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Chapter Text

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Lanling

Jiang Cheng scowled at the two men sipping tea in the chief cultivator’s office at Golden Carp Tower. Jin Guangyao and Lan Xichen both cast him a smile, and he could only liken their grinning, uncanny faces to a pair of eager courtesans so courteous in their attentiveness it bordered on leering.

Discomfited, his eye twitched.

“Jiang-zongzhu,” Jin Guangyao greeted politely.

“You were supposed to take me to Jin Ling,” he hissed at the Jin servant who’d led him into this very uncomfortable room.

“My apologies,” the servant said, bowing. “It was my understanding—”

Jin Guangyao interrupted, “I can take it from here, thank you.”

The servant shut his mouth, bowed, and obediently left the room.

“Tea?”

Jiang Cheng was eyeing the door, jealous of the servant’s swift escape. “What?”

“Should I pour you a cup of tea, Jiang-zongzhu?” asked Lan Xichen.

His eye twitched again. “No,” he said curtly. “Thank you.”

“Take a seat.” Jin Guangyao gestured to a free cushion at the table. Then he set his cup down and stood. “I’ll go get A-Ling.”

“That’s not necessary. If you just tell me where he is—”

“Nonsense,” said the chief cultivator, not impolitely. “I’ll just be a minute.” And then he was gone, and Jiang Cheng was alone with Lan Xichen. Of course.

He wasn’t surprised to see Lan Xichen here. It was no secret that he and Jin Guangyao quite enjoyed each other’s company, but fucking hell how unlucky could Jiang Cheng be?

“Sit,” Lan Xichen said after Jiang Cheng hadn’t moved, had simply stayed standing with his arms crossed and a scowl permanently fixed on his face.

“I won’t be staying.”

“I see.” Lan Xichen took a slow sip. Then, “How are you? How is Yunmeng?”

Jiang Cheng wanted to scream. What god had he pissed off enough to force him into this, making small talk with Lan Xichen?

“Fine.”

Lan Xichen set his cup down and folded his hands in his lap. “Did you get my letter?”

Jiang Cheng set his jaw. “Must have missed it.”

He had gotten the letter actually, which he’d read before promptly throwing away. If he needed help rebuilding Lotus Pier, Lan Xichen was one of the last people he’d ask, after Lan Qiren and that damned Lan Wangji. Not only because the Lan clan head already had his hands full with the Cloud Recesses but also because he was a fucking Lan.

“These things happen,” said Lan Xichen. He definitely knew Jiang Cheng threw it away. “It was about Lotus Pier. We only recently finished rebuilding the Cloud Recesses after the fire. I wondered if you were making better progress.”

“My progress is fine,” he said, “—was fine. It’s finished now.”

That wasn’t true. Lotus Pier was still very much under construction, but that was a sore spot for Jiang Cheng—which was another reason he’d ignored Lan Xichen’s letter.

“That’s good to hear.”

“Mn.”

They were quiet for a few blissful minutes. Then Lan Xichen had to go ruin it. “I have a question.”

Jiang Cheng held back his groan. Could they not just ignore each other until Jin Guangyao returned?!

“What?”

“I’ll preface by saying this request is informal. You shouldn’t feel as though I’m demanding anything of you.”

Jiang Cheng regretted letting Lan Xichen speak to him in the first place, let alone ask whatever the hell he was about to ask. “Just spit it out.”

“I want you to visit Gusu.”

Huh?

Jiang Cheng furrowed his already wrinkled brow, layering confusion atop annoyance.

“That’s not a question,” he said when no other responses came to mind.

“Oh,” Lan Xichen said, sounding a bit breathless, and Jiang Cheng belatedly realized he was chuckling. “Forgive me. Let me explain.”

But just then, Jin Ling burst into the room shouting, “Jiujiu! Jiujiu!”

Jiang Cheng went rigid when his nephew hugged him. Lan Xichen made a weird face, like he could read Jiang Cheng’s discomfort as well as his own.

“Come on,” Jiang Cheng said, pulling on the back of Jin Ling’s collar. “We’re leaving.”

Jin Guangyao bowed. “We’ll see each other again in a month.”

Jiang Cheng nodded, then cast a final glance at Lan Xichen before crossing the threshold with Jin Ling.

I want you to visit Gusu.

He shook his head, trying to shake the unwelcome memory that sentence brought to the surface.

Wei Ying, return to Gusu with me.

He scoffed.

Lotus Pier

“What did you say?!” Jiang Cheng shouted, Zidian bursting into his hand with a loud crack. A threatening purple glow swept across the courtyard, lighting up the young disciple’s fear-stricken face.

“Nothing, Zongzhu!” he said quickly, throwing his hands up. “Nothing! I just—“

Anger flared across Jiang Cheng’s already severe and grimacing countenance. “Nothing? You think demonic cultivating is nothing?”

Sweat beaded at the offending disciple’s brow. “I wasn’t being serious! It was a joke! I swear!”

“Then you think the demonic path is funny?!”

“No, Zongzhu! You misunderstand. I only meant—“

“I think your meaning was perfectly clear! Did anyone else misunderstand him?!” He glared at the other sect disciples in the courtyard, all of whom immediately averted their gazes.

“That’s not—”

“You say another fucking word and I’ll kill you! I swear to the heavens I’ll kill you!”

The disciple shut his mouth, cowering before his sect leader like a mouse trapped inside a snake’s coiling tail. In fact, the others looked much the same. Most of the Jiang disciples only saw Jiang Cheng in passing, always with a scowl on his face and a vicious curse on the tip of his tongue. So now, witnessing his infamously short temper snap so spectacularly—well, it would be difficult not to cower.

“Get out!” He lashed out with Zidian, striking the disciple once on the shoulder. He yelped in pain, clutching the afflicted area as he skittered away. “Don’t show your face in Lotus Pier ever again! Rotten piece of—” Jiang Cheng cut himself off when Jin Ling, who had been clutching the tail of his uncle’s outer robe, started crying. Jiang Cheng, lost in his own anger, shot the child a murderous glare. Jin Ling shut his mouth, eyes wide with terror. Then he let go of Jiang Cheng and scurried away in the same manner the disciple had, trying and failing to wipe his tears and stifle the sound of his sniffling.

“Jin Ling!” Jiang Cheng called, but his nephew ignored him entirely. He sneered. If Jin Ling wants to cry, let him cry. If he’s afraid, better that he toughens up now. But as Jin Ling disappeared down one of the breezeways, something heavy settled in the pit of Jiang Cheng’s stomach, and Zidian retreated back into a ring.

“Get lost!” he snapped at the gaggle of disciples pretending they weren’t watching him traumatize his sister’s son by whipping their shidi.

He swept after Jin Ling. After a few minutes of searching, he spotted a row of banners hanging off the side of the breezeway, and beneath one of those banners were two little feet.

Jiang Cheng was abruptly assaulted with the memory of a young Wei Wuxian wandering Lotus Pier in the middle of the night after Jiang Cheng had locked him out of their bedroom. He remembered going to his sister for help, then hurting himself because he was too anxious to wait for her. He and Wei Wuxian were beside themselves, but she’d been such a comfort. She had always been such a comfort.

Now she was gone, and her son was crying. She would have known exactly what to do, but of course there was only Jiang Cheng, who didn’t know the first thing about comforting anyone and who was the reason Jin Ling had started crying in the first place.

Jin Ling sniffed as Jiang Cheng crouched down in the grass a few feet away.

“Jin Ling,” he said, with as soft a tone as he could manage (though it was still rather gruff). He lifted the banner, found Jin Ling covering his ears and squeezing his eyes closed. Jiang Cheng wanted to strangle the person who had done this to his nephew, but since that person was him, he just sighed.

“Jin Ling,” he said again, but the boy shook his head. “Look.” When he squinted his eyes open, Jiang Cheng showed him Zidian’s ring. He tucked the end of the banner between a gap in the breezeway then slipped Zidian off his finger and handed it to Jin Ling. “I’m sorry I yelled,” he said, tenderly patting his nephew’s head.

Jin Ling squeezed his little fist around Zidian. “Don’t yell, jiujiu,” he stammered.

Jiang Cheng nodded, wiping the tear trail from Jin Ling’s cheek.

“I miss xiao-shushu.”

Jiang Cheng frowned. Jin Guangyao wasn’t expecting Jin Ling back at Golden Carp Tower for a few more weeks. Still, he asked, “Do you want to go back to your shushu?”

Jin Ling nodded tearfully.

“Okay.” Jiang Cheng stood, then helped Jin Ling out of his hiding place. He followed a few paces back, and Jiang Cheng warily watched him slip Zidian on and off each of his fingers. He didn’t want to take the ring back yet. That would only upset him again.

“Jiujiu,” Jin Ling said, pursing his lips in annoyance. He held Zidian out for Jiang Cheng. “It’s broken.”

Jiang Cheng slipped the ring back on. “It’s not broken.”

“I wanna see!” Jin Ling demanded.

“No you don’t.”

“I wanna see! I wanna see!”

Zidian flashed into Jiang Cheng’s palm. The electrified body of the whip wrapped tightly around his wrist so that Jin Ling couldn’t reach out and shock himself. His nephew’s eyes widened with awe, mouth forming a perfect o.

Then, “You’re scary, Jiujiu.”

Zidian retracted as Jiang Cheng cocked his head toward the end of the breezeway. “Let’s go.”

Lanling

Jiang Cheng patted Jin Ling’s head before leaving him to his favorite servant at Golden Carp Tower, but as he moved to cross the threshold of his nephew’s bedroom, Jin Ling ran after him, clinging to his outer robe as he tried to drag Jiang Cheng back.

“Jiujiu!”

He squinted down at Jin Ling, bemused. “What?”

“I want xiao-shushu,” he demanded.

“Don’t whine.” Jin Ling shut his mouth, but the determined look never left his eye.

Jiang Cheng shot a look at the Jin servant.

She smiled. “I’ll let him know you’re here, Jiang-zongzhu.”

Jiang Cheng nodded, though he’d hoped to drop Jin Ling off without seeing Jin Guangyao. A few minutes later, she returned with the chief cultivator in tow. They exchanged polite greetings, but when Jiang Cheng again tried to escape the bedroom, Jin Ling again pulled him back.

“Jiujiu!”

“What?” Jiang Cheng said impatiently. “I thought you wanted to come back here.”

Jin Ling nodded vigorously.

“Okay then. Goodbye.”

Jin Ling shook his head just as vigorously, grabbing Jiang Cheng’s right hand and trying to show it to Jin Guangyao, but as it was attached to the rest of Jiang Cheng, he only succeeded in taking a few steps before his uncle’s arm went taut. Undeterred, he held Jiang Cheng’s hand up for Jin Guangyao to see.

“Look!” he said, pointing at Zidian while bouncing up and down on the balls of his feet.

Jin Guangyao smiled brightly, matching Jin Ling’s excitement. “Wow!”

Jiang Cheng pulled his hand back. “Excuse me,” he said curtly, before finally managing to get through the door while Jin Ling babbled on and on about Zidian—only to be waylaid in the hall by another frustratingly familiar face.

“Jiang-zongzhu,” greeted Lan Xichen with a bow.

“Lan-zongzhu,” he returned, though he was really thinking, Mother of fuck, are you ever in Gusu?!

“You brought him back early."

Jiang Cheng’s expression twisted. He started to say something snide—it’s none of your business or simply fuck off—but he stopped himself because cursing at his sect members and disciples was one thing, cursing at the head of the Gusu Lan Clan was quite another.

And yet, that faux smile made him want to scream: You’re an insufferable, patronizing asshole, Lan Xichen! He was really considering it (he’d never been very good at hiding his true feelings anyway—they always showed on his face), but Lan Xichen spoke first.

“I wonder—did something happen at Lotus Pier?”

Jiang Cheng’s first instinct was to throw a punch because who the fuck did Lan Xichen think he was?! But punching the head of the Gusu Lan Clan was worse than cursing at him; if Jiang Cheng indulged the impulse, his mother would quite literally rise from her grave and break his legs.

Still, who the fuck did Lan Xichen think he was?!

“Worry about yourself,” Jiang Cheng said venomously. Then he strode past Lan Xichen.

“I was worried about Jin-gongzi.”

Jiang Cheng whipped back around, one hand on Sandu and the other clenched so tightly his nails were stabbing angry half-moons into his palm.

”You—”

Lan Xichen half turned, eyeing Jiang Cheng over his shoulder. Jiang Cheng bit back his retort—which would have been colorfully vicious indeed, if it weren’t for the phantom of Yu Ziyuan hovering above him like a guillotine’s dangling blade.

“He’s fine. He’s back with Jin-xiandu at any rate,” Jiang Cheng gritted out. “So, worry about yourself.”

“I didn’t mean anything by it,” said Lan Xichen, looking a little pale. “I only wonder if something happened because I know you adore Jin-gongzi. An indifferent uncle wouldn’t dote on his nephew the way you do.”

“I don’t dote on him. I’m not capable of doting.”

Lan Xichen sighed thinly. “Regardless, please forgive me if I overstepped.”

“You did.” And with the flick of his sleeve, Jiang Cheng left the building. He drew Sandu from its scabbard, but before he could mount the sword, Lan Xichen called after him.

“What now?” He had one foot on Sandu when Lan Xichen caught up, looming to Jiang Cheng’s left, a few inches taller. Jiang Cheng wanted to mount the sword completely just to give himself twice as many inches on Lan Xichen, but he refrained.

“I want you to visit Gusu.”

This again. “Why?”

Lan Xichen squinted slightly. “You seem surprised, but this is hardly the first time I’ve invited you to the Cloud Recesses,” he said, and it was true. He’d invited Jiang Cheng several times since they ascended as the heads of their respective clans, but it was always a perfunctory invitation, something you say for the sake of politeness that both parties understand isn’t an actual invitation.

“That was—” Jiang Cheng stammered, “but you were never serious.”

Lan Xichen cocked his head to the side like he had always been absolutely serious. But no. It was impossible. Jiang Cheng wasn’t that dense.

Was he?

Was he?

If he was that dense, then all the many, many offhanded comments (you’re always welcome to visit for tea, Jiang-zongzhu and my offer of tea still stands, Jiang-zongzhu and Jiang-zongzhu, if you ever need a break from leading your sect, the Cloud Recesses is always quiet—because excessive noise is against the precepts, of course) weren’t actually offhanded. Had Jiang Cheng really ignored countless genuine invitations to the Cloud Recesses and potentially ruined his sect’s amicable relationship with the Gusu Lan Clan all because he’d misread Lan Xichen’s summons as mere courtesy??

Sure, Lan Xichen rubbed Jiang Cheng the wrong way by simple virtue of having the surname Lan, but that didn’t mean he wanted to ruin what loyalty and allyship still existed between the Lans and Jiangs.

“So then. . .” he trailed off, reaching for the right words, catching nothing.

“Jiujiu!”

They both turned their heads toward the voice.

“Jiujiu!” Jin Ling shouted, chasing down Jiang Cheng and latching himself to his uncle’s calf. There were tears in his eyes, and his bottom lip was puckered and trembling. Jiang Cheng quickly called Sandu back into its scabbard.

“A-Ling,” Jin Guangyao said, following his nephew out of the building. He flashed an apologetic smile.

Jiang Cheng looked back down at Jin Ling. “What is it?”

“Don’t go!”

His heart lurched. “What are you whining about now?” he asked, but the admonishment lacked its usual bite. Jin Ling buried his face in Jiang Cheng’s outer robe.

“A-Ling, please behave,” said Jin Guangyao. “Your jiujiu’s very busy. Come here.”

Jin Ling shook his head.

“You wanted to come back,” said Jiang Cheng. “Why are you crying?”

“I want you! Don’t leave!”

Jiang Cheng could hardly understand him through the sniffles and hiccuping gasps. “I’m going back to Lotus Pier.”

Jin Ling wailed. Jin Guangyao approached them, put a hand on the boy’s shoulder.

“Go ahead, Jiang-zongzhu. I’ll calm him down.”

“No need,” Jiang Cheng said, vein popping on his forehead. As if he couldn’t handle this himself. It took every ounce of self-control not to summon Zidian and strike that hand from his nephew’s shoulder. “What do you want, Jin Ling: to stay here with your shushu or to go back to Lotus Pier with me?”

Jin Ling took a few seconds to calm himself down. He wiped his teary eyes. “Jiujiu.”

“Even if that means leaving your shushu?”

Jin Ling nodded. Jiang Cheng sighed, annoyed that they’d come for no reason. Still, the admission warmed him. And shit, that crying face looked just like a-jie’s. How could he just leave him here?

Jiang Cheng clasped his hands together and bowed low to Jin Guangyao. “Sorry for the trouble, Jin-xiandu. I sincerely thought he wanted to come back.”

“It’s no trouble.”

Jiang Cheng straightened. Then he tugged on the back scruff of Jin Ling’s shirt and shoved him toward Jin Guangyao.

“Apologize for all the trouble you’ve caused.”

While Jin Ling hugged Jin Guangyao, wailing his apologies, Lan Xichen leaned closer to Jiang Cheng.

He whispered, “Not capable of doting, you said?”

Jiang Cheng scoffed.

“If visiting Gusu is too much trouble,” Lan Xichen went on, “I can always come to Lotus Pier.”

“No!” Jiang Cheng said it much too loudly. Jin Guangyao and Jin Ling both looked at him, curious. Jiang Cheng grabbed Lan Xichen by the arm and roughly spun him around so that their backs were to the two Jins.

He’d told Lan Xichen that construction in Lotus Pier was finished. If the Lan clan head visited a clearly unfinished Lotus Pier, he’d know Jiang Cheng lied. Worse, he’d know that Jiang Cheng had been struggling these last few years to keep his sect above water, and that was unthinkable.

“I’ll go to you,” he said because it would keep Lan Xichen out of Lotus Pier and because his mother would have whipped him bloody if she knew how thoroughly he’d fucked the Jiang sect’s relationship with the Gusu Lan Clan.

Lan Xichen’s smile was so warm it was actually sickening. “You will?”

Jin Ling grabbed the hem of Jiang Cheng’s robes, having wiped all his tears away but still flushed and shining. He smiled up with all his teeth, and the sight was every bit as warm as Lan Xichen’s without any of the latter’s cloying insincerity. Jiang Cheng picked Jin Ling up, supporting his weight in the crook of his arm.

Without looking at Lan Xichen, he ground his teeth and said, “I will.”

When the other clan heads were out of earshot, he took Jin Ling’s cheek between his thumb and forefinger and squeezed. His nephew yelped, slapping his uncle’s hand away.

“Jiujiu!” he said with a glare.

“Don’t do this again,” Jiang Cheng said. “I won’t bring you back with me the next time you change your mind like this. Understand?”

Jin Ling crossed his arms, still upset at being pinched. “Yes, jiujiu.”

Jiang Cheng sighed, knowing that the threat was empty, that all his threats to Jin Ling were.

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Chapter Text

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The Cloud Recesses

Jiang Cheng leapt off Sandu and marched toward the gates of the Gusu Lan Clan, his sword sheathing itself with a shing.

“Jiang-zongzhu,” said the Lan disciple manning the entrance.

“Where is Lan-zongzhu?” Jiang Cheng asked without preamble; he didn’t even turn his head. He was here for one person and one reason, and he couldn’t be bothered with pleasantries.

“The Wintry Room,” replied the disciple. “But Zongzhu, you can’t go any farther without a jade token.”

Of course not, he thought with a scowl. It had been several years since he last visited the Cloud Recesses, long enough that he’d forgotten the gates required a jade token. It was definitely something Lan Xichen should have mentioned before now.

“So go get him,” Jiang Cheng said plainly. The disciple shifted on his feet, averting his gaze as Jiang Cheng’s impatience stacked.

“Of course,” the disciple said with a bow. Then he darted up the stairs, disappearing behind the mountain’s overgrown foliage.

Jiang Cheng detested waiting. He crossed his arms, tapped his foot, paced back and forth, tried everything he could think of to cool off, but of course it was no use. He couldn’t stop thinking about how Lan Xichen should have realized he didn’t have a jade token before summoning him to the Cloud Recesses. Or how he still wasn’t clear on why Lan Xichen wanted him to visit the Cloud Recesses in the first place. He hated not knowing what was going to happen next almost as much as he hated waiting, and he hated waiting about as much as he hated wasting time, and this—the flight here, the stupid fucking jade token, the waiting, and whatever Lan Xichen had planned for him inside the Wintry Room—it was all a colossal waste of time!

Naturally, when the disciple returned with a one-use jade token for Jiang Cheng, he passed through the gates practically trembling with fury.

“The Wintry Room will be on your right when—“

“I know where it is,” he said through clenched teeth. The disciple flinched back, cheeks burning as Jiang Cheng stomped past him and up the stairs.

It wasn’t until he reached the final step that he remembered this was his first time visiting the Cloud Recesses since its reconstruction; he might not know where to find the new Wintry Room after all. The thought of wasting even more time wandering around made him want to explode, but upon walking in, he thankfully found it exactly like he remembered—construction hadn’t changed a single thing.

The door was open, and inside he found Lan Xichen sitting on a short dais, pouring over a scroll with an ink-dipped brush in his left hand. He glanced up, then lifted his head the rest of the way.

“Jiang-zongzhu,” he greeted, smiling wide. “You’re here.”

Jiang Cheng nodded. No thanks to you, he thought bitterly, slumping down onto the cushion opposite Lan Xichen, who had before him every manner of report, ledger, and whatever other tedious paperwork could be thrust upon a clan head; Jiang Cheng knew those stacks well, and his eyes strained at the sight. Lan Xichen, however, didn’t seem concerned with the work. His gaze had settled and stuck on Jiang Cheng.

“Is there something on my face?” the latter asked sharply.

Lan Xichen’s smile deepened. He finally looked away when Jiang Cheng set the one-use token on the table. He clicked his tongue, setting down the ink brush before digging something out of his qiankun sleeve.

“This is for you,” he said, passing it over the table before dropping it into Jiang Cheng’s open palm. It was another jade token—but of much finer make than the first, with clouds and mountains etched into the body and a long tassel woven using white and purple thread. “There’s no limit on uses. You’re welcome to come and go from the Cloud Recesses as you please.”

Jiang Cheng frowned, flipping the token over in his palm. “That’s generous of you, Lan-zongzhu, but why are you giving me this?”

“So you won’t have to wait at the gates every time you visit.”

How often does he expect me to visit?

“Really, I meant to give it to you sooner,” said Lan Xichen, “but there was never a good time.”

Jiang Cheng glanced back down at the token, gaze catching on the purple thread, woven with white. Never a good time? What did that mean? When did Lan Xichen make this? And how long had he carried it around with him, waiting for the right time to give it to Jiang Cheng? How many rebuffed invitations before he’d forgotten he made it?

“Thank you,” Jiang Cheng said sincerely, though he suspected his delivery was off. He was out of practice.

“Of course.”

“You never explained,” he started. “This visit, I mean.” Despite the letter I sent plainly asking you to explain. Lan Xichen had replied to that letter setting a date and time and nothing else.

He just stared for a few awkward seconds. Then he stood, beckoned for Jiang Cheng to follow as he made for the door.

“Where are you going?”

“I should like some fresh air.”

Jiang Cheng scowled as he shoved the token into his pocket and scrambled after Lan Xichen. “Stop skirting around the question,” he said when he caught up.

Lan Xichen cast him a discerning look. “Why did I invite you here?” Jiang Cheng nodded, and Lan Xichen looked forward again, exhaling a deep breath; his smile never faltered. “Quite a frivolous reason, I’m afraid.” He took a left, and Jiang Cheng hastened to follow, nearly missing Lan Xichen’s next words. “I wanted to see you.”

Jiang Cheng slowed.

He wanted. . . to see me?

Warmth bloomed like fire in his chest, and he scowled because fuck Lan Xichen for saying something like that.

“Jiang-zongzhu?” Lan Xichen waited several paces ahead. “Is something wrong?”

He stared at Lan Xichen, ire and confusion swirling uncomfortably in his gut. He stamped it all below the surface.

“Nothing’s wrong,” he said at last, matching Lan Xichen’s pace but unable to shake his bubbling irritation or the peculiar lump in his throat. What was really going on here? What purpose did Lan Xichen have for taking Jiang Cheng on a stroll, giving him a personalized jade token, and meeting his probing aggression with asinine bullshit?!

I wanted to see you. Yeah, right! There wasn’t a damned person alive who wanted anything to do with Sandu Shengshou—his short fuse and violent disposition made sure of that. So what was Lan Xichen playing at?

“You don’t believe me?” he asked, apparently taking notice of Jiang Cheng’s suspicion.

Jiang Cheng huffed. “No.”

“I see,” Lan Xichen breathed, clasping his hands behind his back, sleeve brushing against Liebing tied at his belt. “Why not?”

Jiang Cheng didn’t know what to say. He had a few ideas—curses and jabs he wouldn’t hesitate to throw at anyone else, but this was Lan Xichen. If there was anyone he needed to keep his composure around (or simply not curse to hell), it was the head of the Gusu Lan Clan. So he went with the simplest response, the same he’d used in the past against his mother’s harsh scoldings.

Silence.

Lan Xichen exhaled a soft chuckle. “What would you believe, if not that?”

Jiang Cheng considered it. Then, “Truthfully, that you were plotting to kill me would be more believable.”

Lan Xichen frowned. Jiang Cheng had only seen him frown a few times, and it really didn’t suit him, made him look too much like his brother.

“Not that I think that,” Jiang Cheng amended. “It’s just—I have a terrible reputation, so it’s usually safer to assume the worst intentions.”

“I see.” Lan Xichen was still frowning, though his expression was otherwise unreadable.

“It’s even worse with you,” said Jiang Cheng bluntly. “Because of. . . well, you know.” He shrugged nonchalantly. “Sorry if that isn’t what you wanted to hear.”

Lan Xichen’s cloying smile returned as he shook his head. “No need to apologize, Jiang-zongzhu. You’re not wrong about your reputation, but rest assured, my memory is excellent, and you have never been anything but civil with me.”

Jiang Cheng knew that wasn’t true, but he didn’t argue. They walked in silence for a few minutes, circling the garden outside of the Library Pavilion before Lan Xichen veered them back in the direction they’d come.

“Is that really the only reason you asked me here? Just to be friendly?” Jiang Cheng asked, remembering Lan Xichen’s persistence, how he’d chased him down at Golden Carp Tower despite his obvious disinterest (not to mention his belligerence).

Lan Xichen closed his eyes. “No need to be so anxious. I told you this was informal, remember?”

Jiang Cheng did. He replayed that first conversation in his mind, thoughts lingering on the words, I want you to visit Gusu. He remembered their next conversation too, how he’d spiraled upon realizing how thoroughly he’d misunderstood Lan Xichen. Maybe he was still misunderstanding him. Maybe there was no ulterior motive, no bad blood between their clans or resentment between clan heads. Maybe he’d invented it all to explain away something very simple: Lan Xichen was a kind person, and be it the result of their history, their shared circumstance, or some absurd need to affect the unfriendliest person in the cultivation world, he merely wanted to be Jiang Cheng’s friend.

With a scowl, Jiang Cheng crossed his arms.

Yeah, right.

The Cloud Recesses,
one month later

He would never have returned to Gusu if not for his own damned paranoia.

At the end of his last visit (the bulk of which he’d spent trying to puzzle out Lan Xichen (to no avail)), he’d been invited to return in one month. Jiang Cheng agreed, if only to figure out what Lan Xichen was up to because, unless he had some off-kilter thing for whatever the platonic version of “playing hard to get” was, there was no way he was only interested in being friends with Jiang Cheng. Thus, he’d narrowed it down to three possibilities.

(1) Lan Xichen was a masochist. Why else would he willingly put up with Jiang Cheng’s sharp tongue?

(2) Lan Xichen was trying to drive Jiang Cheng mad, which would give Jin Guangyao an excuse to keep Jin Ling in Lanling. The idea alone enraged Jiang Cheng to his very core, and he couldn’t help but imagine cracking Zidian around the chief cultivator’s throat then sending him flying off Golden Carp Tower. That said, Jin Guangyao had never really done anything to keep Jiang Cheng away from his nephew. So, it probably wasn’t that (but he imagined launching Jin Guangyao again anyway, just for catharsis sake).

(3) Lan Xichen was trying to protect his brother. Lan Wangji’s role in saving Wei Wuxian after he went berserk in the Nightless City wasn’t common knowledge—in fact, Jiang Cheng doubted anyone outside of the Gusu Lan Clan knew about it beyond himself and a few other surviving cultivators. Jiang Cheng could reason that Lan Xichen wanted to keep his brother’s crime from the rest of the cultivation world. After all, it was no secret that Jiang Cheng didn’t get along with Lan Wangji, so it wasn’t unreasonable for Lan Xichen to think Jiang Cheng might spread the information around just to besmirch Lan Wangji’s name. He’d certainly done worse things.

Jiang Cheng was musing over that last possibility when he dropped from Sandu. With his new jade token clutched tightly in hand, he stepped through the gates. Would Lan Xichen really give him a token with unlimited uses if he were scheming something nefarious?

Jiang Cheng tucked the token back into his pocket and made for the Wintry Room. He found Lan Xichen in the same place he’d been before. There was more paperwork piled in front of him and ink smudging the cuff of his left sleeve.

“Lan-zongzhu,” Jiang Cheng greeted. Lan Xichen looked up with a smile.

“Jiang-zongzhu.”

“You have ink on your sleeve.”

Lan Xichen lifted his left arm, then bared his teeth sheepishly. “Do not tell shufu,” he said, then he set the brush down and folded the affected sleeve in.

Amused by the clan head’s uncharacteristic carelessness, Jiang Cheng pursed his lips into a thin, slightly twisted smile.

“Please sit, Jiang-zongzhu.” He did, and Lan Xichen collected his work before casually setting it on one of the shelves behind him. Then he retrieved a clay teapot and two matching cups.

Jiang Cheng furrowed his brow when he saw steam rise from the spout. “When did you heat that?”

Lan Xichen poured himself a cup. “The teapot is enchanted.”

“It is?” Jiang Cheng asked, leaning forward with sudden intrigue.

Lan Xichen’s smile turned sly as he poured tea into Jiang Cheng’s cup. “No. I had a disciple prepare and deliver it in advance.”

Jiang Cheng slumped back with a frown. “Isn’t it against the precepts to eat or drink in working spaces?”

Lan Xichen blew into his steaming cup, then took a sip. “Which precept?”

Jiang Cheng squinted, clicked his tongue then looked to the side. “Never mind.”

He didn’t know Lan Xichen very well, but shouldn’t the head of the Gusu Lan Clan be as humorless and inflexible as every other Lan? Jiang Cheng cast the other clan head, who sipped his tea in contented silence, a scrutinizing stare, only to reach the eventual conclusion that he was. . . a bit of a loon. Which would certainly explain his odd behavior over the last few weeks.

Jiang Cheng hummed thoughtfully, trading his bemused expression for one of default severity. He said, “You should probably loosen that tie in your hair, Lan-zongzhu. It’s doubtless much too tight.”

Lan Xichen looked up, setting his cup down before absently toying with a lock of his hair. “Do you think so?”

Jiang Cheng leaned one elbow on the tabletop, sinking his chin into his palm. “I do. Unless you’ve been moonstruck.” He met the other’s eye. “Has Lan-zongzhu been moonstruck?”

Lan Xichen looked away, tapping a finger against the rim of his cup, though whether out of awkwardness or wariness, Jiang Cheng couldn’t tell.

“This leader is unfamiliar with the term.”

Based on his reaction, Jiang Cheng doubted that very much. “Forget it,” he said, feeling a little bad, though he wasn’t sure why. It wasn’t like he’d asked if Lan Xichen had gone mad, though that was his initial impulse. Moonstruck had a kinder connotation than mad or crazy, and he was confident that Lan Xichen wasn’t misinterpreting Jiang Cheng’s use of the word in this context for its alternate meaning; he obviously wasn’t asking if Lan Xichen was lovesick, so what was the problem?

For what must have been the hundredth time, he found himself scrutinizing Lan Xichen. For the first time, Lan Xichen caught him. Jiang Cheng quickly averted his gaze, embarrassed then annoyed because what a ridiculous thing to feel embarrassed about.

“Something wrong?” Lan Xichen asked. Jiang Cheng couldn’t help scowling. It was like Lan Xichen had a sixth sense for catching the turn in his mood, and always right at the moment it soured.

“Nothing.”

“Not a fan of the tea?”

He realized he had yet to touch his cup, so he scooped it up and took a sip. He was surprised by its sweetness.

“I don’t remember this,” he said, taking another sip. “When did your clan’s tea stop being bitter and tasteless?”

“It is still bitter and tasteless,” he said, laughing weakly. “This is from Gusu. I thought Jiang-zongzhu would prefer it to what we usually serve.”

There was that damned warm feeling again. Jiang Cheng downed what was left in his cup, scalding his tongue and throat. Lan Xichen’s eyes went wide.

“What?”

“Nothing. I’m glad you liked it.”

“Mn.”

They were quiet for a few minutes while Lan Xichen contentedly finished his own cup. Then he set it down again, eyeing the door.

“Let me guess,” said Jiang Cheng, “you want some fresh air?”

Lan Xichen’s smile warmed. “I would love some. Walk with me?”

“Do you have the time to spare?” Jiang Cheng asked, eyeing all that paperwork stacked behind him.

“I’ve made time.”

Jiang Cheng squinted. “Whatever you say.” He didn’t care whether they stayed in or walked the grounds—either way he’d be restless, as he was also drowning in work back at Lotus Pier.

He followed Lan Xichen out of the Wintry Room and onto the breezeway, but as they walked, he noticed the latter watching him out of the corner of his eye.

“What?”

“You always walk with hunched shoulders, Jiang-zongzhu. Like there’s a sizable ghost latched to your back.”

“What?” he repeated, puzzled.

“If they’re stiff, the Cold Springs will help. We can detour—“

“My shoulders are fine,” Jiang Cheng said dismissively, rolling his left shoulder until something clicked.

Lan Xichen raised a brow.

“They’re fine.”

“Whatever you say.”

After a few turns, Lan Xichen led Jiang Cheng through the gates and onto a wooded path circling the Cloud Recesses.

“You’re not taking me to the springs, Lan-zongzhu.” It wasn’t a question.

“I am not taking you to the springs.”

“Good.” Jiang Cheng fidgeted with his ring, twisting it around his finger again and again.

“How are the Jiang disciples?”

“Fine.”

“And Yunmeng?”

“Humid.”

“Then I hope Gusu is a welcome respite.”

Jiang Cheng mumbled his assent.

Then something moved to their left, rustling leaves, snapping twigs. Zidian cracked to life as Jiang Cheng stepped between Lan Xichen and whatever lurked within the bramble. A fluffy white rabbit jumped out of the bushes, racing straight toward them with no regard for Zidian’s lightning.

“How dangerous,” Lan Xichen teased.

Arms crossed, Jiang Cheng retracted Zidian and stepped out of the rabbit’s path. Lan Xichen crouched, gently petting its coat before the little creature huffed and hopped away again, as though deeply offended that Lan Xichen had deigned to touch it.

“Rebuffed by a rodent,” Jiang Cheng said under his breath.

Lan Xichen straightened, patting the front of his robes as though they were coated with dust.

“I cannot understand why they all love Wangji but avoid me like I carry around butcher knives and stewing pots.”

“That constant smile you wear doesn’t work on animals. They probably see through your kind and ascetic act.”

Lan Xichen frowned again. Why? Why? Why? Jiang Cheng couldn’t help questioning every word, every look and gesture of Lan Xichen’s like he might glean from a sigh or shrug the truth behind all this—whatever all this was.

“At least this Jiang hasn’t rebuffed you,” he said, and when Lan Xichen’s eyes went a little wider, he clarified, “which is to say, I have more tolerance than a rabbit.”

“Do you?” Lan Xichen sounded amused. Jiang Cheng shot him a scathing look, and he backtracked. “I was only joking. Forgive the insult.”

Though Jiang Cheng’s arms were still crossed, he said, “No need. I’m not insulted.”

“Good.” Lan Xichen matched his pace, walking beside him with his hands folded behind his back. “Though, if I ever tried to scratch you behind the ears like that, you would do a lot more than huff and run away.”

The tip of Jiang Cheng’s shoe caught on thin air, and he stumbled through his next step. What an absurd fucking thing to say. He quickened his pace, slightly embarrassed. “You’re right. I’d break your legs.”

“Deservedly so.”

Lan Xichen’s pace remained leisurely, and Jiang Cheng cast an impatient look over his shoulder.

“You seem a little heated today,” he said, catching up to Jiang Cheng obediently. “Is there something bothering you?”

Yeah, thought Jiang Cheng, you.

“Nothing more than usual.”

“What usually bothers you?”

Jiang Cheng considered the question for a few seconds, then answered, “My sect’s incompetence.” What he didn’t say was obvious: the Jiang Sect wouldn’t be incompetent if I’d never had to rebuild it from scratch.

Lan Xichen’s smile drooped a little. “I see.”

Jiang Cheng was starting to think I see was Lan Xichen’s go-to response to anything remotely negative or serious.

“Anything else?”

He scratched the back of his neck. He didn’t think Lan Xichen was genuinely interested in hearing him complain about his sect, so why was he asking? What information was he trying to drag out of Jiang Cheng? And what had Jiang Cheng already let slip?

“Jin Ling’s been a terror lately,” he said in lieu of anything sect-related, “though I can’t really blame him.”

“What do you mean?”

He set his jaw, wanting to tell Lan Xichen to mind his own business, but maybe if he kept the conversation going, Lan Xichen would be the one to let something slip.

“Bad temper,” he said, sounding almost casual while he tapped his temple, as though that explained everything. “Makes him cry. He’s afraid of me.”

Lan Xichen cocked his head to the side. “Jin-gongzi is afraid of your temper, you mean.”

“What’s the difference?”

“A man is not his temper, but he is commanded by it.”

Oh, thought Jiang Cheng, feeling a mix of genuine upset and fiery irritation. He clenched his fists, and Lan Xichen reached a friendly hand toward his shoulder. Jiang Cheng side-stepped the gesture. Lan Xichen drew his hand back.

“I’ll play for you. The Purification Tone.”

“The what?”

“A collection of musical pieces cultivated by my clan. They’re meant to calm the mind.”

“Do they?”

“When played correctly. You should have no doubt that I’ll play them correctly.”

“I suppose. . .” he started, unsure how to feel about the idea exactly. Annoyed, of course (Lan Xichen was just too nosy), but also a little intrigued? Was that the right word?

Before he could figure it out, Lan Xichen said, “It’s not too late to turn back—or would Jiang-zongzhu prefer to walk the rest of the path? I would still play the Purification Tone for you either way.”

He meant today, then. Right now.

They should turn back. Knowing Lan Xichen, there would be more visits, more opportunities to pick his brain and puzzle out his motives. The sooner Jiang Cheng left for Lotus Pier the better. They both had so much work to do.

But when he met Lan Xichen’s expectant gaze, felt the cool mountain breeze on his face and breathed in the fresh air of the forest, he thought about all the work waiting for him back home and said, “We’ve already walked this far. We may as well finish.”

The Gentian House

The piece Lan Xichen chose was called Cleansing.

“It’s the most effective,” he told Jiang Cheng. “I used to play it for Mingjue-xiong.”

Can’t be that effective, then, thought Jiang Cheng.

“I’m not having a qi deviation.”

“No, but you needn’t be at your lowest to reap the song’s benefits.” Lan Xichen plucked one of the guqin’s strings, and a deep, sonorous vibration swept through the room. They were on the outskirts of the Cloud Recesses, in his mother’s old cottage where he liked to practice the Purification Tones.

Jiang Cheng had contested this at first, hesitant to let Lan Xichen lure him into the middle of the woods. Though, now that he was here, he found the cottage quite peaceful (and he didn’t really believe Lan Xichen wanted to attack him (okay he believed it a little, but the chances of it actually happening were very low)).

He exhaled a sigh, and Lan Xichen gestured toward a bedroll in the corner.

“Lie down. You should relax.”

Jiang Cheng crossed his arms. “I’m fine.”

“No one will disturb us. I’m the only person who would ever know to come here. Except for Wangji, but he hasn’t been out here in a long time.” Something dark passed across Lan Xichen’s face as he said this, but it was very brief. Jiang Cheng had been meaning to ask about Lan Wangji, uncomfortable with the possibility he might accidentally run into the younger Lan during one of these visits, but it was a sensitive topic for Lan Xichen, and there had yet to be an appropriate time to broach that conversation.

“Just play.”

Lan Xichen hummed, “Whatever you say.”

The song was relaxing, so much so that he wished he’d lain down after all. He watched Lan Xichen, who watched his hands as they danced across the strings. His face was placid, expressionless save that ever-present smile, subtle in its curves.

His playing was quite good, melodic and comforting. Jiang Cheng’s mind wandered as he listened. He wondered if Jin Ling enjoyed the guqin, if Jin Guangyao ever played for him. When Jiang Cheng was that age, he hadn’t cared much for music. But Yanli had.

He bunched the hem of his outer robe in his fists.

“You must clear your mind, Jiang-zongzhu.”

“It is clear,” he snapped back with a familiar bite, a savageness he so often employed that it was rarer he didn’t speak with his teeth. “And shouldn’t your Purification Tone clear my mind for me? What’s the point otherwise?”

Lan Xichen’s stare flicked up. “Is it not helping?”

Jiang Cheng looked away with a scowl. He closed his eyes, trying to focus on Lan Xichen’s playing, but struggling miserably to think of anything besides his sister.

This wasn’t new. Too many things reminded him of Yanli, but he’d long since realized that dwelling on the happy memories was worse than dwelling on the bad; he’d just end up sad, and that did him no good. Better he recall his sister’s death, the hours she lay bleeding and cold in his arms, because those memories at least fueled something productive. Fury, after all, was an exceptional motivator.

But right now, he was supposed to be putting aside that fury, which meant he couldn’t suffocate the good with the bad. But he couldn’t just stop thinking about her either.

“Something is wrong,” Lan Xichen said, and Jiang Cheng opened his eyes, found the former’s expression as worried as it was curious. “What is it? Should I stop?”

And there it was again. A sudden flash of heat deep within Jiang Cheng’s chest as Cleansing mingled with Lan Xichen’s tender concern, recalling Yanli in every sense: the low, bittersweet hum of her voice, the adoring way her eyes glittered, the ambrosia of lotus and pork rib soup, and the way she always hugged him around the arms, like a kid she could fit against her chest, even after he’d grown taller than she was.

He hunched his shoulders, arms shaking from the force of balling his fists. Yanli’s corpse rose unbidden in his mind, intrusive and debilitating. If seeing her flush with life and joy in his memories felt like a knife in the gut, then remembering her dead and butchered right after felt like twisting the knife, like carving into him left and right, up and down, like gutting him navel to sternum.

He shut his eyes again, worried they might gleam with moisture if he didn’t.

Of course, remembering his dead sister was never enough. Wei Wuxian was a blight even in his memories, a butcher and betrayer flashing a wicked smile. Anger flared inside Jiang Cheng, warred unpleasantly with Lan Xichen’s music. It was not unlike being touched, however innocently, while intensely overstimulated.

“Jiang-zongzhu.”

His frown deepened.

“Jiang Wanyin.”

“What?”

Lan Xichen planted his palms flat on the strings, silencing their tones. “What is it? What’s bothering you?”

“Nothing. My mind is clear,” Jiang Cheng reiterated.

“It is not. Who are you thinking about?”

Jiang Cheng squeezed Sandu’s hilt. “It. Is. Clear.”

“Is it Wei Wuxian?”

He curled his lip as his entire body shook with barely bridled fury.

Lan Xichen’s next words were quiet and tentative. “Is it. . . is it your sister?”

Jiang Cheng jumped to a stand, met Lan Xichen’s curious look with a furious one of his own, then swept out of the room. He mounted Sandu the moment he was outside and flew with dangerous speed back toward Lotus Pier. When the Cloud Recesses was just a speck on the horizon behind him, he shouted to the heavens what he’d chocked down in that cottage.

“Fuck you! You insufferable, patronizing asshole!”

The wind lashed like leather at his face the entire way.

Chapter Text

The Cloud Recesses,
one month later

Lan Xichen’s greeting was considerably colder than it had been during the last two visits—a curt nod to Jiang Cheng’s, Lan-zongzhu—at least until he looked up from his work, saw the sorry state the Jiang clan head was in.

Jiang Cheng had hardly slept a consecutive eight hours since he’d last seen Lan Xichen. Dark half-circles rimmed each eye, his complexion was paler than normal, and his clothes and hair lacked their usual refinement.

Lan Xichen raised his brows. “What happened?”

Jiang Cheng frowned. He’d resolved to apologize for storming out last month, but now that Lan Xichen was actually in front of him, he couldn’t get the words out.

“Nothing. It was an especially busy month for Lotus Pier.” This was true, but on top of his typical workload as a clan head and sect leader, he’d also had to deal with the aftermath of a storm which flooded the pier and further pushed back its reconstruction.

Then there was Jin Ling who, true to Jiang Cheng’s prediction, kept repeating the cycle he’d started a few months ago. It went like this: Jiang Cheng would lose his temper, Jin Ling would cry and beg to see his shushu, Jiang Cheng would indulge him out of guilt, Jin Ling would change his mind after a few minutes with Jin Guangyao, then Jiang Cheng would take him back to Lotus Pier because he could deny that child nothing. Frankly, it was exhausting, and if he had to apologize to Jin Guangyao one more time, he was well and truly going to lose his fucking mind.

And of course Lan Xichen had been plaguing him too, which was annoying. If he wasn’t thinking about work or Jin Ling, he was thinking about the other clan head’s grand scheme. The paranoia was eating him alive.

“I see.” Lan Xichen stood, crossed the room toward Jiang Cheng. He was taller by a few inches, though one could hardly tell with the Jiang sect leader’s overbearing presence. Still, Jiang Cheng disdained having to lift his chin to comfortably meet the other man’s eye.

Lan Xichen seized Jiang Cheng’s wrist, and a jolt ran up his arm.

“What are you—“

“Just checking your meridians.”

Jiang Cheng’s surprise darkened to a scowl. But then his expression smoothed out completely as Lan Xichen’s fingertips slid up his wrist, as the borders between their spiritual energies started to blur. He hoped Lan Xichen couldn’t feel his pulse because he was sure his heart was beating much too fast.

“Is that for me?” Lan Xichen asked, eyeing the small bundle in Jiang Cheng’s other hand.

“It’s. . .” he started, trailing off, suddenly mortified but unsure why. “Yeah. It is.” He held the bundle out, and Lan Xichen’s gaze shot up as he released Jiang Cheng’s wrist. He took the bundle, loosened the string that tied it, and unwrapped a small round pastry.

“I’m sorry,” Jiang Cheng stammered, clenching his teeth, “about last month. I was. . . rude.”

Lan Xichen beamed, rewrapping the small cake and setting it down on the table.

“No need to apologize,” he assured, and Jiang Cheng was surprised at how relieved he was. “In truth, I did not expect you to return so soon.”

Jiang Cheng’s lungs seemed to constrict, his face warming with embarrassment as he spun around on one heel.

“I can go,” he said quickly. “I just came to apologize anyway, so—“

Behind him, Lan Xichen chuckled softly. “Silly to come all this way and leave so soon, don’t you think?”

Jiang Cheng spared a glance over his shoulder, face burning hotter at their proximity. Lan Xichen was standing much closer than he’d expected. He looked forward again, discomposed.

“If you’ve overworked yourself, why don’t we go to the Cold Springs?” Lan Xichen asked, sounding closer still, close enough that Jiang Cheng felt the hairs on his neck stand on end.

“Fine,” he said, a bit louder than he’d meant to, and took a few paces forward.

“Really?” Lan Xichen’s voice sounded just as close as before, as if Jiang Cheng hadn’t moved at all.

A switch flipped, triggering an instinctual response. It was like Lan Xichen was exuding intense killing intent (even though he very clearly wasn’t (but there was something off)). Jiang Cheng was seconds away from calling Zidian and only managed to compose himself when Lan Xichen politely stepped around him, offering a smile.

Jiang Cheng blinked dumbly, slipping his ringed hand behind his back as though hiding the evidence of a crime. Had he really been about to draw Zidian on the head of the Gusu Lan Clan? Just because he’d gotten a little too close?

“Jiang-zongzhu?”

“What?”

Lan Xichen raised a brow. “Did you hear what I said?”

Jiang Cheng squinted, replaying their conversation in his mind.

“I asked if you wanted to visit the Cold Springs, and you agreed.”

“I did not,” Jiang Cheng said dismissively, though now he was pretty sure he did.

Lan Xichen smiled patiently. “You look exhausted.”

Jiang Cheng rubbed his eyes with one hand. “Thank you, I’m aware.”

“The Cold Springs will help.”

He let his shoulders sag. They were stiff. He rolled his neck, the muscles pulling painfully. “Fine,” he said. “Whatever.”

The Cold Springs

He tugged his boots and socks off first, then untied his sash and slipped out of his outer robe. His gaze wandered to where Lan Xichen stepped into the water, the latter having already stripped everything save his white pants. Jiang Cheng thumbed the hem of his black inner robe before slipping out of that as well, deciding to keep the white collared shirt he wore beneath as he followed Lan Xichen into the spring.

The frigid water chased a violent shiver from his bare toes up to the top of his scalp. Lan Xichen chuckled, half turning to look at Jiang Cheng.

“You’ll get used to it.”

He didn’t reply, nervous that the moment he opened his mouth, his teeth would start chattering and his words would come out stuttered and incomprehensible. He took the next few steps down until his entire lower half was submerged. He wrapped his arms around himself rather than let them hang at his sides like Lan Xichen did.

Lan Xichen slumped down until the water reached his clavicle, long hair a half-moon floating around his back. Jiang Cheng couldn’t fathom how he’d plunged in like that while still keeping a straight face.

“The spring can do a great deal for Jiang-zongzhu,” he said, “but it will do a great deal more if he submerges more that just his legs.”

Fuck me, Jiang Cheng thought when his teeth actually did start chattering. He just needed to bite the bullet, and when his body adjusted to the cold, then he’d bite Lan Xichen’s head off for making him do this. He took a deep breath then dropped to a sit, stifling a curse by pursing his lips into a thin line.

Lan Xichen closed his eyes when the water splashed his face. “Better?”

Jiang Cheng glared, the cold biting at his skin like the water had teeth. After a few minutes, though, he did start to get used to it. He took a long breath. Then he sighed, letting the tension in his muscles loosen at last.

“Better,” he grudgingly admitted.

“Good.” Lan Xichen moved closer, and Jiang Cheng’s first impulse was to back up, but he didn’t want to lose what little comfort he’d found in this position, so he kept still. Lan Xichen stopped about a foot away. His body heat followed, and Jiang Cheng involuntarily leaned forward.

“I am a bit surprised,” Lan Xichen said. “I thought the Jiangs lived in the water.”

“Yunmeng is warm,” he gritted out. “The lake’s are refreshing, not freezing.”

“Now it makes sense.” Lan Xichen shifted, sitting straight as a board in the lotus position. Then he closed his eyes, and Jiang Cheng belatedly realized the clan head was meditating. He followed his lead, another chill racing up his spine when he moved.

“Mother of fuck,“ he mumbled to himself, though loud enough that Lan Xichen definitely heard.

“Breathe deep,” said Lan Xichen, “and open your throat when you do. It’ll warm you quicker.”

Open my throat? Jiang Cheng thought, brow furrowed. What does that even mean? He tried for a few seconds but quickly grew frustrated when he couldn’t figure out what he was fucking doing.

Lan Xichen took Jiang Cheng’s hands from where he’d clenched them at his sides. Jiang Cheng tried to pull back, but Lan Xichen held tight, guiding those hands until they rested atop Jiang Cheng’s thighs.

“There,” Lan Xichen said. “And sit up straight.”

Insufferable, patronizing asshole! he thought with a scowl. Still, he straightened his spine.

“Good. Now take a long, deep breath through your nose.”

“I know how to breathe.”

“Of course,” Lan Xichen said, still smiling patiently.

Jiang Cheng rolled his eyes but did what he was told.

“Hold it.”

He did.

“Exhale. Slow. Then hold that too.”

He did. His lungs tightened uncomfortably. He shut his eyes. Then he heard Lan Xichen inhale again, so he followed suit. They repeated this for a long while.

Then, “Any warmer?”

Jiang Cheng didn’t respond even though he was warmer. Much warmer. He opened his eyes, and Lan Xichen’s gaze flicked up suspiciously. He glanced down to where he thought the other had been staring, found his shirt undone at the top. His chest was partially exposed, along with his old scar from the Jiang discipline whip.

Dammit, he thought, refastening the offending hook. Thankfully, Lan Xichen didn’t say anything. Instead, he stretched his arms high above his head before rolling out his shoulders. It was absurd how perfect that chest was. Jiang Cheng wanted to rake his nails down it, just to give Lan Xichen a single, brutal imperfection.

“Are you still tense?”

Jiang Cheng felt one shoulder, rubbing his fingertips into taut muscle. “It might take more than breathing and freezing to relax my tension.”

“Let me help.”

“What? Is there a Purification Tone for stiff shoulders?” Jiang Cheng asked facetiously. Lan Xichen waded around him, brought his hands up out of the water.

“No need for one. Cultivation techniques and spiritual practices are wonderfully convenient, but sometimes the solution lies with the problem.”

“And that would be?” Jiang Cheng asked, glancing back to eye Lan Xichen’s hands, which hovered several inches away from Jiang Cheng’s shoulders. It would have unnerved him were Lan Xichen not completely still, as though waiting for permission to close the distance.

“Your body. The physical instead of the spiritual.”

“Like martial cultivation?”

“Sort of. In the same way that martial techniques cultivate your body and your golden core, practices like tui na alleviate the physical strain of that cultivation, among other things.”

Jiang Cheng looked forward. His instinct was to put more space between them, to tell Lan Xichen to fuck off and keep his hands to himself. But it was much warmer with Lan Xichen there, and the Cold Springs really had relaxed him, and the stiffness in his neck was bothering him. It had been for a while now.

Whatever Lan Xichen was plotting, it surely wasn’t to drown Jiang Cheng in the middle of the Cloud Recesses. And even if there was some ulterior motive in luring him in here, he still had Zidian.

He unfastened the hooks of his shirt before shrugging it off his shoulders.

“Go ahead,” he said. Lan Xichen’s hands were icy and fiery all at once, and Jiang Cheng was startled to find himself leaning into the touch. Lan Xichen kneaded the muscles of Jiang Cheng’s shoulders, tracing circles into bare skin with the pads of his thumbs. He hit a particularly sore spot, and Jiang Cheng grunted.

“Careful,” he sniped.

“Sorry.” Lan Xichen eased up a little. “You’re very tense, Jiang-zongzhu.”

“We’ve established that.”

“More so than I thought.”

Jiang Cheng sneered, scrunching his brow as those hands worked him into something pliable and loose. He arched his back as Lan Xichen’s fingers jabbed roughly between his shoulder blades.

”Lan-zongzhu,” he hissed when the pressure didn’t let up.

“Give it a second.”

Jiang Cheng tensed all over as his discomfort crossed the threshold into pain. Then it dialed back, needled the muscle until it numbed. He exhaled through his mouth, shoulders sagging as the tension eased. Lan Xichen finally released the pressure, slid his fingertips up and crested the curve of Jiang Cheng’s shoulders, kneading the crook of his neck. Jiang Cheng’s head rolled back as Lan Xichen applied pressure to his nape.

Something explosive unfurled behind Jiang Cheng’s sternum, a decidedly inappropriate feeling that spread down, down. Luckily, the water was ice cold.

While initially alarming, Jiang Cheng didn’t dwell on the brief spark of arousal (though shame and a mild dose of disgust were excellent anti-aphrodisiacs) because it could be very easily explained away. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been touched like this—if he’d ever been touched like this. He’d never had time to explore that side of himself, not with spending his teenage years preparing to take over the Yunmeng Jiang Clan. Then there was the Sunshot campaign, and then actually taking over his clan. He hardly had time to sleep, let alone. . . do anything else. So of course something like this would spark his neglected libido. It would have been more bizarre if it didn’t.

He took another deep breath, trying not to think about how good Lan Xichen’s hands felt because that was fucking weird. Instead, he focused on the pressure, the discomfort and pain, but that only made his brain wander to worse places (places that had no business occupying space in his mind (seriously what the fuck?)).

He could see Lan Xichen out of the corner of his eye, the latter’s head low, bobbing forward with the movement of his hands. Jiang Cheng felt the urge to sink back limply against the other’s chest, let Lan Xichen’s body heat thaw his icy skin.

He would have to leave after this, race back to Lotus Pier and deal with. . . himself.

Then Lan Xichen’s hands moved down Jiang Cheng’s spine, kneading his skin like dough. Halfway, the force pushed Jiang Cheng forward, and if he hadn’t caught himself on his knees, he probably would have plunged below the water’s surface.

Lan Xichen didn’t stop. Actually, it felt like he was massaging harder, like he wanted to shove Jiang Cheng underwater. Jiang Cheng considered that, and rather than be alarmed, he felt that spark of arousal return with a vengeance. He really shouldn’t have let himself consider that.

“Lan-zongzhu.” No answer. Those hands dipped lower, massaging the small of his back, slipping over his hips in a way that nearly elicited a sound all too embarrassing and incredibly inappropriate from the back of his throat, but then Lan Xichen was tugging his hips back, and Jiang Cheng lost his balance, splashing face-first into the water.

Lan Xichen pulled his hands away immediately, and Jiang Cheng broke the surface. His hair clung to the side of his face, water dripping from the ends. It sprayed all over Lan Xichen when Jiang Cheng spun around, eyes narrowed to slits.

“What the fuck?” After his glacial plunge, he felt he’d regained some of his sense, so the question was partially for Lan Xichen and partially for himself (because seriously what the fuck??).

Lan Xichen wiped the water from his eyes. “Forgive me. I didn’t mean—“

Jiang Cheng didn’t think before he swept his arm through the water, splashing Lan Xichen in the face, drenching him this time, soaking his hair and his forehead ribbon. After a pause, Lan Xichen again wiped the water from his eyes.

Jiang Cheng’s mouth twisted up at the corners, and though he tried to stifle it, he couldn’t help laughing at Lan Xichen, head of the Lan Clan, soaked to the bone like a clumsy dog after an accidental dive off Lotus Pier.

“Do you feel better now?” Lan Xichen asked, reaching back to make sure his ribbon was still tightly fastened.

Jiang Cheng pulled his shirt back on and began refastening the hooks. “Much better,” he replied, satisfied though barely able to look Lan Xichen in the eye. Whatever had roused that feeling, it was gone now that he was on the brink of shivering again and his hair felt like ice on his scalp. Shame, a mild dose of disgust, and cold water were truly the best anti-aphrodisiacs.

He pushed himself to a stand and took his purple ribbon out completely. His hair flopped down in a wet mop against his back, and after combing his fingers through it a few times, he pulled the full sheath over his shoulder and began ringing it out.

“It helped, then?”

Jiang Cheng’s ’Much better’ had referred to splashing Lan Xichen in the face, but as he shook out his shoulders and rolled his neck, he realized the massage had actually relieved quite a bit of his tension.

“It did,” he admitted, twisting his hair back into a tight bun which he secured with the ribbon. “But I’m freezing.”

“You should go dry off.”

Jiang Cheng nodded, started toward the steps. Then he paused. “Are you staying?”

Lan Xichen averted his gaze, and Jiang Cheng swore he saw those pearly earlobes flush red. Good, Jiang Cheng thought, he should feel embarrassed for pulling me under like that.

“Just a bit longer. I won’t keep you, Jiang-zongzhu. I’m sure you have a lot to do back home.”

“Right,” he replied, a little confused but relieved that he wouldn’t have to come up with some lame excuse to get the fuck out of here. He was too cold to properly puzzle out why Lan Xichen was as eager to get rid of him as he was to leave anyway. “Then, I should return next month?”

Lan Xichen nodded. “Next month.”

After Jiang Cheng tugged his robes back on, he left the springs and mounted Sandu, but as the Cloud Recesses shrank to nothing behind him, he couldn’t help recalling the feel of Lan Xichen’s hands on his bare skin, the ways they explored his neck and shoulders, his spine then his hips. The cold had surely, severely addled his good sense. Even if they were both men, they’d been half naked, and Lan Xichen had touched him in ways befitting a husband and wife, not two clan heads. His cheeks flushed with humiliation just thinking about it. Not to mention how his body had responded to that touch. How was he supposed to return in a month without keeling over from embarrassment or strangling Lan Xichen with his bare hands?

It was seriously fucking infuriating.

There were worse feelings than embarrassment, Jiang Cheng realized upon seeing Lan Xichen again.

He couldn’t put a name to the feeling yet, but it was similar to sensing another’s killing intent, only remove the intent from the equation and keep the resulting fight or flight response—which he knew made zero fucking sense (unless Lan Xichen really had been secretly harboring murderous intent this entire time, but based on what he knew, Jiang Cheng found that unlikely (as long as he didn’t let himself ruminate for too long)).

The feeling coiled around his lungs like a snake, constricting tighter and tighter when Lan Xichen was near, when he looked at Jiang Cheng or spoke to Jiang Cheng or innocently brushed against Jiang Cheng—whenever he did anything really.

And it was seriously fucking infuriating. To the point where he considered not showing up to the Cloud Recesses at all, but his suspicions weren’t the only reason he’d kept up these visits. Lotus Pier was still under construction, and he didn’t want to run the risk of Lan Xichen realizing he’d lied to save face, so he grudgingly continued their monthly visits.

On the fourth such visit, Lan Xichen served him tea again, only this time, he offered Jiang Cheng a mooncake to thank him for his apology cake the month before. Inexplicably flustered by the gesture, Jiang Cheng refused it, but at Lan Xichen’s disappointed huff, he immediately backtracked, and they ended up sharing it.

On the fifth visit, they walked to Gusu, and he bought Lan Xichen a tang hulu—a thank-you-tang-hulu for the thank-you-mooncake for the I’m-sorry-pastry. He felt ridiculous about it afterward, but Lan Xichen had accepted the gift with a grateful smile (a smile which had set Jiang Cheng off in a way he couldn’t articulate (fucking infuriating!))

At the end of the sixth visit, Lan Xichen gave Jiang Cheng a string of tea sachets—the very same tea they’d shared twice before—which Jiang Cheng accepted with an awkward thank you. Then he left feeling even more pissed off and embarrassed and confused. Why did he get so thin-faced around Lan Xichen? Why did the latter’s gifts and smiles and kind words never fail to raise his hackles? And why was Lan Xichen doing all this in the first place?!

Today marked his seventh such visit to the Cloud Recesses, and he arrived carrying Sandu on his hip and Jin Ling under his arm. Lan Xichen looked up from his work, raising his eyebrows when he saw the sleeping six-year-old resting his head in the crook of Jiang Cheng’s neck.

“He threw a tantrum when I was on my way out,” Jiang Cheng whispered. This was true, but what he didn’t say was, I gave in very quickly because I was afraid you’d come to Lotus Pier if I didn’t show up. He also figured that, if anything would get him out of being around Lan Xichen for too long, it was a screaming child, though he hadn’t anticipated that that child would fall asleep on the way here.

“It’s no trouble,” Lan Xichen said, voice soft and low—the tone of which sparked a nervous prickling behind Jiang Cheng’s sternum. He angrily stamped down the unbidden sensation.

“I can come back another time,” Jiang Cheng offered. “He’s a handful, and I wouldn’t—“

“It’s really no trouble, Jiang-zongzhu.”

No, of course not, he thought, clenching his jaw in irritation.

“We can take him to my mother’s cottage,” Lan Xichen suggested. “It’s quiet, and there’s a bed so Jin-gongzi can finish his nap.”

Jiang Cheng couldn’t think of a reason to say no. “Perfect.” His cadence was unconvincing.

“My guqin’s still there. We might try Cleansing again.” Lan Xichen hadn’t played for him since his first disastrous visit to the cottage, and he didn’t love the idea of sitting through Cleansing a second time, but again, he could think of no good reason to refuse.

“Right. Fine.”

The Gentian House

This time, Jiang Cheng only made it a few minutes before Cleansing began grating on his nerves. They were outside this time, not wanting to disturb Jin Ling who was fast asleep inside the cottage, but all the sunlight and temperate spring weather in the world couldn’t relax someone as tightly wound as Jiang Cheng.

At his grimacing face, Lan Xichen silenced the instrument and asked, “What is it?”

“Are you sure you’re playing that correctly?”

“Quite sure.”

There was an irksome pressure behind his left eye, not quite a headache yet but nearly. He thought Cleansing should have soothed that pressure, but it was definitely making it worse.

“It’s doing the opposite of what you said it would.”

Lan Xichen squinted at him, as though trying to puzzle him out for a change. Jiang Cheng pushed himself to a stand, rubbing his temples.

“This is a waste of time. I’m sure there are a thousand things you’d rather do than sit here with me anyway.”

He glanced down his nose at Lan Xichen, who was sitting in the grass, guqin resting in his lap. His hair shone a deep brown in the sunlight, and his eyes glittered like twin jades.

“If that were true, I would have stopped inviting you here months ago.”

Jiang Cheng looked away, chest tight. It was that feeling again, like anger but not. Anger settled like magma in the core of his chest, bleeding into every artery and vein like boiling poison. But this feeling was alive with energy, like thousands of winged insects trilling away inside his rib cage. He really hated it.

“I’m sure,” he said weakly.

Lan Xichen glanced down at the instrument in his lap, hiding his face like he was embarrassed. “It is the truth,” he said. “There are not a thousand things I would rather be doing right now. Or a dozen. Or even one.”

Jiang Cheng crossed his arms, face warming of its own volition. Fuck, it’s like panic, he thought as the insects trilled from his heart to his stomach. He imagined setting his insides on fire; it didn’t help.

“I don’t get you.”

“You don’t need to.” Lan Xichen’s smile seemed a little sad. “As long as you believe me.”

Jiang Cheng’s eyes narrowed. Of course he didn’t believe him. Was this supposed to be Lan Xichen’s way of saying, I know you’re suspicious of me, but would it kill you to relax?

Yes, I think it might.

Jiang Cheng veered the conversation back. “What are you even playing that for? I’m not qi deviating.”

“I told you, it helps regardless.”

“Clearly it doesn’t.”

“Why not?”

“What do you mean ’why not?’”

“Why is it not helping?”

“You tell me,” Jiang Cheng said, mocking Lan Xichen’s slow and even tone of voice.

“All the Purification Tones in the world won’t help you if you don’t let them.”

Jiang Cheng scoffed. “Nonsense. I don’t even know what that means.”

Lan Xichen’s expression went as flat as Lan Wangji’s. “It means you’re not trying.”

Insufferable, patronizing asshole!

“How do I know you aren’t playing it wrong?” he snapped, then felt a little childish for asking it like that. Still, he didn’t apologize, just bunched his hands in the arms of his robe. “I’ve always had a bad temper. Always. So if I’m beyond calming, then that’s that.”

“No mind is beyond calming. Even if yours has always been this way, always lent itself to agitation and fits of anger.”

That’s one way to put it.

“You can’t cure someone of their bad personality, Lan-zongzhu.”

“That isn’t what I meant at all,” said Lan Xichen. “And I quite like your personality.”

Stop saying shit like that!

Jiang Cheng rolled his eyes. “Then you can’t cure a bad attitude. Whatever. I’d love a calmer demeanor, but if a soul were so easily changed, everyone would behave like—“ he broke off, reached for a better example than Jiang Fengmian. “Like you.”

Lan Xichen peered back down at his guqin. “That is subjective.”

“And that’s not the point.”

“I don’t want you to change. Your soul is exactly what it’s supposed to be. I wanted to play Cleansing for you because I noticed you were in turmoil, and I thought it would help. Forgive me for not making that clear sooner.”

Affection flared in Jiang Cheng’s chest, a fiery swirl consuming his heart and lungs, searing the cage of his ribs. He felt a little nauseated actually.

Lan Xichen continued, “My clan’s techniques may offer a reprieve from your more tumultuous emotions, but the Purification Tones are not a cure-all, and nothing I do will turn you into the ascetic—and frankly quite dull—Lan cultivator you were never meant to be.”

Jiang Cheng shot him a curious look. Did Lan Xichen just call himself dull?

Across the yard, they heard the cottage door slide open. Jin Ling stumbled onto the patio, rubbing his eyes and yawning.

“Jiujiu,” he mumbled, voice hoarse with sleep.

“What is it?” Jiang Cheng asked. The toddler didn’t respond, only eyed Lan Xichen with a curious expression.

Lan Xichen waved. “Did you have a nice nap, Jin-gongzi?”

“Where’s xiao-shushu?”

Lan Xichen took a moment to respond to Jin Ling’s abrupt topic change. “His palace in Lanling.”

“Why are you with jiujiu instead of xiao-shushu?”

Jiang Cheng wasn’t surprised by the question. Lan Xichen frequented Golden Carp Tower, but Jin Ling only saw him if he and Jin Guangyao were together. He probably never considered that Lan Xichen existed outside of those short visits with his uncle.

“Work,” Jiang Cheng said at the same time Lan Xichen said, “I was playing a song for your jiujiu.” He strummed the guqin to show Jin Ling.

“Why?”

“To help him relax.”

Jin Ling smiled with all his teeth, suddenly wide awake. “Show me! Show me!” he shouted, plopping down in front of Lan Xichen and leaning forward to get a good look.

“We should get back to Lotus Pier,” Jiang Cheng said. “Lan-zongzhu is very busy.”

“I don’t mind,” Lan Xichen said. He plucked three of the strings, and Jin Ling beamed as the chord riffed without echo.

“Oh,” Jin Ling breathed, awed. A dissonant note sprang from the guqin, disrupting Lan Xichen’s otherwise pleasant playing. Jin Ling had plucked one of the strings at the top of the instrument, but instead of chastising him, Lan Xichen smiled indulgently, never pulling his hands away from the strings. Jin Ling did it again, and again the note rang out discordantly. When the song was finished, Lan Xichen patted the grass next to him.

“Come sit. I’ll teach you.”

Jin Ling obliged happily, and Lan Xichen spent the next fifteen minutes teaching him how to play the guqin.

“Jiujiu! Listen!” he said excitedly, playing the notes he’d learned with no real rhythm or key, but his smile shone with all the confidence and enthusiasm of a master. Jiang Cheng smiled in turn.

Jin Ling sprang to his feet and grabbed the purple hem of his uncle’s robe. “Do you feel better?”

“What do you mean?”

Jin Ling frowned, then marched back to Lan Xichen. “Show me again.”

“Why? You did well, Jin-gongzi.”

“Show me how to do it for jiujiu.”

Jiang Cheng felt his heart sink into his stomach, like everything that should have held it in place had given way to rot. He stepped forward, put a hand on his nephew’s shoulder.

“I do feel better, Jin Ling,” he said. “Much better, thanks to you.”

“Really?”

Jiang Cheng nodded.

“You played very well,” said Lan Xichen. “Your jiujiu doesn’t like it as much when I play.”

“You don’t?”

Jiang Cheng shook his head. “He gives me a headache.”

Jin Ling giggled, and Jiang Cheng ruffled his hair. “We should go. You brought that wooden rattle drum, didn’t you? Where is it?”

“Oh!” Jin Ling pushed Jiang Cheng’s hand away from his head and darted back into the cottage to find his toy.

It was quiet for a few seconds. Then, “Thank you,” Jiang Cheng said stiffly, “for indulging him.”

“Of course.”

His chest fluttered uncomfortably as he thought over what had just happened, what his nephew had tried to do for him, and what it meant that he thought he needed to.

“Is it possible. . .” he started, reaching for the right words. “Are there any other Lan techniques that do the same thing as Cleansing?”

“Calm the mind, you mean?” replied Lan Xichen, picking up on everything Jiang Cheng wasn’t saying. “There are many. If Jiang-zongzhu promises to give those methods a fair chance, I would be more than happy to show him.”

“I will,” Jiang Cheng gritted out, you insufferable, patronizing—

“Then return in one week.”

A week?! There had been at least a month between every previous visit. He wanted to say, No, I’m too busy, but Lan Xichen was smiling up at him, and Jiang Cheng’s refusal caught in his throat.

When Jin Ling ran out of the cottage, having finally found his toy, Jiang Cheng summoned Sandu from its sheath after pulling his nephew up into his arms.

“Fine,” he said to Lan Xichen. “One week.”

Chapter Text

The Cloud Recesses

When Jiang Cheng returned a week later, he was greeted with new fervor. The usually cool-headed and soft-spoken Lan Xichen was practically bouncing up and down with excitement. Jiang Cheng couldn’t keep up as Lan Xichen prattled on and on about all the spiritual pieces they might try and his ideas for new compositions, which he’d been mulling over since the last time they spoke.

“Cleansing has been wholly ineffective, but it isn’t the only Purification Tone,” Lan Xichen beamed, hauling Jiang Cheng across the Cloud Recesses and toward the Library Pavilion. “I’ve been meaning to go through the collection anyway. Jiang-zongzhu is a worthwhile excuse.”

Jiang Cheng didn’t know whether to be flattered or insulted, not that it mattered since he couldn’t get a word in to complain. He’d never seen Lan Xichen so talkative, and while he wasn’t jumping off the walls with energy or talking so fast he couldn’t breathe, it was bizarre going so long without falling into a mutual silence. And uncanny hearing him lose his usual formality the longer he spoke, seeing his ears flush pink when he talked about the potential in combining Lan compositions with other spiritual healing techniques.

They spent the entire visit in the Library Pavilion’s music wing, where shelves and nooks were filled to the ceiling with scrolls and old books, each collecting and poring over as many pieces as they could get their hands on; though more often than not, Jiang Cheng found himself eyeing the scrolls with all the scrutiny of an illiterate.

Lan Xichen assured him that he didn’t know what he was looking for either, that he was simply hoping the scrolls would be straightforward.

That was not the case, as they spent twice as long scouring history and methodology books trying to find mentions and descriptions of certain songs or old accounts of the pieces being played as they did looking through the actual pieces.

During Jiang Cheng’s next visit a week later, they managed a more organized search, with Lan Xichen handling the transcriptions and Jiang Cheng focusing on research, which proved miles more efficient; by the end of the visit, they had two songs set aside for the following week, both to be played on Liebing.

To their mutual chagrin, however, neither song fit the nature of Jiang Cheng’s problem, and they threw themselves back into searching. Jiang Cheng’s visits stretched longer and longer as time passed, and Lan Xichen even dedicated a few scarce hours of free time to scouring the Library Pavilion’s collection by himself.

Seven weeks in and more than a dozen pieces tested (none of which were worthwhile), Lan Xichen stumbled onto a song composed by the cultivation partner of an old Lan sect leader.

“Lan Feng,” mused Jiang Cheng. “Where have I heard that name before?”

Lan Xichen’s smile went a little awkward as he unrolled the scroll and laid it out over the table.

“You’ve probably read about him. He was a notorious drinker.”

“A Lan clan head and a drunk? That’s impossible,” Jiang Cheng chuckled. “Drinking is against the precepts, Lan-zongzhu.”

“Yes, yes, I know,” he replied blithely. “It’s why his wife composed this.” Jiang Cheng rounded the table, looking over the other’s shoulder at the transcription.

”Concord?”

Lan Xichen nodded. “She hoped that if she could ease his stress and foster contentment, he would no longer turn to drink.”

Jiang Cheng scanned the page, gaze drifting past the composition to the notes scribbled beneath. The hand-writing was crude and difficult to read, and he quickly gave up trying.

Lan Xichen leaned forward, and a lock of his hair slid over his shoulder, the ends splaying over the parchment. Without thinking, Jiang Cheng pulled the strand out of the way, like he was drawing a curtain. Lan Xichen didn’t turn his head, but his gaze flicked toward Jiang Cheng.

“What? I can’t read through your hair,” he said coolly, though his mind was screaming, what the fuck am I doing?!

“Sorry,” said Lan Xichen, hooking that wayward lock behind his ear and looking back at the scroll. His earlobes were faintly flushed, and that panicked heat, that damned flitting swarm of winged insects swelled inside Jiang Cheng’s chest. As busy as Lan Xichen had kept him these last few weeks, he’d hardly had time to worry about this stupid feeling—or to think about their encounter in the Cold Springs—but both returned now with a vengeance.

He took a step back from Lan Xichen, hoping he wasn’t too obvious. He was certainly very obvious.

“Anyway,” Lan Xichen started, gaze locked unflinchingly on the scroll, “do you know how to play the guqin, Jiang-zongzhu?”

“Some.”

Lan Xichen looked surprised.

“I was the son of a clan head. Of course I know some.”

“Right. Of course.” Lan Xichen looked back at the scroll. “This song might be a good fit then, but you’ll have to play it.”

Jiang Cheng scratched his temple. “I haven’t touched a guqin in years,” he admitted.

Lan Xichen hummed in acknowledgment, flipping through a book he’d opened on Concord’s muse, Lan Feng.

“And there’s another problem. It’s meant to be a duet, with you playing the right hand, and your partner playing the left.”

“Partner?”

“The account here is vague.” He met Jiang Cheng’s eye, looking slightly bashful. “Is there a woman in your life?”

Jiang Cheng was glad he’d set down his last scroll; otherwise, his grip surely would have snapped it in two. “No.”

After the Sunshot campaign, Jiang Cheng’s sect had struggled to find its rhythm, but now that he’d achieved a tentative stability, Yunmeng’s matchmakers (as well as a few of Lanling’s and Qinghe’s) had already accosted him with marriage proposals. He made the mistake of accepting one such matchmaker’s simple offer of tea with a cultivator from a nearby wealthy and affluent clan, only for the young lady to leave after half an incense time crying like a child. That matchmaker had blacklisted him from her business, though why she’d think he’d ever seek her out was beyond him. Was it not the matchmaker’s job to find him a suitable match? Why would he ever grace her establishment again?

Lan Xichen must have sensed something was amiss because he quickly changed tact. “Or a friend,” he said. “Family. I don’t think the bond has to be romantic; you just need someone who you’re affectionate toward.“

Jiang Cheng’s scowl deepened.

“Or simply tolerant of,” Lan Xichen added a little nervously. “Someone you trust.”

“There’s no one,” said Jiang Cheng.

Lan Xichen gave him another look he couldn’t fucking read.

“The only person is Jin Ling, and there’s no way a toddler can play that.”

He thought of Jin Ling, scared out of his wits or begging for his xiao-shushu, remembered his determination to learn the guqin just so his jiujiu would act like a normal fucking person. But Jiang Cheng didn’t want Jin Ling’s help. He didn’t want Jin Ling to think he needed help. Not with this.

“Surely there’s someone back in Yunmeng you trust.”

“There’s not.”

Lan Xichen looked like he didn’t believe that, which only further incensed Jiang Cheng.

Sorry I don’t have a wife with a talent for music. Sorry the Wens destroyed four hands perfectly capable of playing the guqin when they raided Lotus Pier. Sorry my brother died to his own fucking puppets, but he preferred the flute anyway so no real loss there.

“It’s okay, Jiang-zongzhu,” Lan Xichen said because of course he’d picked up on everything Jiang Cheng was feeling without either of them saying a damned word.

“There’s no one,” Jiang Cheng repeated, just to get it through Lan Xichen’s thick fucking skull. “Making friends hasn’t exactly been a priority these last few years, and I’m sorry but ghosts can’t play the guqin.” Lan Xichen looked about to reply, but Jiang Cheng went on. “I mean, why do you think we’re here right now? It’s not like I’m. . . I’m just—“ he broke off with a sneer, infuriated beyond measure by his inability to be articulate.

“I know why we’re here,” said Lan Xichen, sparing Jiang Cheng from finishing that fractured sentence.

The latter sighed, composing himself. “I’m overworked, and that’s a good enough excuse to keep to myself. I don’t take disciples, and those the sect accepts have no reason to seek me out—not that they’d dare approach me if they did.” The next few points were obvious; he didn’t need to say them.

My friends died when the Wens took Lotus Pier, and the only family I had left was killed by Wei fucking Wuxian.

Lan Xichen’s arm, which was holding up the book about Lan Feng, drooped.

“So no. There’s no one back in Yunmeng. It’s just Jin Ling.”

“I see,” Lan Xichen said after a pause. “Then, do you trust me?”

Jiang Cheng started, so thrown by the question he could do little more than stare.

Lan Xichen set the book back on the table and rerolled the scroll. “There are others,” he said, because apparently they were finished talking about Concord. Or maybe he just didn’t want to hear Jiang Cheng’s answer. That was fine, Jiang Cheng decided. Totally fine.

Lan Xichen gestured to the slow-shrinking pile of scrolls they hadn’t yet gone through. It wasn’t too much. Still, the sight was a pit in Jiang Cheng’s stomach. He was tired of reading.

He eyed the discarded Concord, then Lan Xichen, who was dutifully unrolling and rerolling and unrolling again. He said he’d been meaning to look through the collection anyway, but Jiang Cheng doubted Lan Xichen would have dedicated as much time to this as he had if it weren’t for him.

Why does he care so much anyway?

It’d been months, and Jiang Cheng had nothing to show for his initial suspicions of Lan Xichen, so if he really didn’t have some grand, underhanded scheme, why were they here? Why was Lan Xichen throwing away so much time trying to solve a problem he had no stake in? Was there something between them Jiang Cheng wasn’t aware of, some history he’d forgotten but Lan Xichen cherished?

With a thin sigh, he let himself go back to the Sunshot Campaign. He supposed they fought together a few times, but Lan Xichen had the Venerated Triad, and Jiang Cheng had. . . Wei Wuxian.

He remembered the three months after his golden core was restored, when he didn’t know where that bastard was, when he had no allies and a world of enemies. Until Lan Xichen.

Yunmeng,
the Sunshot Campaign

After Wei Wuxian went missing, Jiang Cheng struggled to recruit new disciples.

“The Jiang Clan?” they’d say, “of Yunmeng? Isn’t Yunmeng under the Wen Clan’s control?”

It was.

“Isn’t Lotus Pier a pile of ash and rubble?”

It was.

“How are you supposed to rebuild your clan if you can’t step foot in Yunmeng or Lotus Pier?”

He didn’t know.

“Can it even be called a cultivation sect if its leader is a child?”

Jiang Cheng punched the man who asked that last question before storming off with the flick of his sleeve. Though, when he calmed down, he found he couldn’t blame them for their questions, their doubts and reservations. He was practically homeless. He was alone. He was a child.

So he decided to do a very childish thing indeed. He picked himself up and travelled back to Yunmeng. After all, who else but the locals would feel inclined to risk their lives fighting for Yunmeng? And without Wei Wuxian or Yanli, who could tell him not to?

Jiang Cheng managed more than he expected, though most of his success could be attributed to a small group of rebels who had already established an underground network of communication with the aligned families of Yunmeng, as well as a few clans in the surrounding region. A week or so after returning, he dawned a shabby cloak for camouflage and snuck into an abandoned courtyard behind an old temple. There was a tree in the center with a hole rotted into the trunk. He shoved his hand inside feeling for the missive that should have been there, but he pulled his hand out empty.

“Jiang-gongzi.”

Zidian cracked to life as he spun around, breathing hard, heart in his throat.

Two men stood before him, both dressed in what was essentially the white of funeral garbs. The closer of the two held his hands up, an apologetic smile on his face. The other brushed past his brother, gaze hard.

At Lan Wangji’s sudden—and frankly quite threatening—approach, Jiang Cheng took several wary paces back.

“Where is Wei Ying?”

He couldn’t help curling his lip. Was it not partially Lan Wangji’s fault Wei Wuxian was missing in the first place? If the former hadn’t needed saving in that damned cave, Wei Wuxian never would have been targeted by Wen Chao.

“Wangji,” Lan Xichen said, putting a hand on his brother’s shoulder. The younger Lan looked at him, then shot a final impatient glance at Jiang Cheng before turning away. “Forgive us, Jiang-gongzi. We didn’t mean to scare you.”

“You didn’t,” said Jiang Cheng, though he still clutched Zidian like it was the only thing keeping him standing. He’d been jumpy since he left Lotus Pier. More so since. . .

He absently touched his chest, the fresh scar like a blight over his heart. “How did you find me?” he asked Lan Xichen, who then explained that Lan Wangji and Lan Qiren had stumbled upon the Yunmeng rebels while trying to rally support for a campaign against the Wens. So when Lan Xichen returned to Gusu after his months long absence, he and Lan Wangji came straight here to find Jiang Cheng.

“We’re here as your allies against the Qishan Wen Clan.”

Jiang Cheng relaxed a little. That made sense. The Cloud Recesses and Lotus Pier had both been attacked by the Wens. If their positions were reversed and Jiang Cheng had taken the initiative to find allies, the Gusu Lan Clan would have been the best place to start.

“Where is Wei Ying?” Lan Wangji asked again, and again Jiang Cheng scowled. Lan Xichen raised a hand to silence his brother.

“We’ll get to that,” he said, “but first, Jiang-gong—“ he broke off, amended with, “Jiang-zongzhu.”

The address made Jiang Cheng’s heart ache then harden. His father was gone, which meant he was the Jiang clan head now. If he was going to avenge his parents, he needed to get used to being addressed as such.

He nodded in acknowledgment.

Lan Xichen smiled. “You’ve been trying to rebuild your sect, haven’t you?”

Another nod, though this one was slower, tentative.

“I thought so. The Yunmeng Jiang Clan is forever formidable, unrivaled in both tenacity and resolve.”

Jiang Cheng resisted the urge to roll his eyes at Lan Xichen’s flattery.

Lan Xichen seemed to catch onto Jiang Cheng’s indifference because he hurriedly continued with, “I’ll cut to the chase. The Gusu Lan Clan is organizing a campaign against the Qishan Wen Clan, but if we’re to succeed in avenging our home—in avenging Lotus Pier—we need your help, Jiang-zongzhu.”

He looked sincere, but after Jiang Cheng’s stay studying in Gusu, he was pretty sure Lan Xichen could feign sincerity for just about anything (especially the endlessly ridiculous harangues of Lan Qiren (also, he thought with some amusement, the endlessly ridiculous harangues of Wei Wuxian)).

“Lan-zongzhu,” Jiang Cheng said, testing the new honorific the same way Lan Xichen had moments before. “Our situations are very alike, which makes the Gusu Lan Clan an obvious ally to the Yunmeng Jiang Clan, but it also means that both our forces were ravaged by the Wens.” The question—What can your Gusu Lan Clan do for me if it’s been burned to cinders?—was implied.

“Our clans are not helpless—“

“I didn’t say they were.”

“Of course not.” Lan Xichen cleared his throat. “But regardless of our numbers, we aren’t the only clans with reason to retaliate. I already have the Baling Ouyang Clan’s support. As well as meetings scheduled with the Runan Wang Clan and the Hedong Fu Clan.”

For the first time since they ambushed him, Jiang Cheng’s brow unfurrowed.

“And we may still convince the clans of the Langya region to fight as well. I predict you’ll have more luck than me.”

“Why’s that?”

“The destruction of Lotus Pier was this campaign’s catalyst. Everyone’s asking the same question: if the Wens were willing to destroy the Yunmeng Jiangs, who’s next?”

“That’s exactly the reason the Langya clan heads will never listen to me.” He said it with a familiar savageness, though the intensity, the suffused misery he’d thus far managed to keep stamped below the surface, was new. When he spoke again, it was like his every word had teeth. “I have no sect. You think they’ll regard me any differently than they would a rogue cultivator? They’ll take one look, call me a child, then laugh in my fucking face! I appreciate the vote of confidence, but you’re out of your goddamned mind.”

