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#lan zhan close your mouth people are dying
lanwangjihouse · 1 year
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eyes-of-mischief · 1 year
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weekly fic recs | 33
prompt: bureaucracy/office au
fandoms: bnha, dc, hq, mdzs
bnha
Heroics: Not Just Punching People Into Buildings, Apparently by stifledlaughter
"In today's practical test, you all will grapple with one of the worst aspects of being a hero," announced Present Mic to class 1-A. "Paperwork!"  
---
Sometimes, hero work isn't about capturing villains. It's about trying not to cry on the phone to the insurance agent after being on hold for an hour when they tell you that their company only accepts faxed forms.
He's Our Most Important Member by autumnconcept
As a member of the quirkless side of society, Izuku has long given up his dream of being a hero.
Remind him how he ended up in charge of an entire agency?
dc
Executive Assistant to the Batman by heartslogos
“So what’s someone like you doing working for someone like Wayne?”
“We’re star-crossed,” Tim answers, because clearly this job has only improved his ability to mouth off with a complete and total lack of self-regard.
(Rewrite of my old Assistant!verse)
on my desk by monday by calamityjade
(explicit)
Dick Grayson was tired of living hidden in his father's shadow. He desperately needs to find a space where he can thrive as just himself, and figures seeking out a simple job might be a good start; but being Jason Todd's assistant gives him so much more than he expected to gain. (No capes AU. Jason Todd is a lawyer and Dick is hired as his assistant)
haikyuu
hyogo melon code of conduct by goldplate
(mature)
“You misunderstand me, Miya-san. We’re not here to discuss the legality of your… melons."
-
Osamu's home garden gets the attention of the municipality's building and lot code compliance office.
the right path by norio
"What do you expect from our company?" the interviewer asked.
A job. A straightforward path, the only concerns about the budget for printer toners. A solitary lifestyle in a cubicle. But Akaashi curled his fingers around his resume and thought wryly that if he truly wanted all that, he wouldn't be applying to an anime company.
mdzs
Best man for the job; a detailed treatise on Chief Cultivation by Aerlalaith
“Just these?” He had thought, perhaps, given Jin Guangyao’s notorious organizational skills, there might be a few more, but it does not overly trouble him.
“Oh no, Chief Cultivator,” Jin Guangtian says. “This is just the index.”
(The peerless Hanguang-Jun faces his greatest challenge yet: bureaucracy).
The Roots Grow Riotous by hansbekhart
(explicit)
Sometimes Lan Zhan doesn’t work through lunch. Sometimes he makes conversation with coworkers in the halls. Sometimes he goes home instead of spending the last hour trawling through Grindr. But mostly, that’s exactly what he does. The sameness is comforting. His life spools out in easily measured increments: capsule collections, yards of hand dyed textiles, ninety day lead times, sell through figures, cost of goods sold. 
Every date in manufacturing can be calculated backwards and forward from a single horizon point: the date that the goods must arrive into the country where they'll be sold. Other than that, nothing else really matters.
Always Be Closing by betts
(explicit)
Wei Ying’s thumb hovered over Lan Zhan’s number. It would be a brief phone conversation. Not even a minute. He would tell Lan Zhan what needed to be done, and Lan Zhan would say “mn” a bunch of times, and Wei Ying would spiral all day about how much Mr. Hot and Perfect All the Time probably hated his guts, and it would be fine. Emotionally, no different than any other Tuesday.
Fine, sue him, he was a coward. He pulled up a new text and typed, My son is sick today. Going to doctor. Can you do smoothie hut call? 500m CRE + 250m LOC
He sent the text. The ellipses rose. He waited.
Or: During a long overdue divorce and messy custody battle, Wei Ying gets demoted to small business finance. There, he's partnered with a new closer who clearly hates him, until he finds out Lan Zhan is far more verbose—and dare he say flirtatious?—in writing than in speaking
But to be loved like a song you remember Even when you've changed by enbysaurus_rex
The manual was long, but it all boiled down to the same thing-- assess, capture, banish, assess, repeat. Keep the affected area to a minimum. Be proactive in protecting any device that can access the internet. Physical storage areas with names had to be up to standard (file boxes were allowed, so long as the lid was reinforced and could stand up to the particular talisman used), but anything else usually required paperwork and approval, even if it was retroactive. Wangji hoped everything was in file boxes this time, even though he knew it was in vain. None of his storage solutions had ever been declined, but it was a tremendous amount of paperwork, picture taking, and documentation for what was usually a relatively small collection. In this case, it was less likely to be true, and the documentation was likely to be equal to the names warded and sealed. He appreciated that.
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robininthelabyrinth · 3 years
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🧿🤠🐇🍲🍯: Nie Huaisang hasn’t found anyone to do the body sacrifice ritual for him, and so in desperation he tries it himself. However, the ritual was not designed with a Nie cultivator in mind—something Nie Huaisang does not realize until he’s doubled over on the floor, far too close to a qi deviation, because his (admittedly tiny) saber spirit has been replaced with Wei Wuxian.
ao3
Well, that was the dumbest thing ever.
The thought so closely matched Wei Wuxian’s that he didn’t even notice that it wasn’t his own.
How could you be so stupid? Wei Wuxian tried to shout at Nie Huaisang, who was curled up gasping on the floor. The floor, which was stained with Nie Huaisang's own blood, with cuts he had made himself on himself, with the ancient body sacrifice summoning that – that –
Don’t you realize that you’d be gone? You absolute idiot! Wei Wuxian howled, even though he wasn’t actually a person right now. He didn’t know what he was, a ghost or spirit, maybe, but he was there and he was angry and Nie Huaisang’s arms were covered in blood from where he’d cut himself up in order to destroy his own soul – Nie Huaisang, the mincing sensitive little master who would complain for three weeks about having stubbed his toe! – and his robes that he had always taken such great care to keep clean and neat were a mess and he was bleeding from the nose and eyes and ears because something had gone wrong. Something had gone wrong, and Wei Wuxian hated to be grateful for it because he didn’t want to be brought back by Nie Huaisang’s death.
Not anyone’s death, really, but definitely not Nie Huaisang, who’d never hurt him or treated him badly. Even when the whole world had hated and reviled Wei Wuxian, isolating him in Yiling on the Burial Mounds, Nie Huaisang hadn’t – he’d waved jauntily to him during Phoenix Mountain, and Wei Wuxian had never doubted that if he’d somehow found his way to Qinghe, Nie Huaisang would have treated him just the same as always.
You – you –! You good-for-nothing!
“Don’t be rude,” Nie Huaisang mumbled, slowly uncurling. “Didn’t bring you back to be rude to me.”
You know what you’ve done, then? You could have died!
“Was I supposed to let someone else do it?” Nie Huaisang rubbed at his face with his sleeve, then frowned at the blood on it. “I thought about it, but I really just – couldn’t.”
So you decided to kill yourself?
“It’s like you said, Wei-xiong. I’m a good-for-nothing. I couldn’t – I can’t – I can’t fix this. So why not bring back someone who can?”
Wei Wuxian didn’t have words to express how much that was not all right with him.
Go fix yourself, he ordered. I don't care what 'this' is; I’m not talking to you until you get cleaned up.
“After all that work I did? Wei-xiong…”
Nope! You’re not dying, so you can get cleaned up before we talk, and that’s that. I still can’t believe you nearly – I don’t want it. I’ve never wanted anyone to get hurt for me.
“Wei-xiong, you’re being silly. Who said I did it for you?”
Wei Wuxian would have stared if he had eyes.
“I did it for me,” Nie Huaisang said, and finally he got up properly and staggered over to a basin to start washing himself clean. “Obviously! I'm incredibly self-absorbed. It’s about what I need from you…hey, how did you come back? I thought the ritual only worked if I died.”
It should have, Wei Wuxian agreed, unwillingly intrigued by it. I don’t know, actually. It’s strange: it should have either worked, in which case you’d be dead and I’d be possessing your body, or else not worked at all, in which case I shouldn’t be here.
“I always mess things up.”
No, really, I don’t think you messed this up? The array is perfect. There’s no reason for it not to have worked.
“These cuts won’t heal,” Nie Huaisang observed, looking at his arms. “Did I accidentally curse myself to fulfill my obligations? Ugh, why.”
As the person you were going to impose said obligations on, I’m now going to laugh at you. Hahahahaha –
“Shut up, Wei-xiong. Where are you, anyway? I don’t see any ghostly figures that might be you, and anyway, we’re in the Unclean Realm; there are ghost-repelling arrays in every stone.”
I don’t know, Wei Wuxian said, and then something else said, Ghost-repelling arrays only repel ghosts.
At first Wei Wuxian thought that it was Nie Huaisang who had said that, and he was about to ask what he meant by that, only Nie Huaisang got there first and said, “What do you mean, Wei-xiong? Are you not a ghost?”
I didn’t say that, Wei Wuxian said. That – wasn’t me.
“Who was it?”
Me.
“…Wei-xiong…?”
No, that wasn’t me. I mean, it wasn’t me that said ‘me’ just now!
Of course not, the voice said, and it was Wei Wuxian’s voice – or not-voice, anyway, whatever it was that he was using to communicate – but not Wei Wuxian speaking. It was me, of course. Master forgot to account for me in his array.
What? Wei Wuxian asked, utterly confused, but apparently that made more sense to Nie Huaisang because his knees went weak and he fell down on his ass.
“Aituan?” he gasped. “I – what – is that you?”
Yes.
Can I interrupt? Wei Wuxian asked. Who – or what – is Aituan?
“My saber!”
Your – what?!
Nie Huaisang attempted to explain. It ended up being a fairly long explanation, involving his sect’s cultivation style, saber spirits, and his own personal saber spirit, which was named Aituan, and which Nie Huaisang swore up and down did not speak prior to this.
Of course not, the voice now known as Aituan said irritably. Why would I speak? I’m a saber. We’re sensible, not like you humans – but now you’ve shoved a human spirit in with me, so what am I supposed to do? Not use his abilities as my own?
I feel like I should feel violated, Wei Wuxian said.
“When in fact you think it’s really neat?”
…yeah, basically.
Aituan huffed. Can we get back to the part where we plan a murder? he (it?) whined.
Sorry, Aituan, Wei Wuxian said. No murder.
“Uh,” Nie Huaisang said. “Actually, about that…”
-
I think we should kill him.
“I can’t do that!”
Dunno, I think Aituan has a point, Wei Wuxian said. We should probably just kill him.
“You’re supposed to be helping me, Wei-xiong!”
I’m helping! I’m a saber now, I can totally help you stab him.
“Not helpful!”
I like this human, Aituan declared. Good human. Proper blade on his hilt.
You mean head on my shoulders?
Whatever.
Nie Huaisang threw his hands up in annoyance. “Would either of you like to remember the part where I can’t actually fight? San-ge would beat me black and blue if I so much as picked up a pocket-knife in his presence!”
Get someone else to help, Wei Wuxian suggested pitilessly.
“I tried! You!”
Someone else.
“Like who?”
Hmm. Lan Zhan? He’s great.
“I don’t know. He’s er-ge’s brother, isn’t he? He might not believe me…” Nie hUaisang grimaced. “He hasn’t been much inclined to believe me before.”
Why doesn’t the loudmouth do the talking? Aituan suggested.
Oh, that’s a good idea! Lan Zhan was always inclined to listen to me before.
“I thought you said he hated you?”
He still listened!
Nie Huaisang heaved a sigh.
Your other alternative is stabbing your enemy directly, Aituan said. If you’d like to give it a try…
“…I’ll talk to Lan Zhan.”
-
“I can’t believe you’re perving after my saber,” Nie Huaisang complained.
I can’t believe Lan Zhan likes me! I mean, likes me!
I can’t believe I’m still stuck here with you idiots. Can I go share bodies with Baxia instead?
Lan Wangji just looked awkward.
Some people might mistake it for looking noble and genteel, but by now they all knew: it was just him being horribly awkward.
“I have no such intentions,” he said stiffly. “Only – if it was possible for Wei Ying to exit the saber…”
Nie Huaisang grimaced, humor falling away. “I…don’t really know about that.”
Wait, wait, wait. If I can’t – if I’m stuck as a saber – I can’t – but I really want to kiss Lan Zhan! This isn’t fair! I don’t want to have to wait until I reincarnate.
You won’t reincarnate, Aituan said. You’re a saber. Unless we’re melted down or get ground down by time…
No!
“Surely there has to be some way. Aituan, stop being a part of the problem and start being a part of the solution.”
Fine. Let him possess you.
“…what.”
He just needs a human body, right? Let him possess you. Problem solved.
I can do that?
Technically, I can do that, and you can do it because I can do it. But we’d need Master’s permission.
“There are many, many, many books about why you don’t grant your saber permission to possess you. Anyway, that’s my body!”
Yeah, I guess it would be weird for you to kiss Lan Zhan, would it?
“I mean, not really? He’s very pretty. I could swing it.”
You could?
“…you could swing what,” Lan Wangji said.
“Having Wei-xiong possess me,” Nie Huaisang explained. “So that he and you can get the whole missed opportunity thing out of your system.”
Lan Wangji’s face did a few strange things.
"Assuming that it wouldn't be an issue for you, that is, it being me on the other side..."
"No," Lan Wangji said, and cleared his throat. "That would be - fine."
Ooooooh. Does Lan Zhan like you, too?
"What? No. Don't be ridiculous, Lan Zhan doesn't like me like that."
He'd be willing to kiss you.
"Physical attraction isn't the same thing," Nie Huaisang argued. "Lan Zhan, you're with me on this, right? You wouldn't be interested in -"
Lan Wangji cut him off.
A few moments later, he pulled back and said, thoughtfully, "As suspected. It is fine."
Nie Huaisang opened and closed his mouth a few times.
"...well then," he said blankly, then frowned. “Aituan, can I revoke permission for possession?”
No idea. You'd just have to trust that we'd give it back; it's a risk you'd have to take.
“…well, as illustrated, it’s not the worst idea I’ve ever had. Let’s try it, and then once everyone’s a little more focused we can go do what we need to do. Sound good?”
-
“I really didn’t expect you to start a relationship Nie Huaisang,” Lan Xichen said to Lan Wangji, not long before the end. He sounded deeply puzzled. “I didn’t think you liked him like that.”
“Not by himself,” Lan Wangji said with a shrug. “But he’s good in company.”
“…you’re with other people too? Both of you?”
“Mm.”
Lan Xichen, knowing his younger brother’s reticent temper, especially of late, declined to ask who the other parties were. “Doesn’t that make things crowded?” he asked instead.
“…surprisingly no,” Lan Wangji said. “Not as much as you’d think.”
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vrishchikawrites · 3 years
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Reverse transmigration wangxian where LWJ who cultivates to immortality found an old summoning array where mxy fails to summon wwx but the whole thing with JGY still got revealed. LWJ in his grief summons WWX in our modern world, and the rest is up to you :) Maybe get WWX some therapy and loving family and how different modern days people are
This one is a bit angsty and has vague descriptions of sex. Modern AU.
“The Tragedy of Wei Wuxian - The Man Behind the Legend”
Lan Wangji caresses the title of the book with a thumb, eyes tracing a name he has always held close to heart but hasn’t heard for a long time.
“We all know of Wei Ying, courtesy Wuxian as Yiling Laozu. He’s one of the first to cultivate successfully with ‘resentful’ energy. His theories and papers helped us develop a greater understanding of yin energy, Qi deviation, and resentful spirits. He was a visionary, a man ahead of his time, someone who thought outside the box and looked for solutions instead of sticking to the norm. He’s also the first known person to donate his Golden Core.”
Wangji looks away for a moment, remembering Wen Ning’s snarling face and Jiang Wanyin’s rage, denial, and guilt.
“But we don’t talk about what brought that great visionary down. Society, as it did with many great thinkers, turned against him. In his youth, Wei Wuxian was one of the most accomplished cultivators of his generation. No one knows exactly what happened for him to develop the so-called ‘Ghostly Path’. His loss of the Golden Core may have been a factor, but the actual circumstances are shrouded in mystery.
What follows after the War of the Five Great Clans, known as the Sunshot Campaign, is nothing short of a tragedy. Wei Wuxian saw injustice happening and decided to fight against it. Society tore him up for it. At that time, all actions against him were justified and considered righteous. Those actions don’t stand up to scrutiny under the modern lens. Like all great and radical thinkers, Wei Wuxian ideals made him the enemy and that led to this tragic death, along with the murder of innocent war prisoners he sought to protect. There are unconfirmed reports of there being a child among the Wens.”
Wangji’s eyes flicker over to a picture frame sitting on his desk, an image of Sizhui and Jingyi smiling up at him through the glossy image. They’re well, he knows. Last he heard from them, they were in South Korea and having a great time.
Sizhui must not know of this book or he would’ve called immediately, always so concerned about his a’die.
“It was later revealed that hunger for power and political maneuvering led to his death. When we study the historical records, it is obvious that the man was pushed into the corner and was forced to retaliate. Unfortunately, no one cared about his fate-”
“I did,” Wangji whispered to himself, thinking back on silver eyes in an indistinct face. He loved - still loves Wei Ying - but the physical aspects of him have long since faded from his memory. He sometimes remembers Wei Ying’s laugh. Sometimes, he dreams of his smile. He doesn’t recall what Wei Ying sounded like, only remembering his tone when he said ‘Lan Zhan.’
And yet, Lan Wangji hasn’t forgotten love.
He reads the book in silence, going through all 375 pages of it without pausing to eat or sleep. It tells the story of Wei Ying in stark, blunt terms. There are a few facts missing or erroneous. He wasn’t the adopted child of the Jiangs. There was certainly no unrequited love between Wei Wuxian and Jiang Yanli.
There’s very little mention of him. According to this book, Lan Wangji is a mere footnote in Wei Wuxian’s life; a childhood acquaintance, a disapproving comrade, and later a man who unraveled the truth because he pursued justice.
“He was just 23 years old when he died,” Wangji lingers over that statement, “23-year-olds are barely adults. They hold the promise of a bright future. They have so much potential inside of them. At 23, some people graduate from college, some take up their first serious job. At 23, young people fall in love and maybe form a life-long bond. Wei Wuxian became a key player in a big conflict at 17, he donated his core at 17. At 17, we still have children in high school. Our seventeen-year-olds aren’t even allowed to drink or drive. Our seventeen-year-olds are still protected and sheltered by their parents.
That is perhaps the biggest tragedy of Wei Wuxian’s life. He was only allowed to live a carefree life for seven years, from the day he was taken off the streets to the day the YunmengJiang Sect was attacked. After that and until his death, his life was marked by war, strife, betrayal, and persecution.
A visionary, a hero, a brilliant mind, dead by what most would consider suicide.” Wangji’s breath hitches and he takes a moment to collect himself, the sentence ringing in his head.
“He deserved better.”
---
He deserved better, Wangji thinks as he walks sedately towards his library.
There had been a glimmer of hope, all those years ago when Mo Xuanyu attempted to resurrect Wei Ying, but when he failed to do so, Wangji felt something shatter in him.
Whatever Wei Ying had done had completely destroyed his soul. His precious, noble soul. One that was formed for justice and kindness.
He deserved better.
He knows what he must do.
---
An immortal’s Golden Core has immeasurable power. It is the result of several hundred years of Cultivation and diligence. Wangji is more powerful than most, having survived through war, strife, grief, and loss.
An immortal’s Golden Core can also be an ingredient.
‘Draw the talismans shown below in the blood of your heart. Pin them in eight directions, north, northwest, west, southwest, south, southeast, east, and northeast. Sit in the exact center of this circle and sacrifice half of your cultivation to the being you wish to summon.’’
