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There are quite a few people who would say that Wei Ying does not make a plan for anything. They see his go-with-the-flow attitude, his tendency to jump into situations with every angle only half-thought out and considered, his cocky grin when he says “I’ll figure it out when I get there” and they think:
This man does not plan a single goddamn thing. This man has never come up with a plan in his life, let alone followed one to the end.
Which is totally a lie, by the way! Wei Ying does absolutely plan things! He might not do the ‘multiple slides on a powerpoint’ sort of planning that Jiang Cheng does, or the ‘be prepared for every eventuality and have any item she might need in any situation in her bag’ planning that Wen Qing does, but he does plan. Maybe he does prefer the sort of planning that heavily features figuring out things as he goes, but that’s just his personal style! It’s what he prefers, and what he’s found to work best for him, not those complicated multi-step, if-this-then-that plans.
The beauty of a plan lies in how well it can be broken down into its separate component parts. Wei Ying loves a simple plan. The simpler the better.
For instance, the plan for this particular situation is very concise, very simple, very straightforward and easily understood by everyone who might become involved: find himself a hostage, first and foremost. Any hostage will do, really, and the more dramatic the better. Once he has a hostage— preferably a crying, begging one that will play their part to perfection— then the rest will easily fall into place. No one wants to defy the man with a hostage, and it’ll be easy as anything to gather up all the supplies, offload them off this ship and onto his before releasing his chosen hostage, and then badabing, badaboom, it’s all done and over without a single person injured or arrested.
It’s flawless. It’s easy. It’s simple and it’s worked for Wei Ying dozens of times before, and there’s no need to change something that already works, right? If it’s not broke, don’t fix it. If it’s already finished, don’t add details. Wise words to live by, something he’s been trying to live by for years now.
A motto that this particular situation is starting to make him regret living by, actually. Maybe he should really rethink this whole ‘not being prepared for every possible situation’ thing, because if he had thought, for even a sliver of a second, that he would ever run into a situation like this, maybe he…maybe it…
Well, maybe it wouldn’t fucking be like this .
“Uh,” Wei Ying says, very intelligently and very much like a man who is prepared for this exact situation. His gun is still in hand, still vaguely pointed at his intended hostage, even though his mind is nowhere near considering the possibility of using it anymore. “Hi.”
Lan Zhan— fucking Lan Zhan , of all people, what the hell is he doing on a small supply ship on a trading route in the middle of nowhere which was very deliberately picked by Wei Ying because it’s in the middle of nowhere in the complete opposite direction of Gusu Lan airspace, what the hell is going on— looks from Wei Ying to the trembling gun in his hand and then back to him again. The expression in his eyes is unreadable, and Wei Ying has not felt so unbearably and agonizingly on the spot since he was a teenager.
Naturally, Lan Zhan doesn’t say anything to him, he just blinks at him in that slow and unresponsive way he’s had since they first met. Fuck, he hasn’t changed at all since he last saw him— except he’s way broader now, and his hair falls to his hips in thick, luxurious sheets, and his jaw looks sharp enough to cut and his golden eye bright enough to burn— and he’s really just staring at him neutrally like it’s totally expected of him to burst into his room, six years after their last meeting and point a gun at him.
Fuck, fuck, fuck , this is so bad. What the hell is he supposed to do now?
There’s a few reasons why he’s avoided Lan Zhan ever since Wei Ying left the Jiang sect, and none of them have to do with the ‘disgustingly and embarrassingly huge crush you have on him’ as Qing-jie puts it (which is a lie! Wei Ying definitely does not have a crush on Lan Zhan, nor has he ever— not that he would be afraid to admit it if he did , because Lan Zhan is a very respectable man to have a crush on) or the gently and mortifyingly knowing looks his shijie gives him whenever the subject comes up.
It has nothing to do with that and everything to do with the fact that Lan Zhan is the second son to one of the strictest, most traditional and unyielding sect that has ever existed. If harmlessly goofing off in class got him dozens of hours hand-copying the most boring book in the world seven years ago, he can’t even imagine the punishment he would get if he was caught taking hostages, threatening lives (even though he never means it, nor actually harms someone unless it means life or death for him) and stealing the resources he needs to live.
Rumors have it that Gusu Lan has whipped several of its own disciples to death for ‘befriending evil’, or so the stories say. Wei Ying has no desire to add himself, his family or Lan Zhan to that list of potential victims.
And despite how much he enjoyed Lan Zhan’s friendship or how much he personally liked the man, he was also the head of discipline when they were in school together. There were several times Lan Zhan went out of his way to catch Wei Ying breaking the rules so he could tattle on him and get him even more hours of punishment. In fact, Lan Zhan often looked so smug when Wei Ying was trapped in the library with him that he half-considered that he was being bullied and picked on by him!
So if Lan Zhan ever saw or even got a whiff of his law-breaking actions, there’s no doubt that he would drag him in for punishment himself. There’s no chance he would just play dumb, or look away, or try to empathize, or see the situation in any way that wasn’t predetermined by the ancient Gusu Lan rules. Lan Zhan is many things, but flexible is not one of them.
Since Wei Ying wasn’t trying to get arrested (he does have a kid to feed, after all), that meant: avoid Lan Zhan at all costs. Avoid the Gusu Lan entirely, at most costs. Generally just do his best to avoid anyone who might cause him problems personally or professionally, and especially the people who know enough about him to recognize him on sight.
Being a wanted pirate is a very lonely life, sometimes, but it must be done. It’s not the life he ever envisioned for himself, but it is the life he has, and it is the life he has learned to be good at. Being good at it is the only option he has, if he wants the people he loves to survive.
There’s a reason that the ‘Yilling Laozu’ is a well-known scary story that ship passengers tell eachother, a reason why no one hopes to cross paths with him and his. There’s a reason he’s the best at what he does, and it’s not just because of his good looks.
With the skills his privileged upbringing has allowed him to learn, his own innate talents and his determination to succeed, there are only a few people he’s met that can actually match him pace for pace and blow for blow.
Lan Zhan happens to be one of those people. It doesn’t matter what they’re competing in— sparring, thought exercises, piloting, music, the ability to be an annoying and stubborn asshole— Lan Zhan has always matched him. Wei Ying has never had an easy fight against Lan Zhan, and whenever he wins (which is just about as common as him losing), it’s only after a long and drawn out competition that leaves them both exhausted. Not once in the two years they spent hanging around each other has Wei Ying been able to easily or outright beat Lan Zhan in a fight.
He is horribly aware of the fact that even though he should rightfully have the upperhand in this situation, planned for it to be like that, burst into this room and pointed his plasma gun at his victim before they could react to the ambush— he does not. There’s no having the upperhand against Lan Zhan, not truly.
If he wanted to disarm him, he could. It’s a wonder he hasn’t already. It’s a wonder he’s just sitting there in his form-fitting standard Lan-white bodysuit and letting him point a weapon in his direction without saying a word about it.
Not that Lan Zhan says a lot of words usually, but he has been known on occasion to dress Wei Ying down in some of the most scathing lectures he has ever experienced. This situation feels like it should call for one of those.
“Uh,” he says again when the silence stretches out unbearably long. He’s never dealt well with silence, and especially not the Lan Zhan type of silence, where he just stares at him like he’s waiting for whatever stupid thing that he’ll inevitably say next. The pressure never fails to push him into saying said stupid things.
Case in point: “I’m taking you hostage?”
Lan Zhan blinks at him. His gaze flicks to the gun and then back again, and how utterly unimpressed he looks makes Wei Ying itch with the urge to do something . Only consciously tightening his grip keeps him from reaching up to scratch awkwardly at his head or doing a horribly awkward dance in place.
It’s been six years, how has he not gotten any better at handling himself around Lan Zhan? It’s embarrassing to still be like this! He’s a grown-ass and frightening man, why does he still feel as awkward and clumsy as a teenager?
