Archive of Our Own ^beta

The problem with being the most eligible bachelor in the cultivation world, Lan Xichen thinks, is that absolutely everybody assumes you must be in want of a spouse. He suppresses a sigh and meets his uncle’s eyes across the desk, gesturing to the three letters neatly laid out between them.

"Three new offers today?" Lan Qiren asks.

Lan Xichen nods. "They’re coming more and more frequently." He’s been receiving marriage offers for years, of course, and his father and uncle on his behalf before then, but there’s been a marked increase in the years since Qingheng jun’s death made him master of the Lan clan in fact, rather than merely a son and heir acting the part for his father in seclusion.

Lan Qiren’s expression is sympathetic. "It will be three years next month," he says gently. "You know how traditional the sects can be. I’d expect the pace to increase, if anything, so long as you remain unattached." Lan Xichen closes his eyes and breathes deeply, resisting the urge to plant his face into the desk. Lan Qiren is already indulging what is, quite frankly, whining. There’s no cause to act even more childish about it. "Who is it this time?" Lan Qiren asks. While they both know Lan Xichen intends to graciously decline the offers, it is important to be mindful of which feathers he will ruffle in doing so. Political considerations never end.

Lan Xichen indicates the first of the letters. "Ouyang zongzhu recommends his eldest daughter. She is a very talented and practical young woman, with leadership of several tricky night hunts to her credit and a Doctorate in Spiritual Agronomy as well." She is also, if Lan Xichen recalls correctly from a brief conversation at the last discussion conference, planning a research expedition to South America for several years. He looks forward to hearing more about her findings, but he does not expect her to wish to add the position of Lan furen to her accomplishments anytime soon. "It would be a long engagement." Lan Qiren nods, understanding the implications, and Lan Xichen moves to the next letter. 

"Fu zongzhu has a brother my age. Fu Jie is a good man, of course. It would be a very respectable match." The Hedong Fu sect have been allies to Gusu Lan for centuries; Lan Xichen is not surprised at the offer, but he does not expect them to be bothered when he turns them down.

"Both offers for formality’s sake then, safely declined." His uncle glances at the third letter on the desk. "I doubt that’s the case for this one."

Lan Xichen winces ever so slightly. The sun and flames insignia on the letterhead are unmistakable. "It’s not precisely an offer, not yet. Wen zongzhu has written congratulating me on the smooth execution of the recent discussion conference, particularly, quote, ‘seeing to both the political business as well as the finer details of hospitality,’ myself." As though Lan Xichen had not been amply assisted by the sect elders and senior disciples, not to mention Lan Qiren himself. "He also has a surprising amount to say in praise of his late wife."

"That man certainly has a way with blunt subtext," Lan Qiren agrees drily. Lan Xichen resists the urge to laugh. His uncle’s mouth presses into a thin line the way it always does before he gives advice, and Lan Xichen braces himself for counsel he will not like. "Xichen, you are far from the first to find themself in this position, as you know. I will not insist, not in this matter"—the specter of Lan Xichen’s parents is as present as any ghost, for all neither of them will mention them—"but I can see that these missives distress you. You are well aware that a marriage alliance with Gusu Lan would be of great advantage to many." Lan Xichen swallows several highly unfilial thoughts. He does know all this. "The offers, then, will only continue. Unless, of course, you were known to be courting someone…" His uncle allows his speech to trail off in a decidedly uncharacteristic manner, and Lan Xichen waits for him to find the words to conclude.

Lan Qiren clears his throat and makes no attempt to do so.

As the silence grows, Lan Xichen realizes he has no intention of finishing that enticingly hypothetical thought. Could his uncle really be suggesting…? Be careful with your words, Lan Xichen thinks wryly. Not suggesting, of course, merely pointing out a fact: The offers will continue, unless. Lan Xichen raises both eyebrows and bows his head in thanks. "This nephew thanks Shufu for his guidance," he says.

His uncle, he thinks, is suppressing a smile.

"There is absolutely no way he said that," Nie Mingjue insists.

Lan Xichen rolls his eyes and flops backwards on his bed. "Well of course he didn’t say it," he agrees, holding his phone up over his face to keep the video call in view. "But it was a very pointed silence, Mingjue. ‘Unless you were known to be courting someone’ dot dot dot. Dot dot dot, Dage! What else could he have meant?"

Nie Mingjue snorts. "I’m fairly certain Lan laoshi meant something reasonable like ‘let me make you an appointment with a discreet matchmaker’ or ‘pick one of the dozens of offers you’ve received and at least see if you like them,’ not ‘go out and find yourself someone to fake date, dear nephew.'" Lan Xichen glares at the screen. "Besides," Nie Mingjue teases, "wouldn’t that be lying? I thought you Lans never did that."

"It wouldn’t be lying if we both agreed they were… business dates," Lan Xichen says mulishly, ignoring Nie Mingjue’s bark of laughter at the phrase. "I don’t know why you’re so amused by all this. Aren’t you drowning in marriage offers as well? You’re almost as much an unattached young clan leader as I am." Nie Mingjue is only a couple years Lan Xichen’s senior, but he’d been Nie zongzhu since he was twenty, when his and Huaisang’s mothers insisted Lao Nie retire for the sake of his health. (The three of them are thriving in retirement, apparently. There is a whole wall of postcards from their travels on display in the private family wing of the Unclean Realm.)

Nie Mingjue shakes his head. "Probably a few of them still show up from time to time, but my staff knows I don’t want to see them. You could try announcing you’ve no intention to marry until someone proves they can defeat you in single combat every time the subject comes up, works pretty well for me." Lan Xichen laughs. That sort of thing might be considered appropriately valorous in Qinghe, but he can only imagine the uproar amongst the cultivation sects if he were to follow suit.

"You’re the only one who’d qualify, Dage," he teases. "I don’t suppose this is your offer to try your hand?"

Nie Mingjue chuckles. "Now that would certainly set tongues wagging." His smile turns softer on the screen. "You don’t want to marry me, though, for the same reason you don’t want any of the very nice offers you’ve received." As Lan Xichen’s oldest and best friend, Nie Mingjue knows him well. "You still hope to find your fated person, don’t you, you old romantic?"

"Is it too much to ask?" Lan Xichen had grown up with the tales of his ancestors, of Lan An and his cultivation partner, of Lan Yi and Baoshan Sanren, stories of partnership forged from true love. "I just need time to find them, Mingjue. I understand I have a duty, but I don’t want to marry just because it’s politically advantageous." He’s young, and his cultivation is strong; he’s in no hurry. "Which is why," he continues, returning to his plan, "I just need someone who doesn’t want to marry me to agree to be officially courted by Lan zongzhu for a while."

"Xichen—" Nie Mingjue groans, cut off by an excited voice from his side of the line.

"Did he say courted?!" Nie Mingjue grunts as Nie Huaisang plops into his lap and neatly steals the phone. "Hello Xichen gege," he says, smiling sweetly, "did I hear correctly that you’re courting someone? Should I tell all my friends and my many, many followers that the affections of cultivation society’s most eligible bachelor have been captured at last?"

Lan Xichen laughs. "Don’t spread gossip," he says, knowing it won’t slow Nie Huaisang down in the slightest if he decides something is Weibo-worthy. "Mostly because there’s no gossip to spread yet."

"Pssh, facts," Nie Huaisang says dismissively.

"Xichen has a scheme harebrained enough to be one of yours, didi," Nie Mingjue cuts in, explaining Lan Xichen’s marriage proposal problem and his uncle’s tacit suggestion of a decoy partner while Nie Huaisang’s eyes get wider and wider. His smile curls with delight.

