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When Lan Wangji hears of it for the first time, he’s at a teahouse in Meishan.
He’s far from prone to eavesdropping on idle gossip; his sect rules forbid it, primarily, but he also possesses a negative interest in listening to trivial rumors of whatever is happening in the far corners of the cultivation world.
This time, however, Lan Wangji’s ears are pricked when he hears —Wuxian.
Wei Ying? It’s been months, an entire season since they parted in Gusu to pursue their separate travels. Have people seen him close by, near to here? Or perhaps something’s happened recently, an incident involving him? Lan Wangji focuses his attention intently, picking up on the nearby women’s words with ease.
“ — way that she actually got Wei Wuxian into her bed,” one of the women is scoffing. “A-Qiu is always making up things. You’re as big a fool as she is if you believe one word out of her mouth.”
“I saw it for myself,” the other woman replies with conspiratorial glee. “I saw a man dressed in black ducking out of her house one morning. I could’ve sworn I saw him carrying something, some kind of instrument in his hand.”
The first woman sighs loudly. “Fine, I’ll bite — what did A-Qiu say about him?”
“That he lives up to every part of his reputation, if you know what I mean,” the woman replies, a coy curl to her voice, and Lan Wangji feels a knot of bile at the base of his throat, pressing insistently. “Apparently they were at it for hours, from dusk until dawn.”
“Hmph,” the first woman says, sounding reluctantly intrigued. “And what else?”
The second woman runs her tongue over her teeth suggestively and raises her eyebrows. “I heard he talked aa-llll night. A-Qiu could barely get him to shut up long enough to —”
It’s at that point that Lan Wangji can bear no more; he claps down his money on the table and shoulders his way past a gaggle of drunken cultivators who split apart to gawp after him, out and out and out until autumn night air pours over him like a sheet of rain, where he can finally breathe.
—
The rumors only accelerate from there, as Lan Wangji’s travels stretch long and the days shorten, cooling from a late summer heat. Wei Wuxian, though not fully exonerated in any sense of the word, has become, more and more since Jin Guangyao’s death, a defanged folk hero rather than the slithering cold front in the northern wind; the shadow tracing everyone's steps. The effects of time’s passing and the churn of a younger generation, in the truest sense; Lan Wangji can hardly forget the days when those whispers were more than warranted.
Lan Wangji, almost overnight, shifts from from hearing very little about Wei Ying to overhearing snatches of conversation everywhere he goes, all of the same salacious nature.
“I heard he stayed in a brothel for more than a week, and that the women there never wanted to leave — ”
“Well, Liao Chen said she met him traveling on the road, that he played the dizi and tempted her into his room —”
“I heard that back then he didn’t only trick maidens into his bed; that he tumbled men, hapless young cultivators who wandered in from the cold — ”
“You remember that doctor, Wen Qing? He stayed with her alone in that wretched place for so long, it’s no wonder — ”
“Or Jiang Yanli? They used to say they were siblings, but they were sect siblings, no? There was nothing keeping them from —”
Lan Wangji boxes out the gossip to the best of his ability and focuses on night-hunt after night-hunt. He knows it's impossible that all of the rumors can be true; while Wei Ying is a flirt, it’s fairly improbable that he’s slept his way through half of China. Not that Lan Wangji would doubt Wei Wuxian’s ability to do anything, if he were to put his mind to it.
It’s the rumors with kernels of truth that Lan Wangji can’t fully discount. The ones that capture facets of Wei Ying’s character, his habits, his humor. Or, perhaps worse, the claims he may never know to be truth one way or the other. Does Wei Ying bite more than he kisses, as a woman in a Mianyang inn had asserted to her three girlfriends over a pot of wine? Does he have the stamina to…last all night, as another young woman had sighed as she sold bao on the roadside? Does he leave scores of bruises on the skin, as one auntie had wearily complained while Lan Wangji was passing through Qingzhou?
The chances are Wei Wuxian is wandering out in the world night-hunting as Lan Wangji is, entirely oblivious to what’s being said about him. Or maybe he’s holed up in an inn with another woman he’s met somewhere on the road, grinning at her slyly and saying, “Have you heard all they’ve said about me? Would you like to find out if it’s true?”
Lan Wangji bites back the miserable, sour taste in his throat that rises each time he considers it, and he continues his work.
