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Chapter Text

Month 12

Wei Wuxian holds himself still under the blankets, watching Lan Zhan meditate.

It is earlier than Wei Wuxian usually wakes of his own free will, but there’s no struggle to draw himself up out of sleepiness this morning. The grey light of dawn glows through the window slats of their room at the inn, gradually warming the air. There’s already a low hum of the world outside drifting in, the sound of footsteps on paving stones and the jingle of horse-drawn carriages, different from their home in the valley.

Lan Zhan is sitting still and straight on the floor, his eyes closed, his hands turned up on his knees, his breathing steady. He looks soft and focused at the same time, still in his sleep robe with his hair an easy tumble down his chest, a gentle discipline in his shoulders. It makes Wei Wuxian feel as if he can see all of Lan Zhan’s past and Lan Zhan’s present drifting in the shadows of the room, everything he was made to be and everything he made of himself blending together before his eyes. Lan Wangji of the Gusu Lan and Lan Zhan the runaway, Hanguang-jun of the Burial Mounds and Consort Lan of the Yunmeng Wei. Wei Wuxian’s breath comes shallow, his throat tight with everything that Lan Zhan is to him. Everything that Lan Zhan is.

He just stays like that for a while, lying quietly beneath the covers, watching Lan Zhan breathe. He knows he should get up soon. They have a long day ahead of them, and the last thing he wants is to make them late or forget something important. The juniors will be awake soon too—Huang Mei is an early riser, and once she’s up no one else seems to be able to sleep for long—and he doesn’t want to leave Wen Qing to wrangle them all by herself.

But just a little longer. Watching Lan Zhan center himself. Prepare himself for whatever is coming.

When he finally can’t ignore the edge of gold seeping into the grey light anymore, Wei Wuxian takes a deep breath and unwraps himself from the covers, shifting up to sit. Lan Zhan’s eyelids flutter and then open as his attention is drawn back into the room.

“Hey,” Wei Wuxian says, turning to put his feet on the floor, scratching at an itch on the back of his neck.

Lan Zhan’s face goes softer. “Good morning.”

Wei Wuxian makes an apologetic face. “I didn’t mean to interrupt you.”

“You did not,” Lan Zhan says. “We should depart soon.”

Wei Wuxian nods quietly, watching as Lan Zhan’s eyes fall closed again, his breathing slow and even.

Lan Zhan hasn’t talked much about the Cloud Recesses in a long time, not even in his quiet, not-too-many-words-at-a-time way. After the invite came, they obviously talked about it quite a bit, but Lan Zhan always seemed to stick close to the subject of logistics, how they should travel and what they should bring and so forth. Even when Wei Wuxian tried to make space for Lan Zhan to talk about what he was feeling about this whole thing—what he thought might happen, what this would mean—Lan Zhan never took the bait. Wei Wuxian isn’t sure if that’s just because he doesn’t want to get his hopes up for this to be anything more than a polite invite to a general public party, or if Lan Zhan really doesn’t know what to feel about this. Either way though, Wei Wuxian didn’t want to push. Lan Zhan will tell him when he’s ready.

Still, he couldn’t help noticing the way a subdued tension settled over Lan Zhan as soon as they entered Gusu.

Wei Wuxian rolls to his feet and walks over to Lan Zhan, then kneels down next to him on the cold floorboards. At this distance, it’s as if he can feel the anxiety in Lan Zhan, like a thin, frail sheen of morning frost over his skin.

Wei Wuxian pushes Lan Zhan’s hair back over his shoulder and kisses the nape of his neck. The tiniest tremble runs through Lan Zhan, cracking through the ice.

“If it sucks, remember we can just go home,” Wei Wuxian says, soft against the shell of Lan Zhan’s ear.

Lan Zhan seems to breathe for a moment, his eyes still closed. Wei Wuxian stays close, resting his head on Lan Zhan’s shoulder and stroking his fingertips gently down Lan Zhan’s spine. “That would be quite the affront,” Lan Zhan says.

Wei Wuxian smiles at that, twisting his fingers in the ends of Lan Zhan’s soft, uncombed hair. “What are they going to do, invade us?”

Lan Zhan opens his eyes and shoots him a look like this is a very bad joke, but Wei Wuxian just shrugs a shoulder. It’s not like it isn’t true. They seem to have entered into a unique era within the cultivation world in which nobody with the means to be a bully actually has the constitution of a bully.

Not that that’s really the point here. Wei Wuxian nips in and soothes Lan Zhan with a tiny peck on the cheek. “Anyway,” he continues, his fingers still tangling themselves in Lan Zhan’s hair. “We’re not exactly the Qinghe Nie Sect here. We’re just that weird farmer sect everybody gossips about. If we need to, we can claim some kind of radish emergency and tell everybody we have to fuck off.”

Lan Zhan’s eyes sweep down as a small smile flickers at the corner of his mouth. But the shudder of his next breath betrays how nervous he actually is. Wei Wuxian nuzzles into his neck and presses another small kiss to his shoulder.

“That will not be necessary,” Lan Zhan says. It has a quiet resolve to it.

Wei Wuxian sighs, untangling his fingers from Lan Zhan’s hair and straightening up to meet his eyes. “All right then,” he says. “In that case we’d better get going. We don’t want to be late and make a bad first impression.”

~    ~    ~

“This whole stupid thing was your idea!” Wen Song is hissing as Wei Wuxian steps into the inn’s dining room. She yanks something—maybe a money pouch?—out of Mo Xuanyu’s hands, but Wei Wuxian doesn’t have a chance to see it clearly before she notices his presence and hides it behind her back, shrinking in on herself. What on earth…

Wait—what the fuck? Wen Song has a scrape on her chin, and her hair is falling out of its long braid on one side. Mo Xuanyu always looks a bit scruffy, so Wei Wuxian can’t be sure if there’s anything out of the ordinary there, but Huang Mei has a giant bruise blooming high up on her cheek, like someone punched her in the eye.

“What the hell happened to you?” he asks, staring around at the three of them. There’s no one else even in the dinning room, so they can’t have pissed anyone off that badly yet this morning. They were still fine at dinner last night.

Three faces—one embarrassed, one sullen, one conflicted and with a spectacular black eye—turn to him and stare back in silence.

“Your disciples thought it would be a good idea to go on a little adventure,” comes Wen Qing’s voice behind him. He glances around to see her stride into the room in her fine black and red robes, a small medicine pouch in her hand.

Funds are still tight these days, so she nominated herself chaperone for the duration of the trip so they wouldn’t have to pay for three rooms all the time. Wei Wuxian pointed out that she didn’t need to be a babysitter and she’d be totally welcome to share his and Lan Zhan’s room, but she just gave him a dubious look, which… okay, yes, he could see the flaw in that plan. Wei Wuxian wouldn’t want to bunk with her and Jiang Cheng either. Besides, as she pointed out, it would probably be safer all around to have someone responsible keeping an eye on the juniors.

And still they managed to get up to… whatever this was.

“What sort of adventure?” Wei Wuxian asks, watching as Wen Qing takes a seat at one of the low dining tables and motions for Huang Mei to sit beside her. He feels disoriented having wandered into the middle of this chaos. He’s been so preoccupied with Lan Zhan’s emotional state that mediating a dispute among these three all of a sudden feels like dropping out of one day and into another.

Huang Mei seats herself gingerly beside Wen Qing, offering her bruised cheek to Wen Qing for inspection. Wen Qing barely has to motion towards Wen Song before Wen Song is on the move, fetching a pot of hot water from over the fire and bringing it over to the table. “Go on, tell him,” Wen Qing says as she sprinkles a few herbs from the pouch into a cup and pours the hot water over them. “Tell him about your shopping plans.”

“Shopping?” Wei Wuxian says. There’s a nervous jitter under his skin as he looks them over—he doesn’t know how shopping would have resulted in a black eye, but he’s also not sure he wants to find out.

Mo Xuanyu is frowning mulishly, still standing a short distance away from the table like he’s pretending he’s not part of this conversation. Huang Mei is having her head tilted this way and that as Wen Qing dabs at her bruised eye, wincing occasionally, but bearing up at the sting of the medicine. It’s Wen Song who finally speaks.

“We just wanted to go out again, a little bit. Last night,” she says, staring down at her hands, her voice almost hushed. “Because… we haven’t been to a city. I mean, I haven’t. And the others haven’t in a while. And there’s more things. To look at.”

“It was my idea,” Mo Xuanyu interrupts. He’s still got his arms crossed over his chest, but now he’s staring at Wei Wuxian with a mixture of bravado and trepidation. Wei Wuxian knows that look—jaw squared, like he’s steeling himself for a blow across the face. “I talked them into it.”

“Talked them into what, exactly?” Wei Wuxian says.

“I had some things I needed to buy,” Mo Xuanyu says shiftily. “You never let us go further than Lotus Pier, and there’s stuff here we can’t get in Yunmeng.”

“What the hell are you going to buy at fucking midnight, a love potion?” Wei Wuxian bursts out, throwing his hands up in the air. Mo Xuanyu flinches, and Wei Wuxian instantly regrets it, remembering who he’s talking to.

Wei Wuxian sighs, lowering his arms and reining in his exasperation. “I didn’t mean—look, just, please tell me I didn’t take you along to Gusu just to have you run around trying to buy demonic talismans or illegal virility serums or whatever.” Then he whips his head around towards the doorway—Lan Zhan could come down any minute. Lan Zhan has enough on his mind right now, they can’t have him worrying about shit like this.

“It was nothing like that,” Wen Qing interrupts, with a hint of gentleness in Wei Wuxian’s direction. “Did you know that Caiyi is apparently well known for its beauty products?” she continues as she dabs a little more medicine onto Huang Mei’s face. “I admit I had no idea myself, but these three are the experts.”

“Beauty products,” Wei Wuxian repeats, glancing pointedly from Huang Mei’s eye to Wen Song’s chin. There’s a slight wince in Mo Xuanyu as he shifts his weight from one foot to the other and then immediately shifts back again, like he’s protecting a forgotten injury.

Wei Wuxian needs to sit down. He also possibly needs a drink, but starting in on the Emperor’s Smile at breakfast might run counter the whole not-worrying-Lan-Zhan agenda.

He plonks himself down at the end of the table, between Wen Qing and Wen Song. Wen Song rather guiltily pours him some tea, and he grabs a steamed bun off the plate in the middle of the table and stuffs it into his mouth. After a few moments of silence, Mo Xuanyu steps over to the table as well, clearly favoring his right foot. He takes a seat next to Wen Song and shoots her a suspicious look out of the corner of his eye like he thinks she’s going to start shouting at him again at any minute, but she’s clearly too focused on her own shame to bother.

Mo Xuanyu wanted them to go buy makeup. At midnight, on no budget, without telling anyone. Wei Wuxian is honestly just grateful they didn’t actually go looking for dark magic ingredients a stone’s throw away from the Cloud Recesses, but… still.

Wei Wuxian stares around at the three of them. All of them are avoiding his eyes. “Look—I get it. We don’t get out much. But don’t you think you could have just said something?” he asks. “And maybe found a way to buy whatever you needed without making the lot of you look like you’ve been in a brawl? Do you want Lan Zhan’s brother to see you like this?”

Mo Xuanyu’s shoulders go stiff at that. For the first time, he looks actually rattled.

“I guess it would have taken the sport out of it to do their shopping without sneaking out of a window,” Wen Qing says.

Wei Wuxian blinks at her. Then stares around at the other three, aghast. “You jumped out a window?”

“Oh, no,” Wen Qing says, with a casual wave of her hand as she wraps up the remains of the medicine. “They’re far too clever for that. No, they figured they would gently fly down on Wen Song’s sword.”

Wei Wuxian stares at Wen Song. “You can’t even fly by yourself yet!”

Wen Song looks like she wants to die.

“Well, that’s why we fell off,” Huang Mei says.

Wei Wuxian glowers at her for good measure. If these three keep going like this, they might end up having to hustle their delegation out the Cloud Recesses early completely regardless of Lan Zhan’s feelings about his family relations, just to avoid a diplomatic incident.

At least Huang Mei’s eye is starting to look a little better. There’s still definitely a bruise, but there’s a gentle sparkle of spiritual energy on the surface of her skin from Wen Qing’s medicine, and the bruise’s color seems to be gradually lightening. With any luck it will be gone before they leave—good thing too, because given the failure of the makeup excursion, they don’t have many alternatives for disguising it. Wen Song’s injury is less noticeable, but it seems to be disappearing as well, now that she’s dabbing a bit of the medicine on herself.

At least their robes don’t seem to have taken noticeable damage. Not that they’re all that fancy, but it took some doing to pull together enough fabric to make the three of them look like disciples, and not just three unrelated people stumbling into a pub. They’re all black from head to toe, with red belts and red wrist wraps to tie them to the theme. Mo Xuanyu and Huang Mei both have narrow sleeves, but Wen Song asked for wide sleeves like Lan Zhan’s—though right now she seems to be second-guessing that decision as she tries to figure out how to eat and help get everyone’s tea served up without dipping them in the breakfast bowls. She's getting exceedingly frazzled about it. Eventually she ends up pushing the wide over-sleeves up to her shoulders so she can maneuver better, only rolling them down to her elbows again once the food is sorted.

By the time Lan Zhan joins them, Huang Mei’s bruise is completely gone and the scrape on Wen Song’s chin is hardly noticeable. The mood is still tense, but Lan Zhan himself is preoccupied enough that he doesn’t seem to notice. He just takes the empty seat at the other end of the table and quietly drinks his tea.

For a while Wen Song keeps darting questioning looks over at Wei Wuxian, like she’s waiting for the axe to fall, for Wei Wuxian to tell Lan Zhan what they did. But Wei Wuxian just gives her a little shake of the head.

As he watches Lan Zhan eat his breakfast, quieter than he’s been during a meal since he first ran away with them to the Burial Mounds, Wei Wuxian can’t help wondering what he must be feeling right now, how nervous or afraid he must be. How it must feel to come back to this place after so long, uncertain of his welcome.

Wei Wuxian knows what it’s like to visit a childhood home you thought you’d never see again. But by the time they visited Lotus Pier, he and Jiang Cheng were basically on good terms, almost the way they used to be. And even before that, Wei Wuxian always knew that Lotus Pier wasn’t his birthright, the way it was for Jiang Cheng. It was his home for a time, but it never belonged to him. Lan Zhan is… it’s different, here. This is different.

This place was always his.

So much has happened since the last time Lan Zhan was here. Even Lan Zhan’s brother has only written once in the year since they left the Burial Mounds, and that was all placid congratulations and well-wishes for their new home. They’ve heard a few political anecdotes from Jiang Cheng, but they haven’t seen or heard anything from Lan Qiren since that day he visited Lan Zhan in Unicorn Tower, when it wasn’t clear yet if Lan Zhan would live. It’s hard to know what to expect, from either of them.

At the same time, all of that feels far away somehow. Whatever lingering ache Lan Zhan feels at the loss of his family, he has shaped a full life in their absence. But a part of Wei Wuxian worries what will happen if this does turn out to be simple politeness, political expediency. That the wound deep inside Lan Zhan that he’s healed and hidden away will be ripped open again, for no gain.

Once they’ve all finished breakfast, they go their separate ways to gather the last of their things and meet up again outside, in front of the stables. They left Emperor’s Smile back in Yunmeng in case anybody needed to get anywhere quickly, but Mo Xuanyu retrieves Lotus Blossom from the stables and starts hitching up her saddle.

They do attract some attention as they load up their belongings. Some people around these parts probably recognize Lan Zhan even in his Yunmeng Wei robes and without the Lan headband, but the truth is it’s probably more their entire setup that’s evoking all the stares. They’ve only got the one horse, and they didn’t want to overload her with all of their luggage, especially since they’ve got the juniors and Wei Wuxian all taking turns at riding her for short stretches. And since the cart wouldn’t be well suited to the path up the mountain, that left them with only one option.

Floating baskets.

Actually, technically it’s the three upturned wine jugs that are floating, not the baskets themselves. Once Wei Wuxian finally discovered that, unlike the sticks and logs he had first experimented on and could never get to work properly, empty wine jugs somehow had just the right constitution to be able to float high enough to be useful while also staying under control, it was just the next logical step to figure out how to attach the baskets. With the addition of a linking talisman for each floating jug, stuck to the horse’s hindquarters so that the jugs would drift along in its wake, they found these handy floating baskets were actually pretty perfect for travel, especially in the mountainous terrain of Gusu.

