Chapter Text
Lan Wangji looked at the last gentian in the garden. The deep blue horn opened to the moon above, even after all the others had withered away at summer’s end. Was this one foolish to persevere so long alone? Soon enough it would be buried beneath the mountain snow. Perhaps it would be crushed, and thus unable to return with the spring as the others would. Clenching his fist within one red sleeve, Hanguang-Jun continued on.
The door was closed. This was natural. Necessary even, in the chill night air. It was not a message. No poetry here required interpretation. He placed one hand upon the smooth wood, feeling the delicate paper beneath two fingers, and slid it open. This was permitted. He was not an intruder. This was his house.
Inside, dozens of candles illuminated the room with warm, golden light. That was nothing compared to the glow of the figure in red waiting on the bed. Those scarlet robes shone as a beckoning pyre. Lan Wangji’s muscles tensed to leap. How he longed to immolate his body in such a flame! Restraining that desire, he crossed the room at a measured pace.
The figure did not turn or greet him. Seated on the bed, it was as still as a statue. As silent as a ghost. Absently, Lan Wangji noticed how beautiful the veil was, embroidered with clouds and lotuses in thread of purest gold. Such art could not be created quickly. Fine materials were not found in barren farmland. In other circumstances, the detail on that veil and the paired cranes on his own robes would make him feel loved. Spoiled by his family.
Here and now, he wondered what he would find when he did a husband’s duty and lifted the delicate fabric. Perhaps it would reveal a corpse beneath, some dead woman left to sit as a decoy while her master attacked him from behind. Would she be beautiful: pale as the moon with blood-painted nails? Or would she be fetid: rotting with an empty eye socket and worm eaten flesh? Oh, he hoped to see evidence of some wicked trick! Lan Wangji knew that the worst thing he could find beneath the veil would be a once bright and lively face brought low with fear and sorrow. He could endure anything except tears in eyes that should show steel.
Have a strong will and anything can be achieved. A guiding principle of the Lan Clan. He did not permit his hands to tremble or hesitate.
Lan Wangji took both ends of the veil, and raised it.
Wei Ying sat as demurely as the most virginal bride, with painted lips and darkened brows. His gaze did not rise with the veil, but remained chaste and diffidently downward. Standing before him, Lan Wangji could count each long, elegant eyelash. No pearl droplets marred his makeup, however, so Lan Wangji was able to breathe. Then those silver daggers flashed up at him, boring holes directly into Lan Wangji’s soul.
Ba-bump! Lan Wangji’s heart slammed hard against his rib cage, trying to break free of his composure.
“Well, husband? I’m waiting.”
Waiting. Wei Ying was waiting. Wei Ying addressed him as husband. Because they were married. Because Lan Wangji lifted the veil. Could it be that Wei Ying wanted Lan Wangji to do a husband’s duty? Impossible.
Yet the question could be asked another way. Would Wei Ying agree to a marriage he did not desire? Wei Ying was far too principled to accept a match solely for material gain. Lan Wangji was not vain enough to believe that Wei Ying would ever accept him without the considerations offered by the Lan Sect, but perhaps with those added inducements he was sufficiently desirable. Perhaps he was desirable.
A rabbit offering a frantic warning, his heart thumped ever faster. Wei Ying must have heard it. Surely, any skilled cultivator would sense the chaotic fluster of Lan Wangji’s spiritual energy, even at a distance. Wei Ying did not withdraw.
Slowly, giving his new husband every opportunity to evade, Lan Wangji bent to press their lips together.
The paint was sticky and a little sweet. Beneath it, Wei Ying’s mouth was impossibly soft. Yielding. Welcoming. Lan Wangji raised an impertinent hand to touch that powerful jaw. Before his frigid fingers made contact with warm skin, Wei Ying dropped away.
Rolling backward, he howled in joy. Wrapping his arms around his chest as if trying to contain his laughter did nothing to actually restrain the hysterics. Wei Ying’s legs kicked the air like a dog being scratched behind the ear.
“Lan Zhan! Lan Zhan, I can’t believe you really did it!”
Standing upright, Lan Wangji schooled his expression. Once, he would have reacted to Wei Ying’s laughter with rage. To have his own feelings be the punchline of a joke scorched his pride. Now he knew better. Wei Ying was smiling. Laughing. Wei Ying was in a place where Lan Wangji could keep him safe, and he seemed happy to be there. His joy was a gift. If it came the expense of Lan Wangji’s dignity, so much the better. That was a coin he could spend gladly—he had more than enough of it.
