Chapter Text
Or: How a Blanket Sparked the Third Cultivational World War
Nighttime in Cloud Recesses was, by strict doctrinal definition, a haven of absolute tranquility. Among the three thousand rules carved into the mountain wall, it was explicitly stated—because of course it was—that by nine o’clock sharp, every living soul must be silent and fast asleep in their respective quarters.
Despite considering it an absolute nuisance, Wei Wuxian found himself with no choice but to submit to such torturous discipline, all for the sake of living alongside his husband: the handsome, immensely powerful, utterly righteous, and hopelessly smitten Hanguang-jun.
Around three in the morning, a treacherous draught seeped through the window of the Jingshi. Fast asleep, Wei Wuxian reacted purely out of survival instinct. Like a silkworm in the middle of a desperate metamorphosis, he began rolling over and over, systematically wrapping the thick wool blanket around himself.
A spin to the left... A turn to the right... A strategic yank upwards.
In under five seconds, Wei Wuxian had transformed himself into a perfectly sealed, airtight, and utterly impenetrable human burrito.
The only problem was that he shared the bed with Lan Wangji.
And so, through no fault of his own, Lan Wangji found himself completely stripped of his share of the blanket, his skin exposed to the biting mountain cold. Now, a cultivator with a golden core as formidable as his could withstand extreme blizzards without so much as batting an eye, but the laws governing a Lan’s sleep schedule were an entirely different matter. Instead of using a blast of spiritual energy to reclaim the sheets—or simply waking his husband with the patience of a saint—Lan Wangji opted for the most logical solution his groggy mind could come up with: heat transfer through direct contact.
Relentless as an executioner and cold as a glacier, Lan Wangji silently glided across the mattress toward the warm, cozy bundle.
Minutes later, one half of the bed sat completely empty, while on the other side, Lan Wangji had pressed himself so tightly against Wei Wuxian that he was practically pinning him to the wooden frame. His long arms wrapped around the toasty burrito as he absorbed every last drop of body heat.
At five in the morning, the mandatory waking hour in Gusu—yet another rule carved in stone—Wei Wuxian opened his eyes.
And immediately discovered that breathing was apparently optional.
He felt a colossal weight pressing down on his ribs, an immovable presence radiating an almost suffocating heat and the unmistakable scent of sandalwood. He tried to move his arms, but the blanket was wrapped so tightly around him, and Lan Wangji’s body was anchored so firmly on top that his desperate wriggling only made him look like a trapped worm.
“L-Lan Zhan?” Wei Wuxian mumbled, his voice muffled against the pillow.
“Mn” came the deep, sleep-heavy hum right against his ear.
“Lan Zhan... I can’t... move. You’re crushing me. You feel like a jade mountain. A very heavy, very suffocating mountain. HELP! I have approximately three breaths left!”
Lan Wangji opened his golden eyes, bright and lucid as if he’d been awake for hours. First, he looked down at the Burrito-Xian his husband had become, then evaluated the distinct lack of blanket over his own shoulders. Slowly, he released the wiggling creature trapped in his arms and, far from offering an apology, stated his innocence with absolute calm:
“I was cold. You took the entire blanket last night.”
“You could’ve asked for a piece! You didn’t have to turn into a bloody torture press!” Wei Wuxian protested, finally kicking himself free from the wrapping with dramatic effort and scrambling off the bed as if escaping from a wild beast.
At that exact moment, a stroke of genius—or pure mischief—sparked in Wei Wuxian’s mind.
He had been trying to find a way to get some alone time for weeks. Lan Wangji’s birthday was right around the corner, and Wei Wuxian was planning a very special gift: a custom scabbard for Bichen, secretly carved with protective talismans and ornate designs that required hours of meticulous work and absolute concentration.
But Lan Wangji was like a shadow. Ever since they moved in together, free time was hardly something they had in abundance; lately, they’d been attending countless night hunts together, only recently returning to the Cloud Recesses. And unless Lan Wangji was teaching a class, he stuck to Wei Wuxian like glue. Wei Wuxian didn’t mind in the slightest having him on top all day—literally and figuratively—but it made finding any alone time to actually get some work done practically impossible. He moved so quietly, in fact, that Wei Wuxian lived in constant fear of being caught red-handed and ruining the surprise.
This is my chance, Wei Wuxian thought, pulling a face of deep, long-suffering outrage. I just need him to give me a little space for a few days.
