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Chapter Text

The rich boy is back at the docks, for the third time this week. Wei Wuxian tries not to be too obvious when he stares, although it’s hard not to. Past sunset, most of the merchants have packed up their wares already to head home, and the daily fishing vessels have headed in. A couple workers remain, loading the last of the barrels, and besides them -- just the rich boy, and Wei Wuxian, still hoping for a few more catches.

Most days, he tries to get back in time for a late dinner. Tonight, there’s no point. He has hardly anything to show for the day’s work, so he can’t add to the meal. Jiejie always says it’s fine, but he sees the way it weighs heavy on her back when they barely have enough food to split between the three of them. So they’ll eat what they eat tonight, and Wei Wuxian will have the leftovers. Maybe if he gets lucky, he can leave them fish for breakfast. 

Still, he’s not in low spirits. The water is beautiful today, the waves cresting even in the bay. He likes the hint of adventure -- likes to feel that the ocean is alive beneath him. Even if it’s a pale imitation of the waves his parents traversed.

The rich boy, in contrast, looks sad. He always does.

As the workers roll the last of their wheelbarrows away, Wei Wuxian rows a little closer. The boy is very, very good looking, if you don’t mind the melancholy set of his mouth, and his clear skin shines in the moonlight. Even if Wei Wuxian didn’t grow up with merchants, he’d be able to tell that his robes are made from very fine silk. His eyes are fixed on the water, and when Wei Wuxian calls out to him, he startles.

“Hey!” Wei Wuxian says. “Is something wrong?”

It takes the rich boy’s eyes a moment to find him, caught off guard. Wei Wuxian resists the urge to laugh. “No,” the boy says stiffly. 

“Ah, sorry to bother you,” Wei Wuxian says, although he doesn’t row away. “Are you looking for someone? I know just about the whole pier by now, I can help.”

“No need,” the rich boy says.

“Okay,” Wei Wuxian says, and then because he never knows when to stop, he says, “I’m Wei Ying, by the way. Courtesy Wuxian, but no one really calls me that.” The dock workers all call him hey you , so the only people left who use it are his siblings. “What’s your name?”

“Lan -- Zhan,” the boy says finally, so hesitantly that Wei Wuxian almost assumes it’s a fake name. He hasn’t heard of any Lans in town named Zhan, so he must be a cousin or something. “Just Lan Zhan is fine.”

“Okay!” Wei Wuxian says cheerfully. It suits him. “Well, let me know if you need anything, okay? There aren’t many people with money hanging around the docks at night, so keep an eye out. Someone might try to rob you.”

Lan Zhan eyes him so suspiciously that Wei Wuxian has to laugh.

“Not me!” he protests. “I’m just a fisherman, that’s all. But if I’m not even a thief and I can tell you’re a likely mark, then you should be careful about actual thieves.” He grins up at Lan Zhan. The last of the sunlight is turning his light brown eyes to honey gold. “If I was going to try anything, I wouldn’t warn you about it first, would I.”

“Mm,” Lan Zhan concedes. His gaze returns to the ocean before he turns abruptly. “I must go.”

“See you!” Wei Wuxian calls after him. He feels a little bad about scaring him off, but it’s not as if he could have known he would be either rude, shy, or both. He settles back into his boat. 

Above him, the sky fades from peach to blue. Wei Wuxian’s luck at night isn’t any better than it was during the day, but he still waits until the chill rolling off the bay crawls under his robes before giving up. 

He’s so practiced at securing his boat to shore that he can do it even in the growing dark. By the time everything is tied up and he’s got his meager catch of the day on his back, night has truly fallen. 

The salt always dries his clothes stiff on the walk back. Once, the Jiangs home was only a few paces from the harbor, with a magnificent view. These days, it’s a twenty minute walk. Their house is crowded on either side, which Wei Wuxian wouldn’t mind if it wasn’t a fire hazard. It nearly burned down a year ago, when their neighbor’s candle tipped over in the night. 

He tries to be as quiet as possible slipping in, but the door always creaks. He grimaces, setting his fish down on the table, and tries to squint through the dark to see if Jiejie left him anything to eat. 

“You’re back late,” a voice says in the darkness.

Wei Wuxian jumps, slamming his knee against the table. “Fuck!” he hisses, grabbing a chair to stay upright. “Jiang Cheng, did you wait up all this time just to scare me?” With his eyes adjusting to the darkness, he can just barely make out his brother’s form, arms crossed, in a chair against the wall. 

“Don’t be a baby,” Jiang Cheng says. “Be quiet, Jiejie’s sleeping.” The shack is two rooms, a kitchen and a bedroom, but the walls are so thin that a whisper in one room is audible in the other. 

“ You be quiet,” Wei Wuxian retorts, but he keeps his voice lowered as he sinks into the chair. “Is something wrong?”

“No,” Jiang Cheng says. “But Jiejie was worried when you weren’t back. Usually you don’t stay out that late.”

Wei Wuxian prods at his knee, trying to figure out if he broke the skin. “I’m fine,” he says. “There haven’t been many fish in the bay this week. I thought maybe it would be better once the bigger boats headed out. No dice.”

Jiang Cheng hmphs in displeasure. Wei Wuxian has no idea if it’s directed at him or the fish. 

Wei Wuxian can’t help himself. “You know, if I joined a bigger vessel, I could send--”

“No,” Jiang Cheng says, too sharply. 

“Shh!” Wei Wuxian reminds him, although it’s really his fault for bringing it up. Neither of his siblings will hear of him venturing beyond the bay, although Jiejie doesn’t snap like that. She just grows quiet and unhappy at the thought, unwilling to scold him but even more unwilling to let him put himself in danger. “Sorry, sorry. I just -- you know the money’s better.” He’d kill for a solid paycheck each month to send back, rather than trying to support them on whatever he can catch himself. 

“Shut up,” Jiang Cheng says. “It’s not worth your life.” 

There’s nothing Wei Wuxian could say that he hasn’t said a hundred times already. Like how Uncle Jiang and Madame Yu’s ship capsizing wasn’t representative of the general sailing experience. But Jiang Cheng would only say what he always says: wasn’t Wei Wuxian losing two sets of parents to the ocean enough? Wei Wuxian sighs, but he lets it go. 

“There’s rice in the pot,” Jiang Cheng mutters, a peace offering as he turns back into the bedroom. “It’s cold by now.”

Wei Wuxian is anything but picky. He scrapes what he can into a bowl and eats, hardly tasting. Under his stiff clothes, his skin itches, but he’s too tired to strip and scrub himself off. For now, he just shoves the last of the rice into his mouth and changes into the trousers and tunic folded up by the doorway before curling up on his cot. 

.

Unsettled by his conversation with the smiling fisherman, Lan Wangji doesn’t return to the docks for as long as he can bear it, which turns out to be three days. It might have been longer if his brother had free time to walk on the beach with him, but Xichen is often busy these days, and so, Lan Wangji returns to the docks.

He tells himself he isn’t breaking the rules, but that’s an outright lie. He promised Xichen years and years ago that he would not go down to the beach by himself, but he knows perfectly well what Xichen meant was, “Do not go near the water.”

The docks are as close to the water as he can get. If Lan Wangji closes his eyes, he can feel the slosh of the tide beneath him -- there is only damp wood and three feet of air between Lan Wangji and the sea. It’s punishment as much as it is relief, and Lan Wangji is not strong enough to resist. 

He doesn’t see the fisherman at first, which he tells himself is a good thing. He knows he stands out among the people at the docks, and talking to anyone only makes him more conspicuous. The last thing he needs is anyone recognizing him. And yet, any kind of attempt at a disguise just leaves him feeling silly. 

Lan Wangji stands on the furthest pier, mostly ignored as people go about their evening. The salt smell is overpowering here, and he almost feels dizzy. In front of him, the ocean stretches out and out and out. 

For as long as he can remember, he’s always wanted to sink into the cold water and let himself follow the waves as far as they’ll take him. He cannot remember what his mother’s arms feel like around him, but he imagines that being swallowed by the ocean would feel like that, like an anchor around them.

“Lan Zhan!”

His reverie breaks. The fisherman waves at him merrily, his small boat rocked even by the gentle waves this close to land. With dread and curiosity combined, Lan Wangji watches as Wei Ying rows himself closer to the pier. He regrets telling him his real name, although Wei Ying hadn’t shown any recognition. 

“I thought I’d frightened you away!” Wei Ying calls brightly. His hands are steady and strong on the oars. His tan face is warm and welcoming. “Glad to see I didn’t.”

“Mm,” Lan Wangji says uncertainly. He dislikes not knowing what people want from him. His uncle wants him to be obedient, his brother wants him to be safe. Everyone else is a mystery, but no one so much as Wei Ying. Lan Wangji clears his throat. “How were the. Fish,” he asks awkwardly. 

“Not bad, not bad,” Wei Ying says. “I capsized this morning, so I lost the first few, but it’s been a good day after that.”

His boat, although not in disrepair, certainly doesn’t look particularly stable. However, Lan Wangji has never been on a sea vessel, and therefore can only observe. “I am sorry,” he says.

“Don’t be,” Wei Ying says, waving him off. “I’m sure those fish were supposed to be pardoned by fate.” He lets the oars rest and leans back, tilting his head to look at Lan Wangji. “Did you find what you’re looking for? On the docks today?”

Lan Wangji wants to turn away from his gaze. He isn’t used to being seen. “No,” he says, because he doesn’t know how to explain what he’s looking for in the first place.
Wei Ying props his chin on his fist. “Can I guess?” Without waiting for an answer, he continues, “You’ve fallen in love with a pirate girl, and you’re waiting for her to steal you away to be the glittering jewel of her collection, so you can live on the open ocean together.”

Lan Wangji narrows his eyes at him. Perhaps so much time in the sun has fried Wei Ying’s brain. But there’s a rueful twist to his mouth, as if he too knows he’s speaking nonsense. Does he want Lan Wangji to say something nonsensical back?

Finally, Lan Wangji shakes his head. “No.”

“Ah well,” Wei Ying says. “I’ll get it next time. I assume you’re coming back.”

Each time he comes to the docks, Lan Wangji has told himself it is the last time. It is a vice he should not indulge in, one that would worry his brother and anger his uncle. But there is no point in lying to Wei Ying like he lies to himself. “Yes,” he says. “But I should go.”

Wei Ying waves goodbye. “Goodnight!” he calls after him, and Lan Wangji’s heart, already roused by the ocean, beats even faster. 

.

It’s not every night, but every few days, he brings his dinghy back to the docks and Lan Zhan is there, gazing at the horizon in the warm wash of sunset. Wei Wuxian looks forward to it every time.

Over the next few weeks, Wei Wuxian guesses everything he can think of, from “You lost a family heirloom the last time you went swimming and you’re waiting for it to float back,” to “You have really good eyesight and you’re watching what’s happening on the other side of the ocean.” Each time, Lan Zhan gives a slight shake of his head. But he doesn’t tell Wei Wuxian to stop guessing.

When Lan Zhan returns after five days of absence, Wei Wuxian gets so excited to see him that he stands up and nearly flips the boat. He flings his arms out for balance and lets it settle beneath him. 

He looks back up, and finds Lan Zhan with an arm extended and his eyes wide. “Please be careful,” he says.

“Ahaha,” Wei Wuxian says. “Don’t worry about me, Lan Zhan. It’s only twenty feet deep here, the worst that could happen is I’d lose my fish for the day and my brother would mock me mercilessly.”

Lan Zhan blinks at him and lowers his arm. “Your brother?” he echoes, making it into a question.

“I have a younger brother,” Wei Wuxian explains. “Well, not by much. We’re basically the same age. An older sister too, but she would never make fun of me like that.”

“I have an older brother,” Lan Zhan says, volunteering an entirely new piece of information about himself. Wei Wuxian is delighted, even though Lan Zhan does not elaborate.

“Does he tease you?” Wei Wuxian asks, sitting back. 

Lan Zhan thinks about it before answering, which is extremely cute. “Sometimes,” he says, “he will offer me black tea first, even though he knows I prefer white.”

Wei Wuxian laughs. “He’s the jokester of the family, then?”

“Mm,” Lan Zhan says noncommittally. His gaze skirts away. “Are your siblings also fisher… people?”

Wei Wuxian shakes his head. “No, Jiejie is a washerwoman,” he says. It’s one of many reasons that he’d like to take a job on a bigger ship; Jiang Yanli’s hands are dry and cracked, and the lotion that makes them feel better is expensive. “And Jiang Cheng balances the books for an inn.”

He knows it’s not the future Uncle Jiang and Madame Yu envisioned for their children, but it’s a far sight nicer than right after the ship crashed. They have a roof over their heads and usually enough food to eat. The truth is that his siblings’ jobs put together barely pull in what he makes in a decent week, but Jiang Yanli gets sunsick so easily, and Jiang Cheng would chain himself to the dock before setting foot in another boat. So he fishes alone. 

Wei Wuxian almost asks what Lan Zhan’s parents do, before he remembers that if Lan Zhan is the kind of Lan that rules the town, his parents probably don’t “do” anything. Even when the Jiangs were at their wealthiest, they were still new money. But the Lan roots here grow deep, even if Lan Zhan isn’t a main Lan.

“We make do,” he concludes. 

“Good,” Lan Zhan says softly. A moment of silence stretches between them, broken only by the lapping of the waves against the dock. A larger wave sweeps by, and Wei Wuxian’s dinghy bumps up against the poles of the dock, startling Lan Wangji. “Please be careful,” he repeats.

Wei Wuxian just smiles. “You sound like my brother,” he says, although if it were Jiang Cheng there would be a lot more yelling involved. He thumps the side of his boat. “Good old Suibian has been through much worse.”

Lan Zhan tilts his head. “Your boat is named Suibian?”

“She’s an old friend at this point,” Wei Wuxian says. He tries to pat the seat and gets a splinter. “Ouch. I bought her used, and there was a name on the side, but I couldn’t make out what it said, and the person who sold it to me didn’t know either. So I started calling her whatever and it stuck!”

He knows it’s unusual. The Jiang’s ship, their pride and joy, had been the Lotus. His mother’s ship had been the Rogue. But Suibian’s name suits her. He bought her four years ago, and although she’s flipped more times than he can count, she’s never sunk or broken. 

Lan Zhan listens to him speak thoughtfully. Wei Wuxian has realized, over their past few interactions, that although Lan Zhan’s eyes inevitably stray back to the horizon, it doesn’t mean he’s not listening. 

“Maybe someday I’ll be able to afford a bigger boat,” Wei Wuxian reflects. “But it feels like bad luck to start thinking up names so far in advance.”

“Mm,” Lan Zhan agrees. “I am sure Suibian took you a long time to come up with.”

Wei Wuxian laughs, half out of surprise and half delight. “Lan Zhan! Are you making a joke at my expense? I have plenty of imagination, I’ll have you know.”

It fades so quickly that Wei Wuxian could dismiss it as a trick of the light, but he could swear he sees the corner of Lan Zhan’s mouth quirk up in a tiny smile. 

Wei Wuxian skips home that evening, even with the fish on his back. Talking to Lan Zhan always makes him feel light inside -- it’s been a long time since he had a friend who wasn’t his siblings.

His good mood fades when he creaks open the door to reveal the dinner table in shambles. Jiang Yanli is bent over a pot on the stove, her shoulders hunched.

“Jiejie,” Wei Wuxian says immediately, abandoning his fish by the door. “What’s wrong? Did someone break in?”

When she turns to look at him, her lips are pursed and her eyes are downcast. “No, no,” she says, keeping her voice low. “It’s just -- A-Cheng lost his job today.”

Wei Wuxian scowls. “And he had to take it out on our most functional piece of furniture?”

“Be nice,” she says, a familiar refrain. As children, she always said it with an indulgent smile -- now, it sounds closer to a plea. “He took it poorly. I don’t know exactly what happened.” 

Wei Wuxian sighs. “I’m sorry,” he says. “I’m sorry, Jiejie.” He steps closer and hugs her, hoping she doesn’t mind that he still smells of salt and fish. Jiang Cheng has complained enough times that he stinks up the whole house, so she’s probably used to it by now. “We’ll figure something out.”

Jiang Yanli hugs him back. She was always slight, but over the past few years she’s gone from thin to frail. Still, her arms are strong from hauling baskets and washing clothes all day, and she squeezes Wei Wuxian tightly. “I know,” she says softly. “I wouldn’t be so upset, except for the way he blames himself. He already feels guilty that he can’t fish with you, and now…”

She lets the words trail off. 

“He’ll find something else to do,” Wei Wuxian says, with more confidence than he feels. The job at the inn had been heaven sent at the time, and he doesn’t even want to know what his brother did to lose it after almost five years. 

Jiang Yanli nods. “Yes,” she says. “You’re right.” She turns back to the stove. “This will be ready soon. You want to try to talk to him? He should have cooled off by now.”

Wei Wuxian laughs. “You sure you want to deputize me, Jiejie? I might just make it worse.” 

She swats playfully at his arm. “Well, just don’t antagonize him.”

“Would you believe me if I say I’m not usually trying to?” Wei Wuxian asks, but he crosses the room without complaint and knocks on the door. “Jiang Cheng, can I come in?”

A grunt. “Whatever.”

Wei Wuxian takes it as a yes. When he comes in, the room is dark, with their makeshift curtains pulled across the window. Jiang Cheng is sitting cross-legged on one of the cots, head in his hands.

“Are you here to yell at me?” he snaps. 

“No, actually,” Wei Wuxian says. “What am I even going to scold you for? It’s not your fault you got fired.”

Jiang Cheng grimaces at him. He looks terrible. 

“Hold on,” Wei Wuxian says. He pushes his mattress up, rummaging around beneath it. After a moment, he retrieves a small bottle of liquor and presses it into Jiang Cheng’s hands. “We can drown our sorrows while you tell me what happened.”

Jiang Cheng’s expression is caught somewhere between bemused and annoyed. “Wei Wuxian,” he mutters, but he unstoppers the bottle and takes a swig, then gags. “Ugh, that’s vile.”

“Isn’t it?” Wei Wuxian agrees cheerfully. He nabs it from his brother’s loose grasp and drinks some too. It burns on the way down like coughing up saltwater. “ Guh , yuck. Okay, tell me everything.”

Jiang Cheng tightens his jaw. The alcohol is already starting to paint his cheeks pink. “Okay, but you have to promise not to tell Jiejie.”

“What does it have to do with her?”

Jiang Cheng clenches his fist in his lap. “I guess all the nicer inns were sold out for the night,” he says. “And you’ll never guess who showed up on short notice acting like he owned the place.”

It’s not hard to guess, even with the liquor creeping through Wei Wuxian’s system. “No.”

“Yeah,” Jiang Cheng says. 

Wei Wuxian knows why Jiang Cheng will tell him and not their sister; they share an absolute hatred of Jin Zixuan that Jiang Yanli won’t fully commit too. She’ll want to give him the benefit of the doubt. 

“What did he do?” Wei Wuxian demands.

Jiang Cheng snags the little bottle back, and empties it. After wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, he says grimly, “Nothing. He didn’t even recognize me at first.”

It’s not so surprising; Jiang Cheng looks different to how he used to too. Unlike Jiang Yanli, he’s filled out in the last five years, growing nearly as tall as Wei Wuxian and broader in the shoulders. Any baby fat left in his cheeks when his parents died is long, long gone, so his face looks different too. Since Wei Wuxian doubts Jin Zixuan spends much time looking inn employees in the eyes, it makes sense that he wouldn’t see the resemblance.

