#practice ficlet

For the folks who asked for more Jin Ling fic on tumblr and AO3! Mild Wangxian and Zhuiling. Also a bit of belated happy birthday to Wei Wuxian. <3 

Unedited, so apologies for mistakes.

---

Jin Ling cannot believe he agreed to this madness. He turns to scowl at Little Apple, who looks up at him with a bored expression, jaw moving slowly, blades of grass protruding from his mouth.

Who takes a donkey on walks?

Only Wei Wuxian would treat his donkey like a pet dog, overfeeding him with apples and bales of expensive hay. All paid for by Lan Wangji, no doubt. Now the fat bastard is the size of a baby elephant, his movements slow and ponderous as Jin Ling leads him up the slope to greener pastures, yanking at his reins.

By right, either Lan Sizhui or Lan Jingyi should be carrying out this task; they're the idiots who promised to look after Little Apple in Wei Wuxian's absence. But they're having some sort of self-reflection session, punishment for going on one too many night hunts with Wen Ning.

So Jin Ling says yes. How can he resist, with Lan Sizhui clasping his hands in his, eyes soft and earnest and a beautiful shade of grey?

Together, with Jin Ling tugging at the reins, they arrive at the meadow that’s blue-green and rustling in the wind, looking almost combed. When Little Apple trots through the grass, finally showing a little more interest in his surroundings, Jin Ling sinks down and stretches his legs out, leaning back on his hands. The clouds are white, gathering in the sky; the grass, damp, a gentle tickle beneath his palms.

It’s peaceful here. Serene. The kind of quiet that calms and warms one’s soul, different from the purposeful, meditative silence of the Cloud Recesses.

Maybe this isn’t so bad.

Maybe this is what he needs. Away from the chaos of his Sect, the temper of his uncle, the dark, disapproving looks of Lan Qiren.

“—and then, mama, and then he said—”

Jin Ling turns to see a lady strolling past with a small boy, his little hand grasped in hers. Their arms swing as they walk, the boy chattering on about the game of hide-and-seek his friends have invented, about the new toys they've got and oh, could he have them too? His mother nods and listens, chiding him gently when he starts to hop across stones on the ground, nearly tripping over a large one.

Something painful happens inside Jin Ling's chest, deep and aching as an old bruise.

Looking away, he calls out to Little Apple. 

“Hey, did you grow up with parents?”

The donkey’s ears prick up before he lifts his head and stares at Jin Ling, cheeks filled with grass.

“I’ve always wondered,“ Jin Ling mutters. “What it’s like to have my mom hold my hand and wipe dirt off my cheeks, or my dad carry me on his shoulders and… and personally pass on Suihua to me.” His gaze falls to the handle of his sword. “It was nice to get it from uncle, but uncle is… uncle.”

Little Apple lets out a loud snort.

“I know right. No ‘I can’t wait to watch you wield it’ or ‘I’m so proud of you, son.’ Just one toss and a, ‘Can’t you even catch a sword right?’”

Exhaling, Jin Ling flops onto his back, arms spread open. He does remember a gentle voice humming lullabies in his ear. Remember the soft kisses, the loving words, the happiness and warmth around him. But it’s vague, so vague, and Jin Ling wishes he had memories he could cradle close to his heart.

Something real.

“Want to hear something really crazy?” he says.

The breath Little Apple huffs is low, his tail whisking back and forth.

“Knowing what I know now... I...” Jin Ling breathes out his next words in a rush. “I wouldn’t have minded being raised by your stupid owner.”

Little Apple looks at him as if he’s grown two heads.

Jin Ling throws an arm over his eyes. “Told you it was crazy!”

“What’s crazy?”

“That I thought Wei Wuxian would be a—”

That voice.

The playfulness of it, the light, musical tenor.

Jin Ling chokes mid-sentence, jolting upright.

Happy Jan 23, 2020 birthday, Lan Wangji!

--

Lan Wangji closes the door. Turns to smile at Wei Wuxian, who smiles back at him, body immersed in the tub, chin resting on his arms. He glows in the candlelight, damp hair framing his face and clinging to the line of his neck, his bare shoulders. Bruises in the shape of Lan Wangji’s mouth cover fair skin, and Lan Wangji remembers the way they touched and kissed earlier, the way Wei Wuxian clung to him as they came together. In his gut, something stirs, hot and wanting, at the reminder, the feel of Wei Wuxian shaking apart against him.

