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Chapter Text

Of course, as luck would have it for the esteemed Lan family, their loyal and devoted bodyguard of twenty years solemnly submitted his resignation and announced that he would be opening a fried chicken roadside stand instead.

Lan Wangji slowly sits down, gripping the nearest table. He feels completely unmoored.

“We can...” he counteroffers with dignified desperation, “...add fried chicken to our house menu. Today, if you’d like.”

The bodyguard bows deeply. “You are too generous, Hanguang Jun. But I’m afraid my mind is made up.” He pauses, eyes misting, as if he’s about to share his innermost private thoughts. “I have even selected a unique name for my stand: Bok In a Minute. The concept is that you can get fried chicken in one minute or less. Fast food, you could say. I think people will like it.”

Lan Wangji sighs heavily, knowing he has lost. “Indeed, they will.”

+

With his uncle away on a silent meditation retreat (“No messages unless the house is on fire,” he had explicitly said), Lan Wangji finds himself now in charge of quickly finding a new bodyguard before his older brother departs on his nine-month exorcism tour around the country.

Such inconvenient timing, he thinks in frustration.

But he refuses to accept anything less than the best for Huan-ge, so he stays up all night painstakingly drawing up a full list of criteria, application template, posters to put up around all the nearby towns, and letters to other trusted families requesting referrals.

Amazingly, a few weeks later, he receives enough applications to start a second library.

He surmises with a hint of pride that, of course, no one in their right mind would refuse the opportunity to guard the honorable Lan Xichen with life and limb.

(Actually, all the disciples of the Lan Institute of Spiritual Guidance (“Helping spirits move on since year 303”) had decided to fan out and get literally every person they saw to fill out an application, regardless of actual interest in the job. They figured the more preoccupied Hanguang Jun is with reading resumes, the less time he’ll have to dole out punishments.)

+

Lan Xichen wanders into his brother’s study, looking for an extra compass to pack for his journey.

“A-Zhan, do you have—?” His voice trails off as he notices the shadows beneath Lan Wangji’s eyes. “Oh goodness, you’ve been working too hard.”

Lan Wangji shakes his head. “It’s all right. I’ve just about finished.”

“Finished what?” Lan Xichen looks around, surveying the teetering piles of paper. “Are we accepting new students?”

“No, we’re finding you a new bodyguard.”

Lan Xichen widens his eyes. “I thought I told you I don’t need one?”

Lan Wangji also widens his eyes, attempting to look innocent, but it only lends to giving him a slightly unhinged look. “But given all these applications, wouldn’t it be remiss of us to deny employment to a worthy candidate? Not to mention peace of mind to your beloved family members and students? And—”

“All right, all right,” Lan Xichen concedes. “Can I at least review the candidates myself?”

Breezing over his brother’s question, Lan Wangji holds up an imperious hand. “No need. Nie Mingjue is clearly the top choice,” he says with a self-satisfied nod. “An imposing stature, a decade of military experience, knows a thousand ways to kill someone, and no one has ever died on his watch.” He peers closer at his resume. “Also, excellent choice in stationery.”

Lan Xichen sighs. “Wouldn’t someone like that be better suited to defend our cities? Surely, guarding just me is beneath his level.”

Lan Wangji clears his throat. “I may have mentioned an unlimited weapons budget in the fine print…”

“A-Zhan!”

Lan Wangji lowers his gaze to the inkwell in front of him, and softens his voice. “Please just go with me on this. I can’t lose you, too, Huan-ge.”

His heart clenching painfully, Lan Xichen reaches over to hold his brother’s hand. “You won’t, I promise. I’ll always be here for you.”

They sit silently together for a while, memories of their parents surfacing between them.

Rarely does Lan Wangji ever ask for anything, his stubborn nature manifesting in an extreme form of self-reliance. So if he’s really asking for this, then far be it from Lan Xichen to say no.

+

“What is happening?” Lan Wangji exclaims as the post master delivers yet another letter politely declining his job offer.

How on earth has every single one of his top ten candidates already received a better offer elsewhere?

Had the Lan family somehow offended the gods?

Had he been too lax on his own disciples, and this is punishment for not punishing them often enough?

(Off in the distance, a group of disciples collectively sneeze.)

He tries to calm down by playing a nice simple song on his guqin, but his restless emotions cause an errant note to explode a nearby vase.

After sending a wordless apology to his guqin and the vase, Lan Wangji morosely lays his head down on his desk.

Maybe the gods are telling him he’s not qualified for this. Maybe he needs to enter seclusion and meditate until fate reveals to him how to create a better recruiting process.

His thoughts are interrupted by a polite tap on his door. “A-Zhan?” His brother’s voice sounds concerned. “Are you all right? The students are saying they sense a disturbance in the air coming from this direction.”

“I am disturbed,” he mumbles.

Lan Xichen slides open the door and pokes his head inside. “Is this about the rejection letters? You know, every no is closer to a yes.”

Lan Wangji lifts his head. “Not in this case,” he says grumpily. “Every no is closer to another no.”

“Shall we meditate on this together?”

“We don’t have time. Don’t you depart in three days?”

“Hm, that’s true.”

Lan Wangji gestures listlessly towards the tower of applications stacked in the far corner of the room. “Only the gods know what to do now.”

Lan Xichen glides over to it with a hint of a mischievous smile, and folds back his sleeve.

“Then perhaps the gods prefer…” He sticks his hand in the middle of the pile and pulls one out. “… this one.”

Curious, Lan Wangji gets up to peer over his brother’s shoulder.

“Jiang Wanyin?” He frowns as he recalls the details of his resume. “That can’t be right.”

“Why not? He has a nice name.”

“He didn’t write a cover letter.” Lan Wangji huffs, leaning away from the resume like it could bite him. “And his answers to my interview questions are downright ridiculous.”

Lan Xichen clears his throat to tamp down a rising laugh, and flips the resume over to read Jiang Wanyin’s supposedly terrible answers.

• Why are you applying for this position?

  Because you’re hiring.

• Describe yourself.

  A bodyguard.

• How do you handle conflict?

  I kill it.

• Are you familiar with the basic principles of exorcism?

  Find spirit. Exorcise spirit.

• What is your biggest achievement?

  Not dying.

• Where do you see yourself in five years?

  Not dead.

• Does your five-year plan involve opening a restaurant, food stand, or other entrepreneurial endeavor?

  ...No.

“I see nothing wrong with his qualifications,” Lan Xichen says optimistically. “He’s very… straightforward.”

“Clearly, he doesn’t take this application process or this job seriously.”

“You cannot judge a person solely by a piece of paper, A-Zhan.”

“Of course you can. That’s literally the premise of this entire process.”

“That was the premise, yes.”

Lan Xichen smiles serenely. Lan Wangji narrows his eyes. Too serenely.

A distant chime rings, and a cricket chirps melodiously.

“You’re actually hiring him, aren’t you,” sighs Lan Wangji, as he wonders why he bothers to do anything for his brother ever.

“I’m so grateful for all your help.” The serenity intensifies.

“You can stop now.”

Chapter Text

Jiang Wanyin wouldn’t call himself a man of ambition, per se. But after about thirteen years of being the most successful debt collector in all of Yunmeng (hell, maybe even Hubei province), he thinks that maybe there might be more to life than kicking people’s doors down and yelling at them for avoiding taxes.

For most of those years, he was fueled by the anger and sorrow he felt at the sudden loss of his entire immediate family. But now he feels a strange combination of perpetual ennui and restlessness.

When he was accosted in the middle of the street one day by a visiting student who very strongly suggested that he apply to be a bodyguard for the head of the prominent Lan family, he had thought, what the hell, why not.

He had heard rumors of what the Lan family was like (rigid, disciplined, picky, plant-based), and logically assumed his less-than-scholarly application wouldn’t even merit a glance. He’s nothing if not a realist, and so he continued breaking people’s doors, fences, and sometimes legs.

That is, until he receives an acceptance letter in the mail, sealed with the Lan insignia and written on the kind of paper that costs more than his monthly rent.

“Holy shit,” he says out loud.

Then he packs a bag, figuring he should head to Gusu to check if he had actually been hired, or if it was some wild clerical error.

Either way, a trip would probably do him some good.

+

After the most intense stair workout he’s ever done in his entire life, Jiang Wanyin finds himself standing quite abruptly in front of the eminent Lan brothers. (He’s fairly sure it’s the altitude that’s giving him trouble breathing like a normal person. Most definitely the altitude. And not their ethereal and otherworldly beauty.)

“Welcome to Gusu,” one of them says in a chilled tone that suggests the complete opposite. “You’ll forgive us for not giving you a proper introduction to our home and school, given that your official start date is today.” The corner of his mouth dips down, as if Jiang Wanyin received the acceptance letter three months – instead of three fucking days – ago.

Jiang Wanyin matches him frown for frown, and thinks if this asshole is supposed to be his boss, then no thank you, he’ll just go right back down the stairs—

Then the other one smiles warmly and says, “We’re so glad you’re here. I hope you didn’t have any trouble finding us?”

Jiang Wanyin supposes this is somewhat of a rhetorical question, given the many billboards along the main road to Gusu advertising “This way to spiritual cleansing” and “Be prepared for a spirit-filled world. Enroll today at the Lan Institute.”

Regardless, he straightens his posture and puts on his best professional voice. “Not at all, thank you for asking.”

The nice (so much nicer) brother nods, seemingly pleased. “I do look forward to journeying together.” (Oh, thank the gods, Jiang Wanyin sighs internally with relief.) “Please, ask the staff for anything you need. We’ll depart at dawn at the front gate. My dear brother Wangji here will go over the requisite paperwork with you.”

“Thank you, dear brother Xichen,” Lan Wangji says, like he’s being asked to scoop rabbit poop.

“You are so welcome,” Lan Xichen says brightly. “I’m suddenly reminded of a wonderful phrase you used the other day – what was it? – ‘Paperwork makes the dreamwork.’”

“I did say that,” Lan Wangji says, gritting his teeth. He turns to face Jiang Wanyin, looking very much like he wishes to be an only child. “Follow me.”

+

When dawn arrives, Jiang Wanyin feels that maybe he should’ve stayed a debt collector. He’s not exactly sure what he spent five hours signing the previous evening, but it was a rather large assortment of confidentiality clauses, liability agreements, and death waivers. At least he was begrudgingly given a set number of days for personal time off and free basic medicinal treatment at any apothecary within the Lan Institute network.

(It’s a new system I call human resources, Lan Wangji had said. Jiang Wanyin supposes it makes sense. He is human and he is a resource.)

He spots Lan Xichen gliding down the stairs, fresh-faced and elegantly attired, as if five in the morning is a normal and reasonable time for everyone.

“Zewu Jun,” he says respectfully, bowing.

“Oh, no need to stand on ceremony with me,” Lan Xichen says pleasantly. “I mean, it’s just us.” His horse lifts her head, nickering grumpily. “And you, of course, Red Bean!” He pulls out a carrot from seemingly nowhere and feeds it to her. “What a good girl.”

The horse assigned to Jiang Wanyin looks at him expectantly.

Jiang Wanyin stares back, hoping to convey telepathically that he was not at all informed about needing to bring a morning horse treat. Luckily, Lan Xichen saves him the indignity.

“Don’t be jealous, Green Bean,” he says in a soothing tone. “Here’s a turnip for you.”

Green Bean chomps noisily, spraying flecks of turnip onto Jiang Wanyin’s carefully pressed outfit.

Fantastic.

“Shall we?” Lan Xichen swings up onto Red Bean, his white robe settling gracefully around him, like the wings of a dove.

Green Bean looks at this picturesque duo, then looks at Jiang Wanyin.

“My robe is brown for maximum camouflage,” he hisses. (Why is he defending himself against a horse?) “And it was on sale. Deal with it.”

Green Bean does not, in fact, want to deal with it, but Red Bean already starts trotting off and he figures he should follow, even if he has to carry around an uncouth, treatless, fashion-backwards non-Lan.

+

Their first stop on the exorcism tour itinerary is a small nearby town called Caiyi.

“I always like to stop by, even if it’s not on the itinerary,” Lan Xichen explains. “There are so many waterways here that a water ghost tends to appear every now and then. Nothing that a disciple can’t handle, but it’s always good to practice the basics.”

“Zewu Jun!” a voice shouts, and Jiang Wanyin instinctively grips his sword.

A young fisherwoman runs up, bowing hastily as she tries to catch her breath. “Zewu Jun, I humbly request your help, please.”

“Absolutely, lead the way,” Lan Xichen says at the exact same time Jiang Wanyin demands, “Elaborate.”

Her eyes nervously flick back and forth between them.

“You can elaborate on the way,” Lan Xichen says diplomatically. Jiang Wanyin keeps his hand on his sword. If there’s anything he learned while being a debt collector, it’s that small women can be ruthless and terrifying.

“I’m so sorry to trouble you,” she says, leading them further down the main waterway. “But my father recently passed away. As his only child, I’m trying to continue his fishing business to support my mother, but he just won’t let me.”

She sighs in exasperation. “Every time I step inside his boat, or even try to pick up a fishing rod, he makes these godawful noises and rattles everything until I stop.” Lowering her gaze to the ground, she scuffs her feet a bit. “Maybe he doesn’t think I’m good enough.”

“I’m sure that’s not the case,” Lan Xichen says gently. “Don’t worry, we’ll find out what’s keeping him here. Oftentimes, spirits feel like they still have responsibilities or unfinished business to take care of.”

They stop in front a small dock with a lone fishing boat roped to it. Upon seeing Lan Xichen, people from the neighboring shops peer out of their windows in curiosity.

“Ah, there he is,” Lan Xichen says, like he’s commenting on the weather. Jiang Wanyin looks around, frowning. He doesn’t see anything.

“Come with me,” Lan Xichen says to both of them, as he steps onto the dock. As they approach the fishing boat, the water around them begins to roil turbulently.

“Don’t worry, sir, I mean you no harm,” Lan Xichen says calmly. “Can we talk?” He presents it like it’s an option, but really he raises a hand and envelops the boat in a soft blue light, which somehow pulls the ghost out from underneath the boat.

The ghost reluctantly clings to the side of the boat, peering around at the blue light then grumpily at Lan Xichen.

“No,” the ghost says.

His daughter gasps. “Dad? You can talk?”

“The light helps to translate ghost-speak,” Lan Xichen explains. “Sir, is there any reason you don’t want your daughter continuing your business?”

“I’m not going to discuss family matters with a stranger,” the ghost huffs, splashing around in annoyance.

Jiang Wanyin surveys the entire scene with his arms crossed. He’s not sure what he initially expected, but so far this exorcism tour seems to involve a lot more family counseling than actual exorcism.

He pauses. Oh, he sees now why Lan Wangji was so insistent on his brother having a bodyguard.

“Dad,” the daughter sighs, “I just want to help. I don’t understand why you’re not letting me fish.”

“Because I said so.”

“You’re being unreasonable!”

“You’re being disobedient.”

“Oh my god, dad, you’re dead. Why are you still here? Just let me do my job!”

“Okay everyone,” Lan Xichen interrupts, his blue light glowing more brightly. “I sense a lot of love here—” (They all look doubtfully at him) “—and a bit of miscommunication.” He turns towards the ghost. “Sir, if I may ask, you died by drowning in a storm, correct?”

The ghost looks off to the side and doesn’t say anything.

“It’s not easy for a father to stop protecting his child,” Lan Xichen continues. (Was that sadness that Jiang Wanyin detected in his voice?) “I can understand why you wouldn’t want your daughter to potentially face the same fate.”

The daughter’s eyes widen in understanding. “Dad, is that true?”

The ghost remains silent, but the water around them starts to calm down.

“Oh no,” Jiang Wanyin says under his breath as the daughter begins sobbing uncontrollably.

“This is good,” Lan Xichen says to him with a smile. Jiang Wanyin is not sure in what world crying is considered a good thing, but he sighs and takes Lan Xichen’s word for it.

“I love you, dad,” she wails, kneeling down onto the dock.

Jiang Wanyin grimaces and wonders if he could leave without anyone noticing. If there’s going to be much more of this, he’s going to get hives. Emotional hives.

Miraculously, the ghost inches closer and awkwardly attempts to comfort her by patting her foot.

“Ah, I think our work is done here.” Lan Xichen claps his hands together.

The daughter looks at him, sniffling, then says softly to her dad. “You can trust me. I can take care of myself. And mom, too. Everything I learned about fishing, you taught me, remember?”

The ghost nods slowly, releasing a sigh of bubbles into the water.

“Are you ready, sir?” says Lan Xichen gently. The ghost nods again. “You won’t feel a thing, I promise.”

Bringing his hand up towards his chest, he makes the exorcism sign and begins chanting in a low, rhythmic tone. Both the daughter and Jiang Wanyin watch in fascination as the ghost is gradually lifted up from the water and bathed in golden light, before it fades away into the sky.

Chapter Text

After being on the road for about two weeks, Jiang Wanyin can feel his irritability building up. Not a single assassin, thief, or swindler has crossed their path so far. Not even a madman raving about judgment day and the end of the world.

He wonders if other bodyguards are accustomed to having so many consecutive non-violent days.

He’s half-tempted to ask Lan Xichen if they could just add a few dark alleyways to the itinerary, maybe a shady pub or two.

His fists are already beginning to feel out of practice. And his inner voice – which sounds too much like his mother and is honestly kind of the same as his outer voice – sneers at him, telling him he might as well just be a glorified executive assistant.

The thought hangs over him like a dark cloud, as they approach the next city on their itinerary, Wuxi.

He distracts himself by finding a small but well-kept inn for them to stay at and glowering at the innkeeper, who’s been eyeing Lan Xichen’s fine outfit and adornments. Jiang Wanyin narrows his eyes and not-so-subtly sets his sword on the front counter, just daring him to price-gouge. The innkeeper smiles nervously and ends up quoting a very reasonable rate, which makes Jiang Wanyin feel slightly better about himself.

After they set down their belongings and brush down Red and Green Bean in the adjoining stable, Lan Xichen pulls out a piece of paper detailing his next exorcism case.

“Hm, seems like one of the largest silk merchants here is unable to fulfill her customer’s orders due to a repeated haunting from her mother-in-law.”

Jiang Wanyin pinches the bridge of his nose. Guanyin above, he already feels tired.

“Are all your cases like this?”

“Almost always,” Lan Xichen says with a half-smile, and looks off towards the distance. “Our strongest emotions are most often tied to family.”

+

It takes Lan Xichen about two hours to mediate between the distraught silk merchant and her domineering mother-in-law, who clearly didn’t let death stop her from telling everyone exactly what price the newest peach silk should be selling for.

“There’s still so much work to be done,” she tells Lan Xichen, her translucent fists clenched in determination. “I’m not—” She looks around the silk shop desperately. “I’m just not finished yet.”

“I know,” he says gently, and somehow, something in his voice makes Jiang Wanyin believe he truly does. “Your legacy is still here. It lives on through your children, in the work they do, in everything you taught them.”

“There are some things they can do better,” she grumbles.

“And they’ll figure it out. Just like you did. Just like your forebearers did.” Lan Xichen extends a slim, elegant hand. “Can I show you a place where you can stay a while?”

To everyone’s shock, the mother-in-law holds up a hand to hide a laugh. “Well, it’s been a long time since a handsome young man has said that to me.” She gives him a long, considering look. “All right, show me.”

Lan Xichen draws out a small, intricately embroidered pouch from his sleeve and opens it up, chanting until a bright white light surrounds the ghost of the mother-in-law. Using his other hand to trace several symbols in the air, the white light condenses into a glowing ball that circles the shop before being pulled into the pouch.

Crying with relief, the shopkeeper and her husband praise Lan Xichen effusively and encourage him to stay for tea and silk robe fittings. It’s all a bit too much for Jiang Wanyin, so he steps outside and takes a deep breath of fresh air, leaning against the doorframe.

He stares at nothing in particular and tries not to think about why the ghosts of his own family have never appeared before him.

Eventually, Lan Xichen emerges, looking somewhat tired. The embroidered pouch is still cradled in his hand.

“Do you really keep spirits in there?” Jiang Wanyin asks, brow furrowed. “That can’t be exorcism. That’s like….putting them in jail, isn’t it?”

Lan Xichen stares at him, eyes wide. “Oh no, not at all.” He looks a bit confused and hurt, and damn it, Jiang Wanyin regrets not having phrased his words more tactfully.

“Sorry,” he says through his teeth, feeling strange and out of sorts. Maybe Lan Wangji was right about him all along.

The embroidered pouch appears in front of him, as Lan Xichen tilts his head, a kind smile on his face.

“They quite like it in here. I designed this pouch as a miniature retirement home.” He pats it fondly. “I even dropped in a few mahjong sets and they play competitively every week.”

“Ghost mahjong tournaments,” Jiang Wanyin repeats slowly, because apparently he has no idea what really goes on in the ghost world. (Distantly, though, he wonders if he too could be siphoned into a luxury retirement pouch after he dies.)

“I know it’s a bit unorthodox,” Lan Xichen says quietly, “but these spirits don’t really mean any harm.” (Briefly, Jiang Wanyin recalls saying something very similar when he brought home a baby komodo dragon at age five.) “All they really want is to be heard, to be understood. And if they want to stay a while, I’m happy to give them a safe place to live until they’re ready to move on for good.”

And just like that, all of a sudden, Jiang Wanyin understands why everyone says “as pure as the Lan-driven snow.”

How Lan Xichen is still alive and untainted by the real world is truly beyond his understanding. His predecessor must have been one hell of a bodyguard.

“Also,” Lan Xichen continues with a gentle smile, “I consider them my friends.”

Oh gods, Jiang Wanyin thinks with increasing dismay, his boss has no friends.

+

As they walk along the grand canal back towards the inn, the hustle and bustle of the immense marketplace reminds Jiang Wanyin of home.

Unfortunately, too much like home, he thinks as he veers to avoid an oncoming petitioner.

“Kind sirs!” She waves eagerly at them. “Do you have a moment today to learn of a grave injustice?”

“No.” Jiang Wanyin speeds up his pace, resolutely avoiding her gaze.

But Lan Xichen snaps his fan closed in alarm, and strides over to her, robe sweeping widely behind him.

“Tell me everything,” he says with an intense look, as if bracing himself for news of the apocalypse.

She startles a bit, as if he’s the first person to actually stop and listen. (He is.)

But she quickly recovers and shuffles through the papers in her hand to show him a map. “Good sir, did you know that there’s a silver mine just twenty-two kilometers away from here? You may say to yourself, what’s so bad about that? But every year, they expand the site to increase mining operations, meaning they cut down more and more trees. Those trees, sir, are the only home to the white speckled treeworms.”

