Porcelain Blue

Stray #1: Wei Wuxian is ambling around Yueyang, let loose with uncle Song Lan at a good pace watching him, when he sees a kid get beaten up for asking for a reward of a snack. He darts forward, catching a fist and stepping to the side so the man is twisted under his knee in one smooth motion. Training had been going well, and he thinks mama would be proud.  The man sputters, face red, and makes all sorts of demands, puffing and going on and on about the YueyangChang. 

Wei Wuxian, professional brat and heir to YilingWei, lets the man go with a light shove that sends him kneeling into the dirt, and speaks, heaping on extra insolence just for fun.

“Ah, well. Sorry, gongzi, I’m not from here, so I don’t know who is who around these parts,” he sing-songs, moving to help the very battered kid up from the ground. He looks like he’s about his age. He beams at him, although the kid is looking at him warily. “But my mama tells me you can’t make promises you can’t keep, and a rich gongzi like you surely can buy some candy to pay for your errands, can’t you?” 

“Who the fuck are you, brat? You think you can speak to me like this?” The man seems to be reaching forward, ready to strike, and Wei Wuxian is ready to throw down, but his uncle Song Lan steps smoothly between them, bows with grace to the man and asks softly what the matter is. 

“Has our young master Wei gotten himself into trouble again?” Song Lan asks, all civil and gentlemanly and terrifying. The Distant Snow and Cold Frost is recognisable to most, and Wei Wuxian watches as the man puts two and two together. That said, YilingWei isn’t that prestigious a clan to warrant that much respect, but the man clearly knows he is outclassed. He turns in a bad temper, stomping away.  Song Lan turns to him, raises an eyebrow, and then bends down to speak to the kid who is fidgeting behind Wei Wuxian.  “Haizi, don’t worry, we mean no harm. Will you tell gege your name?” The kid looks at the two of them warily, eyeing their simple clothing, their lack of ornament. “Xue Yang,” he mutters.  “Alright, A-Yang, A-Ying, will you tell gege what happened?” Wei Wuxian sticks his tongue out at his uncle. “That guy was being an ass! Yang-di did something for him for a snack and he got all mad!” He huffs, annoyed. “We should have beat him up.”  Song Lan waits to see if Xue Yang will dispute the story, and when the kid just looks at his feet, angry tears in his eyes, he sighs. Grabs Wei Wuxian by the scruff of his robes and puts a gentle hand on Xue Yang’s head.  “Come on, gege was getting hungry anyways. I was going to get some food. I’m sure A-Ying will want too many snacks, but if there’s two of you, you can share, hm?” He starts walking away.  Wei Wuxian grins. “Uncle is really a pushover, c’mon, I want some tanghulu. Do you have any family? Our sect is great, we don’t care who or where you’re from. You wanna come see?”  Xue Yang blinks at him, lets his wrist get grabbed and towed away, buoyed by the promise of tanghulu and snacks. Maybe this time it won’t end in suffering.  ----------

Stray #2:  It’s the third day of the discussion conference in Lanling, and while Wei Wuxian had been dragged by his parents to attend and bow and get his everything commented, he had finally bargained the day off, cheeks sore from getting pinched by random and well-meaning older aunties. He grabs Xue Yang and uncle Xingchen, badgering them into going to town with him. He wants to try Lanling street food! He’s heard the baozi are really good! It’s about lunchtime when they wander into a food stall that smells amazing, but before they can order there’s a commotion.  “Stay away from us, you son of a whore!” A scuffle, and there, a kid is being pushed down, his baozi thrown onto the floor.  “Yeah, I bet you’re full of disease, just like your mother!” another kid, bigger and meaner, spits on the ground. Gross. The kid on the floor looks incensed at this, eyes flashing, but before he can do anything his hair is being yanked and he’s gasping in pain.  Wei Wuxian has really got to stop meeting peers like this. He slants a look at Xue Yang, who has gone still and tense. Xue Yang hates these kinds of people the most. They step into the stall together, and while he’s tempted to really mess around with these guys, he probably shouldn’t make a fuss during a discussion conference, or mama will make them do drills for hours.  So he nudges Xue Yang forward, and his shidi grips the hand holding the boy’s hair hard enough that the bones creak, until the bully is gasping in pain and wrenching back, letting go of the younger boy. Wei Wuxian helps the kid up, makes sure he’s alright.  “Who the fuck are you guys?” the kids say, and Wei Wuxian notices that they’re in Jin gold. Gross. It occurs to him then that they probably also cannot make a fuss during LanlingJin’s discussion conference, so Wei Wuxian just grins his most diplomatic smile, throws an exaggerated bow and says, “Wei Wuxian, heir to YilingWei, at your service! This is my shidi Xue Chengmei! We compliment LanlingJin for hosting our sect. LanlingJin must be very rich, if minor disciples can afford to waste food like this!” He waves an airy hand at the remains of the boy’s baozi scattered across the floor. One of the Jin boys sneer, “We don’t have to care about commoners and trash like that,” he spits, but is clearly not willing to challenge a sect heir outright. Xue Yang is still pissed, so he puts a hand on the sword at his hip, and narrows his eyes at them.  “YilingWei strongly discourages actions and words like that,” he says. And the threat is very, very much implied.  Eventally, Uncle Xingchen appears, smoothes things over, and sends the Jins on their way. Wei Wuxian turns round to the kid who is looking at them with wide doe eyes, half afraid, half in awe.  “This Meng Yao thanks the two honored cultivators for their assistance,” he murmurs, polite and formal, but the hands folded in front of his bow are trembling.  Wei Wuxian scrunches his nose as Xue Yang ambles off to buy three baozi from the lady at the front of the stall. It’s kind of nice, Wei Wuxian thinks absently, that Xue Yang gets to feed other kids, now. 

“Aw, none of that,” Wei Wuxian says, pulling the kid’s hands apart and lifting him back upright. “We’re all common folk here, aren’t we, Yang-di!”  “Aren’t you the heir of the Wei Sect, gongzi?” Meng Yao asks.  “Well, yeah, but my dad was born a servant. Anyways our sect doesn’t care about that sort of stuff. You want a baozi? I’m sorry yours got thrown.”  Meng Yao accepts a baozi and eats it with more elegance than Wei Wuxian has ever seen. He doesn’t finish, though, even though he’s obviously still hungry.  “Saving it for later?” Xue Yang asks, eyeing him.

Meng Yao shakes his head gently. “My mother, ah. She works at a brothel, as I’m sure you heard earlier. They don’t... they don’t feed her much if she doesn’t work enough.”  They sit there for a moment, three kids digesting the weight of the world. The moment passes, though, and Wei Wuxian darts back to the front of the store to get another baozi, and some other snacks wrapped up in paper to go. He gestures at them to come out, and the trail after him.  “C’mon, I got some extra food for your mom. Can you take us to her?”  Meng Yao blanches for a moment, obviously torn. He nods, after a moment, and they walk a ways to the establishment where Meng Shi works. Meng Yao fidgets for a moment, but gestures them in through a side door. They meet Meng Yao’s mother, who looks a lot like him, She thanks them graciously for the food, and asks them questions about their sword, and the cultivation world in general. They’re not there for long before Wei Wuxian’s yaopei glows softly, and he winces.  At the two pairs of delicately raised eyebrows, he answers, “Mama’s using her tracking talisman.”  Meng Shi laughs, then, a clear, high sound. She slaps a delicate hand on the table in mirth. “Oh, I wish I had one of those for my boy here! Your mother would make a killing if she sold those!”  Before he can reply, he hears a scuffle, a few shouts of “Excuse me, You can’t be here!” before his mother thows the doors open and stomps in, stopping before them to stare her son and disciple down. “Well boys, aren’t you two a little young to be in a place like this?” she says archly.  Meng Shi rises gracefully, bowing low. “Ah, we beg your forgiveness, your boys were helping my son with some trouble, and were kind enough to bring me some food. Please let me repay you for their troubles.”  Meng Yao looks alarmed at that, but he doesn’t say anything. Cangse Sanren looks at the whole scene, narrows her eyes at her son before waving her hands at the other woman. She pushes her son and Xue Yang’s heads down roughly, making them bow.  “No, no, thank you for keeping my boys out of trouble!” she says, and the two women stare at each other for a beat, before they both smile and sit down at the table in unison.  “Psst. Mama, can we bring them back? “ Wei Wuxian asks, tugging on her sleeve. She sighs at him, and then directs her question to Meng Shi. “Well, Meng-guniang. It looks like my boys have made friends with your son here, and to be honest, we’d like some more young disciples. Would you want to come with us?” 

When Zidian coils around him and wrenches, he cannot help but grin to himself, a small thing full of bloody teeth. He feels delirious, and everything hurts white-hot, but the feeling-sound-crackle-smell of Zidian is so familiar that it feels like home. If he closes his eyes, the purple of Jiang Cheng’s robes may as well be Yu-Furen’s. Their rage feels the same, physically.

Lan Zhan’s hand is so tight around his wrist that he can almost feel his bones shift, and he hisses at the pain even though it feels good, in a way, to be anchored to this plane of existence.

