holding onto the trailing end of his forehead ribbon if he’s feeling cheeky. Anytime Lan Zhan glares at him about it, Wei Wuxian only shrugs, pouts, and says, innocently, “What! It’s practically a labyrinth in here, Lan Zhan! What if I get lost?” He always gets bored, eventually, and drifts away on his own, pulling down interesting scrolls or books and perusing them himself. Not that he would ever admit such a thing to Lan Zhan, but he’s come to enjoy their quiet afternoons in places like these, either reading about whatever cultivation-related topic has been on his mind recently, or taking a nap in a cozy corner until Lan Zhan has gotten his fill of dreary tomes (dreary tomes that Wei Wuxian would certainly never sneak a peek at before Lan Zhan purchases them and sends them back to Cloud Recesses, of course).

Watching Lan Zhan exist in the world as simply a person who runs errands and sometimes needs his boot fixed makes Wei Wuxian’s chest crack with fondness. The esteemed Hanguang-jun, completely untouchable except for when he needs a cobbler. 

None of the usual excitement crashes through Wei Wuxian when they arrive in Shanwei. Despite the region being completely new to him, and the architecture style unfamiliar with lots of interesting shapes and whorls and angles to look at, Wei Wuxian barely registers any of it as he follows Lan Zhan through the crowded, winding streets. When they arrived at Shanwei’s front gates after finding a nearby stable to stow Little Apple in, Lan Zhan had only said, “She’s here,” with a deep gravitas that made Wei Wuxian close his eyes for a very long time before finally prying them open, smiling, and following Lan Zhan across the threshold. His fingers twitch minutely, but he keeps his hands to himself.

He keeps up a cheerful monologue as they roam the streets of Shanwei, everything a colorful blur in front of him. Whatever nonsense comes to mind, he offers it to Lan Zhan, who gives him silence in return. This is not new for them, but the physical distance is. Wei Wuxian feels like he has to shout across a vast gulf just to ensure Lan Zhan hears him wondering aloud about what the most common filling in the bao is here, and if it’s any different than Gusu or Yunmeng.

Eventually, Wei Wuxian has to concede to the reason they’re here and drifts closer to Lan Zhan, careful not to actually touch. “Is she near? Aren’t you excited, Lan Wangji?”

Lan Zhan says nothing and keeps walking through the crowd.

A bystander bumps into Wei Wuxian’s shoulder and knocks him sideways. He stumbles into Lan Zhan, who catches him as perfunctorily as a seasoned fisherman pulls his catch from the river. Lan Zhan sets him right, then immediately removes his hands from Wei Wuxian’s arms. As he turns away again, something bubbles up rapidly in Wei Wuxian’s throat. He says, shrill, “Lan Zhan, wait!”

Lan Zhan stops. The people around them continue to flow, an immediate ripple of annoyance through the crowd as Wei Wuxian and Lan Zhan block the flow of traffic. His impassive gaze flicks to Wei Wuxian’s face, waiting.

Wei Wuxian says, “Uh—” He didn’t think this far ahead. He swallows. Eases into an awkward laugh. “Um. Should we not get some lunch first? Do you want to meet your betrothed hungry? You know how grumpy you get when you’re hungry.”

“I don’t,” Lan Zhan says.

“Ha. Yeah. Yeah, never mind. Ah—Lan Zhan.” Wei Wuxian pulls his ponytail over his shoulder, twirling the end of it nervously around his finger as he gets jostled by increasingly annoyed pedestrians. “Should we rest, first? You won’t want to meet her tired. Or maybe a new set of robes? Do you want to take some time to browse the market and buy her a gift?”

For a moment, Lan Zhan actually seems to consider his words. Then he says, tranquil, “No,” and disappears into the hustle and bustle.

“Aiya! Lan Zhan!” Wei Wuxian hurries after him. He understands the game of rushing through large market crowds, but even he feels bad for the passing merchant’s stomach that receives an accidental elbow from him as he shoves his way through. He calls a lame apology over his shoulder as he pushes through robe-clad figures, heart in his throat. Lan Zhan said it himself. They’re friends, always. He wouldn’t just—he wouldn’t just disappear with his betrothed forever, into the wilds, while Wei Wuxian stands alone in an unfamiliar city.

Finally, Wei Wuxian breaks out of the throng of people near the end of the market street where only a few less-populated and less-ornamented stalls stand, rickety. The buildings around here are mostly boarded-up businesses, abandoned for greener pastures, looking out over an almost-empty square of light-colored, misaligned cobblestones.

Ahead of him, a familiar, white shape. Wei Wuxian’s chest heaves with relief. He pants, “Lan Zhan.”

Lan Zhan is standing formally, like he would at a discussion conference, back to him, though he’s clearly looking at something. Limbs growing ever colder, Wei Wuxian follows his sightline. It’s hardly a challenge, since there is only one other person in this empty plaza, reclined under the shadowy eave of one of the abandoned businesses on the other side of it.

Wei Wuxian’s mind has always been a flurry of activity, hard to parse even for himself, on occasion. It’s why he can only think, as he watches Lan Zhan step toward the figure, who is by now sitting up and gone completely still, that there has to be some sort of mistake. This can only be a mistake.

Behind him, the babble of the market has disappeared like they’ve been plunged suddenly underwater. 

The figure stands up. Wei Wuxian says, raspy and to no one, “She’s short, Lan Zhan. Haha.”

The figure steps out of the shadows. Lan Zhan takes another step forward. Wei Wuxian takes a step toward Lan Zhan.  

Lan Zhan’s betrothed wears thready, dark robes, hair shorn and curling just under her ears. Her posture is terrible and her shoes are little more than thick burlap wrapped around her feet with rope.

She is, indeed, short.

The world starts to tilt around Wei Wuxian. He stumbles a little. “Lan Zhan,” he mumbles, holding a hand to his head. “That can’t be your wife. That’s a—a—”

Lan Zhan and his betrothed meet in the center of the square. They do not touch. She simply looks up (and up and up) at him, in awe. There is a smear of dirt on her shin, which is only visible because the pants she wears under her robes and her robes themselves are too short, like she recently went through a growth spurt. What hair she does have is frizzy.

“That,” Wei Wuxian says faintly, before the world in front of him blinks out of existence, “is a child.”

Chapter Text

Once again, Wei Wuxian wakes to two faces looming over him. One is incredibly familiar and dear to him. One is a child with buck teeth, freckles over her nose, and thick eyebrows.  

When he tries to move, his head throbs. Most likely because he fainted directly onto hard stone. He vaguely remembers hearing something crack on his way down and suspects it was his skull that broke the fall. The cool spring sun, high overhead, stabs him like a pickpocket’s slim blade. He holds up his forearm to shield his eyes.

“Ah,” he groans.

Lan Zhan says, “You fainted. Again.”

“Eugh,” Wei Wuxian agrees. He continues to lie, sprawled, on the ground. Normally by this point, Lan Zhan would be cradling him in his arms, or at the very least, helping him up. Instead, he only stares at Wei Wuxian, put out.

The child is staring at him with narrowed eyes. Wei Wuxian jabs a finger at her. The movement is harsh enough to make him wince. “You! Who are you!”

“Who am I? Who are you?!” she snaps, standing up to her full height, which is not so impressive, even after the apparent growth spurt. She doesn’t quite come up to Lan Zhan’s shoulder. “You would speak to Hanguang-jun’s betrothed this way?”

“Eugh,” Wei Wuxian says. “Ah.” He rolls over onto his side, away from his audience. “Lan Zhan. I really hope you spiked my last drink and this is a lingering side effect.”

“I did not.”

“Excuse me, then,” Wei Wuxian says politely, and vomits onto the cobblestone. It makes him feel better. More centered. It also does him the favor of knocking Lan Zhan and his… betrothed back a few steps.

“Ew,” she says derisively.

“My thoughts exactly!” Wei Wuxian agrees. Heedless of the way his vision flashes white, he hops to his feet, swaying. He wipes his sleeve across his mouth and claps his hands together in a friendly ball. “So!” He glances at Lan Zhan and the girl. “Now that the happy couple is united, does someone want to tell me what the fuck is going on?”

“Wei Wuxian,” Lan Zhan chastises.

Wei Wuxian smiles sweetly at him, with teeth. He salutes with three fingers. “I would’ve let you go, Lan Zhan! I was ready to let you go, so long as everything checked out!” He points at the girl. “It doesn’t all check out!”

“Zhang Xiaolian is my betrothed,” Lan Zhan says, formal, cool, reserved. He stares straight ahead, looking at neither Wei Wuxian nor his soon-to-be-wife. The fist at his back is tight. His eyes, so glazed, since the morning after Wei Wuxian made a drunk fool of himself in the tearoom.

Wei Wuxian’s fevered brain takes a moment to finally put it together. The realization bashes down the stairs of his mind with all the grace and sound of a tipped-over gong.

“You—” he says to Lan Zhan. He grabs Lan Zhan’s sleeve so hard his knuckles turn white. “Lan Zhan, you—” He removes his hand before Lan Zhan can look too disdainfully down at the place Wei Wuxian touches him, staring at him with wide eyes. “Oh, Lan Zhan,” he breathes, something dangerous surging in him, “I—I really missed the obvious, huh.”

He inhales, and on the exhale, he’s weeping with giddy laughter. This infuriates Zhang Xiaolian, who shouts something at him he can’t hear while he doubles over, clutching his stomach. His head pounds. At some point between great, heaving gulps of air, Lan Zhan admonishes him again, but Wei Wuxian ignores him. He laughs so hard he has to hold onto Lan Zhan’s shoulder to keep himself from falling over. When Lan Zhan tries to step away, Wei Wuxian only follows him. “Lan Zhan, please!” He cries. “Hold me up, I’m begging you!”

Lan Zhan looks at him. For a moment, Wei Wuxian thinks he’s actually going to stay. Then, Zhang Xiaolian snaps, “Betrothed! Come to me.”

Lan Zhan removes Wei Wuxian’s hand from his shoulder and walks over to stand next to Zhang Xiaolian.         

“Ah,” Wei Wuxian says, wiping tears from his eyes. Relief, and a smattering of other, darker things swoop through him, so strong and all-encompassing he can barely speak.

Slowly, he claws his way back to reality. The laughs turn to giggles, to occasional hiccups. He says, “Phew,” both hands braced on his knees, before he stands up. Lan Zhan and Zhang Xiaolian both watch him suspiciously.

Wei Wuxian wipes one final tear of mirth away, smiles genially, and says, “Lift the spell. Now.”

Zhang Xiaolian’s jaw works furiously. Lan Zhan stands next to her, placid.

“There is no spell, you fool,” she snaps. “Hanguang-jun and I are in love!”

Wei Wuxian crosses his arms. “How old are you, little maiden?” There is a steel undercurrent rippling beneath his smile.

“I’m not little!” Wei Wuxian catalogues the urge to stamp her foot that flashes in her eye before she immediately quashes it.

“I can see you’ve grown recently,” Wei Wuxian acknowledges, nodding at her bare ankles. She crosses one behind the other, brow twitching. The hair on her legs is wispy and new. “Congratulations. You know how old Hanguang-jun is? He’s thirty-whatever. Disgusting. And certainly not palatable to little maidens like yourself, who are what, ten?”

She cries in defiance, “I’m twelve!”

Wei Wuxian grins, and her face darkens. “Lift the spell,” he repeats, sweet and spicy like the candied peanuts he loves to snack on in Caiyi. “I won’t ask again.”

“Then don’t!” Zhang Xiaolian says, and takes a half-step closer to Lan Zhan. “Go away and leave us alone!” Wei Wuxian’s fingers twitch, but Lan Zhan doesn’t react at all.

He takes a deep breath. “Okay. Okay, see…” He casts around in his mind for something, anything to say. He is very good at teasing children. It’s one of his many weaknesses of character, but it really is just so fun. He puts a hand on his chest, injecting as much sincerity as he knows how into his tone. “I? I used to be a child, too.”

 Zhang Xiaolian narrows her eyes. “Cool,” she says, so withering Wei Wuxian suddenly feels twenty years older and in need of a cane.

“Uh,” he says. “No, I was going to say—we all have crushes when we’re twelve. They’re just cute little fancies, you know? Your… infatuation with Lan Zhan will pass. Not that he’s not great! But. You are a child. He is a grown man. I just don’t think it’ll work out.”

Zhang Xiaolian says, matching Wei Wuxian steel for steel, “You look like a little maiden more than me. With your delicate, precious face and wrists thin like a stick. Aw.”

Wei Wuxian’s mouth drops open and the only sound he can make is, “Ah—?” Then, he swallows and says, “Uh, well, yes, of course! It’s because I’m very pretty. Thank you for the compliment.”

Zhang Xiaolian spits at his feet. Wei Wuxian’s eyes go wide as they move from the glob of spit on stone up to her sun-baked face. “You are very unpleasant, for a little maiden!” He glances to Lan Zhan. “Lan Zhan! Teach your betrothed some manners!”

“Wangji.”

“Hush, Lan Zhan. You’re cursed.” He can’t help it when he says, pleased, “Lan Zhan Lan Zhan Lan Zhan Lan Zhan! Ah, yes. That feels much better in my mouth. I’ve missed it.”

Lan Zhan’s expression tightens, but he doesn’t respond.

As the reality of the situation settles around him, however uneasy it is, Wei Wuxian’s curiosity gets the best of him. He clasps his hands behind his back and strolls forward, getting a closer look at Lan Zhan, who grips Bichen tighter at his side as he approaches. “You’re twelve,” he marvels, staring at Lan Zhan’s rigid shoulders and hazy eyes. “And you somehow cursed Lan Zhan deeply enough not only to come all the way across the map for you, but also to marry you!” He nods. “That’s impressive. Really impressive work. Not that I condone it, of course. But it’s impressive.” He taps his nose. “I’m almost jealous, and also sorry it was all for nothing, since I am going to undo your undoubtedly painstaking labor and get my friend back.”

“We are to be married. No one is going to stop that,” Zhang Xiaolian says.

Wei Wuxian asks, “Is my name ‘no one’?”

“Eat me.”

“Actually, I don’t like maiden.”

“Hm!” She says, mouth firmly closed, eyes glittering with hatred. “Then I guess Hanguang-jun will have to do. Betrothed.” She inclines her head toward Wei Wuxian. “Kill him.”

“Um,” Wei Wuxian protests.

Lan Zhan takes a step forward.

Wei Wuxian says, nervously, “Haha. Lan Zhan. You wouldn’t. Not me, your dearest fr—”

Lan Zhan draws Bichen. Wei Wuxian gulps.

Zhang Xiaolian sprints away, deeper into the less populated and more rundown parts of the city. When Wei Wuxian tries to give chase, Lan Zhan smoothly maneuvers himself so he’s directly blocking Wei Wuxian’s path.

In one of his less than inspired moves, Wei Wuxian stares at a fixed point over Lan Zhan’s shoulder, eyes slowly going wide. “Wha…?” he says in awe.

Lan Zhan looks. Embarrassing. Wei Wuxian will mock him mercilessly for it after he figures out how to fix this.

Wei Wuxian runs.

The only reason this works at all is because despite Lan Zhan being stronger, Wei Wuxian is faster and more agile. If they were in an open field where Lan Zhan could gracefully leap off the ground and flutter after him, it would be over before it could start. Instead, Wei Wuxian takes off in the same direction as Zhang Xiaolian, both trying to follow her trail and take enough narrow, crumbling alleyways that Lan Zhan can never get a straight shot at him.  

Lan Zhan looms behind him. His hunting presence is large. And intimidating. Wei Wuxian has never been on the receiving end of it before. In a way, it’s thrilling to be chased, like they’re playing a game.

He follows Zhang Xiaolian’s tail—he knows what her spiritual energy feels like now, can recall the tendrils of it from examining Lan Zhan—to the outskirts of the city, where a craggy forest awaits.

There’s a whistling noise behind him, and he only registers what it is moments before he flings himself flat against the ground, Bichen hurtling over him, unsheathed and cutting, hard. “Come on, Lan Zhan!” he snaps in a yell. “Stop cheating! If you’re going to kill me, kill me like a man! Let me die in your arms!”

Scrabbling at the dirt, he staggers upwards and hurries off again, Lan Zhan close enough the back of his neck prickles with it.

As soon as he gets near, he propels himself into the nearest tree, settling amongst its sturdy branches. When he turns around, Lan Zhan is waiting at the base of it, staring up at him, face blank. Bichen is back in its sheath.

Wei Wuxian, breathing hard, lets out a relieved sigh. “Lan Zhan,” he lightly chastises. “You know, now that I think about it, I’ve had a lot of dreams like this! You chasing me, catching me, holding me down… I’m desperate for a sparring partner, I guess! Maybe when you’re better, we can spar and work on our technique together, hm? I know you aren’t a fan of hand-to-hand combat, but it’s a necessary skill for any cultivator worth his salt.”

Lan Zhan spreads his arms, like he’s about to flutter up and join Wei Wuxian in the tree.

Wei Wuxian cowers and shouts, “Gah, Lan Zhan, don’t kill me! That doesn’t happen in the dreams! I’ll come down, okay? Just hold on.” 

Mind whirring, Wei Wuxian drops out of the tree, ungainly. He thinks he pulls off the landing, in the end, but Lan Zhan only looks at him disdainfully. When Wei Wuxian takes another step forward, he is blocked at chest height by a very familiar blade. He laughs, breathy. “Hah, okay Lan Zhan, guess we’re talking now. I, uh—I know I can be really annoying, but I think you would feel probably just a tiny bit bad if you killed me, eh? We go way back, after all.”

Lan Zhan says nothing, Bichen still preventing him from moving.

Wei Wuxian says, “Hmm, Lan Zhan, dear, please. I know your mind is foggy right now, but I’m trying to help, okay?”

Physically, Lan Zhan is unmoved. Emotionally, there is a faint flicker, tucked away between blinks.

Seizing the opportunity, Wei Wuxian says, “Yes, yes, Lan Zhan, hi, it’s me, Wei Ying! Your cultivation partner! Remember? I think at this point you like me at least a little bit, huh?” His gaze slips to Zhang Xiaolian’s trail, mouth pulling taut. She’s gotten quite the head start and is very small and very fast. “Lan Zhan,” he says, a little more desperate, wracking his mind for something he could do that would give Lan Zhan a shock big enough to distract him, even for a second. “Er-gege, dear, Lan er-gege, hey, look at me?” When Lan Zhan does, expression tight with anger, Wei Wuxian melts into a smile. “Ah, that’s it, sweetheart, huh? I know it’s confusing, that’s okay! I’m here for you, sweet Lan Zhan. I’ll hold you so tight and make you feel so good!” He’s babbling nonsense, cheeks hot, but some kind of storm is rolling across Lan Zhan’s face and Wei Wuxian pushes forward, heedless, licking his lips. Lan Zhan stares, wide-eyed and offended, at them. “What do you think? Just like in Baling, Lan Zhan! Maybe with fewer layers? Maybe without the nian prowling around outside? Haha, could you imagine, us, like that! We could practice for our wives, Lan Zhan! I bet they would really appreciate it.” Bichen falls, slightly. Wei Wuxian takes the opening and turns toward Lan Zhan, trailing a finger across his chest like he’s seen countless women do to countless men in countless teahouses in every province he’s traveled through. Lan Zhan’s chest rises and falls faster than usual. Generally, his breathing is very consistent. Whenever they shared a tent, Wei Wuxian would watch its rhythmic movement when he couldn’t sleep, deep into the night. He makes his gaze wide and flutters his eyelashes. “I said I would be your practice wife, didn’t I? The mechanics can’t be so different! One thing goes in another, and then out, and then in, out, in, and so on and so forth. You know. And you definitely know it doesn’t count when it’s between two men, right? Even when one of them is the wife. And especially when they’re just friends.”

Bichen falls back to Lan Zhan’s side. He looks like he’s in the middle of a snowstorm. Wei Wuxian can almost hear his head pounding with complex magic. His own mouth is very dry, and then very wet. His voice is hoarse when he says, “Could you imagine, Lan Zhan, us? Like that?”

Lan Zhan blinks. His lips part, just a little. So caught up, Wei Wuxian almost tips forward himself. “Aiya, Lan Zhan!” He rapidly pulls at the fold of his robes, trying to fan himself. “These kinds of words must be so hard to hear for one who’s about to be wed! And from a man, no less! Oh, how indecent. Tsk tsk.”

Lan Zhan blinks again, harder. He doesn’t blink often. Wei Wuxian watches for it, like a shooting star. “Oh!” he cries. “I had a plan!” He swallows, collecting himself. “Are you sufficiently distracted? Are your defenses weakened?” He flicks a spell at Lan Zhan, who answers in the affirmative by collapsing like a sack of potatoes. “Ah,” Wei Wuxian says, catching him in his arms and immediately collapsing in turn, as gently as possible, to the ground. “Your neck will probably hurt when you wake up, Lan Zhan. Sorry. I’ll massage out the knot, if you want, but my hands are nowhere near as strong as yours.” Distracted, he kneads the side of Lan Zhan’s neck as he stares over his shoulder, toward the trees Zhang Xiaolian’s disappeared into.

When he turns back, Lan Zhan’s lips have parted, just a bit. Wei Wuxian bites his knuckle, grinning. With the tip of his index finger, he closes Lan Zhan’s mouth with a tiny click of teeth. “For your dignity, gege.” He leans closer, staring at Lan Zhan’s serene face. He’s seen Lan Zhan sleep countless times before. He’s watched Lan Zhan sleep countless times before. Never this close. Never when Wei Wuxian had a chance to really look.

He casts another glance over his shoulder, then back to Lan Zhan, brow furrowed. “Hmmmm,” he says, pained. “Lan Zhan. Cute.” He narrows his eyes. “Hm!” Lan Zhan, despite the haze of magic slackening his features, looks just as he always does. Wei Wuxian resists the urge to draw the tip of his index finger down the bridge of Lan Zhan’s nose. The planes of Lan Zhan’s pale face are achingly smooth and usually hard, but in sleep, they soften. Wei Wuxian watches his mouth closely, in case it falls open again. He wouldn’t leave Lan Zhan in such an undistinguished state, even in the middle of a chase. Lan Zhan’s full lips, a shade darker and pinker than the rest of him, remain closed. Wei Wuxian is almost disappointed. He shakes his head and says, again, “Hm!” Louder. He leans closer, biting his lip. Where it protrudes, jutting out from under his front teeth, is only an exhale away from Lan Zhan’s cheek. “Lan Zhan,” Wei Wuxian chides. “You really put me through something this past week! I’ve been very stressed, and it’s all because of you. I think you should be punished. Do you agree?” He holds Lan Zhan’s face in his hands and bobs it up and down. “‘Punish me, gege,’” Wei Wuxian says in a deep, if unimpressive, impression. He releases his hold on Lan Zhan, throws his arms to the sky, and says, “If you say so!” and drags the flat of his tongue from the line of Lan Zhan’s jaw all the way up to his cheekbone. He pulls back, flushed, staring at the shiny line of saliva he’s left on Lan Zhan’s face. He swallows hard and swipes a fingertip through it, watching it smear.

“Um,” he says, heart crashing in his chest. He shakes his head vigorously. And then, like lightning, “Ah! Lan Zhan! Okay!” He staggers to his feet. “Now we’re even!”

He stumbles first, catches his stride, and sprints into the trees.                   

Though he doesn’t often have occasion, Wei Wuxian loves to run. He especially loves to run through the woods, where branches catch and pull at him, leaving little scratches all over his bare skin. He and Jiang Cheng used to tear through Lotus Pier as children, knocking baskets of fruit out of people’s hands as they went. He was always faster, but he suspects those days—both of being faster, and of running with Jiang Cheng—are long over.

Zhang Xiaolian is young and quick, but not subtle. Wei Wuxian doesn’t even need to seek out the thread of her qi to know which direction she went. He simply follows the snapped twigs, torn up moss, and mess of fallen leaves behind her. In his head, he makes suggestions as he goes that would improve her escape route, solving the problems while simultaneously trying to thwart his own solutions.

He sails over wet ground, feet light and quick, even after all these years. He lost so many things along with his core, but the fire in his chest as he slips almost-silent through the trees remains the same. The air is cotton-fresh and mossy, the sky peeking through the trees a gray so blinding and bright it’s almost white. Wei Wuxian feels so alive during hunts, the problems in front of him obvious and solvable. He will catch Zhang Xiaolian, she will lift the spell, and he and Lan Zhan will continue their travels together. Things will go on, exactly the same as they were before, and Wei Wuxian could not be more pleased with that outcome.

The moment that thought crosses his mind, he is almost impaled by an arrow. It sluices through the air and he watches a few strands of his own hair float to the ground. “Ai!” he shouts, outraged.  

“Pretty maiden,” Zhang Xiaolian calls to him from where she’s standing on top of a large boulder, aiming another arrow directly at him, bow and string creaking ominously.

“Not if you keep cutting off my hair!” Wei Wuxian snaps. “Were you really going to let Lan Zhan just kill me?! Leave the upstanding Hanguang-jun with blood on his hands?”

Zhang Xiaolian cocks her head. “You mean nothing to me.” She drops her aim and unnotches her arrow before hopping off the boulder and disappearing into the underbrush.    

Wei Wuxian mutters under his breath, grabbing hastily at his qiankun bag and unearthing his own well-loved but rarely-used bow.

He only recently picked up archery again, with encouragement from Lan Zhan and, surprisingly, Jin Ling. A few months ago, working a night hunt on the outskirts of Lanling, they had run into Jin Ling investigating the same one, alone. It didn’t take him long to figure out that Wei Wuxian’s threats to tattle on him to Jiang Cheng were half-hearted at best, and instead he joined their hunting party, despite Lan Zhan’s furrowed brow. (Wei Wuxian once asked Lan Zhan why he didn’t like Jin Ling. Lan Zhan only narrowed his eyes slightly and said, “Dog.” Wei Wuxian could hardly disagree with such a succinct, accurate assessment.)

Watching Jin Ling wield his bow so confidently for someone so young made Wei Wuxian want to play, too. After shooting at a few trees and taking a quail out of the sky for their dinner (Jin Ling scoffed, but it badly masked how impressed he was—if Wei Wuxian had known all it took to win his nephew over was some trick archery, he would’ve been the new favorite uncle months ago), Wei Wuxian had felt much reacquainted with his old wooden friend. Lan Zhan had little to say about his quickly reacquired prowess, but he watched Wei Wuxian with such an intensity while he shot that Wei Wuxian couldn’t help but preen a little under the attention, flicking his hair back and wiggling his hips to find his balance. He notched an arrow and grinned saucily at Lan Zhan, aimed while maintaining their eye contact, and hit his target dead center. He could hear the arrow thrumming where it vibrated in the tree trunk. Lan Zhan’s lips were slightly parted and very pink. He stormed forward and grabbed Wei Wuxian’s forearm so hard it made him wince.

“Lan Zhan?” he said. “Hey, that’s my shooting arm! Well, they’re both my shooting arm, but still!”

Lan Zhan’s face was—compromised. He was staring, with dark eyes, at his grip on Wei Wuxian’s arm. With a deep, steadying breath, he peeled his fingers off Wei Wuxian’s sleeve, one at a time. “Well done, Wei Ying,” he said, voice strained, and then immediately turned and walked away, gripping Bichen at his hip.

Wei Wuxian watched him go. “What the hell?” he said, rubbing absently at where Lan Zhan had held him tight. Jin Ling, who had been sitting on a nearby tree stump and oiling his bow, leapt up with a face redder than Wei Wuxian’s hair ribbon and stalked off with a derisive scoff.

Wei Wuxian stood alone in the clearing with a bullseye and without a clue.

Zhang Xiaolian is very good. Very, very good. Her aim is good. Her cultivation is good. Her spells are good. Wei Wuxian is sure he can could break the spell on Lan Zhan. He’d even like to, if only to get a look at how it works. But it would take time, and he wants Lan Zhan back now. Also, he makes the safe assumption that Lan Zhan does not want to marry a child and would prefer to be lifted from the haze of mind magic he’s been under for days as soon as possible.

He follows Zhang Xiaolian’s trail once more, less reckless and more mindful of her sharp eye. If he was still twelve instead of however old he currently is—he hasn’t yet decided how to count the years he died, although the cradle robber jokes he gets to make at Lan Zhan’s expense really have him leaning toward not counting them at all—he would be obsessed with becoming her friend and learning all her secrets. As it stands, they are currently adversaries, and she has taken something both important and important to him.

He fires off a few arrows in her direction, aiming wide. She laughs harshly at him, voice echoing through the trees. “I don’t even know why Hanguang-jun would hang out with the likes of you!” she cries, snapping a fire talisman over her shoulder at him. “You suck!”

Wei Wuxian skids under it, smelling only the faintest hint of burnt hair. Luckily, he has a lot to go around. It would be a shame if Lan Zhan came out of his trance and Wei Wuxian had no hair left for him to free of the day’s detritus, comb’s teeth grazing the back of Wei Wuxian’s neck and shoulders until his entire body flutters and he digs his fingernails into the meat of his thigh so hard he pulls out a line of stitches in his pants, ripping comically loud in the silence. Lan Zhan may have never bought Wei Wuxian a comb, but he keeps many spares in his bag, as he has often forgotten his strength during their grooming sessions and snapped the one in his hand into pieces.

“Cheater!” Wei Wuxian yells. “Cheater! You’re such a cheater, little maiden!”

“How?!” Another fire talisman. Wei Wuxian bats it away. It hits a nearby tree and explodes.

“You just are!” Wei Wuxian sends off another arrow. Wide again. It disappears deep into the woods. He leaps over a rotten tree stump, just barely clears it, and keeps going.

“Am not!” Zhang Xiaolian, aided by her extremely powerful golden core, practically floats up and into a tree. She leaps to another, then another. Wei Wuxian looses an arrow. It fwums into the branch right below her foot, knocking her off balance. She flails, falls, then catches herself on a branch and swings herself right back up to the where she started, eyes wild and delighted. She turns toward Wei Wuxian, sticks out her tongue, and takes off again through the branches of the trees.

For a moment, Wei Wuxian can only watch her go, mouth askew.

Then, he keeps following from the ground.   

He falls back for long enough that she thinks she’s lost him. She almost did. Wei Wuxian would tell no one, even under threat of death, that she almost gave him the slip.

The sun is setting. Wei Wuxian is starting to worry about Lan Zhan. The sleep spell he put on him is not so powerful that he wouldn’t wake up under threat of true danger, but it still nags at Wei Wuxian unpleasantly. He enjoys when Lan Zhan does things to him without his express permission. He likes the thrill of it, of Lan Zhan sometimes steering him with a hand on his lower back through a crowd or bodily yanking him out of bed when he is being exceptionally whiny, usually with that express goal in mind. Lan Zhan, however, does not enjoy being kept on his toes near so much. Lan Zhan likes to be steady and in control, and Wei Wuxian feels bad when he takes that away from him, even when it’s funny.

Earlier, he tried calling out to Zhang Xiaolian, telling her to return to her betrothed, who surely misses her dearly. In response, she yelled from behind a tree, “Go suck a dick!”

Wei Wuxian decided he was probably not going to be successful trying to reason with her.

Instead, he grabbed an arrow, held it in his hand, and stared at it thoughtfully.

