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Lan WangJi froze as soon as he saw the interior of the little box, his lungs refusing to work. Wei WuXian had come to him with a bright, almost nervous smile asking to talk to him in private and as soon as they had been out of sight, he gave Lan WangJi the little vault.
Who knew such a beautiful chest, self-made from dark wood and painted with white rabbits, would contain a heart. (It was most likely fresh too with the amount of liquid blood still sticking to it.)
The muscle flexed, the heart actually pulsed, and Lan WangJi dropped the box from shock. (He was scared, he was actually scared that Wei Ying had murdered Su She and given Lan WangJi his heart and he hated himself for feeling flattered—)
Lan WangJi was glad the changes on his face from emotions were minuscule, almost imperceptible. He had felt happy when Wei WuXian had presented him the box, had said he had stood up whole nights in favor of finishing it before Lan WangJi’s departure from Yiling. That delight was replaced, first by fright and then by anger. He had secretly gotten his hopes up, hoped to receive something meaningful, a token of their strange friendship. (He had not dared to hope for a courting gift.)
Lan WangJi had known that the Yiling Wei were drastically different from the Gusu Lan, from their robes up to their traditions and culinary, from their rules up to their cultivation methods.
The Yiling Wei use musical cultivation to control ghosts and corpses in fights and to lay them to rest. Elimination is not needed when you can simply sing ghosts to rest.
They were black with greys and reds and oranges, with green jade and silver.
Conscious fierce corpses walk all over their territory, continuing to live despite being dead, some even teaching their own classes in the sect.
The Yiling Wei put types of spices in their typically radish dishes that Lan WangJi had not known to even exist. The very first meal had left him with the expression that the Wei had been trying to poison the guest disciples.
Instead of mourning for the dead, they celebrate their passing into a new life, wearing black and gold instead of the usual black and red. “We celebrate their being in our lives. We are thankful they had been a part of us and with the gold we wish the soul good luck in their next life!” Wei-Zongzhu had explained once, while the detached hand of her mother tapped on the table.
Lan WangJi inhaled sharply and looked back up, expecting that cheeky smile and silver eyes glinting with mischief, bright louder and “Ah, Lan Zhan I can’t believe you fell for a prank like this!”. But he got none of that. He got the complete opposite, instead.
Wide eyes stared down to were the heart box still laid on the ground. Wei WuXian’s hands clutched his robes with a grip so tight, his knuckles were turning white. Then, as if snapping out of a daze, the sect heir hastily bent down, picked up the vault (his hands were shaking, why were his hands—) and held it close his chest. Then he bowed.
“This one—“ Wei WuXian took a gulp of breath. “This one apologizes for forcing his—for shaming Lan-Er-Gongzi. I sincerely hope you enjoy the last week of your studies in Burial Mounds. Haishi is approaching soon and I must attend to sect matters. Have a pleasant night, Er-Gongzi.”
Lan WangJi froze from shock a second time this evening. Wei WuXian had never talked to him like that before, why would he now? Did he realize his prank had been too much for Lan WangJi? Wei WuXian’s apology sounded sincere, but it would’ve been so even without those honorifics or false excuses. Before Lan WangJi could say something, anything, Wei WuXian was running off.
He did not sleep well that night. He could not shake off the feeling that something was wrong.
⬒ ⬓
Wei WuXian did not talk to him first thing in the morning. In fact, Lan WangJi only saw him once, in the afternoon.
He had stood near the dark green bamboo, the same spot as yesterday, and scattered ashes in the wind. His smile had been soft, not quite reaching his eyes. Then, Wei WuXian had left, not even noticing the man in white.
Something was wrong.
⬒ ⬓
Wei WuXian did not attend class today. But he never had, had said he knew all of it already.
Wei WuXian did not attend sword practice either. He never missed out on the opportunity to challenge his peers and spar with Lan WangJi. “My equal,” he had shamelessly announced after their very first spar.
Something was very wrong.
⬒ ⬓
“I wonder were Da-Shixiong is, haven’t seen him for two days now,” A young disciple admitted.
So Wei WuXian hadn’t been avoiding just Lan WangJi. He was simply busy with sect matters, like he had said that day.
“He probably already died in that tiny hole he calls his personal grave,” another joked.
Something was very, very wrong.
⬒ ⬓
Wei WuXian did not show up the next day either.
Something would go wrong, Lan WangJi was sure of it.
⬒ ⬓
And go wrong it did. Just maybe not the something Lan WangJi had expected.
Wei QiongLin punched him.
Quiet and kind Wei QiongLin had come up to him, with the angriest expression Lan WangJi had ever seen on him. Then his fist had kissed Lan WangJi’s jaw, an unexpected blow strong enough to make the Lan stumble and almost fall over.
“Do not be haughty or complacent,” Wei QiongLin quoted. “Isn’t that one of your precious rules?”
Lan WangJi’s brows furrowed. Was the boy implying that he had broken that rule? That couldn’t be right, Lan WangJi had treated everyone with respect during the guest lectures.
Before he could defend himself, Nie HuaiSang grabbed Wei QiongLin by the arm, likely to catch his breath rather than stop the almost fight. “QiongLin,” he panted. “Don’t. WuXian won’t forgive you if you ruin Lan WangJi’s face.”
“He would,” Wei QiongLin pointed out.
Nie HuaiSang sighed. “You’re right, you’re right. Don’t do it, though. You should go back to your sister.”
Wei QiongLin simply stared at Lan WangJi, before giving Nie HuaiSang a hug and wishing him safe travels. He left without any apology.
Wei WuXian did not show up to bid him goodbye, like he had promised a while ago.
⬒ ⬓
After the guest lectures in Burial Mounds, Lan WangJi saw Wei WuXian only a handful of times, only at sect conferences.