Later, when he flings himself behind Lan Zhan’s body, the first thing his brain registers is how fine the weave of his robes are, smooth but sturdy under his fingers, the faint threads catching against his rough skin. It’s a weird, incongruent detail that he can’t get out of his head, even as he shamelessly flirts his way out of getting dragged back to Lotus Pier (he cannot, not right now, not like this). Lan Zhan’s voice is deep, deeper than he remembers, and the thrum of it catching his hearing sends the hairs on his nape standing, skin prickling in an uncomfortable awareness.

Later, in the Jingshi, his old friend spread under him staring steadily as he asks him to go back to his own bed, Wei Wuxian feels like the light was never like this when he was last alive, liquid and colourless; that shaft of moonlight cutting through the crystal shape of Lan Zhan’s irises is almost vicious in its beauty. His breath catches, but he plasters a bright smile as he plays the part of shameless, predatory Mo Xuanyu(as though a boy so young and starved could be anything but vulnerable). But all Lan Zhan does is jab a pressure point that makes him go limp and tingly, and all he can focus on is the sharp, clean smell of incense, and the furnace-warmth of Lan Zhan’s terrifyingly strong golden core under him. He sinks into sleep and it’s only a little scary, to go back into darkness and quiet, but the warmth and weight of Lan Zhan’s hand draped on his waist is always there, at the edge of his awareness, and he slips off into the first sleep of 16 years.

As they journey Northwest, Wei Wuxian lets himself go, trails his hands on walls and scuffs his feet just to feel the dirt squish under his shoes. He lingers at stalls, more so than he would have before, touching everything and looking. He buys rouge from a merchant and dabs into the soft, pressed powder with his pinky, marvelling at the texture. He dabs a little, on his lips, for fun. No more than a passing fancy, but in this new body and new life, Wei Wuxian is determined to honor ever passing fancy, feel every sensation he wants to. He thinks, privately, that he has earned it.

Lan Zhan makes an aborted movement at him, when he sees the pigment on his face, makes like he wants to press his thumbs against his lips to wipe it off. Wei Wuxian waits, head cocked to see what Lan Zhan will do. Lan Wangji, however, has never died and been reborn. He is, as always the paragon of self-control and dignity. He would never acknowledge any passing fancies, so he flexes his hand from his fist, and turns away. Wei Wuxian stares after him, not knowing what that was about, beyond the knowledge that Lan Zhan has been denying himself every single day they have been travelling together.

It bothers him. He knows that Lan Zhan is not a person given to doing whatever he wants, but something about the movements, the heavy weight of his gaze, something makes his teeth itch, and Wei Wuxian convinces himself that it is merely concern for his friend, a desire to see him happy and a little more free. I must give him my advice! He thinks privately, amused and mischievous, keen to start a new plan into action.

So he catalogues every time Lan Zhan makes a strange movement, every time those eyes rest on him a little too long. He wonders how long it will take for Lan Zhan’s resolve to break, and he makes sure to repeat every action that catches the attention of the venerable Hanguang-jun.

He dabs the barest suggestion of pigment on his face. Sometimes his eyes, most often his lips, just to see the tips of Lan Zhan’s ears pink when he turns away. It eventually seems tha Lan Zhan is intent on watching him, though, so Wei Wuxian simply loses himself in the joy of being here.

“Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan says for the first time, and his blood quickens as he registers the joy of being called, to have a name and to be recognised. The cadence and tone of that voice, and the warmth of those large hands on his calf over his curse-mark feel so real he cannot lose himself in his own traitorous, quicksilver mind.

“Lan Zhan,” he breathes, tasting the words on his tongue as they leave him, intentional, seeking their owner.

When Lan Zhan moves to pick him up, he does not squawk, does not struggle. He reaches up and loops his arms around Lan Zhan’s neck and lets himself be carried, because why not?

Why not live in the moment?

What does it matter, what it looks like, when a man carries another man?

Nothing matters, except feeling safe and warm and grounded, here, pressed up against GusuLan white, the fabric smooth against his skin.

Lan Wangji is still trying to map the parameters of this new Wei Ying. He is much the same, of course, even without hearing the hollow scraping whistle of a bamboo flute butchering the one song he has kept close to his heart for years, Lan Wangji thinks that he would have been able to place Wei Ying before long, through his mannerisms, through the cadence and easy drip of his words.

But something seems looser, in this new Wei Ying. The boy he had fallen in love with so long ago had always been a creature of action and reaction, all whim-chasing wrapped around an unbending moral core. But then, that boy was gone and in his place was a man unyielding and exhausted, and Lan Wangji had almost forgotten what it was like to hear a clear laugh dancing about him.

But apparently lying dead for 16 years and coming back had done something to Wei Ying, and he seems all at once more carefree and young than he has ever seemed, and also still, wise, in a way that he never seemed to achieve before.

He no longer cares about the gaze of others, truly does not mind them instead of the knowing-and-defying that Wei Ying had been known for. Lan Wangji had admired him for that before, but now, knowing about the censure and the tightrope dance Wei Ying had had to do within the bounds of what was socially acceptable, Lan Wangji feels something flutter in his chest, some tight tension from before melting away, bit by bit.

Wei Ying buys rouge with his money, and he knows that this is probably part of a plan to catch him out, to obfuscate his true identity (as though Lan Zhan has ever been so unobservant as to miss all the tells that make up the creature that is Wei Ying.), but even after Lan Wangji reveals what he knows, Wei Ying continues to play with the pigment. He ends up buying this new Wei Ying a box of lip paper, and watches curiously as Wei Ying opens the box, fishes out a sheet of vermillion delicately, and places it between his lips. A press, holding it there for a while, then his mouth parts, and oh, he is beautiful.

Wei Ying has always been beautiful to Lan Wangji, and it was no secret that his old body had many admirers. But even now, in the fine-boned features of Mo Xuanyu, it has always been the light in those eyes and unbreakable spirit that Lan Wangji had been drawn to. But the truth of the matter is - and of course, lying to oneself is also forbidden - that Wei Ying, returned after 16 long years in a new body, with wide guileless eyes and lips stained the same red of his underrobes- Wei Ying is lovely, and Lan Wangji wants nothing more than to dart forward and taste, to see if that sweet smelling paper also would impart flavour, or if Wei Ying’s lips would be the only thing to discover.

“Ah, Lan Zhan, Lan Zhan! I don’t have a mirror, so you’ll just have to tell me, does it look good? I know you think I’m shameless, but what do you think?”

Lan Wangji reaches forward, plucks the box out of Wei Ying’s hands and stows it away in their shared travel bag. He pauses for a moment, glancing at the graceful bow of those lips, then back at those wide, happy eyes.

“Wei Ying has always looked good in red,” he murmurs.

Wei Ying blinks for a moment, surprised, before breaking out into a smile, wide and soft and sweet, vermillion stained.

After gathering the juniors like ducklings, they head into town, and Wei Wuxian keeps tugging them aside to look at stalls in the marketplace, nagging at them to eat more food and buy souvenirs for their friends and families.

“Why are you so frivolous!! You’re so embarrassing!” Jin Ling huffs, red faced and embarrassed that Wei Wuxian is currently trying to shove some tanghulu into his hands.

“Aah, Jin Ling, that’s where you’re wrong!” Wei Wuxian says, brandishing a stick of tanghulu at him. “It’s not frivolous to slow down and enjoy things! It’s a beautiful day, the sun is shining, there are snacks to eat. You should listen to me! I’m very wise!”

He laughs at the disbelieving looks on all their young faces, and turns to Lan Zhan, who is regarding him with his usual steady stare. He poffers the tanghulu, and Lan Zhan pauses for a moment, before accepting the offering, biting delicately into the candied hawthorn before pulling it off the skewer. He chews thoughtfully, and swallows, and the sight of that pink tongue darting out to lick the remaining sugar off distracts Wei Wuxian into silence.

Lan Zhan hands the skewer back, flicks his gaze up at him, before murmuring, “ Be strict with yourself .”

Wei Wuxian blinks, and vaguely registers Lan Jingyi nodding in agreement with Lan Zhan. But he laughs, and counters airily, “‘ Embrace the entirety of the world ’, Lan Zhan! That was always my favourite rule, you know. After all, how can you fault me! I’ve died once, and am fortunate enough to be here to eat candy and play around.” He smiles, feeling his eyes crinkle, and pops another candied berry into his mouth.

He drinks slowly, now, luxuriating in the feel of smooth liquor on his tongue, the slide of it down his throat. He stops asking Lan Zhan to join him, after the first few times had left his heart pounding and desire pooling in his belly. No, it wouldn’t do to act when Lan Zhan was vulnerable, when he would not remember anything.

He feels like honey, thick and slow-moving. Lan Zhan is a steady presence across the table. He wants-- well, he wants many things. He sits with those feelings for a while, sifting through them like pebbles covered in mud, washing them clean until they are smooth in his hands.

He weighs each desire, thinks about their cost, and whether his heart can take the cost. He thinks of his battered heart, weighed against the steady golden gaze looking at him, always looking at him, and thinks he knows which way the scales tip.

He sets aside the jar, ceramic clinking onto the polished wood of the table. Leans forward, far enough to smell sandalwood and jasmine. He moves slowly, eyes never leaving Lan Zhan, telegraphing his movement enough such that Lan Zhan could easily back up, move away, give his answer therien. But Lan Zhan is still as a rock under a waterfall, worn smooth with patience and time. He looks at him, lips slightly parted and cheeks dusting pink.

“Lan Zhan,” he breathes, the syllables sweet on his tongue.

“Wei Ying.”

