Chapter Text
Wei Wuxian wakes up in a very nice bed.
He’s used to waking up in beds, of course—he’s not a heathen, but this bed is a whole new class of bed. The blankets are plush and thick, the pillow behind his head stuffed to bursting with fluff, and above him, a canopy rises to the ceiling of the room, swathed in layers of blue and white gauze. Outside the window, birds trill and sing.
It’s an extremely pleasant morning, and Wei Wuxian sits up and glances around warily. Mornings are never pleasant for him. Where’s Jiang Cheng, loudly traipsing through the house and slamming doors? Or what about the loud croaks of frogs that they can’t ever seem to chase out of Lotus Pier?
The more Wei Wuxian looks, listens, and thinks , the more he realizes the scene around him is very, very wrong.
So when a stranger pushes the door open, rubbing at his eyes blearily, with a soft, “Wangji, time to wake up,” he’s poised on the side of the bed with the most sturdy item he can find wrapped in several layers of towels, ready to pounce.
“Well,” the unknown person says with a slight tilt of his head, surprisingly composed for someone who's walked in on a bat-wielding man in silk pajamas, “You aren’t my brother, are you?”
The conversation over breakfast is by far the strangest one Wei Wuxian has ever had in his entire life.
Lan Xichen, who’d finally given his name after convincing Wei Wuxian to set down the weapon, sits across from him at a large teakwood dining table. He’s sipping daintily at some tea, poured in a cup of floral porcelain that Wei Wuxian was convinced only existed in old period dramas.
(He was wrong, clearly, if the shelves and shelves of delicate things that line all four walls of the unnecessarily-large dining room are any indication.)
“So,” Lan Xichen begins. “Would you like to introduce yourself?”
“Wei Wuxian,” Wei Wuxian says. And stops. Lan Xichen raises his eyebrows, as if to say, please continue, but Wei Wuxian just closes his mouth. What is he supposed to say? I don’t know why I’m here? Do you know why I’m here? I’m sorry for threatening you with a bat?
“Where are you from?” Lan Xichen asks, when it’s clear Wei Wuxian isn’t continuing.
“Hubei, Yunmeng.” Simple enough. Lan Xichen’s eyes narrow. It must be far from here, wherever here is. “Where are we?”
“Jiangsu, Gusu.” Lan Xichen sets his cup on its saucer with a soft clink, a bemused look still on his face.
Near Shanghai. Yunmeng isn’t exactly rural, but next to Gusu, urban and dazzling, it hardly merits mentioning. All the more strange why Wei Wuxian has suddenly ended up here—or rather, why the person he’s displaced—Lan Xichen’s brother—has been sent to the middle-of-nowhere.
“Do you know where my brother is?” Lan Xichen asks, crossing his arms. The undercurrent of suspicion in his voice is especially pronounced now. It’s almost threatening, but there’s no foul play here—at least, not that Wei Wuxian is consciously aware of, so he spreads his hands and shrugs.
“Dude, with all due respect, I don’t even know what your brother’s name is, so how would I know -”
“Lan Wangji. His name is Lan Wangji.” Lan Xichen gives an exasperated sigh. His fingers rub at his temple. “You should probably remember it.”
“Why?”
“Well, Wangji ,” Lan Xichen drawls as he stands up from the table. Somehow, he manages to make the name sound like a threat, and Wei Wuxian swallows. “I could tell the school you’re sick, but if I’m right about what’s happening, this won’t be a one-time thing. So let’s just get everyone used to it, shall we?“ He spins a set of car keys on his fingers. “Usually you take the train, but I’ll make an exception for today.”
Lan Xichen is far more collected than anyone has any right to be in this situation, and Wei Wuxian’s head is still spinning too much to fully process his words. He barely registers that he’s about to go to school, and stares down at the silk pajamas he’s still wearing. “Right. I’ll get changed?”
“That’d be good,” Lan Xichen replies drily. “The uniform is likely laid out on the back of your chair. Wangji usually uses gel in his hair, but if that’s too complicated, just do what you’re used to.”
Wei Wuxian runs out of the dining room. The uniform takes far more effort than he’d expected to put on—at Lotus Pier, it’s a simple dress shirt and slacks—and he eventually gives up on the tie, looping it around his neck a few times. He doesn’t even attempt the hair gel, instead grabbing a pretty white ribbon from the dresser and tying as much hair as he can up into a half-ponytail.
He catches a glimpse of himself in the mirror while he’s doing so, and his jaw drops. The face staring back at him is refined, regal even, high cheekbones, soft golden eyes under perfect eyebrows.
“Holy shit,” he whispers. “I’m hot .”
When he finally finishes tying up his hair and emerges from the room, Lan Xichen’s face immediately drops in horror.
“Do you not know how to tie a tie?” he asks, wringing his hands. Wei Wuxian has half a mind to reply, no, ties are the invention of the devil , but Lan Xichen continues, voice growing more and more frantic with everything he sees. “That ribbon goes around your forehead! It’s not a hair tie! And why are your top two buttons unbuttoned? Your shirt isn’t even tucked in! Are you wearing your belt?”
“No, I always do that, and no,” Wei Wuxian replies calmly to each of his questions, crossing his arms. The blazer sits stiff and uncomfortable against his shoulders, and he barely resists the urge to just take the damned thing off. He’s never understood all the fuss about uniforms to begin with—as long as he’s not naked or otherwise distractingly showing off his physique, what does it matter? “I hate belts. And ties.”
“Okay. Okay. Fine.” Lan Xichen sighs, and sinks down heavily into the sofa. He’s rubbing at his temples again, which is probably a bad sign. “This isn’t going to work.”
“Does this mean I can skip school today?” Wei Wuxian asks, perhaps too happily. Lan Xichen shoots him a glare.
“For today.” Lan Xichen mutters, closing his eyes. “Let me rest a moment. And then I’m going to teach you how to be a proper Lan.”
Being a proper Lan turns out to be very, very difficult.
First, Wei Wuxian is forced to tuck in his shirt and put on his belt. Then he spends at least an hour struggling with a Windsor knot, before Lan Xichen gives up and teaches him the four-in-hand instead.
The next step is learning how to do his hair, carefully applying hair gel, gently and artfully mussing it, and after that is the forehead ribbon, which also has its own particular knot, and even its own set of rules.
“No one but family can touch your forehead ribbon,” Wei Wuxian singsongs to himself as he sits on the floor of Lan Wangji’s bedroom, unpacking his bow. At least he knows how to shoot—the fact that both he and Lan Wangji participate in archery seems to be the only lucky break he’s gotten all day. “What a weird rule.”
He’s surrounded by a mess of papers, textbooks and assignments along with a ridiculously neat planner that details all the exams and homework due for the next few weeks. He’s also been given a train card, a school ID, and a wallet with an actual credit card .
I’ve frozen the credit card, Lan Xichen had said, as soon as he’d seen the glint in Wei Wuxian’s eyes. I’ll give Wangji cash when he’s here. You shouldn’t need any, usually.