Lan Xichen’s pupils seemed to dilate. Lan Wangji started toward Jiang Cheng again, but again his brother stopped him.

Smiling, Lan Xichen said, “They won’t laugh if you speak to them like that.”

Jiang Cheng was plagued by too many other things to feel embarrassed about this.

“Even if you can’t convince them to fight,” Lan Xichen continued, “you can very easily get the conversation moving in our favor. You’re living proof of the Wens brutality and their failings. They slaughtered your family, destroyed your home, but you still slipped through their fingers. That fact isn’t lost on the rest of the cultivation world, and neither is your quest for revenge. Scare the other sects into taking us seriously, then I can take it from there. I won’t let things get out of hand.”

Jiang Cheng felt an inexplicable wave of affection. After a few seconds, he figured out why: Lan Xichen’s faith that his sharp tongue and abrasive demeanor were assets and not detriments reminded him of Yanli.

“You think you can recruit the Jins?” he asked with a twisted smile, crossing his arms and letting Zidian hang from the crook of his elbow. “You can’t.”

Lan Xichen wasn’t deterred. “Nie-zongzhu can.”

Nie Mingjue. Jiang Cheng considered that. He supposed if anyone could convince Jin Guangshan to go to war (or scare him into it), it was Nie Mingjue. Hell, if anyone could convince Jiang Cheng to go to war alone, without a single comrade wearing the Yunmeng Jiang colors, it was Nie Mingjue.

“You have the Qinghe Nie Clan’s support?”

Lan Xichen nodded. “Nie-zongzhu is the spearhead of this campaign.”

You could have led with that! “I thought you were.”

“At present, the Gusu Lan Clan is better equipped to organize forces, not lead them.”

Jiang Cheng thought it over for a moment, but there was really no question now. He was about to accept when Lan Wangji broke his silence.

“Jiang-gongzi,” he said with more urgency. “Where is Wei Ying?”

He opened his mouth to reply, then closed it, setting his jaw as he averted his gaze.

“Jiang Wanyin!”

He looked back up, startled. To think the simple fact of Wei Wuxian being absent from Jiang Cheng’s side was enough to spur the aloof Lan Wangji to shout. The very same Lan Wangji who loathed Wei Wuxian’s guts? Was the world ending?

“I don’t know!” Jiang Cheng shouted back. Shit. His eyes were stinging. He shut them before he could start crying. “I don’t know,” he repeated as evenly as he could. “We lost track of each other in Yiling. I have no idea where he is.”

Lan Wangji’s expression only darkened for a second, then returned to its usual flatness.

Lan Xichen on the other hand looked utterly melancholic. “We’ll find him,” he promised them both. “But first, we need to steal Sandu and Bichen back from the Wens.”

Jiang Cheng had all but forgotten that encounter. Lan Xichen triggered the cultivation world’s war against the Wens. No one could forget that, but how had Jiang Cheng forgotten Lan Xichen’s role in helping him personally? In seeing his potential as a sect leader the way only his sister had before? Then in eventually reuniting him with Yanli? He might have lost months or even years of time with his sister had Lan Xichen not plucked him out of the streets of Yunmeng that day, had the Gusu Lan Clan not found and protected his sister before the Wens could get to her.

“I do trust you, Lan-zongzhu,” he said after a silence which had stretched too long.

Lan Xichen paused his work. His smile brightened the whole room. “I trust you too,” he said, and Jiang Cheng was starting to think his lungs were collapsing because breathing was not usually this hard. But then they started working again and he decided not to dwell on it.

“Someone I trust, you said?” he asked, reaching for Concord.

Lan Xichen nodded.

“Then, could that be you?”

Lan Xichen’s face did something inexplicable; he blushed. Feeling as though he’d just said something ridiculous, Jiang Cheng did the same, though where Lan Xichen didn’t try to hide his flushed cheeks, Jiang Cheng turned around so that Lan Xichen couldn’t see his face at all. He leaned his hips against the table, hoping that made the abrupt spin appear less unnatural.

“I suppose. . .” Lan Xichen trailed, “but it seems—or the wording suggests, um. . .”

Jiang Cheng, having never heard Lan Xichen sound so inarticulate, peered back at him. He was biting the inside of his cheek, still blushing as he wrung his hands like a young man about to confess his love to a girl.

“Spit it out,” Jiang Cheng said, slightly discomposed as those damned insects flitted mercilessly about his ribcage again.

Lan Xichen cleared his throat. “Based on the description at the bottom of the scroll—“

“I thought you said it was vague?”

“It is.”

“So, what’s the problem?”

Lan Xichen laughed awkwardly. “I guess. . . there isn’t one.” Jiang Cheng smiled, feeling like he’d just won something. Lan Xichen pursed his lips into a thin line. “We shouldn’t play it here. Just in case something goes awry.”

The Gentian House

They hopped off their swords in front of the secluded cottage on the outskirts of the Cloud Recesses. Lan Xichen’s guqin was already waiting for them inside, and he planted himself behind it, putting one hand on the strings while the other held Concord.

“Since you’re right handed, I’ll play the left. Sit.”

Jiang Cheng slumped down beside Lan Xichen, putting as much space between them while still sitting behind the instrument. Lan Xichen shot him a sideways glance.

“That won’t work.” He patted the place directly beside him. Jiang Cheng set his jaw. He’d been making an effort to keep his distance from Lan Xichen ever since the Cold Springs, but seeing as this had been his idea, there was nothing he could do now but scoot closer. Their thighs brushed and their shoulders were jammed together, but Lan Xichen didn’t seem as bothered by it as Jiang Cheng was.

He walked him through the piece a few times, and at one point, he even reached over, cupped Jiang Cheng’s hand with his own and guided it to the position that would achieve the best sound. Jiang Cheng tried to maintain his composure, but his mind wandered every time Lan Xichen touched him. He couldn’t help thinking about that day in the Cold Springs, and he couldn’t very well pour ice water on himself now if he got. . . out of hand.

He shook his head, internally slapping himself for having such an absurd and shameless thought. What was wrong with him? Lan Xichen had barely touched him since they sat down to play, so why was he anticipating the same reaction he’d had at the Cold Springs? Massages were notoriously sensual. His arousal at being touched that way (while teetering on the line) was excusable. What they were doing now wasn’t nearly as intimate, and therefore such a reaction would be entirely inexcusable.

Fuck, why was it so hot underneath his robes?

“Is something wrong?” asked Lan Xichen.

Jiang Cheng burned hotter under Lan Xichen’s scrutiny. “No,” he said quickly. Then, “Sorry. I haven’t been behind a guqin in so long. This is harder than I expected.”

“You’re doing quite well. I’m surprised you remember as much as you do.”

After that, Jiang Cheng managed to calm down a bit, mostly because he was so focused on playing correctly that he couldn’t really think about anything else. He stumbled through the song a few times before finding his groove. Then at last, they were playing together. Though it lacked the depth of stylization, there weren’t any mistakes. He breathed a relaxed sigh as the tones bled into his meridians, dulling his sharper edges, lulling him into calm. He hardly thought he’d practiced enough to play without looking, but he shut his eyes, the music washing over him like water lapping at the shore.

He felt lighter, which was a welcome surprise after so many disastrous attempts with other songs. He even tried to recall something that would normally trouble him, but he couldn’t think of anything. The only person on his mind was Jin Ling, who didn’t trouble him at all. At least, not in any way that mattered. In fact, he felt like everything that should matter to him, like his clan and Lotus Pier, had fallen off his radar completely.

And other things, thoughtless things like the funny, chortling way Jin Ling laughed, and the way one of his eyes always crinkled more than the other when he smiled, and his complete inability to put on socks, and his heart, just as warm and full as his mother’s—felt like everything.

But then Jiang Cheng missed a note and the spell fell apart. He pulled his hand back with a start.

“Everything all right?” asked Lan Xichen.

“Fine,” Jiang Cheng said, though without Concord there to filter his mind, all his sharper edges bombarded him like a dozen sword glares to the face. “I just got distracted for a second.”

“Should we try again?”

Jiang Cheng nodded, and they started over. This time, he kept his eyes open, but they kept drifting away from the guqin, first to the rest of the cottage, the old paper windows, the chimes hanging above the entrance, the worn and beaten floorboards, before finally landing on Lan Xichen. The clan head’s eyes were closed, fingers dancing effortlessly over the strings like he’d played this piece a million times before. The corners of his mouth were subtly upturned, and his hair hung in a dark sheath down his back. Jiang Cheng remembered touching it earlier, pushing it back and away from his face. The soft lock had felt like silk on his fingertips, and he very nearly combed his free hand through it now, but then Lan Xichen jerked away from the instrument like the strings had burned his fingers.

“Everything all right?” Jiang Cheng parroted. Lan Xichen glanced his way.

“Everything’s fine,” he said, though his breathing was a little ragged. He looked back at the guqin.

With his mind a bit clearer, Jiang Cheng eyed Lan Xichen’s hair again, deeply concerned by Concord’s effects.

She hoped that if she could ease his stress and foster contentment, he would no longer turn to drink.

Ease stress and foster contentment, sure, but for the purpose of weening Lan Feng off alcohol or simply mimicking the effects until he’d rather play Concord with his wife than drink?

Jiang Cheng considered what that meant for himself and Lan Xichen. He didn’t feel drunk when they played, but he’d felt good, careless, like Concord had completely removed his inhibitions. What would the version of Jiang Cheng with no self-control do with Lan Xichen sitting so close?

“We can stop,” he offered. “It’s getting late—“

“Once more.”

Jiang Cheng chewed his bottom lip. “Okay,” he said because he’d rather die than admit what he was actually thinking (which was of course, I’m afraid I might try to take your clothes off if we play this song again). He really needed to get a handle on his whole neglected libido thing because it was getting fucking ridiculous. (Seriously! To be so touch starved he was actually nervous he might try to take off another man’s clothes! Absurd!)

They began the piece a third time, but he was determined to keep his gaze fixed on the guqin. His resolve quickly gave way to impulse, however, as Concord’s lilting melody stole away any wariness or rationale. Again his eyes were drawn to Lan Xichen’s hair, which looked soft where his was coarse, glittering where his was dull. He wanted to touch it. He wanted to braid it. He wanted to run his hands through it while Lan Xichen ran his own through Jiang Cheng’s.

So Jiang Cheng did exactly that. He combed his free hand through a strand of Lan Xichen’s hair, pinching it between his thumb and forefinger. It was as soft as rain. He pulled a larger lock into his palm, massaging its smoothness until he realized Lan Xichen was looking at him.

Somewhere, his mind was shouting, Shit! I knew this would happen! Pull your fucking hand away! But Concord drowned it out. Jiang Cheng didn’t let go. He held Lan Xichen’s hair as unflinchingly as he held his gaze. Then, with all the nonchalance of drawing a curtain or opening a door, Lan Xichen tugged the purple ribbon out of Jiang Cheng’s hair, and his bun fell free in dozens of straight black locks.

He wondered if Lan Xichen felt as taken with his coarse and unruly tangle as he did with the latter’s angel soft strands of deep brown. Surely not, though from the way Lan Xichen twirled Jiang Cheng’s hair around his fingers, thumbing the partially unraveled braid at his temple, he thought he must be. At least a little. Until he pushed a section of Jiang Cheng’s bangs behind his ear, fingertips lingering on the curve of his jaw.

It wasn’t the hair Lan Xichen was taken with.

No, Jiang Cheng thought as the other’s gaze lingered on his lips. Definitely not the hair.

Lan Xichen’s hands slid underneath Jiang Cheng’s jaw until he found a good grip. Then he leaned forward, slowly pulling Jiang Cheng toward him until their lips met. The kiss was a little tentative at first, but Jiang Cheng happily reciprocated. Why wouldn’t he? If Lan Xichen’s hair was soft, his lips were softer. Why wouldn’t Jiang Cheng accept every tender inch Lan Xichen offered of himself?

His hand slid further into Lan Xichen’s hair, cupped the back of his head and toyed with his forehead ribbon. Then he untied the ribbon altogether, winding it around his palm as Lan Xichen leaned further into their kiss, gliding his tongue along the other’s teeth. Jiang Cheng was happy to part them, allowing Lan Xichen entry. His hand, meanwhile, had tugged Jiang Cheng’s robes open in the front, revealing the pale skin of his chest, the ribbed scar over his pectorals.

Somehow, he wasn’t at all concerned that Lan Xichen had touched it. In fact, he wouldn’t mind being touched there again. He never wanted Lan Xichen’s curious hand to stop touching him. He turned his lower half as much as he could without taking his right hand off the strings (it seemed to have developed a mind of its own, because the notes and rhythms of Concord couldn’t be farther from his mind).

Lan Xichen tugged him closer and closer until Jiang Cheng was practically sitting in his lap. They kissed like their lives depended on it, like neither had ever tasted anything sweeter, like they always kissed like this and they would never ever grow tired of it. Jiang Cheng genuinely couldn’t fathom why they didn’t do this more often, how they could have spent so much time not doing this. It was the repose in curling under a thick duvet when the weather got cold. It was the breathless thrill of winning a sword fight. It was being set on fire. It was like so many things, and it was like nothing at all. An incomparable bliss.

He was never going to stop kissing Lan Xichen.

He tried to scoot closer, though there was hardly any space left between them. In doing so, he rubbed against the taut fabric of Lan Xichen’s trousers, giving away the searing heat and the hardness beneath. Lan Xichen shuddered against Jiang Cheng’s mouth, which the latter quite liked, and so he rolled his hips down, grinding harder against Lan Xichen and sending a spark of pleasure up his own spine. They broke the kiss at the same time, Lan Xichen with a pleased groan and Jiang Cheng with a sharp exhale.

“Jiang-zongzhu,” Lan Xichen breathed, voice laced with a foreign vulnerability. He tightened his hold on Jiang Cheng’s waist. “You’re so. . . you’re always. . .” he trailed off. Then they were kissing again, Lan Xichen’s lips desperate and greedy, his tongue probing, like he was trying to map out the topography behind Jiang Cheng’s teeth. Jiang Cheng met him with enthusiasm, deepening the kiss, giving Lan Xichen unrestricted access to the planes of his mouth.

You’re so perfect it pisses me off, he thought, finishing Lan Xichen’s musings with his own. You’re always stuck in my head. I can’t think about anything else.

It was true, though he didn’t think he’d ever realized it before, not so cleanly. How he could have been ignorant to the depths of this desire for all these months, he didn’t know.

His hand found Lan Xichen’s hair pin, which he promptly pulled out, showering them with the latter’s silky locks. They were each veiled with hair now, yet Jiang Cheng still felt there wasn’t enough to grab, to hold and feel.

Lan Xichen’s hips bucked up, the firm bulk trapped beneath his trousers grinding against the other’s thigh, then higher, eliciting a breathy moan from Jiang Cheng.

“Lan-zongzhu—“ he managed to say between kisses. “I want—“ he broke off as Lan Xichen guided his hips down again. He was panting, brimming with need and sensation. He wanted to touch Lan Xichen everywhere and be touched everywhere. He wanted the clothes between them gone, every barrier between the heat of their bare skin burned away and forgotten. He wanted Lan Xichen in every way there was, and as though he could intuit exactly what Jiang Cheng was thinking, Lan Xichen eagerly began pulling at Jiang Cheng’s belt.

The tie required two hands to undo, so he dedicated both of his to the endeavor, which meant Jiang Cheng was the only one playing the guqin.

Concord was incomplete, and the spell it cast shattered.

Jiang Cheng dropped Lan Xichen’s hair pin, and it clattered to the ground with a deafening clack. They broke apart at the same time, and Jiang Cheng flung himself backward, but Lan Xichen’s hands were so tangled in his belt that he was pulled down too, landing on top of Jiang Cheng and effectively pinning him to the floor. Lan Xichen let out a startled gasp before he untangled himself and scooted at least a yard away.

Jiang Cheng pushed himself up, then realizing his chest was on full display, he turned away from Lan Xichen and quickly began fixing his robes. His face burned, and he was sure the flush had reached his ears and spread down his neck. It deepened when he realized Lan Xichen’s forehead ribbon was wound around his palm. Fuck, he thought as he quickly removed it and set it on the guqin. Fuck, fuck, fuck! His mind was imploding. With his rationale back, every second returned a new memory of what he’d just done, and with each memory and mental image, a new and terrible wave of utter humiliation. He couldn’t bare to remember it all, but he couldn’t get it out of his head either. He needed to scream. He needed to throttle Lan Xichen. He needed to get as far away from Lan Xichen as possible and never see him again.

“Jiang-zongzhu, that wasn’t—“ Lan Xichen cut himself off, tone wary and disoriented, “—it was because of the song. It wasn’t—“

“Stop,” Jiang Cheng said, unwilling or physically unable to listen to that voice.

“What?”

He picked himself off the floor, keeping his back to Lan Xichen. “Not another word. Ever. This didn’t happen. Roll that song up and put it back where you found it. Or better yet, set it on fire.”

This didn’t happen, he kept repeating to himself. This didn’t happen. This didn’t happen. This didn’t happen!

He made for the door.

“Jiang-zongzhu.”

He didn’t stop.

“Jiang Wanyin.”

He paused at the threshold, cast a glance over his shoulder. Lan Xichen was still on the floor, face flushed, hair a tousled mess. He opened his mouth to say something else, then closed it again.

Jiang Cheng left the cottage and drew Sandu from its sheath.

This didn’t fucking happen.

Chapter Text

Lotus Pier,
three days later

Jiang Cheng couldn’t sleep.

He threw off his duvet, thoroughly incensed, and strode across the bedroom. He retrieved a long, loose-fitting purple robe from his wardrobe and slipped it over the black one he already wore; then, catching sight of a short and worn hair ribbon hanging off his changing partition, he decided to tie back the twin braids at his temples, glad he hadn’t unravelled them earlier in the night and rather pleased with himself for thinking to tie his hair back at all. The deed could very well spare him a mess later.

He left his rooms, padded on bare feet down a long, winding corridor, veered into the kitchen to grab a bottle of wine, then cut back through the same corridor. There was hardly any point in softening his footfalls, which were always quite heavy, since he was alone in this monolith of an ancestral home. At least until the next time he brought Jin Ling back from Golden Carp Tower.

He briefly paused at the threshold to his study, then approached the low desk in the center of the room. Sandu rested sheathed on the tabletop with the hilt’s purple tassel hanging off the edge and teasing the carpet. There was a reason he’d brought the sword here rather than leave it in his bedroom or the armory, some idea he’d had to cleanse the weapon’s spiritual energy or hone the blade for sharper sword glares or something.

He took a sip (a gulp, really) of the wine, which was surprisingly, pleasantly sweet.

Since his last visit to the Cloud Recesses, he’d been too distracted to be conscious of very much; in fact, one of his sect’s more seasoned cultivators offered to take on some extra work because Jiang Cheng had been, in their words, “spacey and awkward” for days, and they thought he must be stressed and overtired.

He took a few more greedy gulps before setting the wine down and picking up the sword, pulling it partially from its scabbard. Sandu had been acting up the last few days—he remembered that much, but there was nothing strange about it now. He shook his head and set the sword back down, too tired (and frankly too buzzed) to dwell on the fact Sandu had been a nonissue before Concord.

He settled behind the low table, sinking his chin into his hand, casually sipping his wine. His eyelids drooped, but even if he closed them, even if he leaned forward and laid his head in the crooks of his elbows or crawled back into bed, he wouldn’t sleep. Not until his blood teemed with drink. That cultivator had been right about one thing: he was overtired. He’d hardly slept in days, and what rest he did get was drunken and fitful.

He just couldn’t get that fucker Lan Xichen out of his head. Or that kiss. Or the feel of Lan Xichen’s hair balled in his fist. Or the effortless way Lan Xichen had pulled him into his lap, or when they’d each gasped against the other’s mouth, when he’d opened Jiang Cheng’s robes and touched his bare chest, his scar, then when he’d dipped his hand lower. Jiang Cheng lingered on that last one, imagined what might have happened if they hadn’t stopped there, where Lan Xichen’s hands might have wandered—

“Mother of—” he cut himself off with a frustrated growl, taking several more gulps of sweet wine before he dropped his head on the table. He couldn’t tell now if the heat in his cheeks was from embarrassment or drunkenness. He hiccuped, then sighed.

Despite his valiant and stubborn attempts to convince himself Concord never happened, he couldn’t deny the reality when the image of Lan Xichen’s stupid blushing face and tousled hair and perfect lips (red and swollen after kissing Jiang Cheng) kept popping up any time his mind went idle.

It was torture. Lan Xichen was torturing him. He had been scheming all this time, Jiang Cheng decided, scheming to torture him with perverted and shameless fantasies until he went mad from sleep deprivation.

Well that fucker had another thing coming. This marked the third day since his last visit to the Cloud Recesses. Four more days. Then he’d return for their weekly visit. (Either to fuck Lan Xichen or kill him. He’d decide when he got there.)

He lifted his head enough to finish the wine, dropped it back on the table with a painful thud, and hiccuped again.

The Cloud Recesses,
four days later

When Jiang Cheng sobered up, he realized his fuck or kill plan was insane. Obviously he couldn’t do either of those things, no matter how much he wanted to—not that he wanted to fuck Lan Xichen. He didn’t. Obviously. That had been the wine talking.

Obviously.

Anyway, he decided not to go back to the Cloud Recesses. Ever. For two reasons:

(1) He didn’t want to see Lan Xichen. He was mortified enough without seeing the man he’d straddled and toused into a furious state of discomposure.

(2) Lan Xichen didn’t want to see him. Of that, Jiang Cheng was sure. If their roles were reversed, if Lan Xichen had been Concord’s intended subject instead of Jiang Cheng, things never would have escalated like that. Right? If the original composer had written Concord with the intention of sobering her drunkard husband through a shared feeling of intoxicated bliss, didn’t it stand to reason that other feelings—like thoroughly repressed, entirely irrational desires—could be shared as well? Where was the line?!

Yes, Jiang Cheng was hypothesizing, but there were no other plausible explanations. He’d been in his head about their encounter at the Cold Springs, and his perversions must have infected Lan Xichen via Concord. Nothing else made any sense! Lan Xichen never would have kissed him or played with his hair or tried to take his clothes off if Jiang Cheng’s sick mind hadn’t made him do all those things! How was it any different than if Jiang Cheng had cornered Lan Xichen in a dark hallway for a non-consensual groping session??

So no. Jiang Cheng absolutely could not return to the Cloud Recesses.

At least, that was until his spiritual power gave out, answering him in stops and starts, sometimes with little to no strength at all.

The decline started small, with physical symptoms like fatigue and an increased need for sleep (which was exacerbated by the subsequent bout of insomnia)—all things that shouldn’t have affected a cultivator at his level but that he could explain away given his tumultuous mental state. Then his command of Sandu started faltering in spurts, which he also blamed on his tumultuous mental state.

But after a week of walking around Lotus Pier acting “spacey and awkward” and feeling miserable, he could no longer ignore the glaring fact: this all began right after Concord. Whether or not these were side effects Lan Xichen had genuinely been ignorant to, Jiang Cheng couldn’t say, though he frankly didn’t care anymore. In fact, Lan Xichen’s “grand scheme” couldn’t have been farther from his mind.

Rather, a deeply familiar, thoroughly paralyzing terror had taken root, lapped at his shores, recalled a seizing agony then a perfect emptiness. He continuously assured himself that this lapse in power wasn’t permanent, that it couldn’t be.

But what if it was? What if he’d used up his golden core? What if it hadn’t been completely restored and was rapidly approaching expiration? Surely it couldn’t be restored a second time. What was he going to do?

What was he going to do?!

He was driving himself mad. It had to end, and if that meant swallowing his pride, shame, guilt, etc., and asking Lan Xichen for help, then so fucking be it.

Jiang Cheng steeled himself before knocking on Lan Xichen’s door. There was a pause, in which Jiang Cheng thought his heart would surely burst from his chest.

Then, “Come in.” The voice alone chased a nervous chill up his spine.

He was so fucked.

He slid the door open and tentatively crossed the threshold into the Wintry Room. Lan Xichen was sitting in the same place as always, paperwork and open books and scrolls laid out neatly on the table before him. His body language, however, was far removed from the rigid and proper clan head Jiang Cheng knew.

Lan Xichen looked up for just a moment, then trained his gaze back on his work, head bowed and posture slightly hunched.

“Lan-zongzhu,” Jiang Cheng said by way of greeting. There was a cushion opposite Lan Xichen—Jiang Cheng usually sat there—but he lingered near the door, thinking it best to keep his distance.

Lan Xichen cleared his throat. “Jiang-zongzhu.” He folded his hands together on the table, then thought better of it and folded them in his lap, then behind his back, then in his lap again. Jiang Cheng felt very guilty indeed (though there was something sating about seeing Lan Xichen so uncharacteristically discomposed).

He glanced sideways at the west entrance, finally meeting Jiang Cheng’s eye. “I didn’t expect to see you today.”

Jiang Cheng couldn’t maintain eye contact; his gaze raised to the open window above Lan Xichen’s head, to the chimes moving and singing with the wind. He wished Lan Xichen would just read his mind already, like he had half a dozen times before, but the silence dragged on.

Jiang Cheng cleared his throat. “We have a standing appointment.”

Lan Xichen flicked his sleeves out then rose to his feet. Jiang Cheng’s blood ran cold. He stared at the floor as Lan Xichen crossed the short distance between them, sure he was about to be punched, bracing himself for the blow; he’d certainly deserve it, but no blow ever came.

“Something’s wrong,” Lan Xichen observed.

Jiang Cheng started with surprise, then nodded. “Since the last visit. My cultivation’s been impacted.”

“By Concord?” Lan Xichen asked coolly.

“I don’t know.”

Lan Xichen half-turned, gesturing with one hand to a cushioned alcove beneath the Wintry Room’s central window, the design of which mirrored the Lan Clan’s crest. He pressed his other hand against Jiang Cheng’s back to guide him forward.

“Let’s sit.”

Jiang Cheng nearly jumped out of his skin at that touch. “Oh, sure,” he stammered, unsubtly skirting to the side and taking a hurried pace toward the alcove.

Lan Xichen followed, and Jiang Cheng made himself comfortable on the alcove’s rather large rectangular cushion. Lan Xichen sat primly on the edge instead of scooting back to lounge cross-legged against the windowsill like Jiang Cheng did, which allowed an unambiguous space between them.

“How has your cultivation been impacted?”

Jiang Cheng quirked a brow. “You mean yours hasn’t?”

“No. Not that I’ve noticed.”

His chest twinged with panic. If Concord was the culprit here, shouldn’t Lan Xichen have suffered the same symptoms? Why would Jiang Cheng be the only one affected?

“Oh,” he said, restlessly tapping his finger against his knee. Fuck. If it wasn’t Concord, then what was it? A memory flashed behind his eyelids, a hand melting his golden core, a whip cutting viciously across his chest.

The old scar ached new.

“May I?” Lan Xichen asked, pointing at Jiang Cheng’s hand before flipping his palm. “To check your meridians.”

Jiang Cheng offered his forearm, which Lan Xichen took into one hand, pressing the middle and index finger of his other hand to Jiang Cheng’s wrist. He couldn’t help shuddering. Lan Xichen’s spiritual energy felt like a balm to his battered meridians, icy and invigorating. He exhaled, breath like frost.

Then, realizing he’d never answered Lan Xichen’s question, Jiang Cheng explained his symptoms—the sleeplessness, the fatigue, Sandu. Lan Xichen listened with rapt bemusement, brow furrowed as his mind worked.

He pulled his hands back. “Can you think of any recent stressors that could potentially trigger a qi deviation?”

Jiang Cheng shook his head, and Lan Xichen breathed a relieved sigh. “Have you seen a doctor?”

“I saw one from my sect, but he said this is all in my head, that if I just meditate more and stop yelling so much my qi will balance.”

“You don’t agree?”

“Of course I don’t,” he said, crossing his arms. “I’m supposed to believe stress is causing this? If that’s true, then shouldn’t my cultivation have been impacted years ago? If anything, I’ve never been less stressed, what with. . .” he glanced sideways at Lan Xichen, who was smiling, “well, you know.”

“Then what do you think is really causing this?”

He didn’t dare mention his golden core. That Wen Zhuliu had destroyed it before the war wasn’t common knowledge. No one knew, and he wasn’t keen on telling someone now.

“I don’t know, but I was fine before Concord.”

Lan Xichen hummed thoughtfully. “That is strange,” he said. “If Jiang-zongzhu is willing, I’d like to try Cleansing again.”

Jiang Cheng wanted to say no.

Cleansing had done nothing but agitate him, and after Concord, he wasn’t keen on being exposed to anymore of the Lans’ musical brainwash.

“You think it’ll help? It was such a disaster the first time.”

“Less so on the second attempt,” said Lan Xichen optimistically. “Besides, the Purification Tones are better suited to cleansing spiritual corruption, not relieving one’s inner turmoil. If you’re indeed suffering from such pollution, Cleansing will ease your symptoms.”

That made sense. Lan Xichen said he used to play Cleansing for Nie Mingjue before his qi deviation. Jiang Cheng had assumed Nie Mingjue’s subsequent death meant Cleansing was fruitless and ineffectual, but now he really hoped that wasn’t the case, that some unknown third variable had led to the ex-clan head’s qi deviation in spite of Cleansing’s best efforts.

“Yeah,” he agreed. “Okay.”

Lan Xichen flashed him a pleased smile. Then he stood, said, “You can stay where you are, Jiang-zongzhu. I have a guqin here.”

There were two folding partitions set up on either side of the Wintry Room, which, aligned as they were, gave the illusion of two rooms connected by the gap between. Lan Xichen folded the nearest partition, which had divided the space just outside of the alcove from the rest of the Wintry Room. Hidden behind was a glossy blue guqin, primed and waiting to be played.

Lan Xichen bent down before the instrument on folded knees, lifting and extending his long fingers over the strings. Jiang Cheng watched him pluck the strings in a familiar pattern and tune, gaze catching on his right hand. He couldn’t help remembering all the ways that hand had seized him in the Gentian House: how it untied his hair ribbon, loosing the taut locks and thumbing his braid; how it grabbed his face, pulled him in close until their lips met; how it slid down his collar, tugged open his robes and felt along his scar; how it moved farther down, raising hairs and goosebumps all across his body, dipping past the sensitive skin below his ribs before reaching to untie his belt.

His every atom burned with fury and want. What was wrong with him? Truly?! When had he become so miserably perverted??

“Jiang-zongzhu?” Lan Xichen ventured, trying to gauge the state of Jiang Cheng’s mood.

“I’m good,” he lied. “Keep going.”

Lan Xichen’s gaze lingered a moment too long; he knew it was a lie. Of course he fucking knew.

Lan Xichen played for two incense times, after which he laid his palms flat on the strings to silence their vibrations. Without a word, he stood up, rounded the guqin, and returned to his work.

Jiang Cheng—who had felt tired beyond words these last seven days, yet in that time had hardly managed more than a few broken hours of fitful sleep—now dozed soundly in Lan Xichen’s window nook, leaning on his side against the cushioned wall, his legs still crossed, arms also crossed and drooping into his lap.

His countenance, Lan Xichen noted, was as serene and unembittered as he’d ever seen it.

Jiang Cheng awoke to the gentle clinking of chimes. The room was bright, much brighter than he was used to, and the foreign surroundings sent him jolting upright, hand flying to his sword hilt.

“Just me,” said Lan Xichen without looking up from his work.

Jiang Cheng blinked dumbly, dazed after sitting idle for so long, more than dazed after finally managing a restful and reparative slumber for the first time in a week.

He rubbed the sleep from his eyes. “How long?” he asked.

“Nearly five hours.”

“Five?” He shook his head, trying to further jar himself awake. He scooted to the edge of the alcove, not realizing Lan Xichen had gotten up until he was standing right in front of him, hand outstretched.

It took Jiang Cheng a moment to understand, then he offered up his forearm a second time, and after a minute, Lan Xichen confirmed his circulation was back to normal.

“Thank the heavens,” he said, exasperated but so fucking relieved.

“Indeed.” Lan Xichen let go of his arm, and Jiang Cheng pulled it back, forcing himself to meet the other clan head’s eye.

“But thank you especially,” he said sincerely.

Lan Xichen’s smile flattened with surprise, then returned brighter than ever. “Of course, Jiang-zongzhu.”

Jiang Cheng stood, and Lan Xichen twisted to the side to give him more space. “I should go. Five hours is too long to be this far from Lotus Pier.”

Lan Xichen nodded. “Of course.”

Jiang Cheng returned the gesture then made for the Wintry Room’s west door. He paused before the threshold.

An apology teetered on the edge of his lips. I’m sorry about what happened last week, he could say. It will never happen again. I swear it. I hate that I made it happen at all. I don’t want to stop visiting. I don’t want to stop seeing you or scouring the Library Pavilion with you or taking walks with you or being near you.

He bit his bottom lip, furious.

He could say all of that, dump it all on Lan Xichen and pray he wouldn’t get punched, but were any of those feelings genuine? Did he actually want to keep up these visits, or was that just Concord fucking with his head, dragging his deepest and most twisted desires to the surface just so his sober self could further dissect and distort them?

Maybe he was beating a dead horse, but wasn’t his neglected libido a much more rational explanation for what he did during Concord? For his resulting obsession with Lan Xichen? At the very least, it was easier to accept than the alternative, that whatever he felt for Lan Xichen was genuine, that a part of him did want Lan Xichen in that way, despite how unnatural it was.

Fuck, when had he become that sort of social deviant?

“Is something wrong?” Lan Xichen asked, having crossed the room without Jiang Cheng’s notice. He was close. So close that Jiang Cheng could imagine spinning around, closing the distance between their lips. It would take no time at all, a fraction of a second.

He balled his hand into a tight fist and punched himself in the face. His vision sparked white with a bone-deep, roaring pain. He blinked a few times, aware of Lan Xichen’s confused, slightly panicked voice asking him something.

Filth, he silently admonished himself. Utter filth. Get a hold of yourself, you disgusting, perverted lunatic! He wiped his nose, realizing he’d made it bleed.

⁺⋆ ☁︎ ⋆⁺ 𖥔 ⁺⋆ ☾ ⋆⁺

⁺⋆ ☁︎ ⋆⁺ 𖥔 ⁺⋆ ☾ ⋆⁺

“Jiang Wanyin.” Lan Xichen’s voice finally broke through the fog as his hand fell on Jiang Cheng’s shoulder.

Jiang Cheng squinted back at him. “Sorry, Lan-zongzhu,” he said, shaking his head as he straightened, pressing his thumb to one nostril before dislodging the blood trapped inside.

“Why did you do that?” Lan Xichen asked, bewildered.

“I was. . .” he trailed, wracking his mind for a sane response. When nothing dawned, he said, “It’s nothing. Do not concern yourself, Lan-zongzhu. I think. . . I think it must have been me who was moonstruck after all. Never you.”

He took Sandu by the hilt and slid the door open. Lan Xichen told him to stay, that he was bleeding and needed to get cleaned up, but Jiang Cheng refused, drawing and mounting his sword instead.

“There’s blood all over your sleeve,” Lan Xichen huffed with disapproval. Jiang Cheng lingered a second longer, despite internally screaming at himself not to. “And I’ve no doubt you got it on the floor as well. Probably the carpet.” Jiang Cheng shot him a glare, which Lan Xichen met head on. “You’ll just have to clean it up when you visit again next week.”

For a few taut seconds, Jiang Cheng just stared. Then, “Fine. Whatever. I will.”

The Cloud Recesses,
one week later

Jiang Cheng was two hours late—not because he hadn’t left Lotus Pier on time but because he’d had to trek the last ten kilometers on foot. Sandu had started dipping when he crossed the halfway mark, descending lower and lower as Jiang Cheng’s spiritual energy waned, and he eventually had to land or risk falling out of the sky.

Cleansing worked wonders for him last week. He didn’t think he’d ever slept so soundly, but his symptoms gradually returned the moment he left Gusu, like he’d temporarily recovered solely by virtue of being within the walls of the Cloud Recesses. He didn’t know what the fuck was going on, but it was really pissing him off, and by the time he made it to the top of the mountain, he was sweating through his robes and breathing hard.

(Seriously, what the fuck?! How was he out of breath just from walking??)

Lan Xichen was pacing the Wintry Room when Jiang Cheng opened the door.

“Jiang-zongzhu,” he said, halting with surprise. “I thought you weren’t coming. What happened?”

Jiang Cheng looked away with a sneer. “See for yourself,” he said, sticking his wrist out. Lan Xichen’s brow quirked up in the center. He crossed the room, taking Jiang Cheng’s wrist in his hand.

“Again? But how?”

“Like I’d be here if I knew,” he said with a bite, feeling especially irritable with damp robes clinging uncomfortably to his skin and lungs tightening with every breath.

“Is this why you’re late? Because you didn’t have enough spiritual power to fly here from Yunmeng?”

Jiang Cheng didn’t know why that pissed him off. Okay, he knew exactly why it pissed him off, but knowing why and rationalizing why were two very different things, and he couldn’t rationalize the spike of inferiority and rage that seethed beneath his skin at the mention of his sapped spiritual power.

Despite himself, however, he nodded. Lan Xichen still had ahold of his wrist, and he pulled him inside. Jiang Cheng barely had time to shut the door.

“Let me play Cleansing for you,” Lan Xichen offered.

Jiang Cheng let himself be led to the alcove, made himself comfortable on the plush seating as Lan Xichen settled behind his guqin.

Jiang Cheng thankfully didn’t fall asleep this time, though he might have were it not for Lan Xichen’s chatter. He talked about nothing, mused over matters that didn’t concern Jiang Cheng at all, but he asked questions too, often enough that Jiang Cheng couldn’t just tune him out. And what was more remarkable (and mildly irritating), Lan Xichen never missed a note.

Eventually, when he hit a lull in whatever frivolous topic they’d landed on, he asked, “What are you going to do if this happens again?”

Jiang Cheng, who had been sitting all this time with his eyes closed, suddenly opened them to peer curiously at Lan Xichen.

“I don’t know yet.”

He wanted to say, I’ll come back, but he couldn’t expect Lan Xichen to drop everything and play Cleansing every time Jiang Cheng’s spiritual energy faltered.

“How soon did your symptoms pick up after you left last week?”

“Immediately.”

Lan Xichen’s gaze flicked up to meet Jiang Cheng’s. “Jiang-zongzhu,” he said, a note of disapproval in his tone, “Why did you not return sooner? Why suffer all that time instead?”

Jiang Cheng squinted. “Because we have a standing appointment for today,” he replied, sounding unsure even though it was the truth. He knew Lan Xichen was expecting him at a certain time on a certain day, so why would he come sooner? That was his thinking anyway, though now it sounded like a very weak excuse.

Lan Xichen’s smile teetered between confusion and amusement. “That doesn’t mean you’re only allowed to come see me during that time. You can come here whenever you like—that’s why I gave you the jade token.”

Jiang Cheng’s face warmed with affection and anger. Lan Xichen was a real fucker saying shit like that with a straight face when surely, surely he’d come to the same conclusion about Concord that Jiang Cheng had.

“That said,” Lan Xichen went on, “if your symptoms persist, it may not be safe for you to make the trip from Yunmeng to Gusu by sword.”

Jiang Cheng didn’t like Lan Xichen talking about him this way, like he didn’t have the grit to deal with this problem on his own.

“Any other method would be too time-consuming,” he said through clenched teeth.

“Very true,” Lan Xichen agreed, fingers still unerringly plucking at the strings, “so let me propose an alternative: I’ll come to you.”

Jiang Cheng stiffened with surprise. “You mean, to Lotus Pier?”

Lan Xichen nodded. Then, “How do feel? Should I check your circulation?”

“You—um,” Jiang Cheng stammered, thrown by the abrupt shift in topic and reeling from Lan Xichen’s proposed intention to visit Lotus Pier. “I suppose.”

Lan Xichen silenced the instrument and hurried toward Jiang Cheng. With the former’s qi pleasantly flooding Jiang Cheng’s meridians, he said, “You don’t have to come to Lotus Pier, Lan-zongzhu. Don’t trouble yourself.”

Lan Xichen’s smile softened. “It would be no trouble. I want to.”

Jiang Cheng felt his every fiery edge dim and taper, felt his veins cool like there was no better tincture for his boiling blood than Lan Xichen’s touch, his words, and his qi. Jiang Cheng pulled his arm back, leaving himself jarred and aching with the absence of the other’s spiritual energy.

“Maybe,” he said dismissively. “But we don’t know for sure that it’ll happen again.” He wanted to get up, to start to leave, but Lan Xichen stood over him, blocking his path.

“We don’t know that it won’t happen again. Is it not better to be safe?”

Jiang Cheng’s breath caught in his throat when Lan Xichen’s knee touched his, when his robes brushed against his calf. He wanted so badly to drag Lan Xichen down by the arm, to let the momentum shove him back against the cushion until his body was pinned beneath Lan Xichen’s, to wrap his legs around that waist, to kiss him and finish what they started in the Gentian House.

Jiang Cheng dropped his head, cheeks flushing a perverse shade of red. He wanted to punch himself again but didn’t think he could get away with it twice.

“Fine,” he said. “Do what you want.”

Lan Xichen stepped closer. Jiang Cheng didn’t think it was possible, but Lan Xichen stepped fucking closer.

Jiang Cheng had to get out of here.

“Then, should I visit tomorrow?”

His gaze shot up. “So soon?”

Lan Xichen tilted his head, smiling with closed eyes. “Of course. You said your symptoms resumed right after you left last week.”

“They did, but you can’t mean to visit every day.”

“Why not?”

“It’s not feasible. Where would you find the time?”

“I’ll make the time.”

“Lan-zongzhu,” he sighed, exasperated.

Lan Xichen shifted, sat in the alcove next to Jiang Cheng, close enough that their thighs touched. If Jiang Cheng’s heart started beating any faster, he would certainly pass out.

“The day after tomorrow, then,” said Lan Xichen. “I’ll visit three days a week. At least until we figure out what’s wrong.”

Jiang Cheng was quiet for a few seconds, trying to think of something coherent.

“Fine,” he said at last. “Fine.”

He left soon after, and it wasn’t until he descended in Yunmeng that he realized his mistake: Lan Xichen would be visiting in two days, and Lotus Pier was still under construction.

Chapter Text

Lotus Pier

Jiang Cheng drafted three letters to Lan Xichen saying he shouldn’t worry about visiting Lotus Pier, that all was well and Jiang Cheng’s qi was perfectly balanced. Of course, that wasn’t the case at all, but he really didn’t want Lan Xichen here.

For one, the reconstruction was still under way, which contradicted what he told Lan Xichen—that they’d finished rebuilding months ago.

Second, a part of Jiang Cheng couldn’t help suspecting Lan Xichen of foul play, connecting his initial decline with Concord and the persisting affliction with Cleansing.

Lan Xichen mentioned once a series of sinister compositions which counterbalanced the Purification Tones—the Collection of Spirit Turmoil—and Jiang Cheng had since looked into the pieces. Unfortunately, there wasn’t much information outside of the Cloud Recesses, which meant that if he really wanted to prove Lan Xichen was behind this, he’d either have to break into the Library Pavilion’s Room of Forbidden Books (an endeavor he was in no shape to carry out) or simply confront Lan Xichen about his suspicions.

But if he did confront him, what was he supposed to say? I’ve found you exceedingly suspicious since the moment I started visiting, so just admit you’ve been sabotaging my spiritual power with the Collection of Spirit Turmoil?

No. He couldn’t say that. And he couldn’t trespass the Room of Forbidden Books either because (1) both plans were insane, and (2) he didn’t really believe this was Lan Xichen’s doing. If it were, Concord would never have ended with Jiang Cheng straddling and viciously kissing the poor guy. Besides Lan Xichen had been hesitant to begin with. It was Jiang Cheng who pushed him into playing Concord, and none of the songs Lan Xichen chose in the weeks before had weakened Jiang Cheng in the slightest. This was something else. He was ninety percent sure.

(Okay, seventy-five, but at least he was self-aware; it was easier to think Lan Xichen was a villain than it was to accept that his golden core was slowly dying.)

And so he never sent those drafted letters. After all, his qi was not perfectly balanced; in fact, his symptoms spiked the moment he returned to Yunmeng, and as loathe as he was to let Lan Xichen find out Lotus Pier was still under construction, he would rather the other clan head realize he was a liar than keep lying until he qi deviated. He could set aside his pride and his baseless suspicions in favor of relief, even if the relief Lan Xichen offered was only temporary. Not that he had much of a choice regardless, since every doctor in his sect—and a few outside of it—agreed he was at risk of qi deviating but would only prescribe rest and secluded cultivation (and dual cultivation in one instance, but Jiang Cheng hadn’t taken that seriously).

Thankfully, there was no mention of Lotus Pier’s continued construction during Lan Xichen’s first two visits. In fact, each went quite smoothly.

Lan Xichen always arrived at midday, usually with a gift even though Jiang Cheng kept telling him they weren’t necessary (first it was a bag of tangerines, then a lotus seed bun (how did he know about Jiang Cheng’s sweet tooth? Who told him??)). He would play Cleansing for roughly two incense times, and then he’d leave. Jiang Cheng kept a respectful distance, and Lan Xichen made no mention of their kiss.

On the third visit, Lan Xichen arrived with his guqin strapped to his back and a scroll tucked neatly under his belt.

“What’s that for?” Jiang Cheng asked without preamble.

“It’s nice to see you too, Jiang-zongzhu,” Lan Xichen teased. Jiang Cheng’s cheeks heated as he led Lan Xichen to his home’s private pier.

“Yeah, whatever,” he grumbled petulantly, to which Lan Xichen chuckled.

They settled at a table inside a pagoda-style gazebo at the end of the pier. It was similar to the one his mother had been so fond of, but the old gazebo hadn’t survived the Wens’ occupation, so Jiang Cheng built a new one, as similar to his mother’s as he could manage, and it was where he and Lan Xichen had spent the previous two visits.

“It’s a Purification Tone,” Lan Xichen answered at last, pulling the worn scroll from his belt and holding it out to Jiang Cheng.

”Reminisce?” he mused after unrolling the scroll and scanning its contents. “What does it do?”

“It’s intended purpose is to recover lost memories. For our purposes, it will reveal the source of your curse symptoms.”

Jiang Cheng narrowed his eyes, skeptical. “How?”

Lan Xichen pulled the guqin off his back and removed the cloth cover. “When played as a duet,” he said, “Reminisce can bridge the minds of those involved. It also deepens the musicians’ spiritual connection and revitalizes their qi, but that’s more of a bonus.”

Jiang Cheng frowned. Just a bonus? It sounds dangerously close to dual cultivation!

He shook his head, refocusing. “So, it’s meant to recover lost memories and bridge our minds?” Lan Xichen nodded, and Jiang Cheng crossed his arms. “I don’t want you inside my head.”

Lan Xichen laid his guqin on the table, setting it perpendicular to Jiang Cheng. “Likewise,” he said, which was annoying even though Jiang Cheng had said it first. “But any connection imposed by this song will be abstract. We won’t share anything as concrete as memories, but since our temperaments are opposed, there may be some overlap.”

“What does that mean?”

Lan Xichen took a seat on the bench opposite Jiang Cheng. “My demeanor may influence yours,” he said. “Subtly.”

“And vice versa?”

“I should think so.”

Jiang Cheng couldn’t help being reminded of Concord, how it had essentially done the same thing, infected the once pure and ascetic Lan Xichen with Jiang Cheng’s depravity.

“You can’t be okay with that.”

Lan Xichen looked puzzled. “Why not?” Jiang Cheng returned the look, and Lan Xichen shook his head. “You are incorrigible, Jiang Wanyin.” He sounded amused.

“Why? Because I don’t believe you actually want my bearishness corrupting your—“ Jiang Cheng reached for the right descriptor, “your whole pure and innocent white lotus thing.”

Lan Xichen covered his mouth with his sleeve. “I’m perfectly capable of maintaining my pure and innocent white lotus thing in the face of your bearishness.” Then, in a quieter voice, “Though I don’t think either of those descriptions does us justice.”

Jiang Cheng scowled. “However you’d describe it, then. It doesn’t matter.”

“Rest assured, Jiang-zongzhu. Reminisce is a Purification Tone. It’s meant to ward off corruption, not invite it. Though it bothers me that you think any influence you might have must be corrupting.”

“Why would that bother you?”

Lan Xichen tilted his head, looking at Jiang Cheng like he was being perfectly clear, like he couldn’t be any clearer if he tried. Jiang Cheng wanted to punch him.

“In all the time we’ve known each other,” Lan Xichen explained, “you’ve been incapable of accepting regard from anyone but yourself.”

Jiang Cheng rolled his eyes melodramatically. “Is that so? Because as far as I can tell, you’re the only person shameless enough to sing my praise, Lan-zongzhu.”

Lan Xichen pinched the bridge of his nose. Was he actually annoyed? How abnormal. Jiang Cheng couldn’t help feeling a vindictive satisfaction.

“Even if that were the case, I would still sing your praise, partly because I regard you highly and partly because—well,” he covered the lower half of his face with his sleeve again, looking away with a coy flush. “I’m a little envious of you.”

“Why on earth—“

“Because you’re bullheaded,” Lan Xichen interrupted, expression resolute and also fond, somehow (despite essentially calling Jiang Cheng an unruly cow). “And unapologetic in a way I have never managed.”

Jiang Cheng didn’t respond right away. The insects were back, flitting about his insides like Lan Xichen’s words were the most exciting thing they’d ever heard. But there was heat too, ire building in the core of his person and spreading like poison.

He couldn’t help scrutinizing the other clan-head. The even-tempered, ever-smiling Zewu-jun, liked by everyone, revered by everyone. Why on earth would he envy Jiang Cheng? Who was notoriously bad-tempered and never-smiling? Who was disliked by everyone? Feared by everyone? They certainly never revered him, so why would someone like Lan Xichen ever envy him?

“So what?” Jiang Cheng asked coldly. “You want to be bold? Brazen? What if you don’t get to decide? What if Reminisce doesn’t share our best qualities, and you end up with the worst of me?”

Lan Xichen seemed to soften. “Must you make it sound so dire?” he asked blithely. “If Jiang-zongzhu has reservations, then he need simply disregard this leader’s suggestion.”

Jiang Cheng scrunched his brow; he hadn’t expected Lan Xichen would give up on Reminisce so easily. He hadn’t expected any of what Lan Xichen just said, actually. None of it made sense. Surely, surely he’d only said those things to get on Jiang Cheng’s good side, right? But for what purpose?

Jiang Cheng had tried to set aside his suspicions of Lan Xichen a few months back, when they first began scouring the Library Pavilion for a song that would temper his anger—not because he didn’t think there was something more at play, but because he’d wanted to lengthen his miserably short fuse for Jin Ling, and he’d been fairly certain Lan Xichen was sincere in helping him.

But now Jiang Cheng was falling right back into that vicious cycle of paranoia, just like he had after Concord.

What if, in coming to Lan Xichen for help, he’d played right into his hands? What if Lan Xichen was using Reminisce as an excuse to get inside Jiang Cheng’s head?

Lan Xichen adjusted his guqin, pulling it in front of him and testing a few notes. Jiang Cheng cast him a discerning glance, tried to imagine Lan Xichen cutting him down with a sword or a curse or an array or anything, but found he couldn’t.

He couldn’t even picture it.

He thought that, even if he were to pull his fist back and punch Lan Xichen in the face right now, somehow Lan Xichen would end up apologizing to him. He shook his head, setting aside everything he’d told himself since he started visiting the Cloud Recesses, all the lying, two-faced vindictiveness he knew was true of everyone else, and just considered Lan Xichen’s words.

In all the time we’ve known each other, you’ve been incapable of accepting regard from anyone but yourself.

If that was true—if he let himself accept that it was true, that he’d always been quicker to judge others as traitors and sycophants than as his honest advocates, even before his clan was slaughtered—then this obsession with a sinister Lan Xichen, scheming and plotting behind his back, just felt so. . . so. . .

Stupid. Truly, the idea was laughable. When would Jiang Cheng stop being such a miserable fucking idiot?

“Lan-zongzhu,” he said tentatively. He was still holding Reminisce. He thumbed the parchment as Lan Xichen glanced his way, smile warm and friendly and. . . real? Jiang Cheng was so used to thinking the opposite that he couldn’t tell anymore. “Before my cultivation was impacted, I promised I’d give your clan’s techniques a fair chance, so if you don’t have any reservations about Reminisce,” he paused, swallowing his many reservations, “then neither do I.”

A pit settled in his stomach as he waited for a response, different from the paranoia and anger he felt before. Closer to shame for reacting the way he had (because he seemed incapable of not feeling ashamed wherever Lan Xichen was concerned). Comfort, too, in the idea that Lan Xichen regarded him highly. And—well, still some anger. For a few reasons (reasons which were complex and not easily articulated, but they were very real and valid reasons to be sure).

Lan Xichen gave a satisfied hum. “In that case, would Jiang-zongzhu like to test the song now?”

“So soon?”

“The sooner the better, don’t you think?”

Jiang Cheng couldn’t argue. He needed to be rid of this handicap as soon as possible. “Yeah,” he said. “Yeah, of course. You’re right.”

Like Concord, they’d perform Reminisce as a duet, but rather than use the same instrument, Jiang Cheng would play the guqin while Lan Xichen played Liebing. It wasn’t ideal. For one, Jiang Cheng had never been a very musical person. It felt too intrinsic, like you were either born with the inclination or you weren’t, and he was not. Relying on his gut instead of his head, letting the music guide him rather than the reverse, was not an easy task, not for Jiang Cheng, who would always forgo spontaneity in favor of rigidity and routine. It was why Wei Wuxian had been the better musician by far, that fucker.

With all that said, Lan Xichen was an excellent teacher. Jiang Cheng couldn’t say he was gaining a penchant for music, but as they worked, he found he could understand it a bit better, could deconstruct the notes and rhythms of Reminisce like he might pick apart a battle strategy.

“Jiang-zongzhu is such a quick study,” said Lan Xichen, standing at Jiang Cheng’s side. “I’m impressed.”

“Mn,” was Jiang Cheng’s only response. He wasn’t used to such casual flattery—even from Lan Xichen—and didn’t trust himself to reply like a normal person.

“Although your posture’s a bit hunched.”

He was sitting on the bench with his legs crossed, the table acting as a stand for the guqin in front of him. He straightened.

“Pull your shoulders back,” said Lan Xichen.

He did, but it felt awkward, and now his arms were hanging weird too. Lan Xichen flashed an amused, mildly pitying smile, and an angry vein popped on Jiang Cheng’s forehead.

“Here,” he said, putting one hand on Jiang Cheng’s shoulder and flattening his opposite palm between Jiang Cheng’s shoulder blades. “Like this.”

Jiang Cheng adjusted, then Lan Xichen’s hand migrated from his shoulder to the underside of his bicep, guiding his arms up and his elbows out, which gave him easier access to the full length of each string. Focused as he was, Jiang Cheng hardly noticed that Lan Xichen’s other hand had slid down, settled on the small of his back. He was certainly aware of it now, though, as his traitorous cheeks flushed pink and his traitorous heart began to race. But then Lan Xichen removed his hand and retrieved Liebing. Jiang Cheng cursed the way his skin pricked with disapproval, longing to be touched again.

Shameless, he chastised silently, feeling a little like Lan Wangji admonishing Wei Wuxian.

He had an idea then—or at least the start of one—about the high-strung Lan Wangji’s inexplicable fondness for the endlessly immature Wei Wuxian, but Lan Xichen’s next words were enough distraction to unravel that string of thoughts completely.

“Are you ready to play it together?”

Jiang Cheng wasn’t sure. They’d practiced enough now that he could play the piece on his own, albeit shakily, but he wasn’t confident in his ability to keep up with a seasoned musician like Lan Xichen.

At his prolonged silence, Lan Xichen added, “No need to be nervous, Jiang-zongzhu.”

“I’m not—“ he started, casting a glower at Lan Xichen, then broke off when he saw the latter’s teasing smile. “Shut up,” he grumbled.

“Is that a yes?”

Jiang Cheng averted his glare. “Fine. Whatever.”

Their first few attempts were sloppy and out of sync, but after floundering through the piece enough times, Jiang Cheng found his stride. He even began to feel the piece working, feel its power rise with every note, envelop his arms and body like smoke.

Abruptly, Lan Xichen lowered Liebing. Jiang Cheng stopped too, the last few notes reverberating like cave echoes in the tiny gazebo.

“Let’s start over,” said Lan Xichen. “Stay alert if you can. Reminisce may steal your focus, though you needn’t worry too much if it does. Trust your hands to remember the notes.”

Jiang Cheng nodded. Concord had been the same. Once it’d taken effect, the notes seemed to play themselves.

Lan Xichen raised Liebing, and Reminisce filled the air once again, canceling out every other sound and sense until Jiang Cheng felt nothing but the thrum of the strings beneath his fingers, their vibrations rattling his bones.

With a jolt, his mind opened then splintered, stretched then snagged. His body was, at once, firing at every nerve and utterly devoid of sensation. His vision darkened. Their twin melodies deadened. The stark presence of another mind shook his vulnerable soul to its very core, and his first instinct was to resist, to pull away and break the song’s spell.

But then he heard a comfortingly familiar voice and looked up. His vision had cleared, though he didn’t see the owner of that voice nor did he recognize his surroundings.

The space was a dismal mix of blacks and grays, and there was a stark lack of natural light—everything had an ominous crimson hue due to the sparsely lit candle sconces, their tiny flames uncannily similar to the deep red of spilt blood.

He furrowed his brow, then belatedly realized Lan Xichen’s guqin had disappeared—as had Lan Xichen. What the fuck was going on??

He dropped his hands, pushed himself to a stand. He anxiously took in the winding corridor, failing to rationalize how he’d gone from sitting in his gazebo at Lotus Pier with Lan Xichen to standing in an unfamiliar, eerie-as-fuck hallway. Seriously, what the hell was going on?!

Just then, he heard footsteps and that same hushed voice approaching the end of the corridor. A second later, Lan Xichen emerged—but he didn’t look quite like himself. He scanned the empty hall before signaling to those behind him. Lan Wangji was next, expression dour as he lugged a rather large weapons’ bag in his arms and another on his back. Then. . .

Jiang Cheng stilled. It was him, nearly a decade younger and seething to his core with wrath and grief.

A memory, he realized with a start. Lan Xichen had assured Jiang Cheng that the connection between their minds would be abstract, not concrete, that they absolutely would not be inside each other’s heads. And yet, here Jiang Cheng was, definitely inside someone’s fucking head!

But where was the present Lan Xichen?

“Lan-zongzhu?” he ventured, but there was no response—not even from Lan Xichen’s young counterpart. Dread knotted in Jiang Cheng’s stomach as he considered what the other’s absence could mean. Lan Xichen was sincere, he told himself, trying to recall how absurd a malicious and scheming Lan Xichen had seemed to him before, though it was little comfort. He couldn’t crest the hill of his own anxiety.

And the sight of his younger self certainly wasn’t helping.

He stirred with a tangled amalgam of emotions. There was shock of course, and a fair amount of dread. And, inexplicably, wistfulness. Looking at this Jiang Cheng—whose every trauma was written with fresh ink in the lines of his face: his clan’s slaughter, the deaths of his parents at Wen Zhuliu’s hand, his subsequent torture and the annihilation of his golden core—seeing all of that, what in the world could he possibly feel wistful for?

Then, as the trio passed, he spotted Sandu at his younger version’s belt and another sword on his opposite hip: Suibian.

Oh. This was the night he and the Twin Jades of Lan successfully stole back their confiscated swords.

Which meant they were inside Wen Chao’s Education Office.

He took in a shaky breath. Lotus Pier burned behind his eyelids. When Chao’s laugh scraped his eardrums like silver on porcelain.

Enough, he thought with a scowl. Enough! His eyes were screwed shut, hands balled into tight fists. Let me out. Wake up! The attempt, however, proved fruitless. He was still inside the education office when he opened his eyes.

He bit the inside of his cheek in an effort to ground himself. Wen Chao is dead. Wen Zhuliu is dead. The entire goddamned fucking clan is dead. He exhaled, then swept after his younger self.

The other Jiang Cheng was an excellent distraction; it took no time at all for him to thoroughly transfix his older counterpart, though Jiang Cheng didn’t remember ever looking so scrawny. Surely he was broader now, right? He tried to compare, but it was too difficult with the remembered version moving around so much. He gave up, deciding that he was definitely taller and therefore broader and he’d only been bony and narrow-shouldered back then because of grief and his recently annihilated then restored golden core.

“Here,” said Lan Xichen, tentatively pushing open a narrow window several feet up, having to reach above his head while standing on the balls of his feet.

If Jiang Cheng remembered correctly, there was a group of Wens waiting for them in the courtyard out front, but Lan Xichen had spotted them beforehand using Liebing. Now, the trio had found another path of escape.

“Wangji, you first.” Lan Xichen boosted his brother, who then shoved both weapons’ bags through the narrow space before hauling himself through next. The office was built against the side of a mountain, so despite its elevation, the window led out onto solid ground.

“Jiang-zongzhu.”

The young Jiang Cheng took hold of Lan Xichen’s shoulder, planted a foot over his clasped hands, then pushed himself up, grasping the window ledge with one hand, then two, before wiggling through.

Watching this scene play out, Jiang Cheng began to feel reassured, regaining some of the faith he’d lost in his Lan Xichen.

Then, a series of heavy footsteps sounded from the other end of the corridor; they belonged to the very same Wen cultivators which had been staking out the courtyard. Outside, the young Jiang Cheng knelt at the opening, leveraging one hand against the side of the building while reaching back through the window with his other.

“Lan-zongzhu!” he whisper-shouted, but three Wens were already rushing down the corridor toward Lan Xichen.

Normally, a cultivator at Lan Xichen’s level would have no issue defeating these three, but the hallway was narrow, which would corner him until he defeated his opponents, and who could say how many other Wens were nearby, how many might hear the scuffle and come running? He’d have a better chance of escape if he went for the window.

Shuoyue flew from its sheath, meeting the Wens with vicious speed and force, but one sword couldn’t hold them all back. If he didn’t get through the window soon, he’d be overrun, but the opening was so small, he’d hardly have time to squeeze through before the Wens grabbed him and hauled him back down.

Realizing this, the young Jiang added his own sword to the melee. Sandu zipped free of its scabbard, clashing with Wen steel alongside Shuoyue. A second later, Zidian cracked to life, coiled around Lan Xichen’s wrist before hauling him into the air as it retracted. Jiang Cheng caught him by the forearm and hauled him through the narrow opening. Lan Wangji further sped things along by splintering the top of the window with his bare hands, widening the gap so his brother could slip through unimpeded.

From where the present Jiang Cheng stood, still in the corridor, he could just make out the aftermath of his little stunt with Zidian. His young counterpart had pulled Lan Xichen up too quickly and hadn’t had time to make space for him—with so much momentum, both landed sprawled out in the grass.

Jiang Cheng didn’t need to see it to know what happened next. Disoriented, Lan Xichen pushed himself up onto his hands before locking eyes with the supine Jiang Cheng pinned beneath him; both went very still, paralyzed by the other’s stunned gaze. He vaguely remembered Lan Xichen sputtering an inarticulate thank you, but it wasn’t until Lan Wangji grabbed his brother by the scruff of his robes that either actually managed to get up.

With Concord still fresh on his mind, this memory seemed to take on new meaning. He clenched his fists, wished he’d never been reminded of it.

Sandu and Shuoyue zipped back through the window, and as the trio mounted their respective swords, the memory began to fade and change in a whirl of light and color. Jiang Cheng squinted as the dark corridor gave way to the blinding shine of midday.

“Have some water,” said this new memory’s Lan Xichen. “It’s hot today, and you didn’t eat much.”

He stepped out of the way as Lan Xichen walked past, approaching a seventeen-year-old Jiang Cheng, who knelt on the side of a dirt path packing two sets of traveling dishes and utensils into a qiankun pouch. Lan Xichen offered his open canteen, but the other refused, jumping to a stand as he tightened the bag’s drawstring.

“I have my own,” he replied curtly, pulling his cloak back to reveal the canteen tied at his waist.

Jiang Cheng crossed his arms with a sneer. How many memories was this damned song going to show him? How long had he already spent in the recesses of his own mind? And where was his Lan Xichen?

“Is it full?” Lan Xichen asked as they started down the path side by side.

Jiang Cheng recalled this quicker than he had the last memory. In fact, it was soon after they retrieved their confiscated swords. They were traveling together, trying to recruit the Hedong Fu and Runan Wang clans for the Sunshot Campaign before moving on to the clans of Langya. He’d forgotten how much time they’d actually spent together prior to the war’s start. It made him feel curiously uneasy.

“Full enough,” the young Jiang replied, though he didn’t take a drink, just let his shabby cloak fall back into place.

His clothes were shabby too, Jiang Cheng noted, dull in color and worn to the point Lan Xichen had needed to patch a few tears (a skill which Jiang Cheng had never imagined Lan Xichen would possess (though he found out later that Jin Guangyao taught the previously pampered Lan to do all sorts of domestic work while they hiding from the Wens in Qinghe)).

Lan Xichen’s attire looked much the same, though it was more obvious that they weren’t his usual clothes. He carried himself too properly, which was annoying since they were supposed to be in disguise.

“Okay,” said Lan Xichen playfully, “but if you pass out from dehydration, I’m leaving you behind.”

Jiang Cheng’s younger self clicked his tongue. “Don’t be dramatic.”

Lan Xichen made a weird face then, scrunched up and somewhat nervous. His young counterpart didn’t take notice, but the older Jiang did.

“I was kidding,” amended Lan Xichen. “I would not leave Jiang-zongzhu.”

“I figured,” the other replied flatly. Then they fell into a rather awkward silence, though the younger Jiang seemed none the wiser. Had he really been so dense? Or was his mind simply preoccupied with other things?

At this point in time, his parents’ deaths were still fresh, Wei Wuxian had just disappeared, and he hadn’t yet been reunited with Yanli. He supposed his social ineptness could be excused, and it wasn’t like Lan Xichen had ever held it over him anyway.

Still, there was something about observing this interaction from the outside that changed it, but Jiang Cheng couldn’t quite puzzle out what that something was.

“Forgive me for presuming,” Lan Xichen said unexpectedly, “but is everything all right, Jiang-zongzhu?”

The present Jiang Cheng faltered. Even back then, Lan Xichen could read him like a fucking book.

The younger Jiang, clearly thrown by the question, opened his mouth to reply, but before he could say a word, a pair of loud, haughty voices rose several yards down the path. With no hesitation, Jiang Cheng’s younger self grabbed Lan Xichen by the arm and quickly dragged him into the brush.

Jiang Cheng followed the pair, peered behind the bramble where his counterpart had pinned Lan Xichen against the base of a tree. He had one hand covering Lan Xichen’s mouth and one still tightly clutching his wrist as he peeked through the bushes at the approaching gaggle of Wen cultivators.

“That tip was bullshit,” one of the men said.

“I told you they were fucking with us,” said the other. “That’s the only reason we’d get a tip like that this far out.”

“Yeah. It’d be way too convenient if we found two of Zongzhu’s highest bounties traveling together in the middle of fucking nowhere.”

“Course we’d get saddled with this shit.”

Jiang Cheng had heard their conversation before, and as laughably ironic as it was, he was more interested in Lan Xichen. Back then, he remembered being far too preoccupied with eavesdropping to notice much of anything else, but now, reliving this scene, he couldn’t help staring at Lan Xichen’s flushed cheeks, his darting, awkward gaze, and his free hand, clutching the hem of Jiang Cheng’s cloak—as he seemed unsure of what else to do with it.

Jiang Cheng was suddenly mortified, both for pinning Lan Xichen to the trunk of a tree and for not realizing his obvious discomfort until now—several years later.

When the cultivators were out of earshot, the younger Jiang seemed to remember himself and hastily backed off to return Lan Xichen his space. Still kneeling, he bowed shallowly.

“Forgive me, Lan-zongzhu,” he said quickly. “I wasn’t thinking. I heard them and just acted. I shouldn’t have grabbed you like that.”

“No need to apologize,” Lan Xichen said, though he was in quite a state of dishevelment: ears flushed, a few twigs in his hair, one hand covering his mouth nervously. “You made the right call.”

Jiang Cheng’s younger self seemed convinced by that. He stood, helped Lan Xichen up, then strode back onto the path.

Lan Xichen still looked a little dazed, and the present Jiang Cheng felt rather guilty—until Lan Xichen dropped his hand, revealed what he’d been covering.

An unambiguously pleased smile.

Jiang Cheng’s heart lurched into his throat as the memory faded to black.

What the fuck was that?!

Jiang Cheng slowly came back to himself, as though gently roused from a deep sleep. He felt a hand nudge his shoulder, and he exhaled a long breath before pulling his fingers from the guqin’s strings and opening his eyes.

“Jiang-zongzhu?” Lan Xichen said warily.

Jiang Cheng cast his languid gaze toward the other clan head, who now sat with him on this side of the table. He took another slow breath then rubbed his eyes, feeling supremely tired, which wasn’t so strange considering his recent bouts of insomnia, but his sleepiness usually wasn’t this intense, especially not in the middle of the day. He didn’t even have the energy to be angry about Reminisce’s mental invasion.

He yawned as Lan Xichen scooted closer, reached his hand toward Jiang Cheng’s wrist.

“May I?” he asked, and Jiang Cheng obediently offered up his forearm. Lan Xichen’s qi was usually as jarring to the senses as a plunge into the Cold Springs, but Jiang Cheng barely felt it. “Your circulation’s good,” said Lan Xichen. “Do you feel okay?”

“Just tired,” he said after another yawn.

“Maybe that’s not the worst thing—since you were having trouble sleeping, I mean,” Lan Xichen said, then averted his gaze, looking guilty. “Though I didn’t anticipate Reminisce having such effects. Forgive me.”

“It’s fine,” Jiang Cheng said, rubbing his eyes again, barely able to keep up with this conversation. He really wanted to push Lan Xichen’s guqin away and lay his head on the table. Then, when his mind did catch up with the conversation, he realized that, no, this was not fine.

“What was that? Why. . .” he yawned a third time, covering his mouth with his sleeve. ”—Fuck.”

“What did you see?”

Jiang Cheng paused, struggling to collect his thoughts through the present fog. “Memories. Concrete memories. Exactly what you said I wouldn’t see.”

“I’m sorry. That wasn’t supposed to happen. We weren’t. . .” Lan Xichen sighed, exasperation evident, “I don’t know. I’m sorry.”

“Did you see the same?” Jiang Cheng asked, too sleepy to instill his usually bite.

Lan Xichen nodded. “I imagine they were my memories. I was present in each, but so were you.”

Jiang Cheng blinked, then had trouble opening his eyes again. Heaven’s sake, was he really about to fall asleep? He blinked his eyes open wide and grabbed Lan Xichen by the shoulder.

“I don’t know why, but I really can’t stay awake,” he said, still trying to blink the tiredness away. “You should go home.”

“Of course. Let me walk Jiang-zongzhu inside.”

“I’m not an old man,” Jiang Cheng sneered. “I’ll walk myself.”

Lan Xichen cast him a patient smile as he packed up his guqin and slipped Reminisce into his qiankun sleeve.

“Then I insist you walk me out.”

Jiang Cheng, dazed beyond measure, didn’t have the mental faculties to argue, so they walked down the pier together—well, Lan Xichen walked. Jiang Cheng trudged, dragging his feet and hunching his shoulders, as though wading through waist-deep swampy water. At one point, he drifted to the side without realizing, skirting dangerously close to the edge of the dock, and Lan Xichen put a guiding hand on the small of his back, ushering him away from the lake. Had Jiang Cheng the energy, he likely would have flinched violently at that well-meaning (yet all-too intimate) touch, then fallen none too gracefully off the pier anyway. How embarrassing that would have been.

Though he felt embarrassed anyway, what with Lan Xichen’s hand lingering dangerously, villainously, on his back. He was sure Lan Xichen simply didn’t trust him to walk in a straight line, which was fair given his state

Still, he thought to himself, kindly fuck off you insufferable, patronizing asshole!

He tried to clear his mind, but to no avail. His skin prickled with that touch, raised goosebumps down his arms and legs. His cheeks were hot, too, and his heart was beating much too fast for how listless and lumbering the rest of him felt. It was a contrary, terrible feeling.

Then they were off the pier and walking the breezeways, and when they approached Jiang Cheng’s rooms, Lan Xichen at last removed his hand. Jiang Cheng felt like he could breathe again.

“You know where you’re going,” Jiang Cheng said, not bothering to pretend he ever had any intention of walking Lan Xichen the rest of the way.

The latter smiled. “Sleep well. I’ll see you in a few days, Jiang-zongzhu.”

“Mhm,” Jiang Cheng mumbled, no longer listening. Then he dragged himself inside, dropped Sandu, and collapsed on his bed, falling sound asleep in less than a minute.

When he woke again later that night, he found a black comb in his pocket, one which certainly hadn’t been there before. He flipped it over in his palm, inspecting the craftsmanship and scrutinizing its existence. Where had it come from?

The comb was of very fine make, handcrafted, and with white lotus blossoms carved onto the base. He thought of Lan Xichen’s hand on his back, how tired he’d been, how easily Lan Xichen could have slipped this into his pocket.

He was ablaze with warmth and riddled with confusion.

It had to be a gift from Lan Xichen.

Unless it was a mistake. Maybe Lan Xichen had found it on the pier and thought it best to leave with Jiang Cheng.

It couldn’t possibly be a gift from Lan Xichen.

He brought the comb closer to his face and, in the corner, noticed two characters.

晚 吟.

Wǎn Yín.

Chapter Text

𑁍 ᪥ 𑁍 ᪥ 𑁍

Lotus Pier,
two days later

After Reminisce, Jiang Cheng slept a full eight hours—which didn’t make up for all the sleepless nights, but it certainly helped, as he hadn’t managed an uninterrupted night’s sleep in weeks. That said, he’d gone to bed in the middle of the day and woke in the middle of the night.

If it wasn’t one thing, it was another.

At his cultivation level, he shouldn’t have had symptoms this severe. During the war, he’d gone much longer with little to no sleep, which caused little to no symptoms—not to mention he’d been consistently going on night hunts since he was fifteen.

Whatever was happening to him now was seriously fucking infuriating.

After fumbling listlessly through the next day then trying desperately (uselessly) to sleep through the night, he made it to Wu time for his standing appointment with Lan Xichen. Thus far, the visits had gone well (with only a few hiccups there at the end (he’d deliberately stowed that fucking comb out of sight)).

They were going so smoothly, in fact, that it came as quite a surprise to Jiang Cheng when Wu time came and went with no sign of Lan Xichen. By Xu time, Jiang Cheng stopped holding out hope that the former might still show up and was simply running very late, and by Hai time Jiang Cheng was dressed and ready for bed, though he doubted he’d manage any sleep without Cleansing, Reminisce, or a tremendous amount of alcohol.

And he was right. Two hours later, he sat outside under the gazebo working a jar of wine.

He wasn’t drunk when he heard someone padding down the dock, but he was a little buzzed (he was working his way toward total inebriation, having brought with him more than one jar in preparation). He lounged on the balustrade at the far end of the gazebo, looking out over the water. When he turned, he didn’t find one of the house servants standing at the entrance to the gazebo like he’d expected; instead, it was Lan Xichen, outfitted in every layer of his usual sect leader’s attire, guqin strapped to his back, and not a hair out of place.

As opposed to Jiang Cheng, whose hair was completely loose around his shoulders and who wasn’t even wearing an outer robe, just a capacious inner robe that swallowed his limbs and torso whole—but of course, it was tied much too loose, leaving everything from his neck to his sternum completely exposed. He realized this immediately, but was frozen still with shock.

𑁍 ᪥ 𑁍 ᪥ 𑁍

𑁍 ᪥ 𑁍 ᪥ 𑁍

“Zewu-jun?” he stammered, unsure why he’d used the sobriquet. The wine had addled his good sense to be sure.

Lan Xichen smiled. “Sandu Shengshou.”

Jiang Cheng had not thought it possible for his face to become any thinner or any warmer, yet here they were. Regaining a modicum of composure, he jumped to a stand, spun around, and hastily fixed his robes.

“I thought you were someone else,” he said nervously. “I didn’t expect you here so late.” When he looked over his shoulder, Lan Xichen was frowning. Had Jiang Cheng’s impropriety offended the other clan head that badly? He was the one showing up at Lotus Pier past Hai time with no warning. Jiang Cheng steeled himself. “Are you just going to stand there all night? Explain yourself!”

Lan Xichen sat on the bench opposite Jiang Cheng. “Who were you expecting?” he asked, tone a touch darker than Jiang Cheng was used to.

“No one,” he said, still standing.

“You said you thought I was someone else. Who were you expecting, if not me?”

Jiang Cheng met his eye curiously. Lan Xichen’s gaze was locked on his, but there was something juvenile about its adamance, almost like he was pouting.

“No one,” Jiang Cheng repeated. “A servant, I guess. Why are you asking me that?”

Lan Xichen regained some of his repose, though he wasn’t smiling. “No reason.”

Jiang Cheng squinted. If he didn’t know better, he’d have thought Lan Xichen was jealous. The idea alone sent a sick thrill through Jiang Cheng, but this was the wine again to be sure.

“Why did you come so late? It’s past Hai time. Shouldn’t you be sleeping?”

“Shouldn’t you?”

“Staying up isn’t against any precepts at Lotus Pier.”

At last, Lan Xichen’s soft smile returned. “I thought we could try Reminisce again, but I was concerned it would cause problems if we played in the afternoon considering your reaction to it last time.”

Ever the considerate, adoring Lan. Of fucking course.

“Did playing Reminisce help?” Jiang Cheng asked. “Because I didn’t get anything from it.” (Except a much-needed REM cycle and a few confusing visions of Lan Xichen, but neither of those were relevant).

Lan Xichen shook his head. “I didn’t learn anything new, but that doesn’t mean we shouldn’t try again.”

“I don’t want you inside my head.”

“As far as I could tell, I was seeing my own memories. Not yours.”

Jiang Cheng supposed that was the case for him as well.

“Whatever. That doesn’t matter. Why didn’t you tell me you were visiting late?” Lan Xichen didn’t respond right away, and the wine was loosening Jiang Cheng’s tongue, so he stupidly, stupidly added, “What? Were you hoping you’d catch me drunk and half-dressed?”

To his surprise, Lan Xichen chuckled, swiping one of the jars and reading the label. “Half-drunk maybe,” he said. “But no. I tried to tell you I’d be visiting late today, Jiang-zongzhu. I sent a disciple to deliver the message personally, but you weren’t home. He was supposed to pass it along to one of your disciples or servants.”

“He didn’t,” Jiang Cheng said, though the disciple probably had passed it along. Jiang Cheng was notoriously difficult to catch, and the house staff very rarely disturbed him on account of his perpetual hostility. Whichever servants were attending the estate tonight probably knew Lan Xichen meant to visit this late, which was why they’d let him in.

“Forgive me,” he said, setting the jar back on Jiang Cheng’s side of the table. “I should have made sure you received the message before showing up like this.”

“It’s fine,” Jiang Cheng said. “I couldn’t sleep anyway.”

Lan Xichen thumbed the strap at his shoulder. “Let me play Cleansing first.”

Jiang Cheng was sure he looked wretched and very much in need of a little cleansing. He nodded. “Yeah, okay.”

Lan Xichen pulled the instrument off his back, removed the cover, then laid it over the table. After a minute or so, Cleansing broke the silence, it’s soft, lilting melody a perfect extension of the lake’s calm, moonlit waters and gently-swaying lotus blossoms.

“How have you felt these last two days? Beyond your difficulty sleeping.”

Jiang Cheng exhaled a slow breath, leaned his elbows against the wooden railing. “Fine.”

Cleansing reset him, but with each visit, the rate of decline sped up, his symptoms intensifying faster than the day before.

Today was especially rough. Since his spiritual energy only answered him in fits, he’d spent the day doing paperwork—well, trying to do paperwork. Mostly, he just got frustrated when he couldn’t think or focus, then he’d start throwing things.

Lan Xichen seemed to gather on his own that Jiang Cheng was declining, so he didn’t bother explaining any of that. He was tired.

“Any luck figuring out the source?”

Jiang Cheng still wasn’t willing to share his concerns about his golden core, so he shook his head.

“I’ve been mulling it over,” Lan Xichen said, sounding somewhat tentative, “and I realized something—your splintering spiritual energy is consistent with the effects of curse exposure.”

“I’d know if I were cursed,” Jiang Cheng said flatly.

“You absolutely would, but if you were experiencing repeated, long term exposure to a cursed item or being, it wouldn’t be as obvious, and any trail back to that curse would be practically invisible.”

A cursed item? Like the Yin Tiger Tally? What exactly was Lan Xichen implying here?

Jiang Cheng pushed himself away from the railing so that he stood straight. Jutting his chin out, he stared down his nose at Lan Xichen, who still strummed away at his guqin.

“You think I’m in possession of a cursed item,” he said; it wasn’t a question.

Lan Xichen, picking up on the hostile shift in Jiang Cheng’s demeanor, smiled warmly and amended with, “Nothing so nefarious, Jiang-zongzhu. Your problem seemed familiar to me from the start, but I only recently made the connection.”

Familiar how? thought Jiang Cheng, though he’d already leapt, as he so often did, to the worst case scenario: Lan Xichen thought his symptoms were familiar because Wei Wuxian’s descent into madness came about in a very similar way. Lan Xichen couldn’t know all the details—Hell, not even Jiang Cheng knew exactly how it happened. But, that the Yin Tiger Tally corrupted Wei Wuxian’s mind and stole away his control was an indisputable fact.

“I don’t have any cursed items,” he snapped—too loud, too aggressive. He didn’t care.

Lan Xichen nodded, ever patient, ever the insufferable, patronizing asshole Jiang Cheng couldn’t fucking stand.

“Of course not. I never meant to imply—“

“Then what are you saying? Because it sounds like you’re accusing me of keeping demonic artifacts!”

“I’m not accusing you of anything. I want to help you.”

Why?! Suddenly, Jiang Cheng couldn’t wrap his head around it. Around any of it. Why was Lan Xichen here? Why did he want so badly to help Jiang Cheng? Why, after everything, didn’t he hate Jiang Cheng?

And why had Jiang Cheng held his tongue for so long, agonized for so long over what the fuck was going on between them when he could have easily skipped to the end by confronting Lan Xichen head-on??

What had he wasted all his damn time on for eight months?

“Yeah, right,” he snapped, tone clipped with derision. “You’re so full of shit.”

Lan Xichen’s expression flattened. Jiang Cheng wasn’t overly polite, but he’d certainly never spoken to Lan Xichen with such venom.

“I’ve been wracking my brain for months trying to figure out why in the world you’d invite me to the Cloud Recesses, why you’d keep inviting me there. I thought you had to be mad, but you’re really an excellent liar, Lan-zongzhu. I was starting to believe your act.”

Lan Xichen didn’t say anything for a few seconds; Jiang Cheng couldn’t tell what he was thinking. Why was it that Lan Xichen could always read Jiang Cheng, but the reverse was never true?!

“My act?” Lan Xichen said, tone hinting at offense but still managing indifference.

“Whatever face you’ve put on to get the thing you want.”

“And that thing is?”

“Fuck if I know!”

Cleansing stuttered, the tempo slowing for just a moment. Lan Xichen refocused.

“Do you truly think so little of me?” he asked. “That I would string you along for months to—what? Blackmail you? Curse you?”

“Don’t act like I’ve been the one lying all this time,” Jiang Cheng countered. “I asked you months ago to explain yourself, and do you remember what you said? ’I wanted to see you’,” he laughed mirthlessly, gaze cutting up and down the other clan head. “That’s bullshit, Lan Xichen. I was honest with you. Do you remember?”

“I do. You said you would sooner believe I was plotting to kill you than that I simply wanted to see you. But Jiang-zongzhu, I was being sincere. I did want to see you. That’s why I invited you, and it’s why I kept inviting you. How could you not know that?”

Jiang Cheng rolled his eyes. “I’m not an idiot! What are you hoping I’ll say, anyway? I wanted to see you too? Why would I? We’re not friends. We’ve never been friends. Even during the war, I had Wei Wuxian, and you had your sworn brothers, so why now would you throw away so much time and effort on a stranger?!”

“You’re not a stranger.”

“Oh, certainly not,” Jiang Cheng hissed. “Not anymore. Not after I stuck my tongue down your throat!” Lan Xichen blinked then looked away. “And even that couldn’t shake you! Why not?! Anyone else would have run for the hills, but not you. So what the fuck are you plotting?!”

Lan Xichen suddenly silenced the instrument. Then he stood. Jiang Cheng set his jaw, took a wary step back as Lan Xichen rounded the table. He felt like a cornered animal without Sandu or Zidian, a snake without its fangs.

Lan Xichen reached out, and before Jiang Cheng’s drink-impaired senses could react, he’d snatched up his wrist to check the circulation of his qi.

“Stop it,” Jiang Cheng said, trying to pull his arm back, but Lan Xichen’s grip was iron. The wintry flood of his qi cut through Jiang Cheng’s meridians like a thousand tiny needles, like Lan Xichen had dunked him back below the Cold Springs’ icy surface. He grunted, senses jarred.

Enraged, he shoved at Lan Xichen with his free hand, but the latter didn’t budge. Jiang Cheng bunched the fabric of Lan Xichen’s white outer robe in his fist, meeting his neutral gaze with an unmatched fury. If he’d thought to grab Sandu before coming out here, he would have sent the sword flying through Lan Xichen’s unguarded ribcage.

“Jiang-zongzhu,” he said, “calm down.” There was a familiar sternness to his unsmiling face that froze Jiang Cheng to the spot, made him feel like a teenager again, scrutinized under Jiang Fengmian’s indifferent stare. His fury gave way to cognizance. His mouth felt very dry. He swallowed, and his throat bobbed.

He was aware of the sweat clinging to his brow, the drunken flush of his cheeks, Lan Xichen’s numbing qi blending with his own, circulating from his dantian to his meridians. He breathed deep, grimacing as he exhaled.

Lan Xichen’s grip went slack, and Jiang Cheng pulled away from him, backing into the railing of the gazebo. His heart was beating out of his chest; his mind was running a mile a minute.

“Forgive me,” said Lan Xichen. “I sensed you were losing yourself and feared saying anything more would only make it worse.”

Jiang Cheng couldn’t look him in the eye. He rubbed his face with both hands, head dipping low, hair falling in a curtain over his face. He felt more like himself now, but guilt burrowed deep in his gut, merged with his ire.

He wanted to punch Lan Xichen in the nose for grabbing him like that. He knew it was the right call on Lan Xichen’s part, but he still wanted to hit him. He was sure Lan Xichen wanted to punch him just as much, and Jiang Cheng would have let it happen.

He balled his hands into fists. He was so tired of feeling guilty and angry at the same time. Why couldn’t Lan Xichen just be the villain? Why couldn’t Jiang Cheng just be angry? Why did he have to feel bad for shouting at Lan Xichen, for kissing him, for forcing him to throw away days of work just to clear the polluted meridians of a cultivator who wasn’t even a member of his sect?

Why couldn’t he just be angry?

He wanted to go back inside. He wanted to throw himself off the pier. He wanted Lan Xichen to leave. What was worse—what was absolutely fucking absurd—he wanted Lan Xichen to close the distance between them, take him by the waist, press their hips together, press their lips together.

