Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

Caiyi’s market is crowded today, as is the shop Lan Wangji forces himself to enter in search of a birthday present for his brother. Once inside the shop, he heads to the quietest corner and tries to block out the chatter around him. He picks up a pendant and strokes his thumb over the jade, focusing on its texture rather than the buzz of the shoppers.

“Those are fake.”

Lan Wangji stiffens at the words murmured so close to his ear. When he turns, there is a young man grinning at him.

“Sorry, did I startle you?” the grinning man asks. “I just didn’t want you to waste your money.”

The grin is accompanied by two prominent white teeth. Rabbit teeth, Lan Wangji thinks before he takes in the rest of the man’s face. Pretty. That thought makes him blink. He has never thought of a man as pretty before. Handsome, yes (Nie Mingjue). Attractive (also Nie Mingjue). But not pretty. Lan Wangji shifts his eyes from the pretty face to the pendant he’s holding: white jade and a gentian bloom. It had seemed like a suitable gift for Lan Xichen, but not if what this man says is true.

He nods his thanks and returns the pendant to the display case, then heads out of the shop. There is no point in wasting time in a shop that sells counterfeit goods.

For some reason, the pretty man pursues him out of the shop. “Who is the pendant for?”

“My brother,” Lan Wangji says, keeping his eyes focused on the busy street rather than the man trotting beside him. However, the man does not seem dissuaded by this.

“For his birthday?”

“Mn.”

“Well, if you’re looking for jade, you should check out the stall over there. It’s the best one in town.”

Ah, this stranger’s interest makes sense now. This man must work at the stall, and he’s trying to lure in customers. Perhaps he was even lying about the pendant’s authenticity.

Still, the stall the man points out does seem promising, so Lan Wangji follows him. As Lan Wangji examines the stall’s pendants, the man chatters at his side, offering his opinion on the wares. Lan Wangji attempts to keep his eyes on the trinkets, but then he notices how the sun strikes the man’s brown eyes, turning them a shining amber, finer than anything displayed at this stall.

His gaze lingers too long, and the man catches him looking. Somehow, the man’s smile grows even brighter, his eyes crinkling into crescent moons until their warm color is hidden.

“I’m Wei Ying, by the way,” the stranger says. “Guess I should introduce myself since I’m talking your ear off.”

“Lan Zhan, courtesy name Wangji.” Lan Wangji salutes, and the stranger—Wei Ying—returns the salute with the grace of a twelve-year-old shidi.

“Well, Lan-gongzi, what do you think? See anything your brother might like?”

Lan Wangji nods and picks up the closest trinket, only too late realizing that it is a beaded hair pin with a pink peony at the end.

Wei Ying raises his eyebrows and rocks back on his heels. “Interesting choice.”

Lan Wangji drops the hair pin back on the table and flushes when the beads raise a clatter.

“Are you sure this gift is for your brother?” Wei Ying leans close and whispers, loudly, “Maybe you have a lady love?”

“No.” Lan Wangji whirls away from Wei Ying’s smirk and stalks off through the market.

“Ah, Lan Wangji, I’m sorry, wait up!”

Lan Wangji slows his pace only because Wei Ying is yelling so loudly that people are starting to stare. Wei Ying jogs over and clasps his fist in his hand, bowing repeatedly. “I’m really sorry. I didn’t mean to offend you.” Given the size of his grin, that seems untruthful.

“No need,” Lan Wangji grits out. “I appreciate your assistance, but I am finished shopping today. You should return to your stall.”

“My stall?” Wei Ying scrunches his nose in confusion. That makes him look even more like a rabbit, which is very cute, unfortunately. “What are you talking about?”

“I thought . . .” Lan Wangji glances back at the stall they just left. “You do not work there?”

Wei Ying snorts. “No, why did you think that?”

When Lan Wangji fails to come up with an answer that isn’t I thought you were a disreputable salesman, which would be quite rude, Wei Ying’s eyes widen in realization. “Oh, you thought I was hustling you.” He smirks and salutes again. “Not at all, Lan-gongzi. I only wished to help you make your choice.”

“Why?” Lan Wangji asks, rather too bluntly.

Wei Ying’s cheeks turn pink, which is devastatingly cute and not something Lan Wangji is prepared to deal with. “Ah,” Wei Ying says, bashfully ducking his head, which is even cuter. “I just thought you seemed . . . nice. And it would be nice to meet you.”

Nice? Lan Wangji has been complimented on his calligraphy, his sword work, his discipline, and yes, even his appearance—the last only overheard, never to his face. But no one thinks he is nice. Lan Xichen is nice. Lan Wangji is too stiff, too formal, too quiet, too solemn. That has never bothered him much since Shufu is also all of those things, and Shufu is an honorable man much admired by the cultivation world. But nice?

“I . . . thank you?” Lan Wangji stammers out. He never stammers. What has this man done to him?

Wei Ying grins and turns even pinker. “You’re welcome! Hey, do you want to go to that teahouse?” He points down the street, nearly bouncing on his toes. His ponytail bounces behind him.

“I . . .” Lan Wangji casts his eyes up and down the street as if someone will appear and explain this strange interaction to him. Sadly, no one comes to his rescue. “Alright?”

“Great!” Wei Ying grabs his arm and starts pulling Lan Wangji toward the teahouse, chattering something about the pipa player he saw there yesterday. Lan Wangji stumbles behind him to avoid having his arm ripped from its socket.

One very awkward and slightly painful journey later, Lan Wangji and Wei Ying are seated in the teahouse. A server scurries over to greet them, then looks at them expectantly. Wei Ying gestures for Lan Wangji to order first.

“Tea,” Lan Wangji blurts, quite stupidly. In his defense, his head is still reeling from being dragged down the street by the strangest person he’s ever met.

The server blinks at him. “What kind?”

Lan Wangji just blinks back, his mind blank of tea varieties and also how words are formed. Thankfully, Wei Ying butts in. “Ginger, please. For both of us. And some of those tasty red bean buns.”

The server nods and scurries away. Lan Wangji watches him, envying the server’s ability to escape this situation.

“So, your brother,” Wei Ying says as they wait for their tea. “What’s he like?”

Lan Wangji blinks across the table at Wei Ying’s pretty face, now perky and guileless, as if he didn’t just kidnap a total stranger and force him into a teahouse. “His name is Lan Xichen. He is our sect leader.”

“Oh.” Wei Ying lifts his eyebrows. “I figured you were a cultivator. I guess you belong to that sect up on the mountain.”

Lan Wangji nods, a bit surprised. Most people in Caiyi seem to recognize him, but then the people of the world must have better things to do than memorize cultivators’ names.

“This is my first trip to Gusu,” Wei Ying says, as if answering the question Lan Wangji has not asked. “I’m just passing through.”

Lan Wangji inclines his head in acknowledgment and tells himself it’s ridiculous to feel disappointed. What difference does it make if this stranger lives here or on the other side of the world?

The tea arrives, and Wei Ying pounces on the pot before Lan Wangji has time to react. “But what is he like?” Wei Ying asks as he pours tea into Lan Wangji’s cup.

 “Who?”

Wei Ying grins and peers up at him through long eyelashes. “Your brother.”

Lan Wangji yanks the cup to his mouth to hide how he flushes. After a slow sip and even slower swallow, he sets down the cup. “I do not understand what you are asking.”

A red bean bun lands on the plate in front of Lan Wangji. “You know,” Wei Ying mumbles through a mouthful of bun. “What kind of stuff does he like? What’s his favorite color, that kind of thing.” He drops the bun on his plate and brushes crumbs on his pants legs. “How am I going to help you buy him a present if I don’t know anything about him?”

Lan Wangji frowns at Wei Ying’s manners, then chastises himself for being so snobbish. Wei Ying’s robes are plain, and his hair is messily bound, ornamented only with a leather strap. He is clearly a farmer or tradesman of some sort, certainly not gentry. Do not despise poverty, he reminds himself. That and many other rules warn Lan disciples against scorning others for their statuses or livelihoods.

“He enjoys poetry and playing the xiao,” Lan Wangji says. “He is fond of white and blue.” Actually, the last may not be true. Certainly, Lan Xichen wears those colors often, but that is expected from their sect leader. Perhaps Lan Xichen secretly prefers green or purple.

“Okay,” Wei Ying says, “I can work with that.”

While Wei Ying describes, in exhaustive detail, all of the potential presents available in Caiyi, Lan Wangji nibbles off a tiny bite of the red bean bun. He has never eaten one before and is surprised at how tasty it is. And sweet. Although he tries to restrain himself, he has eaten half a bun before Wei Ying pauses his recitation.

“They’re good, aren’t they?” Wei Ying says, preening and wiggling in his seat. “I ate three of them yesterday!”

They are good, but eating three seems excessive. “How are you so familiar with Caiyi if you are only passing through?”

Wei Ying shrugs. “I’m not that familiar. I just like exploring and meeting people. It’s the best part of traveling.”

Lan Wangji nods as if he agrees with either of those assessments. For him, the best part of traveling is the solitude.

Lan Wangji almost asks why Wei Ying has come to Gusu, but Wei Ying changes the subject back to all the wonders Caiyi has to offer, then the songs the pipa player played yesterday (the stage is empty today), then a pretty bird he saw one time.

Before Lan Wangji quite understands what is happening, Wei Ying drops silver on the table and bustles him out of the teahouse. “You did not have to pay,” Lan Wangji says as he is propelled through the market.

“Wangji-xiong,” Wei Ying scolds, “I invited you. It was my treat!” As Lan Wangji isn’t certain of the protocol when one stranger abducts another for a dining situation, he cannot argue. Besides, he is too shocked at being called Wangji-xiong for the first time in his life to formulate a response.

“I’ve got an idea about your brother’s present,” Wei Ying says, his hand still curled around Lan Wangji’s bicep like Lan Wangji is a disobedient child being dragged home by his father. “There’s a bookseller just down here.”

Lan Wangji starts to protest that he is capable of walking unaided, but his attention catches on a display to his left. He sets his heels and roots himself to the earth. When his prisoner suddenly refuses to budge, Wei Ying pitches forward and flails back, still not releasing Lan Wangji’s arm.

The smirk on Lan Wangji’s face feels entirely unfamiliar but not unpleasant. He leaves Wei Ying sputtering in the street and crosses to the stall where small jade animals wave from thin sticks. The rabbit is delightful, and he holds it close to his face to watch the sunlight strike the rabbit’s nearly translucent body.

“Does your brother like rabbits?” Wei Ying asks, smiling like the little scene in the street is already forgotten.

Suddenly realizing how childish it was to race over here to admire a child’s toy, Lan Wangji shakes his head and replaces the jade rabbit in its perch. “Inappropriate,” he murmurs. “The bookseller?”