Wei Wuxian takes the bow out of the box and pauses to admire it. It’s a gorgeous thing— silver-plated with blue accents—especially compared to the ratty old things they have in Yunmeng.
He holds it up in position, before noticing the limb bolts, and he freezes. The draw weight is set to 54 pounds, and he can barely shoot 40 on a good day.
This body is probably capable of handling it though, so Wei Wuxian goes through the motions, nocking an imaginary arrow to the bowstring, raising the bow, and pulling. The bowstring yields easily under his touch. Wei Wuxian relaxes his pose and flexes his fingers, taking a moment to appreciate Lan Wangji’s apparently godly arm strength.
If all the perfectly-scored exams lying around him are any indication, this Lan Wangji is the complete package: beauty, brains, and brawn.
Wei Wuxian grins. This is going to be fun .
“Hey! Fucker! It’s your turn in the shower!”
Lan Wangji blinks his eyes, shaking off sleep. The room around him is slightly blurry, but still, he can easily tell that this is definitely not his room, and he jolts up, looking around him warily. The walls seem to be wooden, with a single window that’s currently open, and clutched between his fingers is a patchwork blanket, all sorts of fabrics and patterns sewn here and there.
“Hey!” An unfamiliar person pokes his head through the doorway, a scowl on his face. “I told you! Shower!”
Lan Wangji stares back at him, unblinking. Everything around him is far too detailed for a dream, but nothing is familiar.
“I’ll… be right there,” he manages slowly. It’s probably best that he doesn’t raise too much of a fuss before he gets a better grip on what’s going on. The unfamiliar person seems placated, if skeptical, and leaves, footsteps fading down the hallway.
Lan Wangji stares at the floor around the bed. Clothes are strewn everywhere, save for a set of slacks and a shirt that hang off the back of a chair. They’re slightly less wrinkled than everything else he can see—not that that’s saying much—which means they’re probably his school uniform.
He grabs the uniform off the back of the chair and digs through the pile on the ground for undergarments, before trekking cautiously toward the doorway from earlier.
“Oh! A-Xian!” Yet another stranger greets him, a pretty girl with gentle eyes and a soft smile. “The shower’s open.”
Lan Wangji nods, avoiding her gaze as he strides away. He has no idea where the shower actually is, but luckily, the room comes into view at the end of the hallway. The act of taking a shower, thankfully, is no different from what he’s used to, and he mulls over what’s happened as he rinses his hair.
There are two options that come to mind: either he’s in a very vivid, realistic dream, or he’s somehow inhabited the body of another person. Another person on Earth, from the looks of it, and a person in China specifically, or else he wouldn’t be able to understand the people around him. Both are equally outlandish—the first might be less fantastical, but makes less sense considering the facts, and besides, there was that incident from a year ago. He sighs and turns off the water.
As soon as he steps out of the bathroom, the same boy from earlier is standing in the middle of the hallway. He’s crossing his arms and leaning against the wall, a frown on his face, but he looks up as Lan Wangji approaches.
“What… is that.” the boy says flatly, gesturing towards his hair.
Lan Wangji touches his fingers to his own head, confused. He’d only been able to find a single red ribbon and no hair gel, so he’d forgone wearing a forehead ribbon and done a side braid instead. There was still some hair sticking out, so he’d had to borrow a few bobby pins, but still—
“It’s my hair,” Lan Wangji replies.
The boy stares at him in disbelief for a split second, before laughing. Lan Wangji stares. Had he said something funny?
“All right, whatever,” the boy says, before tossing something through the air at him. Lan Wangji catches it easily. It’s a red bean bread, still warm against his hands. His breakfast, probably. “Grab your stuff. Nie Huaisang is already outside.”
Nie Huaisang. Lan Wangji files the name away. He returns to the room he’d awoken in and grabs a red backpack from the chair where the clothes had been. A phone sits on the desk, tethered to a cable, and he takes that too.
He finds his way outside, where the boy from earlier and another unfamiliar person are standing, talking about something. The other person, wearing a green hoodie, hair tied in a simple half-ponytail, must be Nie Huaisang. He looks over and waves excitedly as Lan Wangji approaches.
“Good morning, Wei- xiong !” he says, and Lan Wangji nods in response. So his last name is Wei, and based on what the girl called him earlier, his first name is Xian, or at least contains that character.
“See, I told you he was being weird,” the boy from earlier says, looking him up and down. “Look. He’s even wearing both his backpack straps.”
“Hmmm,” Nie Huaisang replies, a thoughtful expression on his face. “That’s true. Do you think he’s been replaced by an alien?”
“What the fuck? No.”
“Then I don’t have any other theories,” Nie Huaisang shrugs. He turns and begins to stroll down the road. “Come on. We’re already late.”
“Since when have you ever cared about being on time?” the other boy retorts, but he follows anyway.
Lan Wangji trails behind, keeping a few feet of distance between them—enough to hear a few snatches of their conversation, but his mind is occupied with other things, gazing along the road as the group of them walk forward.
The area around them is clearly countryside, lush and green, but he can’t place where exactly. The two boys in front of him wave and greet the farmers working their paddies as they pass. The farmers wave and holler at him too, cheerful and effusive, and he just gives them a nod and a small wave back. It’s a little bit strange, to be so casually social with so many people, to be greeted with such open familiarity.
Strange, but not unwelcome.
By the time they’ve made it to the school gates, Lan Wangji has made no progress on determining the first boy’s name, except that his last name is Jiang. He continues to follow behind silently as the three of them make their way up to the second floor.
Nie Huaisang splits off from them at the top of the stairs with a cheerful see you! . Lan Wangji assumes he’s in the same classroom as the other boy, and breathes a sigh of relief when he doesn’t turn and look confused.
The new problem, though, is that he has no idea where to sit. And clearly, the follow-the-leader tactic is no longer going to work.
He taps the boy on the shoulder.
“What.” He turns, looking almost offended.
“Where’s my seat?” Lan Wangji asks blandly.
The boy stares. He raises his hand and sets the back of it against Lan Wangji’s forehead. Lan Wangji flinches at the sudden contact, taking a small step backwards.
“Nope, no fever,” the boy mutters under his breath. He looks up, brows still furrowed, and points to the desk in the far corner. “That one. That’s your desk.”
Lan Wangji nods and strides over. He sets his backpack on the desk, unzips it, and gazes despondently at the mess he’s just opened up. There are some folders and notebooks, but besides that, there’s a pile of pencils and pens and crumpled-up wads of papers and renminbi and at least two separate pairs of earbuds that have somehow twisted themselves into impossibly-complicated knots. He doesn’t even know where to begin dealing with this disaster, and he also notes that this person doesn’t seem to own any mechanical pencils, which means he’ll have to write with wooden pencils. And the pens are 0.7mm. This man is a heathen .
