Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The night stretched vast and endless above him, a sea of indigo silk scattered with stars, their light pale and shimmering like scattered pearls. The moon hung high, a quiet, luminous witness to his petty grievances.

Wei Wuxian sighed dramatically, kicking a loose pebble as he trudged through the quiet courtyards of the Cloud Recesses. Getting kicked out of an inn was nothing new—he had been through worse. But this time? This time, it really stung.

They had arrived at the gates together, drenched from the rain, only for the guards to demand proof of their invitation. Jiang Cheng had shot him a glare—where’s the letter, Wei Wuxian?—and his shijie had given him that soft, disappointed look that always made his stomach twist.

Of course, he had been the one carrying their supplies. He had been the one stuck juggling everything while Jiang Cheng barked orders and their shijie tried to smooth things over. The one who’d scrambled to pack up in a hurry after that stupid Peacock showed up and kicked them out of their rooms. And of course, somewhere between all the fussing and adjusting, their precious invitation had been left behind.

So, being the good, responsible disciple he was, he had run back down the mountain, slipping and sliding through mud and roots, all to retrieve the damn thing. By the time he made it back, hair soaked, robes clinging uncomfortably to his skin, ready to wave the scroll in triumph—

There was no one waiting for him when he returned.

It appeared that Jiang Cheng and his shijie had been let in without him.

Just like that.

Apparently, the Lan who were watching the entryway had decided to be reasonable after all, which would have been great, except now, he was the one stuck outside like a stray dog.

He shuddered at the comparison.

Had the oh so strict Lan Wangji decided it was in the Lan sect’s best interest to let them in anyways?

Wei Wuxian let out an exaggerated groan, running a hand through his damp hair. Absolutely ridiculous.

He would get in himself, if no one was going to let him in. Even with the stupid invitation.

The wards were frighteningly easy to dismantle enough to slip through. If he cared enough, he’d bring it to their attention. But he didn’t. He felt petty like that.

It was still early, far too early to sleep, and he knew Jiang Cheng would pitch a fit if he disturbed him by staying awake reading. So, he decided to entertain himself.

And what better way to do that than by climbing the highest rooftop he could find?

A few nimble steps, a careful grip on the cool tiles, and he was up. The night air rushed around him, crisp and clean, tinged with the faint scent of pine and parchment. The view stretched out before him, a dream of pale rooftops and distant mountains. He sat back, letting the wind tug at his robes, exhaling slowly.

From up here, he could almost pretend he was alone in the world, just him and the quiet hush of moonlight.

But even solitude was better with a drink.

He pulled out the small flask he had tucked away in his robes, the liquor burning smooth and familiar as he tipped his head back to drink. The Lan Sect’s rules about alcohol were ridiculous—what was a little wine under the stars? A little indulgence to soothe the sting of abandonment?

He had barely taken another sip when a voice cut through the night, steady and filled with disapproval.

"You are breaking several rules."

Wei Wuxian turned, lowering the flask just slightly.

The one who could only be the Second Jade of the Lan, Lan Wangji, stood poised on the rooftop, every inch of him a study in effortless grace and rigid propriety. White robes gleamed like frost-kissed silk, his forehead ribbon catching the moonlight like a whisper of silver. His long, dark hair, unbound at the ends, swayed faintly with the night breeze.

The same one who had so callously denied him entry before, clearly come back to gloat.

"You have broken in. Do not stay up past Hanshi. Do not drink alcohol. Get down,” Lan Wangji said, giving him a look of disdain.

Wei Wuxian arched a brow, fighting back a grin. "So many rules, Lan Zhan. Are you always this fun at night?"

Lan Wangji’s expression didn’t shift, but the weight of his gaze was a force in itself.

"You are trespassing."

Wei Wuxian took another leisurely sip, licking a stray drop from his lips as he let his eyes wander over Lan Wangji’s impossibly perfect form. "You say that like you don’t want me here. I have the invitation that you wanted, see?"

He pulled the piece of paper from his robes and waved it in front of Lan Wangji so the man could see it with his own two eyes. He was invited!

Lan Wangji’s lips pressed into a thin line. "I do not. It is past curfew. Wei Wuxian should have waited until the morning."

“But it’s so cold outside,” he said, looking at Lan Wangji with a small pout, “What if I froze and died out there? Would that make you happy?”

Lan Wangji didn’t deem that worthy of a response.

Wei Wuxian tilted his head, studying him. There was something too still about the way Lan Wangji held himself, something caught between duty and hesitation.

"Well, if I’m already breaking so many rules," Wei Wuxian mused, shifting forward on the tiles, deciding he may as well have a bit of fun, "What’s one more?"

Then the tile beneath his foot shifted.

He barely had time to curse before he was slipping, the rooftop tilting under him, the wind rushing past—

And then, strong hands grabbed a hold of him.

Wei Wuxian gasped as he was caught mid-fall, firm arms locking around his waist, pulling him against an unyielding chest.

The breath fled from his lungs, not just from the fall, but from the sheer, stunning nearness of Lan Wangji.

Their faces were impossibly close. Moonlight traced every perfect feature, sharp jaw, smooth skin, the way his lips parted slightly as if he, too, was caught in the moment. His eyes, molten gold and utterly piercing, held Wei Wuxian in place more than his hands did.

Wei Wuxian’s breath hitched. His pulse stuttered in his veins.

Lan Wangji smelled of sandalwood and ink, of something cool and impossibly steady. The warmth of his hands burned through Wei Wuxian’s damp robes, solid and inescapable.

He had met many people in his life, had laughed in the face of trouble and teased his way out of countless situations.

But standing there, held in Lan Wangji’s arms, he could think only one thing.

This was the most beautiful man he’d ever seen.

Lan Wangji exhaled, his grip still firm. "Reckless."

Wei Wuxian swallowed, his grin returning, softer this time. "Good thing you were here to catch me, huh?"

For one long, weightless moment, neither of them moved. The night stretched around them, silent, endless, cradling the fragile spark between them.

Wei Wuxian’s heart pounded in his chest, loud and unrelenting as he realized just how close they were. He could feel the warmth of Lan Wangji’s body through the thin fabric of his robes, the strength in his arms holding him steady, and he could smell him—something crisp, like fresh snow or mountain air, something that felt like it belonged in a world far too perfect for someone like him.

He wanted to stay there forever, just like this. In Lan Wangji’s arms, feeling the cool night air and the warmth of his body, with the moonlight painting everything in silver. But, of course, that wasn’t possible. Nothing this beautiful was ever meant to last.

And then, as if to solidify that fact, Lan Wangji’s hands—strong, sure—released their hold on him.

Wei Wuxian’s breath caught in his throat as he was suddenly dropped to the ground, the impact jarring through his body, though his mind was still reeling from the sensation of being in Lan Wangji’s arms.

"Be more careful," Lan Wangji said coolly, his gaze fixed on Wei Wuxian as he took a step back, his posture still poised, untouched by the earlier moment.

Wei Wuxian blinked, his head spinning, his breath still shallow. His hands pressed to the ground for support as he slowly stood, eyes fixed on the man before him. He couldn’t help the rush of heat that flooded his face—how could he not feel something after all that? After being so close to someone who seemed to belong in the heavens themselves?

He wanted to say something clever, something that would make this moment feel less absurd. Less embarrassing for him in the face of it all.

But all that came out was a half-laugh, a breathless, "Thanks for catching me. I guess I’m not as graceful as I thought. Not that anyone has ever said I’m graceful."

Lan Wangji didn’t respond. His eyes, golden and cold, merely assessed him for a moment before he turned, his robes swaying like a silent gust of wind, and began to walk away.

Wei Wuxian couldn’t breathe for a moment. His heart still raced from the sudden drop, from the wildness of everything, from the brief touch of Lan Wangji’s hands. And now, as Lan Wangji walked away, his form receding into the darkness, something inside Wei Wuxian twisted painfully.

This was ridiculous.

He had only just met him. Truly met him beyond their brief, brief, interaction earlier. He couldn’t possibly be—this—he couldn’t possibly have fallen for him, right?

But as the distance grew between them, a strange sense of longing rose within Wei Wuxian. His fingers curled at his sides, as though aching for something he couldn’t have. He wanted to be near Lan Wangji again. He wanted to feel that spark, that electric sensation, just once more.

"Wait," Wei Wuxian blurted before he could stop himself, his voice hoarse. He pushed himself to his feet, following after Lan Wangji, his heart louder in his chest than ever before. "You can’t just—"

Lan Wangji stopped mid-step, his back still turned to him.

The silence stretched.

Without looking back, Lan Wangji’s voice cut through the night air,

Wei Wuxian hesitated. His fingers twitched, his lips parted as if to say something more, but the words felt like they were trapped behind an invisible wall.

He didn’t know why he was still standing here, why his heart ached with something he couldn’t define. But everything about Lan Wangji, the way he looked, the way he moved, the way he had caught him, had carved itself into his chest, and now it hurt in a way that made no sense.

Lan Wangji was untouchable, unreachable, and that only made the yearning worse. He would never look at him the way Wei Wuxian looked at him. He would never see him the way Wei Wuxian wanted to be seen.

But still, he couldn’t tear his gaze away.

He opened his mouth again, but the words faltered. All he could do was stare, helplessly lost in the quiet perfection of Lan Wangji’s presence.

And then, finally, with a soft sigh that was almost lost to the wind, Lan Wangji spoke again, “You will face punishment in the morning."

The command was gentle but final, and it sent a sharp pang through Wei Wuxian’s chest.

He watched as Lan Wangji turned, walking into the shadows, disappearing into the night with a grace that left Wei Wuxian standing there, breathless and aching.

He wanted to hate it. He wanted to tell himself this was nothing.

But deep down, he knew it was something.

Something he would never be able to let go of.

And as the moonlight bathed him in its pale glow, he whispered to the empty air, "I think I’m in love with you."

Which was absolutely ridiculous, wasn’t it?

But the night held no answer, only the sound of the wind.

To say Wei Wuxian got no sleep would be an understatement.

He didn’t even fully remember making his way to the dorms, let alone climbing into his bed and falling asleep. Lan Wangji’s golden eyes haunted him every time he tried, and he could still feel the warmth of Lan Wangji’s arms around his waist, and how he felt in that moment—that moment, when their faces were so close that he could hardly breathe.

“Why do you look like shit?” Jiang Cheng’s voice cut through his thoughts, and Wei Wuxian blinked rapidly, realizing his brother was already standing in the doorway of their shared room. Wei Wuxian looked at himself in the mirror and winced.

The white robes weren’t doing him any favours. In fact, they only seemed to emphasize how sleep-deprived he was.

“Don’t be mean to me!” Wei Wuxian whined, “I barely slept last night. Do you know how late it was by time I got back from Caiyi Town?”

Jiang Cheng shot him a look, crossing his arms. “You wouldn’t have had to go all the way back if you didn’t forget the invitation in the first place.” He sighed, his voice softening a little. “Did you get in alright last night? I didn’t even hear you come in.”

“I had to sneak in,” Wei Wuxian sniffed, trying to make himself sound more pitiful than he really felt.

“Without getting caught?” Nie Huaisang’s voice piped up from the doorway, his tone skeptical.

Wei Wuxian’s mind immediately flashed back to the moment he had fallen, caught by Lan Wangji’s arms, the strength of his grip, no, no, don’t think about that, Wei Wuxian told himself. “Oh no, I got caught,” he said quickly, looking away and hoping to hide the way his cheeks were burning. “But after I’d already gotten through the wards. Lan Wangji said I’d face punishment today. Sorry in advance, Jiang Cheng.”

“You got caught by Lan Wangji?” Nie Huaisang said, raising an eyebrow in surprise. His gaze lingered on Wei Wuxian for a second longer than was comfortable, before he snickered, clearly enjoying his discomfort. “You’re done for. Everyone knows the Second Jade of the Lan is a stickler for punishments.”

Wei Wuxian could feel his throat tighten. His thoughts raced back to Lan Wangji, to the way he’d held him, how his voice had sounded when he said ‘reckless.’ A shiver ran down his spine, and he tried to distract himself by adjusting his robes.

“It’s not that bad,” he muttered, forcing himself to sound confident.

Nie Huaisang laughed lightly. “Of all the people you’d have to get caught in front of, it would be Lan Wangji, wouldn’t it?” he paused, a thoughtful expression crossing his face, before his eyes lit up with mischief. “He’s got those eyes that can see through everything. He’s got that aura of perfection, doesn’t he?”

Wei Wuxian froze, his heart skipping a beat at the mention of Lan Wangji. He quickly tried to steer the conversation back to safer waters. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he muttered, fumbling with the folds of his robe, willing the heat in his cheeks to fade.

“You definitely know what I’m talking about,” Nie Huaisang teased, raising an eyebrow. “I mean, who wouldn’t be caught by someone like him? He’s the most beautiful person alive, right? Cold, aloof, and…” He trailed off with a dramatic sigh. “And don’t even get me started on how strict he is. I think I’ve heard more than one story about how he punishes people for the smallest of infractions. You’re in trouble, Wei Wuxian.”

Wei Wuxian’s face burned even hotter, and he swallowed hard. He couldn’t stop the thoughts flooding his mind, his eyes, his hands, the way his presence had filled every inch of the rooftop. His heart thudded in his chest. He quickly tried to brush it off. “Pfft, you’re exaggerating,” he said, his voice faltering slightly. “I wasn’t that bad.”

Nie Huaisang raised an eyebrow, a sympathetic gleam in his eyes now. “You’re not fooling me. I mean, you’re definitely going to get punished. But don’t worry. If anyone can charm their way out of a punishment, it’s you, Wei Wuxian.” He winked. “Still, you might want to avoid looking directly at Lan Wangji for the next few days. I’ve heard he doesn’t take too kindly to those who break the rules around him.”

Wei Wuxian laughed, but it felt strained. “I’ll be fine,” he said, his voice a little too high-pitched. “I’ll just…stay out of his way.”

Nie Huaisang chuckled, seemingly satisfied with his friend’s answer, though he shot him one last teasing glance. “Good luck with that. But hey, I’ll take pity on you. I’ll be here if you need someone to distract you from those golden eyes.” He gave Wei Wuxian a wink before walking off, still snickering to himself.

Wei Wuxian watched him go, his stomach twisting uneasily. If only it were that simple. He could barely stop thinking about Lan Wangji, his presence, his gaze. There was no avoiding those golden eyes, not when they haunted him even in his dreams.

“Alright, alright, enough,” Jiang Cheng snapped, cutting through the conversation before it could spiral further. He shot Wei Wuxian a warning look. “What are you going to do now? Go to the ceremony or continue embarrassing yourself?”

“I’m going, I’m going,” Wei Wuxian said quickly, straightening up. He felt his heartbeat quicken again, still recovering from the accidental confession to himself, Yes, I think I am in love with him.

"Let’s go, then." Jiang Cheng gave him a look of exasperation, already heading for the door.

They all headed toward the ceremony hall together, but Wei Wuxian's mind was elsewhere. Every time he closed his eyes, he could see Lan Wangji's piercing gaze, the cool, indifferent way he’d held him before letting him go. He couldn't shake the way his chest tightened at the memory, the way his body seemed to remember the imprint of Lan Wangji’s hands, as if that brief touch had somehow changed him forever.

As they reached the hall’s entrance, the doors opened to reveal the grand space within. The sound of whispers and rustling robes filled the air, but Wei Wuxian’s attention immediately shifted.

Just as they were about to enter, Wei Wuxian caught a glimpse of someone—someone far too familiar. Lan Wangji.

There was no mistaking it. Even among the gathered crowd, he stood out, his white robes gleaming in the lantern light. He wasn’t just any disciple of the Lan; he was the Lan Wangji, his aura a quiet, undeniable force.

Wei Wuxian’s heart leapt in his chest. He felt the nervous flutter of anticipation stir in his stomach, his pulse quickening. But before he could even take a step closer, Nie Huaisang’s voice rang out behind him.

“Uh-oh, here comes the Second Jade himself.”

Wei Wuxian froze, his hands clenching at his sides. Lan Wangji was walking in their direction, his gaze sharp, focused on something, or rather, someone, at the front of the room. His expression was unreadable, but Wei Wuxian couldn’t help but feel his chest tighten all over again.

“Just don’t say anything stupid,” Jiang Cheng muttered, his tone suddenly serious.

But it was too late. As Wei Wuxian turned, his foot caught on the edge of a nearby rug. He stumbled forward, arms flailing for balance, and straight into Lan Wangji.

For a brief, heart-stopping moment, Wei Wuxian was face-to-face with the very person who had taken over every corner of his thoughts. Lan Wangji’s golden eyes locked with his, and for the briefest instant, time seemed to still.

Gods, why did he have to be so perfect? His heart already racing from the contact, as he tried to compose himself.

Lan Wangji, however, didn’t show a flicker of emotion. Without so much as a glance toward Wei Wuxian, he simply caught his arm with a firm grip and righted him.

"You’re careless," Lan Wangji said, his voice as calm and impassive as always. "Control yourself."

Wei Wuxian swallowed, barely able to form words. “I-I’m sorry, I—”

But before he could finish, Lan Wangji had already stepped away, leaving Wei Wuxian standing there, his face flushed with both embarrassment and something else, something that burned deep in his chest, leaving him wondering if Lan Wangji even noticed he existed.

Wei Wuxian stood frozen, his mind racing as he watched Lan Wangji retreat, the coldness in his steps unyielding. His arm still tingled where Lan Wangji’s fingers had briefly made contact, and he couldn’t seem to shake the feeling that something deeper had passed between them. His chest tightened, heart thrumming against his ribs as if trying to escape.

His gaze darted around the room, but everything felt blurry and distant, his focus lingering solely on the figure of Lan Wangji disappearing into the crowd. His breath caught in his throat. What is this? The unease, the frustration, the strange longing...it was all too much, too confusing.

“Nice going,” Jiang Cheng’s voice cut through his thoughts, a trace of annoyance in his tone. Wei Wuxian blinked and glanced over at his brother, who was now eyeing him with a mixture of exasperation and concern.

“I didn’t mean to—” Wei Wuxian began, but his words faltered as his brother raised an eyebrow.

“You never mean to,” Jiang Cheng muttered, shaking his head before giving him a sidelong glance. “You’d better get your head on straight. You’re going to have to face him soon enough for whatever punishment he has cooked up for you. And from the looks of it, I don’t think you’re quite prepared, if you’re literally tripping over yourself every time you see him.”

Wei Wuxian wanted to argue, wanted to insist that he was fine, that it was all just a misunderstanding, a clumsy mistake. But the truth, the crushing weight of his feelings, made his throat tighten. He couldn’t even begin to explain the storm inside him. Lan Wangji had always been a mystery, a presence he couldn’t read, couldn’t understand. But now… now everything felt different. Every brush of his gaze, every word he spoke, left a mark.

Before Wei Wuxian could answer, Nie Huaisang’s voice pierced the air again, sweet and teasing. “Ah, Wei Wuxian, are you going to keep making a fool of yourself, or are you going to keep blushing like an innocent maiden?”

Wei Wuxian’s face turned an even deeper shade of red, and he quickly turned away, muttering, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Nie Huaisang, clearly enjoying the reaction, raised an eyebrow. “Oh, come on. Don’t try to deny it. You’re practically glowing. If you ever want help with...well, whatever you aren’t feeling, just let me know. I’ve got plenty of resources at my disposal. Enough to help you woo the Second Jade of the Lan, if you so desire it,” He grinned, his tone teasing but not unkind.

Wei Wuxian gave him an exasperated look, struggling to hide his embarrassment. “You’re impossible.”

Nie Huaisang chuckled, giving him a friendly pat on the back. “Hey, I’m just trying to help. You know where to find me if you need it.”

Before he could answer, Jiang Cheng’s voice interrupted again. “Cut it out, you two,” he said, his gaze scanning the room. “Focus. We’re here for the ceremony, remember?”

Wei Wuxian nodded, pulling himself out of the whirlwind of thoughts. He had to focus. He had to.

The ceremony unfolded in front of him in a blur—speeches, offerings, and prayers—but all he could think about was the stillness of Lan Wangji's gaze, the quiet authority he carried. It was a struggle to keep his composure, to force his attention to the proceedings when every part of him was caught on the memory of their earlier encounter.

And then, as if fate were determined to taunt him, Lan Wangji reappeared.

His presence was like a pull, an undeniable force that demanded Wei Wuxian’s attention. As he passed by, Lan Wangji’s gaze shifted—just for a second—and their eyes locked.

Wei Wuxian’s heart skipped a beat. There was no denying it. Lan Wangji had noticed him. But did he see him? Really see him, the way Wei Wuxian had begun to see him? The question gnawed at him, the unease turning to something more profound, a longing that curled deep in his chest.

As the ceremony wore on, the space between them remained filled with the tension of unspoken words, of unacknowledged feelings. Wei Wuxian could feel it in every glance, every word that passed between them, even if no one else seemed to notice.

He barely even noticed as it came to an end, as Wei Wuxian was elbowed back to consciousness by his shidi, who rolled his eyes at him with far too much annoyance.

His gaze once again found Lan Wangji across the room. He stood tall, his posture as impeccable as ever, but for just a brief second, their eyes met again.

And this time, Wei Wuxian didn’t look away. He held his gaze steady, his heart pounding in his chest.

Was this what it felt like to be in love? Was this what all the stories and poems were about?

Because he’d always been a romantic, always wished for his own story one day.

But feeling it firsthand was exhilarating, invigorating.

Overwhelming.

As Lan Wangji made his way through the room towards him, he took a deep breath to brace himself, prepared to interact with his fellow cultivator once more. And if he heard Nie Huaisang laugh at him, he chose to ignore it.

“Wei Wuxian,” Lan Wangji said, and he felt himself inhale sharply, “It is time for punishment,” His tone was steady, devoid of emotion, but there was an undeniable weight in the air as he approached, his gaze never leaving Wei Wuxian.

Wei Wuxian turned to face him, his stomach clenching instinctively. “Punishment? What’s the punishment?” he repeated, forcing a smile that was more a grimace than anything else. His mind raced, wondering what kind of punishment Lan Wangji would dole out. A whip? A ruler? The thought made his throat tighten with dread. He’d been subjected to that kind of pain, many times before at Madam Yu’s behest, all for well-deserved reasons, of course, but he didn’t think he could bear it to face it here. It wasn’t something he wanted Lan Wangji to witness. The image of him standing there, calm and composed while Wei Wuxian was beaten—it was unbearable.

Lan Wangji’s golden eyes flickered, his posture unwavering. “You will copy the rules,” he said, his voice as calm as ever, but Wei Wuxian’s stomach dropped. He was supposed to copy rules? That was it?

“Copy the rules?” Wei Wuxian blinked, a surge of relief flooding through him. “That’s it?” he asked, unable to hide the astonishment in his voice. “I thought...I thought you were going to make me—”

Lan Wangji raised a brow, his lips barely twitching into the smallest of expressions, almost imperceptible but enough to make Wei Wuxian swallow hard. “You will copy all three thousand rules,” he said, his voice unwavering. “Ten times.”

Wei Wuxian’s jaw dropped. “That’s—!” he gasped. “That’s so much! Ten times?” He could barely comprehend what he’d just heard. The idea of writing out three thousand rules, much less ten times, was enough to make him shudder.

Lan Wangji didn’t react, his gaze steady and unflinching. “The rules must be memorized, Wei Wuxian. This is your punishment for being careless.”

Wei Wuxian wanted to protest, to argue that copying rules didn’t seem like much of a punishment at all, but the sheer magnitude of what was being asked stopped him. It felt like it might as well be a lifetime’s work, and his tired mind couldn't even begin to imagine how he’d get through all of it. But compared to a whipping, it was a relief—still, the weight of Lan Wangji’s expectation bore down on him.

As if that wasn’t enough, Lan Wangji added, "I will remain there the entire time, ensuring you follow through."

His mind spun, his thoughts involuntarily flashing to the quiet, imposing figure of Lan Wangji standing next to him. Will we be alone?

The idea of being alone with Lan Wangji, with no one around to see him squirm, to hear his breath catch in his throat, made his chest tighten. He tried to mask his unease with a weak chuckle, but his throat felt dry.

Wei Wuxian felt his pulse quicken. He tried to imagine sitting there, copying those lines while Lan Wangji—Lan Wangji—stood over him, watching him, his presence filling every space around him like a slow-moving river that refused to be ignored.

“Alright, alright,” Wei Wuxian muttered, trying to mask the rush of heat flooding his face. "But, uh,  just to clarify, we’ll be alone, won’t we?"

Lan Wangji’s expression didn’t change, but his gaze lingered, sharp as always, and Wei Wuxian could almost hear the unspoken words in the silence between them.

“You will be supervised,” Lan Wangji repeated, his tone firm, “Come.”

“Now?” he squawked out, glancing at Jiang Cheng, who simply shrugged at him without concern. Because of course Jiang Cheng didn’t seem to care. It was Wei Wuxian who was going to face punishment after all. Which was so, so unfair.

“Now,” Lan Wangji confirmed, and Wei Wuxian had no choice but to follow him through Cloud Recesses.

If he died, he just hoped his shidi and shijie cared enough about him remotely to avenge him. Or at least not laugh at his memory forever.

The library was so quiet that the scratch of Wei Wuxian’s brush against parchment sounded almost deafening. The flickering lanternlight cast long shadows across the rows of bookshelves, illuminating the dust motes suspended in the still air.

Across the room, Lan Wangji sat with his back straight, his posture impeccable even in silence. Wei Wuxian tried—he tried—to focus on his punishment, but the lines he copied blurred together the longer he stared at them. His hand was beginning to cramp, and the monotonous repetition of the text made his mind wander.

He stole a glance at Lan Wangji, meaning only to take a quick look, but somehow his gaze lingered. It was unfair, really, how composed he looked, how effortless his very existence seemed. The slant of his brows, the sharp line of his jaw, the way his eyes remained so steady and focused—it was ridiculous how someone could look so perfect while doing absolutely nothing.

Wei Wuxian let out a soft huff and shook his head. No, he told himself. There’s no way I’m in love. That would be absurd. Absolutely absurd.

Except… why was he memorizing the way the dim light caught on Lan Wangji’s cheekbones? Why was he mapping the shape of his lips, tracing the downward curve of his mouth in his mind like he was sketching it for later reference?

No, no. That wasn’t love. He was just, he was just curious! That was it. He just wanted to understand Lan Wangji better. He was interesting, wasn’t he? All quiet and stern yet carrying a depth that Wei Wuxian couldn’t quite unravel. It was only natural to be fascinated.

“Why are you staring?”

Wei Wuxian jolted, his brush skidding against the parchment and leaving a dark ink stain near the bottom of the page. He quickly straightened, schooling his face into something more innocent.

“I wasn’t staring,” he said, too quickly. “I was just, just taking a break!” He gestured to his work with a flourish, pushing the scroll toward Lan Wangji as if to prove his sincerity. “See? I’m already halfway done!”

Lan Wangji’s gaze flickered down to the parchment, then back up to Wei Wuxian’s face. He didn’t say anything, but the weight of his silence was enough to make Wei Wuxian fidget.

“I’ve been at this for hours,” Wei Wuxian added, resting his cheek in his palm. “You can’t blame me for needing a break.”

Lan Wangji still said nothing.

Wei Wuxian shifted uncomfortably. Maybe he was obsessing over Lan Wangji a little too much, but…was it really because he liked him? No. No, that didn’t make sense. He just—he just wanted to be his friend. That was all.

It wasn’t like he had many friends to begin with.

Jiang Cheng wasn’t really his friend—he was more like a brother, even if neither of them could ever say it outright. Nie Huaisang was fun, but they’d only just met. And anyone else? Just acquaintances, fleeting connections that never stuck.

Maybe that was why Lan Wangji occupied so much space in his head. Because Wei Wuxian wanted something solid. A real friendship. Someone who wouldn’t just laugh at his jokes but would understand him.

The thought struck him so suddenly that the words tumbled out before he could stop them.

“I want to be your friend!”

Silence.

Wei Wuxian immediately wanted to throw himself out the nearest window.

Lan Wangji’s expression didn’t change, but the slight tilt of his head made it clear he was scrutinizing Wei Wuxian as though searching for some hidden motive.

Before.

“You wish to avoid copying lines.”

Wei Wuxian let out a scandalized gasp. “I do not!” He gestured wildly at the parchment. “I’m halfway done! And I am doing my work! I just—” He hesitated, the words sticking awkwardly in his throat.

“I just don’t have many friends,” he admitted, quieter this time. “And I think you’d be a good one.”

