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The little house surrounded by gentians, despite its placid appearance, always felt too small and too restrictive to Lan Zhan. It wasn’t even as though he was the one who could never leave.
If I think it feels stuffy, he thought to himself even as a toddler, how bad is it for Mother? Regardless, he dutifully visited her whenever allowed, sometimes with his brother (Mother pays more attention to him, praises him more for his smiles) and sometimes alone.
His mother never once complained of not being able to leave the little space that surely must feel smaller every year.
The frozen grass under his small feet crunched as he walked over to the house, as fast as he could go without his uncle reprimanding him about running in the Cloud Recesses. Ahead of him, Lan Huan was speed-shuffling ahead too, their breaths creating white puffs in front of their faces. They had been promised the entire evening with her because it was Lan Zhan’s fourth birthday and the one thing he had requested was to be able to spend time with her.
It’s my birthday, he couldn’t help but think petulantly despite keeping his mouth shut. Why does my brother have to come with me? As well-behaved as any child could be, he was still but a child and a young one at that. However, any extra time with his mother was time that he would take, so he agreed without complaint when his uncle declared Lan Huan would be going with him.
When they finally approached the house, a warm glow illuminated the window that Lan Zhan could see. Uncle had pounded as many rules as he could into their heads since they could understand speech, but for once, Lan Zhan didn’t care if he had to copy texts later as punishment. He broke into a run, zipping past his older brother, and darted past the threshold and into the waiting arms of his mother.
“A-Zhan! Happy birthday, my son,” came the excited voice from above him, the sound muffled from the robes that enveloped his face. Whereas his father was quiet and cold, his mother was warm and shone like the sun, even if the sun was trapped in a lantern. Lan Zhan buried his face deeper, nuzzling, before stepping back and scrambling into a haphazard bow.
“Mother,” he greeted at last, his cheeks and ears tinged a soft pink. Combined with his round baby face, he looked like a plump apple, something that both his mother and brother teased him relentlessly about.
From behind him, Lan Huan finally caught up, his arms also coming forward in a respectful bow.
“Mother,” he, too, greeted, his usual smile somehow more vivacious than usual. Lan Zhan was immediately suspicious and narrowed his eyes, but all that resulted in was a pout that only made the apple comparison more apt.
“Mother, is the surprise for didi ready?” Lan Huan whisper-shouted gleefully; if he was trying to be subtle he was doing an awful job of it.
Their mother simply sighed in fond exasperation, a hand each on the back of her sons’ heads to herd them inside. A gust of cold wind made their robes and ribbons flutter behind them wildly, causing Lan Zhan to shiver and her nudge to be more insistent so her sons could be somewhere warm again.
As the two young boys defrosted with a sniffle here and a sneeze there, Lan Zhan finally spun around to face his mother again. Craning his neck up to see her face better, he tilted his head in confusion, asking, “What surprise?”
“Be patient, A-Zhan. Mother will get it for you. Go sit down at the table with your brother,” she directed, breezing past them to another corner of that stiflingly tiny abode. They both did as they were told obediently, but whereas Lan Zhan kept trying to peer around in quiet curiosity Lan Huan looked as if he’d launch out of his seat like a firecracker from excitement.
It wasn’t exactly a secret that her mere presence, no matter how quiet, was abhorrent to the Lan elders. Her continued existence despite her ‘unforgivable sins’ of murdering an elder and corrupting their sect leader was a thorn in their sides that seemed to just fester more and more each day. She knew this, better than anyone.
And yet, this was her youngest son. Her son, whose smiles were rarer than rainbows and whose bearing was already so serious, so mechanical, even as a toddler. It hurt her to see her children have their wings clipped so early, before they even knew what the freedom of the skies felt like.
If it meant she could set her children free, she would willingly stay imprisoned in this gentian house for a thousand years.
And so, bearing the judgmental, withering glares of the entire sect was nothing in the face of her determination to at least give Lan Zhan (the spare to the heir, they whispered, as if gossiping was not forbidden within the Cloud Recesses) one, one happy memory in his childhood before he forgot what happiness was at all. With an entourage of guards that might as well have been a platoon, she was finally allowed to use the kitchens the afternoon of Lan Zhan’s birthday.
In what seemed to be no time at all, their mother, a graceful woman who never lost the defiant air of a rogue cultivator, emerged with a bowl in her hands. She placed it in front of Lan Zhan with a pat on his head and slipped a pair of chopsticks into his hand.
“Have you ever had this before?” she asked, quirking a crooked smile when the stunned boy shook his head. “Of course not. Lan sect isn’t known for celebrations, is it? These are chang shou mian, and the long, long noodles are for your long life. When you eat them don’t bite them in half, okay?” she warned, voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper.
Lan Zhan simply nodded with wide eyes, staring unblinking at the steam rising from the bowl. With hesitant hands, he lifted his chopsticks and nabbed a noodle.