"Oh, but Dage," he finally says, "I know exactly who to suggest! Don’t worry, Xichen gege, I have the perfect person in mind for your fake courtship."

Lan Xichen starts to ask who at the same time as Nie Mingjue says, "Huaisang, no, you can’t just make—"

Nie Huaisang twists to clap the hand not holding the phone across his brother’s mouth. "Ah, ah, ah! You’ll ruin the surprise!" The picture swings wildly as Nie Huaisang struggles to keep the phone away from his brother and keep a hand pressed over his mouth. "Don’t worry about a thing, Xichen gege, I’ll set everything up! It will be perfect. Trust me, you’ll see, talk to you later, byeeeee!" he sings out, before abruptly ending the call.

Lan Xichen blinks at the dark screen for a few moments until it becomes clear that neither Nie will be calling him back immediately, then smiles and shakes his head as he rolls over to set the phone down. Long familiarity with the brothers tells him that they’ll be arguing for a while before Nie Huaisang convinces Nie Mingjue to let him do what he’s clearly already decided he’s going to do anyway.

Buoyed by talking things over with his best friend, Lan Xichen feels lighter as he goes about his evening routine. He likes to do something creative to unwind at the end of the day, music or art usually, something just for him that has nothing to do with clan duties or cultivation or accomplishment in any way. Today, he puts on his playlist of favorite girl groups and pulls out his collection of decorative paper, humming and bobbing his head as he loses himself in the meditative snip of scissors and arrangement of colors and patterns. When the final pieces are pasted in place, he reaches for a calligraphy brush and ink to give voice to his creation. He chuckles as he places the final stroke and admires his finished work: a bird with vibrant blue feathers perched on a branch, cheerfully yelling, ‘FUCK.’ It sums his feelings up rather nicely, he thinks. Perhaps he’ll give it to Nie Huaisang, if whatever he’s cooking up actually pans out.

Sure enough, as he’s getting ready for bed, Lan Xichen’s phone lights up with a pair of messages. From Nie Huaisang, a time and date a few days hence and an address (presumably of a restaurant, judging by the accompanying: their vegetarian menu is to die for, trust me, have fun!!!), and from Nie Mingjue, a simple: It’s not the worst idea. Go on the date.

Lan Xichen goes on the date. He has not told anyone it is a date, of course, letting his assistant (not to mention his brother and uncle) assume his "dinner appointment" is just a standard meeting with an unaffiliated cultivator new to the area or a developer looking for unofficial input from the local cultivation sect on their latest proposal. (Technically speaking, the cultivation sects manage supernatural matters separately from the civil government, but everyone knows from experience that it’s best to make sure that your fancy new office building isn’t likely to wind up haunted before you submit a bid.) His uncle’s suggestion and Nie Mingjue’s stamp of approval aside, Lan Xichen is still a little unsure about the whole prospect of auditioning someone to date.

He portals to Qinghe and finds the restaurant with no trouble, then walks around the block twice before entering at a reasonable eight minutes before his reservation time. He’s just debating whether to take his seat or wait when the door opens upon the single most beautiful person Lan Xichen has ever seen.

He’s a smaller man but holds himself with a dancer’s poise, with fine features beneath strong brows and long, glossy hair in a neat braided style. When he smiles, his lips curl into a delicate bow, and he flashes a pair of dimples that have Lan Xichen half-wondering if he has time to convince this gorgeous stranger to run away with him before either of their dates arrive.

Fate, however, is either kinder or crueller to him than that, as Lan Xichen realizes that the beautiful man is smiling at him. He walks directly over to him and offers his hand. "Lan Xichen, I presume?" he asks.

Lan Xichen finds a smile of his own and accepts the handshake. The man’s hands feel small in his own, but his grip is sure, sending sparks racing across Lan Xichen’s skin. "You have me at a disadvantage," Lan Xichen replies. He doesn’t know whether to thank the Nie brothers or curse them for sending him someone so exactly his type. (Truth be told, prior to the doors opening, Lan Xichen wouldn’t have said he had a type, but that this man is it is information he can’t now un-know.)

"Meng Yao," says the beautiful man. "It’s a pleasure to meet you."

Lan Xichen has the length of the walk to their table to try and recover from the exhilarating shock of first meeting, to remind himself that Meng Yao is here for business, essentially, and not for pleasure. He recognizes the name—this is the deputy Nie Mingjue has been bragging about of late, who single-handedly streamlined several night hunt approval and reporting processes in his first month on the job. He had not, Lan Xichen thinks, somewhat indignantly, bothered to mention that Meng Yao was breathtakingly gorgeous.  

They get through the business of taking their seats and ordering in mutual unspoken agreement to save the more serious discussion for later, Meng Yao making pleasant small talk with such ease that Lan Xichen, who sometimes feels as though his whole job is making pleasant small talk, almost forgets why they’re there. Only once their food has arrived—as delicious as promised—does the conversation turn to business.

"So I understand Lan zongzhu would like to court me," Meng Yao says, and Lan Xichen nearly chokes on a water chestnut. Had Nie Huaisang miscommunicated the situation? Is he going to have to let this gorgeous man down easy halfway through their first date? (And why does that prospect feel so disappointing?) Meng Yao’s eyes widen, and he slides Lan Xichen’s cup closer. "My apologies," he says, once Lan Xichen has stopped coughing. "Allow me to rephrase: I understand you require an apparently serious suitor to deter further marriage proposals." 

Lan Xichen nods weakly. "Please forgive me," he says. "I thought that you thought…" 

"It would be the sort of joke our mutual friend would enjoy, wouldn’t it?" Meng Yao’s eyes twinkle when he smiles. 

Lan Xichen chuckles and shakes his head, trying to arrange his thoughts to deliver the speech he had practiced all week. He’s the one asking a favor; he shouldn’t be making Meng Yao take the lead on this conversation. He carefully sets down his chopsticks and clears his throat.

"I would like to formally court you," he begins, "preferably for the space of several months, until such time as I am no longer inundated with offers of marriage. If our arrangement becomes untenable for you before then, of course, please let me know." Lan Xichen hopes it won’t come to that, but he doesn’t want this charming man to feel trapped in any way. Meng Yao only nods, listening intently as Lan Xichen continues. "I will take care of any expenses incurred; I ask only for your discretion and some of your time. For this arrangement to work, it will naturally require some public appearances together, but I do not intend to impose upon you more than necessary. When the time comes, we will enact a mutual and amicable breakup, and I’ll simply ask that you not make public the, ah, particulars of our relationship." Meng Yao reacts to all this with a barely imperceptible quirk of his eyebrows. Lan Xichen pauses, but Meng Yao gestures for him to continue.

"And of course, if there is ever anything I can do for you in return, I will be in your debt." He doesn’t know why Meng Yao has agreed to consider this, but Lan Xichen wants to be sure that he is not the only one who will get something from this arrangement, should Meng Yao accept. "I know we don’t know each other yet, but I would hope this can be a mutually beneficial partnership," he concludes.

Meng Yao looks at him thoughtfully for a long moment before smiling again, calculating expression gone and dimples flashing once more. "I have a few stipulations," he says, "but I believe we can come to acceptable terms."

Meng Yao, to Lan Xichen’s delighted surprise, asks for more time with him, rather than less. He has taken the initiative to prepare a list of upcoming cultivation and mundane society events over the next few months for their possible first public appearance as a couple, with pros and cons for each. He would additionally like to meet a few times in advance "to become suitably familiar with one another" and to be seen together by the right people before they officially debut their courtship. He lays out a plan that Lan Xichen realizes stretches out almost a year, taking advantage of the various conferences, galas, and festival hunts Lan Xichen will be expected to attend in his role as clan leader, a series of appearances together which should make abundantly clear to everyone of note that Lan zongzhu is firmly off the marriage market. 