“At first?” Wei Wuxian echoes. 

Jiang Cheng sighs. “His stupid fucking cousin realized who I was,” he says. “And he wouldn’t shut the fuck up about how far the little Jiang trade heir had fallen. How he’d always said the Jins would win out in the end, etcetera.”

Wei Wuxian’s stomach drops. They’ve all had to swallow their pride over the years, but Jiang Cheng took it harder than either Wei Wuxian or Jiang Yanli. He was the one who was supposed to run the business after his parents stepped down. “Jiang Cheng…” 

He reaches for his arm; Jiang Cheng shakes him off.

“It’s fine ,” he snaps. “It wasn’t even -- it wasn’t a big deal. That wasn’t the problem. Then he started talking about how lucky the fucking peacock was to get out of marrying Jiejie.”

Wei Wuxian’s mouth falls open in outrage. “He didn’t--!”

“Yeah,” Jiang Cheng says sourly. “And the peacock didn’t deny it. And I just--” His fist clenches again in his lap, and for the first time Wei Wuxian realizes that his knuckles are bruised. “I’m lucky they didn’t get me arrested, I guess. I just lost my job and Jin Zixuan generously decided that was enough punishment.” He closes his eyes, frustrated. “I’m sorry that I got fired, but I don’t regret--”

“I would have done the same,” Wei Wuxian assures him immediately. “I don’t blame you at all.” He shakes Jiang Cheng by the shoulder. “Hey. Those Jin motherfuckers deserved worse than your fist in their faces.”

“Face, singular,” Jiang Cheng mutters. “It was just Jin Zixuan. If I’d known I was going to get dragged off, I would have punched Jin Zixun first.” His mouth twists. “A-Niang would be furious.”

“Hey.” Wei Wuxian hauls Jiang Cheng into a hug. His brother resists for a moment before relaxing and hugging him back, his fist digging into Wei Wuxian’s spine. “Madame Yu would be proud that you defended Jiejie’s name.”

Jiang Cheng exhales roughly. “You think?”

Wei Wuxian doesn’t know. In the years since Jiang Fengmian and Yu Ziyuan’s deaths, his memory of them has gone fuzzy around the edges, softening their actual personalities. It’s easier to think kindly of them when they’re dead, easier to summon them up as symbols of their former prosperity. Five years later, it seems like every moment of life when they were alive was comfortable and shiny and well-fed. “Yeah,” he says, with more surety than he feels. 

Jiang Yanli raps on the doorway as a warning before she peeks her head in. “Dinner soon.” Her eyes, tired but still warm, shift between them. Her tone changes, lightly teasing. “We’ll be eating on the floor.”

Jiang Cheng groans. “Sorry, Jiejie,” he says. 

“It’s okay,” Jiang Yanli says, twinkling at him. “We needed more firewood anyway.”

“I’ll start looking for another job tomorrow,” Jiang Cheng promises. “Maybe a restaurant or something, I don’t know.”

There’s precious few jobs in the area that don’t have to do with the ocean. None of them bring it up. Wei Wuxian swallows back the urge to bring up getting a job on a proper ship again -- it’s not worth it to ruin the mood, not when Jiang Cheng’s shoulder is still bumping up against his. He springs to his feet instead and declares, “Let’s eat!”

Lan Wangji arrives home later than he meant to, as the very last dregs of sunset fade over the horizon. Leaving the ocean is always difficult, and between that and Wei Ying’s lively conversation, he lost track of time. It’s getting harder and harder to tell himself that he doesn’t truly enjoy Wei Ying’s company. 

The bustle of the town fades away as he walks the paths back home. The Lan estate is set apart from the town they preside over by a fifteen minute stroll that leads up to bluffs overlooking the rocky beach. Lan Wangji rarely left the estate in childhood, but lately his urges have been itching more and more. It’s difficult not to feel trapped.

Lan Wangji’s path takes him around the main buildings, out of sight. He doesn’t expect to see anyone; the servants are instructed to leave his dinner at the door if he doesn’t answer their knocks. 

Tonight, though, he finds his brother sitting on his porch. His shoulders relax when he spots Lan Wangji, and he stands. 

“Wangji,” he says. “I wasn’t sure where you were.”

It’s impossible to miss the note of anxiety in his tone. Guilt rattles in Lan Wangji’s chest. “Xiongzhang,” he says. “I was walking in town.” It’s not a lie, not exactly. He was walking. “Is that alright?”

“Yes, of course,” Lan Xichen says, stepping closer, his hand tucked behind him. “Of course it is, you know I simply -- I worry too much. Perhaps next time you plan on walking late, you could leave me a note?”

Lan Wangji inclines his head. It’s a small thing to do, after all, especially when he is knowingly and willingly betraying his brother’s wishes.  

Lan Xichen’s mouth presses into a smile. “Thank you, Wangji. I’ll go tell Uncle you’re back.”

Lan Wangji is selfishly glad that it was his brother waiting for him and not his uncle. Lan Xichen doesn’t understand him, not exactly, but at least he never belittles Lan Wangji. Lan Wangji has sat through many, many lectures about the dangers of the sea and his sickness from his uncle; at this point, he could probably recite them word for word. 

“I am sorry I worried you,” Lan Wangji says quietly. He is. He always is. He’s just not sorry enough to stop returning to the docks like the tides to shore. 

His brother sighs. “It’s not your fault,” he says gently. “Go on, you ought to eat dinner.” He offers Lan Wangji another faint smile before turning to walk down the path. 

It’s always something. Lan Xichen has been fretting about Lan Wangji eating enough ever since that awful trip inland. Lan Wangji stoops to pick up the covered tray of food at his doorstep and slides the door open to the dark interior of his home.

The Jingshi is often dark. Uncle had the ocean-facing windows boarded up years ago. If Lan Wangji was the kind of man who laughed, he would find it laughable. Just because he can’t see the ocean doesn’t mean it won’t be there when he walks outside or that he can’t hear the distant crash of waves or that he can’t feel the pull of it somewhere deep, deep inside him. Blindfolded and earplugged and spun around until dizzy, Lan Wangji could still walk straight towards the sea. 

He eats his meal in silence. 

Wei Ying often speaks about food, he reflects. Lan Wangji has learned more about how expensive various spices are in the past three weeks than in the entire rest of his life. He looks down at his meal of rice and clear soup and cold vegetables and wonders what Wei Ying would think of it. 

It’s foolish thinking. He knows that. 

But what is he supposed to do, when Wei Ying unfailingly approaches him? When Wei Ying looks right at him and asks his opinion on things he has never even considered once? The merits of owning a horse versus a donkey. Whether purple or red is the nicer color. Whether the sea looks best at sunset or sunrise. It is overwhelming.

Lan Wangji finishes his meal and sets his tray aside. Is it folly, he wonders, to consider Wei Ying a friend? 

Ultimately, it doesn’t matter, surely. As long as he keeps going back to the docks, Wei Ying will greet him with that smile, the one that makes Lan Wangji’s heart stutter in his chest. Lan Wangji cannot go down to the seashore, not without outright breaking his promise to his brother, so he will keep returning to the docks. 

It’s nice, if he can admit it to himself, to be treated like any other person. Wei Ying does not see him as the cold second young master of the Lan family, nor an unwell little brother, nor a difficult nephew. Lan Wangji is both terrified of and fascinated by whatever he sees in him instead. 

Uncle taught him guqin as a measure of discipline, a way to force his thoughts back to logic and reason. Usually it works. Tonight, he finds himself plucking different strings, searching for sequence to echo the strange, tentative feeling that has crawled into his chest. 

.

The docks are sparse today -- over half the sailors and fishermen and workers have taken the day off for New Years Eve. Wei Wuxian has no such luxury, although he’s hoping to head home earlier than usual. 

“I won’t be here tomorrow,” he warns Lan Zhan. “Jiejie has the day off, and Jiang Cheng is still jobhunting, so the three of us will actually get to spend time together.”

For once, he has successfully coaxed Lan Zhan to sit down on the docks. His legs are folded neatly, rather than dangling them down towards the water, but it still puts them closer than they usually are. “That sounds nice,” Lan Zhan says quietly. 

“Yeah!” Wei Wuxian says. It’s nothing like the celebrations of their childhood, which were full of so much food that they had to spend the afternoon sleeping it off and so many red envelopes they could hardly keep track of them, but it will still be nice to have the leisure time. Money is too tight this year for any big gifts, but Jiang Yanli had promised to make special food, and Wei Wuxian and Jiang Cheng pooled their resources to buy her a dainty bracelet with red beads. Heavens know they could all use the good luck. “Do you have plans? Are you going to do anything fun with your brother?”

Wei Wuxian shamelessly plies Lan Zhan for information about his family often enough that Lan Zhan barely blinks at the question. “The usual,” he says. “We will exchange one gift each, so as not to indulge in excess. I bought him a book.”

“The whole point is excess,” Wei Wuxian points out. “Even when I was just a little kid with my parents on their ship, I’m sure we were indulging in excess in the middle of the ocean.” He doesn’t really remember, but he feels this in his bones: his parents must have appreciated a good excuse to celebrate. 

“Your parents?” Lan Zhan asks. 

“Ah, long gone,” Wei Wuxian says. On the wharf behind Lan Zhan, the glow of lanterns is beginning to be visible throughout town. 

“I am sorry,” Lan Zhan says. 

Wei Wuxian waves him off. “It’s fine, it’s fine. I hardly remember them. Most of what I know about them came from Jiang-shushu, when he was in the mood to reminisce. Apparently I was born in the middle of one of their journeys. They left port and came back a year and a half later with an infant in tow.” 

Lan Zhan casts his gaze out over the sea, contemplative as always. “They were sailors?”

“Explorers!” Wei Wuxian corrects. “The Rogue didn’t hold much cargo. They traveled because they wanted to, not because they had to.” He sighs. “It sounds amazing, doesn’t it? Being beholden to nothing and no one.”

“Mm,” Lan Zhan says softly. 

“They died in a storm when I was four,” Wei Wuxian says. “I don’t remember it, but Jiang-shushu found me in a random port up north when he was trying to find them, and took me back here.”

Lan Zhan is silent for a long, long moment. His hands are folded properly in his lap. Wei Wuxian can’t help but notice them; even when he was living with the Jiangs, he’s sure his hands were never that pale or soft. Has Lan Zhan ever so much as held an oar? 

“My parents died in the sea too,” he says finally. 

“Ah, I’m sorry,” Wei Wuxian says. “I didn’t mean to bring the mood down. It’s a holiday, after all. We should be looking forward to the future, not bringing up past tragedy.” It casts Lan Zhan’s perpetual gazes at the sea in a different light, to be sure. Wei Wuxian wonders, with a clench in his chest, if he’s waiting for his parents to come back. 

Hastily, he turns to his net of catches for the day and finds the biggest fish. “Here, Lan Zhan, I wanted to give you a present. It’s not exactly catfish, I know, but you know it’s fresh because I caught it an hour ago.” He wraps it up in a spare piece of cloth and hands it to Lan Zhan. 

When Lan Zhan’s eyes find his, there’s a moment where he just looks entirely lost. He looks at Wei Wuxian, then the wrapped fish, then slowly, he reaches down and takes it with both hands. 

“Thank you,” he says. “There was no need.”

“Fish are the one thing I’m wealthy in,” Wei Wuxian jokes. “It’s no trouble. And before you say it’s excessive, Lan Zhan, it’s just one fish.”

“I did not bring you anything,” Lan Zhan says, staring down at it. 

Wei Wuxian smiles at him. “You brought me your company, didn’t you? That’s an irreplaceable gift.”

It’s hard to tell in the low light, especially with the red glow of the lanterns catching in Lan Zhan’s hair, but Wei Wuxian thinks he might blush. Just a little. He grins. 

“I’m going to head back home,” he says. “You should too. I’m sure you want to spend the night before New Years with your family.” Lan Zhan usually comes and goes as he pleases, but for the first time, Wei Wuxian ventures, “I won’t be here tomorrow, but will I see you soon?”

Lan Zhan inclines his head. “I will be back in two days,” he says, with all the solemnity of a promise. He stands gracefully, but hesitates for a moment.

“See you next year!” Wei Wuxian says happily. 

This time, he’s sure he sees it. The corner of Lan Zhan’s mouth twitches, just slightly. “I wish you good health and fortune,” he says, and bows formally with the fish between his hands, like he’s holding a sword. 

Then, carefully, as if handling a priceless treasure, he tucks the wrapped fish under his arm and walks back down the docks, towards the lanterns. 

.

Lan Wangji hands off the fish to the cooks on his way to the Jingshi. There are a few hours left until dinner still, and he plans to spend them composing. The tune in his head has been growing and growing over the past few weeks. It is beginning to sound like a real song. 

The festivities in town were almost entirely foreign to Lan Wangji. He was given red envelopes as a child, but always with a sense of solemnity and the implication that he and his brother would spend the money inside responsibly or tuck it away. The loud, joyful celebrations in town are the kind of thing that would never be allowed in the Lan home. 

The fish that Wei Ying gave him is big enough for three portions, although he doubts that his uncle will partake. When they sit down to dinner, Lan Xichen notices it with surprise. “I didn’t ask the kitchens for fish,” he says, bemused. 

“I gave it to them,” Lan Wangji says. “It was a gift. It seemed inauspicious to refuse.”

Uncle hmphs. “Who’s giving you gifts, Wangji?”

Uncle is difficult to please, and ever-suspicious, even when Lan Wangji hasn’t actually broken any rules. He knows it’s because Uncle cares about them.

Lan Wangji trains his eyes on his plate. “I passed through the market in town,” he says. “A fisherman gave it to me.”

“Well, that was very kind of him,” Lan Xichen says firmly, in a clear attempt to dispel the tension. “A good way to start the new year. You should buy from his stall if you see him again, Wangji, as a thank you.”

“Mm,” Lan Wangji says, although Wei Ying doesn’t have a stall. He’s learned a great deal about haggling with the market vendors for a fair price on fresh fish from Wei Ying, but he knows that Wei Ying has no interest in selling his fish himself, and therefore must sell his catches to a middleman. He wonders if that would be a viable career for Wei Ying’s brother.

The meal is silent, as always. 

When they finish eating, Lan Xichen pours them each a cup of tea. “To good health in the coming year,” he murmurs.

Lan Wangji’s brother has never bothered wishing for prosperity; why wish for something they already have? He always wishes for health or luck. Lan Wangji curls his fingers around his warm cup and nods. 

.

The new year finds Wei Wuxian with a full stomach and a smile on his face. He spends the day with both his siblings within arms reach. Jiang Cheng is in the first truly good mood since he lost his job a few weeks ago. For the first time in years, all three of them sleep in, and they spend the day wandering the bustling streets.

When he drags himself out of bed the next morning before sunrise, he can hardly begrudge the earliness of the hour. Usually it takes a while for his brain to fully start working, but today he knows he will see Lan Zhan in the evening, and it puts a spring in his step. 

It’s not that he minds Lan Zhan’s unpredictable schedule. But he’s starting to feel a swoop of disappointment in his stomach whenever he reaches the docks at the end of the day and Lan Zhan isn’t there.

The winter wind over the waves is mellow today, the sun half hidden behind clouds. If it weren’t for his good night’s rest, he’d probably doze off in between catches. 

Sunset can’t come quickly enough. When he rows back towards the shoreline, he can already see Lan Zhan’s white robes. The sight makes his heart swell in his chest. Lan Zhan said he would meet him, and he did!

“Lan Zhan!” he calls, although he’s too far away for his voice to carry. He settles for enthusiastically waving both hands over his head, and almost loses an oar in the process. As he’s fumbling to grab it, Lan Zhan’s distant figure on the docks raises a hesitant hand in greeting too.

Wei Wuxian can’t help but grin as Suibian bobs closer. “How are you?”

“I am well,” Lan Zhan says, dipping his head. His hand emerges from his wide sleeve, holding something. “I have brought you a gift.”

Wei Wuxian gapes at him. “You really didn’t have to,” he says. He rows himself nearer to the pier. “Is that -- alcohol?”

“Emperor’s Smile,” Lan Zhan says. “You mentioned you wanted to try it.”

“That stuff is more expensive than gold,” Wei Wuxian says faintly. “Lan Zhan, I can’t possibly accept.”

“I do not drink,” Lan Zhan counters. “It will go to waste if you do not take it. And you gave me a gift first.”

“Of a fish! I catch dozens every day!”

“A nice fish,” Lan Zhan allows. 

Wei Wuxian shakes his head, stunned. “You’re too much, Lan Zhan, you really are. Wow.” 

Dryly, Lan Zhan goes to unstopper one of the bottles. “I can pour it out, if you prefer--”

“No!” Wei Wuxian yelps. “Ah, ah, don’t even joke about that.”

Lan Zhan kneels down to get closer to his level. He goes so fluidly, with no mind for the wet wood of the pier staining his fine robes. “Here,” he says, handing one of the two bottles over. 

Their fingers brush as Wei Wuxian takes the ceramic jug. He’s self conscious of the roughness of his fingertips when Lan Zhan’s skin is so smooth. He cradles the Emperor’s Smile to his chest like a baby. “I can’t believe you,” he says, awed, but he raises the bottle to his nose anyway to sniff. “Wow. Wow.”

Lan Zhan sits back, the faintest hint of smugness on his face. “If it is not suitable, feel free to pass it to your siblings.”

“Not suitable,” Wei Wuxian mocks. “You’re very proud of yourself, aren’t you?” It would probably be more effective ribbing if he could get the dazed look of his face. He takes a very small sip and sighs. “Lan Zhan, how am I supposed to compete with this?”

The wine is gorgeous. He was barely old enough to be drinking when Jiang-shushu was still alive, and even then this stuff was out of his price range. He has to restrain himself from taking another gulp; it’s a bad idea to be alone on a boat drunk, even just a few meters from shore. 

“Not a competition,” Lan Zhan says. He adds, “My brother enjoyed the fish.”

“Good,” Wei Wuxian says. “Mine are the best in the harbor, you know. Tell your friends.” He sits back down in Suibian, gazing up at his friend. “Thanks, Lan Zhan. Really, thank you. I couldn’t think of a better present.”

“It is not a problem,” Lan Zhan says, so sincerely that Wei Wuxian can’t help but believe him.

“I forgot to guess why you keep coming down here last time,” Wei Wuxian says. “I think I get to guess twice today.”

Lan Zhan gazes down at him. “Go ahead.”

He taps his chin in thought. “Guess one: You’re trying to fight a sea monster and you come here all the time in the hopes that he’ll meet you here and you can finally have your battle to the death.” He gets only the smallest head shake. “Ah, okay. Then, guess two, you’re a champion stone skipper and you’re trying to figure out how to skip a stone from the docks so far that it comes all the way back around the world.”

“Not quite,” Lan Zhan says. 

“I’ll get it next time,” Wei Wuxian insists. 

“Mm,” Lan Zhan agrees diplomatically.

It’s not the bobbing of the boat making Wei Wuxian’s stomach flip. Lan Zhan looks so very good silhouetted in the sunset, like something out of a painting. Wei Ying never has paper with him, because he’s not made of money, but his hands itch to try to sketch him just like this: the delicate curve of his ear, the smooth line of his jaw, his long, gentle fingers. The way his mouth settles into a pensive line. 

