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The Cloud Recesses, courtyard, today.
“Welcome, Chief Cultivator.”
Jin Guangyao arrives early to the Cloud Recesses - he did this on purpose, knowing that if he were to be questioned he could attribute it to the lovely spring weather and the favorable tailwind.
Although he knows Lan Xichen will be busy until late morning, he delights in being allowed in the Cloud Recesses regardless of appointments. It almost feels like normalcy, though the whispers are never far.
He simply meant to wait around and unwind, perhaps in the library, if a kindly disciple recognizes him and allows him in... but the one who welcomed him at the entrance told him that Sect Leader Lan was giving a demonstration of swordsmanship to new students, and the prospect is simply too attractive to ignore.
Though he walks silently out of habit, his golden clothes draw eyes among the austere whites and blues of the Cloud Recesses.
Murmurs of ‘Lianfang-zun’ and ‘Chief cultivator’ please him as he alights on the training ground, but it’s the ‘A-yao’ on Lan Xichen’s lips that immediately turns his head, like a blossom seeking the sun.
“Er-ge,” he salutes, giving Lan Xichen the space of two, three steps before bowing. It’s enough time for him to turn away from the disciples and meet him, an invisible hurry in his gait that few would notice. Jin Guangyao’s smile grows on cue, and they lock gazes.
“You are early,” Lan Xichen murmurs; though his voice is loud and clear when he calls him A-Yao no matter who is in attendance, this greeting is soft and private, the tone of voice he keeps late at night when all candles are spent.
“I was eager to take in the mountain air,” Jin Guangyao smiles, his voice just as hushed as he basks in Lan Xichen’s gaze, in his solid touch under his wrists.
They pull back from the bow after long moments, the real world intruding in the form of quiet whispers from the disciples in attendance, growing in volume as they become more and more excited.
“Will the Chief Cultivator also give us a demonstration?”
“I heard he has an unusual sword...”
“Maybe he doesn’t want to fight Zewu-Jun…”
“Well, can you blame him?”
“He must be strong enough to spar with Zewu-Jun, they are sworn brothers!”
Old fears slowly spread through the blood in his veins like spilled ink, a memory of many voices sizing him up behind his back, even when he could hear. Just as he can hear now, and so can Lan Xichen.
Lan Xichen turns his clear gaze on the murmuring disciples and they quiet immediately, but the stone of challenge has been thrown and there’s tension in the air, dimming Er-ge’s smile, quickening Jin Guangyao’s pulse.
Lan Xichen smiles his most diplomatic of smiles, a hint of apology in the slant of his beautiful eyes. “Will the Chief Cultivator grace me with his company for this demonstration?”
Chief Cultivator.
This should feel good, but it only stings when his heart’s already soured by murmurs.
He hesitates.
“A-Yao,” the tone is gentler, but the same number of eyes are pointed at them from all directions, numerous curious ribbon-wrapped heads tilting at his prolonged silence, and Jin Guangyao’s back stiffens.
“Er-Ge, I would not presume to dabble in Gusu Lan sword forms.” He knows the basics by heart, and Lan Xichen knows that - but nobody else needs to.
“A-Yao only needs to indulge me as I demonstrate the tenth sword form for the disciples, if he would be so kind. You would be doing me a great favor, as Wangji is away.”
As if he could in any way hold a candle to Hanguang-Jun as a sparring partner. But this, he knows, is not training - it’s merely politics.
The Chief Cultivator crossing swords with the First Jade of Lan would be in itself significant to strengthen inter-sect relations in the eyes of the newest disciples. Being seen sparring with Zewu-Jun would bolster his reputation in the eye of the Lan by mere association, and he knows Lan Xichen won’t humiliate him no matter how abysmal his performance.
Still, when Shuoyue is drawn, his hand hesitates on his waist.
Never has this blade been drawn against him. He narrows his eyes imperceptibly at Lan Xichen, and his brain swirls with what ifs.
He takes Hensheng out and steps daintily across from him.
“Please go easy on me, Er-Ge.” He smiles, with long-practiced confidence.
As the blades meet with a keen sizzle of qi , Jin Guangyao sees all of his fears coalesce into one graceful, peerless martial god, and his hands begin sweating.
