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Lan Wangji stumbles against the tree, gasping, panting; hand resting at his side as blood slowly, steadily seeps between his fingers. The wet bark cuts into his palm, his vision swimming, limbs heavy, and every breath is more painful than the last.
He ran, and he ran, and he ran. Not caring where he went, which way was up or which way was down. Lan Wangji kept going until his lungs screamed and he could no longer hear the roars and cheers of war. He ran until there was nothing but rows and rows corpse-like trees, and not another living soul for nearly a hundred li.
His white and blue robes socked through with rain, sweat, and blood—a mix of his own and the Wen soldiers who fell from his sword.
A storm surprised their camp as they slept. A sea of the living draped in robes stitched with the sun rained over them, and it had been nothing but a merciless blood bath. They had not been ready.
Lan Xichen had left that evening alongside the Nie sec leader, Nie Mingjue, and a few of their men to begin their move to the next camp north of them. Lan Wangji had been left in charge, over the few remaining men, enough to hold ground until they returned, until they sent word.
The patrols found no threat. It was quiet; the ground untouched, and marked only by their last battle. Two days of silence. It was supposed to be safe.
They came. They fought. They lost.
Lan Wangji, Hanguang-Jun, the sect heir to the Lan was the only one that remained. His sect brothers and sisters slain at his feet. Those he was instructed to protect, gone. Chaos had raged in front of him, blinded him, and he did not see the rush of white and red robes running to his side. The blade cut deep.
No one but he survived.
There had only been one thing he could do—he ran.
And ran.
And ran.
With what little strength Lan Wangji has left, he pushes himself from the tree and pushes forward. He needed to find a way to reach his brother, he needed to tell him of what happened. Of the ambush, the slaughter, the names of all those they lost. Both Lan and Nie. He needed to tell his brother he is alive.
Lan Wangji’s foot catches on an exposed root and he falls, landing heavy in the mud, and a voiceless gasp is ripped from his lips.
He can’t move. He tries. With what spiritual energy he has to spare, he tries and he tries. Using Bichen as a crunch, and pushing himself up on shaking arms, he only manages so far before he is collapsing back amongst the wet weeds and mud. A fire laps at his side and he hisses in pain, biting his tongue to try and keep his cries from being heard.
Thunder claps overhead and rain begins to fall around him, and Lan Wangji lies there struggling to keep his eyes open. He can’t give up—he isn’t—but the pain is unbearable. His body exhausted. So much fight still fuels his bones and runs with fury through his veins, but he can feel himself slipping.
He’s not dying, he can’t. Not here, not like this.
In those last seconds, as his breath begins to falter and his vision begins to blur, he makes a choice, and with the last of his spiritual energy, Lan Wangji sends a message.
The darkness creeps in and as the world slowly fades; through the haze and heavy lids, a shadow is the last thing Lan Wangji sees before everything goes quiet.
He had woken a few times in broken intervals. Having moments of lucidity, enough only to grasp broken fragments here and there of his surroundings. It isn’t until something warm and damp rests on his brows, and the sharp, bitter scent of herbs shake him from sleep.
Lan Wangji stirs, slowly peeling his eyes open, only to regret it a second later when the light glow of the candlelight shows to be too much. He winces, and the movement pulls at his side and a hiss slips between his teeth.
“Hey, hey, be careful.”
A concerned voice calls out, and suddenly there are hands pressing against his bare shoulders, pushing him back onto the bed. Onto sheets that feel worn and coarse, and unlike the ones of fine silks that usually welcomed him.
His brows crease in confusion. Then realisation hit him.
Because this isn’t the Jingshi. These aren’t his sheets, and this isn’t his bed. That isn’t the familiar voice of the Lan families physician, nor one of anyone he knows, and this certainly isn’t the Cloud Recesses because Lan Wangji hasn’t stepped foot on his homes grounds since war broke out.
There had been a swarm. A fight. A massacre. He had been injured and he had run.
Lan Wangji’s eyes snap open and he sits up. Heart hammering against his chest, with alarm bells ringing; he ignores the searing pain burning in his side and pushes the hands away.
“Hey, I’m not gonna hurt you. You’re fine; you’re safe.” The man pulls back, hands raised. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you.”
Lan Wangji hasn’t felt safe in a very long time, and he certainly wasn’t going to trust the words of a stranger.
It takes a second for the room to stop spinning, for the light to stop hurting, and for his vision to comeback into focus. Slowly the shadow in front of his morphs into that of a man. A man he had never seen before. Dressed in thread-bare robes of charcoal grey, with flames lapping at the hems. Flames that look like…
“Who are you? Where’s my sword?” He glares at the man whilst trying to sneakily look around for Bichen. He couldn’t see her. A fear he hasn’t felt for a long-time wells inside him—he is open, exposed, injured and without his sword, possibly lying in the home of the enemy.