Their lives are awfully different; the Emperor’s Smile is proof of that. And yet, in other ways, they understand each other. Both orphaned by the sea, both entranced by it anyway. He wonders, abruptly, if Lan Zhan is happy. He wonders if he could make him happy. 

“I told my brother I would return by nightfall,” Lan Zhan says. “He worries if he does not know when I am coming back, or if I am late.”

“Overprotective, huh?” Wei Wuxian says sympathetically. There are still some of Lan Zhan’s expressions he hasn’t learned how to read. This is one of them. “Well, okay. I’ll see you soon?”

“Yes,” Lan Zhan says, soft and sure. 

“Thank you for the liquor, Lan Zhan,” Wei Wuxian says. “And the conversation.”

Lan Zhan nods. “The same to you. Good night.” 

Wei Wuxian watches him make his way down the pier. He sticks out just as much as he always did, but most of the daily workers have grown so used to him by now that they hardly give him a second glance. In his white robes, it’s easy to find him in a crowd, and Wei Wuxian can’t bring himself to look away until Lan Zhan disappears around a building, back into town. 

.

Lan Wangji catches his brother watching him curiously in the library as they read alongside each other. After several moments of politely pretending not to notice, he says, “Xiongzhang, is something wrong?”

He can’t help but worry that his rule breaking has been found out -- although if his brother knew the truth, surely he would react more strongly.

“It’s nothing,” Lan Xichen says. “I didn’t mean to disturb you.” He reaches out as if to touch Lan Wangji’s shoulder, but hesitates at the last moment and simply folds his sleeve into place. “I’m simply proud of you, that’s all.”

Lan Wangji doesn’t know what to say. “What for?”

“Your color has been better lately,” Lan Xichen says. “You don’t seem so restless. Walking in town and through the forest was a good idea. Perhaps it does you good to be amongst people.”

There’s too much hope in his voice. Lan Wangji averts his eyes. “Xiongzhang…”

Lan Xichen sighs. “I’m sorry, I know you grow weary of my fussing.” His eyes, when Lan Wangji tentatively meets them, are gentle. “It pleases me to see you with more energy.” He hesitates. “How have your… impulses been, lately?”

It’s a kinder word than urges or compulsions. Lan Wangji still knows what he means. “The same,” he admits. 

His brother only deflates a little. “I see,” he says. “Well, perhaps we should walk on the beach soon. Maybe tomorrow, when the tide is low. Thank you for telling me.”

“Mm,” Lan Wangji says, trying to ignore the guilt welling up in his throat. He promised his brother years ago to be honest about his… impulses, even though he’s sure that lying would make Lan Xichen feel better. He still remembers the look on his face, all those years ago, when he had first wrenched Lan Wangji away from the water’s edge. 

Lan Xichen, thirteen and still round-faced, was pale in the moonlight, his eyes narrowed in fear. “Do you want to die?” he had demanded, trembling. He had never spoken to him so sharply before, not even when Lan Wangji accidentally broke his precious flute. “You’ll drown , Wangji.”

Lan Wangji, eight and still half-dreaming in his night robe, had shaken his head. The smooth rocks were cold on his bare feet. “No, no,” he had insisted. “I won’t, Xiongzhang, I just want to -- need to--” He turned back towards the water, longing, a flower to the sun. “I would be safe down there. I want to go. Please.”

His brother had scooped him up into his arms then, and marched quickly away from the shoreline, from the crash of waves on the beach. Lan Wangji hadn’t fought him, but he still remembers the way the water looked over Lan Xichen’s shoulder. The way the waves reached up and out as if they were stretching out to greet him, if only he could wade in and meet them halfway. 

Later, when Lan Xichen’s panic was not quite so fresh, he had made Lan Wangji a promise. “If you tell me the truth about what you’re feeling,” he’d said, “then I promise I won’t get so angry with you again. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have yelled.”

Lan Wangji had nodded, and he’s always kept that promise. And so, every time his brother asks if he has finally freed himself from his insistent compulsion to sink into the cold ocean water, every time, Lan Wangji has had to tell him no. 

Lan Xichen had kept his promise too. He doesn’t get angry anymore. At least, not in front of Lan Wangji. Just afraid. 

.

Jiang Cheng is begrudgingly optimistic about the idea of a stand in the marketplace. He’s at least as much of a negotiating hardass than most of the experienced vendors, and it’s better than relying on someone else to give him a job.

“This was a good idea,” he admits, after the first week of sales go tentatively well.

“I can’t take credit,” Wei Wuxian says. “It was my friend’s idea.”

Jiang Cheng is immediately suspicious. “What friend?”

“A friend!” Wei Wuxian says. “I see him at the docks, I talk to him sometimes.” It’s a sad reduction of whatever his and Lan Zhan’s friendship is, but he’s sure that more details would only aggravate Jiang Cheng more. 

“Hmph,” Jiang Cheng says, but he lets it go. 

Wei Wuxian cheerfully reports their moderate business success to Lan Zhan in the coming days. “It’s too soon to tell if it’s sustainable long term, of course,” he says. “But really, thank you.”

Lan Zhan shakes his head. “It was just an idea,” he says. “You enacted it. I am glad.”

The mild winter bleeds into spring. Lan Zhan sits on the dock whenever he arrives, and when they both have time to spare, they talk for hours. Wei Wuxian still hasn’t guessed why he keeps coming. 

.

After a few weeks, Lan Wangji and Lan Xichen take their walk by the ocean. Lan Xichen apologizes for putting it off; he’s been so busy these days. Lan Wangji inclines his head in acknowledgement. 

They walk single file down the path carved into the bluffs, since it is not quite wide enough to accommodate two adults side by side. Lan Xichen goes first, as always, and Lan Wangji trails after him, keeping his face neutral as best he can.

It is not joy, what the sea brings him. Even if he were allowed to wade into the waves under his brother’s watchful eye, it wouldn’t be enough. He has been told, over and over, that whatever he wants from the sea does not exist. 

Instead, he slips off his shoes and sets them neatly at the base of the path. No one will steal them here; only the Lans themselves are allowed on this beach. The rocks are warmed by the sun slightly. He steps carefully over them, finding the bigger, sturdier, smoother ones to step on so they don’t dig into the bottom of his feet. Lan Xichen keeps his shoes on. 

He knows he will not be allowed in the water, not even his feet. He has never bothered asking, not when he sees the quiet worry playing over his brother’s face whenever he watches Lan Wangji watching the ocean. 

Uncle disapproves of these walks. 

“I trust Wangji to resist temptation,” Lan Xichen says staunchly, whenever Uncle voices his disgruntlement. “And I am right there.”

The unspoken words: It will be better to allow him these small accessions, rather than forbid him entirely. Lan Xichen never, ever brings up their mother, but all three of them understand the subtext. 

It’s a cloudy day. Lan Wangji hopes distantly that it doesn’t rain. He wonders if Wei Ying would appreciate some kind of umbrella to take on Suibian with him, to protect him from the rain. He shivers whenever he’s been soaked through without a chance to dry. Or perhaps it would be impractical? Would he lose it when Suibian tipped over?

Together, he and his brother make their way up the gray shoreline. Lan Xichen stops occasionally, to look at a tidepool or an interesting rock. Lan Wangji halts with him. Lan Xichen would never expressly forbid him from straying too far, but he hates the look of fear on his brother’s face when he looks up and can’t immediately find him.

His self-control is better now, but the desire remains, as strong as it has been since their mother died. 

After nearly an hour, Lan Xichen straightens up from examining a bit of kelp plastered to a stone. “Shall we turn back?” he asks, and Lan Wangji obliges.

It’s a delicate balance. Walking by the seashore or sitting on the docks soothes him in some ways, but in others it just stokes the urge inside him that always pulls him inexorably towards the ocean. 

He pauses at the base of the path back up to their complex. He can’t help himself.

Lan Xichen takes him by the elbow. He does it gently, but his hands are strong. Lan Wangji tries not to balk away from the touch. He is always being pulled in two directions; one is his brother’s patience and worry, the Jingshi, his routine. Wei Ying. The other feels like a fishhook lodged in his stomach. It shouldn’t be so hard to choose, every time. “Let’s go,” Lan Xichen says, kindly, and Lan Wangji goes. 

.

“Are you sure you want to walk into town tonight?” Lan Xichen asks. “The stars are supposed to fall tonight, don’t you want to stay here and watch from the cliffs?”

Lan Wangji shakes his head. “No, thank you,” he says. He can feel his uncle’s eyes on him from across the courtyard, but he doesn’t hesitate before going. Wei Ying had been so excited about the meteor shower, and Lan Wangji would rather be watching Wei Ying watch the stars than look at them himself.

The ground has softened in the past week, and grass is beginning to peek out through the pine needles on the path down to town. 

The town is bustling as he passes through, more so than a normal night. Usually, he ignores the vendors he passes on the main market street, too determined to reach the docks, but tonight he lets himself be waylaid, and purchases a few buns for Wei Ying. He knows his friend often does not eat until right before he goes to sleep, and he has not forgotten the look on Wei Ying’s face when he handed him the Emperor’s Smile. Well worth the mortification he had felt buying it. 

Wei Ying is already rowing in when he reaches the docks, and waves wildly for Lan Wangji’s attention, as if Lan Wangji could somehow miss him. The sun is already setting behind the town, and Wei Ying’s face is well-lit by the peach sky, but Lan Wangji would be lying if he said he needed even that much to pick Wei Ying out of the bay. At this point, he could identify him by silhouette alone. 

“Lan Zhan!” Wei Ying cries. “I’m so glad you came!” He lets go of the oars as he gets closer, allowing the gentle tide to push him in. 

“Of course,” Lan Wangji says. He kneels down, more out of habit than anything else, and Wei Ying beams up at him. It has been nearly three months since Wei Ying first spoke to him, and he has already transformed from an off puttingly friendly fisherman to someone so dear that Lan Zhan can hardly look at him sometimes. 

“I’m glad you’re early, actually,” Wei Ying says, “because I thought -- well, the shooting stars are supposed to look even more beautiful out on the water. I brought food, in case you wanted to -- I thought we could --” He trips over his words uncharacteristically. “If you wanted to come sit in Suibian with me, I could row us out to the middle of the bay. I asked Jiejie for food for both of us.”

The offer settles, strangely light, in Lan Wangji’s chest. He has never been out on the water; the ten meters of pier are the farthest he has ever gone. He ought to say no. 

“Alright,” he says, so softly he can hardly hear himself. He repeats it: “Alright.”

Wei Ying grins. “Really? You don’t have to.”

“I want to,” Lan Wangji says. It is the most truthful thing he has ever said. This wanting is not quite the immense, inexplicable urge to escape into the sea, nor is it the feverish, stuttering desire he feels whenever he thinks too long about Wei Ying’s clever hands and long legs and tanned face. It is somewhere in the middle, balanced by both, as consuming as either.

Wei Ying throws a rope around one of the poles to anchor Suibian. “You can swim, right?” he asks. “I can’t be responsible for accidentally drowning you.”

“Yes,” Lan Wangji says, although he has only ever swum in rivers and springs. The principle is surely the same, and the water in the bay is relatively calm.

“Great,” Wei Ying says. “Alright, you’ve seen me jump down into the boat before, but don’t do that. Trust me, it’s harder than it looks.” He spreads his feet, widening his stance for balance, then reaches a hand up to Lan Wangji, as if offering to help a maiden step out of a carriage. “You’re going to step down, then sit. Trying to balance while standing up in Suibian is really asking for disaster.”

Lan Wangji hesitates before taking his hand. When he does, Wei Ying’s skin is warm and calloused against his own, his grip strong and secure. He grasps his hand firmly, and steps down. 

Suibian rocks beneath him, but Wei Ying holds her steady. “Go ahead and sit, slowly,” he says, and Lan Wangji does as he is bid. He is almost in the water, Lan Wangji thinks, dazed. The only thing separating him from it is a thin layer of wood. Wei Ying frees Suibian from the docks and sits down across from him. There are two planks crossing the dinghy as seats, but they are close enough together that his knees bump up against Wei Ying’s. 

“I hope you don’t mind getting damp,” Wei Ying says. “I’ll row as carefully as I can, but there’s always going to be a little spray.”

“It is fine,” Lan Wangji says, and does not add that he welcomes it, or that his heart is racing. Distantly, he can picture the face his uncle would make if he saw this -- or worse, his brother. A strange young man, a dark night, just the two of them out on the water. The worry washes over and past him. He holds his breath as Wei Ying takes the oars and begins rowing them into the bay. The horizon is vast behind him, the waves catching the last of the sunlight. 

Lan Wangji has spent so much time trying to force himself away from the ocean that being here, balancing atop it, feels like trying to stand on a tightrope. And yet, with Suibian rocking gently beneath him, he has never felt more centered. Lan Xichen had always worried that letting him too near to the ocean would make his madness worse, that he would succumb like their mother did, but for the first time in years, Lan Wangji can feel his compulsions easing, just slightly, as if the sharp edge has been taken off. This would not be enough forever, but it is more than enough for now. 

“You’re in for a treat,” Wei Ying says cheerfully as he rows. “Jiejie is the best cook in the world. It’s nothing fancy, but we have rice, fish, vegetables…” He gestures at a basket tucked beneath Lan Wangji’s seat. “The whole day I was worried that I would tip the boat over and lose it. It’s too bad soup isn’t easy to eat in a boat…”

Sheepishly, Lan Wangji remembers the buns he bought on the walk down to the wharf and produces them from his sleeve. “Here,” he says. “I am sure it does not compare, but there are two for each of us.”

“Great minds!” Wei Ying exclaims. “It’ll be good to have something warm.”

Together, they divide the food between them, squinting in the low light to figure out which portions are darker with spice, which are plain. Lan Wangji has never eaten a meal like this, crowded near to another person, using his lap to rest his bowl upon, the cool breeze on his face. Wei Ying talks in between bites, which Lan Wangji cannot be startled by, not when he has never heard Wei Ying maintain a silence for longer than a few moments. 

“Jiejie was asking about you, haha,” Wei Ying says. “She was like, who is he? Can I meet him? Where does he live?”

“Is she worried I am suspicious?” Lan Zhan asks, because that would certainly be his brother’s concern. 

Wei Ying laughs, covering his mouth so rice won’t fall out. “No, no, I think she’s just glad that I have a friend. She spends time with the other washerwomen all day, so she worries about me being alone all the time. But suspicious, no, how could Lan Zhan be suspicious? I’m sure you two would get along great.”

Lan Wangji has never really ‘gotten along great’ with anyone -- Wei Ying being the obvious exception -- but he does not refute it. “Please tell her I enjoyed her cooking.”

Wei Ying nods and shoves more food into his mouth. “Excuse my manners,” he says, muffled. “I didn’t realize how hungry I was.” He swallows laboriously. “Although I guess if I was going to scare you off by being uncouth, it would have happened already.”

It is certainly a new experience for Lan Wangji, but he merely shakes his head. “Thank you for sharing,” he says. “Wei Ying is not uncouth.”

Wei Ying grins. “You say that now, but you should have seen me as a little boy. I’m pretty sure I taught Jiang Cheng every swear word he knows.” He raises his hands defensively. “I didn’t know any better!”

“I am sure you could teach me,” Lan Wangji says. “Xiongzhang and I had a sheltered upbringing.” They spent most of their childhoods up on the hill, and when they did go into town it was only the nicest teahouses, the public offices, and the very occasional trip through the market. 

“Mm-hm,” Wei Ying says. “I could tell. I’ll have to write you a dictionary of sailor vocabulary. Ooh, we could do quizzes.” He chews thoughtfully.

Lan Wangji looks out over the water. There is a strange kind of calm out here. The lights of town are still visible, but they have drifted far enough away that individual figures can no longer be made out. In the truest sense, they are alone. 

“Don’t worry,” Wei Ying says, into the near-silence of water lapping against the boat. “We’re nowhere near the real waves, we’re not going to get pulled out to sea. I know this bay like the back of my hand by now.”

“I trust you,” Lan Wangji says, startled at how easily the words come out.

The smile Wei Ying gives him is surprised too, softer than usual. “I have my guess for today,” he says. “Are you ready?”

“Mm.”

“You’re one of those seal folk, but someone’s stolen your skin, and now you come to gaze at the ocean like it’s your lost lover,” Wei Ying says. He licks a bit of sauce off his knuckle. “Am I right?”

“Seal folk?” Lan Wangji echoes.

“Oh, haven’t you heard those stories?” Wei Ying tucks his bowl back into the basket and sits forward, bracing his elbows on his knees. “Maybe it’s just for us common people. My mother used to tell me all of these stories from her travels. It’s one of the things I remember best. Isn’t that funny? I can’t remember her face, but I remember plenty of the stories she told me.”

Lan Wangji is much the same with his own mother. If there were any paintings of her in the house, they have long since been removed. But he remembers her gentle hands, and the feeling of her brushing his hair. “Tell me.”

“Mm, okay,” Wei Ying says, tapping his chin. “There’s these people, selkies, who are seals, but they can transform into humans if they take off their skin. But if the sealskin is taken away from them, like by a man who wants to trap them into getting married and having kids, then they can’t turn back into being seals. So they can’t go back to the sea unless they get their sealskin back, even though that’s where they want to be, and so they miss it all the time. Sometimes at the end, the selkie finds her coat and escapes, but she has to leave her kids behind.”

He leans back against the bow of the boat. “I always complained about how sad it was, and my mother would be like, that’s life, kid! ”

It is sad. That doesn’t explain the lump in Lan Wangji’s throat. “I see,” he manages. He has never heard this story before, but it feels awfully familiar anyway.

But he’s distracted a moment later when Wei Ying sits up and grabs his arm. “Look!” he cries, pointing up at the sky.

Lan Wangji tilts his head up. Above them, the stars are beginning to fall. And Wei Ying’s hand is warm through the layers of Lan Wangji’s sleeve, his grip firm as he clutches Lan Wangji in excitement and awe. 

“Oh wow,” he whispers. When Lan Wangji looks back at him, Wei Ying doesn’t notice, his eyes wide with wonder as he watches the sky. “That’s amazing.”

They are the only people within earshot, but Wei Ying’s voice is still low, as if to show respect for the expanse of the night sky, as if he could disturb the streaks of light above them. Lan Wangji feels like one of the stars, fixed in position for so long before falling. The moment is unreal and extra-real at the same time; he knows he will never forget this. Could never forgive himself if he did. Wei Ying grasping his arm keeps him steady, keeps him from floating up into the night sky or down into the water. 

Slowly, daringly, he reaches up and covers Wei Ying’s hand with his own. He does it on instinct, out of the urge to memorize everything in front of him, including the feeling of Wei Ying’s warm skin, the bumps of his knuckles, the way his fingers twitch in surprise beneath Lan Wangji’s.

Wei Ying blinks at him, turning his gaze from the sky. Lan Wangji would feel ashamed for distracting him, if it weren’t for the liquid look in Wei Ying’s gray eyes. If he didn’t look at Lan Wangji with the same uncharacteristically quiet astonishment with which he was looking at the stars. “Lan Zhan,” he breathes. “Isn’t it beautiful?” They are closer than they were before, their knees tucked in between each other’s, because Wei Ying leaned forward to grab him. 

“Wei Ying,” he says, tongue-tied, all but stuttering, and Wei Ying simply smiles at him.

For as long as he can remember, Lan Wangji has been stuck. He cannot sequester himself within the ocean; equally, he cannot retreat very far from the shore. These are the facts of his life, learned so long ago that they feel as though they might be written into him. 

