Dark Lan Zhan Zine

Foreword
A year ago the message came... Something is wrong with Lan Wangji.
Mo Dao Zu Shi is a novel that explores morality and how even the most highly
principled characters can have their intentions mangled by the perception of the
mob. It’s interesting to explore what would happen if our favourite characters
made different choices. What could happen if they succumbed to their worst
impulses? This question prompted us to create this event a year ago. It’s been
astounding to see how many people have heeded the call. The works in
this zine range from the supernatural, to the macabre; there are those
that are set in the canon universe, and those that explore alternate
paths. They are all united by a fervent fascination by what dark
desires could lie within Hanguang-jun.
Thank you to the writers and artists who participated

in this zine. Thanks also to the wider community in our
Discord server and on Twitter who have supported us
this past work. We offer you this zine to sate your
appetites for more.
DARKLANZHAN
/
discord.gg zrZNqDQkxS
/
ao3.org collections/
darklanzhanweek
Cover artwork by
Nessie @rbarkive
rbarkive.carrd.co
Table of contents
33 Elders by Lilla_Chan 05
cw: blood
Honor Good People by akinohikari 06 - 13

cw: blood, graphic violence, major character death
Safe at Last by jaegerbox 14

cw: death, non-con resurrection
Fresh Blood Through Tired Skin by todesesser 15 - 21

cw: blood, character death, temporary character death
il ratto di wei wuxian by buzhix3 22
if I find you again, it will be in the mountains 23 - 30

by aninfiniteweirdo
cw: gaslighting, character death
To Have and To Hold by kiracin 31

cw: mild blood, non-con
Hold This Much Love by HeavenlySkyfarer 32 - 40

cw: angst, canon-typical violence, forced memory-loss,
implied suicidal thoughts
Who Is In Control? by tiffillustrates 41
Fuck Around and Find Out by notoriousfish 42 - 49

cw: non-con, ages not specified
Commemoration by faalthien 50
cw: cannibalism, body horror
The Gardener by tunnelofdawn 51 - 55
Led Astray By a Gentle Heart by daathdweller 56

cw: non-con, incest, violence, sex with a minor
Take Me To The Paradise by p3achbae 57 - 65

cw: murder, surgery, age difference,
the wens win, organ theft
倘若君心似我心 | 66
If your heart could be like mine by wrecklwj
cw: ghost sex, demonic cultivator lan wangji
All of Me Belongs to You by yumichanhamano 67 - 75
Equinox Flower by ByeolLeporem 76 - 77

cw: blood, bruises, partial nudity
A Siren's Tail by sweetlolixo 78 - 79

cw: mpreg, manipulation
First Dance by elle_on_snooze 85

cw: dolls, body parts
Crazy In Love by mdzsed 86 - 92

cw: obsession, stalking, breaking and entering, off-screen
allusion to drugging someone, manipulation, conditioning
4
Lilla_Chan
aki_no_hikari
akinohikari
honor
HONOR good
GOOD people
PEOPLE
The cave was full of music, the gentle strums of qin strings reverberating through the
immense room that once housed an ancient beast. Lately, it had become the lair of a not
so ancient beast.
Yet, Lan Wangji felt as ancient as that long gone creature, and just as thirsty for blood. This
place brought many memories back, memories he both cherished and abhorred. Of Wei
Ying, of his teasing laughter and mischievous streak that not even facing such a fearsome
creature could damper. But also memories of Wei Ying, little more than a child, wound-
ed and sick with fever, his flame so close to vanishing it brought despair to Lan Wangji’s
heart.
Even years later, that despair felt like ice in his veins.
After all, Wei Ying’s flame did indeed vanish, and all of Lan Wangji’s efforts proved
inadequate to protect him.
All his lauded cultivation, his years of training, of studying, all his skill with the sword
and qin, all for nothing. He had not the strength of character nor the strength of arms to
protect that which he most cherished.
A series of groans and moans of pain interrupted his thoughts and he paused in his
strumming to look at the cultivators lying down at the other side of the campfire. All of
them waking up thanks to the invigorating effect of his music.
They must awaken, they must be made aware of the consequences of their actions.
‘Uphold the value of justice’
An injustice has gone too long unaddressed, thus Lan Wangji would see this corrected,
here and now.
“Hanguang-jun!” a man in the blue-green clothes of the Yao sect exclaimed whilst the
other cultivators, a mix of people from the Qin and Yao sects, started to come around to
their senses.
“Hanguang-jun!”
“Thank the heavens!”
6
“Hanguang-jun, you’re here!”
There was no need to answer such frivolous words, so he stayed silent.
Watching.
Waiting.
Slow realizations dawned all around, as the cultivators noticed all of them were tied up
and that no matter how they struggled to free themselves, they were unable to access any
spiritual energy.
“IT’S THE SLICER!” someone screamed shrilly and a few of them cried out in dismay,
helplessly trying to squirm out of their binds.
“Calm down! Calm down, everyone!” the Qin sect cultivator who was clearly in charge
spoke up in a loud voice, bringing order to the chaos. “Even if the Slicer of Yiling caught
us, we have Hanguang-jun here!” he turned to Lan Wangji with a simpering smile. “Not
even that bastard Wei Ying could stand before Hanguang-jun! A lowlife murderer like the
Slicer stands no chance!”
Lan Wangji’s fingers tightened over his qin’s strings as several people agreed with the man’s
words.
They looked to Lan Wangji with open faces and brainless smiles.
Full of hope.
Full of trust.
They were disgusting.
“Do you know this place?” he spoke for the first time since their awakening. The group
looked around like the obedient sheep they were, trying to make sense of their surround-
ings.
“Can’t say I know.”
“Somewhere in Yiling maybe?”
“Looks a bit familiar.”
“Wait!” one of the women exclaimed and leaned towards the lake in the middle of the
large cavern. “Isn’t this where Wen Chao left us to die?” she asked and suddenly they all
started to look around with more interest, exclaiming in recognition.
“Indeed,” Lan Wangji answered. It was a place all of them should know, for they were all
part of that indoctrination camp, what seemed a lifetime ago.
7
Every single one of them had been saved by Wei Ying’s cleverness, his selflessness, his
ability to think under pressure.
“You’re right! It’s where Hanguang-jun slayed that beast!” They all tittered and exclaimed
in awe.
All of them owed their lives to Wei Ying, and all of them betrayed him.
When it was no longer convenient to fawn over him, they turned their swords on Wei
Ying, fighting for a piece of the renown for defeating him.
Lan Wangji had heard it all from their own lips, listening in from a darkened corner in a
remote inn as the group feasted after their night hunt, boasting of their prowess and skill.
“After the Burial Mounds, this night hunt was too easy!”
“Not even that bastard Wei Ying could stand before me!”
“Sect Leader Jin personally commended me after I helped burn down that demon’s lair!”
“It was a good thing he died, now his evil inventions can be used for good deeds!”
Ungrateful, undeserving wretches, betraying their saviour, fighting over scraps of Wei
Ying’s genius like they had the right to benefit from his efforts while spitting on his
name.
Lan Wangji stood up and looked down at them. Wei Ying was gone, and yet they re-
mained.
‘Shoulder the weight of morality’
It was his duty to remind them, and to ensure they realized their mistake. A duty he car-
ried on gladly, this was his own punishment for his failure to support him when Wei Ying
most needed him.
With a flicker of spiritual energy, their mouths were sealed shut.
“Years ago, you cowered in the darkness, abandoned to your fate. Yet you were saved by a
single man’s clever plan and his dedication to helping others.” He looked at them and saw
the confusion in their eyes.
Clearly, they weren’t the brightest students.
“You owe Wei Wuxian your lives,” he whispered, his calm voice betraying nothing of the
ice in his veins, of the bitter and righteous anger that consumed him every moment of
every day. “And you used the gift he granted you to stab him in the back.”
They made desperate noises behind their shut lips, shaking their heads and looking at
each other in confusion.
8
“He sacrificed everything for your sake. First here,” he spread his arm towards the lake,
silent and still, no trace left of the legend that once lived there. “And then against the
scorching sun of the Wen sect, and then against the grasping greed of the Jin sect. He
did nothing but treat you with respect and kindness and you spit on his face. You are a
disgrace.”
He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, calming his raging emotions.
“Even beasts have more honor than you.”
“Pwah!” one of them gasped, tearing their lips apart, blood pouring down their chin as
they begged. “Hanguang-jun! What madness are you saying?!”
“Silence!”
A string of silk and steel cut through the air, faster than the eye could see, severing the
head from the torso. Red blood arched through the air and splattered the man’s compan-
ions.
Not a drop fell on Lan Wangji’s mourning white robes.
Muffled screams filled the cave and several people tried to get up to run. After so long, the
dazzling light of Hanguang-jun had vanished from their eyes and they could see clearly
who and what they were trapped with.
But they were tied up, with their spiritual energy sealed. They were helpless, just as Wei
Ying had been helpless before the army howling for his life.
“Yao Zhao, saved from being consumed by the Xuanwu of Slaughter, later survived the
battlefields of Jiangling in the Sunshot Campaign thanks to Wei Ying’s aid. Joined the siege
of Burial Mounds to seek glory for himself.” Lan Wangji recited, firm and inflexible, like
reading from the rules of his sect.
Long had he been called a Jade of the Lan sect. But it was now that he most resembled the
cold, heartless stone, carved into a perfect and terrible facsimile of a man. There was no
warmth in his visage, and no mercy could be found within his eyes.
One of the women sobbed and tried to crawl away. A flicker of his fingers and the strings
he had spread across the floor and ceiling moved like extensions of his will.
“MGGGHHHH!” she screamed as she was hoisted into the air, unbreakable silk digging
into her flesh as she was held with no hope of escape.
“Qin Xing, saved from the Xuanwu of Slaughter, escaped from a Wen sect ambush by Wei
Ying’s intervention. Attended the siege of the Burial Mounds, helping to bring the barriers
down.” He said, fingers slowly curling as the strings dug deeper and deeper into her body
as she screamed, tearing the silencing spell apart as her agony echoed through the cave.
9
No one tried to help her, instead they tried to escape, like rats in a sinking ship, each seek-
ing to save their own neck.
But there was nowhere to run, nowhere to hide. Their ungratefulness, their disloyalty, and
their greed would be punished.
With a blast of spiritual energy, all of the strings moved at once, trapping every cultivator
in a web too strong to break and too painful to endure.
Today, they would die, just as Wei Ying had died, alone and far from home. Today, they
would repay what they owed. Today, they would learn that no crime goes unpunished.
Lan Wangji would ensure that none of those who benefited from Wei Ying’s sacrifices and
repaid it by turning their backs on him in his time of need continued to enjoy a life
they bought with his blood.
He couldn’t live with himself if he did not do this. If he did not watch as each and every
person who aided in the destruction of his heart did not die as painfully as Wei Ying had.
If they did not feel in their flesh all the suffering Wei Ying had felt, forsaken by those who
had once acclaimed him as a hero.
Ever since Wei Ying had left this world, he had known no peace. And neither would the
culprits.
He wouldn’t allow them to forget what they owed the man who saved them all from
enslavement and destruction. He wouldn’t allow them to forget how bright he burned and
how they were blinded by their envy, how they destroyed the greatness they could not
possess.
He would not rest until all of them were punished for their crimes, he would not rest until
there was no one left who would dare to tarnish Wei Ying’s name and legacy.
This, he vowed.
Three days later, yet another batch of bodies was found at the foot of the Burial Mounds,
all severed into dozens of pieces yet painstakingly rearranged in a macabre kowtow, sup-
plicants before the great and terrible mountain. All of them people who fought to defeat
the great evil of the Yiling Patriarch. All of them brought down by the nameless murderer
the Great Sects were helpless to stop.
There was no evidence that could point to the culprit and no answer to the summoning of
their spirits. Only silence, sliced bodies and grieving families.
Time passed, and the situation repeated, again and again. There were no clues, no survi-
vors and no ghosts. Cultivators far and wide cowered in their homes, fearing that they too
would join the victims of the Slicer of Yiling.
And then the Chief Cultivator vanished.
10
Lan Wangji stilled the strings of his qin, watching the prone form beyond the fire remain
still and, for all appearances, still asleep.
“I know you are awake, Jin Guangyao.”
Jin Guangyao chuckled, rising to a sitting position and looking at him with a smile that
didn’t reach his eyes. It was impressive, what one could get away with if they smiled.
Only now that he knew to look for it, Lan Wangji could see the calculated purpose of Jin
Guangyao’s expressions and mannerisms.
He could see now, how this man had risen from nothing in a world that sought to thwart
men like him from amounting to anything.
“Of course. It had to be the one we were less suspicious of,” he said, sounding calm. But
Lan Wangji could see the restlessness in his posture, the rapid flickering of his eyes as he
formulated a plan to escape.
But it was useless, there was no way to escape. Lan Wangji had made sure of it.
“You must have laughed, seeing us running around, desperate to find the culprit, when the
culprit was among us all along.”
“It was no laughing matter.”
“Indeed.” Jin Guangyao’s smile turned bitter, his eyes narrowed in barely suppressed anger.
“Er-ge and I thought you joined the investigation to clear Wei Wuxian’s name from the
murders, but who would have thought it was simply to keep us from seeing your true
nature? Isn’t lying forbidden in your sect?”
Lan Wangji tilted his head.
“There were no lies told.”
Jin Guangyao looked up at the darkened ceiling of the cave, deep in thought.
“No, there were no lies. To get away with this for so many years, of course there were no
lies. ‘The means of murder is physical; the culprit is a living person; the culprit bears a
grudge;’ all these are truths, are they not?”
“They are.”
“Wei Wuxian’s death?”
No one had ever said Jin Guangyao was stupid. This was the riskiest gamble Lan Wangji
had played so far, the most dangerous culprit he was bringing to justice so far. But to allow
him to wake up before he died was a risk he had to take.
‘Morality is the priority’
11
To punish without making the infraction clear was unjust.
“There were thousands of people involved in the siege, you’ll never finish them all.”
Jin Guangyao kept talking, stalling for time, searching for an escape he would never find,
waiting for a rescue that would never come. Lan Wangji indulged him. Wei Ying’s clever-
ness hadn’t saved him, and neither would Jin Guangyao’s preserve his life.
“They need not all die,” he answered as he idly plucked the strings of his qin, Jin Guang-
yao’s eyes fell to his hands and he paled. Lan Wangji breathed in deeply, pleasantly grati-
fied to see the pieces fall into place in Jin Guangyao’s mind.
Not everyone was equally guilty, for some of them, a life of fearing the shadows was
enough punishment for their crimes. But the others, those who betrayed Wei Ying, those
who profited from his parting, those who rejoiced in spitting on his memory, would die as
agonizingly as Wei Ying had.
“When they stop blemishing his name, I will stop.”
Jin Guangyao barked a laugh.
“That will never happen.”
“Then I will never stop.”
Jin Guangyao looked at him, clever eyes studying his face. He had already realized there
was no physical way out, so now he must be thinking about how he could talk Lan Wangji
into lowering his guard.
But Lan Wangji already knew this. He would not be like the rest of the cultivators, un-
derestimating Jin Guangyao merely because of his birth. He already knew birth was of no
consequence. He had seen Wei Ying, clever, talented, a stain upon the cultivation world’s
emphasis on birth and lineage, always overcoming insurmountable odds.
He knew how dangerous a clever man could be.
Jin Guangshan, may he be punished by the judges of hell, had not the wits to put togeth-
er the kind of plan that would see someone of Wei Ying’s skill dead, his name tarnished
among those who once praised him. No, for something like that, you needed a subtlety
that the former sect leader had lacked.
‘Steer away from bad people’
“You fool, do you think Wei Ying would’ve thanked you for this?” Jin Guangyao smiled,
mockery clear on his face.
Lan Wangji bowed his head. Wei Ying wouldn’t thank him, but that was fine. He did not
need, nor want, Wei Ying’s gratefulness.
12
He merely wanted him to be alive.
Alas, the dead did not come back to life, not in any way that mattered.
“Did you think your father would thank you for doing his dirty work?” he asked back,
petty vindictiveness curling in his chest when Jin Guangyao’s expression soured for a
moment.
“When has Hanguang-jun’s tongue turned so sharp? Zewu-jun would be disappointed.”
“He won’t know.”
“No? Not even after you kill me? He’ll be devastated, you know? Especially since Da-ge
already left us. Will you do that? Will you break your brother’s heart again?”
Lan Wangji had long struggled with the rules that governed his sect. What one precept
allowed, another precept forbade. To follow one was to forsake another.
‘Honor good people’
To honor a good man’s life, he would have to be unfilial and cause suffering to those he
loved. Lan Xichen allowed a good man to die and, for that, he too must be punished.
Spiritual energy raced through the myriad silk threads lining the cave. Jin Guangyao’s
eyes widened as cold, inescapable death came for him.
“He broke mine first.”
13
jaegerbox
todesesser
fresh blood through tired skin