“Oh, right,” The stranger goes to the head of the bed, bends down and picks up his once pristine white sword; now caked in dried mud and blood. “I don’t have a swords stand; I normally just leave my lying about. Then again that’s probably not the wisest decision given I am always losing it.” He smiles and settles the sword beside him—in arms reach—in a way that could be drawn at any second—a wordless reassurance.
Lan Wangji gripped the hilt, and held it close. The man mentioned his own blade, but he doesn’t see it, not near them or on his person.
“I’m not trying to hurt you. I spent way to look stitching you back together, and I ain’t no doctor but I think I did pretty well.” The stranger nodded to his side with a satisfied hum.
He could feel the tight binding around his abdomen, but he refused to take his eyes off the stranger for even a second. That small slip could be the thing between life and death.
But then why is he still alive?
“You did not answer my question.” Lan Wangji asks coldly.
“Which one?”
“Who are you?” His grip tightens around his sword.
“The man who saved your life,” The stranger jests, before taking one look at him and sighs. “Not really the trusting type are we.”
“We are in war.” Lan Wangji ground out. He is in pain, on edge, and this man was testing his last patience.
“Correction, you are in war. I have no interest, or any part in it.”
“You are a rogue?”
The strangers nods. “Yep. Wei Wuxian. Wei Ying, if you like.” Wei Wuxian winks. “And you are?”
Wei. It isn’t a name he is familiar with, but he faintly recalls hearing it in passing during the last discussion conference held in Lotus Pier. A name passed between the Jiang leader and his uncle. But nothing more.
It is a name a mysterious as the man before him.
Lan Wangji stares at the man, at Wei Wuxian, studying him. Eyes racking the length of his body. His robes may bare flames, but they were not the notable white and red of the Wen, as his first initial thoughts. Though they share a striking resemblance. It could also be a coincidence.
Wei Wuxian’s face though mature and sharp, and slightly gaunt, his eyes were oddly soft, gentle—and a fleeting thought of, beautiful.
Lan Wangji cleared his throat. Wei Wuxian hasn’t given him reason enough to trust him, but he also hasn’t given him a reason not to. By the sounds of his voice, the sharpness in his throat, and noticeable stiffness in his joints; he has been out for a couple of days. Which in itself is a cause for concern. Did his brother read his message? Did his message even reach him? He does not know where he is, only that he ran west on the outskirts of Yunmeng.
If Wei Wuxian wanted him dead, if he had wanted to kill him, he would have done so the moment he found him.
“Lan Wangji. Lan Zhan.”
“Lan…Zhan. Lan Zhan. I like it. It’s nice to meet you, Lan Zhan!” Wei Wuxian smiles, and Lan Wangji’s stomach does something weird.
“What is a Lan like you doing all the way out here?” Wei Wuxian asks.
“And where is here, exactly?”
“Oh, right,” Wei Wuxian chuckles awkwardly, rubbing the nape of his neck. “You were practically death warmed up when I found you. You’re in Yiling.”
Yiling. A small town boarding the edges of Yunmeng, but neglected. Though in Jiang jurisdiction; because of the infamous Burial Mounds, the land is dead, the streets lifeless; too much poison and resentful energy fills the air for anyone to want to live here. There was no money to be made.
A forgotten town, homed to the dead.
“How long have I been out?”
“Four days. It was touch and go for a while, and to be honest I didn’t think you would make it through the night. I shared what spiritual energy I could, patched you up. Though you were fine, you got a fever and it –” Wei Wuxian leans forward and rests the palm of his hand against his brow. “Finally broke. That’s good! Don’t really want a dead Lan on my hands.”
Lan Wangji’s body stiffens, heart racing with how close Wei Wuxian suddenly came. Close enough he could smell the medicinal herbs on his robes, and his hair tickles his hand.
“Though, you do seem to be warming back up. Are you feeling okay?”
Lan Wangji turns his head away and nods. “I am fine. Has anyone passed through here since?”
Wei Wuxian shakes his head. “A few Wen assholes were spotted in the town a few days ago, but there hasn’t been anyone else. Are you looking for someone?”
“My brother. I sent word to him before I passed out. My camp…we were…” Memories and scene flash through his mind, a broken collection of chaos and death, and he could feel his blood run cold. “We were ambushed. My brother, and the Nie sect leader went off ahead. We were set to follow in a few days. I am the only one who survived.” A heavy ache settles in his chest.
“Oh.” The smile quickly slips from his face. “I am sorry for your loss.” Wei Wuxian bows. “Look, if you sent word I am sure your brother is out looking for you. I can ask my friend a-Ning if he could run into town, leave a message at the local tavern. My place isn’t much, just a small bit of farmland but not too hard to find.”
