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“Hánguāng-jūn!” 

Lán Wàngjī pauses in his steps, turning swiftly to see two of the Junior Disciples, Lán Sīzhuī and Lán Jǐngyí, hurrying after him with quick footsteps.  

Lán Wàngjī settles completely to wait for the two teenagers, the back of his dominant hand pressed to the small of his back, while his other hand securely clutches at Bìchén at his side.  

Lán Wàngjī has half a mind to reprimand the two for their pace, too fast, verging on running, really, which is not allowed within the Cloud Recesses, but he decides that verging on, is not blatantly running. 

Same could be said, of course, about the near shout of his title from Lán Jǐngyí.  

No shouting within the Cloud Recesses; one must not raise their voice. 

Lán Wàngjī decides to let both offenses pass, since Lán Jǐngyí and Lán Sīzhuī are not the type to disobey the Rules of the Gūsū Lán Clan. He deems this a fluke, or perhaps urgency.  

He wonders, briefly, if that’s too much lenience for the two of them— Shū fù would surely disagree with letting the Disciples off the hook without so much as a chide for such a close encounter with breaking not one, but two, of their rules, would surely demand reprimand for the two broken rules since Lán Wàngjī knows his uncle is strict in that sense and would not see this as a close encounter, but an encounter— but perhaps Lán Wàngjī has been spending too much time with Wèi Yīng.  

His lips twitch at the thought. 

“Hánguāng-jūn,” Lán Sīzhuī’s shoulders bend down as he arches into a bow when they finally come to a halt before him, Lán Jǐngyí fumbling to do the same, just a step behind.  

Lán Wàngjī’s brow furrows the faintest bit as his son looked up at him with quiet worry in his gaze, “Hánguāng-jūn, have you seen Wèi-gōngzī?” 

A pause. 

“Wèi Yīng is at the Jingshi.” 

Lán Wàngjī’s husband had been working on talisman when Lán Wàngjī had parted from him that morning— the younger man had been quite enthused to prattle on about his newest talisman idea that he was to be working on that day, which Lán Wàngjī listened to intently as he sipped his morning tea.  

Wèi Yīng had a mind like no other. 

“That’s what we thought, too,” Lán Jǐngyí lifts his head, back straightening, “he promised to show us his new talisman when we were finished with our lessons this afternoon. But he... he wasn’t there when we arrived. We thought maybe you’d know where Wèi-gōngzī is, Hánguāng-jūn.” 

“I do not,” Lán Wàngjī says. 

Lán Wàngjī had not seen his husband since that morning when he’d left a focus-rapt Wèi Yīng alone in the Jingshi, the man hunched over the desk surrounded by ink, brushes and blank talisman cloth.  

Lán Wàngjī had gotten a lopsided smile from a distracted Wèi Yīng when he’d bent down to press a parting kiss to the top of Wèi Yīng’s head before leaving that morning, not wanting to distract his husband too much when he was working.  

That, of course, was not enough for Wèi Yīng, who’d craned his head back in acknowledgment, bright, mischievous eyes drawn from the talisman in front of him to meet Lán Wàngjī’s own as he’d puckered his lips promptingly, a familiar demand for an additional kiss there as well.  

Lán Wàngjī had been happy to oblige.  

And that was the last he’d seen of Wèi Yīng before he’d slipped out the door into the brisk chill of the Cloud Recesses for his meeting with Shū fù, about an important matter that had arose in Caiyi Town.  

With Xiōng-zhǎng slowly stepping back into the role of Sect Leader after his self-imposed seclusion, Lán Wàngjī had taken the brunt of his brother’s workload as to not leave the Sect floundering, or leave Lán Xīchén to stress about taking some time for himself if that’s what he needed. 

Lán Wàngjī would continue to take on the role of acting Sect Leader until Lán Xīchén felt confident in his own abilities again. Lán Wàngjī did not care much for acting as the Sect Head, it took too much time away from his family, from his students, his Wèi Yīng, but he would carry on for his elder brother. 

The endeavor had taught him that he never wishes to be the Sect Leader. 

It had been just over half a year since Guanyin Temple incident. 

Lán Wàngjī had feared his elder brother may never recover from the betrayal, the heartbreak, the shattering of trust, that his sworn brother had left him with when he’d died, and yet, slowly but surely, Lán Xīchén had been returning to his duties, returning to the person Lán Wàngjī had known, had greatly missed, coming out of his seclusion more and more as the weeks go by.  

Lán Wàngjī knows not to expect his brother to jump right back into his role within the Sect, he’d been prepared to shoulder what his brother couldn’t until he was fit to take over in the capacity he’d left when he’d went into seclusion.  

He hadn’t quite come around to official meetings, nothing more than sharing his two cents when Lán Wàngjī, Lán Xīchén and Lán Qǐrén shared scheduled tea and the conversation strayed to work, as it tended to always do. 

Still, it was nice to see Lán Xīchén out and about in the Cloud Recesses, even if he wasn’t quite ready to step back into the full role of Sect Leader just yet.  

Time.  

Lán Wàngjī was more than willing to give his brother time, just like Lán Xīchén had when Lán Wàngjī had lost Wèi Yīng all those years back.  

When he’d willingly kneeled for a brutal lashing, head bowed and without complaint, despite the look of horror on Lán Xīchén’s face from where he’d stood opposite to Shū fù to oversee the punishment that Shū fù brought down on him. A part of Lán Wàngjī had been glad that it was just his brother and uncle to witness such a punishment, to see him in such a state.  

Lán Wàngjī remembers the strikes of the Discipline Whip tearing through his skin, remembers his consciousness fading in and out as he forced himself to remain upright, to endure the punishment doled out for his acts against the Clan, for choosing the side of evil. For choosing Wèi Yīng. 

Lán Wàngjī even has a very distorted image of his brother coming to his aid when a beat of stillness had fallen over the Punishment Hall, Lán Wàngjī pitching sideways only to be caught by his elder brother when the lashes, all thirty-three of them, had come to an end.  

He remembers feeling his knees shake as Lán Xīchén tried to help him to his feet before shakily hoisting him up. He remembers his knees giving out from under him before he could even rise, vision darkening as Xiōng-zhǎng had taken Lán Wàngjī’s weight against him as if it were his own to bear.  

He remembers tasting blood in his mouth, from internal bleeding, maybe, or perhaps biting his own tongue in an attempt to keep silent. He remembers how his teeth had ached from clenching them, how his shoulders shook with each haggard breath he drew in.  

It was pain like he’d never felt before, even so much as to breathe.  

He remembers the searing pain when the wounds on his back had been so much as grazed against, fabric had burned against his torn skin, his back whipped raw and steadily bleeding.  

He hadn’t had the stomach to look down, simply tasting the blood in his mouth was enough to make him queasy, but he’s sure he would’ve been kneeled in a pool of his own blood, pristine white robes a bloody mess where it soaked in.  

He’d lost consciousness around that point, probably for the best since the pain was blinding and felt white hot. He’d never felt hurt like that. Enduring that would’ve been cruel torture.  

Lán Wàngjī doesn’t remember a lot of that time— the aftermath of his punishment.  

Whether simply because he blocked out the physical and emotional pain, or because he simply chose not to recall that period of his life for obvious reasons.  

But he does remember waking up in the Healer’s Hall— hours, days, maybe even weeks later— with Lán Xīchén’s worried face hovering at his bedside, his gentle hand on Lán Wàngjī’s own stiff and unused one. Xiōng-zhǎng tended to respect Lán Wàngjī’s aversion to touch, had since he was little, but the hand over his felt tender and needed for the both of them. 

Xiōng-zhǎng had said he very nearly died. 

It was not a surprise to Lán Wàngjī, despite how Xiōng-zhǎng’s face twisted shamefully for allowing such a brutal, but necessary punishment. Lán Wàngjī had never blamed his brother, knew that his punishment was just, and that there would be talk of favoritism, if Lán Wàngjī did not receive a suitable punishment for his acts against the Gūsū Lán Clan Sect.  

For harming some of the Elders in his blind and desperate attempt at saving Wèi Yīng.  

Lán Wàngjī had spent a lot of time considering whether or not he’d have preferred to succumb to the blood loss and infection that had addled his mind during the recovery process. Healers had worked tirelessly on him; Qi being passed along by them, by Xiōng-zhǎng, by Shū fù, in hopes of helping him get his strength back— a strong core means a swift recovery.  

And yet, recovery had been long and hard.  

Lán Wàngjī had little will to recover, which may have hindered his actual recovery. 

The hurt went far deeper than just the wounds on his back. 

But he’d had Wēn Yuàn to think about, too.  

The child that Wèi Yīng had adored, the sole survivor of his family, an innocent party in this war, who’d been hunted and ostracized simply because of his family name. The child who’d looked up at his Rich-Gēgē with wide, wet eyes, and had asked where his Xiàn-Gēgē was. 

Lán Wàngjī had never been quick to emotion, but he’d very nearly cried as he let the small child clutch at his under robes, delirious with fever and unwilling to release him, a familiar face, even when Xiōng-zhǎng had tried to usher him away so Lán Wàngjī could rest. He could do not much more than lift a hand to the child’s head, thread his fingers in the boy’s hair and silently swear to do right by Wēn Yuàn. 

Lán Wàngjī knew he had owed Wèi Yīng that much.  

To care for the boy that Wèi Yīng had loved like a son.  

And when Ā-Yuàn had woken with the barest of memories, really just remembering his birth name, when his dangerously high fever had finally broken, unaware of what and who he’d lost, Lán Wàngjī wasn’t sure if that was a blessing in disguise for the child who’d been through so much, or the most devastating thing he’d ever seen, because Lán Wàngjī knows how much his family loved him, how much Wèi Yīng had loved the child. 

Lán Wàngjī brushes away the thought now, eyes steady on Lán Sīzhuī as the young man watches him.  

He has half a mind to reach out and touch the young man’s face, brush his finger over Lán Yuàn’s cheek in the way he had when the boy was small. He does not. 

“I will find him,” Lán Wàngjī assures quietly instead. 

They all knew that it’s him, of all, who has the best chance of locating a missing Wèi Yīng. 

It was a little odd to Lán Wàngjī that Wèi Yīng was not home in the Jingshi, that Lán Wàngjī had not seen, or heard of his husband’s comings or goings in the Cloud Recesses like he usually did when Wèi Yīng milled around outside the Jingshi.  

His husband didn’t often leave the Jingshi alone, Lán Wàngjī knew there were Elders who still resented him and his Demonic Cultivation, Elders who made their distaste known, despite the fact that the Cloud Recesses are now Wèi Yīng’s home as well.  

Wèi Yīng was well aware of such a thing, and typically did not like to be caught alone.  

He preferred to trail along after Lán Wàngjī, or the Junior Disciples, but he was allowed to come and go as he pleased. Wèi Yīng has his own Jade Token, had received it after their wedding bows, a matching one to Lán Wàngjī’s Token, which grants him free passage in and out of the Cloud Recesses.  

Lán Wàngjī would never be like his father. 

His beloved will never be a caged bird, if he so chooses to fly free.  

And Wèi Yīng did.   

Before they’d even wedded, Wèi Yīng seemed to always be off, sending letters of his travels to update Lán Wàngjī of strange curses he came into contact with, the levels of resentful energies in certain places, or simply just the quality liquor he’d gotten at inns and taverns on his travels.  

Lán Wàngjī knew Wèi Yīng did not like to be kept in place— he was a free spirit— he’d been turned down far too many times when he’d asked Wèi Yīng to return to Gūsū with him, so he’d never so much as dreamed to ask Wèi Yīng to give that up for him even when they married.  

It would be cruel to ask him to stay by his side indefinitely when he knew Wèi Yīng needed freedom. 

Wèi Yīng needed to choose that for himself, Lán Wàngjī would never take his choice from him. 

But that fact had left him wondering what their life together would look like. 

Wèi Yīng’s need to travel had not simply gone away when they’d completed their wedding bows and settled into life side by side in the Cloud Recesses. He'd go on travels still, sometimes alone, sometimes with Lán Wàngjī, or the Junior Disciples when they were sent off.  

Lán Wàngjī always felt better knowing Wèi Yīng was tagging along with the Disciples, even if he knew they were capable.   

He went on Night Hunts too. 

Sometimes alone, occasionally with them. 

Wèi Yīng would take off with Wēn Níng for days on end, the other always content to join Wèi Yīng when invited. Wēn Níng now resided in a little cottage they’d had built (for Wèi Yīng, they’d claimed, but it was truly for Wēn Níng) just outside the spiritual barriers of the Cloud Recesses. It was safer that way. It gave Lán Yuàn a chance to know his birth family, and it also gave Wèi Yīng even more of a reason to stay for extended periods of time and to return when he did take off. 

Wèi Yīng had even ventured off with Jīn Rúlán, once or twice, the teenager now steadily starting to warm up to Wèi Yīng, seeing the beloved Dìdi his mother adored, the kind man who’d give you everything he was worth if you asked, instead of the monster the world had painted him to be.  

Lán Wàngjī was still a little hesitant about letting Wèi Yīng nurture that relationship, still sees Jīn Zixuān’s sword gliding through Wèi Yīng’s torso, he still sees the blood, Wèi Yīng’s blood, soaking into his robes and filling his mouth— but Wèi Yīng had not held a grudge. Wèi Yīng wanted a relationship with his nephew, a piece of his beloved sister. 

Lán Wàngjī respected that.  

Whenever he caught wind of a strange happening, he was all too willing to see for himself. 

To lend a hand where it was needed.  

Wèi Yīng liked to travel.  

He liked to explore, to see the world, often just accompanied by his trusty donkey and his Chénqíng for company.  

And Lán Zhàn had worried, at first, that Wèi Yīng would be happier out in the world, out where Lán Wàngjī could rarely follow with his duties as the acting Sect Leader. Or even as second in command, because his duties will not suddenly vanish the moment Xiōng-zhǎng takes back his role of Sect Leader. Lán Wàngjī is Lán Xīchén’s right hand, that is what the brother of the Sect Leader is to be. 

But then Wèi Yīng had come back— to the Cloud Recesses, back to Lán Wàngjī— bearing souvenirs he’d found for his Lán Zhàn, his Ā-Yuàn, Lán Jǐngyí, the rest of the Junior Disciples that Wèi Yīng had taken under his wing, his group of little ducklings who flocked to him whenever he made an appearance, and even for Xiōng-zhǎng, who’d seemed surprised by the sentiment when Wèi Yīng had bounded after Lán Wàngjī to find the Clan Head waiting for him so they could join their uncle for their routine tea.  

Because Wèi Yīng was so good.  

Wèi Yīng was kind to a world that was against him. 

Lán Wàngjī had never met another person like Wèi Yīng. 

And it was frustrating that the rest of the world refused to acknowledge that.  

It was frustrating that Wèi Yīng could accept the hate shown towards him as if it was just, something he deserved. The whispers behind his back, the gossip that spread like wildfire from town to town, the fact that children made him the villain in childish games.  

The towns people were happy to take from Wèi Yīng— his offered help with problems that arose, his kindness that he so willingly gave— but it did not quell the distrust, the hate, the fear and anger. 

It did not stop them from calling him dangerous, and evil, and a murderer.  

Lán Wàngjī hated it.  

He hated that Wèi Yīng’s name had been cleared, that it was realized that Wèi Yīng was just as much a victim as anyone else, and yet people still refused to believe in him.  

Wèi Yīng gave so much of himself, and that kindness was never paid back in full.  

The hate he faced on a day-to-day basis, the hushed gossip they overheard when they were minding their own business— in towns, in taverns, in inns, even within the Cloud Recesses on few occasions before Lán Wàngjī had nipped that in the bud— never quieted. 

It was frustrating that Wèi Yīng endured it all, that he smiled.   

“Aiyah, Lán Zhàn, I’m the scary Yílíng Laozu, you know~”   

Wèi Yīng would say like that was something more than an excuse people hid behind. Like it made sense why people were cruel, how that title alone excused how he was treated by the masses. 

Wèi Yīng would shrug his shoulders, he would smile, he would flap a dismissive hand.  

But his eyes were always sad.  

Wèi Yīng was always hurt.  

He could not hide this. 

Not from Lán Wàngjī. 

“No.”   

“Ah, no?”  

“Wèi Yīng is not scary.”   

“Hn, well. I just have you under my charm already, Lán Zhàn,” he’d assured with a toothy grin, carelessly letting his shoulder bump against Lán Wàngjī’s before he’d grabbed onto his arm and steered him away from the hushed whispers as if they were about him, and not Wèi Yīng, “it’s fine, it’s fine. I understand. Truly. You need not worry about me so much, Lán Zhàn. This one is fine. Do not glare— Lán Zhàn, Lán Zhàn, it’s unbecoming of the great Hánguāng-jūn! You are too kind to this lowly husband! Oh, look! Ā-Yuàn would like that! Do you think he’s too old for it...? Ah, come, let’s see!”  

Lán Wàngjī lets his eyes fall shut for a moment as he tries to force himself back to the matter at hand and not the stewing anger in his stomach when he thinks about how Wèi Yīng is still being treated, even months after their marriage ceremony, where he’d wedded everyone’s esteemed Hánguāng-jūn.  

He takes a slow breath through his nose before his eyes flutter open again.  

He meets Lán Sīzhuī’s gaze, the boy instantly spotting the silent question. 

“We’ve already checked the Back Mountain and the Library Pavilion, Hánguāng-jūn.” 

“We thought Wèi-gōngzī might be visiting the rabbits, that’s where he usually is when we can’t find him during the day, but he wasn’t,” Lán Jǐngyí huffs, his bangs fluttering slightly with the petulant puff of air. “We’ve looked everywhere we can think of.” 

“We haven’t seen him since this morning,” Sīzhuī adds softly. 

“Mn,” Lán Wàngjī hums, "I will find Wèi Yīng.” 

Except he does not find Wèi Yīng. 

He does not find Wèi Yīng anywhere in the main hall.  

He does not find Wèi Yīng in the Back Mountain when he loops around to try to spot his husband, hopeful that time would have brought him to his favorite resting spot from wherever he had been when the Juniors went looking. Wèi Yīng is fond of the rabbits— Lán Wàngjī does not know if it’s genuine, or if it’s because he’s fond of the rabbits that Wèi Yīng had gifted him all those years ago. 

Wèi Yīng is not in the Jingshi when he steps into their home to check that he hadn’t returned home from wherever he’d journeyed off to. He finds not Wèi Yīng, but he does find that the desk they share is overflowing with skillfully painted talisman.  

Wèi Yīng’s craftmanship is impeccable as always, the stack of talisman high.  