He does not want to lean away or let go. He has thought too many times about what Wei Ying’s chapped lips would feel like against his. He has never desired closeness like this before. 

And yet -- and yet -- Lan Wangji has only ever known how to deny himself. He is the high tide, the reaching waves, the undertow. He will always retreat. 

The boat rocks, an unexpected motion beneath them -- Lan Wangji startles, letting go of Wei Ying’s hand -- and Wei Ying exhales, almost a sigh, and turns his head away to look out over the ocean and the way the stars reflect on the water. He’s still smiling, and Lan Wangji forces himself to calm. The moment sweeps away, but Wei Ying is still here, with him, and he is still smiling. 

“Yes,” he says quietly, his voice unexpectedly hoarse. “It is.” Above them, the falling stars fade away into the night.

Wanting Wei Ying is pure folly. Loving him would be too. Their lives are utterly different. For a moment, he lets himself imagine it. Taking Wei Ying by the hand and tugging him up the hill and trying to introduce him to his uncle and brother. The faces they would make -- disgust and confusion, respectively. 

What would he say? This is Wei Ying. He’s a fisherman, but before that he was the adopted son of the Jiangs of Jiang Trade, and before that he was a boy on the streets, and before that he was born on a ship. His mother told him stories. Xiongzhang, do you remember if our mother told us stories? Do you remember the words to the songs she sang to us? Lan Xichen would try to be polite, but he would still notice the plainness of Wei Ying’s robes. 

It’s absurd -- even Lan Wangji’s sideways mind can recognize that. He might as well say, I found him at the docks, Uncle, can we keep him? 

No, there are kinder fantasies to indulge in. His brain skirts around the edges, but he can already picture the shape of it. Himself and Wei Ying, on the open sea. The way Wei Ying’s confident hands would tie the ropes of the sail, the way he would teach Lan Wangji to navigate by the stars. Can two people comfortably share a hammock, he wonders.

Wei Ying’s knee nudges against his. “What are you thinking about?” he asks, tilting his head.

Lan Wangji takes a breath. He had forgotten he needed to do that. “Do you remember the Rogue?” he asks. 

“Not well,” Wei Ying admits sheepishly. “I was only four when it crashed.” He rests his head against his fist, propping his elbow against the side of the boat. “It must have been pretty small, to be manned by only two people, but it seemed plenty big at the time. Sometimes my parents would let me climb up the mast. We didn’t have a crow’s nest, but I would sit up there and pretend to be the captain.” His gaze refocuses on Lan Wangji. “Why do you ask?”

“Just curious,” Lan Wangji says.

Wei Ying yawns. “We should probably head in,” he says. “Your brother will be worried if you get back too late, right?”

“Mm,” Lan Wangji agrees, and Wei Ying tidies their bowls back into the basket before picking up the oars and beginning to row them back to shore. His movements are so smooth, so practiced, and Lan Wangji finds some comfort in the steady drag of Suibian through the water. He may not be able to have Wei Ying the way he wants to -- they both have too many things tying them to land -- but he is used to wanting and not having. He doesn’t even know if Wei Ying would be his to have in the first place, although the look on his face earlier, his wide eyes --

Lan Wangji forces his thoughts away. Instead, he holds back his sleeve and dips one hand into the water as the boat heads back towards shore. The water is cold, almost shockingly so. Very faintly, he can make out the dark, wobbly reflection of himself in the passing water: his obscure head, his extended fingers. Abruptly, he worries that his brother will smell the salt on him, like he will look at Lan Wangji and instantly be able to read his transgression.

The urge comes over him just as suddenly, the pendulum swinging back, the payback for a kind, mellow evening -- desperately, he does not want to leave the water. He does not want to go home. He curls his wet hand into a fist, digging his fingernails into his palm to distract himself from the furious desire to tip himself over the edge of the boat. They are nearing the docks now, not much longer until he is back on solid ground. This is precisely what his brother warned him about--

Wei Ying rows them into the pier and secures the boat. “Lan Zhan--” he begins cheerfully, then says, startled, “Lan Zhan, are you alright? You’re shaking.”

Lan Wangji forces himself to untense. “I’m -- cold,” he lies. 

Wei Ying tuts in sympathy. “You should have said something! Here, you climb up first, I’ll hold the boat steady.”

Getting himself onto the dock is an undignified affair, both because it involves pushing himself up and then bringing a leg up to clamber onto the planks and because every muscle in his body is screaming at him to let himself just fall back. He clings to the wood when he gets up; the splinters are worth it to keep himself upright.

Wei Ying pushes himself up beside him much more nimbly, swinging the basket up beside him. “Thank you, Lan Zhan,” he says, straightening his robes. When he meets Lan Wangji’s eyes, he seems almost shy, despite the fact that he hasn’t been anything but bold since the day they met. He tries to pull off his outer layer. “Here, this will keep you warm, you can give it back whenever you come back--”

“No, thank you,” Lan Wangji says with difficulty, trying to ignore the way Wei Ying’s face falls slightly. “I will warm up on the walk. But -- thank you. Very much.”

Wei Ying’s strangely hesitant smile returns. “Anytime,” he says, and he obviously means it. “Will I see you soon?”

Lan Wangji nods. He will be back tomorrow, in all likelihood. Wei Ying’s smile widens. 

“Okay,” he says. “I’ll just finish securing the boat, you don’t need to wait. Good night, Lan Zhan.”

“Good night,” Lan Wangji echoes, and if his body is stiff as he makes himself leave, he hopes it is too dark for Wei Ying to tell. 

.

Wei Wuxian can’t help the spring in his step as he heads home in the dark. It keeps surprising him, just how close Lan Zhan will let him get. How close he might want him to get? For a second, he had thought, with Lan Zhan’s smooth, gentle hand on his…

But anyway, there’s time for that later. Right now, his heart is light and the stars have returned to normal, and he has to get this stupid smile off his face before his sister sees and pries the truth out of him about how yes, his friend is terribly handsome, why would you ask…?

He hears Jiang Yanli’s crying before he even opens the door, and his good mood plummets instantly. He wrenches open the door. “What’s wrong?”

He’s not surprised to see her already folded up in Jiang Cheng’s arms, but he is surprised to see tear tracks on Jiang Cheng’s face too. He realizes his mistake a moment later; it is not his brother comforting his sister, but the other way around. When Jiang Cheng tries to turn away, Jiang Yanli holds onto him. 

Her voice is unsteady when she speaks. “A-Xian, come in, and close the door behind you.”

Wei Wuxian does as he’s told. “What happened?”

“There’s been a misunderstanding,” Jiang Yanli says, and Jiang Cheng shakes his head. 

“Jiejie,” he says roughly. “You don’t have to defend me. I should have controlled my temper better.” 

“It was Jin Zixun again,” Jiang Yanli says softly to Wei Wuxian. “He came across A-Cheng’s stall in the market place and he was taunting him.”

“The things he said,” Jiang Cheng begins, clearly still furious, and Wei Wuxian recognizes the shade of anger passing over his face. His heart sinks. 

“Jiang Cheng, what--”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Jiang Cheng says. “He was trying to goad me, and I knew that, I just--” He grits his teeth. “I couldn’t let him keep talking. I--” His hands squeeze around an invisible throat before dropping, limply, to his sides.

“It’s not your fault,” Wei Wuxian says automatically, and Jiang Cheng’s shoulders curl in more. “We’ll -- we’ll figure something out. What, are you banned from the market? Is there a fine?” They’ll go into debt, they’re barely above water as it is, but they’ll manage--

Jiang Cheng shakes his head slowly. “I’ll have to work it off,” he says, and swallows heavily. “One of those prison ships--”

“No,” Wei Wuxian says immediately.

His brother hasn’t stepped so much as stepped foot in the water since their parents died. Wei Wuxian always thought his own lack of trauma was a cruel twist of fate, the freedom granted to him by his own faulty memory. He hardly remembers the pirate attack at all. Nearly drowning does that to a person -- no air to the brain, mixed up memories.

Jiang Cheng sits down, pulling his knees to his chest. “I leave in two days,” he says, too quietly. The lack of anger in his voice scares Wei Wuxian. It’s like he’s already given up. 

Wei Wuxian thinks that if he had watched Jiang Cheng drown, he probably would have had the same reaction to the water. If he’d watched his parent’s ship tip over into the water, too far away to do anything about it. Jiang Fengmian and Madame Yu had pushed Jiang Cheng onto a lifeboat as soon as they realized what was happening. Wei Wuxian had been in the brig for some mischief or other, forgotten. 

Jiang Cheng had frantically rowed himself back to the remains of the Lotus after the pirates had taken their fill, had found Wei Wuxian’s body floating in the wreckage. Had pushed on his stomach until he coughed up the water inside him. “I thought you were dead,” was the first thing Jiang Cheng told him when he woke up, days later, with his siblings on either side. 

Wei Wuxian remembers nothing of drowning. He remembers the water rising around him, and then complete blankness before waking up on shore. The ocean is an old friend to him. But to Jiang Cheng -- even the salt smell takes him back sometimes. He absolutely must not be allowed on a prison ship -- it would be his personal hell. 

The rest of the evening is a blur. Jiang Yanli eventually coaxes their brother to sleep, and then sits with her head in her hands. “What are we going to do?” she whispers.

“We’ll figure something out, Jiejie,” Wei Wuxian promises numbly.

He gets into his bed when she does, but he doesn’t fall asleep. Here are the facts:

1. Jiang Cheng is deathly afraid of the ocean.
2. Jiang Cheng saved Wei Wuxian’s life. This is less important than Fact 1, but it remains that Jiang Cheng has saved him and has only struggled in return.
3. Wei Wuxian is not afraid of the ocean. 

There is a fourth fact, which is that Jiang Cheng is almost as afraid of Wei Wuxian drowning again as he is of going out onto the ocean himself. Wei Wuxian pretends to sleep whenever he’s woken by the sound of Jiang Cheng slipping out of bed to stand over him, to make sure he’s still breathing. It’s happened less and less frequently over the years -- it was nearly every night those first few months after Wei Wuxian’s siblings lost their parents, and now only every once in a while.

But Wei Wuxian puts that aside. Surely, he thinks with growing conviction, surely anything that protects Jiang Cheng from the ocean is better. 

He doesn’t sleep. He gets out of bed before dawn. Both of his siblings are deep sleepers, so as long as he’s careful, he can move around the room without waking them. He finds some paper tucked away, and their last little nubbin of ink, and writes a letter. He leaves it on his bed, dresses quickly, and slips out the door. 

He goes straight to the town jail. “Hello,” he says politely. “My name is Jiang Wanyin, the son of Jiang Fengmian and Yu Ziyuan. You have an arrest warrant for me. I’m turning myself in.”

It’s almost astonishing how little they question it. 

.

Lan Wangji doesn’t go to the docks every day. Usually, he goes two or three times a week, and every day that he has gone, for four months, Wei Ying has been there. As far as he knows, the only day that Wei Ying took off from working was for the new year.

And yet, he is at the docks and Wei Ying is not here.

The days are growing longer as spring continues, so perhaps, Lan Wangji thinks, Wei Ying has simply stayed out on the water longer. Perhaps he forgot to tell Lan Wangji that he was taking a day off today. Although -- they spoke only yesterday. It is unlike him, to forget.

It is startling, to remember that he did not originally start coming to the docks to see Wei Ying. In fact, they did not speak at all for the first few weeks after he began coming. And still -- he feels bereft. It is silly. Wei Ying will surely be back.

When he walks forward, he realizes that Suibian is still there, tied where they left her last night. Did Wei Ying leave early? After an hour of waiting, Lan Wangji steels himself and goes up to one of the other dock workers. 

“Do you know the man who owns that boat?” he asks, cursing his own awkwardness. “Have you seen him?”

The man, who has a round face and a salt and pepper beard, shakes his head. “That Wei kid, right? He wasn’t here today.”

Lan Wangji thanks him, but when the man turns back to his work, he still doesn’t know what to do. Did he miss something last night? No, Wei Ying had asked when he would see him again. Wei Ying had offered him his coat.

Lan Wangji doesn’t know where he lives, either. Whenever Wei Ying talks about the house he shares with his siblings, he gestures over towards the collection of shacks south of town, little more than shanties. There must be hundreds; Lan Wangji cannot simply wander in that direction until he finds the right house.

With little else to do, Lan Wangji settles down to sit and watch the sea. It doesn’t bring the same hypnotic calmness, the same singularity that it usually does. He closes his eyes and listens to the water. Perhaps Wei Ying will come back anyway. In the meantime, he tunes out the noise from the dockworkers and meditates. 

That is his mistake. When he opens his eyes again, sunset is long past. He has never stayed this late before without warning his brother, and guilt shocks down his spine. Lan Wangji pushes himself to his feet. There is still no sign of Wei Ying -- only Suibian, still empty, bobbing sadly in the current. 

He’s about to give up and turn back when he hears -- “Wangji!”

His brother looks relieved and perplexed, which is almost worse than angry. His uncle, only a few steps behind Lan Xichen, looks furious.

The sailors and dockworkers around them turn and stare as Lan Xichen and Lan Qiren stride down the pier. They’ve grown used to Lan Wangji -- he scarcely garners more than a curious glance, these days -- but this is completely new, an invasion of their space.

“What are you doing?” Lan Xichen asks breathlessly, taking Lan Wangji by the arm. His eyebrows are pressed together, and he instinctively tugs Lan Wangji a few steps away from the end of the docks. “Why are you here? We were so worried when you didn’t come back, and some of the vendors said they’d seen you going towards the docks -- Wangji, I thought --”

“I am fine,” Lan Wangji reassures him, though it seems to do little to calm him. 

“They also said that you regularly passed by,” his uncle says, scowling. “Wangji. Just how often have you come down here?”

Lan Wangji swallows. His silence is probably damning enough. His uncle turns away, incensed, and Lan Xichen’s grip tightens, on the verge of being painful. 

“Wangji,” he breathes. “Why? You promised me.”

“I am sorry that I scared you,” Lan Wangji says, unable to meet his eyes.

“But you’re not sorry about lying, hm?” his uncle spits. “About disobeying our direct instructions?”

Lan Xichen flinches. “Uncle, don’t--” he begins, ever the mediator, but Lan Qiren disregards him completely.

“You didn’t want to constrain him,” he says to Lan Xichen. “You didn’t want him to feel trapped. We have tried it your way, Xichen, and look what he has done with his freedom. This has been going on for months.” His sharp gaze focuses on Lan Wangji. “You’re coming home, Wangji. You’re staying there.”

Lan Wangji doesn’t speak. It is easier that way. He lets himself be led back down the docks, allows his brother to stand behind him and shepherd him away, as if Lan Wangji is liable to evade them and sprint away. He endures the stares from the other people on the docks.

At the very least, he thinks, whenever Wei Ying comes back, this public display means that someone will be able to tell Wei Ying what happened. He will know that Lan Wangji is alright, just unable to return.

As they step back onto solid ground, Lan Wangji permits himself one glance back at Suibian. He is glad he got to ride in her, just the once. He will treasure that memory, for more than one reason. 

“Come along,” Lan Xichen says softly. He presses his lips together, clearly regretful. “Wangji…”

Lan Wangji casts his eyes back down to the ground before his brother can try to search his face, and turns back to follow his uncle. Whatever Lan Xichen sees there will not make him feel better. 

The walk back up the hill is entirely silent, and when they reach the top, his uncle leads him straight to the Jingshi. “You will not leave this building,” he says stiffly. “Your meals will be brought to you, and any books you wish to read from the library.”

“Uncle,” Lan Xichen protests softly, but Lan Qiren shakes his head.

“I have bitten my tongue for long enough,” he says firmly. “But I am your elder, Xichen, and you must trust me to know what’s best. Clearly, Wangji cannot be trusted to wander as he pleases.”

Lan Wangji watches his brother’s resistance subside. He had no hope for it anyway. He should have considered this an inevitability. Should have warned Wei Ying, perhaps. But in a certain way, it is a mercy that Wei Ying happened not to be there when they found him disobeying. Lan Wangji has thought, and still hopes, that Wei Ying would not think too differently of him if he knew about his condition. But it is easier to not know for sure, to simply imagine a world for himself where the problem never occurs in the first place. 

His uncle leaves in a flurry of robes. Lan Xichen lingers. 

“I’m sorry,” he says abruptly. “I did not know that this would be the breaking point. I only wanted help finding you.”

“He is worried,” Lan Wangji says tiredly. He does not have the energy to blame his uncle, not when he could have predicted this encounter word for word. It is not really Lan Wangji that Lan Qiren is angry at, he knows, but rather his fool of a father, for marrying a woman who would produce a child like Lan Wangji. He slides open the door and crosses the room to sit on his bed. 

“I’ll wait here until they bring dinner,” his brother says. “You must be hungry.”

Lan Wangji shrugs. It has been a long while since he was treated so much like a child, and it makes him feel like one again. He wants to be left alone, but that would only make his brother fret more, so he settles for silence. It’s the most diplomatic he can manage to be right now. 

He wonders if his brother would deliver a letter to Wei Ying, if he asked. But he’s not sure what he would even say. Thanking Wei Ying for his compassion or company or conversation would be trite. A hideous understatement. Admitting the truth of his feelings would just make both of them feel worse.

Lan Wangji swallows thickly. It sounds like one of Wei Ying’s guesses. A young man trying to deliver a love letter for his brother. That last guess has niggled at the back of Lan Wangji’s mind since last night. It’s absurd, seal folk yearning for the ocean. And yet--

“Xiongzhang,” he says. “What do you remember about the days before our mother left?”

Lan Xichen’s mouth tightens at his choice of verb. Six year old Lan Wangji had spent several weeks asking why their mother had left, where she had gone, when she was coming back. Lan Xichen, then eleven, had hardly known how to answer. He sighs.

“She seemed normal,” he says. “Or normal for her. I think we visited her the day before.” He leans against the doorframe, lost in thought. “She was complaining about the cold, I think. Or not complaining, but -- she kept shivering. I wanted to help her, and she asked me to go into Father’s wardrobe and see if I could find a coat for her.” 

Why would it be in Father’s wardrobe? Lan Wangji wonders. His fingers tighten in his robes. “Do you remember what the coat looked like?”

His brother tilts his head. “I don’t know, it was just a big, heavy winter coat. Fur-lined, I think. I remember thinking she would overheat.”

It is a very, very strange coincidence. Lan Wangji had thought, when Wei Ying told him about the myths, that it sounded familiar. But his whole life has been spent longing for the sea, so of course it sounded familiar. Now, he thinks -- but no, it couldn’t be. He swallows. “What kind of fur was it?”

“Why so curious?” Lan Xichen asks. “I don’t know, Wangji, it was fourteen years ago. Something soft. Sable, or sealskin, or something.”

Seal. Seal. What had Wei Ying said? If the sealskin is taken away from them, like by a man who wants to trap them into getting married and having kids… To trap them. Lan Wangji’s mother was not allowed to leave her house. As children, the explanation he and Lan Xichen had always been told was that it was for her own safety, because of her fragile health. And Wei Ying had said, They can’t go back to the sea unless they get their sealskin back, even though that’s where they want to be, and so they miss it all the time.

What if Mother didn’t drown? Lan Wangji thinks faintly.

“Wangji?” Lan Xichen asks. “Is something wrong?

Lan Wangji makes himself shake his head jerkily. “No. Just hungry.”

