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A-Ling’s first birthday comes in the middle of all the Lan Wangji wedding fuss, giving them all a nice reprieve from the in-fighting and drama. And by reprieve Mianmian means that everyone from both sides of the fight will be trapped in a room together, pretending as if they haven’t been passive aggressively battling it out for the sake of everyone’s favorite little nephew. So really, it’s less a reprieve and more an exacerbation of the Lan/Jiang rift that’s been festering for months now.
But for Mianmian, who was raised on the political backstabbing of Lanling by the gossiping aunties who sparred as much with drama as they did with swords, the whole affair just makes her nostalgic. Mianmian gets to drink good wine while watching Yanli-jie and A-Yao, two of the politest people in the world, exchange sugar-sweet barbs over little A-Ling’s head as Jin Zixuan grows more uncomfortable with each word. It’s all, Lotus Pier is just so beautiful this time of year, don’t you think A-Yao? and Oh, you must not have seen how green it is in Cloud Recesses during the summer, Yanli-jie, nothing can compare and Er, does anyone need a refill on their drink? and Mianmian gets to enjoy it all.
Across the room, Jiang Cheng and Zewu-Jun are glaring and smiling politely at one another, respectively, as Chifeng-zun does his best to pretend as if they aren’t a second away from having the strangest half-shouting, half-diplomatic-double-speak argument ever while Nie Huaisang fails to hide his amusement behind a fan. Just beyond them, Teacher Lan and Madam Yu are sipping their drinks in silence while engaging in some strange staring match with such intensity that Mianmian can only assume they’ve agreed that the winner will be the one to host the Lan Wangji/Wei Wuxian wedding.
Mianmian sighs and takes a deep swig of her wine—Emperor’s Smile. She and Qing-jie picked up a case of it on the way, as Qing-jie hates Jin wine but refused to go through the whole affair sober. “I don’t understand why you’re so excited,” she said, her tone betraying her fondness as she absently pet at Mianmian’s head, settled in her lap. “It’s going to be a bunch of fake-polite fighting and awkwardness while we all pretend like A-Ling looks cuter than the sack of pink flesh he currently is.”
“A-Ling’s not so bad now that he’s grown hair,” Mianmian said, waving off her wife’s distaste for children. “And I like the fake-polite fighting. It makes me feel at home.”
“You don’t feel at home in Qishan?” Qing-jie asked, ostensibly in jest, but as her wife, Mianmian could see the genuine question in her words. They’d had a rough couple of years in Qishan, what with the Jin occupation and Jin Guangshan’s—everything, and of course the whole murder plot put a decent amount of stress on them, but things have settled down since their wedding, and Mianmian couldn’t wish to be anywhere but where she is.
So Mianmian simply smiled up at her darling wife and said, “I feel at home wherever my Qing-jie is.”
Qing-jie smiled back, pressing her lips to hide her fondness. They stared at one another, smiling sappily, until A-Ning cleared his throat and they remembered he was also in the carriage. Oops.
Now, Qing-jie stands with A-Ning as Wei Wuxian talks at them, Lan Wangji by his side. They are one of the only relevant groups of people in the room not currently discussing the up-coming nuptials of the happy couple, but only—if Qing-jie’s expression is anything to go by—because they’re currently asking after their son favorite Wen, A-Yuan. One day Mianmian’s going to figure out how to get them to actually adopt the poor kid, but tonight she is too full of good wine and nostalgia to focus on that.
No, she decides, eyes narrowing in on Jin Zixuan, making his third attempt to exit the conversation, Mianmian has better plans for tonight.
She sidles up next to Jin Zixuan, smiling widely at his conversation partners as she nudges his shoulder with her own. “Yanli-jie, A-Yao, may I just say you’ve put on a beautiful party for us all tonight? Truly, you’ve outdone yourselves.”
They both pause their verbal sparring to smile at Mianmian in return. “It was all A-Yao,” Yanli-jie says humbly, as if the food wasn’t all meticulously decided by her, and then A-Yao adds, “It wouldn’t have been nearly as wonderful without Madam Jin’s exquisite taste.”