Lan Zhan finishes loading Mo Xuanyu’s travel sack into the third basket and presses a bit of spiritual energy into the talisman on the jug, letting it float up to about shoulder height. Wei Wuxian watches as Lan Zhan pairs one of the linking talismans with the jug as well, pressing it to Lotus Blossom’s smooth coat with contained, calm movements.

Suddenly Wei Wuxian has this vision of the lot of them rolling up at the gates of the Cloud Recesses, with three injured juniors and a fleet of floating baskets trailing behind them. It sends a shiver of worry rippling through him.

Crap. Maybe he should have thought this through all the way to the end.

He steps up close to Lan Zhan and drops his voice, so only Lan Zhan can hear. “Hey.”

Lan Zhan looks at him in question, his hands still focused on adjusting the saddle blanket so it won’t disturb the linking talisman.

“I was just thinking,” Wei Wuxian says. “If we want, we could probably leave some of our stuff here in town.”

Lan Zhan frowns, looking confused.

“I mean, you know,” Wei Wuxian fumbles, gesturing around at the array of baskets. “We could leave the baskets here with the innkeeper and just take the horse. For this last bit. Maybe make a slightly more dignified entrance.” He tries a smile and tilts his head.

Lan Zhan doesn’t smile back, and Wei Wuxian can’t tell if that look in his eyes is more perplexed or conflicted. Lan Zhan glances over at the floating baskets for a moment, before he turns back to Wei Wuxian, his gaze focused. “I don’t see a reason to do that,” he says.

Wei Wuxian shrugs gently. “It was just a thought. I mean, it’s weird enough that we have a sect leader who can’t ride a sword. I just thought maybe we wouldn’t want to look quite so improvised on our first visit.”

“It isn’t improvised,” Lan Zhan says. “It’s practical.” Something in saying the words seems to settle him, convince him even more that they’re true. He gives a short conclusive nod. “This is how we do things.”

Wei Wuxian lets out an uncertain breath, darting another glance over at the baskets. They are pretty weird. But he can’t really argue with Lan Zhan’s conclusion either. They’re also definitely practical, if nothing else. “All right,” he says, though his stomach isn’t quite on board with Lan Zhan’s calm. “Then let’s get this troop of floating baskets up the mountain.”

~      ~      ~

There’s a figure in white robes guarding the entrance.

It is a moment before Lan Wangji realizes he has stopped walking. He hears the shift of Lotus Blossom’s hooves on the stones of the path behind him, feels Wei Ying move closer to his side, and it sends a wave of self-consciousness shivering over his skin. He knows Wei Ying has been quite worried for him these past few days. He did not wish to give him any further cause for alarm.

With a deep breath, he reminds himself that he is prepared for this, whatever happens. His brother’s invitation was beyond civil—indeed it was genuinely warm, and clearly meant to assure him that they will be treated with respect. He does not doubt that his brother will insist upon that. And his uncle… his uncle at least preferred for him not to die.

But regardless, even if there is nothing more here for him than politeness and the lack of any dramatic scenes, what happens here is not of consequence to their lives. Their real lives. He has Wei Ying now, and a son, and a sect. He even has most of his memories of his childhood and his family. Lan Wangji may no longer make his uncle proud, but he will always be grateful for the many sacrifices that his uncle made on his and his brother’s behalf when they were children. Nothing will change that, even if the man Lan Wangji has become is not the one his uncle hoped he would be.

Still, as Lan Wangji stares across the short stretch of ground at the Lan disciple guarding the gateway in his pristine white robes, with his tidy headband, it makes the world feel sharper against his skin somehow. It does not cut him, not deeply. He has exactly what he’s always wanted, and he wears the black and red of the Yunmeng Wei Sect proudly. But nonetheless, it is strange to stand at the doorway to his childhood home and feel so acutely that he is a stranger now.

No invitation, no entry.

The memory ripples up unexpectedly, dragging a shivering huff of breath from him. He was so out of his depth then. He remembers Wei Ying’s bright confidence, his brazen insistence, and the deep sense of threat it elicited inside Lan Wangji. Such foolishness, he thinks, though with leniency towards his younger, confused self.

He has prepared himself for the obvious challenges of this visit, but he did not anticipate the prospect of standing here, where he first laid eyes on Wei Ying, looking back at who they were then. At the torment he once felt beneath the weight of his  unwieldy  desires. But to his own surprise, he finds he can look back now, here, and regard their younger selves with a sense of fondness.

Wei Ying gave him that, too. 

“Lan Zhan?” Wei Ying asks quietly. Wen Qing is standing by, Lotus Blossom’s lead in her hand, and the rest of their disciples are behind her. They’re all watching curiously. Wen Qing’s eyes are soft, kind, telling him to take whatever time he needs.

But, no. Lan Wangji finds he has had enough of standing still.

“We should present our invitation,” he says to Wei Ying. His mouth curves up lightly, all on its own.

He sees the memory hit in Wei Ying’s eyes. A disoriented blink, before Wei Ying lets out a breathless little laugh, reaching out to squeeze Lan Wangji’s hand for a brief moment. “You’re right, we should do that,” he says, his voice trembling with that sweet summer past. “We really don’t want to be turned down.”

“Or be forced to jump over a wall,” Lan Wangji says.

Wei Ying’s eyes go wide, and he darts a look over his shoulder towards where their disciples are waiting. “Shhh,” he whispers, grabbing Lan Zhan by the wrist and tugging him towards the gateway. “Please don’t give them any ideas.”

~      ~      ~

As they reach the small courtyard at the top of the mountain path, the Lan disciple gestures in the direction of the stables, calling someone over to them silently. Then he turns back to Wei Ying and Lan Wangji, bowing politely as Wen Qing and the others stand by with Lotus Blossom.

“Sect Leader Wei, Consort Lan,” the disciple says, then gestures to the other young man in white who has joined him from the shadow of the stables. “This is Lan Fenhua. He will take care of your mount and your, ah…” He glances past Lan Wangji’s shoulder towards the three floating baskets hovering in the air near Lotus Blossom’s hindquarters. “Your belongings.”

Lan Fenhua stalls for a moment, eyes caught by the strange configuration of their luggage—but then he seems to remember himself, raising his arms and bowing deeply, with the utmost respect. “Welcome to the Cloud Recesses,” he says, greeting each of them in turn. “Please allow me to be of service.”

Once the first disciple has left to return to his duties at the gate, it takes some shuffling around to sort out what should go where. Wen Song nearly forgets to retrieve her sword from one of the baskets, and Mo Xuanyu goes rummaging in another one at the last minute, apparently looking for some small hair ornament he had meant to put on in the morning. Lan Fenhua seems rather bewildered when Wei Ying peels the three linking talismans off of the horse’s hindquarters and tells him to just hang onto them and the baskets will follow him wherever he goes. But he nods politely, asking a few pertinent questions about whether and how one is supposed to make the baskets stop floating, and then he’s off, with Lotus Blossom and the baskets in tow.

“So,” Wei Ying says, turning to Lan Wangji as they find themselves alone again. It is only now that Lan Wangji truly sees how nervous Wei Ying is. A short distance away, Huang Mei is whispering something to Mo Xuanyu, and Lan Wangji hears Wen Song tell them both to be quiet. Wen Qing, makes a calming gesture, silently instructing them all to pay attention to what’s going on.

It becomes clear that everyone is waiting for Lan Wangji to take the lead. It should not usually be his role in these circumstances, given that Wei Ying is the sect leader—but then, Lan Wangji is the one who knows this place best. And Wei Ying, it seems, is so intent on not making any moves that will antagonize Lan Wangji’s family that he is full of restless energy, though working hard to keep himself in check.

Perhaps they are right. Perhaps he should be the one to handle this.

“We must go to the Orchid Room,” he says, to Wei Ying as well as the others. “Sect Leader Lan will be waiting there to greet us.”

“Cool,” Wei Ying says, nodding quickly. “Good, let’s do that.”

Wen Song nods as well, straightening her posture as if already preparing to meet someone important. Huang Mei does not seem intimidated, but she does seem to be holding herself carefully quiet, acting calmer than is in her nature.

With a deep breath, Lan Wangji turns and leads the way, up the steps and onto the dark wooden walkway that leads deeper into the estate.

As they draw closer to the courtyard in front of the Orchid Room, Lan Wangji catches a few glimpses of bright robes and faces in between the dark pillars. At a flash, he realizes what he should have known all along—his brother is not alone in greeting their guests. His uncle is there as well.

He slows his steps unwillingly, trying to steady his nerves for the encounter. Uncle is not there for him. Lan Wangji knows this. There are numerous sects arriving today, and it is only polite for the most senior members of the sect to be here to greet their quests. This is quite normal for such an occasion.

As they reach the entrance to the courtyard, there is another small delegation just leaving, heading off to the left towards the main dining hall. As Xichen lifts his head from his last bow, his eyes catch on Lan Wangji, still standing in the shadow of the walkway, and a smile spreads across his face.

His uncle does not look at him, his gaze directed off to the side, as though distracted by some movement in the distance.

Lan Wangji feels a quiet, warm press of Wei Ying’s hand against his, just for a moment. Then, as if by silent agreement, they step down into the courtyard.

When they reach the steps of the Orchid Room, Wei Ying and Lan Wangji standing face to face with his brother and his uncle, their small delegation lined up behind them, a hush seems to settle around them. The few Lan disciples that have been chosen to join in the greetings, standing at the top of the steps before the doorway, seem to go unnaturally still and quiet, their eyes fixed on Lan Wangji.

Wei Ying is the first to move, lifting his arms and sinking into a deep, respectful bow. “Sect Leader Lan. Teacher Lan. The Yunmeng Wei Sect thanks you humbly for this invitation.” He straightens then, confident and steady. “My sect members and I look forward to a successful discussion conference.”

Xichen bows in return. “Welcome to the Cloud Recesses, Sect Leader Wei,” he says, his smile familiar, a warm depth to it under the polite surface. “Wangji. I’m so happy you came. All of you.”

It hits Lan Wangji unexpectedly to see his brother so healthy and in good spirits. He knew Xichen had made it back safely from Donghai, of course. But given the long silence, Lan Wangji has occasionally wondered if Xichen might still be mourning the loss of his connection with Jin Guangyao—if, perhaps, he had even placed himself in seclusion for a time.

If that is indeed the case, he seems to have recovered well.

“Brother,” Lan Wangji says as he bows in return, his voice treacherously rough. “We are honored that you wished us to come.”

Then it’s as if his gaze is drawn to his uncle almost against his will, a sudden tremor low in his stomach as he wonders if he has spoken out of turn. To be invited is not the same as to be wished for.

His uncle’s face is unreadable, an unyielding mask that reminds Lan Wangji of the rare occasions on which he was scolded as a child. It sends his pulse racing despite his resolve. His uncle’s sharp words in Unicorn Tower come back to him, when he made clear to all in attendance just how deeply and irrevocably Lan Wangji had disappointed him.

As the silence stretches, he feels Wei Ying’s vibrating tension next to him. Wei Ying won’t say anything, but he’s watching closely, waiting. Ready to intervene if necessary, Lan Wangji realizes.

“You have had a long journey,” Uncle says. His voice sounds as hoarse as Lan Wangji’s. “We hope that it was not too strenuous.”

Lan Wangji’s pulse is still racing, despite all his confidence, his certainty, his happiness with his choices, and for a tilting moment he wonders if this is meant to be a jab at Wei Ying’s lack of a golden core. His uncle looks as if he’s fighting with himself but Lan Wangji can’t tell what the fight is about.

Then he sees his brother’s smile, the almost relieved way he is looking at Lan Qiren.

No, it is not a jab—it is a greeting. A rather stiff one, but… a greeting nonetheless.

He can still see Wei Ying looking at him out of the corner of his eye, like he’s not sure if Lan Wangji is upset or not. Lan Wangji gives him a small, reassuring shake of the head, the spike of nausea rippling away. “It was quite pleasant,” Lan Wangji says. It doesn’t sound quite right, but then again he was never good with words.

His uncle nods in acknowledgment, then falls silent again.

“Wangji,” Xichen says, taking a step closer. There’s an unexpected hopefulness in his expression. “I believe you are our last arrivals for the day. If Sect Leader Wei can spare you for a while…” He smiles and dips his head towards Wei Ying. “Uncle and I were hoping that you might join us for some tea. Give us a chance to reacquaint ourselves, before everything gets busy.”

Lan Wangji’s breath catches. He had hoped for civility—was ready to demand it, if necessary, certainly on Wei Ying’s behalf—but he did not expect a private invitation to have tea with his uncle. He turns his head for Wei Ying, who is looking at him with a caught expression.

All at once he realizes that Wei Ying is torn on whether he should step in and provide an excuse—No, actually, I need my consort to be at my beck and call at all times, perhaps. But just as swiftly, Lan Wangji feels his own decision take shape. He doesn’t need to be rescued from tea with his brother and his uncle. If they wish it, he will attend.

He nods subtly, and sees Wei Ying understand.

“Yes, of course,” Wei Ying says, with a supportive smile. “We’ll be just fine on our own for a while, I promise we won’t get—um. Won’t get lost or anything. You all should catch up! Sounds great!” He meets Lan Wangji’s eyes pointedly for a moment, and adds, “Please enjoy, okay? Take your time and let me know if you need anything.”

Lan Wangji looks back at him with what he hopes is reassurance, despite the flutter of nerves beneath his skin. But soon enough, Wei Ying nods, seemingly satisfied.

“Wonderful,” Xichen says. “Let’s go then. You know the way to Uncle’s rooms, Wangji.”

~      ~      ~

Okay. So, that could definitely have gone worse.

Wei Wuxian’s whole body is still buzzing with nerves as he watches Lan Zhan follow Zewu-jun and Lan Qiren out of the courtyard. It’s ridiculous, really, how jittery he feels. Lan Zhan wanted to come, it’s not like Wei Wuxian threw him in a sack and dragged him here, and anyway it’s really… it’s all fine. Literally the worst thing that could possibly happen is that things end up being kind of awkward and uncomfortable for a few days, and then they all go home and Zewu-jun continues to not write to Lan Zhan. That’s it. Nobody here has power over them.

Not really, anyway. Not anymore.

Still, it would be easier to figure out how to handle this if he had more of an idea of whether Lan Qiren still actively wishes Wei Wuxian would disappear in a puff of black smoke, or if he just vaguely wishes Wei Wuxian had come down with the runs and had to stay home.

He also wishes he knew what was happening at that little private tea party. Like, it makes total sense for Lan Zhan and his brother and uncle to get some family time or whatever, everything’s fraught and complicated enough. But dragging him off to a private tea room is also the perfect way for Lan Qiren to get a chance to browbeat Lan Zhan about his terrible life choices again, so… yeah. He just wishes he felt surer about how exactly that’s going to go.

Still though. It could have been so much worse. Wei Wuxian just has to hope this is as bad as it gets.

“Sect Leader Wei,” one of the young Lan disciples says, stepping down from the entrance to the Orchid Room and offering a respectful bow. “Sect Leader Lan has instructed me to show you to the dining hall, in case you and your delegation wish to eat lunch.”

Right. Wei Wuxian is not the least bit hungry, but he’s also nominally in charge of a bunch of still-growing disciples, so… maybe he should make sure they’ll get fed.

He glances back at Wen Qing, who is still standing where she was during the official greeting. The juniors seem to have gotten bored as soon as it was clear the official part was over, and have now wandered over to inspect the giant stone tablet at one end of the courtyard. Something about the sight of the three of them, heads tilted back and gaping at the minuscule writing etched into the stone sets his nerves on edge again, and all at once he’s picturing explosions in the Orchid Room, and people not only leaping over the outside wall but setting it on fire, and… okay, right. He needs to deal with this.

“Sounds good,” Wei Wuxian says to the Lan disciple. “Just give me a moment.”

Then he turns on his heel and walks over to where his three disciples are boggling at the Lan Sect Rules tablet.

“That’s a lot of rules,” he hears Wen Song say under her breath as he approaches.

“The Lan sect is very orthodox,” Huang Mei murmurs, sounding slightly awed. Normally when she calls something “orthodox” it’s with a pinch of disdain, but in this case there’s a hush to it, like she’s worried that if she critiques it too openly the stone tablet is just going to fall on top of her as punishment. Mo Xuanyu’s stare is quiet and blank, flitting from the stone to the beautiful old buildings beyond, as if he’s trying not to seem too impressed, and only failing a little.

