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Nine months.
Nine months since they left that day; walked away from the Guanyin temple as cultivation partners, husband and wife – a match that rose from the embers of loneliness, heartache, and forgiveness the way a phoenix rises from ashes.
Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji, Lan Wangji and Wei Wuxian.
Yiling Patriarch and HanGuang Jun, HanGuang Jun and Yiling Patriarch.
Amidst chaos, amidst revelations, amidst regrets. Amidst it all, they took each other’s hand to take on the world, to take on a brand new future.
Nine months.
Enough time for babies to be conceived and born. For rebellions and empires to rise and fall. For seasons to come and pass.
Enough time for Wei Wuxian to learn the calluses and lines in Lan Wangji’s palms. To discover the breadth and reliable set to his husband’s shoulder. To learn the ways of his heart.
And most importantly, enough time to accept that Lan Wangji’s love does not need to be earned, but also that Lan Wangji is now his to love, protect, and honour.
Such a heavy responsibility for such an irresponsible person as myself. Wei Wuxian giggles at the sudden thought and sticks his fingers up Lan Wangji’s sleeves, right by the butterfly flutter of a pulse at his husband’s wrist.
“Cold?” Lan Wangji asks without flinching, instinctively clutching Wei Wuxian’s fingers within his hold, thumb rubbing against the edge of his knuckles. His grip is firm, warm – the touch of a man who knows what is rightfully his.
“Mm!” Wei Wuxian nods impishly, a plume of breath rising with the chill of early winter air around them. Over their heads, bare branches stretch against an expanse of heavy clouds, veins of darkness reaching up as if to scratch open the gates of heaven. Beneath their steps, a carpet of fire-coloured leaves blazes the forest grounds as if in welcome.
“Cold! So cold! I can’t feel my fingers anymore. Lan er-gege, hold my hand and warm it up!”
The corners of Lan Wangji’s eyes crinkles only slightly, but Wei Wuxian stares at him as if his husband had lit up an entire night sky. “Already holding.”
“Then hold it tighter, it’s still cold!” Wei Wuxian insists and wriggles himself into Lan Wangji’s side as they fell in step with each other, Li’l Apple trudging behind them at its own pace. “There, better for sharing warmth.”
Lan Wangji stops them then, tugging Wei Wuxian’s hand up to his mouth – a dash of pale pink set against a smooth, indulgent expression. It’s a little chapped, Lan Wangji’s lips, from the rough chill of the weather, but the care with which he kissed the fingers in his grasp sets Wei Wuxian’s face aflame with delight and embarrassment.
“Warmer?” Lan Wangji asks, his voice low and flat, unfeeling – but the weight of his stare says otherwise. It’s searching. Sharp. Watchful, careful, protective. As if if he misses a second, Wei Wuxian would shatter – incur the severity of a thousand wounds the way he incurred the wrath of thousands of cultivators all those years ago.
He worries so much. Too much. Wei Wuxian smiles back at him, pulls his hand away, and kisses Lan Wangji instead. Lips. Nose. Then, rising on the tips of his toes, Lan Wangji’s forehead. “Much warmer, thank you, Lan Zhan!”
Laughing at the red that crests his husband’s ears, Wei Wuxian steps away and pulls Lan Wangji along into a stroll. It’s quiet where they are, in the middle of the Chongyang forest, with nothing but the rustle of fallen leaves at their feet and the whisper of their clothes. Like the world had stopped, suspended in time, wrapping the two of them up in a bubble that’s tucked away into an exclusive pocket of the universe. Not even Wei Wuxian tries to break the idyllic silence with inane chatter, content to swing their hands together back and forth energetically, like children on their merry way to the market.
But his heart is a rebel, and a small voice at the back of his head whispers. You have vows to uphold, remember? Lan Wangji has given his all. Has offered up life, mind, and soul for Wei Wuxian’s sake. Has borne the scorn of an entire clan for a fragment of faith in Wei Wuxian’s virtue. Has endured thirteen years of yearning with no end in sight for a glimmer of hope of Wei Wuxian’s return.
Wei Wuxian cannot hope to return such a grand gesture of love any time soon, but there are some things that even he can do.
“Lan Zhan, Lan Zhan,” Wei Wuxian calls – voice bright, eyes brighter. His fingers, caught within Lan Wangji’s clasp, are slim and long and strong, but it looks delicate beside his husband’s calloused ones – brittle, frail, unable to hold the world’s expectation of how he should cherish Lan Wangji. Perhaps, but Wei Wuxian wants to prove them wrong.
“Lan Zhan! Look at me!”
“Mm,” Lan Wangji replies, indulgent. The zither strapped to his back slips a little as he shifts to give Wei Wuxian the attention he demands. The tilt of his head is dignified, but it’s immediately clear that this dignity is not the dignity of the Lan Wangji during the early days of their acquaintance. This pride is not a pride that stems from the austerity and integrity of the Gusu Lan sect; it is a pride that’s fueled by Wei Wuxian’s presence by his side.
