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Chapter Text

The results of the archery tournament come entirely as a surprise to everyone.

Well… almost everyone. Just a single glance could tell anyone that while He-zongzhu looks proud and a little smug, there is no trace of surprise in his features. There is also a triumphant cry of “I knew da-shixiong could do it!” from one of the Tingshan He disciples, practically reverberating in the stunned silence that follows the declaration of the results. So, in fact, it does not seem to have come as a surprise to them.

To everyone else, however…

It is well-known that the resources offered by the great clans simply cannot be matched by smaller clans. The greater clans have the most renowned techniques and the best teachers. They have built their reputations over centuries, striving to be the best of the best. It is these clans that most young cultivators aspire to join, and so, they have their pick of recruits and are free to pick the best of the best. To anyone in the cultivation world, it is unquestionable that the great clans reign supreme.

This is not merely limited to their wealth and prestige either— great clans are capable of expending more resources on training their disciples, on weaponry and learning material. Their territory spans over larger areas, and thus, their disciples may encounter a wider variety of night hunts, leading to greater experience. It is well known that no smaller clans could dare to match them. Try as they might, minor clans simply cannot offer what the great clans can.

The great clans also have far more disciples to bring to tournaments like this, and thus, far more opportunity for a disciple belonging to their clan to achieve victory. It is entirely unheard of for a disciple from a minor clan to outdo those from the great clans at tournaments. And yet.

It is quite understandable that even Wen Ruohan— a man largely known for being arrogant and unflappable— looks surprised at the announcement that the first place in the archery tournament has been won by the Head Disciple of the Tingshan He clan.

The rest of the top spots have been filled by heirs of the great clans. The second and third positions have been taken by Lan Wangji and Lan Xichen respectively. Jin Zixuan had come fourth. There had been a great deal of cheering from the Jins and subdued pleasure from the Lans as the results were declared. And yet, now, all eyes remain on Tingshan He, on Wei Wuxian who has performed a feat previously considered impossible.

The disciples of Tingshan He are clearly in a celebratory mood, cheering for their shixiong. One might wonder if they did not understand how big a ripple this was going to make, but it seemed unlikely. Rather, it seemed that they had anticipated this occurrence, and are, therefore, ignoring the shock of the other clans to celebrate their fortune. They surround Wei Wuxian, laughing and jumping around him, taking turns to cry praises to him. He, in turn, is accepting congratulations and hugs with laughter of his own and pats on the head to the youngest of his juniors. Even a few disciples from other minor clans step towards the exhilarated group to congratulate the victor. He accepts their well wishes with a cheerful wave and a bright smile, exchanging a few good-humored words with them.

The minor clan leaders look both excited and envious. Excited, because Tingshan He has just proven that it is possible for a minor clan to compete with the great clans and emerge victorious. It would be unsurprising if they considered this a collective victory on behalf of all minor clans. Envious, because it was not their clan, not one of their disciples, making such a name for themselves. For better or for worse, Tingshan He will be the talk of the cultivation world for the near future, and it is easy to tell that several minor clan leaders— who look like they are sucking on particularly sour lemons— wish that it was their clan at the center of such talk.

Among the leaders of the major clans, Wen Ruohan’s surprise has been replaced with intrigue, and his sharp eyes are moving between Wei Wuxian and his clan leader. It might be that he is contemplating the possibility of poaching the disciple— he has been known to recruit talented individuals to bolster his own clan, even sometimes granting them the Wen name. There is also a chance that his interest is… less benign, but no one will speak that aloud for fear of angering him. Jin Guangshan, whose face had showcased utter incredulity at his son being beaten out by a complete nobody, takes notice of this and his own expression becomes contemplative. Jiang Fengmian looks like he has seen a ghost, but manages to pull his face into a smile.

The silence is broken by Nie Mingjue laughing heartily. “Great kid you’ve got there, He-zongzhu,” he declares.

He-zongzhu merely inclines his head, accepting the praise.

That breaks whatever spell Jiang Fengmian is under. He shakes his head and turns to He-zongzhu. “Congratulations,” he says warmly. “You must be proud of your disciple.”

Even now, as more and more clan leaders turn to him, He-zongzhu looks triumphant, and obviously pleased with his disciple. “I am,” he agrees, smiling slightly. “Very proud.”

As though on cue, Wei Wuxian looks back at his clan leader, and whatever he sees makes his smile widen impossibly. He nods, and He-zongzhu nods back at him with a smile of his own. His smile lingers as he watches over his celebrating disciples. Even as the clan leaders begin to leave one by one so their disciples can gather to them, even as He-zongzhu himself goes to join his disciples who fold him into their celebrations, the look of pride does not fade from his face.

The first proper glimpse Lan Wangji gets of Wei Wuxian is only after he manages to extricate himself from the collective embrace of his juniors. The disciples part for him, allowing him to step apart from them and that is when Lan Wangji gets his first glimpse of Wei Wuxian. He is suddenly furiously glad he had not come across the boy during the tournament itself, because he is certainly a… distracting sight.

Something about Wei Wuxian is dangerously alluring. Something Lan Wangji cannot quite put his finger on. Of course, Wei Wuxian is strikingly beautiful, but Lan Wangji has never been one to be moved by beauty. No, rather, what catches his attention is the mirth in Wei Wuxian’s smile, in the intelligence in his eyes, in the way he speaks to the rest of the disciples, congratulating them for their performance. As Lan Wangji keeps watching, he notices how Wei Wuxian accepts the adulation of his juniors as it is his due, but he does not fail to encourage them as well.

He is friendly, evidently. Even as Lan Wangji watches, the Baling Ouyang heir goes up to congratulate Wei Wuxian, as do a few disciples from a motley of minor clans. His smile, as he accepts well wishes and returns some of his own does not fade, instead growing brighter by the moment. Lan Wangji cannot tear his eyes away even as the subject of his… scrutiny? casually slings an arm around a younger disciple’s shoulder and walks towards his clan leader, as he begins to speak to He-zongzhu, who looks beyond pleased at his disciple’s performance.

Lan Wangji looks at Wei Wuxian and feels something that isn’t quite curiosity. Something that isn’t quite interest. No, it is something different from those things.

He finds that he cannot bring himself to look away.

The first time Lan Wangji meets Wei Wuxian is in Qishan, a year after the tournament where he had turned so many heads. He, much like Lan Wangji, is attending the mockery of an indoctrination that the Wens are conducting.

Over the past year, he has, of course, heard of the various advancements in cultivation Wei Wuxian has made. Word of his inventions— inventions that help both the common folk and cultivators— have spread far and wide. He is widely considered to be a genius and a prodigy, and the Tingshan He clan appears to eagerly foster his talent, supporting his endeavors and backing him up. At three separate villages Lan Wangji had travelled to on night hunts, he is told that their problems have already been dealt with by Wei Wuxian— and his name is often whispered in awe or gratitude.

With a broken leg and a burnt home, with his worry about the fate of his brother, his father… Lan Wangji certainly has other things to worry about, but he cannot help noticing that Wei Wuxian heads the Tingshan He disciples who have come to Qishan. It is well known that He-zongzhu is yet to marry and father a child— having only taken up the mantle of clan leader recently and at a very young age— and that until he does such a thing, he has declared his head disciple, Wei Wuxian, to be his heir. It is highly unorthodox— ever since Wen Mao, the inheritance of clan leadership has only passed through bloodlines. A man may name a distant relative as his heir if he has no children, but He-zongzhu has chosen instead, to defy tradition and name Wei Wuxian his heir.