Despite that, the desk is still in disarray, Wèi Yīng’s genius is often disorderly, something that Lán Wàngjī had had to come to terms with. He’d seen that in the Burial Mounds, so it wasn’t surprising the quirk would make an appearance in the neat and orderliness of the Jingshi. 

Lán Wàngjī’s eyes dip down to the desk once more, scanning the space. 

An empty tea cup sits balanced vicariously on the edge of the desk, a stray ink brush left on the surface of the table, dripping ink onto one of the talismans, the markings painted across the fabric nothing that Lán Wàngjī had seen before, nothing he understands, even, despite his vast knowledge of talisman. 

There’s a new smudge of ink on the surface of the desk— a spill that Wèi Yīng had smeared into a bigger mess, probably in his haste to clean it before it could stain, if Lán Wàngjī knows his husband— now staining the surface. 

Lán Wàngjī huffs softly as he turns to continue his quest of finding his husband, paying the mess little mind as he leaves just as he’d come.  

A knot of worry starts to coil in his stomach as time passes, as Lán Wàngjī checks all of Wèi Yīng’s usual hiding places within the Cloud Recesses, even the ones from when his husband was an unruly teenager disturbing the peace of his home when they were young.  

He finds Wèi Yīng in none of them. 

There is still no sign of his husband.  

The knot in his stomach tightens. 

Wèi Yīng would not just leave. 

And if an urgent matter arose, he would, in the least, leave a letter of explanation, if not coming to find Lán Wàngjī to tell him in person. There had been no letter. Wèi Yīng had not come to find him. 

Lán Wàngjī is worried—  

“Wàngjī?” 

Lán Wàngjī pauses abruptly, turning instantly to the call of his name.  

He knows exactly who called out to him, simply by the name alone. 

“Xiōng-zhǎng,” Lán Wàngjī acknowledges respectfully.  

“Is something the matter?” his brother’s brow furrows slightly. “You seem worried.” 

“Mn,” Lán Wàngjī’s gaze drops, then, “I can’t find Wèi Yīng.” 

The confession sits like a rock in his chest, face impassive as always, but he can tell his brother sees the worry despite it. Xiōng-zhǎng has always been able to read Lán Wàngjī like an open book, Lán Wàngjī both loathes and appreciates this about his brother.  

“Oh,” surprise crosses Lán Xīchén’s expression, “he has not yet returned?” 

Lán Wàngjī blinks owlishly, “...returned?” 

“Mn,” Xiōng-zhǎng frowns thoughtfully, “I ran into Wèi-gōngzī earlier today. I thought it was rather strange to see him alone; he’s usually with you, Wàngjī, or with the Junior Disciples. He seemed... disheartened. I think he was in pain, though he would not admit it. Rest assured, Wàngjī, I could not spot any physical injuries and he seemed untroubled— you’ve mentioned before that Wèi-gōngzī struggles with joint issues, so I assumed that to be the issue. He was thumbing at his wrist.” 

Lán Wàngjī hums. 

He’d seen Wèi Yīng do exactly that on multiple occasions when the joint pain acts up.  

Wèi Yīng had confessed to him that he did occasionally have pains in his joints that seemingly had no cause— usually his wrists, but sometimes his elbows, knees and shoulders as a result of poorly healed injuries and Mò Xuányǔ’s poor blood circulation. Or, that was what Wèi Yīng theorized, as he ground his thumb into the muscles of his wrist one afternoon. 

They knew Mò Xuányǔ did not have the best upbringing, that much could be seen from how Wèi Yīng had been treated when he’d first been forced into the sacrificed body, so it wasn’t wildly surprising to conclude he’d been abused through his life, which left lasting damage to a weak body; illegitimate children are often mistreated, and the Mò family had not been kind by any means, from what he’d heard from Lán Sīzhuī and Lán Jǐngyí.  

Plus, there was the fact that Mò Xuányǔ had never formed a Golden Core in his lifetime, which only adds to the theory. Healing would’ve been hard for the young man, and if the abuse was repetitive... well, it was unlikely anything could truly heal.  

For the most part, the chronic pain didn’t bother Wèi Yīng. 

Though, occasionally, it did tend to disturb his life.  

Sometimes the cold weather of the Cloud Recesses had the old injuries acting up and Wèi Yīng’s cheerful smile would show more strained and dimmer, and other times it’s because Wèi Yīng has held a brush for too long and the joints have gone stiff and sore, or sometimes it can be as simple as he’d bent his wrists at an odd angle when playing his dizi.  

Sometimes he just wakes in pain.  

If he was in pain when he’d departed from the Jingshi, then the mess he’d left makes more sense. Wèi Yīng was not inherently messy, though his organization did range a little bit towards chaotic.  

Wèi Yīng does not like when his body does not cooperate with him in the way his original body had, and if he’d been hunched over the desk with a brush in his hand for most of the day, Lán Wàngjī would be unwise to believe it hadn’t stirred up Wèi Yīng’s chronic pain.  

He had left hastily; the discarded brush, the smudge of ink, the half-finished talisman. 

Wèi Yīng gets frustrated with his new body at times.  

Lán Wàngjī cleared his throat, “Xiōng-zhǎng, Wèi Yīng has not returned from where?” 

Lán Xīchén’s brow furrows, “I suggested that Wèi-gōngzī visit the Cold Springs to ease the discomfort. It can be soothing, as you know. Shū fù has confided that the Springs help with his aches as well, and Wèi-gōngzī did recover well when he visited the Springs in his younger years, from what I can recall. That though... we parted ways quite a while ago. I can’t imagine why Wèi-gōngzī is yet to return...” 

Lán Wàngjī stills. 

“It is too cold for Wèi Yīng to visit the Cold Springs.” 

Lán Xīchén frowns, head quirking faintly in confusion. 

The morning had been chilly, flurries of snow fluttering down when he’d stepped out of the Jingshi.  

It is to be expected so high up in the mountains, and yet it was a relatively nice day by Cloud Recesses standards. He’d even consider it warm, despite the flurries. 

Lán Wàngjī and the rest of the Lán Clan were used to the cold temperatures, it was the normal to them, they had grown up in this climate and were accustomed to the chill of the mountain air, but Wèi Yīng had always bemoaned the cold temperature.  

The Cloud Recesses wasn’t always cold, but it could get pretty chilly. 

Lotus Pier, where Wèi Yīng had grown up, was nothing like the Cloud Recesses.  

Lotus Pier was sweltering heat and rays of sunlight that beat down on you.  

Lán Wàngjī doesn’t much like the heat; in the same way Wèi Yīng doesn’t care much for the cold. 

Even back when he’d been in his original body, when he’d had a strong Core that regulated his temperature, he’d still been a little sensitive regarding the climate of the Cloud Recesses.  

Back when he’d found Lán Wàngjī in the Cold Springs that first time when they were teenagers, thanks to Lán Xīchén’s subtle nudging and belief that Wèi Wúxiàn could be a suitable companion for Lán Wàngjī.   

Wèi Yīng had disturbed the peace, water sloshing with his movements as he’d made his way towards Lán Wàngjī, shuttering and muttering about how cold it was.  

Lán Wàngjī had always thought Wèi Yīng had been seeking a reaction, seeking attention, being obnoxious on purpose to annoy him, and maybe he had been, to a certain degree, but there was definitely truth, honesty, in the complaint as well.  

Where Lán Wàngjī could easily walk the Cloud Recesses in his regular robes on any given day, Wèi Yīng tended to shiver when he wasn’t bundled up in a few layers.  

Especially now. 

Mò Xuányǔ’s body was really not built for the chill of the mountain air.  

Lán Wàngjī had even fashioned a warm outer robe for Wèi Yīng from the Lán Clan seamstress, similar to his own for when the weather was truly terrible.  

Wèi Yīng wore it more often than not.  

He’d sink his face into the warm animal pelt that lined the collar, tuck his hands into the folds of the thick fabric. No harm came to the animals within the Cloud Recesses, but warm animal pelts did get imported in for that exact reason. Every Lán Disciple owned a quality winter robe. 

“Too cold?” Lán Xīchén wonders curiously. 

“Mn,” Lán Wàngjī shuts his eyes, but does not add anything more for a long second.  

It is not too cold for anyone else, anyone who’d grown up in the climate, but to Wèi Yīng...  

It was too cold.  

Xiōng-zhǎng would not know that, the suggested would have come from a place of kindness.  

A place of empathy.  

Lán Xīchén had accepted Wèi Yīng into their home in earnest, respected the younger man for all he’d done then, and now, now that the blurry lines of the war had been rewritten clearly, and they finally had the full picture where Wèi Yīng had really done nothing wrong but try to protect the weak and bring the war to an end by less-than-ideal means.  

Lán Wàngjī even thinks his elder brother is grateful to Wèi Yīng for managing to bring him out of his shell in a way no other ever has, Lán Xīchén included. 

He’s antsy to spin on his heels and head for the Cold Springs.  

He hadn’t even thought to check, because Wèi Yīng doesn’t typically remember the Springs existed, let alone would go there on his own when he’s not a fan of the cold.  

Lán Wàngjī is fairly sure Wèi Yīng had only shown up at the springs that first time because he knew Lán Wàngjī would be meditating in the Spring there as well. Lán Wàngjī wouldn’t put it passed Xiōng-zhǎng to mention such a minor, unimportant detail to Wèi Yīng if finding Lán Wàngjī a friend had been his intention.  

But Wèi Yīng does have respect for Zéwú-jūn, Lán Wàngjī knows this. 

Xiōng-zhǎng had knowingly shielded Wèi Yīng when his identity had been found out.  

Wèi Yīng will always be grateful, as will Lán Wàngjī.  

So, if Xiōng-zhǎng had suggested he try it, Wèi Yīng could be swayed even if he knows it’s a bad idea. 

Lán Wàngjī wants to move, but his feet stay firmly in place.  

It would be rude to leave his brother mid conversation.  

“Wàngjī?” 

Lán Wàngjī meets his brother’s gaze, “Wèi Yīng is... his Golden Core is weak; his body is frail...” 

Mò Xuányǔ had not had a Golden Core when Wèi Wúxiàn had been called to him through the sacrificial ritual. He would have been powerless, if not for his Demonic Cultivation.  

It was not a known detail. 

He could not Cultivate, he had no Qi, and he could not wield Suíbiàn to the spiritual blade’s full capacity, even if he had been able to unsheathe the sealed sword spirit when no one else could.  

His soul was not his Qi.  

It had taken a handful of Dual Cultivation sessions for the embers of a Golden Core to spark to life within Wèi Yīng, but it was not quick to grow, despite their best efforts. A Golden Core like that was created out of intimacy, so it was something the two of them kept private.  

It was remarkable, truly, growing a Golden Core so late in life, but it was weak. 

And yet, despite the success, the growing Core offered Wèi Yīng little aid in temperature regulation and healing, at least compared to the Golden Core he’d had in his previous life.  

It would drain fast, even with Lán Wàngjī feeding his own spiritual energy into Wèi Yīng’s meridians.  

Lán Wàngjī thinks this also frustrates Wèi Yīng.  

He could barely use Cultivation for more than a few moments at a time before he’s exhausted and drained, so Wèi Yīng still relied on Chénqíng and resentful energy in place of Suíbiàn and Cultivation. 

Lán Wàngjī cannot fault him for turning to the only method of protection he has, in a world that would not bat an eyelash at his death. 

Still, he hopes Wèi Yīng would not be foolish enough to go into the cold water in this weather when he knows his body is weak and likely to catch a chill, especially with such a weak Core. 

But he knows Wèi Yīng’s self-preservation skills are lacking at best, and if Xiōng-zhǎng suggested it...  

“Xiōng-zhǎng...” Lán Wàngjī breathes the word after a long second where neither of them speaks, hand tightening on Bìchén, “it has been too long. I am worried.” 

“Go then,” his brother nods. 

Lán Wàngjī does not wait to be told twice. 

Lán Wàngjī’s boots crunch down over the thin layer of fallen snow as he hastily makes his way down the path towards the Cold Springs. The rushing water of the waterfall fills his ears as sharp eyes flick to the pool where young Disciples settle to rejuvenate after injuries or to replenish their Qi.  

Lán Wàngjī doesn’t know if he’s relieved, or distraught, to find a lone figure sitting in the middle of the shallow water, settled on his knees with his hands under the water on his thighs.  

The water is not deep, but it still reaches up to Wèi Yīng core, just below his sternum  

Lán Wàngjī hurries his footsteps.  

“Wèi Yīng.” 

He hesitates at the edge of the water.  

Wèi Yīng does not look back, in fact, he doesn’t even seem to acknowledge that he’s been called, that he’s no longer alone. Perhaps he can’t hear over the rushing water of the waterfall.  

Wèi Yīng’s robes are left in a rumpled pile by the water’s edge, his boots quite clearly kicked off haphazardly. The sleeve of his outer robe has fallen into the water, soaked up to the shoulder, and there’s a thin layer of snow on the fabrics. They will not be very warm anymore.  

Chénqíng had gotten the kindest treatment, set down on a rock nearby his discarded robes. 

Lán Wàngjī frowns.  

“Wèi Yīng,” he tries again, already bending down to slip out of his own boots.  

Still no response.  

Lán Wàngjī’s heart is in his throat as he strips off his own outer robe to avoid them getting wet— Wèi Yīng will need them— hiking up his under robes as he steps into the water with urgency.  

His footsteps slosh the water, but, alarmingly, Wèi Yīng does not stir.  

Lán Wàngjī makes it to his husband in a couple quick paces. 

Wèi Yīng’s shoulders and chest are bare, but he is wearing the trousers of his innermost clothes.  

Wèi Yīng’s skin is unnaturally pale where it peeks out of the water, and his hair is soaked through to about midway up his back, the sopping strands clinging to the muscles of his back.  

Now, Wèi Yīng definitely does not get as much sun as he had in Lotus Pier, or even the Burial Mounds where he spent time with the Wēns gardening and selling their produce in Yílíng, but Wèi Yīng is still a little too pale for Lán Wàngjī’s liking. Any amount of sun gave Wèi Yīng a healthy glow, and yet, Lán Wàngjī doesn’t see so much as a trace of that usual complexion. 

Lán Wàngjī sets a hand on Wèi Yīng’s shoulder; his skin is cold to the touch. 

His heart hammers. 

“Wèi Yīng.” 

Finally, finally, silvery-grey eyes flutter open.  

Wèi Yīng blinks sluggishly, seeming a little disoriented, before he’s quirking his head to the side. His brow furrows when he spots Lán Wàngjī in the Cold Springs as well, still mostly clothed. 

Lán Wàngjī’s stomach drops when he scans his husband’s face.  

Wèi Yīng’s lips are tinted blue.  

“Hn, L’n Zhan?”  

“Wèi Yīng,” Lán Wàngjī swallows down the fear, “it is cold.” 

Wèi Yīng’s brow furrows for a long, confused second, before a lazy grin settles on his lips, “ah, Lán Zhàn, Lán Zhàn, this is the Cold Springs. I would hope it would be cold, although I’m sure a nice hot spring would be nice too. The Láns are very practical, a misleading spring name is probably against a rule, or something. There are near an entire thousand of new ones that I’ve yet to have to copy.” 

“Wèi Yīng should not be here.” 

A pause, Wèi Yīng looks a little hurt by his words. 

“Zéwú-jūn suggested—” 

“You are cold,” Lán Wàngjī amends softly, only realizing he’d cut Wèi Yīng off after the fact. It is fine. Wèi Yīng is more important right now. Lán Wàngjī lifts a hand to brush stray hairs from Wèi Yīng’s face before he cups his jaw tenderly and thumbs at his startlingly pale cheek. “Wèi Yīng is allowed, but he should not be here now. It is cold. Your body...” 

“My body is fine, Lán Zhàn.” 

“Wèi Yīng was unresponsive.” 

“I was meditating.” 

“No lying in the Cloud Recesses,” Lán Wàngjī chides, but there’s no real heart in it as he grabs at Wèi Yīng’s arm and helps him to his feet. Wèi Yīng’s knees nearly buckle. Lán Wàngjī swoops in to support his weight easily, arm winding around the younger’s bare waist. 

A lopsided smile from the younger man, which does not look right with the blue tint to his lips, “okay, well, I was resting my eyes then. It was peaceful, I like the sound of rushing water.” 

Lán Wàngjī squints, “Wèi Yīng was asleep?”  

“Resting my eyes,” comes the quick correction. 

Lán Wàngjī is unconvinced. “Mn.” 

Wèi Yīng’s movements are shaky and uncoordinated, feet likely numb after so long in the cold water and the unevenness of the rocks in the bed underfoot making his balance poor.  

Lán Wàngjī releases his hold on his own under robes, the fabric fluttering into the water, as he slips an arm behind Wèi Yīng’s knees, the other settling behind his torso, and then he’s hoisting him into his arms effortlessly, cradling his husband against his chest. 

Lán Wàngjī feels the cold skin through the thin layers of his inner robes.  

Wèi Yīng squeaks, flailing to hook an arm around Lán Wàngjī’s neck.  

When they’re back on the water’s edge, Lán Wàngjī dusts the snow off of Wèi Yīng’s robes and sets the smaller man down on them. He does not want to set him down on a snow-covered rock.  

The cold fabric is better than a frozen rock.  

“Aiyah, Lán Zhàn!” Wèi Yīng shakes his head, “I have to wear those-! Now they're all wet—” 

“Wèi Yīng will wear mine.” 

“But-” 

“Dry. Warmer.” Lán Wàngjī says with an edge of finality. “Come, we must go.” 

“But—”  

“Wèi Yīng’s lips are blue,” the words pain him, but he must get them out. The tint is faint, but it’s still there. Wèi Yīng must understand. The direness of just what that means, what very well could happen if he lets this carry on any longer hits him in the stomach like a dagger. “You are cold.” 

Lán Wàngjī thinks a blade would hurt less than thinking about Wèi Yīng in such a state.  

Wèi Yīng’s opens and closes his mouth once, twice, and then his jaw snaps shut with a click of his teeth.  

The younger man lifts a slightly trembling hand to his mouth, touching his bottom lip as if he’d be able to feel the blue tint Lán Wàngjī had told him about, eyes wide with genuine surprise. 

“Wait, really?” Wèi Yīng shivers, blowing a puff of warm air onto the frozen fingers by his mouth, “they’re really blue?” 

“Mn.” 

“It hasn’t been that long—” 

“Wèi Yīng has been missing since early this afternoon. It is late.” 

Wèi Yīng’s brow furrows.  

“Well, I don’t... feel that cold,” Wèi Yīng frowns. 

Lán Wàngjī frowns back.  

“Wèi Yīng needs to warm up quickly,” Lán Wàngjī says calmly, watching Wèi Yīng wrap his arms around himself, watching his shoulders tremble from the cold.  

