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“Lan Zhan,” Wei Wuxian says as soon as the weather worsens, touching his husband’s arm.
Nighthunting during a heavy storm is one thing. Nighthunting through a typhoon is a completely different story. The winds have gotten stronger, and the rain is falling so hard that it almost hurts when it makes contact with skin. Wei Wuxian wouldn’t be surprised if it were to hail, or if the nearby small village were to get flooded, if the intensity remains the same.
The yaos they’re facing aren’t that powerful. Lan Wangji and Wei Wuxian could beat them in half an incense time if they wanted to and be done with it, but the idea was for the juniors to beat them. They’re here to learn, after all. But nighthunting in this kind of weather in a mountain that soon enough will be impossible to walk on without risking falling and injuries is not worth it. They already have one injured Lan from earlier.
“Mn,” Lan Wangji agrees, understanding what he means without the need for words.
“Guys, listen up!” He shouts and waves his arms in the air so the boys hear him through the loud winds. “We’ll finish up here! Go to the village and find the nearest inn! We’ll be there as soon as we’re done!”
“Wei-qianbei,” comes Lan Jingyi’s voice from somewhere nearby. “We can’t leave you to fight alone in these conditions!”
“It’s not like we’re cowards! We’re not running away,” Jin Ling agrees.
“Listen to him,” Lan Wangji counters firmly.
The protests immediately cease, replaced by a bunch of “Yes, Hanguang-jun” and similar expressions. The juniors are quick to leave the mountain.
“It’s so unfair.” Wei Wuxian pouts when they’re alone. “Why do they never listen to me but heed your word as soon as you speak? You could tell them to jump off a cliff, and they wouldn’t even hesitate.”
“I wouldn’t tell them to jump off a cliff,” Lan Wangji says.
Wei Wuxian chuckles. “That’s true. Let’s take care of this, Lan Zhan. I don’t want us to catch a cold.”
Wei Wuxian underestimated them. They finish the yaos off in a quarter of an incense time, not half. By the time they arrive at the inn, the juniors have just finished asking if there are any rooms available.
“I’m afraid there’s only one room left, with two beds,” the owner tells them. “But in this weather, refined gongzis like yourself shouldn’t wander outside lest you get sick. The room is one of our bigger ones, and we have extra bedding available. Sleeping on the floor might not be as comfortable, but it’s better than staying outside during a typhoon,” he says, not wanting to lose the sale. “Besides, we have an excellent chef who can fill your bellies with delicious hot food to warm you up.”
“We’ll take it,” Wei Wuxian says as soon as they walk inside the inn. Lan Wangji walks to the counter to pay.
“You made it!” Ouyang Zizhen says.
“Of course we did. It was not hard at all. Did everyone arrive safely?” he asks. “Especially the injured.”
“Yes, Wei-qianbei, he’s okay,” Lan Sizhui is the one to reply. His injured friend is leaning against him and another Lan. Without a doctor present, he can’t be certain, but Wei Wuxian is pretty sure the boy sprained his ankle when he slipped earlier, and also got a rather nasty gash from one of the yaos’ claws. It wasn’t his lucky day.
“Alright, good.”
Lan Wangji joins them once he’s done paying, and one of the inn workers approaches them.
“Follow me, gongzis, I’ll show you to your room,” she says with a big smile. She climbs the stairs, making a gesture for them to go after her. “I’ve been told to provide extra bedding, since there are only two proper beds in the room. We’ll come to your room to deliver it as soon as possible.” She slides open their room door. It’s big, as was described by the inn owner, so there won’t be any problems for them in matters of space, at least. The two canopy beds rest on the opposite wall, waiting to be claimed. “In the meantime, why don’t you gongzis take a look at the menu and think of what you’d like to eat? They’re on the table.”
“Thank you, kind lady,” Wei Wuxian says as he steps inside.
“Of course. I’ll be back soon to take your order.” With a polite bow, she’s gone.
