use the wood brought in by the tide

In the end, it is decided that Lan Wangji will go to Lotus Pier.

This is not what Lan Wangji wants, but there is no point in contesting the decision. It is only arrived at after several months of back-and-forth between the Jiang and the Lan, couriers kept busy rushing between Yunmeng and Gusu, Shufu going through so much ink and paper that the budget must be temporarily adjusted to accommodate their purchase. Lan Wangji has not been privy to the details of the negotiations, though even the rule against gossip has not kept him from knowing that they are happening.

Xiongzhang speaks of marriage discussions only briefly and with an apologetic look, assuring Lan Wangji that he will never marry him to someone who was not of true and noble character. He has not asked for Lan Wangji’s opinions about anything, much less where he prefers to settle after the marriage. In light of the political import, the desires of an eighteen-year-old matter not at all.

It may be Lan Wangji’s life, but that is irrelevant.

He bows his head when the decisions are handed down, words filial no matter how his heart storms within him. He reminds himself that he has known from the time that he was a child that he would marry out to secure some important alliance. It wouldn’t be to a sect heir—if anything happened to Xiongzhang, Lan Wangi and his spouse must be free to return to Cloud Recesses and take up their duties there. But it must be someone important in the cultivation world, someone of sufficiently high standing, well-placed enough to ensure the preservation of an alliance.

With such requirements, the options are limited. He feels a desperate gratitude to fate for ensuring that he will never have to marry a Wen—it is the machinations of that sect that make improved relations with the other major sects so necessary. Other names have been crossed off Lan Wangji’s mental list over the years: Jiang Wanyin is the sect heir, and his sister has been betrothed to Jin Zixuan since childhood. Jin-zongzhu has no other legitimate children, so at least Lan Wangji will never have to live in the ostentatious corruption of Lanling (Xiongzhang would not accept an offer from Jin-zongzhu’s nephew for anything). Nie Huaisang has always been the foremost possibility and for a while in his early adolescence, Lan Wangji had tried to convince himself to like the other boy, certain that one day he would have to put up with cages full of songbirds and desks scattered with painting supplies. He had been relieved when the sworn brotherhood between Xiongzhang and Sect Leader Nie rendered a marriage alliance with the Nie less advantageous.

So he should have known it would be Wei Wuxian. The Jiang sect’s ward is ideal, really: no one contests his standing as both head disciple and member—however auxiliary—of the Jiang family. That he could be easily bundled off to Cloud Recesses if required only sweetens the deal. Unless the Nie made an offer for him first, it was bound to be Wei Wuxian who made his bows with Lan Wangji.

But Lan Wangji has not allowed himself to consider this. He simply cannot believe that fate, after robbing him of his mother, would send further calamity in binding him to that boy.

He does not know Wei Wuxian well. There has been no opportunity to get to know him, not like there was with Nie Huaisang with the frequent visits between Gusu and Qinghe. Lan Wangji tells himself firmly that it is against both the sect rules and his own sense of fairness to judge one he does not know. But he can’t seem to control his dislike. (Later, he will think of this as foreshadowing—that he was not able to control his own feelings about Wei Wuxian even before they really met.)

He has caught a glimpse of Wei Wuxian once or twice when they were both brought along to observe the competitive night hunts the cultivation world glories in. Lan Wangji had been scandalized by these glimpses: Wei Wuxian always seemed to be moving even when stillness was demanded, and, worse still, his mouth was always open. (Once, he caught Lan Wangji’s eye and winked at him across the room. Lan Wangji has never recovered.)

And even though Lan Wangji is perhaps the person least likely to be the recipient of gossip, he still hears things about Wei Wuxian. The Jiang’s head disciple is said to be brilliant and skilled beyond his years, which is all the more infuriating in a person so undisciplined in his manner. And Nie Huaisang, who had once spent a whole afternoon with the Jiang sect heirs, confided (despite Lan Wangji’s glare) that Wei-xiong was the most fun disciple he’d ever met.

Fun is not a quality that the Lan prize in a spouse. It isn’t a word Lan Wangji has ever been comfortable with, either. While Nie Huaisang crowed over Wei Wuxian’s antics, Lan Wangji panicked before his mind settled on denial as a survival tactic.

No one—not Xiongzhang, not Shufu, not the universe itself—would ever be so cruel as to marry him off to a troublemaker. It simply will not happen. Even when Xiongzhang speaks to the Cloud Recess kitchens and a bit more spice starts appearing in Lan Wangji’s meals (“You must train your palette, Wangji”), he refuses to believe it. He refuses to believe it even after the deal is sealed and Shufu makes the announcement. He refuses to believe it during the months of preparations and then the trip to Yunmeng. He refuses to believe it even when he is decked out in red and gold and bowing next to a veiled figure as tall as he is.

He refuses to believe it right up until they are alone, a red-hung bed looming in the background, and Wei Wuxiann removes his veil with hands that are just slightly shaking, blinks at Lan Wangji, and then starts laughing.

After that, denial is no longer possible.

When Lan Wangji wakes, his husband is in his arms.

Last night, as every night of their marriage, he had climbed into the big bed alone, knowing that Wei Ying would be awake for some hours before he joined him. And this morning, as every morning, he wakes to Wei Ying flush up against him. It is no easier to deal with now than it had been the first time.

Lan Wangji had known, in a vague sort of way, that other sects did not rise as early as the Lan do. But he had not realized what that would mean: that his husband would wake hours later than he would, that every day Lan Wangji would wake to find someone else still sleeping in his bed.

He had never even considered that, sometime in the night, his husband’s sleeping body would seek his.

But that first morning, with the rays of dawn glinting off the gold threads that embroidered their wedding finery—one set folded neatly on a chair, the other heaped in a pile on floor—Lan Wangji woke to find that his brand-new husband was plastered against his side, one leg thrown over his, a wet spot on the arm of his sleeping clothes where Wei Ying was drooling.

Lan Wangji had panicked. Of course he had: no one had ever touched him while he was sleeping before. To find someone so close had unsettled him more than he was already unsettled at waking somewhere that wasn’t the Jingshi.

He lashed out without thought, shoved; Wei Ying hit the floor and woke with a howl, and it was the opposite of the decorous first-morning-of-marriage that Lan Wangji had hoped for. It was worse even than the night before when Wei Wuxian had been all nervous laughter and chatter (“Can you believe this veil, Lan Zhan? I’m going to call you Lan Zhan—you’re my husband, after all! Yu-furen made me wear it because she said Jiang Cheng and I would make faces at each other during the ceremony otherwise!”) and they had retreated behind privacy screens to dress for bed. Lan Wangji had been miserable, overwhelmed by the reality of Wei Wuxian (his bright eyes, his golden skin set off by the red of his silks, the curve of his waist, the tilt of his mouth, the ring of his laughter). Only the strict discipline of a lifetime had allowed him to fall asleep.

But the morning was proof that this was Lan Wangji’s life now, and his reaction to his husband’s body against his own was the closest thing he’d felt to terror since his mother’s death.

Wei Wuxian had started squawking indignantly before he even bounced up off the floor, and the sound of his raised voice evaporated any remorse Lan Wangji might have felt about shoving his husband out of bed. The whole thing had edged closer to a shouting match than any conversation Lan Wangji had ever engaged in; Wei Ying covering awkwardness with bravado, Lan Wangji as stiff as he always is, his ears flaming as red as the wedding silks across the room.

“I didn’t mean to! I went to bed on the other side—you could have camped an army between us! You can’t control what your body does while you’re sleeping!” Wei Ying had insisted at one point, cheeks scarlet. This was clearly incorrect; Wei Ying was just trying to excuse his own lack of self-discipline, as usual. After all, Lan Wangji slept in the same position the whole night through.

But on subsequent mornings, when Lan Wangji woke with Wei Ying’s nose tucked into the dip above his collarbone or Wei Ying’s leg tangled with his own, Lan Wangji realized just how frustrating a lack of control of one’s own body was. Each time, he wiggled out of Wei Ying’s hold and fled the room, meditating on the balcony until his erection subsided and he could start his day with an appropriate level of decorum.

After that first morning, he hadn’t brought up the sleeping arrangements again. They both ignore the intimacy, pretending it doesn’t happen. (Lan Wangji has become very skilled at pretending things aren’t happening.) Or perhaps Wei Ying truly doesn’t know—after all, he never wakes when Lan Wangji leaves in the morning.

So now, months into his marriage, he is accustomed to waking up to Wei Wuxian’s warm weight, accustomed to his own body’s response to Wei Ying’s nearness. Accustomed, but not yet resigned. His ears are still hot when he extricates himself from Wei Ying’s clinging limbs, and he makes sure not to look down for fear he’ll see the vulgar bulge in his sleeping trousers.

Meditating helps, as it always does. At home, he meditated for one hour upon rising and then several times throughout the day. In Yunmeng, he has learned that he requires at least two hours in the morning to bolster himself enough to meet the day.

It’s harder to meditate in the sticky heat (he doesn’t think he’ll ever become accustomed to that) but eventually he is able to settle. Their suite of rooms, like all of Lotus Pier, is built over the lake, and the water lapping at the posts supporting the balcony has become one of Lan Wangji’s favorite sounds. It’s different from the wind in the pines in the Cloud Recesses, but no less beautiful.

The wind, he reflects, always had a note of melancholy to it. The movement of water, though, holds a hint of laughter that irritatingly reminds Lan Wangji of his husband. Since his betrothal, he’s found that his mind can be as unruly as his body.

It’s terrifying, his own lack of control, and that made him angry. For the first few months of his marriage, he was furious, all the time. Furious at the burn of spices in his mouth, at the too-sweet-ness of the tea, at the loudness of the disciples when they train and their unruliness when they play. Furious with his own homesickness and the knot in his throat when he read Xionghang’s letters and with the thought that he will live and die in this strange, strange place.

Furious, most of all, with the way Wei Wuxian hangs off of him, pushes his way into his space, maneuvers so that Lan Wangji can’t look away from him. With the way Wei Wuxian drinks liquor, sneaks off to swim, plots pranks with the younger disciples, races his brother down the plank walkways of Lotus Pier. With the way Wei Wuxian comes up with the most outlandish theories during class and seems to know the contents of every book in the Lotus Pier library even though he complains whenever he reads, the way he is the only person aside from Xiongzhang who can provide Lan Wangji with a challenge while sparring. With the way Wei Wuxian shouts his intimate name so casually and praises him ceaselessly and teases him about everything. With the way Wei Wuxian’s neck displays itself when he tilts his head back to drink, the way Wei Wuxian’s body bends and flexes when he does sword exercises, the way water streams off of Wei Wuxian’s golden shoulders when he pushes himself out of the lake. With the way Wei Wuxian’s scent pervades their rooms and clings to Lan Wangji’s skin. With the way that Wei Wuxian is always, always laughing.

Some days, especially early on, Lan Wangji needed a full three hours of meditation to get his own mind in order.

His anger has mellowed over the last few weeks, tempered by time and his inherent sense of fairness. Wei Ying, after all, cannot help being what he is. He has no idea that everything about him tortures Lan Wangji, that he seems to have been designed specifically to tempt him. And perhaps more devastating, Wei Ying is good. Despite his unruly ways, he is kind and he loves justice and he, inexplicably, seems to like Lan Wangji.

Fire still burns inside Lan Wangji, but it is no longer the white-hot flare of anger. Instead, he is filled with the steady glow of affection. The Lan Wangji of Cloud Recesses would never have believed it, but the Lan Wangji who lives in Lotus Pier cannot deny it. He likes Wei Ying, so very much.

Still, the fire of desire rages as well and he does not anticipate that it will diminish with time. The way his body reacts to Wei Ying is unseemly and, worse, might betray him were Wei Ying to notice. Meditation is the way to counteract it. When he rises, opening his eyes to the golden sunlight gilding the green surface of the water studded with lotus, his body is back under his control and he is as ready to face a day at Lotus Pier as he can be.

All his progress is lost by afternoon.

It had been his own idea, to attend the sword training sessions for the older group of Jiang disciples. Lan Wangji may be only eighteen, but he is a master at Lan swordforms. The Jiang style is very different, more flowing and adaptive, and he can learn from it.

He’d brought up the idea one night at one of the awkward dinners that he is forced to share with Jiang Fengmian’s family. Breakfast and lunch are more informal and can be eaten with only his husband, or alone with a tray, or with Wei Ying and the Jiang siblings. But dinner is a family affair, and when both Jiang-zongzhu and Yu-furen are home to attend, the dynamic is a strange mixture of cold and hot that Lan Wangji has never experienced and cannot grow accustomed to.

There is no rule here against talking while eating, though Lan Wangji believes they would benefit from one. The stilted conversation that predominates is more awkward by far than silence. Wei Ying chatters until Madam Yu slams her chopsticks down and gives him a furious look, and then there’s only Jiang Yanli to try to keep conversation going, talking sweetly about things that don’t matter, inviting others to respond. Jiang Yanli looks tired after these meals, and Lan Wangji cannot blame her.

The first few nights, she had tried to invite Lan Wangji into the conversation as well, but she seemed to notice how uncomfortable it made him and afterwards left him alone. Even away from Cloud Recesses, he almost never speaks at a meal table, and so he had surprised everyone when he spoke up one night a month or so after the wedding.

He had waited until he finished his own meal, but the others were still eating, so it had felt transgressive for him to say, “I would like to join training exercises if that is acceptable.”

His in-laws had blinked in surprise to hear him speak at the table, but Jiang Yanli’s face broke out into a smile and Jiang-zongzhu had looked pleased. “That would be most acceptable,” he confirmed, and Lan Wangji had looked over at his husband.

Wei Ying looked torn, like he couldn’t decide whether to be pleased or horrified. “Really, Lan Zhan? You want to? I’m not sure I have much to teach you.”

Jiang Wanyin had scoffed. “Are you pretending to be humble now?” he had sniped, and the brothers had launched into an argument about Wei Ying’s arrogance about his own skills until Yu-furen had barked at both of them and the table had lapsed back into silence.

But Lan Wangji had barely heard them, too caught up in a new realization. It shouldn’t have been a surprise. Of course as the head disciple, Wei Ying would lead the other disciples.

But the reality of Wei Ying as leader is…overwhelming. It isn’t just his competence, what a truly excellent swordsman he is. That’s enough to heat Lan Wangji’s ears and set his pulse racing, but there’s also his joy—how much pleasure he takes in the movement of his own body. It takes all of Lan Wangji’s self-discipline to keep his own gaze dispassionate as he watches. He has to follow Wei Ying’s example—most of the moves are just different enough from the Lan style that he needs to see them demonstrated so that he can imitate them. But it’s torture, watching Wei Ying’s physical competence with his sword, the way he marries grace and carelessness, how all of his movements seem casual and extemporaneous but also so utterly appropriate to the moment. It’s torture, trying to keep his body from reacting while they’re in open sunlight and surrounded by a dozen younger disciples.

What makes it all worse is how good Wei Ying is at leading. Lan Wangji would never have expected it, but Wei Ying is one of the most effective teachers he has seen. His warm manner encourages every student to participate, and his quick eyes catch each mistake. He has a way of correcting those mistakes that doesn’t feel like correction at all, instead nudging the disciples to try harder. They never look crushed or ashamed when Wei Ying points out how they can improve, just determined to do better. The younger disciples adore him, especially the little ones, who like to climb all over him and fight for his attention and ride on his shoulders and grin up at him as he ruffles their hair.

It is, Lan Wangji has found, disturbingly attractive.

Most days, he can set his own attraction aside and get lost in the movements of the sword forms or of sparring. Today, however, Wei Ying has let the disciples tease him into showing off, and the way he twists himself into flips and leaps is as distracting as how he laughs and encourages the others when they try to imitate him.

Wei Ying is his husband, but Lan Wangji doesn’t want to feel this way. Desperate. Yearning. Gnawed by a hunger that can never be satisfied. The way Wei Ying’s eyes curve when he smiles, the sweat sliding down his neck, the laughing but tender concern when the youngest disciple falls over—it all lights a fire in Lan Wangji that burns and burns but does not consume.

He battles it back and has himself under reasonable control by the time Wei Ying dismisses the disciples and they run off, laughing and shouting as the Lan disciples would never dare. Wei Ying starts to gather up the wooden practice swords, and Lan Wangji joins him.

“You’re getting really good at that water snake move, Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying says, grinning at him over an armful of practice swords. “We’ll make a Jiang-style fighter of you yet. Break you free from that rigid Lan form.”

Lan Wangji has no intention of giving up the Lan style, though he has begun to incorporate some of the Jiang style’s more ingenious moves into his repertoire, determinedly not considering what some of the more inflexible Lan elders would say.

