Chapter Text
Lan Jingyi would like it to be noted that he’s always noticed attractive people. It’s hard not to, considering he grew up in Gusu Lan and being pretty is basically one of the ground rules of being a Lan. Add cultivation to the mix, and you have a whole lot of pretty people who also stay pretty for decades.
So, yes. Jingyi has eyes. That work.
But prettiness doesn’t really mean much if it doesn’t have anything to back it up, which is why most of the Jin mostly give him shivers (sorry, Jin Ling, but that’s just how it is): Jingyi might be loud but he isn’t stupid, and his tolerance for idiots is pretty low nowadays. Luckily, he’s from a branch family so with all the dozens of main Lan line cousins counted, his placement on the sect heir line is like…um…94 or something? A lot of people would need to die for Jingyi to end up as the sect heir (let alone the sect leader) and in need of a spouse.
He’s thought about it, sometimes, in a vague sort of way. How it would feel like to share his life with someone, to go night-hunting together, to cultivate together, to grow old together…So far, the idea of a spouse feels more appealing than the actual process of finding one. He doesn’t even know if he likes men or women (or both or none)!
The good thing about being a Lan also means that the elders are a bunch of sentimentalists who place a lot of weight on the myth of a Lan loving only once. They’re extremely reluctant to push regular disciples to marry unless they’re sure they’ve found their special one. (Come to think of it, it might not be that much about sentiment and more about the monastic tradition…huh.)
All that is to say that while Jingyi might have been completely prepared on a theoretical level, he’s in no way prepared to see Nie Mingjue for the first time.
”You’re drooling,” Xiao Qing mock-whispers.
”Your eyes are fucking weird, shut up,” Jingyi hisses back.
They’re at the back of the hall, talking shit about the people present. Or, well, Xiao Qing is doing most of the talking as Sizhui tries and fails to cover his exasperation and Jin Ling and Zizhen have been roped to their respective parents’ side. Jingyi was talking until Sect Leader Nie leaned forward in his chair and growled something in a low and menacing voice at Sect Leader Su, Jingyi isn’t sure what because Jingyi forgot how to breathe.
He’s been aware of Sect Leader Nie, of course. Who hasn’t heard of the tall and imposing young Sect Leader who, despite his explosive temperament, has managed to live as Qishan Wen’s neighbor for nearly two decades with only minimal border skirmishes? The Sect Leader, whose tolerance of idle gossiping and politics is so low that he’d rather dump the everyday sect business on his little brother’s lap and go hack at things with his sabre instead? A cultivation conference is something else, though, which is the reason the increasingly annoyed Nie Mingjue has been present. (At least the meetings have been short and efficient, and the next three days will be spent night-hunting, something probably everyone is relieved about.)
”Mm-hm,” Xiao Qing hums, sounding smug.
Jingyi ignores her because Sect Leader Nie just stood up, held out his hand, and his sabre flew into his hold with a loud smack, and now he makes an imposing, breathtaking, dizzying sight—
”Breathe,” Sizhui murmurs into his ear and pinches his side.
Jingyi yelps, which both draws curious looks into his way and also makes him breathe. The dizzy spell dissipates.
”I—” Jingyi tries to say, but it comes out as an embarrassing high-pitched croak because his mouth is so dry his tongue isn’t moving properly. He swallows around a dry throat and when that doesn’t help much, reaches out to pick up a cup, and downs it at one go. It’s some hideous and hideously strong Qinghe alcohol, and he sputters and wheezes, making even more people look into his way.
”What?” he asks when he gets his breathing under control again. ”Is happening?”
Xiao Qing gives him a pitying look.
”Apparently, Sect Leader Su said something unwise and Sect Leader Nie decided it was a time for a break,” Sizhui says, always the diplomat.
In the front of the room, Sect Leader Nie is still standing, glorious and grand, and why is Jingyi feeling like this?
The crowd hunt the next day is perfect or terrible, depending on the perspective.
It’s terrible because Jingyi trips over his own feet and gets nearly skewered by a boar yao, a mistake he knows he’ll need to write an exhaustive report on, which is okay because the worst punishment is the slightly disappointed look in Hanguang-jun’s eyes.
It’s perfect because the moment Jingyi is about to close his eyes and resign to his fate, Sect Leader Nie appears next to him and ends the boar in one powerful sweep of his sabre. And then he turns his scowl on Jingyi and asks, ”Are you alright, Lan Jingyi?”
Jingyi might or might not let out a small whimper.
”It’s the arms, isn’t it?”
Jingyi is nursing his mortification in the quiet corner of the hall and yelps at the sudden question behind him.
”I’ve seen that look on so many faces before,” Nie Huaisang says, waving his fan lazily in front of him. ”Usually it happens during or after da-ge’s morning drills. He does them in his pants only.”
Jingyi stares at him. ”Why—what—I—”
Nie Huaisang lifts a brow.
”Just kill me now,” Jingyi pleads.
”Nonsense,” Nie Huaisang says cheerily. ”So, tell me, is my da-ge the first man who makes you feel like that? I’m asking because you wouldn’t be the first one. I’m sure it’s the arms.”
”What is happening?” Jingyi whispers.
Nie Huaisang makes a small movement with his fan and a split moment later, a servant appears with two bottles of wine. ”You, my young friend, are clearly in the throes of an awakening,” Nie Huaisang says, adding a dramatic emphasis on the last word as he hands the other bottle to Jingyi. ”Sadly, I can’t help with the so-called consequences, but I can give you something to ease your…mind.”
”What?” Jingyi asks again. He feels wildly out of his depth, which, in Nie Huaisang’s credit, isn’t something he often feels.
Nie Huaisang inspects his nails, polishes them on the lapels of his robe and then gives him an innocent look. ”Texts, my young friend. Would you like to lend some?”
Jingyi returns from the Qinghe cultivation conference with several experiences richer, including but not limited to getting raging drunk on some obscure Qinghe baijiu, having a brush with death-by-an-enraged-boar-yao, and the realization that he’d very much like to be ravished by an intimidating, strong male cultivator.
Well.
The Lan disciples do say that learning comes first, right?