“Lan Zhan! You smiled!” Slapping the bed with both hands, Wei Ying pushed himself into a seated position.
“Mn.”
“Can it be that you agree with me? This whole thing is too funny! Zewu-Jun really is a genius when it comes to creative problem solving. Not that I fault him for wanting some political cover! After all, I had to leave the Jiang Sect because being my brother wasn’t enough of a reason to help. And it’s not like he said you had to marry Wen Qing or something.”
Lan Wangji did not comment on either the moral fortitude of Jiang Wayin or the low probability of success for any marriage between himself and a woman.
“Ah, Lan Zhan. You’re not upset that I took Zewu-Jun’s offer when I never agreed to come to Gusu all those times you offered.”
“I am not upset. You are here now.”
“Exactly! Besides, coming to be punished for my demonic tricks when I was a member of the Jiang Sect would have been impossible. Consider Jiang Cheng’s face if his first disciple went off to be disciplined by another sect. But I’m here now! You can punish me at last!”
Lan Wangji wanted to say that Wei Ying would not be punished at all, but lying was forbidden. Wei Ying was locked in a cottage, married to a man he did not choose, with his spiritual energy sealed completely. What greater punishment could there be? Marriage was a life sentence.
“Protecting the Wen remnants is righteous. Brother should have offered help without demanding concessions.”
Wei Ying’s laughter faded into the softest, truest version of his smile. This was the smile Lan Wangji was privileged to receive when he permitted Wen Yuan to sit on his lap while eating. On rare occasions, he had witnessed it being gifted to others, most often Jiang Yanli. To obtain it simply by stating a fact was plucking a stone from the riverbed and finding jade.
“Ah, Lan Zhan. You really are too good. I know he only came to see us in the Burial Mounds because you pestered him.”
Objecting to the classification of Lan Wangji’s repeated petition that his sect leader witness the injustice perpetrated against innocent peasants by all sects as “pestering” would be childish. Lan Wangji did not do so.
“Anyway, it’s worth the price to me. It would be worth my life to protect Wen Ning and my other friends! I’m only sorry you have to pay, too.”
What response could Lan Wangji make to such a statement? Clearly Wei Ying was not referring to the inconsequential outlay of supplies required to transport the Wen from the Burial Mounds to their former homes in Dafan. Nor could he mean the few Lan Cultivators who now patrolled the area on rotation to ensure none of the other Sects made trouble for innocents named Wen. Destroying that Stygian Tiger Seal with his brother was work his hands itched to do from the moment he first saw it, despite the heavy backlash.
No, Wei Ying was suggesting that it was their marriage which could bring Lan Wangji anything but the most selfish kind of glee.
“We are friends,” said Lan Wangji. He could not make it a question.
“For your sins in a past life,” agreed Wei Ying. “But all those other people who once called me friend seem to have disappeared! When all the world was praising me, you were the one to scold me. And when all the world cast me out, you were the one to visit me. Lan Wangji, Lan Wangji what did you do to deserve a friend like me?”
Frowning because Wei Ying used his courtesy name would be petulant. Lan Wangji did not do so. Instead, he walked over to the south wall and lifted the loose floorboard. He drew forth the items hidden there prior to Wei Ying’s arrival in Cloud Recesses.
“Lan Zhan! What’s that? A secret compartment! Do only you and I know about it?”
“Mn.”
“Lan Zhan! That’s splendid! Promise not to tell anyone else, okay? I mean, my days as a demonic cultivator are over, I swear, but I might still write some things down that I don’t want your uncle to read. A hiding place is the best possible wedding present.”
No one would search the cottage. Only Lan Wangji was permitted within the bounds of the garden wall. Other than his own, only the Sect Leader’s token could pass through the wards in an emergency. The Dafan Wen were not the only people Lan Wangji wished to live free of harassment. If Wei Ying must be bound, it would not be in a place where passing disciples could abuse him or show disrespect.
“Place a cloth over any items you do not wish me to see. Wei Ying has a right to privacy. That is not your wedding present.”
“Lan Zhan!” Darting forward, Wei Ying gripped Wangji by the shoulders. His silver eyes were as round as the jar in Wangji’s hand. “Lan Zhan, is that Emperor’s Smile? Do you drink in secret? Can I have some?”
“Mn. It is for Wei Ying.”
“My wedding present! Aha! What a lucky bride am I; my husband is a generous one!”
