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Chapter Text

Why Lan Zhan doesn’t simply kill the vampire he finds feeding in the alley that night, he isn’t sure. Perhaps he is too weary to bother. He is exhausted, certainly, from cleaning out a yao nest from a factory that smelled like moldy cheese and imp feces.

Yes, that could be it: he is simply too tired. Or it could be that the vampire looks almost ashamed of himself, his large, luminous eyes somehow innocent, completely at odds with the dark blood dripping down his chin.

For whatever reason, when Lan Zhan stumbles across the vampire feeding from a woman in an alley, he does not kill him. All he does is grab the vampire’s ponytail and toss him across the alley. Lan Zhan catches the woman before she slides down the wall, then gently lowers her—unconscious but alive—to the filthy asphalt.

The vampire struggles to his feet and swipes his sleeve over his mouth. “A hero, huh?” The vampire grins with red teeth. “Don’t worry, hero, I wasn’t going to kill her.”

How original. “Leave,” Lan Zhan commands.

The vampire’s eyebrows quirk. “Bossy, too. Well, let’s see how you like taking orders.” The vampire raises a hand, palm out, and waves a circle in the air. “You didn’t see anything. Now trot on home and forget this ever happened.”

Lan Zhan sighs. If only. All he wants is to go home, take the world’s hottest shower, and fall into bed. Instead, he has to deal with this idiot.

“Are you attempting to control my mind?”

The vampire blinks at him, then looks at the hand he’s still holding up. “Uh . . . yeah? Why isn’t it working?” The vampire shakes his hand like it’s a faulty flashlight.

There are so many stupid things happening right now that Lan Zhan isn’t sure where to start. “Leave,” he says again, but this time, it’s almost a plea.

“No, wait a second, I can do it.” The vampire sweeps his hand through the air in a motion he probably thinks looks majestic. “These are not the droids you’re looking for.”

That’s it. Lan Zhan blasts him with a stunning spell. The vampire flies back against the wall and drops into an untidy heap.

With that settled, Lan Zhan bends to lift the unconscious woman, but as soon as he touches her, her eyes fly open.

“It’s okay,” Lan Zhan assures her. “You’re okay.”

The bleariness clears from her eyes, but she’s anything but convinced. “Oh god,” she whimpers. “Please don’t hurt me.”

“I won’t,” Lan Zhan promises as he backs away. “I’m just trying to help.”

The woman’s hand trembles over her neck. She stares in horror at the blood on her fingers. Shrieking, she scrambles up and bolts out of the alley.

“I told you she was okay,” the vampire mutters behind him.

Lan Zhan turns to him. The vampire is trying to lever himself up with less success than his victim. Now would be the perfect time to kill him. Just a flick of the wrist, and it would be done. Killing him would be so easy.

“Do not hunt here again,” Lan Zhan says. “This area is off limits.”

“Says who?” The vampire finally pushes himself to his feet, smirking. Then his eyes widen, his bloody mouth dropping open. “Are you a vampire?”

This one really is stupid. And Lan Zhan has stayed here too long. However, that is easy to remedy.

“Hey, wait a second,” the vampire calls as he trails after Lan Zhan. “C’mon, I just wanna talk to you.”

Lan Zhan grits his teeth and walks faster. He could’ve just killed this ridiculous vampire. This is what happens when one doesn’t follow protocol.

The vampire may be terrible at mind control, but he moves with a vampire’s eerie speed. A gust of wind ruffles Lan Zhan’s hair, and then the vampire is walking beside him.

“So are you a vampire?” the vampire asks.

“No.”

“Then what are you?”

Even if Lan Zhan wanted to explain, this idiot probably wouldn’t understand.

The vampire sighs at Lan Zhan’s silence. “Okay, Mr. Wizard. At least explain what you meant by ‘this area is off limits.’”

“What part of that is unclear?”

“Um, all of it? But let’s start with what ‘this area’ refers to. Do you mean that alley? The whole block? Or is this a this town isn’t big enough for the both of us situation?”

Lan Zhan slants a look at the vampire. It is impossible that he’s this ignorant. “When were you turned?”

The vampire blinks like he doesn’t understand the question. His eyes are big and guileless. And, unfortunately, very pretty. “Oh, you mean how long have I been a vampire? That’s what I am, right? I mean, I kind of figured what with the bloodlust and all, but it still sounds crazy. At first, I thought I was just losing my mind. That seemed a lot more likely than turning into Dracula. Is Dracula real?”

By the time the vampire pauses for breath (metaphorically, of course—vampires don’t breathe) they’ve reached the intersection. Lan Zhan stops walking and turns to him. “How long?”

“How long what?”

Lan Zhan takes a deep, soothing breath (literally). “How long have you been a vampire?”

“Oh, right! Um, a few weeks?”

That makes sense. Strange that this vampire’s clan let him roam alone. Even stranger that he hasn’t been educated on even the basics. Lan Zhan points to his clan’s symbol scored into the brick of the corner building. The silver clouds are invisible to human eyes, but for him, they shimmer. Even a leech as young as this one should be able to see it.

“This symbol marks my clan’s protection. Hunting is forbidden anywhere you find our symbol.”

“Whoa.” The vampire moves closer to the symbol, studying it with open fascination. “That’s awesome! But what do you mean, your ‘clan’? Clan of what?” He trots back to Lan Zhan, grinning. “A clan of vampire hunters?”

“Something like that.”

The vampire leans closer, eyes sparkling. “So it is a this town isn’t big enough for the both of us situation! You’re a vampire hunter with Jedi mind powers!”

And you’re an idiot, Lan Zhan means to say, but then the vampire sniffs him.

“Oh wow, you smell . . .”

Lan Zhan moves back, but the vampire follows, inhaling deeply.

“You smell so good,” the vampire moans.

Lan Zhan’s palm strike hits the vampire square in the chest. The vampire sails back and splats against the wall.

For the second time, Lan Zhan doesn’t kill him. It’s truly inconceivable how he keeps not killing this vampire.

“Sorry,” the vampire says, cringing up at him from the sidewalk. “That was weird, I know. Nobody wants to be sniffed by a total stranger. I really didn’t mean to.”

“Don’t come back here,” Lan Zhan says when there’s a break in the vampire’s whining. Once again, he starts to leave.

“Hey, don’t leave! I won’t do it again!”

Lan Zhan twitches his fingers to freeze the vampire in place and keeps walking.

“What the . . .? What’d you do to me? Hey, get back here, you assho—”

The next spell cuts off the vampire’s screeching. Lan Zhan walks on, sighing relief into the silence.

In the morning, still groggy from his late-night shift, Lan Zhan dutifully fills out a report on the yao nest, then the encounter with the vampire. The second report is sparse even for him, so it’s no surprise when his brother pokes his head into Lan Zhan’s office that afternoon.

“Lan Zhan,” Lan Huan says with his usual quiet cheer. “Thank you for taking care of the nest. Are you well?”

“I am well.” Which his brother knows. If Lan Zhan were injured, he would have noted it in the report. No, this impromptu visit is about the vampire.

Lan Huan lowers himself into Lan Zhan’s sole visitor’s chair. “This vampire you encountered . . .”

Lan Zhan represses a sigh and reaches for his tea, sipping with determination even though it’s gone cold and he despises cold tea.

“. . . it escaped?”

Lan Zhan could lie. Lots of people lie. Meng Yao lies all the time. People seem to find it charming. Or maybe they just pretend to be charmed because Meng Yao is terrifying. But Lan Zhan lacks Meng Yao’s skill at elegant mendacity. Maybe Meng Yao would be willing to teach him. Or maybe Lan Zhan should just throw out his visitor’s chair. Surely that would at least diminish the possibility of being interrogated in his own office.

“It did not escape,” Lan Zhan admits. “I could have eliminated it.”

Lan Huan leans forward and frowns with the full force of his immense older brother energy. “Why didn’t you?”

Despite pinning Lan Zhan with his gaze, Lan Huan waits patiently while Lan Zhan casts around for a reason with an ounce of truth in it. “It did not seem to pose a serious threat,” he finally says. That is true, to an extent. But even a vampire as ridiculous as that one is a dangerous parasite. “And the victim was not seriously injured.”

Lan Huan sits back in his chair, still frowning. “I see.”

Lan Huan clearly doesn’t see a damned thing, but that’s fair since Lan Zhan is just as confused at his negligence.

“I would never question your methods,” Lan Huan says, “However, I am concerned that you encountered this vampire in restricted territory. It would be a good idea to add extra patrols, at least for the immediate future.”

Lan Zhan nods despite how his bones want to cry at the thought of adding even more patrols to his already loaded schedule.

“Not you,” Lan Huan says, smiling knowingly. “You work too hard already. I believe Jingyi has been asking for overtime. He’ll be delighted.”

“Jingyi shouldn’t be out alone,” Lan Zhan protests, but Lan Huan only shakes his head.

“I know. Believe me, I know. Meng Yao and I will take care of the schedule.” Lan Huan stands and heads for the door. “Get some rest. You look exhausted.”

“Yes, Ge,” Lan Zhan mutters, and sounds exactly as guilty as he feels.

After work, Lan Zhan follows his brother’s command. He goes grocery shopping and stocks up on comfort essentials, fantasizing about a home-cooked meal that he will eat with slow relish, then the tea he will drink afterwards while curled on his couch with a book. Or maybe he will be truly lazy and watch television. Lately, he has worked so many night shifts that he can’t recall the last time he actually touched his remote. But Lan Huan and Nie Mingjue need time with their daughter, and Xie Jianjun is out with an injury, leaving the ranks spread thin. It is the least Lan Zhan can do to ease the burden.

Still, he is not inexhaustible. One night off cannot be too much to ask.

Settled by this logic, Lan Zhan finishes his shopping, loads his purchases into his reusable shopping bags, then once he is out of view, sticks the shopping bags in his qiankun pouch and pops the pouch in his backpack. There is logic to the cultivation world’s insistence on secrecy for much of their actions, but as always when Lan Zhan must engage in this bags-inside-of-bags farce, he wishes they could share qiankun practices with everyone, especially those who cling to plastic.

Unburdened by worries or packages, Lan Zhan walks home, weary but cheerfully anticipating a restful night.

When he reaches his block, that cheerful anticipation dies a swift death: the idiot vampire is leaning against the bike rack in front of Lan Zhan’s building.

Lan Zhan knows it’s him even though the vampire is wearing the hood of his black sweatshirt over his long hair, his face angled away from the setting sun. Tucked into the building’s shadow, he’s barely even visible in his dark clothes. But it’s definitely him. Lan Zhan can practically feel how the vampire cringes away from the light. Did the idiot walk here in broad daylight?

Before Lan Zhan can flee his own apartment building, the vampire looks up. “Hey, here you are!”

Lan Zhan grunts his disgust and readies a spell. He can’t just fry the vampire in front of all these pedestrians, but there are a dozen ways to subdue him that will go unnoticed even on a busy sidewalk.

“Whoa, relax, big guy,” the vampire says, holding up his hands in surrender. “I come in peace.”

“How did you find me?” Lan Zhan demands.

The vampire taps his nose. “I’m not completely hopeless. Believe it or not, I sniffed my way here.”

Of course. The alley Lan Zhan left him in is only a few blocks away. Even an idiot like this vampire could track him that far.

“Have you been standing here all day?” Lan Zhan asks.

The vampire grimaces and peers up at the sky. “No, me and Mr. Sunshine don’t get along so well anymore.” Then he turns to Lan Zhan and grins. “Don’t worry: you didn’t keep me waiting very long.”

Lan Zhan rolls his eyes. One time he shows mercy to a vampire, and the idiot follows him home like a lost puppy. This is what happens when he tries to be nice.

“I’m Wei Ying,” the vampire says. He holds out his hand and steps forward—out of the shadows and into the light. Hissing, he yanks his hand back. Just so incredibly stupid. “Fuck,” the vampire mutters, shaking his smoking hand. “You’d think I’d be used to that by now.”

“What do you want?” Lan Zhan asks.

“Um . . .” The vampire—fine, Wei Ying—tucks his hands into his pockets and inches forward, keeping his back to the sunset. “I wanted to talk to you.”

“Why.”

“Because you seem to know a lot about this stuff.”

“‘This stuff’?”

Wei Ying peers up at him through dark eyelashes. Huddled in his oversized hoodie, he looks rather like a lost puppy. A nasty bloodsucking puppy, Lan Zhan reminds himself.

“I need help,” Wei Ying mutters. “I need somebody to explain all this shit to me because all I’ve got to go on are a bunch of B-movies. So you, Van Helsing, are the best option I’ve got.”

Lan Zhan frowns. This could be some sort of trick, a way to lure him into a trap. He should be cautious. Yet this Wei Ying seems so honestly baffled, even desperate.

“Plus,” Wei Ying continues, “You somehow tossed me into a wall using, like, magic or something. So I’m thinking there’s more going on with you than just a savior complex.”

Now Lan Zhan is the baffled one. “Why hasn’t your clan explained this to you?”

“Clan?” Wei Ying steps closer, hungry for answers. Or perhaps just the usual vampire hunger.

Lan Zhan steps away from the shadows into the safety of the light. “You must have a clan. A sire.”

Wei Ying’s boot stomps the ground. “No, I don’t! There’s no sires or dukes or fucking dark princes! I’m telling you, I don’t even know what I am! One day, I was just a normal guy, doing normal things, and the next, I’m all—” His face scrunches into a silent growl, blunt teeth bared.

Lan Zhan barely resists slapping his own forehead. What. The fuck.

Lan Zhan makes the vampire wait in the shadows while he goes upstairs to unload his groceries. The qiankun bag can defy physics, but it won’t stop his eggs from spoiling. As he puts the groceries away, he laments the loss of his quiet evening at home. But he has no one to blame but himself. His own negligence brought him to this. So now, instead of cooking dinner and lounging on the couch, he gets to play nursemaid to the world’s silliest vampire.

Or he could do what he should have done in the first place and kill the idiot. One quick death, and he’s free. The idea takes the heavy weight from his shoulders, and he trots back downstairs feeling much lighter.

When he reaches the bike rack, Wei Ying looks up at him. And smiles. A few timid little butterflies take flight in Lan Zhan’s belly.

“Thanks,” Wei Ying murmurs. One bashful glance up at Lan Zhan through his eyelashes, and the weight slams back down.

Fuck.

In Lan Zhan’s many years of protecting the world from monsters, he has never even imagined himself in the position which he currently occupies: sitting across a booth from a vampire in a greasy diner. They both cradle chipped cups of coffee. The diner’s coffee is a far cry from the pleasant cup of tea he had imagined drinking tonight. For one thing, his tea does not taste like demon bile. But if he’s going to get through this hellish evening, he needs something to keep him alert. And he doesn’t even want to consider what this diner might deign to call tea.

He sips his terrible coffee as he watches Wei Ying pour four sugar packets and two vanilla creamers into his own. Wei Ying gulps from his mug, then smacks his lips in apparent enjoyment.

“You can eat human food?” Lan Zhan asks. Though whether that concoction counts as human food is questionable.

“Yeah,” Wei Ying says. “I don’t seem to need it, and it doesn’t do anything for the, you know, cravings, but yeah, I can still eat. Why, is that weird?”

“Yes.” As far as he knows, anyway. Admittedly, there is quite a bit that the council doesn’t know about vampire biology aside from how to kill them. “Why do you do it if it is unnecessary?”

Wei Ying shrugs and stares down into his pale coffee. “I don’t know. Habit? To be fair, I ate a lot of unnecessary food before this happened. Unless you count scarfing a jumbo bag of chocolate-covered pretzels as ‘necessary.’”

The vinyl seat squeaks as Wei Ying fidgets. “So, that’s one useful piece of information, I guess. Thanks for that. I really do appreciate you talking to me. You aren’t going to get in trouble, are you? Consorting with the enemy and all?”

That’s a good question. Not the consorting part. There is definitely no consorting happening here. But what would Lan Huan say if he knew about this? There’s no question about how Shufu would react. If there is one rule that Shufu values above all others (and Shufu dearly loves every rule), it’s number 36 in the manual: Do Not Associate with Evil.

And here he is, drinking coffee with Evil. Not killing Evil when he found Evil slurping from a woman’s neck like it was a strawberry milkshake. Not immediately reporting that Evil showed up outside his apartment. Thinking that Evil is actually really attractive.

Oh no. This is what happens when you associate with evil. The world goes topsy-turvy and you start having impure thoughts about vampires. And you don’t get to read a nice book while sipping nice tea on your nice couch. Evil is truly insidious.

“I take it that’s a yes,” Wei Ying says, a wry smile curving his lips. There is a tiny mole, or maybe a freckle, under his bottom lip. It’s cute. Evil shouldn’t be allowed to be this cute.

Lan Zhan tears his eyes away from the evil freckle and chokes down more bitter coffee. “It is irregular.”

“I bet. Believe me, I never expected to have coffee with someone whose job is to kill me. But I never expected to become a vampire, either. That’s life, I guess?” Wei Ying laughs a little hysterically.

“You did not intend to become a vampire?”

Wei Ying snorts. “Are you asking me if I planned this?”

“Didn’t you?”

“Of course not! Are you telling me that there are people who want this shit?”

Lan Zhan falters. “Yes. That is how it’s done.”

Wei Ying huffs and falls back against the backrest, crossing his arms and sneering. “Well, not me, buddy. I never asked for this.”

“You were turned against your will?”

The horror Lan Zhan feels must come across because Wei Ying leans forward, hope breaking across his face. “Yeah. I mean, I don’t actually remember it happening, but I sure as hell didn’t sign a contract or anything. So can I change back?”

“No.”

The hope leaves Wei Ying’s face, shadow snuffing out the light. “Are you sure?”

“Not completely, no, but I have never heard of anyone turning back.”

“Damn.” Wei Ying takes another sip of coffee, grimaces, then shoves the cup away. “That’s really not what I wanted to hear.”

“I’m sorry.”

He is. This is the first time he’s ever heard of a person being turned against their will. If it’s true, then Wei Ying is a victim as well as a monster. If there is truly a vampire out there turning unwilling humans, then the council must be informed.

“Do you know who turned you?” Lan Zhan asks.

Wei Ying shakes his head. He is a tall man, but right now, hunched down in the booth, he looks small. Miserable. Vulnerable.

Wei Ying shakes his head again and sits up, straightening his shoulders. “So, what’s your name, anyway? I mean, if you don’t want to tell me, I can just keep calling you Van Helsing. Or Master Yoda. That’d be pretty fun, actually. Or—”

“Lan Zhan,” Lan Zhan says, partly to avoid knowing the other atrocious names Wei Ying could conjure. But mostly because resolving this situation is going to take more than one cup of coffee. His couch will remain a stranger for the foreseeable future. Wei Ying knowing his name is the least of his worries.

“Lan Zhan.” Wei Ying repeats his name with a soft smile and softer eyes. “Well, Lan Zhan, what do you say we get out of here? The mean ole sun is down, and if I drink anymore of this shitty coffee, I’m going to have acid indigestion.”

“You still experience indigestion?”

Wei Ying nods as he fishes money out of his wallet and tosses it on the table. “Not fair, right? Who even makes these rules?”

Those questions seem rhetorical, thankfully. Lan Zhan pushes his own coffee away with relief and follows Wei Ying out of the diner. “Where are we going?” Lan Zhan asks.

Wei Ying shrugs and tucks a stray lock of hair behind his ear. The rest is bound in a high ponytail that swings playfully as they walk. “I don’t know. We could just walk around for a bit? I just get a bit . . . feral sometimes.”

Lan Zhan must have an expression about that because Wei Ying laughs. “No, not feral like grr argh. You may not have noticed, but I have a touch of the ole ADHD. Turns out, becoming a vampire did nothing to chill out my brain gremlins.”

Lan Zhan nods, not surprised. Not that he would judge. He is, as one ill-chosen date described, “autistic AF.” The man actually said it like that: A eff. There was obviously no second date.

“Or we could find a bar,” Wei Ying suggests.

“Does alcohol still affect you?” For that matter, does caffeine? If Wei Ying takes meds for ADHD, are they still effective?

“Not really. I thought you might want a drink, though. I could buy you a Thanks-for-teaching-me-vampire-lore martini or something.”

“I don’t drink.”

“Oh. Okay. So . . .”

“Let’s walk.” It will be easier to speak with Wei Ying if he doesn’t have to meet his eyes. Or stare at his very pretty face. Besides, Lan Zhan isn’t fond of bars for any occasion, much less for teaching a vampire what vampires are.

So they walk. Silently. Wei Ying seems deep in thought, his eyes unfocused as he chews on the ends of his hair, which is deeply gross and weirdly adorable.

After a block of silent hair-chewing, Lan Zhan breaks the silence. He hates breaking the silence, but he would like for this evening to end at some point. “What do you remember about the night you were turned?” Night is an easy assumption given the unlikelihood of a vampire attack in broad daylight.

Wei Ying blinks at him like he’d forgotten Lan Zhan was there, then spits out the hair clinging to his tongue. “Um, not much. I’d gone out to a bar with some friends. Had a few drinks, nothing major. The last thing I remember is walking home.”

“Where?”

“Well, I live just off Overton. The bar is on 78^th. One minute I was walking. The next, I was waking up in an alley with a bleeding neck and a mouth that tasted like a sewer rat took a crap in it.”

“Which alley?”

“I don’t know, I was a little distracted at the time. Why, are you gonna go look for clues?” Wei Ying sends him a look that Lan Zhan can only categorize as sarcastic with a dash of flirty.

He pretends he noticed neither. “Yes.”

“Oh. Neat.”

The bar seems a reasonable place to start. Wei Ying at least remembers the bar’s name, and Lan Zhan orders an Uber. While they wait for their ride, Wei Ying says, “So, you’re a vampire hunting detective? With magical mind powers?”

That is . . . actually sort of accurate. “Not just vampires.”

Wei Ying perks up and pushes close. “There are other things? Like what? Like werewolves? Unicorns? Chupacabras? Or is the plural Chupacabra?”

Lan Zhan sidles away, remembering the sniffing incident all too well. “Yes, there are other things. Werewolves: yes. Unicorns: no. Chupacabras: uncertain.”

“Werewolves are real?” Wei Ying cranes his neck to look at the nearby pedestrians as if one of them will suddenly howl at the moon.

“They tend not to frequent cities,” Lan Zhan explains dryly.

“Oh, right.” Wei Ying nods sagely. “Probably more of a rural vibe. Shame about the unicorns, though.”

Lan Zhan carefully says nothing and refuses to remember the day he learned unicorns weren’t real. He was six, but he’s never quite overcome the disappointment.

“But what kind of supernatural are you?” Wei Ying asks. “You’ve got to be something. I may be new at all this, but you smell different. Good different! Special.”

Special is not a word Lan Zhan would associate with his controversial lineage. It certainly isn’t how the human members of the council regard it. He and his brother are the only non-human members of their sect, or any other. If it were not for their father, they would likely not be welcome, either.

Lan Zhan adjusts his glasses and avoids Wei Ying’s avid stare. He is absolutely not going to share the term that will make Wei Ying produce a litany of jokes, so he dodges the issue of his apparently fascinating aroma: “There is no equivalent term in English, but we call ourselves cultivators.”

Wei Ying snorts a laugh. “No shit? Like the xianxia guys who fly around on swords?” He gasps, shifting from mockery to awe in a flash. “Do you have a sword?”

Lan Zhan sighs and takes another step away from Wei Ying’s incessant encroachment into his personal space. “Something like that. And yes, I have a sword.”

“Can I see it?”

“No,” Lan Zhan huffs.

“Why not?”

Lan Zhan motions toward the passersby. “People tend to notice if I draw a sword in the middle of the sidewalk.”

Wei Ying ignores this logic to crowd closer. “You have it with you?”

“Obviously.”

“Where?”

Wei Ying’s hands actually grab onto his lapels before Lan Zhan shoves him back.

“Sorry.” Wei Ying holds up his hands in surrender and grins as Lan Zhan huffs and straightens his jacket. “But you can’t just tell a man that you’ve got a magic sword and then deny him a peek.”

“It is also frowned upon to shove your hands into someone else’s pockets.”

“Fair. I still wanna see that sword, though. Does it have a name?”

“Bichen.”

Wei Ying tilts his head as if that will help his tiny brain function better. “Nose . . . dirt?”

For fuck’s sake. “Dustless is a decent translation.”

“Oh. That’s . . . interesting. Wait, do vampires turn to dust when they die? Like on Buffy? So your sword turns vampires to dust? But . . . less?”

“No.” Perfect. Not only does Wei Ying know nothing of the supernatural world, but his head is also full of pop culture references. Half of Lan Zhan’s job will be remedying the false information.

“To which part?”

“All of it.”

“Okay, fine, grumpy. I didn’t mean to disrespect your magic sword or whatever. Tell me more about cultivators in real life.”

So that’s what Lan Zhan does as they wait for the car, with frequent interruptions for Wei Ying’s questions. He edits out the parts of the council’s methods that would be unwise to share with a vampire, but he tells Wei Ying about his abilities. The car arrives while he is explaining his enhanced senses. The conversation halts as Wei Ying gives the driver the address. As soon as they’re rolling, Wei Ying turns to Lan Zhan.

“Why do you wear glasses if you’ve got super eyesight?”

“They are not corrective lenses. I wear them to prevent people from noticing my eyes.”

“Why, what’s special about your eyes?”

“Nothing,” Lan Zhan mutters, already seeing where this line of questioning will lead. “They are just unusual.”

“Let me see?”

Wei Ying’s fingers twitch like he’s ready to rip the glasses from Lan Zhan’s face, but he manages to stay still while Lan Zhan removes them himself.

“Oh,” Wei Ying breathes.

Lan Zhan ducks his head to avoid the rearview mirror, but Wei Ying wiggles down in the seat to get a better look.

“They’re so pretty,” Wei Ying croons.

Hopefully, the shadows hide how red his ears must be. It’s rare for people to react as favorably as Wei Ying does. Both Lan Zhan and his brother wear glasses at work—not that hiding their eyes makes the rest of the council forget who, or what, they are. Not to mention his personal life. Lan Zhan hasn’t dated many human men, but the ones who’ve seen his eyes didn’t call them “pretty.” One guy said he looked like a cat, and it clearly wasn’t the compliment such a thing should be. What’s wrong with cats, anyway?

“It’s a shame to hide them,” Wei Ying says when he finally scoots back to his seat. “You’ve got gorgeous golden eyes. I guess they would be pretty distracting, though. You’d get tired of everybody staring at your pretty eyes.”

That is an impossible statement to react to, so Lan Zhan says nothing. The Uber driver’s presence dissuades Wei Ying from asking more questions about the supernatural, so they ride in silence to the bar.

“I’ll pay you back for the ride,” Wei Ying says as they get out of the car. “Do you have Venmo?”

“Unnecessary. I used the company account.”

Wei Ying snickers. “Right, your corporate vampire hunter account.” At Lan Zhan’s glare, he stifles the laugh. “Sorry, sorry, it’s just so weird. I feel like I died and transmigrated into a bad horror movie.” He sobers as he steps onto the sidewalk and gazes at the bar’s opaque windows. The hood is drawn back over his hair, and he averts his face. “We don’t have to go in, do we?”

“No.”

“Good,” Wei Ying sighs. “This way.”

He starts walking, the hood still covering his head and his hands stuffed in his pockets. Lan Zhan walks at his side. Wei Ying’s inane chatter and terrible jokes tend to distract him from the bare and brutal truth: this was once a normal man who endured a terrible transformation against his will. His entire life was yanked away, and he was left alone, ignorant of the world he was thrown into. He deserves something—sympathy, a few kind words—but Lan Zhan has never been good at that sort of thing, so he says nothing.

“So what are vampires like?” Wei Ying asks like they’re picking up a conversation that Lan Zhan can’t recall having.

Nasty bloodsucking fiends is the obvious reply, but even he is not that blunt. “What do you mean?”

Wei Ying sighs, and Lan Zhan can somehow tell that he’s rolling his eyes even with his face shrouded. “I mean, do they prefer Parcheesi or Twister. You know what I mean!”

“They drain their victims of blood.”

“To death?”

“Yes.”

“Crap.” Wei Ying’s shoulders slump. “All of them do that?”

“I believe so.” But now he wonders. If Wei Ying, newly-turned and left to run wild, can control himself well enough to leave his victims alive, then perhaps there are others who do not kill. His experience is with those who leave bodies behind, but it’s possible that is only one of many variations.

The real question is what one of those bloodsuckers wanted with Wei Ying. Why turn him and leave him in an alley?

“Oh, I think it’s up here,” Wei Ying says. He throws back the hood and trots down the sidewalk. “I remember this laundromat.”

They reach the laundromat and step into the alley beside it. Lan Zhan removes his glasses and hangs them on his collar so that he can see into the shadows. Wei Ying can see even better, of course. The sodium lights reflect in his eyes, turning them a deep purple.

“Yeah!” Wei Ying gasps. “Yeah, this is it! I remember smelling the bleach when I woke up.” He explores farther in the alley, his neck stretched as he sniffs. “Right here!”