“Where do you think we should go next?” Wei Wuxian asks, flipping his hair back to keep it out of his face but nearly whacking Lan Wangji in the face instead. “Now that we’ve cleared the zombie infestation that plagued the Liu village from the forest, there are many surrounding areas that we can head to. It all depends on what we want to do. What do you feel like, Lan er-gege?”
“Anywhere,” Lan Wangji’s reply is blunt, his eyes steady and serious on Wei Wuxian. For more than half a year, Lan Wangji has left almost all travel decisions to his husband, with minimal remarks from him. Will go where you go, he declared once when Wei Wuxian pushed and pried for an answer.
But Wei Wuxian is smarter now, knows better; he sulks and swings their linked hands a little. “Come on, Lan Zhan, don’t just spoil me all the time. I’m sure we’ve spent more time than you’re comfortable with at watering holes. Surely there are places that you’d want to go after so many months of travelling?”
“Mm,” Lan Wangji says, self-consciously tugging Wei Wuxian’s arm in response to the childish swinging but not elaborating beyond that. Wei Wuxian smiles, but does nothing, says nothing. It has taken him a while, but he’s realised that Lan Wangji is as awkward with flirting as he is bizarre in his drunken quirks. Tease him about it, show any indication that his efforts are noticed, and he’ll hide himself away. Let him be, and he gets less self-conscious.
So Wei Wuxian ploughs on, lets Lan Wangji have his thrill, and focuses on weaving his intention as subtly as he can instead.
“To the north, it’s Zhengzhou or Shijiazuang; to the south, it’s Changsha, Hengyang, or Ji’an. Changde is too depressing, so I veto the west. But we also have the option to head...east, back to Gusu,” he pretends to list contemplatively, watching his husband from the corner of his eyes.
Except he’s caught, forced to duck his head hurriedly when Lan Wangji raises an eyebrow at him mid-swing.
“Or we could head to Shaoxing, close to the sea,” Wei Wuxian appends hurriedly, but Lan Wangji tugs him back now and traps him in a loose embrace.
“You dislike Gusu,” Lan Wangji asserts, not beating around the bush.
“I don’t dislike Gusu!” Wei Wuxian retorts, indignant, but wilts when his husband merely stares at him. “Okay, look, I’m a liiiiiiiittle dismayed by the four thousand rules, but who wouldn’t be, right? Don’t you think that that’s a bit of an overkill?! Jingyi told me that it’s fast approaching five thousand now! It’s suffocating!”
“You dislike it,” Lan Wangji repeats, waiting for Wei Wuxian to realise that for all his hedging, he’s just contradicted himself.
Embarrassed, Wei Wuxian slumps and tries again to justify. “It’s not the same, Lan Zhan! I don’t dislike Gusu, I just dislike the rules! That’s right, it’s the rules! I love Sizhui and Jingyi, and all the juniors!”
“My uncle.”
“I love your – alright, wait, I don’t, but I don’t hate him! He’s just...oppressive, dictatorial, overbearing, undemocratic, bossy...” Wei Wuxian’s voice grows smaller as he continues, tipping his head to avoid Lan Wangji’s shrewd gaze.
Lan Wangji sighs and runs a hand up his husband’s arm, hair fluttering in the wind. Bichen and Wangji knock against each other as Wei Wuxian straightens himself up hurriedly. “I promise, I don’t hate Old Master Lan. I’m not lying.”
“I believe you,” Lan Wangji nods easily, his expression somehow placating in its impassivity. “Don’t hate, but not pleasant.”
“That’s right!” Wei Wuxian agrees fervently, grinning, but then it drops instantly when Lan Wangji answers with as straight a face as possible, “So avoid Gusu.”
“HanGuang-Jun! That’s not what I mean though?!”
“No?”
“No!” Wei Wuxian doesn’t scream, but he’s loud enough that a few birds are startled into taking off with a few dignified squawks and chirps – aghast enough that Lan Wangji’s lips twitch into something of amusement, eyes lightening with humour. Wei Wuxian catches on quickly, his lips rounding in disbelief. “Lan Zhan, Lan Zhan, Lan er-gege, how have you gotten so sly? You’ve really improved while I was away, haven’t you?”
“No.”
“No?” Wei Wuxian laughs and sidles back up to his husband, coyly tucking an arm into the crook of Lan Wangji’s elbow.
“Did not improve,” Lan Wangji insists, hands naturally moving to cover and rub over his husband’s fingers.
“Then what would you call that?” Wei Wuxian challenges. “That was clearly bullying, wasn’t it?”
“Tease. Like you do.” Lan Wangji doesn’t waver even a little, declaring with eyes clear and steady; impassive even as Wei Wuxian bursts out laughing, shaking his head in exasperation.
“You’ve really levelled up far too much, er-gege,” he says, bumping shoulders with Lan Wangji, and quiets when his husband lifts a hand to tuck some flyaway strands behind his ears. It’s soft, the air that hangs between them, made softer when Lan Wangji cups Wei Wuxian’s face gently and runs a thumb fondly over the apple of his cheek.
