Chapter Text
The Cloud Recesses was a sanctuary of stillness, discipline, and balance. The clouds drifted like whispers through the pines, sunlight filtered gently through white silk curtains, and not even the birds dared sing above a whisper.
It was, in short, Wei Wuxian’s personal hell.
He sprawled dramatically on the stone steps outside the library pavilion, arms thrown over his head like a tragic poem personified. “I am wasting away. Dying of boredom. Perishing in silence. Will no one rescue me?”
Lan Jingyi didn’t even look up from the scroll he was copying. “You could meditate.”
“I could,” Wei Wuxian agreed, rolling onto his stomach. “But I could also set up a fireworks trap in the bamboo forest and see who gets caught first. Guess which one sounds more fun?”
“Neither!” Jingyi snapped. “Also, you’re not allowed to go near the bamboo forest after last time.”
“Pity,” Wei Wuxian said with a sigh. “Still smells a bit like smoke, doesn’t it?”
Lan Sizhui, who had been respectfully pretending not to hear this entire exchange, finally cleared his throat. “Senior Wei… perhaps you could help us with our talisman studies instead?”
“That sounds suspiciously like homework,” Wei Wuxian said, squinting. “You’re trying to trick me into being responsible.”
“It wouldn’t be the worst thing,” Jin Ling muttered as he walked past, brows furrowed and Bichen’s sister sword gleaming at his hip. “You are an adult.”
“An adult with a lot of free time and a donkey,” Wei Wuxian said brightly, pushing himself up to sit. “Speaking of which—where’s Lil’ Apple?”
—
The next hour saw Lil’ Apple brought into the inner courtyard with a dramatic clatter of hooves. The donkey was adorned in one of Lan Qiren’s discarded outer robes like a war banner. His ears were wrapped in cloud-patterned ribbons. A talisman dangled from his tail—glowing softly and occasionally sparking like someone had imbued it with ghost-repellent and static electricity.
Lan Jingyi pinched the bridge of his nose. “Is that Uncle’s robe?!”
“It gives him gravitas!” Wei Wuxian declared, adjusting Lil’ Apple’s headdress like a general preparing his mighty steed for battle. “Behold, Commander Lil’ Apple of the Donkey Sect!”
“You made that sect up!”
“I founded it,” Wei Wuxian said, solemn. “Our motto is bray first, questions later.”
“You’re making that up too!”
“Everything is made up until someone writes it down in calligraphy, and I have a brush.”
—
Chaos Level 1: Donkey Tag.
Wei Wuxian tied a red ribbon to a talisman and stuck it to Lil’ Apple’s back. “Whoever gets the ribbon without being brayed at wins.”
Lil’ Apple had no idea what was going on, but he did know the juniors were acting suspiciously close. So he took off galloping across the training field with shocking speed, trailing disciples like panicked ducks.
Sizhui tripped on his robes trying to lunge for the ribbon. Jin Ling almost got brayed in the face. Zizhen, poor sweet Zizhen, dove dramatically and face-planted in the grass.
Wei Wuxian? He stood on the sidelines, clapping and eating stolen lotus crisps.
—
Chaos Level 2: Musical Mayhem.
“Let’s test your spiritual instrument resonance!” Wei Wuxian announced. “Let’s see who can play a note that Lil’ Apple likes!”
Lil’ Apple, of course, had opinions.
Sizhui’s flute made his ears twitch—close, but not quite.
Zizhen’s xiao had him swaying peacefully.
Lan Jingyi’s qin attempt made the donkey screech and bolt into the pavilion.
“You broke him!” Jin Ling cried, clutching Lil’ Apple’s reins.
“I think it’s your aura,” Wei Wuxian whispered to Jingyi with mock seriousness. “It’s too intense. The donkey fears you.”
“I fear him!” Jingyi shouted back.
—
Chaos Level 3: Obstacle Course.
Wei Wuxian set up an obstacle course with brooms, potted plants, and four confused rabbits from the back garden. He claimed it was “discipline training, just like in the war.”
The rabbits were uncooperative. Lil’ Apple trampled a broom. Jin Ling nearly crashed into a tree. Zizhen apologized to every plant he bumped into. Sizhui somehow made it through with perfect form, looking slightly haunted.
Wei Wuxian gave him a bamboo leaf crown and declared him “Deputy Donkey Sect Commander.”
Jingyi was not amused.
—
By the time the sun dipped behind the mountains, the courtyard was a disaster: scrolls scattered, robes stained with grass and talisman ink, one rabbit was missing, and Lil’ Apple had claimed the lecture platform as his new throne.
Wei Wuxian leaned against a pillar, grinning proudly. “Ah, look at all of you. Growing stronger through hardship.”
Jin Ling huffed, brushing dust off his clothes. “You’re lucky Hanguang-jun isn’t here.”
“Oh no,” Wei Wuxian said with a dramatic gasp. “Are you going to tell on me?”
Sizhui gave him a long-suffering look. “We wouldn’t have to if you didn’t start a fake sect and make the donkey our sect leader.”
“Fake?” Wei Wuxian clutched his chest. “I bled for this sect. I suffered!”
“You fell off the donkey once,” Zizhen pointed out. “That’s not suffering.”
“It bit me too!”
“You tried to ride him standing up,” Jin Ling snapped.
—
Just then, a shadow fell over the courtyard.
Everyone froze.
A familiar golden guqin case appeared around the corner, followed by the serene—and clearly confused—face of Lan Wangji, just returned.
Behind him, Lan Qiren looked five seconds away from going into cardiac arrest.
Wei Wuxian froze. “Ah.”
Lil’ Apple chose that moment to bray loudly, as if announcing his ascension to Cult Leader.
Lan Wangji blinked slowly. “…Why is your donkey wearing my uncle’s robe?”
Wei Wuxian turned with the most innocent smile imaginable. “Lan Zhan! Welcome home! We were just… engaging in inter-sect donkey diplomacy.”
Jin Ling groaned audibly. “I’m never visiting Gusu again.”