That decision has now resulted in Wei Wuxian having to be in Qishan, attending this indoctrination along with the rest of them. However, from how fiercely protective Wei Wuxian is of his juniors, something tells Lan Wangji that he might have been here even if he was not He-zongzhu’s heir. Wei Wuxian would not have been persuaded to send his shidi to the indoctrination without accompanying them.

The Wens keep them isolated with only members from their own clans for the most part, so the first time he catches sight of Wei Wuxian at the indoctrination is at the first night hunt Wen Chao leads them on. Wei Wuxian and a group of other disciples are walking right in front of him, and it is impossible to ignore him, when he is joking irreverently with another boy from his clan and the disciples around them fail to hold back their laughter.

It is much the same every time Lan Wangji sees him, Wei Wuxian joking and flirting constantly, seemingly to set his fellow disciples at ease. It annoys Lan Wangji a little at first, the way he acts as though this is simply an opportunity for them all to socialize rather than a way for the Wen clan to hold high profile hostages. Perhaps for the other disciples there, it makes the indoctrination feel lighter— as he had overheard a girl confessing to her shijie one day— but there is too much on his shoulders for it to work on him.

The first time they meet properly is because of Wei Wuxian calling for himself incessantly.

“Lan-er-gongzi,” he calls as he rushes past disciples of various other clans who had been between the two of them. “Lan-er-gongzi!”

Lan Wangji does not respond, nor does he stop. He knows that if he stops or turns, he will find it nearly impossible to continue walking again.

“Wangji-xiong,” Wei Wuxian calls cheerfully as he finally catches up to Lan Wangji, offering him a bright, beautiful smile that makes him clench his fist involuntarily. Wei Wuxian does not seem to notice. “Wangji-xiong, don’t you think it’s awful how they’re making us walk miles and miles with no breaks?” he asks in a mournful tone.

Lan Wangji does not respond. He does not stop walking or even turn to look at Wei Wuxian. He focuses on putting one foot in front of another over and over and over again.

Wei Wuxian is not dissuaded by the lack of response. “Wangji-xiong,” he says in a quiter, more urgent voice, “Your leg must hurt a lot. Do you want to lean on me?”

Lan Wangji merely glowers straight ahead. “No,” he grits out sharply, hoping the other boy will leave.

Wei Wuxian, surprisingly, is not dissuaded by this either. Instead, he tries again. “Wangji-xiong, I’m here to help, you know?” he says. Then, his voice takes a mischievous tone. If Lan Wangji had known him better, he would have taken it as a warning. “Ah, Lan-er-gongzi, is it that you want to be carried instead?”

This is what makes Lan Wangji snap his head towards Wei Wuxian and level him with a scorching glare. “Shameless!” he snaps. He is not the rest of the disciples at this indoctrination, so easily soothed by Wei Wuxian’s teasing and jokes. He does not have time for such frivolity.

Wei Wuxian, for his part, does not look the least bit repentant. “Fine, fine,” he says, his arms raised in deference, but his expression is far from contrite. “If Lan-er-gongzi wants to be left alone, I’ll leave him alone!”

With a last bright grin, he skips forward, catching up to some of the female disciples from a minor clan who are walking a little ahead of them.

“Mianmian!” Wei Wuxian cries as he approaches one of them. “There you are! I’ve been waiting to see you again! See, I was wondering…”

Lan Wangji forces himself to look away as Wei Wuxian begins to flirt with the girl he had called Mianmian, even as her companions break out into giggles. His fists clench of their own volition. Shameless, he thinks to himself, and stomps down on the little voice in his head that suggests he is jealous. That is an utterly ridiculous thought. After all, he barely knows Wei Wuxian.

Wei Wuxian passes him once again that day, on their way back after the “night hunt” they had been on. He does not stop to talk, his sleeve merely brushing against La Wangji’s as he passes. It is only after he has left that Lan Wangji realizes that his sleeve feels slightly heavier than usual. He reaches inside, and his fingers close around a pouch. It is fragrant when he removes it from his sleeve, and upon opening it, he discovers it to be full of medicinal herbs.

Lan Wangji runs his fingers over the pouch gently. He remembers the embroidered design on it from the minor clan disciple Wei Wuxian had been talking to— flirting with— earlier, the one he had called Mianmian.

Unbidden, he looks up, only to see Wei Wuxian looking at him, turning back despite walking forward to join his clan’s disciples. When he notices Lan Wangji looking, he breaks into a broad smile, and winks at him, before turning back to his martial siblings, engaging himself in conversation with them.

Lan Wangji’s eyes flutter closed as he tightens his grip on the pouch, unwillingly charmed.

Shameless, he thinks again. This time, it is directed at himself.

Chapter Text

It is sheer force of will that keeps Lan Wangji standing until he enters Tingshan He’s Reception Pavilion. He had refused the aid of the disciples who had come to their rescue— he was not the one desperately in need of their assistance after all— making sure to keep an eye on his unconscious companion. It is rather worrying that the other boy had not regained consciousness, not since he had collapsed shortly after they had defeated the Xuanwu. Lan Wangji had done the best he could while trapped in a cave with no medical supplies but a single pouch of herbs.

He feels his steps begin to falter even as Wei Wuxian— Wei Ying, he had insisted on being called when they were in the cave, when he was delirious with fever— ‘aren’t we so close now, Lan Zhan? We’ve defeated a divine beast together!’— is hurried off to the healing pavilion as soon as they enter. It is once more only his willpower that keeps him from swaying on his feet. The exhaustion hits him even more strongly now that he knows Wei Ying will be taken care of. He feels bereft for a moment, the same way he had felt when the Tingshan He disciples who had arrived to rescue them had begun to help them move and Lan Wangji had no longer needed to support Wei Ying’s weight.

He is so occupied with his thoughts of Wei Ying, with worry for the boy he has known for such a short time, but who was so full of life and cheer even trapped in a dank cave with a man-eating monster, that he does not immediately notice when a servant steps forward to guide him to the healing pavilion as well. His lack of response, he assumes, is taken as the aftermath of his recent experience, and he too is hurried to the healers.

Everything is a blur after that. His own injuries have mostly healed, but he is exhausted nonetheless. The healer, a business-like woman who reminds him a little of Lan-daifu, sees to his injuries efficiently and tells him to rest, before leaving him sitting on the bed. A healer’s apprentice then guides him to guest quarters reserved for Tingshan He’s respected guests and tells him he will be allowed to see Wei Ying the next day. Somehow, even though it is not yet hai shi, Lan Wangji finds himself drifting into a fitful sleep.

The next morning, he wakes at mao shi, feeling rested. The night of sleep has done wonders for him, and being able to wash up after spending days in a damp, muddy cave and then travelling without a sword, and having a meal after days of inedia give him a new vigour. Wei Ying, he is told by the servant who brings him a tray of food, is yet to wake, but he is not in danger. He has simply exhausted himself so much and depleted his energy enough that he will heal slightly slower.

Once he finishes his meal, Lan Wangji cleans up after himself, and prepares to visit Wei Ying. Before he can leave, however, there is a knock at his door. He opens the door to find He-zongzhu on the other side.