"You're certain that's not too long?" Lan Xichen asks, wondering about the scope of Meng Yao's proposed timetable.

"We've agreed either of us can call things off earlier if we need," Meng Yao points out. "If you want to convince people you're serious about me, they'll need time. Besides," he says, leaning in like they're sharing a secret, "there are some excellent networking opportunities in this for me." Lan Xichen concedes the point with a laugh and agrees to the schedule Meng Yao outlines for them, for the first time allowing himself to really consider that this might actually work.

Meng Yao’s main condition, one Lan Xichen had not expected, is that he be permitted to treat Lan Xichen on some of their dates. Lan Xichen tries to argue this point, but Meng Yao insists.

"I understand that you offer out of generosity," he says at last, mouth pinched and eyes going distant for the first time all evening, "but I will not be a rich man’s plaything, even only in appearance." It’s a stunningly vulnerable admission from someone he’s only just met. The trust sinks into Lan Xichen like a smooth stone dropped into a still lake, settling warm and solid somewhere in his chest. He reaches out to brush the tips of his fingers over the back of Meng Yao’s hand where it’s clenched on the table. 

Startled, Meng Yao’s eyes snap to his own. Lan Xichen holds his gaze. "I would never want to make you feel that way," he promises, perhaps a little too fervently. He can tell, even from their brief acquaintance, that Meng Yao is so much more than a quick mind behind a pretty face.

Meng Yao blinks a few times, tilting his head with an amused expression. "I believe you." He sounds almost surprised by it. Then he sits up straight and turns his wrist to catch Lan Xichen’s fingers in a gentle squeeze. "In that case, I accept your terms, Lan zongzhu." The pressure sends tingles all the way up Lan Xichen’s arm, and for a moment he’s caught, trapped between the warmth of Meng Yao’s grip and the soft curve of his smile. Then his words register.

"Thank you," he says, only a beat too late. "That’s wonderful, thank you so much, Meng xiansheng."

"Ah, gege," Meng Yao says, his lovely smile curling into something playful, almost mischievous, "now that we are courting, you will have to address me a little more intimately."

There’s a challenge in his tone, and Lan Xichen finds himself wanting to meet it. "A-Yao," he breathes, savoring the syllables as they roll off his tongue and enjoying the pleased flash of dimples they earn him. He could get used to that. "I look forward to our partnership."

The problem, as Lan Xichen quickly realizes, is that Meng Yao is a very good partner. He’s thoughtful, considerate, and always perfectly appropriate but with a warmth to everything he does that suffuses each small gesture with care. He’s also canny in a way that Lan Xichen admires, suggesting locations for their outings that inevitably seem to find them bumping into a minor sect leader here, a mid-level city administrator there, a particularly well-connected society matron with a penchant for extolling the accomplishments of her very single twin daughters almost as notable as her love for gossip. (Afterwards, Lan Xichen observes that she had seemed a bit disappointed to learn he was at the art exhibition on a date. "She did, didn’t she?" Meng Yao agrees mildly, but his smile is all coy satisfaction.)

They visit restaurants and art galas and make their official debut as a couple to cultivation society at a summer banquet celebrating the champions of a junior equestrian competition in Qinghe, Meng Yao a charming, gracious presence at Lan Xichen’s side each time. As the weeks slip by, Meng Yao manages to slot himself into Lan Xichen’s life like he belongs there, and Lan Xichen finds himself anticipating the periwinkle appointments that now dot his calendar, the ones that mean time spent with Meng Yao.

On the surface, this should not be a problem. A good fake boyfriend, after all, will be more convincing as a serious suitor, which is, Lan Xichen reminds himself sternly, the entire reason they are here in the first place.

‘Here,’ on this occasion, is a recreation center in Yunping, warm and steamy with the heat of bodies in motion and the sultry sounds of Latin music pouring out from the loudspeakers, with Meng Yao’s sinuous body in his arms. For this date, instead of somewhere to be noticed, Meng Yao has taken them dancing. 

"It’s a good way to become more comfortable with one another physically," he explains as they sip water during a break. "Body language is a subtle thing people will pick up on without realizing. Besides," he adds, with an exaggerated rake of his eyes over Lan Xichen’s frame and that playful smirk again, "while you’re clearly the type of man who enjoys his exercise, I am not the type who does gym dates." Lan Xichen can’t help but laugh at the way his nose wrinkles at ‘gym.’ He’s flushed a little from the exertion and the heat of the room, but he looks happy and at ease, clearly familiar with this kind of dancing in a way Lan Xichen is very much not.

"You’ve done this before," Lan Xichen accuses. "This is not the first time you’ve merengued, Meng Yao." Lan Xichen had been taught a few basic western dances as part of his uncle’s attempts to make sure he and Wangji were "well-rounded," but the swaying hips and rhythmic beat are new to him. Meng Yao, on the other hand, flows through the motions with ease. Lan Xichen has fumbled more than a few steps out of distraction at the fluid roll of his graceful limbs. (Not to mention the pert curve of his rear in those pants, which is just unfairly eye-catching.)

"I should think not," interjects a pleasant voice, startling Lan Xichen from his inappropriate reverie. It’s the dance instructor, a fit older woman with a surprisingly commanding presence, standing beside them with her hands on her hips and a mock-stern look on her face. "A-Yao, you rude boy," she says, "you stay away for months, too busy with your new fancy job to visit, and then you show up and don’t even introduce me to your handsome young man?"

Meng Yao just shakes his head. "Forgive me, Sisi ayi, this is Lan zongzhu, Lan Xichen. Xichen, this is Lin Sisi, our instructor for the evening and the best dancer in Yunping." Lan Xichen catches the way her eyebrows go up at the mention of his title, glancing back and forth between them speculatively in the way of nosy aunties everywhere.

She does not, to his very great relief, remark upon it as Lan Xichen offers a polite pleased to meet you, only scoffs a little at Meng Yao’s introduction. "Flatterer. You’re only saying that because your mother’s away for the season. Meng Shi," she explains to Lan Xichen, "is better than I ever was. She’s a professional dancer with the opera."

"The one in Wuhan," Meng Yao adds modestly, but Lan Xichen can tell he’s incredibly proud. For all the time they’ve spent together, Meng Yao doesn’t talk about himself or his past much. Lan Xichen is delighted to see this side of Meng Yao, to get a glimpse of the man beneath the polished image.

"This one practically grew up backstage," Lin Sisi continues, clearly relishing the opportunity to brag. "Back when his mother and I danced together, before my old joints gave out. Could’ve been a dancer himself, but he was bound and determined to become a cultivator. Formed his core and aced all his examinations, even without a sect discipleship. You’ve never seen a more dedicated boy!"

"Ayi, please—" Meng Yao begins, but she just tsk-s at him fondly and pats his cheek.

"Nie zongzhu speaks highly of his capabilities," Lan Xichen says, "and I have certainly admired his diligence." Lin Sisi arches an eyebrow at that, and Lan Xichen does his best not to flush. He hadn’t meant it like that. "It’s an honor to meet someone so influential to my partner's character."

"Oh, he’s a match for you, all right, A-Yao," Lin Sisi says, grin sharp but clearly pleased. "Enough chat though. Let’s see if we can’t get you as good at dancing as you are at pretty words." She claps her hands and instructs the class to pair up once more.

Lan Xichen is sure he stumbles over the steps more than a few times, but Meng Yao is an outstanding partner, easily adjusting to match and guiding them both back into the sequence without missing a beat. He sinks into the rhythm and lets the music guide their motion together. Dancing with Meng Yao feels easy, because Meng Yao makes it so.

