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Rain falls torrential from the clouds as if their bellies have been slashed open– a summer storm has descended upon Cloud Recesses, lightning streaks the sky, quickly followed by rolling thunder. The rain soaks the earth, fills the creeks, but it doesn’t cut through the heat. Hidden behind the storm clouds is the midnight sky but it feels hot, like a languid afternoon.
Sweat beads on Wei Ying’s skin, he feels as drenched as the world outside. It’s almost tempting to stand out there in the midnight rain, feel it beat down upon his body just to be cool but it would be futile. The rain has washed in from the southern seas, warm and midsummer sticky.
However tempting it might be, he doesn’t dare leave the bed. He wouldn’t rather be anywhere else.
The storm is loud, rain falls in quick possession upon the roof, the usual pitter patter of raindrops had been drowned out hours ago by rapid thrashing. It’s like a blanket of noise above them, broken only by the crack of thunder as it dashes through the air.
The noise is welcome, sought after. Cloud Recesses is entrapped by silence. It heightens the sounds of nature, of the way water flows through ancient rivers and the birds that nest high up in birch trees. Here even the sounds of footsteps upon rock becomes amplified by the lack of noise. The silence is consuming, suffocating.
When rain falls from the heavens it brings a cacophony of sound, muffling everything that would be otherwise audible in the quietness of Cloud Recesses. It’s because of this that Wei Ying absolutely, wholeheartedly, loves the rain.
Tonight they were hidden, not constrained by silence. They didn’t need silencing talismans or self-restraint– in a storm they can be themselves.
He and Lan Zhan had enjoyed the storm’s blessing, making the most of the rolling thunder as it reverberated through their joined bodies. Now they were entwined, watching the storm clouds light up. Sleep feels illusive tonight, as if it’s unattainable while the rain falls on the roof, a thousand drummers above their heads.
Wei Ying doesn’t mind, of course, being next to Lan Zhan is enough. The rain may consume every noise but the beat of Lan Zhan’s heart can still be heard as Wei Ying rests his head upon his chest. It’s gentle, a steady thud that’s relaxing compared to the cacophony of the storm.
He teasingly trails a finger along the exposed skin of Lan Zhan’s torso. It’s too humid tonight for blankets, the air too thick that another layer would feel constricting. Lan Zhan’s stomach is flat, defined in the rises and fall of tight muscle. He looks like refined jade beneath the muted darkness of night, carved by divine hands.
Wei Ying brings his hand up along his chest, tantalisingly slow before resting upon his heart. He feels the steady beat beneath his touch but that’s not what he’s interested in. Instead he turns his full attention to where smooth skin gives way to thick ridges.
They feel out of place on a body so divine, lines as hard as rock running across an otherwise smooth chest. Everything about Lan Zhan is so otherworldly yet this is garish, a man made creation.
He traces the intricate lines, they’re familiar– he had once bore the same scar above his heart. The detail in the lines is almost admirable, artistic– it could be seen as beautiful if the design hadn’t been branded onto a person’s flesh, a burden to bear until the end of days.
Wei Ying cranes his neck so he can plant a tender kiss onto the scar, his lips linger on the centre where the outline of a sun unfurls. He kisses again, and again, letting the kisses linger as he maps the scar, recites it to memory, even though the ghost of an identical mark still lingers on his chest. He may no longer have it but it’s impossible to erase a memory that burns so brightly in his mind.
His lips return to the middle of the scar, lingering upon the sun when a hand runs through his loose hair, settling on the back of his scalp. Lan Zhan’s touch is gentle, massaging.
“Wei Ying,” He hums. “What are you doing?”
“You’ve never told me how you got this,” He looks up to find Lan Zhan’s eyes focused on him.
With the moon hidden behind dense storm clouds, it’s dark inside the jingshi. The world is made up of slate and charcoal hues. Lightning brightens up the room for a fraction of a second, just enough to see Lan Zhan’s furrowed brows.
As thunder crackles outside, Wei Ying lifts himself up just enough to steal a kiss on Lan Zhan’s lips. It’s a kiss of reassurance, a promise that it’s okay if he divulges the secret and it’s okay if he doesn’t.
Lan Zhan kisses him back, once, twice, teeth pulling tenderly on his bottom lip, “I got drunk one night. It was years ago, not long after losing you.”
Wei Ying pulls back, grinning, “My Lan Zhan? Drunk! Why were you drunk?”
“Missed you.”
Wei Ying’s grin falters, fading into worry.
He feels Lan Zhan’s hand cupping his cheek, “Emperor’s Smile is your favourite wine. I wanted to remember you.”
