#*art20

“Yes.”

“Did you tell me about this and I forgot? Seems like I’d remember if you’d mentioned there was a wedding.”

“Mn,” says Lan Wangji, his eyes fixed on the splendid display before them, looking slightly, what was it… wistful, perhaps? Wei Wuxian cocks his head. It’s odd for him not to be able to read Lan Zhan’s moods with an easy glance these days. Once you know what to look for, he really is an open book. Right now, though, he’s… inscrutable. Shut off, a little.

“What is it, Lan Zhan?” No reply. “Wait. Did you not know?” There is a tiny flicker in those piercing eyes. Maybe he’s onto something. “The Jin sect is holding a wedding at Carp Tower, and they didn’t invite the Chief Cultivator?” Wei Wuxian takes hold of one wide pale sleeve and starts moving towards the great expanse of stairs at the base of the tower, pivoting to walk backwards so he can fix his eyes on his husband, his tone flitting between mockery and seriousness, looking for signs of where to land.

“This is a terrible insult, Hanguang Jun. What should we do? Storm up the stairs and confront them? Sneak in the back and spy on them? I could go grab Jin Ling by his collar and threaten to break his legs if he doesn’t offer an explanation and an apology, he seems to respond to that.”

Lan Wangji pulls them to a halt just before the first step, but he maintains his silent composure, so Wei Wuxian continues, casting about for reactions: “I’m not in my good Yiling Laozu robes, but I could still blow the doors open and make up a few good fake curses to bestow on the unlucky couple for their hubris and ingratitude if you want to be dramatic about it. Lan Zhan. What are you thinking? Give me a clue here.”

Lan Wangji takes the hand tugging at his sleeve in his own, his fingers slightly colder than usual. His eyes are fixed on Wei Wuxian’s, meaning swimming in their depths, just a little too far below the surface to be read. His lips part slightly, but he doesn’t speak. Wei Wuxian squeezes the hand back as his heart begins to thump just a little louder. “Lan Zhan? Is everything all right?”

Lan Wangji takes a slow breath. “Wei Ying.” There is the hint of a hint of a suggestion of a tremor in his deep voice. Shit, thinks Wei Wuxian.

“We will go look,” Lan Wangji says. “If… Wei Ying, once we reach the top, if you wish to leave we will leave.”

“Ohhh… kay?” says Wei Wuxian. Something is really off. Lan Zhan is acting decidedly weird. The Chief Cultivator turns and starts up the stairs, still holding Wei Wuxian’s hand. Koi Tower has, obviously, a lot of stairs, and Lan Wangji climbs them with a steady unrushed elegance, which gives Wei Wuxian a nice span of time to throw a few more hypotheses against the wall. The wall, in this case, being the statuesque expressionless man who is the love of both of his lives.

“Something is definitely up here, right? I mean, who would be getting married that they would deck out Koi Tower like this for, but not let us know about it?” Lan Wangji keeps climbing. “It can’t be Jin Ling. He’d certainly at least write to let us know if he was getting hitched. I know he stabbed me that one time, but we’ve been getting on pretty well since then, all things considered.” He chuckles, a lopsided smile on his face. “Funny how in retrospect somebody stabbing you isn’t that big of a deal. Weird that happened right here, huh? Well, just back down there, technically.” It’s barely perceptible, probably not even conscious, but Lan Wangji squeezes his hand, just a little.

“Besides, if Jin Ling had been courting somebody, we’d never hear the end of it from the juniors, am I right? Remember when Jingyi kept making eyes at that cute kid at the inn on that night hunt in Qinghe, when was that? Last spring? I thought they’d never let him live it down. I’ve never seen someone turn so red so fast!” He expects a classic Lan Zhan tiny-smile at the memory, but nothing. Carved out of jade, just like people say. Extremely weird. A new thought hits him, and it’s troubling. His tone darkens.