“Oh, of course,” Mianmian says, gesturing with her drink. “The two of you are a masterful party-planning duo! I can’t wait to see what you do with Lan Wangji and Wei Wuxian’s wedding.” Jin Zixuan tenses under Mianmian’s hand, which she presses into his upper arm as she asks, “You don’t mind if I borrow Jin Zixuan, do you?”
They both assure her that she’s fine to steal away Jin Zixuan, appearing far more eager to return to their conversation, now that Mianmian’s added some fuel to that fire. With a departing thanks, she drags Jin Zixuan away from them, but just as they get out of earshot, Jin Zixuan hisses, “Why would you do that?”
Mianmian waves him off, winking at her wife as she navigates their way out of the party. Qing-jie rolls her eyes, but that’s just how she shows affection. Mianmian blows her a kiss before stepping out of the room. “Now that I’ve set them off,” she says to Jin Zixuan, not slowing for a moment, “they won’t even notice you not returning to the party.”
“I can’t ditch my own son’s birthday,” Jin Zixuan says, but doesn’t put up any resistance as she drags him through Koi Tower by his sleeve.
If Jin Guangshan were still alive, Mianmian would say, “Why not? Your father did enough times,” but as it is, she simply says, “His actual birthday is tomorrow, and it’s not like you’re going to get A-Yao to hand him over any time soon.”
“Someone’s going to notice we’ve left together,” Jin Zixuan says with more genuine stress than his previous protest. Mianmian glances back at him and her indifference softens momentarily.
She stops walking and turns to him, making her expression sincere. “Everyone knows my inclinations, and no one would believe you would even look at a woman other than Yanli-jie. Come on.” She tugs on his wrist. “We’ll have a night to ourselves, sneaking out and drinking like when we were kids. When was the last time you did something like this?”
Jin Zixuan hesitates for a moment longer before sighing. Mianmian grins. Sect leader or not, he still can’t say no to her.
Of course, as they actually start drinking, it becomes apparent that Jin Zixuan hasn’t done something like this in a very long time. “I’m a father and a sect leader,” he says in his defense, pink-cheeked, gesturing too extensively with his cup. “I have more important things to do than drink.”
Mianmian wrinkles her nose, shaking her head and finishing the last of her drink. “See, that right there is why we don’t want kids. We’ve got enough to worry about with running a sect, sacrificing alcohol for another obligation? Ugh. Let me visit with my nephew and then give him back when he cries, thank you very much.”
“No, no, but you don’t—when he looks at you with his—his big round A-Li eyes, and he grabs your finger in his little,” Jin Zixuan gestures to show exactly how little, pinching his thumb and forefinger together, “his little hand, you just—it’s all worth it.”
Mianmian pats Jin Zixuan’s shoulder. “I’m glad fatherhood suits you so well.”
Jin Zixuan beams, like the puppy dog he truly is, and Mianmian, fuck her, she can’t help but smile in return. Moving to Qishan has been the best decision of her life, but it has been a change, being away from her best friends. Lan Wangji visits pretty often—not in the least because of a certain chubby-cheeked kid who calls him A-die—but Jin Zixuan is so busy with fatherhood and running his own sect. It feels as if she hasn’t seen him in forever.
Which is maybe, possibly, why she goes a bit overboard with the alcohol. Jin Zixuan’s tolerance really has gone to shit, but at least he has an excuse. Mianmian is here, five jars in, already gesturing haphazardly with her cup, hard enough that some comes spilling out of the lip and onto her hand. She’d accuse Qing-jie of watering down the wine, but the truth is, they don’t drink often either. One or two cups at the end of a hard day, maybe, but mostly they just relax with a nice dinner, sit with Qing-jie’s family, lie in bed together, reading under candlelight.
Mianmian sighs. “I love my wife.”
Jin Zixuan smiles dopily. “Me too.”
Heavens, they’re ridiculous. “We used to be cool,” she laments, pouring herself another cup. “Going around, fighting, defending the cultivation world from tyranny. Now we’re parents and spouses. Ugh.”
Jin Zixuan screws up his face. “You laid to rest a horde of fierce corpses, like, last week.”
Mianmian sticks her tongue out at Jin Zixuan for contradicting her and being right—he rarely does both at the same time. “Whatever,” she says, sniffing haughtily and then sipping from her newly poured cup. “You wouldn’t understand, you were never cool anyway.”