“I had no idea,” Lan Xichen gasps, bracing his fan against his chest.

(“Are you kidding me right now?” Jiang Wanyin grumbles as he realizes a beat too late that Lan Xichen is no longer walking beside him.)

“Are they very important, these treeworms?” Lan Xichen asks as he studies her hand-drawn illustrations of them.

“Extremely,” she says, nodding fervently. “Please support the treeworms by signing this petition to the mining company. We’re the only hope they have.”

Lan Xichen signs without hesitation. “You can tell the mining company that the Lan family officially speaks on behalf of all treeworms now.”

“Oh, thank you, Master Lan.” She clutches the petition to her chest. “Your kindness will not be forgotten!”

Lan Xichen turns towards Jiang Wanyin, drawing himself up and looking every inch the noble patriarch. “The treeworms shall not be harmed,” he proclaims.

“Yes, I heard,” Jiang Wanyin says, barely managing to keep the dryness at bay.

Lan Xichen squints at him a bit, but says nothing.

The petitioner looks hopefully at Jiang Wanyin. “Would you like to sign, too? It would help prevent the treeworms from becoming an endangered species.”

He glowers at her. “I’m an endangered species. Nobody wrote a petition for me, and I survived just fine.”

She blinks at him. “So…that’s a no?”

Lan Xichen thanks her for her virtuous mission and hastily waves goodbye with one hand, while using the other to pull Jiang Wanyin away to a safe distance.

(“You tell those treeworms that if they want to live, they should fight back—!”)

He decides to add a silencing spell for good measure.

Chapter Text

They end up deciding to have dinner at a nearby fine dining restaurant. Jiang Wanyin tries to politely decline, saying he’s really more used to street market food (more specifically its nice low prices), but Lan Xichen insists they have a proper meal before going back on the road and Jiang Wanyin finds that it’s very difficult to say no to him.

(It has absolutely nothing to do with the pleased expression Lan Xichen gives him that weirdly makes him feel like he’s the only person who matters. Absolutely no connection whatsoever.)

Lan Xichen’s whole face lights up when they arrive. “Doesn’t it look amazing?”

Jiang Wanyin looks up to read the sign.

Amaranth & Chive: Vegetarian Haute Cuisine

He already hates this place.

The hostess, who is wearing a well-tailored uniform, says primly and much too seriously, “Welcome to Amaranth and Chive. Party of two?”

“Yes, Lan and Jiang,” Lan Xichen says.

“Very good, Masters Lan and Jiang,” she says with zero change in facial expression. “Please follow me.”

She leads them to a finely carved rosewood table. “Is this your first time dining with us?”

“Yes, we’re traveling through,” Lan Xichen says, looking around the restaurant’s intricate interior with an appreciative gaze. Jiang Wanyin looks around with an entirely different gaze, as he wonders how the hell just vegetables are paying for all these expensive decorations.

“Excellent,” she says with a neutral tone. “Here is our current menu, which changes with the seasons and at the inspirational whims of our head chef.”

She hands them a delicately folded paper flower, and motions for them to open it.

Jiang Wanyin glares at it. There is no way he’s going to engage in these ridiculous shenanigans just to get some food in his mouth.

Lan Xichen, on the other hand, looks delighted. “Such craftsmanship,” he praises, unfolding each petal as slowly as humanly possible.

“So…” Jiang Wanyin says dubiously, looking up at the hostess, “do you have any specials?”

She tilts her head just a fraction. “We do not have ‘specials’ here at Amaranth and Chive, Master Jiang. Every dish is handcrafted with great care and precision. You can consider all of them ‘special,’ if that helps.”

It does not help. At all. His temper begins to rise dangerously.

Lan Xichen seems to sense this and interrupts gracefully, before Jiang Wanyin can tell her where exactly she can shove all those specials. “Thank you, miss. Please allow us a few minutes to look over the menu.”

His demeanor drops a little when she leaves. “We could eat elsewhere,” he offers with a concerned expression, like he’s worried about offending him. “I’m sorry, I made a rather selfish decision.”

“No, I—” Jiang Wanyin says abruptly, looking embarrassed. “Please, don’t apologize. I’m the one being selfish. You were very kind in inviting me to dinner, and I’m behaving horribly.” His voice gets smaller. “I don’t know why.”

Lan Xichen looks down at the menu and folds his hands inside his sleeves. “It is a rather pretentious place, isn’t it?”

Jiang Wanyin is not a liar, but he can certainly try his best to have a nice time, like a normal person. “It’s a—beautiful place,” he says stiltedly. (Normality. He can do it if he tries.) “I’m—glad we can enjoy well-prepared vegetables here.”

“Truly?” Lan Xichen blinks at him with his long dark eyelashes. (Wait. What the hell is going on in this demon restaurant and why are these invasive inappropriate thoughts happening? Jiang Wanyin thinks with increasing alarm.)

Outwardly, he just nods and keeps his mouth firmly shut to maintain the ruse of being completely normal. He’s just going slightly delirious from hunger, that’s all. Yes, that seems like the right answer.

“Okay,” Lan Xichen says eventually, after presumably concluding that Jiang Wanyin is - in fact - an acceptable dinner companion. He smooths out the menu and starts reading it aloud. “Osmanthus Resting Upon a Winter Cloud: a cluster of organic osmanthus fruit gently tossed in a citrus reduction, laid upon a bed of fresh snow peas hand-picked at the base of Huangshan mountain. A truly exemplary dish embodying our personal farm-to-table ethos.”

“Farm to table?” Jiang Wanyin yells. (He tried. He really did.) “All food is farm to table!”

Distantly, his inner voice bids farewell to his upcoming performance review.

+

Amazingly, Jiang Wanyin is not fired and still allowed to accompany Lan Xichen to their next destination.

Neither of them dares to mention vegetables the entire way there.

They peer through the trees at the top of a hill, gazing down into a wide valley and double checking on the map that it’s the city of Meizhou, where the mayor had desperately written five separate requests for Lan Xichen’s help to exorcise a band of ghost thieves.

Jiang Wanyin stares at him in alarm.

“Ghost thieves? Are they stealing money? Property? People’s lives?”

“Oh no, nothing as terrible as that.” Lan Xichen waves a hand. “They’re just stealing wine. Alcohol is rather frowned upon in my family, which is why the city had to write five times before my uncle relented and decided to include it in my itinerary.”

“So you’re saying these are…alcoholic ghosts?”

Lan Xichen hums. “It’s unusual but not unheard of. Ghosts don’t really have a whole lot of extracurricular activities.”

As they approach the center of the city, two well-dressed men rush over to greet them.

“You are Zewu Jun, yes?” The hope in their eyes is blinding.

“Yes, he is.” Jiang Wanyin steps between them and his boss. “And you are?”

“Mayor Yang.” The taller man bows, before gesturing to the portly man beside him. “This is Master Brewer Hong, the head of rice wine production here.”

“Well met, Mayor Yang and Master Hong. This is my bodyguard, Jiang Wanyin. He’ll be accompanying me.” Lan Xichen inclines his head. “Why don’t you tell me what’s going on while we head to your facility, Master Hong?”

“Oh, Zewu Jun, it’s been just awful.” Master Hong wrings his hands. “We’ve been working so hard to produce enough rice wine for the upcoming Spring Festival, but every night, the ghosts drink all the fresh batches! The only ones that are untouched are the buried vats of vintage wine. Not that they haven’t tried.”

He shakes his head in frustration, continuing, “We’ve tried making offers so they’d leave our facility alone – a dedicated shrine, a hundred fruit baskets, free monthly wine samplers (excluding sales tax) – but none of them worked. We are really at our wits’ end.”

Lan Xichen nods sympathetically. “Don’t worry, Master Hong. I’ll find a way.” He looks around the exterior of the facility. “You mentioned they only come out at night? Never during the day?”

“That’s correct,” Master Hong says, then frowns. “Is that not normal?”

“Hm.” Lan Xichen taps a finger on his chin. “I wouldn’t say there is such a thing as a normal ghost. Each one is unique in their own way. Though, it’s been a long time since I’ve dealt with a whole group of them.”

“How many are there?” Jiang Wanyin peers around suspiciously, as though they could pop out at any moment.

“Ehh.” Master Hong scratches his head. “Maybe ten? Honestly, I don’t know. Nobody has ever stayed overnight to count…”

“Ten?” Jiang Wanyin says, his face darkening. “Zewu Jun, should we call for another exorcist to help out?”

Lan Xichen gives him a strange look. “I’ll be fine. They’re not hurting anyone.” He then looks at Master Hong and hastily adds, “Except your sales quota.” Master Hong nods dismally.

“All right,” Lan Xichen continues, “both Jiang Wanyin and I will stay here tonight until the ghosts appear. It should all be resolved by morning.”

Master Hong bows and thanks him profusely before rushing back to the city center.

“Do you think he’s hiding something?” Jiang Wanyin says, staring after Master Hong suspiciously.

Lan Xichen frowns. “Would he have reason to?”

“Maybe,” Jiang Wanyin huffs as he sits down against a large wine vat. “When I was a debt collector, people would tell me all sorts of stories to try and avoid their own problems.”

“I see,” Lan Xichen says. “But who would jeopardize their own livelihood like this? It can’t be debt if there’s still enough money to pay my family for exorcism services.”

“It seems like the city is paying you, not the brewery itself.”

“True, but rice wine is the city’s main export, so it makes sense for them to protect it.”

“Right,” Jiang Wanyin says, feeling a bit deflated. He looks up at the ceiling, where the sun peeks through the wooden slats. “I’m probably overthinking things.”

“You really don’t trust people, do you?” Lan Xichen sits next to him and smiles wryly. “Always looking for something to fight.”

“Just trying to earn my paycheck,” Jiang Wanyin mutters, but he can’t help smiling back.

Chapter Text

As it turns out, they didn’t have to wait long at all. The ghosts meander in as soon as the sun sets, chattering to each other about their daytime activities. (“I’ve been looking forward to happy hour all day. I saw my girlfriend just living life like I’m not even dead. Almost had an aneurysm. Again.” “Ex-girlfriend. She’s your ex now.”)

But they immediately freeze upon seeing Lan Xichen and Jiang Wanyin, along with the otherworldly blue glow surrounding the facility. A long stretch of silence follows.

“You’re not…wine makers,” one ghost eventually says with a suspicious look.

“No, we’re not,” Lan Xichen says agreeably. “I’m Lan Xichen and this is my companion Jiang Wanyin.”

“Then what are you doing here?” another ghost cries out moodily. “Get out! We were here first!”

“Get out! Get out!” All of them start flailing their arms in what they clearly thought was a spooky fashion.

“You know,” Lan Xichen says, like he’s continuing a speech while the auditorium is on fire, “I’m here because I’m a tad concerned about the amount of rice wine that’s being consumed here on a nightly basis.”

They pause their flailing.

“Why should it be your concern?” a ghost snipes at him. “What are you, an investor?”

“I am an investor, actually,” Lan Xichen says, clasping his hands together. “I invest in your health and well-being.”

(“I can’t even,” Jiang Wanyin mutters in the background.)

The ghosts all just stare in unison.

“What kind of new-age bullshit is this?” one of them asks, gesturing at the entirety of Lan Xichen.

“This is not good, guys. We’ve clearly been dead much longer than we thought,” another one says, shaking his head.

“Maybe we have been drinking too much. I don’t even know what day it is,” one ghost says, peering at the wine production schedule board.

“We’re dead.” One particularly surly ghost crosses his arms and glares at Lan Xichen. “We don’t need you to care about our health and well-being. We’ll keep drinking if we feel like it, so leave us alone.”

Lan Xichen remains unfazed and asks gently, “Do you feel at peace, though?”

The surly ghost scowls but none of the ghosts respond.

“I know that habits can be hard to break, but it’s not impossible. Perhaps we could form a support group?” Lan Xichen offers. “Weekly check-ins, conversation hours, free hot tea. How does that sound?”

“It…sounds kind of nice, actually,” says one ghost.

“Unlimited free tea?” asks another skeptically.

Lan Xichen gives her a look. “While supplies last.”

(“Huh, thought so,” she grumbles.)

The surly ghost speaks up again, bitter and harsh. “Are you all really falling for this? Nobody cares about us. This guy is just spouting nonsense – he’s getting paid to get rid of us, don’t you know?”

The other ghosts’ voices overlap and rise angrily.

“Is that true?”

“What an asshole.”

“Never trust a good-looking man, that’s what I always say.”

“You’ve never said that in your life. Or afterlife.”

“Well, I’ve thought it.”

“Oho, now we’re going to stay forever. How do you like that, tricky bastard?”

Feeling increasingly threatened, Jiang Wanyin pulls out his sword and throws an arm in front of Lan Xichen. “We need to leave,” he growls.

The ghosts all look down at Jiang Wanyin, as if just realizing that he is also here. There’s a moment of stunned silence before they all burst out into laughter.

“A sword! How cute.”

“Oh man, this is the best part of being dead, I tell you.”

“Hah! A sword. He might as well wield a kitten.”

Seething with anger, Jiang Wanyin ignores Lan Xichen’s protests and hisses, “I dare you to fight me.”

(“No, no, can we all just calm down?” Lan Xichen pleads, not unlike a kindergarten teacher who’s already lost complete control of his class.)

The surly ghost muscles his way through the others and cracks his knuckles. “You’re going to regret that, boy.”

A wild grin appears on Jiang Wanyin’s face. “Oh, one of us is going to regret it.”

The ghost pauses and frowns. “Yeah, I just said that it’s going to be you.”

Jiang Wanyin rattles his sword impatiently. “I know. And then I implied that you would actually be the one—ugh, forget it!”

He lunges forward, annoyed, and swings his sword in a wide arc. The surly ghost dodges it and aims a fist towards Jiang Wanyin’s kneecap.

(“What are you doing, Jiang Wanyin,” Lan Xichen asks himself faintly, burying his face in his hands. He wonders if he should do a forced ghost binding to stop it from going too far, but his urge to resolve this whole thing with a non-violent solution prevails. Also, he thinks as he peeks out between his fingers, he kind of wants to see where this goes.)

The other ghosts circle around them, cheering on their surly compatriot and commenting like they’re watching a gladiator match.

“Come on, man, just crush him! Team Undead represent!”

“Ooh, almost got him. I give that an 8 out of 10 for effort.”

“I mean, I’m all for Team Undead, but that Jiang guy’s footwork isn’t so bad.”

“If he dies here and decides to haunt us, does that make this place, like, double haunted? Or is it a haunting within a haunting? A hauntinception?”

“How should I know. Hey, can you grab me some more rice wine? Thanks.”

Lan Xichen winces as Jiang Wanyin catches a heavy blow to the jaw, but the hit seems to invigorate him as he whirls into a crouch, blade clenched in front of him. He spits blood onto the floor and crows out tauntingly, “Is that all you’ve got, old man?”

With sweat streaking down his neck and mouth stained with crimson, Jiang Wanyin looks wild and inelegant and alive.

Lan Xichen takes a step back, feeling like he was the one who was punched, with his breath knocked out of him. An unbidden fear rises within him, and the blue light that encompasses the facility starts flickering rapidly.

The ghosts murmur at each other, looking around in confusion, and Jiang Wanyin takes the split second opportunity to throw a forearm around his opponent’s neck, yank his head back, and brace his blade against his throat.

Complete silence falls over the facility, as everyone stares at the drops of black blood falling to the ground.

“That’s not possible,” a ghost eventually whispers in shock. “Mortal blades don’t do anything to us.”

“Who is this guy?”

“Is he going to exorcise us all?”

“Quiet!” the surly ghost rasps, gritting his teeth. “I guess you win, boy. Even though you cheated with your demon sword.”

“It’s not a demon sword,” Jiang Wanyin huffs, tightening his grip. He tries to keep his own surprise out of his voice. “You’re just weak from too much rice wine.”

“Fine, whatever. Go ahead, exorcise us,” the ghost spits out.

Jiang Wanyin is sorely tempted to cut his throat and be done with it all, but he lifts his head to look at Lan Xichen, who looks…afraid, for some reason.

Is he afraid of me? Have I gone too far?

The thought sobers his bloodlust, and he sighs, feeling a sudden weight of exhaustion. “I won’t, but Zewu Jun might. It’s up to you – get exorcised forcibly, or join his damn support group.” He glares at the rest of the ghosts. “You don’t have to trust me, but you’d better trust him. He’s actually trying to help you miserable lot.”

A ghost coughs nervously. “I vote for…joining the support group.”

“I guess it doesn’t sound that bad…”

“Can we bring the rice wine with us?”

“I think that defeats the purpose of an alcoholism support group…”

As Lan Xichen walks up to them, the ghosts’ mutterings quiet down. “I know it won’t be easy,” he says with as much empathy as he can. “But I promise I will be there with you every step of the way.” He pulls out a satin pouch decorated with small beads, and directs his gaze at the surly ghost. “You can check it out first, if you’d like.”

The surly ghost’s expression grows even more surly, if that’s possible, as he eyes Jiang Wanyin’s sword, then the satin pouch.

“Hmph,” he says, as he reluctantly condenses into a glowing ball of energy and perches on the edge of the pouch. Several minutes pass before he slowly rolls inside and eventually disappears.

The other ghosts hold their breath (in a manner of speaking).

“Hey,” the surly ghost’s voice eventually floats up, echoing, “it’s not horrible in here.” Some distant clattering noises follow. “There’s, like, a real tea bar and shit.”

The ghosts look at each other, then warily at Lan Xichen, a tiny degree of trust gradually sprouting in their expressions. One by one, they roll up and jump in, their fading voices coalescing in curiosity. (“Wow, he wasn’t kidding.” “Hey, which tea has the highest caffeine content?” “Is this a questionnaire packet? Do we have to fill it out? I thought I was done with homework when I died.”)

Lan Xichen reassures them that yes, he’ll explain the program structure as soon as he can (and yes, they have to fill out the packets) before tying up the drawstrings of the pouch.

He closes his eyes for a long moment and sighs tiredly.

Jiang Wanyin clears his throat, trying not to look awkward. “I suppose we should go get Master Hong—”

Lan Xichen’s eyes snap open and he looks at Jiang Wanyin with an unreadable expression. “So when were you going to tell me that you’re an exorcist, too?”

Chapter Text

Jiang Wanyin gives Lan Xichen an affronted look. “I’m not an exorcist.”

“If that’s true, you could not have done what you did.”

“Look,” Jiang Wanyin says, his voice hardening, “I’m telling you the truth. Whether you want to believe me or not is up to you. Let’s just get out of here.”

An unsettling feeling rises in Lan Xichen’s chest, as he wars between finding the truth and avoiding confrontation. (There’s another deeper unnamed feeling that he pushes aside, unwilling to deal with it.) Watching Jiang Wanyin slam open the door and stalk off, Lan Xichen decides not to push the matter for now.

As they make their way back to the city center, Lan Xichen stares unseeing at the path beneath his feet, his mind meticulously sorting through years of memories.

Countless names and faces flicker across his vision, like a breeze turning the pages of a novel. But the name Jiang doesn’t surface anywhere.

“Zewu Jun.”

Lan Xichen startles, less so at the interruption of his thoughts and more at the sudden formality Jiang Wanyin is using though no one else is around. It feels like the fraying of a bond he hadn’t realized was forming.

“Yes?” he says, his role as head of the Lan family cocooning around him and settling into his tone of voice.

The light of the oil lantern Jiang Wanyin is holding illuminates his face, gold glinting in his dark eyes. His gaze shifts towards the sliding door of their inn room. “You should get some rest. I’ll get Master Hong in the morning.”

Lan Xichen wants to offer a salve for the bruise blooming along Jiang Wanyin’s cheek, but the stiff pride in the lines of his jaw and shoulders already tells him what his answer will be.

“You as well,” he ends up saying, as Jiang Wanyin settles against the doorframe, one leg folded beneath him and the other propped up, his head bowed against the night wind.

Lan Xichen slides the door shut behind him with a soft click.

It shouldn’t fascinate him, but it does, the way Jiang Wanyin’s moods strike and subside as swiftly as a summer storm.

+

When morning arrives and Jiang Wanyin returns with Mayor Yang and Master Hong in tow, Lan Xichen is already impeccably dressed with all his belongings neatly packed away.

“What incredible work you did,” Mayor Yang says with practically stars in his eyes. “I can’t believe we have the honor of Zewu Jun himself saving our city.”

Lan Xichen shakes his head demurely. “I am the one who is honored to help.” He extends a hand towards Jiang Wanyin. “And in truth, I could not have done it without my companion.”

Jiang Wanyin bristles uncomfortably under the sudden attention of Mayor Yang and Master Hong.

“Sure, okay,” Mayor Yang says, squinting at him before turning a glowing smile on Lan Xichen again. “Please, won’t you consider staying a while longer to enjoy the Spring Festival? You really must experience it. I’ll personally make sure that all expenses are covered, on the house.”

“Oh no, that’s much too generous an offer, honorable mayor.”

“I insist, honorable Zewu Jun.”

“I sadly must resist your insistence. It wouldn’t be right.”

“Alas, it is with agony that I cannot accept your unacceptance…”

Feeling like his ears are about to bleed from this increasingly ridiculous competition of humility, Jiang Wanyin catches Master Hong’s eye and scowls, making an urgent hand motion towards both their bosses.

Master Hong clears his throat nervously. “Ah, honorable mayor and Zewu Jun, perhaps we can come to a compromise? Of course, we would not want to impose on Zewu Jun’s busy travel schedule, but we feel that our debt would not be repaid in full without at least sharing the best our city has to offer.” Quickly, he decides to add, “And I’m sure Master Jiang would agree with me?”

He forces a grin in his direction, as if silently saying, thanks for involving me, now it’s your turn, you bastard.

Jiang Wanyin will be the first one to admit that he has never been – and likely never will be – good at this sort of political wordsmithing nonsense, so he doesn’t even try.

“Okay,” he says flatly.

Lan Xichen gives him a veiled, considering look before turning towards Mayor Yang with a diplomatic smile. “Well, it seems the matter is settled then. We’ll stay one more evening at the behest of your kind invitation and generous hospitality.”

Mayor Yang practically trips over his own robes. “You honor us, Zewu Jun! Come, Master Hong, let us go make the necessary preparations. Only the best will do!”

“Of course, absolutely, no question about it…” Master Hong’s voice fades as they hastily rush off, small dust clouds poofing up in their wake.

Releasing a long sigh, which is something he seems to be doing a lot these days, Lan Xichen relaxes his posture then slants his gaze towards Jiang Wanyin. “I didn’t think you were the festival-going type,” he says mildly.

“I’m not,” Jiang Wanyin says miserably, as if just realizing what exactly he signed up for. “I just wanted them to stop talking.”

