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1.
The sponge cake is so sweaty in Wei Wuxian’s hands that he readjusts his grip once, twice, three times. He shifts from foot to foot on the front doorstep, pacing in a small circle while Lan Wangji — esteemed familiar, attentive boyfriend, great lay — watches Wei Wuxian with a quiet but pronounced concern. Wei Wuxian doesn’t have to look at his face to know; the emotion pulses softly through their Bond, a gentle worry that he can feel as if it’s his own.
“Wei Ying.” Lan Wangji studies him, then says, perhaps for the fourteenth time, “We don’t have to go.”
It draws a reedy, nervous laugh from Wei Wuxian. “Of course we do! We made a cake.”
Lan Wangji’s gaze flicks to the precariously teetering cake pan, then back to Wei Wuxian’s face. “We can make another.”
Wei Wuxian sighs, then tips his chin up to appraise the house forebodingly. It looks exactly the same as the last time he’d been here: curving eaves as sharp as knives, glittering square windows, and to his left, a moss-green pond that he considers drowning himself in.
It’s been five years, now, since he’d visited home. Well, home is a loosely applied term, in any case. When Wei Wuxian thinks of home, he thinks of Lan Zhan, their creaking cottage in the woods, their rotating circus of pets. Laundry lines of their shared clothes, the front door they’d repainted blue, the hanging herbs for various spells they’d home-grown in their garden. It’s been two years now since Lan Wangji formally became his familiar, and one year and three hundred and sixty four days since Lan Wangji formally became his boyfriend. At some point during that time, Wei Wuxian had notified his family of the development via messenger pigeon, in the dear hopes that such a method of communication would be less likely to receive a response. Even Jiang Cheng would find it difficult to scream at him via messenger pigeon, if only because the poor pigeon had nothing to do with it. And sure enough, other than some effusive texts from Jiang Yanli, Wei Wuxian hadn’t heard a word about it from his adoptive family.
Not until last week, that is, when Jiang Yanli sent word that she’s engaged to some rich guy Wei Wuxian’s never even met. She’d practically begged for Wei Wuxian to bring Lan Wangji around to finally meet everyone. And, well . . . doesn’t Wei Wuxian owe her that, after all?
How bad could it possibly be?
He tries to shift the cake in his slippery grip. Lan Wangji steps in to take the pan in one hand, and to place the other on the small of Wei Wuxian’s back. Wei Wuxian gives him a weak, sheepish smile.
“Okay,” he says, with a big breath in.
On the exhale, he rings the doorbell.
Almost before his finger leaves the bell, the door is swinging aside, and Wei Wuxian is greeted by the prehistoric visage of his aunt’s housemaid.
“Qiao-popo,” Wei Wuxian says, giving her a cheerful smile as he bows his head. “It’s been so long since I’ve seen you!”
The look the old woman gives Wei Wuxian is blatantly unimpressed. “So it has.”
Wei Wuxian gives an awkward laugh and scratches his head. Lan Wangji’s hand on his lower back is a comforting weight, an anchor grounding him to his body.
“You are seven minutes late,” Granny Qiao says dourly.
Ah. Yeah. Wei Wuxian hadn’t thought to pad in panic time. He does feel bad that it reflects poorly on Lan Zhan, who is punctual to a nearly supernatural point.
“Sorry?” he says.
“Come,” Granny Qiao says, still unsmiling, and she leads them into the house.
Glancing around at the pristine, opulent interiors, you’d never guess this house belonged to a powerful battle witch, Wei Wuxian muses as he reabsorbs the familiar decor. There are a few hints here and there, like the framed diplomas from the Institute on the walls, as well as the numerous lifetime achievement awards addressed to Yu Ziyuan. An ancestral sword passed down through the family for generations, mounted in a sparkling glass case. In Wei Wuxian’s brief time here, his aunt was fond of making sure those centerpieces were front and center for any potential guests.
Granny Qiao takes the cake from Lan Wangji without a word. Once she’s left the room, Wei Wuxian kicks up the corner of an antique rug that probably costs more than his entire existence, and upon finding a spirit-catching array scorched into the floorboards, he gives Lan Wangji a thumbs up. Old habits die hard, even for retired witches, after all.
“A-Xian!” he hears, and he barely has time to kick the rug back down before his arms are full of Jiang Yanli. Her familiar floral perfume floods his senses, kicking up a swirl of colorful memories.
“Ah, jiejie,” he says, and for just a moment, with thoughts of his aunt and his brother swept clear from his mind, he’s so happy he can scarcely breathe.
“A-Xian, I’ve missed you so much,” Jiang Yanli says tearfully. She pulls back, daintily dabbing at the wet corners of her eyes to not smear her makeup. “Thank you for coming all this way.” Her attention shifts to Lan Wangji behind him, and a brilliant smile illuminates her face. “And this is . . . ”
“Jiejie, this is Lan Wangji, my partner and my familiar,” Wei Wuxian says, and as he does, he’s struck by the inadequacy of the terms. Lan Zhan is so much more to him than either of those things, and in light of that fact, it seems suddenly impossible that this is Lan Wangji’s first time meeting his sister.
The thought veers on cloyingly sentimental, so he gestures to Lan Wangji and says, “What do you think? I did pretty well, huh?”
