Work Text:
“My esteemed nephew informs me you two intend to wed.”
Wei Wuxian is sitting in the Cloud Recesses’ empty classroom, a pristine room with low desks of polished wood, ink tablets and horse-hair brushes, and scrolls on the walls depicting the sterner of the clan rules. It was here he first met his husband-to-be, so serious, so uncompromising, so beautiful. Even then he had been all milk-pale skin and silken hair and strong hands with calloused fingers – fingers Wei Wuxian had dreamt of for years. They’ve wasted a lot of time since those few months spent under the Gusu Lan’s tutelage, time he intends to make up for by sticking to Lan Zhan like glue. Not the gross rubbery glue they make from melting down horse carcasses; the nice, clear, fresh-smelling kind made from green sap.
Of course, here is also where he first met Lan Qiren, who seems to have made some sort of personal vow to be the world’s greatest asshole to Wei Wuxian. Who could say why. It’s not as though Wei Wuxian has ever, even once in his life, done anything controversial.
Lan Qiren is looking down at him now from where he’s seated on the instructor’s platform, his gaze cold and his mouth thin, and for a moment it feels to Wei Wuxian like he’s seventeen again, and being told to recite esoteric lessons or clan rules. Or maybe, being sentenced to a flogging. Yeah, it feels a lot more like that. His fingers twitch in quiet memory of wooden paddles slapping against skin.
“That’s right. I mean, it’s not like it’s a surprise to anyone. We danced in red robes in front of all the clans in the Demon-Quelling Cave. We’re practically already married, really.”
Lan Qiren’s eye twitches. “I see. Then you feel the old customs are unnecessary? That you are above the laws and ceremonies which have guided us for generations?”
He… kind of does? When Lan Zhan proposed marriage – still such a sweet memory, honey-hued in Wei Wuxian’s mind, his love holding both hands to his mouth and murmuring a desire to share vows – he had assumed that they would elope. Hitch a ride to some neutral city and do it on the sly, with a party after, maybe, for the kids and Lan Xichen and… well, not Jiang Cheng if he’s being realistic. Jiang Cheng would rain down flaming doom on the party, except he wouldn’t, because he wouldn’t even show.
“Of course not. Aren’t I the one who has copied out the 3,000 Lan Clan rules no fewer than three times – possibly four? I assure you, honoured instructor, I’m sold on laws and ceremonies. Totally. And it’s important to Lan Zhan, so…” he shrugs lithe shoulders expressively. What he doesn’t say is, I would jump into a vat of boiling wax if it was important to Lan Zhan. It goes without saying. Wei Wuxian has a good opinion of himself (his lengthy list of past sins are a different matter entirely), and he’d like to imagine that he’s viewed with approbation and respect, but the kids have made it very clear that he has been behaving like a love sick fool for months and there’s not really any getting around that. He has.
“I see.” It’s clear that Lan Qiren does, in fact, see. He just couldn’t give a rat’s ass. “So you are intending, then, to formally join our clan? I can only assume so, as your place in the Jiang clan was forfeit by your gross misdeeds, and I have yet to see the Wei clan on a list of formal registries.”
Wei Wuxian’s fingers twitch again. This time his nails dig into his palms, biting into the smooth skin like fire ants. “Are you suggesting that I should request your permission?” he grits out, dropping his usual carefree demeanor. “Because last time I checked, you weren’t clan head.”
Lan Qiren’s gaze is like ice. “I am not. I am informing you of the expectations regarding brides and grooms who choose to marry into our clan. Because I suspect, despite having copied out our clan rules three – or was it four? – times, you may have forgotten. Any member who intends to marry into the Lan clan is expected to bring a dowry with them of 3,000 yuan. Am I to understand you are capable of providing that sum?”
Wei Wuxian feels his mouth go suddenly dry, as though someone had opened his lips and poured a steady stream of sand through them.
As an orphan, he has no money of his own, no property or prospects. As an adopted son of the Jiang clan’s leader, he would have been entitled to a rich marital portion – to money for food and jewels for his husband and a resplendent home for their shared life.
All of that went up in a puff of smoke when he was cut out of the Jiang clan. Right now, he’s both penniless and homeless, dependent of Lan Zhan for his material needs. Of course he could support himself if he chose to. But gather 3,000 yuan? A successful merchant wouldn’t make that much in a year.
Above him Lan Qiren looks down, his thin mouth slowly rising into a smile at the corners.
Wei Wuxian stands, patting the dust off his robes so that it filters down onto the spotless table below him. “3,000 yuan? No problem.” He spins around breezily and marches out, his body loose and sinuous. He stops at the door to give a bow of the minimum depth to retain politeness, and then slips around the corner and shoves the palms of his hands into his eye sockets.
Fuck. He’s so fucked.
***
“I cannot believe you just stood there and eavesdropped,” screeches Lan Jingyi in the secluded safety of the disciples’ quarters.
Lan Sizhui stares back calmly, arms crossed. “You did too.”
“I know and it is because you are a bad influence. You’ve been corrupted by Senior Wei. I’ve been corrupted by Senior Wei,” he adds, in a miserable whisper.
“Do you really believe that?” asks Lan Sizhui, crossing over to the fire and placing a tea pot atop the flame.
Lan Jingyi gives him a helpless look that he entirely recognizes – it’s exactly how he had felt, every day for a month when Wei Wuxian first turned up. Until eventually, he had come to see just how happy the presence of the former Yiling Patriarch made Hanguang-Jun. How his very appearance in a doorway smoothed the light wrinkle from the younger Twin Jade’s forehead, how he let someone else touch him – touch him, the most remote man in the clan – how he sometimes even smiled.