“Alright. Lan Zhan and I will pick some dishes from the menu while you decide who’s going to take the beds.” Wei Wuxian says, walking to the table.
“Why do you get to be the one to pick the food? You’re just going to order super spicy stuff that none of us can eat!” Jin Ling complains, crossing his arms.
“I get to pick because I’ll be the one paying,” he replies. He’s already sat on the floor, and he doesn’t lift his gaze from the menu as he speaks.
“With Hanguang-jun’s money!” Jin Ling argues.
“So?” Wei Wuxian smiles. “My husband’s money is my money,” he declares. “Isn’t that right, Lan Zhan?”
“Mn.”
Jin Ling clicks his tongue and rolls his eyes, but doesn’t say anything further.
“Wei-qianbei, Hanguang-jun,” says Lan Jingyi. “You should be the ones to take the beds.” As they’re their elders, it is the polite thing to do. Many of the other boys speak in agreement.
“Isn’t one of you hurt?” Wei Wuxian says, pointing with his chin to where the guy is now resting against a wall, chatting with Ouyang Zizhen. “Shouldn’t the injured take priority over unharmed seniors?”
The juniors open their mouths in an ‘o’ shape, collectively realizing he’s correct.
“Wei-qianbei, I’m okay, really. I don’t mind sleeping on the floor,” the injured Lan in question says.
“None of that. You need proper rest, so you’ll take the bed. I’ll ask the inn owner if he knows if there’s a doctor here to properly diagnose you when we go downstairs for dinner,” Wei Wuxian says.
The kid doesn’t protest further. “Thank you,” he says instead and bows. Ouyang Zizhen helps him to bed.
“Then who'll take the other bed?” one asks. “Hanguang-jun or Wei-qianbei?”
Wei Wuxian sets the menu down with a satisfied hum, leaning back on his hands as the juniors' debate drags on. It’s amusing watching them hem and haw like a flock of indecisive birds, weighing the merits of hierarchy and whatnot.
They don’t realize that the discussion can be settled quite easily, and he knows they will go on like this until late into the night if he doesn’t meddle, so he turns to Lan Wangji.
“Lan Zhan,” he says, tilting his head toward his husband with a grin. “Shall we settle this?”
Lan Wangji, who has been silently perusing the menu beside him, glances up. “Mn.”
“Kids, that’s enough. Lan Zhan and I will share,” Wei Wuxian declares.
The room goes quiet. It’s like they all suddenly remember that the two senior cultivators are married. Then they all go pale, realizing what the implications of this couple, infamous for shameless displays of affection, sleeping in the same bed only a few cùn away from them are.
“A-are you sure?” Lan Jingyi asks, his voice pitching up an octave.
Wei Wuxian shrugs. “Unless any of you want to claim the bed, then we’ll sleep on the floor.”
“Wei-qianbei, I’m okay, really,” says the injured junior. “I don’t mind sleeping on the floor so you seniors can have the beds.”
“None of that,” Wei Wuxian waves him off once more. “As I said, you need proper rest. If no one else has any protests, then this matter is settled.”
None of the kids says anything more. They don’t have any reasonable arguments to make.
“Alright then, perfect.”
Right on time, some inn workers arrive carrying extra bedding for them. The girl from earlier comes along.
“Were you able to take a look at the menu, gongzis?” she asks.
“Yes,” Wei Wuxian replies. He recites the dishes he selected, and Lan Wangji adds a few more to the list. The young lady promises she’ll take the orders to the kitchen and empty a table for them downstairs.
Once they’re done arranging their makeshift beds on the floor, they file down to the dining area. The inn’s common room is bustling with other stranded travelers, seeking refuge from the storm. The wind howls outside, rattling the shutters, but inside it’s warm and fragrant with the scent of steaming soups and sizzling meats. The group claims the empty table near one of the windows.