Wei Ying extends a finger to stroke the rabbit’s little head. Adorable. It makes Lan Wangji’s teeth ache worse than the red bean buns had. “It’s a shame,” Wei Ying sighs. “They’re really cute.” Then he leads Lan Wangji away—without hauling him by the arm this time.

The bookseller’s shop is down a tiny street that Lan Wangji has never investigated before. To his amazement, the little shop is a treasure trove of poetry and sheet music. He could happily spend all day exploring the dusty shelves. As he browses, Wei Ying lingers nearby, occasionally offering surprisingly insightful opinions on the volumes in between many other baffling comments.

Tucked inside this quiet bookshop, Wei Ying’s effervescent cheer calms to something warmer and slower. As enticing as the books are, Lan Wangji has a difficult time focusing on them rather than Wei Ying’s startling smiles.

The day grows late, casting the shop further in shadow. Reluctantly, Lan Wangji chooses a collection of poems that he knows Lan Xichen will enjoy and pays the proprietor.

After he’s tucked the book into his pouch, he and Wei Ying leave the dark shop and blink in the sudden light. “Well,” Wei Ying says, jamming his hands on his narrow waist. “What now? Are you hungry? There’s a decent restaurant just down the street. Or we could try one of the noodle stalls?”

Lan Wangji ducks his head and stares at the leather belt cinching Wei Ying’s truly tiny waist. “Thank you, but I must return home.”

“Oh.” Wei Ying’s dusty boots do a little scuffling dance on the street. “Of course. You probably have all sorts of important things to do.”

“I . . .” Words appear, bold and alarming in his mind: I enjoyed spending the day with you, I wish you were not leaving, please take me to the restaurant with you. Ridiculous. He does not even know this man. “I thank you for your assistance,” he finally mumbles.

“No problem!” Wei Ying chirps. “Happy to help.”

Lan Wangji’s traitorous eyes leap up to Wei Ying’s face. His smile is as large and bright as it has been all day, but his eyes are flat, incongruous with his happy expression. Lan Wangji rushes into a salute, then spins and walks away, almost trotting, afraid that if he moves too slowly, he will neglect to leave at all.

“Wait!” Wei Ying calls. Boots slap the street as Wei Ying runs to catch up. Lan Wangji waits, his heart pounding in expectation—of what, he has no idea. Never has he spent a day in such turmoil and confusion.

“Hey,” Wei Ying says as he bounces to a stop in front of Lan Wangji, his ponytail swinging and the light back in his eyes. “Hey, um, I’m leaving the day after tomorrow, but since I’ve still got one more day in Gusu, how about we have lunch together tomorrow? That place has good soup.” He points to the restaurant ahead of them. “You like soup, right? Everybody likes soup.”

Lan Wangji looks at the restaurant he’s walked past many times and never entered. “I . . . I cannot.” This is true, unfortunately. Tomorrow, he must resume his duties. He has already spent far too long neglecting them today. This trip was supposed to take less than a shichen.

“Right,” Wei Ying says, nodding agreeably. “You can’t just run off whenever you like. How about tomorrow afternoon? We could do some more shopping. Or there’s this lotus pond I found—”

“I apologize,” Lan Wangji blurts, interrupting Wei Ying before his offers can become too tantalizing. “That will not be possible.”

“Oh.” That wounded oh is followed by a prolonged silence in which Lan Wangji dares not look at Wei Ying’s face, too afraid of seeing there what he sees on everyone else’s face: disquiet, even dislike. Most people attempt to hide it in deference to his status or his reputation, but he knows that people don’t find him pleasant. He only needs to see how they react to Lan Xichen to know the difference.

A warm hand claps his shoulder, shocking him out of his brood. “It’s okay, Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying says softly. “I understand.”

Lan Wangji peeks up at him, too grateful to be annoyed by either the familiar touch or the very familiar use of his birth name.

Wei Ying smiles. This one is smaller but warmer than the other smiles Lan Wangji has seen today. “Okay, Lan Zhan, I’ll be at that restaurant tomorrow for lunch. If you can get away, then please come join me. If you can’t, I’ll eat alone, which will be tragic.” He pauses to pout with an impressive—and adorable—pooch of his lower lip. “But I’ll survive.”

Lan Wangji’s heart does some very excited, very strange somersaults. He bows his head. “Goodbye, Wei Ying.”

“Bye, Lan Zhan. It was really great to meet you. I hope your brother likes his present.”

Lan Wangji salutes again. He turns to leave again. This time, Wei Ying does not follow. He tells himself that is a good thing.

The sun is sinking low by the time Lan Wangji arrives at the gate to Cloud Recesses. The young guards gape at him for returning so near the curfew, and Lan Wangji hurries past them, his shoulders tight with embarrassment.

In his turmoil, he almost forgets that he is meant to eat with Lan Xichen and Shufu tonight. When he is nearly to the Jingshi, he remembers and has to retrace his steps and rush to arrive on time. That earns him a frown from an elder who observes his haste, but Lan Wangji only ducks his head and keeps rushing.

“Wangji!” Lan Xichen calls as he ushers Lan Wangji into his home. “Are you alright? You look a bit flushed.”

“I am well. Apologies for my tardiness.”

“You aren’t late, didi, but what has you so red in the face? Are you just now returning from Caiyi?”

Lan Wangji nods and bows to Shufu, who studies him with a scowl.

“You must have done quite a bit of shopping,” Lan Xichen says. He gives Wangji a conspiratorial smile, which Lan Wangji reminds himself is only because Lan Xichen is well aware that Lan Wangji went to Caiyi to purchase his birthday present and not at all because he knows about Wei Ying.

“The market was quite crowded,” Lan Wangji mutters as they sit at the table. That is true, though certainly a lie of omission.

Shufu grunts. That grunt skillfully conveys his hatred of crowds, shopping, and tardiness. Truly, Shufu is an excellent grunter.

“And did you find anything interesting in the market today?” Lan Xichen asks.

Lan Wangji’s ears burn, but he meets his brother’s eyes defiantly. “Yes.” He lets his expression convey and no, I will not tell you about your birthday present.

“Your birthday is arriving soon, is it not, Xichen?” Shufu asks.

Lan Wangji and his brother share an amused glance at the subtext Shufu has completely missed. “Yes,” Lan Xichen says. “I certainly hope no one goes to any trouble on my account.” Lan Xichen gives Lan Wangji a wink while Shufu contemplates his tea cup.

The food arrives, and Lan Wangji has never been so glad that conversation during dinner is forbidden. After dinner, Shufu makes his usual hasty exit. Lan Wangji quickly follows, murmuring about being tired from his trip as an excuse—not entirely untrue. He did get hauled around the market, after all.

Once he is safe and alone in his own house, he removes the book he purchased for Lan Xichen from his pouch and sets it on the shelf near his wardrobe. It lies there innocently, just a book of poems, nothing strange or scandalous. But as he readies for bed, his eyes keep drifting towards it. Every time he looks, he sees Wei Ying, his head bent over the book he was perusing, the back of his neck brown with the sun and somehow vulnerable.

Ridiculous.

Lan Wangji shuts the book inside his cabinet, telling himself that he does so to hide it from his brother, as if his brother often drops by for unannounced visits. (He does not.)

With the book safely hidden away, Lan Wangji bathes, then settles behind the guqin for some much-needed calming music. (It doesn’t work.)

The next morning, Lan Wangji performs his daily routine with grim determination. So he met a handsome man in the market. So the handsome young man seemed to enjoy spending time with him. It hardly signifies. Wei Ying is leaving Gusu tomorrow, possibly never to return. He is not even a cultivator, so it is almost certain that their paths will never cross again. Best just to put the entire experience behind him. Dwelling on it will achieve nothing.

Only, Wei Ying hasn’t left yet, has he? If Lan Wangji wanted, he could fly down to Caiyi and—

No.

Lan Wangji glares at himself in the mirror as he ties on his forehead ribbon. No. Absolutely not. He has duties today. He has lessons. He cannot possibly rush off to have lunch with Wei Ying.

Only, he wants to.

Why? Lan Wangji screams inside his head. The reflection in the mirror only tightens its lips slightly. Why does he want to? Yes, Wei Ying is handsome and charming. Yes, Wei Ying treated him the way no one ever has—like Lan Wangji is fun to be around, like spending time with him is a pleasure, not a burden.

But Wei Ying doesn’t really know me, he thinks, letting that thought crush his heart. If he did, he would realize that Lan Wangji is not the sort who has friends. Therefore, it is best that Wei Ying never finds out. It is better to let Wei Ying remember him fondly, having known him just for a few hours, than to let him see the truth.

His reflection mourns with him, handsome but too stern. Too cold. He tries to smile as Wei Ying did, but the result is ghastly—the rigid grimace of a funerary figure. He cringes away and finishes tying up his hair without glancing back at the mirror. He is not built for smiling. It stands to reason that he is not built for merriment. Best to carry on as he has done and forget yesterday.

As the morning progresses, Lan Wangji manages to forget, for entire seconds at a time, about Wei Ying. But as wu shi approaches, those merciful intervals shrink until his mind can barely focus on anything but the image of Wei Ying waiting at a table in that restaurant. Will Wei Ying shrug off his disappointment and make new friends at the nearby tables? Or will he spend hours alone, his head jerking up hopefully every time someone steps through the door?

Ridiculous, he chides himself and tries to focus on the juniors running sword drills. He told Wei Ying that he could not come to lunch. Wei Ying probably won’t even be at the restaurant.

“Lan Kuan, correct your footing,” Lan Wangji barks, much more sharply than he intended. Lan Kuan nearly topples as he rushes to correct himself. Now he’s taking out his irritation on the poor juniors. He has to get control of himself.

When the lesson ends, Lan Wangji makes sure to praise them for their efforts, Lan Kuan in particular. Then he trails them as they head towards the dining hall.

He reaches the branch of the path and pauses. If he turns west, he will be headed towards the gate. If he flies quickly, he can be at the restaurant in one incense time. Then half a shichen for lunch, back in another incense time. That would make him late for the calligraphy class he teaches, but only slightly. If he cuts down the time spent in Caiyi—

No. No. This is ridiculous. All that effort, including being late to his own lesson, just to see Wei Ying for one short meal. What does it matter? Wei Ying is still leaving.

Only, he wants to go.

“Wangji?”

Lan Wangji whirls around at his brother’s voice.

“Wangji,” Lan Xichen calls again. “Is something wrong?”

“No, Xiongzhang.” He bows low to hide his flush.

“Alright,” Lan Xichen says, clearly suspicious but too kind to press. “If you’re well, I was hoping that you could help me with an issue. We’ve had another letter from Yao-zongzhu.”

Lan Wangji buries his mournful sigh and nods. Yao-zongzhu writes at least once a month to seek aid for some “catastrophe.” Why Lan Xichen doesn’t tell him to look after his own clan—or write to Lotus Pier, which is much closer—Lan Wangji cannot fathom and will never ask.

