Archive of Our Own ^omega

I.

When the Yiling Patriarch gets a moment—one blessed moment—to himself, it seems the universe immediately conspires to snatch it from him, whether in the form of a winded messenger bearing ominous news about a burgeoning rebellion somewhere in the south (why is it always a cocky upstart who’s overestimated his own ability, Wei Ying wonders), an ill-timed visit from some royal dignitary whose appointment Wei Ying had completely forgotten about (granted, not the best look for the man people regard as the Son of Heaven, whatever that means), or his well-meaning father (along with a visibly reluctant Jiang Cheng and bright-eyed Jiang Yanli), come to discuss once more the dreadful prospect of marriage.

This time, standing in the middle of his courtyard, Wei Ying realises with a sinking feeling in his stomach that it is, indeed, the third calamity. But he contains himself as he was taught to do since he was a child, hands folded into his sleeves, nails digging painfully into his skin. He listens as he was taught to do, as is befitting of an emperor—someone descended from the very heavens, out of the mouth of celestial beings or something like it.

Celestials, hear my plea, Wei Ying thinks with a touch of desperation, and take me back into the heavenly realm right this instant!

“…and I think this arrangement could be quite—with all due respect, Your Imperial Majesty, are you even listening to me anymore?”

Wei Ying summons the last vestiges of his kingly discipline—whatever that’s left, really—and tries not to pout. Instead, he smiles and feels the weight of the world pressing down on the corners of his mouth. He inclines his head, being completely disingenuous.

“Of course I am. You were saying something about poetry, music—some guqin player.” He blinks prettily, rapidly—if only to keep himself awake. And grounded. “He’ll make a fine guest for entertaining the, uh, other guests at that banquet we’re throwing next month.”

Jiang Fengmian chortles, scandalised. His moustache ripples. “Some guqin player, as if…” He shakes his head. Jiang Cheng, over his father’s shoulder, takes the opportunity to seethe silently in Wei Ying’s direction, eyes dark with warning: Pay attention, Wei Wuxian! Wei Ying’s smile sharpens into a scythe, impish and playful, as Jiang Fengmian starts all over again, “This is serious. I do believe this is a particularly good match—one of the Twin Jades of Lan, in fact—”

“Lan Xichen?” Wei Ying momentarily forgets where he is, who he is, and blurts, “I don’t know what we’d even talk about, frankly. Mostly because whenever he speaks, he always sounds so soft and far away, and I end up looking like I’m hard on hearing. It’s bad for business, you know. Also, he just seems so dainty and ethereal—which I already am, I like to think. And, and, and! Doesn’t he have the hots for Jin Guangyao, that—”

“Your Majesty!” Jiang Fengmian’s eyes widen. “Please, remember who you’re talking about!”

“I haven’t said anything that’s untrue yet,” Wei Ying says, brows furrowing. “What’s the big deal?”

“The big deal is—never mind, that’s a conversation for another time. I am not speaking of Lan Xichen, Your Majesty. It is his younger brother, Lan Wangji, to whom we hope you will agree to be betrothed.”

“Him? I don’t think we’ve ever met. The brightest mind in Gusu—or dullest, depending on how you look at it, right?” Wei Ying crosses his arms over his chest, wracking his brain and trying to visualise what this Lan Wangji looks like. “I’ve heard of his prowess with the guqin, but hasn’t he been away for a decade or something, studying in the mountains? Or trying to write a hundred songs so some celestial will hear him so he can transcend? I barely know what he looks like and you’re looking at me like he’s about to become my one and only, just like that. At least let me have a little taste before I—”

“Wei. Wu. Xian.” Jiang Cheng steps forward, fists clenched at his sides like he’s holding on for dear life—which, in Jiang Cheng’s case, he probably is. “You’d do well to stop talking about your intended like he’s a slab of meat we’ve just procured from the market. As Father said, this is a serious matter, so you had better start acting right!”

“Oh, come on. There’s no one here. Who’s going to tell on us? Our darling sister?” Wei Ying winks at Jiang Yanli, who immediately hides a quiet little laugh behind her sleeve. “She won’t tell. She loves me the most.”

“I do,” Jiang Yanli supplies indulgently, “but I think we can’t risk another scandal getting out about Jiang Cheng breaking your nose. Again.”

“The crookedness will add some charm to my already terribly charming features, I’m sure. Oh, all right—forgive me, Father. You were saying something about,” Wei Ying hastens to add air quotes at this point, “my intended?”

Jiang Fengmian mutters something under his breath—most likely a plea to the gods not to strike this wayward son of his down—and neatly folds his hands into his sleeves.

“I know you’re hesitant about the whole prospect, Wei Ying, but we’ve been trying for nearly a year to find you someone suitable. This time, even Lady Jiang has given her approval—”

“But, let me guess—not her blessings.”

“You know very well that means the same thing, in her book.” Jiang Fengmian sighs, world weary as ever. “Your Majesty, I do urge you to consider this seriously. The longer you remain unmarried, well—it simply will not do. Strengthening our ties with Gusu will surely give our enemies some pause as well, and Lan Wangji is known to be just, if not even more, charming than his brother. He may not be a fearsome general or royalty—that’s debatable actually—but his reputation precedes him as a highly sought-after courtesan, poet, and musician. Even if he is the lesser known Lan brother in these parts. You need only give him a chance.”

“And you’ll have your whole life to get to know him,” Jiang Yanli says gently, like it’s a promise. Wei Ying wants to believe her, but he isn’t even sure if he wants to be tied down to anybody in the first place—and certainly not anybody he hasn’t met yet.

“Or my whole life to realise how much I hate him. Ah, fine, fine! Stop looking at me like that, I know you’re all very taken by his glowing profile,” Wei Ying waves his hand about, turning his face away, “It seems like you’re just going to keep hounding me about this until I say yes. What’s the point? No matter how you slice it, it’s just going to be a surprise for me. Heaven will decide if it’s the good kind or the bad kind, I guess.”

“That’s the spirit!” Jiang Fengmian claps his hands together. Jiang Cheng snorts, looking like he’s enjoying this more than he has any right to be. “We shall arrange for an auspicious date, inform the Lan Clan, and start you off with getting fitted for your robes…”

“Don’t hold your breath or anything,” Wei Ying mutters, “Someone might assassinate me before my wedding day and save me from this mess.”

“Your Majesty!”

“Yes, yes, I’m not supposed to talk like that—not now, not ever, and not with a wedding on the way.”

Jiang Cheng barks with laughter, the sound of it like shattering glass. “The idea of you not talking… can you imagine? You’d probably die from not being able to mouth off. You know, I hear that’s a special technique of the Lans…”

Wei Ying’s eyes widen. “The Crown Prince is clearly pulling my leg. Right?! Father, is it too late to retract my agreement? I’m feeling quite faint, all of a sudden…”

Jiang Fengmian shakes his head. “That didn’t work when you were five, and it certainly isn’t going to work now. Come along, Your Majesty. We have much to discuss.”

As it turns out, planning a wedding demands a great deal of detail, money, time, and… attention. Wei Ying tries his level best not to doze off while the Jiangs talk his ear off about a million things, seemingly all at once: the venue, what he’ll wear, which tailor they’re going to employ, the kind of food they intend to serve, the god-forsaken guest list, and the most auspicious date possible based on Wei Ying’s birth details… as well as the mysterious Lan Wangji’s.

Hours pass—or an eternity—and Wei Ying, by the end of it, still cannot conjure Lan Wangji’s face to mind. Have they really never met? He supposes the man looks something like Lan Xichen: an angular face, soft eyes, a gentle and princely smile, and a voice like a gentle stream.

Or maybe he’s the exact opposite? But Wei Ying supposes that shouldn’t be possible, since the brothers are always referred to as the Twin Jades of Lan. He ponders the prospect of Lan Wangji for days after the fact, pacing the hallways of the palace with his hands behind his back, trying to imagine himself married to someone. For one reason or another, Wei Ying cannot stop thinking about having a weight tied around his ankle, and someone throwing him into the deepest lake. It’s not quite the same, but he imagines that it sounds about right: all of this is going to take his breath away. And suffocate him to death.

He attends court every morning carrying this shadow weight in his heart.

Wei Ying considers himself someone who prizes his solitude and the freedom that comes with it—well, as much freedom as an emperor gets, anyway. He waves away peasant after peasant, come to make their requests for aid after the latest flash flood or some other, slumped on the Dragon Throne, and tries to reason with himself: he was never free to begin with, so why is he making such a big fuss? Might as well leave the fanfare and excitement to the masses, to his family, to everyone who would see him married for the good of the empire.

“Wei Ying.”

Wei Ying doesn’t turn to look—he knows exactly who it is. “Sister. You always approach me so quietly, whereas the Crown Prince Jiang Cheng announces his presence with so much fanfare and pomp…” He smiles when Jiang Yanli materialises at his side. “You two couldn’t be more different, honestly.”

“There’s a certain expectation bequeathed unto a princess. Not that you’d ever understand,” Jiang Yanli says, but not unkindly. “It’s unbecoming of a woman to go stomping about, whether within the palace grounds or outside.”

“Who cares about any of that? We’re not exactly a family known for following tradition,” Wei Ying says. “Father abdicated the Dragon Throne to me and he’s still in his prime. I’m not a Jiang by blood and everyone kowtows to me. Jiang Cheng is currently in the running as successor to the throne should anything happen to me and he acts like he’s already the emperor. Huh. On that note, maybe I should arrange an execution for him as a joke and see if that scares him off.”

Jiang Yanli giggles, covering her mouth as though Wei Ying’s words had come from her.

“Heh.” Wei Ying glances at Jiang Yanli, the jewel of the palace, and winks. “You can stomp about wherever you want, Princess. The Emperor has decreed it!”

“You…” Jiang Yanli leans against Wei Ying and he wraps an arm around her. “It’s almost like you’re determined to be booted off the throne.”

“Maybe I am. This emperor business is really cramping my style…” He feels Jiang Yanli curl into his side, resting her head perfectly against the crook of his neck. “Jiang Cheng would likely make a better leader than me, in any case.”

“There you go again.” Jiang Yanli sighs. “You’ve been given a great honour, Wei Ying. A-Cheng is capable in his own right and serves the court as a dutiful prince and general, but you? There is a reason we all look to you for guidance and leadership. Aren’t you happy with your life here? With us?”

“Don’t do that. You’re so good at making me feel bad, and you’re not even doing it on purpose to manipulate me… which makes me feel even worse, honestly.” Wei Ying sighs, staring out across the large garden pond. He watches, almost enviously, a frog taking a mighty leap from one lilypad to another, to join its companion. “I want to be a frog.”

“You what?”

“You heard me. I want to be that little guy over there, leapfrogging about to his heart’s content. He doesn’t have to deal with peasant uprisings, treasonous ministers, political marriages, tactical meetings with stinky, pudgy generals—speaking of which, I’d like to make a formal request to have all of them double boil their armour before seeking my audience in the future. All of them! Even Jiang Cheng!”