“Ah,” his brother says sympathetically. “Oh, here they come now.” He intercepts the tray at the door, and sets it on Lan Wangji’s table. “Do you want me to stay--?”

“No, thank you,” Lan Wangji says, still distracted.

Lan Xichen sighs again. “Well, alright,” he says. “I’ll bring you breakfast tomorrow, alright? We can talk then. And I’ll speak to Uncle soon, see if I can get him to calm down.”

Lan Wangji forces himself to look at his brother. His kind, gentle brother who has always tried to understand him and never fully been able to. “Thank you,” he says again, meaning it, and Lan Xichen gives him a small smile. 

.

Lan Wangji waits until the middle of the night to sneak out. Normally, staying up past curfew would require some effort, but tonight his thoughts are so loud that he doubts he could fall asleep if he tried. 

It sounds utterly fantastical, the idea that his mother was… not human. That he could be too. But he is not planning to do anything drastic, and it’s not as though his uncle or brother would hear him out. They would dismiss it as another weakness of his mind. But his mother’s coat… it would be a bizarre coincidence.

When it is well and truly dark outside, Lan Wangji cuts a hole in the wax paper of his west-facing windows. Unlike the east-facing ones, they haven’t been boarded up. He waits, and when no one comes running at the scritching sound of a knife through paper, he maneuvers himself through, a candle clutched in his hand.

He knows he would be instantly spotted, in his white robes, but he has nothing in his wardrobe but white and pale blue. At any rate, he is only sneaking to the library -- a short walk away, skirting around the edges of the main complex. Once, when there were more people in the Lan family, there would have been library attendants, to curate and to tidy. But now, with just the three of them, there seems to be little point in keeping such a large staff.

Thankfully, the library is unlocked. Lan Wangji could never have brought himself to cut a hole in that window. He pulls the door shut carefully behind him, as quietly as possible.

He knows his way around this space by heart, just as well as he knows his own quarters. But he doesn’t mean to go to the familiar parts of the library, the shelves he has known since he was a child. Instead, he takes a deep breath and feels along the wall for a latch to the section underground.

Uncle thinks he doesn’t know how to get in -- he doesn’t know that Lan Wangji was once silently reading in a corner of the library when Uncle came in to get family ledgers. From Lan Wangji’s understanding, the secret section is mostly carefully curated family documents, too fragile to be stored in the open or touched by young, sticky hands. Some of it is just family trees, but Lan Wangji is sure that if there is any information about his mother, it will be there. 

The latch clicks, and the door gives underneath Lan Wangji’s hand, sliding open when he pushes at the shelf it’s hidden behind. He lets out a careful breath, and turns down into the darkness. It immediately becomes apparent that when the door slides shut behind him, all the light will be cut off from the stairwell. He stops to light his candle, carefully chosen to be lower than the cup that holds it, so that if it tips over, none of the books will be set ablaze. It will last him less than an hour, but that will have to be long enough. 

Wavering flame lit, Lan Wangji closes the door all but a crack and begins to descend down the stairs. His candle has a relatively small radius of light, but the space is not as expansive as the above ground section of the library. Lan Wangji does not think of himself as claustrophobic, but in the low light, the walls seem to press in. They’re packed with books and scrolls, so many that Lan Wangji scarcely knows where to start. After a moment of hesitance, he sets his candle cup down on one of the desks and squints at the spines of the nearest books.

He can dismiss them at once as too far back. These are from generations ago. He moves forward a little more confidently, picking his way through the dates as he gets closer and closer to his and Lan Xichen’s generation. Any time a member of his family had written a book, even so much as a journal, a copy was preserved here, so it is slow going. 

He gets closer and closer, until he reaches names he recognizes. His great-great-grandparents, then their children, then his father’s parents. Then his father. He reaches up and pulls his father’s journal off the shelf where it lays beside his compass.

Lan Wangji remembers very little about his father. He had died when Lan Wangji was seven, but he had been absent for months at a time before that. No, Uncle is a much more prevalent figure in his childhood memory, rivaled only by this mother. But he has nothing to anchor the memories of his mother, whereas he can look at Uncle now and think of him five, ten, fifteen years younger.

Qingheng-jun’s ship journal is written in beautiful penmanship, but the notes are in blunt language, and the paper is rough from withstanding the sea air. Lan Wangji struggles to construct the image of his father as a young man -- in his mind, his father is always middle-aged, long-faced, and forever disapproving. The journal does little to change this picture, but the dates are neatly marked, and Lan Wangji’s stomach clenches as he gets nearer and nearer to when his parents must have met.

Then, he turns a page and half the words are blacked out. Lan Wangji blinks at it, uncertain for a moment whether he’s developing spots in his vision, but the characters are still completely redacted when he rubs his eye. He flips carefully through the rest of it, and finds more of the same. There are mentions of Lan Xichen’s name, and then his own, but they are surrounded by lines and lines of nothing but black ink. 

Did his father do this? Lan Wangji exhales through his nose, frustrated. The last entry is dated right after his mother’s death, and it has been obscured entirely. Surely, the subject matter must have to do with her. 

Lan Wangji closes the book with less care than he should and replaces it on the shelf. There are scrolls from the same years, but none of them pertain to his interests. There is music his uncle wrote, and carefully copied poems from his brother, and even some of Lan Wangji’s own young calligraphy samples, but nothing about his mother. 

The candle is already starting to flicker low, and it will be dawn soon enough. Lan Wangji should admit defeat and return to his bed. Instead, he lifts his candle from the desk he set it upon and looks at the surface itself. It’s a well crafted desk, much like the one he has in his own room, except rather than being hollow and open along the side for storage, this one appears to be closed. He might think it was solid wood if not for the sound it makes when he raps his knuckles against the top. 

There has been a piece of wood smoothly attached to the side, but there must be a space inside. Perhaps where something could be hidden. Struck by a determined curiosity, Lan Wangji runs his fingers along the seam. There is the smallest gap where the wood has been attached, but far too small for him to pry open. 

The candle sputters, threatening to go out. Lan Wangji makes his decision and takes his father’s compass from the shelf. It takes him a moment of fiddling to pull the top off and reveal the workings inside. The lodestone needle quivers with the movement. Lan Wangji reaches in and pulls it out, rendering the compass entirely useless. Then, he inserts the thin metal into the seam where the extra wood has been attached to the side of the desk, and uses it to wrench the wood away.

The needle snaps as soon as he does, but it’s served its purpose; the gap is now wide enough for him to stick his fingers inside and pry the outside off. 

The thing that hits the floor is softer than he was expecting. It flops out against his knees. Lan Wangji freezes. The candlelight grows dimmer still. It is almost entirely by touch alone that he reaches out to find the thing that fell. His shaking fingers sink into the deep fur. 

He does not think, This is Mother’s fur coat. He thinks, This belongs to me.

The candle goes out. Lan Wangji closes his hand in the fur, heart pounding, and stands. He leaves the room as it is in the dark -- the candle, the broken desk, the deconstructed compass. He cannot bring himself to care about any of it. He bumps his knee hard against a shelf feeling his way to the exit, and he barely feels the pain. 

When he finally makes it up the stairs and pushes the door open, the very faintest hint of morning light is beginning to spill through the library. Dawn has been earlier and earlier each day. He stares down at the skin in his hands, at the thick, speckled fur.

He has never understood the phrase “knew it like the back of my hand”. And yet, staring down at the sealskin in his hands, he might as well be looking at his own arm or leg. It belongs to him. It is him.

Lan Wangji doesn’t stand there for long. There is something feverish racing through him, something hot and euphoric. He wraps his arm around the skin, pulling it close to his chest, and pushes through the library doors. 

He spares nothing a glance as he strides down towards the path to the cliff. Even by the standards of his family, it is too early to be awake, perhaps just barely four in the morning. The smallest sliver of sun is emerging over the ocean. On any other day, he would stop and watch it, stuck and longing. Today, he walks straight towards it. 

For once, his approach of the ocean is nothing hesitant. Every step down the path down the bluffs makes his heart sing in his chest. This is right, he knows. It is right . It is an answer, a beckoning, a completion. He reaches the edge of the water, which dances with excitement at his arrival. 

Wei Ying had not been specific about the magic of sealskins. Lan Wangji follows his instinct; he must be as close to it as possible. He strips off his clothes, leaving them carelessly on the rocks. The cool spring breeze cannot touch him, not when he wraps the skin around his body in their place, and steps, barefoot, into the tide. 

The clear water embraces his ankles, welcoming him. The rocks are slippery under his feet, but his steps are sure. He presses forward, clutching the sealskin tighter around him, and the water climbs to his knees, then thighs. 

Lan Wangji pushes into the water until he can no longer walk, until the ocean laps at his neck and face. He is not cold. He takes a breath and sinks beneath, kicking forward under the surface until he is not kicking, simply swimming. He is not Lan Wangji, nude but for a sealskin coat, he is simply -- himself. 

The ocean stretches out in front of him, enormous and open. For the first time in twenty years, he knows, truly: he is home. 

.

Lan Xichen had tried, once, to take his little brother away from the sea. They had all the physicians, both ordinary doctors and healers of the minds, that money could buy, although Uncle always grumbled at their presence in their quiet estate. They had all examined Wangji, who would sit there, small and stoic, answering their questions monosyllabically or not at all, and they had all said versions of the same thing.

It was a sickness of the mind or soul, not the body. Wangji has always been quite healthy, always tall for his age. But even with the straightest posture, he tilts ever so slightly eastward, towards the sea. 

“You were too young to remember your mother’s illness,” Uncle had told him gruffly, after another fruitless doctor’s visit. Wangji was only ten then, his face already losing baby fat, his eyes always drifting listlessly out over the ocean.  “But she was much the same.”

He didn’t add, and you know how that ended . 

Uncle was wrong, actually; Lan Xichen wasn’t entirely too young. He remembered her death, at any rate -- her empty quarters, the frantic search of the estate, the grim look on his father’s face. As if the inevitable had happened. It wasn’t until hours later, when the entire town guard had been pulled into searching the shoreline for any trace of Madame Lan that they found the damning evidence. Her shoes, dainty and not suited for anything more than walking around her porch, were located in a tidepool, damp and dirty. His father had died only months later, sailing into a storm while still looking for his wife.

But it was true that Lan Xichen had not seen the worst of her illness. In truth, even now, he doesn’t want to. Having seen Wangji’s senseless desperation firsthand, it seems like an act of kindness that she hid her own compulsions from them. Wangji, too small to understand what was happening to him, didn’t have that option.

Wangji has tried to explain it so many times over the years. Lan Xichen tries to be appreciative -- words are difficult for his brother, they always have been -- but at the same time, he cannot fully suppress his frustration. “Explain what you think will happen,” he has asked his brother, so many times, as if this time he will finally understand and unlock the key to Wangji’s sickness.

And Wangji will say something like, “It is safe down there. I would be--” He will tilt his head, considering. There are certain things he doesn’t say. “I am supposed to go there, Xiongzhang. I do not want to die. Only go.” 

Lan Xichen has lain in bed so many nights and wondered, Is that what Mother thought? That she would be free?

At any rate, when Wangji was sixteen and Lan Xichen twenty-one, Lan Xichen decided drastic action had to be taken. “We are taking a holiday,” he told his brother, who looked slightly ill at the prospect but reluctantly agreed. There had been no close calls lately; Wangji had gotten better at restraining himself from physically moving towards the water, but the restraint seemed to cost him. He grew quieter and sadder every day. Lan Xichen loaded their bags onto a carriage, bid their uncle goodbye, and left with Wangji for what was supposed to be a three week vacation inland.

They hardly lasted two. The inn was quaint but luxurious, looking out over the mountains. The countryside air was supposed to do Wangji good. Instead, every day away from the ocean left him paler and more listless, and by the fifth day he hardly ate.

This troubled Lan Xichen more than any of the doctor’s visits where they had been told the same useless things. It was unlike his brother to lodge protests in this way, and in fact, when he tentatively proposed heading back early, Wangji shook his head. 

“It is alright,” he said, although he looked exhausted.

Lan Xichen felt his forehead. “Perhaps you caught something on the journey,” he said uncertainly. Wangji was rarely sick, but perhaps the travel… Surely, Lan Xichen thought, he would perk back up. 

Instead, by the tenth day, Wangji couldn’t force down food at all. He laid curled in bed, his knees pulled to his thin chest, his hair dull and loose against the pillow. 

“You must eat something,” Lan Xichen insisted. Wangji had always been something of a picky eater, but he had never outright refused food before.

Wangji only shook his head and burrowed further under his blankets. It was late summer, perfectly warm, and yet here was his teenage brother, huddled in bed like an invalid. “Please,” he said, muffled. Wangji almost never asked for anything. “Please, can we go back.”

Lan Xichen had swallowed, his throat dry, and simply said, “Alright.”

He might have been convinced it was truly some sickness due to travel if it weren’t for the desperate relief with which his brother returned to the seaside. He could barely sit up on the carriage ride home, and yet, a few days of sitting beside Lan Xichen on the cliffs looking over the ocean brought his appetite back. There wasn’t much color in his narrow cheeks to begin with, but what was usually there returned. 

“Xiongzhang,” his brother murmured, meeting his eyes. That was unusual. “I am not doing this on purpose.” He had swallowed, his gaze darting away, skittering back to the horizon. “I am sorry that -- I do not mean to -- I simply --”

“Wangji,” Lan Xichen had said, aching. His brother’s collapse had solidified what he already knew: it was luck, pure luck, that had spared Lan Xichen from their mother’s mysterious condition. He could not blame his brother for lacking control over what he felt, even if what he yearned for was the very ocean that killed both their parents. “I know. I would never blame you.”

His brother settled. There was weight he needed to gain back. His wrists and ankles were too thin. “I know you would like to fix me,” he said, too plainly to be accusatory. “But…”

Lan Xichen did not want to know what he was going to say. At sixteen, Lan Wangji had a kind of clear-sighted bluntness that made it difficult to hide much from him. “Let me get you more food,” he said, instead, and they both pretended that Lan Xichen didn’t keep turning back to make sure Wangji didn’t wander off down the path towards the beach.

.

Today, Lan Xichen wakes to a gray morning. It will likely rain later. He has important things to do, but first he rises, dresses himself, and goes to the kitchens. Uncle says it is unbecoming for Lan Xichen to wait on Wangji like a servant; Lan Xichen thinks that if they are going to treat him like a glorified prisoner, the least Lan Xichen can do is make sure his meals are delivered early.

Tray in hand, Lan Xichen walks to the Jingshi and knocks on the door. There is no answer. It is unlike Wangji to sleep late. Lan Xichen knocks again, and then, hoping he isn’t waking his brother, calls, “Wangji, I’ve brought breakfast.”

He is met with silence. Lan Xichen hesitates for a moment, then sets the tray aside and slides the door open. Wangji’s bed is made, last night’s dishes are still at the table, and the Jingshi is completely empty.

Wangji is not supposed to leave. He hates that that was his first thought. Wangji, as evidenced by his apparent adventures down at the docks, seems to be plenty capable of disobeying their uncle’s orders. Just the thought makes fear rise up in his throat.

There are many things he should do first. He could check the library, or the forest, or he could see if Wangji went into town looking for that friend of his. But the choking terror takes over; he strides across the complex towards the paths down to the cliff. Dumbly, all he can think is that the day their mother died had looked like this too, the sea and sky both slate gray, forming one dizzying mass.

Here is the truth: Lan Xichen despises the ocean. It has taken so much from him, and given nothing. If Wangji had been able to stomach being away from the sea for longer than a few weeks, he probably would have damned the family estate and moved them all.

Lan Xichen nearly trips several times on the way down; the paths on the bluffs are not meant for running, but he cannot force himself to go slower, and so the rocks slide beneath him. He scans the shoreline for any human figure and sees nothing. He’s not sure if that should be a relief. 

For a long moment, Lan Xichen is stock still, panting, at the bottom of the path, mind racing. Perhaps he is panicking for nothing, he thinks dizzily. Perhaps Wangji is fine, perhaps he is overreacting--

The rocks vary in color from pale gray to black, which is why the patch of white catches his eye, right near the water. He runs forward, stumbling again.

The Lans are not the only people who wear white, he thinks, but he’s already starting to feel sick, and when he falls to his knees beside the crumpled cloth, he already knows. He knows . 

These are his brother’s robes. Inner, middle, outer. His sash. His trousers. And -- his fingers tremble as he pulls it from within the tangle of clothes -- his brother’s forehead ribbon. It couldn’t be anyone else’s. His heart pounds in his ears. 

Mother had left her shoes.

Lan Xichen wants, so badly he could throw up, for this to be a coincidence, a dream, a trick. He would rather this be his brother’s first ever prank, horribly cruel. Because if it isn’t, then his brother, his little brother, only twenty -- is already lost. 

You promised, he thinks, and hates that his first reaction is betrayal. What had he said, years ago? It wasn’t Wangji’s fault for not being in control. He can hardly go back on his word now. 

The air drags in his lungs like water. He feels like he’s drowning, and for an awful, tilting moment, he considers it. It’s how every other member of his family went. The ocean is right there beside him, hungry and never satisfied. Would he see his brother again, if he did? Their mother, their father.

But Lan Xichen is not Lan Wangji, and he cannot leave their uncle alone. Alone. They are the only two left now.

It is his uncle who finds him, some minutes or hours later. He doesn’t know. Between gray sky, gray sea, gray rocks, it hardly makes a difference. His body doesn’t feel like his own, seized by wracking sobs, pulled so taut that he’s curled over, on his knees. He hasn’t let go of his brother’s forehead ribbon.

“Xichen,” his uncle says, quietly horrified.

“I’m sorry,” Lan Xichen sobs. “I’m sorry, Uncle, I’m sorry.”

He is. He is so, so sorry. There isn’t a day of the past fourteen years that he hasn’t spent trying to keep his brother safe, and today, he failed.

Chapter Text

Six months of labor on a prison ship have carved away whatever fat Wei Wuxian had left on his bones. He’s joked about it to his bunkmate before, who thankfully doesn’t seem particularly inclined to strangle Wei Wuxian for his terrible sense of humor. “You’d think they’d want to keep us big and strong,” he tells Wen Ning, for probably the tenth time, and Wen Ning humors him with a hesitant smile.

He’s even younger than Wei Wuxian, probably one of the only people on the ship who is, and he’s got a broad frame and a small, stuttering voice. Wei Wuxian liked him immediately. He’s not sure exactly what Wen Ning is doing time for, but he guesses it has something to do with his sister, the one he always talks about missing. He can relate. 

They were sent out to sea around the same time, but Wen Ning’s criminal charge is apparently lesser than Wei Wuxian’s false admission of nearly strangling a rich man, so he’ll be back on land soon enough. Wei Wuxian has almost a year left in his sentence. It’s not the freedom at sea that he’s always dreamed of, and at the end of the day his whole body aches from the work and the cold and the hunger, but it’s a small price to pay. 

“I’m sorry I’m l-leaving you here,” Wen Ning tells him, keeping his voice low as they eat. The loudness of most of the other men affords them relative privacy. 

Wei Wuxian waves him off. “Don’t be ridiculous,” he says. “I’m sure your sister misses you. Me, I’ll make another friend right away.” He gestures out at the unfriendly faces surrounding them. “Look at all these new best friends of mine. But she doesn’t have another brother.”

Wen Ning tips his face down to hide his small laugh, but he still sounds worried. “If there’s anything you want me to pass on to your family,” he begins. “I can find them and talk to them f-for you.” Wen Ning is being released in Wei Wuxian’s hometown -- although the ship will remain a few miles out from shore.