“I was cool!” Jin Zixuan splutters, his entire face red and blotchy.
She laughs. “You were not! All Jiang-guniang this and dimples that.”
He waves his arms about himself. “You went on for years about your wife’s ears. Who even likes ears.”
Mianmian points threateningly at him, though her hand wavers more than she’d like because of the alcohol. “She has the most darling ears there ever were and I won’t hear a word against them.”
Jin Zixuan rolls his eyes. “You were just as bad as I was.”
“I was not. I could talk to her! The first time you tried to speak to Yanli-jie after your not-proposal, you ended up insulting her and then running away into a tree.” Mianmian makes a face at her drink, which is suspiciously empty. She glances back up at Jin Zixuan, who’s gone a deep shade of red. She laughs. “Don’t get all upset,” she says, “Yanli-jie finds your awkwardness charming. Heavens knows why.”
Jin Zixuan pouts at his own empty cup—“I don’t pout!”—and says, “Because I’m handsome and I built her a lotus pond.”
Mianmian laughs, loud and quick, and when it settles, her grin still stretched across her face, Jin Zixuan hasn’t even looked up from his empty cup. He reaches out for the jar on the table, misses twice, and when he finally manages to get his hand around it, he looks suspiciously between it and the cup and seems to decide pouring it out isn’t worth it, because he takes a swig straight from the jar. If his mother could see him now, she’d faint.
It’s with this that Mianmian realizes Jin Zixuan is drunk. Like, drunk drunk. Like climbing onto the roof of Koi Tower to sing at the moon drunk. Stealing all of Jin Zixun’s outer robes and dying them green drunk. And—the most exciting of them all—telling secrets drunk.
Ooh, this is good, this is good. She only gets so many questions before he picks up on what she’s doing, even as gone as he is, so she has to pick carefully. She could ask about that time she found him and Yanli-jie in the Koi Tower kitchens after hours, but truly, she got all she needed to know from the imprint of flour on the ass of Jin Zixuan’s robes, and bringing up such a thing should be reserved for sober situations to maximize Jin Zixuan’s embarrassment. She could ask about the contents of the shovel talk he received from Jiang Cheng and Wei Wuxian, though knowing both of them, she could probably guess at it, given enough thought, and such a thing is less embarrassing for him than for the other two anyway.
Hmm. So many options and yet she can’t think of anything good enough. She glances back at him and he’s now started to make faces at the empty bottle of wine in his hand as if it’s A-Ling and he’s trying to get him to laugh. Really, he’s so gone that Mianmian could probably just get him talking and he’d spill something cackle-worthy all on his own.
“Jin Zixuan,” she says, to get his attention, but he just continues to stick his tongue out at the jar, drawing his eyebrows together to create a wholly ridiculous effect. Mianmian giggles, leaning closer. “Jin-zongzhu,” she tries, appealing to the sect leader in him. Still, nothing. Making her voice sweet and batting her eyelashes dramatically, she croons, “A-Xuan,” and dissolves into laughter when this startles him into looking up.
“A-Li?” he asks, wounded puppy eyes turned on Mianmian as she hiccups through the last of her laughter.
Mianmian shakes her head. “Nope, sorry, just me. Hey, okay, ouch, pouting is a little much—”
“I don’t pout—”
She ignores him. “I know I’m no Yanli-jie but you could be a bit happier to see your very best friend in the whole world.”
Jin Zixuan scowls. “Wangji is my best friend. You bully me.”
“Someone needs to,” Mianmian says, and then focuses on the important part, which is, “How do I deal with you for two decades and Lan Wangji can sweep in fifteen years late and win the best friend title?”
“He’s nice.” Jin Zixuan scrunches up his face at her. “He listens. And he’s funny. And he’s—he’s—” Jin Zixuan’s flush moves down his neck in the way his mother describes as unbecoming. He stops.
Mianmian can smell something good coming. “And he’s what?” she prompts.
Ears finally going pink as well, Jin Zixuan only hesitates a moment before saying defensively, “Handsome.”
Mianmian stares for several long seconds, the intensity of her mounting glee enough to strike her silent. “Jin Zixuan,” she says, whispering to hold in her joy, “what did you just say.”