They addressed each other formally, no teasing or inappropriate behavior from Wei WuXian, just polite smiles that didn’t quite reach his eyes.
A private conversation was impossible—the Wei sect heir was never alone, always having at least one of his friends or cousins around him. Lan WangJi had had his suspicions before and now they were confirmed; Wei WuXian had been avoiding him and it hurt.
“Lan WangJi,” Nie HuaiSang greeted him. He nodded, turning his gaze back towards the garden.
“XiChen-Ge told me you’ve been in turmoil ever since the Yiling lectures four years ago. Why is that?”
Lan WangJi gripped his sword handle to suppress a sigh. Of course his elder brother picked up on it, connected the dots and made a close friend of Wei WuXian talk to him. After a moment of silence, Nie HuaiSang continued.
“Is it because WuXian is avoiding you?”
Having it admitted out loud felt like the punch Wei QiongLin had thrown at him.
“I don’t know why you’re upset.” The sect heir fanned himself. “You clearly told him to stay away and never talk to you again.”
Lan WangJi ceased every movement. He had only ever told Wei WuXian to get lost, not... that.
Seemingly catching on to Lan WangJi’s confusion, Nie HuaiSang huffed. “You dropped the vault of devotion, telling him to piss off with his feelings.”
Lan WangJi grabbed Nie HuaiSang by the shoulders, trying not to show the tremor in his voice. “Explain.”
“History of the Yiling Wei, chapter 3: traditions and festivities. Confessing one’s love for another is done through the vault of devotion. The chest must be carved and decorated by the devotee themself. The heart inside must be the one of an animal or the sworn enemy of their fated person. Giving over the vault of devotion symbolizes entrusting one’s heart and all their feelings to their fated person for safekeeping.”
“There are three ways of responding if given a vault of devotion. When the feelings are mutual, you kiss the chest and bury the heart underneath white flowers of your choosing. The white symbolizes your refusal to part even after death. When the feelings are not returned, but you wish to remain friends, you simply hand the vault back. And to say that you are repulsed by their love—“
“You drop the chest,” Lan WangJi whispered with dread.
“Usually, it’s simply set on the ground, but if you wish to be extremely harsh, then you drop or throw it down,” Nie HuaiSang finished.
Extremely harsh. No wonder he wouldn’t approach him, no wonder he wouldn’t even spare him a single smile.
Lan WangJi had, without knowing, rejected Wei WuXian in the worst way possible.
His legs felt like steamed noodles and because steamed noodles could not support the weight of a 19 year old cultivator, Lan WangJi sank onto his knees, uncaring about the dirt his robes would collect.
Lan WangJi had never gotten to chapter three of the copy every guest disciple had received. The moment Wei WuXian had walked in, everything else had been forgotten. When he had tried to retrieve the book the next day, it was gone. He had not asked for a new copy, angry with shame of having lost it simply because a boy had flashed him a smile.
“How do I...” His voice wavered.
“Fix this?” Nie HuaiSang suggested and Lan WangJi nodded. “Simple. You give him your vault of devotion.”
“But he is not available for private discussions.”
“Just make the chest and get the heart,” the sect heir huffed. “Leave the other part to me.”
⬒ ⬓
Lan WangJi stares at the box in his hand. In comparison to Wei WuXian’s vault, his was ugly. Light wood with red flowers that look like they had been painted by a child. On one of the other carving attempts, he had tried to draw a donkey, remembering how Wei WuXian had told him about Little Apple. It had not looked like an animal at all.
Lan WangJi’s hands were considered delicate, he played the guqin after all, but to create such delicate art, one needed rough hands, like Wei WuXian’s, with all its lines. He quickly hid the vault in his sleeve as the black figure came closer him.
“Lan Zh—Lan-Er-Gongzi. The message said you wished to discuss urgent matters?”
Lan WangJi dropped into a kowtow right at Wei WuXian’s feet. Surprised, the latter stumbled a few steps back. “Lan WangJi? What are you-“
“Forgive me. Wei Ying, forgive me. Back then—the day when you—I did not know. I never finished reading the Yiling Wei history book and I—“ Lan WangJi took a breath to calm his heart. Explain everything thoroughly, he remembered Nie HuaiSang advising.
“Had been happy when Wei Ying gave me the chest. It was very beautiful. The heart had—had shocked me, so I let the box fall. Did not know what it meant back then. I hurt you, nonetheless.”
Wei WuXian kneeled down as well, trying to pull Lan WangJi up by his arms. “Do not apologize, it-“
“No, Wei Ying. Please let me. You deserve it.”
Lan WangJi lifted his upper body, keeping a hunched over posture. His uncle would’ve surely scolded him. With shaking hands, he retrieved the vault of devotion and presented it to Wei WuXian. The other’s sharp inhale almost sounded like a gasp.
He watched as Wei WuXian hesitately wrapped his hands around Lan WangJi’s, leaned forward and kissed the vault. Wei WuXian had actually accepted that ugly thing, accepted Lan WangJi’s heart and all its feelings.
“Lan-Er-Gongzi, Lan WangJi, Lan Zhan. I like you, i love you, I want you—I whatever you! I want to night hunt with you every night and sleep with you everyday! Only you! It can’t be anyone else!”
Wei WuXian smiled. The first true smile Lan WangJi had received in years.
“Love you. Want you,” he repeated and Wei WuXian nodded. “Yes!”
“Whatever you. Night hunt every night and sleep together everyday. It can’t—cannot be anyone else but you. Me too, Wei Ying, I-“
“Magnolias,” Wei WuXian suddenly blurted out. “I want to bury the heart beneath magnolias.”
Lan WangJi stared at Wei WuXian’s chili red face. He nodded. Magnolias were a good choice.