“Thank you, didi.” Lan Xichen claps his shoulder and leads him away. “I thought we could have lunch together before we discuss it. You have time before your lesson, don’t you?”

Lan Wangji nods because he cannot imagine himself saying, No, Xiongzhang, I must fly to Caiyi to have lunch with a man I met yesterday. I think I’d like to kiss him, actually.

The last thought sends a bolt of lightning directly to his lower dantian, and for a moment, he fears he will qi-deviate right here on the white stone path. Kiss him? Where did that come from?

Lan Xichen continues talking about Yao-zongzhu’s letter as if he didn’t notice his younger brother’s entire soul burst into flames. Lan Wangji walks beside him like a normal person, humming and nodding in the right places, and feeling Wei Ying getting farther away by the moment.

By that evening, Lan Wangji has sunken into a black sulk. He knows that his mood is both apparent and unseemly and does not care. Thankfully, he is not expected to dine with anyone tonight (certainly not Wei Ying!), so he can stomp his way home and shut himself inside, away from the poor juniors who cringed away from him all afternoon.

He sulks through a bath. He sulks through drying and combing his hair, tugging viciously at the tangles and only hurting himself. He sulks through the bitter music his guqin produces, twanging the strings like they have personally offended him. He plays loud and fast and angry. If Shufu heard the noise he was making, he would never let him touch a guqin again.

“Wow, you’re really good.”

Lan Wangji nearly shoves the guqin off the table. He whips his head around to the window where Wei Ying leans on the windowsill, grinning.

“Kind of an angry song, though, right?” Wei Ying says. When Lan Wangji doesn’t respond—how could he?—Wei Ying’s grin turns sheepish. “Ah, sorry for interrupting. I was afraid you were gonna rip the strings right off!”

Lan Wangji can do nothing but stare at the man outside his window. If his fingers weren’t so sore, he might think he was dreaming. “Wei Ying?”

“Hey, you remembered!” Wei Ying seems to take that as an invitation because he swings himself through the window. “This is a nice house,” he says as he strides across the room and drops onto the seat beside Lan Wangji. “The whole place is really beautiful. I mean, I’d heard Cloud Recesses was lovely, but the rumors don’t do it justice.”

“How?” Lan Wangji manages to ask, but his mind goes blank after that single word. There are other words he would like to say. Why is one. Hello is another. What is happening right now would be nice, but he’s too stunned for full sentences.

“What do you mean?” Wei Ying asks. He is looking around the room like he’s never seen furniture before. “Oh, that vase is pretty.”

“I mean, how did you get in?”

“Uh, the usual way, I guess. The big gate.”

“How did you get through the wards?”

“Wards?” Wei Ying scrunches his nose. It’s just as cute as Lan Wangji remembered. “What wards?” Then he grins a scamp’s mirthful grin and winks like they’re sharing a secret.

The guards must have failed to set the wards this evening. Or perhaps Wei Ying talked his way inside. That is unlikely, but then, Wei Ying. Either way, Lan Wangji will have to speak with his brother about that. Only how will he do that without explaining how he knows?

“I was so disappointed when you didn’t show up for lunch today,” Wei Ying says, distracting Lan Wangji from the mortifying fantasy of explaining this situation to his brother. Wei Ying pouts and nudges Lan Wangji’s leg with his toe.

“I apologize,” Lan Wangji says. He even manages to make it sound earnest even though he’s apologizing to a man who just leapt through his window.

“Eh, it’s okay.” Wei Ying waves a hand at him, then starts investigating the table’s contents. He picks up a calligraphy brush and twirls it through his fingers. “You said you couldn’t come, after all. But I couldn’t leave without saying goodbye!”

We said goodbye, Lan Wangji thinks as he watches the brush dance across Wei Ying’s knuckles.

“Besides, I had to give you this!” Wei Ying drops the brush and twists to dig in his pouch. From the pouch, he draws the jade rabbit Lan Wangji admired in the market yesterday. Wei Ying hops the rabbit through the air and presses its face against Lan Wangji’s nose. “Boop!”

Lan Wangji cringes back from the rabbit. Boop?

Wei Ying laughs and shoves the rabbit at him. “Here, he’s yours. Don’t pretend you didn’t want him. I saw the look on your face yesterday.”

“You bought it for me?” Has his voice ever sounded this squeaky?

“Yep.” Wei Ying’s smile turns bashful again. “Don’t you want him, Lan Zhan?”

Lan Wangji grasps the stick before Wei Ying can boop him again. “Thank you.”

Now that Lan Wangji has accepted the gift, Wei Ying’s bashfulness disappears. “You wanted him, so you should have him.” I know what you want, that confident voice seems to say. Let me give you what you want.

While Lan Wangji blushes and clutches his rabbit, Wei Ying leans closer to study the guqin. “This is so pretty, Lan Zhan. I didn’t know you played.”

“How would you know that?” Lan Wangji blurts before he can stop himself.

Wei Ying only laughs. “Good point. We just met, after all. But it’s strange—I feel like I’ve known you forever. Don’t you feel that way?”

No, he does not feel that way, but what he feels is just as strange and just as strong. To him, Wei Ying feels like something he always wanted but never knew existed. Wei Ying is the magical land he read about in a book, a land he can never visit. The song that stirs his heart but that he can never sing. The dream so wonderful that he wishes he never had to wake.

Wei Ying’s voice drops to a soft murmur. “Hey, Lan Zhan, may I write to you?”

“What?” Lan Wangji gazes at him, willing his mind to remember the details. There is a tiny mole under Wei Ying’s lip that he hadn’t noticed before. He wants to remember that. He might also want to taste it.

“Would you mind? I know that’s kind of a strange request, but I promise, I’m a great correspondent.” Wei Ying raises three fingers to his temple in an oath. “It’s true! You probably wouldn’t think so since I’m nobody special, but I’m great at writing letters.”

Lan Wangji doesn’t get a chance to agree before Wei Ying continues. “And I’ll draw pictures for you! I’m great at that too, everybody says so! So, how about it, Lan Zhan? Will you write back if I send you letters?”

Letters. Yes, that’s a wonderful idea. He remembers that he needs to respond, so he nods.

“Great!” Wei Ying literally bounces on the cushion. “You won’t regret it, I promise! Well, you might. I never know when to shut up when I’m writing, either. I write the longest letters, I swear. But you’ll like them, I know you will.”

Lan Wangji is also sure that he will like Wei Ying’s letters. No one has ever written him a letter, aside from requests for aid like the incompetent Yao-zongzhu, and even those are usually addressed to his brother. Then he realizes that he will be expected to write back to Wei Ying.

“What should I write about?” Lan Wangji asks.

“Everything!” Wei Ying snatches up the calligraphy brush again and taps it on Lan Wangji’s arm. “Everything and anything. I want to know all about you, Lan Zhan.”

“I am . . . I am not interesting.”

Wei Ying snorts and tosses the brush on the table. “Of course you’re interesting. Everyone is interesting, but you—” Wei Ying slides off the cushion and tsks down at him. “You are very interesting. I wish I could hang around here and play with you, but I have to get back.”

To Lan Wangji’s dismay, Wei Ying moves back toward the window. “Back where?” he blurts. He has blurted more in the past two days than in his entire life combined. “Where do you live?”

Wei Ying grins over his shoulder. “Yiling.” He hops onto the window and swings his legs over. “It will take a while to get home, but I’ll send the first letter as soon as I arrive, okay?”

“Okay.” Lan Wangji stands on shaky legs and walks to the window. It is polite to see a guest out, no matter which exit they use.

Wei Ying drops to the ground, then leans back inside, his hands braced on the windowsill. “Thanks for hosting me, Lan Zhan. I really like your house.”

“Thank you,” he replies automatically. “Have a safe journey.”

Wei Ying gazes at him, swaying his hips and biting his lip. “Maybe I can visit you again sometime?”

“You are welcome to use the door next time.”

Wei Ying throws back his head and laughs. Lan Wangji stares at the long line of his throat and wants.

“I’ll do that,” Wei Ying promises. “Good night, Lan Zhan.”

“Good night, Wei Ying.”

Then he is gone.

Lan Wangji stares at the empty window, half expecting Wei Ying to pop back in. But as time passes and his heart slows, he finally accepts that Wei Ying is gone. Gone back to Yiling. So far away. It will be days before a letter could arrive. Maybe even weeks.

He should have offered to escort Wei Ying to the gate. That thought sends him thumping toward the door only to realize that it’s too late. Wei Ying will be halfway across the compound by now. And—oh no.

Aghast, Lan Wangji looks down at himself. He is wearing his night clothes. The entire time, he was wearing his night clothes.

The horror of that makes him sway on his feet. He just entertained a visitor in his night clothes. A visitor who snuck in after curfew and climbed through his window. He crosses the room on numb legs and drops onto his cushion. He can never, never tell Lan Xichen about this.

Five days pass, and Lan Wangji tells himself that it is too soon to expect a letter from Wei Ying.

Seven days pass, and he decides that he should start practicing writing letters now to prepare himself for when Wei Ying’s letter does arrive.

Ten days pass. Lan Wangji has nothing to show for it but several discarded attempts at letters containing nothing more than variations on Greetings, Wei Ying. I hope that you are well. We are enjoying pleasant weather. He even goes to the library in search of a volume that will explain what one is supposed to write about in a letter to a friend. Friend? Is Wei Ying his friend? Sadly, the library contains no books about writing letters nor books that explain how to tell if someone wants to be his friend—or possibly, something more.

Twelve days pass. Wei Ying has probably forgotten about him already. He probably met someone more interesting, which wouldn’t be difficult, would it? Lan Wangji is so dull that he can’t even think of anything to write about besides the weather.

But what if something happened to Wei Ying on his journey home? There might have been a storm or bandits or all sorts of sinister things. Wei Ying was travelling alone, and he doesn’t even carry a sword. And he lives in Yiling. Yiling is home to the demonic cultivator only known as the Yiling Laozu. Any manner of horrors could happen in a place like that.

Lan Wangji does not sleep well on the twelfth night. Or the thirteenth.

On the evening of the fourteenth day, Lan Wangji drags himself to his brother’s house for their customary meal with Shufu. He is tired and miserable and he would very much like to go brood at home. He excels at brooding, unfortunately.

“Wangji, are you unwell?” Lan Xichen asks as he escorts Lan Wangji inside.

Lan Wangji does his best to grunt that he is fine, but his grunts are far less effective than Shufu’s.

“Are you having trouble sleeping?” Lan Xichen asks. “Perhaps you should see Lan-daifu.”

“No need.” Lan Wangji bows to his uncle, then sinks down on the cushion. He should ask Lan Xichen if he has received any requests for aid. A night hunt would be a good distraction from the ache in his chest.