“Lan Zhan. I think I was wrong before. I think you did know there was a wedding tonight.” Lan Wangji’s face stays pointed impassively forwards. “I think you knew there was a wedding, and you deliberately chose not to tell me.” Lan Zhan blinks, probably in spite of his best efforts. “Ah-hah! So you did know! You knew, and you didn’t want to tell me about it, but you still brought me here. You told me there was a meeting about taxes or some boring shit and invited me along ‘because I enjoy your company, Wei Ying’, but actually you brought me to Lanling for the specific purpose of crashing a wedding. Wait.” His stomach flips. “Lan Zhan, wait.” The corners of Lan Wangji’s mouth have tightened but he keeps climbing, now towing Wei Wuxian along with him.

“Ah, Lan Zhan. Hanguang Jun. Wait a second, seriously. Lan Zhan. Beloved, stop.” Lan Wangji freezes in his tracks and turns, slowly. There is a tiny crease between his brows. He looks concerned, and… yes. Guilty. He looks guilty. Wei Wuxian feels a tiny tremor in the hand holding his. Fuck.

“Lan Zhan.” Wei Wuxian swallows. He’s figured it out; it makes sense. “It’s just me that’s not invited, isn’t it? It’s an important wedding and they want it to be perfect and beautiful, so they asked you to come, but not to bring me.” Of course. Makes perfect sense. Makes sense too that Lan Wangji would be more offended by that than by being slighted himself. Would force the confrontation. Not that long ago he would have loved the idea of barging in, making them all face up to the unpleasant truth that he exists. Today… he'd really rather not, honestly.

He takes another glance at the expensive decorations shining in the twilight, dancing in the wind. They’re very beautiful. "I should go then,” he says quietly, sliding his hand out of Lan Wangji’s. “They don’t want me here.”

As he turns to slink away back down the stairs Lan Wangji catches his shoulders. “Wei Ying. That is not it. But…”

“But?”

“It may still be uncomfortable. Jiang Wanyin is here, and my uncle. I should have warned you of that before now. I apologize.”

Wei Wuxian stares at his husband for a few seconds. It’s difficult to admit, even to himself, but he’s at a total fucking loss, and despite the relief he feels at his scenario not being true, he’s getting a bit pissed off. “Lan Zhan. I am sure now that you know what is happening here, and I am just as sure that I do not. Since I’m not doing very well at guessing, I am now asking you very nicely to tell your poor stupid soulmate what the hell is going on before he tries to shake it out of you.”

“Wei Ying. You are not stupid. But I will not tell you, even if you shake me. Please trust me, and come with me up the stairs.”

What is there to say? The earnestness in Lan Zhan’s quiet voice and the gentleness in his steady eyes disarms him, as it always does. Of course Wei Wuxian trusts him. To the ends of the earth. And he has to admit, he loves a mystery. He huffs, then nods, and they climb the last stretch of stairs together, silent.

They finally reach the courtyard, and it appears to be empty. They see no one, hear nothing but the snap of the banners and the hollow paper bumpings of the lanterns. But Wei Wuxian knows when he’s being watched, and without a doubt they are being watched by many eyes. He takes a slow breath, feels the air. Then:

“They’re here!” It’s Jingyi’s voice, and it’s followed immediately by a chaotic rabble of young voices shouting “Hanguang Jun!” and “Wei-qianbei!” and the courtyard fills with Lan and Jin disciples, even a few Jiang teens in the mix too, tripping over each other and mobbing the newcomers with a scandalous lack of dignity or composure.

A-Yuan (he should probably call him Sizhui, he thinks, but fat chance of that happening) offers a perfect bow to the two of them, but he’s grinning ear to ear. As he straightens he addresses Wei Wuxian. “Wei-qianbei! You’re right on time. Welcome…”

“...TO YOUR WEDDING!” he and Lan Jingyi finish together as Jingyi throws his arm around his friend’s shoulders. Both boys dissolve into peals of laughter at Wei Wuxian’s expression. He suspects he looks rather like a stranded carp. Well, he came to the right tower, he supposes. He turns his incredulous gaze to Lan Wangji.