Trying to get himself back under control, he firms his stance and forces his expression into something he hopes is frightening. He came onto this ship with a plan, and he’s going to follow it, even if this is nothing like he ever expected. This time, he says it with more confidence, a man on a mission: “I’m taking you hostage.”
Honestly, he’s half-hoping Lan Zhan will put up a fight about it. If he laughs in his face, or kicks the gun out of his hand, or tries to call ship security on him, then he can leave. He can gracefully and immediately accept defeat and take the embarrassment with him as he flees back to his own ship and hopefully disappears into the depths of space to never see Lan Zhan again.
Returning without supplies will mean a few more days of reduced meals and finding a new raiding target sooner rather than later, but that’s fine. He can handle that. He can handle Wen Qing bitching at him, A-Yuan laughing at him and Wen Ning being quietly and horribly understanding with him.
He cannot handle much more of this… this staring . Gods, does Lan Zhan ever blink, or does he only do it when he’s showing how unphased he is? Is this unmoving stare like a powermove of his, to intimidate people into cooperating?
Instead of doing anything like he expects him to, Lan Zhan just slowly puts his hands where he can see them and says, very agreeably for a man being threatened, “Okay.”
What? What the hell is going on here? Not only is Lan Zhan definitely not supposed to be on this resupply ship, he is absolutely not supposed to just agree to becoming a hostage. No arguing, no reasoning to his morals, no lecturing or glaring or punishing? Who does that, just casually agree to be a hostage? Everyone else has at least put up some sort of fight before.
“You’re not supposed to just go along with it,” Wei Ying says, the words bursting out of him with outrage. Is this what Lan Zhan is like all the time, not putting up a fight against anyone or anything that might harm him? How did he get his fearsome and righteous reputation if he’s this compliant and trusting? It’s a wonder nothing terrible has happened to him if he would let any old thief hold him at gunpoint and order him around!
Lan Zhan has no right to look as amused as he does, the corners of his eyes subtly crinkling. Bichen’s sheath is stored on his hip where it always is, the superheated plasma blade currently stored away. He makes no move to grab it. “You’re pointing a gun at me, Wei Ying.”
“I—,” he starts, but when Lan Zhan puts it like that , he makes a good point. “Yeah, I guess you’re right. I am.”
As confused and wrong-footed he is right now, he can’t afford to delay any longer. They have to get moving sooner rather than later. The longer he is on this ship, the more dangerous it gets for him and the more likely he is to get caught. The longer that he stands here and lets them stare at each other, the more likely it is that someone will come to check on Lan Zhan.
Is Lan Zhan expecting someone? There is a pot of tea sitting on the low table, two packs of dehydrated tea lying nearby. Was he waiting for someone to join him?
It doesn’t matter either way. Wei Ying’s mouth twists. It’s time to go.
Jerking his head to the side, he gestures with the gun for Lan Zhan to stand up and come closer. It’s easier if they’re walking together for this; threatening him too obviously will draw attention quicker, and he needs to buy as much time as possible. The biggest part of pulling off a heist is acting the part; not many people will question someone who is calm, confident and focused on their task. Act like you were meant to be there and everyone will believe it too.
Ideally, he can be loaded up with his stolen supplies and hightailing it out of sensor range before anyone even realizes there was a stranger on board.
Looking completely unbothered, Lan Zhan smoothly rises to his feet. He’s dressed down for the evening, wearing his familiar long-sleeved bodysuit, loose lounging pants and soft ship-shoes. The pants are light blue, and the softest-looking piece of clothing Wei Ying has seen in a long while. Beyond the adornments on his suit— the metal braces around his wrists and the wiring trailing down his spine to wrap around his sides— he’s completely casual. Even his hair is loose, the towering guan he usually wears absent.
The only thing that has stayed from his usual intimidating uniform— and the only true point of instant and easy familiarity on this man who is so different from the one he remembers— is the forehead ribbon. It’s in the same place it’s always been, wrapped tightly above a heavy brow and a pair of burning-gold eyes.
“Come on,” he mutters, trying not to notice that Lan Zhan is taller than him now as he obediently steps closer. He’s eyelevel with his perfectly straight nose. “Don’t… don’t do anything funny, alright?”
Because he’s resolutely staring at Lan Zhan’s cheek— he has to keep his eyes on the hostage, it’s basic hostage-taking etiquette, but he also absolutely cannot keep looking up his weirdly-perfect nostrils and he’s not even considering the possibility of watching his mouth— he sees the flex as he suppresses a smile.
“That would be out of character,” Lan Zhan agrees, and fuck, he is funny. How did Wei Ying forget about that?
Purposely rough, Wei Ying pushes Lan Zhan toward the door. Normally, he might hook their arms together to keep the gun hidden between their bodies, but everyone knows that Hanguang-Jun doesn’t like to be touched. It’d be too suspicious. They’ll just have to walk really close together, and hope no one questions the hovering.
Lan Zhan goes without complaint, though he does shoot Wei Ying a mildly exasperated look. Like he’s questioning why shoving is necessary when he could’ve just asked . Without being told, he tucks both arms behind his back in a mimicry of his usual stance that also conveniently keeps both of his hands within sight. Very cooperative and thoughtful of him.
The door opens without incident, revealing the empty hallway outside. There’s no one to be seen even when Wei Ying does a superstitious glance in either direction. He does not look in the direction of the security cameras, keeping his bangs over his face as much as possible.
Thinking back to the architecture plans he half-remembers for this ship model, he nudges Lan Zhan to the left. The storage spaces should be near the rear of the ship and a floor below, if he recalls correctly. To the right are the rest of the cabins and living areas.
Their steps echo coldly in the corridor. Ships are always loud places; the hum of the life support systems is constant, and the rumble of fuel-consumption makes the metal shell vibrate at odd intervals and electricity hums through every inch of this place. Even the lights buzz, a persistent noise that threatens to set his teeth on edge.
It’s never quiet, but Wei Ying never feels as loud as he does during these moments.
“Where are we going?” Lan Zhan asks quietly after they’ve made it a dozen feet into the corridor. His stride is loose and easy, not the ridiculously long and fast walk that he used to have. He’s not trying to struggle or put distance between them at all. Having Wei Ying hovering just behind his shoulder doesn’t seem to bother him at all. Not even the gun pressing against his side makes him twitch or tense.
He really is a good hostage. Wei Ying feels an odd urge to ask about that; what happened to make him so easygoing.
“To the storage units,” he answers before he can think better of it. Normally, he doesn’t give his hostages much information, purposefully keeps them in the dark so they can’t interfere with his plans. Then again, he’s never had a hostage as capable as Lan Zhan, who absolutely hates being left out of the loop and could easily remove himself from the situation if he felt like it.
For some reason, the response makes Lan Zhan pause. His next step is stuttered and his head tilts to the side curiously. He doesn’t try to turn to look at him but the confused energy practically rolls off him. “Why?”
Wei Ying throws a look at the side of his head, even though he probably can’t see it. What the hell is he talking about? Isn’t it obvious why he’s going to storage? He’s a pirate, this is what he does— he steals . Aren’t there dozens of stories about him that say that? “What do you mean, why?”
The next pause in Lan Zhan’s words is typical, and it feels like he’s weighing his words carefully. It’s not unusual, but it makes Wei Ying feel itchy with impatience and anticipation, like he’s going to crawl out of his skin unless he says something right now.
“We are not going up to the pilot deck?” Lan Zhan sounds out slowly, deliberately. His pace is slowing, so Wei Ying knocks him with his shoulder to get him walking faster. The faster they get out of the popular halls, the better.
“No!” He answers, maybe a bit too loudly, but what is Lan Zhan even thinking? “Why would I do that? I’m not trying to get caught , and I’m definitely not trying to meet the pilot!”
Admittedly, that is something that he used to do when he was new to this whole pirating thing. On his first few raids, he thought it was a good idea to gather the entire crew in one place so no one could stop him from taking their supplies.
