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In two or so years spent at the Burial Mounds, there were many songs that cycled daily through Wei Wuxian’s head. There were the whispered melodies of the dead, singing their regrets to the only pair of ears that could hear them. There was a distantly familiar piece that came to him in his dreams, leaving him to wake with his heart heavy enough to weigh him down onto his straw mattress, feeling a certain type of longing that no manner of human language could adequately describe.
Then, there was the song he’d written one night, pent up in his cave and buried under stacks of failed talismans, drunk on Uncle Four’s fruit wine and a day spent in the company of his zhiji. Wei Wuxian hadn’t realized what he was doing till he’d finished transcribing the characters for notes onto the few pieces of paper he had left. Paper is expensive and difficult to come by, and he had been rationing his remaining stack for talismans, but he thought a song for a precious man was worth using the last of his papers for.
When he found it again in the morning and realized how dramatic it sounded, like the wailing of a newly-made widow, he felt his face heat with shame. As the Yiling Laozu, who was he to write such a song about Hanguang-Jun, who was he to lament a relationship unrealized and hide a plea to stay in the notes of a love song? Wei Wuxian quickly did away with the evidence and chose to forget about it. Getting rid of the precious paper it was transcribed on was less painful than the thought of having to look at it every day.
Weeks later came a night when slumber kept eluding A-Yuan, sleep hiding like shadows in the forest around them. A-Yuan was fussing, his cries keeping the settlement awake, too young to express his exhaustion in any other way. Desperate to let the boy rest, Wei Wuxian tried everything: playing with A-Yuan to tire him out, rocking him in his arms, going through the breathing exercises his shijie used to guide him through on sleepless nights. Nothing was working, not until Wei Wuxian started humming while stroking A-Yuan’s hair, and the boy’s cries finally dwindled into light sniffles. Only after his breathing evened out did Wei Wuxian recognize what song he’d been humming. He thought that was the end of it until A-Yuan asked him the next night to hear the ‘bedtime song’ again. Wei Wuxian opened his mouth to say no, and maybe A-Yuan could tell, because he pouted, lower lip wobbling dangerously, and his eyes went round and sad, and who was Wei Wuxian to deny such a cute child? It went against all of his moral codes, especially the one pertaining to never denying children that pout at you so you would sing them the love song you wrote for your estranged zhiji.
And so, Wei Wuxian began singing it to A-Yuan before bedtime, then during the day when A-Yuan requested it. Once, A-Yuan asked for its name, and Wei Wuxian made one up on the spot just to make him laugh, not thinking much of it.
What Wei Wuxian never expected was for the spirits of the Burial Mounds to start singing it to him, echoing its chorus into his head, warping his yearning into a twisted longing for revenge. In a way, it made sense. The song never failed to heighten the grief, guilt, and despair in Wei Wuxian, the very emotions that sharpened his anger and empowered the spirits to goad him into further darkness. Wei Wuxian never let on to the Wens how they haunted him with his own destined-for-heartbreak affections.
Wei Wuxian never realized they would be looping it through his mind during the first and second sieges, contributing to his loss of control and frenzied need for revenge against all the people who took the future that could have been away from him.
His death, like it did with many other things he once knew, buried the song and his memories of the spirits’ manipulation in the grave of his mind.
If Wei Wuxian were the type to remember the things he doesn’t care too think too hard about, he might have been less surprised that his soul was not the only thing that returned to the world of the living thirteen years later.
“Your father was always glaring at me and berating me but the whole time you were drafting lyrics in your head, weren't you er-gege?”
Lan Zhan nods, a fond and reminiscent smile tugging at the corners of his lips, likely thinking back to the days when Wei Wuxian attended the Cloud Recesses lectures in their youth. Wei Wuxian’s heart tumbles in his chest as he looks back at Sizhui.
“See A-Yuan, you can never trust a Lan! They do one thing and mean another. You must be aware of this and change your ways so this mysterious person you like won't get the wrong idea! And anyways, there is no way they aren't already in love with you. How could they not be completely enamored by my perfect, adorable son!”
Sizhui looks like he's trying not to grimace. Wei Wuxian laughs and leans over the table to pinch his cheeks, and Sizhui bravely endures this terrible show of affection without batting Wei Wuxian’s hands away, like a certain sect leader and his nephew tend to do.
They're having their weekly family dinner in the Jingshi, and for the last twenty minutes, Wei Wuxian has been teasing Sizhui about his this secret crush of his—not really a secret, as the whole of Cloud Recesses knows it's Jingyi; Sizhui is about as obvious as Wei Wuxian was, back in the day. Sizhui had come in quiet and contemplative, eyes glazed over, smiling dopily into his rice bowl, and when asked about what was distracting him, he’d gone red in the face and blurted out, “Nothing!” telling Wei Wuxian and Lan Zhan everything they needed to know. Wei Wuxian weeded a confession out of him, and the undesired stream of advice began.
