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His world tilts, snaps askew; something’s changed at some point in the last night and he does not know which is it in particular.
He thinks of this as he eyes down the possible culprit—an unruly disciple from far away, bringing havoc and alcohol and every single one of Gusu Lan’s worst nightmares with him. Lan Zhan is thrown off by his proximity, doesn’t like that this gongzi is speaking to him so casually. Lan Zhan isn’t used to hearing people say that many words in one go.
“Wei Wuxian, stop bothering him,” says a voice from behind.
It must be Jiang Wanyin, Lan Zhan thought. Of course it is, you can hardly think of Wei Wuxian without at least alluding to his shidi. Yunmeng Jiang is known for both its brilliant heir, and it’s prodigious head disciple.
Lan Zhan has the courtesy to turn, because it is only right to. It is polite to. They already did their salutations just a little earlier, so it’s not necessary for Lan Zhan to stand again. He nods at Jiang Wanyin in acknowledgment, in silent thanks. The gesture isn’t necessary either, but no one’s counting.
Jiang Wanyin looks at Wei Wuxian again, eyebrows scrunching. “You said you wanted to sit in the back.”
There’s a slight pause. Wei Wuxian’s eyes widen a fraction before he looks to the line of tables at the far back. He realizes something Lan Zhan cannot hear, and he turns back to Jiang Wanyin as if to say something.
“Forget it,” Jiang Wanyin says.
Wei Wuxian has taken the table on the furthest side of the row, right next to Lan Zhan’s. The spot behind said table is occupied by another disciple. There’s no place for Jiang Wanyin to sit near him.
Lan Zhan considers giving Jiang Wanyin his table, move down to the unclaimed one next to where he’s already sitting. It’s so unnecessary, but Jiang Wanyin might want to stick with his shixiong as much as possible. It is quite understandable.
“Is that taken?” Jiang Wanyin asks, gesturing at the exact table Lan Zhan’s planning on moving to.
He briefly wonders if he’s the one being addressed. When no one else speaks, Lan Zhan responds with a curt, “no.”
He’s not used to people his age addressing him so directly. His brother warned him not to offend visiting disciples, in vague words asking Lan Zhan opened his mouth more than usual. While Lan Huan is kind enough not to directly call him awkward, Lan Zhan still knows it to be true.
Navigating conversations are difficult for him, and his encounter with Wei Wuxian the night before left him feeling like he’s been out in the sun too long. Seeing him again so soon gives Lan Zhan no time to breathe.
“I’ll sit over there,” Jiang Wanyin proclaims, tip toes behind Lan Zhan, and—with much more grace than Wei Wuxian’s ever shown—sinks to the floor. He looks at Wei Wuxian past Lan Zhan and points a finger at him. “You don’t do anything rude.”
“Rude!” Wei Wuxian gasps. “Did you hear that, Lan er-gongzi? Am I being rude to you?”
Are they talking to him?
In that case, it’s not rude; but maybe a little annoying. He doesn’t hate it, but is reeling from the newness of it all. He wants to explain that no, Wei Wuxian isn’t exactly rude, but he’s afraid it’ll come out wrong.
“Forgive him, Lan er-gongzi,” Jiang Wanyin says.
Lan Zhan swivels around in confusion. He doesn’t know who to look at.
He has never spoken to other disciples while already seated in the classroom—if they speak to him at all, that is. If they do, it’s all very formal, very quick and business-like, always after class, and always just to pass messages from either Lan Huan or Uncle.
“There’s nothing to forgive,” Wei Wuxian huffs, as if the thing on the roof didn’t just happen.
It’s fine, Lan Zhan thinks. Jiang Wanyin and Wei Wuxian are new to the Cloud Recesses. They will catch on with the usual routine and realize Lan Zhan isn’t worth speaking to. They’ll find out he simply doesn’t speak that much at all, and will need someone more responsive.
“The next time he bothers you, tell me,” Jiang Wanyin says. “Not sure I can make him stop, but I try.”
“Stop sullying my name, Jiang Cheng,” Wei Wuxian says from the other direction, prompting Lan Zhan to just face ahead; it’s easier that way. “I’m not that bad. Lan er-gongzi doesn’t think so, at least.”
The exchange goes on like this. From the way they keep trying to one-up each other, Lan Zhan almost thinks they’re arguing. But there’s no heat to their words, no trace of annoyance in their tone whatsoever. It’s confusing. Wei Wuxian cradles his head on his hand, body leaning against the table far enough to see Jiang Wanyin past Lan Zhan. Jiang Wanyin’s posture isn’t as callous, but there’s an easiness to his overall carriage, to his expressions. He rolls his eyes when Wei Wuxian makes a particularly ridiculous claim, then proceeds to say something that makes Wei Wuxian laugh.
Lan Zhan still doesn’t know what to do.
“Come down to Caiyi with us, Lan Zhan,” Wei Wuxian says, whose offer’s so out of the blue Lan Zhan doesn’t even react to the use of his birth name. “So many new things to try in Gusu! Try it with us, won’t you?”
-
Lan Zhan wasn’t able to give an answer, saved by Uncle’s entrance. What happens, however, has more or less put Lan Zhan in the same awkward situation. Instead of spending his time reluctantly following Yunmeng Jiang disciples down the mountains, Lan Zhan ends up overseeing Wei Wuxian’s punishment at the Library Pavilion.
It should be disappointing, after hearing Wei Wuxian blabber on about the wicked path like it bears no terrifying consequences. Lan Zhan should be putting a wide, wide distance between them. He should not associate with a young man who dares think it’s alright to dabble in reprehensible things.
But Lan Zhan’s seen how Jiang Wanyin reacted, how he quietly apologized for his own shixiong’s actions.