“You can leave that part to me, you know,” Lan Xichen says with a hint of amusement.

The look that Jiang Wanyin gives him is so perturbed that Lan Xichen feels the beginnings of a laugh bubble up his chest. He takes a deep breath instead and gazes up at a flurry of white clouds across a clear blue sky.

“Well, we might as well enjoy a day off.” He pauses in thought, as he realizes he has no idea what Jiang Wanyin does in his free time. “Of course, the time is your own. You can do as you please.”

To Lan Xichen’s utter surprise, Jiang Wanyin declines immediately.

“No, really, I have no problem with it,” Lan Xichen says encouragingly.

“I don’t want to file the paperwork.”

Oh.

“It’s okay, I’ll just tell Wangji that I verbally approved it.”

Jiang Wanyin gives him a look, silently conveying his disbelief.

“I’m sure he won’t give you any grief about it.”

The look sinks deeper into suspicion.

“…You’re right, he’s going to want the paperwork,” Lan Xichen concedes, feeling a mild dread over the inevitable post-tour overview meeting, in which his brother will demand a full account of mileage incurred, client satisfaction ratings, and travel receipts.

Sometimes, for the briefest of moments, he wishes he could claim amnesia on a band of memory-stealing ghosts. And loss of receipts on a band of accounting-department ghosts.

But unfortunately, he’s tried it a grand total of once in the past (“spirits did it!”), and Lan Wangji did not react well.

+

By the time afternoon rolls around, Mayor Yang has taken it upon himself – with alarmingly unbridled joy – to personally guide them on what he proudly calls the Marvelous Meizhou Tour.

“And this,” he exclaims as he gestures towards a sizeable art studio, “is where our porcelain artists meticulously paint their designs.” He strides over to the nearest table where an artist is squinting furiously at a delicate teacup. “Hello, hello, why don’t you tell us what inspired you to create this lovely design?”

She huffs and glares over her paintbrush, her eyes slightly maniacal from pulling all-nighters in preparation for the festival. “Well, it’s certainly not you—”

But then she catches sight of Lan Xichen and her voice stutters to a stop.

Lan Xichen blinks and looks around in confusion as the noises of the studio slowly die out.

“What is happening?” he whispers out of the corner of his mouth to Jiang Wanyin, who immediately narrows his eyes and takes a step in front of Lan Xichen.

“You are…Zewu Jun?” the artist says like she’s out of breath. Her paintbrush falls out of her hand and slowly rolls off the table. Distantly, other paintbrushes follow suit, clattering forlornly to the ground.

“Yes?” Lan Xichen says hesitantly, like he’s taking a fifty-fifty guess on a multiple-choice exam.

“Sir,” the artist says, tears brimming in her eyes, “I apologize for being so forward, but—” She gathers her courage with a watery inhale. “—you are the most beautiful person nature has ever created.” Her sentence barely finishes before all the other artists tearfully murmur their agreement. (One artist in the corner is openly sobbing as he begins passionately sketching Lan Xichen with a piece of charcoal. However, his tears end up smudging the portrait, and he cries even harder as he starts again on a new piece of paper.)

“Ah…” Lan Xichen says with wide eyes, hastily trying to think of an appropriate response, “…thank you…” He tries to fight a rising blush. “…very much.”

“Oh no,” the artist says, voice trembling as she sweeps all her suddenly-inferior porcelain teacups off the table, “thank you, Zewu Jun, for existing.”

Another artist’s tears stream freely down his cheeks as he plucks all the petals off the orchid he was using as a prop. “Such beauty is incomparable,” he sobs.

Jiang Wanyin makes a face and sidles over to Mayor Yang, who’s gaping like a startled fish. “Are they drunk or something?” he hisses. “Zewu Jun doesn’t need all this thrown in his face. It’s upsetting him.”

Mayor Yang slowly turns towards him, epiphany dawning all over his face. “I do believe, Master Jiang,” he says, picking up a teacup that now reverently features Lan Xichen’s side profile, and placing it gently into Jiang Wanyin’s hands, “that I must declare a new holiday. Indeed, I shall call it Zewu Jun Day.” A faraway look emerges in his eyes. “I can see it now – an annual artists’ convention celebrating all things Zewu Jun. Yes, this is what will make Meizhou a truly great holiday destination.”

Lan Xichen’s left eye twitches as he raises a hand. “There is no need to do that—”

“Such humility,” an artist gasps, bursting into a fresh wave of tears. “He is beautiful on the inside, too!”

“Why is this happening,” Lan Xichen says to himself almost inaudibly, as he tries to politely edge closer to the exit.

As for Jiang Wanyin, he feverishly contemplates early retirement, effective immediately, as he deeply, profoundly regrets not having taken today off.

Chapter Text

Thanks to Lan Xichen’s negotiation skills, a promise is extracted from Mayor Yang to not declare Zewu Jun Day on any day ever (in perpetuity, ad infinitum, et cetera, don’t forget the ironclad intellectual property).

And in return, Lan Xichen agrees to finish the tour with minimal resistance, and maybe leave an above-average review in the city’s tourism guidebook, ‘Melp.’

The rest of the day passes in a blur of activity, from musical performances to cooking demonstrations to artisanal craft workshops. (“Ooh, candle-making,” Lan Xichen says, eyeing a black-tea scented candle with interest. “No,” Jiang Wanyin says, herding him along.)

Of course, the tour ends where it ostensibly began: at the rice wine production facility, which now has a huge festive banner across the doorway that reads “Welcome back, Zewu Jun!”

The doors are flung open, and a heady sweetness instantly permeates the air. Most of the employees are inside, hard at work, trying to make up for lost wine. But there are a few that constitute a makeshift welcome committee at the entrance.

“Welcome, Zewu Jun!”

“Thank you for your hard work, Zewu Jun!”

“We are indebted to you, Zewu Jun!”

The mayor smiles widely, looking inordinately pleased. “Wow, what a surprise. What an excellent turnout,” he says, sounding exactly like the sort of person who would plan his own surprise party.

(“Isn’t attendance mandatory?” a welcome committee member mutters through her smile. “Yes it is,” another grumbles while waving enthusiastically.)

“Honorable mayor,” Lan Xichen says, a bit overwhelmed by the proclamations and scent of rice wine, “this is too kind.”

“Oh no, this is no trouble at all. Really, it’s the least we could do,” Mayor Yang says before waving urgently to Master Hong. “Master Hong! Master Hong!” He sighs in exasperation, his voice unable to rise above the noisy production sounds. “One moment please.”

They watch as he stomps off towards the fermentation vats, which leaves them alone with the welcome committee. For a moment, they stare awkwardly at each other.

“Ah, Zewu Jun,” one speaks up a little nervously, “if you don’t mind me asking…how did you get rid of all the ghosts?”

“It’s all right,” Lan Xichen says gently. “I prefer to use the term ‘helping them move on.’ And it just takes a bit of patience and understanding to figure out what they really need.”

She blinks at him, looking slightly disappointed. “So…you don’t use a magic sword or anything?”

Lan Xichen’s gaze flickers briefly to Jiang Wanyin’s blade. “My family and I advocate a non-violent philosophy when it comes to exorcism.”

“But what if the ghosts try to hurt you?”

“It rarely happens, but I’m able to use defense spells. They’re more of a last resort, though. De-escalation methods are still the best way.”

“If you can use defense spells,” she says more boldly, cocking her head towards Jiang Wanyin, “why do you have a bodyguard?”

“Shoumei! Stop bothering Zewu Jun,” another committee member shushes, looking embarrassed. “Apologies, we’ll leave you to the rest of the tour.” She flaps her arms, waving the rest of the committee inside like a mother hen.

“I’m sure she didn’t mean it like that,” Lan Xichen says quietly.

“Doesn’t matter,” Jiang Wanyin says, gaze fixed somewhere in the distance. He knows he’s being impertinent but he can’t help himself. “If you want to keep me on the payroll, fine. If you don’t, that’s fine too.”

Lan Xichen starts to respond, wants to tell him how much he really does value his service and companionship, that he hopes one day could even become friendship. But Mayor Yang returns with Master Hong behind him, and he silently folds up his unspoken words, saving them for later.

“Come, Zewu Jun!” Master Hong says, dabbing his brow with a kerchief and motioning excitedly. “Allow me to show you how we make the best rice wine in the world.”

Lan Xichen smiles politely and follows him inside, but his thoughts drift elsewhere, somewhere above and away from the sweet aroma in the air.

+

At the end of the facility tour, with great pomp and circumstance, Lan Xichen is presented with a beautiful porcelain jar wrapped in red silk.

“Please, Zewu Jun,” Mayor Yang says with a bow, “kindly accept this bottle of our finest, triple-milled rice wine. I can attest it is indeed Master Hong’s most superb creation to date.”

Master Hong looks so proud (he’s practically shaking with excitement) that Lan Xichen couldn’t possibly refuse.

“I am very honored,” he says, accepting the bottle gracefully. “Indeed, I would be delighted to bring this back to Gusu to share on special occas—”

But Master Hong gestures wildly at the welcome committee and they rush over with a lacquered red tray and several delicate cups.

“Oh no,” Lan Xichen says under his breath. He widens his eyes at Jiang Wanyin, blinking in what he hopes is emergency morse code. But Jiang Wanyin merely gives him an odd look of concern and requests the committee to bring several stools so Zewu Jun can sit down and rest.

When the stools arrive, Lan Xichen lowers himself as slowly as possible, very carefully arranges and rearranges the folds of his robe, and minutely adjusts his hairpiece, all in an attempt to forestall the inevitable.

(“So well-mannered he is!” a production worker sighs. “Truly the epitome of proper education,” says another.)

Master Hong carefully unwraps the jar and pours out three small cups, making a scooping motion with one hand to bring the aroma up to their noses.

“Of course, it has the typical sweetness of rice wine, but we added a little something special to enhance the flavor! You should be getting notes of…” he says, inhaling deeply, “…oh yes, peach blossom.”

Lan Xichen, who’s surreptitiously holding his breath, nods in what he hopes is an appreciative manner. “Oh, absolutely. Yes, peach blossoms. There they are.”

“Well, Zewu Jun, we want to thank you for all you’ve done,” Mayor Yang says gratefully, lifting his cup. “Meizhou will always welcome you with open arms. Ganbei!”

To Lan Xichen’s horror, Mayor Yang and Master Hong clink their cups against his, and down their cups in one shot. It is at this very moment that Jiang Wanyin remembers quite suddenly that the Lan family frowns upon alcohol.

“Zewu Jun—” he starts to say, reaching out with one hand. But Lan Xichen already takes a deep breath like he’s ready to dive off a cliff, and swallows his cup in one go.

Well, maybe just one cup isn’t so bad, Jiang Wanyin thinks. Surely Lan Xichen has a bit of fortitude.

+

As it turns out, Lan Xichen has zero fortitude.

And it is taking way more effort than Jiang Wanyin anticipated to get them both back to the inn.

“Come on, one foot in front of the other. You can do it,” he says, voice straining as Lan Xichen tips over a little, putting more weight on him.

“One foot,” Lan Xichen says, overly enunciating. He looks down at the ground as his other foot appears. “Two foot.”

“Yes, that’s correct,” Jiang Wanyin says placatingly.

Lan Xichen lifts his head with no small effort and stares at Jiang Wanyin, blinking slowly with a glazed expression.

“Wrinkle,” he says, squinting at Jiang Wanyin’s eyebrows. His index finger is getting precariously close to touching his face. “I should exorcise that. So scary-looking.”

Jiang Wanyin leans back and the wrinkle deepens.

“Scary-looking is literally part of the job description,” he grumbles.

“Scary-looking,” Lan Xichen repeats, then frowns. “But you’re not scary. Not to me.”

Jiang Wanyin clears his throat and fights down an oddly rising warmth in his cheeks. “Of course nothing scares you. You work with ghosts, for crying out loud.”

“Ghosts aren’t scary. Ghosts are sad,” Lan Xichen slumps a bit, “and mad. You are also sad. And mad.”

Well, Jiang Wanyin can’t really argue with him there.

“All right, up we go,” he says, valiantly ignoring Lan Xichen’s head lolling on his shoulder and his breath puffing warmly on his neck.

“Up,” Lan Xichen repeats jovially as he starts sliding down. Jiang Wanyin huffs and shifts his grip to Lan Xichen’s waist, tightening it to prevent him from collapsing to the ground.

“We’re—almost there,” he grunts, spotting the inn up ahead.

“Home?” Lan Xichen asks softly, his hair falling into his face.

“No,” Jiang Wanyin sighs. “The inn we’re staying at.”

“Oh, thassgood,” Lan Xichen slurs. “My uncle would be—” He hiccups. “—so mad.”

Jiang Wanyin rolls his eyes. “Don’t worry, I won’t tell him.”

“Not Wangji either,” Lan Xichen whispers loudly. “He’d yell at me.”

“I think he’d yell at me first, if I told him,” Jiang Wanyin mutters, mostly to himself. “Or kill me.”

He breathes a sigh of relief as they finally (finally) reach their inn room, naively planning to just tuck Lan Xichen into bed and call it a night.

“I’m not sleepy,” Lan Xichen says, pouting, as he shuffles with great effort from his bed to the small table in the center of the room.

Jiang Wanyin did not expect this. “You need sleep,” he tries. “Go to sleep.”

Lan Xichen’s pout deepens. “You go to sleep.”

“I wish,” Jiang Wanyin says flatly. He unbuckles his sword and sets it on the table, rolling his neck and shoulders to stretch out the kinks.

As it turns out, this was a rookie mistake.

“Demon sword,” Lan Xichen says with awe, his pale hand inching closer to it.

“Oh no, don’t touch that,” Jiang Wanyin says with a hint of despair, like he’s warning a two-year-old who doesn’t even know his own name.

“No touch,” Lan Xichen says agreeably, shaking his head.

Then he leans over to touch it.

“Lan Xichen—!” Jiang Wanyin shouts, but it’s already too late as a stream of purple energy lashes out from his sword and decides to wrap itself around Lan Xichen’s wrist, crackling loudly. Horrified, he points a commanding finger at his sword like it’s a misbehaving puppy. “Stop it! Stop that right now!”

“It tickles,” Lan Xichen says, blinking slowly down at his wrist in delight. He shakes his arm experimentally but the sword doesn’t let go.

“What the hell,” Jiang Wanyin mutters angrily, reaching over to try and physically disengage his own sword. But the purple energy hisses like a cat and only winds itself tighter around Lan Xichen, like he’s a favorite toy.

“Nice kitty,” Lan Xichen says a bit loopily.

“Fucking traitor,” Jiang Wanyin says, glaring at his sword. “Fine, see if I care. He’s a pacifist, you know. I’ll go out and buy a new sword and that sword is going to totally replace you.”

Lan Xichen gives him a wounded look. “That is not nice.”

“What,” Jiang Wanyin bristles. “The sword started it! I swear, if I didn’t know any better, I’d say my mother is still in there somewhere.”

Quick as lightning, the purple energy stream darts forward and zaps him on the forehead before returning smugly to Lan Xichen’s wrist.

“Ow!” Jiang Wanyin cries out, hissing in pain.

Lan Xichen stares at him, eyes widening. “That wasn’t me.” Then he slowly lowers his head, peering very closely at his new super-dangerous bracelet. “Hi, Jiang Wanyin’s mom,” he whispers loudly.

“That’s not my mom!” he screeches.

Chapter Text

The next day, at precisely five in the morning, all the Lans and their disciples rise from their sleep, greeting the start of dawn with dignity, grace, and a polite stifling of their yawns.

All except one.

Counter to every habit instilled in him since birth, Lan Xichen remains blissfully passed out face-down on the table, head nestled in the nice, voluminous folds of his sleeves. His hairpiece is dangerously askew, hanging on only by a few strands of long black hair. His not-quite-snores are soft and a little bit whistle-y, causing the ends of his sleeves to flutter rhythmically.

And his wrist is still attached to Jiang Wanyin’s goddamn sword.

Jiang Wanyin heaves a deep sigh – the sigh of a person who is completely out of fucks to give. Of course, with his whole family dead and gone, his ability to have a positive attitude largely obliterated, and his new job going oh-so-not-swimmingly, why shouldn’t the universe take away his sword too? The one thing he has left to remember his family by.

He might not be an exorcist like his mother had been, but her sword still belongs to him by right.

He remembers watching her as a child, the hours upon hours she spent with sword in hand, bending it to her will and exerting a spiritual force that was as powerful as it was terrifying. He remembers tugging on her dress and asking her to teach him, so he can be just as strong one day. But she had told him “not yet” and had left the next day to some faraway place, in search of new techniques.

He remembers his father’s silence afterwards, the rift between his parents growing immeasurably deeper.

And when she returned, several months later, it was with a sharp and inexplicable anger.

“Remember, Jiang Cheng,” she had said with a furious expression, “don’t let anyone tell you that you should limit yourself.”

He had hesitated and looked to his older siblings for assurance, but she had grabbed his chin and forced him to look back at her.

“Don’t look to them. Look to yourself!”

And this he had to learn too young and too soon, when a great fire overtook Yunmeng and destroyed half the city. In the wake of such upheaval, nobody stopped to help the grieving boy who buried the bones of his family, and nobody looked twice as he clung to a long sword like it could give him shelter in a storm.

+

A small tremor shakes Lan Xichen awake, and for several bleary seconds he wonders absently if it’s an earthquake.

The tremor gets stronger and he thinks maybe he should get up, so he doesn’t die. But his body doesn’t move an inch. In fact, his body much prefers to sink beneath the surface of the earth, away from light and noise and people, so he can continue sleeping until the end of time.

“Lan Xichen.”

The tremor seems to have a voice. A sentient earthquake – how very odd, Lan Xichen thinks hazily.

“Lan Xichen!”

He resorts to using spiritual effort to try and lift his head, but immediately regrets it. Nope, he’s going to die by earthquake, which seems to be the less painful option.

“Are you serious? How can one shot do this much damage?”

Oh no, the earthquake destruction has already begun.

“All right, let’s see if this works,” the voice sighs grumpily before yelling, “Hey, your uncle is here to see you!”

Instantly, Lan Xichen shoots up off the table into (almost) perfect posture, which nearly kills him and causes white spots to flash painfully across his vision. But at least he doesn’t leave his uncle with the indignity of finding the head of the Lan family drooling all over his sleeves.

“Good morning, uncle,” he hazards, then winces internally at how scratchy his voice sounds.

He blinks slowly, the white spots beginning to fade, and squints in confusion as a face comes into focus.

“You’re not my uncle,” he says delicately, brow furrowed.

“Yeah, he’s not actually here,” the voice says briskly. “I’m your bodyguard, Jiang Wanyin, in case all that alcohol made you forget. And you really need to get up because we’re way behind schedule.”

But Lan Xichen only really latched on to the first part, and sinks back down onto the table in relief.

A strong hand grabs his shoulder and pulls him back. “No, no, focus. We’re going to check-out then leave. Right now.”

Lan Xichen lets his chin drop towards his chest and tries very hard not to whine.

“All right, you leave me with no choice, because the other choice is your brother murdering me, which means you’ll have to exorcise me, and trust me, neither of us wants that. So—” Jiang Wanyin gives Lan Xichen another shake. “—we’re going to the stable now, okay? We’re going to get you to somehow stay on top of Red Bean. Then you can sleep on the way to our next destination.”

“Sleep,” Lan Xichen agrees, as he ignores the rest because that’s just too many words right now.

He feels himself being lifted and stumbles as something knocks against his leg. Looking down, he sees a sword dangling from his wrist. He tries shaking it loose but it doesn’t budge.

Huh, okay.

Some indeterminate time later, he finds himself face to face with Red Bean, who is – along with Green Bean – munching on breakfast.

“Red Bean, I’m so tired,” he whispers, closing his eyes and slumping forward to rest on Red Bean’s face.

“No, no,” Jiang Wanyin says in exasperation, “come here.”

And Lan Xichen feels Red Bean getting shorter (oh no) and a pair of hands rolling him onto Red Bean’s back. Then as if by magic, Red Bean becomes tall again (oh good).

Immediately, he buries his face in Red Bean’s mane, very much looking forward to the sweet embrace of sleep again. “I love you, Red Bean,” he mumbles.

Jiang Wanyin groans. “Ugh, we can’t let the whole of Meizhou see you like this. They’re going to want a refund.” He pauses as he sees his sword dangling from Lan Xichen’s wrist.

“Hey, Zidian, wake up.” He taps on the scabbard impatiently. The purple energy stream emits a dim light before going back to sleep, much like the man it’s currently attached to. “Oi, traitor, if you like Lan Xichen so much, then at least make him look presentable.”

Zidian crackles grumpily before flaring to life, winding around Lan Xichen’s waist to prop him up and brace the sword against his back, before looping both his wrists around the reins.

“Thank you,” Jiang Wanyin says through gritted teeth. Swinging on top of Green Bean, he double checks that all their belongings are securely strapped on, then steers them out of the stable and onto the main road towards their next destination.

As they leave the city, onlookers remark appreciatively on how regal Zewu Jun looks, meditating so deeply with perfect posture astride his majestic steed.

+

It’s well into the afternoon when Lan Xichen’s head drops forward, which startles himself awake.

His eyes flutter open but immediately squeeze shut again to block out the blinding, terrible, no-good sunlight.

He tries to use his hands to feel out the space around him, but finds that they are somehow bound and tied in front of him. He hears horses plodding along and the rustling of wind through grass leaves.

Is he being kidnapped?

“Hello?” he tries calling out.

“Oh, Lan Xichen, you’re awake.”

He brightens as he recognizes Jiang Wanyin’s voice, but then feels a sudden bout of anxiety. “Oh no, are you kidnapped too?”

“What?” is Jiang Wanyin’s surly reply. “Nobody is being kidnapped. Like I would let you be kidnapped so easily. Tch.”

With monumental effort, Lan Xichen peels open his eyes just the smallest bit, and peers around as best he can. His mind is still swimming around in some foggy, floaty space.

“Red Bean. Green Bean. Jiang Wanyin,” he says slowly to himself. Good, everyone is accounted for.

Jiang Wanyin turns to look at him in what could be classified as mild to moderate concern. “Are you all right?”

“I’m fine,” he says reassuringly, but then bits and pieces of last night start surfacing to the forefront of his thoughts. He looks down at the purple energy thread around his wrists and waist, then at the red silk jar hanging from the side of Jiang Wanyin’s saddle, then at the faint imprint of a face on his sleeves.

Not feeling particularly good about these clues, he wonders if he should try casting the inquiry spell on himself.