Lan Wangji studied him then, his gaze piercing, searching. Wei Wuxian didn’t fidget under the weight of it this time. He just let him look.

Whatever Lan Wangji saw in his eyes must have been enough. Because, after a long pause, he finally inclined his head ever so slightly.

“…Mm.”

It wasn’t much. But it was something.

Wei Wuxian stared, mouth slightly open, brain short-circuiting.

Had—had Lan Wangji really just agreed? Just like that?

Lan Wangji simply turned back to his book.

A slow, uncertain warmth bloomed in Wei Wuxian’s chest. He wasn’t sure what to do with it—wasn’t sure he’d ever felt something quite like this before, but he didn’t hate it.

He smiled to himself and picked up his brush again, somehow feeling lighter than he had all night.

Wei Wuxian stared, stunned into silence.

He hadn’t actually expected Lan Wangji to agree. A lecture, maybe. A cold rejection, almost certainly. But that simple, quiet Mm had knocked the air clean out of his lungs.

His lips moved soundlessly for a moment before he managed to force out, “Wait, really?”

Lan Wangji raised an eyebrow, his expression calm, unreadable. “Did you not truly wish to be friends?”

Wei Wuxian flinched, eyes going wide. “No! I mean—yes! I do!” He scrambled for words, for anything to undo whatever mess he had just created. “It’s just—just surprising, that’s all!”

Lan Wangji regarded him for another long moment, but this time, there was no suspicion in his gaze. Just patience.

Wei Wuxian exhaled a breathless laugh, rubbing at the back of his neck. “If we’re friends, then can I call you Lan Zhan?”

Silence. Once again.

The moment the words left his mouth, he panicked.

It was too much.

It was too soon.

Lan Wangji was going to think he was ridiculous. He barely had this friendship and was already pushing it too far, maybe he could still come back from this though.

Before Lan Wangji could respond, he blurted, “Actually, you can call me Wei Ying too! Since we’re friends now. Fair trade, right?”

Yet the silence remained, as Lan Wangji did not say a word in response.

Then, Lan Wangji inclined his head slightly and said, in that same calm, steady voice—

“…Wei Ying.”

Wei Wuxian nearly died.

Why did his name sound so beautiful? It wasn’t special. Just two syllables, spoken like a thousand others had said it before. And yet—he swore it had never sounded quite like that.

This was it. This was how he was going to die. Not from battle, not from mischief gone wrong, but from Lan Wangji saying his name in a library.

Desperate to regain some semblance of control, he swallowed hard and tried to breathe through the sudden, inexplicable heat crawling up his neck.

He had to say something. Anything.

“…Lan Zhan,” he breathed out, looking at Lan Wangji with reverie.

The moment he said it, Lan Wangji’s gaze softened. Barely. Just the faintest shift in the set of his brows, the gentlest ease of his expression. But it was enough to make Wei Wuxian’s chest ache.

Oh.

Oh, no.

This had been a mistake. A huge, terrible, wonderful mistake.

And that was it. That was the moment Wei Wuxian knew he was doomed. Because if just that could make his stomach flip, if just a look could make his face feel hot, then there was no hope for him at all.

He was definitely going to die.

Jiang Cheng was going to make fun of him long after he was dead.

And it was all Lan Wangji’s fault.

Wei Wuxian was going to die. He was definitely going to die. Right here, in this library, under the weight of his own stupidity.

Lan Zhan had returned to his book without another word, utterly unbothered, as if nothing had just happened. Meanwhile, Wei Wuxian was trying to remember how to breathe.

It was so terribly, horribly unfair that he was expected to finish copying his lines after that.

How was he supposed to focus when his mind was still reeling from the sound of his own name on Lan Zhan’s lips? When all he wanted to do was keep staring at him, memorizing the way the candlelight softened the hard angles of his face, the way his lashes cast the faintest shadows on his cheeks?

Wei Wuxian took a deep, steadying breath. He could do this. Just finish the damn lines. Do not look at Lan Zhan.

He picked up his brush and forced himself to focus, dragging his gaze down to the page. He copied one character, then another. He was being so diligent, so responsible. Lan Zhan would be impressed.

He made it all of five minutes before his eyes betrayed him.

Lan Zhan was still reading, head tilted slightly downward, lips pressed in that familiar firm line of concentration. His fingers, elegant and careful, turned the pages with practiced ease.

Wei Wuxian gripped his brush tighter. He was not in love. There was simply no way. He didn’t even know what love felt like, but it definitely didn’t feel like this, like this ridiculous, foolish, overwhelming urge to keep looking, to keep watching, to catch every detail of Lan Zhan’s expression as he read.

No, clearly, this was something else. He probably just wanted to be friends. Yes, that made sense. He hadn’t had many friends before, not really. Jiang Cheng didn’t count; he was more like a brother, even if Wei Wuxian couldn’t call him that. Nie Huaisang was new. Maybe he was just obsessing over Lan Zhan because he wanted a real friend.

Yes. That had to be it. Of course it was. Right?

By some miracle, he finally finished his lines after what felt like a lifetime. He stretched his aching fingers, setting his brush aside with a deep sigh of relief.

Across the room, Lan Zhan was still reading, completely engrossed in his book.

Wei Wuxian frowned. After all this time, shouldn’t he have moved? Adjusted his posture? But no, he was still sitting so perfectly, so effortlessly composed, so effortlessly beautiful.

Wei Wuxian paused. Then, without thinking, he picked up his brush again.

It started with just a few strokes. The curve of an eyebrow. The sharp, clean lines of his jaw. The careful set of his lips. His fingers moved on their own, ink gliding across the page in a quiet trance. It felt natural, easy; like this was something he had always known how to do.

By the time he was finished, the realization hit him all at once.

Oh. Oh no.

He had just drawn Lan Zhan’s face.

Wei Wuxian barely had a moment to panic before he felt the weight of a gaze on him. He looked up, and sure enough, Lan Zhan was watching him, golden eyes flicking from the page to his face.

Wei Wuxian flushed in horror.

Wei Wuxian was so caught up in his work that he didn’t notice when Lan Zhan looked up.

He only realized his mistake when silence stretched too long and a quiet voice broke it.

“…What are you doing?”

Wei Wuxian flinched, his grip tightening around the parchment as heat flooded his face.

“N-nothing!” He slapped a hand over the drawing as if that would erase the evidence.

Lan Zhan just stared at him, expectant.

Wei Wuxian swallowed hard. Stupid. Stupid! Why did he draw him?

Against his better judgment, his hand moved, slow, reluctant. He held the portrait out toward Lan Zhan, trying very hard to ignore how his fingers shook.

“Here! It’s for you! Since we’re friends now!” His body moved faster than his brain, and before he could stop himself, he shoved the paper toward Lan Zhan.

There was a beat of silence.

Wei Wuxian immediately regretted everything. Why had he done that? As if Lan Zhan would even want a drawing of himself! It was probably terrible!

He probably thought Wei Wuxian was making fun of him! It wasn’t like he was even good at drawing anyways! Why did he think this was a good idea?

This was an absolutely horrible idea.

But then Lan Zhan reached out, took the paper with careful fingers, and examined it in silence.

Wei Wuxian held his breath, bracing for a scolding, a sigh of disapproval, maybe even a reprimand about wasting ink.

Instead, Lan Zhan folded the drawing with quiet precision, tucking it away in his sleeve.

Wei Wuxian blinked, stunned.

His heart fluttered.

Lan Zhan had kept it.

“…Thank you,” he said, his voice quiet.

Wei Wuxian’s heart fluttered.

Oh, no.

This was bad.

This was it. He really was going to die.

The tea was fragrant, its steam curling lazily in the air between them. The quiet pavilion overlooked a garden of pristine white blossoms, their petals still untouched by the evening breeze. It was a familiar setting, a moment of calm after a long day.

And yet, Lan Wangji could not find his usual peace and joy that he normally felt in such a setting.

His xiongzhang, Lan Xichen sat across from him, the picture of composure as he sipped his tea. He had not spoken much, but that was typical; he always waited, allowing Lan Wangji to gather his thoughts at his own pace, and was happy to simply bask in the quiet of the moment in their otherwise busy day.

The last two days should have been simple. Welcome the guest disciples in as they did yearly, partake in the saluting ceremony, and then make himself scarce as he usually did. And yet, it was nothing but simple.

He didn’t know how to explain what had happened. Meeting Wei Ying on that rooftop should’ve been the same as any other interaction with a guest disciple. Take them for punishment and then continue about his life.

But nothing about meeting Wei Ying felt simple.

From the moment he met the boy with a shine far too bright in his eyes, a laugh so melodious it resonated within him, Lan Wangji had acted anything but rational.

He’d caught Wei Ying when he fell from the rooftop, unable to bear seeing the boy fall from such a great height, but had no issues dropping him moments later when he felt far too vulnerable all of a sudden.

He had assigned Wei Ying his punishment. He had expected complaints, had expected some half-hearted attempt to charm his way out of it. What he had not expected was Wei Ying looking at him with such unwavering openness, without even a hint of delinquency.

He’d allowed Wei Ying to slack off in his punishment session, catching him drift off several times, and yet, allowed it to happen. He’d allowed Wei Ying to call him by his birthname.

And it did something to him, hearing his name murmured with such reverie, that he could not even begin to describe it.

He didn’t even want to think about the portrait Wei Ying had drawn of him, that he’d kept safely in his belongings.

Lan Wangji’s fingers tightened almost imperceptibly around his cup at the thought of it all.

Lan Wangji did not understand him.

He did not understand himself.

“You are quiet,” Lan Xichen said at last, voice gentle but knowing, “Do you wish to speak what is on your mind?”

Lan Wangji lowered his gaze slightly. “…I am always quiet.”

Lan Xichen gave a small chuckle. “Yes. But not like this.”

Lan Wangji hesitated, staring into his tea as though it held answers. After a long pause, he finally spoke.

“…I believe I have made a friend.”

There was a beat of silence. Then, to his surprise, Lan Xichen let out a soft laugh.

Lan Wangji’s brows drew together. “Why do you laugh?”

“Because I am happy,” Lan Xichen said, setting down his cup, “I am pleased for you Wangji. I know how you dislike the company of others. Does this have to do with a certain guest disciple I saw trailing after you after the saluting ceremony?”

Lan Wangji stiffened slightly, fingers tightening minutely around his teacup. Of course, his brother had noticed. Lan Xichen noticed everything.

“…It is Wei Ying,” he admitted, voice carefully measured.

Lan Xichen’s smile was knowing, but not teasing. “Wei Wuxian,” he mused. “I have heard much about him already.”

Lan Wangji glanced up. “From whom?”

Lan Xichen chuckled. “Just from a few of the disciples. Shufu mentioned that someone was given punishment already. I believe he knew Wei Wuxian’s mother, from the disgruntled look Shufu gave. And he seems to have made friends with A-Sang as well, something which will make Mingjue happy. I know he was also worried about his brother being alone in the lectures,” He took another slow sip of his tea. “And yet, it seems he has caught your attention most of all.”

Lan Wangji chose to ignore that, knowing all too well that Xiongzhang and Chifeng Zun wished for their brothers to be friends just as the two of them were. And yet, Lan Wangji was not so inclined.

Instead, Lan Wangji looked away, staring into his cup. “He is difficult to ignore. Persistent.”

That was an understatement. Wei Ying was infuriatingly present, his voice too loud, his energy overwhelming, his mischief unending. But his laughter lingered in Lan Wangji’s mind even in the silence of his chambers. The way his eyes sparkled when he spoke, as though he carried his own light, made Lan Wangji’s chest feel strangely tight.

Lan Xichen tilted his head slightly, studying him with quiet amusement. “And how did you come to be his friend?”

Lan Wangji hesitated, remembering the panic in Wei Wuxian’s tone of voice when they spoke, “…He asked...I agreed.”

Lan Xichen laughed again, but it was not mocking, just warm, fond. “That sounds about right.”

Lan Wangji frowned slightly. “You approve?”

“Why would I not?” Lan Xichen’s expression softened. “I have always wanted you to have friends, Wangji. I am pleased you found someone in this lot of disciples that you wish to befriend.”

Friends.

Lan Wangji had never thought much about the idea before. He had never needed to. He had his brother, his sect, his duty. That was enough. But then Wei Ying had come along, bright and bold, slipping past his walls before he had even realized they were being breached.

A friend.

Was that truly all Wei Ying was to him? Was it normal for one’s friends to make their heart yearn as his had started to?

Lan Wangji looked down at the tea in his hands, but his mind was full of Wei Ying—his laughter, his voice, his hands deftly sketching Lan Wangji’s face onto a piece of paper as though it were the most natural thing in the world. The way he had said Lan Zhan, soft and reverent.

“I see,” Lan Xichen said, a small smile still playing on his lips. “I think this will be good for you.”

Lan Wangji did not know if it would be good.

But he already knew there was no stopping it.

Wei Wuxian barely made it through the door before he collapsed onto his bed with a long, dramatic groan. He burrowed face-down into his pillow and let out another, even louder groan for good measure. The sheer weight of his own existence was unbearable.

Nie Huaisang, lounging comfortably with a book in his lap, didn’t even glance up., “That bad, huh?”

Wei Wuxian let out a pathetic whimper, “Worse.” Because it was so, so much worse.

Nie Huaisang turned a page with maddening ease. “What happened? You looked perfectly fine when you left for the library.” He finally peeked over the edge of his book, curiosity piqued. “Wait, don’t tell me you actually copied all those lines? Without dying? Without complaining?” His eyes narrowed. “Did Lan Wangji break you? Do we need to give you your funeral rites?”

Wei Wuxian groaned again, rolling onto his back like he was at death’s door. “I finished my lines,” he admitted, voice hollow.

Nie Huaisang’s brows rose. “So he did break you.”

“No, no,” Wei Wuxian waved him off weakly. “I copied my lines. I survived.” He let his arm flop over his eyes, voice dropping into something dangerously close to despair. “Physically.”

Nie Huaisang finally shut his book. “Alright, that’s it,” he said, sitting up. “What happened to you?”

Wei Wuxian debated internally, staring at the ceiling like it might spell out an answer for him. His thoughts were a mess. His heart was still racing. His hands still tingled from where he’d nervously clenched his brush for hours, struggling to write even one proper line when all he could think about was—

He swallowed hard.

Because at least Jiang Cheng wasn’t in the room to tease him for being a stupid idiot already. And maybe Nie Huaisang would be more understanding of his dilemma.

“Do you think it’s ridiculous to fall in love at first sight?” he asked, barely above a whisper.

The silence that followed was suffocating.

Nie Huaisang stared at him. Wei Wuxian didn’t dare look back.

Then, with slow, deliberate care, Nie Huaisang placed his book aside and turned fully to face him.

“Wei-xiong,” he said, voice far too cautious, “Are you telling me you’re in love?”

Wei Wuxian flailed.

He buried his face in his hands, practically writhing in place. “I don’t know! That’s the problem!” he groaned. “It can’t be love, right? That would be completely ridiculous! Absurd! I mean, I barely know him! I just met him!”

Nie Huaisang tilted his head, considering. “That does sound absurd.”

Wei Wuxian shot him a glare, only for it to immediately crumble into pathetic agony. “Right?! But then why,” He covered his face again, rolling back and forth like he could shake the feelings out of his body. “Why does he look like that?! Why does he say my name like that?! Why is he so perfect! Why is he—ugh!” He flopped onto his stomach again, muffling another groan into his pillow.

Nie Huaisang tapped his chin, unfazed. “The heart wants what it wants. And clearly what yours wants is Lan Wangji. Not that I blame you. Lan Wangji is known for being unearthly beautiful despite being untouchable. You’re only human.”

Wei Wuxian peeked up, eyes wet with suffering. “That’s not helpful, Nie Huaisang.”

Nie Huaisang shrugged. “It’s the truth.” Then, after a thoughtful pause, he leaned in, watching him closely. “But the real question is: what are you going to do about it?”

Wei Wuxian froze.

That was the question, wasn’t it?

What was he going to do? Because this, this agony, was not sustainable. He couldn’t keep living like this, like his heart might combust every time Lan Zhan so much as existed near him. Like the very air shifted when Lan Zhan was in the same room, like the way he sat across from him, lost in his book, completely unaware of the fact that Wei Wuxian was memorizing every sharp, elegant angle of his face, was somehow ruining him.

He thought back to the moment in the library. The way his own name had sounded in Lan Zhan’s voice.

Wei Ying.

Wei Wuxian made a sound like he was dying.

He had a full year to spend in Cloud Recesses. And he hadn’t even survived a full day here.

“I can’t keep living like this,” he admitted at last, rolling over to look at Nie Huaisang, who looked far too entertained. “It’s unfeasible. I will die, Nie Huaisang, and then you’ll have to do my funeral rites for real.”

Nie Huaisang looked entirely too pleased. “Oh,” he said, grinning. “Oh. You have it bad, don’t you? You’re doomed.”

“I know!” Wei Wuxian wailed, rolling away again.

Nie Huaisang nodded sagely. “That does seem problematic. And a rather difficult way to spend our time here.”

Wei Wuxian stared at the ceiling again, hands clenched at his sides. His mind raced, scrambling for a solution, an escape, anything. And then—

He inhaled sharply, sitting up so fast that Nie Huaisang nearly leaned back in alarm.

Because truly, there was only one solution. Only one thing that was there even to be done at a time like this. Because he had a full year. And he was going to use it wisely. Productively.

“How serious are you about helping me out?” Wei Wuxian asked, deadly serious.

Nie Huaisang’s eyes gleamed with intrigue. “That depends. What do you have in mind?”

Wei Wuxian’s jaw clenched. He curled his fists, bracing himself.

“I’m going to woo Lan Zhan. And I want you to help me.”

Nie Huaisang did not laugh. He did not tease. He did not question why Wei Wuxian had just said something so utterly unhinged. He simply smiled, slow and knowing, like he had been waiting for this.

“Wei-xiong,” he murmured, voice brimming with unholy delight, “You’ve come to the right person. As it turns out, I am the master of all things love and romance. I’ve read so many books on the matter. If courting Lan Wangji is your goal, then we will win him over for you and put you out of your misery.”

Wei Wuxian grabbed Nie Huaisang by the shoulders, eyes wide with desperate hope. “You swear it?”

Nie Huaisang placed a solemn hand over his heart. “On my honour as a connoisseur of romantic tales.”

Wei Wuxian groaned in relief, flopping dramatically back onto his bed. “Thank the heavens! Because if I have to go one more day with this, this burning, this longing, this unbearable need to gaze into Lan Zhan’s eyes forever, I think I might actually die.”

Nie Huaisang rolled his eyes. “Wei-xiong, you’re pathetic.”

“I know,” Wei Wuxian moaned, pressing the back of his hand to his forehead. “I hate it.”

Nie Huaisang smirked. “But I love it. This is far better entertainment than anything I could have ever asked for.” He scooted closer, voice lowering conspiratorially. “So. Tell me everything. How deep are you in?”

Wei Wuxian groaned again, dragging his hands down his face. “Too deep. Dangerously deep. Like…like ‘I was copying my punishment lines today, but I kept getting distracted because I wanted to steal glances at him’ deep. Like ‘I heard him say my name once and now it’s haunting me’ deep.” He let out a whimper. “Like ‘I gave him the stupid portrait I drew of him without even realizing and I want to die’ deep.”

Nie Huaisang gaped, eyes going huge. “How are you so far gone already?”

Wei Wuxian looked at him miserably.

“Oh, you’re doomed.”

“I know! But I have to do something about it, Nie Huaisang. I can’t live like this!”

Nie Huaisang nodded sagely. “Agreed. Unfeasible. So!” He clapped his hands together, eyes shining. “Let’s strategize.”

Wei Wuxian sat up, determination solidifying in his chest. “Right! I need a plan. Something foolproof. Something,” He paused. “Actually, wait.” He narrowed his eyes. “I don’t even know what Lan Zhan likes.”

Nie Huaisang blinked. “Oh. That is a problem.”

Wei Wuxian groaned and grabbed Nie Huaisang by the collar, shaking him lightly. “Huaisang! How am I supposed to woo someone I barely know?!”

Nie Huaisang hummed, thinking. Then, suddenly, his eyes lit up. “We need intel,” he declared. “We need to find out what Lan Wangji actually enjoys, and then we’ll tailor your courting approach accordingly.”

Wei Wuxian’s grip tightened. “Yes. Yes! Genius! But how do we do that?”

Nie Huaisang waved a hand dismissively. “Leave that part to me. I happen to be the younger brother of the best friend of Lan Wangji’s elder brother’s. Xichen-ge thinks of me as a younger sibling. I’m sure I can find out a thing or two.  And, unlike you, I am subtle.”

Wei Wuxian gasped, clutching his chest. “I am subtle!”

Nie Huaisang raised an unimpressed eyebrow.

Wei Wuxian deflated. “Okay, maybe I’m not. But that’s fine! That’s why I need you!” He grabbed Nie Huaisang’s hands, practically vibrating with excitement.” Nie Huaisang, please. I’m counting on you. I need you.”

“No, you need Lan Wangji, clearly,” Nie Huaisang smirked. “Don’t worry, Wei-xiong. By the time I’m done gathering information, you’ll know Lan Wangji better than he knows himself.” He leaned in, eyes gleaming. “And then, my dear friend, the real fun begins.”

Before he could say another word, Jiang Cheng strode into the room, his sharp gaze sweeping over them before narrowing suspiciously. “What exactly are you two scheming?”

Wei Wuxian immediately straightened, wiping the ridiculous lovesick look off his face. “Nothing! Absolutely nothing. Just a casual, completely normal, and not at all suspicious conversation between two new friends and roommates.” He threw an arm around Nie Huaisang, grinning. “Right, Nie Huaisang?”

Nie Huaisang beamed. “Oh, not at all! We were just talking about how your shige is madly in love with Lan Wangji and wants to woo him.”

Wei Wuxian howled in betrayal. “Nie Huaisang!”

Jiang Cheng froze, eyes widening in horror. “…He’s what?”

Wei Wuxian groaned and flopped onto the bed, muffling his scream into his pillow. “I hate you, Nie Huaisang. How could you sell me out so easily? Betray me like that? I trusted you!”

Nie Huaisang patted his back, completely unrepentant. “You really shouldn’t have.”

Jiang Cheng, meanwhile, was staring between them like he wished he had never walked into this room. “Lan Wangji? The Second Jade of the Lan, Lan Wangji. Who you’ve already embarrassed yourself in front of multiple times today? Holy shit, is that why you keep acting like an idiot? Because you’ve fallen in love? Wei Wuxian! You really are determined to embarrass the Jiang sect aren’t you,” he rubbed a hand against his face, “Please tell me he’s joking and I do not need to worry about this.”

“I wish he was,” Wei Wuxian wailed, rolling over dramatically. “But no, apparently this is my life now.”

Jiang Cheng crossed his arms, looking more annoyed than surprised. “Why are you making such an idiot of yourself? You flirt with girls all the time—shouldn’t this be easy for you? And since when are you a cutsleeve?”

Wei Wuxian groaned, dragging a hand through his hair. “I don’t know! And that doesn’t count! That’s just the ladies at the market; I do it for discounts, Jiang Cheng, it’s never meant anything.” He sat up, eyes wide and almost pleading. “This is different. I have never felt like this before. I have no idea what I’m doing. I didn’t even know I like men. I don’t like men. But Lan Wangji isn’t just any man. He’s-” he waved his hand around with a flourish, hoping to capture all that Lan Wangji was.

Jiang Cheng looked at him, then sighed, shaking his head. “You’re an idiot.”

Wei Wuxian, for once in his life, did not argue. He just let out a long, suffering sigh. “I know.”

Nie Huaisang rested his chin in his hands, clearly enjoying every moment of this. “Well, at least we can all agree on that.”

This was going to be terrible.

He really was probably going to die.

Chapter Text

The sun hung low in the sky, casting a soft amber glow through the lattice windows of the lecture hall. The air was still, save for the occasional rustle of parchment as students scribbled notes in their meticulously kept journals. The smell of ink and paper filled the room, mingling with the faint scent of tea that lingered from the morning’s serving.

Wei Wuxian sat at the long wooden desk, his quill in hand, trying to focus on the lecture at hand.

His second day in Cloud Recesses, and somehow it felt harder than the first. Because now he didn’t just have to deal with knowing that Lan Zhan was in his proximity. He had to actually sit and pay attention to the lecture.

Lan Qiren was pacing in front of the class, speaking with his usual stern tone as he expounded on one of the Lan sect's core rules—something about propriety and the delicate balance of respect in the cultivation world.

It wasn’t a new topic to Wei Wuxian; he had heard the same rule repeated countless times, drilled into him since childhood. But today, his mind wasn’t on the lecture.

No, today, he found himself just the tiniest bit distracted. But only just a little.

His gaze, despite his best efforts, kept drifting to the figure seated at the front of the class. Lan Zhan sat so still, so composed, like a statue carved from jade. His presence was quiet but commanding. His hair—so long and beautifully black, so smooth, and shiny in the dim light of the study hall—seemed to shimmer under the sunlight that filtered through the windows.

Wei Wuxian's thoughts, once wrapped around Lan Qiren’s words, slowly dissolved into a haze. He leaned forward slightly, eyes tracing the soft curve of Lan Zhan’s face, the way his strands of hair fell so perfectly into place, barely brushing his body.

He wondered what it would feel like to touch it. It must be so soft. So smooth.

He blinked, realizing just how intensely he was staring. He immediately looked down at his hands, feeling the heat in his face rising.

Before he could collect himself, Lan Qiren’s voice broke through his reverie.

“Wei Wuxian,” Lan Qiren’s voice was sharp, cutting through his thoughts. “Can you explain to us how this rule applies to the cultivation world?”

Wei Wuxian’s heart skipped a beat. He glanced up, blinking rapidly. His mind raced, trying to scramble for the last part of the lecture he could remember. The rule, something about propriety, respect for elders, maintaining order, and...?

“Uh...could you repeat the question?” he asked, barely holding back the nervousness creeping into his tone. He mentally slapped himself. Why did he have to zone out? Now Lan Zhan was going to think he was an idiot too!

Beside him, Jiang Cheng’s face contorted with frustration, his fingers drumming impatiently on the desk. He looked as though he were considering slamming his head into it in sheer exasperation.

Lan Qiren’s lips tightened into a thin line, but he didn’t reprimand Wei Wuxian directly. Instead, he repeated the question in a tone that was just a touch sharper. “How does the rule of propriety apply in cultivating relationships with others in the cultivation world? Specifically, when it comes to juniors and elders.”

Wei Wuxian’s pulse quickened. He forced himself to focus, pushing away the images of Lan Zhan’s silken hair and stern gaze. He shifted in his seat, ran a hand through his hair, and quickly assembled his thoughts. The rule—right, propriety. It was about respect, about hierarchy, how juniors should maintain humility before their elders, never overstepping, always offering deference, but also... knowing how to earn respect from those higher than them?

Taking a deep breath, Wei Wuxian spoke up, his voice clearer than he felt.

“Respect in cultivation is built on trust and mutual recognition,” he said, his tone gaining confidence. “Elders are expected to guide juniors, teaching them not just through words, but through their actions. But at the same time, the younger generation is expected to rise to the occasion, show their worth, and offer respect not because they’re forced, but because they understand the importance of this relationship in preserving the balance of power.”

He finished with a soft exhale, hoping it was coherent enough.

Lan Qiren narrowed his eyes, and for a moment, Wei Wuxian worried he’d failed. But then, Lan Qiren nodded slowly, the faintest hint of approval in his gaze. “Well answered, Wei Wuxian. A bit idealistic, but the sentiment is correct. Try not to lose focus again.”

Wei Wuxian smiled sheepishly, feeling a strange mixture of relief and pride, but he quickly noticed something else.

Lan Zhan’s gaze was fixed on him.

The intense, piercing look was enough to make Wei Wuxian’s stomach flutter nervously. He gulped, feeling the weight of Lan Zhan’s stare like an invisible touch. His mind briefly blanked again. Was he being judged? Was he wrong? Did he mess up?

But Lan Zhan’s expression remained unreadable. The smallest furrow in his brow was the only indication that he was thinking about what Wei Wuxian had said.

And then, that was it. Lan Zhan simply turned his attention back to the front of the class, his calm composure as unshaken as ever. But for Wei Wuxian, it was like his heart had stopped for a moment.

Why did it feel like his chest was about to burst? He shifted awkwardly in his seat, trying to suppress the wave of emotions that rushed through him. He wasn’t sure if it was from the approval, the gaze, or something else entirely, but it left him with a tight feeling in his chest that he couldn’t quite shake.

