i’ll be your summer sun forever - Chapter 1 - xianthepiper - 魔道祖师 - 墨香铜臭 | Módào Zǔshī (2024)

Chapter Text

Chapter 1

Week 1

Wangji does not slam the door shut.

He knows better than to do that. He does, however, close it all of a sudden in front of his shufu and xiongzhang's faces. He is sure to get an earful when he has finished, as his shufu called it, "melting down". Not that Wangji has any inkling as to whatever that meant.

Hands balled up in fists, he walks over to his bed. He sits down and lets himself fall in despair within the darkness of his room.

He does not cry. Crying is not a proper reaction to his shufu’s words. Crying would be overreacting, immature, and he has long since let go of that part of his life. What his brother suggested, and his uncle insisted, was merely a small, miniscule, thing. Wangji should not feel so beat up over a tiny matter. Tears are not worth the overreaction.

But then again, what they suggested was beyond anything Wangji expected. And yet he has also seen this coming since the day he accidentally overheard conversations between the servants, when Wangji realized he disobeyed a rule and put it behind him as if it never happened.

Wangji is being sent off to summer camp. At Yunmeng. Where everything is completely different and new and exciting and Wangji refuses to go through that. (Secretly, in the deepest confines of his mind, something whispers to him: is this not what you have been wanting?)

There is absolutely nothing thrilling about having to adapt to such an abrupt change. He would have to stay there for three months . He would have to make himself at home, be acquainted with other clan disciples, and the mere thought of it makes Wangji's very core swirl in dread.

He glances at the shadows of his shufu and xiongzhang retreating from underneath the threshold.

Wangji inhales. The sharp of sting the incense is a welcome sort.

He looks out the window, slightly thankful that it is not raining today. The mossy afternoon sky seems to say otherwise, but the mists have just rolled in, and two more days—two more days of waiting until the next drop of rain. The washed out ebony of the mountain's rainforest haunts him from the window, calling out to him to join its lonely ocean. His jingshi gets darker on afternoons such as these, the amber of the candle and the feel of brush against paper giving life to Wangji’s home.

Home.

Wangji will miss home. His tranquil and overcast home.

He rises, shoulders tight with faint dejection, him barely halting the tremble in them. He grabs a piece of parchment, an ink brush, and an inkpot from one of his drawers. For one short second, his gaze falls onto the stack of papers on top of the dresser, talisman paper resting atop it, and he turns away.

One by one, he prepares his belongings and eases them inside qiankun pouches. Although his extra sets of robes, stacks of papers, and ink set need a larger space the pouch cannot so easily provide. Thus, he carefully arranges them inside a qiankun luggage, (with a bit more trouble from the papers but an enchantment helps eventually), closing it with a binding seal.

He has never been to Yunmeng before, and to his knowledge, Yunmeng is a hot and sunny area. There will be too much sweating, too frequent need to change robes, and worst of all: mud. Despite what outsiders might say about the GusuLan robes being able to withstand even the filthiest of muds, Wangji strictly believes that insurance is policy.

A gentle knock or two sounds from the door. Wangji sets aside his thoughts and walks over to the door. He slides it open to be met with his xiongzhang’s smile.

Xiongzhang, amidst the grey haze of the Cloud Recesses, is a warm and welcoming presence. He blinks at Wangji, lips slightly turned up, eyes squinted at the corners.

Wangji does not narrow his eyes at his brother. He has already gotten used to this certain face of his. Xiongzhang has well intentions, albeit gently teasing Wangji to earth's end sometimes.

"I assume you're ready to depart?" Xiongzhang smiles a more upturned smile, this time. Wangji nods once. He walks abck inside to grab his belongings, and when he leaves, he locks the doors closed to the jingshi behind him.

They walk the barren halls of Cloud Recesses, dark green of the sky dimming to a slightly more greyish tone, casting despondent hues along the white concrete walls of their home. Wangji clutches Bichen tightly in his hand as he follows Xiongzhang towards the hanshi .

"I'd hoped you'd say 'yes' to this," Xiongzhang commented, mirth barely there on his tone.

Wangji shallowly inclines his head. He despises the idea of having to leave the comforts of his home, his beloved jingshi , in favor of going to Yunmeng, someplace he has never visited before. He sighs within the privacy of his mind.

"I would not have agreed," starts Wangji. He watches as Xiongzhang's shoulders slightly shook in laughter, and Wangji wills himself not to glare at him. He continued, "had Xiongzhang not stated that this is a ‘learning experience’."

Xiongzhang huffs in amusem*nt. "It is indeed. A once in a lifetime experience, at that."

Wangji only hums in reply.

They arrive near the hanshi , and Wangji half-expects his brother to invite him in. But as their boots hit the hardwood floors of the porch, the doors slide open, and shufu walks out with his head held high. As if he has successfully victored a feat.

The rules in Wangji's mind cite themselves, 'Arrogance is forbidden in the Cloud Recesses', alongside the wailing sirens that hush to him, telling him that Shufu has in fact victored a feat. He has successfully managed to persuade Wangji into going to summer camp.

"Shufu. Wangji is ready to leave." Xiongzhang backs as Shufu leaves the hanshi , the doors sliding themselves closed behind him. Shufu nods once, and leads them along the pathway again.

Wangji takes notice, then, of the white marble stones clinking beneath his boots. The damp, cut grass of the path, muddy as he steps on it. These are attributes of the Cloud Recesses he wishes to bring with him. Damp bermuda grass all-year long, muddled skies that give no reprieve for sunlight, lingering shudders as the cold air follows a disciple down the halls.

He once again ponders what Yunmeng might be like. Would it be sunny? Scorching summer heat this time of the year, and the need to dive into lakes for a step back? Or would it be as dreary as Cloud Recesses? Misty mornings, grey afternoons, moonless nights?

It is said, however, that Yunmeng’s weather is as clear as a sunny summer day in Jiangnan before—well—before. Wangji doubts there will be shadowy rainforests to haunt the disicples at night from their windows.

"What's on your mind, Wangji?"
Xiongzhang's voice startles him out of his revelations. The road winds downhill, Wangji feeling the wind simmer past his entire being as he walks. Not five feet ahead are the gates. In a single file, there patiently stands six Lan disciples. At the sight of Wangji and his family, they straighten their backs, and carefully unsheathe their swords.

Wangji answers to his brother's question. "Yunmeng."

Xiongzhang's eyes crinkle around the corners. He hums, sounding amused with nobody but himself. Perhaps with Wangji’s despair, as well. "Yunmeng is a wonderful place."

Shufu lowers his head, eyes closed. "Wonderful, indeed." He gestures to the open space by the gates.

As Wangji brandishes Bichen , standing on top of the blade, and readying himself for the flight away from Gusu, Xiongzhang’s quietened voice echoes behind him, "Just perfectly splendid."

As the lucent blue Gusu border comes in sight, Wangji nods to the disciples. He pulls up the hood of his cloak.

In no time, Wangji and other six disciples are on a long rainy flight away from their hometown and toward Yunmeng.

***

Yummeng blooms under the summer sun in a sweet idyllic picture, its long-winding rivers glistening incandescent with the round sky's vibrant blue. The clouds are white and cottony. The golden light of the sun laden the roofs of the town beneath, crisp and hazy with the amber heat.

A trickle of sweat forms on Lan Wangji’s temples. He slides off the hood covering his head. Moments before they entered the purple Yunmeng borders, it protected his head from the strong drizzle of rain. He carefully shrugs off his cloak and folds it to then store it within his sleeves, high above the air, Bichen unswayed beneath his feet. He internally marvels how the sword’s icy blade has not yet turned to liquid in such a weather.

He and his fellow GusuLan cultivators touch down right at the heart of Yunmeng. The winds are a gentle embrace when they land, not like the strong breeze that has deterred them from their own home. At their arrival, the civilians turn curious gazes, eyes wide and merry with mirth. They are dressed in vibrant and soft shades of purple. Their expressions are just as bright as the skies above, if not brighter, as they stare up at Wangji and his companions with awe.

Uncertain, Wangji wordlessly leads his fellow junior disciples along the crowded streets of Yunmeng. The people part for them like an ocean from a foreign folktale he has read once, and he does not give them any mind as he walks.

Yunmeng is nothing like Gusu, and everything like it in some regards. The streets are just as lively, livelier. Though instead of the soft melodic (albeit downcast) chatter in Gusu, here in Yunmeng there is the rowdy exchange of laughter around the marketplace. The loudness of it instils a glint of unease in Wangji. And yet, at the same time, there’s something quite reminiscent of home. Here, Wangji stands among the vibrancy of Yunmeng, too out of place.

As they walk, a group of small children tag down the concrete road, giggling amongst themselves. A kite flutters by the rear of their group. One child loses his footing and stumbles.

Instantly, Wangji reaches down to catch the child by the forearm, the limb too small in his too large hand.

“Careful," says Wangji, and the child looks up at him, wide-eyed.

Then, just as fast as he’d stumbled, the child's expression crumples. Tears prickle like little dewdrops of sad, sad rain at the corners of the child's eyes, and Wangji, throat constricting, releases him.

The child sniffles. He continues to stare awestruck up at Wangji, lower lip trembling. And he runs. Away from Wangji's glower; away from the tall, frightening, cultivator in white who does not know what wrong he committed to deserve such thanks.

“ Er-gongzi. Ignore the child. We must make our way to Lotus Pier before sundown." One of the disciples whisper lowly behind Wangji.

Wangji stands rooted into place as dozens, if not hundreds, of eyes glare directly at him. Their awe-filled and awful gazes are cold, a sudden chill freezing his meridians. He is unable to move. How numbing, their judgement. How mortifying, that one of his first memories of Lotus Pier would be the weight of a hundred gazes on him.

Wangji barely catches himself. He gives the disciples a tight nod. “Let us go," he says.

They make their way into the open gates of Lotus Pier, just as the sun begins to fall asleep and the skies are painted with the same lilacs the Yunmeng townsfolk are clothed with. Beyond the gates, the area is almost empty. Lesser persons mean lesser stares. Wangji almost sighs.

However, despite the minimal number of people present, it is still a far cry from the silence within Cloud Recesses. Noise from outside the gates wafts into the large space at the front of Lotus Pier's main entrance, wherein several teenage boys in the deep purples of the YunmengJiang Clan run amok the courtyard.

The older boys chase around who presumably is their youngest shidi . The young boy has a kite in hand, long and freely fluttering behind him while his older shixiong chase him across the courtyard.

One boy (about Wangji's age, wearing the color of raisins) is the leader of those chasing their youngest shidi . He runs with a bounce in his long undirected steps. The length of his crimson hair ribbon trails behind him languorously, as if enticing Wangji to come and catch it. Catch me if you can, it says. The boy cackles in a wide grin.

Then they make a round around the yard and the boy locks with Wangji’s gaze and Wangji nearly forgoes the act of breathing.

Oh .

The other boy stops in his tracks, staring at Wangji with saucers for eyes.

All of a sudden, the running Jiang disciples fall one after the other like dominoes. They exclaim and grunt as they all but hit the ground. They turn their heads to where their leader has stopped and stared, and when they do, they stare as well.

All at once, Wangji's limbs lock at the looks they are given. That he is given, as usual. That wide-eyed, awestruck, dumbstruck, look.

With an inward sigh, yet again, the staring. He comforts himself by a mental pat on the back.

At the sight of them—the Lan disciples—the Jiang disciples' minds seem to stop working momentarily. Their youngest disciple also drops his hold on the string, and the kite slowly begins to flitter away.

“Ah!" Their leader yelps. He jumps high enough to grab hold of the kite's string and pulls it back down to earth. He ties it around a shock-frozen disciple's wrist.

He looks back up at Wangji. His mouth parts in a small gasp. And he smiles.

Wangji's heart does a thing. A very description-defying unable-to-form-words-for-it thing. His stomach does cartwheels, somersaults, barrel rolls, tumblings, anything synonymous. Tingles pool in his stomach at the mischievous grin the boy gives him.

He must be a troublemaker, there’s no doubt about that. The thought in itself is troubling.

The boy does not run but he does not walk either. Rather, he hops, one foot, then another, ponytail swaying and bouncing behind him, until he arrives right in front of Wangji.

Wangji stares.

The boy stares back.

There is so much staring.

Wangji can't do anything more than stare.

The boy is—Wangji considers his description of the boy, hopes it will give enough justice. The boy is tall, though Wangji has to slightly incline his head down to look at him. His frame is lean, long-limbed with adolescence. His complexion glows naturally fair, but it has sun-browned. Long lashes blink owlishly up at Wangji.

He is also very, very, very beautiful.

There is a certain boyish edge in his face that paints mischief and misconduct all throughout. As is his demeanour, the way he holds himself in a youthful and uncaring manner.

Wangji might not ever see a boy like him in Cloud Recesses, and most likely never would. What would Cloud Recesses be like, if that boy is there? Would it perhaps feel more lively? Would the concrete walls and wooden foundations look brighter? Would even, maybe, just maybe , colourful flowers grow there as well?

(A person who once smiled as beautifully as this boy has lived in Cloud Recesses, in a small cottage around the back mountains surrounded by gentians. She disappeared, however, as easily as she appeared, her absence felt throughout the Cloud Recesses in the form of thunderstorms and dark twilights.)

But again, leaving a bitter taste in his mouth, Wangji is not in Cloud Recesses. He is in Lotus Pier, and this boy stands in front of him, grinning, waiting for either one between the two of them to introduce himself.

Wangji salutes. “This one is Lan Zhan, courtesy name Wangji, of the GusuLan sect."

The boy looks at him with an expression Lan Wangji cannot quite place. He clumsily bends into a bow and returns the salute. “This one is Wei Ying, courtesy Wuxian, YunmengJiang sect's head disciple."

When he is standing upright again (his figure is slouched, Wangji thinks with a mental huff), a wide, genuine smile is plastered on his face. “Nice to meet you!"

Wangji blinks.