Nothing that makes Hanguang-Jun happy can be bad, Lan Sizhui had thought. And then he had remembered, about the Burial Grounds, about his real family, about Wen Yuan and Wei Wuxian who had been friend and father and protector.
Now, he would do anything for him. And so he smiles softly at Lan Jingyi. “You don’t, I think. Because you know he’s a good person. And he deserves to be happy. And…”
“And he’s totally screwed,” says Lan Jingyi, shoulders drooping. “As in, incredibly screwed. 3,000 yuan? No one could pull that together – and the wedding’s supposed to be in two weeks! Who has that kind of money?”
Lan Sizhui looks at him, head to one side. “Clan leaders do,” he says slowly.
“Are you kidding? He’s the Yiling Patriarch, even if he’s… well, kind of not, anymore. Does being dead change that? If the honourable clan head died and came back to life ten years later, would he still be clan head?” he wonders, then shakes his head. “What am I saying? Who cares. The point is, he can’t just skip up to the heads of the clans with his hands out and expect them to shower money on them.”
Lan Sizhui takes the kettle off and mixes in the tea leaves, waiting for it to steep, the air becoming slowly infused with the aromatic scent of green tea. “Whether he could or not probably isn’t relevant. But you’re right, he wouldn’t.”
“So there you are, then.”
“But there’s nothing to stop us doing it.”
Lan Jingyi turns to look at him, expression scandalized. “Are you crazy? Have you taken leave of your senses? Us? You and me, the lowliest of junior disciples go to the clan heads and ask them to… to donate Wei Wuxian’s dowry?”
“Well, we’d probably need Jin Rulan to come too. But I think he would. And he could cover the portion from the Lanling Jin anyway, since he’s the clan heir. And maybe he could convince his uncle, too.”
“His uncle. Jiang Wanyin. You’re going to ask Jiang Wanyin to contribute to Wei Wuxian’s marriage portion? He kicked him out of the clan. He hates his guts! Everyone says he killed him! He’ll skewer us with his zidan.”
“Wei Wuxian saved all the clans, didn’t he? Without him, Wen would have triumphed and the Sunshot Campaign would have failed. The secret of Jin Guangyao’s manipulation would never have been uncovered and ended. Everything we have today, we owe to him. And I know,” he says, as Lan Jingyi opens his mouth to protest, “that his methods were evil, and that the power of resentful energy overcame him. But he isn’t evil, and the clan leaders must know that. He hasn’t asked them for anything, ever. They rebuilt the Lotus Pier for Jiang Wanyin, and helped to restore the Cloud Recesses for our clan. All they did for him was make him into a bogeyman. I think it’s right that they contribute to his happiness. And whatever happened between them, Jiang Wanyin was his martial brother. I won’t ignore him.”
Lan Jingyi is sitting with his mouth still open, stunned into silence. Finally, as Lan Sizhui finishes, he clicks it shut. Lan Sizhui pours out the tea, careful not to splash any onto the table’s ancient veneer. “Lan Jingyi?”
“I was waiting to see whether you were going to turn into a monkey, because I’ve never heard such crazed chattering,” says the other. Lan Sizhui’s face falls, his hand holding the tea cup trembling. “But… Senior Wei has saved our lives, over and over. It would be ungrateful not to help him now, in his hour of greatest need.”
Lan Sizhui looks up sharply, smiling.
“I’m not going to the Lotus Pier, though,” warns Lan Jingyi. “There’s acceptable crazy, and then there’s utterly irresponsible and end-of-civilization crazy. Asking Jiang Wanyin to help Wei Wuxian is the latter.”
Lan Sizhui pushes a cup of tea across. He can work with that.
***
Wei Wuxian is clever. Cunning, Jiang Cheng had called him, because why use a kind word when a more malicious one could be employed instead. But it’s not untrue. He is cunning, and as such he finds himself lying on his back beside the gentian flowers staring at the sky, and devising plan after plan to produce 3,000 yuan from nothing.
The obvious method would be to use resentful energy. There are so many possibilities there, the fertile ground growing a good crop of schemes. Command the spirits of the dead to show him long-ago buried troves, left for future generations who forgot them or never heard of their existence. Influence rich citizens to empty their lock boxes for him. Break into the treasure houses of one of the clans and steal the money, nothing but a drop in the ocean of their wealth.
Wei Wuxian finds himself briefly considering a looting of the Lotus Pier’s secret room, hidden away beneath an enchanted trapdoor in a chamber behind the main hall. Imagines himself with a face mask purloining a bag of coins, sneaking out on top-toe underneath Jiang Cheng’s nose and whisking himself away on a lake boat. But Jiang Cheng is a light sleeper, and besides, he could never steal from his family.
Former family.
Realistically, none of the many exciting capers he plans out piece by piece, backed by resentful energy, ever have a hope in hell of seeing daylight. Lan Zhan wouldn’t like them. And, fun as they are to dream about, neither would he. If getting married means finding 3,000 yuan from somewhere, then either he’s going to do it honestly, or they’re not getting married.
His gaze loses focus, memory painting pictures on the white clouds as though they were parchment. Lan Zhan playing Wangxian for him on the guqin, smiling silently at him across the room. Lan Zhan pulling layer after layer of his clothes off, unwrapping him so carefully, like a gift, only to turn that hot mouth on him and bite. Lan Zhan on his knees before him, so earnest, so happy, kissing his fingers at the idea of a marriage.
There’s no way they’re not getting married.
So, he has to think again. If he can’t steal the money, he’ll have to earn it. There’s a law against cultivators working as independent contractors for hire, which means he can’t make up the dowry by summoning spirits to appease the living or ridding families of curses. While he’s perfectly capable of manual labour, that’s not going to earn 3,000 yuan, and the only skilled labour he’s capable of is portraiture, which again seems unlikely to bring in the necessary sum in two weeks. Maybe he could sell erotic art? Of clan leaders?