Turns out, having an entire ship of panicking people that he didn’t want to actually hurt is not really conducive to stealing and getting away quickly and easily. He’s learned a lot since then, and one of the first things he learned was how and when to be stealthy. It’s a lesson that’s served him well.
Now he sneaks onto ships (usually through an open disposal chute; no one ever claimed it was a glamorous or clean job) and quickly finds himself a hostage to keep the situation under control if necessary before bee-lining it to the storage facilities.
“I see,” Lan Zhan says in a voice that says he clearly does not see but he’s going along with it anyway. Really, did he expect Wei Ying to storm into the cafeteria with guns blazing and turn the ship into a shooting hall? Did he really think that he snuck into the ship with the intent to…to hurt people?
He knew that the stories about the Yilling Laozu were bad, but he thought Lan Zhan knew him better than that. Sure, it’s been years, but they were friends once. Does he think so little of him, to think him capable of senseless cruelty like that?
Before he can figure out something to say to that— and god knows he would find something to say if given enough time— Lan Zhan is tilting his chin to gesture to a hallway that is coming up on their left. There’s no signage that Wei Ying can see, but it wouldn’t be a surprise if Lan Zhan had the entire ship layout memorized. “There’s a shortcut that way. It’ll keep us away from the popular areas of the ship.”
Wei Ying doesn’t let his steps falter even as he frantically thinks it over. The design schematics he looked over were of a ship model similar to this one, and it doesn’t translate perfectly. He’s pretty sure he knows where he’s going, but he’s part-blind and fumbling his way through using intuition and educated guessing alone. He used to study ship designs, and while the core ideas of them are always similar, they are never the same.
He can’t remember if that hallway leads to the storage hall or not. It might. It’s in the same general direction, and there are always multiple routes leading to the same spot. It might be a shortcut.
Then again, it might not . Lan Zhan doesn’t lie, but he has been intentionally misleading before. He’s been an exemplary hostage so far, but that doesn’t mean that he truly means to cooperate. Maybe he doesn’t want to fight him directly and would rather get ship security to deal with him. Maybe he’s guiding him closer to the brig. Maybe his Lan principles are kicking in a little late, and he remembered he’s supposed to turn him in for punishment.
Or maybe he’s not, and Wei Ying will have bad luck anyways. Maybe it doesn’t matter either way.
There’s no way to tell. No more information to review, no time to sit and consider, no time to do anything but frantically flip through all the options and possible outcomes and just pick one. No time to reconsider, no time to hesitate, nothing but trust in his gut instincts and his ability to handle whatever may come.
Following Lan Zhan’s lead, he takes the left hallway.
The suspicious part of his brain is half-expecting someone to jump out at them as soon as he rounds the corner. Tension builds up tightly in his spine, and he has to purposefully keep his posture loose and confident. His trigger finger itches, his weight settling in the balls of his feet in anticipation.
Nothing happens. The hallway is completely devoid of people and furniture. Like every trade freightliner, it’s bare-bones, just looming doorways and buzzing lights and the too-loud scuffle of their footsteps. It curves slightly to the left, an angle that leads them deeper into the interior of the ship.
Every doorway they pass is a threat. It’s a little after midnight in standard time, but that doesn’t mean much on a trade ship in the middle of space. There’s always someone awake and working on a ship like this. Someone might step out of their dorm as they pass at any moment.
Fortunately, Lan Zhan lapses back into his usual silence as they walk down the hall, their pace something between casually fast and on the edge of rushing. The quiet allows Wei Ying to settle his head back into place again, letting him focus on the mission without Lan Zhan throwing him off balance.
He needs to focus. The Wens are counting on him to bring back supplies for their settlement. A-Yuan is counting on him.
Luckily enough, there are directional signs bolted to the wall when the hallway eventually splits into two. The left hallway has a sign indicating a medical clinic, while the right one has the word ‘dock’ printed on it in the common tongue.
They go right.
They’re both curving corridors, making it impossible to see far into the hall. Pushing Lan Zhan ahead of him for protection in the moving blind spots, Wei Ying follows close behind, urging their pace a little faster. They’re getting close to their destination now, the occupied parts of the ship fading away and being replaced by empty, cavernous rooms.
The bag on Wei Ying’s back shifts with every step, drawing his attention. Even though it’s empty, and will be until he starts to fill its talisman-enhanced space, it feels terribly heavy and conspicuous.
Luck must be on his side, because they don’t meet another soul as they approach the storage docks. Lan Zhan doesn't hesitate before scanning his wrist at the locking terminal outside the main doors. The chip embedded in his wrist guards that’s programmed with all of Lan Zhan’s information and permissions flashes blue-white briefly before the doors click open with a quiet woosh.
The adrenaline surging through Wei Ying’s body is prepared for someone to jump out at him at any moment, the typical darkness of the storage rooms both a threat and a reassurance. He can’t see inside, but neither can anyone see him.
The storage docks of this ship are stocked full. Most of it is stuff that is not useful for Wei Ying— dyes, half-built circuit boards, an entire case of dried and pressed poppy flowers that practically reek of the Jin sect, linen and silk. Things that are needed for established, privileged sects, and not the bare-minimum that Wei Ying and his people need to survive.
Cloth won’t feed A-Yuan, though a bolt of red silk would make a very nice inner robe for him. Wei Ying stuffs a bolt into his bag, a little treat for a job well done.
What he’s truly looking for, what he came here for, is stored in huge containers near the middle of the room, easily accessible from many points in the room. Foodstuffs, stored in massive quantities, enough to feed the entire crew for the entire journey and then some, accompanied by machinery meant for cleaning water and growing crops on tiny artificial plots.
It’s the machines that Wei Ying heads for first, taking a half-dozen steps away from Lan Zhan before he remembers that he’s supposed to be holding him hostage. Most of the time, when he gets to this part of the raid, he ties his hostages up so they’re not in the way and so they can’t run away to alert the rest of the ship while he’s distracted. When he’s finished, he’ll kindly and quickly knock them up, let them go, and get as far as he can before they wake up again.
But…
He hesitates, looking over his shoulder at Lan Zhan. The other man is not-quite frowning at him, his eyes flitting from him to where the more valuable items are stored and then back again. He seems confused about what he’s doing, stopped in place where Wei Ying left him.
“I don’t have to tie you up, do I?” Wei Ying asks, narrowing his eyes at him. He did bring rope with him, of course he did, and it’s still in his bag if he needs it. Maybe it’d be better to be safe than sorry.
Lan Zhan raises an eyebrow at him, the ever-present ribbon wrapped around his forehead rippling, and Wei Ying is suddenly struck by the image of the first and only time he’d touched it, when he yanked it off Lan Zhan’s head when they were kids. The material of it had been soft and surprisingly alive, sliding through his fingers like the softest of silk. Lan Zhan had looked so betrayed, fifteen and soft-cheeked and full of youthful rage.
“No,” he says, short and to the point. If he was the type of person who crossed his arms indignantly, he would.
Leaving his hostages free and unsecured is not technically part of the patented “Get a Hostage” plan, but none of this has really been going according to plan, has it? Besides, it’s Lan Zhan, who is being an exceptional and very cooperative hostage. There’s no need to do something like tie him up with his own ribbon; if he said he’d behave, then he will. Sneak attacks and trickery isn’t his thing. Never has been.
With one last stern look— to make sure that Lan Zhan knows he means business—, Wei Ying lets him be and turns back to what he was looking at.
His main objective for this raid is to acquire some technology and machinery. Yes, he fully intends to take home an entire container of rice and as many freeze-dried vegetables as he can but the true goal has always been the resources needed to supplement and aid the little farming community they’re building. Stealing from others is relatively easy and reliable, but the Wens being able to support and feed themselves would be preferable.
Their little backwoods planet isn’t exactly the height of fertility. The soil is ashen, the air is dry, and the water is sour. Not much willingly grows there, and what plants that do are tough, bitter, and nutritionally lacking. It would not support a family for very long, let alone an entire community.