“His mind runs away from him sometimes, Lan er-gongzi. Don’t take it personally,” Jiang Wanyin had said. “He usually forgets about it after my mother makes him kneel.”
Lan Zhan should not care. Lan Zhan should know that Jiang Wanyin only tolerates it because he cares about Wei Wuxian, should not take his word as unbiased opinion.
And yet, he still believes it. He can’t help but think about what he’s already known about Wei Wuxian, his genius. He’s so smart and so talkative, they say, that he forgets he’s musing out loud. Lan Zhan should never be this tolerant, and yet he is.
The feeling of his world tilting returns, still with no explanation of the exact thing that shifted.
“Jiang Cheng found a stall right around the river,” Wei Wuxian says.
He’s doing an impressive job with his calligraphy despite speaking non-stop. His strokes are a bit more haphazard than Lan Zhan likes, but there’s an undeniable charm to it, a flair of unorthodox flourish that makes his handwriting unique.
“You can’t imagine this tragedy, Lan Zhan! I was looking forward to you taking us around Caiyi, you know?”
Lan Zhan glares at him from across the book he’s reading. He hasn’t flipped the page in what feels like an entire afternoon. He also doesn’t admit to being wholly unfamiliar with most of Caiyi even when it’s so nearby.
“There’s a curfew, I know,” Wei Wuxian grins. “I wouldn’t trick you into missing it, don’t worry. Jiang Cheng wouldn’t let me, at least.”
“You still need to take punishment for last night,” Lan Zhan says.
Although, it’s a bit too late for that. He should’ve told Uncle as soon as he saw him that morning, saying anything about it now seems like he’s carelessly forgotten. Which might be—Jiang Wanyin and Wei Wuxian are distracting—but he figures he can ask Wei Wuxian to copy a few more times. Lan Zhan’s in charge of discipline, after all.
Wei Wuxian’s lips quirks to the side. “Take punishment for what?”
“Last night.”
It’s too late when Lan Zhan catches on. Wei Wuxian’s lips curve, a teasing smirk, gasping a silent ‘oh’ as he faces Lan Zhan’s glare without flinching.
“Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan grits through his teeth; embarrassed, annoyed, and all the things he never thought one person can make him feel.
“Hmmm? I didn’t say anything,” Wei Wuxian cackles. “Don’t be mad, Lan Zhan!”
-
By the time Wei Wuxian’s done for the day, Jiang Wanyin and Nie Huaisang come to pick him up. Wei Wuxian all but bolts out of his seat and runs for the doors, slings an arm over Nie Huaisang, and spews a recounting of the day’s endless copying. He moves so quickly Lan Zhan doesn’t even remind him not to run, or shout, or talk too loud. Lan Zhan is exhausted.
A pair of hands appears in front of him, but they’re not Wei Wuxian’s.
“I’ll do it.” Jiang Wanyin takes the spot Wei Wuxian vacated and gathers the mess left behind. He doesn’t look miffed or angry, just a little defeated. It’s like cleaning up is so common an occurrence that he doesn’t even question it anymore. “He’ll still ask you to come with us, you know?”
As if on cue, Wei Wuxian pops right back inside. He rushes to the table, then drapes himself over Jiang Wanyin’s back like a sentient flying blanket.
Wei Wuxian grins wide, and says, “I still want you to come with us tonight.”
Lan Zhan blinks, tries hard not to look too amazed. He looks back to Jiang Wanyin, who raises his eyebrows, as if to say ‘well?’.
He really doesn’t know what to do.
So many things had happened in the last two days for him, all of which involved two of Yunmeng’s most prized people. He’s not sure he’ll be able to handle more of it, not sure if it’s the proximity he’s anxious about or if it’s the talking. Lan Zhan opts to look down at his table, eyes on a book of Gusu Lan etiquette.
He technically has nothing to do. And yet—
“I have work I need to finish. Tonight,” Lan Zhan says. He sees Wei Wuxian’s easy expression crumple, Jiang Wanyin’s eyebrows drop, and can’t help but add, “ask me another day.”
-
Lan Zhan’s world is tilting. Slowly, but surely.
Since the first day of class, Jiang Wanyin and Wei Wuxian seem to have decided on making him their friend. And Nie Huaisang too, he guesses, but he and Nie Huaisang are never hostile to each other out of fear of their respective older brothers.
They walk with him to the classroom, they tell him about Yunmeng, they ask him to spar with them even when they know he’ll refuse. They include Lan Zhan in their conversations even when he doesn’t have anything to say, ask him what he thinks when they argue, then they ask him about the mountain forests of Gusu.
“If I bring you wild bunnies, will you take them?” Wei Wuxian asks.
To which Jiang Cheng immediately frowns, and says, “You were relieved to know there won’t be pets.”
“That’s different!” Wei Wuxian throws up his hands, like the wild thing he is. “Bunnies multiply really fast, so he can cook them if he wants to.”
Lan Zhan inwardly flinches.
“Lan er-gongzi is not breeding livestock.”
Wei Wuxian teases, Jiang Wanyin reels him in. There are times Jiang Wanyin doesn’t bother holding Wei Wuxian back, laughs along when it is—and Lan Zhan reluctantly admits it to be—indeed amusing. When Lan Zhan excuses himself, they let him go without questions. He doesn’t have to get out of his way to be with them, they just come to him when they cross paths, and they don’t impede him when he has go places they cannot follow.
Lan Zhan’s not as mad about it as he thinks he’s supposed to.
He knows it’s extremely out of character for him. He’s aware of the surprised stares he’s been getting from both Gusu Lan and visiting disciples alike. Perhaps pitying him, or pitying his company. None of them dare to come near him even then, let alone ask him about it.