They huddled on the floor of the cave, breathless and weary. Lan Wangji felt the unmis-
takable pain of a broken rib with every inhale. He knelt, a feral Wei Wuxian draped over
his knee, and pushed aside the needs of his own body to see to his beloved. His beloved,
with eyes as red as the blood on his teeth, hissed “Get out!” at Lan Wangji again and again.
Wangji poured forth his love with words with the same desperate haste as he pressed his
spiritual energy into Wei Wuxian’s meridians. Both efforts were useless. It felt like pouring
water down an endless well — descending into darkness without a splash.
How long would they have continued so, had not the cultivators come, in a great cacoph-
ony of broken wards and shouts? For as long as he had breath in his body, Lan Wangji
knew, he would have kept his vigil. But Wei Wuxian was vulnerable, and Bichen grew
restless.
Lan Wangji, in robes soaked through with blood, strode out and met the cultivators at
the edge of the grounds. Was he surprised to see it was his own clan who had come first?
Perhaps. Many eyes saw him fly away with Wei Wuxian. The others may have hoped his
kin would take him home and leave this place vulnerable.
As they stepped closer, Lan Wangji drew Bichen and held it up in silent warning. The
elders paused, weapons sheathed, as they took in their young master.
“Lan-er-gongzi, you will return to Gusu.”
Come to Gusu with me. His memories whispered, as they showed him the face of his be-
loved snarling and impatient with pitiful pleas.
His words had been useless before, and unable to stop the snowflake from becoming an
avalanche, but Lan Wangji need not speak now for his message to be understood. Silence,
and his blade, would tell a greater story than he could.
“Wangji,” the elder snapped. “Do not associate with evil. Or have you forgotten yourself?”
Uphold the value of justice. He thought. Do not judge others harshly. Who knew what was
right, what was wrong? What made a person evil? Who could judge the heart of another?
These were the questions in his heart; the questions that filled him with regret and despair
while his beloved had risen up and fought and killed so many.
I, Wei Wuxian, wish I can always stand with justice, and live with no regrets. Everything
his beloved had said was written on Lan Wangji’s heart and spirit. He loved a righteous
15
man who had walked the crooked path and had done unspeakable things, who had stood
steadfast against the entire cultivation world for justice. Lan Wangji would do the same
here.
Lan Yunfei took a step closer, hands held up in appeasement.
“Please, young master, return with your family,” he said. “Enough blood has been spilled
on these grounds. There is still time for forgiveness and atonement.”
“Qianbei,” Lan Wangji said, “please leave this place.”
“His life is forfeit, Wangji. He has killed a thousand cultivators. He cultivates the ghost
path. Now stand aside!”
“No,” Lan Wangji responded, and readied his sword.
A sigh. “So be it.”
The elders pushed forward, with the certainty filial piety would stay Lan Wangji’s hand. It
would not.
Lan Wangji stepped forward and met steel with steel.
They found him crumpled on the dirt near the lotus pond. They had watched him fight
valiantly and defeat the dozens of horrible men who had threatened their home. They
could see why the master was fond of him. Who wouldn’t be smitten with such a powerful
cultivator?
Three ghostly women in intricate robes knelt down around Lan Wangji. Not quite dead
yet, but nearly so. They could see his chest rise and fall, but he had been weakened from
aiding the master and there had been an awful lot of cultivators. They kept vigil, cooing
over him, and protecting him from the less friendly spirits of the burial mounds, the way
they did with the child these days.
The burial mounds approved of him, too, they could tell. They could feel its hum as he fed
it fresh blood. The shadows crept along, gentle in their hands, as they wrapped Lan Wangji
in a protective shroud. The resentment slipped in, filling where bright golden spiritual
energy once overflowed, and preserved his body and soul as best the darkness knew how.
The master wasn’t in a fit state to help. They would keep this one safe until he could come
claim what was rightfully his.
For all that the master was terribly tsun-tsun about the whole thing, he had not been able
to hide the longing from their eyes. The women had spent their lives looking for such
signs in men and using it against them. Especially when it came to rich sect heirs with
heavy purses who treated men to meals. The master had sent them away whenever young
master Lan had come to visit, but often failed to notice when they lingered on the periph-
16
ery to watch him dote on the master and the child. And the gongzi clearly felt strongly as
well. Who else would have protected the master with his life? How tragic, they sighed.
Lan Wangji’s breath stuttered one last time and came to rest. The Burial Mounds
thrummed in response, flooding his meridians with cold, covetous resentment. That
would hold him for some time. The women turned him onto his back and straightened his
clothing. They petted his hair and set his sword down next to him. He had been a hand-
some cultivator in life. They took pains to keep him that way in death.
When Wei Wuxian emerged from the demon subduing cave, it was well past midnight
two days following the battle. His thoughts were a roil of pain and fury. The resentment
building and building. The pain behind his eyes was sharp and nauseating. He had been
sick at some point, evacuating nothing but bile. There was a myriad of injuries on his
body, some more concerning than others. He couldn’t remember how he got away from
Nightless City. No memory of the past day remained, beyond an impression of white and
irritation.
There was a ghost waiting near the entrance, who curled up around his knee beseechingly
as soon as he approached. He hissed at her.
“Zhuren,” she beseeched, “your gongzi needs you.”
“Not now,” he shook her off. He couldn’t think about Lan Zhan right now. “I’m not in the
mood for your games.”
“No games, Zhuren,” she denied. She stood and coaxed him to follow her to the lotuses.
“We kept him for you, but you slept for so long…”
That shook some lucidity into him, he didn’t have the strength to fight Lan Zhan or any-
one else, and A-Yuan... He shook his head and pulled Chenqing free.
“Show me.”
It was not more than a dozen steps to the lotus pond. The other ghosts parted the way
forward like curtains on a stage to reveal a body on the floor. Still. Bloody and pale, in a
burial shroud of darkness.
Mourning clothes.
Wei Wuxian closed the distance in the blink of an eye, the resentment thick on the ground
here ferrying along like wings on his back.
“Lan Zhan...” he said. There was no movement. Nothing. He grabbed him by the collar,
crawling onto him and sitting on his hips. “No, no, no. Lan Zhan!”
He grabbed the body by the collar and pulled him up sending the shadows scattering
17
away. The corpse was stiff in some places, and loose in others. Dead for more than a day
now. Wei Wuxian shook him anyway, looking at the color of his skin — pallid, and blueish
purple where the blood had begun to pool.
Wei Wuxian let it fall back to the floor. He screamed. Inhuman rage and grief boiling out
of him. The power he commanded leapt to its master’s need and drew down on him like
a lightning strike. Plumes of sickly green energy swirled his robes and everything around
him before shooting up to strike the sky.
The women withdrew, huddled together protectively. They did not wish to be caught in
their master’s bloody retribution.
Wei Wuxian fell forward and pressed their foreheads together.
“Zhiji,” he whispered, tears dripping onto dead cheeks.
The Burial Mounds grew silent in respect of its master’s grief. It was the silence of the for-
est when the predator lurked nearby. It was the eye of the hurricane before the wreckage.
“Who did this?” he demanded.
“Cultivators came, Zhuren,” one said. “He would not stand aside.”
“What sects?”
They hesitated a moment before answering.
“Gusu Lan.”
“His family did this?”
The darkness around Wei Wuxian surged, flowing up from the dirt and air all around
them. Wei Wuxian grabbed Bichen from where it lay in a place of honor next to him. He
straddled Lan Wangji’s chest and sliced the skin over his heart. Leaning forward, the blood
dripped from his breast onto Lan Wangji’s grey lips.
“They’re not worthy of you, Hanguang-Jun.”
He dropped the sword to the ground and leaned down to take Lan Wangji’s face between
his hands. With their foreheads pressed together, he sank all of himself into Lan Wangji,
searching for the light buried deep within the miasma of resentment.
“Lan Zhan,” he whispered, broken. Wei Wuxian had spent the last year feeling pieces of
himself slough away. Then Shijie died and took half his soul with her. Now Lan Zhan…
“Lan Zhan, come back to me,” he pleaded, and pulled. He would drain every drop of
power from the world to grab Lan Wangji’s soul and drag it back to his body. Wei Wuxian
dug his nails into Lan Wangji’s skin and hissed: “Wake up.”
18
Lan Wangji’s eyes snapped open — solid black now instead of soft brown. Feral. He hissed
as Wei Wuxian stroked his face. Lan Wangji had always been the stronger of the two, even
when Wei Wuxian was not the withered husk of a man he was now. As a fierce corpse
that strength was unfettered. Lan Wangji flipped them over with ease. He lashed out with
teeth, jaws snapping at Wei Wuxian’s throat.
Wei Wuxian continued to pet him, humming the song that always made him think of
Lan Wangji, whistling to tame the wildness, to bring Lan Zhan to heel. He ran his hand
through the blood still seeping from his chest and fed it to Lan Wangji from his fingertips.
The fresh blood smeared across his mouth and along the sharp line of his jaw. He has
enough of a hold on Lan Wangji through the blood to get out from underneath him. He
got to his feet and put Chenqing to his lips and guided his beloved back to the cave. Wei
Wuxian settled the inferno of rage burning through Lan Wangji until he was able to secure
him with a score of binding talismans.
Wei Wuxian was half-way through renewing the wards on the cave when a weight
slammed into his legs.
“Xian-gege, what happened?” A-Yuan asked.
The ghost women were behind them some ways, huddled together and cowering.
“Apologies, Zhuren,” they murmured, “he could not be reasoned with.”
“Leave,” Wei Wuxian ordered, with fire in his eyes. He shook it off and pinched A-Yuan’s
cheek. “Rich-gege needs our help. Will you help me wake him up?”
“Yes!” A-Yuan exclaimed and flopped on Lan Wangji’s unmoving stomach. He patted Lan
Wangji on the shoulder. “There, there. Xian-gege will make it better.”
When Lan Xichen arrived at the Burial Mounds three days later, Wei Wuxian was perched
on a rock and waiting for him. Zewu-Jun glided with the same ethereal grace as his broth-
er, though his feet tread more lightly on the ground. He came to stop a respectful distance
away.
The Yiling Patriarch spun his flute between his fingers and slouched discourteously with
one knee bent. There was a brittleness to his expression, like his skin was stretched too
tightly across his skull. When he turned to face Lan Xichen, there was a red sheen to his
eyes.
“Greetings, Zewu-Jun. Have you come to kill me as well?”
Ever respectful, Lan Xichen greeted Wei Wuxian with a salute. It was not returned.
“I have come to bring my brother home,” he said.
19
A look of distaste spread across Wei Wuxian’s face.
“Your sect elders claimed to have the same mission,” he said, and paused intentionally,
“before they struck Lan Zhan down.”
Lan Xichen recoiled and turned his face away from Wei Wuxian. There was grief there,
but not surprise. He had already prepared himself for the worst.
“Then I would see my brother’s body, and bring it home,” he said as a tear ran down his
cheek.
“No need,” a third voice said.
Lan Wangji walked the path to meet them with A-Yuan on his hip. Dark veins licked up
his neck to the line of his jaw. His color was wan, too grey to be human, but his body was
intact. He looked healthier than Wen Ning had managed to. He came to a stop just behind
Wei Wuxian’s shoulder. Lan Wangji greeted his brother with a slight incline of his head. “I
am here.”
Lan Xichen’s face went bone white. He staggered, as though physically struck. He took a
long breath and shut his eyes. When he opened them again, he leveled a look of fury at
Wei Wuxian few had ever seen on the sect leader.
“Wei Wuxian, what have you done?”
“I came upon Lan Zhan after he had bled out at the hands of your elders. What have I
done? What have YOU done?” He demanded as he dropped down and advanced on Lan
Xichen.
“Your elders came here to kill me and everyone who would have stood in their way. Where
were you, Sect Leader, when your family murdered your brother?”
“You have desecrated my brother’s body. Release him and let his soul find peace,” Lan
Xichen said. His fingers tensed around the hilt of his sword.
“You would strike me down, as well, brother?” Lan Wangji asked.
“Rich-gege, why is he so mad?” A-Yuan asked, tiny fists gripped into Lan Wangji’s robes.
“My brother has forgotten his lessons,” Lan Wangji said. He pressed a kiss to the top of
A-Yuan’s head. “Do not succumb to rage.”
His brother refused to look at him and kept his eyes fixed on Wei Wuxian.
“Zewu-Jun,” he said, “He is not of the Lan sect anymore. He is mine. Do you really think
you can stop us when we’re together?”
Wei Wuxian smirked and let the shadows gather around him, around Lan Wangji and
20
A-Yuan.
“You go too far, Wei Wuxian,” Lan Xichen said, trembling with rage. He drew his sword
and pointed it at them.
“Lan Zhan was the best of you, and you threw him away,” Wei Wuxian said, and shook
his head. He turned towards Lan Wangji and took A-Yuan into his arms. Together, they
headed back up the path. “Don’t take long, Lan Zhan. This radish needs his bath.”
They strolled away calmly together with Wei Wuxian humming under his breath.
Lan Xichen turned at last to face his brother. His face broke. “Wangji…”
“You should have stayed away, brother,” he replied and reached up to remove his forehead
ribbon.
Later, when the ghost women were playing hide and seek with A-Yuan, Lan Wangji re-
turned. He stopped to kneel over the water basin and washed the blood off his knuckles.
Predictably, A-Yuan abandoned his game as soon as he saw Lan Wangji and barreled into
his legs.
“Xian-gege said we are going on a trip. Is that true?” he asked.
Lan Wangji shook the water off his hands and stood. He placed his hands on A-Yuan’s
small shoulders. “If that is what Wei Ying would like.”
“Yes,” came the reply from inside the cave. “It’s time we took A-Yuan on an adventure.”
The great sects rode to Yiling to lay siege on the Burial Grounds. They found nothing but
the remains of a settlement and the corpse of Lan Xichen. There was a bounty put out on
Wei Wuxian’s head, one large enough to tempt the virtuous and unprincipled alike, for the
deaths of the Twin Jades of Lan. The truth of that came out shortly after, as Hanguang-Jun
would not hide. The Lan do not retract the bounty, but they do add a reward for the return
of Lan Wangji’s body for proper burial.
Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji take their young charge out to wander the world as rogue
cultivators -- or something like that. They kept out of the main cities, avoiding the major
sects who would threaten their lives together. They enjoyed walking through the streets
together, with A-Yuan between them, each holding one of his hands. The common folk
knew to leave the Yiling Patriarch’s family alone. They would earn his favor by treating
him and his son to meals and offering small trinkets.
The cultivators who hunted them were less wise and attacked from time to time. They
were reminded that, individually, Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji were two of the most
powerful men in the world; together, with nothing left to tame them, they would rip
the world apart if it dared take anything from Wei Wuxian again.
21
buzhix3
aninfiniteweirdo
if i find you again,

it will be in the mountains
“Exemplary persons (junzi) have said that the highest virtue is not manifested
through any official position or authority, that the greatest dao in the world is not a
matter of mastering any particular skill or occupation, that real trust and credibility
among people transcends any particular agreement, and that the great rhythm of
nature is not limited to any particular season. Scrutiny into these four phenomena
will provide insight into both teaching and learning.”1
Xueji
A pine tree; and under it, a child being questioned. The child will answer: the master,
picking medicine, had left a while ago. He went high up on the mountain, deep within the
clouds, the child doesn’t remember where.2 You will—it still sits, as it has and always will,
right under the mountaintop, the little house.
You will hear winter wind blowing outside. You will feel the warmth of your bed and the
shape of the gentleman sleeping beside you. You will gaze out the window at the plum
trees bordering your garden, bordering the image. You see yourself sitting under your pine
tree. You still hear the last note of your song resonating between lofty mountains and pure
waters. The white light of the moon shines silently over you and your companion. You
hear the sound of the zither. You see two figures, standing on the mountain peaks.
The little house sits right under the mountaintop, hiding from sight, hiding the sight.
Those seeking the recluse, can only fail on the way. As the years will pass, who would be
even left to come. You will gaze at the hillside, you will gaze at the trees. Gazing at the
world under heaven, you know it to be boundless. But gazing at the world under heaven,
your eyes will see so little. Your eyes won’t see a home for you anywhere under heaven,
they can only see the little house on the mountain. The way up the mountain is steep, no
mortal will walk it. You will gaze at the plum trees framing your garden. You see, in your
garden, where your flowers used to bloom. Your gaze will behold your companion beside
you.
You are familiar with this gentleman. You know him as a man of value. You are familiar
with his education in the classics, characters taking flight under his fingers. You are famil-
iar with his background learning painting, the way flowers bloom and rivers flow under
1 Xu, Di, et al. “On Teaching and Learning (Xueji).” Chinese Philosophy on
Teaching and Learning - Xueji (學記) in the Twenty-First Century,
State University of New York Press, 2016, p. 16.
2 賈島, 彭定求, et al. “尋隱者不遇.” 全唐詩, 上海古籍出版社, 1986.
23
his fingers. He will write passages for you, he will paint the mountain where you live —
scrolls of calligraphy and paintings hang on the walls of your house, teaching you to see
the world, see its ways clearly again. You will understand it as you understand the person
who holds the brush. You are familiar with his education in music, how his fingers move
on the strings of the zither. You hear his zither weep. You are familiar with his education
in playing weiqi, you know where he keeps the table under the bed. You are familiar with
his body. You know this world he’d learned. Lines and strokes, themes and moves, he used
to teach you.
You know him as a man of value. For pure water flows only from the right source, and
values can only be learned from men of value.
What you need, your companion will provide. You will take the rice he brings, you take
the tea, the ginseng, the beans, you take the soap made from ash. The incense will have
burned down long ago, not even the smoke will linger. You’ll feel the boiling water, but not
the scent of spice in the steam. You’ll feel the boiling water, but not the strong fragrance
of wine. You’ll feel the boiling water, clean robes smelling of nothing but the lofty air of
mountains. You’ll look up and see your companion is there, looking at you. Ash cleans
away the stains. It will have to do. If one does not learn to dress appropriately, they cannot
perform the rites properly.
These are the fragrances in your house.
Steam fills the little house with warmth as cold wind blows outside. Mountains are covered
in snow, rivers are buried under ice. Inside, there will be poems, flowers, there will be play,
there will be music. There will be rice, and tea, and warm water. You will feel the warmth
of clean robes around your body. The cold of a memory, warm blood spilling over the
cold.3 You see the way his sleeves move, you feel the touch of skin under his robes.
Outside, the grass shines white in the moonlight.4
You will hear the clink of the cups on the table. Your companion will be looking at you
and you will be there, looking back at him. Raising tea instead of wine, you will toast each
other. Hiding behind your sleeve, you will be smiling at each other. Dinners will be spent
in silence. As you nourish your body, you do not need to occupy your mind with chatter.
Accompanying each other for all times, there is no need for words.
The wind will blow your robes lined outside, the steam of the boiling water will warm
your face. Jade form immersed in water mixed with ashes.
“I’ll wash your hair,” your companion will offer. “Let me clean you."
You are familiar with the way your body stretches as you lean back. You are familiar
3 Cheng Y., Ming F., Summertime W. (2019.) The Untamed.

https://summertimewaterlily.wordpress.com/2020/02/21/translation-with-notes-of-the-
untamed-main-theme/
4 Ibid.
24
with the downpour of water on your face. You are familiar with his fingers on your scalp,
you are familiar with him cleaning you. Ash in your hair, washing away stains. It will have
to do. Eyes closed, they will not see. It’s pouring outside, a hand placed on your chest.
“I’m tired,” you will say.
“Let me play for you,” he will say.
You will recall being a boy, unbound hair and underrobes, just like how you will sit then,
listening to the odes, in the little house on the mountain. You will recall your companion,
just like this, with a single white ribbon in his hair, seated behind his zither. The bright
and cold moon will shine in your window,5 on you, listening, on your companion, playing.
He will play to calm your mind.
The sound of the zither will play among mountains and rivers on the walls of your
house. The moon is silent. Your mind quiets at the familiar melody.
You hear the west wind stirring now. You feel the warmth of your house, you expect the
visit of a gentleman. You walk amongst your chrysanthemums, you care for your flowers.
You sit under your pine tree, the white light of the moon shines in your heart. You still
play your zither, the moon is silent. You are still painting the mountaintops of Jiangnan,
you paint your chrysanthemums.
The little house sits right under the mountaintop, hiding from sight, hiding the sight.
Those who seek the recluse, cannot find their way there. You gaze at the hillside, you gaze
at your flowers. Gazing at the world under heaven, you know it to be boundless. But gaz-
ing at the world under heaven, your eyes see so little. Your eyes don’t see a home for you
anywhere under heaven, they can only see the little house on the mountain. The moun-
tainpath is steep and sheer, no mortal will walk it. You gaze at your chrysanthemums. Your
gaze beholds the gentleman, visiting.
You stop the zither. You put your brush away. You straighten up.
You are familiar with this gentleman. You know him as a man of value. You are familiar
with his name, the bright figure from the poem, humble and upright, an exemplary figure
among the cultivators. You are familiar with his education in the classics, characters taking
flight under his fingers. You are familiar with his background learning painting, the way
flowers bloom and rivers flow under his fingers. You remember his instructions as you
paint the mountains, paint the flowers. He writes passages for you, he paints your flowers
for you and the mountain where you live - scrolls of calligraphy and paintings hang on the
walls of your house, teaching you to see the world, see its ways clearly again. You under-
stand it as you understand the person who holds the brush. You are familiar with his
5 Li C., Fwoopersongs. (2005.) White moonlight. Fwoopersongs.

https://fwoopersongs.tumblr.com/post/155006067388/%E6%9C%88%E5%85%89-moonlight
25
education in music, how his fingers move on the strings of the zither. Listening to his
zither weep, you feel you could throw away your instrument. You are familiar with his
education in playing weiqi, you are familiar with the image of him as a boy, back straight
and shoulders straight, frowning over the table. You are familiar with his body. You know
this world he’d learned. Lines and strokes, themes and moves, you remember him teaching
you.
You know him as a man of value. For pure water flows only from the right source, and
You bow to this gentleman as he bows to you. You do not bow deeper than needed, you do
not move when he bows. He does not bow deeper than needed, you do not need to move.
What you need is provided by this gentleman. You take the paper he brings, the brush,
the inkstone and you also take the inkstick. You take the tea. The incense has long burned
down, not even the smoke lingers. You see the white expanse of the paper, the brush fits
right into your hand, you see the cold surface of the cloud-like blue stone, you taste the
ink but no spice added to it.
You host this gentleman in your garden. You see him walking among your chrysanthe-
mums. He sees they are strong flowers, withstanding years in the west wind and in the
autumn cold, noble flowers indeed. You host him in your more private chambers, too.
You feel the boiling water, but not the strong fragrance of wine. You pour the water in
cups, mix tea leaves in it. You look up and your guest is there. He looks back at you.
Steam fills your little house with warmth as the west wind blows outside. Mountains are
covered in mist, rivers cold as ice. There are poems, there are flowers, there is play, music
inside. There is tea and you have a guest. You feel the warmth of the steam, warm drops on
your face. The cold of a memory, warm blood spilling over the cold.6 You see the way his
sleeves move, you remember the touch of skin under his robes.
Outside, the grass shines white in the moonlight.7
You hear the clink of the cups on the table. Raising tea instead of wine, you toast each
other. Hiding behind your sleeve, you smile at him. Accompanying each other until death,
there is no need for words.
“Are the farmers harvesting already, brother? Are the common people picking the fruits of
the land already? Have the sacrifices at the altar of soil and grain been made?”
“No.”