Wei Wuxian leans forward and rest his hand on his. They were dry and slightly clammy, and yet for some reason, Lan Wangji didn’t hate it.
“Thank you, Wei Ying.”
Wei Wuxian squeezes his hand, and smiles again. “Well, we have a plan then. But first, we really should change your bandages, and then maybe some food?”
Lan Wangji nods wordlessly.
“Great!” Wei Wuxian jumps up and begins tinkering about the small home.
Now given the change, Lan Wangji takes a look around. It isn’t anything much, small, quaint; more of a glorified shack then a home, but it was warm, lived-in. Now fully awake, he could take it in in it’s entirety.
A brasier burns in the corner, and candles are dotted around, partly melted to the surface they’re stuck on. A pair of clean robes hang on the back of the door, and a pile of dirty, blood-soaked ones lay bundles up in the corner. His, he presumes.
There a desk near the bed, piled high with papers; of what he couldn’t see. But they laid sprawled across the desk and even the floor. Brushes and inks stones left out it dry, and talismans with markings he has not seen before.
“Are these talismans yours?” He asks, curiosity getting the best of him. Some were illegible, handwriting of that like a child. But others were near, perfect, clearly made by a master of their arts.
“Oh those?” Wei Ying looks back as he piles the medical supplies onto a makeshift tray. “Yeah. I enjoy inventing new ones, and they’ve been a huge help to those in the town. Even the old miserable goat who lives not far from here has made use of them.”
“What are they for?”
“Hmm, anything and everything, I guess. Whatever my brain comes up with in the moment. Some work, some don’t. Depends on the weather.”
That didn’t make particularly any sense to him, but not about this man really did.
“Now,” Wei Ying settles the tray on the edge of the bed, taking his place back on the stool. “Let’s get the bandages changed, and maybe some food.”
Wei Ying does about changing his bloodied wraps. Carefully unwinding and pulling the fabric away from the stitched wound. It was a crude job; craftmanship the Lan doctors would likely scoff at, but it was closed, clean, and Wei Ying didn’t need to help him, didn’t need to save him.
The wound was deep, a lot deeper than Lan Wangji first thought. The blade all but cutting his side in half, slicing through flesh and muscle. His spiritual energy must have also been drained more than he liked, because despite being out for a few days, his wound is only beginning to scab over.
“I know it’s not great. Like I said, I’m not doctor. But I have stitched up my own wounds plenty of times before, and what’s one mans body to another?” Wei Ying sets the herbal concoction down and began wrapping the fresh bandage around his abdomen.
Lan Wangji holds his breath.
“There.” Wei Ying smiles at his work proudly, hands on his hips.
“Thank you.” He moved about a little, testing whether it is too tight or too loose. It was comfortably snug enough to not irritate him.
“You’re welcome. Now, I don’t have much in the way of food. Like my doctor skills; I am worse in the kitchen, but food is food.” He stands again and when he comes back, it’s with a small bowl of something that looks like congee. Though this looked rather red to be the simple, bland congee he was used too.
The smell hits him first and for some reason, Lan Wangji feels more nervous then when he does on the battlefield. The steam rolls up his nose and tickles the hairs and the back of his throat. “Thank you,” he says, though strained.
Lan Wangji can’t handle spice.
That is made abundantly clear by the third bite. His mouth is on fire. As if a raging inferno was set ablaze on his tongue. His tastebuds aren’t accumulated to such seasonings, or any seasonings for that matter. The Lan prefer light salt, maybe a touch of pepper to add a little flavour to the meal. But whatever Wei Ying doused his food in, was poisonous.
None of this shows on his face, however. The ice block may be melting slowly, but he will not show it. Especially when Wei Ying is looking at him like that.
“So? What do you think?” Wei Ying beams, eyes doed and shining, like a small child waiting for praise.
“Mm.” He hums round another mouthful. The entire inside of his mouth numb. He didn’t think he could manage anymore words in fear of choking.
“Aiya! I am glad. It’s great to finally meet another person who enjoys spice as much as me!”
Lan Wangji strangely found he didn’t want to upset that face.
The next couple of days went very much the same. Lan Wangji would take to Wei Ying pottering around his home, coming in and out, staying up till all hours hunched over his desk, changing his bandages and cleaning his wounds, cooking him food. Two days of spiced foods and Lan Wangji officially lost all sensation in his tongue.
He got to learn a little more about Wei Ying himself, about his life in Yiling and the little plot of lands he owns. There is a small community of people around, mainly of the older generations and those who prefer to keep away from the cultivational world. Because they were rather close to the Burial Mounds, walking corpses and stray Yao were a normal occurrence round here. Wei Ying keeps them at bay. Either by night hunting or the use of one of his many talismans. Which Wei Ying had the pleasure in showing off a few of his newer designs.