The only one who has the gall to point it out is his brother, and he seems more excited about it than Lan Zhan.
“I see you’ve made friends, Wangji.”
Lan Zhan hums, noncommittally. Non-verbal responses are useful whenever he doesn’t want to bother with definitive answers. Lying is forbidden, the side of the mountain says, but it never has anything about lying by omission.
Unfortunately for Lan Zhan, Lan Huan is an expert of this made-up language himself. He knows there’s something, and if he keeps at it, he’ll know everything.
Lan Zhan wants to faint.
“That’s good, didi,” Lan Huan says, catching himself mid-smile, as if he’s trying not to fawn over Lan Zhan like an embarrassing older sibling. He also looks like he’s about to cry—which in that case, means Lan Zhan needs to leave. “You like them?”
There it is.
“They’re...alright.”
Lan Huan hums, in a completely different tone than Lan Zhan used. It’s lilting, teasing. He’s still smiling.
He is terrible.
-
Jiang Wanyin’s not allowed to help with Wei Wuxian’s punishment. There is, however, no rule against coming to the Library Pavilion. Disciples finding loopholes is Uncle’s pet peeve, but for as long as nothing forbids it, Lan Zhan does nothing about it.
It also helps that Jiang Wanyin doesn’t talk while he’s there, no matter Wei Wuxian’s constant baiting. He comes in with Wei Wuxian, greets Lan Zhan, and politely asks if he can sit down and read with them. Nie Huaisang’s off doing extra readings somewhere else, apparently; which is good, because he needs it.
“I think,” Wei Wuxian says, with all of the usual exaggeration. “I’ve memorized Virtue.”
Everybody else pretends not to hear.
“Seriously? I told you I’ve memorized two hundred out of eighteen thousand rules—”
“Three thousand,” Lan Zhan corrects.
“—and you guys have nothing to say? Unbelievable.”
Lan Zhan’s gaze slides to Jiang Wanyin in time to catch his eyes roll up to the skies. He clears his throat, and says, “hardly an achievement.”
“It is! Lan Zhan, I just memorized two hundred rules we don’t have in Lotus Pier—I mean, we have those too, but worded differently. Maybe a little loose with it, I don’t know. You know what I mean!”
“I do not.”
“What—wait, did you just snidely retort to me? Jiang Cheng look at this!”
Lan Zhan looks down and ignores him.
Wei Wuxian squawks, and misses the snort Jiang Wanyin doesn’t hold back. He must’ve seen Lan Zhan looking to his shidi, because his eyes turn to slits quickly, head snapping back and forth between Lan Zhan and Jiang Wanyin. “Oh, no. They’ve ganged up on me!” he says, dramatic and loud and everything Lan Zhan should hate but does not. “You two! You’re not allowed to collude behind my back.”
He keeps up the tirade for nearly an entire afternoon, switching between bemoaning his company’s newfound vendetta against him and easy ramblings about Lotus Pier. Jiang Wanyin doesn’t join in, but nods and hums in between, sometimes missing a beat when he’s busy reading prose that’s unfamiliar.
The fact that Jiang Wanyin’s interested in a book Lan Zhan likes is also...quite exciting. He’ll never say that out loud, though.
“You should come visit us, Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying says, when the day’s nearly over. “If you’re good, you might be able to try shijie’s cooking. Ah, it’s our favorite, Lan Zhan! Jiang Cheng and me both.”
Ridiculous, is Lan Zhan’s first thought.
There’s hardly enough reason for him to go, unless Uncle has meetings that warrant coming there himself. Lan Zhan will also have to make valid excuses to go with him. If Lan Zhan does visit, it has to be for no reason other than to see them. Which is, by definition, beneficial to neither the matters of sect nor cultivation. It has to be self-indulgent—no, selfish—and Lan Zhan doesn’t know how that fairs in Uncle’s opinions.
Wei Wuxian doesn’t seem to think this, though. He smiles like it’s the most galvanizing thing in his life, and says, “We’ll take you on long walks along the river. Jiang Cheng will buy you meat pies. I’m but a poor disciple, so he’s paying for you!”
Lan Zhan expects it to be a bait. He expects it to be the one that pulls Jiang Wanyin out of stubborn silence. It does catch Jiang Wanyin’s attention, looking up from his book as soon as Wei Wuxian made the suggestion.
Jiang Wanyin eyes Lan Zhan for a second, smiling, then hums in agreement.
-
“Why?” Lan Zhan asks his brother.
“Which?”
Lan Huan knows what he means, he just wants Lan Zhan to spell it out. He is the worst. “Why did you allow them to come?”
“They’re from Yunmeng. Their sect is known to train for combat against water ghouls,” Lan Huan says. “And they’re your friends.”
Lan Zhan doubts it’s just that.
“Don’t,” Lan Zhan says, before his brother bemusedly laughs at something unknown. Maybe he’s lost his mind.
Elder brothers are the worst, Lan Zhan thinks as he walks off.
Lan Zhan finding people to talk to on his own is sending his brother way over his head, and it is annoying. He just hopes Lan Huan doesn’t speak to said friends for too long. Who knows what mortifying things he’ll say.
He’s mulling over his impending shame when Jiang Wanyin comes up behind him, holding out a paper bag.
“Wei Ying thinks you might like it.”
Ah.
Lan Zhan has never received anything from fellow disciples, so he wonders if he needs to get something in exchange. Like a token of gratitude of some sort. There’s too many stalls and too little time to think about it, though, and the longer he internally panics the more awkward the silence becomes.
When he takes the bag, Jiang Wanyin immediately says, “Dragon’s beard. We have them in Yunmeng, too.”
Lan Zhan stupidly nods at the bag.
“I think we use sweeter sugar, but this is more your taste huh?”