“Your smile is just a little alarming,” says Lan Zhan’s soft voice. Wei Wuxian snaps upright and looks over his shoulder; his fiancé is stepping lightly down the path from the main courtyard. “Should I be worried?”
“Lan Zhan!” he leaps to his feet, a pair of nearby rabbits startling to a stop and staring at him. “I thought you were busy until tonight.”
“I had an unexpected break – two of the disciples are in bed with colds – and thought I would come see you. I missed you.”
Wei Wuxian smiles. “You saw me this morning.”
“Mm. Hours ago.” He comes over and takes a seat beside the field of purple flowers, his snow-white robes a beautiful contrast. Wei Wuxian has a sudden dream of plaiting flowers in his hair, which strikes him as ridiculous but also valid. Lan Zhan would look fucking beautiful with flowers in his hair.
He wonders abruptly whether anyone ever has these kinds of thoughts about him. “Lan Zhan,” he says, sitting down beside him and caressing the soft petals of the blossom nearest his knee. “Do you ever think about putting these in my hair?”
Lan Zhan looks at the flower, then at him, clearly at a loss. “…Do you want me to?”
“That wasn’t the question!”
“I haven’t,” he admits. “But I’m thinking about it now.” He plucks a flower at the base of its stem, twirling it in his clever fingers. “Would you like that?”
Fuck, at this rate they’re going to sit here all afternoon braiding flowers into each other’s hair, and honestly he would like it, but he has things to do. Specifically, figuring out how to materialize 3,000 yuan out of thin air.
He reaches out and takes the flower from Lan Zhan. “Maybe another time,” he says. “For now, this one’s enough.” He tucks it behind his ear, very conscious of Lan Zhan’s eyes on him. He gives him a bright smile, and Lan Zhan’s hand falls to his sleeve, fingers grasping the black cloth with a kind of helpless wish for closeness that makes Wei Wuxian’s heart contract. He picks Lan Zhan’s fingers off his sleeve and clasps his hand instead, weaving their fingers together. “Lan Zhan, when the Wen clan attacked the Cloud Recesses, who paid for the restoration?”
Lan Zhan blinks. “The cost was shared,” he says, after a moment. “Much of it was paid for from our own coffers, but the other clans also donated funds and materials. Except for the Yunmeng Jiang, and the Qishan Wen of course. Why?”
“The Lan clan has always seemed so prosperous to me, but I realise that actually I know very little about the finances of the great clans. The only one I understood was my own, and now that’s likely changed too. Really, I’m so ignorant about the workings of the modern world.”
His love smiles. “No one expects you to be an expert. Of all the clans, my own is not the most wealthy, but we have ample resources. We are lucky to live in a time of prosperity.”
Wei Wuxian nods. “We are, aren’t we? Prosperous clans make for prosperous people.” He stretches wide, yawning. “Ah, Lan Zhan. I should have known. You always have the answer.”
“Was there a question?”
Wei Wuxian smiles. “It’s fine; never mind. For dinner, what would you like? Spiced pork and mushrooms? Red tofu soup? Chili chicken?”
Lan Zhan rises, gently slipping his fingers free from Wei Wuxian’s; he feels the loss of their solid warmth immediately. “Whatever you like best,” he says. “I’ll see you later.”
“Of course. If you bring me more flowers, I’ll braid them into your hair.”
Lan Zhan actually seems to be considering it, so Wei Wuxian laughs and shoos him up towards the main courtyard with his hands.
Only when he’s gone does he reach up and pull the flower down, holding it cupped in both palms. It’s serene, soft, perfect. Just like Lan Zhan, who has unknowingly suggested an answer to his problem.
Wei Wuxian gets up and heads back to the main courtyard, some ways behind Lan Zhan. He needs some supplies.
***
“So we need to come up with 3,000 yuan, or Wei Wuxian won’t be able to marry Hanguang-Jun, and both their hearts will break,” says Lan Jingyi. “And then who knows what? They might commit ritual suicide, or leave us all behind and go live in seclusion, or just stay around and be miserable and mopey forever which means all of us will be miserable and mopey. Because when Hanguang-Jun is sad we’re all sad, and when Wei Wuxian is upset he spreads it around with a big spoon.”
They’re in Jin Rulan’s private room in the Golden Carp Tower, a big room with gleaming gold decorations and lavish bedding and drapery. Its opulence is very unlike the Cloud Recesses, and Lan Sizhui is aware of Lan Jingyi looking around with secret interest even as they drink the jasmine tea Jin Rulan ordered to be brought for them. It’s served with cakes, little pale perfect confectionaries.
“That’s a lot of money,” says Jin Rulan, thoughtfully. Lan Sizhui nods.
“We know. And we know there aren’t many people who could – or would – provide it. But we were hoping you could help us convince the major clan leaders to donate it.”
Jin Rulan looks at him, surprised. “On what grounds?”
“On the grounds that, at great personal cost, Senior Wei saved their lives and their clans. We know now that the reason he lost control at Nevernight was due to malicious interference. None of the evil he is charged with is his fault, and he has never been recognized for the good he did. Without him, we would still be living under the yoke of the Wen clan. If we were even still alive. And then there was your uncle…” he ends here, politely saying nothing more of Jin Guangyao.
Jin Rulan’s lips are pursed in thought. “3,000 yuan. We can’t very well ask Lan Xichen to donate; a clan does not provide a dowry to itself. That leaves three of us, a thousand each. My portion isn’t a problem – I can find the money if I really stretch. And I suspect Nie Huaisang would be willing too. He has never been outspoken against the Yiling Patriarch. But for the third portion…”
“Clan Leader Jiang,” says Lan Jingyi, in a terrible voice.