For how young he is, He-zongzhu wears responsibility well. He carries himself with a quiet dignity, a solemn look on his handsome face. He smiles pleasantly at Lan Wangji, betraying no hint of the weariness he is bound to have— the past few months have not been kind to anyone, much less the leaders of the minor clans, who have been most vulnerable to Wen Rouhan’s grabs for power.

Lan Wangji greets the clan leader with all the respect his position deserves, but the man waves the formality away. Strikingly, Lan Wangji is reminded of Wei Ying, of the way he waved aside thanks and acknowledgements. I’m allergic to thanks, he had said, especially if it’s as sincere as yours. He-zongzhu is quite different from his ward, however— he is silent as Lan Wangji welcomes him inside, while Wei Ying would have filled the room with chatter already.

The first thing He-zongzhu does is bow in gratitude to Lan Wangji. “We owe you a great debt, Lan-er-gongzi,” he says seriously. “A-Ying is precious to us and you have brought him back to safety.”

“It was my duty,” Lan Wangji replies, not having expected to be thanked for plain decency. What else would he have done? Abandoned Wei Ying in the cave? What a ridiculous thought!

He-zongzhu straightens up with a knowing look in his eyes. “Yet not many would have been willing to act as you did,” he says.

Lan Wangji frowns as he is reminded instantly of the Lan disciple who had attempted to drag Mianmian out of his and Jin Zixuan’s protection, of the way Jiang Wanyin had bristled and snapped at the three of them— him, Jin Zixuan, and Wei Ying— for defying the Wens when it had been evident that they had been stranded in the cave. He-zongzhu makes a good point, though this truth is unfortunate. He inclines his head in acknowledgement.

For a few moments, He-zongzhu studies him silently. He does not seem to be scrutinizing or evaluating, however. Simply… curious.

He-zongzhu is not much older than him, Lan Wangji knows. There is less than a decade of age between them, and he is new to his role of clan leader. In that aspect, he is remarkably similar to Lan Wangji’s own brother. Lan Xichen too, is young— though younger than He-zongzhu— and has similarly inherited clan leadership after his father’s untimely demise.

Something aches in Lan Wangji’s chest at the reminder of his father’s death and his brother’s disappearance. He had not known his father— who had remained in seclusion all Lan Wangji’s life— but he was still his father, and Lan Wangji could not help but be affected by his death. And his brother… xiongzhang had been a constant companion from as early as Lan Wangji could remember. To think that he was missing, that he could be…

Lan Wangji pushes away these thoughts to focus on He-zongzhu, who finally offers him a small smile. “I heard you defeated the Xuanwu of Slaughter,” he says.

Lan Wangji frowns slightly once again. “I did not,” he states. “Wei Ying did.” After all, he had merely waited for the Xuanwu to appear and used chord assassination on it. Wei Ying had been the one to do the hard work of chasing it out of its shell. As far as he was concerned, the credit belonged to Wei Ying— he could not claim it simply because he had happened to deal the killing blow.

He-zongzhu’s eyebrows lift slightly, but he nods. He seems almost impressed. For a moment or two, there is silence. Then, He-zongzhu breaks it.

“When the rest of my disciples returned, they informed me of everything that happened at Muxi mountain until they left,” he says. He smiles softly, fondly. “A-Ying has always been like this. He will not stand for injustice. He will help whenever it is in his power to do so, asking nothing in return. He will not stand by when someone is in danger.”

He-zongzhu sounds proud of his head disciple. His words are warm, suffused in affection. It is more than clear how much he cares for Wei Ying. Lan Wangji has not known Wei Ying very long, but he has seen enough to know that He-zongzhu speaks only the truth.

With another smile at Lan Wangji, he says, “I am glad to see he has met someone like-minded.”

Lan Wangji bows his head in acknowledgement of the praise. It is sincere too, not false flattery, and it raises his opinion of He-zongzhu further. He does not offer a reply, but He-zongzhu does not seem to need one. He simply smiles warmly once again.

“I know you want to see A-Ying,” he says. “He is not awake yet, but I was going to visit him in the healing pavilion. Would Lan-er-gongzi care to accompany me?”

Lan Wangji nods.

“Excellent!” He-zongzhu declares. “Let’s go!”

Wei Ying’s bedside is overrun by flowers, trinkets, and tokens. Lan Wangji spots a carved wooden dragon, a small painting, at least two story books, as well as a number of letters.

He-zongzhu chuckles at the sight. “Ah, A-Ying has always been popular,” he tells Lan Wangji. “The last time he was here after a night hunt went bad, all his shidi and shimei brought him little presents and wrote him letters.” His voice grows quieter, more conspiratorial. “Some of the youngest ones couldn’t write very well, so they had me write their letters for them.”

One drawing dangling from in between several letters seems to be in danger of falling. He-zongzhu pulls it out and places it on top of the pile. It depicts what Lan Wangji assumes to be Wei Ying— identifiable by the high ponytail and bright red ribbon he wears— teaching a younger disciple to grip his sword properly. He-zongzhu sees Lan Wangji looking, and his smile gains an edge of something that makes Lan Wangji’s face heat. He hastily looks away.

He-zongzhu makes no comment on it. “It’ll cheer him up to see all of this,” he continues. “A-Ying is not a very cooperative patient, he gets bored quickly, but this,” he gestures towards the gifts from Wei Ying’s well-wishers, “This will keep him occupied.”

Wei Ying looks still in a way that seems anathema to his entire being. Lan Wangji is glad to notice, however, that he has regained a healthy colour. His injuries have been dressed and the grime and blood has been cleaned away from him.

Yet, he lies so absolutely still. It seems wrong to see him like this, so lifeless and quiet. When He-zongzhu brushes a few strands of his hair back from his forehead, he does not even stir. Lan Wangji might have only known him for a short while, but Wei Ying has always been lively and vibrant, full of life. Lying so still, no smile on his face, he hardly looks like himself.

Lan Wangji is overcome by the inappropriate urge to reach out and touch, and he curls his fist to control himself. He is not He-zongzhu who has known Wei Ying for years. He has no right to claim such privileges. It is ridiculous, shameless, thoroughly inappropriate. Lan Wangji has never found himself this troubled before. His self-control is one thing he has always prided himself on. The problem is that Lan Wangji has never felt so incapable of controlling himself as he has in Wei Ying’s presence.

“The Lan clan has musical pieces that help with healing,” he tells He-zongzhu instead, his eyes not moving from Wei Ying’s silent figure.

Out of the corner of his eye, Lan Wangji sees He-zongzhu raise his eyebrows. “Liu-daifu told me that you are not fully recovered yet either,” he says. “A-Ying would not forgive himself if you overexerted yourself on his behalf.”

“The songs do not require much spiritual energy,” Lan Wangji replies. It is true— they were designed so that even weary, worn-out soldiers could play them for their injured comrades.

For a moment, there is silence as He-zongzhu seems to be considering his options. Then, he smiles softly. “Then I thank you for the care you have offered towards A-Ying,” he says. “I will have a guqin brought to you shortly.”

The guqin that is brought to him is of good quality, but it does not feel the same as his own. The He clan does not focus on musical cultivation as the Lan do, so their instruments are less suited for the purpose. Yet, the pieces Lan Wangji has elected to play are not difficult to play using the guqin given to him, and he is more than practiced enough to manage it.