At least none of them seem totally immune to the surroundings, which Wei Wuxian will take as reassurance, for however long it lasts.

“They have to get up at exactly five in the morning, you see?” Huang Mei says knowledgably, pointing out the relevant characters carved into the stone. “And there’s no talking during meals. I’ve even seen them do that when they’re at discussion conferences elsewhere, it’s super weird.”

Wen Song gives her a bewildered look. “No talking at all?”

Huang Mei shakes her head, giving a little shrug like she doesn’t know how they manage it either.

“Wow…” Wen Song breathes out, staring up at the tablet again.

Wei Wuxian clears his throat, and the three of them whirl around, looking reflexively guilty. But Wei Wuxian just nods toward the tablet. “See? Turns out there are some advantages to being with the Yunmeng Wei Sect,” he says, with a crooked smile. He almost points out that the food here is even more boring than theirs was back when they had nothing but radishes, but somehow it gets stuck in his throat. 

Damn. This whole thing with Lan Zhan must really be getting to him if he’s standing in the middle of the Cloud Recesses and can’t even bring himself to make fun of the place.

This is going to be quite a week. His disciples have already joined hands and jumped out a window at least once, and now their sect leader is too worried over whether his consort’s uncle is currently being a dick over tea and whether his disciples will blow up the mountain to make his usual dumb jokes. 

“Listen, you three,” Wei Wuxian says, lowering his voice and giving them his best Yiling Patriarch stare. “I’m going to cut you a deal.”

He’s gratified that he has their full attention.

"You,” he says to Mo Xuanyu. “I'll buy you whatever makeup you want in Caiyi." Then he turns to Huang Mei. "And you can pick one bad idea I said I was definitely not going to debate with you, and I'll debate it. And you..." He looks at Wen Song, who is looking at him with big eyes—she probably doesn't even need to be bribed, but fair's fair. "You don’t make enough trouble on your own that I know what you’re after, but you can pick something you want, something for your robes or your house or whatever. It’s yours."

Wen Song looks shocked by this blanket offer.

"If we do what?" Huang Mei asks, an interested calculation clear behind her eyes.

"If we all manage to get through this week here without any of us getting kicked out,” Wei Wuxian says, then meets their eyes again one by one. “Deal?”

All three of them look a little awkward at him putting it this bluntly. Huang Mei and Mo Xuanyu exchange a glance, like they’re silently trying to determine if this is a bar they can clear. But in the end, Huang Mei turns back to Wei Wuxian and nods, accepting his terms on behalf of the group. “We’ll do our best,” she promises.

“Good,” he says.

So will I.

~      ~      ~

In all honesty, his uncle’s private chambers are not a place that Lan Wangji ever expected to find himself again. It feels quite strange to be somewhere so familiar that has now become so distant.

Uncle takes his customary position at the head of the table, and Xichen sits beside him, as he always did. For a moment Lan Wangji simply stands there beside his own customary seat, somehow unsure whether it should still be his. But then Xichen seems to notice his hesitation and gestures calmly, with a smile, inviting him to sit.

Lan Wangji settles himself carefully on the seating cushion, the black of his robes feeling strange in these surroundings. It is like being the missing piece of a puzzle, found and fished out again from between the floorboards—still a fit, but too changed to ever truly match again. For an uncomfortable moment, Lan Wangji looks at the tea set in the middle of the table, feeling frozen between what would once have been his duty and his current status as a guest. But Xichen smooths over any awkwardness by silently assigning himself the responsibility for making and pouring the tea. He draws the tea set towards himself, asking Lan Wangji polite and easy questions about where they stopped on the journey.

In the Cloud Recesses, he has never been expected to be talkative or quick to reply. He is grateful to his brother for giving him the space to pull his thoughts together as he tells them of the inn they stopped at in a small village near the border of Yunmeng, the river crossing on the way into Gusu, and the last night spent in Caiyi. 

Xichen serves their uncle first, and then carefully pours a cup of tea for Lan Wangji. “I hope you will like it,” he says as he places the cup in front of Lan Wangji. There is an earnestness to Xichen’s voice that seems to suggest there is more importance to this wish than simple pleasantry. “Uncle has always been careful to keep it in stock. If I recall correctly, it used to be one of your favorites.”

Lan Wangji glances over at his uncle, not sure how much of Xichen’s statement is reflective of the truth and how much is simply Xichen’s wishful thinking. But Uncle is staring down at the table, his focus on taking a careful sip from his own teacup. Lan Wangji lowers his eyes and does the same.

The tea is beautiful, filled with a richness of subtle flavors that he hasn’t experienced in a long time, even as their fortunes have improved. For a moment, he merely savours the taste, disregarding the emotions stirring in the corners of his mind.

He isn’t entirely sure what is happening here. A gesture of good will, no doubt—much like the invitation to the conference itself, none of this is strictly necessary. But he doesn’t know what they expect of him, or what he himself can reasonably expect.

It’s quiet around the table as everyone drinks, the air filled with the sweet scent of jasmine. There is always enough quiet here to sort his thoughts.

Lan Wangji puts the cup down tidily, then gathers himself with a quiet breath. He does not know if he will have another appropriate opportunity to say this, so he had best take it while he can. When he feels able, he looks up again at Lan Qiren. “I would like to thank you for your help when I was injured, Uncle,” he says. “Wei Ying tells me that you expended a lot of energy on my behalf. I am very grateful.”

Lan Qiren seems startled, almost caught—but then he blinks away and makes a disgruntled noise, waving a hand jerkily. “No thanks are necessary,” he mumbles.

Lan Wangji looks back down at his teacup, accepting this answer. He did not expect anything different, in truth, but it was important to him to express his gratitude. He has not been able to bring himself to write it in a letter, as he would not know where to start. But at least now it has been said.

“It was good of Xichen to tell me,” his uncle says then, his voice gruff. Lan Wangji looks up in surprise. His uncle’s eyes are still fixed on the tea set in the center of the table, his expression caught between apprehension and a shadow of fear. “I would have regretted not being there.”

Lan Wangji’s throat goes tight with understanding. His uncle needed time to sort his words in his head as well.

He feels like he should say something more, but he isn’t sure what would be appropriate. What would not overstep.

“How is your health now, Wangji?” Xichen asks. “I know that you have recovered well, so forgive me for fretting. But as you can imagine, we have asked ourselves, given the extent of your injuries…” Xichen dips his head ruefully, but Lan Wangji can see the shadow of remembered horror in his eyes. Xichen was right there to see him get impaled through the chest by Wen Ning.

“I am very well, Brother,” he says. He could leave it at that, perhaps. But suddenly it feels… it seems right, for the moment. He wants them to know. “The method Wei Ying used to save me—the sacrifice of the Yin Tiger Seal—seems to have left a mark on my spiritual energy. A stain, if you will, from the temporary presence of so much resentment energy.”

Both Xichen and his uncle look back at him then, in clear alarm. Lan Wangji does not falter.

“But I have been carefully monitored by Wen Qing over the past year,” he says, trying not to let them see the way he is watching for their reaction. “She assures me that it has no notable impact on my ability to wield my spiritual energy, nor on my health.”

His uncle is looking him up and down in a somewhat agitated fashion. Perhaps, even after so deeply disappointing him by rejecting orthodoxy and the rules of their sect, he still did not expect Lan Wangji to deliver the crowning achievement of becoming tainted with resentment energy.

He wonders what his uncle would make of the fact that by its end, the Yin Tiger Seal considered him a friend.

“It is not comparable to Wei Ying’s powers,” he says, his eyes sweeping down. “My body does not use resentment energy in cultivation, not since my recovery. It is merely a scar.”

“But you are all right?” Lan Qiren says forcefully.

Lan Wangji blinks. That is not what he expected his uncles next question to be. “Yes, I am,” he says, dipping his head in another acknowledgement of his gratitude. “Thanks to Wei Ying, and everyone else who lent me their strength and skill while I was incapacitated.”

Lan Qiren nods shortly, staring down at the table again as if he is judging it for some misdeed. “It was difficult to see you so severely wounded, Wangji,” he says. He sounds like he’s speaking from the grave. “Please do not treat your health with such carelessness again.”

It catches in Lan Wangji’s throat, the gruff sense of care beneath these words. He swallows, replies with a nod. “I will try.”

There is another ripple of silence, a pause settling in the room like a gentle fog on an early spring morning. Lan Wangji can feel Xichen’s kind gaze on him, soft and aching as if he wishes by his own force of will that he can repair the broken ties between Lan Wangji and his uncle. Xichen always wants too much. His uncle’s well-wishes for Lan Wangji’s health are already more than Lan Wangji would have expected.

Then, after a moment, Xichen turns his attention to Uncle, looking at him rather pointedly, though with an odd patience. It reminds Lan Wangji of the sort of look he himself might give Ah Yuan when Ah Yuan insists, interrupted by a yawn, that he is not tired enough yet to go to bed.

“Uncle?” Xichen asks gently.

Lan Qiren meets Xichen’s eyes, brow twitching. But then he gives a short nod.

Xichen gets to his feet and retreats into the other room. Lan Wangji looks down at his teacup, trying to keep his expression as untroubled and incurious as he can—though it is difficult, when he can hear a drawer sliding open and closed, his brother’s footsteps moving quietly across the floorboards.

When Xichen returns, he is holding a small wooden box, finely lacquered and engraved with the crest of the Lan Sect. Xichen resumes his seat and places the box on the table, a short distance in front of Lan Wangji.

Lan Wangji simply stares at it, not sure what to make of this presentation.

“Uncle has kept this for you these past few years,” Xichen says quietly. He glances from Lan Wangji to Lan Qiren expectantly, as though waiting for something to happen. But Lan Wangji does not know what that could be, and Lan Qiren is once again focused on his tea.

Finally, with a flicker of exasperation that only someone who knows him well would see, Xichen reaches out and gently slides the box closer to Lan Wangji. “We wanted you to have it back.”

Lan Wangji looks from his brother’s kind, encouraging smile to his uncle’s awkwardly sullen expression, then down at the beautifully carved box sitting in front of him. A dawning understanding sends prickles of nervousness all over his skin as he reaches out and takes it gingerly in his hands. His fingers feel almost numb as he opens the lid.

It’s his headband. The blue-white ribbon is pristine and carefully folded, resting on a bed of white satin. The silver cloud emblem shines bright with meticulous care.

“We understand that it’s not a match for your new sect’s style,” Xichen says with a hint of reassurance. “There is no expectation that you should wear it. But if you wanted to keep it, as a memento…” His brother’s voice trails off.

Lan Wangji touches the smooth silk. It does something strange and unexpected to him, to be offered this link to himself as he used to be. As if he can touch his past, that self, and be whole with it again. His hand wants to close around it and press the cool metal into his skin, feel the gentle pull of the ribbon as it falls against his shoulder, even though he hasn’t truly missed it in nearly two years.

Instead he simply runs his fingertips gently, reverently over the cloud-patterned symbol at its center. He thinks of the box where Wei Ying keeps the pieces of the Yin Tiger Seal, the memory of who he was, and what he sacrificed to become who he is now. There’s a little tremble in Lan Wangji as he closes the box and places it in his lap, his hands tight around the smooth, polished edges.

“I will cherish it,” he says, meeting his brother’s eyes, and then his uncle’s. “Thank you.”

Lan Qiren nods silently, brusquely. He takes another sip of his tea.

~      ~      ~

A weird thing about the Cloud Recesses is that it feels spookily quiet even when it’s crawling with people. Maybe everyone just absorbs some temporary Lan-ness from the misty mountain air, who the hell knows. In any case though, it takes Wei Wuxian until they actually get to the dining room to realize that basically everyone attending the conference must have arrived before them.

Since this is an informal lunch for weary travellers, it seems the Lans aren’t insisting on the usual protocols. People in robes reflecting all different sects are milling about in the dining room, selecting items from the food on display, grouping around low tables and chatting with their sect mates about the journey, the weather, the food. Wei Wuxian spots a couple of people in Jiang robes over in one corner, though there’s no sign of anyone he actually knows. Nie Mingjue, surrounded by some of his senior disciples, gives them a polite nod of greeting. There are a few Jin delegates sitting off by the side, looking down their noses at the porcelain on display, and for a moment he gets excited—but no, no sign of Shijie in the room yet. Hopefully soon.

Wen Qing finds them an empty table near the entryway, bathed in cloud-blue sunlight, and Wei Wuxian collects a selection of dishes from the serving table, spreading them out for everyone to try. Wei Wuxian is not particularly concerned with what anything will taste like, to be honest, his mind still on whatever is happening off in Lan Qiren’s quarters right now—but the juniors all seem excited to try something new. Mo Xuanyu even stops glaring for a bit.

“Ah Xian!”

Wei Wuxian looks up at the sound of that unmistakable voice—and there’s Shijie, dipping through the crowds from the direction of that table of Jins. Wei Wuxian gets to his feet just in time to catch her up in a hug.

“How are you?” Shijie asks, glancing from Wei Wuxian to Wen Qing and the juniors. “Did you all have a pleasant trip?”

“Most of us did,” Wen Qing says, glancing over at Mo Xuanyu and Huang Mei. “Some more so than others.”

Reflexively, Huang Mei lifts a hand to her cheek, poking at the invisible bruise as if to test whether it still hurts. The tiny wince she gives afterwards says yes.

Shijie gives Wei Wuxian a knowing look, probably remembering a few journeys where he and Jiang Cheng came back with scrapes and bruises. He tries to plead with her silently to not say this out loud.

“That’s good, I’m glad to hear it,” Shijie smiles. “Mind if I join you?”

Wei Wuxian invites her to the empty seat at the end of the table, between Wei Wuxian and Wen Qing. She selects a small bowl of soup from the shared collection of food on the table and pulls it toward her, and then says she wants to hear all about Wen Qing’s adventures, which—that’s right, they haven’t seen each other yet since Wen Qing came back, have they.

Wen Qing seems genuinely happy to entertain Shijie with tales from her trip. It's noticeable that she's really gotten a little chattier in general, even when she's not drunk and trying to dress goats in blankets, and it's nice to see her still feeding off her roaming travels without any indication that she's sad about having finished them.

Wei Wuxian is grateful not to have to keep up his end of the conversation, for sure. Half his mind is still elsewhere, and he can’t quite stop himself from darting looks over at the doorway every time a new shadow appears.

Wen Song and Mo Xuanyu seem weirdly into the Lan food style, for some reason. The two of them have their heads together, whispering in awe over the bland tofu and the even-blander vegetables. Wei Wuxian is starting to wonder if there’s some Lan Zhan hero worship influence happening there, because Huang Mei seems just as appropriately bewildered by their commentary as Wei Wuxian is. But whatever, at least they’ll have fun these next few days.

At one point, Shijie interrupts the whispering to ask Mo Xuanyu kindly how he’s doing in Yunmeng—and to Wei Wuxian’s surprise, he gets flustered and distracted, stammering out an unusually polite response. For an exasperated moment, Wei Wuxian wonders if Mo Xuanyu has developed another inappropriate crush. But then Mo Xuanyu sketches a small bow to Shijie, thanking her in a mumble for making the introduction, his eyes darting around as if he really wishes no one else were here right now, and Wei Wuxian realizes that he’s actually just… grateful to her. For bringing him to them.

It throws Wei Wuxian for a loop. He did know at least some of the kid’s sullenness is an act, but this is—well. They must be doing something right in their valley, apparently, if Mo Xuanyu is feeling like this about radishville.

Because she’s clever like that, Shijie acknowledges Mo Xuanyu’s thanks with a smile and promptly lets him off the hook, turning back to Wen Qing.

Wei Wuxian has eaten about all he can manage of the boring tofu by now, and he’s drinking the tea so fast he’s going to need an outhouse visit soon, but he still doesn’t want to get up from the table. Not quite yet. It’s been over an hour by now, and Wei Wuxian isn’t sure whether that should be taken as a good thing or a bad thing. Like, does it mean that Lan Zhan and Zewu-jun and Lan Qiren are all having a nice, pleasant conversation? Does it mean they’re arguing over things they’ll never be able to agree on? Does it mean Lan Qiren has thrown a teapot at Lan Zhan’s head, and Lan Zhan is passed out on the floor somewhere?