He wouldn’t exactly call himself graceful in his everyday life, but he has always been exceptionally fleet-footed while moving through the trees on a hunt. The single-mindedness of it helps keep him grounded as he stalks over a pile of wet, dead leaves. He crouches, low, hidden by some scrub and a few well-placed tree trunks as he notches his modified arrow. After a few deep breathes and lining up his shot, Wei Wuxian calls out, “Oh, little maiden! Where have you gone?”

Flushed out, Zhang Xiaolian darts from her hiding spot across the forest floor, exactly where Wei Wuxian knew she was. She runs in the direction Wei Wuxian knew she was going to run, because he’s been chasing her for ages and knows how her escape plans work. Besides, she’s impatient. Wei Wuxian gets impatient often as well, but he has the advantage of not being twelve.

The moment he sends his arrow, trailing a bright blue rope behind it, Wei Wuxian knows he’s won. He knows he’s won in the way he knew he would win the Sunshot Campaign. He knows he’s won in the way he knew exactly how everyone at Qiongqi Path would die on that very rainy night so many years ago. This victory, in honor of Lan Zhan, tastes sweet instead of bitter. Lan Zhan is sweet. Everyone else is bitter.

The arrow hits its target, a jut of exposed root close to the ground. Wei Wuxian pulls the rope taut. Zhang Xiaolian doesn’t register it in time. Her foot catches it, she goes down hard, and Wei Wuxian is on her in a moment, the blue rope wrapping itself around her from shoulder to waist. He grabs a handful of the blue strands and yanks her to her feet. Her face is spitting mad.

Wei Wuxian grins with many teeth. “You’re good,” he assures her. Then, “I’m better.” He looses a strand from her binds, using it as a leash while he begins to tug her along. As she struggles to curse him out, he says, casually, “You still have your spiritual energy. You just can’t use it. It’s a nasty little modification on an old spell I’ve been playing with. Thanks for helping me test it.”

“Fuck you!” Zhang Xiaolian spits.

Wei Wuxian chuckles. “Keep up!” he chirps, and continues to pull her along.

As they walk, he says, “Not to be controversial about kidnapping a young maiden, but I really needed that! Thanks! I had a lot of tension to work out.”

Zhang Xiaolian says nothing, but Wei Wuxian can feel her anger trying to sizzle his skin. “You should be happy!” he tells her. “I’m taking you back to your beloved, your betrothed! You just left him on the ground like that. I wouldn’t be surprised if we returned and his corpse was already desiccated.”

“Shut up!” she shrieks, yanking hard enough on her bindings that Wei Wuxian stumbles, taking her to the ground with him.

“Relax!” he says, regaining his footing and dusting himself off. “He’s fine, I’m sure! Aiya. Lan Zhan is always fine. He is very stalwart and heroic. Who would dare try anything with him?” He considers. “Except you.” As he says it, something occurs to him that he doesn’t like at all. He grabs her bindings and drags her to her feet, searching her face. “Zhang Xiaolian,” he says. “I understand Lan Zhan wants to marry you. But what exactly does the spell do?”

She chews on her bottom lip, and then her top, looking unsure of herself for the first time. “And don’t spit at me again,” Wei Wuxian warns. He is starting to ache a little from their chase, Lan Zhan is still asleep and alone, and he is feeling less generous as night falls.

Zhang Xiaolian narrows her eyes. “Hanguang-jun and I are in love!” she says, tone and words exactly the same as the first time she exclaimed it. Wei Wuxian imagines her practicing the line, over and over, in the reflection of a still pond.

“Okay,” Wei Wuxian says. “So, he’s in love with you.”

“Yes.” Smug.

Wei Wuxian runs his tongue over his teeth in thought. “Okay,” he says again, slower. More delicate. This is not remotely in his wheelhouse. “Okay. Little maiden. What does that mean.”

“What?”

Wei Wuxian swallows, and then starts pulling her along again. She follows with a grunt of annoyance. When he doesn’t have to look at her again, he repeats, “What does that mean? For him.”

Genuinely upset, Zhang Xiaolian says, “What are you talking about?!”  

“What does it mean when Lan Zhan is in love with you!” Wei Wuxian snaps, talking only to the trees they pass. He takes a deep breath. “How do you expect Lan Zhan to love you? What would you two—” He shakes his head. “What would you two do together?”

He can almost hear her blinking at him. “Hanguang-jun will protect me.”

Wei Wuxian stops. He turns around. “Protect you from what?”

Zhang Xiaolian only glares at him. Wei Wuxian continues, stupidly, “He already has someone to protect, and I’m a lot of work.”

“Too bad,” Zhang Xiaolian says. “He’s mine, now.”

Wei Wuxian wrinkles his nose. Then, he turns around and stomps forward, yanking her behind him. He understands, with a sudden, ugly clarity, why Yu-furen whipped him as a child. That kids just instinctively know how to slam their sticky fists into the fattest, fleshiest parts of you.

Wei Wuxian wants Lan Zhan back. Stupid. As of this morning, he thought he was about to lose him forever, and if Lan Zhan had gone to a good wife who would take good care of him and be good to him, then Wei Wuxian would have let him go with grace and dignity. He believes that with all his heart, for what else would he have done? How else could they have parted, two good friends at the end of everything?

Wei Wuxian really is self-sufficient. He’s been known to build himself from the ground up, more than once. There is little he can’t do, if he decides to put his mind to it. He is smart and clever and adaptable and good at reading people and putting the pieces together. He likes logic, even though he has never once been ruled by it, and he is a good hunter, and he has always been a proponent of working smarter, not harder. He is a decent artist and an excellent cultivator, even sans his core, even sans Chenqing, which Lan Wangji keeps for him in his qiankun bag instead of at his belt these days, to avoid the temptation of automatically reaching for it.

Wei Wuxian could easily survive in this world alone. He has done exactly that, in all kinds of different ways, but now that he’s had it, he could only ever prefer Lan Zhan at his side. Seeing the sights, good or bad. Trying exotic food, spicy or bland. Hunting creatures, shiny or pedestrian. Huddled around a fire, side by side or watching each other across the flame. Wei Wuxian has it all, had it all, and the thought of a little girl who wouldn’t even know how to be good to Lan Zhan prying him from his hands fills him with so much vinegar it makes his brain fizz in his skull like bubbles of the noxious fumes from tar pools.

Wei Wuxian is so lost in his own head that he doesn’t notice the presence of another person until they have his arm in a vice grip.

He looks up, and comes face to face with a very displeased Lan Zhan.

“…ah,” Wei Wuxian says.

Lan Zhan’s eyes are narrowed. His grip tightens and Wei Wuxian grimaces. “Release Zhang Xiaolian.”   

“Absolutely!” Wei Wuxian says cheerfully. He lowers his voice, words just for the two of them. “After we continue our conversation from earlier, right? I believe we got interrupted during the part where we were deciding how many fingers you were going to use to open your practice wife up?”

The moment Lan Zhan’s eyes glaze over, Wei Wuxian reaches into the qiankun bag at his side, fumbles around, yanks out Chenqing, and dances out of Lan Zhan’s grip. He crouches behind Zhang Xiaolian, and holds the flute across her throat. She struggles, but without access to her spiritual energy, Wei Wuxian is stronger. “Sorry, Lan Zhan!” he chirps. “I know I keep cheating, but I really think you’ll understand when we get you all fixed up. Anyway.” He presses Chenqing into Zhang Xiaolian’s throat. “I would like to extract a promise from you both that you’ll stop trying to kill me. In exchange, I won’t crush her windpipe with my scary little flute.” He tickles the side of her face with Chenqing’s red tassel. She bites at it and rips it right off before spitting it on the ground.

“Aiya!” Wei Wuxian cries. “Wow. Wow. You are a feral little maiden.”

“You’re holding me hostage!” she snarls. She tries to stomp on Wei Wuxian’s foot, but he dances around her attack.

“You and your betrothed both tried to kill me!” he counters, tugging her tighter against him. “My self defense is justified!”

“Wei Wuxian,” Lan Zhan snaps. It sends a chill up Wei Wuxian’s spine. He almost releases Zhang Xiaolian on pure instinct.

“Listen,” Wei Wuxian says plaintively. “I think we should all be friends.”

“You are holding a weapon to my betrothed’s throat.”

“…yes,” Wei Wuxian allows after a moment’s hesitation. “That is true.” He releases his hold on her, but leaves the blue rope in place. When Lan Zhan’s expression doesn’t change, Wei Wuxian sighs and retracts the spell entirely. Zhang Xiaolian stumbles away from him until she arrives at Lan Zhan’s side, stepping halfway behind him and glaring around his shoulder at Wei Wuxian. A sour taste rises in the back of Wei Wuxian’s throat, but he swallows past it. “Is that show of good faith enough?” he asks. He clasps his hands behind his back and cocks his head and says to Lan Zhan, “Shall I fall to my knees in front of you, Lan Zhan? Prostrate myself? Put my hands on your thighs and my mouth on your—”

“Enough,” Lan Zhan orders, face thunderous. 

Zhang Xiaolian only looks between them, brow furrowed. “Shut up,” she finally says to Wei Wuxian. “Just shut up.”

Wei Wuxian smiles, close-mouthed. He takes a great, constituting breath, spreads his hands magnanimously, and says, “Hanguang-jun and myself are both cultivators. I see that he’s now retired to live out his days with his betrothed, but perhaps I can persuade him to return for one last night hunt.” He inclines his head toward Lan Zhan and then looks back to this acid-spitting girl. “What do you need protecting from, Zhang Xiaolian?”

There is a house, she tells them. A haunted house in a nearby town.

Wei Wuxian, perched languidly on a nearby fallen tree, laughs. “Resentful spirits?” He clucks his tongue. “Easy. I could do it asleep and with one arm tied behind my back.”

 Zhang Xiaolian narrows her eyes at him. She sits on a tree stump, all sharp angles, while Lan Zhan stands dutifully at her back. “They’re strong,” she says. “Really strong.”

“I’m good,” Wei Wuxian counters. “Really good.” He considers, canting his head. “You know he would have done this for free, right? If you had contacted him. You didn’t need to take Lan Zhan hostage, and even then, you probably should have bewitched me instead, because my rates are much steeper than his.”

“They are not,” Lan Zhan interjects coldly. He keeps looking ahead, making eye contact with a nearby tree.

Wei Wuxian blinks in surprise. “Oh, hi, Lan Zhan! I had no idea you would be participating in this conversation because I have no idea how scrambled your eggs are. We can tackle a haunted house, ah? Me and you? For old times’ sake, when you weren’t cursed by a baby.”

Zhang Xiaolian growls, but says nothing.  

“We will investigate,” Lan Zhan says, and it is decided.

As they walk, Wei Wuxian and Zhang Xiaolian in front and Lan Zhan bringing up the rear, Wei Wuxian says, “This is what you want from your life? Moving through the world while Lan Zhan follows you around like a mindless, silent ghost?”

“Hanguang-jun is noble and proper and likes silence,” Zhang Xiaolian says petulantly.

Wei Wuxian says, “Hmm,” and glances back at Lan Zhan, one hand clenched behind his back and the other resting on Bichen’s hilt. Their eyes meet. Wei Wuxian smiles, just a small, twitching curl at the corners of his mouth, and then he turns back around. “He is noble. I’ll give you that.”

“I can be silent,” Zhang Xiaolian continues, though it’s a strange reply to Wei Wuxian’s words. Like she’s having a different conversation. “I can be quiet. We’ll be quiet together.”

“Here’s the thing, little maiden,” Wei Wuxian says. “That’s not what Lan Zhan wants at all.”

“He never talks!”

“But I do.” Wei Wuxian smirks. “If Lan Zhan truly wanted silence, he would have killed me many years ago. And he certainly wasn’t without opportunity over the course of our acquaintance! I have been at his mercy more times than I can count. Lan Zhan is very strong, you know.”

“He’s to be my husband,” Zhang Xiaolian snaps. “Of course I know.” She glares daggers at Wei Wuxian. “He’s also nice. I think he is just being nice to you because he feels bad for you.” She stomps off up ahead.

“Lies!” Wei Wuxian calls after her, with much more brash confidence than he feels. He hurries to catch up, and she ignores him, jaw working furiously. “You know I used to be the Yiling Laozu, right?” Wei Wuxian says. “I think you should be nicer to me or I’ll, uh, drink your blood and use it for my dark rituals.”

“Who the fuck is the Yiling Laozu?” she asks.

Wei Wuxian stops, mouth falling open. Hands on his hips, he watches Zhang Xiaolian keep walking, not sparing him a backward glance. He bends, like he has a stitch in his side, and grimaces into the sun.

“Shit,” he says.

Zhang Xiaolian leads them to a rundown home on the outskirts of a nearby town. In the daytime, it is hardly anything. It is small, perhaps two rooms along with the living space and kitchen area. There was once a firepit out front, the spot now covered in nothing but messy dark dirt. White paper lanterns hang from the front door’s wooden overhang, twisting gently on their strings. Ashy smears lick across the outer walls. There is a faint tang of cooking in the air. Of burning. Weeks old, it’s still grainy on Wei Wuxian’s tongue.

Wei Wuxian approaches the overhang and holds the tails of one of the lanterns in his hand, letting them slip through his fingers. “These are new.”

Beside him, Zhang Xiaolian shrugs.

He says, “When was the fire?”

“This past winter.”

Wei Wuxian puts his fingertips on the door, concentrating. The tenor of the screams, still so familiar, floods through him. He steps back, then turns to look at Lan Zhan behind him. “Can you feel it?”

Lan Zhan nods. “Very strong resentful energy.”

When Wei Wuxian catches Zhang Xiaolian’s watchful eye and chapped lips, he smiles. “No sweat!” He tries to playfully nudge her, but she steps away, tense, glaring at his elbow. “Aiya,” Wei Wuxian says. “We’re here to help you! Oh well. Go stand over there somewhere. Let us handle this.”

“No.”

Wei Wuxian rolls his eyes. “Do you want our help or not? Go.”

Zhang Xiaolian plants her feet more firmly. “Try and move me. See what happens.”

Wei Wuxian purses his lips. He crosses his arms. “That’s a good point. If you’re so powerful, why can’t you settle this yourself?”

She bristles. “Because I don’t know how, you idiot! Why do you think I want to stay here and watch?”

“You haven’t had any formal training?” Wei Wuxian says.

Zhang Xiaolian shakes her head.

“You’re just… this powerful. Naturally.”

“Smart, too.”

Wei Wuxian strokes his chin. “True. That curse didn’t create itself.”

“So get in there and show me how it’s done,” Zhang Xiaolian says. She waggles her fingers. “Or I’ll make you.”

“Okay, okay, okay, okay,” Wei Wuxian blurts. Rather stupidly, even for him, he grabs the door handle and yanks it open.

Immediately, he’s thrown backward by a wall of resentful energy.

Before he even hits the ground, he hears the sound of Lan Zhan unsheathing Bichen and the slam of the door closing. He lands on the dirt hard and coughs up a mouthful of dark blood. Zhang Xiaolian appears at his feet, eyes wide. When she sees that he’s okay, plus or minus the blood loss, her surprise edges into smugness.

Wei Wuxian groans, sitting up and then painstakingly drawing himself to his feet. “Shut up,” he mutters.

Instead of going toward the house, Lan Zhan moves back nearer to them.

“Okay,” Wei Wuxian says. He puts a hand to his tender ribcage. Lan Zhan’s eyes follow the movement. “Shall we regroup, perhaps over lunch? It’s so nice of you to offer to buy, Lan Zhan.”

They settle at a table in a teahouse in town. The proprietor gives Zhang Xiaolian a dirty look, but after eyeing up Lan Zhan’s poise and general manner, says nothing in the interest of the heavy money pouch he undoubtedly and correctly assumes he carries beneath the folds of his robes. It probably helps that before Lan Zhan can protest, Wei Wuxian calls for three jars of their best liquor and downs one immediately upon their arrival. He holds out the second jar to Zhang Xiaolian, waggling it so the liquid splashes around inside. “Want some?” Without giving her a chance to answer, Wei Wuxian pours a splash in her empty cup and nudges it toward her. “Try it.”

“Wei Wuxian,” Lan Zhan chides.

“Yes, Lan Zhan?” Wei Wuxian says.

“Do not.”

Wei Wuxian makes his eyes big and flutters his eyelashes innocently. “Why?”

Lan Zhan does not make eye contact with him and does not answer the question.

Zhang Xiaolian tips her cup back and drinks it all. Her face turns red and she sputters and Wei Wuxian cackles with wicked glee. “You did it!” he crows. “Good for you! Was that your first drink of alcohol?”

Zhang Xiaolian nods, expression pinched. She hiccups.

“You’ll be fine, little maiden,” Wei Wuxian says, still chuckling. “It was barely a swallow. You’re so mischievous I wanted to get ahead of you deciding to be a thorn in my side—again—and trying to steal my hard-earned drink.”

Zhang Xiaolian, cheeks still a little pink, snorts. “You’re a good-for-nothing drunk, too. I’m not surprised.”

“Ah—only sometimes!” After all, he had only been a little drunk all those months ago when he and Lan Zhan had been in the jingshi on the night they reunited on that hill in Gusu. They had not remained in Cloud Recesses long, lingering only a few days in order to greet Zewu-jun as he returned from seclusion and rejoined the cultivation world, just as his brother mostly took his leave from it. That night, Wei Wuxian stumbled toward Lan Zhan, who caught him by the elbows and murmured his name. Wei Wuxian, overflowing, grabbed the front of Lan Zhan’s robes in both hands, shook him a little—Lan Zhan let himself be shaken—and said, “Be my cultivation partner, Lan Zhan. Forever, I mean. You and me.”

Lan Zhan’s eyes darkened. Wei Wuxian stared at him, felt where Lan Zhan cupped his elbows in his big and warm palms. Lan Zhan took a deep breath. On the tail end of it, he said, firmly, “Yes.”

Wei Wuxian closed his eyes, blissful. “Mm,” he said. “Mm. Good. We’ve been apart for too long. I missed you, Lan Zhan.” Lan Zhan leaned forward, and Wei Wuxian pressed his face to Lan Zhan’s chest, nestling under his chin. “You and me,” he slurred, and burrowed deep into the warmth of Lan Zhan’s torso.

Since then, he’s gotten drunk a few times, sure, but all he ever does when he drinks now is play with Lan Zhan. He twirls Lan Zhan’s hair around his fingers, flicks his ear, massages his arms, uses his stomach as a pillow, and occasionally complains about how cold he is and how warm Lan Zhan would be if only he wasn’t wearing so many layers.

Lan Zhan takes the teasing on the chin, for the most part. Once, when Lan Zhan had a solitary sip of fairly potent liquor and Wei Wuxian was tweaking the pink tip of his ear for the umpteenth time that night, Lan Zhan finally snapped and lunged forward, grabbing Wei Wuxian by the back of the neck and sinking his teeth into the tender flesh of Wei Wuxian’s earlobe. Wei Wuxian, for lack of a better response, cried out, “Ow! Lan Zhan!”

Lan Zhan continued to worry it between his teeth. Wei Wuxian said, “Lan—Lan—” and the hand he had been using to mess with Lan Zhan dropped until he was clenching hard at Lan Zhan’s shoulder. This was weeks after the cave in Baling, and it seemed like this was just going to be a thing from now on, that when Wei Wuxian was bad, Lan Zhan would bite his ear. He writhed where he sat in Lan Zhan’s lap, where he often ended up when he was drunk, and he gasped out, “Lan Zhan, stop, that hurts!”

Eventually, Lan Zhan stopped. Wei Wuxian suspected it was less because of anything he said and more because Lan Zhan decided he was done retaliating.

Wei Wuxian slithered off his lap and pouted, looking morosely at Lan Zhan over his shoulder. “You’re so mean, Lan Zhan,” he whined, rubbing at his sore ear, blood hot and heart pounding.

“So are you,” Lan Zhan said serenely, before pitching forward and passing out for the rest of the night.            

To Lan Zhan now, still cold and unseeing, Wei Wuxian says, “Lan Zhan! Lan Wangji. Back me up here.”  

Lan Zhan says, distant yet firm, “You drink too much.”

Wei Wuxian’s pout is real. “You’ve never said that before.”

“It is true,” Lan Zhan intones.

Wei Wuxian takes another swig out of spite. To Zhang Xiaolian, he says, “Just tell me about the people who lived in that house.”   

The corner of her mouth twitches in distaste. She takes a long drink of tea. When she puts the cup down, she only says, “They were normal, I guess.”

Wei Wuxian takes another unimpressed sip. “And?” He rolls his eyes. “Do you want to whisper it in Lan Zhan’s ear? Would that make the little maiden less shy?”

The movement is so unexpected, Wei Wuxian has no time to react. Zhang Xiaolian hurls her cup at Wei Wuxian’s head. It shatters just above his eyebrow and the pieces fall into his lap. Something wet oozes down his face.

There is a loud clap, and it is Lan Zhan’s hand clamping around Zhang Xiaolian’s extended forearm like a vice. She cries out, and immediately, Lan Zhan retracts his grip with murmured apologies. Not once does he look at Wei Wuxian, though Zhang Xiaolian glares for him and curls in on herself like a centipede poked with a stick.

The cut on Wei Wuxian’s forehead is just deep enough to draw blood. Even sans golden core, it will only take a few days to heal. He wipes it away with his sleeve and says, neutrally, “Go for the eyes next time. They’re squishier.”

Zhang Xiaolian swallows hard, gaze glinting. A suffocating silence descends over their table, filled only by the proprietor returning to replace Wei Wuxian’s alcohol. Wei Wuxian grabs the nearest jar and starts chugging. Usually, he is either the progenitor of terrible silences or smoothing them over. Very rarely is he the victim of one.

Finally, mercifully, Zhang Xiaolian pushes through gritted teeth, “There was a fire.”

“What happened?”

“I don’t know.”

“Did someone set it?”

“I don’t know.”

“Was it an accident?”

“I DON’T KNOW!” Her face has gone pink again. Maybe Wei Wuxian gave her too much alcohol after all. He started drinking around her age, filching jars from the Lotus Pier stores when everyone else was otherwise occupied. He tried to goad Jiang Cheng into drinking with him, but he had been going through a righteous phase at the time where he only turned up his nose at Wei Wuxian and called him a drunkard and a buffoon. Out of all of Jiang Cheng’s insults over the years, Wei Wuxian remembers that one only because he was indeed very drunk at the time and his response was to vomit profusely into Jiang Cheng’s lap.

Wei Wuxian squints at her. “What’s your interest in this night hunt? You don’t know anything about these people. You clearly had no kind of relationship with them.”

Zhang Xiaolian’s expression is thunderous. “I live in the village,” she says. “They’re disturbing us. We all want them gone.”

“Liberate first,” Lan Zhan says.

Wei Wuxian rolls his eyes back toward Zhang Xiaolian. “Since you’re such an expert in this case, you wouldn’t happen to know this family’s dying wish? Something we could do for them that would put their spirits to rest?”

Zhang Xiaolian’s nose twitches, making her freckles jump.

“Was anyone else in your village close with them?”

“No.”

“Of course,” Wei Wuxian says.

“They kept to themselves.”

Wei Wuxian cocks his head. “How many people died in the fire?”

“Three. Two parents, one child.”

“How old?”

“Six.”

Wei Wuxian grimaces. He taps the side of his nose. “Lan Zhan. Your thoughts?”

“If we cannot liberate, we will suppress.”

“You really are still so stodgy sometimes, Lan Zhan. Aiya.”

Lan Zhan says nothing.

“Well,” Wei Wuxian says. He slaps his palms to his thighs. One of his hits misses, and his hand slaps the floor instead. He says, trying not to slur his words, “Haha. Perhaps in a few hours. After sundown?”      

Zhang Xiaolian sniffs derisively and says, “Useless.” Her eyes gleam. “Why are you even here? You can leave, you know. Anytime you want. I don’t want you here, and neither does Hanguang-jun. Right, betrothed?”

Lan Zhan, in the first heartbeat of silence after her question, does not react.

Wei Wuxian does. Immediately, his palms grow clammy. His time at Cloud Recesses after Guanyin Temple rises up behind his eyes, unbidden. Fighting with Lan Zhan over things always dancing just out of reach. For weeks, not knowing how to be or what to do as frost descended between them. Hanguang-jun might be cold, but Lan Zhan and Wei Ying were always molten. Their fights, always simmering and then boiling over. It was one of Wei Wuxian’s greatest childhood fantasies, making Lan Zhan hot for him like he was for no one else.

He fled Cloud Recesses before Lan Zhan could throw him out for not being whatever he should have been, tail tucked between his legs. Despite their bittersweet parting, he knew no other way to navigate the chilly valleys opening up between them.

They don’t talk about that time. It brings neither of them joy. They travel and hunt and explore together and that is enough, has been such a sweet balm on Wei Wuxian’s soul that their misery at Cloud Recesses feels like nothing more than a hazy, unpleasant dream.

Lan Zhan opens his mouth. Even if it’s against his will, Wei Wuxian has to cut him off.

“On the contrary!” he says pleasantly, holding up his index finger. “As an illiterate street urchin, you may not know this, but I am something of an expert in resentful energy. You will want me here for this.”

“Such an expert that you let it knock you on your ass?”

Wei Wuxian crosses his arms. He says, “Hm!” and then, “It was important to see how strong it was. To get a good look at what we’re dealing with.”

“Ha!” Zhang Xiaolian says nothing else, letting the echo of her mockery hang in the air between them.

Wei Wuxian drinks. He says, afterwards, “Children should be silent. Children should listen to their elders. That’s a Lan rule, you know. There are a lot of them.”

Zhang Xiaolian says, “I’m not a Lan—yet. I don’t have to follow the rules.” She slips a sideways look at Lan Zhan. “Yet.”    

“There is no rule specifically in regards to children being silent,” Lan Zhan corrects. “Only deferential to one’s elders. Questions should be encouraged.”

“How magnanimous!” Wei Wuxian says. “I’ll keep that in mind next time we’re traveling together—alone—Lan Zhan. If it ever seems like I’m annoying you, I’ll just turn all my statements into questions.”

Lan Zhan’s eyebrow twitches. Wei Wuxian grins and calls the proprietor over to order some food to help soak up all the alcohol he’s consumed.

When Zhang Xiaolian has disappeared to the room Lan Zhan had paid for her—best in the inn—Wei Wuxian follows Lan Zhan back down the hall.

As his door, Lan Zhan says over his shoulder, “Go to your room. Rest until tonight.”

When he slides it open, Wei Wuxian scooches in, scurrying to the center of the room and clasping his hands behind his back. He grins and says, “Lan Zhan. Let’s spend some time together. Some privacy, just for you and I.”

Lan Zhan stares at him blankly. “No.”

Wei Wuxian turns his grin sweet. “But I’m already here! Guess you’ll just have to make the best of it.”

Lan Zhan closes the door behind him and ignores Wei Wuxian. He places Bichen on the table and sinks to the adjacent stool.

Wei Wuxian says, “Great idea!”, drops his bow and quiver directly onto the floor, and kneels on the stool across from Lan Zhan, elbows on the table and chin in his hands as he stares at him. Though his posture is teasing, his tone is serious when he says, “We’ll get you back, Lan Zhan. I’ll get you back. Promise.”

Lan Zhan stares at a point just over his shoulder.

Wei Wuxian blows a strand of errant hair out of his face. “Okay, fine,” he says. “Why don’t we just talk about something else, Lan Zhan? Can I talk to you? Is that okay? Friends can talk, right? I feel like we haven’t talked in ages.”

“What do you want to talk about?”

Wei Wuxian taps his chin. “Hmm… I think if I start talking I’ll eventually wind my way to a conversational destination. What do you think, Lan Zhan?”

Lan Zhan taps his fingertip once against the table in deliberation. Then he says, “Proceed.”

Wei Wuxian grins and raps his knuckles on the table. “Lan Zhan! Lan Wangji! Such a dear friend. What do you think of this inn? Very serviceable, no? The liquor was pretty good. I’d like to try some more, even if you apparently don’t approve of my drinking habits!” He glares accusatorily at Lan Zhan for a moment, but waves himself off and continues on. “You know what I keep thinking about? Those beautiful trees we saw a few days back on our travels, the ones that smelled like spiced jasmine. They almost reminded me of Lotus Pier, aha, what a wonderful scent, didn’t you think? Once this is all over, I’d like to go back there and spend some time under those trees. You can play your qin for me. I like that. I think that would be nice…”

Wei Wuxian continues to ramble artlessly, plucking out whatever stray thoughts enter his head like fireflies out of the night sky. All the little things he’s been storing up in his brain, the observations he used to idly toss to Lan Zhan, finally finding a place to land after many days of puttering around his head with nothing better to do than sit in buzzy silence. Wei Wuxian likes how Lan Zhan’s silence transforms his most inane thoughts, turns them into things that are worthy of consideration. Even now, Lan Zhan seems interested in what he has to say. Even his most boring revelations about his fraying robes and musings about whether there will be new types of tea for Lan Zhan to try this far northwest.

Wei Wuxian chats and chats, and Lan Zhan’s expression never once glazes over the haze of the curse. He doesn’t offer any commentary, though even at his most vivacious and uncursed, he rarely does. Wei Wuxian will often speak at great length without an iota of verbal input from Lan Zhan, and then when Lan Zhan finally does speak, he’ll pluck at one of the many threads Wei Wuxian spooled out for him, and they go from there. Sometimes Wei Wuxian is very obvious in what he would like to continue talking about, and Lan Zhan will indulge him. Sometimes, he is perfectly happy to let Lan Zhan lead the way, parrying with the most interesting thing Wei Wuxian has said and probing deeper.

Pouring out his thoughts like this has always acted as a soothing balm for him. Wei Wuxian has spent his life in search of a quiet mind, and Lan Zhan’s listening ear helps ease some of the burden of his own consciousness. By the time he’s talked himself out, Wei Wuxian takes a deep breath and then lets it out, laughing airily. “Lan Zhan! The sky has started to darken. How egregious of me to take up so much of your rest time.”

Lan Zhan says, “No matter.”

Wei Wuxian says, mock-offended. “You are insulting me by omission, Lan Zhan!”

Lan Zhan nods solemnly. “You should rest.”

Wei Wuxian rises to his feet. “Very well,” he laments, before walking over to the bed and launching himself onto it. He lands on his stomach, kicking his feet into the air behind him. Lan Zhan glares at him and Wei Wuxian pouts. “What?”

Lan Zhan says, “Rest in your own room.” His narrowed eyes track the movement of Wei Wuxian’s swaying feet.

“I think I should keep an eye on you,” Wei Wuxian decides. “So I am going to stay here, actually, while I rest.” He cants his head. “You weren’t going to use the bed, were you?”

Lan Zhan purses his lips and says nothing.

Wei Wuxian grins. He crawls up the bed, curls up on his side, and watches Lan Zhan meditate with wide eyes until Lan Zhan sighs, silent, and meets his gaze, long suffering.

Wei Wuxian says, “I told you. I’m keeping an eye on you.”

“You’re staring.”

Wei Wuxian tucks one of his palms up under the pillow. He bends his knees. “I always keep an eye on you, Lan Zhan.”

Lan Zhan says, quietly, “Hm.”