“What if we presented it as marrying away his troubles? He wouldn’t be beholden to Senior Wei anymore,” says Lan Sizhui
His fellow disciple turns disbelieving eyes on him. “Beholden to him? He disinherited him, then killed him. I don’t think he’s frothing at the mouth to get rid of him in an honourable way.”
“But that’s because he blamed Senior Wei for many things that weren’t his fault. He must know the truth, now. And… he has some wrongs to make up for, surely.”
“Um,” says Jin Rulan, and they both look at him. “My uncle… I don’t really think he sees it that way,” he says. “He has never been very forthcoming, but I know he blames Wei Wuxian for the deaths of his parents, and… well, most of the clan, really. Because Wei Wuxian decided to save Hanguang-jun and somehow it went wrong. And then there was my mother, of course. And probably some other things too. My uncle has a lot of weight on his shoulders.”
“No kidding,” says Lan Jingyi under his breath.
“I understand that their past is complicated,” says Lan Sizhui. “But Jiang Wanyinis the clan leader, and a respected man. Surely he must be able to see past his personal enmity to recognize that without Wei Wuxian, his clan would never have been revived. They were once martial brothers, weren’t they? They fought together in the Sunshot Campaign. It must mean something.”
Lan Sizhui is not so unaware as to be unable to recognize that Jin Rulan is torn between a sensible argument, and his experience of his uncle. “I guess… we could try,” he says, his voice quiet. Meek, in a way he never is except around Jiang Wanyin. Even from across the land, his uncle’s shadow is long.
Lan Sizhui nods, and smiles. Lan Jingyi rocks back. “Yeah, okay, you two go do that. I’ll go talk to Nie Huaisang. If Jin Rulan gives me a letter of introduction and support, I will go to the Unclean Realm and do my best to convince him. Deal?”
The three young men look at each other.
“Deal.”
***
“You know, something’s up with those kids,” says Wei Wuxian to Lan Zhan over dinner.
Truthfully, it’s a blind. An attempt to start a conversation that will avoid dipping into the dangerous territory of why, for the past ten days, Wei Wuxian hasn’t left the Quiet Room. Hasn’t been out teasing disciples or visiting the nearby towns or trying to train Little Apple. Wei Wuxian, as everyone knows, is a whirling dervish of a man, never still. And yet, for ten whole days he hasn’t once strayed from the Quiet Room, except to accompany Lan Zhan for walks at dusk when his love returns from his day’s tasks and the air is cool and sweet.
“I believe they are visiting the Golden Carp Tower,” his dear heart says. “I know Lan Sizhui wishes to be closer to Jin Ling.”
“Yeah, that’s great and good for him for being the bigger man because my nephew has frankly been a little shit, but I’m telling you, something’s up. I saw them before they left. They were furtive. Furtive, Lan Zhan. And because they were Lan kids, they looked damn guilty about it. What could they possibly be up to?”
“Perhaps they are seeking out wedding gifts. I was quite clear that nothing is expected, but Lan Sizhui is very fond of you.”
“He’s very fond of you,” retorts Wei Wuxian. “Also: you turned down wedding gifts? What if they were planning something cool? Like a back-scratcher charmed to work without hands, or a bird that speaks so I can teach it to swear and piss off Lan Qiren?”
“I do not think the disciples would bring either of those things back,” says Lan Zhan.
“Hmm. You’re probably right, but in that case, why so furtive? Nah, they’re doing something they know they’re not supposed to be. And aside from anything else, they’re gonna come back here and admit to it and then you’re gonna have to punish them like the idiots they are.”
“I recall you submitting yourself for punishment, when accrued.”
“I can say with absolute certainty that if you hadn’t caught me, I never would have. I’m a lot of things, Lan Zhan, but I’m not self-sabotaging.”
Lan Zhan gives him a quiet look, and he turns away. “Okay, not often,” he allows. “Not for dumb shit, anyway. And the thing is, I think those kids are the type to admit to stupid infractions, but I don’t think they’re the type to commit them. Which means whatever they’re up to, it’s probably not minor.”
“I can send a message to the Golden Carp Tower, if you are truly concerned.”
Wei Wuxian turns the idea over in his mind. It can’t do any harm. “Yeah. Okay. Tomorrow, though,” he says, and pours out a glass of wine.
***
The response to Lan Zhan’s query comes back two days before the wedding: Lan Disciples Visited Clan Head; have gone with him to Lotus Pier to see Jiang Cheng.
“Suspicious,” says Wei Wuxian, staring down at the neatly-written note. “Very suspicious.”
His preparations are complete, his work done. He doesn’t have the money, yet, but that’s not an issue. He’s confident he can play his cards right. But the message is worrying. The guilty look on the two Lan disciples’ faces, the idea of them choosing to visit Jiang Cheng right before his wedding… it’s worrying.
So he leaves a note in the Quiet Room for Lan Zhan, tucks his work away in his private bookcase where he knows his fiancé won’t look at it, and leaves the Cloud Recesses. An hour away, he casts a Teleportation spell, and feels the swift, sure magic embrace him. A moment later, he’s on the far bank of the lotus lake, looking across at Lotus Pier. He steps onto one of the public boats, and begins to row himself across.
The water is still as always, the lotus flowers in bloom right now, heavy pink orbs such a delicate colour, like the blushing shell of Lan Zhan’s ear. He reaches down and brushes his fingers against the petals; they’re as soft as Lan Zhan’s ear, as well. He closes his eyes momentarily. He should be back at the Cloud Recesses, preparing for his marriage. It won’t be a big ceremony, not the diplomatic event the marriage of the clan’s second son would have been otherwise, had he not been marrying the Cultivation world’s biggest rogue. But it will tie them together, forever.