Thunder echoes around them, lingering. Wei Ying dips his head back down to Lan Zhan’s chest and presses his lips onto the scar once more.
“I went looking for chenqing, wanted to play it, to hear you again,” Lan Zhan murmurs, words almost being drowned by the rain. He plants a kiss upon Wei Ying’s scalp. “I didn’t find it but I found the Wen Sect’s branding iron.”
“Why did you use it?”
Lan Zhan doesn’t answer straight away. He entwines his fingers in Wei Ying’s hair, playing with the silken strands.
“To remember you,” He finally whispers.
Lan Zhan untangles his fingers, sliding them down Wei Ying’s shoulders and chest until he places a hand above his heart. It’s bare now but years ago, in his first life, it’s where a haphazard sun had been burnt into him.
“You had the same scar,” Lan Zhan says, thumb tracing an intricate pattern, recreating the scar that was once there. “I wanted you next to my heart, always.”
Wei Ying drops his head onto Lan Zhan’s chest, not able to bring himself to meet his gaze. The time they spent apart, when he was dead to the world, it’s something too daunting for him. He can barely fathom a life without Lan Zhan, let alone a life where Lan Zhan lived without him for sixteen years.
Those sixteen year had an end date– he returned. Lan Zhan could never have known that. Back then Lan Zhan could never even dream about being reunited, about being married. They were dreams lost when Wei Ying died.
Wei Ying wishes he could go back to all those years ago, tell Lan Zhan that it would all be okay, that he didn’t have to brandish the Wen Sect’s sun onto his chest. He wishes but he can’t– time only moves forward.
“It must have hurt,” He murmurs, kissing the scar. The hardened skin is pale, shiny from age.
“I can’t remember,” Lan Zhan replies.
However, Wei Ying remembers. He can still feel the hot iron melt away his flesh back in the Xuanwu cave. He still remembers how every fibre in his body had ached for days, the searing pain taking deep root within his bones.
“Lan Zhan,” He hums. “Lying is prohibited.”
“It was nothing compared to losing you.”
Thunder rattles the room and Wei Ying looks up, thoughts drowned out by the noise. He wishes that was a sentence Lan Zhan never had to say. He wishes for so many things to be different, but they’re here now, that’s all that matters.
“We got lucky,” Wei Ying smiles.
He reaches up to brush a finger along the tip of Lan Zhan’s nose before leaning in.
“Mn,” Lan Zhan hums into a kiss, letting it linger.
Slowly, Wei Ying moves his mouth down along Lan Zhan’s jaw, trailing tender kisses along his neck. He presses his lips upon every inch of skin he can find until his lips brush against a line towards the bottom of his left rib. It’s faint, barely there, but Wei Ying often notices it.
“What about this one?” He asks, planting a soft kiss upon the scar.
“Sword practice,” Lan Zhan hums. “I was eight and Xichen was clumsy.”
Wei Ying laughs, honey sweet. He wonders if Xichen was made to write out the rules regarding sword practice.
He kisses it again before moving down, trailing the scar-free expanse of his belly. For someone who has been in so many battles, the famed Hanguang-Jun bears so few battle scars.
He moves down to his hips, remembering a scar he has wondered about for months. It’s long, just shy of a hand’s width, a jagged line across his right hip. It stands out from the rest that have turned silver with age. This one is still cherry blossom pink.
“And this?” Wei Ying asks, brushing his lips across the haphazard line.
“From a night hunt two years ago. A yao got too close,” Lan Zhan says, reaching down to run a hand through Wei Ying’s hair, tucking loose strands behind his ear.
It’s hard to picture the infallible Lan Wangji falling victim on a night hunt, it seems impossible but the scar is there. He peppers kisses along the line, hoping it’s the first and only scar of its kind.
He sits up, bursts of lightning illuminate the jingshi, allowing him to drink in Lan Zhan in all his stretched out glory. He’s divine, even with the scars spread out upon his skin. They all tell a story, some of them fond, others heart wrenching.
As the rain picks up, becoming loud enough to drown his thoughts, Wei Ying notices another scar, long and thin upon his right bicep. Instantly, he knows where it came from– knows the heavy burden the delicate scar carries.
“Nightless city…” He whispers, leaning down so he can press the most tender of kisses in the middle of the line. It’s faint, easy to miss if you didn’t know where to look. It’s a memory almost erased but it lingers so vividly in his mind. Some nights he dreams about it, has nightmares so intense he wakes in cold sweat. Lan Zhan has them too.