Wangji’s heart and hands are steady as he draws the talismans from blood drawn directly from the artery. He pins them in all eight directions and sits down in the middle, his hands moving elegantly to summon his Qi. He breathes in and breathes out, sinking into meditation with habitual ease.
It will work.
It has to.
The room floods with Resentful Energy.
---
He deserves better.
Wangji feels torn apart in ways he has never experienced before. The ritual summoning carves something out of his chest and drags it away. His mouth floods with blood and his body weakens alarmingly.
But it doesn’t matter.
Wei Ying.
---
Wei Ying is more beautiful than Wangji remembers. He is bloodsoaked, covered in cuts and bruises, saturated with Resentful Energy, but he’s alive.
And he’s beautiful.
Wangji stumbles to his feet, shakily walking into the bathroom to fetch some warm water. He walks back, his arms feeling the weight of the bucket like they have never carried such weight before. With every step that he takes towards Wei Ying, his heartbeat spikes up a little. He doesn’t know if he chose the right time. He doesn’t know if Wei Ying’s spirit had shattered before his death and dying had just been the aftermath.
Maybe Wei Ying’s body is here and not his soul.
Wangji cannot bear thinking about it.
With weak, shaking hands and the taste of blood lingering in his mouth, he slowly reaches forward. Layer by layer, he removes Wei Ying’s clothes, his fingertips tingling because his beloved’s body is warm.
He deserves better.
With aching tenderness, he wipes Wei Ying clean, removes all blood, grime, and mud from his body.
Wei Ying doesn’t stir.
---
There’s a gentle touch against his cheek. It is strange enough to wake him up because few people dare touch Lan Wangji. Slender fingers tap once, twice, almost playfully and Wangji knows who it is even before he opens his eyes.
Like a sun emerging from the horizon, Wei Ying appears before him, his smile bright and questioning.
“Wei Ying,” He breathes and Wei Ying nods, eyes a sparkling silver. There is so much beauty in that face that he can’t help but reach forward. Ignoring Wei Ying’s surprise, he cups his face and leans forward pressing his forehead against his beloved’s.
Wei Ying is still for a long moment, but he moves eventually, setting hands on Wangji’s shoulder. He doesn’t push him away, just huffing in soft amusement.
“Wei Ying,” He whispers, closing his stinging eyes, “Forgive Wangji for his selfishness.” He says, “I summoned you.” I summoned you without asking, knowing you wouldn’t desire it.
Wei Ying huffs again and that’s when it strikes him.
He pulls back and looks at his beloved in concern, scanning his eyes, face, neck, and chest quickly, his heart racing.
Why wasn’t Wei Ying speaking?
---
“You’re right in suspecting that his spirit sustained some sort of injury even before he was… killed.” Lan Jingyi says softly, pulling away from the sleeping Wei Ying, “There’s nothing physically wrong with him, Hanguang-jun, please don’t worry! His spirit just needs a little bit of time to recover.”
Wangji nods gratefully as he watches Sizhui lean over Wei Ying, his expression full of wonder and desperate happiness. As Sizhui’s cultivation grew, he started remembering more things from his childhood. They have never spoken on the matter of Wei Ying, but Wangji knows his son remembers more than he did when he was a child.
“Now, please let me check you.”
He levels a sharp look at the younger man but Lan Jingyi is no longer the adoring and naive student Wangji taught all those years ago. He’s a strong, accomplished cultivator and an avid researcher.
Lan Jingyi ignores him cheerfully and checks his core, stepping into Wangji's personal space without a care.
He narrows his eyes at the steely glint in the boy's eyes.
"I know you love him, Hanguang-jun," Lan Jingyi says, "And love is worth a life." They're immortals, life has little meaning for people who have lived for centuries, "But I wonder if the Wei Wuxian that you so adore will be happy about you risking your life for him."
Wangji's eyes flicker towards Wei Ying, who looks exhausted even in his sleep. "He deserved better."
Lan Jingyi is silent for a moment before he speaks, "Sizhui and I read the book on our flight back. Everything was horrible, I'm not surprised that his spirit sustained so much damage. But it is almost entirely intact now. It shows how much he wants to live, Hanguang-jun."
It's a relief.
---
Wei Ying can't speak but his presence is still loud. He rests for a few weeks to recover from his injuries. During that time, Wangji spends most of his days moving from Wei Ying's bedside to the library and back again.
His beloved has an insatiable hunger for knowledge. He wants to know everything about the modern world.
Every morning, Wangji is confronted with a bright face with sparkling eyes waving a book or a scroll in his direction.
Wangji hasn't experienced such liveliness in centuries. The very air of his home glows with Wei Ying's vitality. Wei Ying's body recovers quickly and soon the man is out of bed and following Wangji around.
His heart feels too big for his chest.
By all appearances, Wei Ying is perfectly content. He walks around Cloud Recesses, visits Caiyi Town, and is happy to watch the sunset with Wangji every evening.
That had been Wangji's wish when he performed that summoning.
He wanted Wei Ying to have another chance to live free and happy.
Looking at him now, Wangji wants to reach out, cup that cheerful face, and pepper kisses all over it. He wants to kiss those fluttering eyelids, smooth cheeks, sharp jawline-
That soft, smiling mouth.
Wangji is an immortal. He has endless patience. He can wait for Wei Ying to come to him.
He must wait.
---
The modern world fascinates Wei Ying. His beloved looks at everything from tall buildings to food stalls with wide, stunned eyes. Cloud Recesses and Caiyi Town are still relatively untouched by the passage of time, but Wei Ying has free access to the internet and has learned how to use it within two months of his arrival.
Wangji doesn't restrain him.
He just watches as Wei Ying, his brilliant and enthusiastic love, learns to thrive in his new world.
His voice has still not returned but that doesn't seem to bother Wei Ying. He is delighted to learn that there's a way to communicate nonetheless.
He starts learning sign language and Lan Wangji, with patient and steady hands, practices with him.
---
Lan Sizhui follows Wei Ying around with quiet affection and aching tenderness. He's much older than Wei Ying now, but he remains their son in spirit. He treats Wei Ying like a senior, with respect and adoration.
His Wei Ying notices, of course. At first, he finds the situation quite strange but Wei Ying isn't stupid.
'Lan Zhan,' He asks, 'Who is Sizhui?'
Wangji brings his fingers up and replies, 'He's your a-Yuan. I went looking for you but found him instead.'
Wei Ying's eyes widen and he spins around, running out of the room to seek Sizhui.
Wangji follows sedately and when he finds his love and his son, they're embracing while crying tears of joy.
---
'Lan Zhan, Lan Zhan, Lan Zhan!'
Wangji huffs under his breath and carefully sets his brush down, tucking the scroll away before turning to meet bright silver eyes.
Wei Ying leans forward with an eager expression, 'Do you know where Suibian is?'
Wangji nods, 'In storage. I was able to retrieve it from the Jin Clan.'
'Can I have it?'
Wangji rises smoothly to his feet and leads Wei Ying to storage where both Suibian and Chenqing.
Wei Ying only glances at Chenqing for a moment before reaching for Suibian with a desperate expression.
Suibian, a blade that has remained sealed since Jiang Wanyin unsheathed it once, easily reveals itself again.
Wei Ying spins around eagerly and looks at him with pleading eyes.
As Wangji is able to deny Wei Ying nothing, he reaches for Bichen and they immediately head for the training grounds.
It has been a long time since Wangji has really used Bichen to its full capacity. With half of his core pulsing within Wei Ying, they're almost evenly matched.
Wangji has not fought in ages but Wei Ying is still a Cultivator. The spar is fast-paced and thrilling. Wangji acquaints himself with Wei Ying as his love becomes reacquainted with his sword.
Wei Wuxian had been one of the best swordsmen of his generation. He has lost none of his elegance and skill. Wangji presses him and Wei Ying laughs soundlessly, twirling around him in white GusuLan robes, bright and joyful.
He breaks Wangji's heart and mends it at the same time.
---
Wangji has missed Wei Ying for hundreds of years.
He can't resist the urge to touch. He keeps it chaste and respectful but his hands have a mind of their own in Wei Ying's vicinity.
When they're out and about, Wangji guides Wei Ying with a hand on his back. It becomes natural to grasp his love's elbow if he wants Wei Ying's attention.
His touches can easily be dismissed as gestures of friendship by most. But Wei Ying knows him.
'er-gege,' Wei Ying's smile is sweet, 'Wei Ying is cold.'
Wangji's eyes flicker over to the lit fire briefly before landing on his love, 'Are you feeling well?' He asks in concern, reaching forward to place the back of his hand on Wei Ying's forehead.
His beloved laughs and nods, leaning into the touch with a sly smile, 'I'm well, just cold.'
Wangji feels a stir in his chest at the intent look in Wei Ying's eyes. Hesitantly, he cups Wei Ying's cheek in silent question.
Wei Ying nuzzles his palm, his eyelids fluttering close gently.
Desperation and elation flood him and Wangji sucks in a sharp breath. He moves in a blur, lifting Wei Ying off his seat and placing him on his lap.
Wei Ying gasps and giggles, his tall, strong body seeming to almost shrink as he cuddles close. Wangji wraps both arms around his love and squeezes him tight, rocking them gently as he is assaulted with painful love.
"Wei Ying, Wei Ying, Wei Ying," He chants in Wei Ying's hair, holding him so close, it feels like there's no part of him not touching his love.
When Wei Ying turns to him with a smile in his eyes, Wangji doesn't hesitate to lean forward, bringing their lips together in a long-awaited kiss.
He presses Wei Ying back against the crook of his elbow and tastes his silent laugh on his tongue.
Wangji has never felt so blissful and complete.
---
Jingyi convinces Wei Ying to go to therapy.
Eager to learn and curious, Wei Ying agrees.
He returns from every session with a thoughtful expression.
Months pass but his voice is still lost.
---
They make love and Wei Ying mouths the words he wants to speak. He smiles, sobs, laughs, and pouts as Wangji takes him apart bit by bit.
Wangji has never known such pleasure. He loses himself, drowning in Wei Ying's scent and finding heaven in his body.
He enjoys feeling smooth skin. He sinks his fingers into Wei Ying's silken hair. He tastes the sharp edge of his jaw. He bites. He drives in and takes ownership of Wei Ying's pleasure.
He presses his mischievous sprite into their bed and doesn't hold back, centuries of love pouring out of him.
---
A combination of therapy and Wei Ying's natural approach to life makes his recovery quick. Within a year, he's well-adjusted and happy.
He laughs at almost everything. The first time they fly, the first time they visit an amusement park, the first time they go to an aquarium.
He laughs and Wangji starts noticing the color of his voice returning to it.
Wangji is grateful for what he has. He's grateful that Wei Ying is back, safe, and happy. He is grateful that Wei Ying is unharmed.
But he cannot lie to himself. He misses Wei Ying's voice.
---
"Lan Zhan, Lan Zhan, Lan Zhan,"
Wangji almost misses it, as engrossed as he is. He presses in deep and feels a shiver of pleasure race down his spine. Wei Ying's fingers curl around Wangji's nape and his lips caress his ear.
"Lan Zhan,"
He stills.
Wangji takes a deep, bracing breath and pulls back a little, balancing on his arms to peer down at his lover.
Wei Ying is a vision. His cheeks flushed, his eyes wide and dark with passion, his lips bitten red from Wangji's kisses. His long hair is scattered and wild, a tangle of glossy strands across Wangji's pillow.
"Lan Zhan,"
Wei Ying's lips move and a voice accompanies that movement. It is slightly hoarse, somewhat weak, but it is still the voice he barely remembers.
Heat flares in him and he sinks deeper, pulling a sharp gasp from Wei Ying.
He spends the entire night filling their room with that precious voice.
---
Wei Ying doesn't ask questions. He doesn't ask why Wangji did what he did. He doesn't ask how he did it. His beloved has always been perspective and he understood Wangji's desperation from the moment he woke.
He reads the book that triggered it all and laughs, "Aiya, they make me out to be some sort of martyr for justice." He says fondly, for he is very fond of the modern world.
Sizhui is sitting at his feet, eyes closed in bliss as Wei Ying gently combs his hair, styling it into an intricate braid.
"They're not wrong, though." Jingyi can never sit straight and he has forgotten all of his Lan teachings over the years. He has his legs thrown over the arm of his chair and his head is dangling over another arm, his hair sweeping the floor as he nods.
Ridiculous.
"I never asked to be glorified in such a way." Wei Ying protests with a chuckle.
"Baba should be grateful no one knows about his resurrection." Sizhui pipes up, "At least, you don't have to deal with modern stans."
Wangji arches a brow at the word and Wei Ying laughs, already more accustomed to the Internet language than Wangji is. "Oh, heaven forbid!"
"But listen, you and Hanguang-jun have the greatest love story ever, you could write a book about it, Wei-quanbei!"
Wei Ying tilts his head to the side and Wangji urges him to consider it with a subtle nod. Wei Ying is happy but he's never content to be idle. The modern world doesn't need cultivation, but perhaps it can benefit from their stories.
---
‘Once you summon successfully, you belong to this being for all eternity as payment for the one wish they may grant. Half of your core will live within them. If they die, you die. If they live, you live. If they hurt, you hurt. If they become corrupt, you become corrupt.
You will sacrifice immortality, but not the eternal bond. Every time you are reincarnated into this world, you will be tethered to the being.
Beware.
Wangji tucks the scroll away, sealing it so that it is never discovered again.
He has no regrets.
237 notes · View notes
boxoftheskyking · 3 years
Text
Pick Up Every Piece, Part Two
how do you write Wei Ying? All talking. How do you write Lan Zhan? Run on sentences, of course.
have some exposition. everyone is a mess, wahoo.
Part One
---
Lan Zhan’s iron is broken. 
There’s no reason it should be—he keeps it clean and returns it to its original box after each use, and it’s barely three years old. But no matter what he does, it does not heat. He shouldn’t even need to iron his shirt in the morning, but deadline on deadline (and budget cuts on budget cuts) mean that he hasn’t had a decent night’s sleep in six days and hasn’t done laundry in a week. There are dishes piled up in the kitchen sink, so he’s started avoiding the kitchen entirely on his way to crash into bed so he doesn’t have to see it.
Things break, Lan Zhan accepts this. They wear out, come to accidents, disappoint you, die. But there’s no reason for this iron not to work. There have been no odd smells, the plug is fine—he’s tried three different outlets—and it’s barely three years old.
He stands in his closet in an undershirt and boxers, one hand pressed flat against the heating element, and allows himself a two minute breakdown.
There’s no reason for it. He’s done everything right, ticked every box. He started writing at age ten and hasn’t stopped since. He was top of his class at university, edited every school paper he had access to and founded two more, he got his masters. Even factoring in nepotism—which he doesn’t like to do, because it makes him feel like a cheat—he’s gone about as far as he can as a journalist. He’s won every major award, and with his uncle as managing editor he has more freedom than most in terms of how he writes and what he covers. He served the Republic, fought for two and half years and got a Sunshot medal for it. And yet, after ten years in his chosen field, everything is dying around him. No one pays for papers anymore, no one cares for the truth anymore. Political pundits on TV and radio have taken over the readership; citizens still traumatized by war just want someone to tell them what to think, tell them everything is fine now, tell them to ignore the injustices and messes and misfortunes that surround them. When he started at the Gusu Herald there were fifty people on staff—now they’re down to under twenty, including editors. All the small town papers in the area have closed, but there’s hardly the staff to even consider local stories these days. Lan Qiren tries to hold out as the last family-owned paper in the area, but corporations are circling. It’s like he spent his whole youth building a shining bridge across a canyon, only to find the other side barren and dead, miles of cold steel and no light on the horizon. 
He turns the iron and presses it against his chest, imagines it suddenly turning on, the satisfaction of the burn.
Then he unplugs the iron, puts it back in its box, and pulls on the wrinkled shirt. He pulls up the blackout curtains to let a little of the thin 7am light into the bedroom. There’s no reason to still have blackout curtains in Gusu, but he got used to it years ago and once he gets used to things he tends not to change them without reason. But he’s got plants now, gifts from his brother, and he’s trying to keep them alive. It shouldn’t be that difficult to do, he is conscientious and meticulous, but then his iron shouldn’t be broken either.
No one comments on his wrinkled appearance when he gets to work, which irks him. There is the familiar sound of phones ringing, printers going, file cabinets slamming open and closed in every direction. It’s calming to him, but he can’t help but notice how much quieter it is now than when he started. Part of it is the new computers—when he started here they were still on electric typewriters which were deafening. But mostly it just feels . . . empty.
Not completely empty, not yet. 
“Hey, hey Lan Zhan,” Lan Meiling waves him over to her desk, where a half dozen reporters are gathered around a computer printout. “Did you see this? Jin Zixun’s the new head of the Trade Commission. Just announced.”
Lan Zhan winces and looks over the report.
“But we’re not a monarchy, right guys?” Liu Dong snorts, shoving Meiling’s shoulder.
“It’s not a monarchy, it’s the other thing,” Wang Tengfei says, tapping his chin. “What’s the thing where it’s not passed down by birth, but you still appoint all your family members? That’s a thing isn’t it?”
“That’s just Jin Guangshan,” Liu Dong laughs. “But hush, hush, treason.”
“Come on, what’s the word for it?” Tengfei asks again.
Meiling takes the paper back from Lan Zhan. “Wasn’t he the one who paid for his grades in college? I get them confused.”
Lan Zhan nods. “That was Jin Zixun. Who’s got the story? There should be clippings. ‘92, I think, or ‘93.”
“Who covered that? Any of you?” Su She leans over the cubicle wall, knocking the photo of Meiling’s family onto her desk. There’s no reason for him to be here; he doesn’t cover politics. He’s had the local court beat for the past three years, and has spent those three years writing the exact same story five times a week with different names and charges plugged in. Lan Zhan is completely sure that he’d cover a person fined for unpaid parking tickets and a person arrested for smuggling baby unicorns with the exact same level of interest.
“Wei Ying wrote the story,” Lan Zhan says. The group falls silent, a troubled glance flying between all but him. “Before the merger, in the Gusu Times. Lan Shu can pull the clippings for you. It was a series, I believe.”
Lan Meiling coughs. “You can find a different reference, Liu Dong. Someone in Qinghe must have covered it.”
“It was a good series,” Lan Zhan says. He’s being needlessly stubborn, but that’s nothing new. “Wei Ying got the school registrar on the record.”
Liu Dong scratches the back of his shaved head. “Yeah, but. You know. I’ll call over to Qinghe.”
“It was a good series,” Lan Zhan says again. It’s awkward enough to break up the group, everyone shuffling back to their desks or the coffee maker. Lan Zhan has that uncomfortable feeling that he’s supposed to want to apologize for something. It’s a feeling he gets a lot, and he hates it. He doesn’t want to apologize—he has nothing to apologize for. Wei Ying was a good reporter; he wrote good stories. Everything that happened after that doesn’t change the fact that he was good at what he did.
Su She follows him over to his desk, so his day is about to keep getting worse. Lan Zhan prides himself on being rational, and he has many rational reasons for disliking Su She. He’s a half-assed writer, he wouldn’t know a decently placed comma if it was unveiled to him on a pedestal by the gods, he is a busybody and a gossip, and he lives to take credit for other people’s work. He’ll offer you the phone number of one of his “connections” and then whine about how he deserves a shared byline.
But on many levels beyond the rational, Lan Zhan hates the guy. He hates the way he pronounces words, his laugh, the smell of his lunch, even his handwriting. And he’s always there.