At the end of the session, Lin Sisi extracts a promise that they’ll return before she shoos them out to make room for the women arriving for the evening square dance. (For all her claims to retirement, Lin Sisi’s troupe has apparently placed in national competitions several years running.) "I know that’s not the sort of thing we usually do," Meng Yao says as they step out into the sticky late-summer night. "We don’t actually have to come back, if it wasn’t to your liking."

"I loved it," Lan Xichen says honestly. Not least because he wouldn’t mind holding a shimmying, twirling Meng Yao in his arms again. 

His stomach lets out a growl loud enough to be heard over the strains of the rec center loudspeaker behind them, and Meng Yao laughs. "It seems you danced up an appetite, too. May I buy you dinner, Xichen ge?" 

Even if he weren’t hungry, Lan Xichen wouldn’t want to pass up an opportunity to see more of where Meng Yao grew up. "Take me to your favorite place to eat?"

Meng Yao hums thoughtfully, then nods in decision. He leads them to a small, crowded eatery where they’re able to snag a pair of open stools. Meng Yao calls for the waiter and orders for them both. Lan Xichen doesn’t catch everything, but he trusts Meng Yao to have a good sense for what he likes by now. "I should warn you," Meng Yao says, leaning in to be heard over the noise of the other diners, "the food here will be a little spicier than what you're used to."

Lan Xichen laughs. The food served by the Cloud Recesses kitchens is famously mild, even for Suzhou cuisine, something which Meng Yao had graciously tried to accommodate with his first few restaurant picks before Lan Xichen admitted a secret fondness for spicy flavors. "So was the dancing," he jokes back, "and I liked that just fine."

The food, when it arrives, is fresh and tasty: hot dry noodles and a vegetarian doupi with mushrooms and bamboo shoots under sticky rice and a perfectly flaky skin, followed by a fragrant soup. Lan Xichen digs in with gusto. (And gladly accepts Meng Yao’s offer of additional chili for his noodles.) He can see why this restaurant is one of Meng Yao’s favorites, an opinion in which he’s clearly not alone. When they finish their meal, another pair of diners arrives to claim their seats almost before the waiter has scanned Meng Yao's payment.

They make their way at a leisurely pace down a riverfront walkway strung with lanterns as they head from the restaurant to the portal station, and Meng Yao slides back into what Lan Xichen has come to think of as his "business mode," discussing plans for the next few months and the upcoming Puppy Gala. (The Yunmeng Small Animal Protection Association, founded several years prior by Jiang Wanyin, does remarkable work in reducing the population of stray cats, dogs, and yaoguai in Wuhan. Its annual fundraiser, unfortunately, has never quite shaken the moniker bestowed upon it by friend of the family, renowned cultivator, and known troll, Cangse Sanren.) The glow of the old-fashioned street lamps casts him half in shadow and half in gold, and Lan Xichen is struck by the beautiful poise with which Meng Yao slides between worlds, from the free-spirited dancer of earlier this evening to the sharp-witted tactician before him now.

He barely thinks before the words slip out: "A-Yao, may I kiss you?"

Meng Yao stops in his tracks, and for a moment Lan Xichen panics. This wasn’t part of the agreement, he reminds himself furiously. Meng Yao is dating him as a political favor. Before he can come up with an appropriate apology for the utterly inexcusable request, Meng Yao nods knowingly. "Ah, at the Puppy Gala?" he asks. "Not a bad idea. That's sooner than I assumed you'd want, since we hadn’t discussed that sort of public affection yet, but this many months in is a reasonable time for something like that. The event itself is certainly informal enough not to give offense, so long as we're not unseemly about it."

Lan Xichen had not been thinking about any of that. Lan Xichen, frankly, does not know that he was thinking at all, and apparently he will continue not thinking, because what comes out of his mouth next is: "Perhaps we ought to practice then."

This time Meng Yao’s face goes utterly blank, without even his default smile. "Practice."

Shit.

You’ve talked down angry ghosts and angrier bureaucrats, Lan Xichen thinks, casting about wildly for any explanation that even begins to make sense. "As you said, we haven’t discussed it, and we want to make sure not to make a spectacle of ourselves. I thought it might be easier if the first time we kissed wasn’t for an audience." In a flash of inspiration, he recalls what Meng Yao had said earlier. "Like with the dancing—people will pick up on our body language, so we want physical affection to look… comfortable."

Meng Yao blinks twice, those sharp eyes searching him in the twilight, before his smile returns, a slow curving one that makes Lan Xichen’s heart race. "All right," Meng Yao says slowly, "show me how you’d like to kiss me, Lan Xichen."

They’re not alone on the riverfront, but no one is watching them either. Lan Xichen catches hold of Meng Yao’s shoulders and glides his palms down his arms to take his hands, guiding him back into shadow the way he’d led him through the steps of the dance earlier. As before, Meng Yao follows his lead beautifully. When his back hits the wall, he tilts his chin up, not in surrender but in challenge, and Lan Xichen bows to meet his lips.

He’s gentle with it, mindful enough of himself not to simply press into Meng Yao and devour him mouth-first, but it’s a near thing. Meng Yao’s lips are soft and part slightly on a gasp when Lan Xichen brushes his own against them. It’s a careful kiss, and very nearly a chaste one, were it not for the way the warm puff of Meng Yao’s breath makes Lan Xichen’s whole body light up with the desire to chase that warmth, to take and taste and drown himself in it.

He makes himself step back instead and is rewarded with the sight of Meng Yao with eyes closed and lips parted, more unguarded than he’s ever seen. He squeezes Meng Yao’s hands and finds a smile for him. "Like that," he says softly.

Meng Yao blinks his eyes open and smiles back, a tiny, crooked thing. The sight of it feels more intimate than the kiss. "I think that will do nicely," he replies, equally softly.

Lan Xichen lets him go, and together they step back onto the path, by unspoken agreement letting the conversation drift to other things as they make their way to the transit station and the arrays that will bring them each home. "Thank you for bringing me here tonight, A-Yao," Lan Xichen says as they part. "I very much enjoyed the evening."

"The pleasure was all mine," Meng Yao returns, inclining his head slightly before turning to scan his destination and step into the transportation array. He disappears in a shimmer of power, smiling that crooked little smile at Lan Xichen all the while.

Lan Xichen steps into the array in a trance, and the buzz of the public station gives way to familiar silence as Lan Xichen is transported to the Cloud Recesses. He scarcely registers the disciple on guard duty, returning their quiet greeting and walking the paths to the Hanshi on autopilot. He toes off his shoes and goes through his evening routine with the same detachment, mind a thousand kilometers away, replaying the sway of Meng Yao's hips, the sound of his laugh, the feel of his lips.

Alone in the still darkness of his room, Lan Xichen reflects that he might be in trouble.

Morning comes, and with it, a measure of clarity: Lan Xichen is attracted to his fake boyfriend—this is not necessarily a bad thing.

It's also, if he's honest with himself, not much of a surprise. Lan Xichen had noticed his looks on their first meeting and has since come to know that Meng Yao is an objectively lovely man, and one with a keen mind and an admirable drive. They are, Lan Xichen believes, becoming something like friends. If anything, the attraction will serve their purposes, making Lan Xichen’s role as half a happy couple an easier one. He does not like lying, as a rule, so the more truth there is to the part he has to play, the better.

The even better news is that the courtship does seem to be working. There are only two new letters all week, and Lan Xichen lets that thought bolster him through a series of mind-numbing negotiations with a pair of subsidiary clan leaders over a disputed haunting. (A tedious matter which frankly could’ve been dealt with in the time it took to coax them to an agreement over whose responsibility exorcizing the ghost should be.)