Still, he keeps smiling. He puts up a good show.
Lan Xichen is holding back, obviously. They are both putting on a performance, to different ends.
Jinlintai, Jin Guangyao’s study, 5 months and 4 days ago.
“So,” Xue Yang says, taking one of the pearl-inlaid brushes from the desk and twirling it like it’s a knife, dripping ink on his own wrist. “What will you do if Zewu-Jun figures out your nasty secrets? Have you thought about how to kill him?”
Jin Guangyao lifts his eyes from the letter he’s composing to give him a warning glance, then turns back to his scroll.
Xue Yang is the only person he knows that fantasizes about how he’d murder everyone he meets, upon first meeting them. He has in the past regaled Jin Guangyao with the tale of how he’d kill him if he wanted to, with childish glee. Needless to say, the plan was asinine and exaggeratedly gory. Jin Guangyao hadn’t deemed it worthy of criticism, but had taken note just in case.
He wouldn’t put it past Xue Yang to derive some form of carnal pleasure from these idle thoughts - the way one might, upon meeting a beautiful stranger, wonder what they look like under their robes, or what their lips will taste like.
Jin Guangyao has rarely let himself indulge in trivial speculation. He has also been extremely clear that, as much as he tolerates Chengmei’s whims, he won’t take kindly when those extend to even remotely including Er-Ge.
“Come on! Have you?” Xue Yang whines, vibrating like a badly trained, rabid hunting dog.
“I have not,” Jin Guangyao finally responds, snapping the scroll closed. “Because I won’t need to.”
It’s a lie.
He has thought about it.
~
You have thought about it.
In the same way your mind contemplates how you would, if necessary, dispose of each and every person you meet. It is nothing like Xue Yang’s vulgar fantasies. You like to think of it as a simple mental exercise. Perhaps a reflex, given how it feels like a thought happening outside your head and independently of you.
Deep down you know that even men you trust and respect can and will turn on you eventually, and it makes you persistently afraid, angry, and every day more aware of your lack of the innate strength the cultivation world inherently values. Strength, or pure blood. You merely have pale imitations of both.
So, of course you have thought about what you would do if Lan Xichen decided you are wretched, if he saw what you have done and - logically - condemned you for it.
Lan Xichen is the strongest cultivator of your generation, since strength is not just the measure of one’s muscles or the power of one’s rage, and you know what that looks like. In everything, he excels. In everything, he humbles you.
Even if you had the body of a martial god, you would still lack the clarity - the inherent light that makes Lan Xichen exceptional.
His golden core, you know, shines brighter than the sun. You’ve felt it when you were pressed hip to hip, navel to navel, skin to skin. You’ve felt his spiritual energy pour inside of your body and make you weep from its bright, unfathomable purity.
If Lan Xichen doesn’t kill you, shame might, upon having his gaze turn at you with disdain.
But then, what else is left? What is the best course of action?
Nie Mingjue had threatened to kill you and then himself, to restore his honor after your perceived betrayal.
Nonsensical, you had thought, with deep and aching frustration. You don’t flatter yourself you’d be able to genuinely achieve such levels of honorable, hard-headed irrationality.
You hadn’t had a choice - not a choice that didn’t end in death.
You are terribly afraid of death.
Even so, you know in a rational and detached way that even if you lived for centuries, you would be as dead if you dared snuff out Lan Xichen’s light.
Could you kill him? With enough forethought, perhaps.
Would you? You, whose only pride is an unshakable will, are not sure. It is terrifying.
The Cloud Recesses, mountain path, today.
“The Chief Cultivator and I will be resting in the hot springs,” Lan Xichen nods to the closest disciple with his usual, regal smile, “do make sure we are not disturbed unless it is an emergency.”
Quiet murmurs fall away as they head up the mountain path - it’s fresh, green, and solitary. Even so, Jin Guangyao’s shoulders do not lose their tension quite yet. He knows it, and Lan Xichen knows it, with that too-tender empathy he has honed over the years against Jin Guangyao’s will.