Another shadow appears in the doorway, and Wei Wuxian glances up reflexively. His heart leaps into his throat as Lan Zhan comes into view, and without even thinking Wei Wuxian is jumping to his feet, nearly upending the table when his knee catches it on the way up.

“Lan Zhan!” he calls out—probably louder than he should here in mouse town, especially since Lan Zhan isn’t even that far away. But, whatever.

Lan Zhan seems bemused by his volume, but he doesn’t scold him as he comes over to stand beside him. He greets Shijie and Wen Qing and the juniors politely before turning his attention back to Wei Wuxian. He looks all right, really, no obvious teapot lumps on his head, and he gives Wei Wuxian a small smile. Nothing about him suggests that there was any kind of major disaster or anything.

Which is… good. A big relief, actually.

“How was it?” Wei Wuxian asks his voice lowered as he meets Lan Zhan’s eyes. The juniors are shifting around at their feet, trying to make space for Lan Zhan to join them.

“The tea was of exceptional quality,” Lan Zhan says, and for a moment Wei Wuxian doesn’t know what to do with that, until a tiny smile pulls at Lan Zhan’s mouth. He looks a little raw around the edges, but if he has the wherewithal to tease Wei Wuxian, it really can’t have been bad. “As for the conversation… I would say it was enlightening.”

Wei Wuxian raises both eyebrows at him. Enlightening? What on earth does that mean? Like, it doesn’t sound bad, but…

Lan Zhan gives him a small shake of the head. Not here. Later.

But as Lan Zhan takes his seat at the table and silently commandeers Wei Wuxian’s abandoned leftovers, Wei Wuxian gets the feeling there’s something… easier about him than before. He seems unwound in a way that Wei Wuxian hasn’t seen him since the day the invitation arrived.

Wei Wuxian resumes his seat as well and watches Lan Zhan eat, listening to him patiently answer all of Mo Xuanyu and Wen Song’s questions about how the food is made and why it tastes like that. It’s funnier somehow, watching Lan Zhan eat Lan food in his Yunmeng Wei robes, talking between bites as if there’s nothing strange about speaking in the Cloud Recesses dining room.

Whatever happened at that tea, it must have been good. Wei Wuxian is sure of it.

Soon after Lan Zhan arrives, Shijie steals Wen Qing away, supposedly to “catch up more”. Wei Wuxian has a strong suspicions that they will somehow manage to run into Jiang Cheng, who must be around somewhere—but whatever, if Wen Qing still wants to treat that like an open secret, he’s not one to judge. Truth is, Wei Wuxian desperately wants to drag Lan Zhan off to a quiet spot too so he can find out what actually happened at that tea. But there is no way he is leaving the juniors unattended, so that’s out of the cards for now.

After lunch, they all wander outside, a bit at loose ends. Wen Song and Mo Xuanyu keep exchanging glances, like there’s something they want to say, but they each want the other one to say it. Just as Wei Wuxian is on the verge of telling them to spit it out already, Lan Zhan interrupts.

“It has been some time since I have visited,” he says, to all of them ostensibly, but mostly to Wen Song and Mo Xuanyu. “But I believe I remember my way around. Would you be interested in a tour of the facilities?”

Wen Song goes wide-eyed with excitement. Mo Xuanyu’s expression even goes briefly slack-jawed as if he can’t believe his luck, though he covers it quickly with a frown and a careless, “Yeah, sure.” Huang Mei looks pretty excited, too.

Lan Zhan leads the way then, Wei Wuxian hanging back a bit and taking up the rear so they can hear all his quiet explanations of where they’re going, what they’re looking at. As worried as Wei Wuxian was about the juniors plunging the place into chaos, he can see now, watching them follow Lan Zhan around like curious ducklings, that they genuinely want to leave a good impression, both on Lan Zhan and on this place. They don’t want to embarrass Lan Zhan any more than Wei Wuxian does.

Mo Xuanyu’s questions about gardens and things remind Wei Wuxian that he did actually spend time in Unicorn Tower for a while. It’s easy to forget—his scruffy, disagreeable nature and troublemaking tendencies don’t exactly scream Jin Sect. But even so, he seems awed by the subtle beauty of the Cloud Recesses, more than Wei Wuxian would have expected.

Wen Song doesn’t even feel a need to disguise how beautiful she finds it all. After living under the boot of the Qishan Wen Sect, and then spending a year and change in the Burial Mounds, Wei Wuxian knows she hasn’t had much time or space in her life to revel in the beautiful, impractical trappings of a sect like the Gusu Lan. He’s glad she’s having a good time. He just hopes she won’t be disappointed to have to go back to the splendor of log cabins and farming equipment when they leave here.

Huang Mei is predictably most fascinated by the library—and, okay, the longing in her face when Lan Zhan mentions in passing that there is a forbidden section sets off Wei Wuxian’s alarm bells. But she doesn’t even ask to be let into it. Maybe this place really does have some kind of magical restraining effect on people.

Or, well. Some people.

It’s strange to watch Lan Zhan show them the place where he grew up, the place that shaped him. The corridors they travelled when they were at school here, the rabbit grove and the waterfall. The guest quarters where Wei Wuxian stayed with Shijie and Jiang Cheng, the courtyard where Wei Wuxian was punished for giving Jin Zixuan a well-deserved punch in the face. Lan Zhan doesn’t tell them that part, obviously—he too seems intent on not giving them any ideas—but he seems to be enjoying introducing the juniors to his childhood home in sparse, warm words. He sounds happy. Like an old ache is growing less with each step he takes.

When Wei Wuxian first met him here, he would barely deign to say five consecutive words. And none of them were warm.

But Wei Wuxian understands that better now, too. In the radish field, he felt the deep well of loneliness that marked so much of Lan Zhan’s childhood, and his youth. Maybe if Wei Wuxian had understood better back then, if he’d seen Lan Zhan’s hostility for what it really was, they wouldn’t have been so at odds. And maybe Wei Wuxian wouldn’t have spent so much time and energy being an asshole, teasing and prodding Lan Zhan so mercilessly.

But then again, Lan Zhan ended up falling in love with him anyway. That happened here too. Wei Wuxian did something right that summer, even if he didn’t know it.

~      ~      ~

At the evening’s opening banquet, Wei Wuxian is somehow both not surprised and in utter agony at the fact that, apparently, the Lans genuinely do enforce the “no talking during meals” rule. At a banquet. With tons of people and eight courses. At a banquet. For a discussion conference.

There was a reason why he and Jiang Cheng mostly ate back at their quarters during the summer they spent here for the lectures.

He knows it's the done thing here, and he thought he was prepared for it—but somehow after all the hubbub about the tea with Lan Qiren, which Wei Wuxian still hasn’t had a full accounting of, he isn't. The eerie quiet while everyone is being served unbelievably boring food, nothing but the sound of dishes and a few tentative and polite murmurs of coordination in the air, is driving him insane.

Lan Zhan seems to be picking up on Wei Wuxian’s twitchiness and keeps sending him these cutely supportive looks. He doesn’t seem to be suffering at all here—in fact, Wei Wuxian wonders if he’s actually enjoying having the chance to eat his flavor-free tofu in peace for a change. Wen Qing is also handling the silence well, though in fairness she’s almost as good as Lan Zhan is at being quiet and focusing inward.

The juniors are clearly working hard to be on their best behavior, but they also seem bewildered by the strictness of the silence. Mo Xuanyu keeps looking around like he expects an attacker to jump out from behind one of the pillars, and Wen Song winces at the soft clicking sound she makes every time she sets down her chopsticks.

Near the end of the meal, when it would normally be time for a round of the good stuff and a barrage of toasts, Wei Wuxian finally catches Wen Qing staring wistfully down at her entirely non-alcoholic tea, which he finds kind of gratifying.

Though honestly, he’s not even sure he’s in the mood for a drink right now. This isn’t the kind of nervousness where he feels like he needs to take the edge off. He just wants all of this to go well for Lan Zhan.

It’s weird, because it’s not like being awkward at banquets is a completely new experience for him, but all the awkward banquets he’s attended recently were about the politics, the murder plots, the threats around every corner. This isn’t like that at all, and the nervousness isn’t like that either. This… this is family stuff.

He casts a glance over at Jiang Cheng, who’s sitting a few tables further down the hall. This kind of silence during meals isn’t really his style either, but he’s also been a sect leader for longer than Wei Wuxian has, so presumably he’s been to a few meals like this at the Cloud Recesses by now. He seems surprisingly chill, drinking his tea and eating the last of his flavorless dessert. His eyes flick over in Wei Wuxian’s direction, but they don’t quite see him—it takes a moment for Wei Wuxian to realize he’s looking at Wen Qing.

When Jiang Cheng notices that he’s being watched, there’s a moment where he seems to shift awkwardly, but then he just holds Wei Wuxian’s eyes, eyebrow arching as if to say, So?

Wei Wuxian is just trying to figure out how to convey that he thinks Jiang Cheng is a big sap with only his eyebrows when he feels a hand settle over his, and it makes him jump. He turns his head to find Lan Zhan giving him a reassuring look, his fingers steadying Wei Wuxian’s. He realizes he’s been fiddling with his chopsticks—he hopes he wasn’t making too much noise. The worry must show on his face, because Lan Zhan shakes his head silently. Everything is all right, his face says.

Wei Wuxian breathes quietly, holding on to Lan Zhan’s hand for a moment.

Then, without a word, Lan Zhan removes Wei Wuxian’s untouched dessert from his table and replaces it with his own empty bowl. Wei Wuxian shoots him a sideways grin. You just wanted an extra dessert, he accuses him with his eyes, nodding towards the bowl.

Lan Zhan pretends to be entirely innocent, and returns his attention to his food.

Wei Wuxian is still grinning to himself when he glances out across the room again. A cold shiver runs down his spine as he catches Lan Qiren staring at them from his place at the front of the hall. His stomach goes tight with apprehension, his mind running through the last few moments to try to think if he’s done anything that might embarrass Lan Zhan, though he knows that’s ridiculous. He’s just been sitting here, eating his food. Or, most of his food.

Lan Qiren’s expression is a little stony, hard to read at this distance, but he doesn’t actually look like he wants to banish Wei Wuxian from the premises anymore. He doesn’t seem ashamed of being caught staring either, and Wei Wuxian has no idea what that means. Before Wei Wuxian has come to a decision on whether raising his cup in salute would come across as respectful or mocking, Lan Qiren glances down and away, turning back to his meal.

Right. That… probably wasn’t all bad? Lan Qiren definitely knows how to be clear when he wants to tell you he hates your guts with or without words, and that wasn’t that, so. Maybe he doesn’t? Hate all of Wei Wuxian’s guts?

It’s still spookily quiet by the time the young Lan disciples who have been serving them each course come around and clear the last of their plates.

“Did you enjoy the soup, Wei Ying?” Lan Zhan asks, quietly but not whispering.

Wei Wuxian whips around and stares at him, but Lan Zhan doesn’t seem to feel he’s doing anything particularly taboo.

“Eating has concluded,” Lan Zhan explains patiently, with a secret smile. “I know you generally prefer stronger flavors, but I thought perhaps you would find the soup to your liking nonetheless.”

“Uh—yeah,” Wei Wuxian says, catching up with himself. The soup was as bland as everything else, but this doesn’t really feel like the time to go into detail on his true feelings about the food. “It was really good. Very… refined.”

Lan Zhan looks neither fooled, nor surprised—but he seems pleased anyway.

It gets easier once the mingling starts. Apparently this is when the ‘discussion’ part of the discussion conference actually comes in, and at this point it’s largely gossip. The juniors stick close to them conscientiously for the first little while, but soon Lan Zhan notices Huang Mei waving to another young woman across the room—someone from her old sect, if Wei Wuxian is remembering the colors right. Lan Zhan gives her, Wen Song, and Mo Xuanyu permission to drift away, as long as they stick together and are careful not to make trouble for anyone. Somehow they’re all far less suspicious and more eager to please when Lan Zhan tells them to do something like this than when Wei Wuxian does. But whatever, tonight of all nights, he’ll take it without complaint.

Wei Wuxian still sends a silent prayer to the heavens that Huang Mei will not get them all involved in a discussion of demonic cultivation methods, but it’s good they’re making friends. That’s what this kind of outing is for, among other things.

Wen Qing disappeared at some point, and with a glance around Wei Wuxian finds her standing next to Jiang Cheng. Jiang Cheng’s people are still nearby, but somehow the two of them seem to only see each other, their heads tilted close in quiet conversation. She’s so smiley. Even Jiang Cheng looks smiley. It’s weird, honestly. Totally shameless, the both of them.

Shijie comes over to join Wei Wuxian and Lan Zhan then, with another woman in tow, who she introduces as Li Meilin. Li Meilin seems hesitant at first—she keeps darting these scary-Yiling-Patriarch looks over at Wei Wuxian from time to time—but she asks politely about their journey, and about how they’re enjoying the conference so far as a new sect.

Two men in green and yellow robes join them, one of them at least as tall as Nie Mingjue, and the other vaguely familiar, though Wei Wuxian can’t place him. When the shorter guy takes advantage of a pause in the conversation ask Lan Zhan how the radishes are faring in Yunmeng, Wei Wuxian realizes this is the guy that Lan Zhan had some extended exchange about farming with back in Unicorn Tower, ages ago.

“Ah, yes,” the tall man says with curiosity. “I was interested to hear of your move. It’s rather unusual to have two such prominent sects based in the same territory, isn’t it?” He gestures toward Jiang Cheng, though Jiang Cheng is still busy making flirty faces at Wen Qing so of course he doesn’t notice.

“I wouldn’t say we’re all that prominent,” Wei Wuxian says. “But we have a good relationship with the Jiangs, so it’s not like we’re arguing over land or anything like that. Besides, ‘unusual’ is kind of our style.”

The man laughs. It doesn’t sound mean.

“Have you abanonded your claim in Yiling then?” Li Meilin asks, clearly emboldened by this evidence that he’s not standing around here waiting for an excuse to curse anybody for the slightest offence.

They’re curious. He can see it on all of their faces, the way they’re listening intently for his answers. Wei Wuxian should have realized they would be. The Yiling Wei Sect was the best source of gossip around for so long back when things were bad, and even now that things have settled down, they’re still this crazy little sect that has rented out Jiang Cheng’s backyard and is attracting the weirdos and misfits of the cultivation world… so, yeah. Of course they all want the latest updates.

“I never had a claim to Yiling, as such,” Wei Wuxian says. “We just kind of ended up there for a while. They’re pretty short on cultivators in general though, so we still consider it under our protection.”

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Zewu-jun leaning in to speak to someone across the room, and after the crowd shifts a bit, he sees that it’s Lan Qiren. Lan Qiren gives Zewu-jun one of those stony looks, but Zewu-jun is imploring. Wei Wuxian isn’t sure what’s going on, but he feels on edge again all of a sudden.

“Sect Leader Wei?”

Wei Wuxian blinks, turning back to the tall man. “Sorry, what? I got… what did you say?”

The tall man waves off his apology genially. “I was just asking if the town of Yiling has a lot of trouble with vengeful spirits, given how close they are to the Burial Mounds.”

“Oh,” Wei Wuxian says, steeling a glance over towards where Zewu-jun and Lan Qiren were standing. He doesn’t see them there now, which is weird. “No, not that much, really. Just the normal amount. The ghosts of the Burial Mounds are pretty comfortable where they are. They don’t venture out much.”

Oh—there’s Zewu-jun. He’s… oh crap. He’s heading in their direction, walking towards them with an unmistakable purpose.

And behind him, Lan Qiren.

Right, okay, that… That will be fine. Totally fine.

Wei Wuxian can handle this, no problem.

“…regularly then, or do they just call on you when something happens?” the tall guy is asking, and Wei Wuxian really hopes someone has been paying attention to this conversation, because Wei Wuxian’s brain is currently on fire.

“We go on patrols,” Lan Zhan says, studiously calm.

Wei Wuxian glances over at him to see if he’s noticed Zewu-jun and Lan Qiren, who have sidled their way into the group by now, but it seems like he has. How is he… how?

Lan Zhan is still speaking politely to the tall man in green, as though nothing is out of the ordinary. “It seemed appropriate that we not abandon the area, after all they have done for us. But given Sect Leader Jiang’s generous offer of unspoiled land, it was clear that leaving Yiling would be the best thing for our people in the long run.”

