Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

Being called into the Imperial Guards and ordered to protect a courtesan was supposed to be his punishment for offending the Crown Prince. It took him embarrassingly long to realize he was the punishment.

Wei Wuxian could count on one hand the number of times he had been to the capital. Although many from his military family chose to retire there, drawn by the city’s stability and superior entertainment scene, and all the other amenities the border regions could never offer, Wei Wuxian was not impressed by it.

The rise of the new ruling dynasty derailed their plans to secure the patronage of wealthy families through favors granted under their authority. Early in their reign, the court began purging the army of those who refused to submit unquestioningly to its whims.

The capital looked different five years ago, the last time Wei Wuxian strolled the streets. It was more blue and white; the robes of the pedestrians were elegant if a little suffocating, as all the residents drew inspiration fashion-wise from the then-governing Lan Dynasty.

Now it was all about bleeding reds and loose fits exposing skin, and with stupid banners all around reading messages like: shine with the sun, die with the sun, and every kindness should be returned.

Perhaps the kindness he had never shown Wen Chao when he refused to bestow military titles upon him and grant him the honor of claiming victories in battles he had never fought was finally being returned in kind.

Back then, he was still a standard-bearer of pride and honor, with his sights set on becoming the Empire's Grand Marshal. Never would he have imagined that one day he would lose the right to carry a sword and see his armor reduced to a symbolic, largely impractical version of military attire worn at the palace. His uniform consisted of a decorative lamellar cuirass that made only a token attempt at imitating functional battlefield armor.

“I knew your mouth would get the better of you one day,” Jiang Cheng told him on his first day at the palace when they were having wine in his office. “And I still can’t imagine what you did to him to make you a simple bodyguard.”

Jiang Cheng would know about the sporadic demotions to the Imperial Guard; he, too, had been demoted from the regular army to an insignificant post as Guard Commander within the Imperial Guard. His office was little more than a storehouse packed with wooden chests of guard uniforms, weapons racks holding daggers and short swords, and bookshelves jammed with dusty scrolls.

“He was considerate enough to give me an early retirement.” Wei Wuxian shrugged, idly spinning his new dagger between his fingers, catching it each time without looking at it. “No more brigandines with rough lining, no more heavy sword dragging me sideways...”

“Right. The apple knife is so much better to have.” Jiang Cheng rolled his eyes. “Seriously, aren’t you at least a little bitter about this? There’s no way you actually want to be a guard for some fucking courtesan.”

“It wouldn't be the first time, though,” Wei Wuxian said. “I was the guard detail for courtesans before.”

He was still too young to form lasting memories of his parents. They had served as garrison commanders in a military village near the border when they were killed in a late-night ambush. Orphaned, he was taken in by his parents’ lifelong friends, the senior generals, as well as the courtesans attached to the militarized settlement.

That instability along the border marked his childhood in more ways than one. He watched the farming village transform from open fields worked by families into a fortified garrison with high walls and closed gates. The soldiers’ families eventually had to be relocated to neighboring civilian communities. No longer able to live with the generals’ families, he remained in the care of the courtesans, who had always kept him close whenever the troops marched off to war.

They taught him his first poem, and he still remembered the excitement of reciting it before the troops, who awarded him with candy for a job well done. They instructed him in calligraphy, which helped him when he studied at the palace with spoilsports like the Second Prince of Lan. And they even taught him how to play the flute to keep his mind occupied until he was old enough to begin swordsmanship training.

“It’s not the same thing. You did that willingly.” Jiang Cheng placed his cup back on the low table. “You can’t tell me you would’ve ever taken this guard post if you weren’t thrown out of the army.”

“And I’m sure you didn’t want to be stuck in an office doing paperwork,” Wei Wuxian said, gesturing toward the bookshelves crammed with scrolls. “Too bad the last two dynasties didn’t like us too much.”

“They didn’t like you, maybe. I had no problems with the Lans,” Jiang Cheng said. “You, on the other hand, came close to being the Grand Marshal under both of them, and neither wanted to give it to you.”

If the rebellion against the Lan family had failed, he had little doubt that he would eventually have risen to the rank of Grand Marshal. Now, with Wen Chao as Crown Prince, he considered himself fortunate to hold any position within the Imperial Guard at all; the branch most soldiers dreaded on a good day, and an especially miserable posting with Wen Chao in command.

“I’d be careful of what you say. You wouldn't want your honored guest on the wall to think you’re still loyal to Qingheng-Jun,” Wei Wuxian whispered, looking briefly at the hideous painting of the emperor, Wen Ruohan. “Anyway. Who is this courtesan, and why does she need protection?”

“I only got here three days ago. You know, I haven’t even been appointed as Guard Commander yet! They just dropped me here and told me to organize the room until Wen Chao gets back to the palace and assigns me to something,” Jiang Cheng heaved an impatient sigh and reached behind him for a scroll at the bottom of the bookshelf. “But I’ll mark the courtesans’ quarters on the palace map for you. Go ask around.”

The courtesan quarters surrounded a stone-paved courtyard, and every room opened onto it. Wei Wuxian walked along its edges, where low shrubs and blooming flowers lined the path. The main hall was uncreatively named the Morning Glory Hall and was placed opposite the courtyard entrance, the rest of the buildings acting as sleeping chambers for the courtesans and the security guard.

A man left in a hurry one of these chambers and almost knocked him on his way to the Morning Glory Hall.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry… I don’t know where my head is,” the man said, tapping his sweaty forehead with his sleeve. “Oh! You’re Wei Wuxian.”

Wei Wuxian took a brief look at the man's face and tried to recall him from his days as a general, then commandant at the frontier post, then a junior officer in the garrison troops, but came up blank.

“Do we know each other?” He patted his own shoulder, right where the man’s massive, beast-shaped pauldron had struck him.

“We never met personally, but I heard about you from Nie Huaisang. I’m Nie Zonghui,” he presented himself and did a slight bow, hand tight on the hilt of his sword. “I’m the Squad Leader for the security guards assigned to this compound.”

Still didn’t ring a bell. Wei Wuxian had more questions for him, especially about why he had been assigned here, out of all places, but Nie Zonghui hastily pointed to a room before backing away from him.

“You’re here for Lan Wangji. I was wondering when you’d arrive,” he said, walking backwards. “I’m busy right now, but you can go meet him. I’ll find you tonight and fill you in on what you have to do.”

“Lan—excuse me?” But Nie Zonghui had already bounded up the steps of the Morning Glory Hall and disappeared inside, leaving him alone in the courtyard.

That man was a fucking loon.

The Nie clan being mentally unbalanced was nothing new to any soldier. The former head of the Nie clan killed himself in a military camp during a campaign at the border. After returning from the battlefield, he struck at his torso incessantly as he tried to ‘kill’ the ‘blood’ on his armor in order to wipe out forever the enemies he had just killed.

The superstition applied only to direct bloodline descendants, and the former clan leader had only two sons. Nie Zonghui had to be suffering from sunstroke or was high on the pipe smoke that wrapped around the courtesans and their patrons all day long.

Lan Wangji. He was probably dead by that point.

“What the fuck?” Wei Wuxian spluttered, his heart climbing to his throat. “You… you look…”

A lot like Lan Zhan, he wanted to say, but the words couldn’t come out. Did he drink too much the night before? He could not even recall if he had touched any alcohol.

“What are you doing here?”

Mirroring his shock, Lan Wangji’s lips parted before he composed himself fairly quickly and glanced over the empty courtyard.

“Me? What are you doing here?” Wei Wuxian shot back, his voice rising in a weird pitch. “I thought you died.”

Lan Wangji continued searching the courtyard, eyes moving across the shrubs, flowers, and doors as though looking for something—or someone. Wei Wuxian turned his head too, trying to figure out what he was missing. When he returned inside without sparing him a single look, Wei Wuxian followed him and closed the door behind them.

Surely, that could not be Lan Wangji. It might look like him, like a more gaunt version of himself, but the Lan Wangji he knew would never wear such a decorated, flowy robe with four waist ornaments. Two white ribbons, two tassel pendants, and a whole two-layer chain swished from his belt. The chains looked like they would make a bell-like sound.

And even if he could disregard the robes and waist accessories, the headpiece blew his mind.

They had a lot to say to each other about the headband Lan Wangji and his family were required to wear at all times, and the extravagant replacement, a web of fine chains framing his temples and a pendant resting at the center of his forehead, left him speechless.

“Wei Ying.”

“Huh?” Wei Wuxian said, jerking himself from his thoughts. “Sorry, it’s just… Your look would’ve gotten you in a lot of trouble back then.”

Long before the Lan Dynasty began to crumble, they confined their rigid code of living exclusively to their own bloodline. Over time, those thousands of rules were imposed upon the entire empire, binding every citizen to the discipline that had once only governed the dynasty itself.

The people enjoyed the sensible rules against cheating others and engaging in violence, as well as those promoting good etiquette and education. But when their culture of self-regulation and denial of excess gradually hardened into law, and ordinary things such as wearing more than three pieces of jewelry or chains with bells were forbidden, the people began to grow dissatisfied.

Wei Wuxian could not think of the number of ferule hits such an outfit would warrant, even less if it was worn by a prince.

“I would never wear this,” Lan Wangji said and flicked his loose sleeves to prove his point. “I have no choice.”

“It’s cute, though,” Wei Wuxian said. “I mean, you look good out of the boring mourning clothes.”

He had wondered more times than he cared to admit what Lan Wangji looked like beneath those shapeless white robes, in something more fitted and decorated, perhaps. This was the first time he could see the curve of his waist, and it was smaller than he'd expected, though he seemed slimmer overall.

Shaking his head softly, Lan Wangji kept his head lowered. “Wei Ying, why are you here?”

”I got a notice saying I was promoted,” he said, doing air quotes. “To be a bodyguard for one of the courtesans at the palace. I didn't feel like being unemployed just yet, so here I am. Fun, right?”

Lan Wangji’s posture dropped for a moment, the beaded pendants trembling on his forehead.

“Ey, Lan Zhan, don’t do that. I wasn’t brought here to punish you.” He swatted his hand through the air. “I can assure you I can piss off enough important people on my own and force this situation upon myself.”

“I know.”

Wei Wuxian broke into a small laugh then, leaning forward to look at him better. “You would know better than anyone. And it looks like you’ll have to tolerate me for a while longer!”

A drum roll sounded outside, announcing noon time. Lan Wangji left to rummage through a small wicker storage chest.

The room was long and narrow. There was no instrument stand anywhere in sight, no hanging scrolls on the walls, and no flower arrangements tucked into the corners; just a low table flanked by a daybed with two cushions. The only decoration was an incense burner.

A folding screen concealed what Wei Wuxian assumed was the bed, while a small table on the opposite side held a mirror and compartments for cosmetics and jewelry.

“What are you doing?” Wei Wuxian asked as he side-stepped the screen to see Lan Wangji stuff small, cosmetic containers and random fruit into improvised sleeve pockets. “What’s that?”

“I have to go,” Lan Wangji said and pushed the wicker storage chest in the small opening between the head of his bed and the wall.

“I’m pretty sure that at this point I’m supposed to go with you, don’t you think?” Wei Wuxian cut his path and frowned when Lan Wangji flinched away from him. “Are you okay?”

“No. You are in my way.”

“I wouldn’t be if you told me where you had to go and why you’re sneaking out food.”

Lan Wangji tensed further in front of him, jaw tightening and shoulders drawing subtly back.

“You are just like them,” he whispered to himself.

If this were the first time Wei Wuxian met him, he would have thought that he was talking with a ghost who dealt in cryptic answers, or that whatever incense they burned at the palace turned everyone into madmen.

Lan Wangji had always been difficult to talk to. Just not like this.

But he was not standing face to face with the Second Prince anymore, who had so often called him arrogant. Lan Wangji could not even look him in the eye.

“I have no idea who’s them, but I’m not here to upset you or anything,” Wei Wuxian said gently. He wanted to touch his arms to emphasize his point, but he was afraid he would flinch again. “I actually have no clue what happened in the last five years, so can you be more explicit about what you have to do?”

His hands hovered awkwardly around Lan Wangji’s arms, and it might have won him some points as Lan Wangji exhaled the strain in his body.

“My brother and uncle. I can meet them once a month,” he said. “And if I don’t leave before the next drum roll, I will lose the chance to see them.”

Two more people who seemed to have popped up alive again. Although he had never taken the time to ask around if anyone from the Lan family survived, he had not heard anyone talk about Lan Wangji, Lan Xichen, and Lan Qiren for years. Asking that would mean a direct demotion in rank, and the soldiers in the Imperial Army assumed that they had to be dead, both for safety and out of common sense. It wasn’t like the Wens showed any mercy to them on the days of the rebellion.

A container fell from Lan Wangji's sleeve, and Wei Wuxian bent to take it before him.

“We’ll go, but please put the food back in the basket.” He tossed the container into the air before catching it. “You don't have to bring it out in your sleeves.”

“I am not allowed to bring them anything.” Lan Wangji tried to take it away from him before Wei Wuxian slipped past him and walked to his bed. “Wei Ying.”

“Listen, it’s not you bringing them something. I’ll carry it myself,” he said and chucked the container inside the basket. “Come on. Didn't you say we were late?”

Lan Wangji did not look fully convinced of the idea, but he was too pressed for time to argue with him.

The prison compound was outside of the palace walls and had only a few dirty barracks for high-profile political prisoners.

On the way there, Wei Wuxian wanted to remind Lan Wangji of the time his uncle sent him to this prison for drinking alcohol right in front of the throne hall, and found himself talking alone. Lan Wangji trailed behind him.