They store the swords in the training hall and Lan Wangji directs Wei Ying with a pointed look towards the desk. Wei Ying grimaces but plops down to pick up a brush and scrawl something in a notebook. Jiang Wanyin is always nagging at him to keep up with the record-keeping, but Wei Ying only remembers about half the time; Lan Wangji has taken it upon himself to remind him.

When he’s done, Wei Ying collapses forward onto the table, and twists his neck so he can look up at Lan Wangji.

“Hey, gege.” As if that word isn’t discomfiting enough, he waggles his eyebrows in a way that is very inappropriate (nearly everything Wei Ying does is inappropriate). Lan Wangji feels his ears warming. “Wanna go on a nighthunt?”

If it were possible for Lan Wangji to straighten his posture, he would. “Jiang-zhongzhu has given a new assignment?”

Something shifts in Wei Ying’s eyes, but his smile doesn’t waver—this, Lan Wangji can tell even though the curve of his mouth is hidden by his stacked hands. The way his cheeks lift and his eyes crinkle when he smiles….

“There’s a family of xiao that have been sighted near the border with Gusu. We could leave after dinner and be back before dawn.”

Xiao are nasty in groups, but well within the capabilities of two cultivators as skilled as Wei Ying and himself. They would provide enough of a challenge to make the flight there worth it, but not so much that they would need to bring anyone else along. Lan Wangji’s heart speeds up at the thought of a night with Wei Ying, fighting side by side.

“Mn,” he agrees, and Wei Ying pops up, grin even wider now.

They leave as soon as dinner is complete. It’s a more casual affair than usual, as Yu-furen has been in Meishan for a few days and is not expected back for a few more. Wei Ying is in high spirits as they set off, shouting, “Race ya!” and leaping onto his sword without waiting for Lan Wangji.

He’s still laughing when Lan Wangji catches up with him, flying through the air shoulder to shoulder except when, overcome by his own giddiness, Wei Ying does a flip or another showy trick. Lan Wangji keeps a disapproving look on his face, but he can’t deny the warmth in his chest, seeing Wei Ying so carefree.

That warmth only grows when they reach the village where the xiao had been sighted and Wei Ying charms a report out of an old lady who pinches his cheeks and calls him a handsome devil.

“What about my husband, popo? Isn’t he the most handsome in the world?”

The old lady cocks an eyebrow at Wei Ying and looks over Lan Wangji with interest. He wants to drop his eyes in embarrassment, but he keeps them steady on the old lady.

“Husband?” the lady says. “A lucky devil, then, in addition to a handsome one.”

Wei Ying shouts with laughter and grabs Lan Wangji by the wrist to lead in the direction of the last xiao sighting.

The hunt is as stimulating as Lan Wangji had hoped. Fighting by Wei Ying’s side is a pleasure unlike any he had experienced before coming to Yunmeng. He would never be able to explain it, the way they anticipate each other’s moves, cover each other’s backs, move around each other like a well-choreographed dance. But in this, he trusts Wei Ying absolutely, and Wei Ying must trust him, too, leaving Lan Wangji to guard his vulnerabilities. Trust is headier than Lan Wangji had ever known it could be, as potent as the rush of battle itself as it surges through him.

He should be disapproving, he knows, of the way Wei Ying laughs and taunts and teases as he fights, but instead he feels a warmth kindled inside of him, half the now-familiar fever of desire, half a just-as-disturbing affection. He could, he thinks, make peace with wanting his husband. But liking him—liking this careless, irreverent, open-hearted boy he has been bound to? That is more alarming by far. Wei Ying is everything Lan Wangji’s training has taught him to avoid, to mistrust. He sees the wisdom now, in not allowing Wei Ying to move to Gusu. The unfettered everything that is Wei Ying would have been too much for the Cloud Recesses to confine. Lan Wangji has a sudden, vivid vision of the Wall of Discipline cracking and crumbling into dust under the force of Wei Ying’s personality.

Lan Wangji should be horrified. He stares at Wei Ying, standing over the slain bodies of the xiao, panting and grinning at Lan Wangji, laughter in his eyes and gore on his sword. And there is no denying that Lan Wangji likes him so much.

“Lan Zhan!” Wei Ying shouts, and never have the upright syllables of his name sounded so alive. “That was incredible!”

The high color of his cheeks and brightness of his eyes, the sweat slicking his neck and curling the strands of hair that have escaped from their tie—it is too much for Lan Wangji. He drops his eyes to Bichen, gore-smeared in his hand. “Mn,” he says, and bends to clean his sword.

“Lan Zhan! That was an ‘I agree’ ‘mn’! I know it was!”

It was. No one but Xiongzhang has ever been able to interpret the gradations of Lan Wangji’s hums. He has known Wei Ying for less than half a year. A knot rises in his throat at the thought.

“We’re the greatest together! I can’t fight like that with anyone, not even Jiang Cheng! We’re unstoppable! No one in the whole cultivation world could withstand us, not when we’re together!”

“Arrogant,” Lan Wangji says, because it is the correct thing to say.

The way Wei Ying rolls his eyes doesn’t make Lan Wangji feel judged as such expressions do on other people’s faces. “It’s not arrogance if it’s true! But all right, Lan Zhan. I won’t crow about it. I’ll just enjoy it! And we get to nighthunt together for the rest of our lives!”

It is those words, as much as the arm that Wei Ying slings around his shoulder (his sudden nearness, the sweaty scent of him that should be disgusting and is instead—) that cause Lan Wangji to flinch back.

The rest of their lives. How is Lan Wangji supposed to withstand the onslaught that is Wei Ying’s nearness for the rest of his life?

—

Their wedding night. Wei Ying as heartbreakingly beautiful in his red undershirt and trousers as he had been in his full finery. When Lan Wangji emerged from behind the privacy screen, he was sitting cross-legged on the bed, removing the last pin from his hair and letting it fall to the ground as carelessly as he let his hair tumble down over his shoulders.

Lan Wangji had stopped, paralyzed at the sight of him. This boy who was now his husband. His husband who was now flopping back onto silk sheets that, in the lamplight, had faded from wedding bright to a sinful, sensual shade of red. He wondered, distantly, if he would ever remember how to breathe again.

Wei Ying had misinterpreted Lan Wangji’s sudden stillness. He shot upright, discomfort clear on his face. “Oh. Lan Zhan. We don’t have to—I mean—the marriage thing is really just for the alliance, it’s not—they don’t really expect us to—” His eyes kept darting to and away from Lan Wangji’s own, and his was fidgeting with the tassel on a pillow. “I mean—I don’t expect—I know you didn’t choose this,” he finished lamely, shrugging, his eyes asking Lan Wangji some indecipherable question.

You didn’t choose this either, Lan Wangji wanted to say. Neither of us chose this, but it is happening to both of us. But he couldn’t form the words.

Wei Ying’s laughter sounded forced. “Lan Zhan, relax!” The quicksilver way he went from laughter to seriousness made Lan Wangji’s head spin. “The bed is plenty big. I’ll stay over here. I wouldn’t ever—not ever. So don’t—don’t worry. Okay?”

Lan Wangji had forced himself to move forward, to lay in the darkness with Wei Ying’s scent in his lungs and the mattress shifting beneath him as Wei Ying tossed and turned, and those words ringing in his ears.

I wouldn’t.

Not ever.

Every morning, Lan Wangji wakes, burning, and hears the echo of those words.

—

Wei Ying lets him jerk away, and something close to hurt (shame?) flickers in his eyes before he laughs again, though the sound rings false now. “Ah, sorry, Lan Zhan. I forgot. You know how bad my memory is! I’ll work harder to remember, okay?”

—

Their first full day of marriage. Wei Ying back in black, Lan Wangji trying to accustom himself to the touches of purple and teal introduced into his white robes. Wei Ying had insisted on giving Lan Wangji a tour after breakfast with their families, a tour that was accompanied by so much talking, more words than Lan Wangji has ever heard in one place in his life. The torrent of words, the sunlight glaring off the water, the humidity pressing against his skin, it had all been so much.

And then Wei Ying grabbed his wrist to lead him on, and the warmth of Wei Ying’s grip, the roughness of his callouses against the smooth skin of Lan Wangji’s wrist—Lan Wangji ripped his hand out of Wei Ying’s.

Wei Ying turned back to him, blinking. “Lan Zhan?” His straightforward confusion demanded an answer.

“I don’t—like to touch,” Lan Wangji had choked out, and those words had felt false on his lips. And yet, they had to be true. They had always been true before. Short of childish comfort from his brother (and the persistent, throbbing memory of his mother), he had never wanted anyone to touch him. Of course this unruly boy’s touch would be repulsive. Of course that was why Lan Wangji pulled away.

(But even then, on their very first day, he had known he was lying to himself.)

Wei Ying’s eyebrows dipped down in concern, and he was so expressive that it was easy to see that he was struggling between the sting of rejection and the attempt to understand. It would be hard, Lan Wangji knew, for someone like Wei Ying—who, just this morning, had nudged his brother with his hip, dropped his head into his sister’s lap, dug his chin into his brother’s shoulder, swept his sister up into a hug—to understand.

But he smiled, gave Lan Wangji a salute and said, “This humble disciple will do his best to remember.”

—

“No touching,” Wei Ying mutters to himself. “No touching!” Then, brighter, louder, to Lan Wangji instead of himself: “I’ll remember better, Lan Zhan, I promise! Race you back?”

In the air, speeding back towards Lotus Pier, the words echo again in Lan Wangji’s head:

The rest of their lives.

They have taken only a few steps into Lotus Pier, the sun peeping up over the horizon and leaving a golden path across the colorless gloss of the lake, when Wei Ying stops abruptly. “Yu-furen is back,” he says, voice flat, but with a shiver of something underneath it.

Lan Wangji turns to him, confused. “How can you know?” She isn’t due to return for another two days. Lotus Pier is still, wrapped in sleep for a few more hours, the only motion the lapping of the water and the wind chimes stirring gently. There is no sign, anywhere, that Yu-furen has returned.

“Ah, Lan Zhan, don’t you know how skilled your husband is? I can tell. Let’s take the back way.”

But Lan Wangji needs some time alone before he can climb into bed beside his husband. Better not to be in the room while Wei Ying is bathing on the other side of the privacy screen. “I will meditate in the far pavilion.”

“Lan Zhan, we were up all night and you must be even more exhausted than I am! Ah, but you’ve got your stubborn face on, so I won’t argue with you. Make sure you take a bath when you come back in—I’ll be asleep already, I bet!”

But when Lan Wangji returns to their rooms several hours later, spiritually refreshed but physically exhausted, Wei Ying is not sprawled in the bed asleep as Lan Wangji expected to find him. His soiled clothes are in a careless pile by the privacy screen—the bed clothes are rumpled—he clearly laid down—but the rooms are empty.

A faint sense of unease creeps along Lan Wangji’s spine, but he can find no reason for it, so he bathes quickly—Wei Ying had left the tub full of clean water, warmed with a talisman—and climbs into bed, certain that Wei Ying, who loves sleep in a way that Lan Wangji cannot imagine enjoying a bodily drive, will join him shortly.

But when he wakes, there is no warm body beside him, nor anywhere else in the rooms.

He cannot find Wei Ying anywhere.

He knows most of the tucked-away corners of Lotus Pier now, the piers and pavilions, the boat houses and storage rooms. He searches them all, stomach churning with unease, and he knows that it is not his imagination that the mood of the place seems subdued. No—wary. Tense, perhaps. The usual shouts and laughter of the disciples, the singing and chatter of the servants…it is all dimmed to murmurs. When he passes a disciple or a servant, their gaze skitters away from his own in a way he finds unsettling.

Since his arrival at Lotus Pier, all of the servants and most of the disciples avoid looking directly at his face (“Ah, Lan Zhan, your beauty overwhelms them!”), which is not so different from Cloud Recesses or anywhere else he’s ever been. He knows he has an intense expression and that others find it unnerving. But this skittishness seems different. His awareness of it snarls together with his growing anxiety and settles as a morass in the pit of his stomach.

He avoids asking anything of the servants if at all possible—they are always so busy and he hates to add to their burdens—but finally he can stand it no longer, and when one of them looks away just a heartbeat too late, he finds himself saying, “Tell me. Where is my husband?”

The servant, who had already bowed when he saw Lan Wangji, bows again—more formality than Lan Wangji has seen the servants here show. “Lan-er-gongzi, I’m not sure…”

“Please.”

The servant cringes, rubs the back of his neck, sighs. “I believe both of the young masters might be with Jiang-guniang.”

Of course. The one place Lan Wangji has not looked are the family’s private chambers. Wei Ying is with his siblings.

“Thank you,” he says, trying to infuse the words with sincerity while hiding the relief he feels, but the servant is already gone with another bow.

He should accept this answer and go about his day. Wei Ying spends a great deal of time with his siblings, though usually in the public rooms of Lotus Pier or out on the water itself, swimming or in the small boats that all the Jiang sect are so adept at handling. It is none of Lan Wangji’s business if Wei Ying is with his shijie or Jiang Wanyin, and he has no right to encroach.

And yet…and yet…a tension hangs over Lotus Pier, thick and smothering as humidity, and he cannot keep his own feet from turning in the direction of Jiang-guniang’s rooms. He will not intrude, will not knock. But perhaps if he walks by the door, he will be able to hear Wei Ying’s laughter, and some of the tension will ease from his own shoulders.

But there is no sound from Jiang-guniang’s rooms, and the silence feels like a slap. Lan Wangji hesitates outside the door, fighting with his own urge to knock, then makes himself walk on. He loiters at the end of the terrace, though, staring blankly over the balustrade at a clump of slick lotus leaves bobbing on the water.

He should go back to his own rooms or to the library. Practice his sword forms or write a letter to Xiongzhang. There is no end of things he could be doing right now, instead of lurking on the covered walkway outside his sister-in-law’s room, which is inappropriate in itself. He has just convinced himself to walk on when he hears the door sliding open behind him. Something leaps inside him, and he spins around to meet the startled eyes of his brother-in-law.

“Lan-er-gongzi?” Jiang Wanyin jerks the door closed behind him, the surprise on his face turning to wariness.

The words tumble out without Lan Wangji’s permission. “Do you know where Wei Ying is?”

Jiang Wanyin shifts his eyes and then his shoulders, and Lan Wangji’s throat tightens.

“He’s with jiejie. Did you need something?”

The question sets Lan Wangji aback. Did he need something? The feeling in his gut screams, Yes!, he needs something very badly. But—

Jiang Wanyin’s discomfort is starting to take on an angry edge—typical of him, and yet more irritating than usual to Lan Wangji’s raw nerves. “Did you need something?” he repeats again, sharper this time.

“Is he all right?” It is a foolish question. Lan Wangji saw him only a few hours ago, and he was glowing with health and with the afterglow of battle. There is absolutely no reason to think—

Jiang Wanyin blinks, face blank before it hardens. “Why wouldn’t he be?”

The question is discomfiting, and Lan Wangji sets his jaw to hold back an irritated retort. Why must Jang Wanyin be so difficult?

He manages to keep his voice even. “We went on a nighthunt, earlier. If there was some aftereffect—”

“There wasn’t.”

“Then it would be a simple thing to tell me that he is well.”

The emotions flashing in Jiang Wanyin’s eyes are indecipherable. “Look, if you don’t need anything, just—go do whatever it is you do. Practice calligraphy or something.”

“Jiang-gongzi—”

Lan Wangji is prevented from saying something truly regrettable by a voice from the room. He and Jiang Wanyin both freeze. It’s too high to be Wei Ying’s voice. Jiang Wanyin slides the door open. “Jie—”

Lan Wangji can’t make out words in Jiang-guniang’s reply, though Jiang Wanyin’s “But Jie!” is clear enough. He is scowling when he turns back to Lan Wangji and takes a step away from the door, leaving it open.

“Well?” he snaps, jerking his head toward the open door. Lan Wangji needs no further invitation.

He has had no reason to enter Jiang-guniang’s rooms and never thought to have one. They smell fresh and sweet, different than the Jingshi when his mother lived there, but alike enough that something tightens in his chest. He notices nothing else about them, though, because his gaze snaps to the far side of the room.

Jiang-guniang is sitting on the edge of a divan, and Lan Wangji wouldn’t even notice her, except that draped over her lap is his husband. Wei Ying is lying on his stomach, stretched out the length of the divan, but his head and shoulders are in his shijie’s lap. He is topless, and Jiang-guniang’s hand is smoothing his hair, and Lan Wangji would be burning with furious jealousy except that—

except that Wei Ying’s bare shoulders and back are scored with livid red streaks.

“Wei Ying.” Lan Wangji’s body takes a half a step forward, jerks to a stop. Wei Ying.