He is a stranger to genuine smiles. Even with his xiongzhang who, despite being compassionate in nature, only smiles the littlest of smiles directed at Wangji after a long rainy day. He considers Cloud Recesses and its disciples' hardened melancholia, then decides that simply no one has enough reason to give him, or anyone else for that matter, a genuine smile.

Wangji nods. He cannot dare to act unbecoming around his hosts, whatever his thoughts may be regarding Wei Wuxian's attitude. He is not in Cloud Recesses. It is not his place.

“The GusuLan sect thanks Wei- gongzi and the YunmengJiang sect for their generosity and hospitality." Wangji's cousin speaks up from beside Wangji. She bows at Wei Wuxian, who smiles down at her with visible amusem*nt.

He glances at Wangji as if to question him, then back down at the small girl. With a laughing curiosity, “And who might you be, Lan- meimei ?"

Wangji’s cousin hangs her head low, a flush down her neck. She seems flustered upon Wei Wuxian's act of familiarity. Wangji does not blame her.

Wei Wuxian laughs with his hands resting on his hips, head casually thrown back. He might pop his spine at the way his body dips backwards, thinks Wangji. Wangji tries not to fix his gaze upon the soft lines of Wei Wuxian’s neck.

“Well then!" Wei Wuxian stops laughing but still wears the mirth in his expression. He doesn’t seem to take offense at her silence.

Wangji idly wonders why Wei Wuxian keeps glancing back at him, eyes twinkling if not a bit wide-eyed in disbelief. Wangji suddenly becomes aware of the warmth around his own neck and the sweat-dribbled flush up Wei Wuxian's skin.

Wei Wuxian's eyes turn into crescents when he grins, his cheeks redder. He exclaims, “Welcome to Lotus Pier!"

His laughter is irritatingly stunning. “You guys are really early! The other clans won't be here until tomorrow, so sorry if the servants are rushing around the manor!"

Wangji hums. “Mn."

Wei Wuxian directs a (startled? amazed? what is that?) look at him, his lips slightly upturned in a smile. It is no less genuine than the last ones. He gently coughs into his hand.

His tone this time around sounds more serious, Wangji notices. It sounds ridiculous. “Yu- furen and Jiang- zongzhu are away on business. They won't be back until next week," Wei Wuxian ruefully says, “so the camp is under my watch for the meantime,” he says in a low grumble.

The other Jiang disciples have been standing at a distance as they watch the whole exchange with curious eyes, maybe too queasy to approach their guests. Now, with Wei Wuxian's unbridled cheer of welcome, their fear has likely ebbed into mere shyness and they reluctantly approach Wei Wuxian's side.

One disciple whispers at Wei Wuxian's shoulder, “ Da - shixiong , is he one of the Twin Jades of Gusu?"

Another replies, “Of course he is! He looks way too otherworldly to not be a Jade!"

Then another, “The rumors are true! GusuLan disciples truly do look like deities that dropped from the heavens!"

Wangji does not blush. He truly does not. Pride, arroagnce, and vanity are forbidden in the—Wangji backtracks. His chest aches. They are against the rules. But the warmth up his neck is warmer now, if it were possible.

Wei Wuxian shrugs them off. He chastises them, pulling one disciple's cheek. “Aiyoh! You cheeky lot! Where're your manners, ah? Haven't you learned not to gossip about someone behind their back, let alone in their face!" He flicks the youngest shidi between the brows with his other hand. His shidi flail around in his admonishments, the others fondly rolling their eyes and laughing along.

Wangji schools his expression, an act to hide his bemusem*nt in regards to the whole interaction

These Jiang disciples are odd. They pinch each other's cheeks, flick one another between the brows, and are certified quidnuncs. Again, odd.

“Apologies, Lan- gongzi ." Wei Wuxian sheepishly chuckles, playfully pushing one shidi away by the head.

Wangji stares ahead.

Wei Wuxian looks down, the small smile still painted on his face. His head perks back up. “Right!" He reaches out. Wangji flinches away.

The surprise on Wei Wuxian's face is overcome by that of amusem*nt. He says, laughing all the way, “I'm just going to hand over your luggage to my shidi here!"

At that, Wangji deliberately masks his fluster, humming in a way he hopes sounds nonchalant. The irritating heat along his neck seems to rise by the minute, now reaching his ears.

He reluctantly hands over his luggage to a Jiang disciple. Wei Wuxian whispers to the disciple's ear, and the disciple runs with Wangji's luggage in hand. Wangji stares at his luggage being carelessly flung around and he privately apologises to the occupants of said luggage.

Lan Feiqi, Wangji’s cousin who Wei Wuxian earlier seemed bent on teasing, bears a slight tinge of amusem*nt despite the indifference when she says, “Such interactions are uncommon between us GusuLan disciples. We apologize beforehand." She pauses.

Wangji feels her expectant gaze up at him. He continues to put up his expression of indifference, staring forward.

“Lan- er-gongzi ..." She begins but Wei Wuxian interrupts her. He nonchalantly waves his hand, with a 'pssh'. “It's fine, it's fine! My fellow disciples are painfully wild too, it’s fine.”

Said fellow disciples narrow their eyes at him, before they leave and scramble altogether towards another direction.

The 'too' does not go unnoticed by Wangji.

Wei Wuxian clears his throat. “Anyway!" He claps his hands together. Wangji unmovingly jolts at the abrupt sound. “I don't suppose you guys wanna rest for a bit? I'll take you to your living quarters for the meantime!"

He and Wangji meet eyes again. Wei Wuxian's gaze flickers away, lashes fluttering, as a warmer and redder hue dusts his cheeks.

Wangji finally decides to simply stare at the distance and give the open air his sudden interest. If he is to make eye contact with Wei Wuxian one moment longer, he might just as well combust. He does not need to see Wei Wuxian sweating and being as unruly as a pig in heat under broad daylight, not when such unruliness has him turn a beguiling shade of crimson.

“Come on!" Wei Wuxian twirls and leads them into the rest of Lotus Manor.

They first enter the empty throne room, where three servants are brushing and scrubbing the large lotus throne clean. They pause at their entry but quickly return to their duties, devoted and even at such vigorous tasks, seem to glow.

Wei Wuxian points to a corridor on the left. He shakes his head. “Only members of the main clan are allowed there. Which means, no entering the West Wing!" He playfully warns, waggling a finger at them, and leads them toward another corridor.

Silence is impossible within this large manor. Even without Wei Wuxian's endless talk, it would still have been boisterous. Servants rush from one end of the hall to another, a basket or a bucket in their arms, water hardly sploshing despite the carelessness, in their expertise. Some are kowtowed on the floors, steadfastly waxing the wooden planks clean, minutely brushing in between the floorboards. Two Jiang disciples move from one wooden pillar to another as they replace the lotus-shaped lanterns hanging from the posts; one perched atop the other’s shoulders and focused on his work while the other laughs and tattles away.

And yet, all of them take the time to pause and cheerily greet Wei Wuxian. Even the most hardworking floorboard cleaner and the rapt lantern-worker stop for one easy moment to acknowledge Wei Wuxian’s entry.

Wei Wuxian returns their greetings, with his large happy wave and his wide happy smile. He even runs to tease the two Jiang disciples into toppling over. The servants look at him, smile, roll their eyes, and continue cleaning.

It is confusing, and rather difficult, to be humoring people whenever, wherever, should it need be. But Wei Wuxian does it all with absolute ease. Perhaps to him, it does not seem like a need, or a chore, or as if he's humouring them whatsoever. To him, it likely seems natural. As if he simply wants to greet them.

Wangji attempts to fight the furrow coming in his brows.

When Wei Wuxian returns to their side, he seems to notice the confusion within Wangji.

Wei Wuxian's eyes squint. His smile is cheeky, and he too appears confused. He says, “Do you not greet the people around you, Lan - er-gongzi ?" His address of Wangji comes off purposefully languorous. Not in the deferential way as some, not even in the way spoken for the sake of formal greeting. He says it with a tone that implies he is teasing Wangji but concurrently reverent.

He is also observant.

Wangji avoids his eyes.

When Wangji does not reply, Wei Wuxian bursts into a fit of laughter. “Hahaha! And they all say you're a paragon of virtue!" His tone is laced with tease, as is the rest of his expression.

Wangji wants to efface said expression off him. He hopes he does not sound impolite. “The helpers at Cloud Recesses are not as casual with me as they are here to you."

“Oh?" Wei Wuxian frowns. Wangji wants to caress that miniscule shadow of a line between his brows away.

“Then what about the other disciples?" He stops walking and peeks at the other Lan disciples behind Wangji, all of whom appear uncomfortable in their own skin, right where they stand. “Surely you guys greet your Lan- er-gongzi too in passing?"

They are too afraid of me, Wangji wants to say, but it would sound too presumptuous of him.

None of the Lan disicples reply. Wei Wuxian eyes Wangji (with something akin to pity and Wangji loathes it) before he turns around and continues walking.

Soon they arrive in a large room, past a couple of double doors that Wei Wuxian has cheerfully flung open. In the middle of the room is a seating area, with a low wooden table at the center, made of light hardwood, and a few books stacked on top of it. Around the table are floor cushions, the silk lilac covers designed with lotuses and faint fluid lines that swirl along the fabric like water.

On each end of the room are doors, every one painted with the insignias of what seems to be the visiting major clans. The doors on the left are painted with snowy mountains and the QingheNie beast. Across the room are doors painted with the LanlingJin peonies, golden sparks amidst the snow artfully dappled along the wood in almost-subtle smears of white.

The one in the right, the East, bears the GusuLan sect motif complete with flowing clouds painted azure. Perhaps not meant unkindly, glinting all over the door are tiny flecks of what seem to be raindrops and methodically painted snowflakes.

Wangji feels his stomach turn at the sight of it.

Wei Wuxian's face changes into that of dissatisfaction as he stares at it. He turns to them. “Do the raindrops bother you guys? I know it's a really... Eh, sensitive topic for you and all."

Behind Wangji, he hears Lan Feiqi reply, “Not at all, Wei- gongzi ." Though the slight tumble in her words say otherwise.

Wei Wuxian nods albeit reluctantly, expression knitted in uncertainty. He strides over to open the double doors. But just as his fingertips brush against the doors, they fling themselves open, and the musky smell of lily-scented incense immediately bursts from the wing, drifting into the common room.

Wei Wuxian hacks out. He fans himself and the air around him. Wangji directs him with an accusatory glare.

Wei Wuxian nervously chuckles. “Someone left the perfume incense burning..." He looks down wide-eyed, lips pressed, and brows raised in subtle embarrassment. He scratches his nose.

Lan Feiqi sniffles behind Wangji who slowly inhales. The flowery scent of the incense tickles his nose. It washes tingles all about his body and his senses blare red flashing lights in his mind.

All of a sudden—a sudden, mortifying half-minute and he thanks his reflexes—he feels a sneeze coming along, and he immediately, tightly, holds his breath.

Unaware of Wangji's shortcoming predicament, Wei Wuxian grimaces. “I'll...be right back." He dashes. The sound of his coughs and the flighty thuds of his footsteps fade into the hallway.

Once Wei Wuxian is out of sight, all of Wangji’s restraint trickles away like the waterfalls in Gusu after the harshest days of only winter, and the sneeze climbs up to his head. Well, at the very least, he tried.

His entire body, cascading from his head down to his cod-curling toes, shudders. Like a cat scared silly, or a flower perked up toward sunlight, the hairs of his body stand and he forcefully swallows down a lump lodged heavily in his throat.

The events that follow are caught up within some haze.

A horrifying sound, loud and self-awarely uncharacteristic of him, escapes his mouth and reverberates around the room. A graceless moment, Wangji despairs. “Excuse me," he says, near indecipherable with how his voice quivers. His vision blacks for a long minute, spots disappearing and reappearing all over his sight.

Around him, the Lan disciples yelp loudly in unison, just as unbecoming as the sound of his own sneeze. They all but gather around him, vigorously fanning away the incense smoke, pinching their own noses.

One of them hands Wangji a clean handkerchief as he is gently led to one of the floor cushions. The silk cloth in his hand is evidently used to wipe away the (heaven forbid, not one of Wangji’s proudest moments) liquid trickling from his nose and the tears blurring his vision.

A disciple drops to their knees across from him and brews a bowl of peppermint tea. The others continue to shuffle around the room and blow the smoke away with their sleeves.

Lan Feiqi mutters, despair in her delicate Gusu dialect. “Who'd have known the Lan- er-gongzi is allergic to floral aroma..."

The disciple (with a wash of shame, Wangji forgot his name) slides the tea toward Wangji. He mumbles, “Thank heavens I brought all this tea."

Wangji thanks the disciple (he makes a note to remember his name the next time it crosses his ears) and inhales the steam. The peppermint is cool in his nose, easily soothing. He brings the cup up to his lips. The porcelain is cold, and he involuntarily shudders.

The other Lan disciples kneel with Wangji on the wooden floor. They give him his own space, choosing to mumble glumly amongst themselves.

“We should've warned the YunmengJiang clan beforehand that the Lan- er-gongzi is allergic to flora..."

“However would we have warned them if we ourselves did not know..?"

“Zewu- jun has allergies as well. We should've expected the same for Lan- er-gongzi ..."

Wangji—with sweat trickling from his brows due to the summer and the warmth of the tea, with his nose feeling ticklish and swollen—looks at his junior disciples, whose faces have darkened in self-deprecation. All because they worry about Wangji's wellbeing. Lan Wangji, their second young master who is awfully indifferent to them and have shamefully let their names slip his memory. They are much older than him despite being juniors as well, and he easily falls into the position of doted-upon youngest son. The thought is embarrassing.

“I am alright," he says, in a poor attempt to reassure them. The Lan disciples look up from where their heads have been bowed. Their faces are a dark shade of guilt, eyes red-rimmed as they assess Wangji's state.

Lan Feiqi humphs. She narrows her eyes at Wangji, who ought to comment on her ever-present scowl but in the end, decides against it. “You don't look alright," states her, as if it were obvious to Wangji.