He’d gathered their belongings from where everything was spread around quickly after setting Wèi Yīng down, his own outer robe thrown over his arm, his boots dropped by his feet, Wèi Yīng’s boots in his hand, held out for the younger man to take and put on. 

Wèi Yīng takes the boots with a blank look. 

“You do not feel cold, because your body’s temperature has dropped significantly,” Lán Wàngjī explains as he wraps his own outer robes around Wèi Yīng’s trembling shoulders, hands rubbing up and down his arms to stimulate warmth over the fabric. “Wèi Yīng could develop hypothermia. We must go home.” 

Lán Wàngjī was sure Wèi Yīng had not reached such a state yet, but if he’d stayed in the water, out in the chill of the mountain air, wet, any longer, there was a good chance he might’ve— the Golden Core they’d created would be struggling to keep him from such a state, but they can’t expect too much from a weak Core.  

Wèi Yīng needed to be warmed up properly and quickly. 

Unfortunately, living up in the mountains, where the weather can be unpredictable, the healers are well versed in things like hypothermia and frost bite. They even have lessons in first aid revolving around cold related ailments, so all Lán Disciples have basic knowledge of such things in case they encounter it.  

It is still mid fall, not overly cold to Lán Wàngjī, but the winters could be brutal.  

“Hn, yeah, okay,” Wèi Yīng croaks out finally, uncoordinatedly bending down to try and slip his boots onto his bare feet. He struggles— Lán Wàngjī sees it out of the corner of his eye.  

Lán Wàngjī makes quick work of tugging his own boots on, then crouches down to aid Wèi Yīng. 

Wèi Yīng’s fingers are very clearly stiff from the cold, making his movements slow and stiff.  

Lán Wàngjī is no stranger to losing a bit of dexterity when his fingers are cold— he hasn’t had many punishments for breaking rules (and the ones he has had have involved Wèi Yīng in some way, or another) but he has had to kneel, weather be damned, arms held up and fingers frozen where he balanced a pole in his palms.  

Lack of movement and the cold had made him unsteady, fingers refusing to comply. 

He does not mind kneeling for Wèi Yīng. 

He will never mind kneeling for Wèi Yīng. 

Wèi Yīng looks away petulantly at not being able to do such a simple task with his frozen fingers. 

“Ahah,” the younger laughs awkwardly, refusing to meet his eyes. “Well, at least on the bright side, my wrist no longer aches... It was bad again, too much brush work, I think. I ignored the warning aches. But it feels fine now. I don’t feel much now, actually. If I couldn’t see my fingers, I’d think I lost them. ‘s sorta numb now.” 

Lán Wàngjī does not want to hear that.  

“Wèi Yīng.”  

There’s a snort from above at Lán Wàngjī’s sour chide, which is followed by Wèi Yīng’s cold fingers brushing a lock of Lán Wàngjī’s hair from his face in silent apology as the older steadily slipped Wèi Yīng’s foot into his other boot.  

“Ah, sorry, sorry,” Wèi Yīng offers a toothy smile, “that joke was in poor taste, huh?” 

“Mn.” 

“Aiyah, then what will this one’s husband do to him for such a distasteful remark?” Wèi Yīng teases, fluttering his lashes at him as Lán Wàngjī rises to his feet, “perhaps punish him...?”  

Lán Wàngjī stares down at Wèi Yīng, lips twitching as he bites back a smile, not wanting to give Wèi Yīng any satisfaction that Lán Wàngjī finds his husband charming and amusing. 

“...shameful.”  

Wèi Yīng laughs brightly, snuggling into Lán Wàngjī’s outer robe.  

“Lán Zhàn, Lán Zhàn, I’m sooo cold now that I’m out of the water! Gūsū is cold!” Wèi Yīng whines pitifully after a second, “ah, this one wishes he had a big, strong husband to carry him home— Eh! Lán Zhàn, I was just kidding! I can walk just fine—!” 

Lán Wàngjī had not wasted a second before he was hoisting Wèi Yīng back into his arms as soon as the tease had left Wèi Yīng’s mouth, holding him tenderly to his chest once again.  

Wèi Yīng was not as sturdy as he had been in another lifetime, not that Lán Wàngjī had really gotten to hold Wèi Yīng like this before, when he wasn’t gravely injured and barely clinging to life; this body now weak, smaller and still recovering from the malnourishment it had had when Wèi Yīng took over it. 

Not to mention the array of injuries Wèi Yīng had gotten since he’d reincarnated. 

Despite the protest, Wèi Yīng curls into his chest in an instant, soaking in his body heat as he presses close. A hand full of frozen fingers settles spread across his chest, subtly slipping under the edge of his inner robes until his fingertips touch against smooth skin, right by the branding on his chest.  

Wèi Yīng’s fingers are like ice when they settle against warm skin.  

Lán Wàngjī doesn’t so much as bat an eyelash. 

“Too late.” Lán Wàngjī hums, “Wèi Yīng should not say things he does not mean.” 

“Ah, Lán Zhàn, I always mean what I say when it comes to you,” Wèi Yīng sighs fondly, “I just meant, what will the Lán Clan think when they see us like this...?” 

“They will think that this one loves his Wèi Yīng.” 

Wèi Yīng sputters, a weak fist pounding lightly against Lán Wàngjī’s chest between the fabric of his robe and his bare skin, “my poor heart! Lán Zhàn must warn his Wèi Yīng before he speaks so affectionately. So sweet! I love my Lán Zhàn~” 

His chest feels warm and fuzzy at the declaration. 

“Mn.” 

Wèi Yīng’s cheek falls against his shoulder and the younger shifts until he can nuzzle his nose against the column of Lán Wàngjī’s neck. Even the tip of Wèi Yīng’s nose is cold against his skin, as are his lips when Wèi Yīng wriggles enough to be able to trail kisses up his neck before cuddling in. 

Worry rears in his stomach again. 

Lán Wàngjī makes quick work of collecting Wèi Yīng’s cold and damp robes, bunching them up to be cleaned and dried later before setting the ball of them, as well as Bìchén and Chénqíng, into the dip of Wèi Yīng’s waist and thighs where he’s not being supported.  

Wèi Yīng wraps a trembling arm around them to keep them from falling, hand then finding a dry spot in the fabric to tuck his other cold hand into, as Lán Wàngjī shifts the younger’s weight in his arms and starts the trek back up the path he’d come down. 

Wèi Yīng’s teeth chatter slightly, Lán Wàngjī isn’t sure he even realizes it, and his shivering body presses close to Lán Wàngjī’s warmer one. He’d give Wèi Yīng everything he has, if Wèi Yīng asked.  

The walk is quiet after that, Wèi Yīng’s eyes slip shut. 

The Jingshi is warmer than outside, for sure, but Lán Wàngjī quickly decides it is definitely not warm enough for a half-frozen Wèi Yīng to comfortably bring his internal temperature back up in.  

He sets the shivering mess on their bed, Wèi Yīng instantly flopping back and curling up on his side. He kicks off his damp trousers, leaving him in equally as damp underwear that will not leave as much as of a wet mess on their mattress. He is no longer sopping wet, had dried a bit on their way back.   

Wèi Yīng heaves a relieved sigh, fingers fisting into the blankets on the bed.  

Lán Wàngjī leaves him for just a second to grab a heavy, winter blanket from a storage chest in the Jingshi. It had not been cold enough to dig the blanket out thus far, but now seems like a good time. 

The Cloud Recesses will only get colder from this point on.  

Lán Wàngjī unfolds the blanket and gently throws it over his husband’s trembling form.  

Wèi Yīng heaves another sigh, this one fonder and appreciative, as he snuggles under the warmth.  

It is the warmest blanket they have.  

Lán Wàngjī’s heart skips a beat when Wèi Yīng smiles lazily at him in appreciation.  

He wishes he could crawl under the blanket with Wèi Yīng now, but the blue tint on Wèi Yīng’s lips has him on edge. He will not be able to rest until Wèi Yīng’s warm complexion returns, and the dusting of blue recedes from his lips completely.  

He does not want to have to call for a healer, but he will if the need arises. 

Lán Wàngjī clears his throat, “warming talismans?” 

Wèi Yīng grins. 

Lán Wàngjī pastes some of Wèi Yīng’s modified warming talisman to the doors and windows of the Jingshi. A typical warming talisman would barely be able to keep a basin of water warm for a few hours, but Wèi Yīng is a genius when it comes to talisman work.  

The talisman he’d stuck around their home would keep the room comfortably warm for a full cycle of Hài Shí to the following evening’s Hài Shí. That is impressive. Wèi Yīng is impressive. 

Lán Wàngjī wishes Wèi Yīng had more opportunity to share his genius. Considering how many of Wèi Yīng’s inventions they’d started to integrate into their daily life and Cultivation after his death, people are still cautious about embracing Wèi Yīng’s brilliant ideas.   

The Second Twin Jade had been trying to get Wèi Yīng approval from the Elders and Shū fù so that he could teach a talisman lesson to the Junior Disciples once or twice a week.  

It would be very beneficial if their younger members were more versed in talisman.  

Lán Sīzhuī and Lán Jǐngyí have already learned bountiful of information about talisman work from Wèi Yīng in the months since he’d settled down a little more permanently in the Cloud Recesses.  

They were eager to see his creations whenever they came around the Jingshi to visit, eager to see how each new talisman worked, what could be achieved through talisman fabric and ink, eager to see how vast and versatile talisman could be when you knew what you were doing, and they were even eager to learn simpler talisman under his kind, yet earnest teachings.  

Wèi Yīng was good with children. 

Wèi Yīng was good with everyone.  

Lán Xīchén had already agreed to the idea if Lán Wàngjī could get it through the stone wall that was the angry and distasteful Clan Elders. That was challenging. They did not like Wèi Yīng much, nor did they trust, or respect him, even after everything Wèi Yīng had done for them.  

Shū fù had, fortunately, been slowly coming to terms with the fact that Lán Wàngjī had, in deed, married Wèi Wúxiàn and he would not be leaving anytime soon.  

Lán Wàngjī did not want him to go, and if Wèi Yīng did leave... well, Lán Wàngjī very well may follow.  

Shū fù did not exactly like Wèi Yīng any more than he had when Wèi Yīng was an unruly student, but he was no longer averse to him like he had been during the tail end of the war. Wèi Yīng had earned some respect from Shū fù— Shū fù could have an ill temper at times, but he was a wise, accountable man who could admit when he was wrong.  

Wèi Yīng had given up a lot to protect the army of angry Clan’s men storming the Burial Mounds to kill him when the news that he’d been reincarnated broken loose.  

Wèi Yīng had been willing to die, if it meant they’d survive.  

Even when they were angry, intent to kill him if the chance arose.  

Lán Qǐrén knew that.  

Lán Qǐrén respected the sacrifice Wèi Yīng was willing to make for them, all without so much as a second thought— the idea entirely Wèi Yīng’s own— even if he generally was not a fan of Wèi Yīng.   

It was progress.  

Slow, but still progress. 

Still, Lán Wàngjī knows that even as Sect Leader, Xiōng-zhǎng will need to go through the proper channels within the Clan before he can agree to something like letting an outsider teach their young Disciples, marital status to Lán Wàngjī aside. 

It was hard enough getting the okay for a marriage between not just two men, but the younger Twin Jade and the Yílíng Laozu, which Lán Wàngjī would’ve found a way to do even if Xiōng-zhǎng hadn’t been able to talk the Elders and Shū fù into accepting the proposed marriage. 

Marriage had never been in the cards for Lán Wàngjī until he’d loved, and lost, Wèi Yīng.  

He would not make the same mistake twice.  

That said, he was not tethered to the traditions of the Lán Clan if they weren’t willing to accept him and his husband. Lán Wàngjī had great respect for his Clan, but he had greater respect for Wèi Yīng.  

Respect was expected when it came to the Lán Clan, but Wèi Yīng... Wèi Yīng had earned his respect. Wèi Yīng had given so much of himself, he’d put others above himself, he’d fight for what was right even if that meant standing alone and making an enemy of himself. 

Respect that was earned would always be greater than respect that was demanded.   

And Wèi Yīng had a rocky relationship, with his own Clan— which was unfortunately the Yúnmèng Jiang Clan since he was a ward of the Jiang family still, Wèi Yīng considered them his family, even after he defected, after his death.  

Well, not that one could really consider the tense, hardly so much as acknowledging the other’s existence standstill that Wèi Yīng and Jiāng Wǎnyín had settled into over the previous months since Wèi Yīng reincarnated, much of a relationship.  

Wèi Yīng still has hope to rekindle that relationship, but Lán Wàngjī doesn’t care much for Jiāng Wǎnyín. Wèi Yīng had taken far too many lashes of Zǐdiàn from his spitfire of a brother.  

But that meant that Wèi Yīng was also not bound to any martial traditions, which made everything a lot easier. Lán Wàngjī did not care where their wedding bows were completed, just that Wèi Yīng was his and they were bound till death do them part. 

By some miracle, Lán Xīchén had been able to pull off the wedding, refusing to let his younger brother marry anywhere that wasn’t the Cloud Recesses, before his own eyes. So, he and Wèi Yīng had completed their ceremony within the Cloud Recesses like his ancestors before him.  

With any luck the Elders will be worn down enough to agree to Wèi Yīng teaching too. 

But that’s a fight for later though. 

Lán Wàngjī steps out of the Jingshi to flag down some Disciples on patrol, requesting a few basins of water to be brought so Wèi Yīng could bathe.  

A bath would be the most efficient way to bring Wèi Yīng’s temperature back up, and he could control the temperature himself with another of Wèi Yīng’s warming talisman.  

Not too hot at first, but he could steadily adjust the talisman to heat a bit hotter if need be.  

The talisman was simple enough, one just need add another brush stroke and the heat will rise.  

Wèi Yīng had been near vibrating on his knees when they’d settled at the table together months prior, Wèi Yīng happy to show off his newest creation when he’d first finished it. 

He makes Wèi Yīng a herbal tea while he waits for the requested water— it's a tea they’d gotten from the healers when Lán Wàngjī had insisted that they make visit to the Healer’s Hall.  

That was around the time Wèi Yīng had let slip that his new body did, in fact, come with sudden and unexplained chronic pain that would flare up at random and leave him aching. 

That would not do. 

Wèi Yīng had insisted it wasn’t necessary to bother them, insisted he could handle it, that it was nothing, that it was definitely not the worst he’d had, even as he’d rubbed his aching wrist raw. 

Lán Wàngjī had won that battle against his stubborn husband.  

He’d ended up dragging a complaining Wèi Yīng all the way to the Healer’s Hall, and his husband had sat with a petulant pout while Lán Wàngjī did the speaking that the other man refused to do.  

Wèi Yīng’s notion of ‘just bear it’ had always rubbed Lán Wàngjī the wrong way.  

It had gotten tenfold worse after he’d returned from those three months in the Burial Mounds.  

Lán Wàngjī assumes the only thing Wèi Yīng truly could’ve done at that time was to just bear the pain and keep moving forward if he wanted to survive.  

Wèi Yīng is still yet to talk about those three months in the Burial Mounds.  

Lán Wàngjī does not push anymore.  

Wèi Yīng had assured him that the tea did help, when the pain wasn’t already to the point of being unbearable, which did not happen often, thankfully, but there had been two or three incidents where Wèi Yīng was terribly uncomfortable and could barely bend his wrists.  

For a man who could hardly sit still, who was always fiddling with this, or that, always something in his hands, fingers always moving, it hurt Lán Wàngjī to see him so reserved and still.  

And when it was to the point it was unbearable and the tea couldn’t offer much relief, Wèi Yīng just had to wait for it to pass naturally. His weak Core didn’t make much of a difference, even with Lán Wàngjī pushing waves of Qi into his meridians.  

Lán Wàngjī would much rather take another thirty-three lashes from the Discipline Whip than watch Wèi Yīng suffer with a pain he can’t help take away.  

Wèi Yīng did not appreciate the sentiment when Lán Wàngjī had confided such a thing so very softly on quiet evening where Wèi Yīng had been in pain.  

Wèi Yīng had been almost angry when he’d said it.  

Lán Wàngjī had dared not uttered the words again, even if it was the honest truth.  

He focuses back on the tea he was steeping.  

It would help warm him, and the medicinal properties in it would balm over any lingering joint pain that Wèi Yīng may be feeling as his body starts to warm and thaw.  

When he returns to their bed, Wèi Yīng is sitting in the middle of it, blanket wrapped over his head and shoulders so only his face is visible. He hadn’t changed his robes still, and he hadn’t actually put Lán Wàngjī’s outer robes on, so it had slipped off his shoulders at some point, leaving Wèi Yīng’s chest bare when the blanket parts so he can accept the offering of tea.  

Golden eyes lower to scan his husband’s muscled chest and stomach shamelessly.  

“Aiyah! Makes me feel shy, looking at me like that, Lán Zhàn!” Wèi Yīng teases, cupping the warm tea between cold fingers. Lán Wàngjī lifts his eyes to meet Wèi Yīng’s. “Does Lán Zhàn like the view...? This lowly husband laid bare before the eyes of his beloved in their martial bed~” 

“Mn.” 

Wèi Yīng pouts at the lack of real reaction, finally sipping at the tea.  

Lán Wàngjī sits on the edge of the bed, reaching over to tug the blanket back over Wèi Yīng’s exposed chest and arms. His hands are holding the cup to his lips, so the blanket tucks nicely around his wrists until he’s fully covered, besides his face and his hands.  

Wèi Yīng’s expression softens, “I am fine, Lán Zhàn.” 

“Mn.” Lán Wàngjī’s eyes slip shut. “Lips still blue. Wèi Yīng will bathe and then we rest.” 

“Ah, will Lán Zhàn be joining his Wèi Yīng in the bath...?” 

“Wèi Yīng will bathe.” 

A huff. 

The requested water arrives not much time later and Lán Wàngjī lets the Disciples into the Jingshi to fill the large basin they bathe in. The four young Disciples leave quietly when their task is completed, respectful bows angled towards Lán Wàngjī when he sees them out. 

Wèi Yīng is nothing but a face for the second time, snuggled into the blanket once more.  

Lán Wàngjī is not surprised they did not notice his husband on the bed.  

The younger Clan members have great respect for Wèi Yīng, likely due to Lán Sīzhuī and Lán Jǐngyí correcting any false gossip they may hear about Wèi Yīng. Hence another reason he believes a talisman lesson taught by Wèi Yīng will be well received by the Juniors. 

Wèi Yīng would be such an asset to the Gūsū Lán Clan if the Elders would simply give him a chance.  