Lan Zhan pulls his flashlight from his pouch and clicks on the UV function, but even without the light, he can see the dark patch on the concrete. The UV light only confirms that what they’re looking at is a bloodstain.

The expected sarcastic comments about the UV light don’t come. Wei Ying stares at his blood staining the ground in grim silence.

“Well, we found the site of my murder,” Wei Ying says finally, his voice thin with attempted humor. “Now what?”

Lan Zhan could pull out his phone and check the grid, but he doesn’t need to. There aren’t many vampire clans in this city, and he’s well aware of whose territory they’re in.

He turns off the flashlight and scans the walls. A few feet away, he finds what he was searching for: a sunburst sigil blasted on the brick wall.

Wei Ying steps to his side and joins him in staring at the wall. “What does that mean?”

Lan Zhan’s fists clench as a roar builds in his ears. “The Wen clan.”

Some of his distress must be apparent because Wei Ying’s next question comes in a whisper: “Is that bad?”

“It’s bad.”

“What do we do now?”

Lan Zhan closes his eyes and concentrates on breathing evenly. He wishes he knew.

Chapter Text

Shufu taught him that it’s best to get the most unpleasant tasks done as soon as possible rather than putting them aside to fester. With that in mind, Lan Zhan enters his brother’s office first thing the next morning.

“Good morning,” Lan Huan says as Lan Zhan strides to his desk. “Cup of tea?”

Lan Zhan shakes his head at the cup in his brother’s hand. “Ge . . .” He should’ve written up the report first. Then he’d know where to start.

“What’s wrong?”

“The vampire. The one from the other night.”

“. . . yes?”

“I saw him again last night.” Why did he put it that way? It sounds like they went on a date.

“Lan Zhan, are you alright?”

“I’m fine. It wasn’t—he didn’t attack me. He asked for my help.”

“Help with what?”

“He was turned against his will. In Wen territory.”

Silence. Lan Zhan stares at the back of the framed photo on his brother’s desk—Lan Huan and Nie Mingjue with their daughter, Xiwang. He’s seen it enough times to picture it well.

Finally, Lan Huan sighs. “Let me get you a cup of tea.”

The tea turns out to be useful because Lan Zhan ends up backtracking several times to fill in necessary details, and his throat is quickly parched from narrating.

Finally, the tale is done. “Wei Ying is a victim in this,” Lan Zhan says, cupping his hands around the empty mug to steal the last of its warmth. “It wasn’t his fault.”

“Such a terrible thing.” Lan Huan pulls off his glasses and rubs the bridge of his nose. “It was kind of you to offer your help, but Lan Zhan . . . he is still a vampire.”

“Is there no way to reverse it?”

“Not to my knowledge, but I will contact the council.”

“The council?” Lan Zhan grips the cup tight. The council elders are pretty much carbon copies of Shufu. They aren’t known for out-of-the-box thinking. More like see evil, exterminate evil. “What if they . . .?”

Without his glasses to dull them, Lan Huan’s eyes shimmer silver as he smiles kindly. “What is it?”

Swallowing the knot that’s suddenly formed in his throat, Lan Zhan ducks his head. “He doesn’t deserve to die.”

“Can you be sure he hasn’t killed?”

Wei Ying swears that he hasn’t killed anyone, that all of his victims have been like the woman in the alley—bloody but mobile—but can Lan Zhan truly take him at his word?

“Even if he has,” Lan Zhan finally says, “he doesn’t wish to kill. If he can really control himself—”

“The thirst is too great. You know that.”

Do I? Until yesterday, he hadn’t known that vampires could drink coffee and get acid reflux. What else is there that he only thinks he knows?

Lan Zhan raises his head and meets his brother’s eyes. “Wei Ying is an asset. Until we discover what is happening, we need his assistance.”

“You could be right. If the Wens have truly violated the truce, then we must take action. But I worry that you are too sympathetic towards this vampire.”

“Wei Ying. His name is Wei Ying.”

Exactly, Lan Huan’s eyes say. “You know what must be done.”

Lan Zhan stands and straightens his jacket. “Our mission is to serve justice and protect those in need. We failed Wei Ying. There is no justice in killing those we failed.”

Ignoring his brother’s protests, he walks out of the office and keeps walking until he reaches sunlight, sunlight that Wei Ying can never feel again. The Wens are the ones who should pay for that evil, not Wei Ying. The people inside that building may not believe it, but he knows someone who will.

“Zhanzhan!”

Before Lan Zhan can reply, his mother drags him through the apartment door and into a hug. He smiles and kisses her cheek. “Hi, A-Niang.”

She pushes him back to check him over. “Why aren’t you at work? Are you alright? Did something happen?”

“I’m fine.”

He lets himself be led to the living room and pushed onto the couch. His mother stands above him, hands on her hips. “You are a good boy, but don’t think for a second that I believe you showed up here at nine o’clock on a Thursday morning just to chat. Is it A-Huan?”

“He’s fine, too. I need to talk to you about something.”

She narrows her eyes as she studies him closely. He tries not to squirm under her bright gaze. “Alright, then,” she says finally. “I’ll make some tea.”

He doesn’t bother telling her he just had tea with Lan Huan. She wouldn’t listen anyway. And she’ll probably bring red bean buns with the tea, and he never refuses one of her buns. As he waits, he looks around the living room. It’s the same as always: every surface covered in books and file folders spilling out notes. The laptop he and Lan Huan bought her for her birthday perches precariously on the table beside her recliner. A glass of water sits nearby, ready to drench the laptop, which is exactly how the computer’s predecessor died. The TV is set to a game show that murmurs at a volume even below his exceptional hearing. Above the TV hangs a photo of the three of them, taken years ago. None of them wear decoy glasses in that photo, at his mother’s insistence, and their eyes gleam like new coins. Lan Zhan winces at his younger self’s unfortunate haircut and moves his eyes to the sword hanging beside the photo. The sword has hung there even longer.

As he hoped, his mother returns with the tea and a plate of red bean buns. Once he’s finished the first bun, he starts the story again. It comes out more easily this time, and when he’s finished, he picks up a second bun, already feeling much better.

“That poor boy,” A-Niang says. “What did A-Huan say about it?”

His grimace is answer enough. She shakes her head ruefully. “A-Huan is a good man, but he listens to Lan Qiren too much.”

This is why his mother is the best. “Could Wei Ying become human again?” His mother retired from fieldwork when Lan Huan was born, but she still works as a researcher and cataloguer. If anyone in the organization will know, it’s her.

Her eyebrows pinch as she sips tea. “I’ve never heard of a way. There are stories, of course.” She sets down the cup and jumps up to rummage in one of the many groaning bookcases lining the walls. “As you know,” she calls back over her shoulder, “it’s often difficult to separate fact from fiction when it comes to vampires. What kind is he?”

“Kind?” He hauls himself off her puffy couch and joins her at the bookshelf.

She cuts her eyes at him, frowning. “Species. Breed. Even the Wen clan is comprised of several different types.”

“They are?”

“Lan Zhan! Don’t tell me you aren’t familiar with vampire taxonomy!”

“I . . .” Mostly, he classifies vampires according to Western undead bloodsuckers and jiangshi—the latter he’s only encountered once.

She rolls her eyes and changes course to pull a thick volume from a shelf. “Start with this,” she says, shoving the book at him, then mutters uncomplimentary things about the council under her breath as she keeps searching.

Genus lamia scrolls in faded gilt across the cover of the book she handed him. He returns to the couch and flips through the book, which as the title suggests, appears to be an encyclopedia of vampires. Very little of the information is familiar to him. “These are all real?”

His mother sits down in her recliner and thumps a stack of books on the already over-taxed coffee table. “Most of them. Possibly all of them at one time, in some part of the world. That book was written before the United States existed, so it doesn’t cover the breeds here, indigenous or modern.”

He turns the page and scowls down at a particularly gruesome illustration. Does an encyclopedia really require this much viscera? “Will knowing his breed help me find a cure?”

The disappointed look she sends him makes him cringe into the upholstery. “All knowledge is useful, Zhanzhan. And you promised you’d help this boy learn more about what’s happened to him, didn’t you?”

“I did,” he murmurs, ducking his head. “Thank you, A-Niang.”

The pat to his knee takes the sting of her disappointment away, at least a little. “You’re a good boy,” she croons, giving him another series of pats. “I’m proud of you for helping this Wei Ying.” Even at 28 years old, he still flushes at her praise.

When Wei Ying slides into the booth across from him, his eyes widen at the stack of books Lan Zhan brought to the diner. “Holy research, Batman!”

“Good evening to you as well.” Lan Zhan grabs the the most recently published book off the stack and sets it in front of Wei Ying. “Don’t spill anything on these. They’re my mother’s.”

Wei Ying pauses with his fingers clutching the book’s cover. “Your mother’s a vampire hunter, too?”

“She is a researcher for the council. She’s retired from fieldwork, but if you damage one of her books, she will murder you.”

“I like her already.” Wei Ying rubs his hands on his jeans before he touches the book again.

While he watches Wei Ying page through the book, Lan Zhan works on the plate of fries he ordered. They’re greasy and limp, but he’s starving, and he wasn’t brave enough to order this diner's attempt at salad. They really should meet at a better establishment next time. He’d like to consume a vegetable someday soon.

Wei Ying holds up the book and points to an illustration of a bald creature with pointed ears and fangs like a saber-tooth tiger. “What the fuck? Is this thing really real?”

“Consider yourself lucky,” Lan Zhan says, wiping his greasy fingers on a napkin. “Many vampire breeds have monstrous forms.” He feels a little guilty pontificating since he only learned about that this afternoon, but the look on Wei Ying’s face is worth it.

“Eww,” Wei Ying whines. “Which ‘breed’ am I?”

Lan Zhan makes sure that his hands are clean before signaling Wei Ying to pass the book back. He rifles through the book until he finds the section he discovered earlier and hands the book back.

Wei Ying’s eyebrows scrunch together as he reads. “Species 1031? Not a very romantic title, is it?”

“Sorry to disappoint.”

“Hey, I’m just glad it’s nothing silly, like vampus edwardus. The first thing I did when I figured out I was a vampire was check for sparkles.”

Lan Zhan assumes that is a pop culture reference and ignores both it and the pseudo-Latin. “The description seems to fit best. That species is able to digest human food—somehow—and use the mind control method you . . . demonstrated the other night.”

Wei Ying sticks out his tongue. “It works on regular people. How was I to know how special you were?” Thankfully, he goes back to reading so he doesn’t see the flush that burns Lan Zhan’s ears. Apparently, he is as weak to Wei Ying’s praise as he is his mother’s.

“How did you learn to glamor?” Lan Zhan asks.

“Glamor?”

“Mind control.”

“Oh. Well, I’ve seen a lot of vampire movies and stuff, so I just tried out everything I could think of. Flying is a definite no. I broke so many bones! Same for turning into a bat. Can any of these guys do that?”

“No.” It’s impressive that Wei Ying learned to glamor by himself, but what did he do, jump off a building yelling “BAT”?

Sighing, Wei Ying slumps over the table, chin in hand, and sullenly pages through the book. “I don’t guess your mom knows how to fix me?”

“She does not, but she is conducting further research.”

A little smile tugs at the corner of Wei Ying’s pouty mouth. “That’s nice. Please thank her for me.”

“I will. She wishes to help.”

Wei Ying closes the book and unabashedly steals a fry from Lan Zhan’s plate. “Thanks for bringing the books,” he mumbles around the fry. “What about this Wen clan that had you so upset last night?”

Lan Zhan stiffens, and not from the fry theft—not just from the fry theft. He hadn’t realized he’d been so obvious last night. But of course, Wei Ying can hear his heartbeat. And even if that were not obvious, his sudden departure from the alley was probably enough of a clue.

“Lan Zhan?” Wei Ying says lowly, softly. When Lan Zhan meets his eyes, Wei Ying smiles. “May I have another French fry?”

Huffing, Lan Zhan slides the plate to him. The fries are disgusting, anyway. While Wei Ying squirts ketchup onto the plate, Lan Zhan starts filling him in on the basics: the Wens are a vampire clan as ancient as the council itself. In addition to the general blood and death, they also participate in human horrors: trafficking, theft—anything that fills their coffers. After years of war and deaths, including Lan Zhan’s father, the vampire clans and the cultivation sects formed an uneasy truce, one that has lasted until now. Not that he tells Wei Ying all of that.

“Like the vampire mafia?” Wei Ying asks between red-soaked fries.

“Yes, though in truth, most organized crime involves the supernatural world to some degree.”

“Really?” Wei Ying drops the fry to lean closer. “How so?”

“Demons, mostly. They make use of human greed to fuel their needs: lust, avarice, grief. It varies according to the demon.”

“That’s wild.” Wei Ying pushes the plate away and licks a spot of ketchup from the corner of his mouth. “But you’re the good guys, fighting evil and saving the world and stuff?”

Lan Zhan drops his eyes to the red smears on the plate. “I like to think so.”

“Well then, here’s a toast to the good guys.” Wei Ying raises his coffee mug and takes a long sip. He sets down the cup and knocks his fist against his chest. “Dear god, that’s bad coffee. I want pie. Do you like pie, Lan Zhan?”

Lan Zhan turns to the gray lumps in the diner’s dessert case and grimaces. “Not from here.”

Laughing, Wei Ying slaps money on the table and wiggles out of the seat. “Don’t worry, Lan Zhan, I know just the place.”

Lan Zhan puts the books back in his qiankun pouch—to Wei Ying’s amazed delight—and they set off.

As they sit in the café eating the best pie Lan Zhan has ever tasted (strawberry lemon for him, coffee caramel for Wei Ying), Wei Ying says, “So you have sparkly golden eyes, a bag that’s bigger on the inside, a magic sword you still haven’t shown me, and you can throw people around with your mind. I’m not sure ‘cultivator’ covers all that. I have seen a C-drama before, you know.”

Lan Zhan sighs and pats the napkin over his lips. Between his mother’s red bean buns and this pie, he’s exceeded a week’s allowance of sugar today alone. But he still needs to do a patrol of the fifth district after this, so the sugar high will be welcome.

“The most common term is fae,” he says, and braces for the reaction.

Wei Ying doesn’t disappoint. He laughs so hard that he chokes on the pie. If he were human, Lan Zhan might have become concerned. Thankfully, the café is deserted aside from them, and the staff keep their distance. Lan Zhan is fairly sure that their waitress is a selkie, actually, which would explain how warily she eyes them.

“Fairy?” Wei Ying finally wheezes, his eyes bloodshot and leaking red-tinged tears. “You’re a fairy?”

“Fae,” Lan Zhan grunts. “Not the same thing.”

“Yeah, okay, Lan Zhan.” Wei Ying has another, briefer giggling fit. “Whatever you need to tell yourself.”

The door opens, and a group of teenagers enters the café.

“Wipe your face,” Lan Zhan says in an undertone, which stops the giggling.

Wei Ying snatches napkins from the dispenser to wipe away the bloody tears. “Oh, that’s gross,” he mutters, scowling down at the red streaks on the napkin. “I didn’t know about that.”

Lan Zhan didn’t know about the blood tears either, but he says nothing as Wei Ying hurries to toss the napkins in the trash. When Wei Ying returns to the table, he ignores his half-eaten pie to stare out of the window, smiling wanly. “At least I still have a reflection. That’s something, I guess.”

The ghostly reflection smiles back at him. Lan Zhan is tempted to joke about his vanity, but then he considers what it would be like to lose his reflection. After all the other changes, it might seem insignificant, but it would feel like disappearing. How isolating it would be to move through the world that way—like a ghost, like a shadow.

“Why did they do this to me?” Wei Ying asks, still gazing at the window, now looking through it to the people passing by. “I don’t get it. What’s in it for these Wens? And why me? I’m nobody.”

“I don’t know.” Lan Zhan looks away as more red tears leak from Wei Ying’s eyes. He stares at his own abandoned plate, not brave enough to meet his own reflection.

They leave the diner and stand under the awning. Wei Ying probably can’t feel the wind, but he still huddles in his jacket. “So what now?”

“I need to patrol. I’ll contact you if I learn anything else.”

“Patrol?”

Wei Ying’s ears practically perk up, like Lan Huan’s dog’s do when he hears walkies.

Barely believing the words that are coming out of his mouth, Lan Zhan says, “Would you like to come with me?”

The answer is a resounding and unsurprising yes. If Wei Ying had a tail, it would be wagging.

His patrol district is only a few blocks away, but Wei Ying still manages to ask a mind-boggling number of questions during the short walk. If Lan Zhan could get a word in, he’d ask if the sugar is affecting him, but it’s likely that Wei Ying is just like this.

Even with his mouth running wide open, Wei Ying still notices the sigil when they enter the district. “Oh!” he cries, running over to peer at the glowing sigil. “It’s your thing! The cloud thing!”

“This is our territory.”

“Whose territory were we in before?”

“Also ours.”

“How much of the city is your territory?”

“Approximately one-tenth.”

“Wow.” Wei Ying trots back to his side, grinning. “How much do those Wen guys have?”

“A bit less.”

“But you guys are responsible for protecting the city. How many people do you have?”

“Not enough,” Lan Zhan sighs. “The council has many members, but only fifty or so do regular fieldwork. My office only fields ten.”

“Yikes. I guess you stay pretty busy fighting evil, then, huh?”

“Very busy.”

Wei Ying’s shoulder knocks against his. “Well, I appreciate you taking time out of your busy schedule to tutor me.”

Lan Zhan nods, his shoulder tingling from the contact. Aside from his immediate family, he doesn’t do casual touching. He certainly doesn’t do casual touching with vampires. But for some reason, he doesn’t complain.

They roam the first few blocks with Wei Ying chattering away, but as the night goes on, a question begins to burn in Lan Zhan’s mind. When he finds an opening, he asks, “Are you still feeding?”

Wei Ying’s mouth snaps shut. He stares down at the sidewalk, shoulders hunched. His body language is as expressive as his face, every thought transforming his long limbs. “Um, yeah,” he admits finally. “I don’t have to do it every night, but it’s . . . I can’t go too long.” His head snaps up, and his face turns to Lan Zhan. “But I don’t kill anybody! I try not to hurt them beyond, you know.”

“I know.” The craziest thing is that Lan Zhan believes him. This is not someone born to vampirism or molded by a clan. This is just a man who woke up one night with a hunger he has to serve no matter how much he hates it. And it’s obvious how much Wei Ying hates who he’s become, how much he clings to the man he was.

“I have been researching,” Lan Zhan says carefully. This research is certainly not the kind authorized by the council, but even the rigid, hidebound council knows something of the local vampire practices, and it wasn’t too difficult for Lan Zhan to find the answers he sought.

“There are . . . services for vampires. Ways to avoid, or perhaps subsidize the hunt. Have you tried animal blood?”

“Of course,” Wei Ying snorts. “Do you really think I jumped straight into attacking people? I tried pig’s blood, cow blood, goat blood. I even caught a rat and tried to eat that! I don’t recommend it, by the way. Tastes about as great as you’d imagine. But all of it just made me puke. Have you ever seen vampire puke?”

“Thankfully no,” Lan Zhan says. Rats? A living rat?

“Best hope you never do.” Wei Ying shivers dramatically. “Anyway, it didn’t work, I’m sad to say.”

“What about hospitals? Blood banks?”

Wei Ying shrugs. “I thought about it, but it doesn’t seem any better, really. If I did that, wouldn’t I be stealing blood from the people who need it most?”

That is a good point. Lan Zhan braces himself to make the next suggestion. “There are also instances in which humans and vampires make a sort of consensual agreement. A contract of sorts.”

Wei Ying stops walking to gape at him. He’s even attractive with his mouth hanging open like the village idiot. It’s unfair. It’s annoying how attractive he is.

“Lan Zhan, are you telling me that there are hookup apps for vampires?” Wei Ying’s lips curl up in a smirk. “Let me guess: Biter? No, Feedr.”

It’s also annoying that Lan Zhan somehow knows that Wei Ying removed the final E from the last one. “I’m not sure what they’re called.”

Snorting, Wei Ying keeps walking. “I should’ve known, really. I mean, I’ve seen my share of vampire movies with the sexy neck biting, and there are definitely weirder kinks out there. But why would people do that? For the money?”

“I suppose. I have also read that some people . . . enjoy the experience.”

Wei Ying chuckles low and brushes against him. “Have you tried it?”

Lan Zhan puts more space between them and hopes that Wei Ying’s enhanced senses can’t detect the butterflies gyrating in his gut. “You are not feeding from me.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it! I was just curious.”

Lan Zhan hums flatly and refuses to look at him, but he can still tell that Wei Ying is smirking. And he still knows how annoyingly attractive that smirk is.

The first hour goes by without incident, which is as Lan Zhan expected. The fifth district tends to be quiet, entrenched as it is in council territory. Wei Ying is likely the first vampire to enter in a long time. The worst thing Lan Zhan has ever encountered here was a group of imps infesting a dumpster. Disgusting, but hardly great peril.

Wei Ying grew quieter after their discussion of feeding, and even though Lan Zhan barely knows him, he understands that Wei Ying is contemplating something.

Finally, Wei Ying says, “Would it make you feel better if you could, like, supervise me?”

The question only throws him for a moment. “In feeding, you mean?”

“Yeah.” Wei Ying squeezes closer to him for a few steps to avoid a group walking toward them, then moves away again. “I was thinking . . . I don’t know, you’d feel better if you were sure. Sure they were okay, you know?”

I trust you, Lan Zhan almost says, but he snaps his lips shut on that ridiculous sentiment just in time. “That isn’t necessary.”

“Okay, yeah. I just—I thought I’d offer.”

Frowning, Lan Zhan watches him from the corner of his eye, noting the uneasiness, the averted eyes. “Would that make you feel better?”

“I . . .” Wei Ying turns to him, blinking rapidly. “You know, I think it would. It’s hard sometimes. Hard to stop. A couple of times I went too far—not that far—but the people, they didn’t wake up for a long time. It scared me.”

“Then if you want . . .” This is crazy. Is he really offering to, to watch as Wei Ying feeds from someone? Shufu would qi deviate if he found out that Lan Zhan was even contemplating such a thing.

“You don’t have to!” Wei Ying blurts. “I’m fine, really! It was just a thought.”

Lan Zhan swallows and looks away. It’s like Wei Ying really did mesmerize him with those big, pretty eyes. “Just for a little while. Just until you have more control.”

“Yeah, okay, great! Great idea, Lan Zhan.” Wei Ying’s hand lands on his shoulder and squeezes. “You’re really great.”

Lan Zhan follows dully as Wei Ying goes on the hunt, chipper now at the prospect of feeding. Which Lan Zhan is going to supervise like . . . well, there really is no appropriate simile, is there? There is nothing quite comparable to watching a vampire drain the blood from his victim. But he feels a bit like the hall monitor he was in school, like if Wei Ying misbehaves, he can send him to the principal. And what will he do if Wei Ying does cross the line—wag his finger and tell him to do better?

“I usually look for shady types,” Wei Ying says over his shoulder to Lan Zhan who lags behind him. “Makes me feel a little better, like I’m not really a bad guy. The woman the other night was kind of an accident. Well, not an accident. More of a wrong place, wrong time situation. I just couldn’t find any bad guys. Bad guys are a lot harder to find than you’d think! I guess criminals need to keep it on the down low. But you’d know that, huh, being a superhero and all?”

Lan Zhan is getting a headache. Too much sugar and caffeine, not enough sleep. It’s been a really long day. A really long bunch of days. “Just pick someone.”

“Yeah, okay, sorry. Let’s try down here.”

Wei Ying leads them into another alley, which he explains is a good spot to catch people alone. “It’s a cliché for a reason, Lan Zhan!” This alley is next to a bar, and the music reaches them through the walls. Wei Ying shuffles closer to him. “Drunk people are probably easier to hypnotize,” he says, his voice low. “Do you think I can get drunk off their blood?”

“I don’t know.” This was such a terrible idea. But it’s not too late. He could say he’s changed his mind, that he needs to keep patrolling. Or that he needs to go home. He wants to go home so badly that his chest aches.

“I’m sorry, Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying mumbles. “This has to suck for you.” He snorts a quiet laugh. “Uh, bad choice of words. But thanks. This has all been so freaky. I’m just—I’m terrified, you know? Terrified of myself. I keep ducking everyone’s calls. My mom is probably ready to kill me—”

The light dips as a man enters the alley. “Quiet,” Lan Zhan hisses. “Someone’s coming.”

Wei Ying’s attention jerks to the man walking toward them. The man is staring at his phone and doesn’t seem to notice them, to sense the predator now stalking toward him. Human senses are so dull, their prey instincts buried by centuries of civilization. Hunger and death suddenly surround Wei Ying like black smoke, but still this man swipes at his phone and walks steadily into the monster’s jaws.

Wei Ying blocks the man’s path. “Hi,” he says cheerfully. “Do you know what time it is?”

The man falters, his body tensing with fear, but even now, he doesn’t run. Ignoring his instincts, the man glances back at his phone. “Uh, a few minutes past eleven.”

Wei Ying groans. “How’d it get so late? I’ve got work in the morning!” As he talks, his hand floats through the air, and the man’s eyes follow it. The man starts to sway with Wei Ying’s rhythm.

“I’m sleepy,” Wei Ying says, his voice low and coaxing. “Aren’t you sleepy?”

The man nods slowly, rocking on his feet.

“Good. You can take a little rest. Just look into my eyes.”

Wei Ying steps closer, and the man stops swaying to stare into his eyes.

“Good, that’s good. Now close your eyes.” For a moment, Lan Zhan’s eyes want to slide shut, but he shakes himself and forces his body to stand up straight.

“Everything’s okay,” Wei Ying croons to the man. “You’re just going to take a little rest, and when you wake up, you’ll forget all about this.”

“Okay,” the man agrees. His eyes close.

As the man slumps, Wei Ying wraps him up and pushes him against the wall. His fangs flash as he yanks the man’s head aside and lunges at his neck.

From a few feet away, Lan Zhan can’t block out the soft slurps, the quiet moans coming from Wei Ying and the man. Disgust sours his stomach, but his neck prickles with a phantom tongue. Wei Ying growls low and shoves the man harder against the wall, and Lan Zhan has to turn away, cold sweat sliding down his back.

The slurping continues, and the man’s moans have reached a higher pitch. “Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan murmurs.

Wei Ying makes a questioning noise but doesn’t stop drinking.

“Wei Ying!” Lan Zhan repeats sharply. This time, Wei Ying groans and lifts his head.

“It’s okay, Lan Zhan. I can take a little more.”

But Lan Zhan can hear how the man’s heartbeat has slowed. He isn’t on the verge of death yet, but if they plan for him to leave the alley on his own feet, this has to stop.

“That’s enough,” Lan Zhan says. He walks closer, close enough to smell the blood, to see it dripping from Wei Ying’s mouth.

At first, Wei Ying only stares back at him, his eyes burning red, his lip curled in a snarl. “Okay, Lan Zhan.” He licks his lips and steps back, holding the man upright with a hand on his chest. “You’re the boss.”

That should not make Lan Zhan shiver. He ignores how ridiculous he’s being and gestures for Wei Ying to move away. He puts his own hands on the man’s chest and sends him a burst of qi. The man snaps awake, his back arching off the wall. “Wha—?” the man gasps. “Who’re you?”

Lan Zhan helps him peel off the wall and walks him toward the street. “You passed out, but you’re feeling better now. Go home and get some rest. And drink plenty of fluids.”

“O-okay,” the man agrees, nodding and stumbling when Lan Zhan releases him.

“What’d you do to him?” Wei Ying asks when Lan Zhan returns.

“I gave him some of my qi.”

“That’s so cool!” Grinning, Wei Ying swipes his thumb over his red chin, then pops his bloody thumb in his mouth, sucking with rapture.

Lan Zhan turns away from his fluttering eyes and tells himself that it’s repulsion he’s feeling.

“Sorry,” Wei Ying says. “I got a little carried away. I haven’t done that in a couple of days, and I was really hungry. I’m glad you were here to stop me!”

And I desperately wish I’d never seen that. “Mn.”

“So, do you have to patrol again tomorrow night?”

Lan Zhan sighs, every bone in his body crying out for respite. “Yes.”

“Great! Maybe next time we’ll find some actual monsters!”

We are the monsters, Lan Zhan thinks, but he nods, already dreading the report he’ll have to write tomorrow.

Morning arrives, shining unforgiving light over last night’s actions. Not even his most soothing workflow playlist makes Lan Zhan calmer as he sits at his desk, anxiously typing up his report of last night’s patrol. He has filled in the standard information, but the section for detailing enemy encounters sits blank, his cursor blinking accusingly in the empty box.