“Wei Wuxian!” A girl comes up to him in the midst of his crisis, a CD in her outstretched hands and shy smile on her face. “I finished listening to the album. You were right, this one is way better than their newest one. Thanks for letting me borrow it for the weekend!”
He takes it from her, face blank. He doesn’t recognize it—it looks like a c-pop album, five smiling boys across the front looking ridiculously fashionable. Weekend? But today is…
“No problem,” he replies, and turns back to gaze at his impending doom. But the girl stays next to his desk, as if expecting something.
“Yes?” he asks, pulling the folders and notebooks out of the bag. These, at least, seem to be organized loosely by subject, but as soon as he opens one of the notebooks, his hopes are dashed again. There’s nothing but (rather good) sketches all over the pages, with equations scribbled every once in a while in the margins.
“Oh,” the girl says, sounding almost disappointed. “Well—nothing. Never mind.” She turns and walks away, and Lan Wangji sorts through the notebooks and folders, putting them in two neat stacks in order of the schedule he’d managed to dig out, just in time for the bell to ring.
The teacher begins roll call, and Lan Wangji finally learns the name of the boy he’s living with. Jiang Wanyin. The girl who’d given him the CD is Ning Yingying. As the teacher begins to drone on about integration by parts, his thoughts drift off and he turns his gaze out the window.
The view is beautiful, compared to what he’s used to—instead of tall, glitzy high-rises and brick office buildings, he can see far into the horizon, where the greenery meets a soft blue sky, and it’s kind of nice actually. He relaxes a bit. At some point, he’ll need to sort through all the papers, purchase some proper pencils, and figure out exactly what is going on, but that will have to wait until he makes it through this school day.
He stares down at the backpack by his feet, and sighs deeply.
If he makes it through this school day.
When Wei Wuxian wakes up the next morning, he finds himself a little disappointed.
He opens his eyes to a familiar wooden ceiling, a blanket of only average thickness clutched between his fingers. Outside, the frogs are croaking again, and he groans.
Jiang Cheng pops his head through the doorway and eyes him warily without saying anything. It’s kind of bizarre, even for Jiang Cheng, who does a lot of bizarre things. Not as many as Nie Huaisang, but that’s not saying much.
“Why are you looking at me like that?” Wei Wuxian asks, and Jiang Cheng visibly relaxes.
“Oh good,” he says, already turning around and not answering his question. “You’re back to normal.”
Wei Wuxian scrambles off the bed to chase him down, knocking over something. He looks down and sees folded clothes. Folded clothes, by his bed.
He sits down on the ground.
“Wow,” he says, staring at the room around him. It looks completely different—he can actually see the floor for once, because it’s no longer covered with clothes. His desk is cleared of all its trash and eraser shavings, and his notebooks and folders are in a neat stack on top of it.
Wei Wuxian walks over. A sticky note sits on top of the pile, tiny, neat script scrawled across it.
I completed the homework, it says. You have a physics quiz today.
Wei Wuxian grins. He doesn’t own a planner, so this must be poor Lan Wangji’s attempt to keep everything recorded.
“What are you looking at?” Jiang Cheng’s voice pipes up right next to his ear, and Wei Wuxian starts in surprise.
“Nothing,” he says, hastily placing a hand on top of his notebook to hide the sticky note.
Jiang Cheng looks at him skeptically.
“Anyway,” Wei Wuxian continues, pushing the stack off to the side. He should probably figure out exactly what happened when Lan Wangji was in his body, and Jiang Cheng is the best person to ask. “Why were you staring at me like that when I woke up?”
Jiang Cheng’s face darkens. “You were being weird. Yesterday.”
“Weird?” Wei Wuxian repeats, hoping the question will prompt Jiang Cheng without tipping him off too much. If it doesn’t work, he could try feigning memory loss, which isn’t that far from the truth, or—
“Well, let’s see,” Jiang Cheng begins, looking as if he’s been waiting all morning to speak these words. “You tied your hair in a topknot, didn’t fall asleep in class, ate a vegetarian meal at lunch, forgot to go to archery practice, folded all your clothes…” Wei Wuxian considers stopping him and telling him that’s enough, but watching Jiang Cheng get more and more upset as he continues his tirade is honestly hilarious . He fights back a grin.
“And you called me by my courtesy name,” Jiang Cheng finally finishes, nearly red in the face.
“Oh,” Wei Wuxian says with a sheepish smile. “My bad.”
“That’s it? That’s all you have to say?” Jiang Cheng retorts. “You—”
“A-Cheng! A-Xian!” a voice calls out from the hallway, and the two of them freeze.“Nie Huaisang is here!”
“Get out,” Wei Wuxian says, sticking out his tongue. “I need to change.”
Jiang Cheng glares at him as he leaves. Wei Wuxian grabs his phone from the desk and flops down on his bed with a heavy sigh. It’s lucky that he’s so shameless, he can get away with being a little bit weird sometimes. But he should probably still leave a note or something for Lan Wangji to read, so that he stops being an absolute disaster.
He freezes when an unfamiliar note at the top of the list is marked with yesterday’s date. He taps on it and freezes again when the side scroll bar is barely a few pixels tall. How long is this freaking document?
A cursory scroll through it reveals that it’s Lan Wangji berating him for his eating habits and telling him, in a lot more words, to take better care of himself. Wei Wuxian snickers. He’s flattered by the attention, and yes, perhaps it would be better for him to eat a proper lunch instead of red bean buns and sesame balls every day, but he’s still alive, so whatever.
He curses when he sees the time. He’ll have to write his reply later; Jiang Cheng and Nie Huaisang have been waiting for him long enough, though he’s sure they wouldn’t mind having a bit more time to themselves.
His uniform is lying over the back of the chair, the same way he’s always left it, and he remembers that Lan Wangji did the same thing with his own uniform. He smiles. So they do have something in common.
When he finally exits the house, backpack slung over his shoulder, Nie Huaisang peers at him, uncharacteristically silent.
“It’s really me,” Wei Wuxian says, with a dramatic sigh. “Why must you doubt me so, Nie Huaisang?”
Nie Huaisang just grasps his hand and shakes it with a broad smile. “Welcome back, Wei- xiong !” he pipes cheerily.
“What do you mean, welcome back?” Wei Wuxian pouts. “I’ve always been here!”
“Right, right,” Jiang Cheng interjects, before Nie Huaisang can reply. “He’s back to normal, we’re already late for school, let’s go.”
Wei Wuxian makes a face behind Jiang Cheng’s back, but he follows anyway. Being able to breathe the fresh air and walk the countryside, after being cooped up in that almost scarily-fancy house yesterday, is a nice experience. He’s always wondered what it would be like to live in the big city, but maybe it’s not so bad here, after all.
They’re sitting at the kitchen table, working on their homework. It’s a habit they haven’t outgrown from their younger days, when jie was still in school as well, all three of them crowded around the table with a bowl of fruit in the center.
The TV plays in the background, a report on a meteor shower to come sometime in the following weeks.
