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The clearing halfway to Yiling from the Wei home compound is a natural break in the forest terrain, filled with sunshine and the scent of warmed grass and, at the moment, the disgruntled nattering of one very put-out youth in teal and silver robes.

“Can’t believe Ma is sending me to Yiling for the second time this week, all by myself,” the youth grouses. He gestures to the wide-open space of the clearing, making a forceful point to no one in particular. His movement catches the attention of a startled deer across the way; it lifts its head, takes stock of him, and bounds off onto the shadowy paths that lead deeper into the forest.

Wei Wuxian, newly bestowed of the courtesy name that his mother had given him and the neat silver guan that his father had placed on his head, is bound for town and feeling very hard done by.

He reaches back to fiddle with one of the unruly black tails that mark him as one of the fox clan, frowning in the direction where the deer startled. “Not like I’d waste my energy chasing you!” He makes a little face.

Wei Wuxian pauses amid the clearing to catch his breath and soak up some sun. He retrieves a skin of water from the depths of one sleeve. His eyes sweep over the open space from one side to another, never fixed in one place for long. “Aiyah, this is what happens when a husband leaves his household for too long,” he laments. “The son left behind has to take up the slack. And this son is being abused!”

With a huff, he stows the water skin back in his sleeve, grips his black-handled sword tight at his side, and forges onward. Instead of wasting his laments on the uncaring breeze, he begins to whistle a lively tune to keep himself entertained.

It’s not as though Cangse Sanren is diverting him from more important pursuits besides his determined shirking of chores. He’s reached the age where he hasn’t much to do besides improve his cultivation and go hunting, which he still does with one or both parents for the most part. Given that his father, Wei Changze, has gone to Yunmeng to barter with the Jiang crane clan, though, they’ve both been at loose ends since his departure.

Wei Wuxian still isn’t convinced his mother needs the list of items she’s sending him into town to buy today, but one thing is certain. She wasn’t going to let him ‘laze about’ on the home compound all day, as she put it, driving him off with a swat to his backside and a curl of scribbled-on parchment shoved into his hand.

His mother always gets jittery when Wei Changze is out of her sight, when they’ve been separated for any length of time, but she’ll never go to Yunmeng. Since he was a little kit, Wei Wuxian—Wei Ying, back then—always thought it had something to do with foxes being the natural enemy of cranes, but he was allowed to visit. On a return trip with Wei Changze, when he was still a little barely taller than his father’s sword, he asked what Lady Yu had meant by ‘that woman’ and how Wei Ying took after her.

Wei Ying didn’t return to Lotus Pier often after that, and when he did, it was times when Lady Yu wasn’t in residence. Unfortunately for him, that usually meant she’d taken the young Jiang cranes with her, so Wei Ying had no one to play with on those trips.

He reaches up to adjust his guan, self-conscious of its lofty position affixed atop his head. The bright red ribbon that trails from it is a match to his father’s, but not inherited from him. Cangse Sanren purchased it for him shortly after he was born, and before his guan ceremony, he used it to tie his hair up out of his face.

Wei Wuxian is a fox clan adult now, with all the hallmarks of a full-fledged cultivator. He still can’t manage to be taken seriously by his mother, though, and it might take another hundred years before the aunties and uncles of Yiling will take him seriously either.

“Yo, it’s the Wei kid!” is the first thing that greets Wei Wuxian as he turns onto the main street after leaving the outskirts of the forest.

Wei Wuxian’s spine straightens and his tails fluff with outrage. “Little Uncle! I am not a child!”

“Sure, whatever, young master,” Little Uncle replies with a broad grin. “Make sure to get to Bing-er’s stall before too long or she’ll be sold out of the oolong tea your ma favors.”

“You—” Wei Wuxian begins, tails bristling, but he can’t even deny that the oolong tea is something on his list.

How Cangse Sanren managed to go through the entire previous tin in a matter of three days is something he isn’t qualified to question.

Little Uncle has already turned away, giving an amiable wave from over his shoulder.

Sighing, Wei Wuxian squares himself and resumes his saunter toward the center of town. It really will take another hundred years before he gets any respect.

The market at the heart of Yiling is bustling with people, the noisy undercurrents of townsfolk bartering, hawking their wares, and making pitches to lure potential customers. The smell of fry oil hits Wei Wuxian’s nose first, layered food scents rising through to tantalize or put him off. He’s tempted to get some salted duck yolk buns to tide himself over, but Cangse Sanren had counted the money for the purchases into his hand and he’d have to haggle at every single stall to gain enough margin for a treat.

Something to save as a reward for the end, then.

As Wei Wuxian waits for Bing-er to wrap up the tea she weighed out, his eyes are drawn to a small cluster of white robes at the end of the street. “No way,” he mumbles.

“Eh? What’s that, young master Wei?” Bing’er prompts, leaning toward him. She holds out the wrapped parcel.

Wei Wuxian takes the package of tea with a nod of thanks. “Ah, just thinking out loud. Those can’t be Lan disciples, so I’m sure it’s some passing cultivators from another clan.”

Bing’er gives an angry hiss between her teeth, reminding him with the noise that she’s goose clan, though the downy feathers that trail down both sides of her neck and disappear into her neckline are the closest she can get to goose form. As a non-cultivator, she retains the traits of goose clan without having the ability to transform.

“Those Lan dragon kids!” Bing-er says in a huffy tone. She aims an unusually fierce scowl down the street.

By contrast, Wei Wuxian brightens. “It really is Lan dragon disciples?”

“So cold and rude,” Bing-er says. She draws herself up and sniffs. “I don’t know how they expect to get any info from the locals with their attitude.”

Wei Wuxian hides a chuckle behind a raised hand. “They’re not that bad, Bing-guniang, I swear.” His head whips one way, then the other, as he absorbs the import of her words. “Wait! Info? They’re here for a night hunt?”

Bing-er shrugs and holds out a hand. “How am I supposed to know that?” She sends a glare toward the cluster of white-robed youths. “They’re like any other group of snotty cultivator clan boys.”

Wei Wuxian tsks, but he drops some money into her hand. She gives him a nod, and he gives her a quick bow and leaves the tea stall to hurry up the street. There’s no sense arguing with Bing-er, not even to remind her that he’s a cultivator clan boy, himself. The fact that there may be a prospective night hunt in the area that he missed hearing about earlier in the week has pricked his pride.

It’s a galling prospect, but he ought to offer his assistance if it is the Lan dragon clan, and they are here for a hunt. Besides, if they’re here, then there’s a chance that Lan Zh—

Wei Wuxian catches that thought in its tracks and strangles it.

He reaches the edge of the group of white-robed disciples, eyes picking over them in search of one who might be in charge. At a glance, there doesn’t seem to be any with the embroidered white forehead ribbon of an inner member of the Lan clan proper.

“No,” Old Man Yan is saying to a disciple right in front of him. “Can’t help you.”

Wei Wuxian raises inquisitive brows and sidles closer. He folds his arms across his chest, his sword held loosely at his side under one arm. “Anything I can help with?” he asks. “I’m local to the area.”

The two white-robed youths next to him take a step back, giving him blank looks. The one in front of Old Man Yan’s stall swivels, sizes Wei Wuxian up, and his nose tilts into the air. He’s got the bulky shape of a covered qin slung across his back, which made Wei Wuxian think for a moment, maybe…but this boy with his sneer isn’t anyone Wei Wuxian has come across.

“Now, why would we need help from the likes of you?” the youth snaps, looking him up and down.

“Su She, there’s no need to be abrupt,” one of the other disciples says, raising his hands in a conciliatory gesture. “It’s true that we don’t know the area…”

Wei Wuxian’s easygoing smile has gone tight and hard. He can see why Bing-er accused them of attitude.

“Have you found any leads?” a new voice asks, and Wei Wuxian jerks at the familiarity of it, turning to face the light footfalls just behind him.

Lan Wangji stands there in the street beside Wei Wuxian, the afternoon sunlight sweeping across his face and rendering his eyes that distinct shade of molten gold. Lan Wangji’s mouth parts and his eyes widen slightly.

Wei Wuxian’s hand tightens on his sword, and he dips his head in a wary nod.

“Wei Ying,” Lan Wangji says. He performs a concise but elegant bow. “You are also here for the hunt?”

That stings, and Wei Wuxian summons up a brittle smile. “This humble Wei Wuxian lives nearby. I’m in town to get some things for Ma.”

“Oh.” Lan Wangji blinks. “I did not realize this was your territory. Would you—”

“Well, it’s been made clear my help isn’t needed,” Wei Wuxian cuts in, moving to sidle around Lan Wangji. He inclines his torso in the bare sketch of a bow, enough to satisfy courtesy. “So, I’ll be on my way!”

Lan Wangji’s brow furrows. He stands his ground as Wei Wuxian moves to pass him, which puts them in proximity.

“Lan Wangji,” the disciple named Su She says, his tone curt. “We shouldn’t waste any more time.”

Lan Wangji doesn’t move a muscle, eyes still not leaving Wei Wuxian’s.

It’s Wei Wuxian who has to break eye contact first, turning to stride for the next stall over and pulling his mother’s list from his sleeve, pretending to go over the bold, messy series of characters. After a few tense heartbeats, he can see the white-robed figures recede from his field of vision.

With a grimace and an apologetic bow, Wei Wuxian leaves the vendor he was using for cover, and returns to Old Man Yan’s stall.