To Lan Xichen’s great relief, his next few dates with Meng Yao—appearances together at various carefully selected society events which leave them little time for private conversation—go as smoothly as all the ones before. Their communication between the dates remains businesslike, focused on coordination. There is no more kissing, practice or otherwise, which is undoubtedly for the best, and Lan Xichen feels pleased that their partnership has absorbed the experience with no ill effects. (If he finds himself staring at Meng Yao’s mouth a time or three, that’s no one’s business but his own.) Nie Mingjue has begun to tease him whenever they talk about stealing away his best deputy, and each time Lan Xichen assures him that he’s still only borrowing him.

By the time the Puppy Gala rolls around, Lan Xichen has managed to convince himself that he had been worried for nothing. They’ll go to the gala, they’ll be social and charming, and then they’ll find a not-too-private corner of Lotus Pier for a little tactical kissing. All very straightforward.

As society events go, this is one of the more fun ones of the year. The Jiang Sect prides itself on strong cultivation and stronger hospitality, which means any event they host is guaranteed to have good food, ample liquor, and lively entertainment. This Gala in particular, with its "animal-inspired" dress code and overall playful atmosphere, has grown to be a prized invitation for philanthropy-minded public figures in a variety of spheres, ever since video of a shirtless Jiang Wanyin in a pile of rescued puppies mysteriously went viral on social media a few years ago. (The Yunmeng Small Animal Protection Association does remarkable work, of course, but Lan Xichen personally sees Nie Huaisang’s hand in the sudden nationwide popularity of a local charity.) Each year, more leaders in cultivation, politics, business, and even entertainment flock to Yunmeng to see and be seen—and to open their pocketbooks. 

Since Jiang Yanli’s much-celebrated marriage last year to Jin Zixuan, it also means the Jin Clan can no longer afford to ignore it, which brings with it one challenge Lan Xichen and Meng Yao have not yet accounted for. Not wanting to approach such a delicate matter without a plan, and a little surprised Meng Yao hasn’t brought it up himself, Lan Xichen finally asks in the car. "How did you want to handle greeting your father? Or are we snubbing him tonight?"

Meng Yao goes rigid in the seat beside him. "Ah. So you do know, then."

"A-Yao," Lan Xichen says, not unkindly, but surprised, "did you really think you were the only one who’d done his homework when we started this?" That Jin Guangshan is a notorious philanderer is such common knowledge as not to be considered gossip even by Cloud Recesses standards. His political status, unfortunately, means that his brief affair with a promising young dancer from Yunping years ago had been newsworthy enough to come up in Lan Xichen’s research after their first meeting. (Lan zongzhu does not have the luxury of remaining unaware of potential political stickiness, even for the most charming of fake boyfriends.) "I apologize if you didn’t want me to mention it, I just wanted to make sure to do the right thing when we see him. For you."

He wants to offer Meng Yao a hug, to soothe the tension from his spine, but there are seatbelts and dress clothes and the nature of their relationship when in private all to consider, so instead he places his hand palm up on the seat between them, offering.

Meng Yao lets out a breath and accepts, placing his hand delicately into Lan Xichen’s. "Forgive me, Xichen ge, that’s very thoughtful of you." Lan Xichen strokes the back of his hand with his thumb and waits, giving him a chance to gather his words. "I’ve been introduced to him before," he says at last, "and he’s never given any sign of recognition. I assume he will not do so now merely because I am accompanied by you." Lan Xichen frowns, though it’s not terribly surprising; the man is a notorious ass. "Mama always said he was a donkey’s ass we were better off without," Meng Yao confides with a wry chuckle.

Lan Xichen laughs. "I was just thinking the same thing."

Meng Yao sighs and gives his hand a squeeze. "I don’t want to ask you to snub him," he says at last. "He’s not worth the effort or the fallout of intentional rudeness."

"But we won’t go out of our way to greet him," Lan Xichen decides, feeling protective despite—or maybe because of—Meng Yao’s resignation. "Perhaps we’ll all luck out, and he’ll come as the back half of a two-person costume, so no one will have to suffer his company." Meng Yao laughs at this, and Lan Xichen smiles at the way it shakes off the last of his stiffness. He doesn’t remove his hand, so Lan Xichen holds it until they arrive.

The guests make a glittering menagerie when Lan Xichen and Meng Yao enter the ballroom. Most, like themselves, have opted for formalwear with elements that call to mind various creatures: wings and tails and elaborate make-up illusions. Lan Xichen has chosen a suit in shades of silvery-grey and an intricate spiked headdress that evokes the antlers of a stag, while Meng Yao has opted for a svelte all-black ensemble. His long hair is swept back in a glossy ponytail topped off by a furry pair of pointed black fox ears. He looks cute and sly and a little dangerous—a look Lan Xichen has to admit is a good one on him. Unbidden, his mind reminds him of their plans for later this evening, of the lax, unguarded expression on Meng Yao’s face the last time they’d kissed, and he has to suppress a fox-like grin of his own.

They meet and mingle, as is the way of these things, and Meng Yao is as charming a partner as he has been each time Lan Xichen has had the pleasure of his company. His memory is a thing of beauty to watch in action, earning delighted responses from every person they greet when he inquires about their latest success or their children’s accomplishments. "Everyone likes to brag," he’d explained to Lan Xichen early on. "So I give them the opportunity, and later, they remember how much they enjoyed our conversation." He puts people at ease, and best of all, he makes it look effortless. Lan Xichen has attended these sorts of events for most of his life, but they’ve never felt easier than these last months with Meng Yao beside him.

"Xichen!"

Nie Mingjue ambles over to them towards the end of the cocktail hour, the crowd parting around him like a bow wave before an ocean liner. He’s wearing hanfu tonight, richly textured layers of steel grey with an outer robe in the Qinghe style Nie Huaisang likes to call ‘the big fuckoff shoulders.’ It’s an intimidating look under regular circumstances, but tonight Nie Mingjue is also sporting an intricately braided and fluffed hairstyle resembling a lion’s mane and an impressive set of wickedly curved horns. He looks every inch the legendary beast of his clan's seal. "You decided on horny tonight too, I see. Better watch yourself, little fox." He winks at Meng Yao and takes a sip of his drink.

"Dage…" Lan Xichen shakes his head, lips twitching. "Incorrigible."

"Good evening, Nie zongzhu," Meng Yao says drily, his attempts to restore some sense of decorum to the proceedings somewhat undercut by the absolutely adorable way his ears peek out of his hair. It’s always hard to take anyone seriously at this event, but this is the first time Lan Xichen has so strongly wanted to give someone a good scritch behind the ears. (Do foxes purr? Would Meng Yao?) "You’re looking very fearsome."

Nie Mingjue grins. "You should see the getup Wei Wuxian came in this year," he says, craning his neck to scan the ballroom but apparently not finding him. "Hmph. Well, you’ll see what I mean. He’s got all these tails that are as long as he is tall, but they move like they’re made out of smoke. Like a hulijing from hell. Not entirely sure how he’s doing it, but he scared the shit out of Yao zongzhu earlier."

Now that Lan Xichen would’ve liked to see. Still— "Can’t be as terrifying as Hu Ge in the cat costume a few years ago," he replies, remembering the tabby fur and mitten paws. And the whiskers. He hadn’t wanted to scritch him behind the ears, that was certain.

"Nothing is as terrifying as Hu Ge in the cat costume." 

Meng Yao tilts his head, looking even more like a curious fox and making something swoop delightedly in Lan Xichen’s stomach. "Not the one from the commercials, surely?"

Lan Xichen nods. His antlers make the motion feel exaggeratedly profound. "The very same."

"It was even more uncanny in real life, somehow," Nie Mingjue adds, shuddering.