At first, his bet was that he did not want to hear about that period of his life, and he could not be blamed for it. Still, the more he watched him, the more Lan Wangji was almost asleep on his feet.

“Are you sleeping well?” Wei Wuxian asked as he waited for him to catch up. “Did you get accustomed to the new curfew?”

One of his first jobs was as a drummer announcing the curfew in a small village. Every villager worked on the same schedule imposed by the court—up at five and down for rest at twenty-one. He loved sleeping in, especially as a child, so he hated most of it. But he liked calling himself part of the local militia and spending time with the older soldiers, so he endured the early mornings.

Since then, the curfew has changed from five to eight and from twenty-one to twenty-three.

“I don't follow it,” Lan Wangji said.

“Fair, fair. It’s a dumb change, anyway. Aren't they supposed to rise with the sun?” Wei Wuxian said. “They're literally only doing things at this point to delineate themselves from your practices.”

Wei Wuxian walked one step behind him after that, keeping him within his field of vision. He noticed a slight limp in his leg. Pangs of conscience pressed against his chest.

“General!”

Without meaning to, Wei Wuxian followed the trail of the voice and came face to face with Wen Ning. His mouth opened into a smile.

“You don't have to call me that. I’m not a general anymore,” he said and loped over to him. “But it’s nice seeing that at least one of us can wear a real uniform.”

Shifting awkwardly on his feet, Wen Ning rubbed the back of his head. “More like unfair, General. My sister told me what happened. I would trade positions with you if I could.”

“You’re too kind for your own good. What did I tell you? Be mighty, and others will die for you. You don't have to draw the short stick for others.”

“…General,” Wen Ning mumbled, eyes darting between him and Lan Wangji, who had rooted himself a little behind him. “That’s one of the Lan rules.”

“Is it? Eh, it seems like Lan Qiren’s spirit is possessing me now that I’m about to visit him,” Wei Wuxian said, stroking his chin. “Do you two know each other?”

Lan Wangji’s eyes hardened into an icy stare, and Wen Ning faltered under it, quickly averting his gaze.

“Right. Not great family relations.” Wei Wuxian clapped his hands together, cutting through the tension between them. “Can you take us to their prison cell?”

The prison compound was rife with security guards, and they had managed to go through the checkpoints quickly by virtue of Wen Ning being with them. The guards called him Vice Commander. Some of them eyed the basket in Wei Wuxian suspiciously, but did not confiscate it to check the contents inside.

“Vice Commander?” Wei Wuxian said as they walked toward the back of the detention facility. “You made it big.”

“All thanks to you, General,” Wen Ning said. “They have me carry a sword, but they test and assign the corps here based on how good they fight hand-to-hand. They want us to prioritize non-lethal restraint first.”

Because Wen Ning was too shy to train with weapons in front of many people, Wei Wuxian taught him how to engage in blows, and he was surprisingly good at it. Sure, it was not as honorable as wielding the sword, but it still got him somewhere in the hierarchy. Higher than where Wei Wuxian was.

“Non-lethal restraint,” Lan Wangji said. “So His Highness can torture the prisoners who try to escape.”

The words sounded so weird coming from Lan Wangji that Wei Wuxian believed he had misheard.

His Highness? Was he actually calling Wen Chao his fucking highness? He was far from being ready to live at the palace if he had to do that.

Instead of being brought to the isolated cells with windows the width of four fingers, Wei Wuxian found himself in front of a trapdoor. After Wen Ning unlocked and descended the stairs, Lan Wangji took the basket from his hand and followed. Initially, Wei Wuxian decided to wait up there and not intrude.

In the end, his morbid curiosity moved his legs down the stairs. The space was damp and lit up by wall torches, and a row of iron bars stretched from one side of the room to the other.

Behind the only cell, Lan Xichen and Lan Qiren looked nothing like themselves. Wei Wuxian had to squint in the weak light to make sure that these were the faces of the people he once knew. If he believed that Lan Wangji was pale and thin, their skin tone was gray, and their bodies skeletal.

Lan Qiren was unrecognizable. Unable to stand up, he leaned against the wall, alternating between coughing and wheezing, while Lan Wangji tried to convince him to eat something. Wei Wuxian focused so hard on the open sores on Lan Qiren’s leg that he missed Lan Xichen asking to speak to him in the corner of the cell.

“Master Wei,” Lan Xichen said with his usual mild tone. “We haven’t seen each other in a while. How have you been?”

The question gave him cold chills. If he had to talk about his life, he would also have to address the misery in which Lan Xichen lived currently. His demotion did not sound so tragic anymore.

“I just arrived at the palace,” Wei Wuxian said. “For a new post.”

Lan Xichen smiled at him, and Wei Wuxian could not bear a second glance at his gaunt face, matted hair, and rough burlap prisoner clothes.

“Wangji told me that you are his personal guard,” Lan Xichen said. “Is that true?”

“I am, but honestly, I only learned that he… that all of you are still alive less than an hour ago,” Wei Wuxian said, fidgeting with the ribbon falling from his hair. “Did he have security before?”

He had a lot of questions to ask him, especially about the people Lan Wangji had compared him to before, but Lan Xichen had already given him an elegant shrug.

“He’s never mentioned that to me before,” Lan Xichen said. “I don’t see him too much.”

The thin ribbon coiled around his finger, cutting it with each turn until it pressed a purplish color into his skin.

“Master Wei, I have something to ask of you, though I have nothing to offer in return.” Lan Xichen leaned in closer, his forehead touching the iron bars. “Please, take care of Wangji for me.”

Wei Wuxian pulled the ribbon tighter around his finger. “Well, that’s my job now.”

“I don’t mean only external threats,” Lan Xichen said, closing his eyes. “He will do things just to protect our uncle and me. I need you to stop him from doing that.”

The torch fire cast shifting and irregular shadows on Lan Wangji as he was feeding Lan Qiren some rice from a round container.

Wei Wuxian did not take his eyes off him when he spoke again, “Zewu-Jun, how do you know I am not loyal to Wen Ruohan and Wen Chao? Asking me this could get you in unnecessary trouble.”

“Perhaps, but I need you to understand that my uncle and I are aligned on this, and if someone can survive and live well, it should be him. I will take my chances with you,” Lan Xichen said and turned away from the iron bars. “Besides, you have already saved his life once when it would have served you better to look the other way.”

After the briefing with Nie Zonghui, Wei Wuxian found another familiar face running around the courtesans’ quarters, and because he was feeling strangely nostalgic that evening, he took Nie Huaisang to Jiang Cheng’s office.

Some seven years ago, the royal palace organized its annual study session with the children of the high-ranking civil and military officials. Wei Wuxian had not been invited, much to his pleasure, because his dead parents could not send letters to the court asking for an invitation.

Living at court, even temporarily, was low on his wishlist. Still, when the generals finished the paperwork for their children, they found the time to vouch for his admission, too. He could say he was one of the first people to resist the dumb rules of the Lan family before it was in fashion when he lived there for three months.

He stayed with the Jiang family for most of the study session, though he remembered nights like these more clearly. Just him, Jiang Cheng, and Nie Huaisang drinking smuggled liquor in a cramped storehouse.

The alcohol tasted better seven years ago when it was prohibited.

“You’re never going to believe who my courtesan is,” Wei Wuxian said, holding his head. “Wait, don’t guess yet. I need to think if I want something from you for getting it wrong.”

“I’m not playing these games with you,” Jiang Cheng said. “I don’t know any damn courtesans.”

Ever since he arrived, Wei Wuxian eyed the pieces of paper resting on the free cushion between them. They had names written on them, and he had an inkling that they were the lists of guards that would be under Jiang Cheng’s command soon.

"You’re still not going to believe me.” Wei Wuxian reached for the papers. “It’s Lan Wangji.”

Jiang Cheng looked at him flatly. “You’re nowhere near drunk enough to pull a joke like that.”

“But I’m not joking! Huaisang, tell him.”

“I mean, he is right, but…” Nie Huaisang shifted awkwardly on his cushion. “It’s not… Lan Wangji is not exactly…”

“What do you mean he is right?” Jiang Cheng spoke over him, his face distorting into something caught between disgust and confusion. “You’re both fucking with me.”

Reading the list, Wei Wuxian recognized enough familiar names to understand that Jiang Cheng had not been thrown entirely into a den of wolves packed with Wen loyalists. Some of the people were casualties of the demotion campaign and had worked with him before. He should really ask them out for a drink.

“It’s not like that… the courtesans today are not like they used to be,” Nie Huaisang said. “And he’s more atypical than the rest.”

Wei Wuxian raised his eyes from the papers. “Atypical, how?”

Nie Huaisang shook his head like he did not want to talk about it and poured himself another cup of liquor.

“I don’t know. I can’t tell,” he said. “I promised all of them that I won’t talk about their lives with strangers.”

Unlike him, Nie Huaisang always lived at court with the help of his brother, who was ordinarily stranded in a campaign somewhere far away.

When he came here to study, Nie Huaisang was already an expert on every crook and cranny of the palace, and led him to the safe ponds where they could fish or isolated rooms where they could eat above the restricted three bowls of food.

Nie Huaisang worked in the office of Court Entertainment and planned events with the courtesans, mostly for foreign emissaries who were never subjected to the strict rules against promiscuity during the Lan Dynasty. Other times, he was in charge of the usual events dealing with music and poetry, and the courtesans could take their usual roles as professionally trained music performers.

“Okay, let’s go.” Wei Wuxian patted Nie Huaisang on the back. “It’s getting late.”

“But I haven’t finished my glass!”

“Then take it with you,” Wei Wuxian said and yanked his collar to get him moving.

Outside, the guards rushed by them to the main gate to start the night ritual of exchanging passwords with the daytime guard before instituting curfew.

“So, how is he atypical?

Nie Huaisang groaned, spilling most of his liquor on the ground. “I really can’t talk about it.”

“Why not? Is it some state secret?” Wei Wuxian asked and waited until a group of soldiers was out of earshot before adding, “I’m his guard. Don’t you think I should know these things about him?”

“You can ask him yourself.”

“Or I can watch a cripple grow a second leg. A total waste of time.” Wei Wuxian seized Nie Huaisang’s arm and dragged him back, forcing him to stumble. “Just fucking tell me.”

After he scrunched his nose at the remaining few drops of liquor at the bottom of his glass, Nie Huaisang heaved a deep sigh.

“I don’t really know what you want me to tell you… He’s just more exclusive than the other courtesans. You must know about the change in the courtesan system, right?” he said. “But you can’t, like, get him whenever you want. You need a special approbation from you-know-who.”

“Wen Chao?” Wei Wuxian said, voice dropping with contempt.

As he shushed him, Nie Huaisang pulled him away from the main track of the courtyard under the low canopy of a weeping willow. “Don’t say his name so loudly.”

“Right, whatever.” Wei Wuxian snorted, waving him off. “So, what does that mean? He has the favor of the smooth-brain clunk?”

Nie Huaisang ran a hand over his face and blew a quiet yell into his hands.

“I wouldn’t call it favor,” he said, rubbing the side of his forehead. “I don’t know that much myself. Lan Wangji was not with us from the beginning. He came three years ago when he was… very requested. The clients ran him into the ground, and then he was bedridden for a while. And since he came back, he only meets with the crown prince and his friends.”

Wooden clappers cracked through the courtyard, calling out the palace for curfew. Wei Wuxian listened to the steady rhythm and let it tear through his thoughts. He could fill in the gaps for what wore Lan Wangji down to the point of sickness, but his mind did not want to contextualize it in that moment.

“Do you have any idea what made Wen Chao change his mind?” he asked instead. “About making him a courtesan?”

“I don’t know. Maybe his father going crazy? Nie Huaisang shrugged. “It did happen around the time the Emperor started thinking he could summon the dead.”

The clattering sound came closer, and they stepped out of the weeping willow, its trailing tendrils brushing their face. Wei Wuxian felt that cold touch until he entered his room at the courtesans’ quarters and fell asleep.

The reason Lan Wangji did not follow the official curfew was that he did not go anywhere.

Wei Wuxian’s first days with him oscillated between dreadful boredom and inhuman alertness. If he had to guard the door outside, he had to fight his sleepiness, and if he was inside, he was overwhelmed by Lan Wangji.

Nothing about his life made sense. His room was modest, and a stark contrast to the fine silk and brocade of his clothing and intricate jade pendants hanging from his waist, always in a number higher than three. He had no attendants and had to weave the expensive silver jewelry into his hair each morning himself.

And too often, he did all of it only to end up locked up in his room. Wei Wuxian believed that it was an unfair position to be in, similar to the pearls stuck at the bottom of the ocean. Pretty things should be admired.

Though Lan Wangji had to be grateful for the days he didn't have to meet patrons.

“Don’t you want to go out and do something?” Wei Wuxian asked, trying not to stare too hard at him. “We could walk in the gardens. Or go to the library. You liked the library.”

Lan Wangji donned another set of white robes with blue accents, and a thin blue gauze scarf looped loosely around his elbows. Sunlight filtered through the paper windows and illuminated his figure from behind, making him resemble a drifting cloud. A flowing cloud, maybe. The motif of his family.

Even with that vision in mind, and Lan Wangji wrapped in his usual colors, Wei Wuxian could not shake the feeling that the Lan Wangji in front of him was a different person. Clothes don’t make the man, but they sure got him gawking too much.

“I can’t go anywhere,” Lan Wangji said, watching the smoke curl up from the incense burner.

“Never?”

Lan Wangji shook his head softly. “I have to stay available.”