Ever since they landed on that planet, all fifty-four of them, they’ve been supplementing what resources they brought with lightening the resource loads of any trading ship they can get their sights on. And all the while, they’ve been making off with all the necessary technology they can find, in the hopes of one day never needing to steal again.
And lo and behold, here is one of the last crucial pieces of machinery they need. A climate control pad, the core part of any terraforming machine.
Wei Ying might be a genius, and he might be incredibly skilled at machines and creating programs, but even he would be hard-pressed to create a piece of tech like this. At least not with the research, the resources and the knowledge that he used to have access to and no longer does.
The terraforming machine they’ve cobbled together has several attachments for sensors that read every aspect of the environment and counteract it to create the desired outcome. Humidity, air quality and amount of UV radiation are all factors that can be controlled and moderated, with the help of a climate control pad.
With this, they can finally start growing crops in suitable amounts. They can finally start growing things other than those awful bad-soil radishes that only grow in sparse clumps. Maybe they can finally have potatoes, or rice, or peppers , something other than those freeze-dried space rations that are as stale as they are nutritionally dense. Maybe he can finally have chili oil again some day, some actual flavor and spice for once.
The only thing he needs is the blocky climate control pad, and probably some of those tubes he can spot in the next box over, oh, maybe some extra wires in case they want to expand someday or the pad needs more power? Muttering to himself, Wei Ying stuffs the pad into his bag and hunts through the nearby units for anything he might need today or someday soon.
It’s not a simple process. In school, his focus on engineering and robotics had been in the piloting and ship architecture fields. He never learned much about farming technology, and what little he did learn was usually about learning his history and the path of technological advancement. The purpose of everything he sees is either guessed at, or something he vaguely remembers seeing before in a manual.
He doesn’t have any time to puzzle out the use of every part he sees. Just in case, he shoves everything that looks like it might be important at some point in his bag. There’s a lot; it’s a good thing he brought the bag that he drew talismans for extra space on. All of it disappears into his seemingly-limitless bag. Anything that doesn’t work for the terraforming will either be put to use somewhere else or discarded.
Lan Zhan watches all of this without moving. He’s confused, in that silently obvious way of his. Wei Ying can feel his eyes following his every movement, touching on everything he puts in his bag. His gaze is a physical thing, a heavy weight that settles over his skin like a warm cloak.
“What is that?” He asks eventually. His voice is flavored with careful curiosity, the same tone that used to drive Wei Ying into talking and talking and talking until he was having entire debates with himself with little input from Lan Zhan.
It works again today. “Terraforming equipment,” he answers off-hand, frowning at two different pieces of tubing for a moment before deciding just to throw them both in his pack. He’s not sure the difference between the two. He’ll figure it out later. “This is going to help us grow some vegetables. We’re gonna have chili peppers , Lan Zhan!”
“You…don’t have peppers where you live?”
“Nah,” he says, zipping up his quankin bag when it looks like he’s got everything he needs. The containers of rice capture his attention next, with the boxes of rations nearby. He scrambles over there, a victorious skip in his step, and works on releasing the rice unit from the magnets holding it locked in place. “Soil’s not good enough for that.”
The good thing about magnets is that they’re so easily tricked and manipulated. All it takes is another little magnet, this one with the opposite charge, slipped in between to get the poles to reverse, thereby releasing the pressure…
One of the locks pops free with a magnetic pulse. He grins victoriously, wiggling his tool— essentially a medium-length stick with a magnet fastened to the end— out of the gap between the unit and the floor. Quickly, he scuttles over to the next one, knowing that there’s two more magnets he needs to force open and there’s probably a sensor somewhere that would’ve been alerted with the release of the first lock.
Time is ticking. He’s been here for long enough already. The faster he finishes, the better.
Lan Zhan shifts, padding over to watch him wiggle the tool into another gap and start to search for the right angle. Years ago, he would’ve turned his cute little nose up at Wei Ying’s makeshift tool, citing it’s unsatisfactory design in comparison to the industrial tools he has access to. Today, he just makes a not-quite-surprised noise when the second lock pops open with a skillful twist of his wrist.
Victory zings through him, a jolt of satisfaction and adrenaline straight to the heart. There’s always something thrilling in proving his talents true, and that goes double for whenever Lan Zhan happens to see him solve a particularly difficult challenge. Disrupting magnetic locks may not be the most impressive thing he’s ever done, but he still has the urge to turn to Lan Zhan with an obnoxious grin and say look, I did it, you knew I would, didn’t you?
Six years later, and Wei Ying is still the same stupid kid he was back then. Some things never change.
“You are stealing food,” Lan Zhan states imperiously, like it’s not obvious, like it’s something he hadn’t been expecting and now doesn’t know quite how to reconcile the information. He doesn’t move when Wei Ying stands, standing perilously close in his personal space. The poor rice container gets the full force of his stern gaze because Wei Ying won’t look at him.
“It’s not the virgins or children the Yilling Laozu usually prefers,” he jokes, slinging his bag over his shoulder more comfortably. The food units are heavy, and he’ll need both hands to push them over to the airlock so he can eject them. “But hey, everybody’s gotta eat.”
The stern gaze twists into an unhappy frown, and this time, the look is directed solely at the side of his face.
He escapes it by planting his palms against the side of the box and shoving as hard as he can. The magnets mean the box can hover along an inch above the floor, but it doesn’t mean it’s any less heavy or unwieldy. Each scrape of metal against metal makes a loud screech, making Wei Ying wince every time.
Offloading the product is always the worst part. The hardest, physically, and also the riskiest. Moving any type of product increases the chance of being discovered tenfold. Anything that can’t be carried by hand is a risk.
When he gets closer to the dock doors, he reaches up and touches the side of his face. The small bud adhered just in front of his ear comes alive with a quiet chirp, sending out a radio signal along the preset channels.
It takes a nerve-wracking moment for the communicator to connect, a moment that always has dread creeping up his spine, a moment where he sits and listens to the silence, wondering if the radio will connect, wondering if something happened to the people on the other side of the line, a moment where he doesn’t know if the plan will go through without a hitch or if everything will start falling down around them.
Finally, the communicator finds the matching signal. Another chirp for connection confirmation, and a short burst of static, and then comes the beloved, familiar voice that he was waiting for:
“Xian-gege?”
Even in this kind of situation, even with the amount of risk that could turn dangerous at any moment, hearing his little A-Yuan’s voice makes him grin. What a good boy, always waiting by the radio to catch his transmissions. Always has his back, that one, the best little boy Wei Ying has ever known. “I got a little gift coming your way, Sizhui. Trash duct on the starboard side, just below the dock doors.”
Saying his alias is a two-fold signal; it lets A-Yuan know that it is him, and that the mission is still ongoing. Wei Ying would never say A-Yuan’s birth name where someone could overhear it and possibly use it against him. There’s still need to be cautious, to make sure that no one knows that some Wen’s are still alive and thriving.
“Right ,” A-Yuan agrees, and there’s already the faint sound of electronic tapping in the background, the sound of coordinates being inputted into the piloting system. If the Wens want to catch the supplies that Wei Ying is about to shove into the vastness of space, their ship needs to be in the right spot at the right time. It’s a routine they’ve practiced over dozens of raids. “Status?”
He can’t help another grin from stealing over his face. Ah, his sweet boy, worrying about him. Doesn’t he know that Wei Ying is the best at what he does? “Clean and clear.”
As if trying to prove him wrong— nothing about this raid has been clean , even if it’s been successful thus far—, Lan Zhan comes over. To his immense surprise, he presses his shoulder to the box and adds his own strength to Wei Ying’s next push.
The unit moves farther than it did when it was just him pushing, and it leaves him standing dumbfounded in the middle of the storage docks, five feet away from the resources he’s in the process of stealing and staring at Lan Zhan in confusion.