Wei Ying lifts his head from Jiang-guniang’s lap and winces. Lan Wangji takes another aborted step forward, holds himself back. He wants to run across the room, drop to his knees beside his husband, take Wei Ying’s hand in his. Instead he stares, horror solidifying in his muscles.

“Ah, Lan Zhan.” Wei Ying’s voice is rougher, quieter than usual, and Lan Wangji hates it. “Don’t look like that. It’s not so bad.”

“What happened?” The question comes out strangled, but Lan Wangji doesn’t care.

“Nothing for you to worry about, Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying rasps. “I’ll be fine in a day or two. Why don’t you—”

“What happened?” He hears the sound of his own voice snapping through the room like a whip and—no. Surely not.

Jiang-guniang, who had been watching Lan Wangji closely, looks over his shoulder now, no doubt meeting her youngest brother’s eyes. Lan Wangji barely notices.

Wei Ying’s eyes, red and swollen, do something shifty. “It’s not—”

If he has to stand here and listen to Wei Ying tell him that isn’t a big deal while he's lying there, stripes of glistening red marring the golden skin of his back, face drawn and exhausted, Lan Wangji is going to scream. He has never screamed in his life, but he will scream now.

Something of this must show on his face, at least enough that Wei Ying, who is disconcertingly good at reading his expressions, is able to see it. He lapses into silence. It is a very thick silence, four people suspended in it like flies in amber.

Finally, Jiang-guniang says in her soft, sweet voice. “Lan-er-gongzi, I know you are concerned about A-Xian. But I will take care of him. Please, do not trouble yourself.”

Not trouble himself? With his husband lying here like that?

Wei Ying will not meet his gaze. Lan Wangji tamps down on his rage enough to demand, “Who did this to you?”

Wei Ying’s eyes dart to his, rest there a moment, then away. “Ah, Lan Zhan. It doesn’t matter.”

He is certain his fury must be clear on his face as he looks away from Wei Ying for the first time since entering the room, turning his focus to Jiang-guniang. She meets his eyes steadily, and he sees that hers are as red and swollen as Wei Ying’s. But she just shakes her head, a small, defeated motion. Lan Wangji spins around, and Jiang Wanyin flinches back from him, crossing his arms and averting his gaze.

They are not going to tell him. Even with the evidence screaming from Wei Ying’s back, they keep silent. Lan Wangji had thought that no one could be more accustomed to silence than he is himself, and yet right now it is…intolerable is not a strong enough word. Unendurable.

“Why?” he demands, turning back to Jiang-guniang. “What did he do, that she did this to him?”

He does not speak Yu-furen’s name, but Wei Ying and Jiang-guniang both wince; he suspects Jiang Wanyin does the same behind him. They do not answer.

“If you do not tell me, I will ask her myself.”

“No!” Three voices chorus together.

“Then tell me.”

After a standoff, Wei Ying sighs and flops down (no—normally, he would flop. Now he lowers himself carefully) into Jiang-guniang’s lap. Her hand comes up to rest on his head immediately, and this time, Lan Wangji is jealous.

“I just didn’t ask permission before we went nighthunting last night, that’s all,” Wei Ying says, and he sounds tired enough now that Lan Wangji feels a prick of guilt through his confusion. But he must know.

“You mean you were told not nighthunt and yet you did?”

Wei Ying’s eyes are closed now. “No.”

He tries a different angle. “Was the nighthunt to have been assigned to someone else?”

“No.”

“Fuqin would have had him do it anyway,” Jiang Wanyin mutters behind him.

“I do not understand,” Lan Wangji says.

Wei Ying had not disobeyed an order, nor had he gone on a nighthunt that should by rights have belonged to someone else. He had simply gone without informing someone. If Lan Wangji had done the same in Cloud Recesses, he would certainly have been punished, perhaps even beaten. But to be whipped with a spiritual weapon? This is so disproportionate to the crime that Lan Wangji cannot believe Jiang-zongzhu permits it.

But then he thinks of the way Jiang-zongzhu’s gaze goes glassy and distant whenever Yu-furen starts berating Wei Ying or Jiang Wanyin or needling Jiang-guniang, and he can believe it. It burns, acid hot in his throat. No mere disciple would be punished in this way, but Wei Ying, with his ambiguous status within the household, is the object of Yu-furen’s anger.

“What’s there to understand?” Jiang Wanyin snaps, pushing past Lan Wangji though there was plenty of room to go around him. He positions himself by the divan, arms crossed, glaring. “Why are you still here? Leave him alone and let him heal!”

“I also participated in the nighthunt. I should be punished, too.”

Wei Ying’s eyes fly open and he pushes himself up, grimacing in pain. “Lan Zhan, don’t you dare turn yourself in. Do not.”

“If Wei Ying has to bear punishment for this, I should as well.” It is only fair.

“Lan Zhan—”

Jiang-guniang interrupts. “Please, Lan-er-gongzi. Let this go. Muqin will have cooled down by now. There is no need to disturb her again. It would only…bring more unpleasantness for everyone.”

Lan Wangji looks from face to face to face. All three of them are red-eyed and weary-looking. There is no feeling of resistance in the room. Everyone in this room knows how unjust Yu-furen’s reaction was. And yet not even Wei Ying, so quick to speak, to act when anyone else is the subject of unfairness, seems…resigned. Yes. That is the word. They are all resigned.

It curdles in Lan Wangji’s stomach, the knowledge that this must be a common occurrence. He had known that things were not right in the Jiang family, but he had not known that they were like this.

“Wei Ying…”

“Just…forget about. Go back to whatever you were doing. Please, Lan Zhan.”

The please and the weariness in Wei Ying’s voice leave Lan Wangji deflated. “There is nothing I can do?”

His whole body aches with the need to do something. But Jiang-guniang just shakes her head. “I will take care of him. I…know what to do.”

Of course she does. This has happened before. How often, Lan Wangji could not begin to guess. But often enough that the Jiang siblings all closed rank immediately. They do not want him here.

They do not need him here. What could he do? He is only keeping Wei Ying from the rest he needs to heal.

Still, he hesitates. “If…” He cannot finish the sentence. This is a violation of one of the rules—the one that admonishes not to begin a sentence unless you know how you will finish it.

But Jiang-guniang seems to understand. “If there is anything you can do, I will send for you. Thank you, Lan-er-gongzi.”

The thank you, words offered to an outsider who has no true role in what is unfolding, stings. He pushes that aside, tries to think of something to say to Wei Ying. His mind is empty of words. He bows and turns to go.

At the door, he pauses and looks back. As he does, Wei Ying’s eyes flutter open and meet his for just a moment. Then they sink closed again.

Lan Wangji leaves.

When Lan Wangji left Cloud Recesses, he took a copy of the Righteousness with him. He takes it out of his chest now, sits down at the desk to grind his ink. If Wei Ying must endure punishment for going on an unassigned nighthunt, Lan Wangji will endure punishment as well.

He copies Conduct until his eyes start to blur. The maxims that speak of justice bite deep.

Uphold the value of justice.

Ensure that all punishments are proportionate to the offense.

Do not behave capriciously.

Do not take advantage of your position to oppress others.

Do not show favoritism when assigning discipline.

The injustice of it all sears through his veins as he does a handstand for an hour, as he kneels on cold stone with the bamboo rods balanced across his arms. It burns so much hotter than the strain of muscles.

But not as hot, not nearly, as the desire to go to Wei Ying. To banish Jiang-guniang and Jiang Wanyin from the room. To pull Wei Ying into his own lap. To smooth a poultice across his wounds, run his fingers through Wei Ying’s hair. Feel the warmth of him, the rise and fall of his body with each breath. To be the one to hold him.

He could never. He knows that. He is Wei Ying’s husband, but that is not his place.

Lan Wangji had been relieved beyond the telling to know he would not have to marry a woman. To be intimate with one would have been compulsory, even if it was intolerable. Heirs must be produced from such a union; that is what they are for. But this marriage, incapable of creating children, was forged only for the sake of an intersect alliance, and Lan Wangji knows what everyone expects of it. For Lan Wangji to be respectful of his husband and his in-laws, to live in Yunmeng as a living reminder of the bond between his sect and the Jiangs. That is all he owes Wei Ying. Unless Wei Ying asks for more, that is all he is allowed to give Wei Ying.

He knows this. But he cannot stop his own heart from crying out.

When night comes, he rises, ignoring the aching of his body. He bathes in cold water and eats a silent meal, the spice’s burn just another punishment he willingly takes on. He has to stop himself from going to Jiang-guniang’s room, from asking how Wei Ying is doing. That is not his place.

He falls asleep as easily as he always does, though he feels less than rested when he rises. And cold. Cold, without Wei Ying beside him.

He meditates. Copies Virtue. Does handstands and kneels with the rods. Throbs with the desire to go to Wei Ying. Reminds himself that he does not have that right, no matter how he longs for it.

Somewhere in the hours of kneeling, he drags his mind from rights he does not have back to responsibilities he does. Surely he has the responsibility to protect his husband. Surely no one, not even the most dour of the elders back in Cloud Recesses, would deny him that.

He failed to protect Wei Ying yesterday. He will not fail again.

On the evening of the third day, after Lan Wangji has washed the sweat of his punishment away, Wei Ying comes back to their rooms. He is walking stiffly and wearing only a single layer of silk, so thin Lan Wangji can see the bandages through it. He shoots to his feet and forces himself to stand still. If he tries to go to Wei Ying, to take his arm and help him to the bed, Wei Ying will only pull away, and he could not abide that now.

Still, it is hard to stand still.

“Hi, Lan Zhan.” There’s something in his voice, in his dimmer-than-usual grin that is edging past sheepish towards shame. It stings to hear it.

“Wei Ying.” He rummages around in his mind, trying to find acceptable words. “You are…improving?”

Wei Ying lets out a little laugh. “Sure am. I bet you missed me terribly, all alone in this room. Did you pine for your charming husband while he was gone? Did you languish in despair, Lan Zhan?”

Wei Ying phrases it more dramatically than Lan Wangji would, but the words are not incorrect. He cannot admit this to Wei Ying. “I occupied myself.” Wei Ying does not need to know how.

Wei Ying’s laugh this time is fuller than before; Lan Wangji’s heart lifts to hear it. “I bet you did.”

“May I draw you a bath?” He wants to do more than that—wants to be the one to clean and soothe Wei Ying’s body. But he restricts himself to what is appropriate to offer.

“No need. Jiang Cheng helped me before. He’s actually decent at it, believe it or not, as much as he whines and complains.” He makes his way over to the bed and flops down on his face—and this time, he does indeed flop. It is encouraging to see, even if he groans after he does it.

“Then may I play for you?”

Wei Ying lifts his head from the sheets. “Really?”

“I know several songs that expedite healing.”

“Huh. Well, far be it from this humble cultivator to refuse to be blessed by the skills of the Second Jade of Gusu.”

If Lan Wangji were the type to roll his eyes, he would then. Instead, he sits and takes out Wangji. Something settles in him as he tunes the instrument. All along, he has wanted to do something to help Wei Ying. This may be only a small thing, but it is something.

When he starts Healing, his fingers moving skillfully through the familiar notes, he looks up at the bed. Wei Ying is still lying on his stomach, his head turned to the side so that his cheek is pressed against the mattress. Something leaps inside Lan Wangji when he sees that Wei Ying is watching him, eyes bright and steady. He drops his own gaze, feeling his ears warm. Surely Wei Ying will not be able to see their flush across the room.

He sinks into the music, the sheer pleasure of drawing it out of the beautiful instrument, the memory of his mother—as always when he plays—glowing in his heart. Still, there is a small, vulnerable part of him that is all too aware of Wei Ying’s presence across the room. Of Wei Ying’s regard.

He plays every song he knows that spurs healing or good health, certain that at any moment, Wei Ying will grow impatient and interrupt. But he doesn’t.

When he has exhausted all others, he plays Healing one more time, allowing the final notes to resonate, then lays his hands upon the strings and looks up. Wei Ying’s eyes flutter open and the smile he gives him is so soft and sleepy that Lan Wangji feels it like pain.

But with a sigh, Wei Ying pushes himself up, propping up his torso and shifting his shoulders. His eyes go wide, all sleepiness vanishing. “Lan Zhan! That really helped! I feel better!”

Such simple words should not be able to stir such depths of pleasure. Lan Wangji drops his gaze as he puts his guqin away so that Wei Ying will not be able to see it in his face. “ I am glad.” The words are so pale, compared to how he feels.

“Lans really are something else!” Wei Ying pushes himself upright, only the slightest of stiffness in his shoulders as he sits himself cross-legged on the bed. “Say, do you have any books about the theory behind musical cultivation? It’s not something I’ve paid attention to before, but the way the sound interacts with qi is so interesting!”

He could not be more pleased that Wei Ying’s voracious mind has turned its appetites to something Lan Wangji knows well. “Mn. I will find them for you tomorrow.” And write to Xiongzhang to send copies of other texts. Wei Ying will bury himself in them, taking messy notes and shouting in exclamation when he has an idea, chattering about his theories when he eats the meals that Lan Wangji brings him when he forgets. Just the thought of it warms him.

“Good! Because I have a theory about the way the notes convey the cultivator’s power to—” A huge yawn interrupts him, and he gives Lan Wangji a mock-suspicious look. “Are you sure one of those songs wasn’t really a lullabye? It’s not even hai hour yet!”

“It is a known side effect. The body uses sleep to heal.”

Wei Ying pouts, that devastating moue that draws attention (as if further attention was needed) to his mouth. “I don’t want to sleep. I’ve been sleeping for three days. Shijie was practically drowning me in her special tea that knocks me out like a light. You’ve never seen anyone fuss so much!”

Lan Wangji is glad. Wei Ying should be fussed over. Ideally, Lan Wangji should be doing the fussing, but Jiang-guniang is an acceptable substitute. “The body uses sleep to heal,” he repeats. “The faster you heal, the quicker you can return to your duties.” And his pleasures. Wei Ying teaches the younger disciples well, is brilliant at nighthunts, excels in most of the responsibilities of the head disciple. But mixed in are always night swims with his brother, trips to the market, lolling about on the roof with liquor. These things had affronted Lan Wangji’s sensibilities at first. Now he exults when he sees Wei Ying enjoying them.

“Good Lan Zhan, always so dutiful. You’re very annoying when you’re right, you know that?” His red ribbon is hanging down over his shoulder, and he tugs at it, pulling it loose. Knowing what he will do next, Lan Wangji opens his mouth, but before he can stop him, Wei Ying reaches back to gather his hair again.

And goes gray. He had forgotten the pain, but it was merely lessened, not banished. He grimaces as Lan Wangji hurries over to him. Wei Ying waves him away, his color returning as he holds himself still.

“I just forgot and got careless, Lan Zhan. Don’t you start fussing too.”

That hurts, more than Lan Wangji would ever admit. But it doesn’t dim his desire to fuss. He is certain that if he does not do something for Wei Ying now, he will fly to pieces.

“I will comb your hair.”

The words pop out before Lan Wangji has even thought them. Wei Ying looks up at him, taken aback, and Lan Wangji braces himself for another rejection. He should not have spoken.

“Ah, Lan Zhan, you don’t have to do that. Everyone in Lotus Pier is used to my hair looking like a tangle of riverweed anyway.”

It is true that Wei Ying does not devote as much time to making himself presentable as a young master should. He has never seemed to care much about his hair before. But something about his expression makes the hope stir inside Lan Wangji that Wei Ying does want him to comb his hair. He picks up his own comb from the table. “It is no trouble.”

Wei Ying puts up a protest that Lan Wangji recognizes as token, but he doesn’t pull away as Lan Wangji settles behind on the bed. His hair is still damp from his bath, and as Lan Wangji begins on the ends, he reflects that is good that Wei Ying is allowing this; if he had not, his hair would have been in a horrible snarl come morning.

That is true, but not as true as this: it is good that Wei Ying is allowing this, because it is the most intimate thing Lan Wangji has experienced since his mother’s death. More intimate, even, than Wei Ying’s body against his in their bed. That is unconscious, something beyond both of their control. This, though—Wei Ying relaxing under his hands, the scent of his skin underneath that of his hair oil, the warmth of him just inches away…it is so much that Lan Wangji could weep with gratitude.

He doesn’t, Wei Ying’s prattling acting as a tether to remind him of his dignity, of how necessary it is to not show all he feels for Wei Ying. He sets the intimacy aside as best he can, focusing instead on the tactile pleasure of Wei Ying’s hair under his hands, Wei Ying’s voice going on and on.

