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You don’t know this body. It’s foreign and uncomfortable and you’re at ends trying to find a common ground with it.
Wei Wuxian was never this skinny, this delicate. Wei Wuxian was tall, barely a centimeter shorter than Hanguang-Jun, shoulders strong and back defined in a swimmer’s build. Wei Wuxian could take any blow and get back up grinning.
Now, nonexistent is all you can describe those traits. They’ve vanished, and you’re left with a body struggling to regain a health approval from the healers from the neglect and malnourishment it suffered. Lan Wangji practically has to drag you to the infirmary every month for your checkups, a part of your promise to him as newlyweds. And don’t get you wrong. You’re grateful, so grateful to Mo Xuanyu for relinquishing you his body, for gifting you this second chance to be held in your husband’s strong arms every night and to be greeted with your son’s gentle eyes in class every day. You cannot never repay him. But it still doesn’t mean training your body to reach adequate healthiness isn’t so frustrating, a task you’ve grown impatient as more days pass by without any progress.
You pull at your cheeks, the skin relenting to your fingers much easier than you expected it to. Fat is more packed in them than when you were first revived, a product of Lan Wangji’s and Lan Sizhui’s worries and many, many lotus pastries, but they’re still bonier, still thinner. There are sharp edges to your cheekbones but soft curves to your jawline. The mole you once had on the right side of your top lip no longer exists, instead migrating to your left cheekbone. They multiply on the rest of your body, dotting you in brown constellations, a detailed map for Lan Wangji to trace and nip every night. You smile different, an even, tender curve in place of the once crookedness of your wide grins.
You’ve fallen out of place. Ease is no longer your acquaintance, and some days becomes a battleground for the barest contentment.
Behind you, the slight creak of the door announces a presence, and you turn your head to see Lan Wangji stepping into the room with a large pile of scrolls in his arms.
“Ah, you’re back, zhang-fu,” you say and move to rise from the bed to help him.
Lan Wangji merely shakes his head and moves toward the table. “No need.”
Never one to let his husband do any chore or menial task, you’ve learned through five months of marriage. A gentleman really. You’ve lucked out with this one.
Leaning back on your arms, you watch as Lan Wangji settles down at the table and sets down the scrolls carefully and gracefully. He begins sorting through them, separating them into sections with an air of seriousness and dedication.
You cock your head. “What are they for?”
Lan Wangji places an especially large scroll onto the farthest left section before turning to you. “These are some manuals that might help you nurture your golden core faster. Shifu suggested them.”
For a moment, you pause, unintentionally frowning in confusion before remembering the conversation you had last night. As you nuzzled into Lan Wangji’s sweaty chest, a product of your intense marital duties, you expressed your intentions to grow the budding golden core humming in you. You brought his hands to the side of your tummy, shivering at the warmth of his palm meeting your skin. The core inside you trembled as well.
“I want to stay with you, Lan Zhan,” you told him, desperation intensifying in your tone. “To have more babies and grandchildren with you. To nighthunt and travel for as long as we wish to stay here. To be with you.”
With that, Lan Wangji smiled and leaned in to meet your lips in a deep kiss. “Forever, Wei Ying.”
And it seems he took it pretty seriously. But yesterday is not today, and this morning you woke up in a daze, confused and itching to free yourself from the skin suffocating you.
“Lan Zhan...I’m not sure,” you start, feeling guilt stirring in your tummy at dismissing Lan Wangji’s attempts to help. “I don’t think I should.”
Lan Wangji tilts his head and rises from the table, moving to your side. “What is wrong, Wei Ying?”
“I—” you try to say but stop as the words jumble around in your mouth. Your tongue twists, and for once, you’re silent.
Lan Wangji moves to sit on the bed with you.
“May I touch you?” he asks, hand hovering over your arm. You nod, lethargic, slow, and just wanting your husband’s gentle touch.
Lan Wangji settles his palm on your bicep and holds you steady, a comforting presence on your skin, grounding you back to earth. He guides your head onto his shoulder, and you accept the gesture, squeezing your eyes tight as you nuzzle his neck.
“Would Wei Ying like to talk?”
You sigh, deciding you might as well. “I just...I don’t feel right. My skin feels tight, and touching any part of me feels so unnatural. I—I don’t know.”
Lan Wangi remains silent in encouragement, and you can’t help but continue. “Don’t you miss my old body? It was so nice. Didn’t you fall in love with me then? How can you stand to touch this body?”
“How could I not? Wei Ying is Wei Ying in any body. I love you, not what skin you wear,” Lan Wangji says. He begins smoothing down the tangles in your hair. You lean into his touch.
“Lan Zhan, Lan Zhan, I don’t know what to do. I don’t want this body, but at the same time I do. How can I think that way, especially after all Mo Xuanyu did to give it to me?” you say with a frustrated kick to the air.
Lan Wangji looks at you sternly. “Wei Ying must be kinder to himself. What you feel is okay. What you do not feel is also okay. Wei Ying is valid.”
For a moment, you just look at this man who gazes down on you like you’re the reason the winter blooms emerge and grow through the snow, the reason the moon falls into the night, and the reason the stars align.
“Sometimes I feel wrong,” you whisper, looking away. Lan Wangji guides you back to his gaze with his finger. Silver meets gold.
“Then we shall find the reasons why you are right,” he tells you, pressing his forehead against yours.
You smile, a meager one, but a smile nevertheless. “Hold me?”
“Always.”
You’re at odds. The body you reside in pulls at you tight and fails to lead you back to the ground, back to the velvety touch of fresh grass and the sweet scent of lotus blooms in the pond outside the Jingshi. It fights you for peace, and ease lacks in show.
But, as you stare down at your hands joint with Lan Wangji’s, you suppose you can be patient. You can be tolerant and allow your husband to hold you until tolerance is no longer needed.
“Wei Ying?”
“Hm?
“Your eyes still shine the same.”