While Lan Xichen and Shufu discuss sect matters, Lan Wangji sips his tea and stares blankly at the steam curling from the pot. This feeling will pass. It is disappointing that Wei Ying did not fulfill his promise but not surprising. It is probably for the best. What could they possibly have to talk about, anyway? Maybe they would exchange a few letters, but then Wei Ying would realize that Lan Wangji was correct when he said that he isn’t interesting, and Wei Ying’s enthusiasm would wane. Best that Lan Wangji crush his hopes now rather than drawing out the agony.

“Oh, Wangji, I almost forgot.” Lan Xichen goes to his desk and picks up a letter. Lan Wangji’s heart tries to burst out of his chest. It’s probably another request from Yao-zongzhu, he tells himself as Lan Xichen brings the letter over. His heart doesn’t listen.

“This came for you yesterday. It was delivered to me by mistake.”

Lan Wangji nearly snatches the letter from his brother’s hand. The letter is bound with coarse paper and tied with red string. There is his name scrawled in what must be Wei Ying’s handwriting. He stares at the package, his heart thumping so hard that his vision wavers.

“Who is it from?” Lan Xichen asks.

His heart does a backwards somersault and lands in his stomach. He slaps the letter down beside his thigh and covers it with his hand as if Lan Xichen and Shufu might try to take it from him. “I will read it later.”

“You may open it now if you’d like,” Lan Xichen says. “If there is something that I may help with—”

“No,” Lan Wangji blurts. He drops his eyes to the table in the ringing silence that follows. “No, thank you. I am sure it is nothing of significance.”

“Alright then,” Lan Xichen says, as mild and agreeable as always. Shufu’s grunt conveys his disinterest in the topic and his disapproval of Lan Wangji interrupting his brother—and probably three other things that Lan Wangji is too shaken to interpret.

The meal that follows is one of the longest of Lan Wangji’s life. After every bite, he has to restrain himself from looking down to make sure that the letter is really there. By the time the meal ends, he has almost convinced himself that the letter isn’t actually from Wei Ying. It could be a letter of thanks from some villager he aided in the past.

Finally, he is free to leave. Thankfully, he doesn’t encounter any elders on the walk back to the Jingshi because his pace would definitely raise scornful eyebrows.

When he reaches his house, he hurries to the dining table to open the letter. Three pieces of paper are folded inside. Three! Wei Ying was not exaggerating his verbosity. Lan Wangji’s heart flutters as he unfolds the pages and begins to read.

Greetings, Lan Zhan!

I’m sorry it took me so long to write. I bet you thought I’d forgotten! That’s fair—I am pretty forgetful. But I’d never forget you!

Lan Wangji pauses and bring his fingers to his lips to feel the smile there. This one doesn’t feel as horrid as the one he’d tried in the mirror. He would go to the mirror to check, but that would mean he’d have to stop reading.

From the letter, he learns that as he’d feared, Wei Ying’s journey was prolonged by bad weather. Wei Ying writes about stopping to help a farmer replace a wheel on a wagon, about the meals he ate along the way, the songs he heard in taverns and teahouses, another pretty bird he tried—and failed—to tame with a stick of tanghulu.

Wei Ying’s calligraphy is dreadful, but his stories are full of wonder and cheer. He is just as fascinating on the page as he is in person. In his stories, Lan Wangji can hear his voice, can see his beguiling smile.

Too soon, he reaches the end of the letter. In his closing, Wei Ying asks if Lan Wangji will tell him about cultivation and the monsters he has vanquished. That is an enormous relief. Yes, Lan Wangji may be able to make his letters interesting if he is free to discuss those topics. Silly that it hadn’t occurred to him before.

In his excitement over finally having something to write about, Lan Wangji turns to the third page and almost can’t understand what he is seeing. The third page contains a drawing. Even though the artwork is skilled, Lan Wangji stares at it for a long time before he realizes that the picture is of him. Wei Ying drew Lan Wangji in what must be the view from across the table at the teahouse. Although the Lan Wangji in the picture isn’t smiling, he doesn’t look tense or cold. He looks . . . serene. Obviously, Wei Ying took artistic liberties.

Still, the image is otherwise accurate. Wei Ying was honest about his artistic abilities, too. His hands shake as he sets the picture down on the table, smoothing it and weighing down the corners so that it doesn’t curl back up. Then he rereads the letter several more times, his eyes drifting back to the picture again and again.

Are these things that friends do: draw portraits of each other, deliver gifts in the middle of the night? It seems unlikely, but then how would he know? He can’t even ask Lan Xichen without revealing himself. Perhaps it will become clearer as their correspondence continues. Perhaps Wei Ying will explain what he wants.

But what do I want? Lan Wangji asks himself as he lies in bed later that night, having committed the letter to memory. Even if he understood that, it is almost certain that he can never have it. But maybe this is enough: a friend who wishes to know him, a distant dream of a different life, one in which he can be someone new. Someone interesting.

After many revisions, Lan Wangji manages a reply that fills two pages without being revoltingly dull. He tells Wei Ying the story of vanquishing the demon from Biling Lake, reasoning that Wei Ying may find that story more interesting given his recent trip to Caiyi. He also tries to draw a portrait of Wei Ying, but the results are pitiful. None of his sketches come close to showing the warmth of Wei Ying’s eyes or his delightful smiles. He keeps those drawings, of course, but he cannot send them to Wei Ying. However, he does draw his brother floating above the lake to tame the demon with his xiao. His artistic skill has always been stronger with landscapes than portraits, and when the picture is finished, he is quite pleased at how he depicted the churning ghosts.

Wei Ying’s reply arrives only six days later. There are four pages this time, and two of them are full of gleeful reactions to Lan Wangji’s story and questions about how he defeated the demon. The last page is a fanciful drawing of Lan Wangji heroically battling the lake demon. It is ridiculous, yet charming. Still, Lan Wangji feels responsible for correcting Wei Ying’s assumptions, so he draws a more accurate battle scenario.

And on it goes. Two months pass in rapid exchanges of stories (Wei Ying) and explanations of cultivation practices (Lan Wangji). Wei Ying is especially interested in musical cultivation. Eventually, he admits that he plays the dizi: Don’t ask me to play for you, Lan Zhan. You’d think I was terrible!

As much as Lan Wangji enjoys the letters, they wake in him a restlessness, a dissatisfaction. The letters are wonderful, but they are not enough. He wants to see Wei Ying again. He wants to try the spicy noodles Wei Ying loves (he will hate them, but he still wants to try). He wants to pet the baby goat Wei Ying drew for him. He wants to hear Wei Ying laugh.

While rereading his stack of letters—he spends most nights doing that—he realizes that he doesn’t actually know what Wei Ying does for a living. Sometimes Wei Ying writes about farming, so perhaps he is a farmer. Lan Wangji imagines him stripped to his trousers, swinging a scythe or carrying the baby goat (or whatever farmers do). Those activities probably don’t require being shirtless, but what Lan Wangji conjures in his imagination does not have to be logical.

But Wei Ying also writes often about going to markets and the trinkets he finds there. He seems to know a lot about crafting, so perhaps he is a jewelry maker or some other kind of artisan. Lan Wangji imagines him chiseling jade and stringing beads. He is also shirtless in those fantasies. It is becoming a theme.

Or perhaps Wei Ying is a writer? Despite his atrocious calligraphy, he is articulate and an excellent storyteller. He often discusses poetry and books he’s read. (Yes, Lan Wangji’s imaginary Wei Ying is also shirtless when he writes.)

Although he suspects it is rude to simply ask, Lan Wangji does ask Wei Ying about his livelihood—if he didn’t, the suspense would kill him. However, Wei Ying only responds, Oh, I just do this and that. What does that mean? Could it be that Wei Ying has no job? How does he feed himself? If he has no livelihood, then who takes care of him? They have already revealed to each other that their parents died, and Wei Ying has never mentioned siblings.

After that discussion, Lan Wangji writes—and discards—several attempts to inquire if Wei Ying is in need of help. However, he cannot broach that topic, no matter how politely he phrases it. Instead, he purchases a pendant in Caiyi set with a ruby and sends it to Wei Ying. If Wei Ying needs funds, then he can sell the pendant for a good price. This is a bit outlandish, but Wei Ying gave him the jade rabbit. Therefore the ruby pendant is merely an escalation.

Wei Ying’s next letter after that squawks about Lan Wangji spending so much money, but Lan Wangji is not perturbed. After all, Wei Ying did not send the pendant back. I thought of Wei Ying when I saw it, he writes, his ears burning furiously. Wei Ying doesn’t protest again. Instead, he sends Lan Wangji a white jade comb wrapped in silk.

Lan Wangji sits holding the comb for so long that his legs fall asleep. He cannot even set it down to read the letter it accompanied. Although he may not be well-versed in many social interactions, he has read enough poetry to know that friends do not give each other combs. Given Wei Ying’s enthusiasm for romance novels, he knows the gift’s significance as well.

Is this it, then? Is Wei Ying declaring himself? The comb doesn’t answer. Perhaps the letter will.

His hands shake as he sets the comb down on the table and picks up the letter. This one is only two pages, practically terse for Wei Ying. The letter contains the standard fare about the things Wei Ying has done in the short time since his last letter. The comb isn’t mentioned until near the end:

I hope you like the present! It came out better than I expected. If you like the work, I’ll ask the artisan to make something else for you—he’s really talented. I was going to wait and give it to you in person, but I was too impatient! Oh, I meant to tell you—I’ll be travelling through Gusu in a few weeks. Could we meet in Caiyi? We could go to that restaurant I told you about. The soup is really good, and I know you wouldn’t have gone there without your Wei Ying!

Lan Wangji grabs the comb again and smooths his thumb over the jade. Wei Ying didn’t just buy it for him—he commissioned it for him. More importantly, Wei Ying is coming back. He reads the letter again, poring over every word, and gets stuck on “your Wei Ying.”

Yes, he thinks, squeezing the poor comb. My Wei Ying.

Lan Wangji endures the next month by stroking his comb and concocting elaborate fantasies about what will happen when Wei Ying arrives. But as wonderful as it is that Wei Ying is coming back, it also means that Lan Wangji will have to ask his brother for leave to go to Caiyi.

In the last days leading up to Wei Ying’s arrival, Lan Wangji sits at his dressing table to practice the conversation he must have with his brother. Even now, his ears burn bright red as he chokes out the words.

Once he can make it through the entire practice conversation without stumbling, he goes to his brother’s house. Lan Xichen opens the door with a delighted smile. “Wangji! What a pleasant surprise. Did I forget an engagement?”

“No,” Lan Wangji says as he follows his brother to the table. “I apologize for intruding. I was hoping to speak with you.”

“Of course! Would you like tea?”

“No, thank you.” But then he reconsiders. It might be beneficial to have a cup to hide behind. “Perhaps water?”

