Archive of Our Own

Sorry sorry on my way!! Just waiting for the train! Wei Ying sends, scrounging around the clothes piled outside his hamper for a passably clean shirt. He has got to do laundry soon, but with his practical exam looming over the two projects he's wrangling and Jiang Cheng out of town, it hasn't been a priority.

He checks his phone again when he's shoving his feet into his battered sneakers, leaning against the wall to pull the heel of his left shoe up. There's a bunch of missed calls from an unknown number, which he ignores, and a flurry of texts from Jiang Cheng that he'll deal with when he's safely on the train. Lan Zhan has replied Okay.

"Inscrutable as always," Wei Ying comments to the empty air around him, shoving his phone in his back pocket and casting about for his keys. Is Lan Zhan mad? Indifferent? Pleased? He'll never know.

Wei Ying is already ten minutes late when he leaves his apartment. He shoves one of Jiang Cheng's disgusting things of bottled tea in his hoodie pocket just in case he needs a concrete apology-slash-excuse for Lan Zhan, spares a moment to make sure the door has latched behind him, and then sprints for the train station. Lan Zhan has probably been at the library for hours.

Well. Lan Zhan must have known what he was getting into when he agreed to work on his Theory of Alchemy project with Wei Ying. Almost there, Wei Ying texts, gasping around the stitch forming in his side as he approaches the train station. There's a hubbub outside the entrance, a cluster of people shouting "Wei Sanren! Wei Sanren!"

Must be some new starlet he's never heard of. He doesn't live in the most fashionable neighborhood in Gusu, but it's nice enough. Plus, the station is a busy one, so it's not out of the question.

He shoulders past the crowd, thumbing another text to Lan Zhan as he goes. ...Definitely probably. It's practically true! If the train is on time he'll only be another twenty minutes! Less than an hour late is basically on time!

Fuck. He's going to have to get Lan Zhan a better apology tea than Jiang Cheng's cast-off bottled variety, or something. Which will make him even later, but if he orders it for pick-up from the place outside the library, maybe it'll only add a few seconds to his commute...

Wei Ying's reverie is interrupted by someone grabbing his arm, which knocks his phone to the ground. It gives a desultory sort of buzz as it lands; he can see Lan Zhan's name flash on the screen. As he leans down to grab it, someone else picks it up.

"What the fuck," he demands, straightening—just in time for an enormous camera flash to go off in his face.

"Wei Sanren, how does it feel?" yet another person demands. His vision, reeling from the flash, allows him to make out the microphone as it's shoved into his face.

"Who?" Wei Ying asks, blinking the dark spots from his eyes. "Can you give me my phone back please?"

"Are you going to meet with your grandmother now?" one of the crowd asks, while another voice chips in: "dressed like that?"

"I think you've got the wrong guy," Wei Ying says. He spots the cracked red case of his phone in someone's hands and pushes forward. "Thanks for grabbing my phone," he tells them, extending his hand.

The person regards him silently for long enough that Wei Ying starts to worry that they're going to refuse to hand it back to him. He grabs it and shoves it back in his pocket, trying to push through the crowd, which feels like it's growing in both size and volume.

Their voices are all blending together. He picks out 'Sanren' again, and 'rude,' and a particularly loud, particularly incredulous 'this guy?' Wishing fervently that he at least had his headphones on him, he gives up on trying to get through the thickest clump of people, which has gathered around the station entrance, and instead darts through a gap. If he can cross the street, he can run to the next station, or something. Lan Zhan will just have to wait even longer.

There's a car with diplomatic plates idling at the curb. As Wei Ying breaks free of the crowd—and the crowd begins to surge along behind him—a well-appointed young man opens the back door. "Wei Ying," he says. "Get inside."

"Do I know you?" Wei Ying asks, but the crush of people behind him is growing again and this seems like a path of least resistance. He dives through the door, sliding halfway across the soft leather seats inside with the force of his entry.

The door swings shut. The engine revs as the driver puts the car into gear.

"You," says Xiao Xingchen, the eminently recognizable sole public face of an infamously-mysterious country set deep within the western mountains, "Are an extremely difficult man to find."

"What the fuck," says Wei Ying, as his phone buzzes in his pocket.

"Fucking finally," Jiang Cheng says, when he picks up the phone.

"Jiang Cheng," Wei Ying whispers. "Don't be alarmed, but I think I've been kidnapped."

He glances at Xiao Xingchen, whose facial expression remains completely placid.

"I've been trying to get hold of you for hours, Wei Ying," Jiang Cheng says. "Did that Celestial Mountain sect guy find you?"

"Um," Wei Ying says. "You could say that. Jiang Cheng what the fuck?"

"You really should answer the phone more often," Jiang Cheng says. "Those people had to call me because you weren't picking up. It's not like I have a ton of free time right now either, you asshole." There's a weird tone in his voice behind all of his typical grumbling that Wei Ying quickly picks up on.

Wei Ying grimaces. "Sorry," he says, carefully, trying to suss out the nature of Jiang Cheng's tone.

"Do you know what it's like to have an entire legendary mythical sect blow up your phone asking about your stupid roommate?" Jiang Cheng demands. "When he was adopted, who his parents were, where he is now? I thought you were going to be arrested. For cultivation crimes."

Oh. So Jiang Cheng is freaked out, and refusing to admit it. This, even more than being shunted into an unfamiliar car after being surrounded by a loud, pressing crowd, sets Wei Ying on edge. "Do you know what's going on? Xiao Xingchen won't tell me anything."

"You're impossible," Jiang Cheng says. "Did you know that? Have you listened to a single one of your messages? I can't believe you—"

"We're here," the driver says. The car jerks to a stop.

"Where's here?" Wei Ying asks — Jiang Cheng, Xiao Xingchen, the driver, whoever will answer. The laugh he attempts, to show that he's fine and not also freaking out, comes out shrill.

No one does. Xiao Xingchen opens the door and gestures for Wei Ying to exit.

"Gotta go," he tells a still-spluttering Jiang Cheng, and ends the call.

The car has pulled into the gated drive of a large, standalone villa. Cultivators line the path—at least, Wei Ying can only assume that they're cultivators; they clearly have license to carry swords in Gusu, and a few have what he assumes are other spiritual weapons tucked away in their belts.

Also, they're all in cultivation robes. Only the most dedicated cultivators—or cultivation reenactors—bother with functional robes anymore. Even Lan Zhan only wears his for special occasions. Wei Ying technically has one, but it was paid for by Jiang Fengmian and Yu Ziyuan at the start of college, which was two whole growth spurts ago. He hasn't bothered taking it out from the back of his closet in years.

"Can you tell me what's going on now?" he asks Xiao Xingchen, as they start making their way toward the villa's door.

"Baoshan Sanren will explain everything," says Xiao Xingchen.

Wei Ying stumbles over his own feet and barely catches himself. "Baoshan—you mean the immortal Baoshan Sanren?! Baoshan Sanren, zongshi of the Celestial Mountain sect. That Baoshan Sanran?"

"Yes."

"The Baoshan Sanren who famously hasn't left her mountain for as long as I've been alive. Longer."

Xiao Xingchen pauses, but only briefly. "That's not true," he says. "She's left once before."

"Huh," says Wei Ying, with a certain measure of surprise. Every single investigative reel on Douyin always mentions that Baoshan Sanran literally never leaves her realm. Not even to treat with other Jianghu constituencies. General netizen consensus varies: some find this incredibly weird, while others just agree that this adds to the mystique of her little fiefdom. "Not according to the entire internet."

"The 'entire internet' knows little," Xiao Xingchen says, as they reach the villa's entrance.

The door swings open. Wei Ying kind of expects it to be murky and mysterious inside, too, but instead the foyer is brightly lit and decorated with traditional art and textiles. A stern-faced but extremely fashionable young woman standing at one of the many doors leading away from the entry hall gives Wei YIng a long once-over, sniffs, and leans in through the door.

"Zongshi," she says, politely. "Wei Ying is here."

"But why?" Wei Ying hisses, even as a voice from deep within the connecting room(s?) says, "Send him in."

They take Wei Ying's phone before he heads inside. For security purposes, he's told, which sounds a little silly given that he's allowed to keep his qiankun backpack and literally all his study materials.

"You realize I'm getting my doctorate in cultivation, right?" he asks the guardswoman, hoisting his bag back up onto his shoulder.

She just rolls her eyes. "Not a concern," she says.

When he sets eyes on Baoshan Sanren, he gets what the guardswoman means.