Lán Wàngjī presses a heating talisman to the side of the basin, hand lowered into the water to gauge the temperature until he’s happy with it— not too warm as to shock his cold body, but comfortable enough that Wèi Yīng will not complain that it’s too cold.  

Wèi Yīng is all too unabashed to let Lán Wàngjī carry him over and strip him completely bare.  

Wèi Yīng seems disappointed when Lán Wàngjī does not actually join him, though he had never alluded to anything else. It was Wèi Yīng’s lecherous mind that had led him astray. 

The basin is not huge, but they have shared it before.  

A tight fit, but manageable.  

As much as he’d love to bend to each and every of Wèi Yīng’s whims, he must put the other’s health above either of their desires. There’s always tomorrow. And every day after, and so on.  

Wèi Yīng all but melts into the warm water, body sinking down until he’s shoulder deep.  

Lán Wàngjī settles on his knees beside the basin, content to keep an eye on his husband.  

Wèi Yīng’s hair hangs down the outside of the basin.  

The bath is not one for cleaning, it is simply a means to warm Wèi Yīng up.  

Wet hair will do the opposite.  

Unfortunately, the dark strands are still a little damp where they had dipped into the Cold Springs, as well as a little tangled from the blankets Wèi Yīng had smothered himself in. 

He silently lifts his hands, untying the red ribbon in Wèi Yīng’s hair.  

He sets it on the floor beside him, folded neatly, before he starts running his fingers through Wèi Yīng’s locks. His husband shutters, but it is no longer because of the cold.  

Wèi Yīng loves to have his hair played with. 

Lán Wàngjī, in turn, loves to run his fingers through Wèi Yīng’s dark locks.  

Wèi Yīng melts a little deeper into the water with a content little sigh, now neck deep with the back of his head settled on the lip of the basin.  

Lán Wàngjī is quiet as he gently works his fingers though any knots he snags until his husband’s hair is smooth and silken once again and Lán Wàngjī can easily card his fingers from Wèi Yīng’s scalp, down to where his hair hangs, nearly touching the floor.  

He thinks about getting up and finding a comb, but settles for just running his fingers through Wèi Yīng’s long hair a few more times.  

Wèi Yīng’s eyes have long since shut, but he is not asleep.  

Perhaps he is resting his eyes again. 

Ridiculous.  

Lán Wàngjī brushes Wèi Yīng’s hair from the back of his neck when he’s finally satisfied that it won’t continue drying tangled, then leans forward to press a kiss there.  

Wèi Yīng stirs, angling his head to look back at him.  

Lán Wàngjī shifts up a little, posture straightening as he folds his arms along the edge of the basin.  

His hand cups under Wèi Yīng’s jaw, thumb smoothing over his lips where the blue tint is finally gone. Lán Wàngjī wouldn’t quite deem this a success yet, Wèi Yīng is still a bit pale, but he’s relived the worrying colour is gone nonetheless.  

Hopefully after a good night’s rest, Wèi Yīng’s natural colour will have returned.  

He hums to himself still, happy with the results. 

“Ah, Lán Zhàn, Lán Zhàn,” Wèi Yīng’s eyes flutter open, offering a toothy smile, “see? I told you I was fine. I’m much warmer. Back to normal, right? Just a minor incident. This Wèi Yīng is all better now, thanks to his loving husband indulging him so sweetly. Lán Zhàn is too good for this lowly one.” 

“Mn.” 

“You were really worried, huh?” Wèi Yīng shifts in the water to face him, chin settling on Lán Wàngjī’s folded forearms, as if they’re his own. They’re almost nose to nose. “It is not yet too cold to visit the Cold Springs, my love, so, you need not fret over me for such a silly thing. Zéwú-jūn was kind to suggest it. I am grateful. And if the Lán ducklings can handle the Cold Springs at this time of year, so can I, of course!” 

Lán Wàngjī does not deign this with a response. 

He will always fret over Wèi Yīng. 

“Besides,” Wèi Yīng continues cheekily, used to carrying a conversation between them, pushing up onto his knees so he can press his lips to Lán Wàngjī’s tenderly. Water droplets cascade down his chest as he moves, Lán Wàngjī keeps careful eyes trained on Wèi Yīng’s own eyes to avoid temptation. “You must remember that we visited the springs far later in the year when I was taking lessons here. My Lán Zhàn is so endearing in his worry for his Wèi Yīng. I am fine though. I was fine then; I am fine now.” 

It was different back then, Lán Wàngjī wants to say. 

He doesn’t. 

“Wèi Yīng has never liked the cold.” 

A snort of laughter from the younger, a wet hand rises from the water to pinch Lán Wàngjī’s chin gently, “ah, well, that’s true. But Wèi Yīng will survive, Lán-er-Gēgē. I did agree to move to the Cloud Recesses. I know it’s cold. After all, this Wèi Yīng has got his handsome, strong, warm husband to shield him from the bitter cold, eh? I am never cold in your arms, so you’ll just have to hug me always. Always, always.” 

“Will hug Wèi Yīng always.” A firm nod. “Always, always.”  

The faintest curl of tease in his tone is worth it for the beaming smile he gets from Wèi Yīng.  

In no longer than it takes for Lán Wàngjī to blink, the younger man catapults himself from the basin with all the flourish of a splashed feral cat, and Lán Wàngjī suddenly has a lapful of bare Wèi Yīng.  

Water soaks into his robes, but he does not mind.  

He was going to change them before bed anyway.  

Arms weave around his neck, and Wèi Yīng tugs him in until they are chest to chest, noses brushing when Wèi Yīng presses into his space. Lán Wàngjī does not mind this either. Quite the contrary, in fact.  

Lán Wàngjī brushes his fingertips against Wèi Yīng’s waist, feels warm, smooth skin under his touch.  

His hand settles completely, palm pressing into the curve of his husband’s side.  

A kiss is brushed against his lips, Lán Wàngjī’s hand tightens on Wèi Yīng’s waist.  

Wèi Yīng smiles into the kiss, shifting in his lap—  

Lán Wàngjī pinches his side softly.  

Wèi Yīng’s muscles tighten in surprise, a gasp falling from his lips as he pulls back, “ai-yah, Lán Zhàn! So cruel, so cruel! Can a man no longer kiss his handsome husband’s lips~?” 

“Shameless.”  

Lán Wàngjī’s lips quirk the faintest bit as he presses a fleeting kiss to the corner of Wèi Yīng’s pouting mouth, then shifts until he’s able to rise to his feet, lithe husband and all, “Wèi Yīng will catch a chill.” 

“I will not—” 

“It is nearly Hài Shí,” Lán Wàngjī offers instead, changing his tactic, as he carries Wèi Yīng back to their bed and sets him down before turning to where they keep their robes. “We must sleep now. Wèi Yīng’s body needs rest, I am tired. It is late. Will take care of Wèi Yīng tomorrow.” 

“Tomorrow?” Wèi Yīng’s tone takes a sultry tease, lashes fluttering as Wèi Yīng arches his body in a way that’s irresistible. Lán Wàngjī wisely keeps his attention on their sleeping robes that he’s collecting. “Lán Zhàn, Lán Zhàn, do you promise...? You'll really take care of me? Lying is forbidden in the Cloud Recesses, don’t forget! The esteemed Hánguāng-jūn must follow the rules, or the whole Clan may very well collapse in on itself! What would the Lán ducklings think if I had to tell them their beloved Hánguāng-jūn told a lie...? That he broke their precious rules...?” 

“Mn. Promise.” Lán Wàngjī appeases softly.  

And then, simple because Lán Wàngjī cannot resist, “they would not believe Wèi Yīng if he tried.” 

Wèi Yīng sputters, shooting him a look of amused surprise. “Lán Zhàn, Lán Zhàn! So smug! Your lawful reputation has gone straight to your head! Isn’t there a rule about being humble? Being modest? I’m pretty sure I copied something like that! That’s two rules! Aiyah! Wait until the ducklings hear that!”  

Lán Wàngjī smiles to himself, his back to Wèi Yīng as he grumbles. 

They don’t end up in bed by Hài Shí, but that is fine.  

When Wèi Yīng is involved, the Gūsū Lán Clan rules are, more or less, guidelines.   

It has been a long time since Lán Wàngjī had it in him to care about such things. 

They dress in their sleeping robes and fall into bed together, routinely, as they always do when they’re both home together. It is one of Lán Wàngjī’s favorite parts of his day, one he misses greatly when Wèi Yīng is travelling, or when he’s sent away for business.  

They settle side by side on the bed, but within moments, Lán Wàngjī has the comfortable weight of his husband on top of him. Wèi Yīng is not always so cuddly, but Lán Wàngjī assumes his body is still looking for warmth, and what better warmth is there here than that of another? 

Lán Wàngjī secretly adores when Wèi Yīng wants to embrace like this.  

Wèi Yīng presses sleepy kisses to his neck, but it doesn’t take long for him to lose his battle against the pull of sleep. His breathing evens out, chest rising and falling steadily. His face is hidden away in Lán Wàngjī’s neck, his lips parted slightly like he’d fallen asleep mid-kiss.  

It’s terribly endearing.  

It is not common for Wèi Yīng to fall asleep before Lán Wàngjī. 

But he is not surprised in the slightest this time.  

Wèi Yīng is tired.  

The cold had taken a toll on him. 

Wèi Yīng’s body needs the rest, even if he refuses to acknowledge that. 

The older man drags his nails lightly across Wèi Yīng’s back under the warm blanket— it is a little too warm for Lán Wàngjī, the blanket and Wèi Yīng both, but he will endure.  

He falls asleep to the warm breaths of his beloved fanning over the sensitive skin of his neck. 

It is not Mǎo Shí when Lán Wàngjī’s eyes flutter open.  

Lán Wàngjī is not used to waking up before Mǎo Shí. 

His internal clock, like most Láns, is set to sleep at Hài Shí, and rise again with the sun at Mǎo Shí.  

He doesn’t remember the last time he woke naturally before Mǎo Shí, if there ever was a time, so something must’ve roused him from his sleep.  

Lán Wàngjī’s gaze stares up at the ceiling in the dark, brow furrowed as he listens for anything that could’ve woken him... but no, the Jingshi is as quiet as usual, no one had disturbed them— 

Lán Wàngjī pauses, sitting up on his elbows the slightest bit in an attempt not to disturb Wèi Yīng. 

His eyes flick down to the man in question, the younger still asleep on his chest, except... Wèi Yīng is the one to have disturbed him .   

He is making noises.  

And they are not his typical noises either.  

Wèi Yīng is known to have night terrors every so often.  

It is to be expected, really. Lán Wàngjī himself had them occasionally too, vivid images of a raging war, his family being hurt, of Wèi Yīng’s death. More memories than dreams, but he still finds himself jolting awake in fear. 

Lán Wàngjī knows they’ve both seen some traumatizing things in their lifetimes, living and fighting a war in their youth will have its repercussions, but Wèi Yīng probably more so, considering his time in the Burial Mounds.  

Wèi Yīng would thrash, talk, sometimes, occasionally call out names desperately— Jiāng Wǎnyín’s, Jiāng Yànlí’s, Lán Wàngjī’s own birth name, Wēn Níng’s, Wēn Qíng, Jīn Zixuān’s or sometimes even Ā-Yuàn's or Jīn Rúlán’s— before he’d jolt awake with a gasp, or a cry, clothes soaked through in a cold sweat.  

This doesn’t seem like a night terror.  

Lán Wàngjī stares down at Wèi Yīng’s sleeping face, watches his chest rise with another breath and— 

...was that a wheeze?  

More alert now, Lán Wàngjī sits up the rest of the way.  

Wèi Yīng does not stir, even as his body slowly sinks down from Lán Wàngjī’s chest as he rises, until Wèi Yīng’s upper body melts into his lap. Wèi Yīng remains undisturbed, settling in Lán Wàngjī’s lap as if he’d been asleep there the entire time. 

He listens in the silence of their home to Wèi Yīng’s breathing, heart lurching into his throat when Wèi Yīng sucks in a raspy breath, chest rumbling with a faint, yet completely frightening rattling sort of sound. Having no other sounds, no other distractions, at this time in the early morning, Lán Wàngjī can really hear the change in Wèi Yīng’s breathing.  

He’d laid in bed many nights, just listening to Wèi Yīng breathe steadily beside him. Taking comfort in knowing Wèi Yīng was alive and well beside him after mourning his presence for so many years. 

So Lán Wàngjī can hear that his breathing now does not sound right. 

For a long second, Wèi Yīng doesn’t breathe out again, Lán Wàngjī fears he might not— his mind whirrs in an attempt to put together some semblance of a plan of action for incase Wèi Yīng simply does not breathe again— but Wèi Yīng saves him the trouble by finally gasping out a painful sounding half-breath, half-wheeze. It almost sounds like he’d choked on the air. 

Thoroughly concerned now, Lán Wàngjī shifts a little more in bed, guiding Wèi Yīng onto his back, head still in his lap. He sets his hand on his husband’s chest, leaves it there. He’d hoped that maybe the new position would ease the struggle he’s clearly having, but it doesn’t change much. 

Wèi Yīng takes another heavy breath through his mouth and... and Lán Wàngjī can feel the faintest wet rattle in his lungs as Wèi Yīng breathes. He’d felt the faint crackling under his hand in the moment between inhale and exhale, in Wèi Yīng’s chest.  

It’s only after that that he realizes Wèi Yīng is covered in sweat; his hair clinging to his forehead, sleeping robes plastered to his skin and a little damp.  

There’s a faint sheen on his neck, his cheeks, his forehead. 

Lán Wàngjī carefully lifts his hand from Wèi Yīng’s chest to his forehead, where he brushes the dark hair sticking to his skin out of his face, setting the palm of his hand across the length of Wèi Yīng’s forehead after the hair plastered to his forehead is brushed away and he can feel the skin beneath.  

And he’s hot.   

Far too hot for Lán Wàngjī’s liking.  

He’s fevered.  

Wèi Yīng has a fever. 

Lán Wàngjī blinks down at Wèi Yīng owlishly.  

What should he do...? 

He doesn’t have much time to really contemplate that question— come to some decision of if he should wait for Wèi Yīng to wake naturally, wake him himself, or if he should just collect Wèi Yīng’s sleeping body into his arms and rush him to the Healer’s Hall— when Wèi Yīng’s upper body suddenly and violently twists sideways as he curls in on himself.  

He heaves a series of wet, hacking coughs into Lán Wàngjī’s lap.  

The coughs sound painful, deep and clearly coming from the depths of his lungs.  

Wèi Yīng’s body tightens up with each, barely getting the chance to relax his muscles after one passes before the next one hits him in a rather vicious cycle, that feels to go on for a lifetime as Lán Wàngjī watches helplessly, but it really can’t be longer than a moment, maybe two.  

Lán Wàngjī hoists him to a sitting position in a hurried attempt to help ease the fit, his husband’s weight slumping entirely against his raised knee where Lán Wàngjī had pulled his leg up towards his chest to give some kind of means to keep Wèi Yīng upright. To give him support. 

His hand finds Wèi Yīng’s back, switching between rubbing soothing circles on his back and patting gently, but urgently, between his shoulder blades in an attempt to help dislodge whatever Wèi Yīng is struggling to cough up. Wèi Yīng’s robes are damp and cold under his hand.  

His hand shakes. 

The coughing does not stop. 

“Wèi Yīng,” Lán Wàngjī pleads softly, the hand not on his back coming to settle on his cheek, to secure his lulling head, “come back to me, Wèi Yīng. Wake up. It’s okay. You’re okay. Please, Qīn'ài de , you must breathe.”  

The fit passes after a terrifyingly long moment, Wèi Yīng going boneless slumped against his knee.  

Wèi Yīng is struggling to catch his breath, finally seeming to be rousing from his sleep. His chest is heaving, and Lán Wàngjī’s heart is thundering in his own chest. Fear, panic, hurt for Wèi Yīng.  

He brings shaking fingers to Wèi Yīng’s face, brushing his hair out of the way once again. 

“Oh, Wèi Yīng...” Lán Wàngjī can’t help but whisper.  

Wèi Yīng nuzzles into his hand, breathing still a little stuttered.  

“L’n Zh’n...?” 

“I am here, Wèi Yīng,” Lán Wàngjī collects the sickly man into his lap, holding him like one would a child. 

Lán Wàngjī had held Ā-Yuàn like this many a time when the boy was small.  

He’d get terribly unwell when the weather grew colder.  

The healers ascribed his poor immunity to the fact he’d been malnourished and gravely ill when Lán Wàngjī had rescued him from the Burial Mounds. Wēn Yuàn’s own time in the Burial Mounds had been tough on him, he is aware, despite how Lán Wàngjī knows Wèi Yīng, Wēn Níng, Wēn Qíng and the rest of the Wēns would’ve done everything in their power to care for the boy as best they could. 

Wèi Yīng sinks into the embrace, much like Ā-Yuàn used to all those years back, all of his weight settling against Lán Wàngjī’s chest. Rapid puffs of hot air hit Lán Wàngjī’s chest where his sleeping robes have parted slightly, but he has more pressing things to be worried about. 

“Er-Gēgē,” Wèi Yīng winces, hoarse and shaking, “this one does not feel well...” 

And isn’t that a testament to how truly terrible Wèi Yīng must feel.  

Wèi Yīng had always been the type to brush things off— illnesses, injuries, curse marks, stab wounds.   

“I know,” Lán Wàngjī presses his lips to Wèi Yīng’s temple. His heart is still pounding, worry and fear gripping his chest like a vice. Wèi Yīng is awake, but just barely lucid. “You are very unwell, my Wèi Yīng. How do you feel?” 

A hum, scratchy and so very exhausted, “this one’s chest hurts. Mn, throat hurts. Head hurts. Sore. Tired. Cold. Lán Zhàn, it is too cold... this one is so cold, Lán Zhàn...” 

“No,” Lán Wàngjī swallows thickly, “Wèi Yīng is too hot. Fevered.” 

The warming talisman he’d put up yesterday were still generating heat in the Jingshi, Lán Wàngjī could feel it even from the bed. The room was still comfortably warm.  

Wèi Yīng’s skin was hot to the touch, sweaty and clammy. 

“Wèi Yīng,” Lán Wàngjī mumbles against his head, “I must bring your fever down.” 

A hum, acknowledgement, but not quite comprehension. Lán Wàngjī swallows thickly, threading his fingers through Wèi Yīng’s hair a few times in an attempt to calm himself down.  

He needs a level head, if he is to care for Wèi Yīng.  

He needs to bring Wèi Yīng’s fever down. 

First and foremost.  

Then he needs to speak with Xiōng-zhǎng. 

And he needs a healer.  

Wèi Yīng’s eyes have slipped shut again, hot breath against Lán Wàngjī’s neck. He can feel the heat radiating off of Wèi Yīng’s sweaty skin. His stomach clenches with worry.  