Jiang Cheng, still seething beside him, shot him a look of warning, as if telling him to get his act together. Wei Wuxian winced and muttered an apology under his breath, hoping the rest of the lecture would pass quickly without any further incidents.

Wei Wuxian’s heart pounded in his chest, his thoughts still tangled around the fleeting moment of Lan Zhan’s gaze. He had always known that Lan Zhan was composed, always so unreadable, but to have his eyes on him, even if it was just for a split second… It made his skin burn with embarrassment and excitement all at once. It was as if the weight of the world had settled onto his shoulders, and yet, it was the most alive he had felt in days.

He shifted uncomfortably in his seat, trying to focus on the lecture again, but his mind refused to settle. The answer he had given to Lan Qiren’s question—well, it was fine. It wasn’t exceptional, but it was sufficient. The problem wasn’t the lecture or the question; the problem was Lan Zhan, the way his presence alone seemed to throw his entire sense of self into turmoil.

He let out a frustrated sigh, glancing at Jiang Cheng, who was sitting stiffly beside him, his eyes narrowed with a mixture of disapproval and exasperation.

“You really need to pull it together,” Jiang Cheng whispered, not harshly, but with an air of concern…?  His voice barely audible to anyone but Wei Wuxian. “You’re acting like a fool.”

Wei Wuxian, still flushed and flustered, gave his friend a sheepish grin. “I know, I know,” he muttered, but his heart wasn’t in the apology. He couldn’t stop thinking about Lan Zhan—about how every word that came from his mouth seemed to be weighted with something unspoken, something deep. Was it just him, or was there something between them? Was it just his imagination running wild, or did Lan Zhan know what he was doing to him?

But Lan Zhan had already turned his attention back to the lecture, his posture so perfect it almost looked like he had no intention of ever moving. His silence was deafening, and it made Wei Wuxian’s skin crawl with the need to know what was going on inside that carefully guarded mind of his.

The rest of the lecture dragged on, each passing second feeling like an eternity. Wei Wuxian’s attempts to focus only resulted in his mind wandering further, like a leaf caught in a current, completely unable to resist the pull of Lan Zhan. The very stillness of the man only made it worse. It was like he was impossible to read, a puzzle that Wei Wuxian had no idea how to solve. It was like an obsession, a challenge, something he couldn’t shake off.

The lecture ended at last, and the students began to file out, their voices and footsteps echoing softly in the stone hall. Wei Wuxian was slower than the rest, his gaze lingering on Lan Zhan just a moment longer, unable to tear himself away from the serene expression on his face.

It was only when Lan Qiren’s voice cut through his daze that he was snapped back to reality.

“Wei Wuxian,” Lan Qiren said sharply, his tone more like an order than a suggestion. “You are dismissed. You may go.”

For a moment, Wei Wuxian didn’t move. He simply nodded, but his mind was still a hundred miles away. Jiang Cheng was already out the door, a glare thrown over his shoulder at Wei Wuxian. Wei Wuxian blinked, finally realizing that he was still seated at his desk, his papers scattered across the surface in a disorganized mess.

He grabbed his things in a hurried rush, standing quickly, but just as he did, his eyes met Lan Zhan’s once more. This time, Lan Zhan’s gaze lingered for a fraction longer, and for the first time, Wei Wuxian swore he saw something flicker in his expression. But it was gone before he could even register it.

Did he… just look at me differently?

His heart leapt into his throat, and he barely caught his breath in time. He quickly turned away, his face burning. There was no way he could have just seen that.

Still, as he walked out of the room, his mind was filled with nothing but Lan Zhan.

He had to do something. He couldn’t live like this—couldn’t go on feeling like a fool every time he looked at the man. There had to be some way to close the distance between them, some way to bridge the gap between his embarrassing, overwhelming feelings and the cold reality that was Lan Zhan.

As he walked down the hall, his heart raced. He didn’t know how, or when, or why, but one thing was certain—he couldn’t stop thinking about Lan Zhan. He had to get closer, had to find out what was hidden behind that perfectly composed exterior.

And if he was completely honest with himself, he wasn’t sure anymore if it was just curiosity or something much, much deeper.

“Running away already?” Nie Huaisang teased lightly, raising an eyebrow. “I thought you were going to do some wooing today.”

Wei Wuxian sighed heavily, slumping against the wall with an exaggerated sigh. “I can’t. I just…can’t. I have no idea what I’m doing, Nie Huaisang! I’m making an utter idiot of myself, again, and again, and again.”

“Mm,” Nie Huaisang said knowingly, tilting his head. “So what’s the problem? I saw your face when you were answering questions. You did fine. You pulled it together when you needed to.”

Wei Wuxian made a face. “It’s not that,” he muttered. “It’s just... it’s stupid.”

Nie Huaisang’s gaze softened, and he stepped closer. “What is?”

Wei Wuxian hesitated before looking up at his friend, his expression fraught with both frustration and something else that he didn’t have the words for.

“It’s just…” he trailed off, his voice quieter now, “I keep thinking about him. I can’t stop. Is it normal for someone to be on your mind like this?”

Nie Huaisang tilted his head, a sly smile forming on his lips. “Ah, you’ve got it so bad, Wei Wuxian.”

Wei Wuxian sighed again, throwing his hands up in defeat. “Yes, I know!” he groaned, his voice almost childlike. “Lan Zhan. Lan Zhan. I can’t think about anything else! I can’t focus in class. I can’t do anything without thinking about him. It’s so stupid.”

Nie Huaisang laughed softly, leaning in close. “It’s only stupid if you don’t do anything about it. Right now, it’s just adorable. It’s like watching a sad little puppy.”

Wei Wuxian narrowed his eyes at his friend. “I don’t need you to call me adorable. Or a puppy,” he grumbled. “I need you to help me figure this out.”

Nie Huaisang chuckled. “I’m always ready to help, Wei-xiong. Always.”

Wei Wuxian gave him a pleading look. “I’m serious. Help me make sense of this. I’m losing my mind.”

Nie Huaisang grinned wider. “We’ll get to work on it, but first, let’s get out of here. There’s a lot to be done if we’re to get you into decent shape to do some courting. And who knows? Maybe the next time you see him, you’ll be a little less of a mess.”

Wei Wuxian could only hope.

Wei Wuxian sat alone at his small wooden desk, his hands trembling slightly as he gripped the small carving knife. The room was quiet, save for the occasional sound of his blade scraping against the wood. He had carved hundreds of objects before, tools, trinkets, weapons, but this was different. This was for him. For Lan Zhan.

He couldn’t remember when exactly he had decided that he wanted to carve the little bunny. The idea had just come to him in a flash, like all the most ridiculous things that seemed to come out of his head. A bunny. Something soft, delicate, and harmless. Just like Lan Zhan. The thought of giving it to him. his heart stuttered at the idea. Would Lan Zhan appreciate it? Or would he think it was stupid? He had no idea how to judge him, especially when it came to something so personal. But the mere thought of offering him something made his chest ache in ways he couldn't fully explain.

Each tiny detail felt like it mattered more than it should. His hands were becoming increasingly shaky, but he forced himself to focus. The fur needed to be smooth, the ears sharp yet soft, and the body symmetrical, all while keeping the carving simple, humble—a representation of his feelings without saying them outright.

Nie Huaisang had been watching him for the past half-hour, leaning against the doorway with an amused glint in his eyes. "You know," he said, crossing his arms, "You look like you're about to carve your soul into that thing."

Wei Wuxian looked up, startled, but found himself smiling a little. "It’s not like that," he muttered, smoothing down the delicate fur. "I just...I want to give him something nice. Something meaningful."

Nie Huaisang raised an eyebrow. "Meaningful? Are you sure it’s not just about impressing him?"

Wei Wuxian flushed. "It’s not about impressing him!" he snapped. "I mean it is, but it’s about way more than that! It’s about showing him how much I like him! It’s about—about—"

"About being a fool in love?" Nie Huaisang interrupted, an unholy gleam in his eyes.

"Shut up," Wei Wuxian muttered, but even as he said it, he couldn’t deny the truth of the words. He was a fool. A fool in love. And this stupid little bunny was all he had to offer.

Nie Huaisang walked over and clapped him on the back, shaking his head in amusement. "Well, in that case, don’t chicken out. You’ve already made the thing, right? Now you just need to give it to him." He grinned widely. "It’ll be fine, Wei-xiong. Trust me. What’s the worst that can happen?"

"Yeah," Wei Wuxian replied, though his voice was thin with nervousness. "I guess so."

“He’ll like it,” Nie Huaisang continued kindly, stepping into the room and sitting down across from him. “Don’t worry about it. It’s not the bunny that matters. It’s the fact that you’re giving it to him.”

Wei Wuxian bit his lip, glancing back down at the small carving. “I don’t know, Huaisang. What if he thinks it’s childish?”

Nie Huaisang chuckled and leaned back, crossing his arms. “Well, that’s Lan Wangji’s problem, isn’t it? You’re doing something nice for him. If he doesn’t appreciate it, that’s on him.” He gave a half-smile. “But I think you’re overthinking it, Wei-xiong. Just give it to him after the lecture. You’ve made something with your own two hands. You’ll see. It’ll be fine.”

Wei Wuxian let out a nervous breath, still uncertain, but also a little reassured by Nie Huaisang’s words. He looked down at the bunny one last time before he gave a determined nod. He could do this.

The next day, after their lecture, Wei Wuxian found himself standing near the exit, clutching the little wooden bunny in his hands like it was the most important thing in the world. He could hear his heart pounding in his chest, and he briefly considered running away. But then he saw Lan Zhan, standing with that serene, almost distant air, his posture perfect as always.

His throat went dry.

Nie Huaisang appeared at his side, a devilish smile on his lips. "Well, now’s your chance," he said, pushing Wei Wuxian forward, "Don’t just stand there. Go."

Wei Wuxian glanced back at Nie Huaisang and Jiang Cheng, who was watching with an unreadable expression. They were both silently urging him on, making it impossible to back down now. With a final, shaky breath, Wei Wuxian walked up to Lan Zhan, his hand shaking as he extended the little carving.

Lan Zhan paused, his gaze flicking briefly to the wooden carving in Wei Wuxian’s hand. He didn’t reach for it immediately. Instead, he narrowed his eyes slightly, as if trying to make sense of the situation. Wei Wuxian felt a prickling unease, as if Lan Zhan had already guessed everything. His palms began to sweat, and he glanced over at Nie Huaisang and Jiang Cheng, who were watching from the door, their expressions unreadable but certainly expectant.

Wei Wuxian’s nerves only intensified. Was this a mistake?

Lan Zhan’s eyes hardened, and his voice was as stern as ever. “This... is not properly crafted.” He reached out and took the bunny from Wei Wuxian’s hand, inspecting it with a critical eye. “The proportions are incorrect, the edges are uneven, and the ears are too thick. The carving technique is flawed.”

Wei Wuxian’s face fell, disappointment blooming in his chest. He had tried so hard. His fingers clenched at his sides, but he didn’t say anything. He had expected it to be perfect. He had hoped for a smile.

But Lan Zhan didn’t leave it there. “The carving tool is also too blunt. You should have used a finer knife for the detailing work,” he continued, his voice steady and instructional. “This is basic craftsmanship. You should learn to pay attention to these details.”

Wei Wuxian’s heart sank further, but just as he was about to retreat, Lan Zhan tucked the bunny into his robes. “But...I will accept it.”

Wei Wuxian blinked in surprise, looking up at him. Lan Zhan’s gaze softened for just a moment, before he turned and walked away, not looking back.

Wei Wuxian stood there for a moment, his heart still aching, unsure of what he was feeling. The sting of failure was still there, but somehow, the fact that Lan Zhan had kept the bunny, despite his criticisms, made him feel a flicker of hope.

As he turned to leave, Nie Huaisang and Jiang Cheng were already heading out, but Nie Huaisang couldn’t contain his laughter. He laughed so hard he nearly doubled over.

“Did you see his face?” Nie Huaisang gasped between laughs. “Only Lan Wangji could somehow be so blunt about a courting gift, while not even realizing what it was that you gave him! That’s so typical of him.”

Jiang Cheng shot him an exasperated look, but Wei Wuxian only sighed, a little downtrodden. He still felt a fool, but at least Lan Zhan hadn’t outright rejected him.

"I tried my best," Wei Wuxian said, feeling utterly miserable.

"Of course you did," Nie Huaisang said with a mischievous grin, wiping a tear from his eye. "But I didn’t realize you were trying to give him a bunny with a crooked spine and lopsided ears! This is priceless."

Wei Wuxian buried his face in his hands, groaning. "Stop, Nie Huaisang. I’m already dying inside. I’ll do better next time,” Wei Wuxian muttered to himself, though the words felt like a poor consolation.

Nie Huaisang chuckled again. “Don’t worry, Wei-xiong. You’ll win him over. I’m sure of it. And next time, try not to carve such a messy bunny, alright?” He winked, teasing.

Nie Huaisang’s laughter only grew louder, and Wei Wuxian thought that maybe it would be easier to get him flowers next time instead.

Wei Wuxian stood in front of his desk, staring at the paper in front of him. His calligraphy brush hovered over the blank sheet, its bristles trembling slightly. He’d spent the past week perfecting it; writing and rewriting, erasing and adjusting every line. This poem had to be just right. It had to express what he felt for Lan Zhan, in a way that wouldn’t make him seem foolish but would still manage to convey the intensity of his feelings.

He had never been so determined in his life, and yet... he couldn’t shake the feeling that something was still missing. The words weren’t enough. The more he wrote, the more he felt like the poem lacked the heart he wanted to share. It wasn’t just about beautiful words or clever rhymes. It was about...Lan Zhan.

Just as he was about to put the brush to paper, the door to his room creaked open, and Nie Huaisang strolled in with his usual carefree grin.

“Still writing that poem, Wei-xiong?” he asked, arching a brow, as though he had caught Wei Wuxian doing something much less dignified. “You know, at this rate, you’re going to have to enter the poetry contest. Or maybe the romance contest. You’ve got the love-struck teenager act down perfectly.”

Wei Wuxian shot him a glare, but it was more tired than anything. “Don’t mock me, Huaisang. This is important.”

“Important?” Nie Huaisang leaned in closer, squinting at the poem. “Oh, right, important. You’re going to impress Lan Wangji with... what’s this? ‘A blossom in springtime, a flower of light...’?” He paused dramatically. “This sounds like it belongs in a romance novel! Are you trying to court him, or write a soap opera?”

Wei Wuxian groaned, slumping onto his desk. “That’s exactly what I’m trying to do! I’ve spent days on this, and every time I think it’s perfect, it feels wrong. It’s like there’s some secret formula that I’m missing.”

Nie Huaisang tilted his head thoughtfully, tapping his chin. “Well, Wei-xiong, here’s the thing—you’re never going to impress him with flowery nonsense.” He grabbed a brush and began to scrawl all over Wei Wuxian’s paper. “It needs... flair, but not that kind of flair. You’re not trying to send him into a poetry coma.  You need someone who understands the art of poetry, Wei-xiong. That’s where I come in.”

Wei Wuxian frowned. “But I want him to know how much he means to me! How could I express that without some flowery words? He’s Lan Zhan for gods' sake! He’s not going to fall for my usual charming antics. This needs to be special.”

Nie Huaisang rolled his eyes. “Okay, okay, fine, fine. Let me help you then. But trust me, you’re going to need more than just words.” He smirked as he added his own version of a line to the poem. “There, that’s better. But still...” He looked at the paper with a frown. “You know what? I’m feeling a little... inspired. Let’s make this more grandiose. We’re going to use all the big words.” He went to town, adding flourish after flourish.

Wei Wuxian eyed Nie Huaisang’s work and blinked. “What are you doing?”

“You’ll see. Just trust me.”

And so, under the guidance of Nie Huaisang, Wei Wuxian spent the next hour polishing his poem. Nie Huaisang offered suggestions, occasionally teasing him for being so ‘unromantic’,  but Wei Wuxian was starting to feel better about it. By the time Nie Huaisang stepped back, Wei Wuxian was happy enough with what they had. It was flowery, it was poetic, and it was just enough to capture what he wanted to say.

But that wasn’t quite good enough for Wei Wuxian. After Nie Huaisang left, a strange and familiar feeling of nervousness gripped him. As much as he wanted to believe that the poem was perfect, something in his gut told him it needed more. So, he did what he always did when he wasn’t sure: he fiddled with it.

He started scribbling out parts that didn’t feel right. Lines that felt too forced, too stiff, gone. He replaced them with his own words, lines that came to him in the quiet of his mind. They weren’t quite what Nie Huaisang had suggested. No, these were his own feelings, raw and unrefined. And they were beautiful, weren’t they?

Wei Wuxian smiled as he looked at the final result. This version was even better than before. He was sure of it. This would be the one.

And so, Wei Wuxian did what any person in love would do: he scrapped Nie Huaisang’s work and rewrote the poem himself. This time, it was going to be perfect. He included all the most dramatic words he could think of. Moonlight, immortal, eternal, and gaze that cuts through my soul like a sharp knife. It was poetic, it was deep; it was everything Wei Wuxian wanted to say.

With a satisfied smile, Wei Wuxian took the paper, folded it carefully, and headed straight to the library where Lan Zhan was likely to be studying.

When he found him, seated in his usual corner, surrounded by books, the world seemed to slow down. Wei Wuxian cleared his throat, trying to smooth his hair into something that resembled ‘casual confidence.’ He stepped forward, paper in hand.

“Lan Zhan!” he called, doing his best to sound casual but also giving a vague impression of being on the brink of something profound.

Lan Zhan looked up from his book, his gaze cool and expectant, “Wei Ying.”

Wei Wuxian smiled a little too brightly and announced, “I’ve written something for you. A poem, I mean. It’s well, it’s a little deep, I suppose.”

Lan Zhan’s brows raised slightly in what could only be described as polite curiosity. He didn’t say anything, but he waited for Wei Wuxian to go on. So, Wei Wuxian cleared his throat again, then began his grand recital:

“A blossom in the moonlight, eternal as the stars,
Your gaze, sharp and pure, severs all that stands before us.
Through time and space, your soul’s gaze pierces mine,
And I, lost and adrift, seek the answer that is you...”

Wei Wuxian beamed, expecting some sort of reaction, but Lan Zhan only watched him with that same stoic gaze. He went on:

“Amidst the drifting clouds, the sun slips behind the hill,
Your gaze, the light of the moon, shines down with such skill.
For in your presence, the earth and sky take pause,
A flame ignites within me, without reason, without cause.”

“Your hands, though steady, carve paths in my heart,
Like an eternal river, never to depart.
I, foolishly, yearn for the sound of your voice,
In this world of madness, you are my choice.”

He finished with a dramatic flourish, his chest puffed out, awaiting Lan Zhan’s stunned admiration.

Lan Zhan didn’t react immediately, which made Wei Wuxian’s heart race faster, and the silence stretched on for what felt like years. Finally, Lan Zhan closed the book in front of him and looked up, his gaze piercing.

“Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan said, his tone as calm and unyielding as ever, “That had several inherent issues with it.”

Wei Wuxian’s heart dropped into his stomach. “Wha... What do you mean?”

Lan Zhan’s eyes glinted, and with the gentlest of sighs, he corrected, “Your meter is off. The rhythm doesn’t flow properly. And you’ve misquoted the original poems from the classics in nearly every line.”

Wei Wuxian’s jaw dropped. He felt his face burn with embarrassment. “Wait, really? You’re sure?”

Lan Zhan nodded. “Yes. I’ll show you the correct versions after this.”

Wei Wuxian stared, deflated. All that effort... for this?

Wei Wuxian felt like he was shrinking with every correction. He was so sure this was the one that would impress Lan Zhan. How could this happen?

Finally, Lan Zhan gave a soft sigh, pausing before he tucked it into his robes, “I will keep it.”

Wei Wuxian blinked, not sure if that was a good thing or not. Lan Zhan tucked the poem into his robes without another word.

As Wei Wuxian walked out of the library, utterly defeated, he heard a burst of laughter echo from the hallway. He turned and saw Nie Huaisang leaning against the wall, practically doubled over with laughter.

“What’s so funny?” Wei Wuxian grumbled, trying to ignore the burning embarrassment creeping up his neck.

Nie Huaisang wiped tears from his eyes, still laughing. “You thought it was perfect, didn’t you? Oh, Wei-xiong, you’ve outdone yourself this time. This is what you get for changing my brilliant poem into whatever that was.”

Wei Wuxian glared at him. “I thought I was making it better! How was I supposed to know that I’m apparently terrible at this?”

Nie Huaisang grinned mischievously. “Don’t worry, Wei Wuxian. Our next attempt will go a lot better. I promise.”

Wei Wuxian couldn’t help the half-smile that tugged at his lips. “I’m sure we’ll think of something else.”

Nie Huaisang’s laughter echoed down the hallway as the two of them made their way back to their dorm, leaving Wei Wuxian to plot his next grand romantic gesture.

Wei Wuxian stood in the courtyard, mentally preparing himself for what he was about to do. His fists clenched in determination, a cocky grin spreading across his face as he surveyed the area.

Today, he was going to impress Lan Zhan, and this time, he would do it in a way that couldn’t possibly fail.

He may not have been good at poetry. He may have not been good at wood carving.

But he knew he was a talented swordsman.

So there was no way this would fail.

He took a deep breath. "I’m good at sparring. I’ve got this. He’ll definitely notice me after this."

He had to. Right?

With that, he marched towards the arena where several of the guest disciples were preparing for their matches. Wei Wuxian’s eyes scanned the group for Lan Zhan, who was already standing at the ready, calm and composed as always.

Wei Wuxian’s heart skipped a beat. This is it. His hand flew to his sword, a confident gleam in his eyes. He strode forward, ready to make his move.

“Lan Zhan!” he called out, unable to resist the urge to add a dramatic flair. “I challenge you to a duel.”

The courtyard fell silent, all eyes turning to him. Even the wind seemed to stop, waiting for the impending drama. Because Lan Zhan was known for his talent and his skill, even at his young age. And not to brag, but Wei Wuxian knew he wasn’t all that bad at this either.

Wei Wuxian grinned widely, ready to show off. After all, if Lan Zhan admired skill and strength, then this would be the perfect way to win his attention.

Lan Zhan’s gaze flickered towards him, unreadable as always. “Wei Ying,” he said in that calm, clipped voice, “Are you sure?”

Wei Wuxian’s grin widened. “Of course! What better way to prove myself? Prepare yourself, Lan Zhan. You’re about to witness true skill.”

He unsheathed his sword, striking a pose that he was sure looked far more impressive than it actually was. With an exaggerated flourish, he lunged forward, making sure to add an unnecessary spin to the move. A few of the spectators muttered amongst themselves. He could hear Jiang Cheng’s voice in the distance, groaning and muttering something about how he was going to regret this.

But Wei Wuxian wasn’t listening. This was his moment. He was good at this! This wasn’t like carving bunnies or writing poems, this was combat, and he had skills.

Wei Wuxian faced off against Lan Zhan in the center of the courtyard, sword in hand, heart pounding with anticipation. He wasn’t just sparring today; no, this was a performance. A show of skill, of finesse. He would make Lan Zhan see him—really see him—not just as the troublesome disciple, but as someone who could impress him.

With a confident grin, Wei Wuxian lunged forward, slashing at Lan Zhan in a series of exaggerated, sweeping strokes, making sure to twist his body with unnecessary flourishes. He was putting everything he had into this—his moves were dramatic, his steps wide and exaggerated, his sword slicing through the air with the grace of someone who was far more skilled than he truly was.

Lan Zhan parried each strike with the precision and calmness that Wei Wuxian couldn’t help but admire. But that didn’t stop him from putting on a display. He spun and twirled, flicking his wrist just so, letting his sword swoosh dramatically through the air. He was certain Lan Zhan was watching every move, waiting to be impressed.

He was impressed to say that the two of them matched blow by blow, meeting each other in the middle, as if they were truly, equals.

But, in his enthusiasm, Wei Wuxian wasn’t quite paying attention to his footing. He spun a bit too fast, a bit too recklessly, and with a sudden, shocking slip, his balance faltered.

Time seemed to slow as Wei Wuxian’s body wobbled, his arms flailing, desperately trying to catch himself. His sword flew out of his grip as his feet slipped out from under him. And with a loud, unceremonious thud, he landed hard on his backside, his head nearly colliding with the stone floor in the process. His sword, which had been held so triumphantly just moments before, now lay a few feet away, completely out of reach.

The courtyard went utterly silent for a moment, and all Wei Wuxian could hear was the echo of his own heartbeat, pounding in his ears.

Then, the snickers started. A few chuckles, then full-on laughter from the watching disciples. Wei Wuxian’s face flushed as he scrambled to sit up, rubbing his sore behind in embarrassment.

He shot a look at Lan Zhan, who hadn’t moved an inch throughout the entire thing, his expression completely unreadable.

Wei Wuxian groaned, facepalming.

This was not how it was supposed to go.

He was supposed to be impressive, to show off, to prove something. Instead, he’d just made a complete fool of himself.

Lan Zhan stood tall, his gaze cold as it met Wei Wuxian’s, but he said nothing. Only his eyes, those piercing, calculating eyes, seemed to soften slightly in what could have been a sign of—concern? Or was it just... annoyance?

Wei Wuxian sighed dramatically, picking himself up off the floor with a huff, brushing off the dirt from his robes. “Well,” he muttered, still grinning despite the humiliation, “That wasn’t the plan.”

In the back of his mind, he heard Jiang Cheng’s voice, sharp and disapproving, warning him about making a spectacle of himself. But the laughter from the crowd still stung, and Wei Wuxian couldn’t help but feel a little foolish.

“Reckless,” Lan Zhan finally spoke, his tone as cold and detached as ever.

Wei Wuxian couldn’t help but groan in frustration. “I meant to go for charming. Did I even impress you a little bit, Lan Zhan?” he whined, brushing himself off as he turned to look at Lan Zhan, still determined to salvage whatever pride he had left.

“No. Wei Ying was reckless,” Lan Zhan repeated, his gaze hardening, before he turned to walk away, clearly uninterested in offering any further commentary.

Wei Wuxian plopped down onto the ground again, not caring that his reputation was shot. “I am charming,” he muttered to himself, rubbing his sore behind once again.

He heard a snicker from Nie Huaisang nearby, who had apparently witnessed the entire spectacle.

“Don’t worry, Wei-xiong,” Nie Huaisang teased with a smirk. “I’m sure Lan Wangji’s very impressed. Just not in the way you hoped.”

Wei Wuxian buried his face in his hands. “Why does everything go wrong when I try to impress him?”

“Maybe you’re trying a little too hard,” Nie Huaisang suggested, still grinning widely. “Just be yourself, Wei-xiong. You can’t impress someone with all those fancy moves. Simple works better.”

Wei Wuxian groaned again. “I don’t even know what simple means.”

“I know,” Nie Huaisang said sympathetically, “We’ll figure something out.”

Wei Wuxian paced back and forth in the courtyard, his hands running through his hair in frustration. His heart was a tumultuous mess, and he couldn’t stop thinking about Lan Zhan—about how he was constantly making a fool of himself, trying to gain the man’s attention, and failing miserably every single time. He felt like an idiot, but the more he tried to ignore it, the more the feeling grew, gnawing at him.

He wasn’t even sure if what he was doing was even remotely the right thing. Was he truly in love with Lan Zhan? Or was this just another one of his ridiculous antics, a scheme to join the Lan sect or something equally absurd? He had no idea.

The sound of footsteps behind him interrupted his spiraling thoughts, and he turned to see Jiang Cheng standing there, arms crossed, staring at him with an expression that was part annoyance, part concern.

“Wei Wuxian,” Jiang Cheng started, his tone sharp, “You need to stop making such an idiot of yourself. Every time you try to get Lan Wangji’s attention, you just look like a fool. You’re making the Jiang sect look like fools!”

Wei Wuxian flinched at the words, but Jiang Cheng didn’t seem to be finished. He stepped closer, his gaze intense.

“Do you really have feelings for Lan Wangji? Or is this just some ridiculous attempt to try and join the Lan sect and leave us behind?” Jiang Cheng’s voice was laced with frustration, but there was something softer there too. "Or are you just being your usual self, messing with everyone and causing chaos? Are you serious about any of this?"

Wei Wuxian’s heart dropped into his stomach. His mouth opened, but nothing came out for a long moment. He had to look away, as the weight of Jiang Cheng’s question hit him square in the chest.