She is rippling with power. Peak core formation is largely discussed in mythological terms, these days—Wei Wuxian has published an entire paper on the history of internal alchemy and whether certain forms are lost to the world, but he can tell just by looking at Baoshan Sanren that his methodology was flawed and somewhere there exists the resources and training to take people past early-stage formations. She looks younger than he expected—which is ridiculous; one of the storied hallmarks of immortality is youthfulness—and viciously capable of countering, with lethal force, any attack he might attempt to make. There's an ancient-looking horsetail whisk at her side, and a sword gleams on the low table next to her seat.

Her eyes are bright as she gives Wei Ying a highly-scrutinizing once-over.

Fuck. What is he supposed to do here? Bow? Well, it can't hurt. He bows low—and then lower still, just in case. He's in academia; he's not used to bows that go deeper than a respectful incline of his head, and even that is pushing it. So he wobbles dangerously, and has to shift his feet quickly to regain his stance. The correction... sort of works? He doesn't fall over, at least. He glances up to beam triumphantly at Baoshan Sanren, then realizes he probably should keep bowing, and doubles over again.

There's a light puff of wind against his face, followed by the lightest of noises. Intricately-stitched slippers edge into his field of vision, and then a soft, dry hand is cupping his cheek. Firmly. Ouch, that's more of a pinch than anything.

He glances up into Baoshan Sanren's steely gaze. "Grandson," she says.

"There's no fucking wa—" Wei Ying starts to blurt, before his brain catches up with his words and he slams his mouth shut. He can taste blood in his mouth from the speed and force with which he bites his tongue. Swallowing it down, he says, as politely as he can manage, "Forgive me. I am so confused."

His words, as they come out, sound extremely strangled.

"I assure you, there is a way." Baoshan Sanren presses her lips into a thin line. "Your mother, Cangse Sanren, was my head disciple." She pauses then, dismissively, adds, "Also my daughter. I have spent too many years without an heir." Her eyes flick over him once more. "You'll take work. A lot of work. But you're the only option. You'll have to do.."

"You're Baoshan Sanren," Wei Ying protests. "I'm—Wei Ying. My mom was your daughter?" His tongue, smarting in his mouth, should be a warning sign, but he can't help but add, a little quietly, "What was she like?"

"Jiang Fengmian did not tell you," Baoshan Sanren says, ignoring Wei Ying's other question. There's a note of what Wei Ying supposes must be surprise in her voice. She tilts her head slightly to the side. "Hm. I wonder if either of your parents mentioned it to him at all."

"He told me that mom was a rogue cultivator," Wei Ying says. "That she grew up in one of the Jianghu constituencies and then left to bring her talents to the rest of the world? And that she died in a border skirmish with a yao. I just assumed she was... unaffiliated with any sect. And then one of my teachers in university said she didn't follow the curriculum very well when she was a student there. That's all I know."

Baoshan Sanren exhales once, sharply, in a way that Wei Ying can't interpret. "Cangse Sanren was always head disciple of the Celestial Mountain sect," is all she says.

Wei Ying's mind is whirling. Baoshan Sanren has been affiliated with the Celestial Mountain Sect for... decades, if not longer. Centuries, if you believe the stories. She looks young. He's terrible at guessing women's ages, but she solidly fits in with what he tends to categorize as somewhere between twenty-five and forty-five... certainly fewer years than is attributed to her legacy. Was Wei Ying's mom also a lot older than she appeared? Why would an immortal need an heir?

That last consideration feels at least marginally less rude than the others, so Wei Ying decides to ask it. "I'm not saying I'm not interested," he says. "But why would you need an heir?"

Baoshan Sanren regards Wei Ying for an uncomfortably-long moment. "Juniors should not question their elders so," she says, eventually and with a great deal of finality.

"Forgive me," says Wei Ying, attempting another bow. This one is more effective; the manners that Yu Ziyuan trained into him during his childhood are taking over. Something about the expression Baoshan Sanren is wearing tells him he doesn't have much choice in the matter at all. "I'm getting my PhD. Asking questions is my lifeblood."

"Hm," says Baoshan Sanren, sounding profoundly unamused. "It is necessary for me to have a public face. Leaving the mountain strains my cultivation."

"I see," says Wei Ying. He doesn't. What he does have is a dozen new questions—about the nature of her cultivation; about how she conducts her business; about the juxtaposition of her Jianghu-world politics with the modern era they live in. Also, doesn't Xiao Xingchen technically act as her public face?

He doesn't ask any of that, though. Instead, he says, "Please allow me one more question," and when she hums her acquiescence—with one evocative eyebrow raised—he bows his head again. "What must I do?"

Seven hours later, Wei Ying feels like his brain is melting out from his ears and his muscles are all overcooked noodles. He bows to Luo Qingyang—Baoshan Sanren's attaché—and accepts the bottle of an isotonic beverage as she passes it over to him.

"You did well today, by the way," she tells him. "Zongshi can be a lot."

"I feel like I've been put through one of those machines they use to roll out puff pastry in all those bakery videos," Wei Ying replies. Did that sentence make sense? He's not certain. Luo Qingyang is nodding like she understands, so it must be fine.

Luo Qingyang laughs. "This is the secret reason why she needs a formal heir," she tells him. "Stop overwhelming all those heads of state."

"I doubt she gives any head of state a crash course in cultivation and political maneuvering," Wei Ying says. He's really not certain how he's going to fit training in between all his work for his PhD. Luckily Baoshan Sanren seemed enthusiastic about his education, and amenable to him discussing his situation with some friends in order to help balance everything. As long as it's not a distraction were her exact words, but Wei Ying has done more with less overt support in the past. So it's fine. It's fine! He's fine. Totally fine. Surely the shock will fade soon.

Luo Qingyang walks Wei Ying to the door of the villa, where some nameless servant/man/butler/guard/person opens it. There's a car idling out front.

"This car will take you home," Luo Qingyang says, handing Wei Ying his phone.

"Thanks," says Wei Ying, shoving the phone into his hoodie pocket as he climbs into the car, and discovering—oh! The shitty bottle of tea he grabbed on his way out the door is still in there, too.

He takes his phone out again once he's buckled in and the car is inching down the driveway. It's an old, crap phone, and his battery is at 16% despite having a decent charge when he left his apartment that morning. It's not hard to guess why the charge has run down so quickly: Wei Ying has sixteen texts and two missed calls from Lan Zhan. The most recent text says, I'm going home. At least let me know if you're alright.

Shit. Shit. The library. The project. The little white lie about ever actually making it into the train station that day... Wei Ying completely lost track of the fact that he left Lan Zhan hanging the entire time he was with Baoshan Sanren. Fuck. He's going to have to make this up to Lan Zhan somehow.

The tea. He can still drop off the bottle of tea.

There's a button on his armrest that lowers the divider between Wei Ying and the driver. He jabs it, hard.

"Sir?" the driver says.

"Can you take me somewhere else?" Wei Ying asks. "Not my home. A different place."

"Sure," says the driver. "What's the address?"

Ah. Well. "I don't know," Wei Ying admits. "You people have a lot of political and cultivation know-how, can you look one up based on someone's name?"

The driver laughs at him. "You know how long it took to find you, right?" he says.

Baoshan Sanren and Xiao Xingchen had mentioned the search was arduous, and complicated by the fact that Wei Ying categorically refuses to answer his phone unless he recognizes the caller.

"Okay," says Wei Ying. "Do you know where the traditional Lan compound is here in Gusu? In old Caiyi Town?" He's pretty sure he can find Lan Zhan's place from there. He's only been there once—he bullied his way into Lan Zhan's apartment a year or so ago, to check out Lan Zhan's antique family spiritual guqin one day after their Musical Cultivation Theory seminar—but he's got a good memory for locations.

"That I can do," says the driver, flipping his indicator and merging into a different lane.

The driver lets Wei Ying out at the entrance to the internal Lan meditation garden, after Wei Ying insists that this is fine and he'll be good from here.

"I can wait," the driver insists, but Wei Ying shakes his head.

"I doubt the Lans like cars hanging out by their gardens," he says with a laugh. "You gave me your number, I'll call if something comes up."

The driver nods once, sharply. "Then I'll see you tomorrow," he says.

Ugh. Yes. "On campus, after my meeting with my advisor ends," Wei Ying agrees. "For more cultivation-and-diplomacy lessons. Cultiplomacy! If you will."