Lán Wàngjī gently collects Wèi Yīng’s thick, damp hair between his hands, delicately tugging it up into a high pony tail that won’t bother him when he lays again. He searches blindly for something to tie it up with, Wèi Yīng’s ribbon is still on the floor by their bath basin, he can see it peeking out from behind the privacy screen divider. Lán Wàngjī reaches for the next best thing, his own forehead ribbon.  

Nimble fingers tie the ribbon in Wèi Yīng’s hair, keeping it up and out of the way.  

Long, thick hair like Wèi Yīng’s can be hot.  

Wèi Yīng has told him as much. He always wears it up when he’s training, or being active. His hair now isn’t quite as full and thick as his original body’s, but it’s still thicker than Lán Wàngjī’s thin, silky hair.  

His neck is damp with a sheen layer of sweat, proving the theory that it was hot, attributing to Wèi Yīng’s sudden rise in temperature.  

Lán Wàngjī presses a tender kiss to the heated skin anyway.  

Wèi Yīng shivers at the touch of his lips. 

He imagines his lips might feel cool to such warm skin.  

It is easy enough slipping out from under Wèi Yīng, he is very pliable in his sickness, lets Lán Wàngjī maneuver him and he weighs startlingly little so it’s not really a task.  

It is easy to pick him up, carry him around effortlessly as if he weighs nothing.  

So, it is easy to set him back on the bed without disturbing him much.  

Until Lán Wàngjī starts to move.  

Wèi Yīng bemoans his lack touch the second he pulls away, Lán Wàngjī shifting to get off the bed to grab a cloth and basin of water to keep on the bedside table.  

The petulant sound is cut off by a harsh cough that shakes his weakened frame.  

Wèi Yīng had just barely managed to get the bend of his elbow over his mouth, coughing hard into it. He rolls from his back onto his side, bottom half of his face buried in the arm of his sleeping robe. 

When the fit ceases, he slumps back against the pillow behind him, protests forgotten. 

Lán Wàngjī makes quick work of grabbing a small basin and filling it with water.  

There is not enough water in the Jingshi at any given time to fill the bathing basin, but there is enough to fill a small basin and still be able to heat a few teapots full of water without needing to disturb anyone. 

Lán Wàngjī then finds a piece of cloth that will fold nicely and sit on Wèi Yīng’s forehead.  

He returns to his husband quickly, finding he hasn’t moved an inch.  

His breathing is a little labored, but he is breathing.  

Lán Wàngjī supposes that is all he can ask of Wèi Yīng at this moment.  

Lán Wàngjī kneels on the floor at Wèi Yīng’s bedside. 

He diligently wipes away the rivulets of sweat on Wèi Yīng’s brow, his jaw, his neck, before refreshing the cloth and setting it over his husband’s forehead.  

Wèi Yīng grumbles unintelligible protests instantly, reaching up— 

“Wèi Yīng, Wèi Yīng,” Lán Wàngjī whispers, catching his wrist before he can disturb the cloth. He draws the shaking hand to his own lips, pressing a kiss to the heated skin on the inside of Wèi Yīng’s wrist, before kissing his palm as well for good measure. “You must leave it.” 

“Sss’cold.” 

The ‘s’ drags out with a shiver, teeth chattering.  

Lán Wàngjī’s heart aches for the younger man, “I know.” 

Lán Wàngjī sets Wèi Yīng’s hand on his chest when he’s no long halfheartedly trying to pull away.  

For a long moment, he keeps his hand settled over Wèi Yīng’s.  

His husband doesn’t move his hand out from under Lán Wàngjī’s, not even when he tests the waters of lifting his own hand to see if Wèi Yīng will go for the cloth again. He does not. 

The younger’s chest is still rattling the faintest bit with each breath he takes; Lán Wàngjī can feel the vibrations of it even over Wèi Yīng’s hand. Worry churns in his stomach.  

That is really not good.  

Lán Wàngjī does not like that.  

The man pushes himself back to his feet.  

He strips the heavy blanket off their bed in fear that Wèi Yīng may find it at the foot of their bed and cover himself, overheat when Lán Wàngjī isn’t looking, then searches through their chest of blankets and bedsheets until he finds the lightest blanket they own.  

It is old, Lán Wàngjī has had it for a lot of years, so the fabric is worn in some places. It is the type of blanket that probably should’ve been replaced long ago, but he can’t bear the thought of doing so.  

Wèi Yīng thinks he is cold, a blanket, even if not much, will offer him some peace of mind. Lán Wàngjī wants to provide Wèi Yīng as much peace of mind as he can.  

He searches their chest of drawers next, where they keep their clothing, finding a light pair of Wèi Yīng’s sleeping robes. The fabric is thin, a pair Wèi Yīng had spent many a long summer nights in.  

A specialty of Yúnmèng, where fabric is always thinner than what they have in Gūsū.  

Lán Wàngjī also has a pair of Yúnmèng under robes, at Wèi Yīng’s insistence. 

They are nice when the temperature is hot.  

Wèi Yīng had gone to sleep in a warmer set of sleeping robes, considering his time spent too cold at the Cold Springs. But those sleeping robes are now damp with sweat, and though it might work in favor of keeping him cool, maybe, it’s also working against him in making him feel cold.  

It is nearly Mǎo Shí by the time Lán Wàngjī manages to get Wèi Yīng changed into the fresh robes, switch out their damp bedsheets and has tucked a barely lucid Wèi Yīng under the thin blanket.  

He dresses himself, but finds he does not have the mental will to begin his morning meditation.  

He knows meditating would help, would calm the worry and whirlwind of his mind as his thoughts stray towards frightening thoughts of Wèi Yīng in such a poorly state, but mediation would mean blocking the world out, blocking Wèi Yīng out.  

What if Wèi Yīng needed him and he didn’t notice, didn’t hear? 

The thought alone curdles unpleasant in his stomach.  

So, instead, he sits himself on the edge of the bed beside Wèi Yīng, fingers cupping the younger’s jaw as his thumb caresses over Wèi Yīng’s cheekbone. He is asleep. It is not peaceful. 

He is not sure if the gentle caress is meant to comfort Wèi Yīng, or to comfort himself.  

When the bells announcing Mǎo Shí finally ring, Lán Wàngjī rises to his feet and with one last look at his husband, flushed, and twitching in a fitful slumber, Lán Wàngjī crosses the room.  

He steps out of the Jingshi once again, a strange sense of unease in his stomach at just the thought of leaving Wèi Yīng. Last night Wèi Yīng had been awake, cracking lewd jokes, today he can barely keep his eyes open and his chest is rasping with each breath.  

Thankfully, he doesn’t have to go far before he spots a Disciple, not a patrol guard this time, just an early riser. It is one of the younger Disciples, but not one of the Juniors, he thinks.  

A year or two older than Lán Sīzhuī and Lán Jǐngyí. 

“Hánguāng-jūn,” the Disciple bows respectfully as soon as he sees Lán Wàngjī approach.  

The Disciple’s gaze flicks up to his bare forehead, brow furrowing the slightest bit, but he wisely does not ask. He would not have gotten an answer for the lack of headband anyway. 

Lán Wàngjī tips his head in acknowledgment, but gets straight to the point, “a matter has arisen and I urgently require Zéwú-jūn's presence in the Jingshi. I am unable to deliver it myself, so please deliver my message. Zéwú-jūn has returned to the Hanshi from his seclusion. Make haste.” 

Another bow, “Hánguāng-jūn.” 

The Disciple turns, hurrying away from him. 

With that out of the way, Lán Wàngjī turns to the next Disciple he sees; a Junior this time, who is, from what he can remember, a new Disciple who’d just recently aged appropriately to enroll in their ranks. He was born into the Lán Clan, Lán Wàngjī remembers seeing the child here and there over the years, but he’s a few too many years Lán Sīzhuī’s junior for Lán Wàngjī to know the boy like he did Lán Jǐngyí and the handful of other Juniors Lán Sīzhuī had befriended over the years.  

The boy is clearly on his way to the kitchens as well, so Lán Wàngjī stops him and requests that the boy deliver his request for a vegetable broth to be made for him and be delivered to the Jinshi, in addition to their usual evening meal.  

He really doubts Wèi Yīng will want to eat much, if anything at all, in his state, but perhaps he can be persuaded into drinking some broth. He really hopes so.  

The young man bows, leaving him with another polite and formal, “Hánguāng-jūn.” 

He thinks about sending for a healer next, but decides that he will wait for Xiōng-zhǎng’s thoughts on the situation before sending for one. Lán Wàngjī does not have much experience with ill people— of course there was his experience with Lán Sīzhuī when his son was a child (which, children being sick is far different from adults, he’s noticed), and those few times he remembers Shū fù or Xiōng-zhǎng being under the weather, but his brother had raised Lán Wàngjī just as much as his uncle.  

Where Lán Wàngjī was lacking, his brother usually made up for.  

He’d been there for each instance where Lán Wàngjī was confined to his bed with a lingering cold. Always tending to him with fond little smiles and kind words. 

Lán Wàngjī trusts his elder brother’s judgement. 

And Wèi Yīng will want to avoid disturbing the healers. 

For a man so quick to theatrics, Wèi Yīng is quite private about himself and his problems.  

Somewhere deep in his stomach he knows that it will be unavoidable, that a requested healer will be knocking on their door in the upcoming hours, because Wèi Yīng is truly not well.  

But he will wait until Xiōng-zhǎng examines Wèi Yīng, an outside perspective, and offers his own findings on the matter. Perhaps Lán Wàngjī is just blowing this out of proportion; mind plagued by ill thoughts of losing him again now that he has his Wèi Yīng back.  

The thought is a little ridiculous, but a small part of him is also praying it’s true.  

That would mean Wèi Yīng was not as unwell as he suspects.  

Lán Wàngjī returns back to the Jingshi, unsurprised to find that Wèi Yīng hasn’t moved much.  

He must’ve had another coughing fit, the blankets are pooled in his lap and his face is flushed.  

His skin is slick with sweat again.  

Lán Wàngjī kneels on the floor by the bed, taking the cloth from his forehead to wipe away the sweat again before refreshing it once more and putting it back on Wèi Yīng’s forehead.  

He doesn’t fight him over it this time.  

Unease tugs at Lán Wàngjī’s heart.  

With the cloth back in place, Lán Wàngjī straightens the blanket over the trembling body.  

Wèi Yīng’s breathing is still labored, chest rising and falling heavier than usual. His chest still rattles the tiniest bit with each exhale. There is definitely fluid, or phlegm in his lungs. The cough is not dry, it sounds wet.  

Lán Wàngjī does not know what even a healer could do for him.  

His hand comes up to stroke his knuckles along Wèi Yīng’s smooth cheek, a little comforted by the fact Wèi Yīng still, even in this state, leans into the touch subconsciously.  

He’s not sure how long he stays kneeled on the floor by their bed.  

His eyes are trained on Wèi Yīng; watching him breathe, seeing the struggle of drawing in a breath, the effort it takes to force the breath out and the stray coughs that shake his very being when he does exhale. His face twitches as if in pain, Lán Wàngjī wishes he could take the hurt from Wèi Yīng.  

He hardly hears the polite knock on the door.  

He doesn’t call out to the guest, doesn’t rise from his position, doesn’t so much as look away from Wèi Yīng as the Jingshi door slides open and Lán Xīchén, of course, because who else would be ill-mannered enough to come in without being invited— which Lán Xīchén had been, the urgent request from Lán Wàngjī is about as good an invitation to enter as there is— steps in.  

Steps draw closer, Lán Wàngjī smells the agarwood incense that Lán Xīchén tends to use when he meditates. Lán Wàngjī suspects he’d been disturbed mid-mediation by the Disciple, but he’s not surprised Lán Xīchén would’ve heeded the urgent request from his younger brother and come quickly.  

Lán Wàngjī does not send for him often. 

Not unless it’s important. 

“Wàngjī?” Lán Wàngjī’s shoulders lose a tiny bit of tension at the sound of his brother’s voice behind him. “You... sent for me? Lán Jun implied that it was urgent?” 

Finally, when the figure of his elder brother settles behind him, Lán Wàngjī angles himself the slightest bit so he can look to his brother and still see Wèi Yīng out of the corner of his eye. 

“Dà-gē,” Lán Wàngjī whispers, the old nickname spilling from his lips before he can think better of it, “Wèi Yīng is unwell. I humbly ask your assistance. I... am at a loss. Please.” 

Lán Xīchén blinks in surprise at the address, expression softening in that way it always had when Lán Wàngjī was a child and would reach out for him. He studies his younger brother for a second, maybe trying to read something in his eyes, or expression, before his gaze sweeps to Wèi Yīng, who is blissfully unaware of their new company. 

Which is good.  

He imagines Wèi Yīng would’ve been trying to struggle up enough to show Zéwú-jūn respect, head angling in a polite bow as he always does. His body surely would've protested such a thing. 

Infact, Wèi Yīng doesn’t even need to move for his body to lurch into another coughing fit— deep, and heavy, as his muscles tighten up. It is painful sounding. Perhaps the worst fit he’d seen yet.  

Lán Wàngjī urgently rises from his kneel by the bed to sit on the edge of it by Wèi Yīng instead, brushing the hair that’s too short to be pulled into the ponytail from his mouth as he heaves from the fit.  

Like most of his fits, it takes a moment for the coughing to die down.  

His eyes don’t open, even when he sucks in a desperate, haggard breaths.  

Then, barely clinging to lucidness, Wèi Yīng pushes himself up on shaky arms just enough to collapse down in Lán Wàngjī’s lap. He curls in, burying a flushed and heated face in Lán Wàngjī’s stomach. The groaning noise he makes has Lán Wàngjī’s chest stuttering in his chest.  

Lán Wàngjī’s hands shake as he cradles Wèi Yīng’s head, brushing his hair from his face again. 

“Dà-gē,” Lán Wàngjī turns wide eyes to his startled looking elder brother. 

That seems to spur Xiōng-zhǎng into action.  

Lán Xīchén reaches their bedside in a few long strides, hand settling gently on Wèi Yīng’s forehead. Xiōng-zhǎng’s brow furrows, lip catching between his teeth in that worried way he does.  

His hand repositions, pressing flat against Wèi Yīng’s chest.  

Lán Wàngjī can feel the rattle of Wèi Yīng’s lungs through where his back is lax against Lán Wàngjī’s thigh, so surely Lán Xīchén can feel the oddity from his chest as well.  

Lán Xīchén’s expression tightens the faintest bit in concern. 

Lán Wàngjī’s heart drops into his stomach.  

It must show on his face. 

“It is okay, Wàngjī,” Xiōng-zhǎng assures softly, bending to pick up the cloth where it had fallen from Wèi Yīng’s head during the fit. He refreshes it in the basin, setting it delicately over Wèi Yīng’s forehead again. “Wèi-gōngzī is very ill, indeed. I suppose the Cold Springs yesterday was an ill suggestion on my part. I suggest we send for a healer right away. You have done well, Wàngjī, but Wèi-gōngzī will likely need medicine, professional treatment. Illnesses in the chest can be vicious if not treated.” 

“Mn.” Lán Wàngjī nods, eyes fluttering shut.  

It is just as he suspected.  

And yet it does not feel very nice to be right. 

Xiōng-zhǎng brushes Wèi Yīng’s bangs out from under the cloth before turning his attention to Lán Wàngjī. Once again, his expression softens.  

Lán Wàngjī meets his brother’s gaze.  

“I am sorry I suggested Wèi-gōngzī visit the springs yesterday, Wàngjī,” Lán Xīchén bows his head, “I feel at fault for his sudden illness.” 

“Dà-gē did not know,” Lán Wàngjī shakes his head in disagreement. “Wèi Yīng had an error in his judgment. That is of no one’s fault, one could not foresee this. Simply unfortunate.”  

“Unfortunate,” Lán Xīchén echoes solemnly.  

For a moment, neither of the Lán brothers speak.  

The only noise in the room is Wèi Yīng’s raspy breathing. 

Then, finally, Lán Xīchén clears his throat, shifting his weight by their bedside. His brow is still creased with worry, lips a straight line when he speaks again, “I will see to sending for a healer for you, Wàngjī. The faster he is seen to, the better. I assume you do not wish to bring Wèi Yīng to the Healer’s Hall?” 

Lán Wàngjī hesitates. “Wèi Yīng does not like the Healer’s Hall.” 

“Hn, I see.”  

And that definitely sounds amused.   

“Yes, of course,” Lán Xīchén offers a tiny smile that does, frankly, calm a bit of Lán Wàngjī’s worry. “Wèi Wúxiàn is rather lively, isn’t he? I imagine he would look quite out of place in the Healer’s Hall. I will request our head healer come to you here, then. I’m sure Wèi-gōngzī would appreciate a quiet recovery in the seclusion of his home.” 

Lán Xīchén pauses, glances at Lán Wàngjī, “I ask you send for me again when you have a diagnosis, or if a problem arises. I would like to be informed, if that is alright. Or if you simply need assistance in any way. I do quite like Wèi-gōngzī, he is... a bit like having another younger brother. He is good for you. I wish him a swift recovery. And you, Wàngjī, please do not forget to care for yourself.”  

“Thank you,” Lán Wàngjī accepts on Wèi Yīng’s behalf. “Will not forget.” 

An accusatory hum, “have you had your morning meal yet?” 

Lán Wàngjī winces at the pointed question, it is very telling to Lán Xīchén’s experienced gaze. 

“I will have your morning meal sent as well. Please eat.” 

“Thank you, Xiōng-zhǎng.” 

Lán Xīchén’s chin bows faintly in acknowledgement, “of course.” 

Lán Xīchén deems that the end of their conversation, turning swiftly and heading for the door to make good on the offers he’d promised. Lán Wàngjī knows it will not be long until there’s a healer at the door, especially when the request is coming from Zéwú-jūn. 

“Xiōng-zhǎng—” Lán Wàngjī hesitates once more, thumb carding over Wèi Yīng’s pale cheek as he rises his gaze to meet his brother’s. “I... I cannot leave him. I am sorry, but I must stay with Wèi Yīng. I must stay by his side until he is well. I can’t... I cannot lose him again, Dà-gē.” 

He hopes his brother understands what he’s saying without really saying the words. 

I can’t stand in as acting Sect Leader right now.   

I know you are not ready yet, I can tell, I can see that in your expression, but I need to be with Wèi Yīng.   

I am sorry it’s come to this.  