“I—I don’t know,” Wei Wuxian finally confessed, his voice small and shaky. His chest felt tight, his breath coming in uneven gasps. “I—I don’t know what I’m doing, Jiang Cheng. All I know is…I’m in love with him. With Lan Zhan. And that’s ridiculous, right? We’ve only known each other for three weeks! What does it even mean? It doesn’t make any sense.”

Jiang Cheng looked at him, his expression softening, though there was still a trace of frustration in his eyes. “Wei Wuxian, you’re being reckless. You’re trying to get attention from someone who doesn’t even look your way like that. You can’t just throw yourself at him and expect him to fall for you. You have to actually spend time getting to know him or whatever. When was the last time you hung out with him, beyond your detention.”

Wei Wuxian felt panic rising in his chest as he clutched at his robes, unable to stop the flood of emotions pouring out of him, “I have to spend more time with him alone? One on one? What if I make an idiot of myself?”

Jiang Cheng snorted, “You probably will. Especially given how your attempts are going so far.”

Wei Wuxian exhaled, before something Jiang Cheng said earlier crossed his mind, “Why did you ask if I was trying to leave the Lan sect. Wait, if I end up with Lan Zhan, do I have to leave the Jiang sect? I don’t want to leave the Jiang. You and Shijie are my family-”

He cut himself off inhaling suddenly, knowing he wasn’t allowed to say that. Especially if Madam Yu was around.

“You don’t have to leave the Jiang sect,” Jiang Cheng rolled his eyes, “You’re being an idiot. Of course you’re our family. Always have been. Always will be. You’re my ge, Wei Wuxian.”

Wei Wuxian froze, the panic subsiding for a brief moment, replaced by a small flicker of relief. But then Jiang Cheng continued.

“If you’re serious about Lan Wangji, though,” Jiang Cheng said, his tone a bit softer, “I’ll help you. I’ll help you woo him, or whatever ridiculous thing you’re doing. If this is really what you want, then I’m not going to stop you.”

Wei Wuxian blinked, his mouth hanging open in surprise. “You will? You’re not going to—”

Jiang Cheng sighed, rubbing his temple as if the thought of Wei Wuxian’s antics was giving him a headache. “No, I’m not going to stop you, you idiot. I’ll even help, if you want. But you’re not leaving the Jiang sect. I’m going to be damned if you go running off to the Lan sect or something equally stupid. Yunmeng Twin Prides, right?”

Wei Wuxian blinked at him, still in shock, but before he could say anything, Jiang Cheng added, his voice dripping with sarcasm, “Maybe we can just kidnap Lan Wangji and make him a part of the Jiang sect instead of you joining the Lan. I’m sure that’ll solve everything.”

Wei Wuxian couldn’t help it—he burst into laughter, the tension finally breaking, and he nearly doubled over. “You’re insane! Kidnap Lan Zhan?”

Jiang Cheng’s lips twitched, though he tried to maintain his stern expression. “If that’s what it takes to keep you from making a bigger fool of yourself, then maybe.”

Wei Wuxian’s heart swelled at the unexpected support from his brother, the familiar feeling of Jiang Cheng’s care reminding him that no matter how foolish he felt about Lan Zhan, he would always have Jiang Cheng by his side.

“Thanks, Jiang Cheng,” Wei Wuxian said, his voice quieter but full of gratitude. “I… I’ll try. I’m not going to give up. I’ll do whatever it takes.”

Jiang Cheng looked at him with a resigned sigh. “You’d better. I swear, if you make me regret this, I’m never helping you again.”

Wei Wuxian grinned, feeling a bit lighter despite his confusion and the craziness of it all. “Deal,” he said, and for the first time in a long while, he felt like maybe—just maybe—he wasn’t alone in this ridiculous, impossible thing he was trying to do.

The moment Wei Wuxian stepped into the library, he immediately felt regret over his decision.

This was supposed to be easy. A simple study session. Quality one-on-one time with Lan Zhan, something respectable and dignified. Nie Huaisang had suggested it (between fits of laughter), saying it would be the perfect way to "bond intellectually" and prove to Lan Zhan that he wasn’t just an insufferable menace.

Except now that he was here, staring at Lan Zhan’s perfect, utterly unapproachable form hunched over a scroll, Wei Wuxian felt like he was walking straight into his own doom.

Still, he couldn’t back out now. Taking a deep breath, he squared his shoulders and strode toward the table with as much confidence as he could muster.

“Lan Zhan! Fancy meeting you here,” he announced cheerfully, as if Lan Zhan wasn’t in the library every single evening like some kind of academic ghost haunting the bookshelves.

What was there even for him to learn still? Was he not already a genius?

Lan Zhan didn’t even look up. “This is the library,” he said flatly.

Undeterred, Wei Wuxian plopped down into the seat beside him, dragging his own scrolls out of his robes and spreading them across the table with deliberate enthusiasm. “Exactly! And here I am, ready to become a scholar under your wise and noble tutelage. Lucky me, right? If you’ll have me of course?”

Lan Zhan’s brush paused mid-character. He exhaled quietly, as if already regretting his life choices, before resuming his writing without a word.

Wei Wuxian swallowed. Okay. Not exactly the warmest welcome, but that was fine! He was here to study.

And also woo.

But mostly study!

Sort of.

Trying to focus, he dipped his brush into the ink and copied the first line of the text in front of him. It was going well for approximately thirty seconds, until he realized he had copied the line completely wrong, and instead of fixing it like a normal person, he attempted to blot it out.

The ink smeared. Badly.

Wei Wuxian yelped and scrambled to fix it, only to knock his inkstone over with his elbow. The ink spread like a slow-moving disaster, creeping toward Lan Zhan’s pristine stack of scrolls.

Horrified, he snatched at them in a panic, nearly toppling off the bench in the process.

Lan Zhan caught them before they were ruined, his movements swift and precise, but the look he gave Wei Wuxian as he set them down safely was one of absolute, unwavering judgment.

“Do you require assistance?” he asked, voice as calm as it was deadly.

“I—uh—no! No, no, just a minor miscalculation,” Wei Wuxian said, trying to mop up the ink with his sleeve, which only made it worse.

The silence stretched between them, taut like the string of a bow. Lan Zhan’s patience, which Wei Wuxian had been steadily chipping away at for weeks now, seemed dangerously thin.

Finally, Lan Zhan set his brush down with deliberate care. “Wei Ying,” he said slowly. “What are you doing?”

Wei Wuxian froze mid-motion, the stained sleeve of his robe halfway to his mouth as he tried to pretend he hadn’t just made a complete mess. He straightened awkwardly, putting on his most innocent smile. “Studying?”

“Are you?” Lan Zhan asked, and Wei Wuxian gave him a sheepish look.

“I wanted to spend time with you,” he admitted, knowing he was caught.

Lan Zhan’s golden eyes didn’t waver, as he looked unmoved, “Do you even wish to be friends?”

Wei Wuxian blinked. “Huh?”

“You have not acted like one,” Lan Zhan continued, voice cold and precise. “You disrupt my studies, you mock my discipline, you attempt to distract me at every turn. If you do not seek friendship, then what is it you want?”

Wei Wuxian’s heart slammed against his ribs.

Oh.

Oh, no.

He hadn’t thought about what he would say if confronted directly. His whole plan had been to slowly win Lan Zhan over with sheer charm (questionable), talent (debatable), and perseverance (absolute). But now Lan Zhan was looking at him with those piercing eyes, demanding an answer, and Wei Wuxian was spiraling, panicking—

Instead, Lan Zhan was right, all he was doing was inconveniencing Lan Zhan with his wooing attempts. He was failing miserably, and it seemed as if all his attempts had been misunderstood.

And before he could stop himself, he blurted out, “I like you! I’m trying to court you!”

A heavy silence dropped over them.

Wei Wuxian immediately wanted to fling himself into the nearest pond. He had not meant to say it like that. He had not meant to say it at all.

A silence fell between them.

Lan Wangji’s face went perfectly, utterly blank. His posture stiffened.

Wei Wuxian forced a shaky laugh, trying to salvage the moment. “I—I know I’ve been kind of an idiot about it, but I swear I wasn’t trying to be annoying, I just—”

“Enough.”

The word hit like a slap.

Wei Wuxian shut his mouth.

But then he saw Lan Zhan’s face.

Something in those golden eyes shuttered. His expression smoothed out into a blank, unreadable mask. The warmth, the frustration, even the quiet tolerance that had lingered there moments ago, was all gone.

Lan Zhan stood abruptly, his chair scraping against the floor.

Wei Wuxian’s stomach dropped.

“Lan Zhan?” he asked, feeling a sense of unease, as if he knew that everything had gone terribly wrong.

“If this is a joke,” Lan Zhan said, voice colder than ice, “It is a poor one.”

Wei Wuxian’s throat closed up. “No—I—”

“I will not be mocked,” Lan Zhan said sharply. His hands were rigid at his sides, fingers curled into fists, his posture taut with barely contained emotion. He gathered his scrolls with quick, clipped movements, as if he could not bear to stay another moment, “To pretend to want to be my friend and then to act this way.”

Wei Wuxian shot up from his seat, needing to explain that it was all a misunderstanding, “Wait—Lan Zhan—”

But Lan Zhan was already gone.

The silence that followed was suffocating. Wei Wuxian stood frozen, staring at the empty space where Lan Zhan had been, his heart hammering wildly against his ribs.

He had messed up. Somehow, without realizing it, he had really messed up.

His hands curled into fists at his sides.

Lan Zhan had looked hurt. Wei Wuxian had done that to him. He’d hurt Lan Zhan.

Wei Wuxian swallowed hard, trying to push down the sharp sting of regret twisting in his chest.

That hadn’t gone how he wanted.

Not at all.

He sank back onto the bench, pressing his palms to his face.

Why did he feel as if he’d taken three steps backwards?

It'd been over two weeks since Lan Wangji had left him in the library that day. Two weeks of him trying to explain himself, trying to gain Lan Wangji’s attention, trying to do anything. And yet nothing was working.

He knew Nie Huaisang and Jiang Cheng were worried about him, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. He’d hurt his friend, all because he hadn’t valued the relationship they had. All because he’d dared to dream for more. And it had cost him everything.

Wei Wuxian had never been a particularly diligent student, but at least he had always been present.

He had a knack for skirting the edge of trouble, for drawing attention and laughter, for turning even the most monotonous lectures into something lively.

He’d always gotten away based on using common sense and quick wit to solve the problems he’d been given, as opposed to studying, something which drove Jiang Cheng mad more times than Wei Wuxian could count.

But today, he sat slumped over his desk, his inkstone untouched, his brush limp between his fingers. His usual spark was absent, and the weight of his own thoughts pressed heavily against his shoulders.

It’d been like this since he’d talked to Lan Zhan, and he knew from the way Lan Zhan was pointedly ignoring him, he did not care enough to notice the despondence he felt. Because Wei Wuxian was the one who’d hurt him. So why would Lan Zhan even care?

Lan Qiren’s voice cut through his haze, “Wei Wuxian.”

Wei Wuxian blinked up at him, sluggish. The rest of the class turned to look as well, no doubt surprised that Wei Wuxian had gone this long without interjecting with some quip or irreverent comment.

“What are the three core principles of the Lan Sect’s Code of Conduct?” Lan Qiren prompted.

Wei Wuxian probably knew the answer. It was most likely somewhere in the back of his mind. He’d had them drilled into his skull since the first week he arrived. But right now, his thoughts were a tangled mess of ink-stained scrolls, golden eyes turned cold, and the echo of I will not be mocked.

“I don’t know,” he muttered, unable to even search his memory to find an answer. He knew that it probably wasn’t ideal, all things considered, but he supposed if he were to be punished, it wouldn’t be that bad, would it? Maybe he’d just get lines again. Anything would be fine, especially if it wasn’t Zidian.

Silence fell over the room. Lan Qiren’s brow furrowed, and instead of the expected reprimand, his expression shifted into something softer. Assessing.

But he did not press further. Instead he gave them the answer, and kept lecturing.

He looked over to where Lan Zhan was, to see if he’d cared enough to turn back and look at him, but Lan Zhan’s back remained upright, without any sense of concern. Because why would he?

When class ended, as the other disciples filed out, Lan Qiren spoke again. “Wei Wuxian, stay behind.”

Nie Huaisang shot him a wary glance on his way out, but Wei Wuxian barely acknowledged it.

Instead, he went up to Lan Qiren’s desk, and stood awkwardly, waiting for the lecture that he was sure was to come. He knew his work had been slacking lately. He had missed several assignments, despite having done his best to start them. He just couldn’t bring himself to finish them.

He waited, listless, as Lan Qiren methodically cleared his desk before pouring two cups of tea. He gestured for Wei Wuxian to sit.

Wei Wuxian hesitated before lowering himself onto the cushion opposite Lan Qiren, watching as the older man set a cup before him. The warmth of the porcelain against his fingertips was grounding.

Lan Qiren regarded him carefully. “I knew your parents.”

Wei Wuxian’s head snapped up.

It was as if someone had thrown open a window in a stifling room. The oppressive weight in his chest lightened just a fraction, replaced with something wide-eyed and tentative. “You did?”

Lan Qiren nodded. “I was acquainted with them in their youth. I would not say we were close, but I would like to have thought we were something of friends, once.” He took a sip of his tea, then continued, “I do not know what is going on with you of late. But I wanted you to know that if you wished to talk to someone about it, then I am here. My job as your teacher is to educate you. But my students are also under my care while they are here. Your wellbeing matters to me as well. I am not arrogant enough to try and step in for your parents, because I could and would not replace them. But they would not wish to see you as dejected as you have been.”

“Would you tell me about them sometime?” He asked in a small voice, feeling a bit overwhelmed by all the things he was feeling. It felt like it was too much, all at once, and he didn’t know how to breathe, “Shushu doesn’t like talking about them. Too painful, I think. And, well…” He grimaced. “I know better than to ask Madam Yu.”

Lan Qiren inclined his head, as if unsurprised. “If you wish, I can tell you what I remember. The stories I know. The offer will always be open to you, even if you do not wish to talk about whatever is ailing you now.”

Wei Wuxian sat up straighter, something warm and unfamiliar pressing against his ribs. It was so rare to hear anything about his parents beyond the broad strokes—Cangse Sanren was a prodigy, a wild woman, a free spirit. Wei Changze was loyal, steadfast, dutiful. They had died too young, leaving behind only whispers.

Leaving behind him.

“I—” Wei Wuxian swallowed, his voice almost unsteady. “I’d like that.”

Lan Qiren nodded, a kind look in his eyes that was at odds with the strict, unsmiling figure Wei Wuxian had come to know. For a moment, they sat in companionable silence, sipping their tea.

Then, hesitantly, Wei Wuxian spoke again. “Did they ever have difficulties? In their courtship? All I’ve heard is the grand love story that they fell for one another and left to become rogue cultivators, before well-”

Lan Qiren hummed, stroking his beard. “I know that Cangse Sanren pursued Wei Changze relentlessly. He was dedicated to his duties and did not believe she was serious in her affections. He refused her. It broke her heart, I think. For her to put herself so openly out there, and to be rejected without care.”

Wei Wuxian’s stomach twisted. “Did she give up?”

“For a time,” Lan Qiren admitted. “She was dejected and pulled away. But they worked it out in the end. I do not know how. It was resolved privately between the two of them.”

Wei Wuxian exhaled heavily, staring into his tea. The reflection on its surface wavered. He hesitated, then spoke without looking up. “This might be inappropriate, but if you’d still let me talk to you, I could use some advice.”

Lan Qiren gave him a nod of approval, and he took a deep breath.

“I’ve been trying to court Lan Zhan,” he exhaled, “But I think I went about it all wrong. I asked him to be my friend, but pursued him romantically. I disrespected the basis of our friendship, and made him feel like I was using him and did not value for his friendship and only wanted more. Or maybe he didn’t believe me. I don’t know. And I don’t know how to fix it. I hurt him so badly.”

He whispered the last part, feeling devastated at that.

Lan Qiren’s brows lifted at that, giving him a look, “Was that what you were doing with all your antics? All those dramatic incidents? Were those courtship attempts?”

Wei Wuxian flushed. “I was trying my best!”

Lan Qiren sighed, shaking his head. He paused for a moment, looking at Wei Wuxian carefully.

“It is not for me to speak of Wangji’s childhood. But you must understand—he does not trust easily, nor does he open his heart lightly.” His gaze was measured as he continued, “If you are serious, Wei Wuxian, you will need to approach him earnestly. No more grand gestures. No more making a spectacle of yourself. Speak plainly. Speak from the heart.”

Wei Wuxian stared at him, stricken. “I… I don’t know if I can do that. It’s terrifying, to be that vulnerable.”

“Then you do not deserve him,” Lan Qiren said simply, “If you truly loved my nephew, then you would be pursuing him in a way that was meant to show you cared for him. Not trying to brag about your own abilities. Not trying to make a fool of yourself. Do something for him.”

The words stung, but they were not cruel. Just truth. Wei Wuxian pressed his lips together, his fingers tightening around his teacup.

“I may not have chosen you for my nephew-in-law,” Lan Qiren said at last, taking another sip of his tea, “But if you make Wangji happy, then I will welcome you into the family.”

Wei Wuxian choked on his tea. “Excuse me—what?”

Lan Qiren merely looked at him, completely unruffled. “I think if your mother were here, she would be laughing at me for how things have turned out. Do not make a fool of yourself, Wei Wuxian.”

Wei Wuxian gaped at him. Then, for the first time in days, he laughed.

Wei Wuxian set his teacup down carefully, cradling the lingering warmth between his fingers. He had come into this conversation expecting another reprimand, another weight to add to the growing burden on his shoulders. Instead, he found something wholly unexpected—understanding, guidance, and the smallest glimmer of hope.

“I will try not to,” he said, quieter this time, but no less resolute.

Lan Qiren gave him a measured look before nodding. “Good.”

For once, Wei Wuxian didn’t fill the silence with words. Instead, he let himself sit with the moment, feeling its weight, its quiet significance.

Then, as he rose, he hesitated. “And, um…about my parents?”

Lan Qiren studied him for a long moment before replying. “Come back tomorrow. I will tell you what I remember.”

Something in Wei Wuxian’s chest eased. He smiled, wide and bright—not his usual mask of mirth, but something real. He bowed deeply. “Thank you, Grandmaster Lan.”

“Shushu,” Lan Qiren corrected him, “When we are not in classes.”

“Shushu,” he breathed out, as Lan Qiren gave him a nod of approval.

This time, when he stepped outside, the air felt lighter, the sky a little clearer. The ache in his heart hadn’t disappeared, but for the first time in weeks, it no longer felt unbearable.

He had a long road ahead of him, but he wasn’t alone.

And maybe, just maybe, he could make things right.

Chapter Text

Nie Huaisang sat across from Lan Xichen, the soft clink of teacups the only sound between them. His fingers twitched around the porcelain cup, but he kept his hands steady, careful not to let the subtle tremble of his nerves show. Lan Xichen’s gaze, as cool and composed as ever, made the air between them feel heavy. There was no animosity, no open hostility, but the distance—emotional and unspoken—was palpable. Nie Huaisang’s usual levity seemed absent, and the silence was a quiet reminder of the growing tension.

Lan Xichen broke the silence first, his voice smooth but guarded. “Nie Huaisang, I’ve always valued our friendship, and I’ve always thought of you as a younger brother. You know this, don’t you?”

Nie Huaisang blinked, caught off guard by the words. For a moment, the sincerity in Lan Xichen’s voice washed over him, but there was still something hidden in those words, something restrained.

“Of course, Xichen-ge,” he said softly, meeting his eyes. “I’ve always viewed you as an elder brother, just like Da-ge. You’re family to me.” He tried to smile, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. Because how had things come to this? Lan Wangji was unhappy. And Wei Wuxian was pathetically unhappy.

He was half convinced Jiang Cheng was going to murder Nie Huaisang for enabling Wei Wuxian’s courting attempts.

There was a long pause, and Lan Xichen seemed to weigh his next words carefully. “Then I must ask, what is happening between Wei Wuxian and Wangji? And why is my brother so upset? I am not so naïve to think that you did not have a part in whatever is happening,” His tone was not accusing, but there was a tension that ran just beneath the surface, an edge of something unspoken.

Nie Huaisang set his teacup down softly. He knew this was coming when Xichen-ge invited him to tea. Because Nie Huaisang may be like Lan Xichen’s brother, but Lan Wangji was his actual brother, and Lan Xichen would always put him first.

“Lan Wangji is upset because he has feelings for Wei Wuxian,” he said, his voice calm, though there was an unsettling weight in the words.

Lan Xichen’s brow furrowed in surprise, his gaze flickering with uncertainty. “You know about that?”

Nie Huaisang met his gaze squarely, his own emotions swirling just beneath the surface. “Of course, I do. We may not be the closest of friends, but I’ve known Lan Wangji most of my life. You and he have come to the Unclean Realm often enough often the years. I may not be the best at reading his expressions, but I’d like to think I’m pretty decent at it. So yes, I can tell that he has feelings for Wei Wuxian.” He paused, his own voice lowering slightly, his expression becoming more serious. “And I may have just met Wei Wuxian, but I’ve known him long enough to see that he’s been half in love with Lan Wangji for weeks now. If not fully. And has been since they first met.”

Lan Xichen’s expression shifted, his lips pressing together tightly. “I see,” Lan Xichen said, looking unsettled at the revelation that Wei Wuxian too held feelings for Lan Wangji. “And yet, despite their mutual feelings, things are a mess between them.”

Nie Huaisang nodded slowly, his gaze turning distant as he reflected on the situation. “It was no prank, Lan Xichen. Wei Wuxian didn’t mean to mock him. He’s been trying to pursue Lan Wangji earnestly, though maybe, not in the way that was most effective. He confessed when Lan Wangji asked him how he felt, albeit not using the most elegant of words, but he confessed nonetheless,” He looked towards Lan Xichen, “Lan Wangji misunderstood. He thought Wei Wuxian was mocking him, playing with his feelings. He thought it was all a game. And that Wei Wuxian neither wanted to be his friend nor did he truly have feelings for Lan Wangji.”

He sighed deeply, pushing the air out of his lungs as if to release the weight of everything that had happened. “Meanwhile, Wei Wuxian, he’s terrified. He’s afraid that Lan Wangji is angry with him because he feels like he’s only pretending to be friends, just to get closer to him, to court him. He’s been hurt, thinking Lan Wangji sees him as a joke.” Nie Huaisang’s voice faltered for a brief moment, “They’ve both misunderstood each other in their own ways, and now they’re both suffering.”

Lan Xichen leaned back in his seat, his expression shifting to one of quiet concern. The intensity of the conversation seemed to weigh on him too, and for a brief moment, the ever-perfect Lan Xichen allowed the crack in his composed exterior to show. “What a mess,” he muttered, shaking his head in disbelief.

Nie Huaisang couldn’t help but laugh a bit tiredly, the sound tinged with sadness. “Yes, a mess. A tangled knot that neither of them knows how to undo. It’s not the kind of thing you can fix with a few simple words or gestures. It’s far more complicated now. But it is a mess of their own making. And mine, I suppose. For trying to help when perhaps I should’ve left it alone.”

For a moment, neither spoke. The silence stretched, thick with the unspoken understanding of how fragile everything was. Nie Huaisang felt a hollow ache in his chest, the weight of his unspoken fears pressing heavily on him. He had tried to stay out of it, to keep his distance, but he knew that their pain was his to bear as well. They were all bound by ties that could not easily be severed.

Finally, Lan Xichen broke the quiet again, his voice quieter than before, but carrying the same sense of responsibility. “And you, Nie Huaisang? How do you feel about all of this?”

Nie Huaisang’s breath hitched, and he looked up, meeting Lan Xichen’s gaze fully for the first time in their conversation. There was no judgment in Lan Xichen’s eyes, only quiet curiosity.

“I just want them to be happy,” Nie Huaisang said, his voice low, almost trembling with emotion. “I know how Wangji’s suffered. All three of us lost our mothers at a young age. That kind of pain haunts you. Both of them know that pain too well. They’ve both been through too much, suffered too much. They’re both too scared to admit how they feel, too afraid to show their vulnerability.” He looked away for a moment, his heart heavy. “And I’m afraid that the miss understanding will only continue to grow if left unattended.”

Lan Xichen’s gaze softened as he studied Nie Huaisang, and for the first time, Nie Huaisang felt seen, not as the playful, carefree younger disciple, but as someone carrying his own fears and burdens.

“Then it’s up to them,” Lan Xichen said quietly, his voice filled with a certain hopefulness. “They will have to be the ones to unravel this, to mend it. We can’t fix it for them. All we can do is hope that they find the courage to be honest with each other. And possibly try and push them to be more open with one another.”

Nie Huaisang nodded, his eyes downcast. “I hope they do. I really do.”

Lan Xichen’s expression softened, a small, understanding smile touching his lips. “Me too, Nie Huaisang. Me too. I think Wei Wuxian would make a rather interesting brother-in-law.”

Nie Huaisang laughed, “You have no idea, Xichen-ge. Cloud Recesses isn’t ready for that.”

Lan Xichen only twitched his lips in response.

Wei Wuxian knew he needed to apologize to Lan Zhan, but the problem was, he had no idea how.

He had done many things in his life that he’d had to apologize for.

Stole food, stole money, when he’d been on the streets to survive.

Broken rules at Lotus Pier that earned him Madam Yu’s ire.

Been the reason Jiang Cheng lost his dogs that he had cherished so much.

But none of that had been as terrible as the pain of seeing Lan Zhan’s face when Wei Wuxian confessed and betrayed their friendship.

None of that as painful as the devastation Lan Zhan showed.

He needed to apologize. But the idea of hurting Lan Zhan even more terrified him.

It also did not help that Lan Zhan seemed to walk the other direction every time Wei Wuxian tried to even look his way.

He knew though for a fact that Lan Zhan was home at the moment. Lan Xichen had mentioned it not even half an incense stick back when he’d run into him. It was just a matter of begging Lan Zhan to hear him out, of throwing himself at Lan Zhan’s mercy until he could make it right.

He just hoped Lan Zhan wouldn’t slam the door in his face.

Though Lan Zhan was probably too polite to ever do something quite so rude. He would never say anything that could be considered breaking the rules.

He stood before the Jingshi doors for longer than he should have, heart racing, palms clammy despite the crisp mountain air.

He’d never been to Lan Zhan’s home before, and it felt a bit like a breach of trust. This was Lan Zhan’s home. His safe space. And Wei Wuxian was invading it to make it all about him. It wasn’t right, nor was it fair. But Wei Wuxian was desperate, so he hoped it wouldn’t make Lan Zhan hate him even more than he already did.

He didn’t want to think about before that.

Wei Wuxian sucked in a shaky breath and raised his hand.

Three soft knocks. Not too loud. Not too desperate.

Just enough to be heard.

The door slid open not even a moment later.

Lan Zhan stood in the doorway, eyes dark, expression blank, but something flickered behind his gaze the second he saw who it was.

Disappointment? Irritation?

Annoyance.

It carved through Wei Wuxian like a blade. His breath caught in his throat.

Lan Zhan made no move to speak, didn’t even raise an eyebrow. The silence was killing him, and Wei Wuxian couldn’t breathe.

And suddenly, Wei Wuxian’s dropped to his knees, holding his arms out in front of him in sincere apology, as he kept his gaze downward, trying to show off how genuinely sorry he was.

“I’m sorry,” he blurted, voice cracking under the weight of the words. “Lan Zhan, please—please hear me out. Just for a moment. Just...just this once. Then if you never want to talk to me ever again, I promise I’ll never bother you again.”

Lan Wangji’s gaze narrowed, the stillness in his posture turning rigid, shoulders squared. His silence stretched into something unbearable.

“I know I was a terrible friend,” Wei Wuxian continued quickly, desperate to keep Lan Wangji from shutting the door. “I—I broke your trust. I said things I never should have said. I went too far. And I never meant to hurt you, not like this.”

‘I fell in love with you and mislead you with my intentions when asking to be your friend,’ he did not say.

He bowed his head further, “If I could take it back, I would. Every moment that made you think I was mocking you. Every word that made you feel less than honoured, respected, appreciated—” His voice caught on the last word. “I thought I was being clever and charming. That I could win you over by being showy, but I was wrong. I ended up being cruel. And I didn’t even know it. I was not trying to be, but it does not excuse my actions. It does not give me the right to have treated you the way that I did.”