Wei Wuxian accepts that answer for a spare few heartbeats, then whines, “Lan Zhan. I’m not used to going this long without your attention. Not anymore. I’m withering away to nothing. Your bride isn’t even here. Play with your practice wife instead.”  

Lan Zhan says, “Stop.”

Wei Wuxian, never really one for rest anyway, sits up. He says, with big eyes, “But Lan Zhan, I want your eye. I want your interest and your ear. This has proven a good way of getting it.”

Lan Zhan stares hard at the wall in front of him.

Wei Wuxian slides off the bed. He crawls toward Lan Zhan. “Lan Wangji,” he coos. He comes to a stop right at Lan Zhan’s side, legs folded under him. Lan Zhan is stiff and unyielding. “Lan Zhan,” he says. “Hanguang-jun. Lan er-gege. Are you paying attention to me yet?”

When he gets no response, Wei Wuxian digs his chin into Lan Zhan’s shoulder and looks up at him. He can only see half his face, but the one ear Wei Wuxian can see is pink at the tip. He tweaks it with his fingers and Lan Zhan’s eyebrow twitches. “It’s just that I require your attention, Lan Zhan,” Wei Wuxian demurs. “You would really ignore your practice wife like this? I will make sure to warn your betrothed so she knows what she’s getting herself into. Who wants a husband as withholding as you, Lan Wangji! I shudder to think. You won’t even hold your practice wife in your lap. What a terrible husband you will be.”

Finally, finally, Lan Zhan snaps. His gaze crashes to Wei Wuxian’s, expression thunderous, and he bites out a harsh, “Wei Ying!”

Wei Wuxian says, easy, like he has so many times over the past months, “Lan Zhan, relax! I’m just teas—” and then reality comes flooding back in. His eyes go wide and he sits up straight, grasping at Lan Zhan’s shoulders. “Lan Zhan? Hey, Lan Zhan!” His fingertips brush Lan Zhan’s jaw. “Lan Zhan, you said my name! Wei Ying! The one that’s for you!” Lan Zhan still isn’t looking at him. Wei Wuxian tries to nudge Lan Zhan’s gaze back in his direction, to no avail. He’s right back to staring straight ahead, though he looks nowhere near as composed as before, the lines of his face pulled taut.

Wei Wuxian says, “Lan Zhan?”

Excruciatingly slowly, Lan Zhan turns his head to look at Wei Wuxian. He stares daggers at Wei Wuxian’s touch on his shoulder, and Wei Wuxian’s stomach sinks as he removes both his hands.

“Had you for a second there, Lan Zhan,” Wei Wuxian says, quietly rueful. He tries to smile, but it slips off his face like rainwater. He keeps staring at him, at the slope of his nose and the bob of his throat and the curl of his eyelashes. Lan Zhan returns to ignoring him, to staring at nothing. Wei Wuxian murmurs, thinking out loud, “I think I put too much bait on my hook, Lan Zhan. What brought you out of the pond, even for a moment?”

After dark, the house is foreboding. If Wei Wuxian stares at it too long, gooseflesh rises on his arms. Nowadays, he startles easily and is spooked by many small things, often followed by a laugh. He is still deathly afraid of dogs. But places, for a very long time, have ceased to sink into his bones. The Burial Mounds scrubbed away his fear of haunted houses.

Wei Wuxian looks up at this rundown, fire-gutted house, and for the first time since his return from death, realizes he may live long enough and become happy enough to be afraid of a place again.  

He’s grateful for the quiet swoosh of Lan Zhan’s sleeve as he unsheathes his qin. It hovers in front of him, glowing and white, the only spot of light in this hellish dark.

“It can’t have always been this horrible,” Wei Wuxian says, shuddering. “Who would get any sleep when the night closes in like this? Surely, it is my ever-clear mind playing tricks on me. Your story earlier was too scary, little maiden. Gave me the shivers.”

Zhang Xiaolian says, “Shut up. You’re so annoying.”

“It is the resentful energy,” Lan Zhan says.

“Pretty sure it’s him, actually.”

Wei Wuxian puts a hand on his waist, gesturing wildly with his other. “Oh, would you look at that. Someone found her sense of humor just in time to humiliate me.” He rolls his eyes and holds out his hand, palm up. “Lan Zhan. Chenqing.”

When no flute gets gently placed in his palm, Wei Wuxian sighs, long. Without turning his head, he says, “Zhang Xiaolian, please tell your betrothed to give me my stupid little flute.”

“Why?”

“Because I need it to do my work.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s how I do my work.”

With a doubtful sneer, she says, “A flute?”

“You were silent about Lan Zhan’s qin, but a flute is where you draw the line?”

Zhang Xiaolian shrugs. “I actually don’t care. Betrothed, give him the flute.”

Once more, Wei Wuxian waits with his hand out. Once more, he finds no Chenqing in it.

“Lan Zhan,” he says, turning around, “Your keeper gave you permission, what are you wai—”

Lan Zhan is, indeed, holding Chenqing, having just fished it out of his bag. When Wei Wuxian tries to reach out and grab it, Lan Zhan’s grip tightens. Wei Wuxian watches the lines of his wrist strain. He blinks and stares at Lan Zhan, whose eyes are glazed and whose gaze is directed somewhere around his shoulder.

They have had this conversation before. There is a reason Lan Zhan holds Chenqing for him.

“Lan Zhan,” Wei Wuxian says soothingly. “It’s okay. It’s fine, all right?” He takes the extended end of Chenqing, both of them now holding it. He tugs, just a little, and nothing happens. “Lan Zhan, aiya,” he says lowly. “You’re cursed and yet you still won’t let me play with this thing? Come on.”

Wei Wuxian does whatever he wants. Lan Zhan lets him, for the most part. When Wei Wuxian tugs more insistently, Lan Zhan releases his hold. He doesn’t look pleased.

“Come on!” Wei Wuxian repeats. “We’ll make music together. You love to make music together.” That is only half true. Lan Zhan is clearly unimpressed with himself that he enjoys doing something that involves Wei Wuxian holding Chenqing to his lips. Regardless, Wei Wuxian can’t resist the urge to stick his tongue out at Zhang Xiaolian from his not-so-high-horse, as she watches their conversation with crossed arms and a rapidly tapping foot.  

“Hurry up,” she says, for once directing her glare somewhere other than Wei Wuxian. When she looks at the house, her mouth twitches, face cast in shadow.

Wei Wuxian can hear them, too. More accurately, he can feel them. Angry, howling spirits crawling around his brain.

He looks at Lan Zhan. Lan Zhan’s mouth flattens into a thin line, but he nods back.

Together, they play Rest.

Unless it truly can’t be helped, Wei Wuxian tries to keep Lan Zhan within his line of sight when he plays Chenqing these days, even for a song as calming as Rest. Months ago now, not long after they started traveling together, Wei Wuxian used Chenqing to steer an ambush of fierce corpses away from them on a steep mountain pass. When he finished he stumbled forward, resentful energy curling sinuously around and through him like algae rising up from a lakebed. He fell, as ever, into Lan Zhan’s steady arms.

Lan Zhan said, “Wei Ying,” in such a tone that Wei Wuxian did not argue when Lan Zhan plucked Chenqing from his grip and placed it in his own bag. Then, Lan Zhan only clutched him until the resentful energy burned away with nothing else to feed off.      

Their discussions about Chenqing, about demonic cultivation, have always been fraught with very few safe places to land. It was one of the things they fought about at Cloud Recesses, maybe. About whether Wei Wuxian could, should, or had to. Those fights were strange, circuitous things, where it felt like they were agreeing in practice but disagreeing in spirit.

Now, as something conciliatory, for whatever it’s worth, Wei Wuxian wants to be where Lan Zhan can see him. He wants Lan Zhan to see him as a cultivation partner worth his time and his dedication, and not some stupid teenager hopped up on a hero complex and a bullheaded righteousness that, perhaps in the long run, hurt more people than it helped.

Since reuniting with Lan Zhan, it’s something he tries not to think about.

He looks at Lan Zhan, and he plays.

Slowly, the resentful energy recedes. Wei Wuxian can feel where it hovers, the sticky, intangible substance it leaves behind already trying to pull it back. He stops mid-note, sprinting toward the house, loathe to waste their already scant amount of time. Half a heartbeat later, Lan Zhan is by his side, pushing open the door with the hand holding his sheathe, Bichen clenched in his other and also conveniently blocking Wei Wuxian from going in ahead of him. Lan Zhan is strong enough that it isn’t difficult for him to open the door, but the wood groans and moans and shakes layers of dusty detritus loose when it moves, for the first time in a long while.   

Inside is—a mess. Lan Zhan lights a blue floating flame so they can see. Charred walls, the smell of smoke sitting heavy with nowhere to go. Piles of ash litter the floor, stirring with every step. Everything is gray and gritty. It makes Wei Wuxian’s eyes water.

Lan Zhan stands motionless in the middle of the room, only his eyes moving. Wei Wuxian touches everything, wiping any detritus off on his robes as he goes. There’s a table that didn’t fully burn, and a few twisted lumps of metal here and there that melted, but only into strange new shapes.

He says to Lan Zhan as he wipes ash off a mangled bedframe, “There shouldn’t be this much resentful energy here. It either starts off incredibly strong immediately after death, or grows in power after years and years of lingering. Whether they were murdered or not, this isn’t right.” Wei Wuxian uses Chenqing to prod at something resembling a blanket. It dissipates the moment he touches it. “Rest alone is not going to suppress these spirits.”

“Mn,” Lan Zhan agrees.

Wei Wuxian turns around in a full circle. “Where’s my arch-nemesis?” He ignores Lan Zhan’s glare and peers back through the doorframe. Zhang Xiaolian stands in the yard, jaw set, staring into the woods beyond the property. “Little maiden,” he cajoles. “I thought you wanted to watch an expert at work?”

All she says in reply is, “Let me know when one arrives.”

Wei Wuxian puts a hand to his chest, offended. “Hanguang-jun is here, too, you know!”

Zhang Xiaolian says nothing, arms crossed, lines of her body stiff. Wei Wuxian waves her off, muttering, and retreats further into the house.

They continue their search, but there is so little left inside, Wei Wuxian eventually has to concede defeat. Just in time, too, as he’s about to open his mouth to tell Lan Zhan to give it up when a tendril of resentful energy swirls around his ankle.

Lan Zhan drives Bichen hard into the wooden floor by Wei Wuxian’s foot, scattering it. He grabs Wei Wuxian by the wrist and together, they glide out the door. Lan Zhan barely spares it a glance as they flutter back toward Zhang Xiaolian and it slams shut behind them.

He deposits Wei Wuxian onto the ground. Wei Wuxian smiles and pats Lan Zhan on the shoulder. Lan Zhan nods.

 Zhang Xiaolian blurts out, “Well?”

“This night hunt tastes funny on my tongue,” Wei Wuxian says, and then nothing else.

Zhang Xiaolian’s expression pinches in annoyance.  

“Perhaps we should camp nearby,” Wei Wuxian says. “Just in case.”

Almost-familiar consternation flickers across Lan Zhan’s face, the twitch Wei Wuxian is used to seeing when he says something Lan Zhan considers quite stupid. “Not a good idea.”

Wei Wuxian sucks in his cheeks until they’re hollow and shoots a delighted, petty look at Zhang Xiaolian. “There’s that protective husbandly instinct, Lan Zhan,” he coos, curling his fingers and brushing his knuckles along the smooth underside of Lan Zhan’s chin.

Before he can even retrieve his hand, something pointy is sticking into his side.

“Stop,” Zhang Xiaolian says. She could kill him with a flick of her wrist, but instead she holds an arrow in her hand, the rough stone head crudely made but still easily lethal where it sits against him, at such an angle that a sharp enough thrust would pierce his heart.

Lan Zhan yanks Wei Wuxian out of harm’s way. It’s sudden enough that Zhang Xiaolian stumbles, weight too far forward, point pressed into Lan Zhan’s stomach. She stumbles back, face red and sputtering. “Hanguang-jun, I’m sorry, I’m sorry!”

Lan Zhan looks sedately between the two of them. “Enough,” he says.

When Wei Wuxian makes eye contact with Zhang Xiaolian, he sees his own tight jaw and puckered mouth reflected back at him.

A tense silence washes over them, and then Wei Wuxian says, “I am going to spend the night out front here.” He wrests a gleeful smile from somewhere deep within and prances over to the ashy dirt. “And look! Someone left behind a perfectly good firepit. What a happy coincidence.”

Lan Zhan’s shoulders rise and then fall, his attempt at hiding a sigh. He turns and walks away into the trees, and only moments later there is the sound of branches snapping as Lan Zhan begins destroying things and chopping firewood.

He sidles up to Zhang Xiaolian and leans down, exaggerating their great height difference much more than he needs to. He preens and says, “He’s doing that for me.”

Zhang Xiaolian keeps her eyes forward while she shoves her elbow backward into his stomach. Wei Wuxian doesn’t have much further to go before he’s doubled over, wheezing, as Zhang Xiaolian stalks off to assist her betrothed. When they camp, Lan Zhan says, “We will make camp, but not this close to the house.”

If Wei Wuxian doesn’t have the presence of mind to bully Lan Zhan into staying up past his bedtime, he won’t. Tonight, Lan Zhan goes to sleep by the fire at his perfectly perfunctory hour, with his perfectly perfunctory hands clasped across his perfectly perfunctory chest. It makes Wei Wuxian’s own chest hurt to look at, the way the heat from the fire dusts Lan Zhan’s cheeks light pink.

When he finally looks away, he comes to the unpleasant realization that the only other awake person he’s sharing this campfire with is a little girl he doesn’t like.

One side of his mouth curls up in distaste. He says, drawing it out, “I think I’m also going to hit the hay.”

Zhang Xiaolian scoffs.

“Is that not enough for you?” Wei Wuxian says snidely. “Is there anything else I can do for you?” He casts a glance at Lan Zhan’s sleeping form across the fire, but Lan Zhan has an exceptional talent at only waking up for things that need to be woken up for.

Zhang Xiaolian says, “You’re like an old man.”

Wei Wuxian smooths the front of his robes. “I thought I was a pretty maiden?”

Zhang Xiaolian shrugs.

“Hanguang-jun is an older man than me, you know. Are you making fun of him, too?” When Zhang Xiaolian only makes a sour face in return, Wei Wuxian says, “You don’t even seem to like him that much. I hope you can understand why it is so frustrating for me, his friend, to see him like this.”

Were she standing, Zhang Xiaolian would surely stomp her foot when she protests, “I do! I do like him!”

Wei Wuxian tilts his head, mouth pursed. “Who is he to you?”

Zhang Xiaolian’s mouth works, twitching at the corners. She plucks a spindly branch off the ground and starts poking at the fire until it cracks and pops. Little embers spurt forth, dying in the dirt. Wei Wuxian says, “Watch it,” nodding in Lan Zhan’s direction. Zhang Xiaolian doesn’t stop, but her shoulders do straighten a little in response.

Finally, she says, “Hanguang-jun helps people. All my life, I’ve heard how Hanguang-jun helps people. Even people like us, this far away from the world.” She stares into the fire. “I thought he was just a bedtime story, until—” She grimaces.

“Until what?”

She shakes her head. “Usually, stories are fake. I thought this one was, too. And then I realized it wasn’t, and Hanguang-jun was someone I could actually call for help.”

“Ah—” Wei Wuxian says hastily, holding up a finger. “My dear. You didn’t call Lan Zhan for help. You cursed him.”

Zhang Xiaolian glares at him. Wei Wuxian only says, “There’s nothing fake about what you’ve done to him.”

Zhang Xiaolian’s gaze darts to Lan Zhan’s. When she looks back at Wei Wuxian, she says, “He’s fine! No physical harm will come to him.”

“No, it won’t, because he’s Lan Zhan. That’s not what I’m talking about.”

Zhang Xiaolian’s gaze is shielded, jaw working, guilty. She says, low, “It didn’t work properly.”

Wei Wuxian says, warily, “What didn’t?”

“The spell. It—there were hooks that were supposed to sink into him. They didn’t.”

Wei Wuxian, lolling back on his elbows before, sits up straight. “Did you cast it incorrectly? What went wrong?”

“I don’t know.”

“Amateur,” Wei Wuxian idly spouts, but his voice is already drifting, mind spinning. The fire is the only bright spot in the night around them, the trees dark and ominous and the sky cloudy. The house is nearby, through an arch of branches at the entrance of their little clearing. It’s easy to keep on eye on without being so close as to feel the resentful energy emanating off it, stronger at night than in the day, but Wei Wuxian’s gaze slides away and toward Lan Zhan, contemplative.

“If it’s so amateur, then break the spell,” Zhang Xiaolian says sweetly.

“The simplest way to break a spell is to kill the caster.”

“Try.”

“Mm,” Wei Wuxian says. “We’ll see.”

In the middle of the night, long after Zhang Xiaolian has stopped twitching and tossing and turning in the dirt, Wei Wuxian flicks his blue rope out and wraps it around and around Lan Zhan until he is bound from shoulder to thigh. Lan Zhan’s eyes open immediately, clear and awake without a hint of sleep haze. His dark gaze follows Wei Wuxian as he walks closer, throws a leg over Lan Zhan, and sits on his torso. “Are you going to stay quiet or am I going to have to use one of my experimental talismans to steal your mouth?” he says, low. When Lan Zhan says nothing, he answers his own question. “Of course not. Imagine Hanguang-jun calling for help. Impossible.”

He stands and then pulls Lan Zhan up after him, patting the top of his head when they’re both steady on their feet. “Good boy.” It’s a little mean, but it’s been a long day. Lan Zhan glares at him reproachfully as Wei Wuxian begins to pull him along, keeping Lan Zhan on a much shorter leash than he did Zhang Xiaolian. As they walk, Wei Wuxian says, “Lan Zhan, I don’t really like tying people up. I’ve been forced to do it twice in one day and I have to admit, I’m a little sore about it. I hate doing things I don’t like. I hate feeling things I don’t want to feel.”

Lan Zhan is quiet for a moment, and then says, “You are going to abandon Zhang Xiaolian?”

Wei Wuxian sighs as they walk under the arch of trees, arms length apart. Because of how he’s tied, Lan Zhan cannot walk fast, though he still moves gracefully under the circumstances. It’s a chilly night and Wei Wuxian already misses the warmth of the fire.

“Don’t worry,” Wei Wuxian says, stiltedly cheerful, “I’ll come back and finish up as soon as I get you chained up somewhere far away from here.” Lan Zhan shoots him a dirty look and Wei Wuxian rolls his eyes and says, “Yeah, yeah, I know you may not like it, but guess what? Too bad.”

Lan Zhan stops walking. Wei Wuxian tugs insistently on the blue rope, but even with his qi momentarily subdued, Lan Zhan is exceptionally strong. “You don’t like being on a leash, Lan Zhan?” Wei Wuxian asks, shaking it back and forth in his hand so the slack ripples between them. “Don’t get cursed next time!”

Lan Zhan stares at him, stubborn and unmoving.

“Aiya,” Wei Wuxian says. “Just like my stupid donkey.” He tugs again, to no avail. “Lan Zhan. What if I tell you that in recompense, you can put me on a leash after all this is over? Imagine. Me at your mercy like that, you getting to pull me around however you want, instead of me always yanking you in every which whimsical direction. Does that satisfy you, Hanguang-jun, you controlling monster? Wei Ying, not only your cultivation partner and practice wife, but also your personal sack of flour to heft around as you please?”

Lan Zhan’s glare does not soften, but he does take one small step forward, and then another.

“There we go,” Wei Wuxian says. “Come along, Lan Zhan, dear. A nice moonlit stroll, just the two of us.”

They’re in front of the house now. It sits, silent and intimidating against the darkness.

When Wei Wuxian next tries to move, he is yanked violently backward by the blue rope around his wrist. His back slams into Lan Zhan’s bound front and air whooshes out of him in a wheeze. He tries to dance away, but Lan Zhan, eminently more skilled than Zhang Xiaolian, has managed to wriggle a hand up to the elbow out of the blue rope and has Wei Wuxian’s forearm in a vise grip. Breath hot and low in Wei Wuxian’s ear, he says, “Release me.”

Wei Wuxian shudders. His eyes flutter closed. “No.”

Lan Zhan holds him tighter. “Wei Wuxian.” There is a moment of tense, considering silence. Then, “Wei Ying.”

No wonder Lan Zhan always gets so mad at Wei Wuxian when he emotionally manipulates him, even teasingly. It is surprisingly difficult to resist.

“You’ve already gotten this far,” Wei Wuxian gasps. “Release yourself. I’m only trying to help, Lan Zhan.”

Lan Zhan pulls him closer, hand moving from Wei Wuxian’s forearm to his torso, splayed between his ribs, pressing him back against the blue binds on his chest. Wei Wuxian tries to fight against it, but Lan Zhan has always bested him in feats of physical strength. He goes limp instead, forcing Lan Zhan to hold him up. For a moment, they breathe together.

The plan is to dive out of Lan Zhan’s grip the moment he loosens it in confusion at the sudden redistribution of weight. Wei Wuxian’s scheming, however, is interrupted by a sharp pain beside his head. He’s so dumbfounded that it takes him a moment to register that said pain is Lan Zhan clamping his teeth around the shell of his ear.

He cries out, “Aiyo, Lan Zhan!”

Lan Zhan ignores him. In fact, he bites harder. Wei Wuxian scrabbles at Lan Zhan’s arm holding him down, movements little more than a kitten batting at the trunk of a fully grown tree.

Lan Zhan drags his teeth down further, nipping hard at Wei Wuxian’s earlobe. Wei Wuxian makes a garbled, tortured sound and bears down on Lan Zhan’s forearm, nails digging in. “Lan Zhan,” he begs. “Stop—stop, Lan Zhan—”

Lan Zhan stops. Wei Wuxian pants hard.

Then, Lan Zhan bites him on the neck. The assault is so hard and so long Wei Wuxian whites out momentarily. When he comes to, Lan Zhan is still attached to him, kneading at the mark with his teeth. The sweet-sting, full body shiver of it is so unbearable Wei Wuxian thinks he might shake apart.

When Lan Zhan’s tongue swipes against his skin, Wei Wuxian moans. It must be an accident, both the tongue and the moan. He’s flushed and tingling all the way to every extremity. Lan Zhan bears down again, hard, and Wei Wuxian whimpers. He can feel Lan Zhan’s other hand beneath the blue rope, searching for a way out, for purchase, for something to grab.  

He considers—if he undoes the rope spell—maybe—maybe—Lan Zhan would push him forward—they would keep going—away from this place. Away from this curse. They would keep going—further. Away. Escape. Down, into the dirt.

“Lan Zhan,” he begs again, and doesn’t tell him to stop. He closes his eyes and arches his neck and Lan Zhan’s hand against his sternum clenches a fistful of his robes and yanks him in closer. With the blue rope in the way, Wei Wuxian really can’t get any nearer than he already is. The hand that isn’t already clutching Lan Zhan’s arm goes searching for purchase. Right below the bindings, there is Lan Zhan’s thigh. Wei Wuxian clutches it for dear life. He says, high pitched and feverish, “Lan Zhan.” In response, another scorching swipe of Lan Zhan’s tongue. Wei Wuxian sees spots. He might—in his pants—just like in Baling—but all the way—he’s terrified to look—

Something hits him, hard, from the side. He goes spinning out of Lan Zhan’s grip like a winged toy on a stick and lands on the ground on all fours, chest heaving.

Slowly, his blue rope spell slithers back to him. He lets it fully retract before he looks up. Standing under the branch arch, Zhang Xiaolian stares between them both, the expression on her face flitting through too many emotions too quickly for Wei Wuxian to catch a single one.  

Lan Zhan, freed of his bindings, is not left completely unscathed. The ethereal glow he carries with him at all times is the perfect canvas to show off the pinkened tips of his ears and his eyes blown full black.

Wei Wuxian looks at Lan Zhan, at his ears and his eyes, and then cups a hand to his rapidly cooling, rapidly sore neck. It’s tender to the touch. When Zhang Xiaolian sees this, her own eyes widen. Her snarl rips through the night. She points a trembling finger at Wei Wuxian and she shrieks, “Cutsleeve! Dirty cutsleeve!” In her frothing rage, she storms over to Wei Wuxian and spits on him. It lands just above his eyebrow, just like her cup, dripping over his eye and onto his cheek. He’s so startled, so struck-dumb by every single event that’s just transpired, he can only stare, uncomprehending, as Zhang Xiaolian works herself up even further.

She’s gearing up for something—a kick to his stomach, maybe, or his elbow to knock him all the way flat—when Lan Zhan arrives at their sides. With a quick swipe of his sleeve across Wei Wuxian’s face, he is perfectly clean once more. To Zhang Xiaolian, Lan Zhan says, “Betrothed. Wei Wuxian had bound me. I ordered him to release me. When he didn’t, I attacked him with the only weapon I had available to me.”

Zhang Xiaolian, breathing harder than both of them now, darts her gaze rapidly back and forth between them. Her forehead furrows as her brows pull together, putting the adult-math she’s only ever been told about to work.

Regaining some semblance of coherence, Wei Wuxian wheezes a guttural laugh and says, “Lan Zhan, did you hear what your betrothed just accused me of? Us of?!”

The corners of Lan Zhan’s mouth twitch. He says gravely, “Zhang Xiaolian. I have made my explanation for my behavior known.”

Zhang Xiaolian whip-snaps, “You didn’t do anything!” The weight of her accusatory gaze on Wei Wuxian now: “He is bewitching you. Somehow.”

Wei Wuxian laughs so hard his neck hurts. “Hypocrite,” he hisses into the dirt.

A heel to his elbow. Wei Wuxian does indeed fall flat to the ground.

Lan Zhan says, “Zhang Xiaolian!” But it is too late. She’s sprinting away into the woods, into the night. In moments, she is gone.

Wei Wuxian groans and sits up. Lan Zhan is halfway bent to assist him when they make eye contact. Wei Wuxian’s breath catches. He opens his mouth to say, Lan Zhan?, but their attention is once again drawn away from each other by the mournful howls coming from behind the walls of the haunted house. They sound like they’ve been going on for longer than Wei Wuxian has noticed. Given the way his blood is still pounding in his ears, he can believe he missed them.

Without taking his eyes off the front door, Wei Wuxian says, “I don’t think our scary friends liked that display much at all, Lan Zhan. In fact, I would say they downright resented it.”

Lan Zhan does not do him the courtesy of acknowledging his joke.

By the next morning, Zhang Xiaolian hasn’t returned. Wei Wuxian and Lan Zhan play Rest in front of the house, if only to check it off the day’s to-do list.

At one point, Wei Wuxian can’t help but begrudgingly state, “Surprised you haven’t fluttered off to go find your betrothed yet, Lan Zhan. Surely she needs to be wrapped up in your big strong arms to heal the perceived hurts of last night.”

Lan Zhan only says, “I don’t know where she is.”

That statement pricks Wei Wuxian’s ears up. “You don’t know?” he says. “Lan Zhan. You traveled across multiple provinces to find her without even a map, yet you can’t track her down when she runs away into the woods after having a hissy fit?”

Lan Zhan’s gaze is chastising, but he says nothing else.

Wei Wuxian says, calculating, “What if I suggested that we just leave, Lan Zhan? Why don’t we just walk away from this?”

“No.”

“Ah.” Wei Wuxian waves him off. “Worth a try.” He stares at Lan Zhan, considering. His fingers twitch at his sides. “I wonder what it’ll take to dig those hooks out, Lan Zhan.”

At that moment, Zhang Xiaolian emerges from the treeline, looking worse for wear than yesterday. There are circles under her eyes and her face is puffy.

Wei Wuxian breaks into a feral grin, all teeth. “Little maiden! We were just talking about you. Welcome back!” He dances to Lan Zhan’s side, leaning his head against his shoulder. Lan Zhan stiffens beneath him. “We thought you had left us all alone, forever!” He pouts. “How sad that would have been.”

Zhang Xiaolian stares at him, long enough and blank enough that even Wei Wuxian feels shame pulse somewhere deep in his stomach. Even her freckles are wan. “Ah—” he says, awkward. He takes a minute step away from Lan Zhan and keeps himself to himself. “Let’s just get this over with, okay? Lan Zhan and I have already played Rest, which should help, if only a bit. Next step is a little array formation I whipped up last night after—well—I created it last night, anyway, and it may help us subdue the spirits. Just need a little blood—” He pulls a small blade out of his robes, pushes his sleeve back, and slices vertically up the center of his arm.

Lan Zhan says, stunned, “Wei Wuxian!”

“Ah,” Wei Wuxian says as the blood begins to flow. He bends over the wooden bucket at his feet, dripping into it. “I know we usually do the finger prick, Lan Zhan, but this is for a few different arrays. Let’s just get all our ink now, yeah?”

The light-headedness comes quickly, and Wei Wuxian goes down to one knee. Lan Zhan watches him with hawk-like intensity. “Enough,” he says.

Fueled only by spite, Wei Wuxian coaxes a few more spurts of blood out of his arm. Then, he stands, wobbles, and holds the cut closed. He winds a cloth around it, ties it off, and puts his hands on his hips, smiling. He chirps, “Done!”

Lan Zhan says, unimpressed, “Your face is white.”

Wei Wuxian says—nothing in return, because he falls forward instead. Lan Zhan catches him.

Wei Wuxian looks up at him. Lan Zhan looks down at him. He says coolly, “That was foolish,” and puts Wei Wuxian back on his feet.

Wei Wuxian sways, and then says, “Well, little maiden. I’ll draw the arrays and you can watch if you want, but your price of entry is you must carry the blood bucket.”

While Wei Wuxian paints his first array, bent over and knees in the dirt, he says conversationally, “So, Zhang Xiaolian, tell me. You are just a twelve-year-old child, right? And not some seven-hundred-year-old demon crone here to steal Lan Zhan’s youth and seed?”  

Zhang Xiaolian, who already appears to be regretting her decision to accompany him, cries out, “What?!”

Wei Wuxian wipes his forehead and grins up at her. “Just checking. You’re much too good at being a brat for this to be the case, but as a cultivator, it’s very important to leave no stone unturned!” As he returns to painting, he says, “You know how many times a seven-hundred-year-old demon crone has tried to steal my youth and seed? None! Shameful! I think I would be a great candidate to have my youth and seed sucked out of me.”

“You’re crazy,” Zhang Xiaolian says uncertainly. “Stop saying crazy things!”

Wei Wuxian grumbles as he swipes away one of his radicals and redraws it, fingers sticky with blood. When he looks back up at Zhang Xiaolian he winks and says, “These are the adult things you’ll have to talk about with your husband! They’re important to know!”

“They’re not!” Zhang Xiaolian says. She looks like she wants to kick him again.

Wei Wuxian puts up both his hands, running red. He’s still a little woozy. “Okay, okay, okay, okay,” he says quickly. Lan Zhan stayed behind to meditate, supposedly, but Wei Wuxian can see him watching them at a distance, face blank. From one of his raised hands, he gives Lan Zhan a thumbs up. Lan Zhan does not react.

Wei Wuxian bends over again, focusing on his work. He gestures for Zhang Xiaolian to come closer and points. “Look at this,” he says. “See what I did here?” When she doesn’t move, he says, “You want to learn or not, little maiden?”