Wei Wuxian can’t help stealing a glance over at the two senior Lans at that. But Lan Qiren merely continues to be unreadable, and Zewu-jun nods wisely, as if he can totally imagine himself making the difficult choice between living in a fruitful valley or in a graveyard.

It still spooks Wei Wuxian when Zewu-jun actually chimes in with, “A sensible choice indeed.” He smiles at Lan Zhan, then turns to Wei Wuxian. “Does your new settlement have a name yet, Sect Leader Wei? I apologize if I have simply missed it.”

Wei Wuxian’s brain jumps into overdrive. Does he have to come up with something right now, on the spot? How did Lotus Pier get named? Was the guy who founded the Cloud Recesses really into fog? Where the hell did the Unicorn thing even come from? For a moment his mind is completely blank except for Demon Subduing Farm and oh, gods, no.

But then he gets a hold of himself. He’s not under interrogation here, and this isn’t like the consort thing where the answer was obvious and he was dragging his feet like an idiot. This is just… one of those details they haven’t figured out yet. They’ll get to it eventually.

“No, you haven’t missed anything, Zewu-jun,” he says, with a rueful shake of his head. “We’ve been so busy getting the crops going and setting up the houses and everything, we just haven’t had time to discuss it. We want to make sure we pick something everyone is happy with.”

“Such a decision shouldn’t be rushed,” Lan Qiren says.

It feels like a quiet little bomb. Wei Wuxian doesn’t know if he’s imagining the surprise rippling through the group, or if he’s just been particularly attuned to Lan Qiren, but his mind is spinning.

Now Lan Qiren meets Wei Wuxian’s eyes steadily, like he’s mustering the strength to do so from somewhere deep down. For a moment Wei Wuxian thinks it’s just because he can’t stand the sight of him, even now, but then it dawns on him that Lan Qiren almost looks… he almost looks nervous.

“I agree,” Wei Wuxian says when it finally catches up with him that it’d probably be polite to answer. “Especially when you suck as much as I do at naming things.”

Lan Qiren stares at him with a wooden expression.

Oh crap. He’s ruining it. “I mean, uh. Like you said. You don’t want to rush that. Something that important.”

Lan Qiren nods stiffly. Wei Wuxian is aware that everyone in the group including Lan Zhan and Zewu-jun are observing this exchange with maximum attention. “A place has its own history,” Lan Qiren says. “It is best if the name fits both the place and its people.”

“Yeah,” Wei Wuxian says, relieved that he can actually agree with that wholeheartedly. “Yeah, exactly. And we like to discuss these things, as part of our sect… um. Guidelines.”

“That is wise,” Lan Qiren agrees. They stare at each other for a brief but endless moment, Wei Wuxian’s mind whirring in search of other polite and hopefully not deranged ways he could continue this exchange of wisdom, when Zewu-jun steps in and asks a question about the valley itself—what sort of crops they’ve been growing, apparently, and then something else benign about how they cope with the rainy season. Lan Zhan takes the lead on answering, which Wei Wuxian is eternally grateful for, because his pulse is still settling down from the effort of not accidentally offending the most offendable man in the universe. He thinks he can actually see the relief in Lan Qiren’s habitually proper posture, too.

It’s weird though. As both of them lapse into silence and watch the others carry on the conversation around them, there’s something almost congenial about it. For a rare, strange moment, it’s like they’re on the same team.

~      ~      ~

The night is quiet as they follow a junior Lan disciple to their accommodations. The young man is holding a flickering lantern out in front of him, though the winding path is also well lit to ensure none of the guests take a wrong turn and stumble into a ditch somewhere in the dark. There’s an evening mist in the air, clinging to the branches of the trees that line one side of the path. The deep blue shadows around them make everything feel a little bit magical.

Much as Wei Wuxian chafed against the rules, he did always find it very beautiful here.

Wen Qing and the juniors have been put up in the guest wing of the Cloud Recesses, though Wei Wuxian has his doubts that Wen Qing will actually be spending much time in her own room. Wei Wuxian had kind of assumed he and Lan Zhan would be put up there too, but after they drop off the others, the junior disciple leads them straight past the edge of the guest wing and on into the maze of paths leading to the private residences of the Cloud Recesses. The ones meant for members of the inner clan.

Wei Wuxian isn’t completely sure he knows where they’re going, but from the quiet stillness that has settled around Lan Zhan’s shoulders, he gets the feeling Lan Zhan does.

Truth is, basically none of this has turned out like Wei Wuxian expected. He came here ready for a fight if necessary, to make sure Lan Zhan’s family treated him with respect—and instead he’s found himself mostly just fighting the urge to talk during meals, trying to keep the juniors in check, and somehow managing to make nice with Lan Qiren. By the end of the banquet he was thoroughly exhausted, even though the party broke up long before his usual bedtime. But somehow the crisp chill in the air around them and the elegant shadows of Lan houses looming out at them from the dark is making him feel awake again, the awareness of everything that’s happened for Lan Zhan today prickling beneath his skin.

Finally, the Lan disciple leads them down a short turn from the main path, and there in front of them is a small but fine house. Wei Wuxian takes in a short breath at the sight of it, his mind flickering in recognition, even though he can’t figure out when he would have seen this place before. But then it hits him.

There was snow, and he was kneeling in it. In Lan Zhan’s memories, he was… This was Lan Zhan’s mother’s house.

This was Lan Zhan’s house.

Wei Wuxian swallows, reaching out blindly to grab at Lan Zhan’s hand. He can feel a slight tremble in him, but Lan Zhan doesn’t seem surprised. Which, of course he wouldn’t be. He lived most of his life here, after all. Of course he would have recognized the way.

Lan Zhan squeezes Wei Wuxian’s hand reassuringly, but even in the dim lamplight Wei Wuxian can see the vulnerability in him as he looks up at the house. His home.

There’s light from behind the screen windows. The small garden and pond just within the fence surrounding the house seem well cared for. Even the porch floorboards look like they’ve been freshly polished, shining in the lamplight as the Lan disciple steps up to invite them towards the door.

Lan Zhan takes the first step forward, his hand still closed around Wei Wuxian’s as he leads them both through the front gate, up the short path of white gravel and onto the porch

The young Lan disciple bows his head, stepping aside to allow them room to reach the door. “Your belongings have been brought here already, and the braziers have been lit,” he says. “Is there anything else you need, Sect Leader Wei? Hanguang-jun?” He seems to regard them with a sort of awe, like he’s talking to characters from a fairytale who he’s only just discovered are real.

A lot of the Lan disciples have seemed kind of thrown by the fact that Lan Zhan is here. No one has been rude about it or anything—Wei Wuxian just gets the feeling that for some reason no one actually clued them in ahead of time that Lan Zhan had been invited. Maybe Lan Qiren wanted to save his pride, in case Lan Zhan threw a fit and refused to come, or something like that.

“Thank you, we appreciate your help,” Lan Zhan says. “We will be fine from here.”

The junior disciple bows again, and then takes his leave.

Lan Zhan only lets go of Wei Wuxian’s hand in order to reach for the doors, sliding them open slowly, respectfully. Wei Wuxian hangs back, watching Lan Zhan’s lips part in quiet reverence as he steps inside, glances around at the dark wood of the room, the fine finishings befitting the Second Jade of Lan. After a moment, Lan Zhan stops in the middle of the room, turning back to Wei Wuxian and meeting his eyes with a quiet joy, silently beckoning him inside.

The warmth from the brazier sneaks under Wei Wuxian’s clothes to warm his skin the moment he steps across the threshold. He closes the doors behind him, and then turns to take in the understated elegance of the furniture in the sitting room—the carefully polished tea set, the tools and decorations sitting neatly on the shelves, everywhere he looks. It doesn’t really look like a guest’s quarters, to be honest. The room has personality, a lived-in feeling that makes it seem like whoever spends their time here has only just stepped out.

When Wei Wuxian looks over at Lan Zhan with a silent question, Lan Zhan nods, still looking somewhat dazed. “This is how I would have left it when I went to Unicorn Tower,” he murmurs, like he still doesn’t quite believe it himself.

This isn’t a room that hasn’t been touched in two and a half years. But it isn’t a room that’s been given away to someone else either.

“It’s beautiful,” Wei Wuxian says into the quiet.

Lan Zhan nods almost hesitantly. “It is.”

Wei Wuxian wants to ask Lan Zhan more nosy questions about how he’s feeling, about how the tea went, about everything. But he can see in the way Lan Zhan’s eyes are still sweeping over his old belongings, all this evidence of the life he left behind, that he still kind of needs a minute to himself. So he steps up close and takes Lan Zhan by the hand again, lifting it up to press a soft kiss to his knuckles. “I’ll unpack,” he says, giving Lan Zhan permission to just stay here for a bit. Think his thoughts.

They didn’t actually bring that much stuff, and Wei Wuxian doesn’t want to mess this place up with all his usual chaos anyway. He pulls out their spare underrobes and hangs them out to smooth out the wrinkles. Then he sets about tidying a few things away into the short cabinet beside the bed. After a little while, he hears Lan Zhan moving around too, doing something with the brazier out in the main room, and then rearranging things on the table to clear space.

When Wei Wuxian steps back out into the main room, he finds Lan Zhan standing there with his spiritual pouch in his hand, plucking out one, two, three bottles of Emperor’s Smile and lining them up neatly on the table, beside the tea set.

Wei Wuxian stares at the flawless white porcelain bottles, blinking from them back up to Lan Zhan, who has a small smile on his face. “Isn’t that forbidden?” he asks.

“Perhaps,” Lan Zhan says. “In which case it will probably be best if the elders do not see us.”

Wei Wuxian’s heart is almost beating out of his chest with fondness. He doesn’t even want want a drink that badly right now—though honestly, seeing the best booze he’s ever tasted in his life all lined up neatly like this in Lan Zhan’s childhood home is poking his temptation in a very tempted spot—but the fact that Lan Zhan would flout the rules like this at such an important occasion just to bring Wei Wuxian one of the little pleasures he has missed makes him love Lan Zhan even more than he already did.

When he walks over to Lan Zhan, Lan Zhan takes his hand. Wei Wuxian really wants to kiss him, take all these emotions fluttering around them and pour them into something tangible. But before he’s made up his mind, Lan Zhan leads him over to the table and escorts him to a seat.

As Lan Zhan takes his own seat opposite and sets out a cup for each of them, Wei Wuxian takes it upon himself to fill Lan Zhan’s with steaming, sweet-smelling tea. He watches Lan Zhan carefully uncork the first bottle of Emperor’s Smile and pour a small measure into Wei Wuxian’s cup. Then they both lift their cups to each other, meeting eyes above the rim. The smile on Lan Zhan’s face could light Wei Wuxian’s way alone in the dark for a year .

The wine is even smoother than he remembered, its warmth like a brazier right inside him, humming through his veins. He can’t quite hold back an appreciative moan, and when he blinks open his eyes he finds Lan Zhan watching him with a pleased expression on his face, as if this is exactly what he was hoping for.

Lan Zhan takes a sip of his tea, his eyes roaming around the room still from time to time, as though he’s sure it will fade and disappear around him at some point in time.

“I’m really glad we got to come here,” Wei Wuxian says, watching Lan Zhan set his teacup down on the smooth wooden table again. He doesn’t even want to make a joke about the food or the early bedtime or the no-talking or anything. He said it before, didn’t he? He’d be happy anywhere, as long as it’s with Lan Zhan.

“I’m glad too,” Lan Zhan says. There’s a little tremble in his voice. “I didn’t think…”

Wei Wuxian reaches over and takes hold of Lan Zhan’s hand on the table between them, holding it until he finds his words.

“I didn’t mean to miss it,” Lan Zhan says, closing his eyes on an exhale. “I have…” His eyes roam over the elegant furnishings again, but unfocused, looking beyond them. "I have so much more than I ever thought possible. I am very happy.” He sounds almost lost somehow, and as Wei Wuxian watches him he starts to understand better why Lan Zhan has been so contained about all this these last few weeks. He didn’t want to get his hopes up. He was self-conscious about even having hopes in the first place.

“That’s not a bad thing,” Wei Wuxian says. “It’s okay to… to want both. I mean, I really, really love you and I'm super happy where we are, but I'm also glad that things have gotten to a place where I can hang out with Jiang Cheng and Shijie too, you know? It’s not bad to miss your family if they stop talking to you. It’s not ungrateful to want that back.”

He sees Lan Zhan swallow, and his face is soft when he looks up at Wei Wuxian again.

“I think my uncle is really trying,” he says, sounding almost hesitant to put the thought out there for Wei Wuxian’s assessment. “He has said things that were wrong, and I believe he regrets some of his actions, but he has his pride. It is not easy for him to contradict himself.”

“I think he’s trying, too,” Wei Wuxian says. “I mean, he was almost nice to me at dinner. And he didn’t even say anything when Huang Mei slipped and knocked into one of his disciples.”

Lan Zhan nods silently, looking heartened by this reminder.

Wei Wuxian keeps himself in check for a moment longer, hoping maybe Lan Zhan will remember on his own and volunteer the information, but… now Lan Zhan seems to be drifting off into his thoughts again. “So how was it at the tea?” he bursts out, probably a little too anxiously. He winces in apology. “I mean. You haven’t really had a chance to tell me yet.”

Lan Zhan gives him a knowing look, like he can hear in Wei Wuxian’s voice how long he’s been dying to ask that question. But then he lowers his eyes to the table. After a moment, he reaches into the folds of his robes and pulls out his spiritual pouch again. Wei Wuxian frowns at it, wondering what this has to do with the tea this afternoon, but not wanting to push Lan Zhan any harder than he already has. Lan Zhan reaches inside and pulls out a small wooden box etched with familiar cloud symbols. He places it on the table in front of Wei Wuxian.

Wei Wuxian looks up at him in confusion—is he supposed to open it, or is the box itself the point? But Lan Zhan gestures that he should go ahead and open it, so Wei Wuxian sets aside his wine cup and pulls the box towards him, carefully prying open the lid. When he sees what’s inside, his breath catches in his throat.

It’s—wow. He did not see that coming.

“Holy shit,” he says, staring down at the familiar headband, carefully folded and resting in the box.

“They wanted me to have it back.” Lan Zhan almost whispers it, like some part of him still can’t quite believe it.

Despite himself, Wei Wuxian’s eyes snap up to Lan Zhan’s forehead. Once, it almost felt naked to him, unadorned like this. By now this is just how Lan Zhan looks to him, his forehead clear and his hair framing his face. But if he thinks about it, he can still see the old Lan Zhan in his mind, easily. The one who wore this headband.

“Would you… Do you want to wear it again?” Wei Wuxian asks, turning the box toward him so he can see it properly, like an offering.

Lan Zhan looks startled by the question, and regards him almost apprehensively.

“I wouldn't mind,” Wei Wuxian says quickly. “Like, don't worry about color schemes or anything, if that’s what’s stopping you. We are the ‘whatever’ sect. You can wear it. If you’d like to.”

Lan Zhan looks down at the white silk. He reaches out a hand to brush his thumb over one of the ribbons, almost a caress. But there's no sadness in him when he slowly shakes his head. "No,” he says, as though trying out the word, waiting to see how it makes him feel. Then he takes a deeper breath and slowly closes the box, holding it between his hands. “I don’t think it would suit me anymore. But it still feels like…”

“A part of you,” Wei Wuxian says.

Lan Zhan nods.

“Like this place, too.” They may have changed and grown, but the memories are living around them, bonds that shaped them throughout their lives. The roots that Lan Zhan grew from. Those don’t need to be abandoned.

Leaving the box on the table, Lan Zhan pushes himself up from the floor and holds out a hand. Wei Wuxian feels a little thrill at the look of contentment in Lan Zhan’s eyes as he accepts his hand, lets Lan Zhan pull him to his feet. Without another word, Lan Zhan leads him through into the bedroom and begins carefully removing his robes, getting ready for bed.

It’s another odd moment of wow when Wei Wuxian sits down on Lan Zhan’s bed in nothing but his sleep robe—Lan Zhan’s bed, in the Jingshi—and then slips his feet under the covers and lies down on his side, waiting for Lan Zhan to join him. There’s a soft satisfaction in Lan Zhan as he turns toward the bed and finds him there, a smile that sinks deep as he joins Wei Wuxian beneath the covers.

It feels as natural as anything to shift closer then, slipping up behind Lan Zhan and wrapping an arm around his waist to hold him tight. Hold him still. Lan Zhan shifts and settles, fiting himself into Wei Wuxian’s arms, and after a breath or two it’s like Wei Wuxian can feel the weight sliding from his shoulders, some lingering tension seeping out of him.