“We don’t have to go back to Gusu,” Lan Wangji whispers and lets the words sink a quiet death, a trail of breath against Wei Wuxian’s affectionate, knowing smile.
“But you want,” Wei Wuxian counters, just as hushed, just as warm; and watches his husband until Lan Wangji gives in and nods subtly. “You’ve been worried for so long, but you’ve said nothing to me. Is this how we’re going to be from now on, Lan Zhan? Do I have to guess your heart all the time?”
Wei Wuxian knows that his words sound accusatory, but he also trusts Lan Wangji to know his heart and his intentions. They’ve had a history of more than a decade, maybe even two, and every tribulation that they’ve been through had taught them the perils of unspoken words.
“No.” The alarm does not show in Lan Wangji’s face, but Wei Wuxian feels it, stiff and tense in the fingers that curl behind his head. It’s clear that it pains his husband, but it also pains his soul just as much. “No.”
Wei Wuxian huffs a discreet chuckle, sneaks a private kiss. “Then let’s go back to Gusu? See Lan-zhongzhu?”
“Mn.” Lan Wangji presses close and folds himself over Wei Wuxian. “Thank you.”
“No ‘sorry’ and ‘thank you’ between us, remember? Follow your own rules a little more, er-gege,” Wei Wuxian whispers back and hugs tight, tighter, tightest.
Nine months.
Of calm, of peace, of lazy leisure. Enough for dust to settle, but not enough for broken hearts to heal.
It’s time to go home. Step by patient step, Wei Wuxian takes Lan Wangji’s hand and sets a pace that leads back to the Cloud Recesses.
---
The truth is, Wei Wuxian is afraid.
For all the bluster and exuberance that characterise him from his usual day to day, he’s terrified, almost petrified when it comes to caring for those he loves the most. He doesn’t need Yu-furen’s sharp words or Jiang Cheng’s exasperated comments to tell him that he’s not the best, the most attentive, the gentlest. Instead, he’s oblivious, audacious, temerarious – lives too much in the present, gets by with too much reckless abandon, cares too little for the consequences. It makes him a terrible friend, companion, partner, he thinks; has caused the fall of the Yunmeng Jiang sect, the death of his surrogate family, Jiang Cheng’s regrets and remorse, Jin Ling’s misery, Wen Ning’s loss –
Wei Wuxian is the eye of a hurricane, and it makes him afraid, even more so now that he’s no longer just ‘Yiling Patriarch, Wei Wuxian’, but ‘ Hanguang-Jun’s cultivation partner, Wei Wuxian’. It’s just a title, but it’s also not. It’s a ceaseless tension that wars between what he thinks is right and what he wants – thinks he should love from afar to keep his husband safe, but wants to stay by his side because he’s desired.
And it’s also about what he doesn’t want.
Doesn’t want Hanguang-Jun to forsake his prestige and brilliance for his sake, but can’t let go.
Doesn’t want Lan Wangji to be consumed, ravaged, ruined by his decisions, but can’t stay away.
But greatest of all, doesn’t want Lan Zhan to lose his brother’s favour because of him, doesn’t want Lan Zhan to have to choose between family and them.
Doesn’t want Lan Zhan to know what it’s like to be rejected by his own brother.
---
The season has changed by the time they arrive, Lan Sizhui, Lan Jingyi and Wen Ning waiting for them by the sole pine tree that marks the ascent to the Cloud Recesses. It’s colder now, the beginning of winter – first snow come and gone. White covers everything that they see within the vicinity, and they leave trails of footsteps wherever they go. An interim, fleeting sign of their passing, of their life in that moment.
The younger cultivators have grown visibly during the period of time in which they were gone; Lan Sizhui taller now, a gentleness curled by the corners of his eyes that is startlingly similar to Wen Ning’s, and Lan Jingyi calmer, more composed, more comfortable in his skin.
“Hanguang-Jun, Wei-qianbei, welcome back,” Lan Sizhui sees them first, eyes brightening as he gets up from his perch at the base of the tree to respectfully bow. Lan Jingyi follows, an eager grin blooming on his face.
“Sizhui, Jingyi! We’re back!” Wei Wuxian calls back, running ahead to throw an arm around the both of them while his husband brings up the rear with Li’l Apple. “Wen Ning! You heard my dizi? Thanks for alerting them.”
Wen Ning doesn’t smile, unchanged from when they’d last seen each other, but even so, Wei Wuxian thinks he senses an easier placidity in the way Wen Ning carries himself – at peace with the world and himself. It’s what he’s always hoped for his friend, from the time they lived together in the Burial Mounds until their reunion post- catastrophe. Wei Wuxian had known enough to bring Wen Ning back to life, but not enough to give him a place in it, though deep down inside, they both knew that this was a journey that Wen Ning must walk and discover on his own. “Always, Wei-gongzi. Wen Ning will always hear you.”