Instead, though, he here is, back in Yunmeng where he is least welcome of all places. The city is very little now other than a reminder of what he has lost, what his own mistakes have caused. Jiang Cheng would probably be surprised to hear that, and pleased.
He steps off the boat at the pier, tying it with a knot that comes familiar to his hands, and heads for the clan’s main hall. Jiang Cheng will likely be there, sitting at the head table where his father once sat.
Wei Wuxian allows himself to be vetted and checked by the Lotus Pier guards, men he doesn’t know, and then escorted to the outer walkway of the hall. He doesn’t really want to be formally announced, though, so he calls a small twist of energy to his fingers and sends the guard to sleep. Alone, on silent feet, he slips into the outer corridor and along the shining wooden floors to the main hall.
He hears the voices before he arrives; familiar voices. Lan Sizhui and Jin Ling. And, lower, angrier, Jiang Cheng.
“Ridiculous,” his martial brother – his former martial brother – is saying. Spitting, more accurately, his tone dripping with venom. “You cannot seriously expect this of me. What were you thinking, Jin Ling, to come here and ask it. Have I not taught you better? Have I not taught you anything?”
“Uncle, please. I know your past is complicated, and your losses bitter. But… but he is a good man, I think.”
“He made you an orphan,” snarls Jiang Cheng. “Have you no love for your parents? How dare you defend him?”
Lan Sizhui’s voice breaks in, quiet but intense. “Clan Leader Jiang, please. We mean no disrespect, no slight in coming here and making this request. But without it – without you – Wei Wuxian can have no happiness.”
Wei Wuxian’s eyes widen and he stops, a moment before entering the room.
“And so?” says Jiang Cheng, haughty now. “He has stolen the happiness of thousands, including those most dear to me. Why should I put myself out for him and his?”
“Do you not think… can you not look at the Lotus Pier as it is now, thriving with life and happiness and prosperity, and give Wei Wuxian even a sliver of the credit?”
“You ask for more than a sliver,” sneers Jiang Cheng. “You ask for recognition and forgiveness and gratitude in one fell swoop, and I am not interested in providing any of the three. Why should I put myself out for his happiness? He has never put himself out for mine.”
There is an abrupt silence in the room. Without making a sound, Wei Wuxian walks across the doorway, not entering the room, merely looking in. At the far end, as expected, is Jiang Cheng. In front of him are Lan Sizhui, bowed in supplication, and Jin Ling, on his knees staring at the floor.
Jiang Cheng catches sight of him and freezes, his face going momentarily blank. Wei Wuxian nods towards the door, and steps out of view.
He rounds the side of the main hall, taking one of the many branching paths to the side. Although surely this must have all been destroyed in the siege of Lotus Pier, it has been rebuilt just as it was, and he follows the route from memory. It leads to a small lookout, with a roof and a brazier in the centre for cold winter days. There are benches all around the three sides and he sits on one, one foot resting on the bench beside him.
Jiang Cheng stalks into the lookout like a tiger, his face tight with anger. “Sending the wretched children wasn’t enough, now you’ve come here with your hands outstretched?” he spits.
Wei Wuxian looks up at him without a reaction. “They’re not wretched,” he says. “And I didn’t send them. I don’t even know what they’re here to ask for, although given what I heard I think I can guess.”
“Money,” says Jiang Cheng, with a hoarse laugh, like a wolf barking. “They asked me to contribute to your dowry. To give my money – the money of my clan – so that you can lead a life of peace and plenty in the Cloud Recesses fucking your Lan husband.”
“I didn’t ask them to,” says Wei Wuxian. “I would have stopped them, if I’d known.”
Jiang Cheng’s mouth twists like a whip, like zidan coiling. In his youth, Wei Wuxian never once thought that his martial brother was like his mother. But he sees it now. Sees it, and feels the pain of it.
“I don’t need money. I don’t need anything, Jiang Cheng. Not from you, not from Lotus Pier or your clan. You can rest in peace – I’ll never ask you for anything.”
“How praiseworthy. Isn’t that just like you. Reminding me with your unspoken words that I’m always the one asking something of you! For your strength in the Dust-Creek mountain; for your rescue from the siege; for your slaughter at Nevernight; for your golden core! What haven’t you given me, Wei Wuxian – except what you promised me? Where is your humble service, your loyalty now?”
Wei Wuxian sits up, sliding his foot off the bench. “What would you have me do? Close my ears and my eyes and my mind, and bow down to you as a voiceless servant? Someone who never objects, who never makes demands, who never thinks? I tried to serve you, Jiang Cheng, and I tried to protect you, and I did love you, my one and only brother. I do still. But I can’t change who I am for you. I can’t do that for anyone. Not even for the man I love with all my heart. I have nothing left to cut out of myself for you.”
Jiang Cheng flinches as if struck, his hand going to his chest. “I never asked,” he hisses, voice low.
“No. You never asked. You didn’t have to! You were my brother. I would have done anything for you. Without regret, without hesitation. If I could change what happened, I would. I would. But I can’t. I can see that to you, my life will never equal out what was lost. That’s… okay. You can turn your back on me and never acknowledge me again. I don’t mind. But please know – if I could bring you happiness, I would.”
“Get out,” says Jiang Cheng, face white, hands fisted. His whole body is so tense it’s shaking, the wooden pier creaking beneath him. “Take your meaningless words and your unwelcome face, and get out.”
Wei Wuxian stands and walks past him without saying another word.
Ten minutes later, he’s on a boat and gone.