It’s quiet for a while. And late for Lans, but, well. Lan Zhan belongs to the Yunmeng Wei Sect now, and Wei Wuxian can tell he isn’t asleep. He’s breathing deeply, though, as if he’s still taking in the room, and he doesn’t twitch or stir in Wei Wuxian’s embrace.

“What are you thinking?” Wei Wuxian says quietly into the dim.

Lan Zhan doesn’t answer right away. But somehow Wei Wuxian can feel the ripples of emotions running through him, the past and the present.

“I was alone here for a very long time,” Lan Zhan says.

It stirs something deep in Wei Wuxian’s heart. Like he has a scar too, from the radish field of Lan Zhan’s memories. From standing in the current of Lan Zhan’s loneliness.

He winds his arms tighter around Lan Zhan, pulling him close. One of Lan Zhan’s hands find his and pulls it up over his heart, a tight safe knot at the center of Lan Zhan’s chest. “Not anymore,” Wei Wuxian says into Lan Zhan’s hair, not even a whisper.

“Not anymore,” Lan Zhan repeats, like the answer to a promise.

He holds on tight for a little longer. He doesn’t feel sleepy, and there’s an awareness in Lan Zhan that tells Wei Wuxian that he isn’t exactly on the verge of drifting off to sleep either. Lan Zhan’s body is warm, curved into Wei Wuxian’s, and the way his body shifts sometimes as he breathes in and out again is starting to make Wei Wuxian’s skin prickle with their closeness.

He doesn’t want to make assumptions. It’s been a long day, and Wei Wuxian totally wouldn’t blame Lan Zhan if he wasn’t feeling it like that right now, after everything they’ve been dealing with. But the warmth of his body and the feeling of being here, in Lan Zhan’s bed, with all the memories from before and after that are tied to this place just makes Wei Wuxian feel like he wants to have Lan Zhan as close as possible. As alive as possible. As his as possible.

The next shift pushes Lan Zhan back into the curve of Wei Wuxian’s hips in a way that feels a little less incidental, and it begins to stir something more than just Wei Wuxian’s heart. Lan Zhan’s fingers are brushing over Wei Wuxian’s wrist, and there’s a shiver in his next breath as he stretches back against Wei Wuxian again, subtly, sweetly. Wei Wuxian’s hips give an involuntary nudge, seeking the pressure. He’s getting hard.

“Lan Zhan,” he mumbles against the back of Lan Zhan’s neck. “What are you up to?”

Lan Zhan hums on a low, pleasant note. He shifts his leg back a bit so that his calf is lying on top of Wei Wuxian’s, a subtle invitation. Then he twists his body just enough to be able to catch Wei Wuxian’s eyes over his shoulder, his ass firmly pressed against Wei Wuxian’s growing erection. Lan Zhan’s eyes are dark and mischievous. “I’m being greedy.”

Wei Wuxian almost gasps, an aching twitch running through him. His dick is getting very eager. “Hangjuang-jun,” he breathes out, scandalized. “Is that even allowed around here?”

“Wei Ying has taught me that I am allowed many things that were once forbidden,” Lan Zhan says, and Wei Wuxian swoops down to kiss him, making a noise when Lan Zhan opens his mouth to let in his tongue.

Wei Wuxian kisses him deeply, and Lan Zhan reaches up to tangle his fingers in Wei Wuxian’s hair, holding him close. Despite the awkwardness of this position for kissing, Lan Zhan makes no move to turn around, only pressing more firmly back against him. Wei Wuxian is pretty hard by now, hard enough Lan Zhan must be able to feel him through their sleep robes, and when Wei Wuxian rolls his hips upwards to let him feel it a bit more, Lan Zhan makes an encouraging sound into the kiss.

The messier and more uncoordinated their kisses get, the more Wei Wuxian feels the heat beneath his skin, the shiver of being in this place. Being in this room, with all of Lan Zhan’s history here, and everything that’s happened since they last met in the Cloud Recesses tangling around them. With all the emotion today he honestly wasn’t expecting this evening to turn into anything horny, but somehow, now that they’re here, it feels strangely right. To be like this in Lan Zhan’s old bedroom, in his old home, healing the aches of both the past and the future in their own present.

“It’s after nine, Lan Zhan,” he mumbles against Lan Zhan’s lips. “Are we allowed to fuck after nine?”

“We are of the Yunmeng Wei Sect,” Lan Zhan is saying, breaking the kiss and arching his neck when Wei Wuxian grinds himself against Lan Zhan with more purpose. “Sect Leader Wei may fuck me at any time it suits him.”

Wei Wuxian gives a helpless groan. He scrambles one hand down along Lan Zhan’s flank, trying to find the edge of his robe. “You keep talking that way and I’ll have you right here like this,” he says, grabbing the fabric and dragging it up over Lan Zhan’s hip. The robe is only tied at the waist, so it’s easy enough to push the thin fabric out of the way and expose Lan Zhan’s lower half to his touch. It feels somehow even more rebellious than having him naked.

“Have me,” Lan Zhan says, shifting his hips helpfully as Wei Wuxian gets the tail of the robe out of the way. Once he’s untwisted, he puts his leg back on top of Wei Wuxian’s, spreading himself a little wider this time and letting Wei Wuxian’s hardening cock nestle in between his legs. “Right here. Like this.”

Wei Wuxian lets out a shivering breath and presses against him—but there’s still his own robe in the way, and he needs to feel Lan Zhan’s skin. He fumbles down between them and unties his belt, pulling at the edges of his robe until his cock is uncovered, and then he’s pressed right up against Lan Zhan, in between but still outside, where Lan Zhan is warm and waiting for him. He spreads his palm out low on Lan Zhan’s stomach and rocks into him, his body tight with yearning.

Lan Zhan’s fingers scrabble for purchase on the sheet as Wei Wuxian’s cock rubs against him intimately. He makes no move to change their position or hurry them along, just seems to enjoy the sensation of Wei Wuxian this near, so close, almost.

Wei Wuxian could do this forever. He could do this until he comes, riding this slowly winding ache until he spills himself in between Lan Zhan’s legs, over Lan Zhan’s cock. Lan Zhan is allowed to be messy now. Lan Zhan is allowed to want things, to take them. Lan Zhan’s breath is a stuttering pant that reaches straight down inside Wei Wuxian, and the grip he has on Lan Zhan’s hips is letting him feel each of Lan Zhan’s rolling movements, the way Lan Zhan is riding the base of him, winding himself higher against Wei Wuxian’s cock. Lan Zhan’s is hard and wanting, but Lan Zhan is completely ignoring it, and Wei Wuxian has the sudden impossible urge to take him into his mouth. Into his hand, at least. Maybe his hand, maybe he’ll jerk Lan Zhan off while Lan Zhan is grinding himself on Wei Wuxian’s cock, just like this. 

“There’s oil,” Lan Zhan gasps out, with no shame whatsoever, still rocking half-desperately against Wei Wuxian’s hips. “It was in the small pouch, with the robes.” The sound and the feel of him makes Wei Wuxian shake with want. Yes. He wants to be inside Lan Zhan.

Here. Like this.

Lan Zhan makes a muffled noise when Wei Wuxian interrupts his rhythm to sit up, shift closer to the head of the bed where the cabinet is. Thankfully he was smart enough to stick the pouch there with their combs and hair ties, and soon he has the little vial, his fingers clumsy as he tries to get it uncorked. When Wei Wuxian lies back down again, Lan Zhan wriggles his way back into the spot he’s chosen for himself, pressing his hips into the curve of Wei Wuxian’s body as quickly and breathlessly as possible.

Wei Wuxian works a slick hand down between them, coating his cock with the oil. On the way back out, he rubs his fingers up between Lan Zhan’s legs, just enough to make him a little bit ready, the way Lan Zhan likes when he gets like this. It’s barely even a tease, but Wei Wuxian knows how to make it work. He can go slow. Lan Zhan likes it when he does it like that, and right now he wants it like that too, to let Lan Zhan have all of him slow and patient, feel Lan Zhan opening up around him.

“I like it when you’re greedy, Lan Zhan,” Wei Wuxian breathes against the side of Lan Zhan’s throat, his voice cutting off as his cock first slips past the ring of muscle and into Lan Zhan’s body.

“Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan pants, reaching back and clutching at Wei Wuxian’s hair as if he’s caught between the closeness of their position and a need for more. He spreads his legs wider, tries to take more, faster, but Wei Wuxian keeps it slow and steady. His body is sweating with need and control. He loves this feeling, being able to do this for Lan Zhan. Do this right.

He can feel Lan Zhan’s erratic breathing against his chest, feel the way Lan Zhan’s body is adjusting to him, taking him in, and it sends shivers through Wei Wuxian to feel how well he knows Lan Zhan. Every inch of his skin, every slip and stretch, every gasped moan. He keeps pushing until he’s all the way inside, his groin pressed tight against Lan Zhan’s soft skin, and then he pulses his hips on a little extra thrust at the end.

Lan Zhan moans again, a muddled whisper of his name. Wei Wuxian’s lips catch on Lan Zhan’s skin, his own breath hot and rasping. “You feel so good,” he says. The heat of them together, of how much Lan Zhan trusts him, wants him, spreads out to the tips of his fingers. He lets his teeth graze against Lan Zhan’s ear as he breathes out, “Madam Wei.”

It ripples through Lan Zhan like a flash of heat, his hips pressing sharply into Wei Wuxian’s, his voice breaking on a moan. Wei Wuxian shudders, his hand slipping over Lan Zhan’s stomach and pulling him tight.

Lan Zhan’s cock brushes against the back of his hand as Lan Zhan pushes his hips into Wei Wuxian’s thrusts, and once they’ve got a rhythm going Wei Wuxian seeks it out, stroking his fingers over it teasingly. Lan Zhan gives a hard shudder at the too-light touch, his fingers twisting in the bedsheets as he mumbles an unintelligible plea. Wei Wuxian knows he could bring him off right here, just like this, but he wants to make it good for Lan Zhan, and he needs his hand on Lan Zhan’s hip to control his thrusts. “Show me,” Wei Wuxian says, his voice trembling a little as he presses a kiss to the back of Lan Zhan’s neck, thinking of the diary pages hidden safely back at home. “Show me what you did here back then, when you wanted me.”

Lan Zhan makes a plaintive noise, but follows Wei Wuxian’s instruction readily. He reaches down and wraps a hand around himself, jerking at the touch, and then he starts to stroke himself, up and down, from root to tip. Wei Wuxian has seen Lan Zhan like this so many times by now, but it hits deeper somehow to think of Lan Zhan here alone, wanting to be held and touched like this, with nothing but his own hand to stave off the want. Wei Wuxian takes hold of Lan Zhan’s hip again and starts thrusting steadily, smoothly, trying to remind Lan Zhan with every touch that he’s not alone anymore. He’ll never be alone again.

They’ve done it in wilder and filthier ways than this, pressed together so tight, too close for a hard fuck. But Wei Wuxian keeps rocking into Lan Zhan in a shallow rhythm as Lan Zhan touches himself, moaning at each of Wei Wuxian’s murmurs. How beautiful Lan Zhan is, how Wei Wuxian will do whatever Madam Wei needs, how much he wants Lan Zhan to come, all skin and heat and love.

He hears it in Lan Zhan’s breath when Lan Zhan has teased himself to the edge and is hovering there, his hips pushing back, needy, wanting. He’s waiting for Wei Wuxian now. Wei Wuxian buries his mouth in Lan Zhan’s neck, as close as he can get up above while he makes some room down below to thrust harder and faster. His fingers grip hard on Lan Zhan’s hip to hold him in place, both of them surrounded by the sounds of skin on skin, of taking and giving. Lan Zhan’s hand is moving faster now, Lan Zhan getting himself all the way there on Wei Wuxian’s sharp urgent fucking. Lan Zhan’s body coils tight on a moan, and then unravels, his cock spilling onto the bedsheets, his frame shivering through the waves of his orgasm. Wei Wuxian drives into him helplessly, recklessly, and moans into Lan Zhan’s shoulder as he comes.

He nuzzles Lan Zhan’s neck as his pulse slows down. His skin is slippery and his ears are ringing with the heat of it all, the feeling of rightness. He keeps himself there for as long as possible, as close as possible, his heart still racing, beating so hard it might envelope the both of them.

Finally, Wei Wuxian slips out from between Lan Zhan’s legs and lets Lan Zhan curl up a little more comfortably. Then Lan Zhan nestles back into him, the two of them just breathing together. Being together.

“I love you,” Lan Zhan whispers in the dark, and Wei Wuxian closes his eyes and buries his face in Lan Zhan’s hair. “I love you so much. I always have.”

“Lan Zhan,” Wei Wuxian says. His throat goes tight around the words, but the truth is in his arms and his mouth, and in the air all around them. “My Lan Zhan.”

~      ~      ~

On the whole, Wei Wuxian has to admit, this entire conference really could have gone worse. He has a sip from his extremely sophisticated tea, watching Huang Mei and Mo Xuanyu listen in dumbstruck silence as Zewu-jun explains the technique behind the sound-dampening spell painted into one of his wall hangings. Nie Huaisang seems more interested in the brush strokes than the spell work, but once he’s finished his artistic critique, Huang Mei plucks up the courage to ask a question about how the black ink is able to hold onto spiritual energy for long enough to not need to be replenished all the time. Zewu-jun smiles at her like he’s pleased she’s thought to ask such a question, and frankly Wei Wuxian isn’t sure she catches much of the answer after that.

Wei Wuxian glances over at Lan Zhan beside him. The smile on his face is a smaller, sweeter version of his brother’s, and it warms Wei Wuxian from within.

He seems comfortable, is the thing. It’s been a complicated few days, and frankly Wei Wuxian is glad tonight is the last night, because he’s not sure how much longer they’d all be able to keep up this good guest behavior, but it’s been… it’s been good, actually. He was so worried all the way here that Lan Zhan was being set up for humiliation and heartbreak, but none of that has happened. Lan Zhan has his family again. He has his home again. The truth is, it’s been going great.

Wei Wuxian tears his eyes away from Lan Zhan and casts a glance around the main room of the Hanshi, warm and lively with people. Over by Zewu-jun’s bookshelf, Nie Mingjue and Wen Qing seem to be having a relatively pleasant conversation about her adventures in the Unclaimed Territories. There’s still a bit of politics in the polite way they treat each other, but also a sense of making nice. Finding the new way forward after their alliance for a purpose has given way to the day-to-day.

Wei Wuxian has noticed that in himself too. The smaller sects at this conference have been trying to suss him out on what sort of sect he’s leading, and he’s been trying to figure out how to do the same with them. Not because he thinks there’s anything nefarious going on, or because they seem to think that of him, but just to see what sort of neighbors and allies they might be. Moving forward.

Wen Qing and Nie Mingjue seem to come to a lull in their conversation, and they nod at each other as Wen Qing circles back to Wei Wuxian and Lan Zhan.

“Hey, stranger,” Wei Wuxian grins at her when she joins them. “Haven’t seen you in days—which clan are you with again? That one with all the orange?”

“The one with the insufferable sect leader,” she answers flatly.

“So, purple then,” Wei Wuxian says, and winces when she reaches out and pinches him on the arm. “Ow,” he complains, shaking out his abused limb—though then he remembers himself, glancing around to make sure he’s not disturbing anyone’s good time.

“Maybe I should give you a proper examination, if your memory’s gotten this bad,” she replies with an arched eyebrow. His memory’s actually a lot better than it used to be due to all his diligent mediating, thanks, but he doesn’t particularly feel a need to correct her on that.

Anyway, she’s not half as sneaky as she thinks she is when she glances past him over to where Jiang Cheng is standing talking to Shijie and Jin Zixuan. Honestly, how can she think she’s still fooling anyone?

Or have they actually given up on that pretense?

Something has definitely changed since that episode with the goats, in any case. Wen Qing has been visiting Lotus Pier about three times a week ever since, and Wei Wuxian has barely seen her the whole time they’ve been here at the Cloud Recesses. Seems like every time he asks someone where she is, she’s off on a “walk” with Jiang Cheng, apparently deep in conversation. She doesn’t seem to be taking great pains to hide the fact that they’re essentially courting, though for some reason they still seem to be holding back on making things official, like there’s some final step they’re both too chicken to take.

