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The air is crisp, sharp like a cold blade held gently against his palm. Wangji takes a moment and takes in the sight of Wei Ying and his brother standing in front of the Jingshi. A mist of solemnity hovers in the atmosphere.
He doesn’t need to ask. It’s evident on Wei Ying’s worried face what stories had been exchanged here. Even after so many years, Wangji still remembers every expression of Wei Ying’s and the multitudes of meaning behind them.
The clink of Emperor’s Smile, held out in front of him, uncaring if his brother approved or not, rewards him with a smile.
“Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying says later, softly, after Wangji had carefully poured their drinks (two cups — not one). In the days before, Wangji might have ignored it, let Wei Ying’s incessant calls of his name dissipate like steam from hot tea. But he answers now. It might take him a moment, as he listens to Wei Ying’s voice to reassure himself that it has indeed been spoken out loud and was not just a distant cry in his mind, but he will always answer now.
“What is it?”
Wei Ying looks nervous, lips parted and on the verge of words. There are mumbled sounds that barely make it to Wangji’s ears but he hears them anyway, even when Wei Ying pretends not to have said them.
He will be patient. Let Wei Ying come to whatever terms he has to on his own. There is no rush now, it seems. Time no longer holds much importance after spending over a decade alone. And the world became open and infinite when Wei Ying reappeared.
So what was one more uncertain moment between the two of them?
They talk more. Wangji listening intently. Wei Ying animated, smiling, then quiet as he recalls their lives before but he’s right there — solid and real — across from Wangji. Unlike the hazy mirages of a man long dead that had often visited him in his sleep.
Outside, the wind changes directions, as if making way for something. Then it’s still. Snowflakes begin to cover the Jingshi for the first time this year.
Wei Ying walks slowly towards the open doors, heavy and quiet, his head pointed towards the black sky.
How many winters had Wangji spent, eyes downcast and mind muddled by scorching liquor, trying desperately to hold on, to remember, and failed to let go as he was told? Even as Shufu carved punishments on his back and he froze, isolated, in the Cold Pond Cave, wounds thawing and skin blackening, he would still go back. Back to the hills where the rabbits ate, to the courtyard with the black ants, and then finally, after years, to the bottom of the cliff where his soulmate died.
He thinks now, as he follows Wei Ying and watches him as the cold dusts his knitted brows and paints blooming pink blossoms on his nose, that this is the first time they’ve seen snow together since.
Wangji never thought he would be with Wei Ying like this again.
Wei Ying speaks thoughts that will for the past to be the past against grievances and sadnesses that still loom heavily upon him. He puts on a brave face, as Wangji knows he always does. However, that anger that had once fuelled and sparked an entire war amongst hundreds of men is gone. Replaced by something else.
He’s heard enough so Wangji walks back inside and starts to play.
He starts slow, eyes closed, and delicately plucks each string. They call for Wei Ying, to come near, to settle, and to listen.
Wei Ying.
Wei Ying is at the threshold now and takes another overflowing mouthful of liquor. There’s a smile there behind the jug as Wangji opens his eyes again.
Wei Ying.
He holds his breath. Indulgence comes in the form of Wei Ying for Wangji. Before, it was losing himself in the pain and the heartache. Inducing sleep through methods frowned upon by the more than three thousand disciplines just to catch a glimpse of him — a flash of black hair and red ribbon, of slender fingers grasping at the hilt of a blade, the wood of a dizi or even the fabric wound tightly around his own wrist. And of course, anything just to see that smile so freely given to him right now.
Now, Wei Ying is here. Alive, and Wangji thinks selfishly, now he’s here, with me.
Why had they been so foolish to think loneliness was a better road to take? Wangji should’ve walked alongside Wei Ying all those years ago.
After all, there is still someone who believes in you.
“Lan Zhan.”
He looks up. Wei Ying’s face reflects his own heart, sadness and happiness all bundled up in one indiscernible breath.
“I’m sorry,” he whispers. Wangji echoes the words in his own mind — but only once — and then lets the music carry it away as he rises.
Nothing else matters if we do everything with a clear conscience.
Wei Ying’s posture goes soft as he walks towards him, but his stare grows ever more intense as his eyes follow Wangji, as if trying to match the fire that burns inside Wangji’s own thumping chest.
They’re a reach away before Wangji stops short and lifts his hand to find the sharp corner of Wei Ying’s jaw. He watches as Wei Ying reacts; eyes fluttering just slightly and flushed throat stuck in a swallow.
His skin is warm.
Wangji doesn’t say anything. Just listens to their breaths in sync. A few daring snowflakes fill the space between them, drifting by. One lands on Wei Ying’s lips and melts instantly.
And then Wei Ying’s lips are on his.
There is no hesitation, no careful touch asking for an invitation, or confusion at what Wangji had come so close for.
Wangji loses himself in Wei Ying.
Then comes back, renewed and whole.
“Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying breathes, hot and urgent against his skin. The wind makes an appearance again and dances in swirls, making Wangji shiver as it crawls up his sleeves. It’s pushing and coaxing them closer together so Wangji follows its flow and catches Wei Ying’s mouth with his own, a sigh escaping just before they touch again.
He opens his eyes to make sure Wei Ying is there, that it’s Wei Ying who is wrapping an arm around his waist, that it’s Wei Ying’s fingers gripping the nape of his neck, and that it’s Wei Ying who he has missed and loved all these years.
Wei Ying. Wei Ying... Wei (a shuttering pause) Ying.
He had so many regrets before. So many things haunted him for the past sixteen years. So many moments lost and gone seemingly forever. He had confined himself and tried to make himself content to a life without the thing that made his heart full and beat so fiercely now. Wangji had long decided he would live his punishment and die with it.
So it was like the gods had descended upon the Cloud Recesses now as he kisses Wei Ying. As Wei Ying whispers his name over and over again, in between breaths and through heavy, clear eyes filled with tears. His own vision blurs then. Blessing them with this moment of impossibility. Of a possible lifetime on earth together and not having to count on chance and time and mercy, just to see each other in another life.
Wei Ying.
Lan Wangji feels like he can breathe again, letting go of a breath he didn’t know he had held for so long.
Thank you, he thinks. Wei Ying's fingers hold tight around his. Thank you for coming back.