Chapter Text
They meet at the abandoned mountain temple like they do every month, bathed only in the light of the moon. The air is chilly this high up, but Jiang Cheng is warmed by the presence of the tall man approaching him.
Lan Huan. First in all the world of cultivation, as dignified and handsome as he is kind and intelligent. As he walks towards Jiang Cheng, he seems like a deity, pristine white robes flowing behind him and skin as flawless as jade. And though Lan Huan could have anyone, though he is in fact betrothed to another, still the pair find themselves meeting time and time again on this isolated mountainside.
Once he reaches Jiang Cheng, Lan Huan stops, his eyes trained on Jiang Cheng’s face. Lan Huan is promised to another, and yet, Jiang Cheng dares to hope, to believe in the connection between them. Jiang Cheng's breath catches as Lan Huan carefully unties the sacred ribbon from his forehead with long, steady fingers. It is his clan’s symbol of devotion, and Lan Huan draws it to Jiang Cheng’s trembling wrist.
Lan Huan parts his perfect lips and says—
“CHENGCHENG! COME HELP ME SET THE TABLE!”
Jiang Cheng is brutally ripped from his reverie as his brother slides around the corner of his doorway and into his room. Instinctively, Jiang Cheng slams his laptop shut and moves it to his bedstand, but Wei Ying is already grinning like a fiend and barreling onto the bed next to Jiang Cheng.
“Oh my god, you had the dumbest look on your face. Are you reading danmei on your laptop again? Imagining you’re a swordwielding gentleman about to be swept off his feet?”
Wei Ying leans in, searching Jiang Cheng’s face for any sign of a telltale blush, even though Jiang Cheng is sure he’s red enough that his next door neighbors could spot it. Wei Ying’s stupid face is entirely too close to Jiang Cheng’s for his taste, so he plants a hand on as much of his brother’s face as he can reach and shoves.
Even though they don’t share any blood, Wei Ying has been Jiang Cheng’s brother for just about as long as Jiang Cheng can remember. He’s older than Jiang Cheng (as he loves to remind Jiang Cheng) but they’re both about to be high school juniors. The year before Wei Ying was adopted by the Jiangs had been… rough, to say the least, and Wei Ying lost a year of schooling. Of course, Jiang Cheng’s genius brother had more than made up for it in the intervening years. He’s a natural at practically everything, especially music. Jiang Cheng can’t count the number of competitions that Wei Ying’s entered and won over the years.
It’s something that makes Jiang Cheng feel proud, and, if he’s honest, occasionally insecure. Particularly with summer winding down, and school starting next week.
Since middle school, Wei Ying has spent school years boarding at a private music conservatory with a prestigious scholarship. At the end of the most recent spring term, however, he’d been sent back home after causing a “dangerous musical explosion.” Jiang Cheng is unclear on how that’s even possible, but he knows better than to ask by now.
So this year Wei Ying will be attending Gusu High with Jiang Cheng, the pair of them sharing classes and a homeroom for the first time since elementary school. Jiang Cheng just knows Wei Ying is going to end up first in their class.
Which isn’t necessarily a bad thing; despite all his studying Jiang Cheng never manages to be first and it would be great if someone could knock that Lan Wangji down a peg or two.
Plus, as annoying as his brother is (very Jiang Cheng thinks as Wei Ying aggressively licks the palm of the offending hand on his face), he can begrudgingly admit that he missed Wei Ying when he was away at boarding school.
Face finally free, Wei Ying sets to work prodding Jiang Cheng with a passion. “You know if you only talk to your crush in your head you’re never going to end up in a relationship in real life. So, let your big brother help… who have you cast as the dreamy cultivator pledging his love to you for the rest of your immortal lives?”
“Who says I’m telling you?” Jiang Cheng splutters, before correcting, “No one!”
Wei Ying taps a finger on his chin, eyes narrowed and contemplative. And god Wei Ying knows Jiang Cheng way too well and is way too smart for his own good.
Jiang Cheng needs a diversion, fast.
The gods must be listening because the doorbell rings. Both brothers sit up immediately.
“Shit,” Wei Ying mutters, “he’s here already. Hurry and help me set the dinner table before your mom kills me.”
But Jiang Cheng isn’t worried about his brother (mostly—his mom probably will destroy Wei Ying if they don’t hustle downstairs). He’s too busy fixing his hair and mentally preparing himself for him, for Lan Huan.
Lan Huan, who is now here for Friday night family dinner.
Lan Huan, who is included in Friday night family dinner because he’s dating Jiang Yanli.