He winks at the driver, trying to encourage a smile. The driver's expression is even stonier than Lan Zhan's, but that's a challenge Wei Ying is willing to take on. There's been too much sir this and gongzi that today. He wants friendly faces around him, if he's going to be matriculating into the most mythologized sect of them all. So he waves furiously as the driver eases away from the curb before turning to hunt Lan Zhan down.

To Wei Ying's memory, Lan Zhan's place was two blocks west of the park fountain, off a little alley where a vendor sold the most delicious osmanthus cakes. Unfortunately, all the vendors seem to have packed up for the night. In fact, as Wei Ying walks toward the probable location of Lan Zhan's home, he realizes that most of the buildings have darkened windows.

He checks his phone, which is now at 2% battery. Fuck. It's 9:43. Lan Zhan probably went to sleep ages ago, what with his ridiculous adamance at maintaining his family's traditional sleep schedule. But two turns later, Wei Ying is at a building that looks familiar, with the warm glow of a light seeping through the blinds on the third floor.

Huh.

His phone is still at 2%. There's no way it'll have any juice by the time he gets home, but it is enough battery to text Lan Zan, I'm outside.

Thirty seconds later, Lan Zhan bursts out the door to his building. "Wei Ying," he says, rushing forward and stopping short less than a foot in front of Wei Ying. He's breathing heavily. The ties for his robe—a sleep robe, not a cultivation one—flap around his waist; one end drags along the ground. "Where have you been?"

"It's a long story, Lan Zhan," Wei Ying says. "And an impossible one? Maybe? LIke. What the fuck. I've had the weirdest day in the world. And then I saw all your missed texts and calls, and I figured it was easiest to come here." In truth, he hadn't really thought about it. It just felt right to tell the driver to take him to Lan Zhan's. But whatever. "It's too hard to explain over the phone. Can I come up? I know it's late. I'm sorry, I know your bedtime was like an hour ago. But." He takes the bottle of tea out of his hoodie pocket. It is, disgustingly, body-warm to the touch. "I brought you tea?"

Lan Zhan is staring at him. This is an imposition. Like, they're friends—Wei Ying is sure they're friends; Lan Zhan likes him as more than a labmate or colleague by now, at least since they survived Dr. Zhao's 6 pm research methods class—but coming over at 9:43 PM after ghosting your friend-slash-labmate all day because you were busy finding out that you're the heir to the Celestial Mountain Sect is one hundred percent beyond the pale.

"Sorry," says Wei Ying. "I can go home, but Lan Zhan, you really need to hear this story. It's very—hey. Are you wearing your inside slippers out here?"

Lan Zhan gives him a flat look, and Wei Ying laughs. "Were you worried about me, Lan Zhan?"

"I did not know what happened to you," Lan Zhan says, bristling.

"Oh shit, you were worried." says Wei Ying, touched. "Lan Zhan, I'm fine. I was only a little kidnapped by the Celestial Mountain Sect. Look, I made it away unscathed!"

He holds out his arm, as if that can demonstrate how fine he is, and Lan Zhan actually presses two fingers to the pulse point in Wei Ying's wrist. Frankly, Wei Ying finds this a little ridiculous, but as of two hours ago he now knows that, just like he and Lan Zhan have theorized, oldschool cultivators actually were able to test spiritual energy with just a touch to an accupoint, which is cool enough to outweigh any silliness Wei Ying might feel about the situation.

In that moment, there's a bright flash of light. It takes Wei Ying a second to place the flash as coming from a camera of some sort, and he instinctively turns his body to shield his and Lan Zhan's face from its source. Xiao Xingchen warned Wei Ying, when he insisted on finishing his degree before even thinking about taking on the full responsibility of his inheritance, that the Celestial Mountain draws an ungainly amount of invasive interest from the general public, due to its general mysteriousness and adherence to historical talents that modern cultivators on the outskirts of the Jianghu constituencies no longer fully understand. He also described the hubbub at the train station as minor crowd, smaller than most he encounters during his public-facing appearances.

So Wei Ying sort of expected heightened attention to start picking up over the next few weeks. He hadn't expected to be fphotographed, especially not so quickly. But when he calls "Who is that?" all he hears is the pounding steps of someone darting away into the thickness of the night.

Did this errant photographer follow the car as Wei Ying left Baoshan Sanren's Gusu villa? How will he be reported on? His connection to Baoshan Sanren is still just a rumor—according to Luo Qingyang, word got out only in the last day or so that Baoshan Sanren was seeking her heir, a Wei-something, after the Celestial Mountain disciples reached out to non-Jianghu cultivation officials to confirm some leads.

"Wei Ying?" Lan Zhan asks. He looks pretty freaked out. Fuck, he shouldn't have to be subjected to this rigmarole.

"We really should go inside," Wei Ying says, insistently. Luckily, Lan Zhan nods, and leads Wei Ying to the door of his building.

When they get inside, Lan Zhan regards Wei Ying silently for a long moment before walking into his kitchen. As Wei Ying toes off his shoes and follows behind, Lan Zhan starts preparing tea.

While Wei Ying finds silences with Lan Zhan more bearable than most, he's still uncomfortable with the dampening quiet in this part of Gusu. "I'm sorry about the project, Lan Zhan," he says. "I really was on my way. Uh, eventually. There was a crowd at the train station, though, and they kept yelling at me? And then there was a car. With Xiao fucking Xingchen."

Lan Zhan makes a noise of recognition, and surprise, as he measures leaves into a pot and adds the steaming water.

"Did you know Baoshan Sanren is in Gusu right now?" Wei Ying asks.

"I did not," Lan Zhan says, turning to face Wei Ying.

"Did you know that she's, apparently, my grandmother?"

Lan Zhan starts. Water sloshes out of the kettle in his hand and onto the floor by his feet. Quickly, he turns to place the kettle on the counter; just as quickly, Wei Ying kneels on the floor and tries to blot the hot splash of it away with the fabric of his hoodie. While not scalding, it's very warm, and he hisses as the water seeps into the fabric and reaches his wrist.

"Wei Ying, are you alright?"

"Are you?" Wei Ying asks, grabbing the hand that Lan Zhan has extended down toward him. It's warm from holding the kettle, but the only sign of any of the water splashing onto Lan Zhan is a single droplet on the knee of his pajama pants.

"I'm fine," says Lan Zhan, using Wei Ying's grip on his wrist to help lever him back up into a standing position. "Baoshan Sanren is your grandmother?"

"Apparently!" says Wei Ying, a little taken aback that Lan Zhan is just rolling with his exctremely improbable explanation, zero questions asked. Well. Perhaps he's saving questions for later, even though that's never been his style during presentations in their program's weekly brownbag. "Like, I knew my mom was from the actual Jianghu—by birth, not just for graduation exercises—but I didn't realize she was the only child of the Celestial Mountain zongshi." Lan Zhan is just staring at him, so Wei Ying adds, "Anyway, that's why I missed our meeting. Xiao Xingchen took me to Baoshan Sanren to bestow upon me my sacred duty to learn the ways of the Celestial Mountain sect, or whatever." It's a gross generalization, but it gets the gist of his day across, at least.

"I... see," says Lan Zhan. Is he blinking more rapidly than usual? He's certainly blinking a lot.

He's also not overtly dismissing Wei Ying, and Wei Ying finds himself unexpectedly touched.

"It's a lot to take in," Wei Ying acknowledges. He'd ask Lan Zhan to pinch him, but Luo Qingyang knocked him on his ass during some kind of test/training exercise Baoshan Sanren had him do earlier, and his tailbone still smarts. So he's definitely awake. "And you can't say 'sorry, grandmother Baoshan Sanren, I don't want to become head disciple and heir to a cultivation sect fronted by a known immortal, why don't you ask someone else?' so I guess now I have daily lessons for the foreseeable future."

"What about school?" Lan Zhan asks, turning to pour their tea: the steaming brew from the kettle into one cup, and... a splash of the tea from Jiang Cheng's horrible little bottle into the other? His face, shadowed in the dim light of the kitchen and tilted so that Wei Ying can only see a sliver of it, is extra-inscrutable.

"She'll let me finish my degree, at least," Wei Ying says. "Since I'm so close." A year is nothing, in the grand scheme of postgraduate education. Then he snaps his fingers. "Lan Zhan, I didn't tell you the good part yet!"

"Mn?" Lan Zhan asks, turning back. He passes Wei Ying the nice cup of tea, and takes a delicate sip of his own bottled dreck. Wei Ying's heart twinges.