“Thank you, Jiang-gongzi—”
“Jiang Cheng,” Jiang Wanyin says. “Or Jiang Wanyin. I don’t know, just drop the ‘gongzi’, please. We are not negotiating sect business or some shit.”
Lan Zhan blinks at him. “I did not want to be rude.”
The lack of formality—even the mere suggestion of it—leaves Lan Zhan feeling vulnerable, inexplicably and irrationally. Outside his family, he’s only ever informally addressed children; and even then, it’s those too young to even have courtesy names to begin with. He’s used Wei Wuxian’s birth name before, but only in a moment of arrested embarrassment.
“You managed to drop it with Wei Ying, might as well do it all in one go,” Jiang Wanyin says.
Speaking of Jiang Wanyin, he’s wearing simpler robes today. The severity he commonly exudes mellows when he’s dressed down, enough of a change that Lan Zhan notices. It’s not the kind he wears to class or to come down to Caiyi, so it’s likely a set meant for Nighthunting. Lan Zhan thinks he’s imagining the soft pinks around Jiang Wanyin’s cheeks, too. It’s there one moment, then it isn’t.
“Thank you,” Lan Zhan says. Then adds, a little too slowly, “Jiang Cheng.”
The pink cheeks return, and Jiang Wanyin hums. “It’s going to melt if you don’t eat it now.”
Lan Zhan stares at the candy and nods, and Jiang Wanyin smiles.
-
His world tilts even further.
The encounter with the Waterborne Abyss brings more discoveries than the obvious. First, is finding proof of Qishan Wen disrupting peace. Second, is witnessing Wei Ying cough up water from the river as a panicked, angry Jiang Cheng pulls his shixiong into his arms and firmly presses his lips against Wei Ying’s temple.
Lastly, and more worryingly, Lan Zhan’s heart beats at the sight of them two.
The day after their excursion, after all parties are well-rested, Lan Zhan finds himself not knowing how to act. It sends him off-kilter; pushes him so close to the edge of a dangerous cliff, as a rushing river of newly-discovered emotions awaits below.
He’s seen them around each other, always assumed it’s a combination of closeness and lax expectations. Lan Zhan always thought they’re just more expressive than he’s used to, without considering the many, many lingering touches that neither Jiang Cheng nor Wei Ying share with other people.
There’s warmth and care in Jiang Cheng’s fond exasperation. He complains whenever he needs to clean up after his shixiong, but proceeds to do it anyway. Wei Ying listens to every word Jiang Cheng says, affirms him when necessary, brings him wild flowers without reason. It’s always been there.
Observing them now brings new light to what Lan Zhan already knew, and he gets more and more confused as he keeps spending time with them.
“What is it?” Lan Zhan asks, as he notices Wei Ying take pause.
Wei Ying usually huffs about his fingers hurting after a long run of copying, stretches his hands and complains about the four hundred rules he’s already memorized. It usually takes less than a few moments, maybe a brief soliloquy that’s neither here nor there, before he returns to his work.
He’s always quick to come back to it. That time, he noticeably does not. Wei Ying’s looking up at him, with wide, curious eyes.
Lan Zhan momentarily remembers thinking his world shifting, and along with it brings a different light around Wei Ying—around him and Jiang Cheng both. They seem brighter, incandescent. Their presence demands Lan Zhan’s attention even among a sea of people.
“Your forehead ribbons are pretty,” Wei Ying says.
Lan Zhan doesn’t say anything, because he simply doesn’t have a reply to that.
“Hey, Jiang Cheng. Everything up here’s pretty, yeah?” Wei Wuxian twists to face Jiang Cheng, who’s scanning texts he found after asking Lan Zhan for recommendations. “You said so on our first day.”
Jiang Cheng hums.
Wei Ying considers the response, then twists back towards Lan Zhan, plants his elbows on the table and leans a little closer. His eyes follow the line of Lan Zhan’s forehead ribbon, his expression loose and his smile soft. “Do you Lans have beauty requirements to be part of the clan?”
What.
“If we married into the clan, do you think we’re pretty enough for you?”
Lan Zhan nearly swallows his own tongue. “Jiang Cheng is heir to Yunmeng Jiang.”
“Right, that means you and me will have to be the ones to marry out and live with him,” Wei Ying continues, jumping several mountains ahead of where Lan Zhan’s at. “It’s a thought experiment, Lan er-ge. Are we pretty enough to marry and wear your white robes, or do we have to settle for an above-average Lan?”
That’s...is Jiang Cheng hearing this? Does Wei Ying really need to ask about marrying him with the possible subject of his affections so close by? Is Jiang Cheng even listening?
“I—I’m—” Lan Zhan stutters for the first time his entire life. He doesn’t know whether to unsheathe Bichen, combust, or pin Wei Ying unto the floor.
“Wei Ying,” Jiang Cheng scolds, still hunching over his book. “Don’t overwhelm him.”
What.
Completely blind to the fact Lan Zhan’s having a mild breakdown, Wei Ying nods happily and pulls away. He picks up his brush, but is still unwaveringly staring at Lan Zhan. “I know one thing’s for sure, though,” he says. “Lan Zhan’s very pretty. Right, A-Cheng?”
Lan Zhan expects Jiang Cheng to ignore him. At the very least, roll his eyes and shake his head like he does when Wei Ying did something ridiculous.
He does not.
A smile forms around Jiang Cheng’s lips, loose and fond, playful in a way that’s not mean or dishonest. “Very,” he says. “Very pretty.”
-
It gets worse—or better. Lan Zhan’s too confused to decide.
It starts with Wei Ying coming to him while he’s tuning his qin. All the other disciples spend their free time in the vast gardens, playing around under what little sun reaches the Cloud Recesses. Lan Zhan often picks a more hidden area, towards the shaded back mountains, close to where gentians bloom.