With his hair completely dishevelled, his inner robes half-undone, and his cheeks lightly flushed, he stomped back onto the bed and pointed an accusing finger at Lan Wangji.
“This is the last straw, Lan Zhan! That was a blatant invasion of my personal space! Today it’s the blanket, but what’s next?! My freedom?!”
Lan Wangji slowly sat up, settling on his heels with a posture so ridiculously perfect it was impressive even at five in the morning. Despite his slightly ruffled hair, his expression remained utterly solemn.
“Wei Ying. You were the one who rolled yourself up.”
“That doesn’t justify squishing me like a pancake!” Wei Wuxian huffed, pacing around the room with exaggerated gestures. “And it’s not just the blanket. It’s everything! It’s a pattern of behavior! Do you know what this is? Spousal abuse of power!”
A subtle blink of confusion broke Lan Wangji’s steady gaze.
“Abuse?”
“Yes, a-buse!” Wei Wuxian pressed on, thoroughly enjoying the drama. “For starters, the alcohol! You never let me drink in peace. I have to hide my Emperor's Smile jars like some common thief! And the food? I’m being starved in Gusu! Not a single flake of spice. Just boiled vegetables and bland roots... and tofu! Not even a decent piece of meat! To-fu! You’re stripping the flavour out of my life, Lan Zhan! Literally!”
Lan Wangji listened in absolute silence, his back straight as a board as he took in every word with alarming gravity.
“And if that weren’t enough...” Wei Wuxian dramatically grabbed his waist, wincing as if he were in agony and putting on the face of a true martyr. “...you’re wearing me out! Exhausting me! You’re a brute at night! Even when I tell you that ‘every day doesn’t mean every day,’ you just don’t listen! You’re working me to the bone! I need to breathe, Lan Zhan. I need space!”
In Wei Wuxian’s mind, the plan was flawless. This was just a classic temper tantrum designed to make Lan Wangji retreat for a couple of hours each day, feeling slightly guilty and giving him the perfect window to finish the gift. He fully expected Lan Wangji to sigh, promise to buy him liquor, or perhaps bring him takeout from the Hunan restaurant in Caiyi Town to make amends.
What he had failed to account for was just how literally Lan Wangji’s mind operated.
To Lan Wangji, Wei Wuxian’s words did not sound like a petty morning rant. They sounded like a devastating moral condemnation. Had he truly been a tyrannical husband? Was he robbing the love of his life of all joy? Were his physical desires and strict adherence to rules suffocating the man he cherished above all else?
The mere thought that Wei Wuxian felt trapped or miserable by his side pierced his chest as deeply as the thirty-three discipline whip strikes on his back. Lan Wangji lowered his gaze to his hands, resting on his knees. His already pale complexion seemed to drain of what little colour remained.
“I see,” Lan Wangji said at last.
His voice was so low, so quiet, and so terribly cold that a chill ran down Wei Wuxian’s spine.
“Huh?” Wei Wuxian blinked, completely thrown off script.
Lan Wangji rose from the bed with icy grace. He straightened his inner robes, adjusted his forehead ribbon with pinpoint precision, and looked Wei Wuxian straight in the eye.
There was no anger on his face, but his eyes looked distant and shadowed.
“I have been inconsiderate,” Lan Wangji declared in a flat, monotone voice. “It will not happen again. I will give you the space you require.”
“Wait, Lan Zhan, don't make such a fuss about it. I was just—”
“From today onward, I will respect your boundaries,” Lan Wangji interrupted, bowing so formally that it looked like a greeting meant for a Sect Leader. “I will no longer be a burden to you.”
Without another word, Lan Wangji turned on his heel and swept out of the Jingshi with firm, deliberate strides, leaving behind only a faint trail of sandalwood and a dead, suffocating silence.
Wei Wuxian was left standing alone in the middle of the room—barefoot, messy-haired, and thoroughly stunned.
“Well...” he muttered to himself, scratching the back of his neck in utter disbelief. “I think I might’ve gone a little overboard...”
Before getting dressed to start his work, he picked the blanket up from the floor, stared at it for a few seconds, and tossed it carelessly back onto the bed.
Whatever! At least I’ve got the whole morning to work on his present! he thought cheerfully.
He had no idea of the astronomical disaster he had just set in motion.
The Great Cold War of Cloud Recesses had officially begun.