Had the sound of his name ever sounded so sweet, so fragile and tender? There is nothing different about the way Lan Zhan says it, Lan Zhan has called his name like this for years, but only now, with his mind clear of resentful energy, clever of all the trappings of his past life, can Wei Wuxian hear the tender regard and warmth that Lan Zhan imbues into the characters of his name. The way his lips catch on Wei , the deep breath at the back of his throat- Ying , I love you , it says, soft and tender. I love you without ever asking for anything back , it says to him.

He finally reaches his destination, hands landing on Lan Zhan to balance himself; the left on his shoulder, the right on his knee. He is warm under his palms, but he does not move, save to shift a little to place his hand near Wei Ying’s right, fingers ghosting the side of his wrist. A steadying presence.

He presses forward, brushes his lips against Lan Zhan’s own, swallows the slight hitch-exhale from him, lips pressing together in earnest now. Lan Zhan’s lips are soft, plush, yielding. Wei Wuxian licks into his mouth, taste joining smell-touch-sight-hearing , five senses to catalogue the entirety of Lan Wangji, mapping out the start and end of his being.

Lan Zhan makes a rough, wounded noise under him, and they shift against each other, finding purchase on the seat, Wei Ying crawling into that firm lap as he pushes himself close.

“Wei Ying,” he gasps, broken and in disarray, fragile hope in his eyes as he glances at him, darting, taking in is eyes, his mouth, looking like he wants to drown in Wei Wuxian.

“Shhh,” he soothes. “I’m here now, I’m alive, I’m alive.”

He repeats that phrase, whispering it into Lan Zhan’s hair, into his skin, into his lips again, an affirmation, confirmation of the impossible made fact. There is proof, evidence, all five senses and the events of this puzzle falling around them to prove that Wei Wuxian is here , cradled in the lap of someone who he lives, who loves him.

When he had met Wei Ying, it was not the impudence, or the rule breaking, or even the feeling of finally being matched, blade for blade in the moonlight of the only home he has ever known that had incensed him so. It was the fact that he was smiling at him, teasing and sure and with the kind of respect and regard that Wei Wuxian had inherent in him for other people. Wangji had known, after months of knowing him, that Wei Wuxian was kind, strong, and righteous. But it angered him to be smiled at, when the only person who was ever allowed to laugh at him and tease and be kind to him was gone, only the ghost of a memory remaining. 

He hated how the memory of his mother’s smile was now tucked alongside myriad other ones of Wei Ying, laughing and crowing, eyes bright. He hated that by now, there were more memories of Wei Ying than he had of his mother. 

He hated that he wanted more, to hoard every smile for himself alone. The subsequent horror at the idea of being anything like his father had nearly broken him that night. 

-----

After Wei Ying had died, Wangji had gone to his brother and uncle, and told  them that he was leaving the Cloud Recesses. 

“I wish to stand on the side of justice. I wish to see the wide fields and know the world as I have never known it,” he had said, and thought of his mother and Wei Ying in the same breath, holding grief old and new in the space of his chest. 

He packed his scant supplies in a qiankun bag embroidered with gentians (bought, guiltily, in Caiyi when he was younger), secured Bichen on his back, and walked down the meandering mountain path, dressed in mourning white. 

He wandered south, and made good on his promise, saving people as he could, joining in on night-hunts when he ran into younger disciples. He never stayed long, never took payment or credit, and earned his title Hanguang-Jun, as though the brightness of his robes were for bringing light to the living instead of honoring his dead. 

When at last he reached the middle plains of the country, mountains only a faint smudge against the yellow summer sky, he took a breath, and lingered as long as he could. When he walked down the dusty paths he let his hands brush against the tall grasses swaying in the hot breeze. He did not mind when the dust stained the hem of his robes. When the path ended at a well, he took a drink, re-filled his water pouch, and continued walking. 

If Wei Ying were here, he would want to run in these wide fields.

He does not run, but he walks through golden grasses, and remembers the people he loved. 

--- 

After Guanyin temple, after everything, Wei Ying asks where they should go. 

“South,” he says, “I would like to see the fields with you.” 

Wei Ying had smiled, then, eyes curving into a little crinkle of delight as he slipped his hand into Lan Zhan’s.

“South it is, then.” 

He thinks of running through those grasses, Wei Ying’s laughter light on the wind, and smiles. He wonders if Wei Ying will marry him there, with nothing but the open sky above them, barely a mountain in sight. The farthest place from Gusu he has ever been. 

“Wei Ying. I have bowed to Madam Yu and Jiang Fengmian. Would you bow to my mother?” 

Wei Ying leans against him, warm from the heat of the summer sun. 

“En, of course I would. Do we have to go back to Gusu for that? I’ve never seen the Lan ancestral hall.”

Lan Wangji thinks about the cold stone of the ancestral hall, the black carved tablet with his mothers name and nothing else. He thinks of her smile and shakes his head.

“Here. Let’s do it here. Under the open sky. She would like that better, I think.” 

He sees Wei Ying’s flicker of understanding. 

They return to town to get supplies, at Wei Ying’s insistence. At dawn they make their way into the field, the first rays of the sun lighting everything yellow-gold. Wei Ying leads him by the hand to a tree where the grasses are a little shorter, and sets down a couple of offerings from his qiankun bag.

When Wei Ying sets down a handkerchief embroidered with gentian flowers, his heart aches full to bursting. Wei Ying pours tea and sets it in front of the offerings. 

If Lan Zhan was a better man,  he probably would not have reacted the way he did. He probably would have whispered Wei Ying's name like a plea and folded himself away, shying away from memories of rain and a soggy backpack dropping into the dirt.

He snaps, for the first time in years his considerable self control is not enough to ice out the roiling waters of his feelings. He knows, distantly, in the back of his mind, that Wei Ying has no reason to know he cares because that was the whole point of smoothing his feelings away like a pebble in the onslaught of a surging river. He knows this, and yet he is hurt, he is so hurt at the idea that Wei Ying does not even know the depth of his feelings and regard for him.

Without even realizing it, he has pushed Wei Ying up against the wall of his apartment, hands fisted in the worn fabric of his t-shirt. Wei Ying is staring at him, eyes wide in disbelief, hands scrabbling at Lan Zhan's forearms to gain purchase and balance, his bare feet tiptoeing to reach the floor. Lan Zhan holds him there, shaking with the full force of his anger and love. He does not know what face he is making now. He does not know, but Wei Ying is staring at him, afraid and breathless and he is only glad that for once Wei Ying does not look at him coldly.

His voice is shaking when he speaks.

"I have always cared," he bites out, and his voice is doing something it has never done, raw and low and rough. He has never spoken in anger since he was a child, and this new voice is foreign to him.

He presses on, because he knows that Wei Ying is going to argue that there was no proof or indication that he has, in fact, cared. He doesn't know why it matters so much now that Wei Ying believes him. To be fair it is likely that Wei Ying will never speak to him again, so he reasons that he may as well let it all out, let it all come to the surface because he can't stop, not anymore.

"I have loved you, Wei Ying, for years," he manages, harsh and nothing like a confession of love should be. "I would do anything for you, if you would let me." It is true. Lan Zhan has so much inside him, an angry creature hammering away at his ribs where his heart should be, and he knows, has known for a while now that his love is always a torrential thing, something that uproots trees and takes and takes and takes, something that kills.

"But I will not watch or help you hurt yourself," he whispers, so close he can see the wetness of Wei Ying's lashes, the purple bruises under his eyes.

"Do not ask that of me." He says, and his voice breaks, then. To his horror he realizes his cheeks are wet, and his hands spasm against Wei Ying's shirt before he lets go and steps back abruptly.

Wei Ying crumples to the floor, gaping at him, mouth moving soundlessly.

He stares down at him for a moment, chest heaving, and breaks.

"I apologize for my outburst," he says, after it is clear that Wei Ying will not say anything. His voice is wooden even by his standards. He steps away, and leaves Wei Ying's apartment as fast as he can, hands shaking and eyes hot. It would anger him, if he had anything left in him, that it is raining today, too. He stands, soaked to the skin outside the front door of his own apartment and laughs a little brokenly at how yet again, he will open a door on a rainy day and find nobody inside.

-----

He gives himself a week to hide. He turns off his phone and takes time off work and ignores every rule and schedule he has built carefully into his life. He feeds his rabbits, and goes back to bed. He looks at no mirrors, forgets to shower, and generally sinks into a haze-state for a few days.

He knows it will come to an end, and when he misses his weekly lunch with his brother he knows that the knock and subsequent sound of the door being opened must be his brother, the only other human being that has a key to his apartment.

Lan Huan takes one look at the apartment, at his face, and sets his bag gently on the ground before sweeping Lan Zhan into a gentle hug.

"A-Zhan, what's wrong?" He asks, voice soft and unbearably kind. Lan Zhan hasn't been called that since he was six years old, and the soft endearment of his name whispered like that pulls the last stopper of his control out of him. He clutches at his brother, and weeps.

His brother holds him through it, kind and steady like he always was. When his breath steadies, he opens his mouth, gasping and trying to speak carefully around the broken shards in his ribs. 

“I thought-” He rasps, voice rough with disuse. “I thought that, if I held it all in, it would be okay,” 

He is sobbing now, ugly, wracking things that leave him struggling for air. The warm palm of his brother in between his shoulder blades is a grounding presence. He tries, because Lan Huan is the only person who could understand; Lan Huan was there, every month with their mother, every day at Uncle’s. Lan Huan would know. 

