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English
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Published:
2025-09-09
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927
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1/1
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Just Like the Taste of Milk and Honey

Summary:

He is obviously a cultivator, a Lan, he thinks, but one Wei Ying has never met before, never even seen, so it’s odd that, just by looking at that beautiful face and feeling that cool qi, Wei Ying feels like he knows everything there is to know about him, can guess at his likes and dislikes, like they’ve known each other forever.

Maybe they have known each other forever.

Notes:

Just a tiny soulmate au fic inspired by "Stranger in the Crowd" by Elvis. Title from the same song. Tag says "No Plot Vibes Only," but yes, I do have a whole world/plot built in the background. But don't worry about that. LOL

Work Text:

Wei Ying stares out at the crowd bustling through the market listlessly, not really seeing anything. There’s nothing worth seeing.

The brick wall he’s been leaning against for the past several hours has lost the chill it had in the pre-dawn darkness when he’d first collapsed against it, warmed as the sun crested the horizon and continued its climb through the sky. But the chill still has its clutches in Wei Ying, despite the warm weather and the thick hoodie he’s taken to wearing constantly.

It always will now that his golden core is dying.

He can still feel the tiny flicker of it, fighting to survive like a small flame against a persistent breeze. But he can also feel the pervasive inky darkness of resentful energy in his meridians that had burrowed deep and refused to leave, feel it as it constantly tries to snuff out what’s left of his golden core.

Survival is possible, he hears Wen Qing’s words ring in his memory. But what kind of life would that be, abandoned by his family, shunned by his peers, fighting to keep the resentful energy from consuming any other parts of him? He has the Wens, but they’re just as bad off as he is, support-wise, and he has Wen Qing, specifically for the golden core issue, though her resources are limited.

And he’s just so tired. Just waking up in the morning is a struggle, so sometimes he just doesn’t sleep. He’s not sure how long he’ll be able to keep fighting.

He’s not sure he wants to.

Wei Ying closes his eyes and lets his head drop back against the brick wall. He should probably try to drag himself up off the ground and back to where he and the Wens are currently living, but the thought of trying to move right now brings the sting of tears to his eyes.

He lets his mind drift, and he loses his precarious hold on reality. It fades to the background, sounds and scents and sensations muted. He instinctually slips into meditation, little good it will do him, and his attention narrows down to that tiny flicker in his cavernous dantian, like watching the flame of a lighter twist in the open air.

And then the flame bursts into a roaring inferno, pure spiritual qi filling up his dantian and spilling through his meridians, chasing and devouring the tendrils of resentful energy like fire seeking kindling.

Wei Ying opens his eyes with a pained gasp, his head jerking up as his body spasms, and sees nothing but gold.

He squeezes his eyes shut, and instinct takes over again. It may have been a long time since he’s had this much qi in his meridians, but he knows what to do with it. He works to calm his breathing, calm his heartbeat, and circulates the qi like he’d been trained to do to keep him away from deviation.

It feels like it takes a small eternity, but he’s finally able to drift back up to awareness. He can hear the sounds out on the street, feel the faint breeze brush against the wetness on his cheeks, register the gentle touch of someone’s fingers on his wrist. And he feels the power of a miniature sun spinning in his dantian where only a tiny flicker had been.

Wei Ying opens his eyes again, another gasp slipping past his lips, and sees nothing but gold.

He blinks and focuses, and the gold sharpens into a golden gaze staring at him from the most beautiful face he’s ever seen.

He jolts back, hitting the brick wall behind him. His arm jolts back with him, and he feels a tug at his wrist. Looking down, he sees fingers still pressed against the skin of his wrist and feels the gentle inquiry of qi slipping into his meridians from the contact.

He looks back up and takes in the person, the man, still knelt before him.

That golden gaze is intense as it roves over Wei Ying’s face, framed by rich, dark locks and a white ribbon with blue embroidery over the brows. A sword juts out behind the man’s head, the strap of the scabbard slashing over his broad chest.

He is obviously a cultivator, a Lan, he thinks, but one Wei Ying has never met before, never even seen, so it’s odd that, just by looking at that beautiful face and feeling that cool qi, Wei Ying feels like he knows everything there is to know about him, can guess at his likes and dislikes, like they’ve known each other forever.

Maybe they have known each other forever.

Recovery is also possible, he hears Wen Qing’s words ring in his ears, the ones he’d scoffed at because how likely would that be? Wei Ying’s luck, as past experiences have shown, isn’t that great.

But a cultivator just touched him, and his golden core is a burning presence inside him again. Maybe even stronger than it used to be.

Wei Ying reaches out a shaking hand and grasps the man’s arm. Tears blur his vision again, and he loses himself to helpless laughter, disbelief and giddy joy running rampant through him. He leans his face into that broad chest and laughs until his tears run dry. Then he leans back and looks into the man’s face, sniffles and then smiles.

“Hey, stranger,” he says, and his soul echoes, soulmate, soulmate, soulmate.

The man blinks and smiles, small and precious, and says, “Hello,” and Wei Ying’s soul hears, I’ve found you.