“Hey,” Wei Wuxian greets Old Man Yan. He hooks a thumb over his shoulder. “What’s the deal with them?” His tails begin to lash from the suppressed tension.

Old Man Yan has a sour look on his face, but it eases when Wei Wuxian pulls his money pouch out in a tacit message that he’ll be spending coin there. “Ah, who can say with those uptight dragon striplings?”

Wei Wuxian barks a laugh at the unusual insult. “Well, they’re from a lofty peak. Between all those lectures on cultivation and spiritual theory, maybe they should squeeze in a course on socializing with clans whose customs aren’t like theirs.”

That provokes a grudging half-smile from Old Man Yan, who wags a finger at him. “Careful, Xiao Wei. You mustn’t ask them to do something so base as suggest the clans lower themselves to another’s level.”

Wei Wuxian’s tails flick to and fro. “Heavens forbid.” He keeps his tone light. “It’s been a long time since I visited your stall!”

“That’s right,” Old Man Yan says. “Traveling again?”

“En, my parents took me to the mountain to have my sword forged,” Wei Wuxian says with pride. He holds up the silver-accented black sheath, and Old Man Yan peers at it, giving a nod of appreciation.

“Have you named it?” Old Man Yan asks.

Wei Wuxian ducks his head with an abashed grin. “Wu-wei,” he says.

Old Man Yan nods again. “I’ll bet your mother laughed.”

Wei Wuxian can’t help but chuckle. “Ah, you know Ma. Of course she did. So we’ve been gone a bit. Is there trouble nearby?”

After a beat, Old Man Yan dips his head, reaching up to touch the brim of his straw hat. “Aiyah. Hard to say, Xiao Wei. There have been disappearances in the past few weeks since you and your parents have been gone.”

“Hmm.” Wei Wuxian rocks back on his heels, then forward onto his toes. “From the village? Or on the road?”

“A bit of both,” Old Man Yan says.

Wei Wuxian scratches at his chin. “Time of day?” He draws Old Man Yan out with a few more questions as he makes selections from the stall that match his list. He tries to find the pattern, but aside from the fact that all those who went missing vanished near a particular section of the woods northwest of Yiling, there doesn’t seem to be one.

“What about the bodies?” Wei Wuxian asks. He gives a light grimace, hating to ask that. Most won’t want to deal with anything related to a corpse, let alone examining it for cause of death.

Old Man Yan shakes his head. “Haven’t been any.”

Wei Wuxian’s head cocks. “So they might not be dead?” One finger lifts to flick idly at his nose.

“They’ve been gone too long, Xiao Wei,” Old Man Yan says. “No one but a cultivator could survive for weeks without food or drink. Maybe not even one of them.”

Wei Wuxian nods, unwilling to voice a thought that occurs to him. No one would survive without food or drink, unless something had reason to keep its prey alive. By now, even one body should have turned up somewhere, though, even as a shambling corpse powered by resentment at its bitter end.

“Well,” he says, gesturing at the pile of goods he’s gathered on the counter. “I’ll take the lot. Provided you give me a discount for buying so much today!”

“That’s rich, Xiao Wei. I answered all your questions patiently, didn’t I? That’s worth your time.”

“Hence why I’m paying money,” Wei Wuxian shoots back. “I could go down the street to A-Fei’s if I really want a bargain.”

“You wound me, Xiao Wei,” Old Man Yan says, putting on a sad face.

They haggle back and forth, and as they wind down towards a bargain, Wei Wuxian turns his head to watch the small group of Lan disciples heading down the lane that leads to the northwest part of town. He squints in deep thought.

It’s unusual to see any members of the dragon clan out in the world, let alone so far from Gusu, without some scheduled event like a conference. He wonders if it’s the isolation or their tendency to hold themselves remote from others that makes them so stiff.

His eyes linger on Lan Wangji, the tallest figure, robes accented with a subtle pattern of icy blue. Though he’s the disciple in charge, Wei Wuxian can’t help but feel the group is going into the hunt with a woeful lack of preparation.

“Oi, Xiao Wei, you buying, or no?”

“Hm? Ah, yeah, here you go.” Wei Wuxian fumbles with his money pouch and counts out the amount they settled on.

Once he pays and Old Man Yan is packing up his purchase, Wei Wuxian’s eyes return to Lan Wangji, following until he’s out of sight.

Wei Wuxian supposes that’s where all his troubles started. Since he first laid eyes on him, he hasn’t been able to stop looking.

It was a handful of years past when Wei Wuxian met Lan Wangji at the point of entry to the Cloud Recesses. As a young fox clan lad who’d already managed to cultivate three tails, he had been fresh-faced and eager to meet with other disciples his age. He knew great things were expected of him, as the son of famed fox clan Cangse Sanren, because he’d received his invitation to the lecture despite being the son of rogue cultivators.

Wei Wuxian wasn’t gentry, but he was schooled in the arts thanks to his parents and could hold his own with any of them.

Problem being, he got off to a terrible start with Lan Wangji.

And Lan Wangji, it turns out, is the one stand-out amongst the rough young diamonds of the cultivator up-and-coming that Wei Wuxian found himself unable to stop seeking.

It probably wasn’t the first time a guest at the lectures snuck in with alcohol, Wei Wuxian was sure. And it wasn’t the last, because he’d managed it several times afterward without detection. His regret, and downfall, was that Lan Wangji was patrolling the grounds that night, Lan Wangji who dueled him to a breathtaking standstill even with their lightweight wooden practice swords, and Lan Wangji who meted out punishment the next day for each strike against the rules.

How was Wei Wuxian supposed to know the dragon clan was so strict and rule-bound? He’d only been trying to make friends!

Okay, perhaps he could have imparted the knowledge from all his mother’s colorful stories of her time at the Cloud Recesses. He might have focused more than he should have on how funny the pranks were, and not the outcomes.

He took the punishment, fumed, bounced back, and was unable to catch up in Lan Wangji’s good graces after that point.

It was a summer full of heckling and mischief. He drove Lan Qiren wild at lectures during the day, and when not in the lectures, Lan Wangji seemed poised to breathe fire every time he so much as looked at Wei Wuxian.

There was one perfect afternoon at the zenith of summer when the atmosphere shifted, and Wei Wuxian was certain things were different between them.

Lectures were suspended for a few days when Lan Qiren was called from the Cloud Recesses along with some of the other elders. The guest disciples were largely left to their own devices, and most stuck to a practice regimen or studied quietly in their rooms. Some went below, to the foot of the mountain. Wei Wuxian was invited to join the crane clan on one such trip but demurred, because his parents hadn’t sent him with much money, and he’d recklessly spent most of it on the jars of Emperor’s Smile that were gone.

Instead of doing any useless studying, or crossing practice swords with disciples who couldn’t compare, Wei Wuxian let his fox form loose and went for a romp in the forested back hills. It was a warm and breezy day, and he followed the fluttering path of a butterfly as he let himself get lost. Tongue lolling in a vulpine grin, he gekkered happily to himself as he bounded farther and farther into the woods, drawn by the lure of the butterfly.

Wei Wuxian stumbled after a high leap over a moss-covered fallen log, tucked into a dive roll, and when he righted himself, he found himself in a sun-soaked clearing. His eyes tracked the butterfly as it drifted past the supine form of a blue-scaled dragon curled up in a sinuous half-moon.

At Wei Wuxian’s involuntary yip, the dragon opened calm golden eyes and regarded him in silence.

Without having seen his dragon form before, Wei Wuxian realized it was Lan Wangji.

The prudent thing to do would be to back out of the clearing and leave. That would be boring, though, so Wei Wuxian was not doing that.

He put a paw forward, keeping Lan Wangji’s golden eyes at the edge of his awareness. He could see a subtle tension in the dragon’s body, though he hadn’t moved a limb. Wei Wuxian ducked his head a little, trotting forward into the sunlight. He stood for a moment, basking in the rays that came down through a gap in the canopy.

Lan Wangji found the perfect spot for sunning. Well, Wei Wuxian was going to plunk himself right down next to him. He did so, alert for being snapped at, or decked with a heavy draconic foreleg, but Lan Wangji merely watched him with half-lidded golden eyes as Wei Wuxian settled beside him in a tidy, furled crescent of fox.

A brief snort blew Wei Wuxian’s fur back, and he shuddered. When nothing followed, Wei Wuxian tucked his chin on his paws and closed his eyes.

They laid there peacefully for a cozy interval. Wei Wuxian wasn’t sure how long, but it was until the sun moved to the point the shade from the trees began to encroach. He gave a little sigh and stretched out one paw, setting it against the blue dragon hide beside him.

Lan Wangji rose in a graceful stretch, shook himself, and remained in place for a long moment, looking down at Wei Wuxian with those riveting golden eyes. He stood there staring at him before cocking his head and moving away, reaching the edge of the clearing with an oddly springy, bounding gait.

Wei Wuxian whined, getting up too. The magic was broken. He pawed at the hollow of flattened grass blades that Lan Wangji had left in his wake.

Across the clearing, Lan Wangji was giving him a long, intense look. He waited there, unblinking, until Wei Wuxian’s fur began to prickle with something like anticipation. Lan Wangji gave a low chuff, turned, and slipped into the trees.

The peace of it gave him a false sense of intimacy. He called him Lan Zhan next time he saw him, which got a snappish response of ‘shameless!’ and reddened ears. Almost, Wei Wuxian thought they could get along after that. Yet Lan Wangji could not under any circumstances stand up to teasing, and Wei Wuxian could not help but tease.