“What?” Jin Zixuan scowls again. “Everyone thinks so.” He ducks his chin to avoid her gaze, playing with the empty bottle of wine. “I’m sure plenty of people’ve had a cut-sleeve crisis over him.”
Cut-sleeve crisis. Mianmian can barely speak she’s so happy, her eyes so wide she can feel her face stretching to accommodate them. “Jin Zixuan. Jin Zixuan. Are you saying—are you saying you’re a cut-sleeve?”
Jin Zixuan looks up, his eyebrows scrunched together. “What? No, no of course not—I’m married, I—” His cheeks turn a less painful looking shade, closer to pink than burning red. “I just—I—Lan Wangji—he—” He frowns thoughtfully at his empty bottle. “He’s special.”
Mianmian vibrates in her seat. “Heavens above,” she says, hands clenched, restraining her glee, “this is the best day. Second best day. My wedding day was pretty good. Well, my wedding night was—but today? Today is a damn good day.”
Jin Zixuan continues on as if he can’t hear her. “Remember—remember,” he says, tracing the lip of the bottle, “remember that one time when he called me Jin-xiong?” He sighs a little. “That was—that was nice.”
Mianmian takes it back, this is better than her wedding night. Holy shit. This is better than anything she could’ve come up with. Jin Zixuan likes men and he liked Lan Wangji. “You’re going to be so embarrassed when you sober up,” she says, giggling furiously as she reaches for another jar.
Jin Zixuan merely shrugs, watching with interest as she pours them both another cup.
Shrugs. His tolerance has really gone to shit since he became a father. Really, Mianmian owes this day—the best day—all to A-Ling. She and Qing-jie ought to find him another present for tomorrow. The little stinker deserves it.
Mianmian hands Jin Zixuan one cup and he doesn’t even wait to half-heartedly toast before downing it. Mianmian sips her own slower, deciding what to ask next. “Have you liked any other men before?”
Jin Zixuan nods, but this doesn’t seem to inspire any more talking in him, so Mianmian moves on to better questions.
“When did you like Lan Wangji? When we were in lectures?”
“Mhmm. I got over it during the war. A-Li.”
“That’s so long. Even when he and Wei Wuxian were mooning over each other during the Wen indoctrination?”
Jin Zixuan scrunches up his face as he reaches for the jar to pour himself another glass. Mianmian ought to stop him, but she isn’t quite ready to end this yet. “They were mooning over each other during the Wen indoctrination? Wangji’s leg was broken.”
Mianmian waves dismissively. “You know those two.”
Together, they say, “Weird,” and Jin Zixuan momentarily pauses his attempt to get himself more alcohol to grin back at Mianmian.
“So you liked him cause he’s nice and funny and handsome. What else did you like about him?” Jin Zixuan’s tongue pokes out of his mouth as he tries very, very hard not to spill any alcohol as he pours himself another cup, not listening to her at all. Mianmian waits until he’s filled his cup—spilling almost another cup’s worth in the process—before prompting, “Wei Wuxian’s always going on about how strong he is. Did you like that?”
Jin Zixuan nods distractedly as he carefully brings the full-to-the-brim cup to his lips. “Arms,” he says, and then downs the drink.
Mianmian can’t hold back any longer—she cackles. When she finally settles, she has to wipe tears from her eyes, and Jin Zixuan is frowning at his empty cup as if confused to where the contents have gone. Mianmian shakes her head, grinning at him. “I can’t wait to tell Yanli-jie about this.”
Jin Zixuan shrugs without looking away from his cup. “Already told her.”
Mianmian leans forward. “What? Really?”
“Mhmm.” He reaches out for the empty bottle and tries to take a sip from it, frowning when he gets nothing in return. “She likes women too,” he says absently, putting the bottle down. “We—talk.”
Mianmian needs another minute to compose herself. This is both—way too much information about someone she thinks of in a strictly fraternal, platonic context, and also not nearly enough information to tease him with when he sobers up. Also, there are about a million things Mianmian needs to adjust in her worldview, none of which she feels capable of dealing with in her current inebriated state. Jin Zixuan likes men. Jiang Yanli likes women. They talk.