“Sure took you awhile to get back here though,” Lan Jingyi says in jest, grinning and nudging at Wei Wuxian before it degenerated into a mock tickle-fight that Lan Sizhui had to break up by putting himself between the both of them. “Did you make Hanguang-Jun let you stop at every drinking place, you drunkard qianbei?”
“I’ll have you know that we went on plenty of serious affairs, alright?” Wei Wuxian retorts, swiping unsuccessfully from where Lan Wangji had come to catch him in his arms, holding him away from the junior cultivators.
“Of course you did. Plenty of everyday serious affairs,” Lan Jingyi answers thoughtlessly, only to pause and blink when he realises what he’d said. “N-no, I meant – ”
“Jingyi...” Lan Sizhui sighs with regret, sharing a look with his uncle while Wei Wuxian howls with laughter in the background. Neither of them thinks it’s a good idea to mention Lan Wangji’s ears turning a deep red in spite of his impassive look, elbowing Lan Jingyi to stop before he digs himself into a deeper hole.
“Wei Ying, don’t bully,” Lan Wangji cautions lowly, tucking Wei Wuxian closer to his side when his husband begins to squirm, eager to get out and make fun of Lan Jingyi again. “Head up now.”
“Aw, Lan Zhan, you’re no fun!”
Lan Jingyi automatically opens his mouth to retort, an answer already on the tip of his tongue, but Lan Sizhui moves that bit faster and slaps a hand to his friend’s face. “No. Jingyi. No.”
Wei Wuxian snickers, but says nothing when Lan Wangji slips their fingers together. “How is everyone?” he asks instead, tilting his head around to look at his companions. They take a slow trek up, basking in the way afternoon rays reflect off snowfields in a blaze of ivory flames. It’s a beautiful view, stirring and striking, but also a scenery that has lived through the throes of time – an echo of the past, present, and future. Perpetual, from the times even before Lan An; perpetual, in the times even after their current generation.
Some things are just meant to be eternal.
“The sect is fine,” Lan Sizhui replies dutifully, “We’ve not encountered major threats, so nighthunts have been quite uneventful. Peaceful, really.”
“Wei Wuxian afar, tranquility abound,” Lan Jingyi recites, grinning. “Teacher Lan made no secrets about his apprehension of your return, Wei-qianbei. He nearly passed that as one of the new rules of our sect before someone reminded him that you’re also Hanguang-Jun’s cultivation partner.”
Wei Wuxian nearly dies laughing.
---
But he doesn’t laugh that night – when they’ve paid what respects needed to be paid, when Wei Wuxian has made himself comfortable in the Jingshi, when Lan Wangji has returned from his immediate visit to his elder brother, the elder Jade of the Two Jades of Lan, the Gusu Lan sect leader.
“Lan Zhan,” Wei Wuxian intones from his perch by Lan Wangji’s writing bureau – careful, cautious – where he’s been sprawled out for the past three hours, sketching whatever that had caught his fancy. Paper litters the floor in abundance, indiscriminate, many containing incomplete quartets of poems that Wei Wuxian has struck out in frustration.
“Mn,” Lan Wangji responds quietly, stepping over the threshold and slowly closing the doors. Wei Wuxian has lit only the candles within the vicinity of the bureau, and he regrets it now when his husband does not step away from the shadows that dominate the far corners of the room. Instead, Lan Wangji hesitates, a long pause in which Wei Wuxian watches, waits, lets him have his moment – a window of opportunity where he slowly ceases to be Lan Wangji of the Gusu Lan sect, gradually becomes Lan Zhan of their cultivation union.
Lan Wangji’s collected by the time he steps out from the dark and takes Wei Wuxian’s stretched out hand, slipping into the empty space behind him – his rightful place, carved out of love and sacrifice, Wei Wuxian’s gift to him and only him.
“Tea?” Wei Wuxian asks, sitting up to pour a cup when his husband nods. He leans back and catches one of Lan Wangji’s arm to hug to his chest when Lan Wangji reaches forward to take his drink, tapping and playing with long fingers that has bled for him on the tremors of guqin strings.
“Want to talk?” he ventures again after a while of silence, pressing kisses to the fingertips. Lan Wangji doesn’t reply, and another beat passes before he draws a heavy breath, closes his eyes, and squeezes Wei Wuxian in a tight hold, face buried into the messy head of hair. It’s distress taking a toll on Lan Wangji, severe in the rigid lines of his body, burying seeds of pessimism in his heart.
Wei Wuxian twists his head to nose at his husband’s jaw until Lan Wangji looks up and succumbs to his lips. Wrenches Wei Wuxian’s muted, tender kisses and turns them into something feral, pressing against Wei Wuxian’s tongue in adamant strokes that demand comfort. Lan Wangji – for all his passivity and detachment – is, perhaps, one of the most impassioned person whom he knows, experiencing sentiments on a level that’s twice the potency.
And Wei Wuxian lets him, lauds him, loves him – because feelings don’t come easy to their kind, and when it does, it takes a special kind of courage to bear them on
“Lan Zhan, ah,” Wei Wuxian gasps at last, “Lan Zhan. It’s alright. You’re alright.”