"I mean, I'm going to be getting more practical experience in ancient cultivation techniques than anyone outside of the most secluded and immortal-headed sects in the remotest of Jianghu constituencies," Wei Ying says. "And I'm allowed to borrow from Baoshan Sanren's library to learn. Lan Zhan, she has books that are even rarer and older than some in your uncle's private library! I'm gonna ask her if I can lend them to you. I was too scared today! She's extremely fucking intimidating, Lan Zhan, oh my word. But what good is a fortune like this without someone to share it with?"

Lan Zhan doesn't look as impressed as Wei Ying imagined he might. If anything, Wei Ying would characterize Lan Zhan's microexpression as one of worry, rather than triumph.

"Oh, she said I could talk to you about the general news, it's fine, I did dare to ask that much," Wei Ying says, quickly, but Lan Zhan does not seem to be appeased. "What?"

"The camera outside," Lan Zhan says, slowly. "Wei Ying, are you prepared for the level of scrutiny you're about to face?"

No, not really. "I'll be fine," Wei Ying promises.

Wei Ying isn't fine. Wei Ying is dripping in sweat. He's had a sword for a while—you get a standard-issue spiritual weapon when you enroll in cultivation programs for university, and graduate with a license to carry them, and in grad school you can learn how to craft your own spiritual tools—but it's clear to him that the tools he thought were so strong were middling at best in the power they could help him wield. Baoshan Sanren has gifted him with what she dismissively calls a 'starter sword' and trying to get a handle on it is kicking his entire ass.

"I thought this would get easier," he gasps, doubling over and using his sword as a crutch as Luo Qingyang laughs in his face. "It's been months."

"You've reached—think of it as the fine motor control stage of handling spiritual energy," she tells him. "You have the strength, but now it's time to get some dexterity."

"Why is cultivation so watered-down?" he asks, struggling to straighten up. "Like, we know we've lost a lot of details in practice outside the Jianghu constituencies, but everyone licensed to work as a cultivator does travel through Jianghu for certification. I was fine! I thought I was one of the more talented students in my class!"

Weirdly, a lot of the stuff he's learning is stuff he used to fool around with as a kid—techniques that he invented and then abandoned when they were discouraged by his undergraduate program, because he figured they were wrong.

"You have a lot of aptitude," Luo Qingyang tells him. "You also have a lot of bad habits to unlearn." She pauses, then confesses, "A lot of training manuals that get broadly distributed are designed to limit core formation progress to the fundamentals. It's a safety thing. I'm actually shocked you have as much as a foundation as you do."

"It's stupid," Wei Ying complains. He's had a long day already: a run-in with a paparazzo camped outside his and Jiang Cheng's apartment when he was already running late to a meeting with his advisor; some one-on-ones with some undergrads doing research in his cultivation lab who he's beginning to suspect are primarily interested in the work because word has gotten out that he's been named Baoshan Sanren's heir, an hour of intensive politics lessons with Xiao Xingchen followed by three hours of physical training with Luo Qingyang. Some of it is a little like the wushu-informed cultivation he learned growing up with the Jiang family, but as it turns out, Baoshan Sanren's brand of cultivation is much more internally-focused than Shaolin styles favored by Yu Ziyuan.

He still has an hour of training left. He's now progressed far enough in his cultivation that Baoshan Sanren has returned to Gusu to walk him through advanced meditation practices.

And then... then he can meet up with Lan Zhan to discuss revisions on their paper.

At least he'll be exhausted enough he might actually get some sleep tonight.

"Probably," Luo Qingyang admits. "But you know your history. When overpowered cultivators crave influence, regular people suffer."

"Yeah, yeah," Wei Ying says. He supposes he should be grateful that his grandmother is more interested in living forever on her mountain than involving herself in the affairs of mortals. There's this running column in a local newspaper that keeps referencing their concerns about a potential Celestial Mountain power grab here in Gusu, just on the basis of Wei Ying's presence. It's getting a little uncomfortable. "Okay. Okay, fine."

"One more time," Luo Qingyang says, slapping Wei Ying on the back. "Then I'll send you off to your session with Zongshi."

Wei Ying stretches, feeling the energy coursing through him. It pools in his lower dantian; as he inhales, he feeds it first up the weilu pass at his tailbone. It elongates through the jiaji pass at the small of his back and compresses at the yuzhen pass at the base of his skull. When it reaches his upper dantian at the top of his head, cleansed, he will let it sink to the root of his tongue, where he will hold it for two breaths and then allow it to flow down to his middle dantian, and then back into his developing core. Cultivation has literally never felt like this before: so easy, so smooth, so electrifying—

"No, no, no," Baoshan Sanren shouts, loudly and abruptly enough that Wei YIng loses his grip on his qi halfway through the yuzhen pass. "What are you trying to do, turn all the dead around here into fierce corpses? Who taught you this style of cultivation?"

"Aiyah, qianbei, I grew up in the regular world," Wei Ying says, slumping over and letting the pooling energy subside and sink lower. "Our lessons are so much less intense than those in legend. And, uh, your sect. I figured some of it out myself, I guess? The rest I got from my doctoral studies. Or, uh, Douyin. Did you know there's an entire section that's just cultivation tricks?" He winces. "Wrong ones, as it turns out."

"I should have a word with your advisor," Baoshan Sanren says, darkly. She gives Wei Ying a critical look. "When you've fully taken on your duties, you will teach your 'regular world' the proper way to do things. Also this 'Douyin' thing. Wrong tricks can be dangerous."

"Yes, zongshi," Wei Ying says, bowing as much as he can from his seated position.

"Okay," she says, slightly mollified. "Again."

"When do I learn how to fly on a sword?" Wei Ying asks, settling back into his meditation stance and carefully fixing his posture.

"When I say you can," she says, sternly. "Focus, child. Lower dantian to weilu pass..."

"Okay, Lan Zhan," Wei Ying says, closing the door to their cramped graduate office and locking it to reduce the risk of walk-ins. "I have to be able to hold a handstand for twenty minutes, on one hand, using just the circulation of my qi to stabilize myself."

Lan Zhan's brow furrows lightly. "Like in the murals," he says.

"Yes, like the old-school baby Lans had to do for punishment," agrees Wei Ying. "Apparently it's also used for focus? And to shut out worldly concerns in pursuit of improved qi condensation."

"I see," says Lan Zhan.

"I bet you could do it so much easier than me," Wei Ying sighs. "You have that whole..." He gestures, broadly and without precision. "Shoulder thing."

"Shoulder thing."

"Yeah, you know, they're big and broad and strong," Wei Ying says. He touches his own shoulder, then Lan Zhan's, as if to demonstrate what he means. There's a weird look on Lan Zhan's face. Whatever, Wei Ying isn't trying to hide the fact that he wants someone to go through this training hell with him in some small way, and Lan Zhan, cultivation uber-nerd, is the likeliest suspect for tolerating it the longest. "Wanna try with me? We could make it a competition." There's enough space for both of them to get into position in this room... barely. It helps that the tools for their practical exam have been cleared out now that it's over.

"Are you sure you don't want me to spot you?" Lan Zhan asks.

Wei Ying shrugs him off. "You learn better when the stakes are higher," he says. It's something he's grown to believe wholeheartedly in the past few months. He has no choice but to dive in head-first with this whole inheritance shebang, and he's felt himself picking up on the intricacies of both his own core development and the political machinations of interfacing between an ancestral sect and other Jianghu constituencies—and the regular world—even more quickly than anything else he's set his mind to. It might be because his meridians are primed for higher-level cultivation, but he thinks the pressure is helping him just as much. "Plus, it's fun to compete with you. Wait, do you want me to spot you? Because I can, if you'd rather that."

Lan Zhan is quiet for a moment, then shakes his head. "No," he says. "Competing is fun when it's with you."

"Great!" says Wei Ying. "So you start off with the circulation of your qi through each of your dantians at least three times, before you even get onto your hands. And then Luo Qingyang says that once you're aloft, you focus on your condensation. Middle dantian first, and then lower as you stabilize.

Lan Zhan nods, and rises from his desk. "Now?" he says.

"Now," Wei Ying confirms.

They breathe together. Despite Wei Ying's conviction that his focus is better than ever, it takes him a moment to drag his gaze away from Lan Zhan's shoulders and direct his attention inward. Because of this delay, Lan Zhan manages to rise into a handstand first.

Wei Ying, though, is the first to lift his free hand. His muscles burn, brief and intense, but a press of his spiritual energy chases that tightness away, and he settles into the stance.