“...I miss swimming, Lan Zhan. It’s been so hot the last few days, and every time I woke up, I was so sweaty I wanted to go jump in the lake, but Shijie says lakewater isn’t good for my back so she wouldn’t let me. Jiang Cheng said I would drown and he wouldn’t lug my body out the water. He’s so full of shit. I would never drown, Lan Zhan, I don’t think I could, but if I was in danger of it, he would jump in even in his best robes to save me. And then yell at me for an hour after saving my life! Do you think I’ll be well enough to swim tomorrow? Probably Shijie won’t let me for a few more days, but my skin gets thirsty, Lan Zhan, it really does. As soon as Shijie and the doctor say I can, I’m jumping in, and I’m dragging you in, too.”

“No need to drag.”

“Lan Zhan!” Wei Ying tries to twist around to see him, winces, and then lets Lan Wangji steer his head to the front again. “Will you really go swimming with me? Not just sticking your feet in? Do you even know how?”

“I do.” Swimming is only taught as a survival skill in Cloud Recesses; it is not done for pleasure. Though, he realizes on reflection, there is no rule against it. He has kept away from the water here out of discomfort with the idea of removing his layers. But it has been hot lately, and he is beginning to understand what Wei Ying means about skin being thirsty. And, he can admit to himself, the thought of being in the water with Wei Ying is appealing. Very appealing.

“Then it’s a plan! You can’t change your mind—you promised!”

Lan Wangji had done no such thing, but he accepts this. It would never do to disappoint Wei Ying.

“I will not change my mind.”

“Good! We’re going to have so much fun!”

Wei Ying has an abundance of thick hair, and he has clearly not had it combed while he’s been wounded. It takes a long time (a satisfyingly long time) for Lan Wangji to coax out every tangle, and by the time he can run the comb from the crown to the ends without encountering a snarl, Wei Ying’s stream of words has slowed to a trickle.

There is no need to continue combing, but Lan Wangji does not stop, losing himself in the rhythm, in the feel of Wei Ying’s hair in his hands. When Wei Ying finally lapses into silence, he speaks.

“Wei Ying.”

“Mm?”

He only has the courage to do this because Wei Ying is not looking at him. “I would ask a favor of you.”

Wei Ying’s posture goes from sleepy-soft to alert. “A favor? Of me? Lan Zhan, I’ve been bothering you for months to tell me what to do to make things more comfortable for you here. Are you finally going to tell me?”

In a way. “Please do whatever you can to keep from upsetting Yu-furen.”

There is silence for a long moment and then Wei Ying pulls away. Lan Wangji lets his hands fall to his lap as Wei Ying scoots around to face him.

It is a testament to Wei Ying’s weariness—or perhaps to the seriousness of Lan Wangji making a request—that he doesn’t try to turn this into a joke. “You don’t think I make her mad on purpose, do you?”

“No.” Of course not. Wei Ying is careless, can even be foolish, but not like that. “Next time you want to nighthunt, let us ask permission first.”

“Lan Zhan, that really was a fluke. I never would have done that if I’d known she would be back early.”

“I still do not understand. Why she reacted the way she did.”

Wei Ying makes a dismissive gesture, gaze avoiding Lan Wangji’s now. “She’s never happy when she has to come back here after being in Meishan. We’re all extra careful when she gets back.”

There is much to unpack there, and Lan Wangji knows he will spend a great deal of time doing just that. But for now, he says, “She was wrong. A punishment, yes. You did not show proper respect for the sect. But she should not have hurt you.” Not like that.

Color rises in Wei Ying’s cheeks. “Lan Zhan, it really isn’t—”

Lan Wangji breaks the rule against interrupting. “Please.”

Wei Ying blinks at him, no doubt surprised at the rule-breaking.

“Please do not say that it is not a big deal. It is. …Will you grant me this favor?”

Wei Ying holds his gaze for a moment, then gives a shallow nod. “Okay, Lan Zhan.” Then he forces a smile onto his face. “Ah, so serious! Why are you attacking me like this when I’m so tired I can’t even protect myself? Have pity on this wounded cultivator, Lan-er-gongzi.”

The moment has passed; he allows Wei Ying to chase it away. “We should sleep.” It is just after hai hour, he can tell.

Wei Ying acquiesces, but grumbles as they make their preparations. “I can’t believe I’m going to bed at hai hour, like some grandma. Like a Lan! You can’t tell anyone, Lan Zhan—my reputation will never recover.”

Lan Wangji ignores the teasing as he snuffs the lamps and turns down the bed coverings. “I will tell no one.”

“Of course you won’t. The rule against gossip, eh? Is that why you talk so little? You’re afraid something you say will be gossip?”

Lan Wangji doesn’t know why he says it. He wouldn’t say it to anyone other than Wei Ying. But: “I am afraid I will bore listeners,” he says, just a little bit pointedly.

Wei Ying gapes at him, then erupts into laughter. Oh. That is why he said it.

He luxuriates in the golden sound until Wei Ying grimaces and regains control. “Lan Zhan! You’re funny! Who knew you were so funny? And why are you proving it now, when it hurts my back to laugh this hard?”

“My apologies.”

“No! Never apologize about that! Tell me some more jokes tomorrow, okay?”

“Mn.”

Wei Ying climbs into bed, stretched out on his stomach again, and Lan Wangji slides in beside him, pulling only the lightest sheet up over them. Since the first night of their marriage, they have never retired to bed at the same time. He is not certain of the proper protocol.

But Wei Ying just says, “Goodnight, Lan Zhan. More jokes tomorrow, okay?”

“Goodnight, Wei Ying,” he says, the first time he has told his husband goodnight. He is certain his sleep will be more restful than it has the past few nights.

Except then something warm brushes against his hand. Lan Wangji’s heart leaps to his throat, thundering there as Wei Ying’s hand squeezes his once, tight, before letting go.

“Sorry,” Wei Ying’s tired voice comes a moment later. “I forgot. No touching.”

Around the pounding of his heart, Lan Wangji manages to whisper, “Touching is permitted.” For Wei Ying, and only Wei Ying.

But Wei Ying does not react. He must have slid into sleep already.

For the first time in many years, it takes Lan Wangji a long time to fall asleep.

Jiang-guniang looks surprised when Lan Wangji asks her to take tea with him in the far pavilion, but her face warms into a smile. She and Wei Ying look nothing alike, but there is something about her smile that is reminiscent of his. Lesser, of course, as the moon is less bright than the sun. But still pleasing.

“I would be honored,” she says, and Lan Wangji turns his thoughts to what he will say to her.

He has not sorted them fully by the appointed time, but he joins her with the tray, hoping that, uncharacteristically, they will come to him in the moment.

They settle down in the shade of his favorite pavilion, the one that juts out so far into the water that if you are looking away from Lotus Pier, you might think you were on an island far from land. It is always very peaceful here with just the sound of the wind in the reeds and the lake birds calling. Above their heads, a single strand of windchimes tinkles from time to time.

“I made something special,” Jiang-guniang says after he has poured their tea, removing the top from a basket to show him the small sesame cakes inside. “I know they’re a Gusu speciality. I’ve never made them before, so please don’t judge me if they are not as good as the ones at home.”

Lan Wangji has seen these cakes for sale in the Caiyi market, but he has never eaten them himself. Street food is not something the Lans indulge in, still less when it is sweet. But he is touched by Jiang-guniang’s thoughtfulness, her desire to bake him something familiar.

“It is delicious,” he says after trying a bite, gratified that this is true: not too sweet and baked to perfection. “Jiang-guniang is too kind.”

“Not at all! I’m just glad you like them. And Lan-er-gongzi, don’t you think you should call me Guzi now?”

Lan Wangji feels his ears heating at the warmth of the gesture. “I am honored,” he says, and then hesitates. There is no word for ‘younger brother’s husband,’ and to use the one for ‘younger sister’s husband’ would be awkward and inappropriate.

She rescues him, as he knows she has rescued her brothers many times before. “And I will call you Wangji, if that is all right.”

He nods. No one except Xiongzhang and Shufu and occasionally Nie-zongzhu call him that, but she is family now. She loves and cares for Wei Ying. She is kind. He will accept this. He will, perhaps, enjoy it.

For a time, they enjoy their tea and cakes without talking, which makes him appreciate Jiang-guniang—no, Guzi—more than ever. Not everyone is as comfortable with silence as Lan Wangji is. It is pleasant to sit with her in this beautiful spot before the worst heat of the day. Perhaps they could do this regularly.

When they have finished the last of the cakes, Guzi folds her hands in her lap and turns an expectant look on him. “You wished to speak to me about something, Wangji?”

He likes the way she says his name. She sounds…fond. Very few people have ever been fond of him. It flusters him, just a bit, but he likes it.

But it does not make it any easier to speak of things he knows have always been unspoken.

“Wei Ying’s punishment,” he says at last, glancing up at her. There is no surprise on her face. She had expected this, then. “Is it often so…severe?”

There is a tightness around her eyes that he has noticed at Jiang family dinners. He hates to be the cause of further distress for her, but he must know.

“Not often,” she says. “But it is not unknown.”

He had suspected as much. That does not lessen the pain of having it confirmed.

The words are so difficult to find. “And is there…nothing to be done?”

For one moment, grief and something sharper (anger?) flash across her face before she smooths them away. The tension is still there, but she gives him a little smile.

“Wangji,” she says, and hearing her speak his name casually in conversation is intimate in a way he had not expected. “You want to take care of A-Xian, don’t you?”

Is he so transparent? Her smile is very soft. She looks at her brothers like that sometimes. It is strange to have such a smile directed at him.

“It must be overwhelming for you. Not only to move to an unfamiliar place full of unfamiliar people, but to have a marriage where the expectations are so uncertain.”

It is gratifying, to hear someone else say so.

“You have done well here,” she says, reaching out to pat his hand. To his own surprise, he does not draw back. “The Jiang sect is proud to have such an excellent cultivator and good man join us.” Her smile widens as his ears heat. “And I am very glad to know that when I leave for Lanling, A-Xian will have someone else to take care of him.”

The little shock that zings through him at her words is not unpleasant. Neither is the yearning. (Yes. Let me take care of him.)

“A-Cheng tries his best, and A-Xian knows how much of his gruffness covers care, but it will be so good for him to have someone a little softer, too.”

Never once in his life has anyone called Lan Wangji soft. Inexplicably, it makes his chest ache.

“You’ll have figured out already that A-Xian isn’t comfortable with being cared for, for all he cares so much about others. He’ll try to laugh it off, wiggle away from it. Don’t let him. He wants to be taken care of, he just doesn’t think he deserves it.”

Yes. That is exactly what Lan Wangji has observed. It breaks his heart. No one has ever deserved care as much as Wei Ying.

She is watching him so closely, as though she can see through him as easily as through clear water. “I think perhaps you’re just exactly who A-Xian needs.”

In his lap, his hands are trembling. He forces them still, but he can’t meet Guzi’s too-kind eyes. To hear those words spoken aloud…it is too much. The breath he draws is ragged.

She lets him have his moment to recover before she speaks again, and when she does, her tone has shifted. “As to how to protect him…it’s difficult.”

His eyes fly up to hers. The pain he sees there is old, but no less acute for all that.

“If Wei Ying acts…more responsibly. If he completes the paperwork and always asks permission before going on a nighthunt—” These thoughts have occupied him for days now.

Guzi looks so, so tired. “Oh, Wangji. That wouldn’t change anything.”

“I do not understand.” Violating rules leads to punishment. Appropriate, respectful behavior leads to approval. This is the way the world has always worked for him. He is beginning to understand that this is not the way Lotus Pier works, and yet he cannot accept this. The rules are unwritten here, which he finds contemptible and unfair, but they must exist. If Lan Wangji applies himself to determining what they are and helping Wei Ying follow them, surely this will lead to less anger from Yu-furen.

But Guzi is shaking her head. “Even if he behaved perfectly, she would still hate him. The truth is, being who he is, I can’t see a way for A-Xian not to…draw her ire.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean….” She sighs, looking out over the stretch of lotus-studded water. “Perhaps if he had been a girl, she would have married him to A-Cheng and that would have been that.”

He is glad she is not looking at him, for he suspects he could not hide his distaste at those words.

“Or if his personality were less…vivid. If he was…more visibly grateful. No—that’s not the word.” She looks back at him now. “More—”

“Servile,” he offers. The flatness of his voice does not reflect the anger flaring in his chest.

Something in her eyes tells him she is wincing inwardly, but she acknowledges this with a tilt of her head. “Yes. But he is so talented in so many ways. A-Cheng’s talents are quieter.”

That is a mild way of putting it. “Wei Ying outshines him.”

“Yes,” she says, though he can tell it pains her to admit this. “Neither of us are the children she wished for, and A-Xian is a reminder of that, every day.”

This explains so much of what he has seen since coming here. Seen, but not understood. Yu-furen does not raise her voice or hand to Guzi, but he realizes now that that is an expression of disdain in itself. A formidable woman, a talented cultivator, she sees her own daughter as weak. She needles and nags Guzi, then dismisses or condescends to her. He has not seen her praise her daughter once since he arrived. All of Jiang-zongzhu’s showy affection surely cannot compensate for that.

As for Jiang Wanyin, Yu-furen fluctuates between coldly ignoring him and berating him for not being as skilled as Wei Wuxian. She does not whip him as far as Lan Wangji knows, but he has seen her backhand him as one does a servant. Lan Wangji has learned to leave the room quickly when she turns her attention to her son; no one deserves to have witnesses to the sorts of things she says, and they are uncomfortable for Lan Wangji to hear. Jiang-zongzhu’s silence, the way he turns away from his own son, must have told Jiang Wanyin since childhood that he agrees with Yu-furen’s assessment.

Lan Wangji does not find Jiang Wanyin likable, cannot see in him what it is that makes Wei Ying and Guzi adore him. But even so, he knows that no one deserves what Jiang Wanyin has endured, especially not from their own parents.

“And it just makes it all worse, that A-Xian is his mother’s son.”

Even Lan Wangji has heard the rumors. But surely… “She believes what they say?” His voice comes out sharper than he means it to.

Guzi drops her eyes to her lap. “I think she knows in her heart that the rumors are untrue. But it doesn’t matter. She hates A-Xian’s mother. And by all accounts, he is so very like her. And a better cultivator than either A-Cheng or myself. He tries to downplay this, when he remembers to. He lets A-Cheng win sometimes, or doesn’t report his own successes when he could. It is sweet, but it changes nothing.”

He hates the idea of Wei Wuxian making himself less for any reason. It will be difficult not to resent Jiang Wanyin for this, but knowing what he does now, Lan Wangji will work to keep his anger focused on its correct objects. Yu-furen. And Jiang-zongzhu no less. His complacency, his weakness is as detestable as Yu-furen’s cruelty.

And yet, what can Lan Wangji do about this? Jiang-zongzhu is the head of the sect, and Yu-furen is an elder and a mighty cultivator. By every rule written on the Wall of Discipline and on his own bones, he owes them respect.

But written just as surely are the precepts that had snagged in his mind as he copied them just days before—the ones about justice. The ones that Yu-furen and Jiang-zongzhu are not following. Those rules are just as important.

Never in his experience have the principles clashed in such a way. He had known they were a matter of balance, but he had not anticipated this kind of conflict. He is boiling with fury at the very thought of Yu-furen harming Wei Ying again. And yet, if it happens—and he is certain that eventually it will—what can he do about it?

He is jerked from the maelstrom of his thoughts by Guzi’s hand on his. This time, she doesn’t pat, but takes his hand in her small one. He looks up at her, startled. Her smile is so, so sad.

“There are things we must live with,” she says, and he can see how much the words cost her. “We endure them, and in between, we love each other as much as we can. The love doesn’t stop the pain. But it makes it worth enduring.”

The words would be trite, if it weren’t for the sincerity of her voice; he knows that she must have fought hard to cling to them. And yet something inside him cries that they are insufficient. That he will find another way.

“Thank you, Wangji.”

He startles at the words, at the tears in her eyes and voice. He can think of nothing he has done that deserves gratitude.

“I can’t tell you what it means to me, to know you’ll be here after I’m gone. Jiang Cheng has someone to look after him—A-Xian will do anything for him. But I was so worried about who would look after A-Xian. I know we don’t know each other well yet, but I believe you will be that person. And I am so grateful.”

Her words are gracious, but they do not douse the fire within him.

It is not enough.

It is not enough.

But another solution does not present itself to Lan Wangji as the weeks pass. He is grateful that it is not yet necessary, even as the threat looms. Wei Ying is disciplined any number of times for small infractions; some of the punishments are called for, others less so, and though every small unfairness to Wei Ying makes anger flare in Lan Wangji’s chest, Wei Ying shakes off the maltreatment easily. Lan Wangji knows it would be awkward to bring them up, that Wei Ying wouldn’t want him to, and so he bites his tongue. The time will come, he knows with grim certainty, when he will have to speak. But he still does not know what he will say.