Wei Ying knows where he is, of course, courtesy of Jiang Cheng catching Lan Zhan retreat when his usual spot is crowded.
“Here,” Wei Ying says, hands out a folded piece of paper as soon as he plops down next to him. “Ah, we spent days on this, Lan-er. Please be gentle.”
Lan Zhan’s hands shake when he unfolds the paper, and looses all the air inside his lungs when he sees.
It’s a portrait.
Of Lan Zhan.
It’s a portrait of Lan Zhan knelt in the Library Pavilion, his nose buried in a book.
There’s a lack of uniformity to it, so unlike any painting Lan Zhan’s seen before—some strokes are careless but confident and wide, while others carefully thin and slightly shaky but detailed. The variations in styles do not clash, but enhance each other. The large lines highlight his flowing white robes, and the shorter ones add lovely texture and depth. It’s almost alarming Lan Zhan is able to guess who painted which.
There’s also a lotus flower, tucked in between the pages of the book Lan Zhan’s supposedly reading.
“A-Cheng added the flower by the way, cheeky bastard,” Wei Ying says. “He wanted me to do all the work, you know. But he did a great job, didn’t he?”
Lan Zhan tries really hard to suppress a delighted gasp. “He did. You both.”
Days, he thinks. It’s taken them days to finish. Jiang Cheng’s openly admitted to not have a talent for painting, even; and yet they gift Lan Zhan with this.
Wei Ying breaks out one of his biggest smiles, all teeth and crinkling eyes. “Told you. You’re very pretty, Lan Zhan.”
He doesn’t know what to say, exactly. He has an idea of what they’re implying, of what the painting itself implies; but Lan Zhan’s too scared to draw any conclusions. There isn’t a passage or a rule on the proper response to a something like this.
So, he elects not to think about it, because it’s easier.
“Come down with us to Caiyi, won’t you?” Wei Ying says. “Jiang Cheng’s waiting by the gates.”
It starts with Wei Ying, and it doesn’t stop with Jiang Cheng. Nie Huaisang apparently needs to finish some extra work, so that leaves just the three of them again. Neither Jiang Cheng nor Wei Ying seem too bothered by this.
They take him down to town, past the main streets Lan Zhan frequents, and through tight alleyways and unfamiliar shortcuts. Lan Zhan never ventures that far into Caiyi, never leaves the common path. Jiang Cheng and Wei Ying weave through the maze like it’s nothing, Jiang Cheng only curses when they take a wrong turn, and Wei Ying laughs it off and retraces their steps. Lan Zhan doesn’t even know where they are by the time Wei Ying declares their arrival.
The three of them pass stalls of food, cosmetics shops, charlatans selling fake charms to ward off the Waterborne Abyss. The air smells like a peculiar mix of youtiao, burnt sugar, and smoke. They tiptoe around wet patches on the ground—sometimes it’s dishwater, sometimes it’s spilled wine, most times it’s muddy water from the river.
Lan Zhan lets them lead because they can, and because he wants them to. He follows them as the sunset casts orange light, content in watching Wei Ying tease Jiang Cheng into exasperation. He listens to Jiang Cheng muttering, scolding, all without real annoyance.
He wishes to paint the scene in front of him. He wants to remember it forever, preserve the proof of its existence in a fine piece of paper.
Lan Zhan wishes to never forget.
“Are you any good with sour candies?” Jiang Cheng asks.
There’s what looks to be dried fruit in his hand, covered in strange powder. When Lan Zhan takes it, the candy feels solid between his fingers. Plums, he thinks, but he’s not too sure. He lets Jiang Cheng silently bully him into putting it in his mouth, and his lips draw to a thin line at the taste.
Jiang Cheng looks like he’s about to laugh. “No sour food from now on, I guess.”
Lan Zhan takes the thing between his teeth, only to wince at the unexpected hardness.
“Slowly, you idiot,” Jiang Cheng finally snickers.
His tone lacks cruelty, as Lan Zhan expects. He doesn’t sound like he’s laughing at Lan Zhan to make fun of him. His huffs are soft, careful, and fond.
It holds the same fondness reserved for Wei Ying.
-
It keeps going. They keep going.
Wei Ying stabs his brush a little too hard and the ink splatters. It blots the paper, makes it unsalvageable, and a drop lands on the back of Lan Zhan’s hand. Wei Ying profusely apologizes for it, not with his usual histrionics, but with an adorably flustered panic never seen before.
“Did it get on your sleeve?” Wei Ying asks, then grabs Lan Zhan’s hand. He runs his thumb over the stray drop, pressing firmly as he rubs it off. “Thank heavens, it didn’t! Lan Zhan, I didn’t mean to—”
“It is fine.” Lan Zhan gets the words out a little too carelessly, spews them without thinking, that he doesn’t notice how flat his tone came off. Lan Zhan belatedly sees his mistake when Wei Ying wilts where he kneels. He remedies it as quickly as he’s able. “Wei Ying, it is alright. Even if I get it on on my sleeve, it can be washed.”
They have the proper materials to get blood off fabric, let alone ink. Very young disciples tend to get stains on their robes, too—but considering the example being of children, Lan Zhan decides not to tell for Wei Ying’s sake.
Wei Ying’s still holding his hand.
“Ah, Lan Zhan. You must be practicing the guqin everyday, huh? Your palm is so rough,” Wei Ying says, as if he’s not threatening to cause a misalignment of Lan Zhan’s qi. “I like it.”
Lan Zhan doesn’t get to breathe.
-
There’s another incident, too. They’re walking to class this time, after Jiang Cheng and Wei Ying find him step out of the jingshi. The pair of them began joining the rest of the disciples for morning meals, instead of slipping out to the nearest stall in Caiyi like they did in the beginning. Lan Zhan tells them it’s fine if he eats alone, but they are having none of it.