Every year, they return to this inn in Yunping City, the one that holds memories of chickens, jujubes, drunken contact, and a broken tub. It’s Wei Wuxian who wanted to return—”Change the association we have of this place,” he explained—and they’ve come back every year since, the owner cheerily leading them to a room in the quietest area of the inn. 

They don’t have to ask for a large tub now; the owner knows.

“The juniors?” Wei Wuxian asks, head tilting.

“Mn,” Lan Wangji says, fingers swiftly untying his belt. His forehead ribbon was long removed and still tied to the bedpost. “Came to give their greetings.”

“Sorry, what?” Wei Wuxian tilts his head, mouth tugged in a lewd grin, as Lan Wangji slips out of his clothes. “I’m a tad distracted.”

Lan Wangji’s lips twitch at the corners, aware of Wei Wuxian’s eyes on the smooth plane of his chest, the muscled lines of his abs. “You heard me.” 

“I’m surprised they came so late,” Wei Wuxian hums, gaze still fixed on lan Wangji’s body. “You’d think they’ve learned our nightly routines by now.”

Fully stripped, Lan Wangji steps into the bath, water sloshing, and presses against Wei Wuxian, hands firm on his hips. “They arrived earlier.” He drops a kiss on Wei Wuxian’s jaw, just below his ear. “We were busy.”

“Right.” Breath catching, Wei Wuxian leans in, back to Lan Wangji's chest. “Because someone was more enthusiastic than usual.” 

Lan Wangji noses into Wei Wuxian’s hair. Breathes in the fresh soap, the smell of Wei Wuxian mixed in it. “Birthday boy gets what he wants,” he murmurs. 

Wei Wuxian’s laugh rolls through him, low and tumbling. “Boy do I regret ever saying that to you. If your uncle only knew how much of a filthy pervert you are, Lan-er-gege.”

Lan Wangji chuckles, a soft huff of breath. When Wei Wuxian twists around to look at him, eyes sparkling, he slides his mouth over Wei Wuxian’s, his heart soaring as Wei Wuxian opens up, lets him in.

Happy birthday, Lan Zhan. Here’s to another year with you, Lan Zhan.

Words aren’t necessary. 

Unedited, apologies for any mistakes! Not exactly discreet, but I can’t imagine Wangxian being entirely discreet. xD Hope you like it, lovely. <3<3<3

---

They think they’re being discreet, but Lan Qiren sees it all. The way Wei Wuxian shifts closer to Lan Wangji until they’re shoulder to shoulder at the table, one hand sliding under the table; the way Lan Wangji’s eyes flicker down to meet Wei Wuxian’s, the corners crinkling ever so slightly. The way Wei Wuxian leans up to whisper something in Lan Wangji’s ear, his lips ghosting across the shell of it.

At dinner! Before the entire sect!

It’s shameless, beyond shameless, and Lan Qiren wants to put a stop to the madness. Only, he had declared that Wei Wuxian was invisible to him, which meant no eye contact, no greetings, absolutely no acknowledgment of the devil’s presence. He could yell at Lan Wangji, but Lan Wangji is so lost to Wei Wuxian’s demonic charm that Lan Qiren doesn’t even recognize his own nephew anymore. Teeth clenched, he drops his gaze to the table, focuses on swallowing the food in front of him. Hard, when his appetite has disappeared thanks to those two fools.

He manages several mouthfuls. Then, in a moment of folly, he raises his head again.

Wei Wuxian has left his seat to join the junior disciples at their table—“We shouldn’t talk during mealtime,” Lan Sizhui says in a hushed tone; “What’d you say,” Lan Jingyi practically screams—and Lan Wangji has dutifully followed, one hand on Wei Wuxian’s waist. Lan Qiren watches in horror as the hand shifts, lower, in what looks like a light caress. Rests on Wei Wuxian’s hip, fingers curling into the fabric of Wei Wuxian’s robes, before—Lan Qiren’s heart ceases—Lan Wangji leans in to press his mouth to the back of Wei Wuxian’s neck.

Wei Wuxian’s hitch of breath echoes throughout the quiet dining room.

“Lan Zhan,” Wei Wuxian hisses, without heat. “Not there.”

Lan Wangji lifts a finger and drags it across skin, the loose strands of hair on Wei Wuxian’s neck. Barely hidden behind the thick curtain of Wei Wuxian’s ponytail.

“Here?” he asks, voice gone low.

Wei Wuxian shivers.

Lan Qiren feels as if he’s experiencing a qi deviation.