He bared his teeth. “You need to leave.”

“Jiang-zongzhu,” Lan Xichen said, tone painfully apologetic.

Jiang Cheng shook his head. “You were right. I’m losing myself. I’ll only bite your head off again if you stay.”

“Will you let me explain first?”

Jiang Cheng sighed as he straightened his back, ran a hand through his loose hair to push it out of his face. “Explain what?”

“I know you don’t have any cursed items, that you’d never consciously keep something demonic that close to your person. Your symptoms are only familiar to me because they were Mingjue’s. Before his qi deviation.”

Jiang Cheng frowned, blinking slow as understanding finally dawned. “Oh. Oh.” He was so fucking stupid.

“His saber Baxia wasn’t cursed, but it was forged with resentful energy. It corrupted his mind and qi. The saber spirit killed him, just as it’s killed every Nie Clan member who’s ever cultivated that way.”

“But I’ve never cultivated a spiritual weapon with resentful energy.”

“No, I didn’t think so,” said Lan Xichen. “But if the curse worker was skilled enough, you may not have noticed anything amiss. Could it be sabotage?”

Jiang Cheng froze. Yes, it very well could be.

“I really wouldn’t know,” he said, trying for nonchalance. “I’ve pissed off so many people at this point, it’s a surprise I wasn’t cursed sooner.”

Lan Xichen leveled him with a curious stare, one Jiang Cheng couldn’t easily discern. Maybe if Lan Xichen wasn’t always fucking smiling—

“No need to dwell on it,” Lan Xichen said. “If you were exposed to a cursed item, we’ll find it. And then we’ll find whoever planted it.”

Jiang Cheng flushed, then shook his head. “I’m thankful for everything you’ve done, Lan-zongzhu, but I can handle this matter myself.”

“I want to help.”

“No you don’t,” Jiang Cheng said matter-of-factly. He stepped around Lan Xichen and grabbed the open wine jar.

“I do. You said you trusted me before we played Concord. Trust now that I sincerely want to help you.”

Jiang Cheng sipped his wine, thinking. He believed Lan Xichen. Despite everything. But if a demonic cultivator was behind this curse, Jiang Cheng couldn’t let Lan Xichen get involved.

“What will it take for you to believe me?”

Jiang Cheng lifted the wine to take another sip, but Lan Xichen swiped the jar. “Hey! Give that—“ he broke off when the ever ascetic, ever refined head of the Gusu Lan Clan took one long swig of sweet wine.

For a moment, Jiang Cheng could only stare. Then, “Hey! You’ll finish it if you don’t slow down.”

With an audible gulp, Lan Xichen lowered the jar. Jiang Cheng snatched it back, but only the dregs remained.

“Why did you do that?!” He gaped, unable to wrap his mind around it. “Drinking is against the precepts.”

“This isn’t the Cloud Recesses.”

Jiang Cheng narrowed his eyes then threw the empty jar back at Lan Xichen. He tried to catch it but only succeeded in launching it off the side of the gazebo. It landed in the water with a plunk.

“Already drunk?” Jiang Cheng asked, to which Lan Xichen shrugged sheepishly. “Seriously, why did you do that?”

“I wanted to. And you seem to like it.”

Jiang Cheng raised a brow.

“And because your perception of me needs work. I’m not—“ Lan Xichen cleared his throat, beating his fist against his sternum to keep the wine down. His ears were already turning pink. “I’m not as strict or as scheming as you think—“

Jiang Cheng shook his head. “Lan-zongzhu—“

”—So, believe that I wanted to drink your wine and that I sincerely want to help you.”

With a groan, Jiang Cheng sat down and dropped his head onto the table. “Fine, I believe you.”

“Good.” Lan Xichen took the space next to him, as his guqin was still laid out on the opposite side of the table. Jiang Cheng opened the other jar and started drinking.

“You can’t fly home now, you know. You’ll fall off your sword.”

Lan Xichen pursed his lips into a thin line. “That is troublesome.”

Jiang Cheng huffed, set the jar between them so that Lan Xichen could have more if he wanted; though, Jiang Cheng didn’t actually think he’d drink more.

Lan Xichen, evidently committed to proving Jiang Cheng wrong at every turn, picked up the jar and took another hefty gulp.

Jiang Cheng was aware he was staring, but he was too shocked to do anything else. The flush around Lan Xichen’s ears slowly spread to his cheeks as the alcohol settled in his stomach.

“Are you all right?” Jiang Cheng asked warily as Lan Xichen set the jar down.

“Yes,” was his reply, and Jiang Cheng got the sense he was trying very hard to appear sober.

Jiang Cheng couldn’t help chuckling as he rolled his eyes. “You can have one of the guest rooms.”

Lan Xichen perked up. “Is Jiang-zongzhu asking me to stay the night?”

“Piss off,” said Jiang Cheng, flushing deeper. They both reached for the jar at the same time, and their hands collided. Jiang Cheng quickly pulled away as Lan Xichen pushed the wine toward him, smiling. Always fucking smiling. Jiang Cheng snatched the jar up, keeping it close this time, cradled between his elbows.

They fell silent while Jiang Cheng drank. He really couldn’t tell if Lan Xichen was teasing him to make light of what happened at the cottage or just because he knew Jiang Cheng was easily embarrassed. Either way, he couldn’t stand it. He hated that all Lan Xichen had to do to fluster him was say something mildly flirtatious or look at him a certain way or touch him in literally any way. It made being around Lan Xichen miserable and not being around him more miserable.

When he’d had half of the second jar, Jiang Cheng stood, rounded the table before starting toward the pier. Lan Xichen followed, easily matching Jiang Cheng’s slow stride. The wine made his limbs feel heavy and clumsy, had his shoulders hunching forward as he trudged down the dock.

“Where are we going?” asked Lan Xichen, and Jiang Cheng had half a mind to shove him into the water.

“To find you a place to sleep.”

“Oh. What about you?”

“What about me?”

“We never played Reminisce. How will Jiang-zongzhu sleep?”

“Just fine now that you’ve cleared my
meridians.”

Lan Xichen huffed like he’d been hoping for a different answer. Jiang Cheng glanced sideways at the tipsy clan head, realized he’d brought with him the half-empty second jar.

“You’re going to make yourself sick.”

“No I won’t. I have excellent self control.”

Then, as though the gods were making a point of proving him wrong, Lan Xichen missed his next step and teetered over the edge of the dock. Before he fell, he tried to regain his balance by grabbing Jiang Cheng’s arm.

“Hey!” Jiang Cheng pulled back so that Lan Xichen couldn’t drag him into the water, but he may as well have been a decrepit old man for how well he combatted that fiendish Lan strength.

Jiang Cheng squeezed his eyes shut when they hit the water. Lan Xichen regained his mobility first, grabbing Jiang Cheng’s robe as he swam up the sandbar behind them. It was slanted, so dragging Jiang Cheng up the slope was an awkward endeavor, but one which he managed so quickly Jiang Cheng had hardly recovered the shock of their sudden tumble before he’d been pulled back above the surface.

Only, neither was very graceful—not Lan Xichen, who had one hand half-buried in the sand and the other bunched in the shoulder of Jiang Cheng’s robe, and certainly not Jiang Cheng, who had somehow ended up straddling one of Lan Xichen’s thighs.

Realizing the indecency of the position, he tried to move, but the sand was soft and lacking any anchorage. He started to slip down the sandbar, so Lan Xichen pulled him closer, bending his knee to keep Jiang Cheng from sliding any further. In doing so, his thigh pressed up between Jiang Cheng’s legs.

With nothing but a a few layers of fabric between them, Jiang Cheng gasped. Then he tried to scramble away, but only accomplished the exact same result.

Lan Xichen still had a hold of Jiang Cheng’s robes as he scooted back on the sand bar, pulling them both a safe distance from the slope.

Fuck, fuck, fuck! Jiang Cheng clung to Lan Xichen to keep himself as still as possible and to keep Lan Xichen’s leg from accidentally grinding against him a third time.

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to drag you down with me.”

Jiang Cheng could hardly hear anything over the sound of his heart drumming like wings in his ears. If he didn’t get away, it was surely going to beat right out of his chest. He pulled back so that he was crouched on his hands and knees, hovering above Lan Xichen’s legs and hips. The water above the sandbar only rose to his elbows.

“Jiang-zongzhu?”

He looked up. Their faces were barely an inch apart. Lan Xichen’s glittering jade eyes gazed down, creased with concern, yet that look raised all Jiang Cheng’s alarms.

“Are you okay?”

His mouth was still dry from the wine. “I’m—“ he stammered, starting to crawl away, but Lan Xichen grabbed his wrist, keeping him where he was.

Jiang Cheng blinked dumbly. What was Lan Xichen doing? Why was he staring like that? And why had his tumble over the side of the dock seemed so overly dramatic?

Jiang Cheng’s eyes narrowed to slits. “If I didn’t know any better, Lan-zongzhu, I’d think you fell off the pier intentionally.”

Lan Xichen tilted his beautiful head with a cloying smile, hair soaked and clinging to the sides of his face, water dripping down the curve of his nose and the hollow of his ivory neck.

“I’m glad you know better,” he lulled. His thumb stroked the back of Jiang Cheng’s wrist absently.

Jiang Cheng swallowed. He was so fucked.

“Lan-zongzhu,” he stammered, a little breathless.

“Jiang-zongzhu,” said Lan Xichen, tightening his hold on Jiang Cheng’s wrist.

Jiang Cheng shook his head, and Lan Xichen lifted one hand out of the water, slid his fingers up the line of Jiang Cheng’s jaw. His eyes went wide, his lungs tightening, constricting like they’d collapsed.

“Lan-zongzhu,” he repeated, very breathless. The lake should have steamed for how hot his skin ran under Lan Xichen’s gaze, his touch, at hearing his name on Lan Xichen’s tongue. Jiang Cheng was freezing and melting all at once, and he desperately, desperately needed to get away.

“Jiang-zongzhu,” returned Lan Xichen, framing the address with a soft, happy chuckle, wiping the water trails from Jiang Cheng’s cheek with the pad of his thumb.

Jiang Cheng didn’t know what this was, what had prompted Lan Xichen to toy with him like this. (Revenge, maybe? For what happened during Concord? Or had Jiang Cheng’s sick desires infected Lan Xichen worse than he thought?)

He averted his gaze. You don’t want this, he told himself. You can’t want him like this.

But he did. It was why Concord affected them the way it had, why he could hardly stand to look Lan Xichen in the eye, why right now, he needed more than anything to get the hell away from him.

He grabbed Lan Xichen’s wrist, started to pull his hand away from his face—until he felt Lan Xichen’s thigh move against his, sliding up, up.

“You—“ he stammered, mind fogged with drink and lust and the arresting, torturous anticipation of Lan Xichen’s thigh rising just a a bit higher.

“Me,” said Lan Xichen, voice low and sultry.

Jiang Cheng dug his fingers into Lan Xichen’s wrist, and the latter winced, tightening his grip on Jiang Cheng’s face.

“You know what you’re doing,” Jiang Cheng said, but there was no bite to the accusation. He’d wizened to something soft and blithe.

“I do,” Lan Xichen said, grinding his thigh up with rapturous vigor. Jiang Cheng closed his eyes, stifling a groan. “Is Jiang-zongzhu okay with what I’m doing? Can I keep going?”

Please keep going, he thought pitifully, as his body burned with heat and lust, with a desperate, despicable need. His heartbeat was a siren in both ears. Lan Xichen was an inferno against his skin, charring him, scoring him to the bone.

“Wanyin,” Lan Xichen breathed, lips a hairs breadth from Jiang Cheng’s, “can I keep going?”

He needed to say no. He had to say no. He couldn’t do this to Lan Xichen again. And it was so much worse this time because he couldn’t blame it on Concord.

And yet Lan Xichen’s gaze was nothing but want and warmth, his hands nothing but soft skin and lascivious heat, and Jiang Cheng wanted so badly to relive the euphoric high of Concord, to touch Lan Xichen everywhere and be touched with equal fervor. He wanted this like nothing else, and he was so tired of telling himself he couldn’t have it, tired of admonishing himself every time he thought of Lan Xichen, every time he imagined this, so tired of craving without ever being sated.

So he nodded, closing the distance between their mouths with greedy eagerness. “Yes,” he said between kisses. “Fuck—keep going.”

He sucked in a shuddered breath as Lan Xichen began to straighten, guiding Jiang Cheng up with him. Jiang Cheng’s spine arched backward, curving between the rock of Lan Xichen’s thigh and the soft brush of his lips.

Once they were sitting upright, their bodies half-submerged, Lan Xichen went for Jiang Cheng’s belt, untying it with one swift tug. He opened the robe, curious hands finding Jiang Cheng’s chest, palming his pectorals like one might fondle a woman’s breasts. Jiang Cheng’s brow furrowed with embarrassment, and he started to push Lan Xichen’s hands away—except, they felt good there, like his fingers fit perfectly in the grooves of Jiang Cheng’s ribcage, palms made to cup the latent muscle, and thumbs designed to extend and trace circles over Jiang Cheng’s sensitive peaks.

Lan Xichen grinned. “Like that?” he asked, lips wandering down the curve of Jiang Cheng’s jaw, kissing down his neck, sucking at his collar. That low, sensual tone of voice chased a wicked chill up Jiang Cheng’s spine, made him feel uncharacteristically docile, almost obedient.

He didn’t answer, but he didn’t push Lan Xichen’s hands away either. Instead, he grabbed Lan Xichen’s hips, tugging their bodies closer, dragging himself down Lan Xichen’s flexed thigh. The friction, despite being dulled by the layers of fabric between skin, was enough to make him tremble, make him groan into Lan Xichen’s hair.

Lan Xichen made a noise of approval, licking at the bare skin of Jiang Cheng’s shoulder before bearing down with all his teeth, as though hoping to elicit more lewd and humiliating sounds from Jiang Cheng. It nearly worked, as he’d lost most of his discipline, his awareness and control.

Still, he clenched his jaw, stifling his voice—but Lan Xichen wanted to hear him. He slid his hands down Jiang Cheng’s torso, over his ribs, the small of his back, before landing finally on his ass.

Jiang Cheng sucked in a sharp breath. He wasn’t used to being touched like this, couldn’t help squirming. Then Lan Xichen squeezed and he couldn’t help gasping.

He dissolved against that cool chest, absorbed and burning with sensation as Lan Xichen kneaded circles into his cheeks, bit marks into his neck, as he pressed up with his thigh.

“Zewu—“ Jiang Cheng broke off. His every breath was a pant. His every thought was of Lan Xichen—his roaming hands, his viciously sweet mouth, his body, trapped beneath all those layers.

Something needed to be done about that. Jiang Cheng hastily untied Lan Xichen’s belt, feeling for the folds of his robes before pulling them open, baring his chest. Jiang Cheng hugged Lan Xichen closer, pressing skin to lust-heated skin. Then he reached down, guided Lan Xichen’s hips forward, digging his thumbs into their v-shaped creases before rolling them up against his knee, which he’d planted firmly between Lan Xichen’s legs.

Lan Xichen moaned into Jiang Cheng’s neck, reached for his face and pulled him back into a kiss, hips rolling up while Jiang Cheng’s rolled down.

Lan Xichen was hard beneath his trousers, Jiang Cheng realized with a rush. They both were, each of them grinding against the other, clinging to the other’s robes and skin as they kissed and moaned and panted.

Jiang Cheng was a mess. Melting into Lan Xichen’s every touch, he could recognize that he was a mess, but in the blind, drunken elation of having Lan Xichen’s hands on him again, of having their bodies pressed closer than they’d ever been before, of having the taste and heat of Lan Xichen on his tongue, Jiang Cheng couldn’t think of a single reason to stop.

Until he squinted his eyes open for just a moment, spotted a dark blur beneath the water. It was the jar of wine Lan Xichen had been holding before they plunged in.

Drunk. The word repeated over and over again. Drunk. Drunk. Drunk. Lan Xichen is very, very drunk. And Jiang Cheng was doing exactly what he’d done before; he was taking advantage of a Lan Xichen so out of his right mind he thought this was something he wanted, a Lan Xichen so corrupted by Jiang Cheng’s perversions he’d let Jiang Cheng touch and kiss him after half a jar of wine.

But he couldn’t truly want Jiang Cheng. Not like this. He wouldn’t if he were sober.

They were both drunk, both lonely, and Concord had opened a door between their minds, let slip in the darkest of Jiang Cheng’s depravity, and it was still fucking with Lan Xichen’s head. He was still fucking with Lan Xichen’s head.

“Lan-zongzhu,” he said, voice breathy and soft. “Wait, Lan Xichen.”

That was all it took. Lan Xichen withdrew, pulling his hands back as Jiang Cheng began disentangling their legs.

“What’s wrong?” he asked as Jiang Cheng finally managed to crawl off of his thigh.

“Nothing.” He waded back toward the pier, reaching up to grab the end of the dock. Lan Xichen followed, catching Jiang Cheng by the sleeve.

“Jiang Wanyin,” he said more sternly. “What is it? What’s wrong?” His words came out a little slurred, and Jiang Cheng ached with guilt and shame.

He half-turned, put a hand over Lan Xichen’s before gently tugging his sleeve free.

“You’re drunk,” he said, trying to sound sure and assertive, but he didn’t think it came across. He quickly adjusted his robe before grabbing the dock and pulling himself back up.

“We left your guqin in the gazebo,” he added, offering a hand to help Lan Xichen up. The latter watched him for a few seconds, still and scrutinizing. Jiang Cheng couldn’t meet his gaze. He was brimming with all his worst emotions and he didn’t think he’d ever be able to look Lan Xichen in the eye again.

Then at last he took Jiang Cheng’s hand and was pulled back onto the pier.

“I’ll go have one of the servants prepare a room for you.”

Lan Xichen swayed a little, clearly not used to being drunk. “Good,” he said, steadying himself. “Okay.”

“You should, um,” Jiang Cheng stammered, having definitively lost all face with this man, “fix your robes.”

Lan Xichen looked down at his chest, bared for anyone to see, and shook his head. “They’re soaked. Why bother?” He wasn’t being rude—at least Jiang Cheng didn’t think so—but his bluntness was far removed from the exceeding politeness Jiang Cheng was used to.

“Right. Okay.”

Then Lan Xichen strode off in the direction of the gazebo, and Jiang Cheng hastened back toward the house. He alerted the first servant he could find that Lan Xichen was staying the night and would need a room, a bath, and fresh robes, and that Jiang Cheng would need a bath prepared as well, in his own rooms of course, privately. The servant seemed a bit confused by his emphasis on the last matter but thankfully asked no questions.

Then Jiang Cheng retreated to his chambers, stripping out of his wet robe and wrapping himself in a towel. While he waited for his bath, he tried futilely to think of anything besides his own guilt, the cursed item, or that beautiful fucker Lan Xichen.

Chapter Text

Lotus Pier,
the next morning, Si time

Jiang Cheng woke to the sounds of hushed voices and shuffling feet. He rose, rubbing the sleep from his eyes as sunlight danced in delicate rays through his paper windows, as patterned slats cast the shadow of a blooming lotus flower on the hardwood. Just outside, he could make out a whispered conversation. He shuffled out of bed and crept closer, listening in.

“Isn’t he from Gusu? I heard the cultivators there aren’t allowed to drink.”

Jiang Cheng stiffened. They were talking about Lan Xichen. His heart dropped into his stomach as every lurid memory from the night before came flooding back. Had he seriously accused Lan Xichen of scheming behind his back? Out loud? Before proceeding to feel him up in the lake?!

Fuck, he was going to be sick.

“I’m sure they aren’t supposed to, but this young zongzhu was very drunk last night. I heard our Jiang-zongzhu fed him an entire jar of sweet wine, then abandoned him outside on the pier.”

And he’d gotten Lan Xichen drunk. If his mother wasn’t a fierce corpse by now, tearing through Lotus Pier on the hunt for her stupid fucking son who evidently never learned to keep his hands and his wine to himself, he’d be shocked.

(With that said, he thought abandoned was a strong word.)

“The poor man, though it’s his own fault for drinking with someone like Jiang-zongzhu.”

“Indeed. One should always drink with friends, and if I know anything about our young master, it’s that he doesn’t have any friends.”

Jiang Cheng scowled. Who were these two?? Gossipers had no place serving his household—not that they were wrong exactly, but did they have to say it like that? Consciously deciding to self-isolate and being outcasted as a social pariah were two very different things.

The other hummed in agreement. “And certainly not someone as troublesome as this other zongzhu.”

Troublesome? They were talking about Lan Xichen, weren’t they?

Fed up with eavesdropping, Jiang Cheng flung his window open and stuck his head out, spotting the pair standing on the nearest breezeway across a short stretch of lake. Servants, as he expected.

“Hey!” he shouted, and one yelped with surprise. The other’s eyes went wide as she realized who had been listening in on their conversation. She bowed low, dragging the other servant down with her.

“Good morning, Jiang-zongzhu.”

“Where is he?”

She kept her head down and said, “My apologies, Zongzhu, but this servant doesn't know.”

“Why don’t you?”

“The other young zongzhu slipped out last night. About five hours ago.”

That motherfucker, thought Jiang Cheng.

“The entire staff is searching, but we haven’t found him yet.”

There was one big downside to being feared by every servant under your employ: the communication was terrible. Too much slipped through the cracks. Jiang Cheng wasn’t usually all that concerned with the upkeep of his ancestral home, as he was the only person living here, so what was the point in making nice with the staff?

This. This was the point. If his servants weren’t so terrified of him, he’d have known five hours ago that Lan Xichen wandered off.

“Back to it, then,” he ordered. “And keep your contemptible fucking gossip to yourselves! If anything regarding the visiting zongzhu leaves this estate, I’ll have your heads!”

“Yes, Zongzhu!” the pair squeaked in unison. Then they skittered down the breezeway, and Jiang Cheng slid his window shut with a loud wack.

“Jiang-zongzhu is quite formidable.”

He nearly jumped out of his skin at hearing that voice. He whipped around, accidentally slamming his hip into the end table behind him and knocking over a porcelain vase. He caught it, then righted it as he scanned the room.

His chambers were divided into segments, with his bed and a few bookshelves raised on a short dais; just below were cushions, a low table, and an intricate privacy partition painted with lotus blossoms; and to either side of that table were a pair of circular moon gates, where sloping purple drapes hung pinned away from the center—one led into his sitting room, the other into his study.

Lan Xichen lingered behind the first gate, half-obscured by the drapes. Still, Jiang Cheng could clearly make out the black inner robe he wore, patterned with white lotus petals and twirling green stems. It wasn’t one of Jiang Cheng’s, but it had certainly been designed for his clan, and seeing the thin fabric cling to Lan Xichen’s toned physique made his knees go a little weak.

“What are you doing in here? When did you even—” Jiang Cheng abruptly cut himself off. Lan Xichen tilted his head, bemused, but Jiang Cheng just looked away.

What was he supposed to say anyway? You can’t be here. You should have told someone before you slipped away last night. Also what the fuck is wrong with you sneaking into my rooms in the middle of the night?? Sure, he could say those things, but what right did Jiang Cheng have to scold Lan Xichen after everything he did last night? If he said any of that, he’d have to add, ‘Sorry for cursing at you so much. And for kissing you,’ and he’d rather break his own legs than give voice to any of the perverted fucking shit he did last night. Besides, it wasn’t Lan Xichen’s fault the staff didn’t look for him in Jiang Cheng’s chambers. Or that they didn’t wake Jiang Cheng to let him know Lan Xichen was missing. The fault for that lay solely with Jiang Cheng.

“Never mind,” he said instead, combing a hand through his bedhead before twisting his hair back into a temporary bun (he’d fix it later). “I’m sure your robes have been cleaned and dried by now. I’ll go get them. You can. . . stay here, I guess.” He slipped on an old outer robe then made for the door.

“Jiang-zongzhu,” Lan Xichen called after him, pushing the drape back and stepping into the center room. Jiang Cheng was already opening the door, but he paused before crossing the threshold—not because of Lan Xichen (he would have pretended not to hear him), but because there was a tea tray in his path. He thought about stepping over it but decided to bring it inside instead. He set it on the table.

“They brought breakfast,” he said, gaze low and untrained. “You can have it. You should probably get some food in your system anyway.”

“You should eat too.”

Jiang Cheng pursed his lips into a thin line, then he turned on his heel and walked through the doorway.

“Jiang Wanyin.”

He bristled. Without looking back at Lan Xichen, he gave a curt, “Excuse me,” then closed the door behind him.

Because his servants were scattered about the pier looking for someone who wasn’t actually missing, it took Jiang Cheng far too long to call off the search (he didn’t spare the details, of course) and even longer to find the guest room they’d prepared for Lan Xichen.

With a frustrated huff, he gathered Lan Xichen’s robes in his arms before nearly crashing into a young servant girl who was approaching the guest rooms at the same time he was leaving them.

“So sorry!” she yelped, clutching the handles of her tea tray with enough force to make the clay cups rattle. “Please forgive this servant her gracelessness, Zongzhu.”

Jiang Cheng eyed the tray in her hands. It was catered with the same breakfast they’d left for him. “Who’s that for?”

“Oh,” she stammered, looking at everything except him. “It’s for Zongzhu’s guest. I was told he’d been found.”

“He’s not here. Have it sent to my rooms instead.”

The girl met his eye at last, then she looked down at Lan Xichen’s robes. He thought he saw a faint blush color her cheeks. He squinted, confused. Then. . . oh for fuck’s sake!

“Never mind. Give it here,” he said, and she placed the tray atop Lan Xichen’s folded robes. “Whatever it is you’re thinking, keep it to yourself,” he snapped. “Got it?”

She nodded, bowing low. “Of course, Zongzhu!”

He just clicked his tongue and strode past her, following the roofed docks back to the estate’s central building. He hooked his foot around the door to his rooms and slid it open, stepping across the threshold before sliding it closed again.

“Let me take that,” said Lan Xichen, popping up out of nowhere and taking the tray from Jiang Cheng. “Is this for you?”

Jiang Cheng took the robes into the next room, where he assumed Lan Xichen had slept, and set the thick white bundle on the sofa.

“It was made for you, actually,” he said, stepping back through the moon gate before slumping down at the low tea table. “You didn’t eat,” he observed, eyeing the untouched tray originally meant for himself. “I was gone for nearly two incense times. Why didn’t you eat?”

“Because it’s your breakfast, Jiang-zongzhu.”

“I would have had them make another.”

“There’s no need for that now.”

Jiang Cheng opened his mouth to respond, then shut it. He wanted to demand Lan Xichen get dressed before they ate, but he’d already waited so long. And it wasn’t like Jiang Cheng looked any better. So he pulled one of the trays toward him, picked up the small soup bowl, and took a sip. Lan Xichen needed no further convincing as he took up the other tray and began eating. They didn’t speak, partly because neither really knew what to say and partly because Lan Xichen never spoke while eating. It was against the precepts, Jiang Cheng remembered.

He noticed, however, that Lan Xichen seemed very interested in his rooms, its layout and accessories, eyeing everything with so much attention one would think he wanted it all committed to memory.

Not for the first time (and it certainly wouldn’t be the last), Jiang Cheng couldn’t help thinking Lan Xichen was a bit of a loon.

Once they’d finished, Lan Xichen excused himself to go change back into his robes, and Jiang Cheng resisted the urge to sneak a peak (then silently admonished himself for even thinking of doing something like that). Instead, he pushed himself up and gathered his own robes, which had been neatly folded and left on a side table by the door. He dressed quickly, then picked up their cleared trays and set them outside.

Lan Xichen emerged a moment later, looking as seamlessly put-together as always—except, his hair was a bit sloppy. Maybe sloppy was the wrong word. Frizzy? Wild?

“I have a comb,” said Jiang Cheng, a little awkwardly. “And oils. If you’d like them.” His own hair was still loosely tied with an old band, but all his supplies were in the sitting room, where Lan Xichen had just finished dressing.

Lan Xichen flashed him a warm, albeit sleepy smile. “I would, thank you.”

Jiang Cheng nodded, then retrieved a jar of oil from a small chest of drawers in the sitting room—along with the gifted comb, as it was the only one that wasn’t used.

Lan Xichen sat on the sofa, struggling to untangle the pin and band from his top knot. It was truly a pitiful sight.

“Here,” Jiang Cheng said, handing Lan Xichen his gathered supplies. “Let me.”

Lan Xichen shot him a look. Then he angled himself slightly to the right and said, “Thank you.”

“Mn,” Jiang Cheng remarked nervously, and while Lan Xichen made no comment about the comb, he eyed it unflinchingly.

In an effort to focus on anything else, Jiang Cheng made quick work of the hairpin, handing it to Lan Xichen over his shoulder after only a few seconds.

“That was fast.” Lan Xichen took the hairpin, brushing his fingertips against Jiang Cheng’s knuckles as he did so. Jiang Cheng was suddenly very aware of how close they were, how intertwined they were thanks to his newfound fucking altruism.

“Jin Ling’s hair is coarse and tangles easily, so I’ve had a lot of practice.” He slowly started to untangle the band, which Lan Xichen had thoroughly twisted and knotted around his usually silky smooth locks. Jiang Cheng could hardly fathom how he’d managed to do this in just a few minutes.

“You’re very gentle,” Lan Xichen remarked.

Jiang Cheng briefly considered yanking on the knot he was currently working free. “Jin Ling’s sensitive. If I tug too hard, he starts crying.”

“I see. And do you style Jin-gongzi’s hair for him as well?”

“Most of the time. When he’s here.”

Lan Xichen hummed. “Jiang-zongzhu is quite capable.”

Jiang Cheng only half-heard what he said as he scowled down at the last piece of knotted hair.

“Heaven’s sake, Lan-zongzhu,” he grumbled. “How did you—“ he broke off with a triumphant hah! as the band came free at last. Lan Xichen chuckled, thanking Jiang Cheng again before taking the band. He dropped it in his lap and picked up the comb, yawning deeply into his palm before he could put the tool to work.

Don’t say it. Don’t say it. Don’t say it—

“Do you want me to comb it for you?”

What the fuck!!

Lan Xichen peered back, then lifted the gifted comb. Jiang Cheng took it, trying to act like a normal fucking human being (and likely failing miserably), then began gently combing Lan Xichen’s hair. His insides felt swarmed by a thousand buzzing insects as he combed and recombed strand after strand. Why had he offered to do this? Seriously, what was wrong with him? It was like Lan Xichen, by sheer virtue of existing, dissolved every ounce of Jiang Cheng’s sense and self-control. He didn’t think he’d ever done as many stupid, careless, or irrational things as he did when this man was near. It was maddening.

And Jiang Cheng wanted so badly to kiss him again.

“Give me the oil.”

After applying a light tinge to Lan Xichen’s hair, wafting a pleasant floral fragrance into the air, Jiang Cheng spent several minutes combing the oil in—several minutes longer than was necessary, but Lan Xichen didn’t breathe a word of protest.

“Pass me the band.”

Lan Xichen did, and Jiang Cheng wound it around his wrist before putting the comb to the former’s temple. As he combed the hair back, he accidentally snagged Lan Xichen’s ear, and the latter flinched violently.

“Sorry,” said Jiang Cheng, pushing the hair away from Lan Xichen’s ear to inspect the damage. “Did that hurt?”

Lan Xichen shook his head, and the hair fell back into place, obscuring his helix. “No, no. Sorry. Keep going.”

It was hidden now, but Jiang Cheng hadn’t missed it; Lan Xichen’s ear was bright red.

Sensitive, he mused absently.

He brushed Lan Xichen’s hair away from his face and into his hand, then once he’d gathered enough for a topknot (making sure to leave out the two strands at Lan Xichen’s temples, which were usually left to peak out from beneath his forehead ribbon), Jiang Cheng tied it neatly with the band. Lan Xichen was already holding up the hairpin, which Jiang Cheng used to further secure the updo.

He took a step back, admiring his work. The pin should have been his final step, but he noticed Lan Xichen holding something else in his palm. He was thumbing the fabric, as though trying to decide whether to hand it over or not.

Realizing what the article was, Jiang Cheng made the decision for him. “It’s done,” he declared before striding out of the sitting room completely. When he returned a moment later, Lan Xichen had dawned his forehead ribbon. Good, Jiang Cheng thought. We don’t need something like that muddying the waters even further (even though the comb was pretty fucking on the nose).

Lan Xichen’s gaze shifted to the purple ribbon in Jiang Cheng’s hand, which he’d just retrieved from the dais.

“Let me return the favor,” Lan Xichen offered.

“You don’t have to—“ Jiang Cheng started, but Lan Xichen had already left the sofa, was already grabbing the ribbon from his hand, cold fingers lingering on Jiang Cheng’s.

“I want to.”

Jiang Cheng’s breath caught in his throat. Lan Xichen’s touch unraveled him like nothing else, like he was a mess of broken and loose threads waiting to be undone, waiting for Lan Xichen’s gaze, his hands and his mouth to shred him to ribbons then weave him back together again, sew him into something changed and better.

I want to.

Jiang Cheng’s gut reaction was to deny the claim, but the last time he did that Lan Xichen had gotten himself drunk just to prove Jiang Cheng wrong. Now, he didn’t know what Lan Xichen might do. Jiang Cheng didn’t know what he might do. He really, really wanted to kiss Lan Xichen.

Without realizing it, he’d absently tightened his grip on the purple ribbon, taking hold of Lan Xichen’s thumb in the process. The latter didn’t move, didn’t react. He just stared at Jiang Cheng, waiting for permission. But permission to do what exactly? Comb Jiang Cheng’s hair? The patient yet unyielding look in Lan Xichen’s eye suggested higher stakes than that.

Jiang Cheng let go of the ribbon. “Fine,” he said, stepping around Lan Xichen and taking his place on the sofa. He crossed his arms, angling himself to the side as his face burned. He took a deep breath when Lan Xichen set to work, removing the clumsy knot Jiang Cheng had tied earlier. Then he glided the comb down Jiang Cheng’s back, gently working through the tangles. It was immediately clear that this had been a massive fucking mistake.

Every brush of that fucking comb sent needles of cool pleasure through Jiang Cheng’s scalp, piercing deeper until it had him feeling drunk and tranquil. He shuddered as Lan Xichen used his thumb to trace the downward slope of his hairline, guiding the longer strands behind his shoulder, cold knuckles gliding along the curve of his ear. Lan Xichen did the same with the other side, combing Jiang Cheng’s hair back, pulling the wayward strands over his shoulder, but it seemed with every possible opportunity, his fingertips or the arch of his thumb or the back of his palm would caress Jiang Cheng’s flushed skin, the line of his jaw, the crook of his neck, the hollow of his cheek, and with every touch Jiang Cheng burned hotter, like he was made of fire and Lan Xichen of fuel. It was hell. It was heaven.

He needed to put an end to it or else distract himself before things got out of hand.

“Lan-zongzhu,” he said evenly, “where did you sleep last night?”

“Here. On your sofa.”

“Why not in your own rooms?”

Lan Xichen shrugged. “I don’t remember what I was thinking, really. I wasn’t myself, and I didn’t like being so far away from you.”

Jiang Cheng’s heart skipped a beat. Temper yourself, you useless, traitorous organ!

“Which I’m sure had more to do with being drunk in an unfamiliar place than anything else,” Lan Xichen said.

“Mn,” Jiang Cheng acknowledged. “I’m just glad you didn’t fall off the pier again and drown.”

He felt Lan Xichen pause his combing, felt a weak tug at the base of his scalp. He hadn’t been thinking about what happened after Lan Xichen fell in! But now they were both definitely thinking about it, which Lan Xichen would surely take as an invitation to talk about it, and Jiang Cheng absolutely did not want to talk about it!!

“I owe you an apology,” he blurted, “for the things I said last night.” After all, nothing veered a conversation off track like a shameful apology, and Jiang Cheng had plenty to be ashamed of.

After a second, Lan Xichen resumed combing. “No need. You were under duress.”

“Maybe,” Jiang Cheng said, barely above a whisper. He was partly relieved to have avoided the matter of their makeout session and partly furious with himself for veering in this direction. With a sigh, he went on, trying to be honest, “Still, I’m sorry,” he said. “I don’t think you’re full of shit and I do consider us friends—though I wouldn’t blame you if your feelings on the matter changed.” His tone was a little clipped—not insincere, but he was sure Lan Xichen could tell that apologies weren’t his forte.

“Thank you, Jiang-zongzhu. I was worried I’d offended you.”

“You didn’t.” I’m the one whose perverted fantasies infected your mind, he thought with even more shame. Concord was possibly the worst thing that had ever happened to Jiang Cheng, which was saying a lot.

“I’m glad,” said Lan Xichen, unraveling one of Jiang Cheng’s braids. “And I’m very glad we’re friends.”

Jiang Cheng’s chest was alight with warmth and dread, like he’d just sold his soul for a few years of bliss and an eternity in hell. He shuddered. Lan Xichen took a dollop of oil and slathered it over his fingers (Jiang Cheng tried to keep his mind from wandering anywhere indecent and found himself, to his astonishment, silently reciting sutras (calm over impatience, cold over heat, silence is the ultimate virtue. . .)).

Lan Xichen combed his oiled hands through the unbraided lock, then rebraided it. He secured both braids in a topknot using Jiang Cheng’s ribbon. Then he combed down, and Jiang Cheng belatedly realized Lan Xichen had only styled half his hair up, leaving the rest to hang in a thick black curtain down his back.

“Why did you. . .” he started as Lan Xichen angled before him a bronze mirror. The hairstyle was elegant and neat, suited his face in an almost girlish way; it made Jiang Cheng’s insides churn. This was why he wore it up.

“As your friend,” said Lan Xichen, smiling, “I insist you leave it like this.”

Jiang Cheng scowled. Lan Xichen was going to hold that word—friend—over him forever. If he had any brains at all, he’d have never let that word cross his lips. If he had any guts, he’d have thrown Lan Xichen out by now, sent the gifted jade token with him, and barred him from ever returning to Lotus Pier.

“Fine,” he said instead, leaving his hair as it was.

“Don’t frown. Jiang-zongzhu looks pretty like this.”

”You!” he sneered, immediately grabbing the ribbon and pulling. “That’s it! I’m—“ the ribbon hardly budged. “Heaven’s sake, Lan-zongzhu! How many times did you knot this??”

“Oh, leave it,” he said, grabbing both of Jiang Cheng’s hands. The latter stilled as Lan Xichen pulled their linked hands away from his bun. Jiang Cheng looked up, warily meeting the other’s looming gaze. Too close.

He sucked in a breath, face heating as he looked away. “Fine,” he said again. “Fine. I’ll leave it.” He started to pull his hands back, but Lan Xichen held firm. He inched closer, one of his knees bumping between Jiang Cheng’s.

It’s happening again, Jiang Cheng realized. How is this happening again??

“Lan-zong—“

“I’m not drunk anymore,” he said, and Jiang Cheng felt a shiver wrack his entire body, raising goosebumps down each arm and leg. He knew immediately what Lan Xichen was getting at—Jiang Cheng had cut them off last night, with no more explanation than You’re drunk. But Lan Xichen wasn’t drunk anymore, and he still wanted this? With Jiang Cheng?

“I know, but. . .” he snapped his mouth shut, gaze shooting back up as Lan Xichen lifted one of his hands to his mouth and kissed it. Jiang Cheng blanked on whatever he’d been about to say next. He blanked on everything really, everything except Lan Xichen’s mouth. The kisses were chaste at first, then Lan Xichen parted his lips, scraped his teeth along the grooves of Jiang Cheng’s knuckles, lips as soft as rain brushing delicately across thin, sensitive skin, but when Jiang Cheng regained his senses and tried to pull back, Lan Xichen bit down. Jiang Cheng yelped in surprise. The bite wasn’t hard enough to break the skin, but it didn’t feel good (okay, it felt a little good, but Jiang Cheng was too prudish to ever admit that). He tried to get off the sofa, but because Lan Xichen was holding both of his hands, he was Jiang Cheng’s only leverage, and since he was already standing so close, Jiang Cheng’s effort accomplished the exact opposite of what he’d hoped. Lan Xichen tipped forward, planting one knee beside Jiang Cheng while the momentum pushed the latter onto his back.

Lan Xichen hovered over him, pinning one of his hands to the sofa and holding the other between his teeth. Jiang Cheng’s breathing turned ragged with shock, chest rising and falling in quick bursts. It wasn’t usually this difficult to breathe. Why did it feel like he’d just run ten kilometers?

He met Lan Xichen’s stare with wide eyes, wanting to say something, anything, but his mind couldn’t string together a single thought, let alone a coherent sentence. Lan Xichen began to loosen his bite, which had landed between Jiang Cheng’s index finger and thumb.

Jiang Cheng didn’t know what spurred him to act. Maybe he didn’t want to hear whatever Lan Xichen meant to say next. Maybe he was afraid of what might happened if both their mouths were free. He twisted his wrist, hand sliding across blunt teeth as he took hold of Lan Xichen by the hollows of his cheeks. He made a small noise of surprise, unable to properly speak around the L of Jiang Cheng’s hand.

The sofa was large enough that when Jiang Cheng shoved Lan Xichen to the side, he landed on his back, their positions a near perfect mirror of what they’d been. Now Jiang Cheng was on top, one hand pinning Lan Xichen’s to the cushion and the other still locked firmly over his mouth.

Lan Xichen stared up, eyes half-lidded, cheeks flushed pink all the way to his ears. Jiang Cheng had one knee bent and propped up beside Lan Xichen’s hip. With his free hand, Lan Xichen found Jiang Cheng’s thigh, hooked his fingers behind his knee, and pulled. Jiang Cheng stabilized himself by dropping his other knee, the calf of which had already been pressed against the sofa’s edge. Still, with one move, Lan Xichen had dropped Jiang Cheng’s pelvis down onto his own.

Jiang Cheng clenched his teeth as sparks zipped up his spine. Lan Xichen’s eyebrows were subtly upturned in the middle, and even though Jiang Cheng was sure he wanted to buck his hips up, he didn’t move.

He’s waiting for me, Jiang Cheng realized. He wants this. He actually wants to do this. With me.

But Lan Xichen wasn’t drunk. They weren’t playing Concord. They were both in their right minds, so what was going on?

A lock of loose hair fell over Jiang Cheng’s shoulder, swinging over Lan Xichen’s face. He closed one eye. The other squinted but never broke away from Jiang Cheng. Then, he squeezed Jiang Cheng’s hand, like he wanted to reassure him.

Jiang Cheng felt a sudden and intense surge of affection for Lan Xichen, a tenderness which was leagues apart from the all-consuming physical ache he’d felt so many times before. Helpless and overwhelmed with emotions he didn’t want or understand, Jiang Cheng slumped forward, half-laying on Lan Xichen’s chest as he pulled his hand out of his mouth and buried his face in the shoulder of his white robes.

Lan Xichen swallowed. Then, “Jiang Wanyin?”

But what was Jiang Cheng supposed to say? Everything felt out of control and wrong and impossible and he hated so much how nice it felt to just lay here like this.

“What’s wrong? Did I. . . was I too forward?”

Jiang Cheng couldn’t find the words, so he just squeezed Lan Xichen’s hand, hoping it was as reassuring to Lan Xichen now as it had been to him a few moments ago.

After a pause, Lan Xichen raised his other hand and began combing his fingers through Jiang Cheng’s hair. Then he was massaging circles into Jiang Cheng’s back, tracing the crest of his spine, and using his thumb to stroke the hand that still pinned his (though Jiang Cheng held it down with next to no force). It shouldn’t have been as soothing as it was, but with every stroke, Jiang Cheng felt the air clear, felt the tension in his muscles loosen and his anxiety ebb.

If ever Lan Xichen had managed to quiet Jiang Cheng’s belligerent, nightmarish mind, it was now.

“What’s wrong?” he asked again.

A lot of things, Jiang Cheng thought to himself. You, for one. I can’t stand you. I want to be around you all the time and it’s driving me mad. Though I’m likely already mad, and that madness has surely poisoned you because there’s no one else in the world mad enough to hold me like this.

“Hmm?” Lan Xichen touched his chin to Jiang Cheng’s temple, cupped a hand beneath his topknot.

Jiang Cheng only managed one word: “Moonstruck.”

Lan Xichen hummed, sounding contented as his jaw slid up Jiang Cheng’s hairline. “Me too,” he said, chin settling above the crown of Jiang Cheng’s head, hand pressing him closer, effectively cocooning his face in the crook of his neck and shoulder.

Jiang Cheng couldn’t remember a time he’d been held like this, with such care and attention. How had he ended up here? How had he gone from cursing Lan Xichen’s name to lying in his arms, curled up and vulnerable?

He needed to get up, but Lan Xichen was a balm to his senses, his reason. He felt like he really could lie here forever, soaking up Lan Xichen’s warmth, relishing his tender embrace. He thought about kissing him, and electricity surged down his spine. He wanted to do it so badly, wanted to tilt his head up, take Lan Xichen by the jaw, and bring their lips together, wanted to part his teeth and let Lan Xichen explore him, memorize him like he’d done during Concord. He wanted to do more. He wanted to do everything.

“Lan-zongzhu,” he said, voice muffled in the den of Lan Xichen’s skin.

“Hmm?” His throat rumbled against Jiang Cheng’s forehead and cheekbone, voice like honey and nectar, sticking like a melody’s sweetest strain.

“Zewu-jun,” Jiang Cheng said, if just to hear the other’s voice again.

Lan Xichen exhaled a laugh. “Sandu Shengshou.”

Jiang Cheng squeezed his hand again, their fingers still entwined, still coiled like snakes. Lan Xichen squeezed back. Jiang Cheng’s heart skipped.

What’s happening right now? And why is Lan Xichen letting it happen?

Was there a chance Lan Xichen’s feelings were genuine? That they weren’t just a product of Concord’s influence? Could this be something?

The question was perched on the tip of his tongue: Lan-zongzhu, what am I to you? But he couldn’t bring himself to voice it. He didn’t think he could bear the answer.

“Should we talk?” Lan Xichen asked, still rubbing calming circles into the back of Jiang Cheng’s hand.

“No,” Jiang Cheng said, grabbing and squeezing Lan Xichen’s elbow, which was bent over his chest while he held the back of Jiang Cheng’s head. They were so thoroughly entangled now, Jiang Cheng could hardly tell where he ended and Lan Xichen began.

“No?”

“No.” We shouldn’t talk. Because once we do, you’ll realize what’s really going on. Then you’ll want to punch me in the face. Jiang Cheng wasn’t nearly as opposed to being punched by Lan Xichen as he was to being rejected by him.

“Okay,” said Lan Xichen, continuing to stroke soothing circles into Jiang Cheng’s hand.

After a few seconds, Jiang Cheng couldn’t take it and broke the silence. “What did you see when we played Reminisce?” he asked. “Which memories?”

Lan Xichen didn’t reply right away, thumb pausing then resuming. “Only one,” he replied. “It was the day we met—when you visited for the guest lectures. What did you see?”

“Part of the raid on Wen Chao’s Education Office.”

“Oh?”

Jiang Cheng hummed a mhm. “Then sometime while we were on the road recruiting for the Sunshot Campaign. But the guest lectures—“ he said, and at last he peeled his face away from Lan Xichen’s neck then propped himself up on one elbow, “that wasn’t the first time we met.”

Lan Xichen held the back of Jiang Cheng’s neck a little tighter, like he was nervous the latter would pull away from him and get up. “What do you mean?” he asked, sliding his hand forward to cup Jiang Cheng’s ear.

Having completely lost his train of thought, Jiang Cheng ached to lean into Lan Xichen’s touch, to turn his head and kiss his palm then lean forward and kiss his lips, but by some lifesaving, torturous miracle, he managed to pull away instead, rolling off of Lan Xichen and sitting up at the edge of the sofa.

“We met before that. Once,” he said, then finally uncoiled his fingers from Lan Xichen’s. His palm came away clammy, and his other hand was slick with Lan Xichen’s saliva. He rubbed both on his pant legs.

Lan Xichen sat up too, smoothed out his robes and slightly tousled hair (Jiang Cheng had just finished it too, though he was sure his own looked just as mussed).

“No we didn’t,” Lan Xichen said matter-of-factly.

“You don’t remember?”

Lan Xichen shook his head. “No. I remember everything about that day in the Cloud Recesses—“

“I should hope so,” Jiang Cheng interrupted, trying not to sound coy. “You did just relive it.”

Lan Xichen shot him a playfully sharp look. “My point is I remember meeting Jiang-zongzhu very well. I would know if I’d seen you before that day.”

Jiang Cheng’s chest felt fit to burst. Lan Xichen lived to embarrass him, had a heavens-given gift for it.

“If you say so,” Jiang Cheng remarked, pushing off the sofa and scooping up the comb and hair oils, the latter of which he replaced in the cupboard. Then he retrieved a handkerchief and began cleaning the comb.

Lan Xichen was standing now too—looming really over Jiang Cheng’s shoulder.

“What?”

“I want to know when you think we met.”

Jiang Cheng set the comb and cloth on the cupboard. “You do?” he asked with mock surprise. “But you were so certain just now.”

“I am still certain,” Lan Xichen explained, “but I’m curious too.”

Jiang Cheng rolled his eyes. “I can’t believe you don’t remember.”

Lan Xichen looked, for the first time, like he doubted himself. He squinted, grabbing the point of his chin as he tried to remember.

“It was a very brief meeting,” Jiang Cheng smirked, “but you made quite the impression.”

Lan Xichen shook his head. “Are you sure it wasn’t Wangji?”

“Positive,” said Jiang Cheng, skirting past Lan Xichen and drawing back one of the hanging purple drapes. He cast a neutral glance over his shoulder, then cocked his head toward the door. “Come on. I’ll show you.”

Wu time

“There,” said Jiang Cheng, pointing to a small stretch of lake between docks.

Lan Xichen squinted, looked like he was about to dispute it—then his eyes went wide.

“That was. . .” he began, stunned, “That day—that was you?”

“So, Lan-zongzhu does remember the first time he fell off the pier and into the lake. One would think you’d have learned your lesson back then.” Jiang Cheng shrugged nonchalantly. “Oh well.”

“Jiang-zongzhu,” Lan Xichen said, still looking utterly bewildered—like Jiang Cheng had just revealed some deep personal lore or something equally absurd. “We’re thinking of the same incident, right?”

They were indeed thinking of the same incident.

Twenty years ago, Lotus Pier hosted the cultivation world’s annual Discussion Conference, but Jiang Cheng—freshly six-years-old—had not been allowed to attend. So, rather than infuriate his mother by disobeying, he’d decided to take his kite out to the edge of the pier and fly it until he got bored.

Lan Xichen—ten at the time—had accompanied his uncle to the conference—a decision Lan Qiren would immediately regret as, moments after leaving the port, Lan Xichen became so distracted by the looping body of a purple dragon in flight that he subsequently walked right off the edge of the pier.

Jiang Cheng, flying the dragon in question, barely managed to reel his kite back in before doubling over in a fit of breathless, hysterical laughter. And by the time Lan Xichen was fished out of the lake, Jiang Cheng had rounded the dock to apologize; though, it came off wholly insincere as he could not stop giggling.

“Shufu was furious,” Lan Xichen said. “He scolded me the rest of the day, but now I know the truth—it was Jiang-zongzhu’s fault all along.”

“How do you figure?” Jiang Cheng asked. “You should have been paying attention.”

“I always wondered about the Jiang kid who bated me off the pier that day. And now here he is, standing right in front of me and admitting he distracted me on purpose.”

“Lan-zongzhu is so dramatic,” Jiang Cheng chided. “And I haven’t admitted anything. I was innocently flying my kite, and your Lan eyes, having gone so long deprived of anything fun or colorful, couldn’t help ogling it.”

“You could have helped me out of the water.”

Jiang Cheng huffed.

“But Jiang-zongzhu was too busy laughing.” Lan Xichen sighed shallowly. “Laughing at me as I drowned.”

“You weren’t even close to drowning,” said Jiang Cheng. “And I apologized, didn’t I?”

“Hardly. You couldn’t stop laughing long enough to get the words out.”

He glanced at Lan Xichen, who was chuckling and looking back with enough fondness one would think Jiang Cheng had hung the moon. The latter couldn’t help blushing. He quickly looked away.

They were treading dangerous waters. He thought it seemed like flirting. Were they flirting? He had a feeling, but he couldn’t say for certain. Maybe he should push Lan Xichen off the pier—though, knowing the lovable idiot, he’d probably find a way to make that flirtatious too.

Or he’d just pull Jiang Cheng down with him. Having already fallen victim to such a scheme, Jiang Cheng decided it was a bad idea altogether.

“I can’t believe that was you,” Lan Xichen said, cadence lilting and happy. “I’m sorry I never realized.”

“Why are you sorry? Lan-zongzhu shouldn’t apologize for every little thing.”

Lan Xichen’s expression fell slightly. “Maybe not,” he said. “But I am sorry about Reminisce. I should have done more research.”

Yes, you should have, Jiang Cheng thought to himself. Although, despite its jarring start, Reminisce hadn’t done any real damage, so he couldn’t bring himself to be genuinely angry about it. He remembered, with more than a little bemusement, the pleased grin on Lan Xichen’s face at the end of the last memory. Maybe Lan Xichen was right; maybe it was worth trying again.

Jiang Cheng shrugged. “It’s fine. Neither of us learned anything about the other we didn’t already know.” He spun around, clasped his hands behind his back, and started up the pier. “You wanted to try it again, didn’t you?”

Lan Xichen nodded as he matched Jiang Cheng’s stride. “I think it could still help. Though, if the memories it shows are chronological, it may take a few more sessions to recover anything recent.”

Jiang Cheng considered that, found he wouldn’t mind reliving his past with Lan Xichen. If Jiang Cheng had really been as dense as it seemed in the previous memories, then maybe he’d missed something. He was (mostly) sure Lan Xichen wasn’t scheming anything nefarious against him, so maybe another few sessions could shine some light on this inexplicable partnership they’d so recently cultivated.

“Then, if you’re in no hurry to leave,” he said, “we could do it now.”

Chapter Text

Lotus Pier,
Wei time

You tied your clarity bell to Sandu?” Lan Xichen asked, eyeing the sword from the dais in Jiang Cheng’s chambers. Sandu was propped against the wall just to the right of the windowsill and with Jiang Cheng’s clarity bell indeed tied around the base of its hilt.

“Yes,” said Jiang Cheng as he settled behind Lan Xichen’s guqin, testing the strings. “For flying. I hoped it would filter the polluted spiritual energy I’ve been funneling into Sandu since this whole curse disaster started.”

“Does it work?”

“Not really. Or maybe. I can’t tell a difference.”

Lan Xichen crouched before the weapon, and Jiang Cheng looked back in time to see him tease the bell’s purple tassel.

“I wonder why not,” he mused.

Jiang Cheng lifted the pointer and middle finger of his right hand, and Sandu raised off the ground before zipping into his open palm. Lan Xichen twisted around on his haunches, gaze following the sword’s path.

Jiang Cheng pulled the blade a few inches from its scabbard, eyeing his reflection in the metal. Already he could feel his meridians prickling with tainted spiritual power, which only further supported Lan Xichen’s cursed item theory. If Jiang Cheng left his spiritual energy dormant, he didn’t have symptoms, but the moment he called on his power, the curse flared. Something was corrupting his output.

He unwound the string from Sandu’s hilt then set the sword aside, holding the clarity bell in his palm, relaxing a little as its cleansing power began to take effect.

“Is it working now?” Lan Xichen asked.

“Seems to be,” Jiang Cheng replied with a shrug. “Why?”

If Lan Xichen was puzzling something out, he didn’t share it yet. “Just curious.”

Jiang Cheng rewound the bell around Sandu then sent the sword flying neatly onto the weapon rack by the door.

“Come on,” he said, cocking his head to the side. “I’d like to get started sometime today.”

“Right,” Lan Xichen said with a grin. “Okay.”

Compared to the previous session, it didn’t take nearly as long for Jiang Cheng to play something a notch above abysmal (which was saying a great deal considering how utterly abysmal he truly was at playing the guqin (or any instrument for that matter)). But, after only half an incense time spent reminding himself of the notes and rhythms, he and Lan Xichen succumbed to the arresting tune.

This time, Reminisce dropped Jiang Cheng at the edge of Lotus Pier, where it seemed construction was still in its early stages. He spotted this memory’s version of himself hauling two wooden boards over one shoulder, then saw a white-clad figure descend on his sword.

Lan Xichen stepped off Shuoyue, but he seemed to hesitate before approaching Jiang Cheng—who was too absorbed in his work to notice the former’s arrival and who was hardly dressed, wearing a pair of trousers and nothing else.

The present Jiang Cheng somehow felt both second-hand embarrassment on behalf of his younger self and first-hand embarrassment recalling that this very thing had indeed happened to him half a decade ago.

Lan Xichen cleared his throat. “Jiang-zongzhu, Please excuse the intrusion.”

The young Jiang looked back over his shoulder as he set the wooden boards down. “Lan-zongzhu,” he gritted out, uncomfortable but also realizing he couldn’t very well go fetch a shirt—there wasn’t one nearby and he was sweating buckets. “What brings you to Lotus Pier?”

The greeting was friendly enough, but his inflection was flat as a board, making him come off entirely insincere.

“This useless leader has dug himself quite the hole. I hoped you could share a little wisdom,” Lan Xichen replied, flashing an awkward smile while scratching his temple.

The young Jiang looked dumbfounded. “You want my advice?” he asked, wide-eyed. “What for?”

Clearly mortified but having already come all this way, Lan Xichen explained his predicament: after the war, his clan began rebuilding the Cloud Recesses in earnest (just as Jiang Cheng had with Lotus Pier), but they ran into their first big hurdle when they couldn’t find anyone in Gusu to supply lumber.

Thus, Lan Xichen went looking for a supplier, and he found one—near Qishan.

“Why would you go to Qishan?” asked Jiang Cheng, baffled.

Lan Xichen sheepishly covered the lower half of his face with his sleeve. ”Near Qishan,” he emphasized.

The Qishan lumbermen offered to supply the Cloud Recesses with as much wood as they’d need given Lan Xichen could pay half the total upfront, which wasn’t unreasonable—as long as Lan Xichen wrote up the contract himself and managed to confirm the credibility of these lumbermen with the locals.

Of course, Lan Xichen had done neither of those things.

“You actually paid them?”

“I did.”

“And you just took them at their word?”

Lan Xichen squinted like Jiang Cheng had asked something ridiculous. “They were well-spoken, courteous, and professional. Why wouldn’t I?”

The present Jiang Cheng remembered this well, couldn’t help grinning at Lan Xichen’s endearing gullibility.

His young counterpart pinched the bridge of his nose. “For one, they had yet to see the damage. How could they know how much to charge you? And two, most conmen are well-spoken, courteous, and professional.”

Lan Xichen pursed his lips and averted his gaze. “It gets worse.”

The lumbermen did show up to the Cloud Recesses to inspect the damage. They told Lan Xichen that their inspection might take a few hours but that they’d come find him when it was finished. Several hours later, Lan Xichen had grown anxious and decided to return on his own—only to find the place in an even worse state than before. The “lumbermen” had run off with his money and any salvageable materials left behind after the fire—including centuries-old quartz eaves and bronze finials, blue-painted roof tiles, and dozens of other priceless, irreplaceable pieces of Lan architecture.

Both the present and past Jiang Chengs suppressed their laughter.

“Lan-zongzhu is so gullible—truly the prefect mark,” said the younger Jiang, sounding much too pleased by the fact.

Lan Xichen’s shoulders sagged as he sighed deeply. “I flew straight here,” he abruptly admitted.

“What? Why? What about your clan? What about your uncle??”

“I can’t tell him! He would kill me—or worse.” Lan Xichen stared off at the lake while anxiously stroking a strand of his hair. “Best not to dwell on that. Unproductive.”

Jiang Cheng narrowed his eyes. “Okay, but what about Nie-zongzhu? Or Lianfang-zun?”

Lan Xichen went very pale. He stroked his hair with more ferocity, to the point Jiang Cheng was sure he’d rip the entire lock from his scalp. “What they’d think of me. What they’d say. No, no. I can’t tell them either.”

The younger Jiang made an unpleasant face—curled lip, scrunched nose, furrowed brow—which the present Jiang Cheng saw right through.

Back then, he’d interpreted Lan Xichen’s words like this: I came to you because you’re not important like they are. What does it matter what someone like you thinks of me? Who is the whispered-about and incompetent Jiang-zongzhu to judge the unrivaled and revered Lan-zongzhu?

Now he knew Lan Xichen a little better, knew he didn’t think of him that way. It was more likely that he had come to Lotus Pier simply because they were both in the middle of rebuilding their respective sects, and he trusted Jiang Cheng to help him. At the thought, a familiar warmth unfurled behind Jiang Cheng’s sternum; he didn’t try to stamp it down this time.

“What do you want me to do about it?” The young Jiang’s tone was clipped and a little harsh, but he could have said much worse. He’d wanted to say much worse.

“Forgive me,” Lan Xichen said, looking embarrassed. “I wasn’t implying that Jiang-zongzhu should help fix this mess. I only came for a recommendation—for a legitimate supplier this time.”

“Oh.” Jiang Cheng dusted his hands off on his pants and spun around. “Okay. Follow me,” he said, starting toward the tiny houseboat he’d been living out of since construction migrated past the ports and farther into Lotus Pier. He hadn’t needed more space than that—not after Jin-furen invited Yanli to stay at Golden Carp Tower until construction on their ancestral home was complete, and certainly not while Wei Wuxian was off doing heaven knows what.

Jiang Cheng followed the remembered pair, watched his young counterpart step into the cabin while Lan Xichen remained on the deck, snooping through all the nothing Jiang Cheng kept out there.

“Is Jiang-zongzhu living in this boat?” Lan Xichen asked.

The young Jiang called out from inside the cabin, “Yes. What of it?”

“Only curious.”

A few moment later, Jiang Cheng emerged with a message written for his own lumber supplier asking if he knew anyone credible near Gusu, but right as he was about to go find one of his clan’s messenger birds, a Lanling Jin dove landed on his shoulder with its own message tied to its leg.

He freed the tiny piece of paper, but before he could unroll it, the memory changed, plopping the present Jiang Cheng at the edge of a cliff overlooking a massacre.

He didn’t get a chance to reorient himself, but he didn’t really need to. He recognized the setting instantly, turned back to see himself flying down on Sandu, followed close behind by Lan Xichen.

The pair approached the edge, and a voice Jiang Cheng hadn’t heard in years spoke up behind them.

“Jiang-zongzhu, look at Wei Wuxian’s hubris,” said Jin Guangshan, eyeing the ruins of the camp he’d set up to enslave the Wen remnants. “He’s never respected you as the sect leader.”

The younger Jiang clenched his fists as he took in the image before him, took in Jin Guangshan’s poorly disguised attempt at manipulation.

He didnt dignify it with a response. Instead, Lan Xichen asked, “What happened here, Jin-zongzhu?”

Jin Guangshan cast him a discerning look, as though wondering what business the Gusu Lan Clan Head had in Langya.

Jiang Cheng knew—no business. At least, none in this context. The reason he was here and the reason he and Jiang Cheng had arrived together had nothing to do with Wei Wuxian or the Wen remnants or the Lanling Jin Clan. It was because Lan Xichen had been at Lotus Pier when Jiang Cheng received word of what Wei Wuxian had done, how he’d resurrected Wen Ning and sent him on a killing spree.

That was the message the Jin’s dove had delivered. And in true righteous Lan fashion, Lan Xichen had insisted he accompany Jiang Cheng to the site. Jiang Cheng hadn’t argued because he figured, of the other three sect leaders, Lan Xichen was the most likely to back him up if he had to defend Wei Wuxian.

The present Jiang Cheng eyed Jin Guangshan with distaste, but the other clan head didn’t have much else to say, having already given Jiang Cheng the situation’s context in his message. After a brief recount, he cast the pair another curious, mildly unnerving look before leaving with the other members of his clan.

The young Jiang scoffed, his rage and confusion and dejection blending together like ill-mixed paints, creating quite the ugly shade.

Lan Xichen put a friendly hand on his shoulder. “Will you go after him?”

“Of course,” he snapped back, but Lan Xichen didn’t react to his misplaced hostility. Jiang Cheng sighed. “Forgive me. I will help you find a supplier. I just need to speak with Wei Wuxian first.”

“Don’t trouble yourself. I can deal with that on my own. I’ll just. . . swallow my pride and tell Shufu,” he said glumly.

Jiang Cheng huffed out a laugh. “Lan-zongzhu should probably look for his brother first. Heaven knows what he’ll do when he hears about this.”

Lan Xichen dropped his hand, expression darkening the slightest bit. “You’re probably right. I should return to Gusu.”

The young Jiang was about to mount Sandu when Lan Xichen spoke again.

“Are you. . .” he began, then seemed to lose his nerve halfway through. He shook his head. “Never mind. Good luck.”

With that, Reminisce morphed the memory again, placing Jiang Cheng in a bright and tranquil setting—until his young counterpart came barreling through the otherwise peaceful Wintry Room. He didn’t even knock.

“Jiang-zongzhu?” Lan Xichen said, jumping up from where he sat behind his work table.

The young Jiang tried to smooth out his furious expression, but to no avail. He looked just as furious—only now it was layered with a pinched discomfort.

“Forgive the intrusion, Lan-zongzhu,” he said, pacing the room in a fit of restlessness, keeping his head down while he spoke much too quickly. “It’s just—this Jiang simply cannot trust you to confront those conmen by yourself.”

Ah. Jiang Cheng had been trying to remember when this was. He hadn’t expected Reminisce to place him here right after he’d met with Wei Wuxian at the burial mounds (that confrontation being the very reason his young counterpart looked so furious; this scene was a desperate attempt at distracting himself from his brother’s defection).

Lan Xichen’s mouth fell open, but the young Jiang continued his rant without ever meeting the other sect leader’s gaze.

“I fear they may swindle you out of Liebing or Shuoyue or even the clothes off your back—all without your notice.”

“I. . .” Lan Xichen stammered, then couldn’t help flashing an amused smile. He shook his head, chuckling softly. “I think I would notice something like that.”

“Oh?” the young Jiang piped up. Now that Lan Xichen had indulged him, he seemed to loosen up a little. “What if they’re well-spoken? Eloquent? What if they’re dressed like noblemen? Will you notice then?” He shook his head and clicked his tongue. “Heavens help you if they’re polite.”

Lan Xichen opened his mouth to retort, then thought better of whatever he’d been about to say. “Then, what does Jiang-zongzhu propose?”

“We’re going to Qishan.”

With a wave of Jiang Cheng’s hand, Sandu flew free of its scabbard.

The motion seemed to cleave through the memory with all the ease of scissors cutting through silk. As the Wintry Room fell away, the setting darkened dramatically, coalesced in a rural farm town somewhere between Gusu and Qishan. The sun had just gone down, and Jiang Cheng spotted himself walking into an inn and restaurant with Lan Xichen. He followed, observing closely as the pair took a table in the corner.

If his memory served, they’d just finished canvassing the town for information about the con artists posing as lumbermen; now, at Lan Xichen’s insistence, they were taking a break.

“Even if we can’t find them again, I’m still going to ask my lumber supplier if he knows anyone credible near Gusu,” said the young Jiang as he slid into the booth. “So not a total loss for you, I guess.”

Lan Xichen bowed his head. “Many thanks to Jiang-zongzhu.”

“Mn.” Jiang Cheng awkwardly averted his gaze, then, as though trying to make conversation, he asked Lan Xichen what type of wood he planned to use.

“I’m ashamed to say I haven’t thought of it.”

“Don’t be,” said Jiang Cheng, and his older counterpart bared his teeth, cringing as this conversation came back to him.

His younger self went on to explain, in excessive detail, why nanmu wood—despite being pricy and difficult to obtain—was the obvious choice. He’d initially brought this up to make conversation while they rested (knowing Lan Xichen might ask him about Wei Wuxian if Jiang Cheng didn’t take the initiative to speak first), but he’d gotten carried away, talked Lan Xichen’s ear of for nearly twenty minutes. About wood.

For fuck’s sake, the older Jiang silently cursed, imagining how bored Lan Xichen must have been having to listen to this.

Only, the remembered version didn’t look bored at all. Rather, he looked totally, entirely entranced. He listened to Jiang Cheng’s spiel without complaint, nodding along, asking questions, acting as though he had a vested personal interest in nanmu and its various uses.

The present Jiang Cheng could hardly wrap his mind around it. Did Lan Xichen actually find wood and lumber and trees that interesting?

“It’s very sturdy,” the young Jiang said. “Which is why most of the pier is still standing despite the Wens’ trying to burn it down.”

“I see. And do these zhennan trees grow near the Cloud Recesses?”

Jiang Cheng nodded. “I think so. Actually, they’re much easier to find in coastal cities like Gusu.”

Lan Xichen thoughtfully tapped his chin. “Jiang-zongzhu is very knowledgeable.”

The present Jiang Cheng pinched his brow, thoroughly confused. Then he noticed a faint sprinkling of color on his younger self’s cheeks.

For fuck’s sake! he cursed again. Forget being painfully awkward—had his attraction to Lan Xichen always been so obvious? How had he never realized what these feelings were?

Well, even if he’d been ignorant to it, the hyper-observant, impossibly perceptive Lan Xichen certainly was not. He had to know. He had to.

So, why did he still want Jiang Cheng around? Why, even before Concord, had he sought Jiang Cheng out? Why invite him to the Cloud Recesses? Why help him? He could excuse this version’s attention. While a little over the top, he probably just pitied Jiang Cheng after what they’d seen at the Jins’ camp, and with everything he already knew about Wei Wuxian, he’d likely already surmised the outcome of Jiang Cheng’s visit to the burial mounds.

Still, Jiang Cheng could feel himself growing paranoid of his Lan Xichen again. He didn’t want to be paranoid, so he focused his attention on the remembered version, tried to remind himself how ridiculous it was to be suspicious of someone as intrinsically good as Lan Xichen. Because it was intrinsic. It was.

“This leader is impressed,” he said. “I don’t have half the connections you do, nor are the connections I do have even half as advantageous.”

The young Jiang flushed a little deeper, and Jiang Cheng noticed a pleased smile playing across Lan Xichen’s lips.

Just like before, he thought, remembering the last time they’d played Reminisce, how Lan Xichen had worn the same smile after Jiang Cheng pinned him against a tree.

Could he. . .?

Jiang Cheng shook the thought away before it could take shape. He couldn’t let himself think shit like that.

Lan Xichen went on, “I don’t have half as much sense as you either, if my current situation is any indicator.” He looked like he wanted to hang his head and groan with despair, but of course his Lan. . . ness wouldn’t allow something so improper; his posture remained as stiff and upright as always.

“Flattery will get you nowhere,” the young Jiang mumbled.

Lan Xichen grinned, and Jiang Cheng felt a bone-deep affection for him. He didn’t want to consider—didn’t dare let himself hope that. . . maybe. . .

“That word suggests insincerity,” Lan Xichen said, “but I am being sincere.”

At last Jiang Cheng’s younger self glanced up and met Lan Xichen’s eye. Then, just as quickly, he looked away again.

“Right,” he breathed, sounding uncomfortable. It was a somewhat sentimental thing for Lan Xichen to say, the older Jiang supposed.

“Everything all right?”

Jiang Cheng rolled his eyes at that, but Lan Xichen wasn’t deterred.

“Did you find Wei-gongzi?”

Surprisingly, the young Jiang didn’t snap at Lan Xichen or tell him to mind his own business.

He just nodded, looking solemn.

“Is he all right?”

Jiang Cheng shrugged. “He defected. He’s no longer a member of the the Jiang Sect.” He tipped his head back and it hit the wall. “So, whether he is or isn’t, it’s not my concern anymore.”

Lan Xichen’s brow creased, but before he could respond, they were interrupted.

“Excuse me.”

Both started with surprise (even the present Jiang Cheng jolted a little, and he’d already lived through this). They looked at the stranger who’d silently approached their table.

“You two are looking for the men who conned you, right?”

“We—“ Lan Xichen began, but Jiang Cheng cut in.

“Who’s asking?”

The man’s eyes narrowed to slits, and then the memory abruptly changed a fourth time (Jiang Cheng was sure that, at this point, he had fucking whiplash). Reminisce dropped him in a musty wine cellar where his young self currently cringed away from a rat skittering around at his feet—though he couldn’t get far. His hands were tied with immortal binding cables, the ends of which were knotted over a large hook screwed into the ceiling.

The present Jiang Cheng couldn’t help cringing as well, but not from the rat. He remembered this, remembered the ridiculous fucking circumstance which had landed him here.

That stranger who approached them at the inn gave up the con artists’ location, even offered to personally walk Jiang Cheng and Lan Xichen to the property—but Jiang Cheng had been hesitant. Lan Xichen also thought it was a little too convenient, but at their reluctance, the stranger unloaded some overdramatic sob story about how he’d been personally victimized by the same conmen, which Jiang Cheng couldn’t even fucking remember now but Lan Xichen had thought sympathetic, so they took the stranger up on his offer and followed him out of the tiny village.

Problem was he and Jiang Cheng kept snapping at one another, neither appreciating the other’s disagreeable attitude and snide comments. Lan Xichen tried to ease the tension, but that only made the man snap at him instead—which Jiang Cheng really hadn’t appreciated.

He couldn’t remember exactly how things escalated, but he and the man started brawling—with their fists since Jiang Cheng didn’t want to draw Zidian on an unarmed opponent. His opponent, however, was far less concerned with fighting fair.

They were ambushed on the road—because of fucking course that fucker had been lying the whole time, had come with the intention of fighting them (and fighting ten against two no less). At some point, Jiang Cheng was separated from Lan Xichen.

Then—and this was a dirty fucking trick that, to this day, still pissed him the fuck off—the group of goons set a fierce corpse on him, which wasn’t the problem; Jiang Cheng made quick work of the thing, but in focusing on both the corpse and the half-dozen men lurking around wielding sickles and pitch forks, he failed to notice what was hurdling down the road at break-neck speed.

Those shit-eating fucks ran him over with a fucking ox and wagon!

The present Jiang Cheng was still cringing inwardly at the memory when he heard a thud, thud, thud above his head, like a bunch of toppling, person-sized dominoes. His young counterpart, who had been trying futilely to gnaw through his bindings, also heard this, paused his chewing, and looked up curiously.

A moment later, the hatch door was thrown open, creaking on its hinges, and Lan Xichen dropped down, Shuoyue in hand and a cold, uncharacteristically severe look on his face.

Jiang Cheng had seen that look a few times now, knew it was never meant for him, but this was probably the first time the younger Jiang had ever witnessed Lan Xichen’s mask crack so perfectly. He was justifiably stunned.

That said, the second Lan Xichen spotted Jiang Cheng, his demeanor completely changed, returning to the even-tempered, ever-smiling Zewu-jun.

“There you are, Jiang-zongzhu,” he greeted like he hadn’t just single-handedly fought his way through a camp of bandits, thieves, and conmen, “Forgive this leader for making you wait. I’ve been looking everywhere for you.”

𑁍 ᪥ 𑁍 ᪥ 𑁍

𑁍 ᪥ 𑁍 ᪥ 𑁍

The young Jiang flushed, embarrassed to have needed saving. The present Jiang Cheng also flushed, but for different reasons. He pinched his thigh, hoping to ground himself despite this metaphysical environment.

Lan Xichen lifted his hand to command Shuoyue, then paused. He approached Jiang Cheng, and his brow knit with concern when he finally drew close enough to see the latter’s bruised and scraped face (courtesy of that damn ox).

“Jiang-zongzhu,” he said, voice riddled with worry as he inspected the damage. “What happened? Is everything all right?” Then he gently lifted Jiang Cheng’s chin with his fingertips, slid his hand along the line of his jaw and cradled his head.

The present Jiang Cheng gaped. That never happened! Lan Xichen had not held his face!

Had he?

No.

No. There was no way. Jiang Cheng would have remembered! There was no way.

But then his young counterpart jerked his head back, rattling the cables which still bound his hands, and hissed with bitter venom, “Stop that. Heaven’s sake, I’m not some second-rate cultivator. I can take a hit just fine. I don’t need you to save me.”

Oh Oh. That was why he couldn’t remember—because he hadn’t interpreted Lan Xichen’s attention the same way back then. He’d thought Lan Xichen was looking down on him, had never considered he was genuinely worried for him. Seeing it now felt. . . enlightening to say the least.

Lan Xichen quickly withdrew, and the present Jiang Cheng caught a curious glimpse of his expression—nervous and twitchy, like he’d just done something he hadn’t meant to do—something he’d been trying all this time not to do.

Don’t go there, Jiang Cheng silently chastised, but he couldn’t help the way his traitorous mind wandered.

“I know, I know,” Lan Xichen anxiously amended. “Jiang-zongzhu is very capable. Forgive me for implying otherwise.”

The young Jiang only huffed, fists clenching even tighter.

“Still, Jiang-zongzhu was injured trying to fix a mistake which could have been avoided entirely were it not for this incompetent leader’s supreme gullibility. The least I can do now is cut you free.”

Jiang Cheng didn’t respond as it seemed Lan Xichen wasn’t waiting for a response. He reached up with Shuoyue, then paused again, eyes lingering on Jiang Cheng’s bound hands—leering at them really, though the young Jiang didn’t seem to realize.

The present Jiang Cheng, on the other hand, couldn’t look the fuck away.

“Are you going to do it or not?!” the younger spat.

Lan Xichen snapped out of it and hastily sliced through the cable. Jiang Cheng’s hands dropped, and the loose cables unraveled before slipping free and falling to the ground. He rubbed his wrists, which were red and sensitive. Lan Xichen seemed like he was trying very hard not to stare at Jiang Cheng’s wrists.

“What happened anyway? How did you end up down here?”

He clicked his tongue and brushed past Lan Xichen, making for the ladder without replying.

(The present Jiang Cheng sympathized. Several years later and he too would have ignored the question, refusing to make any mention of that wagon-hauling fucker, even if Lan Xichen were to ask directly.)

(It was just. . . way too embarrassing.)

He grabbed the sides of the ladder but didn’t mount it, just sighed and touched his forehead to one of its pegs. “You’re not incompetent,” he said quietly. “Thank you for finding me. And sorry you had to.”

Lan Xichen approached him from the side, that severe expression briefly slipping through the cracks. “No need to apologize. Like I said, you wouldn’t be here had this leader seen through their trick.”

The younger Jiang only sneered, turning his head the other direction.

Lan Xichen brushed a lock of Jiang Cheng’s bangs back, revealing a partially clotted cut near his temple. The present Jiang Cheng felt a white-hot current of electricity shoot from his toes up to his scalp. He shuddered.

The younger Jiang smacked his hand away, casting Lan Xichen a sharp glower. The latter only smiled.

“Come back to Gusu with me,” he said fondly. “Let me treat this. It is the least I can do.”

The present Jiang Cheng watched with rapt attention, having only a vague memory of this conversation, never imagining it had gone like this.

“I thought cutting me free was the least you could do.”

“It was a moment ago, but now that you’re free, the least I can do is doctor your wounds.”

Jiang Cheng tapped his forehead against the peg. Then he stepped a foot onto the ladder, but before he could start climbing, Lan Xichen put a firm hand on his shoulder, halting his progress.

“Forgive me,” he said, voice and expression stern, “but I imagine there was a reason you came to me after Wei-gongzi defected, even if it was simply to distract yourself.”

How does he do that? the present Jiang Cheng wondered.

“And that’s fine, but if you’re in turmoil, I can help. Let me help.”

The young Jiang looked skeptical. “How?”

“However you need.”

“And if I asked you to help me drag Wei Wuxian back to Lotus Pier kicking and screaming?”

Lan Xichen opened his mouth, but seemed unable to think up a response.

Jiang Cheng chuckled weakly. “I’m not asking that. Let him ruin his life. Let him think what he wants of me,” he said resentfully.

“I’m sure Wei-gongzi will return to your side. You two have always been inseparable.”

He huffed, “I couldn’t keep him there. What does that say about me?”

“You’re not responsible—“

He cut Lan Xichen off with another biting sneer. “Leave it, Lan-zongzhu.”

He started to climb, but Lan Xichen’s grip was firm and unyielding.

“Fucking—“ he sniped, filter slipping. “What?”

“Wangji speaks highly of Wei-gongzi.”

Jiang Cheng squinted then scoffed, making no attempt to quell his distaste. “What does that—“

“But I fear his affection for Wei-gongzi blinds him.”

“Lan-er-gongzi holds no affection for my brother. All Wei Wuxian’s ever done is piss him off.”

Lan Xichen only smiled that signature, wholly unreadable smile. “In any case, I’ve tried to nudge him away from Wei-gongzi—to no avail. My brother is steadfast in his devotion. I wonder if Wei-gongzi is doing the same with you.”

At Jiang Cheng’s uncomprehending glare, Lan Xichen explained: “In trying to divert Wangji’s affections, I am consciously prioritizing his safety above his happiness. I know it and so does he. It is why I don’t want to interfere. Wei-gongzi may be doing the same thing, prioritizing your safety—your clan and its long history, its legacy—over what you really want. And he may not realize he’s doing it.”

Jiang Cheng’s expression twisted with fury, thin face flaring red as he turned his glare back toward the ladder. Lan Xichen squeezed his shoulder, and the present Jiang Cheng’s heart skipped several beats (he thought he might pass out). Then the young Jiang’s features smoothed, falling blank with dejection.

“I don’t think it’s that complicated. Not much a clan dwindled to fucking nothing can do for someone like Wei Wuxian,” he said, smiling mirthlessly while tapping his head against the nearest peg again and again. “That’s all. Even if the rest of the cultivation world weren’t against him, even if it was just Jin-zongzhu, what could I do? I couldn’t even break out of here on my own. I needed you.”

“You were under duress,” Lan Xichen said. “They took advantage. That is all.”

Jiang Cheng only huffed.

“Wei-gongzi’s defection isn’t a comment on your clan’s strength.”

“Isn’t it?”

“It isn’t.”

After a pause (in which the present Jiang Cheng watched and waited with crossed arms, anxiously tapping his fingers against his elbow), the younger Jiang sighed. “I know. And I fucking hate it. . . but you’re right. I think you hit the nail on its fucking head, actually. He is trying to protect me.” Jiang Cheng clicked his tongue. “As if I’m not trying to do the same thing.”

“I’m sure he knows.”

Jiang Cheng shook his head. “Maybe. In some fucked up way I can’t understand. But the things he said. . . I just—I thought—“ he broke off with a sneer. “I never realized he saw me that way—as an extension of my clan and my parents’ damn legacy.” He chuckled, deep and choked. ”They saw me that way, but I always thought he just saw me.”

Lan Xichen squeezed his shoulder again, the gesture meant to comfort Jiang Cheng, but it did more to ground him in the present moment. He met the other’s eye then quickly looked away again, mortified beyond measure.

“Fuck’s sake—why am I telling you this?? Fuck. Sorry. Forget that. Sorry. Did you, uh,” he stammered, finally starting up the ladder and out of the cellar. “Did you find your stolen architecture?”

Lan Xichen smiled like he’d never been so fond of anyone (Jiang Cheng was loosing his fucking mind).

“I did. They probably sold some already, but most is stashed away in a warehouse on the same property.”

“Good,” said the young Jiang as he hauled himself through the hatch. “Very good. I guess we’re, uh, done here then.”

“I suppose,” said Lan Xichen. “Although, Jiang-zongzhu promised to talk to his supplier. Don’t forget.”

Jiang Cheng reached through the hatch, and Lan Xichen took his hand gratefully.

“I won’t,” he said. “Can’t let a gullible fool like Lan-zongzhu be conned a second time.”

From this angle, the present Jiang Cheng could just make out the giddy blush blooming over Lan Xichen’s cheeks and the sunny smile playing happily across his lips.

Jiang Cheng’s mouth went dry as he watched Lan Xichen disappear through the hatch.

Come back to Gusu with me. Let me treat this. He was pretty sure he’d gone back to Lotus Pier instead. Or maybe he’d visited Yanli at Golden Carp Tower.

He wondered what would have happened had he said yes to Lan Xichen and followed him back to Gusu.

His heart was still beating like mad, cheeks still blazing.

Then, all around, Reminisce dissolved to nothing. The world went dark, and he felt a clawing exhaustion dragging him down, down.

Shen time

Jiang Cheng didn’t come back to himself when the song ended—not completely. He teetered where he sat, eyelids fluttering slightly but never opening. Lan Xichen was at his side in seconds, catching him against his chest before he toppled over.

“Jiang-zongzhu?” Lan Xichen whispered, but Jiang Cheng was too exhausted to respond, only distantly aware of himself and his surroundings anyway, just enough to know that Lan Xichen’s chest was warm and inviting and smelled like bamboo. He reached out, felt fabric, and absently bunched it up between his fingers.

His mind hadn’t quite caught up—or simply couldn’t follow what happened around him. Whatever. His eyelids drooped, heavy as led. He was so tired. He wanted to sleep forever.

So, when a pair of deceptively strong arms lifted him into the air, what else could he do but cling tighter to that warm chest, that silken fabric. Even as he was set down atop his plush duvet, he held firm, hand fisted with an iron grip in the shoulder of Lan Xichen’s robes.

He felt someone tugging on his ribbon before his bun unraveled, spilling hair down his back, over his shoulders.

“Jiang-zongzhu should rest,” Lan Xichen said, placing his hand over Jiang Cheng’s and gently urging him to let go. “This leader will take his leave.”

“Wait,” Jiang Cheng said without thinking. He was so tired, and Lan Xichen was warm, and he’d just witnessed half a dozen memories which had only—thoroughly—deepened his affection for Lan Xichen. He was in no fit state to think things through properly anyway. He just really, really didn’t want to let go. “You can stay,” he whispered. “Stay.”

Lan Xichen didn’t say anything, and for a few horrible seconds, he didn’t do anything either. Then he was scooting closer, stretching out and guiding Jiang Cheng into his arms. He cradled Jiang Cheng’s head above his bicep, slid his other hand around his waist and tugged him close.

“Like this?”

Jiang Cheng reciprocated, tangling their legs, clinging to Lan Xichen’s robes, and burying his face in his collar.

“Mn.”

Lan Xichen hummed, sounding contented as he rubbed soothing circles into Jiang Cheng’s lower back, then migrated up to gently trace the lines of his shoulder blades.

It wasn’t long at all before he nodded off again, sinking into the other’s warmth and touch, the bamboo smell of him, the firm sculpt of him.

He wanted to sleep forever. He wanted to sleep like this forever.

Chapter Text

Lotus Pier,
Zi time

Jiang Cheng woke to the moon, suspended and full as it washed his bedroom in lambent white light. He rubbed his eyes, scanned the dais for a familiar, smiling face—though unconscious of the fact until a curious disappointment settled over him, heavy and thick as tar.

Then, with some difficulty, he started to remember how he’d gotten into bed, who he’d dragged into bed with him.

Oh, fuck. Fuck!

Had that actually happened? It wasn’t just a dream?

He bolted upright and scanned the room again. He was alone. He was going to be sick.

Clearly Lan Xichen had been made so uncomfortable by Jiang Cheng’s desperate, half-asleep pining that he’d bolted at the first opportunity.

”Fuck!” Jiang Cheng held the sides of his head, fingers tangling and bunching in his coarse hair. What a repelling sight he must have made. What a pathetic, perverted display. How could he have fucked things up this badly? How could he ever look Lan Xichen in the eye again?

He threw off the duvet, mind roiling as he scrambled out of bed and spotted an open ink well on the table in his center room along with a used ink brush and a scrawled-on bit of parchment.