Zhang Xiaolian puts down the blood bucket with a slosh and cautiously steps closer, peering over his shoulder. She wrinkles her nose. “Your blood stinks.”

“Well, then, don’t draw anymore out of me,” Wei Wuxian says. “Now pay attention.”

As Wei Wuxian gets progressively dirtier from kneeling in the soil under the cool spring sun, he says to Zhang Xiaolian, “Don’t you have anywhere to be these days? Aren’t your parents worried about you spending all your time with two strange men in the woods?”

Zhang Xiaolian narrows her eyes at him. Wei Wuxian has spent quite a while at a physical disadvantage, bent over and almost prone as he works, and not once so far has Zhang Xiaolian drawn back her foot to threaten a foot in his ribs.

He would be a fool if he had not considered, more than once over these past few days, just how exactly he can turn the tables on her. If he had the chance—would he? For Lan Zhan—would he? Cultivators—if she can be called such—are not immune to earthly injuries, if they’re grave enough. If Wei Wuxian moved quickly enough. Aimed his bow true enough.

Zhang Xiaolian says, “My parents are poor and busy. They work the land all day and then go to sleep and wake before the sun and do it again. This is my contribution.”

“That explains why they had such little time to teach their daughter some manners.”

Zhang Xiaolian takes in a deep breath. Wei Wuxian thinks she is going to scream, high and feral. Instead, she holds it inside her mouth, then darts forward and scuffs through the entirety of Wei Wuxian’s array.

He says, “No!” In response, she says, “Fuck you!” and Wei Wuxian remembers that he’s already learned the hard way not to insult a child’s parents in front of them.

Instead of starting a brawl, which he desperately wants to do, the urge crowding under his skin, Wei Wuxian only pulls his knife back out of his robes. He means to slice along the clotted cut he opened earlier, but Lan Zhan has appeared, seemingly out of nowhere, to grab the knife from his hand.

“Lan Zhan! This is your betrothed’s fault. Now I need to redraw this array and for that I need more ink.”

Lan Zhan tucks the knife away into the folds of his own robe. “Make do,” he says, before fluttering back to the front side of the house.

Wei Wuxian watches him go, mouth agape. “Well,” he says, aghast. “Guess I’ll just have to use my teeth, then.”

Zhang Xiaolian shrieks at him in protest until Wei Wuxian relents and doubles over with laughter, wheezing into the dirt.

As Wei Wuxian completes the final array, he swallows and says, “Zhang Xiaolian…”

She says, immediately angry, “What?”

Wei Wuxian holds off inking his final radical, like he’s trying to remember where it goes. He scratches his head dopily. “Listen. Uh. I understand why you like Lan Zhan, okay? I get it. He’s my friend. Who wouldn’t like him? Who wouldn’t be awed by him? And I promise, from a distance he’s awesome, but from up close he’s even better. Ah—aha, little maiden…” When Wei Wuxian looks up at her, standing directly in the path of the sun, he loses her in shadow, only a black, person-shaped void with tightly crossed arms and pointy elbows. “He’s good, okay? Sturdy. Life turned upside down? You want him to protect you. I like him for that reason, too! I like Lan Zhan so much. I should be lucky to marry someone so stable and stalwart, huh? So handsome and strong? And one day, when I do, to a woman, and then we in fact, and then we’ll, me and her, my wife, and well that’ll just be that, huh!”

Zhang Xiaolian swims back into focus and blinks at him. She says, “WHAT.”

Wei Wuxian paints his final radical and says, “You’ll understand when you’re older.”

He stands, grinning, and skips toward Lan Wangji, hands clasped behind his back. Zhang Xiaolian follows sullenly, casting glances back over her shoulder at where the arrays are painted, one for each corner of the house.

Wei Wuxian stands beside Lan Zhan and bumps their shoulders together. “This’ll be really impressive, Lan Zhan,” he informs him. “You’re gonna be so impressed it might even break you out of this little curse.”

Lan Zhan says nothing, so Wei Wuxian continues, “This should clear out any lingering resentful energy. Normally such an array formation wouldn’t work for a situation like this, but the fire damage should have weakened the structure of the home enough that it is more susceptible to such things. It gets more complicated when living people still reside in haunted dwellings. But an abandoned, scorched thing like this? Almost like no one was ever here at all?” Wei Wuxian casts his gaze sideways to Zhang Xiaolian, whose jaw is clenched and eyes shining as she stares at the wreckage in front of them. “This should do the trick just fine. Brace yourselves.”

Wei Wuxian draws an activation talisman in the air and infuses it with qi. It glows red, then catches, burns, and fades.

The ground around the house begins to tremble. Pleased, Wei Wuxian puts his hand on Lan Zhan’s shoulder to steady himself as he sways in time to the tremors. Lan Zhan gives his grip an icy stare, but there is little he can do if the only other option is for him to hold Wei Wuxian steady. He has done this before, in times of danger during night hunts or when Wei Wuxian falls, wrapping an arm tight around his waist and holding him close. Wei Wuxian has, on occasion, “accidentally” fallen on their travels, Lan Zhan there to catch him every time. At this point, Lan Zhan must think that Wei Wuxian came back from the dead with two left feet. Wei Wuxian simply thinks falling into Lan Zhan’s arms is fun and he likes to help keep his reaction time sharp.

Sounds drift from inside the building. Mournful, pained sounds. The smell of burning grows stronger, singed hair and flesh drifting toward them on the breeze. Wei Wuxian says, “Give it a moment…”

A given moment later, the frisson of power the talisman cast over the area dissipates.

Wei Wuxian blinks.

Zhang Xiaolian says, “What happened?”

Wei Wuxian says, “Um.” He walks forward, holding out an arm in warning to Zhang Xiaolian and Lan Zhan. He trips toward the door, holds out a hand, and raps his knuckles against it. Almost immediately, a wail greets him.

He returns to Zhang Xiaolian and Lan Zhan. “It didn’t work.”

“Well done,” Zhang Xiaolian says.

Wei Wuxian says, coolly, “There were hooks that were supposed to sink into it. They didn’t.”

Zhang Xiaolian scoffs.

“Something is holding them here,” Wei Wuxian says. “And I don’t think we’re getting rid of them until we figure out what it is.” He meets Lan Zhan’s eye. Lan Zhan nods.

When they start toward the door, Zhang Xiaolian says, “What are you doing?!”

Without stopping, Wei Wuxian says, “We’re going to have a chat.”

“You and Hanguang-Jun?”

Zhang Xiaolian is hurrying after them to keep up. Wei Wuxian says, “Me and Hanguang-Jun and the very angry spirits inside that house.”

For a moment, she forgets to be acerbic. She says, almost terrified, “You can do that?!”

Wei Wuxian inclines his head in Lan Zhan’s direction. “He can. Your betrothed is a talented man.”

Zhang Xiaolian stops moving, but Wei Wuxian can feel her eyes on his back as he and Lan Zhan play a few more bars of Rest to keep the spirits calm enough to allow them inside.

Lan Zhan is once against first in. Wei Wuxian follows after him. Sliding in just before the door closes, face wan, Zhang Xiaolian sticks to the perimeter of the room like a cat, gaze focused only on Lan Zhan as he sits in lotus position and reveals his qin.

Zhang Xiaolian is stock still watching them, eyes glittering in the dim. Light creeps in under the slat in the door and through a few burned-away sections of wall, but otherwise there are no light sources. Lan Zhan hasn’t bothered to light up the place this time.

“Zhang Xiaolian,” Wei Wuxian intones. He sits beside Lan Zhan. “I’m starting to think you’re afraid of ghosts.”

Zhang Xiaolian hisses at him. Wei Wuxian says, “Has anyone ever told you that talking to you is as pleasant as bathing a cat?”

Zhang Xiaolian says, “Shut up.”

Lan Zhan also says, “Shut up,” and plucks out his first question.

Wei Wuxian—still a novice in the language of the qin but very practiced at watching Lan Zhan’s fingers play these notes— recognizes the question, Who are you?

One heartbeat passes. Two. Longer than it usually takes to get a response.

Wei Wuxian says, “Lan Zh—"

“Quiet,” Lan Zhan orders. He stares down at the strings of his qin, furrow between his brows. He plucks out another question. Who killed you?

Zhang Xiaolian, eyes focused firmly on Lan Zhan and nowhere else, says, “What’s happening?”

Wei Wuxian’s mouth twitches. “... Nothing.”

The strings of the qin begin to vibrate, low. Imperceptible to anyone else but Wei Wuxian, Lan Zhan’s fingers twitch in confused silence.

The vibration of the qin strings grows in frequency, but no answer appears forthcoming. Discomfort and the taste of something wrong fills Wei Wuxian up to his back teeth. He glances sideways at Zhang Xiaolian. Her fists are clenched at her sides, gangly limbs stone except for the tremors, similar to the ministrations on the qin, that run through her.

Suddenly, an invisible force yanks its fingers down the qin, wrenching every string so hard they wail in protest. Wei Wuxian falls to his knees, hands clutching his head. Blood spurts from his ears, between his fingers.

He scrabbles for Chenqing at his belt, the demented sounds of the possessed qin agonizing, slicing up his insides.

Before he can pull it to his mouth, another sound. It’s the horrible, unthinkable snap of a qin string. Wei Wuxian has never seen such a thing happen, but the screech of pain from the instrument is unmistakable. He drops his head, nails raking at his ears.

For a time, chaos reigns and Wei Wuxian can do nothing but try to grab for Chenqing, get hit with another blast of energy from the qin, and crumple down again. Blood trickles from his nose and mouth to join his ears. Out of the corner of his eye he can see Zhang Xiaolian still standing, though blood drips off her fingertips and onto the warped wooden floor.

“Lan Zhan!” he cries. When he next looks up, Lan Zhan is standing, every line of his body tight. He’s leaning forward awkwardly, almost bent double, mouth a flat line. It takes Wei Wuxian between one blink and the next to understand why.

The qin string that snapped, almost invisible and certainly lethal, snapped toward him. Lan Zhan caught it in his bare hand, which would explain the blood gushing down his arm, staining the sleeve of his pristine white robe a dark crimson. When Wei Wuxian meets his eye, Lan Zhan snaps, harsher than the qin’s string and with the tenor of someone who has already called his name multiple times, “Wei Wuxian. Leave.” His arm jerks as the string makes another break for it. More blood.

Wei Wuxian lurches to his feet, mindlessly starting toward him. Lan Zhan gets yanked forward by the struggling string before he manages to reset his slippery grip. “Wei Ying! Out!”

Wei Wuxian’s breath punches out of him. He casts one last look at Lan Zhan before grabbing Zhang Xiaolian by the arm and dragging her through the front door. He uses what scant strength he has left to send her surprised form sailing across the grass, before turning back toward the door, which promptly slams in his face.

That wasn’t the spirits. Wei Wuxian shouts, “Lan Zhan!” He rails his fists against the door. When that doesn’t work, he kicks it. He hurls talisman after talisman at it.

The noises coming from the other side— Wei Wuxian can’t stand them. There is the qin, wrong, and the wailing of the spirits as the two clash. He bellows, “LAN ZHAN!”

He takes a few steps back, a few deep breaths, and channels his qi, fortifying his shoulder for a very strong incoming impact. He launches himself at the door, determined to get in even if it shatters every bone in the right side of his body.

Which is why it is both pleasant and a surprise when the door opens right before he crashes into it and he’s caught in the crook of Lan Zhan’s arm.

For a moment, they only stare at each other. Lan Zhan’s grip, already tight around him, tenses further.

Wei Wuxian is halfway into a relieved smile before he smacks Lan Zhan’s arm as hard as he can muster under the circumstances. “You locked me out!” he lambasts. “Some cultivation partner you are! Asshole!”

Lan Zhan nobly ignores him as he glides them over to where Zhang Xiaolian stands, her chest heaving. The moment they land, Lan Zhan has Wei Wuxian’s face in his hands, swiping at the trail of blood still oozing from his nose.

Wei Wuxian’s vision goes hazy. He puts his hands over Lan Zhan’s and murmurs his name. He tries not to whimper when Lan Zhan removes his touch to rifle through his bag. He comes back with a cloth, holding it a hair’s breadth from Wei Wuxian’s face when he suddenly freezes. He blinks, then thrusts the cloth into Wei Wuxian’s hand. “Clean yourself,” he mutters, before drifting to Zhang Xiaolian’s side and inquiring after her injuries.

With shaking hands, Wei Wuxian wipes the blood off his face.

When Wei Wuxian tries to order alcohol with lunch, Lan Zhan smoothly interrupts him and requests tea instead.

Wei Wuxian mutters, “Rude,” but gulps down cup after cup once it arrives at their table. It warms him after having dunked his face in a freezing creek to wash the remaining blood off. The weather is not so cold, but he can feel the days catching up to his coreless body, the slip of unconsciousness looming larger and larger in the corner of his mind.

When he is warmed enough to speak without his teeth chattering, he says, “What was that.”

Lan Zhan has been preoccupied since the moment they returned to town, Wei Wuxian assumes with this exact question. Wei Wuxian continues, “That was Inquiry. The spirits—they can’t lie. Or refuse to answer.”

“Correct,” Lan Zhan says.

“But these spirits—uh, Lan Zhan, what exactly did they do?”

Lan Zhan says, slowly, like he’s still parsing it out for himself, “It was not that they lied or refused to answer. It was that they—” His brow twitches minutely. “—could not answer.”

“What do you mean?”

“They are in pain,” Lan Zhan says. “They are angry. There is not enough of them left here to respond to my questions. They did not know the answers.”

Wei Wuxian taps his finger against his nose in thought. “Something is keeping them here, tying them to their place of death. But that shouldn’t matter. We should still be able to suppress or eliminate them.”

“Though they are mostly mindless, their power is immense,” Lan Zhan says.

“Stronger than us, though?” Wei Wuxian asks. “Lan Zhan. I am not bragging. You know such occurrences are rare. We encounter challenges, sure. But when have a few wayward spirits ever given us such trouble?”

Lan Zhan purses his lips, for only a moment. Agreement. He meets Wei Wuxian’s eye, but without an answer, says nothing.

Wei Wuxian says, “Tomorrow, I will go alone with Chenqing and finish this.”

“No,” Lan Zhan says in a tone that brokers no room for argument.

Wei Wuxian says lightly, “I wasn’t asking for permission, Lan Zhan.”

“And I’m not giving it.”

The glare they exchange across the table has Wei Wuxian running his thumb slowly along the length of the rest of his fingers, touch sensitive and sparking. Lan Zhan’s eyes are dark on his face, hands prim in his lap. Eventually, he says, “We will find another way.”

“Are you my keeper now, Lan Zhan? I wasn’t aware of this development.” It’s a bold thing to say to the man who pays for all of Wei Wuxian’s room and board and equipment, but Wei Wuxian is not above playing dirty in his spats with Lan Zhan. He has always loved to make him angry and relished every conceivable opportunity he’s gotten since coming back from the dead, especially since Lan Zhan has become so gratingly unflappable and immune to Wei Wuxian’s teasing over the past seventeen years.

The look Lan Zhan lobs at him makes Wei Wuxian swallow. “We are cultivation partners. You would lock me out?”

Wei Wuxian holds Lan Zhan’s gaze only a little longer before breaking. “Aiya,” he concedes, drawing it out and waving him off. “All right, all right. Point taken.”

“What would Chenqing do?” Zhang Xiaolian asks. Wei Wuxian almost starts. For a moment, it was like nothing had changed. Like it was simply him and Lan Zhan again, working through the minutia of a tricky night hunt over a bowl of warm food.

He tries not to sound bitter when he says, “Chenqing is a hungry little flute that likes to snack on resentful energy.”

Zhang Xiaolian does not look impressed. Wei Wuxian shrugs and busies himself with the bowl of rice in front of him, stuffing his mouth to prevent her from asking anymore questions. She doesn’t take the hint, because next she asks, “Your flute eats resentful energy?”  

When Wei Wuxian only says, “Yeah,” before stuffing his mouth once more, Lan Zhan’s eyes narrow slightly. Wei Wuxian shrugs at him.

“It is more complicated than that,” Lan Zhan says. “If it must be used, it should be as a last resort.”

Zhang Xiaolian says, “But it could get rid of the spirits for good?”

“Yes,” Wei Wuxian says, putting down his almost-empty bowl. “Actually, Zhang Xiaolian, you should tell Hanguang-jun to let me do it.” He grins sweetly at Lan Zhan, cheek propped up in his hand. “He’s a worrywart, but if you tell him to let me do it, surely he won’t have a choice?”

Lan Zhan glares balefully back at him.

When Wei Wuxian looks at Zhang Xiaolian expectantly, her expression is pinched. She says, “I’ll think about it.”

Wei Wuxian says, “Ah—you’re serious? I could solve this by lunchtime tomorrow and you’re hesitating now, after all the work you went through to summon us here?” He kicks her knee under the table. “There’s no possible way you’re worried about my wellbeing?”

Her expression in response to his accusation is so haughty that relief sweeps through Wei Wuxian. He wouldn’t know what to do if Zhang Xiaolian, his greatest enemy, warmed up to him. She says, snappish, “I said I’ll think about it.”

“Do you want this matter resolved or not?” Wei Wuxian says, anger flaring hot in his gut. “Little maiden, I am not wasting a day more of my life here than I have to. I have already spent enough time in this region to last multiple reincarnations. Lan Zhan and I had plans, you know, before all this. Places to go. Things to see. Monsters to hunt. And now I present you with a guaranteed solution to your problem and you have the gall to say you’ll think about it?” He laughs coldly. “No one could ever say you’re not bold, Zhang Xiaolian.”

“You will not be using Chenqing,” Lan Zhan says. “Not for this purpose.”

Wei Wuxian bites his tongue very hard before saying, “Lan Zhan, I don’t think I’ve ever had reason to say this to you before, but shut up.”

Judging by the look on Lan Zhan’s face, this is indeed the first time Wei Wuxian has said such a thing to him. Under any other circumstances, he would burst out laughing. As it stands, he only says to Zhang Xiaolian, “Tell him to let me do it.”

Zhang Xiaolian says, “No.”

Wei Wuxian puts his hands on the table, ready to shove himself up regardless of receiving anyone’s permission to do anything, but then a cold, slender weight falls across his lap, holding him in place. His gaze follows Bichen’s decorated hilt and then up its owner’s arm before landing on Lan Zhan’s impassive face. “Lan Zhan,” he grits out.

Lan Zhan, taking his earlier words to heart, says nothing. He does not remove Bichen.

On the table, Wei Wuxian’s hand balls into a fist. “What course of action would you suggest, then, my dear friend?”

“We will find a way forward,” Lan Zhan says stiffly.

Wei Wuxian slams his open palm down onto the table, making the dishes rattle around them. There is little Wei Wuxian hates more than being genuinely angry, especially with Lan Zhan. Anger is something he has long since decided belongs as far in the past as possible. It resurfaced during his time with Lan Zhan at Cloud Recesses, and since then he has been desperately trying to smooth over all the sharp edges it brought out in him. “Give me an answer now, Lan Zhan, or I’m using Chenqing. Your call.”

“You are being reckless,” Lan Zhan says. As a preventative measure, Bichen presses more insistently into his lap.

Unable to retaliate lest he do—something—Wei Wuxian looks back to Zhang Xiaolian. “And you. What’s your problem, eh? Why are you dragging your heels on this? Why are you being so cagey about this entire night hunt? I’m tired of it. I’m tired of these children’s games. I’m tired of your secrets. I’m tired of not having my cultivation partner by my side. Actually, I’m tired of all of this hullabaloo. Here’s how this is going to work, Zhang Xiaolian. Lift the curse on Lan Zhan—no, you are not going to marry him, you were never going to marry him, get used to it and get over it—and only then will we continue working this night hunt for you.” He cants his head meanly. “Maybe. If I’m feeling generous.”

Zhang Xiaolian’s pupils have constricted until they are little more than pinpricks of black against her deep brown eyes. Her freckles are still pale and her face is splotchy. She says, shrill, “I am tired of you! I didn’t invite you here. You have no reason to be here. I think you just mooch off Hanguang-jun. I think you are a leech, Wei Wuxian, and you are bleeding my betrothed dry.”

Lan Zhan never actually told him to leave Cloud Recesses. He never kicked him out. He never said anything remotely close to it during their many, many fights. But in every glare and deep, dark look, even someone with as thick a head as Wei Wuxian could tell when he was no longer welcome. He knew that he was being a nuisance, taking without giving anything in return. He owes Lan Zhan such a deep debt he couldn’t even begin to imagine repaying it, especially since he has nothing to offer. His golden core, the only bargaining chip he ever had, is long gone, burning bright and angry somewhere in Yunmeng. He has no money, no land, no titles worth having. He only has his mind, and his hands, and his mouth. Lan Zhan seems to like those things well enough. Wei Wuxian gives him these things, knowing full well they will never close the ever-yawning gap between them.    

Wei Wuxian surges upwards. The movement is sudden enough he knocks Bichen away. The stool he was sitting on goes flying halfway across the room with a clatter. Chest heaving, he thrusts a finger in Zhang Xiaolian’s direction and spits, “Enough! Your stupid fucking game is over. Curse. Lift. Now.”

There is the sound of rushing footsteps. The proprietor, hurrying over to tend to his rowdy guests. Wei Wuxian doesn’t even look at him, only flicks an immobility spell from his fingertip over his shoulder. The footsteps cease.

If this were the old days, he would be bleeding resentful energy, shrouded in it like a thick morning fog. It didn’t take much, back then, to unfurl him.

If this were the old days, he might not have stopped himself from summoning Chenqing directly from Lan Zhan’s bag, an ability he has conveniently failed to mention to Lan Zhan since he started carrying it for him. If it makes Lan Zhan more secure, Wei Wuxian sees no reason to correct him.

Zhang Xiaolian is a twelve-year-old girl.

Zhang Xiaolian is also his enemy who has taken something very precious from him.  

For one horrifying heartbeat, Wei Wuxian thinks they’re both going to dissolve into a flood of tears. His entire body trembles. Even the ends of his hair sway.

Then, Zhang Xiaolian snorts. And laughs. “You’re so mad,” she says in a nasally little girl voice.  

Wei Wuxian swallows. He feels like he is falling. When he lands back inside his own mind and limbs, he narrows his eyes and smiles, iron-edged. It spreads across his firmly shut lips. He presses the tip of his tongue against the inside of his cheek so hard his jaw aches.

“Hm,” he says, deep in his throat, world tinged red. Something feral curls in his chest. He cannot possibly meet Lan Zhan’s eye. “Hm,” he repeats, simpering. His hair has fallen, lank, into his face. He thrusts it out of the way. It’s been so long since Lan Zhan combed it for him. Sometimes, he would even run his fingers through it, and Wei Wuxian would keen into the touch.  

Lan Zhan’s touch. Lan Zhan’s thumb, swiping away the blood from under his nose. Lan Zhan’s hands, back at Cloud Recesses and when it wasn’t so bad, that would occasionally catch him by the waist. 

For one dizzying moment, Wei Wuxian thinks that if Lan Zhan doesn’t touch him right here, right now, he will fly apart in every possible direction.

Of course, Lan Zhan doesn’t.

Wei Wuxian puts both of his hands over his face. In the silence between his palms, he breathes out, slow, and drops them back to his side.

He turns on his heel and walks out of the teahouse. As he goes, he snaps his fingers and the sound of frantic footsteps resumes.

For the rest of the day, he wanders aimlessly through Shanwei. It’s the largest, nearest city, and he loses himself in the throngs of people until he forgets he has found himself, yet again, alone in the world. He chatters aimlessly with merchants, haggling over the price of fish he has no intention of buying and interrogating a merchant on the authenticity of his supposed “sapphire”.  

The smells of Shanwei are both new and familiar to him. He knows the smell of people, of life and bustle and crowds. Animals and fat and flowers and perfumes, oil and sugar and burning and meat. The spices of Shanwei sit differently on his tongue. Just breathing in makes his tastebuds tingle pleasantly, strangely.

He can’t stand the thought of shoving any more food in his mouth, however, so he finds himself in yet another teahouse, ordering a jar of liquor—“whatever’s closest”—before he even sits down.

He drinks like a sad fool—how familiar a sight! The Yiling Laozu alone and drunk in a teahouse—until the world goes hazy at the edges and the ghosts of Lan Zhan’s hands tripping along his waist fade. 

Wei Wuxian didn’t tell Lan Zhan he was leaving Cloud Recesses. He was in his guest quarters packing his things when Lan Zhan walked in without announcing himself like he always did. When he saw Wei Wuxian’s hands still on a pair of robes he was about to slide into his travel bag, Lan Zhan froze in turn. His gaze went first to Wei Wuxian’s guilty fingers, then tracked slowly upwards to his guiltier face. It was very obvious he wasn’t packing for the hunting trips he occasionally went on, no more than a few nights at a time on the outskirts of Gusu.

Lan Zhan only said, smoothly after a swallow, “You’re leaving.”

Wei Wuxian shoved the robes into the bag, followed quickly by the rest of his pile of clothes. He had amassed a reasonably impressive collection since shacking up at Cloud Recesses, Lan Zhan plying him with more beautifully crafted garments than he ever knew what to do with.

Wei Wuxian grinned at Lan Zhan, eyes crinkling at the corners. “Time to move on, Lan Zhan! This world waits for no one!”

Lan Zhan gripped Bichen at his hip.

Wei Wuxian said, “We will see each other again. You can’t get rid of me that easily.”

Lan Zhan said frostily, “It seems that I can.”

Wei Wuxian laughed on an exhale. “I feel like a caged animal, Lan Zhan. I’m lashing out. I have to go run wild and get in some fights.”

“Do you.”

“I am older and wiser than I once was, perhaps.” Wei Wuxian winked at him. “But I am still a man.”

Lan Zhan’s gaze trailed up and down the line of his body, confirming the veracity of this statement. Wei Wuxian fought the desire to cross his arms. Lan Zhan finally met his eye once more and said, “You are.”

Wei Wuxian dropped his arms. His expression flattened, turned sincere. He played with Chenqing’s tassel at his belt. “Lan Zhan. Thank you for taking me in when I had nowhere else to go. When no one else would have me.”

Lan Zhan looked at him so blankly Wei Wuxian could do nothing but turn to leave.

When he took his first step away, Lan Zhan went from still to blurred-with-motion in an instant. He lunged forward and wrapped his hand around Wei Wuxian’s wrist. Wei Wuxian may tug, but Lan Zhan clutched. Lan Zhan grabbed. Lan Zhan held so tight Wei Wuxian felt molded.

Lan Zhan said, “Wei Ying.” He squeezed tighter, till it hurt. “Wei Ying.”  Admonishment. Lan Zhan stared at him for a long time. So long, even for him, that Wei Wuxian had to wonder if he had forgotten what he was going to say.

When still Lan Zhan said nothing, searching his face with stoic, cracked desperation, Wei Wuxian put a hand on Lan Zhan’s forearm and said, “Lan Zhan. Won’t you accompany me to the Cloud Recesses boundary, at least?”

As they walked side by side, Lan Zhan said while not taking his eyes off the mountains on the horizon, “Why?”

Wei Wuxian said, “Why shouldn’t I?”

Lan Zhan stewed in silence over this the entire way down Cloud Recesses’ mountainside stairs. Things had been mostly okay between them for the past week. They even went for a sweet-smelling stroll a few nights previous among the prohibited and therefore private back hills. Wei Wuxian laced his fingers with Lan Zhan’s, swinging his arm back and forth with increasing pressure, laughing when Lan Zhan disentangled their hands with an annoyed mutter and wrapped an arm around Wei Wuxian’s waist instead, pulling him into the warm curve of his body. Wei Wuxian tittered at Lan Zhan’s antics. He said, “You would fight a rock if it looked at me even a little funny, huh?” He curled his fingers and knocked gently on Lan Zhan’s chin with his knuckle. “What about when you look at me a little funny, Lan Zhan?” he wheedled. “Whatever would you do then?”

“I would fight myself, for you,” Lan Zhan said. “If necessary.”

Wei Wuxian wheezed with laughter. By the time he had descended back to earth, Lan Zhan waiting patiently for him on the ground, he knew he had to leave. 

Lan Zhan, resplendent in his chief cultivator’s white regalia, walked Wei Wuxian and Little Apple all the way to a ridge overlooking Gusu. Little Apple fought Wei Wuxian as they walked, and he yanked fruitfully at her reins. “Aiya,” he groused. “This is going to be an emotionally fraught goodbye and you’re ruining it, you stupid donkey!” He grinned at Lan Zhan as he pulled, Little Apple digging her hooves into the grassy slope. “Lan Zhan, shall we part ways here? I’ve taken up so much of your day already and my donkey is only delaying you further.”

Lan Zhan patted Little Apple on the head.

By the time they made it to the top of the ridge, Wei Wuxian forced them to stop. With the way Lan Zhan was walking, it looked like he forgot he was not accompanying Wei Wuxian on this particular journey.

In one hand, Little Apple’s reins. In his other, Chenqing. He gestured with it, some vague direction over Lan Zhan’s shoulder, and said, “I will head that way.”

Lan Zhan, Bichen clutched tight, indicated over Wei Wuxian’s opposite shoulder: “I will head this way.”

They stared at each other. The ache in Wei Wuxian’s chest told him he was waiting, but he didn’t know what for. Lan Zhan’s gaze dropped, briefly. When it returned to his face, Wei Wuxian was smiling ruefully, his own stare hovering somewhere around Lan Zhan’s torso.

“Have you decided where you are going to go?” Lan Zhan said.

Wei Wuxian’s lips twitched and he shook his head. He tipped his chin up thoughtfully. Defiantly. “It’s a big world that we live in. I will wander with my fine wine and a ride, and make it my home.”

Lan Zhan said nothing. His mouth curled in the approximation of a smile that did not look so happy. Wei Wuxian couldn’t stop staring at him. He held his gaze like he used to hold tadpoles in his cupped palms in Lotus Pier, terrified they would wriggle away at any moment.

He laughed, small. Embarrassed in the way of a guest only just realizing they had overstayed their welcome. “I’m lingering. I’m afraid if I linger too long we’ll start fighting again.”

Lan Zhan said coolly, “You are leaving. What else is there to fight about?”

Wei Wuxian looked down. He blinked, and he bit the inside of his cheek. Finally, he said, “Lan Zhan.” A moment, where he said nothing. Where he could’ve said anything, next. Instead, he said, “I will get going.”

Lan Zhan nodded, almost imperceptibly. Behind his ribs, Wei Wuxian’s heart curdled. He smiled and said, “Little Apple, let’s go.” He walked slowly by Lan Zhan, and Lan Zhan watched him go, stepping smoothly out of his path so no part of them touched.

When Wei Wuxian no longer had to look at Lan Zhan, he waved his hand over his head and called out, “As long as the sea is bound to wash up on the sand, and stars are above you, we will meet again!” There was even joy in it, ceaseless and fierce. He felt Lan Zhan’s eyes on his retreating back, just the same.

He walked for a very long time before he found the wherewithal to look behind him. He knows, to this day, that the white figure he saw in the distance, covered up so easily when he extended the pad of his thumb, like wiping away a smudge of ink, lived only in his imagination.    