He should have had dinner with Lan Xichen at his cottage—a simple, peaceful meal, devoid of Wei Wuxian and… and whatever beast Lan Wangji has turned into.

Mentally, Lan Qiren apologizes to his brother; he tried his best with his sons, he truly did.

—

For tangerinechar @ twitter, kiss prompt: 31 (after a small rejection), Wangxian. Shifting to tumblr anon requests after this, thank you for your patience! <3

---

Wei Wuxian doesn't get an invitation to Jin Ling's birthday dinner.

He expects it every year, the little card embossed with gold designs. It’s never delivered by Jin Ling himself—unlike the way he hands them out, red-faced, to the juniors—but there are personal touches to the invitation, like Jin Ling’s adorable but failed attempts at an elegant cursive, or the greeting of hey idiot uncle on the top. Wei Wuxian knows they’re personal because Lan Wangji receives an invitation that’s printed and professional, no sign of Jin Ling’s brusque warmth on the too-perfect card.

Wei Wuxian figures Jin Ling might be too busy. The annual conference is held at Koi Tower this year, and Jin Ling has little panic attacks every time it comes around. He has learned to ask for help, at least, running to Jiang Cheng or Wei Wuxian, eyes wide and words falling out of his mouth in an incoherent babble. Sometimes Lan Wangji even, if he can muster the courage. (Surprisingly, though not so for Wei Wuxian, Nie Huaisang has been an instrumental support for Jin Ling, as a Sect Leader who, too, was forced to take on the role before he was ready.)

So yes, maybe Jin Ling is engaged in his usual freak-out this year.

But then Wei Wuxian sees Lan Wangji’s card on the study desk, recalls that Jin Ling’s birthday is celebrated even in the years when he’s hosting the conference.

In his younger days, Wei Wuxian would have flown straight to Koi Tower and harassed Jin Ling until he got an answer. But that impulsivity, that arrogance, all of that is behind him now, leaving him older, wiser, and just a little more tired. He puts on a smile, of course. Tells Lan Wangji that it’s fine, it’s all right; he must have said something that angered Jin Ling, hahaha.

Lan Wangji is silent for a moment, listening as Wei Wuxian plows on, regaling Lan Wangji about his day with Wen Ning, how they went hunting for pheasants together, how Wen Ning used a bow again for the first time in years.

When Wei Wuxian has exhausted his stories, Lan Wangji lifts up the gold card between two fingers.

“Shall we ask Sect Leader Jin where your invitation has gone?”

Wei Wuxian snorts. Trust Lan Wangji to see right through him. “No need, he’s probably screaming about the food menu for the conference right now. Best not to make things worse.”

Lan Wangji’s eyes soften. 

“Wei Ying,” he says.

And Wei Wuxian hears it, Lan Wangji’s heart beneath two simple words: You’re hurt. It’s okay to say that you’re hurt.

Wei Wuxian lets out a long, drawn-out sigh. He’s baffled, sometimes, at how his foolish young self had missed the sound of Lan Wangji’s true feelings, soft and reverberant as the silk strings of a guqin. 

“A kiss would be nice,” he murmurs.

Without pause, Lan Wangji’s fingers slip around his chin, and Wei Wuxian quickly loses himself in the press, the taste, of Lan Wangji’s lips. Lan Wangji’s kisses change with his mood, with Wei Wuxian’s mood. Sometimes there’s teeth, biting at his lips, his jaw, his neck, but now—now it’s soft, tender, a slight shift of mouth and just a hint of tongue.

When Lan Wangji pulls away, Wei Wuxian smiles up at him, heart full. Where would he be without Lan Wangji?

“Hey! Idiot uncle!”

Wei Wuxian pauses, but Lan Wangji is already at the front doors of the Jingshi, hardly making a sound in his white socks.

Outside, Jin Ling is hunched over, chest heaving, Suihua still hovering in the air next to him. His cheeks are flushed, loose strands sticking haphazardly out of his ponytail, as if he had flown thousands of miles in the span of minutes.

He probably did, Wei Wuxian thinks, heart pounding.

“Idiot uncle,” Jin Ling calls again, when he spots Wei Wuxian coming up to the door. “I wanted to give this to you in person ‘cause I’ve… you’ve… I mean—I, I just wanted to, okay, but the old Jin geezers kept arguing over stupid details about the—” He stops short, shakes his head, and thrusts out his hands. “Here!”

His invitation. In Jin Ling’s ridiculous handwriting.

Wei Wuxian reaches out, tugs Jin Ling into his arms. Ignores the loud protests, his nose burying into Jin Ling’s hair.