“Xiongzhang,” Lan Wangji says, low and anguished, “looks exactly the same as before. Still kind, still gentle, still patient. Still smiles at me.”
And Wei Wuxian understands instantly the source of Lan Wangji’s unhappiness.
---
Because who could remain unaffected by such a tight slap of betrayal in the face, especially by someone he calls brother, someone he trusts with his life and sect’s deepest secrets, someone he shares a fight, a battle, a war with – and at the end of the day, a drink of comradery.
Wei Wuxian doesn’t have to look far for a good example. Jiang Cheng’s thirteen years of ceaseless, rabid hunt for his soul is enough of a precedent. And while it’s undeniable that Lan Xichen is better-natured than the Yunmeng Jiang sect’s leader, it is unnerving how selfless Lan Xichen has moulded himself to be.
Lan Wangji picks himself up after that first meeting and forges on, consulting his uncle on how he can assist in daily sect affairs now that he’s back. In the evening, he spends a few hours with his brother, visiting him in the Hanshi – just as how Lan Xichen had carved out time for Lan Wangji when Lan Wangji himself was punished in seclusion so long ago.
Unending patience was what brought Wei Wuxian back to Lan Wangji, and unending patience is what Lan Wangji will give to help his brother get back on his feet.
“Xiongzhang asked about you today,” he says two weeks after their return, when they’re both curled up against one another, Wei Wuxian lounging in Lan Wangji’s arms. The air is freezing now that winter has properly set in, but Lan Wangji has made sure to insulate the Jingshi against stray drafts that could sneak in with pepper mash and wild goose feather-made curtains. But even with that, they’re both huddled beneath three layers of blankets, fighting a war of cold toes whenever either of them has to step out of their confines to relit the extinguished coals in the censers.
Wei Wuxian freezes halfway through a squirm, trying to get into a more comfortable position on top of Lan Wangji, and sits up on him in a straddle instead. “He did?”
Without any candles lit within the vicinity of their bed, Wei Wuxian can’t see his husband’s face clearly, but there’s enough visibility for him to catch Lan Wangji’s raised brows. “He did.”
“...What did he ask?”
“If you’re doing well.”
Wei Wuxian waits for more, and then frowns when Lan Wangji stays silent. “Is that it?”
“No.”
“Lan Zhan!” Wei Wuxian exclaims with indignance, dropping himself abruptly into a sprawl on top of Lan Wangji, making his husband grunt at the impact. Lan Wangji doesn’t reply beyond placing a hand over Wei Wuxian’s back and rubbing across once, twice, thrice. It’s pensive, careful – the way Lan Wangji pets him, and Wei Wuxian knows that he’s thinking of a way to start their conversation.
“Xiongzhang asked me if he should play Inquiry,” he replies at length, voice a timbre deeper, a pitch quieter, a touch shakier; and Wei Wuxian reaches up to curl his arms around Lan Wangji’s neck in encouragement. To Lan Wangji, despite being brought up by their uncle, Lan Xichen has always been father, mother, brother, pillar of strength, mountain of support, ocean of wisdom. He has never seen his elder brother waver in the face of anything, always steadfast even when he bore the fate of the Gusu Lan sect with him during periods of treachery and oppression.
It has always been Lan Wangji looking at his brother’s back, following him, learning from him, chasing after him.
What does one do when roles are suddenly reversed?
Wei Wuxian kisses at the base of Lan Wangji’s throat and sighs when Lan Wangji buries fingers to scratch against his scalp.
“For Jin Guangyao?” he asks even though he knows the answer.
“Mn.”
“Because you played Inquiry for me when I was dead?”
There is another pause before Lan Wangji agrees, like he needs time to calm the stutters of his heart before he can reply. “Xiongzhang wanted to know how.”
Wei Wuxian looks up, confused. “How? How to play Inquiry? I thought everyone here knows?”
But Lan Wangji shakes his head subtly, propped up against their headrest, and pushes Wei Wuxian’s head back to rest on his chest. “Making the decision to play.”
Wei Wuxian’s head perks up again, staring at his husband with wide eyes, and he whispers, “Oh. Oh.”
Instantly, he drowns once more in the tidal waves of affection that hit him right in the gut because he forgets so often that while thirteen years was nothing more than a blink of an eye for him – in a blink of an eye, he’s dead; in another blink of an eye, he’s resurrected – it was an eternity for Lan Wangji.
An eternity of heartache, an eternity of longing, but ultimately, an eternity of struggling against a whole world that had condemned the Yiling Patriarch to hell and damnation.
What Lan Xichen is really asking is this: how, Wangji? How could you play for someone so forsaken by the world, without a care for anything else? Where did you find the courage, where did you find the determination, where did you find the fortitude?
Wei Wuxian wouldn't know this, but Lan Xichen had asked the same questions of his brother thirteen years ago – with clearer eyes, with sympathy instead of anguish.