Why is he helping him? Not just cooperating, not just going along with the plan, but actively helping him? It’s one thing to calmly lead him to the storage areas when he has a gun pressed to his hip, and quite another to help him push stolen goods out of the airlock. This isn’t cooperating in a dangerous situation, this is aiding and abetting.
“What are you doing?” He asks, suspicious as hell. This isn’t like Lan Zhan. He doesn’t even like when people download digital texts without permission. The idea of stealing, of raiding and pirating and threatening people must be turning him inside-out with that righteous Lan rage.
So why is he doing this? At best, Wei Ying had hoped to convince him to turn a blind eye, to remember all their years of almost-friendship and let him go this once, but he never expected him to help him. The idea never even occurred to him.
“Pushing,” Lan Zhan says flatly, shooting him a look over his shoulder as he steps up to give the rice container another shove. The shoulder of his Lan-white bodysuit is now smeared lightly with ship dirt and machine grease. It looks wrong on him, like he’s tainted. Dirty.
“Lan Zhan,” he hisses, hurrying over to him. He doesn’t want this. Never in a million years has he wanted Lan Zhan to implicate himself for him, to join him in the fog of honorless vagrants, to be anything less than the peerless, powerful, exceptional Hanguang-Jun. The idea of Lan Zhan stealing to survive…
No. He shakes his head, shuddering at even the thought. Lan Zhan was always meant for better things. Meant for the stars, for the far-flung reaches of space, for gilded halls and history books, for the scared and desperate citizens of any planet that need someone like him. He’s been born, bred and groomed to bring order and light to the chaos.
Once upon a time, Wei Ying was meant for that too, but that path was closed to him long ago. Now all he can do is survive as best he can, and not bring any others down with him. No one else should suffer a similar fate because of him.
Lan Zhan is not helping that plan by shoving the rice unit forward again, pushing it ever closer to the airlock Wei Ying plans to drop it out of with a determined look on his face. Even if he were one for practical jokes— and he’s not, Wei Ying would know— this is going a bit too far. This could get him in trouble, real trouble.
“Did you say Lan Zhan?” A-Yuan says over the mic, a bit too observant and eager for Wei Ying’s taste. Maybe he shouldn’t have told the little rascal all those stories about Wei Ying’s past life.
“Quiet, Sizhui,” he hisses, rushing over to take his original spot. He takes over the task of pushing the box, trying to subtly shoulder Lan Zhan out of the way at the same time.
As always, Lan Zhan is blindly stubborn and refuses to move. His only reaction is an exasperated huff when the point of his shoulder catches him in the chest.
Between the two of them, the food is quickly pushed over to the airlock. Within minutes, Wei Ying is leveraging off the keypad to get to the wires underneath. Not even Lan Zhan’s permissions will open an airlock when the ship is moving; it requires captain permission, the highest authorized person on the ship.
Or a slender metal tool, quick and clever fingers, and a working knowledge of electricity and wires.
Shortly, Wei Ying has the first door of the airlock open. He shoves everything inside, before activating the pattern that will close the inside doors, vent the air inside, and then the outside doors. After he confirms, he breaks off the part of the wiring that will disrupt the process. No one will be able to use this airlock until it’s fixed again. The inside doors won’t unlock again unless the chamber inside can be pressurized, which won’t happen until the keypad is fixed.
When the doors begin to slowly slide shut, he darts inside, torn between relief and dread. Being thrown out into space has never been his favorite activity, even though he has horrible amounts of experience with it. It is the fastest way out though, and carries less risk than making his way back through the ship to get to the small carrier ship that dropped him off.
Luckily, his suit is rated for extreme environments, and he always carries a helmet with him. It’s not as safe as having a complete exo-suit, but it will do him well for a short time. The Wen ship will be nearby, ready to pick him up along with the supplies. They won’t let him down.
Now, he’s completely expecting Lan Zhan to be standing outside of the airlock, perhaps with a shocked or even dumbfounded look on his face. After all, how many people would willingly jump into an airlock that is about to vent and release all the contents into the terrifyingly inhospitable reaches of space? No one, that’s who.
That is, no one but him and Lan fucking Zhan , apparently. Wei Ying gapes at him as he slides through the gap in the doors just as they close, torn between irritation and shock.
The man doesn’t even miss a beat, beelining to the row of exo-suits lining the wall and grabbing one off the wall. He wiggles into it with the speed gained from practice, all of his movements precise and exact. Not a movement or moment is wasted, which is good, because they are both minutes away from being sucked into space and only one of them has a fucking helmet on.
“What are you doing?” Wei Ying hisses again, grabbing the nearest helmet and jumping over to smash it onto Lan Zhan’s head with, admittedly, more force than he should’ve used. But, goddamnit, he’s confused, he doesn’t understand what the hell Lan Zhan is doing or why he hasn’t taken the convenient excuse to escape and he’s minutes away from having all the oxygen sucked out of his lungs permanently.
Predictably, Lan Zhan ignores him, focusing on zipping the exosuit up his legs and getting his feet shoved into the clunky boots. Wei Ying focuses on the wiring, getting the helmet hooked up to the necessary gas tubes and the battery pack stored between his shoulder blades.
“What’s going on, Xian-gege?” A-Yuan asks, a noticeable tinge of panic making it into his voice. He hasn’t perfected the art of appearing calm in any situation yet. He still gets scared, still calls out for his Xian-gege whenever things start to get tough. He’s still just a kid, still protected and guided by people that love him.
Despite himself, Wei Ying is not unaffected by that panic. His heart is thundering in his chest, and he’s hyper aware of his fingers and the way they fumble with the oxygen hookup, costing him a few precious seconds. “Nothing, Sizhui. You in position?”
The way A-Yuan pauses makes it clear he wants to push the issue and keep asking questions, but he at least knows better than that. “Yes. Hovering just out of sensor range, in your direct trajectory. “
Well, at least there’s that. Even if they die from Lan Zhan’s reckless decision, at least their bodies won’t float along for long.
“Alright,” he says, frantically going through the mental checklist he has for space walks. The pre-checks are all the same, but he’s never used this equipment before. How is he supposed to know if the oxygen tube needs four twists to be locked in properly instead of the standard three? Is this suit even rated for the pressure that comes from being suddenly thrown into space? There can be no mistakes here, not if he wants Lan Zhan to live. There’s a reason crewmembers practice with the equipment they have on board, and it’s because that familiarity keeps people alive. “Prepare for two passengers and one unit.”
“Two?” A-Yuan repeats, voice rising in pitch. He’s never caught two people before, and never someone he hasn’t watched and practiced the maneuver with dozens of times before.
“It’s just like every other time, A-Yuan. You got this. Don’t panic,” Wei Ying tries to soothe, hands flying up to get the helmet secured to Lan Zhan’s suit.
While he’s there, he gives a hearty smack to the back of his head, shooting him a glare. Honestly, what the fuck? Who jumps into an airlock that will open in a minute without any sort of preparation or plan? Who the fuck follows somebody they used to know into likely death? Wei Ying used to crow to the heavens about how smart Lan Zhan was, but maybe he left his brain behind in Cloud Recesses today.
Lan Zhan doesn’t react to the smack beyond an irritated roll of his shoulder. His fingers, encased in the thick gloves, are struggling to get the zipper pulled up to his neck.
Wei Ying smacks his hand out of the way and pulls it up with one quick jerk, starting on the buttons immediately after. His own suit— lightweight and durable, not meant for long excursions but just strong enough for short trips like this, as long as he doesn’t mind being very, very cold for the next twenty minutes— is thinner, and his skin tight gloves are easier to maneuver.
“You’re gonna get yourself killed,” he grumbles, patting down every joint and joining of the suit with more force than is necessary. Even one microscopic hole will be a death sentence, and there’s no way to know if the suit is completely intact until they’re already out there. “You better hope the techs did their maintenance checks on these recently.”
If not— if Wei Ying missed something, if he messed up, if there’s something he can’t see or prevent— then Lan Zhan is dead. Dead in one of the worst ways he can ever imagine. Dead horribly, dead quickly, dead in front of his eyes.