"I can believe it." Meng Yao sounds impressed and a little disturbed, which is the correct emotional response to that particular costume, in Lan Xichen’s opinion.

They amuse themselves judging outfits for a while—Lan Xichen’s favorite of the night is Jin Zixuan, who in a remarkable display of self-effacing humor is wearing a long train made of peacock feathers—and discussing the items available in the silent auction. Nie Mingjue and Meng Yao have a similarly incisive sense of humor, which keeps Lan Xichen laughing.

As the time for the dinner approaches, Meng Yao touches Lan Xichen’s arm gently and excuses himself, and Lan Xichen lets his eyes linger on his sleek form as he goes. Meng Yao slips through the sparkling crowd like a shadow, drawing no attention but Lan Xichen’s own as he glides smoothly past the dance floor and ducks between two large planters into a side corridor.

No, into the side corridor. 

A hot, fluttery feeling dances up Lan Xichen’s spine as he realizes that later is now, that in a moment he’s to follow Meng Yao down that same corridor to enact the next phase of their courtship strategy.

"Y’know, for a vegetarian dressed like an herbivore, you certainly look like you want to eat him alive," Nie Mingjue comments, jolting Lan Xichen out of his reverie. "And I know you're not that good of an actor. Is it the fox thing? There's lots of people into the whole animal roleplaying deal; nothing to be ashamed of."

Lan Xichen groans. "You’re the worst, and I hate you. My boyfriend," he says, emphasizing the word as he quickly glances around to ensure no one is near enough to overhear them, "is a very attractive man."

"And you're clearly very attracted to him," Nie Mingjue replies. "Vice versa, if I had to wager."

"You know it's not that simple." 

Nie Mingjue shrugs. "It could be though."

"It's not wise to mix business and pleasure," Lan Xichen says. He and Meng Yao have a plan, dammit, and it's working beautifully. Lan Xichen is not going to let a little thing like his own inconvenient physical attraction disrupt their harmonious partnership.

"So go renegotiate terms then." Nie Mingjue squares his shoulders and turns to face him, drawing Lan Xichen’s attention once again to the fact that his best friend is currently dressed as a ferocious beast. His expression is all Nie zongzhu when he looks Lan Xichen in the eye. "Stealing my best deputy is one thing, if he agrees to be stolen, but if you're going to jerk him around I might have something to say about it."

Lan Xichen has not often found himself on the receiving end of Nie Mingjue’s most intimidating stare, but he feels very much like a prey animal before a predator right now. The worst part is he knows Nie Mingjue is right; he owes it to Meng Yao to be honest about his attraction. Owes it to himself, too.

Lan Xichen takes his leave and makes way across the ballroom, torn between excitement and nerves. Meng Yao will be waiting, and Lan Xichen has no idea what to say.

There's a little room down this side corridor, the intended purpose of which Lan Xichen has never quite figured out. It's a good place if you need to slip out of the main event for a few moments of quiet or a word of private conversation. They'll be able to talk here, assuming Lan Xichen can figure out the right words.

He doesn't get the chance.

As soon as he opens the door, Meng Yao pounces, all sly smiles and coy grace. "Gege, what took you so long?" He practically purrs it, and Lan Xichen forgets anything but the sight of his face and the sound of his voice. His hands are on Lan Xichen's hips and his face is tilted up, eyes sparkling with mischief behind the sweep of his dark lashes, and whatever conversations they may need to have, they both know what they're here to do now. How can Lan Xichen do anything but sink his hands into Meng Yao's hair and kiss him?

The last time—the first time, the only other time—he'd been careful with it, held himself apart and only allowed himself gentle contact of lips and palms, but this time Meng Yao practically melts into him. He growls a little, Lan Xichen’s clever fox, opens his mouth and pulls their hips together, and really, Lan Xichen is only a man. He's kissing like he wants to—like he's been wanting to, Lan Xichen realizes, a flash of insight that he firmly puts aside for later. He opens his mouth and drinks Meng Yao down, whining high in his throat and tightening his hands in that silky soft hair when Meng Yao nips at his lower lip. He thinks he’s knocked the ears out of place, but his eyes have slipped closed in pure bliss. This is definitely too much, too heavy, not at all what they'd practiced or discussed, but Meng Yao isn't pulling away, so Lan Xichen doesn't either.

The thrill of Meng Yao's body in his arms, the heady knowledge that he wants this too, maybe just as much as Lan Xichen, has him so distracted that he's genuinely surprised when he hears the quiet, "Oh!" behind them. He'd forgotten they were meant to be found.

Lan Xichen straightens up with a jerk and whirls around to see his brother, dragon’s horns askew and eyes wide, looking as shocked as he feels and holding what appears to be two armfuls of roiling smoke.

"Lan Zhan? Gege, why'd you stop?" the smoke whines. Ah. That explains that.

About time, didi, one part of Lan Xichen’s brain thinks. Why would Huaisang send these two? asks another part. Absolutely no one is going to be talking about us after this, comments a third, somewhat sulky part. "Didi," Lan Xichen says out loud, "did you need this room?"

Lan Wangji gives him a long, slow blink that Lan Xichen knows down to his bones means they're going to talk about this later, but only says, "I did not realize it would be occupied."

Wei Wuxian’s tails part then, and he looks over his shoulder with a wicked grin. His makeup is smudged with some of Wangji's icy glitter, and his hair is a mess; he's looking thoroughly kissed and decidedly rumpled. "Hello, Lan da, Meng xiansheng, fancy meeting you here." 

Your ears are not nearly as cute as A-Yao's, Lan Xichen thinks nonsensically.

"Have you heard? Lan Zhan and I are in love! It's big news; we only just found out ourselves, you see."

Lan Xichen very graciously does not laugh out loud at this. Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji are possibly the last to recognize this state of affairs, and he is happy for them, despite how much he wishes they could have had this revelation at any other time and place.

"Congratulations," Meng Yao says, stepping out from behind Lan Xichen, ears in hand and looking a bit rumpled himself. He straightens his hair and jacket, not perfectly, but enough to be respectable, before taking Lan Xichen’s hand. "Let's leave the happy couple the room, Xichen ge," he says, tugging him along to slip past the entanglement that is Lan Wangji and Wei Wuxian. 

"You might want to lock the door, didi," Lan Xichen hears himself say as they pass. "Apparently this room is not very private." Wei Wuxian's cackle is muffled by the door sliding firmly closed, before the laughs turn into other sounds. Lan Xichen and Meng Yao share a long, silent glance, then both begin to laugh at once.

“Of all the nights,” Lan Xichen says, shaking his head, adrenaline dispersing with the laughter.

Meng Yao chuckles as he replaces his ears. “I can’t believe Huaisang didn’t head them off. He was supposed to send someone to ‘discover’ us." There’s a particularly loud yelp from behind the door, and Lan Xichen feels his cheeks heating as he offers Meng Yao his arm to make a hasty retreat back out to the party.

They are met when they emerge by Nie Huaisang, who flutters up to them (literally—his outfit resembles a flock of birds taking flight) with an apologetic expression. “Ah, there you are. There’s been something of a development, you see…” The ballroom is buzzing with conversation, which Lan Xichen takes to mean that however his brother’s years-long slow burn had finally caught flame, it must have been suitably dramatic.

“We just ran into Wangji and Wei Wuxian,” Lan Xichen says drily.

“Or they ran into us, more accurately,” Meng Yao adds. “We were there first, after all.”

Nie Huaisang winces. “I'm sorry, Xichen gege, Meng Yao, but I don't think you'll be the ones making news tonight.”