Jiang Yanli giggles, but thinks that if Lady Jiang were to walk in on them right now and overhear the words spilling from her lord brother’s mouth, she would be very cross indeed. She quickly glances over her shoulder, scanning the walkway. Not a single soul, thank the gods. She returns her attention to the Yiling Patriarch, her sweet and tender A-Xian, and clings to him a little tighter. “It must be lonely, at the top.”

“Kind of.” Wei Ying shrugs, non-committal about it. “But it comes with the job, doesn’t it?”

“That’s why I think the betrothal to the younger Lan brother is coming at a really good time. It’ll be nice to have some company in the palace, to have a confidant…”

“I already have company.” Wei Ying swipes playfully at Jiang Yanli’s nose with his knuckles. “I have you. I have Jiang Cheng. Everyone I love is here. I don’t think I have room for anyone else.”

Jiang Yanli makes a pained noise. “You say that now…”

“I’m being serious. I don’t think true love exists for a person like me. For the Emperor, well—I just think love doesn’t rank very high on my list of priorities,” Wei Ying says, without pretense. The frogs have settled on the largest lilypad in the center of the pond and are cosying up to each other now, croaking in their secret language something only they will understand, and no one else. He feels stricken by something strange all of a sudden. “There are more pressing matters. Like being a good example for the rest of the world. Protecting my position as the most powerful cultivator so our enemies don’t get too close for comfort. You know, earth-shattering stuff.”

“A-Xian, are you saying all of that because you’re scared? You used to be such a romantic at heart, spending all your afternoons reading poems and reciting them front to back, back to front…”

“Ah.” Wei Ying’s cheeks begin to burn. “That was before Father suffered that awful injury and decided it was best to make me the youngest emperor in the history of all emperors. Can you imagine me being soft on someone just because they’re good-looking? Being sentimental? I can’t let anyone think I’m some kind of pushover! We’d have uprisings every other week.”

“We already do.”

Wei Ying sniffs mightily. “Exactly.”

“Loving someone doesn’t mean you’re a pushover, Wei Ying. And it’s certainly much more than just finding someone good-looking.”

“Oh,” Wei Ying hums. “You mean that wasn’t your first thought when you met Jin Zixuan for the first time ever?”

Jiang Yanli jabs him right in the ribs. Wei Ying laughs, despite tears springing to his eyes. “Ouch! Mercy, please!”

“And what about it? I eventually spent more time with him and learnt there was more to him than just—oh, don’t you change the subject!”

Wei Ying laughs again, but he’s prepared this time—and seizes Jiang Yanli by the wrist just as she closes in for another painful, well-placed jab. “Don’t you dare. I’m going to start crying.”

“A-Xian…” Jiang Yanli sighs in the exact way Jiang Fengmian sighs, long-suffering and full of affection. “If you’re concerned you won’t like this Lan Wangji…”

“He’s a beautiful courtesan, he writes poetry that women swoon over, he plays the guqin like a maestro, he’s everything anyone could ever want!” Wei Ying steps away from his sister’s side and approaches the pond, dropping into a crouch. He hugs his knees. “Maybe I don’t want him. Love can’t be forced. But I also recognise that maybe I’m not meant to love him, and that’s fine by me. As long as he stays out of my way.”

“What’s the alternative, A-Xian?” Jiang Yanli crouches beside Wei Ying, mimicking his stance.

“The alternative? I go out there and find someone I really like, then bring them back to the palace and show them off.” Wei Ying grins, despite a strange feeling of melancholy descending upon him. He avoids Jiang Yanli’s gaze for the moment and looks into the water at his own reflection. A gust of wind blows through the garden and the water stirs. For a moment he is unrecognisable. For a moment, he isn’t the Emperor anymore. “But that’s unheard of. The Emperor would never do such a thing.”

The frogs begin to sing a croaky little song. Jiang Yanli’s gaze softens in contemplation.

“You said it yourself, A-Xian. We’re not exactly a family of traditionalists.”

The wind dies down and the water stills. Wei Ying laughs at his own reflection, so full of disbelief.

II.

“I don’t wish to marry.”

“Wangji—”

“Let me finish. But I recognise that I am not in a position where I get to choose. My station demands that I simply submit. So, I will do this as part of my duty to our clan, to our brethren.” Lan Wangji’s expression is serene, as still as a lake, and his eyes betray nothing of his thoughts. He lifts the cup of tea in his hands, respectful as ever, and inclines his head in a slight bow before his brother. “I will do this for you.”

Lan Xichen, quietly exasperated, quickly lifts his own cup. “Must you be so dramatic?” he chides, before touching the rim of his cup to his lips.

Lan Wangji busies himself with drinking his tea, gaze lowered, and conveniently ignores the question—for now. Lan Xichen does the same, though he watches his younger brother closely.

The Lan brothers are seated in a lavishly furnished sitting room, its walls lined with countless paintings and beautiful calligraphy. In the far corner stands a series of bookshelves, filled to the brim with books and scrolls that Lan Xichen had been going through at a leisurely pace for the last week or so while awaiting his brother’s arrival. In another corner, Lan Wangji’s guqin is propped up against the wall, next to a potted bonsai plant, along with his possessions.

His brother had only just arrived in the city, yet Lan Wangji still manages to look as though he’s already been through some kind of unspoken ordeal. Lan Xichen reaches for the teapot and refills his brother’s cup before attending to his own, saying simply, “I know you’re upset, Wangji. It’s written all over your face.”

“Inconsequential,” Lan Wangji responds, watching the smooth pour of tea. The rising steam. His brother’s steady hand. “I will do what I must, for the good of the clan.”

“How you’ve managed make this sound like a death sentence is beyond me,” Lan Xichen mutters. He sets the pot back down on the table. “I hear the Emperor has met over a hundred suitors in the past year alone and he’s rejected every single one of them. Surely the fact that he did not reject you is—”

“Happenstance. Nothing more.” The corner of Lan Wangji’s mouth twitches, and that’s about as much insight into his inner world as Lan Xichen is going to get for now. He reaches for his cup of tea again. “If the Yiling Patriarch has been saying no to every single candidate ceaselessly for the last twelve months, then it is only a matter of probability. He has been playing a game of attrition, and he’s finally lost.”

Lan Xichen chuckles. “And I suppose the Emperor is, at this very moment, skulking about in the palace, equally unwilling to enter into this arrangement with you?”

“I don’t care for his feelings on the matter. His Imperial Majesty is the one who has sealed my fate.”

“Wangji…” Lan Xichen tries not to make a face at his brother. “You’ve been away for far too long, I think. I know you probably miss the mountains.”

“Then why did you take me away from them?” Lan Wangji meets his brother’s gaze. A shade of irritation passes over his features. “He could have had anyone else in the world. Anyone else.”

“I’m sorry.” Lan Xichen sighs. “Just know that I tried to dissuade the elders from making the arrangement.”

“I know you did.” The younger Lan brother lowers his gaze again, staring at the dregs sitting at the bottom of his porcelain cup. “I don’t mean to blame you. Once the Lans have made up their minds, there is very little else that can steer them from their chosen path.”

“Mm.” Lan Xichen drains his cup quicker the third time around now that the tea is beginning to cool. “Well, I hear the Emperor’s quite an interesting man. You might find something about him that you like.”

“I won’t hold my breath.”

The brothers drink on in silence until they’ve completely drained the pot. With nothing else to focus his attention on, Lan Wangji lifts his gaze and looks into his brother’s face.

“I… Well, when is the wedding? I assume they’ve found a suitable date by now.”

“Not yet. It seems the royal family is hell-bent on making sure nothing goes wrong. They’ve asked for our patience while we’re in the capital, and we’ll give it to them.” Lan Xichen smooths the creases of his robe over his lap, attempting a smile. “You’ll have your freedom yet—at least, I think, for the next three days or so.”

Lan Wangji looks out the open window, surveying the moon. “I intend to continue writing.”

“With planned breaks in between, I hope?”

“…Perhaps.” Lan Wangji rubs a palm over his face, suddenly feeling tired. He’s used to order and routine, to the predictability of things, to the safety that comes with knowing what will happen next. For the longest time, all he’d had was his music, the serenity of the mountains, the company of sea and sky, and now? The betrothal hangs over his head like a dark cloud, like the executioner’s hammer.

He has always known he would eventually marry—but not before Xichen, and certainly not to the Emperor of all people. Lan Wangji knows enough about the Yiling Patriarch to be certain of one fact: that they aren’t a good match. If only because of the fact that their philosophies greatly differ and the Yiling Patriarch has made it very clear that he’s not above treading darker paths of cultivation to consolidate his power and protect his position.

Exhaling, Lan Xichen begins to get up.

“I can see you wish to be left alone,” Lan Xichen says, warm and assuring. “I’ll return in the morning. There’s a lovely teahouse on the other side of this district that serves a particularly effervescent brew of Long Jing that you’ll enjoy, I think.”

“Mm.” Lan Wangji gets to his feet as well and walks his brother to the door. “Be safe. And—thank you. For coming.”

“Relax. I will be with you, Wangji—every step of the way. I promise.”

When Lan Xichen departs, stepping over the doorsill, he takes all the warmth in the room with him. Lan Wangji watches as his brother steps out into the moonlit night, crossing the inner courtyard noiselessly like a spectre, a gust of wind. A touch of loneliness and trepidation reaches Lan Wangji at last.

He turns to his desk at the far end of the room, with a lone candle sitting upon it, and steels himself for something, though he isn’t quite sure what.

*

Lan Wangji wakes with a start and realises he’d fallen asleep at his desk, still clutching his brush mid-sentence. It’s a miracle he hasn’t stained his light-coloured robes—but then again, Lan Wangji has never known himself to be a fitful sleeper, even in odd positions such as this. He sets his brush down, observing his handiwork in the half-light, and is suddenly aware of why he’d woken up in the first place.

A scrabbling noise, somewhere above him, alerts him to the presence of another, even though this shouldn’t be possible—he is, after all, in the inner capital and close to the palace, where the presence of the royal guard can be found on every corner of every street. Who would dare, right under the Emperor’s nose?

The scrabbling noise grows louder, and Lan Wangji rises to his feet, staring up at the ceiling. He moves quietly across the room, trying to follow the sounds. He wonders if whoever is up there is merely an amateur, or someone delusional enough to forget that the capital is no place for crime—even crime as juvenile as this. Should Lan Wangji decide to sound the alarm, the royal guard would descend upon this place in a minute or less.

Almost as though they’ve sensed Lan Wangji’s intentions, the scrabbling and scratching stops altogether. All is calm and Lan Wangji strains his ears. He hears nothing but the sounds of servants milling about in the early hours of the dawn. Relaxing, Lan Wangji returns his attention to his unfinished work, waiting for him on the desk—

“Ha! Found you!”