***
He Teleports back to the outskirts of the Cloud Recesses, feeling cold and empty. His wedding is in two days, and he feels like he’s approaching a funeral instead of a celebration.
He stops by Caiyi town to pick up some wine, which he drinks on the way up the mountain. By the time he makes it back to the Quiet Room he’s pleasantly tipsy, warm inside again and too numb to feel the cuts of Jiang Cheng’s words.
Lan Zhan gives him a surprised look when he comes in empty-handed but heavy-footed, having stashed the empty jars in the bushes, but doesn’t comment. He gives him a hug instead, pressing his nose to Wei Wuxian’s shoulder. “You smell strange,” he says.
“I’m a dark and mysterious stranger!” says Wei Wuxian. “Of course I do.”
“Is everything alright?”
“Everything is fine, Lan Zhan. I just wanted to try the new winter wine at Caiyi. I meant to bring you some back, but I kind of drank it all. I’ll go get some tomorrow though – you can try it then.”
“Tomorrow will be a busy day,” says Lan Zhan. “There is much still to prepare. That is… if you are still certain this is what you want.”
Wei Wuxian blinks, then leans forward and catches Lan Zhan’s face in his hands, cupping the smooth planes of his cheeks. “Lan Zhan, I’d walk to the ends of the earth to marry you. I’d fight the water demon in Billing lake single-handed. I would copy all 3,000 Lan clan rules, twice.”
Lan Zhan, his cheeks rounded like rice dumplings beneath Wei Wuxian’s palms, smiles slightly. Wei Wuxian nods.
“Good. Now – what’s for dinner?”
***
Wei Wuxian doesn’t have time to dwell on the trip to Lotus Pier, because Lan Zhan was right – there is a lot left to do. Most of it’s being handled by the disciples and various servants, but there’s still so many procedures to be reminded of and gifts to review and foods to taste and clothes to try on. Wei Wuxian remembers Jiang Yanli dancing for him in her red wedding clothes looking so beautiful, her face aglow with happiness.
His own wedding clothes are surprisingly intricate for a clan that values austerity so dearly in all respects. But it’s probably because he took a strong hand in choosing them. His innermost robe, made of fine silk so light it’s little more than gossamer, is coal black. The next robe is the deep pink of the base of a lotus flower, a choice he had made with a lump in his throat. The third layer is bright flame red, embroidered with bamboo leaves as a nod to luck and the flute that brought him and Lan Zhan together again. His sash is red bordered with black, the tie gold, with a lucky piece of jade tied to the end. His trousers and shoes are red, as is the tie he wears in his hair, although it too now has an ornament of jade – this one shaped like a rabbit, a present from Lan Zhan.
He hasn’t seen Lan Zhan in his outfit yet, and it’s killing him. The only present he gave him was the forehead band he’ll wear – bright red embroidered with a single peony. His mind is full of pictures of Lan Zhan in red silk – his pale skin warmed by the colour, his movements like flame, his body wrapped in the symbol of their love.
The two of them naked in bed, atop a sea of discarded red silk…
Fuck, he’s so in love with this man.
But, first things first.
Wei Wuxian sneaks out of a last-minute review of the tea ceremony china, and stops by the Quiet Room. At this time of day it’s empty, the room dark. He slips over to the bookcase and picks up his small bundle. Then, with it tucked carefully under his arm, he heads back up to the main courtyard – and Lan Qiren’s study.
The old instructor’s study is adjacent to the classroom, a small room with not much more than a low desk, a set of shelves for scrolls and books, and a single wall scroll reading Devotion Above All. Rather than participating in any of the preparation for his nephew’s wedding, the old man is sitting behind his desk writing something that looks long and boring.
Wei Wuxian clears his throat, and Lan Qiren’s eyebrow twitches. “Yes?”
“Instructor Qiren. I’ve come about the dowry for Lan Zhan.”
Lan Qiren puts down the brush, looking at the fat package wrapped in cloth beneath Wei Wuxian’s arm. “You… have the dowry?” he says, clearly struggling to contain his surprise.
“Nope.” Wei Wuxian sits down crosslegged on the floor as if settling in for a drinking party, and slams his parcel down in front of him. “You do.”
“I… do? Is this one of your jokes? I do not find it funny.”
“You don’t find any of my jokes funny,” says Wei Wuxian, untying the knot that binds the package together. “But in this case, no. I’m not joking.”
He unfolds the cloth to reveal three thin books. He sets them side-by-side on the floor. “These are the full manuals of the Yiling Patriarch. A guide to charms and spells,” he says, laying his hand on the first book. “A guide to defensive and offensive abilities,” he adds, laying his hand on the second book. “And, a guide to raising and controlling the dead,” he finishes, laying his hand on the third book.
“Th-that’s preposterous,” stammers Lan Qiren.
“Is it? Why? You know, lots of people have made observational records of my techniques, or tried to recreate them working backwards. But there’s no manual anywhere that actually lays it all out. How could there be? Only I could write it.” He picks up the book on charms and spells and hands it over to the old instructor, who snatches it and flips through it quickly. His mouth grows narrower and narrower as he reads.
“This is madness. Folly. To be so, so foolish as to actually transcribe the evil techniques you have harnessed… Insanity. A callous disregard for safety and morals.”
“Yeah, I kind of thought you’d say that. Which is why I’m here. They’re for sale. 1,000 yuan each. I thought, since you’re about to be my uncle by marriage, I should do you the favour of letting you get in the first bid. I happen to know that you can afford them.”
Lan Qiren looks up at him, his face drawn. “You are suggesting I should buy these from you? They should be burned! Destroyed!”