He’s quite drunk. This is the only time he truly revisits the days of his lonely travels that didn’t have to be so lonely. His face is pleasant and his laugh enticing. He could’ve paid for the company, but he certainly didn’t have to. There were maidens he helped, whom he saved heroically from all sorts of terrifying and burdensome beasts. Maidens who flung themselves into his arms with wails of gratitude when he rescued them and giggled when he smiled at them. Fathers who tried to give him their daughters in thanks. He loved the attention, of course. Drank it up like a jar of Emperor’s Smile. Nothing felt better than soft lips whispering sweet nothings in his ear. He laughed, high and breathy and pink-cheeked while anonymous women fed him figs and poured liquor down his throat. These memories are wildflower-colored and frenetic, dotted amongst the dead dry grass of his mind. Spurts of birdsong against a stark white sky.

Nothing, nothing, nothing, they whispered to him. He gulps liquor and sags back onto the floor, melancholic. He drinks until he must have finished off the proprietor’s stock, because that could be the only reason he’s finally standing up to leave and reaching into his bag for—

More nothing.

Wei Wuxian blinks when he remembers that his bag—he doesn’t even carry a money pouch anymore, for why would he when he is with Lan Zhan—has seen no more than a stray thread from his robes and the dried skin of a loquat for months.

He puts a hand to his forehead and tries to think. He hates forcing himself to think. He prefers to be swept away by his thoughts, not painstakingly conjuring them when they’ve spent the whole afternoon floating in liquor like waterlilies on the surface of a pond.

He needs… he needs…

Wei Wuxian hastily scribbles a note on a nearby linen with a brush he steals from behind the proprietor’s counter. He sends it off in a flash of sparks, forgetting the shape he gave it the moment it leaves the room.

He drifts, until the sound of something hard being slammed down onto the table in front of him jerks him out of his stupor. Immediately, he wipes the side of his mouth with his sleeve as he registers the stoic figure in front of him, white-robed, one hand tucked behind his back. He grins, a kneejerk reaction to being in Lan Zhan’s personal space. “Lan Zhan. I’m always so happy to see you.”

Lan Zhan says from where he stands, “I got your chicken.”

“My chicken!” Wei Wuxian throws back his head and howls with laughter. There is a picture of a lovingly drawn chicken on the wall opposite Wei Wuxian. He points and says, “Lan Zhan! Had that drawing been salacious, you would have received quite a different message!” Even this inebriated, he is aware that this joke is only funny to himself. He leans forward and yanks at Lan Zhan’s robes. “Lan Zhan! Sit with me!”

Instead of acknowledging a single thing he just said, Lan Zhan bends down and pulls Wei Wuxian to his feet. Wei Wuxian sways, immediately, and Lan Zhan’s arm wraps firmly around his bicep. Wei Wuxian stares at where Lan Zhan’s fingers press into the fabric. He says, unthinkingly, “Harder.”

Lan Zhan’s gaze lands heavy on his. To Wei Wuxian’s very great surprise, Lan Zhan squeezes tighter.

Wei Wuxian gasps. Lan Zhan stares at his hand on Wei Wuxian’s arm with dark eyes. Then, he all but drags him out of the teahouse.

Wei Wuxian goes, stumbling and giggling into the cool wet of early evening. Time had slipped by him so cheekily inside. The sun is already preparing to set. He says, “Wait, Lan Zhan, the liquor. You paid?”

Lan Zhan wrests his eyes away from Wei Wuxian’s neck—are his robes crooked?—and says, “What?”

Wei Wuxian sways in close. With his free hand, he pokes Lan Zhan in the chest. “The reason I called you, Lan Zhan, dear, was to pay my bill.”

Lan Zhan stares at where Wei Wuxian’s finger dimples the front of his robes. Wei Wuxian says, “Ah—” and pulls his hand away. “Aha.” He smooths it out. Lan Zhan also watches this display.

When Wei Wuxian is done, Lan Zhan says, “I paid.”

Wei Wuxian melts into Lan Zhan’s stiff arms. Lan Zhan is still holding onto him, so he can only wrap one arm around him, nuzzling his face into Lan Zhan’s warm neck. He says, petulantly, “Don’t tell her about this. That you go around picking up your other wife’s tabs.”

“Practice wife,” Lan Zhan says, a little hoarse. He clears his throat and says, “You are not my wife.”

“Aren’t I?” His breath must reek of liquor. Lan Zhan’s face twists when he says that. He starts to pull Wei Wuxian along the quickly-emptying street, the early mist driving everyone inside to their candles and fires. Lan Zhan is blue and orange in the dying light of day.

Wei Wuxian is so drunk. He hiccups, then says, “Lan Zhan. I am… swimming. I am…” he giggles. “I am available, Lan Zhan. What if—what if—” He can barely talk through his little snorts of laughter, Lan Zhan still dragging him along. “Anyone could do anything to me right now and I wouldn’t do anything about it.” He plasters himself to Lan Zhan’s back. “You could make me your wife, Lan Zhan! Even if I protested! Even if I screamed! What could I do?!” Whip-quick, he flicks the tip of his tongue along the shell of Lan Zhan’s pink ear.

Lan Zhan unpeels Wei Wuxian from his back with an iron grip and deposits him off to the side, firmly on his own two feet. “Stop.”

Wei Wuxian pouts and crosses his arms. “‘Stop,’” he intones, drawing his brows together. He can’t keep it up for long before he melts back into a lopsided grin, tripping back into Lan Zhan’s space, wrapping his arms around one of Lan Zhan’s. “Lan Zhan,” he whines. “Let’s just go, ah? Me and you, right now, let’s get out of here. Any direction you want. All I ask is that we go immediately, and far.”

“No.”

“I’ll beg!” Wei Wuxian threatens. “I mean it, Lan Zhan! I’ll beg you on my knees!” He does indeed attempt to fall to his knees, right here on the pebbled walkway. Lan Zhan holds him steady, a muted panic rising in his expression as Wei Wuxian continues to fight him. He struggles against Lan Zhan’s unrelenting grip, grunting with exertion and then bubbling over with laughter. “Lan Zhan!” he cries as he puts his entire weight on Lan Zhan’s left forearm—Lan Zhan takes it easily—“If I didn’t know better, I would say you’re afraid I would beg you too good. You’re afraid I would beg you so good you’d give me whatever I wanted!”       

Wei Wuxian feels like a student again, saying any heinous thing that comes to mind without a moment’s consideration as to how it’ll land. He was always like this, but he was especially egregious with Lan Zhan. He was especially invested in how far he could push Lan Zhan. In finding out just how hard he had to push to get Lan Zhan to push back, and harder.

Indeed, instead of holding him up, Lan Zhan is suddenly pushing him down, hard. Wei Wuxian’s knees slam into the ground, Lan Zhan’s grip digging into the meat of his shoulder, so close to the drunk, overheated bare skin of Wei Wuxian’s neck that he may as well be grabbing him there.

There is a roaring in Wei Wuxian’s ears. His smile has dissipated, tucked away under his tongue for another moment, because this moment is…

Wei Wuxian could not smile. His mouth has fallen askew, shallow little breaths darting in and out of his lungs like quicksilver fish under the glare of the noonday sun. He stares up at Lan Zhan, glowing silhouette against the almost-night, and his mouth opens wider, tonguing instinctively along the inner, wettest line of his lips.

Lan Zhan glares down at him with an expression so stormy Wei Wuxian feels it swallow him. Voice dangerous and low, Lan Zhan dares him. “Try.”   

Wei Wuxian’s mouth floods with saliva. So much so that when he lifts his tongue to press it behind his front teeth, a little spurt of spit flies out and lands on Lan Zhan’s thigh. Unused to the hot clench of embarrassment in his chest, Wei Wuxian almost combusts on the spot.

He wraps a hand around Lan Zhan’s knee. It’s warm. Solid. Wei Wuxian’s palm feels damp and clammy in comparison. Like he’s watching himself from somewhere else, he falls forward, searching for somewhere to land.

And then—

A shout. A snappish, curt shout from a woman. A mother, ordering her ne'er-do-well children inside before full dark. The incoming footfalls of a gaggle of giggling kids.

Wei Wuxian was falling forward, and he continues falling, until he hits the street in front of him. The public street, because they are in public, and Lan Zhan has stepped out of the way of the incoming traffic. 

Wei Wuxian grabs his head and says, jumbled, “Aiiii. Aiya.”

The children thunder past. Lan Zhan stands, half behind him while Wei Wuxian pulls himself shakily to his feet and dusts himself off. There is the distant sound of shouting and a door sliding shut, and then quiet descends upon them once more.

Wei Wuxian says, with less fervor and more pitch than usual, “Ahahahahahaha…” Looking at Lan Zhan is suddenly the most difficult thing in the world. He rubs the back of his neck. “Lan Zhan, I—ah, aha, Lan Zhan, you’ve come to retrieve me? Is that what this journey of yours was for?”

If Lan Zhan nods, Wei Wuxian isn’t looking at him to see it. He continues, “I don’t think—I think I am going to stay out a little longer. Go for—a wander. Bask a little in the fresh air. If you could just… point me in the direction of the inn, once I decide to retire for the night.”

Because he asked Lan Zhan to direct him, Wei Wuxian has to look. He swallows as he does.

Lan Zhan is pointing Bichen down the street. He says, “That way,” perfectly unhelpful.

“Great.”

Lan Zhan hesitates. “You and Zhang Xiaolian—”

“No,” Wei Wuxian says immediately.

“There should be no enmity between you.”

Wei Wuxian takes a deep breath. “You want me to play nice with your betrothed.” Lan Zhan watches him. Wei Wuxian says, “This is the curse talking, Lan Zhan.”

Wei Wuxian doesn’t know exactly what happens in Lan Zhan’s head when he calls attention to the fact that his mind is not currently his own. The curse paired with Lan Zhan’s natural reticence makes it difficult to parse its inner machinations. Not that Wei Wuxian has been doing exceptionally well these past few days at investigating such things. Not that he imagines Lan Zhan would allow himself to be inspected and diagnosed so easily. He presses two fingers to his temple and closes his eyes and blurts out, “Lan Zhan… I’ll pay you back for the liquor. Someday.” His empty bag. His dried loquat skin. “What do I owe you?”

Wei Wuxian does not return to the inn. He passes by with some level of intent to turn inside and turn in. Instead, he breezes past it, deeper into the night.

It is not much of a surprise when he ends up back at the haunted house. Through the mist, the paper lanterns hang, limp and glowing, from where they’re suspended. Wei Wuxian is chilled and shivering when he locks eyes with Zhang Xiaolian, crouched by her makeshift camp beside the old, lightless firepit.

They make eye contact. There is a pile of sticks beside Zhang Xiaolian that Wei Wuxian regards with raised eyebrows. When she offers him no explanation for why they aren’t currently lit and warming her, Wei Wuxian walks away into the woods. He returns not much later, bundle of branches in his arms, and arranges them in a semi-respectable circle. Zhang Xiaolian watches him all the while. With a snap of his fingers, flames roar to life. Zhang Xiaolian winces. Wei Wuxian says, “You’re welcome. Sitting here in the cold and wet like a rat drowning in a field. Aiya.” He tsks and sits, shivering, and scoots closer to the fire with his palms out toward it. “Is this how you would present yourself to Lan Zhan after you’re wed? Disgraceful.”

Zhang Xiaolian says, “You’re the one who reeks of alcohol.”

Wei Wuxian glares at her, but the severity of it is almost certainly undermined by his bloodshot eyes. He inclines his head toward the house. “Our friends are quiet tonight.”

When Zhang Xiaolian doesn’t reply, they sink into silence, only the crackle of the fire around them. There are few other sounds of life, most of the living things in this part of the woods having long since evacuated away from their new, noisy neighbors. Eventually, Zhang Xiaolian pulls a knife out of her robes and begins whittling one of the sticks beside her. Wei Wuxian watches her for a time, mesmerized by the little curls of wood that fly off into the night.

“You make your own arrows?” Wei Wuxian says, once he realizes.

Zhang Xiaolian shrugs and doesn’t take her eyes off her work.

“Why don’t your parents buy them for you?”

Zhang Xiaolian scrapes her knife harder along the stick she’s carving. It suddenly snaps in her hands and she whips the pieces at Wei Wuxian. “Look what you did!”

Wei Wuxian throws his hands up in the air to defend himself. “I didn’t do anything! Looks like you got a shitty stick!”

Zhang Xiaolian mutters angrily under her breath and grabs another. She begins carving this one with hard, careless strokes.

“You’re going to cut your finger off,” Wei Wuxian says.

“Then Hanguang-jun will sew it back on for me, his wife!”

Wei Wuxian rolls his eyes. He says, “Lan Zhan says we should be friends.”

Zhang Xiaolian mouth twists in displeasure. Wei Wuxian says, “That’s what I said.” He stares into the fire, and then back at Zhang Xiaolian. “Let me tell you a story.”

“I don’t want to hear it.”

“When Lan Zhan and I were students together—have you heard of Gusu? It doesn’t matter—I loved to play around with him. Once, I placed one of my own creations on him—a puppeteering talisman. He did whatever I told him! Ah!” Wei Wuxian wipes his laughing face. Even now, an entire lifetime removed, he still remembers it fondly. “How morally reprehensible of me! We got punished quite badly for it, though it wasn’t even for the talisman. It was because we were drunk! Oh, those Lans. Such strange rules. Little maiden, I’ll be honest with you. It may not have been nice of me, but it was so funny. I made Lan Zhan call me gege, which he will never do again, even if I beg—trust me, I’ve tried—so it is imperative that I remember every moment of that night forever.”

Zhang Xiaolian looks like she just swallowed a rancid bite of food. Her two front teeth, protruding slightly, worry her chapped bottom lip. “Gross.”

“Lan Zhan is so fun to play with. He really is. I get it. I love to make him mad.”

Zhang Xiaolian tears some skin off her lip. Blood beads. “I didn’t do it to make him mad.”

Wei Wuxian meets her eye across the fire and raises an eyebrow. Zhang Xiaolian swallows and looks away, gaze downcast. She begins carving her arrow shafts again.

Wei Wuxian exhales a rueful laugh, resting his elbows on his crossed legs and shaking his head, tongue caught between his teeth. He slaps his thighs with his palms and stands. “Well! Enough sitting around!” He pulls Chenqing out from where it’s been resting at his belt, swiveled toward his back, twirling it with his fingers.

Zhang Xiaolian’s eyes go wide. “You—! How did you get that! Hanguang-jun—”

“—cannot possibly keep his eyes on it at all times,” Wei Wuxian simpers. He had not particularly enjoyed summoning Chenqing out of Lan Zhan’s bag after his back was turned on that street in Shanwei. Wei Wuxian will turn to deception if pushed, but has always preferred to face a man head on.  

As he takes his first step toward the house, immediately missing the warmth of the fire, a guttural shriek wrenches the night, so loud Wei Wuxian’s knees wobble. He turns.

Zhang Xiaolian has risen to her feet as well, face stark white. Her hand is extended toward Wei Wuxian. The tips of his fingers tingle. Her qi is moving through her so chaotically it vibrates the air around them. Her mouth, fallen open, is forming silent, desperate words.

Wei Wuxian stares at her. She is breathing hard. Wei Wuxian says, “Why?” and Chenqing slides in his clammy grip.

The words do not come. Wei Wuxian turns back around, Chenqing at his lips. He barely gets a note in before the flute is flung from his grip. Wei Wuxian watches it fly off into the night. He turns his head to face Zhang Xiaolian, thrusting his hand out behind him. “That’s no kind of answer, little maiden!” Moments later, Chenqing whistles back into his palm. Zhang Xiaolian stares at it in shock. Wei Wuxian smiles at her, waves with it, and begins to play anew.

He is much larger than her, but it means little when he’s caught unprepared and Zhang Xiaolian throws herself bodily at him, knocking them both to the ground.

She rolls off him immediately. When she stands, there is an open flame in her palm.

Wei Wuxian snaps, “Isn’t this what you want? Isn’t this what you called Hanguang-jun here for?!” Understanding clunks into his mind. “The curse—it will lift once we finish the night hunt?”

For a moment, Wei Wuxian imagines it. Saving the day and Lan Zhan in one fell swoop. How clean it would be. How easy.

The buoyancy in his chest quickly deflates when Zhang Xiaolian laughs at him with no hint of dishonesty. “You’re such an idiot, Wei Wuxian!” she snaps. The fire in her palm casts her face in strange, harsh shadow. “You think I would design a spell in such a way? Hanguang-jun is going to keep me safe forever. He will not be with anyone else ever again.”

Wei Wuxian stares at her. It takes a moment for him to summon it, and then he’s wheezing with laughter, curled into himself and slapping his hand against the ground in amusement. “You—!” he cries, pointing with Chenqing. “Who do you think Hanguang-jun is? Some kind of pristine virgin who has never touched another woman?! Hahahahahahaha!” He laughs so hard his stomach aches.

Zhang Xiaolian’s face has gone pink, even in the glow of the fire. Her eyes are wide and darting. Wei Wuxian can’t even tell if she understands what they’re talking about. What she definitely understands is that she refuses to lose any ground in her battle with him. She cries, “Hanguang-jun has been with no others! He saved himself for me!”

Wei Wuxian puts a delicate hand to his chest. “He told you that?!” At Zhang Xiaolian’s damning silence, he continues, finger pressed thoughtfully to his chin, “It’s not like my dear friend Lan Zhan to lie! You should know, Zhang Xiaolian, he brings fair maidens to our home by the bundle! He ties them up with rope and throws them across his strong shoulders and do you know what he does then?”

“What!” Zhang Xiaolian snaps, defiant, jaw stone.

“He eats them…” Wei Wuxian tries not to burst into the kind of laughter that will completely blow up his spot. “…up! He roasts them over the fire and devours them like pigs!” 

“No!”

“Yeah!” Wei Wuxian cries. “Yeah, he does! I’ve seen him do it!”

“No!” Zhang Xiaolian shrieks. She crushes the fire in her palm and slams both hands over her ears. “No, he doesn’t! He’s good! He helps!”

Wei Wuxian props himself up on an elbow, head in his palm. He speaks louder, to ensure she doesn’t miss a word. “I’ve even shared a girl with him before! Do you have any idea how good toes taste? If you don’t like the taste of toes you should lift the spell and go find yourself another husband!”

And then Zhang Xiaolian collapses to the ground in a heap, sobbing.

Wei Wuxian says, “Ah—” and his grin, tinged with mania, slides off his face with all the grace of a raw egg hurled at his head.

Zhang Xiaolian cries great, heaving sobs. Her shoulders shudder with them. Wei Wuxian, frozen, can only stare. Beyond them, the haunted house groans to life. The paper lanterns sway in the non-existent breeze.

After an excruciating amount of time, Zhang Xiaolian unfurls her hand and the flames erupt once more, very quickly in Wei Wuxian’s direction. She never even lifts her head as he dives out of the way, gliding and touching down near the treeline. Though the flames missed him, they hit Zhang Xiaolian’s pile of arrows and arrows-to-be.

For a moment, they stop. Wei Wuxian watches Zhang Xiaolian watch the fire, eyes filled to the brim, short, choppy hair falling into her face… and then he really figures it out. Her hair isn’t short on purpose.

It’s singed.

Wei Wuxian says, “This is your house.”

The look Zhang Xiaolian gives him is murderous. With a flick of her fingers, she sends him flying through the air, directly into a nearby tree. If he still had his core, he probably would have gone right through it. As it is, if he hit the tree any harder, his spine would have snapped like a chicken bone.

He falls to the ground with a dull thud. For a moment, he can only press his forehead into the dirt. The paper lanterns, new when nothing else was. He really is an idiot.

Scrabbling at the bark for balance, Wei Wuxian pulls himself to his feet. Zhang Xiaolian is thrumming with power, the world around her gone hazy. When Wei Wuxian’s vision swims back into focus, he can see a space between her feet and the ground. He wheezes, “Zhang Xiaolian. I will take them on. Just let me.” Chenqing is lying on the ground, too far away for him to make a run for without her noticing. “You have to let them go.”

Zhang Xiaolian cries, “I don’t want them here!”

Wei Wuxian says, “Then let me take care of it!”

Still, her gaze pins him to the tree. The spirits in the house—her parents, oh, her six-year-old sister—have begun to wail. No wonder the resentful energy crawled in so rapidly. It came directly from Zhang Xiaolian, and so began the feedback loop, months in the making. Wei Wuxian says, putting it together, “You only became this strong after the fire, right?”

Zhang Xiaolian’s mouth puckers. A tear escapes, and she wipes furiously at it. “I want Hanguang-jun.”

“It’s rare,” Wei Wuxian says, grimacing. He suspects a rib or two of being broken. “But it’s possible for a golden core to rapidly develop in response to trauma. It’s a self-preservation instinct.”

Zhang Xiaolian says, so quietly Wei Wuxian almost misses it, “It was an accident.”

Ah. Much of Zhang Xiaolian’s power is fire-based.

Zhang Xiaolian says, louder, “I want Hanguang-jun!” Her hands are balled into fists at her sides.

Wei Wuxian takes a step toward Chenqing. When Zhang Xiaolian glares, he says, “I think we can settle this matter ourselves.”

Her bottom lip trembles. “I want—I want—”

Wei Wuxian quicksteps over to Chenqing, plucking it off the ground. “You want to be safe,” he finishes quietly for her. His fingers twitch.  

Zhang Xiaolian wipes once more at her blotchy face, watching him with glittering, angry eyes. Wei Wuxian says, “Do you really want to fight more, little maiden? Or do you want your problem solved? You will lose people in this life all the time. You have to let them go.”

Zhang Xiaolian breathes raggedly, saying nothing.

Wei Wuxian brings Chenqing to his lips. When he gets through the first series of hesitant notes without getting blasted off his feet again, he plays with more gusto. He calls to the resentful energy, beckoning it toward him, inside him. He will hold it, for a time, and then it will dissipate, and he will be okay. Lan Zhan does not know about the inkblot stains on his insides. He doesn’t need to. Lan Zhan would snap Chenqing in half if he knew.

Wei Wuxian has the first tendril of resentful energy twined around his wrist when he realizes something is wrong. It’s moving slow and syrupy, hesitant in a way Wei Wuxian has never seen. Usually, Wei Wuxian’s live human body is temptation enough for such things. But it isn’t life these spirits want. It isn’t blood they want. Wei Wuxian has nothing to offer them.

He furrows his brow and plays more insistently. Come on, come on, come along… you are dead, you are dead, come with me, inside me…

For the first time in a long time, the dead do not want him.

He lowers Chenqing and uses it to point at Zhang Xiaolian. “Zhang Xiaolian! Let them go!” The cries from the house have risen to such a pitch that he has to shout to be heard. The sky above them, already black with night, darkens. Resentful energy oozes through the clearing, no longer content to remain within the confines of four walls and a roof.

Again, Zhang Xiaolian cries, “I don’t want them here!” To the skies, she shrieks, “Go away!”

“They are clinging to you! You’re keeping them here!” Rain starts to fall. Already wet from his nighttime wanderings, Wei Wuxian hardly notices. Mist hangs heavy around them. “I can’t call them to me when you are calling so strongly to them.”

“Why would I summon Hanguang-jun if I didn’t want them gone!”

“Indeed! Why indeed, little maiden! Aiya, your mouth says you want them gone, but what does your heart say? Sometimes the two don’t communicate so well.”

Zhang Xiaolian’s feet ascend further. Her eyes flash, dangerous. An invisible force shoves him back to the ground, on his knees. “I want them gone!” she cries. “Gone!” With a twist of her wrist, her already-gutted house bursts into flames. There should be nothing left to catch, and yet the fire roars away, heedless of what it should or shouldn’t be able to burn.

Fires are unbearably loud. Combined with the cries of the spirits and the rain pattering down around them, Wei Wuxian can hear little else. With every breath he heaves in, there is a sharp pain in his torso. The blood in his mouth is tangy on his tongue.

The flames reach the roof of the house, sail outward, and lick their way onto a nearby tree. Given something living, the fire consumes it rapidly, following the branch back to the trunk, spring leaves curling and crisping in moments. Wei Wuxian watches in horror as the fire jumps from tree to tree, hungry for something more than the house can give it. He tries to put it out with his own spell, but he’s no match for Zhang Xiaolian’s out of control power. With an overdeveloped core like this, she is all strength and no finesse. Wei Wuxian couldn’t possibly compete. She might even prove a formidable foe to Lan Zhan. More times than not, overdeveloped cores result in qi deviation. He can see the signs. The mania, the gone-far-away eyes, the full-body trembling. This has been in motion since the fire, thrumming away under her child-skin for months. She rises higher than Wei Wuxian is tall, higher than the paper lanterns, the roof, the chimney. She surveys the ground below her, teeth bared. “Wei Wuxian,” she calls. “I think I have had enough of you!” She glances from him to the house, to the forest around them. “I think I have had enough of all of this.”

She raises a hand.

From below, a golden bond wraps around her wrist. It tugs her out of her position. In the air, she stumbles and growls.

From his spot on the ground, Wei Wuxian follows the golden thread back to its owner.

“Lan Zhan!” There’s no possible way Lan Zhan hears him over the cacophony—the fire is still consuming everything in its path, a path that is rapidly heading for Wei Wuxian—but Lan Zhan meets his eye anyway. Their brief exchange is interrupted when Zhang Xiaolian sends a streak of flame in Lan Zhan’s direction. Lan Zhan retracts his golden thread and twists elegantly out of the way.

Wei Wuxian yells, “Hey! That’s your husband! Be nice!”

Zhang Xiaolian turns in his direction. Wei Wuxian still can’t move, which proves problematic when her next bout of flame comes straight for him. He struggles against a force he can’t see, in every possible direction, but to no avail.

A moment before he’s hit, a streak of white slams into him from the side, hard enough both to knock Zhang Xiaolian’s hold off and Wei Wuxian’s breath out of him in a hysterical wheeze. He tries to ignore the further cracks he hears from his torso. Lan Zhan deposits him in the center of the clearing, closer to Zhang Xiaolian but further away from the fire. When Lan Zhan lets go of him, Wei Wuxian sways, dangerously enough that Lan Zhan has to grab him once more and hold on to keep him steady. Wei Wuxian says, hoarsely, “Excellent timing, Lan Zhan! Your wife needs some assistance.”

Lan Zhan puts a hand on Wei Wuxian’s chest. He says, “You’re injured.”

Wei Wuxian’s heart thuds so hard it hurts his broken ribs. “…your other wife, Lan Zhan.”

Lan Zhan stares at him. Then he looks up. Zhang Xiaolian is staring down at them, more and more impatient. He intones, “Zhang Xiaolian.”

“Betrothed,” she says. “You tried to bind me.”

“Put out the fire,” Lan Zhan says.

Zhang Xiaolian, a trickle of blood falling from each eye, ignores him and glides away, closer to the house, suddenly grown weary of this conversation.   

Wei Wuxian puts a hand to his ribs. An involuntary groan escapes him. Immediately, Lan Zhan’s hands are on him, gently lying him out on the ground. “Ah! Ah, ah, ah—” Wei Wuxian says as Lan Zhan carefully prods his torso. “I’m fine, I’m fine, I’m f—ah, Lan Zhan?” Wei Wuxian stares at Lan Zhan’s hands on him. “Lan Zhan, are you still cursed?”

Lan Zhan stops his ministrations. He goes stiff for a moment, and then says, with great difficulty, “Yes.”

Wei Wuxian tries to scramble up, but Lan Zhan holds him down. It hurts. Rain falls. Wei Wuxian is shuddering, freezing, and he only knows it because Lan Zhan’s hands are so hot on him. “Lan Zhan?!”

“She… is distracted,” Lan Zhan grits out. “Qi deviating… too busy for me.” His face twitches minutely. Distracted she may be, she didn’t lie. Zhang Xiaolian’s spellwork is very good.

“Okay, okay, okay,” Wei Wuxian blurts. “How do I save you? What can you tell me about it? How does it feel?”

“Bad,” Lan Zhan says, and Wei Wuxian hiccups out a laugh through a sudden flood of tears. The fire has started inching closer again. Wei Wuxian has no idea what Zhang Xiaolian is doing. He can’t find it in himself to care. He grabs onto Lan Zhan’s arm so hard his fingertips turn white.

“Lan Zhan, a few times since we’ve arrived here, it’s looked like—like the fog lifted momentarily. What was that? What was happening there?”

To Wei Wuxian’s great surprise, Lan Zhan casts his gaze downward, almost like he’s—

“Lan Zhan!” Wei Wuxian tries to shake some sense into him. Lan Zhan refuses to let himself be shaken. “Now isn’t the time to be bashful! Just tell me!”

Lan Zhan’s gaze roams Wei Wuxian’s face. Then, he deposits Wei Wuxian carefully onto the ground. Mud squelches into the folds of his robes, cold and slimy. “Stay.”

“What?!”  

“Stay,” Lan Zhan repeats. Before Wei Wuxian can argue, he has fluttered off, gliding in Zhang Xiaolian’s direction.

Wei Wuxian shouts, “Lan Zhan! Aiya!” He whines out loud to no one, pulling himself into a more comfortable position. It really is difficult to breathe. The smoke hovering over all of them now is certainly doing little to help. “Stupid,” Wei Wuxian mutters. “Stupid, Lan Zhan.”

He watches Lan Zhan land on the roof of the house, enveloped by smoke and flame. Zhang Xiaolian is still floating, near enough for them to converse. Wei Wuxian watches their mouths move, but he can’t hear what they’re saying.

Lan Zhan… Lan Zhan is momentarily lucid. This is his chance, and Lan Zhan won’t tell him—

Wei Wuxian presses his face into the cold mud in frustration. When he surfaces, he wipes his eyes clear and searches once more for Chenqing. He spots it, lying not far away in a puddle. Gritting his teeth, he half-crawls, half-drags himself over to it. He tips some water out of its body, sadly plucks at the sopping string the tassel used to hang from, and puts it to his mouth. Though he can’t summon the spirits to him, he can calm them, at least.

He plays Cleansing. When they hear the first notes, both Lan Zhan and Zhang Xiaolian look at him. Lan Zhan’s expression is hard, until he recognizes the song. He nods at Wei Wuxian, small. Wei Wuxian winks at him.

For a time, Wei Wuxian plays Cleansing in the rain and the fire. He keeps an eye on Lan Zhan and Zhang Xiaolian. Zhang Xiaolian has her back to him, but it is all rigid, severe lines that tremble. He especially keeps an eye on Lan Zhan, the familiar lines of his face and the wet sweep of hair over his shoulders. He speaks occasionally, and Wei Wuxian watches the shape of his mouth.

The fire blazes around them. Trees fall over in the forest, their insides turned to ash. The metallic taste in his mouth grows stronger and it’s difficult to regulate his breathing while playing Chenqing. The world slowly blurs at the edges. Wei Wuxian tries to breathe deeper.

Despite the multitude of threats around them that could close in at any moment, Wei Wuxian feels…

He briefly meets Lan Zhan’s eyes again. They’re still clear.

Another rain-clad night hunt, from what feels like reincarnations ago. Lan Zhan! This is the life! You and me! Wei Wuxian has watched Lan Zhan in the rain, human and accessible. He has watched Lan Zhan in the rain, face stony and with killer intent etched into every crevice. He has watched Lan Zhan in the rain, under an umbrella, standing aside to let him and his people flee to relative safety, all of them enemies of the cultivation world with a price on their heads. He has watched Lan Zhan in the rain, watching him, face open and scared, as he passed spiritual energy into Wei Wuxian’s exhausted, coreless body after confronting Jin Guangyao in Jinlintai.