Lan Wangji turns just in time to see a shadow by the window, blotting out the moon. The intruder, fully masked, slips into Lan Wangji’s room with a practiced dexterity that belies his experience—perhaps as a particularly agile snatch thief or a wayward rogue. Lan Wangji doesn’t care to find out. He’s lunging towards his unwelcome guest in a second, and the masked man takes a full second to realise this is, in fact, not the man he’s been searching for all night.

“You’re definitely not Nie Huaisang, you’re far too handsome to—hey, hey!” The intruder yelps as he leaps out of the way, narrowly missing a roundhouse kick to the face. Lan Wangji continues his advance as the intruder continues dodging his every attack, both of them evenly matched in almost every way.

The stalemate draws on, endless, until the intruder decides to just take a step back all of a sudden. Lan Wangji lunges forward, unwilling to let this rest until someone’s sprawled on the ground, but the man begins to take evasive measures instead of going on the offensive. He raises his hands in a show of surrender while sidestepping Lan Wangji’s onslaught, yelling, “Enough! Enough! I think we’ve both proven we’re each other’s perfect match, young master!”

“We’re not a match,” Lan Wangji says darkly.

“No? Then maybe we’ll simply duel till the sun rises…” The masked man jumps out of the way, yelping in surprise, and backs himself into a corner. “Hey! Hey! I just got the wrong room, that’s all. No need to get so violent!”

“Then leave,” Lan Wangji mutters, rounding on him. “I have nothing you could possibly want.”

“What do you know about what I want?” The stranger chuckles. “All right, handsome stranger, all right! I’ll take my leave—without taking anything of yours, to show that I’m not a thief—and get out of your luscious hair. And your, uh,” he eyes the writing desk where Lan Wangji had been working, “poetry, I guess.”

“Luscious. Hair.” Lan Wangji eyes the man warily as he moves towards the window.

“Uh huh. You’re going to have to tell me what you use for your hair, one of these days.” Despite the fact that the man is masked, Lan Wangji can clearly hear the smile in his voice. “If we ever meet again, that is. Maybe we run in the same circles? I happen to like poetry myself, though I haven’t written anything in years--”

“We won’t. Meet. Again.” Lan Wangji indicates the open window. The moon. “Now, if you please.”

The intruder makes an indignant noise and even stomps his foot like a child. If Lan Wangji wasn’t currently so angry, he’d have been a little surprised. Maybe even confused. Just what sort of person is this, throwing a tantrum even though he’s the one who’s been caught trespassing?

“Goodnight, young master!”

The intruder’s halfway out the window, waving foolishly at Lan Wangji. Before Lan Wangji can move, to attack him once again, he disappears. Lan Wangji knows he’s crawled back up to the roof, judging by the noise he’s making overhead, and sighs.

Xichen isn’t going to believe him when he tells him. Of that, Lan Wangji is certain.

*

Wei Ying is not a man known for his self-restraint. He’s also not known to be someone who makes rational decisions at the drop of a hat—indeed, there is a reason why he always keeps the Crown Prince and Princess close to him, and not for the reason most people might think, as if the Yiling Patriarch is trying to keep a close eye on his covetous siblings who might want to usurp the Dragon Throne one day. The truth is quite the opposite, indeed. Wei Ying leans on Jiang Cheng and Jiang Yanli as his closest, most trustworthy advisors, favouring them over his far older, more experienced ministers of the imperial court.

Which is why, right now, without his advisors to warn him against his next course of action, Wei Ying is predictably going off the rails. Clutching two large jugs of wine under each arm, Wei Ying deftly skips over the rooftops as though carried by the wind itself. There is an odd feeling of buoyancy in his heart tonight, and it may or may not have anything to do with the strikingly beautiful poet that tried to kill him just last night.

The moon has taken refuge behind dark and distant storm clouds tonight, paving the way for a smooth and uninterrupted journey back to the inn where Wei Ying’s new friend currently is. It’s been quite some time since Wei Ying’s met anyone new and interesting. Emperors aren’t in the habit of making friends with their subjects, after all—especially not in the middle of a court session. Perhaps it is loneliness that’s driving Wei Ying back to this moody stranger. Perhaps it’s curiosity. Whatever it is, Wei Ying is sure tonight will go better than their first meeting. Who can resist a generous offering of wine? A grand gesture of friendship such as this—surely Wei Ying will learn the man’s name before the end of the night. Or at least before the sun rises.

Wei Ying lands on the roof of the inn and, treading carefully over the tiles to avoid tripping and smashing his expensive jugs of wine, makes his way to the central courtyard where the more lavish guest rooms are situated. He supposes his new friend is someone important, someone from far away, and is likely here in the capital for something more serious than just “seeing the sights”. He wonders if the man will tell him if he asks.

He waits for a group of servants to pass him by in the walkway below. The Jade Phoenix Inn is a luxurious place, known for its fiery trees, lush inner gardens, and expensive bedchambers that would even give the richest merchant on the street some pause before he books a room for the night. The Imperial City’s most well-known courtesans reside here, attracting dignitaries, politicians, and wayward, haughty scions looking for a night to remember. Because of how popular it is, the inn is also well-guarded, and Wei Ying must make sure there are no guards in sight before taking the leap.

Landing right outside what Wei Ying hopes is the right room, he tiptoes over to the door and knocks lightly.

“Young master, are you in?”

He hears a slight rustle from within the room. “I did not ask for anything tonight. You may leave.”

“Oh, young master, this is on the house!” Wei Ying can’t suppress a smile and leans closer to the door. “Our compliments. It’s the inn’s tenth anniversary and we’re giving away free jugs of Emperor’s Smile…”

“I do not drink.”

“What? Only people who have never tried our famous Emperor’s Smile before will say that,” Wei Ying persists. “Come now, we’re giving this to every guest in the inn tonight. Surely you will oblige us, young master, as a sign of goodwill, or out of respect for the Emperor himself?”

The man inside the room doesn’t respond for a full minute, and Wei Ying is about to start considering the merits of breaking and entering for the second night in a row when the doors suddenly slide open, revealing that a severe, expectant gaze that quickly smooths into shock and—anger?

“Hi,” Wei Ying begins.

“Begone.” The doors begin to shut—along with Wei Ying’s window of opportunity.

“Wait, wait! I apologise for deceiving you,” Wei Ying sticks his foot out to stop the doors from closing shut completely, wincing a little, “but that’s why I’m here. To make it up to you.”

“For what?”

“For, er, intruding upon your privacy and ruining your night and all that. I can see that, uh,” Wei Ying unceremoniously peeks over the man’s shoulder and sees the lit candle on the writing desk, “you’re having a really busy, eventful night… so maybe I’ll just leave these with you—”

“As I said, I don’t drink. And you’re not—” Something flickers across the man’s face, like a ripple of irritation. “We have no business with each other.”

“Does it always have to be about business? I care very little for money, young master. What I do care about is having a good time, making friends—”

“We’re not. Don’t call me ‘young master’, either.”

“Then what should Wei Ying call you?” Wei Ying has the gall to smile, all teeth. “Just so you know, these jugs are getting really heavy, and I came all this way from the other side of the capital city. Surely a distinguished man such as yourself can recognise when one is being truly sincere?”

“With that mask, it’s hard to tell.” The man lets out a soft sigh and opens the doors back up after a moment’s deliberation. It’s quite marvellous, Wei Ying thinks, that he looks sick to the stomach even as he’s allowing a guest in. If there was ever a person primed for social interaction in the opposite direction, Wei Ying has found him.

He skips merrily into the guest room and makes himself at home, setting the jugs down by where the young master had just been brewing and drinking tea. Wei Ying settles down on the cushion and beckons the man over, as though this room belonged to Wei Ying and not him.

For a moment, the man doesn’t budge and simply remains rooted to the spot, staring into Wei Ying’s back. Wei Ying, oblivious, starts to open the first jug of wine.

“Wen Ning.”

“Huh?” Wei Ying looks over his shoulder briefly before returning his attention to the wine he’d brought. “Of the Wen clan?”

“Yes,” Lan Wangji says slowly. He begins to move, still watching Wei Ying warily, and settles down across him. “I am Wen Ning.”

“So the young master has a name after all.” Wei Ying smiles. He empties Lan Wangji’s cup of tea by drinking it himself, scandalising his newfound friend, and fills it with wine. “Here you go, Young Master Wen. I knew you’d come around.”

“Disgusting,” Lan Wangji says, but accepts the cup of wine nonetheless. Instead of drinking it, however, he simply sets it down on the table. “Thank you.”

“You can thank me by actually drinking that,” Wei Ying grouses as he fills his own cup. “What kind of manners do they teach and impart within the Wen clan? Not drinking what’s been offered to you by your host? How unbecoming.”

“You’re not the host here.” Lan Wangji eyes the cup of wine with unveiled contempt. “And I can still finish what I started yesterday and kick you out. With force.”

Wei Ying raises his hands in surrender. “I didn’t come here to fight you again, Young Master Wen! Honest. I just thought that—well, you looked so lost, yesterday. Like you didn’t even know what you were doing in the capital city. Wei Ying knows what it’s like to feel lost and adrift, so—”

“No.” Lan Wangji’s mouth curls into a slight snarl. “You don’t know anything about what I feel.”

Wei Ying downs his cup in a single, hearty mouthful. He wipes the corner of his mouth with the back of his hand, sighing contentedly. “I’ll ask you again when you’ve had some wine, Young Master Wen. Now!” He slaps a hand over his knee. “What shall we do to pass the time, hm? A drinking contest, perhaps?”

“Juvenile,” Lan Wangji murmurs, and rises to his feet. “I have already said that I do not drink.”

Wei Ying watches him as he moves across the room, towards one of the bookshelves. Lan Wangji pulls out a chess set, almost as though he’d been expecting to do such a thing all night and returns to the table with a solemn look in his eyes.

“Um, I’m not playing that,” Wei Ying says, but Lan Wangji blithely ignores him and begins setting the board, laying out every individual piece with an infuriating amount of care. Wei Ying eyes his still-full-of-wine cup and gestures towards it. “Unless you drink that.”

“Agree to a rematch,” Lan Wangji says, a firmness to his tone that tells Wei Ying he’s being absolutely serious, “and I will try your precious drink.”

“Hm. Fine. But you don’t have to force yourself to indulge on my account, Young Master Wen!” Wei Ying watches Lan Wangji set the board. “It’s just that, you know, the Emperor’s a real stickler for concepts like respect—and having fun! If he knew you’ve refused to drink his favourite wine three times in a row now, he might have your head and arrange for a public execution!”

“Certainly.”

“Eh?” Wei Ying bursts into laughter, head tipped back. He moves to refill his cup with wine and pours a rather indulgent amount in before, once again, downing it all in a single mouthful. “You’re quite the character, Young Master Wen. You seem to have it out for the Yiling Patriarch. Surely that’s not the reason why you’re here—to assassinate everyone’s beloved Emperor?”

