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Wei Wuxian has grown used to waking up without Lan Wangji. Since they were officially married–almost a year ago now, when did that happen?–his efforts to derail his husband's Lan programming have proven mostly fruitless in this regard.
Sure, Lan Wangji has gotten far more comfortable when it comes to breaking rules "if it makes Wei Ying happy," but never once has he stayed in bed past 6:30. Wei Wuxian wouldn't mind it, really, except that it's so hard to go back to sleep when he's had the most beautiful man in the world to cuddle with for the past eight hours, and suddenly he doesn't. Which means that once Lan Wangji is up, so is Wei Wuxian.
He's managed to sleep late this morning–8:00 is late now, he thinks with a shudder–but he still slides out of bed feeling like a walking corpse. Wei Wuxian's stomach alerts him as soon as he manages to exit the bedroom that he's missed breakfast by several hours.
Before he can even finish thinking I'm hungry, his gaze falls on a steaming bowl of congee sitting alone on the table. The corners of his mouth quirk up unprompted. Lan Zhan, you thoughtful, wonderful ray of sunshine.
It strikes him suddenly that Wei Wuxian might be the only person who has ever referred to Lan Wangji, verbally or internally, as a ray of sunshine, and this is so unacceptable that he decides in that instant to find his husband and let him know how gorgeously bright he is. The bowl of congee is empty in under three minutes (Wei Wuxian laments that he has no one to blabber at as he eats, just to start his day with a healthy dose of rule-breaking), and he's nearly out the door when he realizes he's forgetting something.
There's a peculiar nudge at the back of his skull, like a thought is wriggling around, trying to escape, but he can't figure out how to pull it free. He looks down. Lo and behold, he's still wearing his sleeping robes. That must be it.
One short detour to his bedroom later, Wei Wuxian crunches through the shallow patch of snow outside the Jingshi that has stubbornly refused to melt despite spring's warm, encroaching advances. It's beginning to smell like the days Wei Wuxian spent in Gusu as a teenager, all thick mountain forests and stolid, uniform stone pathways slowly baking in the sunlight. There's another tiny pang in his chest as he hears an exuberant shout in the distance, followed immediately by a round of shushing from the poor disciple's peers. That was him, once, being reined in by Nie Huaisang–Lan Qiren will hear you!–and Jiang Cheng–Knock it off before they make you kneel again! He absently wonders if he'll ever be able to look back on another portion of his life as the good old days, or if things will never get better than those carefree summers.
Then again, things are pretty good right now, he decides as Lan Sizhui comes into view before him, trailed by a cascade of juniors who look at Sizhui with a wide-eyed appreciation bordering on marvel. He's just become an official senior of the Lan sect, and almost every disciple in the Cloud Recesses seems to revere him. That's my kid, says Wei Wuxian's pride, rising in his heart like a gold sprig of grain. I helped make that.
"Baba!" Sizhui says delightedly, sinking second-naturedly into a bow that the disciples hastily copy.
Wei Wuxian flaps his hands and squawks "Enough, enough!" until his son and the gaggle of students behind him look up.
"Causing trouble, are we?" Wei Wuxian teases, noting how a few students–the ones who seem to enjoy his classes the most–strategically avoid his eyes.
Sizhui smiles brilliantly. "Not even a little, Baba."
Wei Wuxian gets a bit melty at that, because who gave him the right to have such a darling child all to himself, but he forces his face into a chiding expression. "Try harder, then! It's already well past breakfast time, and I haven't heard of a single interesting development all day!"
"Yes, Wei-qianbei!" several disciples chorus, and Wei Wuxian grins.
"But really," he amends before Lan Qiren catches him instigating and pops a blood vessel, "don't take it too far. We don't want more evil spirits running amok, yes?"
"Yes!" his students echo.
"Because resentful energy is most helpful when it is used for what?"
"Locating and dispatching other resentful spirits!" the students say.
"Very good!" Wei Wuxian exclaims. "It's almost like I don't even need to give you extra work after classes tomorrow!"
Seeing the hope shining on the youngest junior's faces, Sizhui interrupts with his usual tact before Wei Wuxian can assign enough homework to quash their enthusiasm. "Baba, have you seen A-die today? He wasn't at breakfast this morning. He left several important messages unanswered, and neither shifu nor myself has been able to find him."
Wei Wuxian's brow furrows. "I haven't seen him either! He's vanished like a ghost."
Sizhui's lips purse at this, so Wei Wuxian pats him on the head, ruffling his hair as much as he can get away with. "Don't fret, A-Yuan! He'll turn up when he's ready, just like always."