Wangji does not know what to say to that. He wishes he can see himself in a mirror. He wishes he can see how disgraceful he must currently be, how ruffled his entire face must look. He looks down and sips on the tea. It is deliciously well-blended, he notes.

After a beat of silence, footsteps come running from the direction of the hallway.

Wei Wuxian returns, then, panting, slamming the doors open. He bends over with his hand atop his knees. One hand holds onto the doorframe. Following behind him is another teenage boy with a scowl quite similar to Lan Feiqi's although more severe, brows meeting in the middle, lips bent in a direction Wangji very unhappily recognizes.

This face is the one face he wishes to never, ever see again in all of his lifetimes. Wangji does not want to curse the heavens, but he does just that without hesitation. He reviles all that is holy, hails swears up at the deities for this unfortunate situation he has been subjected to.

Jiang Wanyin looks down at Wei Wuxian with what almost seems to be distaste, but his eyes are the same fond irritation the others in Lotus Pier give their head disciple, if not more noticeable. His arms are crossed, glare openly judgmental. His eyes flicker up and meet Wangji's gaze. Or rather Wangji's glare, which he is certainly quick to mirror.

“Lan Wangji." Jiang Wanyin half-heartedly bows. So he has decided to not go with boot-licking pretenses and fake courtesies.

Wangji stands up (his knees buckle and the Lan disciples slightly stagger forward) and begrudgingly returns the greeting. “Jiang Wanyin."

Wei Wuxian fixes himself, glancing back and forth between Jiang Wanyin and Wangji. "Huh," he huffs out a breath. “You two know each other?"

“Nope."

“Yes."

Wangji fixes Jiang Wanyin with a cold stare, curses him twice more than he has their whole interaction, and briefly imagines gagging the other boy with his bare hands and drowning him in the shallowest parts of Lotus Pier's lakes. He lets out all the profanities he could think of with the direct of his glare and Jiang Wanyin must be doing the same, if the twitch of his eye is any indication.

The spike of hatred is instantly lulled by Wei Wuxian standing in between them.

Wangji runs his glare toward Wei Wuxian. However, he can't bring himself to silently send curses and swears onto the other, having lost himself to the way Wei Wuxian's eyes appear to shine deep quicksilver. Sweat dribbles down Wei Wuxian's temples, down the slender lines of his neck, and Wangji has an abrupt (frightening, horrifying, despicable) urge to run his finger along it.

Oh no.

“You guys need to get along if we're gonna be camp buddies for three moons!" Wei Wuxian harrumphs. He ridiculously crosses his arms. The sweat on his neck falls to his collarbone, which is bared visible from how his robes have been ruffled open. Wangji quickly averts his gaze.

No, no, no, no, no . Stupid, ludicrous hormones. Stupid teenage hormones.

Wangji prays to all the gods above. He takes back all the curses he has sent their way. Please , he prays. Do not let his odd teenage hormonal instincts (which he has been guarding so obstinately all his life) suddenly be turned on by a (handsome) boy disgustingly sweating.

Wei Wuxian drags Jiang Wanyin by the wrist, the other resisting, and forces Jiang Wanyin's hand in front of Wangji.

Wangji swallows his shame. It burns easily down his throat. You shameful specimen of Lan, the devil on his shoulder with a face uncanny to Jiang Wanyin hisses.

He stares down at the hand extended for him to shake. He stares at the hand wrapped around the wrist. It has been calloused from sheer expertise of swordsmanship and...

Wangji's breath gets caught in the wrong pipe. He swallows his chokes, along with the shame still melting in his throat like butter.

Wei Wuxian's slender, round-trimmed fingernails have been painted maroon. They are also heavily chipped, with only flakes of the red paint remaining on the fingernails.

With all the resolution and restraint he's cultivated with his core, Wangji fights the admonishing remark threatening to leave his mouth. He swallows that down too, lets it butter-sauté in his throat with his shame and his close bouts of insanity

Heavens, gods, please help me. He curses Jiang Wanyin as well. Xiongzhang, please pick me up.

If Wei Wuxian was already strange to him before, then the value has doubled, now that Wangji has seen the maroon fingernails.

“Lan Zhan?"

Wangji's attention snaps back up to Wei Wuxian calling his name.

How shameless! Calling Wangji by his birth name! Wangji has held all restraint within himself in order to act properly in front of his hosts, borne with the initial belief that perhaps, maybe, Wei Wuxian isn't as bad as he is satirical. Perhaps he truly isn't, but Wangji has been (mis)led to think otherwise!

His thoughts must have been clear, as he catches sight of Wei Wuxian wincing momentarily. But in the blink of an eye, he twists his hurt with a cheeky grin. He has long since let go of Jiang Wanyin's wrist, and has taken to poking Wangji's dignity this time. Wangji hopes he doesn't have to swallow that down as well.

“You didn’t respond to me calling you ‘Lan Wangji’ or ‘Lan- er-gongzi’ , so I thought to call you by your birth name instead. Surely you don’t mind, right?” Wei Wuxian tilts his head, still grinning. Beside him, Jiang Wanyin glares between the both of them, about to say something.

“Ridiculous.” Wangji looks away. He does not want to hear Jiang Wanyin talk.

“Lan Zhan, why do you look so…. puffy?" Wei Wuxian veers closer. Wangji steps back. He clenches his fists under his long sleeves.

“Wei Wuxian, stop harassing him!" Jiang Wanyin hisses. He pulls Wei Wuxian back by his long pony. Wei Wuxian cries out in pain, smacking Jiang Wanyin's hand.

“Ow, ow, ow!" Wei Wuxian yanks back his hair. He turns back to look at Wangji, leaning down to meet his eyes, expression slightly dazed and confused. And then, realisation seems to dawn on him, and the flush on his neck rises up to his cheeks.

Somehow, embarrassment is an odd look on Wei Wuxian.

Wei Wuxian whirls around to face Jiang Wanyin, clutches the other boy’s shoulders, and practically screams. “Lan Zhan is allergic to flowers!"

Wangji wills the ground to gobble him. Never mind swallowing his shame, or his chokes, or his dignity. Let him be swallowed by the earth.

And he is not allergic to flowers (though as much as he wishes to defend himself he finds his words stuck in his throat). Well, not every flower, at least. Most flower families are simply too strongly-scented for his liking, such as the lilies; other flower families are not as difficult to bear with, like the gentians. At the thought of gentians, something tugs at Wangji's remaining self-preservation, and he has to force his poise upright.

It just so happened that the incense burning in the East corridor smells of lilies. No one is at fault. (This is a lie. Clearly, Jiang Wanyin is at fault here.)

“But it's okay!" Wei Wuxian almost sounds hysterical. “The heirs have different quarters! You won't be staying in the East Dorms! It's fine!"

Wangji does not know whether he should laugh or cry. He almost believes Wei Wuxian.

(Keyword: almost. It will definitely, absolutely, not be fine. However will he supervise the other disciples and his younger cousin if he is in a different building?)

To believe Wei Wuxian seems like a bad idea, but he reminds himself that Wei Wuxian is the head disciple in charge of supervising the camp. He is the camp counselor. Counselors have a safe place tucked in Wangji's judgment.

“Remind me why the heirs stay in a different cabin." Jiang Wanyin runs his hand down his face. Wangji pretends he isn't there, drones out his voice, like an annoying house fly ringing incessantly. Though, he shares the disdain anyway.

Wei Wuxian mutters as he paces around the common room, fanning the remnants of incense away. He comes over to the other Lan disciples standing in a horizontal file behind Wangji.

“No one else is allergic, right?" He asks.

Wangji makes a new category in his judgment, specially for Wei Wuxian's character—wild, unruly, carefree, caring.

The Lan disicples silently shake their heads and Wei Wuxian nods. “Good, good. We can't have other Lans sneezing all day and night."

He walks back to Jiang Wanyin's side, in front of Wangji. “Okay, the others can settle in. I'll take Lan Zhan to the heirs' quarters."

—

The heirs' quarters are not at all what Wangji expected. But he should have expected it, considering he is in Lotus Pier, where everything so far has been unexpected.

Unlike what Wangji initially thought, the heirs do not have a room each to themselves. Three heirs share one large cabin, three dressers of different sizes, one bed on the other end and two on the other. Each bed is laid neatly by white duvets and lilac sheets, an empty stand on each side.

Wangji's lonesome luggage lays on the lonesome bed. Oddly fitting, the Jiang-Wanyin-faced devil says. He has only just arrived and the disciples here already know him so well. (Wangji flicks away the Jiang-Wanyin-faced-devil, ignores its satirical remarks, buzz buzz buzz, is that a housefly Wangji hears?)

The most remarkable thing about the cabin, however, is the large round window, which also serves as an exit to an outdoor deck. A lounge of sorts.

Wei Wuxian nudges Wangji's arm with an elbow. “Pretty cool, eh? That was my idea." Meaning the lounge, which Wangji has been staring at.

Briefly after the incident at the common room, Wei Wuxian dragged Wangji away while Jiang Wanyin was left to help the Lan disciples settle in. Wei Wuxian took them to a more secluded road, and Wangji half-suspected he was being kidnapped then all his internal organs would be sold to the black market, as his shufu had once warned him about as a child.

Now, Wangji looks at the hand on his elbow, then at Wei Wuxian's ear-splitting grin. He huffs. He faces forward, and shakes off the exasperation within himself.

He walks over to the round opening. The curtains, made of light sericeous ramie, wisp lightly along his sides as he steps foot onto the wooden porch.

Wei Wuxian gains up to him, rushing to perch upon the wooden balustrade. His entire body slugs bent over the sturdy wood. He looks quite comfortable. At home. Even though the dark purple, almost black, of his robes are a stark contrast from the soft Yunmeng colours, it only makes him shine.

How can Wei Wuxian look so at ease and tranquil within his surroundings? Wangji hears a new thoughtful voice in his other ear, not as unkind as the Jiang-Wanyin-faced devil.

Wangji swallows the lump in his throat.

“I thought a little relaxation space would be a nice addition, you know?" Wei Wuxian says as he bends further over the balustrade, his feet locked in between the dark wooden balusters, reaching his hand to touch the lotus pod peeking from the water beneath the deck.

It belatedly occurs to Wangji that the cabin has been built above the lake, as is the rest of the manor. However, the cabin is a distance away from the rest of the building, an annex of sorts, built further into the deepest, bluest parts of the lake. As he glazes around his surroundings, he can only see the ripe-green lotus pods erect from the water, the lotus flowers blooming vibrant. As the sun nears its set, the purple skies ripple along the lake, casting the lotus flowers a picturesque vision.

“There is the main bedroom," says Wangji. He sits down on one of the seats off to the side, resting a hand on the small round table.

Wei Wuxian suddenly turns to him, abandoning the lotus pod. The smile on his face widens. “Is that humour I notice?" He doesn't give a chance for Wangji to answer. “Are you humouring me, Lan Zhan?"

Berating Wei Wuxian for using his given name will deem fruitless. “Hm," Wangji gently picks on the wooden surface of the table with a nail. "I am merely stating a fact."

“I guess," says Wei Wuxian with a nonchalant shrug. The smile is still plastered on his face.

He strides over to the table, taking the seat across Wangji. Even the way he sits is improper. Legs spread, back slouched, elbow casually perched upon the table. He is also very restless. His fingers are tapping on the wooden table at a rhythmic pace. Every now and then, he would absentmindedly scratch on his forearm. Wangji stares at the forearm, in search of the source of Wei Wuxian’s discomfort, but it’s fully protected with a vambrace.

His eyes narrow at Wei Wuxian's every move, at Wei Wuxian resting his chin on his hand, at Wei Wuxian clawing mindlessly at his vambraced wrist.

Before Wangji could chide him for the scratching, Wei Wuxian continues speaking. “But an outdoor lounge is different from a bedroom. From here, you can climb up the roof. Or you can stay down here and be boring.” His cheeks glow purple as they reflect the sunset.

“But I guess you can still enjoy looking at the sunset, maybe pick a lotus pod and eat lotus seeds. Or…drink some alcohol while sitting here with a good companion!" He teasingly grins at the last one, tone pointed. He playfully waggles his eyebrows.

It would be nice, admittedly. Wangji, leaping up to the roof and meditating under the light pink skies. He almost imagines the rain falling down on him, but he quickly dilutes that thought-bubble with the presence of Wei Wuxian, who would be sitting beside him wearing his stupid grin.

Wangji does not huff, but it is a close resemblance. “Drinking is forbidden," he stops himself before he could say 'in the Cloud Recesses'. His chest aches, thinking about home.

He is no longer in Cloud Recesses.

He has not properly processed it, until now.

The skies above him are light even as the sun is setting. The wood he is sitting on is warm. And in front of him, sits the worst embodiment of a person he has ever met, the very defiant description of the Lan principles.

Wei Wuxian seems to notice the abrupt stop in his sentence, and he looks...worried.

Oh.

Why does he look worried?

“Lan Zhan–” Wei Wuxian pauses, maybe to consider his words.

Then, “We're in Lotus Pier. In Yunmeng."

His other hand twitches where it drums on the table.

Wangji realizes what his fingers have been doing and he stops picking on the wood, fisting his hand instead. He says, “I know."

He knows. But there are times. Times when he needs so desperately for someone to bring him back to reality, in order for him to fully get a grasp of it. For him to fully understand the weight of it. In due time he supposes he will.

“It's okay to miss home, you know." Wei Wuxian says, tone gentle. His smile now isn't the grin he has worn all those times before. This one is softer, and his gaze is terrifyingly molten; it makes the skies' golden glint appear colder.

Something warm unfurls in Lan Wangji's chest. His heart isn't pounding, exactly, but it is fluttering with the cadences of sunshine. He has not felt this feeling before. If he does not know any better, he would blame his living circ*mstances, and put the worst of it on Gusu's climate.

But this... It feels different . So different, he isn’t sure what to do with it.