“You knew him, didn’t you, Lan Zhan?” Su She leans on his cubicle now, though there are no photographs to knock down.
Lan Zhan’s instinctual response is Don’t call me that, which is ridiculous because it’s his name. But he hates the way his name sounds in Su She’s mouth.
“What?” 
“Wei Ying. You knew him before the scandal, didn’t you?”
Lan Zhan takes an even breath. “Yes.”
“Did you work with him?”
“He was at the Times, before the merger. He never worked at the Herald.”
“But you knew him in school, right?”
If Lan Zhan wanted to be fair (he doesn’t), there’s no way for Su She to know that this line of questioning is particularly painful. He distracts himself from the sting of it by considering all of the answers he won’t be giving.
Yes. He gave me half a handjob in 1989 and I’ve thought of it every day since.
Yes. He called me his soulmate one day in the library at Gusu University and I’ve thought of it every day since.
Yes, I read the story that ruined his life before it was published, because he came to my home and asked me to read it and he was so proud, skinny and manic and over-caffeinated and burning, burning, burning, and I looked at him and I recognized the same thing that burns in me, the thing that keeps me coming back to this sad beige office every day, that makes me want to fight the inevitable like swinging swords at the sea, and I didn’t tell him not to publish. I told him it was a good story. It would not have stopped him, me telling him not to do it. But I could have tried. And I’ve thought of that every day since.
He just nods, instead.
“Is he still alive, do you think?” Su She asks casually.
The question stops Lan Zhan. “What?”
“No one’s heard from him since the war, have they? Could have died somewhere. Plenty still missing. I heard he went West, maybe, and the fighting was—”
“He is not dead.” Lan Zhan doesn’t know this for sure. But he would know, surely. Wouldn’t he? The thought honestly has not occurred to him in all these years, that Wei Ying might have died.
“Are you in touch?” Su She has a habit of asking questions like this, flipping from casual conversation to an interrogation. It makes him a terrible reporter.
“I served with his brother. He has not mentioned that Wei Ying has died. I have work to do, Su She.”
It bothers him, even after Su She leaves. He hasn’t seen Jiang Cheng in a few years, and they do not write or call each other. Jin Zixuan writes to them all about once a year, and he visits when he’s in Gusu, but he has always been the more sentimental one of the three of them, the survivors. But he thinks that Jiang Cheng would tell him if Wei Ying had died. 
Perhaps he wouldn’t. Jiang Cheng was not at school with them; he may not think of Lan Zhan as a person to notify in the event of his brother’s death. Would anyone think to let him know? It wouldn’t make the papers, probably, so how would he know? Wen Qing, perhaps. If she remembered. If she is also alive.
He feels it like an itch on his skin, something unsettled in his stomach, the idea that Wei Ying might not have survived. He would know, wouldn’t he? He’d feel it, the change in the fabric of the universe. Food would taste different, his voice would sound different. He’d feel it in the moments between sleeping and waking.
He makes a cup of tea and boots up his computer. They all have emails now, which is still a relatively new part of the morning ritual, but he doesn’t mind adding it as he checks his mail, his answering machine. He had a deadline yesterday and isn’t swamped this morning, so he takes down phone numbers and flips through his calendar on autopilot while he thinks about Wei Ying.
Wei Ying probably remembers him. He definitely remembers him, it would be ridiculous for him not to, but Lan Zhan doubts he remembers their college years the same way. 
(His fingers in Wei Ying’s hair, shoved against the wall in someone else’s dark bedroom, cheering and laughter from the drinking game just downstairs, cheap beer on his breath, everything spinning, spinning, his first time being drunk, his brain singing out kiss him, kiss him again, more, more, more, this is your chance, Wei Ying’s left hand on him, awkward and surprisingly tender, Wei Ying’s voice slurring in his ear “Lan Zhan I’m so glad you’re here, I’m so glad, I’m so glad I found you, Lan Zhan,” before the door bursts open and they spring apart, before Wei Ying ruffles his hair and says, “You probably won’t remember this, huh?” before they leave the party separately, before weeks of silence because what do you say to all of that, before Wei Ying and Wen Qing get together and Lan Zhan says, “I’m happy for you,” which is a lie, a lie, a lie, before Wei Ying and Wen Qing split up and Lan Zhan says, “I’m sorry to hear that,” which is a lie, a lie, a lie . . .)
He could do some digging. It probably wouldn’t be too difficult to find him, and it’s not like Lan Zhan lacks resources. But every time the thought crosses his mind it feels like too much, too violating. If Wei Ying wanted to be found, he would not have disappeared. And if Wei Ying wanted Lan Zhan in his life, he knows where to find him. Lan Zhan is not the one who left.
That’s a bitter thought, and unfair.
The story of Wei Ying is not complicated, and it’s not secret, but it’s never told right. 
They’d met in college, when Wei Ying transferred to Gusu in junior year, in a psych class of all places. Lan Zhan had a double major, because psychology and journalism was a logical pairing, and Wei Ying was meant to take a broadcast concentration but had broken his wrist falling off a roof and couldn’t work any of the equipment. 
Lan Zhan hadn’t known what to do with him at first. Wei Ying had grabbed him for the first group project a week into the semester, declaring, “We’re kindred spirits, you know,” before writing his phone number left-handed on Lan Zhan’s arm. Lan Zhan did not know. They had barely spoken before this, but for the rest of the semester Wei Ying sat by him and they studied together and Lan Zhan pulled strings to get him onto the university paper. And Wei Ying had grinned at him one day in the library, sleep-deprived and rumpled, when Lan Zhan had finished his trailed-off sentence, and said “Ah, my soulmate.”
They were kindred spirits, Lan Zhan believed. Lan Zhan decided he wanted to be a reporter when he was ten and learned the truth about his parents. After an entire childhood of being lied to, he decided his calling in life would be to tell the truth, no matter what. It made him odd and prickly, and usually lonely, but gave him a reputation of fearlessness and ferocity that he would never regret.
Wei Ying was different. He wasn’t so invested in the truth from a moral or political perspective—he was cheerfully amoral back then, in a teenage kind of way—but he loved information and he loved being right. Puzzles and secrets attracted him, and Lan Zhan watched them open up for him like lotus flowers at every turn. 
Lan Zhan settled into their friendship in a way that was unexpected, he began to rely on Wei Ying’s opinion, began to think of things from his perspective when he found himself stuck. And then he’d gotten drunk at a midwinter party and kissed Wei Ying and ruined all of it. It wasn’t Wei Ying’s fault. Lan Zhan had panicked and run and then left for break and never given Wei Ying his home number, and then when he returned Wei Ying wasn’t single anymore. He’d gone to Yiling with Wen Qing and her brother and come back someone’s boyfriend. (Wen Qing! Older, beautiful, stern and razor-sharp, who Lan Zhan had hero-worshipped, the part-time advisor to the school paper who turned down more offers than either of them would see in their lifetimes. That Wen Qing!) And Lan Zhan didn’t know how to handle it so he just . . . let it go. They stayed in touch while Wei Ying moved back to Yunmeng for a while, then got a job at the Times after the war started, and Lan Zhan joined the Herald and went to grad school, always Wei Ying reaching out first. But even after they were both single again and living in the same city, they just stayed apart.
It would be easy—completely unfair, but easy—to blame Wen Qing for all of it. But all she’d done was the same thing Lan Zhan had. Loved Wei Ying, and failed to stop him. If anything, Wen Qing is better than he is—when Wei Ying fell, at least she fell with him.
The downfall was not complicated, and he should have seen it coming. When Wei Ying showed up at his door in the middle of the night with a crumpled print out of his story, Lan Zhan should have seen where it would lead.
It was 1994, three years into the war, and Lan Zhan was in training with the cultivator corps in Lanling. In retrospect, that’s likely how Wei Ying found him—Jiang Cheng was in his unit and must have given the address. Perhaps that was one of the reasons he didn’t stop Wei Ying. Everything was so unreal, the war, the devastation, the training, cultivation itself. Everything he’d known about life, the country, physics, what is possible and what is just a legend, all of it was thrown out into a whirling storm of adapt, adapt, adapt. It was chaos, and Lan Zhan became very good at chaos.
The story would have been a bombshell in any year—over a dozen former assistants, interns, and even one sitting representative accusing the Acting President of the Republic of misconduct and abuse. Rumors about Jin Guangshan were older than his political career, and illegitimate children were hardly rare in government, but Wei Ying had been the first to get multiple accusers on the record along with recordings and photos. Wen Qing, the youngest managing editor in the country and one of only two women, had agreed to run the story.
It was a good story. A really, really good story.
But there was a war on, and Acting President Jin was the only protection the country had against the usurper Wen Ruohan and his army of traitors. Not that Jin Guangshan ever left Carp Tower himself—that’s what the oldest son was for. 
The blowback was immediate—Wei Ying was forced to retract the entire story and resign, Wen Qing was fired and the Gusu Times lost every advertiser and investor on the books. It was only natural for Lan Qiren to buy it up for pocket change, the merger he’d been looking at for years. All of the women named in the story issued statements accusing Wei Ying of lying, of doctoring evidence, of hiring actors that looked like them to fill his false story with fake photos. All statements made after visits from high ranking military officers, of course. He’d heard rumors that Wen Qing’s brother had enlisted and they used him for leverage, which wouldn’t be surprising. He hadn’t expected Wen Qing to give up without a fight.
Wei Ying had written to him once, just after he disappeared, with no return address. 
It’s my fault, it said. Lan Zhan, it was all true, the story was true, but I’m still a liar. I told them I could protect them all, if they went on the record. I promised. I promised Wen Qing. And I couldn’t. I’m sorry, Lan Zhan, I never wanted to be a liar.
And in the end, it meant nothing. Few enough people were getting daily papers, much less actually reading them, and with the immediate retraction, reams and reams being taken off newsstands by military police, it was barely a drop in the storm that was raging. Outside of the newsrooms themselves, at least, where Wei Ying and Wen Qing were nailed up on the wall as a cautionary tale. Free press, up to a point. Sometimes Lan Zhan thinks about what would happen if the story broke today, the impact it could have. But after the retraction, you can’t go back. He can’t think about it too long or the rage overtakes him. Rage for Wei Ying, for Wen Qing, for every person in the article who was smothered and tossed out with nothing. The kind of rage that doesn’t fade, can’t be extinguished.
Lan Zhan shakes himself. Wei Ying is alive. Wen Qing is also alive, most likely. Su She is an idiot.
He only has one message on his answering machine.
“Hey, Lan Zhan, it’s your cousin Lan Liang. Listen, I’ve got something I want to talk to you about. I don’t know if it’s your thing, or if you choose what you cover or whatever, but there’s a kid gone missing here in Moling and some very weird stuff going on at the building sites. I don’t have all the details, but it’s my uncle’s daughter-in-law’s foster kid. Cops aren’t giving them much, so I said I’d call you. I don’t know if the kid went wandering and got hurt or got lost or what, but maybe someone from the Herald can cover it, get the public interest up. Maybe someone knows something. I don’t know. Probably a long shot, but I said I’d call, so there you go. You can reach me at—”
Lan Zhan takes down the number neatly in his calendar. He can call after the 10am meeting, maybe drive out to Moling in the afternoon. The rage is still there, banked and contained and ready to be useful.
Part Three
49 notes · View notes
trilliastra · 4 years
Text
[Jin Ling loves his jiujiu very very much. Angst/hurt/comfort/fluff.]
-
The first thing Jin Ling sees when he arrives at the clearing is his uncle on the ground. Hanguang-jun's hand on his chest and Wei Wuxian pacing around them, shaking his head frantically.
He feels the world disappear around him and soon enough he's running, eyes fixed on his uncle's face. “Jiujiu,” he tries to reach him, to shake him awake because his uncle should not be this expressionless, he should be frowning, complaining about Hanguang-jun being too close. His uncle should not look like he's dying, “wake up! Jiujiu –” he notices Hanguang-jun is still touching him and tries to push him away, “what are you –”
“Jin Ling, calm down.” Wei Wuxian pulls him back, lookinh far too calm for this situation and Jin Ling wants to punch him.
“What happened?” He asks, desperate, notices Jingyi and Sizhui stepping closer, the other disciples standing farther away. Some from the Jiang Sect gasp and try to reach their leader as well, but are stopped by Sect Leader Lan.
“We got attacked, he hit his head against a rock.” Wei Wuxian explains and Jin Ling turns to look at him uncle again, notices the puddle of blood on the ground around his head. He feels like throwing up. “Lan Zhan is transferring energy into his core, he will be fine, Jin Ling.” Wei Wuxian tries to reassure him, but his hands are shaking just as much as Jin Ling's.
“I will do it.” Jin Ling says, determined, pushing Wei Wuxian away. The man stops him again. “Let me go.” He growls, angrily, one hand on his sword. Some disciples say he looks exactly like his jiujiu when he frowns and Jin Ling rejoices on it now, hopes Wei Wuxian feels the glare deep inside his core-less body.
“Lan Zhan is –”
“No offense,” Jin Ling says, makes sure to stare directly at Hanguang-jun’s hand touching his uncle, no doubt feeling the beat of Wei Wuxian's core inside his jiujiu's chest, “Hanguang-jun might be trying to stop him from dying, but he isn't trying to save him.” He hears someone gasp and someone else yells his name, but he doesn't turn around to check, keeps his eyes on Hanguang-jun's face when the other man looks up, only a frown between his eyebrows to indicate he heard him.
“Jin Ling,” Wei Wuxian shouts and Jin Ling finally decides to shove him away.
“I will do it.” Jin Ling repeats, keeping his stance. He knows most of them still see him as a child, hell, Jin Ling still feels like a child most of the time, but he's Sect Leader Jin now, and he knows that somewhere in Lotus Pier there's a document saying he's to be Sect Leader Jiang in case something happens.
His jiujiu has prepared him for this moment, ever since he was a child and hated hearing about the what ifs, used to cry at the thought of his uncle leaving him. He wasn't ready to be Sect Leader Jin, but he's somehow making it work. He's not ready to be Sect Leader Jiang, but – he notices the other disciples, all dressed in purple, step the tiniest bit closer, ready to protect him if necessary – he's not against abusing his power to protect the one he loves.
“Wangji,” he hears Sect Leader Lan call and Hanguang-jun looks up at his brother. They share a look, a silent conversation that Jin Ling will never understand, but in the end Hanguang-jun steps back, lets Jin Ling take his place.
Jin Ling rushes to his jiujiu's side, kneels next to him and takes a deep breath. He did this before when Fairy hurt her leg in a trap, his jiujiu showed him what to do, guided him through the steps of transferring his own energy into another body. “Until help comes.” He had said, softly, holding Jin Ling's hand against Fairy's heart.
He can do this again. For his jiujiu he would do anything.
Jiang Cheng knows something is wrong when he finds himself in his father's office. It burned down along with the rest of Lotus Pier, years ago, and Jiang Cheng tried to rebuild everything exactly as it was, but he could never do it with his father's office. He doesn't think he'd be able to do his job well with the ghost of his father always around him.
He's the Sect Leader now and though he doesn't think he will ever be as good as Jiang Fengmian was, he has to try to do it his own way, to follow his own path. He apologizes to him on his prayers, hopes he would understand and approve of his choices, but they are his choices to make in the end.
After his sister's death and his brother's fall, Jiang Cheng realized he could never be what his father expected him to, so instead of following the words of a ghost, he embraced his own thoughts. He's failed him anyway, there's no point trying to change who he is. “Once a failure, always a failure.” He hears a voice say, turns around to find his father looking at him, clear disappointment on his face.
Jiang Cheng sighs, lowers his head, doesn't try to argue. He doesn't know what's happening, but he remembers those same words being said to him once before.
He blinks and his father is no longer there, instead his mother appears. “You're impossible.” She says. He closes his eyes, prepared for the slap, but it never comes, instead, when he opens his eyes again, his sister is there glaring at him.
“What did you do to my son?” She asks and Jiang Cheng sinks to his knees, finally letting the tears fall.
He's gotten used to being a disappointment to his parents, but never to his sister. She was the one who always loved him, who said he's a good leader, a great man, a lovely brother. He failed her too.
“I'm sorry.” He chokes out, but she's no longer there, instead Wei Wuxian is glaring at him, face distorted and a triumphant smile.
“You killed me.” He says. “You finally did it.” His brother laughs, mockingly. “You always wanted to kill me and you waited until I was without my core to do it. If I knew, I would have never given it to you. You never deserved it.”
Then there's Wen Qing, and Lan Qiren, and then his father again, and the other leaders laughing, pointing fingers. Jin Guangyao with a knife against Jin Ling's neck, Wei Wuxian's sword on his mother's chest, ghosts and more ghosts, taunting him, mocking, laughing.
And Jin Ling – his A-Ling, his nephew and his son – watching the humiliation, finally noticing the real Jiang Cheng. A weak man who hides behind his anger, a lonely boy, a man unworthy of being loved.
A failure.
“Jiujiu,” Jin Ling says, “come back to me.”
Jiang Cheng wakes up.
He's in Cloud Recesses, Jiang Cheng notices when he opens his eyes, confused. Jin Ling is sleeping next to him, holding his hand tightly.
“He's exhausted.” Jiang Cheng turns and notices Wei Wuxian on his other side, looking like he hasn't slept in days. Jin Ling lets out a soft huff, then a whine and Jiang Cheng tries to hide a smile. He used to do that as a child too.
“What happened?” He asks, his head hurts and the world looks fuzzy. He touches the back of his head and feels the bandages.
“You hit your head.” Wei Wuxian answers. “Jin Ling gave you some of his energy and then passed out.”
Jiang Cheng's eyes widen. “Why would you let him –” he starts to say, but Wei Wuxian stops him with a shush, pointing at a still asleep Jin Ling. Jiang Cheng closes his mouth, immediately, glaring at him.
“I tried to stop him.” Wei Wuxian keeps saying. He smiles, fondly, as he looks at Jin Ling. “He yelled at Lan Zhan.”
Jiang Cheng is taken back by his words, looks at the boy sleeping peacefully. He's still so young. “I will break his legs.” He lies, running one hand through his nephew's hair.
“He was really worried.” Wei Wuxian says, trying to hide a laugh behind his hand.
“What?”
“Oh, Jiang Cheng,” Wei Wuxian shakes his head, fondly, “he's just like you.” Jiang Cheng knows he means it as a compliment, still can read his broth– still can read him after so many years. But it shouldn't be like this, Jin Ling deserves better than him.
Jin Ling deserves someone like Wei Wuxian.
“Stop thinking stupid things.” Wei Wuxian says, pinching Jiang Cheng's arm. It's a childish action, fitting of a childish man, but it's so familiar, so brotherly, Jiang Cheng feels his heart hurt.
Wei Wuxian pulls back quickly, staring confusedly at his hand as if it created a life of its own. “I –” he tries to say, opens his mouth once, twice, but nothing comes out. He swallows. “Jiang Cheng –”
“I know.” Jiang Cheng shakes him off, looking away. It's hard to forgive, even harder to forget, and he misses it too. The stupid fights, the banter, the hugs and the affection. He has his Clan, loves his people, but he's a leader to them, not a brother or a son. He – he just wants it back. “I –” he doesn't know how to say it, doesn't know if he can say it, but as usual, Wei Wuxian knows it all too well.
They were the Twin Prides of Yunmeng, they were inseparable.
“Yeah,” Wei Wuxian nods, reaching out for Jiang Cheng's hand. He squeezes it tightly and Jiang Cheng has to look away to avoid the tears. He never realized how much he missed this – affection.