—
Lan Wangji is so intently focused on collecting eavesdropped information on Wei Wuxian that he almost misses it entirely when Wei Ying himself materializes across an inn in Baling, two weeks later. Their eyes catch briefly across the room, and Lan Wangji experiences a sensation like an electric current spindling through him, a lightning zip.
Wei Wuxian’s face goes slack in his surprise, then lights up like a sunbeam splitting through a cloud. He almost drops the jar of liquor he’s holding. “Lan Zhan!”
Vying emotions curl up in Lan Wangji, fast. Joy — he’s here — relief — he’s unhurt — longing — he’s still just as beautiful — a phantom grief — it’s been so long — and that unnamable feeling he has carefully skirted lately, a bramble patch he's picked his way around. Before he can process it entirely, Wei Wuxian is bounding over to him, heedlessly shoving his way through dozens of patrons, his delight only narrowed on Lan Wangji.
Steady, Lan Wangji tells himself bracingly as Wei Wuxian bounces to a stop in front of him.
“Lan Zhan,” Wei Wuxian repeats, just as wonderingly as a moment ago. “I can’t believe you’re here! Wow, you look incredible. I mean, aha, you always do, but —” He scratches at the back of his head and scrunches his face up a little. “Ah, what am I saying, I’ve been drinking. Come, sit! Share a meal with me!”
“Okay,” Lan Wangji says, because of course he concedes, and then he’s following Wei Wuxian through the throngs of strangers, Wei Wuxian’s hand circled around his wrist as he leads him. The entire time, Lan Wangji is observing at the shape of his robes over his wiry shoulders, wondering, wondering —
Once they reach the table, Wei Wuxian whips around with a fling of his ponytail, beaming and already chattering as he pushes Lan Wangji’s shoulder to sit down.
“Tell me everything that I’ve missed since I’ve been gone! Or — wait, I’ll go first, I’m too anxious to tell you things, so you’ll have to endure it, okay? You wouldn’t believe some of the things I’ve fought, Lan Zhan! A few weeks ago, when I was passing through Yunmeng —”
As he talks and talks, Lan Wangji observes every line of him, feeling himself soften further at each word, easing back into the hearth warmth of Wei Wuxian’s familiar presence. Wei Wuxian is as beautiful now as he ever was, made even more so by absence; a little tanner since the last time they departed in the spring, a little leaner in his robes from the wear of travel, his cheekbones starker.
And all that time as he watches him chatter, Lan Wangji finds himself wondering, selfishly, horribly. How many strangers have tasted Wei Wuxian’s mouth; have listened to these earnest, liquor-warm ramblings; have unpeeled the layers from his skin after a long day’s travel?
“But enough about me,” Wei Wuxian says eventually, and takes a long swig of liquor. “Aiyo, I talk so much, you must be falling asleep. Lan Zhan, Lan Zhan, tell me all that’s new with you.”
“There’s nothing,” Lan Wangji says — it’s terser a reply than he intended, but he’s still distracted, enough so not to give a full answer. Wei Wuxian blinks, and his face falls a little.
“Oh,” he says. “Of course, you’ve probably just been keeping busy!” A strange look crosses his face; for the first time of the evening, Wei Wuxian looks vaguely uncertain of himself, his thumb fiddling along the edge of his liquor jar. “Hey, uh, Lan Zhan. I — it’s okay that I came up to you, right? I guess I should have…aha, asked before I just assumed you wanted to sit with me and dragged you over here to listen to my rambling.”
“Of course,” Lan Wangji says immediately. “Wei Ying, of course I want to see you.”
Wei Wuxian brightens again, but the wariness hasn’t left the line of his shoulders; some inward retreat that Lan Wangji’s initial response had elicited. “Okay, great.”
Lan Wangji sits there frozen and useless, utterly unsure of what to say to smooth things over, to coax Wei Wuxian back into that languid, happy chatter from moments ago.
“Well, do you want to —” Wei Wuxian says, then keeps his gaze averted, although his tone remains buoyant. “Drink up in my room? It’s not the best place, truth told, but it’s a little quieter and more private than down here, surrounded by all these noisy strangers.”
How many others has he brought into his room, just like this, Lan Wangji thinks before he can stop himself. Then, with a pang of self-reproach, he files the thought firmly out of mind.
Lan Wangji nods to Wei Wuxian’s inquiry, leaves the appropriate money for the bill, and follows Wei Wuxian out of the room.