Well. That’s quite—a lot. She ponders the alcohol remaining in her cup and makes a, well there you go face at it before downing it. One thing that doesn’t take any readjusting to focus on, she thinks, as she wipes the excess alcohol from her face, is her disappointment at not getting to embarrass Jin Zixuan by telling his wife about his childhood crush on Lan Wangji.
…oh, but she’s got an even better idea.
Mianmian slowly turns to face the man who is now attempting to reach sneakily across the table to grab the last of the jars. Mianmian puts her hand around it protectively. “Jin Zixuan,” she says, and he looks up, even as his hand continues to traverse the table. Mianmian grins and it feels a bit manic on her face. “You told Yanli-jie about your crush…but did you ever tell Wangji?”
In his drunken state, it takes an extra second for Jin Zixuan to understand what she’s saying. When he does, his eyes widen dramatically and the dazed look in them is replaced with a horrifying soberness, but before he can even think to react, Mianmian is already on her feet, jar still in hand. He scrambles after her, but she’s always been faster, and she had a head start.
He chases her into the hall as she starts yelling, “Lan Wangji! Lan Wangji, you have to hear, you won’t believe—”
“Mianmian, stop! Guards, someone, stop her!” Jin Zixuan hurries after her, yelling for help, but the guards have witnessed their shenanigans in Koi Tower since they were kids, and they merely watch as Jin Zixuan chases her.
Mianmian laughs, throwing her head back as she races through the halls of Koi Tower, Jin Zixuan hot on her heels. There truly is no place like home.
*~*~*
Lan Wangji wakes up sometime after midnight, confused as to why he’s awake until he hears a quite loud whisper of his name. “Lan Wangji.” He blinks, turning his head to see Luo Qingyang at the door to his guest room, a sliver of too-bright light beaming into the darkened room around her figure. Lan Wangji would worry that the light will wake Wei Ying up, but he sleeps like the dead, and he hasn’t so much as twitched from his position lying across Lan Wangji’s chest.
“Mianmian?” Lan Wangji squints. “What’s wrong?”
Luo Qingyang giggles and opens her mouth, and at this moment, Jin Zixuan tackles her from behind, the door opens, and the pair of them falls through it and onto Lan Wangji’s floor.
They wrestle gracelessly. Their sluggish and clumsy movements, as well as the waft of wine-soaked air sent Lan Wangji’s way, indicate that they are quite drunk. Jin Zixuan appears to be attempting to smother Luo Qingyang, holding his hands over her mouth even as she—Lan Wangji winces—licks them. She jabs him in the ribs with her knee and he laughs, ticklish, and one hand loosens. They turn over, and continue on in the same fashion for some time—Jin Zixuan covering Luo Qingyang’s mouth, Luo Qingyang using a variety of dirty tricks to get him to let her go.
Lan Wangji sighs. He’d really like to be asleep right now. Parties tend to tire him out, even with Wei Ying there to do most of his talking for him, but tonight’s party drained him more than usual, with the entirety of those in attendance focused only on the question of where his and Wei Ying’s wedding will be held. It’s a subject that has been debated hotly for months now, and they nearly avoided the whole thing before Luo Qingyang stopped their elopement on the grounds that she was promised a speech at their wedding.
And now Luo Qingyang causes him more distress by tumbling onto his floor with Jin Zixuan in the middle of the night.
“Lan Wangji,” Luo Qingyang gasps, finally freeing her mouth as she locks each of Jin Zixuan’s wrists in a vice grip, holding them at an awkward angle a distance from her face. Her newly freed mouth grins widely, bunching her cheeks up on either side of it. “Lan Wangji,” she repeats intently, “guess who had a crush on you when we were kids?”
Wei Ying, who until now appeared completely unconscious, suddenly lifts his cheek from Lan Wangji’s chest. “What? Crush on Lan Zhan? Who?”
Luo Qingyang giggles manically as Jin Zixuan, blushing furiously, hisses, “Mianmian,” and just like that, it’s overwhelmingly clear.
Oh. Lan Wangji blinks. Well. That’s—unexpected.