As they walk silently, he recognizes the caved-in trunk of a tree that tells him they are halfway up the mountain; it also happens to be the point where, on their usual walks, Lan Xichen would take his hand.
He hasn’t yet, and there’s a regretful gleam in his eyes that tells Jin Guangyao without any remaining shred of doubt that despite his smile, Lan Xichen has sensed his distress - which, in itself, only adds to it.
He could easily take Lan Xichen’s hand first, dispel this tension himself. He has, in the past - though he usually let the other man set the pace here, in the Cloud Recesses, simply in virtue of his better knowledge of the environment. Sect Leader Lan would know when and where it would be safest to indulge on his sacred mountain, like Jin Guangyao knows every secreted corner of Jinlintai where they may kiss, away from prying eyes.
He does not, however, reach out for Lan Xichen’s hand, and it takes him a moment to justify that pettiness even to himself. Part of him is still sore, venomous and dark, drenched in the renewed awareness of his inadequacy. It is easier to blame it on Lan Xichen, though he knows it is both irrational and unkind.
“A-Yao,” his Er-Ge eventually murmurs, “I must apologize on behalf of the disciples. They were simply overeager.”
“Their enthusiasm was flattering, Er-Ge. You have nothing to apologize for.”
Lan Xichen shakes his head, fixes his eyes to the mountain creek they’re following upstream. “I could have opposed their request more firmly, but I didn’t - I fear that was my own failing.”
“Er-ge,” he murmurs, “what makes you say that?”
Another head shake, another beautifully restrained sigh. “Believe me, A-Yao, I did not mean to embarrass you by holding back.” Lan Xichen smiles, unnervingly, and not for the first time Jin Guangyao wonders if he’s shown him too much of himself.
“I know Zewu-Jun does not like to show off. No offense was taken. In fact, I am the one who should be grateful any time I can witness Zewu-Jun in action.” Trite platitudes - he regrets them the moment they leave his mouth.
As he’d feared, Lan Xichen purses his lips and his smile slips, a more shocking display than explosive anger, one that he only allows himself while they are alone.
Jin Guangyao quiets down and simmers.
~
You held your own in front of the disciples. Lan Xichen made sure of it - his control perfect, his qi sweeping over you and leaving you breathless but unhurt.
You hate to be coddled, but you hate to be maligned even more. You should be grateful for his consideration.
Though you know he does not mean to humiliate you… he has, and he does, by sheer virtue of his gifts. He would hate to know this - but even as he strives to make you feel his equal, his endless kindness is but a persistent reminder that as much as you try, you’ll never be a man like him.
You stand upright like him, your chin very slightly tilted to the sky. You bring a touch of blue to your robes, magnanimity to your every public act - every day, you smile like him, but you do not shine like him.
Perhaps some things are simply inborn, and cannot be imitated.
Jinlintai, Jin Guangyao’s study, exactly two weeks ago.
Su She bows as he enters, and eagerly takes a seat when he’s offered tea.
The greatest praise Jin Guangyao can give a man is that he is efficient, on top of being loyal. They can talk business in just the time of a cup of tea.
“Er-Ge is visiting tomorrow, around midday.” Jin Guangyao concludes, as an afterthought, “if you would prefer not to meet the Gusu Lan envoy as you head back to Moling.”
The message is clear - make yourself scarce. Jin Guangyao softens it with a gentle smile.
“Chief Cultivator,” Minshan says, bowing his head and hesitating. His reticence is unusual - something’s on his mind, but he evidently fears it would be too forward or unwelcome to speak aloud. A notion Jin Guangyao has tried to dispel from his mind with frequent reassurance, because uncertainty only festers the longer it is left alone, and the man thrives under the slightest encouragement.
“If some of these activities were to come to light,” Minshan says, his eyes darting left and right and only briefly up to catch Jin Guangyao’s. “If someone prominent were to suspect…”
“You are concerned Zewu-Jun will find out,” Jin Guangyao summarizes, with a patient smile.
“Yes, Chief Cultivator. He…” Minshan pauses again, and Jin Guangyao nods encouragingly. “He is often in Jinlintai,” he finishes, in the quiet tone of one who knows he is overstepping.