Lan Wangji huffs through his nose. “I wouldn’t dare.”

“But you don’t seem to like him. You look so disdainful. Perhaps it’s jealousy that Young Master Wen is feeling. Perhaps you believe someone out there could be a better Emperor than the Yiling Patriarch?”

“Are you certain,” Lan Wangji takes the first step and puts his first chess piece out, “you want to discuss such treasonous things, if the Emperor is as ruthless as you describe him?”

Wei Ying mirrors Lan Wangji’s first move, studying the man’s face closely. “I won’t tell. In fact, it’s quite refreshing to see someone who isn’t trying to lick the Emperor’s boots for once. Everyone here really looks up to the Yiling Patriarch, but that gets old pretty quickly, you know?”

“Surely the people love the Emperor for good reasons. There’s nothing I haven’t already heard, since…” Lan Wangji pauses and takes the chance to consider his next move. They play several more turns before he realises this Wei Ying is simply mirroring his every move, instead of putting real thought behind his actions. He lets out a sigh and looks up at the masked man, whose eyes are bright with interest—and the alcohol inside him, Lan Wangji supposes. “Are you going to play properly?”

“I am. It just so happens that Young Master Wen’s strategies align with mine. My father used to teach me when I was younger, and he’d drill these tactics into my head over and over…” Wei Ying leans on a fist and studies Lan Wangji’s face, admiring the elegant arch of his eyebrows, the displeased curl of his lips. There’s something strangely rewarding about getting a negative reaction out of this Young Master Wen. It’s a dangerous feeling, he realises. “But enough about me. Tell me more about you, Young Master Wen.”

“I like chess,” Lan Wangji says seriously, “when it is played properly.”

Wei Ying rolls his eyes. He straightens his back, clears his throat, and gestures to the cup of wine over on Lan Wangji’s side of the table. “If you please, Young Master Wen.”

Wei Ying tries not to laugh at the way this Wen Ning is eyeballing the wine. If he didn’t know any better, he’d have assumed someone was pressing the disagreeable end of a sword to Young Master Wen’s back at this very moment, forcing him to take a drink. He’s so straight edge… it’s almost kind of endearing.

“Fine,” Lan Wangji finally says, extending a hand towards the offending cup. “Long live the Emperor, the Lord of Ten Thousand Years.”

*

He knows Wei Ying isn’t paying attention to what’s happening in their game at all. Yet Lan Wangji has allowed things to get this far, even though he isn’t enjoying this at all. He had come to the capital fully intending to see only Xichen and, eventually, the Emperor himself, but now he’s found himself entertaining a complete and total stranger in his room, playing a game of chess that seems to be taking the joy out of a favoured pastime.

A crazy impulse had struck him the moment he opened the door, and now it’s settling into something unpleasant. As he drinks his third cup of wine, Lan Wangji realises the feeling he’s weighing in his heart is a mixture of regret, frustration, and trepidation.

Hand hovering over the board, Lan Wangji flicks a look up at the still-masked Wei Ying, who’s still watching him with wide-eyed interest. It’s the sort of thing Lan Wangji is unused to, being taken apart by someone without them even touching him. It’s the reason he drove himself to the mountains, to a life of seclusion, and the reason he decided to leave the life of a courtesan. No man or woman who’s ever touched Lan Wangji has ever made him feel like the touch had been earned, or even like he could enjoy such closeness. For too long, he’d spent his life bending to the whims and fancies of others, subjected to their long, hungry gazes.

Now here he is again, pliant and waiting, on the verge of giving himself up for another—only this time it is the most powerful man in the world, a man he hasn’t even met yet. A man he will likely never love.

He scowls, and Wei Ying recoils from the suddenness of it. “Take off your mask,” Lan Wangji growls. “Or I will not play with you any longer.”

“What—this? Oh, if you wanted to see my face, Young Master Wen, you should have said so from the very beginning.” Wei Ying removes the dark mask that’s shielded him from Lan Wangji’s scrutiny all this time, and grins from ear to ear. Not many people have seen the Yiling Patriarch’s true face, and he supposes that Wen Ning, for all his disdain about the Emperor, hasn’t either. It’s a freeing thought. Something flutters through Wei Ying. Something like excitement. “I was simply worried you’d find me too handsome.”

Lan Wangji bites back a scoff. “What are you really doing here, Wei Ying?”

“What am I—what? That’s a funny question. I’m playing chess with you, my newfound friend.”

Lan Wangji retracts his hand, feeling something dark bubble within him. Wei Ying’s features are fox-like, almost, though Lan Wangji isn’t sure if it’s the alcohol misleading him some. There’s a pleasantness and wickedness to his looks that seem to be at odds with each other; one minute Wei Ying looks like a perfectly innocent man and the next, at the slightest twitch of his mouth, he looks utterly devious, like he has something up his sleeve.

Does he? Lan Wangji wonders. He stares Wei Ying down, noting the confused furrow of his brows. The way he’s biting his lower lip, unsure of what to do next. Lan Wangji stares, indulging some shadow part of himself, and finds that he’s enjoying the way discomfort looks on Wei Ying’s youthful and—indeed—handsome face.

“Are you often in the habit of breaking into people’s rooms at night and bringing them an inordinate amount of wine like this?” Lan Wangji asks.

“Well, no,” Wei Ying has the decency to blush—or maybe it’s the alcohol? “But I do lots of other things in the night. Mostly seeking out cases of hauntings, murders… things that normal, reputable cultivators would rather not dabble in. Helping the little people is something I quite like doing, even though you’d be hard pressed to find yourself lacking more, uh, legitimate options in the capital. Why do you look so surprised?”

“Because it’s not what I expected. You look like a thief.”

“And you look like—well, you look exactly the way a person who owns a chess set and is obsessed with calligraphy would, I guess.”

“And what’s that?”

Wei Ying chews on his bottom lip. “Distinguished. Clean. Handsome. You know.”

“Handsome.” Lan Wangji feels some forgotten part of himself quiver. He’s had too much to drink, and he hasn’t indulged like this in over a decade. “Is that what you think?”

“Why would I lie to you, Young Master Wen?” Wei Ying waves a hand, avoiding Lan Wangji’s gaze now. There’s something deeply intense about the man, and Wei Ying fears he might just see through his act the longer he lingers here. And yet he makes no move to leave. “Surely the girls in your hometown must be constantly swooning over y—”

The rest of his sentence is drowned out by the noise of Lan Wangji swiping the chessboard to the ground, rising to his feet, and stepping over the low table in Wei Ying’s direction.

“You don’t know me. Do you think you can do whatever you like, just because you don’t know me? Do you think,” Lan Wangji seizes Wei Ying by the front of his robes and hauls him to his feet effortlessly, buoyed by the whispers of alcohol, daring him to let loose, “you can say whatever you like to me? Tell me I’m handsome, leer at me from behind your coward’s mask, with no regard for consequences?”

“Consequences? We’re not nearly drunk enough to reach that part of the night, Young Master Wen…” Wei Ying reaches up with both hands to grip Lan Wangji’s wrists. “Let me go. I can see you’re a lightweight. I think it’s time for some tea…”

“I don’t want tea.” Lan Wangji’s voice drops a whole octave, and a full-body shudder takes hold of Wei Ying. “I want what you have. I want to live by no one’s rules. How dare you look at me like this, like—like—you’ve earned it. How dare you come in here and show me everything I could ever want out of life?”

“Dramatic…” Wei Ying tries to twist out of Lan Wangji’s grip, to no avail. “Maybe we should sit down and, ah, talk about it a little more? You seem to have a lot on your mind, Young Master Wen!”

“My life is no longer mine,” Lan Wangji growls, “for I am promised to another. I wanted no part in this, yet here I am…”

Wei Ying lets out a little gasp. “I… uh. Had no idea.”

“Of course not. You know nothing.” Lan Wangji begins to move, dragging Wei Ying along with him, and with a surprising amount of strength hurls the man against the nearest bookshelf. Scrolls rain down over Wei Ying’s head, obstructing his vision long enough so he doesn’t see what Lan Wangji is about to do next.

Wei Ying feels Lan Wangji’s hand close around his groin area and lets out an involuntary yelp. “Wen Ning! What are you doing?”

“Teaching you,” Lan Wangji leans close, eyes hooded, “about consequences.”

*

Wei Ying can’t quite recall how he’s come to land on his back, how Wen Ning is now hovering over him like a mighty storm cloud, and how achingly hard he’s suddenly become in the span of a very short minute. Maybe it’s the look Young Master Wen is giving him right now, eyes burning like a dark sun, or maybe it’s the fact that the man hasn’t released his grip on Wei Ying’s throbbing cock yet since slamming him against the bookshelf. If he’d known alcohol was going to turn this man into some kind of beast, he’d have listened the first time Wen Ning had politely rejected his invitation to drink.

Wei Ying lets out a harsh sound when Young Master Wen begins to tug at his hardening cock through the fabric of his robes. “Wen Ning, if you’re going to violate me against my will… you might as well do it properly.”

“Properly.” Wen Ning’s usual sternness is deepening into something… more. Something hungry. Something fierce. “Like our chess game?”

Wen Ning tugs roughly at Wei Ying’s cock, along the eager length of it, and almost smiles. Wei Ying, far too dizzy to even bite back, simply starts attempting to disrobe himself. At the very least, he wants to free his aching cock from all these layers, so he can feel the warmth in Wen Ning’s palm, his skin.

“Quickly,” he hears Wen Ning mutter, and manages to undo the knots that hold the front of his robes together until his chest is bare, coming into contact with the cool night air at last. His nipples have grown awfully hard. Wei Ying begins to pull down his pants.

Wen Ning rakes a hungry look over Wei Ying’s form while he slips a hand underneath the band of Wei Ying’s pants, seeking out his throbbing erection. As Wei Ying stares down his own cock, standing at full attention, Wen Ning busies himself with spitting into his palm. The sight is almost too much to bear; Wei Ying closes his eyes briefly as his cock gives a mighty twitch. A small voice inside him asks, What are you doing, Wei Wuxian? What are you doing, letting a total stranger manhandle you like this—like you’re not actually going to marry someone else in a matter of days?

Young Master Wen lowers himself onto Wei Ying and reaches down with his wet palm to grasp him once more. He gives Wei Ying a few strong pumps, eliciting the most whorish moan out of the man beneath him. Wei Ying barely recognises his own voice. He opens his eyes and looks up into Wen Ning’s face, shrouded in shadow.

“Is this your idea of—taking your life back?” Wei Ying asks in a small voice. His gaze flits between Wen Ning’s face and the sight of his hand wrapped tight around his cock, stroking languidly up and down. “You—you know, I think you’re entirely mistaken. I wasn’t leering at Young Master Wen. Oh—Wei Ying—wouldn’t dare.”