“Jiujiu,” Jin Ling mutters, confusedly, opening his eyes, and Wei Wuxian lets go of Jiang Cheng's hand immediately, “jiujiu, you're awake!” He says, when he notices Jiang Cheng looking at him, throws his arms around his shoulders and buries his face on his neck. “You're awake...” He repeats, voice low and Jiang Cheng knows he will start crying any minute now.
“Yeah,” he touches his nephew's back, rests his head against Jin Ling's, “I heard you yelled at Hanguang-jun.”
Jin Ling sniffles, “I was trying to help you.” He says, voice wobbly.
Jiang Cheng shakes his head, amused. “You're too much like me.” He comments and feels Jin Ling nod against his neck. Truthfully, he doesn't care if Jin Ling yelled at Hanguang-jun or not, but his nephew is a Sect Leader and this kind of behavior should not be encouraged. Jin Ling might be eighteen, but Jiang Cheng will still scold him as if he was ten. “You're going to apologize, later.”
“Fine.” Jin Ling whines, still holding him.
Jiang Cheng snorts. “Are you planning on letting me go any time soon?”
“No.” Jin Ling answers, tightening his hold. “I love you, jiujiu.”
Jiang Cheng sighs, glances at Wei Wuxian still sitting on the other side of his bed, smiling happily. “I love you, A-Ling.” He whispers. When Jin Ling pulls back, he sees his sister's smile on his face and feels, for the first time, like he's done something right. “Thank you.”
“She would be proud of you.” Wei Wuxian tells him later, when Jin Ling has left to apologize to Hanguang-jun.
Jiang Cheng takes a deep breath. “Yeah, I think she would.” He agrees and realizes he means it.
112 notes · View notes
snickerdoodlles · 3 years
Note
🐰
(Alternatively 🍞 🍞 is the closest I could get you to ‘bunbun’ that wasn’t an actual rabbit)
hi u ILU, here is the first full scene of the living dead rewrite 
They’re resting at a little wayside tea shop on their way back from Qishan when they first hear the whispers.
“So sad, it used to be such a lively town…”
“After the clan going all at once, what else could they have expected?”
“Don’t be so disrespectful! Children died last night--”
Wen Ning’s head jerks up and around sharply at that, for once heedless of the black veins snaking up his neck. He’s too busy frowning at the large group huddled close around their table to care that his robe’s tucks fall away, or that the brim of his hat or the fall of his bangs is no longer hiding what his robes cannot.
Sizhui’s not surprised. Uncle Ning has a soft spot for children.
This tea shop isn’t a part of any town. It can barely be called a village. It’s more road and dust than establishments and it collects rumors more than it does people. Sizhui knows them well—his father dislikes gossip, but tucked away villages could know more about the area than the watchtowers if you were looking for trouble. After all, they have nothing better to entertain themselves, while the guards for the other are often too prone to naps.
The gossipers have yet to notice Wen Ning’s unblinking stare. One of the women, her whispering entirely uneffective, says, “I hear Fu Feng threw out all their candles and lanterns on the side of the road. A wandering traveller tried to pick one up for his journey and the villagers beat him to death out of fear.”
“Yan Liling, do not spread false rumors,” snaps another, her voice like a switch. “They can’t get rid of all the lights. I hear they daren’t even light their stoves though.”
A man winces beside her. “Not even through the winter, when the grounds were hard with ice…”
An old man one table over, blatantly listening in, shakes his head sadly. “Such a shame, such a shame. It used to be such a bright town.”
The group, finally realizing most of the dining room’s been listening in, wince and huddle closer, and do not continue their conversation. A few of the patrons shoot the old man dirty looks, but all return to their own conversations quick enough. 
Wen Ning turns back to his and Sizhui’s table, frustrated. Despite being dead, his face has little trouble settling into dark expressions. He lightens when he realizes Sizhui’s already flagging down a nearby server.
“How can I help you, young master?”
Sizhui looks across the table and is greeted by the top of Wen Ning’s strong hat. The way his shoulders shuffle tells he’s tugging up his robes too before the server can notice his marks, which is...good. Sometimes Sizhui forgets not everyone is okay with his gentle giant uncle.
“Sir?”
Sizhui shakes himself aware and turns to the server with a sweet smile. The server doesn’t seem to find anything amiss (after all, he stares at Sizhui’s ribbon with a knowing, greedy eye--what Lan would travel with a corpse? What could a Lan travel with that could cause more concern than what their wallets could pay?)
“Good sir, do you know which town they were discussing?” Sizhui asks in a quiet murmur, eyes flicking discreetly to the large group.
The server stares at them blatantly and hums, lips pursed in a thoughtful expression. Sizhui swallows down a sigh. He has no interest in continuing to drink this establishment’s bland, over-brewed tea for several hours as he wheedles out the information the server might have to provide for such a meager fare. Such thing would put Wen Ning at risk for discovery, no matter Sizhui’s presence and ribbon, and if children are going missing... 
“If you have no information to offer, I’ll have three bottles of your finest liquor.”
The server and Wen Ning both snap to attention at that--the server with an easy grin and a gleam in his eyes, Wen Ning with as much astonishment as his expression could hold (the faintest rise of his eyebrows, jaw unlocked to allow the smallest gap between his lips).
“Let me get that right for you, sir.” The server licks his lips eagerly. “I won’t be but a moment.”
Sizhui nods politely and lets the server run off with little fuss. Father had taught him that trick--Sizhui never understood how Father of all people had come up with such a notion until Senior Wei had returned to their lives. The first time he’d been present for Father’s trick, he positively gaped at Father, slumped like someone had cut his strings, and then he’d thrown himself into Father’s side with a delighted laugh and a loud cry of, “Lan Zhan, you do remember the things I say!”
The warmth of the memory fills him better than his next sip of tea. Wen Ning is still staring at him, dumbstruck, and Sizhui hides his smile behind the rim of his cup and sips carefully. 
“Do you think Senior Wei will appreciate such a gift?” Sizhui asks after a few more moments of fun. He taps his lip thoughtfully. “I do not know of anyone else that might like such things. I am, after all, a Lan.”
Wen Ning’s astonishment softens into the warmest look. His lips, briefly, like the flicker of a candle, quirk up just slightly at the corners. Corpses’ facial muscles are some of the most affected by death--Sizhui returns his uncle’s beaming smile with his own.
“Master Wei will love anything from his beloved A-Yuan,” Wen Ning says softly. Sizhui’s smile loses to his blush, and he can almost swear Wen Ning’s eyes crinkle fondly in turn. “You know, once, when you were little--”
“Here’s your liquor sir,” the server says happily as he sets down three heavy, rough ceramic jars on the table. Sizhui frowns sharply and wants to snap at the server to go away, but if he does, he’ll have to buy the entire liquor stock just to soothe the wounded ego and he still might not learn everything he needs. Children are dying.
Wen Ning retreats back under his hat. Sizhui smoothes his expression into a faint smile and pulls out his wallet. “You said you knew which town those kind people were talking about?”
The server’s eyes never leave Sizhui’s wallet, though his smile grows. “Mn. It’s called Fu Feng. It’s half a day’s walk south from here. You’ll know when you reach it--they have a bell tower on the tallest hill and they ring every morning, midday, and night so people don’ forget.”
Wen Ning frowns under his hat again, head blatantly tipped to the side to catch the words. Sizhui wants to ask what he knows so badly. Instead, he rummages through his wallet and lets the coins clink together faintly. 
The server licks his lips again. “Fu Feng used to be some big deal ‘round here. Festivals all the time, with all them floating lights, and people would come ‘round from all parts to visit. Then, last year, during the cursed ghost month, a fire wiped out the entire village.”
Sizhui frowns. “A fire? An entire village?” he asks, wracking his brain for a corresponding incident report. Even so far away in Gusu, they would’ve heard of an event that bad. Should have heard, even despite few watchtowers in this area. During his time as Chief Cultivator, Jin Guangyao had reached out to all nobles across the nation to reassure them that they could report incidents to the towers, and then clan cultivators would go out to assist any cultivation matters. The nobles love having someone else clean up the messes, and the cultivation world benefits by preventing any resentful energy from building into larger problems. It’s a very efficient system; Jin Guangyao’s designs always were. 
So why has Sizhui never heard of Fu Feng until now?
The server shrugs. “The sky was dark overhead for two whole days. You don’t get that from a small fire.”
“If the entire village burned,” Wen Ning says softly, hand tugging his collar tighter across his throat, “then why are people still dying in it?”
“I--” The server opens his mouth, but doesn’t reply. Sizhui frowns thoughtfully--no survivors would explain why the watchtowers never received a missive about the destruction. They could perhaps be forgiven for not investigating the matter themself. But Uncle Ning is right--if the entire village burned, why are there tales of haunting ghosts now?
“Well, people must’ve moved back in!” snaps the server. He’s flushed a dark red and his eyes flicker between Wen Ning and Sizhui’s wallet nervously. Sizhui does not roll his eyes at the server’s suggestion--Sizhui is polite and the server must not be familiar with the ways of cultivation. The last thing he wants to do is drive off an informant--even an awful one.
Sizhui places the exact amount of coin for the drink on the table. He barely moves his hand away before the money disappears in a quick snatch, the server visibly calmer. He eyes the large coin peeking through Sizhui’s fingers hungrily. “They say it’s the work of a single spirit. A vengeful demon. It finds the people by following the lights, then it sucks the flesh from their bones.”
Wen Ning and Sizhui share a glance, then Sizhui hands the coin and a twin to the server. “Thank you for your information.”
The server smiles and looks Sizhui in the eye for the first time that night. “You’re welcome sir, thank you sir,” he says, and then he’s gone into the bustle of the crowd.
Sizhui pouts. “It’s not good information, but at least we know now there is something afoot in the town of Fu Feng.”
Wen Ning shakes his head. He still clutches his robes tight around his neck. “It’s more telling than he realized.”
“Really?” Sizhui leans forward eagerly, but Wen Ning’s eyes skitter to their side. Sizhui follows the look discreetly and sees a fellow squinting suspiciously in their direction. Sizhui leans back, disappointed.
“Shall we begin our journey to Fu Feng?”
Wen Ning nods gently, ducking under his hat’s brim. “Let’s.”
24 notes · View notes
trensu · 4 years
Text
Episode 48: The One where JGY and SS Host a Pity Party and Everyone Wishes They Hadn't
The show just dunks us right into yunmeng bro feelings again
jc's all should i get on my knees and thank you?
and wwx is like i never wanted your thanks
and now jc is just spilling his insecurities all over the place
Blah wwx was always better than him blah blah everyone liked wwx more blah blah DADDY ISSUES blah blah blah
and wwx just looks more and more hurt as all this bitterness is pouring out of his little brother 😞
i mean even jl was like hey uncle, maybe don't do that???
lwj is glaring at jc the whole time ofc
and jc gets so mad he tries to start a physical fight EVEN THO HE HAS A GAPING STAB WOUND IN THE CHEST
which is actually quite hilarious if you ignore how utterly heartbreaking the yunmeng bros relationship is
thankfully jl and lxc hold him back (not that he could've gone very far bc again GAPING STAB WOUND)
and ofc lwj has to throw in his two cents
lwj: clan leader jiang. Discretion
oh lwj, a man of few words
Oh no, ohno, oh nooooo, jc’s starting on their oath oh god
“YOU SAID THAT I WOULD BE THE CLAN LEADER AND YOU WOULD BE MY SUBORDINATE. YOU WOULD ASSIST ME FOR LIFE”
“SO WHAT IF THE TWIN JADES OF GUSU ARE THERE. WE WERE THE TWIN HEROES OF YUNMENG”
*GROSS SOBBING*
CAN I TOO GET A GAPING STAB WOUND IN THE CHEST BC I'M PRETTY SURE THAT WOULD HURT LESS
OH GOD WWX'S EYES ARE ALL RED
"YOU DIDN'T TELL ME ANYTHING. YOU TREAT ME LIKE A LITTLE FOOL."
OH THIS HURTS SO MUCH
that last bit, tho. i can't even hold that against him bc wwx DID lie to him. he DID neglect to trust him and his judgement. 
he took jc's choice away and made it for him, and that's not cool. 
and, like, i get it, I do bc i would probably want to do the same thing wwx did if i were in a similar situation with my own siblings
BUT STILL
jc: shouldn't i hate you? can't i hate you?
WHICH REALLY JUST TELLS ME THAT HE DOESN'T HATE WWX
HE WOULD NOT BE THIS TORN UP, THIS TEARFUL MESS, IF HE DIDN'T STILL LOVE HIS BROTHER AND WANT HIM BACK
this whole time jc is inching towards wwx, getting closer and closer until he's close enough to punch him if he wanted
Jc does make a sudden sharp movement towards wwx 
Which obvs has lwj jolting forward to protect wwx
But wwx IMMEDIATELY puts a hand on lwj's knee
jin ling darts forward to hold his uncle and is like, hanguang jun, my uncle's hurt!!
BC JC IS THE ONLY NOT EVIL AND/OR DEAD FAMILY HE HAS LEFT 
AND EVEN JL KNOWS THAT LWJ IS SO VERY WILLING TO HURT ANYONE WHO HURTS WWX
I AM HAVING TOO MANY EMOTIONS
jc's angry and hurting and is like i'm not afraid of lwj, come at me bro
lwj GLARES at him, brow furrowed and mouth pinched
jc: why? why wwx? why didn't you tell me?
oh god, he's not even yelling anymore, he's just fucking crying and i'm crying and there's just wet icky tears everywhere
wwx takes a shuddery breath and tells him it's bc he didn't want to see him like this
JC: you said i would be clan leader and you would be my subordinate. you would assist me for life. you'd never betray the jiang clan. you said it yourself
HE'S NOT YELLING. HE'S NOT EVEN ANGRY
his voice is weak, and shaky, and weepy and he's just so, so hurt
AND I'M A SOBBING MESS
and wwx swallows passed the lump in his throat but his voice still sounds a bit raw when he speaks
wwx: i'm sorry. i broke my promise.
FUCK 
FUCKING HELL
MY YUNMENG BROS
jc: we've reached this point. i don't need your apology now. i'm not that delicate
STFU JC, YOU BALD-FACED LIAR, "NOT THAT DELICATE" 
YOU'RE AS MUCH OF A SOBBING WRECK RN AS I AM
GET A THERAPIST JC
"NOT THAT DELICATE" I'M GONNA PUNCH YOU IN THE FACE IS WHAT I'M GONNA DO. GOD. NOT THAT DELICATE
JC: i'm sorry
*sobsobsobsob* MY YUNMENG BROS
wwx: don't apologize to me. that's what i owed the jiang clan.
here wwx closes the distance between them to place a hand on his brother's arm
HUG HIM GOD DAMN IT, LET MY YUNMENG BROS HAVE A PROPER HUG
wwx: as for this matter, please don't keep it in your heart.
and he goes on to say smth like i know you probably won't let go, but it's water under the bridge, that was all stuff that happened in my past life
AND THEN HE REACHES UP AND GENTLY WIPES AWAY JC'S TEARS WITH HIS THUMB
AND GIVES HIM A SWEET LITTLE SMILE
AND I'M DYING. MY HEART HURTS SO MUCH I'M DYING
I SHOULD'VE KEPT A BOX OF TISSUES NEAR ME, MY SLEEVES ARE ALL SNOTTY AND DISGUSTING NOW, DAMN IT ALL
AND THAT WAS ONLY THE FIRST 10 MIN OF THE EPISODE WTF
I’VE BEEN REDUCED TO A SNIFFLING WEEPING MESS IN 10MIN FLAT WTF 
yunmeng bro moment ends (thank god) and we cut to the next scene where nhs is oh so conveniently regaining consciousness
now all the diggers are screaming to remind us that oh yeah, there's like Plot Stuff here, it's not just about the yunmeng bros
ss gives jgy some meds bc he's hurt or smth, who gives a damn
our boys follow jgy back to the dig site for Plot Reasons
and SURPRISE!! we have nmj's no-longer-headless dead body!!
lwj and wwx look at each other like WTF??
oooooh boy, nhs gave jgy the dirtiest look
wwx is being Clever again and pointing out Plot Relevant Things 
ss gets all offended and holds wwx at sword point 
but there's lwj with bichen in its scabbard, one step in front of him and ready to block anything ss sends their way bc lwj is not gonna let wwx get hurt if he can help it
ss is all like wwx you set him up! And wwx’s face is like, i aint even bovvered
wwx: i'm saying this with all modesty, but if i were the one who set him up, i'm afraid he wouldn't have just gotten one arm hurt
HOT DAMN
LOVE MY SUNSHINE BOY
and here my sunshine boy is being all Clever again and laying out all the facts and explaining how there's a 3rd party involved in all this
LOLOLOL HE'S REALLY PLAYING THIS UP FOR JGY TOO
he's like, there might be a predator behind you, the guy who's been spying on you this whole time...HE MIGHT NOT EVEN BE HUMAN
oh wwx, so Dramatic™
but hey it's working bc jgy looks spooked as hell
LOLOLOL
HE SEES JGY START FREAKING OUT AND HE LOOKS OVER TO LWJ AND GRINS AT HIM LIKE, HEY LAN ZHAN, SEE WHAT I DID, LOL, I SCARED THE SHIT OUT OF THIS LOSER, DID YOU SEE? 
oh, now wwx and jc are bound by the wrists but not lwj, for some reason? 
Which, rude, why deny lwj the chance to be tied up? Let him try new experiences! What if he likes to be tied up? 
NOW HE’LL NEVER KNOW BC YOU DIDN’T LET HIM TRY IT
jgy and ss have a moment that i don't care about but i have to mention it
bc RIGHT AFTER we see our precious beautiful sunshine boy lean WAY into lwj's space to talk shit about them
like, seriously, just a couple inches more, and wwx would be resting his cheek on lwj's shoulder 
IT'S WONDERFUL AND I WISH HE'D GET EVEN CLOSER
shockingly, lwj is NOT as distracted as i would be having wwx that close 
bc he's studying ss and SUDDENLY SEES HE'S GOT THE HUNDRED-HOLES CURSE ON HIM 
which btw, EWW?? THAT'S THE GROSSEST THING EVER 
I REALLY WISH THEY'D STOP SHOWING IT SO MUCH BC IT MAKES MY SKIN CRAWL
he tells ss to turn around to get a better look and wwx sees it too!! he's like, IT WAS YOU!!!
and for the audience's benefit, nhs goes to lxc and is all what's going on???
lxc and jc gives some exposition about blah blah blah stuff we know about already
amidst all this we keep getting shots of wwx looking stunned and hurt (but still oh-so-beautiful)
wwx: jgy, i didn't do anything against you back then. we were not even that familiar. you wanted to kill jzx. why did you push that on me?
HE LOOKS SO HURT AND ANGRY AND CONFUSED BC WHY DID IT HAVE TO BE HIM? WHY DID JGY HAVE TO USE HIM??
and lwj is watching wwx while he shouts this and god how can he stand watching his soulmate be hurt over and over and over again?? HOW DOES HE COPE?
jgy does a mini Rant of Evil Explanation and ss does a rant about classism
which, if said by literally anybody else, i'd say hm, yes, you have a point 
but bc it's said by ss, a spineless coward who never takes responsibility for his own actions, i'm like STFU SS
omg lolololol
ss: would i have been swept out of lan clan like a pile of leaves [if I were highborn]??
AND ICE PRINCE LWJ ANSWERS ALMOST BEFORE SS COULD FINISH ASKING
lwj: Yes.