The sandalwood incense would have sent him into day-long headaches if it were his only source of entertainment. He looked to the empty shelves, searching for a board of elephant chess or a deck of paper cards, and found nothing. Even a calligraphy set would excite him at that moment. There wasn’t one.

“If you can’t go out, then what am I even here for? You look safe enough between these walls without actually needing me.” Wei Wuxian braced himself against the table, palms pressed into the hardwood. “Lan Zhan, you have to help me here. Why do you need a guard? Did something happen?”

Did you do something, he wanted to add when Lan Wangji edged back from the table, and away from his hands. Wei Wuxian curled his fingers and sat back up straight.

“Are you sure you are here to be a guard?” Lan Wangji asked, still staring at the incense burner diffusing thick smoke.

Wei Wuxian wanted to fucking smash it onto the ground. “What do you mean?”

“What were you told,” Lan Wangji said. “That you have to do?”

At his briefing with Nie Zonghui, all he learned was that he was supposed to be a doorkeeper rather than Lan Wangji’s security detail. He had to escort him to the Morning Glory Hall and back, and safeguard the doors when they were not together, and deliver him the ‘morning notice’ of what clothes he had to wear that day, ordered from the higher-ups. If available, he would also get the list of patrons who would arrive at the Morning Glory Hall for him.

His job was to push papers and guard doors.

Lan Wangji frowned deeper as Wei Wuxian talked, looking momentarily distant despite listening.

“That’s it?”

The ceramic censer was engraved with tightly coiled and swirling clouds drifting upwards to the lid. In all of Lan Wangji’s room, this was the most personal item, though it looked like a cheap piece and bore no semblance to his old life. Wei Wuxian dragged it in front of him.

“Yeah. Very exciting stuff.”

The strong scent of sandalwood burned his nose, and Lan Wangji’s silence burned his insides.

“Well?” he prodded. “You expected something else?”

“I believed you were from the Inner Watch,” Lan Wangji said, and after Wei Wuxian gave him a puzzled look, added, “When they come, they lie about who they are.”

The Inner Watch was Wen Chao’s secret investigative force with interrogation and arrest powers. He had heard about them before, and how they liked to use the palace’s torture room as their den.

“You still think I’m lying to you?”

When the reply refused to come, a dead sense of irony fogged up his thoughts, as if the clouds on the censer floated to his head themselves. He removed the censer lid and used a small rake on the ash bed.

“I came with you to meet your family,” he said, drawing the glowing charcoal beneath the ash. “I helped you get inside easier.”

“They do favors,” Lan Wangji replied easily. “So you open up.”

“But it’s me,” Wei Wuxian said, his voice coming out with a tight edge. “We’ve never been friends, but I wouldn’t lie to you. I called you a sanctimonious prig to your face when you were a prince. You think I would hide things from you now?”

With shaking hands, he set the small rake onto the long plate of the censer set, watching the way the painted clouds darkened from the charcoal.

“You wear their uniform.”

Wei Wuxian pinched the bridge of his nose, slowly massaging the skin there.

Years of being at the top of the hierarchy in the army dulled the memories when he was just like Lan Wangji was then: willfully deaf. He never listened, did his thing, and succeeded because he was good at fighting. His disobedience ended with a slap on the wrist when things turned better than anyone could have planned.

But with Lan Wangji, he could never win. Gaining the upper hand with someone cast from the same mould, but fired in different kilns, was unattainable.

“Right. Okay,” Wei Wuxian said eventually, then carried on in a smaller voice. “Can’t believe your brother trusts me more than you do.”

“My brother?” Lan Wangji asked, suddenly sounding tight with unease. “What did he tell you?”

Wei Wuxian would not tell him, because there was nothing to say. If Lan Wangji did not want to trust him, he could be just as petty and play the silence game.

Truthfully, he didn’t have to care about shit. He could do his short work hours in the courtesans’ quarters and then have all the drinks he wanted with the other guardsmen.

And he should take the door keeping task more seriously. Fresh air would always be better than being stuck in a small room with a stubborn, tight-lipped, beautiful know-it-all.

“More than you ever did, that’s for sure,” he mumbled. “You know what? I wish I were from the Inner Watch. Then I could fucking leave this place and the fucker next door who snores like a grunting pig.”

He pressed his fingers on the round perforations on the incense burner, his fingers growing hot under the emanating heat.

“Are you sure you are not hearing yourself?”

“Excuse me?” he said, irritated that this was what Lan Wangji wanted to talk about. “How would you know? We never slept together.”

Wei Wuxian looked up at him and was met with a flat, cold stare.

“In the same room! I’m not… poking fun at… Never mind,” he said and cleared his voice. “Where did you hear me snore?”

“The bushes,” Lan Wangji said, and gently took the censer from him, noting the deep indents on his fingers. “I found you snoring.”

Bushes, Wei Wuxian repeated to himself, and something clicked in his brain.

After a week of palace vegetarian fare, Nie Huaisang and he slipped out of the palace and stole a chicken from the nearest village. They planned to cook it in the student’s makeshift kitchen. The serving portions were just too small and bland for most of them, but killing animals on palace grounds was forbidden, and they didn't get too far before they were discovered.

After dropping the chicken, the three of them scattered in different directions with the guards in pursuit. That chicken turned out to be a fast runner. He vaguely remembered Lan Wangji finding him in some bushes after he fell asleep from laughing at the sight of the white-uniformed figures chasing and cursing a chicken for the first time in their lives.

“Ah… the days I could sleep anywhere. I almost got buried alive once because of it.”

“How?”

Wei Wuxian narrowed his eyes, studying him for a moment. A question? A friendly question, right after he found the flimsiest resolve to stop trying to win him over? He would not fall into that trap.

“I’m not telling you,” he said, examining the deep marks on his fingertips perfunctorily. “Unless I take a walk around the courtyard. Don’t give me that look! It’s just a few steps away.”

He didn’t expect it to work, but when Lan Wangji lowered the brass snuffer lid onto the incense burner, Wei Wuxian was taken aback.

Timing made or broke a battle, so he didn’t waste a second asking anything that could make Lan Wangji change his mind.

The story wasn’t all that interesting. Once, after straying from the others, he was too battered to go inside the camp and take a rest and decided to lie down just outside the fence for a few minutes.

His armor sweated out blood, much of it not his own, but the soldiers who found him, after already celebrating the victory for too long to be clear-headed, assumed he was dead. Wei Wuxian did not hear them. He only woke when the first shovelfuls of damp earth struck his face.

“It started a whole conversation of never digging graves so close to camp,” Wei Wuxian said, squinting from the sun. “But it wasn’t all that bad. Sometimes, I still press my fingers to my eyes to remember the feeling. Makes death feel so much more manageable.”

The courtyard was almost empty, save for the few guards posted at the entrance, side gate, and in front of the Morning Glory Hall. It was partially why he didn’t understand why Lan Wangji didn’t want to go out; people didn’t come there for the scenery, they came to spend their time inside with the courtesans.

Even so, he sensed how stiff Lan Wangji was at his side. His guard was up, and his eyes tracked the watchful faces of the guards at every turn.

Still, no one ever told him that he wasn’t allowed to let Lan Wangji go anywhere. Any greater distance would potentially be a problem, but if no one wanted to spell it out, Wei Wuxian was sure as fuck not going to make up rules himself.

“Were you afraid of death?” Lan Wangji asked as they stopped under the shade of a magnolia tree lumped between two buildings.

“Nah. Did I want to die?” Wei Wuxian leaned his back against the tree bark. “No. But I wasn’t afraid of it.”

His only wish would have been to go out in a battle, so people would at least be forced to remember him on military memorial days. He had no family to keep his memory alive, and even though he loved his family of soldiers, he knew he would always be at the bottom of their priorities, which was fine. They had their own blood families to worry about.

“Why?” Wei Wuxian asked. “You think of death often?”

He did not like the distant look on Lan Wangji’s face as he chewed over the question. In some ways, Wei Wuxian thought he could be too defeatist, like that one time they spoke about marriage and Lan Wangji told him he would rather not try finding someone at all. But over his own life? He hoped not, even though his life turned to shit.

“It might seem preferable at times,” Lan Wangji said. “But I had seen enough family members hanging over the city walls. I will pass.”

Air went the wrong way in Wei Wuxian’s throat, choking on nothing.

“What the—you really pick your times to be so straightforward,” he said. “But hey, you saved me from having to ask you about it. I thought you tried to harm yourself, so you needed a guard because of it.”

The last magnolia blossoms scattered from the tree and caught in Lan Wangji’s hair, as if he had pearls stuck to his hair. Little moons.

Lan Wangji had not shown his face much as the Second Prince, so the common folk, brimming with inspiration after the Lan Dynasty made arts a priority, devised increasingly ridiculous ways to fill in the gaps of his appearance. Carved from the moonlight reflected on calm water, a popular tale said. Perhaps he was too narrow-minded to understand it then, but now, he began to understand where they came from.

Wei Wuxian’s eyes dipped to the ground, playing around with some pebbles with the tip of his shoe as he tried to focus on his next words. “Did you pick to come here yourself? I assume you were imprisoned like your brother and uncle before.”

It had gnawed at him whether or not Lan Wangji was forced into courtesanship. He did have what it took. He was beautiful, gifted in both literature and song, and was the kind the upper world would have loved to own to affirm their status in society. But the rules of his family had been drilled into his head from a young age: to perish from hunger is minor, but to give into promiscuity is of great consequence. Lan Wangji would give up on the teachings of his family for a slightly better life when this place looked much like another prison.

“It was my choice,” Lan Wangji said, but he could not meet Wei Wuxian’s gaze. “I can help them best from here.”

It was like a stone was lifted from Wei Wuxian’s heart, yet the pressure did not give space to relief, because Lan Xichen had already suggested this possibility. In his ignorance of the situation, he couldn’t tell if Lan Wangji was doing a noble thing or going too far yet.

Wei Wuxian had not met any of Lan Wangji’s clients until that afternoon.

He had gotten busy with other things. Life in the courtesans’ quarters turned out to be more uneventful than he anticipated, leaving him with enough idle time to assist Jiang Cheng with a few things.

Mornings and evenings opened up once he traded shifts with the other guards after his success in getting Lan Wangji outside more often. Whenever a patrolling guard had to slip away for a few hours—to join an elephant chess tournament among the Imperial Guards, meet a lover in the palace kitchens, or catch up on sleep—Wei Wuxian would take their place informally.

It was a win-win for him because he could spend time with Lan Wangji under the magnolia tree as he watched the courtyard and trapped the missing guards under his thumb.

Day or night, no shift was off-limits. His official schedule was shaped entirely around Lan Wangji’s daily movements and could be highly adaptable to anyone’s needs, but he did not like leaving Lan Wangji alone in his room, if possible. The thought of him stuck inside with nothing but an incense burner had his skin crawling. If he had a say in things, this place would not be a second prison.

But there was a place where he did not like to follow him, like the Morning Glory Hall.

He was not allowed to accompany him inside and keep watch over unruly or drunken patrons, largely because Lan Wangji’s high-end status meant that his clients were already heavily vetted and not to be bothered under any circumstances.

That was the case before he grew familiar with the rest of his colleagues. Now, no one tried to stop him from crossing the threshold.

The doors opened up onto a long corridor that branched into three inner rooms on each side. Incense and pipe smoke drifted from the last room on the right as if from a stove. Wei Wuxian brought his hand to his nose, stifling a choke before it would alert anyone.

Peering inside an empty room, he found a layout similar to Lan Wangji's chamber, but with more luxurious and costly furnishings. To the left stood a low, carved table, surrounded by layered cushions and an elegant daybed. Opposite it, a raised platform served as a stage, fitted with instrument stands holding pear-shaped lutes, zithers, two-string bowed fiddles, and more. The most striking additions were the skillfully crafted hanging scrolls and seasonal flower arrangements, and, beyond them, the bed.

A fully enclosed bed was built into the wall, flanked on all sides by polished panels, except for a narrow opening leading to a raised platform layered with comfortable-looking bedding. The room had no windows, the only light coming from the candles in the corridor, and the box-like structure of the bed made the space feel even more oppressive.

The whole place turned his stomach. All the other empty rooms looked just about the same.

He was drawn by the soft notes of the guqin and flute played from the end of the corridor. It brought him back to the music lessons at court.

It should have satisfied his curiosity, and his next step should have been toward the exit. But would it be so bad if he nosed around for a little longer? He would keep his presence low.

Unless it was challenging for him to ignore what happened behind the slightly cracked door. If it weren’t for the music signaling that the entertainment was still purely artistic, he would’ve turned around.

Two women played on the raised platform, away from the wandering hands of the patrons who bore an unsettling resemblance to people Wei Wuxian knew.

His attention was stolen by Lan Wangji sitting between the two men and refilling their cups with wine. One of the men had noticeably thin lips, and the other’s sleeves were smudged with ink.

Wei Wuxian tried not to focus too much on their hands on Lan Wangji. Especially the way Ink-Cuff Man held his waist and tugged at his clothes, trying to coax Lan Wangji to sit on his lap. His foot tapped against the ground, the sound lost under the sweet notes of the flute.

Thin-Lipped Man sucked on his pipe unobstructed, playing absently with a lock of Lan Wangji's hair as he watched the women play. Lan Wangji spilled some of the wine on the table from the constant pulling at his waist and from his too-large sleeves.

The man smiled around his pipe at the red droplets on the table in a way that made Wei Wuxian nauseous. He knew these men from somewhere, but he could not place them.