This is, a little bit, a test. Despite a tumultuous start to their professional relationship—toward the end of university, when they met during the Jianghu cultivation certification challenge and strongly butted heads while preparing for a night-hunt—Wei Ying has really gotten close to Lan Zhan over the years. They align on a lot of key theories in a way that sets them adrift from the rest of their program... and in a way that has Jiang Cheng regularly throwing his hands up in the air and asking Wei Ying why he can't just leave well enough alone and cultivate the way they were trained to as kids. Wei Ying has tried to rope Jiang Cheng into practice when he gets home from his intense sessions with Luo Qingyang and Xiao Xingchen and Baoshan Sanren, but Jiang Cheng has internal resistances to some of Baoshan Sanren's practices that Wei Ying can't figure out how to overcome.

Secretly, Wei Ying suspects that being the only named heir to the Celestial Mountain sect will be lonely. He doesn't want to be wrested away from everything he finds familiar. He doesn't want to leave Lan Zhan behind.

It's clear, though, that he has nothing to worry about. Lan Zhan holds his handstand for almost an hour longer than Wei Ying himself can sustain.

Baoshan Sanren regards Wei Ying for a long moment, lips pursed and brow furrowed. Eventually, she says, "You're developing."

"Thank you," Wei Ying says, with a polite bow that he now knows to demonstrate the correct degree of deference. "I'm trying."

"I can see that," she says. And then her face shifts. It's almost as if the light changes in the room: she looks more tired, a little older than the youthful appearance her immortality lends to her. "I wasn't sure this was going to work out," she admits. "It's a lot to ask of anyone. Especially someone who has not been raised as an inner disciple in the sect. Especially someone raised by a former sect that left their ancestral home centuries ago to cultivate outside of Jianghu. Your mother's talents were strong, but I was not sure that you could overcome your upbringing."

Wei Ying blinks at her. "Thank... you?"

"Oh, don't look at me like that, boy," says Baoshan Sanren. "You have aptitude and you have drive. You're filial too; a less-respectful child may have rejected his duty." She pauses. "There is one thing I haven't told you."

"Zongshi, I know I'm never going to lead the sect."

"Yes," says Baoshan Sanren. "Well, no. It's not about my immortality. It's about Celestial Mountain sect laws regarding leadership." She pauses. "Typically, men may only serve as consorts."

"But..." Wei Ying frowns. "Xiao Xingchen...?"

"We have developed accommodations for dealing with the outside world," Baoshan Sanren says. "Men are more expected in politics here." From her facial expression and tone, it seems she does not fully understand this trend. "Your blood and your familiarity with how this world works are marks in your favor. Since you will function as more of a public face, your sex does not discredit you. But you will be expected to take a spouse before you ascend to your full role on the Mountain."

"Um," says Wei Ying. "I see."

He hasn't really thought about marriage before, is the thing. He wants a family someday—he's known that forever—but that's always been a task for later. For after college, and then, for after graduate school. For after this big adventure. For when he finds someone who likes him back as much as he likes them. For when he finds someone who catches his eyes as much as—

Well.

Never mind that.

"Will you be choosing them?" he asks Baoshan Sanren. "My spouse."

"Typically, I would," says Baoshan Sanren. "But if there's someone you already have in mind, I would be willing to consider them."

Wei Ying is forced to admit that he can't think of anyone that he likes who would be willing to put themselves so directly in the public eye by marrying him. Plus... "If men have traditionally only served as consorts," he says. "I assume that my spouse must be a woman?"

Baoshan Sanren turns to look directly at him, raising an eyebrow. "Hm," she says. Her tone is more engaged than it has been for the rest of this entire conversation. "I'll have to speak with my advisors."

In many ways, suddenly having a recognizable face is more trouble than it's worth. There's the mild aggravations, of course. For example, people draw fanart of Wei Ying? But because Baoshan Sanren has suggested that he wear a mask in public to protect his own identity and the one photo snapped of Wei Ying and Lan Zhan outside Lan Zhan's apartment all those months ago turned out to be very blurry, most don't have a clear idea of what, exactly, he looks like. Most seem to be basing his image off an old group photo uploaded to Wei Ying's advisor's website, but no one seems to agree on which of the smiling faces (plus Lan Zhan's dour expression) is his, and so a lot of artists default to a comical hodgepodge.

This is the most mild of aggravations, because at least he can go through the drawings with Jiang Cheng over a couple of beers, or Lan Zhan after a few practical exercises, and laugh at the weird (and weirdly ugly) ways people have decided to draw Wei Ying's face.

But then there's the other stuff. Articles and social media posts full of conjecture about whether Wei Ying's adoptive family knew of his true origins, when Wei Ying doesn't even have a way of finding out for himself—neither Jiang Cheng nor Jiang Yanli know, and he can't ask their parents anymore. Also, after four years of struggling to find lab assistants, Wei Ying has to shut down applications entirely, because his email is absolutely flooded with undergrads who want to work with Baoshan Sanren's grandson, and the ones who look good enough on paper to make it to interview have almost always lied about their credentials. Three faculty who have refused to talk to Wei Ying—because he's a lowly grad student, in a lab with an advisor who deals with a less-mainstream sector of cultivation history and theory—have started inviting him to symposia he's absolutely not qualified for, and two of them get grievously offended when he points out that he's not a good fit.

"And then there's the flirting," he complains to Lan Zhan over a breakfast scrounged from a street vendor outside the Architecture library. (Nobody expects Wei Ying, Celestial Mountain heir and cultivation PhD candidate, to hang out at the architecture library.) The flirting has been on his mind a lot lately, for obvious reasons. Every time someone hits on him, he's forced to think: could this be my spouse?

"Wei Ying is a flirt," Lan Zhan says, glibly, like that's a normal observation to make. "Wei Ying enjoys flirting."

"What the fuck," says Wei Ying. But Lan Zhan isn't totally wrong. "I mean, yeah, it's fun and it's a good way of greasing the wheels, I guess, but I like fun flirting, Lan Zhan. People keep hitting on me."

"A travesty," Lan Zhan says, in a tone that strongly implies that he does not, in fact, find this to be shocking or horrifying at all.

"It is!!!!" Wei Ying insists. "They're just in it for my fame! I'm not like you at all, Lan Zhan."

Lan Zhan blinks at him, youtiao halfway-dunked into his little steaming cup of soy milk. "What."

"I mean, I know I'm reasonably good-looking," Wei Ying says. It's not immodest, it's true. He's done okay with getting dates in the past. He has nice hair and nice eyes and a nice body that's even been filling out a little with all of the new exercises Baoshan Sanren has him doing. Plus his ass, which was already fantastic, has really benefited from his stricter sword training regimen. On several occasions, he's overheard girls in some of his Applied Cultivation sections whisper to each other about what a cutie he is. He has his vanities, and works hard at making sure his hair and skin stay nice and appealing. "But people don't just hit on me for being drop-dead gorgeous all the time like they do you."

Lan Zhan blinks at him again. The end of his youtiao breaks off and slumps ignobly into his soy milk. "What?"

"Come on, Lan Zhan, you know you're hot," Wei Ying says. Obviously Lan Zhan knows. How could he not know? He's got that jaw and those shoulders and those forearms and those big hands and soft eyes. It's one of the immutable facts of the universe: Gravity, of all fundamental forces, always attracts and has infinite range. The difference between elasticity and plasticity is whether an object can return to its original state after a deforming force has been removed. Golden cores can be formed when qi is circulated in the correct manner, despite centuries of theory suggesting that actual real golden cores are just a myth. Due to the nature of the planet's rotation, the sun always appears to rise in the east and set in the west. Lan Zhan is the most beautiful man on Earth, and possibly beyond it as well. It's a fundamental truth, almost certainly understood by everyone who has ever interacted with Lan Zhan.

But Lan Zhan has a shadow of a frown on his face. Like maybe he doesn't understand the critical role he plays in the cosmos?

"You know you're hot, right?" Wei Ying asks, abruptly deeply concerned.

Lan Zhan's face, so unfamiliar with clear-cut expressions, does something complicated. He ducks his head: a partial nod.

"Oh good," Wei Ying says, relieved. "If you didn't know you were hot I'd be so worried."

"What," Lan Zhan repeats. He's clearly given up on his youtiao: he drops the end of it into his soy milk and sets the cup aside.