Lan Xichen smiles and reaches for the pitcher. “I’m glad you stopped by, actually. I’ve received a request from a village to the south. They’re having trouble with something that might be ghouls.”

This did not happen in the practice conversations. As Lan Xichen describes the request, Lan Wangji picks up his cup with numb hands. He cannot leave now, not with Wei Ying due to arrive so soon. But how can he refuse?

“Oh, I apologize,” Lan Xichen says. “You wanted to talk about something?”

Lan Wangji forces the water down his throat and manages not to choke. “Yes.” He takes a deep breath and sets his eyes on his brother’s ear. “A friend of mine is visiting Gusu soon. In a few days. I hoped that I might go to Caiyi to meet with him. If I may be relieved of my afternoon duties.”

“A friend?”

Lan Wangji darts a glance at his brother’s face. He had expected surprise, but not this astonished smile. “Yes. His name is Wei Ying.”

“Wei Ying?” For some reason, Lan Xichen’s smile dims, but after a moment, it returns even brighter. “Is Wei Ying the person who has been writing to you?”

Oh, his ears are so hot. They must be brighter than the candle flame. He ducks his head to shift his hair over them. “Yes, we have been exchanging letters.”

“That’s wonderful, Wangji!” Lan Xichen pats his shoulder like Lan Wangji has just vanquished a whole horde of ghouls. “Is he a cultivator?”

“No.”

“What does he do?”

Of course Lan Xichen had to ask that. “Many things.”

“Oh.” Lan Xichen sounds confused, which is fair. Lan Wangji is also quite confused.

“He is kind,” Lan Wangji blurts. “And cheerful.”

“Well, he sounds delightful. Perhaps you could bring him here? I would like to meet him.”

“Perhaps,” Lan Wangji agrees. He certainly isn’t going to admit that Wei Ying has already visited.

“Wonderful! And of course you may be excused from your duties. I will ask Xie Jianjun to investigate the matter at the village. We certainly wouldn’t want you to miss your friend’s visit.”

“Thank you, Xiongzhang.”

After that, Lan Xichen insists that Lan Wangji stay for dinner, then holds him hostage for quite some time after that to ask him questions about Wei Ying. It is both a relief and a torment that his brother is so happy about Lan Wangji’s new friend.

When he is finally released, Lan Wangji heads home feeling lighter (which makes sense given the amount of sweating he did during the visit) but with his dinner churning in his gut. For the most part, he answered his brother’s questions honestly, but he did not mention the comb. Perhaps he should? Lan Xichen surely knows more about these situations than he does. And if the comb does mean what Lan Wangji hopes (and fears) that it does, then shouldn’t he mention it? If anything ever comes of his . . . relationship with Wei Ying, then he will need to tell Lan Xichen. Explaining now would surely be better than keeping secrets. Only he isn’t sure that he has a secret to keep.

He sets his jaw and walks faster. All of this is so confusing. There should be rules for things like this, perhaps something etched in stone. He needs a clear path to follow, not this quagmire of feelings. All of his life, people have told him what to do, what to think. He has always had a set of rules for every occasion. But now, he is left to flounder through something that most people seem to view as natural and easy. What he would give for someone to just tell him what to do.

Once the ordeal of asking his brother’s permission is done, Lan Wangji focuses on Wei Ying’s actual visit. And panic returns with a vengeance. Why did he waste time practicing to speak with Lan Xichen when he should have been practicing what to say to Wei Ying?

“Hello, Wei Ying,” Lan Wangji says to his mirror. “I hope your journey was pleasant.” The face that stares back at him looks more like a fierce corpse than a man. Who would want to eat lunch with this?

“Thank you for the comb. It is lovely. I will treasure it.” Oh no. Now he looks like a lovesick fool. An undead lovesick fool. Wei Ying will probably run right out of the restaurant.

After two nights of this, Lan Wangji admits defeat and goes to his brother.

“Wangji! What a pleasant—”

Lan Wangji blunders out the words before his nerve fails: “I need help.”

Lan Xichen waves him inside. “Of course, what is the problem?”

Lan Wangji drops onto the cushion and twists his robes in his fists. “I do not know how to talk to people.”

“Oh, I see.” Lan Xichen pours him a cup of tea. “This is about Wei Ying’s visit?”

Lan Wangji nods. “I do not know what I should talk about.”

“The two of you are already friends, are you not?”

“I think so. But we did not speak—I did not speak much when we met.”

“But he liked you anyway. Enough to write you several letters. Enough to ask to see you again. It seems that he likes you as you are.”

Lan Wangji ducks his head and stares at his steaming tea. Even if that is true, surely Wei Ying will expect more from the second visit. Surely Wei Ying will not be pleased to have his conversation met only with grim silence.

“Not to worry, Wangji,” Lan Xichen says. “People aren’t as complicated as you might think. I find that the best way to carry a conversation is to ask questions. You say that Wei Ying is the talkative sort. If so, all you really need to do is ask him questions about himself.”

“Like what?”

“Well, for example, if Wei Ying says that he enjoys the food during lunch, you can ask him what his favorite dishes are.”

“During the meal?” Lan Wangji looks up at his brother in shock.

Lan Xichen laughs. “Yes, during the meal. It is not necessary to abide by that rule when you are not in Cloud Recesses. Just don’t speak with your mouth full.”

As if he would ever do such a thing. Still, this is a glimmer of hope. Based on their past encounter, he is confident that Wei Ying is willing to speak at length on any question he asks (except what he does for a living). “What else should I ask?”

“Why don’t I write you a list?”

“Thank you, Xiongzhang.” If there were not a table between them, he would be tempted to hug his brother. A list! What a fantastic idea.

Wei Ying’s message arrives two days later, which has given Lan Wangji plenty of time to memorize Lan Xichen’s list, as well as the questions he thought of himself.

Hi, Lan Zhan!

I just arrived in Caiyi. I know it’s too late to see you today, but you’ll come to lunch tomorrow, right? If not, I’ll have to climb in your window again (just kidding!)

See you soon,

Wei Ying

It is too late for them to meet today. It is nearly you shi, so the gate will be shut soon. But he wants to go anyway. For the first time in his life, Lan Wangji seriously considers sneaking out of Cloud Recesses. If Wei Ying had said which inn he is staying in, he would not be able to stop himself from going. Instead, he forces himself to be patient. Wei Ying is here. He will see him tomorrow.

But that night, he leaves the window open. Just in case.

In the morning, his window remains unvisited, but the disappointment is mild because the day has finally arrived. Now Lan Wangji has only to endure the hours before wu shi. Lan Xichen kindly offered to allow Lan Wangji the full day for leisure, but Lan Wangji refused, fearing to ask for too much. Now, with too much time stretching before him until he is to meet Wei Ying, he is glad of his choice. At least his duties will provide some distraction.

Still, he cuts down his meditation to allow more time for combing his hair and ensuring his robes are spotless. Shufu would likely sniff at his vanity, but Lan Wangji assures himself that looking his best for Wei Ying is merely a way of honoring his friend. Besides, he must be able to show Wei Ying that his comb is not only beautiful but also effective. (As if Lan Wangji would use that comb for such a utilitarian task. That comb has never been sullied by hair oil.)

All of his efforts are wasted, however, when the dust from the juniors’ lesson dirties his boots and hem. Then he must hurry back home to polish his boots and change to his second-prettiest robes, which delays his departure. Lan Wangji detests being late to any occasion, much less his long-dreamt of reunion with Wei Ying. By the time he’s in the air, he is so soaked in anxiety sweat that even the frigid air of Cloud Recesses cannot soothe him.

He flies to Caiyi at reckless speed and drops in the midst of the market like a hunting hawk, scattering the alarmed townspeople. They squawk and shoot him baleful glares that he ignores in favor of striding towards the restaurant.

Please, he begs whichever gods might listen. Please, let him still be there. He barely notices how the townspeople cringe back to allow him through.

“Lan Zhan!”

Lan Wangji whips his head around, searching the milling crowd.

“Lan Zhan, over here!”

Finally, he spots Wei Ying’s hand waving, his ponytail bouncing. Bichen, still thrumming from the swift flight, quivers in his sweaty grip. He stands in the swirling crowd, frozen in place as Wei Ying trots toward him.

Today, Wei Ying wears soft cream over black, simple but striking. The sun winks in the ruby pendant swaying from his belt. It should not be possible, but he is even more beautiful than Lan Wangji remembered.

Wei Ying stops when there is only an arm’s length between them. “Lan Zhan, you really came!”

Lan Wangji can only stare at him, caught in the happy crescents of his eyes, the beam of his smile. He knows that he should say something, but he cannot even blink, much less operate his mouth.

Wei Ying only laughs and sways forward to twitch his sleeve. “Lan Zhan, have you forgotten me already?”

As if such a thing were possible. Lan Wangji manages a headshake, then a feeble salute. “Wei Ying.” MY Wei Ying.

“Lan Zhaaaan,” Wei Ying drawls, laughing again. He drops a hasty bow, then skips over to link their arms. “Let’s get out of this heat,” he says as he guides Lan Wangji toward the restaurant. “You’re looking a bit sunstruck.”

Not the sun. You. But now that Wei Ying has mentioned it, he realizes that the day is rather warm. Then he realizes that by sunstruck, Wei Ying likely meant gross and sweaty. And oh heavens, his hair must be a mess after that flight. He has shown up for his day with Wei Ying late and a sweaty mess. He should have taken Lan Xichen’s offer instead of teaching his lessons. He should have stayed overnight in Caiyi. At the least, he should’ve brought a comb!

“I apologize for my tardiness,” he mumbles as they enter the restaurant. He’s so mortified that he can’t even enjoy Wei Ying’s arm threaded through his or the ponytail swaying to brush his shoulder.

Wei Ying snorts and tugs him closer, like he doesn’t mind being pressed up against Lan Wangji’s damp robe. “You aren’t late, Lan Zhan. Or if you are, then I am, too. I was on my way here when I spotted you.”

Before Lan Wangji can apologize for his perspiration or possible unsavory odor, they are inside the restaurant and being escorted to a table in the corner. While Wei Ying takes care of their order, Lan Wangji subtly tries to wipe off the sweat and smooth his hair.

When the waiter leaves, Wei Ying turns his attention back to Lan Wangji. His eyes rove over Lan Wangji with no hint of decorum or reservation. “I can’t believe you actually came!”

“I said that I would,” Lan Wangji says, a bit mulishly. It was not his fault that he could not come the last time.

“I know, I know,” Wei Ying says. “I’m sure Lan Zhan wouldn’t lie! I just . . . you must be so busy. I appreciate you making time for little old me.”

“I said that I would.” Ears burning, Lan Wangji meets Wei Ying’s eyes. “Wei Ying invited me.”