“He won’t find out,” Jin Guangyao smiles, but his voice is firm.
For the first time, Su She insists. “But if he did,” he stammers, head slightly bowed. “If someone let him know, perhaps by accident--what would the Chief Cultivator do then?”
Jin Guangyao allows himself a deep inhale before responding. “I would handle it.”
There’s a definite, interested glint in the other man’s slim eyes. “You… would?” His voice lowers to a ragged, oddly eager whisper. “You would get rid of Zewu-Jun?”
“No,” the word leaves Jin Guangyao’s lips without his consent, and he frowns at himself for being so direct. Minshan frowns as well, his lips a deep cut on his face, his eyes squinting in confusion.
Why not? Why him?
Su She is too devoted to voice these thoughts, but that doesn’t mean Jin Guangyao cannot hear them.
“Minshan,” Jin Guangyao smiles again, mustering all the control he wields to quiet his own hammering heart. “It won’t be necessary. I have a plan - a plan that requires no blood to be shed, and I daresay has a much higher success rate than either you or I attempting to face Zewu-Jun head on. Would you like to know?”
The explicit offer of confidence wipes the discontent off Minshan’s face, and he leans in attentively. “Of course, Chief Cultivator.”
~
It is your firm belief that with enough time to plan, the weakest man could defeat the strongest. You know, because you have succeeded in doing so once, and you are not modest about the power of your mind, unlike the rest of you.
You have had time to think - more than a decade of closeness now, of quiet meetings, of less quiet nights.
You have the means - you know the songs, the poisons, the blind spots.
It is not a matter of how you would kill Lan Xichen - he trusts you, foolishly, wholeheartedly, selflessly.
It’s a matter of whether you would let yourself.
You have made plans - but even as you traced them in perfect, bold characters on the endless scrolls of your inner thoughts, you never wrote the last line.
You are, perhaps, not strong enough to kill him.
But you are smart enough that you’ll never need to.
The Cloud Recesses, hot springs, today.
Lan Xichen strips out of his robes with as much grace as he does anything else, and steps into the steaming hot water without as much as a flinch, as if hot and cold, the very laws of nature, do not apply to his jade skin.
“Er-ge, you have me at a disadvantage.” Again , he does not say.
Lan Xichen is not unaware of Jin Guangyao’s considerations on the subject of his body. He knows him, more than he meant to allow, more than is safe. Still, he turns with a smile and stretches out his hand. “Won’t A-Yao keep me company?”
He is not unaware, but he is intent on reassuring, proving that he has nothing to be ashamed of. Insufferable, if it weren’t done out of genuine affection - Jin Guangyao finds he cannot begrudge him that when Lan Xichen worships the same body he himself denigrates.
So he strips, folds his clothes, lays his hat neatly on top of the pile.
He sits on the edge of the hot spring cautiously and dips his feet first. The water is bubbling hot in some spots - not enough to sear, but enough to be unpleasant if he accidentally steps into a current that is near-boiling. It is, in that way, no different from any other place Jin Guangyao has set foot to, and that is why his steps are careful.
“A-Yao.”
Lan Xichen kneels in front of him in the shallow water, his hair expanding on its surface like a dark lotus flower.
Jin Guangyao means to scold him for letting his hair down in the healing waters - but this is Lan Xichen, and everything he does is purposeful. He does look like a beautiful mountain creature amidst the steam, the sight alone almost enough to distract Jin Guangyao from the festering wound to his pride.
“A-Yao, what do you need?”
What does he need? A weapon of such caliber that it could pierce Lan xichen’s heart, and the will to wield it. Somehow, he feels like the former would be easier to come by.
He laughs quietly to himself, and Lan Xichen’s gaze follows the curve of his mouth like an expectant child. Large hands hesitate on Jin Guangyao’s knees, kneading the back of his calves with barely a touch. He is offering, kindly.
Jin Guangyao shakes his head, just as kindly. “I need for nothing, Er-Ge.”
“Let me apologize then, at least.” Lan Xichen kisses a faded scar on Jin Guangyao’s knee, and heaves a little sigh against his humid skin. “I acted out of selfishness. I did mean to show off, a little,” he bows his head, delicate redness creeping on his perfect cheekbones. “I wanted to show you off. A-Yao is beautiful when he fights.”