He supposed it wasn’t meant to be.

The afternoon seems darker as Wei Wuxian speeds back home with his purchases from town. Seeing the Lan disciples in Yiling, hearing about the recent disappearances, remains stuck in his mind like a sliver trapped under a nail. He frets over it even as he’s jogging into the yard, sword clenched in his hand. The woods seem colder, and there’s a wind blowing that sends a skitter of unease down his spine, fluffing his tails.

It’s not that Wei Wuxian thinks the Lan can’t fend for themselves. He’s sure they’re capable, and they’re led by Lan Wangji, after all. Still, he can’t shake the bad feeling.

They went in unprepared. He knows their protocols like the rules he learned by heart in his series of after-lecture punishments copying each and every one. And one of the foundational steps in a night hunt is due diligence in researching the case background. That includes a thorough questioning of the locals.

Wei Wuxian frowns as he pushes the front door open with his sword. He’s thinking the questioning cut short has something to do with Su She, that unpleasant one. As the group moved off, Su She looked particularly sour.

“Why is this fool son of mine banging his sword around like a hammer?” Cangse Sanren demands, catching him a good one in the side with one of her nine tails.

Wei Wuxian yelps, pulling his own tails defensively around him. “Ma! After what I’ve just done for you!” He drops the scattered packages on the nearest table and retreats to the far side to put a solid barrier between them.

Cangse Sanren snorts. She tilts her head, the keen grey eyes that he inherited moving over him. “What’s got you bothered?”

“Ugh, nothing,” Wei Wuxian lies.

“Oh? Nothing?” Cangse Sanren’s brow twitches. “That’s great, I have some household chores for you to tend to next. Starting with a medicinal tincture—”

“No! I mean, I met some Lan disciples in town, but they said they didn’t need my help,” Wei Wuxian says, glossing over the actual events. “I talked to Old Man Yan after they left and it’s still bothering me. I’m sure it’ll be fine.” He tries to summon up a smile, but it fails.

“Hm. There’s a hunt afoot? What’s stopping you from going after them, then?” Cangse Sanren asks, putting her hands on her hips. “Go make yourself useful instead of moping around here.”

“I am not moping!” Wei Wuxian denies hotly.

His mother huffs but does not quite laugh.

Wei Wuxian’s ears tilt back. He kicks the table leg. “Are we going to crash the Lan night-hunt, then?”

“What’s this we?” Cangse Sanren rolls her eyes. “I’ve got tinctures to brew, and apparently the only child I’ve birthed from my own body can’t stop thinking about how the Lan dragons on his turf are about to botch a hunt.”

“So you think I’m right,” Wei Wuxian pounces on that.

“Hmph,” is Cangse Sanren’s response. “Only you can make that assessment, son of mine. You were there.”

Wei Wuxian goes still, shrinking into himself as he goes over it again in his mind from start to finish. That’s the crux of it, isn’t it? The Lan disciples are in his territory, and he knows they’re unprepared, because he saw them leave Yiling without getting any information from the townsfolk.

He could have smoothed the way, he knows. In his pique, confronted right after the insult with the injury of turning around to find Lan Wangji had witnessed the whole thing, Wei Wuxian let that Su She snake run him off.

“If something happens to Lan Zhan out there, I’ll never forgive myself,” Wei Wuxian says. The tip of his boot thunks against the table leg again.

Cangse Sanren regards him with a peculiar smile that Wei Wuxian has never seen on his mother’s face before. “Then that’s it,” she says. “Shoo! Get going, hurry up now. Go find your man.”

“Ma!” Wei Wuxian exclaims, ears pinning flat against his hair. “He is not my man!”

Cangse Sanren’s laughter follows him, light and mocking, all the way out the door until he bangs it shut behind him.

With a burst of misdirected frustration, Wei Wuxian sends a rock flying on his way out of the yard. “He’s not my man,” he repeats. His hand balls into a fist. “Lan Zhan made that clear enough already, didn’t he...”

The lectures had come to an end, and the days of the disciples guesting at the Cloud Recesses were coming to a close.

Wei Wuxian had received his graduating scores and made the rounds with his classmates, bouncing from one to the next in his jubilation. He had been vindicated: after so many telling them he’d fail for sure all summer, he had high marks from the panel of impartial scorers.

Nie Huaisang was clinging to another Nie disciple’s sleeve, weeping. At first, when Wei Wuxian joined them, he thought the young sect heir was crying because he would have to repeat the lecture series yet again, but…

“Passed,” Nie Huaisang sobbed. “Somehow, even if I scraped by with the lowest passing score, it’s still a pass.”

“Great job!” Wei Wuxian told him, patting his shoulder. “That means you’ll be able to attend the next cultivation conference instead of being confined to Qinghe, right?”

Nie Huaisang sniffed with dramatic emphasis. “That remains to be seen, Wei-xiong,” he said. “Da-ge could still find some excuse or another to confine me to my rooms between now and then.”

“Well, I’ll see you there if you’re able,” Wei Wuxian said, giving him a bemused nod.

“Oh, yes! This time, I’ll supply the alcohol!”

With a wave, Wei Wuxian ended up next to the Jiang cranes, and had to grab Jiang Cheng by the elbow before he launched himself at Jin Zixuan preening over his scores.

“Ah, ah,” Wei Wuxian said in his ear. “Not like it matters, right? We all passed.”

“You—” Jiang Cheng twisted out of his hold and glared at him. “Easy enough for you to say. Your mother won’t be comparing your scores to everyone else’s.”

“Who says she doesn’t?” Wei Wuxian retorted. He slapped Jiang Cheng on the shoulder. “We should go night-hunting near Yiling if you make it out that way.”

Jiang Cheng gave a slow nod, looking calmer. “I should be able to find some excuse.”

Wei Wuxian patted his shoulder again and headed toward Wen Ning, who was hovering near the edge of the chattering groups of disciples looking like he hoped the ground would split open and swallow him.

“And you did well too, I hear!” Wei Wuxian said. He reeled Wen Ning in with an arm around his neck, laughing as Wen Ning sputtered.

“Not really...it was nothing special...I didn’t stand out…”

“Don’t think I didn’t notice,” Wei Wuxian said near Wen Ning’s ear. “It takes extra effort to shoot for a low score, say, one beneath the sect leader’s sons, but still passing. No?”

Wen Ning stopped struggling. “How did you notice?”

Wei Wuxian shrugged and let him go. “I paid attention. Don’t worry, Ningning. I’m sure that the main branch family isn’t paying heed.”

“I hope not,” Wen Ning replied, almost inaudible.

Wei Wuxian gave him a bracing nod. “See you at the next conference? Let’s stay on good terms!”

Wen Ning’s head dipped ever so slightly, and Wei Wuxian took heart in it.

At last, Wei Wuxian turned to seek out Lan Wangji, who was walking away from the clusters of celebrating disciples. As always, first to arrive and first to leave, and Wei Wuxian had to move quickly to catch up to him.

The solemn Lan dragon had become his favorite of all during Wei Wuxian’s time in Gusu, and also the toughest nut to crack.

“Lan Zhan. Lan Zhan!” Wei Wuxian called, picking up the pace when Lan Wangji seemed to move faster. “Hey! Lan Er-gege!”

That brought Lan Wangji to a halt. The line of his back was stiff, and one hand clenched the trailing edge of a blue-trimmed white sleeve.

Wei Wuxian caught up to him, sidling into his field of view. “I can’t believe you were going to leave without saying anything!” he cried. “Top marks, am I right?”

Lan Wangji’s head turned. “Yes,” he said stiffly.

“As to be expected from the best of us, Lan Zhan,” Wei Wuxian replied in a syrupy tone. He was going to make himself gag. He ought to stuff his mouth with his own sleeve.

Lan Wangji’s jaw clenched. “Was there something?”

“So cold, Lan Er-gege,” Wei Wuxian crooned. “Haven’t we become familiar? And see, though you never approved of my antics, didn’t I do well after all?” He waved his own scores between them.

Lan Wangji glanced at the marks. His gaze returned to Wei Wuxian, focused and serious.

“Ahh, not even a congratulations?” Wei Wuxian tried not to pout. “I only wanted to ask, as I’ve been your guest all this time, if you might like to come visit me in Yiling.”

Lan Wangji kept looking at him, a subtle indent appearing between his brows. He said nothing.

“We’ll see each other again…” Against his will, Wei Wuxian was horrified when his voice broke by an octave. “Won’t we?”

Lan Wangji drew himself up, holding eye contact before, in an abrupt move, he turned and walked off at the fastest pace Wei Wuxian had ever seen him set in public.

Hurt, Wei Wuxian was too chagrined to follow.

Wei Wuxian sighs for what must be the twentieth time as he lopes through the underbrush, trying to pick up the trail of the Lan disciples that went northwest from Yiling. He knows the general direction they’ve gone, but trying to locate a trail without striking for the source has him feeling like he’s running around chasing his own tails.

Such a tempting prospect, to shift into fox form and use his more powerful senses to track them down. It’s a trade-off, though. That form is more instinctual, and surrendering to instincts makes it a great deal harder to control his spiritual energy. Given the situation and not knowing fully what he’ll be getting into, Wei Wuxian wants to head into this with his human intelligence intact.