“Did—something happen last night?” he asks Jiang Wanyin hesitantly, opting to stare at the top of Red Bean’s head and absently pick at the purple energy thread.

Jiang Wanyin takes all of two seconds to ponder this deeply troubling question, and replies, “You drank alcohol. It did not go well.”

Two spots of pink slowly appear at the top of Lan Xichen’s cheeks.

“Ah, I see,” he says with as much dignity as he can muster. Judging from the tone in Jiang Wanyin’s voice, he makes the executive decision to not use inquiry and blissfully leave whatever embarrassing thing happened behind him.

He clears his throat, still avoiding Jiang Wanyin’s gaze. “Apologies for causing you any trouble.”

“You didn’t—” Jiang Wanyin says abruptly, then sighs, “You weren’t any trouble at all. It was my fault for not remembering your family’s policy on alcohol. So don’t blame yourself.”

“Still,” Lan Xichen says quietly, peering over at Jiang Wanyin with a small smile, “thank you.”

Jiang Wanyin sputters a little bit, cheeks coloring, and turns to face the road again, muttering unintelligibly to himself.

“By the way,” Lan Xichen says, shaking his wrists with a slight frown, “do you know how to take this off?”

“Zidian, you can let go of him now!”

Nothing happens.

“Nope,” Jiang Wanyin sighs. “I have no idea.”

Chapter Text

Eventually, after much cajoling and turning up his charm level to maximum power, Lan Xichen convinces Zidian to let go of his wrists and take up residence around his hairpiece, where it is currently snoozing.

“I’m sorry, it was best I could do,” he says to Jiang Wanyin with an apologetic smile. “I’m sure this…attachment is temporary. Your sword knows where home truly is.”

“Zidian couldn’t care less,” Jiang Wanyin says flatly. “I should’ve gotten a dog instead.” He makes a face and raises his voice in Zidian’s direction. “A loyal, wonderful, hardworking dog.”

As per usual, Zidian ignores him.

“I like dogs,” Lan Xichen says brightly, attempting to steer the conversation towards friendlier waters. “I mean, I’ve never actually had one – we’re not allowed to have pets that aren’t plants – but I like the concept of dogs.”

“Pets…that aren’t plants,” Jiang Wanyin repeats, just to reaffirm that his hearing is still intact.

“Or rocks,” Lan Xichen adds. “Wangji and I had a lot of pet rocks growing up.” He frowns slightly. “Though I don’t know where they are now.”

Jiang Wanyin raises both eyebrows. “Well, they can’t have gone far.” (Privately, he concludes the Lans are way weirder than he originally thought.)

Lan Xichen squints at him. “You’re making fun of me.”

“I hate to break it to you, but rocks aren’t pets. Like, not even close.”

Lan Xichen humphs, feeling like he has to defend the honor of his long-lost childhood. “With the power of imagination, they can be.”

“I imagine they can’t.”

“Come on, Red Bean. We don’t associate with party poopers.” Lan Xichen sniffs delicately and holds out an arm to signal that he intends to pass Green Bean and Jiang Wanyin on the left. Green Bean acknowledges the signal with a nod to Red Bean, because he is a civilized horse from a civilized household.

“This is not even a party,” Jiang Wanyin shouts after him.

Green Bean’s tail swishes resentfully.

+

As they approach the next city on the itinerary, Zhangzhou, they pause to admire the horizon where the ocean and sky seem to stretch into infinity.

“It seems endless,” Jiang Wanyin says, eyes wide and full of wonder.

“I take it you’ve never seen the ocean before?” Lan Xichen says, feeling absurdly pleased for some reason.

“No,” Jiang Wanyin breathes out. “I grew up around rivers and lakes, but not…this.”

There’s a faint, almost imperceptible longing in his voice, and Lan Xichen decides that whatever ghost awaits him in the city can wait a little longer.

“You know, I haven’t been to the beach in a long time,” he mentions casually, noting that it seems to pique Jiang Wanyin’s interest. “It would be nice to stop by for a bit.”

Suddenly, Lan Wangji’s glowering face surfaces in the back of his mind like a slightly terrifying sun rising over the horizon, ready to launch an impending imaginary lecture.

“And of course, an excellent opportunity to check if there are any ocean ghosts lurking about,” Lan Xichen adds.

“Of course,” Jiang Wanyin agrees quickly, adjusting his posture to look more like a decent hardworking bodyguard and less like an excited beachgoer on vacation. “For the safety of the citizens.”

“Yes, safety is our number one priority,” Lan Xichen says, sounding suspiciously like he’s reciting from page seven of Jiang Wanyin’s employment contract.

They stare awkwardly at each other for a moment before Lan Xichen clears his throat and pats Red Bean on the head. “Well, Red Bean, how about it? Would you like to see the ocean?”

Red Bean can actually see the ocean just fine from their current vantage point. And though she doesn’t understand why her master wants to see gross salty water up close, she figures it’s no big deal if it makes him happy. So she nods and starts heading towards the beach trail.

When they arrive, they survey the shoreline, spotting a fleet of fishing boats in the distance and a few people snoozing on the sand while their children run around entirely unsupervised, yelling about shells and baby crabs and poorly designed sandcastles.

“Hm, I don’t detect any spiritual signatures here,” Lan Xichen says, continuously scanning around him. “No malevolent energy.”

“Are you sure?” Jiang Wanyin says, glaring at a child who dared to come too close.

Lan Xichen blinks in confusion and turns his head to see said child (who is either very brave or very stupid) grinning with outstretched hands and repeatedly exclaiming, “Horsey!”

“Well, you can hardly call a child malevolent,” he says, smiling wryly.

“Then you’ve obviously never spent time with one,” Jiang Wanyin retorts, making hasty shooing motions at the child with his hand.

Lan Xichen raises an eyebrow, curious. “Have you?”

The child shrieks and giggles, seeming to interpret Jiang Wanyin’s reaction as some sort of game as she proceeds to run in circles around him. Jiang Wanyin scowls, interpreting her reaction as an act of war. Green Bean ignores the both of them and nibbles at a tuft of seagrass.

“I have an idiot nephew,” is all Jiang Wanyin says through gritted teeth, his eyes trained like a hawk on this annoying child who clearly did not retain her stranger-danger lesson.

Lan Xichen tries his best to imagine Jiang Wanyin as a parent figure and fails completely.

“You better stay away or you’ll regret it,” Jiang Wanyin says threateningly, as though it’s perfectly reasonable to expect a three-year-old to comprehend the concept of consequences.

She cackles a little bit like an evil villain (to Jiang Wanyin’s ears), and throws wet sand onto his shoe.

Jiang Wanyin immediately rears up like an angry cat, and Lan Xichen decides to swiftly intervene before this all devolves into child strangulation and lawsuits and beach closures. He places himself and Red Bean strategically between Jiang Wanyin and the child.

“Hello there,” he says, as if he’s reading aloud from an instruction manual. (To be honest, he hasn’t had any experience with very young children other than Wangji, and he figures that doesn’t really count.) “I’m Lan Xichen, what’s your name?”

She scrunches up her nose and pouts. “No.”

Lan Xichen stares, as he realizes there is no step two in this intervention plan.

“I’m sure your parents are worried about you,” he tries, hoping that they magically appear with this invocation. (They don’t.) “Why don’t we try to find them?”

“No.”

He sighs and peers over at Jiang Wanyin, who has his arms crossed and is looking very much like he regrets coming to the beach and – to some extent – this entire journey.

“Okay,” Lan Xichen says patiently to the child, trying to apply his crisis management skills (assess, engage, communicate). “I remember you mentioned ‘horsey’ earlier. Do you like horses?”

She perks up and nods fervently, making grabby-hands towards Red Bean’s face. (But luckily for Red Bean, her tiny arms don’t reach that far.)

“How about this?” Lan Xichen offers. “You can ride with me on my horse, Red Bean, until we find your parents. Does that sound fair?”

“Horsey ride!” she yells excitedly. Lan Xichen decides to accept that as a yes and mentally pats himself on the back for successfully resolving his first negotiation with a child.

(Later, he hastily unpats his back, as he recalls how very close they came to disaster when she pulled at his hair and attempted to grab Zidian, who unfortunately experienced a very rude awakening. On the plus side, he had never seen Zidian move so fast as it sped promptly back to Jiang Wanyin’s side, crackling with indignation.)

+

After a series of hurried apologies from her parents and variations of “oh it was no trouble at all” from Lan Xichen (which Jiang Wanyin thinks is an astoundingly blatant lie), they finally take a breather, appreciating their now-quiet surroundings.

“I think I have a newfound appreciation of my uncle for raising Wangji and me,” Lan Xichen sighs.

“Surely, you weren’t like that,” Jiang Wanyin scoffs, gesturing in the direction where the little girl left with her parents.

“Well, not quite that bad,” Lan Xichen admits, as he recalls one time shaping the uneaten rice and vegetables on his plate into a battle scene between a rabbit and a squirrel, and was promptly chastised by his uncle for promoting violence. That was pretty much the height of his troublemaking.

“Your uncle is lucky, that’s for damn sure,” Jiang Wanyin snorts. “If he had to raise my demon nephew, he’d probably quit the very next day.”

Lan Xichen suppresses a grin at the thought. “Are you thinking of enrolling him? If he has potential, I could certainly put in a good word with the head of the school.” Then he whispers, pointing at himself, “That’s me.”

“He has the potential of a potato,” Jiang Wanyin says sullenly, then sighs. “But who knows? Maybe he inherited something from my mother’s side. I haven’t seen him in a long time, so I can’t say.” He shrugs then glances at Lan Xichen with a hint of a grateful smile. “Thank you though.”

“Of course,” Lan Xichen says warmly. He wants to know more – who his mother is, where his nephew is, what he’s like – but he feels he knows Jiang Wanyin well enough by now to understand that the details of his personal life are only revealed on his terms, in his time.

He doesn’t really know why, but it feels like discovering hidden gems, small but bright.

Chapter Text

As it turns out, the ghost who was supposedly plaguing the port of Zhangzhou was actually just really bad at directions.

He had died at sea, woke up as a ghost, and spent several months getting on and off various boats (inadvertently terrifying the crewmembers) trying to remember which one would take him back to his home port of Wenzhou up north.

Lan Xichen had escorted him gently into a spare pouch (“How many of those do you have?” Jiang Wanyin had exclaimed. “A lot,” Lan Xichen had replied, fluffing his voluminous sleeves), and added a packaging slip indicating that the pouch be mailed to an exorcist acquaintance in Wenzhou.

Presently, though, Lan Xichen is having a bit of trouble getting any boat to agree on transporting said ghost pouch.

“It’s really quite safe and secure,” Lan Xichen says for the fifth time, holding the pouch in his outstretched hand. “See?” He tugs at the double-knotted string convincingly.

The boat captain shuffles backwards. “Look, I’m sure you’re right and all, but I’ve never transported a ghost in my life and I’m not gonna start now. It’d be bad luck.”

As he hastily leaves, Lan Xichen stares after him with a crestfallen expression, then looks down at the pouch. “Ghosts aren’t bad luck,” he says sadly.

Something twinges painfully inside Jiang Wanyin, and despite his best efforts at repressing it all the way down into his subconscious, it seems that it just won’t let go unless he somehow makes that awful sadness on Lan Xichen’s face go away.

He sighs and scratches the back of his neck. “Yeah, the thing about boat crews is that they’re extremely superstitious. You’d have to convince them that it’s bad luck not to take it.”

Lan Xichen looks slightly affronted. “I’m not going to lie to them, though.”

“No one’s lying.” Jiang Wanyin waves a hand. “It’s…creative problem-solving.”

“What exactly does that entail?”

“Finding a fortune teller,” Jiang Wanyin says, craning his neck to look around. “There’s always a bunch of them hanging around at the port of Yunmeng. We shouldn’t have too much trouble finding one here.”

Lan Xichen blinks at him. “Is that really going to work?”

Jiang Wanyin responds by throwing his hands up in the air, like it’s up to the gods to decide, which Lan Xichen supposes is the whole premise behind fortune-telling.

And so he trails after Jiang Wanyin, who starts conducting a very aggressive search.

“Aren’t they all the same?” he asks after Jiang Wanyin brushes off the third fortune teller to approach him. “What was wrong with that one?”

“A fake,” Jiang Wanyin snarls. “Real ones don’t try to sell you on their abilities.”

He winds his way through crowded market stalls with ease, and eventually stops in front of a small, rickety table that reads “Fortunes & More: rated best fortune teller five years in a row. (No refunds or exchanges.)”

Lan Xichen, who spots him from above the crowd, squeezes through the flow of visitors and shakes out his sleeves.

“This is the one?” he asks, peering curiously at Zhangzhou’s best-rated fortune teller, who’s currently taking a nap on a pile of crates behind the table.

“I’m pretty sure,” Jiang Wanyin says, then raps sharply on the table, making it wobble precariously. “Hey, old woman, wake up! You’ve got customers.”

She lazily opens one eye. “Ah, right on time,” she grunts before taking a deep breath and stretching her creaking limbs.

“You were expecting us?” Lan Xichen asks incredulously.

She laughs, sounding like a bullfrog with acid reflux. “No, I say that to everyone. It’s funny how many people believe it though.” Moving at the speed of molasses, she shakes the dust off her robes and settles into her chair with an arthritic groan. “Let’s see what we’ve got here.” Her eyes squint at the both of them. “Ah, two exorcists.”

“Oh, no,” Lan Xichen says, “he’s not—”

“I wasn’t talking about him,” she interrupts, dropping her gaze down to Jiang Wanyin’s sword.

“Look, let’s cut to the chase,” Jiang Wanyin says impatiently. “We need you to tell us how to ship out a ghost without invoking bad luck.”

“Hm,” she says with interest, “well that’s something I don’t get asked every day. Most people want to know how to get rich or who they should marry.”

“I don’t care about most people. Can you tell us or not?”

“I can,” she says vaguely. “You’re neither, by the way.”

“What?”

“You’re going to be neither rich nor married,” she clarifies, looking not at all sympathetic.

“I’m not paying you for unsolicited fortune telling,” Jiang Wanyin snaps.

“I don’t need to know mine,” Lan Xichen adds preemptively.

“If you say so,” she says with a shrug, then holds out her hand. “All right, let me see the ghost.”

Lan Xichen pulls out the pouch from his sleeve. “Please be careful, he’s lost and just wants to go back home.”

“Hm,” is all she says, as she weighs the pouch in her hand like it’s filled with money. “Good news for you, it won’t be difficult.” She bends down with a huff to retrieve a small box from beneath the table, then rummages through it. “I could’ve sworn I still had it…Oh, here it is. Certified good luck.”

She holds out a token that literally says ‘certified good luck’ on it.

“Seriously?” Jiang Wanyin says, looking distinctly unimpressed.

“Hey, you came to me,” she replies with annoyance. “This isn’t a magic show.” She flips the token over to reveal an intricate red stamp on the back. “Plus, like I said, it’s certified. You take this to any boat captain – he’ll know.”

Jiang Wanyin reaches out to take it, but she snatches her hand back. “Hold on a minute,” she tuts. “It isn’t free. You can’t find this token just anywhere, you know.”

Lan Xichen steps forward and pats around the inside of his sleeve, searching for his money pouch. (He really does have too many pouches, he thinks absently.) “I’ll pay. How much?”

“Oh no, you can put that away,” she says with a smirk. “The price for the token isn’t in there.”

Jiang Wanyin glares at her with suspicion. “What are you on about, old woman?”

She ignores him and continues smiling mysteriously at Lan Xichen. “I just need a bit of your spiritual energy. A small amount. You won’t even miss it.”

Lan Xichen considers it for a few seconds, then rolls back his sleeve. “All right.”

“Wait, hold on, what are you going to do with it?” Jiang Wanyin asks, frowning, then turns towards Lan Xichen. “Don’t do this if you don’t want to. We can find another fortune teller.”

“The price is fair,” she says with a sniff. “And to answer your question: spiritual bartering. Not that it’s any of your business.”

“It’s okay,” Lan Xichen says to Jiang Wanyin with a reassuring smile. “It won’t harm me in any way.”

Jiang Wanyin isn’t quite so certain. “But isn’t it a part of you? Like a piece of your soul?”

“Yes and no,” Lan Xichen says. “But we don’t really have time to get into the metaphysics of it. I expend spiritual energy all the time when I work. This is really no different.”

Somehow, it unsettles Jiang Wanyin, to think that there will be a part of Lan Xichen out there in the unknown, never to return. But he supposes that being an exorcist means that sacrifices must always be made to bring balance back to the world. This much he understands.

“If you’re sure,” he ends up saying.

Lan Xichen nods, then takes a deep breath, drawing several incantation characters on his bare forearm. They glow gold and bright, before sinking beneath his skin. After several moments, a small wispy ball of blue energy appears on his palm.

The fortune teller places a clear marble over it, and watches closely as the blue energy is funneled inside, where it swirls in circles. “Perfect,” she says, taking it while sliding the token over with his ghost pouch.

There’s a beat of silence as she studies Lan Xichen’s energy marble, like she didn’t really expect him to give it to her. “There’s another thing I want you to know,” she says with a sly expression, peering up at him. “All rivers lead to the ocean. But some rivers lead to the sky.”

They stare at her, waiting for further enlightenment, but she just chuckles and rubs her hands together. “That’s it. You get that one for free.”

“Wonderful,” Jiang Wanyin deadpans. “A complimentary riddle.”

“Well, you’ll have lots of time to figure it out, won’t you?” she says with a raised eyebrow. “Being single with no money and all.”

“Is Wangji not paying you enough?” Lan Xichen whispers, concerned.

“My pay is just fine, thank you,” Jiang Wanyin grumbles. “She’s exaggerating.”

She pointedly ignores him and says to Lan Xichen, “Well, since we’re all done here, you’d best be on your way before the last ships sail out.” Rising slowly from her chair, she starts clearing the table but suddenly gasps, clutching a hand to her chest.

Lan Xichen rushes to her side, eyes widening. “Are you all right? What is it, a premonition?”

“No,” she says with a grimace. “Just heartburn. Hoo, that was a strong one.” She pats her chest a few times then peers up at him with a critical eye. “What a rare specimen: tall, handsome, and kind. No matchmakers needed for you, eh?”

Lan Xichen clears his throat and looks away, smoothing down his sleeves. “I’m not interested in that sort of thing,” he says quietly. “I like my work and I like traveling.”

“Hm, you can’t avoid it forever, Zewu Jun,” she says, then smiles knowingly at his shocked expression. “Oh yes, I know who you are.” She taps the side of her head. “My mind is old but it hasn’t been wrong yet.”

“We should really get going,” Jiang Wanyin says impatiently, eyeing the sun.

Lan Xichen nods, safely tucking away the token and the ghost pouch. “Thank you,” he says to her, inclining his head, then turns to follow Jiang Wanyin back towards the docks.

As much as he tries to put them out of his mind, though, her words keep drifting over his thoughts like the wind skimming over ocean waves.

Chapter Text

The sudden booming of thunder wakes Jiang Wanyin with a startle.

Propping a hand against the doorframe to Lan Xichen’s inn room, he hauls himself to his feet and peers up at the night sky, where thick ominous clouds are rolling in fast, heralding a vicious storm.

He smells the faint electric charge of lightning right before it hits the ground, and counts the seconds before the next cracking sound of thunder. Off in the distance, he can see a faint flickering glow from the top of the lighthouse, with angry waves roiling and lashing against its stone base.

He already knows there’s no way they can travel the next morning.

Sighing, he turns to knock on the door so he can inform Lan Xichen, but the bad luck that seems to continuously plague Jiang Wanyin’s life strikes again, as a torrential downpour decides to hit all of Zhangzhou at once.

The tiny awning above the doorway collapses immediately, causing a wave of water to splash over his head, thoroughly soaking his clothes and shoes and self-confidence.

He stands there for a moment, mentally taking stock of all his life choices, as the rivulets of rain flow freely down the rooftop, hitting him directly in the face.

It is exactly at this very flattering moment that Lan Xichen opens the door, having been woken up by the heavy pattering of rain against the walls of the inn.

“Oh my goodness,” he says, the corner of his mouth twitching involuntarily. (He is absolutely not going to tell Jiang Wanyin he looks exactly like an angry bedraggled cat. Absolutely under no circumstances whatsoever.)

“Good evening,” Jiang Wanyin says flatly. “There’s a storm going on.”

Lan Xichen nods and successfully manages to keep a straight face. “Indeed, there is.”

“Traveling tomorrow morning is going to be impossible.”

“It would be unwise to attempt it, yes.”

“Here’s Zidian to keep you safe.” Jiang Wanyin grumpily holds out his sword. “I’m going to go sleep in the stable.”

Lan Xichen tilts his head, frowning. “What are you talking about?”

Another wave of water splashes down onto Jiang Wanyin. He takes a deep breath and does a rather excellent job of pretending it didn’t happen. “The stable, where it’s dry. Somewhat.”

Sighing, Lan Xichen reaches out to grab Jiang Wanyin’s sleeve and pull him inside. “Don’t be silly, you’ll get sick that way.”

“I have health insurance,” Jiang Wanyin says, only mildly resisting. (Lan Xichen’s room does look rather warm and dry.) But he averts his gaze. “Also, staying here would be…improper.”

At this, Lan Xichen can’t resist a small laugh. “I think we left impropriety behind when I drank the wine in Meizhou.” He slides the door shut before any more rain gets inside, and busies himself stoking the fire in the kang warmer beneath the brick framework of the bed.

Jiang Wanyin stands there like an idiot, sopping wet, watching Lan Xichen frown and fuss over the temperature of the fire. It feels strange to be in the same room as him, when he’s already gotten so used to dozing outside with a door neatly separating them. It feels like crossing an invisible barrier between their private lives.

“I really should go down to the stable,” Jiang Wanyin says quickly, taking a step back. “Red Bean and Green Bean are probably afraid and need some company.”

Lan Xichen turns to look at him, absently tucking his long dark hair behind his ear. “Don’t worry, they won’t be afraid. We get thunderstorms in Gusu, though certainly not this much rain. I’d say our biggest concerns are usually snowstorms and avalanches, maybe the occasional rockslide—”

He stops abruptly as he realizes Jiang Wanyin probably isn’t interested in Gusu’s seasonal weather patterns. “Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to imply that you had to stay, if you don’t really want to. I understand if you would prefer having privacy.”

He turns back towards the fire and pokes at it gently, trying not to let his embarrassment show. Jiang Wanyin probably thinks he’s some sort of brazen, touchy-feely weirdo who doesn’t have proper boundaries.

“No, I—” Jiang Wanyin says awkwardly. “I shouldn’t intrude. It’s not—” (He screams internally. Why can’t he speak like a normal person?) “I mean, privacy is not a big deal to me.”