"Look," Wei Ying says, spreading his hands, imploring Lan Zhan to understand what he's trying to say. "All I'm saying is, I'm cute, but I'm not used to people flirting with me to get something besides, like, maybe to cut ahead of me in line or a free drink at the bar. But now they're all flirting with me because I'm Baoshan Sanren's grandson. I'm not used to getting that much attention—especially from people who want something from me—the way you must be!"

"I'm not Baoshan Sanren's grandson," Lan Zhan says. "What do people want from me?"

"Your body, Lan Zhan?" Wei Ying says. "Obviously?"

"Wei Ying," Lan Zhan says. His voice sounds a little strangled. "I don't think I get nearly as much of that kind of attention as you seem to think I do."

"Oh no, are you bad at picking up on signals?" Wei Ying says. "I can help you by pointing it out—or maybe I can't; if I'm there people might get distracted because of who I am. In a few months when this all dies down I can help?"

"I can pick up on signals," Lan Zhan says. He's giving Wei Ying that weird look again. "Better than some, I think."

"Oh, phew," says Wei Ying. "That's a relief."

"I'm sorry that you find the attention you're recently subjected to unappealing," Lan Zhan adds.

Wei Ying, however, has been distracted from his original point. "Oh right," he says, after a beat. "Oh my god, Lan Zhan, you won't believe what Dr. Zhao said about this whole Celestial Mountain thing in our last meeting."

Lan Zhan shakes his shoulders and blinks, in a way that looks remarkably like he's deliberately restarting his own system. "Tell me," he says, leaning forward.

"Faster," Baoshan Sanren says, as Wei Ying grips the hilt of his new sword and shifts into a series of thrusts and jabs. "No, your angles should be sharper. Push with your qi, not with the blade. Leaves," she calls.

Luo Qingyang tosses a handful of leaves into the courtyard. Carefully, Wei Ying sights each of them, and then darts forward. He closes his eyes, feeling with his qi, and lets his sword follow his senses.

When he opens his eyes, leaf matter is strewn across the floor. Mostly bits and pieces, this time... there's only one largely-intact leaf remaining, and it has a knick in its side.

"Better," Baoshan Sanren says, grudgingly. "My grandson could parry with a twelve year old outer disciple of my sect and probably not lose."

Wei Ying bows to her. He's sweating, but only lightly. The moves are becoming easier. It helped to think of swordsmanship as akin to the Jiang method of learning archery which, as it turns out, draws more accurately from historical cultivation methods than anything else they do. "My grandmother honors me."

Baoshan Sanren flaps her hand at him, but in a way that feels almost fond. Wei Ying grins at her.

She scoffs. "I suppose you're ready to be introduced into Celestial Mountain sect society," she says. "There's still plenty of work to be done, but at least you won't embarrass me." She pauses. "Also, I have tarried too long from my mountain. You must finish your dissertation so you can enter your next stage of training."

"High-intensity politicking," Wei Ying says, nodding. "And finding a partner."

Baoshan Sanren tilts her head. "There are a number of strong cultivators among the outer disciples of the sect," she says. "They will attend your debut."

Oh. Oh. Wei Ying doesn't know how he feels about that. Apprehensive, probably? It sounds like a lot to take on. "Can I bring a friend? To my debut."

"A regular person?"

"A cultivator," Wei Ying tells her. "My classmate? The one I've been sharing my training with."

"Ah!" says Baoshan Sanren. "The one who can do proper handstands."

"Luo Qingyang told you about that, huh," says Wei Ying. He's long suspected that Luo Qingyang tells Baoshan Sanren about everything they discuss. "Yeah. He has a lot of skill. Hey, I bet he could be a disciple if he wanted."

Baoshan Sanren gives him a considering look, then relents. "Okay," she says. "Bring this—"

"Lan Zhan," Wei Ying supplies.

"Ah," Baoshan Sanren says. "I know of the Lans. They used to be a powerful, talented sect."

"Zongshi, we're literally in Gusu," Wei Ying points out. "There's Lan stuff everywhere. They're still pretty powerful."

"All sects that operate outside the Jianghu constituencies are exponentially weaker than they used to be," Baoshan Sanren sighs. "But I will allow that they have held on to some modicum of tradition."

Watching her, Wei Ying wonders, if he ever cultivates immortality, what it will feel like to watch the world change over the years. He's gotten the sense that Baoshan Sanren has at least several centuries under her belt—probably longer— and when she's not holding herself in a particular way he can see the exhaustion and worry creep in across her face. What must it be like, to watch the things you know intimately become unfamiliar versions of themselves? To watch the life you grew up in change in measurable and dramatic ways?

To choose to let the stream of time wear away its bed and switch its course, rather than interceding to stop it?

He's not certain he wants that for himself. Or, depending on the partner Baoshan Sanren deems best for him, for his children, if he fails to achieve immortality and gets replaced as her heir.

But he has a responsibility to his family, and a driving curiosity about living life more deeply entrenched in Jianghu. It sounds like an adventure, and as long as he can bring Lan Zhan along, it's bound to at least be fun for a while.

"Lan Zhan is a credit to his history," he tells her.

Again, the look she gives him is a searching one. "Then I look forward to meeting this young man," she says.

As it turns out, Lan Zhan takes a little more convincing.

"Why?" he asks, when Wei Ying tells him he really wants him to be there.

There are many answers Wei Ying could give. He starts with what he thinks is the most compelling: "Think about all the hands-on interactions you'll have with so many cultivators that are at, like, mid-core formation or beyond!" he says.

"Wei Ying, you will be busy meeting people and mingling," Lan Zhan points out. "I don't want to distract you from your purpose."

"No, you won't be a distraction," Wei Ying says. "You'll be a help. Lan Zhan, even though you haven't been to, like, royalty lessons with me, you've been with me every step of the way!"

Royalty lessons, Lan Zhan mouths, making the tiniest little face as he does so. He tilts his head at Wei Ying. "You should be unencumbered by your grad school labmate when you meet new people."

"Well, what if I want to be encumbered by my best friend?" Wei Ying demands.

Lan Zhan looks taken aback at that.

There's enough surprise written on his face that Wei Ying sighs. "You know you're my best friend, right?"

"Jiang Cheng—"

"Is like a brother to me," Wei Ying says. "A shidi, to use the vernacular. He's fine, we're friends, but he's not who I asked Baoshan Sanren to bring. Lan Zhan, you're like a... a..." He casts about, trying to settle on the correct descriptor.

"A shixiong?"

"I'm older than you, shut up," Wei Ying says. It's probably true. His birthday is in October and Lan Zhan's is in January. He debates joking that Lan Zhan is more of a gege than anything, then decides to go with the truth. "No. You're like a zhiji."

Lan Zhan's mouth closes sharply enough that Wei Ying can hear his teeth click. Then he wets his tongue. "I'm—"

"It's okay if you don't think that about me," Wei Ying says. He feels a little trembley inside with the admission, even though there's a million ways to play the meaning of it.

Well. Yi bu zuo, or whatever.

"The thing is, Lan Zhan, I'm scared," he says. "This is a big change, you know? And you've been such a rock through all of this. I like that. I need that. I can come home from all these huge responsibilities and go to you and be myself and practice and if I fuck it up, it doesn't matter, right? But if I fuck it up in front of Baoshan Sanren, there are international implications. You—you give me space to learn. And to show off, and to compete, and to just be normal. You knew me before, you know? I know how you feel about me and I know it hasn't changed because of this silly little discovery of my heritage. You know how Wen Chao was kissing up to me at brownbag last week? I just know that if you had hated me before all this, you wouldn't start fawning over me now. And I need that."

"You're comfortable around me?" Lan Zhan says. Softly, like it's a revelation.

"You're the first person I told about all this," Wei Ying says. "Beyond Jiang Cheng, but he doesn't count; they reached out to him way back at the beginning when I didn't answer my phone, so he already knew. You've been my constant, Lan Zhan. I tell you basically everything I learn because I don't want you to get left behind. Or me, really. I don't want either of us to get left behind."

There's something happening to Lan Zhan's face. It's a more demonstrative expression than Wei Ying is used to, and it's not one he's familiar with. "So you want me to come with you to your introduction into Jianghu society."

"Only if you want to," Wei Ying says. Others should have the comfort of choosing, even if he cannot. "But yeah. I'd really like you there."

Lan Zhan purses his lips. "Mn."