He keeps casting nervous glances at the angle of the sun through the forest canopy high above. It’s getting later, and he’s cased enough ground that Wei Wuxian is starting to think he’s lost them. It’s not possible he’s gone the wrong direction; he knows these woods, and they know him, and they can’t play tricks on him even in human form. His connection to the place where he’s grown and played since infancy is strong.

Soon he will have to double back. Wei Wuxian’s hand grips his sword tightly, and he clenches his teeth on another sigh. He has signal flares. He’s not ready to admit defeat, and his earlier determination stands. He will never forgive himself if something happens to Lan Wangji and he could have prevented it.

He pauses in place, trying to decide on a strategy. It’s still not a good idea to take fox form going into an uncertain situation, but if he can pull himself out of it when he locates the Lan disciples…

Before he can get much further in that half-baked planning, there’s a distant rustle followed by a tearing crash, and the rapid scrabbling thuds of four legs headed his direction in a hurry. Wei Wuxian’s ears sweep into upright peaks, and he flattens himself against a nearby tree, ready to levitate himself up into an overhanging branch at the slightest hint that the situation calls for it.

He holds himself tense and wide-eyed, ready for anything.

Ready for just about anything, as a full form blue-scaled dragon crashes through underbrush and charges past the tree Wei Wuxian has plastered himself against.

Lan Wangji is running, full tilt, from something that has scared him enough to revert to dragon form and flee.

“Lan Wangji! Lan Zhan!” Wei Wuxian cries, pushing off from the tree and setting off after him.

They burst into the glade that Wei Wuxian passed through only a few strides before he heard those frantic footfalls.

“Lan Zhan!” Wei Wuxian hollers, putting his lungs into it.

With scarcely a pause, the immense blue shape—honestly, he must have doubled in size since Wei Wuxian last saw his dragon form—wheels in an elegant, hairpin turn and makes a beeline straight toward him.

Wei Wuxian grits his teeth and prepares for impact, sure he’s about to be knocked off his feet by the immense sinuous length of Lan Wangji in dragon form.

Instead, Lan Wangji’s golden eyes widen and focus on him. He skids to a halt, bringing himself up just short of crashing into Wei Wuxian in an impressive display of control. He emits a low crooning noise, shoving his large head under Wei Wuxian’s arm, nose catching at the opening of his sleeve like he’s trying to burrow into the qiankun-space in there.

“Lan Zhan...it’s all right,” Wei Wuxian soothes, petting his free hand over the smooth, shimmering blue horns that lift proudly from the crown of the head situated under his arm. Lan Wangji is so big, in fact, he’s lifting Wei Wuxian to his toes simply from butting under his arm, which can’t reach all the way around his head.

Wei Wuxian keeps petting him and making soothing noises, and Lan Wangji is trembling.

“What happened?” Wei Wuxian asks. “What’s wrong?”

Lan Wangji can’t tell him, of course. He’s in dragon form and they don’t share a mind bond.

“Will you sit? Here, with me?” Wei Wuxian tries to coax him to the grass. “I can put up an array around the glade…”

Lan Wangji stops shaking like a leaf and draws back enough for Wei Wuxian to see one enormous golden eye.

“You’re safe with me,” Wei Wuxian assures him. “Will you sit for a while?” Lan Wangji is unable to tell Wei Wuxian what happened, and he won’t be able to return to human form until he recovers his composure...and his spiritual energy.

Wei Wuxian strokes his hand over one long, shimmering horn and he can feel how low Lan Wangji’s spiritual energy has flagged, as if…

...As if something has drained it out of him.

Lan Wangji shudders beneath his touch. With a speed and abruptness that draws an undignified squeak from Wei Wuxian, Lan Wangji circles around him and settles onto the grass with the dignity of royalty seating themselves.

And Wei Wuxian happens to be in the center of that coil of sinuous dragon, flustered as he sinks to his haunches. His tails are everywhere, there’s no getting around it, they’re plastered up against brilliant, glimmering scales every which way.

Wei Wuxian is still off balance at finding Lan Wangji so upset. He’s never seen him so fraught before. Well, perhaps the last time he saw him before Yiling is the closest comparison.

Taking a deep breath to ease his nerves, and model calm for Lan Wangji, Wei Wuxian nestles awkwardly against the dragon who has suddenly decided to pen him inside a living enclosure.

Lan Wangji rumbles, and that golden eye is still on him, watchful.

Wei Wuxian breathes again, nods, and pulls his dizi from his sleeve. He strikes up the most calming tune he knows as his thoughts drift inevitably back to a couple of summers past.

The first cultivation conference that Wei Wuxian attended was the one held the summer after the lectures at the Cloud Recesses. It was good fortune for him that the Nie tiger clan was hosting in Qinghe. They were on friendly terms with Cangse Sanren and never failed to include her and her cultivation partner on the guest list. Now that Wei Wuxian was old enough to begin attending night hunts, he was included in the invitation, too.

The Unclean Realm was bustling with activity and packed shoulder to tail with all kinds of clans, major and minor, and wandering cultivators of renown. The Nie welcomed all those who pursued skill. Wei Wuxian was fascinated, all wide eyes and an excited bounce in his step, as he followed his parents to the first of many events to come over the next few weeks.

“Don’t sign up for too many competitions,” Cangse Sanren said, cuffing Wei Wuxian when he stood for too long beside the lists outside of the opening ceremony. It was supposed to feature different horseback maneuvers, a particular strength of the Nie, and his four tails were twitching, unable to stay still from sheer anticipation.

“Ma!” Wei Wuxian whined. “Aren’t I here to show the strength of a fox against the Nie tigers, the Wen rams, the Jiang cranes, and the Jin peacocks?”

“Don’t forget the Lan dragons,” Wei Changze added, digging Wei Wuxian in the ribs with a deft thumb.

“Ba!” Wei Wuxian exclaimed, batting at his father’s hand.

Wei Changze only laughed at him and reached over to ruffle his hair, mortifying him. “I’m here to show the strength of a fox; you’re here to learn.”

Wei Wuxian gave him a rebellious pout that was marred by Cangse Sanren leaning in to straighten the red ribbon that kept his hair up in a high tail. “Ba, that’s why there’s a junior division too, you know.”

“I’m only saying,” Cangse Sanren began. “Signing up for a few is all well and good, but sitting back and watching isn’t just for entertainment. You can see more from a wider field of vision.”

Wei Wuxian wrinkled his nose, but he didn’t have to say it.

Wei Changze leaned in, one hand going to Cangse Sanren’s waist. “As if you can talk, Madam. You signed up for every single category at your first conference and laughed your way to the prize when you outstripped every single cultivator of our generation that year.”

Cangse Sanren’s eyes sparkled at him over the hand she placed demurely over the lower half of her face. “Well, surely he can learn from my mistakes. I hardly won any influence or alliances with that stunt!”

“As if you’d have ever settled with one of the clans.” Wei Changze leaned in, his forehead very close to his wife’s.

“Ugh! Ba! Ma! Stop being disgusting in public again!” Wei Wuxian cried, averting his eyes. “I’m too innocent to be exposed to this.”

Both his parents laughed at him, then, and Wei Wuxian made an aggravated noise as he turned back to the lists. Despite the fire burning in him that urged him to sign up for every category the way his mother had, long ago, he chose with care, playing to his strengths. At the very least, he ought to have a good showing in every category where he would compete.

With the Lan dragons due to show up as well, there would be competition guaranteed to give Wei Wuxian a challenge.

During the opening ceremony, Wei Wuxian’s eyes swept the stands back and forth several times, restless and unable to pause for long. He realized later, after the horseback performances concluded and the varied clans were clapping as the next part of the program was introduced, that he’d been looking for white-robed Lan disciples.

There was a contingent across the arena wearing sky blue trimmed in silver, and that was how Wei Wuxian had kept passing them over.

“Lan Zhan! LAN ZHAN!” Wei Wuxian bellowed across the way when the ceremonies were over and everyone was filing out.

An elbow collided with his ribs and Wei Wuxian turned to give his father a reproachful glare.

“Wei Ying, ah,” Wei Changze sighed. “Give us some face, will you? At least wait until your first competition starts before heckling them.”

“Heckling? But I wasn’t—ow, ow!” Wei Wuxian shut his mouth with haste when Cangse Sanren got his ear in a death grip and started towing him in the direction of the guest accommodations.

Even with her fierce pincer hold, Cangse Sanren was laughing. “Oh, I can’t wait to rub this in Qiren’s face.”

“Qin ai de, don’t you dare,” Wei Changze shot back in a stern tone.

“Huh? What are you talking about?” Wei Wuxian demanded. When his parents talked over his head like that, it drove him wild. He could hardly ever get them to share the private joke, though.

“Never you mind!” Cangse Sanren said. “Let’s hustle to get our seats at the banquet first, before all the meat is gone.”

It would be days later before Wei Wuxian caught so much as a glimpse of Lan Wangji again. Wei Wuxian signed up for the junior archery competition, along with what was probably the majority of the cultivation youth. His father helped him secure his vambraces before sending him off with a nostalgic smile and a swat to the shoulder, but Wei Wuxian was running late from a combination of being unfamiliar with the venue, and stuck idling for too long behind a sedate group of turtle clan disciples who blocked the whole passage.

Short of breath and keen with anticipation, Wei Wuxian showed up at the queue for the archery participants with just enough time to be counted present.