Jiang Yanli gives him a gentle swat as Lan Wangji’s soft amusement thrums through the Bond.
“It’s so good to finally meet you,” Jiang Yanli says, squeezing Lan Wangji’s hand. “A-Xian hasn’t been able to stop talking about you for months.”
“I talk about other things!” Wei Wuxian protests, embarrassed, and the amusement through the Bond only deepens.
“I feel as if I already know you,” Jiang Yanli continues, ignoring Wei Wuxian.
Lan Wangji inclines his head slightly, the warmth of his gaze unmistakable. “Likewise.”
“Come, come,” Jiang Yanli says, twining her arm through Wei Wuxian’s. “Dinner’s nearly served. Lan er-gongzi, how do you like your tea?”
Wei Wuxian’s thoughts drift as his sister and Lan Wangji exchange polite conversation through the house. A crisp anxiety bubbles like soda water in his chest. The first and only time Lan Wangji and Jiang Cheng met, it didn’t go well, to say the least. And Wei Wuxian, while he’s pretty sure at this point he’s got Lan Zhan locked down in every conceivable way, would be deeply appreciative if his aunt didn’t scare him off.
No doubt sensing his nerves, Lan Wangji sends a cool wave of calm through the Bond. Wei Wuxian sighs, then blinks his gratitude over the top of his sister’s head. Lan Wangji’s eyes meet his, honeyed and warm.
“I’ve never gotten used to that,” Jiang Yanli says, and when Wei Wuxian refocuses, she’s watching him with a fondness that’s almost wistful. “The silent telepathy, I mean. Remember how Ma and Zidian did that all the time growing up?”
“As if I could forget,” Wei Wuxian mutters.
Jiang Yanli squeezes his arm in reassurance, and at last leads them into the dining hall.
At their entry, his aunt and Jiang Cheng rise from the table to greet them. His aunt hasn’t aged a day since Wei Wuxian’s youth; she wears a cold, vicious beauty like a wielded sword, power crackling in her bearing. Jiang Cheng’s hair has grown out a little, but Wei Wuxian can’t tell much else because his brother won’t look at him.
“You’re late,” Aunt Yu says coldly.
“My fault!” Wei Wuxian replies, smiling. “You know how I am, Yu-ayi.”
A new movement catches his eye, and when Wei Wuxian sees what it is, he nearly dies of fright. A small terrier dog is perched at his aunt’s ankles, its black, beady eyes fixed on him. Wei Wuxian clutches for Lan Wangji, who steadies him.
“Ha, ahah, I thought Zidian’s preferred form was a snake?” Wei Wuxian asks with a strained smile, eyes locked on the dog.
“Zidian enjoys many different forms,” his aunt says, with a sweetness like an icy needle.
Wei Wuxian is surprised to feel a slow bloom of anger through the Bond. He realizes after another moment that it belongs to Lan Wangji.
Of course, the only two seats available at the table are next to his aunt and the dog. Wei Wuxian starts to drag his heels as Lan Wangji gently pulls him. Ever gallant, Lan Wangji tries to take the seat closest to the dog, but, wary of creating even more friction, Wei Wuxian assures him it’s fine. He takes his seat, trying to ignore the cold sweat that breaks out on his forehead when Zidian growls quietly.
The first dish is served, fresh tea poured. Zidian doesn’t move from Aunt Yu’s side, but it doesn’t make her any less ignorable. Wei Wuxian is shaking too much to even hold his utensils, his appetite completely gone.
“Ma,” Jiang Cheng says suddenly, and when Wei Wuxian looks up at him, his brother is frowning at his mother with an air of stilted discomfort. “He doesn’t like dogs, remember?”
“Oh?” Aunt Yu says, her eyes stretching wide with surprise. “How could I have forgotten? Of course.”
She communicates some silent signal to Zidian, who within seconds has shifted into a violet snake. Her dark scales gleam with the iridescence of oil on water. She slithers up his aunt’s shoulders, coiling there as she surveys Wei Wuxian with contempt.
Wei Wuxian relaxes, the primal fear seeping out of him. Still a little shakily, he starts to sip at his soup, not tasting it.
Lan Wangji is still angry. Wei Wuxian can feel the low simmer of it like a heat in his own belly. Wei Wuxian tries to channel some reassurance through the Bond, but the anger stubbornly remains, sprouting up through the evening’s tension like an unruly weed.
They had discovered rather quickly, after their Bonding ceremony, that their emotional landscapes differ wildly from each other’s. Wei Wuxian, for his part, tends to flit from emotion to emotion like a bee flirting with flowers, flighting in his moods from one moment to the next. Even insult or injury tend to quickly lose their sting in favor of fresher, shinier feelings. Lan Wangji can nurse a single mood for days, buried far beneath his calm surface. Still waters run deep, or whatever the phrase is.
However, as a general rule, Lan Wangji is slow to anger. Wei Wuxian gives Lan Wangji a pat on the knee to show he’s alright. The feeling still doesn’t budge.
The table fills with the clinking sounds of people awkwardly slurping soup. Aunt Yu is the only one who refrains. Her spoon hovers in mid-air as her gaze critically sweeps Lan Wangji from head to toe, and Wei Wuxian can’t help feeling smug at her palpable disappointment that she can find nothing reproachable about him.
As if sensing this, his aunt’s target switches.