“Father is leaving tomorrow,” Jiang Yanli says, as she scoops rice into bowls along the kitchen counter. This is one of the things that’s changed—she’s graduated, a kindergarten teacher at the local school, but she still stays here to take care of them.
Wei Wuxian’s pencil freezes over his assignment, mid-character.
“Oh,” he says, carefully. Jiang Cheng gives him a sideway glance, pausing in his work as well. “I see.”
As if the universe is laughing at him, he hears the tell-tale rumble of Yu Ziyuan’s car arriving, and headlights illuminate the dirt driveway in front of the house.
“Great,” he mumbles under his breath, already packing up his homework. Jiang Yanli hands him two bowls, rice with vegetables and another filled with lotus sparerib soup. He flashes her a thankful smile, and slips off into the dark hallway.
“A-Li, A-Cheng,” he hears a familiar voice sound as the door slides shut. “Where is your father?”
“Father has not yet returned from work,” Jiang Yanli replies. “He said he’ll be late tonight, to finish things before his business trip.”
Wei Wuxian lets out a sigh. It’s just his luck that this has to happen now of all times, when the whole Lan Wangji mess has just begun. Yu Ziyuan only ever returns home when Jiang Fengmian is away, preferring to live on a smaller, side estate the rest of the time.
His clearest memory of Yu Ziyuan is the day he first arrived here, brought home from the streets of Yiling in Jiang Fengmian’s arms. She’d cornered him in the bedroom he still shares with Jiang Cheng while he was off crying about his dogs, and said: People say that children are to be seen, and not heard. I don’t want to see you, either. Do you understand?
He’d nodded then, because he was a timid five-year old who was happy enough to have a roof over his head and food on the table. He didn’t know what he’d done to deserve that kind of ire, and still doesn’t, except some whispered rumors, overheard from gossipy aunties.
He sighs, staring back downwards at his literature homework. He’s not sure if there’s a point in warning Lan Wangji. He seems like he already fits Yu Ziyuan’s image of an ideal child, quiet and stoic and obedient.
Still though, he takes out his phone, and with a grin, begins typing.
Lan Wangji steps out of his bedroom. The amount of relief he’d felt at waking up in his actual body had been immense, and when Lan Xichen sees him from the dining room, he sees the same relief reflected in his brother’s eyes.
“Oh good,” his brother says, shoulders visibly relaxing, “It’s you again.”
Lan Wangji nods and takes his seat at the dining table. His usual breakfast is laid out on the table in front of him, congee with steamed egg and a glass of soy milk. Much healthier than a red bean bread.
“Are you feeling tired? Sick?” Lan Xichen looks at him closely, a concerned expression on his face.
Lan Wangji thinks for a moment, and shakes his head. He feels normal. Lan Xichen leans back, and explains, “I had trouble getting him to go to sleep last night. I know you like to keep to your bedtime, but he just laughed in my face.”
“Did he go to school?” Lan Wangji asks. He’s not that worried about his reputation, but still, the few things he does know about Wei Wuxian seem questionable at best, and he’s not sure he wants to be associated with them just yet.
“No,” his brother says with a wry smile. “You should have seen him yesterday morning. He was a disaster waiting to happen.”
“Mn,” Lan Wangji replies. He’s thankful his brother is calm and steady, unlike certain individuals he’s met recently. “Is this… related to a year ago?”
One year ago. When Lan Xichen had gone through a similar thing; a drastic personality change every other day that they’d eventually realized was another person inhabiting his body. He remembered nothing of the incident after it had stopped, as sudden as it started. The other person was hot-tempered, but not unkind, but Lan Wangji cannot remember anything else about him, neither his name nor where he was from.
(And one more thing, the last time it’d happened. My brother, Lan Xichen had gripped his hand between his own trembling fingers, an unfamiliar person behind his eyes. Please save my brother.)
“I suspect it is,” his brother replies, a thoughtful look on his face. “Do you remember anything more, from then?”
Lan Wangji shakes his head. He’d been thinking along the same lines—that experiencing something similar would have jogged his memory—but there’s nothing, just a blankness, and the memory of his brother’s face, the morning it was clear it wouldn’t happen again, quiet and lost.
It was the first and only time he’d ever seen him cry.
“That’s fine,” his brother sighs. He rises from the table and gestures to the untouched plate in front of Lan Wangji. “Please eat. You need to go to school today.”
Lan Wangji nods. He picks up his spoon and takes a bite of the congee.
It’s the same breakfast he’s had every morning for as long as he can remember. The same recipe that’s always been used, clear and light and salty, with just a hint of soy sauce, but today, it tastes especially good. Better than red bean bread, and definitely better than high school cafeteria food.
He swings by the kitchen briefly before he heads out.
“Thanks for the meal,” he says, and whole kitchen stops, freezes for a second, everyone looking at him with surprise in their eyes.
“You’re very welcome, young master,” the head cook replies, face crinkling into a smile, and Lan Wangji remembers another place, another time, a cheerful wave under a blue, cloudless sky. “You’re always welcome.”
Wei Wuxian slides open the door of the classroom, a grin on his—or, well, Lan Wangji’s face. The few people in the classroom stare as it thuds heavily against the frame, which shakes dangerously.
Oops. He’d forgotten how strong Lan Wangji is.
“Hey,” he says to the girl sitting next to the door. She gestures to herself, a questioning look on her face, eyes as big as saucers. “Yeah. Where do I sit?”
The girl’s mouth opens and closes a few times, but no sound comes out.
“Over here,” another girl on the far side of the room calls out, pointing at the desk to her left. Wei Wuxian flashes the frozen girl a grin and bounces over.
“Thanks,” he says. The girl just gives him a confused glance and turns back to her own work.
“Oh my god, Lan Wangji talked to you,” he hears someone whisper, and when he looks over at the door, a crowd of people has gathered around the girl he’d first talked to when he entered. She’s talking animatedly, almost excitedly, now.
“Hey,” he says, poking the girl next to him. He glances quickly at the cover of the notebook in front of her. Jin Mianmian, it reads, in bubbly script. “Mianmian. Why are they making such a big deal out of this?”
She stares at him.
Wei Wuxian stares back, waiting. Sure, there’s a pretty obvious default answer, but there’s also plenty of other possibilities—for example, Lan Wangji could have a secret identity as the lead singer of an idol group, which his classmates have a theory about but aren’t entirely sure of, so there’s a whole club dedicated to collecting evidence and figuring out—
The door slides open again and a stooped, balding man who looks like he died inside decades ago shuffles his way to the front of the room. The room immediately falls silent, and Mianmian turns back to her things, ignoring his question.
Fine. The default answer it is. It seems Lan Wangji is one of those aloof, princely types, straight out of a shoujo manga, unattainable and untouchable. Wei Wuxian never thought people like that ever existed—after all, the popular archetype at his school seemed to be the angry, emotionally-repressed type, if the amount of chocolate Jiang Cheng got shoved in his shoe locker every Valentine’s day is any indication—but he has to admit that it suits Lan Wangji perfectly.