On Wei Wuxian’s first night with the Jiang family, there was a tree. He climbed it. He fell out of it. Shijie almost caught him.

When Lan Zhan returned with Wei Wuxian to Lotus Pier after the second siege of the Burial Mounds, there was a tree. He climbed it. He jumped out of it. Lan Zhan caught him.

When Wei Wuxian was sick, injured, or otherwise annoying, he would beg shijie to make him pork rib and lotus root soup. He would whine and cajole and wheedle until he got his way, and she would produce a pot large enough for multiple servings for both him and Jiang Cheng.

During one of the good weeks at Cloud Recesses, Wei Wuxian joined Lan Zhan in the jingshi for dinner one night, only to behold a very familiar scent that he had not yet experienced in his second life. When Lan Zhan pulled the lid off the pot and he was hit with the full aroma—spicy, fatty, warm, home—Wei Wuxian had crumpled to the ground right there. It took him ages to pull himself together, Lan Zhan’s hands holding both of his arms, tight enough it made Wei Wuxian sigh. Grounded him. Eventually, Wei Wuxian weakly demanded an explanation.

Lan Zhan had written to Lotus Pier. Asked for the recipe. Shijie had never written it down, but the cooks were loathe to return Hanguang-jun’s letter with only apologies inside. They recreated it as best they could, and sent back their findings. Lan Zhan had taken the recipe to the kitchens in Cloud Recesses and—truly, when Wei Wuxian heard this, he thought he was going to faint—started practicing. Lan Zhan warned him before he ate that it wouldn’t be as good as the original article—it wasn’t, but that affected the feeling that surged up in Wei Wuxian’s chest as he drank down the broth not at all—and in response Wei Wuxian had only thrown his arms around Lan Zhan, burying his face in his neck. His hands had trembled against Lan Zhan’s skin, breath coming in little puffs of air against Lan Zhan’s throat and Wei Wuxian—ached.

Wei Wuxian’s earliest memory is of sitting on a donkey, held by his mother while his father walked ahead, reins in hand. He remembers his mother’s laugh, a contagious thing that bubbled in his chest.  

When Wei Wuxian and Lan Zhan travel together with Little Apple, Wei Wuxian sits atop her and Lan Zhan walks astride, reins in hand. He often laughs at the things Lan Zhan says, the things he says himself, or Little Apple’s most tragic sigh of the hour.

Once, Wei Wuxian had maneuvered himself into the precarious position of standing on Little Apple’s back. Lan Zhan watched him struggle in silence, then when he succeeded, only said, “Why.” Little Apple chose that moment to decide she refused to be treated like this any longer, reared up, and sent Wei Wuxian flying directly into Lan Zhan’s arms. He beamed up at him, tugging a stray strand of Lan Zhan’s hair, and said nothing, too overcome with delight to speak.

Wei Wuxian always held his own in his first life. He took fierce pride in it, even when his legs threatened to give out from under him. It has only been in this new life, these past months traveling with Lan Zhan, that he’s learned he doesn’t always have to. That Lan Zhan will hold some for him. That Lan Zhan will hold him. That Lan Zhan will catch him.

Wei Wuxian looks at Lan Zhan, here and now in the rain, and even surrounded by fire, he feels safe.

He exhales slowly into his next note, and then stops playing altogether. Chenqing falls to his side.

Wei Wuxian says, “Lan Zhan.” It is hardly above his normal speaking volume and they are far away from each other, but Lan Zhan looks at him regardless.

He considers the curse’s hooks in Lan Zhan. The ones that didn’t—couldn’t—sink all the way in.

Wei Wuxian says, “Come here, please.” His voice is a little higher than usual.

Lan Zhan looks at him, then glances at Zhang Xiaolian. He says something brief to her, then glides down to Wei Wuxian’s side. He says, still a little stilted, an assurance: “Wei Ying.”

Wei Wuxian frowns. He says, dreamily, “Lan Zhan. I think I figured it out.”

Lan Zhan swallows. Wei Wuxian blinks at the bob of his throat. His lips part. He looks back up at Lan Zhan, who watches him with guarded eyes. “I really hope I’m right,” Wei Wuxian murmurs. His hands track up the front of Lan Zhan’s sopping robes, gripping them tight at the fold. “Or else this is going to involve a very humiliating explanation afterwards.”

The last thing Wei Wuxian sees before diving forward in the mud and kissing Lan Zhan is the stray raindrops collected on the ends of his eyelashes.

Wei Wuxian has no baseline from which to measure this kissing experience. Lan Zhan is his first, his only. Lan Zhan’s mouth is hot and Wei Wuxian’s is sloppy. He does what feels right and parts his lips. There is a frantic, terrifying moment where neither of them does anything. Then, Lan Zhan’s hands. One at his waist, one at the back of his neck, and together they pull Wei Wuxian forward, closer. Lan Zhan accepts his invitation and his tongue is in Wei Wuxian’s mouth, insistent and learning and new, and Wei Wuxian can’t decide if he doesn’t have the strength to keep holding onto Lan Zhan’s robe or if he has to grip it so tight he tears the fabric. Wei Wuxian says, “Ah—ah,” little gasps into Lan Zhan’s mouth that he can’t and won’t muffle, and he is smiling and pained and soaking wet and suffering from multiple internal injuries.

They splash down together into the mud, Lan Zhan taking the brunt of the impact. He kisses Wei Wuxian, grasping at his waist with such intent that Wei Wuxian whimpers into his mouth.

Wei Wuxian is—held. Held so well he thinks if they stayed like this for long enough, his ribs would simply knit themselves back together. Rain splatters against them and the smoke burns his throat and resentful energy wails in the background and Wei Wuxian slides his lips against Lan Zhan’s. Lan Zhan cups his elbow and Wei Wuxian licks his top lip, because he wants to.

When they finally pull apart, breathing hard, Wei Wuxian gasps, “Lan Zhan? Still cursed?”

Lan Zhan is soaked through to the skin. His hair is plastered to his face. An endless stream of water runs from his chin. He stares at Wei Wuxian, lips red and parted and hypnotic. He says, “…no.”

Wei Wuxian flails in delight and slips in the mud. Lan Zhan catches him at the crease where his hip meets his thigh. “Great news, Lan Zhan! Because your betrothed is floating this way with murder in her eyes and I could really use your protection. Also, I’m rapidly losing consciousness!”

Through a tunnel of gray, Wei Wuxian watches Zhang Xiaolian come to a stop, still high enough to be out of reach. The rain whips around her, face wan and shoes like shoddily wrapped wares from a discount butcher’s stall that only sells greasy mystery meat. Her eyes, when they meet Wei Wuxian’s, flicker orange in the reflection of the fire that is swiftly growing out of control around them. She growls, “Wei Wuxian.”

Lan Zhan steps between them, hand on Bichen’s hilt. Zhang Xiaolian’s gaze drops to it before returning to Lan Zhan. She says, “Hanguang-jun.” When Lan Zhan says nothing and moves not at all, Zhang Xiaolian only smiles. The corner of her mouth twitches. “Should I concede defeat?”

Wei Wuxian says, vision on the brink of blinking out, “Would you mind? I’d love to get out of this rain.”

Her eyes flash. One of Wei Wuxian’s already cracked ribs twists in his chest and he gasps.

Lan Zhan says, “Zhang Xiaolian!”  

Zhang Xiaolian tilts her head consideringly, pursing her lips. “I don’t actually think I ever needed you at all, Hanguang-jun,” she says. Blood trickles down her hands in rivulets.

“You are qi deviating,” Lan Zhan says.

Zhang Xiaolian shrugs. “So?” She sweeps her arm out in a great arc, the wall of fire jumping from the treeline to hot at their backs. Immediately, Lan Zhan scoops Wei Wuxian up in his arms and sails away from the flames. They land in front of the house. Lan Zhan is graceful, but even he can’t stop Wei Wuxian’s protruding bones from poking his insides. A curled paper lantern grazes the top of Lan Zhan’s shoulder, smoking gently. From inside, the shrieks of resentful energy continue. 

Wei Wuxian mindlessly thrusts his hand out. Moments later, Chenqing emerges from the flame, scalding hot in his palm. When he opens his eyes, Lan Zhan is staring at him, mouth askew. Wei Wuxian says, “Ah—! You didn’t see that, did you?” He hurriedly slots Chenqing into Lan Zhan’s bag and puts a hand to his forehead. “Um, save me, Lan Zhan!”

Zhang Xiaolian drifts down to sit on the roof above them, legs dangling off the edge. She kicks her feet in glee.

Lan Zhan shifts his hold on Wei Wuxian so that the curve of his body rests in the crook of Lan Zhan’s elbow. With his free hand, he unsheathes his qin and begins to pluck out the strains of Cleansing.

Zhang Xiaolian looks genuinely curious, leaning forward. “That’s the song from the other day.”

“I am trying to stop your qi deviation,” Lan Zhan says while he plays.  

Zhang Xiaolian blinks at him, and then she laughs.

Wei Wuxian tugs at Lan Zhan’s sleeve and says, “Lan Zhan. The house. It’s hers. The family—”

“I gathered,” Lan Zhan says mildly.

Zhang Xiaolian grins. “What if I said if you take me as your wife I’ll stop? Your real wife. No spells.”

“I would decline.”

Wei Wuxian definitely cracks another rib with the force of his sudden bark of laughter. When he settles, he lets his head loll backwards and drawls, “Zhang Xiaolian. Little maiden. I’m sorry you killed your family. I killed my family, too, you know.”

This is the first time Wei Wuxian has ever heard Lan Zhan stumble on a qin note. He rights himself quickly, but his grip on Wei Wuxian tightens.

Zhang Xiaolian regards him with hostile, suspicious eyes.

Wei Wuxian spreads his arms as best he can, an open book. “We’ve gotten to know each other fairly well over these past few days, hm? Do you really think I’m not the kind of person who could do such a thing?”

Zhang Xiaolian narrows her eyes at where Lan Zhan’s hand rests on Wei Wuxian’s hip. “Are you the kind of person who can do any such thing?”

“Ah, a great question!” Wei Wuxian plucks at Lan Zhan’s sleeve. “Not if Lan Zhan can do it for me.”

“Why?” she demands. Her feet have stopped swinging.

“Hmm,” Wei Wuxian says, stroking his chin. “Well, I just think that sometimes you need a big strong man to do things for you. I would think such a sentiment would resonate with you, seeing as you called one here in the first place.”

“I don’t need Hanguang-jun. Look at what I can do!”

Indeed, the world around them is a mess.

Wei Wuxian says, “Ah, yes. Oh, and about your dead mother, dead father, and dead little sister. What can you do about them?”

Lan Zhan flexes his grip on Wei Wuxian’s hip as he continues to play. A warning.

Zhang Xiaolian’s bottom lip quivers. Almost half-heartedly, she sends a spit of fire toward Wei Wuxian. Lan Zhan deflects it with a single note, glaring. Wei Wuxian says, “Please, Lan Zhan. That was practically friendly fire.”

Zhang Xiaolian says, “What do you mean?”

Wei Wuxian says, “Well, are you going to bring them back from the dead? Have you decided to become a necromancer? It’s not an enviable occupation, but it’s an achievable one.”

Zhang Xiaolian says, “I—”

“I’m something of an expert in the matter. I’ll show you. I’ll stay here as long as it takes if you want to learn how to raise the dead.”

Zhang Xiaolian says, “That’s—”

“They burned, yes? Their bodies turned to ash in that house? When you bring them back, I can’t say exactly what you will get. Flaps of skin. Oozing eye sockets. That smell of burning, always. Popping bone and sizzling flesh.”

Zhang Xiaolian shoots a much less friendly stream of fire at him. Lan Zhan meets this one in the middle with a precise application of Chord Assassination. Now, she glares at Lan Zhan. “You brought him back.”

“No,” Lan Zhan says. “He came back.”

Wei Wuxian’s eyebrows fly up. “You told her that?!”

Lan Zhan says, unimpressed, “I did not have much say in the matter when asked.”

Zhang Xiaolian says, “Sixteen years! Who’s to say in sixteen years they won’t come back, too.” Behind her words, the bones of the house creak in agony. The screams continue. Wei Wuxian’s clinging to consciousness with white knuckles.

“They won’t,” Lan Zhan says. He doesn’t say it gently or cruelly. Simply stating it as the fact it is.

“They could!”

“They will not.”   

“Lan Zhan didn’t burn down any provinces after I died,” Wei Wuxian chips in. “That I know of.” He looks to Lan Zhan for confirmation, who nods. “He—” Wei Wuxian swallows. He still doesn’t know much about those years, and it’s not for lack of trying. He has had to fill in a lot of the blanks himself. Sizhui helped. “His grief was very noble. Very…” He chuckles and his vision goes hazy. “Very productive. Hanguang-jun really likes to keep people safe, and not even for the glory of it all. He just does it, doesn’t he?”

Zhang Xiaolian says, “So?”

“Are you becoming someone they would be proud of?” Lan Zhan asks quietly. “If you met them again in another life, could you hold your head high?”

Wei Wuxian is seized with a sudden pain in his chest. His throat flutters, threatens to choke him.

Zhang Xiaolian says, voice breaking, “I don’t care about that!”

Wei Wuxian says, “Dear, come down from the roof.” To Lan Zhan, he says, “Dear, stop holding me like a baby for just a moment, okay? Just—that’s it, gentle, lower, right onto the ground, perfect, Lan Zhan.” Lan Zhan’s hand stays at his waist, steady. Wei Wuxian’s thoughts are sluggish in his brain, sloshing thickly around inside his skull.

Zhang Xiaolian glares at them. Wei Wuxian says, “Don’t make me come up there.”

Zhang Xiaolian stares at him balefully.

When Wei Wuxian bends his knees, Lan Zhan’s grip on him tightens. Wei Wuxian turns his head to complain and is immediately cowed by the look on Lan Zhan’s face. He turns back to Zhang Xiaolian and says threateningly, jabbing a finger in her direction, “You got lucky, this time.” He clutches his ribs. “You have some blood on your face, little maiden. More blood than before, I mean.”

Lan Zhan says quietly, for Wei Wuxian’s ears only, “Wei Ying. A binding talisman. Your blue rope spell.”

Wei Wuxian absently pats Lan Zhan’s chest while keeping his eyes on Zhang Xiaolian. “No.” He grabs a fistful of Lan Zhan’s robes, just because he can. Squeezes them.

Zhang Xiaolian, a light sheen covering her skin, watches this moment play out in fascination. She wipes beads of sweat off her upper lip and says to Lan Zhan, “He really is your wife?”

Lan Zhan looks at Wei Wuxian, who purses his lips and nods, giving him a casual as-you-please gesture, a rolling of the wrist.

Lan Zhan looks back at Zhang Xiaolian and says, “Yes.” Wei Wuxian turns his head away and bites his knuckle so hard he leaves marks in the skin.

“Hm,” Zhang Xiaolian says, nodding thoughtfully before pitching forward off the roof.

Wei Wuxian yells and lunges, barely able to save her head from smashing into the ground. In turn, Lan Zhan lunges after him, holding him upright when Wei Wuxian’s vision inverts and he stumbles.

Zhang Xiaolian, blinking back to consciousness, crawls away from him. She leaves bloody handprints on the ground.

“That would be the qi deviation,” Wei Wuxian informs her helpfully. The heat from the fire moves closer to them, an immovable wall. It swallows up their makeshift camp with no mercy. The sound of wood cracking and wheezing and burned-out trees collapsing under their own weight surrounds them.

Zhang Xiaolian crawls to the front door of her home and lies in front of it, curled up like a miserable cat.

“Oh,” Wei Wuxian says. Resentful energy ebbs and flows around her, a dark sea amidst the flame. “Are you done now? If you are, could you put out the fire?”

Once again, the notes of Cleansing sweeten the night. They are still simple and few, for one of Lan Zhan’s hands remain at Wei Wuxian’s waist, nigh unmovable, save for Wei Wuxian himself putting a hand on his forearm and saying, “Lan Zhan. A moment.”

Lan Zhan continues to play while Wei Wuxian stumbles forward and lies in front of Zhang Xiaolian, arms outstretched and knees bent under him. When he glances up at her, she is watching him, eyes glittering angrily in the darkness. Wei Wuxian extends a hand from where he lies on the ground, whistling softly, and the tendrils of resentful energy dance for him. They don’t want to come to him, but he can still make them twirl.

“I’ll try to stop being a sore winner,” he says as he lets it dissipate around his finger and drift back into the cloud swirling around Zhang Xiaolian. He misses it, sometimes, like a toothache. The way it filled the hollow spots inside him.

Zhang Xiaolian curls in tighter around herself and Wei Wuxian says, “Aiya, stop, stop, stop! How can we be enemies if you act like this?!” The cold mud does feel good on his feverish limbs. He could sleep in it. Instead, he says to this feral cat of a girl, every hair standing on end, “Little maiden. You have to let them go.” She glowers at the ground.

Wei Wuxian says, “Lan Zhan.” Immediately, Cleansing stops. A presence at his back. Wei Wuxian thrusts his hand toward it. “A strip of white cloth, please.”

There is no hesitation. Only the sound of Lan Zhan tearing a perfect rectangle from his robes. He places it in Wei Wuxian’s hand, and when Wei Wuxian clenches his fingers around it, he catches Lan Zhan’s between his own. He grins, rueful and private, and turns back to Zhang Xiaolian, who eyes him warily. When he leans closer, she stiffens and he tsks. “Ai, sit properly. I’m not tying you up this time, promise.”

With shuddering arms, Zhang Xiaolian pushes herself into a sitting position. Grimacing at the pull in his ribs, Wei Wuxian ties the white cloth around Zhang Xiaolian’s waist. It is not his finest work, but he knots it well enough. There is a lot of slack on the already short length of cloth. He says, “Carry them with you for now, then cast it off. Into a volcano. A raging river. Or just on the hard-packed dirt path behind you.”

Zhang Xiaolian’s eyebrows pull together. From behind him, though Lan Zhan says nothing, the air squeezes between them unpleasantly.

The fire, close enough now that sweat is beading along Wei Wuxian’s hairline, recedes. Zhang Xiaolian says quietly, “They’re still here.”

Wei Wuxian glances at the house. Behind its walls, the spirits are still crying. Wailing. He watches the resentful energy sweep away one of the paper lanterns, pulling it into the fire. Eyes glued to its melting, receding form, he says, “If you let them go, they will go. They don’t want to be here.”

The fire recedes further. Zhang Xiaolian says, “They’re gone.” Two fat tears tremble on her lower lashes, knocked down her face with the force of the rain. “It’s my fault.”

Wei Wuxian says, “Does it matter?”

She hiccups, and chokes. Her fingers claw at the mud beneath her. Wei Wuxian, frozen, can only watch.

Then Lan Zhan steps out from behind him. He very deliberately walks over to Zhang Xiaolian and bends to one knee beside her. “I would like to put my arms around you,” he says. It is stilted, awkward, and triggers a sudden, violent, since-forgotten memory in Wei Wuxian. A normal day in Cloud Recesses, months ago now, spring on the cusp of summer, and he woke up on the floor of the jingshi, chest caving in and world tinged hazy at the edges. Lan Zhan thought he had been hit by some kind of spell, bitten by an animal, or taken horribly ill. When the Lan healer could find nothing wrong with him, Lan Zhan sent her away in an icy rage and returned to Wei Wuxian’s side, since moved to Lan Zhan’s bed. He had informed Wei Wuxian of his intentions, and then pulled him into his arms. They sat like that for so long Wei Wuxian’s legs went numb, a perfect match for his mind. Wei Wuxian could never bring himself to tell Lan Zhan the last thing he remembered before losing consciousness was seeing a female Lan disciple who—for only a second, at the angle she had turned her face as she chuckled, politely, at something a fellow disciple said—looked exactly like—

Zhang Xiaolian throws herself into Lan Zhan’s embrace. He stiffens, but tries very hard not to. Wei Wuxian watches his hold relax in increments as Zhang Xiaolian yanks at his robes and weeps into his chest, leaving muddy handprints all over his already dirtied back.

Wei Wuxian drags himself over to where he can lean against the wall, breath wheezing through his lungs. Inhaling is agony. Through slitted eyes, he watches the fire die around him. Eventually, even Zhang Xiaolian’s family quiets, and the only sound left in the nighttime clearing is the rain and her sniffling, child-like cries. Lan Zhan holds her, ever glowing even covered in mud, and says nothing. He spoke little to Wei Wuxian when he did this for him as well, though Wei Wuxian thinks he remembers a low, smooth-rough humming of a familiar song, lips pressed against his hair. That was one of the things they fought about at Cloud Recesses. Lan Zhan wanted to know where Wei Wuxian went when he went away and Wei Wuxian wouldn’t—couldn’t—tell him.

During Wei Wuxian’s travels, there are blank spots in his memory. Times he would simply wake up on the side of the road, leaves and twigs in his hair, or sitting in a teahouse, already halfway through a drink. He can’t have gotten up to much during these periods of time, as no angry mobs have ever chased him out of town. But the holes in his memory he hasn’t hammered there himself are disquieting. He has not mentioned these to Lan Zhan in any great detail. Only brief, bright flares of smiles when he reminds Lan Zhan that he cannot possibly hope to match his master recollection, cultivated since childhood as a Lan. He said one time, “Lan Zhan, Jiang disciples would much prefer to discuss their last bullseye than sit around remembering things at each other.” In response, Lan Zhan said, frost eking into his tone, “So you remember your last bullseye, but not your promise to meet me for dinner in Caiyi last night?” And Wei Wuxian didn’t tell Lan Zhan that conversation slipped out the back of his mind like a clump of seaweed on wet shore rocks, and could only cry, “Lan Zhan! Lan Zhan, er-gege, how shameless of me, how rude, how impolite, how can I make it up to you?!” And Lan Zhan shook his head in response, just a curt side-to-side, and Wei Wuxian knew this wasn’t about missing dinner in Caiyi, but he pretended he didn’t. He batted his eyes at Lan Zhan and pawed at his shoulders until Lan Zhan untensed under his touch, and then he pressed his lips to Lan Zhan’s cheek, lingering only a moment, before returning to his own quarters for the night.

When Zhang Xiaolian finally falls silent, still curled around Lan Zhan, Wei Wuxian’s eyes flutter closed against the driving rain.

Chapter Text

There are hands on his face. Wei Wuxian wrests himself from unconsciousness and blinks a few times, the blurry gray-dark world in front of him slowly clearing.

His head is in Lan Zhan’s lap and Lan Zhan’s hands are stroking his face. Wei Wuxian almost bats them away, and then decides against it at the last moment. They feel nice. The rain has stopped, the world around them glistening and dewy. On the horizon, over the ashen husks of black trees, there is the strange green light of pre-dawn. He croaks, “Ah. The whole place didn’t burn, then.” He glances around as much as he can without moving his head or his torso. “Where is she?”

Lan Zhan nods toward the house. “Sleeping. The qi deviation has waned.” After a moment, he adds, “The spirits of her family, what little there is left of them, are with her.”

“Mm,” Wei Wuxian says. When Lan Zhan starts feeding him spiritual energy—something Wei Wuxian suspects he’s been doing on and off for however long he’s been unconscious, based on the not-as-bad-as-they-should-be state of his injures—he really does try to bat his hands away. “Lan Zhan,” he complains. “Leave me alone. I’m fine.”

“Let me take care of you,” Lan Zhan says brusquely. Wei Wuxian glances down. His hands curl into loose fists and his brow furrows. Lan Zhan says, “Let me do these things for you.”

“I ask you to do things for me all the time.”

“Real things.” Lan Zhan is watching him intently. Wei Wuxian swallows.

“Aiya, Lan Zhan…” Wei Wuxian looks away, but he doesn’t protest Lan Zhan’s ministrations further.

Lan Zhan continues to tend to him. Wei Wuxian nuzzles his head into Lan Zhan’s lap and Lan Zhan strokes errant strands of damp hair off his face. When he comes across the singed bits that Zhang Xiaolian burned away during their chase through the woods, Lan Zhan only frowns slightly at it.

Though Wei Wuxian eventually bullies him into taking a break, he doesn’t move from his position and Lan Zhan doesn’t move his hands from Wei Wuxian. Wei Wuxian can twist well enough now to pluck at Lan Zhan’s muddy sleeve. “Lan Zhan,” he chuckles, pained. “I’ve never seen you this dirty.”

Lan Zhan looks at Wei Wuxian holding his sleeve and then he looks at Wei Wuxian. “Wei Ying. Chenqing.”

Wei Wuxian screws up his face and clutches his ribs. “Lan Zhan. Do we have to talk about it? Even with your dutiful nursing, I’m still in such great pain.”

Lan Zhan clenches his jaw. “You summoned it from my bag.”

Wei Wuxian waves him off. “It was just a little trick. Do you really want to fight about this?”

Lan Zhan’s eyes flash. He looks like there is nothing he wants less in the world than to fight with Wei Wuxian right now.

Wei Wuxian quirks a smile and reaches up to scratch Lan Zhan under the chin. “Good boy, Lan Zhan. I’ll make you a deal. Forget about Chenqing. Forget about everything and hold me very tightly while I recover from my grievous injuries.”

Lan Zhan gathers Wei Wuxian up in his arms and holds him very tightly, and until morning breaks, they speak of nothing.

The three of them trudge through a blackened forest. Zhang Xiaolian keeps her eyes mostly down. At one point, they run into a group of onlookers from Shanwei, investigating the fire. They ask if Wei Wuxian or his little group knows anything about what happened and he says, “Not a thing! Best of luck in your search!” and they continue on their way.

There was nothing for Zhang Xiaolian to bring from her home save what she kept outside it at her makeshift camp, and most of that burned away in the fire. She spent some time before they left in silence, staring at the front door while Wei Wuxian leaned into the curve of Lan Zhan’s body a little ways away, head on his shoulder and Lan Zhan’s arm securely fastened around his waist.

When Wei Wuxian said, “What do we do with her?” Lan Zhan’s hand flexed against him to indicate his attention, but offered no answer. Wei Wuxian continued, “Send her to the Lans. I suppose. She’s certainly powerful enough. There’s no reason they wouldn’t take her in.”

“She is unruly,” Lan Zhan said with no heat.

“Well, that’s what you guys are for, isn’t it? Where would she learn proper etiquette if not at Cloud Recesses?”

They both watched her. Her hair, short as it is, had started falling into her face. Wei Wuxian offered her one of his ribbons earlier, which she scoffed at before snatching it out of his hand and ruthlessly tying her hair back so messily Wei Wuxian could only imagine the damage it inflicted on the depths of Lan Zhan’s psyche.

Wei Wuxian said, uncertain, “You think she will thrive?”

A damning silence before Lan Zhan replied, “She will benefit from the discipline.”

When they informed Zhang Xiaolian of their plan, carefully disentangled, she only adjusted her mourning belt and nodded.

Their first day of travel is uneventful. Both Wei Wuxian and Zhang Xiaolian are still injured and slow, and Lan Zhan cannot take all three of them on Bichen. Zhang Xiaolian is quiet and rarely speaks, even when spoken to. Wei Wuxian remains cheerful to the point of obnoxiousness all day, but as the sun sinks below the clouds and they make camp amongst the skeletal woods, even he starts to sag.

When he stands and begins gathering his bow and quiver, Zhang Xiaolian perks up. “You’re hunting?”

“It’s meat for dinner or nothing. Er, sorry, Lan Zhan. I’ll try to find you some mushrooms or something.” Though Lan Zhan eats no meat within the bounds of Cloud Recesses, he will occasionally indulge outside of them. Usually, it is only if Wei Wuxian’s killed and prepared the meal, but Wei Wuxian is not sure he’ll be capable tonight of preparing any animal worthy of Lan Zhan. Wei Wuxian himself has no problem yanking some fur or feathers off flesh, skewering what’s left, roasting over an open flame, and eating through or around the bones and sinew. He tries to do better by Lan Zhan.

Zhang Xiaolian stares enviously at Wei Wuxian’s bow. She looks at him. “Can I do it?”

Wei Wuxian narrows his eyes. “Why? Are you going to poison it?”

Zhang Xiaolian doesn’t dignify that with an answer. She grabs Wei Wuxian’s bow and arrows and disappears into the dark. “I’ll look for mushrooms or something, too!” she calls back over her shoulder.

Wei Wuxian says, watching her walk off, “Uhh... Should we be allowing this? Would you let junior disciples do this at her age?”

Lan Zhan says, from where he sits by the fire, “Could you stop her?”

Wei Wuxian puts his hands on his hips and purses his lips, turning to face him. “Could you?”

“Maybe,” Lan Zhan allows. “Though she is less powerful now that she isn’t qi deviating, her core is still overdeveloped. Mine is not.”

Wei Wuxian cocks his head. “No. Yours is developed just right.” He watches Lan Zhan, warm and bathed in firelight. Lan Zhan catches his eye, and holds it. Wei Wuxian follows that gaze, all the way to Lan Zhan’s side, where he sits next to him. Still, Lan Zhan watches him. Like he’s waiting for something. Wei Wuxian starts, “Lan Zhan—”

Mindful of his ribs, Lan Zhan picks Wei Wuxian up with his hands right under his thighs, settling him on his lap. Wei Wuxian goggles. “Lan Zhan! Why! You hate when I climb into your lap!”

Lan Zhan’s, “Mn,” is only amused. He doesn’t move his hands from where they’ve migrated to Wei Wuxian’s hips. Wei Wuxian resituates himself until his knees bracket Lan Zhan’s torso, tucked under him. He has always been drunk when he’s done this, but Lan Zhan has always been sober. Lan Zhan has a definitive advantage here.

Wei Wuxian says, “Well, is this good enough for you?”

“No,” Lan Zhan says, but specifies no further. He reaches up and lightly cups Wei Wuxian’s clump of singed hair in his palm.

“Ah.” Wei Wuxian laughs, a little breathless. “Don’t worry about that. It’ll grow back.”

Lan Zhan clenches his fist around it and closes his eyes in concentration.

Wei Wuxian says, “Lan Zhan, wh—”

“Quiet.”

Wei Wuxian shuts his mouth. It takes him a moment to understand what Lan Zhan is doing, how when he moves his closed fist down the length of Wei Wuxian’s singed hair, every time he should meet jagged ends and empty air, there is only more hair. Wei Wuxian says, “Oh.”

When Lan Zhan has restored his hair to its original length, he stares at his handiwork for a moment, slow-blinking and serenely pleased, and then… tugs on it.

Wei Wuxian hurriedly wipes his overheated face. “Lan Zhan!”

Lan Zhan tugs it again.

Wei Wuxian laughs and puts a hand to his ribs. “Do it again.”

Lan Zhan does it again.

“Again!”

Lan Zhan does it again. Then he intones, “Be more careful next time.”

Wei Wuxian almost shouts at the indignity. “Bold words from someone who spent the last week horribly cursed!”

When Lan Zhan only looks at him with soft, fond eyes, Wei Wuxian throws his arms around his neck and crushes them together until his broken ribs force a hiss of pain from him. Even then, Wei Wuxian only squeezes harder, until he can’t anymore. Against Lan Zhan’s neck, Wei Wuxian murmurs, “I missed you so much, Lan Zhan. I missed my favorite person so much.”