But Lan Xichen seems to thoroughly misinterpret this, as he stares at him with a stunned expression. “Did someone say that to you? Your privacy is absolutely important. You have a right to your own space and your own life. People have to respect that.” He looks down and adds softly, “I should respect that.”

Jiang Wanyin feels like they’re having two entirely different conversations, and he has no idea how to fix that. So he says, rather dumbly, “You already do. Really. I just—I didn’t want to impose on your privacy. That’s it.”

“Oh,” Lan Xichen says, blinking up at him. “You’re not imposing. Not in the least.”

“If you’re sure,” Jiang Wanyin says slowly, giving Lan Xichen plenty of time to interject and say that oh you know what, never mind, actually the horses do need you, there’s plenty of hay to sleep on in the stable, good night and good luck.

But no such interjection materializes. Instead, Lan Xichen smiles. “Yes, I’m sure.”

And huh, that kang fire must be on full blast, because Jiang Wanyin feels a little too warm all of a sudden.

He looks down and stares at the growing puddle of water beneath his feet, like it’s terribly fascinating. “My, uh, spare clothes are in the stable,” he says haltingly.

“Oh, that’s okay,” Lan Xichen says, looking around the room, in search of something to give him. Unfortunately, because how lightly they travel, there aren’t a whole lot of options. “Here, take my sleeping robe. I’ll use the blanket.”

He starts shrugging off his thin robe, exposing a bare white shoulder, and Jiang Wanyin nearly trips over himself. “No, no, that’s not necessary,” he wheezes.

Feeling like he saw something secretive that he shouldn’t have, he shifts his gaze somewhere closer to the ceiling and shuffles towards the fire. “I don’t need spare clothes. I can dry off this way. Shouldn’t take long at all.”

He sits down in front of the fire with a watery squish, very determinedly looking at the flames like they hold the secrets of the universe.

“I don’t think you can dry off that way,” Lan Xichen says, concerned.

And normally – having spent most of his childhood swimming and diving in the rivers of Yunmeng – Jiang Wanyin has no issue with modesty. It’s always been some sort of distant ridiculous thing that only concerned the elite who didn’t want to step outside and get the sun on their fair skin. For the rest of them who had to work outside in the sweltering summer heat and didn’t own more than two layers of clothes, modesty wasn’t even a thought.

But somehow, right now, he feels like modesty is the last barrier shielding the most vulnerable parts of him. Like it can prevent Lan Xichen from seeing all the things that are wrong with him.

Some of these thoughts must be readily apparent on his face, because Lan Xichen quietly slides over the blanket and turns around, remarking, “I’ll go make us some tea.” Then proceeds to cross over to the other side of the room and pull out his travel tea set from his bag as slowly as possible, making overly loud clattering noises.

Jiang Wanyin looks down at his heavy, water-soaked clothes (which are sticking rather uncomfortably to his skin), then looks over at the soft, dry, inviting blanket.

All right, fine, modesty be damned.

He starts peeling off his outer robe and shirt, gritting his teeth with frustration as they seem to want to cling on for dear life. Attempting to pull his shirt over his head, he hisses in pain as the collar snags onto his wet hair, yanking his bun free.

“Ow, motherfu—”

Lan Xichen’s head snaps up from deep observation of his tea set, and he looks over his shoulder with concern. “Are you all right?”

Distantly, he hears the delicate crack of a tea cup in his hand.

Jiang Wanyin is currently scowling down at his sad wet pile of clothes, his wavy hair falling down around his sharp cheekbones and onto his broad shoulders, droplets of water running freely down his lean muscled chest. In the light of the fire, he glows like a fierce primal deity.

And okay, Lan Xichen has always had a bit of a vivid imagination. (Totally normal for someone who lives on top of a mountain and has access to a lot of books. A lot of appropriate, all-audiences-friendly books.)

And he’s really not sure why his imagination is choosing to act up right now, given that he’s seen plenty of wavy hair and muscled chests in the cold springs at home. These are definitely not new things to him.

Not new at all, he repeats to himself, tearing his gaze away before he gets caught staring like an idiot.

He clears his throat and looks down despairingly at his cracked tea cup. It just had to be his favorite one.

“Oh, did it break on the way here?” Jiang Wanyin’s curious voice suddenly materializes behind him, his breath causing a few strands of Lan Xichen’s hair to flutter traitorously. (Had his voice always been that low and warm?)

Lan Xichen stares even harder at his tea cup, like he’s mentally willing it to fix itself. It really is an excellent tea cup with an excellent design. It most definitely is not a distraction or an excuse to not turn around, because who knows where the blanket is exactly?

“It certainly broke,” is all he’s willing to say.

“Sorry about that,” Jiang Wanyin says with a stilted voice, like he’s trying to figure out real-time how to be nice and sympathetic. “I know—you really liked that cup.”

“Thank you,” Lan Xichen says softly, then breathes a sigh of relief as he hears Jiang Wanyin make his way back towards the fire.

The silence that follows is filled with the sound of water relentlessly pounding the roof and rushing through the streets, the distant clatter of objects thrown about by the wind, and the sudden booms of thunder so loud they seem to crack open the sky itself.

A thought occurs to Lan Xichen just then, and he immediately feels guilty for not thinking of it sooner.

“Do you suppose—” he asks hesitantly, “—that the ship is okay? The one transporting the lost ghost.”

He turns around and sees Jiang Wanyin sitting with his back against the brick framework of the bed, knees bent in front of him, blanket mercifully wrapped around most of his body.

Looking through the damp strands of his bangs with a sideways glance, Jiang Wanyin wonders what kind of answer Lan Xichen is looking for.

“You did all you could,” he eventually says.

Lan Xichen looks away and unconsciously folds his robe tighter around him. “I hope so.”

“You did,” Jiang Wanyin says with a frown. He literally can’t think of anything more that Lan Xichen could’ve done. More than giving away his own spiritual energy. He wonders if this is what Lan Xichen does every night – worry and fret about the ghosts under his care.

He clenches his fingers. “Sometimes the gods are indifferent no matter what you do.” Lan Xichen gazes at him with wide eyes. “But sometimes they give you what you need, even if you don’t know that you need it.”

A look of understanding illuminates brightly in Lan Xichen’s eyes, then settles into something approaching fondness. “Ah, Jiang Wanyin is very wise.”

“Not even,” Jiang Wanyin huffs, embarrassed. “Just…had a lot happen in my life.”

And when he looks up again at Lan Xichen, with his dark hair unbound to his waist, free of layers and adornments, he doesn’t see Zewu Jun – doesn’t see the head of a renowned school or the heir to an important family.

He just sees Lan Xichen.

Chapter Text

They arrive at the port of Fuzhou a few days late, due to road obstructions from the recent storm.

But the merchant who had originally asked for Lan Xichen’s help with exorcising several particularly stubborn ocean ghouls is now shaking his head and canceling his ghoul-removal request. The storm had hit Fuzhou particularly hard, and most of his boats were heavily damaged, if not wrecked beyond repair. As a result, the ghouls who had previously taken up residence like barnacles on the bottom of his boats had already moved on elsewhere.

“I wonder where they could’ve gone,” Lan Xichen says with a slight frown, scanning the port like the ghouls could’ve left behind clues to their whereabouts. “They don’t usually go far from familiar territory.”

“Maybe the storm disoriented them?” Jiang Wanyin says, sidestepping a pile of soaked sandbags.

“Hm, maybe,” Lan Xichen says absently, his focus turning towards the nearby marketplace, where the residents and shopkeepers are busy making repairs and hammering down more flood walls in anticipation of the next storm. “I’m going to go ask if they’ve seen anything out of the ordinary.”

“Even if you find those ghouls and exorcise them, that merchant isn’t going to pay you,” Jiang Wanyin huffs.

“I know,” Lan Xichen says, looking back at him with a resigned smile. “But since we’re already here, and the people are struggling to recover, I can try to give them one less thing to worry about.”

Jiang Wanyin thinks that Lan Xichen gives away too much of himself already. But he also remembers the loss he endured years ago and how hard it was to rebuild his life, piece by piece. He would’ve been grateful back then for someone like Lan Xichen who cares without motive and gives without expectation.

Someone kind.

Jiang Wanyin rolls up his sleeves. “All right, you go ask around. I’ll see if anyone needs help with the flood walls. Shout if you need me.”

“Of—course,” Lan Xichen says, sounding oddly strained. Jiang Wanyin turns to look at him in concern, and Lan Xichen quickly averts his gaze from bare, corded forearms that are now just freely on display for anyone to look at. Which is totally fine.

He walks away with a bit more haste. Everyone has forearms. (Well, except those without arms, obviously.) Forearms are nothing special. Muscled forearms are just the result of hard work and honest labor. Lots of people have those. Yes.

He looks down at his own forearms. They’re not quite as defined as they used to be, given that handstands are more or less optional for him now. But they’re not bad looking, if a little pale from being hidden in sleeves all the time. He wonders if anyone would find them attractive.

“Okay, this is ridiculous,” Lan Xichen mutters to himself, shaking his sleeves back down.

He’s here for ghouls, not for forearms.

+

Jiang Wanyin wipes the sweat from his brow, as he finishes hammering in several temporary posts and bracing a heavy flood wall against them. The work reminds him of the river floods in Yunmeng that are routinely expected every year, but he supposes the coastal storms are far less predictable.

The shopkeeper he’s helping out limps over with his bad leg and grins with gratitude. “It’s nice to have a young man helping this old geezer out.”

“It’s nothing,” he says, holding back a wince as he stretches out his shoulder. He’s not getting any younger, that’s for sure. “Hey, by the way, have you seen anything unusual these past few days?”

“What do you mean?”

“Ghouls, ghosts, that sort of thing.”

The shopkeeper’s eyes widen. “Are you an exorcist or something?” He looks over at the sturdy flood wall. “You’re a man of many talents then.”

“No, but my boss is an exorcist. There were supposed to be some ocean ghouls at the docks, but with the recent storm—” He shrugs. “Not sure where they’ve gone.”

The shopkeeper furrows his brow and looks down contemplatively. “I haven’t seen or heard anything lately, but there is a river leading to the ocean through a village further inland. When I was a boy, growing up there, we would sometimes get ghouls coming upstream. Maybe that’s where they’ve gone.”

Jiang Wanyin looks at him in surprise. “Thanks. I’ll let him know.”

The shopkeeper waves at him as he leaves to find Lan Xichen. “Good luck, young man!”

Despite himself, Jiang Wanyin’s mouth quirks up and he feels something like a good mood coming on.

Except because he’s Jiang Wanyin and life hates him, the good mood dies a swift and sudden death.

“Uncle?” a disbelieving voice rings out behind him.

Jiang Wanyin turns around slowly. “Jin Ling,” he says, trying to reconcile the young man in front of him with the child he last saw years ago. “What are you doing here?”

Jin Ling frowns at him, like it’s obvious. “Assessing our losses from the storm and renegotiating trade terms.” He crosses his arms. “What are you doing here?”

Jiang Wanyin snorts softly. Jin Ling wears the mantle of the wealthy Jin trading company well, for someone so young. But in his eyes, he will always be a brat who tried to eat soap once.

“I have work here,” he says flatly.

Jin Ling raises an eyebrow. “So there’s no more debt in Yunmeng, or what?”

Jiang Wanyin narrows his eyes. Definitely still a brat. “I’m in a different line of work now.” He steels his voice for good measure. “And watch your tone, I’m still your elder.”

Jin Ling huffs and rolls his eyes, but compliantly scales back his attitude. “So…how are you?” He tilts his chin up. “You haven’t visited Lanling in a while.”

(Jiang Wanyin knows, you haven’t visited me, is what he’s really saying.)

“I’ve been busy,” he says evenly. “As are you, I’m sure.”

“Very,” Jin Ling says haughtily, trying to hide his disappointment. But he’s never been any good at hiding his feelings. Nobody in their family has.

When he had delivered his nephew to the care of the Jins almost a decade ago, Jiang Wanyin hadn’t seen any other choice. He had been a boy himself, when Jin Ling’s wet nurse – harried and crying and covered in soot – pushed him into his arms. And he had vowed silently right there to keep Jin Ling safe, but hadn’t been able to shake the fear and terror of one day being unable to keep his promise.

He had tried his best. Worked himself to exhaustion for years just to keep a roof over their head. He didn’t have enough money to buy Jin Ling new clothes or toys or anything he would’ve gotten if his parents were still alive. He didn’t have the patience or social graces needed to help Jin Ling make friends (much less the right kind of friends). He just didn’t have what it would take to raise him right. The way he deserved.

But Jin Ling had been too young to understand all this, and instead had cried and screamed his lungs out when Jiang Wanyin walked away, his heart breaking with every step.

Now, standing in front of his nephew who is strong and proud and healthy, he sees that he made the right decision. Perhaps the only good decision he’s ever made in his life.

Suddenly, Jin Ling shifts his gaze, eyes wide as he stares over Jiang Wanyin’s shoulder. “Who is that?”

Jiang Wanyin turns abruptly to find Lan Xichen gliding up to them with curiosity in his eyes.

He suppresses a deep sigh.

“Jin Ling, this is Zewu Jun.” Then gestures back to his nephew. “Zewu Jun, this is Jin Rulan.”

Jin Ling bows gracefully, which Lan Xichen returns with equal elegance.

“It’s an honor to meet you,” Jin Ling says with utmost respect in his voice. (And hey, it wouldn’t kill him to use it when speaking with his own uncle, Jiang Wanyin thinks grumpily.) “I’ve heard about the excellent reputation of the Lan Institute.”

“You are too kind,” Lan Xichen says with a smile. “I have heard likewise about the Jin Trading Corporation.”

Jin Ling’s back straightens just a bit taller. “Surely exaggerated. We have merely been fortunate in our modest business dealings.”

Modest his ass, Jiang Wanyin thinks, resisting the urge to scoff. He doesn’t know any other family that is quite so ruthless in monopolizing sector after sector in the trading industry. And on top of that, they swan about in gold like they’re of imperial descent. Ridiculous.

But he supposes that’s the price of ensuring a good life for his nephew. His inevitable transformation into an insufferable peacock.

“So how do you know my uncle?” he hears Jin Ling ask, and damn it, it’s already too late to stop him.

“Ah, I was wondering about the resemblance,” Lan Xichen says, looking back and forth between them. “Your uncle is helping me on my exorcism tour.”

“But he’s not an exorcist,” Jin Ling says unthinkingly.

“I’m his bodyguard,” Jiang Wanyin says, his harsh tone just daring Jin Ling to say more.

And because he’s a goddamn Jin, he does dare to say more. “Seriously? Like, protecting him from assassins and wolves and stuff?”

Okay, clearly, whoever was in charge of Jin Ling’s education was vastly unqualified to do so, if they allowed such stupid words to make their way from Jin Ling’s brain to his mouth.

But before Jiang Wanyin can share this obvious conclusion with his idiot nephew, Lan Xichen folds his arms serenely behind his back and says, “Yes, he does.”

Jin Ling blinks rapidly, like he’s having trouble accepting this fact. “Not to be rude, Zewu Jun – I have the highest respect for you – but was he like…your first choice?”

“Jin Rulan!” Jiang Wanyin snaps.

“He was,” Lan Xichen says, the corners of his eyes crinkling with a pleased expression.

This completely throws Jiang Wanyin, his anger gradually fizzling down. “I was?”

“Wow,” Jin Ling mutters under his breath, thinking to himself that Zewu Jun is clearly exhibiting early signs of senility.

“That is not what your brother told me,” Jiang Wanyin says skeptically. “And he told me, like, ten times.”

“Wangji might not have chosen you,” Lan Xichen says, unperturbed, “but I chose you.” He taps a finger to his chin, thinking back to that fateful moment when he randomly selected Jiang Wanyin’s resume. “One could even say the gods chose you.”

Yep, Jin Ling thinks, no question about it – Zewu Jun is definitely going senile. (Or near-sighted. Or both.)

Though he also seems to have the unusual gift of being able to shut his uncle up, he observes shrewdly, as an interesting color rises up Jiang Wanyin’s face.

An excited bark interrupts them, as a large black and white husky runs right up to Jin Ling.

Jiang Wanyin squints at it, estimating that its lavish collar could probably buy enough food for a small army. “So, you finally got that dog you always wanted.”

“Mmhmm, this is Fairy,” Jin Ling says proudly, scratching her behind her ears. “Who’s a good girl? Are the bean counters all done?” She barks in affirmation.

Lan Xichen bends down to look closer at Fairy, eyes widening with wonder. “A spiritual dog, if I’m not mistaken?”

“Yes,” Jin Ling says, smiling. “I raised her since she was a puppy. Probably the closest I’ll ever get to being an exorcist.” His voice is tinged with regret, like he’d rather go on exciting ghost adventures than attend boring trade meetings. “Like grandmother.”

“Your grandmother is an exorcist?” Lan Xichen straightens back up. “Perhaps I’ve met her.”

“You haven’t.” Jiang Wanyin grits his teeth, slanting a glare at his nephew. “She’s dead.”

“He sees ghosts all the time. That’s his literal job, uncle,” Jin Ling retorts, then turns to Lan Xichen with a curious gaze. “Have you seen her? Her name is Yu Ziyuan.” He points helpfully to Jiang Wanyin’s blade. “That’s her sword.”

Lan Xichen looks at Jiang Wanyin in shock. “Your mother…is Yu Ziyuan?”

Chapter Text

Jiang Wanyin hasn’t heard anyone utter his mother’s name in a long while. He unconsciously tightens his grip on his sword. “Yes, she is my mother.” His mouth twists downward. “Was.”

“Ah, no wonder I did not make the connection with your surname,” Lan Xichen says, his thoughts starting to drift back in time before he catches himself and lowers his head in respect. “I’m so sorry for her passing.”

“It was a long time ago,” Jiang Wanyin says out of habit more than anything, then adds stiffly, “Thank you.”

Jin Ling gives him a worried look, before echoing, “Thank you, Zewu Jun.”

Lan Xichen sees the hint of hope in Jin Ling’s eyes. The hope of learning anything – even the tiniest detail – about the family he never really got to know. It’s a feeling he’s all too familiar with.

“I didn’t know her well, but I met her when I was a child,” he reveals. “She came to Gusu for a few months to learn our techniques. One of the strongest exorcists I’ve ever seen.”

“But you didn’t recognize her sword?” Jin Ling asks.

Lan Xichen shakes his head. “At the time, weapons were already banned from the school grounds. My uncle enforced a total pacifist doctrine by that point. I suppose it’s why I never made the connection.”

He looks over at Jiang Wanyin with hesitation, unsure if he should continue. But Jiang Wanyin says nothing, his eyes trained on Lan Xichen, dark and searching.

Lan Xichen drops his gaze and folds his hands inside his sleeves. “She and my uncle used to get into such heated arguments. She always favored the offensive approach, and thought weapons were invaluable tools. And my uncle—” He pauses, choosing his words carefully. “He believed weapons had too much capacity for harm rather than good.”

Finally, Jiang Wanyin moves to speak, his voice strangely quiet. “She had never mentioned Gusu. Why would she have gone, if her beliefs were in such opposition to yours?”

“I don’t know,” Lan Xichen says regretfully. “I can only guess that she was searching for more knowledge, more ways to strengthen her spiritual energy. We have a rather extensive library that isn’t limited to our doctrine.”

Jin Ling’s gaze flickers between his uncle and Lan Xichen. “Grandmother never mentioned having a family?” he asks hesitantly.

“No,” Lan Xichen sighs, “but I don’t doubt it was for a good reason. Exorcists who are also mothers are judged more harshly, more so if they are away from their families. It’s better now than it was then, but I don’t blame her if that’s why she kept silent.”

Jiang Wanyin’s jaw tightens as he remembers the scornful looks other people would sometimes cast at his mother while they walked down the street, his small hand clinging to her skirt. He hadn’t fully understood why, but he had always remembered how it felt. (“The world is not a kind place,” she had said often and vehemently. “You are either strong or weak.”)

Lan Xichen glances at him, sensing the change in mood, and is surprised at how he hadn’t noticed the resemblance before. Yu Ziyuan’s sharp features, her fiery gaze, the tension in her posture like a drawn bow ready to shoot. She had been so different from anyone he had grown up with, anyone he was taught to associate with. Her presence was like a knife blade, cutting through the quiet sameness of Gusu.

But while his uncle saw her as an anomaly, someone whose world view needed to be corrected, Lan Xichen saw her as someone who was fearless, who did not hesitate to speak her thoughts and feelings.

He had wished for that fearlessness, for a long time after she had left.

He wonders if he’s found some semblance of it along the way, traveling with Jiang Wanyin. A sense of freedom, the gradual unbinding of constraints so layered upon him that it was hard to tell where his family’s voice ended and where his own began.

For all that Jiang Wanyin resembles his mother in looks and temperament, though, he is not Yu Ziyuan. There’s a mercurial edge to him that bends like willowed grass. He doesn’t have the rigidity his mother was famed for at Gusu, which had clashed so severely against Lan Qiren’s own rigidity. And while he has the same strength of will, it is tempered sometimes with a kindness that he tries to hide. A refusal to give himself over entirely to the jaded cynicism that was ever-present in his mother’s eyes.

Being with Jiang Wanyin, Lan Xichen suddenly realizes, feels like lightning striking through the opaque clouds that shield his thoughts. Like a river rushing through the stillness of his mind.

Being with him feels like coming alive.

And he closes his eyes, his insides suddenly trembling and shaking apart, like the ground beneath him is falling away.

“Zewu Jun?” Jin Ling’s voice cuts through his thoughts, and he looks up, startled.

“I apologize,” he says thinly, just barely able to suppress his emotional upheaval. “That’s all I can remember of her.”

He wants so badly to retreat somewhere where he can be alone. To hide from Jiang Wanyin’s increasingly concerned look. But he is Zewu Jun, first and foremost, and he cannot be so selfish.

“The day is getting longer, I’m afraid,” he says, steadying his voice. “If you’ll excuse us, we do have to continue our search for a group of ghouls.” He bows, feeling the weight of Jiang Wanyin’s gaze. “It was an honor to meet you, Jin Rulan. I hope we meet again soon. And you are welcome at Gusu anytime, should you wish to visit.”

There is nothing Jin Ling could say in return except, “The honor is mine, Zewu Jun.” He bows deeply. “Your presence is also welcome in Lanling, should your travels ever bring you there.” He then turns toward Jiang Wanyin, his hand absently petting Fairy’s head. “Farewell, uncle.”

“Likewise,” Jiang Wanyin says stiffly, though his gaze softens incrementally. “Until next time.”