He plays them from beginning to end once, then twice, before he stops, beginning to feel the strain. He is not yet healed enough that he can play for longer, and to persist in such a condition would do more harm than good, both to him and to Wei Ying. He is certain it is not merely his imagination that some colour has appeared to return to Wei Ying’s face. He seems to be resting more easily, and Lan Wangji is filled with relief at that thought.

Putting the guqin aside to return to the He clan, Lan Wangji approaches Wei Ying’s bed once more. It still feels wrong for him to look like this, but at least he looks far healthier than he had looked in the cave, delirious and muttering and shifting uncomfortably. At least he is safe now, in the hands of people who will take care of him.

Just as he is about to turn to leave, Lan Wangji notices that Wei Ying’s hand has slipped off the bed, dangling in the air. Unable to stop himself, he takes Wei Ying’s hand, as gently as he dares, and places it back upon the bed. For a moment, he lets his hand stay atop Wei Ying’s, before he lets go. With one last look, he leaves the healing pavilion.

He stays for two more days as he recuperates— just until he will be capable of flying to Cloud Recesses with no breaks— and each day, he plays for Wei Ying in the healing pavilion. Wei Ying never wakes, though he does shift a little and mumbles a few unintelligible words by the last day. Lan Wangji might have recovered quicker if he had not been playing for Wei Ying, but that was not something he would contemplate.

By the third day, he is finally proclaimed well enough to leave by Liu-daifu, and he thanks her sincerely for her care. She receives his thanks with a small smile and tells him that she will be sure to mention to Wei Ying that he had visited and played for him every day, which makes Lan Wangji’s face heat and the tips of his ears burn a bright red.

When he takes his farewell, He-zongzhu mentions to Lan Wangji, “A-Ying will be glad to see you when he wakes.” His tone is matter-of-fact rather than persuasive.

Lan Wangji wishes he could take him up on that offer, he truly does, but he cannot. He must return to Cloud Recesses, to see what has become of his home after the Wen had it torched. He must discover what has happened to his brother, he must see if his uncle is well. He has too many responsibilities— he cannot stay, as much as he wants to.

When he says as much, He-zongzhu nods knowingly. He understands the duties that beckon Lan Wangji well.

With a heavy heart, Lan Wangji leaves Tingshan for his home.

He has only just arrived in Cloud Recesses when the news comes that Lotus Pier has fallen.

Chapter Text

The next time Lan Wangji sees Wei Ying, it is in the middle of the war.

Despite the proximity between Gusu and Tingshan, the two clans had been assigned to different fronts during the war, initially. The Lan were on the western front with the Jiang— or what was left of that clan, anyway— while the He were assigned to the Eastern front along with the Nie. It is only almost two years into the war that they are assigned to the same front, that Lan Wangji sees Wei Ying again.

Over those two years, Wei Ying has made a name for himself. There is not one cultivator who is unaware of the prodigious disciple of Tingshan He, He-zongzhu’s right hand man. His ingenious talismans have been the cause of many victories, and his own prowess on the battlefield is no secret. It is also common knowledge— among the civilians that Lan Wangji encounters on his night hunts during the war, that is— that the battlefields Wei Ying is on are less likely to affect the lives of the civilians in the region.

The two of them have exchanged several letters in this time, of course, though not as many as Lan Wangji would have liked. The first letter Wei Ying had written had begun with him thanking Lan Wangji for bringing him back to Tingshan after the incident at Muxi mountain. Reading it had made Lan Wangji frown. He did not want to be thanked by Wei Ying— it felt wrong, somehow. He did not want Wei Ying to feel any obligation to him. He did not want their relationship to be one of debt or gratitude.

When Lan Wangji had replied that there were no thanks necessary, Wei Ying had taken that as an indication to send him a much longer, much less formal, and much more rambling letter that included a description of how he was keeping himself occupied in the time he was healing. There were also some references to how the war had affected the region that Lan Wangji had picked up. He had replied, sharing some news from his own front, briefly mentioning how he himself was occupying himself. Very soon, he received another delighted reply, and the rest was history.

Wei Ying’s writing is exactly what one would expect from him— his good cheer, his kindness, and his sharp mind all come alive on paper, painting a vivacious image that charms Lan Wangji further with every letter. He writes extensively and enthusiastically of the night hunts he has been on, of his juniors, of He-zongzhu, whom he refers to fondly as da-ge. He writes of places he has been to, food he has tried, games he has played— such small things seem to bring him such sincere joy that it is difficult for Lan Wangji not to feel fond.

As the war goes on, the letters from Wei Ying become fewer and further between— as his responsibilities grow and it becomes harder to keep the Wen from claiming new land, much less reclaiming their own lands— but they still come, and they never fail to brighten up Lan Wangji’s day. As the days get darker and victory seems out of reach, Wei Ying’s letters are a source of light and hope. He cherishes the little glimpses he gets of Wei Ying’s life, holds them close to his heart.

I wish you were here to try them, Lan Zhan, Wei Ying writes of the osmanthus cakes he had tried from a street stall in a town he had passed through. I wish you could have seen it, he writes of one of his shidi learning a particularly complex maneuver Wei Ying had invented himself. I wish we could have gone together, he says of the time he had visited the Damsel of Annual Blossoms. He confesses with such ease his desire to have Lan Wangji with him, even though Lan Wangji cannot bring himself to vocalize his own thoughts along those lines. He wishes too, oh, how he wishes, but he does not dare to put them to paper.

The force of his own desires startles him sometimes. It is utterly irrational for him to have such elaborate fantasies of sharing every moment of the rest of his life with Wei Ying after having known him for so short a time. Yet, his clan has always been known for this— for falling hard and fast when they found their fated one, for loving only once, but so ardently that no other could ever match up to their fated one. He wonders, sometimes, if the force of his desires would scare Wei Ying away, and for that very reason, he never dares to give voice to them.

His own letters are never as lively as Wei Ying’s are, and they are perhaps a bit too formal in comparison— Wei Ying never fails to tease him about how proper he sounds in them— but Wei Ying seems to like them anyway. His replies make it clear that he delights in every detail Lan Wangji writes to him.

They each try their best to keep up their correspondence, no matter how hard it gets as the war drags on. As their responsibilities grow, as things get more dangerous, Lan Wangji finds he has much less time to spare, and Wei Ying clearly does too, if the sporadic nature of his letters are anything to go by, but neither of them is willing to give up on their correspondence. So what if the pace of their conversations slow down? It is worth it to wait, to be able to hear each other's words.

The letters, however, do nothing to prepare Lan Wangji for the sight of Wei Ying after all this time.

Despite having spent the past two years fighting in a war, Wei Ying looks good. Healthy and strong and almost invincible. He is slightly taller than he had been, the last time Lan Wangji had seen him, and his shoulders are broader, filling out his robes. His fine features are sharper now, the hints of youth replaced by a maturity that has come with experience and responsibility, though his silvery-grey eyes still glint with mischief and liveliness, his lips are still slightly quirked up in an ever-present smile.

The junior disciple robes Wei Ying had worn in Qishan are gone. He is very clearly attired for war. As always, his clothes bear the symbol of the Tingshan He clan. His sword— far more simply made than Lan Wangji’s, but no less beautiful— hangs at his waist, and a black flute is tucked into his belt. His hair alone is unchanged, pulled back into a high ponytail by a bright red ribbon.