untamed-main-theme/
7 Ibid.
26
You see the mountaintop, you remember the flowers. White sheets, dark stems shooting
yellow flowers. Strong flowers withstanding years, decades, centuries of west wind and in
autumn colds. You indeed paint them as not common, noble flowers. White sheets, dark
dales rising to golden summits. You indeed paint dusk as a proper, glorious sight. Scenes
of this mountain or longing for distant peaks, you do not see it clearly.
You see the gentleman’s eyes trailing the painting. His educated eyes show you all the emp-
ty space in the image. To express your sentiments, you cannot use your words anymore.
White sheets stay blank more and more. Gazing at the hillside, gazing at your flowers, you
sit day by day. The lone goose flies over you, you do not have any message to send with it.
“Let me play for you.”
You remember being a boy, listening to the zither just like this, straight back and straight
shoulders, hands in your lap. You remember your companion, just like this, with a single
white ribbon in his hair, seated behind his zither. He means to calm your mind.
The sound of zither plays among the walls of your house, washing away images of yellow
flowers and golden summits. The bright and cold moon shines white over you.8
You remember the south breeze playing before then. You remember the warmth of the sun
above, you remember a gentleman visiting. You remember walking in a bamboo forest,
you remember painting it. You remember how you sat under your pine tree. The white
light of the moon shines in your heart. You remember your zither asking, but not the
moon answering. You remember painting the mountaintops of Jiangnan, you remember
painting the forest around.
The little house sat right under the mountaintop, hiding from sight, hiding the sight.
Those seeking the recluse, could only fail on the way. You remember the hillside, the trees.
Gazing at the world under heaven, you knew it to be boundless. But gazing at the world
under heaven, your eyes saw so little. You don’t remember any other home, but this little
house on the mountain. You remember the way up the mountain, so steep and sheer, no
disciple walked it. You remember the forest, you remember the gentleman, visiting.
You stopped the zither. You put your brush down. You straightened up.
You were familiar with the gentleman visiting you. You always knew him as a man of
value. You knew his name, the bright figure from the poem, humble and upright, an exem-
plary figure among all the cultivators, always going where the chaos is. You remember his
education in the classics, characters taking flight under his fingers. You remember his

27
background learning painting, the way flowers bloomed and rivers flowed under his
fingers, you remember his instruction as you painted the mountains, as you painted the
forest. He wrote passages for you — scrolls of calligraphy and paintings hung on the walls
of your house, teaching you to see the world, see its ways clearly again. You understood
it as you understood the person who held the brush. You are familiar with his education
in music, how his fingers moved on the strings of the zither. You remember the echo of
his song as your fingers moved on the strings of your instrument. You are familiar with
his education in playing weiqi, you remember his white stones capturing yours. You were
familiar with his body. You knew this world he’d learned. Lines and strokes, themes and
moves, you remember him teaching you.
You knew him as a man of value. For pure water flows from only the right source and
You bowed to this gentleman as he bowed to you. You did not bow deeper than needed,
you did not move when he bows. He did not bow deeper than needed, you did not need to
move.
What you needed was provided by this gentleman. You took the paper he brought, the
brush, the inkstone and you also took the inkstick. You took the beans and the tea. The
incense has burned down, not even the smoke lingered. You remember the white expanse
of the paper, you remember the brush, fitting right into your hand, you remember the cold
surface of the cloud-like blue stone, you remember the taste of the ink, but not of any
spice added. You remember the soft clink of the beans.
You remember this gentleman coming to the bamboo forest close to the house. You
remember him walking among proud bamboo stalks, walking with graceful steps. You
remember him in your garden, surely, you remember him in your more private chambers,
too.
You remember the heat of the sun in that forest. Mountain peaks reached the clouds,
the river carried the colour of the sky. You remember poems, you remember bloom, you
remember playing, you remember a song. You remember a fire, set to boil some water, you
remember the heat. You still remember the cold, warm blood spilling over the cold.9 You
remember the way his sleeves moved, you remember the touch of skin under his robes.
You remember the clink of the cups on a simple rock. You remember looking up and your
companion was there. Raising tea, instead of wine, you toasted each other. In this gentle-
man’s company, you didn’t need words. You remember the lines on the rock. You remem-
ber beans, sorted into jade bowls, cut to brilliant form, white from dark differentiated
clearly. Placing the stones on the rock one by one, you were patient. You remembered this
gentleman as a boy, white stones capturing blacks. Patiently placing stones on the table,
then, too, you played, but never won the game.

untamed-main-theme/
28
You stop playing.
You remember bowing to this gentleman as he bowed to you. You remember him walking
down the mountain path.
You remember the bright and cold moon, shining in a certain corner of your heart.10
Do you remember spring, its warmth, its bloom? Decades had gone by since you left the
mountain, decades gone since your head ached with sect matters. You’d been standing
among your orchids, caring for your flowers. Painting the mountaintops of Jiangnan,
painting your flowers. Sitting under your pine tree, playing your zither. Do you remember
what you asked from the moon? Do you remember if your question was answered?
There has always been a little house on the mountain, as long as you can remember, there
was always someone visiting. The house had sat right under the mountaintop, hiding from
sight, hiding the sight. Who would see you, who was to see? Those who would have sought
you out, who is left of them? Do you remember the world under heaven, this boundless
world? Do you remember seeing yourself in it, living somewhere else and calling a differ-
ent house home? Gazing at the rising sun, gazing at the mountain path. Gazing at your
brother, rising with the sun.
Do you remember how the zither stopped and the brush was forgotten on the table?
You remember this gentleman, who had been visiting you. Do you remember his values?
Sharing his education in the classics? The characters taking flight under your fingers as
you wrote passages together. His background in learning painting. How flowers bloomed
and rivers flowed as he repeated your instructions while painting. Scrolls of calligraphy
and paintings hung on the walls of your house, teaching you to see the world, see its ways
clearly. Are there set ways? Was the path you’d chosen up to you? His education in playing
weiqi? The two of you, twin postures, playing against the same master. His education in
music? Listening to his zither weep, all those years, that same song over and over again,
can you still hear it? Lines and strokes, themes and moves, you remember learning them
alongside your brother.
You knew him as a man of value. For pure water flows from only the right source, and
You bowed to your brother, he bowed to you. Not bowing deeper than needed, no need to
bow. The blue cloth of your sleeves, the plain, white cloth of his.

29
What you needed had been provided by your companion. Paper, inkstone, inkstick, beans,
tea. The incense in your house had burned down, only the smoke lingered still.
Do you remember the day, when he arrived without any sound, any fragrance, any colour?
Do you remember the lone goose flying over you, but not carrying any message?
Do you remember him walking among your orchids? Seeing your cared-for flowers,
humble and gentle, noble flowers indeed? Do you remember your brother walking by your
sheets of calligraphy, spread over your table?
The jade uncut will not form a vessel for use; and if men do not learn, they do not know
the way.11 Teachers have extensive knowledge and are examples of moral integrity.12 Walk-
ing the single log bridge until it’s dark, who cares about the crowded road?
Do you remember his silence?
Lofty mountains, lofty ideals, pure water, pure intention. Rivers and mountains had aged
since then, but your brother’s song still resonates in-between. Huge mountains wear away,
the strongest beams decay, but the sage still not withers.13 The bright and cold light of the
moon still shines white over you.
11 Legge, James. “Xueji.” The Texts of Confucianism, edited by Max F Müller, vol. 28, Oxford
University Press, Oxford, 1885, p. 82. Sacred Books of the East. https://ctext.org/liji/xue-ji
12 Unforth. A Compiled List of Known Lan Clan Rules. 23 July 2020,
https://archiveofourown.org/works/25470928.
13 Carus, Paul, translator. “Poems of Confucius.” The Open Court, no. 12, 1913, p. 736.,
https://opensiuc.lib.siu.edu/ocj/vol1913/iss12/3.
30
kiracin
kiracin.png
heavenlyskyfarer
HSKYFARER
hold this much love

Lan Wangji holds Wei Ying close to him.
He breathes in the smell of Wei Ying's hair and lets the palm of his hand rest on Wei Ying's
chest so that he can feel it rise and fall and take comfort in the fact that Wei Ying is alive.
He was alive and he would stay that way, at least if Lan Wangji had anything to say about
it.
When Wei Ying finally starts to stir, his brows furrowed and a questioning noise falling
from his lips as Lan Wangji lies him back down onto the bed and stands aside to watch
Wei Ying's reaction to his surroundings.
"What?" Wei Ying asks, confusion clear even before his eyes open. He blearily blinks away
the sleep from his eyes. He pauses for a moment and then tries to pull his arms apart to
prop himself up. He freezes. Frowns. And then he curses when he realizes that his wrists
are bound together.
Lan Wangji watches as surprise and then fear flashes through Wei Ying's eyes before Wei
Ying can hide it under his well-crafted mask of brash arrogance again. Wei Ying hasn't
even noticed that he's not alone in the rundown shack they're in, and yet he still hides his
reaction behind a mask of indifference. All of his natural emotion slides off of his face and
leaves only the bitter smirk of the Yiling Patriarch behind.
Unhappy to see how easily this smirk comes to Wei Ying these days, Lan Wangji stays
silent in his corner and waits.
When he spots Lan Wangji, Wei Ying curses again. "Lan Wangji," he spits out, almost
unsurprised. "Of course, it has to be you. Didn't I tell you to get fucking lost once already?"
Lan Wangji suppresses a flinch at the pointed way that Wei Ying pronounces his courtesy
name. Before the war, Wei Ying called Lan Wangji's birth name for what must have been
a thousand and one times, and Lan Wangji hadn't known to appreciate it for the joyous
thing it was. It's just one of many regrets that Lan Wangji holds but he reminds himself
silently that it's worth it for now to bear this painful distance that has grown between
them. It wouldn't be there forever. They'd be able to go back to being just Lan Zhan and
Wei Ying before long.
Wei Ying lifts his bound hands and shakes them to show off the red ribbons that bind
them together. "What is this? Do you honestly believe a couple of silk ribbons are strong
32
enough to hold me?"
"Not if you don't want to be held by them."
Wei Ying laughs at that. Bitter and angry. "Want? Want? What is that even supposed to
mean? Did I ask you to tie me up like this? Did I want you to do that? Don't make me
laugh by pretending to care about what I want."
"Tomorrow morning, you may use my sword if you wish to cut yourself loose."
"Your sword?" Wei Ying is incredulous, "So that's what this is. Some sort of attempt to
force me back onto the sword path, like you've been trying to do for years. It's not going to
work. You have to know that, Lan Wangji! This is insanity!"
Lan Wangji hums, accepting Wei Ying's diagnosis. He's well aware that his action would
seem crazed in the eyes of everyone else, but Lan Wangji is weak against the pull of his
heart. He'd tried to leave Wei Ying behind in the cave after the man told him to go, but
with every step further away from Wei Ying, it felt as though his soul was breaking under
the pressure of an oncoming storm.
Wei Ying would have died if he left him behind. That had been painfully clear to Lan
Wangji. Even his Uncle told him so when he and the elders arrived to make him see rea-
son. 'Stand aside,' Lan Qiren had said. 'The Yiling Patriarch has gone mad. There's nothing
left of Wei Wuxian so he has to die.'
But that isn't true. Lan Wangji knows that. He'd seen glimpses of the old Wei Ying even
during the Massacre of Nightless City. The shock and pain of losing his sister and the
Wens might have temporarily broken through Wei Ying's hold on his sanity, but Lan
Wangji is confident that once he's gotten rid of those memories for good, Wei Ying would
finally be whole again.
He'd hedged the plan for this months ago, although he'd put them aside when he'd learned
that Wei Ying would be invited to Koi Tower to celebrate his nephew's first one hundred
days of life, hopeful that it was a sign of reconciliation between Wei Ying and the cultiva-
tion sects. How foolish that hope had turned out to be.
"I'm serious, you can bring me all the swords you'd like, but it will not pull me back into
the world of whatever it is you think proper cultivation is!" Wei Ying continues his rant
without stopping. There's a fiery determination in his eyes now, and Lan Wangji is honest-
ly glad for it. It's so much better than the grief-stricken emptiness that had been there in
the direct aftermath of Nightless City.
"I don't care about your cultivation, Wei Ying," Lan Wangji finally offers placidly.
He means it. He doesn't care. Not anymore.
Lan Wangji had left the proper path behind the very moment he'd put his own selfishness
over Wei Ying's wishes. He had broken the rules of his sect and he'd fought his family,
33
turned his back on filial piety and taken up his sword against his clan, and he had done all
of that with open eyes.
So, in the end, Lan Wangji is not in a position anymore where he could rend judgment
onto Wei Ying's actions.
"All I care about is that you live," he says.
"Since when? All through-out the damned war you were all 'Your demonic cultivation is
harmful to you, Wei Ying,' and 'You need to let me cleanse you', and 'Come back to Gusu
so that I can rid you of the darkness.'" Wei Ying stops himself there, "Is that where we are?
Gusu? Did you follow through on your threat to bring me back to the Cloud Recesses?"
Lan Wangji presses his lips together tightly and shakes his head. "No."
"No? Where are we then?"
"Not Gusu. Wei Ying said he did not wish to go." And even if that weren't true, the time
to return to the Cloud Recesses for safety has come and gone. If either of them went back
there now, all that awaited them was punishment and death. Lan Wangji hadn't held back
when he'd fought the Lan Sect Elders to protect Wei Ying.
He cannot even be sure all of them still live, the end of the fight a frenzied haze of blood
and protective instincts whenever he tries to think back to his actions.
He kind of wishes that he himself had the chance to throw himself into oblivion. To forget
the way his brother had stared at him in horrified disbelief when Bichen sunk into their
Uncle's chest. To never have to remember the gurgling sound of his last remaining family
drowning in their own blood.
But he also knows that Wei Ying needed to forget more than him. Lan Wangji is strong
enough to survive this, but Wei Ying had already been beaten down so many times that
his sister's death had almost broken him entirely.
When Wei Wuxian asks Lan Zhan about their location, Lan Zhan's face displays more
emotion than Wei Wuxian has ever seen him show before.
It's raw loss and pain and hopelessness, and if Wei Wuxian weren't so incredibly pissed at
Lan Zhan at this moment, he might even have been tempted to try and wipe the expres-
sion off his old friends' face. As it stands, though, Wei Wuxian has a hard time looking
past the fury that burns in his veins.
What right does the man have to look this defeated and sad when he's the one who has
kidnapped Wei Wuxian and taken him to who-knows-where and demand that Wei Wux-
ian use a sword? How dare Lan Zhan look as though his whole world has ended when it's
Wei Wuxian who has lost everything? His Shijie is gone, the Wens are gone, even little
34
A-Yuan... Wei Wuxian stops himself from continuing that thought before the knot in his
chest can loosen into the sob it wants to be.
Instead, he holds on to the furious anger that is the only thing that's been keeping him go-
ing since the moment when he woke up from Wen Qing's needle attack to find the Wens
gone and spits more hateful words towards Lan Zhan.
Lan Zhan takes them all in stride and says nothing in his defense, no matter how much
Wei Wuxian tries to make him break.
When Wei Wuxian screams at him, he stays silent.
But when Wei Wuxian shakily gets up off the bed to try and punch Lan Zhan in the face
with his bound hands, Lan Wangji lets him come close and then carefully folds him into a
tight embrace before Wei Wuxian's fists can connect with Lan Wangji's jaw. Wei Wuxian
struggles in Lan Zhan's grip as hard as he can, but his shaking legs won't hold his weight,
and then suddenly his eyes are burning with long-suppressed tears, and it's all just too
much.
He slumps into Lan Zhan's arms and hates it.
Wei Wuxian hates himself for being weak, he hates Lan Zhan for being strong, and most
of all he hates that it almost feels good to be held like this in the other man's strong em-
brace. He can't even remember the last time someone besides A-Yuan had touched him
for longer than a few seconds. Lan Zhan's chest is broad and his demeanor so calm and
it's more comforting than Wei Wuxian would like to admit even in the privacy of his own
mind.
"Let me go, Lan Wangji," he finally whispers, hoarse from screaming. His anger gives way
to the hollow ache hidden underneath, and he shakes from it in Lan Zhan's hold. "Just let
me go already. Let me go back and leave me alone."
"I cannot."
"You never should have pulled me out of Nightless City."
"You would have died there. I could not let that happen."
Wei Wuxian laughs at that and the laughter feels like sharp metal in his throat. "I think
you failed at that. I certainly feel dead already. My body just hasn't caught up yet."
Lan Zhan flinches at his words. He flinches so hard that his arms tighten painfully around
Wei Wuxians body. It leaves Wei Wuxian breathless, both from the tight hold around his
chest and from the surprise. He's never witnessed Lan Zhan show a reaction this strong
to anything. It's confusing to Wei Wuxian to see it now. He doesn't understand where it is
coming from.
The silence that falls between them grows more strained and awkward the longer this tight
35
hug continues. Gradually, though, Lan Wangji relaxes his grip. Then he shifts his arms,
one goes around Wei Wuxian's shoulder and the other under his knees so that he can grab
Wei Wuxian and carry him back to the bed he'd first woken on.
Wei Wuxian is too exhausted by his angry outburst to even complain about the indigni-
ty, although his stomach flips in surprise and embarrassment at being manhandled like
this. Heat rises in his cheeks. This is another thing that Wei Wuxian can't wrap his head
around. Lan Zhan used to hate people touching him. It's bizarre to have him behave like
this now.
Despite the awkwardness and Wei Wuxian's pointed glare, Lan Zhan takes the time to
tuck Wei Wuxian back into the blankets almost gently. "Wei Ying should sleep more," he
murmurs. "If you still want to leave tomorrow, I'll cut off the ribbons myself."
Wei Ying only pretends to be asleep, curled over on his side so that his face is hidden
from Lan Wangji's view. If he didn't know Wei Ying better, Lan Wangji might even have
believed him, but he'd spent so much time during the war staring at a sleeping Wei Ying
from across various campfires that the absence of fidgeting and flailing limbs is a dead
giveaway. Wei Ying is not a quiet sleeper. Even back then, his dreams were haunted by
nightmares that he refused to talk about, and Lan Wangji honestly doubts that it has got-
ten better in the intervening years.
Lan Wangji decides to let Wei Ying rest for a bit longer, however, while he meditates in
preparation of what is to come. Soon it would be a full day of Wei Ying wearing the rib-
bons around his wrists and once that moment came, the ritual would be complete.
Lan Wangji had based it on the traditional Lan marriage ceremony, although it had only
minimal resemblance to it in its current form. Where in their marriage ceremony there
would have only been one white ribbon, there were now six red ones in addition to that.
Instead of clouds, Lan Wangji embroidered names onto them—a painstakingly slow pro-
cess that had taken him half the night before Wei Ying had first woken.
Had they actually been married in the Cloud Recesses tradition, they would have shared
one important memory from their past with each other to build a solid foundation for
their future life. Instead, Lan Wangji plans to take these burdensome memories from
Wei Ying and give nothing in return; a bastardization of the very concept of a Lan Clan
marriage.
If any of his teachers ever saw how much he'd butchered what was supposed to be a
celebration of true love, they would surely flay him alive for it. In his defense, though, Lan
Wangji could think of no other way to save Wei Ying from himself.
The empty despair in Wei Ying's eyes after Jiang Yanli's death had been so frightening
that Lan Wangji felt there was no other choice but to use this abstract idea he'd been idly
turning over in the back of his mind for a few years already. If he hadn't acted quickly, Wei
Ying would have destroyed himself and everyone else in the city with him.
36
Maybe if he'd had the strength to go through with this idea earlier, things would never
have gotten this bad. Maybe then the Cloud Recesses might still be open to them. Maybe
then his Uncle and his Brother would have sat in front of them to receive their bows with
a sad smile on their faces all-too-aware that Lan Wangji had inherited all of his father's
flaws.
Lan Wangji isn't usually one to dwell on his mistakes like this, but he feels justified this
time. If he'd been more like his father, more willing to either stand by Wei Ying's side
earlier or to take him away before everything went to hell, then things could have been so
different. Better. Less painful. Safe.
Still, he is willing to pay the price for his weakness from before. He would take on Wei
Ying's pain and Wei Ying's memories and Wei Ying would finally be able to live happily
again, far removed from the tragedies of his old life.
As the sun rises and light slowly fills the shack through the open window, Lan Wangji
mentally steels himself. Then he takes up Bichen and goes over to the bed.
"It's time," he says.
Wei Ying forgoes all pretense of sleep, and answers in a hoarse whisper, "Time for what?"
"You wanted to be cut loose. It's time to do so, if that's still what you want."
"You're really just going to let me go?" Wei Wuxian sits up in the bed, disbelieving.
"Just like that?"
"Mhn."
"Even though I'll just run right back to where you took me from? Even though I won't give
up on getting justice for the Wens?"
Lan Zhan's jaw tightens stubbornly, but then he inclines his head. Reluctance isclear in
every little microexpression on his face. "I hope you will reconsider."
"I won't." Wei Wuxian says. Then he quickly adds on to that, "But let's still do it. You
meant what you said yesterday, right? I won't touch your sword, so you'll have to do it
yourself."
"I meant what I said."
Wei Wuxian nods, and then holds out his bound wrists towards Lan Zhan. The promise
of freedom and the low-level thirst for revenge that he feels stirring in his gut have him ex-
cited and eager for this whole thing to end. He's going to go to Lotus Pier first, he thinks,
and let Jiang Cheng mete out justice for his sister, and if he came through that alive, he'd
37
go to Koi Tower and do the same for the Wens. That would probably kill him, but at least
it was a worthy cause.
It's not like there's anything left for him in this life anyway. Even his old relationship with
Lan Zhan has twisted into this weird thing now that he doesn't understand. The other
man looks at him with so much regret and sadness in his eyes, and Wei Wuxian can't
stand it. It makes him feel incredibly guilty, and there's ust no way to undo the things that
have brought them to this point and get their friendship back to the bright and airy thing
it once was.
"For what it's worth," Wei Wuxian offers up when Lan Zhan seems to hesitate after
lifting Bichen, "I am sorry."
Lan Zhan shakes his head. "For what?"
"Everything, I guess. I don't know what I did to make you try and save me, but I'm sorry
that you did so at your expense. Your family is going to be really mad, right?" Wei Wuxian
doesn't actually know what exactly had happened while he'd been delirious from destroy-
ing the Stygian Tiger Seal, but he's pretty sure he heard Lan Qiren’s voice outside that first
cave that Lan Zhan stashed him away in after their flight from Nightless City. Everything
beyond that, though, is a blur of unconsciousness until he'd woken up the day before.
Whatever words Lan Zhan had used to make his Uncle stand aside had probably been ex-
tremely unfilial. Wei Wuxian genuinely hated to think of how bad an influence he'd been
on Lan Zhan even in this.
Lan Zhan's knuckles whiten from how tightly he grips Bichen's hilt. For a moment, Wei
Wuxian thinks there are even tears in his eyes. Then Lan Zhan shakes his head and takes a
shuddering breath before he chokes out, "You're my family now."
Before Wei Wuxian can ask him what he means with that impossible statement, the blade
cuts through the ribbons on his wrists, and a sharp pain echoes through his head.
"Wha—" he groans and grabs his head and suddenly it's as though his very thoughts start
slipping away from him. "What did you do?"
The pressure on his brain is so overwhelmingly painful, Wei Wuxian has to close his eyes
against it. When he opens them again, he finds himself in front of a man who seems to be
in just as much pain as he is.
They are both on their knees in an otherwise pretty empty room. Between them lies an
unsheathed sword and a handful of ribbons that seem to have been cut apart. Wei Wuxian
has no idea how he first arrived in this room or who the other man is or what meaning
any of the things on the floor might hold.
Blinking through the slowly ebbing pain, he can't help but check on the other man who
looks worryingly pale and is clutching his lower midsection with a horrified and disbe-
lieving expression on his face. "Are you alright?" Wei Wuxian asks him, but the man only
38
gasps wordlessly in response.
Wei Wuxian tries again. "Do you know what happened? Are you hurt?"
Lan Wangji is hit by every tragic event from Wei Ying's life at once. Lotus Pier burning.
Madam Yu’s burning eyes turned cold in death. Jiang Cheng close to dying. Cutting out
his golden core. Pain and fear and hatred and anger. And finally, Jiang Yanli. The final
straw. The rage that follows.
He'd been quite deliberate about the names of the people he wanted Wei Ying to forget.
He'd meant to unknot that web of debt and owing that Wei Ying felt towards his adoptive
family and even the closeness borne from shared hardship that bound him to the Wens.
And although he'd known in theory that taking on those memories would mean re-living
at least parts of them, he'd not been prepared for just how much pain and regret would
come with them. Wei Ying felt so deeply about all of these people. It was almost unbeliev-
able for someone like Lan Wangji, who had loved at most five people in his entire lifetime,
two of whom hadn't been in his life since he was barely six years old. How could any one
person hold this much love for the world?
Wei Ying's love ran so deep it takes away Lan Wangji's ability to even think straight for
a moment—his brain a jumbled pile of JiangChengShijieWenYuanUncleJiangWenQing-
MadamYuWenNingLanZhanLanZha nLanZhanLanZhan—and then he feels more like
crying than he ever has before because he hadn't expected that last one.
Even Wei Ying hadn't quite known how he'd felt about Lan Wangji, or so it seemed. But
there was the same soft and mellow love towards him in Wei Ying's memories that was
also directed at the rest of the people Wei Ying had declared his family.
It might not have been romantic in nature—although Lan Wangji isn't sure how could tell
when Wei Ying felt so much all of the time and maybe it's just wishful thinking on Lan
Wangji's part but it feels incredibly similar to how he himself feels towards Wei Ying—but
it had been so deep and so very, very real.
The Wei Ying that kneels in front of him now remembers none of that, and it's obvious
from the way that he looks at Lan Wangji. Polite concern radiates from him, but there is
none of that old connection that they had once shared. None of the bond between them
that only Lan Wangji now recalls.
He'd known from the moment that he first started planning this that he was too inter-
twined in the harrowing parts of Wei Ying's life for the memories about him to stay. In
fact, his name had been the first one he'd embroidered onto the marriage ribbons before
he'd wrapped them around Wei Ying's wrists, but he hadn't known what it would mean
to take these memories. He hadn't known that Wei Ying loved him back, in any way, let
alone like this.
39
As he stares into Wei Ying's concerned face and tries to come to terms with what
he's done, Lan Wangji suddenly remembers his Uncle's last words to him. 'There's
nothing left of Wei Wuxian,' he'd said.
As he meets Wei Ying's eyes, desperately searching for their old connection but
coming up short, Lan Wangji can't help but feel that it's true now even if it hadn’t
been back then. It feels as though a stranger looks back at him.
All Lan Wangji wanted was for Wei Ying to survive. To take the burden off of him
and bring back his will to live for himself.
He'd thought he would be strong enough to pay the price.
He'd thought he could bear it.
He's not so sure now.
40
justplainraindom-draws
tiffillustrations
tiffillustrates
notorious_fish
notoriousfish
fuck around and find out