“What did you say?” Wei Wuxian breathes back, unable to stop himself even if he wanted to. He knows the answer, he knows, but like the greedy whelp that he is, he wants it from Lan Wangji’s lips.
And Lan Wangji, too, knows this; indulges him because he smiles that stupid little smile of his – the one that he likes to hide away behind his curtain of dark hair – and leans up to kiss his husband, sweet and slow. “Because I love you.”
---
Wei Wuxian is afraid.
Wei Wuxian is afraid, and he knows that if he gets discovered – which he most likely will, if not by Lan Qiren, then by his own husband – he will be in terrible trouble. Forget copying Gusu Lan’s four thousand rules on handstands – Lan Qiren would probably make him copy while levitating.
But he’s most afraid because he doesn’t think that he’s ready for this.
Face to face, heart to heart, man to man. A conversation with his esteemed brother-in-law, Zewu-Jun, Lan Xichen.
But he knows that if he doesn’t do it anytime soon, he will never do it. That is how cowardice works – lets you procrastinate today to tomorrow, then the day after to the following week, and soon it’ll be the next month, the next year, the next decade, forevermore, and never again.
The fearless Yiling Patriarch knows this, but it’s hard to convince a traitorous heart that insists on beating a drum into his soul with relentless insistence. It’s even harder to persuade a restless pair of legs to sneak out from his shoddy hiding place, a particularly big clump of bush right beneath Zewu-Jun’s study window.
“I’ve sunk so low. I’ve really sunk so low. What am I even doing?” Wei Wuxian breathes to himself, burying his head between his knees, vexed and disappointed in himself. What had happened to the reckless Wei Wuxian of his youth, when approaching Zewu-Jun was easier than approaching Hanguang-Jun?
But that was before the regrets of adulthood had taken a swipe at him, at them; and fate had thought it fitting that they were dealt hands to destroy the world as they knew it, and then rebuild it on a foundation of their tears, blood, and sacrifice.
“Come on, Wei Wuxian, did you lose your balls too just because you’ve become a cutsleeve? You didn’t, right?! That’d be really bad. Grow some back, you need them.”
“That,” Lan Xichen’s polite voice is subdued, but it’s also abrupt enough to send Wei Wuxian a feet into the air, grabbing at his chest and whirling around wildly. “Is quite the drastic thing to tell yourself, Wei-gongzi.”
“Zewu-Jun! G-greetings...” Wei Wuxian laughs weakly, waving. He’s not sure how he hadn’t noticed, but Lan Xichen had propped open the window above him at some point in time, looking right at him with open bemusement.
“Greetings, Wei-gongzi,” Lan Xichen bows in respect and then does nothing beyond staring at Wei Wuxian. Silence settles between them awkwardly, heavy and uneasy, like water had filled their lungs and made it difficult to breathe, much less talk. Wei Wuxian wants to fidget, as he always does whenever he gets nervous about certain things, run his mouth off even when he can only hear the beating of his heart in his throat – but then remembers that this is Lan Xichen, Lan Wangji’s respected brother.
He isn’t here for frivolity. He’s here for resolution. It makes it easier to grow a backbone and straighten himself out.
“Zewu-Jun,” Wei Wuxian bows back, solemn, “I understand that you’re in seclusion, but could you. Erm. Would you – ”
“Wei-gongzi never used to be so hesitant,” Lan Xichen smiles, and Wei Wuxian unexpectedly chokes on a ball of remorse that sinks low into the depths of his soul.
Still kind, still gentle, still patient. Still smiling, Wei Wuxian remembers Lan Wangji’s grief and wishes that things could have turned out another way, wishes that it didn’t have to be either-or – a cruel, clear-cut dichotomy. Lan Xichen has been nothing but upstanding his entire life, but he pays now the price for someone else’s schemes and his younger brother’s happiness. He pays now the price for his own soft heart.
Wei Wuxian blinks hard, blinks away the tears, and goes back down on his knees, forehead to the ground in supplication. “This is a long time coming, Zewu-Jun. It is everything that I owe you. Would you make an exception this once, and please allow me to speak with you?”
And all Lan Xichen does is to huff a quiet laugh and call his name, placid and pleasant, like the world has not done him any wrong. “Wei-gongzi. You’re Wangji’s cultivation partner, my brother-in-law. No exception needed if it’s you.”
---
“I hated you, did you know that?” Lan Xichen starts when they’re both seated in the Hanshi, tea brewed and poured. The quarters are as prim as Lan Wangji’s Jingshi, if not more, and as pristine as Wei Wuxian remembers from the one time he’d been in here during his run from Jin Guangyao.
Lan Xichen’s expression doesn’t change from the cordial expression on his face as he says that, still affable, still charming.
Wei Wuxian swallows and doesn’t look away. If this is his punishment for hurting this man, then he will take it.
“I’ve...hated you. For a long while, I think. And I don’t think even I knew that. Until recently, at least. After all, these days, I have nothing to do but to examine things,” Lan Xichen continues, matter of fact. “Are you surprised to hear this, Wei-gongzi?”