The Chief Cultivator regards him with attentive seriousness, and a sparkle hiding in his eyes. “Surprise,” he states, and the crowd of kids burst into cheers and applause.

“Lan Zhan?” He leans a little closer. “What the-- Have you lost your mind? We’re already married. We’ve been married for a while now.” Almost a year now, if they counted from his return to Gusu and the completion of their three bows at the Lan family shrine. But truthfully they had really gotten married so gradually, so many steps over so many years--forehead ribbons and chickens and bows one place or another and, of course, the sex, which had been a very memorable milestone-- it’s hard to pin down a specific anniversary. It feels like it’s been a decade, but also no time at all.

Lan Jingyi interjects: “But you didn’t do it right! You just did it all by yourselves like it was no big deal! There was no party! Nobody even saw it; it barely even counts! You’re supposed to have a feast and guests and... ” he gestures wildly around “...and lanterns! You didn’t even have lanterns!”

Jin Ling joins his friends now, looking splendidly haughty in elaborate gold robes befitting the young sect leader of the Lanling Jin. “Can’t trust you to do anything right,” he complains. Wei Wuxian offers him a bow, to which he offers an exaggerated scoff in return. “It’s embarrassing, frankly. So I’ll guess I have to be the one to make sure you do it right, just like I have to do everything around here. Go get dressed so we can get this over with.”

Jin Ling stomps away with a gesture over his shoulder. Following it, Wei Wuxian sees Jiang Cheng and Lan Xichen standing several paces behind the gaggle of juniors. Each of them is holding what looks like about a mile of red silk, sparkling with gold embroidery and beads. Lan Xichen leans over and says a quiet word in the ear of the man in purple, who gives him a curt nod. Zewu Jun is looking better; his cheeks are less hollow, his skin less pallid than when he emerged from his seclusion a few months ago. Jiang Cheng looks like he’s about to punch somebody, so at least that’s consistent. As they head over, Lan Wangji gives Wei Wuxians arm a gentle squeeze.

“Jiang Wanyin has promised to behave,” he murmurs. Wei Wuxian responds with a quiet chuckle. “He wanted to be here,” Lan Wangji concludes in a whisper as they bow to the sect leaders. As they rise, Wei Wuxian feels a tightness in his throat.

“Jiang Cheng,” he says, his voice coming out raspier than he wanted. “This is…” he barks an awkward laugh. He takes in his (former?) brother, the Twin Jades, the juniors who are watching his reactions to all this like hawks. “Um… Are you all sure about this? It seems like a lot of... expense.”

Lan Xichen’s smile and Jiang Cheng’s eye roll are impressively synchronized.

“Sect leader Jin insisted,” says Xichen. "He and his friends have been very active in the planning."

“It’s already paid for, so no point whining about it,” snaps Jiang Cheng. “Besides, it looks bad for all of us if people think you two are just running around the country like a couple of sluts.”

Wei Wuxian can’t help but cackle at that, in spite of (or maybe partially because of) Lan Wangji’s abrupt tension beside him. “Ah, Jiang Cheng!” he gasps. “You always know just what to say.”

“Shut up and come get dressed. I’m bored of holding this crap.”

“Wei Ying.” The soft voice cuts through all other noise. He turns to his once and future husband. “Only if you want to,” says Lan Wangji.

“Lan Zhan,” he laughs. “You know how much I love attention! And free food! And you planned it as a surprise? And kept this many people quiet about it? Refusing would be the rudest thing I’ve ever done, and there’s quite a list.”

“But do you want to? Truly?” asks Lan Zhan, taking his hand, and there’s that earnestness again, reaching so easily past all his walls and wrapping right around his heart.

He takes a breath, checks in with himself. It’s a lot. It doesn’t feel real. So much of his life so often doesn’t feel quite real, still. But... the chance to marry his Lan Zhan properly, sumptuously, with spectacle and ceremony before the eyes of people he loves and who seem, against all odds and reason, to love him back (or, in a lot of cases, who love Lan Zhan enough to tolerate him, but that's fine too)… he’s hardly dared to let himself dream of it, but he wants it. Yeah. He wants this. So, so much.