And something in Jin Ling’s expression brightens a little. “Yes, until next time.”

Jiang Wanyin turns away to follow Lan Xichen, who is already walking ahead like the first swirl of snow in the advent of winter. And he cannot see anyone now but Zewu Jun, as if Lan Xichen – who smiles so gently, who looks at him so openly – has disappeared into thin air.

And he is surprised to find that it hurts.

+

They end up deciding to rent a small covered boat to take upriver, so that Lan Xichen can better trace any residual ghoul signatures that may be in the water.

Lan Xichen murmurs reassuring nonsense to Red Bean, who seems anxious at being left behind, and pays the stable boy extra without any additional requests. Green Bean, on the other hand, sticks his face in a bucket of warm oats and chews noisily, side-eyeing Jiang Wanyin as he gathers up their belongings.

“What?” Jiang Wanyin says irritably, as he hoists the packs over his shoulder. “You want treats? You’re already eating the most expensive oats I’ve ever seen in my life. Organic, my ass. Marketing bullshit.”

Green Bean snorts.

“Well,” Jiang Wanyin grouses, “take care of Red Bean. We’ll be back next week.”

Green Bean noses his shoulder hard, as if saying, you’d better.

A trail of oat mush dribbles down Jiang Wanyin’s robe.

“Asshole,” he mutters without any heat, then turns to glare at the stable boy, who seems to be doing far more staring at Lan Xichen than actual stabling duties. “You.”

The boy startles and drops a brush. “Uh, yes, sir.”

“These horses belong to the Lan family,” he says harshly. “If anything happens to them, I’m holding you responsible.”

The boy nervously shuffles closer to Lan Xichen. “Of course, sir.”

“Wanyin,” Lan Xichen says mildly, giving him a look.

Jiang Wanyin huffs but says nothing, opting instead to unsheathe his sword and inspect it closely. Very closely. Just to make sure it’s still in good condition.

The boy immediately starts shoveling hay with intense concentration.

Lan Xichen sighs and brushes past him on the way out. “If you’re all done.”

Jiang Wanyin returns his sword to his scabbard with a self-satisfied click.

+

“We’re lucky it’s high tide right now,” Jiang Wanyin says, peering at the water level and getting a feel for the direction of the wind.

They’re floating along with relatively minimal effort, as the rising tide pushes their boat upstream.

“Mm,” Lan Xichen says as he stares at the water around them, searching for any sign of ghouls.

He doesn’t technically need to look at the water to sense ghostly residuals, but Jiang Wanyin doesn’t need to know that. At this point, he’ll do anything to distract himself from the very undeniable fact that he has overwhelming feelings for the man beside him. Feelings that are getting more and more difficult to contain.

Feelings that he absolutely cannot act on.

He closes his eyes and mentally runs through all the reasons, repeating them once more, as if reciting an incantation. As if trying to exorcise the emotions that burn like fire in his chest.

I cannot abuse my power as his superior. I cannot jeopardize the mission of this tour. I cannot disgrace the Lan name with my personal desires. I cannot be anyone other than Zewu Jun.

With every repetition, he binds his emotions even tighter, but in the end all it does is make him want to scream.

“Anything?” Jiang Wanyin’s voice floats over to him.

Lan Xichen opens his eyes and stares at the water lapping at the side of the boat. His fingers clench the fabric of his robes.

“Nothing,” he says quietly.

“Huh, maybe they haven’t come up this way,” Jiang Wanyin replies, letting the tip of the steering pole skim the surface of the water.

There’s a looseness about him, an ease born of growing up in and around the rivers. He’s very much in his element here, true to his surname.

“I suppose we’ll find out when we reach the village,” Lan Xichen says, shifting his grip to the edge of his seat when the boat rocks against an errant wave. “Two days’ time, you said?”

“That’s what I was told.” Jiang Wanyin shrugs. “If the tide goes back down, it may take a bit longer. We’d have to row against the current.” He throws a curious glance at him. “You know how to row, yes?”

Lan Xichen blinks back at him. “Yes…in theory.”

Jiang Wanyin coughs abruptly as he bites back a laugh. “Really?”

Lan Xichen frowns, feeling a bit miffed. “There aren’t a whole lot of opportunities for boat-rowing in the mountains of Gusu.”

“That’s fair.” Jiang Wanyin extends a hand impatiently. “Come on, no time like the present to learn.”

Lan Xichen stubbornly clings to his seat, avoiding the hand in front of him. “Why do I need to learn if I have you?”

“Because I’m not a boat taxi driver,” Jiang Wanyin says drily. “Also, if anything happens to me, you won’t be left stranded.”

It’s practical advice. He certainly has a point.

Lan Xichen still doesn’t want to do it.

“Nothing will happen to you,” he says convincingly, like he has any say in what the future holds. (If he’s being truly honest with himself, it’s a thought he can’t even bear to consider.)

Jiang Wanyin raises an eyebrow. “I didn’t know you were a fortune teller, as well.”

“Surprise,” Lan Xichen says flatly.

“Seriously, though, this is something you should know how to do.” Jiang Wanyin pulls up the steering rod and holds it out towards Lan Xichen. “Regardless of where you are or who you’re with.”

Lan Xichen can see that Jiang Wanyin isn’t letting go of this anytime soon. So he gingerly takes the steering rod and holds it across his lap.

“Okay, lesson number one, you can’t steer sitting down,” Jiang Wanyin sighs in exasperation. “You can sit while rowing, but we’ll get to that later.” The oars sitting at the bottom of the boat clack together, as if in agreement.

Lan Xichen looks around, like he’s in a classroom. “Well, aren’t you going to go over the basics first?”

“That is what I’m doing.”

“You’re not going to tell me the history of the steering rod, or the physics of water resistance?”

Jiang Wanyin stares at him. “No.”

Lan Xichen tilts his head, looking genuinely confused. “What about material composition? Or wind dynamics?”

“Holy hell, just—” Jiang Wanyin grabs the steering rod and pulls up Lan Xichen along with it. “Put your hands here, and widen your stance like this.”

Lan Xichen freezes as Jiang Wanyin impatiently moves him into the correct position. He grips the steering rod like his life depends on it. (Which, he thinks distantly, is probably the whole point of this lesson.)

“You have to relax. Otherwise, you’re going to tire yourself out too soon,” Jiang Wanyin says critically.

Lan Xichen looks down at the flow of water and wonders how quickly he can float to the village, if he just throws himself in, away from boats and steering rods and Jiang Wanyin.

Especially as Jiang Wanyin is reaching out again, attempting to teach in a way that Lan Xichen deems to be entirely too hands-on.

“No, no, I’ve got it,” he says with dignity, and most definitely not a shriek.

Adjusting his grip, Lan Xichen lowers the rod into the river until it touches bottom. He pushes against it, propelling the boat forward, and lifts the rod to pitch it down again.

This is not so hard, he thinks, focusing on the repetitive motion of the rod. In fact, it’s quite easy.

“Lan Xichen.”

He could probably graduate to oars now. Wangji would be pleased to know about all these new skills he’s acquiring.

“Lan Xichen!”

His head snaps up. “What?”

Jiang Wanyin has his arms crossed. “We’re going in a circle.”

Lan Xichen looks around and finds that somehow the boat is now facing the opposite direction.

“Oh,” he says, clutching the rod even tighter.

A wry smile graces Jiang Wanyin’s features. “The angle at which you’re pushing the rod is too wide.”

Lan Xichen sighs and wordlessly thrusts the rod in Jiang Wanyin’s direction.

But he doesn’t take it. “Keep trying. You’ll get it. Eventually.”

“Eventually,” Lan Xichen echoes miserably.

“Believe me, you’ll appreciate it once I’m no longer working for you.”

At this, Lan Xichen feels something inside his chest pulling apart.

The fortune teller’s words drift through his mind like a cold autumn wind.

All rivers lead to the ocean.

And he knows, nothing can be further from the mountains than the ocean.

Chapter Text

The wind is fair and the tide remains high, as favorable a condition as they could ask for. There’s a certain calm that follows every storm, like a long sigh, and Jiang Wanyin lets the feeling settle in his chest.

His gaze drifts over to Lan Xichen, who is sound asleep, curled up at the bottom of the boat. His head is pillowed on one of the travel packs, and his long hair falls in inky waves across his neck and shoulders. Evening arrives late this time of year, and Lan Xichen had tired himself out by insisting on steering and rowing until the very last sliver of daylight had gone.

Jiang Wanyin is not sure what drove him to such stubbornness, but he hardly had cause to stop him. The only thing is—

He tilts his head in concern as Lan Xichen shifts in his sleep, his hands drawn close and his long fingers unfurled. His palms are an angry red, rubbed raw and on the edge of blistering. Lan Xichen had reassured him through a stifled yawn that they would be all better by morning, thanks to his spiritual energy.

But still, pain is pain. And Jiang Wanyin wonders if it’s a distraction for Lan Xichen, the way it is sometimes for him. He’s no stranger to seeking out the sharp immediacy of it, to feel the buzzing exhaustion afterwards that gives him a small reprieve from the hollow of deeper aches.

He knows that Lan Xichen and Lan Wangji lost their parents when they were very young, though the circumstances around their death were never solidified in anything more than rumor. He does not dare to ask Lan Xichen about it, but nevertheless feels a faint kinship – an understanding of a loss so deep that it will never heal.

There is not much that Jiang Wanyin fears these days. But enduring such a loss again – he’s not sure he would survive it. He’s not even sure he would want to.

And yet—

He finds his gaze drawn back towards Lan Xichen again, without thought, as if lured by a fox spirit. He could pass for one, truly, under the moonlight that ripples across the water and over the edge of the boat, almost like it’s searching for him. Searching for a way to bring its luminous child back home to the spirit world.

His beauty is captivating.

It is also beyond him.

For a long time, he had wanted what was out of reach – his family brought back to life, a home with his nephew. And eventually, he learned to stop wanting, to feel even the smallest semblance of peace. Now, he does his best to be content with what he can have.

And he is content to be by Lan Xichen’s side, whose bright companionship eases his loneliness like the melting of snow. A gentle balm that cools his temper and steadies his hand.

He will not ask for more than that.

+

They arrive at the village on the second day, just as dusk begins to fall. Jiang Wanyin busies himself with securing the boat to one of the docks, while Lan Xichen walks along the shoreline, asking passersby about any ghoul sightings.

After the fifth person shakes her head, eyes wide as she hastily strides away, Lan Xichen begins to cast doubt on his own interview methods.

“I think I’ve inadvertently worried the inhabitants of this village,” he says to Jiang Wanyin with a concerned frown.

Jiang Wanyin squints at a miniscule crack in the side of the boat, wondering if he should bother sealing it. “Better for them to be on guard than not.” He looks up at Lan Xichen. “So, no ghoul sightings?”

“No,” Lan Xichen sighs. “But maybe that’s a good thing. One villager told me that there’s an offshoot of the river that leads to a cave. It’s about a day away and uninhabited. Perhaps the ghouls have taken up residence there instead.”

“At this rate, we should bill the ghouls for all these extra travel expenses,” Jiang Wanyin grumbles.

A faintly bemused smile appears. “If only.”

“Damn ghouls had better be in that cave,” Jiang Wanyin says with a scowl before peering up at Lan Xichen. “I don’t suppose anyone mentioned an inn or lodging for the night?”

Lan Xichen shakes his head. “It seems most villagers go down to Fuzhou to trade and get the latest news. Not many visitors come up this way.” He looks away, a nervous fluttering sensation rising in his chest. “I don’t mind sleeping in the boat again.” (With you, he doesn’t say. Immediately, he tries to banish the thought.)

“No, you’re not going to get any decent rest that way.” Jiang Wanyin’s gaze drops briefly to Lan Xichen’s hands. “We’ll find something.”

As it turns out, the best something they could find is a small goat shack belonging to an old, cranky, half-deaf farmer.

“You want what?” he shouts, his spittle flying everywhere. “Loggers?”

“Lodging,” Jiang Wanyin says loudly, gritting his teeth.

“Lodging?” the old man repeats with a suspicious look on his face. “Why?”

Jiang Wanyin takes a deep breath to avoid giving himself a conniption. (Maybe they should’ve stayed on the boat after all.) “To rest for the night.”

“You don’t look like you’re from around here.”

Lan Xichen steps in quickly before Jiang Wanyin can blow a gasket. “We’re visitors, looking for ghouls that may have traveled upriver, so we can exorcise them. We humbly ask your permission to stay overnight in your stable. We won’t be any bother, I promise.”

“Ghouls, you say?” the old man says with a deep frown. “Haven’t seen them since I was a kid.” (Jiang Wanyin throws his hands up in the air. Apparently, the old man has absolutely no problem understanding what Lan Xichen has to say.)

“Hopefully you won’t ever see them again,” Lan Xichen says in a reassuring tone.

“Hng,” the old man grouses, then waves a hand at his goat shack. “Well, it’s hardly a stable, but you can sleep there if you want.” He squints at Jiang Wanyin. “Don’t let out any of the goats. They tend to wander.”

Jiang Wanyin stares back in consternation. Does he look irresponsible? “Don’t free the goats. Got it.”

“Don’t let the ghouls eat the goats either.”

“What?”

“Noted! Goat safety is our number one priority,” Lan Xichen says cheerily, pushing Jiang Wanyin towards the goat shack. “Have a good evening, sir. Much appreciated. Very grateful.”

“I regret not staying on the boat,” Jiang Wanyin hisses.

The second they shut themselves in and light the creaky oil lamp by the door, they hear the tell-tale pattering of rain on the roof.

“Okay, I regret it less now,” he says, looking up.

“Sorry for the intrusion,” Lan Xichen says to the goats, like they can understand him. The goats baa and bleat as they shuffle closer. “Thank you for sharing your space.”

“Hey, ghouls don’t really eat goats,” Jiang Wanyin says, turning towards Lan Xichen, “do they?”

“Shh,” Lan Xichen admonishes as he covers the ears of the nearest goat. “We don’t want to scare them.”

“They have literally no idea what we’re talking about. I think we’re okay.”

At this, the goats stare balefully at him.

“They are smarter than you think,” Lan Xichen says while petting them. “Aren’t you? Don’t let the mean man tell you otherwise.” He settles down on a pile of hay and looks up at Jiang Wanyin. “And to answer your question, I’m not sure.”

“What do you mean, you’re not sure?” Jiang Wanyin looks around, as if the ghouls could come at any moment for a midnight goat buffet.

“There are a lot of things we exorcists know,” Lan Xichen says sagely, “but also a lot of things we don’t know. The golden rule is to never assume. Just because it’s never happened doesn’t mean it never will.” He brightens a bit, smiling down at a baby goat that climbed into his lap. “This is why I like traveling. There’s only so much you can learn at our school.”

Jiang Wanyin crosses his arms nervously. “Do you…think you’ll keep traveling then, for a while?”

“I hope so,” Lan Xichen says softly, scratching the baby goat’s ears. “I would like to.”

“Well,” Jiang Wanyin says, feeling slightly out of breath. “I’ll travel with you then. For however long you’d like.”

Lan Xichen blinks up at him. “I would like that,” he says quietly, something like affection unfurling in his gaze. But it disappears as he looks down abruptly, as if he’s said too much. “But you don’t have to, of course. I’m sure you want to settle down eventually and have a family.”

The words feel like ash in his mouth.

Jiang Wanyin raises an eyebrow. “Isn’t the golden rule to never assume?” He settles on the other side of the hay pile. “If I say I’ll travel with you, it’s because I want to. Not because some contract tells me to.” He exhales a biting laugh. “And certainly not because I want a wife and kids.”

Lan Xichen looks genuinely surprised. “You don’t?”

“Do I look like husband material?” Jiang Wanyin snorts. “No, Jin Ling is enough family for me.”

“I don’t want them either,” Lan Xichen whispers. It’s the first time he’s ever said it out loud. He’s never even admitted it to Wangji.

Jiang Wanyin ruthlessly quashes the faint hope that threatens to rise inside his chest. “Your family, though—” He frowns. “Are you not expected to?”

“They expect a lot of things from me,” Lan Xichen says, gaze fixed firmly on the floor. His voice wavers. “Sometimes, I think, it would be better if I weren’t Zewu Jun.”

Jiang Wanyin stares at him for a long moment. “I’m sorry,” is all he can say.

Lan Xichen straightens his posture and smooths away any traces of sadness from his expression. “No, I apologize. I didn’t mean to burden you with my personal problems.” He inclines his head. “I’m quite tired. We should get some rest.”

With that, he sighs and nestles down into the hay, curling away from Jiang Wanyin.

+

It’s still pitch dark when Jiang Wanyin wakes with a start, breathing heavily.

It’s been a while since he dreamed of the great fire that killed his family years ago. Immediately, he checks the oil lamp by the door, which had already fizzled out. He wills his heartbeat to slow down.

Unbidden, his thoughts drift back to the conversation he and Lan Xichen had, where they revealed not wanting families of their own.

Though he has little else in his life, Jiang Wanyin thinks, at least he has the freedom to choose. He looks over at Lan Xichen, who has rolled over in his sleep and is facing him now, worry marring his sleeping features.

Somehow, Jiang Wanyin feels like he’s intruding, and tries to get up quietly, only to find that Lan Xichen’s cheek is firmly settled on the edge of his sleeve.

A sudden flush rises up his neck and into his cheeks, as he recalls a childhood memory with his older brother.

A group of children in the streets are taunting a young boy who is wearing a dress. They call him cruel names and only seem encouraged by his tears.

“Hey, get away from him!” his brother yells out, striding up with his fist raised. He’s already known for his fighting skills, and the bullies wisely scatter, though not before throwing him dirty looks.

“Only a cut-sleeve would defend another cut-sleeve,” one of them sneers before taking off.

Jiang Wanyin trails behind his brother, and wonders why the boy is wearing a dress, if he knows he’ll get bullied for it.

“It’s not his fault,” Wei Wuxian says to him, frowning. “He’s not harming anyone. The fault lies with those terrible kids, who bully to feel better about themselves. Because they’re afraid of anyone who is different.”

“Isn’t he making life harder for himself though?”

“Yes,” his brother says with a sober expression. “But he is brave and honest, which is more than can be said for most people.”

That is true, Jiang Wanyin thinks. He looks over at his brother, frowning. “What is a cut-sleeve?”

“Ah,” his brother says, scratching the back of his neck, “it’s a name for men who like other men.”

“Oh,” Jiang Wanyin says, embarrassed. “The name still doesn’t make sense though.”

“As far as I know, it’s because some emperor long ago fell asleep with a guy he liked. He woke up and the guy was sleeping on his sleeve. So he cut off his sleeve to avoid disturbing him. Pretty cheesy, huh?” He then smiles down at Jiang Wanyin. “Come on, let’s go home.”

Jiang Wanyin smiles wryly and thinks his brother would laugh so hard at his predicament now.

He doesn’t recall ever liking men that way. Nor any woman for that matter. But he does find himself inexplicably, heart-stoppingly liking Lan Xichen, for whatever it’s worth. And if that makes him a cut-sleeve, then so be it.

Drawing a small knife from his boot, he slices through the edge of his sleeve.

Chapter Text

In the somnolent, grey-blue hours before dawn, Lan Xichen slowly blinks awake and finds himself face to face with a shaggy-haired goat who clearly has no concept of personal space and seems to be persistently chewing on…something.

He pushes himself upright and absently runs his fingers through his hair, plucking out stalks of hay. He wonders, not for the first time, if he should adopt Jiang Wanyin’s preferred style instead. But then, he thinks as he affixes his hairpiece with practiced ease, he would lose one of the few memories he has of his mother – her cool, gentle hands combing through his hair until it shines like black silk.

How nice it looks, A-Huan.

That small daily ritual, somehow, keeps her close to him. As if she comes alive every morning for a brief moment to smooth down the long strands, imparting a silent and meditative kind of love. He remembers this more clearly, more deeply than he remembers her own face.

Sometimes, rarely, a passerby will cast a displeased look his way and mutter about the vanity of appearances. And he lets them cast their judgment without reproach, because how can he explain that the lustrous shine feels like the brightness of his mother’s demeanor, and the weight of it across his shoulders like her embrace?

He wonders if Jiang Wanyin thinks of it as vanity, the inordinate amount of time spent on his own hair a sharp contrast to Jiang Wanyin’s brusque and efficient manner.

His musings are suddenly interrupted as the shaggy-haired goat presumably finishes its breakfast and proceeds to move on to second breakfast by nibbling on his sleeve.

“This is not for eating,” Lan Xichen tuts in his best teacher voice.

“Bahhhgh,” the goat argues back, stretching its neck to chomp futilely at the sleeve Lan Xichen has lifted out of reach.

“Be quiet, you menace,” Jiang Wanyin grumbles blearily without even opening his eyes. His back shifts against the door and his head hangs down even further, like he can just will himself back to sleep if he tries hard enough.

“I don’t know why,” Lan Xichen says in confusion, raising both arms high in the air as the goat decides to ambush his other sleeve, “but it seems to have a real hankering for sleeves.”

Jiang Wanyin’s eyes snap open. “What?” he says abruptly, as last night’s heartfelt act of deep and abiding affection – entirely unbeknownst to the object of said affection – comes back to him in a rush. He immediately looks down at his left sleeve. Ah, there it is. Evidence of that which he carries in his heart.

Or not.

Slight panic overcomes him, as he scans the haystack for the other piece of his sleeve, which Lan Xichen had so soundly slept on. But it’s nowhere to be seen.

He turns an accusing gaze towards the offending goat. “Did you eat it, you bastard?” he hisses.

Lan Xichen continues moving his arms up and around, like a set of tai chi exercises, if tai chi was designed for goat avoidance. “Oh no, I stopped it before it could get a bite,” he says, misinterpreting Jiang Wanyin’s question as a reference to his apparently tantalizing sleeves.

Jiang Wanyin pales, then flushes, then pales again. “You…kept it?”

Lan Xichen tilts his head at the odd turn of phrase. “Yes? I mean, I don’t have a spare set of robes. Not like this one anyway.” His gaze drifts down to Jiang Wanyin’s own sleeves, and he blinks in surprise. “Oh no, the goat must’ve bitten your sleeve while you were sleeping. I’m surprised it didn’t wake you up.”

Jiang Wanyin lets out an involuntary strangled noise.

So does the goat.

“Very rude of you,” Lan Xichen says, shaking his head at the culprit in disappointment. He steers the goat into a gated pen on the other side of the shack. “There. Think about what you’ve done.”