Does what happen last night count as an enemy encounter? Yes, Wei Ying hypnotized and fed from a civilian, but Lan Zhan all but applauded as he did it! There was no altercation, and certainly no elimination of a threat. He basically gave the threat a pat on the head for doing such a good job. If he describes what happened in this report, he’ll be thrown out of the building. That’s if he’s lucky. More likely, he’ll become the enemy. That would make certain members of the council extremely happy. Lan Zhan going to the dark side would verify that element’s prejudices about his family’s supernatural lineage. Lan Huan’s status as leader would almost certainly be disputed—that position is precarious enough already.

But can he lie? Can he couch the incident in language vague enough to hide the truth? Wouldn’t it be better just to write nothing?

He knows what Shufu would say. Shufu detests lying, subterfuge, obfuscation, and all other forms of dishonesty. Unless that obfuscation relates to fae abilities, of course.

He also knows what his mother would say: what the council doesn’t know won’t hurt them. For his mother, lying to the council is not just a frequent necessity, but also a great form of amusement.

With a deep breath and a fortifying gulp of tea, Lan Zhan quickly types no enemies encountered and saves the document. Before he can second-guess himself, he uploads it to the server.

It isn’t a lie, he tells himself as he paces in front of the window. Wei Ying is not an enemy. Lan Zhan was helping him and protecting a civilian. That must serve the greater good more than brutal honesty on some report.

Chapter Text

On their second night of patrol, Wei Ying tells him about his job as a programmer analyst, which he thankfully does from home. “I’m lucky, I guess,” Wei Ying says, sipping an iced coffee as they walk. “What if I’d been a lifeguard or a park ranger or something?”

Those are odd examples, but Lan Zhan takes his meaning.

“The worst part is my friends.” Wei Ying glumly rattles the ice in the cup and takes another swig. “I’m afraid to see them, you know? And I can’t explain why I’m dodging them. They’d just think I was nuts.”

“It’s wise to avoid them,” Lan Zhan says. “At least until you’re more sure of yourself.”

“Yeah,” Wei Ying sighs. “Wisdom sucks.”

Lan Zhan watches him gnaw at the straw and wonders if he’s hungry again. Since he met Wei Ying, he’s learned more about vampires than he did in years of study with the council, but there is no academic consensus on how often a vampire needs to feed. It isn’t even clear what happens to them if they don’t. Some scholars believe that vampires can exist indefinitely without feeding, though likely in a highly-weakened state.

“I think I have to tell my mom, though,” Wei Ying says. “My friends are one thing, but Mom isn’t going to let me hide forever. That woman will hunt me down.”

“Mothers are like that,” Lan Zhan says, smiling a little.

“What if—?” Wei Ying stops walking and stands in the flow of pedestrians, the iced coffee hanging by his side. “What if she’s scared of me?”

A dozen platitudes race through Lan Zhan’s mind, empty words of generic consolation. He can’t tell Wei Ying that his mother will love him anyway. He doesn’t know that, doesn’t know her. He can’t say that everything will be alright, the biggest lie of all. Finally, he says, “A two-year-old child wouldn’t be scared of you.”

Wei Ying snorts, the tension leaving his body and a smile curling on his lips. “Wow, thanks, Lan-laoshi.”

They keep walking, and Wei Ying slurps obnoxiously on the straw. The coffee is gone, so all this slurping does is create a noise akin to an imp being crushed in a trash compactor. When a particularly violent slorp makes the hair stand up on the back of Lan Zhan's neck, he dares a blast that sends the cup flying from Wei Ying's hand into the nearest garbage can. Unwise to do so on a public street, but well worth Wei Ying’s aghast face.

“Hey, I was drinking that!”

“Learn to drink more quietly.”

“You are such a bitch. Are your powers actually good for anything other than abusing me?”

“Yes. Abusing you is just fun.”

“I’m gonna need your boss’s email. I need to lodge a complaint. Is there a vampire defamation league? Who do I talk to about vampire rights in this city?”

Smirking, Lan Zhan casts the silencing spell and enjoys two whole minutes of blessed quiet until Wei Ying holds his phone up to Lan Zhan’s ear and blasts a children’s song about sharks at maximum volume.

“Good luck getting that out of your head anytime in the next week,” Wei Ying says when Lan Zhan frees his mouth.

“Same to you.”

Wei Ying shrugs. “Worth it.”

The next day, Lan Huan walks into Lan Zhan’s office and closes the door behind him. With uncharacteristic sullenness, he drops into the guest chair. “A-Niang called.”

Lan Zhan bites the inside of his cheek to stop his smirk. “I hope she’s doing well.”

Lan Huan wags a finger at him. “Laugh all you want, but there’s going to be an emergency council meeting about this vampire you insist on protecting.”

Instinctive panic banishes his humor, but this is a good thing, isn’t it? Wei Ying might not be the only victim, and the council can’t ignore this potential threat. “Good. The council needs to be informed.” To an extent. “Is A-Niang coming, too?”

“Of course she is. Shufu’s going to have a heart attack.”

Lan Zhan’s heart isn’t feeling too great at the moment, either. He has to be careful in this meeting, choose his words wisely. The council needs to know what happened to Wei Ying and investigate the Wens’ involvement, but they certainly don’t need to know that Wei Ying is tagging along on his patrols.

His phone chooses this moment to buzz with an incoming text. Wei Ying, of course. Lan Zhan only agreed to share his number because Wei Ying promised to use it only when necessary. This was, unsurprisingly, a lie. Lan Zhan turns the phone facedown on his desk. “When will the meeting take place?”

“I don’t know yet.” Lan Huan sighs and creaks out of the chair like an old man. “Please be careful. I know you’re . . . protective of this vampire, but you know the council. Don’t endanger yourself for his sake.”

“I will try,” Lan Zhan says, which is a vague promise, and his brother knows it, based on his frown. “Have you learned anything of the Wens?”

“Only rumors so far, as per usual. You know how hard it is to gather information in their territory.”

Lan Zhan nods. Why did it have to be them?

Lan Huan walks to the door and then pauses, turning back. “I hate to ask, but could you take the seventh district tonight? Jingyi was injured last night, and we need someone to investigate the site.”

“Of course. Is he alright?”

Lan Huan shrugs, smiling ruefully. “It was minor. You know Jingyi.”

Lan Zhan huffs a laugh. Yes, he knows Jingyi. The fool probably knocked himself out with his own sword glare.

“And don’t worry about five. It’s been quiet lately, hasn’t it?”

“It has,” Lan Zhan agrees, furiously not thinking about Wei Ying chattering at his side or the man he drank in the alley. “Perhaps Jingyi and Zizhen should be reassigned there?”

“Good idea. Meng Yao and I will work on the schedule. I’ll send you the information about the hunt.” Lan Huan pats the doorframe in farewell and closes the door behind him.

Lan Zhan waits until the sound of his feet disappears down the hall before he reaches for his phone—his brother often forgets to mention something and doubles back. But today, the conversation seems truly over.

Wei Ying’s text is a string of emojis—☕💥😭—followed by you owe me a coffee.

Lodge a complaint with the vampire defamation league, Lan Zhan replies, smirking, but he does not include a smirking emoji. He does not, as a rule, use emojis, which infuriates Wei Ying, who seems to prefer them to actual words.

Wei Ying: I will when I form one 🦇👑 Im gonna be the vampire president and youll be in big trouble mister 🥊🥊🥊

Lan Zhan: I await my doom.

There is no immediate reply, and Lan Zhan hesitates, his thumb hovering over the phone. With a deep breath, he hits the call icon.

Wei Ying picks up on the second ring. “Wow, an actual phone call! You must be shaking in your stylish boots.”

“I just received news. The council is calling an emergency meeting.”

“About me?” Wei Ying shrieks.

Lan Zhan winces and moves the phone away from his ear. “About the unprecedented turning of an unwilling victim in Wen territory.”

“Oh. But that’s still kind of about me, right? Do I need to go on the run? Are the villagers coming with torches and pitchforks?”

“I will try to keep you out of it.” As far as he knows, only his mother and brother know Wei Ying’s name. Lan Zhan certainly hasn’t added it to a report. Hopefully, that will remain the case.

“Thanks, Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying sighs. “I really appreciate it. And I don’t want you to get in trouble with your people.”

“I am not in trouble,” Lan Zhan assures him. Not yet, at least. “I am glad that the council is calling a meeting. What happened to you must never happen again.”

“Wow.”

“What?”

“No, nothing. It’s just, that was really heroic.”

“Shut up.”

“No really, I’m not messing with you! I got actual chills, Lan Zhan! Which, hey, now I know I can still get chill bumps!”

“I’m hanging up.”

“No, wait, I’ve got something to tell you, too!”

Lan Zhan sighs. “What?”

“Baaay-beee shark doo doo da doo da doo!”

Growling, Lan Zhan stabs at the end call button until the line goes dead on Wei Ying’s cackle.

As Wei Ying predicted, the song lingers in Lan Zhan’s head all day, and he even finds himself humming it as he rides the elevator to the lobby. It’s still there when he meets up with Wei Ying to patrol the seventh district.

“How’s your day been, Lan Zhan?” Wei Ying asks, grinning knowingly.

“Fine.” Doo doo da doo da doo.

“Good, glad to hear it. My day was okay, too, thanks for asking.”

“One of my coworkers was injured nearby last night,” Lan Zhan says, walking briskly and ignoring the music blaring in his head. “He and his partner failed to eliminate the threat.”

“Ooh, what is it? Does this mean I actually get to see you fight?”

“A haunting. And yes, I expect you will.”

“It’s about time. I was beginning to think you were lying about the whole hero business just to impress me.”

Lan Zhan cuts his eyes to Wei Ying. “I impress you?”

Wei Ying chuckles and lowers his eyes, the very definition of bashful. If vampires could blush, his cheeks might be red. “Well, I guess we’ll see, won’t we?”

They reach the site, an abandoned house—rare in the city center where land is scarce and valuable, but this one would be daunting for even the most devoted house flipper. At some point, the house may have been white, but the walls have eroded to a dull gray. Surprisingly, many of the windows are unbroken, and there’s no sign of graffiti. Even the local youths must tread warily around this house. That’s understandable: the resentful energy is apparent even from the sidewalk. Normal people rarely sense such energy unless it’s especially strong, but this house all but shrieks with fury. It’s strange that the house has evaded notice for this long. Resentment like this does not build overnight.

“Spooky,” Wei Ying says with admiration as they pause on the sidewalk.

“Can you sense the resentment?”

“What, like bad vibes?”

“Something like that.”

Wei Ying frowns and steps closer, closing his eyes. “Yeah. Yeah, there’s something.” He shudders and opens his eyes. “It feels . . . dark. And mean. What does it feel like to you?”

“Mean is accurate. But to me, it mostly feels wrong. Rotten.”

“Yeah, rotten is a good word.” Wei Ying flicks his wrinkled nose. “I smell it more than sense it, and it definitely smells rotten.”

The idea of smelling resentful energy is intriguing, but for now, Lan Zhan sets the thought aside. Right now, he has work to do. The front door hangs open as Jingyi and Zizhen must have left it when they fled. Lan Zhan leads the way inside and pauses to call his guqin.

Wei Ying watches wide-eyed—impressed already, to Lan Zhan’s delight—as the instrument shimmers into being. Then his face droops. “Lan Zhan, what is that? Where’s your sword?”

“I don’t need a sword to deal with ghosts.” He strums a question, then waits for the answer, throwing up a hand to silence Wei Ying’s impending interruption. The spirit twangs the strings fiercely when it answers. A powerful spirit, and an angry one, at that.

“Okay, not as cool as a sword, but not bad,” Wei Ying says, grinning. “Was it the ghost?”

“Mn. I was speaking with it.”

“Like a spirit box,” Wei Ying says, leaning down to examine the strings.

“I don’t know what that means. Be quiet.”

The first question asked the spirit what it wants. The answer was death pain suffer. This time, Lan Zhan commands it to depart. The spirit doesn’t bother answering with the guqin. The downstairs windows implode, sending shattered glass flying towards them. Lan Zhan throws up a barrier spell. The shards strike the shield and fall harmlessly to the floor.

“Holy shit!” Wei Ying yelps, cowering and covering his head.

“Stay back,” Lan Zhan orders and steps forward, circling his hand over the strings. The energy builds with the gliding notes, forming blue light around his hand. As he plays, the spirit gathers its own energy, rattling the loose floorboards and shaking the dangling light fixtures. Dust rises in a cloud as the walls crack. Splinters fly, but Lan Zhan casts another shield with his free hand and ignores the projectiles.

“Asshole!” Wei Ying yells somewhere behind his shoulder. “Stop throwing the fucking house at us!”

The spell is almost ready. His hand tingles with the power he’s amassed. His qi roils, gathering to spring out. Doo doo da doo da doo, he hums, and with the last doo, throws out his hand. Blue light shoots out, enveloping the first floor in a deafening boom. Baaay-beee shark!

When sound returns to the world, the house falls still, the chandelier above their heads swaying to a stop. He sends the guqin away and turns to Wei Ying.

“Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying whispers, but the words echo in the silent house. “Is it over?”

Never ask that! Lan Zhan would yell, but the floor is cracking open beneath his feet. He plummets down in a cloud of dust, bracing himself for the landing. Instead, something grabs his arm. He swings dizzily through the air, at eye-level with the floor and Wei Ying's chunky boots.

“Lan Zhan!” Wei Ying yells. “Did you see that? I caught you!”

Lan Zhan tilts his head back, following the boots up to Wei Ying's wide eyes. “I noticed. Pull me up.”

Wei Ying pulls, and Lan Zhan soars up much more quickly than he expected. But even as he soars, something grabs his leg and yanks him down.

“The fuck?” Wei Ying stumbles closer to the hole and grabs both of his arms. “What’s going on?”

Lan Zhan peers down into the hole. Gnarled fingers cling to his leg and tear at his pants. A ghoul of some kind—he can’t see beyond its arm. He kicks at it with his free leg, but he only kicks air, and the movement sends him sliding in Wei Ying’s grip.

“Does something have your leg?” Wei Ying’s voice is abnormally high-pitched. “What the hell is down there?”

“Let me go,” Lan Zhan says calmly. If Wei Ying and the ghoul keep up this tug-of-war, his leg will be torn to shreds. The best option is to fight the thing on the ground.

“Are you nuts?” Wei Ying shrieks. “I’m not dropping you down there with some monster!”

“Fighting monsters is my job. Let me go.”

Wei Ying stares down at him, chewing on his lip. “Fine. But I’m coming with you.”

“No!” Lan Zhan shouts, but it’s too late. Wei Ying lets go. Lan Zhan falls. And Wei Ying dives after him.

The creature also let go when he started to fall, but there isn’t much time to build power as he falls. He uses what he’s got as soon as he lands, spinning and blasting the creature he can sense—can smell—to his right. A second later, Wei Ying lands behind him, his battle cry cutting off in an oof.

Lan Zhan doesn’t have time to worry about the ridiculous vampire right now. He calls to his sword as the creature lunges. A ghoul, as he thought, and a big one. Its deformed head bulges from a spindly neck. Long, twisted arms and legs protrude from its bloated abdomen. This one must feed on decay, and it has fed well. As an underground creature who abhors light, it staggers back from Bichen’s light, swiping at blindly at the sword. Lan Zhan dodges its long arms and slices off one clawed hand. Howling, the ghoul stumbles back, ichor spurting from its arm.

“Oh gross,” Wei Ying groans. “That thing reeks.”

“Stay out of the way.” An injured enemy is a wrathful enemy. At this stage of the battle, Lan Zhan must remain on guard. Fear and fury will drive the ghoul to unpredictable and savage attacks.

This ghoul chooses to meet death head on. Roaring, it falls to all-fours and bounds across the cellar floor. Lan Zhan blasts it with a stunning spell that knocks it back but doesn’t dissuade it. Leaping, he evades the ghoul’s next lunge and flips over it, scoring its thick hide as he goes. It is not a mortal wound, but it’s enough to make the ghoul whine and creep back.

“Even its blood stinks!” Wei Ying yells. Apparently, Wei Ying jumped into the cellar to add color commentary to the battle.

Ignoring this distraction, Lan Zhan raises Bichen and strides forward to deal the killing blow.

“Oh shit, look out!”

Lan Zhan whirls around at Wei Ying’s shout. A second ghoul scrabbles across the floor, its body so low to the ground that it’s nearly invisible in the dark cellar.

Before Lan Zhan can react, a blur shoots toward the second ghoul. There is a savage rip, and a moment later, Wei Ying stands above the second ghoul wielding its severed head. “Got ya!” Wei Ying whoops. Then his face crumples, and he drops the head, flinging his ichor-coated hands in the air. “Oh nasty! Its skin is all . . . and its blood is . . . blech!”

Rolling his eyes, Lan Zhan turns back to the first ghoul and swings, severing its head in a black gush. It is pretty gross. No way would he touch that thing with his bare hands. Thankfully, he has a charm to clean the goo off his sword, which he uses immediately.

Wei Ying trots to him with his dripping hands held out in front of him. “Do me, do me, this shit is so gross!”

Lan Zhan rolls his eyes and casts the spell again.

“That’s really neat,” Wei Ying says as the charm cleans his hands. His nose still wrinkles at what must be a truly horrid stench to his enhanced sense of smell. “But I’ll feel a lot better once I’ve had a shower or three. Do you think that’s the last of them, whatever they are?”

“Ghouls. There will not be more. It’s unusual even to find two in one nest.”

“Great. How do we get out of here? Do you see any stairs?”

There probably are stairs, but Lan Zhan tells himself that they’re likely too decrepit to travel safely. He refuses to admit that his next action is an effort to impress Wei Ying. He lets Bichen float from his hand and hover above the ground. Then he steps onto the sword and holds out his hand. “We’ll fly out.”

Wei Ying’s eyes shine up at him. “Oh hell yes.” He lets Lan Zhan haul him onto the sword and whoops as they rise slowly out of the hole. They must push close together to avoid the jagged floorboards, and Wei Ying wraps an arm around Lan Zhan’s back to steady himself. If Wei Ying didn’t smell like ghoul guts, it could be called romantic.

When they leave the house, Wei Ying turns and puts his hands on his hips, staring at the empty eyes that were once the house’s windows. “Is it always like that?”

“Like what?”

Wei Ying turns to him, his smile achingly bright. “Dangerous! Exciting! Lan Zhan, that was awesome!”

“Not always, but often.” Lan Zhan can’t help the way his mouth ticks up in response to that stunning smile. “Usually less disgusting.”

Laughing, Wei Ying nudges his shoulder. “That’s good to hear. My god did those things stink! I know I’ve got, like, super enhanced smelling, but I don’t understand how anything can smell that bad.”

“That breed of ghoul is essentially made of rot,” Lan Zhan says. “That is what it feeds on.”

“It eats garbage?”

“No, it eats the essence of rot. The . . . aura of decay.” It’s hard to explain, or maybe Lan Zhan just isn’t used to explaining such things to someone who didn’t grow up in a family of cultivators. “Those ghouls are drawn to abandoned places, places no one cares for anymore.”

“That’s kind of sad,” Wei Ying says.

“I suppose it is.” That has never occurred to him, but now he sends a look over his shoulder at the decaying house. Once, there must have been a family who loved it, maybe even that angry spirit, but now the house is alone, left to crumble into the dust.

“Lan Zhan!” Wei Ying yelps, stopping suddenly and gripping Lan Zhan’s shoulder. “Lan Zhan, you’re bleeding!”

They both look down at Lan Zhan’s torn pants leg. “It’s nothing,” Lan Zhan says. “Just a few scratches.”

“It’s more than that.” Wei Ying’s hand falls from his shoulder, and he backs away, his nostrils flaring. “You need to go, go take care of that.”

“Wei Ying?” Lan Zhan starts after him, but then he understands. The blood. Of course. He stands still as Wei Ying keeps backing away. “I’ll do that.”

“Right. See you tomorrow!” Wei Ying throws a hand up as he turns and jogs down the street.

Lan Zhan watches him go until he disappears around the corner. Will Wei Ying need to feed now, his hunger stoked by the scent of Lan Zhan’s blood? If so, will he be able to control himself?

There’s no way to know, and there’s nothing he can do to help, not with fresh blood coating his leg. He turns back to the abandoned house. For a long moment, he stares at the house, reluctant to leave it in isolation. Finally, he inclines his head. “Be at peace,” he murmurs. Then he limps away, headed for the light of civilization so absent on this dark, silent street.

Chapter Text

Surprisingly for the typically ponderous council, the emergency meeting is scheduled only three days after its proposal. It’s likely his mother had something to do with the speed, and impossibly, Lan Zhan loves her a little bit more for her efforts.

With uncharacteristic procrastination, Lan Zhan waits until the meeting is almost due to start to head to the conference room. Even so, he runs into his mother outside the door.

“Zhanzhan!” she calls, gathering him into a hug that he accepts gratefully. Some grown men might quail at being hugged by their mothers at work, but in this, he has no shame. His mother is amazing, and he will take every hug she offers. His coworkers and council elders move past them, but he ignores them to kiss her cheek.

“I’m glad you’re here,” he murmurs against her hair.

“Of course,” she says, golden eyes twinkling. His mother doesn’t bother with glasses in this building. She never misses a chance to piss off the council. “Now let’s go in there and set those old men straight.”

Smiling, he takes her hand and follows her into the conference room. Lan Huan and Shufu are already standing behind the podium. When Shufu sees them enter, he frowns and looks away. A-Niang laughs under her breath and heads for the chair left empty for her—near the back of the room. Lan Zhan pulls out the chair for her and stands behind it after she sits down. Hopefully, it looks like solidarity and not like he’s hiding behind his mother’s proverbial skirts.

Lan Huan, who took the helm of their sect after their father’s death, begins the meeting soon after. Shufu lingers behind him at the podium. Shufu means well: he has always supported Lan Zhan and his brother despite his feelings about their fae lineage. But why does his support feel so much like an apology to the other council members? It’s as if he wishes to remind the council that Lan Huan is only half-fae while the rest of him is respectable Lan. Lan Huan is as righteous and capable as anyone in the room, but he needs his uncle’s blessing and fake glasses to make everyone more comfortable. Ridiculous.

But today isn’t about them. Today is about getting justice for Wei Ying. Lan Zhan needs to focus on that. He can be irritated at the council anytime.

After the customary courtesies, Lan Huan summarizes what happened to Wei Ying, naming him only as “the victim” of his narrative. The summary only takes a minute or two. Lan Huan even avoids mentioning Lan Zhan by name. He frames the points passively: the victim was discovered, a Wen sigil was found in the alley. It is strange to hear the events presented so dryly and concisely, but Lan Zhan nods his gratitude when Lan Huan meets his eyes.

Even this dry recitation provokes shock and anger among the council members. They are too reserved to shout or pound the table, but even with their measured tones, it’s obvious that they’re upset.

“Are we sure this was the Wens?” one Lan elder asks.

“No,” Lan Huan admits. “However, it seems likely given that the man was attacked in their territory. We need more investigation to be certain.”

“This could start a war,” Jin Guangshan says. “Poking our noses into Wen territory is too dangerous with such scant evidence.” Unfortunate that council discussions must include that cowardly blowhard. Behind the blowhard, Jin Zixuan and Qin Su share an exasperated look. Good to know they're frustrated with their repellent father, but it'd be nice if they actually spoke up once in a while.

“We cannot gather evidence without investigating in their territory,” Lan Huan says gently. “Of course, we will be cautious. Our investigators—”

“How can we even be sure this vampire is telling the truth?” Jin Guangshan barks. “The way you explained it, we only have his word that he didn’t ask to be turned. This could all be some sort of trick!”

“That is fear talking,” Lan Zhan’s mother says, her voice even but the words sharp. “Fear and cowardice. Yes, it is dangerous to provoke Ruohan, but it is even more dangerous to let his clan run wild. Even the Wens must abide by the rules, and this action is in clear defiance of our truce.”

Jin Guangshan glares at her, but she has ground him into submission.

“My mother is right,” Lan Huan calls above the mutters she provoked. “Our responsibility is to the people of this city, not to our own safety. Only investigation will reveal the truth. Do I have the council’s leave to begin that investigation?”

A ripple of fans rises from the table. The majority, including Jin Zixuan and Qin Su, immediately twist to show the white side of the fan, though a few black circles appear. The rest, those who waited to see how the majority would vote, including Jin Guangshan, of course, follow more slowly, but the white fans prevail. The investigation will proceed. Jin Guangshan, who voted white but is clearly displeased, throws down his fan and scowls. On his right, Nie Mingjue grunts a laugh and elbows Meng Yao. As always, Meng Yao smiles benignly and evasively. He also enjoys pissing off the council, especially his slimy father.

More discussion follows to define the limits of the investigation, but the day is won. And Lan Zhan never had to open his mouth. When Lan Huan concludes the meeting, A-Niang rises and pats Lan Zhan’s arm. “Well, that turned out to be much easier than I thought. A-Huan did well.”

“You did well,” Lan Zhan says, and sweeps her into another hug. He ignores the chuckles coming from Jin Guangshan’s direction. He can chuckle all he wants: he’s clearly terrified of the woman in Lan Zhan’s arms.

As Lan Zhan escorts his mother out, Nie Mingjue catches up to them and gets his own hug from his mother-in-law. “Well done,” Nie Mingjue tells her. “I was expecting a fight. I should’ve known not to underestimate you.”

“You’ll learn someday,” A-Niang says, pinching Nie Mingjue’s cheek. He grins like a little boy. “When are you bringing my granddaughter to visit? I haven’t seen her in ages.”

“Come to dinner on Saturday,” Nie Mingjue says. He turns to Lan Zhan. “Both of you. We’ll celebrate our victory.”

“I’m happy to," A-Niang says, "but don’t get too excited just yet. When the investigation is done, we’ll have a tougher battle convincing these fools to take action.”

Nie Mingjue nods solemnly. “But until then, we celebrate. Right, Lan Zhan?”

“Right.” Lan Zhan agrees, and endures the hearty slap Nie Mingjue gives his shoulder.

His mother tucks her arm through his, and they finally escape. In the elevator, she sighs and leans her head against his shoulder. “I hate this place.”

“I know. Thank you for coming.”

“Anything for my baby boy.” She peers up at him, eyes twinkling. “How’s your Wei Ying doing?”

He sighs and rolls his eyes. “He isn’t my Wei Ying. And he’s doing well. He asked me to thank you for sharing the books.”

“You should bring him to meet me some time,” A-Niang says lightly, like she didn’t just suggest that Lan Zhan bring a vampire to her apartment. “I’d like a look at this new friend of yours. For academic reasons, of course.”

He snorts. “I’ll see what I can do.”

“Good boy.”

Smiling, Lan Zhan twists to kiss the top of her head. There is no one like his mother.

Obviously, Lan Zhan is assigned to the agreed-upon investigation team. It takes considerable protests to convince Lan Huan that he doesn’t need a partner for this mission, but eventually Lan Huan relents on the basis that they really don’t have enough people to allow for team-ups. He wishes he could just tell his brother that he already has a partner in mind, but Lan Huan likely wouldn’t be comforted by his choice.

Guilt assaults Lan Zhan again as he watches Wei Ying jog toward him, grinning, ponytail swinging. Lan Huan would understand if he knew Wei Ying. Probably. Even so, Lan Zhan hates keeping this secret from him. The last secret he kept from Lan Huan was the action figure he accidentally broke when he snuck into Lan Huan’s room to play, and he confessed to that the next day after a miserable night spent writhing in agony. And this secret is much worse. Not only is he working with a vampire, but he is also leading the vampire into dangerous territory. Which one is worse: partnering with a vampire or endangering his vampire partner? Until he met Wei Ying, he never had to deal with these murky moral quagmires.

“Hi, Lan Zhan!” Wei Ying chirps as he comes to a halt. “Ready to kick some vampire ass?” They haven’t seen each other since the ghoul incident a few days ago, but Wei Ying seems to have recovered from his awkwardness. Since Lan Zhan informed him of the council’s decision, he’s been assaulting Lan Zhan’s phone with increasingly obscure emoji-based messages.

“This is a reconnaissance mission,” Lan Zhan says sternly.

“Yeah, I know. But if some vampires try to start something while we’re reconnoitering, we may have no choice but to kick their asses, right?”

Lan Zhan’s heart gives a strange little shiver when Wei Ying says reconnoitering, but he ignores it. “We’ll do our best to avoid such situations.”

“Of course,” Wei Ying agrees with a crisp nod. “Ninja all the way. I’m dressed for stealth, right?” He throws out his arms and spins to show off his all-black ensemble, which is pretty much what he always seems to wear—with occasional forays into red. Lan Zhan allows himself a small ogle during this display. Those black jeans are, as always, extremely tight.

Once these images are stored away in a secret folder of his brain, Lan Zhan says, “You should also consider staying quiet. I believe that is also an integral part of the ninja method.”

“Lan Zhan, are you saying I talk too much?”

“Yes.”

“Such a bitch,” Wei Ying squawks, but his eyes sparkle.

“Call the vampire defamation league,” Lan Zhan says, and whirls away without waiting for a response. He fears his eyes are also sparkling.