He glances back at Mianmian, who doesn’t meet his eye, and sweeps a glance over the rest of the room. As his eyes pass over anyone who’s looking even vaguely in his direction, they turn away, eyes darting furtively.
It’s an odd feeling.
The lecturer clears his throat, and begins roll call. Wei Wuxian takes things out of his backpack, notebooks and a fancy pencil case and a slim planner. He’s about to flip it open to check when he notices a sticky note already affixed to the top of it, outlining the order of classes for the day, the rooms to go to, the notebooks for each subject, even directions to the restroom.
So prepared , Wei Wuxian muses, as he flips open the proper notebook for the first class. The handwriting that spans the lines is elegant and neat. It’s almost awe-inspiring how put-together and well, frankly, perfect, this dude is. He’s about to pull out Lan Wangji’s phone and express to him as much, when he realizes the teacher would probably not appreciate him having his phone out.
He’s an expert at using his phone under his desk, but this isn’t Lotus Pier Municipal High School anymore; it’s a fancy private academy and the phone in his pocket seems way more advanced than the old piece of junk he has. He’s sure Lan Wangji would have his head if he earned any disciplinary infractions (if Lan Xichen doesn’t get to him first, that is), so it’s not worth risking it. He’s used to scribbling random things on his notebooks, but when he glances at the notes laid open on his desk, they’re so neat, so pristine, that he feels like he’d be desecrating them if he so much as wrote a single stroke.
So he settles for writing on his arm instead, pen racing furiously, documenting any random though he has about the classroom, the weather outside, the lecturer’s absolutely glacial pace. He catches a few confused glances from Mianmian, but it’s not like he’s doing anything that’s disallowed. He grins cheekily at her, and her frown deepens as she turns back to her own work.
Jin Mianmian glances at her phone hidden halfway underneath the desk, rolling her eyes as notifications begin arriving from the class girls group chat. It’s Wang Lingjiao, of course, completely blowing the morning incident with Lan Wangji out of proportion, and all the other girls replying with varying levels of awe and jealousy. She turns the phone over with a huff. Ridiculous. She’s cousins with Jin Zixuan, so she’s had her fair share of experiences with fangirls, of being around someone who’s always in the spotlight. She wonders if these girls would still follow him around fawning over his outfits, his hair, if they knew what he looked like in the middle of a weekend Super Smash Bros session, cheeto dust on his fingers, in old sweatpants and an oversized Sharks t-shirt.
She risks a quick look at Lan Wangji again. She tries to picture him in the same attire, the same position, yelling expletives over voice chat.
Nope. Definitely not.
He catches her staring, and —
He winks. Lan Wangji, who she has never seen wear any expression but polite, pleasant indifference, despite going to the same academy for fifteen years and sitting next to her for 5 months, grins and winks at her.
What the fuck.
She didn’t mean to say it out loud, but in the next moment, the room falls silent, and when she looks out over the classroom, every single person is staring at her. The lecturer clears his throat.
“Jin Mianmian, did you have something to say?” he asks, an expression on his face that says no, you don’t , and she gulps.
“No sir,” she mumbles. Out of the corner of her eye, she can see Lan Wangji stifling a laugh.
Asshole , she thinks, but her mouth quirks up into a smile anyway.
“Hey! Mianmian! Jin! Mian! Mian!”
Jin Mianmian turns around to the frankly ridiculous sight of Lan Wangji waving his arms back and forth at her, wide grin stretched across his face. She’s so shocked that she stays rooted in place, staring, until he’s caught up to her.
“Yo,” Lan Wangji skids to a stop. “Thanks for waiting.”
She snaps out of her daze and gives him a quizzical look. “Are you okay?” she asks, before realizing how terribly blunt the question sounds.
Lan Wangji takes the question into stride, laughing. “Yeah, totally fine,” he replies with an easy smile, before his face turns serious. “More importantly, though,” he almost-whispers, jabbing a finger behind him, “what the fuck is wrong with them?”
Jin Mianmian looks at where he’s pointing. It’s Wang Lingjiao and her posse standing at the corner, shooting her poisonous glances. She grins and gives them a little wave. Wang Lingjiao flashes her the middle finger.
“They’re always there,” she says. It’s the truth—there’s a whole Lan Wangji fanclub at the school, with membership tiers and a rotating security detail and even jank button badges. She’s pretty sure they’re the only reason the shop room at the school hasn’t closed yet. “You mean you’ve never noticed them?”
“Guess I haven’t,” he replies, pensive look on his face.
“There’s a whole fan club, you know,” she continues, if only because she’s curious to see his reaction. “It’s registered with the school, and they have a booth at club fair, put up recruitment posters, hold elections, all that jazz.” Before, she would have known exactly how he’d responded—blank stare, maybe a shrug. This Lan Wangji, though, bursts into uproarious laughter, the brightness of it so contagious she feels her mouth tugging up into a smile.
“Oh, God,” Lan Wangji manages. “A fan club. A whole-ass school club and he—I mean. Wow.”
They’re almost out the door at this point, the courtyard of the academy stretching out in front of them. She sees the usual limo idling out at the curb, one of the perks of being related to Jin Zixuan, and heads towards it. She makes it a few steps before realizing that Lan Wangji is still trailing behind her.
“You’re not following me home, are you?” she turns, arching a brow. Lan Wangji has the sense to look sheepish.
“While I’d love to,” he says, “I actually wanted to ask you something.”
“Yes?” Mianmian replies, suddenly nervous. Is—Is Lan Wangji, ice prince of Gusu Academy—about to ask her on a date? There’s no way he’d do that…right? Would she even say yes to him? He’s hot as hell , yeah, and literally top of their class (to the constant chagrin of Jin Zixuan) but she doesn’t know anything else about him, hasn’t seen any sides of him except his perpetual polite aloofness.
All her hopes are dashed by the next sentence.
“Could you tell me where the archery field is?”
The second day he spends as Wei Wuxian, Lan Wangji is awoken by a slap to the face.
Well, at least he thinks it was a slap. By the time he’s managed to blink his eyes and clear his blurry vision, Jiang Cheng is standing over him, hands on his hips. He’s already in his uniform, backpack straps slung across his shoulders.
“God dammit, Wei Wuxian,” Jiang Cheng says. “Did you forget to set your alarm again?”
Lan Wangji blinks. Well, he hadn’t forgotten to set his, but Wei Wuxian is a different story.
“Oh, whatever,” Jiang Cheng huffs and turns away. “Nie Huaisang and I will go ahead. Text when you get to school and I’ll help you sneak in.”
There’s a lot to process in that sentence, so Lan Wangji just nods. After Jiang Cheng leaves, he slowly makes his way out of bed, stretching. Wei Wuxian’s phone is lying facedown on his desk, but it’s not plugged in. Lan Wangji takes it and presses the power button. It’s dead. That explains the lack of an alarm.