“I thought that if I never loved anyone again, no one would leave.” 

He feels more than hears Lan Huan’s sharp intake of breath, and lets himself be manhandled into a deeper embrace. He mumbles into his his brother’s collarbone, inhaling the jasmine-woodsy smell of Lan Huan’s laundry detergent. 

“Oh, A-Zhan,” his brother whispers, and Lan Zhan can hear the wetness in his brother’s voice. 

“A-Zhan, you know, you know that Mother didn’t leave because of you, right?” 

They have never spoken about this. They have always skirted around this, erecting neat fences around the gaping hole around the fact that their mother had gone, leaving a single note addressed to her two sons and an empty house.

He clutches at the fabric of his brother’s shirt, and tries to breathe around the idea that it’s not his fault and he cannot, his world has been constructed around that guilt for so long that if he removes that cornerstone, everything he ever is will crumble. 

“I know, I should know, and yet.”

“And yet,” His brother agrees, tucking his chin over the top of Lan Zhan’s head. 

They sit like that for a long time, holding each other like they did when they were boys. 

“Wei Ying messaged me, A-Zhan,” 

Lan Zhan stiffens, and curls further into his brother.

“He was... concerned,” his brother continues, stroking his hair.

“I got angry at him, Huan-ge,” Lan Zhan says, shutting his eyes tightly against another surge of tears. 

“He was.. hurting himself, and I couldn’t- I couldn’t watch that happen again,” 

His brothers’ hands pause on his hair, and resume petting him after a moment. 

“Will it be alright if I spoke to him a little, about this?” His brother asks gently. 

He nods, swallowing around guilt and gratitude, and lets his brother hold him.

----

Lan Huan leaves after tidying Lan Zhan’s apartment and stocking his fridge. He has never seen his little brother like this, and he knows that this has been a long time coming. It is ironic, he thinks, that of the two of them, Lan Huan is considered the expressive, emotive one, when his little brother has always been the one that has felt things fully and deeply, even as a child. His brother has always loved deeply and strongly, and with a stab of guilt he realises that his brother has been blaming himself for their mother’s death. He pushes down those old, futile pains, and instead concentrates on the things he can do, to help his brother. 

He pulls out his phone, and texts Wei Ying. 

They meet in a cafe near Wei Yings’ apartment. Lan Huan is already there when Wei Ying shuffles in, hands shoved into the front pocket of his hoodie. 

“Wei Ying,” he greets, glancing up at the boy his brother loves, and noting with satisfaction that it seems that Wei Ying is in better health than he was. “Lan Huan, hi, hi,” Wei Ying says, settling down and looking at him with a furrow in his brow.

“Is.. have you spoken to Lan Zhan?” He asks, worrying at his lower lip in nervousness. 

He nods.

“I’ve just spoken to my brother,” he says, sipping on his drink for a moment. “He is… not well, Wei Ying.”

Wei Ying deflates, slumping in his seat and curling his hands around his coffee mug, fingers worrying at the lip. “I know, I know, it’s my fault,” Wei Ying looks up, eyes guilty, “We fought.” he trails off, unsure of what else to say.

Lan Huan nods, slow. “What I am going to tell you, Wei Ying, I will tell you with an expectation of total confidence. I have asked my brother for permission, and he has given it. I trust that I have no reason to worry about you sharing this.” 

Wei Ying straightens up, back straightening and nodding. 

“Has Lan Zhan ever spoken to you about our mother?” 

Wei Ying’s brows furrow, eyes confused as he shakes his head. “No, never.” 

Lan Huan nods, “She passed away when we were six, I think you are already aware,” he begins, waiting for Wei Ying’s silent nod before he continues, “She killed herself.” Lan Huan pushes at his old grief gently, moving it aside with the finesse of long practice. Wei Ying inhales, sharply. 

“My brother blames himself. Even if he knows it is not his fault, I think we both know that trauma does not quite work like that.” 

He pauses then to look at Wei Ying, who looks more and more like he wants to drown in guilt. 

“My brother has always been the more emotional one of the two of us,” he says, inclining his head at Wei Ying’s small noise of wry amusement. “It is simply that he never lets it out. Do not think for a second that he is uncaring, Wei Ying,” 

A little of his frustration must come into his voice, then, because Wei Ying pales a little, then flushes. “I know,” he croaks, “He told me, he. He said-,” Wei Ying looks distraught.

“He said he loved me,” Wei Ying finishes, looking lost. 

Lan Huan has known that his little brother has been in love with Wei Ying for years. He nods. 

“You know that Lan Zhan doesn’t say anything he does not mean, then.” He says. He doesn’t know what else to say. You currently are a giant trigger to my brother and I want to hate you for it if not for the fact that my brother loves you isn’t exactly something he can bring himself to speak aloud. “I know that you’re not well, Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan says instead, “I know this is selfish, but my first priorities are of course to my brother, I hope you can understand that. I think… you should speak to him, when you are able to. When you are better. But in the meantime… I ask that you refrain from letting him see you hurt.” 

Wei Ying looks down, fiddling with the cuffs of his sleeves. He nods. 

“I’ll. I’m - I’m working on it, right now. I won’t hurt him again, not like this.” 

Lan Huan nods, and for the first time since they sat down at this cafe together, smiles. 

“And if there is anything I can do for you, Wei Ying, please let me know.” 

Wei Ying looks surprised, and a small tentative smile comes out, then. 

“Thank you, Huan-ge,” he breathes, eyes wet. 

They finish their coffee, and Wei Ying lets Lan Huan pay for them with minimal fidgeting. They part ways and Lan Huan tries to hope that things will be better, soon.

--- 

Lan Zhan gets better, mostly through force of will and his brother’s gentle wheedling him into resuming his regular activities. The routine grounds him, and little by little the exhaustion in his bones seeps out, leaving a deep-seated ache that is nonetheless easier to breathe around. He returns to work, but does not reply to any of Wei Ying’s texts. He pulls them out, often, just to look at the words. 

Wei Ying Hey, Lan Zhan, I’m sorry. I’m okay right now, and I hope you are too. I think we should talk, tho, pls message me if you can, okay? No rush. I’ll be here.

Lan Zhan has read those words over and over, the reaslisation that Wei Ying still wants to speak to him an uncomfortable lurch in his chest. He is glad, but also terrified of any conversation that is coming. I’ll be here repeats in his mind as he tries to think about whether he is ready to speak to Wei Ying. 

It has been a month since he has seen Wei Ying, since he pushed Wei Ying up against the wall and bared the deepest part of his soul in a fit of anger and rage. It has been a month and Lan Zhan knows he cannot run away from this forever.

He replies. 

Lan Zhan

Wei Ying, would you be available tonight? I will be home, if you are amenable to coming over.

He does not think he can leave his house, and hopes through the guilt that Wei Ying will not begrudge him this one last indulgence. (He knows that Wei Ying is good and kind and would never begrudge him anything. And yet.) 

Wei Ying I’ll be there at 8

-- 

Lan Zhan spends the remaining hours counting down to 8pm sitting blankly at his guqin, plucking out a melody he does not know yet. He does not manage to make dinner for himself, or any of his other Sunday chores before there’s a knock at his door. 

Heart hammering in his throat, Lan Zhan stands, legs shaky as he manages to make his way to his door and open it to Wei Ying -- 

Who is there, standing at his door, unsure and fidgeting and the most beautiful thing Lan Zhan has ever seen. He notes, with gratification, that Wei Ying is not as pale as he was a month ago, the tightness that used to be ever-present in his face somewhat eased. He looks… better, like all that Lan Zhan has ever wanted. 

Wei Ying shifts from foot to foot, lifting an awkward hand to sketch an aborted wave. 

“Hi, Lan Zhan,” he says, shy and uncertain.

“Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan greets, stepping aside to let him in. Wei Ying shuffles past him into the entryway, and Lan Zhan catches a whiff of baked goods and coffee clinging to Wei Ying. He gestures to the couch, and Wei Ying sits down and makes himself comfortable while Lan Zhan prepares tea, sitting on the opposite end after placing a steaming mug down in front of the both of them. 

“Wei Ying, are you well?” he asks softly. 

Wei Ying smiles, something a little wider this time, and it has been so long since Lan Zhan has seen this smile that it makes his breath catch and his stomach do a pathetic little flop. 

“I’m not great, but I’m better since. Uh, since last time.” 

The awkward silence of them both remembering what last time was is nigh unbearable. Lan Zhan feels like he’s going to break apart if it continues, but they end up speaking at the same time.

“I’m so sorry, Wei Ying-”

“Lan Zhan, I’m sorry-”

Both of their mouths click shut abruptly, and Wei Ying is the first to laugh, a raspy thing, but it is amused and true and something in Lan Zhan eases at the sound. Wei Ying drags a hand through his hair, and leans forward on his elbows. 

“Lan Zhan,” he says, sweet and soft, “I talked to your brother.” 

Lan Zhan feels himself stiffen, but he forces himself to take another deep breath and wait. 

“I’m sorry for worrying you, Lan Zhan. Thank you, for worrying about me so much,” Wei Ying says, and Lan Zhan looks at him then, finally meeting his eyes and the sincerity in Wei Ying’s face almost hurts too much to bear. 