Sizhui smiles tightly, unconvinced. "I just assumed he would be with you, considering…"
He blanches and clamps his mouth shut.
"Is my little radish upset?" Wei Wuxian asks fondly. "We can't have that! I'll tell you what, I think I'm going to spend my morning husband-hunting. I know every place Lan Zhan might be, so I'll find him in a blink, eh?"
Sizhui nods reluctantly, caught between trusting his father unconditionally and wondering what kind of mayhem a "husband-hunt" might cause. Before any of the disciples can request to follow him, Wei Wuxian is halfway down the path, calling back to Sizhui, "Oh, and tell Jingyi I said hello, and also to please sort through the texts I left on the table in the back corner of the library! Make sure he puts them in the right order this time!"
His son flashes him a small grin and vanishes around a corner with white-clad Lans trailing after him like ducklings.
Wei Wuxian manages to keep a smile on his face until Sizhui is out of eyeshot, then lapses into a pensive frown. As soon as Sizhui asked after Lan Zhan, the buzzing thought that was bothering him in the Jingshi came back, shouting even louder than before, You've forgotten! You've forgotten!
Hell if he knows what that means–but he knows who he needs to see if he wants to find out. There's only one person who will understand exactly what's going on in his head, and conveniently enough, Wei Wuxian has just promised to track him down.
It certainly isn't like Lan Wangji to vanish without a trace–that's more Wei Wuxian's style, and he'd be lying if he said he enjoys having his mojo stolen–but he's never been able to stay away from Wei Wuxian for long. He'll solve this mystery yet.
One shichen later, a thorough search of the kitchens, the classrooms, the Cold Pond, no less than seven courtyards, and the rabbit field (with a brief stop for cuddles and another stop to brush the bunny fluff off his robes) has yielded no results. Wei Wuxian has even tiptoed around the Hanshi, where Zewu-jun is still locked away in mourning, to see if Lan Wangji is standing in the garden outside, not wanting to disturb his brother but desperate to at least be near him. Wei Wuxian doesn't like to think about that place, and he knows Lan Wangji prefers to go there privately. Still, he often returns to the Jingshi with a slump in his normally immaculate posture, and only regains himself once he's been curled in Wei Wuxian's arms for most of an evening. Wei Wuxian doesn't really expect to find him there.
He's considered ambling down to Caiyi to see if his husband has gone to buy ingredients for some new dish or ink brushes for Wei Wuxian's talisman-making projects, but he'd like to save that long trip as a last resort.
Huffing, he slumps against a nearby pillar and pushes an errant lock of hair from his eyes. It's been nearly eleven hours since he last heard Lan Wangji's voice, and it's starting to make him twitchy. Meanwhile, the forgotten thing has evolved from a vague neural nudge into something sharp and irksome, like a seed stuck in his teeth. Every step he takes seems to tap out what is it, what is it, what is it?
The library seems as good a place as any to continue his search, but a pair of voices floating out from behind a stack of paper stops him as soon as he nears the door.
"Do you think he knows?" whisper-shouts one voice.
"I think I threw him off the trail, but I'm really not certain. He definitely won't guess where he is, but there's no way he's completely forgotten, right?" replies the other, quiet enough that Wei Wuxian has to strain his ears to pick it up.
"I don't know. He kinda relies on Hanguang-jun to tell him that stuff. It might actually be a surprise."
"I hope so. A-die seemed really excited."
Both parties fall silent, much to Wei Wuxian's chagrin. What a puzzle this day is becoming! Whatever Sizhui and Jingyi were discussing must be another piece, but how to find its place?
Start with the basics, Wei Ying, he reminds himself. Lan Zhan doesn't want you to find out about something. The kids are in on it. They think I've forgotten, which is probably true.
So it all comes back to his faulty memory. Quietly, he sighs through his nose. His brain is already tired from being wracked all morning, and now this entire case hinges on his ability to recall special occasions? He sent Jin Ling a coronation present seven weeks before the actual date because the courier was too afraid to tell him otherwise, for heaven's sake!
When Sizhui and Jingyi remain quiet, presumably working on sorting the passages Wei Wuxian left for them, he turns on his heel and slips away, undetected. Lan Zhan isn't in there, he's positive of that now.
Okay, what's happening today? Is it Lan Zhan's birthday? No, that can't be right. And it isn't mine, either. Sizhui's? No.