“I do, Lan Zhan. Truly,” he says, and stands on tip-toe to kiss his husband, his eyes a little wetter than they were a moment ago. He hears Jiang Cheng pretend to gag. Wei Wuxian smiles against Lan Wangji’s soft sweet lips, and then hand-in-hand they follow their brothers to put on their wedding clothes.

…………………..

Getting dressed takes longer than he’d anticipated. There are lots of layers, soft shiny under-robes, what seems like a hundred more robes in the middle, then rich thick silk outer robes embroidered in gold thread with stylized rivers, lotus flowers and intricate repeating geometry. He’s pretty sure he knows the Yunmeng shop they came from; they smell like home, and he doesn’t mention it because… well. He doesn’t want to trap Jiang Cheng into any deep discussions. He’s careful to be inconspicuous about smelling them and running his fingers over the lotuses on his sleeves.

The hair takes a while too. Wei Wuxian is able to comb it into some semblance of order, and then there’s a thin fragrant oil that tames the frizz down and gives it a silken shine. Once that’s done and his red ribbon back in place, Jiang Cheng pins a golden ornament in front of his topknot. It’s made in the same style as Lan Zhan’s spectacular moon ornament, although smaller, and it looks a little like the sun. He doesn’t ask where it came from, and Jiang Cheng doesn’t comment on it either.

Then Jiang Cheng adds dozens of exquisitely thin golden chains dotted with crimson and gold beads that cascade in shimmering rivulets through Wei Wuxian’s hair. He grumbles the whole time, and Wei Wuxian teases him about it. He wonders if listening to them someone might mistake them for the same bothersome, promising kids from Yunmeng that bickered so easily all those years ago. They’re not, of course. He can feel the faint sizzle of Jiang Cheng’s pent up resentment roiling away inside him, and it’s weird that that’s a thing he can do now. There’s so much they still can’t talk about, can’t get over, and today is not the day to try and air it all out.

But Jiang Cheng is here, and he’s doing what a brother would do for his brother on an important day, and that means so damn much. So they both pretend that they’re okay, and if their banter is a little forced and their verbal jabs at each other a little careful, at least they’re both here. Someday, Wei Wuxian promises himself for the thousandth time, he will figure out a way to apologize for everything. For Shi Jie.

Jiang Cheng places the last golden strand with an unnecessarily painful tug and steps back. His thoughts must be running parallel to Wei Wuxian’s. “You look... “ he swallows. “You don’t look too bad. I wish…” he doesn’t finish it, but Wei Wuxian knows. I wish she could have seen you.

He can’t meet Jiang Cheng’s eyes, but he nods. “Me too. Thanks, Jiang Cheng.”

He’s rewarded with a hard punch to the shoulder. “Let’s go. Can’t keep your precious Hanguang Jun waiting.”

……………

Wei Wuxian has problems with his memory. It’s pretty common knowledge. But it’s not that he just doesn’t remember things; his memory is a lot like his attention span. Events, conversations, whole months sometimes will pass in a blur, leaving just a vague impression on his mind, but some things stick with intense clarity, seared onto his memory. Sometimes they’re inconsequential and he doesn’t know why his brain chooses to keep them instead of any of thousands of more important things: he can’t recall his parents’ faces but he could still draw the design on Nie Huaisang’s favorite fan; he’s forgotten every single recipe he’s ever learned but he remembers word-for-word a heated argument between a master cook and his apprentice that he overheard at about 13 years old passing the Lotus Pier kitchens about the proper way to steam pork buns; he keeps forgetting Lan Xichen’s birthday but he remembers watching Lan Zhan’s hand in the firelight as he slept in the Xuanwu cave, noticing its callouses from guqin and sword practice, a thin scar on the back of one knuckle, the way the long fingers twitched minutely as he dreamed.