At least they’ve both turned up to this though. Maybe it would seem too rude of them to turn down an invitation to after-dinner tea in Sect Leader Lan’s private chambers in favor of a mysterious “walk.” It’s actually a pretty large group, as it turns out—seems like almost everyone Wei Wuxian would want to hang out with at this conference is here. Nie Mingjue and Nie Huaisang, Jiang Cheng and Zewu-jun, Shijie and the peacock. They’ve even brought Jin Rulan, along with that cousin who helps them take care of him, though she’s tucked away in a corner with him resting on her shoulder by now, talking quietly to Wen Song. It’s probably past his bedtime.

There’s almost a family gathering feeling to it all, and Wei Wuxian can’t help wondering if Zewu-jun did that on purpose. As he looks around at the assembled guests, it’s pretty clear that the common denominator tying them all together is them—him and Lan Zhan.

In any case, whatever the reason, Wei Wuxian is hardly one to turn down a chance to have all his favorite people in the same room. Even if there isn’t any booze.

Shijie seems to have noticed Wen Qing’s attention drifting in their direction, and she gives her a welcoming wave. Wen Qing gives Wei Wuxian an “I guess I’ll go talk to someone nicer than you” sort of smirk, and she’s off again.

“Traitor,” Wei Wuxian mumbles, and Lan Zhan gives him a scolding look over the rim of his teacup. Wei Wuxian wishes he could lean in and kiss him on the cheek, but random public displays of affection probably wouldn’t meet the standards of good guest behavior.

Lan Qiren isn’t here, though that’s not much of a surprise. It doesn’t even feel like a snub, really, just a guy who isn’t much into partying giving a party a miss. Wei Wuxian has seen over the past few days that Lan Qiren is really working hard to be a good host, to all of them. He and Wei Wuxian have mostly been avoiding each other—they seem in agreement that giving each other space is still a good strategy for managing their relationship—but even so, on the third afternoon, as they were all heading out to watch the archery contest, Lan Qiren made a point of praising the good work that Wei Wuxian and Lan Zhan have done in training their disciples. Wei Wuxian was so surprised at the direct compliment that he barely managed a coherent response, but he eventually pulled his wits together enough to point out that Lan Zhan is the one who should get all the credit. Lan Qiren actually looked pleased at that.

Good thing this was before the contest instead of after, because Mo Xuanyu and Huang Mei went down in flames. Not that that was unexpected—Wei Wuxian hasn’t found time to start training them in archery yet. Wen Song passed on the competition altogether, having never held a bow in her life. But at least all three of them still seemed to enjoy themselves, and they’ve been doing well at making friends from across the sects.

Wei Wuxian glances over towards the wall-hanging discussion again, where Zewu-jun seems to be excusing himself, bowing to Huang Mei and Mo Xuanyu very cordially. They both look almost too stunned to remember to bow back, and Wei Wuxian has to bite his tongue to keep from calling out a reminder. But then Huang Mei remembers, and she whacks Mo Xuanyu subtly on the elbow to remind him too, both of them circling their arms rather awkwardly.

Wei Wuxian can’t help a grin, and he exchanges a fond glance with Lan Zhan. The kids may be troublemakers, but they’re their troublemakers nonetheless.

To be fair, they’ve really been working hard to stick to their deal. Any minor slips of decorum aside, there’s only been one actual curfew incident—on the second night, when Huang Mei and Mo Xuanyu rolled up half an hour after the gates were closed. But even then, Huang Mei took full responsibility and swore up and down that it was just because she got confused by the different angle of the sunset here, and… Wei Wuxian actually couldn’t help himself. He believed her.

Nobody got dragged in front of Lan Qiren in any case. Which Wei Wuxian found unfair on some level—he definitely would have gotten punished if he’d been half an hour late back during that summer—but based on the general vibe among the adult cultivators gathered here, he suspects it’s partly that they’re a little more lenient about minor infractions during these discussion conferences than they are when they’re trying to whip a bunch of kids into shape at the lectures.

Despite a little more rule-bending, the atmosphere of the Cloud Recesses is more sedate than Wei Wuxian prefers. But after the excitement of the past few years, even he can appreciate its elegance, its stability. So much of this place is like Lan Zhan—and even though so much in him has changed these past few years, it’s easy to see how he grew from these roots.

It takes Wei Wuxian a moment to realize that Zewu-jun has stepped away from Huang Mei and Mo Xuanyu to come over to talk to him and Lan Zhan. Probably a sign of how well things have been going that when he realizes, he doesn’t seize up in panic.

“Wangji, Sect Leader Wei,” Zewu-jun greets them. “I hope you are enjoying the evening.”

“We are,” Wei Wuxian says quickly, trying to show his appreciation. “I hope our juniors haven’t been annoying you too much?”

“Oh, on the contrary,” Lan Xichen says with a genial smile. “They are very bright young people, and a pleasure to talk to.”

Right. So at least that sounds like Huang Mei has restrained herself from going into any of her thoughts on how to improve the cooling talismans…

Lan Xichen looks at Lan Zhan with deep fondness. “They admire you very much, Wangji. It is good to see how much respect you command.”

Despite everything that’s been going great here, Lan Zhan still seems to blush. Wei Wuxian finds this deeply gratifying, and also has to tamp down an impulse to kiss him on the cheek again. Lan Zhan is just too adorable.

He takes another sip from his fancy teacup instead, enjoying the soft rumble of Lan Zhan’s voice as he says, “Thank you.”

“I was thinking,” Zewu-jun continues. “Perhaps you might like to send them to this year’s summer lectures.”

Wei Wuxian nearly spits out his tea.

He swallows carefully, staring back at Zewu-jun and trying to come up with something more diplomatic to say than have you lost your mind? Like, okay, the three of them have been doing really well this week, and he’s so proud of them, but the thought of sending them back here unsupervised… well. Wei Wuxian knows exactly how much trouble a kid with too much curiosity and not enough sense can get up to here during those lectures. And he didn’t even explode a teapot.

Nope. Nope, no way to make that sound diplomatic. He looks over at Lan Zhan for help.

“That is very kind of you, Brother,” Lan Zhan says, not meeting Wei Wuxian’s eyes. He seems inexplicably untraumatized by visions of exploding teapots and midnight makeup expeditions—okay, he doesn’t actually know about that one, but still. “We will consider which of them might feel ready for that once it is closer to the time.”

Zewu-jun nods, in a sort of amused understanding. Right, so apparently he hasn’t forgotten all the trouble Wei Wuxian caused back then. “Please do,” he says. “We would be very happy to have them.”

Lan Zhan skillfully steers the conversation elsewhere at that point by asking what areas of cultivation they intend to focus on for this year’s lecture series. Soon Lan Zhan and his brother are deep in an incredibly Lan-ish debate about whether it would be better to devote each week to a separate topic exclusively or to spread out each subject matter across the length of the course. Wei Wuxian does not have strong opinions on this subject—asking whether he’d rather spend an entire week doing nothing but reciting the wall of discipline or have the torture spread out across multiple weeks is very much an “out of the frying pan, into the fire” kind of thing for him—but he enjoys listening to them talk. Lan Zhan gets this serious little wrinkle between his brows as he’s pondering his brother’s point about retention and repetition, and Wei Wuxian has to drag his eyes away from it in order to stifle the need to cuddle him.

His attention catches on Shijie then, who’s sitting down at the table now with Wen Qing. She’s got a basket open on the floor next to her—probably a bunch of stuff she bought in Caiyi during the afternoon meetings, he remembers the peacock mentioning she’d gone shopping—and she seems to be showing various items to Wen Qing, a neat little pile of boxes and bundles collected on the table.

“I thought Wen Ning might like it,” Shijie says with a smile as she hands Wen Qing a small box of spices. “He really is an excellent cook, and I know this one is difficult to find in Yunmeng.”

Wen Qing thanks her for the gift, looking deeply pleased.

“How is your brother, Lady Qing?” the peacock asks then, his attention apparently drawn over from where he’s still talking to Jiang Cheng nearby. It comes off sounding surprisingly normal, like he’s genuinely just wondering if the zombie general that tore up the last big party at Unicorn Tower is in good health.

“Ah Ning is doing very well, thank you,” Wen Qing says. There’s a hesitation in her gaze for a moment, as if she still wonders if this is a conversational trap.

“I hope you know he would have been very welcome to attend,” Zewu-jun adds, his attention drawn into the wider conversation as well. It must be because this is such a small gathering that he’s being this direct—Wei Wuxian can even see a crease of worry between his brows.

Wen Qing smiles, and it looks genuine. “Thank you, Sect Leader Lan. We appreciated the invitation very much. He simply felt needed at home—his new eggplant crop was ready for harvesting.” She looks a little awkward, as if she’s worried it will come across sounding like a lie, but no one seems to take it as such.

It isn’t of course, though it’s also only part of the truth. Wen Ning did prefer to stay at home—but they also no longer felt like they had to make any points by bringing him along. That’s been nice too, knowing that.

“Can’t wait to see what he does with the eggplant,” Jiang Cheng chimes in. Wei Wuxian blinks at him in bewilderment—because since when does Jiang Cheng care about eggplant?—but Jiang Cheng just looks stupidly happy, meeting Wen Qing’s lingering gaze with a blush.

Those two are weirdos.

Jin Zixuan starts asking questions about the eggplant, and Shijie and Wen Qing go back to sorting through the shopping. Lan Zhan asks Zewu-jun another question about the lectures, but Wei Wuxian doesn’t really follow the thread, his eyes fixed on Shijie’s hands as she pulls out a swath of fabric and unfolds it gently, on the swish of Jin Zixuan’s robes nearby as he gestures much too grandly for a conversation about eggplant, on Wen Song tucked away in the corner as she reaches out gently to stroke Jin Rulan’s hair.

It catches up with him suddenly, how many people in this room wouldn’t be here right now if it weren’t for Lan Zhan. Shijie and Wen Qing, Wen Song and Jin Zixuan. Wei Wuxian, too. So many other people out there, the entire Yunmeng Wei Sect, gone from the face of the earth. Not even just gone, it never would have existed if Lan Zhan hadn’t done what he did. It pulls his heart to a stop, squeezes him so tight that for a moment he can’t breathe.

He blinks, tries to find focus again, and somehow he meets Lan Zhan’s eyes, looking back at him with a concerned frown. He waves it off, trying for a smile, trying not to look like he just tipped himself over into the darkness of another future while he was standing here in the middle of a party.

Because it’s all right now. Lan Zhan made it right.

It beats hard in his chest then. Keeping promises. Making things right.

Their promise.

Maybe…

This is where it was. Where the roots run deep.

If they run deep enough. If the good soil is here…

“This is extraordinary,” Wen Qing is saying, and Wei Wuxian’s head whips around as he tries to breathe past the moment. Bring himself back. Shijie has a large swath of golden fabric spread out across the table, and Wen Qing is running her hands over it, admiring the careful stitching. “Caiyi certainly lives up to its reputation. I don’t think we saw anything half as fine the last time we looked at fabrics in Yiling.”

“They had it in a wonderful red as well,” Shijie says to her, leaning in conspiratorially. Wei Wuxian takes another deep breath as Shijie shoots Wen Song and Mo Xuanyu a smile, the two of them looking on with barely concealed interest. “If you like, we could go into town tomorrow morning and have a look.”

Wen Qing is gazing at the length of gold brocade under her hands as if… as if what? As if it’s some medical concoction she has to analyze? Trying to decide if it’s safe or not? Wei Wuxian is just about to shake off his distraction by butting in and pointing out that it’s not that big a decision, there’s no harm in having a look, when he catches an odd flicker of something in Wen Qing’s eyes.

“I’m sure the red is lovely,” she says, smoothing her hands over the brocade and keeping her eyes fixed on it. “But do you think they might also have it in purple?”

Shijie’s eyes go wide, and she gasps. One by one, the other voices in the room drop off, until it’s only Jin Zixuan saying something about horse feed and shiny coats—but then even he seems to realize that everyone is staring at Wen Qing and Shijie, trying to figure out what happened.

“Oh,” Shijie says, her fingers pressed to her mouth and her eyes suspiciously wet.

Jiang Cheng is staring hard as well, his expression caught between shock and anticipation, a flush crawling up the sides of his neck.

Wen Qing takes a deep breath, her shoulders straightening as she turns to Shijie. Her voice carries in the silence though, and somehow Wei Wuxian gets the feeling that this message isn’t only meant for Shijie. “If you think it would suit me,” she says, her voice shot through with sudden nervousness. “I think I might prefer purple.” Her eyes flit down and away, and then up again, towards Jiang Cheng.

Wei Wuxian’s eyes snap to Jiang Cheng, who appears to be holding his breath in stunned silence, looking like the first puppy Wei Wuxian has ever wanted to hug.

Shijie looks over at him as well, her expression some giant mixture of elation and asking for permission. But it doesn’t seem like it’s a very hard question to answer, even if Jiang Cheng isn’t able to do anything but stare at Wen Qing like he wishes there were fewer people around here right now.

“Oh, yes,” Shijie says, beaming as she looks from Jiang Cheng back to Wen Qing again. “Yes of course, I’m sure they had purple, and I’m sure it would be lovely on you. Oh my goodness!” Shijie is almost babbling, her words tripping over themselves in excitement, and then she throws her arms around Wen Qing as if Wen Qing just publicly announced her readiness to marry her.

The rest of the room seems to be catching on to what the hell is going on now, and Nie Huaisang actually walks over and claps Jiang Cheng on the back in congratulations. Jiang Cheng is red like a chili pepper and looking like he might need an instant transfer of healing energy. Wen Qing herself has bright spots of color in her cheeks, but when she does manage to look at him, it’s simultaneously rueful and open and happy.

Absolute weirdos, the both of them.

But, well. Maybe that’s not such a bad thing, he thinks, as he steals a glance over at Lan Zhan. Lan Zhan seems deeply pleased as he watches Wen Qing and Jiang Cheng being congratulated by the assembled guests.

Took them long enough to get here, but maybe that’s not what matters. As long as they’ve finally found each other in the end.

~      ~      ~

There is a particularly festive atmosphere in the room after Wen Qing’s unorthdox declaration. She and Jiang Wanyin disappear for a short while, perhaps to formalize the agreement they’ve just announced to the world through fabric choices. Wei Ying keeps alternating between bemoaning his future staff shortages and saying it was about damn time, but it is endearing how obviously excited he is on their behalf. At one point he and Jiang Yanli just grin at each other in a way that makes Lan Wangji’s heart feel full with happiness.

When the two come back, Jiang Wanyin is exuding a happiness that Lan Wangji has never seen on him before. It makes him look years younger, somehow. Lan Wangji congratulates him, but the look of deep gratitude Jiang Wanyin returns to him speaks of what they both know. Lan Wangji is glad to feel sure that he is not the only one who was granted the opportunity to make things right with the one he loves in this life.

“You’re not planning to ditch us right away, are you?” Wei Ying asks Wen Qing, propping an elbow up on Lan Zhan’s shoulder as he joins their quiet circle. “Because let me tell you something, Lan Zhan and I aren’t dragging these three rabblerousers home all by ourselves.” He gestures vaguely at Wen Song and the others, who are now all crowded around the baby. Lan Wangji catches Huang Mei giving a roll of her eyes, but she otherwise ignores Wei Ying’s teasing.

“Well, I guess you’ll all just have to live here then,” Wen Qing says with quite open grin. As Wei Ying straightens up to bluster a response, Lan Wangji catches a movement in the corner of his eye. He looks over just in time to see his brother slipping through the screen doors to the porch, closing them behind him.

He leaves Wei Ying and Wen Qing to their sparring and follows quietly, stepping out onto the porch as well.

Xichen is standing at the railing looking out over the small gardens that lies behind the Hanshi, his hand at his back in the disciplined posture they both were taught in their youth. When Lan Wangji closes the door behind him, Xichen glances around. His smile comes instantly, though it is soft, indulgent. “Wangji,” he says, gently chiding. “You don’t have to abandon the party.”

“I’m not,” Lan Wangji says, stepping up next to Xichen at the railing. A pleasant stillness falls around them, quiet despite the low murmur of happy voices inside. Both of them have always been good with quiet.

For a moment Lan Wangji remembers the last time he visited the Hanshi, when he said goodbye to his brother in the future before he set out for the mountain. Xichen did not know then how deeply he had been betrayed by Jin Guangyao. Perhaps he never would have known if not for this change in the course of events. Perhaps Xichen would have remained close to Jin Guangyao for the rest of their days, and no one, anywhere, would ever have known the truth. Not even Lan Wangji.