It all must be connected. Lan Zhan disappears, Sizhui tries to throw Wei Wuxian off his trail, and Wei Wuxian can't shake the feeling that he's forgetting something–he's being conspired against, for reasons he can't yet decode. And no matter how far he walks, he's getting nowhere.
He needs to think.
By the time he reaches his next stop, Wei Wuxian is genuinely considering going back to the library to shake the information out of Lan Jingyi.
The sun is high overhead, scattering light over the yellow meadow grasses that grow behind the mountains of the Cloud Recesses. Lan Zhan takes an afternoon walk here once every week–to think, he says, but he always lets Wei Wuxian join him, so neither of them gets much thinking done. There's a well-trod path zigzagging through the field, plants pushed flat against the ground where his and Lan Zhan's feet always fall. The path feels too wide without someone else beside him, so Wei Wuxian veers to the left and runs his hand along the tips of the high grass, leaving room for a phantom figure in white to walk alongside him.
It's peaceful, to be here alone, to watch the clouds pass and the birds and insects dip lazily in and out of the trees. Peace is something he has gotten precious little of in his life. Serenity was an affront to his nature when he was young, a demand that he leave his affectivity at the door and just calm down for once, will you? He almost wishes he had treasured the good kind of quiet more, then, seeing as he knew nothing but suffocating silence for thirteen years after.
Wow. He's getting old.
But even aging is a gift, now that he knows death more intimately than… anyone, really. There's no greater pleasure than watching creases sink slowly into Lan Zhan's face, or wondering when in the world he could look little A-Yuan in the eyes without kneeling down. So many of the people he's loved never knew that joy.
"Isn't that funny, shijie?" he marvels to the air. "Everything turned out just the opposite of how I expected."
Hang on. That's it! He's spent half a day wandering around every place he expects Lan Zhan to go, but he has yet to check the places where he wouldn't be–that is, the places he would go if he actually didn't want to be found.
Whispering a quiet thanks to Jiang Yanli, Wei Wuxian turns on his heel and starts back to the Cloud Recesses at a jog.
It's well past noon now, and Wei Wuxian is struck by hunger pangs as he approaches the Jingshi.
He exhales deeply upon entering, overwhelmed by the sensation of home.
"Where is that darling husband of mine?" he calls, not really expecting an answer but eternally delighted by the flavor of the words in his mouth, subtly sweet like the floral teas Lan Zhan makes in the evenings.
He picks up a persimmon from the basket on the table–gifted to them by the sweet elderly couple living on a farm he and Lan Zhan saved from a swarm of monstrous locusts–and demolishes it in a few bites, wiping juice from his chin.
He sighs, pressing his cheek against the cool wood of the table. Where to next? It's been an awfully long morning, but he can hardly give up his search now that Lan Wangji has thrown the proverbial gauntlet at his feet. Wei Wuxian can almost feel him just outside his periphery, waiting as long as it takes, trusting that Wei Wuxian will find him no matter what.
"Ah, Lan Zhan, you know I'd be with you already if you'd just quit teasing me."
Wei Wuxian straightens, looks to the window where a breeze makes the stalks of bamboo clack against each other in arrhythm. A lone cicada trills for a moment, then, hearing no response, fades off into the golden air.
"...Lan Zhan, are you there?"
A slight rustle like leaves tossed by the wind makes his ears perk. He steps outside, clasping his hands behind his back, and smiles when the sound pauses again. Caught you.
A triumphant A-ha! prickles the tip of his tongue as he pokes his head past the wall of bamboo behind the Jingshi, but Wei Wuxian falls silent the second his eyes catch on the scene before him.
There is dirt. On Lan Wangji's robes.
He's standing stock-still in the middle of a large, square patch of soil, looking for all the world like a rabbit caught digging for carrots in a farmer's garden. His white robes are stained with smears of green and black where he's presumably been kneeling in the dirt.
Wei Wuxian takes a shaky step forward, and the fresh earth sinks beneath his boot. It's almost illicit, as though he should be prohibited from setting foot on such a precious patch of ground. His gaze is zipping from tiny saplings to freshly watered heaps of dirt where seeds must be buried, but Lan Wangji's eyes haven't left him yet.
"Have you been here this whole time?" Wei Wuxian gapes, suddenly feeling a bit silly that it's taken him the better part of a day to find what was quite literally right in front of him.
Lan Wangji dips his head. "I have worked here in the evenings for… some time," he admits after a pause, then looks up at Wei Wuxian with an almost repentant air.
"And here I thought you were off giving extra instruction to the juniors! You deviant! Lan Zhan, what is this?" he asks in wonder, running a finger over the fuzzy folds of an unfurling leaf.