With the secret out, Jin Zixuan slumps out of his fighting stance in favor of covering his face with his hands. Luo Qingyang just keeps giggling after she’s released, as if unable to stop, holding her smile with one hand and her stomach with the other. Even in the relative darkness, Lan Wangji can see the depth of Jin Zixuan’s blush, down his neck and everything. “I don’t anymore,” he says into his hands, “and it’s not—it wasn’t—you were the first person who was nice to me, I didn’t—you called me Jin-xiong—I just—your arms—I—” He cuts himself off, seeming to realize he isn’t helping himself.
Wei Ying, still braced against Lan Wangji’s chest, opens and closes his mouth several times, squinting and frowning in turns. Finally, he says, “On the one hand, I feel like I should be jealous, but on the other—” he shakes his head, turning to look at Jin Zixuan. “You know, Peacock, the only good thing about you is your romantic tastes.”
“Wei Ying,” Lan Wangji says, sighing, because they had talked about calling Jin Zixuan that.
Wei Ying turns back, eyes wide and innocent. “What? He just propositioned my husband, I’m allowed to insult him a little!”
Jin Zixuan splutters. “I’m not propositioning him—”
Wei Ying doesn’t turn around to face him, most likely to hide the grin on his face. “You just rambled about Lan Zhan’s arms, if that isn’t a come-on—”
“Everyone talks about his arms!” Jin Zixuan says shrilly.
Wei Ying spins his head around so fast Lan Wangji worries for his neck. “What? Really?” Wei Ying’s grin gets, if possible, even wider. “Who?”
Jin Zixuan turns impossibly redder and Luo Qingyang, lying beside him holding her stomach, struggles to get out, “Yanli-jie,” through her laughter.
Wei Ying’s grin falls open in surprise, eyes wide. “Shijie?”
“Yes, A-Xian?”
Jiang Yanli and Wen Qing have appeared in the doorway, Jiang Yanli smiling as pleasantly as usual, Wen Qing markedly less pleased.
“One of the guards told us that A-Xuan and Mianmian were running through the halls rather, um, loudly.” Jiang Yanli nods apologetically. “We assumed they would be heading here.”
“Yanli-jie, Yanli-jie.” Mianmian struggles to sit up, laughter still wracking her body. “How could you not tell me Jin Zixuan had a cut-sleeve crisis over Lan Wangji?”
Jin Zixuan makes a pitiful sound from the floor, face covered once again. Jiang Yanli smiles at him. “Oh, A-Xuan.” He makes the same sound again. Jiang Yanli shakes her head. “This seems like a conversation better had in the morning.” She turns to Wen Qing. “A-Qing, if you would be so kind?”
Wen Qing sighs deeply, but her expression is fond as she helps her wife off the floor. They exit together, Luo Qingyang leaning quite heavily on her wife, getting out utterances of, “the best day,” through her giggles.
Jiang Yanli pats her husband’s head consolingly and he moves to hide his face in her robes rather than his hands.
“Hi shijie!” Wei Ying raises a hand to wave, making the blankets fall further down their—rather uncovered bodies. Lan Wangji’s ears burn, to be found in such a compromising position with Wei Ying by his sister, technically before their marriage.
Jiang Yanli, though, merely smiles. “Hi A-Xian.”
Wei Ying tilts his head to the side. “Do you and the peacock talk about Lan Zhan’s arms?”
Jiang Yanli blushes much more becomingly than her husband. “Go back to sleep, A-Xian,” she says, and then looks to Lan Wangji. “I apologize for the disturbance, Hanguang-Jun.”
Lan Wangji nods back. “It’s alright, Madam Jin.” If she won’t make a fuss about Wei Ying not using his appointed guest room, he won’t complain about his ridiculous friends making a mess of his night’s sleep.
“A-Li,” Jin Zixuan whines pitifully, drawing attention back to him, “why is Mianmian so mean to me?”
“Because she loves you, A-Xuan.” She brushes his hair out of his eyes. “Now let’s go to bed, hmm?”
“His arms,” Jin Zixuan mumbles sadly, letting his wife guide him off the floor and out of the room.
“I know, A-Xuan.”
The doors close behind them and the room settles back into darkness, lit only by the moonlight filtering through the window. They’re silent for some moments before Wei Ying starts laughing, the rumble of it vibrating into Lan Wangji’s chest. Lan Wangji smiles, squeezing Wei Ying’s hip in return. He does suppose it’s rather funny.