Wei Wuxian takes a drink. “I don’t know. Maybe? The whole cultivation world hated me for how I practised my demonic ways, but...that’s not how you hated me, I suppose?”
Lan Xichen nods, honest. “For all the reproach that my uncle has to say about you, it’s undeniable that Wei-gongzi has always been more astute and perceptive than given credit for. One of the most brilliant cultivators of our generation.”
“Hardly, Zewu-Jun. Compared to you and Lan Zhan, I’m just...me.”
Lan Xichen laughs a little, tears a little more. “And yet you’re the one who’s brought Wangji to his knees, Wei-gongzi. What does that say about you?”
To which Wei Wuxian does not reply. Unable to reply. So he plays with his cup, twists it around like a reprimanded child, the way he does when Jiang Fengmian sometimes sat him down, dreams and dreams ago, to admonish him for misdoings. But at length, he raises his head and asks, “Is that why you hate me?”
Lan Xichen heaves a breath and looks across his quarters – at Shuoyue, at Liebing, at him. “It’s why I hated you.”
“...oh.” Wei Wuxian stares at Lan Xichen, confused, and only grows more vexed when Lan Xichen chuckles and shakes his head.
“I was angry, Wei-gongzi. I hated that you changed my brother so much, made him go through so much, took away so much of him. When you died, I had to watch Wangji persist in his devotion to you, watch him turn on us, watch him fall, watch him destroy the reputation that he’d built – just for your sake.
“Who were you compared to us, his uncle and his brother who have nursed him back to health when he was sick, picked him up when he tripped, held his hand when he needed guidance? His sect members who have cultivated him as he is? And yet, all it took was a single glance from you, and he gave everything to follow you to the end of the world.”
Lan Xichen sits and nurses his cup, eyes clear, voice calm. This isn’t a confrontation, Wei Wuxian understands, and Lan Xichen isn’t rebuking him. It’s just thirteen years of repressed resentment laid out on the table in as civil a manner as possible – it’s Lan Xichen’s plea for him to acknowledge the damage that he had wrecked upon his little family, knowingly or unknowingly, intentionally or unintentionally.
“What was I to do in my position? I was the sect leader, but I was also Wangji’s brother. How do I tell him that I cannot support him with what he wishes to do? How do I tell him that I have to lay down his punishments in spite of my fear that he would not make it through?
“And yet when you returned, you knew nothing of all these – every drop of blood that he spilt for you, every mockery that he took for you. Honestly, when I realised this, I wasn’t sure if I should be angry at you or Wangji.”
“Lan Zhan,” Wei Wuxian quips before he could think to stop himself, and then grins wryly when Lan Xichen laughs amiably.
“Fair point. Wangji has never been the most honest or the most straightforward, has he? But can you blame him?”
“No,” Wei Wuxian agrees. Of course he can’t, not when he’s guilty of the same thing. “No, I can’t.”
“But that’s how things were. Unfair. Unreasonable. And then, somewhere along the lines, I also realised that I was angry at myself. I had thought you a positive influence on Wangji, and I’d encouraged the both of you to interact in spite of my uncle’s apprehension.”
At this, Lan Xichen stops himself and sighs. “My apologies, that’s...incorrect. At the end of everything, you were. Are. A positive influence on Wangji. It’s gratifying to see him happy now. I’ve never seen him as he lives now, and it was all because of you.
“What I was really angry at was...I didn’t notice him change. I was angry at how abrupt everything was. But I should have know. Wangji never told the world, but it does not mean that feelings did not brew within him. And I took that out on you.”
“Lan-zhongzhu,” Wei Wuxian says with a shake of his head, a fond, soft look on his face, remorse and understanding plucking at the smile on his lips. “Lan-zhongzhu, if I may speak my piece? You don’t have to justify yourself. I know now of the pain I’ve brought you and Lan Zhan more than thirteen years ago, and also of the pain I’ve brought you again just few months ago.”
Lan Xichen rears back at that and protests, “A-Yao was at fault –”
But Wei Wuxian places a hand on Lan Xichen’s arm, mute and placating. “But it does not mean that the kinship was unreal.”
Because it’s true. Every smile, every touch, every word shared. Lan Xichen had never been false in his affection, even if Jin Guangyao may have. And after everything that he’d been through, Wei Wuxian thinks he at least has the right to tell Lan Xichen this – that it is alright for him to mourn Jin Guangyao for the person that he had been in front of Lan Xichen, not the Jin Guangyao that the world now hates.
It is as simple as Lan Wangji had said, after all. Because I love you.
“There is a Jin Guangyao in your heart,” Wei Wuxian presses, desperate for Lan Xichen to understand. “A Jin Guangyao that had earned your respect, deserved your loyalty. Grieve for that Jin Guangyao, honour that Jin Guangyao. Your Jin Guangyao, not the world’s.”