Lan Zhan doesn’t reply, he just hums, tilting his head to watch him kiss the faded scar as lightning dances in the sky.
Wei Ying nuzzles into his arm for just a moment, words lost on him because there’s too many.
“Even your beautiful legs are marred,” He chuckles, pulling himself back up. “Lan Zhan, where is this from?”
He strokes a hand along the subtle ridge of a scar upon his shin. It’s not noticeable unless he leans in close but he knows it exists, has felt it countless times when he lets his hands wander.
Lan Zhan’s lips twitch, a half smile lost in the midnight darkness, “Xuanwu cave.”
The memory rushes back to him, Wei Ying hadn’t been the only one injured then.
“Ah, I remember,” He bends down to plant a quick kiss on the scar before brushing his thumb over the raised skin. “It left a mark. Sorry about that, I could’ve wrapped the wound up better.”
“It’s a memory of you,” Lan Zhan says. The world becomes lit up for a fraction of a second but it’s long enough to see the hint of a smile upon his lips.
“So many scars Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying sighs, leaning back down to plant several kisses upon his cheek. He has kissed so many yet there were dozens more to go. Lan Zhan is a fine jade, carved by the gods and marked by human destruction.
Lan Zhan traces his fingers along Wei Ying’s jaw, bringing their mouths together.
“Do they bother you?” He asks into a kiss.
“No,” Wei Ying whispers, kissing him once more. “They tell a story. A beautiful story.”
“You also have a few,” Lan Zhan says, a hand running along his back. Despite the summer air feeling hot, stifling and thick with humidity, it feels cold compared to Lan Zhan’s touch. His fingers leave embers in their wake, burning hot along the curve of his spine.
“I had more,” Wei Ying replies with a breathy laugh. “A lot more. I guess scars don’t carry over to your second life.”
Gently, Lan Zhan flips them so Wei Ying is on his back. Lan Zhan’s hair hangs around them, an inky curtain hiding them from the storm outside.
Slowly, Lan Zhan places soft kisses above Wei Ying’s heart, where the Wen Sect scar used to be.
“I’m glad,” He whispers, lip brushing upon his skin. “One sun between us is enough.”
Lan Zhan kisses slowly, each one so tender as he trails down his chest with the utmost care. His old body was riddled with scars, he had been cut up time and time again from all the battles during his short first life. The scars had all been washed away upon his return, his skin reborn but the ghosts remain. He can still feel where they all were– they had become part of him.
Where Wen Qing had carved out his golden core it had left a scar, fine and barely there thanks to her doctor precision but as Lan Zhan’s lips trace where it used to be, low below his navel, he can’t help but twitch. Thunder claps as he does, startlingly loud– the storm helps hide the truth of his reaction.
Lan Zhan looks up at him, watching, if he’s curious he doesn’t pry. Instead his lips travel lower, to the right where a scar marks his otherwise flawless skin.
It’s newer than any of Lan Zhan’s scars, still dark pink, healed over yet still waiting for time to fade it. Lan Zhan runs a thumb across the line, tenderly, as if he’s trying to sooth it.
“Jin Ling,” Lan Zhan says, a hint of sorrow seeping into his voice.
“That didn’t change,” Wei Ying smirks, reaching down to press his fingers gently on the line. “He stabbed me in the exact same spot as his uncle. Even the scar is the same.”
Lan Zhan tilts his head down, kissing the top of Wei Ying’s knuckles before kissing the scar. It’s so tender that it causes Wei Ying’s breath to falter– he didn’t expect a simple kiss to be filled with so much love.
“Lan Zhan,” He whispers, running a hand through Lan Zhan’s hair that’s pooling around him.
Lan Zhan looks up at him and within moments their lips are joined in an exchange of soft kisses.
“Lay down,” Wei Ying asks into a kiss.
Lan Zhan does, rolling onto his back to reveal the bulk of his scars– they criss-cross over the ripples of toned muscle. When lightning strikes he’s able to see how well they’ve healed, almost blending into his skin, silver streaks scratching across the surface of polished jade. However as he runs his fingers along the lines, tracing the thirty-three scars, he can feel the jagged bumps. They healed so well but not even the best doctors of Gusu can stop the discipline whip from raising skin, leaving its perpetual mark– a reminder of loyalty.
“I wish you didn’t have these,” Wei Ying says, an index finger running along each and every line. The bumps are thick where the lines intersect, a remnant of deep-cut wounds.
“I don’t mind,” Lan Zhan turns his head to the side so he can look at him. His eyes are dark pools, there’s not enough light in the night to know what emotion can be found beneath the surface.