The moment arrives like a lightning strike. Lan Wangji is writing a letter to Xiongzhang in the far pavilion when one of the servants approaches. He sets aside his brush as the girl dips a bow, suddenly chilled despite the heat of the day. It is not unusual for servants to avoid his eyes, but the girl’s flushed face is tense. Troubled.

“Lan-er-gongzi,” she says, breathless, and he realizes she must have run here. Alarmed, he shoots to his feet, grabbing Bichen. “Jiang-guniang requests your presence in Sword Hall immediately.”

Immediately. Guzi would never phrase it so strongly if the situation were not dire. This is it, he thinks.

He is not ready.

But he thanks the girl and rushes towards Sword Hall with all the skill of hurried walking he learned at home. He does not run, not out of obedience to the Lan rules but because he does not want to alarm anyone he passes.

But he passes no one. The usually-busy paths and piers of Lotus Pier are as empty as they would be in the middle of the night, and this only thickens the dread in his gut.

He skids to a stop outside Sword Hall. Guzi, apron-clad and pale, stands at the door, peeking through the stylized openings, wringing the towel in her hands. She flinches at the sound of her mother’s voice cutting through the closed door.

“Arrogant, ungrateful boy! You think you own this place, don’t you? But it will never belong to the son of a servant!”

Sickness and anger war within Lan Wangji. He takes another step towards the door, reaching out to pull it open.

Guzi’s hand catches his arm, alarmed, but he pulls it away.

“Why are you not inside? Where is Jiang Wanyin?”

He knows how much Wei Ying would hate to know he has turned even this small bit of anger on his beloved shijie, but Lan Wangji can’t help it. Why is she here, hesitating outside, instead of in there, trying to stop her mother from lashing out?

If he had room for guilt, he would feel it at the burst of pain on Guzi’s face, but she just shakes her head. “We can do no good. It only makes her angrier when either of us defend him.”

That is no excuse! he wants to snap, but he does not. “What happened?” he grits out instead. Does he have time to hear the answer? Yu-furen is still yelling, but he has not heard a sound of physical altercation yet, and context can be crucial.

“Muqin brought some baijiu back from Meishan. She always does—our grandmother sends it. But this time, one of the jugs was the highest quality, very rare. Muqin was going to give it to Jin-furen, but she didn’t tell us that. By the time she mentioned it, the boys had drunk it. I wrote to our grandmother, telling her to send more—we were going to replace it, Muqin wouldn’t even notice. It should arrive any day. But Muqin went to check on it today and found it gone….”

He had not thought he could be angrier. “Jiang Wanyin drank it as well!”

“I know. But Wei Ying told her it was only him.”

In that moment, he hates Jiang Wanyin. “Why?”

“He is his brother,” Guzi says simply.

Before coming to Lotus Pier, that explanation would have been absurd to Lan Wangji. Even now, he struggles to accept it.

The Twin Jades of Gusu are famous throughout the cultivation world not only for their beauty, integrity, and skill, but also for their unusual closeness. His strongest memories of the time after his mother’s death are of sneaking into Xiongzhang’s bed at night—the only time in his life Wangji has ever sneaked—and curling into Xiongzhang’s warmth while fighting down tears. They rarely speak about their mother, but it had helped, knowing that his brother was mourning too.

That had knit them together, the grief of loss, as well as the sting of their father’s disregard, the desire to meet their uncle’s standards, their mutual commitment to the rules the Gusu Lan live by. They share blood, memories, formative grief, experiences, values, goals. Though dissimilar in temperment, they are alike in all the ways that count. Xiongzhang is the only person Wangji has ever believed actually knows him. Before coming to Lotus Pier, he had believed that he and his brother were as close as any siblings could be.

Wangji had not recognized the closeness between Wei Ying and his siblings at first because he was distracted by the emotional upheaval of the wedding and the move, but also because their relationship is of a kind that is more foreign to Wangji than the spiced food of Yunmeng was to his palate. The teasing is so overt, so different from the subtle way Xiongzhang sometimes baits him. Wei Ying and Jiang Wanyin argue all the time, calling each other names, shoving and pulling each other into headlocks, taunting and bickering. At first, he had been sure they actually hated each other, except that Guzi always looks at them so fondly—so happily—when they carry on like alley cats. Slowly, it had dawned on him that this rough-and-tumble play was their way of showing affection, no matter how preposterous that seems.

The way the boys treat their sister, the way she treats them in return, is much more recognizable as tenderness, even if the silly, childish way they often talk to each other is not something Lan Wangji can imagine himself participating in. He had been appalled the first time he overheard Wei Ying pretending to be a little child and Guzi playing along. And yet, they seem to enjoy it so much. That piece of the puzzle that is the siblings’ relationship had been easier to accept.

He hadn’t even realized there was another piece right in front of him at first. But as he grew accustomed to life in Lotus Pier, he began to see it everywhere, the way they intervene for each other.

When Yu-furen begins to criticize Guzi, sighing over her weak cultivation or hectoring her about the time she spends in the kitchen, Jiang Wanyin interrupts as soon as he can to ask about trade with the Ouyang sect or how best to train the disciples. When Jiang-zongzhu praises Wei Ying too much and Jiang Wanyin’s face goes tight and pale, Wei Ying says something outrageous to distract everyone and derail the conversation. When Yu-furen begins to pick at Wei Ying at dinner in a way that says she is ratcheting up to berate him, Guzi steers the discussion to something innocuous. It doesn’t always work—sometimes Yu-furen cannot be stopped, sometimes Jiang Wanyin rushes from his father’s side with a miserable anger in his eyes and lashes out at Wei Ying when he tries to offer comfort. But they keep trying.

He has watched them do it, over and over, every day of their lives. He has seen the exhaustion in their eyes whenever they are in their parents’ presence. He is beginning to have some idea of the weight they carry.

And he is beginning to understand that this is how they care for each other—forever throwing themselves in the path of anger or criticism or neglect. They rarely hesitate, and when they do, as now with Guzi not daring to enter the room, it is because they fear to make the situation worse.

It has helped them survive, he can see that clearly. But it is a capitulation, one that ensures that the pattern of pain and rage will only continue. The rhythm of it is so deeply ingrained in life at Lotus Pier that he is certain none of them can imagine it any other way. They accept it.

But Lan Wangji cannot. Not when it goes this far. Not when he hears Yu-furen shout, “Kneel, you impudent child!” followed by the unmistakable sound of a slap.

Propelled by fury, he jerks the door open just as Zidian’s crack fills the air and Wei Ying cries out, the force of the blow driving him from his knees to fall to the floor. Lan Wangji curses himself for not entering sooner; in the time it takes him to cross the room, Yu-furen strikes again.

But not a third time.

Lan Wangji throws himself between his husband and Yu-furen just as she raises her hand once more. She pulls back just in time to keep from striking him.

“You!” Her fury, perhaps, is as hot as his own. He does not care, not with Wei Ying sprawled out on the ground behind him.

He is so angry that it is difficult to get out the words. “You will not,” he says, and his voice somehow comes out so flat and emotionless that he doesn’t recognize it, “touch my husband again.”

Yu-furen blinks and then fury leaps up like flames in her eyes. “How dare you talk to your mother-in-law like that, you rude little boy.”

“You are Wei Ying’s mother?”

The twist of Yu-furen’s face is horrible to behold. “At any rate, I am the mistress of the place you are living and your elder.”

It is a compelling argument, one that tugs at all of his training and his innate respect for his elders. But Wei Ying gasps, “Lan Zhan!” and the rough pain in his voice overwhelms anything else. He feels Wei Ying tugging at the bottom of his robes, but he continues to hold Yu-furen’s gaze.

“Injustice is injustice no matter who commits it. Do not disrespect the younger,” he quotes from his own sect’s rules.

She gapes at him. Not waiting for her response, he bends, wanting to lift Wei Ying in his arms and hold him close. But Wei Ying would not want that, so instead, he helps his husband upright, heart keening at the sight of Wei Ying’s face, his desperate eyes. Wei Ying lets him ease his arm over Lan Wangji’s shoulder, lets Lan Wangji bring his own arm to his lower back for support, careful to avoid the two whip wounds.

“You dare to question me like this?” Yu-furen demands, recovering herself. When Lan Wangji meets her eyes again, she is staring at him with a kind of hatred he has only previously seen her aim at Wei Ying. “I will write to Lan-xiansheng and Lan-zongzhu immediately and—”

“Do,” Lan Wangji interrupts, shredding another rule. “I will write as well. Wei Ying did nothing wrong. Jiang Wanyin—”

But Wei Ying makes a small sound, and when Lan Wangji looks at him, his eyes are wide with panic, his expression pleading. Lan Wangji cuts himself off. The injustice of the unspoken words clot bitter in his mouth. He swallows hard, then begins again. “This punishment is disproportionate.”

“Lan Zhan—” Wei Ying’s voice is so small.

“It is not your place to decide that!”

“It is my place to protect my husband from cruelty,” he says. “From blatant injustice. I will not stand by when someone treats him like a dog.” He shifts his hold on Wei Ying slightly, and Wei Ying lets out a breathless sound of pain. Lan Wangji would burn cities to the ground to ensure that Wei Ying never sounds like that again. “If you ever use Zidian on my husband again, I will take him and return to Cloud Recesses. And when my brother and uncle ask me why I have returned, I will tell them.”

He does not wait for her reply. As gently as he can, he turns, helping Wei Ying along with him. Wei Ying is panting hard, little puffs of air that strike the side of Lan Wangji’s neck like blows. Wei Ying winces with each step they take, but he makes no other noise, swallowing down his pain.

Guzi is standing just within the doorway, tears streaming down her face. When they reach her, she slips under Wei Ying’s other arm, taking some of his weight.

Behind them, Yu-furen is silent.

They half-carry Wei Ying back to Guzi’s room. Lan Wangji wanted to take him to their own rooms, but Guzi whispered, “I have the things to take care of him in mine.” They are the only words spoken until they lower Wei Ying down onto Guzi’s bed.

Guzi immediately flies away to start gathering supplies, and Lan Wangji reaches down and rips Wei Ying’s robes down the middle, baring the livid red marks of his back. They bisect earlier scars in a way that makes Lan Wangji want to weep.

“This isn’t exactly how I pictured you ripping my clothes off,” Wei Ying gasps, and in any other circumstances the words would set alight something very different in Lan Wangji. But now desperation is rising like a tide, washing away the anger. He is trembling, he realizes as he kneels by the bed.

“Wei Ying—”

Wincing, Wei Ying turns his head so he can look up at him. “Ah, Lan Zhan. You shouldn’t have done that.”

Indignant, Lan Wangji snaps, “I should have done it earlier.”

Guzi kneels on the other side of the bed, bowl of water and towel in hand. Wei Ying opens his mouth again, no doubt to argue, but he gasps at Guzi’s first touch, and without thought, Lan Wangji grabs his hand. It closes around his. “Your rules, Lan Zhan,” he manages through grit teeth. “Respecting your elders and all that—”

“Cruelty cannot be respected.” It’s so clear to him now: if principles are in conflict, one must trump another. And it is obvious, in this instance, which should prevail.

Wei Ying’s laugh is small, more a gasp. “So righteous. But Lan Zhan, she liked you before. Or—well, I’m not sure she likes anyone, but she thought you were great. So quiet and respectful. She’ll hate you now. She’ll do anything she can to make your life miserable.”

“I do not care.” He would be far more miserable if he had to watch Wei Ying suffer like this again. But he will not, he vows to himself. That woman will never lay a hand on Wei Ying again while Lan Wangji draws breath.

“Here’s the poultice,” Guzi murmurs. “It will sting.”

“I know,” Wei Ying says. “Just do it.”

“Wait.”

Guzi and Wei Ying both stare at him, but he has to hold Wei Ying. He has to. He stands, lifting Wei Ying’s shoulders up, sitting down on the bed right beside him and lowering Wei Ying down into his lap, the way he had been laying in Guzi’s those weeks ago.

“Lan Zhan?”

He ignores the disbelief in Wei Ying’s voice and takes Wei Ying’s hand, his other falling to rest on Wei Ying’s head. Then he nods permission to Guzi.

Wei Ying crushes Lan Wangji’s hand as Guzi works, but he somehow swallows his moans, breathing hard through his nose. She works quickly, efficiently, and her hands are steady even though her cheeks are still wet with tears. The bandages come next, and when she finishes, Wei Ying lies panting and exhausted in Lan Wangji’s lap, his hand going limp in his grasp.

“I’ll make you some tea,” Guzi says, cleaning up the supplies.

And Lan Wangji will get up in just a moment and play Healing. He will play it all night, if need be. But not yet. For the moment, he keeps holding Wei Ying’s hand, running his fingers through Wei Ying’s sweat-slick hair.

“You’re being awfully nice to me, Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying murmurs, a question in his exhausted eyes when he cranes his neck to look up at Lan Wangji.

Before he can answer, the door flies open. Jiang Wanyin is standing there, wet hair dripping over the shoulders of his messily-tied robes. “Again?” he demands, staring at Wei Ying’s back.

Resentment potent as pain boils in Lan Wangji’s gut. This boy had been out swimming while Wei Ying was being punished for a crime that was equally his?

“How many?” Jiang Wanyin barks, slamming the door shut behind him.

“Just two,” Guzi hurriedly answers. “He’ll be up in a day or two.”

A bit of the tension in Jiang Wanyin’s shoulders eases, but his eyes narrow as he looks at Lan Wangji. “What are you doing here?”

That he should ask that when this is his fault! Lan Wangji tenses, and Wei Ying must feel it, because he grabs a handful of his robes.

But it’s Guzi who answers, crossing to her youngest brother. “He is Wei Ying’s husband, A-Cheng,” she says, voice soft but admonishing.

Jiang Wanyin scowls, clearly displeased with the answer. “What did the idiot do this time?”

Lan Wangji knows that Jiang Wanyin covers his vulnerable feelings of concern with harsh words. He knows this. He has watched him do it time and again, and both Wei Ying and Guzi have explained it to him. But at this moment it is unbearable.

His own voice cracks like a whip. “He took a punishment that should have been shared by you!”

Jiang Wanyin goes very pale, mouth dropping open. He suddenly looks very young. It doesn’t cool Lan Wangji’s ire. Nor does Wei Ying tugging on his robes. “Lan Zhan!” he hisses.

Jiang Wanyin takes a few staggering steps towards the bed and sinks to his knees beside Wei Ying. Lan Wangji wants to kick him away, but in a show of great restraint, he manages not to.

“Wei Wuxian….” Jiang Wanyin swallows, eyes glassy.

“Ah, don’t look like that, Jiang Cheng.” Though it must hurt him, Wei Ying reaches out and swipes a tear off of Jiang Wanyin’s face with his thumb. “You heard Shijie—I’ll be up and about in no time.”

“But why?” Jiang Wanyin demands, then blanches. “The baijiu?”

“It doesn’t matter,” Wei Ying says.

“Of course it matters!” Jiang Wanyin yells, voicing the cry of Lan Wanjig’s heart. “Why the fuck didn’t you tell her I drank it with you?”

“Ah, Shidi,” Wei Ying says, tugging a lock of Jiang Wanyin’s hair before his hand falls to the bed. But he offers no explanation, and Lan Wangji is still angry.

“You should have turned yourself in for punishment when you found out it was special,” he says to Jiang Wanyin. “Your cowardice led to this.”

Jiang Wanyin jerks back as if Lan Wangji had struck him, even as Wei Ying and Guzi both cry out, “No!”

“Yes,” Lan Wangji says, indifferent.

“Lan Zhan, you don’t understand!”

“We all talked about it, Wangji,” Guzi says, voice urgent. “He was going to tell Fuqin, but we told him not to. We really thought we could replace it before she knew it was gone.”

“There was no need for her to be angry at both of us,” Wei Ying says. “I would do it again.”

Jiang Wanyin is crying fully now, shoulders bobbing with his sobs. “Shixiong…”

Wei Ying’s voice is so gentle. “You’re my shidi. I would do it again.”

Of course he would. This is who Wei Ying is. All of the siblings try to help each other, but none is so quick to sacrifice himself as Wei Ying. Lan Wangji aches.

Wei Ying reaches out again, but this time he moans, hand dropping to the floor, and Lan Wangj’s heart clenches.

“He must rest now!” Guzi says quickly. “A-Cheng, you and Wangji go on and get back to your duties. I’ll make him some tea and he’ll sleep.”

“Not more tea, Shijie.”

“Yes more tea. Go on,” she says, nudging Jiang Wanyin towards the door. Then she turns to tug on Lan Wangji’s arm, but he pulls back.