Beside him, Lan Zhan sits quietly, comfortable with the conversation but not particularly inclined to participate himself. He unsubtly fills Wei Wuxian and Sizhui’s bowls with steamed vegetables, like the mother hen that he is.
Wei Wuxian, in spite of the comments he’d just made, finds himself thinking once again about how he could have missed all the signs of Lan Zhan’s love when they were young, the misinterpreted worry and the overlooked gestures of care. It’s like Lan Zhan spent his days threading his love into every glance, word, action, and Wei Wuxian refused to acknowledge the patterns.
He rests his chin on his palm and smiles at his husband, grateful to be together now, to weave their love together like a tapestry.
“Aiya, you really were so cute back then er-gege, walking around pining for me. You had such a big crush on your Wei Ying in those days,” Wei Wuxian says, watching for the slow pink tinge that creeps inevitably into Lan Zhan’s ears.
“Mn. I still do,” Lan Zhan says without missing a beat, then continues eating, like he hasn't just dealt Wei Wuxian a mortal blow upon his heart. How dare he turn Wei Wuxian’s game back onto him!
“Lan Zhan! Shameless! Right in front of our son, too!”
“There is no shame in conveying my feelings for you. We are married,” Lan Zhan replies.
As if Wei Wuxian could ever forget. Wei Wuxian hides his head in his hands, leaning his forehead against the firmness of Lan Zhan’s upper arm. Even after so many years, his husband still has the power to fluster him like this. It isn't fair!
“Hanguang-Jun, no more speaking at mealtimes for you. You're not allowed anymore. One day you'll say something too devastating and I'll start choking on my food, and you don't want to harm your poor Wei Ying do you, er-gege?”
“Never,” Lan Zhan says, amusement lining his voice.
Across the table, Sizhui shakes his head at them indulgently, long used to his parents’ antics.
Dinner carries on. Deciding to spare his son further embarrassment, Wei Wuxian moves on from the topic of wooing his future partner and tells the two of them of his childhood in Yunmeng instead, of the lotus wine he spent years crafting, of all the times he had to witness the victims of his early recipes spit the drink out upon first contact with their tongues. He’d gotten a decent method down eventually, but then the Sunshot Campaign took precedence over budding hobbies.
Wei Wuxian is content in the quiet atmosphere that follows his stories, broken only by the clinks of their spoons and chopsticks against their bowls. He finds himself humming mindlessly when Sizhui bursts into laughter then immediately tries to stifle it with his hands. Wei Wuxian and Lan Zhan look at him in surprise before turning to each other in mirrored confusion. Wei Wuxian shrugs, guessing that Sizhui is just thinking of Jingyi again.
But then, Wei Wuxian catches Sizhui looking at him with a distinct expression on his face.
With all that Sizhui’s grown and changed over the years, three things still stay the same: the way his cheeks round out when he laughs, the overflowing kindness of his heart, and the shit-eating grin he tries to pass off as an innocent smile right before getting himself into trouble. Wei Wuxian last saw that smile when Sizhui was still only a child, four years old and well aware that he could get away with mostly anything as the baby of the Wen remnants.
Wei Wuxian’s stomach turns, knowing vaguely what’s about to happen, probably in retaliation for all his teasing earlier.
Sizhui flicks his gaze to Lan Zhan to check that his attention isn’t on him. Then, he winks. Wei Wuxian narrows his eyes, increasingly suspicious.
There goes that smile again. All outwardly innocent and sweet. But Wei Wuxian knows better.
“Xian-gege, what was that song you were just humming? It sounds familiar,” Sizhui says, tilting his head.
Wei Wuxian furrows his eyebrows, confused. How could it sound familiar? He was just messing around—oh. Oh no. No no no no. He glares at Sizhui for a second before smoothing his face back out, covering up his panic before Lan Zhan looks up at them in curiosity.
He remembers exactly what this song is, the endless days and nights spent singing it to and with a young Sizhui in the Burial Mounds, the way the spirits took a song of burning want and pain and turned it into a cacophonous weapon in his mind. Now, after all these years, he’s made peace with the hurt it caused him at their hands. After all, was there anything Wei Wuxian made or did back then that wasn’t used against him?
Unfortunately, that also means that what is left behind is the intense embarrassment due to his young self writing such a blatantly obvious love song for Lan Zhan, who would never let this go if he found out that he wasn’t the only one who expressed his romantic desires through music.
“Ahaha, A-Yuan, silly boy, I was only humming a random melody that came to mind. Nothing special about it!”
Sizhui purses his lips.