From the corner of his eye, he catches Lan Wangji’s smile, soft mouth lifting at the corners.

Yes, Wei Wuxian thinks, curling tighter around Jin Ling. 

Where would he be without family?

—

Sorry for the delay, anon! Hope you like it!! <3

FYI, no. 9 = kiss in public. :3

---

One sip of beer.

One tiny little sip of beer.

Wei Ying watches, sheepish and slightly embarrassed, as Lan Zhan stumbles back to their seats, leaving a trail of confusion in his wake. From prying the pony keg off a beer seller’s back (“It’s for Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan says, matter-of-fact, when the seller yells blue murder), to handing Wei Ying a dozen of the we’re number one foam hands (“Wei Ying is number one,” Lan Zhan amends, glaring at a foam hand), drunk Lan Zhan is actually, shockingly, more of a force of chaos than sober Wei Ying could ever dare to be.

Wei Ying shifts the foam hands to one arm, slipping the other through Lan Zhan’s. “C’mon, let’s sit down and enjoy the rest of the game.”

Lan Zhan’s eyes dart down to their linked arms, lingering, before sweeping back up to Wei Ying’s face. “Mn,” he says, quietly.

“You’re lucky it’s just the two of us,” Wei Ying chuckles, leading Lan Zhan carefully up the steps. “Imagine if the whole graduate program learned that Mister Stick-up-his-ass got drunk at his first baseball game! Professor Lan will have my head.”

“Uncle won’t want your head,” Lan Zhan tells him, in all seriousness. “He can’t stand the sight of it.”

Wei Ying snorts, “Yeah, like uncle like nephew, right? I still can’t believe you showed up.”

Lan Zhan tilts his head, brows furrowing. Wei Ying thinks of Jin Ling, the way he stares at Wei Ying when his little three-year-old brain can’t make sense of what Wei Ying just said. “You invited me,” Lan Zhan points out.

“You could have bailed,” Wei Ying retorts, only for Lan Zhan’s brows to draw in further.

Right. Mister Stick-up-his-ass is also Mister Integrity; of course he’d show up after saying yes.

But why on earth would he say yes?

Lan Zhan used to show him nothing but irritation, and Wei Ying would push and push until Lan Zhan snaps at him to leave. But Lan Zhan has… softened, lately. The irritation has dimmed, the flash in his eyes shifting to something warm, something that makes Wei Ying's heart rabbit in his chest. And now Lan Zhan is… he's… well. Wei Ying doesn’t know what Lan Zhan is. He just knows that the more he learns about Lan Zhan, the more he wants to see him.

And then, Lan Zhan accepts his invitation to a game.

(Wei Ying changes his outfits three times before Jiang Cheng kicks him out of the apartment.)

They arrive at their seats, where Wei Ying tugs Lan Zhan down with him, foam hands rustling. The man in the next seat raises an eyebrow, looking away when Wei Ying flashes his brightest smile in response.

“Anyway,” he says, turning back to Lan Zhan. “I'm glad you’re here. Really.”

Lan Zhan's lips twitch at the corners.

"...on our kiss cam! How ‘bout a smooch for the crowd?”

Wei Ying looks up at the big screen. The woman on it is giggling, cheeks flushed, as she points out the camera to the man beside her. Wei Ying grins when he spots himself and Lan Zhan in the corner, the bundle of foam hands looking ridiculous in his lap.

“Check it out, Lan Zhan, we’re on the kiss cam! Let’s stand up and—mmf!?”

Lan Zhan’s mouth is still cold from the beer, but his breath is warm and his hands even warmer, searing into Wei Ying’s cheeks. Wei Ying gasps as soon as he feels Lan Zhan’s lips on his—soft, so soft—his mouth falling open. Lan Zhan takes that opportunity to press in, suck at Wei Ying’s tongue and bite at lips, and Wei Ying’s hands rise to clutch at Lan Zhan’s hips, back, shoulders, his groan lost amidst the raucous cheering.

The foam hands topple to the ground in a heap.

When Lan Zhan pulls away, his eyes are dark, his lips red and swollen. His skin is still flawlessly pale, with only the tips of his ears betraying the heat of desire thrumming in the air between them.

Wei Ying wants to kiss him again.

“Lan Zhan,” he says instead, swallowing. “Your uncle is really going to have my head now.”

Lan Zhan frowns. “No,” he says, voice soft, fingers brushing the curve of Wei Ying’s mouth. “Mine.”

And Wei Ying can’t argue with that.