“There isn’t any difference between this A-Yao or that – ”
“And yet,” Wei Wuxian pats Lan Xichen’s arm once, twice; holds his cold, trembling hands, voice a murmur that sounds like the resonating ring of a temple bell, “listen to yourself still calling him A-Yao.”
Lan Xichen rises from his seat and rips his arm away from Wei Wuxian’s hold, chest heaving rapidly, fingers fisted by his side. In an instant, he turns away from Wei Wuxian, crossing the room in large steps and reaching the enclave on the far side of the space. “This conversation is over. Thank you for your visit, Wei-gongzi.”
But Wei Wuxian does not leave. He knows immediately that he has overstayed his welcome, but he doesn’t leave. Because if he doesn’t clear things up now, then when? If it isn’t now, then when? Hasn’t he had enough instances of not grasping opportunities?
Rooted to his place, Wei Wuxian raises his arms in a salute to Lan Xichen’s back, earnestness a wrecking ball punching the breath out of his chest.
“I don’t think I will ever understand the extent of grief that I have caused you, Lan-zhongzhu, but if there is one thing that I could do to compensate for some of my mistakes, I promise you this – that I’ll never betray Lan Zhan or let him face his life alone again. His days, his nights; his weeks, months, and years – I will guard them all. So at least in this matter, please let your heart be at ease.
“But more than that, Zewu-Jun, please,” Wei Wuxian whispers, hoarse, heart aching more than he can bear, more terrified than he can take, “Hate me, but not Lan Zhan. Hold me accountable, but not Lan Zhan. I beg this of you.”
Wei Wuxian leaves.
---
Lan Wangji comes to him that evening. Walks up to him and folds him into his arms as the sun sets behind the mountains, turning the Cloud Recesses into a pond of fire above the world. Presses a kiss against his ear as eagles chase one another playfully, riding on the wings of the wind, lords of the sky staking their rightful claim. Takes stiff fingers into his own and threads them tight.
“I heard you play Chenqing.”
“Mm?” Wei Wuxian answers absentmindedly, squeezing Lan Wangji’s hands in his, and then turning his face into Lan Wangji’s neck. “Was it that loud? I’m sorry. No noise in the Cloud Recesses, right?”
“Not loud. Just heard,” Lan Wangji answers. “When I was with xiongzhang.”
Wei Wuxian swallows, fingers twitching. He wishes his heart would stop beating a dent into his ribs, wishes it’d stop trying to crawl up his throat and choke him to death. “You did?”
“Mm. Xiongzhang commented.”
A beat, a breath. “What did he say?”
“Worried.”
Wei Wuxian shifts and twists around to face his husband within the circle of his arms, frowning. “Worried?”
Lan Wangji nods and tucks Wei Wuxian’s head back against the warmth of his throat. “Wuxian sounds worried.”
Lan Wangji’s words are deadpan, toneless; but it makes Wei Wuxian inhales sharply anyway. Makes him step back to look his husband in his eyes – golden, gleaming, glorious. Lan Wangji once told Wei Wuxian that he’s a danger to Lan Wangji himself – one look, and he can’t look away again; but Wei Wuxian wonders if Lan Wangji knows that he’s just the same.
One gaze, and Wei Wuxian is trapped.
“Were you?” Lan Wangji asks now, bringing his hand up to gently trace the shell of Wei Wuxian’s ear, sending tremors to the base of his skull.
Wei Wuxian wants to huff and laugh his way out of this, but the way Lan Wangji looks at him so honestly, trustingly, makes him want to reciprocate in return. Never lie to this one man. He can’t anyway. Not to Lan Wangji.
“Yes, I was,” he admits, ducking his head, but Lan Wangji only catches his chin and tips his face back up.
“Xiongzhang and me?” Lan Wangji questions again, unwavering. Three simple words, laden with a whole world of significance that is both expressed and unexpressed. But it’s enough. Because Lan Wangji knows it all, knows him all, knows everything.
“Did Lan-zhongzhu really say that? Every word of it?” Wei Wuxian queries in return, insistent, disbelieving. It’s just a name, he tries to remind himself again, it’s just a name.
But it’s not just a name. It’s acceptance, it’s forgiveness. It’s relief coursing through Wei Wuxian, makes him slump against Lan Wangji and bump a fist against sturdy chest. “Mean.”
Lan Wangji smiles. “Xiongzhang was playing Inquiry when I left.”
“He was?”
“Mm.”
Wei Wuxian laughs and buries his face into his husband’s chest. “That’s great, right?”
“Mm.” And after that, Lan Wangji adds, subtly cheeky, “Wei Ying. Will you really guard my days, my nights, my weeks, months and years?”
It’s impossible to describe how it feels for the heat to rush right up to Wei Wuxian’s face, turning it a violent red that is both embarrassment and indignance in turns. “Lan Wangji, Hanguang-Jun, you are incorrigible! Were you eavesdropping?!”
And then, even more horrified, “Did you let me break into the Hanshi?!”
And all Lan Wangji does is catch Wei Wuxian in his arms and hide his laugh amidst Wei Wuxian’s furious protests.