“Lan er-gongzi, imagine my surprise to hear that you’d Bonded with our Wei Ying,” Aunt Yu says. “You make such an unlikely pairing.”
Lan Wangji maintains a polite, pointed silence as he sips his water.
“How wonderful that the esteemed Lan family was so accepting of such a match,” Aunt Yu needles. “Given Wei Ying’s reputation with the Institute.”
Wei Wuxian picks at his soup, ignoring his siblings’ stares from across the table.
“I can only hope for such a fortuitous match for our A-Cheng,” Aunt Yu continues.
“Ma,” Jiang Cheng hisses, mortified.
Aunt Yu signals to Granny Qiao to refill her tea. “I’m certain you’ve heard, with your family’s connections, that A-Cheng passed his assessment with distinction.”
“I had not heard,” Lan Wangji says, certainly just to be a bitch.
Wei Wuxian can sense the lightning flicker of anger from his aunt as keenly as a dog-whistle. It immediately activates old reflexes.
“Yu-ayi, the soup is wonderful,” Wei Wuxian praises. “The broth has just the right amount of spice.”
Aunt Yu ignores him. “It was a travesty that the Institute overlooked A-Cheng’s potential during his first assessment. Lan er-gongzi, I’m certain you also heard, at the time, of Wei Ying’s expulsion from — ”
“Ma,” Jiang Yanli interjects with a soft, pained smile. “We’re all proud of A-Cheng. Isn’t that enough?”
Aunt Yu surveys her daughter with barely veiled ire. Jiang Yanli will no doubt pay for her insubordination later, and Wei Wuxian winces to know it’s on his behalf. He hurries to draw some of the heat away from her.
“Speaking of really good soup, Lan Zhan's teaching me how to cook,” he says quickly. “Soon I'll be able to make dinner for you all, for once!”
This finally compels Jiang Cheng to speak, his brows twitching with concern. “You, cooking?”
“It's a gradual process,” Wei Wuxian defends himself. He beams at Jiang Yanli. “Nothing near as good as jiejie, of course.”
At this, his sister smiles at him, a private thank you.
The conversation turns to normal fare for a while — the unseasonably warm autumn, the story of Jiang Yanli’s proposal, Uncle Jiang’s travel plans that preclude him from joining their evening. Well, actually, it’s really only Wei Wuxian and Jiang Yanli keeping the discussion afloat. Lan Wangji is quiet, answering tersely but not impolitely when asked a direct question. Jiang Cheng’s gaze is shuttered as he picks at his plates without eating. Aunt Yu nurses a black, silent mood in Wei Wuxian’s periphery, which he can’t help but track like the blooming clouds of an impending storm. All the while, Zidian slithers along the table, navigating carefully around the plates as her tongue flickers.
All in all, it’s pretty much exactly how Wei Wuxian imagined the evening would go. Actually, a little better, all things considered. It’s a little awkward, certainly rife with tension, but no one’s yelling. No one’s flinging soup. By the time the second dish comes, Wei Wuxian has tentatively begun to hope that his worries had been misplaced, and they’re approaching the clear.
And then Jiang Yanli asks, “How is your business going, A-Xian?”
“Oh, it’s good,” Wei Wuxian says cheerfully. “It’s been pretty busy lately. Word’s gotten around, so a lot of customers stop by to — ”
He’s interrupted by a quiet scoff from his aunt. “I take it that means you’re still turning paltry tricks to pay your bills.” She flicks a dismissive look to Lan Wangji. “Although I suppose you’ve found a way to cover your finances now.”
The implication is so ugly that Wei Wuxian takes a breath, his face stinging. Lan Wangji sets down his chopsticks with a pronounced click.
“Ma,” Jiang Yanli says quietly.
Aunt Yu waves a hand. “Please, excuse my curiosity. It’s only that I thought for certain that the Institute would take issue with Wei Ying’s choice of occupation. How fortunate that Lan er-gongzi got involved.”
Jiang Cheng is staring deeply enough into his soup to become one with it. Zidian is coiled menacingly in front of Wei Wuxian, her head raised as if to strike, tail twitching. Wei Wuxian, as he always does when she’s anything but a dog, ignores her.
“Things have certainly changed from my days in the Institute,” Aunt Yu continues, with the barest flicker of a sneer. “Such transgressions never would have been permitted during my time there. I still find it astonishing that an expulsion would have no bearing on familiar selection.”
“Wei Ying’s expulsion meant little to me while choosing a witch,” Lan Wangji replies. “It was clear to me that his was a case of prodigal talent misunderstood. I am certain, as his aunt, that you’re familiar with his abilities.”
Nnnnnooooooooooooo, Wei Wuxian thinks with a long, slow dread. Lan Zhan’s gone and lit the dynamite now.
Aunt Yu’s nostrils flare, and Wei Wuxian imagines dragon smoke pouring out of them.
“Talent?” Aunt Yu gives a bitter, mocking laugh. “Oh yes, I am familiar with his talents. Wei Ying is gifted in destruction — destroying A-Cheng’s life, destroying this family’s reputation. The Lan family should be wary! After all, it’s only a matter of time before — ”
“Ma,” Jiang Cheng says sharply.
“Ma, please,” Jiang Yanli begs.