“No. I will play for Wei Ying. A healing song.”

Her face softens. “All right. That would be lovely. Thank you, Wangji.”

Jiang Wanyin is still protesting as Guzi pushes him out the door, but Lan Wangji ignores him, lifting up Wei Ying from his lap and laying him back down as carefully as possible. He can’t stop himself from briefly resting his hand on Wei Ying’s head. When Wei Ying looks up at him, eyes questioning, Lan Wangji turns away and pulls out his guqin.

Over the next two days, Lan Wangji plays until his fingers go numb and Guzi banishes him from the room.

“You’ll exhaust yourself, Wangji,” she says. “Go and rest, and then you can try again.”

He sleeps, of course he does, but worry can be as wearying as lack of rest. Guzi assures him that there is no cause for anxiety—the wounds this time are less serious than the last time, they are healing well, and Wei Ying will be up soon. But Lan Wangji can’t stop himself from worrying.

Or…perhaps it is guilt, not worry. Guilt that he let it happen again. Yes, he had put a stop to it, but Wei Ying is still in pain.

And then there is the matter of the question in Wei Ying’s eyes whenever he looks up at him, the furrow in his brow as he watches him play Healing. They will have to speak, once Wei Ying is well, and Lan Wangji does not know what he will say. He never seems to know what to say these days.

He has not spoken to Yu-furen either. She storms through Lotus Pier, glaring at Lan Wangji whenever she sees him before turning away as if he isn’t there at all. That is fine with him. There is nothing she can say that will set this right, not after so many years.

A few times, he finds Jiang-zongzhu looking at him with troubled eyes, and once he stops Lan Wangji to speak to him. Lan Wangji waits, wondering how he could possibly justify himself, but he merely asks if Wei Ying is feeling better, as he might ask after a servant with a cold. This man saved Wei Ying from the streets, Lan Wangji reminds himself. He at least did that. For Wei Ying’s sake, he tries to keep his voice even when he answers shortly, but he suspects his disdain shows in his eyes.

He feels less need to keep his anger from Jiang Wanyin, and they are even colder and stiffer around each other than usual. Guzi looks troubled, and on the second night, after Lan Wangji finishes playing Wei Ying to sleep, she speaks as he packs his guqin.

“I wish you would be a little easier on A-Cheng,” she says, voice pitched low so as not to wake Wei Ying. “Yes, A-Xian took his punishment, but A-Cheng has done the same thing for him. We all have. It’s just…the way things are. The way they’ve always been.”

Guzi had spoken of endurance, but how can they endure it? “Someone should have spoken for you,” he says, knowing how foolish he sounds but unable to stop himself.

“Who was there to speak?” she asks gently. “There was no one.”

“You should not have had to live this way,” he insists stubbornly, knowing that she knows but needing to say it anyway.

“We were children, Wangji.”

Yes. They had been children, and of course there was nothing they could do besides endure and love each other, as she had once told him. But… “You are not children now.” It should be different now, shouldn’t it?

But her eyes are resigned as she pats his hand. “With them, we will always be children.”

He does not think he has ever heard anything so sad.

He thinks about it a great deal when he isn’t with Wei Ying. Soon, Guzi will marry and go to Lanling, and hopefully her husband will protect her from the very different dangers of Koi Tower. He doesn’t think that Yu-furen will try to physically harm Wei Ying again, and he knows that if she tries to hurt Jiang Wanyin, Wei Ying will step in. In all likelihood, there will be no further beatings and whippings. But the words—and the just-as-destructive silences—will continue for as long as Yu-furen lives. Lan Wangji does not know how they can carry on like this. He longs to take Wei Ying far away.

There is color in Wei Ying’s cheeks when he returns to their rooms, and he is not walking as stiffly as he had last time. He doesn’t tease Lan Wangji about missing him or put voice to any of the questions that still shine in his eyes.

But the next afternoon, he finds Lan Wangji in the far pavilion.

It is the hottest part of the afternoon, and there is no one about, everyone else napping or working at simple tasks indoors. The air is swollen with the last wet heat of summer and a breeze only brushes by now and then. It feels like they are the only people in the world, and suddenly he wishes they were.

“There you are,” Wei Ying says, dropping down on the bench beside him. “I searched high and low for you, Lan Zhan. In the oven and under the beds and up in the rafters.”

It’s his usual brand of silliness. Lan Wangji wishes he knew how to play along.

But Wei Ying never seems disappointed that he doesn’t. He just grins and nudges him. “Look at you! So handsome all in purple! Well, purple-y-blue-y-grey, anyway. I told you you’d come to be glad of Yunmeng-style robes.”

It’s true; he had felt scandalously underdressed when he first began wearing them, but his customary six layers have become untenable in the heat. He doesn’t know how Wei Ying can stand to wear black.

“They are more comfortable in the heat,” he acknowledges, purely for the pleasure of Wei Ying’s surprise at Lan Wangji admitting he was right. Wei Ying grins widely.

“I know! I kind of miss your big swishy sleeves, though. When you pour tea with those, you make it look like art, Lan Zhan! It makes me want to paint you!”

He never knows how to reply to these excessive compliments, so he does not.

But Wei Ying is undaunted, his eyes lighting up with an idea. “Speaking of the heat! You still haven’t kept your promise, Lan Zhan!”

Lan Wangji wracks his brain, trying to figure out what Wei Ying is alluding to. Surely he had not made a promise he has not kept?

Ah. The swim. In all the confusion of life at Lotus Pier, it had slipped his mind. He stands. “We will go now.”

Wei Ying goggles at him. “Really?”

Part of him is still reluctant, and an even larger part is terrified of what his body might reveal in the water. But he had made a promise. It must be fulfilled. “Mn.”

He has never seen Wei Ying’s grin so wide, and his chest tightens; his ears heat when Wei Ying grabs his hand and drags him down the pier.

“Well, come on!”

Despite the fact that Lotus Pier is surrounded on three sides by water, it apparently will not do for them just to jump in. “We’ve got to go to my very favorite spot, Lan Zhan! It’s a secret—Shijie and Jiang Cheng and I don’t take anyone else there, so you should feel special!”

He does, even though it seems unnecessary to take out a small boat and paddle over a li upstream. Especially when Wei Ying steers the boat directly at a wall made by the trailing branches of a group of willows that have grown over a side stream. Wei Ying laughs at Lan Wangji’s startled face, reaching out a lazy arm to hold some of the branches aside. The leaves still brush Lan Wangji’s face and scrape against his hair as the boat slides under them, but once they’re past, he forgets his annoyance.

The stream feeds into a stretch of water smaller than a lake but larger than a pond, truly the perfect size for a frolic. It is surrounded on all sides by forest with trees that grow down right to the water’s edge. With the trees reaching towards the blue dome of the sky, it feels like being snug in a bowl of peaceful, lotus-dappled water. The quiet, the privacy…it is a delightful place. No wonder it is Wei Ying’s favorite.

“You like it!” Wei Ying shouts with joy. “I can tell by your face! You went like this!” He holds his face very still in a way that Lan Wangji finds disconcerting, then lets his bottom lip go soft and his mouth fall open just a bit. It draws attention to his mouth, which, were it intentional, would be cruel. Thankfully, the expression shatters and Wei Ying plunges his paddle back into the water. “Come on!”

They head towards a pile of boulders that juts from the water near the center of the cove. A bare branch, worn smooth by the elements and wedged between two boulders, extends out over the water, providing a perfect place to tie the boat. Wei Ying clambers out of the boat and up over a ridge of rock; Lan Wangji follows and finds himself on a flatish stretch of rock a bit larger than their bed.

Wei Ying is already shedding his robes, stripping down to his trousers. “When we come without Shijie, Jiang Cheng and I mostly swim naked here, but I won’t subject you to that, Lan Zhan. Though it sure would be funny to see your horrified face!”

Lan Wangji is desperately grateful that Wei Ying keeps his trousers on; he is distracted enough by the golden expanse of Wei Ying’s shoulders narrowing down to his slender waist. Only the sight of the still-pink scars help Lan Wangji keep his feelings under control. Wei Ying had healed more quickly this time, and the way he shifts his shoulders to loosen them reveals little pain. He tosses a devastating grin back to Lan Wangji and then dives in in a display of skill that brings heat to Lan Wangji’s cheeks.

He busies himself folding the robes Wei Ying had discarded, but he can’t stop himself from looking up when Wei Ying surfaces, neck arched, and then flips wet hair out of his smiling face. Out of all the young men in the cultivation world, how did he come to be married to the most beautiful one? “Hurry up, Lan Zhan! You said I wouldn’t have to drag you!”

“Mn. You will not,” he says, removing his guan—and the willow leaf accompanying it—and plaiting his hair quickly so that it will not tangle in the water. Then, steeling himself, he begins to unrobe, folding each layer, moving without thought, not allowing himself to hesitate. When he turns back to Wei Ying after folding the last layer, Wei Ying looks away quickly. His cheeks are flushed. Lan Wangji does not allow himself to think about this.

Feeling far from comfortable, he dives in. The water closes around him, cool and silky, and it is a shock, but a pleasant one. His skin seems to drink it in, and he remembers what Wei Ying said about skin being thirsty.

When he breaks back into the hot air, Wei Ying is only a few chi away. “Lan Zhan! You really just jumped in! I really didn’t have to drag you!”

“I keep my promises,” Lan Wangji says.

“I know,” Wei Ying says, strangely serious for a heartbeat, and then he kicks out, all lightness again. “Okay, then, let’s see what you can do. Race you to that tree!”

And with a shout of laughter, Wei Ying is off, slicing through the water. Lan Wangji is not used to this kind of play, but a race is straightforward enough, so he follows.

Wei Ying has a headstart and he moves as easily through the water as he does on land, but Lan Wangji’s arm strength is greater. They reach the tree at almost the same time, and he feels a pleasure that is becoming more familiar the more time he spends with Wei Ying: the joy of being well-matched.

He thinks Wei Ying feels it, too, if the smile on his face is any indication. “Say, you’re good, Lan Zhan! I should have known—Lan-er-gongzi is good at everything, as expected.”

“Wei Ying is an excellent swimmer,” he replies. “Also as expected.”

“Lan Zhan! You can’t say things like that!”

“I will say them if they are true.”

Wei Ying gives a wordless shout of protest. “I’ll drown you!” Then he launches himself forward, and Lan Wangji doesn’t have time to understand what is happening—all of a sudden, Wei Ying is right there, and he’s grabbed Lan Wangji by the shoulders and is using all of his weight to try to push him under the water.

Despite his shock, Lan Wangji doesn’t budge; he’s too strong even for a cultivator like Wei Ying to push around. But his body reacts without his permission, his arm coming up and looping around Wei Ying’s waist to hold him tight.

They both freeze. Lan Wangji is not breathing, but Wei Ying is, the little puffs of his breath cool against Lan Wangji’s wet skin. He has never been so aware of anything as he is of Wei Ying’s body against his, the water around them, the huge, overwhelming darkness of Wei Ying’s eyes.

For a heartbeat, two, they are frozen in the tableau. Then Wei Ying jerks back; Lan Wangji releases him automatically. Wei Ying flops back into the water with a forced laugh. “Ah, I should have known not to try to defeat the mighty Second Jade of Gusu!”

And with that, he’s off, romping through the water, chattering about the rowing races the disciples have and the different kinds of water ghouls he’s fought. He never stops moving, challenging Lan Wangji to more races, doing flips and climbing trees to jump off of overhanging limbs or swing from ropes hanging there. Lan Wangji doesn’t even try to keep up, but he drifts after him, enjoying the water and the sound of Wei Ying’s voice, trying not to think of that brief moment when Wei Ying had been so close. His body had reacted so abruptly, but he does not think Wei Ying had felt it. Perhaps he has not given himself away.

He has seen Wei Ying romp like that in the water with his brother and the other disciples, splashing each other, climbing on and dunking each other. There is a game they play in the shallows where smaller disciples sit on the shoulders of their shixiong and then try to wrestle each other off. The whole group, participants and observers, hoot and taunt and scream with laughter when one is finally displaced and splashes into the water. This kind of play is natural to Wei Ying, and it makes sense that he had wanted to drag Lan Wangji into it. But of course Lan Wangji did not know how to react naturally and had turned it awkward.

He suspects, though, that even if he had a more lively nature, he would not be able to play like that with Wei Ying. It is simply too overwhelming, to have Wei Ying half-bare and so close to him, surrounded by the sensual silk of the water. He cannot imagine ever being so easy with the body that fills all of his most heated dreams.

At least Wei Ying had understood that and has not tried to initiate such teasing again. By the time they drag themselves back up onto the sun-warmed rock, the tension has eased and things feel easier. Lan Wangji averts his eyes as Wei Ying wrings the water from his loose hair and stretches out on the rock, and then he lowers himself beside Wei Ying. He has never lain out in the sun like this, and they cannot stay here for long; if they do, Lan Wangji’s pale skin will burn. But for just a moment, it is pleasant to lie here in the sun with Wei Ying beside him. A flavor of pleasant he had never imagined before he came to Lotus Pier.

Never still for long, Wei Ying sits up after a few minutes, leaning forward, feet flat against the stone and forearms resting on his thighs. “Say, Lan Zhan….” He trails off, scratching his neck, looking out over the water. Lan Wangji sits up himself, back straight, and waits.

After a moment of silence, Wei Ying sighs, though it’s half a laugh. “You know, you could help a guy out. This conversation thing is meant to be a two-way street, Lan Zhan. Weren’t you taught the noble art of conversation as becomes a young master?”

Somehow, Wei Ying’s teasing that had made him so self-conscious at first no longer feels like critique. “What topic do you wish to converse on?”

Wei Ying makes a face at him. “You’re supposed to guess.” But when Lan Wangji doesn’t guess, he laughs again. “Ah, I guess Lans don’t play that game. Guessing doesn’t seem like a very Lan thing to do.”

Wei Ying lapses into silence again, looking out over the water again. After a long time, he says, “What you said to Yu-furen.”

Lan Wangji had been expecting this. He does not let his body tense, though something inside him does.

“I know I should just be thankful. And I am! It was good of you to step in like that!” Finally he turns back to look at Lan Wangji. “But Lan Zhan, you know I can’t leave, right? Even if she…does that again, I wouldn’t go. Not unless your brother died and we had to go to Cloud Recesses for you to be sect leader. Shijie’s wedding is soon. I can’t leave Jiang Cheng here by himself. I could never. Surely you see that.”

He does. It infuriates him and the pettiest parts of him want to abandon Jiang Wanyin if it means keeping Wei Ying safe. But no one deserves to be alone here. It would destroy Jiang Wanyin, and that would break Wei Ying’s and Guzi’s hearts.

“I know.”

The look on Wei Ying’s face is pure relief, and Lan Wangji feels a twinge of guilt; Wei Ying must have been worrying over this, and he had not known. “That's good, Lan Zhan. You’re really good.”

Lan Wangji doesn’t have time to reply to this, because Wei Ying continues.

“But I understand why you want to go. It can’t be easy, being here. Having to live with us.” He laughs, but the sound holds no joy. “Ah, we’re such a mess! It must be hard on you, Lan Zhan. I’m sorry I can’t say, ‘Come on! Let’s go to Cloud Recesses and I’ll learn all however many thousands of rules you have and at least try to live by them!’ But I can’t.”

Lan Wangji turns to face him more fully. “Wei Ying. I would not ask that of you.”

“I know! You said, and you don’t say things you don’t mean. But…I know you want to.”

“I do not want to,” Lan Wangji answers, surprising himself.

Wei Ying gives him a skeptical look, and he roots around in his own thoughts, trying to figure out what he means. “I miss my home very much,” he says, picking each word as carefully as a stepping stone. “And it is difficult to watch people who should love each other hurt each other instead.” He thinks of his mother, locked away all those years by the one who should have cared for her. “But I would not go back now.”

“Because of the alliance,” Wei Ying says with a nod. “Because of your duty.”

No. Yes. “Not because of the alliance alone.”

Wei Ying cocks his head, a teasing look despite the question in his eyes. “Don’t tell me Yunmeng cuisine has won you over, Lan Zhan! Or is it the weather?”

“I would not leave Wei Ying.”

Wei Ying’s eyes go wide, and Lan Wangji thinks that now is the time to panic. But instead, he just feels lighter for having said the words out loud.

“You mean…you wouldn’t leave me because Yu-furen might hurt me again?”

No. Yes. But. “Even if I knew she would not. I would not want to leave Wei Ying.”

Wei Ying stares at him. “Lan Zhan. What do you mean?”