There was one that helped water flow, allowing the residence to have a constant stream of fresh mountain water, and another that helped clean the earth for them to plant their vegetables and sew their crops as the soils has become fairly polluted with tens, if not hundreds of years of death and decay.
One in particular grasped his attention. The luring talisman, Wei Ying called it. A talismans that instead of repealing walking corpses and resentful energy, actually pulled it towards itself, acting as a trap. It was genius, and Lan Wangji told him as such. If this was something made readily available to the cultivational world, Wei Ying wouldn’t have to worry about money ever again.
Wei Ying had shrugged when he suggested patterning and selling them, marketing them to the sects when the war was over. “I make the talismans I do to help the common people, those the cultivation world forgets, and those who can’t help themselves.”
Wei Ying stood true on his promise and had one of the younger boys run down to the town the day after he woke up, with a note for his brother, written in his hand so he knows it is real.
Hopefully, with any lucky, they will have a reply soon.
His nights were filled with the terror and screams of the battlefield. Flashes of memories of blood, guts, and gore.
His days—though healing has been slower than either anticipated—have been pleasant, relaxed, and selfishly, Lan Wangji found himself forgetting about the horrors of war—even if momentarily—and enjoying himself. For the first time in almost two years, he didn’t need to think about what’s next. Where, when will their next battle be; none of that.
Usually he was a man who preferred his own company. Who preferred the quiet whistles of the mountains breeze, or the light lulls of his guqin strings. A day amongst the books or meditating in seclusion, and yet, Wei Ying filled his days with endless rambles, and cheerful stories. He showed him a few pieces he knew on his dizi, told him about talismans gone wrong, new ones that came to him in his sleep; he told him about his adventures, about a family he found, and Lan Wangji savoured every second.
He found noisy company wasn’t to bad, if it was Wei Ying.
On the third day of him waking, and a week since his injury; Lan Wangji woke to find himself alone. The day once more clouded and colourless, but usually by routine, Lan Wangji would wake to the clanking of pans or Wei Ying’s joyful humming.
He throws of the bedding, and very carefully pulls himself out of bed. It isn’t the first time he had done so, he still had other bodily functions that needed to be taken care of. But it was the first time completely alone. He sits on the edge of the bed, stretching his aching limbs and checking his wound. He channelled spiritual energy to gage the healing and pleased to note that he was improving rapidly, at last.
Unsteady on his feet, he carefully makes his way across the room, mindful not to stand on any of Wei Ying wayward inventions. He catches a glimpse of a shadow pass the window.
Curious, he walks over and outside he spots Wei Ying. A shirtless Wei Ying. Lan Wangji feels the tips of his ears burn, his cheeks warming. He watches as Wei Ying goes over sword forms, artfully and with a skill and precision he hadn’t expected. His lines were graceful, footwork meticulous, and every curve and strike of his sword hit true.
It is encapsulating. A dance like that of leaves on the wind or a murmuration of birds in the springs sunset.
The light drizzle of rain, and the mix of sweat created and sheen on his body and Lan Wangji felt his mouth go dry. His heart racing. Wei Ying’s skin is sun-kissed, smooth; arm defined and muscular and abs chiselled. He has seen plenty of men, hundreds, both partially clothed and fully nude. It wasn’t uncommon on the battlefields or bumping into another in the cold springs. He himself is toned and broad; years and years of training would do that to a cultivator, but this is the first time Lan Wangji found himself breathless at the sight.
Wei Ying is beautiful. He realised that the moment he laid eyes on him. When he saw his long lashes and full lips; when he saw that smile and heard that laugh. He’s kind, charismatic, charming; though he is teasing and playful, clearly troublesome and someone his uncle would positively hate; he is undoubtful righteous and caring; with an unwavering sense of justice and a love for those around him, whether they be family or stranger.
Despite only knowing the man a week, Wei Ying was truly the most beautiful human he had ever meet.
And he couldn’t look away.
He continues to watch for a while longer. Almost shamefully spying on the man who rescued him from near death.
It came to an end rather quickly, however, when his movements must have caught the others attention and suddenly Wei Ying is smiling, wide and bright at him, and waving.
Lan Wangji takes a deep breath, tries to calm his racing heart, and steady his newfound nerves. He heads outside.
“Lan Zhan!” Wei Ying calls. “You’re awake! Sorry, I couldn’t help but let you sleep in, you looked so adorable this morning.” Wei Ying giggles throwing him a wink.