Wei Ying gazes back at him, his pretty eyes enormously round, his pretty pink lips soft with surprise. The restaurant rattles with chatter, but the noise fades away as Lan Wangji warms under Wei Ying’s stare. Has anyone ever looked at him for so long? Have any eyes ever felt so perceptive, like they see everything burning under his surface?

Finally, Wei Ying ducks his head and huffs a laugh. “Well, thank you for accepting my invitation.”

“Thank you for the invitation.” There. Courtesy is so easy. It has rules and a rhythm. Perhaps Wei Ying’s flurry of words also has an underlying beat that Lan Wangji can discern and learn to follow.

“You’re very welcome,” Wei Ying says with a wink.

The dishes arrive, which establishes another familiar pattern. Or that would usually be the case; however, Lan Wangji has never attended a meal such as this one. Wei Ying has apparently ordered every soup on the menu and many other dishes as well. The bowls and platters crammed onto the table contain enough food to feed the entire restaurant.

“I wasn’t sure what you liked,” Wei Ying says as he pours water for Lan Wangji, then a cup of tea. “So I just ordered one of everything. And this way, we can share!”

Lan Wangji hums agreement, but he is too overwhelmed by the number of selections to know where to start. Thankfully, Wei Ying takes care of that, too.

“Here,” Wei Ying says as he slides a bowl in front of Lan Wangji. “Try this. It’s my favorite: lotus root and pork rib. I used to eat it all the time. My, uh . . . well, it’s really good.”

Lan Wangji accepts the soup, wondering what Wei Ying meant to say. Perhaps my mother made it for me? If so, it must be a painful memory. Wei Ying is staring intently at his own bowl, which Lan Wangji takes as a hint that he wishes to avoid speaking of it.

Understandable. Although they have spoken of their families a bit in letters, bringing up such topics now would likely disrupt their friendly lunch. So Lan Wangji lets the matter slide and dutifully sips the soup. He rarely eats meat since it is forbidden within Cloud Recesses, nor does he particularly relish it, but the soup is tasty.

“What do you think?” Wei Ying asks. His eyes are bright again as he watches Lan Wangji taste the soup.

“Flavorful,” Lan Wangji says, but he places the soup closer to Wei Ying. It is Wei Ying’s favorite, after all.

“Ah, I forgot that you Lans don’t eat meat!” Wei Ying scoops up another bowl and shoves it at Lan Wangji. “Try this one.”

“Meat is allowed on occasion.” Lan Wangji doesn’t recall telling Wei Ying that. Has Wei Ying been learning about his sect? That possibility warms him even more than the soup.

“Well, good. But we’ve got plenty of options if you’d rather avoid it.”

Lan Wangji nods his thanks and sips the second soup under Wei Ying’s watchful gaze. Then, bracing himself to break another rule, he says, “What else do you like?”

Wei Ying blinks over his bowl, long eyelashes fluttering. “Oh, um, lots of things! Especially spice. The spicier the better!” He points his spoon at a broth that is redder than his ruby. “Like that!”

“I do not wish to try that one.”

Wei Ying laughs so uproariously that some of the patrons turn to look. “Okay, Lan Zhan. You’re missing out, though!”

“Wei Ying can tell me what it tastes like,” Lan Wangji says softly. Wei Ying’s cheeks glow pink from the steaming bowl. Or no? Wei Ying’s chin ducks down. His eyes peer up at Lan Wangji through his lashes. Oh, they are flirting? Lan Wangji flirted?

“Alright, Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying says just as softly, almost a purr. “But what do you like?”

You, Lan Wangji thinks, fiercely and desperately. Then he blinks down at his bowl. “This is good.” He hasn’t really paid attention to what he’s eating, but it looks nice enough.

“Okay then.” Wei Ying hunts around the assorted dishes until he finds another bowl. “Try this one next.”

After sampling that soup, Lan Wangji asks about Wei Ying’s journey, which of course, leads to a series of stories about said journey. As he talks, they sip and nibble their way around the table. Lan Wangji is much more interested in Wei Ying than the food, but it is fun to eat this way, for the novelty of trying new things rather than to simply nourish his body. They share their opinions of the dishes in the pauses of Wei Ying’s narrative, which should be bewildering, but Wei Ying’s chatter is such that Lan Wangji only needs to glide alongside it, enjoying the fragments as he enjoys the cacophony of soups.

When they have tasted everything, Wei Ying blows out a breath and pats his tiny waist. “I’m stuffed, Lan Zhan! Why did you let me eat so much?”

How Wei Ying managed to eat so much while also talking incessantly is a question Lan Wangji would never ask. Instead, he takes silver from his pouch and lays it on the table.

“Lan Zhan, what are you doing? You can’t pay!”

Wei Ying lunges for the silver, but Lan Wangji grabs his wrist. “You paid last time,” Lan Wangji somehow manages to say despite how Wei Ying’s pulse throbs against his thumb.

“But I invited you! That means that I should pay!” Wei Ying juts out his lower lip and bats his big round eyes. He does not attempt to pull his arm free. “Besides, I ordered so much food! How is that fair to you?”

“It is my turn,” Lan Wangji insists. He releases Wei Ying but watches closely for signs of another attempt. He may not know much, but he knows that reciprocity is logical.

“Fine,” Wei Ying sighs. He pops a wonton in his mouth and chews morosely.

“You said you were full,” Lan Wangji says as he watches Wei Ying’s cheek bulge. They have eaten more today than he usually eats in a week. Even the thought of swallowing another bite makes his stomach ache.

Wei Ying shrugs, still chewing. “Iz ood,” he mumbles, which Lan Wangji interprets as it’s good. That should be disgusting, but somehow it makes Lan Wangji’s heart melt.

Once Wei Ying has swallowed the wonton, he wipes his mouth and gives Lan Wangji another fluttery gaze. “Do you have to get back?”

“No. Xiongzhang released me from duties this afternoon.”

“Really?” Wei Ying perks up, eyes shining with his smile. Then he dims like a cloud has passed overhead. “You told your brother that you were meeting me?”

“Mn.” He doesn’t understand why that would dismay Wei Ying. Perhaps Wei Ying thinks Lan Wangji told his brother about the trespassing? “Xiongzhang asked to meet you. At Cloud Recesses. If you want.” There. That should assuage Wei Ying’s fears, shouldn’t it?

“Oh.” Wei Ying dims even further, and his eyes drop to the scavenged dishes. “How kind of him.”

Wei Ying’s response droops like his shoulders. “You do not wish to?” Lan Wangi asks.

“No, it’s not that. It’s just . . . he must be so busy. I wouldn’t want to bother him.”

“It would be no bother. Xiongzhang would not have offered if he were not sincere.”

“Just like his brother. So sincere.” Wei Ying sparkles at him through whatever shroud suddenly covered him. “Maybe next time? I was hoping to spend today with you.”

Well. How can Lan Wangji argue with that? He inclines his head and makes a strangled hum of acquiescence. And Wei Ying said next time?! If he weren’t so full, he would float away.

They leave their mess of a table and head back outside. The day has grown even warmer, but Lan Wangji is still pleased when Wei Ying links their arms again. Even the bustling street cannot irritate him while he’s on Wei Ying’s arm.

“So, what now?” Wei Ying asks as they stroll. “Are you in the mood for more shopping? Or we could wander a little farther. It’d be cooler outside the city.”

“Mn. The lotus pond?” When they first met, Wei Ying offered to take him there, and in some of his letters, Wei Ying mentioned a love of lotuses. How someone from Yiling knows so much of them is unclear, but then Wei Ying travels often.

“Perfect!” Wei Ying takes a bouncing step without letting go of Lan Wangji’s arm and moves them toward the south gate. “You’re going to love it, Lan Zhan!”

Lan Wangji hums and lets himself be swept along, the edge of a smile lifting his lips. Of course he will love it. He would love a mud puddle if it made Wei Ying this happy.

Wei Ying continues holding his arm as they head out of Caiyi and follow a narrow path that runs alongside the little river. Outside the city, the air is sweeter and cooled by a light breeze from the water. Most of Lan Wangji’s attention, however, is on the man on his arm. Until now, he hadn’t noticed that Wei Ying is a bit taller than he is. Wei Ying moves about so much that it is hard to judge, but pressed close together, Lan Wangji must look up slightly to meet his eyes. That is . . . interesting.

Wei Ying must misinterpret Lan Wangji’s flush because he suddenly releases Lan Wangji’s arm and hops to put space between them. “Ah, sorry, Lan Zhan. I didn’t mean to hang all over you like that. You can just push me away when I annoy you.”

“Wei Ying was not annoying,” Lan Wangji mumbles.

“Lan Zhan is too kind.” Instead of latching back onto Lan Wangji’s arm, Wei Ying turns to admire the river. “It’s so pretty here! The rivers in Yiling aren’t much to look at.”

This is not the first negative comment Wei Ying has made about Yiling. If he dislikes it so, why does he remain? Because he does possess some subtlety, Lan Wangji asks, “Do you like living in Yiling?”

“Eh.” Wei Ying shrugs, his adorable face scrunching. “Not especially, but it has its advantages.”

Such as? Lan Wangji means to ask, but before he can, they meet a man pulling a donkey cart and must move aside to make room on the path. By the time the man and his donkey have departed, Wei Ying has changed the subject.

They leave that path for one even less traveled, which leads them into a forest. At times, the path disappears entirely, only discernible by the gaps between trees. However, Wei Ying seems sure of the way. Not that Lan Wangji particularly cares about reaching their destination. Under the trees, they are hidden from the sun’s heat, and the conditions are perfect for a stroll. But even if Wei Ying asked him to journey through the desert, Lan Wangji would simply unfurl his umbrella and follow along.

“Not much farther now,” Wei Ying says. He shines in the shade as he grabs Lan Wangji’s wrist and tugs him up a small rise. “There.”

Below them, the lotus pond swells across the valley, its water pink with blooms. The only sign of civilization is a small house barely visible on the other side of the pond. But surely a body of water this large must be called a lake?

“Pretty, isn’t it?” Wei Ying squeezes Lan Wangji’s wrist.

“Yes.” Lan Wangji stays very still so that Wei Ying will keep holding him. “How did you find it?”

Wei Ying shrugs and uses the movement to slide his hand down and tangle their fingers together. Clever. Delightful. “I like to wander.”

Before Lan Wangji can begin to muster a reaction to this, Wei Ying starts down the slope, drawing Lan Wangji after him. Hand-in-hand, they plunge down into the valley, Wei Ying whooping and giggling throughout their swift descent.

Even after they reach the bottom, Wei Ying doesn’t release him. He swings their hands between them as they approach the pond. “There’s a little dock just around this bend,” he says, using his other hand to point.

At the dock, Wei Ying lets go of his hand in order to fling off his boots. Lan Wangji watches this with a mixture of delight and dismay. “Will the owners mind us being here?” he asks, casting a glance toward the distant house.