Lan Wangji plugs it in and sets to getting ready for school, showering, doing his hair. When he passes the kitchen, he sees a lone bean bun on the table. As he approaches, he sees the note next to it, written in two different handwritings. The first part, neat and proper, reads A-Xian, don’t forget your breakfast! The second part, jagged and angry, just says dumbass.
When he gets back to Wei Wuxian’s room, the phone is only charged to twenty percent, but Lan Wangji can’t just sit around waiting for it to charge. He takes a moment to check the notes and sees a new note from the day before, and skims it—the tone is unexpectedly cheery, and the notes themselves are pretty scattered, going into paragraphs of tangents. It’s almost like Wei Wuxian is right next to him, just talking his ear off about whatever he wants, and it’s almost… endearing.
Lan Wangji shoves the phone in his pocket and grabs the red bean bun off the kitchen table. As he’s about to walk out the door, he catches sight of an unknown person in the office on the side. It’s a woman, but not the one he’d met the last time, the one who calls him A-Xian .
This must be the person Wei Wuxian had mentioned in his note. She’d been followed by, in all caps, DO NOT ENGAGE.
Odd, but Lan Wangji has never been a stranger to family secrets.
He leaves without a word.
Thankfully, he manages to get to school without taking too many wrong turns. He’d been greeted by the same farmers along the way, a few of them making some good-natured jabs at him for being late.
He pulls the phone out of his pocket, opens up the contacts, and freezes.
Well . There isn’t a single familiar name staring back at him. Every entry as far as he can see is some inane nickname followed by a flood of emojis, such as jie with hearts, a bowl of soup, a pig, and a flower, or sour grapes with several multicolored angry faces and a lightning bolt.
He has a hunch about which one is Jiang Cheng, and tapping it opens up a text conversation that confirms his suspicions — lots of cursing and several previous occasions of hey, let me in .
I’m here, he sends.
A few moments later, a reply comes. Field door.
He walks around to the back of the school, where the athletic field is. He sees the archery range a bit further away, and makes a mental note for later. A few moments later, the door flies open with a bang, revealing a scowling Jiang Cheng.
“Well, at least you timed it well this time,” he says. “Calc just ended, so it’s break now. Otherwise you’d have to sit here until lunch.”
Lan Wangji follows him up the staircases to their classroom, breathing a silent sigh of relief that he doesn’t have to find his way himself. He almost wanders to his usual desk by default, but when he sees someone else sitting there, he remembers where Wei Wuxian’s desk is. He sets to taking out everything from his backpack, organizing it for the school day.
There’s a CD in it, a sticky note on the front. It says Ning Yingying . Is he supposed to give this to her?
He looks around the room and sees the girl who’d come up to him on the first day. He walks over to her, and she looks up with surprise.
“Here,” he says, and holds out the CD to her.
“Oh, is this the CD we talked about yesterday?” she asks, face breaking into a smile. “Which one did you say was your favorite again? Tong hua ?”
Lan Wangji has no idea what she’s talking about, so he just nods. She looks expectant, but he has no idea what else she wants either, so he just bows, walks back to his desk, and continues sorting through Wei Wuxian’s stuff.
Archery practice goes well. It seems Wei Wuxian and him are at similar levels, since no one comments on him having an exceptionally good or bad day, even though he shoots far better than everyone else, only Jiang Cheng coming close. He helps the club president clean up the range after practice, as usual (well, as usual in Shanghai), and there’s only a few people still around when they’re finally done. He changes back into his uniform, packs up his stuff, and heads out.
He’s barely made it a few steps when he hears Jiang Cheng’s voice.
“Hey! Asshole! Wait up!”
Lan Wangji turns around and sees Jiang Cheng and Nie Huaisang striding towards him. Normally this wouldn’t be odd, but he saw them going to the locker room a while ago. Sure, it takes a while to get home, but he’d expected them to at least be on the road by now.
“Why are you guys still here?” he asks.
“We were waiting for you,” Nie Huaisang pipes up. “But you just walked past us without even looking!” He harrumphs, the closest Lan Wangji has ever seen him to not having a smile on his face. “I’m hurt.”
“You were waiting for me?” Lan Wangji replies, genuinely confused. “But why?”
“So we can walk home together?” Jiang Cheng answers, also sounding confused. He says it like it’s a fact, a given, that they’ll always do that, always walk home together . “You’re being weird again.”
Lan Wangji stares at him. They waited for me. Something about that fact makes him—what? He’s not sure what he’s feeling, but it’s not bad. It’s actually… really nice. “Thank you,” he says, somehow finding his voice.
Jiang Cheng stares at him for another second, a familiar, concerned, expression on his face,, and but then he looks away, shaking his head.
“Whatever,” he says. “Let’s go home.”
The next few weeks pass by with little incident. Lan Wangji finds himself almost looking forward to the times he wakes up to the bright sunlight and incessant croaks of Lotus Pier, walking along the countryside to the sound of chatter and laughter. He’s never really felt lonely , in the past; he’s always had his brother, his uncle, a place to call home and to return to, and besides, he’s always been content to do things on his own, be it studying, composing music, or reading books.
But there’s something different about Jiang Cheng and Nie Huaisang, about the casual greetings and open smiles in the hallways at school. People who aren’t obligated to be around him, who aren’t obligated to acknowledge his presence, but choose to do so anyway, choose to do so because they want to .
He thinks Wei Wuxian must be enjoying himself too, on the other side — the portrait Wei Wuxian’s notes on his phone paint is humorous, bright, and so alive: trading classical CDs with the girl behind him, who apparently plays violin; grabbing food after practice with other members of the archery club; taking the metro to random stops, wandering and exploring and recording bookshops and cafes he thinks Lan Wangji might enjoy. His personal favorite might be Wei Wuxian’s account of how Lan Xichen thought the notes he’d written on his arms were newly-inked tattoos. That, or the whole basket of rabbit-themed stationery now sitting on his desk, stickers and washi tapes and notecards.
Sometimes, Lan Wangji wonders what it would be like if he and Wei Wuxian had been able to know each other, to meet, as themselves. Sometimes he even allows himself to hope, to imagine a life like that, and a life beyond it.
But this, too, is enough. Just knowing that Wei Wuxian is alive and well.
Then the archery tournament happens.
It’s a day when Lan Wangji is in Lotus Pier. Wei Wuxian had given him absolute zero warning, but at least this time he’d set his alarm properly, and Lan Wangji wakes up to it before the sun even rises. He shuffles along, yawning, as the whole team piles on a bus out to Wuhan. It’s an all-day affair, a tournament between all the high schools in Hubei province.
He shoots the way he always does and somehow tops the rankings. There’s a lot of congratulations and a quick ceremony before everyone gets back on the bus back to Yunmeng.