“Are you sure, Xian-gege? I feel like you used to sing something similar when we were in the Burial Mounds. What was it called again?”
Wei Wuxian’s hands are sweating now. Lan Zhan has stopped eating, head perked up in interest, gaze switching between them.
Wei Wuxian wraps an arm around his husband’s back and lays his head on his shoulders, the perfect way to hide his face from Lan Zhan as he mouths as clearly as possible at his traitorous son, Don't you dare!
Sizhui, predictably, ignores him. Whoever thinks that Jingyi is truly the agent of chaos in the Lan Clan clearly doesn’t really know Sizhui. In fact, Wei Wuxian is willing to bet anything that half the trouble Jingyi gets into is because of Sizhui’s secret influence. He always was a menace as a child, running around wreaking havoc on the Burial Mounds and pouting his way out of being disciplined for it. Wei Wuxian was a fool to think that the Gusu Lan were capable enough to train him out of his chaotic tendencies completely, all their rules notwithstanding.
“Oh! I remember! Wasn’t it—mmmf!” Wei Wuxian claps his hand right over Sizhui’s mouth, leaning fully over the table, almost knocking over their bowls in his haste.
Wei Wuxian laughs nervously in the silence that follows. Now that he’s visibly trying to stop Sizhui from speaking, there is no way to fool Lan Zhan into thinking that he’s not trying to hide something. He pulls away, sitting back next to Lan Zhan, who is frozen with a spoon of soup sitting right before his parted lips, the only thing belying his surprise beyond the slight rise of his eyebrow.
Lan Zhan sets his spoon down, turning to Sizhui. He slides an arm around Wei Wuxian’s waist, more of a restraint than a regular hold, fingers digging into the new pouches of fat padding Wei Wuxian’s middle. Lan Zhan has been undeniably smug and proud that Wei Wuxian has them, because they are ‘proof that Wei Ying’s health is improving under my care.’ He’s the worst. Wei Wuxian loves him so much.
“Sizhui. Continue,” Lan Zhan says. This time, with the superior strength of a Lan arm holding Wei Wuxian back, Sizhui is not interrupted when committing his treason.
“Yes, a-die. It was called ‘I Swim in Lakes of Emperor’s Smile and Remain Parched For a Single Glance From You.’”
Silence. Wei Wuxian feels his breath stop in his chest, eyes wide. Around Wei Wuxian, Lan Zhan tenses. Wei Wuxian knows that he knows. Knows that this dramatically named song was made for Lan Zhan, knows Wei Wuxian sang it through his time at the Burial Mounds, the only escape he allowed for his feelings for Lan Zhan. The title very clearly gives it away as a love song. Wei Wuxian is never going to hear the end of this. This is going to be the sequel to ‘Do you like Mianmian?’ This evil child of his has armed his husband with yet another weapon for his growing artillery for things to tease Wei Wuxian with.
Then, Wei Wuxian’s body starts shaking. There is an unfamiliar sound coming from beside him, from—from Lan Zhan.
Wei Wuxian turns, staring. Lan Zhan is… laughing. His eyes are squinting with the apple swell of his cheeks. This isn’t his usual smile and huff, or a teasing smile, or an amused glance. Lan Zhan is fully, truly whole-body laughing, shoulders and chest trembling. He brings his sleeves up to cover his face and Wei Wuxian immediately tugs his arm back down, not willing to be robbed of a single second of this sight.
It sounds like nothing Wei Wuxian would have ever imagined. Loud and bright, akin to what Wei Wuxian could only compare to the sounds a wheezing duck might make, interspersed with poorly suppressed snorts. So unexpected. Such a contradiction to the notably put-together, elegant, refined Second Jade of Gusu. It is the best thing Wei Wuxian has ever heard in his life. He is already thinking of ways to make it happen again. He moves to hold his husband’s warm face in his hands and showers kisses all over it, lavishing him with appreciation.
“Lan Zhan,” he whispers between kisses. “My love.” Kiss. “My life.” Kiss. “That was the most precious thing I have ever heard in my entire existence and now I can no longer go another day without it. I can’t believe you’ve deprived me for so long. How cruel of you, husband!” and on and on he continues, until Lan Zhan calms down. He is just smiling now, eyes soft, shining with the kind of light that only comes with being so openly loved. Wei Wuxian hopes to never see it flicker out.
In the whirlwind of hearing his husband laugh, Wei Wuxian almost forgets why it happened to begin with. He presses one last lingering kiss to the pink tip of Lan Zhan’s nose before whipping his head around and pointing an accusing finger at Sizhui, who is looking down and blushing, and probably has been for the last few minutes. Wei Wuxian smiles, endeared by his poor, easily flustered menace of a son.