Thinking it must be a note left by Lan Xichen, Jiang Cheng snatched it up to read under the moonlight—only he couldn’t read it. At all. If Lan Xichen had written this chicken scratch, he certainly wasn’t trying to leave a note, so what was it?

He held it under the light, angled and flipped it, squinted and brought it closer to his face until what had before seemed like random lines and curves turned into something which quite resembled the layout of his rooms. He strode to the door, spun on his heel, and held the drawing up, staring at both from similar angles. There were the moon gates, the drapes, the dais, the low table, the bed—even a messy replication of the lotus design on his window.

Had Lan Xichen drawn this? When? And why? If Jiang Cheng had really made him so uncomfortable, then why would he stick around to sketch his rooms? Why wouldn’t he just leave?

Had he stuck around for a bit? Become bored enough to doodle? If that was the case, when did he leave? How long had he let Jiang Cheng cling like a leech to his chest? How long had he stayed in the room after that?

Unbidden, Jiang Cheng felt that curious disappointment festering like poison in his gut. With a sneer, he crumpled the page back into a ball and tossed it into the waste bin.

He paced restlessly, lost so totally in his own head and he couldn’t fucking stand it. He needed a drink. It was the middle of the night. He needed a fucking drink.

He left his rooms in a hurry, throwing the door open before marching across the threshold and immediately running into another person.

Lan Xichen staggered, and Jiang Cheng grabbed him by the arms, steadied him.

“Zewu-jun?” Jiang Cheng said, bewildered (because apparently he was incapable of calling Lan Xichen anything else when he was surprised).

Lan Xichen smiled as he righted himself. “Sandu Shengshou.”

“You’re still. . .? But I thought you left.”

He shook his head. “Jiang-zongzhu asked me to stay.”

Jiang Cheng’s face heated and—fuck’s sake, he was steaming—now that Lan Xichen had regained his balance, Jiang Cheng dropped his hands and took a step back, widening the space between them before nervously averting his gaze.

“Forgive me. I was. . . in a state,” he said, though it sounded like a very weak excuse.

“No need. I’m glad you asked.”

Jiang Cheng’s gaze flicked back up. “You are?”

“Of course,” Lan Xichen replied, smile deepening. Then he lifted one hand, revealing two perfect lotus seed buns which had been obscured by his sleeve. “I thought you might be hungry, so I brought these.”

Jiang Cheng gaped. He couldn’t help it, couldn’t wrap his mind around whatever the fuck was going on here. Lan Xichen had stayed. And he was glad Jiang Cheng asked him to. Why?

He thought of all the memories Reminisce had shown him, remembered how attentive Lan Xichen had been, how kind, how fondly he’d looked at Jiang Cheng.

The ground was tilting and wobbling beneath his feet. He looked at the pastries. “Where did you get those?”

As though he’d just remembered something embarrassing, Lan Xichen’s ears went pink, and he shyly looked away, scratching his temple with one finger. “It is a long story.” He held the two pastries out to Jiang Cheng. “Would Jiang-zongzhu take these inside? There’s a hot pot of tea in the kitchen. This leader will bring it back so we can eat and drink tea together.”

Jiang Cheng looked over his shoulder at the open door to his rooms, and something unpleasant settled in his gut. He needed to get rid of Lan Xichen as soon as possible.

Or. . . wait, did he?

He looked back, and Lan Xichen’s fond smile greeted him.

“Okay,” he said, taking the lotus seed buns from Lan Xichen before watching him retreat back down the pier. Jiang Cheng went inside, set their breakfast (or midnight snack?) on the low table. Then he made his decision: he had to talk to Lan Xichen about Concord.

Jiang Cheng had initially assumed that Lan Xichen came to the same conclusion he did after that night at the Gentian House, that he’d also assumed Jiang Cheng, being the song’s intended subject, must have infected him with his sick and twisted perversions—but obviously that wasn’t the fucking case. Whatever conclusion Lan Xichen had drawn, it wasn’t that one.

And Jiang Cheng had fucked around for too long anyway, which royally fucked things worse than they were already fucked—and they’d been pretty fucking fucked to begin with! So he had to tell Lan Xichen because when wasn’t he saddled with the worst fucking thing imaginable?

Except—what if it wouldn’t be the worst thing? He thought of the way Lan Xichen held his face in that cellar, how he’d brushed his hair behind his ear, how he’d done and said everything he could to ease Jiang Cheng’s turmoil. Then, several years later, when Jiang Cheng sought him out looking for a way to soothe his short temper, Lan Xichen agreed to help without a second thought. And when he’d been cursed, Lan Xichen made Jiang Cheng his top priority.

Surely all of that meant something, right? Surely Concord wasn’t the only significant variable here.

Surely. . .

No. No. In all likelihood, it still was.

He’d blindly trusted Reminisce’s recreation of the past, but were memories ever so perfectly recalled? Was that even possible? What if it was like looking through rose-colored glass? What if Reminisce had simply washed over his memories with things he wanted to see?

It wasn’t like Lan Xichen knew exactly how the song worked anyway. How could either be sure what they’d seen really happened?

Jiang Cheng groaned, running two anxious hands through his hair. His braids were a bunched and tangled mess, so in an effort to distract himself from the tumultuous whirlpool of his contrary, horrible thoughts, he got up and retrieved his purple ribbon from the side table. It was probably better that he not look so unkempt for what he was about to do anyway.

But before he’d finished rebraiding the sides of his hair, Lan Xichen stepped back into the room carrying a pot of tea.

“Forgive me,” he said when he saw what Jiang Cheng was doing. “I should have left the ribbon in your hair so you wouldn’t have to rebraid it.”

Jiang Cheng flushed at the vague memory he had of Lan Xichen taking his hair down. “Don’t. . . worry about it,” he stammered.

Lan Xichen smiled as he set the pot on the table. “I can rebraid it for you now, if you’d like.”

Jiang Cheng paused briefly, then resumed. “No need. I’m almost finished.”

Lan Xichen had the gall to look disappointed as he seated himself shoulder to shoulder with Jiang Cheng. It was infuriating and confusing and endearing and Jiang Cheng couldn’t fucking stand it.

He tied both braids back, trying to remember if Lan Xichen had always been this way with him—helpful, attentive, touchy. He didn’t think so (at least, he couldn’t remember a time Lan Xichen had ever touched the small of his back like he had the other night or grabbed his hand and kissed his knuckles or dragged him into the lake with the intention of kissing and touching him all over).

But again, he couldn’t help thinking of the memories he’d seen during Reminisce, how Lan Xichen had saved him from that cellar, how he’d lifted Jiang Cheng’s chin and cupped his face, how his eyes had lingered on Jiang Cheng’s bound hands like they were the most interesting thing he’d ever fucking seen.

A chill bracketed up Jiang Cheng’s spine like a pinball. He looked down at his hands, absently biting the inside of his cheek while his mind worked.

He’d recently (in the very back, in the furthest possible recesses of his mind) begun to suspect Lan Xichen of something—even before this last Reminisce session; though he hadn’t dared let himself go there, could hardly decide if it was something he even wanted.

Because what if it was?

If Jiang Cheng was grievously misunderstanding Concord’s effects; if it had never infected Lan Xichen with his desires but had simply brought both their mutual desires to the surface; if Lan Xichen really did want Jiang Cheng like that; where would it leave them? What happened next? If Lan Xichen had truly always been sincere, then what were they supposed to do now?

“Jiang-zongzhu,” Lan Xichen said, and Jiang Cheng jolted internally at the sound of his voice. He was holding one of the steaming cups out to him, and Jiang Cheng quickly accepted it.

“Thank you,” he said, doing a piss-poor job of hiding his startlement. He really needed to stop thinking about such frivolous things. Didn’t it make miles more sense to assume that, at least unconsciously, Lan Xichen was an unwilling party here? Jiang Cheng simply couldn’t imagine the alternative—that Lan Xichen was just as willing and starving as he was.

Lan Xichen placed one of the lotus seed buns before Jiang Cheng as well, then took a sip from his own cup. “This the tea I gave you,” he said, eyes widening the smallest bit.

Jiang Cheng looked down at his tea. “Probably is,” he said, having left the gifted sachets with his staff ages ago. “And probably the last of it too.”

Lan Xichen looked to the side, then he smiled warmly, eyes blinking shut with the expression. “I’m glad you like it. I’ll bring more sometime.”

Jiang Cheng squeezed his cup, then took a sip. “It’s late,” he said. “Guess you’ve been here all day.”

Lan Xichen hummed. “Sorry to intrude.”

“Don’t apologize,” he replied. “You aren’t intruding. I’m sorry for keeping you here. And for keeping you up.”

“No need for Jiang-zongzhu to apologize either. I did sleep. Quite well, in fact.”

Jiang Cheng blanched. He did sleep? In the same bed as me? He could feel his thin fucking face burning again, so he took another sip and blamed it on the tea.

“Even so, I should get back,” Lan Xichen said glumly. Then he gave a rather dramatic sigh, and Jiang Cheng felt a tug on his ribbon.

“Cut it out,” he sniped. “You’ll undo it and then I’ll have to braid it again.”

“It wouldn’t be again if you’d let me do it.”

“I let you comb my hair earlier, and you made me look like a woman.”

“You looked pretty.”

Jiang Cheng frowned, heart beating and lurching like mad. “Like a woman.”

“I didn’t say that.”

“What’s the difference?”

Lan Xichen squinted. “I think there’s rather a large spectrum between pretty and pretty like a woman.”

”Please,” Jiang Cheng said with a scoff. “If you’re going to spout nonsense, just call me handsome and be done with it.”

Lan Xichen smacked his lips dismissively. “As I said, Jiang-zongzhu is incorrigible.”

“Jiang-zongzhu is sensible. Lan-zongzhu is incorrigible.”

Lan Xichen chuckled, tugging on the ribbon again. “Then, does the sensible Jiang-zongzhu think this leader is pretty?”

Jiang Cheng reached back to bat his hand away, but the angle was too awkward. “Cut it out I said!”

“I want to know.”

“You were right. It’s very late, and your clan is likely falling apart without you. Where’s Shuoyue?”

”Jiang-zongzhu,” Lan Xichen grumbled.

“What?”

Lan Xichen tugged down on the ribbon, and his hand brushed the small of Jiang Cheng’s back. The touch sent tiny needles of pleasure up his spine and across his flank. Lan Xichen did it again. Jiang Cheng’s head tipped back a bit with the ribbon, skin buzzing when Lan Xichen made contact. He didn’t move his hand right away this time. He let it linger on Jiang Cheng’s back, thumb tracing circles into his robe. Then he pulled away, flashing an innocent smile as he took a bite of his lotus seed bun.

What a shameless fucking flirt, Jiang Cheng thought as his mind and body warred. He managed to refocus, remembering his only goal here. He supposed now was as good a time as any to ruin everything.

“Lan-zongzhu,” he said, adding a coolness to his tone he didn’t feel, “there’s something you should know.” Lan Xichen’s responding gaze cut across him like the crack of a whip. He fell apart. “It’s. . . it involves us. This. Us. And, uh. . .” He rolled his eyes up, trying to compose himself, but when he still couldn’t articulate exactly what he meant to say, he just scowled and dropped his head into his hands.

Another tug on his ribbon. “Everything all right?”

Jiang Cheng went rigid. Dread and guilt stuck to him like tar, clogged his throat, sank like stones in his gut. What was he doing? What was he doing?

Lan Xichen, noticing Jiang Cheng’s turmoil, said, “No need.”

Jiang Cheng lifted his head. “What?”

“No need to tell me. If it’s upsetting you, don’t worry about it.”

Jiang Cheng’s lips parted in surprise. “No. You don’t even know what it is. If you knew—“ he cut himself off. Then, “I have to say it. You should know.”

Another tug. “No need.”

At Jiang Cheng’s gaping expression, Lan Xichen smiled a little sheepishly, then raised his lotus seed bun. “Does Jiang-zongzhu still want to know where I got these?”

Jiang Cheng blinked dumbly, then let out a shallow sigh. “Yeah. Sure.”

According to Lan Xichen, he’d left the rooms a few hours ago, deciding he would retrieve something to eat since Jiang Cheng was likely to wake in the middle of the night, but upon attempting to whip something up himself—as he had not wanted to disturb Jiang Cheng’s staff—he made a miserable mess, resulting in a burnt yet somehow slimy something and a thoroughly wrecked kitchen. He cleaned what he could but inevitably had to disturb the staff.

Jiang Cheng smiled, heart warming to an absurd degree as he watched Lan Xichen mope.

(The Lan Xichen, head of the Gusu Lan Clan, moping like a teenager over a kitchen disaster!)

“Luckily, there were a few servants already awake and working who offered to help this incompetent leader,” Lan Xichen said, shaking his head, which had long since collapsed into his palm. “They made these for us.”

Jiang Cheng knit his brow. This incompetent leader.

Jiang-zongzhu was injured trying to fix a mistake which could have been avoided entirely were it not for this incompetent leader’s supreme gullibility.

He couldn’t hold it back. Maybe this was his breaking point. Maybe it was the stress of the position he’d put himself in. Maybe it was simply the absurdity of someone like Lan Xichen being both the revered and entirely competent Zewu-jun and a supremely gullible, occasionally incompetent loon. But Jiang Cheng couldn’t stop himself. He covered his mouth and dissolved into a fit of barely stifled laughter.

“You loon,” he said between fits.

A moment later, he noticed Lan Xichen staring at him, lips slightly parted and with a vicious blush scoring his cheeks and nose.

“Sorry. I was trying not to laugh. It’s just—“ Jiang Cheng could hardly speak through his amusement, but he really didn’t want Lan Xichen to think he was making fun of him (though maybe he was a little), “—do you remember when you were conned by those fake lumbermen outside of Qishan?” He took a sip of his tea, trying and failing to quell this ceaseless giggling. “Reminisce reminded me. I don’t know how I could have forgotten. It was. . . very funny.”

He definitely laughed longer than he should have, but as he wiped the moisture from his eyes, he saw that Lan Xichen was now hiding his blushing face in his hands.

“Of all the memories,” he said, sounding utterly mortified, “Jiang-zongzhu had to relive that?”

Jiang Cheng grinned. It wasn’t often Lan Xichen showed his own thin face. Jiang Cheng couldn’t help feeling a triumphant satisfaction.

“Don’t dwell on it, Lan-zongzhu,” he said, patting Lan Xichen on the shoulder. “I was no better back then.”

Lan Xichen abruptly dropped his hands, staring intently at Jiang Cheng. “What do you mean? You knew exactly what to do. Jiang-zongzhu single-handedly saved this useless one from his uncle’s wrath.”

Jiang Cheng averted his gaze, leaning back a little to put some space between them. “I suppose,” he said, sounding nervous. “But Lan-zongzhu doesn’t have the full story, so let’s not dwell on it. Okay?”

Lan Xichen squinted. “What does that mean? What is the full story?”

All the amusement bled from Jiang Cheng’s face. “Nothing. I misspoke. Let’s forget it.”

“Jiang Wanyin,” Lan Xichen said sternly.

“It’s so late. I don’t know what I’m saying—“

“Jiang-zongzhu has thoroughly embarrassed this leader today. The least he can do now is reveal the full story.”

Jiang Cheng bared his teeth sheepishly, finally glancing back to meet Lan Xichen’s resolute gaze.

“Will you please explain?”

Jiang Cheng sighed. “Fine, fine, but you can’t tell anyone. My reputation wouldn’t survive it.”

“I won’t tell a soul.”

They sat facing each other now, and Jiang Cheng leaned his elbow on the table, sunk his chin into his hand while pointedly looking away from Lan Xichen.

“When we were separated on the road, those conmen got the jump on me by. . .” he clenched his jaw, said through gritted teeth, “hittingmewithanoxandwagon.”

Lan Xichen furrowed his brow. “By doing what?”

“A wagon,” he whispered into his hand.

“For heaven’s sake, speak properly—“

“They ran me over! And it was a cheap fucking trick!” He slammed his fist on the table, his old ire flooding back like it was brand new. “They couldn’t just fight me like men! Of course not! Those shit-eating fuckers were too scared to get that close! They had to strike me down with a fucking ox hauling a fucking wagon!”

Lan Xichen’s eyes went very wide. Jiang Cheng clicked his tongue leaned back into his hand.

“Whatever. It was ages ago now.”

Lan Xichen covered his mouth with his sleeve and chuckled, to which Jiang Cheng shot him a vicious glare.

“Well, what did Jiang-zongzhu expect from a group of con artists? An honest fight?”

Jiang Cheng dropped his hand and turned his head. “Don’t look so smug. Remind me how many times they conned you. Because I seem to remember it happening more than once.”

Lan Xichen’s smile only deepened. “Of course, Jiang-zongzhu is right. Forgive me.”

Jiang Cheng only grumbled, crossing his arms as Lan Xichen finished his tea.

“It’s no wonder you were so beaten up when I found you in that cellar. I imagine being trampled by an ox was not a pleasant experience.”

“It was fine. Let’s move on.”

Lan Xichen hummed. “If you say so. Though I am curious—did Reminisce show you the cellar as well?”

Jiang Cheng didn’t answer right away. He couldn’t tell what Lan Xichen was thinking, had no idea why he was asking that.

“Yeah,” he responded truthfully.

Lan Xichen’s smile widened further as he set his empty cup on the table. “This leader is jealous,” he admitted. “I like that memory. I wish I’d seen it too.”

Jiang Cheng met his gaze. “You do?”

He nodded, and then they were just staring at each other. Lan Xichen was all smiles, staring like he might take a hungry bite out of Jiang Cheng were he to get too close. He felt like he was sweating buckets beneath his robes, and he was trying very hard not to think about kissing Lan Xichen. But then he looked at Lan Xichen’s mouth, and he was so fucking obvious about it. He met Lan Xichen’s gaze again, which was newly smug, newly provocative.

That look lanced Jiang Cheng like a blade, pinned him to the spot. He couldn’t look away. He needed to look away, to break this lock they had on one another, but he couldn’t. He wanted to kiss Lan Xichen so badly.

Lan Xichen could surely read his mind because he slowly reached out, grabbed the scruff of Jiang Cheng’s robes. And tugged.

“I got so close to you that day,” Lan Xichen whispered, voice low and sensual.

Jiang Cheng’s robes came apart at the top as he was pulled forward, as Lan Xichen’s icy knuckles grazed bare, blazing skin.

“Lan-zongzhu,” he stammered, letting out another laugh, though this one was short, thin, and nervous. Lan Xichen leaned in, paused less than an inch—less than a centimeter from Jiang Cheng’s lips.

Jiang Cheng squeezed his eyes shut, mind melting at their proximity, at Lan Xichen’s words—which he couldn’t begin to process, not like this, not while they were so close, not while every fiber of his being begged to lean in and close that minuscule fucking distance.

Lan Xichen’s other hand closed over Jiang Cheng’s wrist, thumb rubbing back and forth across the underside of it, where his skin was thin and his vein’s bulged.

“I wish I could have seen it again,” Lan Xichen said wistfully.

Jiang Cheng’s lungs squeezed painfully, and he breathed out a sharp but shuddered exhale, tilting his face up the smallest bit, brushing the tip of his nose against Lan Xichen’s, their lips grazing torturously.

Lan Xichen’s smile widened. “If only to see Jiang-zongzhu bound and waiting for me.”

Jiang Cheng went impossibly still. He blinked his eyes open, saw Lan Xichen gazing down with the same fondness—but there was something else too—a desperate, greedy desire Jiang Cheng had never seen on him before, had only ever recognized in himself.

“You—“

Lan Xichen cut him off with a starving kiss. Jiang Cheng gasped at the abruptness of it, erupted in a torrent of heat, his every inch burning white-hot. He tried to keep his balance, but Lan Xichen pressed forward with that fiendish Lan strength and they toppled over. Jiang Cheng landed on his back while Lan Xichen hovered above, pinning him to the floor.

Absurdly, Jiang Cheng’s first thought wasn’t get the fuck off me, you motherfucker! It was of Lan Xichen’s forehead ribbon. Then his own ribbon. Then anything else nearby they could use to bind his wrists.

Get ahold of yourself, you perverse lunatic! he silently admonished himself. His flush deepened. He couldn’t believe where his mind had gone, where it was still going.

He imagined Lan Xichen taking off his forehead ribbon and tightly securing Jiang Cheng’s wrists, hooking them above his head like they’d been in that cellar. His arousal lit like kindling, quick and brutal. He mindlessly spread his legs, bent one knee, slid his thigh up against Lan Xichen’s hip.

If only to see Jiang-zongzhu bound and waiting for me. Another wave of arousal crashed with violent fervor. ’Get the fuck off me, you motherfucker’ was the furthest thing from his mind.

Then Lan Xichen started to pull back, probably wanting to gauge Jiang Cheng’s reaction to being kissed and pinned down, but Jiang Cheng seized his face in one hand and kept him close.

He kissed Lan Xichen like he needed it to breathe, like he’d never be sated, like he belonged here, kissing Lan Xichen, and nowhere else. Lan Xichen kissed him like he’d waited centuries, like he wanted for nothing else in the world, like he needed to relish the taste now or he’d never get another chance to.

He was the ice of the moon against Jiang Cheng’s flaming skin, the soft midnight glow to his scorching sun. Lan Xichen savored, exploring and tasting with happy fervor. Jiang Cheng consumed, stealing air, dragging teeth and biting skin. They were an amalgam of vigor and violence, patience and passion, blending perfectly, fitting perfectly, registering nothing beyond the other.

Until Jiang Cheng felt the backs of his eyes sting curiously, felt his heart squeeze and his body spark. Lan Xichen released Jiang Cheng’s wrist and interlaced their fingers, squeezed his hand; it was as affectionately reassuring as when they kissed before, as fond, as endearing, as loving.

And the realization struck Jiang Cheng like a bolt of lightning.

Fuck.

Fuck.

He didn’t know when his feelings changed, just that they had. Maybe it happened a moment ago, when he’d tried to tell Lan Xichen about Concord but couldn’t.

Or maybe he’d always felt this way. Since he brought Jin Ling to the Gentian House.

I quite like your personality.

Since that first visit to the Cloud Recesses.

Quite a frivolous reason, I’m afraid. I wanted to see you.

Since Lan Xichen smiled at him in the chief cultivator’s office.

I want you to visit Gusu.

And maybe before that. Maybe as far back as the guest lectures eleven years ago. He tried to remember that time but could only recall bits and pieces: a polite introduction, several dozen apologies on behalf of Wei Wuxian, maybe a few of his own apologies too. Lan Xichen had been so patient, so indulging compared to his brother and uncle. Remarkably, the years hadn’t dulled that kindness.

Jiang Cheng further deepened the kiss, savored its softness, its sweetness, sliding his hand back, tangling his fingers in Lan Xichen’s silky hair. He didn’t know how he’d gone this long without realizing what this was, what he felt—though to be fair, he didn’t have anything to compare it to, no reference save Yanli and the peacock, and he’d never understood their relationship anyway. But he thought he had a clearer understanding now, thought he must be feeling something of what she had.

He never imagined things would get this messy, never thought he’d end up being the worst of his own fucking problems, but here he was.

Fuck!

Here he was, kissing Lan Xichen out of something beyond desire, beyond lust, kissing him and knowing he couldn’t have him like this, kissing him despite knowing, kissing him and kissing him and kissing him because there was no one else. He would never kiss anyone else like this. He would never feel for anyone else what he felt for Lan Xichen. This convoluted, torturous amalgam of feeling. Not some perverted desire or deviant attraction. It was more and it was right. How had he ever thought this was sick? This was everything.

Could Lan Xichen see it too? Was he self-aware enough to know—even if his feelings for Jiang Cheng were just a product of Concord—that this wasn’t perverted or sick? That this feeling was cleansing? That it was the most enamored, least embittered Jiang Cheng had felt in his entire life?

Lan Xichen broke the kiss, and their parting was a physical, bone-deep pain. Lan Xichen’s cheeks were pink, eyes half-lidded, his lips curved and red. Jiang Cheng’s heart was filled to bursting with fondness.

It was repose. It was hot tea in the morning. It was shade in the summer. It was bathing in moonlight.

He brushed his thumb along Lan Xichen’s soft, paper pale cheek. And fuck. . .

He loved him so much.

“Jiang Wanyin?” Lan Xichen said, his blissful smile vanishing as he took on quite the concerned countenance. “What is it? What’s wrong?” He brought his hand to Jiang Cheng’s face, and the latter felt something wet smear against his cheek and temple.

He touched his own face, felt a fresh tear track tracing a slick line into his hair, toward his ear.

He was crying?? Fucking perfect! Would he ever stop humiliating himself in front of Lan Xichen?!

He blinked, felt another tear slide down the other cheek. He pulled his other hand away from Lan Xichen’s and quickly wiped both eyes.

“Shit,” he said, “Sorry.”

Lan Xichen sat up, returning Jiang Cheng his space without retreating too far. “Don’t apologize,” he said as Jiang Cheng pushed himself up. “Tell me what’s wrong.”

Jiang Cheng opened his mouth to respond, but what was he supposed to say?

I’m sure your feelings for me aren’t real. I’ve been trying to tell you for ages, but no one’s ever treated me the way you do before so I kept my mouth shut despite knowing how miserable and ashamed you’d feel when you learned the truth because I’m pathetic and terrified of being alone again. I’m also fairly certain I’ve fallen in love with you, which really fucking sucks all things considered.

Obviously he couldn’t say that.

“Have I upset you?” Lan Xichen asked meekly. “Please forgive me. I don’t know what came over me.”

“You haven’t upset me,” Jiang Cheng grumbled. “I’m just. . .” He sighed, rubbing his eyes, which were still hot and sensitive from crying. “You haven’t upset me.”

Lan Xichen looked down, folded his hands in front of himself and bowed where he sat. “Even so, you have my sincerest apologies. It was horrible of me to grab you like I did. To say those things so shamelessly. And to kiss you—without knowing whether or not you even wanted to be kissed. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize to me,” Jiang Cheng said before Lan Xichen had even finished speaking.

“Why not? I was wrong. You were wronged.”

Jiang Cheng felt his eye twitch.

What? Wasn’t Lan Xichen the one who was wronged? Why should he be sorry? Why should he bear any guilt at all when Jiang Cheng caused all this? It was his idea to play Concord, his damnable feelings that had infected the fucker, and his curse (which he’d likely deserved depending on which sorry fuck had slipped him the cursed item) that had driven Lan Xichen to visit Lotus Pier in the first place. No matter how you spun it, Jiang Cheng’s suffering was his own doing, so why in the world was Lan Xichen apologizing??

Ever the righteous Lan, he supposed. Ever the perfect, unassuming jade of his clan. Ever the insufferable, patronizing asshole who couldn’t help but take pity on someone as floundering and destructive and contemptible as Jiang Cheng.

Well, piss off, he thought bitterly. I never asked for your pity and I don’t want your help.

“Don’t apologize to me,” he said again, unable or simply unwilling to hold back his venom. “If you’re leaving, then just go already.”

Lan Xichen was quiet. Jiang Cheng couldn’t bear to look at him. Then he heard the floorboards creak and had to look; Lan Xichen was standing a few paces away.

“That’s what you want?” he asked coolly, though his gaze was trained on the floor.

He didn’t know what to say, couldn’t sort through everything he knew, everything he felt. It was all too much. The look on Lan Xichen’s face was too much. This entire fucking situation was too fucking much.

So, even though it wasn’t what he wanted, even though he wanted Lan Xichen to stay and hold him again until he fell asleep, even though he wanted to wake up next to him, to wake up next to him forever, he was exceedingly overwhelmed and could only grit out, “It is,” because at least if Lan Xichen left, Jiang Cheng could be miserable and overwhelmed alone.

“Okay,” Lan Xichen said, casting Jiang Cheng a small smile which didn’t reach his eyes. “I’ll go. But for the sake of my peace of mind, would Jiang-zongzhu let me check his meridians?”

Jiang Cheng blinked, trying to puzzle out the best response. He didn’t think he could bear Lan Xichen’s reaction if he said no, so he just turned his head away and held out his wrist.

Lan Xichen’s qi was brisk and jarring; Jiang Cheng took a sharp breath, felt his eyes go half-lidded as his meridians were flooded with that icy, cleansing qi. God, it was like being drunk, like embracing Lan Xichen, like the sear of his fingertips on Jiang Cheng’s bare skin, like the heady daze of kissing him.

He tore his wrist away—quicker than Lan Xichen would have liked to be sure. The latter’s cheeks were flushed. Had they been that way before? Or had his mind gone to the same place Jiang Cheng’s had?

He looked away, his own cheeks reddening under Lan Xichen’s scrutiny. “It’s done.”

Lan Xichen was quiet for a few seconds, then he straightened. “Right. Of course,” he stammered. “Forgive me. I’ll just—I’ll go.”

Then he hurried out of the room, leaving Jiang Cheng in a most riotous state of mind.

He dropped his head on the table, clenched his fists in his hair, and gritted out a miserable ”Fuck.”

Chapter Text

Wisteria Groves, Yunping,
one week later

Jiang Cheng pushed aside a vine of hanging wisteria and stepped into the grove. The shift was instantaneous, like a dive off the pier during the height of summer, the lake’s brisk jolt as it lifted sweat off burning skin. He reoriented himself to the swelled density of spiritual energy, felt the grove’s power like a physical presence suspended in every direction. He took a long breath in, then exhaled slow.

After Lan Xichen left Lotus Pier, it’d taken no time at all for Jiang Cheng to cool off and figure out the best and easiest solution to their problem: separation.

Now that he was fairly sure his symptoms were the result of a cursed object polluting his meridians with resentful energy, he could solve this mess himself. He didn’t need Lan Xichen or his clan’s techniques. He was really fucking tired of all their spellbinding, mentally intrusive Purification Tones anyway.

So he sent a letter explaining as much. Then he left Lotus Pier without waiting for a response and made the grueling journey to Yunping.

It wasn’t a long trip, but Jiang Cheng was used to shortening his journeys between cities and provinces by several hours or days with Sandu. Without Sandu, the journey to Yunping had felt very long indeed. He was irritable and tired and only wanted for this whole mess to be over and done with.

If the Wisteria Groves—which were considered the locus of Yunmeng’s cultivation sites, bridging the heavens and the earth, lush with divine and incorruptible spiritual power—couldn’t help Jiang Cheng clear his meridians and weed out whatever hellish object was cursing him, then what the fuck could?? He’d probably have to take up praying to the gods, and what a miserable fucking fate that would be.

He followed the tree line in search of a secluded spot and was surprised to glimpse not a single soul among the wisteria, but he supposed the groves did stretch quite far, and with all the hanging vines and clustering purple blossoms, the path felt rather labyrinthian.

After an incense time, he stopped at the edge of the forest, where a still river cut across the grove like a fresh wound. Wisteria closed him in on all sides, their lengthy branches stretching out over the river like rods hanging swathes upon swathes of pleated mauve curtains, and just beyond the tree line were steep-sloping foothills basing the high mountains of Yunping.

He doubted he’d find a more secluded spot than this, so he settled on the other side of the river and let the water further separate him from the rest of the grove.

He sat at the base of a thick-trunked wisteria just a meter or so from the river bank, savored the temperate breeze as it lifted his bangs and grazed the sun-warmed skin of his cheeks. He inhaled the delicate aroma of the grove, a pleasant blend of flowers and freshwater, noticed a thin layer of bright green moss floating atop the river’s edges; the color was a stark contrast to the varying shades of purple reflected in the water’s stagnant center.

He exhaled. It really was peaceful here, ideally atmospheric. A perfect calm enveloped him, and despite himself, he prayed to the gods this feeling would remain.

Jiang Cheng managed a few hours of blissful meditative cultivation before things went south. He’d done an excellent job thus far of putting Concord and Lan Xichen out of his mind, but of course that fucker could never stay out of Jiang Cheng’s head for very long, so when the sun set and dusk fell across the grove, he couldn’t help but wonder whether or not Lan Xichen had gotten his message and what he must be thinking now.

Jiang Cheng felt a pit form in his stomach. Even after everything, he’d still been incapable of telling Lan Xichen about Concord. How vile of him to keep it a secret. How exploitative. How pathetic.

But maybe it was better to keep his distance, to take the initiative and cut things off cold-turkey instead. Wasn’t that mutually beneficial? If Lan Xichen never found out the truth behind Concord, maybe he’d never have to feel the same misery and shame that Jiang Cheng did. Sure, he’d be sad for a bit, but he’d get over it. What was he losing anyway? Wasn’t it better to let distance clear his head? Let it cure him of Jiang Cheng’s corrupting influence? Of Concord’s spell? Wasn’t it kinder that way?

Kinder for whom?

Jiang Cheng started, jolting out of his distracted meditation. He knew that voice was only in his head, knew it as well as he knew his mother’s ceaseless, looming presence wasn’t real. Still, he couldn’t help the cold sweat that spread down his back at hearing Jiang Fengmian’s low, even tone for the first time in a decade.

Kinder for him? Or for you?

He let out a long breath. It was just the curse’s resentful energy manifesting. Of course, it had never manifested like this before, but things worked differently in the Wisteria Groves. Yes, one’s cultivation could improve exponentially here, but the reverse was also true. With such a thin veil between the earth and the heavens, all energies, both pure and resentful, were elevated. If he let that voice in, let it manipulate and deceive him, he may very well make his symptoms worse.

He unhooked Sandu from his belt, laid it across his lap, He held his clarity bell, still tied to the sword hilt, between his palms, trying to cleanse any built up resentment or pollution clogging his meridians.

How vile. How pathetic.

Now that sounded like his mother.

Jiang Cheng pursed his lips into a thin line, tried the breathing technique Lan Xichen taught him all those months ago when they visited the Cold Springs. Long breath in, hold it, long exhale.

Filth. How can you live with yourself, shaming us like you have?

He palmed the clarity bell, held it close to his heart.

Do you understand what’s unsightly about your actions, A-Cheng? This was his father again. If you follow this path of deviance, allow yourself to be defiled so wickedly, then you cannot possibly understand our clan’s creed.

He knew this wasn’t real. He knew the curse was only recycling things his father had already said to him, blending those memories with his current turmoil. He knew that.

And still he couldn’t stop himself from biting back.

“What do you know?!” he barked. “If you’re so clever, why’d you go and get yourself killed?!”

Hot-headed. Would that idiot Wei Wuxian snap at your father like that? You must be an even worse idiot than he is, said Yu Ziyuan.

Jiang Cheng covered his ears. It didn’t help.

But at least you’re alive. Even if that Wei Wuxian beat you at every turn, he couldn’t outlive you, could he?

“Shut up.”

Neither could your poor sister. I told A-Li Wei Wuxian was no good, but did she listen? His mother clicked her tongue. No. Got herself and Jin Zixuan killed because of it.

“It wasn’t her fault!” he barked, furious beyond words.

His mother scoffed. A-Li always favored Wei Wuxian over you. Why defend her?

A-Cheng, called his father. Jiang Cheng looked up, and there he was, exactly how he’d been the last time Jiang Cheng had seen him—same indifferent, glazed eyes, same rigid posture and slightly curled lip, like he couldn’t quite hide his distaste. Where is Wei Ying?

Jiang Cheng’s eyes widened. Then he scowled. “Piss off. You’re dead. This isn’t real.”

Jiang Cheng! his father bellowed. Where is Wei Ying! What did you— he broke off, looking horrified. What did you do to him?

A bony hand slid over Jiang Cheng’s shoulder, squeezed too hard. What a fool. Tell him what you did to that pest, Wei Wuxian. Tell him what you did.

“I didn’t.”

What did you do to him? Jiang Fengmian asked again, sounding grieved.

He killed him, hissed Yu Ziyuan.

Jiang Cheng shook his head. “I didn’t,” he repeated. “I didn’t! A-Die—“

Silence!

He had more to say, but at his father’s furious stare—his father, who was always so even-tempered, so docile—he zipped his mouth shut.

Oh no, crooned his mother, To think he could dislike you any more than he already does.

How could A-Cheng be so heartless?

He thinks you’re heartless. He thinks you’re a monster.

“Just piss off,” said Jiang Cheng, squeezing his palms tighter over his.

He doesn’t like you. You have an ugly personality. He hates you. You’re too much like me.

He shook his head. “I don’t care!”

That Lan-zongzhu must think you’re just as reprehensible. He’s too much like him. She cocked her head toward Jiang Fengmian.

“He doesn’t,” Jiang Cheng argued weakly.

Who could like a personality like yours? his father piped up.

Surely not a Lan, said his mother.

Surely not, agreed his father. Who could love someone as vile as you? A murderer who slaughtered his own brother?

Our poor A-Cheng. Unloveable. So lonely he had to bewitch a man into loving him. Of course, no one would otherwise.

“Shut up!”

Is she wrong? asked his father.

Jiang Cheng didn’t respond because she wasn’t wrong. He had bewitched Lan Xichen. Not on purpose, not with those things in mind, but he had done it. And who could say whether or not he was thinking about those things subconsciously. Maybe he was lonelier than he realized. Maybe Concord had picked up on that.

You’ll ruin A-Li’s boy at this rate, said Jiang Fengmian.

No mother or father. Just you. Yu Ziyuan then addressed her husband, Your legacy’s gone to the dogs.

Jiang Cheng breathed a relieved chuckle. Despite their comments, he actually felt comforted when he thought of Jin Ling. He clung to the specter of his nephew, held his clarity bell close to cleanse his qi. He thought of Jin Ling’s gap-toothed smile, his silly laugh, his cleverness, thought of how much he resembled Yanli, her heart and her kindness.

A moment later, his curse symptoms intensified exponentially, as though the curse itself recognized his brief moment of calm and had determined to utterly obliterate it. His mind fogged over, his vision blurred at the edges, his limbs felt unruly and weak. The voices of his parents were replaced with unintelligible murmurs all around, a high-pitched ringing, the crackling buzz of swarming insects.

He lurched forward, ears and face hot, sweat beading at his brow, along his hair line. He retched into the grass. Pain pierced his skull as he heaved and heaved. When at last it seemed his stomach was empty, he lugged himself to the river’s shore to rinse his mouth.

Everything was so loud. Why was everything so loud?

He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to regulate his breathing, circulate his qi. He couldn’t know how long he sat there, crouched at the shore, soaking up the grove’s enhanced spiritual energy and struggling to suppress the curse’s effects.

When had he become so weak? If anyone else saw him like this, he’d lose all respect as a sect leader and clan head. Pitiful. Pathetic. He was Sandu Shengshou for Heaven’s sake! Not Chifeng-zun! And certainly not the Yiling fucking Patriarch! He didn’t cultivate with resentful energy, so why was it consuming him?!

He thought he might retch again but managed to suppress the nausea with what had to be dozens upon dozens of deep breaths. He rose to his knees after who knows how fucking long and scanned the small patch of grass and stone, saw something dart across his peripherals. His gaze followed the figure, caught sight of if for just a moment before it darted off again in a blur of white, red, and pink.

He squinted, thought of the Qishan Wen Clan’s colors—white and red—remembered the pink sparks of energy which flashed from Wen Zhuliu’s palm.

He summoned Zidian, and the whip cracked to life in a shower of purple sparks, bathing the still forest in a flickering purple glow.

He shuddered, had to remind himself that Wen Zhuliu was dead.

Wen Zhuliu was dead. Jiang Cheng knew that. He was dead.

He was dead.

Fuck, he was dead, wasn’t he?

Suddenly, Jiang Cheng couldn’t remember. He couldn’t remember a damn thing.

He pushed himself to a stand, leaned against the trunk of the nearest wisteria, and scanned the tree line. What was he doing here again? Was he cultivating? If he was just cultivating, why did he feel so terrible?

Something snapped. He whipped his head toward the sound, spotted a red and white blur. That was supposed to be someone. Dammit, he just had the name a few seconds ago. What the hell was going on with him?

Another snap. Something was moving around behind the trees, but his fucking eyes weren’t working right. He blinked again and again. The world had fogged over save the very center of his vision. And his ears were still ringing and buzzing like mad.

He summoned Sandu and launched the sword back and forth in every direction, severing blossoms and scarring the trees. Every time he heard leaves rustling or twigs snapping, he attacked, ruthless and imprecise, ceaseless.

He was breathing hard. His lungs ached, and sweat clung to his forehead and temples. But what would happen if he stopped? Something was coming after him. He knew it. He knew it. He couldn’t stop.

Zidian and Sandu cracked and sliced and struck and cleaved through the wisteria around him, shredding this small patch of forest to ribbons.

It didn’t feel like very long at all, minutes maybe, and yet the fucking sun was rising.

How?

He exhaled a shuddered, exhausted breath, leaned against the marred trunk of the nearest wisteria, then sank to his knees.

Something was grievously wrong with him. He might—he thought. . .

Fuck, he couldn’t think at all. Ideas and images swirled and rippled and ruptured before his eyes, behind his eyes—inside them. He was going mad. He was mad. He was dying. He couldn’t fucking be dying.

What about Jin Ling?

Someone called his name. His heart dropped.

“The fuck’s there??” he hissed, to which the forest went suddenly, eerily quiet. It hadn’t ceased its screaming all this fucking time, but now the entire world was mute??

The same voice called out from behind him. Close. Very close. He jumped up, shoved away from the tree, and took a fighting stance. He didn’t know where Sandu was, but Zidian crackled like fire in his palm.

His heart raced as the silence swallowed him whole.

A hand seized his shoulder. He jerked away.

He knew it. He knew it.

The voice spoke again, but he couldn’t concentrate long enough to comprehend whatever the fuck was said.

He struck out with Zidian. It felt like lashing himself. He didn’t care. He struck out again. Zidian cracked against a wisteria tree. He heard the wood splinter, watched bark fly. He hadn’t meant to attack the tree. Or. . . wait, had he?

He blinked, rubbing his eyes as the world tilted beneath him. He swayed on his feet, felt someone touch the small of his back. He twisted away, striking that spot with Zidian before tripping over his goddamned feet and only just catching himself on the wisteria’s trunk.

The voice said something else he didn’t fucking understand.

“Piss off.”

He cracked Zidian in a random direction. He didn’t even know where he was attacking anymore. His vision was a collage of purples, grays, and blues—and the occasional, villainous flash of white.

Then Zidian retracted on its own. He tried to call the weapon back, but it refused him.

Faintly, he heard music, the squeal of some high-pitched wind instrument. The sound grated against his ears, and he covered both with his palms. Nausea surged up his throat. He gagged, knees buckling, head booming. He went to his knees, doubled over until his forehead tapped the ground.

“Stop,” he chocked out, the notes vibrating his bones, his teeth, his every firing nerve. “Fuck! Stop!”

The music died away, and Jiang Cheng took in a shuddered breath, exhaled a sob. There were hands on his shoulders, trying to pull him upright. He flinched away violently, and his back struck the trunk of the wisteria.

“Jiang Wanyin,” someone called. Jiang Cheng knew that voice. He knew it so well, knew it like nothing else—so why couldn’t he place it? “You’re qi deviating. I need to clear your meridians, but you must calm down first.”

He blinked a few times, trying to make sense of the image before him, but it was like looking at nothing. Why was it like looking at nothing? He could clearly see the man crouched in front of him—he knew his face, his voice. Why couldn’t he think of a name? Fuck, he really was dying, wasn’t he?

“Wanyin, please.”

Where was Sandu? Jiang Cheng felt for the sword hilt, but it wasn’t at his belt. He raised his middle and index fingers, meaning to call the sword, but a hand seized his wrist, pinned it above his head and against the trunk. Panic roiled through him, poisoned him from the inside out.

”It’s me,” the voice, the white blur, the man—said. He was sterner now, concern written in the tones of his voice and the lines of his face. “It’s Lan-zongzhu. Lan Xichen.”

That meant nothing to him. He needed to get away. He was dying. He would die alone. He needed to get the fuck away.

Then, as if knowing exactly what he planned, another hand grabbed his jaw, holding it in place. A pair of soft lips met his, and a subsequent torrent of icy qi swelled his burning meridians. He grunted at the shock of it, the sound muffled against the other’s mouth.

He knew this qi. Why couldn’t he place it? Why couldn’t he place anything?

The hand pinning his wrist to the tree pulled back, then pressed its palm against Jiang Cheng’s sternum, doubling the foreign qi’s output. He felt filled to bursting with it.

He dug his hands into the dirt, lodging soil and silt beneath his fingernails. He didn’t know what was happening. His mind was lost to him. Sense was lost. He didn’t know anything except this absurd fucking moment. He was being kissed, and he was sure he’d kissed this person before because he found himself parting his lips, his teeth without thinking, kissing back.

Absurd fucking moment.

The feeling consumed him. It devoured him whole, and the void of being devoured this way was so familiar. He wanted this. He wanted it so badly he couldn’t breathe. He wanted to be touched and kissed and held forever. He wanted to be devoured by this feeling over and over and over again. He wanted Lan Xichen to want him this way too, to crave him the same way, to be devoured as viciously and as wonderfully as he devoured Jiang Cheng.

Lan Xichen. Lan Xichen.

Heat scored Jiang Cheng’s tongue like freshly brewed tea, intoxicated him like plum wine and filled his mouth with a taste as sweet as lotus seeds. He met that sweetness with violence, deepening the kiss, grabbing Lan Xichen by the back of the head, sliding his other hand beneath the collar of his robes, biting down on his bottom lip. Lan Xichen’s resulting groan was suffused with pain and pleasure in equal measure, and Jiang Cheng swallowed down every blissed-out note.

“Jiang—“ the former started, pulling back, but Jiang Cheng was adamant. He tightened his grip, fingers tangling in Lan Xichen’s hair as he closed the short distance and resumed their kiss. It was everything. He needed Lan Xichen closer. He was desperate. He needed this. He needed him.

He could hardly breathe for how aggressively he kissed, but the tightening in his lungs, the needling numbness at his fingertips cemented him, grounded him. His parents were dead. Wen Zhuliu was dead. He was with Lan Xichen. He was with Lan Xichen.

Fuck—this was real, wasn’t it?

He unconsciously hugged Lan Xichen closer, arm sliding over his shoulder while the other curled around his head.

He never told Lan Xichen he was coming here. How had he known? Jiang Cheng never even hinted in his letter that he’d be leaving Lotus Pier. So, how was Lan Xichen here?

Unless this wasn’t him. Unless Jiang Cheng was hallucinating again.

Panic cut across him like a sword glare, and he desperately tried to untangle himself from Lan Xichen. The latter quickly realized what he was trying to do and broke their kiss. Both breathed heavily, cheeks flushed as they stared at one another. Lan Xichen still had a hand on Jiang Cheng’s chest, effectively pinning him against the wisteria, while the other hand held his face.

Jiang Cheng blinked his eyes closed, squeezed them tight while he attempted to ground himself in reality.

“Jiang-zongzhu, are you lucid?”

No. He was decidedly not lucid. He pushed at Lan Xichen, face twisting with panic and fury, but the latter didn’t budge. It was like pushing a wall. He tried to pull Lan Xichen’s hand away from his chest but only succeeded in getting him to withdraw the other from his face.

“Get away from me,” he hissed.

“Wanyin,” Lan Xichen said, gently taking one of Jiang Cheng’s hands in his own. “Please calm down. Your qi is volatile, and I don’t know if I’ll be able to reverse a second deviation.”

A qi deviation? Is that really what was happening? No. No. He couldn’t accept that. What had he done wrong?

He nearly called this hallucinated version of Lan Xichen a liar, but if he’d been hallucinating all this time—well, wasn’t that consistent with a qi deviation? Hearing voices, seeing ghosts, bouts of severe paranoia. And hadn’t all those doctors warned him of this very thing, told him that if he didn’t regulate his qi he’d deviate?

He felt his breathing pick up, and he tried to calm himself down, but he still didn’t know if Lan Xichen was real or a hallucination. He was starting to think it was the former but couldn’t reconcile that with everything else he knew about this situation.

“I. . .” Lan Xichen went on, trailing for a few seconds before finding the right words. “I’m sorry, Jiang-zongzhu. I couldn’t get through to you, and that was the most effective method for transferring qi. Forgive me.”

Was he apologizing for the kiss? Jiang Cheng couldn’t imagine his own mind coming up with something so ridiculous.

He cast Lan Xichen a skeptical look. “Are you. . . actually here?”

Lan Xichen’s brow furrowed. Then he nodded. “I am. I assure you I am.” He funneled even more qi through Jiang Cheng’s sternum. It felt very real indeed. Jiang Cheng breathed a frosty sigh of relief, then he grabbed Lan Xichen’s wrist a second time, tried to pull it back.

“You don’t have to,” he said. “Don’t waste your energy.”

Lan Xichen’s shoulders sagged with relief, like the rejection had been enough to convince him Jiang Cheng wasn’t mad with polluted qi. “It is no waste,” he said resolutely, keeping his palm firmly in place.

“Lan-zongzhu. . .” Jiang Cheng began, but he didn’t know what to say. What could he say? How could he ever find the words to properly express how grateful he was, how confused and glad and afraid and conflicted? It was an impossible task, so he settled for, “How did you find me?”

Lan Xichen started to respond, but Jiang Cheng cut him off.

“Wait,” he said, suddenly breathless and dizzy. He doubled over to the right of Lan Xichen—whose hand never left his sternum, never ceased feeding his meridians—and retched tainted blood into the grass.

Chapter Text

𖥧 𓃹 𖥧 𓃹 𖥧 𓃹 𖥧

Wisteria Groves,
Chen time

Lan Xichen brushed Jiang Cheng’s hair away from his face as he violently spat tainted blood into the grass. He hacked until his lungs ached, until his ribs and throat were sore, until the ground and a bit of Lan Xichen’s robes were stained red.

“Here,” the latter said, fishing a canteen out of his qiankun sleeve.

Jiang Cheng accepted the canteen gratefully and took a large sip, swishing the water around before spitting into the dirt. Lan Xichen passed him a white handkerchief, which he must have also retrieved from his sleeve, and Jiang Cheng used the canteen to soak it before he wiped the blood from his mouth and chin, staining this, too, crimson.

“Thanks,” he croaked, voice hoarse from coughing. “And sorry.”

Lan Xichen, whose palm was still pressed to Jiang Cheng’s chest, didn’t bother capping the canteen before he set it aside. “No need to apologize,” he said evenly. His eyes were trained on his palm, but his body was angled to the side, away from Jiang Cheng’s. The position didn’t look comfortable, but nothing about Lan Xichen looked comfortable. In fact, he looked supremely uncomfortable.

Jiang Cheng wanted to keel over and die.

“Please save your energy, Lan-zongzhu,” he urged, barely above a whisper. “You’ll exhaust yourself.”

“Nonsense.”

Jiang Cheng didn’t agree, but he didn’t have it in him to argue. “How did you find me?” he asked again.

“Later. Just relax.”

He couldn’t. His emotions were a roaring conflagration he’d no hope of extinguishing.

Lan Xichen sat facing Jiang Cheng, but he seemed like he was trying to keep as much distance between them as possible without removing his hand from the other’s chest.

Jiang Cheng couldn’t even look him in the eye. Not after every horrible thing he’d said and done the last time they saw each other. Not after he’d driven Lan Xichen away, made him think he was the one in the wrong here and not Jiang Cheng.

He scooted closer until their knees touched, then hunched forward and dropped his forehead onto Lan Xichen’s shoulder.

“Forgive me,” he rasped.

Lan Xichen stilled, then relaxed, bringing his other hand up and bunching it in the back of Jiang Cheng’s robe.

“No need.”

Jiang Cheng huffed, and Lan Xichen leaned his jaw against his temple.

“I’ll apologize properly,” said Jiang Cheng, the quiet, breathy cadence of his voice betraying his exhaustion, “when I’m not spent.”

“There is no need, Jiang-zongzhu.”

“Stop saying that.”

Lan Xichen adjusted the position of his head, burrowing Jiang Cheng farther into the crook of his neck.

“Your qi is not clearing as easily as it usually does. I would try Cleansing, but I don’t have my guqin. Maybe I could try it on Liebing, though it wasn’t composed for the xiao. . .” he mused to himself.

“It’s fine,” said Jiang Cheng. “Don’t trouble yourself.”

“Turn around.”

“What?”

“If that’s okay,” Lan Xichen amended quickly. “I want to increase my qi output.”

“No,” Jiang Cheng said, straightening up to meet the other’s gaze. “I don’t want it. Keep your qi.”

Again he tried to pull Lan Xichen’s hand away from his sternum, and this time, it very nearly worked. Lan Xichen faltered, and his output lightened significantly. Jiang Cheng’s eyelids fluttered shut. The loss of Lan Xichen’s qi was harsh and jarring, barely tolerable after minutes of blissful relief. He couldn’t help wincing. Lan Xichen’s hand held firm, resuming its deluge of spiritual energy.

Jiang Cheng sighed, too exhausted to put up more of a fight. He slumped forward, resting his forehead on Lan Xichen’s shoulder again. He barely noticed when Lan Xichen moved him, angling his torso until he was practically lounging back against Lan Xichen’s chest.

Jiang Cheng was reminded of their last Reminisce session, how it had ended with him dazed and half-asleep, clinging to Lan Xichen like he was the softest thing in the world.

Lan Xichen had his hand wrapped around Jiang Cheng’s abdomen, transferring qi through his chest, while the other slid up his collar, cool fingertips finding his neck, coiling around it.

Jiang Cheng grabbed his sleeve in alarm. “Lan-zongzhu—“

“It’s okay,” Lan Xichen cut him off, instantly lightening his already feather-light touch. A slow torrent of qi bled into the meridians running up and down Jiang Cheng’s neck, blending with what Lan Xichen was already pumping into his heart.

His grip on his sleeve loosened, and the tension in his muscles eased.

“Sorry,” Lan Xichen whispered near Jiang Cheng’s ear. “I should have warned you.”

“It’s fine.”

Lan Xichen adjusted his hips, stretched his legs out to either side of Jiang Cheng, allowing the latter even closer.

He hated being held like this. He loved being held like this. He hated loving it. He hated being so vulnerable, that he’d been made so weak by something virtually invisible. He hated that Lan Xichen had seen it all. He hated that he could have died had Lan Xichen never found him. Would he ever stop being so damn useless? Would he ever stop needing Lan Xichen?

“Don’t you think that’s enough?” he asked. “If you keep at this, how are you supposed to fly home?”

“No need to worry.”

“That’s not a real answer, dick.”

“It’s working, isn’t it? Jiang-zongzhu’s back to his usual self.”

“Piss off. I’m getting up.”

Jiang Cheng put a hand on either of Lan Xichen’s knees and tried to push himself up. Thus far, Lan Xichen had been stern about maintaining contact, keeping up a consistent flow of energy, but he’d also been wary of making Jiang Cheng uncomfortable (a result of Jiang Cheng’s harsh words when they last parted to be sure).

This time, however, Lan Xichen didn’t seem concerned with that at all. He held Jiang Cheng in place, and encircled as he was in Lan Xichen’s arms, he imagined that even if he wasn’t suffering from curse exposure and felt perfectly energized, he still wouldn’t be able to break free of this.

Lan Xichen’s voice was a hypnotic purr in his ear: “No.”

This normally would have—it should have—triggered Jiang Cheng’s fight or flight, but he felt a far worse sensation roiling from his heart. . . down. Especially when Lan Xichen’s long fingers, his wide palm tightened around Jiang Cheng’s neck.

It was his tied wrists all over again.

If only to see Jiang-zongzhu bound and waiting for me.

His heart was racing now, cheeks heating to an absurd fucking degree. He should not be reacting this way to another man holding him still and telling him no.

“Sorry,” Lan Xichen apologized (his lilting, teasing tone, however, severely undermined the sentiment), “but stopping now may make Jiang-zongzhu worse.”

“It’s fine,” Jiang Cheng stammered, trying to compose himself.

“Your heart is racing. Are you sure?”

His cheeks burned hotter. “Yes. Piss off.”

“It really is me,” Lan Xichen assured. “How can I convince you I’m real?”

“Shut up. I know it’s you.”

“Then why. . .” His voice suddenly turned chipper, “Oh.” Jiang Cheng ground his teeth. “Don’t tell me Jiang-zongzhu is simply enjoying—“

He cut Lan Xichen off, “Do not finish whatever perverted thing you were about to say!”

Lan Xichen chuckled, and without halting the flow of his qi, he slid his hand a little farther up Jiang Cheng’s neck. The latter went rigid as Lan Xichen extended his thumb, hooking it over Jiang Cheng’s chin, fingers and palm still curled dangerously around his throat.

He wasn’t aggressive, but he was quick as he turned Jiang Cheng’s neck and head until they were eye-to-eye.

The abruptness of it—even though Jiang Cheng had expected Lan Xichen would do something like that—shocked a quiet gasp from him. His heart beat more vigorously.

Be still, he urged. It did not listen; rather, it sped up. Lan Xichen was leaning in, bringing their lips a hair’s breadth apart before tilting Jiang Cheng’s head to the side, drawing close to his ear.

“There’s another way to cleanse your qi,” he whispered, voice villainously sensual.

Jiang Cheng didn’t trust himself to speak, so he only hummed, “Hm?” It didn’t come across nonchalant at all. Lan Xichen absorbed him, and he was surely, keenly aware of it.

“Mhm,” he hummed back (the villain). “And it should put your concerns for my spent energy to rest.”

“What is it?” he asked, forcing a near-evenness to his words.

“We’ll share our qi.”

Jiang Cheng furrowed his brow.

Oh. Oh. “You mean—“

Lan Xichen pulled Jiang Cheng’s face back and kissed him. Jiang Cheng melted into it, parting his lips and the wall of his teeth instantly. It was an automatic response, one which he didn’t fight. He kissed back as Lan Xichen fed his meridians at every point of contact, felt as though he were consuming Lan Xichen, inhaling his smell, stealing his qi, devouring him from the inside out.

But it was too much. Jiang Cheng grunted, pushing at Lan Xichen’s chest and collar as a chill bracketed his spine. They parted, and Jiang Cheng took several deep breaths as though he’d nearly been drowned, shivered as though buried beneath a thick blanket of snow.

“Send it back,” Lan Xichen said, glancing at the hand Jiang Cheng still had pressed against Lan Xichen’s clavicle.

Jiang Cheng blinked as he dazedly composed himself. Then he scowled. He didn’t like Lan Xichen telling him what to do, didn’t like Lan Xichen thinking he would obey just because of the position he was in (both literally and figuratively).

Even so, he did it—but he did it none too gently, shoving Lan Xichen’s gifted spiritual energy back into him with all the force of a gut punch.

Lan Xichen breathed a loud sigh, eyes screwing shut. Jiang Cheng immediately pulled his hand away, and the former’s eyes blinked open.

“I’m not cursing you, am I?” he asked, feeling guilty. He’d all but forgotten his own spiritual energy was tainted to hell.

Lan Xichen shook his head, ran his thumb over Jiang Cheng’s chin. “No. It felt nice.”

Jiang Cheng felt a spark of arousal jolt through him like lightning. He dropped his gaze back to Lan Xichen’s collar, pressing his palm to the thick fabric of his outer robe. His next thought intruded upon his function faster than his good sense could filter it out—he slid his fingertips beneath Lan Xichen’s outer robe, then his inner robe, burrowing beneath every layer until skin found bare, wintry skin.

He felt himself burn even hotter, but he couldn’t just pull his hand away now. That would come across. . . well, he didn’t know really, but it couldn’t be good.

He funneled qi into Lan Xichen’s meridians, slowly this time, as gentle as Lan Xichen had (for the most part) been with him. He felt their spiritual energies blur together, felt as though they were blurring together.

He glanced back up. Lan Xichen was staring at him, cheeks flushed an obscene shade, face slightly down-turned, gaze half-lidded and glazed with want. Jiang Cheng’s heart stuttered violently at that look, that unambiguously lustful look.

Then Lan Xichen was angling Jiang Cheng’s face and kissing him again, flooding him with qi. Jiang Cheng tentatively returned it, unable or unwilling to match Lan Xichen’s generous deluge.

“More,” the latter breathed between kisses. “Give me as much as you can spare.”

Jiang Cheng increased his output, and Lan Xichen smiled into the kiss, hummed a pleased and muffled moan, which rattled Jiang Cheng to his very core.

He remembered the first time Lan Xichen had cleared his meridians, how good it felt, how he’d reacted. It was no small thing. Especially now, as their blended qi circulated between them like they were one entity, endlessly intertwined. It was a new and ascended level of intimacy which could only deepen Jiang Cheng’s fondness for Lan Xichen, his attachment to him, his love. It was dangerous. It was intoxicating. It was addicting.

It was. . .

How vile. How pathetic.

That Lan-zongzhu must think you’re just as reprehensible.

Our poor A-Cheng. Unloveable. So lonely he had to bewitch a man into loving him. Of course, no one would otherwise.

Who could love someone as vile as you?

Jiang Cheng tore his hand away from Lan Xichen’s chest. “Stop—“ he choked out. “Stop, I—“ but Lan Xichen had already loosened his hold. Jiang Cheng covered his mouth and gagged, untangling himself from Lan Xichen as quickly as possible. He choked, throat clogged with something. He only managed to scramble a few feet away before he hacked up another mouthful of tainted blood.

Fuck, it was foul, tasted like spoiled meat—rotten through with thick pockets of congealed blood.

He beat his fist against his sternum, trying to dislodge anything else built up in his throat. After a few seconds, he coughed up more blood.

“Are you all right?” Lan Xichen asked from where they’d both been sitting a moment ago. He hadn’t moved at all.

Jiang Cheng leaned back on his knees. His throat felt clear (though his stomach churned despite being empty). His mouth tasted fucking awful. He spit into the dirt.

“Fine,” he rasped. His back was to Lan Xichen; he didn’t turn.

“What happened just now?” Lan Xichen asked, sounding wary and. . . annoyed? No. Surely Jiang Cheng was misinterpreting his tone.

“Blood,” he replied vaguely.

“Before the blood. What was that?”

Jiang Cheng knit his brow. He cast a tentative look over his shoulder. “What do you mean?” he asked, uneasy. Lan Xichen’s expression didn’t help. It was dark—angry.

Jiang Cheng mindlessly thumbed Zidian.

“Vile,” said Lan Xichen. “Lonely. Pathetic. Unloveable. What was that, Jiang Wanyin?”

Jiang Cheng’s pupils shrank to dots. How? How? They were kissing! There was no way he’d said those things out loud!

But he had been sharing his qi. In fact, part of the reason he’d pulled away from Lan Xichen so violently was because he’d felt the curse’s residual energy building and spreading to Lan Xichen.

Could he really have gotten all that from just a moment’s slip?

His question had rendered Jiang Cheng speechless, so he asked again: “What was it?”

Jiang Cheng felt cornered. Why did Lan Xichen look so angry? How had things soured so quickly?

He looked forward. “I don’t know,” he said, because he couldn’t tell the truth, couldn’t just say, I hallucinated my parents before you got here and they called me those things—except my real parents never would have said any of that, not really, which means I was just calling myself unloveable and vile and—

For fuck’s sake—how pathetic could he be? He’d already been wallowing in his own misery all this time, feeling sorry for himself without doing shit about it. He sure as fuck wasn’t about to add another layer of pitiful on top of the mounting fucking pity Lan Xichen already felt toward him.

No. He absolutely wouldn’t do that.

“You don’t know?“ Lan Xichen asked, and when Jiang Cheng yet again refused to respond, he laughed, clipped and mirthless. “Jiang Wanyin. You are not as discreet as you think.”

What was that supposed to mean?!

Jiang Cheng balled his hands into tight fists. He spotted Sandu lying in the grass a few yards away, and so, making the decision to leave rather than puzzle out whatever the fuck was happening here, he pushed himself to a stand and made for the discarded sword.

“You’re leaving?” Lan Xichen piped up as Jiang Cheng grabbed Sandu and looped it through his belt.

“Are you surprised?” he asked flatly. He wouldn’t wait around for Lan Xichen’s response—but before he’d made it even two steps, Lan Xichen swept in front of him like a nasty gust of wind, completely blocking his path forward.

“You can’t.”

Jiang Cheng squinted, confused and mildly unsettled. “Are you going to stop me?” he asked bitterly.

Lan Xichen curled his lip. It was an odd look on him, irregular but not unnatural. “If you go alone, you could have another qi deviation.”

Jiang Cheng huffed, rolling his eyes. “Ever the righteous Lan.”

”Jiang Cheng.”

Oh, he really hated that tone of voice, hated this uncharacteristic coldness—especially hated how well it suited Lan Xichen, how fucking familiar it was.

“Don’t call me that,” he sneered, then tried to skirt around Lan Xichen, but the latter moved to block him again, so Jiang Cheng barreled past, shoving Lan Xichen’s shoulder with his own.

A hand seized his wrist, and he twisted around furiously. ”Let go, Lan Xichen!”

“What is with you?” he asked, stunned. His lip twitched, and Jiang Cheng really couldn’t tell if he was angry or just hurt.

Grow up. If he was as angry as he seemed, then why was he being so stubborn about this? He obviously knew Jiang Cheng well enough by now; if he’d expected a different reaction to being cornered, then it was his own fault for getting attached to a rose-tinted version of Jiang Cheng that didn’t fucking exist.

“If you’re pissed, then fuck off and go be pissed,” Jiang Cheng cursed, aggressively trying to pull his wrist free.

“Do you want to qi deviate?”

“Of course not!”

“Then why are you acting like this?”

Jiang Cheng clenched his jaw, hissed through gritted teeth, “Why do you think?”

Lan Xichen’s eyes went a little wider, then narrowed to slits. He tightened his grip. “What did I do?” he asked abruptly. “Why did you run me off last week? Why did you send that letter? What changed?”

Enough of this. Jiang Cheng was tired of tip-toeing around Lan Xichen. He couldn’t stand it anymore.

“Nothing!” he hissed. “Nothing’s fucking changed! I’m the same! It’s your own fault for thinking—“ he broke off with a sneer, “—for thinking whatever we’ve been doing would suddenly change that! You already tried and failed to fix my shitty personality, remember? So, what makes you think it could be any different now?!”

Lan Xichen’s expression changed, replacing his hurt and anger with an icy indifference. Jiang Cheng couldn’t stand it. He thought of what his “mother” had said: that Lan-zongzhu must think you’re just as reprehensible. He’s too much like your father.

“Let me go,” Jiang Cheng demanded, suddenly overwhelmed. Anger swelled painfully behind his sternum, threatening to tear through with ruthless imprecision.

“Every time I think I have you figured out,” Lan Xichen said, further tightening his grip (Jiang Cheng’s bones were grinding painfully), “you say something like that and prove me wrong. It’s infuriating. I can’t read you. I thought I could read you.”

Jiang Cheng didn’t respond. He thought Lan Xichen could read him too.

Without letting go of Jiang Cheng’s arm, he called Shuoyue from its sheath. Alarm bells echoed like gongs in Jiang Cheng’s head. He tried harder to tug his hand back, and Lan Xichen shot him an impatient look, which fell when he saw Jiang Cheng’s panic.

“I’m not. . .” he started, then shook his head. “You really don’t trust anyone, do you? You think everyone’s out to get you.”

Jiang Cheng was baffled. Was he really asking that?

“Aren’t they?!” he snapped. “You can’t say you’ve never been betrayed, so don’t stand there and accuse me of being paranoid over nothing!”

“But it’s me!” Lan Xichen shouted—which Jiang Cheng had begun to believe impossible. “After everything—not just with the visits and helping with your curse—everything, you still don’t trust me? Why not?”

“I wouldn’t have done those things with you if you weren’t—if you hadn’t. . .” Jiang Cheng hissed through his teeth. Guilt swarmed him like a vortex, dragged him under like a vacuum.

But his fury had always been unrivaled and utterly calamitous.

Lan Xichen had no right to interrogate him like this. It wasn’t Jiang Cheng’s responsibility to suddenly change who he was because Lan Xichen wanted to be his friend. So what if he was untrusting? Paranoid? At least he was protecting himself! Who was Lan Xichen to demand trust from Jiang Cheng?!

He’d tried to run him off a handful of times, but had Lan Xichen ever taken the hint? Of course not! It wasn’t Jiang Cheng’s fault Lan Xichen was so desperate! It wasn’t his fault Lan Xichen had gone to all this trouble for someone who couldn’t possibly return the favor!

He didn’t want this. And hadn’t he made that perfectly clear? Hadn’t he said it a thousand different ways? Hadn’t he urged Lan Xichen not to waste his time on this a thousand different fucking ways??

With a vicious sneer, Jiang Cheng bared his teeth. His fury flared hot as the sun and burned indiscriminately. He hardly cared what he was spewing anymore; he just wanted it to hurt.

“You noticed something was wrong! You knew I regretted Concord and what we did in the lake—don’t say you didn’t know because that’s bullshit. You notice everything! But did you ever stop to think that maybe this thing between us isn’t mutual, that it was never something that I wanted?!”

Lan Xichen’s grip squeezed, and Jiang Cheng hissed in pain as he tried for the last time to wrench himself free.

Lan Xichen let go, then took a step back, then another, then two more.

“That is why?” He looked at Jiang Cheng pleadingly, as though begging him to deny it, but Jiang Cheng had gone blind with fury. He didn’t say a damned thing.

“I suspected. . . maybe it was,” Lan Xichen went on, expression distant and clouded. He dropped Shuoyue. It landed in the grass with a thud.

He angled his face down, but Jiang Cheng could still see the way his lips trembled. He clasped his hands together and hinged forward, creating a perfect ninety-degree bow.

“Jiang-zongzhu is right. I did know. I noticed every time you were hesitant, every time you pulled away or scrunched your face or froze up. I knew you were uncomfortable, and I pursued you anyway. I just. . .” he trailed off. Then, voice shaky and gruff, “But what a disgusting thing to do. I could make a thousand excuses, but I refuse to waste your time with them. I will not overstep again. I’m sorry it took experiencing your curse for myself to finally understand.”

Jiang Cheng’s furious expression dissolved as quickly as it’d manifested. He couldn’t wrap his mind around the display, and yet it was all it had taken for his fury to completely redirect itself, to savage him alongside his guilt as brutally as it had savaged Lan Xichen—and deservedly so.

What had he done? What had he done? How could he have said those things? How could he be so vile? Making the person he supposedly “loved” feel just as miserable and disgusting as he did? Why?! So he wouldn’t be alone in feeling this way?! What a despicable, evil thing to do. And fuck—now Lan Xichen thought the curse’s taunting had been directed at him, that that was what Jiang Cheng thought of him.

Vile, lonely, pathetic, unloveable. . .

Lan Xichen was none of those things! It was all Jiang Cheng. And he’d just fucking proved it!

Lan Xichen proved it too because the moment he thought he’d overstepped, thought he’d taken advantage of Jiang Cheng, he prostrated himself and apologized. What had Jiang Cheng done besides feel sorry for himself and continue taking advantage?!

I could make a thousand excuses, but I refuse to waste your time with them.

What had Jiang Cheng done since Concord except make excuses?? A thousand fucking excuses but never a sincere apology.

How had he ever thought this would feel vindicating? How could he ever think Lan Xichen would stoop to his level of vileness? How could he ever doubt that Lan Xichen would be anything but kind and thoughtful and perfect?

Jiang Cheng had to fix it. He couldn’t be the reason Lan Xichen felt like this.

Lan Xichen, who treated him better than anyone, who cared more than anyone, who would have never done this to him.

“Stop it. Stop. Just—please stop, Lan-zongzhu. Please.” He hurried to close the short distance between them before taking Lan Xichen’s arms and pulling him out of that bow. The moment Lan Xichen was upright, Jiang Cheng kneeled into his own bow, dropping low enough that the grass tickled his face.

“Don’t say another word of apology to this contemptible snake. Nothing I said before is true. It’s all nonsense, okay? You can’t believe any of that filth, Lan-zongzhu.

“You never pressured me into anything. You never took advantage of me or pursued me knowing I didn’t want to be pursued because I did. I—“ he broke off, unable, it seemed, to put his next confession into words. “I. . .”

Heaven’s sake! Just spit it out, you useless fucker!

He slammed his forehead into the dirt and forced the words out: “I liked it! I liked all of it! I wanted all of it! And you. I’ve wanted you all this time, I was just—I didn’t think—“ he groaned, frustrated beyond measure by his thin-fucking face and inability to speak with even an ounce of precision or articulation.

“It doesn’t matter. This dishonorable leader deserves his villainous reputation. I am the disgusting one. Not you. Never you. Lan-zongzhu cannot take my words for truth, and he cannot take them to heart. I’m—“ he screwed his eyes shut. “I’m begging you not to.“

He wanted to throw himself in a hole and die.

“You have my sincerest apologies, Lan Xichen. And my deepest regrets.”

He was tempted to turn tail and run; he forced himself to stay put.

He didn’t want to hear Lan Xichen’s response; he couldn’t stand the silence.

He didn’t like not being able to see Lan Xichen’s expression; he could never look Lan Xichen in the eye again.

He realized his hands were squeezed into tight fists and relaxed them. Then he realized they’d been fisted in the bottom hem of Lan Xichen’s robes. When had he done that?

“Sorry,” he mumbled and quickly let go, rising a bit so he could scoot back. Shameless. Thoughtless. Snake.

Lan Xichen stooped down to a crouch, and Jiang Cheng immediately dropped his head. He could never look Lan Xichen in the eye again.

“Jiang-zongzhu,” Lan Xichen said, and while his tone wasn’t bitter or biting, it was rather detached—as lacking in genuine sentiment as it was with most people. Jiang Cheng was only realizing it now, but Lan Xichen had stopped using that tone of voice with him, where every word was frosted over with a thin layer of indifference. He must have stopped ages ago. Hearing it returned now felt. . . bad.

(How else was he supposed to describe it?? He wasn’t shameless enough to call it heartbreak. Not after all the horse shit he’d senselessly, senselessly spewed. How fucking brazen. How goddamned fucking cocksure. (No. No. He couldn’t call it heartbreak because he couldn’t say he loved Lan Xichen—not if he was willing and able to hurt him like this. He just couldn’t.))

He was already hunched over, but when he tried to lower himself farther, Lan Xichen caught him by the shoulders. He froze, still as a statue.

“Jiang-zongzhu.”

No. Absolutely not. No. He was never looking Lan Xichen in the eye ever again. He was never looking Lan Xichen in the eye ever again.

“Those horrible sentiments you unknowingly shared with me—“

Fucking fine!

Jiang Cheng bolted upright (so much for that) to stare intently at Lan Xichen when he very deliberately articulated: “Those were not directed at you.” He put one hand over his heart and held the other at his side, palm-out. “I swear it. They were—“ he clenched his jaw, ground his teeth, “just. . . something I hallucinated earlier. I was recalling it—“

“While we were. . .”

. . . kissing.

Jiang Cheng pursed his lips into a thin line. He could hardly take Lan Xichen’s cold, scrutinizing stare, but he forced himself to maintain eye contact. Lan Xichen had to know he wasn’t lying about this.

“I promise I was not recalling any of that with you in mind. You’re the opposite of those things,” he assured, then belatedly added, “to me.”

Lan Xichen held Jiang Cheng’s gaze in silence for what felt like an eternity. Then he looked off and sighed.

Jiang Cheng dropped his hands into his lap. He wanted to apologize again but refrained. No use beating a dead horse.

“I’m going to leave the Wisteria Groves and return to Lotus Pier—without using my spiritual power, so there’s no need to be concerned about a second qi deviation. You’ve done a great deal for me, but I can’t—“ He cleared his throat, refusing to acknowledge he’d just gotten choked up (was still choked up). “I can’t in good conscience accept any more of your help. You never had any stake in this mess, and it’s certainly not your responsibility to cure me. I’m sorry for putting that pressure on you.”

Lan Xichen didn’t respond.

Jiang Cheng really fucking hated this. Whatever. Whatever. He’d said his piece. There was nothing else.

Having already retrieved Sandu and his clarity bell, he gave a final, brief bow to Lan Xichen, scrambled to a stand, and hurried away.

Chapter Text

Yunping,
You time

Once Jiang Cheng had navigated his way out of the Wisteria Groves, he rented a room at the nearest inn—despite its annoying fucking staff and gimmicky wisteria theme.

There were hanging paper flowers everywhere, an excessive amount of purple drapes, dozens of wisteria bits and bobs selling at criminally high prices, and an absolutely absurd dinner menu. (Seriously, what the fuck were Avians of the Grove and Wisteria Mystery Soup?? Who in their right mind would order a suspicious soup? And what fucking avians? Chickens??)

Everything was perfumed, which was infuriating. He couldn’t leave his room without dozens of head-ache-inducing floral scents assaulting his nose.

Now he was holed up in his room and refusing to answer the door.

(If the innkeeper or one of her over-friendly attendants came knocking again, he was well and truly going to lose his shit. How many times did he have to say no, I’m not buying, piss off before the message finally sank the fuck in?! (Although, all that in conjunction was rather odd. Could he have unknowingly stumbled into a brothel? Surely not. He was dense but he wasn’t that dense. (He checked the menu they’d give him just to be safe—it had to be an inn.)))

(He tried very hard not to imagine Lan Xichen secretly following him out of the Wisteria Groves to ensure he wouldn’t qi deviate again only to watch him immediately walk into a brothel. (If this was some stupid fucking stealth brothel and Lan Xichen had seen him step inside, he would certainly never recover from such shame.))

He sat on the bed with his legs crossed, tapping a finger against his knee and feeling restless beyond words. He wanted to leave. It was taking everything not to fly back to Lotus Pier on Sandu and just suffer the consequences, but he’d promised Lan Xichen he wouldn’t use his spiritual energy, which meant he was stuck here until he could catch the next boat out, and it wasn’t leaving until morning.

He sprang off the bed and started pacing the room, as had become his pattern these last several hours: pace, pace, pace, sit, pace some more, convince himself not to bang his head against the wall as hard as possible (but at least if he passed out he’d get some rest, right?), keep pacing, try desperately not to think about Lan Xichen, fail miserably and think about him anyway, convince himself not to punch a hole in the wall, then very nearly punch a hole in the wall, pace, pace, pace, sit back down.

He was going mad. But if he left now, even if it was just to roam around, how could he trust his weak fucking constitution not to give out on him? All he’d done was meditate in the Wisteria Groves and that had triggered a qi deviation. Sure, he was outside them now, but wasn’t it better safe than sorry?

He was beginning to think it didn’t fucking matter.

He wished he could play Reminisce alone and exhaust himself that way, wished the very brief moment he’d spent dual cultivating with Lan Xichen hadn’t given him all this damn energy. Though, he supposed their fight had something to do with it too because—yes, he did feel energized, but—it was an anxious energy. It seethed beneath his skin like panic, burrowed deep in his gut like stress. He was, at once, brimming with the need to move around and drowning in a sea of his own self-pity.

He wanted to see Lan Xichen.

He threw his head in his hands and aggressively rubbed his face. Can’t you think of anything else, you lunatic?!

Someone knocked at the door, and his fury bubbled up like magma. He tried to ignore them, but they were fucking incessant.

He wrenched the door open and barked, “Piss off! I’m not—“

It was Lan Xichen, wearing that cold, unsmiling expression.

Jiang Cheng very quickly shut the door again. What the fuck else was he supposed to do?!

No, no, stop panicking, you idiot. It was just Lan Xichen.

Fuck! It was Lan Xichen.

Jiang Cheng found himself pacing again—trying to calm himself down and think rationally—when Lan Xichen opened the door himself, stepped across the threshold, then shut the door again.

Shit. Shit!

Jiang Cheng thought Lan Xichen’s silence had been bad, but now that he was here, now that he was definitely about to tear into Jiang Cheng with his words, this, he realized, was so much worse.

He turned his back to the other clan head. “I’m not sticking around because I want to. The next boat to Lotus Pier doesn’t leave until morning.”

“That is not why I’m here.”

Jiang Cheng figured Lan Xichen had followed to make sure he went home without qi deviating (which pissed him off—Lan Xichen wasn’t his fucking keeper). But if that wasn’t the case, then why had he stuck around? And why was he here now?

Jiang Cheng clenched and unclenched his fists, anxiously kneading his palms like dough. “Oh?” was his only response because he didn’t trust himself with more words than that.

Lan Xichen must have noticed because he wasn’t saying anything either. The fucker probably wanted Jiang Cheng to stutter and stumble over his words, wanted to wring out every last drop of Jiang Cheng’s dignity before they parted ways forever.

What an insufferable and patronizing asshole Lan Xichen was!!

Jiang Cheng had half a mind to throttle him. Remarkably, he managed to refrain. “Why are you here, then?” he asked through gritted teeth.

Lan Xichen still didn’t respond.

Jiang Cheng spun around with a wild fury—which was subsequently replaced with alarm. The fucking sneak was right there, inches away, and when Jiang Cheng tried to back up, put a few feet of distance between them, Lan Xichen snatched up his wrist and held him in place.

He was getting really fucking tired of that. (What was this? The third time this asshole had grabbed him in a such a way??)

“Lan-zongzhu—“ he hissed. Lan Xichen, however, was focused on his wrist, and Jiang Cheng belatedly realized he was checking his spiritual energy. He also belatedly realized that Lan Xichen’s expression had changed, having finally caught a glimpse of the other’s face in the room’s dim light. That icy indifference had been replaced with upset and worry, a trembling lip and. . . tears.

Heavy, streaming tears which left thick and unbroken tracks down each cheek. Jiang Cheng gaped, stunned into silence and stillness. He couldn’t believe it.

Having found no pollution in Jiang Cheng’s qi, Lan Xichen breathed a deep sigh of relief and released his wrist—then, in the next moment, he seized Jiang Cheng in a firm and squeezing embrace.

Huh?!

Jiang Cheng tensed—thinking he had to be fucking hallucinating again—until his nose tapped Lan Xichen’s robes, inhaled the pleasant scent of bamboo, until he felt Lan Xichen’s tears soaking the shoulder of his own robes.

Tentative and wildly nervous, Jiang Cheng raised his arms under Lan Xichen’s, pressed his palms flat against both his shoulder blades, and squeezed back.

It was shade in the summer.

It was bathing in moonlight.

Jiang Cheng’s brow creased, and he buried his face in Lan Xichen’s neck, embracing as fiercely as he was embraced.

“I’m sorry. I meant to find you sooner,” Lan Xichen said, voice hoarse where it was normally soft and lilting, anxious where it should have been blasé. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I really meant to find you sooner. I meant to stay close. I’m sorry I let you go. I’ll never do it again. Wanyin—“

“Shut up,” Jiang Cheng interrupted, fisting his hands in Lan Xichen’s outer robe. He couldn’t believe his ears, but was this really so surprising? Every time Jiang Cheng thought he’d finally wrung Lan Xichen dry of all his kindness and affection, he always came back with more; his supply was infinite. “None of that matters. What’s wrong with you?”

He shook his head. “It’s fine now. I’m sorry.”

“Lan-zongzhu—”

“It’s fine. You’re fine. Everything’s fine.”

That gave Jiang Cheng pause. This shouldn’t have surprised him either. Of course Lan Xichen was crying because of him. Fuck. Would he ever stop fucking things up? Ever stop wracking up guilt?

Lan Xichen squeezed tighter. “Forgive me.”

Jiang Cheng could have laughed. “This Jiang will not,” he resolved. “How absurd. Crying over nothing.”

Lan Xichen exhaled a stuttering breath as he cupped a hand to the nape of Jiang Cheng’s neck. “Jiang-zongzhu is not nothing.”

Jiang Cheng warmed, hooked his fingers over Lan Xichen’s shoulders.

“And who’s crying?” he asked, sounding sniffly and adorably petulant.

Jiang Cheng spilled over with fondness. What a perfect loon Lan Xichen was.

“Me if you don’t explain yourself.”

“Don’t you dare,” said Lan Xichen. “My tender heart can’t take it.”

As was so often the case when Lan Xichen was concerned, Jiang Cheng couldn’t help indulging his every loving impulse: he whispered fondly, “You perfect loon.”

If Lan Xichen heard him, he didn’t react, just held Jiang Cheng tight, like they hadn’t fought this morning, like Jiang Cheng hadn’t lashed him to ribbons with his viper’s tongue, like this was the first time they’d seen each other in years. Selfishly. Jiang Cheng let himself be held, let Lan Xichen cherish him like this for a long, long while, stealing the other’s affection despite not deserving it, despite having hexed him, essentially, into giving it freely.

Because after everything he’d done, why else would Lan Xichen come looking for him? Why would he apologize for not finding him sooner? Why would he cry for him? Hold him and keep holding him like he’d never treasured anyone so much?

With some resistance, Jiang Cheng pulled free of Lan Xichen’s embrace—but only to grab his face, wipe his tears, and (though he would deny this later) plant a light, adoring kiss on his forehead, just below the ribbon.

Jiang Cheng pulled back, cheeks hot. Lan Xichen’s tear-stained face, at first slack-jawed with surprise, now grinned from ear to ear. Jiang Cheng let him go and spun around.

“I didn’t expect you to come looking for me. I thought you were angry.”

Lan Xichen bunched his hands in the waist of Jiang Cheng’s robes like he thought the latter might run away again if he didn’t keep hold. Jiang Cheng’s heart squeezed uncomfortably. Then he felt Lan Xichen’s breath on the back of his neck, felt his cheek press tenderly against the side of his head.

“Not angry.”

“Hurt?”

“It’s forgiven. We don’t have to talk about it.”

Jiang Cheng huffed. “You said that last week too.”

“Does Jiang-zongzhu want to talk about it?”

No, no, no, no—

“Shouldn’t we?”

He felt Lan Xichen shrug his shoulders.

“Why aren’t you shouting at me?”

“What?”

“Why aren’t you angry? How can you forgive everything so quickly?”

Lan Xichen looked down, and because of where his head was, it felt like he was nuzzling Jiang Cheng’s ear.

“You were under duress—you had just qi deviated, probably for a few hours before I found you. I could not hold your agitated state of mind against you,” Lan Xichen explained, then added, barely above a whisper, “I don’t care about those things anyway. What matters is you.”

Now Jiang Cheng’s fragile fucking heart couldn’t take it.

“I still said what I said. Being under duress doesn’t change that. Lan-zongzhu could hold it all against me. Easily.”

“Easily?” Lan Xichen chuckled, grip tightening, lightly tickling the other’s waist. “Wanyin,” he crooned as Jiang Cheng squirmed, “nothing in the world could possibly be more difficult.”

Jiang Cheng stilled. Roiled. Raged hot and violent as a dying sun.

If Concord really was the culprit here, the reason Lan Xichen felt what he did, then it had certainly gone overboard. How could a song make a person feel this deeply? It couldn’t be Concord. On the other hand, Lan Xichen was spouting nonsense and couldn’t possibly think these things genuinely. It had to be Concord.

What a miserable dilemma.

“You’re full of it,” Jiang Cheng argued weakly.

Lan Xichen’s grip on Jiang Cheng’s robes slackened as he slid his hands forward, arms encircling his waist, embracing him from behind.

“You are incorrigible,” he said fondly. “Don’t think so much. You needn’t always be so sensible.”

Jiang Cheng huffed out a meager laugh. “Loon.”

He loved him.

He loved him, he loved him, he loved him—

“What? Jiang-zongzhu still doesn’t believe me? Should I spell it out for him?” He was whispering, breathing into Jiang Cheng’s ear, pressing his hips to Jiang Cheng’s backside with force enough to weaken the knees.

“I can’t stay away. Even after you ran me off last week, even when I promised myself I would give you space, I couldn’t do it.” He pressed closer still, and Jiang Cheng could feel the sculpt of him like a wall against his backside.