This is another issue. Wei Ying is a flirt. Whether serious or not, Wei Ying flirted every chance he got. Complimenting Lan Wangji’s own physic, his eyes, his personality; jesting about a women he might like or someone waiting for him back home.
There was no one. There has never been anyone.
His entire life Lan Wangji never thought about marriage or love. The idea of settling down and finding someone was not something he ever imagined for himself. His parents love made sure of that.
Yet, here he is, staring at Wei Ying and picturing what he would be like to come home every day to be greeted by that smile, but those piercing silver eyes, and honeyed voice as he welcomes him home.
“Do not tease.”
“Awh, no teasing er-gege. You really do look utterly adorable. Did you know your noses twitches…like a little bunny.” Wei Ying laughs jovially.
Lan Wangji glares at him and Wei Ying backs off, throwing his hands in the air, and it only draws attention that Wei Ying is still very much undressed. “Where are your clothes? It is improper, and raining. You will become unwell.”
“Ah Lan Zhan, such a fuddy-duddy aren’t you. Bet you’re a right goody toe shoes back home? All those rules and what not.”
Lan Wangji says nothing.
“Ha I knew it!” Wei Ying’s laugh echoes along the hillsides. “There over there. I got too hot whilst working out, and anyway, were both men here, nothing to be ashamed about. You’ve been topless all week and you don’t see me complaining.”
A rosing blush blooms on his cheeks.
“Awh Lan Zhan, your blushing!”
“Am not.”
“Are too!” Wei Ying flicks the tips of his ears, laughing wholeheartedly as he caught the look at Lan Wangji’s face.
Lan Wangji grabs his hand, stopping him, holding it tight and doesn’t let go. Neither move. Neither pull away. They stand there, staring at each other; the world falling quiet around them. The birds singing in the trees disappear, and the rapping of light rain against the wooden roofs falls silent, and all Lan Wangji could hear is the rapid beating of his heart against his ribcage.
He holds his breath.
Wei Ying swallows, and he follows the bob of his adams apple, and though sudden thought of wanting to bite it overwhelms him.
There moment is broken by a sudden downpour. The heavens open up and rain falls in the bucketloads, shocking them both awake.
“Oh fuck!” Wei Ying shouts, voice drowned out. “Inside, quick inside! Your bandages!” With their hands still together, their fingers now entwined, Wei Ying pulls hurriedly pulls him into the house and out of the storm.
The door slams shut and the two are stood there, drenched from head to toe.
Wei Ying bursts into laughter, tears welling in his eyes. “Now you looked like a very wet bunny, Lan Zhan!”
He doesn’t reply and pushes the wet hair away from his eyes. When he could see again, he found Wei Ying watching him, but quickly looking away the second he was caught. Lan Wangji didn’t miss the red hue blooming on the mans cheek. But it is likely just the cold.
“Let’s um – oh towels. Right.” Wei Ying nervously scurries off and comes back a second later with one large towel and a smaller one, handing the bigger one to Lan Wangji. “Sorry, it’s normally just me.”
“It is no bother. Thank you.”
They both pat themselves dry, hovering around the brasier trying to warm up. In those short seconds, the cold has managed to seep deep into his bones, and even Wei Ying’s teeth were notably chattering.
“Here.” Lan Wangji takes his own towel and begins helping Wei Ying dry his hair. He gathers the long, dark locks gently begins rubbing it dry. The act feeling rather intimate. He isn’t sure what possessed him to do so, but he starts to slowly rack his fingers, untangling the matted strands. Nails scraping along his scalp.
“Mmm,” Wei Ying moaned, and the both freeze.
Wei Ying quickly pulls away, chuckling awkwardly as he keeps his eyes downcast. “Ha ha Lan Zhan, thank you, but shouldn’t I be the one helping you?”
“I do not mind.”
Wei Ying’s cheeks were now a firey red, matching the ribbon that usually graces his ponytail, and Lan Wangji isn’t so sure this was due to the cold this time. He smiles (inside).
“You bandages are all wet!” Wei Ying drags him towards the bed and pushes him down, before scampering away to collect his medical tray and hurry back over.
The two settle into a somewhat awkward silence.
Lan Wangji hates it.
“Where did you learn sword forms?” he asks instead, as Wei Ying throws away the ruined wrap.
“Here and there,” he shrugs. “Cultivators used to pass by here pretty frequently back in the day, and I would sneak off to watch them fight in the surrounding forests.”
“Why did you never join a sect? With you’re skills, any of the four majors clans would take you on.”
“Not many places accept street kids, and besides, I like it here. I like the freedom. Can you imagine me, me, Lan Zhan, in one of those stuffy sects. Can you imagine me in the Lan’s with all those rules?” Wei Ying chuckles. “I would be kicked out within the week.”