It’s been several weeks since Wei Wuxian was assigned punishment in the Cloud Recesses
library. One week since the boy inked a gentle portrait of Lan Wangji, and then placed a
spring book on his desk.
To say Lan Wangji is confused and frustrated would be putting it lightly. He’s read about
sexual relations before and understands the methods required to procure a child. Associ-
ating it with himself and… Wei Wuxian… is entirely new. Unwelcome thoughts have be-
gun to impede his meditation and routines, mind drifting to the wetness of Wei Wuxian’s
lips or the roundness of his… attributes.
He is grateful that during today’s punishment Wei Wuxian is focused on his transcrip-
tions, gently humming to himself as he wraps and unwraps a strand of hair around his
finger, bouncing his knee, teeth biting into his lip in concentration.
Not that Lan Wangji is looking.
He returns his focus to his own work and loses himself to the task at hand.
That is, until he feels a tug at the back of his hair, and a small paper in the vague shape of
a person swings in front of his face. One of Wei Wuxian’s paperman talismans. It reaches
one paper arm out to touch his cheek, the other held tight to a strand of his hair.
Lan Wangji sighs deeply, the gust of air pushing the paperman away for a moment. He
should have known there was no such thing as a quiet Wei Wuxian.
The paperman releases his hair and floats down to his desk, dancing across his paper and
leaving little smears of ink in its wake. Lan Wangji reaches out quickly and pinches the
little figure by its shoulder, lifting it from the page.
“Wei Wuxian!” he growls, face heating. It waves a little hand at him, and he can see the
cheeky smile in his mind.
He looks up, back towards Wei Wuxian, expecting to find him laughing. Instead, Wei
Wuxian lies across his desk, head pillowed on his arms as if asleep.
Lan Wangji holds the slip of paper as he steps closer, setting a hand to a still shoulder and
shaking gently. There is no response. He sets two fingers to the pulse point on Wei Wux-
ian’s right wrist, sending forth a questing trickle of qi. The response is strong, if sluggish.
42
The paperman in his hand seems to shudder and twist as if to free itself.
Interesting.
In the past Wei Wuxian has used these talismans often for small tricks, sending them
after classmates to tease during lectures. In the past, the forms dropped lifeless once their
task was accomplished. In the past, Wei Wuxian has always been conscious to watch their
antics, eyes gleaming with mirth.
The struggling of the paperman as it tries to reach Wei Wuxian’s prone body implies an
alternative technique. One that is very seldom used due to the risks involved, which trans-
fers the user’s consciousness into a paper form. If this is the case, Wei Wuxian has foolishly
left himself, and his body, completely helpless.
It’s the first opportunity Lan Wangji has had to observe Wei Wuxian in stillness, and he
takes a moment to appreciate his soft shapes. The slight part to his plush lips, the slender
curve of his fingers, the brush of his lashes. He thinks of all the times Wei Wuxian has
bragged of time spent with girls in the waters of Yunmeng and clenches the fist not hold-
ing the paperman.
He moves back to his desk, lifts a paperweight from the surface, and pins one leg of the
paperman beneath it. The little figure struggles in vain, fibers straining, but remains stead-
fastly trapped.
Lan Wangji pulls a blank joss paper from his sleeve, lifts the cinnabar from his desk, and
quickly marks a silencing talisman. With a flick of his wrist, he sends the talisman to the
door, activating it and the embedded locking seal, which will keep the door shut tight
against interruption.
A glance down tells him the paperman has stilled, watching Lan Wangji with a curious air.
He lifts himself from the table with grace, leaving the paperman behind as he moves to
kneel beside Wei Wuxian’s body, allowing himself the luxury of sweeping a strand of hair
from Wei Wuxian’s cheek, fingers ghosting along soft, warm skin. There is still no response
and he releases a breath he wasn’t aware he was holding. Being this close, touching his
skin, Lan Wangji feels like his soul is on fire. It’s a privilege not granted and the thrill of it
is tangible.
The ideas that have been haunting him the past week surge forward and in his mind he
sees the image of the spring book Wei Wuxian had lain before him. Sees the images of the
other books he had discovered in the forbidden room of the library in the dark of night.
Figures with enraptured expressions, touching and tangled together. Figures that bare Wei
Wuxian’s face as they move in his mind.
It is obvious now that no punishment so far has had any effect on him. He has no idea if
Wei Wuxian is aware of what he does to Lan Wangji’s control, but this is a situation of his
own creation. Lan Wangji would be remiss in his task if he did not use any method avail-
able to teach the error of his ways.
43
To test the boundaries laid before him in the small time he has stolen.
Before this can go further, however, there is one thing he must do. Reaching to the back of
his head Lan Wangji carefully unknots and pulls free his forehead ribbon. Breathing even-
ly, he methodically folds it and sets it on Wei Wuxian’s desk. Restraint is far from what’s
needed for the foreseeable future.
With careful movements he grasps Wei Wuxian by the shoulders, shifting his body until
he’s settled on his back on the ground between the desks, taking care to lay his head down
gently. His breathing remains even; his limbs malleable as Lan Wangji adjusts them to his
liking.
It amazes Lan Wangji how beautiful Wei Wuxian looks like this, quiet and still and perfect.
Nothing to reflect the loud and energetic youth inside.
He brushes fingers along Wei Wuxian’s forehead, along his cheek, down to his plush red
lips. Presses his thumb against his bottom lip, feels the easy give as he pulls downward,
Wei Wuxian’s mouth easily opening to reveal perfectly white teeth. He slips two fingers
inside, pressing down on the soft warmth of his tongue. Pushes them farther, to the back
of Wei Wuxian’s throat, and marvels at the lack of response in his body. There’s no gag-
ging, and Lan Wangji wonders what else he’s swallowed before, if his pretty throat has ever
choked on a nameless man’s cock.
Hungrily, he removes his wet fingers and follows them with his own lips, thrusting his
tongue inside as his hand cradles the outside of Wei Wuxian’s jaw. It’s warm inside as he
explores the cavern with his tongue, slipping past teeth to massage his tongue with his
own. After a minute he pulls back, marveling at the string of saliva that links their mouths.
Wei Wuxian’s jaw is red where Lan Wangji’s grip has held, his lips even more plush and
dark from the press of Lan Wangji’s mouth against them. His body already showing signs
of use even as it lays motionless.
Lan Wangji wants to bite him, to lay his claim and erase those before him and sees no
reason now why he should not. He takes Wei Wuxian’s bottom lip between his teeth, bites
down, and sucks. Wonders what sounds Wei Wuxian would make if he were conscious, if
he would gasp and moan, writhe under him and beg for more. Beg for mercy. Lan Wangji
lets his gaze slip to the side and to his desk, at the trapped paperman there. It’s gone still;
small paper face watching silently. He wonders what Wei Wuxian is thinking. Lets his lip
fall free from his teeth.
“Can you feel what I’m doing to you?” he asks. “I could do anything at all while you’re like
this. Helpless.” He brings a hand to Wei Wuxian’s throat, presses his fingers into the skin,
feels his steady and unchanging pulse.
The paperman does begin to struggle then, pulling at the weight but still unable to free
itself.
Lan Wangji turns back, running the hand down Wei Wuxian’s throat to slip into the front
of his robe. Suddenly he wants it gone, wanting access to the warm skin below. He makes
44
quick work of untying Wei Wuxian’s belt and letting his layers of robes fall loose around
him. Undoes his pants and pulls them down his legs and free from his body.
After a moment of consideration, Lan Wangji pulls Wei Wuxian’s still clothed arms up
above his head and rests them there, thinks of another time where he might need to tie
them in place to ensure proper behavior, then sits back and takes a moment to appreciate
what’s been revealed.
Wei Wuxian’s chest is well-muscled, nipples small dark peaks atop his pecs. His stomach
is soft and vulnerable like this, slightly concave where a dark trail of hair leads to Wei
Wuxian’s soft cock. It seems of average size, smaller than Lan Wangji’s own, though he has
little else to compare.
Lan Wangji settles himself, parting Wei Wuxian’s legs to kneel between them. He braces
one hand to the side of Wei Wuxian’s torso and leans forward, pinching a nipple between
the fingers of his free hand. He tests the feel of it, rubbing his thumb across it, pulling it
taught.
To his surprise, the pebble of skin actually hardens and darkens to a deeper brown. Fasci-
nated, he turns his attention to the other nipple, flicking it with the tip of his tongue, then
pulling it between his lips and sucking until it, too, hardens.
He pulls back, grasping the pec with his hand, and squeezing it until it resembles a small
breast, wet at the dark peak from Lan Wangji’s mouth. It glistens, begging for attention,
and Lan Wangji sinks his teeth around it, pulling as much skin as he can into his mouth
before pressing down hard and sucking. He wonders if Wei Wuxian would scream under
him at the press of his teeth, or writhe and beg for more.
When Lan Wangji rocks back again he sees a perfect, angry impression of his teeth around
Wei Wuxian’s nipple. Pride wells in him at the mark and he wants to leave more, to cover
Wei Wuxian’s body in reminders of him that he’ll feel and watch for days to come if he
doesn’t intentionally heal them. He imagines Wei Wuxian, alone in his bed tonight, press-
ing fingers to the sore mark and thinking of Lan Wangji.
It encourages him to continue his exploration of Wei Wuxian’s torso, mapping the space
with lips and teeth and fingers, leaving a trail of dark marks in his wake. His path eventu-
ally leads him past slim hips and a soft belly to where Wei Wuxian’s cock lays against his
thigh.
Lan Wangji digs his fingers into Wei Wuxian’s inner thigh, bracing himself as he guides
his still soft cock past his lips and onto his waiting tongue. It’s an odd sensation, warm and
malleable, and this close Lan Wangji can smell the pleasant musk of him.
He presses closer, sucking gently as he nuzzles into the thick thatch of hair there and drops
his now free hand to grip Wei Wuxian’s other thigh, no doubt leaving matched bruises in
the supple skin. He preens like a pleased feline, feeling his chin brush against the silkiness
of his testicles and enjoying the sensations more than he expected.
45
Throughout his ministrations, Wei Wuxian’s cock remains unmoved, filling the space in
Lan Wangji’s mouth comfortably. He thinks he would enjoy doing this another time, when
he could hold Wei Wuxian in his mouth as he woke, slowly filling out until he pressed
against his throat.
He lets Wei Wuxian’s cock slip from his lips and continues his exploration lower, hands
lifting Wei Wuxian’s hips from the ground as they spread his cheeks. The tight furl of his
entrance comes into view, dark and secret, and Lan Wangji lingers. He’s seen the cut sleeve
spring books and knows now what two men can do together, the pleasure that can be
taken from such a space.
Gently he brushes a thumb against the puckered skin, unsure what to expect. It’s warm
to the touch but otherwise unaffected. With some pressure the tight ring of muscle gives
way, allowing the tip of his thumb inside. It’s dry and tight, the drag on his finger enticing.
He feels himself throb, imagining the clutch of that tight heat surrounding his cock, and
groans. He has to pull back a moment, letting his thumb pull free as he focuses on con-
trolling his qi, quelling the rising tide of want.
He glances to the paperman that stands motionless on his desk, slight form transfixed.
Lan Wangji watches it, imagining he’s meeting Wei Wuxian’s eyes as he leans down, only
breaking contact as his breath ghosts over the skin of Wei Wuxian’s taint.
Tentatively he touches his tongue to Wei Wuxian’s hole, hands spreading his cheeks to ease
his access. He gathers moisture in his mouth, letting it slick the way, and laps determined-
ly until the muscle relaxes and allows the tip of his tongue to dip in. It’s a heady feeling
doing something so filthy and knowing Wei Wuxian can only watch, and he feels his ears
flush with heat.
Soon the muscle loosens enough for Lan Wangji to fit a finger in beside his tongue, and
then a second, scissoring them to widen the opening and allow his tongue to sink deeper.
It’s still impossibly tight and he can’t quite imagine fitting himself inside. Has Wei Wux-
ian given this gift to others before, allowing them to push their way inside and take their
pleasure? Or has he been the cause, bringing pretty, simple girls to their peaks buried to
the hilt inside them?
Both scenarios are repugnant, and Lan Wangji finds he can no longer hold back from
overwriting them himself. Wei Wuxian is as ready as Lan Wangji is able to make him and
if it’s not sufficient it will only serve as another claim burned into his flesh. A reminder of
what can happen when he flirts with trouble.
Wei Wuxian’s hips are lowered carefully to the ground, his body cushioned on a bed of
white robes. Like this, he looks every bit the virginal sacrifice he most certainly isn’t, but
his beauty is unmistakable, even more so with the marks blossoming on his skin.
Lan Wangji shifts, rising to his knees.
His robes are quickly parted and moved aside, freeing his heavy flushed cock through the
gap in his trousers. It’s hard and hot in his hand, impatient and ready to bring to light all
46
of his recent dreams. To make a home in this boy who has taunted and played with him so
thoughtlessly.
Something about keeping Wei Wuxian on his back seems wrong, though, so Lan Wangji
gathers him into his arms, pulling his still unresponsive body onto his lap.
Wei Wuxian’s arms fall limp at his sides, thighs parted over Lan Wangji’s knees and face
pressed to his chest. It’s closer than he’s been to anyone in years, this almost embrace,
and it warms him even as he grinds his hips up tentatively, hard cock pressed against Wei
Wuxian’s soft one.
Lan Wangji keeps one arm around Wei Wuxian to keep his body up and slips the other
between their bodies to grip his cock and guide it as best he can to Wei Wuxian’s waiting
hole.
At first, it seems as if Lan Wangji’s earlier ministrations were in vain, the muscles holding
out against the larger intrusion, but Lan Wangji persists and with a final push the head of
his cock breaches his entrance.
The sensation is like nothing Lan Wangji has felt before. Wei Wuxian’s body grips him and
holds him in place, hole dry again now and so very tight. He concentrates on the flow of
his qi, willing his body to calm and still from the wave that threatens to crush him.
He breathes deeply, and as he feels control return to him he can also feel the slight loos-
ening of muscles around him. He continues to hold his cock steady and allows the natural
weight of Wei Wuxian’s body to sink down, slowly impaling him on Lan Wangji’s cock
until at last, their bodies are flush.
Lan Wangji’s now free hand grips Wei Wuxian’s hip hard as he pulls out, a long dry drag,
before snapping his hips back up, fully sheathing himself again.
He sets a pace, then, of harsh thrusts that rock Wei Wuxian’s slim body. Wei Wuxian’s head
rolls back, hair cascading behind him, robes disheveled and body limp, like a puppet with
its strings cut.
The tight heat of Wei Wuxian’s body finally begins to overwhelm his control, the rhythmic
snap of his hips becoming erratic though no less forceful. It is perhaps perfect, then, that a
flutter of movement catches the corner of his eye.
In the rush of pleasure, he had all but forgotten the circumstances leading to this moment,
and the paperman on his desk.
Wei Wuxian has freed his paper form of the weight, and the slight figure moves quickly
across the short space to reunite with his abused body.
Lan Wangji sinks a hand into silken hair and fists it tightly, watching the still face as he
times his next deep thrust to the moment the paperman reaches them. Wei Wuxian’s eyes
fly open, stormy and sparking in indignation as he tenses up to pull away and grips both
47
fists in Lan Wangji’s robes.
A half-moan, half-scream rips from Wei Wuxian’s throat as his body tenses at the on-
slaught of sensations, previously loose muscles tightening around the intrusion of Lan
Wangji’s cock. He buries himself deep as he begins to come, using the fist still in Wei
Wuxian’s hair to pull his head back, baring his throat as he sinks his teeth into the warm
flesh with a groan.
Wei Wuxian screams as his orgasm hits him, body arching beautifully and shuddering
against him. Wei Wuxian’s walls pulsate, milking his cock through its release, as Lan
Wangji’s spend is pulled deeper, a burning liquid claim sinking into the core of the boy
atop him.
“Shameless,” he mutters into Wei Wuxian’s shoulder darkly. “Coming like a whore the
moment you felt a cock inside you.”
A low whine is all that comes from Wei Wuxian’s throat before Lan Wangji feels his
breaths begin to hitch, and the shoulder he’s pressed to trembles. Is Wei Ying crying? He
straightens up in a panic, releasing his grip on the now tangled hair to cautiously hold
a wet cheek. He has very seldom been presented with tears and is sorely ill-equipped to
handle this turn of events.
“H..h..how could you?!” The boy sobs wetly, eyes pinched closed but not pulling away
from Lan Wangji’s touch.
“I… I thought…” Words are often difficult for him, and now doubly so. The awkwardness
is not helped by the feeling of his softening cock slipping from Wei Wuxian as he pulls
back, though still remaining in Lan Wangji’s lap.
“Lan Zhan, how could you?!” He repeats, gaining volume, pulling his robes haphazardly
around his nakedness as he struggles to sit up himself and Lan Wangji’s hands hover at his
sides. “That was my first… everything! And I couldn’t feel any of it!”
“Your… first?” But that can’t be, Wei Wuxian had always been so forthright in his tales, so
effortless in his flirting. So detailed and shameless.
Wei Wuxian holds his robes clasped across his chest, knees drawn up, pouting and fur-
rowing his brows. Looking every bit the ravaged maiden.
“You have to take responsibility!!”
Lan Wangji’s eyes sweep over him appraisingly and Wei Wuxian’s blush deepens, a crushed
berry stain creeping down his chest. There’s a dark bruise starting on his leg where the
paperman talisman had been held by the weight. Another reminder of his claim to Wei
Wuxian’s body.
The corner of Lan Wangji’s lip quirks up slightly, a dark joy imbuing him at the thought of
being the first, the only person to have Wei Ying like this. “Mn. I will.”
48
He leans forward, pushing into Wei Wuxian’s space again, one hand pressed to his cheek,
and brushes their lips together.
A small sigh escapes Wei Wuxian at the contact and he sways thoughtlessly forward into
the touch.
Lan Wangji wastes no time in deepening the kiss, thrilling at the feel of Wei Wuxian’s
mouth yielding to him, tongue brushing his own. So different from his initial experience,
with Wei Wuxian gasping little moans into the space between them.
Wei Wuxian seems to open to him then, thighs gripping tight to Lan Wangji’s legs as he
grinds against him, arms slipping around his chest, pressing his naked front to Lan Wang-
ji’s robes. He breaks this kiss with a little frown, looking up at Lan Wangji through still
damp lashes.
“You have to do it all again, that didn’t count.”
Lan Wangji was expecting some kind of reaction to his actions, but this definitely was not
among them and he finds himself still catching his footing.
“… Again?”
“Yes, Lan Zhan, again!” Wei Wuxian waves a hand in the air. “All of it! It’s not fair that you
know how it feels and I don’t. And you should be naked, too! Why am I the only one like
this? Rude!”
“Wei Ying!” Lan Wangji rushes forward with a growl of his name, pushing Wei Wuxian
back against the floor and trapping his body there with his own, hands braced on either
side of his head. Silver eyes fly open wide, caught completely by surprise.
“Mark your words.”
Wei Wuxian’s eyes spark in challenge, grinning into their next kiss as he grips Lan
Wangji’s robes and pulls him close.
49
faalthien
tunnelofdawn
yilingmilf
gusudilf
the gardener
“What will you do,” Wei Ying says, “when the Gardener comes back?” His fingers trail
across a bare back, following the jutting scars of a discipline whip. The topography of his
back is a familiar comfort. This is Lan Zhan at his best and at his worst, the scars confide.
The scars are a testament to his strength.
Lan Zhan had committed an act he had believed and still believes righteous, while his sect
had censured him. Lan Zhan’s moral compass has always pointed north and no interfer-
ence could ever wreak havoc on it.
“When the Gardener comes back,” Lan Zhan says, “we will take off our ribbons and we
will rejoice.”
A smothered laugh and the subsequent stiffening of a back.
“I’m not laughing at you,” Wei Ying clarifies. “I’m just thinking about old man Lan ever
rejoicing…”
“When the time comes, even he will rejoice.”
There is a Waterborne Abyss in Biling Lake that everyone in Gusu Lan denies exists.
A rogue cultivator now, Wei Ying travels away from Lotus Pier to live freely and to help
freely. (To play the hero, a scornful voice whispers.) He wanders through cities, towns, and
villages with only his sword at his waist, a clarity bell, and a qiankun pouch up his sleeve.
Like a petal on a stream, he floats through these towns, never stopping for too long. His
colorful arrivals turn heads, but he only ever stops long enough to help with problems
only cultivators can solve.
He floats into Caiyi Town and roams through the market until he enters a restaurant. A
low susurration of voices in Gusu’s sweetly accented dialect washes over him. He loses
himself in the tide of their mundane conversations, and he tosses back a jar of Emperor’s
Smile. A father at a neighboring table laments the loss of his son in the nearby Biling Lake.
Rough voices comfort the man with a shared pain. They say that there is no mercy to be
found within Biling Lake.
Wei Ying flags down a server and orders another jar of Emperor’s Smile. He shares the jar
51
with the server, and the server bemoans the danger of Biling Lake and even their smaller
waterways. Drowning is common in Caiyi Town, even if everybody knows how to swim.
“The lake is always hungry,” the server says.
“Oh?” Wei Ying says. “And what does Gusu Lan say about that?”
The server sighs. “It’s been happening for a hundred years, but they still say it’s natural.”
How odd. All that Wei Ying knows of Gusu Lan is that they are a conservative sect seclud-
ing themselves in their mountain. They rarely come down from their mountain, and if
they do, they rarely go farther beyond Caiyi Town. The last Gusu Lan representative seen
at any of the cultivation conferences was two decades ago when the great Qingheng-jun
eloped with Wang Lianhua, a cultivator from a minor sect subordinate to the Wens.
It had been a scandal if only for the universal bafflement of all the gathered cultivators
witnessing such an event. At that point in time, nobody had seen a Gusu Lan cultivator for
over 30 years, and yet somehow, Gusu Lan had still been considered a major sect, never
a candidate for conquest. They had always been a self-sufficient sect that had rarely ever
involved itself in war. Any attempt to breach the boundaries of the land had always been
mercilessly rebuffed. (There are stories of men drowning on dry land, including cultivators
from the Yunmeng Jiang sect.)
Cultivators not affiliated with Gusu Lan rarely venture into their territory. It isn’t worth
the political trouble, and there isn’t much to attract rogue cultivators looking to make a
living. Nevertheless, Wei Ying has an instinct for trouble—for chaos. He pieces together
disparate facts, transforming them into clues and then into a theory he tests out.
Wei Ying flies above Biling Lake.
He meets a Gusu Lan cultivator named Lan Wangji.
And they fall in love.
(Who doesn’t know the map of their love? The paths they take to union in a time of os-
tensible peace. It is not a grand, sweeping story but a love blooming from friendship and
scholarship. They share the same three views, they believe of each other. It is a love story,
but this story—it’s not a love story at all, Wei Ying will later realize).
Lan Zhan takes Wei Ying to a secluded cave. The clear, resonant tones of a qin fill the air,
but Wei Ying cannot find the source of the sound. It is everywhere in and around them.
It vibrates through their bodies and plucks at their heartstrings. In the chill of a cave,
shoulder to shoulder with his beloved, Wei Ying listens to a song that never ends. It is a
beautiful song that sends a shiver down Wei Ying’s spine.
“What is it?” Wei Ying whispers into the empty cave. The hushed reverence in his voice
52
surprises him, and the hair on his body rises until each follicle is a painful pinprick of
awareness on his body.
“An echo,” Lan Zhan answers. He does not whisper, and his reply echoes in the cave. An
odd distortion, perhaps the structure of the cave affecting the acoustics, makes his voice as
deep and resonant as the qin. He has the voice of a qin, Wei Ying thinks inexplicably and
fancifully. Is this love? To find beauty in the mundane…
“Of what?” Wei Ying questions after Lan Zhan’s echo finally dies.
(And yet he fancies he still hears a whisper circulating through the cave—a whisper that
makes his heart race in either fear or excitement.)
“Of creation.”
Wei Ying laughs and almost flinches at the distorted echo. “Lan Zhan,” he says, “don’t be
so stingy with your words!”
Lan Zhan twists his neck to meet Wei Ying’s eyes, an eerie motion as if incapable of
moving his eyes. “Before there was Heaven and Earth,” he says, “there was nothing and
everything—with form and without form.”
Wei Ying nods. Of course, he knows this.
“When Heaven and Earth split, the Gardener seeded life. The Gardener used its own ener-
gy to infuse life into the world.”
Wei Ying...doesn’t know this. A gardener seeding life into existence? Sure, it’s all meta-
phorical but it is most certainly not an accepted creation theory. And the echo of creation
being interpreted as a qin? It doesn’t quite add up, but then again, Gusu Lan has always
been an isolationist sect. They might very well think they’re the chosen ones or crafted
their own mythologies in their seclusion from the world. It’s strange, but not alarming.
“So, what happened to the Gardener then?” Wei Ying prompts.
“It went to sleep,” Lan Zhan says.
Wei Ying laughs at the simplicity of the answer. Maybe it is rude to laugh at Lan Zhan’s
beliefs but he isn’t sure what else to do. All this buildup to a strange creation theory that
ends with their creator asleep. (He thinks that the thrum of the qin has grown louder.)
Lan Zhan stares at Wei Ying until his laughter dies off. “When the Gardener awakens, it
will cleanse the world of all its iniquities.” A certain sternness to his features flattens his
mouth and furrows his brow.
Wei Ying isn’t exactly humoring Lan Zhan, but he thinks they’ve spent enough time in
this damp, chill cave with this music that feels neither spiritual nor demonic, and yet still
carries a certain sense of power.
53
“So, it will create a Pure Land?” Wei Ying says.
“Mn.”
“...Is—is that guqin music getting louder?”
Lan Zhan does not answer, but he begins to hum in tune with the qin. “In tune” is a gen-
erous description of the cacophonous racket growing louder and louder in the cave. There
is no music; there is only the discordant, powerful thrums of a qin infused with too much
energy.
Wei Ying’s ears pop and a warm liquid climbs down his neck.
A serenity smooths out the lines on Lan Zhan’s face. He weeps blood, and Wei Ying reach-
es out with a shaking hand. He mouths his lover’s name, and he can barely hear the sound
of his own voice over the qin and over the humming.
He faints.
He wakes up in the jingshi to the sound of a qin and the sound of unintelligible whisper-
ing ghosting through his ears, alternately loud and quiet in each ear.
“Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan says softly. An aching tenderness to his voice accompanies the
stroke of his fingers across Wei Ying’s limp hand.
Wei Ying’s limbs do not even twitch. He cannot move and his breathing is steady even as
his mind screams and screams. He stares at the back of Lan Zhan’s head, the silken fall of
his hair shifting in an unseen breeze. The scent of sandalwood fills Wei Ying’s nostrils.
“I never told you,” Lan Zhan says, “why I was subjected to the discipline whip.”
“I fractured the arrays in Biling Lake.”
Despite frantic wishes otherwise, Wei Ying’s mind has always been quick to form connec-
tions. The increased drownings in Biling Lake are directly linked to Lan Zhan’s actions,
and it is terrifying to contemplate that the previous drownings happened even when the
lake was sealed. There is something worse than a Waterborne Abyss in Biling Lake. What-
ever being the Lans refer to as the Gardener feeds off the souls and energy of the living.
“The elders of my sect called me a heretic when I told them of how it sang to me in my
dreams."
“I wanted to share that song with you, Wei Ying. Was it not beautiful?” Lan Zhan con-
cludes. He shifts his body and his face comes into Wei Ying’s view. A faint smile curves his
mouth, soft in the lamplight.
There are no eyeballs in Lan Zhan’s skull, only twin bleeding hollows.
54
His forehead ribbon is missing.
The sound of the guqin grows louder and louder as the combined screams of human
voices reach their zenith.
And then there is only the guqin at the end of all things.
55
Daathdweller-art
Daathdweller.art
Daathdweller
pinklemon
p3achbae
take me to the paradise