Lan Xichen went on, explaining everything he’d yet to share: how he’d flown to Lotus Pier in a near panic after he’d gotten Jiang Cheng’s letter; how he’d lost it on the Jiang Sect’s highest ranking cultivators when they revealed Jiang Cheng’s whereabouts; how he couldn’t remember the last time he’d lost his cool like that; then how he’d searched the grove for hours before finding Jiang Cheng, who’d been pale and sunken-eyed and so consumed in his own resentful energy and bitter turmoil that he couldn’t recognize Lan Xichen at all.

“Of course,” Jiang Cheng said, realizing what should have been obvious from the start. “Forgive me. I never considered what it would be like for you—seeing me like that after. . .”

He didn’t have to say it. They were both thinking the same thing: after Nie Mingjue.

Jiang Cheng hung his head in shame. He’d forced Lan Xichen to relive his best friend’s death, and in turn Lan Xichen had saved his life—only for Jiang Cheng to repay him by spitting in his face. He could never make this right.

“I’m sorry,” he said weakly. “I’m sorry.”

“It is forgiven. There’s nothing left to apologize for.”

That wasn’t true at all. What didn’t he still have to apologize for? At every turn, he took advantage of Lan Xichen, abused him, corrupted him, wrung out every last drop of kindness then spat in his face. Lan Xichen had only ever tried to help, and Jiang Cheng couldn’t get over himself long enough to properly thank him, to return any of the thousand favors he owed.

What a rotten fucking burden he’d become. What an asshole. What a worthless, terrible friend.

“There is,” he hissed.

“There is not.”

He lifted his head, taking Lan Xichen’s forearms in his hands as he half-turned. He should pull away, but he couldn’t make himself do it, not when Lan Xichen was looking at him like that, eyes trusting and open and filled to bursting with adoration.

He didn’t deserve it, to be adored so perfectly, and yet it filled his heart like nothing else.

“Why are you looking at me that way?”

“What way?”

Jiang Cheng dropped his gaze. Like there’s no one closer to your heart. Like you have nothing dearer in the entire world.

“Like you’re bewitched.”

Lan Xichen chuckled softly. “I must be.”

I know you are, thought Jiang Cheng, embittered. I was the one who bewitched you.

“And because. . .”

His stare flicked back up. Lan Xichen’s gaze was locked on his mouth.

“I want to kiss you. Right now. All the time. I can’t stop thinking about it. I want to kiss you so much.”

Jiang Cheng was falling and floating all at once. That villainously reasonable voice in his head told him to refuse, to promptly rip away from Lan Xichen and draw a clear line in the sand. But it was so thoroughly drowned out by his present vulnerability, his body held aloft against Lan Xichen’s, and by another inner voice, a persuasive, lovely voice urging him to tell the truth.

I want to kiss you too. Right now. Every second. I can’t stop thinking about it either. I want to kiss you so much, Lan-zongzhu. But again, he couldn’t trust himself with so many words.

So, he said very bluntly, “Do it, then.”

Lan Xichen only stared at first, as though trying to puzzle out whether or not Jiang Cheng was being serious. He tried to look serious, thought he probably just looked desperate.

Then, “All right.”

Lan Xichen lifted his head and planted a kiss on Jiang Cheng’s forehead.

Jiang Cheng went beet red. “Lan-zongzhu—“ he protested. Then Lan Xichen kissed him on the tip of his nose, which was even more embarrassing. “Lan Xichen!” he barked, trying to shove the other clan head away and spare himself further humiliation—until Lan Xichen kissed him for real, and all protests died on his tongue.

He felt transported, like kissing Lan Xichen could portal him across the seas, like every gut-wrenching, horrible feeling that had plagued him just moments ago was a world away, forgotten and inconsequential.

“Wanyin,” Lan Xichen breathed between kisses, and Jiang Cheng found he quite liked the sound of that name on Lan Xichen’s tongue. He thought of replying with, Xichen but decided against it.

“Zewu-jun,” he stammered.

Lan Xichen growled softly into their kiss, the sound closer to a purr than a snarl. He tightened his hold on the other’s waist, but Jiang Cheng’s half-turned angle was awkward, so he twisted his hips, feeling Lan Xichen’s toned forearms rubbing against his waist on all sides. Then they were kissing chest to chest, and Lan Xichen’s hands dipped low, cresting the firm swell of Jiang Cheng’s ass before squeezing, eliciting a mewling sound which Lan Xichen eagerly swallowed down like he was starved for it.

His hands wandered lower still, grabbing onto the backs of Jiang Cheng’s thighs. “Hold on to me.”

Bemused, Jiang Cheng wrapped both arms around Lan Xichen’s shoulders. In one quick and careful move, Lan Xichen lifted him up by his thighs and swung him forward. Jiang Cheng locked his legs around Lan Xichen’s waist, letting himself be carried, refusing to break their kiss, to pull himself away from that heavens-gifted mouth.

He kissed until he could hardly think, until he could no longer tell Lan Xichen apart from himself, until he hardly felt like a real person anymore. He couldn’t imagine ever breaking away. They were each as eager and craving as the other and nothing else in the world had ever felt so good or mattered so much.

“The bed,” he panted, and Lan Xichen wasted no time walking them over, lowering Jiang Cheng onto his back without ever letting their lips part.

Jiang Cheng was flush with fiery anticipation at realizing where this was going, and he felt for the first time, bizarrely, not an inkling of shame or guilt at the prospect. Maybe he was lost in the haze of kissing or still hung up on Reminisce. Maybe Lan Xichen had finally convinced him his feelings were genuine. Maybe all of this was just what falling in love felt like, the anxiety, the paranoia, the fondness and doubt. Maybe he’d finally hit the ground—and instead of crashing, he’d landed in Lan Xichen’s arms, safe and loved in turn.

Surely, surely it was real. How could Lan Xichen forgive him so completely if his feelings didn’t run deeper than Concord could ever penetrate?

Jiang Cheng mindlessly hooked his feet together, legs tightening over Lan Xichen’s hips. Lan Xichen made another soft purring sound as he leaned closer, pressing that trapped stiffness against Jiang Cheng.

With his legs spread as they were and hiked up on either side of Lan Xichen, Jiang Cheng felt more than he had in the lake and more than he had during Concord. His lower half brimmed with fever-hot pleasure and want. His thighs pressed tighter, and he mindlessly bucked his hips up against Lan Xichen’s.

The latter broke their kiss with a tight-lipped moan, and Jiang Cheng took it as an opportunity to kiss the corner of his mouth.

Remembering that Lan Xichen’s ears were sensitive, Jiang Cheng tucked his hair back, trailing kisses down the line of his jaw before nipping at his earlobe. Lan Xichen gasped, shock and sensation bleeding into every subsequent breath.

“Wanyin,” he said again, voice aching pitifully with embarrassment.

He kissed that spot again, where Lan Xichen’s lobe met his jaw, then wandered higher, licking up the full curve of his ear. Lan Xichen tucked his head against Jiang Cheng’s, hiding his face as he tried to stifle all the pretty sounds Jiang Cheng was so carefully dragging out of him.

“Lan-zongzhu’s ears are so sensitive,” Jiang Cheng whispered, breath hot against Lan Xichen’s kiss-tender skin. He shuddered, and Jiang Cheng bit down on his helix. He inhaled a sharp gasp, body tensing around Jiang Cheng, trembling with the cutting charge of Jiang Cheng’s teeth and tongue.

Jiang Cheng let go, kissing Lan Xichen’s ear a final time before dropping his head back against the bed. Lan Xichen’s cheeks were colored brighter than ever, an obscene shade of red from ear to ear. He relaxed, weight settling back atop Jiang Cheng as his muscles loosened.

“You’re so. . .” he trailed, coyly averting his gaze.

Jiang Cheng guided his face back so that they were looking at each other again. “If you didn’t like it,” he said, kissing to the right of Lan Xichen’s nose, “I won’t do it again.”

Lan Xichen shook his head, tapped his forehead against Jiang Cheng’s. “I liked it.” He trailed a finger lightly up Jiang Cheng’s ribcage, and the latter squirmed. “Where is Jiang-zongzhu most sensitive? I want you to feel this way.”

“I always feel that way,” he said candidly. “With you, I mean.”

You don’t even have to touch me, you asshole. I’m a mess at your gaze alone, your laugh, your voice.

Lan Xichen’s eyes closed as he smiled. He planted a chaste kiss to Jiang Cheng’s lips before rising, propping himself up with one hand while the other teased the knot of Jiang Cheng’s trousers.

“I want to see what that looks like,” he purred. “I want to see you overcome. I want to make you feel so much that it ruins every other person for you, like you’ve ruined everyone else for me.”

Jiang Cheng was stunned silent, his lips slightly parted as he stared at Lan Xichen, awestruck, overcome.

He unhooked his feet, let them drop to either side of Lan Xichen. Then he pushed up onto his elbows, brushed Lan Xichen’s hair behind his shoulder and kissed his neck. It didn’t take long to lose himself in the sear of his lips on bare skin.

Lan Xichen hurriedly stripped him of his loose robes and hastily tossed them. Then he straightened, and for a moment, he just stared at Jiang Cheng, eyes lingering on the discipline whip scar.

Jiang Cheng pulled roughly at Lan Xichen’s belt. “Stop gawking at it,” he said with practiced savageness.

Lan Xichen dipped his head, tilted his face to the side as his nose brushed against Jiang Cheng’s. The latter angled his own face up, and Lan Xichen closed the short distance between their lips. The kiss was long and sweet. Jiang Cheng forgot what he was doing for a few seconds, then went back to pulling Lan Xichen out of his clothes. He tossed the belt aside as Lan Xichen shrugged off his outer robe.

“I saw it at the Cold Springs too,” he said, fingertips wandering up, caressing the scar. Jiang Cheng batted his hand away.

“I know,” he said, remembering how his shirt had come unclasped, how he’d opened his eyes to find Lan Xichen scrutinizing the scar.

Lan Xichen dipped low, trailed kisses down Jiang Cheng’s neck, his collar. Jiang Cheng slumped flat on his back again as Lan Xichen nipped at his clavicle, moved down the crease between his pectorals before landing finally at his scar.

“Don’t,” Jiang Cheng said, pushing at Lan Xichen’s shoulder.

Lan Xichen grabbed Jiang Cheng’s elbow, slid his fingers down his forearm before pinning his hand to the bed. He didn’t linger on the scar. His kisses wandered to the side, crested the hardened peak on Jiang Cheng’s left peck.

He sucked in a sharp breath as Lan Xichen’s tongue prodded sensitive skin. He bit his lip, holding back the pleased groan building deep in his throat. Lan Xichen’s mouth was hot and ruthless, working Jiang Cheng into a haze, pushing every thought to the back of his mind until he couldn’t think at all, could only feel, and he was feeling so much.

His knees knocked against Lan Xichen’s hips. His free hand flew up into Lan Xichen’s hair, reaching for purchase as the latter’s touch wracked his body and clouded his mind; his thumb bumped against the pin in Lan Xichen’s hair, and he pulled it out, tugging the band free with it. Lan Xichen’s hair dropped down in a cascade of dark chocolate locks, showering Jiang Cheng’s bare chest with each soft and fragrant strand.

His fingers grazed the Lan forehead ribbon next, but he dared not touch that.

Lan Xichen didn’t seem to notice as he slipped his hand between Jiang Cheng’s legs, palming the taut fabric of his trousers. Jiang Cheng couldn’t bite it back anymore, not with Lan Xichen’s hand so close to his cock, not with his mouth sucking and biting at his chest. He moaned, drawn-out and desperate, pitiful and pleased.

“Zewu. . . jun,” he panted. Then Lan Xichen untied the knot of Jiang Cheng’s trousers, slid his hand beneath the fabric. Cool fingers wrapped around his cock, thumbed his leaking tip, lathered both palm and shaft with the slick of precum.

Jiang Cheng pressed his lips into a thin line as he groaned, fist tightening in Lan Xichen’s hair. The feel of skin on skin was everything and more. He couldn’t believe he’d held them back for this long, that he’d rebuffed Lan Xichen so many times when they could’ve done this. It was eating him alive, drowning him, breathing life back into his lungs, and then drowning him again.

Lan Xichen slowly slid his hand up and down Jiang Cheng’s length, dragging out moan after blissed-out moan, leaving the latter panting and writhing with want and the need to pull Lan Xichen closer, to have him and never stop having him.

As though reading Jiang Cheng’s mind, Lan Xichen lifted his head, lips red and wet and linked with Jiang Cheng’s chest by a thin string of saliva. The look of him was enough to bring Jiang Cheng to the edge, but then Lan Xichen withdrew his hand, and Jiang Cheng couldn’t help letting out a deeply humiliating whimper. Lan Xichen grinned, kissed him once on the lips before lowering himself between Jiang Cheng’s legs, fingers teasing the waist of his pants.

“Can I?”

“Yes,” Jiang Cheng said too eagerly, too desperately. Lan Xichen’s grin widened as he tugged Jiang Cheng’s pants down, then pulled them off completely. There was no time to prepare himself before Lan Xichen descended, taking the tip of Jiang Cheng’s cock into his mouth.

He cried out, one hand still fisted tight in Lan Xichen’s hair. The wet heat of his mouth felt nothing like the cool softness of his hand—hands which now gripped Jiang Cheng’s bare thighs, kneading the muscle as he tongued the tip of his cock.

”Hah—“Jiang Cheng threw his head back, stuffed his fist into his mouth as he burned with white-hot pleasure, with sensations so intense he thought he might die before he came.

The bed jostled beneath him. He peered down, belatedly realizing that Lan Xichen had one leg off the bed. His gaze flicked up to meet Jiang Cheng’s as he lifted his head, sucking along the other’s length until his cock sprung free with a wet pop.

Jiang Cheng’s body tensed, back arching off the bed, fist so tight in Lan Xichen’s hair—too tight, he realized then let go.

“Sorry,” he said, sounding dazed as he untangled his fingers.

“‘S okay,” Lan Xichen said, his words slurring a bit, like he was drunk on Jiang Cheng’s cock after less than a minute of sucking it. Jiang Cheng liked that. He’d done that. And he’d done more: he’d brought color to those infamously colorless cheeks; he’d embarrassed the thick-faced Lan-zongzhu, the perfectly respectable Zewu-jun; he’d gotten the number one most eligible bachelor in the cultivation world into bed.

“Jiang-zongzhu looks so smug,” said Lan Xichen, dropping his other leg onto the floor.

“I’m not—“ Jiang Cheng started before Lan Xichen swiftly dragged him to the edge of the bed by his thighs. He gave a thin yelp of surprise, to which Lan Xichen chuckled, then dropped to his knees, taking Jiang Cheng into his mouth without warning. ”Zewu—“ Jiang Cheng groaned through clenched teeth. ”Fuck—gahh!”

Lan Xichen hummed around Jiang Cheng’s length, hands sliding up to hold his hips down. Jiang Cheng’s legs hung off the bed, and he hooked his feet around Lan Xichen’s waist again, heels digging into the small of his back.

Jiang Cheng pushed himself up on one hand, petting Lan Xichen’s pretty hair with the other. He breathed hard as Lan Xichen licked along his shaft, sliding his mouth all the way down, suctioning his tongue to the base. Jiang Cheng panted and moaned and melted as Lan Xichen moved. Fuck he was so hard, and Lan Xichen’s throat rippling around his cock felt so fucking good, like heat and drink and magic.

If Lan Xichen was drunk on Jiang Cheng’s cock, Jiang Cheng was completely and utterly devastated by Lan Xichen’s mouth.

“Zewu-jun—“ he groaned, panting with every ragged breath, “I’m—mmph!” he screwed his eyes shut, the well of his pleasure building and building and—

Lan Xichen’s nose tapped Jiang Cheng’s navel as he bottomed out. Jiang Cheng spilled over, coming and coming and coming. He writhed with the familiar and wholly unfamiliar sensation, groaned low and guttural, the sound animal in its carnality. Lan Xichen swallowed, throat squeezing and opening and squeezing again.

He’d pulled his hand away from Lan Xichen’s hair, giving him the space to lift his head so Jiang Cheng wouldn’t come in his mouth, but Lan Xichen had held his lips over Jiang Cheng’s cock as firmly as as he held his hips.

Jiang Cheng exhaled a shuddered breath as he started to come down, heard Lan Xichen gulp down the last of his orgasm. He glanced down, hands trembling as they combed through Lan Xichen’s hair. The latter at last began to pull off, sucking up as he did so. Jiang Cheng hissed, oversensitive after such a heady climax.

A string of come and spit trailed between Lan Xichen’s tongue and the tip of Jiang Cheng’s cock as he withdrew, and despite his best efforts, some of it had spattered free and stuck to the corners of his mouth. His gaze glowed blissfully, umbrellaed by long, dipping lashes, half-lidded with the fog of being freshly fucked. How lewd, Jiang Cheng thought, simultaneously realizing it was the prettiest thing he’d ever seen.

Lan Xichen rose to meet Jiang Cheng, hesitated a few inches from his face. Jiang Cheng leaned down to meet him, licking into his mouth, tasting his own come on Lan Xichen’s tongue. It wasn’t enough of a deterrent to keep him from kissing Lan Xichen, not by miles. He wanted to kiss him forever, to hold Lan Xichen’s body close to his forever.

“Come here,” he said, pulling Lan Xichen up by his chin. Jiang Cheng scooted back, making space on the bed. Lan Xichen filled that space, as desperate to keep kissing Jiang Cheng as Jiang Cheng was to kiss him; Lan Xichen practically tackled him, holding his face in both hands as he kissed him and kissed him and kissed him.

Jiang Cheng hummed his approval, sliding his hands under Lan Xichen’s open inner robe, tracing his fingers along the grooves of his ribcage. He let himself be kissed for a long while, relishing their closeness, the heat of Lan Xichen’s flushed skin, the feel of his racing heart underneath Jiang Cheng’s palm. Then he lifted his knee, which had settled between Lan Xichen’s thighs, and pressed up, grinding against the other’s groin in the same teasing, excruciating way he’d done to Jiang Cheng in the lake.

Lan Xichen broke their kiss with a moan. “Wanyin,” he breathed, tone pitched low with lust.

“Hmm?” Jiang Cheng hummed, toying with the knot of Lan Xichen’s trousers until it unraveled completely. Then he flipped them, pushing Lan Xichen onto his back, settling between his legs. He kissed him (heavens, he would never grow tired of kissing him). He put his palm to Lan Xichen’s bare chest, then slid his fingers down every groove until he touched fabric. Lan Xichen’s hips bucked up at Jiang Cheng’s teasing.

He wants this, Jiang Cheng thought. He wants me. It’s real. It has to be fucking real..

Something inside his chest warmed, melted. He melted, deepened their kiss, softened his sharper edges before pulling away. He leaned back on his knees, and dutifully tugged Lan Xichen’s pants down to his thighs.

His eyes only betrayed his surprise for a moment. Lan Xichen was. . . quite well-endowed. And Jiang Cheng must have really worked him up because he was very hard. He steeled his features, trailed his fingers up and down the base of Lan Xichen’s cock, thumbing the head with enough pressure to make Lan Xichen wince. His eyelids fluttered shut as his hips thrust mindlessly into Jiang Cheng’s hand.

Jiang Cheng smiled. He was surely no expert, having only ever done this to himself, but he was comforted by the idea of Lan Xichen being just as inexperienced. Who else could he have done this with anyway? He was a Lan after all.

Lan Xichen tensed then relaxed, his ragged breaths matching time with Jiang Cheng’s steady wrist work. He looked like he wanted to curse, but he just exhaled a shuddered hah before sitting up a little, taking Jiang Cheng by the jaw and pulling him into another sloppy kiss.

Lan Xichen writhed beneath Jiang Cheng’s touch, panted and dissolved alongside Jiang Cheng, because of Jiang Cheng. It was a heady feeling, realizing that he could do this to Lan Xichen, that he could ruin him so beautifully. His hand was slick as it slid up and down, as he squeezed Lan Xichen’s length. The latter gasped, pulled Jiang Cheng closer by clapping a hand to the nape of his neck. Their teeth clacked together, but neither seemed to care as Jiang Cheng explored the recesses of Lan Xichen’s mouth, as his hand worked him into something feverish and dazed.

”Mmm. . .“ Lan Xichen’s groan was muffled by their kiss. He pulled back just a little, let out a breathy hah as his body trembled with pleasure. “. . . close,” he mumbled against the corner of Jiang Cheng’s mouth. Then they were kissing again, and Jiang Cheng couldn’t help smirking as his other hand slowly trailed up Lan Xichen’s arm, squeezed his bicep before finding his shoulder, then his neck, and finally his ear.

Lan Xichen’s body seized as Jiang Cheng pinched his earlobe and pulled up on his cock. ”Wanyin—“ he broke off with a breathless uhn! Jiang Cheng squeezed his length again, and he jerked, arms trembling as they hugged Jiang Cheng’s neck.

Jiang Cheng was mesmerized. Truly, he couldn’t look away. Despite himself, despite his refusal to accept his own debilitating, breathless want, he’d indeed fantasized about Lan Xichen, imagined being touched by him, kissed by him, pleased a thousand different ways by him, but this was a new demon entirely. This was perfect. Unraveling Lan Xichen the way he unraveled Jiang Cheng. Tormenting him the way he tormented Jiang Cheng. It was unreal and dangerous and exhilarating.

“You already have,” he crooned against Lan Xichen’s ear. “Everyone else is ruined for me. It’s just you.”

Lan Xichen’s deep, panting breaths turned ragged and strained. He inhaled sharply, sighed in stops and starts as Jiang Cheng worked him to completion. He came and came, and Jiang Cheng didn’t let up, didn’t stop wringing moan after sated moan from the depths of Lan Xichen’s chest. Then he pressed closer, navel gliding along the bottom of Lan Xichen’s shaft. Strong arms hugged him tighter, pressed their chests together as Lan Xichen’s spurting cock finally ran dry. His taut muscles went loose, and Jiang Cheng relaxed into the embrace.

If Jiang Cheng’s weight and touch were overstimulating, Lan Xichen didn’t show it. Still, Jiang Cheng angled his hips to lessen the contact. Lan Xichen’s spend was smeared between their stomachs, but Jiang Cheng would leave it for now, content to be held by Lan Xichen as long as he wanted to hold him. Even though a part of him was still hesitant to embrace this contentedness, to let himself feel content with having Lan Xichen like this. Whatever. He burned with bliss and fondness, and he couldn’t bear to let his thoughts drift beyond this present, rosy moment.

After a few minutes, Lan Xichen’s breathing settled down, and he unlatched his arms from around Jiang Cheng’s neck. Jiang Cheng pushed himself up, but he didn’t get very far before Lan Xichen grabbed his waist.

“Here,” he said, shrugging out of his inner robe and using it to wipe his stomach clean. Then he folded the soiled fabric in before quickly wiping the cooling come from Jiang Cheng’s navel as well. He’d done it so fast, the latter didn’t have time to protest. Then he tossed the robe aside and dragged Jiang Cheng back down to lie beside him.

Jiang Cheng propped himself up on his elbows to stare at the sprawled Lan Xichen. His eyes were closed, cheeks faintly pink, and there was a small, happy smile playing at the corners of his lips. Jiang Cheng’s heart raced knowing that smile was for him.

He kicked the duvet up over their legs, then reached back and tugged it over their midsections. Tentatively, he laid his head on Lan Xichen’s shoulder.

They tangled beneath the duvet: Lan Xichen’s arm tightened around Jiang Cheng’s waist, tugged him closer; Jiang Cheng draped his leg over Lan Xichen’s, placed a hand on the center of his chest; Lan Xichen’s other arm hooked around Jiang Cheng’s bent knee, pulled it up until Jiang Cheng’s lower half was practically on top of him again.

If Jiang Cheng hadn’t been blushing before, he certainly was now.

Lan Xichen’s thumb slid back and forth over his knee. “Wanyin,” he said, voice still a little raspy from sucking Jiang Cheng off.

Something dark unfurled in his belly. He tried to ignore it.

“Hm?”

“What are you thinking about?”

He traced nothing-patterns into the groove between Lan Xichen’s pecks. Your touch. Your warmth. Your voice. You.

You, you, you—

“The bath,” he blurted.

“The bath?”

Jiang Cheng cringed inwardly. A bath was the last thing on his mind. He’d been much too nervous to tell the truth, but why had he said that?

“No,” he mumbled. “Never mind.”

Lan Xichen’s chuckle rumbled beneath Jiang Cheng’s hand. “If you want a bath, you should have a bath,” he said simply.

“I didn’t mean—“

“I seem to remember this place having a bathhouse.”

“I’m sure it does,” Jiang Cheng said. “But I don’t need a bath right now. I was just talking.”

Lan Xichen tapped Jiang Cheng’s knee. “Oh. How disappointing. I wanted to take a bath with Jiang-zongzhu.”

Heat lanced up Jiang Cheng’s spine. That’s what he meant?! Jiang Cheng almost wanted to pry himself away from Lan Xichen for fear he could feel his heart beating out of his chest.

Steeling himself, he asked, “You did?”

“I do.”

He paused. Then, “Okay.”

“You want to?”

“Yeah.”

“After I tried so hard not to mess up your hair?”

Jiang Cheng couldn’t help pulling back to scowl at Lan Xichen. ”You said you wanted to!”

Lan Xichen smiled, lifting a hand to pull him into a kiss, which he reluctantly (then eagerly) returned. “I’m only kidding. Do you want to go now?”

Jiang Cheng looked away, still scowling. “Might as well. I doubt my hair’s even remotely presentable after rolling around with you.”

Suddenly, Lan Xichen was on top of him, kissing him like it was the first time, like they hadn’t just been kissing like crazy, like he’d been waiting for years to hold Jiang Cheng this intimately. When he pulled away, sitting back on his knees and tugging his trousers back over his hips, it took Jiang Cheng a few seconds to recover his senses.

Where did Lan Xichen get off kissing him like that out of nowhere?! Making his heart flutter like a teenage girl’s?! What the fuck??

Shaking away his daze, Jiang Cheng climbed off the bed and quickly slipped back into his own discarded pants and inner robe.

“I’ll go let someone know to prepare a bath.”

“Wait,” said Lan Xichen, rushing to Jiang Cheng’s side and smoothing down his mussed hair. Jiang Cheng’s scowl deepened with his flushed cheeks, but he didn’t stop him. “Better,” said Lan Xichen, dropping his hands. “Though Jiang-zongzhu could have a nest in his hair and he would still look pretty.”

Jiang Cheng’s face couldn’t possibly burn any hotter. “What are you even saying?” he chastised weakly. “You loon.”

Lan Xichen kissed his temple, then turned to collect his robes. Jiang Cheng couldn’t help watching him for a few seconds, eyeing the perfect sculpt of his chest and arms, remembering the way his cock had swelled to such a magnificent size. He was sure his entire face was beet red now, probably his neck too.

Shameless, shameless, shameless!

He spun on his heel and rushed out the door to find an attendant to prepare their bath. They were going to charge him a fortune to be sure.

Chapter Text

Yunping,
You time

The innkeeper did indeed charge Jiang Cheng a fortune to prepare a private bathhouse. He didn’t care. Really, he didn’t. She’d given him the price, and he agreed without complaint.

Lan Xichen was waiting for him.

“We’ll get everything ready for you two. I’ll send an attendant when it’s finished, okay?”

Jiang Cheng nodded, didn’t think to question that you two until he was already walking the breezeways back to his room. Was he that obvious?

He looked down, found his clothes were a little unkempt but nothing major. Was it his hair? He absently smoothed it down as he stepped back into his room.

Instantly, Lan Xichen was at his side, taking his hand in his own, sliding the other around his waist.

Jiang Cheng squinted. “Were you waiting by the door?”

Lan Xichen nodded, paused as though thinking better of it, then shook his head. “No. How silly. Of course not.”

“Yes you were, you loon,” Jiang Cheng said, twisting free of Lan Xichen’s embrace before pressing a hand against his chest to keep him at arm’s length.

Lan Xichen huffed. “Why does Jiang-zongzhu keep calling me that?”

“Because that’s exactly what you are.”

Lan Xichen’s shoulders sagged pitifully, and what could Jiang Cheng do but take pity on him?

He rolled his eyes, dropped his hand, then planted a chaste kiss on Lan Xichen’s cheek. “Really, I should be calling you Loon-zongzhu. Loon Xichen. Loon—“

Before he could finish listing names, Lan Xichen had Jiang Cheng’s face in his hand and his lips captured beneath his own. It wasn’t aggressive, but it certainly wasn’t gentle, and Jiang Cheng’s skin burned hot as the sun under his touch.

They kissed for ages, but it felt like no time at all. Jiang Cheng never wanted it to end.

The door slid open.

Jiang Cheng broke their kiss to look that way, stared in stunned silence at the smiling attendant who had come to fetch them. He steamed with embarrassment.

Lan Xichen straightened a little, but didn’t release Jiang Cheng’s face.

“Is there something you needed?” he asked flatly, like the attendant had just interrupted something of the upmost importance.

She bowed politely. “Forgive the intrusion. No one answered when I knocked,” she said, unfazed by the shameless display. “A bath has been prepared for you. Please follow me.”

Lan Xichen flashed Jiang Cheng a pleased smile before releasing his face and taking his hand instead. As he was dragged along, he couldn’t help lingering a few paces behind Lan Xichen, letting the latter shield him from the quick and unsubtle glances the attendant kept shooting over her shoulder.

How humiliating.

Jiang Cheng was used to the servants back at Lotus Pier adding fragrant oils and soaps to his bath water, lighting candles if it was dark, but this was another level of ambiance. There were gatherings of purple flower petals floating at the edges of the bath and several burning candles emitting a low light in all corners of the space.

It was an undeniably romantic atmosphere.

“Isn’t this nice, Jiang-zongzhu?” Lan Xichen teased.

“It’s too much,” Jiang Cheng said, scowling like the added luxury was personally putting him out. He shot Lan Xichen a sideways glance. “What if that attendant runs her mouth?”

Lan Xichen shrugged. “Does it matter?”

“If rumor spreads—“

“So what?”

“So what?!” Jiang Cheng couldn’t believe Lan Xichen’s nonchalance!

“Does Jiang-zongzhu want to keep me a secret?” he asked, smiling mischievously.

Jiang Cheng crossed his arms and looked away. “We’re not nameless, Lan-zongzhu. With the Wisteria Groves so close, cultivators are constantly in and out of this place—these people must have some inkling of who we are. If not you, then certainly me.”

“Ah, Jiang-zongzhu is concerned with his reputation again. He shouldn’t be.”

He rolled his eyes. “That’s easy for you to say. Yours is so spotless it’s glowing.”

Lan Xichen strode toward the tub, knelt to dip his fingers in the water. “What difference would it make if it wasn’t?”

“Heaven’s sake, just—“ he clicked his tongue in annoyance. “Never mind. You don’t get it.”

Lan Xichen jumped up and reached for the belt of Jiang Cheng’s robe. “No need to worry. She won’t tell anyone,” he assured, pulling the end of the belt. The knot came undone, but Jiang Cheng held his robe closed with one hand.

“How do you know?” he persisted (his face was doubtless beet red).

Lan Xichen made a petulant expression. “Has Jiang-zongzhu really not noticed?”

“Noticed what?”

He lifted his hand to Jiang Cheng’s collar, slipped his fingers beneath the hem of his robe, and dragged them down, grazing bare skin until Jiang Cheng’s hand, still holding the robe closed, prevented Lan Xichen from separating the two hems any further.

Obstructed but undeterred, Lan Xichen slid his fingertips back, retreating farther beneath the fabric until he had quite the grip on Jiang Cheng’s bare waist. His touch seared Jiang Cheng, should have left a track of charred skin in its wake.

“Where are all the other guests?” Lan Xichen asked blithely.

Now that he mentioned it, Jiang Cheng had yet to see a single guest walking around this place (because he’d been so preoccupied wallowing in his own self-pity of course).

“What are you saying?”

Lan Xichen leaned close, breath raising the hairs on Jiang Cheng’s neck. “It’s a trap.”

A knock sounded on the other side of the door, and Jiang Cheng tore away from Lan Xichen on impulse. The latter chuckled, striding toward the door and cracking it open. He bent over, then pulled a small basket back in with him, a sheath of purple silk concealing its contents.

“There was no one there,” he said. “But look, Jiang-zongzhu—” he pulled the silk away, “—soaps.”

Jiang Cheng squinted at the motley selection of tiny vibrant bars. Lan Xichen sifted through, picking out two and holding them out in his palm—one purple and one blue.

Jiang Cheng took the basket from him and set it by the tub. “What do you mean this is a trap?”

Lan Xichen tilted his head to the side curiously, like he’d already forgotten. Jiang Cheng’s eye twitched.

“No need to concern yourself with that, Jiang-zongzhu. This leader will protect you.”

His expression twisted viciously. “I don’t need you to—“ he cut himself off, gave an exasperated huff. “Just explain.”

Lan Xichen’s shoulders sagged like this was the last thing he wanted to do. “Take a bath with me.”

Jiang Cheng frowned. “Lan-zongzhu. . .”

“I’ll explain when we’re both in,” he said, but Jiang Cheng still wasn’t moved. “Please?”

“You want to that badly?”

“Yes.”

Jiang Cheng met his adoring gaze. How could he possibly deny him? “Fine, fine. Whatever.”

With that, Lan Xichen began untying his own robe (just the outer one as his white inner robe was no longer fit to wear). Jiang Cheng looked away as he slipped out of his trousers next.

Lan Xichen casually dropped both garments and stepped down into the bath.

Jiang Cheng couldn’t help feeling embarrassed, even after everything they’d just done, even though Lan Xichen had already bared himself to Jiang Cheng.

He hated being this flustered—he was never that way around anyone else! Why was Lan Xichen different?

Lan Xichen shot him a curious look, but when Jiang Cheng returned it, he looked away, sinking deeper into the bath while playing with a lock of his hair.

It was subtle, but Jiang Cheng knew what he was doing. He’d definitely noticed the latter’s shyness, but he was pretending he hadn’t even though he made sure to look away while Jiang Cheng undressed. It was such a small thing. It should have served to deepen Jiang Cheng’s embarrassment, but it only deepened his affinity.

He let his robe fall, then his pants, before joining Lan Xichen in the water.

The rim of the tub arched and curved like wisteria petals, and the bath itself was lined with intricate lavender tiles. The water, which was cloudy with soap, felt fiery against his flushed skin, and it took him a moment to get comfortable, but after a few seconds he sighed, the tension easing off.

He looked down at the water again, then at the soaps, then the overdone decor, thought of how he’d briefly suspected this was a brothel. . .

Oh. Oh.

“They’re succubi, aren’t they?”

Lan Xichen smiled. “I thought Jiang-zongzhu hadn’t noticed.”

He should have noticed. It was shameful that he’d overlooked something so obvious (though to be fair, he would have known right away had he been in a normal state of mind and able to use his spiritual power). No wonder the place was so damn gimmicky; it certainly gave these succubi an excuse to constantly hound (and thereby seduce) their guests, using the guise of selling souvenirs to get close then strike out with their wiles or a simple puff of poison to the face.

It also explained why everything was so cluttered with purple finery and useless decorations—the eye was drawn everywhere but the holes in their disguises—and having the Wisteria Groves’ limitless supply of spiritual power so close would certainly improve the succubi’s poisonous magic.

Fuck’s sake—it really was so, so obvious.

“Don’t worry,” soothed Lan Xichen. “Jiang-zongzhu hasn’t been poisoned.”

“How would you know?”

“I asked them.”

Jiang Cheng was struck dumb. Then, “Loon Xichen,” he said, splashing him in the face with bath water. “This is the fake lumbermen all over again!”

Lan Xichen wiped his eyes. “I don’t think so.”

“They’re yao! Of course they’re lying!” With a scowl, Jiang Cheng raised his arms like the water had suddenly become disgusting. “This is probably enchanted—or worse. How could you let us fall for such an obvious trap??” he groaned miserably.

“Relax.” Lan Xichen waded closer, grabbing Jiang Cheng’s hands and pulling them back down into the water, intertwining their fingers. “This inn is a trap, but not for us. Have they given you any trouble since I arrived?”

Jiang Cheng thought about it for a moment. “I suppose not—beyond charging me a fortune for this damn bath.”

“They knew about us the moment I stepped into the lobby asking for you—I guess they can intuit things like that. But what good would any of them be at seducing a man who’s already been seduced?” Lan Xichen asked rhetorically. “And one seduced by another man no less. I’m sure they were seething with jealousy when I arrived to claim what they had all set their lascivious eyes on.”

Jiang Cheng’s expression twisted with horror, but Lan Xichen didn’t seem to notice.

“And besides,” he went on, “even if they had poisoned Jiang-zongzhu, who would he have ease his symptoms—one of them?” He leaned a few inches closer, pulling both Jiang Cheng’s hands toward him. “Or me?”

Dread clung to the walls of Jiang Cheng’s gut like hot tar, and Lan Xichen gave his hands a reassuring squeeze.

“Please don’t be nervous, Jiang-zongzhu. They won’t spread rumors about us. Yao aren’t concerned with our world, and I’m sure these succubi are only vaguely aware of the cut-sleeve taboo anyway.”

Jiang Cheng didn’t care about that anymore. He pulled his hands away from Lan Xichen and put a few feet of space between them.

He was going to be sick.

“When we were in the grove,” he said, tone tentative, gaze averted, “I said such horrible things to you.” Lan Xichen started to move closer, but Jiang Cheng stuck his hand out. “Just—let me finish, please.”

It looked like it pained him, but Lan Xichen leaned back.

“A lot of it—maybe all of it—should have been unforgivable, but you forgave it so quickly. I don’t get it. I haven’t even forgiven it. How are you so okay?”

Lan Xichen eyed him, thrown by this sudden shift in conversation. Then, “Jiang-zongzhu thinks I am poisoned.”

Jiang Cheng leaned back against the wall of the tub, staring down at his hands underneath the water’s surface. “Are you?”

Lan Xichen slinked closer, and Jiang Cheng felt a hand close around his knee.

“You think too much,” he said simply. “Now turn around. Let me take your hair down.”

Jiang Cheng’s instinct was to press the issue, but Lan Xichen seemed finished with the conversation, so he relented and spun around. “If you want to.”

Lan Xichen untied his ribbon first, careful not to pull too hard, then he was unraveling the braids, combing his fingers through every coarse strand.

“Hand me the soaps I picked out. I’ll wash it for you.”

“You don’t have to.”

“I want to.”

Jiang Cheng peered over his shoulder and stared for several seconds too long. I want to.

Did he?

“Everything all right?”

Jiang Cheng looked forward. “Yeah. Let me wash yours first,” he offered, grabbing one of the bars and a small porcelain bowl from the bath’s tiled rim.

“Okay,” said Lan Xichen, sounding much too excited by the prospect.

He waded back toward Lan Xichen, who had already spun around to sit on the step above Jiang Cheng.

Rather than slope inward, the tub tiered outward like a staircase. The center was quite deep, and the next step, which curved in the same scalloped pattern as the tub walls, was a few feet higher. A step above that was the rim, level with the bathhouse floor.

Jiang Cheng straightened to a stand in the center of the bath, where the water rose to his waist, and from his seat on the next step, Lan Xichen was submerged halfway up his chest.

Jiang Cheng scooped water into the bowl, then put a hand to the crown of Lan Xichen’s head, tipping it back. He eyed his cheeks and his ears—neither were flushed, just vaguely pink from the water. Jiang Cheng poured the bowl over Lan Xichen’s scalp, holding his free hand against his hairline to keep the water from dripping down his face.

“Is it too hot?”

“No,” Lan Xichen hummed. “Feels nice.”

Jiang Cheng repeated that process a few times, and once he’d wet every lock, he dipped the soap below the bath’s cloudy surface and lathered it between his palms. He began at the top, setting the shrunken bar down before massaging the suds into Lan Xichen’s scalp, rubbing away the excess oil flaking at his hairline. He was careful, however, to avoid Lan Xichen’s ears.

“Jiang-zongzhu is so gentle.”

“Guess that would surprise most,” he said, picking up the bar again and lathering soap down the full stretch of Lan Xichen’s hair, working the frothy suds in gently, then combing his fingers all the way down. By the time he finished, the entire bar was used up.

“Maybe,” Lan Xichen hummed as Jiang Cheng tipped his head back again and poured water over the soap. “But it makes sense to me—what with how well you treat Jin-gongzi.”

Jiang Cheng huffed. “I don’t treat him that well. He’s scared to death of me most of the time.”

“I don’t think that’s true,” said Lan Xichen. Jiang Cheng carefully worked the soap from his hair, then poured another bowl of water over his head. “Jin-xiandu says he talks about you constantly, that he prefers Lotus Pier to Golden Carp Tower.”

“That’s because the other Jin disciples give him a hard time.”

After another minute or so, Jiang Cheng was finished. He combed his fingers through a few more times, savoring the silky feel of Lan Xichen’s hair. Then he took a step back.

“Done?”

Jiang Cheng said he was before setting the bowl down again. Lan Xichen immediately scooped it back up along with a fresh bar of soap.

“Sit,” he said. “I’ll wash yours.”

“You really don’t have to.”

“I want to,” Lan Xichen said, sounding a little impatient. “Do you want me to?”

Jiang Cheng thought about saying no, but he didn’t think he could handle it if Lan Xichen started crying again.

“Yeah,” he said, sitting in the spot Lan Xichen had just vacated.

Lan Xichen rose behind him, scooping up water as Jiang Cheng got comfortable. He felt the former’s fingers on his scalp, and he angled his head back. The water was the perfect temperature, like a steaming hot-spring. Lan Xichen started at the back of Jiang Cheng’s head, then hesitated the closer he got to his hairline.

“How did you keep it out of my eyes?”

Jiang Cheng’s eyes fluttered open. With his head tipped back like this, he could see Lan Xichen’s clavicle, his bare shoulders, the pearly slope of his neck, and his curious, grinning gaze beaming down. Jiang Cheng’s cheeks felt a little hot, but it could have been the bath.

It probably wasn’t the bath.

“I’ll show you.” He lifted his palm above his head, felt for the hand in his hair before taking it and guiding it to his forehead. “Just cup your hand here.”

“Oh,” said Lan Xichen. “Simple.”

Jiang Cheng gave a short chuckle. “You already knew what to do. Lan-zongzhu just wanted to disturb my peace.”

Lan Xichen poured another bowl of water over Jiang Cheng’s scalp, his smile deepening, crinkling the corners of his eyes like crow’s feet.

Jiang Cheng blinked his own eyes shut. He didn’t think his heart could take much more of this clenching and squeezing and lurching. He tried to ignore it.

He’d been trying to ignore quite a lot these last few hours: the things he’d said, the things they’d done, the guilt hanging over him like his own personal, miserable rain cloud.

Lan Xichen had forgiven him, sure, whatever. He said he wasn’t poisoned, sure. Whatever. He’d proven his feelings for Jiang Cheng were genuine. Sure. Whatever.

Acknowledging everything Jiang Cheng knew, everything Lan Xichen had said and everything Reminisce had shown him, Lan Xichen had to be sincere.

Concord was not the culprit. It never was.

So why couldn’t Jiang Cheng let it go?

“You sure everything’s okay?” Lan Xichen asked.

“Yes,” Jiang Cheng replied, though it probably wasn’t believable as his lips were thinly pursed, and he couldn’t meet Lan Xichen’s gaze.

Lan Xichen went in with the soap, and maybe he was trying to distract Jiang Cheng because he resumed their conversation where it’d left off: “Do the Jiang disciples treat Jin-gongzi well?” he asked.

Jiang Cheng went along. “Of course. If they didn’t, I’d get rid of them. They know that.”

“You differ from Jin-xiandu in that way. It’s why I wasn’t surprised when you told me that you style Jin-gongzi’s hair, or that it’s why you’re so gentle with a comb.”

Lan Xichen was massaging the soap into Jiang Cheng’s scalp, the sensation as calming as it was stimulating, so when Jiang Cheng didn’t quite understand what he was trying to say, he gave himself a few enraptured moments to think it over. He still wasn’t sure.

“I don’t follow,” he mumbled dazedly.

Lan Xichen migrated down from Jiang Cheng’s scalp, which was mildly upsetting.

“Your sect knows that, for their zongzhu, everything comes second to Jin-gongzi. It isn’t the same at Golden Carp Tower—which is not to say A-Yao—Jin-xiandu,” Lan Xichen quickly amended (though Jiang Cheng didn’t know why he bothered—he already knew he called him that), “is a bad uncle. Of course he isn’t. Just—she was your sister. You grew up with her. Jin-xiandu wasn’t raised by his father, so he didn’t grow up with Jin Zixuan. His bond with Jin-gongzi is different. Not distant, but not as deep as yours.”

Lan Xichen had retrieved the bowl, was carefully rinsing the soap from Jiang Cheng’s hair. The latter opened his eyes, watched Lan Xichen for a few seconds before casting his gaze up, staring blankly at the ceiling.

“I guess so.”

Lan Xichen abruptly leaned over Jiang Cheng, scrutinizing him like he’d flashed a tell. He probably had. Lan Xichen could read him like a book, so what hope in heaven did he have of hiding any of his thoughts and feelings?

“One last time,” he said sheepishly, “is everything all right?”

There it was.

Jiang Cheng tipped his head forward, letting his partially soapy hair hang like a sodden curtain around the sides of his face.

“Why do you keep asking me that?”

Lan Xichen leaned back again, returning Jiang Cheng his space until he joined him shoulder to shoulder on the step, though they sat facing opposite directions.

“This leader can’t say. It’s just a look you get sometimes.”

“What look?”

Lan Xichen shrugged, then noticed Jiang Cheng watching him and averted his gaze. “I really wouldn’t know how to describe it.”

Jiang Cheng stared down at the water, thoroughly confused and a little annoyed at Lan Xichen but more annoyed at himself for being senselessly annoyed with Lan Xichen.

One of his eyes started stinging. He rubbed it, but that only served to move the soap around, irritating a larger area. He blinked a few times, dipped his hand in the water to get rid of any lingering suds on his fingertips, then rubbed more vigorously.

He felt Lan Xichen brush his soapy hair away from his face, pulling it over his shoulder.

“Turn this way,” he said, angling Jiang Cheng to the side until his back was to Lan Xichen again. “Now lean back.”

He did, letting the other’s hand guide him down until his head floated half-submerged above Lan Xichen’s lap. He held the back of Jiang Cheng’s neck aloft with one hand and combed the soap out of his hair with his other.

Jiang Cheng blinked a few more times, then gave up trying to rub the soap out. “So that happens often?” he asked. “That look?”

Lan Xichen met his gaze for a moment before glancing back at his floating black locks. He nodded, then frowned and shook his head.

“Not so. Only sometimes.”

“But you ask me if everything’s all right a lot.”

“Only when you get that look.” Lan Xichen brushed his thumb against Jiang Cheng’s hairline, tilted his head to the side just enough to rinse that spot.

“But no one else ever asks me that. Why are you the only one who notices this look?”

Lan Xichen’s lips parted, then closed. “I’m not sure,” he admitted in a soft voice. “But this leader has always observed Jiang-zongzhu more closely than most.”

Jiang Cheng squinted up at him, realized his ears were flushed. Then he felt his own cheeks burn at realizing the intimate, prone way Lan Xichen had positioned him.

“Move your hand,” he said, and Lan Xichen did. Jiang Cheng dunked his head underwater, ran his hands aggressively over his scalp for a few seconds to get out the remaining soap, then sat up. The water slicked most of his hair back, but he tucked a few wayward strands behind his ears before wiping the water from his lashes and eyelids.

He twisted around to look at Lan Xichen, whose ears were flushed pink. With his hair wet and slicked back in the same way, Jiang Cheng belatedly realized how different Lan Xichen looked. He guessed the absence of his forehead ribbon had something to do with it, but it was still surprising, how he looked softer and sharper at the same time. His hair stuck to his head without volume, which made his eyes seem bigger, but with the front strands all tucked behind his ears, his cheekbones appeared starker—pointed and angular.

Jiang Cheng realized he was staring, knew there was another question he was meant to be asking, but couldn’t seem to look away, couldn’t form a single, coherent thought.

Lan Xichen averted his gaze as the same pink hue of his ears spread across his cheeks. “Forget I said that.”

By the heavens, thought Jiang Cheng with smug satisfaction, Lan Xichen is so thin-faced!

“It’s not that,” Jiang Cheng clarified, unable to help his smirk. “I just. . .” like looking at you. No, wait—he couldn’t say that! Shit now he was blushing too. Whatever. We’re both thin-faced. Whatever. He didn’t feel as triumphant about it now. “Never mind.”

Lan Xichen pursed his lips into a thin line. He looked very embarrassed indeed. This leader has always observed Jiang-zongzhu more closely than most. That was hardly the most humiliating sentiment either had voiced today, not by far.

“Everything all right?” Jiang Cheng parroted, and Lan Xichen seemed to curl in further. Jiang Cheng took one of his hands, intertwined their fingers and squeezed. He wasn’t very good at this, but he remembered all the ways Lan Xichen reassured him, knew which were the most effective.

“I was only staring because,” he exhaled a shallow sigh and reluctantly gritted out, “I like looking at you. You’re. . . nice to look at.”

His cheeks burned hotter. He’d never been very good at giving compliments—or receiving them—but he didn’t know how else to word this. He didn’t dare call him pretty even though Lan Xichen was pretty, quite pretty—but even so, he couldn’t call him that with a straight face (though was there seriously nothing better between you’re pretty and you’re nice to look at??)

Lan Xichen met his eye and chuckled. “That so?”

“Don’t act like you had no idea.” Jiang Cheng rolled his eyes, trying to maintain his composure. “You were ranked the cultivation world’s most handsome young master when we were teenagers. Of course you’re nice to look at.”

Their hands were still intertwined, and Lan Xichen tugged Jiang Cheng a little closer. “That was then,” he said, “and Jiang-zongzhu has certainly grown into his looks. This leader is a good sport and knows when he’s beat. I will forfeit my rank to Jiang-zongzhu at once.” He put his other hand on the edge of the tub like he meant to get out.

“What are you doing?” Jiang Cheng asked flatly.

“This is an important matter. I must tell everyone.”

Jiang Cheng looked away. “You’re too much. What are you even saying?” he mumbled dismissively.

“If only you could see,” Lan Xichen said. “Even when you scowl like that—especially when you’re red in the face—it’s like looking at the sun.”

Jiang Cheng’s heart stuttered. How had they gotten so off track? Wasn’t he supposed to be making Lan Xichen feel better??

“Blinding?”

“Stunning. Heavenly, like I shouldn’t be allowed to look.”

Jiang Cheng’s entire body festered with flitting, buzzing insects, dancing moths and butterflies, singing cicadas, dragonflies and bees jetting back and forth like speeding comets. He couldn’t take it. He felt fit to burst.

He huffed, feigning annoyance to hide how deeply the sentiment fazed him. “Has your clan taught you nothing? Lan-zongzhu should take after his brother and lose all these frivolous words.”

“They are not frivolous if they are true. Simpler words would not do you justice.”

“And what about you?” he bit back, a little too sharply.

Lan Xichen only smiled. “What about me?”

“Look at you.” Jiang Cheng said it like an accusation, gaze hard as he stepped one leg onto the tub floor, slinking forward like a snake about to spiral around its prey.

“I can’t,” Lan Xichen pouted. “Describe what you mean.”

Jiang Cheng narrowed his eyes. Insufferable, patronizing asshole.

“Fine. Outwardly, you’re too perfect.” He ran his fingertips up Lan Xichen’s arm, “Your skin is unblemished, pristine;” walked his hand up Lan Xichen’s shoulder, “you’re broad, like a soldier;” drifted off the step to stand between Lan Xichen’s knees, “your eyes are like jade,” thumbed a line over the bottom of his wrist, “and your hair like silk;” weaved his other hand through Lan Xichen’s sodden locks; “and your lips,” he leaned in, “which are as soft and cloying as your words—” tilted his head until there wasn’t an inch between their mouths, ”—your lips are the worst, inescapably perfect, infuriatingly perfect,” and then he kissed him, gentle and indulgent and savored enough to slow time.

He’d indeed been annoyed, but the longer he touched Lan Xichen, the longer he listed his perfections—the less he remembered what exactly had annoyed him in the first place.

Lan Xichen had to tilt his head up to kiss Jiang Cheng. His lips were cool despite the heat of the bath. In fact, his entire body was cool, and Jiang Cheng’s flushed skin was lured toward it.

Lan Xichen pulled his hand from Jiang Cheng’s to slide both over his hips, settle them around his waist. Jiang Cheng held Lan Xichen’s face as he kissed him. And kissed him. And kissed him. He would truly never grow tired of this.

Lan Xichen tugged him closer. He braced himself on one knee, grabbing the rim of the tub as he fell against Lan Xichen. Water and petals splashed over the side with the motion, but he hardly noticed, too absorbed in their kiss, in the feel of Lan Xichen’s hands on him.

Then he felt something stiff rub against thigh. He pulled back. “Are you—“ he started, bemused. “How long has it been?”

Lan Xichen’s grin was all mischief. “At least one incense time, maybe two,” he said, and Jiang Cheng felt a hand walk up his thigh. A shiver rippled up his spine, and oh shit Lan Xichen was right.

He leaned in to kiss Jiang Cheng’s neck, but the latter pulled back, and as difficult as it was, he grabbed Lan Xichen’s hand before it made it too far up his thigh.

“Wait,” he said coolly. “I do trust you, Lan-zongzhu, but will you just say it? Swear it.”

Lan Xichen frowned. “Swear what?”

“That you’re not poisoned.”

Lan Xichen raised a brow, then chuckled. “The ever-incorrigible Jiang-zongzhu is lucky he’s so pretty,” he teased. “The succubi didn’t poison me. I swear it.”

Jiang Cheng relaxed a little, letting his shoulders droop as he sighed.

“Okay?”

He nodded. “Yeah. Sorry.”

“No need to apologize,” said Lan Xichen. “Happy to know Jiang-zongzhu wouldn’t take advantage of this gullible loon.”

Jiang Cheng softened, grabbed Lan Xichen’s face with both hands, and kissed him gently. “You’re occasionally gullible and often a loon, but you know. . . you know that I, um,” he trailed off, nerves psyching him out. He glanced up at the ceiling, if only to spare himself the embarrassment of looking Lan Xichen in the eye when he made his confession. “This Jiang thinks the world of you.”

He glanced back down. Lan Xichen’s lips were slightly parted, his eyes a fraction wider than they’d been. Then he grinned, eyes closing with the expression, and planted a quick kiss on Jiang Cheng’s lips.

“Wanyin is so sentimental.”

”Me?” Jiang Cheng hissed, affronted that Lan Xichen, of all the sentimental fools in the world, was the one accusing Jiang Cheng of being a sap.

But before he could point out the irony, Lan Xichen’s hand was back on his thigh. And inching up.

Jiang Cheng exhaled a shuddered breath as that hand made contact, as Lan Xichen stroked him. He braced his arm against the rim of the tub, and it trembled slightly, his fingers curling between the tiles like hooks.

Lan Xichen leaned closer, kissed his neck, and when he tipped his head back, Lan Xichen licked along the sloping curve of his adam’s apple.

Fuck, it felt good. Lan Xichen felt so good it scared him. This shouldn’t have felt as amazing as it did, shouldn’t have absorbed him as completely as it did. But it was as if the moment Lan Xichen did anything, Jiang Cheng was his. He couldn’t escape it, couldn’t spring Lan Xichen free of it either. He was helpless, and the fact that he didn’t mind that made it even worse.

”. . . Lan-zong—“ he broke off with a breathy hah! as Lan Xichen’s clever hand brought him right to the edge—then abruptly retreated. Jiang Cheng scrunched his nose, too lost in the sweet haze of Lan Xichen’s touch and proximity to quiet his resulting whimper. A hand groped his ass, and he jerked forward with surprise. Lan Xichen’s touch lightened, but he didn’t let go.

“Wanyin,” he said, hand sliding down, down.

Jiang Cheng reacted without thinking, shoving Lan Xichen until his back struck the wall of the tub and sent another wave of bath water sloshing onto the floor.

Lan Xichen blinked up in surprise, and Jiang Cheng’s face flushed white-hot when his mind caught up with what just happened, what he’d done.

“You—“ he stammered, averting his gaze in irritation and embarrassment.

Lan Xichen’s hand returned to Jiang Cheng’s hip, thumb tracing circles over the bone. “Too much?” he asked, smiling sweetly.

Heat flared in Jiang Cheng’s gut, and he was stunned to realize that no, it wasn’t too much. It’d caught him off guard, but he wanted desperately to have Lan Xichen closer, as close as possible, then closer still.

He released the pressure on Lan Xichen’s shoulder then straightened his back. He covered his mouth with one hand and looked off nervously. He shook his head.

Lan Xichen straightened too, quick and eager. “Then,” he started, hand sliding back a second time, “is this okay?”

Jiang Cheng nodded once, and Lan Xichen wasted no time inching close, settling his chin on Jiang Cheng’s shoulder.

Pressed together like this, Lan Xichen’s reach extended. Jiang Cheng trembled with anxious anticipation, grip tight against the tiles behind the other’s head.

The latter pressed one finger to Jiang Cheng’s entrance, and he flinched forward again.

“Shit,” he hissed, cheeks burning.

“We don’t have to—“

“Piss off,” he snapped, then grumbled, “I want to.”

Lan Xichen pulled his hands back. “Here, sit closer. It might be more comfortable that way.”

Jiang Cheng did, settling with his knees on either side of Lan Xichen while the latter pressed his back against the wall of the tub. He traced the slope of Jiang Cheng’s spine, then reached both hands back to cup his ass.

“Okay?”

“Yeah, yeah it’s fine,” Jiang Cheng said, impatience stacking atop his mounting mortification.

Lan Xichen chuckled, kissed Jiang Cheng’s shoulder as he once again pressed a finger to his hole, massaging circles around the rim, teasing him to the point he nearly snapped, just do it already! But then Lan Xichen’s finger slipped inside, and Jiang Cheng inhaled a sharp breath. Lan Xichen’s temple tapped his cheek affectionately.

“Still okay?”

Jiang Cheng clenched his teeth. “Fine. Shut up.”

Lan Xichen chuckled, then slid his finger deeper, fucking in and out a few times before bottoming out to the knuckle. Jiang Cheng didn’t know how to feel about it. He liked it, liked having Lan Xichen inside him (as vulgar and upsetting as that realization was), but the sensation itself was more weird than good.

Lan Xichen massaged a second finger against his rim. “I’m going to do another.”

Jiang Cheng just nodded, then Lan Xichen had two fingers inside him.

“How is it?” he asked.

Jiang Cheng wrinkled his nose. It didn’t hurt. It was just. . .

“Weird,” he said bluntly. Lan Xichen chuckled again, pulling his other hand back before reaching between them, stroking Jiang Cheng’s cock. Jiang Cheng let out a soft moan as he melted against Lan Xichen’s chest. “Good,” he amended.

Lan Xichen squeezed and pulled the shaft of Jiang Cheng’s cock while his fingers plunged deeper. Jiang Cheng made a punched out uhn! sound, and Lan Xichen quickened his pace, thrusting his fingers in time with the pumping of his other hand.

”Oh fuck,” he groaned, bracing his both hands against the edge of the tub behind Lan Xichen’s head. His knuckles turned white as his fingers dug into the grout between tiles. ”Fuck!” It was everything he’d felt before and nothing at all what he felt before. Lan Xichen wasn’t doing anything elaborate; it was just more, and Jiang Cheng was crashing toward total rapture, toward frenzy and madness. Then Lan Xichen curled his fingers, sending a new, paralyzing wave of pleasure rippling down Jiang Cheng’s legs, tearing a high moan from the back of his throat.

“Don’t come yet,” Lan Xichen teased, and Jiang Cheng thought he might, just from that low, toe-curling tone of voice.

“Not. . . I’m—ngh!” he whined, panted, sounded pitiful and desperate to his own ears. He didn’t care. He was beyond caring what he sounded like when he was this close, when Lan Xichen’s fingers were fucking him like this.

Then Lan Xichen slowed his pace, pulled his hand from Jiang Cheng’s cock completely.

Again? Jiang Cheng thought miserably. Lan Xichen reached back over his shoulder, grabbed one of Jiang Cheng’s hands and guided it low, down to his own neglected appendage. Jiang Cheng grabbed it, feeling guilty he hadn’t thought to do this before.

“Sorry,” he said, the word slightly slurred.

“For what?”

“Just. . . never mind.” He stroked Lan Xichen’s cock with tight fingers. Lan Xichen responded with a satisfied sigh before his hand returned to Jiang Cheng’s aching length.

“Hold out for me,” Lan Xichen said, panting now too. “Hmm? Let’s come at the same time.”

“There’s—hah!” Jiang Cheng dropped his head, nearly slamming it against the edge of the tub, “—no. . . way.”

He pulled at Lan Xichen’s cock, squeezing and stroking with as much rhythm and skill as he could manage in such a state, which was surely very little. How could he hold out like this?

Then Lan Xichen thrust his fingers down to the knuckle and scissored them apart. Jiang Cheng cried out, his entire body overcome. What was that? He’d never felt anything like it before. It was consuming him, devouring him whole.

He didn’t know it could be like this.

“Stop—“ he gasped, straightening his spine, dropping Lan Xichen’s cock to pull the latter’s wrist away from his own. “Stop, I’m—“ he broke off, caught his breath as Lan Xichen let go. He released a shaky sigh, returned his own hand to where it was. “I can’t hold out if you keep doing that,” he said at last.

Lan Xichen leaned his head back too, flashed an innocent smile. “Wanyin likes it that much?”

“Sh-shut up,” he stammered, averting his gaze. Lan Xichen tipped his face up and kissed Jiang Cheng, then groaned against his mouth as Jiang Cheng thumbed the underside of his tip. As though in retaliation, he added a third finger, bottoming out to the knuckle immediately.

Jiang Cheng broke the kiss with a cry, pressing his forehead to Lan Xichen’s as the latter fingered him mercilessly. Faintly, he heard a few of the lavender tiles crack and pop free where his hand had been digging beneath them. He saw stars behind his eyelids, pleasure rolling through him in mind-numbing waves. Lan Xichen hooked his fingers, rubbed against something.

”Fuck! I can’t, I’m—” he cut himself off with a tight lipped moan as he came. Lan Xichen’s fingers were still moving inside him, still curling and thrusting. Jiang Cheng’s hand on Lan Xichen’s cock had stilled. He couldn’t get it moving again, mind blanked out by the total high of this feelings. His moans were low and pitiful, rasping with how deeply his pleasure stretched, coming out in short bursts timed perfectly with Lan Xichen’s thrusts. Fuck it felt fantastic. Even better than before. He never imagined.

Eventually, his body slackened, and he dropped his full weight against Lan Xichen. The latter removed his fingers (which made Jiang Cheng feel uncomfortably empty for some absurd fucking reason) and settled his hand back on Jiang Cheng’s hip.

He finally unclenched his fist, dropping the purple tile shard, which had cut a shallow gash across his palm. It wasn’t bleeding too terribly, so he closed his fist again, resolving to deal with it later.

”Wanyin,” Lan Xichen said, tone teasing, “I wanted to come at the same time.”

Jiang Cheng’s breathing was heavy and ragged as he leaned back on his knees, settled on Lan Xichen’s thighs. “Piss off,” he said between breaths. “That was your fault.”

“But you pushed my hand away,” Lan Xichen countered. “You came, and I wasn’t even touching your cock.”

Jiang Cheng flushed, then turned his head to the side with a click of his tongue. ”Lan-zongzhu, how filthy. Maybe your hair’s not the only thing I should wash. Maybe I need to scrub your tongue too.”

Lan Xichen leaned in, gently nudging Jiang Cheng’s face back toward him. “Maybe you do.” Then he closed the distance between their lips, kissing Jiang Cheng with new fervor. He cupped the back of Jiang Cheng’s head, dripping bath water down his shoulder and spine. Jiang Cheng’s hand (the uninjured one of course) finally returned to pay Lan Xichen’s cock its due, and the latter gave a pleased hum around the kiss.

Then, “How is Wanyin going to make it up to me?”

Jiang Cheng met his eye a little warily. “What do you want?”

Lan Xichen’s mouth was less than an inch from Jiang Cheng’s when he said, “You. This.” He kissed him, and Jiang Cheng’s pace faltered, then resumed. His heart was beating like mad behind his sternum. Lan Xichen broke the kiss. “I’ll go to Lotus Pier,” he offered, then kissed Jiang Cheng again. “Or you can come to me. Or we can go somewhere. I don’t care. I just want this with you again.” He kissed Jiang Cheng between each sentiment, giving him no time to think or respond.

He couldn’t wrap his mind around it anyway, so he pushed it to the back and focused on kissing Lan Xichen, making him come as beautifully as he had before.

But after a few minutes, Jiang Cheng started to worry that Lan Xichen’s words had thrown him off, that he was floundering this because he was flustered, so he brought his other hand to Lan Xichen’s neck, deepened their kiss before pulling back and pushing his face to the side. He kissed Lan Xichen’s earlobe, then licked up the curve of his helix.

Lan Xichen’s resulting yelp was torn from the back of his throat. “Wanyin,” he chuckled, “that’s cheating.”

Jiang Cheng bit him, and that must have tipped him over the edge because a second later he was grasping desperately at Jiang Cheng’s back and coming fiercely.

Jiang Cheng didn’t pull away. He held Lan Xichen through his orgasm, gently stroking up and down his cock, kissing the shell of his ear. When Lan Xichen exhaled deep, let his muscles finally relax, Jiang Cheng withdrew.

It was only then that he remembered the cut on his palm—because he’d gotten blood all over Lan Xichen’s neck and jaw.

“What’s wrong?”

“It’s—uh. . .” he stammered, peering over Lan Xichen’s shoulder at the broken tile then looking down at his palm. “It’s nothing,” he said, retrieving the porcelain bowl with his uninjured hand before pouring water over Lan Xichen’s neck.

“What are you—oh,“ Lan Xichen’s stare caught on the red-tinted stream of bathwater dripping down his chest. It wasn’t that much blood, but when he saw Jiang Cheng holding his other hand out to the side palm up, he nudged the bowl away and reached for Jiang Cheng’s wrist. “Leave it. Let me see.”

Jiang Cheng didn’t protest. “It was the tile. I didn’t realize I was bleeding on you.”

“You’re still bleeding,” said Lan Xichen, holding Jiang Cheng’s wrist with one hand and gently cradling his knuckles with the other. Then he looked over his shoulder at the cracked tiles. “You. . .” he trailed off. Then he started laughing.

Mortified, Jiang Cheng tried to pull his hand away, but Lan Xichen wouldn’t let go. He tried to move, but Lan Xichen grabbed his waist and held him still.

”Lan Xichen,” he warned, scowling and blushing in equal measure. “Let go. I want to get out. The water’s filthy, and I need to wrap this cut.”

Lan Xichen glanced down at the cloudy water, which, along with the oils and soaps, also contained the evidence of their lascivious deeds. His gaze flicked back up, but he didn’t look like he wanted to get out. He brought Jiang Cheng’s palm to his mouth and kissed it.

Jiang Cheng shuddered, then shuddered again when Lan Xichen pulled away, a tinge of red on the heart of his upper lip.

Jiang Cheng was struck momentarily speechless, face contorted with revulsion while, conversely, another part of him fluttered with arousal. “Why are you like this?” he grumbled.

Lan Xichen chuckled, and the soft white glow of his spiritual energy flashed to life between their joined hands. A moment later, the cut closed.

Jiang Cheng pulled his hand away. “Thanks,” he said grudgingly. “Can we get out now?”

Lan Xichen’s eyes rolled up like he was thinking about it, then his hold on Jiang Cheng’s waist tightened, and he leaned in, pressing their chests together, nuzzling his face to the crook of Jiang Cheng’s neck.

“Not yet.”

Jiang Cheng’s first instinct was to shove him away, but he sighed instead, elbows locking as he hung his arms over Lan Xichen’s shoulders, leaned his cheek on the top of his head. Lan Xichen’s damp hair smelled like bamboo.

“Yeah,” Jiang Cheng whispered, “okay.”

Chapter Text

Yunping,
Xu time

Jiang Cheng fished a fresh white inner robe from his room’s small linen wardrobe, unfolded it, then held it up against Lan Xichen’s chest to make sure it was big enough.

“Here,” he said, gesturing to the outer robe Lan Xichen wore now. “Take that off. You can wear this instead.”

Lan Xichen took a step closer, flashing a mischievous smile as he reached up and pinched a lock of Jiang Cheng’s hair between his thumb and forefinger.

“If you want this leader to strip, why not strip him yourself?”

Jiang Cheng flushed. ”You—“ he stammered, affronted. “How can you be so shameless??”

Lan Xichen chuckled as Jiang Cheng folded the robe in and threw it at his chest. Then he spun on his heel and strode toward the bed, meaning to change the sheets, but upon closer inspection, the bed had already been remade with fresh sheets and a new duvet.

The nymphs.

His face burned hotter. Even if they weren’t human, he still felt ashamed knowing they’d come in here to tidy things up after he and Lan Xichen had. . . dirtied the linens.

Miserably, he flopped back onto the blanket, flinging his arms out to either side.

He wanted to throw himself off the pier.

“I know I keep asking you this,” Lan Xichen said, interrupting Jiang Cheng’s humiliation spiral, “but are you sure everything’s all right?”

“I’m sure,” he lied, and his grumbling tone of voice surely gave away the fact.

“Is it your spiritual energy?”

“No,” he said quickly, finding the prospect of Lan Xichen being worried for his health even less bearable than when he worried for his mental state. “I’ve been fine since this morning.”

Lan Xichen joined Jiang Cheng on the bed, though he sat primly on the edge rather than sprawled out. He was still wearing his outer robe, though Jiang Cheng could see the fresh inner robe peeking out from beneath the hem. He wondered why Lan Xichen would put the outer robe back on, then he realized he hadn’t even asked if Lan Xichen planned to spend the night here with him. He’d just assumed.

How cocksure, he thought bitterly.

“Are you flying back to Gusu tonight?”

He stared blankly at the ceiling, trying not to emote his feelings on the matter.

“Does Jiang-zongzhu want me to stay?”

He pursed his lips into a thin line, turning his head away.

“Do what you want,” he said.

Lan Xichen nudged Jiang Cheng’s knee with his own. ”Anything I want?”

Jiang Cheng glanced back a little warily. “What did you have in mind?”

Lan Xichen smiled. “Come back with me,” he said.

“To Gusu?” Jiang Cheng’s heart thundered behind his sternum, rattled his ribcage.

Lan Xichen nodded, and his smile lost some of its playfulness. “I’ve been thinking more about your curse,” he explained, “about how we might speed things along with Reminisce and sniff out whatever’s been polluting your spiritual power—though, you might not be open to this suggestion.”

“Oh,” Jiang Cheng responded dumbly. He’d gotten so used to Lan Xichen’s ceaseless sappiness that he needed a moment to reorient himself to the sudden shift in tone. “What is it?” he asked, sitting up next to Lan Xichen.

The latter nervously averted his gaze. “A piece from the Collection of Spirit Turmoil.”

Jiang Cheng’s old paranoia bubbled up like acid. “Aren’t those songs made up of resentful energy? Wouldn’t that make things worse?”

“Not necessarily,” answered Lan Xichen. “It would essentially let me root through your head to find the source of your symptoms, and if things went according to plan, it wouldn’t have any impact on your spiritual energy.” Jiang Cheng’s horror must have shown because Lan Xichen quickly added, “I do not intend to invade your mind, Jiang-zongzhu. There are ways to get around that. I want to respect your privacy.”

“Do you?” he snapped back, and Lan Xichen’s smile faltered a bit.

“I do,” he said sincerely. “Of course I do.”

Jiang Cheng looked away again. “I didn’t mean. . .” he trailed off, sighed. “I just. . . don’t want anyone inside my head.”

“I know, which is why we’d dilute the song’s effects by combining it with Reminisce.”

Jiang Cheng furrowed his brow, skeptical. “You can do that?”

“I doubt it’s ever been done before, but that doesn’t mean it’s impossible.”

“Maybe there’s a reason it’s never been done. I mean, wouldn’t it be a bastardization of your clan’s techniques or something?”

Lan Xichen’s expression flattened. “No,” he said, though Jiang Cheng wasn’t at all convinced he disagreed with the sentiment. “I don’t think so. Not if it’ll help.”

Jiang Cheng took a moment to consider the proposal.

At his prolonged silence, Lan Xichen added, “It’s just an idea, and I don’t have it completely figured out yet, but I’d never want to make your symptoms worse, Jiang-zongzhu. You know that, don’t you?”

He did. And he hated that Lan Xichen felt he needed to ask. His sense told him to dismiss the question, but his traitorous fucking heart wouldn’t let him.

“I know,” he said, glancing Lan Xichen’s way. His expression was difficult to read, fond yet wary. Or maybe nervous? Jiang Cheng raised a tentative hand toward the arm of Lan Xichen’s robe, bunched the fabric in his fist. “And I trust you. Forgive me for failing again and again to prove that to you.”

Lan Xichen smiled but didn’t respond, looked like he was thinking something over. Without giving himself time to change his mind, Jiang Cheng dropped his head onto Lan Xichen’s shoulder, lightly pulled on the fabric of his robes.

“I trust you more than anyone,” he added softly. “And you’re a Lan. It’s so ridiculous.”

Lan Xichen leaned his cheek against the crown of Jiang Cheng’s head, stroking his hair from behind. He melted into the other’s touch with a sigh, drawn out and solemn.

“I don’t want to be cursed anymore,” he mumbled, making no effort to mask his dejection. “I’m tired, and it’s ugly.”

Lan Xichen brushed Jiang Cheng’s bangs away from his face. “How absurd—to think anything could make Jiang-zongzhu ugly,” he said, tenderly running his thumb along Jiang Cheng’s cheek. “He is much too pretty.”

With the click of his tongue, Jiang Cheng flopped backward onto the bed again. “I told you—just call me handsome. I’m not a woman. Does Lan-zongzhu wish I were a woman?”

Lan Xichen was on top of him before he’d ever finished speaking, pinning both his hands to the bed.

“Of course not. Wanyin is perfect just like this.”

Jiang Cheng sharpened his gaze. “Pinned beneath you?”

Lan Xichen’s smile turned sly. “It certainly doesn’t hurt.”

Jiang Cheng tried to reverse their positions, but Lan Xichen didn’t budge. He’d done it before—back in his sitting room at Lotus Pier. He wondered why he couldn’t do it now, if he’d gotten even weaker since then; though, the answer was likely much simpler than that.

Lan Xichen had let him do it before. He wasn’t letting him now.

Jiang Cheng shifted his hips beneath the other’s weight. “You can’t mean to do this again.”

He thought he had a neglected libido, but poor Lan Xichen’s was on another level entirely. Forsaken was a better adjective—though what else could one expect from the head of the Gusu Lan Clan?

“Three times isn’t that many,” Lan Xichen countered.

Jiang Cheng gaped. “You’re joking.”

Lan Xichen shook his head innocently. He was not joking.

Jiang Cheng wanted to kiss him. He couldn’t raise his head that high.

“Then,” he started, cheeks burning prematurely, “what exactly is. . . Zewu-jun planning to do with me?”

What an embarrassing thing to say! He roiled in his humiliation.

But Lan Xichen was beaming, eyes lit up like stars. He positioned Jiang Cheng’s arms above his head before crossing them at the wrists. Then, pinning him with only one hand now (the strength of which was still more than Jiang Cheng could match (at least without his spiritual energy)), Lan Xichen produced his purple ribbon, which he must have kept after taking Jiang Cheng’s hair down in the bath.

Jiang Cheng knew where this was going, and his stomach, evidently thrilled by the prospect, began doing somersaults.

“Lan-zongzhu really does like that memory,” Jiang Cheng said, voice coming out a little shaky.

Lan Xichen smirked as he secured Jiang Cheng’s wrists with the purple ribbon. “Just because this leader couldn’t relive it via Reminisce doesn’t mean we can’t recreate it now.”

Jiang Cheng’s heart trilled. “Oh,” he said a little breathlessly. “What about the. . . um, the hook?”

Lan Xichen’s eyes narrowed as he leaned close, a devilish smirk playing across his lips. “Does Jiang-zongzhu want me to string him up?” he asked, trailing a finger down Jiang Cheng’s chest.

He was breathing too hard. His face was on fire. He looked away.

“This is your fantasy. Do what you want.”

Lan Xichen kissed Jiang Cheng right beneath his jaw; he tipped his head up to give the former easier access. Lan Xichen kissed down his neck, never lingering in one place long enough to leave a mark—until he found the crook where Jiang Cheng’s neck curved out into his shoulder, and he bit down.

Jiang Cheng sucked in a sharp breath, back arching slightly off the bed.

Lan Xichen released his bite and kissed the mark. “What does Wanyin want?”

Breathless, Jiang Cheng spoke without thinking, “You.”

Lan Xichen went red in the face; he must not have expected that answer. Then his entire body slackened and he slumped forward, hugging Jiang Cheng around the neck.

Jiang Cheng raised his bound wrists over Lan Xichen’s head, settling them behind his neck to return the embrace. “Do not start crying again.”

“How is this leader supposed to maintain his composure when Wanyin says things like that so earnestly?”

“You sound like a heartsick teenage girl.”

Lan Xichen lifted his head, leveling Jiang Cheng with an adoring yet teasing look. “And Wanyin sounds like a crotchety old man, but this leader wasn’t going to point that out.”

”Piss off—“ he hissed, but then Lan Xichen was kissing him, and he couldn’t possibly stay angry when Lan Xichen was kissing him.

Until that clawing, irrational anxiety spread like poison through his body, whispered in his ear: Lan Xichen isn’t in his right mind. This is not something he’d ever soberly want.

Lan Xichen broke away, but only to trail more kisses down Jiang Cheng’s jaw and neck. He dropped his bound hands back above his head.

He knew logically that Concord wasn’t to blame here—at least not completely. Lan Xichen must have harbored some affection for Jiang Cheng before he started visiting the Cloud Recesses, and whether or not Concord had amplified that preexisting affection didn’t really matter.

That sincere, genuine feelings existed between them was a fact Jiang Cheng could no longer deny.

He was relieved of course. Beyond relieved. But he still couldn’t let go of his guilt and dread, couldn’t believe how totally he’d lost control of all this.

This—lying with Lan Xichen, taking a bath with him, washing his hair, kissing him—none of this was ever supposed to happen. Even if he knew better now, Jiang Cheng had still believed Lan Xichen was a non-consenting party.

Every time they kissed.

Every time they touched.

Did he truly have so little self-control? If nothing else, he’d always been able to police himself. Why was this different?

He should really tell Lan Xichen, but the idea of actually bringing up Concord made his insides coil and twist so uncomfortably he thought he might vomit before getting all the words out.

“Lan-zongzhu,” he muttered.

“Hmm?”

Forget getting all the words out—he couldn’t find any words at all.

“Is everything all right?” Lan Xichen asked, lifting his head.

Jiang Cheng breathed a shallow sigh. Don’t think so.

“What’s wrong?”

He could feel Lan Xichen’s hand near his waist, thumb tracing circles into his skin, reassuring him, grounding him. He let his eyes roll shut.

“Jiang-zongzhu didn’t eat any of the food, did he?”

Jiang Cheng’s chest hitched as he chuckled. “No. I just want to ask you something.”

“Anything.”

“I know you’re not poisoned,” he said, and Lan Xichen definitely thought he was beating a dead horse, but he had to get this out of his system. “If you were though, and we. . . continued, how would you feel afterward?”

Lan Xichen squinted. “I don’t understand what you’re asking.”

“It’s hypothetical.”

“Oh. Well. . .” Lan Xichen’s eyes rolled back like he could find the answer by looking inside his own head. “I don’t know. I wouldn’t mind—as long as it was you. Why are you asking me that?”

Jiang Cheng’s heart lurched, but he persevered. “Set any prior feelings for me aside. Say I’m just another cultivator to you. How would you feel about it then?”

“What is the point of this question?”

“Indulge me.”

Lan Xichen looked up at the ceiling while he thought it over. “I really don’t know. I can’t imagine feeling any other way about you than I do now.”

“What if you found out those feelings weren’t real?”

“Yao poison is not so elaborate. It could never manifest feelings this lasting or potent.”

“What if something else could?”

Lan Xichen’s brow creased with skepticism. “Is this still hypothetical?”

Jiang Cheng held his gaze but didn’t respond.

“Wanyin knows I am not actually bewitched, doesn’t he? I was not literally struck by the moon. It’s an expression.”

“I know that,” Jiang Cheng mumbled.

“Then what is it? What is this hypothetical?”

“Nothing. It’s just. . . do you think. . .” he nearly lost his nerve halfway through and took a breath. “Do you think this—us—would have happened if it weren’t for Concord?”

When Lan Xichen didn’t respond, Jiang Cheng looked back. The former was staring, lips parted slightly. This was the first time either had brought up Concord. He wished he could glean Lan Xichen’s thoughts as easily as Lan Xichen could read his.

He tried to explain himself, “Before, I just—I thought that Concord had—or it might have. . .” he bit the inside of his cheek then huffed out a frustrated breath. “I don’t know. Never mind.”

He began to turn his head again, but Lan Xichen grabbed his chin and held it in place.

“Wanyin,” he said, expression laced with concern and. . . apprehension? Jiang Cheng really couldn’t read him. “Are you asking if I would have been forward enough to initiate something like this if it weren’t for Concord?”

No, thought Jiang Cheng. That’s not what I’m asking.

“Or do you think Concord is the only reason I want to be with you like this, that I would never have considered it otherwise?”

That one. Yes.

He opened his mouth to respond, but Lan Xichen’s expression was off, not quite the same coldness he’d worn this morning, but it was similar enough for Jiang Cheng’s anxiety to interpret it as essentially the same.

Something ugly unfurled in his gut, like a waking spider straightening its wiry legs. He was suddenly on guard, an acidic retort bubbling, coating his tongue like bile. He buried the instinct, but he couldn’t help the way his expression soured, the way he clipped his next words: “Isn’t it?”

Lan Xichen’s eyes narrowed. “No.”

Jiang Cheng tugged his chin free of Lan Xichen’s grip. Yeah, right.

Lan Xichen sat up. “You cannot actually think that,” he said in disbelief.

Jiang Cheng didn’t. Not really.

Okay, maybe he did still believe it a little.

“Are you—“ Lan Xichen cut himself off, adopted a more neutral countenance. “Please excuse my frankness, Jiang-zongzhu, but are you stupid?”

Jiang Cheng shot him a nasty glare. “I’m sorry?”

Lan Xichen laughed, but it wasn’t the cutting, mirthless laugh Jiang Cheng expected. He was genuinely amused.

“What’s so funny, asshole?”

“You.” He said it like it was obvious.

Jiang Cheng sat up too, trying to free his hands from his own fucking ribbon but too pissed off to do it efficiently. For lack of a better instrument, he went in with his teeth.

“Forgive me,” Lan Xichen said, though he was still chuckling. He wiped the moisture from his eyes before taking Jiang Cheng’s bound hands into his own. The end of the ribbon was still stuck between his teeth. “This leader was being insensitive. Of course Jiang-zongzhu is not stupid. I’m sure it’s my fault for not making my feelings and intentions as obvious as I thought.”

Jiang Cheng parted his teeth, and the ribbon fell free. “You were clear enough,” he grumbled.

“Maybe after Concord.” Lan Xichen pushed a lock of Jiang Cheng’s hair behind his ear. “But I should have known Jiang-zongzhu wouldn’t pick up on subtleties. Of course you thought I was scheming something when I invited you to visit the Cloud Recesses and refused to properly explain myself. Of course you thought Concord bewitched me into wanting this when I had never clearly communicated my feelings. Forgive me.”

Jiang Cheng frowned. “What subtleties?”

“The gifts,” said Lan Xichen. “Taking strolls. Having tea. The comb.”

The realization hit Jiang Cheng like an ox hauling a fucking wagon.

“I was courting you,” Lan Xichen confessed. Jiang Cheng’s heart burst into flames. “Poorly—I see that now—but that is why I invited you to visit. Forgive me for being. . .” he averted his gaze, ”shy about it. I should have said it to you plainly. We might have avoided all this conflict.”

Jiang Cheng could hardly focus on anything Lan Xichen said after I was courting you.

He pulled his hands away and set them in his own lap. His head was spinning.

Courting. Courting me. Lan-zongzhu is courting me. Zewu-jun wants to court me. We’re courting. We’ve been courting all this time. This is a courtship. We’re courting right now. This is a fucking courtship.

His face burst into flames.

“Jiang-zongzhu?” Lan Xichen said, tilting his head to get a look at Jiang Cheng’s thin fucking burning face. He turned his head away. “Jiang-zongzhu?” Lan Xichen said again, sounding meeker this time, and nervous. Jiang Cheng could never look him in the eye again. It had been so obvious. He thought his teenage-self was dense, but he was just as stupid as he’d been back then. More stupid. He was unrivaled in stupidity and denseness and being a fucking moron.

“Wanyin?” Lan Xichen sounded meeker still. “I really am sorry. Don’t be angry.”

Jiang Cheng couldn’t look at him.

Lan Xichen reached out and touched his hands. Unbidden sparks of purple lightning sparked to life where they made contact. Jiang Cheng jumped to a stand, facing away from the bed as the sparks fizzled out.

“Wanyin?”

His first thought was to cup his opposite hand over Zidian, but that was only a temporary solution.

“Were those for me?”

He thought to bury both hands in his robes next, but that was as pointless as his first idea.

Lan Xichen chuckled. “Now which of us is shy?”

Jiang Cheng froze. Lan Xichen was standing right in front him, lifting his chin. The touch summoned another surge of involuntary lightning, the bolts zipping up his arms like miniature fucking fireworks.

Lan Xichen smiled. “How pretty.”

Jiang Cheng couldn’t take the embarrassment anymore; he lifted his hand and captured the still-crackling Zidian in his teeth, meaning to tear the ring off his finger, but Lan Xichen stopped him, grabbing his wrist and fingertip before gently tugging the digit free. Jiang Cheng didn’t think it could possibly get any worse, but then Lan Xichen was kissing him, and his entire body surged with electricity, spiraling around his limbs and torso before flying out in all directions like dozens of deadly purple springs.

Lan Xichen broke the kiss, looking pleased.

But then that pleasant expression twisted. “Forgive me,” he said, hastily removing Zidian himself. “Forgive me. This stupid, stupid leader wasn’t thinking. I didn’t—“

Jiang Cheng drew his foot back before landing a vicious kick to Lan Xichen’s shin.

Stunned, Lan Xichen stumbled a few steps. “Wanyin!” he sniped, regaining his balance. “Please don’t be upset. I’ll clear your meridians right now!“

Jiang Cheng seethed, and he couldn’t even cross his fucking arms.

“I’m sorry,” Lan Xichen pleaded, grabbing the arm of Jiang Cheng’s robe like a begging child. “You’ll forgive me, won’t you?”

Jiang Cheng set his jaw, one eye twitching with fury.

Lan Xichen hung his head. “No, of course. Such carelessness is unforgivable to be sure,” he said, sounding very glum indeed.

“I’ll kill you if you start crying again,” grumbled Jiang Cheng.

“But Wanyin, I really might if you don’t forgive me. I can’t stand it when you’re angry with me. It’s unbearable.”

“What’s unbearable is your teasing.”

“Wanyin is right, of course. Lash this leader with your harshest words. Whip me with Zidian.”