He’s beginning to recognize them when they happen, the moments that will stay caught in his porous memory like gold flecks panned from the river mud. He’s getting gradually better at consciously reinforcing them as they happen, making sure the important things stick. He wishes he could keep this whole night, watch it over and over from beginning to end like an emperor making his own private theater troupe perform his favorite play over and over. But of course, he can’t. The evening whirls around him, blurring into a fog of light and sound, slipping away from him even as he tries to catch it.

But he knows some of the moments that will remain with him, unchanging jewels held shining in his mind and heart until the end of this miraculous second-chance life (however far away that might be). He keeps an internal list of them as they happen. There are six that are his favorites.

1- Lan Zhan stands in his wedding robes. Wei Wuxian had expected to be done first and have to make small talk and wait for his husband, but when he rounds the corner into the main hall there he is in profile, and Wei Wuxian forgets how to breathe. They took enough time getting dressed that the sun has set and he’s illuminated by soft warm lantern light, standing out crimson and gold against the velvet dark. He’s brilliant, gorgeous, perfect, dazzling. No word is enough. Lan Zhan’s robes are embroidered with clouds and mountains. His hair, too, is set with delicate golden chains and beads. He still wears his usual pale blue forehead ribbon and his preferred silver hair ornament, the match and opposite to the one in Wei Wuxian’s hair. Somehow the blue and silver do not clash with the red and gold wedding attire. Trust him to be able to pull something like that off, the effortless beautiful bastard. He wears small smooth red stone earrings, teardrop-shaped, which swing gently as he turns from where he has been talking to his brother. He is glowing. He looks like a dream.

When Lan Wangji sees his husband, his breath catches too.

They both stand frozen for a few trembling seconds, then move to meet in the middle, Lan Wangji gliding like a dancer, Wei Wuxian tripping just slightly on the front of his robe in his haste. He can hear the whisper of silk and the tiny scrape of beads on the floor. The only other sound he notices is the roaring in his ears. Lan Zhan’s hands are warm and strong. Wei Wuxian brings those precious hands up to his lips and presses a kiss onto the knuckle with the scar he’d first noticed in a cold smelly cave two decades ago. When he looks up Lan Zhan’s eyes are shining, infinitely tender.

2- Most of the actual ceremony blurs by. He’s never cared that much about tradition or Doing Things Correctly, clearly. But tradition matters to Lan Zhan, and watching his face as they go through all the slow and formal steps that make them truly 100% married in the eyes of humans, gods, spirits, and whatever else have you… that’s important. His serious, studious face. He’s always glancing over at Wei Wuxian when it’s not inappropriate, checking in on him, locking eyes with him with subtle expressions ranging from besotted fondness to slightly possessive pride to gentle admonishment (fair, he’d started fidgeting, rolling a couple of sleeve-edge beads together to make tiny creaking noises; hadn’t even realized he was doing it). Each of those precious expressions sticks. He might draw them later.

3-The best part of the ceremony steps right on the heels of the most awkward part. They must, as is customary, pour tea for their relatives, oldest to youngest. There are so many Lans in attendance. Even Lan Qiren is here, although he’s been keeping the buffer of Lan Xichen between himself and the happy couple pretty efficiently, and his scowl could curdle milk. Wei Wuxian has no blood relatives unless you count Mo Xuanyu’s, which he doesn’t. His Jiang family is there, very politely ignoring the fact that he’s officially disowned, which is very touching, it really is. But it’s still just Jiang Cheng and Jin Ling, and aren’t they just a pair?

He pours for them. They drink. Then there’s nothing to do but stand there next to the two of his family members who were too prickly for Death to want to get near enough to take them (Madam Yu probably gave him such a tongue-lashing he wasn’t eager for another any time soon; sorry, sorry, forget he even thought such a thing). He watches the graceful lines of Lan Wangji’s back (and the enticing curves of Lan Wangji’s ass) as with perfect form he pours unending tea for what seems like a thousand respectable elder Lans. He has to switch to a new pot at one point.

