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A gentle breeze sweeps into Lanling City, where golden leaves flutter from maples and oaks onto large tiles of stone. Faint drumming from the bell tower gives notice of the late hour, as does the gong of the night watchman, who bows quietly to Lan Zhan as their paths cross.
Lan Zhan makes his way past the bamboo lodging that houses sleeping disciples, who are exhausted from a long week of night-hunting, and counts one-hundred-and-thirteen steps that lie between his door and the little wooden hutch.
The residents of the hutch are a pair of malnourished brown rabbits that Wei Ying had insisted on carrying down from Phoenix Mountain a few days ago. Through the wire mesh, Lotus Root and Pork Rib gaze thoughtfully back at Lan Zhan as they mull over his late arrival, so he makes his apologies with an offering of loquats, and watches the critters’ noses twitching adorably as they munch on the short-lived midnight snack.
He takes another thirteen steps toward the closed doors of the cottage, and leaves the fruit basket outside. As he goes, he steals a quick look through the silk-screened windows, but there’s no sign of movement inside the house – not even that of a flickering shadow, cast by candles that have long burned out.
Lan Zhan is aware of how ridiculous he must look – loitering outside Wei Ying’s window like a lovesick teen, and it’s a blessing that the other man is already in bed and in deep sleep, because as much as he yearns for a glimpse of that heartwarming smile, it means having to explain why he’s breaking curfew.
And what will Wei Ying say about Lan Zhan sneaking off in the middle of the night to meet another man? What does he even think of Yiling Laozu? Lan Zhan knows as much as everyone else – which isn’t a lot, since Wei Ying never speaks about his ordeal at the Burial Mounds, despite varying attempts by other cultivators to loosen his tongue with copious amounts of his favourite wine.
All that Lan Zhan knows about this mysterious new cultivator is that he had somehow kept a defenceless Wei Ying alive in those godforsaken lands. He's also been an invaluable help in their quest for vengeance, especially against the ones responsible for the massacres against both the Yunmeng Jiang and Gusu Lan clans. So, it’s odd how instead of singing his effusive praises, Wei Ying is often evasive about his benefactor, and goes out of his way to avoid any talk of the controversial figure.
Conversely, Yiling Laozu never lets Wei Ying out of his sight, and follows him wherever he goes, be it to the Palace of Sun and Flames, where he used his demon flute to subdue puppets during the Sunshot Campaign, along the Qiongqi Pass to fight off an army of fierce corpses, or even to the night-hunting competition organised by the Lanling Jin Clan.
The two men and their fates are more intimately connected than Wei Ying is willing to admit, and like the ring puzzles and cryptic riddles of his youth, it causes Lan Zhan to lose some of his sanity and much of his sleep.
A chill travels down his spine at the distinct sound of footsteps and the occasional crunch of crisp, autumn leaves. Swift and light, they herald the arrival of an outstanding cultivator, who doesn’t care about being seen. His heart sinks at the soft ringing of a bell. Lan Zhan has no wish for company at this time of night, not with someone from the Jiang Clan, and least of all
“Jiang Zongzhu.”
“Lan Er Gongzi. Night hunt?”
Lan Zhan nods curtly, but doesn’t elaborate, leaving it open for Jiang Wanyin to invite himself. Caught off-guard, Lan Zhan makes the mistake of declining with so little hesitation that he displeases the clan leader, who narrows his eyes and draws himself to his full height.
His voice is cold, hard and reeks of judgement. “Fierce spirits have been wandering the city. You ought to stay with your clan.”
“As should you,” Lan Zhan replies, annoyed that the other man had been about to leave his siblings to fend for themselves.
“I saw you both the other night – in Onyx Cave.”
Lan Zhan stiffens. He has no doubts regarding whom Jiang Wanyin means and is under no illusions about the picture they must have made – with Yiling Laozu leaning over his body, their lips so close that Lan Zhan could have got drunk on his breath alone.