Wei Ying runs his finger down the longest scar, it stretches the width of his back in a thick line of silver.
“These took years to heal,” He says, letting a thought slip out into the open. He knows Lan Zhan was bedridden, living with the pain for what could’ve been years. When recalling their years apart, Lan Zhan is always vague with details. Events blur together, joining up in a long stretch of time that passed in both an eternity and a second.
Lan Zhan doesn’t brush the severity of them aside, instead he nods.
“They reminded me that you existed.”
It catches Wei Ying off guard, his breath faltering. Outside thunder continues to roll, it’s quieter now, moving from above their heads, off towards the horizon. He leans down to kiss between his shoulder blades where three scars intersect. Below his lips he can feel Lan Zhan’s muscles move, as if he’s surprised despite Wei Ying kissing every inch of him just before.
“Lan Zhan...” He sighs, leaving a trail of kisses along the scars, following the lines that the whip left sixteen years ago.
He follows each scar from the start to finish, following the lattice pattern down his back. Each kiss he plants upon Lan Zhan’s skin is tender, a voiceless apology for the scars he has to bear. He kisses each of them as if doing so would help them fade, turn the silver lines into the same smooth jade as the rest of him. It won’t, but he tries.
As he reaches the final scar, the line tapering out at the base of his spine, Wei Ying presses a firm kiss there, letting it linger.
“I’d do it again if I had to,” Lan Zhan tells him, words dipped in sheer honesty.
“Well you won’t,” Wei Ying replies. There’s no need for discipline whips anymore. There’s no need for Lan Zhan to go against his own family, there never will be.
He lies down next to Lan Zhan, pulling him close so their legs entwine. Even though the air is sticky he doesn’t mind the heat of Lan Zhan. In fact he seeks it, relishes how warm Lan Zhan’s body is.
“So many scars,” Wei Ying hums. “A jade as fine as you shouldn’t have this many.”
“They’re memories,” Lan Zhan reaches out to stroke his cheek.
Wei Ying leans into Lan Zhan’s touch, nuzzling as he cups his cheek. Lan Zhan’s body tells a story, a miraculous story spanning decades. Some see scars as trophies, as a right of passage into manhood but he doesn’t see any of them as such. The scars that litter Lan Zhan, stretching across his body, they carry shared sentiment.
“Your scars, they are all caused by me,” Wei Ying sighs. He reaches out to trace the sun branded over Lan Zhan’s heart. “All of them because you love me.”
“Not my rib or hip scars,” Lan Zhan offers. It’s a lightweight acknowledgement, a deflection that causes Wei Ying to smile.
The jingshi lights up for several moments, distant lightning stretching out. He sees a hint of a smile dancing upon Lan Zhan's lips and it’s enough to make him let out a breathy laugh.
Leaning in, he kisses Lan Zhan sweetly and doesn’t pull away, “You know what I mean.”
“Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan whispers into a kiss. “I would move heaven and earth for you. I’d get more scars if it means keeping you safe.”
Under the cover of the night, when they’re entwined with nothing between them, words come easier but nothing ever prepares Wei Ying for hearing Lan Zhan say such things. It tilts his world for a moment, mind filling up with only the sound of the heavy rain, his heart filling up with that liquid warmth that only Lan Zhan can make him feel.
“I know,” Wei Ying kisses him with a smile. “I know. I just don’t like seeing you in pain.”
Lan Zhan presses his lips upon Wei Ying’s temple, “I’m not in pain.”
“Your scars deserved to be kissed every day,” Wei Ying says, kissing Lan Zhan’s cheeks and nose before planting a light peck on his lips. “It’s the least I can do.”
Lan Zhan hums, capturing his lips with a kiss that lingers, drawing out until the two of them lose themselves in each other.
There’s reassurance in the way Lan Zhan holds him close and it's comforting. The scars upon his body are old, faded to fine lines after so many years. Each scar holds a story, all of them bittersweet and they had barely touched the surface. He wants to know them all– he desires to know everything that has shaped Lan Zhan into who he is today, to know about the lashes upon his back and the time Xichen’s aim was wrong.
Maybe tomorrow they’ll share stories beneath the heat of the summer sun. He’ll tell Lan Zhan about his own, of all the ghosts that linger on him, memories of his first life. Wei Ying wants to see the memories etched upon Lan Zhan’s skin in daylight– he wants to study them, love them.
Outside the storm is waning, rain falling gently upon the roof of the jingshi. As they fall asleep, wrapped in each other’s arms, thunder becomes all but a whisper in the air, far out on the western horizon.