Wei Wuxian reaches out and grabs the book back, pulling it from the old man’s grasping hands. “And you can do that, once they’re yours. You can do anything you want with them. Lock them up in your library with the other forbidden tomes, or throw them in the fire. None of my business. But if you decide you don’t want to buy them, then I’ll be forced to look for some other bidders. I’m pretty sure the Nie clan, or the Jin clan would be prepared to pay 3,000 yuan for the three most important books that have been written this century. It’s a steal, really.”
“You would sell these to the other clans?”
“Sure. Because I know that you think I’m nothing but an evil, corrupted, chaotic wreck of a man. But I happen to think that my technique is different, but entirely worthy. It’s an art of its own, and art is valuable. So you get to decide. Are you going to buy these books? Or should I go on a visit to the Unclean Realm, or the Golden Carp Tower? You’ll have to decide quickly – I think you may have heard that I’m getting married tomorrow.”
“This is blackmail,” says Lan Qiren. “Uncouth, disrespectful, mocking blackmail.”
Wei Wuxian shrugs, and piles the books back one atop the other, before starting to gather the cloth wrapping around them again. “Okay. Then I guess I’m going to take a quick trip. Not to worry; I’ll be back soon.” He unfolds his legs and stands.
“Wait!”
He looks back to Lan Qiren, eyebrows arched. The old instructor has half-risen from his seat, his hands holding the sides of his desk, his knuckles white. “Hm?”
“The books. I will buy the books.”
“You will? Are you sure? They might corrupt you.”
“I do not fear you, Wei Wuxian.”
“Well, that’s good. No fear needed among friends. Or family,” he adds. “So. Are we gonna take a trip to the treasury, then? Because I’m kind of in a hurry. I’m supposed to be looking at teacups right now.”
The old man rises stiffly, his back straight as a board. “Very well. Follow me.”
They walk together in silence to the treasury, which Lan Qiran unlocks with his jade key. Inside are shelves of boxes and bags and purses. He proceeds to one corner and opens a rosewood box. From inside, he counts out three stacks of gold ingots. “Here,” he says, distastefully. “3,000 yuan.”
Wei Wuxian smiles and takes it. “Thanks. Here – your books.” He hands over the package. Lan Qiran takes it and tucks it away at the back of the room. Wei Wuxian wonders briefly whether he intends to keep it or destroy it. He supposes he’ll probably find out some day.
When Lan Qiren turns around, he’s still standing there, gold ingots in his hands.
“Well?”
“Most esteemed uncle, may I present the unworthy offering of a dowry for Wei Ying. 3,000 yuan, as required by the Lan clan custom.” He bows low and holds out his hands.
Lan Qiran stares down at him, mouth thin as a razor. Then he takes the gold, and dumps it back in the box.
“Please leave,” he says, through gritted teeth.
“My pleasure.”
***
Late that night, he and Lan Zhan are alone in their room. There are all sorts of popular customs that the Lan clan retains vestiges of – trials for the bridegroom, brushing the hair of the bride, gifts of gold and clothes – which they’ve foregone. They don’t really need any more trials in their lives to prove their loyalty to each other, and Wei Wuxian combs Lan Zhan’s hair every night. It’s soothing, feeling it slide like silk over his fingers. As for gold and new clothes – well, neither of them really need those things.
Which is probably just as well, because just before they’re about to turn in for the night, there’s a stampeding of feet from outside and a knocking at the door.
Wei Wuxian suddenly has a terrible, awful feeling. Lan Zhan is already rising, but he pushes him back, two palms to the chest. “No, I’ll get it. I think it’s for me.”
This must be penitence. For not keeping a closer eye on the disciples. For being cavalier about money. For leaving the kids along with Jiang Cheng.
He walks over and opens the door, leaning nonchalantly on the doorframe. Standing outside are Lan Sizhui, Lan Jingyi, and Jin Ling in a shadowy gaggle, looking nervous.
“Well well well,” he says, looking down at them from on high. “What do we have here?”
“We need to talk to you,” hisses Jin Ling, the two Lan kids apparently too polite to call out a senior after dark. “It’s important.”
“Is it? Is it about the wedding? Because I don’t know if you heard, but I’m getting married tomorrow and there’s kind of a lot going on, and –”
“Wei Wuxian, please,” groans Jin Ling, and like the kind and caring uncle he is he takes pity on the kid and steps out into the gloom. The boys surround him, drawing him off into the distance and out of earshot of Lan Zhan.
“Senior, we did something very wrong,” begins Lan Sizhui, and gods above why do these boys feel the need to confess their broken rules to him?
“I’m not sure who you think I am, but it’s not my job to reprimand you for that stuff. Rule-breaking is fine by me! The more rules, the better.”
The two Lan boys look briefly scandalized, but then their anxiety gets the better of them. “You see,” says Lan Sizhui, “we eavesdropped.”
“Oh? Was it something fun? Something scandalous? Something totally hot and steamy? Because let me tell you last week Lan Zhan and I were –”
“It was you and Master Qiren,” breaks in Lan Jingyi, presumably before he can get into embarrassing details. “It was Master Qiren telling you you need to supply a dowry to marry into the clan. And we… we know you don’t have any money.”
“Hanguang-Jun buys everything for you,” says Lan Sizhui.
“You’re totally skint,” agrees Jin Ling.
“Wow, hurtful, I’ll have you know I sometimes do pay for myself, when I remember to take the money out of Lan Zhan’s purse in the morning.”
The three boys give him a look. He smiles. “So, I’m broke. And…?”
“And… and we really want this to work out for you, because you’re a good man and you’ve done a lot of great things for the world, and Hanguang-Jun is the best man and we can’t stand to see him hurt,” says Lan Jingyi.
“You’re both too important to have your futures ruined because you don’t have any money,” adds Lan Sizhui. “So, we found some.”