Sitting at the table, Lan Wangji set out an appropriate cup. The porcelain was light blue in color, and delicate enough to be translucent. This pleasing aesthetic would have been insufficient to warrant the honor of serving Wei Ying on such an occasion, save that it was also decorated by that lotus motif Wei Ying continued to favor even after leaving Yunmeng Jiang. These details did not draw Wei Ying’s eye. Lan Wangji would have to seek a more artful piece in his future travels.
Despite the failure, Lan Wangji’s offering was not wholly displeasing to his husband. Wei Ying rubbed his hands together before taking a seat, straight backed and eager beside Lan Wangji.
“Pour one for yourself, too! That’s how we do weddings in Yunmeng, you know. We can hardly count as married until we have a drink together.”
Although he was familiar with the tradition, Lan Wangji hesitated. It was one thing for Wei Ying to drink in Cloud Recesses. Wei Ying’s imprisonment was part of the bargain made with Lan Xichen and the clan elders. He had not chosen the lifestyle or the rules of Lan Sect for their merit. Confined as he was, with his spiritual energy forcibly sealed by the elders, he could not follow the most important strictures at all. How could a man unable to pass his garden posts shoulder the weight of morality? Was not agreeing to be imprisoned for the sake of others proof that Wei Ying already did so, more than any other cultivator alive?
Wei Ying should do what he liked, but for Lan Wangji to indulge would be to break a solemn vow.
Wei Ying wanted him to drink. Wei Ying would not consider their marriage truly valid unless he did so. Holding his sleeves properly, maintaining appropriate posture, Lan Wangji poured a second cup.
“Lan Zhan!”
Lan Wangji dared to raise his gaze slowly to his husband’s face. Wei Ying’s own eyes were wide. He seemed startled by the idea that Lan Wangji would grant such a small concession. Indeed, Wei Ying had protected him from compromising his morals to do so once before. So much else was at stake during the Floral Banquet in Koi Tower, yet even then Wei Ying helped Lan Wangji follow his code. Determination to proceed formed a steel core in Wangji’s heart.
With a husband, one could forgo regulation.
Smiling softly, Wei Ying raised his cup with one hand. When Lan Wangji mirrored the movement, Wei Ying slid closer. Hooking his elbow through the crook of Wangji’s arm, Wei Ying bound them together loosely.
Leaving aside the wild beating of Lan Wangji’s ungovernable heart, the casual intimacy of that gesture made simply breathing impossible. Unused to the bountiful silks of Lan formal wear, Wei Ying’s sleeves were bunched around his elbow. No warmth could be felt in the place where they touched.
The very sight of it burned.
Folds of red robes overlapping to the point where one sleeve was indistinguishable from the other seared through Lan Wangji’s eyes, etching itself on his memory forever, indelible as a branding iron. Wei Ying’s under robe must have been a little loose. Slipping down slightly beyond the bounds of propriety, it revealed the bare, golden skin of his forearm. He was so thin. The bones of his wrist were more delicate than porcelain.
Only a cur would salivate at the idea of taking something so fragile into his mouth and biting down hard.
Here in the Cloud Recesses Wei Ying would be protected. He would eat properly. Lan Wangji could care for him. That was a husband’s privilege. The health sacrificed to demonic cultivation would be restored. Considering how easily Lan Wangji’s own hand might envelope that wrist was unseemly. He would do nothing of the sort. Wei Ying was not here to serve such sordid, base impulses. Producing an heir was impossible, so he would be left in peace by the elders to live quietly and well.
History would not repeat.
“What should we toast to? The usual stuff about having a baby is too unlikely for us! But we have to say something.”
“Mn.”
“Okay, here: May we have a happy marriage, may the affection between us never fade, and may we always stand with justice to live without regrets.”
Lan Wangji drank. The act brought their faces close together. Almost as close as the kiss. Warm liquor filled his mouth with gentle, refined sweetness. Inexperienced as Lan Wangji was when it came to wine, he could understand why Wei Ying preferred Emperor’s Smile to all others. There was a complexity, an elegance to the flavor which went far beyond the dry heat of alcohol on the tongue.
“Delicious! Ah, Lan Zhan.” Wei Ying drew back smiling. “Your Gusu wine really is the best in the world. How do you feel? Have you had practice drinking since our student days?”
Lan Wangji felt—heavy. His head was very heavy. So were his eyes. The lid part. He did not consider the lid of his eye frequently. They were unaccountably heavy. He could not—