He looks at Wei Wuxian, studies the other boy's expression; the little traces of exhaustion in his face beneath the hollow shadows, the way his eyes lift up at the corners, the slight furrow in his brows everytime he looks at Wangji.

Feeling unusually hot, Wangji stands up at once.

Wei Wuxian startles at the abruptness of it. He too moves to his feet.

“I'll be getting my rest now." Wangji slightly inclines his head. Wei Wuxian stares at him for a long time. A gaze at Wangji's eye, then the other, flickering down to his lips.

Wei Wuxian opens his mouth and Wangji waits a beat for him to speak, but he does not and simply closes it. There is that furrowed brow again.

“Thank you, Wei- gongzi ." Wangji tries to convey his message again. He salutes, bows, and— Did Wei Wuxian yelp?

As he is bent in a bow, suddenly there are hands on his elbows, and he has to fight the tingle gliding smoothly down his body.

Wei Wuxian frantically pulls him back straight. “No, no! Gods, Lan Zhan! Please, don't bow!"

He looks embarrassed. Again, it is an odd look on Wei Wuxian, but to say it is not amusing would be a lie. The sanguine glow on his cheeks is quite fitting if not complementary to the rest of his ensemble.

“And, uh," adds Wei Wuxian, still flushed. “Call me Wei Ying."

Wangji doesn't frown. He finds that he cannot, as much as his facial muscles itch to. He simply stares at the look on the other's face, the certainty amidst the embarrassment, and decides against disagreeing with Wei Ying.

Wei Ying.

Somehow, it sounds even better calling him as such.

—

The large suitcases land onto the wooden floor in several consequent thuds. Following after are the exhausted breaths caught short of two Jiang disciples. Both sets of luggage differ in designs—although look just as exquisite and expensive—with one set made of a darker wood and the other articulately hand-painted with birds and flowers.

Wangji bows down in salute. “Jin- gongzi . Nie- er-gongzi ." He eyes the hills (unstable, about to topple, why are there so many?) of suitcases behind the aforementioned young masters.

Jin Zixuan bows back. He has yet to take off his thick winter coat, the fringes of his hair wet with melted snow.

Nie Huaisang snaps open his fan. He looks paler than Wangji has seen him last.

“Lan Wangji," greets Jin Zixuan, as his eyes impassively glaze around the room.

Nie Huaisang fans himself. “This place is hot ," he comments. One of his hands reaches up to squeeze his own wet hair. He narrows his eyes at the dull appearance of the cabin. Something akin to distaste flickers on his expression, a grimace. As he is about to walk towards one of the beds, Jin Zixuan blocks an arm in front of him.

Jin Zixuan turns to frown at Wangji, one brow raised. He says, “I presume you've claimed a bed?" It is more of a statement than a question.

Wangji eyes his lonesome bed. The lonesome, silk-sheeted, dappled with soft sunlight, and large able-to-fit-three-Nie-Mingjues-with-two-Nie-Huaisangs-in-between bed.

“Mn." He likes this bed.

This has Nie Huaisang sighing with his entire body. “I should've arrived earlier..." He begins to fan himself more indignantly. Wangji can’t help but notice the little bits of snow floating from the wooden fan and down to the floorboards, almost unnoticeable.

Jin Zixuan shakes his head with an openly annoyed groan. He crosses his arms. “I claim the one by the window."

The one by the window is not as grandiose as Wangji's chosen bed, but it is supposedly grandiose enough for Jin Zixuan's standards. He walks forward, but not before Nie Huaisang can pull his sleeve.

Nie Huaisang slumps. “ I take that bed! I need the lighting for my painting!" He is about to run forward but Jin Zixuan is already holding him back by his skirt. “No, you don't,” grumbles Jin Zixuan.

Nie Huaisang yelps. "Ah! Propriety, Jin- gongzi !" He flails. He snaps his fan shut and all but smacks Jin Zixuan's hand with it.

The sharp sound of wood against skin almost makes Wangji wince. Ridiculous, the pair of them, as they fight over the window-side bed. The bed they have ignored is not subjected to as much sunlight as the one they are fighting over. Although the silks and pillows used for all the beds are just about similar, they also differ in size, with the windowside bed being the second-largest bed after Wangji’s. It seems, however, that their motives of claiming the bed are different.

“That bed has a larger dresser. I need it for my extra robes."

“The lighting, Jin Zixuan! Lighting! I need it for my art!"

“You're a sabre cultivator. Why do you need it for art?"

“Be quiet! I invalidate your invalidation!"

Wangji does not hold back his small sigh. As the two young masters wrestle from one another's hold, Wangji walks over to the larger dresser.

It is, in fact, larger than the other dressers in the room. The upper cabinet portion is higher as well. It could perhaps allow for a guqin inside, maybe make room for Bichen as well. The drawers are wide and may fit stacks of papers and a dozen inkpots. It is also made of sandalwood, the fragrant smell familiar and undeniably (painfully) close to home.

Wangji momentarily considers it.

In one swift motion, he picks up the wooden dresser. His muscles strain, struggling to make it fit around his arms. Fortunately, his limbs have grown accustomed to moving his closets in the Jingshi (to block the windows and keep the rain from pouring in).

With a large cabinet in his arms, he makes his way across the room.

The other two have gone silent, which Wangji is thankful for. He does not want to hear any more of their senseless bickering.

He places the large dresser in his side of the room, then moves to carry the one supposedly meant for him. It is significantly smaller. It is almost half the size as the one he's claimed.

Maybe it was irritation that led him to covet the large dresser, or perhaps simply out of spite. Nonetheless, the other two young masters' current faces are plain comical, their eyes following his every move and jaws slack.

"Crisis averted,” finalises Wangji. He passes them a cold stare as he all but drops the dresser beside what now will be Nie Huaisang's window-side bed. The entire cabin quakes amidst the newfound silence.

This dresser is the smallest one in the cabin.

Jin Zixuan jumps to his feet. Flipping his hair, chin high, he sashays his way to the other bed—the one by the door, dim and windowless.

Nie Huaisang stands up as well, wincing and staggering at every movement. He checks his fan first for any damage, then he pats down his robes.

It is then that he lets out a blood-curdling shriek, straight out of a phantom's mouth. "Jin Zi xuan !"

Nie Huaisang's face is dark with a sincere anger. He points to the large tear on his skirt which runs up to his mid-thigh, the grey of his underrobes peeking.

He cries, “This robe is made of exquisite cloth, threaded by the finest threads to ever be threaded! It's more expensive than your tacky poop-colored robes!"

“They're gold , you prick."

“They're sh*t , that's what they are!"

“Your opinion is invalid."

“ f*ck your opinion on my opinion! My beautiful and very damaged robes are the problem here! Even you can't pay any recompense for them! This was gifted to me by my da-ge !"

Wangji watches as they argue once more, then sighs.

It is pointless.

He knows Jin Zixuan and Nie Huaisang (enough). He has met them a couple of times during Discussion Conferences, on the rare occasion that he accompanied his uncle. Wangji has observed the two of them enough to know about their relationship and make a judgment of their characters.

They would evidently find something to argue about, no matter how nonsensical it may be. That much, he has concluded from years of silent observation.

He retreats to the outdoor lounge. He quietly sits on one of the chairs, letting himself fall into peace. Inside the cabin, Jin Zixuan and Nie Huaisang are still arguing.

How annoying.

He looks off to the side, out at the distance, where the lake reaches off to beyond what he could picture. The sun is halfway up the East and he wonders if he would see the sun from there, standing right underneath where it has risen. And, oh, right, he wouldn't. Gusu is far too melancholic for such a daydream.

He hasn't seen Wei Ying at all today, his mind provides. Though it is still midmorning and he wonders if Wei Ying is even awake at this time.

Thonk!

Wangji scowls, drawn out of his thoughts. He stands up and reaches for the back of his head, where something small and solid has hit him.

Thonk!

This time, Wangji catches the object, and examines it. A green round-shaped thing—a seed, about the size of his thumbnail. It is a lotus seed, Wangji belatedly realises.

“Lan Zhan! Eat it!"

Wangji turns around. He ignores the way his heart thumps out of rhythm.

Wei Ying is perched upon the rooftop. One hand is holding a fistful of lotus seeds, the other clutched onto the roof with his sword tucked under his arm. Down where Wangji stands and looks up at him, he can see how the flat of Wei Ying's back is arched enough to support his body, his ( rather fleshy, his traitorous mind provides) hind perked into the air and wiggling.

The blood rushes into Wangji's ears before he can even process what he has seen. The seed is easily crushed in his clenched fists

“Wei Ying!” He grits his teeth.

Said boy laughs in graceful mirth. He leaps off the rooftop and lands in front of Wangji. His hands are hidden on his back. Wangji very carefully avoids meeting his gaze.

“Lan Zhan! You look embarrassed! Don't you know how to eat a lotus seed?" Wei Ying takes a step forward as Wangji takes a step back.

“...Improper." Wangji mumbles. As he says this, he briefly catches sight of the smooth skin along Wei Ying's collarbone, peeking from underneath his ruffled robes. Wangji thinks he sees a straight line of beige under the hollow bone but he shoves that thought down. (Later he would come to realise that it is a freshly-healed scar.)

“Improper?" Wei Ying raises an eyebrow. He tilts his head, perhaps to examine Wangji's expression. Then he grins. “Oh, Lan Zhan!"

Even as he laughs at Wangji's demeanor, he fixes the lapels of his robes anyway. (His laugh sounds a bit nervous, why?) He pats his chest. “There. Better?"

Wangji huffs. With a flick of his robes, he spins and walks back into the cabin. Wei Ying is wide-eyed as he passes by.

Jin Zixuan and Nie Huaisang are not arguing anymore, at the very least. They seem to have grown tired and have retreated to their beds.

Jin Zixuan is folding his robes one by one, arranging them in an orderly fashion inside the closet. Meanwhile, Nie Huaisang is fishing through his luggage full of art supplies. He looks dejectedly at Wangji's direction, a poor attempt at guilt-tripping him, as he crams his belongings inside the tiny dresser.

Then he sees something—or someone—over Wangji's shoulder, and the sadness in his face is replaced by that of excitement.

“Wei- xiong !" Nie Huaisang happily exclaims, running in Wangji's direction. He trips over one of his suitcases along the way and splats onto the floor.

Behind Wangji, startling him, Wei Ying jumps. “Nie- xiong !" He hops towards Nie Huaisang, who is already returning to his bearings, scratching his temple with a fan.

“It's been a while, huh?" Wei Ying slings an arm around Nie Huaisang's shoulder and Wangji tries to ignore the pang of envy in his chest.

He tunes out their joyous reunion and goes to unpack his qiankun luggage, one he had deliberately pushed aside to become today’s assignment instead as yesterday’s exhaustion crept up to him early. With careful hands, he unclasps the lock and readies himself for the onslaught of items. With a shuddering exhale, he opens his suitcase.

Just then, hundreds of papers burst out from the inside, followed by a sealed ink pot flying into the air and a brush set, both of which Wangji is quick to catch. He sets the ink pot and brush set inside a drawer, and simply lets the papers be. The papers drift around his side of the cabin as he takes out the fresh set of neatly folded robes.

“ Tian ah , Lan Zhan!" Wei Ying all but guffaws as he chases the floating papers throughout and about the cabin. Nie Huaisang squeals and hides his own stack of papers, as if scared that they too will be dragged into the revel.

“What’d you do to make them float around like that?" Jin Zixuan pipes up. Between his fingers, he seems to have caught a paper dashing intently towards him.

Wangji sits on his bed, admittedly drained. He does not reply to Jin Zixuan.

The papers have been enchanted to gain sentience. This is for the purpose of sending letters. Nowadays, messengers can no longer enter the East region. However, with an ancient spell that Wangji found in the library, the papers can now fly around at will and at Wangji's request. These papers can withstand thunderstorms and hurricanes, and brave even the worst weathers as a result of the Heavens’ wrath.

“This is ancient, isn't it, Lan Zhan?" Wei Ying is now at Wangji's bedside, a stack of papers in his hands. He has strapped his sword around his back.

Wangji hopes he does not look too baffled as he stares at the papers in Wei Ying's hand.

The papers are… behaved . Obedient.

These papers are never obedient, as far as Wangji can recall. It was a drawback to the spell, a drawback he simply decided to tolerate and let be. He had to forcefully shove the papers inside the luggage and clasp it with a bind only he could break.

Now, the papers are still. In Wei Ying's arms.

“You..." Wangji's stomach pools with dread. “Did you..."

Wei Ying blinks. “Huh?" He looks at the papers. Then he laughs when he realises Wangji’s implication. “Oh! I didn't kill them!"

Wangji tries not to wince at the bluntness of Wei Ying's words. He reaches for a leaf of paper, and immediately it flies away from his hand and shoots toward the ceiling. Then, it slowly flits back down to return to its stack. In Wei Ying's arms.

“How did you..." Wangji trails off.

“Oh, well," says Wei Ying, nonplussed, “I just told them to behave. That's all."

Nie Huaisang stands next to Wei Ying, lower face hidden behind his fan. “Wangji- xiong . Maybe they're just terrified of you..."

Wangji's breath gets rooted in his chest. His robes have likely gotten crumpled by how hard he’s clutching it. The ringing in his ears is incessant and he does not wince. He very purposefully does not flinch.

Nie Huaisang suddenly yelps and bends down to grab his foot. “Ow—! Wei- xiong !"

Wei Ying sheepishly chuckles, leg shifting slightly.

He seems to have stomped on Nie Huaisang's foot.

Oh.

Wangji's heart does a thing again. The thing it did yesterday, when he first met Wei Ying.

“It is alright," mutters Wangji. He carefully reaches for the stack of papers and Wei Ying maintains his tiny, wary smile. He hopes his touch is gentle enough, lest the papers burst uncontrollably again.

“I'm gonna head over to lunch." Jin Zixuan suddenly says amidst the careful silence.