Jiang Wanyin is a cynical man, and he’s never liked Lan Zhan, so there’s no way he’ll believe that the usually-graceful Yiling Laozu had tripped, fallen, and landed in the general region of Lan Zhan’s unmentionables.
Despite it being true.
A horde of fierce spirits had ambushed the cultivators on Phoenix Mountain and they were in danger of being overrun, so if Lan Zhan had been panting, it was from racing to the cave where Wei Ying was waiting. He never found him, at least not till the danger was gone. He did, however, bump into Yiling Laozu, who was, for some reason, preventing him from going inside.
Needless to say, there was a scuffle and at some point, Lan Zhan found himself on his back and Yiling Laozu on top of him. The rogue cultivator had also spotted the gaping wounds on Lan Zhan’s limbs that desperately needed to be dressed, so strips of cloth had to be ripped up from Lan Zhan’s normally-immaculate robes.
Yes, it’s all a misunderstanding, and this is the hill that Lan Zhan is going to die on. There’s no way of coming down from it, now that Jiang Wanyin, the notorious breaker of legs, has seen them with his own unblinking eyes.
Those grey eyes remain fixed to Lan Zhan’s gaze, and he realises that the clan leader is still waiting for a response, and the crickets chirping in the chilly night air only point to his guilt.
“Wei Wuxian is an important member of our family. He – ah –” he cries, as one of Wei Ying’s pet ants bites his foot. “He’s adopted,” he adds, with the longsuffering sigh of a true sibling.
They work in silence to brush the rest of the “adorable” ants off Jiang Wanyin’s robes and gently guide them back to the “sanctuary” that Wei Ying had carved out of a fallen log.
Straightening his hair and clearing his throat, Jiang Zongzhu summons what remains of his dignity. “My brother appears to have grown fond of you. If you reciprocate his feelings, please accord him the proper respect as the lead disciple of our clan. As clan leader, I will welcome an alliance with yours. However, should your affections lie elsewhere, I will appreciate it if you let him down gently, and soon.”
There is a long, stately pause, as Jiang Wanyin focuses an electrifying glare on Lan Zhan. “My preference is to maintain good relations with the Gusu Lan Clan, but consider yourself warned. If you break his heart, I’ll break every bone in your body.”
Lan Zhan watches Jiang Wanyin storming off, with purple lightning sparking in his wake, and is swept away in a wave of grudging respect. He does look and sound more and more like a clan leader these days and Lan Zhan appreciate him looking out for Wei Ying’s best interests.
Wei Ying needs to be protected, even from Lan Zhan, especially from Lan Zhan, who’s barely holding on to the threads of his own sanity. Just the other day, during the hunting competition, he’d stumbled upon a blindfolded Wei Ying, and unable to fight off his attraction, had kissed him passionately against a tree, which now lay in a heap of firewood as evidence of his remorse.
Without his golden core, Wei Ying is the most vulnerable he’s been since he was a starving orphan roaming the streets of Yiling, and it makes the impulsive kiss he forced upon the other man all the more despicable. Wei Ying doesn’t need his misplaced affections in these trying times. What he needs is his unwavering support and unconditional friendship.
Wei Ying promised to let Lan Zhan help him, so he isn’t going to let anything, or anyone, get in the way – not himself, and certainly not the mysterious masked warrior who has the habit of coming to his rescue and disappearing as soon as others arrive. Lan Zhan wishes he would just as easily vanish from his thoughts. Despite the number of times he plays the Song of Clarity, the controversial figure refuses to be banished from his mind, or even sent to a corner – which should really have been his rightful place.
And there are the gifts that keep coming. First, there were the medicinal herbs and soups for his injuries, then the homemade sweetcakes and his favourite tea, and most recently, the scented oils and prohibited wines, which Lan Zhan had to quickly stash away to avoid any awkward questions.
Finally, he’d found the fragrance pouch next to his pillow, and it’s a gift he can neither accept nor ignore. Xiongzhang has received such gifts from admiring cultivators of both genders more times than he can count, so Lan Zhan is fairly certain of the giver’s intentions.