“You should hear some of the nonsense they’re saying about me these days, Lan Zhan,” Wei Wuxian throws over his shoulder as they ascend the steps, a laugh in his voice. Lan Wangji feels himself tense again. “Do people have nothing better to do than spin elaborate yarns about my life? You’d think after all these years they would have finally found someone new to speculate about.”
They reach the door and Wei Wuxian turns to him, his smiling mouth open to continue talking, but Lan Wangji says, rushed and stilted, “What have you heard.”
Wei Wuxian’s mouth closes again as he surveys Lan Wangji with a puzzled expression. Then he says, “Just ridiculous things about what I’ve been up to; you know how these people talk.”
Lan Wangji swallows hard, his eyes trained on the floor, on Wei Wuxian's dust-scuffed shoes. “Is…any of it true? What they say?”
Wei Wuxian pauses for a long time, long enough for Lan Wangji to look up again and to find himself being appraised with soft concern.
“Lan Zhan, what is it,” Wei Wuxian says quietly. “You’ve acted strange all night.”
“It’s…” Lan Wangji shakes his head, feeling abashed. He’s allowed a mouthful of vinegar to poison what should have been a happy, relaxed reunion with Wei Ying. Far worse is that the toxin of it has clearly been felt throughout the evening. “Nothing.”
“It’s something,” Wei Wuxian counters, without rancor. “Here, come inside and we’ll talk more.”
Lan Wangji follows him through the sliding door and finds a bevy of aromatic candles already lit, a low amber glow that illuminates the decorative scrolls along the walls. Wei Wuxian hops quickly around to shuffle some of his belongings out of the way, as if Lan Wangji is a guest in his home.
Wei Wuxian pauses to stare at him again, looking uncharacteristically bashful as he scratches the back of his head again. “I told you it wasn’t much, but — hey, it’s a place to sleep, right?” He takes a quick step toward Lan Wangji, then seems to think better of it, whirling away to light more candles and a stick of incense.
“Okay,” Wei Wuxian says, once he’s returned and settled on one of the sitting mats. “Come sit, tell me all that you’ve heard. It’s clearly nothing promising, if the look on your face is anything to go off of.”
After a moment’s hesitation, Lan Wangji joins him on the adjacent mat. Heat prickles uncomfortably along his jaw, a slow itch.
“It can’t be worse than what they used to say,” Wei Wuxian says disbelievingly, surveying Lan Wangji’s expression with increasing apprehension. “Lan Zhan, out with it, c’mon.”
“Some have said…” Lan Wangji says, with audible difficulty. Subject matter like this has never come easily to him to discuss. “That you…” He trails off.
“That I…?” Wei Wuxian prompts, nudging at Lan Wangji’s knee.
“Had — intimate relations, with several women over the years,” Lan Wangji manages. “Thus far, 42 have made the claim.” Not that he’s counting.
Wei Wuxian stares at him with blank-faced shock for one torturous, dangling, endless moment, then he promptly bursts into a fit of laughter. It does not seem cruelly intended, although Lan Wangji isn’t sure whether to be more relieved or injured by it.
“Oh my god,” Wei Wuxian chokes once he recovers himself, wiping at one of his eyes with a knuckle. “What a load of horseshit! Lan Zhan, you didn’t believe them, right?” His laughter slowly dies the longer he stares at Lan Wangji. His eyebrows crook up, brooking together. “…Lan Zhan, you didn’t believe them, right?”
Lan Wangji lowers his gaze, suddenly unable to look Wei Wuxian in the eye. “I wasn’t certain what to believe. Everything that happened was…so many years ago, I couldn’t be certain that…and it should be none of my concern, whether you…”
“Hey, Lan Zhan,” Wei Wuxian says, with a marked increase in alarm. “It terrifies me when you ramble. Stop, stop, look at me.”
Lan Wangji does, feeling a little wretched. Wei Wuxian is appraising him searchingly, his eyes flickering over every each of Lan Wangji’s features. Lan Wangji isn’t entirely sure what he finds there.
“Aiyo,” Wei Wuxian exhales on a whispered sigh, his gaze unwavering but twice as sympathetic. “My poor Lan Zhan, scandalized to death by all of these sordid whisperings about his zhiji. What must you think of me?”
“I...” Lan Wangji grapples for the words to contradict that as vehemently as he feels. “I thought no less of you, I…”
Wei Wuxian scoots closer to him, close enough that their crossed knees are touching. Lan Wangji’s hand twitches toward him; so close, after so long without him.