“How are there so many of them?” Jin Ling whispers, clearly mired in the awkwardness too. “I thought the Lans would be too stuffy to…”

“You’d be surprised,” he quips before he can stop himself, and claps a hand over his mouth to halt the rest of the sentence just as Jiang Cheng hisses, “Wei Wuxian!”

Before it can escalate farther a deep voice calls “Wei Ying,” across the room. The three of them snap to attention, for all the world like schoolkids caught misbehaving in class. Wei Wuxian throws on his most winning innocent smile.

“Will you come here?” Lan Wangji asks, and Wei Wuxian bounces over to him, throwing a cheeky nod to the elder Lans, who look varying degrees of scandalized by his mere presence. Good thing they didn’t know what he was about to say to his nephew about the surprising effects of growing up righteous and repressed on their star pupil’s libido, especially regarding his impressive collection of exciting kinks. The star pupil in question, meanwhile, has stopped his lengthy ceremonial progression in front of Lan Sizhui, teapot in hand. Sizhui is composed and polite, but puzzled at the interruption.

Without a word, Lan Wangji takes Wei Wuxian’s hand and places it atop his own on the handle of the teapot.

Together they pour the tea for their son.

Sizhui very elegantly bursts into tears as he realizes the significance of Hanguang Jun’s gesture. They stream down his face as he smiles up at them. Then he drinks, his sleeve covering his cup and his sniffles.

“Thank you, father; thank you, Baba,” he says to them in turn, his voice thick as he puts the fine small teacup back on the table. Lan Jingyi clutches Sizhui’s sleeve, his other hand covering his mouth. He has also started crying, although he’s trying to swallow it back with little gulps and hiccups.

Wei Wuxian can’t speak. He nods to his A-Yuan, smiles at his Lan Zhan, and dammit, now Wei Wuxian is crying too. Lan Zhan wipes a tear from his husband’s cheek with his thumb. His own tears are far too disciplined to act out at such an important time, so they stay politely gathered between the sweep of his eyelids.

4- After the ceremony is finished there’s a short span of mingling time while the dishes for the feast are laid out. Wen Ning, Nie Huaisang, and, to Wei Wuxian’s surprise, Mian Mian (sorry, Luo Qingyang) mob them, giving Lan Wangji handsome bows and Wei Wuxian affectionate hugs, gushing about their wedding clothes, the decor, the ceremony, the impressive secrecy leading up to the big night. Wei Wuxian reflects that they’re three of the most loving and endearing people he knows, as well as three of the most dangerous. But then, he doesn’t really know anyone now who isn’t dangerous. They all did what they had to do, back then. It makes him happy to think these three might become friends, now, when there’s not so much need to be dangerous-- they’d get along well.

“Wei Gongzi, Hanguang Jun,” says Wen Ning, pulling him back out of his head, “I have wedding gifts for you.” he pulls a small flat box of dark lacquered wood from his robe. “I know you didn’t request any, so I hope you don’t mind.”

He holds the box out to Wei Wuxian so he can open the lid. There are two beaded bracelets inside. The beads are carved and polished lotus seeds. They look a good deal like the charm Wei Wuxian had never been able to give to Jin Ling. He holds his fingers over them and feels the hum of energy, somehow both resentful and benevolent. He throws a questioning look to Wen Ning.

“I made them, after I saw the one you made for Jin Rulan. A-Yuan helped me figure out the technique on our travels together. They will camouflage you from wicked spirits and monsters. Don’t wear them now, but I think they may be helpful while you are on your night hunts.”

“I see,” he says, touching them gently, feeling the energy contained within and its will to envelop him rather than invade him. He’s reminded of a mother hen, if it was made of black smoke and the desire for vengeance. So, a mother goose, maybe. “These are amazing," he breathes. "I’m very impressed.” He looks to Lan Wangji, and he nods in appreciation.

Wei Wuxian closes the box carefully and bows to his friend. “Thank you,” he says. “They will be of great use.”

Wen Ning smiles. “Thank you, Gongzi. If you approve of the method, I may begin making more of them. I think they would be useful for farmers and travellers who are worried about encountering monsters. When you’re ready to return to research I’ll show you how we made them, if that’s all right.”