A similar bowl was summarily placed in front of Lan Huan, prompting Lan Zhan to stop mid-slurp, the noodle dangling from his lips limply. Was this not supposed to be special? For me, for my birthday?
As if sensing her younger son’s discontent, the Gusu Lan matriarch (in name only, really; she hasn’t had agency over herself for years, much less anyone or anything else) waved her hand.
“He has different noodles. Your bowl is yours, A-Zhan, and it’s your birthday, not his. He can get his next year.”
Those apple cheeks flushed anew with embarrassment at having been read so easily, but Lan Zhan resumed eating, trying his best to avoid the broth from splashing and only mostly succeeding. His mother reached over with a handkerchief to wipe at his cheek, where a fat droplet of soup had landed like a tear.
In the warmth of the candlelight in that little gentian house, the shadows under their mother’s eyes looked darker, her face and hands gaunter. Lan Huan was already old enough to know she was ill and to see the umbrage of death creeping ever closer. It was like watching a songbird waste away in captivity, something that he’d seen when visiting Qinghe Nie with the small Huaisang who didn’t know better.
But Lan Zhan did not know, could not have known, and didn’t want to know. He was concerned at how his mother seemed thinner and thinner each time he saw her, her hugs growing bonier and bonier, but he lacked the words to speak. He had so many things he wanted to say but he didn’t how to say any of it.
The most he could do was savor the noodles that somehow, she managed to make despite being under lock and key. He made sure to keep the noodle whole, even as his cheeks bulged like a hamster, until the entirety was in his mouth.
“You can chew, A-Zhan,” his mother remarked with a soft snicker behind her sleeve. “Swallowing it whole would choke you or give you a tummy ache.”
Indeed, it was rather comical to see such a serious expression with those round, puffed cheeks. She couldn’t help but lean down and gently poke at one.
“A-Zhan, are you happy?” she asked quietly while stroking Lan Zhan’s hair, the strands just long enough to form a small ponytail.
Lan Zhan looked up at her and hurried to swallow the bite of food in his mouth so he could respond.
“I’m happy with Mother,” he answered truthfully, brows furrowing in confusion. The mother in question rubbed a thumb into that ridge on his forehead, clicking her tongue.
“If you keep furrowing your brows like that you’ll be stuck like that, and then how will you find a pretty girl to take as your wife one day?” she chided, fingers pausing over the cloud-patterned ribbon. Her nails caught onto the edge of the fabric, as if she wanted to tear it off, but she stilled her hand, instead resuming the stroking of his hair.
“But Mother is the prettiest girl. I don’t need anyone else,” Lan Zhan insisted, only to get patted and turned gently back to face his bowl.
“Mother won’t be around forever, A-Zhan. When you find your special someone, a girl or a boy, it doesn’t matter…if they make you happy, you have to make sure you can give them happiness too. If their happiness means giving them pretty trinkets, give them pretty trinkets. If their happiness means good food, learn how to make their favorite dishes. And if their happiness does not lie with you, let them go.”
Lan Zhan, newly four years old, was not to comprehend her words even though he etched them into his brain deeper than the rules were etched into the rock face of the Cloud Recesses. Even after they finished their food (why wasn’t Mother eating?) and quietly enjoyed each other’s company, he still puzzled over what his mother said.
Mother gave Father happiness, right? Why didn’t Father let her go? Lan Zhan resolved to not repeat the same mistake; he would not make any wife of his stay locked in a little house surrounded by gentians.
After he and Lan Huan shuffled back to the main compound, their uncle chided them for staying out so long but sent them off with only a warning. Even though the ice and snow descended that night, Lan Zhan felt like he was warm. He hoped his brother could feel this warmth when he turned another year, and that he could return to this as he grew older too.
After his sixth birthday, there were no more noodles.
-
Lan Wangji didn’t really view his birthday as any special occasion. It was just another day, albeit with each passing a bit more responsibility was laid onto his then-broadening shoulders. The extra luxuries bequeathed unto the children of sect leaders did not really apply here.
Besides, in Gusu such worldly celebrations and their unnecessary pomp and circumstance were frowned upon more than anything. If one were to seek such galas, Lanling Jin was their best bet.
When he woke up to the crisp morning air, the sun not yet risen, the thought that it was his birthday didn’t even cross his mind as the top of his husband’s head came into view. The wild hair, messy and free as Wei Ying’s spirit, was centimeters away from tickling Lan Wangji’s nose with how close he’d burrowed. Pressing a soft kiss over that one errant strand, Lan Wangji’s mouth curved up in an almost-imperceptible smile.
No matter how many mornings come, each is as wonderful as the first time he’d woken up with his love, his husband, by his side. He trusted Wei Ying to stay, to never push him away again with lifeless eyes and a lifeless voice repeating get lost, but that did not mean that he did not fear Wei Ying would be taken from him again.
As it stood though, the only thing that kept him from his cultivation partner was just the deep slumber that Wei Wuxian was still within. Even with his best efforts he never would become a morning person, it seemed.