“Liar.” Wen Ning’s voice, if it is even possible, deepens even more. He dips low and buries his face in the crook of Wei Ying’s neck, biting into the flesh there, and continues between bites, “You will be honest with me, or I will throw you out.”

Wei Ying grits his teeth, marvelling at this sudden change in personality. Wen Ning’s constant refusal of wine could only mean the man was the sort to stay away from worldly desires, and yet—what was happening right now? Wei Ying closes his eyes, biting back a moan, yet cannot stop himself from arching his back when the other man trails a searing line of bites and harsh kisses down his collarbones, over his heaving chest. He feels a warm wetness close around his right nipple and lets out a breathy whine and yelps sharply when Wen Ning bites down.

“Don’t—don’t—ah, young master, that feels…” Wei Ying’s cock is aching something fierce now, but he’s far too helpless and far too weak to try and rush things along. He feels the thrum of Wen Ning’s growl against his skin as the man alternates between sucking his hard pebble of a nipple and biting it. Wei Ying’s hips twitch, trying to get some friction going again, but Wen Ning holds him firmly in place. “Young Master Wen, please…”

“I’m not finished.” Wen Ning shifts a little bit, directing his attention to Wei Ying’s unattended left nipple, and takes it into his mouth hungrily. Wei Ying gasps when he feels the familiar sharpness of the man’s teeth around his sensitive flesh.

“I—this is—Wen Ning, this is rape,” Wei Ying says dizzily. He feels Wen Ning freeze for a split second before the man draws away, straightening his back.

“Rape?” Wen Ning is clearly inebriated, or else Wei Ying thinks he wouldn’t be looking so cavalier about the whole affair. Or so upset at the same time, too. Wei Ying lowers his gaze briefly and sees that Wen Ning himself is excited, straining through the fabric of his robes, and feels something electric course through his veins. “Is it rape if you never said no? If you’re responding like this?”

Wen Ning squeezes Wei Ying’s cock, tugging harshly until droplets of pre-cum begin to form at its head. He lowers himself to swipe the tip of his tongue over the head of Wei Ying’s cock, then opens his mouth a little wider. Wei Ying can only watch, breathless and stunned into silence, as his cock disappears between a pair of surprisingly soft lips. Wen Ning’s tongue is hot and moist, engulfing his cock. It’s rough and eager and fierce, yet Wei Ying can feel a shred of experience guiding Wen Ning’s ministrations. There’s not even an inkling of hesitation on Wen Ning’s part, like all of this is second nature to him. Oh, he’s done this before. He’s done this many times.

Who is Wen Ning?

Wei Ying watches, transfixed, as Wen Ning’s head starts bobbing up and down, his dark hair spilling over his shoulders like a river. It’s enough to get him right to the end, but Wei Ying doesn’t want to let himself go yet—no, not yet, not when this feels like heaven. He bucks his hips, trying to meet Wen Ning just as he comes down on his cock, and moans the man’s name like a plea. Wen Ning emits a low noise from deep within his throat, indulgent, and Wei Ying’s cock feels it.

“Don’t—Wen Ning—young master, if you keep this up I might just—”

“Mm.”

Wei Ying hisses sharply, reaching down to curl a fist into Wen Ning’s hair. He gives a weak tug. “I’m… not joking… I don’t want to—”

Wen Ning relents, but only for a few seconds—long enough for him to reach for Wei Ying’s balls, to cup them with his free hand. When he gives them a mighty squeeze, Wei Ying releases his grip on Wen Ning’s hair and just lays back, defeated. It seems Wen Ning is determined to have his way, to be as absurd and obscene as possible, making a show out of sucking Wei Ying’s helpless cock. When Wen Ning rapidly flicks his tongue over the head of Wei Ying’s cock, it sends the Yiling Patriarch into a spiral. All of a sudden, he goes completely still—

“Fuck. Young Master Wen—fuck!” Wei Ying barely registers the fact that it’s his voice he’s hearing, crying out into the night air, as Wen Ning swallows his hot seed, wasting not even a single drop of Wei Ying’s messy expulsions.

Wei Ying is only starting to come down from his orgasm when Wen Ning resurfaces, gently pushing his thighs apart with one hand as he reaches up with the other and spits into his palm again—only this time it’s Wei Ying’s thick, hot semen and not his own saliva.

“Wen Ning… what are you…”

“Be quiet.” Wen Ning slips out of his robes slowly and pulls his own cock free at last, and Wei Ying cannot help the noise that escapes his throat when he sees the hulking thing. He bites his lower lip, suppressing a whimper, as Wen Ning wraps a sopping wet hand around himself, spreading Wei Ying’s cum all over his erection.

“Young Master Wen,” Wei Ying breathes. He spreads his legs a little wider, almost like an invitation, and finds himself thrilling to the sight of the fire in Wen Ning’s eyes rising higher and higher with every passing moment. “Are you going to fuck me with that huge sword of yours?”

Wen Ning doesn’t respond and simply moves, man of action that he is. Wei Ying lets out a little cry when Young Master Wen roughly takes hold of him, snapping his hips towards him, and presses the head of his cock against Wei Ying’s entrance.

Wei Ying moans, “This is rape.”

“So it is,” Wen Ning responds, and sinks his nails into Wei Ying’s hips. He pulls the Yiling Patriarch towards him just as he thrusts forward, not even pretending to be gentle about the whole affair and lets out a guttural groan that sends shivers down Wei Ying’s spine. “Wei Ying…!”

“Oh, fuck.” Wei Ying closes his eyes, having failed to brace himself for the initial discomfort in time, and feels a hot tear roll down his cheek. “Young Master Wen, you’re so fucking huge—maybe too big for little old me, huh?”

Wen Ning thrusts harder, pumping himself further into Wei Ying’s little hole. “You’ll manage,” he grunts. “I am not giving you a choice.”

*

Lan Wangji rocks himself with wild abandon against Wei Ying and, through the haze of his lust, admires the man’s lithe form. He looks down at the point where they’ve connected, at the lewd sight of his own cock pumping in and out of Wei Ying.

Wei Ying’s cock is slowly twitching back to life even after being spent just a mere minute ago. Lan Wangji leans down, pressing himself against Wei Ying’s hot flesh, and begins to quicken his own pace.

Wei Ying whines something unintelligible as he reaches up to grip Lan Wangji by the shoulders, hair spilled across the hardwood floor. A devastating vision of lust and helplessness. Lan Wangji doesn’t take his eyes off Wei Ying for even a second, feeling himself coming dangerously close to his own orgasm.

Wei Ying begins to take deeper breaths as Lan Wangji continues his onslaught, aching cock thrilling to the sensation of how tight Wei Ying’s desperate hole is.

“Young Master Wen!” Wei Ying moans, bucking his hips in a chaotic fashion, utterly out of sync with the rhythm Lan Wangji has built up. “Are you—are you going to cum inside me—young master?”

“Don’t call me that.”

“O-oh, do you not like that? Then…” Wei Ying gasps when Lan Wangji gives a particularly powerful thrust, “Gege?”

Lan Wangji hisses. What the fuck.

“Gege,” Wei Ying presses on, encouraged by Lan Wangji’s non-verbal reaction. “You seem to like this very much. Maybe I’ll call you that f-from now on? Ah!”

“Shut up.” Lan Wangji closes his eyes, feeling himself on the edge of release. “For just one second, shut up—”

He chokes on the rest of his sentence when his cock suddenly starts spurting in angry bursts; Lan Wangji leans over and practically collapses on top of Wei Ying, whose cock is also twitching to its second orgasm. Lan Wangji thoughtlessly jerks his hips, burying himself all the way through so he can deposit every last drop inside Wei Ying, and moans into Wei Ying’s neck.

“You raped me,” Wei Ying whines beneath him. “You’re so awful, Gege.”

Lan Wangji’s cock twitches, despite having just emptied its load not three seconds ago. “Think twice before breaking into someone’s sleeping quarters next time, then,” he says gruffly, and lifts himself off at last. When he pulls out of Wei Ying, he watches with sick interest as Wei Ying clenches his hole with just enough force to squeeze out more than a couple of drops of cum onto the ground.

“I can’t move. You’ve broken my body, my spirit… how pitiful! You can go on ahead, Gege… I’ll just sleep here.”

Lan Wangji gets to his feet, a little unsteadily at first. “Very well. Goodnight.”

“H-hey! Wait! You’re being serious right now, aren’t you?! Young Master Wen! Gege! Gege!!”

III.

Wei Ying is gone by the morning.

Lan Wangji supposes he shouldn’t be surprised; he’d decided, just a little before falling asleep, that that would be the last time he’d ever let himself see the rogue cultivator again.

He spends the early hours of the day in blissful silence, cleaning up the mess he’d made and carefully putting aside the unfinished jugs of wine in the corner, near the guqin propped up against the wall. Xichen would be here soon, and Lan Wangji wasn’t quite in the mood for probing questions, especially considering the circumstances of his situation.

The thought pricks him. Soon, the Emperor would be coming to claim him as his own. In a show of rebellion and indignance, Lan Wangji had let himself go and allowed himself to fraternise with someone he barely knew, debasing himself and giving in to his most base desires. Just a few days shy of his own wedding, and an Imperial wedding, no less.

Lan Wangji finds he doesn’t quite enjoy the aftertaste of guilt.

A knock on the door startles him out of his heavy thoughts. “Wangji. Are you awake yet?”

“Yes.” Lan Wangji is already reaching for a fresh set of robes, pushing the thought of last night back into the furthest recesses of his mind, that he might lay all of this to rest once and for all. “Just give me a minute, Brother, and I’ll be right out.”

*

The Imperial City is bursting with noise and colour, with merchants shouting each other down from every direction and trying to wrangle customers over to their side of the street. Lan Wangji is suffering a mild headache from his… overindulgence… the night before and frowns when a portly merchant meanders too close, trying to convince everyone of the authenticity of his wares, hauled across a great distance from the south to the capital.

Xichen has a clear question in his eyes when he looks at his younger brother. Lan Wangji takes one look at Xichen and then looks away, pretending to be fixated on something else for the moment.

“I slept a little later than usual,” he says simply.

“You’re still unhappy. I understand.” Xichen lets out a sigh, folding his hands neatly behind his back. “I apologise, Wangji, for being the reason your mood continues to sour, then. The Emperor has agreed on a date. You will go to him in four days’ time, in the Imperial Palace.”

“I see.” Lan Wangji’s mind turns to the shadowy memory of Wei Ying, squirming beneath him. His cock in Lan Wangji’s mouth. “Then I suppose I ought to get fitted for my robes very soon.”

“Yes,” Xichen says regretfully. “It was… supposed to be tomorrow, in fact. But…”

Lan Wangji turns his gaze to his brother, expectant.

“The Emperor had to leave the Imperial Palace last night on urgent business, as he is wont to do. A last-minute expedition or something like it,” Xichen explains. “So we have all agreed on the next best date.”

“It seems the Emperor likes to keep busy, even at the inconvenience of others,” Lan Wangji says coldly. “One might think he has no interest in running an empire.”