”You!” Jiang Cheng hissed, pulling his foot back to kick Lan Xichen again, but he stopped himself a moment before. He turned away, clicking his tongue. “Shameless.”

“I really am sorry,” Lan Xichen said. “Let me check your meridians.”

“It’s not that, you idiot,” Jiang Cheng said, casting his furious, blushing gaze on Lan Xichen. “Why didn’t you just tell me? If you wanted—“ he couldn’t help the way his breath hitched “—to be with me, then why didn’t you say that? Why make a fool of me for months?!”

Lan Xichen’s gaze darted to the side, looking guilty. “I wasn’t trying to make a fool of you. I was afraid,” he said softly. “And I never imagined Jiang-zongzhu would share my feelings. I thought that, if you did feel that way about me, you would understand what those visits were.”

“I didn’t.”

“Right. I see that now. But Wanyin—you were furious after Concord. I thought you would never speak to me again, that you hated me. How could I confess?”

Jiang Cheng dropped his gaze.

“Then, when you returned the next week acting like it had never happened, I thought you must have realized my feelings, that you knew but didn’t feel the same.”

“I did feel the same,” said Jiang Cheng. “I do.”

Lan Xichen took his hands, guided him back to the bed to sit while he checked his meridians. “I should have confessed from the beginning. Forgive me.”

Jiang Cheng chuckled despite himself. “No. I might have punched you if you had.”

“How violent,” Lan Xichen said absently.

“Then I would have fled the Cloud Recesses to stew on things for a few months, probably convince myself you were playing some elaborate trick on me.”

Lan Xichen huffed. “Of course you’d think that.”

Jiang Cheng rolled his eyes, though his annoyance was directed mostly toward himself.

“We’d run into each other eventually, you know,” said Lan Xichen.

“Yeah, and I’d lose my shit,” Jiang Cheng replied candidly, “get all flustered and stupid, go stew on things for another few months, then finally realize that I did in fact share Lan-zongzhu’s feelings.”

Lan Xichen’s smile deepened. “How would Wanyin tell me?”

Jiang Cheng gave a sputtering laugh. “I wouldn’t, of course.”

“You wouldn’t?” Lan Xichen looked stricken. “After all those months I spent in misery?”

“None of this actually happened, Lan-zongzhu.”

Lan Xichen pretended he hadn’t heard that. “All those months drowning in sorrow; yearning for Jiang-zongzhu, believing he despised me; writing poetry about his eyes and signing every page with my tears; painting portraits my beloved would never see, portraits he’d sooner burn than admire. What did this leader ever do to deserve such cruelty?”

Jiang Cheng rolled his eyes again. “You’re so dramatic.”

Lan Xichen opened his mouth to respond, then closed it again, gaze flicking down to Jiang Cheng’s wrists. “Huh.”

“What is it?”

Lan Xichen let go, looking thoughtful. “No pollution.” He looked Jiang Cheng up and down, then scanned the room. “Where’s your clarity bell?”

“Still tied to Sandu. Why?”

Lan Xichen tucked a hand mindlessly into his sleeve.

“Could I take it back to Gusu with me?”

Jiang Cheng frowned. Then he realized what the other was getting at. “You think it’s cursed.”

Jiang Cheng wasn’t wearing the bell when Zidian went off, so if it was cursed, that could explain why he’d been unaffected even after using his spiritual power.

Lan Xichen pursed his lips. “It’s just a hunch.”

“Take it,” said Jiang Cheng.

“What about you?”

“If it’s cursed, I don’t want it.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

Before Jiang Cheng could ask what he meant, if not that, Lan Xichen slung an arm around his back, quickly slid the other beneath his knees, and lifted him into his arms like a bride.

“Lan Xichen!”

His mirth only deepened. “I think I should like to bring the clarity bell and Jiang-zongzhu back to Gusu with me.”

Shuoyue flew free of its scabbard with a shing, glided down until it hovered a few inches off the ground. Lan Xichen mounted it.

Jiang Cheng lassoed his arms, still bound at the wrists, around Lan Xichen’s neck, clinging to the other clan head like a cat with its claws out. “What the fuck are you doing??”

“Flying to Gusu.”

“You’re fucking not!” Jiang Cheng started to wriggle free, but Lan Xichen’s grip was like iron. “Wait, wait, wait—“

“Wanyin said this is my fantasy and that I should do what I want. I want to fly back to Gusu.”

“Then you go—why are you dragging me along??”

“I want to,” Lan Xichen said with a mischievous lilt.

“What about my things?”

“Your outer robe is already in my qiankun sleeve, and Sandu is in your qiankun pouch—which is also in my sleeve.”

“When did you—“ he started, then realized it must have been while he was changing his robes a moment ago. The sneaky fucker.

“You relived that scene in the cellar,” Lan Xichen said into his ear. “Doesn’t Jiang-zongzhu remember what I wanted to do after cutting you free?”

Come back to Gusu with me. Let me treat this.

A shiver rippled down Jiang Cheng’s spine. Before he could respond, Lan Xichen crouched on Shuoyue and zipped right through the open window.

Chapter Text

The sky above Yunping,
Xu time

“Fucker! Lan Xichen, you fucker! Motherfucker!!” Jiang Cheng barked, clinging tighter to Lan Xichen’s robes, arms constricting around his neck like a snake.

Lan Xichen only laughed as he straightened to a stand. “Has Wanyin always used such filthy language? Maybe you’re the one whose tongue needs scrubbing.”

“Forget breaking them—I’ll cut off your damn legs for this! Who do you think you are?! Respectable my ass! Righteous? Piss the fuck off! No one knows what Zewu-jun is really like!! An animal! You brute! You lunatic!!”

Lan Xichen began to loosen his grip on Jiang Cheng, and the latter clung even tighter.

“No—wait, wait, wait!! I didn’t mean it!” Jiang Cheng screeched shamelessly. “Zewu-jun is righteous and respectable!! The gem of his clan! He would never drop me! Never!!”

Lan Xichen laughed, tapping his cheek against Jiang Cheng’s head. “Of course not. Never. Wanyin is precious cargo.”

Jiang Cheng ground his teeth at being referred to in such a way. “You villain,” he grumbled. “Villain of villains. Peerlessly wicked.”

“How quickly Wanyin changes his tune.”

“How villainously Zewu-jun torments me.”

Lan Xichen was laughing again. Jiang Cheng was going to cut off his legs.

“Want to stand?”

With a sneer, Jiang Cheng nodded.

Lan Xichen kept a firm grip on his waist as Jiang Cheng lowered one leg and stepped down onto the blade. When his foot found stable anchorage, he dropped the other leg.

“Better?”

Jiang Cheng grumbled his assent. His bound hands were still wrapped around Lan Xichen’s neck, so he couldn’t turn around. They’d have to fly chest to chest.

“We left the nymphs.”

“So?”

Jiang Cheng clicked his tongue. “How irresponsible. Aren’t you suppose to be a sect leader from one of the four great clans?”

“Jiang-zongzhu says that as though he isn’t also a sect leader from one of the four great clans.”

“I would have killed them all by now had I not been kidnapped by some fiendish Lan savage.”

Lan Xichen chuckled into Jiang Cheng’s ear, arms tightening possessively around his waist. “A savage?”

“You heard me.”

“And what savage things do you suppose this Lan has planned?”

Jiang Cheng huffed out a laugh. “Savage and lascivious. That’s as much as I care to imagine.”

“But Wanyin,” Lan Xichen pouted, though his voice remained low and lilting, “I want to know.”

One hand wandered down and squeezed Jiang Cheng’s ass. He reflexively pressed closer.

“Piss off, you insatiable brute.”

Lan Xichen’s hand stayed where it was. “Is Wanyin upset with me?”

”Very,” he hissed, though he kept his head on Lan Xichen’s shoulder, kept their bodies pressed close together—so close, in fact, that he could very faintly feel a certain appendage hardening beneath Lan Xichen’s robes.

Fuck’s sake, he really is insatiable, Jiang Cheng thought, before a villainous, wicked, wonderful idea came to him. If Lan Xichen was going to torment him, then he would torment the fucker right back.

He took a moment to figure out the logistics of such a feat, then he leaned a few inches away from Lan Xichen, who predictably resisted the attempt at distance. Jiang Cheng was undeterred, and he lifted his arms over Lan Xichen’s head before lowering his hands into the tiny gap between their chests.

“Don’t let go,” he whispered, leaning close again, trapping his arms between them. He managed, with only mild discomfort, to twist one of his hands around and palm Lan Xichen’s cock through his robes.

The effect was immediate. Lan Xichen gave a quiet groan as he pressed mindlessly into Jiang Cheng’s hand.

“How eager,” he purred. He rubbed his palm against the fabric, working Lan Xichen until his cock was hard and twitching underneath his trousers. He panted into Jiang Cheng’s ear, breath hot, fingers absently kneading Jiang Cheng’s waist and ass.

Jiang Cheng twisted his head and kissed Lan Xichen beneath the ear. “Don’t let go. I swear I’ll kill you if you let go.”

Lan Xichen shot him a sideways glance, but Jiang Cheng was already bending down to a crouch. The former grabbed his shoulders, grip a little too tight, but Jiang Cheng wouldn’t complain (he’d rather have a few bruises than fall to his death).

Lan Xichen’s feet were flat on Shuoyue’s blade and spread a few inches apart. Jiang Cheng had settled his own feet the same way, with one in front of Lan Xichen’s and one between.

He’d have to be careful adjusting them. For one, he was barefoot, and Shuoyue was quite sharp. Two, he obviously didn’t want to fucking fall.

He held Lan Xichen’s robes with a death grip as he dropped his far foot off Shuoyue, settling into a sitting position on Lan Xichen’s boot, using it as a pad between himself and the blade. He wrapped his hanging leg around Lan Xichen’s, resting his ankle on the blade between the latter’s feet (so that, from the point to the hilt, they were positioned like this: Jiang Cheng, sitting atop Lan Xichen’s right foot, Jiang Cheng’s left ankle, Jiang Cheng’s right foot (leg bent at the knee), then Lan Xichen’s left foot).

It wasn’t the most stable position, but it wasn’t the most precarious either. Jiang Cheng straightened his spine.

“Wanyin.”

He glanced up. Lan Xichen’s brow was creased with confusion and concern, but he was also biting the inside of his cheek, ears blazing a lovely shade of pink.

“Don’t get too excited,” Jiang Cheng said flatly. Then with a smirk, “I bite.”

Lan Xichen blinked, wide-eyed. “Jiang-zongzhu has such a way with words.”

“Please. Zewu-jun’s already given this Jiang shit for his dirty fucking mouth.”

Lan Xichen ran a thumb along Jiang Cheng’s bottom lip, chuckling softly. “I believe my exact words were Wanyin has a beautiful mouth.”

Those were definitely not the words he’d used, but Jiang Cheng wasn’t going to correct him. He rolled his eyes instead, reluctantly released his grip on Lan Xichen’s robe, which then triggered Lan Xichen to tangle a panicked hand in his hair.

A ruthless arousal savaged Jiang Cheng from head to toe.

He collected himself, refocused. Lan Xichen wasn’t outfitted in all the complicated trappings of his usual attire—just trousers, an inner robe, and an outer robe. Jiang Cheng could easily untie his belt, but he imagined Lan Xichen would prefer not to be so exposed to the elements while flying this high up. Instead, he lifted the robes from the bottom and slipped underneath.

Lan Xichen’s hand fisted tighter in Jiang Cheng’s hair, leaving the back of his head partially uncovered while the robes engulfed the rest of him.

He buzzed with anxious anticipation, felt his stomach flip—both thrilled and terrified at the prospect of sucking Lan Xichen off. He lifted his bound hands to Lan Xichen’s waistband and tugged it down just enough for his cock to spring free. Jiang Cheng’s eyes widened a bit at the sight, and he couldn’t help wondering if it was even possible to get the whole thing in his mouth without gagging.

He anchored himself to Lan Xichen’s right leg, fingers digging into his thigh hard enough to leave bruises. Then, giving himself no time to overthink it, he tilted his head, licked his tongue along the base, then slid the tip into his mouth.

Lan Xichen groaned deep in his throat.

Jiang Cheng burned, gut clenching and unclenching with nervous arousal. He would go slow, ease himself into taking the full length. He’d never done anything like this before, so he was a little wary, both about his own discomfort and about being so preoccupied with not gagging that he’d do a shitty job.

He inched forward, taking half of Lan Xichen’s cock into his mouth before his throat began to protest. It was uncomfortable, but he was surprised to find he quite liked it, liked having Lan Xichen writhe against him, drunk on his touch, his tongue, blissed-out because of what Jiang Cheng was doing to him.

He swallowed the excess saliva pooling on the back of his tongue, throat constricting, rippling around that foreign heat.

“Fuck,” Lan Xichen whispered. Jiang Cheng sucked as he pulled back.

He tugged at Lan Xichen’s robes until his left eye peeked out. He cast his one-eyed gaze up to meet Lan Xichen’s and teased with mock upset, ”Lan-zongzhu, how crude.”

Truthfully, he was thrilled to have pulled that word out of someone like Lan Xichen, especially after being scolded not too long ago for using such language.

Lan Xichen’s gaze flicked down. His cheeks flushed pink at the sight—Jiang Cheng, half obscured by white robes, a hand fisted tight in his hair, saliva and probably a bit of precum tracking from the corner of his mouth down to the bottom of his chin. Lan Xichen bit his lip, then looked away.

Good, thought Jiang Cheng, glad to see Lan Xichen flushed and embarrassed.

Retreating back underneath the robes, Jiang Cheng closed his mouth over the head of Lan Xichen’s cock once again, this time pushing himself farther down then before, inching toward the base at a snail’s pace to test the limits of his own throat. It took no time at all for the discomfort to build, for his intentions and instincts to war violently, one desperate to go further, the other determined to reject.

Shit, he was going to gag. How had Lan Xichen done this so easily? They were near in size—at least, neither was lacking—so why hadn’t Lan Xichen struggled at all?

Jiang Cheng began to pull off before he could gag, but then Lan Xichen’s hips jerked forward in impatience. His tip struck the back of Jiang Cheng’s throat, and he choked, sputtering as he dug his fingers into Lan Xichen’s skin.

“Sorry!” Lan Xichen blurted, loosening his grip on Jiang Cheng’s hair, lightly massaging his scalp. “If it’s too much,” he managed after a few seconds, “you shouldn’t—“ he broke off with another hah! as Jiang Cheng sucked.

The implication that he was too much for Jiang Cheng only made Jiang Cheng want to prove him wrong.

If Lan Xichen could do this, so could Jiang Cheng.

He pressed forward as far as he could comfortably go, then he went farther, relaxing the muscles in his neck and jaw, taking slow, deep breaths through his nose as he went as far as possible. He could feel himself starting to gag, tried to stifle the impulse even as his throat began to constrict.

Lan Xichen groaned, and Jiang Cheng felt a pressure on the back of his head.

Lan Xichen was pushing himself deeper.

After his too much spiel? What an insatiable, insincere—

Jiang Cheng gagged, sputtered; it was too much, but Lan Xichen’s hand was cemented to the back of his head, unyielding, and—even though Jiang Cheng could hardly take what was already in his mouth—it still pressed forward.

Something wicked and hot unfurled in his gut at Lan Xichen’s disregard, and he was shocked to find. . . he quite liked it, liked being countered, liked that Lan Xichen didn’t always acquiesce, liked the thrill of being so high up, so precariously positioned, liked that he was utterly, ruinously at the mercy of Lan Xichen.

But then his hand went slack again.

Disappointed (for some absurd stupid fucking reason), Jiang Cheng pulled off, took a few ragged breaths and cleared his throat, then resumed. He bobbed his head back and forth, keeping his pace excruciatingly slow, hyper aware of the featherlight hand on his head. He wondered if he could still torment Lan Xichen into doing something with that hand—what that something was exactly, Jiang Cheng didn’t know. He was new to feeling like this, to wanting something like that.

He and Lan Xichen had already been intimate with one another twice (three times if he counted the lake), but he’d never thrown himself at the mercy of another person quite like this. It was new and terrifying and exhilarating, and he really wanted to know what Lan Xichen was thinking, what he wanted, and what Jiang Cheng could make him do.

Then Lan Xichen let go of Jiang Cheng completely. Bemused, he pulled back again. Shuoyue vanished from underneath him, and he shrieked a slew of obscenities in the half-second it took to touch the ground, which could only have been a few inches away.

He pressed his palm flat against the grass, just to reassure himself it was actually there. Then he shoved Lan Xichen’s legs with enough force to send the lumbering asshole toppling down—as well as free himself from the cocoon of those white robes.

He glared viciously at the sprawled Lan Xichen, who had the gall to smile back sheepishly.

“You fucker! You shit-eating fucker!”

“Wanyin,” he pleaded with languid insincerity.

“Stop smiling! If you’d done that a second sooner—“ he broke off with a shuddered sneer, “Fucking asshole! Would your impotent fucking face be smiling if I’d actually taken a bite out of you just now?!”

Lan Xichen’s smile fell slightly, nervous where it’d been blithe. “Definitely not.”

Jiang Cheng sighed his frustrations. “Yeah, I didn’t fucking think so. A warning would have been nice.”

“Forgive this thoughtless leader,” said Lan Xichen, “but to be fair, I could hardly speak.”

Jiang Cheng cast him a tentative, sideways glance. “Was it. . . not good?”

Lan Xichen softened instantly, nerves evaporating as he reached forward to cup Jiang Cheng’s face. “Of course it was good. It was too good. I feared if I didn’t get us back on solid ground, we’d fall out of the sky, like you said.”

Jiang Cheng’s heart trilled girlishly, which was annoying. “Oh.”

Lan Xichen leaned in, capturing Jiang Cheng’s lips in a kiss, hand sliding back into his hair.

That same biting arousal unfurled inside him. He shoved Lan Xichen none too gently onto his back before pressing his hands flat against his stomach.

“Wanyin, I’m—“ Lan Xichen started to pout, until he saw where Jiang Cheng had positioned himself: between the former’s legs, head dipped low.

Jiang Cheng smirked before licking up Lan Xichen’s shaft, pressing the point of his tongue against the slit at the tip. Lan Xichen let out a breathy moan, legs tensing as he worked him.

But before he’d done much at all, he paused, gaze flicking up as he leaned into the hand still fisted tight in his hair. Lan Xichen frowned, puzzled. Jiang Cheng struggled to cup his bound hands over Lan Xichen’s, but once he found the right angle, he pressed down, using the latter’s hand to push his own head (he still didn’t bottom out, told himself he simply wanted Lan Xichen to do that part for him).

When understanding dawned, Lan Xichen pulled Jiang Cheng back up by his hair. That alone sent a thrilled shiver through his entire body. But then Lan Xichen let go.

“You want—“ he stammered, face flushed, “are you asking me to. . .”

“Fuck me in the face?” Jiang Cheng said bluntly. “I wasn’t asking, no. I was hoping you’d just do it.”

Lan Xichen’s mouth fell open, then something in his gaze darkened, and Jiang Cheng’s mouth watered. (Because of course it fucking did! (Shameless, shameless, shameless!))

Lan Xichen sat up straight, combed his fingers from the base of Jiang Cheng’s scalp up to the back of his head, then roughly grabbed a fistful of hair.

“You’re sure?”

“Yeah,” Jiang Cheng said, awed. He hadn’t really expected Lan Xichen to do it.

Lan Xichen pulled him up, kissed him with more force than before, holding the side of his face with his other hand. Then he pushed Jiang Cheng down again, letting him hover there for a second while he took the cock shallowly through his parted lips.

The first thrust was quick and brutal. Jiang Cheng choked violently, digging his fingers into Lan Xichen’s skin as his cock punched through the back of his throat. There was no time to adjust as Lan Xichen pulled him back up by his hair, then pushed him down again. Then again and again, quickening his pace with every pump. Jiang Cheng’s brow furrowed as that foreign heat assaulted his tongue and throat, bottomed out with every pump, never retreating far enough to relieve. Unbidden, groan after choked groan escaped him—the humiliation of which burned across his face—chest convulsing and contracting over and over, desperate to purge the foreign object blocking his airway.

He raked his hands down Lan Xichen’s abdomen, at once miserable and overcome with an alien exhilaration, a total intoxication.

Lan Xichen said his name, but Jiang Cheng couldn’t respond even if he wanted to, could hardly hear Lan Xichen over his own shameless moaning anyway.

Then Lan Xichen was pulling him all the way up before swiftly jumping to a stand. Jiang Cheng didn’t have to be told. He grabbed Lan Xichen’s thigh and guided his mouth back over that cock. Lan Xichen’s hand never left Jiang Cheng’s hair, but now he used the other to dip Jiang Cheng’s head back.

Somehow, he slid even deeper.

Jiang Cheng made a muffled, sputtering sound around Lan Xichen’s cock.

“Okay?” Lan Xichen asked. Jiang Cheng looked up, nodded as best he could. Lan Xichen smiled, then started fucking into Jiang Cheng’s mouth, holding his head in place by his hair.

It was different this time, deeper. Jiang Cheng didn’t know it could go any deeper. Then Lan Xichen tipped his head back further, and it went deeper still, like he was filling Jiang Cheng’s throat all the way down his neck. With every thrust, Lan Xichen bottomed out, and every time he bottomed out, he cut off Jiang Cheng’s airway. He quickly became very good at timing his breaths with Lan Xichen’s movements, breathing in when he pulled out, waiting to exhale until he pulled out again. Jiang Cheng dropped his bound hands, snuck one beneath his waistband and began to stroke himself with no rhythm or skill, not that skill mattered with Lan Xichen ruthlessly fucking his mouth like this. His body, freshly, deliciously vulnerable, was at Lan Xichen’s utter mercy. He reacted to even the slightest touch.

Lan Xichen brutally quickened his pace, to the point Jiang Cheng could no longer time his breaths with each thrust. They were too fast. He could only attempt to breathe at certain times and hope his airway wouldn’t be blocked.

Fuck, he thought miserably, blissfully. He was coasting somewhere between. It was hell and it was heaven. Magic and torture. Agony and ecstasy.

Moisture leaked from his eyes, the corners of his mouth. Lan Xichen was ruining him, tearing free choked sputter after choked sputter. His lungs felt tight, and he tried a few times to suck in any air at all, but then Lan Xichen went rigid, holding Jiang Cheng’s head firmly in place as he came so fiercely it filled the other’s mouth and throat while the excess splattered onto his thighs and Jiang Cheng’s cheeks.

And he just kept fucking coming.

Jiang Cheng, already starved for breath, couldn’t keep up, sobbed as he swallowed what he could, choked on what he couldn’t. He was seeing stars. His vision blurred. He couldn’t hold out anymore. He let out another weak sob as he hurriedly tapped Lan Xichen’s thigh.

The hand in his hair finally went slack. He pulled back, coughing viciously, taking several deep and ragged breaths, then choking himself on the come that he’d yet to swallow down. He coughed even more viciously, spraying the grass with spit and spend.

He felt Lan Xichen pulling his hair away from his face, rubbing his back soothingly.

He composed himself a few seconds later and straightened, leaning back on his calves. What a vulgar sight he must have made, dazed, cheeks burning, cum on his face and tears in his eyes. When he caught the culprit of his wrecked state scrutinizing him, he wiped his mouth and cheeks with the back of his hand and turned his head away.

“Stop gawking,” he said, sounding much raspier than normal.

“Are you okay?”

“Fine.”

“Was it too much?”

Jiang Cheng shook his head. It should have been. He should have hated it. But he hadn’t. He really hadn’t.

“Not too much. A little rough at the end, but. . .” he could feel his cheeks burning again, so he leaned against Lan Xichen to hide his face, “I liked it.”

Lan Xichen huffed a disbelieving breath. “Who knew Jiang-zongzhu was so perverse,” he teased.

“I’m the perverse one?” Jiang Cheng asked, smacking his bound hands against Lan Xichen’s chest. “Which one of us tied up the other an hour ago and still refuses to free him??”

“Jiang-zongzhu is right of course,” Lan Xichen gave in. “Though, I could never have thought up what you just did on Shuoyue. Wanyin is a formidable lover to be sure.”

Jiang Cheng clicked his tongue. “I don’t even know what that means.”

Lan Xichen drew close to Jiang Cheng’s ear and whispered, “Wanyin deserves something in return.” His hand slid up Jiang Cheng’s thigh, raising goosebumps. “Something for his trouble.”

“What do you have in mind?” he whispered.

“Anything you want.”

Jiang Cheng lifted his head, and their noses brushed. “Kiss me.”

Lan Xichen did, gentle to start, chaste. Jiang Cheng parted his teeth, and Lan Xichen deepened the kiss without reservation—despite the come lingering on Jiang Cheng’s tongue.

“Touch me,” he breathed, and Lan Xichen’s hand slid farther up his thigh, burrowing under the layers of fabric before finding its target. Jiang Cheng couldn’t stop himself from moaning softly into their kiss as icy fingers slid around his cock and—fuck. Lan Xichen’s fingers were cold and calloused and good, left him feeling just as heady and intoxicated as before.

Lan Xichen made an mmm sound against Jiang Cheng’s mouth. Then, “Oh, you’re close, huh? Really close. I didn’t realize.”

Jiang Cheng kissed him harder. “Shut up,” he growled, then Lan Xichen’s thumb curled over his tip, tearing a course moan from deep behind Jiang Cheng’s sternum. Lan Xichen quickened his pace, and Jiang Cheng moaned in time with his hand, the helpless sounds muffled by their kiss.

Lan Xichen’s touch was everything and more. It was heady, and he was addicted. He wanted always to be touching Lan Xichen, to never let their bodies completely part again.

He wanted to hold Lan Xichen’s hand while they worked; wanted to embrace his every inch while they slept, tangle their arms and legs, breathe him in; wanted to rest his head on Lan Xichen’s shoulder while listening to his music; wanted to lean on him when they were up and sit with him when they were down. He wanted to curl around Lan Xichen’s torso and never let go. He wanted to live there. He wanted Lan Xichen to consume him. He wanted. . .

Fuck! Get ahold of yourself, you lunatic!! he silently admonished. Where did he get off thinking psychotic shit like that?! Forget being in love with Lan Xichen. Jiang Cheng was obsessed with him.

“Can’t believe Jiang-zongzhu’s this worked up because of—“

“Shut—“ Jiang Cheng pressed his lips into a thin line, trapping a whine in his throat. ”Fuck,” he gasped.

“Go on,” Lan Xichen whispered, and the quiet thrum of that voice, made deeper with its lowered volume, was enough to leave Jiang Cheng seeing stars. His body went taut all over. He could hardly hear over the sound of his heart beating madly in his ears. Lan Xichen didn’t let go. He stroked Jiang Cheng, let him come in his hand as he kissed his jaw, held him through his orgasm, prolonged it in a way Jiang Cheng had never dreamed possible.

Eventually, his muscles relaxed. He breathed out a long sigh, slumped his full weight against Lan Xichen, who didn’t stop himself from falling back. He let himself hit the ground, let Jiang Cheng lie atop him like a limp doll.

He kissed his temple before dropping his head back. “Good?”

Jiang Cheng was breathing so hard. He didn’t have the energy to try freeing his hands again, so he just adjusted his weight to keep the blood flowing.

Coming like that was one thing, but doing it right after he’d nearly suffocated on Lan Xichen was quite another—not to mention it was his third time tonight.

He was well and truly spent.

His only reply was an affirming hum.

“Good,” said Lan Xichen, and Jiang Cheng could hear the smile in his tone.

Jiang Cheng could have protested when Lan Xichen lifted him a few minutes later, could have demanded he stand on Shuoyue with Lan Xichen rather than be demeaned like this, but he really didn’t care to argue, not while his spiritual energy was dormant and certainly not when Lan Xichen carried his weight so effortlessly.

They’d already done so much; why bother pretending he didn’t love this? That he wasn’t obsessed?

He liked being held. No one had ever done it before—not like this, not with so much care. He liked being vulnerable. He’d never let himself before. He liked feeling safe with another person. There had been no one since Yanli. No one except Yanli—not until now.

And he liked, perhaps more than anything, relinquishing that violent, bleeding grip he’d for so many years maintained on keeping control. Control of his sect. Of his family. His power. His position. His emotions.

He wouldn’t struggle to control this, not anymore, not when Lan Xichen was willing and able to do it for him. Not when he could trust Lan Xichen to do it for him.

He nestled his face in the crook of Lan Xichen’s neck and let himself be carried to Gusu.

We’re courting, he remembered with a smile. He couldn’t believe his luck.

Chapter Text

The Cloud Recesses,
the next morning

Jiang Cheng was lying partially awake in Lan Xichen’s bed, and he couldn’t even take the time to feel one way or another about that because immediately upon waking up something else stole his attention.

Yes, he was eavesdropping on Lan Xichen. No, he didn’t feel bad about it. He would have were the involved parties not discussing him, but they were so he didn’t.

He silently crept out of bed and toward the nearest privacy partition, which divided Lan Xichen’s bed from the rest of the Wintry Room.

As opposed to Jiang Cheng’s rooms at Lotus Pier (which were aligned like this: ㅗ ), the Wintry Room was a perfect square, bisected down the middle by a wall which was ornamental rather than divisional, as it revealed more of the room’s opposite side than it concealed.

Jiang Cheng struggled to keep himself hidden as he sneaked toward the east exit, where Lan Xichen stood with the door cracked open.

“Think things through, Xichen. Do we not have enough on our plates? Why involve yourself with that delinquent?” said a voice from beyond the threshold. It was most certainly Lan Qiren.

Jiang Cheng balled his hands into tight fists. He remembered a time when Lan Qiren praised his discipline and level-headed demeanor (it would have been during the guest lectures (after Wei Wuxian’s premature departure of course)).

But now he was a delinquent.

Try losing your entire family in the span of a few years, he thought bitterly. See if you maintain the same level-headed discipline.

“Please keep your voice down, shufu,” Lan Xichen said evenly, though his tone softened considerably upon his next words, “He hardly sleeps most nights. Let him rest.”

Jiang Cheng’s tension eased. No one paid him such close attention, cared so much for his health and well-being.

It reminded him of Yanli and, absurdly, he felt the backs of his eyes sting. Lan Xichen would be the death of him. Jiang Cheng had gone years without crying; now suddenly he was sobbing one night and tearing up the next?? How pathetic could he get? When would Lan Xichen stop dragging this out of him?

He blinked the feeling away and refocused.

“Xichen,” said Lan Qiren severely.

“Shufu is right,” a third, mild voice piped up. “Do not involve yourself with him.”

Jiang Cheng hadn’t realized Lan Wangji was there too. Fucking perfect.

“Why not?” asked Lan Xichen, and Jiang Cheng was surprised at the subtle edge to his tone.

“Any trouble Jiang-zongzhu has gotten himself into is none of your business,” said Lan Qiren. “It is your duty to focus on your own sect, Zongzhu.”

“You do not know—“

”He is dangerous,” Lan Wangji cut in at a low whisper.

Dangerous? Surely Lan Wangji wasn’t suggesting Jiang Cheng could cross swords with Lan Xichen and win. He was confident in his own abilities, but he doubted Lan Wangji, who seemed to genuinely idolize his older brother, shared any such confidence in Jiang Cheng.

“Forgive me if I don’t agree,” Lan Xichen replied evenly. He was squeezing the doorframe with one hand; his knuckles had gone white.

Jiang Cheng’s face warmed. Listening to Lan Xichen’s off-handed praises when they were together was one thing; hearing him rush to his defense when he thought Jiang Cheng couldn’t hear was quite another.

“In any case, it is your decision. I pray you’ve carefully considered things,” said Lan Qiren. After a pause, he added, “With your head.”

As opposed to what?

”Shufu—” Lan Xichen whispered, sounding both embarrassed and defeated as Lan Qiren walked off, footsteps echoing down the hall.

Jiang Cheng found himself heating with embarrassment as well. Surely Lan Qiren could not intuit the nature of his nephew’s relationship with Jiang Cheng from this conversation alone! How much did he know??

“Xiongzhang,” Lan Wangji pleaded (or scolded? He was very difficult to read).

“Do not concern yourself,” said Lan Xichen with a sigh. “If it troubles you this much, consider the matter resolved.”

“It is not resolved.”

“I will resolve it.”

Lan Wangji didn’t reply right away, and Jiang Cheng feared for a moment that he’d missed something.

Then, “It is not resolved.”

Lan Xichen sighed again, sounding annoyed. “Terminated, then. Is that better?”

Terminated? What matter was Lan Xichen terminating?? Surely, Lan Wangji wasn’t also aware of his brother’s. . . entanglement with Jiang Cheng. Was he?

Was he??

If he was, and Lan Xichen knew he was, could that mean he meant to terminate their. . . whatever—their entanglement?

Surely not.

Surely not.

“Mn,” was Lan Wangji’s only reply. Then Jiang Cheng heard his footsteps fade down the hall as well before Lan Xichen slid the door closed.

Jiang Cheng slinked back behind the privacy partition, laid himself down on Lan Xichen’s bed, and pretended to be asleep.

Lan Xichen approached the bed a second later, seated himself on the edge next to Jiang Cheng’s shoulder. Then, none too gently, he poked Jiang Cheng’s cheek. The latter opened his eyes with a glare.

“How long were you listening?” Lan Xichen asked, voice and expression pleasant—like he wasn’t just plotting to toss Jiang Cheng out like used tea leaves.

Jiang Cheng batted his hand away and cast his glare in the opposite direction. “Your brother’s an asshole.”

“He is uptight, like Shufu.”

“Your uncle’s an asshole too.”

Lan Xichen just smiled. “This leader does not care what they think,” he said, linking Jiang Cheng’s hand with his own.

Jiang Cheng met his eye. “You don’t?”

“Of course not. Though I do wish they’d keep their opinions to themselves.”

Jiang Cheng squeezed his hand, then grabbed the shoulder of his robes and pulled. Lan Xichen went down with a yelp, landing partially to Jiang Cheng’s left and partially on top of him.

“Wanyin,” he chuckled, adjusting himself until they both lay on their sides facing one another. “Dragging me back into bed already? How forward.”

Jiang Cheng rolled his eyes, flushing crimson. “Shut up. Before I kick you onto the floor.”

“Kidding,” Lan Xichen amended, squeezing Jiang Cheng’s hand.

He squeezed back, looking down as he asked,
“Are you annoyed with me for eavesdropping?”

“Of course not,” Lan Xichen replied, tone light. “Wanyin could sneak a listening talisman onto my back, and I would not be annoyed.”

“Why would I do that?”

Lan Xichen smiled a little nervously, like this was something he’d considered doing himself.

“I’m not going to find a listening talisman hidden somewhere in my rooms, am I?” Jiang Cheng asked (he was only half-joking).

“Of course not. This leader would never betray Wanyin’s trust.”

Jiang Cheng squinted. “But you wouldn’t mind if I betrayed yours?”

“Of course I would mind,” said Lan Xichen, “but you and I trust in different ways. Spying on Wanyin would end very badly, but I wouldn’t mind it if Wanyin spied on me.” He smiled and blushed like the idea of that delighted him. “This leader is not as concerned with privacy—not with you.”

Jiang Cheng stared in bemusement for a few seconds too long, then clicked his tongue and looked away. “Loon.”

“Grouch.” Lan Xichen was still smiling, gazing fondly at their joined hands, like he couldn’t believe his luck, like he’d been waiting ages to hold Jiang Cheng’s hand.

There was no way he had any intention of ending things.

Still, Jiang Cheng couldn’t help asking, “What did you mean when you told Lan-er-gongzi to consider the matter terminated?”

Lan Xichen furrowed his brow. “Oh. That.” He met Jiang Cheng’s eye a little warily. “Don’t be upset—you know I can’t take it when you’re angry with me. I’m much too sensitive.”

“You’re stalling.”

Lan Xichen must have picked up on Jiang Cheng’s anxious tone of voice because he quickly got to the point. “I asked Wangji to help with the blended composition, but he was upset that I’d even think of using the Collection of Spirit Turmoil. When I said consider the matter resolved, that is all I was referring to. And truthfully, I only said it to make him leave.”

Jiang Cheng breathed a relieved sigh. That made sense. Why had he been so quick to assume the worst?

(And when had losing Lan Xichen become a worst case scenario??)

“What did you think I was talking about?”

Jiang Cheng balked. “Nothing. Or—that, I mean. Exactly what you said.”

Lan Xichen’s eyes narrowed. “Liar. What did you really think?”

“I just told you.”

“Does Jiang-zongzhu want to be tied up again?”

Jiang Cheng looked and realized for the first time that his hands weren’t bound. Lan Xichen must have freed him sometime last night.

He pursed his lips into a line, and Lan Xichen smirked.

“Oh, I see. Wanyin does want that. I must admit to being surprised. You seemed so annoyed about it last night—but this leader can admit when he’s wrong. Give me a moment to find the ribbon.”

He started to get up, and Jiang Cheng shoved his shoulder, ended up pinning him to the bed. “Don’t you dare. I’m perfectly happy with the use of both hands, you asshole.”

Lan Xichen’s smirk widened as he ran a hand up the side of Jiang Cheng’s thigh. “I’m sure you are.”

Jiang Cheng rolled his eyes and slumped back onto the bed. “Does Lan-zongzhu ever think of anything besides having his way with me?”

Lan Xichen chuckled. “No. Not since. . .” he trailed, tapping his chin thoughtfully, “not since Jiang-zongzhu was still Jiang-gongzi.”

Jiang Cheng huffed dismissively. “What a pervert you are, lusting after younger men.”

“But Jiang-gongzi was so well-mannered back then.”

“So you like them young and obedient. You’re an even worse pervert than I thought.”

Lan Xichen pursed his lips into a pout. “Jiang-zongzhu is so mean to me. The polite Jiang-gongzi would never have spoken to his gege this way.”

Jiang Cheng decided to ignore Lan Xichen’s use of the term gege (as it was rather obvious bait).

“If Lan-zongzhu had been even a fraction as perverse with me back then as he is now, I definitely would have called him a pervert,” he said matter-of-factly. “And I wasn’t as polite and well-mannered as you’re suggesting.”

“You were,” said Lan Xichen. “Wanyin’s temper has never been as bad as he makes it out to be.”

“Yeah, right. How many times have I lashed out at you for no reason? Because I’ve lost count.”

“You rarely lash out unless your curse symptoms are flaring up, and I don’t hold those instances against you.”

Jiang Cheng frowned.

It wasn’t just the curse though. Lashing out over nothing, accusing Lan Xichen of plotting against him, of being poisoned or bewitched, of forcing his affections on someone who didn’t feel the same—that was all venom he spat. Not because he was cursed but because he was intrinsically venomous. Poisonous to the point he was poison; down to his bones, deep in the marrow, he irradiated phobia and toxin.

It had always been so.

But if Lan Xichen thought his harsh words were just a result of the curse, how long before he realized his mistake? Before he learned that Jiang Cheng spit venom regardless of the curse’s influence?

Lan Xichen suddenly took hold of his face, gently nudged it back toward his own. “Don’t think so much.”

How? How does he always know?

He tenderly ran his thumb across Jiang Cheng’s cheek. “Everything’s all right.”

It wasn’t a question this time.

Jiang Cheng’s brow creased. He loved him so much; loved him like the earth loves the heavens; soul called to his ike thunder calls the rain; heart chased his like the sun chases the moon.

Lan Xichen smiled like he could read Jiang Cheng’s mind. He probably could. He probably knew it all.

Jiang Cheng shuffled closer, kissed Lan Xichen once on the lips before ducking his head against his collar. “Yeah.”

Lan Xichen eagerly wrapped his arms around Jiang Cheng, tangled their legs, planted his own kiss to the crown of Jiang Cheng’s head.

“Did you think I meant us?”

“What?”

“When I said consider it terminated. Did you think I was talking about us?”

“No,” Jiang Cheng said wrapping his arms around Lan Xichen’s waist, holding him tight, breathing him in. “Maybe.”

“Incorrigible,” Lan Xichen muttered, then kissed Jiang Cheng’s head again. “Wanyin doesn’t need to worry about that.”

Jiang Cheng nodded, tried to cement the fact in his insecure, pathetic fucking head.

“I would never terminate our courtship,” Lan Xichen went on, and Jiang Cheng flushed all the way down his neck. He didn’t think he could ever get used to this being a courtship. “I’ll court Wanyin forever.”

He huffed. “That’s not how it works.”

“No?”

“No,” he said, (because it was obvious, wasn’t it?) “You only court for a few months. Maybe a year. Then—“

He cut himself off. Oh. It was obvious. An obvious fucking trick.

“Then what?” asked Lan Xichen.

Jiang Cheng felt he should reiterate a fact which was becoming increasingly apparent: Lan Xichen, the respectable and righteous Zewu-jun, the beautiful, even-tempered, ever-smiling gem of the Lan Clan, was secretly an evil genius.

“You villain,” Jiang Cheng grumbled.

“What an odd way of proposing marriage.”

“Villain of villains. Peerlessly wicked.”

“Very odd indeed,” said Lan Xichen. “Nevertheless, this leader accepts.”

Jiang Cheng’s heart felt ready to beat right out of his chest. “Shut up. You’re not funny.”

“Who’s being funny?”

Jiang Cheng didn’t know what he should fucking say.

“How long have we been courting?” asked Lan Xichen.

“I don’t know. Why are you asking me? I didn’t even realize we were courting until last night!”

Lan Xichen hummed. “Then, did we start courting last night? Or did we start eight months ago with your first visit to the Cloud Recesses?”

“I don’t know. Don’t ask me. I’ve never done this before.” His skin burned beneath his robes, seared at every point of contact. Surely this wasn’t going where he thought it was. Surely Lan Xichen was fucking with him.

“Hmm,” Lan Xichen mused. “Well, Jiang-zongzhu accepted my first gift—as well as every subsequent gift—which would usually indicate an acceptance of courtship.” Lan Xichen held Jiang Cheng a little tighter. “And it would certainly seem Jiang-zongzhu has accepted. That he’s long-since accepted.”

Jiang Cheng mindlessly fisted his hands in Lan Xichen’s robes, listening intently.

“So, doesn’t it stand to reason that we’ve been courting for several months?”

“I don’t know,” Jiang Cheng mumbled because he really didn’t fucking know.

Lan Xichen chuckled again, and the sound rumbled like thunder inside his ribcage.

“Forgive this leader, Jiang-zongzhu. I can’t help wanting to be with you all the time.”

Jiang Cheng pressed his ear to Lan Xichen’s sternum, listened to his heart and his rumbling breath. “Do you really mean that?”

“I do.”

Jiang Cheng pulled back, settling with just a foot of space between them as he met the other’s fond gaze. “So, if I asked you to marry me, you would say yes?” His thin face burned like it was on fire.

Lan Xichen smiled warmly. “Doesn’t Jiang-zongzhu think things are moving a little too fast?”

Jiang Cheng made good on his threat and shoved Lan Xichen off the bed.

“I can’t stand you,” he sniped, sitting up and crossing his arms, jutting his chin. “Seriously! How does anyone put up with you? It baffles me! I pity the girl you actually marry—having to deal with your shameless teasing and your forsaken fucking libido! What a despicable villain you are. What—“

Lan Xichen had picked himself up off the floor, seized Jiang Cheng by his face, and cut off his ranting with a kiss. He settled with his knees to either side of Jiang Cheng’s hips, tipping the latter’s head back as he licked the wall of his teeth, as he explored Jiang Cheng’s previously explored mouth like it was undiscovered land.

Jiang Cheng ran his hands up and down Lan Xichen’s thighs, kneading the firm muscle.

“The girl I actually marry?” Lan Xichen said as he pulled back, sounding uncharacteristically affronted. “As if there’s any girl—any person in the world I’d have over you. There is no one.”

Jiang Cheng didn’t have a chance to respond before Lan Xichen was kissing him again—not that he would have been able to respond anyway.

Lan Xichen’s hands slinked down to Jiang Cheng’s collar, toyed with the hem of his robes before slipping beneath, teasing the garment off his shoulders. Jiang Cheng let himself play with Lan Xichen’s waistband for a few seconds before breaking away.

“You’re insatiable,” he said, pulling his robe back over his shoulders.

Lan Xichen huffed as he slumped down, sitting in front of Jiang Cheng with his legs crossed.

“Why are you pouting? You’re already dressed. Do you really want me to ruin that?”

“Yes,” Lan Xichen said candidly.

Jiang Cheng stared for a few seconds, then rolled his eyes. “Like I said—insatiable. Where are the rest of my clothes?”

Lan Xichen flopped onto his back with a pitiful groan.

“My clothes, asshole.” When there was no response, Jiang Cheng crawled over to him, poked his face like he’d poked Jiang Cheng’s before. Lan Xichen didn’t react. Jiang Cheng poked him again. Nothing.

“Lan-zongzhu,” he said impatiently.

Nothing.

“Zewu-jun.”

His eyelids didn’t even flutter.

”Lan Xichen.”

This was getting ridiculous. Jiang Cheng said as much. There was still no response. He leaned back on his calves and considered digging through Lan Xichen’s sleeves, but decided against it. Heaven only knows what he kept in there. Jiang Cheng thought about kissing him, but things would definitely get out of hand if he did that. Maybe he should use Zidian. . .

“Lan Xichen,” he said again. Nothing. He bent low, close enough that Lan Xichen could surely feel his breath, and whispered into his ear: ”Gege.”

Lan Xichen’s eyes flicked open, gaze darting toward Jiang Cheng. The latter started to lean away, pleased with himself, but Lan Xichen was fast, seizing Jiang Cheng’s arm and wrenching him down, locking him into a tight embrace.

Jiang Cheng struggled to free himself, but he couldn’t match stupid Lan Xichen and his fiendish Lan strength.

“What is with you??”

“I’m bewitched,” said Lan Xichen. “Moonstruck. Whatever you want to call it.”

“Annoying’s what I’d call it.”

Lan Xichen chuckled. “I’ll let go if Wanyin says it again.”

“You’re annoying.”

“Not that.”

“Fat chance.”

Lan Xichen wrapped his legs around Jiang Cheng’s. “Fine by me.”

“You fiend.”

“That’s not it.”

“Asshole.”

“Wrong.”

“I’m going to break your damn legs. Don’t think you’ll get away with this shit when I’ve recovered my spiritual energy.”

“That’s why I have to savor it now.”

Jiang Cheng tried again, in vain, to free himself. “I hate you.”

“Still not what I’m waiting to hear.”

Jiang Cheng mumbled into Lan Xichen’s robes.

“What was that?”

He mumbled a fraction louder.

“Wanyin.”

“Let go!” he snapped impatiently. Then, with a bitter sneer, “. . .Gege.”

Lan Xichen let go, smiling contentedly. Jiang Cheng immediately rolled to the side before shoving Lan Xichen off the bed again.

“You’re a child, you know that?! I can’t stand you! Grow up already, you insufferable—“

Once again, Lan Xichen picked himself up and cut off Jiang Cheng’s angry rambling with an adoring kiss.

Wu time

Jiang Cheng considered sending a Lan messenger dove to Lotus Pier but decided against it. He never told his sect how long he’d be gone, so they weren’t expecting him, and he didn’t want to imagine how a Lan dove might be misinterpreted (or correctly interpreted). Besides, he wasn’t staying in the Cloud Recesses for very long.

“I wish you would reconsider asking Jin-xiandu. He’s an excellent musician,” Lan Xichen said as they left the Library Pavilion and started back toward the Wintry Room.

Jiang Cheng frowned.

Lan Xichen was struggling to rework his composition; maybe they should just ask Jin Guangyao. Originally, Lan Xichen had hoped to convince his brother to perform the song, but after Lan Wangji’s dismissal of the composition, he’d decided to rewrite it so that one of the participants could also be the performer. The endeavor was proving more difficult than either had anticipated.

Before Jiang Cheng could reply, a young boy zipped past their feet, halted in his tracks once he realized he’d passed the pair by, then spun around.

“A-Huan!” the boy said, bowing once. He couldn’t be any older than Jin Ling.

“A-Yuan,” Lan Xichen returned, smiling. “Where is Wangji?”

“Xiongzhang.”

Jiang Cheng looked over his shoulder, spotted Lan Wangji standing a few feet behind them. His palm instinctually came to rest on Sandu’s hilt.

“Jiang-zongzhu,” Lan Wangji addressed, offering a shallow bow.

“Lan-er-gongzi.”

He looked back to his brother, gaze skirting over the scroll tucked into his belt. Lan Xichen obscured it with his sleeve.

“I found them,” the young boy said, racing to Lan Wangji’s side, clinging to the hems of his robes.

“Thank you.” He patted the boy’s head. “Xiongzhang, you are going forward with your composition?”

Jiang Cheng couldn’t hide his scowl. Lan Wangji had no say here. Why was he acting like he could tell his brother—his sect leader—what to do?

“Can you provide an alternative?”

Lan Wangji gave a single, subtle shake of the head.

Lan Xichen only smiled. “Was there anything else?”

Are they arguing? Jiang Cheng really couldn’t tell, as they were both so difficult to read.

“You’ll curse him,” Lan Wangji said, addressing Jiang Cheng.

“He won’t,” countered Lan Xichen without hesitation.

Jiang Cheng looked to the former, bemused. “Is that possible?”

“It is,” said Lan Wangji at the same time his brother said “It’s not.”

Jiang Cheng met the younger Lan’s eye, tried to glean the truth, but his expression was as flat and unyielding as ever.

“Reconsider.” He looked down, patted the young boy’s head again. “Come.” Then the pair retreated down the breezeway.

“Do not dwell on that,” Lan Xichen urged Jiang Cheng. “You won’t curse me. Wangji has not read my composition. He only wants to make you uneasy.”

“I see,” Jiang Cheng replied, feeling very uneasy indeed.

Jiang Cheng sat in Lan Xichen’s window alcove restlessly tapping a finger against his knee. He couldn’t stop thinking about it, couldn’t help imagining Lan Xichen, cursed because of him. They couldn’t do this. They couldn’t. Not if there was a chance, however slim, that Lan Xichen would end up in the same position as Jiang Cheng—even temporarily. They couldn’t do it.

“Please stop thinking so much, Jiang-zongzhu,” Lan Xichen said from where he sat behind his work table. “You would invite unrest and worsen your condition.”

“Piss off,” he grumbled. “What about your condition?”

“My condition is fine.”

“But if we play the song—“

“Wangji was mistaken. Do not dwell on it.”

“You say that like it’s easy.” Jiang Cheng pushed to a stand, pacing back and forth, biting the tip of his thumb. “We should think of something else. If there’s a chance—“

“There isn’t.”

“Do you swear?” he asked, halting. “Can you swear that there is no chance at all?”

Lan Xichen cast Jiang Cheng a neutral stare. Then he sighed. “It would be safer if Wangji agreed to oversee things.”

“We’re not doing this,” Jiang Cheng decided. “Forgive me. I should never have encouraged you knowing that the Collection of Spirit Turmoil was dangerous, how it affects people. Forgive me.”

“No need, Jiang-zongzhu. I was the one who decided to compose this piece. You have nothing to apologize for.”

Jiang Cheng averted his gaze, watching the wind chimes clink with the wind over Lan Xichen’s head.

“Still,” he said. “I’m sorry you went to all this trouble. You really shouldn’t concern yourself with this any further. It’s my mess.” He moved toward the door, drawing Sandu from its sheath. “I should return to Lotus Pier. Let my sect’s doctors take another look—“

Lan Xichen was up in seconds, planting a hand on Sandu’s pommel and pressing down, sliding the blade back into its scabbard. Then he took Jiang Cheng’s hand in his own, expression resolute.

“Wanyin,” his usual playfulness dissolved, “you want to prove that you trust me? Trust that I know what I’m doing, that I’d never compose a piece that might harm you or myself.”

They eyed one another for a few seconds, each holding firm to their position as long as their resolve would hold. Jiang Cheng broke first, heaved a defeated sigh as Lan Xichen cupped a hand to his cheek.

“Trust me.”

He did. More than anyone. But to trust that Lan Xichen wouldn’t put himself in harm’s way for Jiang Cheng’s sake was another thing entirely—because that was absolutely something Lan Xichen would do.

Jiang Cheng frowned, torn. Lan Xichen seemed so certain, and Jiang Cheng did trust that he wouldn’t lie to his face.

“Okay,” he relented, dropping his forehead onto Lan Xichen’s shoulder. “Fine.”

“I’m making progress,” he promised. “Just give me a little more time.”

“You can have it,” said Jiang Cheng. “Take all the time you need.”

“When did Wanyin become so soft?” Lan Xichen teased fondly.

Jiang Cheng lifted his head with a scowl. “Moment’s ruined. You ruined it,” he said, spinning around on his heel, trudging away.

Lan Xichen followed. “I take it back. Wanyin isn’t soft! He’s rock-hard!”

Jiang Cheng whipped his head around with a sneer. ”You—“ he hissed, then felt something in his throat, felt his balance err to the left. He twisted around again, putting his back to Lan Xichen as something hot and wet stung his eyes. He rubbed one with the back of his hand. It came away bright red.

His eyes were bleeding. That had never happened before.

“Wanyin?”

He coughed into his sleeve, felt something bubble up in his throat. More blood. Was he qi deviating? He coughed again.

“Where’s the bell?” he rasped, covering his mouth and keeping his face turned away from Lan Xichen.

“It’s not here, but even if it was, I put an energy-blocking talisman on it last night—before we ever left the inn. It shouldn’t be affecting you.”

Something was definitely affecting him. He thought he might vomit. His head was spinning. His vision was red. He’d been trying to push Lan Xichen away with one hand, but now he grabbed desperately at those white robes, dropped to his knees.

“Wanyin—“ Lan Xichen called, kneeling before him, pushing his hair back. He thought he heard a gasp, then a torrent of icy qi filled his meridians. He sighed a shaky breath, slumped forward as the curse’s resentful energy gave way to Lan Xichen’s cleansing flood.

Wei time

Jiang Cheng hated this.

Lan Xichen was wiping the blood from his face with a damp towel, humming softly as he worked.

Jiang Cheng wanted to keel over and die.

“Sorry,” he rasped.

“For what?”

“You know.”

“There is no sense in apologizing for something you can’t control.”

Jiang Cheng hated that he couldn’t control it, couldn’t even predict it. He hated this. He hated it so fucking much.

The east door slid open, and Jiang Cheng glanced that way.

Lan Wangji came in with fresh towels and a steaming teapot. His gaze fell on Jiang Cheng, shifted to the bloody towel in Lan Xichen’s hands, then to the pale of bloody water next to them. He set the pot and the towels down on Lan Xichen’s work table before swiftly leaving the room again.

Jiang Cheng clenched his fists, infuriated beyond measure at having been seen in such a state by that asshole.

Lan Xichen suddenly kissed his forehead, then went back to wiping his face like nothing happened. Jiang Cheng unclenched his fists. A moment later, Lan Xichen set the towel down.

“Good as new.”

“Thanks,” Jiang Cheng muttered.

Lan Xichen gave him a toothbrush to scrub the blood from his teeth and tongue. When he was finished, he collapsed fully dressed onto the cushions of Lan Xichen’s alcove, spent.

Lan Xichen stepped back into the Wintry Room a moment later—Jiang Cheng hadn’t realized he left—holding a small bundle in his left palm. Jiang Cheng sat up, eyeing the object like he could somehow see through its cloth wrapping.

“Your clarity bell,” said Lan Xichen, handing the bundle over. “I left it to Shufu, but he didn’t detect any resentful energy. It isn’t cursed.”

“‘S okay,” he replied drowsily. “Thanks for checking.”

“Tired?”

“No.”

“Can you call your spiritual energy?”

He nodded. “I think so.”

“No need to test it,” said Lan Xichen. He sat next to Jiang Cheng, checked his meridians were still clear of pollution. “We’ve ruled out Zidian. We’ve ruled out the bell.”

Jiang Cheng palmed Sandu’s hilt. He unhooked it from his belt and laid the sheathed blade across his lap. “That just leaves this.”

“May I?”

Jiang Cheng nodded, and Lan Xichen took up his sword, palms glowing white as he checked its spiritual energy. He frowned.

“What is it?”

“Nothing. Your sword appears perfectly fine.”

“You don’t seem happy about that.”

“It doesn’t make any sense,” Lan Xichen said, pushing to a stand with Sandu still in his grasp. “You only keep three spiritual items on your person, and none of them are cursed. So what’s sapping your power?”

Jiang Cheng rubbed his eyes. He was too exhausted to think up an answer.

“Does Jiang-zongzhu mind if I have Shufu check the sword as well? Just in case the curse is complex enough to obscure itself.”

“Sure,” he said, though he was only half listening.

“What about Zidian?”

That caught Jiang Cheng’s attention. He thumbed the ring, twisting it around and around his finger anxiously. He trusted Lan Xichen. He didn’t know if he trusted Lan Qiren.

Still, “Fine, but I’ll wait until he’s checked Sandu.”

Lan Xichen agreed, then left the Wintry Room with Sandu in tow. Jiang Cheng felt uneasy without the weapon, but at least he still had Zidian.

He started to doze off, but right before sleep took him, the door slid open again. He let it be, assuming it was Lan Xichen.

“Jiang-zongzhu.”

Not Lan Xichen. Not Lan Xichen—

He bolted upright, spotted the younger Lan brother scrutinizing him from a few yards away.

He couldn’t control it; he flushed crimson. If it wasn’t abundantly clear to Lan Wangji the nature of his brother’s relationship with Jiang Cheng, it certainly was now.

He hadn’t walked in on anything untoward, but he already knew Jiang Cheng slept here last night, knew he’d stuck around all day, had seen his brother tenderly cleaning Jiang Cheng’s face, and now Jiang Cheng was casually dozing off in Lan Xichen’s rooms?

Surely he’d caught on.

Right?

Except, he knew Jiang Cheng was cursed. Maybe everything could be explained away by that. Maybe. He really hoped it could—even if that made him seem pathetic. He’d rather be pathetic than a cut-sleeve—at least in the eyes of someone like Lan Wangji.

“What is it?” he asked coldly.

“I will perform Xiongzhang’s blended composition.”

“You’ll. . . what?”

“I will perform—“

“I heard you,” Jiang Cheng interrupted, to which Lan Wangji unsubtly curled his lip. “Why the sudden change of heart? And why are you telling me?”

Lan Wangji didn’t reply right away, and Jiang Cheng felt his eye twitch.

“Did you decide not to go through with it?” the former asked.

“No.”

“Did you even try to convince him not to?”

Jiang Cheng scowled. “Whether I did or didn’t is none of your business. The outcome’s the same either way.”

“Are you not concerned for him?”

“He says he’ll be fine.”

“If you believe that—“

“Why wouldn’t I?”

Lan Wangji leveled him with a neutral stare. When Jiang Cheng only glared in return, he said, “Xiongzhang would have you believe he was well even if he was not.”

Jiang Cheng already knew that. “What’s your point?”

“He would put himself at risk if it meant curing you, but he would have you believe there were no risks.”

He knew that too. “If you’re agreeing to supervise, that minimizes the risks.”

“Wouldn’t you prefer he not take the risk at all?” Lan Wangji asked pointedly. “Or are you incapable of feeling concern for anyone but yourself?”

An angry vein popped on Jiang Cheng’s forehead. “Rich talk coming from you,” he hissed. “Which of us put his clan at risk to save a murdering heretic?”

Lan Wangji leveled him with another neutral, entirely unreadable stare.

“Just piss off,” he sneered. “I’m not the one you should be talking to anyway.”

“I should think not—as you’ve never heeded my warnings before.”

“The fuck is that supposed to mean?”

“Encouraging Xiongzhang to compose a new piece for the Collection of Spirit Turmoil—to cultivate resentful energy. Isn’t that exactly what you did with Wei Ying?”

He wished Lan Wangji were wrong, detested that he was right. Jiang Cheng had encouraged Wei Wuxian to cultivate the demonic path, especially after it had worked so well against Wen Chao and Wen Zhuliu, then ignored the signs of his deterioration far longer than grief or war or stress could have excused.

He balled his hands into fists. “Fuck you.”

“Grow up.”

“Take your own advice, asshole.”

Lan Wangji blinked, unfazed. “Think about it,” he said. “And spare my brother your misery.”

Maybe the mention of Wei Wuxian had set him off more than he realized. Maybe he was oversensitive where Lan Xichen was concerned. Maybe Lan Wangji had simply put into words the exact sentiment Jiang Cheng had been struggling all this time to bury below the surface.

Spare him your misery.

Whatever the case, those words enraged him like nothing else.

He sprang to his feet. “Like you spared my brother yours?!”

Lan Wangji half-turned, as though to quip back at Jiang Cheng’s taunting, but the latter had already lost his cool. He threw a punch, fist colliding with Lan Wangji’s perfect nose. He staggered, blood dribbling from one nostril.

“Don’t forget who else never heeded your warning! Though he might have if you weren’t so fucking condescending! Maybe if you treated him better, he wouldn’t have hated you so much!”

Lan Wangji’s expression twisted with rage—not so dramatically, but it was more than Jiang Cheng had seen in a long time. Lan Wangji righted himself and threw a punch of his own, striking Jiang Cheng’s jaw, seizing the scruff of his shirt before he could stagger back.

Jiang Cheng grabbed his wrist, tasted blood. “That a sore spot for you, Lan-er-gongzi?” He chuckled mirthlessly. “Think you’d be this pissed off if it weren’t true?”

”Jiang Wanyin—“ Lan Wangji hissed. Then his gaze darted to the side, and he released Jiang Cheng right as the west door slid open.

Jiang Cheng fell gracelessly into the alcove.

Lan Xichen stepped across the threshold and slid the door shut behind him.

“Wangji,” he said, visibly surprised. He looked to Jiang Cheng next, sprawled haphazardly amidst the cushions. Jiang Cheng only sneered and looked away. “What. . . happened?” Lan Xichen asked, glancing between the pair again, eyeing his brother’s bloodied nose, Jiang Cheng’s split lip.

“I will perform your composition,” Lan Wangji said simply. Then he started toward the east door, but Lan Xichen called after him.

“Wait.” He glanced back at Jiang Cheng, then looked to his brother again. “I don’t understand. Why have you changed your mind?”

Lan Wangji paused. “I cannot convince you. He cannot convince you,” he gestured to Jiang Cheng. “Someone must supervise.” He passed Lan Xichen’s work table, eyes catching on the unrolled scroll. “Is this it?”

Lan Xichen nodded, looking a little dazed.

“I will review it.” Then he rerolled the scroll and stalked out of the Wintry room, slamming the door behind him.

Lan Xichen turned to Jiang Cheng, who curled his lip in distaste.

“Your brother’s an asshole.”

Lan Xichen scrutinized him with a look, as though doubting that fact, but then he sighed, reaching a hand out to help Jiang Cheng up.

“Regardless of who provoked who, he should not have lost his temper while you were without your spiritual powers. It is against the precepts to combat an opponent with such a stark disadvantage.”

Jiang Cheng took his hand and pulled himself up. “I hit him first,” he admitted.

Lan Xichen averted his gaze, expression just as unreadable as his brother’s. It was infuriating. He started to pull his hand away, but Jiang Cheng held firm.

“Did you tell him about us?”

“No,” said Lan Xichen, startled. “Why? What did he say?”

Spare my brother your misery.

“Nothing. It just seemed like he knew more than he was letting on.”

Lan Xichen touched his sleeve to his lips thoughtfully.

“Forgive me. I shouldn’t have lost my temper like that.”

“No, you should not have.”

Jiang Cheng couldn’t help the way his brow rose in surprise. He’d gotten so used to Lan Xichen forgiving everything right away; he wasn’t sure where to go from here. His grip slackened, and Lan Xichen’s hand slid free.

He turned away, began clearing his work table of the used brushes and open ink wells.

Jiang Cheng watched with bated breath, stomach tying itself in knots. “Should I. . . go?”
he asked for lack of anything better.

Lan Xichen gave a rather exasperated sigh. “That is Jiang-zongzhu’s solution to everything.”

“What do you want me to say?”

“If you do not know, then say nothing.”

“Zewu-jun—“

“And even if I did want you to leave, how would you go? I have just handed your sword off to Shufu.”

Jiang Cheng rolled his eyes. “If you’re pissed, just say that.”

Lan Xichen said nothing.

Jiang Cheng awkwardly fidgeted with Zidian, trying very hard not to lose his temper.

He was failing.

He made his decision quickly and started for the door.

“Don’t tell me you’re going to find Shufu so you can fly home.”

“I’m not.” He wasn’t. Really, that wasn’t his intention at all. But he could feel the residual anger—none of which Lan Xichen had triggered and none of which he should have to endure—swirling in his gut, rising up his throat.

He wasn’t finished being pissed off yet. And it was so difficult to stamp down.

“I’m not,” he repeated, stabbing vicious half-moons into his palms. “I just. . . need a minute.”

Lan Xichen straightened a little, eyeing him curiously, but Jiang Cheng didn’t linger. He stepped outside, then shut the door behind him, making a conscious effort to do it gently.

Chapter Text

The Cloud Recesses,
Shen time

Jiang Cheng knew he had a shadow, but since Lan Xichen was deliberately keeping his distance, he pretended not to notice.

After he left the Wintry Room, he found the wooded path he and Lan Xichen had walked during a few of his visits (an activity which seemed innocent enough back then, but knowing now that they’d been courting this entire fucking time definitely cast those strolls in a new light).

He’d just needed to clear his head, settle his rising temper before he lashed out. He didn’t want to lash out again—not after the things he’d said last time.

Did you ever stop to think that maybe this thing between us isn’t mutual? That this was never something that I wanted?

He cringed at the memory, looked back without thinking. Wherever Lan Xichen was hiding, Jiang Cheng couldn’t see him. He trekked onward, passed the small cluster of bushes and bramble where he and Lan Xichen had once encountered a rather haughty rabbit. He smiled at the memory.

He looked back again, didn’t see Lan Xichen. Maybe he’d stopped tailing him. For some reason, the idea of that pissed him off.

He spun around quickly. Still nothing. “Lan-zongzhu?” he ventured, deciding his anger had been tempered and that he was tired of walking alone.

There was no response. Had that fucker seriously abandoned him?

“Zewu-jun?”

Nothing. Was he pissed enough to ignore him completely?

“Asshole,” Jiang Cheng grumbled, turning back around and trodding along. He thought about faking a coughing fit but imagined that would piss Lan Xichen off even more.

Whatever. He deserved it. Hadn’t he said he would stay close and never let Jiang Cheng go again? Guess that was bullshit. The fucker. The villain.

Jiang Cheng heard a twig snap and whipped his head in that direction. He couldn’t see Lan Xichen, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t there. Jiang Cheng scanned the forest all around, then nearly jumped out of his skin in surprise.

A pair of large, dark eyes watched him from beyond the bramble.

He swiftly composed himself. “It’s you,” he said with mild disappointment. “Come out.”

His pursuer started at being addressed directly. After a few seconds, he hesitantly stepped out into the open.

“What’s your name?”

“Lan Yuan,” the boy said, twiddling his thumbs shyly. It was the same boy from before, the one he’d seen hanging around Lan Wangji.

“Where are your parents?”

“A-Zhan is in the Tranquility Room.”

A-Zhan? Was Lan Wangji this kid’s father? If so, who in the world was his mother?! Wait. No. That couldn’t be the case. Why would he call his father by his given name?

“You shouldn’t be out here alone.”

Were Lan children even allowed outside the walls of the Cloud Recesses?

“I like your robe,” the boy said, reaching out to touch the purple fabric. Jiang Cheng took a step back on impulse, and Lan Yuan frowned.

“It’s rude to touch someone without asking.”

“Oh. Sorry,” he said, wide-eyed. “I like the color. Can I touch your robe?”

“No.”

Lan Yuan pouted, but where Jin Ling surely would have started crying (then would have grabbed at the robe anyway), this boy accepted Jiang Cheng’s no and kept his hands to himself.

“Get lost,” said Jiang Cheng coldly. Lan Yuan only blinked, unfazed.

In his experience, kids reacted to his dour demeanor one of two ways—with absolute terror or complete disregard. This boy was clearly the latter.

“The woods are dangerous. And who’s watching you anyway—because they’re doing a shitty job. Does anyone even know you’re here?”

Lan Yuan shook his head. “A-Zhan was reading. And I thought A-Huan was with you.”

Oh.

“Lan-zongzhu is in the Wintry Room.”

The boy’s eyes lit up excitedly. “Can we go? He’s my favorite to play with. Just like A-Xian.”

Jiang Cheng frowned. “Who is A-Xian?”

“He’s. . .” Lan Yuan trailed off, frowning. He scratched his head. “He’s gone.”

Jiang Cheng’s eyes went a little wider. “Oh,” he said awkwardly. Then neither said anything for several very uncomfortable seconds. He crossed his arms, faced the direction he’d come. “Well anyway, do you know the way back?”

Lan Yuan looked around for a minute. He nodded, paused, then shook his head. Then he nodded again, shook his head again.

Jiang Cheng rolled his eyes. What a daft fucking brat.

“Come on. I’m headed back anyway.”

Lan Yuan hastened to catch up as Jiang Cheng started up the path. When the boy reached his side, he grabbed Jiang Cheng’s hand. Jiang Cheng jerked it free, leveling Lan Yuan with a stern look.

“Sorry, gongzi,” he said politely. “I forgot to ask first because you walk so fast. Can I hold your hand?”

Jiang Cheng was about to say no, but for some reason grumbled a curt fine instead.

Smiling, Lan Yuan wrapped his tiny hand around Jiang Cheng’s and squeezed. “A-Huan likes rabbits too. Like me and A-Zhan, but do you wanna know something, gongzi?”

He hummed noncommittally (kids were so fucking weird).

Lan Yuan giggled to himself. “The rabbits really don’t like A-Huan.”

One corner of Jiang Cheng’s mouth curled up. “Why is that?”

Lan Yuan shrugged. “Maybe ‘cause he’s so tall.”

“Maybe,” said Jiang Cheng. “Or maybe it’s because he’s so perfect. Probably scares them.”

“A-Huan says nobody’s perfect.”

“He would say that,” Jiang Cheng grumbled, then at a whisper, “the perfect fuck.”

Lan Yuan stumbled, squeezing Jiang Cheng’s hand as he tripped. Jiang Cheng pulled him back up before he could face plant, let him grab his leg to catch his balance.

“Okay?”

Lan Yuan nodded. “Thanks.”

“Yeah,” Jiang Cheng said, smile flattening out again.

He missed Jin Ling.

Lan Xichen was still in the Wintry Room when Jiang Cheng returned, child in tow.

“A-Huan!” the boy exclaimed, running up to Lan Xichen like he meant to tackle him with a hug, but he halted right before he should have made contact. He looked up resolutely and asked, “Can I hug A-Huan?”

Lan Xichen tilted his head, bemused. “Of course. A-Yuan does not have to ask.”

He hugged Lan Xichen’s legs, shaking his head. “It’s rude to touch someone without asking.”

Jiang Cheng looked off, scratching his cheek sheepishly.

Lan Xichen patted the boy’s head. “How considerate.”

Lan Yuan looked up with a grin. “Gongzi says the rabbits don’t like you because you’re tall.”

Lan Xichen looked to Jiang Cheng, confused.

“He said that.”

“I thought gongzi agreed,” said Lan Yuan thoughtfully. Then his eyes lit up. “Oh yeah—gongzi said the rabbits think you’re a perfect fuck.”

Lan Xichen’s placid, smiling expression didn’t change as he continued petting Lan Yuan’s hair, lifted his head to meet Jiang Cheng’s eye.

“Did he?”

Jiang Cheng noticed an angry vein pop on Lan Xichen’s forehead. He promptly spun around and made for the door. Shuoyue zipped in front of him, blocking his path. The sword was still sheathed, but that didn’t make it any less menacing.

He chanced a glance back at Lan Xichen, who was still smiling. The expression, like Shuoyue’s scabbard, didn’t make him any less menacing. Probably it made him more menacing.

“I. . . said no such thing.”

“That so?” Lan Xichen asked, lip twitching with bridled fury.

Jiang Cheng was so fucked.

You time

It was dark when Lan Xichen walked A-Yuan back to the Tranquility Room. The pair had spent the last hour or so painting and chatting innocently while Jiang Cheng sequestered himself away behind Lan Xichen’s privacy partition, trying to nap as all the adrenaline from his fight with Lan Wangji had finally worn off, leaving him supremely tired.

Fate had other plans, however. He couldn’t stop thinking about his fight with Lan Wangji and his subsequent argument with Lan Xichen and his immediate screw-up with Lan Yuan. He toiled with guilt and anxiety—and a little amusement over that last bit (but only a little). Mostly he felt guilty.

Except when he heard Lan Xichen step outside with A-Yuan—then he felt mostly anxious, dreading the former’s return.

He was lying in Lan Xichen’s bed again, though he’d initially resisted the impulse, thinking it would be weird if the jerk who punched your brother and taught your. . . young disciple(?) the word fuck was just casually sleeping in your bed, but Jiang Cheng quickly decided that he didn’t care. His desire to sleep outweighed his anxiety.

Now, though, he wondered if he should move or pretend to be asleep. The latter hadn’t worked last time. But if he moved, where would he go? The alcove? He couldn’t stop thinking about punching Lan Wangji from that alcove (then being punched back into it).

For the hundredth time, he thought about leaving. He wanted to. It was the easy thing—though it would be quite difficult without Sandu. Whatever. He could figure out a way. He could, but Lan Xichen was right. If it couldn’t be solved with fists, running away was his solution to everything.

He couldn’t run from this curse though. And Lan Xichen was the only person taking it seriously.

He needed to rid himself of this fucking handicap already. He was supposed to pick up Jin Ling from Golden Carp Tower soon. How could he do that without Sandu? How could he take care of Jin Ling if he was always on the verge of qi deviating? He’d already resisted visiting—he always visited.

He needed to fix himself as soon as possible.

The door slid open then shut.

He sat up, crossed his legs as he listened to Lan Xichen pad across the room. A second later, he poked his head out from behind the partition.

“You’re awake.”

“Forgive me,” he said quickly. “I didn’t think he heard me say that. I was just being grouchy. I’m sorry.”

Lan Xichen rolled his eyes, smiling. “With Jin-gongzi in mind, I always imagined you’d be better at holding your tongue, Jiang-zongzhu.”

Jiang Cheng rubbed his eyes. “I usually am. I really thought he couldn’t hear me.”

Lan Xichen approached the bed, combed a hand through Jiang Cheng’s bangs. “I believe you. And A-Yuan knows not to say that word again. I trust he won’t.”

Jiang Cheng’s face warmed at Lan Xichen’s tender touch, his mindless affection.

“I’m sorry I hit your brother.”

Lan Xichen playfully pulled Jiang Cheng’s hair. “I spoke to him about it just now. He apologized too, said he meant to anger you, that you were both agitated.”

Jiang Cheng looked down at his hands. “Yeah. Sorry. I won’t lose my cool next time.”

“I know.”

Jiang Cheng glanced up curiously. “What do you mean you know?”

Lan Xichen’s eyes closed with his smile. He cupped Jiang Cheng’s face, leaned down, and kissed him chastely on the lips. When he started to pull away, Jiang Cheng reached up, held the side of his neck as he straightened to kiss him again. This one wasn’t as soft or short. Jiang Cheng kissed him for as long as Lan Xichen let him, only realizing now how sick with worry he’d been about losing this, losing him. Compared to their previous arguments, this one was small; why had the stakes felt so high?

Lan Xichen broke the kiss, smiling pleasantly. “When you left before, it was only to calm yourself down. Is that right?”

Jiang Cheng nodded.

“Do not take this the wrong way, but isn’t that unlike you?”

He narrowed his eyes, nodded again despite himself.

Lan Xichen straightened, looking off with a shy smile. “Who’s commanded by his temper? Certainly not my Wanyin.” He glanced back, scratched his temple with his forefinger. “All is forgiven.”

My Wanyin.

Jiang Cheng gazed up fondly, felt like a boy craving his senior’s approval. He didn’t care. He slinked his hands beneath Lan Xichen’s first layer of robes, hooked his palms over his hips.

“You perfect fuck,” he smirked.

Lan Xichen shoved him, and he flopped onto his back. Surprisingly, the former didn’t immediately pounce.

Jiang Cheng looked up, saw that Lan Xichen had turned his back to him. “Has Zewu-jun grown bored of this one already?” he asked dryly, dropping his head back onto the bed. “Is it because I’m cursed? Or have you simply tired of this face? How piggish.”

He heard Lan Xichen set something down next to the bed, but before he could chance a peek, his meridians swelled with ice. His back arched as he gasped, grimaced.

Lan Xichen was leaning over him, one palm planted firmly to his sternum, pumping qi into his veins with merciless force. The tight, freezing feeling tore a shivering breath from the depths of Jiang Cheng’s lungs, raised goosebumps along each arm and leg.

“Brute,” he groaned.

Lan Xichen lifted his hand from Jiang Cheng’s sternum, cutting off his deluge. The relief was instant, like that hand weighed tons.

“Pig,” he gritted out, the sound near a growl. “Asshole.”

Lan Xichen smirked villainously. “I have not tired of Wanyin’s face,” he purred, stroking the backs of his fingers over Jiang Cheng’s cheek, “only his words.”

His eyes went half-lidded, hungry, as he grabbed Jiang Cheng’s face, palm closing over his mouth, fingers digging into his cheeks. Lan Xichen resumed flooding his meridians, and he grunted, eyes rolling back as he drowned in icy qi.

It was just as intense as before, if not more so, brought to mind that first kiss in the Wisteria Groves, when he’d been qi deviating and Lan Xichen transferred spiritual energy through their lips. The memory sparked an idea, and he slapped his palm none too gently against Lan Xichen’s neck, forcing the latter’s qi back into his own meridians.

The fucker just smiled, eyelids fluttering as their blended energies circulated from one body to the next, blurring their lines, merging them at every point of contact.

Lan Xichen crawled his legs onto the bed, looming dangerously above Jiang Cheng. The latter, whose legs were still folded in, began to uncross and straighten them, but Lan Xichen planted a knee on his left thigh, pinning it where it was, leaving him partially spread-eagled. Then he grabbed Jiang Cheng’s other leg behind the knee, which spread him further.

Fuck, Jiang Cheng thought blissfully, burning with want and anticipation. Lan Xichen was freezing him from the inside out, lighting him on fire with every touch, freezing him again. He groaned into Lan Xichen’s hand, mind and body overcome with warring sensations.

For the second time, he found himself at Lan Xichen’s utter mercy.

Lan Xichen leaned in, kissed along his cheek, his jaw, down the slope of his throat. He tipped his head back, prone and vulnerable and brimming with qi, nailed to the bed by Lan Xichen’s hand on his mouth.

“I should always hold you this way,” Lan Xichen said, his teeth scraping against the thin skin of Jiang Cheng’s neck, his other hand massaging the back of his thigh, teasing his ass with every downward stroke.

He was dragging behind, unable to match Lan Xichen’s output. He grabbed the latter’s bicep, giving himself an additional point of contact into which he funneled torrents of qi.

Lan Xichen’s fingers tapped a slow rhythm against Jiang Cheng’s thigh, his cheekbone. ”I can reach everything.”

His grip on Jiang Cheng’s face slackened as he broke away from his neck, walked his fingers up and down the very slope he’d just kissed into a tender flush. “Like strumming the strings of a guqin.”

“Xi. . . chen,” Jiang Cheng panted between breaths. He was too dazed to think, could only feel, absorb every qi-heightened sensation, every frigid touch and fiery kiss. He felt those icy fingers crest his chin, tease his lips. He cast his half-lidded gaze up at Lan Xichen, whose eyes were alight with a craving affection.

“I could play you just as beautifully.”

Jiang Cheng exhaled a thin whimper, wanting more than anything to have Lan Xichen play him, to tease his body like he might tease metallic strings, to pluck and strum and stroke him in all the right ways, to tirelessly drag from the depths of his chest every blissful, humiliating note.

Lan Xichen thumbed his bottom lip, and he opened his mouth, having long since devolved into something starving and obedient. Lan Xichen then pressed his middle and index fingers onto Jiang Cheng’s tongue, gripping his face with the other three as he slid his hand deeper. Jiang Cheng closed his lips over Lan Xichen’s joints, suctioning the tips of those fingers to his tongue and the roof of his mouth.

Lan Xichen’s smile widened. He resumed sharing his qi, and Jiang Cheng couldn’t help jolting. He was over-sensitive, feeling everything at a thousand percent.

Lan Xichen leaned close to Jiang Cheng’s ear, whispered, ”Suck.”

Jiang Cheng’s stomach seemed to twist itself into quite the knotted mess at hearing that. He obeyed, sucking on Lan Xichen’s fingers, pulling them deeper into his mouth. Lan Xichen helped them along, burying them to the knuckle. Jiang Cheng made a choked sound as they grazed the back of his throat, but Lan Xichen didn’t let up. Rather, he drove them deeper, curled his fingertips over the back of Jiang Cheng’s tongue.

Jiang Cheng knit his brow, tried not to gag or sputter. Something stiff poked his thigh and groin, sent another wave of arousal lapping at his hungry shores.

Realizing Lan Xichen had lightened his output, Jiang Cheng felt a little more present, less consumed. He didn’t love how easily Lan Xichen had brought about such a state, but he reveled in the fact that he too had such a power.

He dropped his hand from the other’s neck and reached between their bodies, felt blindly for the taut bulge at the center of Lan Xichen’s trousers. He cupped his fingers around what he could reach, pressed his palm against the arch.

Lan Xichen groaned, the sound low and guttural. Jiang Cheng palmed his rising erection, sucked greedily on his fingers which had briefly paused their descent. He slid his unoccupied hand down Lan Xichen’s arm, over the bony knuckles and spider-like fingers which held his face, and matched the trickling output of his qi.

Lan Xichen groaned again, shoulders hunching as Jiang Cheng worked him from three angles. It was clumsy at first, balancing the suction of his tongue around Lan Xichen’s fingers without choking, the firm weight of his palm without applying too much pressure, the deluge of qi circulating through his body then Lan Xichen’s, but after a minute or so, he found his stride, his body working like it did this all the time, like it wanted for nothing else.

How quickly he’d turned things in his favor.

”Ah—Wanyin,” Lan Xichen moaned, panting in time with the rhythm Jiang Cheng had set. “You’re—hah—”

He would never get tired of seeing Lan Xichen like this, wracked with hungry pleasure, flush with a desire for him.

He’s the heavenly one, Jiang Cheng thought. Incomparable, even in this state.

Somehow, watching Lan Xichen’s mask slip, seeing him toused and gripped with want, witnessing his perfection plummet so violently, it was another realm of perfection entirely. It was shedding one’s worldly perfection and ascending to divinity. It was the blinding light of day giving way to a billion, patternless stars stippled across an indigo sky. It was sun-kissed skin cooling under the moon’s healing glow. He never imagined perfection could have so many faces, yet here it was, evidenced so plainly before his eyes.

He carefully pulled Lan Xichen’s hand away from his face, opened his mouth to let his fingers glide free. He rose a few inches, captured Lan Xichen’s lips with his own, though he seemed too enraptured by the palm teasing his cock through his trousers to do anything more than follow Jiang Cheng’s lead.

Jiang Cheng pulled that hand away, but only to untie the belt of Lan Xichen’s robe. The latter eagerly deepened their kiss, arm slinking around Jiang Cheng, fisting the back of his robes in anticipation.

Then at last, he slipped his hand beneath Lan Xichen’s waist band. The latter moaned a breathy hah! as Jiang Cheng’s hand curled around his hardened length and squeezed. He mindlessly fucked into Jiang Cheng’s hand while sending a vigorous surge of qi into his back.

Jiang Cheng couldn’t help returning a soft moan of his own as they kissed, as he thumbed the head of Lan Xichen’s cock, as he spread that dripping wetness down the length of it.

Lan Xichen’s skin was abnormally hot, almost feverish where Jiang Cheng touched him, especially where their spiritual energies blurred together. And where Jiang Cheng normally found himself burning with a similar heat when he held Lan Xichen this close, he now found himself chilled throughout, as though their blended qi had swapped their bodies’ temperatures. It was almost a relief not to feel seared by Lan Xichen’s touch, charred to the bone by his clever hands—though he missed it too, missed how it felt like being marked.

He shuddered, feeling especially perverted when the idea of Lan Xichen branding him wasn’t immediately unappealing.

Lan Xichen broke their kiss, panting as he pressed his forehead against Jiang Cheng’s. He pulled his other hand, which was still wet with Jiang Cheng’s saliva, free of the latter’s grip before lowering it to the hem of Jiang Cheng’s trousers.

A bolt of electricity jolted up Jiang Cheng’s spine, but before Lan Xichen’s hand had reached the hem of his pants, he pushed it away.

“Wait,” he said, “I want. . .” he trailed off, too embarrassed to vocalize exactly what he wanted (because how could he ever say something like that out loud?!) “Just—here,” he stammered, bracing himself with one hand on the bed as he adjusted their position, freeing his pinned leg from beneath Lan Xichen’s knee. He started to strip his robes, to which Lan Xichen offered his eager assistance. When he was left in only his trousers, Lan Xichen hooked both hands around the fabric at either hip before leaning down to kiss Jiang Cheng.

Jiang Cheng kissed him back, licking along the wall of his teeth before they parted. Then he licked into Lan Xichen’s mouth, their tongues meeting and tangling eagerly.

Lan Xichen pulled hard on Jiang Cheng’s trousers, the force dragging him down a few inches. He chuckled softly against Jiang Cheng’s mouth as their kiss turned messy and playful. When the pants were finally off, Lan Xichen tossed them aside, all the while refusing to break away from their sloppy kiss, which had them both grinning like a pair of shameless teenagers.

“So eager,” Jiang Cheng teased.

Lan Xichen settled between Jiang Cheng’s naked legs, and the latter spread them a little wider, giving him space to press his body closer.

“Kissing you would impassion anyone,” he said as the taut fabric of his own trousers rubbed against Jiang Cheng’s cock. He scrunched his face, and Lan Xichen grinned. “Even the passionless.”

He resumed their kiss, rolled his hips against Jiang Cheng’s, the friction enough to leave him desperate and panting.

They’d barely begun, and already Jiang Cheng felt dizzy with pleasure, felt his cock twitch and leak despite going untouched save the incessant rub of Lan Xichen’s trousers. He could lose himself in this. He was losing himself in it. Fuck, how had he ever survived doing more than this?

Drunk on pleasure, he started to clumsily pull at Lan Xichen’s robes and trousers too, their teeth clacking as he jostled forward. Lan Xichen broke away with a smirk.

“What is it?” he asked in a low voice, stripping free of his pants in half the time it had taken him to strip Jiang Cheng. He leaned back in, trailed kisses down Jiang Cheng’s jaw, his neck. “What does Wanyin want me to do?”

Jiang Cheng’s knees tapped either side of Lan Xichen’s hips and flank. He couldn’t say it. There was no way he’d survive the embarrassment, so he simply wrapped his legs around Lan Xichen’s waist, dragging his hips up over Lan Xichen’s thighs, angling himself perfectly. It was as clear as he could be.

Lan Xichen exhaled a hot breath against Jiang Cheng’s collar, ground their bare hips together. The hard, dripping head of his cock slid against Jiang Cheng’s entrance, and he sucked in a sharp breath, at once anxious and desperate. He rolled his own hips in response.

Fuck, he wanted Lan Xichen so badly, wanted to feel that searing length buried inside him, feel it fucking him until he couldn’t think anymore, until he could no longer tell them apart, until nothing could penetrate the fog of his pleasure save the man he’d entangled.