“Of course! I would love that! It, ah…” he glances over at Lan Wangji, the word honeymoon beginning to swirl through his thoughts. “It may be a few weeks before I’ll want to return to research.” Nie Huaisang smirks behind his fan and Luo Qingyang smacks him on the arm.

“That’s all right,” says Wen Ning, giving the box one final fond pat. “I’m very glad you like them. Congratulations again on your wedding. I know you will be very happy.” With that and one more round of bows the unstoppable fierce corpse and his new friends, the political mastermind and the rebellious rogue cultivator make their way to the banquet. Wei Wuxian watches them go. He’s moved by the gift, even more by the friendship, and struck with the sometimes-wonderful strangeness of life.

5- After the feast (which is excellent; some of the spicy dishes are very nearly spicy enough, held for the sake of the more sensitive guests in bright red bowls as a warning sign), Wei Wuxian is laughing loud and raucous at a joke that Lan Jingyi has made. He looks to his husband, because he can’t laugh at anything without a glance to Lan Zhan, to see how he reacts and to include him in the happy moment.

The Second Jade of Lan is smiling, actually smiling, and Wei Wuxian feels that smile in every inch of his body, with every atom of his soul.

Wei Wuxian reaches out with both hands to capture that smile, holding his husband’s face between his palms. “Lan Zhan,” he says, and it hits him all of a sudden, like a storm, like a wave, like a runaway cart. He’s awash in the simplicity and wonder of it.

“I’m happy,” he realizes aloud. “Lan Zhan, I’m so happy,” and he pulls the mighty Hanguang Jun down into a long kiss.

When they finally pull apart, Lan Wangji’s face is soft and flushed, his lips pink and kiss-puffed and Wei Wuxian can’t help himself. He gives the unapproachably handsome and unrelentingly serious Chief Cultivator’s soft cheekies a little squeezy-squeeze. Lan Zhan blushes furiously, and Wei Wuxian casts a quick glance around the room to see who has noticed. Most of the guests seemed to have missed it (presumably if they had been keyed into the earlier part of the interaction they became politely engrossed in other pursuits when the snogging started), but Jingyi is frozen with a steamed bun halfway in his mouth, Jiang Cheng is rolling his eyes so hard he must be able to see his own brain, Nie Huaisang gives him an approving wink, Wen Ning is smiling sweetly, and Lan Xichen is administering helpful pats to the back of his uncle, who has choked on his tea. Wei Wuxian leans against his long-suffering husband and laughs and laughs until he doubles over gasping.

6- It’s after the wedding feast, and he and Lan Zhan are looking out at the cool night, listening to the summer insects and the murmurs of conversation filtering out from the banquet hall. Wei Wuxian is leaning against the railing, his husband standing as perfectly straight as always. The taste of good liquor lingers in his mouth, and the fragrance of wildflowers and night air fills his nose. He turns so he’s leaning back on his elbows, gazing up at the most beautiful man in the world.

“You’re really something, you know that?”

“Mm?”

“The peerless Hanguang Jun, so righteous that the wicked tremble at the very mention of him, so valiant that no enemy dare stand against him, so subtle that even the wicked Yiling Patriarch cannot unravel his secrets.” Lan Wangji swallows, and Wei Wuxian watches the bob of his throat with rapt appreciation. He really has no business being so beautiful. Wei Wuxian smirks. “And yet, mighty Hanguang Jun, I do know one of your dark secrets.”

“What secret?” His husband’s eyes are dark in the night. Mysterious. Very very sexy.

“You were nervous about tonight.” Wei Wuxian’s smirk grows to a full grin as Lan Wangji’s gaze drops. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you so nervous.” He chuckles at the absurdity of it. “Lan Zhan, I’ve seen you fight worse monsters than most people can imagine without a second of hesitation. I don’t think there’s a soul alive who’d believe me if I told them you almost turned back on the stairs. If I said your hands had been shaking I’d be laughed out of the cultivation world.” He leans closer, his tone shifting soft and gentle. “But you almost did turn back, and your hands did shake. Why? Second thoughts?”