‘It did not give me the right to harass you the way I did, to have sought you out again and again and treat you with anything less than you deserved.’

Silence.

Still, Lan Wangji said nothing. And that silence was more terrifying than anger.

Wei Wuxian’s voice dropped, hoarse. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. For all of it. You didn’t deserve that from me. Not you,” He forced himself to look up, eyes red, the edges of his vision already starting to blur. “I wasn’t lying when I said you were my first friend. But I was a fool. And a terrible friend. And if I’ve ruined everything between us, then I understand.”

‘If I lost the first friend I’ve ever had, I understand,’ he thought, though the idea pained him immensely.

He took a breath, voice shaking. “But please. Please. Give me another chance. Just to make things right. To treat you the way you deserved to be treated. As my friend.”

‘And nothing else. Being your friend is better than having you hate me. Than not having you in my life at all,’ he thought with pain.

Lan Zhan stared down at him, unmoving, unreadable. Wei Wuxian searched his face for anything—rage, contempt, even sorrow—but he found nothing he could name.

Then Lan Zhan let out a quiet, nearly imperceptible sigh. His fingers twitched at his side, then relaxed again.

“You may come in,” he said at last, his voice low, “I forgive you.”

Wei Wuxian’s heart jumped painfully in his chest. His mouth opened, words poised on the tip of his tongue—but none came. He could only nod, stunned, and rise slowly to his feet.

Lan Zhan stepped aside without looking at him, allowing him through.

And as Wei Wuxian crossed the threshold of the Jingshi, the silence between them throbbed with too many things left unsaid.

But it wasn’t a slammed door.

It was a start.

The evening light streamed in golden through the paper-paneled windows, casting long, soft shadows across the guest dormitory's floor. Jiang Yanli sat at a small table, quietly pouring tea into two delicate cups, her hands steady and graceful as always. The scent of jasmine hung faintly in the air, wrapping around the space like a comfort.

Wei Wuxian stood hesitantly by the doorway, shoulders hunched a little more than usual, the usual lilt to his step absent. She looked up at him and smiled warmly, beckoning him closer.

“Come sit, A-Xian. You look like your thoughts are too loud tonight.”

He let out a small huff of a laugh, rubbing the back of his neck as he walked over. “You always know, don’t you, Shijie?”

“Of course I do,” she said simply, placing the cup in front of him. “I’m your sister. Even if not by blood. Even if we’ve never been able to properly claim a tie. I will always be your sister. I still know you and care about you. And I know there has been something going on with you.”

That nearly undid him right there. Wei Wuxian sat down slowly, hands wrapping around the warm porcelain. He didn’t speak for a moment, just stared into the steam.

“I… I think I feel guilty,” he finally murmured, “To even come to you with this. It is insensitive of me to even ask.”

Jiang Yanli tilted her head. “About what?”

“I keep trying to be better,” he said, voice low. “To be someone Lan Zhan can trust again. I thought it would be simple, just be good. Be there. But it’s not. It’s hard, when every time he looks at me, my heart—” He cut himself off with a shake of his head. “I feel selfish for still wanting more than what he’s willing to give. And I feel guilty for wanting to stay close to him when maybe he doesn’t want me there at all. And I feel guilty to ask you for advice.”

She reached out, placing a gentle hand over his. “You can talk to me, A-Xian. You don’t ever have to feel like you can’t.”

He hesitated again, then looked up at her. “Shijie… how do you do it? How do you live with… with a love that’s one-sided?” His voice was soft, careful, knowing he was asking something painful. But if anyone were to understand, it was her. “You’ve always been kind to Jin Zixuan, always loved him. But the way he’s treated you. The way he’s …”

To his relief, Jiang Yanli didn’t flinch. Her expression only softened, a wistful smile brushing her lips.

“I’m not sure I’m the best person to ask, A-Xian,” she said. “I haven’t been able to build any sort of connection with him, the way you are with Lan Wangji. But loving someone who doesn’t seem to return it, it’s a quiet kind of ache. But it doesn’t make the love untrue. And it doesn’t make the person loving any weaker. It just…is.”

Wei Wuxian swallowed around a lump in his throat. “I don’t know what to do with everything I feel. I want to make things right with Lan Zhan. I want him to feel valued. Like he matters. Not because I’m trying to win him over, but because… he’s him. He deserves it. And if being his friend is all I’m allowed to be, then I want to be a good one. A real one. The kind he can count on.”

Jiang Yanli studied him, quiet for a moment. Then she asked gently, “What do you want in a friend?”

Wei Wuxian blinked. “I… I guess I’d want someone who’s kind. Who’s there when it matters. Someone who makes me feel appreciated. Who sees me—even the parts I try to hide—and doesn’t turn away.”

Her smile grew. “Then be that person for Lan Wangji.”

He stared at her.

“If you’re serious about just being his friend,” she continued, “Then really be his friend. Not just someone trying to make amends, but someone who chooses him every day, without hoping for more in return. That’s what real friendship is.”

Wei Wuxian’s throat tightened.

“But,” she added, her tone more serious now, “Don’t forget to value yourself too, A-Xian. Your feelings matter. Your happiness matters. You can’t keep pouring everything into others and leaving nothing for yourself. It’s not selfish to want to be loved back. Just don’t let it break you, trying to make everyone else happy while forgetting you deserve happiness too.”

Wei Wuxian didn’t answer right away. He looked down at their joined hands and then back up at her. There was a sheen in his eyes now, but no tears spilled.

“Thank you,” he whispered.

Jiang Yanli gave his hand a gentle squeeze. “Always.”

Outside, the wind stirred the trees, and the warmth of the tea in his hands spread through him slowly, like the comfort of being understood.

Even if the ache in his chest remained, for the first time in days, it felt a little easier to breathe.

Wei Wuxian carried the basket with both hands, careful not to let it swing too much as he made his way through the quiet forest that offered Cloud Recesses serenity. The late morning sun filtered through the leaves in delicate golden threads, casting soft, dancing patterns on the grass.

Lan Zhan wasn’t avoiding him anymore. They had started to speak again—careful, quiet words—but every moment still felt borrowed, fragile as pressed petals. Wei Wuxian had broken something between them once, and though Lan Zhan had not turned him away, he wasn’t sure he’d earned the right to treat their friendship as easily as before.

So he handled it gently, like something precious.

Something he would rather die than break ever again.

Lan Zhan sat beneath the tall white birch, where the shadows fell long and cool. His guqin rested beside him, and it was clear that he had been playing it in the early hours of the morning, on one of their rare days without classes. Lan Zhan looked up at the sound of footsteps, and when his eyes met Wei Wuxian’s, something in his expression softened—just enough to ease the tension in Wei Wuxian’s chest.

“I hope I’m not disturbing your peace,” Wei Wuxian said with a smile, slower and quieter than usual, like a gift he wasn’t sure would be accepted. Because he’d disrupted Lan Zhan before when he’d been studying and his presence had not been welcome.

The last thing he wanted to do now was go somewhere he was not welcomed. To bother Lan Zhan when he simply wished to be left alone.

“You are not,” Lan Zhan replied. His voice was steady, as always, but there was no chill in it. Only calm. He simply gazed curiously at the basked in Wei Wuxian’s hand, and he tried not to beam too brightly at Lan Zhan.

Instead, Wei Wuxian knelt across from him and began to unpack the basket, spreading out a clean cloth with deliberate care. “I thought maybe, it might be nice to have a picnic? Just the two of us. I know even with the rules about no talking while eating, the dining hall is still a bit noisy with all the guest disciples. I thought it may be nice to eat in silence? I asked the cooks of course if they’d mind if I cooked for you, and they were more than kind enough to let me as long as I cleaned up after myself. I asked them if they wouldn’t mind showing me how you liked your food.”

Lan Zhan didn’t answer, but he didn’t look away either. That alone felt like permission.

“I made congee,” Wei Wuxian added, pulling out two bowls. He passed one to Lan Zhan with both hands, as if offering something sacred.

Lan Zhan studied it, taking a delicate bite out of it, before looking up at Wei Wuxian, “It is unseasoned.”

Wei Wuxian beamed up at him with a grin, “Yes! That’s the best part!”

Lan Zhan’s brow lifted a fraction, clearly confused at that.

Wei Wuxian rushed to explain, his voice bright with earnestness. “I wanted to make sure it was right for you. No chillies, no oil, not even a grain of salt, so there was no chance of me accidentally over seasoning it. It didn’t feel easy, let me tell you—my hands were itching to throw in a whole handful of peppers. But I thought maybe…” He hesitated, suddenly shy. “You could add what you like. Exactly how you like it. So I know for next time how to make it for you.”

He pulled out two tiny, hand-carved seasoning pots—one for salt, the other for pepper—and placed them gently between them.

“I just wanted to make something that was just perfect for you, and not what I thought you’d want,” he added softly.

For a long moment, Lan Zhan didn’t move. His gaze lingered on the little pots, then lifted to Wei Wuxian’s face. His eyes were unreadable, but deep. Too deep.

Wei Wuxian faltered, his confidence wilting like a flower in shade. “Was that…was it too much?”

Lan Zhan shook his head, “It was very thoughtful. Thank you.”

Wei Wuxian exhaled, the knot in his chest loosening. “Well, I’m not usually known for that,” he said with a self-deprecating chuckle, rubbing the back of his neck. “But I’m trying. I meant when I said I wanted to be a better friend to you. The best kind of friend.”

Lan Zhan took the seasoning pots in hand, adjusting the flavour with slow, careful movements. Wei Wuxian watched, as if each grain of salt was a step toward forgiveness, taking note and committing the amounts to memory.

“Will you eat yours plainly too?” Lan Zhan asked, his voice quieter now, almost teasing.

Wei Wuxian blinked, then laughed. “Plain? Me?” He reached into the basket and withdrew a small jar of crimson chilli oil, his grin returning full force. “Lan Zhan, I’m reformed, not unrecognizable.”

He poured a generous amount into his bowl, the scent sharp and familiar. The colour instantly changed into a vibrant red and he felt his mouth water at the smell.

Lan Zhan gave a breath that might have been a laugh—short, quiet, but there. It warmed something in Wei Wuxian’s chest he hadn’t realized was cold.

They sat in silence, as he stayed true to his word, allowing Lan Zhan to eat without any disruption, eating in companionable quiet beneath the drifting leaves.

But he glanced at Lan Zhan, once, then again, and thought, not for the first time, that this was what peace might look like. A hand reached out across distance. A bowl of unseasoned congee, offered with care. A chance to be forgiven, not just in words, but in the small things.

He wasn’t trying to woo Lan Zhan anymore. He knew that wasn’t something Lan Zhan was even interested in.

He was only trying to stay close.

But some part of him whispered, soft and stubborn, that maybe, sometimes, the two were the same.

Wei Wuxian stood outside the Hanshi for nearly ten minutes before finally mustering the nerve to knock.

He had gone back and forth with himself the entire way over. Maybe it was a bad idea. Maybe Lan Xichen would see right through him—or worse, think he was trying to manipulate Lan Zhan again. But he couldn’t ignore the guilt curling up in his chest every time he caught a glimpse of the disappointment that had once flickered in Lan Wangji’s eyes. He wanted to do better. He needed to.

The door slid open with its usual quiet grace, and there stood Lan Xichen, composed and elegant as always.

“Wei-gongzi,” Lan Xichen greeted, a faint smile touching his lips, though his eyes carried a shadow of cautious curiosity. “Is there something I can help you with?”

Wei Wuxian bowed politely, sincerely. “If you have a moment, Zewu Jun, I wanted to ask you something. About Lan Zhan.”

That caught Lan Xichen’s attention, though his posture didn’t shift. “Come in,” he said after a beat, stepping aside.

Wei Wuxian entered slowly, hands folded into his sleeves, and waited until Lan Xichen was seated before he spoke. He didn’t want to rush it. Not this.

“I know this might seem strange,” he began, choosing his words carefully. “But…I wanted to know more about Lan Zhan. What he likes. What he doesn’t. I feel like I’ve only ever scratched the surface, and,” he hesitated, “I want to understand him better.”

Lan Xichen’s expression didn’t change much, but there was a shift—a subtle retreat, the way someone might step back without moving their feet. It was clear that Lan Xichen had heard about the falling out he and Lan Zhan had, and was obviously still untrusting of Wei Wuxian, even if Lan Zhan had said he’d forgiven Wei Wuxian. Which was his right. Especially given the pain Wei Wuxian had put Lan Zhan through.

“And may I ask,” Lan Xichen said, his voice unfailingly polite but distinctly cool, “Why you want to know?”

Wei Wuxian looked down, a little chastened, then back up, steady and honest. “Because I hurt him,” he said softly. “I thought I was being charming. I thought I was trying to court Lan Zhan and show him how much I cared about him and wanted to be with him. But I wasn’t, and I know that now. I embarrassed him, and I pushed when I should’ve paused. I never meant to make him feel like a joke or like his boundaries didn’t matter. I never meant to make him feel like his friendship meant nothing to me.”

He swallowed. “I’m not trying to win him over anymore. I just want to be his friend, properly. The kind of friend who actually listens. And respects him. And maybe makes him feel seen.”

For a long moment, Lan Xichen said nothing. He studied Wei Wuxian quietly, as if measuring not just the words but the weight behind them. Then, finally, he nodded, having found something in Wei Wuxian worthy; or at least not terrible enough to kick out immediately.

“You do seem sincere,” he said. “Wangji values honesty greatly. As well as restraint.”

“I’m learning,” Wei Wuxian replied with a self-deprecating smile.

There was the faintest quirk to Lan Xichen’s lips, something that might’ve been amusement. “He enjoys quiet spaces. Order. Thoughtful gestures over grand ones. He likes poetry, though he’d never admit it aloud. The classics especially.”

Wei Wuxian blinked. “Poetry. Huh. I always pegged him as someone who’d frown at a love poem.”

Especially given Lan Zhan hated the one he’d written him. Maybe it truly was because it was that bad of a poem.

“He would,” Lan Xichen said mildly. “And then he’d copy it into his notebook when no one was looking.”

Wei Wuxian’s mouth curled into a grin despite himself, soft and surprised. “That’s... that’s really sweet.”

Lan Xichen tilted his head slightly. “He also likes music, as you know. The guqin, of course. But he listens closely to others who play as well. It’s not just sound to him—it’s meaning.”

Wei Wuxian nodded solemnly, taking it all in.

“Oh,” Lan Xichen added, as if it had just occurred to him. “He has a bit of a sweet tooth. He’d never say it, and you won’t catch him eating anything overtly sugary in public, but he prefers osmanthus jelly, red bean pastries, and snow plum candies. He keeps them in a box in his room.”

Wei Wuxian lit up. “Really? I wouldn’t have guessed that! But that’s actually perfect. I like sweets too. Maybe we could share some.”

Lan Xichen watched him for a moment, then finally, his expression softened—not quite warm, but more open than before.

“If your intent is truly friendship, Wei-gongzi,” he said gently, “Then I think Wangji would appreciate that very much.”

Wei Wuxian stood, bowing respectfully. “Thank you. I promise, I’ll do my best not to mess it up this time.”

Lan Xichen’s smile was slight but real this time. “That’s all anyone can do.”

As Wei Wuxian stepped out into the evening air, he let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. He had a few new pieces of the puzzle now—tiny insights into Lan Zhan’s quiet world.

And he’d do everything he could to honour them.

The Cloud Recesses were quieter than usual, the kind of quiet that came with the first signs of spring—when the snow had melted but the blossoms had yet to bloom. The air still carried a bite, and the stone paths held chill in their bones, but the sun was kind, peeking through the clouds with the promise of warmth to come.

Wei Wuxian waited outside the library pavilion, bundled in his outer robe, clutching something carefully wrapped in a cloth. His fingers tapped against the cloth-covered box, then stopped. He drew in a breath, knocked once on the frame, and stepped in.

Lan Zhan looked up from his place at the desk. There was a slight furrow between his brows, the kind he wore when he was mid-study or caught off guard. Wei Wuxian didn’t miss the way the tension smoothed when their eyes met.

“Lan Zhan,” he greeted with a grin, bright but not too loud. He’d learned, lately, how not to shout into the stillness of Lan Zhan’s world.

“Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan replied, voice quiet but steady. His eyes dropped to the bundle in Wei Wuxian’s hands.

“Oh—this?” Wei Wuxian smiled sheepishly and walked closer, setting the cloth-wrapped parcel on the table. “I, uh, I made something. Thought maybe you’d like it.”

Lan Zhan blinked. “You cooked?”

The again remained silent. Having turned out okay once, was a rarity. Twice was begging for trouble. And yet, he’d tried anyways.

“I tried,” Wei Wuxian said, laughing softly. “It’s osmanthus jelly. Or it’s supposed to be. I might have added too many petals. I’m not sure. I know you like sweet treats but do not often indulge in them, and I thought it may be nice to make you something? I even measured the sweetness by weight instead of guessing! Took me three attempts to get it clear instead of cloudy.”

He hesitated, fingers lingering near the edge of the cloth.

“I know we’ve been talking again. Studying, even. And I don’t want to mess that up. I just—” He looked down at the table, then back up, eyes more vulnerable than usual. “I wanted to do something nice for you. Not just based on what I think you’d like, but what I know you’ll enjoy. Hopefully.”

Lan Zhan was quiet. Too quiet. He stared at the parcel as if it had transformed into something incomprehensible.

Wei Wuxian’s nerves sparked, “If I overstepped, I’m sorry. If it’s weird, you can pretend I never brought it,” he added quickly. “I’ll eat it myself, and we can pretend it didn’t ever exist. Just say the word and I’ll—”

“It is not,” Lan Zhan interrupted gently. “It is not weird. It was kind.”

Wei Wuxian blinked. “Oh.”

Lan Zhan’s fingers reached out to unfold the cloth. The jelly inside glimmered faintly, the translucent surface dotted with golden osmanthus blossoms. It wasn’t perfect. It wobbled unevenly and leaned slightly to one side in the dish, but it was careful. And soft. And made with a kind of affection Lan Zhan didn’t know what to do with.

He stared at it for a moment longer before looking back up.

“You made this for me.”

“Yeah,” Wei Wuxian said. “Just as a… as a friend would.”

Lan Zhan’s gaze softened, something unreadable flickering behind his eyes. “Thank you.”

Wei Wuxian’s smile was crooked, unsure. “You haven’t tasted it yet. What if it’s terrible?”

“I do not believe it will be.”

A pause. Wei Wuxian rocked on his heels. “I’m still learning how to be a better friend. It turns out, not everything can be solved by teasing someone until they laugh. Or being loud and obnoxious. I want to be the kind of friend who deserves to be in your life. Who offers you comfort and joy.”

Lan Zhan gave a quiet, unexpected huff of amusement. “I am glad you are trying.”

That stopped Wei Wuxian in his tracks. He stared at him, lips parted, eyes round with surprise.

“You are?” he asked.

Lan Zhan nodded. “Your efforts matter.”

There was something so simple about the way he said it. So honest. It made warmth bloom in Wei Wuxian’s chest like the first shy buds of spring.

“I’ll keep trying,” he said, quieter now. “Not just to be forgiven. But because… you matter to me. Because I hope we can be friends for a long time, and stay in each others’ lives, even once the guest lectures are over.”

Lan Zhan’s gaze lingered on him for a long moment, eyes gentle and open in a way that made the silence feel like a conversation.

The jelly sat between them, a fragile thing held in sunlight.

And though Wei Wuxian didn’t yet understand the tremor of feeling threading through the quiet, he understood this: Lan Zhan hadn’t looked away.

And that, he thought, might be the start of something lasting.

That maybe, just maybe, he had a chance of building a friendship stronger than any he’d had before.

​Cloud Recesses were bathed in the gentle glow of the setting sun, casting elongated shadows across the pristine white stone pathways. The distant hum of cicadas blended with the murmurs of disciples concluding their evening routines. Wei Wuxian navigated these familiar paths with a sense of purpose, his fingers curled around a delicate talisman inscribed with meticulous care.​

​With the influx of guest disciples, Cloud Recesses had been unusually lively, something which he’d heard several Lan disciples complain about when they thought no one was around, what with all the conversations and footsteps echoing through the tranquil courtyards.

Wei Wuxian had noticed how Lan Wangji's meditative retreats beneath the ancient pines were often interrupted by this uncharacteristic clamor. Determined to help, Wei Wuxian spent several nights crafting a talisman designed to envelop its bearer in a cocoon of near silence, allowing for undisturbed meditation.​

As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting a warm amber glow, Wei Wuxian approached Lan Wangji's favored meditation spot. He found him seated gracefully beneath the pine, eyes closed, the evening light accentuating his serene features.

Approaching the familiar meditation spot, Wei Wuxian's heart quickened as he spotted Lan Zhan seated beneath the sprawling branches of an ancient pine, his form exuding an aura of calm. Taking a steadying breath, Wei Wuxian stepped forward, the soft rustle of his robes announcing his presence.​

"Lan Zhan," he called softly, ensuring his voice was gentle enough not to startle.

Lan Zhan's eyes fluttered open, revealing depths that seemed to mirror the vast evening sky. He regarded Wei Wuxian with a calm curiosity, the corners of his lips hinting at a smile.​

"Wei Ying," Lan Zhan acknowledged, his voice a soothing balm amidst the evening's symphony.​

A warm sensation spread through Wei Wuxian's chest at the sound of his courtesy name spoken with such tenderness. He lowered himself to sit beside Lan Zhan, the cool grass brushing against his fingertips.​

"I've noticed how dedicated you are to your meditation," Wei Wuxian began, his gaze fixed on the talisman he now held between them. "With all of us here for the lectures, I thought it might be challenging to find the peace you cherish."​

Lan Zhan's gaze shifted to the talisman, his expression unreadable but attentive.​

"I crafted this for you," Wei Wuxian continued, his voice tinged with both excitement and a hint of nervousness. He’d made talismans for others before, but Madam Yu often dismissed them as garbage. He’d made some for Jiang Cheng and Shijie who were sometimes reluctant to use them given the mishaps that went into crafting them at times. But they’d been grateful for the benefits once proven to work. But he’d never made one for anyone else. And the nerves were getting the better of him.

"It's designed to create a sphere of tranquility, muffling the external noises so you can meditate without disturbance,” he chattered nervously.​

He extended the talisman towards Lan Zhan, their fingers brushing briefly as the latter accepted the offering. The contact, though fleeting, sent a ripple through Wei Wuxian's being, causing him to momentarily forget the rehearsed words he had planned.​

Lan Zhan examined the talisman with a reverence that made Wei Wuxian's heart race. After a pause that felt both eternal and instantaneous, Lan Zhan spoke.​

"This is very thoughtful," he said, his voice carrying an undertone of genuine appreciation., glancing back at Wei Wuxian.

Wei Wuxian's eyes lit up, a radiant smile breaking across his face. The joy of having his effort recognized by Lan Zhan was unparalleled.​

Given how quick Lan Zhan had been to reject some of his other gifts, it was nice to see it so openly welcomed.

"I'm glad you think so," Wei Wuxian replied, his voice imbued with sincerity. "I just wanted to ensure you have the peace you deserve."​

For a moment, they sat in comfortable silence, the world around them fading as an unspoken connection blossomed between them.​

Lan Zhan's fingers traced the edges of the talisman, his gaze softening. "Thank you, Wei Ying," he murmured, the depth of emotion in his tone causing Wei Wuxian's heart to flutter uncontrollably.​

Attempting to mask the tumult within, Wei Wuxian chuckled lightly, rubbing the back of his neck. "It's nothing, really. Just a small token between friends. I just wanted to something nice for you. I’m glad you like it, Lan Zhan."​

Yet, as he spoke, he couldn't ignore the warmth that spread through him, nor the way his pulse quickened in Lan Zhan's presence. He felt the smallest blush spread over his cheeks but he hoped that Lan Zhan did not notice it.

He tried to remind himself of his intention to honor their friendship, but the lines seemed to blur with each passing moment.​

Lan Zhan's eyes held his, a silent acknowledgment passing between them. The evening air grew cooler, but the space between them felt charged with an undeniable warmth.​

“Will you show me how it works?” Lan Zhan asked him gently, and Wei Wuxian lit up again, as he immediately cast it around them, encompassing them in their own little bubble of solitude.

“Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan breathed out as he looked around in amazement, the sounds of the world around them fading out into nothing more than a quiet buzz.

“I can turn it all out entirely,” he was quick to offer, “But I found the pure silence to be a bit disconcerting, especially if I couldn’t even hear the sounds of nature. Cloud Recesses is so beautifully serene and just hearing it all around me helps bring the peace. I wasn’t sure if you’d want pure silence, but you can easily add a stroke here to tune it out entirely!”

He showed Lan Zhan the extra stroke needed for silence, as Lan Zhan looked at him in what could only be classified as fondness.

“Thank you,” Lan Zhan said, glancing at him and this time, he couldn’t stop the flush from spreading further.

As the first stars began to twinkle in the vast expanse above, Wei Wuxian realized that some bonds, once formed, have a way of deepening in ways unforeseen. And perhaps, just perhaps, this was the beginning of something neither of them had anticipated.

The soft hush of twilight had settled over the Cloud Recesses, the white pines casting long, slender shadows across the polished paths. The evening bell had already sounded, calling disciples to meditation or rest, but Wei Wuxian was heading in the opposite direction, a slight bounce in his step as he approached the quiet residence of Lan Qiren.

He smoothed down his robes and knocked gently. The door slid open almost immediately.

Lan Qiren raised an eyebrow at the sight of him. “You are punctual, Wei Wuxian. I am surprised.”

Wei Wuxian grinned, knowing that his tendency to be late was common knowledge, but how could he keep Lan Zhan and his new found uncle waiting? “Of course I am, Shushu. You invited me, after all.”

From inside the room, Lan Wangji looked up from where he sat near the scroll table. His eyes widened, ever so slightly, wondering clearly when the relationship between him and Lan Qiren had grown from teacher and student to something closer.

Lan Qiren gave no indication of noticing his nephew’s reaction. He turned and stepped aside to let Wei Wuxian in. “Wangji, I asked Wei Wuxian to join us for tonight’s discussion. I thought it worthwhile to include a broader perspective. Given that the lecture topics seem a bit basic for him, I believed it would be a nice addition for him, as well as give you someone your age to debate with as well.”

Lan Wangji inclined his head slowly, eyes flicking back toward Wei Wuxian. He was clearly not expecting him, but, Wei Wuxian thought with a flicker of hope, he didn’t look displeased either.

Wei Wuxian moved across the room, bowing lightly in greeting. “Lan Zhan. Hope I’m not intruding.”

“You are not,” Lan Wangji said, a beat slower than usual, “Wei Ying will make a welcome addition.”

Wei Wuxian took a seat at the low table, trying to sit properly but giving up after a moment and folding his legs comfortably. The lamplight bathed the room in warm golds and soft shadows, the atmosphere intimate in its quiet formality.

Lan Qiren poured them each a cup of tea, then unrolled a scroll between them. “Tonight’s topic is one Wei Wuxian may find stimulating: the role of emotion in the development of spiritual clarity. Is compassion a hindrance, or is it essential to the path of cultivation?”

Wei Wuxian’s eyes lit up. “Oh, that’s a good one.”

He leaned forward, eyes flitting between uncle and nephew. “May I open the debate?”

Lan Qiren gestured for him to proceed.

Wei Wuxian cleared his throat, lifting his cup. “I think emotion—especially compassion—is like a blade. It’s dangerous, yes, and it can cut you. But it’s also one of the most precise tools we have. Without it, why even bother cultivating? Why pursue strength at all if not for the sake of others?”

Lan Wangji’s gaze sharpened, but there was something almost fond in the way he tilted his head. “Emotion untempered leads to chaos.”

“But cultivation without emotion leads to stagnation,” Wei Wuxian countered. “You close yourself off from the world, from what makes life worth protecting.”

Lan Qiren interjected calmly, “Wangji, your rebuttal?”

“Compassion is a virtue when balanced,” Lan Wangji replied. “But excess emotional attachment breeds recklessness. A cultivator’s duty is to the greater good—not individual sentiment.”

Wei Wuxian arched a brow, then smiled. “But what if individual sentiment leads to the greater good? What about cultivators like Master Yun of Jingzhou? He only achieved clarity through grief. His pain opened a door no amount of stillness ever had.”

Lan Wangji’s expression shifted, thoughtful.

Lan Qiren nodded once. “A fair point. Lan Wangji?”

“It is true,” Lan Wangji admitted slowly, “That Master Yun’s sorrow became a catalyst. But that was a rare case. Most who fall into emotion are consumed by it.”