“You were on the streets? I thought…”
Wei Ying shakes his head. “My parents were rogue cultivators. We travelled a lot—not that I remember it, or them much for that. They left me in one of the inns in town. They died.”
“Wei Ying…” Lan Zhan says soft enough that even he barely picked it up.
“After a week, the innkeeper kicked me out. I fended for myself for the first year or so, but then a travelling family passed through and that’s how I met Popo. For an older lady she was certainly sprightly. Fought off a pair of wild dogs looking at me for food. She took me in, and cared for me alongside her two grandchildren. You haven’t met Qing-jie yet, but you’ve met, or at least briefly met her brother. Wen Ning was the one who took your letter into town.”
Lan Wangji’s blood runs cold.
Wen. They were Wen.
“Dafan Wen.” Wei Ying replies. Something in the way his body tenses beneath his fingertips at the name must have made him realise. “They have nothing to do with the Wen’s you are fighting. Yes, they are of the same family, but a smaller, lesser-known branch. They have had nothing to do with the main family for a very long time. They are healers, doctors. Good people.” The way Wei Ying says it, voice blunt, gaze sharp.
Lan Wangji bows his head. “I apologise, I did not mean anything by it.”
“I can understand your worries, but they have never been of any use to Wen Ruohan to his thirst for power. A small branch practically forgotten with time. They are good people, Lan Zhan. They saved me. Raised me. Gave me a home, a family, something I didn’t have for a long time.”
Lan Wangji nods, and Wei Ying’s eyes soften, and a small smile pulls at his lips.
“They have raised you well.”
“Aiya, Lan Zhan. Now who’s being a smooth talker.” He smirks. “But they did, didn’t they?” Wei Ying bumps their shoulders together and carries on redressing his healing wound.
“What about you? What are you parents like?”
“They have also passed.”
“Oh, Lan Zhan I’m sorry.”
Lan Wangji shakes his head. “It was a long time ago. My mother first when I was six. My father at the beginning of the war.”
There’s a silence between them for a moment as Wei Ying tucks the fabric.
“Well, here’s to dead parents I guess.”
He lefts out a light puff of air and Wei Ying gasps. “Was that, was that a laugh? Lan Zhan, did you just laugh?”
Lan Wangji’s face dropped instantly. “Ridiculous.”
“Ridicu-Lan Zhan!”
With the air less thick, and the tension gone; the two share more stories of their lives, their families, and the day passes without much fanfare.
The rain doesn’t let up. Still storming and bringing with it blustering winds and the worry of floods.
“Aiya, this rains gonna drown my radishes!” Wei Ying clicks his tongue and sighs. “It’s fine, I don’t even like them anyway.” He shoves another block of wood into the fire and dusts off his hands. “Hopefully it will stop before morning.”
It is as Lan Wangji is settling into bed for the night that a thought hits him. In the entire time he has been here, he hasn’t seen where Wei Ying sleeps. There have been no mentions off it as he has always been the first one to fall asleep.
“Wei Ying.”
“Hmm?” Wei Ying replies, blowing out a few candles.
“Where do you sleep? I have not seen another bed.” He asks.
“Don’t worry about me. Go on, you need your beauty sleep.”
“Wei Ying.” Lan Wangji’s voice stern.
Wei Ying swings around and rolls his eyes. “You’re in it.”
“So, where have you been sleeping all week?”
“Uh, ha ha,” Wei Ying rubs the nape of his neck, shifting where he stands. “I’m used to sleeping in weird places, the stables aren’t too bad.”
“The…Wei Ying!”
“Whaat? It’s fine, Lan Zhan. I slept outside for a whole year remember.”
“You had no opinion. I have taken you bed.”
“You’re sick.”
“It should not matter, this is your home. It is raining. You cannot possibly sleep outside.” The idea of Wei Ying, curled up on the donkeys hay, with the wind and rain coming in through the gaps and cracks, sends a shiver down his spine and twists an uncomfortable knot in his stomach.
He moves without thinking. Shuffling along the bed. There isn’t much space but… “Here.” He lifts up the bed covers. A space just big another for another to squeeze it. It would be close, cosy; the idea of sharing a bed with Wei Ying made a heat unfurl below his wound, but he couldn’t take back his offer. Shamefully, he didn’t want to.
“Lan Zhan! How – what – you want to share a bed?”
“There is plenty of space.”
“Lan Zhan!”
“Wei Ying.”
Wei Ying groans. His entire face cherry red. “And you call me shameless.”
Lan Wangji doesn’t grace him with a response; he simply stares at him and waits.
“You’re not going to take no for an answer are you?”
Still nothing.
“Arghh! You are an impossible man. Rule-abiding fuddy duddy my ass. You are a shameless man, Lan Wangji.”