The Thin-Lipped Man held his pipe between his lips and gave his wine to Lan Wangji, holding his hand under his chin and making him drink.

Wei Wuxian stilled, his ears ringing.

The dirty bastard was the scribe who used to follow Lan Xichen around, always recording his words, and the disproportionate crap face was one of the court’s instructors, who gave lectures to the visiting pupils.

The music thinned to crackling hiss as he screwed up his eyes, trying to make sure that he was right. He wished to be mistaken, turn around, and forget about it. When the faces only got clearer in his head and the touching more stomach-turning, with the Scribe successfully getting Lan Wangji on his lap while the other shit blew smoke on his face, he wrenched the door open.

Together, the guqin’s strings and the flute shrilled off-key. Heads snapped up at his sudden intrusion, but it wasn't enough to get the dumbfuck to let go of Lan Wangji.

“Come with me,” he said simply, and clasped his hands behind his back to keep himself from impulsively hauling Lan Wangji up. “We’re needed somewhere else.”

Lan Wangji was too stunned to react just yet. The Instructor dragged from his pipe anew and exhaled a plume upwards at him. “Who are you to take him away?”

“I only answer to the Emperor,” Wei Wuxian said, fighting the urge to shove his pipe down his throat if he spilled any more smoke from his mouth.

Giving the ink-stained cuffs another look, he drew in an exasperated breath of air. “Is my diction not clear enough? Let go of him.”

As if to provoke him, the Scribe tightened his hold just as Lan Wangji tried to get away from him.

“Are you crazy? I didn't spend all that time saving up for you to cut my fun time short.”

Wei Wuxian let out a dry huff, then clicked his tongue, taking a short step toward him.

“Have you ever heard this saying? Floating clouds know to yield before thunder. Those who do not are torn apart in the open sky.”

Naturally, Lan Wangji was the first to grasp the adage directed at those who failed to abide by the palace rules. It was mostly used against his own family, though not exclusively so. “Wei Ying.”

“I’m not sure I remember it correctly, though. I used to get a lot of beatings for my poor memory from the court instructors,” Wei Wuxian continued, looking over to the Instructor. “Maybe your friend here can tell you more about it. He was well-versed in palace rules and in the consequences that befell those who failed to heed the Emperor.”

The Instructor’s facial expression crumbled as recognition set in, the color in his face turning sickly yellow. His lips fell open, and his pipe dropped into his lap.

Wei Wuxian gave him the sweetest smile he could muster and turned back to the Scribe with a neutral look on his face. “Stop wasting my time.”

“Just let them go,” the Instructor said with a small voice, and in the Scribe’s momentarily confused state, Wei Wuxian helped Lan Wangji up and away from him.

Holding his wrist, he did not let go of him until they picked out of the Morning Glory Hall through the back door and into the overcast day.

“Wei Ying.” Lan Wangji stopped and eased his arm from his fingers. “Who is looking for me?”

“No one,” Wei Wuxian said. “I just needed to get you out of there.”

Lan Wangji’s shoulders slumped forward, the rigid line of tension finally loosening as he closed his eyes for a short second in relief. A twinge of guilt sank in Wei Wuxian’s stomach like a stone, knowing that what he had seen inside had been tamer than what other patrons were capable of.

Cocking his head slightly, Lan Wangji’s eyes tightened at the corners. “Why?”

“I don’t know,” Wei Wuxian said, scratching the base of his throat. “I’m, well, not really sorry. I just couldn’t stand seeing you with them.”

“It is how pleasure houses are now,” Lan Wangji said, then added quietly. “As good as they get.”

During his tenure as a junior officer, he supervised the conversion of brothels into schools and pleasure-houses into centers designed to train the future courtesans for elite cultural life in poetry and prose, music and vocal performance. And with the rise of the Wen Dynasty, he witnessed the same centers revert to brothels as a county magistrate. Artistry was secondary, if even an option anymore.

It was one of the ways the Wen family amassed the support of the common folk who never digested the cultural reforms of the Lan Dynasty. They wanted something quick and cheap to fuck, not to listen to complicated poems and elegant songs. They wanted to sell their children to brothels for easy profit, not wait years for their training into cultural elites.

“I’ve been to brothels myself. I know it could be worse. It’s just…” Wei Wuxian took a deep breath. “That fucker preached to us about proprietary and good moral standing. I still have scars from his punishments for not remembering some stupid fucking adages for his class. And now he tries to get with you?” he said. “He saw you growing up just like that bastard who used to follow your brother like a brainless puppet, and now, what? They try to f—to sleep with you? What was I supposed to do?”

In his rant, he noticed too late that each of his words added another layer of shame onto Lan Wangji, whose head sank lower. He cursed himself internally and ran a hand over his face, composing himself and actually thinking before speaking again.

“I won’t do this again. It’s not my place to tell you how to help your family,” Wei Wuxian said. “And I promise nothing bad will happen because of what happened today. They won’t say anything, and if they do, I’ll find them first. Okay?”

“You should quit this,” Lan Wangji said.

“I already told you I won’t do it again.”

“Quit this position,” he clarified, head still lowered. ”Is there no one able to help you with a more honorable post, as they did to your friends?”

Wei Wuxian frowned. “I don’t think there is anything dishonorable about this.”

He very much doubted that anyone like Jiang Fengmian, Nie Mingjue, or anyone else he knew would stick their necks out for him when they had their own children, siblings, and families to consider.

“Wei Ying.”

“What? Courtesans raised me. You know that.”

“There are no courtesans anymore,” Lan Wangji said, shaking his head faintly. “Not like before.”

“I really don’t care about how hard they try to turn this profession into prostitution. I won’t change my mind.” Wei Wuxian shrugged and looked up at the overcast sky breaking open to gaps of blue.

He wanted to make the clouds disappear for Lan Wangji, too.

“Lan Zhan, I never cared about you being a prince. I wouldn't care even if you were a beggar on the streets. Whatever you have to do for yourself and your family isn’t any of my business.”

Wei Wuxian wanted to move closer or ask Lan Wangji to look up at him, but he always looked like he stood on pins and needles, and decided it was better to stay put.

“You can go back inside if you want. I’ll take the blame.”

A guard cornered the Morning Glory Hall with his hand resting on top of the hilt of his sword. It was a face that Wei Wuxian was not yet familiar with. He planted himself at Lan Wangji’s side.

“Everything all right?” he asked, throwing Lan Wangji a cold look. “Why is he outside?”

“He was not feeling well, so I took him outside for some fresh air,” Wei Wuxian said, forcing himself to sound as pleasant as possible. “Might need to go and see a physician.”

He was not going to force Lan Wangji to bid to his will if he did not want to, though he wished he would leave with him. The man asked if he was feeling unwell, and to Wei Wuxian’s absolute delight, Lan Wangji nodded slowly.

The man gave them a curt nod, trudging away with the energy of a man who had just woken up and did not want to deal with anyone.

Wei Wuxian could not stop himself from bumping his shoulder with Lan Wangji’s. “Honestly, I’m really happy you sided with me this time. There was something I wanted to show you.”

Before arriving at the Morning Glory Hall that day, Wei Wuxian was in a good mood from securing a leisurely walk through the imperial gardens for the two of them. He did not want to tell Lan Wangji where they were going at first, but the more they walked, Lan Wangji’s pace gradually slowed, lagging further behind until they came to a stop rather far from the moon gate overgrown with decorative stone and dense green foliage.

“Are we permitted to enter?” Lan Wangji asked, eyeing the guards posted at the gate.

“Has permission ever stopped me?” Wei Wuxian said, and clicked his tongue playfully when Lan Wangji gave him an unimpressed look. “Of course we are allowed in! I wouldn't get you in trouble. Just trust me.”

This time around, Wei Wuxian matched Lan Wangji’s speed and refused to let him walk out of line, even when he wanted to fall behind as they approached the guards. The two guards beside the moon gate half-bowed and let them pass, and Wei Wuxian directed a knowing smile in their direction. He tried not to look too full of himself when Lan Wangji frowned at him.

“Do you know them?”

“Maybe,” Wei Wuxian said, treading the flagstone path edged with moss. “Can you keep a secret?”

The gardens opened in winding stone paths and shallow streams, the water under the arched bridges whispering over pebble beds. They were no longer kept with the same care as when Lan Wangji's family tended them, but the maple and cypress trees thrust skyward just as they always did.

From the ponds came the steady reverberation of frogs and insects, which reminded him of the quiet nights at the palace when he had to sleep in a pavilion, having missed the curfew’s call.

“I’m helping Jiang Cheng to vet the guards under his command,” Wei Wuxian said, and leaned closer to Lan Wangji. “Those he can trust, those he cannot. And so in exchange for my great gift of gab, I can decide who guards the secret gardens from time to time.”

He did not tell him about the other part of the deal that said that he had to train these men in secret for Jiang Cheng’s secret squad.

It did not feel like work for him when all he had to do was grill them over drinks until he wore them down to a point where they proudly cursed Wen Chao out. And training them at night gave him the opportunity to hold a sword again.

“You like the gardens this much?” Lan Wangji asked, eyeing him suspiciously. “Was alcohol not something you could pick?”

Wei Wuxian hummed, tapping his chin.

“It’s not as interesting as when you were the Second Prince. Everyone’s drinking on palace grounds today,” he said. “Besides, I like that there’s more color in your face now. I wouldn't mind finding more places to take you if it means you’ll be in the sun more often.”

When he arrived, Lan Wangji was a shade of sickly white, and now, a healthy note of rosy color returned to his face, all thanks to their strolls around the courtyard. If he looked harder, Wei Wuxian would've seen that Lan Wangji's ears were a flushing mess of red.

“Wei Ying, you don't have to do anything,” Lan Wangji said quietly, stepping down on the rocky steps leading to the pond area. “Not for me.”

“Yes, I do,” Wei Wuxian said. “I love our magnolia tree, but I’d like to look at lotus flowers sometimes, too.”

Open-sided pavilions headed the ponds, where lotus or water-lily blooms drifted on the surface of the water. Stepping stones dotted the carp pools, present for the visitors who wanted to watch the fish up close.

There would be enough time to explore all the pavilions. For now, Wei Wuxian gently led Lan Wangji to one of the lotus ponds, where a drawstring pouch waited on the tea table in the middle of the pavilion.

Wei Wuxian quickly dropped down on the drum-shaped stone stool, sighing contentedly.

The air was dense and humid, and the half-opened lotus blooms could not overtake the smell of water slime and damp rock, but any putrid place was better than the smoke in the Morning Glory Hall.

“Is that yours?” Lan Wangji asked, pointing at the pouch on the table from outside the pavilion.

If he was worried that someone tried to frame him up with the contents inside, Wei Wuxian did not know. Wen Chao’s Inner Watch enjoyed setting up traps before pouncing; that much he drew forth from his conversations with the guards.

“It was brought for me, sure. But it’s not really mine,” Wei Wuxian said, and invited Lan Wangji to sit opposite him. “I did tell you I wanted to show you something.”

“You showed me the gardens,” Lan Wangji said, tucking his sleeves neatly over his lap as he took a seat.

“You’ve seen these gardens so many times before, though.” Wei Wuxian loosened the strings of the pouch and prised out an unassuming booklet. “I got you something else.”

It was a blank qinpu. The folios were bound with red thread and held between thin off-white covers, waiting to be filled with tablature.

The score books Lan Wangji used to own before were prettier than this one, with silk pages instead of paper, fine brocade for covers, and beautiful inscriptions on the first page.

“It’s blank, so you can compose again,” Wei Wuxian said, swinging the drawstrings in a circle. “You liked doing that. And you really need to fill those shelves in your room… watching that incense burner has to get boring at some point.”

Lan Wangji flipped through the vertically lined paper with the same distant look Wei Wuxian had seen before, like he could not quite believe he could hold a qinpu again.

“But I can’t play the guqin anymore.”

When he noticed that the other courtesans had kept instrument stands in their rooms and practiced throughout the day, Wei Wuxian asked Nie Huaisang why Lan Wangji’s room had to be so bare.

The answer was an expected “he’s just not allowed to play” and “I don’t know why”. Wei Wuxian dropped the matter without digging deeper. He could live with his guess that Wen Chao pulled rules out of his ass, all because he enjoyed being a bitch.

“Doesn’t matter. You were so good at it, you’d probably be able to compose something even if you were deaf,” Wei Wuxian said. “And you’re not, so you can still try.”

Softly, he closed the blank tablature, as though it might come apart under his touch, and laid it on top of the drawstring pouch. “Why do you do this?”

“Can’t I do something just because I’m nice?”

“You never did before,” Lan Wangji said. “You always wanted something.”

“That’s not all the way true! What did I get for teaching you love songs?” Wei Wuxian asked, and packed the qinpu back into the pouch, then pushed it toward him. “Just take it as my way of repaying you for all the guqin tablature I ruined.”

It was true that, at first, Wei Wuxian tried to get closer to him just because he thought that their similar age might help persuade Lan Wangji to speak to the Emperor on his behalf and secure his post as the next Grand Marshal. It was a short-lived tactic. Lan Wangji was too hard to get along with, and he gave up on trying to befriend him.

But in the rare times they were together, Wei Wuxian didn't necessarily mind his company.

During music lectures at court, when the other students bleated away with their instruments in a separate classroom, Wei Wuxian was allowed to be alone with Lan Wangji in perfect tranquility, free to try his hand at writing his own music scores. He had no interest in that, but he did like to distract Lan Wangji from his own work.

He would grab Lan Wangji’s tablature books and scrawl the margins with the verses he learned from the courtesans, and have him follow the verses himself as he played the songs with his flute.