The chill of the stream water cuts through Lan Wangji and for a moment he could almost
believe he was home. The scars on his back ache and he’s reminded of home again and
their own weapon turned against him. He shoves the pain down and continues to medi-
tate. He’d awoken early even for him, the sky was still black when he’d come to meditate.
Soon enough the villagers would come to fetch water to fill their pots and wash their
clothes and carry their daily lives along and what scraps of peace Lan Wangji had pulled
for himself would melt away.
“Daozhang!” calls the one voice Lan Wangji would welcome these days. He opens his
eyes to see Xiao Ying cheekily smiling at him from the bank, cockily balancing the Liu’s
washing on his hip. The early morning light makes Xiao Ying glow. The hollows of his eyes
and the sharpness of hip bones are softened. Lan Wangji devours this sight, he stores how
Wei Wuxian looks in his memory. As much as he relishes Xiao Ying in the dawn, he longs
to know what Wei Ying looks under moonlight.
“Good morning! Aren’t you cold daozhang? I couldn’t imagine taking a dip in this weath-
er, I think it will start snowing any day now,” Xiao Ying grimaces and gives a fake shiver,
“Is this what you cultivators do every day? No wonder you settled down in our cozy village
for so long. This must be the most comfortable life for you.”
Lan Wangji’s life before had afforded him wealth, privilege, and prosperity that in his exile
he thought the austerity of his clan only highlighted. His previous life also didn’t have
Xiao Ying, so the greatest privilege of all had been denied to him. He inclines his head and
makes his way to the bank.
“Ah! Don’t splash me!” Xiao Ying jumps back, as if Lan Wanji’s sedate pace could have dis-
turbed the water enough to hit him. Xiao Ying squeaks and turns around his face bright
red as Lan Wangji emerges from the water. Ignoring his antics, Lan Wangji goes to put on
his robes.
“So indecent!” Xiao Ying splutters to the tree, “What if some innocent young maiden had
been the one to stumble across you instead of me. You would need to marry her on the
spot.”
Lan Wangji grunts in response. His wardrobe had burned with the Jingshi and he prefers
not to have to wait a couple hours for his clothes to dry.
“Daozhang what about me? I’m no maiden but you’ve violated my eyes already. I’ve seen
57
you train and I still can’t believe you have such a magnificent sword,” Xiao Ying snickers at
his own joke. “How will you make amends? I’m just a poor village boy-”
A hand that spans his entire waist grabs Xiao Ying and pulls him against Lan Wangji’s bare
chest. Warm lips find his own and the “magnificent sword” Xiao Ying crudely described
presses against him.
“So warm,” Xiao Ying whispers dazed, “You’re always so warm.”