He breaks into a grin as soon as he sees Lan Wangji. “Lan Zhan!” he cries, leaving his juniors behind to rush forward towards Lan Wangji. He stops right in front of Lan Wangji, almost bouncing on his feet. “No, no,” he corrects himself with a cheeky smile. “Hanguang-jun! Have you missed me?”

Lan Wangji immediately feels a fondness enveloping him. Wei Ying’s voice is music to his ears. Indeed, he has missed Wei Ying, to a degree that is odd, considering how little time they have spent together. They have interacted far more through letters than in person, but somehow, now that Wei Ying is here, Lan Wangji feels as though he had been missing something that is finally back in place. Somehow, it feels like Wei Ying was always meant to be part of his life.

“Ridiculous,” he says, but he does not think he has hid his fondness well enough. His suspicion is confirmed when Wei Ying throws his head back and laughs, his eyes sparkling. Lan Wangji carefully averts his eyes from the delectable expanse of Wei Ying’s throat now visible to him, shocked at the urge to lean over and bite.

It would be so easy, he thinks. So easy to just lean over and wrap his arm around the narrow expanse of Wei Ying’s waist, to pull him close and press their lips together. To bury his hands in the dark glossy hair and pull until that slender throat is revealed to him again.

The tips of his ear turn hot. He swallows heavily, pushing those thoughts away.

Unknowing of the turn of Lan Wangji’s thoughts, Wei Ying smiles at him. “Don’t worry, Lan Zhan, you won’t have to miss me any longer!” he exclaims. “We’re going to be working very closely together now!”

Wei Ying grins brightly at the idea, as though it is the best news he has ever received. The intensity of his smile makes Lan Wangji’s mouth go dry. His frankly inappropriate thoughts make a reappearance. He swallows roughly once again.

“Mn,” is all the response he manages.

Wei Ying’s grin only grows brighter.

True to Wei Ying’s words, they do end up working closely together. It only takes a few skirmishes for everyone to realize that when Lan Wangji and Wei Ying fight together, they are practically invincible. They are perfectly matched in skill and cultivation, and their strengths mesh well together. They fight like they are a well-oiled machine, like they were born to fight at each other's side. Together, they are unbeatable, cutting a bloody swath through their enemies with ease.

Wei Ying is the only one who can match Lan Wangji, and there is no one he trusts more to watch his back. Their minds work similarly, so they do not need to waste time trying to make the other understand their intentions on the battlefield— a glance or a word are more than enough to communicate. They act almost as though they are of one mind, and it makes them a force to be reckoned with.

Soon, they are being sent on the most dangerous missions, the ones that would have failed if anyone else had been assigned to them. They do not always return unharmed, but they always return victorious. The more they fight together, the more intimately Lan Wangji becomes aware that Wei Ying is an excellent companion to have in battle. There has been more than one instance when his ingenuity has gotten them out of a tight spot, and the two of them can easily keep pace while solving problems they run into. Any time either falters, the other is able to pick up the slack with ease. Before long, they are inseparable, on and off the battlefield.

The more they work together, the further Lan Wangji falls in love. The more Lan Wangji sees the way Wei Ying’s mind works, his kindness off the battlefield an utter contrast to his ruthlessness on it, his little considerate gestures, the easier it is to fall in love with Wei Ying. Despite them being in the middle of a war, they somehow always find time to talk. Rather, Wei Ying seeks Lan Wangji out to talk to him. It is common now for them to settle under a canopy of stars for the night, Wei Ying telling stories of the past— of being raised in the He clan, of the juniors he had been assigned to teach, of past night hunts he had been on. Lan Wangji, in turn, shares some of his experiences, his words quieter, more meager, though Wei Ying hangs on every one of them, a thrill in his eyes.

(The more... inappropriate of his thoughts do not go away. In fact, the better he knows Wei Ying, the more frequent they get. Lan Wangji spends much of his meticulously cultivated discipline firmly pushing them away.)

Slowly but surely, Lan Wangji grows used to Wei Ying’s presence. It becomes second nature to check for the bright red ribbon in his line of sight, to pause as soon as he hears the cheerful call of his name, to turn, always turn towards Wei Ying to bask in the warmth of his presence. Like a moth towards a flame, he is inexplicably drawn to Wei Ying, and he fervently wishes to never be parted from him.

If only their future wasn’t so uncertain.

“Ah, Lan Zhan, have you heard yet?” Wei Ying asks one day when he runs into Lan Wangji who is on the way to meet his brother. “I’ll be leaving for Langya tomorrow.”

Lan Wangji stops short. He had not, in fact, heard yet. Suddenly, his brother’s request for a private meeting makes sense. Unlike everyone else on the front, his brother had had no trouble figuring out that Lan Wangji did not feel friendship alone towards Wei Ying, and while he had teased Lan Wangji about it relentlessly, he had also been supportive. He must have wanted to let Lan Wangji know in private.

Wei Ying sighs, correctly reading Lan Wangji’s silence as confirmation that he had not known. “Ah, I just got the order from Chifeng-zun myself,” he says. “Half the disciples of the He clan will be relocating to the Langya front under my command, effective immediately.”

Lan Wangji’s brow furrows slightly. “Langya was holding well,” he says. The last anyone had heard, there were no setbacks on that front. The Jin and Jiang, with the assistance of several minor clans, reported no troubles. The tide couldn’t have turned so much in such a short time that it necessitated the deployment of a clan as powerful as the He had become.

Wei Ying glances around, making sure no one was around, before leaning in closer and speaking in a quiet voice. “Apparently there was some conflict between the Jiang and the Jin,” he confesses. “I don’t really know the details, but the gist of it is that Jiang-zongzhu and Jin-gongzi refuse to work together any longer. So we’re going to Langya, and the Jiang clan is coming here instead.”

Lan Wangji’s frown intensifies further.

At the beginning of the war, Jin-zongzhu had declined to join the Sunshot Campaign, but his son, Jin Zixuan, had joined the war effort, with a number of trusted cultivators reporting to him. Compared to the other clans participating, their contribution was a small one, but Jin Zixuan did prove himself to be somewhat effective. The Jiang clan too, only had a minimal contribution. When Lotus Pier had fallen, most of the clan had been killed, and only the disciples sent away with Jiang Wanyin and those that had accompanied Jiang Yanli to Meishan had survived. As the new Jiang-zongzhu, Jiang Wanyin had recruited some new disciples, but they were not yet as well trained as the ones that had been lost at Lotus Pier.

Due to both clans having only a limited number of cultivators, and due to its geographical location, the Jin and Jiang had been heading the effort on the Langya front, with several minor clans under their command. However, if Jin Zixuan and Jiang Wanyin, two of the highest ranked members, had refused to work with one another… Lan Wangji blinks as he wonders how Nie Mingjue must have handled that news.

As though reading his mind, Wei Ying grins with a glint in his eyes. “Oh, Chifeng-zun was pissed!” he says almost gleefully. “I’ve never seen him swear like that! He went on a tirade about how his job was to win us a war and not to… ah… how did he put it? To get derailed by the fucking useless personal drama between two greenhorns!” Wei Ying gives a short laugh. “Your brother was the one who convinced him not to personally go to Langya to teach them a lesson.”