Never did he understand how he got away with so much without Lan Wangji telling on him. Perhaps he liked the songs, though he never admitted it out loud.

“Do you only know love songs?” Lan Wangji asked him, still studying the words of the song Wei Wuxian just played.

“I did learn everything from the courtesan who raised me, and people love a good yearning song.” Wei Wuxian shrugged and tapped his temple with his bamboo flute, giving Lan Wangji a disarming smile. “Not elegant enough for the Second Prince?”

It earned him nothing more than an icy glare from Lan Wangji, which was about all he had hoped for to begin with. Lan Wangji was too hard to crack even for his own challenge-lover self.

“Well, I still really like them. There’s one particular poem I would like rendered into music for my wedding,” Wei Wuxian said. “Do you wanna know why I want to get married?”

“No.”

“I want someone very, very pretty to look at every day,” Wei Wuxian said, clamping his hand under his chin. “The type of face you could never get tired of.”

Picking up his calligraphy brush again, Lan Wangji resumed writing on his tablature. “You are frivolous.”

“You would understand if you had to see moaning lumps that used to be people on the battlefield since you were little,” Wei Wuxian said, holding him in an unblinking stare while Lan Wangji continued to ignore him. “What do you look for in a person, then? Just don’t tell me something so noble that it will make my head explode.”

Lan Wangji’s hand on the brush halted for a short moment, then circled back to its notation. “I do not want to get married.”

“That’s so boring,” Wei Wuxian groaned and ran a hand over his face. “You’re the Second Prince! You can have anyone, and you still gave me the most boring answer.”

“I had to cancel out your frivolousness,” Lan Wangji said, dipping his brush into ink.

“A boring man and a frivolous man in the same room.” Wei Wuxian shook his head, tutting a little. “Terrible match. This room might explode for real.”

Back then, he had often wondered how Lan Wangji looked out of the white mourning clothes and without his headband, imagining him instead in flowing garments and ribbons like the ones of the flying apsaras and with heavy jewelry. Never had he expected that years later, he would get to see some of his outlandish visions come to life in the most royally fucked circumstances.

“Lan Zhan,” Wei Wuxian said, watching the plops of carps rippling the surface of the pond. “About today… Do you meet people you used to know in the Morning Glory Hall a lot?”

Lan Wangji traced the shape of the qinpu absentmindedly, making Wei Wuxian believe that he had not heard him.

“Less than when I first started,” Lan Wangji said, his jaw clenching before he opened his lips again. “It was… like a test of loyalty to the crown. If someone still wanted to serve at court, they would have to see me first.”

Wei Wuxian’s fist crumpled the fabric of his robe above his knee, a lonely cricket filling the silence between them as he swallowed around the tightness in his throat. He had never worked at court, but after the rebellion, shortly after he was unofficially drummed out of the military, he had been offered a conditional position there.

In the end, he chose an administrative post elsewhere. But had he accepted to stay at court, would that condition entail sleeping with Lan Wangji? Or doing something else? He did not have the guts to ask what seeing him first meant.

“Was this when you fell sick?” Wei Wuxian asked.

“Yes.” Lan Wangji cocked his head to the side. “You heard about it?”

Although he had a sneaking suspicion that it was sleeping with patrons that made him fall sick when Nie Huaisang first told him about it, Wei Wuxian wanted to believe it was just his imagination running wild yet again.

“I asked around,” he said, shifting uncomfortably on the stone stool. “Does it bother you that I know?”

Lan Wangji didn't answer.

For someone who had a lot of questions about Lan Wangji and his years after the rebellion, Wei Wuxian sure hated hearing the answers, perhaps as much as Lan Wangji hated opening up about that time.

The Morning Glory Hall was closed. All the furniture in the largest room was pushed to the wall, and the Head Seamstress and her apprentices swarmed around the room with rolls of silk and gauze flapping behind them.

Early that morning, Wei Wuxian knocked on Nie Huaisang’s door before breakfast to tell him that he needed Lan Wangji's client log from the last few months.

“I know you have them somewhere,” he said, leaning against the doorframe. “Oh, and I’ll come pick up his daily patron list personally from now on. Your assistants are too lazy with it.”

The lists were made at least a week in advance. Although he was supposed to get that list every morning with the morning notice, he had never had the chance to hold the paper in question. Nie Huaisang's hired hands didn't bother to find him at all.

“But his list is very inconsistent,” Nie Huaisang said, rubbing off the sleep from his eyes. “It can change on the spot if a high-ranking officer asks for him, or if a foreign official is on a visit… I can’t give you an ever-changing list.”

“If they need to change anything, they can run it by me first. I don't mind,” Wei Wuxian said, ignoring the tightness in Nie Huaisang's face. “He barely sees anyone outside of that fucking crowned sleaze. Why does it matter if your assistants have to make multiple runs a few times a week?”

“Can’t you just take no for an answer?” Nie Huaisang asked as he reentered his chambers, planting himself in front of the mirror and reaching for a wooden comb.

Wei Wuxian followed him inside and searched the space for storage cabinets. Even if he did not get the list, he hadn't heard any objections to taking the client log with him.

“No,” Wei Wuxian said and took a ledger with Lan Wangji's name from the shelf. Nie Huaisang was so organized. He had everything in alphabetical order. “I’ll give it back to you soon. Now, where’s today’s list?”

Nie Huaisang combed his hair and looked at him through the mirror. “There isn’t one. We have wardrobe control today.”

Wardrobe control didn't seem that bad in the first hours. The courtesans tried on new robes and sent their older ones off for mending.

Most of the garments were plain. Solid colors, sparse embroidery along the torso and sleeve cuffs, and made from coarser fabric.

Meanwhile, Lan Wangji's designs embodied layered silk and ribbon, with billowing sleeves and delicate frills along the edges, and long scarves flowing down his back.

The plain clothing made sense if they were tailored after Wen Chao’s tasteless judgment, who, as a skirt-chaser, preferred to see the clothes fall to the ground sooner rather than later.

When a group of guards rushed into the chamber and tore down a screen divider to make room for a throne-like chair engraved with a two-headed phoenix fenced in by a wreath of fire, Wei Wuxian seriously considered escaping through the window.

The people in the room fell to their knees before Wen Chao as he passed into the room. If it weren't for Lan Wangji pulling him down, he would've taken the risk of ignoring the courtly etiquette of greeting the crown prince. He was never fond of the kowtows, kneeling, and bows required by the court system.

It was part of the reason why the civil examinations and cushy court job left him cold. He would rather be seen as a low roughneck in the army than have to pay respects like this.

But he had to consider Lan Wangji in his actions. For a long time, he was ready to act out against the officialdom, spurred on by his lack of blood kinship. However, he did not want to cause Lan Wangji any problems, so he swallowed down his contempt and knelt with his head hung low.

Fortunately, Wen Chao remained silent for most of the ordeal, and Wei Wuxian could ignore him altogether.

But if Wen Chao was really interested in the design of the clothes, no wonder his guard uniform prioritized appearance over protection.

Most of the courtesans trickled out of the room with their mended and new clothes, leaving only a handful of people inside. Wei Wuxian's face only fell slightly when he realized that Lan Wangji was the last one to go through the Head Seamstress’s hands.

Of course, he was willing to give Wen Chao the benefit of the doubt, even with his figure perking up when Lan Wangji emerged with a new robe from behind a screen divider. Gauzy silk in a sky blue color, wide sleeves draping down in weightless panels, and silver embroidery glinting along the shoulders, while a pale white sash cinched his waist. If it weren't for the voluminous sleeves, Wei Wuxian could say it was the type of garment he would have worn when he was a Second Prince.

It was pretty. He was pretty. The seamstress hardly had a difficult time making Lan Wangji look good.

“Hideous. This is what you make of the fine material I provide?” Wen Chao said, drumming his fingers on the armrest of his chair. “Do you take this empire's resources for a joke? Fix it.”

The more they swarmed around Lan Wangji, fastening sashes in varying hues, draping frilled cloaks over his shoulders, or layering additional silk to heighten the sense of extravagance, the more Wen Chao lost his patience.

“Trash the whole thing.” Wen Chao waved his hand before springing to his feet. “I’ll give you a visual demonstration of what I want you to do. Mess up the silk again, and I’ll have you clubbed to death in front of the whole court.”

Wei Wuxian tried his best to look straight ahead and get a grip on the restlessness in his body. Nie Huaisang repeatedly elbowed him in a quiet warning to stop wriggling his foot, but what fully immobilized him was the harsh sound of fabric tearing apart.

Wen Chao ripped a line between Lan Wangji's shoulder blades, dragging the silk apart down to his waist. His hair snagged in the forceful pull, and Wei Wuxian pinned Lan Wangji's clenched jaw on the pain he must’ve felt in his scalp.

Struck dumb, Wei Wuxian watched as Wen Chao all but stripped the upper layers from Lan Wangji's body, wrenching his arms free of the sleeves and leaving his chest bare.

“Give me that.” Wen Chao ordered a sewing apprentice.

She trembled like a snared animal as she handed him a strip of material, which he wound tightly around Lan Wangji's torso.

What the fuck? Wei Wuxian caught himself murmuring, blinking over dry eyes once the stark outline of Lan Wangji's ribs was no longer in sight. He no longer felt Nie Huaisang's blows to his side.

“Stop being so prudish about the clothes,” Wen Chao said, fixing an outer robe over Lan Wangji's shoulders, tugging at it until his collarbones stuck out. “This isn't a monk monastery anymore. Slut him up.”

“Yes, Your Highness,” the Head Seamstress said, head bowed. “It will be ready—”

“I wasn't finished,” Wen Chao said and drew his dagger from its sheath at his belt.

In a mirrored manner, Wei Wuxian’s hand flew instinctively to his own dagger, but Nie Huaisang’s was already there, stopping him without hesitation.

“Wait, wait… I heard about what happened with you and the middle rank officials… but this is… he won’t hurt him.”

Wen Chao sliced a long path through Lan Wangji's lower robes, from his thigh down to the bottom hem.

The hold on his wrist tightened as his hand continued to close around the dagger’s handle. His eyes waited and waited for blood to seep from Lan Wangji's leg. It never came, yet the tremble in his fingers persisted.

“From today onward, all of his robes will have a leg slit,” Wen Chao said. “Having to go through all of these layers to get to him is such a mood killer."

Quite a few ideas of killing the mood crossed Wei Wuxian’s head. One of them was a demonstration of a nice castration ritual. The other one was simpler; just a well-aimed shot at Wen Chao’s throat.

Wei Wuxian pushed Nie Huaisang away from him and freed his dagger, tossing the blade on the ground with a loud clank.

“This is the second time I’m getting interrupted.” Wen Chao let out an exasperated sigh. “I did hear funerary bells from the temple on my way back. Why are you insistent on bringing them to the palace—ah.”

Plastering a misleading grin on his face, Wei Wuxian faked a bow to Wen Chao as he bent to pick up his dagger.

“I apologize, Your Highness. I’m still getting used to this apple knife I was issued with,” he said. “But it does make me feel better that someone of your caliber also uses one.”

A twitch pulled at the corner of Wen Chao's eyes. It was not the first time Wei Wuxian had commented on his weapon of choice, not that he was ever good at fighting.

Against all his wishes, old and present, Wei Wuxian had to spend time with this gangbanger when his father sent him on a campaign to curb some of his sex pest tendencies. Naturally, instead of marching to battle, he was cooped up inside with the assigned courtesans all day and night long.

Back then, he had the satisfaction of being his superior, and now, he was reduced to walking a thin rope in front of him.

“It’s only a matter of time before you will get promoted, of course.” Wen Chao walked toward him. “There’s a new sun in the sky. Once I’m satisfied with your loyalty to the crown, you'll get back your sword.”

Wei Wuxian stole a glance at Lan Wangji. He’d sooner forswear the sword than submit to Wen Chao’s loyalty test.

“Wei Ying, had I known your arrival at the palace would be so prompt, I would have greeted you better,” Wen Chao said. “Have you received your red coral beads?”

A string of red coral beads could ward off the ill fortune of bloodshed. If he actually gave a fuck about these superstitions, it would be a thoughtful gift for a soldier. For him, not so much. Perhaps he could use them to strangle this pimpledick, no bloodshed needed.

“It would be highly inappropriate to accept any gift from Your Highness.” Wei Wuxian lowered his head, thankful to get his eyes off that greasy hair. “There is no need.”

With his chin still tucked to his chest, Wei Wuxian forced his eyes to stay level instead of rolling them to the back of his head. Wen Chao hummed approvingly at the sudden show of deference.

Buying his fake act or not, Wei Wuxian did not care as long as he was not called out. Wen Chao was as easily pleased as he was easily provoked. Hardly difficult to navigate his cheap temperament.

“Indeed. I have already awarded you with one of my most prized possessions,” Wen Chao said with a wicked smile. “You can’t get something like this just anywhere.”

He backed away again, ambling over to Lan Wangji, who had not moved at all from the full-length mirror since he was left there. His face was still like carved stone, eyes dipped low,  and head held high as he tuned out the conversation in the room. It had made him react slowly to Wen Chao calling for him with a click of his fingers.

The three-second delay ruffled Wen Chao enough to twist his arm until he buckled, and slammed him to his knees before Wei Wuxian. Lan Wangji had remained unfazed, as if he was accustomed to these fury flare-ups, but Wei Wuxian could feel his hands ball into fists.

“Doesn't feel very prized if this is how you handle him,” he said.

He had intended to help him up when Wen Chao popped up at his side again and tugged him up rather gently with a hand on his nape.