The slightest touch always leaves Xiao Ying weak and pliant in Lan Wangji’s hands. He
clings to the white robed cultivator who came into their village one day, like a hero from
one of the half remembered stories his parents would tell him.
Xiao Ying buries his face in Lan Wangji’s chest as they break apart. Lan Wangji smiles to
himself, after all he has lost it is nice to have someone who trusts so deeply in him. He
does not even have to say a word and Xiao Ying is scrambling to daozhang’s side. After a
moment holding him, Lan Wangji nudges Xiao Ying.
“The washing,” he prompts. As much as he loathes returning Xiao Ying to the people who
keep him, the consequences would be worse for Xiao Ying if they linger. His lover yawns
against his skin, before he nods and peels himself away. He must have gotten up this early
hoping to meet Lan Wangji when he arrived. Lan Wangji watches as Xiao Ying goes about
his chores. He allows himself to fantasise about the future where he helps Xiao Ying do
their household chores. It is nice to be able to think about the future.
“Daozhang, when will you teach me more cultivation?” Xiao Ying asks as he beats the
clothes against the rocks.
“Soon.”
“Soon, soon you always say soon!” Xiao Ying bursts out, “If I’m so bright why can’t I learn
more now!”
Lan Wangji’s arms close around his lover as he bursts into tears. He’s sure if he pulls off
Xiao Ying’s robes he will find fresh bruises.
“How will I stay by your side when we go away if you don’t teach me enough now?” Xiao
Ying sobs.
For a moment Lan Wangji feels a flash of anger at Xiao Ying’s words. Does he not trust in
Lan Wangji’s abilities to keep him safe? For all the trouble Xiao Ying had gone through,
here in his little village he is ignorant of the horrors of the Wen’s extermination of the
Great Clans, and the lengths Lan Wangji has gone through to stay alive. He stamps it
down. He can’t blame his lover for his immaturity when he’s trying his best.
The truth is it’s too late for Xiao Ying to catch up to Lan Wangji. He is a good student,
quick and intelligent with a creative flair that impresses Lan Wangji even with all of his
years of study. He even had the beginnings of a golden core that Lan Wangji had discov-
ered when he began teaching him, perhaps the last legacy of his long deceased parents.
58
For all his brilliance, it’s still not enough. Not to worry, Lan Wangji has a plan.
Once Xiao Ying collects himself and the laundry they walk side by side back to the village.
Xiao Ying tries to hide it but his thinner robes let in the chill of the early autumn air. Lan
Zhan presses close to him, letting the burning heat of his core warm him up. He notes he’ll
have to obtain thicker robes for his lover.
The master of the house is outside waiting for Xiao Ying’s arrival. A small petty man
whom nothing in life had ever pleased and nothing in life had found pleasure in him.
“Daozhang,” he spits in greeting, “Brat you are late, you have been dallying again with the
esteemed cultivator.”
The way Liu Jianguo says ‘esteemed’ it sounds like an insult. Lan Wangji stops his lips from
curling in a sneer. This was the man who rejected his proposal for Xiao Ying outright,
claiming all Lan Wangji could bring was a pretty name and no money or clan to hold it up.
He probably wanted to keep Xiao Ying to use him as part of the dowry of his simpering
daughter.
Lan Wangji’s fist tightens on the hilt of Bichen as Xiao Ying scrambles back to the house
without a backward glance. They’re trying not to arouse his master’s suspicion but Lan
Wangji hates even the pretend lack of regard.
He spends the day in solitude in his hut. The villagers offered the abandoned building
to him in exchange for his services and he’d refurbished it until it became liveable again.
He works on his long term project, re-transcribing the knowledge of the Lan Clan from
memory. Some things will always be lost to the smoke and ash but Shufu had Lan Wangji
transcribe many texts in his youth. For now, it would have to be enough. At hài he ends
his work for the day and settles down for bed. His eyes hardly close before someone is
banging outside. At the door is his worst nightmare.
Xiao Ying stands before him, drenched in blood. His lover gasps, on the edge of a panic
attack, as he stares at Lan Wangji. Lan Wangji immediately draws Xiao Ying into his arms,
checking him and feeding him spiritual energy to aid any injuries. Xiao Ying fists the
fabric of Lan Wangji’s robes, leaving smears of blood on the sleeves.
“He made me,” Xiao Ying whispers, “I didn’t want to he made me.”
“Where did you leave the body?” This development accelerates Lan Wangji’s plans, but if
he gets enough time to dispose of the remains they would both be well away in time.
Xiao Ying looks at him glassy eyed.
“Xiao Ying what did you do to your master?” Lan Wangji prompts gently.
Xiao Ying lets out a bark of high pitched laughter that turns into choked sobs. Lan Wangji
has to grab at his hands to keep him from clawing at his face.
59
“Him? Him! What did he do to me!”
“A-Ying,” Lan Wangji holds his lover tighter, pinning his arms at his sides. Xiao Ying
struggles for a bit, but gradually settles and melts against Lan Wangji as his sobs quiet
down.
“Dog,” Xiao Ying’s voice is hoarse, “Bit me, I bit back.”
Xiao Ying’s master often threatened to lock him in a room with a dog for bad behaviour. It
looked like that night he made good on that threat.
Lan Wangji shushes Xiao Ying as he wipes at his face with his sleeve. The tears had already
cut clear streams through the mess, Lan Wangji smudges more of the blood in the grime
as he calms his lover.
“Bathe and change Xiao Ying, I will pack.”
Lan Wangji was used to fleeing in a hurry and Xiao Ying rarely had time for personal care
in his household. Before one shì had passed they were ready. Lan Wangji takes Xiao Ying
firmly by the hand, leading him to his former household. He can feel the tremors build as
Xiao Ying realises where they are heading.
“We’re just going to pick up a few things.”
The household slumbers peacefully as they come over the wall. Xiao Ying’s room was
far from where the main family slept. They should be undisturbed in the time it takes to
get what they need. There is little that Xiao Ying has that he’s sentimentally attached to,
a dizi he’s had since he was a child, some scraps of his writing practice and lessons from
Lan Wangji. Lan Wangji frowns at Xiao Ying packing the rough robes he’d been given but
they will have to do for now. Xiao Ying could not wander around naked, it would not be
practical.
The door slams open. Xiao Ying yelps and flinches but Lan Wangji doesn’t move. The
racket of the master attempting to sneak down the hall was ridiculous. The Wen tortures
moved so quietly you wouldn’t realise they were there until the fourth needle had been
shoved in your fingernails.
“Thieves,” Liu Jianguo hisses, “How dare you steal from my house, you embarrassing
cutsleeve. I’ll have your hide for this. You killed my prize hound and now you have the
audacity to rob me, after we raised you?”
Xiao Ying’s breath begins to come out in high pitched bursts. He grasps at his robes, twist-
ing the fabric. “You said I had to— street mutts— fight to win,” Xiao Ying looks like he’s
about to be sick, “to death.”
Liu Jianguo scoffs in disgust. “The magistrates will believe what I tell them. And you
honourable cultivator”— he jabs his finger at Lan Wangji— “I’ll have you driven out of
town—”
60
Lan Wangji cuts him off at the wrist. It’s comical how the man’s eyes bulge as he grasps at
the bleeding stump and falls to his knees. His second slash takes off his head.
“Finish here,” Lan Wangji instructs Xiao Ying, “I will be quick.”
Lan Wangji places a talisman on the body, it immolates immediately leaving nothing
behind. The invention had been a necessity on the run, he did not need to leave a trail of
bodies for the Wen hunters to follow.
Lan Wangji moves through the household quickly. He takes money from Liu Jianguo’s of-
fice,, and a few other items for their future. Xiao Ying is waiting for him in the same place
when he returns. Lan Wangji feels a surge of affection at the look of fearful determination
on his lover’s face. He swoops down and kisses him, warming his cold lips. Soon Xiao
Ying giggles, swept up in his lover’s fervour.
“Just us now Lan Zhan, we’re going to run away together.”
“Mn, no-one will take you away from me.” As a reward for Xiao Ying, Lan Wangji sweeps
him into his arms and carries him away from the village.
They settle higher in the mountains. The Lan clan had always thrived in the cold, clear
air and Lan Wangji determines they should do so again. They live in a cave as Lan Wangji
scopes out the area and the materials for the new house. Xiao Ying spends the days hunt-
ing, fishing and foraging for their meals, which Lan Wangji prepares. Xiao Ying weeps
with delight when he sees Lan Wangji had packed away the spices he likes. They pass a few
idyllic days like this, soaking up each other’s presence all day and night.
When Xiao Ying accepts that no-one is coming after him, when he no longer shakes from
his nightmares of behind hunted by dogs, or spends half the day glancing around for men
from the village come to punish them for their crimes, does Lan Wangji deem his lover
ready to hear the rest of his plan.
“A-Ying,” he says, and admires the way the firelight makes Xiao Ying’s eyes sparkle as he
looks up.
“Remember we spoke about having a family together?”
“Yes Lan Zhan I’m so excited! I’ve been extra healthy in preparation for the baby. With
how hard we’ve been working at it I’m sure I must be pregnant already. Are you asking
because you checked already and I am? Oh Lan Zhan, I’m so happy!” Xiao Ying flings his
arms around Lan Wangji in delight.
Lan Wangji pats his lover’s back. He hates having to be the one to crush Xiao Ying’s spirits,
but at least he already has the remedy prepared. Xiao Ying had so little education on real
relationships since his family had never planned to let him get married. He’d been so
shocked their first night in the cave when they’d coupled for the first time when he found
61
out what Lan Wangji intended to put where.
“A-Ying, you are not pregnant, men cannot get pregnant.”
Xiao Ying pulls back, face crumpling in sadness. “But Lan Zhan you said, how am I sup-
posed to be a good wife if I can’t bear your children?”
“Shhh,” his lover is already on the edge of tears, “I prepared for this. Nature’s failure is not
A-Ying’s, I promised to give my pretty wife the children he wants after all.”
Once, in another life, Lan Wangji had met Wen-daifu. She had been a legendary doctor,
even in her retirement from clan affairs. In her prime she might have been able to curb the
tyranny of Wen Ruohan. Instead, she’d only been able to shelter whatever refugees could
make it to Dafan village. Lan Wangji had been an apprentice of sorts for her. Perhaps
out of affection, perhaps out of a need for absolution for things she couldn’t stop, she’d
instructed Lan Wangji in certain surgeries she’d devised but never made public. She made
him swear to only use them if he had to and only in service of others.
There was nothing Lan Wangji would not do in the service of Xiao Ying.
In the box lies the womb of the young mistress of Xiao Ying’s former household. Lan
Wangji remembers the look of shock in her eyes as she woke. Xiao Ying’s invention, the
binding talisman, and the Lan Silencing spell held her as he cut into her. It was poetic that
the marriage of his and Xiao Ying’s abilities would be used to take the instrument to bring
their union to fruition. Lan Wangji had silenced and paralysed her, but anything to stop
the pain he’d deemed unnecessary. What had she done to deserve it when neither she or
any of her kin had done anything but cause Xiao Ying pain? He remembered her petty
jealousy of Xiao Ying, how she would lie about him when she saw he had the attention of
the daozhong and she did not. She looked at him with hatred as he took the only thing of
real value she had. He’d left her red and open on the bed. She was alive, but he doubted
there was a doctor in a hundred li that could get to stitch her together in a way that would
not leave horrific scars, a reminder of what she lost forever.
“Where did you get this?” Xiao Ying asks in awe.
“Repayment, from your former family.”
Lan Wangji watches Xiao Ying carefully. This could push him away but Xiao Ying has to
know how committed Lan Wangji is to him.
Xiao Ying scrunches his nose, “But Lan Zhan, will that mean our children will look like
her?”
Lan Wangji falls even deeper in love.
“No, the womb will resonate with your core, our children will be the perfect blend of the
two of us.”
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Xiao Ying smiles and climbs into Lan Wangji’s lap. “Then what are we waiting for? Put it
in me right now!”
His cock, cum, and the womb, Xiao Ying means all three.
“Not yet Xiao Ying. Your core isn’t strong enough yet. You would reject it.”
Xiao Ying bangs his little fists against Lan Zhan’s shoulder, “Then when Lan Zhan? Why
are you making us wait?”
“Your core cannot grow stronger quickly enough A-Ying, even with your brilliance you
are too late to cultivate to full strength.”
“No!” Xiao Ying shakes his head furiously, “We’re going to be together forever. I won’t give
up, I’ll work harder and I'll find a new way!”
Lan Wangji holds Xiao Ying’s cheeks and uses his thumbs to wipe off the tears. “Don’t
worry Xiao Ying, I have a plan. We only need to get you one more thing to make the sur-
gery a success. I will go hunting tomorrow.”
Xiao Ying looks Lan Wangji in the eyes. “You mean we are going hunting.”
Lan Wangji kisses Xiao Ying so hard they cut their mouths on each other’s teeth. The taste
of their mingled blood is so sweet.
Lan Wangji loathes bringing Xiao Ying from their mountain retreat. His instincts scream
to chain him inside the cave, to make him wait while Lan Wangji hunts. It is almost worth
it however, to see how bloodlust sharpens his lover’s beauty.
“Tell me again how we’ll do it Lan Zhan,” Xiao Ying whispers, as he wraps his arm around
Lan Zhan’s.
“There is a Wen outpost, on the outskirts of Yiling. Wen Chao is supposed to be in charge
of the Wen supervisory offices along here but he prefers to spend time gloating and
relaxing in Yunmeng,” Wen Chao’s lax supervision is one of the reasons Lan Wangji had
first come in the area to hide. He cups Xiao Ying’s cheek and looks deeply in his eyes. “We
will pick off the members of the camp and whoever of them has the strongest core will be
lucky enough to contribute to their clan’s repayment to the Lan.”
Xiao Ying’s eyes shine in adoration. “I know you’ll pick the very best one for me Lan Zhan
I can’t wait! You’ll be right next to me the entire time, you can’t let your A-Ying get in any
danger you know!”
“Mn. Of course,” Lan Wangji presses a kiss to Xiao Ying’s cheek.
“They’ll be so surprised won’t they! I don’t know if I’ll be able to stop myself from
63
laughing when they see the righteous daozhang and his handsome bride execute a sneak
attack on them.”
Xiao Ying laughs at the fond look on Lan Zhan’s face, “What, Lan Zhan is your bride not
handsome?”
“A-Ying is the prettiest,” Lan Wangji agrees, to see Xiao Ying splutter and blush into
silence.
In the dead of night they strike. It appears the outpost had been brought into some rele-
vance after all. Gifts for Wen Chao’s latest paramour and other luxuries ordered from fur-
ther afar had stopped here before another party could come and collect them. Wen Chao
had not arranged for the guards to arrive when the goods did leaving the understaffed
Yiling outpost stressed and on edge with too many valuables and not enough manpower
in case someone tried to take them.
One by one they pick them off. Perhaps it’s a relief, Lan Wangji muses as he wipes off his
sword. Instead of facing the punishments of Wen Chao they have to face the judges of hell
instead.
The captain of the guard is an exceptional man. He is not originally a Wen soldier; Lan
Wangji vaguely remembers him from another lifetime, when students flocked to the
mountains to spend a year at the GusuLan lectures. He’d accompanied the heir of Yun-
mengJiang to study that year. Whatever had happened to him between then and now, his
core is bright and vibrant as Lan Wangji plucks it out of him. Lan Wangji carefully pours
the core into Xiao Ying, binding the energy around his own nascent core. What was barely
a wisp gives a steady glow now.
The wound begins to heal nicely as Lan Wangji sews Xiao Ying up. Enough that Lan
Wangji is confident that there will be no rejection from the new organ. He sets aside his
scalpel and picks up his ink.
“Lan Zhan,” Xiao Ying pauses and chews his lip. One hand rubs unconsciously over his
belly.
“Is it,” he tries again, “I can keep my robes on.”
Lan Wangji looks at Xiao Ying. His lover sometimes gets tied around in thoughts and
assumptions.
“Everyday is everyday,” Lan Wangji says. His lover didn’t seem unwilling as he squirms in
Lan Wangji’s lap.
“I’m not saying that,” Xiao Ying huffs. His little pout is so cute Lan Wangji can’t help
but lean forward to nip at his cheeks. For once Xiao Ying does not giggle, and then melt
against Lan Wangji’s chest.
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“Do you think it’s ugly?” he whispers, one hand slips beneath his robe. In his mind’s eye
Lan Wangji sees the blue ink forming the symbol of GusuLan. It’s the proof Xiao Ying is
his.
“I know it’s not going to heal that well right away. You tried to cover it up and the scars
still look so ugly.”
That’s enough. Lan Wangji tips Xiao Ying onto the pile of stolen furs. He takes great plea-
sure ripping his robes to shreds revealing the soft stomach and the tattoo beneath. Xiao
Ying has put on a little weight since they have settled, the small pouch on his stomach isn’t
entirely from his new organ. He shivers as Lan Wangji traces one finger along the blue
whorls of the tattoo. The slight injection of his spiritual energy makes it start to glow. He’d
intended to wait, to let the new vessels and pathways in Xiao Ying’s body settle; but if he
insisted on Lan Wangji proving to him-
“Lan Zhan what’s this? What’s that angry look on your face? I pour my heart out and you
want to use me until I can’t think anymore! Do you think the cure for sadness is your
cock?”
“Mark your words A-Ying,” Lan Wangji says.
His lover winds his arms around his neck. His legs spread wider to accommodate Lan
Wangji between them.
“Lan Ying, gege,” he corrects.
Lan Ying can’t keep up the act for long, the grin is already spreading across his face. Lan
Wangji feels a rush of affection at Lan Ying’s mischievousness, goading his lover into
ravishing him again.
The rest of the night is spent thoroughly giving Lan Ying what he wanted, his moans
and pleading echoing around the cave they call home.
65
wrecklwj
yumichanhamano
all of me belongs to you