“Ah! Lan Zhan!” Wei Wuxian brightened when he spotted the handsome young dragon disciple near the head of the queue. He raised an arm, going up on his toes even though he was taller than everyone else in line but Lan Wangji, and waved with excitement.

Lan Wangji’s eyes widened slightly. He turned away in a quick, stiff movement.

Wei Wuxian sank back down on his heels, frowning. Was it really so difficult to acknowledge him? Had they not become closer, if not quite friends?

He was quiet, eyes fixed on Lan Wangji’s back, as the Nie attendants herded them toward the range where contestants would line up. As the queue moved forward to the archery stalls, it bunched up into a shapeless cluster of assorted disciples. Those who just arrived were packed in elbow to elbow with the first wave. Wei Wuxian was jostled forward by a couple of panthers behind him and found himself right behind the ramrod-straight back of Lan Wangji.

Who was being called forward for the first round of shooting.

“Lan Zhan,” Wei Wuxian said. He reached out to give him a bracing pat like the one Wei Changze had delivered before sending him on his way. His eyes drifted down to Lan Wangji’s loose right sleeve. It had come undone from the neat tie meant to keep his sleeves bound up away from his forearms. Wei Wuxian’s hand altered trajectory as Lan Wangji shifted in front of him, half-turning.

Wei Wuxian wasn’t sure how it happened, then or later. He reached up, and Lan Wangji’s ribbon was in his hand. He’d been trying to reach for his sleeve. At that point, he didn’t even have to pull. Lan Wangji took a step forward, jerked to a stop, and turned.

“I...I didn’t…” Wei Wuxian stammered, looking back and forth between the end of the white ribbon in his hand, and the fury in Lan Wangji’s eyes. “Lan Zhan, I didn’t mean…”

Lan Wangji didn’t say anything, which was the worst of all. He beheld Wei Wuxian with that searing look as Wei Wuxian’s stuttering attempt at an explanation trailed into silence. His chin dipped and his expression shifted into...disappointment? He twitched away from Wei Wuxian and turned, taking a few steps into the group of Lan disciples. He paused, hands fisted at his sides, and slanted a look brimming with such tightly contained heat at Wei Wuxian, he was surprised he didn’t ignite on the spot.

Before Wei Wuxian could attempt another word, Lan Wangji huffed and took off, faster than Wei Wuxian had ever seen him move outside of a sparring match.

And that was it. Either by coincidence or design, that was the last time that Wei Wuxian saw him, during the cultivation conference or afterward. He would not see him again until the group of young Lan cultivators arrived in the Yiling market looking for information.

Wei Wuxian lowers his flute, smiling at one enormous eyelid as the pulse thrumming against his six tails, making them tremble with each heartbeat, begins to slow. Before, Lan Wangji was coiled around him in a tense, protective fence of dragon hide. Now, Lan Wangji seems to have slipped into a state closer to meditation. His short, frantic chuffs have eased into low, steady breathing. The shimmering flank of blue scales that he leans against isn’t relaxed, exactly, but the muscles that Wei Wuxian is pressed up to aren’t rock hard with tension anymore.

Reaching up, Wei Wuxian sets his hand on the nearest tapered horn and pets it with a light, curious touch.

Lan Wangji rumbles softly. He doesn’t even crack his nearest eyelid; only pulls in slow, regular breaths.

Emboldened, Wei Wuxian begins to pass spiritual energy to him. He feeds a trickle from his fingers through the horn as he trails his fingers back and forth. It’s unlike any kind of energy sharing he’s ever taken part in before. Instead of struggling to find a point of connection, the transfer of his energy through Lan Wangji’s horn flows out of him and into Lan Wangji like water moving downstream.

It’s accepted freely, and Wei Wuxian keeps up the steady flow until there’s a sudden unyielding quality in the horn beneath his hand. Lan Wangji moves his head, breaking the connection between them.

“Better?” Wei Wuxian asks in a soft tone. He wrings his hand out. He’s tempted, so tempted, to put his hand on the arch of Lan Wangji’s neck, but he doesn’t know how it will be received.

Lan Wangji jerks, snorts, and pulls away from him, getting to his feet. His head lifts toward the sky, cranes around to fix Wei Wuxian with his unblinking draconic stare, and he gives a sudden shake. His whole body shudders.

He begins to rear up and his dragon form falls away. He returns to his human form, clad in the blue-trimmed white robes of his clan, not so much as a jet-black hair out of place. Lan Wangji’s chest heaves, the light sheen of sweat and quickening of his breath betraying the effort that shifting has cost him.

“There you are,” Wei Wuxian says, pleased. He scrambles to his feet, reaching out before remembering himself, and his hand falls short of touching Lan Wangji. “Do you remember what happened before you reverted to dragon form?”

Lan Wangji turns toward him but his eyes drift to a point somewhere past Wei Wuxian’s ear. He nods, looking more composed.

“All right,” Wei Wuxian says. “That’s good! The others, are they…”

“They are still alive,” Lan Wangji says.

“Okay. Also good, that’s encouraging.” Wei Wuxian rubs at his chin.

Lan Wangji’s chin lifts. “We must go back,” he says. “We must find them.”

“We will. Lan Zhan, we’ll go back, of course we will,” Wei Wuxian replies, keeping his tone low and soothing as he had when Lan Wangji was in dragon form.

Lan Wangji nods. He looks around the glade as the sun retreats, as though seeing his surroundings for the first time. “Wangji…” he says, trailing off. His expression shutters.

At first, Wei Wuxian thinks he’d started a sentence in the first person, then he realizes with Lan Wangji’s transformation, there’s a distinct lack of a covered qin on his back.

“Night is coming,” Wei Wuxian says. “Your spiritual energy is low, and I’d like to replenish my reserves and hear about your encounter.”

Lan Wangji’s face tightens. He still doesn’t meet Wei Wuxian’s eyes.

“We need to be properly prepared before we return to the field,” Wei Wuxian continues. He sends a small smile Lan Wangji’s way before quoting, “‘Organize work properly.’”

Lan Wangji gives a slight start. “Diligence is the root,” he replies.

Wei Wuxian nods. “Let’s go back to town for the night, Lan Zhan. We’ll regroup, discuss your findings, and go back with a plan, together.”

Lan Wangji is still and silent for long enough, Wei Wuxian begins to fidget. At last, he speaks up. “I’m in your hands.”

“Great!” Wei Wuxian says brightly. “Back to Yiling, then. I know a place.”

Wei Wuxian was dreaming. Part of his mind recognized that, because it was a dream he’d had before.

He recognized the lure of the bright blue dragonfly even as he was helpless to follow it, trotting fast to keep pace. It led him onward through stripes of sunlight and shadow deeper into the woods. Wei Wuxian trotted faster, tails wagging, until impatience gnawed at him. The dragonfly remained just out of reach.

He nearly lost it around the curve of a giant tree trunk. When he bounced around the side, he spotted the flash of blue zipping toward a break in the trees. With an excited yip, Wei Wuxian lunged at the dragonfly, trying to trap it in his paws. He pinned it to the ground and, with a wary eye, shifted to appraise his catch.

Wei Wuxian’s head reared back as a flurry of shimmering particles erupted from beneath his paw.

He whined, eyes wide, as the remnants of what he’d tried to catch dispersed into the air. They drifted up and outward across the grassy clearing before him. Wei Wuxian’s gaze caught on the arresting sight of a dragon’s head lifting from repose.

He stared across the stillness of the clearing into Lan Wangji’s unfathomable golden eyes.

The fur along his spine prickled. Wei Wuxian shivered with something like excitement.

“How do I catch it?” Wei Wuxian asked, giving voice to his yearning. Inside the dream, it made perfect sense that he could speak to Lan Wangji, despite their lack of bond.

Lan Wangji regarded him in silence for so long, it seemed certain that he wouldn’t answer.

Despair knifed through Wei Wuxian as Lan Wangji got to his feet and turned his back on him. Before he moved off, though, Lan Wangji looked over his shoulder with intent golden eyes.

“Give chase,” Lan Wangji’s low, resonant voice instructed.

With that, Lan Wangji sprang into action, running away from him with a swiftness that seemed impossible given his size.

Elation coursed through Wei Wuxian swifter than a clean spring stream. He gathered himself to launch into action.

Before he could follow, the sunlight dazzled so fiercely across his vision, Wei Wuxian raised a hand to block it.

He groans, slumping back against the bedclothes. His eyes are open, and the shreds of the dream melt away like the dragonfly dispersed by his touch.

Wei Wuxian tries rolling away from the sun that floods his vision but it’s relentless, prying into every part of the room. He sits up, rubbing at his eyes, and startles as he takes in his surroundings. He’s not in his own bed at home; he’s lying in a double-wide bed, but alone.

“Ah...right,” Wei Wuxian says under his breath. He remembers leading Lan Wangji back to Yiling and bringing him to the inn with the auntie who makes the best tea cakes and has a soft spot for Wei Wuxian because his parents took care of a persistent ghost for her when Wei Wuxian was a little kit.

They’ve rented a single room though the Lan purse is plenty fat enough. Wei Wuxian isn’t sure why, and he hasn’t questioned it because if Lan Wangji is letting him stay close, he’s going to let it happen.

Wei Wuxian stretches, blinks, and turns his head to behold Lan Wangji, fully dressed and composing something at the table across from him. There’s a pot of tea on the table, two covered dishes, and Wei Wuxian’s mouth begins gathering saliva as the muted scent of food reaches his nose.