“I said prized, not fragile.” Wen Chao moved his hand up to his jaw. “He can take a lot more than this. You can ask around.”

Fuck, some fluffy sleeves would serve him well right now to hide the shaking in his hands.

Wen Chao’s fingers trailed lower to Lan Wangji's neck, where he pressed his fingertips on both sides of his throat.

“Isn't he so pretty, Wei Ying?” he asked, digging his fingers deeper until they blanched.

“Sure. Very pretty,” Wei Wuxian said, trying to keep his voice mild. “You have great taste,” he added, hoping that some flattery might tempt him to get his claws off Lan Wangji.

“He finally started looking enticing after I got him out of those unalluring mourning clothes his family liked,” Wen Chao said and released Lan Wangji’s neck. “Now he’s finally easy on the eyes.”

Finally? Wen Chao would not have had the chance of being near someone like Lan Wangji even if he reincarnated as a pathetic dog looking for a new home. Wei Wuxian fished around in his memories for a distant echo of Lan Wangji turning down Wen Chao’s advantages—he was the kind to make eyes at a prince, even if he was nothing more than the dirt on the sole of his shoe.

Nothing came to mind, but he suspected that if Wen Chao ever tried to make a move, Lan Wangji would, for once in his life, actually laugh in his face.

Wei Wuxian was yet to understand the dynamic between the three of them and why he had to witness this power spectacle. Did Wen Chao parade Lan Wangji in front of him just to gauge his reaction? But that was stupid. They had never been friends, and Wei Wuxian would never want anything from Wen Chao to begin with.

“If death awaits those who interrupt you, then what shall I do with those who treat him like you just did?” Wei Wuxian asked. “I would hate to make Your Highness appear incompetent by doing a poor job.”

He stopped and cursed all the ancestors of that piece of shit internally for what he had to say. “…of taking care of your best prize.”

Smiling satisfactorily, Wen Chao sent Lan Wangji away to the Head Seamstress, and Wei Wuxian could feel his lungs work properly again. He had not realized how long he had been holding his breath when Lan Wangji was within Wen Chao’s reach.

“Wei Ying, why do you think I gave you this position?” Wen Chao asked, casually slinging his arms over Wei Wuxian’s shoulders, as if they’d been friends for years.

A thousand rotten seaweeds pulling him down to his death would feel more pleasant than the weight of that arm.

“I could never guess.”

“You know that this job is below you just as much as I do,” Wen Chao said, shepherding him toward the door. “But when I spoke of proving your loyalty to me, you never asked what that would entail. Why is that?”

“I show my loyalty to the Emperor,” Wei Wuxian said. “Not to you.”

After letting out a dry laugh, Wen Chao said, “This time, I believe we have something in common that would allow us to find joy in working together. Besides, my father is unwell at the moment. I’d suggest you curry favor with me instead.”

Wen Ruohan had to be gravely ill for Wen Chao to suggest treason so lightly. The rumors about his condition must be true, even if there was never a time when Wen Ruohan had been fully sound of mind. Despite his superior martial arts skills, most generals never trusted him with anything, given his cruelty and volatile temper. The Lan family, proponents of discipline and a stable mind, trusted him even less.

Still, Wei Wuxian could not blame him for having a mental breakdown after achieving his greatest ambition: becoming the new Emperor. The death of his oldest son, the one he had marginally favored, and being left with a worthless heir like Wen Chao must have dragged him straight into the depths of hell.

He had no family himself, but if told that his long-lost and only remaining relative was merely similar to someone like Wen Chao, he would jump off a cliff and end his lineage there. He could understand why Wen Ruohan went insane.

When they reached the sliding doors, Wei Wuxian stopped and wriggled himself from his arm.

“I can’t go any further. If this job is below me or not, I still have to do what I have to do,” Wei Wuxian said, and looked past Wen Chao’s shoulder at Lan Wangji, who was talking softly with the Head Seamstress.

All the apprentices looked so at peace now, gazing up at him with mellow eyes as they carefully adjusted and pinned his clothes in place, that his heart almost melted.

“I can’t leave without him,” Wei Wuxian added flatly and looked back at Wen Chao. “But I would still appreciate it if Your Highness could clarify what you expect me to do.”

Wen Chao lost all interest in speaking to him once his offer was refused. He signaled his guards that it was time to leave.

“The finer the silk, the more easily it is snagged by careless fingers,” he said. “I do not want to see bruises on him, unless it’s where they are expected, like knees and hands. You can deal with these people however you want, same for the men coming to him without my approval. Other than that, keep your ear to the ground. Failing to report to the Emperor when required is considered treason.”

He left with a flick of his sleeves and his men in tow.

Wei Wuxian had not dwelt on that conversation much because he already knew he would never disclose anything compromising to him or anybody else. The Emperor could not give less of a fuck about whatever Wen Chao did, which was both a blessing and a curse. If Wen Ruohan maintained any of his previous positions about his son, then he would never ask about the happenings in the courtesan quarters. His biggest gripe had always been that his son preferred to whore around rather than train his swordsmanship and archery. That much he heard from the horse’s mouth.

Expectantly, Lan Wangji had been silent for the rest of the day, and unlike other times, Wei Wuxian did not know how to break the ice between them.

Ever since he had made it clear that he did not like talking about what happened to him at the hands of the court, Wei Wuxian promised not to ask any more questions.

But he could not crush the heavy boulder pressing on his chest. It wasn’t as much about what happened in the Morning Glory Hall as it was about hearing his own words come from the wrong mouth.

“I’m sorry, by the way,” he said at the end of the day, right before he was supposed to meet with Jiang Cheng.

Lan Wangji had just stepped out of the bath, his hair soaking the back of his loose white loungewear. The damp fabric clung to his skin, turned almost translucent. Wei Wuxian ripped his eyes away and fixed them on the floor.

“You did nothing,” Lan Wangji said, and sat at the low table opposite his bed, looking into the jewelry box mirror.

“Not today, but I also made some remarks on your clothes before,” Wei Wuxian said, rubbing his nose to shake off the awkwardness. “I said they’re boring mourning clothes, but I swear I didn’t mean it like—” like Wen Chao did. “What I want to say is that I just wanted to tease you a little. You always looked good.”

The furrow between Lan Wangji’s brow grew deeper with each word. Perhaps he should have left the compliment out of it, but Lan Wangji did look good, and he wanted him to know it for some reason.

“Wei Ying,” he said, and Wei Wuxian’s heart missed a beat after hearing his name come from him for the first time that day. “Do not compare yourself to that man. Ever.”

Smiling weakly, Wei Wuxian told him good night and left. Only after he walked for a few minutes did he allow that pathetic feeling to swell in his chest. What was he doing, seeking comfort from a person who had been thrown around and choked, while all he could do was stand and watch?

For the next few days, Wei Wuxian watched out for Lan Wangji's meals.

The food was delivered to their quarters at the same time, and the guards split into two groups, taking turns eating and watching over the courtyard. Some of the courtesans had no time between their duties at the Morning Glory Hall and mealtime, and had to go hungry. Their daily servings were miserable either way.

Wei Wuxian had never shared a meal with Lan Wangji.

In his first days at court, he spent most of his time getting to know the other guards whenever he had the chance to see them gathered around a meal. He wanted to study the rhythm of their daily routine and see who they truly answered to, since this wing of the palace had to be one of Wen Chao’s most frequented ones.

If he wanted to take Lan Wangji outside more often, he had to be on their good side. It had not crossed his mind that while doing that, he was missing the fact that Lan Wangji barely had anything to eat.

The meals were suspiciously heavy on meat and lacked side dishes. For someone like him, who loved meat more than anything else, he found no reason to complain.

Only after seeing Lan Wangji’s ribs pressing prominently against his skin did he realize that something had to be wrong with his food. He had never seen Lan Wangji naked before the wardrobe control, and had no reference for comparison, but he was still too thin for his liking.

Surely, the courtesans had a different eating plan, made out of the leftover food from the other wings, often so little that they had to hope the patrons of the Morning Glory Hall would feed them the fruits and snacks meant for them.

If the scraps of the day were of meat, Lan Wangji would not eat. If they were vegetarian, he would save them for the day he was allowed to visit his family in prison.

It was time for him to burn through some of his favors.

One morning, in the hours before sunrise, Wei Wuxian knocked on Lan Wangji's door. The rules said that doors had to stay locked until the lifting of the curfew. Since Lan Wangji did not use the official imperial hour system and still woke up at five, Wei Wuxian waited patiently for the sound of the latch to come undone.

When the door opened and a wash of candlelight poured into the night, Wei Wuxian tried to smile through his drowsiness. “Good morning.”

Lan Wangji frowned at him, then cast a glance at the empty courtyard outside. “What are you doing here?”

He was already so alert and… rested while Wei Wuxian’s eyes were falling into his mouth. This job had been handed over to the worst person, he thought as he lifted a lidded bamboo basket.

“I’m hungry,” he said, and passed him to enter the room. “So I want to have breakfast with you.”

Moving quickly, he sat at the low table and continued speaking before giving Lan Wangji the chance to question him.

“You know, we don't spend that much time together if you think about it. I have to be outside, you have to be inside… We should eat together more often.”

Thankfully, Lan Wangji had always been neat and tidy, and he could arrange the dishes on the table without first clearing it of trinkets.

Compared to his first days there, he could see that Lan Wangji’s shelves were filling up with little things: wolf-hair brushes in brush holders, stitched booklets, jade paperweights, ink cakes, and the qinpu he gifted him.

Except for the qinpu, which he fetched from an old friend from town, he picked the rest of the things from Jiang Cheng’s office. Lan Wangji seemed to love calligraphy in the past, and so Wei Wuxian worked around Lan Wangji's reluctance to accept anything from him by pretending to forget these Four Treasures of the Study in his room at different times.

Eventually, Lan Wangji let him be, and he hoped that would be the case for that morning, too.

Lan Wangji sat down in front of him, taken aback by the big bowl of rice and steamed vegetables on the table. “Where did you get this?”

“The kitchen, obviously.”

“It is not open yet.”

“I have my ways,” Wei Wuxian said. “Just sit down and eat with me.”

For once, he was glad that Lan Wangji did not speak during meals, because he could not bring himself to explain the process of preparing the food without dying of embarrassment.

The ingredients did come from the royal kitchen, but they came to him raw. He repurposed the large bronze censer he had found misplaced in his room on arrival. After burning charcoal outside, as he was not fond of burning the palace down yet, he lined the bottom of the censer with the embers, then laid one of his old lamellar armor plates on top to serve as a heat diffuser.

He drifted in and out of sleep between tending the pot and staring at the barren stretch of the palace wall in front of his open window.

It was not the first time he cobbled together a makeshift stove for cooking. The last time, he had been surrounded by the good company of his brothers-in-arms. Even if there might have been more blood on their bandages than food most nights, at least it came with a good laugh and no boring walls.

But as he sat there pushing his rice around, watching Lan Wangji eat gracefully in the soft glow of the candlelight, he thought this was not so bad either.

“You know what I was thinking while getting all of this done? You’d be so easy to satisfy in a marriage,” Wei Wuxian said, clicking his chopsticks together. “Your tastes are so simple. Are you sure you don’t want to get married?”

Turning a deaf ear to his last sentence, Lan Wangji picked another piece of steamed eggplant. “Only because you are hard to please.”

“Am I?” Wei Wuxian opened a grin, leaning his chin into his palm. “By your standards, I guess I am.”

Picking up more rice from his own serving, Wei Wuxian dropped it on Lan Wangji's bowl.

“You know that they say that no one leaves the rain without damp sleeves. Am I allowed to confess to my sins now that you’re not a prince anymore?” Wei Wuxian asked, tapping the butt of his chopsticks on the table. “Well, my damp sleeves during your family's rule were the restrictions on wine and spice. I could not find them at the markets anymore.”

Although his love for wine would never allow him to admit that the prohibition of alcohol made sense for the Lan clan and their obsession with steadiness of mind, the ban on spice was just another overextension of rules that grew obsessive in their dynasty's waning days. He was sure that a Sichuan pepper would not corrupt his mind.

At one point, he might have also felt a little satisfaction at the collapse of the dynasty. Now, guilt seared in his chest if he thought about it too much.

“Does that make me difficult to please?” Wei Wuxian asked, his voice losing some of its strength.

“I do not know.” Lan Wangji tapped his lips lightly with a handkerchief. “I could never please you.”

Wei Wuxian’s eyes snapped to his face. “What?”

“Wei Ying, I do not know what my brother told you, but you need to stop.” Lan Wangji trailed off, looking at the plates on the table. “You need to stop giving me things.”

Great, just as he thought he could escape this endless issue, Lan Wangji had to remind him that nothing had really changed, that he was still difficult to get along with right after blowing his head with whatever he meant by pleasing him.

“Doing what, eating?” He held the side of his forehead. “How many times has your brother made me copy the Summary of the Rules of Proprietary from the Books of Rites, and how many times did I finish the assignments?”

Whenever Wei Wuxian was punished for acting out, he had to copy some book from the classics at least fifty times. He had never finished any of his punishments. Lan Wangji remained silent.

“Right, I haven't listened to him before. What makes you think I’d listen to what he says now?” Wei Wuxian said. “Drop this thought, seriously. What I do I only do because I want to.”

Lan Xichen might have asked him to take care of Lan Wangji, but he had left the prison cell without saying a word. The court life was too new for him to make a promise that he could keep, knowing that he held no power at the palace. Moreover, he was put in front of a person who couldn't accept some sad salted vegetables and rice from him without feeling like he was caught with egg on his face.