“I do believe you’re being biased,” Xichen gently chides, but not unkindly. “The Emperor has his reasons, I’m sure. But perhaps you can question him yourself when you finally meet. In the meantime, shall we explore this street? I hear this alley is famous for its cold noodles, and I’m certain you haven’t eaten yet. You have that look about you, like you’re going to throttle someone to death if they so much as accidentally step on the back of your robes.”

Lan Wangji looks down the street Xichen is talking about. As if on cue, his stomach lets out a low grumble. He touches a hand over his stomach and nods. “Very well. Lead the way, Brother.”

They attract plenty of attention as they weave in and out of the crowd. Lan Wangji can feel the combined weight of the people’s gazes. He can hardly blame them for staring; the Twin Jades of Lan have been separated for such a long time that most would nowadays only expect to see Lan Xichen by himself in public. The reappearance of Lan Wangji, his younger brother, would surely draw in renewed interest.

“Do they know about the betrothal?” Lan Wangji asks, matching his brother step for step.

“The people? Not yet,” Xichen replies. “I think they are, at the moment, more preoccupied with the fact that you’ve shown your face again, after all this time.

“I see.”

“You don’t like the attention,” Xichen observes plainly.

“I never have. Even when I served as a courtesan, I…” Lan Wangji presses his lips together in a flat line. Severe. “You already know. I left for a reason.” And now I am being denied even that, all for the sake of another.

“But you realise that as the Emperor’s intended, the expectation is that you are to appear with him in public for most, if not all, occasions?”

Lan Wangji scowls, turning his face away. “I know. I am prepared for it. And I don’t wish to discuss this wedding right now.”

“Then when?” Xichen lets out a sigh. “I just don’t want you marching into the Imperial Palace looking like there’s a dark weight around your neck, like you’re walking towards your doom instead of a future full of new possibilities. Wangji, I need to know that you’re okay with whatever is happening here. How am I supposed to let you go with my blessings otherwise?”

Lan Wangji snorts quietly. “I’m not allowed to tell you that I’m not. The Emperor will not enjoy the idea of someone rejecting him in turn, I’m sure. I hear he can be… ruthless.”

“Ruthless?” Xichen quirks a brow. “Where did you hear that?”

“Never mind that,” Lan Wangji says, hiding his hands in his sleeves. “Let’s stop talking about this for now. This is the place you were talking about?”

Xichen doesn’t press the issue but has a weary look about him when Lan Wangji meets his gaze. He nods, and gestures for Lan Wangji to walk ahead of him and enter the teahouse first. “Indeed. And please, Wangji—I’m paying for the meal, this time.”

*

By the time Lan Wangji returns to his room at the Jade Phoenix Inn, the sun has already begun its slow descent, drenching the sky in an angry auburn shade. Xichen had spent the rest of the day trying to appease Lan Wangji’s sullen mood, making more promises that he wouldn’t leave Wangji alone to fend for himself even after the wedding, but all his good intentions had only served to dampen things even more.

Lan Wangji doesn’t want to think about the wedding, doesn’t want to remind himself that in a matter of days, his life will soon look vastly different from the one he’s become used to over the past decade. Or even the past night.

Lan Wangji pushes open the doors to his room and finds the rogue Wei Ying kneeling at the low table, setting the chessboard. It’s a bizarre sight. He hadn’t expected to see this man again, nor did he ever think that there’s a chance Wei Ying might return. The memory of his misdeeds the previous night returns in full force, and Lan Wangji cannot help but curl his mouth into a disapproving frown, even as Wei Ying perks up with a cheeky smile.

“I was hoping I’d bump into you here,” he says stupidly.

“This is my room,” Lan Wangji says, “Not yours. Get out.”

“Don’t be like this, Young Master Wen! I like to think we know each other a little better now, and I still owe you a proper chess game.” Wei Ying gestures grandly to the chess pieces, neatly arranged. “So, how about it?”

“I don’t want to play.”

“Why not?”

“I’m not in the mood for it. Why are you here again?”

Wei Ying scratches the back of his head, looking a little nervous. “I’m not sure how you’ve managed to make a perfectly innocent question sound like a threat, but here we are…”

“Answer the question.” Lan Wangji closes the doors behind him. “Wei Ying.”

“I just missed you, that’s all!” Wei Ying grins, a little sheepish, and looks up at Lan Wangji when he walks over. “You don’t believe me?”

“No. You’re clearly lying. But it doesn’t matter.” Lan Wangji stares, drinking in the sight of Wei Ying on his knees, with his wide eyes. “Both of us are just here on borrowed time. Why bother with that?” He gestures to the chessboard. “Why bother with meaningless trifles if you know they will not last? We should simply submit, heads bowed, and let Heaven decide whatever comes next. Wouldn’t you agree?”

“Wow. Someone’s in a bad mood.” Wei Ying stares into his lap. “The truth is, Wen Ning gege, I’ve also just come out of a very long, very bad day. And I thought to myself, where’s the one place in this city that’ll make you happy for sure?” He lifts his gaze, smiling again. “I kept thinking of you! And the unfinished jugs of wine in the corner over there!”

“Stop talking nonsense. I make you happy?” Lan Wangji’s lip curls. He moves towards the bed, unfastening his robes. “You barely know who I am.”

He hears the rustle of fabric behind him and the sound of creaking wood. Wei Ying moves up behind him, saying, “Maybe that’s true. Maybe your name isn’t even Wen Ning. But you know, Gege… I’ve tried to forget about you. But then I remembered that I’d really rather forget my troubles more. I know it’s indecent of me to go after a soon-to-be-married man, but…”

Wei Ying snakes his arms around Lan Wangji’s waist, hands searching for knots to untie within the folds of his robes. He takes the opportunity to pull Lan Wangji close, to press up against the curve of his ass.

“But you can’t help it,” Lan Wangji says darkly, “because you do whatever the hell you want. Of course.”

“You say that like you’re not allowed,” Wei Ying murmurs, running his hands up and down Lan Wangji’s bare chest now that his robes have been completely undone. “You know you can do whatever the hell you want too, right? At least… in this room, with me… you can pretend to be someone else for another night.”

“I don’t want to pretend.” Lan Wangji turns around slowly and takes Wei Ying by the waist, pulling him close.

“Okay,” Wei Ying drags a palm over Lan Wangji’s chest, down over his stomach, and reaches into his pants. “Then what do you want, Gege? You can tell me.”

“I want to leave this city,” Lan Wangji says, just as Wei Ying grasps his cock. He groans softly and lets Wei Ying push him onto the bed. “I want to change my name and never look back.”

Wei Ying climbs on top of Lan Wangji. “And?”

“And live life on my own terms,” Lan Wangji continues, even as he’s growing painfully hard in Wei Ying’s grip. He closes his eyes. “Never answer to anyone but the wind. Wherever it wishes to go, I will go too.”

“You’re such a romantic, Gege. Who would have thought?” Wei Ying purrs, leaning over Lan Wangji, hair falling over his eyes. It’s a charming sight. “And what about me, hm?”

“What about you?” Lan Wangji asks, suddenly confused.

“Am I just a meaningless trifle to you, young master?” Wei Ying tugs at his erection and massages its head with his thumb while closely watching Lan Wangji’s face. “Just something that won’t matter to you in the morning?”

“What else could you possibly mean to me? In this life, at least,” Lan Wangji stops speaking for a minute so he can catch his breath, helpless to the way Wei Ying has him in his grasp right now, “I suppose you’re nothing more than just an unwelcome, unexpected guest in this little room. And that’s—ngh—all you’ll ever be.”

Wei Ying squeezes his cock with a bit more force than is entirely necessary, and Lan Wangji throws his head back against the pillow, groaning out loud.

“You’re so unpleasant when you’re betrothed,” Wei Ying says sweetly. “Maybe I should be the one to steal you away from here, hm? Maybe you’ll be nicer to me then when it’s truly just the two of us.”

Lan Wangji bares his fangs in an open scowl, even as Wei Ying sends another wave of pleasure through his body. He’s quivering. Relishing the way Wei Ying’s hand feels wrapped around his erection. “What do you want from me, Wei Ying? You’ve been talking nothing but senseless things since I stepped into the room.”

“I want you to be honest with me, Gege,” Wei Ying says, something strange and distant entering his voice. “And with yourself, most of all.”

“Fine.” Lan Wangji hisses, feeling a strange fury take hold of him. “I want you to put your mouth to better use. Right now.”

Wei Ying laughs, lashes fluttering prettily, and indicates Lan Wangji’s outrageously erect cock. “Oh, you mean this? My, but aren’t you a dirty man, asking for someone to use their mouth on you like this. But I confess, the way you handled me last night…” Wei Ying purrs, beginning to move so he can reposition himself right between Lan Wangji’s thighs. “I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it since you closed your mouth around my cock. Is that why you’re so tense, young master? Because you haven’t been able to stop thinking about it too?”

Lan Wangji lets out a sharp exhale, watching Wei Ying toy with his cock, fondling his balls and licking his shaft up and down. “Yes,” he says. His concentration is beginning to fray. “Are you,” he continues, breathless, “going to be a good boy and return the favour?”

“Yes, young master,” Wei Ying’s eyes darken with meaning. “Wei Ying is nothing if not a good boy. Watch.”

He takes Lan Wangji in a single mouthful without gagging, despite its enormous girth. It’s an overwhelming sight: Wei Ying’s mouth closed around his cock, Wei Ying’s dark eyes locked with Lan Wangji’s, almost like he’s daring Lan Wangji to not look away, to drink it all in and indulge the way he intends to drink him down. Wei Ying lets out a guttural, obscene moan as he pushes himself right down to the base of Lan Wangji’s cock.

It doesn’t take long before Lan Wangji finds himself on the edge of release, his balls tight with anticipation. Wei Ying sucks him off like a man starved, with one hand curled around the base of his shaft and the other gripping his balls and squeezing them intermittently, coaxing them into giving up their treasure, their prize, right into his hungry mouth.

“Wei Ying,” Lan Wangji warns.

Wei Ying can only moan in response before he doubles down, swirling his tongue around Lan Wangji’s throbbing flesh and giving his balls one last squeeze before Lan Wangji feels himself slant violently into oblivion, letting out a noise that’s more animal than human. He cums right into Wei Ying’s mouth, down his whore throat, and thrusts his hips up into the air where he knows Wei Ying has him in his grasp, safe and sound. They remain like that for quite some time, until Lan Wangji rides out the last waves of his orgasm.

He looks down at Wei Ying, who’s wiping the corners of his mouth with his sleeve.

“Don’t waste a single drop,” Lan Wangji warns, “or you’ll have to start all over again.”

Wei Ying grins and lowers his hand. A single drop escapes out of the corner of his mouth, dribbling down his chin.

“Oops,” Wei Ying says.

Lan Wangji roughly seizes him by the hair.