Jiang Wanyin lets his head thunk back against the door and looks up at the ceiling. He wasn’t sure what he expected. If that goddamn goat hadn’t chowed down his symbolic sleeve piece like it was part of a nutritional and healthy breakfast…

What, would Lan Xichen have even noticed? Would he have figured out what it meant? Then what? Light up with wonder and ask him to be his lifelong partner? Hah, like he would be so lucky. More like ask him to leave for good and—

“Wanyin?” Lan Xichen says softly, looking concerned over his cloudy expression. He sits down in front of him and pulls out both a strip of embroidered fabric and a sewing kit. “Here, give me your arm.”

Jiang Wanyin frowns. “What are you doing? Isn’t that for your pouches?”

“Mm,” Lan Xichen says noncommittally as he begins threading the needle.

“Really, I’m fine,” Jiang Wanyin says, embarrassed. “You need to keep that for your work.”

“I need you for my work,” Lan Xichen replies evenly. “Fully intact, sleeves included.”

He doesn’t know what secret talent this is, where Lan Xichen gives a command without actually giving a command, but Jiang Wanyin finds himself reluctantly holding out his arm.

Lan Xichen’s nimble fingers align the hems and guide the needle into making small, evenly spaced stitches. He gracefully avoids pricking Jiang Wanyin’s skin or even touching it in any way.

Jiang Wanyin thinks, somehow, it’s worse than actual touching. He stares hard at his sleeve and tries even harder not to think about their proximity to each other.

"It doesn’t need to be perfect,” he says hastily.

Lan Xichen neither speeds up nor slows down. “Anything worth doing must be done well,” he says, like it’s part of a long list of adages he learned by rote memorization. He leans closer, eyeing the stitches critically.

This is what suffocation must feel like, Jiang Wanyin thinks hazily, as he feels the air leaving his lungs.

Just as he’s about to pass out, Lan Xichen blessedly leans back and straightens his newly repaired sleeve. “’There, all done,” Lan Xichen says, satisfied.

Jiang Wanyin inhales sharply as he looks at all the stiches. The work is seamless and perfect. “I wish I knew how to sew like this,” he says enviously.

Lan Xichen smiles demurely. “Anyone can, after sewing a thousand pouches.”

Jiang Wanyin runs a finger along the intricate white and blue embroidery, which stands out starkly in contrast to the deep purple of his robe. It’s much too fine for someone like him. He likes it anyway.

“Does this mean I can keep spirits in my sleeve now?” he says, shaking it.

Lan Xichen breaks out into laughter, and to Jiang Wanyin it feels brighter than the sun.

+

After leaving behind a pouch with several coins and a written blessing tucked inside, Lan Xichen sets off with Jiang Wanyin just as the sun begins cresting over the horizon. The grey-blue of the sky slowly gives way to daylight and shades of brilliant orange spread across the clouds above. The smell of the previous night’s rain rises up through the loam of the earth, bringing with it the freshness of soil and grass renewed.

They walk back to the boat in companionable silence, packs slung over their shoulders and day-old vegetable buns clutched in their hands.

As they arrange the packs in the boat to distribute the weight evenly, Jiang Wanyin wonders if today is the day they finally catch up with the ghouls.

“What’s the difference between ghouls and ghosts, anyway?” he asks, as he uses the steering rod to push the boat away from the dock. “Are ghouls harder to get rid of?”

“It depends,” Lan Xichen says, voice slipping into a scholarly tone. “‘Ghoul is a pretty broad classification. It can refer to a ghost that’s been malevolent for so long that it has morphed into a harmful spirit that can no longer speak with us. It can also refer to a spirit that sustains itself by eating other spirits.”

Jiang Wanyin abruptly stops steering, turning to stare at Lan Xichen. “What?” He doesn’t know what he originally thought a ghoul was, but it certainly wasn’t that. “Then how the hell are you going to exorcise them peacefully?”

“The typical method is to put them into a deep sleep, a kind of hibernation state where they can be contained without actually experiencing any harm.”

“And then?”

“Then we bring them to our warded containment vault and observe. As the years go by, we monitor their spiritual temperature. If we still sense a strong violent tendency, they remain in containment. If not, then we perform an inquiry and see if they can express any desire to move on. Only then would we exorcise them.” Lan Xichen smiles up at him. “It’s a long process but it’s worth it. The vault also allows our students to conduct research and see if they can innovate new ways to help these ghouls.”

Jiang Wanyin whistles lowly. “No wonder your institute is so famous.” He then frowns, as he resumes steering. “You really think ghouls deserve help? After what they’ve done?”

“Everyone deserves help,” Lan Xichen says. “Even those who are unable to accept it. Especially those who seem beyond it.”

“It’s incredible that you Lans haven’t ascended yet to some higher plane of existence,” Jiang Wanyin says, shaking his head ruefully. “The rest of us are maybe too human to believe that.”

“We are not without our faults,” Lan Xichen corrects with a sigh. “We make mistakes, like anyone else.” But he doesn’t elaborate further, and Jiang Wanyin doesn’t ask.

“Based on what the merchant said, though, these ghouls don’t sound particularly malevolent,” he says instead. “They just latched on to the bottom of his boat and…that’s it? Are they even ghouls at all?”

“Ghouls do tend to congregate in groups. And based on his initial description – black masses with red eyes – they do rather sound like ghouls,” Lan Xichen muses. “But you are correct, they don’t seem actively harmful. Perhaps we’ve encountered a new type of ghoul.” His eyes brighten with scientific interest. “That would be amazing.”

Jiang Wanyin blinks at him, stunned. Seriously, only Lan Xichen would be excited to go meet some ghouls.

Chapter Text

Perhaps he should’ve asked just a few more questions about the cave, Lan Xichen thinks, as he stares at its extraordinarily wide mouth, lined with jagged rock like dragon’s teeth and so dark it seems to swallow up all light.

“Well, this looks safe,” Jiang Wanyin remarks flatly as he plunges the steering rod down, bringing the boat to a complete stop.

Lan Xichen peers even harder, as if trying to see through the gloom. “If I were a ghoul, I would definitely want to live here.”

“If you were a ghoul, I think we’d have bigger issues to deal with.”

Lan Xichen waves a hand dismissively, as if being a ghoul is no big deal. “Can you steer us closer? I want to see if there are any residual signatures up ahead.”

“Sure,” Jiang Wanyin huffs, resuming with great reluctance. “Nothing can go wrong with visiting the Cave of Doom.”

“Hm,” Lan Xichen says observationally, craning his head upwards to look at the cave ceiling. “Do you think there’s a possibility that the ghouls aren’t the only ones here?”

“You’re making this whole expedition so enjoyable,” Jiang Wanyin says through gritted teeth, doing his best not to imagine what other denizens of the dark the cave may hold.

A small whoosh of flame goes up, as Lan Xichen ignites a fire talisman to light the way. As they float further inside, the air gets progressively more musty and humid, the dampness seeming to cling to everything it touches, down to their skin and eyelashes.

Jiang Wanyin can’t even tell if it’s the air or his own sweat that’s affecting his grip on the steering rod. “Anything?” he whispers, checking for what seems like the hundredth time that his sword is firmly belted onto his waist.

“No, nothi—” Lan Xichen starts, then abruptly stands up, causing the boat to rock precariously. “Oh wait, I’m getting something.” His skin prickles with a faint sensation, like a thousand tiny insect legs landing all at once.

That was not the answer Jiang Wanyin was hoping for.

“Oh goodness, this feels odd,” Lan Xichen says with a frown, as the prickling sensation intensifies to a stinging that even reaches behind his eyes. He squeezes his eyes shut and tries to take deep breaths.

“Hey,” Jiang Wanyin says with alarm, dropping the rod and gripping Lan Xichen’s shoulders to steady him. “What’s wrong? What’s happening?”

The fire talisman suddenly extinguishes, plunging them into total darkness.

“Fuck,” Jiang Wanyin hisses. “Lan Xichen! Hold on. I’m getting us out of here.”

Lan Xichen’s breath is labored, like he’s in pain, but he puts out a hand to stop Jiang Wanyin. “No, I have to keep going. They’re definitely here.”

“You’re hurt,” Jiang Wanyin growls. “I’m not taking you any further.”

“It’s temporary,” Lan Xichen argues, though his voice is strained. “It’s just— overwhelming. There are so many of them.”

A beat of oppressive silence passes.

“How many?” Jiang Wanyin asks lowly.

Lan Xichen’s voice barely rises above a whisper. “Thousands.”

+

Back at the port of Fuzhou, Jin Ling stifles a yawn as he finally signs the last page of a hundred-page contract, which laboriously details all the renewed terms and conditions – including an expanded addendum on storm damages – with the local fishing collective.

“Master Jin,” his senior advisor says with a twitch in the corner of his mouth, “I still think we should re-examine the terms on page forty-seven, pertaining to—”

“No,” Jin Ling says immediately, holding up an imperious hand. “It’s done. Final. Signed off. I don’t want to see this contract again until next year. Or ever. Never works, too.”

“But—”

“Your attention to detail is always greatly appreciated. Now, if you could help gather the envoy together, we should prepare to head back to Lanling soon.”

The advisor bows and heads off with a purposeful stride.

Fairy whines as she looks up at Jin Ling and thumps her tail.

“Yes, I agree,” he sighs tiredly, reaching out to scratch her ears. “This trip has been no fun at all. What do you say? Should we stop for some honey cakes before we leave?”

Fairy barks excitedly, already bounding away towards the marketplace. Jin Ling smiles bemusedly and shakes his head. He has no idea how he would maintain his sanity without her. (He scowls down at the rolled-up contract in his hand. He’d probably die of boredom, face-down in the middle of a thick stack of paper, with an obscure clause permanently inked across his forehead as they peel him off to bury his body. At least he wouldn’t have to sign his own burial papers.)

He strolls through the marketplace, making a beeline for the honey cake shop, where Fairy is waiting impatiently.

“Two cakes,” Jin Ling says to the shopkeeper, peering closely at today’s batch on display. “With a dash of extra honey on top.”

Fairy huffs excitedly and bumps her nose into Jin Ling’s thigh.

“All right, make that three cakes.”

She bumps her nose again and widens her eyes in a conscious attempt to be extra adorable.

“Nice try but that’s all you get. If you get too fat, that would make me a very irresponsible father.”

Fairy tilts her head, like she’s seriously contemplating the benefits of more cake versus the potential dishonor she would bring upon the Jin family.

Jin Ling pays for the cakes and holds one out. “Just one now. You can have the rest later.”

Fairy delicately picks it up, taking care to eat it with dignity and not hork it down like a common canine. The other two cakes are boxed up and tied with string, which Fairy places between her teeth like the cakes are made of precious jewels.

But the cakes are promptly tossed to the side, as Fairy suddenly growls, her ears pricking up and her hackles rising.

“What is it, girl?” Jin Ling asks, his gaze sharply turning in the direction she’s growling in. His hand immediately pulls a dagger from his boot.

Fairy barks insistently, tail whipping back and forth, but Jin Ling doesn’t see anything out of the ordinary.

She leaps forward, running frantically through the marketplace, only stopping once to turn back and bark loudly at Jin Ling to follow her. He scrambles to chase after her, his gold robes flying behind him.

“Master Jin—!” he distantly hears his attendants cry out, but he ignores them. They certainly won’t leave without him, and whatever has alarmed Fairy this much must be of dire importance.

They finally make it to the far end of the docks, where the river and the ocean meet, and Jin Ling has to brace his hands on his knees to catch his breath.

“What—is going on, Fairy?” he says, looking around as he wipes the sweat off his brow.

She growls more deeply, her hair standing even further on end. Her teeth are bared in the direction of the river.

“I don’t get it,” Jin Ling says, staring hard at the calm waters. He glances around and spots a dock worker hauling cargo over his shoulder. “Hey, you!”

The worker turns and frowns, instantly noticing Jin Ling’s fine attire and haughty disposition. (Jin Ling is used to this and does what he always does to get an immediate answer – he shamelessly uses Fairy.)

“Fairy, do not attack him! I repeat, do not attack this decent, hardworking man.”

Fairy, having played this role more times than she cares to, obediently mimics her attack position and resists the temptation to roll her eyes. (He’ll owe her twice the amount of honey cakes at the end of this, oh yes. She’ll remember.)

“Uh,” the worker says, looking nervously at Fairy. “Can I help you?”

Jin Ling jerks his head in the direction of the river. “Where does this lead?”

“Northwest…”

“Can you be more specific?” Jin Ling snaps.

“A farming village,” the worker replies, eyes widening at this very aggressive line of questioning. “About two days from here.”

“What else?”

“Nothing, really…” The worker slowly begins to back up. “You could get a map from the marketplace, I’m sure, if you really want to know about the…geography.”

“So, nothing unusual? No rumors? No strange happenings?”

The worker shakes his head, then pauses. “Oh well, there were two guys the other day going around, asking the same thing.” He squints a bit at Jin Ling. “One of them looked kind of like you, actually.”

“Uncle…and Zewu Jun,” Jin Ling mutters, brow furrowed as he recalls Zewu Jun mentioning their search for a group of ghouls. He looks down at Fairy, alarmed. “Are they in trouble?”

She whines in affirmation, and noses his hand impatiently.

“Good girl,” he says with pride, then sternly commands, “Quick, get the envoy and take the dagger. They’ll know what it means.”

She snatches the dagger between her teeth and flies off, quick as lightning, startling the dock worker.

Jin Ling sets his jaw, like he’s preparing himself for battle. “Your help will not go unrewarded. I need the fastest boats and crews you can find. Now.”

“So—”

“I’ll pay triple,” Jin Ling interrupts with a snarl. “Upon delivery.”

The dock worker blinks in disbelief before scrambling off, already shouting and waving to the other workers in the distance.

Jin Ling grits his teeth and grinds the heel of his boot as he paces back and forth, heart racing with worry.

Hang on, Uncle. I’m coming.

Chapter Text

The air thickens inside the cave, a faint sour smell permeating the dampness. Everything feels hotter and heavier, like they’re making their way into the bowels of a great beast.

Lan Xichen is curled over the side of the boat, a head-splitting ache pulsing through his whole body. His skin feels cold and clammy, while the ache runs fever-hot inside through his organs and muscles. His spiritual energy clamors to fight back, but he keeps it tightly suppressed for now, allowing his pain to guide them through the labyrinth of tunnels carved out by water over the ages.

Jiang Wanyin clenches his teeth, biting back everything inside him that’s telling him to turn back now. It hurts to see Lan Xichen suffer like this, so silently and stubbornly, as if it’s a punishment he must bear.

The faintest of glows emanates from the edge of Jiang Wanyin’s sleeve and though he doesn’t know if that means anything, he uses it to keep a watchful eye on Lan Xichen. His face is wan and contorted with tension, his lips pulled tight and unnaturally pale. Jiang Wanyin had balled up his outer robe and placed it under Lan Xichen’s head earlier, and Lan Xichen is pressing his face and breathing shallowly into it like it gives him the slightest hint of relief.

“Almost there,” Lan Xichen breathes out thinly. “I can feel them.”

Jiang Wanyin’s disapproval must be obvious, because Lan Xichen turns his head to look up at him, eyes half-lidded, sweat beading along long strands of hair curling damply around his face. He manages a smile regardless.

“Don’t worry,” he says softly. “I’ll be all right.”

Jiang Wanyin glares at him. “If I didn’t think you’d throw yourself back in here without me, we would be somewhere safe, dry, and ghoul-free right now. And you would already be all right,” he snaps.

Lan Xichen takes another shallow breath, smiles just a little bit more. “I’m glad you are here.” His gaze drifts towards the darkness ahead. “I have a feeling that these ghouls are something we’ve never seen before. I may have to seal the cave and block the river path, if things go wrong.”

“If things go wrong,” Jiang Wanyin says sharply, “you will do everything in your power to get out of here alive.” His eyes bore angrily into Lan Xichen, like he’s already extracting a promise.

“I have no intention of dying here,” Lan Xichen says, wincing as the aching throb throughout his body sharpens into a pain that lances through his spine, his nerves, all the way into his teeth.

The boat suddenly thuds to a stop, wood scraping up against rock.

Jiang Wanyin barely prevents himself from lurching forward, hands clenched around the steering rod. His footing regained, he turns immediately to crouch by Lan Xichen’s side, only to see bright blue energy already radiating outwards as Lan Xichen releases his suppression.

Jiang Wanyin stares at it in wonder, as the spiritual energy circles back to its owner, diving and orbiting in long flares of blue until the color returns to Lan Xichen’s cheeks and all traces of pain are swept away. The air around them somehow feels clearer, cleaner, like the morning after a storm.

Lan Xichen takes a deep breath and pushes himself upright, raising his hand to call back his spiritual energy until it disappears inside him again. He ignites several fire talismans in quick succession and sends them ahead to light a pathway towards the heart of the cave.

His dark eyes twinkle reassuringly. “I told you I’d be all right.”

Somehow, Lan Xichen has never looked more beautiful than in this moment, in this damp and terrible cave, and Jiang Wanyin feels his heart ready to burst. He grits his teeth, fighting down a rising flush. His feelings really do choose the worst times to strike.

“So, the ghouls are up ahead?” Jiang Wanyin says, shifting his gaze stubbornly towards the talismans. He unsheathes his sword, which glints with the reflection of the flames.

Lan Xichen nods, straightening his shoulders. The rock beneath their feet is wet and pockmarked with puddles, as they walk cautiously ahead, and the light from the talismans illuminates nothing but a cavernous tunnel that seems to stretch on endlessly.

Gradually, the tunnel yawns wider and wider, the sound of water drops echoing louder around them, until they find themselves stepping foot into a cavern deep in the recesses of ancient rock. The talismans form a circle around the walls of the cavern, as Lan Xichen quickly spells a glowing blue defense shield. Jiang Wanyin braces himself for a possible attack, sword gripped tightly in both hands.

But no ghouls appear.

“What the hell?” Jiang Wanyin hisses, immediately turning to check behind them, as if the ghouls might have laid in wait to ambush them from the tunnel. But they’re not there either.

Lan Xichen looks around quietly, frowning, as if trying to solve a puzzle. “I don’t understand. My senses could not have been wrong.”

“Have the bastards gone into hiding?” Jiang Wanyin says, glaring upwards. The flames from the talismans seem dim, barely reaching into the darkness that rises into a void above, like they’re at the bottom of a great throat made of stone. Even the glow from Lan Xichen’s defense shield seems to be pressed in from all sides by the weight of the darkness around them.

Their breathing seems too loud in the heavy, stifling quiet.

Suddenly, a skittering laugh echoes from above.

The leather handle on Jiang Wanyin’s sword creaks, but Lan Xichen holds out an arm to stop him. “Hold on,” he whispers. “Not yet.”

The flames on the talismans suddenly bend outwards, smoke curling black at the tips, as a shadowed mass flies down from the void. Red eyes fixate upon them with devilish amusement.

“Exorcist,” it hisses at Lan Xichen, circling around his defense shield. “Welcome.”

“I thought ghouls couldn’t speak,” Jiang Wanyin says through clenched teeth.

The shadowed mass pauses in front of him, peering closely, and releases another unearthly laugh. “This one does.”

“Tell us,” Lan Xichen says, eyes wide and incredulous, “who are you?”

“I am old made anew,” it says with a grin. “All made into one.”

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Jiang Wanyin snarls, then chokes on air as Lan Xichen steps closer to the ghoul, seemingly mesmerized. “Lan Xichen, what are you—?”

“The thousands I sensed,” Lan Xichen says slowly, realization dawning on his pale face. “Those were all you.”

“All me,” it repeats, voice sliding through the air like a serpent.

“You are not a ghoul,” Lan Xichen says, small flares of spiritual energy reaching out from his defense shield inquisitively. The shadowed mass laughs and seizes the flares, pulling its amorphous body closer until it clings to the shield.

“No, exorcist,” it says, crawling along the dome of the shield, studying Lan Xichen intently. “I am much older.” It then sneers down at Jiang Wanyin, who has his back to Lan Xichen, the edge of his sword following the shadowed mass’s every move. “You do not belong here.”

“Believe me, I don’t want to be here,” Jiang Wanyin hisses. “But you’re definitely up to some kind of bullshit, and whatever that is, is not leaving this cave.”

The shadowed mass ignores him in favor of Lan Xichen, who is still staring, a thousand questions on the tip of his tongue. It hums consideringly, like it can read his mind. “I did devour all those ghouls who came. Thousands, over the centuries. Some sought strength, some sought refuge. It didn’t matter to me. Those insignificant beings can hardly make a difference. The world is too vast. The earth’s roots run too deep.”

It continues, its eyes glowing blood-red, “I had to wait for the right being.”

“The right being?” Lan Xichen asks quietly, a thrum of spiritual energy cascading warily through the defense shield.

“Yes,” it crows. “You and I, our spiritual forces together would right all the world’s wrongs. Is that not what you want?” It speaks more softly, almost sweetly. “Didn’t time wrong you by taking away who you loved most? Together, we can mold time to our will. You would be able to go back and live the life you always wanted. Your family would be made whole again.”

Lan Xichen steps back, startled. But his eyes are wide, vulnerable with want.

“Lan Xichen!” Jiang Wanyin demands, gripping his arm. “Don’t listen to its lies. Nothing can bring back the dead!”

Lan Xichen turns to look at him, reaching up with a slim hand to brush Jiang Wanyin’s cheekbone. “But what if I could? What if I could bring back your family too?”

“The price for that is something we cannot pay,” Jiang Wanyin says, throat aching, tears burning hot in his eyes. “Not even you. Especially not you. Haven’t you said before, to all those spirits you helped, that our families live on through us? Through our work and who we are?”

“You truly believe what I said?” Lan Xichen whispers.

“I believe in you,” Jiang Wanyin says, steeling his voice. “I know who Lan Xichen is.”

“Do you?” Lan Xichen says, trembling, withdrawing his hand. Jiang Wanyin doesn’t know his heart. Would hate him if he knew. Lan Xichen closes his eyes, his long hair falling forward. “I miss them so terribly.”

“I know,” Jiang Wanyin says fiercely. “Believe me, I know.”

The glow of the defense shield flickers dangerously, as Lan Xichen suddenly hears a voice that only exists in his memories.

“A-Huan.”

The shadowed mass has disappeared, the image of an elegant, long-haired woman in its place. Her features are gentle and kind. She holds a comb in one hand and reaches out with the other.

Lan Xichen shakes. He knows she’s not real. And yet—

His want is so great he can hardly breathe.

“Get the fuck away from him,” Jiang Wanyin snarls, slashing through the spiritual flares the shadowed mass had been clinging to.

The woman hisses loudly, her face contorting into rage. “I have tolerated you for far too long.”