“You wanted to eat plain food at six in the morning,” Lan Wangji said, matter-of-factly.

“Yeah,” Wei Wuxian said, rubbing his aching eye. “What’s so wrong about that?”

“Wei Ying. You did not eat at all.”

There was a deep dip in the middle of his rice from all the poking around. The grains were still clean white after having been untouched by any vegetables.

“You said that you have no reason to lie.”

“Because I’m not lying,” Wei Wuxian said, feeling the same need to hold Lan Wangji’s hand shooting through his arm again. “I do want to have breakfast with you. Or any meal. But I can’t do it if you have nothing to eat.”

Lan Wangji’s hand curled inward on top of the table, and if Wei Wuxian could only reach for it, just for a second. But he couldn't handle him shrinking away, not when Lan Wangji believed he acted just like the other uniforms before him, only doing shit to get something out of him.

“I know they only serve you meat, and if they don’t, you save it for your family,” he continued. “And I know you don’t want to talk about it, which is fine. We really don’t have to. Can’t we just compromise on it? I won’t be nosy, and you’ll let me…”

After sniffing lightly, Wei Wuxian considered his words. If he said he wanted to take care of him, he might as well wash all his effort into the gutter. “… help you from time to time.”

“What if they catch you?” Lan Wangji asked, his gaze lingering a second too long on Wei Wuxian’s face.

“Ey, Lan Zhan, I’m not reckless, okay?” he said, feeling more confidence pumping into his chest now. “I’ll only do things I know I can pull off. You don’t have to worry.”

Having never been a worrywart before, Wei Wuxian had never realized how unbearably cute Lan Wangji looked with lowered brows and worry-heavy eyes. His fingers itched to flatten the crease between his eyebrows, and he had to grip his wrist and rotate it to keep himself in check.

“So… do I take that we can do this every morning?”

“No,” Lan Wangji said, his expression flattening to his usually neutral face. Damn it, Wei Wuxian wanted the cute look back. “Only a few times a week, if you really wish to. But you have to tell me how you got everything first.”

“It’s really not that interesting, though.” Wei Wuxian rifled through his chest pocket for something that could distract Lan Wangji from asking about his stupid improvised stove. “I finally found a use for that snoring little shit. His girlfriend works in the palace kitchens. Whenever I take his patrol rounds, so he can meet her, he has to slip me rice and vegetables in return,” he said. “He is stealing my time with you. It’s the least he can do, actually.”

Lan Wangji’s eyes widened for a short second, his lips falling open as confusion slipped over his face. “You…”

“Ah, here it is,” Wei Wuxian said, retrieving an accordion-folded booklet. “Can you rate just how badly these people treat you when they come for you at the Morning Glory Hall?”

In the last few days, he had found the time to copy the names from Nie Huaisang’s ledger, only to realize that Lan Wangji still had far more patrons than he had been led to believe, even after hearing the numbers had dropped recently. If that was meant to show a cutback on clients, he could not wrap his head around what the days had to look like for him before.

“I thought you would not be nosy,” Lan Wangji said, flipping to the first page of the booklet.

“Not nosy about my personal curiosities,” Wei Wuxian said. “But this is more about me being your guard, so…”

After taking a brush and ink from the shelves behind him, Lan Wangji noted things down on the paper.

Not wanting to bother him, Wei Wuxian tried to eat a little bit, but it was too early for him to stomach anything other than a fat nap. Perhaps he should have picked a different time for these meals. Too bad that burning charcoal outside would have drawn too much attention during the daytime.

Springing to his feet, he walked over to the shelf and picked up the qinpu. A smile spread over his face when he noticed that the empty pages had been filled with tablature that he could not read.

“So you have been using this!” Wei Wuxian said, holding the qinpu at a distance and angling it, as if that might make the characters more intelligible. “Are these new or just songs you could remember from memory?”

“Some old,” Lan Wangji replied, the tip of his brush halting for a second, hesitating. “Some new.”

“New? Oh, you have to play them for me.”

Lan Wangji looked up at him with terror in his eyes. “Do not bring a guqin here.”

“I know, I know.” Wei Wuxian pouted and bopped his nose lightly with the spine of the qinpu. “It’d be too hard to sneak one under my clothes, but I will find another way.”

He plonked down beside him and looked over the tablature. The characters ran from top to bottom between carefully traced lines. Pick the seventh string outward with the right hand and second finger. Open string. whatever that meant. His writing had always been so neat and legible that he could only scrunch his nose after stealing a glance at his own chicken scrawling.

“Is there any pattern between these men?” he asked. “Or do they all act just like they want to?”

“The high-ranking officials are fine. They come to drink and listen to music,” Lan Wangji said. “The low-ranking officials are rougher.”

What a nice way of calling them a bag of dicks, Wei Wuxian thought. It was much like the way new soldiers liked to act, as though they were bigger than their heads, desperate to prove they were worth something more than being the spearhead.

A low-rank official getting his hands on an ex-prince? They would want to make a show of their authority over a gem cast from the crown, who had no choice but to submit.

“And the middle-ranking officials?”

“They are a mixed bag.” Lan Wangji closed the booklet and slid it over to him. “It depends on how many taels of silver they needed to part with to get inside the hall.”

The Scribe and the Instructor were noted as the last two names, all so Wei Wuxian could find them more easily. They were noted with a two, which just made them average patrons, even though Wei Wuxian would’ve pulled their teeth out one by one for what they had done in the hall.

“What are you going to do with it?” Lan Wangji asked, placing his brush in the brush basin.

“Well, I did get permission to do as I pleased with anybody who harmed you,” Wei Wuxian said, slipping the booklet back into his chest pocket. “I wanted to know on which days I should stay especially close to you. Just in case.”

The sound of the wooden clappers neared their quarters, and Wei Wuxian rose to his feet and left for Nie Huaisang’s chamber. He still needed the daily patron list from him.

“Is that…” Nie Huaisang said, eyeing the thing in Wei Wuxian’s hand skeptically. “Is that what you used to break his nose?”

Wei Wuxian barely heard him over the wailing of the low-rank official trashing on the ground. The wooden blade of his sword dripped with blood.

“Yeah,” he said. “Do you have a handkerchief? This shit’s gross.”

“You should be the last person to complain about it,” Nie Huaisang said. “It’s a consequence of your own action!”

If anything, it was the consequence of that official’s action. Wei Wuxian was waiting for Lan Wangji when this oaf walked out of the Morning Glory Hall, yanking a poor woman by her hair. Her crying and pleading did not reach him at all, so he did not understand why he was howling like a wounded animal now.

“You wouldn't happen to be behind the other beatings of the court officials, would you?”

“I haven’t gotten into a fight with a drunkard in my entire life,” Wei Wuxian said, picking a leaf from a nearby tree. “But if they force my hand, oh well.”

The nightlife of the court was interesting enough to draw his attention from time to time. It was already the period when he picked the brains of the guards to learn their factional allegiances, yet he had only begun partaking in activities beyond drinking after pocketing the list of men who frequented the courtesans’ quarters.

Not necessarily a big fan of board games like Go or Elephant Chess, he only joined them when an official he recognized from Lan Wangji’s list was keen on playing.

Usually, these games followed heavy drinking and were driven by a display of bravado. Wei Wuxian might have provoked some of them mid-game and then acted surprised when they wanted to jump down his throat. By that point, he was justified in knocking their lights out.

Of course, it was just a good-natured brawl. No one would ever bring it up, not when their ego was bruised more than their face. If that meant that some of these officials would flake out on their appointment with Lan Wangji the next morning, that was only for him to know. They were too cock-eyed to remember him, anyway.

“Can someone shut him up already? It’s just a fucking nose,” Wei Wuxian groaned, cleaning the last of the blood from his toy sword with the leaf. “He is being so damn—Lan Zhan!”

Skipping over to him with a wide smile, Wei Wuxian left Nie Huaisang with his mouth still open as he tossed the dirty leaf on the ground. Lan Wangji watched the bleeding man be dragged away amid a chorus of curses.

“Are you ready to go?” Wei Wuxian asked, securing the wooden sword under his belt. Another wooden sword rested on his other hip.

Lan Wangji was dressed in a plain blue robe and a white cloak embossed with a feather pattern. Around his forehead, a white beaded chain dangled downward, tucked behind his ears and trailing to the ends of his hair. Wei Wuxian had come to appreciate his resolve to wear an accessory resembling his old headband.

“Lan Zhan, stop looking at that oaf. Look at me,” Wei Wuxian said, poking his arm until Lan Wangji looked at him. “Do you recognize him?”

“Yes,” Lan Wangji said and followed him to the gate of the quarters. “I met him. Once.”

“Great,” Wei Wuxian grumbled. “I should’ve hit him harder.”

“What?”

“Nothing. I’m just talking nonsense.”

The palace gardens were still his favorite refuge these days. They might no longer hold the same careful upkeep as before, being overgrown at the edges and withering in the corners, but they were better than the courtesans' quarters, where they could still not speak freely.

“Actually, the last time I came to the capital was for Yanli’s wedding. I did get too drunk to remember much, but only because that smug peacock made me really angry,” Wei Wuxian said, spinning the wooden blade around his wrist. “Wait. How come I have not seen either Jin Zixuan or Jin Zixun at the court yet? Jin Guangshan must be bribing someone for these two not to be demoted.”

Though he had never cared about his idle gossip, Lan Wangji never stopped him from talking when he chattered his ear off about their past acquaintances. Remembering the people who had studied with them was a difficult task in the beginning. Wei Wuxian’s memory was terrible when it came to people, but being around Lan Wangji had made him remember those days rather fondly.

“Wei Ying,” Lan Wangji said, stepping back aside to not be hit by Wei Wuxian flipping his sword from hand to hand. “Are you not too old for playing with toys?”

“It’s not a toy, though. Anything can be a weapon if you put your mind to it,” Wei Wuxian said, chucking the sword to him. “Do you wanna spar?”

Lan Wangji easily caught it, yet did not look interested in playing with him. “I have not held a sword in five years.”

“Neither have I.” Wei Wuxian shrugged when Lan Wangji glared at him. “I mean, not in the way I used to five years ago.”

He had been forced into an administrative position in a province after the rebellion. Even though he could practice swordsmanship on his own, he was long past his height.

There was a glint in Lan Wangji's eyes as he looked at the warped wood in his hand, chipped by all the clashing and blocking of the other wooden swords.

“Okay, you’re right. It’s just a toy,” Wei Wuxian said. “We can play-pretend just for fun.”

Meaning to bait him into a fight, Wei Wuxian reached to pat Lan Wangji on the shoulder, only for his attack to be blocked at once. Taking that as proof that he had drawn him in, because Lan Wangji never backed away from his provocations in the past, he twisted his wrist as their wooden swords cracked together in the first exchange.

As the Second Prince, Lan Wangji had never been as accessible to Wei Wuxian as he would’ve liked, nor could he simply provoke him into a fight on the palace grounds. The princes ordinarily marched off on campaigns to suppress rebellions in the provinces as well as to send a message and reassure the populace.

Lan Wangji had led a campaign to abolish the fiefdoms in the past, and his success granted him a princely title. Wei Wuxian did not have the pleasure of being dispatched in the area to see him in action.

Still, he had spent an unnatural amount of his downtime at the courtly study session watching him at the training grounds in the peristyle, where Lan Wangji taught the younger offspring of the Lan family to wield wooden swords much like these ones.

It had been strangely adorable to watch the children—most of them barely reaching Lan Wangji’s waist—fumble around the courtyard, more interesting of fighting for his attention than understanding the lesson they were being given. Lan Wangji remained patient with them regardless, fixing their hats or picking them up in his arms, gentle even when correcting their mistakes.

The sight had left Wei Wuxian so confused about the racing pulse in his chest that he nearly walked straight into a column and broke his teeth.

His movements were only a shadow of what they had once been. Even so, Wei Wuxian knew he could annoy Lan Wangji out of his carefulness if he really wanted to.

He sidestepped Lan Wangji’s blow with a grin hidden by the turn of his body, his wooden blade darting forward to rap against Lan Wangji’s ribs. “Are you letting me win on purpose?”

Catching the next strike properly, Lan Wangji shoved it aside hard enough to jar both practice swords. “You are not fighting properly.”

“Hey, I told you I’m out of practice,” Wei Wuxian said as he ducked beneath a horizontal swing. “Then again, I have to be a little better than you, don’t I? I have more experience.”

Lan Wangji answered with a downward strike that forced Wei Wuxian to brace instead of evade, the impact knocking wood splinters from the dulled wood. Rolling his shoulders afterward, Wei Wuxian found himself smiling at the ache settling into them.”

“So feisty, Hanguang-Jun.”

Using his princely title was a low blow, one he did not want to perform in the actual fight. Lan Wangji’s forehead began to glisten with sweat, and his breathing had already grown heavier. Nevertheless, his stance remained stubbornly straight.

“Wei Ying, there was a reason you tried to suck up to me to get the role of the Grand Marshal,” Lan Wangji said. “Instead of proving yourself through a fight.”

Wei Wuxian’s mouth fell open, less out of shock and more to let out a laugh.

Well, he could admit that he had been far too full of himself back then to think he could attain such a position at his young age. His fighting skills were there, and the humility and maturity needed for the position were nowhere to be found.

Not to mention that Lan Wangji probably had a worse opinion of him than his father, the Emperor, so he was doomed from the beginning with his strategy.