Lan Wangji, the emperor’s only brother and the Lan empire’s greatest warrior, looked
down at them from the dais, just a step below the emperor. What remained of the main
Jiang Kingdom forces were not surprised when the Lan emperor told his brother to
choose a bride for himself. However, he only noble lady and suitable bride was Jiang Yanli.
Wei Wuxian knew it was coming and prepared himself for this.
“I will take her place,” Wei Wuxian declared, drawing everyone’s attention away from her.
He heard Jiang Yanli gasp next to him, but he focused on the golden eyes that moved to
him.
There was a cold indifference in his eyes but Wei Wuxian prayed that the man would heed
his offer.
While Wei Wuxian was unable to bear the man a child, he prayed that Lan Wangji did
not care for such a thing from his war prize as he was one of the other people fitting for
the role. He was a great general for the Jiang Kingdom and was highly regarded for his
accomplishments. He pledged his life to the Jiang Kingdom and this would be his last act
for the royal family.
Jiang Cheng needed to remain a free man if they wanted a chance to rebuild the Jiang
kingdom after the war. Wei Wuxian refused to let Jiang Yanli be treated like a toy in
this power struggle between the empires. Wei Wuxian knew that Jiang Cheng and Jiang
Yanli would not agree, that he was just as important as they were. But they were the sole
remaining members of the noble Jiang family and Wei Wuxian vowed to do everything in
his power to protect them.
Wei Wuxian was grateful that the ones before them was the Lan emperor and not Wen
Ruohan. It was known far and wide that the Wen emperor was downright cruel.
The long-time feud between the Lan and Wen empire had forced the other Kingdoms
to choose a side. The Jiang Kingdom elected to take a neutral stance and became a war
ground between the two sides. While Wei Wuxian respected the discussion of their king,
he knew that they would be absorbed by either empire since their small Kingdom was no
match for the two larger powers.
When their last line of defense was broken through by the Wen army, Wei Wuxian was
ready to forfeit his life so the rest had a chance to escape instead of being captured and
tortured. When they refused to leave, he promised to stay alive and be there for the re-
building of the Jiang Kingdom.
67
However, he would have to have to break his promise to protect Jiang Yanli. Wei Wuxian
could only hope that they understood.
Lan Wangji turned to nod at his brother and the emperor sealed his fate. Wei Wuxian
closed his eyes as felt the tension bleeding out of him. He was sure Jiang Cheng cursed
under his breath and Jiang Yanli was choking back a sob. While it broke his heart, Wei
Wuxian did not regret his sacrifice.
It had been at least four months since Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji were married. Despite
his status, Wei Wuxian had been treated with courtesy and given a lavish wedding. How-
ever, his supposed husband was avoiding him.
On their wedding night, Wei Wuxian waited to no avail in the marital chamber, only later
to be informed by a servant that Lan Wangji was called away due to a war emergency.
However, even after his return, his husband never once sought out his company, nor came
to see him.
Normally, Wei Wuxian wouldn’t even care. In fact, he would be overjoyed to be ignored
by his husband in name. However, Lan Wangji paraded him around like the prize he is
during gatherings, forcing Wei Wuxian to play the role of an obedient and docile spouse.
But the moment they were away from the public eye, Lan Wangji treated Wei Wuxian like
he didn’t exist.
Wei Wuxian hated it.
He didn’t know what Lan Wangji wanted. It felt like the man was mocking Wei Wuxian,
to show him off as a mark of status and victory. However, if Lan Wangji truly wanted to
humiliate Wei Wuxian, he would take every chance to mock and remind him of his role.
Everything the older man did confused Wei Wuxian and he wanted, no, needed answers.
But he wasn’t going to wait another month for them.
“You can’t be here!” a frantic servant cried out as Wei Wuxian ignored him and pushed
open the doors to Lan Wangji’s study. If Lan Wangji will not come to him, then he will go
to Lan Wangji.
“Leave us,” Lan Wangji ordered. The servant bowed and closed the door, leaving the two of
them alone in the private space.
“Why are you doing this?”
“What am I doing?” Lan Wangji asked, his eyes never leaving the scrolls he was looking at.
It’s likely reports of the ongoing war, something that Wei Wuxian no longer cared about in
his incapacitated role.
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“You wanted a bride and went through a whole wedding ceremony to abandon me on our
wedding night. You parade me around other nobles like an accessory but ignore me the
second we are away from others. What do you want from me?” Wei Wuxian asked, trying
to not let his frustrations pour into his words. But he’s tired of waiting and guessing. He
didn’t know what kind of game the other man was playing and he hated being strung
along.
Golden eyes finally lift off the parchment. His gaze was as intense as they were back in the
throne room. Wei Wuxian held his gaze, challenging the older man.
“You cannot handle the truth.”
Wei Wuxian does not back down. “Try me.”
“I wish to own you.” Lan Wangji spoke in a measured tone as he placed down the scroll
he was holding. “All of you.” He stood up and walked around his desk. “Your heart, body,
mind, and soul.” He stopped in front of Wei Wuxian. Lan Wangji was half a head taller. He
tilted Wei Wuxian’s head up to meet his darken eyes. He stared back at Wei Wuxian with
an emotion he could not name. “I want you to let go of your past and fully accept me as
your husband. Your only priority.” Lan Wangji narrowed his eyes at the last part and Wei
Wuxian suppressed the shiver that ran down his spine. “I want that you will only be mine
and mine alone.” Lan Wangji leaned in and pressed a kiss against his lips. Wei Wuxian
stood frozen when Lan Wangji leaned back with a satisfied smile. “I want you to yearn for
me the same way I yearned for you.”
Wei Wuxian didn’t know how to respond.
He chose run away instead.
Wei Wuxian ignored the gasps and shouts from servants until he was back in his court-
yard. He stumbled into his room and crawled into his bed where he could shut away the
world.
It was only then that he let the words wash over him, let himself feel his face heating up as
he repeated the words in his head. He was not blind. He heard the affection underlying the
man’s possessive words. He didn’t want to think about that either.
Wei Wuxian couldn’t remember a time before his defeat that he was in the presence of Lan
Wangji.
What he does remember is the way Lan Wangji was eyeing Jiang Yanli, deciding her worth
before Wei Wuxian spoke up. Would he have said the same words to her if they had mar-
ried before he intervened?
Wei Wuxian groaned into his pillow and hid himself further under the sheets as if it would
shield him away from reality.
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Wei Wuxian assumed that things would return to how it was. He would continue to play
his role of demure wife to the great Hanguang-jun. The man ignored his existence outside
of any meeting or gathering that required his presence.
However, Lan Wangji was sitting at the dining table at dinner time. It took all the control
in Wei Wuxian’s body to not gawk at the man when he stepped into the room.
Meals were a quiet affair, even during banquets, in the palace.
It was a blessing in disguise since this was also the longest period of time he had spent
privately with Lan Wangji since coming to the palace and Wei Wuxian didn’t know how to
fill the silence.
Now that he wasn’t pledged by a million thoughts all screaming for his attention, he can
truly appreciate Lan Wangji’s appearance. Wei Wuxian was someone that appreciated
beautiful things, easily drawn in by the older man’s beauty. It was the excuse he told him-
self as he kept sneaking glances throughout dinner.
He thought dinner was the end of the surprises, but then Lan Wangji followed him back to
his room.
“W-What are you doing?” Wei Wuxian asked when Lan Wangji started taking off his outer
robes. His poor heart was not ready for that. Dinner was one matter, but this… this was
not something he could just accept!
“We sleep at haishi,” Lan Wangji stated. Wei Wuxian knew the rules, not that he followed
them. What he wanted to know was what Lan Wangji was doing in his room.
The next thing he knew, Wei Wuxian was lying next to Lan Wangji in bed. They didn’t
do anything, unlike Wei Wuxian first thought when Lan Wangji was… disrobing… But
he couldn’t understand the sudden change. Earlier that day, Wei Wuxian confronted Lan
Wangji and ran away from the truth that he sought out. Now Lan Wangji was having din-
ner with him and sleeping in the same bed?
It wasn’t a one-time occurrence either.
The days following, Lan Wangji would always have dinner with him before they retire to
bed. When he’s not as busy, he would join Wei Wuxian for lunch. Their conversations were
never long. Wei Wuxian would make the faintest attempt at a conversation and it would
always end within six replies.
Wei Wuxian continued to play his role of Lan Wangji’s demurred spouse. They never
spoke about it again but Wei Wuxian felt something shift.
Gusu winters were much harsher and colder than the mild ones they had Yunmeng. For
that reason, Wei Wuxian found himself a little cold at night, scooting a little closer to his
husband in bid for some of his warmth.
70
Each night, the temperature would drop lower than the previous night, and Wei Wuxian
found himself moving closer and closer towards Lan Wangji.
To his horror, he once woke up before Lan Wangji to find himself sleeping soundly on
the man’s chest. He quickly scrambled off and pretended he was still asleep when he felt
the man next to him stir awake around maoshi. Wei Wuxian was never able to wake up at
maoshi, usually sometime later, but never has the servants nor Lan Wangji said anything
about his morning habits.
Wei Wuxian was praying that his acting was believable when he felt warm lips pressed
against his forehead and a gentle whisper of “good morning”.
In a panic, Wei Wuxian pretended to mumble something incoherent as he buried his face
further into the pillow, hoping to hide his warm face. A soft chuckle was heard before the
warm weight left the bed and Wei Wuxian could finally breathe normally again.
He was starting to drift off to sleep when he heard Lan Wangji asking for someone to
bring a brazier for the chilly morning and to deliver Wei Wuxian’s meal after he woke up
and started preparing for the day.
Wei Wuxian wondered if Lan Wangji had been doing this before as he always woke up to
warm meals after he dressed, despite being late for breakfast every morning. The newly
delivered brazier warmed up the room and lulled him back to sleep. Unconsciously, the
words that Lan Wangji said to him rang clear and Wei Wuxian wondered how deep his
affections truly ran.
Wei Wuxian became used to this new routine. He would wake up with the lingering
warmth of his husband in their bed, eat a late breakfast or skip it completely for lunch,
then find something to occupy him until dinner time, have dinner with Lan Wangji,
prepare for bed, and spend a couple of hours in bed with his husband until he eventually
fell asleep.
However, when Wei Wuxian was greeted by the sight of only one set of eating utensils, he
turned to the nearest servant and demanded an answer.
“Hanguang-jun had been called away this afternoon by the emperor. He said to not wait
for him.”
Wei Wuxian found himself unable to enjoy the food before him. He had been so alone
since he was taken away from the people he knew and grew up with. While the servants
were always around, they either refused to speak with him or were instructed not to. Lan
Wangji was the only person he could speak with. Now, he was gone and Wei Wuxian was
alone again.
He tried to eat something at least, but his appetite was gone the moment he realized that
he would be spending dinner time alone.
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It was even worse when he walked into his room and found the bed too large for one
person. It was the same bed he slept on since he came to the palace. Their marital bed,
made for two. It fit the two of them comfortably. At first, Wei Wuxian enjoyed having the
large bed all to himself, especially with his habit of taking up all the space of the bed with
his sprawled limbs. But now it felt too large for just him as he curled over the spot that Lan
Wangji normally occupied.
It was only one day, Wei Wuxian comforted himself as he tried to drift off to sleep. He
could make it through one day.
One day turned into two.
Two days turned into three.
Three days turned into a week.
A week turned into two, three, four.
Wei Wuxian stopped counting the days eventually. The war was still raging out, the world
outside of the palace would still go on without him. He had been disconnected from the
outside world that he no longer knew what the state of affairs were outside of the palace.
The meetings and gatherings Lan Wangji took him to was the last thread of connection
that Wei Wuxian had to the outside world.
Without him, Wei Wuxian was a caged bird waiting for his master to return. His wings
were long clipped and he could no longer return to the life he once lived.
He prayed that Jiang Cheng and the remaining people of the Jiang kingdom were doing
well due to Wei Wuxian’s sacrifice. The only reason he obeyed the rules and played along
for so long was for their safety. It was a role that Jiang Yanli would have taken on, stuck in
a loveless marriage with a man who cared less about her.
Lan Wangji’s words once again echoed in his mind, like it always did when Wei Wuxian
was feeling too small in the large courtyard that was his new home.
Wei Wuxian wondered if they were words that were only said to lengthen whatever game
Lan Wangji was playing. Perhaps Wei Wuxian sparked some kind of interest when he was
still a novel toy, malleable under Lan Wangji’s hand in exchange for the unspoken protec-
tion of the Jiang people.
Maybe he had already overstayed his welcome and Lan Wangji was out to find a new toy.
It shouldn’t have stung as much as it did, but Wei Wuxian was now alone once again. He
sometimes let the pain consume him as he stared out blankly at the once beautiful lotus
pond appeared shortly after their wedding.
It was well maintained, but lotus flowers were not made for winter. They wilted during the
72
cold snowy months and the snow only started to melt away recently.
Wei Wuxian waited an entire winter for his husband to return, but neither news nor letter
reached him during these long months. The servants that took pity on him tried to relay
information they heard from other servants or rumours that floated around in the palace
but Wei Wuxian didn’t want to hear any of them. He will only accept them if it came from
his husband himself.
When the weather finally turned warmer, the snow that covered the pathways started to
melt but did not completely disappear. He requested for fresh lotus flowers to be brought
when the pond thawed under the warmth of the spring sun.
He had gotten too complacent during his stay in the palace. Wei Wuxian briefly wondered
if this was part of their tactics.
To declaw a wild tiger and make him a complacent kitten that was happy with the full
meals and warm bed his owner gave him. Without his sword and bow, he could not train
and build up his strength again.
Instead, he set out to sharpen his mind.
He had access to the library that scholars would give up a limb to gain access to. Wei Wux-
ian had special permission long ago to visit, but he had delayed it for reasons that even he
could not recall.
The days were easier to pass when he had something to do. The Lan royal family had built
an amazing repertoire of books that Wei Wuxian was a little envious about. At some point,
he was sure someone would spot him and scold him for reading their precious texts or
kick him out of the library altogether.
However, that never happened. When the season had warmed enough, Wei Wuxian had
already made somewhat of a sizable dent into the library with the books and scrolls he
borrowed and read.
Wei Wuxian brightened at the sight of young lotus flowers still attached to the stem and
roots. It had been so long since he had helped the locals harvest and replant lotuses, but
it was all muscle memory as he recalled peaceful memories before the war started and
ruined the hard work of the common people.
Simpler times when his worries mostly consist of whether or not he would get caught for
sneaking away when he should be studying, when Wei Wuxian didn’t have to worry about
the safety of the people he loved.
When he offered himself up to Lan Wangji, he knew that it was going to be the last time
he saw any of them. While the Lan emperor was not known to be as heartless as the Wen
emperor was, war does not have space for kind people. They will be the first to die while
73
the strong trample over them on their way to the top.
Wei Wuxian was not expecting this level of leniency when he was first taken prisoner, but
he was grateful for every step of freedom that he had.
When the lotus pond was finished, Wei Wuxian stood back in his muddy robes and ad-
mired his hard work.
It was the one and only thing in the courtyard that was his own and did not belong to the
Lans. Lotus flowers were native to Yunmeng, an area that was warm with large bodies of
water, the perfect conditions for these delicate plants.
After taking a bath and changing into clean clothes, Wei Wuxian went back to admire his
handiwork. He still wondered when people came to garden and built this. It was not there
when he first toured around the courtyard that was now his home. He vaguely recalled
Lan Wangji off-handedly mentioning it was made for him.
He had spent most of the day cleaning up the pond and planting the new lotus flowers. He
had a quick snack instead of lunch and the sun was setting when he finished cleaning up.
His stomach growled as a reminder.
There was another pang of loneliness when he thought about eating dinner alone again.
Wei Wuxian grew up around people.
Unlike the Lan rules, mealtimes in Yunmeng were loud and boisterous events where ev-
eryone sat together at a long table under the setting sun if weather permitted. Wei Wuxian
was often the center of attention during these times, being a magnet for trouble, he always
had something to say or was involved in the story being told.
Wei Wuxian turned around to head to the dining hall, prepared for another silent dinner,
when he bumped right into someone. He stumbled a little and murmured an apology.
The familiar deep voice that called out “Wei Ying” had his head snap up to meet Lan
Wangji’s bright golden eyes.
Wei Wuxian froze at the sight of the man. As much as he missed Lan Wangji’s company,
he knew that it stemmed from the crippling loneliness, or so he told himself. But now
that he was faced with Lan Wangji, all he could feel was the anger from being left alone
without a word.
“So, you finally remembered about me?” Wei Wuxian said mockingly. He shouldn’t be so
discourteous, but something within him snapped at the sight of the man after months of
no news.
“Wei Ying, I–”
“You what?” Wei Wuxian bit back, not even giving the man a chance to speak. He ignored
the hand that reached out and stepped back, putting a respectable distance between them.
74
“Did you find another kingdom to ruin and taken another spouse? Not that you care
about what I think. I’m–”
“I went to Yunmeng.”
Wei Wuxian’s blood ran cold and he barely kept himself standing at the news.
“You…”
“I spoke with Jiang Wanyin to restore the Jiang kingdom under my imperial brother’s
rule,” Lan Wangji said as he took slow measured steps towards Wei Wuxian. When he
stopped, Wei Wuxian had to look up at the man and tried to ignore the fond eyes and soft
tick of his mouth on Lan Wangji’s face.
Wei Wuxian should be mad. Lan Wangji was part of the reason why his people were cap-
tive and he was in this situation in the first place.
When Lan Wangji reached out a hand and cupped his cheek, Wei Wuxian couldn’t sup-
press the soft hitch as he melted into the large warm hand. Wei Wuxian was well aware
that he was touched starved after months of being away from Lan Wangji, and even longer
since he was taken from his family.
“It may take a few years to fully restore the Jiang Kingdom, but Jiang Wanyin had sworn
his loyalty and will fight alongside us,” Lan Wangji explained. “We may visit when it’s safe
to do so.”
Wei Wuxian closed his eyes as he imagined Jiang Cheng gritting his teeth and agreeing out
of worry for him. Jiang Cheng was always tough and mean on the outside, but actually a
softie on the inside. Wei Wuxian hoped and prayed they were doing well.
“What do you want in return?” Wei Wuxian asked tiredly.
He opened his eyes and looked back at Lan Wangji. Wei Wuxian had since learned that
nothing came without a price. For the Lan army’s help to push back the Wen forces, Jiang
Kingdom fell into the hands of the Lan empire. For the safety of Jiang Cheng and Jiang
Yanli, as well as the people that survived, Wei Wuxian gave himself up. What more can he
give?
Wei Wuxian hated the soft look Lan Wangji directed at him when he said, “You already
know what I want.”
What he hated more was that they both know that Lan Wangji already got what he want-
ed. From the moment Wei Wuxian stepped into his office, he was doomed to fall into Lan
Wangji’s hands.
As soon as Wei Wuxian admitted that he had fallen in love with Lan Wangji, it was all
over.
75
ByeolLeporem
sweetlolixo
A
a siren's tail
Lan Wangji is making his way back to his kingdom when he first hears it.
A siren’s song.
Her voice is a lovely little thing. It echoes throughout the deep and dense forest, stirring
small animals awake and sending little sprites into a frenzy. She sings beautifully, haunt-
ingly; in an ancient tongue native only to the north of the sea, where lotus flowers are able
to grow. And the tale she weaves in her song may be solemn and grave, but the merriness
that she delivers in her tune, all bright and joyful, without a single care in the world—it
gives way to the mirthful, untroubled heart that lies deep within, of a genuine and kind
soul, trapped in the form of a bewitching mer creature that has inspired endless gruesome
fables and myths.
Even before Lan Wangji descends from where he was, high up in the clouds, and takes a
deep dive into the forest, slithering his way around the lake in which she has taken mo-
mentary shelter in, he already knows—
The siren is otherworldly beautiful.
His breath is caught in his throat when the white mist begins to clear up before his dark
golden pupils. He blinks once, twice, his dragon oval-shaped irises peeling apart to capture
the sight of the siren in her entirety. Just as he’d thought, she stands amidst the shallow wa-
ters, two willowy arms held high up above her head, her fully naked back turned towards
Lan Wangji as she takes a languid bath right beneath a loud waterfall.
Perhaps bath is not the accurate term. Lan Wangji is conscious the siren spends most of
her time deep beneath these waters, after all. Perhaps she is simply marveling in the raw
sensation of a drizzling stream of water, delighting in the way it pounds away at her pale,
glistening skin. Her hair is long and luscious and of the darkest shade of the night; it curls
in light waves all the way down to the top curve of her bottom, where hardy, luminescent
mer scales lay. They are harshly embedded within her skin, a natural part of her that can-
not be so easily erased.
A sudden thought occurs to Lan Wangji. He has heard about this before—in tales and leg-
ends he could never have ascertained for himself. Sirens are a sighting so rare in itself, for
they mostly live in the darkest, deepest depths of the ocean, only to appear like a dream
to lost sailors who—are the easiest prey. But if what he has heard about them is true, then,
then, for a siren to be able to stand on two human legs, they first have to remove the outer
78
layer of their skin, their prized tail, the only thing that keeps them one with the ocean.
And this little siren is enjoying her bath like a human.
Clearly, Lan Wangji thinks, eyeing the shimmery, fluorescent tail left unguarded by the
side of the lake. Clearly she is unlike the rest. Clearly she longs for the freedom being on
land can give her—for if she truly was as crafty as the rest and held a heart so blackened
as other sirens do, she would never rise to the surface of her own will, and place herself in
such a position to be… vulnerable.
You are only at your strongest in the habitat you belong to.
Lan Wangji wants so much to slither away, back up into the clouds, and allow the breeze
to take him to where he must be. His brother, the First Prince, is still waiting for him—
waiting on him, to begin their evening meal. There is still fresh blood tainting Lan Wang-
ji’s dragon scales that needs to be cleaned; there is still news of his latest conquest that he
needs to report back up to the regent king, his uncle.
So, as beguiling and tempting this opportunity—this siren—presents to him, Lan Wangji
knows his place.
He has had his first glimpse of a siren in the wild, and that is enough for him. Lan Wangji’s
heart, for better or for worse, has ceased to beat ever since his mother’s death. Dragons are
beyond a doubt, awful, greedy creatures; but Lan Wangji has never been attuned as such to
the vile characteristics of his kind. He does not want. He does not desire.
He turns his head away, and prepares to ascend back into the clouds.
But then soft laughter escapes the beautiful mer creature, and Lan Wangji’s attention is
stolen from him again, against his will; against his anxiously beating heart.
Thud, thud, thud…
A small fairy has flown down from their hide-out in the trees high above to play with
the siren, entangling themselves within the long locks of the siren’s hair, eliciting further
shrilly laughter from the beauty. Her laughs bubble forth from her throat, all musical and
sweet-sounding, drawing Lan Wangji in like a calculated enchantment. The siren finally
turns her face his way, and Lan Wangji—becomes so very conscious of the overpowering,
thrumming sensation in his veins.
Thud, thud, thud…
(The siren is not the maiden Lan Wangji thought he was, no. The siren is a man, so grace-
ful and divine and heavenly, with silver pearly eyes and ruby red lips that look like they are
in dire need to be kissed.)
All at once, Lan Wangji’s true nature as a bloodthirsty dragon is awakened.
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And for the first time in over a century, Lan Wangji begins to understand why everyone—
everyone—in this kingdom fears the weight of their greed so.
Lan Wangji only approaches him at nightfall, when the tears on the siren’s pretty face have
dried and he has grown tired from all of the crying. Even as fairies surround him from
above, trying to bring him comfort and solace amidst his devastation, they still remain
incapable of bringing to him what the siren needs the most—his prized tail back.
For what kind of horrid, horrid thief must have stolen it from him while he was so inno-
cently enjoying the waters of Cloud Recesses? Without his tail, he cannot live and breathe
underwater, and he cannot return to his home out in the ocean, where the rest of his fam-
ily is. Without his tail, he is permanently trapped in his human form, stuck on land where
he has neither friend, nor kin.
He is helpless—he is defenseless. He is but a beautiful, naked creature, freezing in the still