I do not want to choose between you both, but—  

“Wàngjī,” his brother offers a kind smile, “it is okay. I understand. You have given me time, and I will always be grateful that you stepped up in my place when I could not. Thank you, Dìdi. I see that you must put your husband’s wellbeing first, and that is fine. You are bound to Wèi-gōngzī through more than just marriage, I have known that for many years. It is time for me to come back, I am the Gūsū Lán Sect’s Leader. I will return to my duties, so please don’t worry. I believe it is long overdue that I relieved you of your assistance, my dearest dìdi. I do not know what I would do without you.” 

Lán Wàngjī nods slowly, but he still feels guilty.  

If things were different, he’d never put his brother in such a position.  

But he simply cannot find it in himself to leave Wèi Yīng when he is like this.  

He would not be able to focus on his position, he would be distracted, and he would never be able to forgive himself if something happened and he was not right there at Wèi Yīng’s side.   

The Sect Leader’s duties are important, hence why Lán Xīchén couldn’t step away from the position without a replacement for the time lined up. Lán Wàngjī had been willing to step into that role for Lán Xīchén’s sake, would do it all over again for his brother, but he also needs to put Wèi Yīng, the man he’d married, the only person Lán Wàngjī had ever loved in a capacity beside familial, first.  

Those were the vows he’d made to Wèi Yīng during their wedding ceremony.  

“I’m sorry.” 

Lán Xīchén pauses in the door, offering a gentle smile when he glances back over his shoulder, “do not apologize when you were the one doing a favor, Wàngjī. It is okay. You are needed here, and I must stop eluding my responsibilities. Thank you for giving me as long as you have. You are a good brother.” 

“Xiōng-zhǎng is a good brother.” 

Lán Xīchén smiles, eyes soft as he looks at his brother.  

They don’t exchange anymore words as Lán Xīchén disappears out the door.  

They don’t need to say anything more, the two of them having always been on their own wavelength. Until Wèi Yīng came around, trampling his way through Lán Wàngjī’s structured existence, it had only been Lán Xīchén who truly understood him, and that will never change.  

Lán Wàngjī tugs Wèi Yīng a little more into him and petting back his hair before leaning down to press his lips to his beloved hairline. Wèi Yīng doesn’t stir. 

The healer comes and goes. 

Lán Qiao arrives with a polite, yet firm, knock on the door.  

Lán Wàngjī does get up to greet the Lán Clan’s head healer, leading her into the Jingshi.  

She is a kind woman who’d been tending to the sick and injured in the Healer’s Hall for as long as Lán Wàngjī can remember, even before she’d been promoted to their head healer. She’d been running the Healing Hall for many years— had even been the main healer to tend to Lán Wàngjī after his thirty-three lashes. He knew her fairly well; knew she was the no-nonsense kind of mother hen, yet there was a kind tenderness to her treatment as well. 

The old woman beelines right to the bed, where Lán Wàngjī had managed to get Wèi Yīng to lay on his back, propped up on pillows. The elevation had quieted the coughing fits a bit, but he is still sickly. 

The examination goes a lot faster than Lán Wàngjī anticipated.  

She feels for a temperature on his forehead, removing and then replacing the damp cloth as she goes. She presses her hand to his cheek as well, the backs of her fingers pressing into the flesh under his cheekbone. She’s very attentive, focus on her patient.  

She holds her fingers under Wèi Yīng’s nose, then feels down his jaw and throat until her hands come to rest on his bare chest, where she’d peeled his sleeping robes open. She prods at his chest, feels along the ridges of his ribcage, before setting her hands flat over his lungs. 

Wèi Yīng doesn’t even squirm. 

Her hands stay in place on his chest, she waits for a few moments, Lán Wàngjī counts five labored breaths from Wèi Yīng. When she’s satisfied with feeling, she leans forward to press her ear against his chest to listen to his heart, possibly to listen to the rattle of his lungs as well.  

Her ear is to Wèi Yīng’s chest for another three breaths.  

She hums to herself as she pulls back. 

After that, she thoroughly prods at the meridians in his wrist, her own Qi reaching out to the small and frail Golden Core hidden away in Wèi Yīng’s core  

Her brow furrows, studying Wèi Yīng’s face for a long second.  

Her face gives nothing away.  

Lán Wàngjī isn’t sure if that means a good thing, or a bad thing. 

Finally, the woman turns from Wèi Yīng to look back at Lán Wàngjī.  

He waits on bated breath— 

“Hánguāng-jūn,” she starts professionally, “after a thorough examination, I have determined that it is very likely that Wèi-gōngzī has fallen ill with a rather serious bout of seasonal flu.” 

“Flu?” the word is out before he can stop it. 

“Yes,” Lán Qiao kneels by the bed, searching through the Qiankun pouch she’d arrived with. “I know this must have been startling for you, seeing your beloved so sickly, but I am quite sure Wèi-gōngzī will make a full recovery with time.” 

“But Wèi Yīng is... very sick.” 

“He is,” the woman bows her head in agreement as she produces a pasty salve, a few sachets of what looks to be dried medicinal herbs, and a small viscus vial. “Wèi-gōngzī has a weak Golden Core. His immunity is not much better than a babe’s. His body will be quick to illness, but slow to recover. I have a feeling that Wèi-gōngzī will be a repeat visitor in the Healer’s Hall in the upcoming months for this very reason.” 

The woman is quiet for a second, gaze lifting from the salve she’s opening to scan Wèi Yīng’s face, “I will admit, his symptoms have progressed quite fast— overnight, you said? That is quick. I also do not like how his lungs sound. You were right to be worried, without medicine, Wèi-gōngzī would’ve continued to get worse. The sound in his chest is an infection. That is serious.” 

Lán Wàngjī does not offer a response. 

“Now,” the woman carries on, unbothered, “normally, I’d suggest a patient in this state be brought to the Healing Hall for observation, but I do not think that necessary so long as you keep an eye on him, Hánguāng-jūn.” 

“Mn.” 

The woman nods, looking back over her shoulder.  

“This,” she holds up the salve, “is to be rubbed onto Wèi-gōngzī's chest. It will soothe the pain and make him breathe a little easier. There is a medicinal herb ground in that will cause temporary numbing to his skin and muscles when it absorbs. It will ease the respiratory reflex that causes coughing, as well as the discomfort he feels in his chest. Hánguāng-jūn, will you massage this into Wèi-gōngzī's chest for me?” 

Maybe the old woman could feel his eyes watching her every move with a critical eye, or perhaps she’s just tired of him standing uselessly behind her.  

He’s quick to settle on the edge of the bed beside Wèi Yīng, taking the offered salve into his own hands. A part of him refuses to admit he’s glad to be the one to massage the salve into Wèi Yīng’s chest, the thought of the woman, a healer, doing it making him disquieted.  

“There is enough of that salve to rub into his skin twice a day, morning and night, for three days. If you run out, I can make more. If the congestion persists like this after three days, I will come reevaluate his condition. Please just send for me.” 

Lán Qiao stands from where she’d been kneeled by the bed, turning to their bedside table where she starts expertly measuring out ground up and powdered herbs. She does so methodically, but definitely showing her years of experience as she eyeballs the measurements.  

Lán Wàngjī focuses his attention on pulling Wèi Yīng’s sleeping robes open again, before he’s scooping some of the salve out with his fingers and gently massaging the salve— which kind of makes his nose sting when the scent wafts up— into the skin of Wèi Yīng’s chest.  

It’s only a moment before Wèi Yīng is taking the clearest breath Lán Wàngjī had heard from him since he’d been startled awake that morning by the crackling in Wèi Yīng’s chest.  

The vice of panic that had been squeezing around his heart eases slightly at the sound.  

The woman hums too, clearly pleased with the sound as well.  

“I know the coughing may sound bad, but it’s actually good in moderation,” the woman continues without turning back to him, “Wèi-gōngzī needs to expel the buildup in his chest. That is what’s causing the discomfort and the rattle when he breathes. The salve will help loosen it, and he will still be able to cough it up. The purpose is to ease the aggressive fits and body strain, not stop the coughing entirely.” 

Lán Wàngjī nods, no longer rubbing the salve into Wèi Yīng’s heated skin, but just letting his thumb soothe over the steadying rise and fall of his chest.  

Lán Qiao does not mention it when she peeks back over her shoulder. 

“You can promote the loosening of the mucus in his chest with steam, simply hold the face over steaming water, a teapot or a fresh cup of tea will suffice, and breathe deeply. A cloth over the head and face will make it easier to trap the steam.” A pause. “When Wèi-gōngzī is feeling up to that, of course. He will be more lucid when his fever comes down. It is merely a suggestion.” 

Lán Wàngjī nods again when the woman looks back to him. 

She hums, “now, these herbs here will help bring down his fever. A mild fever is fine, useful even, but the fever Wèi-gōngzī has is much too high. You’ve done well tending to him— keep up with the damp cloth and if it rises worryingly high, put Wèi-gōngzī in a cool bath and send for me immediately.” 

A stern nod, “I will keep watch.” 

“Good,” the woman offers a smile.  

She’d been dumping the fine powders and ground herb doses onto a small square of fabric, eyeing what she was doing analytically until she’s satisfied with the dosages of each herb.  

When she finishes with her measurements, she pinches all four corners of the square together, leaving a gap of loose, but pinched tight, fabric towards the top.  

She gives it a gentle shake, easily blending the mix.  

Lán Wàngjī can see the years of experience she has in the movements alone.  

She dumps some of the medicine into a small cup, one of Wèi Yīng’s drinking cups, his favorite for Emperor's Smile, before she’s standing and making her way to where the tea pot was heating. 

The fire was low enough that the water hadn’t gotten much hotter than lukewarm.  

Lán Wàngjī plans to make Wèi Yīng some tea when he’s awake again.  

It was the first thing she’d done when she arrived— after her examination of Wèi Yīng, of course— she had requested to use the fire, their teapot and some water.  

Lán Wàngjī had given her free reign of the Jingshi. 

She pours a tiny amount of water into the cup of herbs, wafting the scent to her nose before nodding to herself as she swirls the liquid around in the bottom of the cup. It is a not very appetizing green-ish brown-ish colour, just a little bit thinner than the paste he’d rubbed into Wèi Yīng’s chest.  

Wèi Yīng would’ve instantly turned his nose up if he’d seen it.  

“This will be bitter,” Lán Qiao confesses to Lán Wàngjī, “he will react. It will act as both a fever reducer and a cough remedy. It should be taken twice daily as well; at the same time that you apply the salve. For the best results, it should be taken as a powder, makes for easier absorption in the stomach, but since Wèi-gōngzī is not awake, it will be easier to get him to take it as a liquid.” 

She comes back to Wèi Yīng, cradling the back of his neck as she angles his head.  

Wèi Yīng’s lips part the faintest bit, as if instinctual, when the woman holds the lip of the cup to them, tipping the medicine into Wèi Yīng’s throat.  

Wèi Yīng’s nose scrunches up, before he coughs and makes a halfhearted attempt to pull away without really stirring from his restless sleep.  

She shushes him softly, like a mother would a young child. 

He quiets. 

Lán Wàngjī can just watch.  

Lán Qiao turns back to the bedside table. She sets the used cup down, the picks up the remainder of the herbal mixture. She dumps it into a small pouch that she’d produced from Qiankun pouch. 

“You should give him about a tea spoon’s worth,” she explains to Lán Wàngjī, as she expertly ties a string around the mouth of the bag and pulls it taut so the medicine can’t spill.  

She leaves it on the bedside table, then rummages around in her Qiankun pouch again. 

“I will leave you with a herbal tea blend as well. It will help soothe Wèi-gōngzī's throat. It is also, frankly, just good for him, full of nutrients, so he should drink some even if his throat isn’t bothering him. You could do with a cup or two too, Hánguāng-jūn. Healer’s orders. It will help boost your immunity.”  

She sets the herbal tea mix down on the table beside the much smaller bag of medicine.  

Lastly, Lán Qiao picks up the little vial, “and this, is what I like to call my magic ingredient that convinces even the fussiest of patients take their medicine—” 

Lán Wàngjī knows what that is. “Honey.” 

The woman doesn’t comment on the fact that he’d accidentally cut her off, instead, she smiles warmly, “you remembered. Smart boy. You used to be fussy too, Hánguāng-jūn. Not even Zéwú-jūn could convince you to take your medicine back when you were just a babe. Quite stubborn. But honey always did the trick. A small amount will make the powder more bearable. If he kicks up a fuss about the tea, you can always add some honey to that as well. Works like a charm.” 

Heat floods to Lán Wàngjī’s ears, he looks away from the woman. 

She doesn’t stay much longer after that, leaving Wèi Yīng in Lán Wàngjī’s capable hands. 

Lán Wàngjī had raised a child for many years, so he does know the basics of caring for someone who is unwell. It was the trouble breathing and the suddenness of it that threw Lán Wàngjī for a loop.  

And he was right to be uneasy if the medicines he’d been prescribed were anything to go off.  

He knows Wèi Yīng needs rest; he needs plenty of fluids. He should eat, but until he has an appetite, a nutrient rich, bland vegetable stock should suffice. If he can get Wèi Yīng to eat it, that is.  

He needs to watch the man’s temperature, make sure he doesn’t overheat or get too cold, both of which could affect his healing.  

Lán Qiao had welcomed the idea of feeding Wèi Yīng spiritual energy, but she hadn’t had high hopes for it to do much for him. The fever had already stripped his Core of what little Qi it had to offer, so his body would be trying to recuperate that as well.  

Still, Lán Wàngjī had the go-ahead to try. 

Wèi Yīng is still sleeping, the most peaceful he has in a while.  

There’s still the occasional cough, and his nose has now started to run (the salve on his chest will loosen the congestion, even by scent, the healer had warned him).  

The chest salve is as good as magic, in Lán Wàngjī’s eyes.  

It’s a pleasant change from the stuffy congestion he’d had all morning.  

Lán Wàngjī simply wipes the mess away and focuses back on his husband’s wrist. 

He feeds Qi into Wèi Yīng, but just as the healer warned, it doesn’t help much. 

Wèi Yīng is going to have to wait this one out naturally.  

The third visitor to arrive at the Jingshi is uninvited, and yet invited in all the same. Lán Sīzhuī knocks meekly at the door to announce himself before pushing the door to his childhood home open.  

He is always welcome, the young man moving into the dorm rooms with the other Disciples had not changed that fact in the slightest. He would always have a place here, a place here with Lán Wàngjī and Wèi Yīng.  

“Bà-ba?” he asks, peeking into the room just as meekly as his knock sounded. 

Sīzhuī is nervous.   

“Ā-Yuàn,” Lán Wàngjī turns to their son, head bowing. He cuts off the feed of Qi, simply holding Wèi Yīng’s hand in his own now. Lán Sīzhuī hesitates in the doorway, nervous eyes on Wèi Yīng. “Are you well? Your lessons will be starting soon.” 

“Bà-ba,” Ā-Yuàn repeats, the nickname reserved for when they were alone, “Bó-bo sent me with your morning meal. He said Ā-diē was... is Ā-diē okay? Bó-bo said he was not well, and I... I saw the healer leaving on my way to the kitchens. I had a really uneasy feeling after he went missing yesterday. He’ll be okay, won’t he?” 

Lán Sīzhuī steps slowly into the room when Lán Wàngjī gestures him, gives him the permission to come closer, not that he needs it. The boy had been raised in the Jingshi for many years, still has a room of his own that he is always welcome to return to.  

Wèi Yīng still doesn’t stir, which is good, he should rest for as long as he can.  

He’ll need rest to fight off the infection in his lungs.  

Sīzhuī moves to the table, setting down the tray of food, before he’s inching towards the bed. 

“Mn. Wèi Yīng will be okay,” Lán Wàngjī assures calmly, “he is quite ill. Your Ā-diē makes poor decisions at times and this one caught up to him. He will be okay with some rest and medicine. Do not worry.” 

Lán Sīzhuī’s nose scrunches up as he comes closer to kneel on the floor beside Wèi Yīng. 

For a long moment, the boy is quiet.  

He stares at Wèi Yīng’s face, his slightly parted lips, the puffs of air he exhales.  

He is restful, chest rising and falling evenly.  

Every so often, a cough will force its way from his lungs, but it is not like it had been.  

Lán Wàngjī is glad Ā-Yuàn is seeing this part of sickness, instead of the illness he’d woken with.  

Ā-Yuàn worries, Wèi Yīng would not have wanted him to see him in the throes of delirious sickness.   

“I do not like to see Ā-diē like this, Bà-ba.” 

The words are accompanied by Ā-Yuàn reaching up to adjust the cloth over Wèi Yīng’s forehead. He tugs the edge of it down gently until it covers his entire forehead, before the young man’s hands are falling into his lap, lip caught between his teeth worriedly.  

“He is too... quiet,” Ā-Yuàn murmurs sadly, “it is just not like Ā-diē.” 

“Mn.” Lán Wàngjī stares down at Wèi Yīng’s sleeping face. “I agree.” 

The teenager draws in a breath, pleading eyes meeting Lán Wàngjī’s, “he’ll be okay though, won’t he, Bà-ba? I don’t want him to go again...” 

“Wèi Yīng does not want to go this time,” Lán Wàngjī assures and that’s the truth of it.  

Wèi Yīng had been holding on by a thread when he’d left them both all those years ago.  

He’d been desperately clinging to life from the moment he’d resurfaced from the Burial Mounds, right up until the very end where he’d taken his own life, in addition to destroying the Yin Tiger Tally.  

Wèi Yīng had had no real intentions of surviving that war.  

He’d been made to play the villain by the Sects, even though they owed a lot of their victories in that war to Wèi Yīng; Demonic Cultivation, or not.  

Wèi Yīng had pushed himself until the end, until there was nothing left for him to give himself for, nothing left that he needed to protect. He’d given up when the family he’d claimed, the family who’d taken him in as one of their own, had been taken from him. 

Lán Wàngjī remembers hearing the news that the Wēn dogs hiding in the Burial Mounds had been captured, Wēn Qíng and the Ghost General among them.  

They’d been swiftly slaughtered for crimes they hadn’t committed.  

Lán Wàngjī had also thought all of the Qíshān Wēns had been killed.  

It was good that he’d checked the Burial Mounds himself, hoping to fine Wèi Yīng, who hadn’t been reported amongst the Wēns, from what the letter of correspondence he’d received had said. He had not found Wèi Yīng, but he had found the well-loved child hidden away, left behind in clear hopes he’d survive the brutality they’d faced the moment they left the seclusion of their tenderly-built home.  

Wèi Yīng thought they’d all died.  

That Ā-Yuàn, too, had... 

He did not care what happened to him after that.  

Lán Wàngjī knows he had lost Wèi Yīng before he’d ever even died.  

But it was different now though.  

Lán Wàngjī knew that.  