“Okay, Lan Zhan,” Wei Wuxian says very seriously, then folds his hands in his lap. “If I tell you something, you have to promise it never leaves this room, okay? I can’t have things getting out and ruining my virile reputation. I just got them to start drawing pictures of me sexy. I can’t go back to how it was before.”
Lan Wangji nods in acquiescence.
“I…” Wei Wuxian rubs a hand along the back of his neck, and even in the dim candlelight, Lan Wangji can see the flush creeping into his cheeks. “The truth is I never did anything like that when I was younger. I was just a lot of talk, honestly.”
There’s a tremor in Lan Wangji’s chest, pitching higher in frequency. It shouldn’t matter to him, he reminds himself, what Wei Wuxian has or hasn’t done with other people, but… “You…”
Wei Wuxian winces and rolls his neck on his shoulders with a quiet crack, then rubs at his nose. “You’re not going to make me say more about it, are you? Have mercy, Hanguang-jun.”
“Wei Ying.”
“Fine, fine!” Wei Wuxian throws one hand up, using the other to wearily pinch the bridge of his nose. “I’ve never done anything with anyone; not then, not ever. I don’t know where people get these ideas from. It’s not like I exactly had any time to fool around back in the day, what with the dying and the dead people.”
“You had plenty of time,” Lan Wangji points out. He feels lighter than he has in days, the rush of relief euphoric in its potency. All of his worrying seems so retrospectively absurd, now. “In our younger years.”
“Ah, yeah, well.” Wei Wuxian squirms on the mat and makes a face. “It never seemed like the right person, okay? Or the right time.”
“Who was,” Lan Wangji says, reckless. He never speaks without considering what he'll say first, but his mouth moves clumsily in his haste. “What would have been.”
Wei Wuxian stares at him, his lips slightly parted.
“Lan Zhan,” Wei Wuxian says warningly after another speechless moment, then places a hand over his chest. “Stop looking at me like that. It’ll give me — aha, it could give a person the wrong idea.”
“Wei Ying,” Lan Wangji implores again, his heart thundering in his chest.
Wei Wuxian sighs, rolling his eyes and tilting his head dramatically even as his voice cracks in two places. “Surely you must know, right? You have to know the answer by now. Did you think I squirrel away every beautiful cultivator I meet up into my private bedroom?” His expression shifts to one of faint horror. “Oh, you probably did.”
Lan Wangji reaches out one hand and lays it over Wei Wuxian’s, and he tightens his hold, holds his breath.
Wei Wuxian shakes his head and sighs, and upturns his palm to squeeze Lan Wangji’s hand. “I’ve only ever wanted to sleep with one person. He’s very handsome and very susceptible, apparently, to believing outlandish things he hears on the street.”
“Wei Ying,” Lan Wangji says brokenly, and pulls him forward by the hand, folding him into his arms. He smells like the dust from the road, camellia oil, sweet wine, fireside smoke, an open day in the sun.
Wei Wuxian laughs then groans as Lan Wangji’s grip tightens. “Lan Zhan, Lan Zhan, ridiculous man. How could there be anyone else? Don’t you know that everywhere I go, I’m only looking for you?”
Lan Wangji exhales jaggedly, then closes his eyes and presses a kiss behind Wei Wuxian’s ear. Wei Wuxian coils into him tighter with a palpable shiver.
“And you, Wei Ying,” he murmurs. “More than you could know.”
Wei Wuxian rubs a hand over his back, his palm bumping along the ridges of scar tissue even through the layers of Lan Wangji's robes.
Finally, after a few more moments, he pulls back slightly to regard Lan Wangji with a gleam in his eye, the corners of his mouth curved in a coy smile.
“Now,” Wei Wuxian says slowly, a thumb tracing the shell of Lan Wangji’s ear. “Is this the part where you tell me you’re a secret fiend, and across all these years, you’ve — ah!”
To the notion, Lan Wangji had sunk a small, sharp bite into his neck, and then his ear.
"H-Hanguang-jun," Wei Wuxian whines, but his voice is too breathy and his cheeks too flushed to fully sell the protest. "I was only asking if you —"
"Just you," Lan Wangji says, although it goes without saying. "Only you."
Wei Wuxian exhales, a little tremulously, his eyes overbright. "Oh. Hm! Well. It would seem we have some catching up to do, in matters of the — Lan Zhan!"
It is, in every sense, an evening of education well-spent.