“Ah, Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying says, when his laughter has mellowed, “it seems I’ll have to fight for your love.”
Lan Wangji hums and squeezes again. “Only Wei Ying.”
Wei Ying presses his smile into Lan Wangji’s throat. “Lan Zhan is the best husband.”
Soon, Lan Wangji thinks. “Go to sleep, Wei Ying.”
He can feel Wei Ying’s yawn against his skin. “You too, Lan Zhan.”
“Mn.”
*~*~*
Mianmian had been the one to suggest it. “Our physical exam is coming up,” she said. “We should ask Lan Wangji to spar with us.” Jin Zixuan hadn’t thought much of it. Lan Wangji was a good swordsman, they could use the practice, it made sense.
The day came, and they worked through stretches as Mianmian went on about some Nie disciple who’d invited her to spar, but she’d turned down. “She’s easily one of the best in the class and the way she swings that sabre? Ugh,” she said, shameless. “But if I agreed, I would undoubtedly make a fool of myself by getting distracted by her arms or something, so I said no.”
Jin Zixuan huffed. “That’s ridiculous. You ought to be able to have a fight with someone without distracting yourself.”
“Fights are one thing, sparring is another.” Mianmian spoke with her usual condescending, I know better than you, voice, which annoyed Jin Zixuan immediately, but she continued before he could protest. “In a fight, you have a goal, things are focused. In sparring, the stakes are low and all my brain can focus on is how her arms are as large as my head.”
Jin Zixuan made a face. He still didn’t get the muscled woman thing. Attractive women were small, with pretty hair and sweet round eyes, who blushed daintily and had dimples when they smiled and—Jin Zixuan shook his head. Muscles on women weren’t attractive.
“Mn,” Lan Wangji said, as he finished his own stretch. Now, see, muscles on men were more becoming. Lan Wangji had changed into robes more befitting a spar, and as such, Jin Zixuan could see more of his body, the definition in his arms, the broadness of his shoulders. His muscles were—almost too large, actually, but they suited him. Probably from handstands. The Lans did that. That’s why Lan Wangji wore muscles so well. Jin Zixuan shook his head again. What had his point been?
Mianmian, as usual, took Lan Wangji’s noncommittal sound as assent, saying, “Thank you, Lan Wangji.” Jin Zixuan rolled his eyes, but Mianmian, also as usual, ignored him. “Shall we begin, then?”
Sparring with Lan Wangji was humbling in a way Jin Zixuan usually detested, but he found it hard to be bitter watching Lan Wangji’s movements. Despite his obvious strength, he moved gracefully around the sparring grounds, seeming to know what Jin Zixuan intended to do before he did himself. Lan Wangji also looked pristine the whole time, not so much as a hair out of place as he fended off Jin Zixuan and Mianmian at once. At one point, Jin Zixuan and Mianmian struck as one, and Lan Wangji held them both off with just Bichen and his own strength.
His arms really are quite strong, Jin Zixuan thought dazedly, as they broke the fight to breathe.
When they ended, Jin Zixuan and Mianmian were panting, gulping down water as Lan Wangji stood, apparently unaffected in front of them. As Jin Zixuan tried to regain his breath, Mianmian slumped onto the steps of the porch beside the training grounds and grinned at Lan Wangji. “Lan-er-gongzi truly lives up to his reputation.”
She only called him Lan-er-gongzi when she was teasing him, but Lan Wangji returned her earnestly with, “Luo-guniang and Jin-gongzi are worthy opponents.”
Jin Zixuan flushed at the compliment, while Mianmian just laughed, reclining back further. “High praise from you.” She then held up a finger to wag scoldingly at him. “Also, I thought I told you to call me Mianmian.”
She had, multiple times. Jin Zixuan had been there. Lan Wangji just said, “Mn,” though, which made Jin Zixuan laugh under his breath.
“Ah, Lan-er-gongzi, breaking rules.” Mianmian shook her head. “How improper.”