The easy words have been spoken. These next ones are more difficult. “I know that this marriage is for the sake of the alliance. That we owe each other respect, and perhaps protection, and nothing more. But…if ever you would want it…I would…like to give you more.”

Wei Ying’s eyes are so, so wide and dark, vast and beautiful as a clear night sky, but Lan Wangji cannot read them. “Lan Zhan…” he breathes.

He takes a breath for steadiness, forces himself to keep talking. “Anything I have, I would give you. I would…be your husband in every way. If you…” His voice breaks, and he has to swallow to find it again. “If you ever wanted that.”

Wei Ying stares and stares, and for a stomach-dropping moment, Lan Wangji thinks he’s going to burst out laughing. His insides are already shriveling, he is curling back into himself—if Wei Ying laughs now…

But then Wei Ying hurls himself forward, and suddenly Lan Wangji’s arms are full, Wei Ying’s warm skin and damp clothes are pressed against him, a heart is pounding against his own, and Wei Ying is kissing him.

Wei Ying is kissing him.

Wei Ying is kissing him.

Lan Wangji kisses him back. He’s never done this before, and it is shocking in its novelty and perhaps a bit awkward, but he could no sooner stop than he could stop his heart from beating. They kiss and they kiss and every moment it gets better, smoother, deeper, like they’re figuring out how to fit together, like once they slot into place, they will merge into one organism. And, oh, Lan Wangji wants that.

When they finally break apart, gasping, foreheads pressed together, Wei Ying starts babbling, and Lan Wangji loves him so much he is weak with it.

“I didn’t think, Lan Zhan, I really didn’t, I never thought you would—you were so stern and you said ‘shameless’ and ‘ridiculous’ and you hate the food and look so miserable in the heat and I know I’m a handful and you’re so good but of course you would be, because you’re dutiful and righteous and you want the alliance to work, but I never thought you’d ever do anything but tolerate me because you have to, and I just like you so much, I can’t help it, I’m so glad it was you, I like everything about you, even that you go to bed at hai hour and eating spicy things makes your eyes water and you won’t drink with me, and I really want to nighthunt with you for the rest of our lives and also to sleep with you and—”

Lan Wangji cuts him off with another kiss, this one just as deep and furious as before. The feeling of his tongue in Wei Ying’s mouth is like a bolt of lightning hitting water.

“Wei Ying,” he says when he pulls back, hand cupping Wei Ying’s face. “I love you.”

Wei Ying makes a sound like someone stabbed him through the heart and launches himself forward again. Eventually, through the roar in his head, Lan Wangji becomes aware that, between kisses, Wei Ying is chanting, I love you I love you I love you.

The whole universe cannot contain what Lan Wangji feels.

At some point, they end up sprawled back on the stone, Wei Ying on top of him, and the weight of him, the feel of his skin under Lan Wangji’s hands, are the most arousing thing Lan Wangji has ever experienced. He is hard, has never been so hard in his life, and even the chafing of damp silk cannot distract him.

“Ah, Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying gasps as Lan Wangji sucks a mark onto his neck, and his voice is raw in a way that leaves Lan Wangji helpless. “And now you can’t even rip my clothes off because they’re already off!”

“Not all,” Lan Wangji says. With a daring he could never have dreamed of ten minutes ago, he slides his hands under the waistband of Wei Ying’s trousers. Wei Ying makes a loud, sharp sound as Lan Wangji hands find his buttocks, his palms full of the flesh he’s fantasized about for months. He can’t help but squeeze and—

They hit the water with a smack, go under in a tangle of limbs. In the confusion, it takes Lan Wangji a moment to realize that they had been perilously close to the edge of the islet without realizing it, that the surprise of his ass being grabbed had shocked Wei Ying enough to tumble them over the edge. They both surface in a mess of gasps and wet hair, and Wei Ying is already laughing.

“Lan Zhan!” he shouts, and the sound is an exaltation. He throws himself forward as he had earlier, but this time his arms loop around Lan Wangji’s neck, and Lan Wangji knows exactly what he’s doing when he pulls Wei Ying against him. “I didn’t think you’d be like this! You’ve shocked me!”

The fact that Wei Ying has thought about this at all is enough to stir Lan Wangji’s cock which had softened after the shock of the water. “Bad?” he asks. He does not truly think so, but he must hear it from Wei Ying’s mouth. With the way Wei Ying flirts with the girls at the market, with the way his shidis look at him adoringly, Lan Wangji had suspected that Wei Ying has considerably more experience than he does. Now he’s not so sure—the inexpertness of those first few kisses had not seemed to be coming entirely from himself.

“No! Good! So good!” His cheeks are scarlet, wet hair clings to his golden neck and shoulders, and his eyes shine like stars. Nothing has ever been so beautiful. “I haven’t—I never—but you haven’t either, right, Lan Zhan?”

Lan Wangji gives a single shake of his head, hot with relief that this is something they are discovering together.

“Of course you’re good at it anyway, though!” Wei Ying says, shaking his hair back over his shoulders.

“As expected,” Lan Wangji says, “Wei Ying is excellent as well.”

Wei Ying gasps, a delighted sound. “Lan Zhan! You’re teasing me! You make jokes and you tease! Nobody would ever believe it!”

Lan Wangji doesn’t care about anyone else; as far as he is concerned Wei Ying is the only other person on the planet. A water droplet runs down Wei Ying’s neck, the most absorbing sight in the world, and he finds he must trace its path with his mouth. The sound Wei Ying makes is most gratifying.

What follows is a hot, desperate attempt to crawl into each other’s skin. Eventually they find themselves fighting their way out of their trousers, and Wei Ying slings both pairs up onto the rocks with a slap. Then they are bare together, wrapped in the water and in each other, exploring each other’s bodies in a detail that puts Lan Wangji’s most cherished fantasies to shame. He has to fight for control under Wei Ying’s clever hands, and finally Wei Ying shoves him up against the stone of the islet and they rock together, gasping into open-mouthed kisses until they find completion.

They drag themselves, noodle-limbed and still quivering with pleasure, back up onto the warmth of the islet, and Wei Ying’s hand finds his as it had that night in the dark of their room. This time, they don’t let go.

For a time, the whole world is golden.

A few days after their confrontation, Yu-furen leaves for Lanling for the stated purpose of consulting Jin-furen about wedding arrangements. Lotus Pier seems to breathe a sigh of relief with her departure, and Lan Wangji can only feel that fate is smiling on him.

He had never imagined that he could be so incandescently happy. If asked, he would not have believed he was capable of it. But now there is Wei Ying.

Perhaps most incredibly of all, he seems to make Wei Ying happy. He doesn’t understand it, for he feels that he has done nothing to deserve the sun-bright smiles that Wei Ying gives him day after day. But Wei Ying, who was already the brightest person Lan Wangji has ever seen, seems even more vivid and brilliant than before. Every day, Lan Wangji falls more in love.

They are always together. Lan Wangji eats every meal with his husband, assists him in all his duties, accompanies him on nighthunts and to the marketplace. And at night (and after breakfast, and in the afternoon, and any other time they can find a spare moment), they explore each other in bed (or in a storage closet or a boat far out on the water or in their favorite swimming spot). Now that he is allowed to touch, he cannot keep his hands off of his husband, not when Wei Ying reacts so sweetly, and the sounds and expressions and wriggles Lan Wangji receives are as pleasurable to him as Wei Ying’s hands or mouth on his body.

One evening, they discover that a bottle of oil has appeared among their toiletries, and Lan Wangji does not think about how it got there, but they are both eager to make use of it. There are mishaps and moments of pain before adjustment, but they master this new way of joining too, and he doesn’t know whether he loves being inside Wei Ying or having Wei Ying inside him more. What does it matter, when they can do both for the rest of their lives?

Lotus Pier feels lighter, friendly these days. Perhaps it is Yu-furen’s absence or simply Lan Wangji’s own joy spilling out of him and staining the world with sunlight, but even the servants seem happier and more carefree. Guzi’s eyes shine when she watches Lan Wangji and Wei Ying together, and she laughs at how Wei Ying teases him shamelessly, though there are a few occasions where she gives them a pointed look or softly admonishes them to make sure they are truly alone before they share intimacies.

Jiang Wanyin rolls his eyes and barks at them to keep their hands off of each other in public, but Lan Wangji is beginning to learn this strange language: his brother-in-law’s scoffs or scowls can mean any number of things from true anger to mild exasperation to worry to delight he doesn’t want to acknowledge. It will take Lan Wangji time before he can decipher these reactions, but every time he manages to say something vaguely polite to Jiang Wangyin, Wei Ying is so happy that Lan Wangji knows he will keep doing it.

There is still a kernel of bitterness in his heart towards Jiang Wanyin sometimes when he thinks of the punishments Wei Ying has taken for him over the years. But he listens when Guzi says, “Remember, he’s taken them for A-Xian too. And both of them have taken them for me. You don’t resent that, surely?”

He doesn’t. He couldn’t. He is beginning to love Guzi as though she is his own sister, and when he thinks of Wei Ying taking punishment for her, he feels fury only at Yu-furen and Jiang-zongzhu. He makes a deliberate project of trying to react to Jiang Wanyin just as he might to Guzi. It is difficult, but he believes he is making progress.

“One day,” Guzi says, “A-Cheng will be your brother as much as I am your sister.” Lan Wangji can’t quite believe it yet, but the words make Wei Ying so happy that he doesn’t argue. All he wants is to make Wei Ying happy, and so he buys him trinkets and treats in the market and helps him with paperwork and even sneaks out one night to swim with him, bare in the moonlight.

Still, there is a cloud on the horizon, at first small and far off, though it drifts closer as Yu-furen’s return nears, growing grey and ominous. The day after Yu-furen arrives home, it breaks.

They are at the dinner table, a site Lan Wangji has learned to view as fraught with danger, though the meal starts normally enough. Wei Ying eats with his left hand so that he can hold Lan Wangji’s under the table, and Jiang Wanyin shoots them warning looks. Lan Wangji keeps his eyes on his meal and ignores the strained silence that has descended now that Yu-furen is back. For the past few weeks, dinner had been full of chatter and teasing, with Lan Wangji studiously ignoring the way Jiang-zongzhu looked on fondly (that man doesn’t deserve to look at any of his children that way). But Yu-furen has been cold and aloof since her arrival, ignoring Lan Wangji and her children. He had allowed himself to hope that this status quo would hold, but it seems she was waiting for the stage of dinnertime.

At first, she speaks only of wedding planning, the silks she has bought, the wines she has chosen. These remarks are accompanied by a reminder of how much it is costing the sect and how exhausted she feels by the burden of the approaching wedding. But Lan Wangji sees no exhaustion on Yu-furen’s face, only a sharp expectation, like a snake in the grass biding its time.

Lan Wangji stiffens and sees Wei Ying and Jiang Wanyin do the same when Yu-furen implies that a particularly beautiful silk is really too fine for Guzi (“I’m afraid it will wear Yanli instead of the other way around”), and Wei Ying’s eyes flash and Jiang Cheng’s face goes stony when she outlines the regime of beautifying techniques Guzi must be subjected to. But despite Guzi’s pale cheeks and dimmed eyes, her brothers and brother-in-law manage to hold their silence. No one wants to light the spark of a fight.

But Yu-furen, as is her habit, goes too far when she brings up Jin-gongzi’s lack of enthusiasm about his forthcoming nuptials. “The poor boy looks like he’s being dragged to the executioner’s block instead of the tea ceremony. He’d really hoped that he’d be able to wiggle out of this marriage, you know, but Jin-furen doesn’t break her promises. You’re lucky that we struck our bargain when you were both infants, Yanli, otherwise I don’t know how we’d find a husband for you. I suppose I’d be going around to the minor sects, begging one of them to take you off my hands.”

Wei Ying’s hand smacks down on the table just as Jiang Wanyin barks, “Muqin!” in a tone that marries anger with incredulity, reflecting exactly the feelings that are flaring inside Lan Wangji. How can she speak about her own daughter that way? Especially when Guzi is kind and good and will make an excellent wife and mother.

Lan Wangji turns a sharp look at Jiang-zongzhu, still somehow expecting him to speak up for this daughter he calls his treasure, but he has that same glassy expression, staring out the window and over the water. Lan Wangji has been raised not to look down on those who are weaker than he is, but that is a matter of power or position or talent, distinct from character. He cannot stop himself from despising the moral weakness of this man.

Yu-furen just lifts a brow, though he thinks he sees something smug in her eyes as she takes a cool sip of her wine. “Sect leaders want a daughter-in-law who will bear strong cultivators, and no one can be sure Yanli will be able to do that. And what sect leader’s wife wants to marry her son to a girl who hangs about the kitchens like a drudge?”

Jiang Wanyin looks like he can’t decide whether to roar in rage or burst into tears. Wei Ying jumps up from the table, fury radiating off his tense body, and only Guzi’s small hand grabbing his wrist holds him in place.

“Indeed,” Guzi says before Wei Ying can open his mouth. She is trying for a light tone, though everyone hears the quaver as she speaks. “I am very grateful for the marriage that has been arranged for me. Thank you for your hard work in planning it, Muqin. This daughter will do her best to bring honor to both the Jiang and Jin sects. Wangji, are you finished? Let’s take a walk, shall we? Come on, boys,” she says to her brothers, standing with a sudden burst of force. Later, Lan Wangji will marvel at the way that this small pale-cheeked woman steers three furious young men out of the room.

They’re barely out of earshot when Wei Ying shakes off Guzi’s hand. “How dare she?” His voice is lower now, not as though he’s trying to keep from being overheard, but as though it is difficult to squeeze out the words through the force of his fury. “How dare she? Come on, Jiang Cheng, let’s go back and—”

“No.”

Guzi’s voice, quiet but firm, stops all three young men in their tracks.

“But Jie!” Jiang Wanyin protests. “That was too much. We can’t just—” He breaks off, looking away.

“Mn,” Lan Wangji agrees. “Such words would be unacceptable even were they true.”

“What does it matter?” Guzi is crying now, silently, tears trembling down her cheeks. “Please, let’s not fight with her, not when we know we won’t win. It’s only a few weeks more and then I’ll be gone.”

“Yes,” Wei Ying says, all heat, “and then she’ll just write those horrible things to you—”

“I will have the consolation of burning them.”

“–-and say them behind your back and make excuses to go visit you so that she can make passive-aggressive digs and embarrass you in front of your in-laws!”

“And then go home again,” Guzi says. “I will get a reprieve. But you boys will still be living here with her. Don’t make things worse for yourselves!”

“But Jie—”

“Please.”

The word is so small, but it’s trembling with so much feeling that everyone falls silent. Guzi closes her eyes, lashes wet, and takes a deep breath. “I…just need to be alone right now. Alright?”

There is nothing to do but let her go.

“Fuck, I can’t believe she said that,” Wei Ying says, slamming the door closed and yanking off his boots. “To Shijie! There is no one in the world who deserves that less than her!”

Lan Wangji agrees, but it is not necessary to say so, not when Wei Ying is so worked up. He sets Bichen down and begins to remove his guan, watching as Wei Ying yanks at the laces of his vambraces.

“And I’m going to pound that arrogant peacock into the ground! Who does he think he is, to try to get out of marriage to the best woman in the world? He isn’t good enough to be a carpet under her feet!” He throws his newly-removed vambrace down as though it represents Jian Zixuan himself.

In this, at least, Lan Wangji can provide some reassurance. “I know Jin-gongzi a little. He is…” He searches for the word as he works pins out of his hair. “Cowed by his surroundings. But a good person. He is, I believe, looking for a way to exert himself. It is my hope that in time he will rise to the challenge of marriage and make a fine husband for Guzi.”

Wei Ying gives a skeptical snort. “Yeah, right.”

“You do not believe me?”

Wei Ying drops the other vambrace to the ground and turns to him, face softening. “That’s not what I meant, Lan Zhan. Of course I believe you. You’d never lie, and you’re always right.” This is an extreme exaggeration—Lan Wangji is uncomfortably aware of all the times he has been wrong—but he does not argue now.

“Please trust me in this, Wei Ying.”

It is one of Wei Ying’s weaknesses, Lan Wangji asking something of him in earnestness. “All right, Lan Zhan. I’ll try not to worry about that.”

Lan Wangji is quite sure that Wei Ying will continue to worry about it and that only time—and proof of a happy marriage—will soothe these fears. But that is a battle for another day.

Wei Ying tugs his belt loose and strips down to a single layer and trousers. Lan Wangji is entranced by the beauty of this man, standing barefoot and undone in front of him. It would be so easy to tumble Wei Ying into bed and distract him from his worries, but he has been waiting for a time to talk to Wei Ying about this, and he must not let the opportunity slip away, no matter how tempting the alternative.