“It’s fine,” Wei Wuxian assures his siblings, because, well, his aunt’s not exactly wrong, he’d blown up a few buildings, after all —
It’s at this moment Zidian mock-strikes him. She’d done it all the time when he was growing up, when Aunt Yu’s temper was particularly bad and needed enforcing — to all three of them, but especially Wei Wuxian. Zidian had never actually bitten him; the fake lunges were only intended to frighten and intimidate.
So Wei Wuxian has barely flinched before there’s a sudden flurry of motion next to him, a flash-bang blur of white, and Wei Wuxian reels back from the table as Lan Wangji, now a mongoose, sinks his teeth into the back of Zidian’s neck.
Things abruptly fall apart. Aunt Yu screams as if she’s been stabbed, jolting up from her seat. The table rocks, tea spills; the sponge cake wobbles and slides sideways off the cake stand in a slow avalanche. Jiang Yanli and Jiang Cheng are also up from their seats; Jiang Yanli with her hands clasped to her mouth, Jiang Cheng with a wide-eyed horror.
Zidian hisses and writhes frantically in Lan Wangji’s teeth, her thrashing body knocking more glasses and plates askew. Lan Wangji finally lets her go, stalking her even in retreat, fur fluffed out. Aunt Yu falls over Zidian, stroking the scales on her back to assess her injuries.
Wei Wuxian can hardly process what just happened. His shirt and pants are soaked; at some point, his water had toppled over. His siblings are frozen in shock, both looking utterly at a loss for how to approach the situation. Lan Wangji has already shifted back at Wei Wuxian’s side, a hand curled protectively over his shoulder.
“How dare you!” Aunt Yu shrieks at Lan Wangji. Her beautiful face is disfigured by rage. “Do you know who I am? How dare you!”
Zidian’s form shifts, and it leaves a small woman cradled in Aunt Yu’s arms like a child. It’s rare that Wei Wuxian has ever seen his aunt’s familiar in human form. She’s whimpering and sniveling, blood dotted along her nape.
“We should leave,” Lan Wangji tells Wei Wuxian. His voice is cold. “Now.”
Wei Wuxian knows there’s no use trying to persuade him otherwise. Lan Wangji’s will is like a stone wall, and Wei Wuxian can sense through the Bond that he’s far exceeded his limits.
“The food was really good!” Wei Wuxian says, clasping his hands together half-apologetically as he follows Lan Wangji out of the dining room. “Thanks for having us!”
“Wei Wuxian,” Jiang Cheng says, and for the first time all evening, Wei Wuxian meets his gaze directly. Conflict visibly rages across Jiang Cheng’s face; he opens his mouth as if to say something, then shuts it again with an angry, flustered air.
“Congratulations again, Jiang Cheng,” Wei Wuxian says quietly, meaning it. Jiang Cheng’s eyes go slightly wide; his fists tighten at his sides. He opens his mouth again, and again nothing comes out.
Then he turns away, moving toward where Aunt Yu is still fuming over Zidian’s wounds.
Wei Wuxian catches up to Lan Wangji, following the stiff line of his shoulders to the front door. He tries to block out the familiar sound of his aunt’s yells echoing through the house.
“A-Xian!” he hears behind them, followed by Aunt Yu shrieking, “A-Li, don’t you dare! If you walk out that door — ”
Whatever implicit threat there goes ignored as Jiang Yanli catches up to them, her eyes shining with tears. She follows them out of the house, shutting the door behind her to pursue them down the front walkway.
“A-Xian,” she says, and the tears spill over as she embraces him tightly. “I’m so sorry.”
“Jiejie, you know how I feel about apologies,” Wei Wuxian replies with a smile. He pats her back comfortingly. “There’s no need, okay? It’s all fine.”
“It isn’t,” Jiang Yanli says, as her arms tighten around him. “A-Xian, you’re shaking.”
Wei Wuxian frowns and lifts his hand to contest this. He’s surprised to find that she’s right.
“Huh,” he says, perplexed.
Jiang Yanli pulls back, shaking her head as mascara drips down her cheeks. “It was my fault for asking you to come home. I should have known that she . . . but I thought, after all this time, and with my engagement, she might . . . ”
“Really, don’t worry about it a second further, jiejie,” Wei Wuxian assures her. “It’s already forgotten.”
This earns an immediate disapproval rating through the Bond, which makes him wince.
As if sensing this, Jiang Yanli turns to Lan Wangji, her head bowed. “I can’t express how humiliated I am on behalf of my family. My mother’s behavior was unacceptable. Can Lan er-gongzi ever forgive us?”
“I cannot apologize for protecting Wei Ying,” Lan Wangji replies, “but I apologize for upsetting you, Jiang-guniang.”
Jiang Yanli waves off the apology, shaking her head again. “You have nothing to apologize for, Lan er-gongzi. Please allow me to make it up to you both. Where are you staying tonight?”
Wei Wuxian squints and scratches the back of his head. “Ah, some place nearby. We were going to head out early tomorrow afternoon — ”
“Cancel it,” Jiang Yanli says promptly. “Stay with me for the night. Please, it’s the very least I can do, and — A-Xian, I’ve hardly gotten to see you.”
Jiang Yanli squeezes his hand, and Wei Wuxian squeezes back. He trades a quick, questioning look with Lan Wangji, and receives a flash of acceptance through the Bond.