With the glass covering his face, it’s hard to make out his expression, but Wei Ying swears that Lan Zhan smirks. “I did the maintenance checks myself two weeks ago.”
Despite himself, Wei Ying has to fight off a fond groan. That’s Lan Zhan for you, always proudly and annoyingly on top of the rules and regulations. Doing a maintenance check was probably one of the first things he did once he boarded the ship.
At least it works out for them.
The lights on the ceiling stutter and change colors. They begin to flash red, in quick rhythm. It’s a warning that they’re running out of time; they only have mere seconds before the outer door opens and they are vented out.
The red makes Lan Zhan’s off-white exosuit glow a sickly pink, casting shadows over his legs and obscuring his face inside of the glass. It makes him look smeared in blood, something out of those ancient horror movies that were stored away in the library.
Red is not Lan Zhan’s color, and the sight of it dripping over his shoulders makes Wei Ying’s breath catch from where he’s looking up at him.
“Lan Zhan,” he mutters, a strange tension building in his stomach, a frantic need that he doesn’t know how to ease, adrenaline and anxiety and anticipation swirling into a nauseating combination in his stomach.
This— this can’t be it , right? They’ve just seen each other for the first time in six years. This is the first time Wei Ying has actually set eyes on Lan Zhan’s face ever since he was disowned from the Yunmeng Jiang, the first time he’s seen him in something other than the TV screens as he diligently kept track of Hanguang-Jun’s career.
He’s daydreamed of meeting Lan Zhan again in a thousand different situations, but never something like this. Not something that puts both of them in danger, not something like this.
Lan Zhan tugs him up by the shoulder, reaching into the storage bags on his exosuit. He pulls out a length of cord, the tether that can be used to tie him to something sturdy. Instead of leashing it to the hook specifically designed for tethering, he wraps it once, twice, three times around the waist of Wei Ying’s suit.
Then he wraps it around himself, tying them together so that they won’t get separated. The end of it gets hooked onto the rice box, ensuring that all three of them will stay together as they float through space. A crude solution, when Wei Ying has a handful of magnets in his pack that would achieve the same thing, but effective.
Lan Zhan doesn’t want either of them to get lost. He doesn’t care about being sucked into the lifeless vacuum of space with little to no preparation, doesn’t care that making off with stolen goods and a wanted criminal might destroy his career and reputation, as long as they stay together.
“Don’t fret,” Lan Zhan says, making vague eye contact through the double layers of glass separating them, and then the door opens with a terrible inaudible sucking sound that feels like it vibrates in his bones.
The breath is stolen from him, knocked out of his lungs from the shock of reversing gravity. The rice box gets pulled out first, but Wei Ying and Lan Zhan are close behind, tangled together with rope and overlapping limbs and gloved hands desperately clutching onto any part they can get a hand on.
No matter how many times Wei Ying does it, being vented into space is always terribly horrifying. There’s something about the way his heart beats without gravity pressing on his chest that makes it feel hollow and useless, pulse dropping and spiking with every panicked breath. He’s out of control, hurtling through an environment that could kill him with any mistake, with very few options to stop or get himself back under control. Free-falling, but there is no ground and no sky, only the yawning void swallowing him whole with star-studded teeth.
Ever since the first time he was thrown out of an airlock, he hasn’t enjoyed spacewalking. It’s been years now, and he doesn’t think it will ever go back to being an exhilarating experience instead of a terrifying one. The rose-colored glasses of his childhood have faded away long ago.
This spacewalk isn’t nearly as bad as some other ones he’s had. For one, he has Lan Zhan with him, clinging to him with tight arms and legs, because he’s alive , the suit worked, nothing went wrong in this hacked-together plan. His own suit is cold, but not the flash-glacier cold of space, not yet.
For another, the food box soars through space straight and true, headed unerringly on its projected route. The tradeship disappears slowly behind them, the burnished black metal of its outside making it fade into the black easily. There are no alarms that sound with their escape, no pods or cruisers shooting out after them, no hastily applied brakes to stop the ship. So far, it looks like they’ve gotten off clear and free.
There will be videos later and talk of this theft, but for now, there is only the Wen ship looming suddenly on the horizon. The scraped and dented surface of its hull has never been more of a beloved sight.
Lan Zhan tenses when he sees the ship, probably reacting to the familiar sun symbol that’s been carved into the front. Years ago, an entire war ago, that symbol used to mean death and destruction and fire.
Now, covered up with deep scratches and hastily painted over with splotches of white paint— the only color A-Yuan could find when they first fled to the burial mounds, a color that’s held up surprising well in harsh space— it’s a sight that means home and safety to Wei Ying. This is the only Wen ship that’s still active, the only one that hasn’t been decommissioned or broken down into parts to be repurposed.
This is the only Wen ship that still flies, and the people on it are the only Wen’s that are still breathing. The only people that would willingly call Wei Ying family. He pats Lan Zhan’s arm in reassurance, but isn’t surprised when he doesn’t relax.
The artificial gravity well around the ship slows them down as they approach, turning the oxygen-less air into something thick and soupy. A-Yuan’s gotten a lot better at this with practice, and he maneuvers the ship so the airlock is staged directly in their path. It’s open, already venting carbon dioxide to slow down their approach further.
Landing is never pretty; the food box bumps into the wall of the airlock first, sending it jerking and spinning. Wei Ying and Lan Zhan are taken with it, slammed hard enough into the walls that the breath is knocked out of him and pain lances up his spine and down his legs. Both of them will probably be bruised.
The box hits the far wall of the airlock first, coming to a complete stop with a loud thud. There isn’t enough time to brace themselves; Lan Zhan’s hip collides with the box hard enough that the man grunts, and Wei Ying’s stomach meets the edge hard enough to drive the breath out of him again.
For a moment, he swears he’s about to introduce Lan Zhan to his last meal, stomach climbing up his throat. He swallows hard, mouth full of reactive saliva.
Then the outside doors are shutting with a loud hiss, locking them in and shutting space out. Reacclimation is always a slow process, a gradual reintroduction of essential gasses and gravity so that it doesn’t overwhelm the body. It gives them time to untangle themselves from the box and from each other, so they don’t get crushed under any weight as they slowly come down to stand on their own feet again.
Personally, Wei Ying has always thought that the most disorientating part of the reacclimation process is feeling his weight again. Has he always been this heavy? Has it always felt like this, the balls of his feet pressed flat to the floor and the weight of his hair settling on his head? It’s strange to come back to a body again when he used to be weightless and limitless.
He lets himself stand in the middle of the room for a long moment, enjoying the pleasant silence of the airlock and the satisfied exhaustion of a job well done. It’s not over— Lan Zhan untying the rope linking them together is proof of that— but the hardest and most dangerous part is finished. They got away successfully with enough resources to last them another few months, enough technology to possibly feed their little community for years to come, and the only thing left to do is disappear into the reaches of space and go home.
Well, the only thing left to do is figure out what to do with Lan Zhan and then they can go home.
When the atmospheric monitor built into the airlock wall begins to flash green, Wei Ying reaches up to tug his helmet off. It’s chilly in the room, but much better than outside and the temperature is rising slowly and steadily. He’ll be warm soon enough, and his racing heart keeps him from feeling the cold for now.
Beside him, Lan Zhan begins to strip the outer layers of his own suit as well. The helmet gets stacked on top of the food box, and the upper half gets pushed down to hang around his waist. Somehow, he manages to make it look almost good, all thick legs and bulky boots topped with a form fitting compression suit hugging his chest and arms. His hair is wild from the helmet, half falling out of its hasty bun and visibly tangled.
Before he can think of anything to say— before he can even look away from where the collar of the compression suit ends, just below his Adam's apple— the inner door is opening and A-Yuan is stumbling in. Wen Qing is not that far behind him, with that threatening aura like she’s looking for a reason to stick a needle in him.