Considering what kind of lesson Nie Mingjue might have taught them, Lan Wangji is certain his brother had just averted a serious diplomatic incident. He does not say so aloud, but Wei Ying either reads it on his face or has come to the same conclusion, because his eyes glitter in amusement and understanding.

“Anyway,” Wei Ying continues, “They came to the decision that to make sure that the Sunshot Campaign wasn’t derailed by in-fighting, they had to separate the Jin and Jiang clans. So, we’ll be going there and the Jiang clan will be coming here instead.”

Lan Wangji’s carefully mastered control of his emotions comes in handy— his disappointment is not visible. And yet, as though Wei Ying had read his mind, he sighs heavily.

“Ah, Lan Zhan, I’m really going to miss you,” he says wistfully. “You’ll write to me, won’t you?”

Lan Wangji nods. “As often as you would like.”

The wistfulness on Wei Ying’s face is instantly replaced with a grin. Even his eyes seem to be brighter. “As often as I like?” he repeats. “Mark your words, Hanguang-jun! What if I demand to hear from you every week? Will Lan-er-gege really write to me every week?”

“Mn.”

Wei Ying throws his head back and laughs. It still amazes Lan Wangji sometimes, how joyfully he laughs, how infectious his mirth and good cheer are. It is no wonder, he thinks, that the disciples of various clans at their front are drawn to him like moths to a flame, always eager to have him join them for a meal or a drink, inviting him for a game or a spar. He wonders, not for the first time, what it might have been like if Wei Ying had come to the lectures at Cloud Recesses, if they had met earlier, in less fraught times.

“I do have a gift for you, Lan Zhan,” he says. With a sly grin, he slips something out of his pocket with two fingers. “Good thing I finished this, right?”

Lan Wangji carefully runs his thumb over the surface of the object Wei Ying places in his palm. It is made of finely polished wood, with neat markings on the surface. “A compass?”

Wei Ying nods eagerly. “I haven’t figured out what to call it yet, and this is just a prototype, but it’s a compass that points to sources of resentful energy.” His eyes shine as he continues to explain. “Eventually, I plan to modify it so that the person using it can help figure out exactly what creature they’re tracking, but for now, it should at least narrow down the search during a night hunt.”

Wei Ying looks up at him, a bright grin on his face. “So, what do you think?”

“Brilliant,” Lan Wangji replies immediately. “It sounds extremely useful.”

Wei Ying laughs in delight. “Ah, I’m so relieved!” he says. “If my gift had not met Hanguang-jun’s exacting standards, I don’t know how I would have survived!”

“Ridiculous,” Lan Wangji mutters, which only sends Wei Ying into a fresh round of laughter.

Ridiculous. As though Wei Ying’s inventions are anything short of marvels, a testament to his genius. As though anything Wei Ying gave him would not be utterly precious.

A call of ‘Wei-gongzi!’ interrupts them, and Wei Ying grins wryly. “Duty calls, Lan Zhan,” he says, sighing dramatically. “I guess this is goodbye for now.”

Wei Ying smiles again, smaller, but no less warmer, before reaching out to lay his hand gently on Lan Wangji’s forearm. “Don’t forget to write to me, okay?” he says, his tone playful, but his eyes sincere. “Your Wei Ying will be very sad if you do!”

For a moment, Lan Wangji is stunned, overwhelmed by the twin sensations of Wei Ying’s hand on his arm and his description of himself as ‘your Wei Ying’. Wei Ying is, by nature, a tactile person. More than once, Lan Wangji has seen him throw an arm around his shidi, or nudge someone to get their attention, or hug one of his friends after a particularly perilous battle. Even while flitting around Lan Wangji, he has reached over to tug at his sleeve, leaned into his side, elbowed him lightly when he makes a joke. Yet somehow, paired with the phrase 'your Wei Ying', Lan Wangji is lost for words.

In that moment, Wei Ying has been called again, more urgently this time. Unfortunately, this means that he removes his hand to turn around to see who needs his attention so urgently.

“Aiya, aiya, I’m coming, what’s the rush?” Wei Ying calls back to the person who had called him, before turning back to Lan Wangji again with a sheepish smile. “I really have to go, Lan Zhan,” he says hurriedly, though the smile never fades, “I’ll try to catch you again before I leave!”

He begins to walk towards the person who had called for him so urgently, but at the last minute, Lan Wangji manages to catch him by the wrist, stopping him in his tracks.

"Ah? Lan Zhan?" Wei Ying tilts his head slightly, blinking in confusion.

Lan Wangji meets his eyes. “Be careful,” he says, with as much sincerity as he can manage. He knows Wei Ying is more than capable, but that is no reason not to wish for him to be safe.

For a moment, Wei Ying simply stares at him. He wonders if he is imagining a slight flush on Wei Ying's cheek. Before he can wonder any further, however, the stare is replaced with a blinding grin.

"Always," Wei Ying assures him, before wagging a finger playfully at Lan Wangji. "As long as you stay safe too!"

Lan Wangji's heart fills with fondness. "Mn."

A promise to hold them until their next meeting. It is not enough, not nearly enough, but it is all they have for now.

Chapter Text

There is a grand celebration as soon as they reclaim Yunmeng.

The war is far from won, they all know that. Yet, taking back Yunmeng is a sign that the tides are turning in their favour. The same strategic advantage that the Wen had attacked it for would be theirs now. Morale had been dipping somewhat for a while before this— the long years of war are wearing on everyone— so a celebration is a good way to further bolster it.

The cultivators of the Sunshot Campaign waste no time setting up in Lotus Pier to celebrate, filling the night with the sounds of cheers and merrymaking. It is not the sort of thing Lan Wangji enjoys, but his brother is here, and had insisted he come along as well. Lan Wangji had agreed, hoping he would be able to see Wei Ying at the very least, as some of those who had fought on the Langya front were to be in attendance as well, but despite the number of Tingshan He disciples filling the hall, he has not caught sight of Wei Ying yet.

He looks around, studying the drunken revelry with impassivity. Most have not held back in getting roaringly drunk and are now loudly congratulating one another. Lan Wangji’s attention falls upon the Jiang clan, the supposed hosts of this evening. Jiang-zongzhu looks displeased, his ever present bitter frown keeping others from approaching him, though Lan Wangji has never known him to look happy. Off the battlefield, he had been vocal about his displeasure that the Jiang clan had not been able to reclaim Lotus Pier alone. His sister smiles warmly at those who approach, though even her warmth is less encouraging when paired with Jiang Wanyin looking like he wants to murder someone.

Lan Wangji sits by his brother for nearly the entire evening, regretting his decision, when a Tingshan He disciple approaches him. “Pardon me Hanguang-jun,” he says, a polite smile on his lips, “But you’re friends with da-shixiong, aren’t you?”

Lan Wangji straightens up at once, though it is probably not visible to anyone but his brother. “I am,” he says.

The disciple smiles. “Da-shixiong talks about you all the time!” he says, and Lan Wangji feels the tips of his ears getting warm. The disciple’s voice drops into something more conspiratorial. “He’s gone to explore Lotus Pier. I don’t think he knew you’d be here.”

“Mn.”

With another flash of a smile, the disciple leaves. Lan Wangji’s ears burn as he realizes that the disciple had come over solely to tell him where to find Wei Ying. Has he been so obvious that even Wei Ying’s shidi recognizes his feelings for what they are? And if so, how soon before Wei Ying figures them out too?