“No,” Lan Wangji responds immediately. “Not second thoughts. I…” it takes him a moment to formulate how he will phrase what he needs to say. Wei Wuxian waits. “I was afraid,” he finally says, “that you would feel I had trapped you into this. That you would feel pressured or ambushed or…” he searches for the right word, “...or used.”

Wei Wuxian laughs again, his ribs complaining about how much of it he’s been doing tonight. “Ah, Lan Zhan, you know how I love feeling used by you!” he laughs more, watching those perfect pale ears go pink.

He shifts over and Lan Wangji takes his hand. “What you guessed on the stairs,” Lan Wangji says. “That you were not invited to an important celebration. I’m sorry. It was never my intent for you to feel unwanted.”

“Lan Zhan, ah, Lan Zhan,” he sighs. He brings his husband’s hand up to his face and kisses his palm, then lays his cheek into it as he keeps talking. “You are too good to me. It truly was a beautiful surprise. I don’t feel unwanted. I feel very…” (it’s still hard to say, hard to believe) “...loved. By a lot of people.” He nods to himself. It’s true, and it really is astounding. He’ll try to trust it, try to keep believing it.

“And honestly,” he continues, dropping their joined hands down to rest on the railing between them, “even if everyone else in the whole world did hate me, I’d have you. You’re amazing, Lan Zhan. You’re perfect. I’d marry you every day. And I truly am impressed you managed to keep it a secret; I really had no idea! So cunning, Lan Zhan! I think I’m a bad influence on you, with my crafty ways!”

“You are the best influence on me,” Lan Wangji says seriously.

“Ah, stop, Lan Zhan!” he moans, shoving him with his shoulder. “Why do you always have to say things like that? They make me want to dig a hole and live in it.”

“Because they’re true, and I want you to believe them.”

Wei Wuxian buries his face in the silken robe over Lan Wangji's chest and groans a muffled “You’re impossible.”

They stand like that for a moment, Wei Wuxian breathing in the earthy smell of the silk and the faint sandalwood fragrance of the skin underneath. Lan Wangji loops a hand around his waist, not trembling now but warm and steady.

“Wei Ying. I have one more surprise for you, if you like.”

He looks up, a wicked twinkle in his eye. “Here? You don’t want to wait for the marriage suite? Hanguang Jun, I’m scandalized!”

His husband smiles again, a tiny lopsided quirk of his lips which Wei Wuxian finds very appealing (his poor face must be exhausted, how many smiles does that make today? Four? five?). “We will wait for the marriage suite for that, although once we enter I do not intend to leave for several days.” Before Wei Wuxian can respond to that beyond an enthusiastic intake of breath, Lan Wangji continues: “I am stepping down as Chief Cultivator.”

That halts the increasingly filthy tumble of Wei Wuxian’s thoughts in their tracks. “You… what? When?”

“Effective tonight. The major sect leaders have been in communication about it. Xiongzhang will take over my former duties tomorrow. He is ready to become involved in the world again, and far better suited to the position than I. I know he will be exemplary, and I believe he will find it fulfilling.”

“Wow, that’s. That’s great, Lan Zhan! I’m really happy for him. For you too. I know how much you hated it. Congratulations.”

Lan Wangji nods in acknowledgment. “Now I will be free to be what I most want to be.” He leaves the statement there, bait.

Wei Wuxian sighs and takes a half-step back, squaring his shoulders to his husband. “I know you’re about to say another one of those things, Lan Zhan. Go ahead, then. I’m prepared.”

“Promise you will not dig a hole to live in.”

“Fine. I promise I won’t dig a hole to live in. Go ahead, do your worst.”

Lan Wangji leans in to press his forehead against Wei Wuxian’s. The silver cloud ornament on his forehead ribbon is cool against the skin there.

“Tell me. What will you be now?” Wei Wuxian whispers.

His husband replies: “Yours.”

The End