Work Text:
When sharp sunlight pierces through thick curtains into his face, Wei Wu Xian finds himself awake but not awake.
In the brief moment of disorientation, it is as if he stares through a transparent overlay on top of reality. Real but unreal.
The curve of Lan Wang Ji’s shoulders, the slope of his neck, the texture of his skin, it’s all the same. But through the haze of two sets of memories, Wu Xian sees both long hair and short, both a t-shirt and traditional zhong yi, both a soft luxurious modern bed and a thin mat over a bamboo frame.
Wu Xian reaches for Wang Ji’s shoulder and the overlay disperses, but the vertigo is enough to have him reaching for a flute he knows is not within reach.
Wang Ji is though.
A light touch is all it takes, is enough to cause the young man whose brilliance has earned him the title of Hanguang-Jun in a previous life to awaken. Though Wang Ji’s expression is flat, Wu Xian knows enough, remembers enough, to know how to read the worry in his eyes.
“Go back to sleep, Lan er-gege,” Wu Xian teases. “It’s nothing.”
“Mm.” And even in a new life, Wang Ji does not mince words and Wu Xian is torn between familiarity and despair.
But Wang Ji pulls him closer anyway. Wu Xian allows himself to drift, surrounded by the smell and warmth of Wang Ji. This too, is both new and yet familiar.
——
Wu Xian wakes up a second time to the smell of poached eggs and congee.
Tripping over his feet and the sheets on Wang Ji’s bed, he slides into the hallway and finds Wang Ji patiently drinking his jasmine tea at the dining table, a picture perfect bowl of congee with taro and lotus root topped with a poached egg, all doused in chili oil, in front of Wu Xian’s seat. Next to it, a still steaming large mug of black coffee. Without even taking a swig, Wu Xian knows that it is disastrously strong and sweet. Just the way he likes it.
Wu Xian sits crooked and talks while shoveling the delicious breakfast into his mouth. The corners of Wang Ji’s mouth tick downwards, but he still dabs at Wu Xian’s face with a napkin all the same and asks him if he’d like more.
This too, is both new and yet familiar. Wu Xian preens under the attention, heart and stomach full to bursting anyway.
——
When Wang Ji had locked himself away to study, Wu Xian wanders and remembers. Thinks back on how things are new and yet familiar in many other ways.
Jiang Cheng was paying him to stay out of the family business for a few more months to avoid another disaster (But really Wu Xian insists that if Wen Chao hadn’t been such a tool, then he wouldn’t have had a reason to tank the Wen’s company on a whim). Zidan was not a threat on his brother’s finger anymore, but Wu Xian would rather avoid the glare that now strikes like lightning instead.
Jin Ling was away for school, with Jiang Yan Li and Jin Zi Xuan away for business. Although his attitude still left much to be desired, Yan Li’s presence could be felt in the softer moments of his temperament. In the way he measured his words before cutting someone with his tongue.
Lan Si Zhui was in school as well. And wasn’t that a surprise, to see that even now, even with Wen Ning ready and able to help raise him as Wen Yuan, he still ended up with the Lans. Wen Ning had refused to spill that story, but Wu Xian was sure he’d weasel it out of him. He never was good at saying no.
Perhaps somewhere out there, Nie Huai Sang could also be found, still coveting his art, calligraphy, and fans. Maybe Jin Guang Yao was still caught in an eternal chess match against what he considered his fate.
A beep from his cellphone shakes Wu Xian from his thoughts.
“Lunch,” is all the text from Wang Ji says. Wu Xian sighs but smiles anyway.
——
As the night stretches on, Wu Xian watches out of the corner of his eye as Wang Ji continues to read in bed, his lamp the only major source of light in the bedroom. Wu Xian chooses to ignore the glare of his cellphone game to watch the light play off of a face he’d been dreaming of for years.
Wang Ji’s eyes do not stray from his book, but Wu Xian knows Wang Ji knows he’s watching him. Wang Ji turns the page before asking, “Thinking?”
“Mm.” Wu Xian puts his phone aside and curls up closer to Wang Ji. A cool, but not cold, hand is placed on his head. Wu Xian sighs as Wang Ji’s fingers move through his hair. “Everything is the same but different. It feels weird to know and remember.”
“Remember. But do not cling.”
“Remembering and clinging brought me you.”
Wang Ji’s eyebrow twitches. “We are not what we were. Let go of it.”
“How so? You’re still so much the same, Hanguang-Jun.” Wu Xian begins to count off on his fingers. “Still rich, still talented, still smart, still ridiculously strong armed, still…” The words, “In love with me,” remain unspoken.
“I am not Hanguang-Jun.” The sound of the turning page is sharp in the absence of Wang Ji’s voice. “I am only Lan Zhan.”
The simplicity of the answer despite it’s depth makes Wu Xian want to laugh and cry. “Lan er-gege is truly the only one who remembers his cultivation,” Wu Xian says with a sigh. “You are already so detached from all worldly things.”
Another emotion rises in Wang Ji’s eyes, but his fingers do not stop moving. “Yearn not for what is not. Accept what is.”
The overlay appears again, less transparent than before. But Wu Xian breathes in and breathes out. The overlay disappears.
Wu Xian figures he has spent enough time chasing phantoms in his past life to continue to do so now. Wang Ji’s eyes flicker to Wu Xian’s before returning to his book. Wu Xian smiles.
They both have.