And, yes, Lan Huan who has starred in all of Jiang Cheng’s stupidest adolescent fantasies for the last four years.
Before you judge! Jiang Cheng would never, ever act on his feelings.
Besides, before Lan Huan and Jiang Yanli were a thing, Lan Huan and Jiang Cheng were a thing. Well, not a romantic thing, but a pair of sorts nonetheless. They’d been friends since middle school, their parents longtime business associates.
Jiang Cheng can still remember the first time they met. He was an awkward, prepubescent sixth grader at some fancy cocktail party with his parents at a board member’s summer home. His sister was at a sleepover and Wei Ying had already left for boarding school so Jiang Cheng was alone, pretending to be interested by some photos of the hosts above the fireplace.
He was about to move to the bathroom to hide, when he thought he spied a small dog disappearing down the hallway. He followed, moving as quickly in the direction of the fluffy bundle as he could without running. He knew if he ran he’d get a scolding from his parents on acting unseemly and embarrassing them. He was already risking getting in trouble by going somewhere he might not be allowed.
The hallway was quiet, away from the life of the party, and there was no dog in sight. Still, there was only one door, already cracked open, that the puppy could have disappeared into. Jiang Cheng figured just a small investigation into an open room couldn’t hurt.
He pushed tentatively against the heavy oak door, wincing as it creaked loudly. He crept into the warmly lit room, filled with a couple of overstuffed armchairs, a coffee table, and countless books.
Jiang Cheng huffed as he realized there was still no dog in sight. Still… there was no question this was a better hiding spot than the bathroom, where people might knock or he might be in the way. Eyes nervously darting around the room, he picked up a heavy photo book (“Beautiful Gardens Around the World”) from the coffee table and started to flip through. He forewent the chairs, choosing to kneel awkwardly on the rug by the coffee table. For some reason, sitting in the chairs felt like a step too far. Here, if anyone came in, he could claim he had just stopped for a minute.
After a few minutes (the most enjoyable minutes of the party for him thus far), he heard someone gently clear their throat behind him.
He scrambled to his feet, spinning around with an excuse already halfway up his throat.
But rather than a disapproving grownup, he saw a boy about his own age with a smile on his face. It wasn’t a teasing smile, like Wei Ying would have had if he’d caught him, or a worried smile, like Yanli. Just a genuine, simple smile, like the other boy was pleased to see Jiang Cheng.
“Sorry to interrupt,” the other boy said, with a slight bow, “it’s just good to see another kid here.”
When Jiang Cheng didn’t say anything, still frozen, the other boy stuck out his hand.
“I’m Lan Huan. I’m twelve years old.”
Jiang Cheng noticed that this other boy, this Lan Huan, was taller than him by at least 5 centimeters. It added to his general demeanor of seeming older and more put together than Jiang Cheng had ever felt in his life.
“Jiang Cheng. I’m eleven.”
Jiang Cheng shook the offered hand, then dropped it quickly. He scowled at the ground, suddenly embarrassed for no reason.
But Lan Huan didn’t seem bothered at all. In fact, his smile only seemed to grow.
“That's cool. Sorry to interrupt you; I just thought my brother might be in here.” The silence stretched between them, and Jiang Cheng expected Lan Huan to leave. But instead, he asked, “So, what were you reading?”
“It’s… nothing important. I just… I thought I saw a dog,” Jiang Cheng muttered, as if that explanation made any sense.
“Oh, I like dogs!” Lan Huan said brightly, and Jiang Cheng looked up to meet him in the eye for the first time. “Do you?”
Jiang Cheng will later pinpoint this as the moment that he fell.
The pair spent the rest of the evening talking about their favorite kind of dogs, which gardens in the photobook they’d most want to live in, and their brothers. Lan Huan turned out to be very well traveled for a twelve-year-old, and he told Jiang Cheng about all the places his family had vacationed. He listened patiently when Jiang Cheng talked too, even nodding when Jiang Cheng ranted about how pitbulls were misunderstood and accidentally got too loud and passionate. When he finally trailed off his rant, blushing in shame at having gone on so rudely, Lan Huan only smiled and told him sincerely that it was very interesting. Jiang Cheng felt himself swell a little in pride, that a boy like Lan Huan who had seen so much of the world could find anything he had to say interesting.
Jiang Cheng also learned that Lan Huan enjoyed making art. He showed Jiang Cheng a picture on his phone of some flowers he’d drawn that Jiang Cheng swore to him could have been a photograph. Jiang Cheng would think it was unfair that anyone could be both so nice and talented if it were anyone but Lan Huan.