“And yet,” Wei Wuxian said softly, glancing between them, “Isn’t choosing to love someone—choosing to care—an act of cultivation in itself? Isn’t restraint paired with compassion the highest form of discipline?”

Lan Wangji didn’t respond at once, but something about his posture changed; less guarded, more curious.

From the corner of his eye, Wei Wuxian saw Lan Qiren looking between them, his expression unreadable. Finally, the older man said, “These are the kinds of questions that require a lifetime to understand. But tonight, your debate is sound.”

Wei Wuxian grinned, pride lighting his face. “Then I’ll keep showing up, Shushu. If you’ll have me.”

Lan Qiren gave a subtle nod. “You have shown a sincere desire to learn. You are welcome.”

Wei Wuxian turned just in time to catch the smallest—smallest—upward twitch of Lan Zhan’s lips.

And even though his heart was doing cartwheels in his chest, he forced himself to stay composed.

Just friends. Just learning. But even still…he could be near Lan Zhan like this. And sometimes, that was enough.

For now.

The debate went on for a few more incense sticks, as Wei Wuxian and Lan Zhan cited all sorts of topics and Wei Wuxian could honestly say he was having the time of his life. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been allowed to just talk theory without any ulterior need to perform a certain way, without having to dumb himself down or worry that he was getting off track. Instead, he was able to just talk, and bounce ideas off of others who seemed to enjoy it just as much as he did.

“That will be all for tonight,” Lan Qiren said with a nod at them both as it grew closer to curfew, “Wangji, walk Wei Wuxian back to his dorms, would you?”

“Mm,” Lan Zhan acquiesced without complaint, as he stood to take Wei Wuxian back.

“Shushu, don’t you trust me?” Wei Wuxian pouted, but didn’t press too hard, not wanting to lose the chance to spend even a few more moments with Lan Zhan.

Lan Qiren didn’t roll his eyes at Wei Wuxian, but he was convinced the man would’ve if it wouldn’t have been considered rude.

The walk back through the Cloud Recesses was bathed in silver. Moonlight filtered down through the trees, dappling the white stone paths in shifting pools of light and shadow. The night was cool and hushed, as if the mountains themselves were listening.

Wei Wuxian walked beside Lan Zhan, hands tucked into his sleeves, his head tilted up to admire the stars. He didn’t want to break the peaceful quiet, but Lan Zhan’s posture was taut—he could feel the question hovering between them like mist.

So he grinned a little and said, “You want to ask about the Shushu thing, don’t you?”

Lan Zhan glanced at him, eyes a little wide, caught, just as Wei Wuxian expected. But instead of answering, he merely gave the faintest nod, barely perceptible in the moonlight.

Wei Wuxian sighed, soft and a bit shy. “He said I could call him that. A while ago, actually. It took me by surprise, if I was being honest, and I’ve been trying to be careful to only call him that in private. I wasn’t sure if he meant it or if it was one of those things people say but don’t expect you to actually do. But he’s been very kind to me.”

Lan Zhan didn’t speak, but his gaze stayed steady, patient.

Wei Wuxian’s steps slowed as they approached one of the small bridges spanning a koi pond. The water glittered beneath them as he leaned his forearms against the railing and looked down. “It’s been...strange. Good-strange. Your uncle’s been telling me about my parents. He said they were friends, once, when they were younger.”

There was a flicker of something—surprise, maybe—across Lan Zhan’s face, but he didn’t interrupt.

“I don’t remember them much, They died when I was so young,” Wei Wuxian admitted, voice quieter now. “Just bits and pieces. A woman’s laughter. The sound of a flute. And I remember being on a donkey, between them, and feeling happy. It’s the faintest memory, but I think about it a lot. Like if I could just hold on to it harder, it might turn into something more.”

He looked down into the dark water for a beat before straightening up. “I guess I just wish I knew them better. What they were like. What they believed in. What parts of me came from them. My…Jiang Zongzhu doesn’t talk about them often, it hurts him to think about it, and well especially given the rumours, he doesn’t want to feed into it if he can help it. So I haven’t heard much about them, or anything, really. That was really the only thing I knew about them, one sad pitiful memory. So it’s been really nice to have your Shufu tell me about them.”

After a moment, Lan Zhan said softly, “I do not know my parents well either. My mother...she died when I was very young.”

Wei Wuxian’s head turned, careful, surprised that Lan Zhan had shared something so personal. “I’m sorry.”

Lan Zhan shook his head once. “She was gentle. I remember that.”

“And your father?” Wei Wuxian asked, voice gentle and cautious.

“He is…in seclusion,” Lan Zhan replied, the words measured but not cold. “He has been for many years. I have never met him”

Wei Wuxian’s brows furrowed, sympathy blooming in his chest. “I’m glad, then, that you had Grandmaster Lan. And your brother. That you weren’t alone growing up.”

Lan Zhan blinked, his eyes flicking to Wei Wuxian. His expression shifted, ever so slightly—just a ripple of emotion under the surface. “Mn.”

Wei Wuxian smiled faintly. “It must have helped, having someone like your uncle there. Even if he’s a little strict. He clearly cares a lot. I’m glad you had a person in your life to raise you with love and with compassion.”

There was a long pause, and then Lan Zhan said quietly, “I am glad you have him now as well. So you may speak of your parents with someone who knew them. And have someone as well who cares for you. You deserve to know the same warmth.”

Wei Wuxian’s breath caught in his throat.

That—that was the sort of thing he might dream Lan Zhan would say to him. Soft and sincere, not just allowing his presence but welcoming it. Wishing for it.

They had reached the guest dormitory now, the wooden lanterns on the porch casting a soft, golden glow. Wei Wuxian hesitated at the top step, glancing back at Lan Zhan, who still lingered just a half-step behind him.

He wanted—gods, he wanted to reach out and cup Lan Zhan’s cheek. To lean in, to see if the gentleness in his voice would be there in a kiss.

But he didn’t move forward. He didn’t risk it.

Instead, he turned slowly and reached down, gently brushing his fingers against Lan Zhan’s hand. It was bold, even that much—but Lan Zhan didn’t flinch.

Wei Wuxian gave his hand the barest squeeze. “Goodnight, Lan Zhan.”

Lan Zhan looked at their joined hands, and then at him. His voice was soft. “Goodnight, Wei Ying.”

Neither of them moved for a moment.

Then, slowly, Lan Zhan let his fingers return the squeeze before drawing back, bowing his head slightly. He stepped down from the porch and began to walk away, his pace measured.

Wei Wuxian watched him go, heart fluttering like the lantern flames behind him, wondering—hoping—if maybe, just maybe, friendship wasn’t all this would ever be.

The guest dormitory at the Cloud Recesses was quiet, save for the occasional rustle of leaves outside. They were progressing in their lectures, and Wei Wuxian could honestly say he was enjoying it. He was enjoying getting to explore the different facets of cultivation and enjoying the lectures Lan Qiren was giving him.

And well, if he was also enjoying talking to his new Shushu after classes about everything from his parents, to having intellectual debates, to just getting to ask questions about everything and anything that occurred to him, well then that was his prerogative.

Wei Wuxian sat cross-legged on his bed, idly flipping through a book he had borrowed from the library. Jiang Cheng stood near the window, arms crossed, gazing out at the serene landscape. Nie Huaisang reclined on a nearby chair, fanning himself lazily, as it was clear that something more was on his mind.

Breaking the silence, Nie Huaisang asked, "Wei-xiong, have you given up on your pursuits with Lan Wangji? You haven’t made any grand courting attempts in a few weeks."​

Wei Wuxian sighed, setting the book aside, "It's not about giving up, Nie Huaisang. You saw how my attempts went. Lan Zhan has made it clear he's not interested. I hurt him with what I was doing, and I have no interest in hurting him any further. I’ve been doing my best to try and be his friend. Properly, truly, with no other motives in mind, this time. He deserves nothing but my full earnestness. How could I give him anything else."​

Jiang Cheng turned from the window, a frown on his face, clearly a bit stunned by that "So, what now? You're just going to pretend those feelings don't exist? Last I checked you were utterly, hopelessly, stupidly in love with him. Are you telling me that you’ve somehow managed to get over that?"

Wei Wuxian offered a small, rueful smile, "Of course I haven’t gotten over my feelings. There’s a reason Lan Zhan is regarded so highly as one of the top most bachelors of our generation. How could one get over loving him? He’s perfect in every way, and the more I get to know him, to be his friend, I’ve only seen firsthand just how good he is. I can't imagine my life without him. If being his friend is the only way to keep him close, then that's what I'll be."​

Nie Huaisang's fan slowed, "But doesn't that hurt you? To love him wholeheartedly but to know that you can’t have him?"​

Wei Wuxian's gaze dropped to his hands. "A little, every time I see him. Sometimes it feels like my heart is about to burst out of my chest with just how much I’ve grown to love him. In fact, I think that I was infatuated with him the first time I met him, and that I didn’t know just how much of him there is to love. Just how much I’d love every single part of him. But to love him isn’t fair to him. Not when it wasn’t what he wanted. And I think I’ll die if I don’t have him in my life. So some things are worth a little heartbreak."​

Jiang Cheng let out a frustrated sound, "You're a fool. How can you willingly, knowingly, let yourself go through something like this? You’re only going to let yourself get hurt more in the end, in an attempt to make Lan Wangji happy. Is that what you want?"​

Wei Wuxian chuckled softly, "Maybe I will. In fact, I most likely will. But it's my choice."​

The silence that followed was thick, but not cold. More like the kind that clung to old memories and fragile hopes—wrapped in affection, steeped in unsaid things. Wei Wuxian leaned back on his hands and looked toward the ceiling, blinking slowly.

"Besides," he said after a moment, a weak grin flickering across his face, "Lan Zhan's friendship is already a gift I didn’t think I’d get back. I thought I’d ruined that completely. So every time he sits beside me in class, every time he offers me tea without looking away, every time he asks if I’ve eaten or corrects me with that sharp little crease between his brows—those moments mean more than I can explain. Every time I get to see his gentle smile turn towards me; it means everything to me. More than anything."

Nie Huaisang hummed, tapping his fan against his chin, "You say you’ve given up on courting him, but you speak like someone still completely smitten."

"I am completely smitten," Wei Wuxian said with a shrug. "I just don’t think I get to be selfish about it anymore."

Jiang Cheng rolled his eyes but didn’t speak. His jaw worked slightly, as if chewing on words he didn’t quite know how to spit out. Eventually, he exhaled sharply and muttered, "You’re the most aggravating person I know."

Wei Wuxian flashed him a cheeky grin. "That’s not very brotherly of you, Jiang Cheng."

"I’m being too brotherly. Anyone else would have smacked you upside the head by now,” Jiang Cheng growled, “Do you know how infuriating this is? To see you like this? Lan Wangji is lucky I haven’t broken his legs for what he’s doing to you.”

Nie Huaisang laughed softly behind his fan, "If it’s any consolation, Wei-xiong, you’ve been... different lately. Calmer. Less loud, but not in a sad way. More mature, I’d say. It’s nice. You seem lighter. Happier."

Wei Wuxian blinked, “You think so?”

Nie Huaisang nodded, “You’ve always been the kind of person who burns bright enough to dazzle, but now it feels like you’re letting yourself be instead of just always performing for others. I think it suits you.”

Wei Wuxian stared at him for a beat before chuckling, genuine and warm. “Wow, Nie Huaisang. That was suspiciously profound of you.”

"Of course it was," Nie Huaisang said airily, waving his fan again. "I am well versed in the arts of understanding others."

From the corner, Jiang Cheng muttered, “Ridiculous. All three of you.”

But even he couldn’t help the faintest ghost of a smile tugging at his lips when Wei Wuxian leaned over to nudge Nie Huaisang’s arm with a whispered, "You’re my favourite, don’t tell Jiang Cheng."

"I heard that," Jiang Cheng said flatly.

"Good!" Wei Wuxian crowed, throwing his arms behind his head and stretching out with an exaggerated yawn. "It’s nice to be surrounded by such doting brothers. All I need now is for Lan Zhan to walk in and just smile at me, and I can die a happy man.”

Nie Huaisang giggled.

Jiang Cheng snorted, “If he did anything more, you’d probably explode from sheer joy.”

“Wouldn’t be the worst way to go,” Wei Wuxian said, softening again, voice quieter now. “At least I’d know I got to make him smile a little first.”

And there it was again, subtle, but unmistakable. That fondness stitched so deeply into every word he spoke about Lan Zhan. A soft ache that never quite left his eyes.

Wei Wuxian closed his eyes and whispered, “I just want to be someone he can trust. Someone he wants around. That’s enough for me.”

And maybe, just maybe, he hoped it wouldn’t have to be. But he said nothing more.

And for once, both Nie Huaisang and Jiang Cheng let the silence speak for them.

Chapter Text

Jiang Cheng hadn’t expected to find himself standing outside the Jingshi.

Honestly, he hadn’t expected half the things that had happened since they’d arrived in Gusu. He certainly hadn’t expected to be cleaning up this particular mess.

He didn’t like Lan Wangji. He respected him, yes—but respect was not affection, and it sure as hell didn’t mean he liked watching Wei Wuxian bleed himself dry for someone who couldn’t see his brother for the person he truly was.

But then again, Wei Wuxian had always had a talent for complicating things. Especially where Lan Wangji was involved.

He reached the Jingshi just after the evening bells, the courtyard bathed in pale silver light. The air was crisp, almost too quiet, like it was holding its breath.

He stood there longer than he’d meant to, fingers curling into fists at his sides.

He hated this. Hated that Wei Wuxian had put himself in this position, that Lan Wangji had let him twist in the wind, that he, Jiang Cheng, had to be the one to fix it.

But no one else would.

He knocked.

A pause.

Then the door opened with infuriating serenity, revealing Lan Wangji’s ever-impassive face.

They stared at each other.

“I’d like to talk,” Jiang Cheng said, voice clipped.

Lan Wangji’s eyes narrowed, just slightly. Enough to show suspicion. Hesitation. Cold politeness.

Jiang Cheng crossed his arms, jaw tightening. “Look, I’m not here to fight. Just… talk.”

Another pause. Jiang Cheng could practically feel the judgment radiating off him.

Then Lan Wangji stepped back, ever the perfect host, and gestured him inside.

Jiang Cheng entered the room, noting how neat and sparsely decorated it was. Predictably perfect. Predictably cold. Silent. Suffocating.

Lan Wangji poured the tea with silent precision, then sat across from him without a single wasted movement.

Still hadn’t said a damn word.

Of course not. Jiang Cheng didn’t expect him to roll out a welcome mat, but the atmosphere was stifling. He could practically hear Lan Wangji screaming why are you here just through his stare alone.

Jiang Cheng took the tea, tasted it, and immediately regretted it. Bitter, of course. Of course.

He set the cup down with a sharp clink. “This is about Wei Wuxian.”

A slight tilt of Lan Wangji’s head. An invitation to continue. Still no words.

Jiang Cheng gritted his teeth. “Look, my brother is an idiot.”

That finally earned a reaction. Lan Wangji’s brows drew together, lips parting as if preparing to object, but Jiang Cheng raised a hand.

“Don’t. Don’t argue. Just listen.”

Lan Wangji closed his mouth, expression unreadable.

“I know you think he was joking. That he wasn’t serious. That maybe he was just playing with your feelings. That it was some stupid prank. But he wasn’t.”

He inhaled through his nose, tried to slow down, but his voice still came out sharp.

“For all his talk—for all the bragging and posturing—Wei Wuxian has never so much as kissed someone, never chased anyone, never even liked anyone the way people talk about in those idiotic romance books he reads when he thinks no one’s looking.”

There was the faintest twitch in Lan Wangji’s expression. Jiang Cheng plowed on.

“Until you.”

Something in the room shifted. Not the air—not the light—but something in Lan Wangji’s stillness. A hesitation, like the weight of those words had landed somewhere unexpected.

“He didn’t know how to go about…courting anyone, especially not you. So he went to Nie Huaisang, Nie Huaisang, for advice. As if that idiot knows anything more than Wei Wuxian beyond the books he’d read,” he gave a helpless gesture, “It was bound to be ridiculous. Poems and bunnies and all that over-the-top stuff. Because in his mind, the bigger the gesture, the more you’d understand how serious he was; you’d see how much he liked you. That you’d…I don’t know. Fall for him too.”

He scoffed, shaking his head. “He put in so much time. Stayed up late planning things. Carved that stupid bunny you said was poorly made; took him three days and several attempts to get it to a state he was happy with it. He cut his hand on his blade twice while working on it. Practiced that dumb poem over and over again; it must have been a hundred times that I thought he’d finally lost his mind. It was pathetic. It was embarrassing.”

He looked up, tone quieting, “But it was genuine.”

Lan Wangji was very, very still, with only his expression shifting, just slightly. Not open, not yet, but clearly processing.

“I told him to spend time with you. To get to know you, talk to you. You know, without all the posturing and just to get to know you better. But he panicked. Didn’t want to mess it up. And in trying not to look like a fool, he made a complete idiot of himself instead. Then you got angry. And he couldn’t even figure out why.”

Jiang Cheng leaned forward, elbows on his knees, voice sharper now. “And you. You, Lan Wangji, are also an idiot.”

Lan Wangji’s eyes flashed.

“No, I’m not done,” Jiang Cheng snapped. “You’re an idiot who thought he wasn’t being genuine. You decided it was easier to believe he was mocking you than to accept that someone like him might have fallen for you . That he was playing a joke. So you shut him out. Made him feel like garbage for trying.”

He let the silence sit heavy between them, then continued, quieter now.

“And he… He was wrecked after that day. Wouldn’t talk. Wouldn’t eat. He thought you hated him. Thought he’d ruined everything. Because he thought you were mad at him for not taking your friendship seriously. That you thought he was some manipulative bastard who was pretending to care just to seduce you or something equally insulting.”

His voice cracked—just slightly—before softening despite himself.

“He’s trying so hard to be your friend again. And to prove he truly wanted to be your friend, even if he wanted to also be more. Even though it’s breaking his heart. And you, like an idiot, don’t even see what it’s doing to him.”

Jiang Cheng exhaled slowly, then added, “He loves you, you oblivious bastard. Not in some passing, childish way. Not a crush. Not a joke. He loves you. And if you can’t see that, then I don’t know what the hell you’re doing.”

The silence that followed was sharp as a blade.

He leaned back. “I know your sect is hosting us, but I swear I’ll cause an intersect incident if you keep breaking his heart like this. So either put him out of his misery and just tell him how you feel, or let him go before this becomes a lifelong tragedy.”

The room was still.

Lan Wangji’s voice, when it finally came, was barely more than a whisper. “Wei Ying…is in love with me?”

Jiang Cheng groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “Yes! How many times do I have to say it? Do you need a puppet show? A dramatic retelling with ribbon dancing?”

Still stunned silence.

Jiang Cheng stood, straightened his robes with a sharp tug.

Lan Wangji looked stunned, and more than a little stricken. Like the words had landed somewhere deep—somewhere he hadn’t dared hope.

“For the record,” he muttered, “I still think you’re both idiots.”

He turned to go but paused in the doorway, and he saw the look on Lan Wangji’s face.

Not anger. Not offence.

Something wide-eyed. Something shaken. Something soft.

Let him deal with his realizations on his own. Jiang Cheng had said enough.

And then he left Lan Wangji alone in the quiet room, heart and tea both growing cold.

Lan Wangji approached the east pavilion with a familiar calm in his step, the soft hush of evening already settling over the mountain. The scent of osmanthus lingered faintly in the air, sweet and steady. The light in the windows glowed like candlelight behind paper lanterns—subtle, warm, welcoming.

This was their tradition, as it had been for as long as he could remember. Every seventh day, he took tea with his uncle and brother. Sometimes in silence. Sometimes in discussion. Always in comfort.

It was a small but steady rhythm in his life. One he had come to value.

Tonight, his heart beat louder than usual.

He paused just outside the doorway and smoothed his robes with one hand. He could hear his brother’s voice—gentle and clear—and the soft clink of porcelain. Then silence, as they no doubt sensed his presence.

“Wangji,” Lan Xichen called with quiet joy. “You’re just in time. Come in.”

Lan Wangji stepped inside—but instead of moving to his usual place, he crossed to the centre of the room and lowered himself to his knees. His robes settled around him like water.

He bowed deeply, forehead to the floor.

Once.

Twice.

Thrice.

The silence in the room deepened, but not with discomfort. Just surprise.

“Wangji?” Lan Xichen’s voice was soft, uncertain. “What—?”

“I wish to request permission,” Lan Wangji said, keeping his forehead pressed to the floor, “To begin a formal courtship.”

Another beat of stillness.

Then Lan Qiren cleared his throat, though his tone was measured. “Stand, Wangji. Speak plainly.”

Lan Wangji sat back on his heels and looked up, not hesitantly, but with a quiet, solemn resolve. His gaze met Lan Xichen’s first, then his uncle’s.

“I wish to court Wei Wuxian,” he said. “Head disciple of the Jiang Sect.”

The words felt like breath he’d held for too long. At last, they had been spoken.

Lan Xichen’s eyes widened, and then slowly his face broke into a smile so radiant it made something in Lan Wangji’s chest ache. “Truly?” he asked, voice coloured with a quiet joy. “Oh, Wangji. That is most wonderful news. I had wondered…you’d both gotten so close of late, and I’d hoped it meant-”

Lan Qiren was more restrained, but he did not frown. He studied Lan Wangji for a long moment, searching for something in his eyes, then turned to Lan Xichen. “You are the incoming Sect Leader. Though I serve in the interim, such decisions—especially those that would bind our sect to another—fall to you.”

Lan Xichen nodded, hands folded neatly in his lap. “Then I give it gladly,” he said. “Wei gongzi is unconventional, yes. He is not whom I would’ve expected you to fall for before. But I’ve seen his intentions. I’ve seen how the two of you are when you are together. He is brave. Loyal. Brilliant in ways that can’t be taught. I’ve seen happy he’s made you. If your heart has chosen him, then he has my full blessing.”

Still, Lan Wangji did not move to sit beside them.

He turned back to Lan Qiren, eyes steady. “I would also ask for your blessing, Shufu. Not only as my elder, but as his as well. You have guided us both. I would not take this step without your approval.”

A long breath. Lan Qiren’s expression was as still as a stone, but behind his eyes, something shifted.

“He is difficult,” Lan Qiren said at last. “But so are you.”

Lan Xichen laughed quietly.

Then Lan Qiren nodded once. “You have my blessing. Wei Wuxian would make a welcome addition into Cloud Recesses if we can convince him to marry in. I have certainly enjoyed our discussions together. Bring him honour. And let him bring it to you, in turn.”

Lan Wangji bowed again, once more, though this time with a lighter heart.

“Thank you,” he said, softly. “Both of you.”

Lan Xichen reached to pour him tea with the same care he always used, but there was an added glow to his smile now. “Come, Wangji. Sit. You must tell us how long you have been holding this secret in your heart.”

Lan Wangji rose and took his usual seat, placing his hands carefully on his knees.

“A long time,” he said quietly. “I only lacked the courage to name it. It has taken some time for me to realize he also held feelings for me, just as I for him.”

Lan Xichen passed him the cup. “Then I am glad you’ve found the courage now. That you no longer are afraid.”

Even Lan Qiren looked almost…pleased, in the way he often did when Lan Wangji submitted a perfectly transcribed scroll without needing correction.

Lan Wangji held the tea between his hands and let its warmth settle into his palms.

Soon, he would need to find the words for Wei Ying.

The steam from the tea curled upward, delicate and sweet. Lan Wangji held the cup between his palms longer than usual before taking a sip.

His thoughts lingered on the words he’d just spoken; words that had been sealed inside his heart for so long it still felt unfamiliar to have them spoken aloud.

But now that they had given their blessing… there was something else he needed. Something he could not reach for alone.

He set the teacup down with careful precision and kept his gaze fixed on the polished table surface as he spoke, “…Xiongzhang.”

Lan Xichen turned to him at once. “Mn?”

Lan Wangji hesitated. His fingers brushed the edge of his sleeve.

“…I do not know how,” he admitted softly. “To court. To make my intentions clear.”

He felt rather than saw his uncle’s stillness.

Lan Xichen’s smile was immediate and fond, “You’ve already taken the first step in establishing a friendship with him,” he said gently. “And that is often the hardest. A relationship cannot flourish without a basis of care.”

Lan Qiren made a thoughtful sound. “Wei Wuxian is clever, but reckless. He speaks before he thinks. But he is not blind, and he is not unfeeling. If you wish for him to understand your intentions…” He looked pointedly at Lan Wangji. “Then show him who you are beneath your silence. Let him see your heart.”

Lan Wangji looked up, faintly startled.

“You believe that would be enough?”

Lan Qiren hummed. “Perhaps not immediately. But in time. With patience. He is just as oblivious as you are, and has not yet realized your feelings. I do believe he will need it made explicitly clear to him how you feel.”

Lan Xichen placed his cup down and leaned forward slightly, his expression a mix of amusement and sincerity. “What Shufu means is that you should do things that make him feel seen. Things that remind him he is not alone in the world. That you care for the person that he is.”

Lan Wangji listened intently.

“Give him something you’ve made by hand,” Lan Xichen suggested. “Something thoughtful. Focus on areas where you are talented and showcase that. Or bring him to a place that means something to you. Let him share in something that holds meaning.”

Lan Qiren raised an eyebrow. “And perhaps, write a letter for practice. One where you say precisely what he means to you. So there is no room for misunderstanding.”

Lan Wangji blinked, “In… words.”

“Yes, Wangji,” Lan Qiren said dryly, though there was no edge to it. “Even you must use them, occasionally.”

Lan Xichen laughed, then softened. “Wei gongzi will not need grand declarations, but he will need clarity. He teases, yes, but beneath it he is searching. Hoping. I do not believe your feelings will be unreciprocated. If you meet him with honesty, he will not mistake your heart.”

Lan Wangji absorbed every word, heart quietly pounding.

He could picture it. A melody written just for Wei Ying. A quiet clearing where he could play for him. A lantern. A gift.

A letter.

It made him feel bare. But not unwilling.

“…I will try,” he murmured.

Lan Xichen smiled again, his voice as warm as the tea in their cups. “Then he will see you, Wangji. And he will understand.”

Lan Wangji didn’t answer, but his chest felt a little less tight. His gaze dropped to his tea again. His fingers, usually still, fidgeted just slightly in his sleeve.

Lan Qiren gave a long, measured look before nodding once. “Do not expect perfection. But sincerity, that you have in abundance.”

Lan Wangji bowed his head in silent gratitude.

Outside, the evening deepened. The moon crept higher, spilling silver across the rooftops.

For the first time in a long while, Lan Wangji felt the smallest spark of hope flutter quietly behind his ribs.

Wei Wuxian didn’t know where they were going.

Which, to be fair, wasn’t unusual. He’d been at Cloud Recesses for a few months at this point, and it still didn’t feel like he knew all of what Cloud Recesses had to offer. There were so many mystery spots, so many hidden paths that he hadn’t yet taken.

So he truly was following Lan Zhan into the unknown, trusting his friend to guide him and to lead him carefully without getting them lost.

They’d left the dinner hall right after their meal, with Lan Zhan leading the way in calm silence, not saying much more than “Come.”

Which, fine. Wei Wuxian had never needed more than that. Not when Lan Zhan looked at him like that—like he was something real. Like he was welcome.

So he followed.

The path curved up into the back hills, away from the polished elegance of the main courtyards. It was steeper than he expected, wilder too. The stone was rough beneath their boots, and the air felt different up here—cooler, cleaner. Untouched.

Wei Wuxian pulled his hair over one shoulder and tilted his head as they stepped into the clearing.

“Lan Zhan… this is…”

He trailed off.

A waterfall tumbled down smooth dark stone just beyond the ridge. It wasn’t tall, not like the dramatic ones in storybooks, but it was quiet. Gentle. Silver in the fading light. The pool below it rippled in wide, soft circles, and a flat patch of rock stretched along the edge like it had been waiting for someone to sit there.

Everything was still, except for the rush of the water and the faint rustle of the wind in the trees.

“Wow,” he breathed out, looking over the spot with wonder.

Lan Zhan turned to him. “You like it?”

Wei Wuxian nodded, then broke into a grin. “It’s beautiful. It’s so peaceful here! I didn’t think you guys had spots like this tucked away. I always imagined the Cloud Recesses as one big rule-infested puzzle box.”

Something flickered in Lan Zhan’s expression. Not quite a smile, but something close, “This place is not known to the public.”