Anger is still humming through Wei Ying’s body, displayed in the way he prowls around the room. When he gets like this, it is best to give him something to do or else he will pace all night. Lan Wangji removes his own boots and outer layers and sits down on the bed. “Wei Ying. Come comb my hair.”

Though his face is still stormy, he complies. His movements are jerky at first, but they smooth out after a moment. Lan Wangji still prefers to comb Wei Ying’s hair, but this is almost as good: Wei Ying’s clever hands and careful care.

“Lan Zhan?”

“Mn?” He had suspected that Wei Ying would start the conversation himself if given half a chance.

“Do you think I’m a bad shidi?”

What Lan Wangji wants to do is spin around, take Wei Ying into his arms, and reassure him. What he does is say, simply, “No.”

“I let Yu-furen say that to her, though. I just let her.”

“You let her because your shijie would rather hear those things than see you hurt.”

“Yeah.” He doesn’t sound satisfied by that answer. “I just…she doesn’t deserve that. And Jiang Cheng, the way they treat him, he doesn’t deserve it either.”

“No. Nor does Wei Ying deserve such treatment.”

Wei Ying is suspiciously quiet in response.

“Wei Ying.”

“Yeah?”

“It hurts you very much to see your siblings mistreated.”

“Well, yeah.”

“It hurts them very much to see you mistreated.” Again that ominous silence. “And it hurts me as well.”

Wei Ying’s sigh is so strong that Lan Zhan feels it against the back of his neck. “Lan Zhan….”

“The way things are, everyone is hurting. You have been swimming against a fast current for many years now. All three of you. You have been strong for each other. But Wei Ying, no one’s strength lasts forever.”

“Well, it’s got to. Because the current sure as hell isn’t going to start flowing in the other direction.”

“No. But perhaps the swimmer can climb out of the water.”

“No,” Wei Ying says flatly. “He can’t. They can’t. They’ve tried a million different ways, and it never worked. They stopped trying a long time ago.”

“The last time they tried, they were still children. Adults have greater reach.”

“So what, Lan Zhan? You want us to try doing the same thing again, just to prove to you that it doesn’t work?”

“I want you to try something different this time. Wei Ying is clever. He develops solutions no one else has considered.”

Wei Ying is quiet for a very long time, focused on the ends of Lan Wangji’s hair. “Lan Zhan, I spent years trying to figure out how to change things. It never worked. And I’m really, really tired.”

The pain Lan Wangji feels now, he has felt only once before in his life, kneeling outside a door that never opened. But he must make Wei Ying understand. “The motto of your sect. It contradicts one of the Lan sect principles.”

“Only one?”

“Several,” Lan Wangji allows. “But the relevant one is, ‘Do not waste effort foolishly attempting the same action and hoping for a different outcome.’”

“That one actually sounds pretty wise to me.”

“Mn. But it is followed by another.”

“Of course it is.”

“‘Do not overlook new possibilities when circumstances change.’”

“But that’s just it, Lan Zhan. The circumstances never change.”

“They do when a new factor is introduced.”

“Okay, fine. You’re here now, and something changed. I really don’t think she’s going to beat any of us again. She really believes that next time you’ll pull Bichen on her, and she won’t risk any rumors about that getting out. But you can’t pull Bichen on her just for saying terrible things.”

“No.”

“Then what the hell do you want from me, Lan Zhan?”

“I want you to consider this. When you were children, you had no choice but to stay. But you are adults now. And should you need some time away, you now have somewhere to go.”

Wei Ying pauses in combing, alarm in his voice when he says, “Lan Zhan, we already talked about this. You said—”

“I will not ask you to leave your brother. But he has legs to walk away too.”

The silence that follows these words is not the easy one that they so often find between them these days. It is full of some unspoken expectation, charged with possibility. Wei Ying stops combing, but neither of them move, and Lan Wangji waits, listening to his husband’s breath speed up, the sound building to something. When Wei Ying breaks the silence, Lan Wangji is not surprised.

“Lan Zhan!”

At the invitation, he turns around to face his husband. There is something dawning on Wei Ying’s face, an excitement that tingles down to the tips of Lan Wangji’s fingertips.

“Tell me if this is a crazy idea, okay?"

The idea is not crazy. They talk it through from various angles and considering different possibilities, and even after the analysis, it is a good idea. And then Wei Ying leaps up from the bed, grabbing Lan Wangji’s wrist to tug him along. “Get dressed, Lan Zhan! We’ve got to talk to Shijie and Jiang Cheng!”

Jiang Wanyin curses when Wei Ying drags him out of his room, and Guzi is still pale and red-eyed when she opens her door. Both of them protest, but eventually Wei Ying gets them into a boat and tosses Lan Wangji an oar.

“Where are we going?” Jiang Wanyin grumbles. “I am not in the mood for your antics, Wei Wuxian.”

“We’re going to our special place.”

“What, now that you’ve desecrated it?”

“Jiang Cheng!”

“You think I didn’t know that you took your husband there? What makes you think I ever want to go there ever again?”

The two squabble the whole way there, but Guzi is silent, her shoulders bowed so wearily that Lan Wangji feels guilty about subjecting her to this tonight. But Wei Ying has come to a decision, and nothing can slow his momentum when he gets rolling.

They reach the swimming spot at dusk, and if anything, it is more beautiful now with the fireflies drifting over the still waters. But the three siblings aren’t paying attention to the loveliness of the night.

“This had better be good, Wei Wuxian,” Jiang Wanyin says.

“It is. I need to talk to you about something. About making things better.”

“A-Xian….”

“I know, Shijie. But Lan Zhan and I have been talking, and I’ve been thinking, and I have an idea.”

“Wei Wuxian, I swear, if you go off half-cocked and make everything worse—”

“No. This involves all of us, and it will only work if we stand together. I’ll tell you everything. But first, I need Lan Zhan to tell us what we look like from the outside.”

Lan Wangji blinks; he had not expected that Wei Ying would want him to speak.

“What does that mean?” Jiang Wanyin demands.

“It means that we’ve been living with things a certain way for so long that it’s started to look like the only way things could ever be. But it isn’t. And Lan Zhan can see the things that we can’t. So: Lan Zhan. Tell us what you see.”

It takes him a few moments to figure out how to start. It is much easier just to talk to Wei Ying alone; to share his thoughts with anyone else is still difficult. But Wei Ying is trusting him, and he will not fail him.

“The way you have been treated is wrong, but you had no power to stop it. You have developed strategies for living in an intolerable situation.” He speaks slowly, choosing each word one by one. He has been thinking about this for months, but it is still difficult to articulate it to someone else. “These strategies enabled you to survive, but they are the strategies of helpless children. You each took turns, drawing her ire away from another onto yourself. This shows great love. But it ultimately accomplished nothing.”

“What else were we supposed to do?” Jiang Wanyin demands, bristling. “What the fuck else could we have done?”

“Nothing.” It hurts, to acknowledge that. Lan Wangji does not want to live in a world in which that is true. But it is a fact: there was no one they could appeal to. No one would step into another family’s disputes. He pictures these three as children, small and at the mercy of those who did not care to protect them. His heart aches for those three small figures, huddled together, pressing close to one another, trying to hide in each other’s love. “Not when you were children. But you are children no longer.”

“We’ve been over this,” Guzi says, and her voice is so weary. “With them, we will always feel like children.”

“Feel, perhaps.” If Lan Wangji knows anything, it’s that one cannot always control how one feels. “But you can behave like adults. You cannot make your parents love you.” His father had taught Lan Wangji that, one of the only lessons he learned from that distant, forbidding man. “But you can demand that they treat you with the bare minimum of respect.”

“Oh, yeah? And just how are we supposed to do that?”

Lan Wangji fights back irritation and reminds himself that Jiang Wanyin’s defensiveness is understandable. “Your greatest strength, the mechanism that enabled you to thrive despite your surroundings, is that you look out for each other. But you have not yet learned to stand together. You can do that now, and I will stand with you.”

“On what ground?” Guzi asks. “Wangji, I know that you want to protect us. I can’t tell you how much that means to us. But we’ve pushed back before, and it leaves us with nothing but more anger and pain. We have fought all our lives, and she always wins. We can’t beat her.”

“No,” Wei Ying says, and his voice is strong. “But we don’t have to. We just have to make sure that she leaves us alone.” He looks from his sister to his brother. “We’ll never win against her, so we push for the next best thing. A détente. An armistice.”

“How?” Guzi’s voice cracks on the word, helpless.

“An ultimatum,” Lan Wangji says. “You must make it clear that you have power over something they hold dear.”

“What?” Jiang Wanyin scoffs. “Their reputations? We threaten to tell everyone what it’s like here? How she treats us? How he lets her? No one will care. I’m sure some of the other sect leaders treat their kids just as badly. Some of them will be horrified—you Lans, maybe—but they’ll all agree that it’s a Jiang sect matter. We can threaten their reputations, but it won’t work.”

“You’re right, that won’t work.” The light of the fireflies is reflected in Wei Ying’s eyes. “But we control something else. The future of their sect. Their legacy. Their heir.”

The raw desperation in Jiang Wanyin’s voice makes Lan Wangji flinch. “What are you saying?”

“I’m saying that we sit them down, and we tell them that if she doesn’t leave us alone, we’re going to walk.”

Jiang Wanyin is so horrified that he doesn’t even remember to scowl. “We can’t do that!”

“Yes, we can. Jiang-shufu is never going to stand up for us. But he might for the sect. He’s always been a better sect leader than a father.” Or a husband, the words unspoken. “If we put some pressure on him, maybe he’ll actually put some on her. And all we ask in return is to be left alone. That they just…ignore us. We’ll do all the things that are required of a sect heir and a head disciple. We’ll work hard to make the Jiang sect the best it can be, just like we always have, and we’ll represent it well in the cultivation world. And in return, no more family dinners. When she sees us coming, she turns around and walks away. She can’t say a word to us—any of us, including Shijie after she goes to Lanling—or strike us ever again. We all just ignore each other. How does that sound?”

It sounds cold to Lan Wangji. Even in famously reserved Cloud Recesses, there is more warmth than that. But it’s different for the ones who were raised here.

“It sounds like…relief,” Guzi says, crying again. “A-Xian, do you really think she’ll listen?”

“She’ll never believe it!” Jiang Wanyin interjects.

“She doesn’t have to believe it entirely,” Wei Ying says. “But if there’s any small part of either of them that does believe it, we can use that to get her off our backs. Shijie, what do you think?”

Guzi shakes her head, her cheeks still wet. “I don’t know.”

“This is idiotic, Wei Wuxian. She’ll call our bluff!”

“So we actually go.” Wei Ying looks over his shoulder, and Lan Wangji gives his husband a small nod. Wei Ying turns back to Jiang Cheng. “To Cloud Recesses.”

“A sect heir can’t just decamp to another sect! I’m not going to leave Lotus Pier!”

It’s not for good,” Wei Ying says. “Think about it like this. She calls our bluff. We go. It’s a little unusual that I take you both with me to go visit my in-laws, but nobody thinks much of it. And then we just…stay. Long enough that the whispers start. Isn’t it odd that the sect heir and head disciple have been away from Lotus Pier for so long? What does it mean?”

“And we wait for them to summon us back? If she has to bend her pride, that’ll just make her more angry!”

“Right, so we don’t make her bend her pride. We stay away long enough that it’s awkward, then we come back here of our own accord. Either she believes us then and actually leaves us alone, or in a few months, we try it again. There’ll be even more rumors this time about the stability of the sect. They’ll never be able to hold out against that. We might have to try it a few times, but eventually we’ll win. We’ll get what we want, which is just to be left alone.”

“Wei Wuxian—”

“Just think about it. Think about what life would be like if we just…didn’t have to worry. If we weren’t always looking over our shoulders or hiding any little screw up. Think about what it would be like to just live.”

“I can’t imagine that,” Guzi whispers. “I don’t know what that would look like.”

“I know. But don’t you want to find out?”

It is fully dark and Guzi has lit a lantern before Jiang Wanyin finally lets himself be talked around. He had started crying at some point, angry tears that would have embarrassed Lan Wangji if he were not so glad they were finally talking about this. It ends when Wei Ying grabs his brother, fingers cupping the back of his neck, thumbs resting on the line of his jaw. He brings their foreheads together and closes his eyes.

“Jiang Cheng. Shidi. I know we can do this. I will always be right beside you. I am never going to leave you. ”

“Not even for him?” Jiang Wanyin asks with a jerk of his head in Lan Wangji’s direction.

Lan Wangji can hear the smile in Wei Ying’s voice. “See, that’s the thing about him. He’s not going to ask me to. He’s going to be here for me, so I can be here for you. Right, Lan Zhan?”

“Mn.” This is all Lan Wangji wants of life: to be with Wei Ying and to fight for justice alongside him. In another life, he would do that in other ways, but in this one, perhaps this is his mission. To stand with his husband and the ones his husband loves. To nighthunt and cultivate together. To build the Jiang sect into one that is worthy of its legacy, one that can redeem all its children have suffered. It will be a good life, as long as it is with Wei Ying.

“A-Cheng, I think that we have to try this,” Guzi says. “If we want to have any kind of life, we have to try.”

“I don’t know if I can,” Jiang Wanyin breathes, and his voice is that of a small, scared boy.

Wei Ying slides his hands down to grip Jiang Wanyin’s shoulders. “Shidi. Your parents don’t think you’re strong enough to be the sect heir.” Even in the flickering lamplight, with the moon just breaking above the circle of trees, Lan Wangji can see how both brothers tense at these words, never before spoken but always hanging between them. “I know that they’re wrong. And we’ll be right beside you when you prove it.”

“I really think it will work, Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying says when they’re back in their rooms, removing their damp clothes and squeezing the last of the lake water from their hair. “I mean, maybe not on the first try. It’ll probably be ugly and take time, but I really think if it comes down to her getting the satisfaction of treating us the way she always has or the reputation of the entire sect, something will have to give.” He laughs then, an incredulous sound, and bounds over to throw his arms around Lan Wangji’s neck. “We might actually be free,” he says, fingers tangling in Lan Wangji’s hair.

“Mn.” Lan Wangji settles his hands on Wei Ying’s bare hips and pulls him even closer. They press together, warmth against warmth, hearts beating in time. It is more than he ever thought to have, to be standing in this moonlit room, their very own, with Wei Ying in his arms. “I believe so.”

“Fuck, Lan Zhan. It’s really hilarious when I think about it. I was so scared when we got married, you know that?”

He had not known. He would never have guessed. Nervous, yes, but he had not known that Wei Ying felt real fear. “Scared?”

“Yeah. I know my parents loved each other. But the only marriage I’ve ever seen up close is, well, you know.”

“I see.”

“And I didn’t know you, but you know what they say about the Lan sect. I was so sure that you would hate me like she hates him.”

Lan Wangji’s heart throbs. “Wei Ying.”

“I know. But I couldn’t imagine what you really are, Lan Zhan.”

“Nor could I imagine all that Wei Ying is.”

Wei Ying makes a wounded sound and buries his face in Lan Wangji’s neck. “I can’t wrap my mind around it. That you really love me. That you really like me. That you’re as good as you are. To have that, when I never thought I would, and now to have the possibility of…. Lan Zhan, it’s like you saved my life.”

“I do not believe that is true.”

Wei Ying raises his head and rests his chin on Lan Wangji’s shoulder, considering. “Well, no. Maybe not. You didn’t save me, exactly.”

“Wei Ying has always been capable of saving himself. I pointed out a door that was always there. Wei Ying and his siblings will walk through it.”

“Yeah. Yeah, that’s it.” Wei Ying kisses him then, sweet as moonlight, and Lan Wangji could never have imagined all that Wei Ying is and all that they can be together. When they part, Wei Ying whispers against his lips: “And you’ll be beside me.”

“Always.”

They walk into Sword Hall together, Jiang Wanyin in front, Wei Wuxian and Jiang Yanli a step behind him on either side, Lan Wangji at Wei Ying’s shoulder. A united front. In the light of day, they are straight-backed and immaculately dressed, swords in hand, chins held high. (Nothing like the half-clad group of children who had played in the water the night before, giddy with the relief of a decision made and the hope of a future, their laughter ringing out across the water.)

They bow in unison to Jiang-zongzhu’s troubled face, Yu-furen’s suspicious eyes. And then Guzi, her voice low but her eyes steady says, “Fuqin. Muqin. We have something to say to you.”

“We are adults now,” Wei Ying says, and Lan Wangji is full of love for this steadfast man who is also the laughing boy he married. “And things cannot continue as they have.”

“We are—” Jiang Wanyin voice wavers, but he jerks his shoulders back and starts again, and this time the words come out clear and strong. “We are going to tell you how things will be from now on.”