"Plus, I'm pretty sure my venerable grandmother is going to be introducing me to, like, tons of suitors," Wei Ying adds. Which, come to think of it, may be adding to why he's so bothered by the uptick in flirting that he's dealing with. He just really hates the idea of having a partner that doesn't know him. That doesn't care to try to look past the surface. He wants something deeper. "Because of that dumb consort clause, or whatever."

"Consort... clause?"

"Yeah, didn't I tell you about it?" Wei Ying shrugs, an affected sort of movement. "I'm not thrilled, to be honest, but I guess if it's Celestial Mountain law I should at least try to weigh in on candidates."

"Consort clause."

"Yeah, how I gotta be one to be heir, apparently," Wei Ying says. "I really don't know how I'm going to survive all that without some patented bitchy Lan Zhan asides. You're so good at snide comments, Lan Zhan. People don't realize this about you, but you are."

"Consort clause." Lan Zhan's face has shifted again; a grimace this time. "I will go."

Wei Ying cheers, and throws an arm around Lan Zhan's shoulder. "You'll probably regret this," he admits. "But I'm so relieved."

Wei Ying's robe is heavily embroidered and made from the finest silk. There's, like, a gadzillion layers to this thing. No wonder oldschool cultivators had to be so strong in their cultivation, he thinks, staring at his guan in the mirror and adjusting it slightly. They must have had to use so much energy just to make it look like walking in this shit was easy.

Lan Zhan is also in ceremonial garb. His robe is a gauzy snowy white layered over the palest eggshell-blue inner robe. He makes this kind of clothing look effortless, but then, Wei Ying supposes, Lans have held onto traditional clothing longer than most external sects.

"You look so good," Wei Ying says, instead of the quip he wants to make ('who died?').

"You as well," Lan Zhan tells him. "Stop fidgeting."

"Is my guan straight?"

"It's fine," Lan Zhan says. "Wei Ying, they're calling your name."

"Wei Wuxian, son of Cangse Sanren, grandson of Baoshan Sanren," the announcer calls. "And his friend, Lan Zhan."

"I know this courtesy name thing is also traditional," Wei Ying whispers, as they step through the door into the brightly-lit hall beyond. "But having a whole new name is also weird."

"Condolences," Lan Zhan murmurs.

"Being in Jianghu again is wild too, huh," Wei Ying observes. To his newly-trained senses, the energy in this room is palpable. When he was on his certification tour of the old Lotus Pier constituency at the end of university, he hadn't noticed just how different cultivation was inside Jianghu, compared to the rest of the world. Now, everywhere he looks, he sees evidence of strength, longevity, and tradition. "We're a long way from Gusu!"

"I know," Lan Zhan says. "Wei Ying. You'll be alright."

Wei Ying claps a hand to Lan Zhan's shoulder, squeezing in thanks. Before he can say anything else, though, a cultivator in bright green robes slides in front of him.

"Wei-gongzi! I hear you're getting a PhD," the cultivator says. "Is that typical for cultivators in the external sects?"

"Uh, not exactly," Wei Ying says, taken aback, and goes on to start explaining. When he looks up again from his conversation, Lan Zhan has faded off into the crowd.

There are hundreds of folks to meet, and Wei Ying does his due diligence to greet them all. Sometimes, Baoshan Sanren is standing at his shoulder; sometimes, his companion is Lan Zhan. It's hard to tell who his potential suitors are, too. There are plenty of eligible young women who might be of an age with him or who, depending on the strength of their cultivation, may be considerably older than him... but Baoshan Sanren introduces him to several young men as well, her eyes gleaming in a way that has Wei Ying squinting suspiciously at her. After a drawn-out dinner, she greets Lan Zhan more warmly than she's ever been with Wei Ying, too, and shepards him off for a confab. Wei Ying starts to trail after them, but he's waylaid by a handsome young woman dressed in browns and reds.

"Hi," she says, extending her hand to Wei Ying, expectantly.

Unsure of whether she expects him to kiss it or shake it, he bows. "Wei Ying. Wuxian."

"I'm Wen Qing," she says. "So you're Baoshan Sanren's grandson."

"I am," he says. "Uh, are you related at all to the Qishan Wens?"

She makes a face. "The Qishan Wens are the external branch of the family," she says. Her tone conveys a measure of derision. "Dafan is the Wen family's Jianghu constituency."

"My condolences," Wei Ying says, and then winces. That... was inappropriate.

Luckily, Wen Qing laughs. "You've met some of the external sect, I see."

"Um," says Wei Ying. "Yes. Wen Chao is in my program."

"You probably know him much better than I do," Wen Qing says. "I've only met him when he was passing through for certification."

"That was probably long enough to get a good read on his... everything," Wei Ying admits, grinning when Wen Qing laughs again. "Sooooo. What's it like, living in Jianghu?"

"Well, I have nothing to compare it to," Wen Qing says. "I've never left. What's it like living externally?"

They fall into conversation, thick and fast. Wen Qing is training in medical cultivation and has tons of questions about how the theory is applied outside Jianghu; Wei Ying has plenty of questions of his own about how her cultivation practices align with Baoshan Sanran's approach.

They're interrupted probably twenty minutes into their chat by Lan Zhan, reappearing from wherever Baoshan Sanren dragged him off to and looming over the bench where they've found themselves sitting. "Wei Ying," he says.

"Lan Zhan!" Wei Ying exclaims. "Wen Qing, this is my zhiji, Lan Zhan. Lan Zhan, this is Wen Qing. She's probably related to Wen Chao but don't hold it against her."

"I see," Lan Zhan says, shortly, shifting his weight from foot to foot.

"Don't be rude, Lan Zhan, we can't help our relatives," Wei Ying says, laughing.

Wen Qing gives Lan Zhan a sharply appraising look, and then glances back to Wei Ying. "I see, too," she says. "Oh, look at the time. Wei Ying, it was great to meet you, let's talk more when you come back to Jianghu. Has Baoshan Sanren told you about the millions of discussion conferences the internal constituencies have? It's so many, and I bet she'll send you to all of them."

"She's mentioned that there are occasional meetings," Wei Ying says, glancing around. There don't seem to be any clocks in here—but then, Wen Qing probably knows how to tell time using the incense burning in the corners of the room. Luo Qingyang has promised to teach him how, but it hasn't been the most pressing of his lessons to date.

"They're more than occasional," Wen Qing says. "But she only shows up occasionally, because most of them are off that mountain of hers. Well!" She slaps her hands onto her knees and rises smoothly. "I'll be off."

"You can stay," Wei Ying says.

"Nah, my friend Mianmian just got here and I want to reconnect," Wen Qing says. She stands and bows to Wei Ying, so he stands and bows back, then shakes his head as she laughs and wanders away.

"You seem to like her," Lan Zhan says.

"Yeah, she's nice," Wei Ying agrees. "Honestly, Lan Zhan, this isn't as bad as I thought it was going to be!"

"I see," says Lan Zhan, face shuttering. He turns, as if to go, which... what?

"Lan Zhan, stop," Wei Ying says. "It's good because you're here. If you weren't, it would honestly be a lot harder."

"You seem to be doing fine," Lan Zhan says. "Meeting your suitors."

"Wen Qing?" Wei Ying laughs. "I'm pretty sure she's as gay as I am, Lan Zhan, and even if I have to marry a woman—which isn't for certain—there's no way she'd agree to marry me. Even if Baoshan Sanren asked, probably." Adapting a joking tone, he clarifies, "They're equally intimidating."

Lan Zhan shakes his head, then blinks at Wei Ying, mouth lightly parted. "Wei Ying," he says.

"Lan Zhan," Wei Ying replies.

Lan Zhan clears his throat and shifts his weight to his other foot. "Wei Ying," he says again.

"Yeah, Lan Zhan, what's up?" Wei Ying says.

Lan Zhan opens his mouth, and then closes it again. "How many suitors have you met?" he asks, after a protracted moment.

"Not sure, actually," Wei Ying says. "She just told me there would be several, and that she's been in talks with a couple of sects to determine whether they have any disciples who could, you know." He shrugs. "Be a consort's spouse? Effectively? For Celestial Mountain sect? Apparently arranging marriage is on next year's cultiplomacy syllabus."

"Cultiplomacy," Lan Zhan mouths. His face is... stormy, is the best way Wei Ying can think to interpret it, but it lightens a little as he repeats the word. "Cultiplomacy?"

"Yeah, yeah, I know, I have a gift for gab and a way with words," Wei Ying says. Lan Zhan still looks a little off-kilter, though, and Wei Ying's concern is growing. "Lan Zhan, won't you tell me what's up?"