All is well, until Wei Ying decides to ask, “if we marry each other at the same time, do all three of us share the wedding bed?”
Lan Zhan’s mind leaves him like an arrow shooting through the sky. He misses the protruding rock in the middle of the grassy patch, and his foot catches it. Ears hot and traitorously red, Lan Zhan falls forwards—
And a hand steadies him.
For a bit, he doesn’t know what his body is doing. He’s leaning forwards one moment then he’s pushed back the next, like a tall stem of bamboo in the middle of a huge storm. He has not fully recovered when he looks down, and suddenly, it’s his mind snapping around instead of his body.
Jiang Cheng’s hand is pressed against Lan Zhan’s chest, fingers splaying out.
Lan Zhan takes a little more to snap out of his stupor, apologizes, only to get flustered again as he becomes hyper-aware of Jiang Cheng’s palm. Jiang Cheng doesn’t immediately let go.
“Sly bastard,” Wei Ying mutters from behind Lan Zhan, unclear who he’s talking to.
Jiang Cheng ignores Wei Ying, his eyes steady on the hand pressing up against Lan Zhan. He’s looking at it in disbelief, furiously blinking. There’s an undeniable weight to his touch, a physical one, like he’s still pushing Lan Zhan back when there’s no longer need for it. He stares, as if in deep thought, then pulls away so, so slowly.
Lan Zhan swallows the regretful longing in his throat.
“That’s what handstands are for, huh,” Jiang Cheng comments.
-
He doesn’t stop them, and they don’t seem inclined to.
They keep at the hesitant, fleeting touches for a while—helping Lan Zhan stand, dusting invisible dirt off his robes, catching his fingers when they hand him a book or scroll—pushing a little further each time. Lan Zhan lets them because he doesn’t mind. He more than does not mind, actually; he wants it. He comes back to the jingshi at night feeling distraught, thinks of nothing but the next day he’ll see them again.
In turn, they become more comfortable around him. Jiang Cheng plants small kisses on Wei Ying, brief but born from habit. Wei Ying wraps his arms around Jiang Cheng from behind, even as he’s speaking to Lan Zhan. The touches do not linger, but it’s an ever-present thing Lan Zhan finds himself constantly seeking.
If Wei Ying and Jiang Cheng do not gravitate to each other, its apparently because they argued over something.
“I told you, if she does something, tell me,” Lan Zhan hears Jiang Cheng say. “If her opinion’s so important above everyone’s, then what does that make mine?”
Wei Ying’s lips go slack, shocked, but he spots Lan Zhan and closes his mouth.
It feels like he’s walking into something he shouldn’t. They’re clearly in a more secluded portion of the garden for a reason, sitting and huddled together like they guard a secret. They both look distressed at something, and while Lan Zhan cares enough to want them to be alright, he knows he hasn’t earned the right to know yet.
Lan Zhan abruptly steps back, then says, “I’ll return later.”
Jiang Cheng grabs his arm before he retreats.
“Lan Zhan!” Wei Ying practically shouts. “No, no, no, Er-gege. It’s okay! A-Cheng’s just being difficult.”
“Who is?” Jiang Cheng turns, but without letting Lan Zhan go. “A-Zhan, if someone were to scold Wei Ying for no valid reason, wouldn’t you get mad as well?”
Lan Zhan is slow to process all due to Jiang Cheng calling him ‘A-Zhan’. He feels heat come up to his ears again—this stupid, traitorous body of his—and speaks before he overthinks and forgets the question completely.
“I would,” he says.
“Right?!” Jiang Cheng says, finally releases Lan Zhan to point a stiff finger at Wei Ying’s chest. “Next time I rightfully lose a sparring match and she makes you kneel, tell me. At least let me bring you food or whatever!”
Wei Ying playfully shrieks, the thing he normally does to disperse tension. He shoots up from where he’s sitting and stands next to Lan Zhan, tangling their arms together. Wei Ying doesn’t fully lean in, isn’t pressing his weight against him, but he’s close. His face is so close.
Lan Zhan hasn’t even recovered from Jiang Cheng yet.
“A-Cheng doesn’t understand that I have so much respect for his A-Niang,” Wei Ying says. “If she’s keeping me in line today, that means I learn to control myself better tomorrow. Isn’t that right, Lan Zhan?”
What.
There’s a severe lack of context here. They’re asking him to decide on heavily-nuanced things in their lives, just like that. Or are they? Lan Zhan’s not sure if he’s even supposed to say anything, and it sends him down a momentary state of mild panic.
“You’re overwhelming him again,” Jiang Cheng says.
“You asked him first!”
“Yes, because it’s a perfectly relatable question that can happen to anyone. You’re asking him to choose which one of us is right.”
Jiang Cheng seems irritated—the most irate he’s ever directly been at Wei Ying—and Lan Zhan thinks he’s made it worse by staying around. Lan Zhan does not wish to cause a rift between them. He is not sure he’s important enough to be able to hold them together. They’ve never done anything to make him feel like a passing fancy, but Lan Zhan is a new addition to this; his inability to get the full-context of what’s being asked proves it.
A brief but excruciating stretch of silence follows, with nothing but the sound of leaves dancing in the wind to fill the gap. Wei Ying lays his cheek against Lan Zhan’s shoulder, a comforting warmth amid Lan Zhan’s rushing thoughts.
“I apologize, Lan-Er,” Wei Ying says. “I put you on the spot. It won’t happen again.”