Wei Ying all but stomps his way over and climbs into bed. It is certainly a snugger fit than anticipated, but it is not unpleasantly so. They lay together, side by side, shoulder to shoulder, and neither spoke; neither closed their eyes.
A silence lingers, and Lan Wangji holds his breath. The rhythmic thumping of his heart hammering against his chest syncs with the thunders raps of the rain above them. With the rush of blood to his ears; the howling wind is replaced by a roaring sea. His mind is empty, his head spinning—maybe this wasn’t the best idea.
For a man he has known only a week; every inch of him: soul, body, and mind, yearned for him. Yearned for Wei Ying, and he has just invited him into his bed.
Well, into the mans own bed.
They stay like that for a while. Long enough in fact that Lan Wangji thought Wei Ying may have actually, finally fallen asleep. As his hands rest, fingers crossed over his chest, he closes his eyes—sleep may not come but he can still meditate. His body is healed enough that one sleepless night should be fine.
“Lan Zhan.” Wei Ying’s voice though right beside him, is nothing more than a whisper.
“Mm?”
“When your brother gets in contact, will you go back?”
The question catches him off guard. Confused, he turns his head slowly, finding Wei Ying staring up at the ceiling. The low candlelight casting dancing shadows, veiling half of his face—there is something in his eyes, something Lan Wangji can’t explain.
“Go back?” He asks instead.
“To war.”
He thinks for a moment. The last couple of days the thought had crossed his mind. The idea that what if: what if his brother doesn’t come? What if he doesn’t return to war? What if he stays? What if he doesn’t leave and remain here, away from the fighting, away from the death and misery, greed and hatred. Away from the violence of the cultivation world tearing itself apart for one man’s thirst.
What if.
He could stay. There hasn’t been word. His brother has not come for him. Lan Wangji could forget the world and remain here, in the small little bubble that is Wei Ying’s home. He likes it here. He likes the peace, the simplicity. Instead of waking to the eerie solitude of the Jingshi, he wakes to the joyful humming of Wei Ying. He talks far more than he has in—most likely—his entire life. There are no rules, no structure, no weight of perfectionism cresting on his back. There is no expectations. There is just this.
Wei Ying.
But he can’t. As much as he wishes it, Lan Wangji is a cultivator. The peopled bared him the name Hanguang-Jun. What bringer of light would he be if he plunged those in need into darkness. Even if it is not for the Jianghu, for his sect, his family—it is for himself, for the people. He has a duty, and one he couldn’t never forgive himself for ignoring.
“Yes.” The word hurt to say.
“Do you…have to go?” Those few words tore into Lan Wangji’s chest, and they hurt more then the blade in his side.
Withing thinking, Lan Wangji unfolds his hands and slowly, nervously, edges his fingers until they find Wei Ying’s beneath the covers, and entwining their fingers together.
Wei Ying gasps and turns to him; gold meets silver, but he doesn’t let go.
“Lan Zhan.” His name spoken as delicately at gentian petals. “I don’t want you to go.”
Lan Wangji’s eyes widen; the air from his lungs stolen.
“I know…I know it’s selfish of me but…” Wei Ying grips his hand tighter. Thumb brushing gently across his skin. “I don’t want you to go.”
He feels breathless. His heart stutters and starts, and races wildly beneath his ribs. A fight of fire and electricity cause through his veins, and Lan Wangji cannot help himself.
As if a force pulls them together—Lan Wangji leans in, closing the little space between them, and kisses him. Wei Ying sucks in a sharp breath, eyes wide.
It’s soft, light; a cautious question of a tender touch, but the world around them disappears when Wei Ying kisses him back.
Without separating, Lan Wangji untangles their fingers and moves closer. Resing one hand against Wei Ying’s blushing cheek, and the other around his waist, pulling them together.
It drives a noise from Wei Ying—a needy whimper, and a fire is lit inside him. Lan Wangji tilts his head, deepening the kiss. It is messy, sloppy, teeth clashing against teeth; lips moving with an unknowing nervousness. It is all fresh, all brand new…a first.
Lan Wangji has never kissed anyone before. Never thought about kiss another, and now, he can’t get enough. He is hypnotised by chapped lips on his, by the taste of something spicy and sweet lingering on Wei Ying tongue. He is enthralled by the sheer want, the overwhelming, all-consuming need he has for Wei Ying.
He can feel it shimmering beneath his skin, deep into his bones and burrowing into his marrow.
They move together; finding a rhythm and feeling each other. They become a twist of woven limbs, and mingling breaths. Breathless gasps fill the air, and Lan Wangji’s grip of Wei Ying’s waist tightens. Wei Ying melts under the touch; panting and moaning, and Lan Wangji tastes in all. Lapping it up. Losing himself, wholly and completely.