"I must confess," says Lan Zhan, and visibly steels himself. "I have been...jealous."

Oh, shit. Oh fuck. "Lan Zhan, is this too much for you?" Wei Ying asks. "You should have said. I know you deserved to have special cultivation training more than I do; you care so much about the world. I can talk to zongshi about getting you into training? Would that help?"

"I have spoken to Baoshan-zongshi about joining training already," Lan Zhan says. "She recommended it."

"So it's settled?" Wei Ying asks. "Or are you jealous about something else?"

Lan Zhan is silent for a long moment. Long enough for two more people to wander over and make their introductions. Wei Ying is perfectly polite, but ends the conversations quickly.

"Let's find somewhere quieter?" he suggests.

Lan Zhan nods, so they poke around a bit. The hall they're in opens to a wide array of gardens, but people are wandering through them, chatting lightly, and it takes Wei Ying a moment to find a remote corner that seems relatively deserted. He settles on a bench tucked away in an alcove and gestures for Lan Zhan to sit next to him.

"Spill," he says.

"I've been jealous," Lan Zhan repeats. The light is dim in these far reaches of the gathering space—this area is lit by the moon hanging heavy above, and two flickering torches nearly twenty paces away. Still, despite the shadow dimming Lan Zhan's features, Wei Ying can make out that he seems to be steeling himself. "Of. Your suitors. And your divided attention."

"My suitors?" Wei Ying asks, surprised. "But everyone likes yo—oh. No. Not the fact that I have suitors. The fact that I have... suitors?"

Lan Zhan is silent, staring at his lap, so Wei Ying carefully reaches over and tips Lan Zhan's chin up, meeting his eyes.

"Is that it, Lan Zhan?"

Lan Zhan's head bobs in a nod. His chin digs into Wei Ying's finger, and then lifts again. "I'm sorry," he says. "I know that's not how you meant zhi—"

Wei Ying kisses him, swallowing the rest of Lan Zhan's words.

It's a soft kiss, gentle and swift. Barely enough to get a feel for the shape of Lan Zhan's lips against his own, were it not for the fact that they feel burned onto Wei Ying's mouth from the way that his skin crackles with the touch even after he pulls away. Not far. He stops barely a centimeter away from Lan Zhan's mouth.

"Was that okay?" he asks, his voice a whisper hanging low between them.

Lan Zhan clears his throat and exhales. Wei Ying can smell the astringent tea on his breath as it wafts across his face. He wants to taste it. He wants to let himself swallow that breath down, deep inside of him, and keep it there as a reminder that even if the world changes around him, he's not alone in it.

He starts to pull his head back, so that he can make out Lan Zhan's expression, but Lan Zhan slams forward, fast and imprecise enough that their teeth knock together. One of Lan Zhan's incisors(?) digs into Wei Ying's lip, sharply. Between those two sources of sudden pain, Wei Ying gasps. He feels destabilized, liable to tip over with the force of Lan Zhan's momentum, but the new and surging strength of his core keeps him upright.

Instead, he chooses to lean back, drawing Lan Zhan with him, one arm wound around Lan Zhan's broad, strong shoulders. Lan Zhan follows easily, delving over-eagerly with his tongue until Wei Ying opens his mouth and gives Lan Zhan the access he so clearly craves.

They breathe together.

Wei Ying's inhales mingle with Lan Zhan's exhales, and vice versa, even as Wei Ying scrambles at the belt tied around Lan Zhan's robes and Lan Zhan pushes an errant wisp of hair that's pulled free from Wei Ying's guan back from his face. Lan Zhan's kiss is all-consuming: demanding, relentless, sexy as fuck. And Wei Ying longs to be consumed.

Wei Ying's cock is growing hard. He's wearing boxers below his robes, even though that's not traditional and Xiao Xingchen supplied him with appropriate underwear, but he's grateful for them now. There's no telling how traditional underwear would deal with a stirring cock, and his debut into Jianghu cultivation society would not be a good time to find out. He can feel Lan Zhan's dick, too, a hot, thick press swelling against his leg.

Desperately, thoughtlessly, Wei Ying jerks his hips up, seeking friction. He's still only half-hard, but it's only a matter of time and stimulation. They're secluded. Maybe they can rub off? Will people be able to tell? Should they go to their rooms?

"Lan Zhan," Wei Ying mumbles into the kiss, moving a hand to Lan Zhan's hip and gripping tight.

Lan Zhan murmurs something unintelligible against Wei Ying's mouth, pressing his body heavily against Wei Ying's front. The bench they're on digs into Wei Ying's back, but it's not an unpleasant pressure. As it turns out, Wei Ying enjoys being trapped between Lan Zhan's body and another hard thing.

"Wei Ying."

That's not Lan Zhan's voice. It sounds a lot like—

"Zongshi!" Wei Ying exclaims, wrestling himself up.

Lan Zhan resists for a moment, but when he clocks that they're not alone, he jolts upward, too, standing and immediately bowing to Baoshan Sanren.

"My apologies," Wei Ying says, bowing deeply and nearly falling over in the process in a way he hasn't done since he first met her. "This is... inappropriate. Hi, Baoshan Sanren. Uh. Hello."

"Hello, Wei Ying," she says. She looks, somehow, more amused than he's ever seen her before? She casts a knowing glance over Lan Zhan, and then schools a stern look onto her face. "Lan Zhan."

"Zongshi," Lan Zhan says, bowing.

Baoshan Sanren acknowledges him with a flick of her head, and then turns back to Wei Ying. "You've made a good impression," she says, and with another significant glance toward the bench, adds, "Somehow."

"I'm sorry—" Wei Ying starts, and falls silent when she holds up her hand.

"This is not an appropriate place for such carrying-on," she says. "You have rooms adjoining this hall. Use them." She pauses, then adds, "I've spoken with my advisors. You, boy—" and here she points at Lan Zhan— "can start attending trainings with my heir. I believe that would be... smart."

"Does that mean...?" Wei Ying asks, hope swelling in his chest.

Baoshan Sanren tilts her head. "A trial run," she promises. "It doesn't do for potential suitors of a Celestial Mountain sect heir to lack in cultivation."

Wei Ying whoops. Quietly. He doesn't want to draw any extra attention to himself right now.

"The event is winding down," Baoshan Sanren adds. "Most of the important people have left. You are also free to go."

"Do I need to... say goodbye?"

She shakes her head. "Prompt, engaged attendance in tomorrow morning's meeting will suffice," she says. There's a beat, and then she gives Wei Ying a half-smile and points out into the dark. "If this is of use to you: There's a hidden entrance beyond that fountain."

"So if I leave now, it's fine," Wei Ying confirms. He's not looking at Lan Zhan right now—he's pretty sure that if he tries to make eye contact, he'll start noticeably blushing—but he can feel the man practically vibrating at his side.

"Good cultivators benefit from an early bedtime, and early wake-up," Baoshan Sanren says, and turns to go. "Goodnight, grandson."

"Just like you," Wei Ying whispers to Lan Zhan, who nudges him back.

They wait for Baoshan Sanren to leave. Wei Ying wipes his hands on his clothes, checking, in the process, that his belt is still tied and the folds of his clothes are mostly in the right places. To his side, Lan Zhan does the same.

Then, they make their way toward the fountain, step by careful step.

"Hey Lan Zhan," Wei Ying says, trying and failing to get his pulse to slow down. He knocks the back of his wrist against Lan Zhan's hand. Lan Zhan grabs on and doesn't let go, so Wei Ying gladly laces their fingers together. He's electrified by the touch. Lan Zhan's hands are so big. He wants them all over his body.

"Mm?"

"Do you know what else we've theorized about turns out to be a totally real thing and not a legend or myth at all?" Wei Ying asks. "Wen Qing was telling me all about it when you were talking to Baoshan Sanren."

"What's that?" Lan Zhan asks. There's a smile tugging at his lips. A big one, not the tiny quirks Wei YIng has gotten used to searching for.

"Dual cultivation," Wei Ying says.

Lan Zhan pulls to an abrupt stop, and only his tight grip on Wei Ying's hand keeps Wei Ying's momentum from pulling them apart. "Is that so," he asks.

"That's so so," Wei Ying says. "And, I dunno, I figure that if you're going to be taking Celestial Mountain sect disciple cultivation lessons with me, we might as well start out with something we can learn together?"

Now it's Lan Zhan's turn to start walking, quickly, tugging Wei Ying behind him.

Laughing, Wei Ying follows him into the night.