The unseen tension breaks, and the breath Lan Zhan holds rushes out of him. Wei Ying turns his head, his mouth pressing against Lan Zhan’s clothed shoulder. It pulls Lan Zhan out of his thoughts, gives him something to focus on, his attention immediately closing in on one singular point of his entire body.
“We apologize,” Jiang Cheng says, as he stands to join them. “You shouldn’t have to choose.”
Lan Zhan’s heart is battering against his chest. He is both relieved and overcome. He’s grateful to have the decision taken off his hands, appreciates their effort to understand, and blooming affection spreads in his heart. “I could never.”
“Good,” Jiang Cheng says. He steps closer.
This time, Lan Zhan more than just allows him. He reaches out, makes the invitation clear.
Jiang Cheng is surprised, but he steps into the embrace, laying his own cheek on Lan Zhan’s chest facing Wei Ying. Lan Zhan is sure both of them are hearing his heartbeat, that they at the very least know what they’re doing to him. They don’t say anything about it, though; seemingly content in the silence.
Someone might walk in on them; they’re only a few ways away from the others, after all. Someone could already be sitting near the bushes that separates them from the rest of the gardens, but the anxiety of being found does not come.
Someone giggles, and it’s Wei Ying.
“Lan-Er’s pretty on the inside, too,” he says; because of course.
Lan Zhan allows himself a smile.
-
On Wei Ying’s last day of punishment, there are three little bunnies running around the library.
Lan Zhan stares at them with equal horror and an irresistible urge to coo. One is black, then white, then a very rare ash gray. He does not look at the two people standing across him, as they’re looking up at Lan Zhan standing frozen by the doors.
This isn’t allowed.
He shouldn’t allow it.
He should never tolerate people breaking rules, even if said people had taken ownership of his heart.
“No pets are allowed in the Cloud Recesses,” he says, planting his feet firmly on the ground as he digs the scolding out of him. He hopes he sounds firm, and not how he actually feels.
“Ay, Lan Zhan! A-Cheng and I spent an entire afternoon catching them! Do you know how fast wild bunnies are, Lan-Er? We had to bring grass wherever we go!”
Jiang Cheng? Instigating rule breaking?
Lan Zhan thinks he’s actually dreaming, and Wei Ying’s being Wei Ying while Jiang Cheng is somehow possessed. He does not imagine them adorably rolling in the grass, tripping over their feet chasing after rabbits. He does not think about seeing the dirt on their sleeves the day before, how they keep hiding it from him to not ruin the surprise.
“It is not allowed,” Lan Zhan bites out.
Wei Ying pouts at him, a dangerous thing. “Then, we’ll roast them! They’re pretty fat, so I guess A-Cheng and I can skin them for you—”
Lan Zhan chokes. “What?”
“Wei Ying, you’re not supposed to kill anything in the Cloud Recesses,” Jiang Cheng says. He looks more impassive, to say the least. But if he spent a lot of time catching rabbits, he’s probably disappointed too.
“Then we’ll come down the mountain, skin them, and cook them here!”
“No,” Lan Zhan blurts out, horrified.
Jiang Cheng cocks an eyebrow.
He is but a weak man. Lan Zhan is so weak.
Lan Zhan gestures at the general direction of the jingshi. “I’ll—we’ll—we can put them around back”
“Really?” Wei Ying says, at the same time Jiang Cheng scolds, “Wei Ying!”
Lan Zhan stares at the running balls of fluff again, and his control shatters. “They’re still not allowed indoors.”
Wei Ying stands and runs to Lan Zhan, throws arms around his neck and kisses him on the cheek. The touches have become a regular enough thing that it doesn’t send Lan Zhan off into the horizon, but each one is still greatly exciting. Wei Ying whispers something in his ear, and Lan Zhan wants to melt again.
He removes himself from Wei Ying’s grasp to sit beside Jiang Cheng, who now appears to be reading another book. It’s Lan Zhan’s favorite epic, but that’s a thought for another time.
Lan Zhan reaches out, palm up. “Your hand.”
“Why?” Jiang Cheng pretends to be confused, but gives his hand to Lan Zhan anyway.
The back of his palm is already mostly smooth, thanks to a hardworking golden core. The only evidence of a cut is a faint line on his skin that’s lighter than the rest of him. Lan Zhan is lightheaded as he gathers the courage to lift the calloused hand to his lips, and kisses it.
Jiang Cheng’s fingers twitch, but he does not pull away.
“You should never get hurt because of me,” Lan Zhan says.
“You didn’t!” Jiang Cheng shrieks. He never shrieks. That’s a thing Wei Ying does, but Jiang Cheng is red from the roots of his hair down to his chest, his blush disappearing underneath his robes. “It’s just a scratch, A-Zhan.”
Lan Zhan hums, turns Jiang Cheng’s palm, and kisses the inside of it. Jiang Cheng sputters still, but does not take his hand away.
Wei Ying announces himself by throwing his arms around Lan Zhan from behind, speaks against Lan Zhan’s shoulder blade. “I think you broke him, Lan Er-gege.”
A little bold, Lan Zhan turns his head and fleetingly brushes his mouth along Wei Ying’s cheek bones, and Wei Ying keels over.
The last day of Wei Ying’s punishment, isn’t the last day spent in the Library together.
-
Their actual last day comes in like a shock to the lower dantian.
They aren’t even supposed to be there, but Wei Ying forgot his block of ink in his rush to get to the Library Pavilion. They follow him, because who knows if he needs help crawling floors to find it. Wei Ying is bouncing ahead of them, humming a tune Lan Zhan’s been trying on his qin, and he suddenly stops right at the classroom doors.
His entire body goes stiff, and both Lan Zhan and Jiang Cheng walk a little faster.
Lan Zhan thinks Wei Ying has heard more, which is unfortunate, because catching the tail end of the conversation isn’t any better.