Wei Ying inches forward, knee-walking his way across the couch to sit on his heels right next to Lan Zhan. 

“You said,” he clears his throat, and Lan Zhan stares at the bob of his adam’s apple as Wei Ying visibly gathers himself to speak.

“You said you loved me, then,” Wei Ying says, and his eyes are wet and his voice is cracking a little. He is beautiful, even like this. Lan Zhan watches Wei Ying blink, watches moisture cling to the lush smudge of his lashes against his cheek. 

“Do you still?” Wei Ying asks, his voice small and cracked and Lan Zhan wants very much to fold Wei Ying into his arms so that he never sounds so uncertain and small ever again in his life. 

“Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan rasps, heart in his throat. “Wei Ying, always,” he says, and now he’s crying too. 

Wei Ying shudders, blinking furiously and leaning forward go grip at Lan Zhan’s hands. His hands are so warm, a little sweaty, and perfect. Lan Zhan clutches back, the contact point of their hands his only tether to reality. 

“Good. Okay, I just. Good,” Wei Ying manages wetly. 

“Good?” Lan Zhan asks, a painful jagged hope poking him in the lungs. 

“Good, because. Because Lan Zhan, I love you too. I like you so much, Lan Zhan, I’m sorry I hurt you. I’m so sorry I pushed you away.” 

Wei Ying crumples then, and Lan Zhan cannot control himself so he finally gives in, pulling Wei Ying close, as close as possible until Wei Ying is tucked under his chin and pressed up against him, warm and shuddering with feeling. 

When Lan Zhan’s brain stops spinning with the newfound knowledge that Wei Ying is here after his violent confession, here with one of his own, he manages to speak again.

“I love you, Wei Ying,” he tries, now that he can finally say it. He lets the words hang in the air and decides that it is the best feeling he has ever experienced. 

“I am sorry, for before. I did not mean to tell you, let alone so violently.” His heart twinges at the memory, but Wei Ying extracts his face from the folds of Lan Zhan’s shirt and peers up at him with a fond smile.

“It’s okay, Lan Zhan. It’s kinda bad but it was also a little hot.” Wei Ying flushes. “Is it okay? Is it okay that I found it a little hot? I’m still sorry it had to be like this but, I’m glad you told me.” 

Lan Zhan’s ears are burning and he is sure his face is a little red, too. He manages to nod. 

“Will you let me help, now? Will you let me stand by you?” 

He watches as Wei Ying’s face shutters, smooths out, and opens up again. He watches Wei Ying smile, tentative and warm.

“Yeah. Yeah, Lan Zhan, yea. I’ll try my best, okay?” 

Lan Zhan smiles, relishing in Wei Yings’ gasp of surprise at the sight of his dour friend having a Facial Expression, and presses their foreheads together. 

“Mn,” he says, happy and satisfied along with the ever-present ache in his chest. He is starting to realise too, that grief does not go away, and Lan Zhan finds that he is a little more okay with the idea. He breathes easier, concentrates on the feeling of Wei Ying in his arms and near, healthy and on his way to whole. 

“Can I kiss you, Lan Zhan? I really want to.” 

Lan Zhan spares a moment to thank the gods for Wei Ying’s courage because he would never had asked, then he nods and is rewarded by a warm press of Wei Ying’s chapped lips, rough and soft. He smells so good, and Lan Zhan lets the kiss be for a moment before he pulls Wei Ying up as gently as he can and pressing their mouths together more firmly. 

He feels Wei Ying shudder and part his mouth and they spend a few moments there, intimate and warm and mutually in love. Lan Zhan feel like he’s melting and re-forming into a new person, a new version of himself that actually has feelings and acts on them. 

When they finally pull apart, gasping and smiling and pliant, he pulls Wei Ying back against his chest and tries to ride out the surging ache of love and every other feeling that was once trapped in the tight clamp of his self control. 

He thinks, absently, that maybe repressing his feelings into nothing might not have been the best way to go about life. He considers Wei Ying, considers his grief and pain and every injury he has held in his ribcage to punish himself for years and considers what it would be like to not feel like this. 

He pulls back, guilt coursing through him, and hesitates a moment before releasing Wei Ying’s hands. He pauses, waiting to see what Wei Ying would do. 

He does nothing, and Wangji’s heart lurches. He can almost imagine Wei Ying’s mind working, quicksilver in its deductions, assuming that someone had plucked up all of their courage to approach him when he couldn’t see them, holding himself back instead of pulling his blindfold off, so that he doesn’t embarrass his attacker.

Wangji knows Wei Ying well. He would give everything for the sake of another. Wangji knows how, having taken for himself the sweet breath of Wei Ying, knows that he cannot bear to see Wei Ying give anything else to him without wanting it. Lan Wangji will do everything in his power to stop Wei Ying burning himself whole for the world.

For that, Wangji must atone. He does not run away. He grips Bichen so hard that he is sure a lesser sword would shatter in his hands, the way he is sure his heart will do soon. He speaks.

“Wei Ying,” he says, softly, with shame.

At his voice, Wei Ying stills. Wangji knows he has been recognised, and he feels like everything inside him will break at once.

Wei Ying rips off the ribbon, staring at him with wide eyes, a flush still high on his cheekbones. 

“Lan Zhan?” He says, confused and unsure.

Lan Wangji steels himself. Lying is prohibited. He gathers every ounce of courage that has been pressed into him since he was born, every virtue and precept that has formed into his core and he prepares his integrity like a weapon he is using to stab himself with.

“Wei Ying. I am sorry. I have taken what I should not have. I have forgotten myself.”

He bows, back straight even as his hand shakes around his sword, and hopes that Wei Ying can see that at least in this he is sincere, he regrets.

---

Wei Ying is quiet for many moments, the shock of seeing Lan Zhan bowing so deeply almost eclipsing the shock of seeing Lan Zhan in front of him after that kiss. The usual animosityshamelonging that usually surges in him at the sight of Lan Zhan’s stupidly perfect face has apparently been kissed out of him temporarily, and Wei Ying feels like he can breathe without the dead in his lungs for the first time since he came back with Chenqing in hand and the dead at his fingertips. 

“Lan Zhan, what-what why? Were you the one who..?” He doesn’t know what to say, even as heat flushes through him at the idea of Lan Zhan kissing him. Kissing him! It is obvious, though, in the shame and pink in Lan Zhan’s ears that he is he one who had taken Wei Ying’s first kiss. Despite how ridiculous the situation is, something soft unfurls in his heart at the sight of Lan Zhan like this, so noble, so full of integrity after doing something that, apparently, his heart desired. Wei Wuxian thinks of the cloud recesses, the sharp straightness of Lan Zhan as he kneels beside him and takes the punishment that Wei Ying had gotten him into. He hasn’t changed at all. The pain that pricks him at the sight of such perfect morals comes back, then, and Wei Wuxian wonders what the paragon of virtue is doing, kissing him in the backwoods of the Phoenix mountains. 

Still though, the first kiss of his life from the man he has been in love with for years tugs stronger than his self esteem, for once tugs stronger than the gaping hole in his chest where his golden core once was, where now resentment pulses like a sick parody of what power his body once held. It tugs, and the soreness of his lips and wrists pull him right into the present, and Lan Zhan is still here, trembling and bowed in shame.

He steps forward and places his hands gingerly under Lan Zhan’s elbows, pulling him out of his bow and tilting his head so he can look him in the eye. Lan Zhan’s mouth is pressed into an unhappy line, despite being a little swollen, and his eyes-

Oh.

His eyes are soft and looking at him like Wei Ying is going to break, like Lan Zhan, Hanguang-jun, one of the twin jades of Gusu, cares. He looks frighteningly like he is about to cry, and Wei Wuxian finally sees in that perfect face that what he assumed was derision and judgement was something far simpler and purer- it was worry. 

“Lan Zhan. Lan Zhan, I’m not mad, please don’t cry,” he stammers, still gripping onto Lan Zhan’s elbows as though those two points of contact in his palms are the only thing keeping him from becoming unmoored.

“I’m not mad, it’s not a big deal, it’s just a kiss, even though it’s my first one, so you should be really proud, okay?” Nervous chatter pours out of him as he shakes.

“I just. I just need to know. Why? Lan Zhan? Why did you kiss me?”

If it is for a joke he will shatter, and the only thing that is allowing fragile hope to grow in him is the knowledge that Lan Zhan is the most honest man he knows, the most un-shameless, un-flirtatious person ever to exist in the cultivation world. So by process of elimination-

“Because I care for Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan says, resolute even as the flush travels even further down his neck. He has chosen this path by not running away, by revealing himself to Wei Ying. At the very least, he is glad to know that by owning up to his lack of control has returned him to himself, and his own character. Honesty comes from him now, as it always has, frank and unvarnished.

“I have always cared. Since we fought in the cloud recesses. I did not show it well, then, but I am tired of lying,” he continues before Wei Ying can interject or object, determined now to get the words clawing out of his chest a space to exist. 

“I do not expect anything from Wei Ying, and if you wish it you will never see me again. But I.. I wanted Wei Ying to know, that he does not have to do things alone. I will stand beside you, if you wished it.”

Wei Ying is staring at him, mouth agape. He closes it, opens his mouth, and closes it again. After a moment, he speaks. 

“Lan Zhan, are you serious?” He looks lost, and Lan Zhan wants to hold him until he knows he is found, if Wei Ying will let him.