AND THEN HE LOOKS SS DEAD IN THE EYE
lwj: betrayers won't be tolerated by the lan clan
HELL FUCKING YEAH
YOU WEREN'T KICKED OUT BC YOU WERE LOW-BORN, SS
YOU WERE KICKED OUT BC YOU'RE A TRAITOROUS COWARD
and like, i need to point out that lwj is sitting cross legged on the ground right now (along with wwx, ofc) and ss is standing over him while ranting
and YET, the way lwj holds himself and the way he speaks, does in no way indicate that he's at a disadvantage here
dude's unflappable. JADE OF LAN, INDEED
ss is like i am so sick of your condescending attitude
then he's like just bc i made that one little mistake you could never forgive me!!
FUCKING EXCUSE ME??? 
LITTLE? LITTLE MISTAKE??? 
HOW MANY PEOPLE DIED BC OF YOU SS?
HOW MANY DIED BC YOU BETRAYED THEM??
ss continues to rant and starts to go off his rocker
and then wwx starts to laugh but it's not a happy laugh
it is, in fact, a laugh very similar to the laugh we heard in The One where the Moonlit Rooftop Betrays Us
ss is like, what's so funny???
wwx: nothing. i just didn't expect...
AND HE'S GETTING TEARY HERE EVEN AS HE LAUGHS
WWX: i didn't expect you to get so many people killed just for...just for this
HE LOOKS SO DISILLUSIONED
MY POOR PRECIOUS SUNSHINE BOY
THE WORLD KEEPS DISAPPOINTING HIM
omg i want to RING JGY'S NECK WITH ZIDIAN
HE'S GETTING ALL UP IN WWX'S FACE
TELLING HIM THAT NO MATTER HOW KIND OR CHIVALROUS HE IS, HE WILL ALWAYS BE BLAMED FOR ANY BAD THING THAT HAPPENS, THAT NO ONE WILL EVER BELIEVE OR TRUST HIM
FUCK YOU JGY I HATE YOU SO MUCH
MY POOR SUNSHINE BOY IS TREMBLING WITH RAGE
bc he knows it's true. ppl really ARE always going to suspect the yiling patriarch.
oooh, jc just defended his brother! sort of.
But it has the unfortunate side effect of drawing jgy’s attention
so now jgy is cutting into jc
god jgy talks a lot. stfu jgy.
wwx has been teary eyed on and off this entire episode so far but hasn't actually cried
but jgy is now belittling all of jc's work, all the effort he put in to rebuilding lotus pier, implying that he wouldn't have been able to do if not for wwx
and that's the breaking point, that's what makes wwx finally shed a tear.
lwj is watching wwx, as always, and sees wwx cry
he must feel utterly helpless
ooooh, MY CLEVER SUNSHINE BOY
EVEN AMIDST ALL THIS TERRIBLE EMOTIONAL PAIN, HE PICKED UP ON JGY'S TRIGGER WORD(S)
wwx: just a "son of a whore" made you talk so much
oooh jgy tries to leave but wwx stops him in his tracks by asking him how he killed nmj
and then he's like "aren't you afraid?"
CHILLS, MAN, I'M GETTING CHILLS AT HOW HE DELIVERS THIS
SO CALM, COOL AND COLLECTED YET TINGED WITH A THREAT
jgy: afraid of what? (lol he whirls around angrily like the Drama queen he is)
wwx leans forward and looks him dead in the eye
wwx: afraid of him coming back to you
AND THE SMIRK HE WEARS
THAT'S THE SMIRK OF THE YILING PATRIARCH 
He smirks and leans back against the pillar, all easy and relaxed while jgy looks freaked the fuck out
and then
THEN
WWX STARTS TO WHISTLE
RESENTFUL ENERGY COMES IN TO STROKE AT JGY'S ARM ALL MENACINGLY
I'M GETTING CHILLS ALL OVER 
THIS IS SUCH A BADASS MOVE ON WWX'S PART
and also, holy shit do i enjoy those close up shots of wwx's eyes and his beautiful beautiful lips
the sound team did a great job making those whistles sound super eerie, btw
i can't get over how cool and confident wwx looks here
he's not worried or bothered AT ALL, this is him doing what he does best
Wait, do i have a competency kink…?
LOL JGY JUST GOT BITCHSLAPPED BY RESENTFUL ENERGY, LOVE IT
wwx has stopped whistling now, which is unfortunate bc that means no more extreme close-ups on wwx's gorgeous features
jgy: yiling patriarch, you're worthy of your title, aren't you?
YOU’RE DAMN RIGHT HE IS!
Okay yeah, i guess i have a competency kink now, THANKS A LOT WWX
FUCKING SU SHE JUST TRIED STABBING WWX
LWJ TO THE RESCUE, HELL YEAH
OUR MAN HANGUANG JUN LEAPS TO HIS FEET AND NOT ONLY BLOCKS THE STRIKE
HE FREAKING SLICES SU SHE'S WEAK ASS SWORD IN TWO 
THEN FOLLOWS UP WITH A SLICE AT SU SHE'S WRIST
I LOVE YOU HANGUANG JUN
Lwj calmly goes over to wwx and slices off the ropes that were keeping his wrists tied and does the same to jc
wwx goes up to jgy (who's held at sword point by lxc) and calmly takes his weapons
wwx: jgy, hand it over. it's not of much use in your hands.
with a deceivingly dainty clink, Plot Device 3 rolls out of jgy's sleeve and into his hand
then he lets it fall to the ground bc he's a petty bitch that way
we get to see wwx being all Smart Detective and revealing just how long jgy has been planning all this 
jgy’s all like even between me and xy we could only create Plot Device 3 half as powerful as Plot Device 2
LOLOL THAT'S BC THE TWO OF YOU ARE WORTHLESS HACKS.
WWX HAS MORE SKILL AND TALENT IN HIS PINKY FINGER THAN THE BOTH OF YOU COMBINED
man there's a lot of Plot Exposition happening and lxc is having Feelings about it.
DON'T FUCKING LOWER YOUR SWORD LXC WHAT ARE YOU DOING
look lxc, i don't mean to sound cruel or heartless or whatever, but omg i do NOT CARE about your complicated Emotions right now
NOT WHEN IT'S GIVING JGY THE OPENING TO MANIPULATE AN ESCAPE
jgy is now being like "oh, i was wrong" and acting all pitiful and TOTALLY PLAYING LXC FOR A FOOL (AGAIN)
wwx: hey, jgy, can't we stop talking? let's just fight? can we just start killing each other?
LOLOLOLOLOL 
HE TOTALLY SAW THAT JGY WAS MANIPULATING THE SITUATION AGAIN AND IS LIKE, NOPE, NOT DOING THAT AGAIN
LESS WORDS MORE SWORDS PLZ
LIKE, MY BOY IS JUST DONE. HE IS DONE WITH THIS. LET'S GET TO THE FIGHT NOW THX.
jgy ignores this and keeps talking to lxc AND OMG WWX'S FAAAAACE IS CRACKING ME UP 
GOD WORDS ARE NOT GONNA DO IT JUSTICE
HE JUST LOOKS AT JGY FOR A SECOND LIKE, SRSLY BRO? BEFORE ROLLING HIS EYES AND SCRUNCHING UP HIS EYEBROWS LIKE "CAN YOU FUCKING BELIEVE THIS GUY, JFC"
IT'S SO FREAKING FUNNY OMG
meanwhile jgy continues to throw a pity party that no one likes and the episode ends
There really wasn’t much wangxian time in this episode, fucking jgy and ss decided to HOG ALL THE SCREEN TIME, THOSE PATHETIC WHINY ASSHOLES
but we got a lot of Yungmeng Bros which was painful but waaaay better than anything jgy or ss has to offer
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kurowrites · 4 years
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Snow - Chapter 9
Entire fic. AO3. 
Bet you all thought you were safe, ehehehe.
---
It’s a few days after that memorable Saturday that Wei Ying has an unexpected visitor in his office. He doesn’t have unannounced visitors often – usually people call or email him first if they want something from him. It’s a surprise, therefore, that someone knocks at the door of his office mid-afternoon, and it’s an even bigger surprise when no one other than Lan Qiren, the president of the university, waltzes through his door.
Wei Ying has never even met Lan Qiren on a personal basis, though he’s seen him before: slim and tall, with a long beard and strict, sharp eyes. Now that he knows Lan Zhan, the kinship between the two is evident in terms of looks and manners. But there is something about Lan Zhan that puts Wei Ying immediately at ease, and there’s something about Lan Qiren that puts him immediately on edge. Lan Zhan is very warm once you get to know him; Lan Qiren is frosty no matter how you look at him.
There can only be one reason why a busy man like Lan Qiren has come to find Wei Ying: Lan Zhan. And by the look on his face, Lan Qiren hasn’t come to congratulate them on their budding relationship.
Lan Qiren strides though the room and stands in front of Wei Ying’s desk, staring down at him wordlessly. It’s rather rude, Wei Ying thinks, but it’s Lan Zhan’s uncle, so he’s going to try and be polite.
“How can I help you?” he asks with his best attempt at friendliness.
“Do not act innocent,” is Lan Qiren’s immediate reply. “I know what you are doing.”
Wei Ying raises his eyebrows. That’s a big statement, considering that Wei Ying himself doesn’t know what he’s doing, especially when it comes to Lan Zhan.
“Excuse me?”
“You are the man who has seduced my nephew.”
Wei Ying feels his eyebrows rise even higher. Well, that statement is partially true. Wei Ying certainly helped Lan Zhan on, but no seducing would have happened if Lan Zhan hadn’t been equally intent on being seduced. It hadn’t been Wei Ying’s idea to get tied to a bed and be fucked with excruciating, meticulous slowness, after all. That had all been Lan Zhan.
Wei Ying clears his throat to answer.
“Even if I did, I can hardly see how that concerns you, President Lan.”
“Do not be insolent!” Lan Qiren cried. “Of course it concerns me when a stray dog like you suddenly lurks around my nephew! Your academic credentials are excellent, that much I will allow, but do not think for one minute that your status is equal to him! He has always been a collected, reasonable person, and the moment he sees you he starts getting rebellious! He should be looking for a proper partner, not something like you!”
That hurts. In all fairness, Wei Ying is used to people looking down on him, insulting him, so Lan Qiren’s words are nothing new. He’s heard diatribes like this too many times already. But the insinuation that he is not and will never be a proper partner to Lan Zhan, that one hurts. It shouldn’t; he’s known from the beginning that Lan Zhan is in this for his own personal reasons. Reasons that have nothing to do with Wei Ying, reasons that Wei Ying is aware have nothing to do with love. He still put his heart on the line, and this is the result. The reminder is unwelcome and painful.
Lan Zhan doesn’t love him. He knows that.
He quickly shakes the thought off, and concentrates on the anger rising within him. Anger is much easier to handle.
“Are you suggesting Lan Zhan should be looking for a wife? For marriage? And children?” he asks. “You can’t force him into that for your own convenience. He deserves to make his own choices!”
Lan Qiren huffs in condescension. “If you are suggesting I am homophobic, let me assure you I am not. I have long known about my nephew’s homosexual inclinations. His wishes in that regard shall be respected. But you, I cannot approve of. If he chooses a partner, it shall be among his own peers, a son of a respectable family. Not a mongrel like you.”
Wei Ying stares at Lan Qiren for a moment, a quick reply dying on his tongue.
A mongrel.
A mongrel.
“I think you’ve said enough,” he says sharply. “This mongrel still has work left to do. Please leave my office.”
“Stay away from my nephew, if you know what’s good for you,” Lan Qiren says, and stalks out of the office, slamming the door.
The office is completely silent after Lan Qiren has left, and only gradually does Wei Ying becomes aware that he’s literally shaking. He balls is hands into fists, tries to calm himself down, but the shaking won’t stop. He’s upset, and, yes, he realizes after a moment, he’s feeling afraid. He has no doubt that this is the end. His personal feelings don’t matter. And even if Lan Zhan likes him, and likes fucking him, that’s not enough to go against the opinions of his uncle.
Wei Ying knows it well. Lan Zhan is strict and rule-abiding, and he has a high respect for both his older brother and his uncle. If his uncle tells him to do something, Lan Zhan will listen. And Wei Ying has no doubt that Lan Qiren will tell Lan Zhan to stop seeing Wei Ying, to stop involving himself with a person like him. And Lan Zhan will no doubt see how inappropriate their entire relationship is, and will end it.
Of course he can do better than Wei Ying! There are many handsome, well-bred, gay men out there, and any of them would be happy to date a man like Lan Wangji. There could be no objection to him by anyone, in any way. He’s incredibly good-looking, smart, educated, rich, good at caretaking, good at cooking, good at cleaning – there is not a single thing in which Lan Zhan doesn’t excel. Well, with the exception of talking, perhaps. He is rather stingy with his words. But some people might appreciate that all the more. After all, there’s never an insincere, inconsiderate word out of Lan Zhan’s mouth. When he speaks, he means it. He’s just an all-around good person. Whoever gets him in the end will be lucky indeed.
And Wei Ying has no right to keep Lan Zhan tied to him. It would be selfish, too, asking for more presents, for more attention than Lan Zhan is already willing to give. He has no claims on Lan Zhan, other than a casual engagement to fuck and spend a good time together.
Fuck, he doesn’t want to be rejected. He’s not sure how well he’d take it if Lan Zhan actually said “I don’t want you anymore” to his face.
Suddenly, all these people who do crazy things for those they love start to make much more sense. He would do crazy things for Lan Zhan, too.
He takes out his mobile phone and sends a quick message to Lan Zhan.
[Wei Ying] Do you have time to talk?
Then he turns back to his work and tries to concentrate for the rest of his working hours. He’s only vaguely successful.
---
Lan Zhan sent him a message that he will be waiting at a café close to university after work, so Wei Ying makes his way over there as soon as he’s finished for the day. The weather outside is cold and overcast, with a wet chill that quickly settles in his bones despite Lan Zhan’s warm sweaters and soft scarf. The warmth of the café is all too welcome a sensation when he opens the cute art nouveau entrance door.
He almost immediately catches sight of Lan Zhan, easy to spot in his shining white turtleneck sweater among the dark gleaming wooden interior of the café. He’s sitting at a small table, and he’s looking directly at Wei Ying. It’s… flattering, honestly, to have Lan Zhan’s attention as soon as he comes through the door.
When he steps closer, he notices that Lan Zhan’s hair is slightly damp, probably due to the weather outside, and the tips of his hair are curling a little. It makes him look so much softer than usual, and it makes Wei Ying want to push his fingers through that hair, get as close as he can, and kiss him.
He wants to kiss Lan Zhan very badly. Take comfort in his physical presence.
God, he’s a little messed up. He’s come here to break up with Lan Zhan, after all.
He swallows his instinct and takes the seat opposite Lan Zhan’s, smiling at him brightly.
“Hi, Lan Zhan,” he says, feeling a little silly about how silly he’s being. One look at Lan Zhan, and his resolve is already wavering. He’s so weak, it’s embarrassing.
Lan Zhan’s uncle called him a mongrel, and looking at Lan Zhan’s face, Wei Ying cannot help but think that he’s willing to be called a mongrel a thousand times as long as he gets to keep Lan Zhan.
“You wanted to talk,” Lan Zhan says. “Do you need something?”
Oh god, did Lan Zhan come here thinking Wei Ying called him out to ask for money?
“Ah, no!” Wei Ying stutters. “No, everything is fine. No. It’s just…”
Lan Zhan simply looks at him, evidently waiting for him to get on with it.
“I had a visit from your uncle today,” he starts hesitantly.
The effect is immediate. Lan Zhan straightens up (if someone with a s posture as straight as his can straighten up, that is) and grows rigid. It’s not a good sign for what’s to come.
“He, uh, might have made his… unfavourable position on our relationship clear?”
Lan Zhan breathes a deep sigh and looks out of the window for a moment.
Well, there it is. There is no way that Lan Zhan’s decision will be in favour of Wei Ying. He’s only a sugar baby, after all. There are thousands of those, and better ones, too. People that actually have taste and class, and will not embarrass Lan Zhan when they’re seen together in public. People that Lan Qiren might even approve of.
“My uncle’s opinions and concerns have been noted,” Lan Zhan says stiffly. “However, my uncle does not get to make decisions regarding my relationships. I have asked him not to take your grievances up with you. I will have to speak with him again.”
“Lan Zhan, I–” Wei Ying stutters, panicking a little. Did Lan Zhan have a fight with Lan Qiren over Wei Ying? “Lan Zhan, you can’t mean– He’s your–”
“Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan says gravely. “My uncle is a good man who takes his responsibilities seriously. However, that does not mean he is always right. And seeing that we are all adults, he might have the right to voice his opinion, but he does not get to make any decisions for me. He was out of place to come and speak to you. If he does it again, you are to tell me immediately.”
“Lan Zhan, I can’t be responsible for familial strife.”
This time, Lan Zhan leans forward and takes Wei Ying’s hand, cradling it in his own. It is unexpectedly soothing, to have that contact. Wei Ying fights the intense urge to abandon all manners and crawl into Lan Zhan’s lap right there and then.
How much he wishes for that comfort now. He shouldn’t but he still wants.
“You are not,” Lan Zhan replies, stroking the back of Wei Ying’s hand with his thumb. “It is my uncle’s problem if he refuses to accept my decisions, and it has nothing to do with you. He is not to trouble you again.”
Lan Zhan’s insistence loosens one knot in Wei Ying’s chest. Lan Zhan doesn’t want to break up, that much is clear. At the same time, it ties another knot of worry in his chest. He certainly doesn’t want Lan Zhan to get into a fight with his family for the sake of what, a sugar baby? That can’t be worth it no matter how you look at it. Lan Zhan might get tired of Wei Ying one day. But if he destroys his relationship with his uncle, he will destroy it forever. No no, that can’t be.
As Wei Ying is still trying to find the right words, Lan Zhan suddenly asks, “Are you free this Saturday?”
It’s a strange non-sequitur, especially from Lan Zhan.
Still, Wei Ying nods. Of course he’s free. Half of his free time has been consumed by Lan Zhan lately. The other half has been consumed by thinking about Lan Zhan.
“My brother will be back by Saturday,” Lan Zhan explains. “We shall have brunch together. He is… more supportive.”
Wei Ying stares at him for a minute. Lan Qiren has made his disapproval clear, so Lan Zhan plans to introduce Wei Ying to his brother?
He cannot help but smile the tiniest little bit. He’s sensing a rather strong rebellious tendency in Lan Zhan today. For once, their roles seem almost reversed.
He tries to imagine himself as the sugar daddy, and laughs to himself. Oh no, that would be terrible. For one, he doesn’t have any money. There is nothing he could offer that Lan Zhan would want, if their roles were reversed.
“Your brother?” he asks, gathering himself. “I’d be happy to meet him. I’m a little curious to see you two together. I want to know with whom you grew up with.”
“My brother is a very generous, kind person,” Lan Zhan says, and Wei Ying figures that is extraordinary praise.
Lan Zhan keeps holding his hand even as the coffee they order comes, and Wei Ying basks in the warmth of the café and the warmth of Lan Zhan, wanting to remain in this bubble as long as he can.
Lan Zhan wants to keep him around for at least a little longer, and Wei Ying can live a little longer without heartbreak.
He smiles at Lan Zhan.
It’s good.
He ignores the black tar that’s slowly dripping out of his heart.
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I've always thought that LWJ didn't really spend 16 years hunting to find WWX. I'm sure he kept his eyes open and looked for any sign of demonic cultivation, sure. But I also think he spent 16 years looking for danger so that he could increase his chance of dying young. Trouble is, he's too skilled to die easy. I headcanon that Lan Xichen made LWJ take the juniors with him on night hunts because he knew his brother wouldn't put /other/ people in clear danger, & he just wanted to keep LWJ alive.