“Oh?” Wei Wuxian perked up, leaning closer. “A hidden treasure then? Secret Lan Zhan getaway?”

Lan Zhan looked away, which was exactly how Wei Wuxian knew he was pleased.

“I come here,” he said, “When I… wish to be alone.”

Wei Wuxian blinked. Then blinked again.

“Wait,” he said slowly. “You bring me to your secret ‘be alone’ place? Lan Zhan, are you breaking a rule? Am I even allowed to be here?”

Lan Zhan’s eyes slid sideways. “No. We are still in Cloud Recesses, and it is before curfew. Wei Wuxian is allowed to be here.”

Wei Wuxian beamed, ignoring that they were not in fact breaking any rules at all, “Every time I start to think I have you figured out, I see more and more sides to you! Lan Zhan, you’re not boring at all.”

A pause.

“…You are not boring either,” Lan Zhan said, very seriously.

Wei Wuxian choked on a laugh, as his own terrible compliment was returned to him, “Thanks? I think?”

They settled on the flat rock together, not quite touching. Lan Zhan sat with his back straight, hands folded in his lap, gaze fixed on the waterfall. Wei Wuxian sprawled, legs outstretched, one elbow propping him up.

The silence between them wasn’t awkward. Just quiet.

Comfortable.

Maybe a little… nice.

Lan Zhan shifted just slightly. “You said… beautiful.”

“Hm?” Wei Wuxian tilted his head again, looking at him.

Lan Zhan’s ears were faintly pink.

“You said this place… was beautiful.”

“Well, yeah,” Wei Wuxian said with a shrug. “I meant it.”

“You looked… at the water,” Lan Zhan said.

Wei Wuxian nodded. “Because that’s what I was talking about?”

Another pause.

Lan Zhan nodded slowly. “Mn.”

Wei Wuxian frowned, puzzled. “What? What is it?”

“…Nothing.”

Which obviously meant something. But Lan Zhan didn’t offer anything else.

Wei Wuxian leaned back again, watching the clouds catch fire behind the trees.

“This is nice,” he murmured. “Quiet. But not in that scary, ‘I’m about to be scolded by an elder’ kind of way. It feels…” He blinked. “Safe.”

Lan Zhan turned toward him again. Wei Wuxian caught the movement from the corner of his eye.

“You can come here,” Lan Zhan said quietly. “Whenever you wish.”

Wei Wuxian smiled, warm and surprised. “Really?”

A nod. “I will show you the way again. If you forget.”

Wei Wuxian laughed. “You’re assuming I’d want to come back.”

“You will,” Lan Zhan said.

It wasn’t a command. Just a quiet certainty.

Wei Wuxian didn’t doubt that for a moment.

The sun dipped lower. Shadows stretched long across the rock, and the rush of water carried on beneath the hush of their words.

They sat there until the sky turned blue and gold and the first stars began to peek through.

Wei Wuxian still didn’t understand why Lan Zhan had brought him here.

But he knew, somehow, that it mattered.

And that was enough.

The back hills of Cloud Recesses were quieter than anywhere else he'd explored so far. Wei Wuxian liked to sneak off now and then—not far, just enough to find somewhere new to stretch out and daydream without a dozen rules whispering at his heels. Especially since Lan Zhan had taken him to his hidden corner, he couldn’t help but wonder just how many other spots there were in Cloud Recesses that he had yet to find.

Today, he hadn’t gotten far before a rustle in the brush made him pause.

Curious, he knelt down and pushed aside the tall grass—and blinked.

Nestled in a bed of moss were two tiny white bunnies, no bigger than his fists. One of them gave a little squeak, pressing itself closer to the other. Their eyes were wide and blinking, their fur rumpled, like they’d only just woken up.

“Oh,” Wei Wuxian whispered, lowering himself fully to the ground. “Hello there, little ones.”

He looked around, but the brush and stones nearby were still and empty. No sign of a mother. No nest. Just the two trembling bundles of fluff curled against one another.

He bit his lip. “Where’s your mama, huh?” he murmured. “Did she leave you behind? Or are you just hiding out like me?”

They didn’t answer, of course. One gave a tiny hiccupping sneeze.

Without thinking, he unfastened the overshirt of his robes and gently tucked them into the fold, bundling them up like a makeshift nest. “Don’t worry,” he told them softly, cradling them close to his chest as he stood. “I’ve got you. And I know just where to take you.”

He knew just the person who would help him out with his newfound babies.

By the time he reached the Jingshi, the sun was starting to lower behind the peaks. He hesitated at the door, then cleared his throat lightly.

“Lan Zhan?” he called.

The door slid open a moment later, and Lan Zhan stepped out in pale indoor robes, hair loose over his shoulders. His brow furrowed in that faint, quiet way he always did when he saw Wei Wuxian unexpectedly, like he wasn’t quite sure what to make of him.

But when his eyes landed on the little bundle in Wei Wuxian’s arms, something gentler passed over his face.

“I found them in the back hills,” Wei Wuxian explained quickly. “All alone. I waited and looked for their mother, but there was no one. They looked so sad and scared, and I couldn’t leave them.”

He knew what it was like living on his own without anyone to care for him when he was far too young to take care of him.

And he refused to let anyone, human or animal, suffer a similar fate.

He shifted the bundle slightly, revealing the two small bunnies nestled together, their ears twitching sleepily.

“I know there aren’t supposed to be pets here,” he added hastily. “But I couldn’t just leave them. They’re so small.”

Lan Zhan was quiet for a moment, then stepped aside. “Come.”

Wei Wuxian blinked, surprised. “Really?”

Lan Zhan didn’t answer, just turned and began walking around the side of the building. Wei Wuxian followed, cradling the bunnies with extra care.

Behind the Jingshi was a quiet courtyard shaded by a gnarled tree. The air smelled like pine and rain-washed stone. Lan Zhan knelt in the soft grass and gestured for Wei Wuxian to sit beside him as Wei Wuxian placed the bunnies onto the grass. Lan Zhan stood up then, returning back to the Jingshi without a word, as Wei Wuxian could do nothing but wait for him to come back. All the while, silence lingered between them.

A few moments later, he returned from within the house carrying two small bowls—one with water, the other with leafy greens and tiny cut vegetables.

He placed them carefully beside the bundle. One of the bunnies stretched, sniffed the lettuce, and gave it an experimental nibble.

Wei Wuxian stared, “You set this all up?”

Lan Zhan nodded.

“But I thought you said pets weren’t allowed.”

“They are not,” Lan Zhan said plainly, then gently he added, “They are guests.”

“Guests?” Wei Wuxian echoed, amused. “That’s what we’re calling them?”

Lan Zhan nodded again. “Guests being cared for until they are old enough to live on their own. They are not residing in my home. I will foster them and return them back to where you found them after.”

Wei Wuxian snorted, trying not to laugh. “Lan Zhan, that is the most roundabout way I’ve ever heard someone say they wanted to keep baby bunnies.”

Lan Zhan glanced at him, then down at the bunnies, and—was that the tiniest hint of a smile?

Wei Wuxian crouched beside him, setting the bundle down in the grass. The bunnies immediately snuggled into the corner of the cloth, nibbling at their food with tiny, sleepy bites.

“You’re softer than you look, you know that?” he teased.

Lan Zhan didn’t answer.

Wei Wuxian bumped his shoulder against his. “Don’t worry. Your secret’s safe with me.”

Lan Zhan looked at him then, just briefly. His gaze was gentle, his eyes clear and quiet.

“You found them,” he said, “You brought them here.”

“Well, yeah,” Wei Wuxian said, rubbing the back of his neck, “Didn’t want them to get cold out there. Or eaten by a bird or something. You know. Just…thank you, Lan Zhan. I saw them, and it made me remember what it was like to live on the streets, and I just, I acted without thinking. Thank you for helping me out.”

Lan Zhan’s voice was soft. “It was kind.”

Wei Wuxian looked away, ears going a little warm. “Just did what anyone would’ve.”

Lan Zhan didn’t respond. Instead, he reached forward and carefully tore a softer leaf into smaller pieces for the smallest bunny. It blinked at him and then ate from his hand.

He felt his heart warm, as Lan Zhan reached out to stroke one of the bunnies, heart melting as the bunny leaned into his touch.

Wei Wuxian looked back at Lan Zhan then, wondering how his friend could ever have been mistaken for anything other than the warm softie he was.

It was nice, seeing Lan Zhan all soft and warm. It did things to his heart, made him feel feelings that he’d been trying to push down.

He looked away then, refusing to let the feelings resurface. Not now, not when he was trying so hard just to be Lan Zhan’s friend.

It was enough just to be Lan Zhan’s friend.

It had to be.

Wei Wuxian had been to Caiyi Town a dozen times before, usually for errands or to sneak off and gorge himself on food he wasn't supposed to have.

He just hadn't expected Lan Zhan to ask him to go.

Well—he hadn’t asked, exactly. It had been more of a quiet: “Meet me by the eastern path. We will go to town.”

And before Wei Wuxian could even blink, Lan Zhan had turned and walked off, robes fluttering like he’d just passed a decree.

So now here they were—walking side by side through the warm, golden twilight of Caiyi’s winding lanes, the sound of temple bells and market stalls giving everything a hum of pleasant life. Lan Zhan didn’t say much, but he hadn’t scowled when Wei Wuxian talked, which meant something, surely.

Dinner had been... strange.

Nice. But strange.

The noodle shop was tucked away at the edge of Caiyi Town, just far enough from the bustle of the market that the evening air felt calmer here. Lanternlight spilled gently across the wooden tables, casting long shadows and a golden warmth over the quiet space. A few other diners murmured softly to each other, the clink of bowls and chopsticks punctuating the air like the low hum of a lullaby.

Lan Zhan had ordered exactly the kind of dishes Wei Wuxian liked. Spicy. Fragrant. The kind that made his eyes water in the best possible way.

He’d stared down at the steaming bowl, brow raised, “Didn’t think you liked spicy food.”

“I do not,” Lan Zhan had said calmly.

Wei Wuxian had blinked. “Then why—?”

“It is for you.”

What?

No one had ever looked him dead in the eye and said “It is for you” in the kind of voice usually reserved for solemn oaths and blood pacts.

Wei Wuxian had nearly choked on a mouthful of chili oil. He coughed to himself as Lan Zhan sad serenely, eating his own food without any qualms and Wei Wuxian was a bit envious of his calmness.

So instead, Wei Wuxian slurped a mouthful of rich broth and sat back with a contented sigh, his eyes half-lidded in satisfaction. “Lan Zhan,” he said, licking a bit of oil from his lower lip. “Are you trying to buy my eternal loyalty through food? Because if you are, I’m sorry to tell you it’s working.”

Lan Zhan’s expression didn’t change, but there was a stillness to him that suggested he was listening closely.

Wei Wuxian nudged the edge of his bowl, “You really remembered all the things I like, huh? Garlic, chili oil, the thin noodles. Even extra pickled vegetables. Didn’t know you were keeping notes on me.”

“I remember,” Lan Zhan said quietly, his eyes fixed on the delicate steam rising between them.

Wei Wuxian blinked, his chopsticks pausing mid-air. “Oh.” A smile tugged at his lips. “Well, that’s... very Lan Zhan of you.”

They lapsed into a quiet lull, the kind that Wei Wuxian usually filled with teasing or some wild story, but tonight… tonight felt different. Maybe it was the peaceful rhythm of the town settling into twilight, or maybe it was the fact that Lan Zhan had brought him here—just the two of them—and not said a word about studying or discipline or rules.

It made him curious.

“…Hey,” he said after a moment, his voice softer than before. “Can I ask you something?”

Lan Zhan met his gaze. “Mn.”

Wei Wuxian leaned forward slightly, resting his chin on one hand as he toyed with a bit of noodle in his bowl. “What do you want to do? Like after all this. Studying and cultivating and being the best disciple and all. What’s your dream?”

Lan Zhan hesitated. It wasn’t the kind of question people usually asked him, Wei Wuxian guessed. But after a moment, his gaze drifted toward the window, where the lanterns swayed gently in the wind.

“I would like to night-hunt,” he said. “Help those who cannot protect themselves.”

Wei Wuxian tilted his head. “Of course you would. You’re Lan Zhan.”

Lan Zhan’s eyes flicked back to him. “With you,” he said.

Wei Wuxian blinked. “What?”

“I would like to night-hunt. With you,” Lan Zhan said without hesitation.

Wei Wuxian stared at him, heart thudding once, sharply. He scrambled for words, but all that came out was a choked laugh. “Wow. Lan Zhan. That was unexpectedly sentimental.”

“I meant it.”

Wei Wuxian’s smile faltered, just slightly. He ducked his head, suddenly too warm beneath the collar.

“You know,” he said after a breath, poking at a carrot slice, “I was going to say something kind of similar.”

Lan Zhan waited.

“I mean, I love all this cultivation theory and talisman stuff. I really do. But when I think about the future, I don’t picture scrolls or leading a sect. I just… I want to go places. Wander. Help people. Maybe stop a water ghost, feed a stray cat, flirt with a pretty girl—”

He broke off at the faint twitch of Lan Zhan’s brow.

“Okay, okay, or boy,” he amended, grinning. “Whoever needs it. Whoever’s in trouble. I just want to do some good in the world. That’s all.”

The words hung there between them, simple and sincere.

Lan Zhan’s gaze softened. “That is… a worthy goal.”

Wei Wuxian rubbed at the back of his neck, looking sheepish. “It sounds kind of childish, I know.”

“No,” Lan Zhan said. “It sounds free.”

And the way he said it—quiet and certain—made something strange flutter in Wei Wuxian’s chest.

They finished the rest of the meal more slowly after that, occasionally exchanging small remarks, letting their words settle between them like pebbles in a stream. Wei Wuxian kept catching himself glancing at Lan Zhan for no reason at all. And every time he did, Lan Wangji was already looking at him.

Eventually, Wei Wuxian sat back with a pleased sigh, hands cradling the warmth of his empty tea cup. “Alright, Lan Zhan. What now? You dragging me back for more studying, or are we making a break for it while your elders aren’t looking?”

Lan Zhan stood, brushing off his sleeves. “Come.”

Wei Wuxian blinked up at him. “Again with the mysterious invitations. Do you ever tell someone what you’re planning in advance?”

“You came, did you not?”

“Well, yeah,” Wei Wuxian said, grinning as he stood. “But that doesn’t mean I trust you.”

Lan Zhan’s lips curved, just slightly. “Then follow anyway.”

And so he did.

They stepped out into the night, the warm hum of Caiyi Town alive around them. Children were still running past with sweet buns in hand, merchants called out the last of their wares, and paper lanterns swayed like low stars along the streets. The moon overhead was full and bright, casting silver light over tiled roofs and cobblestone paths.

Wei Wuxian fell into step beside Lan Zhan again, cradling the memory of his smile the way he’d cradled his tea: careful, quiet, as though it might vanish if he moved too quickly.

He didn’t know what tonight was. But it felt like the beginning of something.

Something warm.

Something soft.

Maybe even something real.

And now, stomach pleasantly full and mind buzzing in quiet confusion, they were wandering through the evening crowd, and Lan Zhan still hadn’t left his side. Not even once.

He was acting weird again.

Nice. But weird.

He paused beside a merchant’s cart piled high with carved trinkets and fans, just to admire them. “Look at this one,” he said, lifting a painted fan with little bunnies chasing each other across a moonlit hill. “Very elegant, isn’t it?”

Lan Zhan stepped closer.

Too close.

Wei Wuxian tilted the fan toward him, grinning, “Think it suits me?”

Lan Zhan looked at the fan. Then at him. His gaze was unreadable.

Then, in a move that nearly made Wei Wuxian drop the thing, Lan Zhan reached into his sleeve and handed a few coins to the merchant.

“I will take it.”

Wei Wuxian blinked, “You’re buying it?”

“For you,” Lan Zhan said.

“What?” he asked, a bit surprised, because Lan Zhan had already bought him dinner!

“Mn.”

The fan was gently placed in his hands. It was beautiful. A little silly. It had bunnies on it. Bunnies! Wei Wuxian loved it.

But it was also strange. Lan Zhan was not the sort of person who just... bought things. Especially not for him.

He kept glancing at Lan Zhan as they walked away. He waved the fan once or twice just to see if Lan Zhan would say something, or maybe snatch it back and tell him it was a mistake. But Lan Zhan looked oddly pleased. In a very small, Lan Zhan sort of way.

Wei Wuxian stared down at the fan.

Then at Lan Zhan.

Then at the fan again.

Was this... was this supposed to mean something?

Is he—?

No. No way.

He was Lan Zhan. Stoic, serious, emotionally constipated Lan Zhan. He didn’t flirt. He glared. He lectured. He glared some more. He didn’t buy bunny-themed fans and spicy food for boys he—

Oh no.

Wei Wuxian nearly walked into a lamp post.

“Are you well?” Lan Zhan asked.

“I—what? Yes. Of course I am. Perfectly well. Why wouldn’t I be? Hah!”

Lan Wangji raised one elegant brow.

Wei Wuxian cleared his throat, fanned himself dramatically, and began to walk faster, the fan fluttering in front of his face.

He was going insane. That had to be it.

Any minute now, Lan Zhan would return to glaring at him across courtyards and calling him disrespectful, and this whole trip would dissolve into a weird, spicy, bunny-themed fever dream.

Still, when Lan Zhan walked a little closer and his hand brushed briefly against his sleeve, Wei Wuxian didn’t step away.

He kept the fan.

And told himself he’d figure it out later.

Eventually.

Maybe.

Wei Wuxian had never turned down an excuse to skip sword drills before, but when Lan Zhan appeared at his side after class and said, calmly, like they did this all the time, Come with me,” and Wei Wuxian followed without question.

No teasing. No jokes.

Just an odd little flutter in his chest and the quiet click of their boots on stone as they walked together.

They didn’t speak as they passed under the shadow of the Cloud Recesses’ towers, but Wei Wuxian didn’t mind the silence. Lan Zhan’s presence wasn’t the cold, tense thing it had once been—not since they’d stopped outright bickering in class and started sharing glances, nods, tiny pieces of understanding. It wasn’t exactly friendship. It wasn’t anything he could name, really.

But he liked it.

So when they stopped at the back of the library, in front of a set of old wooden doors banded with gold and warded with glowing silver seals, he blinked.

“Wait. Isn’t this the restricted section?”

“This is the private family archive,” Lan Zhan said, voice low and even. “Only accessible with permission.”

Wei Wuxian opened his mouth, then closed it.

Lan Zhan simply lifted a hand, pressed his fingers to the seals, and murmured something Wei Wuxian didn’t catch.

The wards dissolved like mist.

Wei Wuxian turned to stare at him. “Am I allowed in here?”

“No.”

That made him blink harder. “Then why—”

“I am bringing you,” Lan Zhan said evenly. “That is allowed.”

Wei Wuxian’s heart did a slow, clumsy roll in his chest. He stared for a second longer, then ducked inside before he could think better of it.

It was quieter in here. The space was cooler and more still than the rest of the library, dust motes floating in the sunbeams like sleepy fireflies.  The air was thicker with the scent of old paper and cedar, and every step felt like it echoed for miles. Golden sunlight filtered in from a high window, catching on the spines of ancient texts and leather-bound tomes so fragile they looked like they might crumble from a breath.

It felt like a place meant to hold secrets.

Wei Wuxian turned in a slow circle, “This is incredible…”

Lan Zhan didn’t smile, but there was a warmth in his eyes. “Come.”

He led him to a low shelf tucked near the corner, then knelt and began to sort through a row of neatly arranged books. After a moment, he stood and turned, offering Wei Wuxian a small stack with both hands.

“These,” he said. “I thought you might like them.”

Wei Wuxian took the books automatically, still stunned.

The titles were handwritten in delicate brushstrokes:

Theory of Rotational Array Bindings,
The Language of Seals,
Spirit-Crafted Talisman Design: Volume I.

“These are—these are really advanced,” he said, unable to hide the awe in his voice. “Where did you—why would you—?”

“You asked about rotational arrays during Master Lan Qiren’s lecture,” Lan Zhan said, as though it explained everything. “No one else did.”

“They’re all about talismans,” Wei Wuxian said, voice light with surprise. “And arrays…”

Lan Zhan continued, tone calm. “You also made one. For me.”

Wei Wuxian blinked, thrown for a moment. “The shielding talisman? That was nothing! Just something I threw together hoping to make your life a little better.”

“It worked,” Lan Zhan said simply. “I cherish it well.”

Wei Wuxian’s ears went warm, as he looked down at the books again, then back up. “Lan Zhan… thank you.”

“You cannot remove them from this room,” Lan Zhan added, a little too quickly. “But you may read them here.”

Wei Wuxian looked down at the books in his arms. Then back at Lan Zhan, who had already moved to the table and begun pouring tea like they did this all the time.

He almost laughed. Not because he found it funny, but because there was something so ridiculously gentle in the gesture that he didn’t know what else to do with the feeling in his chest.

Lan Zhan had thought of him. Had remembered the one question he’d asked in class, had come into the restricted section of the library—for him—and found books he might like. He’d waited outside after class. He’d brought him here. He was sitting now, calmly flipping through a scroll as though this was normal.

It was not normal.

He took the seat across from him, still watching Lan Zhan out of the corner of his eye. Everything was as proper as always—straight posture, neat sleeves, the quiet clink of porcelain—but there was something warmer in the air today. Less rigid.

Lan Zhan slid a teacup toward him.

“I don’t know what to say,” Wei Wuxian murmured, fingers curling around the warmth. “No one’s ever…”

He trailed off. The words felt too heavy all of a sudden.

Lan Zhan met his eyes. “If it brings you joy to learn, then it is worth doing.”

Wei Wuxian looked down at the book he’d opened, at the neat diagrams and curling runes drawn in ink that shimmered faintly under the light.

He made it about four pages in before he glanced up again.

Lan Zhan’s eyes were already on him.

Wei Wuxian blinked, and Lan Zhan blinked back, caught but unbothered.

“You’re staring,” Wei Wuxian said, not unkindly.

“You looked like you were thinking deeply about something.”

“I wasn’t.”

“You were.”

Wei Wuxian huffed, then smiled as he leaned into his hand. “You’re a very confusing person, Lan Zhan.”

“Mn.”

“Do you do this with everyone who shows an interest in advanced talisman theory?”

“No.”

“Just me?”

Lan Zhan looked at him without flinching. “Yes.”

The flutter returned. Wei Wuxian tried to squash it and failed.

“It’s kind of unfair, you know,” he said after a moment.

“Hm?”

“You doing things like this. Offering tea, opening secret libraries, picking out books I’d like—makes a person wonder if they’re imagining things.”

Lan Zhan stilled for a moment. Just a heartbeat. Then took a careful sip of tea.

“I have not said anything untrue,” he said, quiet but sure.

Wei Wuxian laughed softly, tucking his chin into his hand as he stared down at the book.

“No,” he said. “I suppose you haven’t.”

They read like that for a while, the light shifting around them, the silence companionable. Wei Wuxian found he couldn’t focus on the words for long—not when Lan Zhan would glance at him every so often, or tilt the spine of a book to show him a page he might like.

At one point, Wei Wuxian looked up and caught him mid-glance again.

“What?” he asked.

“You were smiling.”

“I am capable of smiling without cause,” he huffed out a laugh, “But I very much have cause today, Lan Zhan. You’ve done so much for me, especially over the last little bit. I have no reason not to smile.”

“…Mn.”

Wei Wuxian grinned.

The moment stretched and softened. It felt like sitting beside a lantern on a cold night—gentle, quiet warmth blooming under his skin.

Wei Wuxian looked back at his book, heart doing things it absolutely shouldn’t be doing. He had no idea what was happening. He only knew that he didn’t want it to stop.

Maybe he was imagining things. Maybe he’d completely lost his mind. But for the first time since he’d arrived at the Cloud Recesses, he didn’t want to run from the quiet.

He wanted to stay here in this moment forever.

He never wanted to leave Lan Zhan’s side.

Wei Wuxian slammed the dorm room door shut with all the drama of a man fleeing battle.

Then he faceplanted straight onto his cot with a groan so heartfelt it shook the rafters.

He was on the bring of an emotional breakdown, and he didn’t know how to go on without spontaneously combusting and just dying from everything he was feeling.

Nie Huaisang, who had been delicately trimming the feather on a new fan, barely glanced up. Jiang Cheng, who was polishing his boots with slow, angry swipes, gave a sharp look over his shoulder.

“Again?” Nie Huaisang asked, voice feather-light.

“Again,” Wei Wuxian moaned into the mattress.

He didn’t move. Just lay there, limp as a defeated ghost.

Jiang Cheng set his boot down. “What did Lan Wangji do this time?”

Wei Wuxian dragged himself onto his back and stared at the ceiling like it had wronged him.

“He gave me a jade comb.”

Nie Huaisang blinked. “Like… for your hair?”

“It was wrapped in silk and came with a note that said, ‘To help you keep it out of your eyes.’” He sat up suddenly, eyes wild. “It was monogrammed, Nie Huaisang. With a tiny lotus blossom carved into the handle!”

Nie Huaisang covered his mouth.

Jiang Cheng squinted at him. “He gave you a comb. With flowers on it. Like one would give a partner.”

“I KNOW,” he cried out, before he launched himself backwards again. “I’ve been trying to fix things! Ever since I realized I was making him uncomfortable and that he didn’t want me to court him, I’ve been doing everything I can to prove I’m trying to be a better friend. I’ve tried every single thing I could think of to show him how much I care. I haven’t broken any rules in weeks, trying to show that I respect his sect. I let him drag me to silent meditation three times. I cooked food without spice!”

Nie Huaisang winced. “That’s real dedication.”

“Right?!” Wei Wuxian flailed. “I’m trying to show him I can be mature! That I can be good! That I value our friendship! Because Lan Zhan clearly likes things done properly, and I didn’t want to scare him off! But then he keeps—he keeps doing these things, like he’s trying to make me fall in love with him. Like the paper today. And before that, he gave me a brush holder carved with rabbits, and last week it was that talisman book, and why is he like this?”

Jiang Cheng snorted. “You want to be friends with someone who gave you a comb with a flower on it?”

“I didn’t ask for the comb!”

Wei Wuxian groaned again, pressing his hands to his face. “Why does he keep doing things that make it impossible to think straight?! It’s like he’s trying to—” He cut himself off.

Nie Huaisang leaned forward. “Trying to…?”

Wei Wuxian made a helpless noise. “He keeps giving me these things. Taking me on walks. Letting me see the restricted books. He even smiled at me yesterday. I thought it was a hallucination. I—I think he’s—he might be—” He flopped down again. “I don’t know! Maybe he’s just being nice!”

“Nice,” Jiang Cheng said flatly.

“To me! After all the trouble I’ve caused him!”

Nie Huaisang made a vague noise of sympathy and handed him a sweet plum from the stash he’d hidden under his pillow.

“You are in love with him,” he said, gently.

“That’s not the point, Huaisang!”

Wei Wuxian bit into the plum and immediately looked more distressed.

“I just, every time he looks at me with those eyes, or says something ridiculously thoughtful, or does something even remotely kind, it feels like my heart’s going to stop. He’s going to kill me with how much I like him. I’m going to die, right here in the Cloud Recesses, of unreciprocated pining!”

Nie Huaisang made a thoughtful humming sound. “Wei-xiong. You’re not… uncomfortable with this, are you?”

“What? No!” Wei Wuxian lifted his head, cheeks going pink. “It’s just—I’m trying so hard to be normal and not ruin things again, and he keeps doing things that make me want to—”

“To what?” Nie Huaisang asked.

Wei Wuxian curled his fingers into the bedding. “To climb the mountain behind the Cloud Recesses and yell until my voice breaks. To tell the moon that I’d give up every flask of Emperor’s Smile if it meant I could hear him laugh one more time. To cry because he makes me feel—seen. And I don’t know what to do with that!”

There was a beat of silence.

Nie Huaisang sighed and leaned back on his pillows.

Jiang Cheng slammed the dagger down on the windowsill with a loud clack.

“If he’s making you uncomfortable,” he said darkly, “I can threaten to break his legs. Or actually break his legs”

“No!” Wei Wuxian shouted quickly, nearly falling over himself. “No, no, no!  Don’t break his legs! He’s not making me uncomfortable! He’s just—he’s just—”

“You’re overwhelmed,” Nie Huaisang offered, voice kind.

“I’m doomed,” Wei Wuxian corrected, flopping back down. “I’m losing my mind. I’m going to fall more and more in love with him until I evaporate. Into mist. Or tears. Or poetic longing.”