Lan Zhan holds it under the moonlight to admire the pouch of blue and white brocade. It’s filled with dried flowers, and the scents mix together in a way that sends the blood rushing to his head. Hidden amidst the petals of camelia, rose and osmanthus is a note encompassing the words of a poem, Blossoms in the Mist.
花非花
Blossoms that aren’t
雾非雾
Mist that isn’t
夜半来
Comes at midnight
天明去
Departs at first light
来如春梦⼏多时
Appears as a springtime dream
去似朝云无觅处
Vanishes with morning cloud
The poem reminds him of the lantern riddles that Wei Ying enjoys, and he must have shared this particular one with him, because Lan Zhan knows the answer is dew. It sends his thoughts wandering toward Dewdrop Clearing and its amazing diversity of flowering trees and shrubs, from which the giver had harvested the contents of the fragrance pouch. By reading between the (third and fourth) lines, he finds the intended timing. It’s sometime from midnight till dawn.
That’s now. Or never.
Lan Zhan isn’t going to get another chance to meet the elusive cultivator alone, so before the mysterious man can disappear into yet another cloud of smoke, he’s going to head into the woods and clear everything up. Lan Zhan has a duty to Wei Ying, and he's not going to let anyone come between them. Whatever it is that the other cultivator thinks they share – this odd dance consisting of chivalric rescues, lustful stares and romantic gifts – it has got to stop.
The city fades away as he nears the woods, and Lan Zhan hears the soft, melancholic music of the flute, played to the howling of night creatures. The night isn’t so bad, and Lan Zhan craves the solitude it offers. While the world sleeps, he gets to be alone with his thoughts, even if these days they drive him toward madness as they vacillate between two distinct men who are as different as day and night.
Lan Zhan follows the flute’s melody toward Dewdrop Clearing, where he finds Yiling Laozu leaning against the trunk of a magnolia tree. As always, he’s dressed in his robes of black and red that billow behind him in the wind. He wears his hair down, and styles his dark, silky tresses so that they rest behind his shoulder while loose tendrils frame what he believes to be a lovely face. Most of it is covered in a silver mask though, except for those sultry lips breathing life into the black flute with red tassels.
As he plays, his fingers move sensually around the instrument, in a scene that screams of unbridled passion and sexual energy. Heat builds up inside Lan Zhan and it spreads from his core all the way to his head and toes, but it isn’t all desire.
It’s anger too.
The song is in a different key, and Yiling Laozu has added improvisations of his own, but Lan Zhan will recognise that soulful melody anywhere. It’s a love song that he’s played only once in a monster’s cave dwelling to an audience of one man, well half, since said man was slipping in and out of consciousness.
Crushed by the betrayal, he struggles to understand why Wei Ying thinks it's appropriate to share their song with an outsider. He’s obviously taught him well too, as the other man is playing with those breath-taking finger trills and an impressive flutter-tonguing technique that is making him weak in the knees.
Lan Zhan keeps walking toward the source of the music, which dies as he steps into the light of the moon. The flute is lowered in favour of a bottle and when Yiling Laozu takes a swig, liquor splashes onto his clothing and the grass as Lan Zhan approaches.
The silver mask shifts as a smile slowly spreads across Yiling Laozu's face. “Hanguang-jun, I thought you’d be in bed by now.” He uses resentful energy to distort his voice, but there's no hiding his flirtatious intent.
“We can’t do this anymore.”
“And what exactly is this?” he questions.
Lan Zhan presses his lips tightly together, and holds out the fragrance pouch with both hands and an apologetic bow.
“You don’t like my gifts?”
Lan Zhan blinks, and resists the pull of those dark, smouldering eyes. “They were very thoughtful, but there – there's someone else.”
“Oh.” Just like that, the fiery gaze goes out like a candle in the wind, and the other man seems to melt into a puddle atop the carpeted grass, where he’s slumped forward and hugging his knees.
Lan Zhan sits down beside him, but doesn't speak. He resists the urge to reach out to the other man, even if he might be responsible for his spurned feelings.