“Is something troubling you, Brother?” Lan Wangji asks.

Xichen tilts his head, seems to think this way and that. “Not as such,” he finally says, with a wry, sad undertone. “I apologize, I did not mean to worry you.”

“I would worry nonetheless,” Lan Wangji says.

His brother laughs gently. “Spoken as if you were the older brother.”

Lan Wangji regards him quietly. There is a weariness in Xichen’s shoulders that reminds Lan Wangji vaguely of their father’s later years, after their mother had passed. It is a feeling Lan Wangji has known intimately, and it is difficult to see on someone as bright and gentle as his brother. “I don’t wish to tread on old wounds,” he says quietly. “But I did wonder how you were. After you came back from your journey.”

Xichen takes a deep, thoughtful breath. Lets it out slowly. His eyes are fixed on a shaft of moonlight that plays over the orchids. “I was rather unhappy for a while,” Xichen admits, his voice a quiet murmur in the night. “It was difficult to have been so wrong about someone. And to have something so sustaining cut from your life so suddenly…” He takes a moment. Sorting the words. Sorting himself, perhaps. “I didn’t know there was any rot at the heart of it. If you know what I mean.”

A low flare of anger ripples through Lan Wangji, even though Jin Guangyao is gone, disposed of, no longer a threat. His brother did not deserve to be so misled.

“Oldest Brother has been a great friend to me during this time,” Xichen says finally. “It has helped.” He gives Lan Wangji another smile.

Lan Wangji is glad for it. Nie Mingjue might still view their strange Yunmeng Wei sect with a measure of suspicion, but Lan Wangji is grateful to know he is a steadfast support for Xichen.

“I really will be all right, Wangji,” Xichen reassures him. “I just wanted to get some air.”

Get some air, and step away from all the happy couples.

The feeling of being surrounded by this sort of happiness at a time of sorrow is not something Lan Wangji ever experienced. But then, even when he was lonely, his inclination toward seclusion would have protected him from that.

“It’s been so good to have you back, Wangji,” Xichen says, with a gentle wave of emotion. “Have you been enjoying the conference? I hope you’ve felt welcome.”

Lan Wangji feels caught with how intent Xichen seems on this point, as if he fears that Lan Wangji will disappear again after this week and cut ties of his own accord. “We have all felt very welcome,” Lan Wangji reassures him. “I am very glad to be on good terms again. With all of you.”

There seems a genuine relief easing though Xichen’s posture. “Us too, Wangji. Us too.”

Somehow it eases a worry in the center of Lan Wangji’s chest to hear Xichen confirm it so clearly. Xichen hasn’t put words to it in quite that way before, and it’s a relief to know he has not misunderstood. He takes a deep breath. “Thank you especially, for your efforts. You must have had many conversations with Uncle about whether or not we should be invited.”

Xichen’s eyes sweep down for a rueful moment. “Not as many as you might think,” he says. “He has missed you just as much as I have. Please don’t doubt his sincerity, Wangji. All I did was try to remind him of what he already knew.”

It feels odd stand here with his brother and feel the way things have evened out between them. His brother still watches out for him in dealing with his uncle, but Lan Wangji now feels compelled to watch over his brother in turn, to see that those who mean to harm him are not able to succeed in doing so. He has owed Xichen so much over the course of two different lives.

“There’s something I have wanted to tell you,” he says, suddenly nervous when he realizes that this, too, might leave Xichen feeling in some way lacking. But it does not feel right not to tell him.

“Yes?” Xichen asks, nodding encouragingly.

“Wei Ying and I,” Lan Wangji says, catching himself drawing another deep breath. “We have adopted a child. A young boy from the Wen clan, whose parents were killed during the war.”

Xichen’s eyes go wide, his expression halting.

“We had already been helping to raise him while we were in the Burial Mounds.” He feels like he’s babbling. “But now, with his grandmother’s permission, we have taken him as our own. As the sect leader’s son.”

For another moment, Xichen looks almost too stunned to move. Then a smile breaks over his face that is the deepest Lan Wangji has seen all night. “Wangji. That is wonderful news.”

In another life, you raised him too.

He swallows, his heart beating fast with memories, with gratitude.

“That means I am an uncle now,” Xichen observes. It sounds genial, amused even on the surface, but Xichen is looking at him with a tremble in his eyes.

“I would really like for you to meet him,” Lan Wangji says. It comes from the bottom of his heart. “There are many things I would want him to learn from you. Perhaps, at some point, we can bring him here and introduce him to you. And to Uncle.”

Xichen seems shocked—more shocked than he should be. But there is deep honesty in his gaze when he nods, a solemnity to him that seems to ring through the trees overhead. “I would like that, Wangji,” he says. “I would like that very much.”

~      ~      ~

It’s early yet, but outside the window of the Jingshi Lan Wangji can hear the sound of voices, footsteps going back and forth along the path that leads between the houses. The flutter of birdsong is familiar, old, and a quiet breeze rustles the leaves on the trees.

Wei Ying is still asleep, his body curled up against Lan Wangji’s back. His soft breath is warm in Lan Wangji’s hair. A part of Lan Wangji wishes they could stay here a while longer, perhaps enjoy a bit more of the serenity of the place once all the other delegates have gone. But perhaps now they will be able to do that someday. Perhaps when they return, with Ah Yuan.

He holds Wei Ying’s hand close to his heart and lets his eyes fall closed again, drifting peacefully in the cool, quiet morning.

He’s not sure how much time has passed when he finally feels Wei Ying stir, his fingers curling in a scratching motion against Lan Wangji’s chest. Lan Wangji feels him take a deeper breath, curling in closer to press a lazy kiss to the back of Lan Wangji’s shoulder. When he feels Wei Ying begin to shift up to sit, Lan Wangji rolls over onto his back and looks up at him, the messy fall of his dark hair haloed in soft, silver light.

Wei Ying smiles down at him, as if he is pleased by a similar sight.

Then he leans down to press a kiss to Lan Wangji’s mouth. “Good morning, Lan Zhan,” he says, bumping his nose against Lan Wangji’s. “Did you sleep okay?”

Lan Wangji nods, tangling his fingers in Wei Ying’s hair to keep him close, pulling him in for another chaste kiss. And one more after that.

“We should get up soon,” Lan Wangji says as he reluctantly loosens his grip. “Wen Qing is leaving with the Jiangs. I believe they said they would be setting out shortly before lunch.”

Wei Ying makes a halfheartedly peevish face, settling himself back down on the mattress again with his head tucked into Lan Wangji’s shoulder. “That’s Jiang Cheng for you,” he complains. “Who leaves before lunch?”

Lan Wangji makes a vague sound of agreement, stroking his fingers through Wei Ying’s hair and enjoying the weight of him pressed easily into his side.

“Hey, Lan Zhan?” Wei Ying says, after a moment of silence. There’s something hesitant in his voice that gives Lan Wangji pause. “Can we… will you go somewhere with me today, just for a bit? I promise it’s not far. There’s something I’ve been working on, and I don’t know if it will actually do anything, but… I want to try it out. Here. While we’re still here.”

Lan Wangji cranes his neck, trying to give Wei Ying a curious look. But Wei Ying keeps his face firmly hidden, tucked against the front of Lan Wangji’s sleep robes.

“All right,” he says. Wherever Wei Ying wishes to go, Lan Wangji will follow.

They take their time before getting out of bed. Soon they’re both up and about, Wei Ying’s drifting a little less sleepy than usual as he gets dressed properly and pulls himself together. Lan Wangji finishes dressing first nonetheless, and takes a seat at the table in the main room to prepare the morning’s tea. Wei Ying comes in after a few more moments rummaging around in the spare room, and takes a seat beside him, accepting the second teacup with gentle thanks.

There is still some time before lunch, but they go first to the guest quarters to check that Mo Xuanyu, Huang Mei, and Wen Song are all up and getting dressed, preparing for this afternoon’s leave-taking. Wen Qing has already vacated her quarters, if indeed she spent the night there at all last night. But it’s no matter. They will see her when they bid farewell to the Jiangs.

Once they have seen to the juniors and are back out on the main path, Lan Wangji looks to Wei Ying for guidance on their next stop. Wei Ying gives him a small, sheepish smile and takes him by the hand, leading him back in the direction of the Jingshi. But the guest quarters are barely out of sight behind the curve of the trees when Lan Wangji feels a gentle tug towards the side of the road, and Wei Ying leads him off the main thoroughfare and onto a much narrower, rougher path that winds between the trees. Lan Wangji follows, the chill slipping in beneath his dark robes as the shadows fall deep and morning-blue around them.

After a gentle straight, the path begins to climb rather steeply upwards, and Lan Wangji is surprised to realize he doesn’t remember where it leads. There are bits and pieces of the way that seem familiar—an overhanging branch here, a worn and moss-covered boulder there—but he can’t seem to conjure what will appear around each bend until he sees it.

Soon, they reach the top of the path and step out from between the trees onto a wide, grassy clearing. The green is a little faded with winter, the air crisps in Lan Wangji’s lungs. At the far edge of the clearing the ground falls away, overlooking the wide spread of the valley below.

There is something familiar about the place, a whisper that slips underneath his skin, like the name of an old friend long forgotten. But Lan Wangji can’t seem to place why. The more he reaches back into his memory, tries to find something to hold onto, the more easily it slips away. He hasn’t had that feeling in a long time, and it’s unnerving.

“Do you remember this place?” Wei Ying asks, looking over at him. There’s something wanting in his eyes, like there should be something there, something here for Lan Wangji to find. But he’s keeping himself tightly leashed. Whatever expectations or hopes he has, he clearly doesn’t want to place too much of their weight on Lan Wangji.

“I am not sure,” Lan Wangji admits. “I feel like I have been here before, but I can’t remember when. Or why.”

He remembers this feeling, though, from his first months in the Burial Mounds. Memories slipping and fading, tattered beyond recognition, lingering as little more than a frame around an absence.

Wei Ying nods, taking that in. His mouth presses tightly together, his eyes sweeping over Lan Wangji in some careful consideration, as if weighing how to proceed. But then he lets go of Lan Wangji’s hand and starts moving forward again, closer to the edge of the overlook. Lan Wangji follows, staring around the empty clearing and trying to pull at the threads of remembrance, breathe in the scent of summer that seems to linger underfoot, despite the winter chill.

It speaks to him. Something about this place speaks to him.

Once they reach the right spot—and there is an odd shifting inside Lan Wangji when he finds that he knows it is the right spot—Wei Ying kneels down in the dry grass, beckoning for Lan Wangji to follow. Lan Wangji does the same, smoothing out his dark robes around his knees and sitting next to Wei Ying. He watches in curiosity as Wei Ying pulls a spiritual pouch out of the front of his robes, fiddling with the strings. There’s a blush at the sides of his throat. “This feels a little ridiculous,” he mumbles self-consciously.

Not ridiculous. Whatever this is, Lan Wangji is sure it is not that. He wants to urge Wei Ying onwards, but he can’t seem to find the words.

“But the thing is, we were here once, a long time ago,” Wei Ying says, squeezing the pouch between his hands. “I know you don’t remember, and that’s my fault.”

Lan Wangji frowns, alarm sparking in his chest. But before he can protest that any lingering gaps in Lan Wangji’s memory are no one’s fault but his own, Wei Ying lifts a hand, quelling him. “Sorry, no, I don’t mean…” Wei Ying fumbles. “I didn’t mean it like that. I just meant that I remember it, now.” He seems to swallow, but he holds Lan Wangji’s eyes. “I remember it like I promised I would. And if I can, I want to… to give it back to you. Somehow.”

Lan Wangji frowns, glancing warily down at the pouch. The Yin Tiger Seal is gone, and as far as Lan Wangji is aware, Wei Ying has never discovered any alternative method of recovering what has remained lost in the depths of Lan Wangji’s mind. Even if he still had the Yin Tiger Seal, Lan Wangji would not wish him to put himself at risk by trying such a procedure again, when Lan Wangji has nearly all of his memories back, as clearly as if they’d never been lost. “Wei Ying,” he says. “That isn’t necessary.”

“There was this rabbit, is the thing,” Wei Ying says, determinedly. He takes a deep breath, and finally pulls open the strings of the spiritual pouch. Lan Wangji watches in a daze as Wei Ying slips his hand in and pulls out a carefully folded bundle of soft paper. Wei Ying avoids his eyes as he unfolds it, and soon it begins to take shape as a lantern.

It pulls at something deep in the pit of Lan Wangji’s stomach, the curl of Wei Ying’s hands around the edges of the paper, the way he spreads it out in front of himself first to inspect it, and then turns it toward Lan Wangji. The sun is peeking out from behind the clouds now, but the warmth beneath Lan Wangji’s skin seems to come from within somehow. As if it’s been lingering there, waiting to be found.

The rabbit takes his breath away. The delicate ink lines are unmistakably Wei Ying’s hand, the outline of a soft, white rabbit with red eyes and black-tipped ears.

“I think I got the right one on the first try this time,” Wei Ying murmurs, a question hidden somewhere underneath.

The cave. Wei Ying drew this for him in the cave. He drew many rabbits that night, but this was the right one, the last one. The perfect rabbit.

It was from this. It was from here.

Lan Wangji’s breath comes short, and he can’t hold the thought in his hands, can’t keep the feeling from slipping through his fingers, but he knows now that he was here, with Wei Ying. With Wei Ying, and the rabbit, and the lantern.

“You smiled then,” Wei Ying says, his face open and sweetly earnest as he looks up at Lan Wangji. He nods toward the expression on Lan Wangji’s face and breathes a nervous laugh. “Just like that. I don’t think I’d ever seen you smile before.”

Lan Wangji can feel it in his heart, the stirring of something deep, old. Wei Ying made this for him. It’s as if the veil between now and then has worn so thin he can reach through and touch the past. Who they were, then.

“Then I teased you about it, and you wanted to stab me,” Wei Ying says, with a wry tilt to his mouth.

Lan Wangji can feel that too, as if his other self is sitting here in this same spot with him, separated only by time. The fear that gripped him whenever Wei Ying turned his dazzling attention on him. Whenever Wei Ying seemed to be too close, to see too much.

But why was it the rabbit? This happened many times, that fluster in his heart when Wei Ying looked at him, or teased him, or brought him some gift, half in jest. Why was this the moment he wanted to hold onto? Why did he ask Wei Ying to bring it back for him, in the cave?

Wei Ying takes a deep breath, like he’s steeling himself for something difficult. Lan Wangji doesn’t move a muscle as he watches Wei Ying prepare the lantern for flight, carefully lighting the flame at its base and holding it out in front of him, towards the sky.

As we lifted our lantern towards the sky…

The words flit through his mind like a childhood prayer, like something he repeated over and over to himself, burning it into his skin. Still there, somewhere, if only in pieces. Echoes of the past.

Wei Ying lets go of the lantern, letting it slip from between his hands and following it with his gaze as the rabbit drifts up onto the breeze, buoyed by the gentle warmth of the candle. Lan Wangji can feel his heart go with it, higher and higher, until it catches in his throat.

Then Wei Ying closes his eyes and presses his palms together, lowering his head, and for a moment Lan Wangji can barely breathe.

“I wish to be able to eliminate evil,” Wei Ying says. It’s like an incantation within Lan Wangji’s heart, the words echoing backwards, forwards, into the very core of him. “And protect the weak—”

“…while always maintaining a good conscience,” Lan Wangji breathes out, without a thought. Like the words have been there all along, etched into his soul, cold and silent until Wei Ying’s voice brought them to life. The past and the present, an echo brought across the void, anchored in place by the weight of Wei Ying’s words.

Wei Ying opens his eyes and looks over at him, startled, soft, aching with hope, and that’s when Lan Wangji understands. The perfect rabbit. Their promise, here on this hill. Wei Ying, the spark that lit the flame within him with his goodness, with his spirit, with his heart. He has been here ever since, living in this moment, before and after, throughout time and space and everything he is. This is where he fell, has been falling, will fall again day after day, again and again, for as long as he lives. For as long as Wei Ying is beside him.

This is where it started.

A spark, and a promise. A light inside him that gave him the courage to follow Wei Ying down the narrow bridge into the darkness, and come out the other side.

This is how it happened. This is how it should be.

~ The End ~