waters of the night.
And Lan Wangji feels sick for such a thought—although whether he feels remorseful is
a whole other story—but when he casts his eyes over that teary, sunken face of his, he
thinks, you look even more beautiful when you cry.
Lan Wangji appears to him in his human form, hiding his tail but showing his two dragon
antlers. He is dressed in his best, like the dignified royal that he is, in a full noble ensemble
befitting a warrior prince. He clears his throat to announce his presence, whilst gazing
down at the beautiful siren currently sobbing silently against a large rock.
Immediately, the swarm of fairies scurry away. They have dealt enough with dragons to
know better than to stay in the company of them. They know better.
This siren doesn’t.
Lan Wangji kneels down right before the siren, and waits with bated breath as he finally
raises his head, and meets the dragon’s golen eyes for the very first time.
“Hello,” the siren whispers, with scarlet eyes and flushed cheeks. He cowers further a sec-
ond later, when he shamefully remembers he is without even a shred of cloth on his body.
Lan Wangji immediately takes off the princely cloak around his own shoulders, and
wounds it gently around the siren’s shivering body. “You must be cold.”
The siren accepts the act of kindness so readily, not even questioning the stranger’s inten-
tions with him. Lan Wangji knows it must be the imperial crest on these garments that
impress the siren so. For surely a royal such as himself would never bear to hurt him.
“You should get out of the water,” Lan Wangji continues to say, a hand already brushing
through the siren’s—soft, soft—hair. They’re still slightly wet, from the many hours of
80
being in the lake. “You will freeze to death.”
“I won’t,” the siren says quickly, then realising his mistake the minute it leaves him. Still,
he goes on to explain rather tearfully, “My body constitution is better than most.”
“Is that so,” Lan Wangji says, feigning as if he does not know any better. “Your skin is
already wrinkling from the water, though, sweetheart.”
The siren tries to hide his flush from the sweet term of endearment the prince uses on
him, but Lan Wangji notices it. Lan Wangji notices everything.
“Even if I leave the waters, I have nowhere else to go,” the siren mumbles to him again
with hot cheeks, fully embarrassed. “I, I have no place to be, but here…”
“How convenient,” Lan Wangji tells him gently, with the full earnestness of a pure-heart-
ed prince. “You are in Cloud Recesses, the lands of my kingdom. I cannot, in good faith,
allow anyone on these lands to remain without a home. If you’d like, I can take you back to
the palace with me.”
The siren’s eyes flare wide open, his small pouty mouth falling open in grateful surprise.
“I—could not—take advantage of such kindness—!”
“Oh, this is not kindness,” Lan Wangji says—and it isn’t. “This is simply what I am meant
to do.”
And where you are meant to be.
With me.
“The palace is far too big, and we have a good many rooms,” Lan Wangji goes on to say,
already spinning tales about the stunning and elusive palace of Cloud Recesses that no
average commoner may intrude upon. “We have exquisite private gardens there, and even
grander waterfalls for you to bask in.”
It does not take much to convince the siren this is the much better option, as opposed to
remaining in this icy lake, all alone.
“It sounds great, your highness,” the siren murmurs out softly, in dazed awe. His two silver
eyes, they flicker up and illuminate like the brightest firefly in the night. It’s evident to Lan
Wangji that what the siren longs for—is of adventure, is of independence, is of the many
unbelievable things the land can offer to him.
Including the company of dragon royalty.
“If you want,” Lan Wangji sweetens the deal, just for him. He thumbs the siren’s wet
cheeks, caressing the last remnants of silvery tears that stain his skin. “I can give you
everything.”
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The siren looks shy, even, to be offered such a thing by the handsome prince. “I would be
honoured to just be a guest…”
“You can stay as long as you’d like,” Lan Wangji says, with such tenderness in his voice—
and of heavily masked desire. “I only ask for one thing in return.”
Your heart.
“What is it, my liege?”
“Your name,” Lan Wangji asks, unwilling to blink even once in the siren’s presence. Just a
little more, and this beautiful creature—is his.
“It’s Wei Ying,” Wei Ying hums, in that sing-song melody Lan Wangji has already grown so
fond of hearing. “My name is Wei Ying. What can I call my liege by…?”
“Lan Zhan,” Lan Wangji whispers back, much more urgently this time. His fingers curl up
into fists, and they fall to his sides, trying so badly to hide the tremors in his hands. “You
can call me Lan Zhan.”
If Wei Ying noticed the dragon steam emitting excitedly from his flared nostrils, he alludes
to no such thing.
“Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying calls in such a cloying tone, already eager to trust the rest of his life
with the man. He hurriedly rubs at his eyes, wipes away the snot in his nose, and hastens
to get out of the waters, with the help of Lan Wangji—whose arms are right open and
ready for him to fall into. “It would be my greatest pleasure to go with you.”
And once he’s in Lan Wangji’s arms, the man never, ever, lets go.
He carries the siren up into his hold, bridal-style, and tells him to hold on tight, for he will
now take flight.
“Why is your kingdom so high up?” Wei Ying asks, much later, when they’ve arrived at the
foot of the golden gates.
“So no one else but us dragons can enter,” Lan Wangji answers.
He does not tell Wei Ying it is also so that no one else but the dragons can leave.
A temporary stay at the palace, meant to tide Wei Ying over until his tragic ordeal is
over—and his precious tail, finally found—ultimately turns into permanent residency.
Lan Wangji orders for his men to search the land and the high seas for Wei Ying’s missing
tail, to no avail. How horrific, how dreadful an ordeal. The perpetrator who committed
such a terrible crime should be cursed for generations to come, for so heartlessly stealing
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from a poor, innocent siren who only ever wanted to make his way back home!
Luckily for Wei Ying, his time with Lan Wangji, Second Prince of the Dragon Gusu Lan
Clan, is more than pleasant. The prince is so kind and so sweet, and is a man so easy to fall
in love with—allowing Wei Ying the chance to begin envisioning a new forever with Lan
Wangji, situated right here in the palace.
A couple of months into their search, Wei Ying falls pregnant. Thanks to a little siren
magic and the natural potency of dragons, Wei Ying becomes heavy with child.
The search for his tail is called off. Instead, a wedding is to take place.
The Gusu Lan bloodline continues. And Wei Ying’s connection with the ocean—is
severed, for good.
A-Yuan, the beloved son of Wei Ying and Lan Zhan, and next in line for the throne (right
after his father!) is age seven when he first discovers the palace’s treasure room. Usually,
there is a nanny to keep him busy when his mother and father are occupied with matters
of their own. But A-Yuan has grown so tired of being watched all day, and had whisked
away the first chance he got. He runs down the hallway, hides himself behind the first
unlocked door, and finds himself standing before an endless hoard of treasure.
He is a dragon himself. He deeply understands the greed in their nature.
There is enough gold and jewels here to feed an entire nation for hundreds of years. But to
a seven-year-old boy, these are still mere playthings to him. So he sits amongst coins and
gems, and spends a good many hours entertaining himself with objects he would other-
wise not be permitted to touch.
It takes him no time at all to stumble upon an enclosed wooden box, so long and rectan-
gular. A-Yuan pries it open with his dragon claws, and easily pulls out the very thing that
has been so carefully preserved inside.
It is a siren’s tail.
The tail is an utterly resplendent sight; you would not be able to describe its magnificence
even if you so wished to. There is no single colour: only vibrance, and luminescence. It
radiates a myriad of colours depending on the way the light hits it, from the rich shade
of mahogany to the deep shade of sapphire. The scales may look solid and rough, but the
skin is soft to the very touch.
There is no reason for a siren’s tail to be hidden so deeply in these midst. This is Cloud
Recesses, the home of dragons. This is no place for a siren’s tail to be found.
Oh, but A-Yuan is a smart child. Young he may be, but his mind works fast. He remembers
the stories his mother had told him, rather tearfully, of where he’d really been from, of
83
of why he’s not a dragon like the rest of them are; of the tail that had been so brutally
stolen from him, the one missing piece of him that he’ll never get back—the only thing
preventing him from going back home.
And A-Yuan casts his gaze back onto the tail, and he pieces it all together himself; and he
immediately knows so keenly where his mother’s missing tail has gone.
Father, you have worked so hard to keep this family together.
A-Yuan, at his core, is a dragon.
And he is his father’s child.
He picks the tail up from where it glimmers so bright on the ground, and seals it back up
in the wooden box.
This should never see the light and day, A-Yuan thinks, shelving it behind a massive tower
of gold.
For a siren’s tail should remain where it has been best left behind in—a tale.
84
elle_on_snooze
namelesssong
mdzsed
crazy in love
Lan Zhan’s entire life changed on a Friday evening, a few minutes before he closed his
bookstore for the week.
Autumn was slowly taking over, the days growing shorter and colder as the seasons
changed. The sun had already set when Wei Ying came stumbling inside the bookstore, his
nose and cheeks flushed from the cold. His clothes were far too thin to keep the chill from
seeping into his bones and he shivered when the warm air hit him.
He looked transcendent.
He looked like a God from the Heavenly Realm, an aura of eminence surrounding him
and making Lan Zhan feel undeserving of looking at him. Still, he found himself unable
to look away. His gaze was captured and held hostage by the magnificence that was Wei
Ying— his piercing grey eyes and his wide smile, his sheepish laugh and his enchanting
voice all wound themselves tightly around Lan Zhan and held onto him with immense
and all-consuming strength.
Lan Zhan stood no chance.
“Are you still open?” Wei Ying asked, one of his feet still outside the bookstore, looking
sheepish but hopeful.
“Yes,” Lan Zhan said from behind the counter, his hands clenching into tight fists.
Never before had a single word held so much significance.
Falling in love with Wei Ying was instantaneous.
It was like a punch to the chest with a force greater than gravity. It was like the world tilt-
ing on its axes, spinning fast and losing focus before anchoring itself to a pair of grey eyes.
It was like wandering aimlessly through a dark forest, lost and alone, and finding a home
there.
For the first time in Lan Zhan’s life, everything was crystal clear and everything felt right.
He felt like he had a reason for existing when, before, he’d wandered through life unsure of
86
himself and unknowing of where he was going or where he belonged. That all changed
when he saw Wei Ying.
The moment he laid eyes on him, Lan Zhan knew— he belonged with Wei Ying.
“Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying gasps, his lips red and his eyelids heavy as he mouths at Lan Zhan’s
neck. It’s the only thing he can do with his hands tied behind his back. “Please,” he begs,
sounding small and desperate.
“Be good,” Lan Zhan reminds him, working him open with his fingers. He’s taking his
time, purposefully being so slow and thorough because there’s nothing more beautiful
than watching Wei Ying fall apart underneath him. “Be good and I will give you every-
thing you want.”
Wei Ying whines and Lan Zhan continues to fall.
Wei Ying had appeared out of nowhere and he would have disappeared just the same if
Lan Zhan hadn’t taken matters into his own hands.
He prided himself on being resourceful. That, coupled with his determination and willing-
ness to go to great lengths to get what he wanted meant that finding where Wei Ying lived
wasn’t even a challenge. It meant that the moment Wei Ying left his bookstore, Lan Zhan
was everywhere.
He was at the flower shop down the street looking at red carnations and thornless, laven-
der roses. He was at the theatre every Sunday of every week watching the local orchestra
rehearse. He was at the post office. He was at the coffee shop. He was at the library. He was
walking down the street, rounding corners, and taking his lunch break in the botanical
garden.
Wherever Wei Ying was, Lan Zhan was right there with him, admiring him from afar
because not seeing him for even a day felt like a knife in Lan Zhan’s chest. It felt like an
empty, painful void where nothing mattered and life was worthless. It made Lan Zhan feel
like he was living on borrowed time— he felt desperate and lonely and like his soul was
slowly being ripped out of his body and torn to shreds.
He kept his distance even if it was hard. He learned Wei Ying’s schedule and everything
about him, telling himself to be patient when the need to get closer got almost too strong
to resist. Not yet, he’d remind himself, but soon. Soon, they’d be together.
Lan Zhan dedicated most of his time to Wei Ying. He told his brother, Lan Huan, that he
was taking some time off and, seeing as Lan Zhan hadn’t taken any time off since opening
the bookstore more than five years ago, his brother was more than happy to manage it in
his stead.
Everything was slowly falling into place.
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The time off allowed Lan Zhan to make sure Wei Ying was safe while walking home from
work late at night. He walked behind him, keeping his distance but staying observant, and
waited until Wei Ying was in his apartment before he let the tension seep from him.
He lingered for an hour or two, watching through Wei Ying’s window from behind the
corner of the neighboring building as he undressed and changed into looser and more
comfortable clothes. He watched as Wei Ying tied his hair back and took out his earrings,
as he applied creams and serums to his already beautiful face while singing to a song Lan
Zhan was too far away to hear.
He watched and looked forward to the day when he would be there, next to Wei Ying,
holding and kissing and making love to him because Wei Ying was a God and Lan Zhan
was put on this earth to worship him.
Soon, he will.
He couldn’t resist taking a few pictures, every once in a while. He needed to be able to
see Wei Ying when they were apart. He felt like he’d lose his mind if he didn’t. He needed
to commemorate the moment when their relationship first blossomed into what would
undoubtedly be a long and beautiful one.
It didn’t take long for Lan Zhan to purchase a professional camera, one that did Wei Ying’s
beauty more justice than his phone ever could. He preferred developing his films instead
of having them digital. There was something about sitting in a dark, barely lit room devel-
oping dozens of pictures of Wei Ying’s beautiful face that Lan Zhan found therapeutic. It
made him appreciate having found the love of his life all the more and he never failed to
find new and unique things he loved about Wei Ying.
The way he closed his eyes and smiled when he took his first sip of coffee in the morning.
The way his eyes shone when he saw kids playing in the park, his smile radiant and his
laugh almost audible even through the pictures.
The way he bit his fingers when he was feeling stressed or overwhelmed.
The way he pouted when his food wasn’t spicy enough.
There wasn’t a part of Wei Ying that Lan Zhan didn’t completely adore.
Wei Ying is a vision with his lips wrapped around Lan Zhan’s cock and his hands tied
behind his back.
He looks ethereal. The way his cheeks are dark red and his eyes are filled with tears makes
Lan Zhan’s cock throb, his hips twitching forward and making Wei Ying choke. He pulls
back, coughing, but comes right back like he’s starved for Lan Zhan’s cock. Like he’ll lose
his mind if he doesn’t feel the weight of it on his tongue.
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“Beautiful,” Lan Zhan whispers, fingers caressing Wei Ying’s wet cheeks.
Wei Ying whines, eyes fluttering closed, and sits back on his heels, mouth opening wider.
Lan Zhan takes the invitation, his hand finding purchase at the back of Wei Ying’s neck,
and fucks into his mouth, slow but deep, gasping when Wei Ying swallows around him.
Making love to Wei Ying feels like nothing Lan Zhan has ever felt before. Hearing his
gasps and moans as he fucks into him hard and fast, fingers digging bruises into his hips,
feels empowering.
“Who do you belong to?” Lan Zhan asks, thrusting into Wei Ying, pinning him down to
the bed and staying there, his cock so deep inside he can see it bulging through Wei Ying’s
stomach.
Wei Ying cries out, hands fisted in his own hair, and trembles. Lan Zhan growls, pulling
out only to thrust back in, hard and fast and unforgiving. “You,” Wei Ying screams, tears
running down his temple, looking so majestic Lan Zhan can’t look away for even a second.
“Me,” Lan Zhan agrees, smiling. “Only me,” he reminds Wei Ying and leans down close to
his ear so he can whisper, “Wei Ying belongs to me. I am the only person who will ever
treat you right and who will love you no matter what.”
Wei Ying nods, almost delirious.
“Say it,” Lan Zhan demands but keeps his tone soft. He kisses along Wei Ying’s neck, biting
and sucking until he leaves a mark on his skin. “Say it, Wei Ying.”
“I belong to you,” Wei Ying gasps, clenching around Lan Zhan’s cock, his hips moving
back and forth and his hard cock rubbing between their bodies. “No one has ever been
so good to me. No one’s ever cared as much as you do, Lan Zhan,” he rambles, lost in his
pleasure. “I don’t need anyone but you. Only you.”
Lan Zhan glows with pride and satisfaction.
Wei Ying is forgetful. Lan Zhan has to remind him time and again that he’s the only
person who will ever love him the right way, who will be there for him through thick and
thin, and who will care for him without wanting anything in return. He doesn’t mind it,
though, not when Wei Ying looks at him with love and adoration.
“Wei Ying deserves only the best,” Lan Zhan tells him, beginning to move once again, Wei
Ying’s moans music to his ears. “He should be cared for and loved, kept safe and happy.”
Wei Ying comes with a cry of Lan Zhan’s name, his back arching and his eyes crossing. He
begs for Lan Zhan’s come, begs to be marked and owned, and to never be left.
Lan Zhan is more than happy to give him everything he wants, now and forever.
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“Beautiful,” Lan Zhan whispered in the still of the night, the tips of his fingers brushing
against Wei Ying’s soft cheek. He fought the urge to lean down and kiss wherever his fin-
gers touch, taste what he’d been craving for months, and mark it as rightfully his.
Not yet, he told himself.
Wei Ying sighed in his sleep and mumbled something unintelligible. His eyes opened for
a brief second but Lan Zhan knew he was asleep and wouldn’t wake up anytime soon. He
was a heavy sleeper, after all. Even more so after a few glasses of his favorite wine and a full
stomach.
He wouldn’t wake up until at least noon. Lan Zhan made sure of that and, by then, he’d be
in the bookstore, waiting for him to show up and talk about the new plant he bought just
the other day.
Lan Zhan entered Wei Ying’s life after much deliberation. He’d waited until he deemed Wei
Ying ready, and bumped into him in the flower shop down the street. Wei Ying had been
buying a moonflower and Lan Zhan, an alyssum. He’d pretended not to know much about
flowers and asked Wei Ying for tips because he looked to be very knowledgeable.
Wei Ying had beamed, ready to tell him everything he knew, when he seemed to realize
he’d seen Lan Zhan before.
“Bookstore!” He exclaimed with pure excitement. “I made you look for a book for an
hour,” he laughed, then rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Sorry about that...”
Lan Zhan had shaken his head. “It was no trouble,” he said, his heart thundering because
he was finally speaking to Wei Ying, standing so close to him he could touch him. “Was
the book helpful?”
“Very! It was a really nice read,” he smiled, almost blinding Lan Zhan with how radiant it
was. “So, you’re a first-time plant owner?”
“Yes,” Lan Zhan nodded. “Plants are lovely,” he then added.
Wei Ying shone at Lan Zhan’s words, the excitement apparent on his face. “They are,” he
agreed quickly, head bobbing up and down.
It was easy after that. Lan Zhan only had to ask Wei Ying to get tea with him and talk
about plants, and Wei Ying jumped at the opportunity with both of his feet, landing firmly
in Lan Zhan’s life where he belonged.
Lan Zhan was getting tired of waiting, though. He was getting tired of having Wei Ying so
close yet so far away. He was getting tired of looking but not being able to touch.
Being Wei Ying’s friend was great, but Lan Zhan wanted more and it was driving him in-
sane. Everything Wei Ying did drove Lan Zhan mad with want. It made him want to take
Wei Ying back home and keep him there, love him, and care for him away from the prying
90
eyes of the undeserving world.
Wei Ying was for Lan Zhan’s eyes only.
Despite that, he tried to keep such visits short. Even if leaving got harder each time, Lan
Zhan clenched his jaw and walked out, his footsteps heavy and his determination growing.
Soon, he told himself, thinking of how Wei Ying’s eyes had begun to linger whenever he
thought Lan Zhan wasn’t looking, how his smile had been getting bigger and brighter
every time he came into the bookstore, how his blush had gotten deeper when Lan Zhan
met his eyes.
Soon Wei Ying would be his, just as he was meant to.
Wei Ying is still gasping for breath, his heart pounding so hard Lan Zhan can feel it
against his own rib cage. Being able to feel your lover’s heartbeat against your own feels so
intimate, perhaps even more so than making love to them.
Knowing he is the one who made Wei Ying’s heart race, made it pound against his chest
like it’s trying to escape, feels so empowering Lan Zhan tightens his arms around Wei
Ying. He pulls him closer, wishing he could just tuck him inside his chest where he’ll be
safe and away from the prying eyes of every undeserving person.
No one deserves to be graced with Wei Ying’s magnificence. That is for Lan Zhan and Lan
Zhan only.
Their bedroom is dark and Wei Ying is trembling. His fingernails are digging into the skin
of Lan Zhan’s back like he, too, wants to crawl inside Lan Zhan and hide there. He must
know, be it subconsciously or otherwise, that it is the safest place he could ever be.
“Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying whispers, his voice rough and used from screaming and moaning
Lan Zhan’s name like a prayer. “I love you, you know that, right?”
“Mn,” Lan Zhan smiles and tilts his head down to press a kiss against Wei Ying’s damp
forehead. It’s soft and gentle, his lips lingering. “I know. I love you as well. More than you
know,” he says.
His words ring true and run deeper than Wei Ying could ever understand. Lan Zhan
doesn’t mind that, though, because he knows that the amount of love he holds for Wei
Ying is too vast. It’s greater than life.
Wei Ying’s huff of laughter is small but precious, it warms Lan Zhan and makes him close
his eyes in bliss. “You’re too competitive,” he clicks his tongue playfully.
“Is it a competition if I know I will win?” Lan Zhan asks. “I always win,” he tells him,
the evidence of his words slowly falling asleep in his arms, oblivious to it all.
91
“I’m so happy we met,” Wei Ying is slurring his words as he speaks, exhaustion catching up
to him. When Lan Zhan looks down, he sees he has his eyes closed, his face relaxing and
the tremors in his body lessening. “I still can’t believe I got to bump into you. I’d hoped
to see you again but...” he chuckles, trying to press even closer to Lan Zhan even though
they’re as close as they can be, their bodies touching from head to toe, skin against skin.
Lan Zhan runs his fingers through Wei Ying’s thick, long hair and scratches at his scalp.
Wei Ying shudders and melts into the touch, lips parting in a pleased sigh. “We were
lucky,” he says, but knows that luck had nothing to do with it.
Lan Zhan doesn’t believe in luck. He believes in fate.
92
see you next dark lan zhan event
93

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Foreword

Thank you to the writers and artists who participated

Honor Good People by akinohikari 06 - 13

Safe at Last by jaegerbox 14

Fresh Blood Through Tired Skin by todesesser 15 - 21

il ratto di wei wuxian by buzhix3 22

if I find you again, it will be in the mountains 23 - 30

To Have and To Hold by kiracin 31

Hold This Much Love by HeavenlySkyfarer 32 - 40

Who Is In Control? by tiffillustrates 41

Fuck Around and Find Out by notoriousfish 42 - 49

The Gardener by tunnelofdawn 51 - 55

Led Astray By a Gentle Heart by daathdweller 56

Take Me To The Paradise by p3achbae 57 - 65

All of Me Belongs to You by yumichanhamano 67 - 75

Equinox Flower by ByeolLeporem 76 - 77

A Siren's Tail by sweetlolixo 78 - 79

First Dance by elle_on_snooze 85

Crazy In Love by mdzsed 86 - 92

‘Uphold the value of justice’

“Thank the heavens!”

There was no need to answer such frivolous words, so he stayed silent.

They were disgusting.

“Can’t say I know.”

“Somewhere in Yiling maybe?”

“Looks a bit familiar.”

‘Shoulder the weight of morality’

With a flicker of spiritual energy, their mouths were sealed shut.

Clearly, they weren’t the brightest students.

“Even beasts have more honor than you.”

Not a drop fell on Lan Wangji’s mourning white robes.

And then the Chief Cultivator vanished.

“I know you are awake, Jin Guangyao.”

“It was no laughing matter.”

Lan Wangji tilted his head.

“There were no lies told.”

“Wei Wuxian’s death?”

‘Morality is the priority’

“When they stop blemishing his name, I will stop.”

Jin Guangyao barked a laugh.

“That will never happen.”

“Then I will never stop.”

He knew how dangerous a clever man could be.

‘Steer away from bad people’

“When has Hanguang-jun’s tongue turned so sharp? Zewu-jun would be disappointed.”

“He won’t know.”

‘Honor good people’

“He broke mine first.”

fresh blood through tired skin

“Lan-er-gongzi, you will return to Gusu.”

Lan Yunfei took a step closer, hands held up in appeasement.

“Qianbei,” Lan Wangji said, “please leave this place.”

“No,” Lan Wangji responded, and readied his sword.

A sigh. “So be it.”

Lan Wangji stepped forward and met steel with steel.

“Zhuren,” she beseeched, “your gongzi needs you.”

Wei Wuxian fell forward and pressed their foreheads together.

“Zhiji,” he whispered, tears dripping onto dead cheeks.