Wei Ying's smile breaks into a heavy scowl. He says something under his breath, and two pieces of papers suddenly come flying out of the stack and toward Jin Zixuan. The papers fold themselves into what appears to be chickens and land on top of Jin Zixuan's head.

Jin Zixuan grunts. "What the f*ck!?" He reaches for his head, but the paper chickens suddenly peck on his hair and his hand.

Wangji breathes in the urge to laugh. Wei Ying is already doubled over in hilarity. While he laughs himself out, he holds up the stack of papers in front of Wangji. The hilt of his sword almost pokes Wangji's eye when Wangji dodges.

“Lan Zhan-! Oh!" Wei Ying can't seem to catch his breath. “Take– Take the papers–!"

Wangji obliges, gently taking the papers in his hand. This is ridiculous, this whole scene is. He is carrying the stack of papers in his hand as if it were a baby, or a tiny little bird, and his mind drags him back to the sight of Jin Zixuan being attacked by the paper chickens.

“Wei- xiong ! Pray tell how you got them to do your bidding!" Nie Huaisang says, as he struggles to hold back his laughter.

Wei Ying is beginning to regain his breath, and he leans onto Nie Huaisang for stability. “Well Nie-xiong... You just gotta be..." He huffs out a breath.

“You just gotta be polite , that's all." He chuckles.

Jin Zixuan finally manages to grab hold of the paper chickens and unfold them begrudgingly. Then, he folds them into paper planes and, with a boost of spiritual energy, shoots them out to Wei Ying and Nie Huaisang's direction.

Wangji closely dodges the zoom of the papers, which have impaled Wei Ying and Nie Huaisang's heads of hair.

“ Peaco*ck! "

“Jin- xiong !!"

Wangji shakes his head, feeling something short of exasperation and fondness build up within him. He does not roll his eyes, but does do something close to the semblance of it. He keeps the now well-behaved stack of papers in one of the dresser drawers, alongside the inkpot and brush set.

“I just want to eat lunch, for f*ck's sake!" Jin Zixuan's voice is barely raised a fraction, but the anger is clearly present.

“Wei Ying." Wangji closes the dresser drawer with a creak. (Nie Huaisang victoriously gasps at the flaw. Wangji ought to fix the hinges soon.)

Wei Ying harrumphs. He crosses his arms indignantly. He does not say anything snarky in rebuke, like Wangji expects him to.

“Whatever," mumbles Wei Ying. Then, without saying another word, he leaves the cabin.

Jin Zixuan glares at the door. He groans as he fixes his ruffled hair. “f*cking goddamnit," he mumbles.

Nie Huaisang giggles into his fan. He reaches up to smooth a stray strand of hair from Jin Zixuan's head, as though his fingers were lacquered with oil.

“Wei- xiong is just like that, Jin- xiong ." He assures, tone gentle.

Wangji looks down at his hands, still on the drawer handles. He wonders, idly, what Wei Ying would be like around his loved ones.

—

Before the official summer camp can start, the gentries are left to their own devices to settle down in their designated dormitories. In Wangji’s case, he is left to settle down in his shared cabin with Nie Huaisang and Jin Zixuan. He finds himself alone for the rest of the day, however, just as he was the day before his cabinmates’ arrivals. He spends his afternoon organising and reorganising his belongings, eyes decidedly not looking at the cabin deck’s direction nor at the entryway. Nie Huaisang and Jin Zixuan are nowhere to be found, Wei Ying hasn’t returned to visit him since earlier’s fiasco (not that Wangji has been waiting, not at all) and Jiang Wanyin thankfully has half the heart to not visit at all.

Wangji is only broken out of his routine when, later that night before he retires to sleep, a Jiang disciple comes knocking on his door.

He stares down at the disciple, with a glower he hopes could properly project his dissatisfaction at being bothered. But the disciple doesn’t appear perturbed in the slightest, only smiling guilelessly up at Wangji.

And as much as Wangji wants to row at the disciple, he is the one visiting Yunmeng. It would do no good to be impolite to his hosts. Thus, with this thought in mind, he says, “What is it?” He tried.

The disciple only flinches very minutely. He says, “ Da-shixiong —err, Wei- gongzi , has invited the Lan- er-gongzi to a gathering held at the common room.” He bows.

Wangji tries not to sound too surprised. “What sort of gathering?”

“Wei- gongzi has ordered this one to not discuss the details.” The disciple bows even lower.

Wangji scowls. He hums. “Very well,” he says. The disciple hastily rises from his bow and steps back, as Wangji steps out of the cabin. If he slides the door behind him with much more force than propriety allows, the disciple does not comment on it.

To call it a “gathering” is an understatement. Not by quantity of the company but rather the sheer exuberance emanating from this said “gathering”. It is a party . Wangji loathes parties. Now he knows why Wei Ying ordered the disciple to omit telling him the details of the “gathering”—party.

The disciple who fetched him quickly leaves his side and joins in on his fellow YunmengJiang disciples, who are. Hm . Drinking what appears to be wine, seated in scattered piles around a cackling Wei Ying.

Wangji’s breath catches in his throat. He must look stupid, standing in the doorway rigidly. But no one pays him any mind. Everyone else, like him, is enraptured by the buoyant and vivacious host of this party.

Wei Ying. Wei Ying. Wei Ying.

Wei Ying laughs like there is no tomorrow, doubled up in cackles as he glows in the attention, lights up the room with his beaming smile. It is only sensible that the others would be enthralled by him.

Wangji has never been enthralled . Not once in his life. Not when the rain drops appear iridescent on the window, not even when the rare rainbow appears after a rainy week.

It is odd. He does not like it. But he does not hate it either. It is simply unfamiliar, new.

“Oh! Lan- er-gongzi !” Wei Ying calls through the crowd.

Wangji steps forward, inclines his head in acknowledgment. He deliberately ignores the incredulous looks sent his way. A disadvantage to Wei Ying being as captivating as he is, is that anything that catches his attention would be noticed as well. In Wangji’s circ*mstances, he is the subject of Wei Ying’s attention.

As much as that notion makes Wangji’s ears burn, it also sends a wave of apprehension down his already rigid bones.

Wei Ying leaps to his feet, toppling a low table full of wine jars, as he proceeds to stumble over toward Wangji. He says, “Come on, come on, Wangji- xiong !” He moves, perhaps to grab hold of Wangji’s arm or his wrist or his hand. Upon noticing this, Wangji hides said hand behind him.

Wei Ying does not seem to notice, however, and takes Wangji’s hand anyway. Stumbling past several tipsy disciples, Wei Ying leads them to the center of the room. The stench of alcohol is fervent and it makes Wangji’s stomach churn, but he endures. Wei Ying is their host, summer camp or party, and it would be rude for Wangji to decline any advances done by the boy to provide hospitality. Even if said hospitality is to get him drunk.

Here in the center of the room, with Wei Ying loudly rambling behind him, he can see a clear picture of who’s joined in on the revel. Of course, present are the ever-carefree Jiang disciples. The Jin disciples, noticeably clad in gold, laugh along with Wei Ying’s antics. The Nie disciples appear as rigid as Wangji currently feels, but they drink as well, if the empty wine jars and porcelain cups are to be any indication. His fellow Lan disciples all crowd together in one corner of the room, eyeing the alcohol with disgust. They look at Wei Ying with mirth in the corners of their eyes. They glance at Wangji with mixed looks of amusem*nt and, at the same time, mortification.

“Then, I pushed Jiang Cheng into the lake and you know what he did?” Wei Ying purposely pauses. His audience is all but bent over in anticipation.

“He cried! He wailed! Tears and all! He started screaming at me because there was a snake-like monster in the lake and I just pushed him in!”

The disciples listening in throw their heads back in both laughter and dismay.

“Wei- xiong , that’s mean!” “Poor Jiang- xiong !” “Was there really a snake-like monster?”

Wangji shuts his eyes. He does not huff, he does not sigh, he does not shake his head in exasperation. What he does do is open his eyes again, urges his frustration aside, and looks at Wei Ying with what he hopes is enough incredulity.

Wangji comments, “That is reckless.”

Wei Ying raises a brow at him. “I guess,” he says, “But was there really a snake-like monster?”

Jiang Wanyin kicks Wei Ying’s side, toppling him over towards Wangji. Wangji hardly stumbles. But the weight of Wei Ying against him only breaks through his pent up frustration, and he wishes he could push Wei Ying away. But that would be rude and discourteous of him, so he does not push Wei Ying away and instead lets the boy laugh against his arm.

“There really was something in there! I saw it with my own two eyes! It latched onto my ankle!” Jiang Wanyin defensively yells. As Wei Ying moves to sit upright again, much to Wangji’s relief, Jiang Wanyin kicks him back down again, much to Wangji’s disbelief.

He shoots a glare toward Jiang Wanyin. The latter appears impassive, rolling his eyes in response to Wangji’s glare.

The other disciples are cheering, screaming, “Fight! Fight! Fight!” The Nies in particular express their undying support for this idea by tossing wine and spilling it over their fellow drunk boys’ heads.

More or less, Wangji is terrified.

Xiongzhang, again, wherever you are now, please come pick me up, as soon as possible.

He sits there, eyeing everyone with disdain. He scowls as deep as his face allows him. The loud, unrestrained and ridiculous head disciple, Wei Ying, Wei Ying, Wei Ying, continues to encourage everyone by kicking Jiang Wanyin back.

Wangji’s whole body shakes, and he wills, prays to the gods above not to lash out his irritation and displeasure of being here. Just for one night. The one night before the camp officially starts.

He snaps out of his aggravating thoughts when he hears his own name being called.

"Lan Zhan!"

He looks past his glower. If heavens forbid he be involved in their riot he may just—

"Have a drink, why don't ya?" Wei Ying offers, resting his head on his palm. He looks—well. He doesn’t seem to be a lightweight, but he appears to have drunk one too many for tonight.

The other disciples, having already expected a riot, send them disparaging “Boo”s.

Wangji turns his head away. “I do not drink,” he replies.

Wei Ying sighs. He shakes his head, in feigned disappointment or heavens-know-what. Then he pauses. He goes silent. The room goes silent with him. Wangji prepares himself. Silence does not bode well.

“Wangji- xiong… .” Wei Ying trails off. He ushers himself closer, if he isn’t close enough already. He leans forward, to playfully whisper in Wangji’s ear, hand over his mouth. The others lean forward as well. “Don’t tell me you're a lightweight ."

Wangji’s ears burn in embarrassment. "I..."

He is, genetically, a lightweight. Unfortunately.

"So you are!" Wei Ying grins and everyone else in the room evolve in a fit of laughter from their previous disappointment.

Wangji, now more than ever, wants to curl up into himself. He feels ridiculed. Ashamed. He’s rarely been one to feel ashamed, given he tries to never give himself an instance to feel ashamed. He has always abided by the rules and did whatever his elders asked him to. So, evidently, he has rarely had any reason to feel ashamed, and only does he ever when he goes against his own rules.

Wei Ying shakes his head. He tuts. "Be quiet everyone. It's nothing to be ashamed of.” He turns to Wangji. "Keep that in mind Lan Zhan."

Wangji scowls, remaining silent. He does not know what to make of that. He disregards the shame, disregards how Wei Ying calls him by his birth name, disregards how beautifully his birth name leaves Wei Ying’s mouth.

Then he replies, “I'm still not drinking."

Wei Ying cackles. He links his arm with Wangji’s. Shameless, barefaced, brazen, unashamed, unabashed—Wangji profusely lists down all the words he can describe Wei Ying as. He disregards the arm around his as well, disregards the dozens of shock-filled gazes being sent their direction. And his disregard, this time, is more against his will and less intentional.

Wei Ying’s eyes truly are a deep shade of silver, his thought-processes provides. The corners of his eyes crinkle as he laughs, his mind betrays him. His smile is wide enough to make the twin dimples apparent on each side, albeit one deeper than the other, it adds.

Wangji also disregards the warmth unfurling in his chest.

"Ai, Wangji- xiong ." Wei Ying’s voice is lowered to a hush. “Your eyes are pretty.”

Wangji might just as well lose his mind. The burning in his ears, his neck, might just rise to his head and burn the rest of his remaining wits. No matter that Wei Ying had been thinking the same thing as he was, no matter that this makes the warmth in his chest imminently explode.

Jiang Wanyin thought to interrupt, standing up and toppling the low table over, yet again. He says, piqued, "Oi Wei Wuxian! Get away from Lan Wangji!" He grabs Wei Ying by the collar, unlocks Wei Ying’s hand from Wangji's frozen arm and drags the head disciple outside. The drunk disciples don’t notice their exit. At the distance along the hallway, Jiang Wanyin and Wei Ying scuffle, pushing each other. Before they round the corner, Wei Ying meets Wangji’s gaze, his eyes half-lidded in a drunken stupor.

Wangji looks around the room, something to place his attention on, aside from the heat flushing throughout his body and the cold left by the absence of Wei Ying’s hand around his arm.

Nie Huaisang looks as if he is tipping over the edge, leaning against a completely, apparently, sober Jin Zixuan. "Please remind me not to drink on a school day again." And he blacks out. Jin Zixuan does not shake him off as Nie Huaisang softly snores and drools on his arm, much to Wangji’s surprise.

Unable to withstand the overwhelmingly flaring feeling pooling in his chest and the downright discomfort rattling him, he stands up. Everyone around him flinches. He looks down at them.

Pathetic.

—

Wangji arrives at the cabin in no time. Not with the other disciples wordlessly leaving him to his own devices, not with the rest of Lotus Pier being quiet in the dead of night. It is eerily quiet here in Lotus Pier, this late at night.

It is long since past his bedtime, and the exhaustion is already creeping through his consciousness. His routine easily falls into step like how it would’ve been several shi earlier. He takes off his forehead ribbon, carefully rests it on his bedside table. He changes into his sleeping robes. He blows off the candles. He slides into bed.