Wei Ying pauses balanced on one foot, his stocking dangling from his hand. “Why would they?”

Lan Wangji can think of many reasons why unexpected visitors would be unwelcome, but Wei Ying’s bewilderment seems so earnest that Lan Wangji remains quiet.

Wei Ying stops undressing once his stockings are removed, which is a relief. (That is a lie.) Then Wei Ying plops down on the dock and sticks his bare feet in the pond. “Ah, that’s better.” He sloshes his feet in the water, then peers back at Lan Wangji still hovering at the other end. He pats the rickety dock. “Come join me, Lan Zhan.”

Since Lan Wangji has apparently lost any ability to refuse him, he folds into lotus position beside Wei Ying. Wei Ying leans against him and pouts. “Aren’t you going to cool off your feet?”

“They are fine.” That is also a lie. He would like to dip his feet, but what if the pond’s owner objects? What if his feet are smelly? And all of that is besides the tremors that begin when he thinks about disrobing in front of Wei Ying, even just his toes.

“Ah.” Wei Ying shifts his weight away and lifts a foot out of the water. They both stare at the water cascading off his pale skin. “I guess this must seem silly to a young master such as yourself.”

Although Lan Wangji suspects that Wei Ying’s dejection is at least partially feigned, Lan Wangji cannot resist trying to make amends. He huffs to show that he isn’t impressed as he unfolds his legs and carefully slides off his boots. They are dusty again. He doesn’t care.

Wei Ying watches him remove his boots and stockings with a barely-contained smirk. As quickly as he can, Lan Wangji plunges his bare feet below the surface. Although the water is warm compared to the spring in Cloud Recesses, he barely restrains a blissful sigh at the relief to his sweaty toes.

“There. That’s better, isn’t it?” Wei Ying sways against him again. His tone is the same as the night when he gave Lan Wangji the jade rabbit: confident that he knows how to make Lan Wangji happy. It should be too bold, too smug. Instead, it sends a shiver down his spine.

“It is refreshing,” Lan Wangji says as blandly as he can.

“We could go swimming. That would be very refreshing.”

Lan Wangji swallows his reaction to Wei Ying’s warm, coaxing voice and refuses to look away from the water. Swimming would definitely require more disrobing. There is no way he could hide his body’s . . . reaction.

“Ah, Lan Zhan, I was only teasing.” Wei Ying’s elbow knocks against Lan Wangji’s side, then stays there, pressed to his ribs. “I do miss swimming, though. I haven’t been in the water in so long.”

“Where do you go swimming?” Lan Wangji asks, proud of himself for thinking of the question. Although he hasn’t used many of Lan Xichen’s prepared questions, he has kept to the spirit of the lesson.

Wei Ying shrugs. “Wherever I can. Lakes, rivers, ponds. But lotus ponds like this are the best. Do you know why?”

Lan Wangji shakes his head.

Wei Ying grins, more dazzling than the sun striking the water. “I’ll show you!” Wei Ying hops off the dock and prances barefoot along the shore until he reaches a clump of lotuses blooming close to the bank. Then he rolls up his trouser legs almost to his knees and plunges into the water, moving in an awkward hop-step, his ponytail dancing behind him. When he reaches the lotuses, he plucks a few stems, then splashes back onto the shore.

“Here, Lan Zhan!” he calls as he drops back down on the dock and submerges his muddy feet. “There’s nothing better than fresh lotus seeds!”

Dismayed, Lan Wangji watches as Wei Ying plucks a seed from its pod and starts peeling it. “Wei Ying.”

“Hmm?”

“Those do not belong to you.”

Wei Ying looks up from the half-peeled seed and raises his eyebrows. “What?”

“These lotuses belong to someone,” Lan Wangji says, shifting his eyes to the house that undoubtedly belongs to the lotus farmers. “We should not steal.”

“Steal?” Wei Ying gapes down at the stolen lotuses in his lap. “But, Lan Zhan—”

Lan Wangji stares at his hands folded tightly in his lap. It is one thing to trespass on someone’s property, but even if it upsets Wei Ying, he cannot condone theft.

“Lan Zhan, it’s okay. I’ll leave some money for them, alright? That’s why they grow these, you know? To sell?”

Lan Wangji nods. That does seem reasonable. However, it would have been polite to ask first.

“Here, taste it.”

Lan Wangji turns and finds Wei Ying offering the peeled seed. Before he can raise his hand to accept it, Wei Ying moves it in front of Lan Wangji’s mouth.

“Open up, Lan Zhan.”

Bewildered, Lan Wangji parts his lips. Wei Ying gently places the seed on his tongue. His thumb brushes Lan Wangji’s lower lip as he draws his fingers back.

Thankfully, Lan Wangji’s teeth chew the tender seed without needing instruction from him because his mind is experiencing a series of small explosions.

“Good, isn’t it?” Wei Ying asks, his eyes locked on Lan Wangji’s mouth.

Lan Wangji hums agreement despite tasting nothing. All of his senses are preoccupied with the spot of warmth Wei Ying left on his lip.

Wei Ying’s eyes finally leave him to peel another seed and pop it in his own mouth. “Mm, delicious! I can usually eat dozens of these, but now there’s barely room in my belly for one little seed!”

Lan Wangji watches him lick his fingers. And his thumb. That just touched Lan Wangji’s lip. The water should boil around his feet considering the heat suffusing his body.

“Are you sure that you don’t want to swim?” Wei Ying asks. “You’re looking a little pink.”

Before Lan Wangji can respond—or plunge himself into the pond fully clothed—an angry voice disrupts their peace.

“Hey! What’re you doing over there?”

They scramble up as a farmer stalks toward them, pitchfork in hand. From the corner of his eye, Lan Wangji sees Wei Ying move the stolen lotuses behind his back.

Lan Wangji grits his teeth and shoves his wet feet back into his boots without bothering with stockings first. His teeth grit even tighter at the horrible sensation, but he ignores it to step between Wei Ying and the farmer.

“Forgive our intrusion,” Lan Wangji says, bowing low. “We intend to reimburse you for the lotuses.”

“What? You’ve been stealing my lotuses?”

“Not stealing.” Wei Ying steps forward brandishing the stems. “Like he said, we were going to pay you.”

“And who said you could take them, huh?” The man’s face is red, the pitchfork stabbing the air. “You think you can just help yourselves to other people’s property?”

Wei Ying sighs heavily and tosses a chunk of silver. It bounces off the farmer’s chest, but he manages to catch it before it’s lost in the tall grass. “Will that suffice?” Wei Ying asks.

The farmer’s eyes widen at the silver, but then he frowns again. “Being rich doesn’t give you the right to trespass,” he mutters, looking from Wei Ying to Lan Wangji. There, he pauses, eyes widening again as he no doubt recognizes the forehead ribbon. “Even cultivators don’t have the right to trespass.”

“No,” Lan Wangji agrees, saluting again. “We apologize.”

But Wei Ying huffs and tosses the lotuses down to jam his hands on his hips. “Some hospitality you have around here. I was hoping to place a big order, but no matter how delicious your lotuses are, I’m not going to deal with someone so rude.”

“You!” the farmer yelps. He points the pitchfork at them. “I’ll show you rude!”

The farmer rushes toward them, but then seems to slip on the grass. As he tumbles, the pitchfork falls from his hand, and he lands flat on his back with an oof.

Lan Wangji starts towards him, intending to help, but the farmer recovers and glares up at him.

“You damn Lans! You think you can bully us little people?” The farmer groans as he pushes himself up and sprawls there like a puppet with broken strings. “What gives you the right, huh?”

Lan Wangji tries to stammer an apology, but Wei Ying draws him away. “C’mon, let’s just get out of here. There’s no making this guy happy.”

Wei Ying takes his hand and leads him back up the slope and into the forest. “Sorry about that,” Wei Ying says as they squelch through the forest in soggy boots. “You were right: we should’ve asked first.”

“Is that what people think?” Lan Wangji asks, his voice little more than a whisper.

“What do you mean?”

Lan Wangji stops walking and raises his eyes to Wei Ying’s face. “People think we are bullies?”

“What? No, of course not!” Wei Ying pats Lan Wangji’s shoulder just like Lan Xichen does when he’s upset. “Don’t listen to that guy. He’s just some ornery old farmer who loves waving his pitchfork around.”

Lan Wangji nods even though he isn’t entirely convinced.

“Lan Zhan, trust me, your sect has a great reputation! You help people without expecting anything in return, don’t you?”

Lan Wangji nods more confidently. Of course they don’t demand anything in return. Protecting others is their duty.

“And you’d never try to take something that wasn’t yours, would you?”

Lan Wangji shakes his head. Never before today, at least.

“See?” Wei Ying says, patting his shoulder again. “He was just jealous. Some people are like that. They can’t be happy with what they’ve got. They always want what others have. They want to be able to fly and fight monsters. But they don’t understand how good they’ve got it.”

“Do you?” Lan Wangji blurts the question before he can stop himself.

Wei Ying blinks at him, so close that Lan Wangji can count each eyelash. “Do I what?”

Lan Wangji swallows, momentarily forgetting his question. “Do you want to . . . fly and fight monsters?”

Wei Ying coughs suddenly, turning away and covering his mouth. The cough becomes a hoarse laugh. “Ah, I think I’m happy with Lan Zhan protecting the world.” When he turns back, his smile is devilishly adorable, which doesn’t seem possible. “Though flying does sound like fun.”

“Would you like to fly with me?” Lan Wangji asks, barely resisting drawing his sword immediately and yanking Wei Ying onto it with him. This, to his shame, has been a frequent fantasy since their friendship began. (And yes, Wei Ying is often shirtless on those fantasy flights.)

Wei Ying throws his hands over his reddening cheeks. “Ah, thanks, Lan Zhan, but maybe some other time?” He waves a booted foot in the air. “Wet boots. I’d probably slip right off your sword.”

That is disappointing but reasonable. He wants Wei Ying to feel safe on his first flight. “Do you have more boots at the inn?” Wei Ying shouldn’t have to wear damp boots when he journeys on tomorrow.

“No, I just brought the one pair. Maybe I’ll find some in town, though.”

They take a moment to pull their stockings on and for Wei Ying to roll down his wrinkled trousers. Hopefully, he brought another pair of those. Then they head back to Caiyi.

The sun sinks lower at a dismaying speed as they walk along the river. Without the forest cover, the day’s heat has grown oppressive, so Lan Wangji covers them both with his umbrella. That means he cannot hold Wei Ying’s hand, but he consoles himself that at least he is protecting Wei Ying from sunburn.

When they return to town, Wei Ying suggests the teahouse, and Lan Wangji agrees. He returns the umbrella to his pouch, but Wei Ying sadly does not grab his arm. “Where are you staying?” Lan Wangji asks as they stroll through the market.