“You must really like that person,” Yiling Laozu says quietly, but does not look away from the blades of grass rustling softly in the wind.
Lan Zhan’s head dips forward. “I’m sorry," he says.
The other man laughs, but it's bitter and forced. “It’s fine,” he says, waving off the apology with the blithe nonchalance of a child who’s lost his toy. “I’ll get over it. You’re a good man, Hanguang-jun. You deserve to be happy, and I won’t stand in your way.”
Lan Zhan gives a nod of gratitude and prepares to leave, but there’s a light tug on the hem of his robes.
“Wait," Yiling Laozu says. “You're just going to leave? No goodbye kiss?”
Lan Zhan tightens his grip over the hilt of his sword as he glares at the other man, who’s drinking again, tilting his head back so it exposes the smooth column of his throat. The sight of unmarked skin stirs up something inside him and Lan Zhan has to admit that he’s often had vivid dreams about this, and wakes up from them with his blankets bunched around him in a sweaty mess.
“Look, you don't have to, if you don't want to," Yiling Laozu quickly says, and keeps his eyes on Bichen as he twirls his flute with one hand. "But I didn't invite you here for a duel - or a duet.” The words are uttered in jest, but the teasing smile has been replaced by a vulnerable look in his eyes.
His heart belongs to Wei Ying, but the rest of his body aches for this insanely attractive cultivator. And Lan Zhan realises, to his horror, that he does want to kiss him, to thank him for everything that he’s done – for Wei Ying, for him, for both of them. But above everything else, he wants to kiss him – for himself.
Back on the grass, Lan Zhan snatches the bottle from the other man and takes a swig. And another. It doesn’t take long for him to feel his mind slowing down and his senses dulling. “Take off your mask,” he says. “It’s hard - and cold.”
Yiling Laozu’s mouth falls open, but he nods enthusiastically and starts unwrapping the strip of coarse fabric around his wrist.
What are you doing?” Lan Zhan demands, and his heart races at the sight of the undressing man, but his slurred words are laughed away.
“Just a little theory I have. Don’t get your forehead ribbon in a twist,” the other man says, as rough fabric covers his eyes and a knot is hastily fastened at the back of his head.
The air is thick with the scent of wildflowers and thick grass, upon which the steel mask lands. Long arms reach around his shoulders to pull him close so Lan Zhan can inhale the heady scent of floral liquor and feel the warm breath on his skin and the brush of soft lips.
They part slowly to invite him in and like a blooming flower, the kiss is fragrant and mellow, refreshing but not aggressive, smooth and powerful. It’s a distinctly familiar mix of wine and tea, which Lan Zhan will never forget. Lan Zhan pushes through the thick haze fogging up his mind and it feels like he’s actually getting somewhere. He’s just one step away from solving this grand mystery. If he keeps pulling at this thread, it could unravel something important –
Or snap.
When Yiling Laozu speaks again, all the resentful energy is gone from his voice. He sounds different, but also familiar when he cries. “Lan Zhan! You kissed me!”
“Did you not want me to?”
“I mean the other day – on Phoenix mountain.”
“You’re mistaken,” Lan Zhan mutters stiffly as his hands fly to the knot at the back of his head. “I’ve kissed just one person and he’s…” He pauses.
“Go on,” the other man says.
As the sash falls onto his lap, he finds himself blinking at Wei Ying’s sweet, smiling face.
"Wei Ying?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Why - why is it you?”
“Of course, it’s me. Who else would it be? You knew!” Wei Ying insists, and slaps his upper arm so hard it stings.
He blinks back at him. “No.”
“You spoke up for me back in Nightless City, when Jin Guangshan said I was a threat.”
“You saved many cultivators. You helped - ”
Wei Ying picks up his arm and runs his fingers over the recently-healed cuts. “You let me treat your wounds,”
“Need to protect you. Cannot die.”