ANGST!  No dialogue, noplot, just ANGST!  This is who I havealways been!
It’s not—Xichenknows that his brother isn’t likely to die on a night hunt.  It’s not thatsimple.  In a way, he’s not even worried for him.  No matter whatelse he is or may be, Xichen’s brother is still Hanguang-jun, the bearer oflight, who stormed Wen supervisory strongholds and who stood against most ofthe cultivation world and whose skill as a warrior is very arguablyunparalleled.  The only one who could match him—
Well.  Xichen doesn’t worry about his brotherbeing beaten in battle, these days.
And he doesn’t worry about Wangji allowing himselfto be killed, either, although that’s a closer way to define it.  There islittle A-Yuan, sweet-eyed Lan Sizhui, to think about, who Wangji loves with adesperate ferocity Xichen has only seen in him once before.  Sizhui is twelve and the best son any father could hope for, in Xichen’sadmittedly biased opinion, talented and kind and earnest, easy to love andquick to love in return.  Xichen loves him almost as recklessly as heloves his brother.  He can do nothing less for the only person who seemsto bring his solemn didi joy anymore.
He is utterly confident that Wangji would neverleave his son, never, not for all the peace that might be found on the otherside of a sword.
This absolute truth,this wholehearted confidence that Wangji will always return, no matter thechallenge, no matter the risk, makes it difficult to explain why Xichenworries.
The thing is, Lan Wangji, Hanguang-jun, A-Zhan, is dimmed, in away that tears at Xichen to see it.  He is less, as if he abandoned more than just color when hestopped wearing blue.  There were days, when Xichen would visit duringWangji’s seclusion—and the elders be damned, for trying to stop him, for tryingto keep A-Yuan away, he is Sect Leader and he was not having it—when he wouldhave sworn that he might have seen straight through his brother.  Wangjihas always been quiet, he was a quiet baby, but since—since, he’s been aghost of himself.  Even after three years in seclusion and nearly a decadeto heal, Xichen still barely recognizes him.  A thick shade has settledover the light in Xichen’s brother, and he is afraid that someday, whileHanguang-jun will come back from a night hunt, that faint light will not.
Xichen is supposed to be wise, he’s supposed to beZewu-jun, he’s supposed to be the calm, enlightened Sect Leader of GusuLan, buthe doesn’t know how to help his brother.  He hasn’t found a good answer inall this time.  He knows that the wound of—that the wound won’t heal becauseWangji won’t let it heal, and he doesn’t know where to go fromhere. 
He remembers when Sizhui first began to learn toplay the guqin, and brought a piece to Xichen in childlike pride.  Hislullaby, he had called it as he plucked out a careful melody, learned by heart. Without spiritual energy directed and channeled, without the complexities of anexperienced hand, it was only music, but Xichen had listened to Inquiry toomany times not to be able to translate it.
Are you there?
Are you lost?
Are you at peace?
Are you with your sister?  Your parents?  Your people?
Are you waiting?
I miss you.
It’s not—it’s not a search, not anymore, Xichendoesn’t think.  It’s been too long to expect an answer, and Wangji hasnever been a fool.  But Wangji can do nothing else.  There’s nowherefor him to bow, there was no vigil to keep, there will never be anyone whoburns paper money or grieves with him.  So Wangji plays Inquiry, over andover again, to a spirit that doesn’t answer, and someday Sizhui will learnInquiry himself, and know that his lullaby was always a eulogy spoken insecret.
Once, Xichen tried to make his brother stop. Tried to make him leave off his long, slow grief, to shakehim out of his ghost-self and back to life and light.  He hadn’t been ableto think of anything except to take Wangji’s guqin, an attempt to force him tostop, stop, playing that damned unanswered query.  Andit had worked, in a way.  The cold, blinding flare of rage, when Wangjiswept uninvited into Xichen’s rooms and demanded flatly that his instrument bereturned, please, Sect Leader Lan—it had been good to see.  Proof that,even if the embers were banked and dull-glowing, there was still a fire to bewoken in Xichen’s brother.  But the days of bitter silence, afterward,wasn’t worth the short-lived victory.
Sizhui had sided with his father, of course, even ifhe didn’t then understand what the point of contention was.  He had given Xichen affronted looks andorbited closer to Wangji than usual for weeks.  Sizhui had always knownthat there was a wound somewhere in his adopted father, in that sharpperceptive way that’s entirely too unlike Wangji, entirely too himself to beanything but a relic of before Cloud Recesses, the time that he doesn’tremember and Wangji won’t discuss.
Xichen has his theories.  But Lan Sizhui is thepride of GusuLan Sect, the brightest light in his father’s life, and Xichen isgrateful that someone else loves his brother enough to be angry on hisbehalf.  Xichen’s theories have been buried in a shallow grave for manyyears.
And Wangji is only himself, in any way thatXichen can recognize, with Sizhui.  It’sbeen like that ever since he first brought the boy back, when A-Yuan, feverishand delirious and calling for people none of them knew, crept into hissickbed.  Wangji had been barely responsive,had allowed the physicians to tend his scourged back and had stared at the wall,not sleeping, not meditating, not speaking, just waiting.  When Xichen got word that his brother hadspoken, to call the weeping A-Yuan over and tell him, quietly, that the man hecalled for was not going to come back, he’d felt a rush of relief like hislungs trying to jump out of his mouth. But he hadn’t spoken to Xichen, not that day, nor for several more, onlyholding A-Yuan close while the boy slept.
Xichen hadn’t gotten a word out of his brother foreight days after he was whipped, and then, when he finally did, it was only toclaim A-Yuan as his son in a tone that broke Xichen’s heart.  He had forced the elders to accept the child withoutarguing or demanding details from Wangji, had simply put him in the sectrecords as Lan Yuan and stared down anyone who questioned his actions.  Xichen would have done anything Wangji askedof him, in that moment, anything to keep him talking, anything to keep A-Yuan nearhim.  Wangji had been nearly a corpsehimself, in those early days, lightless even in the presence of A-Yuan’s tinysun, but he had moved and spoken and lived when A-Yuan was near.  The effect should have grown less pronouncedas Wangji returned to himself, but instead it has only made the difference moreapparent.  
Maybe that’s what he’s worried about, when Wangjileaves on night hunts.  Some part ofXichen never got over the fear of it, of seeing his solemnly brilliant diditransformed into a shell, silent and detached, the heart of him carved out.  Some part of him is terrified still, thatbeing away from Sizhui for too long will let Wangji slip back into thatnumbness, that corpse-cold stillness, so different from his familiar reserve.
Hanguang-jun would never die on a night hunt, notthrough anything but dire misfortune.  Heis still the best of the Lan, their bearer of light.  But Xichen is secretly, desperately afraidthat, someday, one of the reports they receive of resentful spirits and demoniccultivation will be true, and he will not get his brother back.
Wangji never allows anyone else to investigate thosereports, the ones that claim in half-hysterics to be the Yiling Patriarchreborn, or trapped as a spirit, or the dramatics of the day.  He always comes back with flat unfeelingreports of frightened villagers and exaggerations and resentful spirits easilydispatched.  And when Xichen gets down tothe bone of it, the living core of his fear for his brother, Xichen is horriblysure that someday, someday, Wangji will come back from one of those nighthunts and say nothing at all and shimmer out of existence at last, a heatmirage under a cold wind.
It isn’t suitable for Zewu-jun, Sect Leader Lan, tohate someone.  Xichen thinks about itsometimes during meditation, about how foreign it feels, this hard hot chip ofloathing, and worries at it like a loose tooth, tries to pry it out of place tobe discarded.  He can’t manage it.
He hates Wei Wuxian, for what his death has doneto Xichen’s brother.  
For standing up when everyone else knelt down, eventhough it cost him everything, life and family and sanity all gone in a merehandful of months.
For what finding his resentful spirit would do tothe last light in Hanguang-jun.
So.  He just—hehas to find a way to keep Wangji from following these leads.  It isn’t healthy for Wangji, and none of themever have any sign of the man himself anyway, dead or otherwise.  Xichen has to find an excuse to send othercultivators after fantasies of the Yiling Patriarch, and that means findingsomething to keep Wangji busy.
Wangji is only himself around Sizhui—a quieter,sadder self, to be sure, but the honest adoring boy that Xichen half-raisednonetheless.  Sizhui, while a prodigy, istoo young for night hunting.
The junior disciples are promising and bright, andWangji needs a—a check, for lack of a better word.  Something that will force him to speak, tointeract, to think of safety and security rather than only results.
He will not appreciate what Xichen is going to do,but someday, Sizhui will be on night hunts too.  This is—this is practice.  Maybe then Wangji will brighten again, traveling with the son headores.  Maybe then Xichen will be ableto sleep while his brother is gone.
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Saturdate with Lan Zhan Pt 3
So for added dramatic flair, once we got out I draped myself over a hay bale and cried that I thought we were going to die but you saaaved us Lan Zhaaaan you saved us! You’re a hero!! 
Did people stare? Yes. But I like to think they were amused and charmed. 
Hah.
Lan Zhan smiled again and offered me a hand to help me up again. 
I asked him how he was so good at getting out. Surely he must have done a corn maze before and he’d been leading me on this whole time!
Instead of answering he picked something out of my hair. Straw? A leaf? Doesn’t matter. 
My heart exploded again so I just did the only thing I could do in such a situation.
I swooned dramatically again, though this time I swooned into his arms. (I swear this man could probably bench a truck if asked).
He caught me
Because he’s wonderful 
But then
He
Kissed
My 
Fucking 
Cheek 
Again!
FUCK
 I mean I know I started it but FUCK 
I have opened a door that will probably just give me more heartache in the end. But at the time I really just… didn’t care. All I cared about was being so close to him. 
Eventually my brain started functioning again and I managed to gather enough willpower to stand up straight again. 
Cleared my throat and asked him what he wanted to do next. 
“Eat” he says
In that smooth as velvet voice of his. That I could honestly listen to forever. He could read the dictionary to me and I’d be happy. 
Shame he’s so efficient with his words though. I’ll take what I can get. Every word is a gem. 
And I wasn’t gonna complain that that was his choice either because i was starving at that point, but didn’t want to admit I’d skipped breakfast. 
I don’t know why. Just didn’t want him to know. 
Anyway we went to the little area with a bunch of food trucks and told him to get however much of whatever he wanted. I’d been saving up for this ever since I decided I wanted to take him out (it’s much easier when you work for a job that actually fucking PAYS you but I digress.)
He stared at the menus for a while and pretty much got a bit of everything except the real basic stuff like Pizza and burgers. 
He said he was trying everything that was new to him. (MY HEART)
And apparently that includes corn on the cob?????? How can you never have eaten corn on the cobb??????????
Well… on second thought. Having seen him, his brother, and his uncle… I think it is kinda hard to picture them all just sitting at the table and gnawing at a corn cob like some sort of animal with a bone. 
Anyway I felt like a little goblin hoarding all this food. We skittered over to the picnic tables and laid out our feast. I cackled like the goblin I was and I got another smile from Lan Zhan. 
<3
We split everything but I made sure Lan Zhan got the first bite of it all before I did. That way he could have more of what he liked and I could polish off what he didn’t like!
Turns out he has a sweet tooth! He went to TOWN on those mini donuts!  
I was so excited to see him trying all this stuff and asking what he thought
Do you like this? What did you think about that one?
Should we get more of that later?
That I forgot that I was dying of hunger like a poor family on the Oregon Trail. 
Until he shoved a corndog in my mouth and told me to eat. 
Oh Lan Zhan what would I do without you~? <3
(Seriously though. My life would be so much worse without you in it. Thank you, Lan Zhan, for taking such good care ofme. I don’t deserve it but you do it anyway. I hope I was able to give back even a fraction of that care.)
We worked our way through our feast fit for kings and I found I was very glad we hadn’t eaten BEFORE the maze or Lan Zhan would have had to roll me. 
I told Lan Zhan as much and that smooth fucker said he would have just carried me!
“Noooo I’m so fat now with this little food baby I’d break your back!” I protested like an eloquent prince. I started rubbing said food baby while resisting the VERY strong urge to undo the button on my jeans which were a biiiit tooo snug now. 
And of course because I can NEVER WIN AGAINST THIS MAN 
He replied “I’ll carry you both” like the smooth fucker he is.
“What a diligent father!” tease in a feeble attempt to save some face. 
And he just
SMILES at me again. Like a real noticeable to the general public smile!
And my heart just STOPS.
I yelled at him to WARN me before he smiles like that. My poor heart. 
He just smiled AGAIN while promising to try. 
THAT FUCKER
I bumped him with my shoulder because honestly what else was there to say? He is the ONLY person in the WORLD who can leave me speechless. And he takes advantage of that WAY too often! It’s not fair!
TBC
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lanwangjihouse · 1 year
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rosethornewrites · 4 years
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Fic: the thread may stretch or tangle but it will never break, ch. 9
Relationships: Lán Zhàn | Lán Wàngjī & Wèi Yīng | Wèi Wúxiàn, Lán Zhàn | Lán Wàngjī & Wēn Qíng, Lán Zhàn | Lán Wàngjī/Wèi Yīng | Wèi Wúxiàn
Characters: Lán Zhàn | Lán Wàngjī, Wèi Yīng | Wèi Wúxiàn, Wēn Qíng, Wēn Níng | Wēn Qiónglín, Granny Wēn, Lán Yuàn | Lán Sīzhuī, Wēn Remnants, Wen Meilin (OC), Fourth Uncle, Lán Huàn | Lán Xīchén
Additional Tags: Pre-Slash, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Secrets, Crying, Masks, Soulmates, Truth, Self-Esteem Issues, Regret, It was supposed to be a one-shot, Fix-It, Eventual Relationships, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, wwx needs a hug, Nightmares, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Filial Piety, Handfasting, Phobias, Sleeping Together, Fear, Panic Attacks, Love Confessions, Getting Together, First Kiss, Kissing, Boys Kissing, Family, and they were married, Bathing/Washing, Hair Braiding, Hair Brushing, Feels, Sex Education, Implied Sexual Content, First Time, Aftercare, Morning After, Afterglow, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism
Summary: Lan WangJi settles into Burial Mounds and married life. Zewu-Jun visits.
Notes: See end
AO3 link
Chapters:  1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8
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The next several days are a sort of bliss to Lan WangJi. While his days had always been full, his work in Burial Mounds involves planting, cultivating the land instead of his golden core. His nights, similarly, are full, as he and Wei Ying explore each other, their unions going beyond his wildest imaginings. Having his zhiji, his husband, in his arms each night, loving him as he deserves, is everything he has dreamed of.
The uncles and aunties insist that their marital bed will be the first constructed, despite their protests that popo is more in need. Popo herself scoffs at the suggestion, and Wen Qing tells them to accept it.
The first day, he discovers that one of Wei Ying’s primary jobs, beyond maintaining the wards that keep the community safe, is working to purify more land of resentful energy to make it workable. This job must be done before the plants and seeds purchased in town can be sown. Lan WangJi is able to make this work easier by playing cleansing music as Wei Ying leeches resentment from the soil, dissipating it.
Unfortunately, large-scale manipulation of resentful energy in such a direct manner also leeches his husband’s energy, requiring that he retire after a few hours for a nap between sessions. 
The land takes a day and a half to cleanse, and Wen Qing tells him later it would have taken Wei Ying alone over a week, and require much more recovery time. 
Lan WangJi is glad his presence is already helping his zhiji, and takes it upon himself to play ‘Cleansing’ for him and ensure he eats and sleeps enough. 
Neither of them let it interfere with their every day, though Wei Ying falls so deeply asleep immediately after he doesn’t stir when Lan WangJi cleans him up.
He learns that in addition to helping with the farming, Wen Ning often explores and looks for useful plants in the area around Burial Mounds, as he does not require sleep. He has to be careful, as rogue cultivators or civilians might mistake him for a regular fierce corpse and attack, but his outings result in the gathering of beneficial supplies. 
He always brings back useful herbs for cooking and use by Wen Qing in medicines. The second day, he brings back a small muntjac, which he found with its leg already broken and gave a merciful death before bringing it back for the uncles to butcher. While small, there is ample meat, and one of the uncles is given the task of curing and drying it to store as food for the winter. The hide is set aside to be sold at market.
Wen Ning also discovers a copse of privet that has ripe berries. The berries are not edible, but Meilin-yi and the other aunties are excited, telling Lan WangJi they can be used as a dye to create a lovely blue fabric with the right mordant. If one infuses the dye with urine, Meilin-yi tells him, fabric will turn out purple. 
After he returns with a large basket of privet berries, Wen Ning is immediately sent back out by Wen Qing to gather the leaves and bark for use in medicine. 
Lan WangJi finds it interesting how such simple events can energize the community, but they have gone through such hardship that perhaps they have learned to take joy in the simple. 
The aunties decide he should help with dying the cloth for his robes, as they are working on bedding. They provide him with instructions and he spends an afternoon with Wen Ning and Wei Ying in the kitchen area simmering and straining the privet berries and adding other necessary ingredients to create a blue dye. 
In a different pot, they use the gathered bamboo leaves to create a different dye batch. Though they gathered quite a bit on their way back from town, Wen Ning insists they don’t have enough and asks Lan WangJi to gather more leaves with Wei Ying.
The task is simple enough, and they take a basket to fill.
“I’m not sure we’re really even needed to help make the dye,” Wei Ying says as they strip leaves from a stand of bamboo a couple kilometers outside Burial Mounds. “Wen Ning seems to know what he’s doing.”
“Acquiring new knowledge is never a waste,” he replies. “The process is interesting.”
“True, but the kitchen is sweltering.”
Wei Ying, he knows, is still recovering from purifying the land and has not recovered the stamina he’s lost through malnutrition. He’s simply less likely to admit to being tired. Lan WangJi nods, and gestures to the stream running beside the bamboo stand.
“I can harvest the leaves if you would like to cool off.”
The bright smile he receives is gift enough from his zhiji for the consideration. 
“Maybe the stream has fish,” Wei Ying comments as he strips off his outer robe, leaving him in one of Lan WangJi’s soft white inner robes. “If so, I can catch something for supper.”
The stream does, indeed, have fish, and once Lan WangJi fills the basket with bamboo leaves, he is able to enjoy watching as his husband nimbly captures them with his bare hands and tosses them ashore. Watching him is pure pleasure, Wei Ying in his element in the water. 
Wei Ying catches enough for nearly each person at Burial Mounds to have one, though Lan WangJi is certain Wen Ning will incorporate the meat into a dish rather than hand them out grilled. With the basket full, he simply uses his outer robe as a sack to carry them. He lets the inner robes dry on him as they make their way back.
A figure in white is standing outside the entrance to Burial Mounds as they approach, and Wei Ying freezes.
“Of course, I’m half naked in your inner robes when he gets here,” he mutters. “So much for good impressions.”
Lan WangJi resists the urge to point out he is also wearing his forehead ribbon in his braid, knowing that will only add to his nervousness. Instead he tucks his sword in his belt in favor of taking Wei Ying’s hand in his own and squeezing it gently.
“Wei Ying is impressive no matter what he wears.”
That earns him a rueful look.
“You’re just saying that because you prefer I wear nothing at all.”
Lan WangJi simply hums his agreement, tugging Wei Ying forward.
When they approach, Wei Ying drops his hand to bow politely. WangJi follows suit and is relieved when his brother bows at them in return.
“Apologies for the, er, informal welcome, Zewu-Jun,” Wei Ying says respectfully.
“I did not send word I would be arriving today, so the… informality is understandable. I only just arrived.”