Predictably, Wei Ying trots to catch up. “Laugh now, Lan Zhan, but I’m going to fight for vampire rights. We’re tired of being second-class citizens. Do you know how hard it is to get to the bank when you can’t go out in the daytime? The world is prejudiced against the night walkers, Lan Zhan, and someone has to speak for us.”

“You don’t do your banking online?”

“Of course I do, that was just an example. There are lots of daytime-only activities that are denied to me and my kind. Like McDonald’s breakfast.”

“You don’t need to eat.”

“I still like pancakes! I can never eat an Egg McMuffin again, Lan Zhan! You don’t understand my pain.”

This continues as they walk down the street, moving deeper into Wen territory. At this rate, any sentinels on guard will hear them from a block away, but for some reason, Lan Zhan lets Wei Ying keep talking. Maybe his vampire-rights diatribe will compel them.

“Hey, um, don’t take this the wrong way,” Wei Ying says, “but you kind of smell different.”

“It is a glamor,” Lan Zhan says. “In this territory, I need to hide my scent.”

“Oh, that makes sense. Like special fairy deodorant.”

“Fae, not fairy,” Lan Zhan hisses.

Wei Ying does a terrible job of hiding his smirk. “Right, right. But explain the difference again?” He ostentatiously examines Lan Zhan’s back. “No wings, obviously, and I haven’t noticed you sprinkling any glitter. Can you make yourself teeny tiny?”

“I can make you tiny.” He actually can’t, but Wei Ying doesn’t have to know that.

“Okay, okay, take it easy, Tinkerbell.”

“I will shrink you down and stick you in a jar.”

Wei Ying tosses his ponytail. “Whatever, tiny me would be adorable.”

This, unfortunately, is probably true. But they have more serious matters to discuss. “Are you certain that you want to do this?” Lan Zhan asks.

“You mean, am I having second-thoughts about confronting my murderers? No, I’m good. I’ve got a superhero to protect me.” He shoots Lan Zhan a wink. “Besides, what are they gonna do, kill me twice?”

This is too blasé, even for Wei Ying. “Wei Ying, you can die.”

“Well, yeah, I figured. What do I need to watch out for besides sunlight? Garlic? Stake through the heart?

“Stakes are inefficient and garlic does nothing, but you are vulnerable to silver and fire.”

“Silver? I thought that was for werewolves.”

“Silver is effective against many creatures.”

Wei Ying draws back, scowling. “So I’m a ‘creature’ now? A little rude, don’t you think?”

“Would you prefer leech? Mosquito?”

“That is hurtful, Lan Zhan. Hurtful. So what do you use, silver bullets?”

Lan Zhan rolls his eyes. “My sword is silver.”

“You stab them in the heart?”

“Decapitation is more effective.”

Wei Ying’s smile turns a bit strained. “Oh shit, you aren’t joking, are you?”

“No.” Lan Zhan has the strange urge to apologize for years of doing his job.

“Huh. So you just . . .” Wei Ying draws a finger across his throat. “I guess that would do the trick. Why didn’t you cut my head off?”

If Lan Zhan could shrink himself down and fly away, he would definitely be doing so now.

“Lan Zhan? Why didn’t you kill me?”

That is a question he still hasn’t found a satisfactory answer for, so he tells the truth: “I’m not sure.”

They walk on in the uncomfortable silence generated by discussion of decapitation. Finally, Wei Ying says, “Well, thanks for that. Not killing me.”

“The night is still young.”

To Lan Zhan's relief, Wei Ying blurts a laugh. “Oh ho, fairy boy’s got jokes!” He jabs Lan Zhan with a pointy elbow. “And I thought your sword was scary. Turns out your wit is sharper than your blade.”

“A pity yours is so dull.”

Groaning, Wei Ying clutches his chest. “Have mercy, Lan Zhan. I’m just a poor little mosquito, remember?”

Lan Zhan is tempted to make a joke about fly swatters, but he’s already exceeded his usual capacity for humor. Best to quit while he’s ahead. Besides, they are strolling through enemy territory for a reason. He pulls up the map on his phone to confirm their location. “We’re almost there.”

“Okay,” Wei Ying says, and gives himself a shake. “Time to get serious.”

Their destination is a club known to belong to the Wen clan. The Wen clan owns a substantial amount of real estate they could investigate, but with any luck, a club like this will allow Lan Zhan and his partner to pass unnoticed. The downside is that it is, well, a club. The pounding excuse for music already assaults his ears, and they haven’t even gone inside yet.

Wei Ying scowls at the cinderblock building painted matte black. The bloodred neon sign flickers Nightless City. “Yep, that’s pretty much what I expected from a vampire club.”

“Vampires aren’t known for subtlety,” Lan Zhan says as they join the queue. The bodies waiting in line are human, but they’ve dressed the part: lots of black pleather and red vinyl. Having expected this, Lan Zhan dragged out the darkest items in his wardrobe, black slacks and jacket, paired with a gray cotton button-up. It’s barely enough to keep him from standing out, but Wei Ying looks right at home.

The bouncer is also human and pays them no special attention when Lan Zhan shows his fake ID. They receive UV stamps in the shape of fanged mouths. Wei Ying rolls his eyes.

Once inside, Lan Zhan risks casting a small charm to dull his hearing, but even with the charm, his head continues to throb. Does no one at clubs wish to talk to one another? Or hear anything besides this infernal noise?

“WHAT NOW?” Wei Ying yells into his ear.

Lan Zhan grips Wei Ying’s face and pushes him away. “You don’t have to shout. I can hear you.”

With Wei Ying pouting behind him, Lan Zhan walks towards the dance floor. A gallery encircles it. That will at least get them out of the crush of vinyl and sweat. He finds the staircase and heads for it. Upstairs, they find a free spot on the railing and stake their claim. Leaning against the railing, they survey the crowd below.

“This is just depressing,” Wei Ying grumbles. “I mean, I’m not happy about being a bloodsucking monster, but learning that there was a whole other world hiding beneath the one with 401ks and casual Fridays was pretty cool. But this? This is just sad.”

Lan Zhan follows his gaze to the faux-velvet settees, the plastic candelabras spray-painted gold. There is even a giant screen on which a black-and-white vampire movie is projected. It is rather over the top.

“I’m all for camp,” Wei Ying continues. “I embrace that cheeky goth life, you know? But this is just . . . tacky.”

The aesthetic is certainly tasteless, but they aren’t here to judge the décor. “Can you sense any vampires?”

“Um, how exactly do I do that?”

That is a good question. Lan Zhan was hoping that it would just sort of happen once they got here. “Can you hear heartbeats?”

Wei Ying closes his eyes and grips the railing. His face tightens with concentration. It’s strange to see him so solemn when he is always smiling. His smiles are beautiful, but like this he’s . . . Breathtaking is not inaccurate. Butterflies burst to life in Lan Zhan’s stomach and whirl about in time with the terrible music.

“I don’t know,” Wei Ying says, his eyes still pressed shut. “The music is so loud. I can hear your heart. Everything else is just bass.” His eyelids flutter open as he turns to Lan Zhan. The strobe lights flash violet and crimson in his eyes. Lan Zhan’s heart gives a kick, and those eyes zero in on his chest. Wei Ying’s lips part, the tip of his red tongue darting out.

Lan Zhan yanks his eyes back to the dancers. “Then watch,” he says, the words coming out in a dry rasp. “If they are here, they’ll be on the hunt.”

From the corner of his eye, he sees Wei Ying turn and lean back against the railing. For several minutes, they don’t speak. Lan Zhan has never been so aware of his own heartbeat, throbbing in time to the music. He watches the people gyrate below, but all of his attention is on the man beside him.

Not a man, he reminds himself. But not a monster, either. Not that it matters. There can never be anything between them. What he wants doesn’t matter, not when—

“Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying hisses, and Lan Zhan’s heart does a guilty flutter. “Check out the guy with the neck tat.”

Lan Zhan follows his gaze down to the tattooed man on the first floor. Like most of the people in the club, the man wears all black. His collar is turned up, hiding most of the tattoo, but the ink that Lan Zhan can see on his neck might be a sunburst.

“What do you feel?” Lan Zhan asks.

“I don’t know,” Wei Ying murmurs. “He’s just . . . different.”

They watch the man speak to one of the bouncers. The bouncer nods at whatever the man said, then walks away. Like he is following an order. The tattooed man takes a phone out of his pocket, studies the screen for a moment, then strides towards the door.

“Let’s go,” Lan Zhan says.

They hurry downstairs and push their way out of the club just in time to see the man turn a corner.

“We have to keep our distance,” Lan Zhan murmurs as they begin the pursuit. “Try not to look at him directly—he’ll notice.”

“Got it.”

When they round the corner, they spot the man again. His attention is on his phone. Good. The distraction will be useful. If this man is a Wen soldier, he’ll feel secure in his own territory, which is even better.

“So now we just follow him?” Wei Ying asks in an undertone. He’s doing well, keeping his eyes moving, never settling on their target.

“For now,” Lan Zhan answers in the same murmur.

Wei Ying nods and keeps quiet. They keep well back, making use of other pedestrians when they can. It isn’t late enough for the streets to have emptied, but foot traffic is sparse. Territory owned by the Wens isn’t exactly safe for the average human.

After two blocks, the tattooed man puts his phone away and quickens his pace. “Did he make us?” Wei Ying whispers.

Lan Zhan grimaces. “You watch too many movies.”

“Whatever, laoshi. Do you think he noticed us?”

The man doesn’t look behind him as he leaves the sidewalk and enters a building.

“I don’t think so,” Lan Zhan says. “Keep going.”

They walk past the building where the man disappeared. “A restaurant?” Wei Ying says. “Maybe I got it wrong.”

When they reach the next intersection, they stop for Lan Zhan to consult his map of known Wen properties. “The restaurant isn’t on the list.”

“What do we do?”

Lan Zhan puts his phone away and stares back down the street. “We wait.”

“Shouldn’t we at least take a peek inside?” Wei Ying asks.

“That could reveal us. This is a—”

“Reconnaissance mission, I know. But for all we know, this guy was just in the mood for egg rolls. Are we really reconnaissing if we stay out here?”

“And if the restaurant is full of vampires?”

“We run like hell?”

Lan Zhan rolls his eyes and pointedly turns away to watch the restaurant.

“Fine,” Wei Ying sighs and slumps against a light post. “I guess we’ll do it the boring way.”

For the first few minutes, Wei Ying sulks in silence, but Lan Zhan should have known that was too good to last.

“Hey, so I get that these Wen guys are bad,” Wei Ying says, “but you seem sort of extra tense about them.”

Lan Zhan slides his eyes away from Wei Ying’s intense interest. “And?”

Wei Ying shrugs. “I just wondered if there was a story there.”

A story. Nothing so charming. Certainly nothing he wishes to chat about on this street corner.

“Okay, none of my business,” Wei Ying says. “I’ll just be over here. Dying of boredom.”

“Would you prefer a quicker method of death? Because that can be arranged.”

Wei Ying’s indignant squawking is interrupted by a series of startling pops as light bulbs explode down the street. In moments, they’re closed in darkness.

I didn’t mean that literally! Lan Zhan thinks as he unsheathes his sword.

“Lan Zhan, what—?”

Lan Zhan doesn’t bother with discussion; he simply hauls Wei Ying on the sword and takes off. Even without the glasses dulling his vision, the dark is too complete, but he flies higher anyway and hopes that he doesn’t tangle them in powerlines.

Below them, creatures laugh and hiss. The voices overlap, echoing off the buildings. It’s impossible to tell how many enemies are below, but it sounds as if they’ve swarmed the entire block.

“Oh shit,” Wei Ying whispers, clinging to Lan Zhan’s coat as he peers below them.

“How many?” Lan Zhan asks.

“A lot.”

Their situation must be truly dire if it has rendered Wei Ying monosyllabic. “You can see better than I can,” Lan Zhan says. “Tell me where to go.”

“Left. And higher. There’s a sign sticking out of that—oh fuck, I didn’t know they could do that!”

“Do what?” Lan Zhan demands, searching blindly for whatever Wei Ying is staring at.

“Go left!” Wei Ying yells, slapping his shoulder. Lan Zhan veers left, but it’s too late. The vampire that Wei Ying spotted crawling up the building launches itself off the wall and flies straight toward them.

The vampire barrels into them, nearly knocking them all from the sword. Lan Zhan fights for balance and tries to hold on to Wei Ying, but Wei Ying is kicking wildly at the vampire clinging to his waist, and the vampire is growling and yanking at Wei Ying. They spin and bob through a hurricane of yips and snarls. Lan Zhan wraps an arm tight around Wei Ying’s chest and tries to blast the vampire with his other hand, but it’s impossible to aim in this chaos.

“Be still!” Lan Zhan growls in Wei Ying’s ear.

Shockingly, Wei Ying complies. The frenzied kicks stop, and Wei Ying grips the arm Lan Zhan locked across his chest.

The vampire uses that opportunity to sink his teeth in Wei Ying’s thigh. Wei Ying yelps but doesn’t move to knock him loose. Snarling, Lan Zhan blasts the vampire with all the force he can muster. It’s dead before its teeth slip free of Wei Ying’s leg. Silently, it tumbles into the darkness.

Wei Ying trembles against him as Lan Zhan slows their spin and sends them straight up, soaring until they’re clear of the buildings and the neighboring streets shine in a halo beyond the darkness.

From somewhere far below, a voice calls, “Hanguang Jun, come back and play!” Dark laughter joins the caller and fades slowly as they fly toward the light.

Despite the risk of witnesses, Lan Zhan keeps going until they’re free of Wen territory, and then flies a little farther still. Wei Ying says nothing as they fly and grips Lan Zhan’s arm until his hand is numb. They’re pressed together so tightly that Lan Zhan can feel every tremor that ripples through Wei Ying’s body. His breath probably tickles Wei Ying’s neck, but neither of them mentions their strangely intimate position.

Lan Zhan finally spots a rooftop where residents have set up a seating area and lands them amidst the camp chairs and dark string lights. Releasing Wei Ying is unpleasant. Wei Ying seems to agree given how slowly he peels himself free and staggers off the sword. He drops into one of the camp chairs with a sigh. “So that could have gone better.”

Lan Zhan grunts and kneels to examine Wei Ying’s leg. The black jeans hide the worst of the blood, but the denim is tacky all the way to the ankle.

“I don’t think it’s that bad,” Wei Ying says as Lan Zhan gently spreads the ripped fabric apart. “Pretty sure it stopped bleeding. Throbs like a motherfucker, though.”

An understatement most likely, given the sizeable chunk the vampire tore from Wei Ying’s thigh. It will heal, but it will hurt. Lan Zhan lays one hand high on Wei Ying’s thigh, above the bite, and cups the other around his ankle. Closing his eyes, he sends Wei Ying a stream of qi.

“Oh,” Wei Ying gasps, wiggling in the chair. “Oh, that’s . . . what is that?”

“Shh, be still.” He grips Wei Ying tighter and smiles when Wei Ying obeys and stops wiggling. The rooftop is quiet enough to hear Wei Ying’s slow, deep breaths. He doesn’t need to breathe, but perhaps it is calming to do so.

After some time, Lan Zhan opens his eyes to inspect the bite. There is not much obvious improvement. “How does it feel?”

Wei Ying slowly lifts his head, which had tipped back against the chair, and blinks at him muzzily. “Um, better. Kinda numb? And warm.”

“Warm?” Lan Zhan narrows his eyes. Surely vampires cannot get infections.

“Good warm.” Wei Ying smiles dopily and pushes himself up. “Nice warm. I should’ve known you had magical fairy healing powers.”

Lan Zhan rolls his eyes and stands up. “We should go.”

“M’kay.”

Resisting the impulse to help Wei Ying stand up, Lan Zhan walks toward the door leading below, which is blessedly unlocked. Another stroke of luck lets them reach the building’s exit without meeting anyone.

Once they reach the sidewalk, Lan Zhan reaches for his phone. “You live on Overton, correct?” he asks as he opens the Uber app.

“Lan Zhan, are you going to escort me home?” Wei Ying grins at him a little drunkenly. Qi must have an unusual effect on vampires.

Lan Zhan ignores whatever emotion Wei Ying is beaming at him and stares placidly until Wei Ying actually answers the question. Of course he is going to escort Wei Ying home. As if he’d just stick an injured person in an Uber and wish him well!

The yawning Uber driver ignores them. Late-night drivers must be used to stranger things than bloody pants. As they ride through the quiet streets, Wei Ying lays his head against the seat and blinks sleepily at Lan Zhan. “Why did that guy call you Hanguang Jun?”

Lan Zhan moves his eyes to the window, away from the strangely-appealing vampire before he does something ridiculous like put an arm around him. “It is just a title. Many cultivators have them.”

“What does it mean? Jun is lord, right?”

“Something like that. ‘Light-bearing lord’ is a decent translation.”

He expected laughter and teasing, but Wei Ying only hums thoughtfully. “Because of your pretty, shiny eyes?”

“I suppose so.” That isn't entirely true, but the actual reason is more grandiose and much more embarrassing.

“Well, it suits you.”

Lan Zhan dares a peek to his right and finds Wei Ying smiling sweetly, his eyelids drooping. Adorable. Lan Zhan clamps his teeth together until his jaws ache. “So I do impress you?” he asks, too softly.

Wei Ying huffs a warm laugh and wiggles around until he’s sideways on the seat, his cheek snuggled against the upholstery. “Mm, Hanguang Jun is very impressive. It’s not every day a boy like me gets rescued by a handsome hero.”

Something clicks in Lan Zhan’s throat as he swallows hard and tears his eyes away from Wei Ying’s face. Looking at the rip in Wei Ying’s jeans is easier than meeting his eyes at the moment. “A poor ‘rescue.’”

“Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying chides, poking his side. “Don’t feel bad. I get hurt worse than this making breakfast.”

“Making breakfast?”

Wei Ying shrugs and closes his eyes. “Toasters are tricky.”

Let me make you breakfast, Lan Zhan thinks, but thankfully, he stops himself from speaking such foolish words.

When they reach Wei Ying’s building, Lan Zhan trails him into the elevator and then to his door. Still muzzy, Wei Ying says nothing about this until he unlocks the door and steps inside. Then he turns and attacks Lan Zhan with his most stunning smile so far—lopsided and vulnerable and so gorgeous it makes Lan Zhan’s throat itch. “Um, do you wanna come in?”

Lan Zhan forces himself to shake his head. “The Uber is waiting.”

“Oh, right.” Wei Ying’s delicate smile cracks. “Well, thanks for, you know, everything.”

“Be well,” Lan Zhan says, walking backwards. “We will speak tomorrow.”

“Sure. Get home safe!”

Lan Zhan spins and walks away quickly. He pretends he doesn’t feel Wei Ying’s eyes on his back. He pretends he doesn’t want to accept Wei Ying’s invitation. He pretends that Wei Ying only asked him inside to be polite, that neither of them is interested in . . . more. For the entire ride home, he pretends that he isn’t reliving how good it felt to hold Wei Ying tight against him.

Unfortunately, he has never been good at pretending.

Chapter Text

Less than five minutes after Lan Zhan’s report about last night hits the cloud, Lan Huan is at his door. “Didi, are you alright?”

“I’m fine.”

Lan Huan sinks into the visitor’s chair and slumps over his knees. “I hate this. You shouldn’t be out there.”

“That is our job,” Lan Zhan says softly. “Our responsibility.”

“But when does it end?” Lan Huan’s hands drag down his face. Lan Zhan looks away. Even to him, Lan Huan has always chosen to show strength, confidence. Watching him strip off his defenses feels like betrayal.

“I don’t believe it does.”

“Our duty is eternal,” Lan Huan agrees with a sigh. “I accept that. What I cannot accept is losing yet another member of my family to those monsters.”

Lan Zhan can say nothing to that. He was young when their father was killed by Wen Ruohan, too young to remember the man, really. It is different for his brother. Lan Huan remembers when their family was whole. His entire life, Lan Huan has tried to fill the absence their father’s death left, to become what his family needed, what the council needed. And now he has a family of his own, a husband and a daughter. The burden has grown heavier still.

“You aren’t going out alone again,” Lan Huan says. “It’s too dangerous.”

Lan Zhan takes a deep breath and forces himself to meet his brother’s eyes. “I was not alone. Wei Ying was with me.”

For several chilling moments, Lan Huan does nothing but stare at him like he’s searching for his brother in the mad stranger on the other side of the desk. “That was not in your report,” Lan Huan says finally.

“It was not.”

“This is not the first time the vampire has accompanied you.”

It is not phrased as a question, but Lan Zhan nods anyway.

“Lan Zhan.” Lan Huan stands up and paces behind the chair. The office only allows three strides before he must turn around and retrace his steps. “Lan Zhan, what are you thinking?”

Very little, actually. For perhaps the first time in his life, Lan Zhan has given over to impulse. For once, he reached for what he wanted rather than considering how his actions aligned with the principles instilled in him by his uncle and the council. There is no logic to it, no reason that he can possibly use to defend himself. Yet he is right to defend Wei Ying. Of that, he is absolutely certain.

“Wei Ying wishes to discover what happened to him,” Lan Zhan says after Lan Huan has marched a few more turns across the office. “The Wens are his enemies as much as they are ours.”

Lan Huan whirls to face him. “He is a vampire!”

“He is my friend,” Lan Zhan snaps.

Lan Huan staggers back until he bumps into the wall. “Your friend?”

“As you know, I have not had many,” Lan Zhan says, the words trembling on his tongue. “I apologize for obscuring his involvement. It seemed unwise to reveal it in my reports.”

“You think that’s what I’m concerned about?”

Lan Zhan’s phone buzzes on his desk, and he snatches it up, grateful for the interruption. The message is, of course, from Wei Ying: Meet me here ASAP, followed by an unfamiliar address.The lack of emojis and teasing is as alarming as the message itself.

Lan Zhan pushes back from his desk and grabs his coat. “Excuse me. Something has come up.”

“Is it him?” Lan Huan asks.

Never has his brother sounded so suspicious of him. Irritation nips at the back of Lan Zhan’s neck. He is not a teenager going through some rebellious phase. He didn’t even do that when he was an actual teenager!

“Yes.” Lan Zhan shoves the phone in his pocket and strides to the door. “I’ll be sure to inform you of what transpired in my next report.”

He keeps walking even when Lan Huan calls after him.

Lan Zhan texts Wei Ying from the backseat of the taxi he stole from an irate businessman but gets no response. His call goes unanswered. No matter how tightly he squeezes his phone, it stays silent. When he can’t bear sitting still any longer, he tells the driver to stop so that he can go the rest of the way on foot.

He runs the last few blocks, weaving through pedestrians and ignoring their barks. The address Wei Ying sent him leads him to a row of apartments. As he runs toward the one he seeks, a woman walks out. He puts on speed to catch the door before it can close behind her and ignores her protest as he lunges inside.

The apartment number Wei Ying sent is on the third floor. He bypasses the elevator and leaps up the stairs. On the third floor, he slows to a jog to scan the doors for apartment 319. As he passes 315, he stumbles to a stop: among the echoes of TV commercials and strangers’ conversation, he hears his mother’s voice.

The next breath he manages stabs at his lungs. He throws open the door to 319 and runs through the foyer.

Wei Ying meets him in the archway at the end of the foyer, his eyes huge and alarmed. “Lan Zhan—”

Behind Wei Ying, Lan Zhan’s mother and another woman sit in armchairs. “A-Niang?” Lan Zhan gasps and pushes past Wei Ying to go to his mother.

“Lan Zhan,” A-Niang scolds, “what are you doing barging in like that? You didn’t even knock! Apologize to Mrs. Cang!”

“Oh, it’s alright,” the other woman, presumably Mrs. Cang, says. “Look how concerned he is, the poor boy. So worried about his mother. Ying-er, didn’t you tell him Mrs. Jiu was here?”

“I’m so sorry, Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying says from the archway. “It just all happened so fast! I came over here to tell my mother what was happening, and then she called your mother, and—”

“Your mother?” Lan Zhan looks from Wei Ying to the woman in the armchair, who’s smiling a familiar impish smile.

“It’s nice to meet you, Lan Zhan,” Mrs. Cang says, grinning now. “Ying-er has told me so much about you.”

The two women share a conspiratorial look that Lan Zhan doesn’t care for at all. "You know each other?" he asks his mother.

"Of course!" A-Niang says. "Once upon a time, Mrs. Cang and I were good friends. I had no idea your Wei Ying was her son!"

“It's so funny, isn't it?" Mrs. Cang says. "I'm so glad to see Mrs. Jiu again. We were so close back in our hunting days."

Hunting days? Lan Zhan turns to Wei Ying, who shrugs helplessly.

“And just imagine,” Mrs. Cang says, “now our sons have become friends. I couldn’t be happier.”

The two women turn their conniving smiles on Lan Zhan and Wei Ying. The terror Lan Zhan felt before pales in comparison to what those smiles produce. Numbly, he obeys his mother’s command and drops onto the couch. Maybe sitting will make him feel less like he’s going to faint.

Later, as they’re sitting around Mrs. Cang’s dining table eating takeout, Wei Ying says to Lan Zhan, “So there I was, finally confessing to the whole vampire thing, terrified that my mother would think I was crazy or she’d chase me out with a broom, and it turns out, she already knew about all this supernatural stuff!”

“Weeks,” Mrs. Cang huffs. “He was attacked weeks ago, and he only now thought to tell his poor mother.”

Wei Ying points accusingly with his chopsticks. “And how long did you keep ghosts and goblins a secret from me, huh? Years, lady. Years.”

“That’s different,” Mrs. Cang says. “Your father and I never wanted that life for you. And after we lost him and I lost my arm—” She gestures with the prosthesis that Lan Zhan had overlooked in his earlier fright “—I thought it was better that you didn’t know.”

“Yeah, that turned out great,” Wei Ying mutters, and his mother flicks his ear.

“Don’t talk with your mouth full,” she snaps. “You don’t even need to eat anymore, so at least chew your food before you speak.”

Wei Ying rolls his eyes and jams more noodles in his mouth.

“Many species of vampire cannot tolerate human food,” Lan Zhan’s mother says. She peers at Wei Ying with unabashed glee. His mother loves nothing so much as learning something new. “Do you find that food tastes different now? Does it have any effect on your desire to feed?”

Wei Ying cuts his eyes at Mrs. Cang as he swallows the wad of noodles he just stuffed in his mouth. “Um,” he says as he dabs a napkin over his mouth. “It tastes pretty much the same, I guess. I feel kind of full after I eat, but I still want, you know, the other stuff.”

“Interesting,” A-Niang says. “And how does your desire for blood differ from human hunger?”

“A-Niang,” Lan Zhan mutters. Her charming curiosity is swiftly heading toward coarse interrogation.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” A-Niang says, chuckling. “I don’t mean to pry.”

“No, it’s okay,” Wei Ying says, but he squirms in his seat. “You know a lot more about all this than I do. I really appreciate you and Lan Zhan helping me.”

“It’s my pleasure,” A-Niang says, patting Wei Ying’s hand. “If I haven’t said so before, I’m so sorry that this happened to you. We’ll help you however we can.”

Wei Ying looks down at her hand on his with wide eyes and a hesitant smile, and Lan Zhan’s heart does a somersault. How did she know just what Wei Ying needed? How does she make reaching out look so effortless? He can never hope to learn such easy kindness and understanding.

“See?” Mrs. Cang says to Wei Ying. “Didn’t I tell you she was amazing?”

“Yeah, you were right. As usual.” Wei Ying sniffles and grins at Lan Zhan’s mother as she takes her hand back. “I have a few questions of my own, if you don’t mind.”

Lan Zhan stifles a sigh as his mother nods. He has no doubt what Wei Ying is curious about.

“So,” Wei Ying begins, leaning over his plate to peer at Lan Zhan’s mother. “Lan Zhan is pretty tight-lipped about the whole fae thing . . .”

Smirking, A-Niang cuts her eyes at Lan Zhan’s glasses. Hers are unsurprisingly perched on top of her head. “Is he now?”

“He likes his secrets.” Wei Ying flutters his lashes at Lan Zhan—right in front of their mothers—and nudges his foot under the table. “He gets so annoyed when I ask him questions.”

“I get annoyed at your ridiculous jokes,” Lan Zhan says. He traps Wei Ying’s toes under his boot and applies pressure until Wei Ying squeaks.

“My jokes—ow, Lan Zhan, let me go! My jokes are hilarious!”

“My Zhanzhan has never liked being teased,” A-Niang says with a horrible shark smile. While Lan Zhan is dodging her cheek pinch, Wei Ying manages to wriggle his foot free and kick Lan Zhan’s leg.

“Stop it,” Lan Zhan hisses.

“You stop it!” Wei Ying hisses back.

“Wei Ying, behave yourself,” Mrs. Cang says, stern despite the laugh she’s obviously holding back. “What will Mrs. Jiu think?”

“He started it!” Wei Ying yelps. “Don’t let that pretty face fool you, he’s a monster!”