“You did that on purpose.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Gege… Wei Ying's a good boy.”

“Really?” Lan Wangji tugs at Wei Ying’s hair and forces his face against his flaccid cock. “Then you’ll do this again, over and over, until you finally realise the error of your ways. How does that sound?”

The look Wei Ying gives him is equal parts incredulous and impressed. Lan Wangji almost cracks a smile.

IV.

“I think I’m going to call off the wedding.”

Jiang Yanli looks up from her cup of tea, eyes wide with shock. There’s a shadow around Wei Ying’s eyes and an unnaturally stern line to his jaw. They tell Jiang Yanli that this isn’t actually another one of Wei Ying’s practical jokes, and that he’s being serious this time. “You… you’re going to do what? A-Xian, don't tell me this has something to do with your absence of late.”

Between them, upon a stone table in the his private garden's pavilion, sits a large plate of dumplings of every sort. Wei Ying’s favourites. He had even been the one to order the servants to bring them all the food they can find in the kitchens, as though he’d been deliberately starving himself. But since sitting down with him, the only one who's been eating these dumplings is Jiang Yanli. Between the two of them, and amongst the three royal siblings, Wei Ying has always had the biggest appetite, especially after an excursion of his. Something's wrong, the princess knows.

Jiang Yanli is the only one who knows what the Yiling Patriarch gets up to when he's not in the Imperial Palace. Jiang Cheng has some inkling of Wei Ying's tendencies. Perhaps even Jiang Fengmian is aware, but Wei Ying has always gone out of his way to make sure that the Empress never finds out. He leaves the palace once every fortnight, ordinarily, on the pretext of seeing the world and getting to know his people, and Jiang Yanli has always trusted the Yiling Patriarch to be able to take care of himself. But lately she's noticed more frequent disappearances... ever since the wedding had been announced.

"I met someone," Wei Ying finally says. He shifts in his seat, bringing his knees up to his chest, and hugs them, child-like and pensive. "And I suppose I shouldn't have done such a stupid thing, leaving the palace to look for a way out, but..."

"But you... like this person?"

"Like him? Hah!" Wei Ying's smile is almost bitter. "I haven't been able to stop thinking about him since we met. I'm really in trouble, I guess."

"Well," Jiang Yanli begins, "how do you know he won't flee the moment he discovers who you are? Assuming he doesn't know who you are, yet."

"He doesn't," Wei Ying says. "I guess you're right. He doesn't know who I really am. Is Wei Ying being silly?"

"No, not at all. It's just..." Jiang Yanli sighs, reaching across the table. Wei Ying takes her hand. "You're in a bit of a predicament. Calling off the wedding now would... well, the Lan clan might not take it well. And Father and Mother, they..."

"They'd be disappointed. I know. But I don't want to marry Lan Wangji. I haven't felt this free in years. I don't know if I can ever go back to how things used to be, now that..." Wei Ying squeezes his sister's hand. "I've really done it, haven't I? Ruined things?"

"Not yet. But you must be certain, Wei Ying. Be certain that this is something you actually want because you want this person, not because it's the most convenient alternative out of your current misery," Jiang Yanli tries to smile when Wei Ying meets her gaze, but it doesn't quite take. "Whatever you do, do it with your whole heart."

"Unless it's going to tarnish the reputation of the entire royal family, I think not!"

Wei Ying leaps to his feet at the sound of Jiang Cheng's voice, dropping Jiang Yanli's hand, and turns around. "I don't know what you think you heard, Jiang Cheng, but you'd better quickly forget about it," he says, drained of his usual cheer.

"I'd love to pretend I'm hard on hearing, Wei Wuxian, but this is truly too much," Jiang Cheng says darkly, before turning to his sister. "Jie, how could you let him do this? Do you realise how important this marriage is to the palace, politically?"

"A-Cheng, please..."

"No! You've coddled him long enough," Jiang Cheng points an accusing finger at Wei Ying, "and now he thinks he can do whatever he likes with no regard for the consequences, masquerading as some common man, living a "normal" life, as if the duty of an Emperor means nothing to him!"

Wei Ying suddenly misses Wen Ning very, very much. He takes a couple of steps towards Jiang Cheng, fists clenched. "You don't know what the hell you're talking about."

"Oh? Forgive me for being careless with my words, Your Imperial Majesty, but Father gave up the throne to you for a reason, and that reason is not to go about gallivanting playing hero to the commonfolk, going against all decorum, and insulting the Dragon Throne by talking about how much you'd rather live a peasant's life!" Jiang Cheng steps forward as well, until he's mere inches away from Wei Ying, and jerks his chin up at him. "You're a disgrace to us all, and if you call off this wedding, even Father might not be able to save you when Mother decides to throw you out."

"Then let her throw me out. Let me be the first beggar Emperor, let me be homeless, let me go wherever I please!" Wei Ying shouts. "If you want to be the Emperor so badly, Jiang Cheng, then be my guest and make Lan Wangji your husband, not mine!"

Jiang Cheng is the one who throws the first punch, but Wei Ying is the one who does damage first. He catches the Crown Prince's fist before it connects with his face and sweeps at Jiang Cheng's legs with his own. Jiang Yanli gets to her feet, pleading for both of them to stop, but Wei Ying has already pinned his brother to the ground. He punches Jiang Cheng square in the nose, heaving angrily.

'That's for breaking my nose last winter," Wei Ying says. "And for being such a royal pain in the ass!"

"I'll kill you, Wei Wuxian! I don't care if you're the Emperor!"

"Then do it!" Wei Ying seizes Jiang Cheng by the front of his robes. "Stupid oaf. Wait till they fix you up with someone you don't like. You'll come running to me, whining about your plight, and then who's going to have the last laugh?! Me! Me!"

"A-Xian! A-Cheng!" Jiang Yanli all but inserts herself between her royal brothers and wrenches them apart by sheer force of will. "Enough of this! Look at the both of you! Is this how a royal prince and an emperor should act?"

"No, it isn't," Jiang Cheng snarls, watching Wei Ying get to his feet. He laughs without mirth. "He of all people should know that we all look to him as a shining example. He should be ashamed of himself. Should Lan Wangji hear about his dalliances, I think he'll be the first to run back to the mountains!"

Wei Ying feels something snap, deep inside him. "You know what," he says, stepping over Jiang Cheng, "maybe I will marry this Lan Wangji after all."

Jiang Yanli starts to go after him, but Jiang Cheng waves her off, shaking his head vigorously. "A-Xian..."

"I'll marry him and make him the most miserable man in the world," Wei Ying announces, storming off in a cloud of fury. "And then everyone will be happy but me!"

*

Lan Wangji thinks that this might be the first time he's ever seen Wei Ying so serious. And so angry. There's a cruel streak about the man today, even as he's lying flat on his back, legs up in the air, and begging for "Wen Ning Gege" to fuck him senseless. Ordinarily, Wei Ying asks for such treatment in a playful, teasing manner, like he knows Lan Wangji isn't actually going to inflict genuine violence on him. But this time he's got Lan Wangji in a death grip, nails sinking into his back as he whines and pleads for more, voice strained with real desperation and frustration.

It had been wholly different from the start today, ever since Lan Wangji returned to his room at the inn after a long day out with Xichen, who had come along with him to get his robes fitted and done before the wedding. He'd found Wei Ying sprawled across his bed, already bare, hard cock in hand. It was as though Lan Wangji had been looking at a whole new person. There's a shadow side to Wei Ying that is only just making its appearance. Lan Wangji hadn't been quite sure how he felt about it.

That is, until Wei Ying had beckoned him to come over and fuck him, right this instant, if you please, with his legs spread wide open.

"Fuck me harder, Gege, and faster," Wei Ying growls, "like your life depended on it. Come on... just fucking end me... make me cry, Gege..."

Lan Wangji feels his cock surge, buried deep inside Wei Ying. "You're... so insistent today," Lan Wangji murmurs, even as he acquiesces to Wei Ying's request. He's horny enough for it anyway, enjoying the pitiful display more than he'd expected himself to.

He thrusts mightily and shudders when he hears Wei Ying's pitchy cry, when he feels Wei Ying clench around his cock-- "That's a good--good boy," Lan Wangji grunts, rocking his hips with more force and enthusiasm now that he's learnt he can coax such whorish, desperate sounds from the man beneath him. "Always so eager for punishment, Wei Ying. Always so eager for Gege. Silly little pup."

Wei Ying lets out a strangled moan and claws at Lan Wangji's back. "I'm not a good boy. No! I'm not! Fuck, and you're gonna make me pay," he pants, quivering all over. "Isn't that right? Gege? You'll give me what I want?"

"What is it that you want?"

"Your cum, Gege," Wei Ying moans, breathless. "Your hot seed. I want you to fill me, Gege, then plug me up like the animal I am. I want to live like this forever--with you, walking around with your spunk inside me, please--"

Lan Wangji grunts, feeling himself begin to spin out. "Naughty," he breathes, hips snapping back and forth at breakneck speed. "You're so filthy, not even a hundred hot baths will be able to cleanse you, you utter whore--gods, Wei Ying, I'm going to--"

Wei Ying wraps his legs around Lan Wangji's waist and pulls him forward, locking him in place. Lan Wangji groans as he feels himself tip over the edge, cock pulsing deep inside Wei Ying's ass as he empties himself. And Wei Ying just takes it, wave after wave, not even caring if he's so full of cum that it's beginning to spill out and seep into the bed.

It takes Lan Wangji about a minute to realise that Wei Ying is crying. He begins to move, shocked, but Wei Ying holds him in place and pulls him down on top of him. "Don't pull out. If you pull out, I won't be able to--we'll never--"

"Use your words, Wei Ying." Lan Wangji slowly wraps Wei Ying in a warm, if sticky, embrace, sensing that something is indeed wrong this time. "Slowly."

Wei Ying curls a fist against Lan Wangji's bare chest, eyes dark with tears. "I love you."

Lan Wangji jolts. "...What?" His mouth twists into a frown. "Stop joking around and tell me what's the matter."

"That's the thing. That's exactly it," Wei Ying says, voice breaking. "I love you, Wen Ning. And I want you to--I want us to run away. Tonight. I have money, we can buy new clothes and supplies as we leave the capital--"

"Wei Ying." Lan Wangji's voice quivers beneath the weight of his guilt. His shock. "I am to be married soon. This was never--this was never going to last. I thought you understood."

"No, I guess I don't," Wei Ying mutters. "I'm promised to another as well, you know? And I've decided I'm not going to sit around and just--just take it." He stares up into Lan Wangji's face. "Are you?"

Lan Wangji doesn't pull away, but something inside him is telling him that they're already drifting. That all of this is impossible, that it had all been doomed from the very beginning, and that he needs to stop this right now--for good, this time. He closes his eyes, steeling himself, and says, "I am. Because I am sworn to my duty. And I believe that you are too, despite what you've said so far."