Lán Wàngjī lifts a hand to gently tug Yuàn’s lip from between his teeth with his thumb before he can worry it to the point it bleeds. A nervous habit he has. “He does not want to leave you, Ā-Yuàn.”  

The boy releases his lip at the wordless chide.  

Ā-Yuàn lets out a wet laugh, palming at his eyes as he leans into Lán Wàngjī’s touch, “Ā-diē doesn’t want to leave you either, Bà-ba. I hope someday I find someone who loves me as much as he loves you. As much as you love him. Ā-diē will be okay. He’s strong, right?” 

“Wèi Yīng has always been strong,” Lán Wàngjī agrees again, pulling away from Ā-Yuàn to pet back Wèi Yīng’s hair. His eyelids flutter, but besides that, he shows little sign of waking still. “He will be fine. And... you will find the person whom you will cherish, Bǎobèi. You are far too much like your Ā-diē not to.” 

Ā-Yuàn beams at the praise.  

“I like it when you compare me to him, Bà-ba.” 

“Mn. You are a lot alike.” 

Ā-Yuàn's smile widens even further, fond gaze settling on Wèi Yīng’s face once again.  

The teenager sets both of his hands on Wèi Yīng’s limp one, where it rests on the bed close to him, before the boy is bowing forwards until his forehead presses into the backs of his hands.  

He stays for a long moment, as if offering a silent prayer, before he rises again.  

Lán Wàngjī shifts on the bed to face his child, “you must go to your lessons now. Your Ā-diē will be okay. There is little point to missing lessons when he will do nothing but rest. The medicines that he has taken are making him drowsy. He is already much better; the medicine is working. Now, he needs rest.” 

“Okay, Bà-ba,” Ā-Yuàn bows slightly to him before he rises from the floor, “will you send for me if he gets worse? I... would like to know. I... worry.” 

“Of course,” Lán Wàngjī nods. He rises as well, following Lán Sīzhuī to the door to see him out. “If you would like, you can join us for our evening meal. I can’t promise your Ā-diē will be awake, the more rest he gets, the swifter he will recover, but I would appreciate the company. You are always welcome.” 

“Yes, please, Bà-ba,” Ā-Yuàn breathes out. “I’d like that.” 

When they reach the door, the boy hesitates for just a moment before he’s turning to catch Lán Wàngjī in a hug. The man returns the embrace instinctually when it comes to his Ā-Yuàn.  

Ā-Yuàn had been a clingy child, so proximity was a requisite he needed to learn quite fast.  

He’d learned to rein the habit in as he got older, the Lán Clan not typically one for such proximity passed a certain age, but when Ā-Yuàn did reach out for an embrace, or for comfort, Lán Wàngjī was happy to oblige. For his Ā-Yuàn, or for his Wèi Yīng, who had never grown out of the habit.  

And Lán Wàngjī secretly hopes he never does. 

Lán Yuàn clings for a long second now, before he’s pulling away all at once and ducking his head to hide his face. Such a shy boy. In the following second, he’s lowering his head into a respectful bow of his own dismissal, offering a halfhearted smile before he leaves to make it to his lessons on time.  

If his memory of the Sect Leader’s schedule for the day serves him right, Lán Xīchén will be the one teaching their lessons that morning. Ā-Yuàn does not get special treatment, but Zéwú-jūn is not as hard on the students as Shū fù tends to be when he is the one teaching the lesson. 

Lán Wàngjī goes about his day now that Wèi Yīng is resting a little easier.  

He eats the morning meal Sīzhuī had brought, he spends a little bit of time meditating when he’s finished. He doesn’t quite allow himself to focus on his meditation entirely, too aware of any change in Wèi Yīng’s breathing, or coughing, but he does feel a tiny bit more relaxed afterwards.  

Midday arrives, and two meals are delivered to the Jingshi. 

He has half a mind to wake Wèi Yīng, would like him to eat something, but he also knows Wèi Yīng needs rest still. If he is sleeping peacefully, Lán Wàngjī does not want to disturb him.  

Besides, the vegetable stock he’d requested would not be ready yet.  

When the kitchens do make stock, it is a process; it simmers for many hours over a low flame until it is rich in flavor and colour, and it’s full of nutrients.  

Lán Wàngjī expects to see the stock joining their meal this evening.  

Lán Wàngjī eats his own midday meal alone. 

He thinks it is too quiet, even though it is supposed to be silent when eating.  

The afternoon sees Lán Wàngjī settled on the bed beside Wèi Yīng, a book in his hand and his fingers buried in Wèi Yīng’s hair. A few sticks of white sage incense burn away on the incense holder by the bed, the scent believed to purify the environment and promote spiritual clarity.  

The younger man’s face is pressed into the side of Lán Wàngjī’s thigh, soft puffs of air sinking into the fabric of his robes as he rests. He absentmindedly cards his fingers through the loose strands of his husband’s hair, his hair slowly falling from the ponytail he’d put it up in that morning after nearly an entire day fitful sleep, scratches his nails lightly at his scalp.  

Every so often, he’ll encourage Wèi Yīng to sip at some water that he has on their bedside table, the younger hardly stirring as he sits up just enough for Lán Wàngjī to tilt the cup towards his lips, wiping away the dribbles of water after Wèi Yīng has collapsed back into his sleep.  

Even when his eyes flutter opens a little, he never seems very awake. 

Lán Wàngjī assumes it’s because of the medicine he has in his system, since his fever has dropped, not broken, but it is lower than it had been, and he hasn’t had a particularly bad coughing fit since before he’d gotten the salve rubbed into his skin. 

Their evening meal gets delivered a while later.  

Lán Wàngjī had made sure to ask the Disciple who’d brought their midday meal for a third meal to be brought in the evening, so he’s pleased to see the message had been passed along to the kitchens.  

In addition to the third meal, there is also a bowl of piping hot, plain vegetable stock. It smells fine to Lán Wàngjī, it smells good even, but he’d grown up drinking the Lán Clan’s basic stock.  

He thinks Wèi Yīng might not want to eat it; he still struggles eating an average Lán meal unless it’s doused in chili oil that Lán Wàngjī keeps just for him.  

Lán Wàngjī watches the Disciples set the trays down, the three of them bowing respectfully before taking their leave when the table is lined with meals.  

They will wait for Lán Sīzhuī to arrive, none of them strangers to eating a cold meal.  

Lán Wàngjī reclaims his spot beside Wèi Yīng, letting the younger man curl up to him once again, just as he had every time that he felt the warmth of another beside him.  

He knows he should be waking Wèi Yīng soon, he’d slept through nearly the entire day, hadn’t had anything to eat and barely had anything to drink, but he really doesn’t have the heart to disturb him. After the morning they’d had, Wèi Yīng resting like this feels like a blessing.  

It’s a cough that finally stirs Wèi Yīng, a deep, heavy one that has his face screwing up in pain. A shaky hand comes to rest on his own chest, eyes fluttering open, before shutting again. 

“L’n Zh’n...?” 

Even the whisper of his name comes out weak and hoarse. Wèi Yīng’s voice cracks in a painful sounding way, and Lán Wàngjī imagines he may very well lose his voice after all the coughing he’d done today. There isn’t a doubt in his mind that Wèi Yīng’s throat is raw and painful.  

“I am here, Xīn ài,” Lán Wàngjī coos softly, easily scooping Wèi Yīng up into his lap so the younger man can rest against him for support, “will you open your eyes for me, Qīn'ài de? This one would like it very much for his Wèi Yīng to wake for a little while.” 

“Mn.” Wèi Yīng sucks in a raspy breath before wincing, “’urts...” 

“I know,” Lán Wàngjī soothes softly as he presses a kiss to Wèi Yīng’s temple. Wèi Yīng curls in closer when the older man cradles him. “You have an infection in your chest. You will be okay. Wèi Yīng has been very unwell. You need rest, but I would also like for you to try to wake up. Our evening meal has arrived, Wèi Yīng must try to eat, at least a little bit.”  

“Lán Zh’n?” 

Wèi Yīng doesn’t seem very lucid despite his wakefulness. 

“Mn.” 

“Lán Zhàn, I am sick.” 

Lán Wàngjī smiles against the side of Wèi Yīng’s head, “you are.” 

“Lán Zhàn.” 

“Yes, my Wèi Yīng?” 

“I had a strange dream,” the words are muttered against Lán Wàngjī’s neck, where Wèi Yīng had buried his face. Lán Wàngjī hums promptingly, Wèi Yīng continues, “there was... a woman. Here. In our home. She was speaking, and she forced me to drink something bitter— it was poison, definitely. Lán Zhàn, Lán Zhàn, she put her hands on me, on my chest—!”  

“That was not a dream,” Lán Wàngjī huffs fondly. 

Wèi Yīng is quiet for a long second, “...huh?” 

“You were not very lucid, but that was a healer who visited us,” Lán Wàngjī explains simply, “I was worried. Wèi Yīng was very poorly, and I did not know what to do. A healer was sent for and she tended to my Wèi Yīng. She gave you medicine, not poison.” 

“She rubbed my chest.” 

Lán Wàngjī shakes his head, nuzzling his nose behind Wèi Yīng’s ear, “I rubbed the salve into my Wèi Yīng’s chest, do not fret. I would not let a stranger who you do not know lay hands on my Wèi Yīng so intimately when he is not conscious. You are mine.” 

“Oh,” Wèi Yīng slumps a little, as if relieved, “well, that is fine then. I like my Lán Zhàn’s hands on me. Lǎo gōng can touch me as he pleases. Anywhere he pleases. I like my Lán Zhàn’s hands; big, and strong, and pretty. So lovely. Mn, I love my Lán Zhàn.” 

Lán Wàngjī brushes Wèi Yīng’s bangs from his face, “and I love my Wèi Yīng.” 

The moment is broken by Wèi Yīng’s body seizing up with another cough.  

His arm flies clumsily to his face, hiding the hacking sound into the bend of his arm.  

Lán Wàngjī simply rubs at his back as he has every other time Wèi Yīng has coughed like this, clearly more used to the coughing fits than Wèi Yīng, who likely does not remember much of them. The healer said he would start to expel the irritants in his chest through coughing, thick fluids and mucus.  

His chest is still a bit rattly, but it is a lot better than it had been.  

Lán Wàngjī is relieved.  

When the fit passes, Wèi Yīng slumps back against Lán Wàngjī once again, warm forehead pressing against the juncture of his husband’s neck. “Lán Zhàn, what is... what is that smell...?”  

“It is medicine,” he explains softly, “the salve I rubbed onto your chest. I am sorry it does not smell very nice, but it works well. Wèi Yīng got relief from it, so he should get used to the smell. I will be reapplying your medicine tonight. It will ease your discomfort and help you sleep.” 

“It makes me smell like I’m sick.” 

“Wèi Yīng is sick.” 

A huff; half annoyed, half amused, “I thought... I also heard Zéwú-jūn's voice. Was that really a dream, or was your brother here too, Lán Zhàn?” 

“I sent for him,” Lán Wàngjī confirms softly, almost a little guiltily, “I was... scared. You woke up very unwell, and I did not know what to do. I trust Xiōng-zhǎng with my Wèi Yīng. And he... took over his duties as Sect Leader again so I could be with you. I am grateful.” 

“Wait, he did?” Wèi Yīng blinks in surprise.  

“He was not yet ready to return,” Lán Wàngjī confesses, guilt still gripping his chest as he hides his mouth in Wèi Yīng’s hair, “but he did it for us. Xiōng-zhǎng is selfless. Too kind. I worry.” 

“We will have to thank him then,” Wèi Yīng turns his head to press a kiss to Lán Wàngjī’s neck, a slightly shaking hand coming up to trail soft fingertips down Lán Wàngjī’s jawline. “Zéwú-jūn is a good man. Perhaps... he was just scared to come back. Maybe he just needed a little push to remember how good he is at running the Sect. Zéwú-jūn is a good leader.” 

“Mn.”  

Lán Wàngjī hums softly, not an answer or agreement, simply acknowledgment to Wèi Yīng’s words. Whether or not that’s true, Lán Wàngjī still wishes he could’ve given his brother all the time he needed. 

Lán Wàngjī tightens his hold on Wèi Yīng’s waist.  

“Are you feeling any better?” Lán Wàngjī bows his head slightly, “Wèi Yīng was terribly unwell when he woke this morning.” 

Wèi Yīng hums thoughtfully, the sound raspy, “I... don’t know? Maybe? I don’t really remember waking up any earlier. It all feels... like a fever dream, I guess? I still feel hot, and... and cold too. All at once. And my chest hurts a bit when I breathe. It is not nice. I feel like I must cough, but I don’t want to. It hurts to cough.” 

A pause, “did I... I think I remember it feeling like I couldn’t breathe well, it felt like this one’s lungs were on fire. It was horrible. But I heard your voice, my Lán Zhàn. He is so sweet, talking all soft like that to this lowly husband. I liked that. Ah, Lán Zhàn, Lán Zhàn, and this one’s throat hurts too. So scratchy and uncomfortable. I think I might lose my voice, it hurts. This one feels very, very poorly. This Wèi Yīng is quite tired; he could go right back to sleep in the comforting hold of his beloved husband...” 

“Wèi Yīng must have something to eat before he sleeps again,” Lán Zhàn says, shifting off the bed and carrying Wèi Yīng to where their meals are waiting.  

He sinks down to the floor, sitting cross-legged with Wèi Yīng in his lap, leaned back against his chest still, “I requested the kitchens make vegetable broth for you, so please drink it. Wèi Yīng needs nutrients and fluids. You will get dehydrated. We will reapply your medicines afterwards and then my Wèi Yīng can rest again.” 

The vegetable stock has cooled down enough that it is fine to sip at without risking burns.  

“That is not broth,” Wèi Yīng pouts the second he sees the bowl of warm broth, staring distastefully down at it. “You merely liquified rabbit food.”  

His head thumps back against Lán Wàngjī’s chest, looking up at him with glossy, yet bright, eyes.  

A refreshing change to the dullness in his gaze when he was lost in the throes of the sickness. 

“This is watery rabbit food,” Wèi Yīng whines, “I swear, you Láns are so bland. Too many vegetables. Actually, I think the Láns actually are rabbits— it's no wonder you’ve got such a liking for those little creatures. Man, what I wouldn’t give for lotus root and pork rib soup!” 

“Bland is good when you are ill,” Lán Wàngjī hums, arm tightening around Wèi Yīng’s waist as he hooks his chin over the younger’s shoulder. “It is easier to digest. There is also rice, and stir-fried vegetables, if you prefer. I fear chili oil may unsettle your throat and stomach though.” 

“I don’t want it,” Wèi Yīng’s eyes fall shut, “’m not hungry.” 

“Wèi Yīng must have something,” Lán Wàngjī presses his lips to the side of Wèi Yīng’s neck, just below his ear. He is still warm, but it is not what it was. “You did not have an evening meal yesterday, and you were asleep for our morning and midday meals today as well. Please, Wèi Yīng.” 

Wèi Yīng hums, eyes not opening, “what’s in it for me?” 

“Your health and wellbeing?” 

“Hah, you’re definitely gonna have to offer something better than that.”  

Lán Wàngjī can’t help the amused exhale he lets out, nuzzling his nose to Wèi Yīng’s jawline. At least he’d gotten his charism back. Wèi Yīng is not Wèi Yīng if he’s not being playful. 

“What would Wèi Yīng like in exchange?” 

“Hm,” he hums thoughtfully, finger tapping on his chin theatrically, “well, you know, I think I remember a certain husband of mine promising to take care of me?” 

“Mn,” Lán Wàngjī agrees, “and I have.” 

Wèi Yīng angles his head to pout, puckered lips looking very kissable, “Lán Zhàn, you know that’s not what I meant! Context! Such blatant cruelty from this one’s husband!” 

“Wèi Yīng should have been more specific.” 

“Don’t be coy, you knew what I meant!” 

“I will make good on my promise,” Lán Wàngjī assures, Wèi Yīng brightening as he shifts— “when Wèi Yīng is well again. You need rest. Your body is struggling.” 

Wèi Yīng pouts, but that’s about all the energy he has to be upset.  

The younger’s body slumps back a little, back molding against Lán Wàngjī’s chest before he sighs quietly, and lets his head settle on Lán Wàngjī’s shoulder, “I am tired, Xīn ài.” 

“I know. That is okay,” Lán Wàngjī hums softly, “I will take very good care of my Wèi Yīng in the way he desires, when he has recovered. It is a promise. We will wait three days, until the chest salve is used up. And if you are feeling well, I will give you what you need.” 

“Three entire days?” Wèi Yīng huffs. “Lán-er-Gēgē, you are cruel, quite cruel indeed.” 

“Mn.” 

Wèi Yīng is quiet for a moment, and then he seems to spot the third meal on the table, the fact that there are three, instead of just their two, clicking into place, “three meals...? Are we having company?” 

“Ā-Yuàn will be joining us,” Lán Wàngjī confirms. “He was worried about his Ā-diē, so I invited him to join us for our evening meal. He will be glad to see Wèi Yīng awake. This one hopes the medicine in your body will keep you well while he is here, he should see you acting normal again. He worries. Or, if you prefer, you can go back to resting, after you’ve had some of your broth. He will not mind.” 

“I know he won’t,” Wèi Yīng pouts, “Ā-Yuàn is a good boy. Ah, I just don't like that I worried my little radish. He should not worry over me, he’s too good to me. Just like his Bà-ba.” 

“Wèi Yīng deserves good,” Lán Wàngjī presses another kiss to the flushed skin on Wèi Yīng’s neck, by his shoulder. Wèi Yīng tilts his head, giving Lán Wàngjī more room to kiss at his skin, the older man nips lightly at the offering before he soothes the skin over with another kiss before pulling his lips from Wèi Yīng’s skin.  

“Ah, Lán Zhàn, your lips are cold. Feels nice.” 

“Mn,” Lán Wàngjī shakes his head faintly, “no, Wèi Yīng is just fevered. We will put the cold compress back on your head when you lay down again. It will keep your temperature from rising too high.” 

Wèi Yīng hums in agreement, eyes fluttering shut. “No, I think my Lán Zhàn will just have to kiss me more with his cold lips to keep my fever from rising.” 

An amused snort from Lán Wàngjī. “Wèi Yīng is shameless.” 

 Wèi Yīng smiles, clearly pleased with himself. 

Lán Wàngjī’s heart stutters fondly.  

They are disturbed by a knock on the door, a moment later, without either of them calling out, their guest invites himself in. Except it’s not just Lán Sīzhuī, but Xiōng-zhǎng as well, who bows his head politely at the intrusion and follows the teenager into the room.  