There is a smile playing at XiChen’s lips, and he seems amused by Wei Ying’s state of undress. Lan WangJi is relieved shufu didn’t insist on accompanying him; he would not have taken it as lightly, would have instead used it as an excuse to be offended. Perhaps he shouldn’t think so poorly of his uncle, but he has long tired of his grudge against Wei Ying.
“Xiongzhang, thank you for coming.”
“If the situation is not as it was represented, as you say, I have a duty to investigate.”
Lan WangJi nods, and Wei Ying gives another short bow in thanks.
“Your presence is appreciated. I just need to recalibrate the wards to allow your entrance.”
Wei Ying approaches the ward and sets his makeshift sack of fish down to free his hands to work. Lan WangJi hears his brother’s soft inhale and realizes he had likely seen that his forehead ribbon is woven in Wei Ying’s braid, where it has been since the day he confessed. 
The look XiChen gives him is complicated but tinged with hurt.
“We will explain, xiongzhang,” he says softly.
Wei Ying glances back at him, expression concerned. Lan WangJi glances up as though looking at his own forehead and realization flits across his face, before disappearing under an attempt at a welcoming smile.
“Lan Zhan and I need to drop these off in the kitchen first, so if you’ll just follow us. Today is dye day, and we ran out of bamboo leaves for the green dye.”
XiChen is suitably distracted by the idea of making dye, blinking at Wei Ying.
“You and WangJi are assisting in this?”
“Well, ‘assisting’ might be a bit strong a word, since neither of us have ever made dye or dyed fabric before,” Wei Ying chirped. “But we’re learning, at least. The aunties insisted we participate.”
XiChen glances at WangJi and mouths, “Aunties?” Lan WangJi just nods in response; his brother will see soon enough.
Wei Ying fills the air with chatter about making the privet dye for the rest of the walk, until a-Yuan runs down the path toward them.
“Xian-gege!”
Popo is lagging behind. Lan WangJi isn’t surprised when XiChen freezes at the sight of a toddler and elderly woman in the Burial Mounds.
“Ah, a-Yuan, we have a guest!” Wei Ying scolds, picking the boy up to settle against his hip. “You should always check because sometimes our guests might be dangerous.”
The child frowns, peering at XiChen.
“Are you dangerous?” he asks.
XiChen’s mouth opens then closes soundlessly before he shakes his head.
“See! He’s not!”
“Sometimes people don’t tell the truth, a-Yuan. So always check with me first, okay?”
A-Yuan nods.
“I apologize, young master Wei. He’s so fast now.”
Popo is panting, obviously exhausted. Lan WangJi steps forward, putting his free arm under hers to support her a bit, as she looks like she might fall over.
“We will watch him for a bit, and you can rest, popo,” he tells. “I am certain my brother will not object.”
XiChen shakes his head, still speechless, but he offers a gentle smile to popo that the woman returns. 
The rest of the walk up the path is filled with a-Yuan talking about planting squash seeds and how the kitchen smells weird.
Wen Qing sees them as they leave the tree line and immediately approaches to offer a deep bow to XiChen.
“It is a pleasure to see you again, Zewu-Jun. Welcome to our humble home.”
XiChen returns her bow, and Lan WangJi watches as he glances around the open space that serves as a sort of courtyard.
An uncle is weeding the radishes nearby. One of the aunties is cutting cloth on the porch of the building. Both are clearly not cultivators. 
“Maiden Wen,” he finally says. “I wish of course we were meeting again under different circumstances. But I am starting to see WangJi was correct, that your situation has been… misrepresented.”
Wen Qing’s mouth twitches minutely, but she only bows again.
“Let’s get these things to the kitchen, and we can put on a pot of tea,” Wei Ying says, diffusing the tension.
Lan WangJi passes popo off to Wen Qing as they pass. She frowns at him, but he recognizes she’s simply worried about the entire situation.
He belatedly realizes that this is going to be the first his brother has seen of Wen Ning since his death, and he braces himself for it. He trusts Wei Ying to handle it as well as possible.
The kitchen has gained two new large vats, and Wen Ning is also working on making lunch with other pots and pans.
“We’re making more dyes?” Wei Ying asked, peering in the nearest vat.
“Dock root for dark gray to black, and we split the privet berry dye to make one a purple. They’re for your robes, young master Wei,” Wen Ning replies without turning, busy chopping leafy greens. 
Wei Ying frowns, glancing at Lan WangJi. He looks distinctly uncomfortable. At first, he wonders if he had been told how the dye was altered to become purple, but he quickly learns his zhiji has a different concern.
“I don’t think I’m supposed to wear purple anymore. I defected from the Jiang sect.”
“It’s not the same hue, I don’t think,” Wen Ning says.
“Ah. I guess we’ll see, then. I caught some fish if you think that would work for lunch or dinner.”
“The dock leaves I’m working on now will be good for lunch and dinner, and I think they’ll go well with fish.”
When he turns to take the robe-sack full of fish from Wei Ying, it instead falls to the floor as he hastens to bow.
“I apologize, Z-Zewu-Jun. I d-didn’t know you had arrived.”
XiChen returns the bow automatically, unable to take his eyes off Wen Ning. The timid Wen looks flustered, his face smeared with coal.
“Coal-gege!” A-Yuan shouts, giggling. 
That breaks the tension. Wen Ning smiles as widely as he’s able to now at the boy’s laughter and wipes ineffectively at his face.
“I apologize for my rudeness in staring,” XiChen says softly. “I had heard of young master Wei’s achievement but… I am glad you are yourself, young master Wen.”
Wen Ning seems beyond words, so Lan WangJi hands him the basket of bamboo leaves, giving him both time and an object to distract him from the situation.
“Thank you, Zewu-J-Jun,” the fierce corpse finally manages. “I am happy to b-be with my family.”
Wei Ying breaks in, picking up the sack of fish for him and patting his shoulder.
“Wen Ning, would you mind brewing some tea and bringing it to the Demon-Slaughtering Cave? Zewu-Jun has some things to discuss with Lan Zhan and me.”
Wen Ning nods, and looks relieved when they leave him to it. 
When they enter the cave, they find that it’s been somewhat transformed. One of the larger alcoves is sectioned off, old blankets transformed into curtains for privacy. The blankets are parted now, and jifu is arranging the bedding. A-Yuan squirms to get down from Wei Ying’s hip and runs to give the older man a hug.
Lan WangJi realizes this was why they had been sent on the errand to gather bamboo leaves; to give the aunties and uncles time to set up their marriage bed as a surprise. 
Jifu grins when he sees them, then sobers to see XiChen, offering a bow.
“You must be Sect Leader Lan,” he says. “This one is jifu.”
XiChen returns the bow, glancing at Lan WangJi as though for clarification.
“Jifu?” he asks, when he receives none. “Master Wen, you would just like me to address you as jifu?”
Jifu rubs the back of his head, looking uncertain.
“Ah, well, we… Those of us here, we were of the Dafan Wen, not the Qishan Wen, just a branch family focused on healing. Ultimately that didn’t mean much, after the war. All Wens were Wen-dogs. We’d just rather not be Wens at all. And my parents named me Wen, as in ‘literate,’ so...”
Lan WangJi has never heard jifu’s name before, Wēn Wén, 温文. Different characters, different inflections, together meaning ‘genteel.’ To be sure, it is a strange naming decision on the part of his parents, perhaps an inside family joke. But the man has been frightened away from both his surname and birth name, those connections with his ancestors. He isn’t a cultivator, so he doesn’t have a family-chosen courtesy name to fall back on, either.
XiChen frowns at the idea of giving up one’s name.
“What surname will you take on, then?”
Jifu glances toward Wei Ying, and Lan WangJi has an uneasy feeling he knows what the Wens have been considering. He isn’t certain how his husband will react when they ask. He’s relieved when jifu deflects and it can be put off until later—the coming conversation will be stressful enough for Wei Ying. 
“Ah, we’re still discussing it. It doesn’t really matter, living on Burial Mounds as we do.”
“If your birth name makes you uncomfortable, jifu, we could start calling you jiǔ-jiù (酒舅),” Wei Ying jokes.
‘Uncle Liquor.’ It’s a terrible joke, but one that makes jifu laugh. XiChen looks confused, so he takes pity on him and whispers, “Jifu brews fruit wine.” He is amused to see his brother’s lips contort as he tries not to laugh.
“I might take you up on that,” jifu says. “Ah, would the sect leader like to try my wine?”
XiChen politely declines. Wei Ying reminds him that Lans don’t drink, and the older man bows politely again to take his leave.
With jifu gone, a-Yuan gravitates to XiChen and latches onto his leg, looking up at him like he had Lan WangJi in the market in Yiling, as though waiting for a reaction. His brother smiles down at the boy, and the child smiles back. Clearly XiChen has passed a test, where WangJi had failed it.
Wei Ying scoops the boy up.
“Come on, little radish. No clinging to legs right now. Do you want my lap or Lan Zhan’s?”
“Xian-gege’s,” a-Yuan says after a moment of thought. “Who’s the pretty gege?”
“My older brother,” Lan WangJi volunteers.
A-Yuan looks at him with big eyes, looking amazed by this information.
“You have an older brother like how Xian-gege has an older sister? Like I had an older sister?”
Lan WangJi nods, frowning slightly and glancing at Wei Ying. He’s never heard before now that a-Yuan had a sister.
“Had?” XiChen asks.
Wen Ning enters the cave, carrying a tray with a teapot and cups, along with Wen Qing.
“She died in the labor camp,” Wen Qing says. “As did every child except a-Yuan.”
XiChen goes pale, his eyes closing as he works to take in and process that information, to understand just how much the Jins misled the other sects on the fate of the Wen civilians. Lan WangJi himself feels ill at the idea that children had been killed, and he had seen it happen himself, had played ‘Rest’ for murdered civilians with Wei Ying.
Wen Qing gives Wei Ying a disdainful look, pulling a-Yuan from his arms. The boy watches them quietly, as though he senses the tension.
“Are you still prancing around in Hanguang-Jun’s inner robes like some sort of nudist? We have a guest. Go put on some clean outer robes, you shameless idiot.”
Wei Ying wisely obeys. By the time he returns, Wen Ning has carefully placed the cups and teapot on the table. Lan WangJi reaches for the teapot, only for his zhiji to beat him to it.
“I’ll pour the tea,” he says with a little smile.
Lan WangJi feels his ears heat, realizing Wei Ying’s intention has to do with marriage ceremonies. Theirs has obviously happened out of order, but the intent is the same.
“We will leave you to your conversation,” Wen Qing says. “I apologize for my brusque manner before.”
“You grieve those lost,” XiChen says before she can leave. “You need not apologize for your grief at the death of innocents.”
Wen Qing nods, then bows as best she can with a-Yuan on her hip, Wen Ning bowing beside her.
Once they leave, Wei Ying pours the tea solemnly, then takes a seat. He glances at Lan WangJi, as though uncertain how to begin, and he takes pity on his zhiji.
“Xiongzhang, I handfasted Wei Ying in the Cold Spring cave when we encountered Lan Yi. We bowed before her while bound by my forehead ribbon. I could not tell you of it until I told him.”
XiChen’s mouth hangs open for a moment, the closest Lan WangJi has ever seen him to outright gaping.
“He told me a few days ago,” Wei Ying picks up, “and I told him that it could be annulled, if he wanted that.”
“I did not. Wei Ying tried to convince me it would be in my best interest, but none of his reasoning included a lack of desire for the union.”
“Trust you to notice a small detail like that,” Wei Ying murmurs, blushing.
“Not small,” he says and takes Wei Ying’s hand in his.
XiChen picks up his cup of tea and sips from it, then smiles at them.
“I do not contest your marriage, though I am sorry there was no ceremony to attend. I cannot guarantee shufu will be of the same mind, but ultimately I am sect leader. Hopefully he will not find the need to come yell at you personally.”
Lan WangJi realizes his brother’s action was a formal sort of finalizing of the marriage, with Wei Ying without a family to whom to serve tea. He tries not to be concerned over the possibility of shufu coming to visit; he would be a terrible guest. No one is likely to be willing to deliver mail to Burial Mounds, so that would be the only way he would get to express his opinion on the matter to either Lan WangJi or Wei Ying.
“If you could keep it quiet until after my shijie marries, I would appreciate it, Zewu-Jun,” Wei Ying says softly. “Her day should be about her.”
XiChen immediately agrees, and Wei Ying sighs in relief, holding up his own teacup as a sort of toast before drinking. Lan WangJi does the same, and is glad to find the tea has a lovely flavor that is in line with his brother’s preferences.
“Thank you,” Wei Ying says. “I already ruined her engagement once, and I’d rather not ruin the wedding, too.”
Lan WangJi frowns at that, and is glad to see his brother frown as well.
“Young master Wei… Ah, if I am your brother-in-law, that sounds a bit odd. May I call you WuXian?”
Wei Ying nods, and XiChen takes another sip of tea before continuing.
“WuXian, young master Jin ruined the engagement by speaking poorly of your sister. As you have no doubt noticed, the cultivation world in general and some particular cultivators in specific tend to gossip. Punching him as you did only hastened the inevitable.”
“Oh,” is all Wei Ying can manage. He sets down his teacup, tracing the lip with a finger.
Lan WangJi recognizes it as a nervous habit, the need to do something with his hands. He knows Wei Ying is well aware of how the cultivation world gossiped, the rumors regarding his parentage overshadowing his childhood as they did, and now the vicious slander that paints him as a demon.
“Furthermore, I have little doubt your siblings would be happy to hear the news. Please tell me you have at least sent notice?”
Wei Ying winces and shakes his head.
“Anything I send would garner too much attention and, as you say, gossip. I broke from the Jiang sect pretty publicly.”
Xichen hums thoughtfully.
“Any missive sent by you, or perhaps from Yiling to Jiang WanYin at all, could be interpreted as a connection, fueling rumors.”
Wei Ying just nods; he just looks tired, and Lan WangJi knows the emotional turmoil that exhausts him, and how much he hates sect politics.
“Missives between sect leaders don’t garner suspicion. I can send him a message to come in secret to meet with the two of you, of course,” Xichen offers. 
“I would appreciate that, Zewu-Jun.”
“XiChen. You are family now.”
Wei Ying manages a smile, but it’s wan. He glances again at Lan WangJi, and he realizes the significance immediately.
“There’s something else you should know, then, if you’re family,” he says softly. “But I have to ask you to tell no one. Not even your sworn brothers.”
XiChen’s brow furrows, and he glances at Lan WangJi.
“Please,” he says, adding to his husband’s request without hesitation; he knows Wei Ying’s decision to tell XiChen is not easy, and he isn’t asking much in return. “It is known by few.”
“Then I promise I will share it with no one, as requested.”
Wei Ying holds out his wrist silently, offering XiChen his pulse-point, through which diagnoses of qi issues are often made. His brother glances at him one last time, his expression shifting slightly as though he fears he already knows what he will find, then reaches forward.
XiChen’s lips purse and his eyes shut as apparently his concern is confirmed. Lan WangJi wonders how long he has suspected but said nothing.
“The rumors. That you were captured by Wen Chao, thrown… here.”
“True,” Wei Ying says. “I can no longer wield Suibian.”
Lan WangJi realizes Wei Ying does not intend to share the circumstances of its loss, and he rubs his thumb against the side of his hand, to give comfort and remind him the decision is his alone. XiChen has likely assumed Wen ZhuLiu melted Wei Ying’s core, as he would have been where Wen Chao was.
“I’m pretty sure they were just going to beat me to death until I told Wen Chao if he killed me, I’d haunt him. I never had the soul settling ceremony, you see. He figured if I died here, I’d be trapped by the wards the Wens put up to seal this place. They pushed me in from their swords, right into the center.”
His voice has gone a bit hoarse, and Lan WangJi passes him his cup of tea, now cold. Wei Ying drinks it anyway. He steels himself; these are things he has not yet heard, and his husband has chosen now to share them.
“Burial Mounds at that time was not what you see now,” he says, his tone turning a little academic. “It was not night yet, but the resentful energy was so thick it was hard to see further than a meter ahead. As you can imagine, it got worse after nightfall. It was like being in the center of a storm focused on the only living thing around.”
He can see horror on XiChen’s face, knows his brother is aware that even high-ranking cultivators would not dare go into Burial Mounds, but Wei Ying had been dumped in with no power.
“To escape, I had to learn to harness resentful energy. Getting out took three months, and I’d rather not talk about that time. Probably it would have been more honorable to let the resentful energy destroy me, to die here.”
“Wei Ying, no,” he whispers, his voice breaking.
Lan WangJi had searched all those three months for Wei Ying, devastated at the idea that he could be gone. Learning the rumor of his fate had been like a physical blow. He understands abruptly that Wei Ying had pushed him away afterward because he didn’t want him to have to choose between him and the Lan principles, or maybe because he didn’t want to know which was more important to him.
He lets go of propriety and pulls his husband close. Wei Ying leans into the contact. For a moment, he lets his focus narrow only to his husband, the soft hitches in his breath that betray the emotion he is hiding, the slight tremble in his frame, but also the fact that he is letting Lan WangJi lend him strength. 
Wei Ying is no longer alone, and he breathes as much softly into his hair.
“I spoke of rules to you once in Yunmeng and made them seem absolute, but are exceptions to all rules, WuXian,” XiChen says eventually, after giving them time. “Had you not joined the war effort, I am ashamed to say we would likely have lost. Even had we won, it would certainly have been at the cost of many more lives.”
He pauses, pouring himself a new cup of tea and taking a sip before continuing.
“You were single-handedly responsible for clearing out the Yiling Indoctrination Bureau, and you did so without a golden core. You could no longer walk the sword path, but you still sought to aid the Sunshot Campaign anyway, at great cost to yourself.”
His zhiji looks uncomfortable at XiChen’s acknowledgment of his efforts and sacrifices during the Sunshot campaign. 
“I just changed a few talismans, summoned a few spirits,” he murmurs. “I couldn’t do any real fighting.”
“You saved lives through your actions and ingenuity, regardless,” XiChen insists. “And you were nearly killed at Nightless City.”
“Wei Ying has received only judgment and abuse, no gratitude for his contribution, xiongzhang,” Lan WangJi says softly. “I failed him as well.”
“You didn’t,” Wei Ying protests. “I didn’t really let you help, and it’s not like I was acting stable. I didn’t tell you. I didn’t tell anyone.”
“You shouldn’t have had to,” Lan WangJi argues.
XiChen clears his throat, which is likely a good thing as they are merely rehashing an argument they’ve already had.
“WuXian, what you endured was traumatizing, and we failed to consider your behavior could be attributed to anything other than resentful energy. The war left many cultivators suffering, even if they were not physically injured. The loss of a golden core alone would be enough to destroy many cultivators.”
Wei Ying flinches, and Lan WangJi knows he is thinking of Jiang Cheng, how it had destroyed him. In some ways, his husband is less traumatized by the loss of his own because he chose to lose it, and it still exists within his brother. But XiChen is right to point out Wei Ying’s trauma, something he knows his zhiji prefers not to acknowledge.
“WangJi wished to help you after the war ended and was prohibited from leaving Cloud Recesses, was prevented from researching ways to help you, and while I could have overruled those decisions, I did not. He hoped to bring you to Gusu for healing.”
“I thought he wanted to punish me,” Wei Ying murmurs, “for walking the crooked path.”
“I did not communicate my intentions clearly enough,” Lan WangJi acknowledges. 