Their wooden swords locked again near the hilts, Lan Wangji pushing forward steadily while Wei Wuxian leaned back against the pressure with calculated balance. Wei Wuxian broke the bind first by abruptly releasing one hand from the hilt and spinning away before the shove could throw him off-kilter. As he turned, he struck against Lan Wangji’s forearm hard enough to make him stagger sideways.

For the final blow, Wei Wuxian lifted the tip of his wooden sword to Lan Wangji’s throat and tapped it there lightly. “Dead.”

Impatiently, Lan Wangji knocked the blade aside, and Wei Wuxian let his arm drop back down to his side.

Lan Wangji’s breathing came in shallow and quick, shoulders lifting and falling in an uneven rhythm. There was something about the sight, paired with a bloom of color over the bridge of his nose and across his cheekbones, that made Wei Wuxian’s fingers tighten around the hilt. His gaze slid downward to the glistening expense of his throat, and his whole being seemed to be filled with—

He tore his eyes away and licked his lips.

“You know, if we were the same people from five years ago, the two of us could beat at least half of the rebels.”

Lan Wangji flung the practice sword under the shade of a cypress tree and headed toward a bench facing a bridge arching over a gently rolling stream.

“I could hold them back for one hour on my own back then.”

“Which is still respectable,” Wei Wuxian said, taking the seat next to him. “You were alone.”

“It brought me a lot of respect,” Lan Wangji said bitterly, watching the dragonflies skim across the water. “The city will praise you today and execute you tomorrow.”

The words bit into his face, making him grimace. Those were the words on the banners under the hanged corpses of the Lan family on the city walls. It was a show of power from the common people, who had felt like the power was finally back into their hands, without knowing they were spurred on by an even worse lineage.

Perhaps by spending time at the palace, he had grown too familiar with the family through Lan Wangji, despite not being close. He could not ignore the blood cutting through the words on the banner.

Despite not being close, he had grown too familiar with the royal family through Lan Wangji. All the time he had spent at the palace made the blood smeared across the words on the banner nauseating.

While the rest of the capital danced and celebrated, he was left with a very sour taste in his mouth. He hoped that Lan Wangji had only heard tales about it without having seen the carnage himself.

“How many of my people did you kill that day?” Lan Wangji asked suddenly, eyes still trained on the leaf-dappled water.

“What?” Wei Wuxian said, his posture stiffening. “Zero. How could you ask that?”

“I won’t hold it against you,” Lan Wangji said. “You said it yourself. You can come clean about anything. I’m not the Second Prince anymore.”

“Because you don’t have anything to hold against me. Are you being—” he hesitated, his eyes widening as his eyebrows furrowed deeper. The words had struck him harder than any blow during their little duel before. “You think I would’ve saved you if I came to overthrow your family?”

The last day of the rebellion had been one of the most bewildering of his entire life. When the Imperial Army mutinied and breached the palace gates, he knew the Lan Dynasty had fallen.

He had not stood among the soldiers who raised against the crown. There was something off-putting about seeing Wen Ruohan and Wen Xu at the forefront of the uprising. He had no intention of helping them seize the throne.

Curiosity got the better of him nonetheless, and he entered the palace grounds to witness the aftermath with his own eyes. It was a cold winter day, and  the cloud-choked sky spat large flakes of snow.

The grotesque scenes of massacres were nothing new to him. The blood staining the frozen ground stood out to him well enough through the snowstorm, and it did not unsettle him in the slightest. He continued to dodge through the whitening corpses like it was a game at a night market.

That numbness enveloped him until he reached the Emperor’s palace and found Wen Xu’s body lying in a pool of blood, his eyes still wide open. The fact that no one bothered to carry him away told him that he would find something far more sinister if he continued to push forward through the courtyard.

His stomach truly turned upside down when he made it to the Emperor’s main hall. Lan Wangji sat slumped against a plum blossom tree. Snowflakes drifted through the pink flowers on the branches above him.

Around him, soldiers clashed in a frenzy of steel and blood. None of them wore the customary white uniform of the palace guard. They had to belong to Wen Xu’s forces, but Wei Wuxian could not understand why they turned their blades against one another.

As he strode toward Lan Wangji, the soldiers tracked his approach with wary eyes, their sabre-rattling slowly turning silent. Their backs straightened up as if called up for attention.

“Stand back! General Wei is here!”

“What? General Wei? But I thought he refused to join the fighting…”

“Why would he humble himself to fight alongside common soldiers? He’s here to take the disgraced prince’s head.”

They erupted into cheers and pumped up their blood-stained weapons. Wei Wuxian barely heard them through the furious ringing in his ears.

A deep gash tore across Lan Wangji’s leg, blood rushing out of the wound and melting the snow beneath him into crimson muck. At the sight of it, his heart lurched painfully and mellowed to slush, and his knees nearly gave way beneath him.

“Does it hurt really badly?” He knelt in front of him and cradled Lan Wangji’s frigid cheeks with his hands.

“Wei Ying?” Lan Wangji asked, as if he could not tell who was in front of him through the heavy snowdrops.

Wei Wuxian smiled weakly at him, pushing his damp strands of hair away from his face.

“… Eh?”

“General Wei, he killed Wen Xu! You must avenge our general!”

“Why are you still standing here?” Wei Wuxian scoffed, glaring at them over his shoulder. “Go.”

“But General—”

“Get. Out.”

Confused and uneasy, the soldiers beat a hasty retreat without uttering another word.

Once they were gone, Lan Wangji finally let his sword slip from his grasp. It struck the ground with a hollow clang before he collapsed fully into Wei Wuxian’s embrace, completely down-and-out.

“Hey, it’s going to be okay,” Wei Wuxian said, forcing his voice to stay steady as he ignored the blood-soaked clumps of fur on Lan Wangji’s cape sticking to his face. “Did Wen Xu slice your leg?”

Lan Wangji nodded. “Before I killed him.”

His body weight pressed heavily against Wei Wuxian’s chest, so much so that he was afraid that he might fall unconscious at any moment. Without hesitation, he tore a string from his cape and quickly tied it above the injury, tightening it just enough to slow the bleeding.

“Good job,” Wei Wuxian whispered, smoothing a hand over the crown of Lan Wangji’s head. “Don’t tell anyone I said that, though.”

“I don’t have anyone anymore,” Lan Wangji replied, as if caught in a trance. Then, his body tensed out of nowhere, and he tried to push himself to his feet. “My brother. I need to find—”

“Okay, slow down.” Wei Wuxian cut him off, tightening his hold around him and pulling him back down to his chest. “You’re not finding anyone with that leg.”

Slipping one arm under the hood of his fox-fur cape and the other under his knees, Wei Wuxian lifted him into his arms. He adjusted his grip on him carefully, trying his hardest not to jostle him too hard, especially not with the laceration so close to his knee.

“I’ll take you to the Imperial Academy of Medicine.”

He managed only a few steps before Lan Wangji started to struggle, kicking weakly against his hold as he desperately attempted to break free. The movement threw Wei Wuxian off balance, and he sank back to his knees before he could slip on the ice.

“They will turn me in,” Lan Wangji said, trembling from the cold and blood loss. “I’d rather die by your hand than be executed on the city walls.”

“Stop talking like that.” Wei Wuxian lowered his voice into a whisper as he squeezed his arms around him. “No one’s going to kill you.”

Lan Wangji tried to lift his head and look at him, but his eyes would not focus. It was like he could not see Wei Wuxian at all. In a sudden move, Lan Wangji reached for Wei Wuxian’s sword and drew it out from his waist. The rasp of steel against the scabbard made Wei Wuxian’s heart drop to his feet.

“You’ve lost your mind.” Wei Wuxian shook his head. He took the hilt away from him and hurled the blade into the snow. “There’s no way I’m killing you.”

“Wei Ying.”

“No,” he repeated. “I’ll take you to the Imperial Academy of Medicine. I have a good friend there, and she’ll take care of your wound, and you will be fine. She’s a distant relative of the Wens, but I promise that their families had a falling-out a long time ago. You’ll be safe.”

For how long, he did not know, but he did not have the mental capacity to think about any other option when the color kept draining from Lan Wangji’s face. What he did know was that he would not let him die in his arms.

“I’ll look for your brother and tell him where to find you, if you want,” Wei Wuxian said, slowly raising to his feet again. “But I can’t let you die here because of me. I just can’t.”

“Fine,” Lan Wangji relented at last, his arms wrapping around Wei Wuxian’s shoulders. “But do not tell him. They will kill him.”

Unfortunately, Lan Xichen decided to leave his hiding place outside of the capital to look for Lan Wangji and begged him, tear-eyed, to tell him where his little brother was.

The chased soldiers had to be the ones to spread the rumors that he had saved Lan Wangji’s life. In the end, he had no choice but to break his promise and tell the truth to Lan Xichen.

At first, he wholeheartedly believed that he did the right thing. He could not live with the guilt of leaving him to take his last breath in the snow, or worse, be put to death by the last standing soldier after defeating his comrades in a battle of egos.

So much of his life after the rebellion seemed to be about others laying claim to him and boasting about it later. Either fighting to put him to sleep forever or drag him to their beds.

“I never thanked you for saving me,” Lan Wangji said quietly.

It was like a spear pierced through his throat, closing it up uncomfortably. Could he look at Lan Wangji's life now and say that he did the right thing?

Lan Xichen said that he saved his life when letting him die would have benefited him more. But did he really, really save his life?

He just dropped Lan Wangji off in a bed at the Imperial Academy of Medicine and never looked for him again. In reality, if he had chosen the path that benefited him the least, he would have taken Lan Wangji with him and hidden him away.

But deep down, he knew it would have been suicidal for him and his military career. He knew it would place a bounty over his head, so he had never even allowed himself to consider helping Lan Wangji escape together with him.

“And you should never thank me, because I didn't,” Wei Wuxian said, swallowing hard against the lump in his throat. “I fucked up. I should have taken you with me.”

“Ridiculous,” Lan Wangji said with no hesitation. “I would not have come with you.”

“Yeah, like you really had a choice with your leg in that condition.” Wei Wuxian ran his hands over his face, his head feeling a little fuzzy. “I should’ve just carried you off and found someone to take care of your leg when we were safe.”

“I would have lost my leg if you had not taken me to the Academy of Medicine,” Lan Wangji said. “I do not dwell on the past. Why would you?”

Wei Wuxian pressed his tongue into his cheek, gripping the edge of the bench harder. There he was, yet again, being comforted by someone who needed the comfort more than he did.

He should keep his mouth shut if he was only going to back himself into this corner again and again.

Something tickled his knuckles, and he thought it had to be one of those cursed crawlers skimming over his skin. But before he could slap it away, a strange rustle caught his attention.

“Has someone taken the whore out on a walk?”

Wei Wuxian’s spine screwed up as his head jerked in the direction of the sound.

Between the chuckling of the water, rustling leaves, and flapping wings as a bird took flight, he could not tell where the voice came from. His senses seemed to have locked up under a bubbling in his veins.

“Have the patrons finally gotten sick of you? There was a time when they lined up to fuck you until you were sick for days.”

His expression blanched, a seasick pallor washing over his face. “What the fuck?”

The voice came from behind an ornamental limestone planted along the banks of the stream. He could not bet his life on it, but a guess was better than nothing, especially when he had to rely on his buzzing ears.

His eyes hunted for something nearby, preferably the heaviest rock he could hold up to crack that fucker’s skull open in one hit.

“Wei Ying,” Lan Wangji said, his voice traveling to him effortlessly, like silk slipping through fingers. “Ignore it.”

“Ignore it? He’s talking about you, isn’t he? You got sick because—” The rest of his sentence jammed into his throat. “No. There’s no fucking way.”

He surged up without warning, only to be pulled back down on the bench by a hold on his hand.

“If they can’t say it to my face, then it does not matter,” Lan Wangji said, his fingers closing gently around Wei Wuxian’s hand. “It is a normal guard who wants to provoke you.”

That soft touch, Lan Wangji’s thumb brushing lightly over his knuckles now, echoed the ticklish sensation of the crawler on his hand. Was Lan Wangji planning on holding his hand earlier? The thought hit him like a blow between the ribs. He forgot where he was and what he wanted to do.

“The moment you stood, he fell silent,” Lan Wangji continued. “If they were from the Inner Watch or close to Wen Chao, they would not hide.”

“I really don’t care who they are,” Wei Wuxian said, wavering between cooling off and flaring up again. He forced his hand to steady so Lan Wangji would not remember that they still held hands and pull away. “Even better if it’s just a low-life guard. No one would give a shit if he strung up dead.”

“But then… we could not come here anymore.” A forlorn frown touched Lan Wangji’s face. “You said you liked seeing the lotus flowers.”

The lotus flowers?

If he could, Wei Wuxian would have dragged him up to the ponds right that instant. But he was already locked in a battle with himself down there by the stream, struggling to choose a side.

Lan Wangji’s hand was much paler than his own, and surprisingly warm and soft from not having played the guqin in so long. At the same time, that little shit was also somewhere behind him, hiding away from the noose tightening around his neck like a death wish waiting to happen.

Wei Wuxian rose to his feet again, pulling Lan Wangji up with him.

The creak of a fallen branch near the ornamental limestone sounded once more, and he caught the brief glimpse of a young face slipping behind it before his footfalls raised into the wind. Ordinarily, it would have been the sort of face he forgot in an instant. This time, it would stay lodged in his mind for as long as it needed.

“You’re right.” Wei Wuxian released one last shaky breath, willing the final tremors of his anger out of his system, and clasped his hands at his back. His hand felt too empty without Lan Wangji’s fingers around it. “Let’s go see the lotus flowers.”