“I think we can be talked into it,” Wei Wuxian says, smiling at his sister, “if some of your soup is involved.”
Jiang Yanli relaxes as she mirrors Wei Wuxian’s smile. “Could it truly be a house of mine if it wasn’t?”
◈ ◈ ◈
2.
His sister does make soup that evening, which is for the better, given Wei Wuxian had barely been able to stomach anything at Aunt Yu’s. He wanders the house with Lan Wangji as the savory aromas of pork ribs and ginger float through the rooms from the kitchen.
While Uncle Jiang and Aunt Yu had moved into their current place when Wei Wuxian was eighteen, this was the house where he had truly grown up. Jiang Yanli had saved the place when her parents tried to sell it, and she’d made it a home of her own. Some of Wei Wuxian’s fondest — and worst — memories are layered within these walls. He proudly shows Lan Wangji the bedroom he’d slept in as a child and a teenager, the cupboards he used to be small enough to hide in, either in fun or in fear. (He takes care not to mention that part.) The bookshelves still have most of his childhood favorites, their spines worn with age and love. The house itself still smells the same as it always has, some unique alchemy between old wood and carpet and laundry soap. Lan Wangji absorbs it all with a small smile, seeming more focused on Wei Wuxian than on anything particular in the house. He seems to have relaxed with the distance from Aunt Yu’s house, and Wei Wuxian is secretly relieved for it. He hates seeing Lan Zhan upset, especially knowing he’d been the cause of it.
Eventually, Jiang Yanli calls them into the kitchen, and they eat quickly. It’s the first time in years that Wei Wuxian has had his sister’s soup served fresh, and she smiles indulgently as he makes an exaggerated show of weeping into his bowl. Of course, Jiang Yanli insists on cleaning up after, but Wei Wuxian bullies her out of the kitchen. It’s really the least he and Lan Zhan can do, after putting her out and making her cook.
About a half an hour later, he and his sister are curled up on the sofa of the living room — dishes clean, food put away, tea freshly brewed, a candle lit. Lan Wangji is napping as a white cat on the windowsill, content to give them their time alone to catch up. Wei Wuxian listens attentively as Jiang Yanli gushes about her fiancé, brandishing her hand so that Wei Wuxian can admire the way her diamond ring glitters in the lamplight. Wei Wuxian asks all the right questions: Is he nice to her? Is he a witch? What’s his family like? Is he loaded?
“A-Xian,” she chides him for the last one.
“Hey, I just want to make sure you’re provided for! You shouldn’t have to lift a finger if you don’t want to.”
“Zixuan did graduate from the Institute,” Jiang Yanli answers, “but he doesn’t practice anymore. He never petitioned the Institute for a familiar, either.”
So there won’t be any problem there, goes unsaid between them, and they exchange a wry look of mutual understanding. During their youth, three had been a crowd in Uncle Jiang and Aunt Yu’s marriage, given Aunt Yu always far preferred Zidian’s company to her husband’s. Sometimes, Wei Wuxian suspects that’s the real reason his uncle spends so much time away.
“This Jin Zixuan guy sounds alright,” Wei Wuxian says grudgingly, tapping his nose. “Just as long as I don’t have to watch him moon-eyeing you through all your silent conversations from now on.”
“A-Xian,” Jiang Yanli reminds him, smiling, “you forget, we won’t have a Bond. It’ll be just a regular marriage between us.”
“Ah, right, right. Regular marriage,” Wei Wuxian echoes, eyeing Lan Wangji thoughtfully across the room. “We’ll get around to that eventually.”
Lan Wangji’s eyes, which had been slitted in half-sleep, slide open to stare at Wei Wuxian. Wei Wuxian winks back at him, grinning. Some unidentifiable ripple passes through their Bond before Lan Wangji conceals the emotion.
“Is that his preferred form?” Jiang Yanli asks, following the line of Wei Wuxian’s sight.
“Nah,” he replies. “Lan Zhan’s more the bunny type.”
Jiang Yanli beams. “Adorable.”
“That’s what I said! He’s shy, though. Er-gege only likes to be that cute when it’s just the two of us.”
Lan Wangji’s white fur prickles, as if he’s ruffled by their conversation. Wei Wuxian and Jiang Yanli lapse into giggles. With all the primness of a real cat, Lan Wangji pointedly turns his head away from them to continue napping.
“A-Xian, I’m so happy for you,” Jiang Yanli says, softly enough that Lan Wangji won’t overhear. “He’s everything I’ve ever hoped for you.”
“Me too,” Wei Wuxian whispers back, and Jiang Yanli grips his hand. Her expression sobers, some of the light dimming from her eyes.
“He was right to stand up to Ma at dinner,” she murmurs. “A-Cheng won’t ever admit it, but I know he thinks so too. I hope . . . ” She blinks, as if trying to clear dust from her eye. “I hope what happened tonight won’t keep you from visiting.”
Wei Wuxian gives Jiang Yanli’s arm a soothing squeeze. “We’re gonna try to come more often from now on, I promise. I shouldn’t have stayed away as long as I have, not when — ”
“You had every right to,” Jiang Yanli says firmly. “I know that, and so does A-Cheng, even if he can’t say it. He’s changed since he passed his assessment. I think he knows . . . I think he knows, now, that what happened wasn’t your fault.” She pats Wei Wuxian’s arm. “And I think he also knows it might be too little, too late.”