“It’s not like she’s anything special,” Jin Zixuan says. “What difference does it make?”
Lan Zhan knows what he’s talking about, and even he—who has never met Jiang Yanli before—feels a stab of pain. Jiang Cheng steps closer, unclear whether he knows he’s moving or not, but it’s Wei Ying who speaks first.
“What did you say?”
He does not shout, does not ironically laugh. His voice is deep, heavily seething, like an oncoming storm. It’s just loud enough to catch the group of Lanling disciples’ attention. Lan Zhan’s hands turn to fist.
This will not end well.
“I said,” Jin Zixuan says. “That your shijie isn’t anything special.”
“What,” Jiang Cheng bites out, steps forward too fast for Lan Zhan to grab him.
Wei Ying manages to put an arm in front of Jiang Cheng, barricading his shidi from marching straight into the fray. “You have the gall—”
“If you’re so angry about it, why don’t you marry her instead?” Jin Zixuan says. “The Jiangs could use a better cultivator in the family—”
The moment explodes, but time slows. Lan Zhan sees everything all at once, but he doesn’t react fast enough.
Jiang Cheng breaks free from Wei Ying’s hold, barrels forward like an angry ram. Lan Zhan comes to grab for him, but Wei Ying is there first. He shoves Jiang Cheng back into Lan Zhan’s chest, steps away—and throws the punch himself.
Lan Zhan cannot hold Jiang Cheng back and reach for Wei Ying at the same time. He puts everything into keeping Jiang Cheng where he is, and watches as Wei Ying heedlessly surges into the brawl.
-
Strangely, their actual last day is a happy one.
Lan Zhan hesitates by the doors, even when they give him permission to stay. Wei Ying is kneeling on the ground, drawing bunnies in the sand with his fingers. He looks less beat up than Jin Zixuan, but he should never look beat up at all if Lan Zhan has a say in it.
Jiang Cheng stands before him, looking down at him with open disapproval. He doesn’t hate him, Lan Zhan knows. He treats him with aggravation, as usual, split between rightful annoyance and understandable worry.
“I could have punched him,” Jiang Cheng says.
As if that helps with anything.
Wei Ying slumps even further, and sighs. “You could have punched him and get sent back to Lotus Pier. We agree he needs someone to knock him around a little, yeah? It is done.”
“And what about you?” Jiang Cheng says. “You’ll get sent back to Lotus Pier, and that’s okay?”
Lan Zhan’s chest constricts. The punishment hasn’t fully sank in, not really. Lan Zhan didn’t expect Wei Ying to get away with it, not with a commotion like that. He already knew the exact verdict before Uncle even stepped in.
The prospect of Wei Ying leaving hangs in the air above him, a bitter thing Lan Zhan cannot swallow, but it is there. He is in no position to do anything.
“A-Cheng, listen,” Wei Ying says. “It’s better they sent an unruly head disciple home instead of the Sect Leader’s son. If you do not care what your parents will think, then at least care about what people will think of them. Of us. A-Cheng—”
“Oh, and you’re disposable, is that it?” Jiang Cheng says, eyes glassy. “How fickle do you think my affections, Wei Ying? To assume what happens to you won’t matter to me?”
Wei Ying looks down.
“Stop doing this,” Jiang Cheng drops to the floor, with none of the grace of a sect heir. “I’ll gladly take shame if the alternative hurts you. I’m training so fucking hard to be worthy of you. I’m offended when someone insults you.”
Lan Zhan looks away. He hasn’t seen them be this vulnerable before, not even to each other. Even with their express permission, they very well could have forgotten they had company. He feels like it’s only right to leave, but he’s not sure they won’t be upset if he does.
“Look, you even made A-Zhan cry,” Jiang Cheng says.
He blinks away tears he didn’t notice falling, and Lan Zhan turns back to them. Of course, he does. He always does.
Wei Ying has twisted around to look back at him, just as far as his position allows. His eyes are a bit red, too; wide and shocked, mouth slightly ajar. Jiang Cheng holds Wei Ying’s hand, firm, as if Wei Ying will disappear if he doesn’t.
“Come here, Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying says.
His voice is soft and lilting. It’s not enthusiastic but tender and welcoming. Jiang Cheng affirms it by pulling his lips into a small smile.
Lan Zhan steps forward, and he walks through an unseen barrier of his own making. His heart hammers harder as he steps closer, drawn by their kneeling forms on the dirt, letting his affections take him across the room. Wei Ying takes his hand as he nears, then pulls him down.
He is kissed before his knees hit the ground, and his legs buckle at the last moment.
He crashes, into the dirt and into Wei Ying’s lips. It is soft and hesitant, but it sets him alight no matter. His world is tilting and he is sliding off, slides him closer and closer to the edge, until Jiang Cheng takes Wei Ying’s place and gently kisses him too, and Lan Zhan’s world turns upside down.
Lan Zhan finally falls.
He’s falling, and does not want it to stop.
“I’m staying,” Jiang Cheng says against Lan Zhan’s lips, but it’s Wei Ying he’s talking to. “It will only make them angrier if I followed.”
Lan Zhan is torn once more, not sure if he’s happy Jiang Cheng stays or devastated Wei Ying has to leave. He doesn’t say a word, because he is in no capacity to use them.
“And in four months, if you can,” Jiang Cheng says, looking up at Lan Zhan this time. “You can come to Yunmeng with me. We’ll see this idiot again, A-Zhan.”
Oh.
Lan Zhan is in love with them. He doesn’t know what to do with that.
Wei Ying takes the both of them in his arms, peppering them with kisses without caring where they land. So many things are happening, so many to process. But they’re finally here, and Lan Zhan doesn’t wish it to go any other way.
His world is no longer the same, but it is for the better.