Her body twists and billows until the shadowed mass emerges again, a monstrous jaw beneath its blood-red eyes widening farther and farther until a shrieking whirlwind of a thousand ghouls is disgorged from its throat, tearing through the talismans, swallowing the light of all their fires.

The ghouls circle together, a black funnel howling and thudding against the barrier of the defense shield. Their long fingers scrape and claw eagerly in Jiang Wanyin’s direction.

The barrier cracks, bearing too much of their weight, and Lan Xichen desperately pulls from the depths of his core, a brilliant wave of gold pulsing outwards to reinforce the shield.

The cavern around them begins to shake thunderously, as the ghouls shriek and redouble their efforts. “Do you see, exorcist?” the shadowed mass cries out from all around them. “The force I possess? I can give life. But I can also take it away.”

The cracks along the dome of the defense shield begin to spread, spider-thin like the breaking of ice in winter. Lan Xichen clutches his chest, feeling the last of his spiritual energy struggling to uphold the barrier.

“Wanyin,” he gasps, “listen to me. It only wants me.” He clenches his fingers around the edge of Jiang Wanyin’s sleeve, infusing it with dying flares of gold. “This should be enough to get you out of here. You need to go.”

“Like hell I’m going,” Jiang Wanyin growls, eyes flashing.

“You will die if you stay,” Lan Xichen says, unerringly calm. “I will not allow that.”

“If anyone will be the death of me, it won’t be that bastard,” Jiang Wanyin hisses. “It’ll be you.”

“I don’t—” Lan Xichen stares, trembling. “I don’t understand.”

Jiang Wanyin grabs the back of Lan Xichen’s neck and seizes his mouth, hot with want, filled with everything he couldn’t say with words. He breaks away with blood in his mouth. “You made me a promise,” he says darkly. “Now keep it.”

Lan Xichen touches his own lips, shocked, and reaches out again—

“Zidian!” Jiang Wanyin screams hoarsely, and it answers with a blazing fury, crackling fiercely with a bright light that cuts like amethyst against the dark shadows hurling themselves against the crumbling barrier.

It lashes out violently, like a streak of lightning breaking free, and strikes Lan Xichen across the chest, knocking the wind out of him as he’s hurled backwards into the tunnel, pain flaring up his shoulder as he hits the ground, back skidding wetly until his head cracks sharply against the wall.

As he rapidly loses consciousness, his core finally breaks its tether to the defense shield, plunging the cavern into utter darkness.

“Wanyin, no…” he whispers, fighting to keep his eyes open, gaze fixed on a silhouette wielding a blade of terrible lightning. As the whirlwind of ghouls howl, descending furiously upon Jiang Wanyin, a deep rumble echoes from the depths of the cavern, and the rock walls crack with a thunderous sound, splitting into pieces and crashing to the ground.

Lan Xichen scrapes his hand raw across jagged rock, trying to pull himself forward, but his vision goes black and he sinks into unconsciousness, the dampness seeping through his robe like poison.

His hairpiece lies shattered on the ground.

+

Jiang Wanyin glares upward, hands clenched tightly around the hilt of his sword, and sees a foul sky above, black shadows coalescing like storm clouds, the thunder of breaking rock echoing around him.

All rivers lead to the ocean—

— but some lead to the sky.

Jiang Wanyin steels his gaze and Zidian’s power snaps and burns like fire along his arm.

If they want his soul, then by all the gods, he will drag every last one down to hell with him.

Chapter Text

Lan Xichen wakes to the sound of stone cracking under pressure.

He inhales sharply, the memory of everything that’s happened rushing through him like ice water through his veins. He shivers and gropes around in the dark until he feels the wall of the tunnel behind him, dragging himself upright to lean against it, breathing heavily. His head throbs terribly and he touches the back of it gingerly, his fingers coming away with a sticky wetness that smells like iron.

Another loud crack shakes the tunnel, small pieces of rock raining down from above.

“Wanyin?” he tries to shout, but his voice only comes out as a hoarse whisper.

He thrusts a hand inside his sleeve, but there are no more fire talismans left. He considers erecting another defense shield, just to get some light from its glow, but the energy of his core is too low, banked like the embers of a dying fire. He needs to save it to help Jiang Wanyin.

Lan Xichen willfully ignores the possibility that he is already beyond help, already de— No, he would know. He would know.

He grips the wall and pulls himself back towards the cavern, the cracking sound reverberating through his whole body.

Suddenly, he hears a low growl, followed by an impatient bark. Another mighty thud against rock.

A dog? Lan Xichen blinks in confusion. He jumps, startled, as a wet snout suddenly pushes into his hand. He cautiously reaches up, patting around its face, eyes widening in surprise as he realizes this is an enormous dog.

There’s only one kind of dog that can—

“Fairy?” Lan Xichen asks into the darkness, fingers tracing the elaborate ornamental collar that he’s seen before. Except now it’s as big as an ox plow.

“Jin Rulan?” he calls out desperately. But there’s no answer except a sharp bark from Fairy, as she abruptly leaves Lan Xichen’s side, ramming her body into the blockage of fallen stones that separates the tunnel from the cavern.

Another thunderous shake, then the cracking sound of more rocks falling.

Fairy barks excitedly, as she runs back up to Lan Xichen and grabs his sleeve with her teeth, tugging him forward. He notices immediately that she has shrunk back to her normal size. He scrambles to follow her through a small gap in the blockage she managed to create, hands scraping blindly against rock, his robe tearing at the edges.

He throws up an arm, bracing himself for a furious whirlwind, but there is only silence.

“Wanyin!” he shouts, as he realizes with a growing panic that the light of Zidian is gone too.

He clambers down the pile of stone, but a loose rock slips out beneath his feet, and he cries out as he rolls down, his ankle twisting painfully. Already, his spiritual energy flares up, attempting to mend it. But he suppresses it immediately, limping into the darkness.

Fairy whines sharply, and Lan Xichen follows the sound, until his feet slide against metal, scraping it against the ground.

His heart leaps into his throat as he bends down, trembling, to touch it.

It’s Jiang Wanyin’s sword. And it smells like ash.

Concentrating desperately, he pulls from the depths of his core, gathering every last tendril of his spiritual energy to form one last defense shield.

The emanating glow is faint but it’s enough for Lan Xichen to find Jiang Wanyin lying unnaturally still a few feet away.

“Wanyin,” he whispers, his hands shaking as they roam over Jiang Wanyin’s face, his chest, his arms. His injuries are too great, blood seeping darkly through the lacerations covering his body. His skin is a ghostly pallor, gashed with red.

Zidian lies curled and burnt around his smoking sword.

His nascent core – a core that had never endured years of training, never reached the potential it could’ve had – had endured too much and shattered completely.

Lan Xichen cries out, unable to stop the tears streaking hotly down his cheeks.

Fairy whines in confusion, still nudging at Jiang Wanyin’s limp form.

The defense shield flickers rapidly, like a flame trying to withstand the wind. Somewhere deep inside, Lan Xichen knows his spiritual energy is not enough to bring Jiang Wanyin back. But he places both his hands over his shattered core and lowers his head, the dying flares of blue beginning to dive and swirl, fighting against Lan Xichen’s will as they instinctually reach for his ankle instead of Jiang Wanyin’s core.

“Save him,” he commands, feeling his chest sear with the effort, his breath getting weaker.

But the flares abruptly snap as a presence enters through the defense shield.

He looks up, wide-eyed, to see the ghost of Yu Ziyuan staring back at him.

No, no— he’s seen this trick before. He shakes. But how did the ghoul-eater get through so easily? Is he so weak that he can’t even shield Jiang Wanyin’s broken, shattered body?

But her gaze pierces right through him, a terrible sadness in its depths. And she kneels beside her son, utterly silent.

This is not the ghoul-eater, Lan Xichen realizes, for how could it be capable of feeling such grief?

“Madame Yu,” he says, voice breaking. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” He doesn’t know what else to say. He places his trembling hands once more over Jiang Wanyin’s chest, calling again upon his spiritual energy.

But Yu Ziyuan holds up a hand to stop him.

“Lan Xichen,” she says gravely. “It will not work. You know this.”

“I have to try,” he says, his throat aching horribly.

Her expression is rigid, betraying nothing, but her voice is raw with emotion. “You must take this.”

She reaches inside her own chest and pulls out her golden core. It floats in front of her, dim from disuse and sapped of power, but still whole.

“You have the power to transfer it. To secure it with your spiritual energy,” she says. “It is the only chance he has.”

Lan Xichen almost dives to grab it, but holds himself back, staring at her with dismay. “Without your core,” he says hoarsely, “you cannot move on.”

“I know.” Yu Ziyuan’s hand reaches out, slim and translucent as it brushes against Jiang Wanyin’s forehead.

Her earrings sway silently.

Lan Xichen cradles her core gently, as he positions it directly above where Jiang Wanyin’s own core used to be. Breathing deeply, he pulls from what feels like every fiber of his being to cocoon the core with flares of blue, layering them over and over and over until his feels his own core straining in protest, cracking under the enormous effort of trying to adhere another’s core.

He cries out, pushing the core through Jiang Wanyin’s chest, blood welling up between his fingers, gold fighting powerfully against blue, trying to break through the flares and return to its owner.

Yu Ziyuan clenches her fingers in her robe.

Finally, just as he feels his own core about to break, Lan Xichen feels Yu Ziyuan’s core anchor itself, tethered to his spiritual energy, suffusing Jiang Wanyin’s whole body in a wave of gold twined with blue.

Lan Xichen stares in disbelief, in relief, in utter exhaustion, as Jiang Wanyin’s chest rises with his first intake of breath. He watches it rise again, slowly, shallowly. But it rises, and that’s all that matters.

His whole body feeling heavy and so very tired, Lan Xichen lays down onto Jiang Wanyin’s chest, hands curled over a glowing scar, and drifts into unconsciousness.

He doesn’t hear the distant, echoing cry that frantically calls out their names.

+

Lan Xichen wakes again, this time to melodic chimes and a white ceiling draped with blue gauze. A strong herbal scent wafts through the room, and he blinks slowly as he takes in his surroundings.

He’s not sure how he got here, but it’s home. Of that much he’s certain.

He pushes himself upright, his throat dry and his arms shaking under his weight. Still too weak, he thinks in frustration.

A healing assistant is sitting near the foot of his bed, her head bobbing forward as she dozes. Lan Xichen tries to get up quietly, but lets out a hiss as he tries to put weight on his twisted ankle. The assistant’s head jerks up, her eyes widening as she exclaims, “Zewu Jun, you’re awake.” Her gaze darts around the room before it lands back on him, and she holds out a hand as she backs out of the doorway. “Please, don’t move. You need to rest more. I’ll go get Hanguang Jun.”

“Wait,” he rasps, then tries again, steadying his voice. “Please tell me, where is Jiang Wanyin?”

She looks at him nervously. “I think it’s best if I go retrieve Hanguang Jun.”

The second she disappears, Lan Xichen ignores her directive (I’m sorry, brother) and limps to the doorway, peering outside to figure out where he is exactly. Surely, Jiang Wanyin must be close by, given that this is the healing wing of the institute.

He shuffles along the external hallway, a light breeze pulling at his thin white robe. He uses one hand to brace himself against the wall, and the other to clutch his robe closed in modesty. Never has he been dressed so improperly, but he’ll worry about that afterwards, once he makes sure Jiang Wanyin is all right.

“Zewu Jun.”

Lan Xichen turns around and finds himself face to face with Jin Rulan, whose stern expression seems to be silently chastising him for being up and about.

His mind whirs steadily, realizing that the presence of Fairy inside the cave means that it must have been Jin Rulan who came looking for them. He bows as gracefully as he can, ignoring the throbbing pain in his ankle. “I cannot thank you enough, Master Jin. I am sorry, for everything.”

Jin Rulan tilts his head. “You need not be sorry for anything, Zewu Jun. You are both alive, and that’s what matters.” He smiles ruefully. “Are you looking for my uncle?”

Lan Xichen couldn’t have hidden the yearning in his eyes, even if his life depended on it. Which it very nearly did.

Jin Rulan arches an eyebrow. “This way.” He turns and clasps his hands behind his back, deliberately walking at a sedate pace. “I had a chance to tour the school while you and uncle are in recovery. It’s very impressive.” He turns his head, not quite looking back at Lan Xichen. “Perhaps when you’ve fully recovered, I’d like to discuss some ideas I have.”

Lan Xichen smiles. “I would like that very much.”

Jin Rulan stops in front of a closed door and looks up at Lan Xichen, the corner of his mouth quirking up. “You should know, Grandmother came along too.” He reaches out to slide open the door. “She told me everything that happened. And nearly gave your uncle a heart attack when he saw her.”

Lan Xichen blinks at him, hazily processing all of this. “I’m—sure my uncle will be just fine.”

“Hm, let’s hope. Grandmother, a visitor,” Jin Rulan announces before gliding away.

Lan Xichen halts at the doorway, clutching the frame, gaze fixed upon Jiang Wanyin, who is still pale and almost entirely swathed with poultices and bandages. His chest rises steadily as he sleeps.

Yu Ziyuan is sitting beside him, perusing a popular adventure novel. She looks up at Lan Xichen and sets the novel aside.

“He’s doing better,” she says, answering his unspoken question. “The healers estimate another month before he can resume daily activities.”

“That’s good,” Lan Xichen whispers. He wants nothing more than to drink in the sight of Jiang Wanyin breathing and hold him in his arms until he himself falls asleep. But somehow, even in his own home, he feels like he’s intruding. He bows, resigning himself to going back to his room. “Thank you, Madame Yu, for—”

“You know,” she says with a piercing gaze, “when you were a child, I had studied here with your uncle.”

“I remember,” Lan Xichen says quietly.

“Then you must remember how disagreeable I was.” She arches an eyebrow, and Lan Xichen immediately sees where Jin Rulan gets it from.

He shakes his head. “I remember a fearless exorcist. Someone who wasn’t afraid of what the world thought of her.”

Her gaze sharpens. “Always seeing the best in others. You haven’t changed, Lan Xichen.”

He doesn’t know what to say to that.

She continues, her voice rigid. “I had always thought the Lans were too soft.”

“Yes,” he says, lowering his gaze, “you had said before that we were weak.” He pauses to correct himself. “That we are weak.”

“No,” she says sharply. “I had said that the Lans are too soft, but I did not say that they are weak.” She rises from her seat. “What you did for my son, what you were willing to give up— you have a strength that I had been searching for when I was alive, but never found until I died.”

Lan Xichen stares at her.

“Not even Jiang Cheng knows, I believe, that it was Zidian who shielded him from the fire that killed us.” She looks down at him, her gaze softening incrementally. “I was not strong enough to protect us all. But at least by giving Zidian my life force, I could protect his.”

She turns towards Lan Xichen again. “Do you understand Zidian’s purpose now?”

Lan Xichen feels his breath catch in his throat. “Yes.”

“He may have been born a Jiang, but he is also a Yu.” Her eyes flash. “You had best remember that if you intend to care for him.”

“I do,” Lan Xichen says, holding back his tears. “I will.”

+

Several weeks crawl by, and Lan Wangji has cooped himself up in his study, reviewing the detailed progress reports on Lan Xichen’s Spiritual and Physical Recovery Plan (version 10.2). He eyes the recent change in status for all one-hundred-and-twenty-five assessment criteria, and meticulously adjusts the recommended medicinal dosages and targeted therapy exercises for the next phase of recovery.

He’s about to proceed with reviewing Jiang Wanyin’s progress reports, his brush perhaps jabbing a little bit harder against the ink stone than necessary, but the rise in noise level outside gives him pause.

What sort of ruckus is going on—

Lan Wangji throws open the door of his study irritably.

His uncle and Yu Ziyuan are debating loudly just down the hall, Jin Rulan’s dog is frolicking through the zen garden without a single care for the meditative sand designs, the disciples are all milling around chatting excitedly with the Lanling envoys, and— are some of them playing dice?

He shuts the door immediately.

Well, he supposes, there’s no time like the present to finally enjoy the wonders of seclusion.

+

A soft knock interrupts his meditation session, and Lan Wangji opens one eye to glare onerously at the door.

“Wangji?” his brother’s voice says hesitantly.

“Come in,” Lan Wangji grumbles, even as he feels a weight of worry lifted off his chest.

Lan Xichen pokes his head in, smiling, and waves a little too excitedly at him.

Lan Wangji narrows his eyes. “He’s with you, isn’t he?”

A stifled cough emanates from somewhere behind Lan Xichen.

Lan Xichen’s smile stretches a little bit wider, and Lan Wangji finds it immensely disturbing.

“Fine,” he snipes, “you can both come in.”

He keeps his glare fixed on Jiang Wanyin, who – despite having defeated an ancient ghoul-eater – is hovering warily behind Lan Xichen like Lan Wangji might decide to strangle him with a guqin string (perhaps all seven guqin strings) at any moment.

Which is not too far from the truth, Lan Wangji thinks. Jiang Wanyin does at least seem to have a strong instinct for survival.

But this still does not endear him to Lan Wangji in any way. Jiang Wanyin was simply doing his job and now his job is done. Why is he still here?

“Wangji,” Lan Xichen says with a tad too much affection, like he’s trying to soften the blow of whatever he’s about to tell him.

Lan Wangji braces himself, his back ramrod straight. “What is it?”

A sadness tinges the smile on Lan Xichen’s face, as he settles down across from his brother. He releases a deep sigh. “I’m relinquishing my title of Zewu Jun.”

Lan Wangji grips the edge of the table, and his mouth tightens unhappily. “Why?” he grits out, immediately suspecting some sort of unsavory influence from Jiang Wanyin. Except Jiang Wanyin is also staring in shock at Lan Xichen, mouth falling open inelegantly.

“You are the true backbone of this school, Wangji. You always have been. You and uncle.” Lan Xichen holds up a hand before Lan Wangji can protest. “Honestly speaking, you do not need me.” He pulls a heavy scroll from his sleeve and places it gently on the table. “I have already signed over all my rights to you. All titles, all properties, all inheritance.”

Lan Wangji stares at it like he wants to set it on fire. Tears sting furiously in his eyes. “Why?” he asks again, dreading the answer.

“Because I love him.”

Lan Xichen says it so simply, so surely, that Lan Wangji is left speechless. Instantly, he glares at Jiang Wanyin, whose face has turned a remarkable shade of red.

Eventually, after a long silence, Lan Wangji finds his voice again. “Does uncle know?” he opts to ask through gritted teeth, instead of hurling himself over the table and shaking the life out of Jiang Wanyin and cursing the day he sent in his goddamn application.

Lan Xichen widens his eyes and blinks innocently.

“Oh no,” Lan Wangji says with iron-clad certainty, using his index finger to push the scroll back to the other side of the table. “I’m not the one who’s going to tell him.”

Lan Xichen looks about ready to beg, while Jiang Wanyin lets out some kind of involuntary garbled noise.

Lan Wangji continues with a furrowed brow, “I urge you, brother, to reconsider all of this.”

Lan Xichen turns his gaze upon Jiang Wanyin, a radiant smile spreading across his features. A smile Lan Wangji hasn’t seen in a very long time.

“I have made my decision,” Lan Xichen says quietly, firmly.

Lan Wangji closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, sighing out through his nose. He really does have the very worst luck with bodyguards.

“Am I right—” he eventually says, levelling a stone-hard look at Jiang Wanyin, “—in assuming that you feel the same way?”

Though Jiang Wanyin’s face is rather splotchy with what Lan Wangji guesses are overwhelming feelings, his eyes are steady and bright.

“Yes, I do.”

Lan Xichen practically vibrates with happiness, causing imminent threat to all the fragile ornaments on the table that Lan Wangji has carefully curated over the years.

“Well then,” Lan Wangji says abruptly, in order to save his ornaments and definitely not to show solidarity with his favorite person on earth (and the unfortunate barnacle he has chosen to attach himself to), “that’s that.”

“Thank you, Wangji,” Lan Xichen says with immense gratitude, coming around the table to embrace him, burying his face into Lan Wangji’s shoulder.

Lan Wangji slowly lifts a hand to pat his brother on the back. When the moment is over, he straightens his robe and smooths down his sleeves. “Will you be staying?” he asks Lan Xichen before his gaze slides over to Jiang Wanyin.

“I don’t know,” Lan Xichen says honestly. “We’ll see what uncle says.”

Lan Wangji nods. He doesn’t ask further questions. He has a feeling their uncle will let everyone in Gusu know what his opinion (and final decision) will be. He braces himself preemptively for the ensuing paperwork that is sure to follow.

He lifts a hand and waves it at the both of them, shooing them out of his study. He has reached peak capacity for emotional surprises today, and he would really like some alone time now.

“Oh, one more thing,” Lan Xichen adds breezily on his way out. “If you could add Wanyin to my health insurance policy as my spouse, that would be wonderful. Thank you, goodbye!”

It is only supreme self-control that prevents Lan Wangji from dropping dead and immediately ascending to an altogether different plane of existence where he doesn’t have to deal with any of this ever.

+

A flurry of emotions crosses Lan Qiren’s face – shock, confusion, anger, accusation, and resignation. In that exact order.

He stares hard at Lan Xichen, and only Lan Xichen.

“I have never been more disappointed in you,” Lan Qiren says coldly. “But you are still my nephew, and this will always be your home. Regardless of your decision.”

He sweeps out of the room without a second glance at Jiang Wanyin.

The scroll lies on the table unread.

Lan Xichen remains prostrate, head bowed low to the ground. He does not tremble or falter. He does not show anything other than the highest form of respect.

Jiang Wanyin rises to his feet and silently leaves to pack his things. He will not be responsible for breaking the family of the man he loves most.

He has sacrificed before. He can do it again. Even as his heart breaks.

+

“Jiang Cheng!”

Hearing his own birth name, a name nobody has spoken aloud in many years, causes his footsteps to slow, then stop altogether.

Jiang Wanyin turns, hope unwittingly blooming in his chest.

Lan Xichen is standing halfway down the stone steps of the staircase, slightly out of breath, a travel pack slung over his shoulder.

“I’m coming with you,” he says, clutching a carrot and a turnip.

A gust of wind whips through the gateway, catching Lan Xichen’s long unbound hair, pulling it upwards.

Jiang Wanyin’s gaze follows it, up to the pale blue sky and the ephemeral clouds that bring the chill of the mountain air.

The home of Lan Xichen. And perhaps one day, it could be home for him too.

But not yet. Not for a long while.

For almost all his life, he has clenched his hands into fists, into anger and sorrow, into something that always felt like it wasn’t enough.

But now, he thinks as his fingers unfurl, maybe he can let go and accept something new. Something that fills him with warmth and an indescribable joy.

He extends his hand out to Lan Xichen, with a wild grin.

“Let’s go together then, Lan Huan.”