As predicted, Lan Wangji and Wei Wuxian are the main topic of conversation in the days after the Puppy Gala. (Which raised a very respectable sum and was overall a great success even if most of the coverage did lead with a photo of his little brother bent over backwards in a dip so passionate that his horns were almost touching the ground. Right in front of everyone's hors d'oeuvres, too.) Lan Wangji and Wei Wuxian had not returned for the banquet, and they’d apparently been spotted later that evening in a stolen rowboat in the Jiang clan’s lotus lake in scandalous dishabille.

Lan Wangji is happier than Lan Xichen can remember, though, and it takes Lan Xichen a while to realize what the complicated twist of feelings in his chest is. He's glad for his brother, of course, but he's also envious.

Meng Yao had wanted to kiss him. It makes everything simultaneously easier and more difficult, because Lan Xichen realizes now that what he wants from Meng Yao is not just their current careful partnership, nor even just the kind of physical spark they'd brushed up against when they’d kissed, but all the blissful contentment that he sees in Lan Wangji and Wei Wuxian now. That joyful surety that they are each other's and the whole world knows it.

What Nie Mingjue had said at the gala rings through his mind: if what Lan Xichen wants from Meng Yao has changed, the right thing to do is to tell him. He’s mulling over the problem of how? for the umpteenth time when a soft knock sounds from his door. Lan Wangji enters his office, dressed in the loose pants and t-shirt he favors for the mornings he teaches martial arts. There's a livid purple hickey clearly visible high on his neck. Lan Xichen elects not to mention it.

"Wangji, hello! I wasn't sure I'd see you today."

"It's Tuesday," he says, as though it should be obvious. Tuesdays at midday have been marked off in Lan Xichen’s calendar in pale blue for years now, so perhaps it should.

Lan Xichen nods. "So it is, so it is. I'm a little surprised Wei Wuxian's not with you," he teases, because it is his right as elder brother to do so.

"It's Tuesday," Lan Wangji says again, with a little more emphasis. Lan Xichen is touched that Wangji wants to maintain the integrity of their brothers-only time, and only a little concerned that he’s about to be interrogated as to the nature of his relationship with Meng Yao.

Lan Wangji has brought lunch for the both of them, so they make their way to the shady pavilion they favor when the weather is nice. It features a view of a scholar's rock that Lan Wangji has always maintained resembles a thundercloud but Lan Xichen thinks is more of a seahorse. (They had asked Lan Qiren once, when they were younger, which of them was correct and been set an essay on the desirable qualities of scholar’s rocks and their relation to the principle of wuwei.)

They eat before they speak, years of habit at their uncle's table making the quiet click of chopsticks and soft slurps of soup a familiar accompaniment to their meal. The tomato and egg soup Wangji has made is especially good today, spicier than he usually prepares it, and Lan Xichen smiles to himself, sure that there is a second thermos set aside for a certain someone.

The decisive click of Wangji's bowl against the table is the only warning Lan Xichen gets. 

"When we found you," Lan Wangji begins, "at the Gala—"

"I hardly think you were looking for us," Lan Xichen interrupts, earning himself a withering glance from Lan Wangji that would be an eye roll on a lesser man than his brother.

"When we happened upon you—" He pauses, and this time Lan Xichen lets him gather his words. "I did not realize it was like that, between you and him."

"You knew we were courting, didi," he says gently, wondering what, precisely, Lan Wangji is assuming it was like. 

"I hadn't realized you were in love."

How do you know? Lan Xichen wants to ask, vibrating like a struck bell at the way Lan Wangji’s words mark as certain truth something that Lan Xichen has barely even allowed himself to think.

"You could tell that from a kiss?" he asks instead.

The corner of Lan Wangji’s lip quirks up. "I was… distracted, when we first came to the door, but we were there for several moments before I noticed your antlers. Neither of you heard us at all." Lan Xichen can feel himself blushing, and the amused look in Lan Wangji's eyes tells him it has not gone unnoticed. 

Then his brother's expression softens. "Not only that. The way you moved between us when you heard me, like you were protecting him; I'm not sure you even noticed." He hadn't, only moved on instinct. "You’ve been so happy these last months, since him,” he says, an uncanny echo of what Lan Xichen has been thinking about Wangji himself these past days.

"And the way he was looking at you..." Lan Wangji shakes his head. "It was only a brief glimpse, so I cannot be certain, but it was... unguarded."

Lan Xichen’s heart is pounding in his ears. He thinks again of that cracked-open expression Meng Yao had worn when he'd kissed him the first time, of the passionate way he’d kissed back the second. He lets himself begin to hope that maybe what he’d seen and felt was more than just the feelings Lan Xichen was trying not to project. Lets himself wonder if perhaps Meng Yao feels the same.

Lan Wangji politely contemplates the rock to give Lan Xichen a much-needed moment. "You haven't talked about it," he says at last.

"It's complicated," Lan Xichen replies, echoing what he'd told Nie Mingjue the other night. More complicated than he wants to explain, with Wangji seeing straight through him the way he does.

Lan Wangji nods an acknowledgement. "Perhaps. I thought so too, until it wasn't." His brother places his hand, so like Lan Xichen's own, atop the fist he hadn't realized he'd been clenching. "I want you to be happy, Ge. If he is the one who makes you happy, tell him."

"When did my little brother get so wise?" Lan Xichen teases, to cover the well of emotions bubbling away inside him.

Lan Wangji huffs one of his quiet laughs. "Through foolishness," he says, looking very much like he did when they were boys and Lan Xichen first realized that their Uncle could, in fact, be convinced to buy them candy when they went shopping if Wangji was the one to ask. "Perhaps you heard? I understand there are photos."

The town they're headed to is small enough that it doesn't have a portal station, so they make the last half hour of the journey on a crowded bus. The grandmother in the seat next to them asks them if they're here for the festival, and Meng Yao, as charming as he would be with any society matron, confides to her that his boyfriend has told him nothing about their destination or itinerary, saying only that it was a surprise. "Oh, you're in for a treat then," she tells him, nodding approvingly. "Your young man here has picked an excellent day to visit." They make small talk for the rest of the ride, a pleasant, nothing sort of conversation punctuated by numerous near-identical pictures of the woman's first great-grandchild on her phone.

They reach their destination in late afternoon. "You boys have fun now," she tells them as they part ways. "Make sure he tries Lao Guo’s biang biang mian—best you’ll ever have!" This last is directed at Lan Xichen, who bows his head in acknowledgement of her advice.

"I know roughly where we are, geographically," Meng Yao says, adjusting his coat and donning his hat as he peers curiously at the posters proclaiming today’s date stuck to the columns of the bus shelter, "but where are we?"

Lan Xichen smiles and takes his hand, leading the way to the village square. "This is the town where my mother grew up," he says. "Today's their village festival. We came with her a few times when we were small, and they have the best fireworks I've ever seen."

The festival takes place on the new moon before mid-autumn each year, and the annual trip with their mother is among Lan Xichen's fondest memories. It's been decades since he was last here, but as they step into the square, the sounds and smells wrap around him like a surprise whiff of a forgotten perfume, a sense-memory overflowing with childlike joy.

"Xichen ge," Meng Yao says tenderly, reaching up to wipe a tear from his cheek. Lan Xichen hadn't noticed he was crying. "Is this the first time you've been back?"

He wipes his eyes on the back of his hand and laughs. "The night you took me dancing," he says, not answering the question, but wanting Meng Yao to understand. "It was a side of you I hadn't seen, and I wanted to show you something similar."

"Something that's just you, before Lan zongzhu." Meng Yao smiles at him, that small, crooked, unpracticed one that makes Lan Xichen's heart feel too big in his chest. He hopes that smile means what he thinks it does. Lan Xichen squeezes Meng Yao's hand and wonders just how much this wonderful, perceptive man can read on his own face.

"Exactly that. So first: noodles."

