An Archive of Our Own, a project of the
Organization for Transformative Works
Wei Ying can’t find his words. “What would I do in Gusu?”
The man’s mouth quirks in what Wei Ying cannot interpret as anything but a tiny, smug smirk. “Learn.”
Wei Ying has made a fine life for himself. He’s got his jiejies and his talismans; he doesn’t need anyone’s charity. But spending a whole year in Gusu? That’s hard to turn down.
(Wei Ying isn't adopted by Jiangs)
...Lan Qiren has been a teacher for many years; he’s seen his share of naturally gifted students. Wei Ying, the scruffy, arrogant, waspish boy from the marketplace, is something altogether different.
He watches from a distance as his nephew and Wei Ying sit together at a table in the library, discussing a text on advanced meditation techniques. Wei Ying is slovenly, completely slouched over the book, gesticulating wildly. The end of his brush is gnawed on, his fingers ink-stained. His words are rapid, too loud. His hair is a mess.
Wangji is watching him like he hung the moon.
Despite himself, Lan Qiren also finds his gaze gravitating repeatedly towards the bright spark that has the usual Cloud Recesses balance spinning off-kilter. There’s something about him that’s difficult to look away from. Something familiar. His smile, his laugh, and something in the way he moves his hands as he writes. It sparks something deep in Lan Qiren’s memory.
It isn’t until he watches him spar that suddenly things click into clearer focus. His quicksilver motions, instinctive and foxlike.
Cangse Sanren.
he will know of his parents one day; Lan Qiren could not deprive him of that. But just for this year, he wants to watch and see.
He could not articulate it if he tried, but he watched his brother be destroyed by their sect’s rules and agendas. He has seen good men dig their own righteous graves, and callous men abuse the integrity of others. Wei Ying has come from nothing, as far as he or the world knows, and to go from that to bearing the weight of all that came before him is more than Lan Qiren would wish on anybody.
So when Jiang Fengmian visits to discuss trade treaties, Lan Qiren does not tell him. When he marvels at their new disciple’s capabilities in the field, Lan Qiren does not tell him. When he mentions blithely over dinner that the boy seems almost familiar, Lan Qiren does not tell him.
He has a sense that, no matter how much his old friend may think himself balanced and impartial, the desire to guard and guide Cangse Sanren’s son would prove too much for him. It would just lock Wei Ying in the same cage of well-intended but misplaced expectations.
Lan Qiren has been a teacher for many years; he’s seen his share of naturally gifted students, and he’s seen his share of tragedies, both the preventable and the inexorable. Wei Ying, the scruffy, arrogant, remarkable boy with too many ideas and too much heart, has the potential to be something altogether different. To watch how high he can soar without a tether, if just for the moment—
it might be something to behold.
~~~ wow he really didn't tell him
Wei Ying makes it all the way to Destroy the five poisons before he can’t concentrate any more. He drops his brush onto the table with a clatter, exhaling loudly.
“Trouble with the precepts, Lan Zhan?”
Lan Zhan freezes, his eyes still cut towards Wei Ying. He gently lowers his brush onto the stand and adjusts his sleeves.
“You… seem upset.”
Wei Ying fights the urge to just punch himself in the face. “I’m tired.”
This just sends Lan Zhan’s brows furrowing lower. “You didn’t come to the jingshi.”
“I was out.”
“Are you having difficulty sleeping due to nightma—”
“No.” Wei Ying jolts the table, sending his brush tumbling to the floor. “And even if I was, it’s not your job to— to make me sleep, or whatever.”
He breathes out hard through his nose, aiming for ‘calm’ and probably missing by about a thousand lǐ.
Lan Zhan’s properly frowning now. “Wei Ying—”
“Drop it, Lan Zhan. Finish your work.”
But he doesn’t return to his text.
“Wei Ying, whatever is upsetting you—”
Yesterday’s hurt flares up in him in a burst. Lan Zhan’s words; It’s not about his conduct. It is about him. He does not belong here. Wei Ying grips the wooden table in front of him, trying not to raise his voice.
“—is my business.” He finishes for him through gritted teeth.
Lan Zhan reaches for him; too close, too much, too little, and that’s the last straw.
Wei Ying slaps his hand away, the smack resounding loud and sharp in the stiff silence of the library.
“Wei Ying.”
Ah, there he is. Wei Ying is pretty sure he’s heard his name spoken more times today than ever before.
“Lan Zhan.” He responds dryly.