Ridiculous. Absurd. Insane. Jin Guangyao feels light-headed and irritated, wishes he could dismiss Lan Xichen’s words as honeyed lies. Zewu-Jun praising him for doing barely more than nothing, for surviving a practice duel with him?
“If I asked you to let me win, would you?” Jin Guangyao asks suddenly, a wry chuckle caught in his throat.
“I would,” Lan Xichen replies without hesitation. Then, his gaze softens. “But I find it hard to believe A-Yao would be satisfied with that.”
He’s right. Jin Guangyao turns away, feeling too exposed when Lan Xichen sees too much, and too little, all at once.
“A-Yao…” There’s a different quality to his voice now, and Jin Guangyao looks down to find a soft, gleaming head of dark hair leaned against his thigh, Lan Xichen’s hands clinging onto his knees as if he needs the hand-hold not to drift away downstream. “If I have offended, I beg you to tell me how to make it up to you.”
Jin Guangyao feels the stone, solid and grounding under his feet and flanks. Even though he is naked and hideous, flushed and dotted with perspiration, still almost shorter than Lan Xichen even as he sits and the other kneels, he now realizes the extent of his own power.
He could so easily hurt Lan Xichen, in ways that do not bleed. How could he not, when the man relentlessly offers up his heart on a silver platter, for him to dig into if he so chose?
It makes his head spin. He remembers the one time - only once before - that he had Lan Xichen at his complete mercy, and trembles with the enormity of it.
Yunping, Meng Yao’s room, 15 years, 2 months and 12 days ago.
Meng Yao eyed the unconscious cultivator laying in his rickety bed, bloody red and highborn white, and his hand twitched on the hilt of his knife. The other worried at the frayed hem of his robe, again and again.
He had taken him in without thinking, absconded with him before he could fully realize what he would do with him, as if the choice had been made for him.
Ransom, opportunity, a war prize. Perhaps revenge on the rich who stepped on him at every chance, if revenge were worth anything at all.
He could kill him then, he knew, and only then. If the cultivator regained his bearings, if he recovered use of his qi , there wouldn’t be another chance.
That was the only time Meng Yao had an advantage, the only time he likely ever would.
As he considered this, he was too late already.
The young man’s beautiful face scrunched up just slightly, making him look younger still, and he opened dark grey eyes to take him in, cautious and quiet like a wounded doe.
“Gongzi,” he said, in a gentle, awed voice, “are you the one who saved me?”
Meng Yao’s hand fell off the knife. He’d never been called that before.
Here, now.
“Er-ge,” he murmurs, a tremulous quality to that single word.
Lan Xichen picks up on it. Out of long practice and innate gentleness, he hears the unsaid even when Jin Guangyao does not know what is on the tip of his tongue, and smiles.
“Anything A-Yao wants,” he says, and it hurts that he means it.
Jin Guangyao finds himself nodding, the condensation making his vision blurry.
He draws his legs out of the water and sits himself back on the warm stones, looking anywhere but at himself.
“Er-ge,” he says again - a request, an answer. He extends his hand for Lan Xichen to take.
Their fingers tangle securely and the other man rises from the water, beautiful, dripping, alight with the flitting sunlight that reaches through thick pine trees.
He leans in to kiss the bitterness and yearning from Jin Guangyao’s mouth, reaches up to trail loving fingers through his damp hair and gently, gently lays him on his back. Despite everything, his looming frame invokes not fear, but reprieve.
~
A lifetime of lying won’t make the truth any less obvious.
You can’t kill him.
You do love him.
You love him like a prisoner yearns for the moon outside iron bars, high in the sky - with both jealousy and desire, endlessly.
Even struck down by unfair comparison, your existence is better for his. You will be lacking, bereft, if he is killed by either your hands or another’s.
You will entreat with him, you will beg him, you will deceive him, you will seal his powers or take hostages of his friends to stay his hand.
You will do anything short of harming him.
You will run away, if worse comes to worst.
Better a life without Lan Xichen than a world without Lan Xichen.