“Sizhui, take a tray up to your friend upstairs once the food’s ready, alright?” The injured Lan stayed in the room. Lan Sizhui nods. “Make sure he eats everything; he needs to replenish his strength. And Jingyi, Zizhen, you two go ask around the room if any of the guests is a doctor. Be polite,” he orders.
“Yes, Wei-qianbei!” they chorus.
A little later, just as their meal arrives, Lan Jingyi and Ouyang Zizhen return to their table, triumphant. There’s a traveling physician from Caiyi town willing to come look at the ankle after dinner.
The food is warm and tasty, and soon enough, their bellies are full. By the time they all troop back to the room, the storm is howling like it wants to tear the roof off. The doctor comes with them to check the boy’s ankle and gives him strict instructions to keep it elevated, but tells him he’ll recover quickly, as he’s young and has an abundance of spiritual energy. Lan Wangji thanks him and sends him off with a pouch of silver.
Wei Wuxian claps his hands. “Right! Everyone, get comfortable. It’s freezing in here with that wind.”
While the juniors arrange their makeshift beds, Wei Wuxian pads over to the remaining canopy bed where Lan Wangji has already settled, sitting cross-legged with a sheet of paper and a small ink stone balanced on his lap. He must be writing a report on the nighthunt for the records at Gusu. Neat, precise characters flow under his brush.
Wei Wuxian climbs onto the bed behind him, knees bracketing Lan Wangji’s hips. “Your hair is a mess, Lan Zhan. Hold still,” he murmurs.
His husband doesn’t pause his writing, but he tilts his head slightly in invitation. Wei Wuxian pulls his forehead ribbon free with reverent fingers, tying it around his wrist like he always does at the end of the day. Then he starts on the long black strands, gentle and methodical, working out the tangles the wind and the fight left behind. The comb slides through softly, and he makes sure not to pull too hard so as not to hurt him.
The juniors should be busy fluffing their pillows and getting ready for bed, but they keep sneaking glances at the couple as if they can’t help it. Jin Ling’s ears are scarlet.
“It’s very cold tonight,” Wei Wuxian murmurs when he’s finished. He leaves the comb on the nightstand and reaches into his qiankun pouch. He retrieves a few pieces of paper. “Lan Zhan, may I borrow your brush for a second?”
“Yes,” he concedes, handing it to him.
“Thank you.” He grabs it and draws quick talismans in big strokes. “Perfect,” he declares when he’s done. “Here, one for each of you floor-sleepers,” he says. “Stick them under your blankets, pillow, or inside your robes. They’ll keep you warm.”
He hops down and hands them out.
“I don’t need—” Jin Ling grumbles, but Wei Wuxian just drops it into his lap anyway.
“You do, A-Ling,” he says, and ignores his nephew’s glare at the affectionate nickname. “Can’t have you catching a cold and having your Jiujiu curse me.” He grins and dodges the half-hearted swat Jin Ling aims at him.
As everyone settles into their spots, the storm really picks up. Thunder cracks like a whip overhead, shaking the inn’s walls. Most of the juniors flinch at the first big boom, but Lan Jiahao, one of the younger ones who has only joined a handful of nighthunts so far, goes rigid under his blanket. His eyes go wide, and he pales under the lantern light.
“Hey, are you okay?” Lan Sizhui asks, attentive as always.
Lan Jiahao nods, cheeks flushing with embarrassment. “It’s…loud,” he says. “It sounds like the sky is breaking.”
Lan Wangji and Wei Wuxian notice, and they exchange a glance. The latter one produces a new piece of paper and scribbles something quickly. “Let’s fix that.” He walks over and hands the talisman to the boy. “Stick it on your forehead. You’ll look a bit funny, but it’ll make the thunder sound like a far-off drum, while still letting you hear your friends’ voices.”
“Thank you, Wei-qianbei.” Lan Jiahao clutches it like a lifeline. The next thunder is softer in his ears, and he visibly relaxes.