Jiang Cheng tells him to use the shower first when they’ve gotten home, so he does. But when he comes out of the shower, the house is eerily dark and quiet, except, just barely, he can hear the muffled sound of people talking from somewhere near the front. As he gets closer, he realizes it’s not just talking. It sounds angry, vicious even, and he jumps in surprise when the sliding door to the front office slams open.
“You showered quickly,” Jiang Cheng says, voice flat. In the darkness, Lan Wangji can’t tell what kind of face he’s making.
“Ah, yeah, you can use it now,” Lan Wangji replies, pointing a finger backward. Jiang Cheng shakes his head.
“I’ll use it later,” he says, unmoving. Lan Wangji shrugs and heads towards Wei Wuxian’s room, but then he hears the tell-tale sound of the front door shutting.
He slips out and follows.
Jiang Cheng takes a long, winding path through the forest, up the cliff. Even though it’s night, the moon is full, and the sky is clear and full of stars, bathing everything in a soft glow. Lan Wangji stares, as he treks upward, at the expanse of trees and farmland and the silver ribbon of a river that winds through it all. It almost takes his breath away.
Jiang Cheng finally emerges into a clearing at the edge of the forest. At the end of the cliff, Lan Wangji can see a small, unassuming wooden shrine. It looks old, weatherbeaten.
“You can come out now,” Jiang Cheng calls out loudly. Lan Wangji steps out from behind the tree, feeling like an intruder, and a little guilty. He didn’t really have any idea how to be stealthy, but it’s not like Jiang Cheng had turned around and told him to leave at any point.
He walks to where Jiang Cheng is sitting on the ground in front of the shrine, legs crossed, and sits down next to him.
“Congrats on winning the tournament today,” Jiang Cheng says after a beat. “I don’t think I said that to you yet.”
“Thanks,” Lan Wangji says.
They sit in silence for a moment more, before Jiang Cheng asks, “Do you know the legend of this shrine?”
Lan Wangji blinks at the sudden change in topic. He looks closer at the shrine. It’s indeed a very old shrine, the wooden lotus and butterfly motifs along the tops and sides worn almost completely smooth. And yet, in front, there’s still a single stick of incense that still remains, looking as if it’d just been stuck there this morning.
“It’s been there since I can remember,” Jiang Cheng says, answering his unspoken question. “No one maintains this shrine, as far as I know. I’m not even sure if anyone else knows it exists.”
“What about the legend?” Lan Wangji asks.
“Have you heard the story of the butterfly lovers?” Jiang Cheng asks him in reply. This whole time, he hasn’t looked away from the shrine, the incense.
“Yes,” Lan Wangji nods. It’s a classic tale; the story of Liang Shanbo and Zhu Yingtai, two ill-fated lovers who could not be together while they were alive, but who finally found each other in death.
“We tell a different version of it in Yunmeng,” Jiang Cheng says. “Right before Zhu Yingtai was to go to her wedding, she went to a small shrine near Liang Shanbo’s grave with a single stick of incense. She wanted to be freed of the marriage. Not necessarily to die, but if she were to live, she wanted to live free. But before she could light it, a thunderclap split open the grave.” He tells the whole thing in a monotone, but still, Lan Wangji senses that the story is dear to him. “The rest of it is like the usual story. Still in her wedding clothes, she threw herself into it, and the two of them emerged as butterflies, never to be separated again.”
Lan Wangji catches his meaning. “Do you think this is the shrine in the legend?”
“Yes,” Jiang Cheng replies immediately, and then he gives a short, bitter laugh. “I know, I know. It sounds stupid. I’m stupid. It’s just a folktale, after all. And maybe some part of me just wants it to be real. Just wants to know that such a thing, that a love like that, an emotion so pure and good and otherworldly can exist. And maybe that’s why I like coming here, when… stuff happens. But—” at this, he breaks off, gesturing towards the shrine, and in particular, towards the incense that still stands there, “—there’s something special about this shrine. Can’t you feel it?”
Lan Wangji, too, has always had a soft spot for folktales, for legends. And right now, in the quiet of a spring night, under the glow of the moonlight, a blanket of stars, he feels something —he feels like he’s living one.
“Yes,” he replies quietly. “Yes, I do.”
Wei Wuxian realizes he’s made a huge fucking mistake when he wakes up the day after. In the midst of various plans in Shanghai, it’d completely slipped his mind that he had an archery tournament.
Normally, this would be fine—after all, Lan Wangji is perfectly capable of participating in an archery tournament—but. Well. It’s not really something Wei Wuxian can put into words, so he just hopes to whatever god is out there that nothing happened.
His hopes are dashed as soon as he opens his phone to a congratulatory text from Jiang Yanli.
I heard you got first at the provincial tournament!
Wei Wuxian covers his face with his hands and sighs deeply. He opens up the note Lan Wangji had left him from the day before, and—
I don’t really know what’s going on, it begins , but I feel like I might have done something wrong at the tournament yesterday. You don’t have to talk to me, but I think Jiang Cheng would appreciate it if you talked to him about it.
Wei Wuxian feels a sense of guilt, of shame welling up inside him. If it had been enough that Lan Wangji had noticed...
It’s not that easy, he wants to say. It’s something he’s realized about Lan Wangji, that he’s eminently good , that whatever he does—he does wholeheartedly, with all of himself. And that while he doesn’t share all that much about himself, he’d never hide, never shirk from who he is, or what he’s done, if only someone asked for it.
And his brother—his brother can read him so well . His brother can even read Wei Wuxian freakishly well considering they’ve known each other for maybe a grand total of only ten days. Meanwhile, Jiang Cheng has the emotional awareness of a clod of dirt.
All those feelings, compounded, rolled up inside him, makes Wei Wuxian feel something like indignation. Because Lan Wangji has never had to be in Wei Wuxian’s situation; has never had to feel like his place in the world is precarious, dependent on someone else; like he owes something he can never repay. Like if he sticks his head out too much, if he takes too much, there will be hell to pay.
The only thing he writes in reply is—
Thanks for the concern, but why is it any of your business?
The reply, two days later, is just as short.
Is it so bad to have someone care about you?
Lan Wangji stares down at his phone.
I don’t need your fucking pity.
He’s never been good at expressing his emotions, and now, he feels like he’s overstepped dangerously. He doesn’t know how to reply. It’s not pity, he knows; what he feels is much different from that. It’s a feeling he’s almost afraid to put words to himself, but if Wei Wuxian only sees it as pity… he’ll stop. And so, he leaves it at that—he drops the topic, continues his daily narrations of what he’s done, notes for what Wei Wuxian should keep in mind the next day.
The notes that come from Wei Wuxian, too, have receded to the bare minimum. Still peppered with the occasional humorous observation, but compared to before, clinical, detached. Until, one day, Lan Wangji wakes up to—
You have a date with Mianmian today!
Wei Wuxian is far too clever to suddenly forget that he wouldn’t actually be around the next day, which means he’d scheduled it on this day in particular on purpose. He wants Lan Wangji to be the one to actually go on the date with Jin Mianmian, to be the one dating her. It’s a little sad, how aware the both of them are that this is only temporary, that at some point, they’ll have to return to living their lives on their own.