The blanket is warm on top of his body. The room is cold. Nie Huaisang and Jin Zixuan have not yet returned. The wind softly whistles against the curtains where they billow through the exit to the deck.

From where Wangji lays quietly in his bed, he can see the moon through the opening.

The moon.

He has not paid any attention to the moon since his arrival here in Yummeng. Yesterday, he confined himself in his lonely bed. Earlier, he was too eager to reach the cabin.

He sits up. He leaves his bed, carefully slips off the blanket. He walks over to the deck, the curtains gentle as they caress his cheek, bidding him a cool good night .

The Yunmeng wind during the night is cold, but nothing in comparison to Gusu. It is the right evening chill to contrast the heat in the morning. The wood beneath Wangji’s feet is warm, the inside of the cabin behind him is bathed in darkness, and the night sky above is bright and blue.

The moon is beautiful. Big and bright up in the sky. Wangji rarely ever sees the moon. Growing up, the moon has just been a soft, dim, hazy light amidst the dark clouds. It is more absent than it is present in his night sky.

The only times he’s heard of the moon were stories from his muqin . His muqin , who loved the moon and everything beyond. The full moon, she said, is full of regrets. The moon, she said, is where the Moon Goddess Chang’e resides. When Wangji looks at the moon, he thinks of his muqin .

Wangji lets out a breath. He sits down on the stool, where just yesterday he shared a conversation with Wei Ying.

He does not dwell on thinking of Wei Ying, or of his muqin .

Instead he sighs.

The silence of the night is oddly deafening. Silence does not fit Lotus Pier. Crickets chirp, but the sound is just as delicate as the water rippling around the cabin.

When Wangji looks in the direction of the main building, some lights are turned on, some are dim, some absent completely. His cultivator’s ear allows him to hear the faint sound of the party still ongoing. A pair of footsteps pad along the pier—one heavy, one dragging itself in drunken exhaustion—toward the cabin. Jiang Wanyin’s loud shouting from the manor is what sends Wangji out of his deliberate hearing.

Jin Zixuan and Nie Huaisang would return soon.

Wangji stands up and walks back over to his bed. He slides under the blanket with ease. He closes his eyes.

The door opens to Jin Zixuan and Nie Huaisang’s hushed scuffles.

“Go to your bed!”

“Jin- xiooong , let’s sleep together.”

“You shameless—!”

Wangji does not open his eyes. He does not acknowledge their arrival. He continues his pretence, until Jin Zixuan and Nie Huaisang’s noise tunes out of his mind, and the tiredness of the day wearily pulls him under and into sleep.

—

“No, it looks terrible.”

“But—“

“No.”

Wangji remains silent, standing off to the side as he watches Nie Huaisang and Wei Ying discuss brushes and brush handle designs. The merchant looks between the both of them, clearly eager to cut into the conversation. Unfortunately, both young masters are the argumentative type, and Wangji knows with sure certainty that their discussion may last the whole day.

He sighs. If nobody dares to cut in, Wangji might as well do it himself.

“Wei Ying, Nie- er-gongzi . You are deterring other customers.” He bows at the merchant in acknowledgment.

Wei Ying frowns. Nie Huaisang co*cks an eyebrow at ‘Wei Ying’.

The merchant sheepishly laughs. He says, “Yes, yes, but Wei- gongzi may take his time choosing what he likes, I don’t—“

“Right? See, Lan Zhan, this is bartering.” Wei Ying crosses his arms, grinning at Wangji in a way that makes Wangji’s heart skip half a beat.

Wangji blinks. He glances over at Nie Huaisang. The Nie young master harrumps, ignoring Wangji’s gaze. He says, “Whatever, this is gonna take us all day.”

Wei Ying tuts, shakes his head in disapproval. “Nie- xiong , you used to have quite the eye for such things. What happened?” He feigns disappointment by pinching his own nosebridge.

Before Nie Huaisang could retort however, Wei Ying drops the paintbrushes and slings an arm around Wangji’s shoulder. Wangji tenses under his touch, limbs locking and heart beginning to thump out of rhythm.

“Lan Zhan, Lan Zhan. Let’s go to a restaurant. You have to try the famed Yunmeng cuisine. It’s a need.” Wei Ying rambles on, leading Wangji along the streets. Before they could truly leave, Nie Huaisang grabs the paintbrushes Wei Ying seemed to like and tosses a gold nugget toward the beaming merchant.

Flanking Wei Ying’s other side, Nie Huaisang fans himself. “Wei- xiong , isn’t Yunmeng cuisine ‘famed’ for being spicy?” He glances at Wangji (nervously) and narrows his eyes at Wei Ying.

At Nie Huaisang’s words, Wangji’s blood runs cold.

Wei Ying doesn’t seem to notice his trepidation and continues to laugh at his friend. “Yes, yes, Nie- xiong ! But! I’m sure Ji- xiong here has a good tolerance for spice.” He turns to Wangji. “Right, Lan Zhan?”

Lying is forbidden in Cloud Recesses. Lying is forbidden in Cloud Recesses. Lying is forbidden — Wangji tells himself so over and over again. He meets Nie Huaisang’s knowing gaze.

“…Mn.” Wangji hums.

Wei Ying beams. Wangji’s heart leaps off its connecting veins. Wei Ying’s smile is the contagious sort, reaching up to his eyes, lighting up Yunmeng’s sunny days. Wangji is but a boy, and he is human, and he has weaknesses as well.

Nie Huaisang coughs. “Err, Wei- xiong , I’ll have to sit this one out.” He sends brief and knowing wide-eyed glances toward Wangji.

They soon reach one of the restaurants, as crowded as every other establishment in town. Its walls are tall with pride, the store’s banner billowing against the soft breeze, upside down lanterns for fortune hanging at the entrance. The other diners turn to look at the three of them as they enter, albeit their wonderful gazes linger upon the sight of Wangji. He should be used to this, he should be.

Wei Ying’s arm around Wangji slides off, hand clutching tightly onto Wangji’s bicep instead. Wangji briefly ignores the discomfort brought on by Wei Ying’s burning touch as well as the other customers’ searing gazes.

“Table for three, please!” Wei Ying calls. He removes his hand and is cheerily led away by a server to a table beside a large rounded window.

Wangji is left standing beside Nie Huaisang.

Nie Huaisang loudly clears his throat, pointed. He continues to lazily fan himself. He says, “Wangji- xiong . I’ve spent enough time around Xichen- gege to know how sh*tty the Lan spice tolerance is.”

Wangji ignores him. He makes his way over to where Wei Ying is sitting, the head disciple waving cheerily in their direction. Nie Huaisang follows not far behind.

He sits across Wei Ying, Nie Huaisang beside him. The other two young masters sit in silence while Wei Ying calls over a server and rattles off his order.

“Our Lan- er-gongzi here will have one serving of dandanmian .” Wei Ying grins up at the waiter who, even though clearly befuddled by Wei Ying’s nature (Wangji understands that), returns the guileless gesture. Nie Huaisang hides his laugh behind his fan and Wangji very resolutely does not glare at him.

“How about you Nie- xiong ?” Wei Ying asks his companion beside him. Nie Huaisang vehemently shakes his head. He says, “I’ll just have tea.”

Wei Ying shakes his head, tutting. “Ai, Nie- xiong . You’ve gotten boring, even more so than Lan Zhan!” He pushes Nie Huaisang by the shoulder. Nie Huaisang playfully rolls his eyes.

Wangji looks out the window, tuning out their banter alongside the rest of the restaurant’s noise. From here, a large open part of the marketplace is visible. Jiang Wanyin and Jin Zixuan are arguing in front of a merchant selling what appears to be combs. Other clan disciples are scattered across the market, socialising amongst themselves. His eyes narrow at the sight of a Jiang disciple buying Lan Feiqi a paper lantern.

“Lan Zhan!”

Wangji turns to look back at Wei Ying.

Wei Ying is grinning up at him, hand gesturing down at the food across from him. During the time that Wangji has been staring out at the window, their dishes have arrived and have been properly set in front of them.

When Wangji sees his own dish, the blood in his face completely rises to absolutely nothing. The noodles and vegetables—it does not have any meat, Wangji realises—in the wooden bowl are lacquered with a mixture of deep soy sauce brown and the chilli oil red. So much red. He stares at Wei Ying’s dishes. His rice is drenched in chilli oil, his mapo tofu just as vibrant and scarlet.

Wangji swallows.

“Dig in!” Wei Ying happily claps his hands together. He digs in.

Nie Huaisang fixes a long, hard stare at Wangji. He snorts.

Wangji, very slowly, very reluctantly, very hesitantly, picks up his chopsticks. The noodles glare up at him, red and burning and deep and spicy. So very very spicy. Wangji inwardly prays to the heavens above. He almost regrets cursing the deities for Jiang Wanyin’s presence the last couple of days. (He does not regret it, would never. He simply curses his own luck.)

“What’s wrong, Lan Zhan? Is it too spicy? Do you not like noodles? Oh, tian ah , I never did ask you what you wanted to have and—“

Wangji cuts off Wei Ying’s rambling by taking a mouthful of the noodles. For a short second, he does not react, does not feel anything. But then his senses are quick to catch up to his brain and his tongue burns, it burns, it burns , and it is unbearably spicy, it’s hot, tears begin to prickle at his eyes and—

“Oh no, Lan Zhan!” Wei Ying actually sounds concerned. Concerned! What a face! He quickly calls the waiter over for tea, while Nie Huaisang blows over in loud laughter.

Wangji glares at Nie Huaisang, his vision blurry around the edges with tears. A whole situation plays out in his head where he pushes Nie Huaisang into a pigsty, his laughter very befitting the snorts and squeals of the pigs.

But somehow, it is worth it, Wangji thinks. The spice is worth it, the embarrassment is worth it. Wei Ying is smiling albeit concerned, Nie Huaisang is laughing, and Wangji feels a sort of warmth all throughout.

**

Let it not be said that nothing good comes out of Wei Ying and Jin Zixuan in a room together. Well—marketplace, in this case.

Earlier’s debacle done and gone, Wangji, Wei Ying, and Nie Huaisang paid for their meals and left the restaurant to join the others. Wei Ying, occasionally passing Wangji a full jar of tea in apology (which Wangji truly appreciates). Now they crowd in front of one of the stalls, this time Wei Ying arguing with Jin Zixuan over why the latter refuses to buy a gift for Maiden Jiang.

“Because I don’t want to,” said Jin Zixuan, which led to Wei Ying landing a fist onto his face. Before anyone could stop them, Jin Zixuan was punching him back just as hard.

Jiang Wanyin grabs hold of Wei Ying’s arms, yells, “Stop that, Wei Wuxian! He isn’t worth it!”

A Jin disciple comes in front of Jin Zixuan. Defensive, he yells back, “Aren’t you supposed to be the camp counsellor?! Why are you punching your campers now!?”

Wangji lets out a long-winded sigh, quietly as to not shift their attention toward him. He intervenes anyway. “Official camp has yet to start,” directed at the Jin disciple. Then to Wei Ying, “However, what you did was inappropriate.”

Wei Ying’s glare is nothing but furious, burning with outrage that it almost makes Wangji’s heart clench if it weren’t for said glare directed at someone else. Wei Ying spits. “Inappropriate!? Lan Zhan, didn’t you hear what he said? My shijie is his intended and yet he outright said he “doesn’t want to”. Shouldn’t you have been at least a bit nicer when you said that!?” The last one is spat at Jin Zixuan.

Jin Zixuan is quiet, glaring at the ground with his arms crossed behind the Jin disciple defending him.

Jiang Wanyin is shooting daggers at the Jin party as well. He says, as blunt as a jagged knife, “What, you lot not have more to say?”

A butterfly flapping its wings overhead can be heard with how quiet their surroundings have become. Wangji looks at the other clan disciples, finds them standing quietly, fiddling with their robes or their swords or the things they’d bought in hand. The marketplace chatter has lowered to murmuring hushes as well, people wordlessly passing by, giving them pointed side-glances and clearly afraid to touch on the tense silence.

Finally, Jin Zixuan speaks. “I was just being honest.” He returns Jiang Wanyin’s glare. “I really don’t want to buy her a gift, nor do anything else that involves her.” His tone is cold, just as cold if not colder than the snowy North where he grew up in.

Wei Ying, however, seems to have had enough. He frees himself from Jiang Wanyin’s grip, and pushes the Jin disciple in front of Jin Zixuan away. Jin Zixuan stumbles back, wide-eyed, but then before anyone could react, Wei Ying is already tackling the Jin young master to the ground.

Wangji moves, unthinkingly, and tugs at the collar of Wei Ying’s lapels. But Wei Ying is hell-bent on fisting Jin Zixuan’s robes, landing punch after punch on his jaw, his shoulders, and his torso. Jin Zixuan is struggling to kick Wei Ying off of him, landing blows on Wei Ying sides as well, one of his kicks even landing on Wangji’s leg. The other disciples push and pull at the two of them, attempting to free them both. But then Wei Ying stands up, raises his leg, and—

Wangji tries. He tries not to move without thinking. But somehow, when it comes to Wei Ying, he moves before his mind can catch up a lot more than he should.

He lifts Wei Ying up, his own elbows around Wei Ying’s armpits, and gods oh gods he’s lifting Wei Ying and Wei Ying is as light as a sheet of paper in his arms. Wei Ying flails in his hold, lands several kicks into the air intended for Jin Zixuan. Jin Zixuan stares, jaw-slack and face bruised, up at Wangji. Jiang Wanyin, meanwhile, tries to grab Wei Ying’s legs, a futile attempt to stop his thrashing.

“Wei Ying—“ Wangji does not grunt. Wei Ying punches his sides, tries to claw Wangji’s arms off of him.

“Let go of me! Let go—!” Wei Ying all but yells, and Jiang Wanyin—gods help him, help Wangji— sends Wangji an apologetic grimace.

“Wei Wuxian, stop it! Stop—Stop kicking!” Jiang Wanyin flinches back when Wei Ying lands a particularly strong kick in his way.