And when the evening came to a close and Jiang Cheng’s parents appeared in the doorway, the disapproving looks on their faces froze. And then… and then they hadn’t looked disapproving at all.
Jiang Cheng had been sure he was going to get scolded for disappearing in the middle of the party, but on the car ride back his mother had only turned slightly towards him in the backseat and nodded her approval. Jiang Cheng’s eyes widened in shock.
“It’s good that you’re hanging out with that Lan boy,” Jiang Fengmian said absently, eyes never leaving the road, and Jiang Cheng flushed with pride.
And hang out they did. They didn’t get to hang out that much at school, but Jiang Cheng understood. Lan Huan was older and nice and the tallest kid on the middle school basketball team and he was understandably incredibly popular. At lunch and between classes he was always surrounded by a sea of friends and teammates, star basketball center Nie Mingjue and class secretary Jin Guangyao glued to his side. And since they were in different grades, they never had any classes in common. Still Lan Huan would always smile when he saw Jiang Cheng in the hallways, sometimes with a little wave that Jiang Cheng would sheepishly return.
But after school? That was when Jiang Cheng got Lan Huan to himself. They weren’t neighbors, but they lived in the same nice part of town. Jiang Cheng found that he could bike to Lan Huan’s in five minutes flat if he pedaled as fast as he could. For the next three years, they’d kick a soccer ball around the park, watch movies, or wander around the mall after school a few times a week. He was Jiang Cheng’s best friend, even if he knew that Lan Huan had too many friends for it to be reciprocal.
Even when puberty hit and Jiang Cheng’s moodiness and bouts of anti-socialness reached new peaks, Lan Huan had been nothing but patient and understanding with him. He’d distract Jiang Cheng with a sketch of a dog or a gentle nudge to the shoulder.
Of course, of course, puberty seemed to bestow nothing but blessings upon Lan Huan. He got even taller, his features more refined and his shoulder broader. While Jiang Cheng pulled a beanie down low over his acne-ridden forehead, Lan Huan’s skin remained unfairly smooth. As the years passed, Jiang Cheng found himself staring at his friend’s hand as it sketched out a perfect rendition of the river in front of them, wondering what it would be like to hold it. When Lan Huan would tell him a story late in the evening about the basketball team’s latest bus ride, Jiang Cheng would find himself awestruck by the way the setting sun’s light reflected in his friend’s eyes.
And at their parents’ dinner parties, Jiang Cheng watched, chest tight, as Lan Huan charmed all of their parents’ associates with his precocity and politeness. Jiang Cheng still swears there was one time when Lan Huan found a problem with a prototype that the adults missed.
As far as Jiang Cheng can tell, then and now, Lan Huan is perfect.
So, of course, he’s also a perfect match for Jiang Yanli. And of course he’s straight.
There’s no one in the world Jiang Cheng adores more than his a-jie. Not his friend Nie Huaisang, not his favorite musician, not his parents, no one. She’s headed to the big public university all the way in Lanling on Sunday, and Jiang Cheng isn’t sure what he’s going to do with her so far away.
As far as Jiang Cheng is concerned, Yanli deserves the best of the world, and Lan Huan is unquestionably the best, so when they get together in the middle of Jiang Cheng’s freshman year, all Jiang Cheng can feel is resigned. It’s not like he ever even told anyone anyway.
Besides, she’s the captain of the pep squad and he’s their high school basketball team’s point guard and captain. It all makes sense.
And, Jiang Cheng, reasons to himself for the five hundredth time, it’s just a crush. A very intense, and longlasting one, but Jiang Cheng has had them before. Has dealt with them before.
In fact, while Jiang Cheng has never dated anyone, he has felt like this four other times (albeit never for this long). And each time, when he felt like the emotions were going to burst out of him if he kept them inside any longer, he’d write a letter. A love letter, to be exact, pouring out all of the shameful and intense feelings he’d buried inside for the other person. Jiang Cheng knows he’s no good at hiding his feelings, so it’s good to get them out somehow.
There are five letters addressed to five people, dating all the way back to elementary school:
The first letter is addressed to Luo Qingyang, who went to summer camp with Jiang Cheng. Jiang Cheng had been so nervous to talk to her that he’d rudely ignored her for weeks and then thrown up from anxiety on the last night of camp. That letter is mostly apologies.