Wei Wuxian lifts an eyebrow. “You ‘found’ some?” he says, dropping heavy emphasis on the word. “What, lying by the side of the road? Under your mattresses? Aiya – you boys didn’t steal this money, did you? Have you taken to a life of crime to support my and Lan Zhan’s love? Out on the dark streets, robbing poor unsuspecting passers by so that we can live in marital bliss?”
Jin Ling, his own nephew who he named, gives him a disgusted look. “Please don’t be ridiculous. The clan leaders gave the money.” He pulls out a purse and hands it over. “3,000 yuan.”
Wei Wuxian doesn’t do him the disrespect of looking inside. “The clan leaders donated it? Meaning yourself and Nie Huaisang?”
“Meaning me and Nie Huaisang and Uncle Jiang,” corrects Jin Ling.
Wei Wuxian’s eyebrows disappear into his bangs. “I’m sorry, what?”
He was there. That definitely didn’t happen. Is the boy lying to make him feel better? Did he and Nie Huaisang split the cost between them?
Jin Ling digs into his sleeve and pulls out a folded piece of paper. He hands it over. “This is for you. He said he didn’t want an answer.”
Wei Wuxian stares down at the paper in his hand. It’s too dark out here to read it, and he doesn’t want to surrounded by these young, ridiculous, sweet, untainted boys.
“I… thanks. I mean – thank you. This was very kind of you. Although I need to stress – I can find my own money. I don’t need help from the clan leaders, or anyone else. I would never let something as important as my marriage crumble for want of funds. But,” he adds, hefting the bag of gold, “imagine Lan Qiren’s face when I give him a dowry of 6,000 yuan!”
“Senior Wei, are you saying you had the money all along?” demands Lan Jingyi, appalled.
“Nope. I’m saying – when I need something, I find a way. Like any good cultivator does. That’s something you should be learning, by the way. If you need pointers, feel free to stop by. Just – not tomorrow.”
He makes to leave and the three boys break apart, looking dazed. He smiles at them. “You’re good kids. I appreciate you all.”
“We’re not kids,” hisses Lan Yingli at his retreating back. A moment later, he hears them making their way back to the courtyard, trampling heavily over the grass, complaining volubly.
Wei Wuxian tosses the bag of gold in the air and catches it, the weight wonderfully solid in his hand. He tucks it away in his sleeve and steps back up to the Quiet Room.
Inside, Lan Zhan is already lying curled in their bed, only one candle burning by the door. He always goes to bed early – it enables him to rise at ungodly hours of the morning looking fresh as a new leaf. Wei Wuxian shuts the door and hears him turn over. He takes the candle and brings it over to the desk, stopping on his way to quietly tuck the bag of gold into his bookcase.
He sits down at the desk and puts the candle on it, then looks down at the folded note. There’s no writing on the wrapper; it’s blank, unaddressed. He unfolds it slowly, then presses it flat to the table.
Father always said you were the one who embodied the Jiang clan values. He will never know now that he was wrong about you. And he will never know now that he was – sometimes – right about me.
Take your dowry. I give it in recognition of the man he would want me to be, not out of personal obligation or gratitude.
You say that you cannot help the way you are, Wei Wuxian. I cannot forgive that you followed the light of your own star, rather than the light of my family and my clan. But… but all that I lost, you lost as well. Even if it was less dear to you than me, it is not nothing.
Do not take this as compassion. Merely my father’s will.
There’s no signature at the end of the note, but he knows the hand as well as he knows his own. Slowly he folds it back up again and slides it onto the bookcase beside the bag of gold.
“Wei Ying? Are you coming to bed?”
He rises and shrugs off his outer robe. “Yes, love.” He pinches out the candle, and goes to bed. Eventually, enfolded in Lan Zhan’s warm arms, he falls asleep.
***
The day of his and Lan Zhan’s wedding is bright and beautiful. The sky is pure blue, the mountains wreathed in gentle mist, the flowers gleaming with morning dew.
Wei Wuxian presents his second dowry to Lan Qiren, who is so stony-faced that Wei Wuxian wonders if this is a new charm, like the lip-sealing charm, designed to keep his features from betraying his deep set loathing at an inappropriate time.
He’s shown into the Lan clan main hall where Lan Xichen and Lan Qiren wait; the dowry is subtly but visibly placed on a table; now there are two stacks of gold ingots.
The ceremony takes place with just Lan Zhan’s family. If Wei Wuxian had one, they would be here too. But he doesn’t. He’s lost two sets of families. He’s not going to lose a third.
The tea ceremony items are already prepared, everything ready for the two of them to serve tea to Lan Zhan’s family – by far the most important part of the wedding. The idea of pouring out and presenting Lan Qiren is distasteful, but in the face of what he stands to gain it melts like frost before the sun.
He hears footsteps at the door and turns, heart in his mouth.
The doors pull open and Lan Zhan steps in, light as a cloud, his long hair flowing out behind him. His robes are pristine, white underneath, then a pink just lighter than Wei Wuxian’s, then the deep pure red of good fortune, the heavy red brocade robes embroidered with clouds. The headband Wei Wuxian ordered is tied around his forehead, and jade beads hang from the tie of his topknot.
Wei Wuxian has known him for years, has teased him and fought him and rescued him and been rescued by him. Has slept with him and woken with him and done everything in between with him. And it still takes nothing more than the sight of him to take his breath away.
Lan Zhan bows to his brother as clan leader, then to his uncle. And then, his eyes dancing, to Wei Wuxian. Wei Wuxian takes a breath, heart jumping, and bows back. Then, throwing tradition to the wind, he holds out his hand. “Shall we?” he says.
Lan Zhan crosses to him and puts his hand in his.
This is how they’ll do everything from now on.
Together.
END