There’s no response for a few breaths, and Wei Ying risks a glance. Lan Zhan’s dark hair is damp, curling at the ends, and there are tiny droplets of shining water caught on his eyelashes. He really seems like a jade sculpture. Unfairly beautiful.
Lan Zhan worries at his lip, and Wei Ying watches that, too.
“I have upset you.” He says, finally.
Wei Ying exhales, breath furling out before him like dragon smoke.
He wants to be angry. There’s so much burning up in him, but...Maybe Lingxin is right.
“Yeah. Yes. You have.”
Lan Zhan nods, his gaze fixed on a point somewhere in the water between them. “I... admit that I do not know what I did, or have done. But I am sorry.”
Wei Ying doesn’t know what to say— how much to say. “Thanks,” feels safest. Because no matter how good the advice was, he doesn’t want to talk about it. He just wants Lan Zhan to unsay it, unfeel it. Cold, fierce tension runs through him in jitters, locking his jaw painfully tight. Wanting is pointless. Lan Zhan did say those things. No amount of misinterpretation can make that an untruth.
He turns away to hide his face, which he can feel contorting with emotion. He doesn’t want to think about this any more. But then Lan Zhan’s voice comes from beside him, painfully tentative.
“Was— was it our conversation at the inn? Did I misspeak about your intentions towards cultivation?”
Fuck. Lan Zhan had been so gentle with him on the balcony, more than he had needed to be towards someone putting such unnecessary strain on his life. Wei Ying shakes his head, feeling the corners of his mouth wobble. The cold is beginning to feel stifling. He needs to go to bed.
“Was it about coming home?”
Wei Ying’s heart clenches in his chest. He whips around, furious tears welling in his eyes. “Home?” He says, voice strained. “What home, Lan Zhan? You said I didn’t belong here.”
Lan Zhan looks stricken. His eyes go wide. “I—”
“I heard you speaking to your brother. Wei Ying is not a Lan. He will never be one. He doesn’t belong here. I heard you.”
Lan Zhan stares, mouth agape. Wei Ying can’t stop.
“It’s only until the conference, Wangji! I can’t— why? It’s one thing to feel like that, but to— to—?” He flails his arms, trying to find his point. “Just tell me that you think I’m worthless, that you hate me. It would have been easier.” His words break off with a crack, and he slams a fist into the water. Icy droplets splash miserably onto his face. He sniffs, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand. The night sits still and frigid and still around them. It drains the last of Wei Ying’s anger, and he sinks into himself, feeling hollow and… sad. He’s sad. Hurt. He wants things to go back to the way they were.
“You kissed me.”
In a whisper, barely leaving his tongue: “We kissed.”
Lan Zhan freezes, and Wei Ying can hear the way his breath catches in his chest. The way the hand resting over his tenses. Shit. Shit, he’s ruined it. He has to backtrack—
“It was silly, I—”
“No.”
Wei Ying bites his tongue with how hard his jaw snaps shut.
“Not silly.” Lan Zhan says, and it comes out a bit choked. He seems to be scrabbling for words. His Lan Zhan, scrabbling.
“I— I had thought I dreamt it.”
Wei Ying feels time stop. Feels his world tilt a little bit, as Lan Zhan gazes imploringly at him.
“It would not have been the first time.”
And then, all in one breath, like it takes everything in him: “Kissing you is all I have ever wished to do, since we first met.”
The air seems to leave the room in one big rush, taking the breath from Wei Ying’s lungs with it.
Lan Zhan wanted to… kiss him? Lan Zhan wanted to kiss him. Has been wanting. Just like Wei Ying has been wanting. Except longer. Longer, Wei Ying realises as he watches the tense line of his brow and mouth, the dark intensity of his golden eyes as they search his face. Lan Zhan wanted to kiss him the night of the festival. And before.
“All this time?” He whispers. Lan Zhan gives the faintest nod. He’s so beautiful. Even nervous, even when he’s radiating apprehension.
Lan Zhan has been wanting. He’s been staring at Wei Ying’s mouth right back. Like Wei Ying, he’s been wondering how the wine would taste shared between their tongues, how his hands would feel reaching underneath Wei Ying’s robe, touching his bared skin. Heat rushes through him; a dam bursting over shallow fields, dancing over his body in goosebumps.
Wei Ying parts his lips to call out for him, but Lan Zhan is already there, barely a breath away. He’s there and his face is so close that Wei Ying can smell him. Sandalwood and cool, clean linen. And a new note; deeper, muskier.