Lan Zhan hugs him back, clearly diplomatic in his application of strength, and Wei Wuxian curses his stupid broken body. No one but Lan Zhan could hug him as hard as he wants. In turn, Lan Zhan buries his face in the crook of Wei Wuxian’s neck. Almost desperately, his hands drift up to Wei Wuxian’s hair, carding roughly through it, and Wei Wuxian shudders at the touch.

They stay wrapped up in each other for some time, fire crackling merrily along. When they part, Lan Zhan’s eyes are dark and his face is just-flushed from the heat. Wei Wuxian can feel his own pink cheeks, bright and obvious even in the night. Lan Zhan parts his lips, a perfect little circle, and says, “Wei Ying. How you broke the curse—”

And Wei Wuxian desperately jumps in, cries out, “Sorry, sorry, sorry!” He wipes Lan Zhan’s mouth with his sleeve, by this point nothing more than a useless symbolic gesture. “I said and did so many things to you while you were cursed! Shameless, shameless, that’s me. Anything to get you back. You understand, right? Nothing has to change!” Wei Wuxian will take this. He will hold onto it with white knuckles.

The first few weeks after he left Cloud Recesses were difficult. He pressed forward always, except for the time he spent in teahouses and in unknowing strangers’ barns and lying flat in the middle of dirt paths on his back, staring blankly at the sky.

Self-sufficiency was never his problem. Wei Wuxian has proven, more than many, that he can survive almost anything, up to and including death itself.  

Wei Wuxian is not sure he could have survived Lan Zhan asking him to leave Cloud Recesses. Wei Wuxian is not sure he could survive the solid foundation Lan Zhan has given him shaking and crumbling beneath him. Wei Wuxian is not sure—is not sure—

Lan Zhan wraps his hand around Wei Wuxian’s wrist, still dwelling at the corner of his mouth. There is a moment where Lan Zhan only watches himself hold Wei Wuxian, digging his fingers slightly into the fabric and bunching it up. Then, his expression flickers and he pulls Wei Wuxian’s wrist closer, tipping it so that the weight of Wei Wuxian’s sleeves pull themselves back toward his elbow, leaving only swathes of bare, light brown skin.

Lan Zhan presses his lips where Wei Wuxian’s pulse flutters, right over delicate blue lines where the skin is thinnest.

Wei Wuxian makes a little sound, like a cry. He breathes out, “Lan Zhan, Lan Zhan, let me just—just let me finish, okay? You really, truly have been such a dear friend to me.”

When Lan Zhan stiffens beneath him, mouth still pressed to Wei Wuxian’s wrist, Wei Wuxian says, “No! Lan Zhan, I said let me finish! You need to know how much you’ve helped me. How much you’ve done for me. How much I owe you. I—I—”

Wei Wuxian is stuttering through his thought, and then stops altogether when Lan Zhan grabs his chin in his hand, eyes aflame. He says, almost-angry, “No.”

“Lan Zhan, I do. I do. For everything you’ve done. For keeping me—well, for keeping me.”

Lan Zhan squeezes, just enough that Wei Wuxian stops speaking, eyes overflowing. “Why did you leave Cloud Recesses?”

Wei Wuxian looks down and away, but can’t fully hide his expression from Lan Zhan, held like he is. He only shakes his head, small and quick. Lan Zhan darts forward and steals a kiss from Wei Wuxian’s cheek. Then, he does it again. “Tell me.”

Wei Wuxian pulls free of Lan Zhan’s grip and buries his face against his shoulder, overwhelmed. When he says nothing, Lan Zhan lets the topic drop with an audible clatter.

Lan Zhan runs his palms over Wei Wuxian’s back, over and over, in soothing motions. This movement is familiar to him, too. Another leftover memory from Cloud Recesses slinking back.

Lan Zhan says, right into his ear, “All this time, were my intentions not clear?”

Wei Wuxian squeezes his eyes shut. Everything in him wants to ask, what intentions? Instead, he says, “I didn’t know.”

Lan Zhan is silent.

“Since we were children, of course,” Wei Wuxian says in answer to an unasked question. “I may not have understood it at the time, but in retrospect it’s glaringly obvious. No, Lan Zhan…” Wei Wuxian grabs his sleeve and tugs aimlessly, worrying his lip. “I don’t know if you understand how badly… ah. How badly I…”

“Wei Ying.” Lan Zhan’s voice is hoarse.

Wei Wuxian slaps a palm over his eyes. “Lan Zhan. It’s not that—it’s not that I didn’t—don’t—” He bumps the back of his hand against Lan Zhan’s shoulder. “It’s not that I haven’t, all this time. It’s just that I didn’t—I didn’t know, kind of. I just. I needed you. I need you. It never occurred to me to ask more of you.” He presses his forehead against Lan Zhan’s neck, noses under his jaw, desperate to be close, to be held. “What we had before was safe.”

Lan Zhan gently pries Wei Wuxian off his shoulder. His eyes are red-rimmed and wet. He cradles Wei Wuxian’s face in his hands and says, “I will always keep you safe,” before pulling him into a kiss. Wei Wuxian sighs into it, down to the marrow. Lan Zhan’s lips are warm and welcoming and he kisses with teeth, little nips that make Wei Wuxian smile against his mouth. Lan Zhan tastes salty, which is mostly Wei Wuxian’s fault, but a little his fault as well.

Wei Wuxian twines his arms around Lan Zhan’s neck, kitten licking around the shape of his mouth until Lan Zhan gets impatient and thrusts his tongue inside, pulling an embarrassing, desperate sound from deep within Wei Wuxian. Wei Wuxian gives as good as he can, but not as good as he gets, because what he gets is unmatchable. He opens for Lan Zhan, encourages him to take whatever he wants, and not because it’s what he owes him, but because it’s what Wei Wuxian wants, too. What he has wanted, in some form or another, for so many years he couldn’t name them all. What he wanted every time he annoyed Lan Zhan or pouted at Lan Zhan or fluttered his eyelashes at Lan Zhan.   

They stay wrapped around each other until the telltale snap of twigs underfoot has Wei Wuxian jerking out of Lan Zhan’s grasp, gasping as his broken ribs pull in a direction they weren’t made to, and feverishly finger-combing his mussed hair as Zhang Xiaolian returns from her hunt triumphant, squirrel carcasses hanging around her neck. Her face is flushed, gaze lively as she tosses them in front of Wei Wuxian. “I’ve done my part,” she says, almost teasing. “Now it’s time for the wife to prepare the meal.”

Wei Wuxian runs his tongue along the edges of his teeth, glancing sideways at Lan Zhan, who looks like he’s trying very hard not to be amused by this. “Aiya,” Wei Wuxian whines, drawing it out. “You know, Lan Zhan and I once traveled to a place called Yi City and I poisoned a bunch of junior disciples there, and I’m not afraid to do it again.”

“You didn’t poison them,” Lan Zhan, the traitor that he is, says.

“You weren’t there!” Wei Wuxian cries. “You were busy at the time!”

“You saved them from being poisoned.”

Wei Wuxian says, “I did not!” He thrusts his finger in Zhang Xiaolian’s direction. “Don’t let him tell you lies about me!”

Lan Zhan, having reaped the benefits of the seeds of chaos he planted, offers nothing else save a small smile. Zhang Xiaolian drops her borrowed bow and quiver on the ground at Wei Wuxian’s feet.

Wei Wuxian shakes his head, muttering darkly. “So be it.” He grabs the squirrels and Lan Zhan helps him to his feet. While Wei Wuxian strips skin from bone, he watches Zhang Xiaolian wrestle with a small bundle she’s pulled from her robes before dropping it into Lan Zhan’s lap. When he opens it up, an abundance of fuzzy mushrooms, moss, and wild berries greet him.

They return to the white-barked trees that smell like spiced jasmine, under a cerulean sky. When they finally escaped the burn radius of Zhang Xiaolian’s fire, her spirits lifted, even if just infinitesimally. Now, she’s disappeared somewhere down the nearby river to bathe and wash her clothes.

The moment she’s out of sight, Wei Wuxian puts both palms flat on Lan Zhan’s torso and pushes him backward until he hits the nearest tree. It is very generous of Lan Zhan to allow Wei Wuxian to push him around, and Wei Wuxian plans to take full advantage until his ribs knit back together enough to play in the opposite direction. He crowds into Lan Zhan’s space, keeping one hand, all five fingertips, pressed into his chest, and uses his other hand to pluck at a stray strand of Lan Zhan’s hair. “Lan Zhan,” he coos. “You remember the promise you made me about these trees?”

“I promised nothing.”

“Lan Zhan.” He pouts and kisses the corner of Lan Zhan’s mouth. “You would deny me this?”

“Of course not.” Lan Zhan moves out from under Wei Wuxian’s hold as easily as he would slide out from under the blankets of his bed every morning. He sits with his back to the trunk and brings out his qin, looking at Wei Wuxian expectantly until Wei Wuxian sits down beside him, head on Lan Zhan’s shoulder. “But I made no promises.”

“So pedantic,” Wei Wuxian mutters as he watches Lan Zhan’s fingers start to move.

“I will always correct you when you are wrong.”

“Oh, never mind, then. So romantic.” Wei Wuxian sinks his teeth into Lan Zhan’s clothed shoulder and kneads with his mouth, soaking the fabric there. Lan Zhan ignores him completely and plays Wei Wuxian’s favorite song, the one with the secret name.

When Lan Zhan is finished, he puts a calm hand on the qin strings to silence them. Wei Wuxian says, licking the taste of travel dust out of his mouth and testing the waters, “We should play together when my ribs heal.”

Lan Zhan’s expression twitches. “Mm,” he says, neutral.

Wei Wuxian throws his arms around Lan Zhan, kisses his ear, and then presses their cheeks together. “What would I do without it, Lan Zhan?” he says quietly. “We are old friends. It watches out for me.”

Lan Zhan puts a hand on Wei Wuxian’s forearm where it’s wrapped around his torso. “I will do that.”

Without an answer that isn’t simply dissolving into tears, Wei Wuxian buries his face between Lan Zhan’s shoulder blades and listens to his heartbeat until he calms down.

After days of traveling through a treacherous mountain pass, Zhang Xiaolian snaps, seemingly out of the blue, “Why are you like this?”

Snow is coming down, flakes cruel and sticky. The mountains disappear into the gray, low sky, and Wei Wuxian and Zhang Xiaolian are both wrapped in multiple layers of Lan Zhan’s robes. Wei Wuxian’s arms cling tight around him, teeth gritted as they trudge through ankle deep snow. He starts at the sound of Zhang Xiaolian’s voice. It takes a moment for her question to sink into his frozen brain, after so many hours of silence. He looks around. Lan Zhan walks behind them, where he can keep an eye on both the injured members of their party and their surroundings. Otherwise, there is no one. “Who, me?”

“Yes, you. Why are you so weird?”

Wei Wuxian says, “Ah—I have no idea what you’re talking about? What have I done now?”

“You’re crazy all the time. But then sometimes you look so miserable it’s like you’re about to jump off a cliff. Like now. It’s so weird.”

“Uh,” Wei Wuxian says with an awkward laugh. “That’s just life, little maiden.”

Zhang Xiaolian says, “My mom—” Her mouth twitches. She wipes some melted snowflakes off her face. “—my mom, before she—she always said I had terrible mood swings. That I would bring down the house. Which I guess is—” She rolls her lips back into her mouth and for a moment, Wei Wuxian is terrified she’s about to faint. Then, she opens her eyes and continues, “She said that’s just how girls my age are, sometimes. But yours are like—” Her nose wrinkles. “They’re just weird. Different. I don’t know.”

Wei Wuxian chews rabidly on the inside of his cheek until he tastes blood and then says, “What nonsense are you spouting! You know, people say I was born with a smiling face. I don’t even think I’m capable of being sad.”

Zhang Xiaolian asks, disbelief rampant, “Who says that?”

Wei Wuxian’s eyes drift down to where her mourning belt is hidden beneath layers and layers of robes. She wears it all day every day and dutifully reknots it every morning. Wei Wuxian huffs a rueful exhale and says, “Hm. I guess you’re right. Who would say such a thing?”

Zhang Xiaolian contemplates this. “So… you really are just crazy?”

Wei Wuxian says, “You’re not a Lan yet, so I’ll tell you this—it’s considered rude to call people crazy.”

“So?”

Wei Wuxian throws his hands up in the air and says, “Well!” and that’s the end of that conversation.

Later that night, long after Zhang Xiaolian has retired to her tent and the fire continues to burn in the dark, Wei Wuxian puts his head in Lan Zhan’s lap and falls asleep to the soothing sensation of fingers carding through his hair.

Traveling with Zhang Xiaolian, a child who hates Wei Wuxian and regards her once-betrothed with little more than an icy neutrality, is challenge enough on its own. Tempers run high and more often than not, disputes are only settled once Lan Zhan steps between them with a hand wrapped around Wei Wuxian’s arm and a glare split between them both.

More than that, though, Wei Wuxian aches for Lan Zhan. Lan Zhan, who is right in front of him, but so often untouchable. They find time, when Zhang Xiaolian is hunting or bathing or sleeping, for Wei Wuxian to crawl into Lan Zhan’s lap and Lan Zhan to take them both in his big hand as Wei Wuxian babbles nonsense in his ear and teases him and eggs him on, before coming between them with a cry, muffled by Lan Zhan’s fingers in his mouth. It is in the aftermath of one of these trysts, Wei Wuxian half asleep and Lan Zhan carefully extracting his fingers from between Wei Wuxian’s red, wet lips, that Wei Wuxian slurs, “When are you going to treat your wife right, Lan Zhan. When are you going to put it inside me?”

Lan Zhan’s mouth says, “There is time,” but his iron grip on Wei Wuxian’s waist betrays his impatience.

“I want you to,” Wei Wuxian demands. He can barely hold his head up, and instead mouths along the line of Lan Zhan’s neck. “Right now.”

“…There is no time. Right now.”

Wei Wuxian growls, long, against Lan Zhan’s warm skin. “Make time.”

“I cannot.”

“Just tell her to go away for a bit. That we’re busy.”

Lan Zhan’s silence is contemplative, then disapproving. “Not a good idea.”

Wei Wuxian huffs. “Well, then, if you’re so smart, I’ll leave it in your hands.”

“I will carry whatever you ask me to.”

Wei Wuxian pillows his cheek on Lan Zhan’s shoulder and stares at the bob of his throat as he speaks. “Lan Zhan. Are we really taking her to Gusu?”

“Where else?”

Wei Wuxian closes his eyes. Just because he’s been thinking about it for days doesn’t make him any happier to have to say it. “She’s an accomplished archer. Do you think she likes swimming?”

Lan Zhan sighs, but it is one of resignation as opposed to surprise. “He would allow it?”

Wei Wuxian writes the letter and sends it off in a flash of sparks and says, “I suppose we’ll find out.” Immediately, he returns to Lan Zhan’s lap and twines himself around him. “I’m done, Lan Zhan.”

“Yes. I saw you send the letter.”

Wei Wuxian tsks and smacks Lan Zhan in the chest. “Don’t be funny.”

Lan Zhan kisses the crown of Wei Wuxian’s head and says, “Done with what?”

“No more decisions,” Wei Wuxian says. “I’m not making another decision for the next, hm, six months. Of course, I reserve the right to change my mind at any time, but otherwise, it is all you. Do you understand? You’re calling the shots from here on out.”

“Mn. I will call the shots.”

“Do you mean it? You should have called the shots in Baling. Or any other time we were... together like that.”

Lan Zhan says, a tiny bit affronted, “I felt my intentions were clear. Yours were less so.”

“Are you accusing me of sending mixed signals?”

Lan Zhan’s silence is almost withering.

Wei Wuxian continues, “Intention isn’t action, Lan Zhan. I thought you were a man of action? Why didn’t you ever just grab me and make it happen? How can I trust you to call the shots if you couldn’t even tell how badly I wanted you?” He pouts, pressing his mouth to Lan Zhan’s skin so he can feel how his lips pull down. “I’m not taking all the blame for this!”

“Ridiculous,” Lan Zhan says, pulling Wei Wuxian closer. “Infuriating.” Lan Zhan bites Wei Wuxian’s ear and Wei Wuxian’s responding laugh is high and tinkling.

Ignoring Wei Wuxian’s wheezing protests, Lan Zhan grabs Wei Wuxian and calls his first shot.

During one of their daily pre-mandated rests (when Wei Wuxian complained about this newly instated policy, Lan Zhan asked if he was already reneging on his declaration regarding decision-making, and Wei Wuxian huffed and rolled his eyes and had a little tantrum about it that Lan Zhan later informed him was “cute”) Wei Wuxian is sitting cross-legged on a tree stump trying to crack a hazelnut shell when Zhang Xiaolian approaches him and says, “You’re wrong.”

Wei Wuxian doesn’t look up from his task when he says, cheerfully, “I’ve never been wrong in my life!” There is a crack in the hazelnut shell that he digs his nail into. It doesn’t budge. If he was in the mood, he could engineer something to pry it open. Or just smash it against a rock. Instead, he chirps, “Lan Zhan!”

Lan Zhan looks up from where he sits nearby, the fronds of the willow tree at his back dangling over his shoulder. He’s reading one of the books Wei Wuxian bought for him with money from Lan Zhan’s pocket, fingers wrapped elegantly around the binding. Wei Wuxian tosses him the hazelnut and Lan Zhan catches it easily. He stares blankly at it in his palm. Wei Wuxian whines, “Lan Zhan. I am not strong enough. This nut has bested me.”

Lan Zhan’s gaze returns to his book. He barely touches the shell before it crumbles in his palm and tosses it back to Wei Wuxian, who doesn’t even have to move his hand to catch it. Wei Wuxian pops it into his mouth with a grin and only then does he turn to face Zhang Xiaolian. “Wrong about what?”

Zhang Xiaolian plucks at her mourning belt.

Wei Wuxian says, carefully, “Ah.”

She says, “You just gave me shitty advice. Because you’re crazy.”  

Wei Wuxian wags his finger at her and says, “You don’t have to be crazy to give shitty advice.” He makes the mistake of glancing in Lan Zhan’s direction. Lan Zhan is no longer feigning disinterest, but actively watching Wei Wuxian with a carefully neutral expression. Wei Wuxian feels, very suddenly, like the ants he used to play with as a child under the docks of Lotus Pier, being watched by an all-seeing eye as they scrambled frantically in the mud. He twirls off the stump and puts one hand on his hip and tweaks his nose with the other and says, airily, “Tell me what you have learned on your great travels, O great wanderer. If you must.”

Zhang Xiaolian shrugs. “I don’t know. I just know you gave me shitty advice. I think I’ll wear this belt as long as I want. And I’ll remember them as long as I want. And maybe I’ll be good in their honor and maybe I won’t. I don’t really know.”

And then she walks away without even spitting a little bit of acid, and Wei Wuxian is left standing alone, his finger hovering accusingly in mid-air and a meaningless retort dying on his tongue. During another bout of ill-advised eye contact with Lan Zhan, he swallows hard and the corner of his mouth twitches. He forces a laugh, drops his arm back to his side, and says, “Lan Zhan, did we all grow up so fast? Am I the only one who’s held onto my youthful charm?”

Lan Zhan looks at him in silence for a long time. His hand flexes slowly on his book and he does not grace Wei Wuxian with an answer.

Lan Zhan slams Wei Wuxian against a tree. Despite Wei Wuxian’s incessant whining for the past week of travel, it was indeed Lan Zhan who broke first, carelessly hurling a protective talisman in the direction of Zhang Xiaolian’s tent before half dragging, half carrying a scantily-clad-in-only-his-underrobe Wei Wuxian into the nearby woods. They hadn’t even been doing anything special, really. Wei Wuxian had only been cooing in Lan Zhan’s ear about how handsome and good he was and how much Wei Wuxian wanted the handsome good man to do bad things to him, walking his fingers along Lan Zhan’s inner thigh, stopping just short of where his robes noticeably bunched, then flipping his hand over and ghosting his knuckles across Lan Zhan’s abdomen, grinning all the while. He kept his lips parted just enough in case Lan Zhan decided to do something about it—and then Lan Zhan grabbed him, Wei Wuxian delightedly dead weight, Lan Zhan strong enough that he didn’t even seem to notice.

Wei Wuxian says, as Lan Zhan attacks his bared neck, “Hmmmm, Lan Zhan, are you—are you—ah—ah—” Lan Zhan’s ministrations, desperate as they are, are targeted enough that the only time Wei Wuxian’s ribs hurt is when he breathes, which is fully his own fault. Whenever he used to catch Lan Zhan somewhere deep in his own thoughts—so, almost every time he saw him—Wei Wuxian always assumed he was thinking about rules or poetry or his future wife, not the mechanics of dragging an invalid off by the hair to defile them in the forest.

“I was,” Lan Zhan says, before biting a bruise into Wei Wuxian’s neck, and that’s the moment Wei Wuxian learns his internal monologue has become an external one, Lan Zhan’s mouth rendering him stupid, if not speechless. “Thinking about my future wife.”

Wei Wuxian clutches at the front of Lan Zhan’s robes, peppering his jaw with desperate kisses. “Lan Zhan,” he gasps into the hollow of Lan Zhan’s throat. “Hold my hand. Right now.”

Lan Zhan twines their fingers together, squeezing tight, before pinning Wei Wuxian’s hand behind him against the trunk of the tree. Wei Wuxian thumps Lan Zhan’s back with his free hand and says, “I said hold it!”

“I am,” Lan Zhan says against Wei Wuxian’s temple, breath tickling his ear. It makes Wei Wuxian go hot-cold all over. He says, “Are you going to keep your word?”

Wei Wuxian says, “What?!”

“‘One thing goes in another, and then out, and then in, out, in, and so on and so forth.’”

“Lan Zhan, that’s salacious and not even poetic! Who would say such things!”

“How many fingers?”

“I saved you,” Wei Wuxian laments to the sky. “Lan Zhan, I save your life and this is the thanks I get! My own words used against me!”

“Yes,” Lan Zhan says. He grabs Wei Wuxian’s ass. “You’ve been begging for it.”

“Begging might be a bit of a stretch—ow! Lan Zhan!” Lan Zhan has bitten his ear again.

Lan Zhan’s, “Mn,” is not very apologetic.

“Ow, ow, ow, Lan Zhan, stop! That hurts!” Wei Wuxian furiously licks the side of Lan Zhan’s face he can reach. “If you stop, I’ll kill you!”

Lan Zhan hitches Wei Wuxian’s legs up and around his waist. Wei Wuxian throws his arms around Lan Zhan’s neck. Lan Zhan presses into him, a long line of heat against the chilly night. Wei Wuxian shivers into it, latching his hand around the back of Lan Zhan’s head and yanking him in for a kiss that Wei Wuxian will feel in his jaw for days. He warns, against Lan Zhan’s lips, “Don’t think I’m going to go easy on you, now that you’ve got me, Lan Zhan.”

Lan Zhan pulls his head back and stares at him. Wei Wuxian says, “What! Who do you think I am? Some kind of harlot?”

Lan Zhan hitches him up higher and presses his hips into Wei Wuxian’s, grinding them together. Wei Wuxian throws his head back and it smacks into the tree behind him. Lan Zhan repeats, “How many?”

Mouth fallen open, Wei Wuxian only says, “What?!”

Lan Zhan parts Wei Wuxian’s robes with one hand, holding him up with the other. He glides his hand over Wei Wuxian’s bare torso, mindful of the purple-yellow bruise mottling his ribs, hovering for a moment, there, tender, then grasps at Wei Wuxian’s waist and says, “I will call the shots.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, okay,” Wei Wuxian says, with no idea what he’s agreeing to. Lan Zhan sucks an accompanying bruise into Wei Wuxian’s neck, and Wei Wuxian clutches at Lan Zhan’s robes, yanks them down at the shoulder, and attaches his mouth to the skin there, tongue swirling. He pulls off with a horrendous sucking noise—the skin is barely marked because Lan Zhan’s body is exceptionally good at healing itself and in this context only it deeply annoys Wei Wuxian—and says, pawing at Lan Zhan’s face, “I mean it, Lan Zhan. I’ll let you get away with it this time. But I’m not going to be easy. I’m going to make you work for it.”

Lan Zhan pulls back and stares at Wei Wuxian. His eyes glitter in the dark and his mouth is red and Wei Wuxian feels it all the way to his toes. Lan Zhan says, “It is not work.”

Silence descends upon them. Wei Wuxian’s eyes go hot and itchy. He takes in a deep breath, ribs be damned. His fingers flex, open and closed, where they lie weakly against Lan Zhan’s back. He shakes his head, tosses his hair back over his shoulder, blinks out a couple of tears, and says, “Then I am going to have to try harder! You’ll rue the day you said this, Hanguang-jun!”

“No.” Lan Zhan clutches at Wei Wuxian’s face with one hand. The tip of his thumb dips in and catches, just so, at the corner of Wei Wuxian’s mouth. “Without you was work.”

Wei Wuxian can’t take it anymore. He fumbles his hand around Lan Zhan’s clothed cock, squeezes, and says, “Lan Zhan, if you don’t fuck me mean right now, I’m never letting you fuck me at all.”

Lan Zhan jerks forward into his touch, but otherwise ignores it to kiss him. He is hot and rough in Wei Wuxian’s mouth, prying his lips apart and licking inside. He even shoves in a few fingers mid-kiss, which is difficult to work around, though it seems like Lan Zhan almost doesn’t want him to, like he wants Wei Wuxian to drool all over his own chin. He kisses Wei Wuxian for so long Wei Wuxian goes numb with pleasure, mind floating somewhere far above them. Curled around Lan Zhan as much as he can while still injured, hoisted in the air, and pressed against a tree, Wei Wuxian sighs dreamily and says, “That’s it, Lan Zhan. You pushed your luck too far by being entirely too nice to me. I’m staying a virgin forever.”

“You have not been a virgin for many days, now,” Lan Zhan reminds him.

“Has anything gone inside me yet? No? Then I’m still a virgin.”

Lan Zhan holds up his fingers between them, still glistening with his saliva in the moonlight. Wei Wuxian whines, “That’s cheating. Besides, wouldn’t you rather your practice wife be pure as the driven snow before fucking him?”

“Not if it meant I had to wait any longer,” Lan Zhan says before snapping his fingers crisply, a white-blue spark indicating the spell’s success. Suddenly, his fingers are wet with more than just Wei Wuxian’s saliva, and there is a sudden, unfamiliar dampness deep within Wei Wuxian, who pants and curls his fingers into Lan Zhan’s robes.

“Oh, Lan Zhan. That was weird. It definitely worked, though.” He shifts his hips and a terrifying trickle of something crawls down his inner thigh. “Uh, it really worked. I might have to adjust that.” Lan Zhan thrusts a knee between Wei Wuxian’s thighs and Wei Wuxian gasps out, “Lan Zhan, I’m—Lan Zhan, I’m leaking on you.” He buries his head in his hands, cheeks aflame. How embarrassing, to be embarrassed.

“You would prefer it drier,” Lan Zhan says. After a contemplative moment, hand kneading dangerously high up on Wei Wuxian’s thigh, he adds, “Rougher.” He doesn’t give Wei Wuxian a chance to answer before he’s pressing back, back, and then—Wei Wuxian keens, the breath driven out of him—up and in, and Lan Zhan’s finger is crooked inside him, and Wei Wuxian shoves his mouth at Lan Zhan’s mouth and kisses him while Lan Zhan fingers him up against the nearest vertical surface. “My hair, my hair, my hair,” he begs against Lan Zhan’s teeth. “Pull my hair.”

Wei Wuxian did not think through this request, because Lan Zhan fulfilling it means that he needs a free hand, and the only way he can get one is to leave Wei Wuxian’s entire weight on his finger, palm splayed, while he tangles his other hand in Wei Wuxian’s hair right at the root and yanks. Wei Wuxian lets loose an unintelligible stream of garbled nonsense, and pitches so violently over that Lan Zhan has to return his yanking hand to Wei Wuxian’s hip.

“Wei Ying,” he chides, strained. His cock, long and hot and hard, presses against Wei Wuxian through all the layers Lan Zhan is still wearing. “Be careful.”

Lan Zhan’s actions betray his words, because he does not help Wei Wuxian be careful when he adds another finger. It’s tight and uncomfortable just like the first, but Wei Wuxian does not care, because Lan Zhan was right. Lan Zhan does slide in too easily, and Wei Wuxian wants to feel every moment of it. He nips at Lan Zhan’s ear, payback for all the hassle Lan Zhan has dealt his over the past months. “Lan Zhan,” he breathes. He licks the shell of Lan Zhan’s ear, sucks on it. “Every time. With my ear. You wanted to do this?”

“Every time.” Lan Zhan bites Wei Wuxian’s chest, teeth scraping against his collarbone. Wei Wuxian presses his face into Lan Zhan’s hair and nuzzles there. He takes Lan Zhan’s hair in his mouth and nibbles on it, grainy on his tongue. He licks at it when it sticks in his mouth, like the feral cats that live in the city streets lick globs of honey off the ground. “All the time. For a long time.”

Just the thought of it makes Wei Wuxian swallow hard. “I don’t know if I have it in me to go for a long time, gege. I’m barely holding it together as it is. Ah—Lan Zhan!” He cries out, for Lan Zhan’s fingers have found something deep in him, deeper than he ever knew someone could or would willingly go inside a body for something so good. He clutches at Lan Zhan with both hands wrapped around his back. He must be wrinkling Lan Zhan’s robes so badly, distending them and making them nigh-unwearable. He knows this isn’t true, that Lan Zhan’s robes are sturdier than most despite their delicate appearance, layers of fabric interlaid with talismans and spells and secret Lan knowledge passed down through generations of cultivators. Wei Wuxian wants to wrinkle Lan Zhan’s robes. He wants to rip them up in the throes of his passion and then sew them back together for Lan Zhan, better than before.

Lan Zhan is merciless, fingers pressing inside him, rolling over that spot, that button, Wei Wuxian has no idea, has never heard of this part of a body, and he demands, faintly, “More,” unsure if Lan Zhan can even understand him. He can hardly understand himself.

When Lan Zhan adds a third finger, Wei Wuxian whites out, for just a moment. He says, “No more practicing, Lan Zhan. Come on.”

His underrobe has barely been hanging on this whole time, red silk pooled wide around his shoulders and waist and thighs, Lan Zhan constantly readjusting it to get and keep it out of the way. He shoves it back even further, bunched behind Wei Wuxian’s ass, as he presses closer, slotting his cock alongside Wei Wuxian’s between their stomachs. Wei Wuxian squirms and pants and says, “Lan Zhan.” He’s jerked Lan Zhan off a couple times now, wrapped a hand around him and stroked him until he came, sometimes on Wei Wuxian’s fingers and sometimes on his face, but Lan Zhan, more than Wei Wuxian could ever have imagined, gets quickly impatient during sex if he’s deemed Wei Wuxian isn’t doing it right. More than once he’s knocked Wei Wuxian’s hands off him, directed him how he wanted him, and come that way, whether it be fucking Wei Wuxian’s fist or straddling his ass and jerking off onto his lower back, Wei Wuxian thrusting mindlessly into the blankets laid out on the floor of their tent until he came as well, Lan Zhan never laying a hand on him.