Lan Zhan rolls his eyes and escapes to the restroom before he does something truly childish. When he returns, his mother is allowing Wei Ying to examine her eyes.

“They’re just like Lan Zhan’s,” Wei Ying says. “Well, as far as I can tell from the little glimpse he gave me.” He turns to scowl at Lan Zhan, then goes back to gazing at A-Niang.

“Yes,” Lan Zhan’s mother says, “but his brother’s eyes are silver like my mother’s.”

“Really? That’s so cool!” Wei Ying finally sits back and turns to Lan Zhan. “What color are your father’s eyes?”

“Brown,” Lan Zhan grunts.

“His father wasn’t fae,” A-Niang says.

Wei Ying blinks at her use of past tense and shoots Lan Zhan an uneasy glance.

“Most cultivators are human,” Mrs. Cang says. “Like me and your father.”

“Once upon a time, things were different,” A-Niang says. “But these days, fae aren’t usually welcome in cultivation clans.” She chuckles dryly. “At least, I am not welcome.”

“A-Niang—” Lan Zhan begins, but she waves him off.

“Clan prejudice isn’t worth discussing,” A-Niang continues. “What we should focus on is how to help our young Wei Ying.”

“I do need a lot of help,” Wei Ying says, grinning and twirling a chopstick. “I’m still trying to remember not to walk out into the sunshine.”

“Of course!” A-Niang smacks the table. “Sunlight! I wanted to tell you . . .” She jumps up and goes to her enormous handbag still slouched by the recliners. She returns with a file folder and riffles through what looks like printouts from the internet. “After Lan Zhan told me what happened, I did some research. If I can just find . . . ah, there it is!” Beaming, she hands Wei Ying a sheet of paper.

Mrs. Cang presses against Wei Ying’s side to read the paper. “Dafan Apothecary! I know that place. I had no idea they were still in business.”

“I called to check,” A-Niang says. “I spoke to a lovely woman there. She has just what you need.”

“A cure?” Wei Ying gasps.

“No dear,” Mrs. Cang says, petting his hair. “I’ve told you, there’s no cure. You have to accept that. We both do.”

Wei Ying wilts under his mother’s hand, and Lan Zhan drops his eyes, unwilling to intrude on their sorrow.

“Then what?” Wei Ying croaks.

“Well, why don’t you go find out?” Mrs. Cang says.

When Lan Zhan dares to look up, Wei Ying is staring at him, excitement overcoming his dismay. “Hey, Lan Zhan, you wanna do some shopping?”

“Of course he would,” A-Niang says. “You boys go on, Mrs. Cang and I have a lot to catch up on.”

Before Lan Zhan can process what’s happening, he and Wei Ying are shooed out the door. Wei Ying barely had time to grab his umbrella from the rack in the foyer. “Mothers,” Wei Ying says with a shrug.

“Mn.” Their mothers are sure to have a long discussion involving several decisions about their sons’ lives that their sons will of course have no say in.

When they reach the sidewalk, Wei Ying unfurls the enormous black umbrella over his head. “I hope this place at least has vampire sunblock. I’m really tired of carrying around this umbrella. I look like a doofus.”

“You are a doofus,” Lan Zhan mutters as he stabs at the Uber app. Their mothers could at least have let them order a ride before kicking them out.

“I’m gonna tell your mother that you were mean to me,” Wei Ying says.

“She will understand once she knows you better.”

“Mean. Are you getting an Uber? It’s only a few blocks, let’s just walk.”

Lan Zhan cocks his eyebrow at the enormous umbrella. “You prefer to look like a doofus?”

Wei Ying sticks out his tongue and skips away. “Hurry up, Tinkerbell! Flutter those fairy wings!”

Sighing, Lan Zhan jams his phone back in his pocket and trudges after him. How disappointed would his mother be if he stole that umbrella and smacked Wei Ying in the head with it? As they often do, his eyes drop to Wei Ying’s extremely tight jeans and the amazing ass they encase. It would be a shame to destroy an ass that amazing, even if said ass belongs to an incredibly aggravating vampire. For much too long, his eyes track the sway of Wei Ying’s hips, ridiculously sexy even with the umbrella shading his shimmy. Those tight jeans display every flex and wiggle. The word plump comes to mind. Normally, Lan Zhan would find that term unpleasant, but plump is perfect for an ass that deliciously round. Round and soft enough to sink his fing—

Wei Ying turns back, and Lan Zhan yanks his eyes back up—hopefully before Wei Ying noticed how closely Lan Zhan was monitoring his ass.

“Hey, Lan Zhan, how about you walk beside me? Then we can both be doofuses.”

Mortified at himself, Lan Zhan lets Wei Ying raise the umbrella over both their heads. He doesn’t even argue when Wei Ying links their arms. It’s the least he can do to make up for his shameless behavior.

“Even though you are a very mean person who loves to abuse me,” Wei Ying says, “I wanted to apologize again for not warning you about your mom being there. I didn’t mean to freak you out like that. It was bad enough telling my mom about the whole vampire thing, but then your mom came over, and they ganged up on me! I was overwhelmed with mothers!”

Even imagining facing those two alone makes Lan Zhan's lungs shrivel. “I understand. I may have overreacted.”

Wei Ying snorts and hugs his arm. “Maybe, but I don’t blame you. I would’ve been freaked out too. My mom is all I’ve got, you know?”

Oh no. He can’t handle Wei Ying being adorable while they’re making physical contact. He searches for something banal to say and comes up with: “She seems capable.”

“Oh yeah,” Wei Ying says with a chuckle. “I knew that even before I found out she used to be a monster hunter. But she’s still my mom.”

Understandable. His own mother is powerful, knowledgeable, and most of all, formidable, but that has never stopped him from worrying about her. “She seems to be taking the news well.”

“That her only son is a member of the walking dead? Yeah, I guess so. There were some tears at first. Then some yelling. But that’s my mother, ever practical in the face of tragedy.” Wei Ying’s shrug pushes against Lan Zhan’s shoulder. “Your mom seems pretty great.”

Lan Zhan nods and tries to relax, but it’s difficult with Wei Ying pressed against his side. If Wei Ying notices Lan Zhan’s turmoil, he doesn’t mention it, and they reach their destination without Wei Ying combusting in the daylight or Lan Zhan combusting from horny frustration.

The directions on his mother’s printout lead them down a shady alley, literally and figuratively. At the end of the alley, they find a door bearing a small bronze plaque. Wei Ying squints at the plaque’s corroded letters. “Looks like this is the place.”

Without hesitation, Wei Ying yanks at the door’s rusted handle. A bell tinkles dully over their heads, and Wei Ying prances inside before Lan Zhan can object. Sighing, Lan Zhan follows him.

Even compared to the alley, the shop is dark enough that Lan Zhan pushes his glasses down to peer over the top. “Oh wow,” Wei Ying breathes, already prowling through the shop, his fingers trailing over everything he passes. The little shop is crammed with tables coated with fine powder. Tall cabinets line the walls, making the narrow room feel even more crowded. Baskets of herbs hang from the ceiling, which Lan Zhan discovers by bumping his head on one of them. When he steadies the swaying basket, he catches the unmistakable scent of nightshade.

“Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying whispers. “Is this a magic shop?”

Lan Zhan removes his glasses to get a better look at the talismans stacked on one of the tables. “It appears so.” The talismans are just proof of what he already felt tingling in his meridians. This shop must have been here for decades, long enough for the magic to soak into the very walls.

“So cool! Lan Zhan, why didn’t you tell me there were magic shops?”

“Because I didn’t know they existed,” Lan Zhan admits. In the dim room, Wei Ying’s eyes glow maroon and violet. Before he met Wei Ying, Lan Zhan never noticed vampires’ eyes. All he cared about was their fangs and keeping those fangs away from his throat. How much of the world has he overlooked? How much information has the council suppressed?

While he’s brooding about that, Wei Ying clutches his arm. Lan Zhan follows his gaze to the back of the shop where a woman stands with her hands folded, staring at them. A beaded curtain sways behind her. Somehow, she entered the room without making a sound.

“Who are you,” she demands.

“Um, hi,” Wei Ying says. “I’m Wei Ying. This is Lan Zhan.”

Her eyes lock on Lan Zhan. “You’re council.”

“Yes.” And you’re a vampire. He’d know that even if he couldn’t see the rose red of her eyes. This one’s power is strong enough to raise the hair on his arms. “My mother spoke to someone here about helping Wei Ying.”

“Your mother?” the woman asks.

“Yes. Her name is Jiu Yinghuo. I don’t believe she was aware you were a vampire when she sent us here.”

“No, we didn’t discuss that.”

“She’s a vampire?” Wei Ying hisses in Lan Zhan’s ear, as if the woman can’t hear him. “A vampire witch?”

“A vampire doctor,” the woman corrects with a tiny smirk. “I’m Wen Qing.”

Ice crackles down Lan Zhan’s spine. His fingers twitch, ready to call his sword. “This is not Wen territory.”

“That’s why we’re here,” Wen Qing says. “My family is only distantly related to those Wens. We are healers. We have been for centuries.” Her eyes move to Wei Ying. “This one is new. He’s the one Ms. Jiu mentioned?”

Wei Ying trots toward this potentially dangerous foe like a friendly golden retriever. “That’s me! And don’t worry about Lan Zhan. He looks like a sourpuss, but he’s really a sweetheart. He’s been helping me out.”

Wen Qing peers around Wei Ying to study Lan Zhan. “That’s . . . unusual.”

“Well, he did want to kill me at first.” Wei Ying grins brightly and picks up one of the bowls scattered around the store. “So what kind of magic do you do? Tell me everything!”

Faster than Lan Zhan can track, Wen Qing snatches the bowl out of Wei Ying’s hands. The incredulous look she sends Lan Zhan is both familiar and gratifying. Despite himself, Lan Zhan begins to like her.

“I don’t advise touching anything,” Lan Zhan tells Wei Ying. To Wen Qing, he says, “He was turned against his will, likely by one of the Wens, then abandoned. He knows nothing. He walked here under an umbrella. Can you help him?”

“Against his will?” Wen Qing repeats, her horror evident. In the same tone: “An umbrella?”

“He is a doofus,” Lan Zhan says wearily.

“A humble doofus pleading for the wise vampire witch’s help,” Wei Ying agrees.

For a moment, Wen Qing stands silently, her eyes closed and face pained. Finally, she sighs. “Come with me.”

They follow her through the beaded curtain to a room lit with a clouded antique ceiling fixture. The light struggles to reach them through the corpses of dozens of bugs who met their end in that green glass. Wen Qing ushers Wei Ying to a sagging couch, then rummages around in yet another cabinet. From the cabinet, she produces a talisman and sticks it on Wei Ying’s chest. The sigil immediately glows red.

“What does that mean?” Wei Ying asks. When she doesn’t answer, he turns to Lan Zhan. Lan Zhan shakes his head. Vampire witch magic is new to him, too.

Frowning, Wen Qing rips off the talisman and tosses it aside. She cups Wei Ying’s face and turns it side to side. “What do you know about your abilities?”

“Um, I can move really fast. And I’m stronger. A lot stronger. Oh, and I’ve got Jedi mind powers!”

“What?” Wen Qing scowls down at him.

“He taught himself to glamor,” Lan Zhan says, and winces at the pride in his voice.

“What about telepathy? Empathy?”

“Mind reading?” Wei Ying squeaks. His eyes cut to Lan Zhan. “Um, maybe. A little?”

“What does that mean?” Wen Qing demands. Yeah, Lan Zhan would like to add. What does that mean?

“Well,” Wei Ying drawls, licking his lips. “I can kind of sense a little of what people are thinking. If I’m pretty close to them. And their emotions, if they’re strong. Is that what empathy is?”

“It is,” Wen Qing says, flicking a look at Lan Zhan that makes him tremble. How obvious has he been that even she knows? All this time, he’s been trying to control his heartrate, but Wei Ying has had access to his thoughts? His mortifyingly soppy and scandalously horny thoughts?

While Lan Zhan prays for self-immolation, Wen Qing grabs Wei Ying’s hand and puts her fingers against his wrist.

“Uh, I don’t have a heartbeat anymore,” Wei Ying says.

She rolls her eyes. “I’m checking your core.”

“What?” For a moment, Lan Zhan forgets that his every amorous thought has probably been broadcasted straight into Wei Ying’s brain and crowds in closer. “He has a core?”

“A demonic core,” Wen Qing says as if that should have been obvious.

“Demonic?” Wei Ying whispers. “I’m a demon?”

“Yes and no.” Wen Qing drops his wrist and goes back to digging through the cabinet. “All vampires are descended from a demon. It is his curse that transforms us. For those of us who were born to vampirism, it is passed down through the bloodlines. For those like you, it is transmitted through a bite and transfer of blood. Either way, we bear only a sliver of his power.”

“You were born like this?” Wei Ying asks.

“Just the vampire part,” she says, smirking. “I had to learn the witch part.”

Wei Ying grins back at her, and Lan Zhan has to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from scowling. The witch and the doofus both turn to him with raised eyebrows because of course they felt that blast of jealousy. Nosy vampire powers are absolutely horrible.

Thankfully, Wen Qing continues her strange examination, and Wei Ying continues to ask questions, so Lan Zhan has a moment to get himself under control. Maybe Wen Qing has a spell that will dull his emotions, or at least prevent Wei Ying from noticing them. Or maybe Lan Zhan should just throw himself in a river so that he never has to look at either of them again.

An hour later, Wen Qing is loading up Wei Ying with what Lan Zhan can’t help but think of as a baby vampire care package. This parcel contains reading material about abilities and weaknesses, talismans and meditation techniques to control his hunger, and most importantly, a medallion that will let him walk in the daylight. To Lan Zhan, the medallion looks a lot like the Wens’ sunburst motif, and he has to bite his cheek again to keep the feelings that spurs under control.

Wei Ying lifts the medallion from his chest and scowls down at it. “Are you sure this little thing will keep me from frying?”

“I’m sure,” Wen Qing says. She loads up the rest of the stuff into a plastic grocery bag, which is as hilariously incongruous as it is bad for the environment.

“But what if the chain breaks?” Wei Ying asks.

“It won’t.”

“But what if it does? What do I do if this thing just falls off?”

“Run very fast,” Wen Qing says and shoves the bag at Wei Ying.

She leads them back to the storefront and an ancient cash register that Lan Zhan had overlooked given that it is buried behind several stacks of books. His mother would love this place.

“Gee, I hope my insurance covers magical medallions,” Wei Ying grumbles as Wen Qing pokes at the register’s keys.

“I can use the council’s card,” Lan Zhan says, already reaching for his wallet. Then he pauses, eyeing the antique cash register. “Do you take credit cards?”

The look Wen Qing sends him suggests that he is an even greater doofus than Wei Ying.

“Relax, Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying says, producing his own wallet. “I may be the worst vampire ever, but I’m not broke. I can pay for my own magic supplies. I hope?” He sends Wen Qing a beseeching look. “You take cash, right? Not gold coins or rubies or whatever?”

Wen Qing rolls her eyes and gives the register a final stab. “$89.99.”

“Whoa, really? That’s it? Did I get a first-timers discount?”

“No,” Wen Qing says flatly.

Shrugging, Wei Ying counts out bills and hands them over. “Keep the change. If this medallion thingy works, I may send you a gift basket.”

“I look forward to it.” Wen Qing sorts the bills into the register and closes it with a slam. Then she disappears back through the curtain without even a goodbye or a “have a nice day.”

“Well, might as well test it, right?” Wei Ying says. “And if I burst into flames, I hope that you will avenge me.”

“I would send her a gift basket,” Lan Zhan says, but his heart wants to quiver. What if the damned thing doesn’t work? Is he really going to trust this vampire witch? This Wen vampire witch?

Wei Ying shakes his head sadly. “Still abusing me in the final moments before my incineration.” He slaps the plastic bag into Lan Zhan’s arms and strides to the door. There, he pauses, one hand clutching the medallion. Then he hauls open the door and steps into the alley.

Lan Zhan runs to the doorway and watches as Wei Ying tilts back his head and squints into the shards of sunlight that pierce the alley. A smile brighter than the sun breaks across his face. “Lan Zhan!” he calls. “Lan Zhan, it works! I’m not bursting into flames!” Laughing, he raises his hands to the sky and twirls around the alley. “I AM INVINCIBLE!”

“Doofus,” Lan Zhan mutters, but he’s smiling. Ridiculous vampire. At least he won’t have to risk his life on a cheap umbrella anymore.

While Wei Ying is distracted by his sunbathing, Lan Zhan heads back through the curtain. Wen Qing doesn’t seem surprised to see him.

“Who turned him?” Lan Zhan asks.

She shakes her head and pretends to be busy sorting dried herbs into bundles. “I can’t be sure.”

“But you have an idea. We know it was the Wens. The other Wens. Why would they do this—turn someone without consent?”

“I don’t know. That isn’t how it’s done, not since the truce. Even those Wens don’t risk breaking the truce. But . . .”

“But what?”

She drops the herbs and meets his eyes. “Wei Ying is strong for one so young. And his abilities . . . his sire almost has to be someone of high rank.”

That is worse than he’d feared. All of this time, he’s clung to the hope that whoever did this to Wei Ying was a rogue, maybe even someone who’d been ostracized, someone trying to form their own clan. But if Wen Qing is right . . . “How high?”

She winces. This does not seem like a woman who winces easily. “Only a few possibilities, really. Most likely one of Wen Ruohan’s sons.”

For several moments, Lan Zhan can’t find the breath to speak. It makes no sense. What use would Wen Ruohan’s sons have for a fledging? And why would they leave Wei Ying behind?

Before he can ask, Wei Ying bounds back inside. “It works!” he cheers, so excited that he drums his hands on Lan Zhan’s shoulders. “Not even a little light singeing! I am a daywalker, baby!”

“Good for you,” Wen Qing says tightly. “Please leave my shop.”

“I don’t think it’ll replace ‘have a nice day,’ but it does get the point across. Come on, Lan Zhan, let’s leave the nice witch lady alone before she turns us into toads.” Wei Ying grabs Lan Zhan’s wrist and tugs him back into the alley.

He keeps tugging until they’re free of the alley and standing in full sunlight. “Ah, that is the stuff right there,” Wei Ying says, basking in the warmth. “Come to the park with me, Lan Zhan. I wanna play in the sun!”

Lan Zhan doesn’t argue as Wei Ying pulls him down the street, but all he can think about is Wei Ying unknowingly walking around with the blood of the creature who killed his father flowing through his veins. Even beside that, there is no possibility of the Wen clan simply letting Wei Ying be. They will either force him to join their clan or kill him to eliminate the potential threat.

An elbow nudges his ribs. “Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying whines. “You are ruining my joy. I simply cannot stand gloominess on this day, the day of my liberation from the darkness.”

“Hooray,” Lan Zhan mumbles.

“That was sad. You’re making me sad, Lan Zhan.”

Sighing, Lan Zhan drags Wei Ying out of the foot traffic and under the awning of a bakery. “Wei Ying. Wen Qing said—”

“Yeah, I heard.” Wei Ying’s smile dims, and he shoves a stray lock of hair behind his ear. “I’m related to the worst of the bad guys, right? But does it really matter? I mean, we knew that whoever did this to me was an asshole. Who cares which asshole it was?”

“It matters.” Lan Zhan swallows his rage and stares at a rack of croissants as if that will help him mask his emotions. “I had hoped that if they found out about you, that they wouldn’t see you as important enough to pursue. But they will. Pursue you.”

“Ah. That is bad.”

Lan Zhan gets a few moments longer to stare at the bread in grim silence before Wei Ying pokes his cheek. “Okay, it’s bad, but today is still my happy day. You can worry about the bad stuff all you want tomorrow. Now stop moping at the croissants and buy me a cupcake.”

Lan Zhan slaps away the finger prodding at his cheek. “You aren’t broke. Buy yourself a cupcake.”

“It’ll taste better if you buy it for me.” Wei Ying pouts so dramatically that Lan Zhan lets himself be dragged inside the bakery where Wei Ying insists that Lan Zhan also buy himself a croissant because he “made them sad with all the glaring.” In revenge, he doesn’t tell Wei Ying that he has pink frosting on his nose, and Wei Ying doesn’t notice for three entire blocks.

Even that can’t diminish Wei Ying’s good mood. For the space of one sunlit afternoon, Lan Zhan lets himself stop worrying. One afternoon of happiness in the park can’t be too much to ask, even if his nose does get sunburned a brighter pink than the frosting.

Chapter Text

For the next week, Lan Zhan keeps his reports chillingly brief. He doesn’t even consider telling his brother what he learned from Wen Qing—or that Wen Qing and her shop exist. What the council doesn’t know can’t hurt them, or hurt anyone else. During this week, Lan Huan does not drop by his office, no matter how brief Lan Zhan’s reports get, and when they meet in the hallways, they nod and keep walking. It is strange to be at odds with his brother. Even the action figure incident was resolved as soon as Lan Zhan apologized. Apparently, befriending a vampire is a much greater sin than breaking a plastic Batman with kung-fu grip. That time, Lan Zhan was in the wrong. But not this time. If Lan Huan is too stubborn to see that, then so be it. It’s better that Lan Huan isn’t involved. He will be safer that way. Besides, it wouldn’t be fair to ask his brother to keep this secret from the council. Lan Huan’s burdens are too great already.

After the incident outside the restaurant, Lan Huan ordered a halt to reconnaissance in Wen territory for the immediate future. Unfortunate, but Lan Zhan certainly doesn’t want to take Wei Ying back into Wen territory. So for now, the investigation drags along with little to show for it.

Despite Lan Huan’s icy disapproval, Lan Zhan still takes Wei Ying along on his regular patrols. He has little choice since Wei Ying and Lan Zhan’s mother have begun a rousing text exchange, and she would be disappointed in him if he left Wei Ying behind. Lan Zhan had no idea his mother was so fond of annoying vampires. Or emojis.

Tonight, Wei Ying has spent the first leg of their patrol complaining about the meditation techniques Wen Qing suggested to combat his cravings. “It’s so boring, Lan Zhan! How is sitting still and concentrating on my breathing supposed to cure my blood addiction? I don’t even need to breathe anymore! I have ADHD, Lan Zhan! My people do not meditate, okay? Telling me to sit still and not think about blood is like saying don’t think about purple elephants. Obviously, I’m gonna think about those purple elephants!”

Strangely, Lan Zhan understands exactly what he means. Ever since he met Wei Ying, he’s been commanding himself not to think about him, and look how much good that’s done.

“Maybe you should think of purple elephants when you meditate,” Lan Zhan says. “Then you wouldn’t be thinking about blood.”

Wei Ying throws his hands in the air. “I’ll try anything at this point. I guess you’re great at meditating, huh?”

He’s never thought of meditation as a skill one could be great at, so he shrugs. “I find it useful to center my qi. And it is soothing.”

Wei Ying growls like an angry kitten, then suddenly brightens. “Hey, Lan Zhan, what’s the best present to buy a zen master?”

Frowning, Lan Zhan watches the tips of his boots and times his steps to miss the cracks in the sidewalk. What is Wei Ying asking? Is Lan Zhan the zen master in this scenario? Does Wei Ying want to buy him a gift?

He doesn’t have much time to consider before Wei Ying blurts, “A house! Because zen masters like to live in the present! Get it, live in the present? Lan Zhan, do you get it? The house is the present!”

Lan Zhan quickens his steps, hoping to hide how his lips quiver. It’s stupid. A stupid, stupid pun, so why is he trying not to laugh?

Wei Ying hauls him back by the back of his coat and crowds against him. “I saw that smile, sir! You think I’m hilarious!”

“Ridiculous,” Lan Zhan huffs.

“Yes, it’s ridiculous! It’s a silly pun, Lan Zhan. It’s okay to laugh at dumb jokes. You won’t get carted away to stick-in-the-mud jail.”

“I’ll laugh when you say something funny.”

“Something funny.”

Lan Zhan glares at him, but it was a fair hit. “Ha ha.”

The laugh fizzes out of Wei Ying like he’s a Coke and Lan Zhan just shook him. “Oh my god. Oh no. That was so sad. Please never laugh again. You’ll ruin laughter for the rest of us.”

“Is that an offense worthy of stick-in-the-mud jail?”

“A life sentence,” Wei Ying says solemnly. “For crimes against humor.”

“Your terrible jokes are criminal.”

“Ah, my friend,” Wei Ying says, cuddling his arm. “Can’t you see I’m trying to help you? ‘Live in the present.’ It’s not just a great punchline; it’s also sage advice.”

Lan Zhan cuts his eyes to the pretty, pretty face pouting up at him, and for a long moment, forgets how to breathe. “So now you’re a zen master?”

“This one is but a lowly disciple.” Wei Ying releases his arm to bend into a bow. “I will leave the wisdom to Lan-laoshi.”

Lan Zhan rolls his eyes. Futile, since Wei Ying can probably tell how charmed he is even without his spooky mind-reading powers, but denial is the only defense he has left. “Come on,” Lan Zhan huffs. “I’d like to finish patrol before sunrise.”

“No problem,” Wei Ying chirps, snagging Lan Zhan’s arm again and perfectly matching his stride. “So, what’s on the menu tonight? Ghosts? Goblins? Uh . . . gorillas?”

“Leprechauns,” Lan Zhan says solemnly, and enjoys the three seconds of gobsmacked wonder on Wei Ying’s face before he realizes Lan Zhan is joking.

“Don’t tease me like that, Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying whines, hugging his arm even tighter. “All this is normal for you, but I’m still dealing with my world going topsy-turvy. For all I know, the boogeyman and Santa Claus are real!”

Sensing a Tooth Fairy joke on the horizon, Lan Zhan throws out a distraction: “We received a report about trouble at an abandoned theater.”

“A haunted theater?” Wei Ying looks predictably pleased at the prospect.

“For a start,” Lan Zhan sighs. The place in question has been abandoned for decades, and every few months or so, reports come in about infestations there. It is definitely haunted, but the ghosts are the least of the problems. All the ghosts do is perform monologues to the empty chairs. No, the real danger is the other creatures that tend to nest in the decaying structure. In the last few years alone, Lan Zhan has removed ghouls, imps, and even a low-level demon with a flair for the dramatic.

He tells Wei Ying the tale of the demon as they approach the theater. At the time, the encounter was harrowing, but in retrospect, he must admit that the demon prancing across the stage in a moldy Puck costume was pretty funny. Wei Ying laughs until he sags, his face buried in Lan Zhan’s shoulder, and Lan Zhan has to haul him along with an arm around his waist.

When they reach the theater, they pause for Wei Ying to wipe pink tears from his cheek. “Oh my god,” Wei Ying wheezes. “I can’t believe I forgot about Midsummer Night’s Dream. Just think of all the fairy jokes I’ve been neglecting!”

“‘Tinkerbell’ was getting rather old.”

That makes Wei Ying puff another laugh, but with a final dab of his glistening eyes, he pulls himself together. “I’m ready, Lan-laoshi. Let’s go get that evil!”

Getting to the evil is their first burden. The theater’s once-grand front entrance is blocked by toppled columns, and rotting planks are nailed across the doors. Lan Zhan leads Wei Ying around to the stage entrance. Once, a hefty padlock barred this door as well, but it went missing years ago. Now, the only obstacle is the trash heaped in the alley.

“Maybe the world should rethink alleyways,” Wei Ying says as they weave through the debris. “Nothing good ever happens in an alley, you know? Let’s just do away with them entirely.”

“I’ll write a letter to the city,” Lan Zhan says absently, his attention on the puddle he’s tiptoeing past. Certainly nothing pleasant has ever made an alley puddle, and a puddle outside this theater is bound to be worse than the standard fare.

They reach the door with a minimum of nastiness, and Lan Zhan creaks it open. Yawning blackness waits ahead. Lan Zhan fishes the flashlight out of his qiankun bag and gestures for Wei Ying to go in first.

“I’m honored,” Wei Ying gushes with a hand to his unbeating heart.

“Your night vision is better,” Lan Zhan huffs.

Wei Ying tosses his hair as he breezes past. “Or maybe you just want to stare at my ass again.”

Lan Zhan stumbles through the door, the butterflies churning like maggots in his gut. "You're been reading my mind?"

"What?" Wei Ying looks back, his grin falling. "No! I mean, not really. I can't help noticing stuff sometimes, but I wouldn't just wade into your brain!"

He looks so sincere that Lan Zhan's stomach settles a little. "Then how?"

Wei Ying plants a hand on his hip and twists, striking a pose. Lan Zhan's eyes obediently drop down to appreciate the amazing things that pose does for Wei Ying's ass.

"Duh," Wei Ying says, not unkindly.

Lan Zhan yanks his eyes away and hopes vampire vision isn't good enough for Wei Ying to see how he flushes. "Ah. Apologies."

"Apology accepted." Wei Ying relaxes the pose, but the way he stares at Lan Zhan does nothing to help Lan Zhan relax. If Wei Ying says that he hasn't been snooping, then Lan Zhan will trust his word. Lan Zhan apparently has no one to blame for his embarrassment but himself. Himself and Wei Ying's unfairly tight jeans.