“An inn on the other side of town,” Wei Ying says, flinging a dismissive hand in no particular direction. “Their food is okay, but they don’t have musicians.”

A daring little voice in Lan Wangji’s head pipes up to suggest that they tour Wei Ying’s room, but Lan Wangji squashes it down, ears burning. If Wei Ying were to suggest it, however . . .

Wei Ying doesn’t suggest it, and they take their seats in the teahouse just as the pipa player on stage begins to play.

“Just in time!” Wei Ying crows. “You’ll like this guy, Lan Zhan. He’s really good.”

The pipa player is quite skilled. Normally, Lan Wangji would be delighted to listen, but today he feels the time slipping through his fingers, and it makes him restless. After their tea is delivered, he takes a quick sip to clear his dusty throat and asks, “You must leave tomorrow?”

“Ah, yeah, I’m afraid so.” Wei Ying turns his bright gaze to Lan Wangji and smiles apologetically. “Maybe I can stay longer next time.”

“Where are you going?”

Wei Ying shrugs. “Nowhere interesting.”

Hm. “What will you do there?”

Another shrug. “This and that. Boring business stuff, you know?”

No, Lan Wangji does not know, which is why he asked. “I am interested in Wei Ying’s business.”

Wei Ying laughs, shaking his head. “Lan Zhan! Trust me, you don’t want to hear about that kind of stuff! Your life is much more interesting than mine.”

Lan Wangji drops his eyes to the table. That seems like the sort of thing that angry farmer would say. “Wei Ying is interesting to me.”

Slender fingers creep across the table and twitch at his sleeve. “Lan Zhan, I’m sorry. I didn’t realize that you were really interested.”

Lan Wangji raises his eyes to find Wei Ying smiling at him gently. “I would not have asked if I did not want to know.”

“Fair enough. I’m going to meet some people about a potential deal. A trade.”

“What are you trading?”

“Some things that we have for some things that they have.”

The conversation continues this way, with Lan Wangji asking questions and Wei Ying giving uncharacteristically clipped answers until Wei Ying somehow steers the conversation back to the pipa player. Before he quite realizes what happened, Lan Wangji is listening to a tale about a fight Wei Ying once witnessed between a pipa player and a poet.

Confused and a bit unsettled, Lan Wangji desists with the questions and lets Wei Ying entertain him. Does Wei Ying really dislike speaking of his business, or is there something more sinister behind his obfuscation? Surely Wei Ying is not doing anything . . . illegal. He may have eaten a few lotus seeds without paying, but someone as kind as Wei Ying couldn’t be a criminal. But even if it is truly as Wei Ying says and he fears Lan Wangji will be bored, he must think Lan Wangji is too lofty to care about his interests.

“Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying says, interrupting his own story to squeeze Lan Wangji’s hand. “I’m talking your ear off again. You can stop me when I do that, you know? I don’t mind.”

“I like listening to Wei Ying talk,” Lan Wangji mutters.

“Ha! Well, you’re the only one who does. I guess I’m lucky to have met you.” Wei Ying takes his hand away to gulp his tea. If only Lan Wangji were brave enough to reach out and tangle their fingers together again. Instead, he just sits there, stiff and solemn, frustration nipping at him to do something.

They are silent through the next song. When it ends, Wei Ying sighs and sets down his empty cup. “It’s getting late. When do you have to go back?”

“The gate closes at the beginning of you shi.” Technically, he can enter after that since his pendant allows him through the wards, but Lan Xichen only gave him leave for the afternoon. Even if Lan Xichen wouldn’t mind his late return, he should not presume to take more than he was given.

Wei Ying squints up at the golden light beaming into the teahouse. “That’ll be here soon. May I walk with you part of the way?”

That sounds promising. Lan Wangji nods and does not protest as Wei Ying pays for their tea even if technically it should be Lan Wangji’s turn since Wei Ying paid the angry farmer.

The market is busier than ever as the vendors close up their stalls and trudge home with their wares. Wei Ying once again tucks his arm through Lan Wangji’s as they make their way to the gate. A thousand questions burn Lan Wangji’s throat as they walk in silence. When will you return? Who am I to you? What do you want? But in the end, he says nothing.

When they reach the fork in the road where the path leads up the mountain, Lan Wangji halts. “I usually fly from here,” he admits. As much as he’d love to continue their walk, it would be selfish to ask Wei Ying to climb the mountain only to descend again.

“Right,” Wei Ying agrees. He pulls away and fidgets with his sleeves. “Well, thank you for spending the afternoon with me, Lan Zhan. I had a good time. Sorry about all that with the lotuses, though.”

“I also enjoyed myself.” Then, after a deep breath to steel himself: “I look forward to Wei Ying’s return.”

Wei Ying blushes and grins, scuffling his toe in the dirt like a boy of twelve. “Yeah, me too. I’ll write to you as soon as I get home, okay?”

“I would like that. However, I believe it is my turn to send a letter.”

Wei Ying snorts a laugh. “You’re right! I guess we should stick to the schedule. Except . . .” He fishes in his robe and brings out a rolled parchment. “Is it cheating to give you this now?”

Heart pounding, Lan Wangji accepts the parchment. His heart pounds even harder when he sees that it is another drawing of himself, this time playing the guqin. In his night clothes.

“Sorry, Lan Zhan! I know that’s a bit, uh, yeah, but to be fair, that is what you were wearing that night!”

Lan Wangji’s face is so hot that his skin throbs. Quickly, he rolls the drawing and hides it in his robe. “It is . . . accurate.”

Wei Ying laughs, hiding his face behind his hand. “Accurate! Exactly!”

Lan Wangji turns away with a huff, though to be fair, he often imagines Wei Ying wearing much less than that.

“Forgive me, Lan Zhan?” Fingers pluck at his sleeve until he turns back. Wei Ying makes a mournful face as he pushes closer. “I didn’t mean to embarrass you. You just looked so pretty that night.”

Lan Wangji blushes even hotter, but there is nowhere to hide with Wei Ying’s fingers tangled in his robes. “Thank you.”

“No need to thank me. And you always look pretty.”

Before Lan Wangji can react to that, Wei Ying pulls Lan Wangji’s hand to his mouth and brushes a kiss across his knuckles. “Have a safe trip, Lan Zhan. I look forward to your letter.”

Lan Wangji’s hand drops between them. Wei Ying backs away, grinning and blushing. “Bye, Lan Zhan!” He turns and trots off before Lan Wangji can make his mouth work to say goodbye. He only stands there like a pink-cheeked fool, the ghost of a kiss twitching his fingers as Wei Ying disappears in the distance.

That night, Lan Wangji lies in his bathtub, staring at the ceiling as he mulls over the day’s events. It was a good day, certainly. He even got a kiss. His thumb brushes the spot on his knuckles where he imagines that he can still feel Wei Ying’s lips. But still he is dissatisfied. The day ended without the understanding he’d hoped to gain. Except for the kiss. That was . . . enlightening. He’s fairly confident that friends do not kiss each other’s hands.

But how can he push for more? Is Wei Ying waiting for some sign from him? Should he send a comb as well? Or perhaps there is another gift that should follow the comb? He sighs and lets his eyes drift to the open window (left open for Wei Ying, of course, though the breeze is also welcome).

No matter how long he stares at the window, Wei Ying does not appear. What would happen if he did? Would Wei Ying be embarrassed to find him in the bath? Or would he smile and stalk over to kneel beside the tub? Would he prop his chin on the side and lean over to dip his fingers in the water?

He closes his eyes to better imagine the scene. Yes, Wei Ying would trail his fingers through the water, dancing them over Lan Wangji’s chest. Only, wouldn’t his sleeve get soaked? Well, that is an easy fix. Wei Ying must take off his clothes first.

The Wei Ying in his imagination leans over the tub again, this time bare-chested. There, much tidier. Wei Ying’s fingers stroke little circles across Lan Wangji’s chest. Lan Wangji does this himself to enhance the fantasy. It’s nice. A bit ticklish. It probably wouldn’t tickle when Wei Ying did it, though. As his fingers move, his nipples tighten, and now he’s no longer ticklish because Wei Ying is staring down at him, watching his nipples react to his touch.

Then what? Wei Ying would kiss him again, certainly. Maybe he would start with Lan Wangji’s hand again. He would draw Lan Wangji’s hand out of the water and kiss each knuckle, so softly. Lan Wangji would have to strain to feel his lips, only slightly warmer than the bath. Once his hand was kissed thoroughly, Wei Ying might move his mouth to Lan Wangji’s wrist and lick the water off the tender skin. His cock jerks at that image, already full and bobbing in the water, but he ignores it for the moment—Wei Ying wouldn’t move straight to that, would he? He would move slower, take his time. Tease. Lan Wangji brings his wrist to his mouth and touches the tip of his tongue to the sensitive underside of his wrist. Oh. Oh, that is nice.

Wei Ying would talk, though, wouldn’t he? But what would he say? Always so pretty, the fictional Wei Ying helpfully suggests, and yes, Lan Wangji can believe that. He can imagine Wei Ying leaning over him, his hand stroking Lan Wangji’s slick skin and crooning praise. Suddenly, there are lotus petals floating in the bath. Strange, since Lan Wangji has never bathed with any flower petals, but it’s a pretty image. Wei Ying likes them too. He plucks a petal from the water and strokes it lightly from Lan Wangji’s forehead to his chin. Lan Wangji has no lotuses to simulate the sensation, but the edge of his thumb makes a decent substitute. When he draws it over his mouth, he sucks it between his lips, now imagining that it’s Wei Ying’s thumb he sucks, as he should have done when Wei Ying fed him the lotus seed. Is that what Wei Ying wanted? Did he want Lan Wangji to suck his pretty fingers?

Lan Wangji moans low and arches his head back on the rim of the tub as his hand creeps down between his legs. Wei Ying, the version of him inside his head begs. Wei Ying, touch me. Too bold, but it is only a fantasy. He can be bold in his fantasies.

Anything my Lan Zhan wants, the fictional Wei Ying promises. His fingers wrap around Lan Wangji’s cock and squeeze. Is this what you want?

Yes, please, Lan Wangji moans, and Wei Ying’s hand moves up and down his shaft.

So pretty, Lan Zhan. All you had to do was ask.

Kiss me, Lan Wangji demands, and Wei Ying does, bending Lan Wangji’s head back and taking his mouth, his hand moving faster. Water sloshes out of the tub, but neither of them cares. Wei Ying’s tongue plunges in his mouth to the same rhythm of his hand, and before he can stop himself, Lan Wangji is bucking up, crying out, spilling into Wei Ying’s hand.

The fantasy breaks, and it is his own hand wringing the last of his orgasm from his straining body. His heart slows as the water laps at his oversensitive skin. Although the water is fouled, he stays in the tub awhile longer, gazing at the window. Just in case.