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Koi Tower’s receiving hall seems to reverberate with the echoes of past arguments, even when Lan Wangji is the only one here. It does nothing to help the headache that’s been beating at his temples since lunchtime, and he resists the urge to press his hands over his eyes. Or, more urgently, his ears. Instead, he closes his eyes and breathes slowly, focusing on Bichen resting at his hip, on the faint scent of tea leaves lingering in the air, on the quiet guest quarters that will be available to him this evening. Everything about the Jin sect may be far too ostentatious for Lan Wangji’s comfort, but the guest quarters provided to the Chief Cultivator have, at least, proven to be isolated and tranquil in the past.
This conference, so far, has been decidedly not tranquil, not that Lan Wangji had expected anything different. By midmorning, Sect Leader Yao had already fallen back on his favorite topic: redistributing liability for everything that happens within his borders. Today it was that he had a hundred li of fields that wouldn’t bear crops, because, he claimed, a corpse army had once marched over them. “What’s worse, the one responsible isn’t even here to offer solutions,” he’d said.
“We have not yet determined responsibility, Sect Leader Yao,” Lan Xichen had pointed out. “And the individual to whom you refer has provided significant innovations in the area of agricultural purification, which must also be taken into account.”
“Well,” Sect Leader Yao sputtered, “where is he, then? If he’s so innovative, why isn’t he here, sharing his wealth of ideas with us for the betterment of the cultivation world?”
Wei Ying’s presence is not required here, Lan Wangji had wanted to say. His presence is only required where he wants to be. His talents are only required where he wants to use them.
Sect Leader Jiang had spoken up first, her voice as unassuming as her smile. “Perhaps in Wei Wuxian’s absence, you would like to lead a study into agricultural wards? I’m sure it would be much appreciated.”
“Had I the time, I certainly would,” Sect Leader Yao had said after an awkward pause, waving a hand like he was trying to knock away a spider’s silk clinging to his skin. “But I am busy, of course, seeing to all sorts of matters, I simply cannot spare the time for such a specific endeavor.”
Lan Xichen had steered the conversation away after that, but Lan Wangji’s headache had not faded. Now, in the empty time between the conference members filtering out of the hall and the servants filtering in to clear away the dishes, the headache has only worsened. Maybe you’re allergic to Koi Tower, Wei Ying had written once, one of the few times he had been able to correspond in the last year. Gods only know I would be. He had gone on to list a few remedies, one of which being sneak a rabbit or two into the hall inside your sleeves. Lan Wangji presses his lips together, remembering that. He thinks the idea may not be without merit.
Soft footsteps approach from the far doors. Lan Wangji opens his eyes, expecting to see the pale gold robes of the Koi Tower servants, but instead it is Sect Leader Jiang in simple lilac and turquoise.
“Chief Cultivator,” she says when she reaches him, and bows.
Lan Wangji stands and bows in return. “Sect Leader Jiang.”
“No need to stand, please,” Jiang Yanli assures him. “May I join you?”
Lan Wangji blinks, then nods, settling back to the floor. Jiang Yanli nudges a cushion into place across from him and sits, smoothing her robes as she does. “It is much nicer in here when no one’s yelling, I think,” she says. She reaches forward and picks up the teapot, weighing it in her hand. Lan Wangji knows she will find it half-full. “Would you like some?”
After a moment Lan Wangji nods again.
Jiang Yanli pulls a warming talisman out of her sleeve and presses it to the pot. “A-Xian sent them to me,” she says, when she catches Lan Wangji looking.
“Ah,” he says.
The tea is re-warmed in short order. Jiang Yanli makes to pour some into Lan Wangji’s cup, and he remembers himself. “Sect Leader,” he says, “I can—”
She shakes her head. “Please. If you would allow me—it has been quite some time since I have served tea for my own family. And as I see it, you are as good as a brother to me now.”
Lan Wangji’s ears heat up. “I am not—Wei Ying and I have not—”
“Chief Cultivator,” Jiang Yanli says, “even if my brother were capable of being subtle about his affection for you, I would have always known he thinks of you as his soulmate. Whether you are anything in addition to that—whether you are married soon, or ever—does not make you any more or less family now.”