A sharp intake of breath, and all of a sudden Wei Ying is the one pulling away. He recedes like water from the shore, slowly and then all at once, and is on his feet in a matter of seconds, stumbling across the room to pick up his clothes. Lan Wangji sits up, feeling robbed of something, and watches Wei Ying try to dress himself, face streaked with tears.

"Wei Ying," he says softly, gaze softening. Regret tastes so bitter, he thinks. "Stop."

"No!" Wei Ying hisses, while trying to slip on a boot, "Who am I to try and stop Gege from his duty, after all? Wei Ying is just an irresponsible child, Wei Ying doesn't know any better, and Wei Ying should be more like Wen Ning Gege, so mature and steadfast and cowardly!"

It hurts. It does. Lan Wangji gets to his feet, approaching Wei Ying carefully, and extends a hand to him. "Stop. Please."

"For what?" Wei Ying wraps himself in his robes, eyes narrowed into slits. "It's clear that you don't want me here, and that you're finished with me--"

"I can't love you," Lan Wangji says, stepping forward, "because it will ruin me. It--already has."

Wei Ying freezes.

Lan Wangji lowers his hand after what feels like an eternity, staring down a man he's come to care about an unreasonable amount, despite the circumstances. How could he have let this happen? To himself, to them both?

"You're not a meaningless trifle," Lan Wangji continues, feeling absurd, "and I have been trying to convince myself out of it. This is madness, Wei Ying--"

"Is it really? Or is it madness if you agree to marry someone you know you'll never love?" Wei Ying closes the gap between them, reaching up to touch his palm to Lan Wangji's cheek. "I knew it, Gege. I knew you felt the same way--and now we can just--look, we can go, we can change our names, we can--"

"Stop." Lan Wangji presses his hand over Wei Ying's. "I cannot."

"You're lying to me, Gege. You shouldn't lie." Wei Ying bites down on his bottom lip, trying to fight back more tears. "This is a really terrible joke. It's simple. All of this is so simple--all we have to do is go right now, I'll buy us some horses, and--"

"Please," Lan Wangji says, wrenching Wei Ying's hand away from his face. "Don't make this more difficult than it has to be. Your Wen Ning is a coward. It's best you recognise that now, rather than later." But it is already too late.

"So that's it?" Wei Ying takes half a step back, eyes wide with disbelief. "This was just a waste of your time? Of mine? Did Wei Ying... do something to annoy you? Is that it?"

"You did nothing wrong. And I have done everything wrong," Lan Wangji lowers his gaze, ashamed. "Let me go, Wei Ying. Someone else will give you what you truly deserve."

"Gege..."

Lan Wangji closes his eyes, unwilling to look. But he can feel Wei Ying's presence, still, and knows the man is slowly moving across the room--further away from him.

"Gege should really learn how to treat himself better."

Wei Ying is gone when he looks up. It's as though he was never here. Just a whisper on the wind. Some distant memory from another man's life.

V.

The Imperial Palace is as silent as a graveyard. Upon the Dragon Throne sits a man decked in red and black, robes billowing as a cold gust of wind enters the court when the doors open. Jiang Fengmian appears, followed by Jiang Yanli and a particularly disgruntled looking Jiang Cheng, and stops just at the base of the dais. He bows, and his children follow suit.

"Your Imperial Majesty. The hour soon approaches. It is time to await Young Master Lan in the bedchambers..."

"Fine," the Yiling Patriarch says gruffly, getting to his feet. "I was beginning to doze off anyway. How long more until my intended arrives?"

"Within the hour, Your Highness," Jiang Fengmian says. He takes several steps back when Wei Ying descends the steps. "If I may ask... how are you feeling? You've been, well... for lack of a better word..."

"Difficult?" There's bite in Wei Ying's voice.

Jiang Fengmian lowers his gaze. "Not quite the word I was looking for."

"But it's true. And I suppose I should be sorry for causing all this trouble. All this worry." Wei Ying looks past Jiang Fengmian and locks eyes with Jiang Yanli, whose smile is equal parts uncertain and assuring. The corners of Wei Ying's mouth lift, but only for a second. When he looks over at Jiang Cheng, the optimism he's been trying to muster just dissipates like a rain puddle beneath the furious sun.

"Well," he says, not wanting to make them all uncomfortable on such an auspicious day, "No matter. No matter. I'll be fine once Young Master Lan arrives. I'm going to check on my new friends in the pond then make my way to the bedchamber, posthaste."

"Do you need company?" Jiang Yanli asks.

Wei Ying holds up a hand. "It's all right, Sister. You might want to keep Jiang Cheng from brawling with the guests. You know how he is when he's had too much to drink."

"I haven't even had a single drink!"

"A likely story. Now then, I'm off!"

"Wei Wuxian!"

Jiang Yanli holds her brother back by the arm. Jiang Fengmian turns to his children as the Emperor departs, and sighs. "What on earth has happened to him? How can he meet his intended like this, with such a black face?"

"Who knows? Maybe he's finally grown up," Jiang Cheng grouses.

"A-Xian has always known better," Jiang Yanli says. "He just needs some time to come to terms with all of this. We'd best leave him be and make sure everything else is in place, in the meantime. A-Cheng, will you come and help me?"

Jiang Cheng inclines his head in a slight bow. "Of course," he says meekly. "Father, we will see you later."

"Yes, yes." Jiang Fengmian is already looking in the direction that Wei Ying had taken off in. "I will go look for your mother, I suppose."

*

"So, it's over." Wei Ying sighs, crouched by the pond. "I'm going to meet Lan Xichen's younger brother and resign myself to fate. I don't suppose either of you are willing to hide me under your lilypad?"

The frogs croak in unison, their beady little eyes trained on the Yiling Patriarch.

"I thought so," Wei Ying laments. He looks up at the early morning sky, watching the passing clouds. "You know what? All this time I thought that maybe it was all in my head. That I just expected too much, or that I was imagining things. But I wasn't. I really wasn't! It turns out, my little froggy friends, that I actually am capable of love.

"Just not with Lan Wangji, I think. I just hope he won't be too disappointed."

Ribbit, ribbit. Wei Ying isn't sure if he's imagining the angry tone in the frogs' response, but he still feels oddly reprimanded all the same. He throws his hands up, exasperated.

"All right, all right! I know I'm a grown man, and I should act like one. But I think I'm still allowed to voice my feelings on the matter, even though... even though I'm voicing them to a couple of frogs. Which, now that I've said it out loud, is utterly insane. But there's no one else to talk to! No one else to talk to who won't immediately try to convince me to look on the bright side of things, that is..."

He sighs again, watching the frogs hop from lilypad to lilypad. One of them disappears into the water. The remaining frog waits patiently on the edge of its chosen lilypad, croaking softly.

"I miss him. I wonder if he's still at the Jade Phoenix Inn," Wei Ying says, "writing his poetry and pretending he doesn't miss me too. Hmph. Why am I even spending so much time thinking about him anyway? Maybe I'll fall in love with Lan Wangji in due course. Maybe then Wen Ning will realise what a huge mistake he's made and come knocking--oh, that's stupid! Why would he?" Wei Ying drags a hand over his face, groaning out loud. "He doesn't even know who I really am. How would he be able to find me, even if he wanted to?!"

Frog number two finally resurfaces. Wei Ying watches their reunion, feeling more than a little silly. He slowly gets to his feet, trying to remind himself that he's actually wasting daylight here, feeling jealousy over a couple of frogs. He's going to outlive them. He's going to live a long life and they're going to die maybe in a matter of months (he isn't quite sure what the average lifespan of a frog is, but he doesn't quite care enough to check, either). Wei Ying wins! Wei Ying always wins. So what if they have each other and the Yiling Patriarch has no one? He has the rest of his life to try and get used to this. Or the rest of his life to ignore how miserable he's going to be. Either way...

Wei Ying turns his back to the pond, clenching his fists, and takes a deep breath.

*

The Yiling Patriarch steels himself, straightens his expression, and smooths the creases from his robes. He can hear them setting down the bridal sedan outside. Staring straight ahead, Wei Ying rests his hands over his knees and waits.

In a matter of minutes, the double doors swing open, revealing a tall, lanky figure wearing shimmering robes of red and gold, with intricate patterns and depictions of phoenixes in flight embroidered into the fine fabric. Wei Ying's expression doesn't change, though he feels his heart sinking. Lan Wangji, at long last. The Emperor watches as the veiled Lan Wangji steps forward, over the doorsill.

Then all of a sudden, Lan Wangji just... stops.

Wei Ying waits, drumming his fingers over one knee, but Lan Wangji appears to have turned to ice completely, remaining rooted to the spot. A flare of irritation takes hold of Wei Ying, and he beckons for the man to come forward.

"What are you waiting for?" he asks, in a voice he doesn't recognise. "Only a couple more steps, Second Master Lan. Surely you can make the journey over here without my help."

Lan Wangji says nothing, and Wei Ying feels the last vestiges of his patience wear thin.

"Look," he says, sighing forcefully, "I don't want to be here either. But tradition dictates that this is our duty." He gets to his feet and gestures for Lan Wangji to come forth, again. "Now step forward, Second Master Lan, and just--do as you're told. Even if you don't want to be here, I just--"

"I do want to be here."

Something catches in Wei Ying's throat. That voice! He would know it anywhere. Anywhere! He stares into the red veil, as though attempting to burn through it with his gaze alone.

"You--"

Lan Wangji takes a step forward wordlessly, and Wei Ying feels himself splitting apart at the seams. He rushes forward, reaching out to lift the veil from the man's face, and sees Wen Ning--the same Wen Ning from so many nights ago, the one who's haunted his dreams for days on end, the man that Wei Ying thought he'd never see again, at least not in this lifetime--

"It seems Heaven has chosen for us both," Lan Wangji says, with a note of wonder in his voice. He's as shocked as Wei Ying is, that much is clear. How he's managing to keep it together, though, is beyond Wei Ying.

Impossible. Impossible! How could they be so lucky?

"You lied to me," Wei Ying says, dumbfounded. "Your name isn't Wen Ning. You're not from the Wen clan..."

Lan Wangji's eyes narrow with meaning, and Wei Ying knows the man is smiling.

"I hear the Emperor is a ruthless man, a man who executes people for even rejecting a taste of his favourite wine," Lan Wangji says, bowing his head. "Pray tell, what will be Your Imperial Majesty's punishment for this one?"

Wei Ying seizes Lan Wangji by the wrist, pulling him close. He takes hold of Lan Wangji's chin with his other hand and forces the man to look at him. Gods, but he is beautiful, in the most ruinous way possible.

"A lifetime of servitude," Wei Ying says, unable to keep the hysteria from his voice, "as my unwilling husband. Until the day I die."

Lan Wangji leans close, then closer, and presses his mouth to Wei Ying's. He murmurs against it, warm and soft as Wei Ying remembers.

"Long live the Emperor, the Lord of Ten Thousand Years."