Separating only for a few seconds at a time, enough to draw a lungful before they are together again. Unsure of where one starts and the other ends.
Lan Wangji doesn’t know how long they have been kissing for, but as they finally part, they are both panting heavily; dizzy and flushed.
“Wei Ying.” Lan Wangji’s voice is horse and raw. A husky whisper in the candlelit night.
“Where did that come from?” Wei Ying asks breathlessly, chuckling warmly.
Lan Wangji brushes a lock of hair out of his face. “I-um…” he hesitates, a sudden nervousness floods him. “Are you okay?”
Wei Ying smiles, and oh—can he become anymore beautiful.
“I’m fine, Lan Zhan.” Wei Ying leans forward and peaks him on the nose. “I am more than fine.” He continues as he shuffles down, curling into his side and pillowing his cheek in the crook of his neck.
Hot breaths tickle his neck and for a while, there is only the sounds of their breathing.
“I like you, Lan Zhan.”
Lan Wangji’s whole world stops.
And he smiles.
“I like you too, Wei Ying.”
They hold each other close for the remainder of the night. Neither wanting to be apart, uncaring of how warm they are. They nest within each other scents and fall asleep like that. To the sound of rain, and the beat of their hearts.
Morning came, and Lan Wangji’s dream had shattered.
They were awoken by a knock. Wei Ying groans and lazily pulls himself away, sleepily walking to the door.
Wen Ning came with news. Lan Xichen had arrived in Yiling. Had found his letter and sent word he was on his way, accompanied by a few of the Lan sect members.
Lan Wangji is torn. He is happy his brother is alive and well, that he has been found. But at the same time, he wants to go back. To last night. To when he first met Wei Ying. Because at least then, they had more time together.
“Are you sure you’re going to be okay?” Wei Ying asks for the hundredth time, as the hands him his sword and qiankun pouch of food and water he had packed for him.
Lan Xichen welcomed him with a hug and tears in his eyes. His brother had thanked Wei Ying profusely, handing over gifts and tokens of appreciation. Including wine from the local brewery. Which, Wei Ying liked very much, and was truly appreciative, but Lan Wangji didn’t miss the sadness behind Wei Ying’s smile. The pitching in his tone. The subtle glassiness in his eyes when it was time to say goodbye.
Their short time together has come to an end.
If only last night hadn’t been their first, and their last.
He did not care for his brothers presence. Did not care for his opinions, or questioning looks. Lan Wangji rests his hand tenderly on Wei Ying’s cheek, and Wei Ying snuggles into the calloused palm. “I will come back.”
Tears well in both their eyes.
“I promise, Wei Ying. I will come back. When the war is won, I will find you again.”
Wei Ying’s bottom lip trembles, “But we barely…we…I only just got you.” He whispers as he holds onto his white robes tightly.
Lan Wangji leans forward, capturing it between his own. He wants to commit everything to memory. The way he feels in his arms; the way Wei Ying tastes, smells; every curve and every word. He wants to lock in all, a picture-perfect image of the man he loves.
Because he does.
And Lan Wangji will tell him, when he returns.
“You can’t break it now you’ve said it, okay!” Wei Ying looks up at him, tears rolling down his cheeks.
Lan Wangji brushes a thumb beneath his eye, and presses a lingering kiss to his forehead. “I will not break it, you have my word. I will return to you. If not for the first snowfall, then for the first of the springs bloom; I will come back.”
Lan Wangji walks away. Fighting every urge to forgo his duties and stay with Wei Ying. Ignoring the cries and screams to look back one last time—just one last time. But he doesn’t. He can’t. Because he knows he will not be able to go.
He walks down the mountain with his brother at his side, and goes to rejoin the war.
Because Lan Wangji has something else worth fighting for now.
Wei Ying is out beneath the sun. Spring has come later, and it has been a whole year since he last saw Lan Zhan. He has kept an ear out, listened to the gossip amongst the people. Tried to hear the names of those who have disappeared, and those who have fallen. But when winter came and went and Lan Zhan never returned, Wei Ying stopped listening.
Wen Ning is down in town, selling their first harvest of the season. The skies are blue, the air is warm, and the day is looking to be a good one. Thankfully, it was a bountiful one so Wen Ning should be able to bring in enough money that maybe, just maybe he could convince Qing-jie to finally let him plant potatoes.
He really hated radishes.
He is on his knees in the dirt, sleeves rolled to his elbows as he turns the soil. Watering and levelling ready for the new batch. When those are down, he leans back and dusts of his hands, mud caked between the creases and cracks, and caked under his nails. He looks up ad over at the trees—when he hears footsteps behind him.
The breeze is cool as the first blossom blooms.
“Wei Ying.”