Jin Zixuan shakily rises to his feet, clutching his shoulders. He glares, eyes wide and bewildered, however furious and pushing away whoever touches him.

“Jin Zixuan, you prick—! You—!”

“Stop that, Wei Wuxian. You’re embarrassing no one but yourself.” Jin Zixuan glowers.

This makes Wei Ying abruptly stop in his movements, legs hanging limp barely above the air, hands still gripping Wangji’s arms.

Wangji is burning, meanwhile. Wei Ying is light as he carries him, hot against Wangji’s front. But as he stops moving, not even a muscle, Wangji feels a searing cold wash throughout his body. Wei Ying shouldn’t be still, he should be moving.

Slowly, carefully, Wangji lowers Wei Ying to the ground. Wei Ying lets go of his arms enough for Wangji to pull away. Jiang Wanyin sends Wangji a look—“sorry”—and glares at Wei Ying.

“What were you thinking!? You’re such an idiot sometimes—nope, wait. You’re such an idiot! You always are! What were you thinking, assaulting Jin Zixuan like that!? Are you out of your mind!? Have you finally gone crazy!? I know you’re unstable enough as you are–“

Wangji’s breath hitches. He looks at Wei Ying: unmoving, head low and clutching his own arm. Wangji stares too long at his arm.

“—But gods! You really didn’t think this through! What do we tell a-niang and a-die now!? What would a-jie think!?”

Wei Ying doesn’t say a word.

Wangji looks at Jin Zixuan. The young master is visibly beaten up, the red bruise on his jawline darkening by the second, robes rumpled. He looks at Wangji, then, his scowl still dark on his face.

Wangji bows a salute to him. An apology on Wei Ying’s behalf? Maybe.

Jin Zixuan scoffs. He turns to his fellow Jin disciples, raises his chin, and leaves. The Jin disciples follow him, but not before shooting furious glares at Wei Ying’s direction.

A Jin disciple snaps at Jiang Wanyin, “Watch your dog.”

At this, Wei Ying flinches bodily.

Jiang Wanyin snarls, “ You watch your dick before I slice it off, f*cker.”

The Jin disciple harrumphs and walks away.

Wangji turns to Nie Huaisang, who walks forward, albeit reluctantly. “Return with the disciples to the manor,” says Wangji, more of an order than a suggestion. Nie Huaisang takes it as a suggestion anyway.

Nie Huaisang turns to the other disciples, nodding. The disciples clamor to bow at them, before running off to where the Jins are headed, possibly back to the manor.

“Wei- xiong… ” Nie Huaisang trudges slowly, extending his arm. He slowly fans Wei Ying, the air lightly blowing against the stray sweat-drenched strands of hair on Wei Ying’s head. Nie Huaisang says, “That was too much.”

“Too much!?” Jiang Wanyin’s voice is loud and also low and rough around the edges. “This dumbass attacked a prominent peaco*ckish arrogant heir of a prominent peaco*ckish arrogant sect under his own guidance! Too much!?”

Nie Huaisang flinches back.

Wangji sighs. “Admittedly, that was a very inappropriate thing to do.”

Wei Ying finally sounds out. “Can you stop with the word ‘inappropriate’ Lan Zhan? Please?” His tone is sharp and it slices a part of Wangji’s soul away but his head remains low and he avoids their eyes.

“No word is more appropriate than ‘inappropriate’.” Wangji ripostes. “I do not know what you want me to say.”

Nie Huaisang looks like he might be shaking. Jiang Wanyin stares up at Wangji, incredulous and just as taken aback.

“Then don’t say anything!” Wei Ying finally looks up, meets Wangji’s gaze, and oh .

His eyes are red-rimmed, angry, humiliated, cheeks flushed, jaw clenched. Wangji resists the urge to touch Wei Ying’s face, brush back the lock of hair sticking to his cheek.

Wangji looks down. “Very well.” He does not say anything more.

He looks up just enough to see the flash of guilt on Wei Ying’s face, but it disappears quickly, easily replaced by nothing and Wangji isn’t sure what to do with a blank-faced Wei Ying.

“Come on. We need to buy the list a-jie left us before they return tomorrow.” Jiang Wanyin turns and walks away.

Somehow, just a tiny bit, Wei Ying’s face lights up at the mention of Maiden Jiang. Nie Huaisang notices this as well and throws an arm to loop around Wei Ying’s.

“Wei-xiong, I can’t wait to meet your shijie !” Nie Huaisang squeals.

Wangji follows behind. And, as Wei Ying asked him to, Wangji does not say anything.

**

Wangji expected them to return to Lotus Pier. Instead, he finds himself sitting on a rowboat with Wei Ying, who paddles them away from the docks and out the large lake. From Wangji’s vantage point, the lake extends out into open nothingness, the expanse of the waters too large for the other side to be discernible.

Nie Huaisang and Wei Ying had both insisted they check out the docks, and got two separate boats. However, Wangji refuses, with every inch and fibre of his being, to stand in the same boat as Jiang Wanyin. They’d both shared eye contact earlier, both properly concerned for Wei Ying’s sudden outburst, but that was it. Nothing more than their mutual concern for Wei Ying and a spark of dislike for one another. So, with feigned disappointment, Wei Ying had dragged Wangji over to one of the boats and rowed them away from the docks as fast as he could before Jiang Wanyin could yell at him for it.

“Lan Zhan, you are gonna love this.” Wei Ying now says, if a bit breathlessly.

Wangji huffs. He reaches for the other pair of oars but Wei Ying quickly shoves his foot down against them, giving him a look. The boat sways at his step. Wangji narrowly settles the boat, looking back at Wei Ying with narrow eyes.

At his stare, Wei Ying’s cheeks flush, a captivating sight beneath all of Wangji’s irritated views of him. He splutters indignantly, “I got this, Lan Zhan! Just sit there and be… Well, just be.” He continues to paddle them forward.

Time passes very slowly this way, with only Wei Ying to row them away from the docks. As Wangji looks back, the pier grows ever so distant, the boat Nie Huaisang and Jiang Wanyin have occupied now a part of the painting Lotus Pier paints from afar. Even from a distance, Jiang Wanyin vehemently if not angrily waves at them, purple robes bright and stark.

Wei Ying snorts. “Pretend you don’t see him. He’ll just spoil our adventure.”

Wangji’s brows furrow. He turns back to Wei Ying. “Perhaps for good reason.”

Now that he thinks about it, the skies have grown slightly darker. Even if it seems Yunmeng is picturesque and endless, they have to stop somehow, somewhere. When Wangji looks ahead, there is an almost unnoticeable purple glow, like mesh and liquified, behind Wei Ying.

Wangji’s eyes widen. “Wei Ying!” He says through gritted teeth.

Wei Ying blinks, taken aback. Then he whirls around. He shrieks. “Oh—!!! We gotta stop here.”

But apparently, ‘here’ means directly in front of the purple mesh. The forcefield, Wangji realises too late. The border. Which they are forbidden to come near without permission.

“Wei Ying, this is a border .” Wangji very clearly points out the obvious.

“Yeah, obviously.” Wei Ying snigg*rs, as if this were a laughing matter.

Wangji looks around for any patrolling guards, perhaps also dressed in purple, but there are none.

The forcefield hums.

“Come on, Lan Zhan!” Wei Ying rows the boat closer to the forcefield with his own hands.

Wangji might just pass away. This is more than against everything he stands for. He hopes his displeasure shows in his face. This is just outrageous! He does not want to partake in whatever scheme Wei Ying has orchestrated in an attempt to pursue “fun”. This is against the law .

But then Wei Ying smiles, toothy and cheeky and only one cheek has a dimple, and Wangji is far beyond lost.

“…Mn.” Wangji hums, slightly (very) reluctantly. He takes a single oar and paddles the boat closer. The boat collides with the forcefield. It vibrates at the sudden disturbance, glowing an even brighter purple.

“Do you know where this leads?” Wei Ying tilts his head, mirth in his eyes as bright as the play in his smile. He knocks on the forcefield. “This is the Western border.”

Wangji’s eyes widen a fraction. The Western border. Admittedly, he does not know much about the Western region. Only that past this very border are the deserted towns of Yiling and even further, Qishan.

“Southwest, specifically.” Wei Ying grins. “So you don’t have to worry about the Wens catching us.”

Right. Northwest stands Qishan, Southwest lies Yiling.

Wangji puffs out an exhale. This is a terrible idea , he does not say, because Wei Ying is clearly aware of that. Instead he says, “What now?”

Wei Ying thoughtfully rubs on his chin, looking up at the sky for added effect. Wangji’s scowl deepens.

They meet eyes, and Wei Ying quickly waves both hands in front of Wangji. “Ah-ah! Lan- er-gongzi ! Don’t look at me like that! I was thinking about how to make this fun for you.”

Being with you is fun enough as it is. Wangji huffs. “Very well.”

Wei Ying grins. He rises to his feet, boat swaying. “I should’ve told you to bring extra robes, but–“ He looks down at Wangji, grin sheepish and uncertain.

Wangji wills his irritation to settle. He stands to his feet as well. With a flick of his sleeves, an extra layer is draped on top of his robes. He reaches up to tug the hood of his cloak down, covering his head.

“Eh,” Wei Ying looks very much amused at Wangji’s get-up. “Not what I had in mind, but it’ll do!” He grins.

The heat in Wangji’s ears comes unbidden. He hopes it is his irritation.

Then, without warning, without signal, without saying a single word, Wei Ying purposely stumbles forward. The entire boat rocks and Wangji has half the mind to hold his breath, before they are completely toppling over. The boat upends and the two of them end up underneath. For a while, the world is black, and Wangji cannot breathe but someone—Wei Ying—is pulling at his sleeves and the water all around Wangji finally registers.

Wangji rises back to the surface, and consequently hits his head against the upended boat with an embarrassingly loud thud . Wei Ying’s laughter reverberates around them.

“Wei Ying!” Wangji admonishes.

Wei Ying cackles. “I’m here, I’m here!”

Then it’s quiet. Only the sound of their feet and robes swishing under the water fills the silence. Somewhere outside, the forcefield hums. But under here, in here, it’s just Wangji and Wei Ying. The two of them, face to face in the dark, the sunlight ever so slightly peeking through the gaps in the wood, just enough to make the brown of Wei Ying’s eyes glisten when it hits them.

Between them, no one says a word, too afraid to interrupt the precious calm. Wangji wishes the tranquillity between them is a bit more real and less sudden.

Wei Ying opens his mouth, then closes it back again. He stares wide-eyed at Wangji, eyes searching.

Then, “Lan Zhan.” Wei Ying’s voice is quiet, a touch above a whisper, but it echoes loudly around them that it is all Wangji hears, all Wangji wants to hear forever.

“Wei Ying,” he says. Say it again, say my name, he doesn’t say.

“Lan Zhan.” A bit louder, a bit more tentative, obeying the unsaid demands of Wangji’s want.

Then Wei Ying laughs. He shakes his head, looking down. If Wangji didn’t know any better, he would say Wei Ying’s smile is bashful .

“This is ridiculous,” says Wei Ying, running up a hand through his hair.

“Mn,” replies Wangji.

He carefully lifts the boat, turning it over so it plops properly back to how it should over the water. Wei Ying treads through the water very slowly, reaching out so his fingertips touch the forcefield. It rumbles in response.

“I’ve always been so fascinated by how these forcefields were made,” says Wei Ying.

Wangji blinks. He reaches out a hand as well, and oh, that is. Hm . That sends a very funny feeling along his arm. He retracts his hand.

“Weird, huh?” Wei Ying chuckles. He wiggles his hand along the field as if tickling it, and Wangji simply huffs at the sheer ridiculousness of it all.

The hood around Wangji’s head is heavy, the extra layer on top of his weighty robes even more so. It weighs him slightly down, unable to catch up with how quickly Wei Ying threw himself forward into the forcefield.

“Wei Ying!”

Wei Ying passes the forcefield, his silhouette almost indistinguishable with how strong the forcefield’s energy apparently is.

Wangji looks around once more, finds no one watching, then follows Wei Ying.

He is well aware that this is a bad idea. Terrible, even. But Wei Ying is just so persuasive and Wangji is weak to his smile so he finds himself caught up in the madness anyway.

And oh what madness.

The other side of the border is a torrential sandstorm, winds coming at them in heavy slams accompanied by layers and layers of dust and sand and earth that’s passed. The darkness is what’s unsettling, because there is nothing to light up their way. Not the sun, not the border, not even Wei Ying. The water they tread through now is much, much dense, murky where they seep through Wangji’s robes.

Wei Ying coughs audibly, swatting away all the dust and sand that flies their direction. Wangji lowers his hood further down his head.

On a positive note, Wangji’s hood is much drier with how strong the winds particularly are in this end of the border. On the other hand, he vehemently blinks away all the dust and sand that flies into his eyes, presses his lips extra tight to avoid swallowing any more.

“Lan—“ Wei Ying coughs even more.

Wangji slowly swims forward, catching Wei Ying’s sleeve. They are still chest-deep in water so Wei Ying is much, much lighter this way, and also much, much heavier because the waters are death-sodden. He pulls Wei Ying in, turns him so that his face is hidden against Wangji’s shoulder. Somehow, Wei Ying is much, much, much heavier this close, and despite the intense pressure of the winds, Wangji is hot all throughout.

Wei Ying shuffles around. Wangji barely stops himself from voicing out his complaints. Thankfully, before Wangji can fully lose his mind, Wei Ying pulls out a piece of paper from inside his sleeves.

A talisman. Wangji frowns. Would it still take effect, drenched and smeared with water and sand?

But then again, Wei Ying is as unexpected as Yunmeng, and the talisman lights up in his hand. In no time, a field of energy appears around the both of them, somewhat a smaller variation of the forcefield they forbiddingly broke into not long ago.

“This is…” mutters Wangji, carefully, afraid that he would swallow sand. But he should have known better than to doubt Wei Ying’s talisman work.