Wei Wuxian picks at a rip on his jeans as he stares at his lap. “It kind of was my fault. I mean, Lan Zhan says it wasn’t, but . . . ”
“Believe Lan Zhan,” Jiang Yanli says with mock sternness. “He’s a very smart man.”
Wei Wuxian smiles as his eyes find Lan Zhan again. “He is.”
He and his sister talk for at least another hour before they all collectively decide to turn in. She’s still rustling around the house, fussing with various chores and upkeep even as Lan Wangji, human again, follows Wei Wuxian to his old bedroom.
Lan Wangji shuts the door behind them with a creak. Wei Wuxian stretches to shimmy off his sweatshirt, rolling up onto his calves with a long yawn.
“I’m sorry for provoking your aunt,” Lan Wangji says behind him. “It made you uncomfortable.”
Wei Wuxian waves the apology away. “Aiyah, Lan Zhan, it’s really fine.”
“How she treats you,” Lan Wangji says quietly. “How she speaks of you. It was intolerable to me.”
Wei Wuxian grimaces as he peels his shirt off over his head.
“I’m only sorry you had to witness the family theater,” he says as he reties his hair. “I’m used to it, Lan Zhan. Really. It doesn’t even faze me anymore.”
Lan Wangji watches him as he continues to undress with a troubled expression.
Softly, carefully, he says, “It would betray the love I feel for you, to stand by while others speak of you that way.”
Wei Wuxian places a fluttery hand on his chest, trying to overcompensate for the very real flutter that passes through the Bond, as it does anytime Lan Wangji speaks so romantically. To this, Wei Wuxian has never grown immune.
“All this talk of love!” he exclaims. “Lan Zhan, you wooer!”
Lan Wangji approaches him from behind, and his arms reel in Wei Wuxian so they’re pressed back to front. His mouth finds Wei Wuxian’s bare shoulder.
“You shouldn’t tease,” he murmurs as he presses a kiss there.
Wei Wuxian’s pulse picks up helplessly as Lan Wangji’s mouth skims up the sensitive side of his neck.
“It’s my universe-given purpose to tease,” he answers, a little breathlessly.
“You shouldn’t tease,” Lan Wangji clarifies, with his lips still to Wei Wuxian’s skin, “about marriage.”
Even hearing him say the word is electric. A shiver ripples up Wei Wuxian’s spine, drawing bumps along the back of his neck.
“Shouldn’t tease why? You don’t want to get married?” Wei Wuxian says with mock outrage, which is belied by his growing grin. “Lan Zhan, you wound me. We’re already Bonded, after all — how much worse could marrying me be, huh?”
Lan Wangji endures his teasing in silence, his hands skating down Wei Wuxian’s bare sides, over his belly. A banked heat crackles through the Bond. It never quite goes away, Wei Wuxian has found, no matter the situation. Most nights, it consumes them both entirely, a bonfire that he happily melts into. But he can sense Lan Wangji is holding back deliberately tonight, out of respect for the evening Wei Wuxian’s had. So often, he’s sweet enough that Wei Wuxian’s teeth ache.
“Or could it be that Lan Zhan wants to marry me after all . . . ?” he says lowly, goading him again.
Despite what are clearly Lan Wangji’s best efforts, the fire licks higher through the Bond, a heat that catches and spreads beneath Wei Wuxian’s skin. Wei Wuxian sighs as he starts to harden, tilting his head back against Lan Wangji’s shoulder. Lan Wangji sucks a hard, pointed bruise into the side of his neck, a graze of teeth along his throat. His hand dips beneath the front waistband of Wei Wuxian’s boxers; a silent question for how much further Wei Wuxian wants to take this tonight.
“Lan Zhan, did you know I’ve always had this fantasy of you ravishing me in my teenage bedroom?” Wei Wuxian purrs, which decides the trajectory of their evening.
Lan Wangji pushes Wei Wuxian toward the bed, which creaks under their weight when they settle onto it. It’s almost too small to fit the two of them, but they manage to squeeze in, their bodies crammed against each other as Lan Wangji presses him into the mattress and kisses him with a languid heat. Wei Wuxian sighs dreamily and stretches his arms over his head, smiling against Lan Wangji’s mouth when his hand pins Wei Wuxian’s wrists to the headboard. They kiss with increasing fervor until they’re both fully hard, until the old mattress springs start to squeak beneath the rolling motion of their hips.
“So is that a yes on marriage?” Wei Wuxian says hoarsely, once he’s nearly had the breath kissed out of him.
Lan Wangji bites his chin. “Patience.”
“Ah!! Patience for what?”
“A proper proposal.”
“Fucking me in my childhood bed isn’t proper enough?”
“No.”
“Aii, Lan Zhan, Lan Zhan,” Wei Wuxian sighs, then coquettishly draws a finger down the side of Lan Wangji’s neck. “Always such a gentleman.”
“Not always,” Lan Wangji says, and flips Wei Wuxian over to crowd him against the adjoining wall. Wei Wuxian wriggles in delighted anticipation, pushing his hips back as Lan Wangji peels down the back of his boxers.