Wei Wuxian gathers every last shred of his rapidly dwindling constitution to say, “Inside. Now.”

Lan Zhan hitches him up higher, the world suspended behind his eyelids, and then pulls him down onto his cock and Wei Wuxian comes. It’s yanked out of him like something physical Lan Zhan could hold in his hand, wrenching it, sticky and sweet, from the depths of him. He scrabbles at Lan Zhan’s back, mouth fallen open, nails digging in, Lan Zhan still fucking him through it—can he tell? Surely, he can he feel Wei Wuxian’s entire being shaping itself around this feeling? Surely, he can hear the long-locked contents of the darkest corners of Wei Wuxian’s mind clattering, cascading, shaking loose with the force of it and lost under the floorboards?

Wei Wuxian chokes out what is supposed to be Lan Zhan’s name, but is instead a series of starts-and-stops, mind stalled, tongue broken. Instead, he moves his arms up so he can wrap them around Lan Zhan’s neck, cupping the back of his head in his palm. He mouths—can barely call it such, more like drags his lips—along Lan Zhan’s cheek, under his ear, down his jawline. He licks, a little. His tongue can offer that much encouragement, at least.

Lan Zhan fucks him boneless. In the wake of orgasm, Wei Wuxian wants to be sharp and clever, wants to gather up everything he’s dropped and return to the world. There had been tenderness after the handjobs, after the blow jobs, kisses and slow rutting and Wei Wuxian curled in Lan Zhan’s lap like a satisfied cat finally attracting the attention of its owner. There had been round twos and even a few round threes when Lan Zhan was feeling perky and determined and butted his nose against the underside of Wei Wuxian’s jaw, kissing the bob of his throat and then scraping his teeth along it. But so far, there hasn’t been anything like this, all coherent thought blown clear out of Wei Wuxian’s ears, leaving him nothing but a flushed, speechless, clingy mess.

He searches for words. He feels adrift without them. What could he possibly say at this moment, what would possibly be worth opening his mouth for, if not Lan Zhan?

Lan Zhan is so big and hot and all-encompassing inside him. Wei Wuxian can whine, at least, and desperately nuzzle his forehead against Lan Zhan’s temple. He gnaws on his forehead ribbon, lazily tracing his tongue along the smooth-sharp edges. He manages, “L… Lan…”

Lan Zhan thrusts into him, again and again. It feels so good Wei Wuxian wants to crawl out of his skin. Spots burst behind his eyes and he’s overflowing, filled to the brim and then some, unrelenting rain in a teacup left outdoors in a storm. Lan Zhan has one hand on the back of his neck, now, the other still braced under his ass.     

“Gege, Lan er-gege.” He’s drunk on it, slurring his words. This is better even than Emperor’s Smile. If Lan Zhan wants him to drink less, maybe he should fuck him more. His throat is dry and his voice is reedy and high. Speaking without thinking, a common enough occurrence for him. Dark tendrils slither from beneath the floorboards, the sinuous things he dropped. “All those times,” he murmurs into Lan Zhan’s neck. “When you wanted to, I wish you had, I wish you had, even if I said no.” Lan Zhan’s hold on him stutters, his hips. Wei Wuxian continues, “I wish you had done it, I wish you had held me down and covered me and not let anything else touch me. I wish—I wish—ah—ah—” Again, his voice disappears as something white-hot and dry rips through him. Panting, fingers curled in the fabric still at Lan Zhan’s shoulders—he had only shoved down his pants for this, he’s still wearing his outermost layer, Wei Wuxian is feral—he gasps, “I wish you would take me and I wish you wouldn’t care what I said about it. I wish you would take me from me. Away from me. I wish you would keep me—from me. You can keep the world at bay, but can you keep me from me, gege?”

Wei Wuxian is crying. Tears pour down his hot face. His eyelashes, heavy with salt, still flutter from the ghost of coming dry, begging nonsense into Lan Zhan’s neck. Lan Zhan would hold him down, even when he tried to fly off into the clouds.

He grabs a fistful of Lan Zhan’s hair for support and pulls back—Lan Zhan has gone still, grip like a vise, eyes glinting in the moonlight—and stares at the softly glowing sky and says, “Lan Zhan, please come. Please, please come. I would feel so bad if the first time we did it properly, like husband and wife, you don’t even come. Please come, gege, I need you to come. I need you to protect me. I need you. I need you. Lan Zhan, I love you. I need you.”

Lan Zhan fumbles, for a moment, while Wei Wuxian stands precariously atop a glass cliff, swaying.

When he falls, Lan Zhan catches him. He sinks his teeth into Wei Wuxian’s deliberately exposed neck and thrusts once, twice, thrice and a half, shudders, and comes. Even with the excessive wetness, Wei Wuxian can feel it, wants it keep it inside forever, this piece of Lan Zhan, who has only ever been by his side, but it’s not enough. Wei Wuxian wraps both arms and both legs around Lan Zhan’s torso, ribs protesting, and sobs into his chest.

Lan Zhan, still inside him, sinks to the ground where he can crush Wei Wuxian tighter to him. He says nothing, and holds him in the home of his arms. Slowly, Lan Zhan’s breathing returns to normal and Wei Wuxian’s tears mercifully stop falling.

Eventually, Lan Zhan’s hands begin to roam Wei Wuxian’s back, tracing light circles. He’s not hard anymore, but neither of them suggests moving. Wei Wuxian is afraid if he does, every part of him is going to creak like a rusty door when he unhinges his limbs from around Lan Zhan. He’s freezing cold where Lan Zhan isn’t touching him, burning up where he is. Occasionally, he shifts his hips so he can feel Lan Zhan inside him.

Lan Zhan, so gently that at first Wei Wuxian doesn’t even notice despite every part of him buzzing with oversensitivity, starts mouthing at the juncture between his neck and shoulder. When he finally registers it, gooseflesh crawls up and down his arms. He sighs and swivels his hips into it. He can barely keep his eyes open, but Lan Zhan has an intimidating reserve of stamina.

Lan Zhan’s hands trail over Wei Wuxian’s torso, one palm-flat against his stomach and the other ghosting a knuckle over his nipples. Lan Zhan’s kisses grow hotter, wetter, deeper. He moves his hands to Wei Wuxian’s hips and starts rocking him back and forth. Wei Wuxian doesn’t resist. For a time, he lets Lan Zhan maneuver him however he pleases, the slow, agonizing slide inside lulling him into a daze, forehead lolling onto Lan Zhan’s shoulder. Little whimpers escape him, unbidden, and soon Lan Zhan is filling him out again, blood-warm and thick, and Wei Wuxian wonders, through the haze, how many times they could do this, if they put their minds and bodies to it. How many turns of the wheel, how many rotations of the sun and the moon. How long Lan Zhan could do this to him. How long he could be still for Lan Zhan, be moved by Lan Zhan, be Lan Zhan’s.  

Instead, heart thundering in his chest, Wei Wuxian says, sharp and sudden and clear in the night, “Lan Zhan. Stop.”

Lan Zhan pushes Wei Wuxian backwards. He cradles Wei Wuxian’s head and cushions his torso when they hit the ground, Lan Zhan still inside him and on all fours, staring down at him. The ground is hard and unpleasant against his back when Lan Zhan removes his hand. Lan Zhan’s hair drifts down and tickles his face. His gaze doesn’t leave Wei Wuxian’s. It flays him. Wei Wuxian swallows against a dry throat. He breathes, “I said stop. I don’t want to. I’m done.” He reaches up and clenches the fold of Lan Zhan’s outer robe in his hand. Lan Zhan’s eyes snap down briefly to catalogue the movement, and then return to his face, whip-quick.

He shifts his hips, takes Lan Zhan’s cock a little deeper, and says, “Ah, Lan Zhan. Don’t.”

Lan Zhan exhales harshly. The line of his mouth tightens. He still doesn’t stop staring at Wei Wuxian.

Wei Wuxian makes to push himself onto his elbows, into a sitting position. He says, “Let me up.”

Lan Zhan thrusts out a hand, catching Wei Wuxian’s chin in his palm. Wei Wuxian struggles, trying to free himself from Lan Zhan’s grasp, but Lan Zhan only digs his fingers in deeper. Slowly, he pushes Wei Wuxian back onto the ground. He turns his head to the side, gazing at his bared neck. Sounds of the night echo around them, the occasional chirp and buzz and skittering of stone. Lan Zhan acknowledges none of it. A fresh smattering of tears chase themselves down Wei Wuxian’s cheeks. Lan Zhan runs his thumbs through the tracks they leave and thrusts shallowly into Wei Wuxian, just a quick, experimental movement. Wei Wuxian says, “Nn…” His grip on Lan Zhan’s outer robe tightens until his nails sink into the flesh of his palms.

Lan Zhan plucks one of Wei Wuxian’s hands off him. He holds it for a moment, considering it, and then slams it back into the ground above Wei Wuxian’s head. When he tangles their fingers together and thrusts, Wei Wuxian cries. He says, “No, no, stop, no,” while he gets hard again between their bodies. Lan Zhan bends further until Wei Wuxian’s cock is pressed firmly between them. Wei Wuxian puts a hand over his eyes and Lan Zhan immediately rips it off and pins it next to the other one, quickly transferring his grip so that he’s holding both of Wei Wuxian’s wrists above his head and against the ground in one hand. His other hand returns to cup Wei Wuxian’s face, gentle against his cheek. Wei Wuxian tries to bite it, and in return, Lan Zhan moves to grip the back of Wei Wuxian’s head, just above the nape of his neck, and pulls the hair there so taut it hurts.

Lan Zhan’s breathing is heavy, chest rapidly rising and falling, and he is so hard and overwhelming inside Wei Wuxian he doesn’t know if there will ever be room for anything else again. If everything in him has been arranged for Lan Zhan, now. If when Lan Zhan finally pulls out he will not simply remain empty and waiting and wanting until he returns. He flexes his fingers in Lan Zhan’s hold and says, “Let me go, please. Lan Zhan, let me go.”

There is something hidden so deep in Lan Zhan’s expression, something complicated and troubled and hungry, that Wei Wuxian only catches the tail end of it as it whips around the corner and then disappears into the dark.  

Lan Zhan descends upon him. He is not nice. Wei Wuxian begs him to stop in between bouts of moaning. Lan Zhan extends the index finger from the hand holding Wei Wuxian’s wrists down and rests it in one of Wei Wuxian’s bound palms. Wei Wuxian sobs and clutches it as best he can. He begs, Lan Zhan, Lan Zhan, Lan Zhan, and Lan Zhan says, barely legible and like it’s been ripped out of his throat, quiet, and kisses him so hard Wei Wuxian slices his lip on his own canine.

With the momentum of every thrust, Wei Wuxian’s body tries to slide further away from Lan Zhan. With the momentum of every thrust, Lan Zhan tightens his grip on Wei Wuxian’s wrists so that he doesn’t go anywhere. He keeps his finger in Wei Wuxian’s palm, tracing nonsense on the skin.

Lan Zhan’s breath is hot in Wei Wuxian’s ear while he bites at the shell of it. For a moment, Wei Wuxian imagines that mountain cave in Baling. If Lan Zhan had simply kept biting him. Had inched his fingers around the curve of Wei Wuxian’s waist until they came to rest just above his tented trousers. Had ignored Wei Wuxian’s protests about what’s good and proper and what is the noble Second Jade of Lan doing, Lan Zhan?! If Lan Zhan had slipped beneath Wei Wuxian’s layers and wrapped his big hand around Wei Wuxian’s hard cock and stroked him until he came, Lan Zhan rutting against his lower back the whole time until he came too, and then unconsciously kneading at the back of Wei Wuxian’s neck with his teeth, soothing them both until their breathing returned to normal.

Wei Wuxian had a dream like that, he thinks. A few weeks later. He woke up sticky and aching and determinedly forgot about both of those things before bounding into Lan Zhan’s room at the inn they had been staying at. He kept tucking his hair behind his ear, that day. Once, Lan Zhan even did it for him and Wei Wuxian’s chest seized so egregiously he almost lost consciousness on the spot.

Now is not a dream, though it feels like it. Lan Zhan holding him down. Around him. Inside him. They can never be anything else.

Into his ear, Lan Zhan says, “I will keep all of you.”

For the second or maybe third time tonight, Wei Wuxian comes. It hurts. There could be no better feeling in the world. He wants to curl up into a ball and disappear forever. He wants to melt into the ground and feed the trees. He wants to never move again, hurt and pleasure chugging sluggishly through his body like sweet-smelling anesthesia. The tears pour out and the trees will have to settle for that, because he is too busy being fucked by Lan Zhan while he comes too, merciless even mid-orgasm.

Even after they’ve both come, Lan Zhan keeps fucking him. It’s downright lazy by his standards, just languid rolls of his hips, but the deep ache in every nook and cranny of Wei Wuxian, finally making itself known, has little to say in protest. He can’t even consider the condition of his ribs, because he does not care.

He lies on the ground, unmoving, drooling into the dirt. He only notices Lan Zhan has stopped fucking him when there is the horrible sound and feeling of Lan Zhan leaving the home he’s made in Wei Wuxian.

Wei Wuxian scrabbles for him, begs without words, mindlessly chanting, even as Lan Zhan is scooping him up in his arms and depositing Wei Wuxian back onto his lap. It is with a single-minded determinedness that he kisses Wei Wuxian’s neck, no heat this time, only sweet careful tending to what Wei Wuxian assumes is a garden of purple splotches beginning to bloom across his upper body. Lan Zhan also rubs his back, big palm warm and comforting as Wei Wuxian starts to shiver.

He says, “Lan…” and can’t finish. He wonders if he’ll ever remember how to speak properly again. There is a tension in the line of Lan Zhan’s body as he brings Wei Wuxian back down, back up. Wei Wuxian tries to follow that line to a conclusion. When he cannot find one, he traces it backwards until he understands. He can say this. He can say, at least, “Good. Good. Good, good, good, good, good.”

Lan Zhan says, carefully still from underneath his jaw, “Not bad?”

Wei Wuxian wraps his arms around Lan Zhan. He cannot squeeze at all, but he tries anyway. “Good. Good. Good.” He’s still trembling. “Good. Good. Good. Good, good, good, good.” He brushes more tears away and stares at the dark outline of spring-alive branches against the night sky. He says, “I wish—I wish we could be like that all the time.” He shakes in Lan Zhan’s arms and tears spill.

Lan Zhan cards his fingers through Wei Wuxian’s hair. “That is not practical.” He presses his lips to the crown of Wei Wuxian’s head. “Regardless of physical proximity, you will always be mine.”

Wei Wuxian sags. Like liquid, he fills the shape of Lan Zhan’s arms around him. He says, smaller, “Lan Zhan. Good?”

There is a long silence in which Wei Wuxian sees nothing but the jingshi, empty for months, for years.

And then Lan Zhan kisses Wei Wuxian above the tail of his eyebrow so tenderly it sends another cascade of tears flowing. He says, “Yes.”

When Wei Wuxian wakes the next morning, later than even his usual, he is barely able to move, stiff and covered in bruises and laughing as he lurches around their tent in a sad attempt at packing, every move drawing a wince from him. Lan Zhan forces him to sit, then packs up the rest himself, while Wei Wuxian watches with bright eyes and chatters happily away.

When Zhang Xiaolian sees Wei Wuxian exit their tent, practically bent in half, she sneers. “Did the old drunk fall out of a tree last night?”

Wei Wuxian hiccups a laugh he hides behind his wrist, then clutches at his ribs with a grimace. “Yes! Clumsy me, I got drunk and fell out of a tree! I think I broke at least another two ribs!”

Zhang Xiaolian rolls her eyes and turns her attention back to their dwindling fire. Absently, she touches her mourning belt.

Lan Zhan, however, does not let him off so easily. He grabs Wei Wuxian’s arm and says, “Wei Ying.” Wei Wuxian had not mentioned the ribs when they went to bed last night, his back pressed to Lan Zhan’s front, lips gentle against Wei Wuxian’s neck.

Wei Wuxian twirls around in his grip until he’s facing Lan Zhan. “Lan Zhan, your horrified face! Stop!” He presses a palm to Lan Zhan’s cheek. “Stop, stop, dear, stop. I’m just impressed you—” He casts a quick glance at Zhang Xiaolian, who is not paying them any attention. “Er, the tree, didn’t smash them all to smithereens!” He moves his hand from Lan Zhan’s face to his chest, poking him with the tip of his index finger. “That’s very impressive, Hanguang-jun. Of the tree.”

Lan Zhan does not look impressed. Wei Wuxian steps closer, then hooks an elbow around the back of Lan Zhan’s stiff neck and plants a kiss on his cheek, then again just under his ear. He tweaks the tip of Lan Zhan’s other ear—the cutest shade of pink, always, he doesn’t need to see it to know it’s the color of a cute little piglet—and licks a stripe up the side of his neck. “Lan Wangji,” he pouts. “Don’t be so mean to me. But don’t be too nice, either.”

Eyes narrowed as he rests his palm on Wei Wuxian’s torso, feeding spiritual energy directly into his ribs, Lan Zhan says, “Then what should I be?” He inclines his head down, toward his hand. “It is more effective to apply healing energy to bare skin.”

Wei Wuxian says with a cheeky grin, “Not too mean. Not too nice. How hard is that to understand?” He straightens the fold of Lan Zhan’s white robe, already crisp as a spring morning. “Are you planning to rip my clothes off again so soon?”

Lan Zhan says, “Not if you don’t heal.”

Wei Wuxian pouts for real at the admonishment. “Lan Zhan, I’m fine. Trust me, the majority of my aches and pains are located in quite a different region after last night.” He waggles his eyebrows at Lan Zhan.

Lan Zhan is unmoved. He says in Zhang Xiaolian’s direction, “We will depart.”

As Zhang Xiaolian gathers her things and kicks dirt on the fire, Lan Zhan unsheathes Bichen. Wei Wuxian, trying to calculate how best to climb atop Little Apple without pulling any parts of himself too harshly, shouts in surprise when Lan Zhan’s hands appear around his waist and lift him up and onto Bichen, only just hovering above the ground. Wei Wuxian says, “Lan Zhan, what are you doing! I was just about to climb on Little Apple.”

Lan Zhan says, “You should not sit.”

Wei Wuxian purses his lips. “Then I’ll walk.”

Lan Zhan lays a palm against Wei Wuxian’s ribs. “You should not walk.”

Wei Wuxian says, “You’re kidding me. You would humiliate me like this?”

Lan Zhan doesn’t answer. When Zhang Xiaolian sees the display they make, she snorts and shakes her head. Wei Wuxian has to say, with what dignity he can muster, “Little maiden, would you do me the courtesy of minding the donkey?”

With a disapproving silence, she takes Little Apple’s reins from Wei Wuxian and moves ahead of them. Wei Wuxian can hear her murmuring secrets the moment she thinks they’re out of earshot.  

Lan Zhan says, “I could carry you. If that is less humiliating.”

Wei Wuxian leans back against Lan Zhan’s chest. “I can’t believe you’re this much of a smartass. Has it been hiding under there this whole time, or is it new?”

Lan Zhan says, “You do not pay attention.”

Wei Wuxian flutters his eyelashes and makes his voice breathy when he says, “I always pay attention to you, gege.”

Lan Zhan says, “My hand has been against your ribs since I put you here.”

Wei Wuxian says, “No!” He looks down. As promised, Lan Zhan’s hand disappears beneath his textured navy and black robe. There is the telltale thrumming under his skin of spiritual energy being transferred. He puts a hand to his forehead and says, “Aiya, aiya. What am I going to do with you?”

Lan Zhan readjusts his grip on Wei Wuxian’s waist and caresses Wei Wuxian’s mottled skin beneath his robe. Then, he kisses Wei Wuxian behind the ear and urges Bichen forward for another day of travel.

They arrive in Lotus Pier on a sticky gray day, humidity wrapped around them like a thick wool blanket. Wei Wuxian’s hair sticks to the back of his neck. Zhang Xiaolian’s face is shiny and miserable. Even Lan Zhan wears one less layer than usual, occasionally fluttering his outer robe to improve air flow when he thinks no one is looking.

Lan Zhan’s diligence regarding Wei Wuxian’s healing has paid off. Though he is certainly not back to full strength, scant as it may be, he can ride Little Apple or walk alongside her without Lan Zhan glaring at the side of his face from sunup to sundown. He had perhaps sped up Lan Zhan’s process by spending many nights relentlessly caressing his thigh, tripping his fingers up the inner seam of Lan Zhan’s trousers, and murmuring into his ear exactly what he wanted Lan Zhan to do to him, in as vivid detail as his imagination and the illicit illustrative books the Jiang disciples used to pass around could provide him. Save what Nie Huaisang lent him when they were students at Cloud Recesses to deploy against Lan Zhan, every pornographic illustration Wei Wuxian’s ever seen has been of a man and woman. When he told Lan Zhan this, Lan Zhan raised an eyebrow and said, “Is that a problem, Lan furen?” Wei Wuxian swatted him and kissed him and reminded him of whatever Lan Clan rule told him to be nice to his wife. Lan Zhan did not recite any rules for him, but he did make up for it by being very nice to him, as well as a little mean.  

And now, they are on the Lotus Pier docks and Jiang Cheng is walking toward them, sallow and angry as ever, not a drop of sweat or misplaced hair visible despite the weather. Wei Wuxian wonders, privately, if this is because Jiang Cheng no longer retains liquid in his body.

Jiang Cheng stops in front of them, robes swirling, snarl pulling at the corner of his mouth. His gaze roves over them with all the subtlety of a crashing wave, cataloguing the distance between Wei Wuxian and Lan Zhan’s bodies (purposely respectable) and looking at Zhang Xiaolian like he’s searching for soft spots on fruit at the market. He looks down his nose at her but says nothing, eyes snapping back to Wei Wuxian. He says, acidly, “You show your face here for the first time in a year and it’s to seek charity?” He sniffs. “Now that you’ve moved on to bigger and better things, you saddle the Jiang sect with another orphan. How fitting.”

Lan Zhan says, cold, “You agreed.”

“What could I say? The Jiangs accept disciples based on ability, not birth.”

“Then do not make a scene,” Lan Zhan says. “She has the ability.”

Jiang Cheng doesn’t take his eyes off Wei Wuxian. “Well, if Hanguang-jun says the sky is green, it must be true.”

There is a harsh laugh. Three heads turn to stare at Zhang Xiaolian. She says nothing, but there is the spark of challenge in her eye. “I could best you.”

Jiang Cheng’s eyes widen. He stares at Wei Wuxian, and then back at Zhang Xiaolian. “At what?”

Zhang Xiaolian shrugs.

Jiang Cheng says to Wei Wuxian, “This is a joke.”

Wei Wuxian shakes his head.

Jiang Cheng glances back at her. A muscle in his jaw twitches. While he is otherwise occupied, Wei Wuxian reaches out and clutches Lan Zhan’s sleeve in his hand, fist shaking. A moment later, he drops it back to his side like nothing happened. Lan Zhan says, “You will teach her.”

Jiang Cheng says to her, “You are years behind.” He glances at her empty hip. “Where is your sword?”

Zhang Xiaolian says, “I don’t have a sword.”

“You don’t—”

“I’ve never held a sword.”

Jiang Cheng closes his eyes. When he opens them again, he is once again glaring at Wei Wuxian. “This is a joke.”

Wei Wuxian unsticks his tongue from the roof of his mouth and says, “I wouldn’t dare tell you a joke.”

Jiang Cheng sucks in air through his bared teeth. He snaps, flicking his head dismissively, “Wait for me by the entrance.”

Zhang Xiaolian’s back is straight, wrapped feet solid on the dock. When Lan Zhan offered to purchase her proper footwear on their way here, Zhang Xiaolian told him to stick it somewhere so rude Wei Wuxian howled with laughter, hanging off Lan Zhan’s arm until he could support himself again. He had said to Lan Zhan, wiping tears out of his eyes, “Lan Zhan, Lan Zhan! She will spend half her time barefoot, anyway.”

“She should have proper footwear, regardless.” There was a small furrow between Lan Zhan’s brows.

Wei Wuxian said, after a few more chuckles, “It is so easy to live in ill-fitting shoes. She’ll be fine.”

Zhang Xiaolian takes two steps toward the gate to Lotus Pier proper, and then turns around to look at Wei Wuxian and Lan Zhan with a cool, assessing gaze. She says, “I suppose you expect me to thank you. Or apologize.”

Wei Wuxian says, “I cannot tell you how much I would prefer you didn’t.” Lan Zhan nods.

Tension ekes out of her shoulders and they fall, almost imperceptibly. She nods at both of them, neither friendly nor unfriendly, adjusts her belt, and turns and walks away.

Jiang Cheng says, staring after her, “Disrespectful brat.”

Wei Wuxian says, “Yeah. She’ll learn.”

“Maybe,” Jiang Cheng says venomously, glare back on Wei Wuxian.

Water laps at the dock below them, a light, soothing gurgle that used to lull Wei Wuxian to sleep in the middle of the day in the middle of a lotus lake, lying flat on his back in a hastily borrowed boat from one of the local fishermen who sold the majority of his catch every morning to the Jiang kitchens. Wei Wuxian would return for supper afterward, bright-eyed and burned to a crisp, and Jiang Cheng would slap the reddest part of him with a shriek of glee before tearing through the halls, Wei Wuxian sloughing after him and threatening to throw Jiang Cheng into the sun himself, to see how it felt.

Wei Wuxian puts a hand on Lan Zhan’s upper arm, no more than a light touch, and says, “Lan Zhan. We should go.”

Jiang Cheng stares at this display like someone just parted their robes in front of him. He makes that same sound, a disgusted hiss of air through his teeth. Wei Wuxian’s fingers curl back into his palm, down and away from Lan Zhan. Jiang Cheng snaps, “You come to my home. You dump an untrained, volatile junior disciple on me. And then you leave without even offering to pay your respects? You really are something else, Wei Wuxian.”

Lan Zhan takes a half step in front of Wei Wuxian, face stone cold, hand on Bichen’s hilt. “It did not go well the last time he tried.”

Jiang Cheng doesn’t even look at Lan Zhan. He only stares at Wei Wuxian, who has gone away somewhere. He is watching this conversation, but not part of it. What he said in Guanyin Temple all those months ago—he is not sure he will ever have anything of much substance to say to Jiang Cheng again.

Lan Zhan says, chill to the bone, “Do not squander this.”

Jiang Cheng’s jaw unhinges, clicks, and snaps shut again.

As Lan Zhan starts to turn, he puts a guiding hand at the small of Wei Wuxian’s back. The fabric there is damp, Wei Wuxian having sweated through it long before the sun was at its highest point in the sky. There is a scrape of grinding teeth from behind them and then Jiang Cheng says, “Bold words, coming from you!”   

Lan Zhan ignores him. When they take their first steps away, Jiang Cheng stutters out a few syllables of raging, blind nonsense, and thunders, “I expect an invitation!”

“You’ve just received one,” Lan Zhan says without turning back.

The threatening crackle of Zidian follows them all the way to their waiting riverboat.

On the riverboat, with Lotus Pier sunk behind the horizon, Wei Wuxian sits cross-legged beside Lan Zhan, head resting on his shoulder. Earlier, they exchanged brief words about their next destination, then lapsed into silence while the haze of humidity slowly receded into the night. Wei Wuxian’s sweat from the day’s activity has since dried cold, and he shivers, a little pleasant, a little not-pleasant.

Lan Zhan says, “You are awake.”

“I wasn’t sleeping.”

“You should,” Lan Zhan says. “More.”

Wei Wuxian keeps his eyes closed, but a smile blooms across his face. “Drink less and sleep more? Is that what you’re suggesting, Lan Zhan? Why would you say such disgusting things to your wife?”

When Lan Zhan says nothing in return—if he thinks the answer is self-evident and Wei Wuxian is only being facetious, he is sorely mistaken—Wei Wuxian turns his head so his forehead is pressed to Lan Zhan’s shoulder. “Should we really have left her with him?”

“She should not be left alone. She also did not want to be with us, nor did we want her to be with us.”

“We roam the land and fight spirits and sleep in barns. What would we do with a kid?!” A smile grows on his face. “Hey, Lan Zhan, now that I think about it, isn’t putting a baby in me your job?”

Lan Zhan says, smug, “It is not work.”

Sharp, delighted laughter bubbles out of Wei Wuxian as he wraps his arms around Lan Zhan’s torso. Slowly, it tapers off, into something more hesitant and complex. Wei Wuxian disentangles himself from Lan Zhan and stands in front of him. He has always loved the Lotus Pier riverboats, has always loved the water and any means of traveling through it, but it tends to make Lan Zhan a little green around the gills. It is both unfortunate and exceptionally cute.

Wei Wuxian says, “Lan Zhan. Do you trust me?”

Lan Zhan says, without hesitation, “Of course.”

Wei Wuxian summons Chenqing out of Lan Zhan’s qiankun bag. Despite his assertion, Lan Zhan’s expression turns guarded and watchful.

Wei Wuxian holds Chenqing with one hand at each end. When he is sure that he has Lan Zhan’s full attention, he drives his knee up and his hands down until they meet in the middle. There is a loud snap and a little puff of black debris that dissipates immediately.

Wei Wuxian tosses the two halves of Chenqing into the river and doesn’t stop to watch them sink. Usually, a flute snapped in two would float, water flowing in and out of the airholes.

Chenqing will sink.

Wei Wuxian returns to Lan Zhan. He sits beside him on the bench, knees bent toward him. He puts a hand on Lan Zhan’s face and says, “Now you’ve really got your work cut out for you.”

Lan Zhan’s eyes are wet when he responds, quiet yet sure, “It has never been work.”   

They stop at the nearest inn after departing the riverboat. Lan Zhan pays for their room and half-carries Wei Wuxian up the stairs. He lays him out on the bed and he kisses him all over and Wei Wuxian squirms and says, “Lan Zhan, this is untenable! You must be meaner to me.”  

Lan Zhan murmurs, “Tomorrow,” into the divot of Wei Wuxian’s hip before dipping his tongue inside and swirling it around until Wei Wuxian is panting.

Lan Zhan has an interesting relationship to sleep. He can be awake without being awake.

Wei Wuxian has the opposite problem. He can be asleep without being asleep.

When he wakes in the dead of night, still aching from the inside out in only good ways, he is not aware he’s had a nightmare until he touches his face and it is covered in a sheen of sweat. He doesn’t remember much, and little of it is new or interesting. They are simply the images that flicker behind his eyelids every time he closes them. Every time he blinks.

He sits up in bed to allow his heart to calm. Only moments later, Lan Zhan stirs. Sleep-rumpled and gold-warm, he wraps an arm around Wei Wuxian’s waist until Wei Wuxian is forced back into the protective circle of Lan Zhan’s embrace. Lan Zhan buries his face into the back of Wei Wuxian’s neck and murmurs, “Sleep, Wei Ying.”

Wei Wuxian will not. He may drift occasionally, on and off. He may not sleep at all for the rest of the night, and only happen to wake up and seize the day with Lan Zhan at his revoltingly early hour. He may sleep through the day, as he has in the past, and wake only with the dark.

But for now, he only has to let Lan Zhan adjust his grip—a little tighter, always a little tighter—and keep him.