“And – and – you let me kiss you! Why would you let me kiss you if you didn’t know it was me? Why did you kiss me anyway? And how did you even get so good at it? Now you’ve ruined kissing for me - forever. What am I going to do, all by my lonesome, while you lock lips with the object of your affections?”
Lan Zhan lets out a long shuddering breath and stops himself mid-eyeroll to gaze up at the stars in the night sky, tracing the constellations in his mind as he waits patiently for Wei Ying to connect the dots.
“Oh,” Wei Ying murmurs, just as their eyes meet, and Lan Zhan has never seen him more clearly than in this very moment when the stars shine in his large eyes and the light of the full moon falls on his pink cheeks. “You like me.”
It’s the understatement of the century. He doesn’t like Wei Ying. He’s been hopelessly in love with him since crossing swords with him on that rooftop back in Cloud Recesses. And while he'd tried to suppress those pent-up emotions he finally recognised as love, they'd broken free with the lanterns they released into the sky. While Wei Ying made his wish to stand with justice and live with no regrets, Lan Zhan made his very own – to always stand at Wei Ying’s side.
“I have to tell Jiang Cheng. About us. That we – we are – what are we?” Wei Ying asks.
Wei Ying is everything to him. He is his first love, his best friend, a lifelong soulmate, his cultivation partner. And if he wants, he could be more. “What do you want us to be?” he asks.
Wei Ying says nothing to that. Instead, he busies himself with straightening Lan Zhan's forehead ribbon, which must have shifted during their kiss.
“Come back to Gusu – with me,” he says, holding on to Wei Ying's elbow as the other man fastens the forgotten fragrance pouch on Lan Zhan's belt.
Wei Ying smiles sadly at him and kisses the tip of his nose. “I can’t. Not after all that’s happened. Shijie, A-Cheng - they need me. I have to stay with them. And Jiang Cheng might actually kill us if we try to elope.”
Lan Zhan frowns. That's not what he wants, but the mention of Jiang Wanyin brings their conversation earlier that evening to mind. He tries to speak, but Wei Ying places his finger on Lan Zhan's lips, and insists they continue their conversation in the morning, when they're less weary and more sober. He puts gentle pressure on Lan Zhan's chest, urging him to lie on the soft bed of grass and takes his place beside him. Then, they hold hands and gaze up into the clear, night sky, counting the stars till their eyelids feel heavy and they drift into sleep.
***
A cockerel crowing in the distance rouses Lan Zhan from his dream. Over the horizon, the blooming sun sends petals of gold to warm and wake each leaf and flower. Soft morning rays dance over Wei Ying’s sleeping face and it dawns on him just how much he loves this man, and how he’ll never tire of waking up to this.
Changes will need to be made, of course. They will need two of everything – two washbasins, two mirrors, two combs. Then, for breakfast, two cups of tea, two plates of buns, two pairs of chopsticks, and a large table to hold two versions of every dish – spicy and sweet.
They’ll have their own garden to plant those herbs and spices that Wei Ying is so very fond of. Lan Zhan will build a pond for his lotus roots. He will make sure there are trees and hedges and a lawn overgrown with wildflowers, which will offer plenty of room for their pets to roam.
His little heart can barely contain all the love that's blooming inside. “Wei Ying,” he says breathlessly, as he wakes the other man.
Wei Ying rubs the sleep from his bleary eyes which flutter open in the soft light. “Lan Zhan.” He smiles brightly when he sees him and reaches for his hand.
Lan Zhan feels a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. They could be happy together. They’ll play music and chess, paint, read poetry, or maybe just talk. Lan Zhan knows there will be plenty to talk about. He doesn't quite have all the right words to express just how much Wei Ying means to him and all of his hopes for their shared future, but he hopes these will do for now.
“Marry me.”
Wei Ying gazes back at him in spellbound silence and Lan Zhan wonders how he ever once cast a silencing spell on this wonderful man, because he loves the sound of Wei Ying’s voice and all the things he says. There are still secrets he wishes to uncover, and so many words he wishes to hear, but for now, he’ll be happy with one.
“Yes.”