“Lan Zhan! You haven’t been up since mao hour, have you?”

Lan Wangji lifts his brush, shifting his attention to Wei Wuxian, and merely looks at him.

“Of course you have,” Wei Wuxian answers his own question. “You’re so good, ah. Already up and got breakfast for us.”

Lan Wangji’s head dips. “It should save time.”

“Right.” Wei Wuxian moves to get up, finds himself entangled in the bedding, and almost falls before he manages to extricate himself and catch his balance. He hops free, throwing an embarrassed glance Lan Wangji’s way, relieved to see that Lan Wangji has averted his gaze.

He dons his pants and outer robe quick as anything and joins Lan Wangji at the table. “Right, we have to get back out there.”

Lan Wangji’s eyes return to him. “Wei Ying. No need to rush. We will eat first.”

“Huh? Ah, I see… ‘Do not act impulsively,’ right?”

Lan Wangji gives him another brief nod. “Also, do not move arbitrarily.”

Wei Wuxian chuckles, rubbing at his nose. “Careful, Lan Zhan. Most of your rules are simply sounding like common sense.”

When Lan Wangji reaches across the table toward him, Wei Wuxian’s heart gives an unsteady thud until he realizes the movement is to uncover the dish in front of him.

“Are they not?” Lan Wangji replies. He sounds a bit tart as he uncovers his own dish, reaching again to pour soy milk for both of them.

Wei Wuxian is definitely salivating now. “I won’t argue,” he says, flashing Lan Wangji a mischievous smile. He isn’t going to start a fight with someone who’s making an effort to feed him. “I only have one question, and that’s whether Lan An meant for there to be so many rules!” He holds back his observation that there’s some distinct overlap in different sections. He’s had plenty of time to reflect on it, given how many copies he’s written out.

Without further ado, he dives into the spread of fried dough twists and tofu pudding that Lan Wangji procured for them. Somehow, Lan Wangji managed to get hold of some pickled vegetables to go with their meal, and Wei Wuxian selects the mushrooms out of his serving to eat them, putting the rest in Lan Wangji’s bowl. Everything goes down smoothly with the fresh soy milk, and there’s strong tea for afterward.

He has to wait to start up his line of questioning until they’ve finished eating and sit at the table drinking their tea. “Tell me again,” Wei Wuxian punctures the silence at last. “How it went, when the other Lan disciples were seized by roots and branches, but nothing reached for you.” He’s got a theory, but the only way to prove it is to get out there.

Lan Wangji’s mouth went thin. “I didn’t just leave them.”

“I know that!” Wei Wuxian exclaims. He sets his cup down with too much force and tea spatters over his hand. With a grimace, he uses his sleeve to wipe it away, ignoring Lan Wangji’s frown. “I know you didn’t, Lan Zhan. I mean, whatever happened out there, you must have dropped Wangji and reverted to dragon form. That means you were hard-pressed.”

“It’s unclear, even now,” Lan Wangji admits. His eyes are fixed on the table between them.

Wei Wuxian taps the table with a thoughtful hum. “Don’t try too hard to focus on that part,” he says. “Tell me what you remember, leading up to it.”

Something that Lan Wangji did has to be different from how the others were approaching the hunt. He’s the only one to get away that they know of.

With slow, composed sentences and pauses in between to gather his thoughts, Lan Wangji relates his tale. He confirms Wei Wuxian’s assessment that the group of disciples left Yiling before they had finished questioning the locals.

“Su She alienated them,” Lan Wangji says.

“Su She?” Wei Wuxian’s brow furrows.

Lan Wangji levels a complex look at him—not judgmental, but something that Wei Wuxian can’t identify. “You have met him.”

Wei Wuxian waves that aside. “Before today, you mean?”

“En.”

“Well, I can’t remember him.” Wei Wuxian fidgets with his sleeve. “It doesn’t matter. Keep going?”

Lan Wangji nods. “We went into the forest to see if we could identify anything amiss. Reconnaissance only. The goal was to see what we could make of the situation and withdraw.”

Wei Wuxian sat in an attentive posture, chin propped on his fist. “You found something.”

“We found…” Lan Wangji frowned. “It’s dark.”

Wei Wuxian glances out the window, shutters opened onto a sunny day. “No, it’s…”

“I mean my memory,” Lan Wangji says. “We approached a darkness.”

“In the forest?” Wei Wuxian’s brows climb.

“It’s hard to describe.” Lan Wangji looks frustrated. “There was dense forest.”

Wei Wuxian nods, his full attention on Lan Wangji’s tense features.

“I got Wangji from the sling on my back,” Lan Wangji continues. “The others drew their swords.” He sucks in a harsh breath and looks troubled.

“And then?”

“I don’t… I am sorry.” Lan Wangji’s fists clench across his thighs.

“Hey,” Wei Wuxian says softly. “No need for apologies.”

Lan Wangji’s head dips. He regains control of his breathing. “I do not recall much more. Form and reason bled away, and I became the dragon.”

Wei Wuxian is nodding. “That might have been what saved you.”

“What, becoming the dragon?”

Wei Wuxian gives him an impish grin. “You had your guqin out,” he said. “But you said the others unsheathed their swords.”

Lan Wangji goes still. He blinks at Wei Wuxian, a question in his eyes.

Wei Wuxian sits upright, smacking his fist into his palm. “Got it,” he declares. “Lan Zhan, I have an idea. Do you trust me?”

There is no hesitation. “Yes, I trust you.”

It’s too much. The attention is so overwhelming, Wei Wuxian wants to cover his face and give a tiny fox scream. He wants to pounce on Lan Wangji and muss him properly. His entire being wants to make a similarly emphatic declaration.

First, though, they have a night hunt to finish.

They head back into the forest after a round of interviews with Yiling locals lends strength to Wei Wuxian’s theory.

He is focused on the here and now, the bright, green scent of the forest around them, the warmth of sun on his skin, the light breeze of their passage that plucks at their hair and robes as they cut a swift path toward their destination. Amongst it all, Wei Wuxian is conscious of the thrumming presence of Lan Wangji beside him.

Every so often, their eyes meet as they make their way through the forest at speed. Wei Wuxian can’t keep himself from smiling despite the gravity of their situation. Lan Wangji’s face is its usual stoic cast, but his eyes are different. Thoughtful, and they linger on Wei Wuxian at each silent exchange.

There’s a darkness that thickens as they approach that certain patch of forest. The light seems thinner, like porridge watered down, yet the atmosphere is oppressive.

Wei Wuxian holds up his hand and they pause, taking stock. He pulls his dizi from his sleeve.

“Can you call Wangji to you if we get close enough?” He taps the end of his dizi against his cheek.

Lan Wangji responds with a taut nod, face reflecting his determination.

“Then I’ll begin,” Wei Wuxian says. “Join me when you can?”

Lan Wangji takes a deep breath. He nods again.

It’s the moment of truth. Wei Wuxian lifts his dizi to his lips and begins to play. It’s a simple, nostalgic tune, one that can be heard at any teahouse in any town from here to Gusu. He walks forward, and the oppressive feeling condenses around him, becoming a stillness like a drawn breath held in.

It makes the fine hairs at the back of Wei Wuxian’s neck prickle.

He continues to play, focusing on the music, the springy turf of the forest beneath his feet, the warmth of the sun on his face, and the solid presence of Lan Wangji at his back. Wei Wuxian takes one step at a time, playing through the popular folk song and straight into a lighter, sprightly piece more suited to dancing. Behind him, Lan Wangji’s breathing quickens. The two of them approach a solid fringe of foliage that seems half made of shadows, the darkest overcast shades of green.

Wei Wuxian does nothing but stand there and play, eyes half-lidded in watchfulness. His tail tips twitch as the thick-leaved branches begin to stir like restless snakes.

The foliage begins to part like a curtain. Wei Wuxian stays focused on his dizi, keeping up the playful lilt of his song.

Lan Wangji stays close behind as they walk through the parted foliage into a wide, dim glade.

As they go forward, Lan Wangji remains in a resting posture, as they discussed. One hand is gathered at the small of his back, and the other hovers near Wei Wuxian’s elbow as he comes to stand beside him. Though the vibrant sense of his qi is calm beside Wei Wuxian, his body holds a gathering tension.

Wei Wuxian flicks a look his way that he intends as reassurance, but with only his brows capable of expression, he’s not sure how well he succeeds.

They’re walking forward into a clearing that has a large tree at the center, squat and packed with innumerable long branches laden with delicate, slender leaves. The clearing is empty, but scattered here and there are gnarls of foliage-strewn lumps, knots of what look like tree branches wrapped around enormous upright logs, and most surprising of all, a scattering of fallen weapons. The closest implements on the ground are swords, bright and gleaming. Beyond them are several axes, their handles tangled in snarls of branches.

On the grass near the swords lies Wangji. It looks intact, unharmed, strings uncovered and all but vibrating faintly in the dim light that makes its way through the canopy overhead.

After the upbeat song, without more than an indrawn breath to pause between one song and the next, Wei Wuxian launches into the lilting, plaintive notes of the song that he had heard Lan Wangji playing toward the end of that bright summer.

Beside him, Lan Wangji gives a quiet gasp.

Wei Wuxian can’t afford to look at him. He can only pour his being into the wrenching song that has tugged at his heart, and keeps tweaking his feelings, making him think what if...what if… every time it comes to mind.