There is somewhat of a routine to this, one that has been cobbled together with time and patience, a little reassurance that they all indulge themselves in. A-Yuan squeezes through the gap between the food box and the door, heading straight for Wei Ying.
Technically, they’re not supposed to touch until Wei Ying has been sanitized of all the particles and space bacteria, but he’s never going to deny a hug for the boy he views as his son, not when he has already lost so much of his family. He opens his arms wide, crushes A-Yuan to his side, squeezes him extra tight to reassure him that he’s fine.
“Ah, A-Yuan, who taught you how to drive?” He jokes, shaking him in mock disappointment, “We’re lucky we didn’t introduce our helmets to the door.”
“You did,” A-Yuan tells him, the terribly honest and remorseless boy that he is, pinching his side hard without hesitation. Then he looks up, his attention caught by Lan Zhan in the corner. The man has been quiet and still, but it’s nearly impossible to miss his presence. “Who’s that, Xian-gege?”
Lan Zhan, who had been staring at A-Yuan with an intense and questioning look on his face, like he’s thoroughly confused by this obviously pre-teen boy who hangs off of Wei Ying like he has every right to him, switches his gaze to Wei Ying. The same question is in his eyes, silent but unmistakable: Who is that, Wei Ying?
Truthfully, he doesn’t have an answer for either of them. Not one that’s easily summed up, anyways, not one that doesn’t require several layers of backstory to have it make sense, and definitely not one that won’t make both sides wary.
After all, it was the Wen sect that burned Cloud Recesses to the ground years ago, and it was the Lan sect that participated in the war that ensured that the only Wen’s left living were the young and the weak. It was Wen Xu who broke Lan Zhan’s leg, and it was Lan Xichen who led the last charge through Nightless City, Wen Qing that saved Jiang Cheng and every sect leader who condemned the Wen’s to death.
It’s complicated. Has been for years.
“This is Lan Zhan,” he hedges nervously, because he can’t lie , Wen Qing and A-Yuan deserve to know who they are speaking to and Lan Zhan has never been good at lying anyways. “He’s…he was on the ship.”
He’s spoken of Lan Zhan before. Mostly in his sulking rants about how much he misses Emperor’s Smile and how good the fruit tasted, and how annoying Lan Qiren and that silence spell was. Some of the stories he’s told A-Yuan about his youth— mainly the Xuanwu beast and the waterborne abyss, because those are his favorites— featured him in some capacity. And of course, anyone with ears has heard of Hanguang-Jun.
“Lan Zhan, this is…Sizhui and you know Wen Qing,” he continues, shrugging the bag off his shoulder. He doesn’t think a fight will break out, but there’s a lot of bad blood and grudges in the room right now. As a cultivator and enforcer of justice, Lan Zhan is well within his rights to arrest them all.
As someone with a hot temper, Wen Qing might beat them all up.
“Hanguang-Jun,” Wen Qing greets curtly, giving the barest bow before going right back to glaring at Wei Ying like he’s done something stupid. Like he planned this, instead of being dragged along on his own pirating plan.
Lan Zhan nods back, expression characteristically blank. He doesn’t look mad yet, and he makes no move to pull Bichen. Not even that bitchy eyebrow that Wei Ying knows so well makes an appearance.
Which is surprising. When they were kids, when Wei Ying last saw him, Lan Zhan was always an antagonistic little shit. He hides it well behind a polite exterior and an expression that never moves, but beneath that is an attitude that would start fights wherever he went. In war, he was the first to advance, and the last to retreat.
The last Wen he saw met Lan Zhan’s blade before either of them could speak a word. It would not be out of the question for Lan Zhan to pull his weapon now, without further question or explanation. Lan Zhan’s always been a bit unreasonable like that.
“ Lan Zhan?” A-Yuan repeats, eyes brightening with interest. He’s just like Wei Ying was at his age, fascinated by every aspect of the cultivation world and always asking for more stories, more monsters in the dark and the heroes that defeat them. More of the culture and future that should have been his, were it not for the tyrant that tried to ruin it all.
Wei Ying could never deny him that, the crumbs of his once-future, and so A-Yuan knows more about Lan Zhan than he probably should. Knows enough to be fascinated by him.
Lan Zhan looks between him and A-Yuan, clearly picking up on some of the undiscussed subtext but not knowing enough to understand it. “Yes,” he agrees, bowing politely to A-Yuan and seeming equal amounts pleased and surprised when A-Yuan gives him the proper greeting back. “A pleasure to meet you…Sizhui.”
The way he draws out his name is a clear fish for more information, and poor A-Yuan falls right into it, not knowing any better. “ Lan Sizhui.”
Well, to be honest, Wei Ying’s not sure which is worse— the idea of A-Yuan giving his real name or giving Lan Zhan his fake name, the name that will raise more questions than anything else.
Because A-Yuan isn’t a Lan. He might look vaguely like a Lan— it’s the cheekbones, Wei Ying swears, or maybe the slope of his nose— but he’s not, and Lan Zhan would know. He knows of every Lan out there, either by face or by name. He won’t recognize Sizhui, and he’s one of the very few ones who will know immediately that they’re lying.
Even if they’re lying for a reason. The Lan name is a recognizable one, one that even most off-planet civilians have heard of. It’s a prestigious, upright family, one that is above reproach and can generally be counted on to be doing righteous work. Very few people look twice when they think a Lan is involved and no one would dare to accuse a Lan of committing a crime. Even cultivators rarely question someone with the Lan name.
It’s a twofold defense, even if it’s a risky one. If they’re caught, if someone dares to look deeper and discovers that they’re lying about being Lan’s, the consequences could be grave. Impersonating a well-known cultivator family is frowned upon at best and outright illegal at worst.
It’s not something Wei Ying would have suggested— even he knows better than to walk around claiming to be Jiang Ying— , but A-Yuan looked so happy and pleased with himself when he came up with his own alias. He explained it like it was smart and logical, but the look in his eye was the same little boy who wanted to be told stories of heroes and imagined them as his father. Even Wen Qing had little defense against that, silently turning her nose up whenever the name came up but never truly fighting it.
There’s so little in their world that gives them uncomplicated happiness. A-Yuan doesn’t know better— he was too young to experience the luxuries of a wealthy cultivation sect— but Wen Qing and Wei Ying do. Their life is hard now, and they will take easy happiness wherever they can get it. A-Yuan can keep his alias, especially because he rarely has to introduce himself.
Still, if he had known it would end up like this— with Lan Zhan staring at him in shock and confusion, like he just learned about a son he never knew about, like Wei Ying ran away in the middle of the night and took his baby with him— he would’ve been a bit more insistent about A-Yuan choosing a different alias.
“Right!” He crows, taking the bag off his shoulder and shoving it into A-Yuan’s hands. He shoos him out of the airlock, pushing him into the ship where he can’t give up any more information. “I got the supplies, as you can see, and some tech that will help our farm out. Mission success! Now all we have to do is get out of here and go home…”
Wen Qing lets A-Yuan past her, but stops Wei Ying before he can pass with a hard look. She jerks her chin at Lan Zhan. “What are you doing with him?”
Ah, well, that’s a good question isn’t it. Lan Zhan does have to be dealt with, because it’s not like Wei Ying can take him home with him or anything like that. He shouldn’t even be on the ship, and yet here he is, for whatever reason that only he knows.
“We…we could drop him off at a nearby station?” He says, hesitating, and quickly changes his mind when Wen Qing gives him a glare. “Or he could take one of the extra personal ships?”
That’s an even worse idea, going off Wen Qing’s look. She has a point, because small ships can be tracked to their manufacturer. If the information is good and the investigator is smart, it could be used to track them down. Besides, they don’t have a lot of spare anything to give away when their supplies are always dwindling.
Giving away transport would be a bad idea. They can’t afford to lose a potential escape vehicle, not if it might mean that one day someone on this ship might not have an escape route.