“A-Yuan! You unfilial child! How dare you! You swore an oath to me never to spill my secrets! I should have kept you in the ground you were planted in! Clearly you were harvested too early! Too immature! How could you embarrass your father like this? My reputation is tarnished! All these years being built up as the scary and powerful Yiling Laozu, as Hanguang-Jun’s nefarious equal, only for my son to expose the truth like this!”
“Xian-gege, everyone already knows about the song a-die wrote for you, isn’t it only fair he learned about the one you wrote for him in turn?” Sizhui responds between giggles.
“Don’t use your precepts of justice and fairness on me young man! Isn’t it one of your Gusu rules to never break a promise? Lan Zhan, you have to assign him an hour of handstands tomorrow. Not only did A-Yuan break a rule, but he betrayed his father! Your husband! Lan Sizhui! You need to copy the rules a hundred times! No! Two hundred! Lan Zhan, won’t you defend this feeble man against his unfilial child?”
Wei Wuxian latches himself onto Lan Zhan’s side, pouting up at him and fluttering his widened eyes.
“Only in balance is there harmony.” Traitor.
“Lan Zhan! Not you too! As my husband, shouldn’t you be taking my side?”
Lan Zhan looks at him, a tender expression on his face, the kind that always precedes some sort of devastatingly romantic statement. Wei Wuxian mentally readies himself.
“I will always be at your side.” Lan Zhan punctuates this with a light squeeze to Wei Wuxian’s still trapped waist.
Wei Wuxian softens, melting at the fondness beaming from Lan Zhan’s eyes. He lays a hand over the one Lan Zhan has wrapped around him and squeezes back.
“Lan Zhan. Really, how can I be mad at you when you say such things?” Wei Wuxian sighs. This family of his, always making his heart feel too big for his chest. He wouldn’t give them up for anything in the world.
“Xian-gege, why don’t you sing it for us? I’ve forgotten most of the lyrics and I think a-die deserves to hear it.” Sizhui is smiling, eyes crinkled, clearly enjoying himself. Wei Wuxian doesn’t see why all these cultivators go on nighthunts beyond the barriers of the Cloud Recesses. The most vicious creature of all lives right here among them.
Before Wei Wuxian can even begin to protest, Lan Zhan chimes in, “Hm. Our son is correct. I believe it is of utmost importance to hear of how you were parched for a single glance from this husband.”
Wei Wuxian takes back what he thought earlier. He would trade these unrepentant bullies for a single jar of chili oil.
Later that night in their bed, Lan Zhan tucks Wei Wuxian beneath him and rests his head in the crook of his neck, using Wei Wuxian as his mattress. Wei Wuxian smooths one hand up and down Lan Zhan’s back and uses the other to card his fingers through Lan Zhan’s drying hair.
“Lan Zhan?”
“Hm?”
“I guess it is fair that my song for you was revealed eventually. You even revealed yours to me so long ago, and it was only because of my poor memory that it took so long for me to realize what it was. But at least now both of our embarrassing love songs are out in the open, right er-gege? Unless you have other ones about me that I haven’t heard yet!”
Wei Wuxian laughs softly at the thought until he feels Lan Zhan’s body freeze against his. For a moment, they both hold their breaths.
Oh, Lan Zhan, Lan Zhan. Will Wei Wuxian ever find the limits to his devotion? It feels like even if he dug all the way through the Earth itself, there would still be some depths left unplumbed, all hidden in the bottomless love between them.
“Lan Zhan. How many? What are they called? Show me. You can’t just confirm something like this and not elaborate!”
Wei Wuxian starts poking Lan Zhan’s head and arms incessantly, energy suddenly renewed even after completing their everyday activities.
“Lan Zhan. Where are they? I know you have them written down here somewhere. Those are rightfully my songs. I deserve to know them! Get up er-gege!”
Wei Wuxian wriggles around trying to slip out from beneath his husband, but Lan Zhan’s grip on him tightens. His limbs lock into place, effectively trapping Wei Wuxian within his embrace, a snake with its captive prey.
“It is time to sleep. See you tomorrow, Wei Ying.”
And with that, Lan Zhan presses a last kiss to the sensitive skin of Wei Ying’s neck before relaxing his body weight completely, pressing Wei Wuxian fully into the mattress.
“Lan Wangji! The second I wake up tomorrow I expect a complete record of your works to be prepared for my reading pleasure! Don’t think that making us sleep now gets you out of this!” An exaggerated snore sounds out from below Wei Wuxian’s ears.
Wei Wuxian huffs, calling him shameless before kissing the faint tan line that crosses Lan Zhan’s forehead where his ribbon normally rests and settling down.
His last thoughts before sleep takes him are of all the possible ways he can capture Lan Zhan’s laugh in song.