With a final moment to just take the scene in, Lan Zhan slid out of bed, careful to not disturb his snoozing spouse. Unfortunately, it seemed that Wei Ying was already starting to stir; the bundle under the blankets unfurled as a hand came to rub sleepily at one grey eye.
“Lan Zhan?” came the inquiry from a voice thick with sleep. The man in question paused and slid back to Wei Ying’s side, wrapping him into strong arms.
“Good morning, Wei Ying,” he responded. Of course he would answer, just as Wei Ying would for him now.
Wei Wuxian shimmied up Lan Wangji like a snake wriggling up a tree and took a few seconds to yawn and stretch. Mid-stretch, his one brain cell kicked into gear and he turned to face his husband (with a wince, of course; he had long forsaken his waist in favor of everyday is everyday).
“Lan Zhan Lan Zhan! It’s your birthday!! Happy birthday!” he gasped, joy lighting up his features as he tackled Lan Wangji down onto the bed again. For all he hated dogs, Wei Ying acted like an overeager puppy sometimes when it came to affection for Lan Wangji.
Despite not getting any verbal acknowledgement other than the standard mm, Wei Wuxian pressed a solid kiss to his lips, jumped up and began twirling around the room to collect his clothes like a contained mini-tornado. Lan Wangji watched him breeze by with amusement as he accumulated more and more clothing on his person like a tumbleweed.
“I have to do something today, so I won’t be around. You be good, ok? I’ll see you tonight!” Wei Ying called as he spun right out the door.
The tempest that he called the love of his life would come back to him without fail. Lan Zhan truly loved Wei Ying, so he would never cage him against his will. Wei Ying, he knew now, truly loved him as well, so he would always return to his arms no matter how far he blew away.
It was with this almost-giddy thought that Lan Wangji finished his own preparations for the morning and strode out to face the day. He would see Wei Ying come evening, and probably with whatever surprise his spouse whipped up for him with all the subtlety of a typhoon.
-
When he finally returned to the jingshi that evening, the sun had long set over the horizon and only lanternlight coupled with the soft beams of the moon illuminated the paths. He could see the warm glow from the closed door, but before he could open it to announce his return Wei Ying had bounded over and flung it open for him.
“Welcome home, fu jun~” Wei Wuxian teased, smirking at the hint of red illuminating Lan Wangji’s earlobes. Since they formally wedded, Wei Ying had added ‘husband’ to his arsenal of names, much to Lan Zhan’s chagrin (and frustration). The shameless seducer of stoics draped over his particular stoic, pressing butterfly kisses over whatever skin he could reach.
“Your surprise is ready! If you weren’t coming back soon I was going to hunt you down, you know,” he said with a pout as he hauled Lan Zhan indoors. The warmth of the jingshi washed over them, thawing the bite of frost that settled in Lan Wangji’s clothes and hands.
Golden eyes adjusted to the lanterns and candles illuminating the space as they scanned for changes, eventually alighting on a steaming bowl sitting on the table they usually ate on.
“…noodles?” he asked softly, walking over to inspect while Wei Ying orbited around him gleefully.
“Yes yes! I made them myself! You have no idea how much begging I had to do to even get access to the kitchens, ugh. They don’t believe me when I say I won’t burn the place down! And I didn’t! The noodles look edible, right?” Wei Ying chirped with a grin. “Go on. Sit down, relax and help yourself. You’ve had chang shou mian before right?”
Lan Zhan nodded mutely, allowing himself to be directed to a sit and have chopsticks placed into his hand. He hadn’t seen a bowl of chang shou mian for himself in almost three decades, not since his mother passed away.
“Sizhui, the sweet boy, helped me eventually get access but had to supervise me the entire time. But I made this all by myself!...which is why if it tastes bad, don’t blame anyone but me okay?” Wei Ying continued on, the stream of words a comforting constant in his life now.
“Also, yeah! Before I forget. Don’t bite the noodles short or cut them. I did that out of spite one year, and…well. Just don’t do it, okay?” he finished brightly, the momentary storm clouds parting as fast as they’d gathered.
Lan Wangji pulled Wei Wuxian into his lap, the latter scrambling with a small squawk while trying not to knock anything over. They both settled comfortably in their positions, with Wei Ying eventually taking the chopsticks to feed Lan Zhan noodle by noodle because he was, in the chatterbox’s own words, so slow that by the time you finish you’ll have aged another year!
“I don’t mind aging another year if you’re still with me,” Lan Wangji replied, only to get a kiss on the cheek before another noodle was summarily stuffed into his mouth.
“Oh, just eat it, Hanguang-Jun! I’ll make you more next year, and the year after that and the year after that and the-” Wei Wuxian prattled until he, too, got a noodle shoved into his mouth, shutting up.
“And the year after that,” Lan Wangji agreed, hugging his partner close.
Wei Ying made him happy. He, in turn, hoped that with every jar of Emperor’s Smile, every bowl of spicy congee, and every time he let his husband go off (he’d always come back) he made Wei Ying happy too.