"Lan Zhan," Wei Ying says, taking a hesitant step towards him. "You really thought . . . you thought I'd been snooping in your mind?"

He seems so hurt that Lan Zhan plunges right back into guilt. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have assumed."

"It's okay. I guess that did seem suspicious." 

Of all the things Wei Ying has said since they met, that is the first thing that seems like a lie. Wei Ying inspects the dark hallway with his lovely mouth thinned in a frown, and Lan Zhan realizes that he's hurt him with his suspicion. Of course Wei Ying is hurt. It was not just unfair of Lan Zhan to assume Wei Ying was abusing his powers; it was cruel. Nothing he's learned of Wei Ying throughout the weeks they've known each other suggests that Wei Ying would abuse his trust. So why didn't he trust Wei Ying?

"I'm sorry," Lan Zhan says again. "It wasn't that I thought you would do that. I was . . . embarrassed. I overreacted."

"Lan Zhan, it's fine." This time, Wei Ying smiles, the words sweet with sincerity. "I should've told you about the whole telepathy thing. Trust me, it's not that big of a deal. Even when I get something, which is rare, I usually have no idea what it means."

Lan Zhan nods, his heart slowly climbing out of his stomach. "Then I apologize for . . . ogling."

Wei Ying's laugh is too bright for this dank hallway. "Oh, you don't need to apologize for that. You think I wear these jeans because I don't want you to look at my fat ass?" He spins around and trots off into the darkness, his giggles floating behind him. Lan Zhan trudges behind him and keeps the flashlight well away from Wei Ying's ass. Just because he has permission doesn't mean he should abuse it. Besides, they are here for a reason, and that reason isn't Lan Zhan's libido.

Thankfully, Wei Ying is too distracted by the theater to keep teasing, and Lan Zhan's heart slows to an almost regular tempo. As they walk the narrow hallways strewn with fallen posters and rat droppings, Wei Ying sticks his nose into every room in the warren. Lan Zhan lets him explore but forces his mind on the job. The rat droppings are actually a good sign. If the rat population is this robust, then the theater’s current occupants definitely aren’t the flesh-eating sort. There are plenty of horrible things that don’t crave living meat, but at least Lan Zhan isn’t likely to be gnawed on tonight. It’s important to savor the little things.

Lan Zhan puts his foot down when Wei Ying tries to disappear into the room marked “Wardrobe.” They definitely don't have time for a fashion show. “Nothing in there but rats,” Lan Zhan says.

“And costumes!” Wei Ying argues. “Come on, don’t you want a pretty feather boa? Or maybe a shiny pair of wings?”

“The two things that certainly decomposed first,” Lan Zhan says. “Let’s go.”

Wei Ying sighs but lets Lan Zhan propel him down the hall toward the stage. It’s doubtful that the problem they seek is there—in his experience, the basement is the best bet—but Wei Ying will want to see the stage. And maybe the ghosts will perform. Wei Ying will like that.

Wei Ying prances onto the stage and out of the beam of light that Lan Zhan sends after him. The light trails over the debris scattered across the stage: the jagged remains of some play’s backdrop. Mindful of the nails surely hiding in the pile, Lan Zhan aims the flashlight at his own feet.

The heavy thud of Wei Ying’s boots suddenly stops. “Wei Ying?” Lan Zhan calls. His voice barely rises above a whisper, but it still seems shatteringly loud in the vast, dark space.

Wei Ying doesn’t answer. Lan Zhan tells himself not to overreact—Wei Ying is probably about to launch into “The Music of the Night” or Puck’s final monologue. Still, Lan Zhan carefully moves forward until the light finds Wei Ying. In his black clothes, Wei Ying is invisible even in the light, all but the ghost of his face and the crimson glint of his eyes. He’s standing looking out into the empty audience. Even from six feet away, Lan Zhan nearly shivers with the cold that suddenly emanates from him.

“What—?” Lan Zhan begins, but Wei Ying hisses him quiet.

Wei Ying slides forward so smoothly that even his boots don’t thunk on the wooden floor. There is no sound but the ever-present creak of the ancient chandeliers, forever falling in slow, decadent decay. The seats that stretch below them hide in that darkness. Lan Zhan knows this space well enough to imagine them—their torn, moldering velvet; the empty spaces left by creatures past, who tore the chairs loose in their furious destruction. But tonight, he feels eyes in that vacant chamber. Someone, something, is watching them.

Wind gusts across his face as Wei Ying returns to him in a burst of speed and grabs his arm. “Something’s here,” Wei Ying hisses. “They’re here, we have to—”

Vicious light bursts above their heads. Lan Zhan slams his eyes shut against the supernova. The flashlight drops from his hand as he uselessly covers his sensitive eyes. He pulls, and Wei Ying pushes, and they stumble blindly back towards the door.

All around them, dark laughter shrieks and chuckles. Vampires. That’s what Wei Ying was trying to tell him. Seething, Lan Zhan dares another glimpse, and this time, manages to keep his eyes open. Behind the dusty curtain, the worst of the light is muted. The stage is still clear of enemies, but while they stumbled through the dark, they careened toward the collapsed stage decorations. Through the blur of tears, Lan Zhan spots the door and yanks Wei Ying toward it.

Before they reach it, the door swings open. On the other side are three vampires, grinning with bared fangs.

Lan Zhan blasts the doorway, but his eyes are still too stunned to focus, and the blast goes wide, only winging one of the vampires. The other two shove their ally aside and prowl forward. More bodies surge in behind them.

“Other side,” Wei Ying mutters. Now he is the one tugging Lan Zhan back across the stage.

It’s too late. More vampires are entering stage left. Lan Zhan and Wei Ying back away, headed for center stage.

His eyes adjust, and the light that had seemed brighter than the sun now reveals itself as sputtering light drifting down from the few remaining chandeliers. The electric bulbs must have been pulled free because candles are now wedged into the bent arms. The sharp scent of smoke cuts through the theater’s musty air. In the chandeliers’ light, he watches more vampires slither down from the rear balcony and creep from under the seats.

“Someone wants to put on a show,” Wei Ying says, his eyes shifting from left to right, tracking the vampires as they close in.

Lan Zhan’s heart sinks as he imagines who would go to so much trouble, so much drama, to stage this confrontation. He’s afraid he knows who has the poor taste and pure insanity to create such a cheesy spectacle: Wen Chao, Wen Ruohan’s most annoying son.

“That way,” Lan Zhan says, nodding to the house entrance. It’s the best choice left, which means that’s where Wen Chao will enter. But if they’re quick—

The doors to the lobby slam open. Vampires pour in, trailed by Wen Chao, his face twisted into an expression not unlike a smug toad.

“Fuck,” Lan Zhan grunts, and calls his sword into his hand. Not only will there be a battle, but there’s also sure to be a long villain monologue. Fucking Wens.

“Hanguang Jun,” Wen Chao calls as he saunters closer to the stage. “It’s been such a long time. I heard about your visit to Nightless City. Since I wasn’t there to greet you, I thought I’d—”

“What do you want,” Lan Zhan barks. He has no interest in letting this little toad dig under his skin.

“Who’s that guy?” Wei Ying whispers. It wasn’t meant as a stage whisper, but then . . .

Wen Chao, who had scowled at Lan Zhan’s interruption, brightens again. “Ah, of course you don’t remember me! I made sure of that the night I turned you!”

Ignoring the posturing fool below them, Lan Zhan turns to Wei Ying. His eyes burn a furious red, flashing in the candlelight. When he speaks, white fangs shine from his quivering lips.

“You?” Wei Ying asks, stepping forward. “You did this to me?”

Wen Chao tsks and shakes his head in feigned shame. “I admit, I was a bit rash. Just look at all the trouble I’ve caused!” He throws out his arms and surveys the horde surrounding him. “Why, this could even mean war!”

He seems delighted by the prospect, and Lan Zhan has to fight away a chill. Lan Zhan steps in front of Wei Ying, his sword lowered but tight in his grip. “You’re out of your territory,” he says to Wen Chao. “Attacking a council member is a violation of the treaty. Your father—”

“My father,” Wen Chao interrupts with a roll of his bulbous eyes. “You think my father will scold me? For what? When that treaty was signed, there were more of you—and fewer of us. Now, you don’t have the strength to fight us.” His eyes shift to Wei Ying, hovering behind Lan Zhan’s shoulder. “Or maybe you don’t want to fight us anymore, hmm? Seems like the Second Jade is more interested in fucking vampires than fighting them!”

The Wen horde erupts into laughter. The laughter dies when Lan Zhan illuminates his sword. “I have great interest in killing you,” Lan Zhan growls.

Some of the arrogance fades from Wen Chao’s toad face. “Now, now, Lan Zhan, I’m not here for you. Just hand over the fledgling, and we’ll let you go.”

Wei Ying shoves past Lan Zhan. “Why?” he demands. “What do you want me for?”

Wen Chao sighs. “To kill you, of course. Turning you was funny, but not worth the trouble.” He cranes his neck to look past Wei Ying. “I kill the annoying fledgling and the problem’s solved, right? Your nosy council stops poking around in our territory, and we all go back to business as usual.”

“I thought you wanted war,” Lan Zhan says. “Aren’t you certain of victory?”

Wen Chao snarls impatiently. “In time. For now, this would-be hero needs to die.”

“Hero?” Wei Ying squawks. “What are you talking about?”

Despite his apparent impatience, Wen Chao strolls to the nearest intact seat and slouches into it. Lan Zhan groans under his breath. Villain monologue it is, then.

“You interrupted me while I was feeding,” Wen Chao says. “So brave, endangering yourself to help that girl.” He lays an arm across the back of the seat beside him and smirks. “I could have killed you then, but I thought you’d like a taste of the other side. I bet you like it, making them scream. Making them bleed. Not too heroic now, are you?”

Wei Ying’s face is pale, his fists clenched. “Then why make me forget? Why just leave me there?”

Chuckling, Wen Chao props his feet on the back of the chair in front of him. “Honestly, I never thought you’d last this long. I figured that if the sun didn’t fry you, one of these assholes would behead you.” His eyes flick to Lan Zhan. “Turns out, I overestimated the mighty heroes.”

Listening to this snotty little leech is making Lan Zhan desire violence. Yes, they are outnumbered, but it would feel so good to make Wen Chao’s big balloon head roll.

“Slink back to your father with your tail between your legs and beg his mercy,” Lan Zhan says, raising his sword. “You can’t have him.”

Wen Chao sucks his teeth and glowers. “If that’s the way you want it.”

Lan Zhan replies with a sword glare that burns bright blue as it sends cold death into the audience. Wen Chao saves himself by dropping to the floor, but those unshielded by columns shriek as the glare slices off limbs.

“Fucking hell, Lan Zhan!” Wei Ying yells. “Why have you been hiding that one?”

Lan Zhan pulls Wei Ying toward stage right, which is slightly less crowded with snarling vampires. Some of them cower and shield their eyes from the glowing sword, but not enough. A blast from Lan Zhan’s palm sends the braver ones flying back, and he lunges into the hole he made, sword flashing. If he can just get past them before their reinforcements gather . . .

Claws rake his shoulder and tear through his coat, slicing down to his skin. Before he can turn to deal with their owner, Wei Ying snarls and rips the vampire away, tossing him off the stage. The ancient organ groans as the vampire strikes the keys. Another vampire rushes them, but Wei Ying halts him with a boot to the chest, then claws open his throat. The vampire goes down in a wet gurgle.

Satisfied that Wei Ying is managing on his own, Lan Zhan turns back to deal with the enemies in front of him, leaving Wei Ying to guard his back. Bichen slashes out, restricted by the press of bodies but always finding a target. Progress to the door is slow and red, but they are getting closer. Only a few more obstacles, and they’re out.

“Fuck off!” Wei Ying yells, his elbow jabbing into Lan Zhan’s back as he draws back for a blow.

Lan Zhan finishes the strike that takes another head and whirls around, but he’s too late. Two vampires have caught Wei Ying’s arms and are dragging him away. Cackling, they heft a squirming Wei Ying between them and scurry up the wall towards the one remaining box seat.

“Wei Ying!” Lan Zhan shouts, wasting time with histrionics but unable to stop himself. He blasts his way free of the fresh enemies who surround him and vaults up to the balcony.

The alcove is empty. He crashes through the door and into the hall. Also empty. Heart pounding, he stalks down the threadbare carpet.

“Fuck you!” Wei Ying yells from somewhere ahead. “Get your nasty claws off me!”

Lan Zhan’s heart stutters. They won’t kill Wei Ying. Not yet. He clings to that thought as he follows Wei Ying’s voice to the next balcony. He blasts the door open and finds Wei Ying kicking at the vampires restraining him. Another blast knocks one of the vampires over the crumbled railing, but the vampire doesn’t release Wei Ying before he goes. Caught in his grip, Wei Ying and the other vampire stumble toward the gaping hole leading down into the audience.

Again, Lan Zhan uselessly blurts out his name and lunges forward. The remaining vampire thinks quickly: he shoves Wei Ying off the edge, then blurs past Lan Zhan. Lan Zhan barely notices his retreat. He goes to his knees in the gaping barrier where Wei Ying fell. Below him, Wei Ying clings by one hand to the jagged edge.

Lan Zhan huffs out his relief. All this suspense is making him light-headed. “I’ve got you,” he tells Wei Ying as he squeezes his wrist. The balcony chooses this moment to shudder. Fresh debris clatters to the floor. Even more distressing is the horde of vampires grinning below them, including Toad Face.

“Let me go, Lan Zhan.”  Wei Ying’s eyes shine up at Lan Zhan, sparkling in the candleflame.

“No.” Lan Zhan wraps his fingers tighter around Wei Ying’s wrist.

“Lan Zhan.” Wei Ying chuckles and rolls his eyes. “It’s not even that far. I’ll be fine. Vampire, remember? You need to get off this thing before it collapses.”

“Oh,” Lan Zhan says stupidly. He eyes the waiting vampires. “I’ll be right behind you.”

“I know.” Wei Ying’s smile is so gentle, so captivating, that for a moment, Lan Zhan forgets about the vampire horde and the unstable surface he’s kneeling upon. “Now let me go, okay?”

Just as Lan Zhan is about to do so, Wei Ying says, “In case I forget to tell you later, you were really impressive down there.”

“Was I?”

Wei Ying nods solemnly. “So sexy.”

While Lan Zhan is startled by that admission, Wei Ying yanks free of his grip and plummets down. From below comes a crash and a plaintive ow. Such a doofus.

The floor rumbles beneath Lan Zhan, the last warning he’s likely to get. Lan Zhan taps his foot against the shuddering floor and vaults up, soaring over the theater. On the ground, Wei Ying slashes at the vampires surrounding him. Lan Zhan sends a sword glare at the vampires waiting their turn. He floats down into the screams, followed by at least two chandeliers that were shaken loose by the blast. The chandeliers’ candles sputter against the musty cushions.

Ignoring the scent of scorched velvet, Lan Zhan heads toward Wei Ying. There is no technique in the way Wei Ying fights. He’s all flailing limbs and wild slashes, but he is effective. Such is the way with untrained fighters, Lan Zhan thinks as he wades into the fray. Untrained fighters are dangerous because they are so unpredictable. Plus, Wei Ying’s chunky boots are weapons in their own right, which is unlikely why he wears them, but they are certainly giving the vampires pause.

There is no sign of Wen Chao in the melee, which is concerning, but Lan Zhan doesn’t have much time to consider the reason. Neglecting form and technique in favor of brute strength, he slashes and kicks at Wen Chao’s surging minions. Appendages pile up at his feet, but there are just too many damned vampires.

Soon, he’s surrounded by a swarm too large to handle and feints under the balcony. Believing their foe in retreat, the vampires follow him. When they’re in position, he dashes back out and blasts the balcony. It obligingly cracks in two and dumps itself on top of the vampires. He turns to watch the dust settle. They’ll dig out eventually, but for now, they’re well contained.

His satisfaction is broken by a cry. When he looks in the direction where he last saw Wei Ying, there is nothing but fallen Wen soldiers.

“Up here, Hanguang Jun!” Wen Chao calls.

Cold creeps up his sweaty back as Lan Zhan turns toward the stage. Wen Chao stands in the center like he’s readying a soliloquy. He holds Wei Ying in front of him, one clawed hand poised to rip out his throat. Wei Ying growls and jabs a bootheel at Wen Chao’s foot, but Wen Chao slides his foot out of reach.

“Put down the sword,” Wen Chao says. “Or I’ll rip out his throat.”

“Let him go first,” Lan Zhan says.

“I’ve seen this scene in like a thousand movies,” Wei Ying drawls. “It never works out for the bad guy, you know.”

“Shut up,” Wen Chao snarls, and yanks Wei Ying’s hair, stretching his head back. Wei Ying rolls his eyes but shuts up.

“What’s it going to be, Lan Zhan?” Wen Chao says, struggling for bluster. All the dead vampires strewn across the theater must be damaging his confidence.

Lan Zhan strides forward slowly. “If you kill him, I kill you. If you let him go, I’ll let you live. For now.”

Wen Chao scoffs, but his eyes slide from side to side, clearly looking for help waiting in the wings and not finding it. “Swear it, and I’ll let you have him.”

“I swear I’ll let you leave this theater alive. If you let him go. Unharmed.”

“Alright. If you want him so much—” Wen Chao’s head jerks to the side, and his eyes light with relief that drops a stone in Lan Zhan’s belly. “Take him!”

“Lan Zhan, look out!”

Lan Zhan turns at Wei Ying’s warning but not in time to see what stalks him. There is only the flutter of cloth and a dark shadow falling on him. One cold hand grips his throat. The other tightens around his wrist, holding the sword at bay. A set of blank, pitiless eyes stares down at him. Wen Zhuliu.

“Lan Zhan!” Wei Ying screams, but his next words are choked off, no doubt by Wen Chao’s claws.

“Yes!” Wen Chao bleats. “Hold him right there! Let him watch his little pet bleed out!”

Lan Zhan struggles against Wen Zhuliu’s grip, but he might as well try to bend iron. Wen Zhuliu is Wen Ruohan’s fiercest soldier. It has long been rumored that his touch is capable of rending cores. Caught in his hands, Lan Zhan can believe it. Just the icy touch of Wen Zhuliu’s hands steals his breath and numbs his skin.

At Wen Chao’s order, Wen Zhuliu squeezes Lan Zhan’s wrist until Bichen drops from his tingling fingers. Quicker than Lan Zhan can blink, Wen Zhuliu wrests him around and clamps his claws around Lan Zhan's throat. One twitch of those thick fingers will be enough to open Lan Zhan's throat.

On stage, Wen Chao laughs, his head thrown back and his claws dragging red lines across Wei Ying’s throat. Wei Ying doesn’t seem to notice. He is staring at Lan Zhan, his eyes wide and frightened.

“Let him go,” Wei Ying says. “It’s me you want. The council doesn’t care about me. They might even thank you for getting rid of me.”

Wen Chao laughs even harder. “Maybe they’ll send me a gift basket.” Now that his enemies are in his grasp, Wen Chao seems in no hurry to end the performance. That’s good. Lan Zhan can withstand more posturing if it buys him time to get out of this.

With a bemused expression that even the cheap seats could see is fake, Wen Chao says, “I think you should remember before I kill you. You want to remember, don’t you? The night I killed you? I can make you remember.”

Wei Ying licks his lips, his throat bobbing as he swallows. “Yeah, sure. Work your mojo, motherfucker.”

Lan Zhan keeps an eye on the stage, but the rest of his focus goes to the sword lying beside him. It’s difficult to sense it with whatever Wen Zhuliu is doing to him. The cold has crept down to his toes, and his heart slows despite his terror for Wei Ying. But it’s still there, that bright thread linking him to Bichen. Slowly, carefully, he gathers all of his frozen qi into a glowing ball in his middle dantian, where his heart holds the most warmth.

As Lan Zhan works on strengthening that thread, Wen Chao lays the hand not gripping Wei Ying’s throat across Wei Ying’s forehead. It’s such a literal gesture that it must be gaudy theatrics, but Wei Ying’s eyelids squeeze shut like someone caught in a nightmare. A moment later, he jerks and moans.

Lan Zhan tries to break free of Wen Zhuliu’s grip and go to him, but the hand at his throat squeezes until the chandelier lights sparkle against the back of his eyelids.

Now, Wei Ying thrashes in Wen Chao’s grip. Wen Chao lets him thrash, smirking and unconcerned. Whatever is happening only lasts a few seconds but feels like an eternity for Lan Zhan, forced to watch helplessly as Wei Ying struggles. Fire crackles around them as the flames creep across the seats, fed by dank air and dusty fabric, but Lan Zhan barely pays attention to the theater burning around them.

As swiftly as it began, Wei Ying’s thrashing stops. Gasping, he opens his eyes. “You fucker!” he shouts, stamping hard and fast and finally finding Wen Chao’s toes. As Wen Chao yelps and stumbles back, Wei Ying spins and shoves him, still cursing. “You rancid fucking asshole!” A beautiful punch slams into Wen Chao’s jaw, and he wheels back. Wei Ying follows with a boot to Wen Chao’s crotch. “She was just a kid! What’d you have to kill her for, huh?” Wen Chao blocks the next blow with arms crossed above his head, but Wei Ying keeps hammering at him. “Nasty little troll!”

Another kick sends Wen Chao sprawling. He scrambles to his knees and tries to crawl away, but Wei Ying plants a boot in his ass. Wen Zhuliu stiffens behind Lan Zhan but doesn’t move to help.

Wei Ying is so intent on his revenge that he doesn’t see Wen Chao grab the plank from the debris on stage. Lan Zhan tries to call out a warning, but his voice creaks under Wen Zhuliu's grip on his throat and dies before it reaches the stage.

When Wei Ying bends over him, Wen Chao rolls onto his back and swings the plank. Candlelight glints off the thick nails sticking out of the wood. Those nails jab into Wei Ying’s gut. Lan Zhan moans but not loud enough to drown out the wet rips as Wen Chao drags the plank free for another blow.

Clutching his stomach, Wei Ying kicks the plank out of Wen Chao’s hands. That is all he manages before he falls back, his feet skidding in plaster dust.

Wen Chao fights back to his knees and crawls toward the plank. Now, Lan Zhan tells himself. It has to be now. Gritting his teeth against the gray fogging his brain, he calls to his sword. Ever faithful, Bichen lifts into the air and flies straight and true, piercing the center of Wen Chao’s forehead. The force of it knocks Wen Chao on his back, the point of the sword driving into the wooden floor.

The remaining vampires, who had been enjoying the show, suddenly scatter. Wen Zhuliu shoves Lan Zhan to the floor and strides toward the stage.

“Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan tries to call, but his voice is only a dry croak. Not that it matters. Wen Zhuliu ignores Wei Ying and heads straight for Wen Chao. He pulls the sword free, hissing as the silver hilt burns his palm, then tosses it aside.

Lan Zhan forces himself to his feet and limps on numb feet toward Wei Ying, who is inching across the stage towards Bichen, leaving a gory trail behind him.

“Don’t touch it,” Lan Zhan rasps. “Silver.”

Wei Ying stops inching and waits, holding his bleeding stomach, as Lan Zhan pounds up the steps and grabs the sword. Lan Zhan picks up the sword and carefully pulls Wei Ying to his feet. Wei Ying doesn’t make a sound, but his lips are pressed in a thin line.

They pause to watch Wen Zhuliu lift Wen Chao into his arms and walk offstage. He doesn’t look back.

“Who was that guy?” Wei Ying gasps.

“It doesn’t matter. Let’s go.”

Smoke rises, thick and putrid, from the burning chairs below them. In the wings, ghosts watch silently as Lan Zhan lifts Wei Ying’s arm over his shoulders. Lan Zhan wraps an arm around him, and they stagger across the stage like Rosencrantz and Guildenstern on their way home from a pub.

“Is he dead?” Wei Ying asks. “The guy who looks like a frog?”

Shocked, Lan Zhan nearly guides them into the curtain. Did Wei Ying pick that up from his mind, or is Wen Chao’s face really that batrachian? He changes course, headed for the pile of dead vampires in front of the door.

“Possibly,” he says as he tries to gently lift Wei Ying over the bodies. “But if not, it will take him a long time to recover, if he ever does.”

Wei Ying tries to respond, but whatever he means to say turns into a moan, and his fingers spasm over torn fabric of his shirt. His hand is coated with blood that spills between his fingers.

“How bad is it?” Lan Zhan asks as they start down the hallway.

“Uh . . .” Wei Ying grimaces down at his hand and the red glove he appears to be wearing. “I’ve never, ah, been gutted before. So it’s hard to say.” He takes a moment to dig his teeth in his lip and shudder. “But it’s probably no big deal for vampires, right? I’ll be right as rain tomorrow.”

If you feed, Lan Zhan thinks, but says nothing. Right now, he just wants to get them out of this hellish theater before the thing burns down—or Wen Zhuliu returns to take revenge.

The maze of hallways seems to stretch on forever, and Wei Ying moves slower with every step, hanging heavier from Lan Zhan’s shoulder. By the time they reach the exit, Wei Ying is shaking uncontrollably. As much as Lan Zhan wants to haul Wei Ying onto his sword and fly out of this stinking alley, first, he needs to make sure they don’t leave any of Wei Ying’s guts behind.

“What does that expression even mean?” Wei Ying asks, leaning against the wall as Lan Zhan shrugs out of his coat and rips his button-down into strips for bandages. Wei Ying’s voice is tight with pain, but he chatters on. “Right as rain, I mean. What’s right about rain? Not that I hate rain or anything, but if I had to pick a thing as right, I don’t think I’d go straight for rain, you know?”

“I’ll ask A-Niang.” She always knows that sort of thing. She’d also know how to help Wei Ying. He’d call her, but she’d want to come here, and he can’t endanger her, too.

To Lan Zhan’s relief, Wei Ying appears to drift off, which will hopefully make the next part easier. He manages to wrap a strip of shirt around Wei Ying’s middle, but his hands are immediately slick with blood. He drags his bloody hands down his pants and grabs another strip. The nails dug deep, and he fears there is more than just blood dripping from Wei Ying’s stomach. His clumsy first aid seems hardly adequate for such wounds, even if the patient is a vampire. He’d try giving Wei Ying qi, but all that did last time was make Wei Ying loopy. When he’s out of shirt, he ties the bandages off tightly enough to make Wei Ying grunt and snap awake.

“Thanks,” Wei Ying mumbles, prodding at the edge of the bandage. “This your shirt? I’ll buy you a new one.”

Red has already soaked through the layers of white fabric. “I never liked that one anyway,” Lan Zhan says. “Can you walk?”

Wei Ying rolls his head back against the wall and peers at him through lowered eyelids. “Not gonna fly?”

“Not yet.” The cold Wen Zhuliu leeched into his meridians has dissipated a bit, but he still doesn’t trust himself on a sword, not if he has to also keep Wei Ying from tumbling off.

Wei Ying accepts this with a sigh. Lan Zhan peels him off the wall and starts off. They don’t get far before Wei Ying goes limp and starts sliding out of his arms. “Wei Ying!” Lan Zhan yells, but Wei Ying doesn’t answer. The scent of blood is harsh and brutal. How much blood can a vampire afford to lose? More than a human? Less? Fuck, why doesn’t the council teach the important things?

Frantic, Lan Zhan scoops him into his arms and carries a lolling Wei Ying into yet another nasty fucking alley. Somewhere beyond his terror, Lan Zhan wonders if maybe Wei Ying has a point about these things. But at least the alley shields them from the few lonely cars that drift past. The last thing they need is for someone to report two drunks, one bleeding profusely.

He leans Wei Ying against the wall again and lightly slaps his cheek. Wei Ying doesn’t respond. Since he doesn’t breathe and his heart doesn’t beat, it’s really fucking difficult to figure out if he’s still alive.

“Wei Ying,” he calls, slapping harder. “Wei Ying, wake up!”

Wei Ying wakes with a snort and a grumble. “What?”

“You have to stay awake.”

“Um wake.”

Lan Zhan has to swallow hard before he can say the next words. “And you have to feed.”

Wei Ying licks his lips. “Mn. Hungry.”

Lan Zhan shivers with inappropriate anticipation. He’s trying to save Wei Ying, not fulfill a dirty fantasy. “Drink from me.”

Wei Ying’s brow furrows in drowsy confusion. Then his eyes snap open. “What?”

“It’s the only way you’ll heal.” It’s true, but it’s no excuse for how viciously the butterflies are banging around in his belly. Ignoring them, Lan Zhan hooks his fingers in the collar of his undershirt and pulls it away from his neck. “Here.”

“Lan Zhan!” Wei Ying holds out a hand like he’s trying to stop traffic. “I’m not biting you!”

“Don’t be stupid,” Lan Zhan pushes against the hand now pressed to his chest. “You need to heal.”

“It’s not that bad.”

“Wei Ying, I’m pretty sure that your intestines are dribbling down your pants. You need to feed. Now.”