—

Kiss prompts: Where it hurts/encouragement. I’m leaning more to the former, though this tiny snippet of a WangXian royalty au includes both, in a way. Enjoy! <3

---

On the edge of the bed, Wei Wuxian watches Lan Wangji ease his sandals off with great care. His eyes following the movement of those long, slender fingers as they hook into the top of his sock and slide them slowly down his shin, over his ankle. One foot, then the other. Lan Wangji’s touch is feather-light, his brush of skin searing hot, and Wei Wuxian wants to feel more of it. To feel it elsewhere. But he’s already violated all sorts of imperial customs and boundaries with this—no, Lan Wangji has.

After all, it was the Second Crown Prince of Lan who insisted on giving Wei Wuxian a ride on his horse when Wei Wuxian fell. Who carried Wei Wuxian into the inn and offered a foot massage to soothe Wei Wuxian’s twisted ankle.

Wei Wuxian, a mere lowborn servant.

Then again, it was Lan Wangji’s fault for startling him, showing up all radiant and dashing in his full regalia. (They hadn’t met in months. Not since Wei Wuxian discovered Lan Wangji's true identity.)

“Which foot was it?” Lan Wangji asks. His voice is gentle, so gentle, the sound of it washing over Wei Wuxian like summer rain.

“Lan Zhan—I mean, your Highness—”

Wei Wuxian lets out a yelp when Lan Wangji’s fingers tighten around his left ankle.

“No need for formalities,” Lan Wangji says, grip loosening.

“Did you have to do that?” Wei Wuxian huffs. “It really hurt!”

Lan Wangji’s mouth tips upwards, and his fingers press into the jut of Wei Wuxian’s ankle, massaging the hard ridge. Sore muscles melting under his ministration.

Wei Wuxian bites his bottom lip. Like this—head bowed, lashes fanned over his cheeks—Lan Wangji is ethereal, glowing in the candlelight. It makes Wei Wuxian hyperaware of Lan Wangji's hands on his skin, the heat of Lan Wangji's body even in the space between them. Funny, how hot Lan Wangji burns despite the frostiness of his expression, dreary as the clouds in winter. Funny and strange and oh, so wrong.

He's not worthy.

Not worthy of having a son of heaven on his knees before him, such soft, silken hands on his filthy, unclean—

"Wei Ying."

The sound of his name whispered in that tone of voice…

Wei Wuxian swallows, throat bobbing. "Yeah?"

"It's all right," Lan Wangji says, softly.

He's looking up at Wei Wuxian now, gold eyes shifting with an emotion that Wei Wuxian can't name. And then, gently, tenderly, he lifts Wei Wuxian's foot. Presses his lips to the rise of Wei Wuxian's ankle.

In his chest, Wei Wuxian's heart thuds.

Friends, that's what they were before this mess. But maybe they could stay that way, class difference be damned.

And maybe, just maybe, Wei Wuxian could hope for something more.

—

Good practice is good! <3 I’ve chosen 10 (desperately) and 12 (in grief). You know how it starts; neither of us knows how it ends. :D; Hope you like it, lovely. <3

---

Mo Xuanyu’s golden core is too small, too weak. With Lan Wangji’s help, Wei Wuxian cultivates it as far it can go. Enough to strengthen his body and circulate his qi, but not for flight, or sword wielding.

Or immortality.

So Wei Wuxian ages, slowly, gradually. His face and hands grow more lined, his silken, dark hair starting to grey. He sleeps more, eats less. Lessens his night hunts and drinks less Emperor’s Smile, after having the worst hangover that lasted him a full three days. But that smile—that smile—has not changed. There are more lines to the corners of his eyes, but Wei Wuxian still glows in that smile, a beacon of light in the darkness.

“What will you do after I’m gone?” Wei Wuxian asks once.

“You won’t,” Lan Wangji tells him. “I won’t let you.”

It hurts Lan Wangji the way Wei Wuxian smiles then—soft and sad and knowing.

Lan Wangji combs through libraries for something, anything, that can keep Wei Wuxian by his side. He reads every book and scroll he finds on cultivation, immortality, golden cores. Crosses into the realm of demonic cultivation, with the scant few notes written by those who dared pen down their sins. (Wei Wuxian’s own notes are irrelevant; immortality was never his goal. Not then.)