Wei Wuxian tries to keep his shrug nonchalant. “You’re not a very good liar,” he points out. “And I’m pretty sure knowing the truth wouldn’t make them feel any better.”

It’s selfish, maybe. He knows in their place, he’d give anything to know that they were alive. But he’d rather have Jiang Cheng mad at him for not contacting him at all than worried or blaming himself.

The work itself is tolerable. It’s backbreaking and endless, but if Wei Wuxian were just doing a year and a half of hard labor, he would care a lot less about his siblings knowing. It’s the captain who makes their lives hell. He assumes that the only kind of person who would agree to run a ship full of prisoners is someone who gets off on flexing their power. Wen Chao is exactly that kind of person. 

“Any relation?” Wei Wuxian had asked Wen Ning wryly, the first night they were crammed on the damp floor together, side by side. Wen Ning was trembling slightly, although Wei Wuxian had no idea whether it was from cold or fear.

“He’s my second c-c-cousin,” Wen Ning had whispered back, and Wei Wuxian said, “Oh shit, really?” and Wen Ning said, even more quietly, “I hate him.”

Wen Ning was not a person who spent much time on hate. That much was obvious from the beginning -- he was even gentle with the barnacles they removed from the hull of the ship. The fact that he had admitted to hating their captain so early meant the man had to be truly irredeemable. 

It didn’t help that Wen Chao seemed to hate Wen Ning right back. He was always given the most vile jobs, despite his good behavior, and Wei Wuxian, unwilling to leave Wen Ning to mop up vomit alone, volunteered right alongside him. Which is why Wen Chao hates him also. 

He’s been made to do the most dangerous jobs, gone without food for a few days at a time, been expected to work normally even after another prisoner “accidentally” broke his wrist. Wei Wuxian is pretty sure the only reason he hasn’t been outright worked to death is that the ship does actually need prisoners to function, so Wen Chao can only drive him to the brink of collapse, not past it.

All this to say -- it’s in Wei Wuxian’s best interest to keep his head down. He’s well aware of this. And yet! Wen Chao has smashed Wen Ning to the floor for some perceived slight. For looking at him wrong. Wen Ning is supposed to go free tomorrow.

“Stop!” Wei Wuxian yells, unable to watch Wen Chao grind Wen Ning’s face into the filthy boards of the deck for a moment longer. “Fucking -- stop it , you’ll break his neck!”

Wen Chao stops stepping down on Wen Ning’s head, but he leaves his boot there, dripping into his hair. Slowly, he turns his head to look at Wei Wuxian. On the deck, Wen Ning’s chest heaves. 

“Who the fuck are you,” he says in a low voice, “to tell me what I can and can’t do?”

Wei Wuxian slouches, looking unconcerned, and not like a stiff breeze could and has blown him over. “Pfft,” he says. “Not very good form to forget your own prisoner’s names. Makes it way easier to escape.”

“Escape?” Wen Chao bellows, and now he does take his boot of Wen Ning, but only so he can stride over and grab Wei Wuxian by the throat. All the prisoners are cuffed -- neck, wrists, ankles -- but the cuffs are only chained together when they get close to shore and don’t want anyone going anywhere. Keeping a ship sailing requires free movement, so they aren’t too constraining most of the time, just uncomfortable. Wen Chao bypasses discomfort entirely and hauls Wei Wuxian in, close enough to smell his foul breath, by shoving three fingers into the shackle around Wei Wuxian’s neck and jerking him closer. “I am your captain, you do not speak to me that way--”

Wei Wuxian rolls his eyes. “Please,” he says. “Everyone knows you only become the captain of a prison ship when you can’t get sailors to follow you. You have to take advantage of us, since we can’t choose who we work for.”

Wen Chao snarls. It’s almost funny how easy it is to rile him up, and honestly astonishing that Wei Wuxian has never gotten him this angry before. He blows a chunk of damp hair out of his face, forcing himself to relax, although his unconcerned facade must crack when Wen Chao tightens his grip on the shackle around Wei Wuxian’s neck and he chokes involuntarily, airflow restricted. 

“This is mutiny,” Wen Chao hisses. “First Wen Ning, now this?” He glares out at the crowd around them. Over Wen Chao’s shoulder, Wei Wuxian can see Wen Ning, still on his knees, eyes huge. “I think all of you need a lesson about what happens when you step out of line.” His knuckles dig into Wei Wuxian’s airway harder; Wei Wuxian closes his eyes. 

When Wen Chao flings him down, it’s mostly a relief to be able to breathe again. He gasps inelegantly, dragging in such a deep breath that he almost gags on it. He thinks the worst is over, until he hears Wen Chao click his fingers. 

“Wen Zhuliu,” he says. “Chain him up, toss him overboard.” He wrinkles his nose down at Wei Wuxian before turning to the crowd of the other prisoners. “Take him as an example of how we tolerate disrespect towards your captain .”

From between Wen Chao’s legs, Wei Wuxian can see Wen Ning opening his mouth. He shakes his head immediately. Wen Chao will take any excuse to send him overboard too. His mind is already racing; he’s a strong swimmer, but he’s weaker than usual, and they must be five or six miles from land, and the chains will weigh him down--

It’s a rare thing that he’s actually not sure how to attempt the impossible.

The first mate, Wen Zhuliu’s face is utterly blank when he leans down to lock Wei Wuxian’s chains together. Ankles to wrists, wrists to neck. They only come in one size, and Wei Wuxian is taller than average, so the shackle at his neck forces him to stoop when he stands. Wen Zhuliu pulls him upright by an elbow, but it takes him a moment to balance. 

He takes a deep breath. One of his last, probably. He shouldn’t think like that. Firmly but not cruelly, Wen Zhuliu presses him forward with a hand on his back. There’s no plank; he’ll just have to -- topple overboard.

At least he’s facing the sunset. Wei Wuxian thinks of Lan Zhan, nostalgia stuttering in his chest. Is Lan Zhan looking at the same sunset? He hopes so. It’s very strange to think that he might be only five miles away, at the docks. He hopes he doesn’t miss him too much, but maybe just a little. He’d like to be remembered fondly.

Wei Wuxian doesn’t look at Wen Ning when he speaks. He doesn’t want to put him under any more scrutiny. Instead, he just raises his head as much as he can, and says loudly, “I changed my mind. Tell my brother and sister that I said thank you, and I’m sorr--”

Wen Chao speaks over him. “Just shut up--”

It could be his boot, or Wen Zhuliu’s, that hits Wei Wuxian in the small of his back and sends him staggering forward. Does it matter? The wind knocks out of him when he hits the water, head and shoulder first. The shock of cold is familiar, but the heaviness of his body isn’t. For a moment, kicking desperately, he thinks he might be able to at least get himself right-side-up, but the chains are too heavy, and all he can do is jerk helplessly, straining up towards the sunset light glancing over the water -- fuck, he doesn’t want to die staring down into the depths --

He doesn’t remember drowning, that time Jiang Cheng saved him. But truly, the muscle memory is familiar. When his body betrays him and can’t struggle anymore, it’s a relief.

.

Lan Wangji spends most of his days looking for fish. It’s peaceful. There aren’t many predators that can threaten him around here, and it’s easy to fall into a routine. Sometimes he’ll find an empty stretch of shoreline to sleep on, or else just float, letting the water rock him to sleep. Mostly he avoids humans, not that it’s hard. He’s gotten used to listening to the ocean, and the telltale sounds of human voices are audible from far away. He can understand the language if he tries, but it’s easier not to. Easier to just dart away into the water and think of nothing more than his next catch. 

It’s not that he isn’t who he was, but it feels as though a veil has been drawn over all of those words and worries that made him who he was as a human. This is a purer distillation of Lan Wangji, one who scarcely thinks of the name “Lan Wangji” at all. He doesn’t have to be more than what he is right now, in this moment. The water is always cradling him, every moment, and there is a simple joy in that. He does not remember joy ever being simple before. 

That’s why it’s so jarring when he’s skirting around a fishing ship -- it is awfully annoying that they take up so much of his food source -- and hears Wei Ying’s voice when he comes up for air.

Wei Ying. The thought crystallizes in his mind. He’s been thinking in little more than instinct for months now, as naturally as breathing, but he knows that Wei Ying should not be here. The ship is well outside the bay, not to mention huge. Wei Ying doesn’t belong there. 

He dives to keep out of sight and makes his way closer. He’s learned the hard way that while most fishing vessels aren’t on the lookout for seals, most won’t hesitate to throw a net or two in his direction if he’s spotted. 

For a moment, he thinks he’s mistaken. Perhaps he has been away from humans for long enough that they have all begun to sound the same. But his sense of smell is very keen these days, and he follows his nose as he would for a fish -- he can smell Wei Ying, masked by sweat and iron but unmistakably himself. It’s not a smell that Lan Wangji could have identified as a man, but he is certain now -- it must be him.

When he finds him, Wei Ying has already sunk so deep that even Lan Wangji’s eyes, which are excellent underwater and just so-so above it, have trouble making out the shape of him. He snuffles at Wei Ying with his whiskers, wrinkling his nose when it bumps into the cold metal around his neck. This is wrong. 

As a seal, Lan Wangji has been free from the kind of cold dread that used to haunt him as a human. When he is afraid, it burns hot and bright, sending him darting under the water away from the threat, and fades out just as quickly. Right now, that deep, freezing, human fear starts to creep back in. Wei Ying is not breathing. He cannot hold his breath for nearly as long as Lan Wangji can; the water is deadly to him, not kind. 

Trying to bring him back up to the surface will be difficult. In his current form, Lan Wangji lacks opposable thumbs, and Wei Ying’s limp body will not be helpful. If he transforms back this far under the surface, then he will surely drown too. It takes several heart pounding moments of nudging fruitlessly at Wei Ying’s chains before he figures out that if he tangles himself in them, putting his head through the circle created by Wei Ying’s shackled wrists, then he can drag Wei Ying up with him.

He’s slightly smaller than Wei Ying like this, but Wei Ying is light in the water, chains and all. Lighter than he should be, probably. 

By the time they reach the surface, the ship has already begun to move away, and the sun has dipped below the horizon. He can hear shouting from the fishing ship, but disregards it entirely in favor of swimming for the shore as fast as he can. At his normal pace, it might take him an hour to reach land, but even with Wei Ying’s cold body weighing him down, even swimming only on the surface so Wei Ying doesn’t inhale even more water, he knows he can get there faster.

For the first time in months, his mind feels like it’s working too slowly. He’s been alone for months and not minded it at all, not bothered thinking about anyone but himself and his next meal and the rush of water on his skin. But Wei Ying unburies other thoughts -- even when Lan Wangji is like this, he can’t help but feel frantic at the thought of losing him. 

In his desperation, he transforms back into a human a little earlier than he meant to, when it’s still too deep for him to stand. He splutters in the cold water, ungainly, holding on tight to Wei Ying’s chains so he doesn’t sink. The seal skin almost floats away until he grabs it, wraps it around Wei Ying’s body, and swims the both of them the last few meters to shore.

Lan Wangji is shivering when he finally drags Wei Ying onto the rocky beach. The rush of transformation is just as overwhelming in this direction, and he feels dizzy and frozen. But there’s no time, not when Wei Ying is sagging in his arms. He staggers up onto the dry rocks and lays Wei Ying down flat on his back. “Wei Ying,” he croaks, and gets no response. Wei Ying is very pale, and thinner than he remembers, and his black hair is plastered to his skin. 

He’s never been more grateful for his brother’s insistence on rigorous water safety training. The water is very cold, which he knows logically is a good thing, even if it means his hands are shaking when he presses down hard on Wei Ying’s soaked chest. He’s uncoordinated and this body feels clumsy, but he goes through the motions as best he can, stuck between pressing down as hard as he can and fear that he’ll hurt Wei Ying worse. 

He can’t lose him. He had been so sure when he transformed the first time that life on land would continue as normal -- that Wei Ying would simply be there, forever, going about his days as a fisherman. He’d been so caught up in life as a seal, in the discovery of himself, that he had hardly questioned anything. What must his brother think? Had he known about Lan Wangji’s skin? And how on earth did Wei Ying end up on a ship like that, in chains?

Wei Ying’s body jolts with the motions, but his face remains slack. Lan Wangji drags in a shuddering breath, then tilts Wei Ying’s head back, lifts his chin, and leans down. Sealing their mouths together is more difficult than he thought it would be; both of them are slick with seawater. Lan Wangji exhales hard into Wei Ying’s mouth once, twice, and then lets go and puts his hands back on his chest.

After the third sharp press down, Wei Ying makes a spluttering, gurgling noise, his eyebrows drawing together. Lan Wangji hastily turns him on his side with a hand on his shoulder and hip, and holds onto him tightly as Wei Ying jerks and coughs up a truly impressive amount of water.

Lan Wangji doesn’t realize he’s crying until Wei Ying slumps back onto his back, the chains rattling as he moves. His wide eyes take a long moment to focus on Lan Wangji in the dim twilight. Lan Wangji reaches down to wipe water away from Wei Ying’s face with trembling hands, then just to hold it, a hand on either side, to reassure himself that Wei Ying is really there, bowing down until their faces are not touching, but close. Wei Ying’s breath puffs up as his chest heaves, cool against Lan Wangji’s wet skin.

“Lan Zhan?” he says, voice garbled. “Are you okay? Are you crying?” Wei Ying’s nose is starting to run. He looks so beautiful. “You saved me?” One of his hands drifts up to touch his mouth, the chain clattering as he moves. 

Lan Wangji nods jerkily, smoothing the hair out of Wei Ying’s face. He leans his cheek into the touch, although he still looks baffled. He coughs up some more water and asks, “What happened? Is this real? Why are you naked?”

Lan Wangji looks down at himself, at his ungainly human legs naked in the moonlight. His tears are hot on his face, and Wei Ying is still wrapped up in his sealskin, and somehow, Lan Wangji could almost laugh. “It is a long story,” he says hoarsely. “One of your guesses was right.”

“Hm?” Wei Ying says, still disoriented. “Lan Zhan, did you see the sunset?”

Lan Wangji frowns. Wei Ying laughs, gurgling, at his expression. “Oh,” he says. “Oh, Lan Zhan, I missed you so much. I’m going to pass out. Kiss me for real later, okay?” When Lan Wangji nods again, stunned, Wei Ying nods weakly back, and then lets his eyes slide shut. 

It takes Lan Wangji a few moments of shivering in the silence to realize he recognizes this beach. It’s the northmost point of his own family’s land, miles away from the town or the main complex. Relief and nervousness settle in his chest with equal measure. He regrets abandoning his uncle and brother, but he’s not sure how much they knew. Surely Lan Xichen couldn’t have known what Lan Wangji is. Surely.

Sluggish with the cold, Lan Wangji manages to clumsily peel off one of Wei Ying’s wet layers and ties it around his waist. A familiar and very human sense of embarrassment is setting in, but Wei Ying needs the warmth of his sealskin more than he does.

No longer fully naked, only shamefully underdressed, Lan Wangji pulls Wei Ying into his arms and begins staggering barefoot up the beach towards the bluffs. The cliffs are lower here, easier to climb, and he’s hoping that in the sparse woods above he’ll find some wood for a fire. Wei Ying might not be drowning anymore, but hypothermia is still a concern.

Between Lan Wangji’s current clumsiness and the difficulty of maneuvering a fully grown adult along with several pounds of metal -- he’s terrified to learn the story behind the chains -- it takes Lan Wangji a while to stagger up the bluffs. Wei Ying’s head lolls against his shoulder. He slips, once, and skins his knee, although he manages to keep a secure hold on Wei Ying as he stumbles.

It isn’t until he reaches the top that he realizes there is a small cabin overlooking the sea. Lan Wangji vaguely recognizes it as having belonged to his father. Have they begun renting it out in the months since Lan Wangji disappeared?

He would prefer to avoid involving himself with an unknown human -- his instincts, not quite dormant in the back of his head, are insistent that he must be alert -- but he can see the glow of a fire through the windows, and Wei Ying’s health is more important than Lan Wangji’s wariness. He tugs his borrowed robe, which is tattered and a few inches too short, more securely around him, hoists Wei Ying in his arms, and walks resolutely to the door. The pine needles are uncomfortable on his bare feet. 

Lan Wangji knocks, then takes a few steps back, already inclining his head politely when the door slides open. “Hello,” he says. “I apologize for disturbing you, but my friend almost drowned--”

“Wangji?” his brother chokes.

Lan Wangji’s head snaps up. 

.

Lan Xichen stares at his brother, who is dripping wet, hardly dressed, and carrying the limp body of another young man in his arms. He doesn’t realize he’s unsteady on his feet until Wangji’s eyebrows draw together and he reaches out as if to catch him, shifting the body in his arms.

“Xiongzhang?” he says, as if Lan Xichen’s presence is just as surprising as his own. 

“How--” Lan Xichen whispers. His brother looks not only perfectly alive in the moonlight, but perfectly healthy. There is something different about the way he’s standing, tall and sure, and Lan Xichen stares at the hearty flush on his cheeks. This is precisely the sort of illusion he might come up with if he was prone to fantasy. “Is this -- are you real?” His voice breaks. “You’re alive?”

Wangji nods. “I am sorry I left you,” he says quietly. “I will explain.” He shifts the body in his arms. “May I put him down? There may still be water in his lungs.”

Automatically, Lan Xichen steps aside to let him inside. The cottage is modest, much smaller than anywhere Lan Xichen has lived before, but he had insisted that he needed time by himself, a claim supported by the fact that he was half-hysterical at the time. Uncle had said, almost gently by his standards, “Go inland, Xichen. You aren’t bound here.” 

Lan Xichen had thought, insensibly, But what if he comes back? Aloud, he’d said nothing. He didn’t really believe it. Yet here Wangji is, dripping on the floor. His unconscious companion is barely visible from inside some kind of fur monstrosity; Lan Xichen wouldn’t even have realized he was a person and not some kind of dead animal if there weren’t skinny, shackled ankles and feet dangling over Wangji’s arm. 

“Here,” he says dumbly, spreading a blanket out in front of the fire. “Lay him here.” 

Wangji does so, very carefully. He even cups his hand behind the young man’s head so he doesn’t bump it against the floor. Even with a full view of his face, Lan Xichen doesn’t recognize him at all, although his chains suggest he might be a convict of some kind. Truly, in this moment, he doesn’t care.

Wangji has barely straightened back up when Lan Xichen steps forward and yanks him into a hug. Wangji is very wet, but entirely solid in his arms, and after a startled moment, he hugs him back. Wangji is shivering slightly, but it subsides the longer Lan Xichen holds on. Lan Xichen can’t remember the last time their contact was more than a squeeze of the arm or a touch on the back of the hand. He hugs his brother long enough that he can count out the number of breaths he’s taken, the expansion and contraction of his ribcage inside Lan Xichen’s arms. 

If he’s a hallucination, if Lan Xichen has finally inherited the family’s tendencies towards madness, then he is a very, very convincing one. 

“Xiongzhang,” Wangji repeats. “How long have I been gone?”

“You don’t know?” Lan Xichen asks, new fear rising in his chest. “Did -- Were you taken? Did someone kidnap--”

Wangji shakes his head. “No,” he says, gaze lowering. “I lost track of time. It is complicated.”