He nods. “Lying is prohibited, Wei Ying.”

Wei Ying huffs a little laugh at that, and Lan Zhan’s poor, pathetic heart jumps at the sound, and impossible hope beating with his blood. 

“Lan Zhan, did you forget that I’m going down the path of evil? I thought you didn’t approve? Your reputation is going to get dragged through the mud if you’re with me, you know that, right?” 

Wei Ying’s hands are clutching at his sleeves, and they are warm through the fabric of his robes. Lan Zhan frowns, and answers haltingly, as honestly as he knows how to.

“Wei Ying is not evil. There is something else that I do not know. You are not one to be reckless without reason. And… my reputation is good enough for both of us.”

He cannot help but be a little petulant as he says it, even as he flushes with guilt. Arrogance is prohibited. It is true, though, and Lan Zhan is not above using his social position if it means he can help Wei Ying through this.

Wei Ying groans, and pulls his hands back toward himself, leaving Lan Zhan’s elbows and forearms bereft of his warmth. His heart drops, fearing that Wei Ying will want nothing to do with him now, that he messed up and now he will be unable to even watch him from afar, but the Wei Ying drags a hand down his face and sighs, looking back at him with a wry smile that is achingly familiar. 

Wei Ying steps closer, looks at Lan Zhan with eyes more open and clear than they had been for years, even. A hand comes up to rest over Lan Zhan’s heart, fingers curling slightly in the white fabric. 

“You’re serious. You really are.” The dawning realisation tinges his voice with awe, and Lan Zhan dares to hope, again.

“If I said. If I said I was going go against all the sects. What would you do?” 

“I would help.” The answer is simple, a clear, honest truth.

“If I said I was weak, I couldn’t fight equally with you without the demonic path, what would you do, Lan Zhan?” 

He hears it now, in the crack in Wei Ying’s voice, that they are closer now to the thing that is haunting Wei Ying, that is hurting him in a way that turns him into somebody that Lan Zhan does not know.

“Then I will protect you. And I will help bring you back, when the powers are too strong. If Wei Ying will allow that.”

A sharp intake of breath comes, and Lan Zhan hates to hear Wei Ying’s breath hitch like that, like a small broken thing when Wei Ying is always stronger than anyone he knows. But, Lan Zhan amends, if Wei Ying is wounded and hurt and not strong, Lan Zhan will protect him until he is again. 

The hand curled into his chest tightens, snagging the fabric and pulling Lan Zhan forward, until his chest hits Wei Ying’s forehead. They stay like that for a while, and Lan Zhan finds patience in him again, having said all he could say. Wei Ying’s shoulders are shaking, and he is mumbling into Lan Zhan’s chest, his voice broken and muffled. 

“You. You’re crazy, Lan Zhan. You’re so fucking crazy. I must be too, I shouldn’t let you go down with me, but god, I want to,”

Lan Zhan places his hand over Wei Ying’s, closes his palm gently over the white knuckles. 

“Then let me. But I will not let either of us go down.”

Another watery laugh. Wei Ying nods, and his head up at Lan Zhan, and smiles.

“Yeah. Yeah, okay, I’ll allow it, Lan Zhan. Please, please stay with me, I like you so much, I don’t want to let you go now,” Wei Ying pleads, as he cranes his his neck up to look at Lan Zhan, their breaths mingling now, puffs of white in the settling cold of the mountain night

Lan Zhan’s heart soars as he leans down to graze his lips against Wei Ying’s. 

“Then I will stay.”

Every nerve inside him feels cleaved open, every sense alight and narrowed in on the sight weight smell taste of Wei Ying this close to him, kissing him shyly and softly, so unlike the heated press of their first kiss earlier, but so much better.

The night-hunt ends and Wei Ying and Lan Zhan are the only two cultivators who haven’t gotten a single kill, and the cultivators murmur amongst themselves that the infamous Wei Wuxian must not be that powerful, must be all talk and hot air, and Wei Ying finds that he does not mind.

———-

Wei Ying goes to Gusu with Lan Zhan after, telling Jiang Chen that he needed to pay respects and catch up with Lan Zhan. After an irritable slap to the shoulder and a reminder to not cause trouble, Wei Ying is free to go. He feels lighter, now, even though technically nothing has changed him, but he still feels that the pull of the resentment is weaker, frail and easy to break out of. He runs to catch up with Lan Zhan, who is walking at the back of the group travelling to Gusu.

Lan Zhan looks up when he sees him, and while his face is impassive as ever, Wei Ying sees his eyes soften, and warmth suffuses him at the knowledge that that look is for him.

They talk, quietly, about everything and anything, carefully skirting around what they both want to say, mindful of the other disciples. When they finally stop at an inn, Lan Zhan gracefully talks his way into letting them share a room since they did not account for Wei Ying accompanying their party. Wei Ying plays along, dutifully bashful and thanking the esteemed hanguang-jun for his hospitality. The years had tempered his mischievous spirit, but his silver tongue, now reigned into a shape resembling propriety, makes the sect leader and other disciples pause and reassess him against his reputation. He smiles, and they retreat for the night.

Despite the temptation to get Lan Zhan back into his arms and continuing the whole kissing thing, he knows he must get some truths out of the way. Ushering Lan Zhan to the table, he puts up a silence talisman on the door and window before joining Lan Zhan at the table.

He looks beautiful, in the low light of candles and moonlight, straight backed and gentle faced. Lan Zhan has always been patient, and now that the patience has extended to him, Wei Ying truly understands why he is heralded as the paragon of virtue. He thinks about himself, his reputation, the gnawing hole inside him, and tries not to freak out about the two of them together. At the very least, he does not want to disrespect Lan Zhan, who would not be here if he did not mean it.

So he talks. He tells Lan Zhan what happened at Lotus Pier, lets his voice shake and talks into the quiet of the room, and Lan Zhan listens, ever so patiently as Wei Ying spills the truth that has been suffocating him for months. 

Core melting hand, Jiang Cheng’s own golden core melting away to nothing, the mountain, Wen Qing. How the golden core he had developed now sits behind the sternum of his brother, how Jiang Cheng must never know.

“Wei Ying.” 

Lan Zhan’s voice sounds so broken, and Wei Ying tamps down the desire to lash out, fear and shame squirming inside him as he wonders whether Lan Zhan will even want him now, knowing what he knows. His heart stutters until Lan Zhan is kneeling in front of him, grasping his wrists gently with his long, slender fingers. Wei Ying waits. 

“I will protect you, so you do not have to shoulder this alone.” There is something warm and fierce inside those golden eyes, and Wei Ying’s breath stutters as finally, the last knot in his heart loosens, the burden of shame and secrecy halved. He knows, knows that Lan Zhan will not coddle him, knows truly that he is no longer on this godforsaken path alone.

He holds Lan Zhan’s hands in his own, and squeezes his thanks, throat too constricted to reply. Lan Zhan seems to understand, and his eyes do that not smiling but smiling thing again as he moves back to sit, keeping one hand clasped with Wei Ying’s. 

The warmth of Lan Zhan’s hands is an anchor, and he finally breaches the topic of the Wen civilians, and his plan to liberate them.

“What was Wei Ying planning to do?” There is no judgement or censure in his voice, and Wei Ying lets his eyes close for a second as he replies.

“Go in, play the flute and fight my way out?” It sounds feeble, when he says it like that. A small furrow appears between Lan Zhan’s perfect eyebrows.

“Wei Ying.” Ah, there, there’s the censure.

“Wei Ying is usually smart, what happened this time?” Lan Zhan sounds pained, and Wei Ying sputters in indignance. Before he can protest, Lan Zhan continues. 

“What about after? If you liberate them all alone, who will heal you, or them? Where will you go? How will you feed yourselves?” 

The familiar defensive anger wants to surge forth again, wants him to throw the warm hand off his own and tell Lan Wangji that he can do all that and more by himself, but even as his blood heats along with the resentment he knows that Lan Zhan is right, and his plan had been incredibly short sighted. He drags his free hand across his face and through his hair, and sighs.

“What do you think I can do, then? No one else cares, all the sect leaders think all Wen people are dogs for slaughter. What am I supposed to do, Lan Zhan?” 

Lan Zhan thinks for a moment, considering all the information he now has.

“The sect leaders don’t care about the Wen civilians, but they do care about losing face. Now that they are vying for power to fill the Wen clan spot… reputation is important to them now. It’s why they like using you as a scapegoat, so they seem whiter against your black.”

Wei Ying nods, patient. Lan Zhan is like he always is, precise, laying out his answer as though they were at their desks in front of Lan Qiren in the lecture halls of the Cloud Recesses. 

“Wei Ying’s strength is his power and cultivation, but you forget you have other skills.”

Wei Ying blinks, tilting his head to the side in question.

“Your mouth, and shamelessness,” Lan Zhan says, ears going pink. “Wei Ying is good at talking around people until they see your point. If we use it well.. we might be able to turn the tide. The Jin sect will be wary of another uprising.”

The surprise at his shamelessness being a good thing in Lan Zhan’s books notwithstanding, Lan Zhan does have a good point. Wei Ying smiles, wry and soft. In the horror of the past few months, the loss of his home and core, he had forgotten parts of himself and tried to fill the holes with darkness and power. But Lan Zhan remembered. 

He nods in assent, and they start to plan, talking through the night.