Lan Xichen looks at Lan Wangji with that soft gaze these days, asking gently if he’s eating well. Lan Sizhui seeks him out for more guqin duets, sounds of the silk strings lilting and weaving through the air after nightfall—a long-broken rule that Lan Qiren has chosen to ignore. Lan Jingyi and Wen Ning share with him any information they can gather; even the juniors from their night hunts offer bits of stories they hear from the townspeople, rumors and hearsays on eternal life.

“He’s an idiot,” Jin Ling says at the annual Sect conference. “Idiots live forever.”

Lan Wangji doesn’t miss the way Jin Ling’s eyes shift and his lips tremble. The way Jiang Cheng’s exhales sharply at his nephew’s empty declaration, hands curled into fists at his sides.

They all want Wei Wuxian to stay.

They all feel Lan Wangji’s want for Wei Wuxian to stay.

“People will talk, you know,” Wei Wuxian says, laughter in his warm voice. His mouth is pink and swollen from kisses taken, and Lan Wangji sweeps in to steal another, unable to resist. “Hanguang-Jun making out with an old man in public…”

Lan Wangji nips at Wei Wuxian’s bottom lip. “You’re not old.”

“I’m getting there,” Wei Wuxian huffs. “Pretty soon you’ll have to deal with drool and leakages and—ah!“

Lan Wangji’s teeth dig into the hollow of Wei Wuxian’s throat, working down the delicate line. They’re seated outside the jingshi, watching the sun rise in the distance, and Lan Wangji doesn’t want Wei Wuxian to think about aging, or death, or what comes after. Lan Wangji doesn’t want to think about it. So he leaves bruises, dark and desperate, in the shape of his mouth on Wei Wuxian’s skin. Marks Wei Wuxian in ways that will let Wei Wuxian carry him wherever he goes.

“Lan Zhan ah, Lan Zhan,” Wei Wuxian says, light and breathless, palms smooth on Lan Wangji’s back. “Even you can’t beat time.”

Lan Wangji reaches out, runs his knuckles up Wei Wuxian’s jaw.

“Watch me.”

Wei Wuxian stares back at Lan Wangji, eyes gone bright. His hair glows silver in the light, his lashes a grey smudge against his cheeks.

“You can be so stubborn,” he whispers.

Lan Wangji leans in to slide his mouth over Wei Wuxian’s, the language of action coming easier than words. Lets Wei Wuxian know, heart pouring into the kiss, that he never gave up those thirteen years. That he won’t give up now, no matter what Wei Wuxian thinks he deserves.

—

Requested by @clockworkspider on twitter: Sangyao, kiss prompt: after a small rejection. Based on Nie Huaisang and Jin Guangyao’s relationship in CQL/Untamed. Hope you like it! <3

---

“Young master. What’s wrong?”

Through his tears, Nie Huaisang looks up to a soft gaze and a smile as gentle as the spring breeze. “Meng Yao,” he says, voice keening, dragging, at the second syllable.

Meng Yao’s mouth curves, dimples deepening at the corners. Every meeting with Nie Mingjue leads to the same thing—Nie Huaisang weeping over a fresh lecture for his “frivolous” hobbies. He closes the gap between the door and the bed where Nie Huaisang lies, curled in a ball, knees to his chest.

“Did Sect Leader Nie reject the bigger cage for Xiao Qi?” he asks, softly, lowering to the edge of the bed.

Nie Huaisang nods, hiccupping. “He said—he said the small one is already a waste of space as it is…”

Meng Yao hums. His fingers reach out to brush hair off Nie Huaisang’s face. “I’m sorry, young master. Perhaps I can put in a word for Xiao Qi the next time I speak with your brother?”

“Will you?” Nie Huaisang’s eyes are big, his lips parted and trembling. In his cage, Xiao Qi bounces on the bar and lets out a little trill. “I don’t know what I’d do without you, Meng Yao!”

“You’d do perfectly well,” Meng Yao says. He presses a kiss to the crown of Nie Huaisang’s head, breathes in the scent of lavender incense and fresh-baked pastries. Sweet as Nie Huaisang’s smile as he looks up at Meng Yao through glistening lashes.

Meng Yao’s heart does a little flip.

It’s that same smile that makes Meng Yao—no, Jin Guangyao now—shiver with anticipation every time Nie Huaisang returns to consult him on sect matters. Makes his breath grow ragged when Nie Huaisang, teeth bright and eyes still ever so big, pins him to the wall of the conference room to mouth his jaw, the curve of his neck.

Times like these, Meng Yao feels sorry for murdering Nie Mingjue. For causing the lines on Nie Huaisang’s forehead, the wet trails down Nie Huaisang’s cheeks.