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Jiang Yanli is the nicest woman on the planet.
Which is why she agreed to have two of her fiance’s vapid cousins stand up in her bridal party, despite never having interacted with them before, because it meant so much to them.
And also why she did not immediately suplex both of them into the ugly, isomalt swan adorning the fondant-coated monstrosity that was the wedding cake. (Or let either of her brothers do it.)
Jiang Cheng’s doing the breathing exercises the therapist taught him, and Wei Ying is seriously thinking of bundling his older sister in one of the ridiculous decorative rugs growing increasingly damp on the veranda grass and running.
But Yanli sits in the bridal tent, head tilted back to avoid even more tears making the makeup artist’s repair job any harder.
“Dickbags,” Jiang Cheng hisses, mid eight-count.
“You didn’t deserve that, jiejie. You didn’t do anything wrong.”
“I must have! They were so excited to be in the wedding!”
“They’re snakes, jie, they wanted attention. You were so nice to them!” Jiang Cheng gives up on his breathing, but he seems a bit less untethered when he crouches next to his sister, grasping her delicate hand.
“Maybe if I’d been a little more welcoming…”
“A-Li, you gave them both Tiffany earrings as a bridesmaid gift. It is impossible to be more welcoming.” Wei Ying huffs, glaring at the designer dresses thrown over the garment rack. “Didn’t leave those. I should go repo that shit right out of their ears.”
But Yanli sobs, “Don’t leave!” before she can collect herself, and so Wei Ying stays put, even if he wants to eat Jin Zixuan’s smug, inbred relatives.
Jiang Cheng rests his forehead against his sister’s hand, and she takes a deep, steadying breath.
“I don’t know what to do.”
Wei Ying takes this in–the sight of his beautiful, kind, magnificent sister crying on her wedding day because someone made the grave mistake of telling Wang Yan and Chen Lu that they were better than others.
The wedding planner–a harried woman named Sun Yang–marches back inside, tablet held aloft and murder in her eyes. “We’re going to fix this.” She declares.
The makeup artist, bless him, replies, “Hell yes.”
Because Mo Xuanyu, like everyone else who has known Yanli for more than five minutes, would die or go to jail for her.
“We have to find people that fit in the dresses.” Sun Yang insists. “Evil will not win.”
Huh. Wei Ying thinks.
Because the only true way to get justice here would be to make these women regret their actions. And the best way to do that would be…
To piss off as many elders as humanly possible.
Wei Ying begins furiously unbuttoning his shirt.
-
Eight minutes later, Wei Ying is storming across the veranda to the groom’s tent in his worn-in Doc Martens, clutching the halter portion of his very expensive dress up to cover his chest in a very weak nod to modesty.
His ass is nearly out, the laces are undone, Jiang Cheng is still shimmying into the laced-back situation in Yanli’s bridal tent.
Sun Yang is busy arguing with Jiang Cheng about footwear, so someone has to yell at Jin Zixuan for all of this.
-
Jin Zixuan has no idea that any of this has come to pass.
He’s busy hyperventilating at his best man.
What if something catches fire?!
What if he trips walking down the aisle and Yanli sees it and realizes he’s an idiot?!
What if a pelican just scoops her up and carries her off. They can probably do that–he watched a documentary like a month ago and they’re terrifying!
Lan Wangji, to his credit, is very patiently waiting for his friend to take a breath so he can shove a bottle of Evian into his twitching hands and speed dial his therapist.
Except then, the most beautiful man he has ever seen, clutching what are likely the makings of Yanli’s mulberry satin bridesmaid dresses to his lithe, muscular form.
Wangji cannot be distracted right now. Zixuan is three inches from convincing himself to pass out. “We are occupied with a separate crisis. Please wait your turn.”
The man blinks at him. “Is it that he’s a nervous wreck? Because he’s not going to stop being a nervous wreck. You need to get him down the aisle so Yanli can be Yanli at him. But right now she’s crying because his cousins ditched her.”
“...”
“Is it that you’ve never seen a man in a dress?”
“You are not in the dress.” Wangji frowns, already maneuvering behind the half-naked force of nature. “Allow me.”
And then Wei Ying has to stay mad while those warm, elegant fingers brush the skin of his back, guiding the intricate laces into some semblance of order.
He’s bright red, but still determined. “They had to have planned this shit. They were so smug about it, and they kept the stupid earrings.”
“Oh no.” Zixuan whispers, at a concerningly high pitch. “Oh, she’s going to back out. She has every right–”
But Wei Ying growls, “Man, do I look like that’s what’s happening?”
“I–no, but–Wei Ying, you’re–” He makes a frantic, flappy gesture at all of Wei Ying.
The Wei Ying in question takes a deep breath, and only hitches a little at another brush of warmth in the hollow between his shoulder blades. “Jiejie is determined to walk down that aisle and join your dipshit family, and if they want a show so bad, I’ll make sure they get one.”
“Your aunt is going to murder you.”
Wei Ying shrugs, but aborts the motion when the laces tighten further. “I run faster than Jiang Cheng, and–sorry, who is this?”
“My friend. Man. Best friend, Wangji, who is my best man. Wangji, this is Wei Ying.”
There’s a heavy sigh from behind Wei Ying, and honestly? Same.
“The laces are secure.” Best Friend Man Wangji rumbles, and Wei Ying bounces his shoulders a few times to test the fit. Glances back over his shoulder. Bites his lip just a little.
(Wangji, to his credit, does not bite that very vulnerable shoulder.)
“If Yu Ziyuan gets mad, I’ll tell her I asked.” Zixuan decides, chin up and eyes blazing with determination.
He is going to walk down that aisle, he is going to marry the love of his life, and he is absolutely not going to be sick at any point before or after, probably.
Wei Ying cocks his head at him, studying him for a moment before a grin that usually scares the hell out of him takes over his face. “Right.” He says. “Go, team.”
And then flounces out in a dress that’s going to give one of the elders palpitations, if the way it clings to his ass is any indication.
…
Wangji waits for a few minutes before he turns to his friend and says, “I am going to fuck that man.”
-
And he is.
He absolutely is.
In a coat closet off the reception hall, and then, after an appropriately polite courtship, almost every day for several decades.
It makes for a hell of a wedding story.