Lan Wangji has absolutely zero interest in dating Jin Mianmian, but it’d be rude for him to cancel on her less than an hour before they’re supposed to meet. Lan Xichen gives him a questioning look when he leaves the house; there’s no school or club event scheduled and he rarely leaves for anything else.
For some reason, he can’t bring himself to say the words I have a date , so he settles for a wordless wave before closing the door.
It’s easy to get to the place Wei Wuxian had decided on for the date—it’s a chic, trendy-looking cafe near the city center, just a few minutes’ walk from the nearest train station. The signboard outside boasts that their specialty is fluffy pancakes, and that the seasonal fruit is strawberry. Jin Mianmian is standing next to it, dressed casually, but fashionably, in a striped dress and jean jacket.
She looks up as he approaches, and waves with a grin. He replies with a nod. She tilts her head, a flash of some other emotion appearing on her face, but the smile returns so quickly Lan Wangji isn’t sure if he’s imagined it.
“Shall we?” she asks, and Lan Wangji nods again. He follows her into the cafe, where the waiter quickly seats them despite how busy the place seems, bustling with guests. Wei Wuxian must have made a reservation. The thought that he’d put so much effort, so much preparation into this… Lan Wangji doesn’t want to think about it.
“Oh, these all look so good,” Jin Mianmian says, a giant menu spread in front of her, filled with photo after photo of pancakes and pastries and other brunch options. “I really liked the look of those strawberry pancakes on the sign outside, but I’m always weak for matcha and french toast.”
“We can get both,” Lan Wangji says. “And split them.” He’s used to it; he and his brother rarely eat out, but when they do, Lan Xichen acts similarly, always mournfully gazing at all the options he wants to try but can’t possibly finish. Lan Wangji isn’t picky, except for spicy things, but that’s not really an issue here.
Jin Mianmian looks almost confused. “You’d really do that?” she asks.
Lan Wangji shrugs. “I’m not picky.”
She smiles and waves the waiter over and orders the two dishes she wanted, along with a latte. The waiter turns to Lan Wangji. He orders a green tea, and the waiter bows and leaves, leaving the two of them alone again.
“So,” Jin Mianmian begins. “How have you been?”
“Good,” Lan Wangji says. “You?”
“Ah,” she replies. “I’ve been fine too.”
The conversation lapses into silence. Lan Wangji has always been comfortable with silences, no matter who the other person is, but he knows most other people cannot say the same. He racks his brain for the things he remembers about Jin Mianmian.
“How’s… art class?” he asks.
“Oh, that,” she replies, looking both surprised and pleased. “It’s fine. I’m just working on my portfolio, for college apps.”
“Ah,” Lan Wangji replies.
“Are you just taking the gaokao ?” she asks.
He nods.
“Wish I could just do that,” she says, sighing. “I mean, I still have to take it, but then I have to submit a portfolio on top of it. What are you applying for?”
“Literature,” Lan Wangji replies.
Jin Mianmian looks thoughtful, and then she nods solemnly. “Makes sense. It fits your image.”
“My image?”
“Yeah, all serious and scholarly,” she grins good-naturedly. “Like you belong in a history book, or one of those wuxia novels.”
The food’s arrival saves Lan Wangji from having to reply. Jin Mianmian claps her hand together, eyes sparkling.
“I’m so excited,” she explains, already in the middle of cutting a slice of french toast. “When I go out with my friends, I have to limit myself a bit, you know?”
“Why?” Lan Wangji asks.
She stares at him. “Did you really have to ask that question?” she asks with a small laugh, which Lan Wangji takes to mean that she’s not actually offended.
The rest of the conversation continues as light small talk. The pancakes and french toast are both quite delicious, not too sweet, and the flavors aren’t artificial at all. Lan Wangji isn’t so much for desserts, but Wei Wuxian is, and not for the first time, he wishes Wei Wuxian were around.
He pays for the bill—it is a date, after all, and even if he’s not experienced, he’s been raised with etiquette—and the two of them leave the cafe, stopping a little way past the entrance.
“Well, thanks for inviting me out,” Jin Mianmian smiles. “I had fun.”
“Ah, of course,” Lan Wangji nods in reply. And then, because he feels like he should say it, because he feels like he’s not telling the truth, like he’s being deceptive, he says, “I had a pleasant time too but… I’m not really interested in dating you.”
“I understand,” she laughs wryly. Lan Wangji is surprised. He’d expected her to be… upset maybe, or offended. “You’ve been different these days, you know.” She sighs, looks away from him at the people milling up and down the street, friends chatting and laughing, businessmen chatting on phones, couples holding hands. She’s pretty, she really is—like he’d see a photo of her just like this on Weibo , sharp jawline, full lips, artsy cafe background. “Today you’re not the one I was interested in, either.”
A feeling rises up in Lan Wangji that he can’t place, realizing that she’d been able to know Wei Wuxian. That she’d been able to talk to him, laugh with him, catch his eye. And that he’d caught hers, too, even if it was with Lan Wangji’s appearance.
But then Jin Mianmian smiles at him, and says, “But we can still be friends, right?”
At those words, Lan Wangji finds himself smiling back, a small one, but real, genuine, and replies, “Of course.”
He leaves a note for Wei Wuxian before he goes to sleep.
The date went well , he writes, but we’re just friends now, and I think it’s better that way. Please don’t set me up on any more.
He doesn’t elaborate on his reasons. He’s not sure if he can articulate them himself. He finishes organizing his things, putting together his schedule and to-dos as usual, and then heads to bed, expecting to wake up to the sounds of frogs croaking and Jiang Cheng yelling.
But he doesn’t.
Hiis brother is confused the next day, too.
“Perhaps what was supposed to happen has happened,” he says. “Whatever made it stop last time.”
Lan Wangji doubts it. There’s the whole… disagreement that had been left completely unresolved, and along with that, he hasn’t achieved anything of consequence on Wei Wuxian’s side. Wei Wuxian hasn’t on his, either, unless getting him a date with Mianmian was what this was all for, which he seriously doubts.
An entire week passes with him in his own body, and by the end, Lan Wangji has begun to seriously question whether or not the past few weeks have all been an extended, vivid dream. The only thing evidence he has is his brother’s assurance that yes, there were indeed days when he didn’t know how to tie his tie, or skipped archery practice, or was still bouncing off the walls at ten in the evening.
That, and the notes Wei Wuxian left on his phone on alternating days, written in his characteristic cheery, familiar style. Lan Wangji pulls his phone out, opens them one more time, just to reassure himself. He breathes a sigh of relief when he sees them, but then—
They disappear. In front of his very eyes, without moving a finger, he watches as they’re deleted, each entry vanishing one at a time, the other entries sliding upward, until he’s left staring at a blank screen, an empty app.
Lan Wangji only has one thought, one sudden realization— something has gone terribly wrong.