Mianmian meant it teasingly, but Jin Zixuan agreed with the underlying sentiment. “Don’t be so formal,” he said. It came out harsher than he intended. He shifted in place, glancing up and then away when he found Lan Wangji looking at him intently. He scowled. “We’re—friends, aren’t we?” He winced at his own awkwardness. “It’s strange to call us by titles,” he continued doggedly, even as he could feel his flush traversing down his neck in the way his mother called unbecoming.
Jin Zixuan refused to look at either Lan Wangji, fearing their eyes would meet again, or Mianmian, who he could hear was stifling laughter. Then Lan Wangji said, “As you wish, Jin-xiong,” and Jin Zixuan looked up sharply, his face burning.
“You—!”
Mianmian laughed brightly at Jin Zixuan’s expense and Lan Wangji moved his gaze from Jin Zixuan to her, and—all of the air left Jin Zixuan’s chest in a moment. Lan Wangji, he—he smiled. Small, hardly even a visible curve, but it was there and Jin Zixuan had caused it, at least indirectly, and—and—it was breathtaking, wow, Lan Wangji smiling was one of the most beautiful things Jin Zixuan had ever seen in—in—
Oh fuck.
Jin Zixuan didn’t hear anything else for some time, too hung up on the fact that he apparently liked—was attracted to—had feelings for—Lan Wangji. Was he a cut-sleeve? If the way he thought about Lan Wangji’s muscles was any indication, he was a cut-sleeve, but—but he couldn’t be a cut-sleeve, he liked Jiang Y—wait, no, he didn’t mean—
Wei Wuxian’s horrible voice broke through the haze of Jin Zixuan’s panic, saying, “Lan Zhan, were you sparring with the peacock?” Somewhere in the spiral, he, Jiang Cheng, and Nie Huaisang had appeared on the sparring grounds, and now Wei Wuxian was insulting him. Of course.
Life changing revelations aside, Jin Zixuan had enough wherewithal to yell indignantly in response to this, but before he could even defend himself, Lan Wangji said, straight-faced as ever, “Jin-xiong is a capable sparring partner.”
Jin Zixuan looked to Lan Wangji, his expression likely mirroring the dumb face Wei Wuxian was making, but he could hardly make himself care. Ironically, Wei Wuxian said exactly what Jin Zixuan was thinking, a disbelieving, “Jin-xiong?”
Mianmian, always quick to diffuse tense situations, took this chance to stand and yield the training field to the newly arrived young masters. Jin Zixuan shut his jaw to bow along with her and Lan Wangji, which Nie Huaisang and Jiang Cheng returned. Wei Wuxian, the arrogant prick, just continued to stare open-mouthed at Lan Wangji. That was, until Lan Wangji said to him, “Close one’s mouth unless one intends to speak.”
Jin Zixuan laughed, and then softened it into a grin when Jiang Cheng glared. As the three of them walked off the sparring grounds together, Jin Zixuan held a brightness in his chest that sat well next to his recent revelation regarding Lan Wangji. So he had a cut-sleeve crush on one of his two friends in the world. At least Lan Wangji was someone worthy of such affection. Jin Zixuan could do worse than someone who defended him against the likes of Wei Wuxian. Jin-xiong is a capable sparring partner. The butterflies in Jin Zixuan’s stomach fluttered at the words.
“I’ve never seen Wei Wuxian speechless before,” Mianmian said with a small laugh, when they were out of earshot.
Jin Zixuan glanced sideways at Lan Wangji, found him already looking his way, and quickly averted his gaze. Alright, maybe he needed some more time to adjust to his new—feelings. Still, he ought to express his gratitude. Mianmian was always going on about communication. “Thank you for defending me,” he said quietly, and then winced preemptively, “Lan-xiong?” He immediately scrunched up his face and shook his head. “No, sorry, that’s just—too strange.”
Lan Wangji nodded back, his mouth maybe softer than usual. “Jin Zixuan.”
Jin Zixuan sighed in relief. “Lan Wangji.” He smiled to himself. Okay, this seemed more manageable.
“Look at you two.” Mianmian nudged her shoulder into his and then shot Lan Wangji a grin around him. “Communicating! Effectively, even.” Lan Wangji frowned and Jin Zixuan glared, but Luo Qingyang merely laughed at them.
Well, he thought, that was one thing he didn’t have to figure out about these new feelings. He would never be telling Mianmian about them.