There was a brief silence, broken only by the sound of Nie Huaisang unwrapping another plum.

“Have you considered,” Nie Huaisang said thoughtfully, “Just enjoying it?”

Wei Wuxian cracked one eye open.

Nie Huaisang shrugged. “Lan Wangji clearly is trying to be a good friend to you. If not more. He’s certainly never treated me that way and I’ve known him since we were small children. You like him. Even if neither of you knows what you're doing—which, frankly, is very obvious—it’s kind of… cute?”

“Cute,” Wei Wuxian echoed, hollowly.

“Cute,” Nie Huaisang repeated with a smirk.

“Or,” Jiang Cheng muttered, “You could let me talk to Lan Wangji. I’ll ask him if he’s messing with you.”

“I don’t want you to interrogate him, Jiang Cheng!”

“Not an interrogation. Just… a conversation. With threats.”

Wei Wuxian rolled over, burying his face in his arms. “I think I’m going to die.”

“From love?” Huaisang asked sympathetically.

“No. From being too loved! It’s dangerous! Someone should put up a warning sign: Beware of Second Young Master Lan. May cause heart palpitations, emotional confusion, and poetic yearning.  Write my obituary, Nie Huaisang. Tell the world I died in the prime of youth from being too adored by the Second Jade of Lan.”

“I’ll make it rhyme,” Nie Huaisang said far too cheerfully.

Jiang Cheng sighed like he’d aged a decade in the last two minutes, before he rolled his eyes and picked up his dagger again. “I’m sharpening this just in case.”

Nie Huaisang laughed and offered him a sugared plum.

Wei Wuxian bit into the plum with a pitiful crunch and moaned, “I’m not going to survive the rest of these lectures.”

And deep down, under all the panic and dramatics, he kind of hoped he wouldn’t.

Not if this was what falling in love felt like.

And it was only getting worse.

The back hills of Cloud Recesses were washed in the mellow light of late afternoon, the shadows long and golden, the air tinged with the faint scent of pine and mist. The waterfall poured endlessly down the dark stone, a gentle roar in the background, constant and calming. The clearing nearby was quiet, sheltered by trees and thick grass, a place where the noise of the world seemed to fall away.

Wei Wuxian stepped into the glade slowly, carrying the two bunnies cupped gently in the fold of his robes, their soft fur pressed against his chest. They were warm and wiggly, small noses twitching as they peeked over the crook of his elbow. He could feel their tiny hearts thudding against his ribs, matching the stutter of his own.

Lan Wangji was already waiting there, dressed in white that seemed to glow faintly in the fading light. He was kneeling by a cluster of flat rocks and patches of clover, arranging a little shelter of branches and soft moss he had brought earlier. A shallow clay bowl sat nearby, already filled with clean water. Another held a few tender-cut vegetables, neatly prepared.

Wei Wuxian swallowed hard. “Lan Zhan... this is perfect.”

Lan Wangji looked up. His expression softened when he saw the bunnies nestled in Wei Wuxian’s arms. “They will be safe here.”

“Yeah,” Wei Wuxian said, quieter now. He knelt down beside Lan Wangji and slowly let the bunnies down onto the grass. “Yeah, I think so too.”

The bunnies were cautious at first, their tiny bodies trembling, clinging to the last traces of his warmth. But one nosed forward, then the other followed. They sniffed at the vegetables, then hopped gingerly over to the mossy patch, tails twitching.

Wei Wuxian watched them, something tightening in his chest. “They’re going to be okay, right?” he asked, blinking a little faster than usual.

Lan Wangji was quiet for a moment before saying, “Yes. You have given them a chance to grow. They are strong because of you.”

That did it. Wei Wuxian ducked his head, hiding the way his eyes shone. “You make it sound like I did something noble,” he laughed softly. “All I did was find them and carry them around like a mother hen.”

Lan Wangji’s voice was very soft. “You cared.”

And that, somehow, struck deeper than anything else.

Lan Wangji reached for the guqin he had brought, gently settling it across his lap. “Would you like to stay a while?”

Wei Wuxian nodded quickly, sitting cross-legged beside him, a little closer than he meant to. “Of course. You’re really going to play?”

“Yes,” Lan Wangji said. “For you.”

And then the first note rang out—a sound like a single raindrop falling into still water. It shimmered in the air between them, clear and fragile, and then the melody unfolded, slow and aching. It wasn’t like the songs Lan Wangji played in the lecture hall, all discipline and order. This one was... warmer. More human. More him.

Wei Wuxian sat motionless, as if spellbound. The song moved like water, full of tension and grace, with little threads of longing woven through. His throat felt tight. It was like the music was reaching into parts of him he didn’t even know were exposed.

When it finally ended, the silence left behind was almost unbearable.

“Lan Zhan,” Wei Wuxian said, breathless. “What—what was that? I’ve never heard it before.”

Lan Wangji turned his gaze toward him, something soft and unreadable in his eyes. “It is an original composition.”

“You wrote that?” Wei Wuxian asked, wide-eyed.

Lan Wangji nodded once. “It is called... ‘Forgetting Envies.’”

Wei Wuxian’s mouth opened, but no words came out. His thoughts caught up a moment later.

Forgetting. Envies.

Wang. Xian.

Lan Wangji.

Wei Wuxian.

He sucked in a breath. The world tilted slightly.

“Lan Zhan,” he said, voice barely above a whisper. “Are you... I mean, is this—what is this? Because you were so mad before. When I said I—when I thought I liked you. That I wanted to court you. I hurt you! And now you’re doing all of this, and I’m trying so hard to just be your friend again and make up for what I said, and I keep telling myself not to hope but—” He broke off, looking down at his hands, clenched tightly in his lap. “It feels like you’re trying to make me fall even more in love with you, and the stupid thing is—it’s working.”

There was silence, save for the waterfall.

Then Lan Wangji shifted, placing the guqin aside and rising to his knees before Wei Wuxian. He reached out, cupping his face gently, reverently.

“I was a fool,” he said, his voice low and raw. “A coward. I thought—how could someone like you ever feel that way about someone like me? You are...luminous. Brilliant. You shine wherever you go. You laugh like the world belongs to you and everyone wants to give it to you. You are kind, and brave, and beautiful, and you give without thinking.”

Wei Wuxian’s heart was pounding so hard it felt like it might tear out of his chest.

“I am not like that,” Lan Wangji continued. “I am quiet. Cold. I do not make friends easily. I do not know how to say what I feel. I am respected but not beloved. Not like you are.”

Wei Wuxian’s eyes shimmered, breath caught in his throat.

“I have loved you,” Lan Wangji said, “For longer than I understood it. And I was too afraid to believe you could ever love me back. But when you said it...I did not think there was a chance that it was true. I thought you were mocking me for loving you as fiercely as I did. I couldn’t comprehend that you could care for me just as I did you.”

He looked into Wei Wuxian’s eyes, searching. “I have been trying to make it right. Trying to show you. I wrote that song for you. I brought you here for you. I want to share everything with you. I want to share this life with you. I am completely, utterly, in love with you, Wei Ying.”

Wei Wuxian didn’t wait another second.

Wei Wuxian barely heard the end of that sentence before he surged forward, arms wrapping tightly around Lan Wangji’s neck, nearly knocking them both over, and kissed him. He kissed him with everything he’d been holding back, all the longing and confusion and love he’d buried deep inside, and when he pulled back, he was breathless.

He kissed him, fierce and full of laughter and tears, and when he pulled back, he was breathless.

“Wait,” he said, eyes wide, searching Lan Zhan face. “Are—are you okay with this? I mean, is this—”

Lan Zhan didn’t let him finish. He wrapped his other arm around Wei Wuxian’s waist and pulled him back in, kissing him again, softer this time, like a promise made beneath sunlight and waterfall spray. More certain. And Wei Wuxian melted into it, into the soft heat of the moment, the grass beneath them, the waterfall whispering its secret song.

Wei Wuxian’s heart was still racing as he kissed Lan Zhan once more, slow and sweet, lips brushing gently like a promise. But even through the dizzying joy of it—of this, of him—a small voice in the back of his mind begged for clarity. The part of him that had been burned before. That had loved too much and hoped too hard. He pulled back, just a little, breath catching as he searched Lan Zhan’s face.

“Lan Zhan,” he murmured, barely above the sound of the waterfall behind them, “Just to be clear,  does this mean we’re courting now?”

Lan Zhan let out a small, almost imperceptible huff through his nose—equal parts amusement and disbelief, like he couldn’t quite believe Wei Wuxian didn’t see it already. But he didn’t seem annoyed. If anything, he looked even softer, if that was possible.

“Yes,” he said, voice low and firm. “If you are amenable, I would very much like to court you.”

Wei Wuxian’s eyes widened slightly.

“To take you on many walks through the Cloud Recesses,” Lan Zhan continued, steady and sure. “To read with you in the library, and spar with you in the mornings. To night hunt at your side. To raise many rabbits with you.”

Wei Wuxian made a soft, startled noise that was half-laugh, half-sob.

Lan Zhan’s expression grew more serious, more vulnerable, and he leaned in just a little. “To have children with you one day. To marry you—when the time is right. To give you everything I have, and everything I am.”

The breath whooshed from Wei Wuxian’s lungs like he'd been knocked over. His eyes filled again, this time overflowing with emotion so deep it felt like it could remake the entire world.

“Lan Zhan,” he said, voice cracking on the name. “You mean it?”

Lan Zhan nodded once. “Yes. I want forever with you, Wei Ying. If you will have me.”

Wei Wuxian made a sound like a laugh caught in a sob and threw himself forward again, arms winding tightly around Lan Zhan’s neck.

“You absolute insufferably romantic man,” he breathed, trembling as he buried his face in Lan Zhan’s shoulder. “Yes. Of course I will. I want that too. I want all of that. I want you.”

Lan Zhan wrapped both arms around Wei Wuxian, holding him like he would never let go. And for a long, golden moment, there was nothing but the sound of their hearts beating together, the rustle of the trees, the hum of the waterfall, and the soft shuffle of two content bunnies nibbling in the grass nearby.

He pulled Lan Zhan into him, as they tumbled back onto the grass below them. Lan Zhan lifted his arm up, bracing Wei Wuxian as they fell, so he wouldn’t get hurt, and he loved the man for it all the more.

His Lan Zhan.

All his.

He ran his hands through Lan Zhan’s hair, peppering kisses onto his face, as his hands moved quickly, trying to rid Lan Zhan of his horribly bulky robes, needing to touch all of him.

“I love you,” he murmured.

Lan Zhan shivered under the touch, not from cold but from the intensity of it—of being wanted, cherished, loved this openly. His cheeks were already tinged pink, but now they bloomed fully with warmth as Wei Wuxian’s words settled between them, tender and reverent.

“I love you,” Wei Wuxian repeated, as if saying it again would make it more real. His fingers slowed in Lan Zhan’s hair, carding through the silken strands like he was soothing a treasured thing—his most sacred treasure. His heart felt too big for his chest. It was fluttering wildly, and yet everything else around him was still and safe.

Lan Zhan looked up at him, eyes wide and shining, almost stunned, as if hearing the words out loud made everything before now feel like a dream. His hand came up, ghosting over Wei Wuxian’s cheekbone, before he cupped it properly, thumb brushing under his eye.

“I love you,” Lan Zhan said, the words quieter than a prayer and steadier than a vow. “And I will love you until my dying breath.”

He reached up above him, pulling his forehead ribbon out of his hair, and tied is around Wei Wuxian’s wrist.

Wei Wuxian’s breath hitched. He knew the rules well enough to know what it meant. What he was signing up for. And he wanted it all. As long as it was with Lan Zhan.

“Lan Zhan…” he whispered, voice cracking.

Lan Zhan leaned up and kissed him—slow and deep, grounding and trembling all at once. The kind of kiss that tasted like years of yearning and the sweetness of having been chosen back.

He felt Lan Zhan tear his own robes off, as Lan Zhan’s hands moved all over his body. He arched his back upwards into Lan Zhan’s touch, as his hand came dangerously close to Wei Wuxian’s cock.

“I shouldn’t be doing this,” Lan Zhan said rubbing his tie, “We are not formally courting as I do not have your sect leader’s permission. I should wait until you are my husband in name as well. But I find myself unable to hold back.”

“Please,” he pleaded, “I don’t want you to wait. I want you now. Lan Zhan, I’ve been so obsessed with you from the moment we met. Since you caught me in your arms and I looked up into your eyes. I don’t want to wait until we’re married. I want you now, and every day for the rest of our lives. I want you over and over again until I forget everything but your name. You are the only one I need.”

“Mark your words,” Lan Zhan said, biting down on Wei Wuxian’s neck, as his hand approached Wei Wuxian’s cock then, tugging at it.

He whimpered, as Lan Zhan pulled it repeatedly, without mercy, and just as Wei Wuxian felt himself close to tipping over the edge, Lan Zhan stopped.

He whimpered, “Lan Zhan!” he sobbed, “Please. I need you. Please Lan Zhan.”

“You will not cum until my cock is deep in you,” Lan Zhan told him firmly, moving his hand closer to Wei Wuxian’s hole, circling there instead.

He thrust in one finger.

Two.

Then three.

Thrusting in, and out, and in and out.

Until the only thing Wei Wuxian could feel was pleasure and desire.

“Please,” he begged, “I need you in me. Er-gege, please. I can’t take it anymore. I’ve wanted you for so long. Please don’t deny me this.”

“I’d never deny you anything,” Lan Zhan captured Wei Wuxian’s lips in his own, as he lined his cock up with Wei Wuxian’s hole, pressing in all at once.

He’d never known true pleasure until this moment.

He moved his fingers, scratching along Lan Zhan’s back, searching for purchase, as Lan Zhan thrusted at a steady pace, as if following the tempo of music.

“I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you,” he could only chant, as Lan Zhan moved inside of him, deeper, harder, with every thrust.

“Love Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan bit his lip, “Going to marry Wei Ying. Going to sleep with Wei Ying every night, until he becomes round with our child.”

“Yes,” he sobbed, “Lan Zhan! I want to have all your children, please!”

He felt Lan Zhan’s thrusts begin to stagger, as each one went a bit further inside of him every time. He arched his back again, as he was overtaken with pleasure, crying out as he felt Lan Zhan spill inside of him.

The sky above them shifted from soft blue to the amber of late afternoon, golden light filtering through the trees like a blessing. Around them, the back hills of Cloud Recesses sang with quiet serenity. One of the bunnies, curious, hopped closer to nibble at a blade of grass near Wei Wuxian’s shoulder.

Lan Zhan pulled his robe closer to them, covering Wei Wuxian with it gently, as he pressed a kiss to Wei Wuxian’s lips once more.

Wei Wuxian laughed into the kiss, still blissed out, before breaking it gently. He looked to the side, smiling through his tears. “Lan Zhan,” he said with a wet chuckle, “We have an audience.”

Lan Zhan followed his gaze and blinked at the rabbit, then back at Wei Wuxian with a soft huff that might have been a laugh if he were anyone else. “They are young,” he said solemnly. “They will not remember.”

Wei Wuxian snorted and flopped back down into the grass beside him, throwing an arm over his face. “I can’t believe you just said that. You’ve been spending too much time with me.”

“I intend to,” Lan Zhan replied, shifting onto his side and leaning over him again, hair falling in a curtain around them both. “Always.”

Wei Wuxian dropped his arm and looked up at him, eyes wide with something raw and overwhelmed and so, so tender. “You really mean it.”

Lan Zhan bent down and kissed his forehead, his cheeks, his nose, and finally his lips again. “Yes.”

Wei Wuxian melted, utterly undone. He didn’t know what he’d done to deserve this kind of happiness, this quiet wonder. But Lan Zhan was here, beside him, gazing at him like he was everything, and Wei Wuxian knew he’d spend the rest of his life making sure Lan Zhan felt the same.

“Lan Zhan,” he asked after a moment, “Did my brother really threaten you?”

“He did,” Lan Zhan said, “Informed me that I was an idiot. And that you were an idiot. However, I do not believe I would have realized that your feelings for me were genuine without him. So I owe him my gratitude.”

Wei Wuxian laughed as he nestled his head into Lan Zhan’s chest, closing his eyes briefly.

Lan Zhan’s arms tightened around him as if he, too, was trying to commit this moment to memory—the sound of Wei Wuxian’s laughter, the press of his body curled into his own, the way the afternoon sun gilded the edges of the world in light.

“Jiang Cheng’s going to be insufferable when he finds out,” Wei Wuxian murmured against Lan Zhan’s robes, voice already heavy with sleepy contentment. “He’ll say ‘I told you so’ every chance he gets.”

“Mn,” Lan Zhan replied solemnly. “I will allow it. Once.”

Wei Wuxian giggled, warm and loose and perfectly at peace. “He’ll take that as a challenge, you know.”

“He can try,” Lan Zhan said, brushing his fingers through Wei Wuxian’s loose hair, gentle and slow. “But I am very good at silencing him.”

“Lan Zhan!” Wei Wuxian laughed, pulling back enough to look up at him with mock horror. “You wouldn’t—!”

Lan Zhan raised a brow in an expression so perfectly deadpan it made Wei Wuxian dissolve into a new fit of laughter, even as his heart ached sweetly with affection. He felt like he was floating, anchored only by the steady rise and fall of Lan Zhan’s chest and the calm hush of the hills around them.

Eventually, the sun dipped lower, painting the clouds in shades of rose and gold. The rabbits had snuggled into a patch of clover, content and safe in their new home. Lan Zhan’s fingers remained tangled in Wei Wuxian’s hair, and neither of them moved, unwilling to break the spell.

“Do you think the bunnies will be okay out here?” Wei Wuxian asked softly, chin resting on Lan Zhan’s chest.

Lan Zhan nodded. “I will check on them every morning. And you will check on them in the evenings.”

A smile curved across Wei Wuxian’s lips. “So we’re co-parenting now.”

“We are,” Lan Zhan agreed, without hesitation.

Wei Wuxian buried his face again, muffling a groan. “You’re going to kill me with how much I love you, Lan Zhan.”

“You will live,” Lan Zhan said, his voice a near-whisper. “For a very long time. With me.”

Wei Wuxian blinked slowly, then nodded against him. “Okay,” he said. “I will.”

And for once, he meant it—no fear in his chest, no doubt in his heart. Just the quiet promise of a future, nestled among the rustling grass and fading light, with the man he loved and the bunnies they’d set free.

Together.

By the time Jiang Cheng sat down at the table in the guest pavilion of the Cloud Recesses, he already had a headache brewing behind his eyes.

He’d spent months watching Wei Wuxian moon over Lan Wangji like a lovesick teenager in a tragic opera—trailing after him during lectures, sighing dramatically into bowls of soup, nearly burning down half a library pavilion while pretending not to impress him.

And then, finally—finally—Lan Wangji gotten his head out of his ass and listened to Jiang Cheng’s words to him, and told Wei Wuxian that he loved him as well. And since then, he’d had to watch the two of them together, painfully in love, to the point where he wanted to stab his eyes out.

It had been three weeks.

Jiang Cheng was still recovering.

But he’d be damned if after all that pining, all that flailing, his brother wasn’t going to get everything he deserved and then some.

Even if it meant sharing a room with Lan Qiren for two hours.

The meeting table was already laid out with scrolls and inkstones. A-Jie sat beside him, all grace and serenity, sipping tea like she was hosting a poetry night instead of a formal courtship negotiation. Lan Xichen and Lan Qiren sat opposite them, both perfectly composed, not a strand of hair out of place.

Lan Wangji and Wei Wuxian were off to the side, cross-legged on a woven mat. Wei Wuxian looked like he’d never been happier in his life.

Unfortunately, he also looked talkative.

“Before we begin,” Lan Qiren said, adjusting his sleeves, “Do we need to wait for Jiang Fengmian or Madam Yu?”

Jiang Yanli smiled politely. “There is no need.”

Jiang Cheng nodded. “We’ll take the final agreement back to Lotus Pier for approval.”

They didn’t need to look at each other. The answer was mutual and unwavering. Their parents would see it in ink—after it was signed. No need to let his father try and talk Wei Wuxian out of it, or his mother toss Wei Wuxian off to the Lan sect like he didn’t matter to the Jiang sect. Not on Jiang Cheng’s watch.

“Very well,” Lan Qiren muttered, sounding faintly like he already regretted his life choices. “Let us proceed.”

Lan Xichen began outlining the traditional terms—sect visitation rotations, ceremonial timelines, dowries. Jiang Cheng tuned him out for a moment, distracted by the sound of Wei Wuxian whispering to Lan Wangji behind him.

Jiang Cheng whipped around. “Can you not plan your wedding in the corner while we’re planning your wedding at the table?”

Wei Wuxian blinked innocently. “You’re doing the boring part.”

“I’m doing the part that ensures you don’t end up married with no visitation rights and no say in your own life!”

Lan Qiren looked like he was rapidly developing the same headache Jiang Cheng already had.

“I’m just saying,” Wei Wuxian offered from where he was slouched between Lan Wangji and a decorative scroll rack, “if we’re going to be fair, then the question of the bridal price should include emotional damages. Lan Zhan glared at me for weeks before even speaking to me. I suffered.”

“You confessed three weeks ago,” Jiang Cheng snapped. “And you only realized you were in love a few weeks before that.”

“Exactly!” Wei Wuxian said, looking personally offended. “It was a very intense few weeks.”

Lan Wangji, for his part, remained serenely silent. He hadn’t looked away from Wei Wuxian once. Not during the scroll reading, not during the debate over which sect the future children would belong to, and certainly not during the “emotional damages” monologue.

Lan Xichen sighed, folding his hands. “Regardless, we must be thorough. This is a formal courtship negotiation. Dowries must be recorded.”

“What dowry?” Jiang Cheng asked, frowning. “Wei Wuxian doesn’t own anything. Unless you count his stupidly named sword.”

“Hey!” Wei Wuxian shot upright. “It’s a treasured weapon! And anyway, Lan Zhan should be the one giving me a dowry!”

“Mn,” Lan Wangji agreed immediately. “I will.”

Lan Qiren made a noise that might have been a prayer.

Lan Xichen cleared his throat delicately. “Traditionally, the dowry comes from the groom’s side—”

“We haven’t even agreed on who the groom is!” Jiang Cheng cut in.

Everyone paused.

Wei Wuxian blinked. “Wait. I thought we were both the—”

“No,” Jiang Cheng said, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Because if we leave it vague, you’ll both try to do everything and nothing will ever get done.”

“I want to be the bride,” Wei Wuxian said immediately, puffing out his chest. “Then I can blush prettily at Lan Zhan.”

Lan Wangji gave him an annoyingly soft smile, “You may.”

“I mean it. Veil and all. Maybe not red. Crimson. More dramatic. And I want the bunnies to be there. Dressed in little Lan robes. Lan Zhan, can you imagine?”

Lan Qiren looked like he was seconds away from expiring on the spot.

Jiang Cheng rubbed his temples. “Can we please focus? We still haven’t agreed whose sect the children will be registered under.”

“They’ll be children, Jiang Cheng,” Wei Wuxian said, clearly scandalized. “They can’t even read sect records.”

“You think we’re going to wait until they can read to register them?”

“I think we’ll wait until we have them!”

“I am open to alternating registration,” Lan Wangji said, calm as ever. “First child Lotus Pier. Second Cloud Recesses.”

“Oh,” Wei Wuxian blinked, visibly melting. “That’s actually kind of perfect.”

Jiang Cheng shot him a look. “You’re not supposed to like their side’s offers, you idiot.”

“I just like him,” Wei Wuxian said, dreamy. “And anyway, we’re forgetting the most important clause.”

“Which is?”

“I demand a bunny clause,” he said solemnly. “I want the right to raise at least sixteen bunnies. Minimum. With little silk robes.”

Lan Xichen looked like he had momentarily left his body. “Silk robes…?”

“Sixteen,” Lan Qiren echoed, voice strangled.

Lan Wangji nodded. “Seventeen.”

“Oh!” Wei Wuxian beamed. “See? We’re already compromising!”

Jiang Yanli, bless her, covered her mouth behind her sleeve and pretended to cough, though Jiang Cheng knew she was laughing at him.

“Fine,” Jiang Cheng grumbled. “Sixteen bunnies. Robes optional.”

“And,” Jiang Yanli added gently, “Time must still be spent equally between both sects. Especially after the wedding.”

“Of course,” Lan Xichen nodded. “And should Wei-gongzi wish to stay longer—”

“No,” Jiang Cheng cut in. “Six months. Or he’ll forget he has his own sect.”

“I won’t,” Wei Wuxian muttered.

“You will,” Jiang Cheng said flatly. “I know how terrible your memory is. Last week you forgot where we were sleeping and wandered around for ages looking for our dorm. Finally Lan Wangji brought you back.”

“It was a purposefully long walk,” Wei Wuxian said, looking very pleased with himself. “Lan Zhan was there.”

Lan Qiren looked like he might actually combust.

Wei Wuxian opened his mouth again, but Jiang Cheng turned and gave him the look.

“No. Stop. You’re going to agree to everything he says and then come crying to me the second you miss spicy crab. Let us finish this.”

Wei Wuxian crossed his arms, sulking. “You’re all so controlling.”

“We had to watch you make goo-goo eyes at him for months,” Jiang Cheng snapped. “The least we get out of it is a few clauses in a marriage contract to keep you from running off into the mountains forever.”

There was a beat of silence.

Lan Wangji turned to Wei Wuxian. “Even if we never left Cloud Recesses, I would bring you spicy crab.”

Wei Wuxian’s mouth fell open, “Lan Zhan.”

Jiang Cheng gave up.

He slumped back into his seat and rubbed his temples. “You two are insufferable.”

“I’m in love,” Wei Wuxian said cheerfully, looping his arm through Lan Wangji’s. “It’s your fault for helping.”

“It is all of our fault,” Lan Qiren agreed faintly, looking at Lan Xichen.

“I regret nothing,” Lan Xichen replied serenely.

And Jiang Cheng… well. Maybe he did regret stepping into this madhouse. But as Wei Wuxian laughed—really laughed, head tilted back, happy in a way Jiang Cheng hadn’t seen since they were kids—he figured it was worth it.

Especially since the rabbits were staying in Gusu. He was going to put that in writing himself.

In the end, Jiang Cheng supposed, it could have been worse.

Wei Wuxian could’ve fallen in love with someone less honourable. Someone who didn’t worship the ground he walked on. Someone who wouldn’t spend the rest of his life making sure Wei Wuxian was fed, clothed, loved, and gently scolded into not setting anything on fire again.

Instead, he’d fallen for Lan Wangji. Predictable, infuriating, deeply earnest Lan Wangji, who had apparently been in love with Wei Wuxian for just as long—but unlike Wei Wuxian, had never once tried to bottle it up by flirting with every plant, pond, and person within a five-mile radius. It had taken only months of pining, one rabbit relocation, and a serenade in the hills before Jiang Cheng had found himself forced into a room with Lan Qiren and Lan Xichen, drafting a courtship agreement while Wei Wuxian hung off Lan Wangji like a lovesick teenager.

Well. A lovesick teenager in Lan robes, no less. Wei Wuxian had insisted on them after the engagement was formalized. “If I’m the bride, I’m going to look like one,” he’d said cheerfully, tucking his hair up with a ribbon that didn’t match and grinning when Lan Wangji just stared at him, thunderstruck.

It wasn’t traditional. It wasn’t expected. But it was Wei Wuxian—and Lan Wangji loved him all the more for it.

So now they had an engagement. An increasingly unhinged wedding plan that involved rabbits. A rotating sect residency calendar. And a signed agreement that, yes, any children would be registered with both sects and raised in both cultivation styles; because apparently Lan Wangji was just as stubborn as Jiang Cheng when it came to making sure Wei Wuxian got everything he wanted.

For now, though, things were quiet. Wei Wuxian did not stop his ridiculous wooing attempts, enabled by the knowledge that Lan Wangji loved him back. Lan Wangji had stopped staring at Wei Wuxian like he might vanish. And Jiang Cheng—well. He still had headaches. But they were quieter now. Laced with fondness, even.

And as the couple-to-be walked ahead of him, whispering and laughing and absolutely ignoring every rule the Cloud Recesses ever held dear, Jiang Cheng found himself smiling, just a little.

This, he thought, was how it should be.

A future carved out by two impossible people, stitched together with every glance, every argument, every shared rabbit and reluctant compliment. A little maddening. A little reckless. But, undeniably, a song of love and in(discipline).