Lan Wangji spreads him, slicks him, and then he’s inside him; a shared inhale, shared pleasure. Wei Wuxian grinds down into the comfortable ache of fullness, his toes curling as bliss ripples through them both. That’s another thing he’d quickly come to discover: Bonded sex is like nothing else in the world. It’s overwhelming enough that the first few times they’d slept together, Lan Wangji hadn’t even needed a hand on Wei Wuxian to bring him off. Whatever adoration Wei Wuxian feels toward Lan Wangji, he feels it reflected back tenfold, filling him beyond even the physical filling of Lan Wangji inside him. It pours into him now like a tidal pool, a cool sweetness that complements that all-consuming fire of desire they share. And with Lan Wangji’s defenses down, Wei Wuxian can scout down to the depths of him — his worry throughout the evening; his anger on Wei Wuxian’s behalf, even moreso than he’d let on; the joyous rush when Wei Wuxian had said marriage; and above all, love and desire and more love, horizon-wide, boundless, beyond description.
Wei Wuxian curls his hands into the comforter as Lan Wangji fucks him, suddenly near tears. In his eyeline, he glimpses two kissing stick figures he’d carved into the wall as a teenager. He’d teased Lan Zhan about being taken in his childhood bedroom, but Wei Wuxian can’t help but think that his younger self — curled up on this very bed, lost on some far, dark sea of misery — could have never imagined anything like this for himself; could have never conceived of being loved so fully, so completely without condition.
The Bond burns brighter and brighter between them like a collapsing star. Soon, Lan Wangji’s hand has to muffle his cries of pleasure so they don’t ring through the old house.
◈ ◈ ◈
Some time around dawn, Wei Wuxian stirs to Lan Wangji’s warmth receding from him. With his eyes still closed, he reaches out to draw it back in. Lan Wangji’s hand catches his wrist, and Wei Wuxian feels a kiss brush his forehead.
“Don’t go,” Wei Wuxian mumbles, trying to burrow in closer.
“I must,” Lan Wangji says softly.
“Why?”
“Breakfast.”
“Mmph. Not important.”
Easily, Lan Wangji relents, and holds him close until Wei Wuxian drifts off again. When he wakes again, the sunlight has shifted its angle in the room, and the sheets beside him are cool. A warm morning breeze slinks through the house, carrying with it the mingled scent of fried dough and fresh coffee.
Wei Wuxian sighs and throws his arms over his face, drowsing as he listens to the sounds of his sister and his partner in the kitchen, exchanging quiet conversation as they prepare breakfast.
Partner, he reflects idly. It would be better to call him husband.
The thought startles him awake. He blinks at the ceiling, a warm flush rising to his face. Then he angles his head to look at the two stick figures again. Softly, he traces a finger over the worn grooves in the wood. He can’t help but smile.
It takes him only a few minutes to become presentable, though he has to hobble and silently curse his way to the kitchen. Apparently, still waters run deep and hard enough to put a limp in his step.
Lan Wangji and Jiang Yanli both smile at him as he enters, and Wei Wuxian’s heart lifts at the sight of them together.
“Good morning, A-Xian,” Jiang Yanli says, perfectly straight-faced. “You seem well-rested.”
Wei Wuxian can’t tell how embarrassed he should be by the implications of that. He had tried to keep it down to spare his poor sister, but the walls are thin, after all.
“A-Xian, look how handsome your boyfriend is this morning,” Jiang Yanli continues, dimpling with mischievous humor. “He went all the way down the street this morning to pick up breakfast for us. He looks like someone out of heaven, doesn’t he?”
“That’s my Lan Zhan,” Wei Wuxian piles on with exaggerated schmaltz. “A perfect angel, pure as the driven snow.”
This remark is received by the so-called angel in question with a slow-blinking amusement. Jiang Yanli turns away, still smiling, to put away groceries. Once she does, Wei Wuxian narrows his eyes at Lan Wangji and points accusingly at the bruise-like hickey on his throat. Lan Wangji only looks at him guilelessly in response, as if to say, What did I do?
Heaven, my ass, Wei Wuxian thinks. He silently laments that no one except him knows the truth, which is that his boyfriend is a fiend. But a very incredibly handsome one, he’ll give his sister that.
He settles down at the table with a slight wince, and Jiang Yanli slides a full plate and a cup of coffee his way. Wei Wuxian happily digs in, thanking them both with his mouth full. After another moment of watching him eat, Jiang Yanli speaks again.
“Ma called this morning,” she says.
Wei Wuxian freezes mid-chew.
“She didn’t exactly apologize, but she wants to try again.” Jiang Yanli’s perfectly manicured nails tap against her mug. “She asked you both over again for dinner tonight.”
Wei Wuxian swallows his food around the sudden dryness in his throat.
Some long-buried, childish part of him longs to concede, to submit to the age-old desire to make things right with his adoptive family. But he’s paid the price of that concession an exhaustive number of times, and he’s long outgrown any naïve hopes of reconciliation. He isn’t actually certain Aunt Yu has ever felt remorse for anything. What he suspects is that she realizes she’ll lose face if Lan Wangji decides to get uncharacteristically chatty with his family and their Institute circles about their evening together.
“I appreciate the offer,” Wei Wuxian says, polite but firm, “but Lan Zhan and I are leaving this afternoon. We have one more stop on our way out of town.”