“Jiang- shushu and the others use this when travelling to the West.” Wei Ying says. He moves forward and Wangji can only follow.

They swim through the lake without exchanging words, the waters dark and dusty as expected, until their boots finally touch the soft ground beneath. Wei Ying leads ahead, plopping onto the sand. Wangji steps out of the water as well, though he remains standing, not wanting to dirty his robes more than they already are.

“You know we’re gonna clean up once we get outta here, right?” Wei Ying looks up.

Wangji stares down at him.

There is sand on his hair, on the crown of his head, on his eyebrows, fluttering along his lashes. His cheeks have been smeared with mud, his complexion pale and sodden when wet. His lower lip is trembling ever so slightly, lush and scarlet and sandy and Wei Ying is beautiful and Wangji looks away.

“That means you can sit down. Dirty your robes. Have fun , Lan Zhan.” Wei Ying then lets out a grunt when he stretches his arms.

Wangji swallows. “What fun is there in dirtying your robes?”

Wei Ying does not say anything. Then, “Just sit down, Lan Zhan. Your legs are probably tired from all that swimming.”

Wangji’s legs are tired. Begrudgingly, he settles down, silently kneels next to Wei Ying, who looks back at him in amusem*nt.

“Even in such a dire situation, you still choose to be proper?” Wei Ying lifts a brow.

The huff escapes Wangji’s lips unbidden. “We would not be in this dire situation had you stayed behind the border.” He is surprised at himself, for being able to reply in such a way when he barely knows Wei Ying.

Wei Ying feigns outrage when he scoffs. “You followed me too! You could have stayed behind, you know! Wait for me to come back. You could’ve also returned to Lotus Pier and left me behind, I can swim.”

Wangji sends him a narrow-eyed look. Wei Ying truly is audacious. They’ve only known each other for three days, complete strangers before then, and now Wei Ying has roped him into a situation so out of Wangji’s expectations. He did not expect to break laws when he agreed to come to Lotus Pier. His xiongzhang was quite persuasive when he spoke about Lotus Pier and its summer camp program and how different the air in Yummeng is.

Wei Ying continues, “But thanks, anywho. For coming with me.” He tucks his knees closer to himself and rests his head there. He turns his head to the side. He smiles up at Wangji.

Heart skipping a beat, Wangji hums, letting it vibrate all along his system. “We should move.”

“Yeah.” It comes out muffled. Wei Ying hides his face in his knees, shakily breathing, flinching every once in a while as if it hurts for him to move like this.

Wei Ying lifts his head once more to stare ahead at the dark lakewater in front of them. He scratches his arm again. Wangji stares at the movements, in search of something, an explanation as to why Wei Ying is restless and in ever-so-subtle pain.

Surprising even himself, he stops Wei Ying’s hand where it was scratching the other arm. Whatever it was, whatever the intention, Wangji knows it can’t have been good. Nevermind his own repulsion to physical touch, he just knows something is bothering Wei Ying. And if Wei Ying hurting himself by scratching his arm is his way of feeling distracted, then Wangji will give him a new distraction.

The look in Wei Ying’s eyes when he whirls to look at him, then, is a mixture of rage, recognition, horror, shame, then guilt. He removes his hand from Wangji’s grip, hides both of his arms in front of him against his thighs.

“Wei Ying,” says Wangji, not sure what else to say. He really was not thinking when he stopped Wei Ying’s movements. But something in him said that he would regret later on if he did not stop Wei Ying, and so he did. He does not want to regret anything.

Wei Ying avoids his gaze. His arm goes limp beside him, hand grabbing a fistful of the sand. “Don’t say anything, Lan- er-gongzi. ”

It’s cold. Colder than Gusu has ever been even during the worst winter nights. It aches and aches and it’s a hollow block of ice in Wangji’s chest.

Wei Ying has told him to say nothing twice now, today.

He has followed the first, so he follows the second.

Wei Ying gets up to his feet, shaking off the sand clinging to his damp robes. “Come on.”

Wangji stands up. Their small force field-bubble hums around them, the sandstorm whistles outside, their boots are soft against the sand as they walk, and Wangji does not say anything.

**

Not later, they arrive at a clearing. It is not far from the lake, but the sandstorm is not as strong here. On their way over they passed weeds, tumbleweeds, more weeds, and, surprisingly, mounds of sand. And mounds of sand mean life.

“I don’t know what I was expecting but it was definitely not this,” says Wei Ying, hands on his hips as he stares down at the rabbits hopping out and about around the clearing.

Wangji says, “Mn.”

Wei Ying quickly fell back into his easy chatter, the longer they walked. Of course, Wangji liked the silence, the peaceful quiet of them walking to places unknown. But he appreciates Wei Ying’s chatter more, a sort of distraction that keeps his thoughts at bay, distracting him from the fact that they are not supposed to be here, trudging around the West.

“What do you think, Lan Zhan?” Wei Ying tuts playfully down at the tiny creatures.

Wangji thinks the rabbits are fairly endearing. Their coats are thick and apricot from the sand, eyes a deep shade of black. He has read a fair amount of texts regarding the taxonomy and physiology of animals found throughout the Jianghu . He certainly has read about the rabbits currently flocking his legs, unafraid and surprisingly, curious.

“Desert cottontails,” says Wangji. He carefully lowers himself to touch the rabbits. They scramble away, however one remains fearless and attacks his boot. Wangji pets it behind its ears.

“Awwe, Lan Zhan!!!” Wei Ying squeals, following Wangji and falling to the ground. He, of course, scares away the rabbits. “I didn’t know you were such a softie for these cute little fellas!”

Wangji huffs. You don’t know much about me at all , given it’s only been three days. When Wei Ying reaches out to try and touch the rabbit, Wangji smacks his hand away.

“Ow—Lan Zhan !” Wei Ying is loud, through and through. Wangji is surprised that the rabbit under his hand has not run yet. “Have you replaced me, Lan- er-gongzi !? Your one and only best friend!? For a bunny!? ”

Oh.

Oh.

Wangji’s ears heat up. He moves his hand lower along the rabbit’s body, feeling it soft and warm beneath his trembling palm.

Friend. Best friend, said Wei Ying.

Wei Ying called himself Wangji’s best friend .

“…This is outrageous, Lan- er-gongzi ! This little bunny here won’t protect you from shuiguai when the time comes!” Wei Ying is still babbling and Wangji’s ears are burning.

“Be quiet,” Wangji grits out. The sheer audacity and lack of shame Wei Ying has is undeniably impressive. He is utterly ridiculous. His heart pounds in his chest.

Wei Ying cackles, the sound of it echoing around their bubble. Even the rabbits seem taken by him, entering the forcefield in low thrums and looking up at Wei Ying as he keels over in laughter. Wangji can’t take his eyes off him.

It’s a while before Wei Ying finally calms down. He stares back at the rabbits whose adorations he has all but captured. “Lan Zhan, Lan Zhan, ah.” He sighs. He bends forward to pick one of the rabbits up, swaying it in his arms.

Wangji hisses. “Careful,” though not unkindly. More rabbits flock him, asking for their own backs to be pet, particularly uncharacteristic of rabbits.

Wei Ying chuckles. “Don’t worry, I won’t hurt them.” He raises a rabbit up to his face. “In fact, I love rabbits!” He says.

Wangji stares at him. Wei Ying turns to him, rabbit still near his face, a wide dangerous grin curling up his lips.

“…..I like to eat them!!!” He whips his head around to the rabbit and peppers it with kisses, making sounds along the way of nom nom.

The heat in Wangji’s ears die down and instead, a familiar warmth blooms in his chest. He sighs, longer than he would’ve liked. “Wei Ying.”

Wei Ying sets the rabbit back down, the tiny pleasant smile still painted on his face. He glows in tranquillity, just as well as he shines in parties, and Wangji decides he likes Wei Ying either way.

“Ai, Lan Zhan,” starts Wei Ying. “You think we should bring these babies back with us?” He looks at Wangji with hopeful eyes.

An unseen hand clenches Wangji’s heart. He shakes his head. “They are native to this place.”

Wei Ying visibly deflates at this and he pouts, but he seems to understand, as he straightens back up and pats the rabbit he’s peppered with love and devotion. He says, raising three fingers up in the air, “I promise, little buns, we’ll come and visit every day!” He grins.

Wangji hums. “Not every day.”

“Thrice a week!”

“Mn.”

***

They swim back onto the lake, much to their displeasure, and cross the border again. They find their boat there still waiting, untouched. However, instead of earlier that day’s vast blue sky, there is instead a dark night lightened with sprinkles of stars and many, many stories. Stories of which Wei Ying happily recounts to him.

As they climb back up their boat, Wei Ying sets off a talisman, one that instantly resets their appearance to what they looked like earlier that day. Wangji is once again awashed with admiration for Wei Ying, his skill and intelligence in talisman work he has never seen before.

“You just haven’t met enough people, Lan Zhan.” Wei Ying chuckles. Although it is a jab at Wangji’s antisocial-ness, it is also a jab at himself.

Wangji frowns. “Do not downplay your abilities.” He works his arms to paddle them across the lake.

Wei Ying proceeds to tell him about the stars in the sky. (A flimsy attempt in changing the topic but Wangji won’t press.)

“I have this book in my room that has names for all those star combinations. I forgot what it’s called, though—” Wei Ying looks down.

Wangji blinks. He may have read a similar book, years ago when he first gained accessibility to the Forbidden Library. His thirst for knowledge was only satiated at the end of day when he came upon a thick book noting down stars, the moon, the sun, and endless possibilities of beyond.

His uncle shot down his questions about the contents of the book—why did these so-called nonsensical blabs make sense? It wasn’t as if he asked about demonic cultivation, Wangji was against that. But his own questions in defence of the book proved being introspectively similar in point to theoretically walking an evil path.

“Constellations?” Wangji muses.

Wei Ying’s eyes light up. “Yes! That’s it!” He shifts around to a more comfortable position on the boat. “How do you know that?”

“A book in the library,” answers Wangji.

“Ah, of course. The Lan- er-gongzi is well-read and devoted to his scholarly learning in addition to his ethereal appearance and exceptional cultivation base, yes, yes.”

Wangji’s nape burns in embarrassment. “Wei Ying…” He clenches his jaw.

He becomes aware, then, of Wei Ying’s gaze running from his jaw, to his neck, down to the movements of his shoulders as he rows the boat along the lake. His hairs rise and there’s a warmth pooling in his belly and oh no.

“Lan Zhan—” Wei Ying stops himself, and he audibly swallows.

Wangji does not dare meet his gaze, afraid of what he’ll see. He changes the topic.

“‘Science and Astronomy’.”

“…What?”

Wangji lets the hairs of his arms settle. “The book was titled ‘Science and Astronomy’.”

Wei Ying goes silent.

Then he shrieks.

Wangji does not why, but he shrieks, and Wangji is startled enough that the boat sways. “Wei Ying—!!!” He would lose all sense of rationality if the boat tips over and they end up sopped in lakewater again.

“Lan Zhan! Lan Wangji!! Lan- er-gongzi !!!” Wei Ying squeals in delight and Wangji, bewildered, keeps quiet and paddles on.

Wei Ying continues, “You’ve read that book? Then surely you agree with me when I say…”

Wangji pauses rowing. He looks at Wei Ying, waits for him. Wei Ying’s eyes shine a glazed hazelnut under the moonlight and they twinkle as they stare euphorically at Wangji.

“…We can leave this planet.”

“…”

What.

Wangji frowns. He continues to row the boat.

“No, listen to me—!” Wei Ying moves around and the boat rocks and Wei Ying is on all fours as he stares forward at Wangji. His gaze is what Wangji would describe as precious, ingenuously appealing. But the way his lips glisten and the way a single strand of hair strays to the front of his face is undeniably mesmerising.

“We can all get out of this dying planet. Who knows what possibilities await us out there? The weather isn’t working for us anymore, and—”

“Wei Ying,” interrupts Wangji because what is he supposed to do? He cannot listen to Wei Ying dream and hope for something so unequivocally impossible. Wei Ying’s emotional state, based on what Wangi has seen so far, is fragile enough as it already is. And what would Wangji do, then, if Wei Ying fully closes himself off and Wangji loses his first and one and only best friend?

“Lan Zhan, tell me I’m not crazy for thinking these things.” Wei Ying relaxes his stance, sitting on his haunches instead. He looks down at his hands.

Wangji sets the paddles down beside his thighs.

He looks at the place around him. This large Yunmeng lake is clear and bright even at night, reflecting the stars and the places beyond that Wei Ying wishes to see, that Wangji’s mother wished to seek, that Wangji himself seeks. He seeked for something beyond the dreary Cloud Recesses walls, something bright and new and a night so starry. Instead he found Wei Ying, here in Lotus Pier, so bright and so new to Wangji, and with eyes so starry they spark up all of the bright nights to come.

It has only been three days. Wangji wants more. He wants more of these Wei Ying-lit days.

“You are not crazy, Wei Ying.” Wangji’s hands are awkward on his lap. He wants nothing more than for Wei Ying to hold them.

You are not crazy because I, too, has had hopes for such possibilities , he does not say.

“Okay.” Wei Ying’s voice is small. “But we are gonna consider it, right?” He smiles, though not quite reaching his eyes the way it should.

Wangji turns over his hand to stare at his palm. Clean, unblemished palm. And the calloused fingertips he has hard-earned over the years of practising guqin within the lonely confines of his jingshi , where the rain and the outside world cannot see his wants to go and look beyond what’s within reach.

“We will,” says Wangji, and it is a silent promise. He has found Wei Ying after all these years of searching for more . It is only right that he stays with Wei Ying in his journey to find more.

“Okay.” And Wei Ying sounds content.

Wangji picks the paddles back up. He does not say anything to add to the conversation, finds he does not know what to say. And it is alright. It has only been three days. There are more days to come, more days for him to learn what to say and do to fill in these gaps borne from being strangers.

It has only been three days.

For now, he takes Wei Ying home.