“Fine.” Wei Ying looks toward the mouth of the alley, breathing hard and fast and unnecessarily. “But find somebody else. Maybe two somebodies.”

“There is nobody else here. It has to be me.”

“No.” Wei Ying tries to squirm away, but Lan Zhan pushes closer, pinning him in with an arm on either side of his head, and Wei Ying is too weak to shove him away.

“Just do it,” Lan Zhan snarls.

“No, not you.” Wei Ying meets his eyes, pleading. “It can’t be you, Lan Zhan.”

“Why not?” And why is Lan Zhan so offended by that?

Wei Ying ducks his head. “Want it too much. I won’t be able to stop.”

Lan Zhan’s gut clenches. Too long, he’s wanted this. Wanted everything. Too much to pretend anymore. “I’ll stop you.”

“What if you can’t?” Wei Ying whispers. His fingers fumble for Lan Zhan’s waist and tug at his belt loops, drawing him closer despite his words. “I could take too much.”

“You won’t. I’ll stop you.” Lan Zhan wants to believe it. Maybe that will be enough to convince Wei Ying and his amateur mind-reading powers.

“Lan Zhan, you can’t. I can’t.”

The battle didn’t leave Lan Zhan unscathed. Suddenly grateful for that, he reaches under his collar for the scratches left on his shoulder by some vampire’s claws. His fingers emerge streaked with fresh blood.

“Here,” Lan Zhan says softly, and lays his bloody fingertips against Wei Ying’s lips.

Keening, Wei Ying flicks his tongue against the pads of Lan Zhan’s fingers. The shudder rattles Lan Zhan’s bones. How stupid he’s been to deny himself this. Well, that stops now. Lan Zhan slips two bloody fingertips into Wei Ying's mouth and strokes them across Wei Ying’s furled tongue. Wei Ying moans, his tongue flexing, his lips closing tight around Lan Zhan’s fingers and drawing them deeper into his mouth. Lan Zhan's hips follow, jolting forward, and he hisses as Wei Ying’s hipbone digs into his abdomen. He thrusts in rhythm with Wei Ying’s mouth but forces himself to stop grinding against the man with the hole in his gut. Ignoring Lan Zhan’s selfless restraint, Wei Ying moans with pleasure and rolls to meet him.

“Yes,” Lan Zhan hisses, wild now. Desperate. He grips the back of Wei Ying’s neck. “Take it.” He rips his finger out of Wei Ying’s mouth and guides Wei Ying’s face to his throat. “Wei Ying, take it.”

A warm breath sighs against his skin. A hot tongue licks a stripe across his throat. “Lan Zhan?”

Lan Zhan’s nails dig into Wei Ying’s scalp. If he doesn’t get this, he’ll scream. “Do it.”

A pitiful little moan vibrates against his throat. And then sharp pain, piercing and bright. Grunting, Lan Zhan clamps Wei Ying’s head into the crook of his shoulder and braces a hand on the wall. Violently, ceaselessly, they roll and rut against each other as Wei Ying swallows down his blood. Warmth chases away Lan Zhan’s chill, turns him muzzy and soft. At some point, his eyes drift shut. His nose sinks into Wei Ying’s soft hair. Wei Ying moans as he drinks, clutching Lan Zhan’s hips, twisting the back of his undershirt. Despite how wonderful that is, the erection Lan Zhan had been rutting against Wei Ying’s hip softens as something like euphoria drags him down, liquifying his limbs and clouding his mind. Some small part of him fights against it, protesting the loss of control, warning him that this will end badly, but the rest of him ignores that strident voice. He wants the warmth, the decadent curl of Wei Ying’s tongue against his skin. He wants to float in this bliss where nothing matters.

Cold air slaps him when Wei Ying shoves him away, but then the warmth returns as Wei Ying presses Lan Zhan against the wall and nuzzles against his throat. “You taste like heaven, Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying murmurs. He licks a long line up Lan Zhan’s throat and nips his ear. “Are you okay?”

“Mn. More.” Lan Zhan sags against the wall and stretches his neck in invitation.

Chuckling, Wei Ying crowds against him for another lick. “Better not. You look like you’re about to pass out.”

It takes a moment to form the words, but eventually Lan Zhan manages a protest: “I don’t pass out.”

“Of course you don’t. Not my brave Hanguang Jun.” Wei Ying’s hand pets his hair, and Lan Zhan hums happily. “What about swooning? Do you swoon, my lord?”

Lan Zhan huffs and tries to stand up straight, but somehow, his head ends up on Wei Ying’s shoulder, and he forgets why he wanted to bother with standing up when this is so nice. He tucks his nose against Wei Ying’s throat and settles in for a little nap.

“Oh my god, you’re cuddly. This is so cute, Lan Zhan! Do you know how cute you are?”

“You’re cute.” Lan Zhan says, but his lips are smushed against Wei Ying’s neck, so the words turn to slush.

“Come on, cutie.” Wei Ying tugs at Lan Zhan’s hair until he lifts his head and glares at him. “I need to get you home before you melt.”

It’s awful to leave that warm snuggle, but Wei Ying doesn’t stop pestering him until Lan Zhan lets go. In a reverse of their exit from the stage, Wei Ying pulls Lan Zhan’s noodle arm over his shoulder and wraps his arm around Lan Zhan’s back, and they shuffle unsteadily out of the alley. Walking brings back some clarity, but not enough to be ashamed of how he leans against Wei Ying. He has to—he forgot his feet back in the alley.

The sidewalk rolls under his missing feet. The streetlights are so bright, the wind so cold. Shivering, he presses tighter to Wei Ying and nearly sends them both staggering into the street.

“Okay, this isn’t working,” Wei Ying says after he’s pushed Lan Zhan against a mailbox. “I’d just carry you, but my stomach might not like that.”

Being carried would be nice, but Lan Zhan is too busy folding himself down onto the mailbox to argue.

“Should we try an Uber?”

Lan Zhan grunts a yes before he drops into sleep, his head pillowed on his arms on top of the mailbox.

He’s rudely awoken by Wei Ying, who bullies him back into motion. “The Uber driver took one look at us and bolted,” Wei Ying grumbles as they weave down the sidewalk. “He’s probably calling the police, so we’ve gotta go.”

Slightly refreshed by the nap, Lan Zhan asks, “Why didn’t you glamor him?”

Wei Ying blinks up at him, mouth open in surprise.

“You forgot you could do that, didn’t you?”

“Give me a break, Lan Zhan! It’s been a rough night.”

“Doofus,” Lan Zhan mumbles on a jaw-cracking yawn. What time is it, anyway? He looks at his wrist, then remembers that he hasn’t owned a watch in years.

They keep walking. His mind is clearer, but he can’t stop shivering. And he’s so tired. His eyelids keep drooping, no matter how hard he fights to keep them open. Wei Ying seems greatly improved, at least. If he weren’t, they’d probably both be passed out on the sidewalk.

After two and a half blocks of drunken stumbling, Lan Zhan spots a car idling at the curb ahead of them, gray smoke puffing from the taillight. “Car,” Lan Zhan says.

“Yes, that is a car,” Wei Ying says like someone trying to appease a cranky toddler.

Lan Zhan sighs. “Use the force, Luke.”

“Lan Zhan, you want to steal a car?”

“Borrow.”

“So naughty, Lan-laoshi!” Wei Ying says gleefully. “Can you stand up on your own?”

Lan Zhan scowls in answer, but when Wei Ying releases him, he starts slithering to the sidewalk. Wei Ying has to gather him up and lean him against a building. Annoyed by his intractable limbs, Lan Zhan watches Wei Ying trot over to the idling car. Somehow, he can tell that Wei Ying is grinning even without seeing his face. Maybe it’s how what remains of his ponytail swings so cheerfully.

After a few seconds of hand waving and gentle murmuring, Wei Ying trots back to Lan Zhan. “We’ve got a ride!”

They tumble into the backseat, rattling empty beer cans in the floorboard and shoving rumpled laundry off the seats. Despite the state of its interior, the ancient Corolla seems like heaven. Sighing in bliss, Lan Zhan leans his head back against the seat and lets Wei Ying direct their bewitched driver. He’s asleep before they reach the end of the block.

Chapter Text

Lan Zhan wakes up in his own bed and peers groggily at the shaded window. The light is wrong. Everything is wrong. His body is heavy and stupid, and he has to fight to untangle his legs from the twisted sheet, but he doesn’t surrender. He has to get up. There’s something he needs to do. If only he could remember what.

His struggles wake a pain in his neck, something tight and tearing, and suddenly, he remembers.

“Wei Ying,” he croaks. He gives up on freeing himself the normal way and shimmies out of bed, landing on the floor with a resounding thud, his ankle still bound by cotton.

“Zhanzhan?” his mother’s voice calls from somewhere else in the apartment. He freezes, dumbfounded. He’s still lying in a heap, one foot stretched on the mattress, when she opens the door.

Only a slight twitch of her lips betrays how hilarious she finds his predicament. “Zhanzhan, are you alright? What happened?”

While he tries to figure out why his mother is in his bedroom at what the clock crazily declares is 9:13 a.m., she works on untangling his foot. “Wei Ying?” he finally blurts.

Chuckling, she lowers his leg to the ground. “He’s fine. He brought you home and called me to come watch over you. Such a sweet boy.”

Lan Zhan hums noncommittedly and does his best not to think about that sweet boy’s tongue on his throat. As quickly as he can manage with his bumbling limbs, he pulls on sweatpants and a t-shirt. He has no memory of last night after getting in the Corolla. How did he get upstairs? Did he undress himself? Surely, he’d remember if Wei Ying took his clothes off. Surely.

“Your Wei Ying was so worried about you,” his mother continues as Lan Zhan gets dressed. “He told me what happened—the Wen attack and how you helped him. That was kind of you, Zhanzhan, but a little foolhardy, don’t you think?”

“It was a lot foolhardy,” Lan Zhan mutters. He shoves his feet into slippers. “But I’m fine.”

She captures his face, squishing his cheeks as she peers into his eyes. “I’m sure you are, but you need to rest today. I already spoke to A-Huan, so you aren’t expected at work.”

He reels back. “You told him?”

“I told him that you were injured on patrol and needed time to recuperate,” she says with a quirked eyebrow that asks, how stupid do you think I am, boy? “I left the rest for you to explain. Or not.”

Lan Zhan apologizes with a duck of his head, and she reaches up to stroke his hair.

“Now, you need a shower. There’s soup and doushabao waiting when you’re done.”

“Thanks, A-Niang.” Even though he probably reeks like alley and old blood, she doesn’t complain when he hugs her and drops his face to her shoulder.

Once he’s clean and overfed, his mother readies to leave. “Call me if you need anything,” she says as she swings her enormous handbag over her shoulder. “But I don’t think you will. Wei Ying has been texting me for updates all morning. I expect he’ll be by any minute now.”

Lan Zhan drops his eyes to the glass of juice he’s nursing—the third she’s forced on him. Wei Ying has not texted him. Nor has Lan Zhan texted Wei Ying, despite how often he’s reached for his phone to do just that. His mother has her own form of spooky mind-reading powers, and he didn’t need her watching him text his . . . whatever Wei Ying is.

Once his mother and her knowing smirk are gone, he dumps the last of the juice into the sink and heads to the couch. He picks up his phone from the coffee table and stares down at his ghostly reflection in the glass. Ring, he tells it.

The phone stays silent because that’s not how phones work. He thumbs it to life and brings up his texts. The doofus vampire is right at the top of his Recents, of course. After a good long stare at their last exchange, he tosses the phone back on the coffee table. Like a coward.

He’s barely begun chastising himself when the phone buzzes. He snatches it up.

Hi, Wei Ying’s text reads. How’re you feeling?

No emojis. Proper use of apostrophes. Is Wei Ying too weak to text with his usual flair?

Better, Lan Zhan sends. And you?

All good.

The three dots do their little dance for several seconds. Then:

Thanks.

Still no emojis. No gifs of pop culture characters that Lan Zhan doesn’t recognize. Unease blankets his shoulders like a cold, wet towel. Wei Ying isn’t really okay, is he? How could he be? Why didn’t he stay? What possessed him to go off alone, probably still ripped and bleeding, instead of staying here?

Lan Zhan digs his teeth into his cheek until his heart stops trying to escape his chest and he can reply without sounding like a total creep.

You’re welcome. Thank you for bringing me home. And for calling my mother.

No problem. It was the least I could do.

Nothing follows. Lan Zhan frowns down at the phone, trying to think of something—anything—to say. His thumb hovers over the GIF icon. Perhaps there is an image that will convey what he’s feeling. What is he feeling? Arousal, of course. That’s been nearly a constant state since he met Wei Ying. The slutty little butterflies are zipping around his belly just like they always do when he’s in Wei Ying’s thrall.

And there’s guilt. He did lead Wei Ying into a trap and fail to protect him.

But there’s another, more confusing emotion: the fierce need to see Wei Ying, to know that he’s really okay. To drag him into the apartment and keep him here, safe from the Wens and the council and anything else that seeks to harm him. What does he call that? Possessiveness? Rapacity? Or is it simply love, the strange, twisted Lan version that makes them all wish to drag their lovers into a shadowed lair and keep them there like hoarded treasure. Only Lan Huan manages to make those tendencies look normal and tender, but that’s probably because Nie Mingjue is much scarier than he is.

The phone rings in his hand, startling him out of his thoughts of dragons and bad romance. It’s Wei Ying. The slutty butterflies go wild.

“Wei Ying?” Lan Zhan croaks.

“Hey. Sorry. You probably want to rest. I can call back later.”

“I’m fine.” Lan Zhan clears his throat. “Too much juice.”

“Ah,” Wei Ying says, like that made sense. “So, uh, how’re you doing?”

“Still fine.” Lan Zhan heaves off the couch and paces the living room. He’s terrible on the phone on his best day, and this is definitely not his best day. He wants to reach through the glass and pull Wei Ying here. Knowing the idea is ridiculous only makes him more anxious.

“Right,” Wei Ying says, chuckling ruefully. “I already asked that, didn’t I? Sorry, I just don’t know the script for checking on a guy I drained the night before.”

“I’m fine, Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan says, a little softer than he intended.

“Yeah, your mom must have taken good care of you. She seems like she’d be good at that.”

“She is.”

Silence follows. Lan Zhan leaves the living room and circles around and around the kitchen island, eyes roving over the spotless countertop his mother left behind and the half-empty plastic container of red bean buns. Inspiration strikes: he should invite Wei Ying over for red bean buns. He’s opening his mouth to do just that when Wei Ying finally speaks:

“Hey, it’s cool if you don’t want company right now, but is it okay if I come check on you? I know, I know, you’re fine, but I could bring you something. Tea or V8 or maybe that strawberry lemon pie you like?”

“Yes,” Lan Zhan hisses, barely biting off a plea for Wei Ying to come now.

“To which part?”

Lan Zhan takes a deep breath. “Come over. You don’t need to bring anything. A-Niang brought plenty of food. There are red bean buns.”

“Oh,” Wei Ying breathes. “Oh, okay. Red bean buns are good.” He chuckles again. “I’m actually already outside your building.”

Thank all the gods. “I’ll buzz you up.”

He drops the phone on the counter and wipes his clammy hands on his sweatpants as he walks to the door. He reaches the button on the first buzz and waits inside the door, trying to slow his rapid breathing. As he waits, the tiny part of his brain still insisting on rational thought wonders if Wei Ying knows which apartment he’s in, but then he recalls that Wei Ying brought him home last night. Brought him home and possibly tucked him into bed. Perhaps it’s a good thing he can’t remember what happened. In the state he was in, there’s no telling how shamefully he behaved.

When the elevator dings, he can’t wait any longer. He throws open the door, and there’s Wei Ying stepping off the elevator, still much too far away but here. Their eyes meet, and Wei Ying’s face ripples through expressions before settling on a shy smile.

“Hi,” Wei Ying says softly as he comes to the door. “Sorry if I’m being creepy, I’m probably being really creepy, I just—”

As soon as he’s in range, Lan Zhan grabs Wei Ying’s wrist and tugs him inside, shutting the door behind them with a mule kick. He barely resists the caveman urge to slam Wei Ying against the wall. If the sight of Wei Ying’s guts spilling out weren’t so fresh in his memory, he probably couldn’t have stopped himself. Instead, he stalks toward Wei Ying, who helpfully backs himself against the wall, eyes wide and wary.

When Wei Ying is trapped against the wall, Lan Zhan yanks up his t-shirt. The gruesome wounds that Wen Chao made are gone. The only sign they were ever there is faint lines running jagged across his belly. Lan Zhan runs his thumb across those scars like he can smooth them away.

“I’m good,” Wei Ying gasps, shivering at the brush of Lan Zhan’s thumb. His fingers curl in the hem of Lan Zhan’s t-shirt. “You fixed me, Lan Zhan.”

Lan Zhan looks up from the scars to meet his eyes. Wei Ying’s smile trembles. “I’m really okay, Lan Zhan. Are you okay? Really?”

A nod is all Lan Zhan can manage. He’s being weird, he knows, but he can’t stop. He’s choking with everything he wants to say, with everything he wants. He can’t speak, so he slides his hand up and down Wei Ying’s side. The skin is cool but warms under his touch.

Slowly, Wei Ying reaches up and shivers his fingers over the scar on Lan Zhan’s neck. “Does it hurt?”

Lan Zhan shakes his head and steps closer. His other hand works under Wei Ying’s t-shirt. Chill bumps rise on Wei Ying’s skin as Lan Zhan’s fingertips press between his ribs.

“Will it heal?” Wei Ying gasps, his sides belling under Lan Zhan’s hands. “You won’t be scarred forever, will you?”

“I want it,” Lan Zhan grunts, the admission hurled out of his chest. He presses his forehead to Wei Ying’s, willing Wei Ying to feel the truth of it. Yes, the bite will heal. In a few days, it will probably be gone completely. But he doesn’t want it to disappear. That scar is Wei Ying’s, the press of his mouth forever marking Lan Zhan’s skin. Why would he want it gone?

“Oh fuck,” Wei Ying whimpers. He shifts restlessly, hips rolling and fingers twitching on Lan Zhan’s shoulders. “Lan Zhan. Lan Zhan, you’re killing me.”

“You left,” Lan Zhan snarls. He didn’t mean to say that. He doesn’t mean to be doing any of this. It’s beyond his control. All he has right now is want, a deep hollow ache that demands gratification. His hands grip the soft flesh at Wei Ying’s sides as his hips jut forward, pressing Wei Ying into the wall.

Wei Ying’s hands cling to his arms, trying to pull him even closer. “I—what?”

“You left,” Lan Zhan repeats, more plaintive now, like he’s begging Wei Ying to make it better. Every time he thinks about Wei Ying making his way home alone with his belly ripped open, Lan Zhan wants to tear something apart. His hands slip down to cup Wei Ying’s ass. He digs his fingers deep into soft flesh, but even this immense pleasure can’t soothe him. “You were hurt, and you left.”

Shuddering, Wei Ying throws his head back against the wall, baring his long neck. “Ah. Ah, fuck, Lan Zhan. I’m sorry. I just—you were so loopy. I thought you’d want someone—ah fuck, keep doing that—someone you trust to look after you.”

“You,” Lan Zhan insists with another thrust and vicious squeeze.

“What?”

“I trust you. I want you.”

Before he can regret declaring himself so baldly, he takes Wei Ying’s mouth. Wei Ying surges against him, shimmying and biting at Lan Zhan’s lips, his hands grasping and pulling, trying impossibly to press them closer. The force of Wei Ying’s reaction pleases him almost as much as the kiss itself: wet and frantic and so damn perfect. Lan Zhan uses his iron grip on Wei Ying’s ass to haul him onto his thigh and grinds Wei Ying into the wall. Wei Ying moans and spreads his legs, and somehow, their mouths never part, crashing together again and again.

The feral, mindless fervor is gorgeous, but at this rate, Lan Zhan is going to come in his pants, and while that has its appeal, he won’t be satisfied with so little. Steeling himself, he slows his hips and tries to slow the kisses. Pulling back is fresh agony, and he has to plant Wei Ying against the wall to keep him from following, but somehow he does it.

“Nooo,” Wei Ying whines, curling his hands around Lan Zhan’s sleeve. “Lan Zhan, you can’t just say stuff like that and kiss the hell out of me and then just stop!”

“Not stopping,” Lan Zhan grunts. He slaps away Wei Ying’s hands and attacks his coat, nearly ripping the seams as he fights it off. When that’s out of the way, he yanks up the hem of Wei Ying’s t-shirt. During the coat operation, Wei Ying seemed too stunned to react, but now he squawks and flails his arms—possibly trying to help and failing miserably. Eventually, Lan Zhan manages to pop the shirt off his head and toss it aside.

“Warn a guy,” Wei Ying huffs, then moans as Lan Zhan attacks his neck. The skin of Wei Ying’s throat is perhaps a bit saltier than a human’s, perhaps a bit cooler, but neither of those things is any deterrent. Lan Zhan hums, pleased and victorious, as he licks the tight cord of Wei Ying’s throat and closes his jaws on tender skin.

“Ah fuck,” Wei Ying hisses. “Is that—” He bucks and shudders as Lan Zhan’s teeth graze his ear. “Is that payback?”

Rolling his eyes, Lan Zhan moves back to Wei Ying’s mouth and kisses him. Slower this time. Paying attention to the soft give of Wei Ying’s lips, the clever flick of his tongue. Chasing the tastes and textures. There is peppermint on Wei Ying’s lips and coffee on his tongue. The combination is delicious—sweet, like Wei Ying’s kisses now that they aren’t mauling each other. Now he knows that Wei Ying makes adorable little noises when he’s kissed: tiny growls and gasps that Lan Zhan dutifully records in his memory. This is an experience that must be savored, no matter how much he wants to speed it along.

When he’s satisfied—or something close enough—he nips down Wei Ying’s chin and starts unbuckling his belt.

Wei Ying laughs weakly and watches him work. “Wasn’t expecting this. Kinda thought you’d cut my head off.”

Well, that’s ridiculous. Lan Zhan quirks an eyebrow at him while he yanks the belt free. “Aren’t you supposed to be a mind-reader?” He tosses the belt in the direction of Wei Ying’s discarded shirt.

“One: I told you that I suck at mind reading, so I don’t know what you expected.” Wei Ying’s smirk sparkles as he leans against the wall, watching Lan Zhan with low-lidded eyes. “Two: you, sir, are really hard to read.”

“I am?” Lan Zhan is genuinely shocked, so shocked that for a moment he forgets his plan—it involved taking off Wei Ying’s pants, most likely—and just stands in front of Wei Ying.

“Lan Zhan, that brain of yours is a brick wall. Professor X couldn’t penetrate that thick skull. And don’t even get me started on that stony face. I’ve been flirting with you so hard, and it’s like you didn’t even notice.”

“I noticed. I appreciate your efforts.” Lan Zhan’s eyes move over Wei Ying’s torso, long and sleek and soft—then head down to the bulge in his ridiculously tight jeans. Oh yes, that was the plan. He goes to his knees and looks up at Wei Ying. “I hope this clarifies things for you.”

Wei Ying wheezes a laugh while Lan Zhan works on unlacing his shoes. Battered black Converse today. That’s handy. Those boots would’ve taken much longer. The sneakers come off. Wei Ying’s fingers land lightly on Lan Zhan’s head. “Hey.”

Lan Zhan’s hands halt on their path to Wei Ying’s fly. Wei Ying smiles down at him, but it’s too gentle, too unsure. “What’s wrong?” Lan Zhan asks.

“Nothing!” Wei Ying yelps. “Nothing’s wrong! Everything is absolutely right! Right as rain. Right as sunshine and, uh, kittens!”

That was utterly unconvincing, and Lan Zhan’s heart sinks. He leans back on his heels, dropping his hands to his lap. “If you don’t want to—”

“I want to!” Wei Ying grips the sides of Lan Zhan’s head, forcing Lan Zhan to meet his eyes. “I really, really want to, Lan Zhan, I swear! I am one hundred percent on board with whatever sexy shenanigans you want to get up to, I just . . .” He trails off, biting his lip.

“You just what?”

Sighing, Wei Ying loosens his grip and strokes his fingers through Lan Zhan’s hair. If Lan Zhan weren’t so horrified, he’d probably be enjoying that immensely.

“I bit you last night,” Wei Ying finally mutters. His eyes jump guiltily to the scar on Lan Zhan’s neck. “I hurt you.”

“You didn’t hurt me,” Lan Zhan insists. “I asked you to. I forced you to do it.”

“You did not force me,” Wei Ying insists right back. “And that’s not even the part that’s fucking me up. I liked it, Lan Zhan. I liked it way too much.”

A hot, heavy weight clamps on Lan Zhan’s throat, the want suffocating him until his cock throbs with his heartbeat. “So did I.”

“I know,” Wei Ying whispers. His eyes are enormous and dark. His hand slides across Lan Zhan’s skull and skitters down to the base of his neck where Lan Zhan’s skin pebbles. “That’s what scares me. I need you to stop me, Lan Zhan. I can’t trust myself around you.”

Groaning, Lan Zhan leans forward and nuzzles the bulge of Wei Ying’s cock. His hands clench on Wei Ying’s calves and slide up to squeeze the tight muscles at the backs of his thighs. Wei Ying shudders and closes his eyes, tipping his head back against the wall. Lan Zhan presses his mouth against Wei Ying’s zipper, his lips brushing denim. “You stopped yourself last night. I trust you.”

“I almost didn’t stop,” Wei Ying confesses, his voice a weak sliver, but he doesn’t protest as Lan Zhan unbuttons his jeans and slowly drags down his zipper. “Lan Zhan, you don’t understand.”

“Understand what?” Lan Zhan watches Wei Ying’s jaw clench, his nostrils flare, as Lan Zhan works the jeans off his hips.

“How hard it is.”

I can see how hard it is, Lan Zhan thinks as stretches the jeans off Wei Ying’s feet. But now is not the time for dick puns. When the jeans join the messy pile of clothes, Lan Zhan strokes over the hair crinkling Wei Ying’s calves and brushes his nose over the erection straining a delightful pair of scarlet boxer briefs.

“Tell me,” Lan Zhan says.

Wei Ying finally opens his eyes and looks down at Lan Zhan. “God, you’re beautiful.” He says it with something like amazement, and Lan Zhan’s stomach churns with shyly smug butterflies.

“I trust you,” Lan Zhan insists, sternly meeting Wei Ying’s eyes. “You have earned my trust. Will you trust me?”

Air escapes Wei Ying in a harsh gasp. “I trust you, Lan Zhan. Of course I trust you! That isn’t—”

Lan Zhan drags his tongue over the hot, rigid line of Wei Ying’s cock, and Wei Ying whimpers himself silent. Despite the disturbing sensation of damp polyblend assaulting his tongue, Lan Zhan enjoys the experience enough to return for a second lick. Then he moves on to Wei Ying’s bare belly and runs his tongue over the faded scars.

“Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan mumbles against Wei Ying’s rippling belly. He might be a bit distracted, but if Wei Ying needs assurances, he can provide them. “Last night, you needed my blood to heal. And yes, I was irresponsible.” He can’t help a pause for nuzzling and licking, but then forces himself to return to the point. “But in the future, I promise that I will be more diligent.”

“In the future? Lan Zhan, are you planning to let me bite you again?”

“Yes.” Lan Zhan curls his fingers in the red boxer briefs and tugs them down to suck on Wei Ying’s hipbone. “But not today.”

“Of course,” Wei Ying giggles, squirming under Lan Zhan’s teeth. “And you promise not to be so slutty about it next time?”

Lan Zhan bites hard, and Wei Ying yelps. After a bit of soothing with his tongue, Lan Zhan says, “I promise to be less slutty about it.”

“Only about the blood-drinking.” Wei Ying’s fingers pull his hair until Lan Zhan’s scalp tingles. “I hope you’ll be very slutty otherwise.”

Lan Zhan’s teeth click in pleasure as he leans his head back, fighting against the grip in his hair to brilliant results. “I will do my best.”

“Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying says shakily. “I like you so much. Please suck my dick now.”

Finally! Lan Zhan surges up and yanks down Wei Ying’s underwear so fast that even he’s impressed. There’s nothing elegant or efficient about those first moments, however. Wei Ying bumps the head of his cock against Lan Zhan’s jaw, forcing Lan Zhan to chase it with his mouth. When that gets too comical, Lan Zhan shoves Wei Ying’s hips against the wall and wraps his lips around that jutting cock. The first taste makes spit spurt in his mouth. It runs slick down the shaft as he sucks at the head. As clumsy as that first foray is, it only makes him desperate for more. When he manages to slide his mouth down, almost reaching the crisp black hair of Wei Ying’s abdomen, Wei Ying gives a hitching cry and clamps down on his head. Calm, Lan Zhan orders himself. Breathe slowly through the nose, relax the jaw. If only he didn’t need to breathe. Which suggests that Wei Ying, who doesn’t need to breathe, will excel at sucking dick. That thought does nothing to soothe him.