Wèi Yīng goes to scramble from Lán Wàngjī’s lap, clearly intending to rise in order to bow to the Sect Leader, but both Lán brothers are quick to put a stop to it— Lán Xīchén silently waving him off with a fond smile, while Lán Wàngjī tightens his grip on Wèi Yīng’s waist to keep him in place.  

Wèi Yīng huffs, settling back against him as if his energy had sapped out of him at the movement. 

“Ā-diē,” Ā-Yuàn beams in happy surprise, “you’re awake!” 

“I’m awake!” Wèi Yīng mimics their child good-naturedly, suddenly sounding more well than he had before. It’s an act, Lán Wàngjī realizes. He will be vulnerable with Lán Wàngjī, but not their son or brother-in-law. Fondness fills Lán Wàngjī’s chest. “Aiyah, my Ā-Yuàn, I didn’t worry you much, did I? I’m sorry. I feel much better after resting. Such a sweet boy caring for his Ā-diē's wellbeing!” 

“I was worried,” the boy confesses with a little smile. “I am glad you’re feeling better.” 

“Wèi-gōngzī,” Xiōng-zhǎng offers a kind smile, “I’m relieved to see you awake and well. You were... a little bit out of it when I came by this morning. Wàngjī and I were quite concerned.” 

“Ah, I worried you as well, Zéwú-jūn?” Wèi Yīng winces slightly rubbing at his chest as if he feels pain, before he’s bending to heave a cough into the bend of his arm. He can pretend to be as well as he’d like, but his raw sickness will show through. “Goodness, you’re all much too kind.” 

“Wèi Yīng deser—” 

“Yes, yes, my Lán Zhàn, I know,” Wèi Yīng flaps a dismissive hand without looking back, before he’s reaching back behind his head to pat at Lán Wàngjī’s cheek tenderly, “Wèi Yīng deserves kindness. I know. It’s just... nice. To have people who care. Thank you.” 

Wèi Yīng’s attention drifts back to Ā-Yuàn, where he notices that the teenager is holding something. A jar with a piece of fabric tied over the top of it. It is the type of jar that liquor comes in.  

Wèi Yīng perks up instantly, Lán Wàngjī squints. 

“Liquor!” Wèi Yīng cheers, sitting up a little straighter in Lán Wàngjī’s lap, “my dear, my love, my favorite child! Please tell me that’s Emperor's Smile! Ā-Yuàn, quick, hide it! Do not let your Bà-ba see—” 

“Ā-Yuàn, Xiōng-zhǎng,” Lán Wàngjī scolds softly the two to bring a jar of liquor when Wèi Yīng is not well enough to partake. His son and brother sharing a glance between them after Wèi Yīng had spoken as if Lán Wàngjī is not pressed against Wèi Yīng’s back.  

Then, said lowly into Wèi Yīng’s neck with a warning nip, “Wèi Yīng.”  

“Ah, no, Ā-diē,” Ā-Yuàn offers an apologetic smile, “not quite.” 

“No?” Wèi Yīng pouts, slumping again. “Pity.” 

“Ā-diē,” Ā-Yuàn huffs fondly, “I don’t think Bà-ba would even let you have liquor in your state—” Lán Wàngjī shakes his head against Wèi Yīng’s neck in agreement, “-but I promise you’ll like it.” 

“Oh?” Interested piqued now, Wèi Yīng reaches for the jar. “What is it?” 

“Ah... well,” Ā-Yuàn hesitates, suddenly shy when the jar is transferred from his fingers to Wèi Yīng’s waiting hands, “I, um, I just... when I saw you earlier, I remembered that you used to get unwell a lot when I was little. We wouldn’t see you days, and when we did, you were always giving away your portion of food. You never had much of an appetite. I remember that... that Ā-Qíng Āyí would storm in when she was fed up with you, and I’d hear you both shouting back and forth over your health.”  

Wèi Yīng’s head quirks, probably not remembering such a thing if he was unwell.  

Ā-Yuàn smiles softly, reminiscent of what little of his past he remembers, “Ā-Qíng Āyí used to get so worried; she’d yell when she was worried, I remember that. I also... I remember that she’d go down into Yílíng to buy fresh poultry broth after you’d argue. She’d bring me along sometimes. You liked having broth, you’d drink that when you wouldn’t eat. And I... I think I remember you sharing it with me, even when you weren’t well and you needed it more. Ā-Qíng Āyí used to get upset about that too.” 

“You were more important,” Wèi Yīng shrugs easily, “how could I keep tasty, hearty broth from a growing little radish? It would be unjust!” 

Ā-Yuàn smiles at Wèi Yīng’s antics. 

Wèi Yīng shifts a little, rubbing his nose before continuing, “it’s fascinating to me what memories you have from that time, my Ā-Yuàn. And yet, I’m not surprised you remember your Ā-Qíng Āyí yelling at me. She did that a lot. I usually deserved it. Y’know, I always liked to think she simply enjoyed the sound of her own voice when she’d yell. Or I just had a very yell-at-able face?” 

Lán Wàngjī huffs out through his nose. 

Ā-Yuàn laughs. “I don’t have a lot of memories, but I know Ā-Qíng Āyí loved fiercely. I remember that even when she was fed up with you, she always took care of you. Sometimes... sometimes Ā-Níng Shū-shu tells me about her and the rest of our family.” 

“That she did,” Wèi Yīng agrees with a forlorn smile.  

“Anyway,” Ā-Yuàn clears his throat awkwardly, probably aware of Lán Wàngjī and Lán Xīchén listening in too, “I figured you may not appreciate the broth made here in the Cloud Recesses. I know it’s... not exactly to your taste. When I asked Bó-bo if I could make a trip into Gūsū after my lessons, he was happy to accompany me. I want my Ā-diē to get better quick... you’ll have some of the broth, won’t you?” 

Wèi Yīng makes a wounded sound, “ah, this feels a lot like guilt tripping. My little Ā-Yuàn somehow learned how to fight dirty. Aiyah, how could I say no after all the effort my radish made for me? I’m not very hungry, but I will have some, just for you, Radish.” 

Ā-Yuàn beams.  

Lán Wàngjī hides a smile in Wèi Yīng’s neck.  

Finally, Wèi Yīng turns to Xiōng-zhǎng, “Zéwú-jūn, are you sure this is... okay?”  

“It’s fine,” Lán Xīchén offers a kind smile the moment Wèi Yīng’s gaze flicks to him. “We might not like to indulge in eating meat, but we can acknowledge that there are people who do. That is your right. You are used to meat, we are not. Ā-Yuàn thought having something you like might prompt you to eat, I was in agreement. And... I believe the nutrients will offer aid in your recovery as well.” 

Xiōng-zhǎng hesitates, smile a little strained when he continues, “just... let’s keep this quiet from Shū fù. He would not be pleased, if he knew. It will be our secret.” 

“My, my,” Wèi Yīng grins tiredly, clearly very amused by the rules being bent, by the Sect Leader himself, for his sake, “it appears I’ve corrupted a handful of Láns. Lán Zhàn and Ā-Yuàn I can see— Ā-Yuàn is my cute little radish, and I've been working on corrupting Lán Zhàn for years— but I don’t think I ever expected this from you, Zéwú-jūn! The Sect Leader and a Lán heir sneaking contraband into the Cloud Recesses! I can’t believe my ears!” 

Lán Xīchén shrugs innocently, “there is no harm in turning a blind eye every so often. For good reason, of course. Your wellbeing will always be a good reason.” 

Wèi Yīng’s expression softens from the tease at how earnest Lán Xīchén sounds, “thank you.” 

Finally, Wèi Yīng fumbles with untying the fabric sealing the jar, Lán Wàngjī’s hand weaves around Wèi Yīng to support the jar from the bottom so the gift doesn’t accidentally end up staining Wèi Yīng’s sleeping robes.  

His hands are still shaky, they all can see that, even if Wèi Yīng refuses to acknowledge it himself. 

Wèi Yīng leans down to the jar, sniffing at the rich scent of broth.  

“Ah, my Ā-Yuàn,” Wèi Yīng moans playfully, as Ā-Yuàn finally settles at the table across from them, “I am so glad I gave birth to you, my little radish! This smells wonderful! Such a good boy! Ah, bless you, my Bǎobèi. You are the most perfect, thoughtful, precious child; someone raised you very right, besides all the Lán-ness you’ve grown into. Good work, Bà-ba. Our son is absolutely perfect. Ah, Lán Zhàn, Lán Zhàn, will you heat this for me so I can try it?” 

“I’m already up, so I can do it,” Lán Xīchén volunteers fondly, considering Lán Wàngjī is still trapped under Wèi Yīng’s weight, a minor detail the younger man seems to have forgotten in his excitement of getting something that tastes like meat. “You two are comfortable, I insist.” 

Lán Wàngjī nods gratefully in his brother’s direction.  

He wholeheartedly believes Wèi Yīng would’ve protested him slipping out from under him anyway, probably would’ve changed his mind and refused the broth if it meant Lán Wàngjī actually getting up to heat it.    

“Zéwú-jūn,” Wèi Yīng says as he transfers the jar from his own hands into the eldest man’s waiting hands, Lán Xīchén pauses in silent question, “would you like to join us this evening? We do have three meals and I do not wish to have one. Frankly, I don’t think I could stomach it. It would go to waste...” 

“I would be delighted to stay for a meal with you all,” Xiōng-zhǎng’s smile reaches all the way to his eyes as he bows his head in Wèi Yīng’s direction. “Thank you, Dìdi.” 

Xiōng-zhǎng turns away towards the low fire, pouring a helping of the broth into the spare teapot that doesn’t see much use after they’d been gifted a set from Shū fù as a marriage gift.  

It is the fastest and easiest way to reheat the broth, and it’ll be easier to pour it into a cup as well. Plus, the teapot can be left over the low heat so Wèi Yīng can have more later if he wants it. 

Wèi Yīng stills as soon as Xiōng-zhǎng’s words seem to register, turning slowly to look back at Lán Wàngjī, as if to ensure that he had, in fact, just heard Lán Xīchén call him Dìdi. Lán Wàngjī merely tightens his hold on Wèi Yīng’s waist and brushes his lips against Wèi Yīng’s robe covered shoulder.  

Their evening meal is not a quiet affair— it is filled with conversation, with laughter, with joy.   

When Wèi Yīng is around, it feels like that is how a meal is supposed to be. 

Wèi Yīng brings that out in people.  

Lán Wàngjī adores it.  

And yet, despite how Wèi Yīng is acting, how he’s making a show of looking well to the eyes of their guests, Lán Wàngjī knows his husband is growing tired.  

He starts to sag into Lán Wàngjī’s body, he grows quieter as conversation continues on around him, he sips less and less at his broth until he finally pushes a half-filled cup away and tucks a warming face into Lán Wàngjī’s neck.  

Lán Wàngjī, wraps an arm around his husband’s back, rubbing a line up his spine when Wèi Yīng muffles a cough into the fabric of his robe. Lán Wàngjī feels Wèi Yīng’s eyes flutter shut against his neck, slightly trembling lips pressing to his skin as well.  

He shares a look with both Lán Xīchén and Lán Sīzhuī over the table, whose expressions both soften visibly when the notice that Wèi Yīng has had enough company for the evening. 

Wèi Yīng would not kick them out for his sake, but thankfully, they don’t need to ask anyway. 

Their exchange of farewells is quiet, both Lán Sīzhuī and Lán Xīchén promising to check in tomorrow to see how Wèi Yīng is faring, before they dismiss themselves from the Jingshi, taking the dishes from their meal with them when they go. It is very kind. 

Lán Wàngjī helps his husband change into a fresh set of robes, then goes about making the younger man some tea, the one that the healer had given them, to sip on that will help his throat.  

Wèi Yīng’s voice is fading fast, it is unlikely he’ll have much of a voice tomorrow.  

The congestion had steadily started to return as well, so he knows it’s time for Wèi Yīng to take the medicinal herbs and have the salve rubbed into his chest again.  

At least he’ll be awake this time.  

He’ll be able to see Lán Wàngjī’s hands on him.  

Wèi Yīng is curled up in their bed, dutifully sipping at the tea Lán Wàngjī had made for him while the older man gets ready for bed, lights another incense stick to fill the Jingshi with a calming, woody scent, pastes new warming talisman around the room so it does not get too cold while Wèi Yīng is trying to recover, and finally refreshes the basin of water in case they need it in the night.  

Wèi Yīng watches him with tired eyes, a smile creeping onto his lips, poorly hidden behind the rim of the teacup, when Lán Wàngjī undresses to change his robes. 

He doesn’t mind his husband’s eyes scanning up his body, he likes that even feeling so poorly, Wèi Yīng is still attracted to him. Still looks, still wants him. It eases his mind, normalcy from his husband after Wèi Yīng being so out of character for most of the day.  

“Wèi Yīng,” Lán Wàngjī turns to him, “you must take your medicine.” 

Wèi Yīng pouts, “it’s gross though, isn’t it? The stuff the healer gave me was so bitter, yuck. Y’know, if something tastes like poison, it’s likely because it is poison. Lán Zhàn, Lán Zhàn, you won’t torture me like that, will you?” 

“Wèi Yīng will take his medicine.” 

Wèi Yīng’s pout turns more theatric. 

Lán Wàngjī pays him little mind as he goes about measuring a tea spoon of the dried medicinal herbs, before drizzling the faintest amount of honey over the powder.  

“Does Wèi Yīng trust me?” 

“Always,” Wèi Yīng sighs deeply, shoulders slumping. He coughs into the bend of his arm again, further proof that he needs the medicine. The coughs are growing raspy again, wet.  

Lán Wàngjī does not want him to have another fit where he coughs to the point he can’t breathe. Lán Wàngjī doesn’t think his heart could handle waking up to Wèi Yīng like that again.  

Wèi Yīng cocks his head, “will you kiss it better if it’s bitter?” 

“Mn.” 

Wèi Yīng opens his mouth petulantly, like a child, and Lán Wàngjī simply guides the spoon into his mouth, making sure to pull the spoon out with an upward angle so the medicine is forced off the spoon by Wèi Yīng’s lip. He offers Wèi Yīng his tea, also sweetened faintly with honey. 

The honey must make at least a little bit of a difference, since Wèi Yīng’s face doesn’t scrunch up like it had when the healer had given him the medicine that morning. 

Wèi Yīng still sips at the tea. 

“Was it bitter?” 

“...yes, so kiss me.” 

“Mn, liar,” Lán Wàngjī shakes his head, but he does lean forward to press his lips lightly against Wèi Yīng’s just as the younger man had wanted. Lán Wàngjī had wanted to as well; he always wants to press his lips to Wèi Yīng. Whatever part of his husband he can get his hands on.  

Lán Wàngjī smiles softly into the kiss. 

“Mm, wait, you’ll get sick too,” Wèi Yīng mutters as he pulls back, a trembling hand on Lán Wàngjī’s chest where he gives the lightest of pushes. “I shouldn’t have asked for that.” 

“I wanted to kiss my Wèi Yīng,” Lán Wàngjī assures, soft and sweet, but still serious.  

He kneels between Wèi Yīng’s legs, legs that spread so perfectly for him, pushing Wèi Yīng back inch by inch into the mattress after setting the spoon, and the teacup he’d taken from Wèi Yīng’s hands, back onto their bedside table.  

Lán Wàngjī nips at Wei Ying’s bottom lip, tasting honey on him, “Wèi Yīng tastes sweet.”  

“You’ll get sick, Bǎobèi,” Wèi Yīng reminds again, but he the words are hardly anything more than an exhale. Wèi Yīng leans back as Lán Wàngjī crowds into his space, the older man all but crawling up the younger man until he’d hovering over Wèi Yīng. “Ah, y-you said three days...” 

“Mn.”  

Lán Wàngjī hums, pressing fleeting kisses to the corner of Wèi Yīng’s lips before he starts to press little pecks down his jaw, down his neck, leaving a trail of kisses down his chest.  

Wèi Yīng squirms.  

Lán Wàngjī’s chest rumbles appreciatively. 

Lán Wàngjī parts Wèi Yīng’s sleeping robes by slipping his hands under the fabric and sliding his hands down the sides of his chest towards his arms until his entire chest is exposed, then he drags his hands down the younger man’s chest before he pulls his hands away suddenly, and leans over to grab the salve from the bedside table.  

Wèi Yīng blinks owlishly, before his head falls back against the mattress with a breathy, rattly sort of laugh, “you could have just asked to part my robes. Like I’d say no to you. Aiyah, I don’t think the teasing was necessary. Your lips felt so nice, now I must wait for three entire days before my Lán Zhàn will finish what he started...” 

“Wèi Yīng will only think about me touching him,” Lán Wàngjī says like it’s a promise, mind flashing back to when a sleep-delirious Wèi Yīng had thought he’d let a stranger lather a salve on his chest. “My hands on Wèi Yīng, my lips on Wèi Yīng’s chest. No one else. Mine.”  

Wèi Yīng’s chest heaves, but it is not because of the chest infection. 

“You are a tease.”  

Lán Wàngjī simply leans up to press a kiss to Wèi Yīng’s lips again before he’s finally getting on with his task and opening the salve. He spreads the paste onto Wèi Yīng’s chest, rubbing it in and taking much more time than he had under Lán Qiao’s watchful gaze.  

He watches Wèi Yīng’s every move as he runs his hands across his chest.  

It is more sensual than Lán Wàngjī thinks applying a salve should ever be, but he’s only human when it comes to Wèi Yīng. He lets his fingers wander as he rubs the medicine into his skin, enjoying the squirms, gasps and soft moans Wèi Yīng lets out.  

Finally, when Lán Wàngjī is finished massaging the salve into Wèi Yīng’s chest, the two of them curl up in bed together for another early night. It is not even close to Hài Shí, but he does not care. Lán Wàngjī is more tired than he’d care to admit after worrying about Wèi Yīng all day, and he can see Wèi Yīng’s eyelids drooping where he’s curled up in Lán Wàngjī’s arms, head on his chest. 

“Lán Zhàn?” 

Lán Wàngjī hums, eyes shut. 

“Do you truly find me appealing still? Like this? Sick and smelling like an apothecary?” 

“Wèi Yīng is always alluring,” Lán Wàngjī says, pressing a kiss to his husband’s forehead without so much as opening his eyes. He can tell Wèi Yīng is looking at him with that tired stare, the medicinal herbs he’d ingested likely starting to make him drowsy again. “It has always been Wèi Yīng. My Wèi Yīng.” 

Wèi Yīng does not offer a reply, and when Lán Wàngjī cracks his eyes open to peer at his husband, his heart swells fondly when he sees the other asleep against him. 

Good.  

He needs sleep.  

Lán Wàngjī’s eyes flutter shut again, hold tightening on Wèi Yīng as he smiles into his beloved’s hairline, where he buries his mouth and nose. “I love you.”