But just as well, they can’t truly afford to take a detour to a planet to drop him off. There are no inhabited planets on their route home, and the more time they spend near civilization, the higher their chances of being caught.
Especially since Lan Zhan knows who they are, what they did, why they did it. If anyone can track them down with that information, it would be him. Hanguang-Jun has done more with less.
Once, he found Wei Ying in the far reaches of space with nothing but sheer stubbornness and three months worth of fading clues. He could do it again, if he wanted to. If he was motivated enough.
The question is, is he motivated enough? He followed him here for a reason, but what reason? What reason stopped him from fighting, stopped him from turning Wei Ying in, made him follow on his heels despite knowing that it was a very bad idea? What could have changed so much?
But they have to do something . They can’t keep Lan Zhan, they can’t bring him back, they can’t kill him, they can’t call someone else to get him.
Lan Zhan takes the decision from all of their hands. “I am a hostage,” he reminds Wei Ying primly, making Wen Qing glare at him even harder. He can almost feel the needles she’s probably clutching between her fingers. “I know too much. Until you can assure I will not say anything, I am too much of a liability to release.”
Yes, well, that does make sense, but why on earth is Lan Zhan pressing for his continued hostage situation. Is he really saying they should keep holding him?
Based on the look Wen Qing is giving them both, she’s not as surprised as Wei Ying is. In fact, she looks more exasperated and annoyed than anything, like she’s been in this situation far too often to be truly angry anymore. Just tired., just done with it.
Funny, she’s been acting like this around the two of them ever since they were in school together. Maybe she doesn’t like Lan Zhan? She’s never said as much, and the two of them seem to have mostly gotten along— even in the middle of a war, when they should’ve been at each other's throats by all rights—, but maybe there’s some unspoken tension between them.
Wei Ying squints, flicking his gaze between the two of them suspiciously. Is there something going on?
“What do you suggest then, Hanguang-Jun?” She asks drolly, crossing her arms and tapping her foot impatiently. It’s the same look she gives A-Yuan whenever he’s putting off his schoolwork to go play in the dirt with Wei Ying. It’s the same look she gave Wei Ying when he put off reporting a minor cut until it grew too infected to ignore.
It’s the look where she’s waiting for someone to say something stupid.
“Keep me close,” Lan Zhan says, posture perfect and staring back at Wen Qing without flinching. “I am not expected home for months, and that can easily be extended with a simple call. If you are discovered, none of the sects will move against you if they believe you might harm me. Until you can be guaranteed of my silence, the best way to assure your safety is to keep a close eye on me.”
Somehow he manages to say all of that with a straight face, completely logical. Meanwhile, Wei Ying feels like he’s been presented with an easy math problem only to be told the answer is not what it should be.
He runs the entire sequence of events through his head, wondering how the hell they ended up with Lan Zhan arguing the merits of his own imprisonment to them. Is this the same boy who refused to attend the Wen indoctrination camp so ardently that his leg had to be broken for him to give in, dragged in limping, tight-lipped and proud? Is this that whatever his teachers used to tell him about— inverse psychology or whatever— to get information out of them? Maybe he intends to report back?
Possible, but still very risky, and it’s a long-con and tricky game to play. Something Lan Zhan would not do willingly or easily.
This is so confusing.
Wen Qing still doesn’t have the grace to look surprised. She just sighs, waving one hand at them in an exasperated gesture. “Fine,” she agrees, so easily that Wei Ying is turning his shocked gaze to her on principle alone. Usually it takes him hours of whining before she’ll even listen to him. “But he’s your problem.”
She points an accusing finger at Wei Ying, like he had any real choice in any of this, and then sweeps off into the hallway before he can respond. After shooting them an excited grin, A-Yuan scurries after her with the bag of stolen goods clutched to his chest. He’s always been fascinated with technology, always wanting to pick it apart and put it back together again, figure out how it all works so he can tweak it.
He takes after Wei Ying like that. In this, he truly is his son.
With nothing better to do and nothing left to occupy his hands with, Wei Ying steps out of the airlock. Lan Zhan follows after him, pushing the rice box further into the ship so the door will close.
Once the doors close, they’re left standing awkwardly in the hallway. Lan Zhan is staring at him expectantly, like he fully believes Wei Ying knows what he’s doing and is waiting patiently to see what he does next.
But the thing is, he doesn’t know what to do. He might be a pro at the temporary hostage situation plan during raids, but he never takes them home with him. Once he’s gotten what he came for, he always lets them go. He’s never gotten this far before, and he’s not sure what to do.
Should he tie Lan Zhan up? Threaten him a little? Offer him some of their dinner? It should be around Gusu dinner time in the standard clock. Does he find a guest room for him somehow— most of the rooms are currently being used as storage space for various things— or throw him in the brig? Do they even have a brig?
What the hell is he supposed to do with a hostage? Let alone Lan Zhan as a hostage? He doesn’t remember reading anything like this when he was studying those three-thousand Gusu rules.
“Is there somewhere I can put my stuff?” Lan Zhan asks eventually, for once being the first one to break the silence.
With a start, Wei Ying is abruptly reminded that he’s still wearing an entire space suit— even if half of it is wrapped around his waist— as well as an entire undersuit filled with various pieces of technology. Bichen is still secured to his waist, and there’s an access terminal fitted to his forearm. It must be heavy, even if he’s used to it.
Wei Ying should probably take Bichen from him, but there’s only been one time in their lives where Lan Zhan has been forcibly stripped of his weapon, and he will not repeat that experience. He can keep it; he’s not one to attack without provocation or warning. He’s one of the few people who can be trusted to be honorable.
“Yeah,” he says, running through the options in his head. There’s really not many options for where Lan Zhan can stay, not unless he’s willing to sleep in the cafeteria or share a room until a room can be emptied out for his use.
Then again, he did say that they needed to keep a close eye on him, right? That’s probably a good idea, and what place could be closer than Wei Ying’s room? It’s already cleaned out, it’s in an easily defensible space, it’s far away from the sensitive areas of the ship (Wen Qing insisted that he keep all his ‘wacky shit’ far away from the engine, control and storage rooms) and it will reduce the risk of Lan Zhan contacting the sects without anyone’s knowledge. Wei Ying can spot spying equipment on sight.
Besides, intruding on Lan Zhan’s strictly enforced personal space might be the best way to get him back to his senses and acting correctly. When they were young, he used to run away whenever he got too handsy; it probably won’t be too difficult to recreate that.
Really, forcing him to sleep in his room is the best, safest and most logical option for everyone. It just makes sense.
“You can sleep in my room. With me,” he says, making sure to say it firmly this time. Maybe if he puts his foot down, Lan Zhan will stop acting weird and start realizing that he’s in a real-life hostage situation. Maybe he’ll come to his senses and start acting according to those Gusu Lan rules.
Lan Zhan inclines his head, peacefully folding his hands behind his back in his typical posture. It looks better suited to him now, the angle of his broad shoulders sloping elegantly into his straight spine. It’s a far cry from how he used to stand as a teen, when it looked like he was focusing so hard on standing straight that his bones might snap from the inflexibility.
He’s grown up well. Not a surprise, but something that hits him like a shock at this moment. Here he is, Hanguang-Jun in all his glory, white-coated and long-haired and elegant and so, so beautiful that it makes every cell in Wei Ying’s body ache from the memory of what they used to be. What they could’ve been, together, had everything been different. Had nothing gone wrong.
“I am your prisoner,” Lan Zhan says easily, a reminder and agreement in one. Hearing that statement again makes Wei Ying feel itchy, his skin drawing tight and his nerves feeling antsy, unable to look at Lan Zhan directly.
Well, there’s nothing else to say, is there? Wei Ying heads towards his room, hearing Lan Zhan’s every step as he follows closely behind, and wonders how this will change things. Wonders how different his home will be, with Lan Zhan there.
Wonders at how his life is slowly getting better and better, and wonders where it will go from here.