“What I mean is you were failed by many people, myself included,” XiChen clarifies. “When we met in Yunmeng, I assumed you wished to practice demonic cultivation and simply refused to return to the sword path; I did not even consider that you could not, and my suggestion was unnecessarily hurtful. I implied it was a condition to coming to Gusu.”
Wei Ying’s face reddened slightly. Lan WangJi remembers discussing his disposition with XiChen after that meeting, how it had only worried him more, his zhiji’s brazen disregard of all warnings.
“I was very rude to you, and I deliberately let you think that. I let everyone think that. It’s not that I don’t know the effect the resentful energy and Stygian Tiger Amulet are having… Honestly, I spent most of my time drunk back then anyway. I really wasn’t any help rebuilding the sect.”
XiChen closes his eyes, something he has always done when he has too much emotion to process. Lan WangJi empathizes, and knows far more than his brother about this situation. Knowing now that Wei Ying used alcohol as a way of coping, knowing his pain… He will make up for his assumptions, his failures, will take care of his husband. He wonders if XiChen is considering his own path of penance, having now recognized Wei Ying as family.
“Does Sect Leader Jiang know?” XiChen asks.
Wei Ying shakes his head, biting his lip.
“I know I need to tell him. I just… I didn’t even tell Lan Zhan. He figured it out.”
XiChen looks between them, a strange understanding on his face. Lan WangJi knows his brother has realized the discovery led him to stay, that he would have stayed regardless of whether Wei Ying returned his feelings.
“Then I am honored to be the first person you have revealed this to, and I will honor your trust,” XiChen says earnestly. “Given what I have seen of the people here thus far, the situation has indeed been misrepresented. I would like to learn more about the people you rescued from the labor camp, but it is clear you are not building some sort of army here.”
Wei Ying actually laughs, and Lan WangJi is glad for the shift in discussion, for XiChen’s kindness in not asking more questions.
“An army? We’re farmers, barely at subsistence level. I think maybe one or two people can cultivate, but very low-level cultivators aside from Wen Qing. Otherwise Wen RuoHan would have forced them to serve in his damnable army or turned them into puppets.”
Wen Qing’s voice breaks in from the mouth of the cave.
“He did do that, remember? You, your brother, Hanguang-Jun, and Nie HuaiSang helped free them. You killed Wen RuoHan’s owl to break his hold on them.”
Lan WangJi realizes abruptly that he never had the chance to report that incident to GusuLan before Cloud Recesses burned and he was dragged to Indoctrination. Afterward, with war on the horizon and Wei Ying missing, the event had been lost in the shuffle. He is embarrassed at his own complicity in not making clear the Dafan Wens were innocents, held hostage against Wen Qing to force her cooperation.
Truly, he owes penance to more than just Wei Ying.
Wen Qing enters and bows to XiChen.
“A-Ning is about to serve lunch, and the others would be happy to speak with you if you indeed wish to learn more. We have a communal area where we eat. I know Lans prefer not to speak while eating, but you can observe that rule during the meal and speak after.”
She smiles, and Lan WangJi is struck by how much smiling changes her, makes her look less severe.
“Our fare is simple, but I remember meals in Cloud Recesses, so I’m certain it is to your liking, Zewu-Jun.”
The gentle ribbing startles laughter out of XiChen, and he rises to return her bow.
“Maiden Wen, I thank you for your gracious hospitality, and am grateful to share a meal with your family.”
As they leave the cave, Wei Ying stumbles, and Lan WangJi keeps careful hold on him, exchanging a glance with Wen Qing.
“Wei WuXian, you’re sitting with popo so she can make sure you eat,” she tells him. “And then you’re in charge of putting a-Yuan down for a nap. Hanguang-Jun can show Zewu-Jun around.”
When Wei Ying just nods in response, they exchange another look. While his zhiji usually cooperates with her orders, it’s with a token protest. His silence shows just how much the conversation has taken out of him, in combination with everything else that has occurred.
Lan WangJi hopes his brother can offer solutions that will help Wei Ying.
---------------------------
I did way too much research on how to make natural dyes but didn’t do any experimentation myself. It’s possible some details are wrong. Also, there was no possible way to cut this chapter down or split it, so it is far longer than I anticipated.
I’m not entirely sure if jifu’s name is realistic but decided to do it anyway. With the jiujiu joke, jiùjiu (舅舅) means uncle (specifically mother’s brother) and it can be an address, like Jin Ling could call Jiang Cheng ‘Cheng-jiu.’ Jiǔ, with a different character (酒) and sound, means liquor. So it’s not quite a pun, but is at least a joke. I also double-checked with some folks who speak Chinese to make sure it would work.
Families changing surnames apparently has historical precedent in China, but it can be considered disrespectful and unfilial to the ancestors, abandoning them. Ancestor veneration is fairly important, and apparently was one reason for adoption in ancient China. Honestly, the part in the novel where the wine shop attendant offers to change his surname over Wei WuXian’s alcohol tolerance is a pretty big deal.
Also, there's some reference in here to episode 24 of CQL, wherein Lan XiChen seeks Wei WuXian on behalf of his brother, which replaces the scene in the novel with Wei WuXian, Lan WangJi, and the ghost girls.
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robininthelabyrinth · 4 years
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Prompt: a continuation of you NMJ/WWX ficlet. LWJ chaperones their courtship meetings while desperately pining, torn between proposing to WWX himself and not wanting to jeopardize WWX and the Wen's chance for safety. Either NHS or NMJ are well aware of his crush. Thank you for writing for this rarepair! I love all your stuff
continuation of this fic
Lan Wangji knew that duty sometimes – often, even – called for sacrifice. Personal sacrifice. It was something he had long ago accepted: to be good, sometimes one had to suffer.
And oh – how he was suffering.
He’d been at Qinghe when Jiang Cheng had arrived with his proposal, visiting alongside his brother in a way he tended not to do if the visits were to Koi Tower instead of the Unclean Realm; he’d waited outside while they’d had a discussion between sect leaders, more than happy to absent himself from the trouble –
His brother had explained it all, after, and had asked him if he would consider acting as a chaperone.
A chaperone to Wei Wuxian, who would be marrying – Nie Mingjue.
“He’s not a cutsleeve,” Lan Wangji had blurted out, then checked; the expression of those around him indicated that his tone had remained indifferent and above it all, stating a mere fact that didn’t relate to him, and only his brother’s eyes started to widen a little.
His brother had always understood him too well.
“He’s not not a cutsleeve, anyway,” Jiang Cheng had said with a shrug. “He indicated he was willing – and it’s better than the alternative. My Jiang Sect can’t defend him right now…it would be very good if you would agree to be chaperone, Hanguang-jun. Not only is your reputation flawless, you would add the implicit support of the Lan sect; it would give it additional legitimacy.”
“I’m not sure –” Lan Xichen had started to say, but Lan Wangji had known that he was only refusing because he’d just realized that Lan Wangji wouldn’t be happy to see Wei Wuxian marry another, that he’d wanted – that he’d –
“I’d be happy to go,” Lan Wangji had said at once.
“I wouldn’t have anyone else,” Nie Mingjue had said, and that had been that, no matter how Lan Xichen tried to talk to him about it later.
He hadn’t wanted to talk.
There was nothing to talk about. The Lan sect was still rebuilding the Cloud Recesses – they, like the Jiang Sect, couldn’t afford to shield someone so inconvenient as Wei Wuxian, the Yiling Patriarch.
Inconvenient. It was a good word for Wei Wuxian: he was very inconvenient. Inconveniently appearing in Lan Wangji’s thoughts, in his dreams, in his heart –
It didn’t matter. The Lan sect couldn’t stand against the entire cultivation world for him, and so even if Lan Wangji were willing to do so, it wasn’t a good match. And that was that.
And now he was here, at Yiling, and Wei Wuxian kept talking about it.
About – him.
Nie Mingjue.
Lan Wangji sincerely respected the man: he was a brilliant cultivator, an awe-inspiring swordsman, an effective and admired sect leader, a just and upright man with solid principles that he never backed down from. He was skilled in virtually all of the six arts – music excluded, as he couldn’t play an instrument to save his life, but it really wasn’t fair to hold being born half-tone-deaf against him.
Wei Wuxian didn’t talk about any of that. No. That would be too easy – Lan Wangji would agree with him, and that would be fine.
No, what Wei Wuxian wanted to talk about, apparently, was the man’s body.
“– and his arms. Did you see his arms?”
“En.” Lan Wangji hoped his admission that he had, in fact, observed that Nie Mingjue had arms would be enough to forestall Wei Wuxian.
It was not.
“Magnificent, aren’t they? Big as a tree branch. He went out for saber training earlier in that outfit, didn’t he, the tight one without armor to cover them up; maybe he’ll swing by this way on his way back and we’ll see them again…”
Lan Wangji wanted to die.
“I never knew I liked arms so much before, you know? I’ve only been noticing lately – you have excellent arms yourself, actually – huh! These robes really cover a lot, don’t they? But in fact your arms are quite sturdy –”
Wei Wuxian was touching him. Lan Wangji pulled away as quickly as he could, which was probably not as quickly as someone else could.
“Oh, Lan Zhan, why do you always ruin my fun? It wasn’t as if I was stripping you down, I was just feeling them through the robes; even you can’t object…object to…”
Wei Wuxian trailed off, staring at something over Lan Wangji’s shoulder.
Lan Wangji turned.
Nie Mingjue had, in fact, taken this route back from his training. However, he was no longer wearing the tight robes – old ones, clearly designed for use during training – and was, in fact, not wearing anything on the top half of his body at all, the robes bunched up on his arm and clearly messy with mud and dirt; someone must have played a prank or something, to judge by the irritated look on his face.
Not that Lan Wangji was spending a lot of time looking at the man’s face.
Not when there was so much else to look at: sloped shoulders, a collarbone, rich supple flesh glistening with the slightest sheen of sweat –
Wei Wuxian was right about Nie Mingjue’s body being very nice, he found himself thinking to his horror – why was he thinking about this, he’d gotten over this years ago – and he shook his head and turned back to Wei Wuxian.
Wei Wuxian, who was staring at him with a growing grin.
That was not good.
“You like him!” Wei Wuxian declared and no, no, this was not happening. “You think he’s attractive.”
“No,” Lan Wangji said firmly, and sat down, determined to ignore Wei Wuxian.
Predictably, it went about as well as any of his previous resolutions to ignore Wei Wuxian.
“How long has this been going on? When did you first start noticing him?”
“No.”
“Tell me! When did it start? How long has this gone on?”
I was six, he picked me up with one arm and told me I was a good boy and later that night I asked Brother if I could marry him and Brother thought I was joking but I wasn’t and then when I got older I had spring dreams about him right up until I met you.
“No,” Lan Wangji said again.
“‘No’ isn’t ‘I don’t’,” Wei Wuxian crowed, far too delighted by this revelation of Lan Wangji’s inappropriate interest in Wei Wuxian’s future husband. “You have to tell me, please. I’m dying of curiosity. You of all people had a crush! On Nie Mingjue! I have to know everything! Please, you have to tell me, I’ll do anything!”
“What is anything?” Lan Wangji asked, because his voice was a traitor that did things without consulting his mind, and anyway this would be just like that time in the cold spring where Wei Wuxian had offered him ‘benefits’ and it turned out he meant that he’d introduce him to girls…
The next thing Lan Wangji knew, Wei Wuxian had thrown himself into his arms, disregarding all propriety. “I don’t have anything you want,” he wailed, and that was the most wrong thing that had ever come out of Wei Wuxian’s mouth. “You have to give me a hint, I can’t live without knowing, Lan Zhan…!”
That, of course, was when Nie Mingjue walked in.
Lan Wangji froze at once. This was horrifically inappropriate – not merely as a breach of etiquette, but of principle. He’d known from the beginning that he was the wrong man to stand chaperone for Wei Wuxian, but he’d agreed regardless, thinking that he could force himself to be righteous; he’d even convinced Lan Xichen that it would be better for him to feel the sting of the loss all at once, from close by. And what was he doing instead?
Allowing Wei Wuxian to clamber all over his lap as if he were an especially affectionate monkey.
In front of his future husband.
He opened his mouth to say – something. Anything.
Nothing came to mind.
“Huh,” Nie Mingjue said, his voice low and amused. “Huaisang has been handling the details of all of this, but he really should have mentioned it if I was going to be marrying both of you.”
Lan Wangji blinked.
“…no?” he said. It was both hesitant and a question, neither of which he meant for it to be.
“I think you mean yes,” Wei Wuxian said, looking as though it were his birthday and New Years all at once and he’d just been given every present he’d ever dreamt of as a child. Lan Wangji could very nearly sympathize with the feeling. “That’s a wonderful idea!”
It was a terrible idea.
For…reasons.
None of which were coming to mind right now, but Lan Wangji was certain they existed.
Didn’t they?
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Miscellaneous Untamed recs
Good fic that doesn’t fit in any of my thematic lists so far :-) All Wangxian.
* indicates a personal favourite.
green sleeves growing cold by mistergoblin
Something flickers in dark eyes. A responding lick of flame. Lan Wangji cannot put a name to it — but it angers him, angers him as does the small satisfied curl to Wei Wuxian’s mouth, as does the shameless pout which replaces it.
Lan Wangji cannot understand him.
Lan Wangji cannot control him.
Lan Wangji is going to be driven mad.
(In which, to keep her son safe, Madam Lan creates a curse)
Words: 17.000/Canon au/Cursed Lan Zhan (his touch/skin freezes those who touch it)
*splendor in the heart and glory in love by LunaChi_KuroShihone
Lan Zhan was barely six when he had sat at the steps of his mother's confinement and had stared silently into the night, heard the whispers of his seniors around him, their sorrowful and hungry gazes. He had been seven when the elders had told him, as it is your elder brother's fate to be sect leader one day, Lan Zhan, so it is your fate to be a sect god.
And here is the thing: many cultivators -- most of the Lan sect elders and disciples included -- see it as a great honor, to be made into a god. Wen Ruohan proclaimed himself one, his age and powerful cultivation lending credit to the ruse, but this close to being one himself, Lan Wangji could see that it was not quite true. Could see that he was mortal still, and he'd told Lan Xichen as much, that they had a chance to defeat the sun if only they rallied together.
But the truth is, Lan Wangji didn't see himself as much of a god, and felt no happiness at being turned into one, just as Lan Xichen felt no happiness losing the only brother he's ever had.
Words: 10.000/ canon au/ God Lan Wangji/ must read
a paper friend by savedbythenotepad
Lan Wangji finds a paperman far from its body and helps get it home.
-Or-
Lan Wangji unknowingly meets Wei Wuxian for the first time.
Words: 4500/ Canon AU/ Light hearted
*operational amplifier by chinxe
Lan Wangji has never been good with words, or at writing. But, if it'll allow him to imagine a world where Wei Wuxian could actually love him back, he supposes it couldn't hurt to try.
(Or, the one where Lan Wangji copes with his Feelings by writing self-insert fics. Yeah.)
Words: 7.000/ post canon/ happy ending bittersweet middle/beautiful
As You Like It by cosmicmilktea
"I was just wondering what snacks or sweets Hanguang-Jun prefers with his tea."
Wei Wuxian laughs, opens his mouth, and then has the horrible realization that he really, truly, doesn't know.
It takes a moment to sink in. He's known Lan Zhan ever since he was fifteen, had saved the Cultivation world together with him twice over, is actually married to the man, and Wei Wuxian doesn't know what his favorite tea snack is.
Words: 9.000
The Grand Master of Daemonic Cultivation by FayJay
So on Twitter I mentioned I’d love to read a daemon AU of MDZS.
And Kim said “Daemon fic - can you IMAGINE what WWX's daemon has gone through?!?!?” And I didn’t really get it, until she added:
“I'm actually thinking more along the lines that with cultivators, daemons are linked to their golden core so.”
And then I burst into tears. Because how could Jiang Cheng not know his “new” daemon was Wei Wuxian’s? And how could WWX hide his own loss? And a whole new world of knives unfolded before me, so here is a window into that AU, through a series of vignettes, as posted on Twitter.
Words: 4000/ Daemon au!
Imperfect Memory by xantissa
It’s been sixteen years since Wei Wuxian’s death and the world has been slowly going insane ever since. It’s been ten years since the rains stopped coming, almost five since the rivers turned rusty red, the water thick and foul. The people are dying a slow painful death of starvation and disease and all Lan Zhan can do is watch over his dying clan.
When a creature of darkness comes with a shocking offer, there’s really no question. Second Jade of Lan, in exchange for water for his people. Body and soul, in exchange for his clan's survival. He is prepared to die for them. He is not exactly prepared for what being a sacrifice means.
Words: 62.000 /canon au with very original premisse/ is good, read it twice
More Untamed reclists:
Ghosts: fics where Wei Wuxian becomes a ghost, Lan Yuan sees dead people and the dead Wen won’t leave the living alone
Fix-it fics: What if Jin Zixuan had survived, Lan Wangji had stayed at the burial mounds, Cloud recesses had provided a safe haven for the Wen, etc.
Gen fics: with a focus on the relationship between Jiang Cheng and Wei Wuxian
Modern AU: the obligatory student and coffee shop au’s, a pinch of amnesia trope and a smidgen of kid-fic (bc who can resist a-yuan?)
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jenroses · 4 years
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So, I’m working on four sequels to in case of fire, break glass (The Untamed/MDZS time travel WangXian fixit) because of course I am. It’s a time travel fic, I don’t have to do these things in order... if you want a reminder when the sequels come out, please subscribe to the Time Charm series... 
The one that’s coming out first is called who knows who she’ll make me and is about 35k. I’ll probably start posting in the next few days. 
(note that in this universe, all of the Dafan Wen have moved to Lotus Pier and taken the family name of “Wei” to avoid Qishan Wen’s canonical bullshit.)
An excerpt from the first chapter, in which Wei Wuxian is broody like a chicken:
A-Yuan is seven, and getting busy with friends and playmates and learning to do everything and grow up as fast as he can, when Wei Ying says to Wei Qing one day, “I need your help with a new project.”
She raises her eyebrows. “How crooked?”
He clasps his hands to his chest and looks deeply offended. “Not crooked at all!” His projects usually aren’t, anymore, but every once in a while…  
Then he cocks his head and considers. “I mean, I don’t think resentful energy could be used that way. Definitely not crooked.” He nods with exaggerated certainty.
Wei Qing feels a headache coming on. “All right. What?”
“I want to have Lan Zhan’s baby,” he says.
She closes her eyes and sends a prayer to whatever goddess might be listening, for patience.
“You don’t have the requisite parts,” she says, finally.
“Maybe I could grow them?” he says.
She stares at him, trying to decide if he is even a little bit serious. “I thought you were going to adopt orphans?”
“We stopped a war,” he says. “We removed the single biggest source of resentful energy from the heart of the five kingdoms. People are prospering and there’s plenty of food and parents aren’t dying the way they did. My mother finds urchins and the next thing you know, they’re at one of the sects or with the existing family.”
“You could tell her you’re interested…” Wei Qing says. 
“I’ll just grow the right parts,” Wei Ying insists. “How hard can it be?”
She opens her mouth, closes it, opens it again, closes it again, gives an exasperated sigh, and picks a scroll off the shelf. She unrolls it, and there is an incredibly complex diagram of something that looks vaguely like a goat’s head.
“I don’t doubt that given enough time, will, and someone patient enough to act as a model, you could figure something out,” she says, as he studies it, looking perplexed.
He looks up at her. “But?”
“But this is a ridiculous way to go about something when there’s a simpler option.”
narrator voice: simpler, here, is probably a matter of perspective. 
This one ends up being a weird and wild ride, especially for Wei Qing, who signed up for this but really didn’t sign up for this. 
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