Lan Wangji turns to his brother, aware that he has heard the entire conversation. “Xiongzhang—”

Lan Xichen cuts him off with a twinkle in his eyes. “Say no more, Wangji,” he says. “You must be eager to meet your friend after such a long time.”

Lan Wangji glares, before excusing himself.

Lotus Pier is a beautiful place. The Wens had not done too much damage to the place— unlike Cloud Recesses, which had burned— attacking only the people and establishing their supervisory office. By night, a cool breeze blows from over the water, and the bright lights of the market place are gentle and warm. Lan Wangji understands why Wei Wuxian had wanted to explore rather than stay at the celebration. He was a free spirit, it was natural that he would prefer the beauty of Lotus Pier to the stuffy self-congratulatory gathering.

He finds Wei Ying in the marketplace, just as he is turning away from a vendor of baos, thanking her with a grin. Even after so long, Wei Ying’s beauty staggers him. For a moment, Lan Wangji is frozen, just staring at the mirthful face that has become so dear to him.

“Lan Zhan!” Wei Ying exclaims as soon as he catches sight of him, and rushes over. He stops right before Lan Wangji, giving him a quick once over before smiling at him. “My, my, Hanguang-jun! You become more refined and good looking every time I see you!”

“Ridiculous,” Lan Wangji mutters, and is treated to Wei Ying’s melodious laughter ringing in his ears.

Wei Ying tears the bun he is holding in two and offers one half to Lan Wangji. “Come on, have some,” he urges, “I know you Lan cultivators don’t eat meat, this is just lotus seed paste.”

“I have already eaten,” Lan Wangji replies.

Wei Ying raises an eyebrow. “Oh? You went to the banquet then?” He pouts. “Aiya, if I’d known you’d been there, I’d have come too! I know you don’t like that kind of thing so much, so I didn’t think you’d go there.”

Lan Wangji inclines his head in acknowledgement that he does, indeed, dislike those types of gatherings.

Clicking his tongue, Wei Ying offers the half bun again, his pout replaced with a bright grin. “I’m sure they had good food at the banquet, but nothing beats the street stalls. People here really know their stuff, you know? Their food may be cheaper, but it’s much tastier!”

Lan Wangji acquiesces, taking the offered food. His fingertips lightly brush Wei Ying’s as he does so, which sends an almost electric jolt through him. He takes a small bite of the bun, and finds that Wei Ying is right— the bun is soft and flavourful, and in its simplicity, it is much more to his taste than some of the food at the banquet.

“Do you like it?” Wei Ying asks eagerly, studying Lan Wangji’s expression carefully.

“I do.”

Wei Ying grins brightly. “I told you! These are supposed to be some of the best in Yunmeng!” Wei Ying takes a bite of his own half and makes a noise of approval that has Lan Wangji’s ears turn red.

Lan Wangji stays quiet until he finishes his half of the bun. It is only then that he says, “I believed you would be there.”

Wei Ying turns to him, head tilted quizzically. “Mm?”

“The banquet,” Lan Wangji clarifies. “I believed you would be in attendance.”

Wei Ying laughs softly. “Ah, Lan Zhan, did you go there just hoping to get a glimpse of me?” he bats his eyelashes, tilting his head and looking up at Lan Wangji flirtatiously as he pops a bit of the bun into his mouth.

“Mn.”

Wei Ying chokes. He coughs a few times to clear his throat, before looking at Lan Wangji wide eyed. “Hanguang-jun, please spare me,” he cries, “Don’t say such sincere things to me out of the blue. I won’t be able to take it!”

Lan Wangji simply makes a non-committal noise in return.

“Ah, well, it’s a shame we missed each other earlier, but at least we’ve met now, haven’t we Lan Zhan? I was just going to walk to one of the lotus lakes. One of the jiejies suggested I rent a boat and go out onto the lake. It’s supposed to be really beautiful.” Wei Ying looks slyly at Lan Wangji, with a teasing smile but hopeful eyes. “I’m sure my evening will only be improved by Hanguang-jun’s company. Join me?”

How could Lan Wangji ever refuse him anything?

“Let’s go.”

This yields another bright grin from Wei Ying. In a flash, Wei Ying wraps a hand around Lan Wangji’s wrist and pulls him along as he swiftly makes his way through the night. Lan Wangji’s wrist burns where Wei Ying holds him, and he can feel the heat rise to his face at being touched by Wei Ying so casually. He is lucky, he thinks, that he does not blush visibly. It would indeed be embarrassing for Wei Ying to figure it out.

Before long, they are on the lake— boat let out to them by a man who had been skeptical of their ability to navigate in the setting sun and had only been convinced by the fact that they were both cultivators— drifting idly between the freshly blooming lotus flowers. By the time they get to the center, the water carries them gently along the lake even without them rowing, so they sit facing one another, taking in the sight all around them. Lan Wangji’s eyes rest on Wei Ying as he gazes off to the side— the joyful look on his face makes him actually look his age for once. Like the rest of their generation, Wei Ying has needed to grow up too fast, and it is nice to see him like this, carefree and happy, even if it will only last until they make their way back to the rest of the troops.

“Lan Zhan, look!” Wei Ying’s eyes light up as he points to some nearby lotus seed pods, full of fresh lotus seeds to be harvested. He reaches out to pluck them, fingers almost closing around a stem when Lan Wangji firmly wraps a hand around his wrist to stop him.

“Ah?” he tilts his head, confused.

“This lake has an owner,” Lan Wangji says, trying to keep his tone stern, trying not to let it show how endeared he is by Wei Ying's actions.

Wei Ying grins. “Hanguang-jun, have you been in Lotus Pier so long that you even know this lake’s owner?”

Lan Wangji purses his lips. “All the lakes here have owners,” he says.

Wei Wuxian’s lips twist into a pout that is frankly adorable. “Oh, well, if you say it, it must be true,” he says, shrugging gloomily. “It’s my first time being here, so of course I don’t know things like that! It’s a shame, I’m so hungry and I don’t have anything else to eat until we row back to shore.”

Lan Wangji is almost certain that Wei Ying is exaggerating, but he cannot help himself. He cannot simply hear a complaint of hunger from Wei Ying and ignore it. He reaches forward himself and plucks a lotus seed pod, before placing it in a wide eyed Wei Ying’s hand.

“Just this once,” he says, feeling his ears heat up at the way Wei Ying’s smile goes from incredulous to delighted.

Wei Ying sets to the task of peeling the lotus seeds with his usual cheer, but he is quiet the entire time. He has six peeled seeds in his hand before he speaks again.

“I’ve always wanted to come to Yunmeng,” he says in a whisper, his voice unusually wistful. It is unlike him— Lan Wangji does not think he has ever heard Wei Ying sound sad or regretful or ever express that he wishes for something he does not have. For him to confess such a thing… Lan Wangji knows the value of the words. He will not take them for granted.

Silently, he waits until Wei Ying chooses to speak again. Wei Ying just laughs softly, shaking his head almost ruefully.

“You know, my father was from Yunmeng?” he asks finally. “My mother was a disciple of Baoshan Sanren, and my father… he was the right hand man of Jiang-zongzhu— Jiang Fengmian, that is.”