The second letter is addressed to Song Lan, from Model UN. Song Lan went to a school in Yi City, a couple of hours away, but they’d always compete at the same Model UN conferences. He was probably the best out of all of them at representing his country (Hungary). While Hungary was not typically a major player in the UN, Song Lan laid out the needs of his country so adeptly that the rest of them couldn’t help but take notice. That Jiang Cheng couldn’t help but take notice. Meeting the principled and thoughtful Song Lan was the first time that Jiang Cheng realized that another boy could make butterflies appear in his stomach.
The third letter is addressed to Nie Mingjue, now Lan Huan’s best friend and Jiang Cheng’s first (and only) kiss. In seventh grade, Jiang Cheng had received at a rare sleepover party invitation from Nie Huaisang. Sitting cross-legged on their sleeping bags in the basement, the kids in his class huddled around a magazine to fill out a personality quiz. Nie Mingjue, had walked in with the new kid, Jin Guangyao, trailing behind him. Nie Mingjue was nowhere near as tall as he is now, but he still gave off the intimidating aura of an all-knowing eighth grader. So when he derided what they were doing as “boring” and suggested a game of spin the bottle, well… they’d all formed a circle pretty quickly (minus Nie Huaisang, who whined at his brother and refused to play).
When it was Jiang Cheng’s turn, he had to spin twice because the first time his sweaty fingers slipped uselessly on the empty coke bottle. The other kids had tittered until he’d glared at them. They’d shut up at that, but he regretted it immediately. Who would want to kiss someone who glared at them?
He managed to get the bottle to spin the second time, and it seemed to rotate forever, until finally, finally, it landed on the eighth grader across the circle from him. As Jiang Cheng shuffled across the thin basement carpet to Nie Mingjue, he was only distantly aware of his classmates giggling and Nie Huaisang groaning somewhere in the background. When their lips finally brushed, Jiang Cheng’s eyes were still open. Nie Mingjue pushed their lips more firmly into each other for a moment and Jiang Cheng saw something like surprise flicker in Nie Mingjue’s eyes before he pulled away. Then Jin Guangyao snatched up the bottle and broke the spell, demanding Nie Mingjue go somewhere with him with “fewer kids.”
The fourth letter is addressed to Wen Qing, Jiang Cheng’s classmate. She’d gone to a different middle school, but when she joined Jiang Cheng’s class for high school, she was a revelation. She was always polite with adults, but never deferential. She had a sharp tongue and she rolled her eyes at pep rallies. She was beautiful. Jiang Cheng suspected his parents would hate her, but that wasn’t enough to stop him from falling hard.
At the homecoming dance their freshman year, Jiang Cheng screwed up all his courage to ask her to dance. He stared at his shiny dress shoes, already too-tight despite being less than six months old, and girded himself for a scathing rejection that would leave him the laughingstock of the school. But instead, she’d looked him up and down coolly, shrugged, and agreed. They headed for the dancefloor and with timing that Jiang Cheng has since come to regard as typical, the DJ switched from a crooning R&B song to an old school disco number. Jiang Cheng was sure Wen Qing was going to change her mind, but instead she’d laughed and he’d giggled nervously himself and they sped up their movements to the faster beat.
“What timing,” Wen Qing yelled over the music, but she didn’t seem to mind.
As they danced, together but not touching, Jiang Cheng found he didn’t really mind either.
The fifth, and last, letter is written, naturally, to Lan Huan.
It’s the longest letter Jiang Cheng’s written. And, okay, maybe there are other differences. Maybe what he felt—feels—for Lan Huan is different from the other four. It’s deeper and more all-consuming, and it’s lasted for years and through other, smaller crushes. The letter doesn’t mention the unending fantasies Jiang Cheng constructs of them where they’re in running away together across a mountain range, but it is in the letter where Jiang Cheng can imagine the yearning and guilt he feels matters.
There are a couple of more platonic paragraphs that Jiang Cheng hopes he might one day be able to express to Lan Huan in one way or another; he’d like to find a way to tell Lan Huan just how grateful he is that someone like Lan Huan is willing to spend time with him, to be gentle with him despite his prickliness.
He spent over a month writing it, sentences dashed out between third wheeling movie dates with Lan Huan and Jiang Yanli (they both tried to include him and acted like they wanted him there, but Jiang Cheng knew the truth) and watching basketball games where Lan Huan’s lean muscles would tense as he sank long threes into the net. Then he’d sealed and addressed it and tucked it away with the rest of his letters and feelings, never to be sent or read.
Jiang Cheng glances briefly at where he knows the box of letters is safely hidden in his closet before he finally lets Wei Ying tug him downstairs.