Wei Wuxian stands. “Alright, does anyone else need anything?” In the absence of replies, he nods. “Okay. Hopefully, the storm clears tomorrow, and we can make our way back to Gusu. It’ll be hai time soon. Sleep well.”
Back on their bed, Lan Wangji has finished his report and set it aside to dry. He gets under the covers and opens his arms without a word. Wei Wuxian crawls straight into them, arranging himself so he’s lying half on top of him. They’re chest to chest, their legs tangled, and his cheek is pillowed over his husband’s steady heartbeat. Lan Wangji’s arms settle around his waist immediately, one hand splaying warm and possessive over the small of his back, the other threading gently into Wei Wuxian’s hair. Before he gets too sleepy under his husband’s soft touch, Wei Wuxian waves his hand to turn off the candles.
There's a soft murmur in the room, the hushed voices of the disciples muffled under the sound of wind and pattering rain. It's relaxing, but adrenaline is still coursing through Wei Wuxian’s veins from the fight earlier, and it's not even hai time yet. Lan Wangji is also awake, tracing patterns on his back. It's warm and comfortable under the blankets, and he's so relaxed he wants to delay falling asleep just to bask in the feeling for a while longer.
Then the patterns Lan Wangji is tracing change, and it gives him the impression that he's spelling something. Wei Wuxian furrows his brows and pays attention. A soft chuckle escapes him when he realizes.
“Lan Zhan,” he whispers, raising his head a little to look him in the eye. The room is dark, but the lighting that strikes every few seconds lights it up enough to see.
“Wei Ying.”
Wei Wuxian's smile shows in his tone. “Are you tracing ‘I love you’ on my back?”
“Mn.” Lan Wangji smiles back and spells it with his fingertip again.
He giggles. “I love you too, husband.”
Wei Wuxian cradles his head and kisses his lips, chaste and gentle. Lan Wangji pecks him back, then gives him a softer one on his jaw.
Someone clears their throat louder than the thunder.
Right. They aren't alone.
He settles back down on top of Lan Wangji and sighs. He wants nothing more than to shower the man in kisses until no piece of skin hasn't been touched by his lips, but that'll have to wait for tomorrow night. Wei Wuxian is shameless, but not shameless enough to ruin the poor unconsenting juniors’ innocence.
Lan Wangji still presses a silent kiss to his hair and keeps tracing patterns on his back, though not communicating anything this time.
Wei Wuxian enjoys his husband's touch until hai time comes and, used to the Lan bedtime by now, they fall asleep.
Lan Jingyi is going to pee himself if he doesn't get up right now. He looks at the ceiling and curses at himself in his mind. He shouldn't have sneakily drunk what was left of Wei Wuxian's liquor bottle while he was distracted. Now he has to go out in the middle of the still raging storm. Great. Fucking awesome.
He gets up as silently as he can manage and gets out of the room, where the hallway lanterns are keeping the place lit up still. Everything is quiet downstairs, as all the patrons have long gone to bed, and he slips out the back door. He lights a flame in his palm with spiritual energy to guide him to the outhouse.
When he returns (after taking a quarter of an incense time to squeeze his robes and hair dry), lightning strikes for long enough to navigate the room without difficulty. He freezes, though, at the view of the seniors' bed. Wei Wuxian is draped fully over Lan Wangji, face tucked into the crook of his neck, with one bare leg hooked possessively over his husband’s hip. Lan Wangji’s arms are locked around his waist, his chest rising and falling steadily.
They look peaceful. Almost beautiful. It gives him the impression that nothing in the world could touch them, no matter how hard they try.
Lan Jingyi stares, mesmerized despite himself. His heart twists with something between envy and awe. How do two people fit together so perfectly like that?
He shakes his head, face hot, and scurries back to his spot. As he pulls the blanket over his body, he can’t help but look to his left, where Lan Sizhui is sleeping. A part of him wonders if he’ll ever find something like what their mentors have with him.
Sleep doesn’t come easily after that.