“Lost track…?” Lan Xichen echoes, astonished. “Wangji, I -- I don’t understand. It’s been over six months.” Governed by the vague impulse to be hospitable, but unwilling to look away from his brother for more than a moment in case he vanishes again, he almost drops the teapot while pouring them tea. “Here, sit, please. You must be freezing.”

Wangji shakes his head, but he does sit beside the body of his ...friend? and Lan Xichen sinks down to sit across the table from him. “I want to tell you,” he says softly. “But I do not know where to begin.”

“The beginning?”

“Mm,” his brother says. He is almost too real. There has been a transience to him for as long as Lan Xichen has known him, and now he seems… intensely present. When he meets Lan Xichen’s eyes, his gaze seems shockingly keen. “It begins with Mother.” He pets the fur wrapped around his friend, his fingers as careful as if it were a living creature. “You told me about her coat. The one you brought to her before she left.”

“Is that hers?” Lan Xichen asks, utterly confused.

Wangji shakes his head. “No,” he says. “It is mine.”

The story his brother tells him is unbelievable. Or it would be, if Lan Xichen could manage to not believe him. His brother speaks with such conviction about fantastical things. 

.

Lan Wangji takes advantage of his brother’s silence to lean down and check on Wei Ying. He is still too pale, still too thin, but his breathing is only a little wet, and his heartbeat is strong. Wrapped up in the sealskin, he’s beginning to warm up. Now that Lan Wangji is less frantic about his survival, he takes a moment to assess more generally -- there is a dark bruise beneath the shackle collared around his neck that makes rage flare in his chest. 

“All of these years,” Lan Xichen whispers, dazed. “I had no idea.”

Lan Wangji hadn’t realized just how worried he was about that. That his brother had been somehow complicit in taking away part of who he was. Something eases in his chest. “I know,” he says. “I did not either. Not until Wei Ying told me a story.”

Lan Xichen presses his eyes shut, a tear escaping down his cheek. “Still, I -- I feel as if I’ve kept you from part of yourself. I never let you near the ocean, I just --”

“Xiongzhang,” Lan Wangji interrupts hurriedly, sitting forward in surprise. “No, you protected me. Without the sealskin I have the body of a human. I might have drowned, if it wasn’t for you.” He leans forward and grips his brother’s arm. “I am sorry that I scared you. When I found the skin, I could not resist. If I could, I would have stayed and explained.”

“As long as you’re back,” Lan Xichen says. His gaze drifts over to Wei Ying. “Your friend, what happened to him?”

Lan Wangji exhales. “I do not know,” he says. “I was waiting for him on the docks when you found me there. I have not seen him since.” Wei Ying’s hair is finally drying, although the saltwater has left it tangled and stiff. Lan Wangji resists the urge to smooth his fingers through it. “He has a brother and sister back in town. They must be worried.”

Lan Xichen’s mouth twists. “Yes, I imagine so,” he says. He looks exhausted. Lan Wangji’s guilt worsens, but he resolves that he will make it up to him. “I look forward to speaking to him when he wakes. For now, both of you must need rest.”

Lan Xichen’s robes fit him well, and Lan Wangji welcomes the feeling of dry fabric on his human skin. With some difficulty, they strip Wei Ying down to his trousers -- Lan Wangji hopes he was not attached to his gray prison tunic, because the chains necessitate cutting it into several pieces. Since any robe they put on him would become hopelessly tangled in the chains, Lan Wangji settles for wrapping him even more carefully in the sealskin and then pulling another blanket around him. 

His brother yawns, hiding it behind a hand. “Take the bed,” he says. “I’ll--”

Lan Wangji shakes his head. “No,” he says. “I will be fine here.” He’s spent the last six months drifting in the water as he sleeps, or else curled up on a rock. The floor, alongside Wei Ying, is more than suitable.

Lan Xichen sighs. “Alright,” he says. “Ah, Wangji, I--” He shakes his head. “Will you be here in the morning?”

“Yes,” Lan Wangji promises, and his brother’s shoulders visibly slump in relief. 

“Alright,” he says. “Good. We can talk about what to do tomorrow.” The smile he gives Lan Wangji is faint, but genuine. Lan Wangji watches him shuffle around the privacy screen and listens to him get into bed. 

Wei Ying is difficult to maneuver with the chains, so Lan Wangji just tucks himself around his body as best he can, wrapping his sealskin around the both of them. It is a greater liberty than he ever would have dreamed of months ago, but the animal of his body wants to be as close to Wei Ying as possible, to feel the warmth returning to his skin. Tiredness hits him all at once; suddenly his eyelids are so sticky that he cannot keep them open to watch the fire burn down. He closes them, feeling the last remnants of the saltwater sting. He can hear his brother breathing on the other side of the screen. Between one breath and another, Lan Wangji falls asleep. 

.

Wei Wuxian wakes up so warm that for a moment, the last six months seem like a dream. The prison ship was never truly warm, even when he and Wen Ning slept back to back. Then he tries to raise a hand to rub his eyes and his chains jangle so loudly that he winces. 

“Ngh?” he says, blinking down at himself. He’s still chained up, but his chest is bare, and although his body doesn’t feel great, it doesn’t feel like he’s dying anymore. 

“Oh, hello,” someone says above him, slightly blurry. He looks weirdly familiar, and Wei Wuxian just has time to think, Is that Zewu-jun? before the man kneels down beside him.

“How do you feel?” he asks. Wei Wuxian has only seen him in parades and stuff like that, so this is really extremely weird. Still, he’s not going to be rude.

“Thirsty,” he rasps, and the man turns to find him a cup, pressing it into Wei Wuxian’s clumsy grip.

The man keeps talking as he drinks: “I’m very sorry about the chains. We think we can break them with an axe or a hammer, but we didn’t want to risk it until you were well enough to wake up.”

“How long have I been asleep?” Wei Wuxian asks, baffled. He remembers sinking into the water, and very little after that. He thinks he might have had some very strange dreams. 

The man smiles -- yep, it’s definitely Zewu-jun. So bizarre. “Just about a day. It’s late afternoon. I think your body just needed the rest. You had us worried for a moment there.”

Us? Just as Wei Wuxian begins to wonder, he hears someone else’s voice -- even more familiar. “Xiongzhang?”

“Ah, Wangji,” Zewu-jun says. “Good timing. Your friend just woke up.”

Wei Wuxian doesn’t know any Wangji, but he doesn’t have time to ask for clarification before Zewu-jun stands and crosses the room. “I’ll give you some privacy,” he says on the other side of the screen.

“Um, hello?” Wei Wuxian says, and then Lan Zhan steps into view. 

Really, Wei Wuxian should have more questions, but he loses track of them when he sees Lan Zhan. He’s missed those quiet evenings on the docks so much. Sometimes, on the ship, when he couldn’t fall asleep, he would lie there and pretend that he was napping on Suibian, and that when he woke up, he could row into shore and see Lan Zhan and his impractical white robes standing on the pier.

“Wei Ying,” he breaths, sinking down beside him.

“Lan Zhan,” Wei Wuxian says, struck momentarily dumb by the sight of him. He is about to continue, What happened? when Lan Zhan leans down, cups Wei Wuxian’s jaw, and presses a kiss to his lips. Wei Wuxian says, “Mmph!” and then kisses back so that Lan Zhan won’t think he was protesting. 

It’s a soft, dizzying kiss. Lan Zhan might look like he’s carved out of stone, but he certainly doesn’t feel like it. Wei Wuxian had wondered, that night under the stars, if Lan Zhan might want to -- if he could lean forward and -- but he never realized it would feel like this .

When Lan Zhan sits back up, blinking, Wei Wuxian feels breathless all over again. “Wow,” he says, trying to suppress his absolutely stupid grin. “What did I do to earn that?” He needs to know so he can do it again. He hopes the answer isn’t “drown”. 

Lan Zhan’s brow furrows slightly. “You… asked,” he says, withdrawing. “Do you not remember?”

Wei Wuxian does remember a very peculiar dream that may or may not have involved Lan Zhan being naked. “Oh no,” he says. Even his shamelessness has a limit. “Did I really say that?”

The softness on Lan Wangji’s face fades quickly, replaced by a schooled neutral expression and pink cheeks. “Did you not mean it when you said--”

“No!” Wei Wuxian yelps. “I mean, yes, I did mean it. I do want -- yes.” He can feel himself going red too; his only consolation is that Lan Zhan looks at least as embarrassed as he feels. He tries to reach out and comfort him, but the shackles stop him from extending his hand. “Ugh, these are the worst.”

Lan Zhan’s face changes, looking down at them. “I am sorry,” he says.

“Not your fault!” Wei Wuxian says, casting around for a change of subject. “Um, it felt rude to ask him, but -- why is Zewu-jun here? Do you know him?”

Lan Zhan blinks at him. “He is my brother,” he says. “I assumed you knew that.”

Wei Wuxian tries not to gape. “Oh, so you’re rich rich,” he jokes. “Wow.”

“You did not realize who I was?” Lan Zhan asks. “I told you my name.”

“Yeah, your personal name,” Wei Wuxian points out. “What would a real, honest to goodness Lan Lan be doing down by the harbor?” He pauses. “Actually, I have more questions. How on earth did you rescue me? How did you even know where I was? And where are we now?”

“Mm,” Lan Zhan says, looking down. “It is a long story.”

Wei Wuxian wiggles his fingers until Lan Zhan takes his hand. “Tell me?”

It is most certainly the most he’s ever heard Lan Zhan say at once. He speaks, haltingly, of a lonely young boy whose mother drowned herself in the ocean, and how certain the boy was that she wasn’t really gone. He talks about urges he didn’t understand and could barely control -- a pull towards the ocean.

“I did not know what I was,” he says. “Not until…”

Wei Wuxian realizes, very abruptly, what he’s currently curled up in. The reason why he woke up so warm. “No,” he says disbelievingly. “Lan Zhan, really? So this is your--? That’s--”

“I know it sounds impossible,” Lan Zhan says, his voice low, his gaze averted.

“--so cool!” Wei Wuxian bursts out. “Is it okay for me to be touching it? Do you need it back? Have you transformed already? How did it feel?”

He can see Lan Zhan’s tight shoulders slump. In relief? “It is okay,” he says. “I put it on you. I will need it back eventually.”

“Wow,” Wei Wuxian says, stroking admiring fingers down the pelt. “It’s really beautiful, Lan Zhan. And really warm. Thank you for lending it to me. And for saving me.”

“Of course,” Lan Zhan says at once. 

Wei Ying knows the stories. He knows what kind of trust Lan Zhan lending him his sealskin symbolizes. He is going to endeavor to be worthy of that trust ten times over. Then he thinks, wait. Does it symbolize just trust?

“Lan Zhan?” he says slowly. “Ah -- if you’re letting me touch this, does that mean--? Are we--?” He can’t help the way his voice squeaks at the end. He doesn’t even know what he means to say -- engaged? Married?

“It means what you want it to mean,” Lan Zhan says quietly. “I want whatever Wei Ying will give me.” His light brown eyes are warm in the afternoon light, and Wei Ying can feel his cheeks beginning to burn under the intensity of his gaze.

Wei Ying tilts his head. “I want you to kiss me again,” he tries, and ah! It works. 

He’s just getting really into it when they hear the door open and Lan Zhan’s brother loudly announcing that he’s returned. Wei Wuxian huffs a laugh and lets his head fall against Lan Zhan’s strong shoulder, since it seems like he’s allowed to do that now.

It is difficult to be truly intimidated by Zewu-jun when he keeps offering Wei Wuxian tea. Before the sun sets, the three of them go out into the yard -- hobble, in Wei Wuxian’s case -- and lay Wei Wuxian’s chains over the log Zewu-jun has been using to chop wood on. Lan Zhan swings the axe down over the claims five times before one of the links breaks in two. Lan Zhan has hardly broken a sweat. 

He used to look almost frail, Wei Wuxian reflects, half dazed by the clean downswing and the shape of Lan Zhan’s muscular shoulders. But swimming for six months straight must make a person hardier. By the end of it, there are still chains of various lengths dangling from Wei Wuxian’s limbs, but none of them are connected to each other, and he can move freely. 

Zewu-jun makes them dinner. It’s simple soup and rice, but Wei Wuxian barely tastes it, too enchanted by the idea of eating fresh and warm food to care.

“If you feel strong enough, it takes around a day to walk back to town,” Zewu-jun says. “I’m sure we can find a blacksmith to get the shackles off.

Wei Wuxian shakes one consideringly. “Maybe this is the next new fashion,” he says.

“Should rest more,” Lan Zhan says, setting his bowl side. “Before we return.”

He’s not wrong; Wei Wuxian is still weak from drowning, But the tightness around Lan Zhan’s mouth speaks to more than just consideration. He looks reluctant.

Zewu-jun notices it too. “Wangji,” he says. “You don’t have to return, if you do not wish to.” It looks like it pains him to say it, but his expression is genuine. 

Lan Zhan lets out a breath and shakes his head. “I should,” he says resolutely. “But Uncle…”

“He must have known nothing,” Zewu-jun says, furrowing his brow. “He certainly never breathed a word to me.” He keeps looking at Lan Zhan when he thinks his brother isn’t watching, like he thinks he’ll disappear if he looks away too long. 

.

Lan Wangji gets the full story over the next day and a half. Wei Ying seems too skittish to tell him all at once, but the story slips out of him in bits and pieces. His brother, who was provoked, who is crushingly afraid of the ocean. The cruel captain of the ship. If he thinks about it for too long, he gets so angry that he can’t breathe, so it may be a good thing that Wei Ying didn’t tell him all at once.

He can tell there’s details Wei Ying leaves out too. Why his brother hates water in the first place. Why Wei Ying is so thin. Why he seems nervous about returning home. 

In the end, they wait three days to return home. Three days of resting on the seashore, making sure Wei Ying eats enough, and watching Wei Ying wrap the sealskin more tightly around his shoulders. It sends a possessive little thrill down Lan Wangji’s spine. At night, they curl up beside the fire together -- although they cannot do anything more than kiss, when Lan Xichen is sleeping on the other side of the screen.

Lan Wangji hadn’t realized he missed closeness. Hadn’t realized he had been missing it for his entire life. Wei Ying touches him without a second thought -- fingers in his hair, a hand on his knee, their legs tangled together at night. Whenever Wei Ying kisses him, there’s a delighted look on his face like he can’t quite believe he’s getting away with it. 

Neither of them put a precise name to what it is between them. But the second night, when Lan Xichen is already asleep, and Lan Wangji is tracing along Wei Ying’s ribs as Wei Ying breathes into his neck, warm and tickling, Lan Wangji realizes that he can hardly bring himself to worry. They had already wanted each other months ago on the docks. If Wei Ying still wants him after knowing what he is, then Lan Wangji will take whatever he will give. 

Lan Xichen still tenses when he sees Lan Wangji looking at the ocean. It must be a hard habit to break. But he lets a breath out whenever he sees Lan Wangji looking back at him, and offers him a smile. It seems genuine. 

Lan Xichen and Wei Ying seem slightly puzzled by each other, but generally polite. The night before they plan to leave the cottage, Lan Wangji returns from splitting wood for the fire to find both of them brought to tears by laughter as Lan Xichen attempts, through giggles, to recount some story from Lan Wangji’s childhood. They burst into fresh laugher when Lan Wangji comes inside. 

“Lan Zhan!” Wei Ying cries, leaping from his seat with a great jangle of chains and clapping a hand to either side of his face. “Oh, I wish we had been friends as children. Your brother said you had the roundest cheeks, I would have squished them every day!”

“Like a steamed bun,” Lan Xichen wheezes.

Lan Wangji feels himself flush in embarrassment, but at the same time a kind of new warm surprise settles in his chest. He hadn’t realized that his brother had any fond memories of their childhood at all.

.

The journey back to town is relatively slow; Wei Ying needs to stop and rest a couple times an hour, so they leave early and pause frequently. Lan Wangji watches the sun rise over the ocean, glittering over the waves of the bay. He knows he will return, eventually. He knows Uncle will not like that.

Slowly, the edges of town come into view. Lan Xichen glances back at them. “I’ll wait for you at the path, Wangji,” he says, clearly giving them a moment of privacy. 

Wei Ying squeezes his hand and drapes the sealskin back over Lan Wangji’s shoulders. It settles easily, meant to be there. “I’ll go find a blacksmith,” he says. “Then my siblings.” He shakes one of his chains thoughtfully. He must not want them to see him like this. 

“I will go speak to Uncle,” Lan Wangji says, taking a deep breath. “And I will meet you at the docks.”

Wei Ying goes up to his tiptoes to kiss him, flashes a blinding smile up at him, and lets go to stride down the shore towards town. Lan Wangji watches his retreating back for a moment, then another, wishing he could simply follow him. Then he turns decisively, and follows his brother down to the base of the bluffs.

Lan Wangji is almost startled by how unchanged his family estate is. Everything looks untouched and pristine. He doesn’t belong here anymore. Lan Xichen guides him steadfastly, almost eagerly, towards their uncle’s house.

He knocks politely on the door. Lan Wangji resists the urge to hide behind him like a misbehaving child. “Uncle,” he calls, “I’ve returned.”

A grunt from inside. “You didn’t send word,” their uncle says. A moment later, he slides the door open and blinks at the two of them.

“Surprise,” Lan Xichen says, smiling. Lan Wangji is so nervous that he almost wants to laugh. Uncle hates surprises. 

Lan Qiren pales, and then he sits down in the nearest chair. “Wangji,” he says. His eyes focus on the coat over Lan Wangji’s shoulders, which Lan Wangji automatically grips protectively. “You have returned?”

“He’s alive,” Lan Xichen says, probably unnecessarily but with audible relief. “Uncle, he’s alive.”

“I see that,” Lan Qiren says hoarsely. There is shock on his face but it is a different shock than Lan Xichen’s. He does not look dumbfounded or disbelieving. 

“You knew what I was,” Lan Wangji says, surprising even himself with the hardness of his voice. It is only a feeling, but he knows how to read the man who raised him. 

“What?” Lan Xichen says. He looks between them. “Uncle, did you?”

His jaw sets obstinately; his mouth tightens. “It seems you have already made up your mind.”

“You do,” Lan Wangji insists, certain now. “How long?”

For a moment, he thinks his uncle will put up a fight. They have butted heads enough times over the years for him to recognize the look on his face, although Lan Wangji’s true rebellions were few and far between. But the breath rushes out of Lan Qiren all at once, and their uncle looks, suddenly, quite old. 

“How long?” he echoes. “Since the day you were born. Since your father brought that damn woman ashore.”

Lan Wangji doesn’t realize he’s moving until his brother grabs his arm and holds him back. “Wangji,” he says, placating, although his expression when he turns to face their uncle is not particularly charitable. “Uncle, please elaborate.”

Lan Qiren huffs. “I thought you two knew everything, hm? You’re certainly acting like it.”

“Uncle,” Lan Xichen chides, a tone he has rarely dared to take. “Tell us the full story. The truth.”

Lan Qiren’s gaze, when he looks up at them, is distant. Lan Wangji pulls his sealskin closer around him, although he’s sure he could outrun their uncle if it came down to it. 

“I warned him not to trap her,” their uncle says tiredly. “He insisted they’d already married at sea and that she would grow used to life here.” He shakes his head. “I hardly believed him at first. I couldn’t believe that kind of nonsense story was true. The legends of sealfolk are stories for commoners and children.”