———

They begin the next day. Lan Zhan had played Cleansing for him that morning, pulling the roar of resentful energy in him down to a manageable hum. He feels better than he has in months, and greets the Lan Xichen with grace and a genuine smile. Lan Zhan’s brother smiles in surprise, and they have a relatively calm morning as they prepare to continue their journey to Gusu.

Along the way, he chats with disciples of the Lan sect, gossiping with them until their wariness bleeds away when they see that Lan Zhan is amicable with Wei Ying’s antics. They gossip about everything and anything, and slowly the conversation moves towards the Wen clan.

It doesn’t take long before one of the Lan disciples, bless their virtuous hearts, wonders aloud about all the civilians in Qishan who aren’t cultivators. Some of the older disciples shush him, but the topic has ignited an ethics debate, and Wei Ying makes a well placed comment worrying about another clan becoming a new Wen clan with too much power.

Soon most of the desciples are talking about it, enough so that when they stop for a meal at another town, the waiters and innkeepers, mouths loose with such a large party of paying customers, ask them about it.

Wei Ying regales them with the stories, knowing that cultivator gossip is usually eaten up very willingly. He lets the disciples at the table talk first, so that he isn’t the one spreading the story.

“Are there kids too? And old people?” The innkeeper asks, alarmed.

“Yes, they’re just normal people with no cores,” a Lan disciple piped up, indignant with righteousness now that everyone is talking about the Wen camp. “How can they do something like that, they’re just defenceless people!” 

A round of restrained, but unanimous assent goes around the table.

“Aiya, what can we do?” Wei Ying says, sighing with exaggeration. “I tried to bring it up, but the sect leaders probably have more important things to consider, I guess.”

He lets a little bit of bitterness come through the slump of his shoulders, the perfect image of a disappointed young man who tried to do the right thing.

“I guess it’s true that people only care if you’re from an important clan, no one listens to me because I’m just a commoners kid. Maybe those Wen people are also just commoners to the big sect leaders…”

He looks at the innkeeper and the disciples gathered around their table. Their eyes are suspiciously wet, seemingly moved to tears at the idea of the inequalities of life. Wei Ying knows that most of the disciples have never had to consider just how much higher their lives are valued just because of their birth, and smiles at the reminder that he can always count on Lan sect disciples to be full of empathy, even if they are a little lacking in street smarts. 

Lan Zhan, who is quietly eating by Wei Ying’s side, puts down his chopsticks, having finished his meal. 

“They can only be helped if all the sects come together. It would be unfortunate that the cultivation world lets more bloodshed happen even after the Sunshot Campaign has concluded.” 

The juniors look on in awe, and quickly chorus their agreement. 

“You said it right, Hanguang-jun, it’s true, I would hate to be compared to the Wen sect especially so soon after the uprising!”

The conversation continues after the innkeeper leaves their table, and Wei Ying knows that in days, every traveller will be regaled with the story of the plight of civilians suffering just because of the prejudice of the big sects, and also that the infamous dark cultivator Wei Wuxian is actually a tragic underdog that is maligned because of common birth.

———-

 A night before reaching the cloud recesses, the party camps in the woods, with Wei Ying and Lan Zhan accompanying the junior disciples on the night patrol. When they encounter a few angry corpses, Wei Ying nags at the juniors, pushing them to deduce the situation from clues on the corpses, while playing chenqing just enough to keep the disciples safe. Between the two of them, it becomes a practical lesson, and the corpses are dealt with magnificently by the students, and by the end of their journey, at the very least the Lan disciples have lost most of their fear of Wei Wuxian, cultivator of darkness. He eventually becomes senior Wei, and he ribs them all with good nature as Lan Zhan stays behind and beside him, watchful but never overcrowding, a warm, comforting presence. 

They finally reach the cloud recesses, and Wei Ying is ushered into the jingshi for the first time. He laughs at the austere decor, amused and fond as he settles down by Lan Zhan at the guqin.

The notes sound, resonant and rich with spiritual power, and Wei Ying feels Cleansing wash over him, then Rest, calming his mind as the music sinks into his empty, sluggish meridians.

“Thank you, Lan Zhan. It.. it feels better now. Clearer.”

Lan Zhan nods, hums a response, and finally he is there, close and clean and smelling of sandalwood, pressing his forehead into Wei Ying’s as he kisses him, chaste at first and then insistent, hungry. Wei Ying feels like he shouldn’t be allowed to have this, not while people are dying and hurting and maybe he could do something about it, but the spiritual power humming in his veins anchors him, reminds him that he is doing something, that this might, probably will be, more effective than whatever stupid plan he came up with without Lan Zhan. 

For once, he decides to trust, and lets himself go, sinking into the steady wet warmth of Lan Zhan, tugging at him till he is lying atop Wei Ying, chest to chest and dark hair spilling around them, tickling Wei Ying’s nose.

“I still don’t believe you like me like this, Lan Zhan,” he teases, voice lilting as he cards his hands through Lan Zhan’s hair.

“Mn, I was not truthful before. You did not know because I was too afraid.” Lan Zhan’s voice is wry but open, and the warmth and honesty of it all bowls Wei Ying over. It’s dizzying, the knowledge.

“Aiya, you Lans and your show no feelings rules. I’ve been flirting with you for so long, and you didn’t know I liked you? Lan Zhan, I gave you cut sleeve porn!”

Lan Zhan sputters, pale skin giving way to a deep flush at the memory.

“I know now. Wei Ying can keep flirting with me, I will not misunderstand again.”

The determination in his voice makes Wei Ying laugh, terribly fond and almost normal again. He pulls him down for another kiss, and smiles into Lan Zhan’s mouth as he asks, “Did you read any of it? Did you think about doing any of that stuff to me, Lan Zhan?”

The thought makes a bolt of heat rush through his spine, and Wei Ying feels like he is drowning. Lan Zhan presses his face into his neck, embarrassed. Wei Ying heaves himself back up onto his elbows, taking Lan Zhan up with him. The shift pulls the fabric of his inner robe apart, exposing a wide expanse of collarbone and chest, the brand mark an angry welt on his left.  The sight draws a breath out of Lan Zhan, who gently reaches fingers out to graze at the scar. Wei Ying’s breath hitches, and again, that bolt of heat curling in his body at the sight of Lan Zhan’s pale eyes darkening at the sound. 

He licks his lips and summons some of that famous shamelessness that he is known for, pulling his robe open further in invitation. Lan Zhan’s eyes open even wider, and the sight of him staring at Wei Ying, lips spit slick and bruised, eyes wide and dark with his hair in disarray is enough to pry a groan out of Wei Ying.

“Lan Zhan, please, you can.” He clears his throat, and tries again,  “You can touch me. In fact please, please Lan Zhan, I need, I want you to touch me.”

At those words, Lan Zhan finally moves, wide hands splaying on his chest as he runs his palms down Wei Ying’s body, callouses catching on smooth skin until they reach his belt, and after getting a breathless nod, he pulls the belt loose, parting his inner robe completely.

Wei Ying whines at the cold air against him, trying to hold off his embarrassment at being laid bare, flushed and aroused. He tugs at Lan Zhan’s robes, pulling them off his shoulder. Lan Zhan shrugs out of his own robes, bends down to kiss Wei Ying, and wraps his hand around him. He can’t help but gasp, hips bucking as Lan Zhan begins to stroke him, and Wei Ying is going insane, knowing that Lan Zhan is doing it. The thought of being the only one to see Lan Zhan like this, debauched and breathless, sends a thrill through him, and before he loses all his composure he grasps at Lan Zhan’s biceps, squeezing at them until Lan Zhan shifts further up, close enough for Wei Ying to reach down between them and- 

Oh god. 

Lan Zhan is thick and heavy in his hand, the soft, keening sound Lan Zhan makes when Wei Ying grasps him sends a jolt right through every vertebrae in him. He takes a shuddering breath, and wriggles down until their cocks are lined up against each other, gasping at the searing sensation of blessed, perfect contact. Lan Zhan’s fingers stroke the both of them together as Wei Ying gasps into his mouth, incoherent moans and pleading escaping him as he rocks up against the man he has loved for years without knowing that he was loved in turn. The cracking edge of loneliness and warmth chokes him, and he sobs a little, mindless with emotion and pleasure as he crests closer to the edge. 

“Lan Zhan, Lan Zhan, please,” he breathes, “I’m close, please, please,” he trails off into more incoherent mumbles as Lan Zhan strokes them hard, once, twice, and Wei Ying throws his head back and arches against the hard floor, pleasure whiting out every other thought in his brain outside of Lan Zhan’s name, Lan Zhan’s body, Lan Zhan against him heavy and solid and perfect as he follows Wei Ying, hips and hands stuttering until they lie panting, pressed together in a sweaty tangle on the floor. 

After some time Lan Zhan shifts up, leaving to grab a cloth to wipe them both clean before pulling Wei Ying up on his feet. He winces, rubbing his sore back.

“Lan Zhan, why didn’t we do this on your bed? You have a perfectly good bed right there!”

Lan Zhan hums, fond and warm.

“Next time,” he says, leading him to the bed and settling the covers around them as Wei Ying’s brain tries to process the idea of a next time, tucking it somewhere safe like an idea to be treasured. He smiles, warm and sated, snuggles closer to Lan Zhan, and drifts off to sleep, more content than he has been in a long time.