Lan Wangji swallows past a sudden tightening in his throat, and lets her pour him a cup of tea. She smiles, and pours one for herself, settling back on her cushion as the steam rises between them in languid curls.
“I received a letter from Wei Ying last month,” Lan Wangji says, after a minute of not-unpleasant silence. The grand hall is odd in its emptiness. Lan Wangji is used to being alone, but usually his solitude comes with a wide-open mountainside or a single room at an inn or the small, familiar space of the jingshi. He prefers it to the chaos of busy streets or, worse, the tension that comes with a room full of irritable sect leaders. And he prefers, most of all, the company of one specific person. But right now, he thinks, he prefers Jiang Yanli’s company over the thought of sitting alone. “He seems—happy.”
Jiang Yanli immediately finds his true meaning in that. “It is a shame, then, that you must be here instead of joining him on his next adventure.”
“I do not resent my duties,” Lan Wangji says. His words manage to not sound empty, which is a small victory today.
“Of course not,” Jiang Yanli says easily. “How could anyone resent such duties when we are graced by the presence of esteemed figures like Sect Leader Ouyang and Sect Leader Yao? I, for one, would not know what to do with myself if I were unable to witness Sect Leader Yao’s single-minded devotion to blaming all ills on anyone but himself.”
Lan Wangji feels his lips twitch.
“I just think it’s so admirable of Sect Leader Yao to have never made a mistake in his life,” Jiang Yanli continues. “We are lucky to have him to hold us all to such a high standard of moral purity. And to imply that he could singlehandedly bring us into a new era of innovation, if he only had the time! It certainly takes courage, to make a declaration like that.”
Lan Wangji does not gossip. But sharing facts, he reasons, is not exactly gossip. “A shame, then, that Sect Leader Yao does not have the time to pursue such endeavors,” Lan Wangji murmurs. “We can only mourn his many hypothetical contributions.”
Jiang Yanli’s eyes sparkle. “And admire the thickness of his face,” she adds.
Lan Wangji sips his tea to hide a smile. The silence stretches between them again, pleasant, and Lan Wangji finds himself grateful that Jiang Yanli sought him out. She surely has other ways she could be spending her first moments of free time of the conference—finding Jin Zixuan, for one. Lan Wangji has rarely seen two people so devoted to each other, even across distances and sect borders. They have not married—not yet. There are still many unanswered questions: how they will manage their sects. How they will manage their heirs. It gives Lan Wangji a small bit of comfort, that even the most capable and collected person he knows does not have everything in her life lined up just so. Or, the comfort comes not from the fact that there are loose strings, but from the fact that Jiang Yanli seems at peace with those loose strings.
If she is at peace, then maybe—
Well.
As if she can follow Lan Wangji’s thoughts like footprints in the snow, Jiang Yanli sets down her tea and says, so gently it almost hurts: “He will come home. He always comes home.”
Lan Wangji blinks again, looking into his half-full cup. “Yes, he mentioned his plans to visit Lotus Pier at some point.”
Jiang Yanli motions for him to hold out his cup, and he obliges. She refills his tea, the renewed warmth of it seeping into his skin, and it’s not half as warm as the look Jiang Yanli gives him as she sets down the pot. “That isn’t the home I meant, Chief Cultivator.”
Lan Wangji doesn’t know what to say to that. The warmth moves from his hands to his chest.
Still smiling, Jiang Yanli stands. “I will take my leave now,” she says. “If you find yourself bored later, you are more than welcome to join me and A-Xuan for dinner.”
“Thank you.” He probably will take his dinner alone, but he finds he appreciates the invitation anyway—something, he thinks, Jiang Yanli already knows. “Until later, Sect Leader Jiang,” he says.
“I’ll see you soon, I’m sure, Chief Cultivator.” She bows again and leaves.
Lan Wangji realizes, as the far doors close behind Sect Leader Jiang, leaving him in the once-again empty hall, that his headache has finally lifted.
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