Jiang Yanli nods her understanding with a small smile. “Of course. I’ll let her know.”
Wei Wuxian smiles at her in thanks and takes another bite of his youtiao.
Jiang Yanli sets her mug on the table. She seems more curious than prying when she asks, “Where will you stop?”
Wei Wuxian hesitates. He doesn’t look at his sister when he replies, “Oh, you know, the mountain. I thought I’d take Lan Zhan to see it.”
He doesn’t need a Bond to sense Jiang Yanli’s reaction, to envision it in his mind; the sad, sympathetic curl of her mouth, her eyes softening.
“Of course,” she says, and gives his shoulder a compassionate squeeze. “I’ll pack a lunch for you when you go.”
◈ ◈ ◈
3.
The drive up the mountain is surprisingly short. Because of the warm autumn, the foliage that blurs past the car windows is still an electric shade of green, though it gradually reddens as the car winds up the mountainside. Wei Wuxian dangles his hand out the open window, tilting his head into the sun with closed eyes. His other is tangled with Lan Wangji’s so he can play with his fingers.
Their drive is also uncharacteristically quiet. Wei Wuxian is never in a talking mood for these visits, although having Lan Zhan with him for it lightens the ache.
Once they’re about halfway up the mountain, Wei Wuxian recognizes the marker and quietly tells Lan Wangji to stop. Lan Wangji pulls off on the side of the road, far enough so that any passing travelers will steer clear. Wei Wuxian climbs out of the car and surveys the surrounding wood, taking in the crisp mountain air. The silence, after the ubiquitous noise of the city, is almost deafening.
Winding into the crop of forest is a narrow dirt path, though it’s become overgrown since Wei Wuxian’s last time here. He leads Lan Wangji forward as they both pick their way through the dense undergrowth. In any other circumstance, Wei Wuxian would be cracking jokes about whatever topic comes to mind — Lan Wangji’s clean clothes getting dirtied, the likelihood of ticks, asking Lan Zhan to carry him or some other nonsense. He doesn’t have the heart to today.
After a while of walking, the path opens up into a small, secluded pasture, where the feathery grass is knee-high, dotted with nodding white flowers. As a witch, Wei Wuxian can feel that the area is overripe with positive energy, a green-feeling qi.
In the center of the pasture, also slightly overgrown, are two gravesites.
For some time, Wei Wuxian gazes at them in silence. Birdsong wheedles around him. Then he picks his way through the long grass and kneels before them. From his pack, he pulls out three sticks of incense and a stack of paper money. Lan Wangji kneels beside him, and after the incense is lit on the small altar, they bow together.
Wei Wuxian clasps his hands together and closes his eyes.
“Fumu,” he says. “I brought someone for you to meet.”
The gravestones give no response. The gilded characters of their names, Wei Changze and Cangse Sanren, wink at him in the sunlight that bobs through the waving trees. Their shine has dulled through the years.
After their deaths, Uncle Jiang and Aunt Yu had been kind enough to ensure that his parents’ tombs were paid for and tended to, and that they’re nicer than most. They’re not simple roadside headstones, as they might have been if there were only Wei Wuxian left in the world. For that, Wei Wuxian has always been grateful to them. It’s been long enough without them that his parents’ absence is a bruise-like ache, rather than the free-bleed of an open wound. Still, it’s Lan Wangji’s first time here, and a fresh wave of sorrow wells in Wei Wuxian at the thought that this will be as close as they ever come to meeting.
For some time, they sit in respectful silence, listening to the music of the surrounding wood. Finally, Wei Wuxian begins to speak within his heart.
Ba, Ma. I wanted you to meet this person. He is the other half of my heart. He makes me happy every single day. One day, I’m going to marry him. I only wish you could be here to . . .
He sneaks a look sideways at Lan Wangji, and sees that his head is still bowed, his eyes closed. His heart gives a small flutter, more ticklish than painful. Love zips through the Bond like before he can conceal it — before he remembers he has no need to.
Lan Wangji’s long lashes flick slowly open. He returns Wei Wuxian’s gaze as a shaft of sunlight splashes the side of his pale, beautiful face. And then Wei Wuxian feels it — a buttery radiance like that very sunbeam pouring through him, flooding him until even the darkest corners of himself are illuminated.
Wei Wuxian sways and puts a hand to his chest to steady himself. He cannot look or breathe or exist beyond that feeling; the pure, undiluted warmth of Lan Wangji’s love. He’s experienced it many times in warm flashes, in greater concentrations during sex, but never as concentrated and intentional as this; never as Lan Wangji telling him, This is yours. Take it.
When Wei Wuxian blinks again, his eyes are damp, and the light is brighter in the meadow. Like the mountain has poured the sun down on them in envy or in witness.
Love, he thinks, is the only thing in this world greater than grief.
“Shall we go home?” Lan Wangji asks softly, as if he hasn’t just reordered Wei Wuxian’s entire world. As if he carries the sweet weight of this every second, every day, and exists with it as naturally as his breath.
Wei Wuxian takes a breath of his own. The wind rises in the trees with a sound like the sea.
Ba, Ma, he thinks to his parents. I’ll come and visit soon.
“Yeah,” Wei Wuxian says, and smiles. “Let’s go home.”
◈ ◈ ◈