Lan Wangji hums softly. He has heard so, himself. His uncle had mentioned that Wei Ying’s mother was Cangse Sanren, had recognized the name at once. He has also heard the more derogatory things people have said, about Wei Ying’s father, Wei Changze, the comments about his so-called low birth. Of course, he has heard the many envious whispers that had begun from when Wei Ying had first made a name for himself, the way people seemed so astounded that the son of a servant could accomplish the things Wei Ying did.

People tended to be critical of He-zongzhu’s decision to make Wei Ying his heir for this reason too. Not only had he appointed a disciple, not related to him by blood as his heir, the disciple in question had no noble ancestry. Even though Tingshan He is a minor clan, isn’t it too outrageous of He-zongzhu to make the son of a servant his heir? he has heard a clan leader say. The one time He-zongzhu had been asked that question to his face during the campaign, he had merely raised an eyebrow and asked what was wrong with appointing his most talented and promising disciple his heir, leaving the questioner speechless. Still, despite He-zongzhu’s staunch support and Wei Ying’s accomplishments, the whispers persist.

“He-shushu really didn’t know much about them,” Wei Ying continues, peeling a seventh seed. “He only knew what he had heard from others, that my parents were skilled rogue cultivators, that my father left the service of the Jiang clan to marry and travel with my mother.”

Lan Wangji understands the wistfulness of Wei Ying’s tone completely. Lan Wangji knows what it is like to never know anything about one’s parents besides what others said about them. At least, he has some fond memories of his mother. Wei Ying had been orphaned at a far younger age. It was likely he did not have any memories of his parents.

Wei Ying shrugs casually, the wistfulness disappearing in an instant. “But he did know quite a bit about Yunmeng! He’d been there before, and he told me all about it. I’ve always wanted to come here, to see the place my father came from,” he says, grinning brightly at Lan Wangji. A touch of mischief enters his expression. “Of course, not even in my wildest dreams did I imagine that I would do so with someone as prodigious and handsome as Lan-er-gege!”

Involuntarily, Lan Wangji’s fist clenches. “Shameless!” he grits out.

Wei Ying just giggles. “Shameless?” he repeats. “Everyone knows how skilled you are, and its simply a fact that you’re handsome. Is there something particularly shameless about me calling you Lan-er-gege? Don’t you like it, Lan-er-gege?”

“Behave, Wei Ying,” Lan Wangji says, desperately holding on to the ends of his restraint. Wei Ying could not know how hearing such a coquettish form of address from him made Lan Wangji feel.

Unfortunately, Wei Ying was not so easily warned away. He leans forward, even as the boat shifts as his weight does, creeping closer to Lan Wangji. “Lan-er-gege, Lan-er-gege, Lan-er-gege!” he chants, “Don’t you want to try a fresh lotus seed, Lan-er-gege~?”

At that very moment, the boat suddenly sways a bit too much and Lan Wangji instinctively leans forward to steady Wei Ying, to ensure he does not fall out or get splashed by the water, even as Wei Ying instinctively balances himself on the edge of the boat, his fingers curled tightly around the lotus seeds he had peeled. In the resulting fumble, they find themselves so close to one another that their noses are almost touching. They are each gripping opposite sides of the boat, steadying it, and Lan Wangji’s free arm is resting on Wei Ying’s waist while Wei Ying’s free hand rests on Lan Wangji’s chest for balance.

“Wei Ying…” Lan Wangji murmurs, fighting the urge to pull Wei Ying closer, tempted all the more by the warmth of his body so close to Lan Wangji’s own.

“Lan Zhan…” Wei Ying looks up at him, his usual smiling face uncharacteristically serious as he leans closer and closer still…

Until the shift in movement sends them both tumbling into the lake.

Despite the shock of the cold water, Wei Ying is laughing by the time they surface after their unexpected plunge into the lake. Lan Wangji’s eyes are closed to avoid getting water in them, but Wei Ying’s delighted laugh rings in his ears. It is a sound he thinks he will never tire of, and he relishes in the warmth it fills him with despite the chill of the lake water.

By the time Lan Wangji is finally able to open his eyes again, he is face to face with Wei Ying, surrounded by blooming lotus flowers. Wet curls cling to Wei Ying’s face and a lotus leaf clings to his shoulder. His eyes are bright, his smile is mirthful, and he is so, so beautiful that Lan Wangji’s breath catches.

“Look!” Wei Ying cries triumphantly, displaying his closed fist. “I managed to save the lotus seeds!” He pops one in his mouth and his eyes flutter closed, a slow grin spreading across his face as he savours them.

“They’re delicious, Lan Zhan!” he exclaims when he finishes it, extending the hand with the lotus seeds towards Lan Wangji. “Do you want a taste?”

As a general rule, Lan Wangji prides himself on his self control. Still, he is only capable of so much control. After a certain point, even he cannot help himself.

In an instant, he closes the distance between them, wrapping a hand around the wrist of the hand Wei Ying was offering him to pull him even closer. With his free hand, he cups Wei Ying’s face and kisses him, the way he has been dreaming of since they parted ways. It is somehow better than anything he could ever have imagined. Wei Ying’s lips are soft and yielding under him and he tastes of the very lotus seeds he had offered Lan Wangji not a moment ago. When Wei Ying responds enthusiastically, Lan Wangji loses himself to his desires, winding a hand into Wei Ying’s hair, the other releasing Wei Ying’s wrist to instead wrap around his waist, crushing him as close to Lan Wangji’s body as physically possible.

It is only when they pull apart that Lan Wangji realizes what he has done, when his actions and their consequences lay themselves out in his mind. Still breathless from their kiss, he swallows hard. “Wei Ying, I…”

Wei Ying just laughs, equally breathless, cutting off his apology. His eyes are soft and fond. “Ah, Lan Zhan, I like you so much!” he exclaims.

Lan Wangji has hoped for this, of course, for so long now, but he finds he is still not prepared for hearing these words in reality. “You…”

“I mean that kind of like,” Wei Ying clarifies— though, Lan Wangji thinks, the enthusiastic way he had kissed back had made it clear exactly which kind of like he had meant. “I think you’re really great. I love you, want you, adore you… I want to spend my entire life with you. I want to cultivate with you and night hunt with you. I don’t want anyone else but you. It can’t be anyone else but you!”

Lan Wangji pulls him into a hug, fisting his hands in Wei Ying’s clothes, holding him tight. “I like you,” he says, echoing Wei Ying’s words back to him, slightly breathless. “You’re really great. I love you, want you, adore you… I want to spend my life with you. It cannot be anyone but you!”

Wei Ying sinks deeper into his embrace, letting out a happy sigh. “Ah, Hanguang-jun, I thought you were a gentlemen,” he says in a teasing voice. “I didn’t expect you to shamelessly steal my first kiss like this! You have to take responsibility!”

“I will,” Lan Wangji replies.

Wei Ying laughs and pulls away, just far enough to press a kiss to Lan Wangji’s cheek. “Ah, Lan Zhan, you're the best! I really like you a lot!” he exclaims. With a grin, he nods towards the boat. “Will you also take responsibility for tipping the boat?”

Lan Wangji slightly raises an eyebrow, which sends Wei Ying into another fit of laughter. “Fine, fine,” he says. “Maybe it was my fault the boat tipped.”

“It might have been my fault as well,” Lan Wangji admits.

Wei Ying laughs again, and Lan Wangji leans forward to capture his lips in a kiss. Forever, he affirms to himself. I want to do this forever.