Lan Wangji raises both hands in front of him. His guqin flies to his grasp with alacrity. Lan Wangji sinks to his knee beside him and begins to play, adding a depth of harmony to the yearning call of the song.

They finish the song together in a soulful blend of dizi and guqin and the last note lingers, resonant and hopeful.

Trembling with excitement, Wei Wuxian shifts far enough to one side to catch Lan Wangji’s eyes. Lan Wangji gives him a slight shake of his head and his fingers continue to pluck the strings, beginning the opening chords of Rest.

Wei Wuxian’s brows climb. He hasn’t been formally trained in the Lan song meant to quiet restless spirits. He does have enough musical ability to harmonize with it as Lan Wangji plays it with confidence.

Around them, the forest sighs and groans. Wei Wuxian is on high alert, but it seems very much like a clenched muscle unfurling after holding tight for too long.

In the clearing in front of them, the knots and odd shapes of greenery begin to rustle and shift. It takes an effort of will to keep playing. Despite the alarming sight of vines and thick-leaved branches twitching and stirring in a clearing without a single breeze, there is no sense of malice. In fact, the giant tree at the heart of the clearing is radiating a sense of...relief?

Halfway through Rest, Wei Wuxian has the sense the tree spirit is watching them and knows from Lan Zhan’s alert eyes that he feels it too.

She seems content to listen, though. As the song progresses through its gentle entreaties, the forest spirit is settling back into her tree, becoming quiescent.

The assorted piles of tightly furled leaves and lumps of clustered branches break apart.

White-robed Lan disciples fall out of the nearest loosened cocoon of foliage. One of them takes in a heaving breath and starts crawling toward the nearest sword.

Wei Wuxian is quicker and reaches it first, stepping on the disciple’s wrist before he can lay a hand on it and giving him a taut shake of the head.

“Do not,” Lan Wangji speaks up, reinforcing the dictate against violence.

The disciple’s face contorts. Wei Wuxian thinks he recognizes him under the crumbling leaf mold that flakes away from his head and shoulders. It’s the disciple that rudely told him the likes of Wei Wuxian weren’t needed.

“Leave it be,” Lan Wangji commands.

The disciple’s expression flashes distaste before smoothing over. He pulls away from Wei Wuxian with a jerk and begins to tug a withering branch off his shoulder.

Together, Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji finish a second rendition of Rest as the leaf and tree branch knots and cocoons loosen everywhere across the clearing, shedding in a fast-moving parody of autumn and withering to decay and dust.

With a last, rumbling groan that puts Wei Wuxian rather in mind of the deep exhale of a contented dragon, the spirit of the tree sleeps once more.

“Shixiong!” another disciple exclaims, hastening toward them while knocking brown soil from his sleeves. “You’ve saved us!”

Lan Wangji rises to his feet in a lithe movement, drawing the linen cover over his qin and shouldering it. “Wei Ying saved us.” He inclines his head toward Wei Wuxian.

Two of the other Lan disciples finish getting to their feet and give him respectful bows as the third is still fighting his way free of a rotting loop of root that ensnares his foot.

“Why him?” the unpleasant disciple whines. “How could he do this, when we...when Lan disciples…”

“We failed,” Lan Wangji says. His tone is cold when he continues. “Compose yourself, Su She.”

Beyond the freed Lan disciples, other figures are stirring. Wei Wuxian identifies hunters by those reaching for bows. Brushing off the greatest amount of disintegrating green matter, there seems to be a group of woodcutters clustered together. He stows his dizi with a relieved grin. The town will be happy to get their missing people returned to them.

“What happened?” a Lan disciple asked. “Why did we fail, when this one succeeded?”

Wei Wuxian scratches his nose and startles as Lan Wangji turns to him in a clear gesture of deference.

“Ah, well, you attacked her,” Wei Wuxian explains. His theory, springing from intuition and his affinity with the forest after hearing Lan Wangji describe the circumstances again, has been borne out. “The disappearances started after those woodcutters headed out to bring down some old growth here in the forest. Problem is, one of the trees is a great deal older than anyone thought.”

“Old enough to cultivate consciousness,” the Lan disciple breathes. He turns toward the center of the clearing and bows again.

Wei Wuxian grins. He sees the irritating disciple struggle to his feet.

“How could a tree do all this?” the disciple blusters.

“She was old enough to cultivate a spirit. She was defending herself.” Wei Wuxian frowns at him. “Why are you allowed to attack her, but she can’t fight back? These woodcutters came with killing intent. Everyone is lucky to be alive.” He grins at the freed disciples, flashing a hint of fang.

“Let’s see to the others,” Lan Wangji says.

Wei Wuxian nods and walks toward the nearest woodcutter that he recognizes vaguely as being from the village. “Aiyo, you lot all right?” His tails fluff out behind him with each step, reacting to his pride and relief at what he and Lan Wangji have managed together.

“Hey, young master,” one of the men responds. “To tell you the truth, we’re just happy to be alive.”

The others respond with muttered agreements and nods.

“And we’d like nothing more than to get out of here right quick,” another adds.

That gets a louder chorus of assent.

Many choose to leave their blades and weapons in the clearing behind them, though the Lan disciples use vines to tow their spiritual weapons along with them until they’re sure they are free of the spirit’s area of influence. From Wei Wuxian’s chat with the woodcutters and hunters, it seems all those deemed missing have been accounted for.

After Wei Wuxian is done speaking with the townsfolk they’ve rescued, he finds himself falling into step beside Lan Wangji, who gives him a sideways glance and bestows a fragment of a crooked smile onto Wei Wuxian. It’s so unlike any expression that Wei Wuxian has ever seen on that stoic face that he trips and almost plants his face in the grass.

Swift as thought, Lan Wangji catches his arm and steadies him.

“Oh,” Wei Wuxian says, blinking up at him. “But. You don’t touch others.”

“There are some exceptions.” Lan Wangji’s voice is low, carrying only as far as Wei Wuxian’s keen ears.

Wei Wuxian’s face burns, and he wonders. He wonders, and maybe hopes even more, and he doesn’t pull away from Lan Wangji’s hand supporting his arm.

Lan Wangji only removes his hand once they reach the outskirts of Yiling.

Wei Wuxian turns his head to give him a self-conscious smile, but Lan Wangji is looking at the nearest Lan disciple who asked the obvious, whether they’re staying overnight in Yiling.

They’re all held up for several moments at the verge of the main street as the freed hunters and woodcutters express their sincere thanks and gratitude and apologize for not showing gratitude in a more tangible way.

“There is no need,” Lan Wangji says. He gestures for the villagers to rise.

“En, en,” Wei Wuxian says with a nod. He draws himself up, arms folded, in a pompous imitation of piety. “We didn’t do it for money. So go forth and live well.”

Lan Wangji glances at him and Wei Wuxian can tell it’s a suspicious look, so he responds with a cheerful grin full of teeth.

“Either way, without your intervention, we’d all be dead, young masters,” says one of the woodcutters. He bows low again. “The least we could do would be to see you all settled in lodgings for the night, but, well…”

“Don’t worry about it!” Wei Wuxian exclaims. He waves off their humble protestations. “Go, find your loved ones and friends, and hug them close and sit down for a meal and tell them your tale.”

“Thank you,” another, older man says, his eyes full of tears.

With another round of bowing and fervent thanks, the villagers at last begin to filter into Yiling.

“Ah, I guess I should be running along, too,” Wei Wuxian says once the last hunter turns away. He looks around for Lan Wangji, who stands near the clustered Lan disciples, but not with them. In fact, he’s still closer to Wei Wuxian.

Lan Wangji turns his full attention on Wei Wuxian.

“I guess this is it, then, Lan Zhan.” Wei Wuxian rubs at his head. He can’t think of any excuse to prolong a goodbye.

“You could have dinner with us,” Lan Wangji offers.

Wei Wuxian’s mouth drops open in shock even as he hears a noise that sounds like an indignant protest, cut off by someone whispering harshly to shut up, and the movement at the corner of his eye looks like one of the disciples has stepped on another’s foot.

“Lan Zhan,” Wei Wuxian says. He’s rooted to the spot with such a sudden rush of happiness, he’s dizzy with it. It’s dashed by a cold wave of reality. “Ah, Lan Zhan. Thank you. You’re too good, you know that?”

“No better than your actions merit,” Lan Wangji says.

Wei Wuxian beams. “I wish I could stay.” He bites his lip. “I’ve been gone so long, though, I’d better get back home soon, or Ma will send a search party.”

With no more than a slight shift of a brow, Lan Wangji conveys being disconcerted.

“Believe me, being scented out, knocked down, and dragged home by a six-foot-tall red panda familiar isn’t as fun as it sounds,” Wei Wuxian concludes.

“I am sorry you cannot join us,” Lan Wangji says.

It sounds so sincere, Wei Wuxian almost reaches out to grab his hand. He has to remind himself again that Lan Wangji doesn’t like being touched. Even though he’s apparently an exception, it’s better to let the man initiate instead of pressing it on him.

It might be Wei Wuxian’s imagination, but Lan Wangji really does look disappointed.

Wei Wuxian gives him a hopeful smile and follows it up with a little wave. “Don’t be a stranger,” he says. He won’t add, surely we’re friends now, or anything along such presumptuous lines this time. Whatever happened in the peaceful circle of that afternoon glade may be as fleeting as the sunshine that passed through the clearing, but the warmth remains in his heart. “Hey, my offer is still open, you know! Come visit me anytime.”