They make their way to a food stand boasting the distinctive character and a long line and take their place. As they wait, they watch the cook expertly pull and stretch dough into long, wide noodles, slapping it against his counter and splitting them with a flourish before adding the flattened noodles to the pot. At the other end of the counter, a woman dishes up bowls of cooked noodles with their signature toppings: braised pork belly or a savory vegetable mix, pungent chili and garlic and fresh spring onions, a drizzle of sizzling oil. "Now it might be a little spicy," Lan Xichen says with a wink as they accept their bowls, earning a laugh from Meng Yao that lights up his whole face. The noodles are perfect: chewy and fragrant, bursting with bold flavor. Lan Xichen has had this dish everywhere from Wen Clan banquets to his own homemade efforts, but here under a clear autumn sky with Meng Yao, he can hardly remember better.

It’s unsurprising, perhaps, now that he recognizes the comfortable ease he’s felt with Meng Yao since the very beginning for what it is. He knows himself well enough to realize that now that he's sure of his own feelings, he will never be able to pretend they are anything less. I love you, he thinks, my gorgeous, clever A-Yao.

His intention, when he planned this date, was to get away from the pressure of their public performance, to show Meng Yao something personal and important to him in the same way that Meng Yao had all those weeks ago in Yunping. His hope, as they bumped along the country road on the tiny bus, was that being here would make it easier to admit that he wants more than their carefully choreographed partnership. He feels as though his heart has found the song it was meant to play, and his most fervent wish now is that Meng Yao might be the one who hears it.

Far away from anyone who knows them, they are just two more faces in a joyful crowd, letting the festival atmosphere sweep them along. They watch a performance by a troupe of young dancers and enjoy the clever wordplay of a comedy duo. As the golden afternoon stretches into evening, they peruse the offerings in the market and snack on spicy stuffed bing and gooey persimmon cakes, fried up fresh and piping hot. Meng Yao laughs with delight when Lan Xichen can’t help but lick his fingers clean chasing the sticky sweetness. It’s such a perfect, lighthearted day that Lan Xichen finds himself wishing it would never end.

When night falls, they make their way to a spot Lan Xichen half-remembers by the river to await the fireworks, away from the crowd for the first time in hours. The streets echo with the voice of a woman singing on the main stage; it’s a high, lonesome sound, full of longing. Meng Yao shivers beside him from the drop in temperature, and without really thinking about it, Lan Xichen pulls off his scarf. "Oh, A-Yao, are you cold? Here, let me—"

Meng Yao is still as Lan Xichen tucks it around his neck. He closes his eyes and sinks his face into the soft blue fabric for the space of a breath, then looks up at Lan Xichen with an expression that’s equal parts tenderness and sorrow. "Xichen ge," he says gently, "I don’t think I can do this any more."

Lan Xichen freezes with his hands still outstretched.

"I know we had an agreement," Meng Yao says quickly, "and that I’m putting you in an awkward situation, but I can no longer fulfill my end. Today—the last six months, really—have been…" His voice cracks. Lan Xichen has never heard him at such a loss for words. Meng Yao takes a deep breath and pulls on a smile that breaks Lan Xichen’s heart. 

"I’m sorry, Lan Xichen,” he says, voice aching with tenderness and tears glittering in the corners of his eyes. “You told me when we began that you need someone who doesn’t have any intentions on you, and that simply can’t be me. Not any longer."

A small spark catches fire in Lan Xichen’s chest, and he almost laughs in relief.

“I’d like to renegotiate terms,” he blurts, grabbing at Meng Yao’s shoulders in giddy desperation. "I would like to court you, Meng Yao," he begins, "in truth, for real, for as long as you’ll have me.” Meng Yao’s eyes go wide, and Lan Xichen feels the fire spread, warming him to the very tips of his toes. “Whatever your intentions, I would hear them with joy. I’ll not ask more than you wish to give, and I’ll give anything you ask with gladness. You are precious to me, A-Yao, and I would be yours, if you’ll allow it."

“Those are terrible terms,” Meng Yao says, tears spilling over but smile brighter than any Lan Xichen has ever seen. “I accept.”

Lan Xichen laughs, reeling with exhilaration. “Shall we shake on it?”

Meng Yao’s dimples flash as his smile turns foxlike. “I have a better suggestion,” he says, before grabbing Lan Xichen by the sweater and tugging him down to seal the deal with a kiss.

His mouth is hot and eager against Lan Xichen’s, tasting faintly of persimmon and spice but mostly of him, of his A-Yao, his real, actual, 100% not-fake boyfriend. Lan Xichen kisses him, not for practice or strategy, but with joyful abandon, hands coming up to clasp at either side of Meng Yao’s perfect, lovely face and hold him steady as Lan Xichen pours out all his passion to the man that he loves. 

Meng Yao kisses back with just as much fervor, matching him motion for motion and breath for breath. The fire in Lan Xichen’s chest could light the moonless night, and Meng Yao’s answering passion only stokes it higher. He’s breathless, dizzy with joy as the song in his heart resounds with this moment, this kiss, this new beginning. The press of their lips feels like a dance, like flying, like fireworks booming in his chest and lighting up the world around them.

Though that might also be the actual fireworks.

Meng Yao is laughing as they part amidst the crackle of falling sparks, one hand still clutching Lan Xichen’s sweater and the other clapped to his head to keep his hat from falling entirely off. The glitter of fireworks is reflected in his eyes, blooms of red and gold and blue like precious jewels. He’s flushed and disheveled, expression wide open with nothing but love pouring out, and Lan Xichen thinks he’s never looked more beautiful. 

Wrapped up in each other in a little town far from every obligation and duty, Meng Yao and Lan Xichen watch the fireworks burst over the water, and a new future for them unfolds.

Some Months Later…

Lan Xichen is painting technicolor orchids, and Meng Yao is curled up on his sofa, reading over a contract draft drawn up by one of the new administrators he’s training for Nie Mingjue. (Lan Xichen has been trying to convince Meng Yao of the merits of non-productive creative pursuits in the evenings, and Meng Yao has been gently skeptical thus far. He’s got a glass of wine on the side table, though, and his phone is set to do-not-disturb, so Lan Xichen is making progress.) Despite his protests of shameless poaching, Nie Mingjue had not seemed terribly surprised when Meng Yao had announced his intentions to take a position as cultivational liason for the mayor’s office—in Suzhou.

Lan Xichen had mailed the yelling magpie to Nie Huaisang, who sent him back a snapshot of it hanging proudly in his studio and the message didn’t I tell you to trust me?

Lan Wangji had arrived for lunch the Tuesday after everything changed, silently raised an eyebrow at the high collar Lan Xichen was wearing, and earnestly congratulated him on his romantic efficiency. A few days later, Lan Qiren unsubtly informed Lan Xichen that he expected “that young man you’ve been spending so much time with” for tea within the week. (Much to Wangji’s indignation, though not at all to Lan Xichen’s surprise, Meng Yao and Lan Qiren got on brilliantly.)

In early winter, Lan Xichen and Meng Yao attended a performance of the opera in Wuhan with Lin Sisi, after which she and Meng Shi regaled Lan Xichen with a great many tales of Meng Yao’s precocious childhood over a late dinner.

It has been months since Lan zongzhu's office last received a letter making overtures of marriage.

Meng Yao and Lan Xichen have continued to attend social and political events as a couple, but now they have this as well: quiet evenings together with no expectations and no one to impress. 

As Lan Xichen shades the petals of his orchid in vivid electric pink, he composes a letter of his own in his head. He knows what he wants, and all that remains is to arrange the details.

Lan zongzhu greets Meng xiansheng, requesting an opening of negotiations for the purposes of a mutually agreeable marriage…