His eyes drift to Lan Xichen. “Still, your father insisted on researching. The myths said that a child born to a selkie without her skin might still transform the moment they touched the ocean. So when you were born, your father took you down to the beach and dunked you in. Even though I still didn’t truly believe, it was a relief when you were human. Normal.”

The words sting worse than Lan Wangji expected. He’s always known that their uncle thought of him as difficult and a burden -- but he’s still unprepared for the grief in Lan Qiren’s face when their eyes meet. He refuses to drop his own gaze, although the emotion on his uncle’s face makes him uncomfortable.

“Then Wangji was born, and…” He shakes his head. “We took you down to the shore when you were only a few weeks old. And when I lowered you into the water--” He shudders.

“You hate me that much?” Lan Wangji asks, grateful for his usual flat tone.

“No,” his uncle says at once. “No. Quite the opposite. You were my infant nephew, and you turned into a -- a creature in my hands. I wanted to spare you that fate, Wangji. Your mother -- my brother may as well have dragged her onto his ship with a fishing net like one of those ridiculous beasts he was always hoping to capture and document. She wasn’t--”

“Don’t speak about Mother like that,” Lan Xichen says sharply. It is startling to see him flushed with anger, but reassuring to know that Lan Wangji isn’t alone in his outrage.

Lan Qiren acquiesces. “I simply mean -- no. My actions were never those of hate. I wanted to protect you.”

“From what I am,” Lan Wangji says. He grips his sealskin so tightly his knuckles hurt.

His uncle makes a familiar noise of frustration. “From your mother’s curse,” he counters. “I thought that perhaps you could learn to live on land. It was all you ever knew. I would have destroyed that damned sealskin, except it kept growing as you grew bigger.” He eyes it distrustfully. “I thought, if I could find some way to break the connection -- but I did not want to hurt you.”

Is Lan Wangji supposed to be grateful for that? Just the thought of destroying it makes him shiver, and he steps a little further back. 

“And you never breathed a word to me,” Lan Xichen says, hurt. “You saw him struggling and you never mentioned that it was within your power to help him--”

“I would have damned him!” Lan Qiren interrupts. “What kind of life would it be, living as an animal? I did not tell you, Xichen, because I knew you would think it was your duty to set him free, or some such nonsense.”

“Is it not?” Lan Xichen asks. “Uncle, if anything, you drove him away!” His voice cracks.

“I thought he would never return!” Lan Qiren retorts, face twisting in anger. “They never do, in the stories. Your mother certainly never did. The call of the sea is too strong and they succumb.”

“And how can I blame her for that?” Lan Xichen demands. “When she was imprisoned here? How could I blame Wangji if he didn’t, after the way we treated him?”

“Xiongzhang,” Lan Wangji says quietly. “I do not blame you.”

Lan Qiren grunts. “But you blame me?”

Lan Xichen exhales hard into the resulting silence. “Wangji disappeared, just like our mother, and you let me think he’d killed himself,” he says. “Is it unfilial to blame you for that? When you were the one to teach us lying is immoral?”

Lan Qiren sighs. “I thought it would be kinder than giving you false hope,” he says. “Like with your mother.”

Lan Xichen swallows. “So she really might be alive?”

“Not as you knew her,” Lan Qiren allows. “But perhaps. Your father never found her before he died.”

His brother turns to him with wide eyes. “You said that -- when you were only six,” he says. “You kept insisting she would come back, and I never listened.”

“I was a child,” Lan Wangji murmurs. It is both concerning and reassuring that his brother seems almost more distressed than Lan Wangji does about their uncle’s liberties; reassuring to know that his brother would have done something if he could, concerning to realize that Lan Xichen’s life has been just as disrupted as Lan Wangji’s, selkie or no. Lan Wangji has had months in the sea to come to terms with what he is, while his brother is processing new information. “So were you.”

“I was older,” Lan Xichen says immediately. “I was supposed to keep you safe.”

Lan Wangji swallows painfully. “You did,” he insists. “But you should not have had to.” He reaches out and touches his brother’s arm. “Let’s go, Xiongzhang.”

“Let’s,” Lan Xichen agrees, barely sparing a glance for their uncle as he steps out.

Lan Wangji does linger for a moment. His uncle looks back. His mouth is flat, his eyes unreadable. He has probably realized there is very little left for him to say. Lan Wangji turns, and follows his brother. He doesn’t realize that Lan Xichen is walking to the gates until they are already almost there. 

“Xiongzhang?” he asks. 

His brother sighs. “Wangji,” he says. “My life is here. Our family has lived here going back centuries. But you should never be tied here, not if you don’t want to be. You should go live, however you please, wherever you please.”
Lan Wangji’s breath catches in his throat. “I…” he says, but he cannot deny what he wants. Not anymore. 

His brother’s tired eyes crinkle in amusement. “I like that friend of yours,” he says. “If you think you would be happy with him, or out there--” He casts his eyes over the ocean. “Then I can only support that.”

“I will always return,” Lan Wangji promises. “I may not stay long, but you will see me again.”

Lan Xichen exhales shakily. “I know you will. I trust you,” he says, and Lan Wangji can tell he means it as much or more than he has ever meant anything. 

.

Being freed of not just his chains, but his shackles too, has lent a lightness to Wei Wuxian’s bones. The street has hardly changed in the six months of his absence, and he finds himself surprisingly nostalgic for the narrow road and the bustle of half-recognized people. A few vendors wave at him as he passes, and he waves merrily back, remembering none of them. 

The nervousness doesn’t hit him until he’s nearly at the door. What if his siblings have moved? Or what if they don’t want to see him? He would be angry if either of them had done what he did. But he’ll have to talk to them at some point, and he misses them so much. Wei Wuxian tries to shake the bad feelings off like a wet dog, then knocks on the door before he can talk himself out of it.

Jiang Yanli opens the door with a distracted smile, but her mouth immediately opens in shock.

“Jiejie!” Wei Wuxian says into the silence. “You’ll never guess what--”

She’s already flung herself into his arms. Wei Wuxian wobbles a little as he catches her, but he wraps his arms around her shoulders gratefully, inhaling the smell of her.

“I missed you too,” he jokes, although of course he means it. She pulls away, but only to search his face wordlessly, to run a knuckle down his cheek. There’s more than relief in her eyes -- she looks afraid. “Jiejie? What’s wrong?” He tries to look into the shack over her shoulder. “Is something wrong? Is Jiang Cheng okay--”

“A-Xian,” she sniffs. “You’re really here.”

He squeezes her around the waist. “Of course I am. I told you I would come back, didn’t I?”

“You -- we thought --” She runs shaking hands down his shoulders and arms, as if to keep reassuring herself he’s real. “Oh, you’re too thin.”

“I’m fine, I’m fine,” he insists. A week of Lan Zhan serving him seconds and thirds at every meal is already doing wonders for his health. “What’s wrong--”

“We thought--” she begins, but Jiang Cheng chooses this moment to grumble inside the house, “Jiejie, is something happening--?” 

“A-Cheng, come out here,” she calls. 

He shuffles out of the bedroom rubbing his eyes, shoulders slumped, but he freezes when he looks out the doorway. It would be almost comical if he didn’t look devastated. 

“Well, hey,” Wei Wuxian says. “Don’t look too thrilled to see me--"

Jiang Yanli steps aside just in time to avoid being crushed between then when Jiang Cheng throws himself at Wei Wuxian. For a disorienting millisecond, Wei Wuxian thinks he’ll be too slow to dodge a punch, and then Jiang Cheng sends him staggering backwards with the force of his hug. 

Wei Wuxian coughs and pats his brother on the back. His ribs complain under Jiang Cheng’s grip, but he still doesn’t want him to let go just yet. “Hello to you too,” he wheezes, which is when Jiang Cheng pulls back and shakes him forcibly by the shoulders. 

“You fucking asshole!” he shouts, which is more along the lines of the welcome Wei Wuxian was expecting, so it surprises him when he sees the tears streaking down Jiang Cheng’s cheeks. “Was that some sick fucking joke, having your friend come by to tell us you’d fucking drowned --?”

“My friend?” Wei Wuxian echoes dumbly. “Oh, Wen Ning came here?”

“Yes!” Jiang Cheng yells. He’s still gripping Wei Wuxian by the shoulders, very tightly. “Explain!”

“Jiang Cheng!” Wei Wuxian says. He grabs Jiang Cheng by the arms and shakes him a little in return. “Take a deep breath, then I will, ah? I’m okay, I made it back.”

Their sister touches Jiang Cheng’s shoulder. “He’s alright,” she says softly. 

Jiang Cheng glares at him, but acquiesces. His grip loosens slightly. “Explain,” he repeats, plaintive now. “Was Wen Ning lying to us? Did you or did you not get thrown off the ship?”

Slowly, Wei Wuxian nods. “But I’m okay,” he repeats, but Jiang Cheng has already turned away to scrub at his eyes.

Jiang Yanli exhales. “A-Xian, A-Cheng,” she says, that familiar refrain. “Let’s go inside.”

Wei Wuxian lets both of them fuss, in their own way. Jiang Yanli sets a bowl full of leftovers in front of him; Jiang Cheng brews tea as aggressively as possible without breaking the pot.

“How have you been?” he ventures, looking between the two of them. The house, like the street, has changed very little, although they have managed to acquire a replacement table. 

“How have we been?” Jiang Cheng echoes.

Jiang Yanli quiets him with an anxious look. “We had to give up the stall in the market,” she says. “But A-Cheng got a job loading barrels.”

“Onto ships?” Wei Wuxian says, surprised. “Jiang Cheng, why--”

“What was I supposed to do?” his brother demands. “Let us starve?” He all but slams a cup of tea down in front of Wei Wuxian. “You think I can’t handle it, is that it?”

“No!” Wei Wuxian insists. “No, I just -- didn’t expect it. How is it?”

Jiang Cheng drops into his seat. “It’s fucking fine,” he says, jaw tight. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

Wei Wuxian’s heart sinks. He knows his brother’s tells far too well. Knows what he was punishing himself for. “I’m sorry--” he begins.

“You should be!” Jiang Cheng snaps. “What were you thinking, leaving us like that? You never plan ahead and you never think of anything but yourself. Always playing the hero.”

“I wasn’t finished!” Wei Wuxian retorts. “I’m sorry you had to do that. I didn’t mean to put you in that position. But I’m not sorry I left.”

Jiang Cheng scoffs. “Typical.” He crosses his arms. “Why would you -- why would you even do that?”

“Why do you think?” Wei Wuxian says rudely, but he softens at a glance from his sister. “Not because I think you’re weak. Did you think I was weak when you saved me from drowning?”

Jiang Cheng clenches his fists. “Is that what this is about? You don’t owe me shit, if you wanted to get away so bad, you should have just gone --” 

“Because you’re important to me!” Wei Wuxian exclaims. “It’s not about any debt! I thought we were supposed to look after each other!”

“We are,” Jiang Yanli interrupts. Her mouth is tight. “But you should have told us what you were planning. We could have talked about it together.” She lets out a shaky breath. “But instead we woke up and you were already gone.” She takes his hand. “Now, please tell us how you survived. A few days ago, a very nice young man knocked on the door and told us that he was very sorry, but you had drowned.”

“I was rescued,” Wei Wuxian says. He omits the part where he did actually drown first. “I’m sorry, I told Wen Ning to find you because I wasn’t sure--” He swallows.

“It must have been very scary,” his sister says softly, squeezing his hand. “We’re very glad you’re okay.”

“I got really lucky,” Wei Wuxian admits. “You remember my friend I met at the docks? The rich boy? He was out on the water and he saved me.”

Jiang Cheng scowls. “You never should have been in that situation,” he mutters.

Jiang Yanli ignores him. “I must meet your friend and thank him,” she says. “Will you tell me his name now?” Her smile is just a touch playful again. Wei Wuxian breathes a sigh of relief.

“Aha,” he says, “about that. His name is Lan Wangji.”

Jiang Cheng stiffens and Jiang Yanli’s eyes grow wide. “Oh my,” she says.

“You’re joking,” Jiang Cheng says flatly. “The Second Young Master Lan came out and rescued you. And you just happen to already be friends with him.”

It’s a familiar sarcasm, a comforting disdain. Wei Wuxian can’t help his grin. “Yup!” he says brightly. “And he’s courting me.”

Jiang Yanli starts laughing first. Bright peals of laughter, her smile so broad that she doesn’t even bother hiding it behind her hand. The sound fills the room, as she laughs so hard she has to clutch at her stomach. “Only you!” she exclaims, breathless, pushing herself up and coming around the table to hug him again, to pet the hair at his temples, to cup his face. “A-Xian, of course he is.”

Wei Wuxian schools his face to seriousness as best he can, failing miserably. “What, you don’t think I’m good enough for the richest young bachelor in town?”

She taps his nose. “He should be so lucky,” she says mock-solemnly.

Jiang Cheng is scowling again, but his own traitorous smile twists the corners of his mouth up; Wei Wuxian can tell he’s biting the inside of his cheek to keep from looking amused. “You’re ridiculous,” he says. “I’m still mad at you.”

“He really is courting me!” Wei Wuxian insists, and his brother rolls his eyes. Warmth blooms in his chest; they’ll be okay. 

Wei Wuxian extricates himself with difficulty, promising that he’ll be back in time for dinner. The walk down to the docks is leisurely, so familiar he could do it blindfolded. But as much as the town hasn’t changed -- he has. The world is so much bigger than he ever let himself imagine. He wants to explore it, side by side with --

Lan Zhan. 

He sees his silhouette at the end of the docks, completely unmistakable. He wants to laugh at this reversal; he’s approaching Lan Zhan from the wrong direction.

“Lan Zhan!” he cries, and Lan Zhan turns, fully lit from the sunset rather than backlit, as beautiful as a person could be. The sealskin draped around his shoulders makes him look mysterious and elegant -- otherworldly, even -- but he just spreads his arms.

Wei Wuxian, momentarily struck still, starts running, and then sprinting, the wood of the pier creaking under his feet, and when he flings himself into Lan Zhan’s embrace, the world has never felt more just as it ought to be. 

“Lan Zhan,” he repeats, folded up in his arms. “Should I guess why you’re here, for old times’ sake?”

“No need to guess,” Lan Zhan says. He slides an arm around Wei Wuxian’s waist and leans in to kiss him again, so thoroughly that Wei Wuxian is bent back and has to fling an arm over his shoulders and trust Lan Zhan to hold him up. “I will tell you. I have fallen in love with a beautiful fisherman, and I have come to the docks to ask him to run away with me on a ship of our very own.”

Wei Wuxian gapes at him. “That’s a very nice story,” he says, voice cracking. He feels breathlessly alive.

Lan Zhan’s eyes crinkle as he looks down at him. “Not a story,” he says softly. Pressed this close, the sealskin is wrapped around both of them, shielding them from the autumn breeze. “I would like it to be real. Wei Ying, would you--”

Wei Wuxian kisses him again. That’s probably answer enough. 

Chapter Text

The pup catches her attention first. Selkies can always smell one of their own, but it’s strange for such a young child to be without his parents in the water. 

She doesn’t think of her own children often. She can’t afford to. But her second son was just about this boy’s age when she had to leave. She’s not sure just how many years it’s been; she hasn’t risked transformation in what must be over a decade now. In seal form, time is blurrier, less important. Counting years is less important than tracking the length of the day, how many shoals of fish are nearby, whether there are any predators lurking in the deep.

At any rate, she’s been on her own for a long time. Her damned husband is dead now -- she swam down to look at his decaying body on the seafloor herself, just to check -- but she can’t go back. Her mind skirts around the idea, unwilling to consider it. It frightens her, in the deep, animal way. Her sons must be men now. Human men, who she knows firsthand are capable of monstrous things. 

She darts closer to the pup. It’s a sunny day, late summer, and he’s floating lazily on the surface, near the shore, bobbing with the gentle waves. He looks healthy; he is as round as a seal child ought to be, well protected from the cool water. 

She can tell the moment he notices her because he flails around inelegantly, poking his head under the water with interest. He has big, bright eyes and he is just beginning to lose his thick baby coat. 

It’s been so long since she saw one of her own kind, and her joy is distracting enough to make her let her guard down. She swims closer, looping an easy circle around him in greeting, and he honks a friendly hello at her. The water is shallow here, but she is beneath the surface of the water, and so she doesn’t realize they are not alone until she hears a human voice from the shore.

“A-Yuan?” a man’s voice calls. “Are you alright?”

The pup looks away from her to stick his head obligingly back above the water. Her heart clenches. Is he already at this man’s beck and call. Is he a pet? A prisoner?

She makes a warning sound, and A-Yuan (he has been given a human name, which is already a bad sign) turns back to her, confused. 

It is too late; the man is already beginning to wade into the water. She barks at A-Yuan again. Danger! Doesn’t he understand? Was he taken away from his own people so young that he can’t even understand their language?

Panicking, she begins to shepherd him deeper into the water. Escape must be the first step, and then perhaps she can teach him to communicate--

“A-Yuan!” the man cries. “Where are you going?”

A-Yuan swims around her, back towards his captor, who has waded in all the way up to his chest. Struck with sudden fear that he will be plucked from the water, she does the only thing she can think of. In a burst of speed and adrenaline, she swims straight for the man and bites him hard on the calf. 

It has the desired effect in that the man yelps in pain, but his reaction is to stick his head under the water and stare at her. He doesn’t look angry so much as terribly confused. A-Yuan swims into the man’s arms, bumping his small white head against his chin, and the man’s arms come up to cradle him in a practiced motion, as if he needs the man to protect him, not to be protected from him. After several seconds of staring, the man has to straighten up to get air. 

“What’s happening?” another human voice asks. “Wei Ying, are you alright--?”

The selkie nearly flees on the spot. She’s outnumbered, and she won’t be caught again. But the boy--

“A-Yuan, go to Baba,” the first man says, opening his arms and pushing A-Yuan towards the shore. He transforms into his human form as he goes; she can see him change from a round little seal to his skinny human legs scrambling for purchase on the sandy seafloor as he returns to land. Her heart sinks, but she turns away. He must be a lost cause.

“Wait,” the second voice says, and for some strange reason, the selkie obeys. There is a note of desperation in his voice.

When the second man steps into the water, she realizes why. A-Yuan’s baba, the first man had said. For the first few steps, she can see human feet, but almost at once he slips into the water smoothly and naturally. A selkie.

The first thing she notices is that he is completely unafraid of the first man. He winds past him with no trepidation at all, bumping his head affectionately against his uninjured leg. 

The second is that he is patterned nearly identically to her. 

Her transformation occurs almost without conscious thought. She shouldn’t, not so close to a human, but she blinks, and her body changes. She shivers with the sudden chill of the water. Human bodies are so vulnerable to cold. She’s never liked it.

She wraps the sealskin tightly, tightly around herself, and kicks the short distance to the surface, gasping for air. She blinks the saltwater out of her blurry eyes. The first man is standing in the shallows, cradling A-Yuan to his chest. His leg is bleeding a little where she bit him.

The second man -- the selkie -- pokes his head up above the water too. He remains a seal, and she reaches out with a shaking hand to stroke his wet head. She knows. She knows, even before the man on the shore says, still confused, “Lan Zhan?”

The wet fur under her fingers smooths to wet hair. She can hardly bear to lock eyes with the young man treading water in front of her. He looks astonished, struck dumb, which means it must be up to her to say something. Her mouth, unused to speaking, moves slowly, her voice rough. “A-Zhan?”

“Mother,” he breathes.