Lan Wangji’s eyes linger on him as they exchange bows.

Wei Wuxian gives a jaunty wave over his shoulder as he leaves, and he doesn’t allow himself to look back.

It’s been over a week since Wei Wuxian’s highly successful first hunt without parental supervision, an accomplishment he makes much of at least once daily until Cangse Sanren pitches a talisman, a water bucket, or a list of household items at him on different occasions and tells him to get lost. Wei Changze has been home, both laughed and congratulated him, and only gives his son a cheerful wave that morning when Cangse Sanren points a finger at the door and tells him with dramatic fury to get out or she’ll swing him by his tails and toss him.

“I didn’t even bring it up yet!” Wei Wuxian protests.

“Go make yourself useful and get more ink and cinnabar!” Cangse Sanren retorts.

“Isn’t that Ba’s job now that he’s home again?” Wei Wuxian risks death by asking, yet he can’t resist. He wouldn’t be himself if he didn’t say it.

“Your father has his own list,” Cangse Sanren says in an ominous tone.

“I’m doomed!” Wei Changze makes an imploring motion. “Son, stay and save me!”

Laughing in a most unfilial fashion, Wei Wuxian bounds into the woods, tails swishing. His good mood dims the further he trudges the familiar route to town. As they have every day, his thoughts drift back to Lan Wangji. It’s been over a week, and there’s been no word and nothing has changed. Of course, why would there be? Wei Wuxian extended the invitation, but Lan Wangji made no promises to him.

Wei Wuxian doesn’t know what he was expecting. Once again, he’s sure he understood something to be true, and once again it seems he got the wrong impression. He stops and sighs, ears drooping. It’s an action oft repeated when he’s out of the house and has too much time to think.

He makes quick work of his errand that day despite his frequent pauses to stop and sigh, because he delights in thwarting his mother’s whims and if she wants him to leave, he returns twice as quick in defiance.

“Ma, I’m back!” Wei Wuxian hollers, shoving the door open with a careless clatter and setting his sword into the stand nearby. “They were out of cinnabar, but I got...more…”

He trails off in shock as he realizes who’s sitting at the table nearby.

“Tea,” Wei Wuxian finishes, staring at the surreal sight of Lan Wangji drinking tea with Cangse Sanren.

He stiffens, tails fluffing up, and a finger shoots out to point at the unexpected visitor as he squawks wordlessly.

Lan Wangji raises a brow at him, setting his teacup down.

“You!” Wei Wuxian yelps, finger still extended. Wild energy courses up his spine, and the baby hairs at his nape stand up.

“Mn.” Lan Wangji folds his hands and regards him with composure. There’s a depth in his eyes, a calm expectation.

It steadies Wei Wuxian like the answer to a question he hasn’t asked. He drops his parcel beside the door and Cangse Sanren hisses at him for the carelessness.

“You’re here,” Wei Wuxian squeaks. He remains standing in the doorway, lowering his hand to lock it around his opposite wrist.

“I am here,” Lan Wangji confirms. There’s a trace of a smile on his lips, and Wei Wuxian steps closer to see it.

“How are you here?” Even though Wei Wuxian has hoped, every day, for a return to take him up on his offer, he knows there are responsibilities that compel Lan Wangji as head disciple to be at the Cloud Recesses.

“I returned home to submit my report,” Lan Wangji says. His eyes lower and flick to one side. “I asked my brother for leave.”

“Just like that?” Wei Wuxian asks, breathless.

“I am due a large amount of leave I’ve never taken.” Lan Wangji looks up at him. His eyes have renewed intensity.

Wei Wuxian squeaks again.

Cangse Sanren shifts in her chair, reaching for the teapot. Her eyes glimmer at him.

It hits Wei Wuxian like a bolt. Lan Wangji is here at his house! His mother is serving Lan Wangji tea at the table where Wei Wuxian ate his morning porridge! Lan Wangji came here to see him!

Wei Wuxian’s breath catches. There’s no mistaking it. Lan Wangji is here for him.

His hands fly up to his hot cheeks as he stares at Cangse Sanren, who tips her head to one side and gives him a knowing smile. Go find your man. The embarrassment hits him like the slap of sudden downpour that follows a crack of monsoon thunder. What tales has she been telling while he’s been gone?

Wei Wuxian turns on his heel, his mind full of nothing but the roar of his blood urging him to run, run.

There’s a low, startled huff behind him and a bright shard of laughter that only spurs Wei Wuxian’s flight into the nearby woods.

“Go and get him, then,” Cangse Sanren’s voice reaches his ears. An instruction to Lan Wangji.

The rise of energy behind Wei Wuxian is unmistakable. With a joyful yelp, he lets his human form fall away, transforming into his spiritual beast and dashing into the forest. His ears twitch as he hears the unmistakable juddering gait of a land-bound dragon behind him.

There’s no embarrassment for the fox, only the sheer thrill of the turf beneath his paws, the song of his blood urging him onward, the twitch of his ears at the weight of the footfalls behind him driving him to run, run.

As his fox romps deeper into the wood with happy little yips, the steady chuff of the dragon behind him is evidence of pursuit. The further they go, the more the fox realizes he could be overtaken at any second, yet the dragon bides his time. That gives the fox a surge of energy and he dashes forward, forward.

He bursts from a fringe of greenery into the break in the forest halfway to Yiling, the glade filled with sunshine and the scent of warmed grass, and it’s there that the dragon overtakes him. The dragon surges forth with a single powerful lunge and the fox finds himself caged between two powerful sky-blue forelegs. He could wriggle free, there’s enough of a gap, but as fast as the thought passes through his mind, he rejects it.

They tumble across the grass together, and then Lan Wangji pins him, rumbling softly.

The feelings that rise in him are too big for his small fox body and Wei Wuxian shifts into human form, looking up into enormous golden eyes.

Lan Wangji takes his cue and shifts along with him. They’re tangled together in the sun-warmed grass, and Lan Wangji’s hands are on Wei Wuxian’s wrists.

“Wei Ying.” Lan Wangji is looking at him as though he’s the only thing that matters. It’s a lot.

“Lan Zhan,” Wei Wuxian replies, mouth dry. Wei Wuxian has wanted his full attention, so much, and now that he has it, it’s almost overwhelming.

Almost.

“You ran,” Lan Wangji says.

Wei Wuxian flashes a grin up at him. “You caught me.”

Lan Wangji’s eyes are very intent. “En,” he says. “I will not hold you to it.”

Wei Wuxian cocks his head. “Uh. Hold me to what?”

“Dragon courtship.” Lan Wangji’s face is so serene, it can almost be taken for a joke, if not for the fact that lying is against the Lan sect protocol.

Wei Wuxian’s eyes widen. Lan Wangji chased him. Lan Wangji caught him. “Oh,” he says, his mind racing with this new information back through every single encounter they’ve had since the summer they met. His mind’s eye lingers on the times that Lan Wangji would pause, capturing his gaze, before turning and hastening off. Had he… All those times, had he…? “Oh! Then you… Wait, we… Even back then?!” He stares up at Lan Wangji as the heady rush of realization hits him.

“En.” Lan Wangji blinks down at him, seeming a bit wry. “Brother reminded me you wouldn’t know.”

Wei Wuxian starts wriggling, enervated with this new information. Lan Wangji has him pinned, yet he says he won’t hold him to a dragon courtship on the outcome of this round of chase and catch. There’s a solution for that.

When he continues to try and squirm out from under Lan Wangji, with a barely audible huff Lan Wangji lets him go, hands lingering on Wei Wuxian’s arms before releasing him.

Wei Wuxian springs to his feet, taking in Lan Wangji’s little pout. “Okay, now I know.” He begins to stretch his legs, limbering his calves. “If you chase me, and you catch me, then you win the right to court me, yes?”

Lan Wangji’s head lifts. His eyes sear Wei Wuxian with a single look. “Yes.”

Wei Wuxian gives him his most mischievous grin. “I have one question, then. Be honest, okay?”

Lan Wangji furrows his brow, but he nods.

“What do you really think of me, Lan Zhan? Don’t spare my feelings!”

Lan Wangji gets to his feet first, brushing grass off his fine white robes, eyes never leaving Wei Wuxian’s. “Infuriating. Maddening,” he says.

Wei Wuxian’s grin widens, and he knows he’s probably displaying a hint of canine.

“I am besotted with you,” Lan Wangji chokes out, sounding angry about it.

Wei Wuxian beams at him. “Then you’d better run fast,” he says. “I won’t accept anything less than your best.” In less than two shakes of his tails, he’s turned and leaping off, tearing through the underbrush once more. The ghost of his laughter hangs in the air as the fox sets the chase.

Without hesitation, the dragon launches into motion and the chase begins anew.

It’s later in the day, much later and an avid pursuit that took them past Yiling and back again, when the sunlight in the grassy glade caresses its gilding rays over the dozing form of the large blue mountain dragon curled around the six-tailed fox in his half-human form. Wei Wuxian stirs from where he’s snuggled into the draconic embrace. “Ah, Lan Zhan, you caught me.” He smiles when his dragon coils more tightly around him, a rumbling sigh answering him.

Wei Wuxian strokes a hand over Lan Wangji’s radiantly sun-warm scales. When they both wake fully from their nap, he’ll take his dragon home to do a proper introduction to his parents.