"Wei Ying wanted a garden," Lan Wangji replies, as if this is the most obvious answer in the world.
When Wei Wuxian just stares at him, uncomprehending, he adds, "This is yours. If you would like it."
Slowly, Wei Wuxian takes his hands, holding them up to his own face. Lan Wangji has dirt under his fingernails. Wei Wuxian wants to keep him forever.
"This is…" he starts, but suddenly his throat is sealed off. He settles for kissing his husband's knuckles, struggling to express In what universe would I not like this and Thank you thank you and I love you like the sun in one gesture.
Lan Wangji carefully tips his face up as if to check for tears, brushing his thumbs under Wei Wuxian's eyes. His touch feels like sinking into bed after spending hours on your feet.
"Not sad," Wei Wuxian manages, though his voice croaks. "Too happy."
Lan Wangji brushes the hair from Wei Wuxian's face to kiss his forehead.
"I wanted to surprise you," Lan Wangji says.
"Well, you've passed with flying colors!" Wei Wuxian bursts out with a laugh, regaining himself. "What's in here? I want to know everything!"
So Lan Wangji takes the most fearsome demonic cultivator of his generation on a tour of his garden. Since the final frost of winter has just passed, not much is growing yet, but Wei Wuxian can already tell they will have a bounty by summer. In one corner, miniscule eggplant sprouts curl up towards the sun; rows of peppers, carrots, and, of course, radishes sprawl out beside them, cut off by slender saplings that will become towering trees, shedding purple-bruised mulberries and plums like rain, by the time he and Lan Wangji grow old. Every seed has been sown and watered by careful, meticulous hands, sitting snug and green and dormant beneath the earth. Wei Wuxian looks to his husband with wonder.
Unaware, Lan Wangji wipes his brow with the heel of his hand, knocking his forehead ribbon slightly askew.
"Here, love, you're crooked." Wei Wuxian grins and reaches up to fix it, but Lan Wangji just pulls the band off altogether and wraps it a few times around Wei Wuxian's wrist. He ties the ends into a neat bow, looking satisfied, and lets their fingers tangle together as they fall.
"Lan Zhan," Wei Wuxian laughs, "What's all this for?"
"You wanted it," Lan Zhan says seriously.
For sappiness' sake, Wei Wuxian does not point out that this is yet another non-answer. "I've got you!" he exclaims, throwing both arms around Lan Wangji. "What else could I want?"
Lan Wangji dips his head, pink-eared, and presses his face into his husband's shoulder.
It feels so wonderful to be back with his husband that Wei Wuxian almost forgets his mission–almost. And now he's thinking about it again. No, no. Wei Wuxian is not fixating on the forgotten thing. Not even a little. This is a lovely moment, and he will not–
"Lan Zhan, is there something special going on today?"
Okay, sue him. He'll crack this case if he has to abstain from Lan Wangji's hugs for an entire incense stick's time.
(Scratch that, maybe half a stick.
At most.)
"Perhaps I just thought you deserved a gift," Lan Wangji says serenely, turning his head until his words blossom warmly against Wei Wuxian's neck.
Wei Wuxian sees right through that. "I've forgotten something important, haven't I? And you sent Sizhui to divert me because you wanted this gift to be perfect even though you knew I wouldn't remember unless you reminded me! Lan Zhan!" he wails.
Lan Wangji fiddles aimlessly with the ribbon around his husband's wrist, a chastised child. He opens his mouth. Closes it. Then, finally: "Today is our first anniversary."
Silence.
"Oh my gods. I–I should've done something!" Wei Wuxian splutters. "Gotten you something or planned a trip or–Lan Zhan!"
Lan Wangji has wrapped Wei Wuxian in his arms, hiding the smug expression that suggests he doesn't want to upset his husband, but also doesn't regret a thing. "I have Wei Ying. What else could I want?" he echoes.
Wei Wuxian buries his face in Lan Wangji's shoulder. "By the way, I think you're a ray of sunshine."
"Mm. Maybe I can help the plants grow."
Wei Wuxian bursts into laughter. "Did you just make a joke?"
"Only for you. Tell no one."
"Gods, I love you. Happy anniversary, Lan Zhan."
"Happy anniversary, Wei Ying."
"And I'm not going to forget next year."
"...Mn."
He does forget next year. And the year after that.
But Lan Wangji gets to sit under the plum trees and watch his husband shoo the bunnies away from their vegetables, then turn back to him and beam with enough wordless love to put poets to shame. So he doesn't mind.