————-

In weeks, the rumours of the Wen camp in Qiongqi has spread far and wide, exaggerated and heated by the indignant murmurs of innkeepers and travellers spreading news where they go. The general dissent and disapproval from the people is palpable, and while that normally might not have any effect, many minor clans, many of which live more off taxation than actual exorcism and hunting, were starting to lean towards the general public. Coupled with the testimony of Lan Wangji, whose flawless reputation somehow caused the rumour that Wei Wuxian had been tamed and brought back to the light by the righteousness of the Lan clan, meant that the general animosity had been moved off from him and towards the Jin sect.

Caught between wanting to bristle at the idea of needing to be tamed and somewhat pleased that Lan Wangji’s reputation didn’t seem to suffer much from his acquaintance, Wei Ying endeavoured to fan the rumours, behaving relatively nicely while maintaining some roguish impertinence to ward off any suspicions. 

He goes back to Lotus Pier, drinks his shijie's soup and finally apologises to both her and Jiang Cheng for making them worry. He doesn’t tell them about the core, but he tells them about being thrown into the burial mounds, how he had to fight his way out with resentful energy, and talks about how it makes him angry and violent. He apologises, and means it.

Jiang Cheng’s hands are clenched at his sides, and Wei Ying thinks he’s going to get yelled at before he’s roughly pulled in for a hug, too tight to be called comfortable, but he wants to cry all the same. 

“You idiot,” Jiang Cheng grits out, and Wei Ying laughs and pats his back, swallowing hard around the lump in his throat when he feels Yanli join the hug from behind. For a moment, it feels like they’re children again, huddled together in the dark. 

When they finally pull free, he and Jiang Cheng talk.

“What about the resentful energy now?” He asks, evidently confused by the general lack of dark foreboding brooding that Wei Ying is doing.

“Ah, Lan Zhan is helping me. His ah, guqin keeps it under control so I can practice controlling it,” he explains, sticking to the truth. His brother seems surprised at that, and Wei Ying can see the moment his brother comes to his conclusion, the familiar brows furrowing as he nods in assent.

“I’m glad he’s willing to do that for you, then.” Everything else he is thinking goes unsaid, but Wei Ying smiles, understanding. He thinks, with this, the relationship between YunmengJiang and GusuLan might improve, if Jiang Cheng upholds propriety and gives due thanks to the Lan sect for helping a member of the Jiang sect. For the first time in months, Wei Ying settles into that knowledge that he still has a place in Lotus Pier.

They talk about the Wen clan next, almost coming to an argument again. But the notes of Lan Zhan’s guqin are still humming in his veins, and he stills himself, patient, remembering all the things that Jiang Cheng is. He knows now that Jiang Cheng is scared, angry and hurting, and wants his revenge wholly. He feels small to Wei Ying, now, and it is clear to him, without the resentment crawling in his lungs, to give his shidi what he needs.

He pulls Jiang Cheng roughly into another hug, tight, and lets his grief for Lotus Pier bleed through honestly, for the one person who would understand, who was there with him all.

“Jiang Cheng, I know. I want to burn everything to the ground for them too.” He shakes his brother, who is still a little shell shocked at the embrace, anger and grief in his eyes as he tries to understand why Wei Ying doesn’t want to kill every person named Wen. He tries to swallow the anger bitter betrayal and listen to his brother.

“I was there too. I wanted everyone dead. I used the dead and had them rip Wen cultivators apart till you couldn’t even tell their corpses were human anymore.”

Jiang Cheng nods, and lets him continue.

 “Think of Wen Qing and Wen Ning, shidi. Think about Shi Jie,” 

Jiang Cheng jerks at the mention of their sister.

“Do you really think she’d be okay with us running around and killing a bunch of children and old people? Are you okay with letting her see us go so low?”

Jiang Cheng falls to his knees, bringing Wei Ying down with him. His grip on Wei Ying’s arm is tight, and Wei Ying feels the fury and grief and sorrow, knows his brother feels things fully, incandescently, just like his mothers zidian, and Wei Ying holds him through it.

“Then what am I supposed to do, Wei Wuxian? I can’t just let it go. They’re gone, and there’s nothing else I can do!”

Wei Ying pulls him up, forcing his back straight and chin high. 

“Shidi, we do the right thing. We do the right thing because that’s what shushu taught us, so shijie can still smile at us. When she has kids with that stupid peacock, we can take care of them with our heads held high and tell them we were the good guys. They’re gone,” And at this, Wei Ying chokes a little, the words thick on his tongue, uncomfortable in the way that honesty always is, but he tries.

“Theyre gone, but we’re still here. I’m still here, shijie is still here. We can’t forget that.”

Jiang Cheng presses his eyes shut, and Wei Ying knows that every instinct is screaming inside him. He waits, knowing his brother, hoping that the boy he grew up with is still there, the boy who is quick to anger but quick to forgive, who loves harder than he hates. He hopes he has reached him, the way Lan Zhan had, reminded him of the lighter things he has forgotten.

Jiang Cheng nods, eventually, resolute, bitter.

“The Yunmeng Jiang clan will do what needs to be done.”

———-

Lan Zhan conces Lan Xichen easily, knowing his brother walks with virtue in his path. Instead of discussing whether or not to help, the discuss how to help, in a way that is in keeping with the limitations and powers of their sect.

Lan Qiren, proud that the Lan sect has been attributed to bringing Wei Wuxian into decorum and propriety, credits Wangji and Xichen, and listens to their petition, clearly listing the responsibilities their sect to live by their rules, to uphold virtute and not tolerate arrogance, cruelty, and violence. 

Lan Qiren signs and stamps his name, aligning GusuLan with the other sects petitioning for non-cultivator Wen civilians to be released, in return for "the recognition by all clans herein to pledge allegiance to a Jin sect that is wholly unaffiliated with the very actions that led to the Sunshot Campaign.". The threat of another uprising from the united front of the major sects is very much implied. 

The pressure is unanimous, and the Jin sect, wary of another campaign against them, decide that a bunch of commoners are not worth the censure and trouble they are receiving. A couple branch families are made scapegoats, and the Wen civilians are released to a shouldering Qishan.  

They eventually settle, moving further to the outskirts of Qishan province where the fires have not spread, and change their names to a different character Wen, to start rebuilding their lives. 

Wei Ying visits with Lan zhan, delivering supplies as reparations. It feels like absolution, to see turnips and potatoes sprout after some time passes, green and tender. He buys Wen Yuan toys, throws him in the air and drinks with the uncles in the new Wen village.

Lan Zhan talks to Wen Qing about Wei Ying's core, finds out what he can do to at least help alleviate the physical symptoms of a body used to having one, that now must do without. 

Wen Qing gives him a list of herbs that Wei Ying must take nightly, as well as a reminder that Cleansing must be played after every battle that Wei Ying fights with resentful energy. 

Lan Zhan nods, grateful. He will always be happy to play for Wei Ying. 

They return home to the cloud recesses, pausing on the way to stop by the one month celebration of Jin Ling. Wei Ying has made a bell for him, and Lan Zhan has brought a tiny flute, small enough for a young child to play, when he is old enough.

----

When they finally are done paying respects and enter the safe haven of the jingshi, Wei Ying lets out the breath he has been holding onto.

"We did it, Lan Zhan. The Wens are safe, I have a nephew, I can't.. I can't really believe it." 

Lan Zhan pauses from setting up the guqin, walking over softly to pull Wei Ying into him.

"Do I really.. can I really have this?" Wei Ying asks, and Lan Zhan tightens his arms around him.

"Yes, Wei Ying. You can have this." 

He kisses his forehead, his temples, and pulls him towards the guqin to soothe the ache in his beloved's bones.

After Cleansing, after Rest, he plays WangXian -forget envy- the two of their names a song he imbues with the depth of his love, and lets his spiritual energy suffuse the notes that sink into Wei Ying’s meridians, enough to soothe the ache.

When the song ends, Wei Ying is calm and warm and soothed, and they go to bed amidst soft touches, curled up around each other.

----

The "treatment plan", as Wen Qing puts it, works, and for the most part Wei Ying manages to cultivate his demonic path in peace without it taking a hold of him. He spends his days tinkering, coming up with talismans and inventions that change the way cultivators have worked for centuries. 

He takes the juniors on night hunts, relishing in thr act of teaching, of being surrounded by people and laughter and the thrill of improvement. 

He goes to Lotus Pier regularly, even though he has made his home in Gusu with Lan Zhan, at which Jiang Cheng scowls and punches his arm to hide how happy he is for Wei Ying. He helps, when he can, with the rebuilding of YunmengJiang, lends his expertise and mediates between GusuLan and YunmengJiang.

He visits his nephew Jin Ling even more, teasing him and teaching him. With Jiang Yanli's influence, his pride is tempered by humility, his anger is wielded towards injustice, and his laughter is free and clear like a chime when he plays with his uncle, getting in trouble for stealing lotus seed pods and running amok. 

---

He goes home, to the Cloud Recesses, to find his husband, to drag him out to go play with rabbits and otherwise do mischief instead of working.

Pulling Lan Zhan to him, he kisses him. 

"Thank you, Lan Zhan, for staying that day on Phoenix Mountain. You could have run away, but you didn't, and I'm here now because of you." 

Lan Zhan pulls him close, and murmurs against soft hair. 

"Between us, there is no need for thanks or apologies, Wei Ying."