He hooked his ankles, holding Lan Xichen in place, fisting a hand in his hair.

Lan Xichen kissed the tender skin of Jiang Cheng’s neck. “Are you sure?” he asked, cock still teasing Jiang Cheng devilishly.

“Yeah,” Jiang Cheng said. “Yeah, fuck—” he broke off as Lan Xichen pressed harder, his tip lined up perfectly. ”Ah, please.”

“Oh,” Lan Xichen mumbled against Jiang Cheng’s collar. “I wasn’t expecting a please.”

Jiang Cheng grimaced. “I didn’t say that,” he lied. “Zewu-jun is mistaken.”

Lan Xichen only hummed as he maintained that pressure, kept it just shy of penetrating.

Jiang Cheng groaned, dragging his nails up Lan Xichen’s back in retaliation—though he was still in his robes, so it was hardly effective.

Then Lan Xichen pulled back, raised one hand to his face—the hand he’d stuck partially in Jiang Cheng’s mouth. He parted his lips and licked those same fingers, mixing their saliva until his hand was once again wet and dripping. He nudged Jiang Cheng’s knee with his other hand. Jiang Cheng almost didn’t want to untangle his legs from Lan Xichen’s waist, almost wanted to say fuck it and have Lan Xichen skip this step. Almost.

He dropped his legs, and Lan Xichen pressed a slick finger to his entrance.

He flicked his gaze up. “You’re sure?”

“Yes,” Jiang Cheng said impatiently. “We’ve done this part before. Why are you so nervous?”

They both knew Lan Xichen was not the nervous one here, but neither said it out loud.

Lan Xichen slid one finger in, and Jiang Cheng closed his eyes, awash in that very odd feeling. The second finger slipped in after, and Lan Xichen fucked them in and out slowly, spread them apart, stretching Jiang Cheng before adding the third.

“Okay?”

“I’m fine,” Jiang Cheng said, voice trembling with the rest of this body. Lan Xichen found that spot again, and he couldn’t help the groan it tore from his chest. He covered his mouth, lower half tense and pulsing with pleasure. Lan Xichen shuffled back, and Jiang Cheng opened his eyes just in time to see his head dip, his lips part then close over Jiang Cheng’s tip.

”Zewu-ju—ngh!”

Lan Xichen sucked as he pulled up.

“Don’t come so quickly this time,” he chided, and Jiang Cheng cast him a furious glare.

“If you’re worried then stop sucking me off and just put it in already!”

Lan Xichen laughed, then thrust his fingers deeper inside Jiang Cheng, spreading them tentatively.

Jiang Cheng tried to stifle the moan creeping up his throat, but it broke free, punched-out and low, when Lan Xichen pulled his fingers back then plunged them in again.

“No need to rush,” he said, and Jiang Cheng felt a burst of frigid qi from where Lan Xichen’s fingers were buried inside him.

”Oh, fuck—“ he sobbed, having all but forgotten they were dual cultivating, so caught up in the pleasure of it all. But Lan Xichen’s qi returned with a vengeance, freezing him from the inside out, lancing him in two. Lan Xichen’s unoccupied hand settled on Jiang Cheng’s hip bone, and Jiang Cheng grabbed his wrist, needing an outlet for the power swelling his meridians.

He pursed his lips into a thin line as Lan Xichen’s fingers fucked in and out with enough speed to leave him hot and raw from the friction. They’d had the bath water to work with last time, and even that wasn’t ideal. Now there was less lubrication, but even with the mild discomfort, it felt too good to complain. With every thrust, he moaned through clenched teeth, a rhythmic mn! mn! mn! Then he felt his pleasure thicken and swell, and it nearly overtook him, but somehow he managed to tap frantically on Lan Xichen’s other hand.

“Stop—“ he choked out. “Stop, I’m gonna—agh!”

Lan Xichen slowed considerably, then removed his fingers. Jiang Cheng’s chest rose and fell with his every labored breath. He closed his eyes, trying to compose himself after nearly spilling over then being eased back down.

“Good,” Lan Xichen purred, and Jiang Cheng felt him lick up the length of his aching cock. His breath hitched, and he kicked at Lan Xichen’s thigh—not hard enough to push him away, but hard enough to hurt.

Wincing, Lan Xichen leaned back on his haunches, rubbing his thigh as he twisted around, reaching for something on the floor. When Jiang Cheng finally managed to catch his breath, he pushed himself up.

Lan Xichen straightened, having retrieved a small bottle.

“Is that oil?” Jiang Cheng asked, still a little raw from Lan Xichen’s poorly lubricated fingers. “Why are you only pulling that out now??”

Lan Xichen smiled awkwardly. “Forgive me, Wanyin. I was too caught up in the moment. I forgot.”

Jiang Cheng scowled, forcing himself not to kick Lan Xichen off the bed. He pushed onto his knees and snatched the bottle.

“You dick,” he grumbled, coating his fingers with the slick fluid. “Maybe I should fuck you with nothing but spit and precum. See how you like it.”

He reached down, meaning to lubricate Lan Xichen’s cock, but the latter’s expression made him pause.

“What?”

Lan Xichen looked away, blushing fiercely. “Nothing.”

Jiang Cheng frowned, grabbing the other’s cock and coating it with oil. “Oh, relax. I was kidding.”

Lan Xichen didn’t reply until Jiang Cheng pulled his hand away. “You can if you want.”

He cast the former a quizzical look. “What?”

Lan Xichen had the bottle now, was coating his own fingers. “Come here.”

Jiang Cheng did, letting Lan Xichen guide him over his lap. He exhaled a shuddered breath, leaning into Lan Xichen as he slipped his fingers back into his entrance.

“You can do this to me,” he whispered into Jiang Cheng’s ear. “You can do whatever you want. Just ask.”

Jiang Cheng would be lying if he said he hadn’t thought about.

“Yeah?” he said, a little disbelieving. He shouldn’t have assumed this only went one way. Of course Lan Xichen wouldn’t want Jiang Cheng to do this if he wasn’t willing to have the same done to him.

“Mhm,” he hummed, kissing Jiang Cheng’s shoulder. “Anything Wanyin wants.”

Heat and affection flared all across Jiang Cheng’s body.

“I want. . .” he trailed, reaching between them, tracing a finger up the base of Lan Xichen’s cock, “this.”

Lan Xichen leveled him with a hungry, eager look. “Anything,” he whispered, tilting his head up, kissing Jiang Cheng deeply. They exchanged qi, giving and taking through their kiss until he couldn’t tell whether or not they were sharing qi or just taking in what they were putting out.

“Do you want to stay like this?” Lan Xichen asked. “Or lie on your back?”

“Doesn’t matter. Whatever you want.”

“What do you want?” Lan Xichen pulled back far enough that Jiang Cheng couldn’t shut him up with another kiss (which he’d grown quite fond of doing).

“I don’t know,” he replied impatiently. He’d never done this before. How was he supposed to know?!

Lan Xichen smiled indulgently, planting an affectionate peck on his lips. “We’ll stay like this, but if it’s uncomfortable, tell me.”

Jiang Cheng only huffed.

“Promise you’ll tell me.”

“Can we just get on with it already?”

“Wanyin—“

“I promise! Heavens’ sake! Do you really think I’ll let you keep going if I’m not enjoying it?”

Lan Xichen smiled. “Of course not.”

Jiang Cheng felt Lan Xichen’s hips shift beneath his own, and anxiety uncoiled in his gut like a waking viper.

He was nervous, beyond nervous—not because he thought it would hurt (he anticipated some pain of course), but because this was it. He was giving himself over, worse than anything they’d done last night. He had never let anyone this close before, never dreamed he’d want to let someone this close, let them have him like this. But Lan Xichen was different. Jiang Cheng wanted him as close as possible, pressed against every inch of him, stoking every flaming inch of him. He wanted Lan Xichen like he’d never wanted anyone before. It was alarming how quickly his feelings on the matter had changed, how little it had taken before he’d given in, offered himself up. Was it like this for everyone? Was he greedier than most? More sentimental? Lacking the same fortitude?

Or did it have less to do with his own shortcomings and everything to do with Lan Xichen’s heaven-gifted perfection?

As though reading his mind, Lan Xichen flashed him a smug grin. “Sit up a bit,” he said. “On your knees.”

Jiang Cheng went hot with embarrassment, but he did it anyway, and Lan Xichen responded with a happy hum, a few more chaste kisses to Jiang Cheng’s collarbone and clavicle.

He felt the head of Lan Xichen’s cock rub against him, gliding back and forth a few times before pressing up in earnest. He was slow, giving Jiang Cheng time to adjust if he needed to, but he didn’t need to—at least he wouldn’t know how if he did—so the anticipation was fucking torture.

Then it slid in, and Lan Xichen sighed steam onto Jiang Cheng’s already feverish skin. He was only an inch or two deep, but Jiang Cheng muscles stiffened, limbs trembled.

“Okay?” Lan Xichen asked, kissing his shoulder fondly.

“Mn.”

“Relax. It doesn’t hurt, does it?”

It didn’t. Not really. Lan Xichen had loosened him up enough that it didn’t quite cross the line into pain. The oil worked wonders.

“No,” he said. “Keep going.”

Lan Xichen pushed deeper, hands sliding up to cup the swell of Jiang Cheng’s ass, to knead the muscle there until Jiang Cheng relaxed.

“Fuck,” he cursed breathlessly. “Fuck, that’s—“ He snapped his mouth shut, but it wasn’t enough to silence the resulting, high-pitched noise which rose unexpectedly from his chest, echoed like a mortified chorus in his ears.

“Good?” Lan Xichen asked. Jiang Cheng didn’t trust himself to speak; he didn’t even try as the curve of Lan Xichen’s length rubbed torturously against that spot.

Then he’d gone as far as he could in this position and began gently guiding Jiang Cheng’s thighs back into his lap. Jiang Cheng’s knees slid forward as his hips sank down, as Lan Xichen pressed farther and farther.

Sensation flooded him, overwhelmed him, speared sharper and deeper and better. His eyelids fluttered shut. Or his eyes rolled back. He couldn’t tell. He couldn’t think. He was an amalgam of feeling and pleasure and sensitivity and heat. He was floating. He was sinking. He was here. He was gone. He felt every bit as dazed as he had in the Wisteria Groves, felt all of the madness and none of the sickness.

The feeling, a blissful, hellish blend of a thousand feelings, tore from him another deep and sated moan.

Lan Xichen bottomed out, and Jiang Cheng dropped his head.

“Still okay?” he asked, moving one hand up to caress the skin of Jiang Cheng’s thigh, to ground him with a single tender touch.

“Yeah,” Jiang Cheng breathed. “Good.”

Lan Xichen traced calming circles over Jiang Cheng’s leg, pecked gentle kisses to his shoulder and collar.

His eyes stung with moisture. His body trembled uncontrollably. “Go on,” he whispered.

Lan Xichen pulled out a few inches, and Jiang Cheng groaned at the odd, hollowed-out sensation. Then Lan Xichen thrust back in, not with too much force, but enough that Jiang Cheng bounced up with the motion.

He let out a clipped ah which sounded remarkably like a cry of pain. He certainly wasn’t in pain. Lan Xichen thrust in again, and Jiang Cheng made the same pained sound. He clenched his jaw shut. It didn’t help, just muffled the noise—the humiliation of which would surely eat him up later. Lan Xichen kept a slow pace at first, driving in and out in gentle pulses. “Ah, you’re tight,” he said breathlessly, “feels incredible.”

Jiang Cheng’s cheeks burned. “You’re—hah!” He clutched Lan Xichen tighter, fingers digging helplessly into his robes. “. . . Shameless,” he gritted out, hardly capable of verbalizing anything with Lan Xichen pumping into him like this.

Incredible was fucking right. Would Lan Xichen ever stop unraveling him? Pulling him apart piece by piece, leaving him a heap of disjointed parts?

”Fuck,” he cursed, the sound near a whimper. With every roll of Lan Xichen’s hips, the head of his cock pressed achingly against that spot, slow and teasing, unbelievable and utterly terrible—until Jiang Cheng recalled his own autonomy and rolled his own hips down, matching time with Lan Xichen’s thrust up. They groaned in blissed-out tandem, each tightening their grip on the other. Jiang Cheng didn’t keep Lan Xichen’s pace. He quickened it, completely disregarding the latter’s earlier sentiment that there was no need to rush.

Lan Xichen panted breathlessly into Jiang Cheng’s ear, squeezing his ass and his thigh so hard he would surely leave hand-shaped bruises. Jiang Cheng liked the idea of that. He brought his hands up to Lan Xichen’s shoulders and leaned back a bit, pulled Lan Xichen into a clumsy kiss as he at last began to pick up the pace.

“Mmh—fuck!” Jiang Cheng cried without breaking free of their kiss.

Lan Xichen fucked harder, and Jiang Cheng bobbed up with every thrust, panted and groaned and sobbed with every brutal, blissful punch of that cock. He was close. He was really fucking close.

“Faster—" he choked out. “Zewu-jun, can you—" Then they were moving, and he squeezed his thighs tight around Lan Xichen’s waist. Lan Xichen laid him on his back, then leaned over him, folding his legs close to his torso as he brought their lips together.

The position drove Lan Xichen deeper than he’d gone thus far, ripped a choked uhn! from Jiang Cheng.

Lan Xichen broke the kiss and straightened, grabbed Jiang Cheng’s legs behind the knees before hooking one over his shoulder. He pressed forward, folding Jiang Cheng further, plunging even fucking deeper.

His resulting cry was animal and low, breathless like he’d been punched in the stomach. ”Fucking. . . brute,” he panted. Fresh tears welled in his eyes, but Lan Xichen hastily kissed the moisture away.

“Faster, you said? Are you sure?”

Heat cut across Jiang Cheng’s body like a blade straight from the kiln, cleaved him until he was cracked and brittle as ash.

He could only nod as he grabbed Lan Xichen by the side of his face, kissed him, and flooded his veins with that ruthless, melting qi.

Lan Xichen responded in turn, sharing his own qi at every point of contact. Fuck, it was a lot. Jiang Cheng felt so much. His body trembled all over, skin shivering and sweating at the same time. Then Lan Xichen was thrusting into him again, and it was twice as fast as before, the angle allowing him the space to move while keeping Jiang Cheng trapped and open beneath him. It was torture. It was ecstasy.

His eyes rolled back as Lan Xichen pounded into him, speared him down the middle, filled his well of pleasure until it spilled over, swelled his meridians until he couldn’t possibly keep up. He could feel every thrust in his stomach, his throat, punching the breath from his lungs. It was too much. But he was so close. He was dying, but he was so goddamned fucking close.

”Wanyin,” Lan Xichen moaned, his grip on Jiang Cheng’s thigh tightening further.

Jiang Cheng started to respond but found he couldn’t speak—not that he was incapable of making any noise (presently, he was making a lot of fucking noise). He just couldn’t form any words, could only listen to himself, to the way his punched-out moans became sobs, the way his voice pitched up in intervals—the way he whined. Even if he had the mental bandwidth to care, he couldn’t fucking do anything about it. Stifling his voice had been historically ineffectual, so he didn’t bother trying.

Lan Xichen slid a hand between their stomachs and found Jiang Cheng’s cock, squeezed it, pumping his fist in time with his hips.

Fuck! Jiang Cheng felt his every nerve firing signals of pleasure and pain to his brain, felt his atoms splitting, erupting, felt himself imploding from the inside out. He was drunk with qi and sensation, overcome with it. He was drowning. Lan Xichen was pumping the air from his lungs, compressing them. It was the best he’d ever felt. He couldn’t take it. He never wanted it to stop. He couldn’t fucking take it.

He felt himself swell and swell and swell until at last—until fucking finally. . .

He gasped, sucking in lungful after desperate lungful as he spilled over, as he shattered and came together and shattered again. Faintly, he heard something crack and snap, but it was so thoroughly drowned out by his climax he immediately forgot about it. His vision flashed white. There was still a hand on his draining cock, still squeezing. He batted it away.

“Enough—fuck, enough!” he cried, voice hoarse and trembling. He realized Lan Xichen wasn’t moving anymore, felt his weight half slumped over him and half propped up. Had he come too? Jiang Cheng had been so consumed that he hadn’t realized, but now he definitely felt it filling him up, leaking out. He shuddered. Then he shuddered again a few seconds later when Lan Xichen pulled out.

Somehow, this stretched and empty feeling was even weirder than feeling stretched-out and full—though he was still grappling with the horror of how right it felt to be full. (For fuck’s sake! What was wrong with him?? Seriously?! When had he gone from respectable—if a bit unhinged—to being this perverse of a fucking lunatic?!)

Slowly, the onslaught of sensation and stimulation began to ease. He calmed, recovered his self-control.

“Hey,” Lan Xichen whispered, keeping Jiang Cheng in the moment, preventing him from drifting off—either to sleep or into a daze. He couldn’t say which. Lan Xichen cupped his face, ran a thumb beneath his eye.

Jiang Cheng felt the tear track smear. How humiliating. And his breathing was still so fucking shaky.

“All right?” asked Lan Xichen, rolling off Jiang Cheng to lie beside him.

“Mn.”

“Not too much?”

It was definitely too much. He wanted to do it again. His body felt heavy as lead, eyes stung, lungs ached like he’d run miles. He wanted to do it again.

“Wanyin?” Lan Xichen said, scooting a fraction closer. “Are you not all right? Do you need—“

He’d come close enough to kiss, so Jiang Cheng did just that. It was wet and lazy and perfect. He dropped his head again.

“I’m. . .” He really couldn’t put it into words.

Lan Xichen wiped his other cheek. “Did it hurt?”

Jiang Cheng met his eye. “Yeah.”

Now Lan Xichen looked like he might cry.

Jiang Cheng breathed a thin laugh. “It was. . .” he blinked his eyes shut. “I didn’t know it could be like that.”

“Good?"

“Yeah.”

“Really good?”

Jiang Cheng huffed out another laugh. “Unbelievable.”

Lan Xichen seemed to finally relax. “Lift your head,” he said. Jiang Cheng did, and Lan Xichen slid his arm beneath like a pillow. Jiang Cheng settle back again.

“Sorry,” the former said meekly. “I wanted to ask before I. . . you know. But then you zapped me, and I couldn’t stop.”

Jiang Cheng furrowed his brow, bemused. “I what?”

Lan Xichen cast him a sideways look. “You zapped me. With Zidian.”

Jiang Cheng’s flush deepened. “No, I didn’t,” he argued, though now he was remembering that crackling sound he heard at the peak of his climax.

“You did,” Lan Xichen said matter-of-factly. “It hurt, too.”

Jiang Cheng lifted his head again, brushed Lan Xichen’s hair away from his neck. Sure enough, there was an angry, hand-shaped welt.

“Shit, I didn’t mean—I didn’t even realize—“

Lan Xichen grabbed his hand, pulled it away from the welts, and held it in his own above Jiang Cheng’s sternum.

“Don’t apologize,” he chuckled. “Obviously I liked it. That’s why I didn’t ask before I came inside you.”

Jiang Cheng burned hotter still, dropped his head back down. Shameless, insufferable, patronizing asshole!

“Then, I guess we’re even.”

Lan Xichen peered up, his gaze seeming to catch on something below Jiang Cheng’s eye-line. “Guess so.”

“What are you looking at?”

His gaze shot back down. “Nothing.”

“You left a mark, didn’t you?” Jiang Cheng sniped, though his traitorous heart trilled.

“So did Jiang-zongzhu. And this leader only left a few. Much smaller than what you left on me.”

Jiang Cheng scowled. “I didn’t do it on purpose! How many did you leave? Is it bad?”

Lan Xichen chuckled. “No need to worry. Wear a high collar, and no one will see.”

“Oh, wear a high collar, of course,” he growled. “At least my mark isn’t so obviously obscene!”

Despite Jiang Cheng’s scowl, Lan Xichen planted a quick kiss on his cheek. “Forgive me. I couldn’t help myself.”

Jiang Cheng thought of how voraciously Lan Xichen had fucked his brains out. “You’re an animal.”

He kissed the corner of Jiang Cheng’s mouth, migrated to his jaw. “Your fault,” he whispered. “You drive me mad. I lose myself. This leader is undone by a single look from Wanyin.”

Jiang Cheng pushed Lan Xichen’s face away. “Cut it out. You’ll leave more.”

With a sigh, Lan Xichen settled back on his side, pillowing Jiang Cheng’s head beneath his arm.

“Wanyin certainly seemed to be enjoying himself. When is he going to return the favor?”

“Insatiable,” Jiang Cheng grumbled. “Was fucking me not enough for you? Should I find someone who isn’t so needy to do it next time?”

Lan Xichen wrapped his limbs around Jiang Cheng possessively. “Don’t you dare. Everyone else is ruined for Wanyin. Isn’t that what you said?”

Jiang Cheng went quiet for a few seconds, if only to torment Lan Xichen. Then he rolled onto his side and tucked his head against Lan Xichen’s neck. “Yeah. I did.”

“Did you mean it?”

Jiang Cheng squirmed with embarrassment, both because it was a very sentimental, mushy thing to say. And also because, well. . . he had meant it. He’d never met anyone who made him feel the things Lan Xichen did, made him want what Lan Xichen did. He couldn’t imagine doing this with anyone else. Let alone allow another person to see him in all the ways Lan Xichen saw him. It was unthinkable.

But could he admit that? Had he already admitted worse? He thought he probably had, thought of his desperate apology in the Wisteria Groves.

He cringed inwardly, hesitant to tell Lan Xichen the truth. But what the fuck else was he supposed to say? The seconds were dragging. He needed to say something!!

“Did you?”

Lan Xichen didn’t hesitate. “Yes.”

Of course he’d just admit that like it was nothing!

“Really?” he asked, for lack of anything better.

“Yes.”

Really? Jiang Cheng had ruined every other person for him. Jiang Cheng? The same bullheaded, vicious Jiang Cheng whose abysmal reputation only rivaled that of half-a-dozen heretics and tyrants already dead and rotting in their graves?

Yeah, right.

He looked up from where he’d nestled into Lan Xichen’s shoulder.

“I’ve ruined every other person for you?”

Lan Xichen peered down, twirling Jiang Cheng’s ribbon around his finger. “You have.”

“Even people you’ve been with before?”

Lan Xichen knitted his brow. “Who does Wanyin think I’ve been with before?”

“I don’t know,” Jiang Cheng said, dropping his gaze. “You just—you seemed experienced.” He chanced another look up. Lan Xichen’s cheeks were once again flushed that obscene shade of red. Jiang Cheng leaned back.

“You have done this before!” he said, affronted. “With who?!”

“Wait, no—it’s not—it wasn’t like that!” Lan Xichen stammered, trying to hide his red face behind his hand.

“With who?! Does your clan even accept female disciples??"

“What does that have to do with it?”

Jiang Cheng paused. “Was it. . . not a woman?”

Lan Xichen rolled onto his back, staring at the ceiling and anxiously playing with a lock of his hair. “We don’t need to talk about this,” he said nervously. “Nothing happened really so it doesn’t matter.”

Jiang Cheng didn’t know whether to feel pissed or glad that it wasn’t a woman. Glad because that meant Lan Xichen had a proclivity for men, which—and not that it mattered anymore really—further discounted his old anxieties about Concord.

And pissed because. . . who the fuck was it??

“It does matter,” Jiang Cheng argued.

“Why?”

Jiang Cheng stumbled over his next words. “Because. . . well because! It just does!”

“Wanyin,” Lan Xichen pleaded. “It was nothing. No one. He was practically a stranger for how uninvolved we were.” He looked at Jiang Cheng warily. “Even back then I was only ever thinking of you.”

Jiang Cheng didn’t like the pit of jealousy forming in his gut. He didn’t want to be jealous. He trusted Lan Xichen—the very same Lan Xichen who treated him like he’d hung the moon. What was there to be jealous of?

He shook his head, drew close again. “Right. Forgive me,” he said awkwardly. “I don’t want Lan-zongzhu to think he has to say things like that—that he’s only ever thought of being with me—just because I got jealous.”

“It’s true.”

“Seriously,” Jiang Cheng said a tad impatiently, “It’s okay if you’ve had feelings for other people. You’re basically an old man anyway, so of course you’ve had dirty thoughts about other men—or women.”

“Wanyin has a clouded perception of me.”

“You’re saying you’ve never thought about doing this with anyone but me?”

“I’m saying that I’m not an old man. I’m only a few years older than you.”

“Didn’t you hit thirty this year?”

“You say that like you’re not approaching thirty yourself.”

“I’m hardly there yet. Lan-zongzhu’s only bringing that up to make himself feel better about pursuing younger men.”

“I don’t—“ he cut himself off with an exasperated chuckle. “Never mind. Wanyin is incorrigible.”

“Mn,” Jiang Cheng hummed, slinging an arm around Lan Xichen. “So you’ve said.”

He felt Lan Xichen stroke the skin over his ribs, trying to make him squirm. “Incorrigible and jealous. Wanyin wants me all to himself, doesn’t he?”

He didn’t try to deny it. “Yeah.”

Lan Xichen’s arm tightened around Jiang Cheng’s torso, squeezing him closer. “Good. The feeling’s mutual. I’d have you speak to no other men from now on please.”

Jiang Cheng smiled despite himself. “Sure.”

“No women either.”

“Okay.”

“Don’t even look at other people. Leave everything behind and come live here.”

“Okay.”

“Comb and style my hair every morning.”

“Every morning.”

“Eat with me for every meal.”

“If that’s what you want.”

“Sleep next to me forever.”

“Of course.”

“Marry me.”

“Okay.”

Lan Xichen went quiet. So did Jiang Cheng, not really absorbing what he’d agreed to until a few seconds later.

“I mean—“ he stammered, “uh, don’t you think things are moving too quickly, Lan-zongzhu?”

He mindlessly thumbed circle after anxious circle into Lan Xichen’s back, hoping that retelling the latter’s joke from this morning would lighten the suddenly tense air.

It didn’t.

“No,” Lan Xichen said after a few seconds.

“What?”

“I don’t think things are moving too fast.”

Jiang Cheng’s heart was beating out of his chest, face burning like mad. Surely Lan Xichen could feel it.

“You don’t?”

“I don’t.”

Jiang Cheng pulled back again, leveling him with a discerning stare. Lan Xichen’s expression was resolute, unyielding. Jiang Cheng suddenly couldn’t stand the mess between his legs.

He shuffled free of Lan Xichen’s hold and sat up at the edge of the bed, grabbing his inner robe off the floor.

“Wanyin—“

“I just want to get cleaned up,” he said. “That’s all.”

“Okay. The towels Wangji brought are right there.” He pointed just right of Jiang Cheng, who tossed one to Lan Xichen and kept the other for himself. Once he was as clean as he could get, he slipped back into his robe and pushed off the bed, meaning to collect his trousers—but then his knees went weak and a very odd sensation bracketed his lower half. He slumped back down immediately.

“Something wrong?” asked Lan Xichen.

For now, Jiang Cheng simply retied his robe. “No, it’s just—“ he broke off, glancing back to catch the smirk on Lan Xichen’s face. He looked forward again, beet red. “Piss off.”

“Are you stuck?”

“Of course not!”

The bed jostled as Lan Xichen crawled toward him. “It’s all right if you’re stuck. Let me help.”

“Shut up!” Jiang Cheng barked, batting Lan Xichen’s roaming hands away. “Say another word and I’ll break your fucking legs!“

Lan Xichen made a very odd, very serious expression. “How will you do that? You can’t even walk.”

Jiang Cheng was seconds away from strangling him when Lan Xichen unexpectedly drew back, settling with his legs crossed on the opposite side of the bed.

Jiang Cheng was still scowling. “Now you’re done teasing?”

Lan Xichen quirked a brow. “Do you think I was teasing you before?”

“Which time?” he said noncommittally.

Lan Xichen’s gaze went narrow. Then he jumped to a stand, retied his own robes, and disappeared behind the partition. He returned a moment later with a jar of wine and two cups.

Jiang Cheng blinked dumbly. “Isn’t alcohol prohibited in the Cloud Recesses?”

“This is a special circumstance.”

His mouth had gone very dry indeed. “What is?”

Lan Xichen smiled fondly. He set the jar and cups down before gently taking hold of Jiang Cheng’s face. “Don’t look at me like that. Wanyin already said yes, and this leader won’t have any runaway brides.”

Jiang Cheng swallowed, and his throat bobbed. Was Lan Xichen being serious? Surely not.

Surely not.

He retrieved the cups, held one out for Jiang Cheng. “Not that Wanyin could run away even if he wanted to.”

“Zewu-jun,” he said, finally finding his voice. “I’ve said yes to a great many requests tonight—most of which I have no intention of fulfilling. Are you. . .” he paused, shook his head. “You can’t be serious.”

Lan Xichen opened the jar, filled his own cup, then settled on the bed next to Jiang Cheng.

“But I am.”

He said it like they could have been talking about anything. Jiang Cheng’s mind and chest roiled with grating disharmony.

“But if Wanyin was not being serious before, this leader will ask again.” He held the jar out, waiting for Jiang Cheng to raise his cup. They locked eyes, and Lan Xichen smiled like he wholly adored the person in front of him, like his feelings were absolute and entirely unconditional.

Impulsive, Jiang Cheng thought, anxious with panic. Absurd. Insane!

“Marry me.”

Lan Xichen was out of his mind. This was beyond absurd. They couldn’t possibly move things along this quickly. There was too much to talk about, too many external forces playing against them, too many internal conflicts muddying the waters. Lan Xichen couldn’t be fucking serious. He couldn’t truly want this—not with Jiang Cheng.

He thought he must be qi deviating again because this couldn’t be fucking real. It was insane!

It was insane.

It was insane.

He eyed the jar.

Impulsive, absurd, fucking insane—

He raised his cup, met Lan Xichen’s adoring gaze, and reciprocated.

“Okay.”

Chapter Text

The Cloud Recesses,
Xu time

Lan Xichen filled Jiang Cheng’s cup, set the jar down, then lifted his other hand. Jiang Cheng linked their arms, flushing nervously.

What were they doing? What were they doing??

“We’re going out of order.”

Lan Xichen smiled. “Because we’re already in bed?”

He nodded. “We’re not wearing red either. And we haven’t done our bows.”

Lan Xichen put a grounding hand on Jiang Cheng’s knee. “I did not expect Wanyin to be so traditional.”

“I’m not,” he said, glancing off with a scowl. “But if we’re actually doing this, we should do it right.”

“Do you want to wear red?”

He shrugged. “I don’t imagine you have anything that isn’t white or blue.”

“Wanyin is right, but I know where my mother’s wedding robes are.”

“You want to wear a woman’s robes?”

Lan Xichen didn’t reply, just smiled innocently. Jiang Cheng knew his silence—in conjunction with that look—well enough by now.

“Piss off. I’m not wearing your mother’s robes.”

“Not even the veil?”

Jiang Cheng started to unhook his arm, but Lan Xichen tightened the link.

“If Wanyin wants to wear red, we’ll wear red. We can go into Gusu.”

“All the shops are closed by now.”

“Maybe Shufu knows where my father’s robes were stored,” Lan Xichen mused.

“You can’t ask him!”

“Why not?”

Jiang Cheng’s flush deepened. “Doesn’t he already suspect something?”

Lan Xichen thought about that for a moment, then scratched his temple. “Shufu has acted strange since I started courting you. I hoped it was about something else, but you’re probably right.”

“It’s fine, Lan-zongzhu. We don’t need red robes. I shouldn’t have said anything.”

“Are you sure?”

“I’m sure my arm’s getting tired. Are we drinking or not?”

Lan Xichen smiled, pale cheeks dusted pink. “Yes.”

Jiang Cheng nodded, raised the cup to his lips at the same time that Lan Xichen did, then drank. Neither blinked, rather eyed one another until their cups were drained and their arms parted.

Lan Xichen was still smiling sweetly, practically buzzing with enthusiasm, affection. He was so pretty. He cared about Jiang Cheng so much. The latter still couldn’t wrap his head around it, just knew that he felt the same.

Lan Xichen began to ask something, but Jiang Cheng cut him off.

“I love you,” he said earnestly. He expected his face to burn hotter, his stomach to twist, but neither did. Rather, he found himself immensely relieved to have finally said it, to have gotten this last confession off his chest.

Lan Xichen’s eyes widened a fraction, smile dipping slightly.

Okay, there it was—burning face, nervous stomach. Jiang Cheng looked away, hiding his blushing face behind the sleeve of his inner robe.

“Lan-zongzhu doesn’t need to respond to that,” he said nervously. “I just thought you should know.”

“Wanyin?”

“Hm?” he hummed, gaze still averted.

“When your brother left our guest lectures early, do you remember what happened after you stayed behind?”

Jiang Cheng furrowed his brow. What an abrupt change in conversation. Was this really such an inappropriate time to confess his feelings? Was he overthinking things again? Did Lan Xichen secretly hate him and all this marriage business was just an elaborate joke at his expense??

“I was here for a few weeks,” Jiang Cheng mumbled. “Be more specific.”

“It was the first time we crossed paths after Wei-gongzi’s departure.”

He wracked his mind, trying to recall that interaction, then cringed. “Wasn’t I trying to play the xiao?”

Lan Xichen grinned, nodding. “Jiang-gongzi was really terrible. You cursed the instrument, my clan, Shufu, the Cloud Recesses, music in general—all to hell.”

“Your uncle planted that seed in my head,” Jiang Cheng argued, “said I might excel at musical cultivation if I set my mind to it—but it was infuriating.”

“Because you weren’t immediately good at it.”

Jiang Cheng clicked his tongue.

“I relived that memory during Reminisce.”

Of course he fucking did.

“And I realized something,” Lan Xichen continued. “You were so well-mannered and polite up until that point. I’d never seen you raise your voice—let alone spew curse after vulgar curse at the top of your lungs.” Lan Xichen’s expression was fond as he recalled the memory, which Jiang Cheng found odd considering all the aforementioned vulgar cursing. “Watching you—the son of another sect’s leader, someone who was in the same position as me and who, up until that moment, I had imagined shared my over-polite demeanor, watching that person lose the facade and prove me so wrong—was when everything shifted for me.”

Jiang Cheng frowned, confused. “What do you mean?”

“I started taking notice of you after that, seeking you out, trying to catch the real you. I told myself I was just curious, that I only wanted to see you lose your temper because I’d never been permitted to react that way; I’d never even been capable of feeling things so intensely.”

“My father would have loved you,” Jiang Cheng said flatly.

Lan Xichen’s smile softened. “Shufu rarely doles out praise, but he raved about you back then, said you’d make an excellent leader someday.”

“How times change.”

Lan Xichen shrugged. “He was right.”

Jiang Cheng huffed, though he couldn’t help smiling.

“Anyway,” Lan Xichen said, steering the conversation back on track, “I am talking more than I meant to. All this to say—I’ve been paying Wanyin very close attention for more than a decade, and that attention evolved very quickly into a rather intense affection.”

Jiang Cheng glanced his way, but now Lan Xichen was the one blushing and averting his gaze.

“I always think I’m being so obvious, that my feelings must be written all over my face. It has only occurred to me recently that Wanyin may not agree.”

“I certainly don’t,” said Jiang Cheng, though his inability to read Lan Xichen surely had less to do with the latter being too subtle and everything to do with the former’s inability to accept what’s right fucking in front of him.

Lan Xichen’s smile deepened. “Forgive me.” Then he leaned in, captured Jiang Cheng’s lips in a savored, sweet kiss.

“I love you too,” he said upon pulling back. “I’ve loved you for ages.”

Jiang Cheng’s lips parted slightly. Again, he found himself totally lost for words.

“Wanyin is the sun, and I am frozen, suffocated, and decaying without him.” Lan Xichen kissed him again, quick but just as sweet. “You consume me. This humble one is singularly devoted to you. He wants for nothing and no one else. He is unconditionally and irrevocably yours.”

Jiang Cheng disregarded everything—his dignity, keeping face, whatever—and crawled onto Lan Xichen’s lap, holding his face in both hands as he kissed him again. And again. And again.

Only once they were each gasping for breath, cheeks sore from all the ceaseless ear-to-ear grinning, did they finally part—though neither was willing to untangle their limbs.

“You better love me,” Jiang Cheng mumbled. “How could this Jiang tolerate a husband who does not love him?”

Lan Xichen’s eyes lit up at being referred to as such. “This husband,” he said giddily, “promises to always love Wanyin. No matter what.”

Jiang Cheng’s face couldn’t possibly burn any hotter. Still, he smiled, wide and happy and so fucking in love.

Lan Xichen mirrored the expression, mirrored every unspoken sentiment.

“This husband promises the same.”

Mao time, the next morning

There was hardly any time to bask in nuptial bliss as Lan Wangji nearly broke down the Wintry Room’s east door, jolting both Lan Xichen and Jiang Cheng awake.

The former jumped out of bed immediately, planting an affection kiss to his new husband’s temple before throwing on his outer robe and hurrying to answer the door.

“Punch him for me. Again,” Jiang Cheng growled, still half-asleep. He could faintly hear them conversing, but he didn’t care to listen in this time, just wanted to go back to sleep.

A few minutes later, Lan Xichen returned, crawling back into bed to spoon Jiang Cheng from behind. The latter melted into his embrace, twisted his head back to kiss him once before nestling in.

“What did he want?” Jiang Cheng asked, voice low and slurred from sleep.

“To perform the blended composition. He says he wants to get it over with.”

“Mn.”

He didn’t say anything else, content to ignore what Lan Wangji wanted and sleep in. When he’d nearly dozed off, Lan Xichen said his name.

“We should get up. The sun’s rising, and Wangji’s getting restless.”

“Let him be restless.”

Lan Xichen started to rise, but Jiang Cheng twisted around and caught him by the arm, clung to his chest like a leech.

“Let him be restless, and let us rest.”

Lan Xichen sighed, slumped back against the pillow as he played with Jiang Cheng’s hair.

“Wanyin is so clingy.”

“Mn.” Jiang Cheng hummed, mindlessly cuddling closer.

Lan Xichen’s touch, the gentle pull of his hand combing through Jiang Cheng’s hair, quickly lulled him back to sleep.

He couldn’t remember a time he’d been held like this, loved like this. The only people who came close were Yanli and Wei Wuxian—but even they had never made him feel the way Lan Xichen did, like he was the whole world to them, like no one else mattered so much.

He wasn’t sure how long they stayed like that, just that it wasn’t long enough. Lan Xichen eventually broke away, and though he tried very hard not to wake Jiang Cheng, the latter had grown too accustomed to his presence.

“Xichen. . .” he called sleepily, grabbing at the other’s robes as he tried to escape the bed.

Jiang Cheng wasn’t ready to let Lan Xichen go. He wanted always to be held in those arms, loved without conditions. He wanted Lan Xichen to feel loved in turn.

He slid his hands over Lan Xichen’s shoulders, pressed his chest to the latter’s backside, and planted a soft kiss to his neck.

“Won’t you stay?” he whispered, one hand slinking beneath the hem of Lan Xichen’s robes, running down his chest, gliding back up over the peak of his pectoral.

Lan Xichen leaned back against Jiang Cheng, let the latter’s roaming hand map the lines of his chest, gently massage his muscles. Jiang Cheng kissed up his neck, brushed his hair back and nipped playfully at his ear.

“Wanyin,” he said coolly. “Wangji is waiting for us.”

“Won’t kill him to wait a bit longer.”

Jiang Cheng kissed Lan Xichen’s earlobe, and the latter gave a shuddered sigh as his head tipped back onto Jiang Cheng’s shoulder. He buried his face and, by extension, his ear in Jiang Cheng’s neck before returning a few kisses. Then taking a bite.

Jiang Cheng tensed at the sudden pain, but he didn’t admonish Lan Xichen. His hand roamed farther down, drew dangerously close to Lan Xichen’s trousers.

Lan Xichen grabbed Jiang Cheng’s hand and swiftly spun around, dropping one leg onto the floor as he leaned over the bed.

“Wanyin is too tempting, but let’s deal with your curse first. Then you’ll get yours.”

Jiang Cheng grabbed Lan Xichen’s wrist. “That a promise, husband?”

Lan Xichen pulled his wrist free and stood, turning his back to Jiang Cheng as he started toward the partition.

”Do not look at what is improper. Calm over impatience. Cold over heat. Silence is the ultimate virtue. Do not look at what is improper. . .”

Lan Xichen’s whispered voice faded to nothing as he padded across the Wintry Room, and it took Jiang Cheng a moment to realize he’d been reciting sutras.

He chuckled softly before finally pulling himself out of bed.

Wu time

Lan Wangji glared at Jiang Cheng from across the Wintry Room.

“Something wrong with your face, Lan-er-gongzi?” Jiang Cheng sniped. “Maybe you should look at your brother when he’s talking to you.”

Lan Wangji tilted his chin up haughtily then looked away.

Scowling, Jiang Cheng eyed the sunlit grounds outside, tuning out their conversation. He missed Lotus Pier, couldn’t help wanting to run home. What did he really know about cultivating the arts or music-based techniques anyway? Fucking nothing. While the Lans breathed this shit.

He was so out of his depth.

And what about Lan Xichen? He was confident in his composition, but he couldn’t predict everything, especially where the Collection of Spirit Turmoil was concerned. What if things went wrong?

He was so fucking out of his depth.

He exhaled a long breath, thought of his golden core, of loosing it once already, imagined loosing it again. He couldn’t let that happen. This is going to work. he assured himself. Lan Xichen is here, and this is going to work.

“Did you tell shufu?” asked Lan Wangji. Jiang Cheng glanced back at the question, caught a brief flash of guilt cross Lan Xichen’s face.

“He knows Jiang-zongzhu is here.”

“But not what we’re doing.”

Lan Xichen shook his head.

“Will you tell him?”

“What your uncle doesn’t know won’t hurt him,” Jiang Cheng interjected.

Lan Wangji shot him another scathing glare. Lan Xichen put a soothing hand on his brother’s shoulder and smiled.

“Jiang-zongzhu is right.”

“Xiongzhang. . .” Lan Wangji’s tone and countenance remained frustratingly neutral; Jiang Cheng of course had no idea what he was thinking.

“You were not there when I told him about Jiang-zongzhu’s earlier visits,” Lan Xichen said with a blithe chuckle. “You didn’t see him. Better he keep his peace of mind.”

Of course Lan Qiren had had something snide to say about his nephew befriending someone as disreputable as Yunmeng’s reigning psychopath. Jiang Cheng couldn’t help scoffing.

Lan Xichen glanced back, smiling apologetically. “I defended you, of course.”

“Mn.”

He turned back to his brother, “You’re sure about this, Wangji? You were so opposed to it before.”

Lan Wangji insisted he was sure, and Jiang Cheng got the sense he’d have done just about anything as long as Lan Xichen were the one asking. It was a familiar feeling, and Jiang Cheng couldn’t stop himself from thinking about Wei Wuxian. The fucker.

“Everything all right?” Lan Xichen asked Jiang Cheng out of nowhere, which only reinforced his running theory that Lan Xichen could read his mood like a fucking book. Lan Wangji frowned, squinting curiously at his brother, which reinforced Jiang Cheng’s other theory that it was fucking weird Lan Xichen could do that.

“Nothing. Let’s get this over with.”

At a look from his brother, Lan Wangji crossed the room and dropped to his knees behind his guqin, which he’d set up on a short dais. Lan Xichen sat down on a floor cushion perpendicular to the guqin and Jiang Cheng followed suit, settling opposite to him.

“Jiang-zongzhu, are you sure nothing’s wrong?” he asked, eyeing Jiang Cheng’s knee as it bounced up and down fitfully. He stilled it.

“I’m sure,” he said. “Stop asking.”

Lan Wangji’s gaze flicked up from his brother’s composition. “Xiongzhang is right. You look bad,” he said, rerolling the scroll and setting it aside.

A vicious retort was perched on the tip of Jiang Cheng’s tongue, but he held it back, imagined his mother standing over his shoulder. She’d have his head if he kept lashing out at the second twin jade.

“Excuse Wangji’s bluntness,” said Lan Xichen, and Jiang Cheng huffed. “Jiang-zongzhu doesn’t look bad. Nothing of the sort. You look as refined as always. Good, even.”

He shot Lan Xichen a look as Lan Wangji strummed out an experimental note.

“Enough pandering, xiongzhang. Let’s begin.”

Jiang Cheng cringed. Lan Wangji had to know, right? Or suspect at the very least.

“There’s time to play a few strains of Cleansing first—if you’re feeling unwell,” said Lan Xichen.

“No, it’s fine. Let’s start.”

“If you’re sure.” Lan Xichen pressed his lips into a thin line, gaze shifting to Lan Wangji.

If Jiang Cheng didn’t know better, he’d have thought Lan Xichen was glaring at his brother. Lan Wangji pretended not to notice as the blended composition reverberated through the Wintry Room, the tones as delicate as they were breaching.

Jiang Cheng came to in sunlit room, listened as a soft voice hummed a lilting tune into the small space. He glanced up, though he didn’t recognize the woman sitting before him or the child in her lap. She was combing her hands through the boy’s hair, a gentle smile playing across her lips.

He furrowed his brow. If the blended composition was showing him a memory like Reminisce, when and where had this one taken place? If he didn’t recognize it, did that mean it wasn’t his memory at all?

A second child called out from behind him, darted up to stand at the woman’s legs. Her eyes followed his approach, crinkling at the corners with her smile.

Lan Xichen’s eyes did that, Jiang Cheng noted absently.

He pushed himself to a stand, finally recognized this room as the Gentian House, where Lan Xichen’s mother lived before she died—only it was better kept here in this memory than it had been the few times he’d visited it.

“A-niang,” the rushing boy panted, “A-niang, wake A-Zhan.” The boy shook the sleeping child by his shoulder until his mother kindly shooed his hand away.

A-Zhan. Jiang Cheng stared at the child napping in his mother’s lap, unsure if it was indeed that Zhan. His gaze drifted to the other young boy, who was fidgeting before the woman.

Dark eyes, pale cheeks, hair which glittered brown in the sunlight.

Jiang Cheng stepped closer, confident now that these boys were the Twin Jades of Lan, two decades younger—and that he was indeed trespassing Lan Xichen’s memories.

So where was the present Lan Xichen?

“Shufu is outside,” said this remembered version. “I need to wake up A-Zhan.” His mother’s smile turned sad. She stroked Lan Xichen’s hair, cupped his cheek in her hand before planting an affectionate kiss to his forehead.

“Tell him that your brother is sleeping.” Her voice was gentle, but there was something in her tone that set Jiang Cheng off. “And that he needs to wait for A-Zhan to wake up before taking him back.”

“A-niang. . .” Lan Xichen said, shifting uncomfortably. “We’re not supposed to stay any longer. Shufu won’t like it.”

“Please listen to your mother,” she said, her distress bleeding subtly into every word. “Please, A-Huan.”

Lan Xichen winced, and his mother quickly pulled her hand away. He rubbed his cheek.

Jiang Cheng felt a rush of protectiveness for the young Lan Xichen, wanted to shake some sense into his mother, demand she stop making her son responsible for pleasing her and tempering Lan Qiren. A child certainly could not do both, not while the parents in question were so utterly opposed.

“I’m not supposed to—“

“Then you go,” she said, tone changing quick as a slap, but at Lan Xichen’s stricken look, she switched back. “Oh no,” she said hurriedly, “forgive your terrible A-niang. She didn’t mean that.”

Jiang Cheng set his jaw. Lan Xichen couldn’t be older than ten here. If Jin Guangyao ever pulled this shit with Jin Ling, Jiang Cheng would have no qualms sending the chief cultivator tumbling down Golden Carp Tower’s stairs for the third time.

The young Lan Wangji stirred, eyes opening drowsily, blinking a few times before he lifted his head with a yawn. Their mother frowned, then sighed.

“Okay,” she said, carefully lifting a very sleepy Lan Wangji and setting him on his feet. “Okay.” She gave them each a quick kiss on their foreheads, her hands lingering beneath their ears as she affectionately brushed the pads of her thumbs along their cheeks.

Lan Xichen pulled back first. He bowed to his mother, then took Lan Wangji by the hand, spun on his heel, and made for the door with his half-sleeping brother in tow.

Jiang Cheng followed, but rather than stepping out onto the cottage’s familiar mountain peak, the door led him into the Library Pavilion, where an older version of Lan Xichen quickly gathered dozens of scrolls into his arms. A teenaged Lan Wangji rushed over, holding open a knapsack, which Lan Xichen hastily dumped the scrolls into. He then tied the drawstring, threw the bag over his shoulder, and grabbed Lan Wangji’s wrist. He started toward the exit, but his brother didn’t budge.

“Wangj!” he snapped, losing his composure in a way Jiang Cheng had rarely seen before.

Lan Wangji shook his head. “Go. I will keep the Wens back.”

The Wens. Jiang Cheng took in their surroundings, spotted the smoke creeping in beneath the doors, the orange light flickering outside, stark against the bleak night. He could hear panicked shouting and crossing swords through the walls.

He tried to ignore it.

“Stop this,” Lan Xichen was saying. “There’s no time.”

“Mn,” his brother nodded. “You must leave now.”

“I can’t go alone,” his voice broke, and Jiang Cheng’s heart clenched.

“But you will.”

He would never have guessed that Lan Xichen wanted his brother to flee the Cloud Recesses with him, that he’d begged him not to stay—though seeing this now, Jiang Cheng could no longer imagine the alternative. After all, Jiang Cheng had been forced to abandon his mother during the Wen invasion, something which still weighed heavy on his soul; leaving Wei Wuxian behind as well would have killed him.

“Go, Zongzhu.”

Lan Xichen’s brow creased, and Jiang Cheng wondered if this was the first time he’d been called zongzhu. If this was the night the Cloud Recesses burned, then their father, the previous sect leader, had already been gravely injured by Wen Xu, meaning Lan Xichen’s ascension to the position would happen very soon.

Lan Wangji didn’t give his brother time to respond. He made for the main wing of the Library Pavilion, hesitating at the door.

“Go.”

Lan Xichen squeezed his eyes shut. Then, deciding he was indeed out of time, he fled through a disguised exit Jiang Cheng hadn’t noticed. He followed, and again the scene changed.

He found himself in a war tent, where Lan Xichen and Nie Mingjue sat together at a low table. Jiang Cheng eyed the latter curiously, felt as though he were seeing a legend (which was a little ridiculous since he’d met Nie Mingjue several times before).

“You turned the tides in our favor,” said Lan Xichen. “Wen Xu’s death has accomplished a great deal.”

“That it has! Wen Ruohan’s quaking in his boots, the bastard!” Nie Mingjue grinned, clapping a hand on Lan Xichen’s shoulder.

Jiang Cheng narrowed his eyes at the gesture, which he thought quite rude given Lan Xichen’s polite but reserved disposition.

(Just because you’re a legend doesn’t mean you can invade someone’s personal space, he thought, quite comfortable up here on his high horse and registering not an inkling of hypocrisy.)

Lan Xichen didn’t seem bothered by it though, like he was used to Nie Mingjue touching him casually, like it happened all the time. Knowing he was too nice to say anything, Jiang Cheng felt angry on his behalf—until he offered Nie Mingjue a warm and demure smile, almost flirtatious, like a woman batting her long eyelashes at an especially handsome bachelor.

There’s no way. You’re overthinking things again because there’s absolutely no fucking way.

He remembered their conversation last night, how Lan Xichen insisted the person he’d been with before Jiang Cheng didn’t matter, that he might as well have been nameless.

Nie Mingjue certainly wasn’t fucking nameless.

Jiang Cheng’s eye twitched of its own accord, the fiery brewings of jealousy cooking just below the surface; he furiously stamped the feeling down.

“How is the Jiangling Front?” asked Nie Mingjue. “I heard you were there recently.”

An excellent distraction—Jiang Cheng wracked his mind trying to remember a time during the Sunshot Campaign when Lan Xichen had visited the Jiangling Front, which the Jiang Clan had maintained.

“Jiang-zongzhu has proven himself more than capable,” Lan Xichen said. Jiang Cheng straightened, thrown by such thoughtless praise, though it really shouldn’t have surprised him.

“You’re not the first to say so,” said Nie Mingjue. “Though I’m sure he has his hands full juggling the Wens and that demonic cultivator.”

“Wei-gongzi has proven himself an invaluable asset as well.”

Catching onto something in Lan Xichen’s expression, Nie Mingjue said “But?”

He smiled guiltily. “Wangji cannot get along with him. They are very different.”

That’s it, Jiang Cheng realized. After Wen Chao’s death, Lan Wangji joined the Jiangling front, but when he couldn’t look past Wei Wuxian’s cultivation path, Lan Xichen had paid a visit hoping to soothe things over. This must be sometime after that.

“I was surprised when your brother volunteered to fight in Jiangling.”

“I wasn’t. He’s quite fond of Wei Wuxian, and he worries for him.”

Jiang Cheng was hesitant to agree, not because he didn’t think Lan Wangji was fond of Wei Wuxian, but because the truth of it pissed him the fuck off. He couldn’t stand the bastard, but Lan Wangji had been right to worry, to warn Wei Wuxian away from the demonic path. While Jiang Cheng had only encouraged his brother.

“In any case. . .” Lan Xichen went on, but Jiang Cheng missed whatever he said next. The memory seemed to crumble, fracturing at the edges like cracking ice.

When it coalesced again, it did so in Gusu, but he didn’t recognize this corner of the Cloud Recesses. Not at first. He did, however, recognize Lan Xichen, who seemed to be standing guard outside a large sliding door.

Curious, Jiang Cheng crept closer, trying to peer through the tiny slit between the door and the jam and practically pressing himself against Lan Xichen in the process.

Inside, someone was shouting, and Lan Xichen tilted his head to the side, listening in. Jiang Cheng couldn’t help glancing his way. Their faces were barely an inch apart, and if this were anything but a memory, Jiang Cheng would have felt Lan Xichen’s breath hot on his ear.

He refocused, listening in as he tried to make out whatever was on the other side of the door.

“That’s impossible! If everything’s as hopeless as you say, then what was the point of coming here?! What’s the damn point of doing anything at all!” cried an all too familiar voice. Jiang Cheng knew exactly where this was—when this was.

“Jiang-zongzhu,” said a second voice, eerie and soft, “compose yourself.”

Anger bubbled up in Jiang Cheng’s gut at the mere memory of that man. Lan Xichen whirled around and slid the door open, revealing a white-eyed, white-clad cultivator sitting behind a silver zither—as well as a ragged and sleep-deprived twenty-one-year-old Jiang Cheng.

He couldn’t remember the cultivator’s name, but he did know his purpose here. This man was the Gusu Lan Clan’s spiritual diviner, and Jiang Cheng had sought him out on his sister’s request, hoping he might guide them
in the right direction regarding Wei Wuxian, who, at this point, had already resurrected Wen Ning.

The younger Jiang’s fingers squeezed the underside of the table before him, ready to flip and launch it at the diviner, but when Lan Xichen opened the door behind him, his grip went slack. He stood and spun around in one violently quick move, glowering as he marched toward the door, meaning to push past Lan Xichen and leave the Cloud Recesses all together.

Jiang Cheng supposed he’d always been prone to running away from Lan Xichen in fits of rage.

“Jiang-zongzhu,” said Lan Xichen coolly. “Remember who you’re doing this for. Please don’t leave prematurely.”

The younger Jiang Cheng curled his lip, looking very much like he wanted to curse the other clan head to hell. Instead, he scoffed, turning back but not sitting down.

“Fine. It’s hopeless, you were saying. What the fuck else?” Lan Xichen started to step back, but the young Jiang Cheng shot him a glare. “Stay. I’m likely to rip his head off if we’re left alone.”

Lan Xichen paused, then nodded, closing the door again. The present Jiang Cheng wasn’t keen on reliving this, but it seemed that as long as Lan Xichen was here, he couldn’t leave.

The diviner strummed out a note, which struck Jiang Cheng like a volt of electricity. He jolted. So far, Lan Xichen’s memories hadn’t touched him—he’d been like a ghost passing through each with no impact. Until now. Puzzled, he stepped closer, eyeing the diviner as he strummed out a second note. There was the same electric feeling, like his blood ran with lightning.

The diviner opened his glassy white eyes and looked right at Jiang Cheng. Not the twenty-one-year-old whose future he was meant to be divining, but the present Jiang Cheng—the ghost. He shifted to the right; the diviner’s eyes followed. He shifted to the left; the diviner looked left.

“By the heavens. You’ve lived it haven’t you?” the diviner asked, voice hollow and even-toned. It chilled Jiang Cheng to the bone. He took a wary step backward.

“Lived what?” asked his remembered counterpart.

The diviner ignored him. “As I saw it? Did you heed my warning?”

Jiang Cheng’s eyes narrowed to slits. “Your warning?” He only half-expected the diviner to hear him, but the man nodded once. Jiang Cheng felt a surge of anger clogging his throat. Rather than swallow it down, he ripped into the diviner, baring all his teeth: “What warning? You said nothing I didn’t already know, and your actual prophecy was veiled in a thousand layers of fucking obscurity!”

The diviner’s lips thinned. “You didn’t, then.”

Jiang Cheng would have strangled this man if he could. “Piss off,” he hissed.

The diviner’s gaze shifted again, landing on Lan Xichen before returning to Jiang Cheng.

“Regardless,” he said with a haunting lull, “it would seem the void your family left has been filled. How loved you must feel after half a decade alone.”

Jiang Cheng remembered this, remembered the diviner becoming incoherent toward the end of his reading, like he was talking to another person entirely. Though, at twenty-one, he hadn’t realized the diviner’s implication regarding his relationship with Lan Xichen. By his reddened ears, however, this Lan Xichen certainly had.

“I said piss off!” Jiang Cheng snapped at the same time his younger self shouted, “The fuck are you on about?!”

“Enough.” The diviner stood, striding right up to Jiang Cheng, meeting his gaze with one of supreme severity. “You did not listen before, so listen now.”

Jiang Cheng was about to snap back, but at the diviner’s hard expression, he lost his words.

“Your history is repeating itself. As long as resentment and hatred flow alongside your qi, your vision will run red.” He poked a finger at Jiang Cheng’s navel. “His core will run red. All your love, both for that child and for the one who brought you here, will run red. Heed this diviner, Jiang Wanyin: old resentment is twice as vicious; purge it and be sated.” He finally glanced back at the younger Jiang. “No one else has to die.”

Jiang Cheng had backed himself against the wall, chest tight as he tried desperately to keep his composure.

“That’s nonsense!” the younger Jiang proclaimed. “Speak plainly or piss the fuck off you insufferable hack!”

Jiang Cheng fortunately didn’t have the mental faculties to feel embarrassed about this years-old tantrum. He was preoccupied.

All your love, both for that child and for the one who brought you here, will run red.

Nausea welled in his gut. Back then, of course those people were Jin Ling and Yanli. Now—well, the latter could only be Lan Xichen. He glanced back at the young clan head, whose ears were still hot with embarrassment. Jiang Cheng wanted to comfort him somehow, but it was impossible (unless he asked for the diviner’s help but he’d sooner break his own legs).

“Jiang-zongzhu,” called Lan Xichen as the younger Jiang fled the room in a rage. The former sighed, but before he gave chase, he bunched the hem of his robe between his fingers, expression unreadable.

Compelled by some inexplicable instinct, the present Jiang Cheng poked his head through the door, found that his counterpart’s irate escape had been waylaid by a woman dressed in purple and yellow. He froze in the doorway, and Lan Xichen passed right through before bowing to the young woman.

“Jiang-furen.”

She returned his bow. “Lan-zongzhu. Please forgive my brother for letting his temper
get the best of him. Know we’re sincerely thankful for your help today.”

Jiang Cheng stumbled after Lan Xichen. He could feel the memory cracking and fading around him, but how could he move on now?

“A-jie. . .” he breathed, zipping past Lan Xichen as he rushed toward his sister.

“Of course,” Lan Xichen said, but Jiang Cheng hardly heard as he took Yanli in his arms—only for his limbs to pass right through her.

“A-Cheng,” she said, tone doting and kind as she addressed Jiang Cheng’s younger self.

The latter cast a look over his shoulder. “Thank you, Lan-zongzhu,” he said without hesitation. “And. . .” his voice went quiet, “forgive me for loosing my temper.”

Yanli pinched his ear playfully, and he batted her hand away. Watching the interaction, Jiang Cheng was overcome. He shut his eyes, but they were already hot and stinging. He sank to his knees, helpless to do anything but listen.

“No need to apologize,” said Lan Xichen. “I’m sorry we couldn’t do more for you.”

“You’ve done plenty,” Yanli assured. “Please pass our thanks along to Lan-er-gongzi as well.”

Lan Xichen bowed again. “Of course. Let me walk you out.”

“No need,” interjected the young Jiang Cheng. “We know the way.” He put a hand against Yanli’s back, ushering her down the breezeway.

“A-jie,” Jiang Cheng said, grasping futilely at her skirts, trying to find purchase where there was none. She took a step, and he scrambled after her. He wasn’t ready for this to end, for her to be gone. Again. “A-jie!”

“Why did you say that, A-Cheng?”

“Say what?”

“Lan-zongzhu clearly likes you. Why be cruel blowing him off like you did?”

“Heavens’ sake, jiejie! How can you say such things with a straight face?”

“What?” she asked innocently. “What did I say?”

Collapsed on his hands and knees, Jiang Cheng found himself chuckling. What she’d say now if she knew, if he could only tell her everything that had happened between them. His laughter broke with a sob. He wanted more than anything to talk to his sister about Lan Xichen, to confess everything—what they’d done, what he felt, that they’d been married last night in secret.

He wished she’d been around this past year, the perfect ear for his romantic woes. She probably could have talked some sense into him sooner.

She’d call him hopeless of course, but she’d also know exactly what to do.

Tell him how you feel, dummy, she’d say like it were that simple. How do you know it isn’t real if you don’t ask?

Oh, like you did? he would tease, and she’d smack her lips with mock affront.

A-Xuan and I are married now, aren’t we? Because he had the guts to tell me how he felt.

Wei Wuxian would be there too. Laughing and slapping Jiang Cheng too hard on the shoulder, he’d say, Yeah, Jiang Cheng! Grow a pair and go tell your fellow zongzhu that you’re a cut-sleeve—

Jiang Cheng would interject with, I’m not a cut-sleeve!

—and that you think he’s sexy!

Wei Wuxian! Then they’d chase each other down the pier while Yanli shouted behind them, urging both to calm down.

Moisture welled in the corners of his eyes. He blinked and tears poured down his face in two thick streams as Yanli—who looked at his young self with pure love and affection, who had been the only person to ever look at him like that—dissolved to nothing.

Jiang Cheng hung his head. This was why he didn’t let himself remember her, why he was always quicker to curse Wei Wuxian for killing her than he was to reminisce about the three of them.

”Wei Wuxian.” He spat the name with as much venom as he could muster, which wasn’t very much at all. ”Fuck you,” he rasped, this time with zero inflection. “Fuck you.”

It was a while before he took in his new surroundings. The song wasn’t finished yet, it seemed—though he wanted so badly for this to be over.

He was sitting on his knees in a partially reconstructed Wintry Room. Lan Xichen stood in the doorway with his back to Jiang Cheng.

“Er-ge. . .” came a voice from the hallway.

Lan Xichen backed up a few steps, and Jin Guangyao entered the room, looking forlorn, eyes red and swollen from crying.

“I know better than anyone how you’re feeling,” Jin Guangyao said, “but you must grieve properly. Don’t shut yourself away.”

Lan Xichen angled his body to the side, and Jiang Cheng saw his face for the first time. His expression was as flat his brother’s, his eyes glazed over, a dull vestige of their usual mirth. He dropped his gaze to the floor.

“I don’t want you to feel so consumed,” continued Jin Guangyao. “I miss him too, but you must focus on other things.”

“Like you?” Lan Xichen’s tone bore a grim and foreign coldness. By the stricken, glassy-eyed look on Jin Guangyao’s face, he thought it just as uncanny.

Lan Xichen sighed, dropped his head into his hands. “Forgive me, A-Yao,” he said. “I’m not myself.”

“It’s okay.” Jin Guangyao put both hands on Lan Xichen’s shoulders. “It’s really okay, Er-ge. I shouldn’t have dropped in on you like this.”

“No, that’s not. . .” Lan Xichen trailed off. Seeming at a loss for words, he covered one of Jin Guangyao’s hands with his own. “Forgive me.”

“There is no need between friends.”

Lan Xichen nodded, and Jin Guangyao gave his shoulders a final squeeze, then dropped his hands. “I’ll go for now, Er-ge—give you some time.”

Jin Guangyao left the Wintey room, leaving Lan Xichen alone with Jiang Cheng’s ghost. He crossed the room, stopping just short of Jiang Cheng as he swayed on his feet, then slumped unexpectedly to the floor. Jiang Cheng started, as there was hardly an inch between them now, but he didn’t move.

Then Lan Xichen was crying too, though it was clear he didn’t want to be, that he was still trying to hold it back.

“Xichen,” Jiang Cheng croaked, voice still hoarse from his own fit.

Lan Xichen hung his head, tears sprinkling the hardwood. Then he stopped trying to repress his sobs, and the tears surged forth with new fervor. His shoulders shook violently, breaths coming in starts and stops as he futilely wiped his eyes with both hands.

Jiang Cheng tried to take one of those hands in his own, but like Yanli, this Lan Xichen was just a memory. He couldn’t touch him, couldn’t stand to see him this way either—not if he was helpless to do anything about it.

Lan Xichen let out a furious howl before slamming his fist against the floor, causing the hardwood to splinter and break. He did it again, fist coming back bloodied this time.

As the floorboards cracked, so did the memory.

All around, the Cloud Recesses faded to nothing, and Lan Xichen’s blended composition at last fell silent.

Chapter Text

The Cloud Recesses

Jiang Cheng came back to himself with a start, gulping down several hefty lungfuls of air like he’d just broken the lake’s surface after diving too deep. He heard coughing and spluttering in front of him, and when he looked up, Lan Xichen’s face was covered in blood. His chin was coated with it, as was the handkerchief he was coughing into, and his cheeks were streaked, red bleeding from his eyes like tears.

Lan Wangji, who had already abandoned his guqin and rushed to his brother’s side, now turned on Jiang Cheng with a wild fury.

Feeling suddenly on the defensive, Jiang Cheng scrambled to get a hand on Sandu, but the sword was still with Lan Qiren. His limbs were stiff and unruly anyway, vision blurring despite how he blinked and blinked.

“Calm yourself, Wangji,” said Lan Xichen between coughs. “Please.”

Lan Wangji didn’t, not right away. He fixed Jiang Cheng with a hair-raising stare for several more tense seconds.

Then, “Fine.”

He crouched beside his brother, pressed his fingertips to the latter’s wrist. Lan Xichen let out a shuddered breath as his meridians cleared.

“Are you all right?” he asked Jiang Cheng, who at last wiped his face.

“Yes.”

The blood on Lan Xichen’s cheeks looked like teartracks, and Jiang Cheng couldn’t help thinking of that last memory.

“Are you all right?”

“I am,” said Lan Xichen at the same time that Lan Wangji answered, “He is not.”

”I am.”

“Let me help,” said Jiang Cheng, to which Lan Wangji cast another chilling glare.

“No need,” said Lan Xichen. “It was a brief disruption. My qi is circulating smoothly again.” He addressed his brother, “Will you bring a fresh towel? And water?”

Lan Wangji glanced between them, looking hesitant. “Jiang-zongzhu should go,” he whispered (as though Jiang Cheng weren’t sitting two feet away). “You know why—“

Lan Xichen shot him a sharp look, and Lan Wangji zipped his mouth shut. Then, after a heated silence (and wordless argument?), Lan Wangji pushed to a stand and reluctantly strode out of the Wintry Room, eyeing the pair over his shoulder until the door shut behind him.

The moment they were alone again, Jiang Cheng moved to close the distance between them, then froze, guilt pooling like poison in his gut. He could hardly look at Lan Xichen, who sat cursed and bleeding before him.

Because of him.

He started to say Lan-zongzhu, cut himself off, then amended with, “Xichen. . .”

Despite how dreadful he looked, Lan Xichen smiled warm and kind when he said, “Come here.”

Jiang Cheng rushed the short distance, took Lan Xichen’s face in his hands to inspect the damage, then slung his arms around his neck.

“I didn’t want this,” he rasped, hugging Lan Xichen close. “Forgive me.”

“No need. Like I said, it was only a brief disruption.”

Jiang Cheng hugged him even closer.

“This leader is fine, Wanyin. Really.”

They stayed that way for a minute or so, quiet save the hitch of Jiang Cheng’s breath with every inhale. When he finally released Lan Xichen, it was to fish his jade token out of his pocket. He’d wrapped the token inside a purple handkerchief, which he unfolded then lifted to Lan Xichen’s bloody cheeks.

“I’m sorry,” reiterated Jiang Cheng.

“Do not apologize,” reiterated Lan Xichen.

When Jiang Cheng was finished, Lan Xichen caught his hand to get a look at the handkerchief.

“Is this yours? I never imagined you’d carry—“ he broke off, stared at the bloody article before closing his fingers over Jiang Cheng’s.

“It was Yanli’s,” the latter confirmed.

“I wish you hadn’t—“

“Why? It was clean. And she’d hate if I didn’t lend it to you now just because it belonged to her.”

“Let me wash it for you.”

“If you want to.”

Lan Xichen took the handkerchief, folded it into a square, then set it aside. “And let me return the favor,” he said, pulling his sleeve over his thumb. “Sorry. There is only my robe.”

He lifted his hand to Jiang Cheng’s face and dried the smeared tracks.

“Will Wanyin forgive me? That this heartless leader made you cry is inexcusable.” He cupped Jiang Cheng’s face with his right sleeve, then raised the left to wipe and hold the other cheek.

A hot flush cracked through Jiang Cheng’s frown. He shut his eyes, mortified. “I’m not crying,” he said, though it was a terrible lie given how very visibly he was crying. He tried to pull away, but Lan Xichen held firm, stroking a thumb across Jiang Cheng’s cheek. It reminded him of the first memory he’d violated, the one of Lan Xichen’s mother.

“What did the composition show you?” he asked.

Lan Xichen dropped his hands. “Memories.”

“Your own?”

Lan Xichen’s taut silence betrayed everything.

“Mine.”

He nodded and Jiang Cheng blinked his eyes closed, intensely uncomfortable with that fact.

“You saw my memories, then?” Lan Xichen surmised.

“Yeah.”

“How many?”

He took a moment to count. “Five. You?”

“Five.”

His frown deepened.

“Do you want to know which ones?” asked Lan Xichen.

Jiang Cheng squeezed both hands into fists. Did he? Could he handle it? What if Lan Xichen had seen something bad, something Jiang Cheng couldn’t get over?

“I don’t know,” he said.

“We can take turns.”

Jiang Cheng met his eye. “Yeah,” he said after a pause. “Okay.”

“You start.” Lan Xichen’s smile was soft and encouraging, but if Jiang Cheng meant to speak coherently, he couldn’t look him in the eye. He cleared his throat.

“I saw your mother,” he said. “She was in the Gentian House with you and your brother. You were nine or ten, I think.”

“Did she say anything?” Lan Xichen asked eagerly, though Jiang Cheng thought he was trying (and failing) to downplay his enthusiasm. It was painful to see, knowing the memory in question.

“Um, a little,” said Jiang Cheng. “She didn’t want you to leave, but your uncle was waiting outside.”

“Ah,” Lan Xichen remarked. “That happened after most of our visits.”

“What about you? What did you see first?”

“Your mother actually.”

Jiang Cheng’s stomach seemed to clench and flip, clench and flip. Even dead, Yu Ziyuan was a constant, looming presence. He couldn’t imagine Lan Xichen had seen a good memory. Jiang Cheng himself had trouble recalling one.

“I gathered that she and your father were arguing, and I think she was venting her frustrations to you.”

“Mn.”

“You were probably around the same age—nine or ten.”

He could have been describing a thousand such memories. There were simply too many to discern one.

“She wasn’t kind,” was all Lan Xichen had left to say, which was just as well.

“She could be,” Jiang Cheng replied, “but no, she usually wasn’t kind.” He could say the same of himself.

“What else did you see?”

“The night the Wens burned the Library Pavilion. You were trying to convince your brother to flee with you, but he wouldn’t.”

“Wangji has always been stubborn,” Lan Xichen said weakly.

Jiang Cheng felt awkward. He didn’t know what else he was supposed to say.

“I saw a memory of you and Wei-gongzi.”

He looked up at that. “You did?”

Lan Xichen nodded. “You were picking lotus pods for your sister.”

“We did that a lot,” he replied, feeling a little lighter. “A-jie made the best lotus and pork rib soup, but that fucker Wei Wuxian liked to hog all the meat.”

Lan Xichen chuckled. “That’s interesting. In the memory I saw, Wei-gongzi was accusing Wanyin of the exact same thing.”

Jiang Cheng waved a dismissive hand. “Nonsense.”

“If you say so. It’s your turn.”

He paused to remember, then, “I saw you and Nie Mingjue.”

Lan Xichen’s mouth fell open. “You. . . uh, when? What—what was the context exactly?”

Jiang Cheng narrowed his eyes. There was no fucking way. “Worried I saw something private?” he asked flatly

Lan Xichen averted his gaze. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

Seems he’s got a fucking type, Jiang Cheng thought bitterly.

“Relax. You two were just talking about the war.”

Lan Xichen still seemed agitated. Even a little distant.

“It’s your turn,” Jiang Cheng reminded him.

“Right.” He gave a thin sigh. “Right. Next was. . . the Nightless City Massacre.”

Jiang Cheng averted his gaze, chewed the inside of his cheek. “Well, you were there in person for that one. No need to relive it.”

Lan Xichen tilted his head to the side, but before he could put his pity into words, Jiang Cheng spoke again.

“This next one was weird,” he said, trying to recall the diviner’s warning.

Resentment flowing alongside qi, lots of blood, grim fate, purge it and be sated. . .

He still couldn’t wrap his head around it—at least not in an applicable way. How was he supposed to purge the cursed item’s resentful energy if he still didn’t know what that item was?

“Do you remember the spiritual diviner I saw a few years ago? One of yours?”

Lan Xichen nodded.

“And do you remember what he said towards the end?”

He scratched his temple with a thin laugh. “Some.”

Jiang Cheng felt insane saying this aloud. “I saw your memory of that day, but it was strange. The diviner started talking to me. Not the me of seven years ago. He was divining my future. He could see me. He spoke to me.”

Lan Xichen knit his brow. “Huh. That’s very strange. Did he say anything about your curse?”

“Sort of,” Jiang Cheng answered, then detailed, to the best of his recollection, the diviner’s warning.

“That’s. . . vague,” said Lan Xichen.

“I know.” Jiang Cheng crossed his arms. “I called him a hack back then, and I stand by that. Purge it and be sated—” he clicked his tongue, “—like I wasn’t already trying to do that. It’s why I ended up reliving that memory to begin with!”

Lan Xichen smiled sympathetically. “I remember him saying more than that.”

Jiang Cheng’s gaze flicked up. “You do? What?”

“Something about companionship, I think.”

Companionship? Jiang Cheng squinted, bemused. Then, How loved you must feel after half a decade alone.

“Oh.” His face burned. “Well, I was so annoyed I probably missed that part.” He didn’t sound the least bit convincing.

“If my memory serves,” Lan Xichen said, and of course it fucking would—he had an excellent memory, “the diviner mentioned you had found companionship outside of your family. Does that sound right?”

“Mn,” Jiang Cheng remarked. “Something like that.”

“I remember thinking it was odd at the time—because he looked right at me when he said it.”

Jiang Cheng should have known he’d remember that!

“But if he was talking to this version of you instead of the younger one, it makes more sense.”

Jiang Cheng just huffed. “Shameless flirt.”

Lan Xichen took his hand with a grin. “How can you say such things about your husband?”

Jiang Cheng’s gaze shot toward the door, then back to Lan Xichen. “Keep your voice down. Do you want your whole sect to know?”

Lan Xichen smiled like that was exactly what he wanted.

Jiang Cheng rolled his eyes (though he was secretly thrilled (he didn’t want the whole sect to know of course, just liked the idea that Lan Xichen didn’t mind, was proud of this even, proud of being with him)).

“Your turn.”

“Maybe that’s enough for now.”

Jiang Cheng frowned. “You didn’t see anything relevant to the curse?”

“I did. It’s just. . . sensitive. We can talk about it later.” Lan Xichen glanced to his right. “I can play Cleansing—“

“No,” Jiang Cheng said sternly, anxiously. “I don’t care if it’s sensitive. Tell me.”

Lan Xichen shifted where he sat, looking uncomfortable. “You’re sure?” Jiang Cheng said he was, and while Lan Xichen was still reluctant, he eventually continued. “I had no idea this happened. I thought. . . well, I don’t know what I thought; I just never imagined—“

“Spit it out,” Jiang Cheng interjected, nervous beyond measure. “You said it pertains to my curse, so just say it.”

“I saw you in Lotus Pier after the Wen invasion.”

Jiang Cheng’s stomach dropped. Nausea surged up his throat as every torturous memory flashed behind his eyes. He screwed them shut.

“Wanyin—“

“How much did you see?”

“Let me play Cleansing. We can talk about this later.”

”How much?”

For several excruciating seconds, Lan Xichen didn’t say anything.

Then, “Everything.”

. . . Everything.

Jiang Cheng roiled with shame, felt sick with it. To be demeaned the way he was, subjected, made powerless—it was shameful enough, but now, to have another person, his person, witness that weakness first-hand. . .

He couldn’t stand it.

But Lan Xichen hadn’t just seen his capture and torture. He’d seen the annihilation of his golden core.

Fuck. Fuck!

No one knew. No one.

Except Lan Xichen because of course the composition would show him the worst possible thing. And he thought that was the reason Jiang Cheng’s spiritual energy had been acting up all this time. But it wasn’t. It wasn’t.

Jiang Cheng suddenly couldn’t take being here anymore, couldn’t stand being seen, especially by Lan Xichen. He needed to go. He couldn’t be here. He needed to go. Just clear his head. He wasn’t running away. Not forever. He just needed to clear his head.

“I saw Yiling too,” Lan Xichen went on. “I saw Wei-gongzi blindfold you and send you up the mountain to meet his mother’s master, Baoshan-sanren. He said she could restore your golden core.”

Jiang Cheng’s eyes flew open again, wide and horrified. Get out, sirened that anxious little voice in his head, get out, get out, get out!

He broke eye contact, baring his teeth as he sneered, ”Enough.”

“Wanyin,” Lan Xichen said, squeezing his hand reassuringly, like he’d done a dozen times before, but Jiang Cheng felt cornered now, trapped, and every touch, no matter how tender, felt like a threat. He jerked away.

Just then, Lan Wangji returned with a bundle of warm towels under one arm and a jug of water under the other. Between them, he balanced Sandu.

Perfect, Jiang Cheng thought, but as he started to stand, Lan Xichen reached out and snatched his wrist, yanking it toward him but holding it in such a way that—at least to Lan Wangji—it would look like he was only checking his meridians and not holding him in place.

Jiang Cheng ground his teeth.

“Xiongzhang,” Lan Wangji addressed, setting everything down on the work table, “Shufu is asking for you.”

“What did you tell him?”

“That I would pass along the message.”

“Did he say why?”

He shook his head.

“I see,” Lan Xichen replied evenly. “Thank you for supervising, Wangji, but we’re fine now.”

At first, Lan Wangji seemed like he might argue, eyed Jiang Cheng as though he would surely summon Sandu to run Lan Xichen through at any moment. But after a brief pause, he bowed to his brother and quietly left the room.

Lan Xichen turned his attention back to Jiang Cheng. “You cannot go.” His voice wavered the smallest bit, and Jiang Cheng’s heart ached and seethed in equal measure.

He couldn’t look at Lan Xichen without thinking about what the blended composition had revealed to him. His insides churned with dread and self-loathing, crippled him with absurd, years-old insecurities. What good was a cultivator without his golden core? How competent could he really be if he’d managed to lose it in the first place? Was a restored golden core really the same? Was he?

He summoned Sandu, and the sword flew into his palm. “I need to clear my head.”

“Wanyin. . .”

“You were right. I don’t want to talk about this.”

“I know what’s affecting your spiritual energy.”

Jiang Cheng glanced back, then quickly looked off again. He shook his head and tried to yank his wrist free, but Lan Xichen didn’t let go. Rather, he stuck his free hand out and seized Jiang Cheng’s other wrist.

”Lan-zongzhu—“

“You cannot leave.”

Jiang Cheng curled his lip. “Let go.”

“No.”

“I’m sick of you fucking doing this,” he barked, trying to tear both wrists free. ”Let go of me.”

“We can cure you.”

“Did you not just say we could talk about this later?!”

“Will we?” Lan Xichen countered. “You don’t want to hear it now, so when? You want to clear your head?” He glanced at Sandu, still clutched in Jiang Cheng’s fist. “Fine, but you would risk another qi deviation by flying off.”

“So your solution is to keep me here by force?”

“Wanyin—“

”Just,” he interjected, “stop. Not another word.”

Lan Xichen made a weird expression then, like he was the one losing his composure and Jiang Cheng was being insensitive.

Lan Xichen let go.

“Restoring a golden core is impossible,” he said; Jiang Cheng shook with rage. “Wen Zhuliu destroyed yours. It cannot be the same core you cultivate with now.”

Jiang Cheng knew where this was going. “You’re wrong.”

“There must have been a reason Wei-gongzi stopped carrying around his sword.”

“Not another word, I said! Are you fucking deaf?”

“It was Wen Qing who saved you both. She could have performed the transfer—”

“Stop it!”

“Wanyin,” Lan Xichen said, the name suffused with a cloying, contemptible pity which made Jiang Cheng’s skin crawl, “Baoshan-sanren doesn’t live in Yiling.”

“Just shut up!” he barked, scrambling to a stand, turning his back on Lan Xichen.

“Wei-gongzi’s flute—Chenqing—you have it, don’t you?”

Why won’t he listen?

Jiang Cheng didn’t respond. He roiled with fury and upset. He hated Lan Xichen. He wanted to strangle him, wanted to summon Zidian’s lighting and electrocute him.

“The demonic path pollutes a cultivator’s golden core, but if Wei-gongzi gave his core to you, then there would be no way of corrupting it—unless one of his polluted spiritual items had access to your spiritual energy, which must be indistinguishable from Wei-gongzi’s.”

I restored my core, he mantraed. My spiritual energy is my own. My core is my own. I restored it. Lan Xichen doesn’t know what he’s fucking talking about.

“That’s nonsense,” he sneered. “I’ve never used Chenqing.”

“There are other ways—“

“Shut up!” he snapped, furious. Dejected. Humiliated. “You have no idea what you’re talking about. You never fucking do. Why won’t you just shut up already?!”

Lan Xichen paused, but Jiang Cheng didn’t turn back to see his expression. He needed to get the fuck out of here. He made for the west exit, but Lan Xichen beat him to it, grabbing the door and sliding it swiftly shut before Jiang Cheng could pass through.

“Jiang-zongzhu,” said Lan Xichen flatly. It was impossible to know what he was thinking, what he was feeling.

”Move.” Jiang Cheng hissed. Lan Xichen stayed where he was.

Jiang Cheng curled his lips, felt like crying and screaming and fighting, like running away and never looking back, like cursing Wei Wuxian’s name then cursing Lan Xichen’s. He couldn’t stand the look on his face either—pitying, like Jiang Cheng was the most pathetic thing he’d ever fucking seen.

“Move, Lan Xichen!”

The demand was met with silence, a thick tension which took him back to the day they played Concord.

Not another word. Ever. This didn’t happen.

He should have left it at that back then, should never have sought Lan Xichen’s help with this. Now he knew everything, and Jiang Cheng couldn’t stand it. He was losing his mind and he couldn’t fucking stand it.

”I told you I didn’t want you inside my head,” he said, detesting the tremor in his voice. ”Twice. Both times you said it wouldn’t be like that and both times you fucking lied to me.”

“I wasn’t lying,” Lan Xichen said. “I couldn’t know what would happen.”

“Yeah, right,” Jiang Cheng bit back weakly.

“It doesn’t matter now. I can’t unsee your memories—but I can cure your curse. Please just let me help.”

Lan Xichen reached out, but Jiang Cheng backed away. He mumbled, “No.” Then, with more certainty, “No. Just forget it. All of it.”

“Your curse—“

“I said forget it! Forget the curse, forget the memories you saw, forget every other perverse fucking thing we‘ve done.”

Lan Xichen blanched. “You can’t mean that.”

Jiang Cheng crossed his arms, curled in on himself. He hated this feeling, couldn’t understand what he was feeling, just knew that he didn’t want Lan Xichen to look at him anymore.

“You really don’t know me very well.”

“But I do know you. I know you better than anyone.”

Jiang Cheng scoffed.

“Is it not true?” Lan Xichen asked, letting go of the door jam, taking a step closer. “Who knows you better? Who else spends this much time with you? Who else loves you like I do?”

He stepped back, stunned and mad with rage. He knew deep down that Lan Xichen wasn’t trying to be cruel, that he’d never purposely be cruel. He knew that.

So why did it sound so demeaning? So threatening?

Leave me and you’re completely alone in the world. Who in their right mind would want to spend time with you? Who else could tolerate you long enough to know you? Who else could love you?

Jiang Cheng bunched his fists in the elbows of his robes.

Unloveable. So lonely he had to bewitch a man into loving him. Of course, no one would otherwise.

Who could love someone as vile as you?

“Shut up!” he sniped, screwing his eyes shut, speaking as much to himself as Lan Xichen.

“I won’t,” the latter resolved, taking one of Jiang Cheng’s hands. “I know you so well, Wanyin—well enough to notice when you’re overwhelmed or anxious, to know when I should pry and when to give you space—“

“Clearly you don’t!” Jiang Cheng tore his hand free and took another step back.

“I can intuit your meaning and feelings even when your words say the opposite. I can predict what will set you off, how you might react to certain things. I can read you.”

“What’s your point?!”

“I know why you’re upset. I know what conclusion you’ve drawn, but whatever Wei-gongzi was thinking back then, whatever his reasoning, it wasn’t your fault.”

Jiang Cheng stilled.

“The decision to give up his core was his own, and everything that came about as a result of that decision was his fault. You’re blameless. He took your choice and deceived you. Wanyin,” Lan Xichen lifted his hand to the back of Jiang Cheng’s head and pulled him into an embrace, “you didn’t deserve that.”

Jiang Cheng was stunned silent. He didn’t move, didn’t react, could hardly comprehend what was said. Fury warred with affection. His mind was a violent tide, dipping and rising to dramatic heights, slinging him mercilessly. He was drowning.

He was on fire.

And surely Lan Xichen could feel it. Surely he knew every feeling, every thought ricocheting around Jiang Cheng’s skull. Surely he knew it all.

No one had ever understood him like this before. Not Wei Wuxian, who thought he knew Jiang Cheng yet grievously misunderstood him, betrayed him at every turn. Certainly not his parents, who each saw him as a piece, an extension of themselves and their legacies rather than his own person. And not Yanli. She knew him, loved him. But she was raised by the same feuding, cold parents he was, and she had not been immune to their influence.

But Lan Xichen was different. He didn’t know Jiang Cheng as his parents’ son. And despite how frequently he proved his parents’ perception of him right, Lan Xichen never accepted it, had always seen through it, glimpsed the person underneath the grief and anger and sorrow when no one else had ever bothered. It was a relief to be seen and known so totally.

But it was horrible too—because if Lan Xichen could see and know him with such transparency, if he knew so much already and would only intuit more, what was Jiang Cheng supposed to do? How was he supposed to act? Could he be a normal fucking person if his every thought was written on his face, subtitled in his body language for Lan Xichen to see and pick apart and judge?

It was a freedom like nothing else—it was—but. . .

What if he never wanted this? What if he couldn’t take being so perfectly perceived?

He broke free of Lan Xichen’s embrace. “I meant what I said. Forget everything you saw. I should never have put this burden on you. It was a mistake. All of this was a mistake.”

“Stop, Wanyin,” Lan Xichen said sternly. “You don’t mean that. Don’t do this.”

Jiang Cheng put a hand on Sandu’s pommel, but Lan Xichen reached out, closed his own palm over Jiang Cheng’s.

”You did this,” Jiang Cheng hissed. “Didn’t I ask you to stop talking? Didn‘t I say I needed to clear my head? You were the one who wouldn’t listen.”

“If I had let you go, how could I be sure you would come back? You always run.”

“Piss off!” he barked, tearing away. “I don’t belong to you! I’ll run if I want to run and come back if I want to come back. It’s not for you to decide!”

“In your state?” Lan Xichen countered. “You would have fallen out of the sky before ever reaching Yunmeng.”

Jiang Cheng scoffed. “You fault Wei Wuxian for taking my choice away, but isn’t that exactly what you’re doing now? Refusing to listen? Forcing me to stay??”

“As opposed to letting you kill yourself trying to fly home?”

“You’re just like him!” Jiang Cheng snarled, prodding Lan Xichen’s chest with his finger. “You say you understand me, but you’re just as assuming as Wei Wuxian!”

“I only want to protect you!”

“So did he! But I didn’t need his protection back then and I don’t need yours now! You think you know so much more than me, that I’m too consumed with pride and anger to feel and think rationally, but I’m just as capable as you are! You’re not better than me! Neither of you!”

He pushed past Lan Xichen and toward the exit. He raised his hand, meaning to call Sandu from its sheath, but then Lan Xichen’s tone became panicked.

“Wait—don’t draw your sword! It’s—”

A loud slam reverberated from the east door, which Lan Wangji had flung open with enough strength to splinter the wood. One of his hands still gripped the jam, but the other was raised, his middle and index fingers pointed at Jiang Cheng. Bichen flew, but before he could draw Sandu to defend himself, Lan Xichen’s hand closed over his once again, keeping the hilt firmly in place. Shuoyue left its sheath, collided with Bichen just before it would have run Jiang Cheng through.

“He was not attacking,” Lan Xichen snapped.

“The shouting—“

“It was about something else.”

Jiang Cheng didn’t care to keep listening. He made for the west exit, opposite to Lan Wangji.

“Jiang-zongzhu,” Lan Xichen called, but Jiang Cheng didn’t stop. He slid the door open. “Please, just listen—“

“Leave it!” he sniped. “This curse is mine. My memories are mine. Neither has anything to do with you or your Gusu Lan Clan. Do not concern yourself.”

“I can fix it!“

Jiang Cheng cast a scowl over his shoulder. “You can’t!” Then he crossed the threshold, pulling Sandu a few inches from its scabbard.

“Wangji, stop him!”

Jiang Cheng stalled, shocked. Again? After all that, Lan Xichen would take his choice again?

He was so fucking stupid. He should have known things would turn out this way. He should never have let Lan Xichen get so close. He should have listened to his gut and stayed away, should have never accepted that damned invitation all those months ago.

He half-turned, meeting Lan Wangji’s stare. The latter’s brief flash of reluctance was swiftly replaced with resolve.

Jiang Cheng thumbed Zidian, the taste of Lan Xichen’s betrayal as foul and bitter as bile on his tongue. Lan Xichen would not make him stay. These two had no authority over him, and they would not govern his actions. He didn’t care if he qi deviated; he wouldn’t be forced.

Zidian cracked to life in a shower of purple sparks. Jiang Cheng met Lan Wangji’s resolve with wrath, fangs bared to raised hackles, a feral savagery mirrored in both their glares until the deadlock was nothing if not a clawed, snarling beast challenging a lengthy serpent spitting venom.

He struck, releasing wisps of purple lightning as Zidian cracked toward Lan Wangji. At the same time, Bichen picked itself up, cut across the room toward Jiang Cheng in a flash of white.

Realizing his mistake, absorbing the depths of their hostility, Lan Xichen took up Liebing, and a piercing tone swept through the Wintry Room. Zidian retracted, and Bichen dropped to the ground with a clang.

“Forgive me,” Lan Xichen pleaded as he dropped Liebing with uncharacteristic disregard. “Wanyin is right. About everything. I’ll give you time to clear your head. I won’t bring the curse up again. I’ll forget it, like you said. Wanyin, I’ll do whatever you want, I swear it. Just stay. Don’t—“ he stammered, gaze darting to his brother for a just a second, “don’t leave.”

Jiang Cheng was reminded of their fight in the Wisteria Groves, remembered Lan Xichen’s sincere and heartrending apology, thought of how quickly he’d prostrated himself at Lan Xichen’s feet when he realized the terrible degree of his mistake.

Not this time. This wasn’t the same thing. It didn’t matter how wrong Jiang Cheng was because that wasn’t the problem anymore. He’d gotten too attached, had let Lan Xichen too close, let him see too much. It couldn’t go on. Not if it meant being exposed like this. Not if it made him vulnerable.

“No,” he said simply.

Lan Xichen was about to speak, but he was overcome, hunching over and coughing red into the sleeve of his outer robe.

“I don’t want to see you,” Jiang Cheng went on. “I don’t want to think about you. As far as I’m concerned, Lan-zongzhu, this never happened.”

Lan Xichen couldn’t talk through the fit, could only cast his expectant, almost desperate gaze on Jiang Cheng.

Jiang Cheng, who spared him not even a glance.

Lan Wangji darted to his brother’s side, and Jiang Cheng swept out of the Wintry Room, refusing to waste time watching this scene play out. He drew Sandu the moment he was able—not a thought for Lan Xichen’s panicked warning that he keep the blade sheathed—before fleeing back to Lotus Pier.

Chapter Text

True to Lan Xichen’s prediction, Jiang Cheng made it less than halfway back to Yunmeng before his spiritual energy gave out. He should have just walked down that fucking mountain and hitched a ride home from someone in Gusu, but he’d been too pissed off to really think it through. Which left him in the middle of fucking nowhere with no spiritual power while also probably on the verge of another qi deviation.

Whatever. If he was this fucking useless on his own, what did it matter anyway?

The trek that followed was as miserable as the week he spent hiking back to Lotus Pier from the Xuanwu of Slaughter cave—if not more miserable. At least he’d been motivated back then. Now he just wanted to keel over and never get back up.

He didn’t qi deviate at least; though he thought he knew the reason for that. Lan Xichen had never removed the energy blocking talisman from Jiang Cheng’s clarity bell, and after replaying their most recent argument in his head a dozen times, he decided to seal Sandu with the same talisman. After all, Lan Xichen had been rather adamant that Jiang Cheng keep his sword sheathed (an adamance Jiang Cheng had misinterpreted at the time though didn’t regret dismissing).

As far as he could tell, he wasn’t getting worse. At least, his spiritual energy wasn’t worsening; his physical and mental exhaustion, however, were certainly fucking stacking.

After two days of wandering, he ended up in a small village between Yunmeng and Gusu, where the only person willing to ferry him to the nearest ports was a rice farmer with a little space in the back of his wagon—a wagon which was of course hauled by an ox.

Jiang Cheng accepted the farmer’s offer with gritted teeth.

A day later he was back in Yunmeng and slotting his place on the next boat across the lake. There was a wait, but he’d anticipated as much, having planned to visit a doctor in the city before returning to Lotus Pier anyway.

The moment he stepped foot in the cultivator’s clinic, however, it was as though his body recognized its environment for what it was and finally gave out on him. He missed his boat.

He missed several more after that too, as he remained in that Yunmeng clinic for days after. When he at last returned to Lotus Pier, it was only because he’d agreed to go into seclusion to balance his qi while still receiving weekly home visits from that medical cultivator.

Of course, things might have progressed much quicker had Jiang Cheng been honest with the physician, but he’d already let Lan Xichen steal into his mind. He wouldn’t make the same mistake twice.

He shut himself away inside a temple on his family’s property, secluded enough that he wouldn’t be disturbed but still close to his sect in case something major came up (what that something was, he couldn’t say; he just knew the thought of isolating anywhere else made him sick to his stomach).

The temple was one room, spacious but modest, with nothing but a small cot and low table for furniture. An alter was just outside alongside a statue of the temple’s patron deity,  both protected beneath a wide canopy and surrounded by hundreds of lotus blossoms springing up from the lakebed.

He stayed in the main room and didn’t really anticipate leaving it. He wanted to get this over with as soon as possible, as he’d already sent a letter to Jin Guangyao about his seclusion. He couldn’t very well keep Jin Ling in his state. Couldn’t visit either.

Jiang Cheng took a long, deep breath, shifted where he sat, felt restless beyond words cooped up like this.

He’d decided not to visit his nephew before going into seclusion, thought it would just make things harder for them both (not that it was within the realm of reason to visit Lanling in this state anyway).

Still, he ached to see Jin Ling, to hold him, hear his voice. He hated himself for being so weak. Would something like this have ever happened to Jin Zixuan? Or Jiang Fengmian for that matter? To Wei Wuxian? Of all the useless idiots Jin Ling could have been stuck with, he’d certainly pulled the shortest fucking straw.

Jiang Cheng tasted blood at the back of his tongue.

Of course.

He tried to clear his mind, to recall the tranquility of Cleansing or even Concord. What was the point of going into seclusion if he couldn’t banish his own intrusive thoughts? He reminded himself that cleansing his mind and qi of resentful energy would take time, that he simply needed to calm down and find his peace. He’d been reluctant to do this, worried a month of seclusion could lead to two months could lead to a year and so on. He couldn’t lose that time with Jin Ling, so he’d tried every other possible method for cleansing his spiritual energy, but none had worked.

Seclusion was his last resort. This had to work.

He breathed deep, lied back flat against the stone floor. He stared up at the ceiling.

Find your peace.

He thought of Jin Ling, resolved to see him in one month’s time. No matter what. 

Chou time

Jiang Cheng couldn’t sleep. His physician had given him a sleeping draught for the few nights he’d spent at the clinic, but now there was nothing and he couldn’t fucking sleep. He was so tired of being stuck inside his own head. He was also just tired.

He longed to hear Cleansing.

He longed for more than that, hated himself for longing so shamelessly.

He breathed a trembling sigh as he curled in, shrinking to a ball atop his cot. Think about anything else, he willed his stupid, traitorous mind. He couldn’t. It was all Lan Xichen. Pretty Lan Xichen. Perfect fucking Lan Xichen.

Jiang Cheng bunched his fists in his robe, grappling with the truth he’d thus far managed to ignore.

He couldn’t see Lan Xichen anymore. He wanted to see him so badly.

He couldn’t think of Lan Xichen like this anymore. They’d been married just before everything fell apart.

He couldn’t be with Lan Xichen anymore. He wanted to return to the Cloud Recesses right now.

His lips trembled, so he pursed both into a tight line. His eyes stung, so he screwed them shut. Tears threatened to leak from the corners, so he pressed the heels of his palms against his eye-sockets. It was over. It couldn’t be fixed. No matter how badly he wanted to try, it couldn’t be fixed. He couldn’t get past what Lan Xichen had seen, but even if he could, Lan Xichen would never forgive him for ending things so abruptly, so brutally. He’d stayed away from Lotus Pier after all.

Jiang Cheng remembered their argument in the Wisteria Groves, thought of how quickly Lan Xichen had forgiven him, chased him, even apologized for not returning to his side sooner. Despite every vile, hateful thing Jiang Cheng said to him, Lan Xichen had still apologized.

It wouldn’t be like that this time. Jiang Cheng had finally driven him away.

He rolled over, stared up at the ceiling again with damp eyes. For the first time in nine fucking months, he was alone. 

One week into seclusion

Jiang Cheng spent the next week making no progress at all. He couldn’t take it. He needed this to be over. He needed to heal now, like this, because if he didn’t. . . if he didn’t then that meant Lan Xichen was right.

Lan Xichen couldn’t be right.

Jiang Cheng tried to clear his mind and temper his feelings, tried harder than he ever had before. He needed to calm down. He needed to find his peace.

He couldn’t take it anymore.

The longer he went without improving, the more time he spent stewing on Lan Xichen’s absurd theory about Chenqing, which was really fucking terrible for finding his peace.

Before shutting himself away in this temple, Jiang Cheng had unsealed Sandu’s spiritual power—but as Lan Xichen had already discovered, the curse was virtually untraceable, which meant that if it really was coming from Chenqing, there was no concrete way of proving it.

Deciding that his symptoms were not coming from Chenqing (because how could they be?), he’d sent Sandu off to be cleansed of any resentful energy.

Of course it isn’t Chenqing, he thought now, pacing around the room restlessly.

That made no sense. He’d never played Chenqing before, so it wouldn’t be able to corrupt his power. And even if he were to indulge Lan Xichen’s theory and say the curse was Chenqing’s without a doubt, how was Sandu involved? Why had Lan Xichen insisted he keep his sword sheathed and why had sealing it worked?

If Sandu was cursing him, wouldn’t it make more sense if Suibian was the source? That weapon he’d carried with him. He’d practically owned it for how little Wei Wuxian picked it up in the time he followed the demonic path. For years, it had been Suibian on one hip and Sandu on the other, but Jiang Cheng doubted he’d ever so much as touched Wei Wuxian’s flute before his death.

So how could Chenqing’s resentment infect Sandu?

It couldn’t

It couldn’t.

Lan Xichen was wrong. He didn’t know what he was talking about, and wasn’t that always the case with him?

This is how it works, he’d say. I’m certain of it. And always he was wrong. Always things would work in the exact opposite way Lan Xichen promised.

Hadn’t he insisted Reminisce wouldn’t show them anything as concrete as memories? Hadn’t he sworn that his blended composition wouldn’t mean rooting around in each other’s heads?  Lan Xichen pretended to know what he was talking about, but in reality, he didn’t know shit!

It was all a facade.

Jiang Cheng knew that, had known since their first fucking meeting. No one was better at talking out of their ass than Lan Xichen. That faux smile and kind demeanor were just masks he put on to get what he wanted, and despite fucking knowing that, Jiang Cheng had still fallen for it.

He didn’t know what Lan Xichen was after, what his end goal was in stealing into Jiang Cheng’s mind, in convincing him that Chenqing was polluting his spiritual power, but there was clearly something else at play here. And he’d fallen for all of it. Been duped at every goddamned fucking turn.

How stupid could he be??

Lan Xichen’s smile was the least sincere thing in the entire cultivation world.

Of course he’d been pretending this whole time. Of course none of it was real. Of course he never actually loved Jiang Cheng—

Jiang Cheng paused his pacing, having moped for the last week about their parting, having been consumed with guilt over the way he’d ended things but never considering that.

. . . of course he never actually loved me.

Poor A-Cheng. Unloveable. So lonely he had to bewitch a man into loving him. Of course, no one would otherwise.

Who could love someone as vile as you?

Jiang Cheng shook his head as though he could physically sling the thoughts from his own mind.

Hadn’t he finally gotten over this stupid insecurity? Everything pointed to Lan Xichen’s feelings being genuine. They weren’t a result of Concord and they weren’t a part of a larger scheme.

Right?

Fuck! Now that Jiang Cheng was on the outside again and didn’t have Lan Xichen here to reassure him, he couldn’t be sure—especially after considering the circumstances of their parting.

He took a breath, tried to calm himself down, but his heart was beating too fast. He couldn’t breathe. He was breathing, so why did he feel like he was being suffocated?

Control yourself, Jiang Cheng, came a voice from across the room. He looked up, spotted a figure in the corner, cloaked in shadow. He didn’t need to see. He knew that fucking voice.

Jiang Cheng tried to blink the figure away, but it remained, lounging comfortably in the dark of the corner, eyeing him.

“I’m qi deviating,” Jiang Cheng said to himself.

Maybe, crooned Wei Wuxian.

Fuck. Fuck! Not again!

Oh, calm down, Wei Wuxian said with a dismissive wave. Why don’t you try breathing? Maybe I’ll go away.

Jiang Cheng clenched his fists, attempting to block out his brother’s voice. It’s just a hallucination, he thought. Wei Wuxian is dead. This isn’t him. It’s not real.

Dead but still in better shape than you, little brother.

Jiang Cheng covered his ears. He couldn’t listen to this. He’d fallen for it in the Wisteria Groves; he wouldn’t make the same mistake again.

Jiang Cheng, Wei Wuxian sang.

Jiang Cheng ignored him, eyed the floor.

Jiang Cheng. . .

He didn’t respond. Wei Wuxian just laughed, the sound crisp and grating, like steel scraping steel.

Please go away, Jiang Cheng silently pleaded. Please, please, please just go away. . .

Don’t panic, mocked Wei Wuxian. I know you’ve missed me dearly, but I’m not going anywhere. We’ve got the rest of your seclusion to catch up.

Jiang Cheng had serious doubts he could survive this qi deviation. He certainly wouldn’t survive another three weeks of hallucinating Wei Wuxian.

I want to know everything! he said enthusiastically. How the hell did you manage to win the heart of the most eligible bachelor in the cultivation world?

Jiang Cheng breathed slow and deep.

Or. . . wait, said Wei Wuxian thoughtfully. You didn’t actually win his heart, did you? Because he never actually loved you. Is that right?

Jiang Cheng was certain of it now. He was going to die. 

Two weeks into seclusion

Wei Wuxian twirled his red ribbon around his finger. C’mon, Jiang Cheng. Entertain me. What are younger brothers for?

Jiang Cheng frowned, shifted where he sat in the center of the room. He couldn’t fathom how he hadn’t keeled over yet. Wei Wuxian had been harassing him for more than a week now, and he wouldn’t shut the fuck up. As incessant in death as he was in life. Jiang Cheng was losing his fucking mind. Had he really been qi deviating this long? Or was he mad? He thought he was definitely mad. Maybe he was dead already.

You’re not dead, said Wei Wuxian. Yet.

Jiang Cheng huffed out a sigh, tried to meditate.

A-Cheng?

He was going mad.

A-Cheng!

He lay in his cot staring blankly at the ceiling.

How’s Jin Ling?

Just shut up, thought Jiang Cheng.

He’s seven now, right? Or six? I wish I could see him. I think about him all the time.

Jiang Cheng wished he could see Jin Ling too.

Do you make him lotus and pork rib soup? Do you make it like shijie?

He did, but it wasn’t as good as his sister’s. Jin Ling seemed to like it though.

Do you miss shijie?

What kind of a stupid fucking question was that?

I can bring her here, said Wei Wuxian, if you want.

“No.”

Wei Wuxian didn’t reply right away. Jiang Cheng thought he was probably grinning.

Hey, Jiang Cheng?

Jiang Cheng didn’t respond.

How can you ignore your shixiong like this? Wei Wuxian whined. You killed me, you know. The least A-Cheng could do is acknowledge me.

Jiang Cheng rolled his eyes, threw his elbow over his face. 

One month into seclusion

A-Cheng?

Jiang Cheng ignored the hallucination. He’d gotten good at that, but Wei Wuxian was tireless, which meant Jiang Cheng was very, very fucking tired. Tired of the sleepless nights and listening to Wei Wuxian drone on and on about how Lan Xichen didn’t love him, that he never had (if Wei Wuxian mentioned Lan Xichen one more fucking time, Jiang Cheng was sure he’d lose his mind (though he was half-convinced he’d lost it already)).

A-Cheng. . . Wei Wuxian said again.

Jiang Cheng still ignored him.

Then, Can I have my core back?

He pressed his lips into a thin line. Wei Wuxian hadn’t mentioned his core yet.

That’s fair, right? Don’t you think it’s fair?

Not yours, Jiang Cheng thought to himself.

I gave you my core after you lost yours. Then you killed me. It’s only right that my core should die with me.

Not yours. He clenched his fists.

Give it back.

Jiang Cheng shut his eyes. Not yours. Not Yours. Not—

Give it back! Wei Wuxian shouted, startling Jiang Cheng. I want it back! I don’t want to be like this anymore! Give it back to me!

Jiang Cheng set his jaw. He couldn’t entertain this. He needed to heal.

What about me?! I risked my life to save you from the Wens! Then I sacrificed my core for you! All because you wanted to go back for your parents’ bodies! I gave up everything for you, and you repaid me with a knife in the back!

“Fuck off!” Jiang Cheng snapped. “I never asked you to do any of that! You think I want your core? I don’t! Not like this. Not under any fucking circumstance, asshole!”

Then give it back!

“It’s not yours!”

Why did Lan-zongzhu say it was?!

“No fucking idea!”

The hallucinated Wei Wuxian squinted, looking thoughtful.

Jiang Cheng rolled his eyes with a sneer. He’d acknowledged the hallucination, engaged with it. He shut his eyes and tried to meditate, though all he could think about was dying.

And what that meant for Jin Ling. 

Two months into seclusion

Here’s what I think, Wei Wuxian said, clapping his fist against his palm resolutely.

I didn’t fucking ask, thought Jiang Cheng.

It’s like I’ve been saying from the beginning—Lan-zongzhu doesn’t love you. He’s been using you, pretending to share your feelings so that he could get close to you and eventually strike out against you by stealing Chenqing. Or maybe he thinks you have the Yin Tiger Tally.

Jiang Cheng groaned. He couldn’t hold it back. He wanted this to be over already. If he was qi deviating, why wasn’t he dead yet?? This shit was worse fucking torture.

That’s the only reasonable explanation for everything he said and did before you ran out on him—unless you’re ready to accept that you’ve got my core.

“Would you just piss off already!”

Wei Wuxian smiled sympathetically. Think it through. If the core theory’s bullshit, why was Lan-zongzhu so adamant that you produce Chenqing? You told him you didn’t want to talk about me, so why didn’t he listen? What’s so important about my flute?

Jiang Cheng tried to ignore him, stepped outside to stand by the alter and watch the lake. Wei Wuxian followed.

You were suspicious of Lan-zongzhu from the beginning, and didn’t you make that perfectly clear? Weren’t you cruel and hateful and vile to Lan-zongzhu a thousand different ways? Who in their right mind would keep coming back after so much abuse? Why chase someone so untrusting? So unapologetic? So horrible? What could possibly make someone like Lan-zongzhu endure someone like you?

Jiang Cheng set his jaw. Wei Wuxian’s voice was as harsh and piercing as a crow’s caw. He couldn’t block it out.

Unless, Wei Wuxian went on, he needed you for something. What was it he said? ’Wanyin is the sun, and I am frozen, suffocated, and decaying without him.’ That sound right?

Jiang Cheng pressed his lips into a thin, trembling line. How many times had Lan Xichen said something like that to him? Something loving and personal. Poetic.

And probably practiced.

Jiang Cheng felt sick. He leaned against the dock’s railing, wishing he were immune to Wei Wuxian’s taunting but knowing he fucking wasn’t.

He was relentless for nine months, spending as much time as he could with you, doting on you, praising you, Wei Wuxian paused, jumping up to sit on the balustrade, studying you.

Jiang Cheng thought of their last argument, the things Lan Xichen had said with the intention of calming him down, though it had accomplished the opposite: I can intuit your meaning and feelings even when your words say the opposite. I can predict what will set you off, how you might react to certain things. I can read you.

The ground tilted beneath Jiang Cheng’s feet.

Wei Wuxian once again adopted that mocking tone of voice: Who knows you better? Who else spends this much time with you? Who else loves you like I do?

“No one,” Jiang Cheng said. No one had ever loved him the way Lan Xichen did.

Poor A-Cheng. To fall so helplessly in love just because Lan-zongzhu showed you a little kindness. How pitiful.

It wasn’t just his kindness, Jiang Cheng thought, tried to remember everything Lan Xichen had done to prove his sincerity, but now all those memories were twisting and distorting themselves.

Don’t you think it’s strange how suddenly Lan-zongzhu made his interest in you known? Right after Concord. Right after he realized your feelings for him.

“Shut up.”

What if you weren’t totally wrong about Concord?

“Shut up!” Jiang Cheng shouted. “I can’t—”

What if you were just wrong in assuming it did anything more than open Lan Xichen’s eyes to your desires? What if the reason he suddenly developed romantic feelings for you was because he knew you were suspicious of him? What if he only pretended to share your perversions to gain your trust? To steal into your mind?

“Why?” Jiang Cheng snapped. “Why would he do that?!”

Wei Wuxian ignored the question. What if none of it was real and all of it was just a trick? Or a joke?

Jiang Cheng felt his eyes sting. He screwed them shut.

Think rationally, Jiang Cheng. He doesn’t love you. He never did. How could someone so perfect ever feel anything but disgust and revulsion for a thing like you?

Jiang Cheng ran his hands through his hair, tangled knots around his fists as he sank to his knees.

There was a hand on his shoulder, a figure darkening the space before him.

Don’t cry, A-Cheng, said Wei Wuxian kindly.

Jiang Cheng curled in on himself, failed to keep the tears from falling. He couldn’t take this. He couldn’t take this. He couldn’t—

You don’t need Lan-zongzhu. You have me and shijie.

Jiang Cheng stilled.

Wei Wuxian clicked his tongue. Stop it, Jiang Cheng. Lan-zongzhu’s not worth all this. He’s been playing you for a fool, humiliating you, demeaning you for purposes neither of us can begin to know or understand. Don’t waste your tears on him.

Jiang Cheng hated Lan Xichen and he hated himself for loving him—loving him to the very core of his being, fiery and undying. He could feel it roaring and destroying inside him. His face was drenched in tears. He was on fire. He was dying. He was being eaten alive.

He didn’t want to feel like this. He didn’t want to be this.

Humiliated. Unloveable. Used.

Wei Wuxian hugged him, let him cry onto his shoulder.

Look at you. Such a mess for your shixiong to clean up. And for what? Why would Lan-zongzhu do this to you?

Jiang Cheng didn’t know. Where had he gone wrong? Where had he slipped up? When had Lan Xichen decided that he deserved to feel like this?

They had done so much with one another. Jiang Cheng had let Lan Xichen do whatever he wanted, had asked him to. He’d gotten what his perverse fucking mind wanted, so why now did those memories make him want to abandon his own skin? Why did he want to cut off every piece of himself that Lan Xichen had ever touched? Why did he feel so disgusting?

Oh, A-Cheng, Wei Wuxian whispered, petting his brother’s hair. You gave yourself to someone who could hardly stand the sight of you. Wei Wuxian hugged him tighter. I don’t understand. Are you really that desperate to be loved?

Jiang Cheng wiped his face, but it did nothing to quell his tears. He was a broken dam. He was a blazing conflagration. He was dying in his misery, and he was an undying misery.

He heaved a shuddered breath, then said, “Yes.” 

That night, Jiang Cheng drifted in and out of lucidity, spat up enough blood to kill him. He’d never felt so sick or so miserable, but somehow he managed to fall asleep.

He dreamed of Lan Xichen, of the press of his body, the gentle brush of his lips, the torture of his touch.

Jiang Cheng had never been so dejected. Then it all stopped, like a flood of new energy tearing through him, destroying him so totally that the result was something completely new and clean and whole.

It felt like qi. 

He woke with a start, found himself lying in a heap on the floor of the temple, body and robe stained with tainted blood.

He pushed himself up, looked around for a familiar figure or shadow. He was alone. He stumbled outside where the alter sat beneath the canopy. He leaned over the edge of the dock and cupped the lake water in his hands, washed the blood from his arms and face.

Then he sat back, the sunlight warm on his skin. He felt. . . good. Better than he’d felt since he walked into this temple. Maybe even better than he’d felt since this curse mess began.

Why?

If he really had qi deviated last night, what saved him? Had that been the final bout of this damned illness? Was he better? Cured?

He didn’t want to let himself hope, but he couldn’t believe how good he felt. And if this was over, if he really was cured, that meant he could see Jin Ling again. 

He remained in the temple for the rest of the day, only deciding to leave seclusion the next morning when he woke up feeling even better than he had the day before.

He couldn’t believe it, could hardly fathom how a single night of misery had somehow spelled his salvation. He was hesitant to accept this, of course, as he spent the next several days in an anxious sort of paralysis—out of seclusion, yes, but still very much removed from his sect and clan.

It wasn’t until Sandu was returned to him, having been cleansed of any pollution, that he began to accept his sudden recovery. He took up his sword without issue, flew circles around the lake without breaking a sweat.

After, Jiang Cheng threw himself into his work, finally catching up on the things he’d been putting off since this curse ordeal began. He went on night hunts with his sect, trained with Sandu and Zidian, and slept like crazy—having spent months craving sleep without ever managing it.

Then finally he left to pick up Jin Ling, which only further improved his mood. Jin Guangyao even commented that he seemed in high spirits.

They spent the rest of the afternoon in the lake with Jin Ling’s new puppy Little Fairy and spent the night sharing sweets.

Despite two hellish months in seclusion, he was indeed in high spirits.

Chapter Text

Lotus Pier

He was indeed in high spirits.

That was until Jin Ling befriended the daughter of a Jiang cultivator. It freed up a few of Jiang Cheng’s afternoons, but he would have preferred to spend that time with his nephew—not that he could really complain about it. After all, Jin Ling didn't get along with the Jin disciples, and most of the Jiang disciples avoided him for fear of catching Jiang Cheng’s attention. Jin Ling had so few friends; he couldn’t bar his nephew from seeing this one, so Jiang Cheng just gritted his teeth and let them be.

At first, he could occupy his nephew-less time with work, tackling whatever paperwork he’d let stack up these last few months, but to his immense displeasure, he was incredibly efficient, flying through work like mad. After a week or so, he found himself with absolutely nothing to do. One of his cultivator’s even left a note where they would usually drop off notices and paperwork, which read:

Been a slow week. Finished the month’s filing early. Maybe Zongzhu can relax for a few days before things pile up again.

Jiang Cheng set the note down.

Relax.

He could do that. He had been goofing around with Jin Ling for the last two weeks, so he didn’t really need to relax. But he could.

He could relax.

He could not relax.

He was restless beyond measure. He couldn’t sit still. He’d been occupying all of his time without exception since he cured his curse, hadn’t let himself be idle in weeks—and to make matters worse, Jin Ling wanted to spend the night with his new friend. The whole night! What was Jiang Cheng supposed to do for an uninterrupted twelve hours with no work and no nephew?

He paced his rooms, paced the empty halls of his home, paced the piers and docks, willed himself not to think of the very person he’d spent all this time deliberately not thinking about.

Successfully not thinking about.

Jiang Cheng was in high spirits.

He couldn’t ruin that by acknowledging something so. . . eugh.

There wasn’t a word for it. At least not one he could think of without dwelling on what happened for longer than a split second, and he really wasn’t willing to do that.

So, yeah. Eugh.

His restless pacing eventually brought him to the other end of the pier, where Jin Ling was flying kites with his new friend. He awkwardly greeted his sect member, who was more than a little startled to see him since he’d only handed Jin Ling off an hour ago.

“Zongzhu,” the cultivator said with a bow. “Are you here for your nephew?”

“No,” Jiang Cheng said. He wasn’t sure why he was here. He’d just wandered this way without thinking. “I was just,” he cleared his throat, “checking in. Been a slow day.”

“Oh. Of course.”

Jin Ling reeled his kite in before turning on the pair, looking put out and pissed off. “Jiujiu? Why are you here? You said I could sleep over!”

“I know,” Jiang Cheng gritted out. “I’m not taking you back yet. Go play.”

Jin Ling eyed his uncle suspiciously. “But why are you here?”

Jiang Cheng averted his gaze with a scowl. “No reason.”

“Can you go away?” Jin Ling asked unabashedly.

Jiang Cheng’s eye twitched. The other cultivator looked off, pretending not to listen.

After a moment of mutual glaring between uncle and nephew, Jiang Cheng spun on his heel and left with the flick of his sleeve.

What an ungrateful brat! Learn some respect for fuck’s sake! I ought to break his legs—see if he still has the nerve to talk to his jiujiu that way!

He almost turned around to make that very threat, but he’d already walked too far. It would be weird to do it now.

Whatever. He’d get him back at some point. Probably. Whatever.

His pacing then took him back to his rooms, where his staff had left him dinner. He sat down to eat, realized his mind was wandering, then grabbed a book of sutras to read at the same time. It worked for a while. At least until he was finished with his dinner. They left him a lotus seed bun for dessert.

It reminded him of Lan Xichen.

He should have chucked it out the window, but he just left it on his plate.

He stalked across his rooms and onto his bedroom’s short dais, gazed out the window for a few seconds before promptly sliding the paper pane shut. Moonlight shone through the slats, casting the shadow of a lotus flower on the hardwood. The dim beams of white light also reminded him of Lan Xichen.

With a groan, he started to take his hair down, thought of the inn outside the Wisteria Groves. He shook the thought away quickly, practically ripped his ribbon from his hair. Then he removed his belt, remembered the inn again.

Stop it, stop it, stop it, stop it—

Sandu clattered to the ground, the sudden sound startling him slightly. In his haste to undress, he’d forgotten to take the sword off first. He stared at his weapon for several seconds too long.

He thought about that day at the Cloud Recesses, about Lan Xichen and his miserable fucking theories, about his stupid, beautiful face and his villainous kindness. He hated him so much. He missed him fucking more.

With a sneer, Jiang Cheng kicked Sandu across the room. Then he took the porcelain vase from the table beneath his window and threw it at the wall. It shattered on impact. He knocked the table over next, and one of the legs splintered. He tore the purple drapes from his bed frame. He kicked his bed frame, which moved the entire thing a few inches. He kicked it again. Then he kicked the collapsed table, breaking the splintered leg off completely. He kicked it again and again until the abuse forced the table’s thin front drawer open.

A token fell onto the floor, its craftsmanship intricate and fine, the jade glossy, its tassel woven with purple and white.

He started to kick that too, then stopped himself. He grabbed his ribbon.

A few minutes later he was on his sword and flying away from Lotus Pier.

Yunping

Jiang Cheng made quick work of the succubi outside the Wisteria Groves. He’d been cursed during his initial stay, but since he was returned to full strength, putting an end to this ridiculous fucking death trap proved easy enough. He wasn’t distracted by anything (or anyone), and he certainly wasn’t using this to distract himself from anything.

(Anyone).

Whatever. He’d been right. There weren’t too many succubi, and since he already knew what they were, most went down without much fight. He basically had no trouble at all.

(Okay, he had some trouble (as a few succubi were surprisingly formidable), but they were all dead now, so what did that really matter?)

He sheathed Sandu and tentatively approached the final slain succubus. Yes, she was definitely dead.

He poked her shoulder with the toe of his boot just to be safe.

Definitely dead.

He breathed a short sigh of relief before rolling out his shoulders. He was somewhat rusty, having spent too long leaving his spiritual powers dormant. Whatever. That didn’t matter now. He wasn’t dwelling on it. Whatever.

“What a horrible, horrible boy you are.”

He spun around, spotted the very first succubus he’d cut down: the innkeeper. She was a hideous mess of black blood, gaunt skin, and jagged edges—a far cry from the soft-faced woman who’d overcharged him for a bath just a few weeks ago.

Jiang Cheng summoned Zidian, and the innkeeper's black eyes flashed purple with its strobing reflection.

“I remember you,” she hissed, tongue visible between each of her needle-like teeth.

He struck out with his whip, but the succubus evaded, moving like a ghost gliding from step to step, dodging Zidian’s lightning like she could read his mind, could see his every move before he made it. She drew close, her once-pretty face twisting into something uncanny and ghoulish, but before she reached him, Sandu struck her sternum, tore through her ribcage with brutal precision, and coated the blade with viscous black ichor. Discolored blood bubbled between her grinning lips, dripped down her chin.

She staggered forward as Jiang Cheng called Sandu back to his side. Then she rushed him, quick as a whip. His sword broke through her back a second time, but she’d already gotten too close. Her hands grabbed either side of his face.

And she kissed him.

Stunned, he didn’t react for a moment. Then he shoved her off, wiping the black sludge from his face as he called Sandu back a second time, set the sword between them like a barrier.

What the fuck was that?!

“Oh, that’s right,” she said eerily. “I remember him too.”

His gaze shot her way again, brow creasing with horror when he saw what she’d done.

“Is this better? It’s why you’re here, isn’t it?” The voice was Lan Xichen’s. Her face was Lan Xichen’s. Everything about her barring the black blood between her lips and staining her—his—robes, all of it was Lan Xichen’s.

“Stop it,” he demanded, to which she just grinned.

“Wanyin.”

No, no—

“Don’t you miss me?”

This thing drifted toward him, leaned in like it meant to kiss him again. She looked just like Lan Xichen, who had leaned in to kiss him just like this so many times before. It was so familiar, and he wanted it so much.

“Stop it,” he repeated, violently pushing the innkeeper away. You’re not him.

“Close enough.” It took Jiang Cheng’s hand, which he quickly tore away. “Wanyin—“

“Shut up!”

“I want you. I want to be with you.”

Jiang Cheng started to raise Zidian, but the imposter grabbed his wrist, squeezed painfully as it drew their bodies close, whispered into his ear.

“Why doesn’t Wanyin want to be with me?”

I do, his heart replied traitorously.

She kissed him below the ear, wrapped an arm around his waist and pulled him close. Her touch, her voice were nearly indistinguishable from Lan Xichen’s. He was dissolving. He wanted this, to be touched like this.

“That’s what you want to hear, isn’t it?” she asked. “Or maybe you want him to grovel. Beg you to love him back.”

He didn’t want that. He just wanted things to go back to the way they were.

“You don’t want to be alone again,” she said, brushing a lock of hair behind his ear the way Lan Xichen had a dozen times before. “But you can’t stand being with him either.”

“That isn’t true.”

“Isn’t it? He married you. He was devoted to you. He loved you.” She kissed his earlobe, and he shuddered. She hissed, “He repulsed you.”

Jiang Cheng shoved at her, but she had one arm locked around his torso, the other slithering behind his neck.

“You killed my succubi, you horrible, vile boy. Why? Because he loved you too much? Because he knew you too well?”

“What do you know?!” he snapped. “I killed your succubi because they were murderers.”

“We were hunters. We never wasted a scrap, but you slaughtered us anyway. Why? Because you were sad? Frustrated? Do you feel better now? Do you feel big?”

“How many men did your succubi slaughter?”

“Not enough,” she said, digging her jagged nails into the soft flesh of his neck, “but I’ll be satisfied with one more.”

Zidian coiled around her wrist, and she yanked her hand away, fingertips red. She ran one bloody nail over her tongue as her other hand slid into his robes, fished out the jade token he’d stupidly, stupidly pocketed before leaving Lotus Pier.

“What’s this?”

Sandu zipped into Jiang Cheng’s hand. He swung the blade, tearing away from the succubus’s grasp as Sandu cut a deadly line between them, severed the innkeeper’s torso clean from her hips.

She didn’t collapse, not at first, just hissed a venomous, “Horrible boy,” before coming apart. She dropped into a dissolving heap of thick black ichor.

Jiang Cheng searched his pockets for his jade token, then dropped to his knees, frantically sifted through the sludge. It wasn’t there.

How could it fucking vanish?!

Where is it?!

He froze, lips parted.

Where—

Slightly panicked, Jiang Cheng beat his fist against his chest, tried to cough, to clear his throat, to make a single fucking sound.

He couldn’t.

His voice had vanished as completely and mysteriously as his jade token.

With a silent sneer, he wiped the ichor from his hands onto his robes.

What a vile fucking creature.

The next morning

Jiang Cheng spent the entire night tearing through the inn searching for his jade token—to no fucking avail.

He couldn’t speak either, which was great. Just fucking awesome.

Reluctantly, he abandoned his search for the token and walked the Wisteria Groves, scanning the fields, the tree line, the river, everything for something.

Anything to clue him in on what the fuck was going on.

He’d determined one thing: that succubus wasn’t fucking dead. Maybe she had taken his token and his voice and just run. He didn’t know how to find her now, and no matter how many times he searched this fucking place, he wouldn’t get any closer to figuring it out.

He rubbed his eyes, tried to grapple with his situation. He supposed he should see a doctor about his voice, though for some insane reason the loss of his ability to effectively communicate with the rest of the world wasn’t upsetting him nearly as much as the loss of that stupid fucking token.

He shouldn’t care this much. Or at all.

Whatever. Everything was so fucking annoying. And he couldn’t even complain about it.

Lotus Pier

Jiang Cheng had one of his sect doctors perform a house call, though it proved virtually pointless as the only advice offered was to wait it out or go find the succubus.

He was going to do that anyway.

Whatever. He’d hoped to find a simple solution before retrieving Jin Ling from his sleepover, but of course not. Nothing could ever be simple.

It was awkward picking up his nephew—mostly because Jiang Cheng couldn’t speak but also because Jin Ling was being a brat, and Jiang Cheng couldn’t scold him for having bad manners because, again, he couldn’t speak.

They walked the pier in silence, though his nephew’s pouting was rather loud. Jiang Cheng couldn’t ask him what was wrong, which was annoying. How was he supposed to comfort Jin Ling (or bluntly tell him to get over whatever was bothering him) if they couldn’t properly communicate?

Jiang Cheng huffed a frustrated sigh, which caught Jin Ling’s attention.

“Are you mad or something?” he asked indignantly.

Jiang Cheng shook his head, and his nephew seemed to relax a little. Then he grabbed Jiang Cheng’s hand and held it tight as they walked.

Jiang Cheng cast his nephew a curious look. Had something happened with his friend? Or the kid’s parents? He paused on the dock. Jin Ling turned, pulled at his uncle’s arm.

“Jiujiu?”

Jiang Cheng crouched down, gave Jin Ling’s shoulder a reassuring squeeze, and tried to think of a way to get this across. He had no fucking idea, which only frustrated him further.

Jin Ling must have assumed he was the cause of his uncle’s sour expression because he quickly looked away.

Of course. In trying to comfort Jin Ling, he’d just made him feel worse, and wasn’t that always the case? He let go of his nephew’s shoulder and looked down with a scowl. Why was this so hard? It wasn’t like words had ever helped him before, so why did he feel so lost without them?

For lack of a better idea, he pulled Jin Ling into a tight hug.

“What are you doing, jiujiu?” Jin Ling asked, reluctant to return his uncle’s embrace. Jiang Cheng hugged him closer. “Jiujiu?”

Jin Ling started to retreat, so Jiang Cheng rose to a stand, pulling his nephew up with him as he continued down the pier, though he kept his gaze averted, worried his scrutiny was making Jin Ling nervous.

“Jiujiu?” Jin Ling said, sounding almost frightened. Jiang Cheng glanced his way, raising a brow.

“Are you okay?”

He nodded.

“Why are you not talking?”

Jiang Cheng pursed his lips into a thin line.

“Say something.”

If only he could.

“Jiujiu!”

He winced, mouthed the word what?

Jin Ling’s bottom lip trembled. Tears were gathering at the corners of each eye. Jiang Cheng hugged him closer because he still didn’t know what he was supposed to fucking do.

He carried Jin Ling inside, set him down on a cushion before sifting through his things for ink, a brush, and a slip of paper.

He had to explain what was going on before Jin Ling started panicking—if he wasn’t panicking already.

Jiang Cheng wrote, cursed by monster, on the slip and gave it to Jin Ling, who screwed up his face, struggling to recognize the characters. Then his eyes went a little wider.

“A monster?”

Jiang Cheng shrugged.

Jin Ling gaped, grabbed either side of Jiang Cheng’s face in both hands. “Jiujiu isn’t going to die, is he??”

Jiang Cheng couldn’t help scowling as he shook his head (to be fair, Jin Ling had practically slapped him on both cheeks).

Jin Ling breathed a relieved sigh. “Don’t worry, jiujiu. A-Ling will kill that monster for you and cure this curse!” He then dropped his hands and ran off to collect his bow and quiver.

Now Jiang Cheng couldn’t help smiling. He followed Jin Ling, gently took the bow from him and set it back down. He mouthed wait, to which his nephew frowned.

“We can’t wait! We have to go find that monster right now!” Jin Ling took up his bow again and looped it over one shoulder.

Jiang Cheng wrote another note: What happened?

Jin Ling squinted at the characters before setting the paper down on the table. “I don’t know what it says.”

Jiang Cheng wrote beneath his first note: Yes, you do.

Jin Ling crossed his arms.

Jiang Cheng cast him a pointed look. Tell me what’s wrong, he urged silently. It took a bit more coaxing, but Jin Ling eventually confessed that his friend had made an insensitive comment about his lack of a mother and father. He’d been justifiably upset by this, but it was all very quickly dismissed by his friend’s parents.

When Jin Ling finished explaining, Jiang Cheng nodded in acknowledgment, trying not to show how pissed off he was. What a brat that kid was. He would probably demote the parents. Or kick them out. Maybe kill them. He’d decide when he wasn’t so furious.

Because, yes it was a slap in the face to Jin Ling, but it was a slap in the face to Jiang Cheng too. Jin Ling had a parent. Jiang Cheng was his parent, and while he’d never claim to be Jin Ling’s father, he was the closest his nephew had.

“Jiujiu?”

What? At Jin Ling’s reserved demeanor, Jiang Cheng consciously softened his expression. He scooted closer to his nephew, scribbled another quick note.

Don’t listen to idiots. Your parents see you, and they’re proud. Then he ruffled Jin Ling’s hair and adjusted the bow and quiver on his back.

Jin Ling smiled at the note, folded it up and slipped it into his pocket. When he noticed Jiang Cheng summoning Sandu then hooking the sword through his belt, his eyes lit up.

“Are we going?” He asked, jumping up on the balls of his feet in excitement. Jiang Cheng reached out, and Jin Ling eagerly let his uncle pick him up. “Don’t worry, jiujiu. I’ve been practicing my archery with xiao-shushu. You’ll be talking again in no time, I promise.”

Jiang Cheng nodded. He was sure Jin Ling was right.

“Forgive me, Jiang-zongzhu,” said one of his sect members nervously, “but I don’t really understand what’s happening here.”

“Are you even listening?! I told you–jiujiu’s cursed!” Jin Ling shouted, red in the face with rage.

The cultivator offered Jiang Cheng an awkward, bemused smile—to which Jiang Cheng just nodded, gestured to his nephew.

“We have to kill that monster!” Jin Ling shouted.

“Okay,” the cultivator said, trying to indulge Jin Ling. “How can I help Jin-gongzi?”

Jin Ling opened his mouth to respond, then closed it again. He looked at Jiang Cheng, gestured that he come closer. Jiang Cheng crouched, and Jin Ling whispered into his ear: “What do I say?”

Jiang Cheng pointed to the scroll hanging from his sect member’s belt.

“Give us that scroll!” Jin Ling demanded, holding his hand out.

At the cultivator’s questioning look, Jiang Cheng just cocked his head toward Jin Ling. The cultivator obeyed, handing Jin Ling the scroll. From there, he immediately passed the scroll to Jiang Cheng, who quickly skimmed the contents for reports about a succubus or shapeshifter in Yunping.

Jin Ling tugged on the hem of Jiang Cheng’s robes, pulling his focus away from the scroll. He was pointing at something farther along the docks.

Jiang Cheng gave the scroll's contents another quick scan, noting one report in particular and committing it to memory. Then he returned the scroll, offering a shallow bow in thanks. Jin ling tugged on his arm impatiently.

“Jiujiu!” he grumbled. “Can’t you see? It’s Hanguang-jun!”

What?

Jin Ling pointed again, and Jiang Cheng took another look. It was difficult to tell from this distance, but Jin Ling was right. It was Lan Wangji.

Jiang Cheng’s heart dipped low in his chest. What was Lan Wangji doing in Lotus Pier? Did it have something to do with Lan Xichen? Jiang Cheng really didn’t want to think about Lan Xichen right now, and he definitely didn’t want Lan Wangji running back to Lotus Pier to tell his brother that Jiang Cheng had been cursed.

Again.

But then Jin Ling released Jiang Cheng’s sleeve and ran off into the crowd.

Jiang Cheng called out but of course made no sound. He pushed through the crowd instead, stealing glimpses of his nephew’s yellow robes as he carved out a path for himself.

He’d nearly caught up when Jin Ling accidentally knocked someone off balance, sent them teetering off the edge of the dock. Jiang Cheng was the only person close enough to help, so he reached out, caught a glimpse of the person’s robes—white as fresh snow—and their hair, glittering brown in the sunlight.

Chapter Text

The Cloud Recesses,
three months earlier

Lan Xichen made to stand, fresh blood still coating his chin as he started after Jiang Wanyin.

“Rest,” said Wangji, taking his brother by the shoulders and holding him back.

“He is going to kill himself.”

“He will not.” Wangji’s voice and expression were resolute, unyielding.

“You cannot know that.”

“Jiang-zongzhu is capable—cursed or otherwise. Leave him be, Xiongzhang.”

Lan Xichen’s brow creased in the center, his misery and heartbreak plainly written in the lines of his face. He made no effort to steel his expression, only turned to hide it.

“Very well,” he said after a moment, having readopted his neutral, even tone of voice. “Have a disciple go after Jiang-zongzhu.”

“He will not like that.”

“I know, but his qi is still volatile. They should follow him at a distance and only engage with him if something should go awry.”

“Yes, Xiongzhang.” Lan Xichen heard his brother pad across the room and toward the door, then pause before the threshold. “Are you all right?”

Lan Xichen pursed his lips into a thin line. He was not.

He took a breath.

“I admit,” he started, forcing the tremor from his voice, “I am not feeling myself, Wangji. I need rest and time to cleanse my qi. Please make sure I am not disturbed.”

The door slid open.

“Right.”

It slid shut.

Lan Xichen peered over his shoulder. He was alone. He trudged to his bed and collapsed onto the neatly spread blankets and sheets. He’d been too preoccupied to make it this morning, so it must have been Jiang Wanyin.

Wanyin.

Lan Xichen bunched his hand in the blanket then flattened it out again.

The next day

There was no news of Jiang Wanyin. The disciple Wangji sent had yet to return. Lan Xichen didn’t leave the Wintry Room. He didn’t leave his bed.

The day after that

No news. Wangji checked his brother’s qi for pollution. There was nothing. There had been nothing since Wanyin left.

Lan Xichen flew to the other side of the mountain and shut himself away inside his mother’s cottage.

And the day after that

No news. Lan Xichen played a summoning spell on his guqin, but nothing happened. At the very least, his husband was not a ghost.

The fourth day

Jiang Wanyin was in Yunmeng. He never qi deviated. He was seeing a doctor there.

Lan Xichen sank to the floor of the Gentian house, light and loose with relief as the tension and worry he’d carried in every taut and aching muscle finally dissolved.

Which left him with everything else—everything that wasn’t important, wasn’t worth thinking about until he knew his husband was okay.

And now he knew.

Wanyin was okay.

I don’t want to see you. I don’t want to think about you. As far as I’m concerned, Lan-zongzhu, this never happened.

Lan Xichen sat on the floor, staring at nothing and replaying everything. He didn’t think he’d ever been so hurt or so angry.

One week after Jiang Wanyin left the Cloud Recesses

How had everything gone so wrong so quickly?? They were good before the blended composition, beyond good. They’d been married the night before for Heaven’s sake! How had Lan Xichen managed to ruin it less than twenty-four hours later??

What was wrong with him? If he really could read his husband as well as he claimed, then why weren’t they together? Why couldn’t he stop driving Jiang Wanyin away?

And why couldn’t he think of any way to win him back?

One week and one day after Jiang Wanyin left the Cloud Recesses

Lan Xichen stayed up all night, but there was a way. A perfect, mildly unethical but undoubtedly brilliant way to win back his husband’s affections.

He just needed to finish the paintings.

Two months after Jiang Wanyin left the Cloud Recesses

“See reason. This is a very bad idea, Xiongzhang.”

“Forgive me if I disagree,” Lan Xichen said firmly. He hated to argue with his brother, but this matter was too important, and Wangji was blocking the door. “Excuse me.”

“Why?” Wangji did not elaborate, but Lan Xichen didn’t need him to.

“Jiang-zongzhu has already qi deviated once. I cannot stand by while it happens again. I will not.”

“He rejects your help.”

“That does not matter.”

“He is contemptible.”

Lan Xichen couldn’t help the way his gaze sharpened. “Jiang Wanyin may be more honorable than you. He has not been lying through his teeth for two months.”

“I did not lie.”

“Intentionally omitting the truth is deceit. Perhaps you would do well to copy our precepts again,” Lan Xichen said, indulging his pettiness, “as it would seem your memory has failed you.”

“All right.”

Lan Xichen frowned, underestimating his brother’s commitment to the precepts, which had always been much stronger than his own.

“Go on, then.”

Wangji did not move. “It was never my intention to deceive you.”

Lan Xichen sighed. “I know you thought keeping Jiang-zongzhu’s seclusion to yourself was the right thing to do. You were working with an incomplete understanding of the situation, but I need you to trust me now.”

Wangji paused, looking torn. Then, “He is not Nie Mingjue.”

Lan Xichen’s heart sagged with grief, with regret and with the thousand things he should have done differently back then, things that might have saved Mingjue. He staggered under the weight of his loss, his failure. Still. . .

“You are right. Jiang-zongzhu can still be saved.”

“You do not even know if he’s in danger.”

Lan Xichen clicked his tongue in exasperation. “You are not my keeper, Wangji! And I am not in seclusion. I have taken no vow and will not remain sequestered in the Wintry Room simply because you say I should.”

Wangji seemed to remember himself at last. He clenched his fists, said through gritted teeth, “Forgive my insolence, Zongzhu.” Then he stepped away from the exit, bowed his head low.

Lan Xichen didn’t respond. He stepped past Wangji, drew Shuoyue, then took flight. The Cloud Recesses quickly faded behind him.

The Wintry Room,
four months after Jiang Wanyin left the Cloud Recesses and one year since his first visit

“I wish Er-ge would tell me what happened,” said Jin Guangyao with a deep sigh.

Lan Xichen sat across from him, his cup of tea gone untouched and cold in his hand as his mind mused over matters entirely unrelated to A-Yao’s visit, as he fidgeted where he sat, anxious to get back to the Gentian House, to his paints and his books.

“Nothing has happened,” he said with a smile. “This leader is well.”

“Er-ge’s tea has gone cold. Let me pour you a fresh cup.” Jin Guangyao lifted the pot and tipped the spout over an empty cup before Lan Xichen had the chance to refuse. He set down what had gone cold before staring off again like he had no company at all.

“Drink, Er-ge,” A-Yao said kindly. “Before it gets cold again.”

Lan Xichen absently picked up the cup and took a sip. It burned his lip and he sputtered boorishly. He quickly set the tea back down, before taking up a napkin to wipe his mouth.

“Please forgive me,” he said, ears red with embarrassment.

To his surprise, A-Yao was smiling, eyes alight with amusement—though, when he realized he’d been caught, he quickly averted his gaze.

“No need to apologize, Er-ge. Forgive me for insisting you drink something so hot.”

“I would accept A-Yao’s apology if he did not find my suffering so entertaining,” Lan Xichen replied, though his grin betrayed his own amusement.

“Er-ge asks too much of me.”

Lan Xichen liked it when they could be unserious like this, as it didn’t happen very often. They weren’t around one another enough, and when they were together, a mutual and habitual air of professionalism almost always settled over their conversation without either realizing.

“I’ve quite missed you,” he said candidly, to which his friend’s eyes widened with surprise. Lan Xichen was a little surprised himself. He’d spoken without thinking.

“I visited Er-ge just last week.”

Lan Xichen hummed. “That is not what I meant. This leader is tired of having no free time and so many clashing responsibilities. I miss being friends instead of peers. If this is how it will always be, I simply do not want to be a sect leader.”

Jin Guangyao gaped. Lan Xichen also felt mildly horror-stricken. He was certainly speaking without thinking, wasn’t he??

“That’s okay,” said A-Yao, smiling awkwardly. “We all speak without thinking sometimes.”

Lan Xichen paused. “I said that aloud?” He mused to himself—or to the room since apparently he couldn’t keep his thoughts to himself anymore.

“You did. . .” A-Yao seemed as confused as Lan Xichen now. What in the world was going on? “Er-ge, are you feeling all right?”

“Yes,” and he was, “though I am suddenly incapable of filtering my speech. Oh dear. I did not mean to say that. Why am I still talking?”

He lifted his arm with the intention of combing nervously through his hair, but his elbow knocked the table, which spilled his hot tea, which in turn burned his legs.

“Shit!” he cursed as he jumped back, pulling his soaked robes away from his thighs. “Sorry!” he apologized quickly. “Something is wrong. Please forgive the outburst, A-Yao. How embarrassing.”

His friend rounded the table with napkins, helped Lan Xichen somewhat clean the tea from his robes.

“Where in the world did Er-ge learn such foul language?” he asked with a nervous smile.

I have no idea was a safe and vague answer. Perfect. That was what Lan Xichen would say.

“Jiang-zongzhu,” he blurted instead.

“Jiang-zongzhu?” Jin Guangyao mused absently.

“How are we suddenly talking about him? We cannot talk about him, A-Yao. Ask me nothing further. Please.”

“Why not?”

Lan Xichen just shook his head, covering his mouth futilely.

“Are you ill, Er-ge?”

“Moonstruck.” He flushed pink.

“Moonstruck? What does that mean?”

“Lovesick,” he replied without hesitation, the remark still clearly audible despite the buffer of his hands—and A-Yao’s inquiries were just as quick, giving the former no time to stop talking.

“Love?” Jin Guangyao repeated. “But who could Er-ge be lovesick over?”

“Jiang-zongzhu. I mean, um, not Jiang-zongzhu. Not Jiang-zongzhu. Of course this leader is lovesick for Jiang-zongzhu.”

A-Yao raised a brow.

”Not Jiang-zongzhu.” Lan Xichen said miserably. It was entirely unbelievable.

“You mean Jiang Wanyin?”

“Yes. Who else?” Lan Xichen replied flippantly (though internally he roiled with shame).

“I don’t understand. Haven’t you been courting someone? A woman from. . .” A-Yao trailed off as realization struck, “. . .from Yunmeng.”

Lan Xichen couldn’t stop himself from explaining. “Yes. For months. And I can’t get him out of my head, which is ruining everything because he doesn’t want to see me. He said so himself. He said, ’I don’t want to see you. I don’t want to think about you. As far as I’m concerned, this never happened’.” He needed to shut up now. “But it did happen! How am I supposed to pretend it did not?” He really needed to shut up now. “How can he? I love him so much. How can I pretend not to?” Lan Xichen leaned forward over his thighs, pressing his hands so hard against his face his teeth ached. “Shut up!”

“You really can’t stop talking,” the chief cultivator said, disbelieving.

Just then, Wangji rushed into the Wintry Room. “Heard shouting—” he began, then noticed his brother folded over on himself and swiftly bent down. “Why were you shouting?”

“Something’s wrong,” A-Yao supplied. “A curse maybe.”

“You said Jiang-zongzhu’s curse stopped affecting you after he left,” Wangji said.

“It did,” Lan Xichen said through his hands. “Do not blame this on him the way you always do. I cannot understand why you dislike him so fiercely.”

“Loud,” said Wangji. “and crude, tactless, insensitive, proud—“

Lan Xichen lifted his head and dropped his hands. “Are you not also tactless, insensitive, and proud?”

“Not the same.”

He huffed. “You two are more alike than you realize.”

Wangji didn’t respond for few seconds, their tension taut in the air. Then, “Forgive me.”

Lan Xichen met his brother’s earnest gaze, then threw his face back into his hands for fear he would say more and sink even deeper into this ruthless humiliation. “I do not care about that. Stop talking to me!”

“Xiongzhang—“

Jin Guangyao cut in. “He can’t stop himself from saying everything he thinks.”

Wangji wasted no time retrieving his brother’s guqin.

“Do not play Cleansing,” Lan Xichen griped. “I cannot stand that useless song.”

“Was not going to.”

Jin Guangyao, poorly versed in the Lan clan’s numerous musical techniques, asked what Wangji intended to play, to which the latter ambiguously replied something about clarity and a summoning spell.

“Must you be so tight-lipped, Wangji?” asked Lan Xichen. “This is why I am your only friend, you know.”

His brother cast him a flat, unaffected glance.

“I did not mean to say that.”

Wangji looked down again.

“Don’t worry, Er-ge. We’ll get this sorted.”

Lan Xichen smiled weakly.

“And maybe it’s good to get some of this off your chest. Don’t you feel lighter having said it?”

“I feel humiliated.”

“No need.” This was Wangji.

Just then, a series of tempered knocks sounded from the door.

“Xichen, what is all this shouting?” called Lan Qiren, already sliding the door open. “A sect is only as disciplined as its leader—“ The rest of his lecture stuck in his throat when Wangji swept across the room and ushered his uncle back outside.

“Wangji—“ he started as his nephew closed the door again.

Lan Xichen threw his head in his hands. “What do I do? Shufu will be back. I cannot be around him like this.”

A-Yao offered a pleasant and reassuring smile. “Of course not. What can this brother do for Er-ge? We can go to Lanling.”

Lan Xichen considered that. “Lanling. Shufu would not find me there. . .” He shook his head. “No. Thank you, but no.” He tried to think of another solution, but his anxiety guided his thoughts, and therefore his words, in a different direction.

He grabbed A-Yao by his sleeve and tugged him close. “I trust you implicitly,” he said. “But I want you to promise me you will not tell anyone what I said today. It must remain between us.”

“Of course,” A-Yao said without hesitation. Then, after a moment of nervous silence, “And Er-ge. . . I’m so sorry that. . . um, that Jiang-zongzhu cut things off with you.”

Lan Xichen couldn’t hold his tongue. “I have never heard A-Yao sound so disingenuous, which is strange. You have never had trouble masking your true feelings before.”

Jin Guangyao’s lips parted as if to reply, but then he dropped his gaze.

“Forgive me,” Lan Xichen said for what felt like the hundredth time.

“It’s fine.”

“It is not.” He couldn’t take this anymore. He said as much. “It may be easier if you leave.”

Instead of acknowledging that, A-Yao asked, “How long were you and Jiang-zongzhu courting?”

“It depends. To me, it was eight months. To him—only a few days,” said Lan Xichen. “Why are you asking? I wish you would not ask anything else. Though I suppose I deserve it to some extent.”

Still his friend apologized. Then, “Can I ask something else?”

“Is this leader so untrustworthy that A-Yao cannot ask later?”

Jin Guangyao averted his gaze, went quiet for a moment. “Of course you’re trustworthy. I only mean to ask you now because I’m afraid you won’t answer if I ask later.”

“Then you should not ask.”

“Maybe not,” A-Yao said, though in the end decided to ask anyway. “Did you have feelings for Da-ge?”

Lan Xichen stiffened, voice piping up to respond despite his resistance: “Yes.”

“Did he know? Did you two ever—“

“Stop—“ Lan Xichen stammered, trying desperately to keep his loose lips shut. His voice was strained and rasping when he replied, “He knew, and we—“ Lan Xichen cut himself off with a breath before he slapped his hands over his mouth. He was still talking, confessing but thankfully it was muffled and unintelligible. His brow creased with hurt and shame and wrath.

When he felt the confession pass, he dropped his hands. ”That is what you could not wait to ask? Why is it so important that you know??”

“Er-ge—“

“You had no right to ask me those things, no right to even know the truth, let alone force it out of me.”

“It isn’t like that,” Jin Guangyao defended. “You were devastated after Da-ge’s death. I just—I wanted to understand.”

“You need to go.”

“Er-ge,” Jin Guangyao pleaded.

“Stop. I’m hurt. You need to leave. I do not—“ he stammered, feeling choked up. “I do not want to say any more.”

“You’re right,” said Jin Guangyao. “I should never have asked you that. Please forgive me.”

A moment later, he heard the door open then close.

“I only feel like crying a little,” he said to himself.

A-Yao had upset him, and that was part of it of course, but it had more to do with who he wanted to talk about this with, who he wanted to vent to and be comforted by.

The person he wasn’t allowed to see. The person who didn’t want to see him. Who didn’t want him.

Everyone else is ruined for me. It’s just you.

You perfect loon.

You’re occasionally gullible and often a loon, but you know. . . this Jiang thinks the world of you.

Lan Xichen threw his head in his hands, and in seconds, both his cheeks and palms were slick with tears.

Leave it! This curse is mine. My memories are mine. Neither has anything to do with you or your Gusu Lan Clan. Do not concern yourself.

I don’t want to see you. I don’t want to think about you. As far as I’m concerned, Lan-zongzhu, this never happened.

This was nothing new. He’d seldom gone a day without crying during the first month of Wanyin’s absence. It’d become somewhat easier since then, but he was certainly no stranger to these heartsick tears. A-Yao had simply exacerbated their intensity.

As had Mingjue. The memory of him, at least.

Lan Xichen felt he was much too fragile for all this heartache. He wished he were stronger.

“Xiongzhang is strong enough,” said Wangji, startling Lan Xichen, who had evidently been thinking out loud again.

“Forgive me,” he said, wiping his face. “I am embarrassed. Did you hear all of that?”

“No. The last part.”

“I see. I am relieved.”

“I lied to Shufu.”

“What did you tell him?”

“That you are ill. That you were sending Jin-xiandu away because you do not want to see anyone.”

“You did not lie.”

The corners of Wangji’s lips turned up the slightest bit. “Intentionally omitting the truth is still deceit.”

“Wangji is so petty throwing my own words back in my face like that,” Lan Xichen said with a smile. “We will tell Shufu the truth in time, but I worry about what I might let slip around him. Something about Jiang-zongzhu, I’m sure.”

Thankfully, Wangji did not ask him to elaborate as he settled back behind the guqin. “Should I use the silencing spell on you?”

“I cannot believe I did not think of that sooner! Yes! Please!”

Lan Xichen felt his lips zip shut. He collapsed onto his back as Wangji strummed out a welcome, peaceful tune.

When the purification tone Wangji chose proved ineffectual, he moved onto Peregrination, a song similar to Evocation, though rather than trace a fierce corpse back to its spirit, Peregrination traced the paths between like energies. It would never directly root out a curse’s source, but with no other leads, Peregrination could at the very least narrow down their very long list of suspects to a slightly less long list.

Lan Xichen played Peregrination for Jiang Wanyin when his curse symptoms first sprouted but had shown them very little (a feat in and of itself which just served to prove how abnormally distinct Wanyin’s curse really was).

Lan Xichen was just as puzzled by the song’s results this time around.

Spiritual energy, despite its varying from person to creature to tree to organism, typically veered one of two ways: pure or resentful, which made songs like Peregrination largely ineffectual—as it was often difficult to differentiate between types of pure or resentful energies.

So, when Peregrination revealed a stark, entirely unambiguous link between Lan Xichen’s curse and something well beyond the Cloud Recesses, he and Wangji were justifiably baffled. Moreso when they followed the immaterial tether outside of Gusu and toward Yunmeng (though maybe that last part shouldn’t have surprised Lan Xichen).

He only became more certain of their destination the farther they flew, and he imagined Wangji had long since put the pieces together as well. Lan Xichen wasn’t sure how to spare himself the inevitable and recurring conflict brought about by having Wangji and Jiang Wanyin in the same room. Wangji had been consistently casting the silencing spell on Lan Xichen, which he could break if he needed to, but was it worth unleashing this curse just to tell Wangji he should go back home? He was certain he’d do more harm than good if he tried, but was the alternative—confronting Wanyin after all this time while cursed to say every thought that crossed his mind—really any better?

No. It was undeniably worse. They needed to turn back right now.

“Xiongzhang can return home if he is not feeling well,” Wangji said without preamble, fully aware that his brother was not feeling well for reasons entirely unrelated to this curse or his physical condition.

Lan Xichen sighed through his nose. Then he shook his head. Wangji accepted this answer with a nod, and they carried on.

Lotus Pier

They stepped off their swords and onto the pier. The port was bustling, but Wangji thankfully stuck to Lan Xichen’s side like glue.

“Nervous?”

The latter cast his brother a sideways look, then shook his head.

He definitely wasn’t spiraling.

He definitely wasn’t imagining every terrible thing Jiang Wanyin would say when he saw them.

And he definitely hadn’t spent the last several weeks painting portraits of Wanyin and crying himself to sleep at night.

That would be ridiculous, unproductive, and a little pathetic. And Lan Xichen was none of those things. He was sensible, productive, and coolheaded, the revered and respectable Zewu-jun.

Not some heartsick teenager. . .

Trapped in his own head, Lan Xichen hardly realized it when Wangji spotted then approached a Jiang disciple making his rounds.

“Hanguang-jun,” the disciple said with a deep bow. Then he noticed Lan Xichen and somehow managed to bow even deeper. “And Lan-zongzhu! What brings the Gusu Lan Clan to Lotus Pier?”

“Jiang Wanyin.” Wangji replied simply.

“This humble disciple can’t say for certain where Jiang-zongzhu is, but you’re welcome to look for him on the pier.” He gestured to the end of the ports where a large gate led to the rest of Lotus Pier.

Wangji nodded in acknowledgment, then strode off in that direction. With Peregrination, finding Jiang Wanyin wouldn’t be a problem.

Lan Xichen followed, but commotion in the crowd ahead of them drew his attention. A moment later, someone stepped on the bottom of his robes, disrupting his balance. He teetered to the side, saw that the culprit was none other than Jin Ling, rushing through the crowded pier after heaven knows what.

And where Jin Ling went, Wanyin was sure to be close behind.

Lan Xichen had only a split second to catch his balance and make a decision—face his husband or run away. If he chose the latter, though, where was he supposed to go??

A clinking sound broke through the clamor of the crowd. A bell. Wanyin’s bell.

Lan Xichen wasn’t sure if he’d just been thinking too much and that was why he’d failed to catch his balance or if he’d subconsciously decided that falling off the pier was a better alternative to being seen by Jiang Wanyin. He teetered over the edge. This would be his third tumble into the lake, which was embarrassing on its own, but it would also certainly catch Wanyin’s attention, and Lan Xichen couldn’t have that either.

So, he cast a spell (an entirely ridiculous, completely absurd spell that he really had no business knowing how to cast, but one which he’d learned with Wanyin in mind; granted, he never imagined this would be the scenario in which he used it (he’d actually hoped to use it on both himself and Wanyin at the same time)).

A moment later, there was no splash. He glanced up, and his heart raced tremendously, battering the inside of his chest with brutal imprecision.

Jiang Wanyin had him by the robes. He was saved—and by his Wanyin. And how dearly he’d missed his husband.

His relief was short lived, however, as Wanyin’s neutral expression quickly twisted into one of surprise, then disquiet. Then he let go.

Lan Xichen futilely reached for purchase as he tipped back then fell into the lake.

For the third time.

“But why do I have to apologize? Jiujiu’s the one who dropped her in the lake!”

Lan Xichen shifted uncomfortably, smiling as he tried to ease the tension.

After his fall, he’d initially assumed the spell had failed. Why else would Wanyin have dropped him? But as he broke to the water’s surface, he felt his soaked robes cling to an ample, undeniably feminine bust. A pat-down of his newly changed body confirmed it: the spell had transformed him into a woman, and he was—for all intents and purposes—disguised.

Jiang Wanyin then helped Lan Xichen back onto the dock—just in time for Wangji to notice that his brother had vanished.

Only to then realize that the Peregrination pathway was still active and visible between Jiang Wanyim and the woman he’d just dropped into the lake. Miraculously, Wangji didn’t miss a beat.

He immediately scolded the pair—Wanyin for catching Lan Xichen then dropping him immediately, and Lan Xichen for losing his balance in the first place—but he did it without giving Lan Xichen’s true identity away.

Lan Xichen didn’t know if he’d ever been so surprised by his brother’s behavior before. Had Wangji always been so quick on his feet?

Then Jin Ling interjected, inviting Lan Xichen to dry off back at home—Wanyin’s home.. It was an invitation Lan Wangji had accepted on his behalf, as the silencing spell was still in effect.

Now the four of them waited in Wanyin’s main hall for his staff to find Lan Xichen a dry set of robes.

There’s really no need to apologize, he wanted to say, but even if he could speak, neither Jiang Wanyin nor Jin Ling would have heard him over their arguing—well, Jin Ling’s arguing.

For reasons Lan Xichen had yet to puzzle out, Wanyin wasn’t talking. At all. He silently wondered if Wangji had cast the spell on Wanyin as well, but what reason would he have for doing that?

Jiang Wanyin passed Jin Ling another note, which the young boy took a minute or so to read. Then, “I did not!”

Jiang Wanyin pointed to himself, then his eyes, then his nephew. I saw you.

Jin Ling crossed his arms. Wanyin lightly smacked the back of his head, pointed at the first note again.

Jin Ling scowled. “Fine!” He cast Lan Xichen a vicious glower, and the latter couldn’t help straightening up where he sat. “I’m very sorry for knocking you off the pier.”

His flat and disingenuous tone of voice made Lan Xichen wonder how often Jin Ling had been made to apologize, if ever. He was as stiff and uncompromising as his uncle, which Lan Xichen found quite endearing.

Lan Xichen nodded with a smile. Wangji translated, “All is forgiven.”

Jin Ling threw his uncle an I-told-you-so look, to which Wanyin rolled his eyes.

Lan Xichen’s smile only deepened.

“Also my jiujiu’s sorry,” said Jin Ling, “for dropping you, I mean.”

Lan Xichen tried to meet Wanyin’s eye, but the latter seemed to look everywhere else. His heart sank a bit. Was he recognized already? Could that be the reason Wanyin let him fall?

“Not talking?” Wangji asked bluntly.

“He’s cursed,” replied Jin Ling.

Lan Xichen’s brow creased with concern. Wanyin was supposed to be cured. What went wrong?

He elbowed his nephew in the arm.

“Am I not allowed to say?” he whispered rather loudly. Again, Wanyin rolled his eyes. Jin Ling looked to Wangji, smiled unconvincingly. “I was just kidding. My jiujiu doesn’t talk.”

“Why not?” asked Wangji.

Wanyin still wouldn’t look at Lan Xichen. It seemed very much like he wanted to dismiss this topic but didn’t know how.

“Uh. . .” Jin Ling stammered. Then his eyes lit up. “He took a vow of silence,” he said with a triumphant grin.

“Why?”

“Because. . .”

Wanyin rubbed his eyes, looking very tired. Lan Xichen wondered for a moment if he’d been getting enough sleep. Was Chenqing somehow still affecting him?

Lan Xichen folded his hands in his lap, forcing himself to stay put, to not stand up, round the table between them, snatch up his husband’s wrist, and check the circulation of his qi.

“I know!” Jin Ling practically shouted. “I mean—I remember now. It was a woman! Jiujiu was rejected by a very beautiful guniang! She said ‘you’re too mean, jiu—Zongzhu.’ So that’s why he took a vow of silence. Jiujiu is just sad about that guniang.”

Wanyin perked up, shook his head and mouthed no, no, no.

Wangji sat still and expressionless, but Lan Xichen knew he was loving this.

“No need to be embarrassed, Jiang-zongzhu. She sounds like a fool to this one. You are certainly better off.”

It took Lan Xichen a moment to realize who had just spoken, as he’d never heard his own voice sound so high-pitched and girlish.

Wanyin met Lan Xichen’s eye for just a moment, then he looked off again, flushing with embarrassment. Lan Xichen knew that look well. He wanted to jump over this table, grab Wanyin by the collar, and kiss him until they were both gasping for breath.

Also, a little, he wanted to slap Wanyin for blushing at the compliments of some random woman he’d never met before!

What about your husband?? You know, the one you abandoned? Have you no shame??

Thankfully, Wangji recast the silencing spell before Lan Xichen had a chance to vocalize any of that.

“Maybe jiujiu should marry you instead,” said Jin Ling, to which Wanyin’s flush only deepened. He jostled Jin Ling’s shoulder, mouthed stop.

“Bad idea,” said Wangji pointedly.

All three of them looked his way, but he did not elaborate.

“Maybe,” said Jin Ling. “Jiujiu would be a bad husband, I think.”

Wanyin clicked his tongue, clearly agitated.

“What? That’s what xiao-shushu said!”

Though it was subtle, Lan Xichen saw his brother’s eyes light with amusement.

“Jin-xiandu was right,” Wangji interjected, gaze hard as he met Wanyin’s bitter scowl. Lan Xichen grabbed his brother’s forearm under the table. “Because you’re a sect leader,” Lan Wangji explained, though it didn’t sound sincere (did he ever sound sincere?).

Wanyin still wouldn’t look at Lan Xichen. Why not?? The former picked up his brush and scrawled out a new note, which he passed to Wangji.

It read: Why are you here?

Wangji squinted, then glanced at his brother. Lan Xichen smiled politely, though he knew what that look meant. You’ve seen him. He’s well. Let’s go.

And yes, they had seen Jiang Wanyin, and he did seem in a better state than the last time they saw him, but he wasn’t exactly well, was he? He was clearly under some curse or spell. If he were well, he would have said something by now (if not to them, then at least to Jin Ling), but he was quiet, had let his seven-year-old ward speak for him despite Jin Ling’s utter inability to weave a convincing lie.

Lan Xichen couldn’t just leave. Something was wrong, and maybe it wasn’t Chenqing. Maybe it was completely unrelated to Wei Wuxian’s golden core and demonic cultivation. Maybe Wanyin was fine.

But what if he wasn’t? What if Wanyin was in real danger?

Lan Xichen knew his husband well, knew that if his curse really had resurfaced or if something else had taken root and stolen his voice, he wouldn’t ask Lan Xichen for help. Not after their fight. But what support did Wanyin have beyond that? Who else could he go to? Who else would he go to?

Lan Xichen didn’t think there was anyone. His Wanyin was too distrusting. He would try to solve it himself, take risks, put himself in harm’s way because he couldn’t stomach the idea of letting another person witness his vulnerability.

Lan Xichen knew that, but he’d stupidly convinced himself he was the exception, that Wanyin trusted him as unconditionally as he trusted Wanyin. But that wasn’t the case. No matter how many times Jiang Wanyin claimed he trusted Lan Xichen or tried to prove that he did, there had always been something in the way, something pulling Wanyin away.

Everyone else is ruined for me. It’s just you.

You perfect loon.

You’re occasionally gullible and often a loon, but you know. . . this Jiang thinks the world of you.

When Wangji gave no explanation, Jiang Wanyin met and held Lan Xichen’s gaze. The latter’s repose seemed to crack and fracture under his husband’s scrutiny.

Leave it! This curse is mine. My memories are mine. Neither has anything to do with you or your Gusu Lan Clan. Do not concern yourself.

Lan Xichen lost his nerve. He broke eye contact, looked to his brother to save him.

“Xiongzhang has been cursed,” Wangji said abruptly.

In his concern for Wanyin, Lan Xichen had all but forgotten the reason they’d come here in the first place: his own curse.

He absently touched his throat. Surely it was no coincidence that Wanyin’s curse had taken his ability to speak while Lan Xichen’s had taken his ability not to speak.

Jiang Wanyin raised a brow and pointed to himself, as if to ask, By me?

“No. It happened last night.”

Wanyin paled, then scribbled another note for Wangji.

A succubus stole my voice last night.

Lan Xichen instantly thought of the Wisteria Groves, wondered if Wanyin had gone back to that inn. He’d mentioned something about clearing it out, if Lan Xichen remembered right.

“Why should that affect my brother?” asked Wangji.

Jiang Cheng passed them another note, though he’d scratched out whatever he’d initially written. Below, it read: She knew him, somehow knew he and I were friends.

Lan Xichen thought it had to be the same inn. Wanyin just didn’t want to give Wangji the whole story. So shy.

Wangji looked thoughtful. “Seems like this succubus cursed on Xiongzhang through you. Such a thing is not unheard of.”

Jiang Wanyin looked uncomfortable, but he didn’t deny the possibility.

Jin Ling shot to a stand, grabbing his uncle’s sleeve and trying to pull him up. “What are we waiting for, jiujiu? We have to find that monster and kill it!”

Wanyin stayed where he was, eyeing Lan Xichen suspiciously. Then he caught Wangji’s eye, gestured to Lan Xichen, and mouthed, Who is she?

“Lan cultivator.”

It really was rather lucky that Wanyin’s spell had manifested this way, as he was rather impatient and asking follow-up questions became more trouble than they were worth—especially when the person in question liked to give basic, one-word answers.

Wanyin gave up, rolling his eyes as Jin Ling pulled him to a stand. “Jiujiu, did that guy’s scroll help at all?”

Wanyin nodded, set to scrawling out another note, but then a servant returned with a fresh set of robes to replace Lan Xichen’s soaked ones.

He thanked her and accepted the articles, face warm as he eyed the deep purple fabric.

A lakeshore several kilometers south of Yunmeng

The Jiang sect had received reports of an uncommonly beautiful woman luring unsuspecting men to this lakeshore. According to the reports, those men were never seen again.

It wasn’t long before Lan Xichen and the others stumbled upon a battered old cottage at the edge of the shore, so the group split up to search the building for any signs of life. Jiang Wanyin and Jin Ling took the first floor while the Twin Jades searched the second. So far, they’d found nothing.

“You can go home,” Lan Xichen whispered when he felt the silencing spell wear off.

Wangji’s only response was a cold scowl.

They hadn’t talked about Lan Xichen’s stunt on the pier (the whole turning himself into a woman to avoid confronting his estranged husband thing), but he doubted Wangji would bring it up—hoped he wouldn’t.

“It is good to know why this happened to me, at least,” Lan Xichen said, uncomfortable with his brother’s silence.

“Don’t know for sure.”

“You think it’s a coincidence?”

Wangji shrugged, eyed Lan Xichen from the side. “You look like A-niang.”

“I do?” Lan Xichen looked around for a moment, then sighed. “I wish I had a mirror.”

He noticed Wangji staring and followed his line of sight to the purple robes he’d been given to replace his soaked Lan robes.

Wangji looked forward again. “Shameless.”

Lan Xichen faltered, having never been scolded by his younger brother before. Wangji, who was always so polite and respectful to his elders—especially his elder brother, had just called Lan Xichen shameless.

“Do not be angry with me. You know I cannot bear it.”

Wangji ignored him, continued forward.

“Be reasonable, Wangji” Lan Xichen said, trying not to sound accusatory.

“Xiongzhang is the unreasonable one.”

“Because I turned myself into a woman? I was just nervous about seeing Wanyin.”

His brother whirled around, closed what distance had stretched between them. “Why him?”

Lan Xichen blinked dumbly. “What?”

“Jiang Wanyin.”

Lan Xichen met his brother’s eye, and it was so obvious. “You know,” he said meekly. Then, “Of course you do. I did a terrible job hiding it, and Wangji has always been observant.”

For all Lan Xichen’s ability to read his younger brother, he never gave Wangji credit for having the exact same ability.

“You haven’t answered my question.”

Lan Xichen felt miraculously lost for words despite the curse. “He is the sun,” was all he could think to say, but Wangji didn’t probe him for an explanation.

“You never told me.”

“I did not think you would understand.”

”I would not? Have you considered that I might be the only person who would understand this?”

Wangji looked past Lan Xichen, then shut his mouth and spun around. Lan Xichen felt the silencing spell glue his lips shut as he glanced over his shoulder, saw Jin Ling and Jiang Wanyin—the sun—standing at the end of the hall.

Chapter Text

Jiang Cheng paused on the steps when he heard his name—or thought he did. He couldn’t be certain, and Jin Ling was being too loud. He grabbed his nephew’s shoulder, halting him in his tracks as he listened to the faint conversation.

“I did a terrible job hiding it, and Wangji has always been observant,” the Lan woman said, her voice whisper soft from this distance. Jiang Cheng took another step up.

“You haven’t answered my question,” said Lan Wangji.

What question? Were they actually talking about Jiang Cheng? Or had he misheard?

“He is the sun.”

“You never told me.”

“I did not think you would understand.”

Impatient, Jin Ling wiggled free of his uncle’s grip and continued up the stairs.

”I would not? Have you considered that I might be the only person who would understand this?”

Lan Wangji cut himself off when he spotted them. He turned away while the Lan woman turned toward them, her smile soft and indulgent.

“Don’t yell at girls!” Jin Ling shouted, pointing an accusatory finger at Lan Wangji.

No one answered, which might have annoyed Jin Ling had Jiang Cheng not redirected his attention by tapping his head, reminding him to tell Lan Wangji that the bottom floor was clear.

“This floor is empty as well,” the latter returned. “I imagine your succubus has long since left the area.”

Jiang Cheng had come to the same conclusion, though he’d been hoping for a more convenient outcome. He ushered Jin Ling back down the stairs.

“This is going so well, jiujiu,” his nephew said with a smile.

Yeah, and I’m Lan Wangji’s best fucking friend.

When he reached the bottom, he froze. Something was different. Jin Ling started to walk ahead, but Jiang Cheng quickly shoved his nephew behind him and summoned Zidian.

Behind them, the Lan woman also paused, likely sensing the same peculiar shift in the air that Jiang Cheng did. It wasn’t until Lan Wangji met them at the bottom of the stairs that the lurking creature made itself known. A haunted, sinister laugh echoed off the walls. Jin Ling clung to his uncle’s leg; Jiang Cheng gave his head a few light pats, trying to reassure him, but in truth, he hardly felt better.

He knew that laugh, knew it as well as he knew the sound of his own voice.

Wei Wuxian.

A shadow coalesced at the center of the room, formed a silhouette with long billowing robes and a flute held to its lips. It rushed them, and Jiang Cheng couldn’t help flinching, but the figure didn’t go for him. It darted past him and went for Lan Wangji instead.

The unwelcome visage nearly tackled him in an embrace, hiding his face in the crook of his neck.

“Lan Zhan, Lan Zhan!” he crooned in that insufferable, sing-song voice. “You’ve missed me, haven’t you? Tell me you missed me. Say there’s one person who wishes I were still alive!”

Lan Wangji’s brow creased. He took a step back, screwed his eyes shut as he grappled with the wrongness of having Wei Wuxian back from the dead and standing before him.

Jiang Cheng could only set his jaw and scowl.

There was a flash of purple, a shing, then a splatter of black as the Lan woman cleaved through Wei Wuxian with her glittering white sword. The body fell, dissolved in a heap of black ichor and shadow. Just as the fake Lan Xichen had the night before.

Succubi were among some of the most powerful yao in China, and Jiang Cheng had long since suspected this particular succubus of being a less common, much trickier subtype which could see into a person’s mind and use their thoughts and feelings against them. Coupling that with this succubus’ penchant for illusion magic and its thirst for vengeance—Jiang Cheng was royally fucked.

Despite this depressing but obviously more important revelation, Jiang Cheng found himself distracted, casting Lan Wangji a discerning look. If the succubus had wanted to use his desires against him, why had it manifested Wei Wuxian?

Lan Wangji kept his own gaze averted, even as his companion approached and put a calming hand on his shoulder.

“I am fine,” he said flatly. She tilted her head, looking skeptical, then her hand slid down his shoulder, squeezed his arm. He shook his head and brushed past her.

Jiang Cheng paused. The only person who had ever treated Lan Wangji with such familiarity—at least that he had witnessed—was Lan Xichen. And also Wei Wuxian.

Now Jiang Cheng was really confused.

He remembered Lan Yuan—how, when asked about his parents, he spoke only of Lan Wangji. Could this woman be Lan Yuan’s mother? Was she a cousin of the Twin Jade’s? Or was she. . . involved with the younger Lan brother?

For some reason, the idea of that gave Jiang Cheng the creeps (maybe because they looked very alike), so he turned away from the woman and followed Lan Wangji to the exit.