Wei Ying’s grip gentles to rhythmic curls of his fingers against Lan Zhan’s scalp, and Lan Zhan sinks into that pace, sucking and bobbing and rolling his tongue. Wei Ying fills Lan Zhan’s mouth beautifully, and the sounds he makes—needy little gasps and adorable kitten growls. Even just listening to him is making Lan Zhan’s cock throb in frustrated fury. The rest of him is enjoying this immensely. Lan Zhan’s eyes roll back as he relaxes his throat and lets Wei Ying slip in, luxuriating in the stretch of his lips, the fullness on his tongue.

Wei Ying shivers and flexes his fingers in Lan Zhan’s hair. “Lan Zhan,” he says, his voice chittering and breaking. “Lan Zhan, I can’t last. It’s so good, Lan Zhan, please.”

Lan Zhan sighs his delight and lets Wei Ying’s cock slide out a bit. For the finale, he wants more control. He pins Wei Ying to the wall and works him fast, his mouth punishingly tight. While Wei Ying sobs his way to the end, Lan Zhan reaches for his ass, squeezing and dipping his fingers into the cleft to rub that tight little furl.

Wei Ying comes spectacularly, bowing off the wall and spurting into Lan Zhan’s mouth. For a moment, Lan Zhan thinks what if it tastes like blood? But what Wei Ying shoots into his mouth only tastes weakly of salt. Lan Zhan swallows it down and lets Wei Ying calm himself, rocking forward into his mouth and back onto his fingers.

When Wei Ying is limp and spent, he blows out a deep breath. “Holy crap, Lan Zhan.”

Lan Zhan hums his agreement and slowly stands up, keeping Wei Ying pressed against the wall. He looks like he’d fall if forced to hold himself upright. He presses his extremely annoyed erection against Wei Ying’s damp, lolling body, and licks his way into Wei Ying’s slack mouth.

“Mm,” Wei Ying hums around Lan Zhan’s tongue.

Lan Zhan presses a kiss to the mole under Wei Ying’s bottom lip, another to his flushed cheek. “Impressed?”

“Fuck yes,” Wei Ying whimpers. He slings wobbly arms around Lan Zhan’s neck. “Take me to bed, Lan Zhan. Wow me with your slutty fairy skills.”

Lan Zhan sweeps Wei Ying into his arms. “I will do my best.”

The trip to the bedroom isn’t long, but Wei Ying still manages to croon and flirt so much on the way that Lan Zhan’s ears are flaming when he dumps Wei Ying onto the bed. Wei Ying gives a little oof as he bounces on the mattress. Lan Zhan leaves him to make himself comfortable while he drags off the duvet and twisted top sheet. Might as well since he intends to make an even bigger mess of this bed.

Naked and evidently very comfortable with that state, Wei Ying rolls onto his side in a decadent pose as he watches Lan Zhan wrestle with the bedding. “Lan Zhan, I’m disappointed in you. I took you for a diligent bed-maker.”

“I was getting around to it,” Lan Zhan huffs.

Just for that, he leaves Wei Ying in the bedroom alone and goes to pour himself a glass of water from the bathroom sink. After he drains it, he goes back to the bedroom with a full glass. Probably unnecessary since, vampire, but that doesn’t mean he can’t be polite.

In the bedroom, he’s greeted with the sight of Wei Ying’s amazing ass and his long legs splayed across the bed. The water sloshes out of the glass, but he barely notices. Wei Ying is stretched across the bed on his stomach, pawing in Lan Zhan’s nightstand.

“Is—?” Lan Zhan begins, but the word comes out as a gurgle. He clears his throat and tries again. “Is there something you need?”

“Nope, I got it!” Grinning, Wei Ying rolls onto his back and holds up the lube he dug from the drawer. “Should I grab the condoms? Do we supernatural types need ’em?”

Only a lifetime of experience in stoicism allows Lan Zhan to cross the room and set the water on the nightstand instead of what he would like to do: toss the glass and leap on the naked vampire. Once the water is safely deposited, he focuses his eyes two inches to the right of Wei Ying’s beautifully slutty grin. “We do not need them to protect against disease. You and I are both immune to such things.”

“Awesome! I mean, I figured I was, but it’s cool that you are too. Is that a fae thing?”

“It is.” And then Lan Zhan just stands beside the bed, too aroused to choose his next move. A stupid horny statue in grotesquely-tented sweatpants. He barely notices that for once, Wei Ying actually said fae instead of fairy.

“Uh, Lan Zhan? Did you have a stroke or something?”

Or something. Then inspiration hits: he should just ask Wei Ying what he wants. “What would you like me to do?”

“Ooh, do I get to give orders for once?”

The rest of Lan Zhan remains immobile, but his eyes flick to Wei Ying, now knee-walking towards him. Wei Ying’s cock is already hardening. Vampire recovery time is not something Lan Zhan had ever considered before. For a moment, his mind tries to wander into an analysis of the mechanics of vampires even getting erections, but thankfully, Wei Ying interrupts that by grabbing the hem of his t-shirt.

“Are you with me, Lan Zhan?” Wei Ying asks softly.

Lan Zhan gives himself a mental shake. “I’m here.”

“Good. Because I want you here. And I want you naked.”

Despite how his knees want to wobble, Lan Zhan helps Wei Ying remove his shirt. Before Lan Zhan’s hair has even resettled, Wei Ying is stroking and kissing his chest. “Oh hell yes,” Wei Ying mumbles between kisses. “Lan Zhan, baby, you are so pretty.”

Teeth graze Lan Zhan’s ribs and close around a tight nipple. Lan Zhan’s throat clicks on a groan. All the words and teeth Wei Ying inflict on him drive him mad until he remembers that he can do something about it. Snarling, he grips the hair at the base of Wei Ying’s skull and drags Wei Ying up to meet his mouth. This makes Wei Ying wriggle in delight but only distracts him for a moment. Then Wei Ying’s hands sneak under the hem of the sweatpants and pet his ass. It’s unclear if Wei Ying is trying to take his pants off or just grope his ass; possibly he doesn’t know either. Lan Zhan makes an executive decision and takes over, shoving the sweatpants down his thighs and driving Wei Ying back onto the bed.

“There you are,” Wei Ying croons. “Thought I’d broken you for a minute.” He winds all his long limbs around Lan Zhan as Lan Zhan gracelessly slithers on top of him.

Lan Zhan kisses him and tries to simultaneously rut against Wei Ying’s belly and kick off the sweatpants, which is unsurprisingly unsuccessful, but he can’t seem to direct his own actions at the moment. What he does manage to do is formulate a plan: fuck Wei Ying. Perhaps that’s more of a goal than a plan, but at least his brain is back in the game.

With a display of strength that shatters Lan Zhan’s brain all over again, Wei Ying shoves Lan Zhan onto his back and straddles his hips. It shouldn’t be such a shock that Wei Ying is ridiculously strong. Most vampires are, and he has witnessed Wei Ying tearing off a ghoul’s head. Yet somehow, he’d managed to forget that fact, maybe because Wei Ying usually manages to seem so vulnerable, so . . . human.

Laughing, Wei Ying plants his hands on either side of Lan Zhan’s head. Their noses nearly brush as Wei Ying celebrates his victory. “Your face, Lan Zhan! Didn’t see that coming, did you?”

With those enormous brown eyes gazing down at him, not to mention how Wei Ying is circling his hips to gently grind against Lan Zhan’s extremely long-suffering cock, Lan Zhan can’t even begin to banter.

Wei Ying doesn’t seem too disappointed by his stupor. He gamely charges on, pulling off Lan Zhan’s sweatpants and then his underwear. “Oh baby, my pretty Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying whispers. He stares at Lan Zhan’s angry cock like he wants to display it in a museum. This makes Lan Zhan’s eyes roll and his cock stand up even straighter.

Eventually, Wei Ying stops gawking and grabs the lube. With the tube in hand, he straddles Lan Zhan again. “Okay, Lan Zhan, here’s what I have in mind.” He clicks the lid and squirts lube on his fingers, then reaches behind himself. There’s a twitch and a soft grunt. Teeth clenched in agony, Lan Zhan waits for Wei Ying to unveil his plan. Unless that’s what he’s doing now?

After a few more twitches, Wei Ying continues. “So, once back in my college days, I tried cocaine.” Lan Zhan must frown at this because Wei Ying gives him a rueful smile. “Yeah, I know, my life has been a series of oopsies, culminating in vampirism. Not the point. The point is . . . ooh.” Wei Ying arches up, eyes falling closed, legs spreading wider. He’s so gorgeous that for a few moments, Lan Zhan’s lungs forget how to function. When Wei Ying bites his lip and grinds down, they start back up in a ragged groan.

“The point?” Lan Zhan rasps. Not that he actually cares.

“Yeah,” Wei Ying sighs, which seems to relate to how he’s fingering himself open rather than Lan Zhan’s question. “Where was I?”

“Cocaine.”

“Right.” Wei Ying comes back to himself and squirts more lube on his fingers. “Bad idea. At the time, it felt great. Except I didn’t sleep for four days and invented a new language based only on colors.” He waves his lube-slick fingers in a dismissive gesture. “Don’t ask. What I’m trying to say is that I felt like I could conquer the world, probably in two to three business days. But your blood?” With a smirk so sultry that Lan Zhan’s skin tingles, Wei Ying leans down to lick a stripe up Lan Zhan’s throat. “A thousand times better than coke.”

While Wei Ying sucks on his throat, Lan Zhan untangles his heavy tongue. “That is the point?”

A dark chuckle buzzes against his throat. “No, Lan Zhan. That is the plan.” Wei Ying pushes up and grins down at him. “What I’m trying to tell you in my usual clear and concise style is that I am still buzzed by your blood, and I intend to use that buzz to ride your gorgeous cock into oblivion. If that’s something you’d enjoy.”

“Oh,” Lan Zhan gasps. Then when Wei Ying just keeps looking at him expectantly, he adds: “Yes. Good plan. I concur.”

Wei Ying gives him a wink. “Thought you might.”

With that settled, Wei Ying goes back to work preparing himself, but now that he knows the plan, Lan Zhan isn’t going to wait patiently. He snatches the lube out of Wei Ying’s hands and slicks his own fingers. Wei Ying goes along with this eagerly, with lots of encouragement of the yes baby kind and excited wriggling. Lan Zhan wrangles them onto their sides, yanks Wei Ying’s leg over his hip, and runs his slick fingers down the cleft of Wei Ying’s ass. The tight little hole sucks his fingers in and clenches around them as he works them deeper inside.

“Oh fuck yeah,” Wei Ying manages to pant while rolling and writhing and mouthing at Lan Zhan’s jaw. “Fuck, don’t you dare be gentle. I’ve been wanting you in me for weeks.”

Groaning, Lan Zhan twists and rubs, nothing gentle about how his fingers prod at Wei Ying’s hole, but Wei Ying moans for more and pushes back against his hand with demanding little thrusts.

The third finger goes in, and Lan Zhan’s fingers ache, crammed in the vise of Wei Ying’s ass. Wei Ying’s hair catches on his lips, damp with sweat and their spit, but despite these hardships, Lan Zhan keeps seeking his mouth, his skin, gripping with his teeth and laving with his tongue. Wei Ying’s fingers dent his skin, and his teeth nip at Lan Zhan’s ears, his chin.

The frenzy ends with a sudden, silent agreement: Lan Zhan’s fingers slide out; Wei Ying shoves Lan Zhan onto his back. They slap at each other, fighting for control of the lube. Lan Zhan wins—barely—and slicks his cock with Wei Ying hissing and scratching at his chest. Then Wei Ying is hauling him up and swinging a leg over his lap. Grunting and sweating, they struggle to line themselves up, and then finally, Wei Ying is sinking down on his cock. Lan Zhan can’t help his cry—he’s nearly outraged with how good it feels, how hot and tight and sudden despite all the time he’s spent waiting and pining and prepping.

Even Wei Ying seems at a loss for words, slutty or otherwise. His mouth drops open, and his eyes close as he shimmies his hips, working himself farther down. Lan Zhan wraps his arms around Wei Ying’s back and presses his face against Wei Ying’s damp neck, breathing in skin that smells of salt and copper. In a moment, he’ll need Wei Ying to move, but for now, he wants to just breathe, to just feel Wei Ying in his lap, pressed against his chest.

He gets his moment, but then Wei Ying’s hands settle on his shoulders. “Mm, okay, baby, you ready for this?”

Lan Zhan kisses Wei Ying’s neck before leaning back to meet his eyes. “Do your best.”

Wei Ying’s laugh sends delightful vibrations through his body. “Oh baby, I’m gonna do my worst. It’s about to get nasty in here.”

Lan Zhan lifts an eyebrow in challenge, and Wei Ying’s eyes take on a dangerous glint. Wei Ying presses down on Lan Zhan’s shoulders and lifts his hips. The slick drag of it makes Lan Zhan shudder, but just as quick, Wei Ying undulates back down.

And then it’s on.

The roar in Lan Zhan’s ears doesn’t block out Wei Ying’s grunts and broken cries, or the filthy things Wei Ying chants as he rides Lan Zhan fast, tight, rocking and slamming his weight down on Lan Zhan’s thighs. Trapped beneath him, Lan Zhan snarls and bites, squeezes and bucks. Pieces of Wei Ying flicker before his squinted eyes, a blur of flesh in the shadowed bedroom. He closes his teeth on a collarbone, pinches his fingers around a dark nipple. Their skin pulls with the friction to the point of pain, and it’s just enough to keep Lan Zhan sane until it isn’t. Growling, Lan Zhan works his hands under Wei Ying’s ass, then throws himself backward on the bed.

Miraculously, he doesn’t slip out, and Wei Ying never pauses. When he lands on top of Lan Zhan, he grunts and keeps moving, sliding slick across Lan Zhan’s chest as he grinds Lan Zhan into the mattress. Somehow under that assault, Lan Zhan draws his legs up and bends his knees. Then he can fuck up into Wei Ying, his hands locked on Wei Ying’s perfectly plump ass to drag him down into his thrusts.

Gasping, Wei Ying drops his head, his hair falling loose from his ponytail to curl on Lan Zhan’s chest. He shifts his weight to his hands and lets Lan Zhan control his hips. “I—it’s too—I can’t. Lan Zhan?”

“Close,” Lan Zhan hisses. He’s more than close. He’s holding himself back, but his eyeballs feel like they’re going to burst from their sockets. His lips are stretched so thin they cut into his teeth.

“Good.” With a groan, Wei Ying pushes himself up and braces his hands on Lan Zhan’s chest. He moves now with graceless, staggered jolts, and makes no effort to touch his cock.

“Can you come like this?” Lan Zhan asks.

“You bet I can,” Wei Ying says weakly. His smile is lopsided and stunning. “Race you to the end.”

That is a race Lan Zhan is happy to lose, but he redoubles his efforts, gripping Wei Ying’s waist and forcing him to move faster, all but shaking Wei Ying on his cock. Keening, Wei Ying hunches his shoulders and spreads his legs, pliant now despite his earlier bluster. Lan Zhan has no complaints. He fucks gleefully into the space Wei Ying has made for him.

Everything is going beautifully. Wei Ying’s head lolls, and his cock bounces and jerks. Lan Zhan can practically see the orgasm building. And then Wei Ying opens his eyes.

“Want you to come in me, Lan Zhan. God, I want it.”

And Lan Zhan does. His head snaps back, and his hips snap up. Once, a few years back, he fought a group of vampires at a construction site. It’s a long story, but the point is that he got a bit electrocuted during the battle. That’s what his orgasm feels like now: live wires burning under his skin. He burns so hot that he wouldn’t be surprised if his veins glowed with blue fire.

After the crest, he falls back on the mattress, dizzy and limp, and just in time to watch Wei Ying come. Wei Ying curls into himself, then bows back, his neck arched, like the current has passed into him. Come splashes onto Lan Zhan’s chest, but he only has a moment to register that before the rest of Wei Ying crashes down on top of him.

Lan Zhan grunts at the pressure on his lungs and drags in a breath that brings Wei Ying’s hair with it. He raises a shaky hand to brush the hair away from his nose and leaves it there, stroking Wei Ying’s head. The happy noise Wei Ying makes as he snuffles against Lan Zhan’s throat is well worth the discomfort. Wei Ying mumbles something with his lips mushed against Lan Zhan’s skin.

“Mn?” Lan Zhan asks.

Wei Ying twists his head to the side and tries again. Eventually, Lan Zhan interprets the smushed words as “Am I too heavy?”

The answer to that is probably. Does Lan Zhan intend to do anything about that? He pulls his mind out of the floaty cloud it’s currently occupying to consider the issue. It would be much easier to breathe without a whole vampire compressing his lungs.

With a deep and pitiful sigh, he rolls them onto their sides. Wei Ying grumbles, especially when Lan Zhan’s cock slips out, but when Lan Zhan gathers him close, the noises turn pleased. Wei Ying socks his face back into the pit of Lan Zhan’s shoulder and sighs peacefully. Muffled words puff against Lan Zhan’s skin, but Lan Zhan hears them well enough: “Cuddle me hard, big boy.”

Lan Zhan snorts a laugh and angles his neck to give Wei Ying more room. And then he falls asleep, not caring about the come drying on his chest or the vampire breathing against his jugular.

Chapter Text

Lan Zhan wakes up with his nose squashed against what appears to be black fabric. His mattress is unusually warm and bumpy. More details filter in through the haze of his brain, and he realizes he’s lying on top of Wei Ying. And they’re on his couch? He rolls his head to the side and sees the TV playing on mute. On the screen, a tiny pixelated man runs around a two-dimensional farm. He watches blearily as the man chops down a tree.

“Hey there, sleepyhead,” Wei Ying says softly, his fingers petting Lan Zhan’s hair.

“Mn?” Lan Zhan says. His eyes are already drifting shut again under those gentle fingers.

Wei Ying’s chest shivers with a laugh. “You fell asleep while we were making out. I’d be offended, but you were pretty tuckered.”

“Sorry,” Lan Zhan grunts. He remembers now: they had sex, napped, cleaned up, ate some red bean buns, and then they settled on the couch for some sugary kisses. And then he apparently fell asleep on top of Wei Ying. “Time is it?”

“No idea. Afternoonish?”

“Mn.” He can’t recall ever taking two naps in one day—even one nap is nearly unthinkable—but he could easily fall asleep again with Wei Ying’s legs cradling him, Wei Ying’s fingers stroking his hair. But he should call his brother. Lan Huan will be worried. It’s surprising that Lan Huan hasn’t called already. Or maybe he has, and Lan Zhan has been too preoccupied to notice. Lan Zhan cracks open an eye to regard his phone that somehow made it back to the coffee table. It lies there, black and ominous, a terrible symbol of the outside world that just now, he’d love to pretend doesn’t exist.

He looks away from the phone and back to the TV. “What are you watching?”

“Stardew Valley let’s play,” Wei Ying says, whatever that means. “I don’t really sleep anymore, and it’s soothing.”

Lan Zhan watches the little man rush around the screen. He appears to be picking up rocks that then disappear into the ether. Maybe he has an invisible qiankun bag. It is sort of hypnotic, or maybe Lan Zhan is just sluggish from the orgasm and the blood loss. Then his brain reviews what Wei Ying said. “You don’t sleep?”

“Eh, not really.” Wei Ying stretches out a leg and rubs his toes on Lan Zhan’s calf. “I sort of conk out, but it doesn’t feel like sleeping. No dreams or anything.”

Lan Zhan contemplates this with his ear pressed against a silent chest. The lack of heartbeat should probably be eerie, but it’s actually sort of peaceful. “You don’t need to sleep?”

“I’m not sure. I don’t get sleepy, but sometimes I feel kinda, I don’t know, weak? But that’s mostly if I’m hungry.” He worries a strand of Lan Zhan’s hair, wrapping it around his finger. “Anyway, I thought I’d stay awake. I figured it’d be creepy for you to wake up on top of what’s essentially a corpse.”

“Sexy corpse,” Lan Zhan says as he tightens his arms around Wei Ying. Wei Ying giggles, and Lan Zhan smiles against his chest. Nothing creepy about this. “But I apologize for falling asleep.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Wei Ying says, still laughing softly. “It’s a compliment, really: I wore out the great Hanguang Jun. Besides, you deserved a nap. You work too hard, Lan Zhan. And you’ve had your hands full taking care of me.”

“You are a lot of trouble,” Lan Zhan agrees.

“Ah, back to abusing me. I wondered how long that would take.”

“You like it,” Lan Zhan says, smug with this certainty.

Wei Ying sighs. “I do, sadly. But as much as I like mean Lan Zhan, I also like sweet Lan Zhan. And badass Lan Zhan. And horny Lan Zhan—that one’s fantastic. I like all the Lan Zhans.”

“Even lazy Lan Zhan?”

“Cuddly Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying insists, and squeezes him once before returning to petting his hair and his back. “I really like sleepy, cuddly Lan Zhan.”

“Good.” Lan Zhan wriggles and rolls until they’re lying on their sides, tangled together, and resumes the aborted make out session. He’s sure that if he really applies himself, he can be both cuddly and horny.

Lan Zhan gets nearly a full day of Wei Ying’s smiles and kisses and terrible jokes before his phone rings and shatters the perfection. By that time, the sun is sinking, and they’re splayed on the bed, mindlessly flirting and lazily exploring each other. Wei Ying goaded him into letting him suck his dick although Lan Zhan first made Wei Ying promise to keep his fangs to himself. Wei Ying complied, and it was a smashing success, but now Lan Zhan can barely find the energy to roll out of bed.

The phone has stopped ringing by the time he gets to the coffee table. The call was, of course, from his brother. Sighing, Lan Zhan returns to the bedroom in search of his sweatpants. There’s no way he’s calling his brother while he’s naked. That’s just wrong.

While Lan Zhan is straightening out his sweatpants, Wei Ying comes out of the bathroom, his skin damp and glowing. “Duty calls?” Wei Ying asks.

“My brother. I should call him back.”

“Yeah,” Wei Ying agrees, shoving his tangled hair into a ponytail. “He’s gotta be worried about you. I bet you never take off work.”

Lan Zhan hums a yes, distracted by the still very naked Wei Ying standing in his bedroom, a naked Wei Ying who seems to be preparing to leave. That is not good at all. “You don’t have to go.”

Smiling, Wei Ying loops his arms around Lan Zhan’s shoulders. “I should go see my mom. No doubt she’s already talked to your mom about our epic battle. I can’t believe she hasn’t been blowing up my phone.”

Lan Zhan accepts the kiss Wei Ying gives him, but he’s already gloomy about the prospect of Wei Ying leaving. Maybe he’s being clingy and creepy, but he can’t help saying, “Come back after?”

Delight explodes across Wei Ying’s face—maybe Wei Ying likes clingy and creepy. “Yeah?” Wei Ying asks, squirming in his arms.

“Yes,” Lan Zhan agrees, and bends him back in another kiss. When he heaves Wei Ying back to his feet, he says, “I want to sleep next to a sexy corpse.”

“Mean!” Wei Ying giggles, his nose scrunched adorably. He shoves off Lan Zhan’s chest and trots out of the room, his ass jiggling enticingly.

Mesmerized by that ass, Lan Zhan follows and watches Wei Ying gather up his discarded clothes. The red briefs somehow ended up on the shade of Lan Zhan’s floor lamp. As he’s shoving into his sneakers, Wei Ying says, “Maybe I’ll even bring some takeout when I come back. If you’re nice to me.”

Lan Zhan presses him against the wall and kisses him hard and deep. Wei Ying meeps and drops the coat he was holding. “Not from that diner,” Lan Zhan grunts.

Wei Ying blinks at him dazedly. “M’kay.” He pulls Lan Zhan back down, and it’s a long time before Lan Zhan breaks away for much-needed air.

While Lan Zhan is panting, Wei Ying slithers out of his arms. “Stop,” Wei Ying groans. “Just stop it. You’re . . . you’re ridiculous.” He stumbles towards the door. Lan Zhan picks up the fallen coat and tosses it over Wei Ying’s head. Wei Ying squawks and wrestles it off. “Asshole!” Wei Ying yells, and then the door is slamming behind him.

Smirking, Lan Zhan heads to the shower. He needs to cool off a bit before he calls his brother.

The next morning, Lan Zhan walks into his office nearly twenty minutes late and barely ashamed of his tardiness. He left a naked, soft-eyed Wei Ying tangled in his sheets and feels like he should be rewarded for coming in at all. But all his good feelings evaporate when he finds his brother waiting in his visitor’s chair.

“Didi,” Lan Huan gasps, launching himself up and heading toward Lan Zhan. Lan Zhan ducks his head, trying to sink deeper into the collared shirt. The shirt should hide the bite mark, but he still wants to clamp a hand to his neck. He isn’t ashamed, not even close, but that doesn’t mean he’s ready for his brother to know.

Lan Huan’s hands grip Lan Zhan’s shoulders. “Are you okay? What happened?”

During their brief conversation yesterday, all Lan Zhan said was that he was mildly injured during a fight. He employed a powerful little brother card, one he hasn’t used in years, and pleaded for time to recover before the inquisition. Even then, the ploy probably wouldn’t have worked if Lan Huan hadn’t already spoken to their mother and been assured that Lan Zhan would live.

“I’m fine,” Lan Zhan says. He steps out of his brother’s grip and hurries to his desk chair. “I was just tired. I’ll explain everything in my report.”

“To hell with the report!”

Shocked, Lan Zhan looks up at his brother, now looming over him with terror in his eyes.

“Tell me now,” Lan Huan demands, only slightly softer. “Please.” Lan Huan kneels beside him and lays his hand on top of Lan Zhan’s. “Please, Didi. I know I’ve been . . . I know we’ve disagreed on some things, but you can still talk to me. Please?”

Staggered, Lan Zhan looks away, tears prickling behind his eyes. Of course Lan Huan was frightened. All of this must frighten him. If their situations were reversed and Lan Huan’s new friend was a vampire, Lan Zhan would be tearing his hair out. That is, in fact, exactly what happened when Lan Huan became friends with Meng Yao, who’s scarier than any vampire.

“I’m sorry,” Lan Zhan finally murmurs. “I wasn’t . . . I didn’t want to upset you.”

“I know,” Lan Huan sighs. He pats Lan Zhan’s hand and then stands up, moving to the visitor’s chair. “We were taught not to inconvenience anyone with our burdens. But you know what A-Niang would say about that.”

“Silly boys,” Lan Zhan says with a smile. “Stop listening to those old fools.”

“That uncle of yours needs to pull his head out of his ass,” Lan Huan says in an almost eerie impression of their mother.

They both laugh in their restrained manner, thinking of their mother. Who knows what would have become of them without her?

“Vampires,” Lan Zhan says, interrupting the moment. Lan Huan startles and nearly stands up again. “Wens,” Lan Zhan continues before his brother can blurt out questions. “They ambushed us at the old theater. Wei Ying was hurt.”

Lan Zhan can’t look at whatever expression is on his brother’s face. After a moment, Lan Huan says, “Is he okay?”

Something fragile and frightened that Lan Zhan didn’t know lived in his chest settles at that question. His brother is the kindest, most patient person he knows. Of course he would be kind about even this. “He is. But it was—he was badly injured. I needed to . . .”

“Lan Zhan,” Lan Huan whispers. “Did you . . .?”

“I made him drink from me,” Lan Zhan blurts. He forces himself to meet his brother’s eyes. “I was a little weakened, but I’m fine now. So is Wei Ying.”

“Oh god.” Lan Huan drops his face into his hands. “Lan Zhan—”

“I don’t regret it,” Lan Zhan insists. “It was the only choice at the time. It was necessary. And I . . .”

“You care for him,” Lan Huan mumbles into his hands.

“We are together,” Lan Zhan agrees.

At this moment, he realizes that if the council gives him an ultimatum—them or Wei Ying—he will choose Wei Ying. Leaving the sect and shaming his brother would hurt, and hurt badly, but he would choose Wei Ying. He would abandon the life he’s always known, the mission he’s always believed in with all that he is, for Wei Ying. Not just because he loves him—oh gods, he loves him—but also because Wei Ying has shown him something truer than the council’s perspective. Now, Lan Zhan knows what it truly means to fight for the world, to protect it. That truth has nothing to do with sides or species or traditions. There is nothing so simple as good and evil, right and wrong, us and them. Wei Ying isn’t evil because he must drink blood. The idea now seems ridiculous, just as ridiculous as the council’s prejudice against the fae. For years, Lan Zhan has lived with shame—he’s hidden his eyes and his nature in order to fit into the council’s mold—but he doesn’t want to hide or conform anymore. Fuck that.

When Lan Zhan swims out of that realization, he finds his brother staring at him. He’s never seen this particular expression on his brother’s face.

“You’re dating a vampire,” Lan Huan says evenly.

“Yes.”

Lan Huan shocks him by throwing his head back and laughing. Guffawing, actually. Lan Zhan watches this uneasily. Has he pushed his brother over the edge?

Still laughing, Lan Huan says, “No wonder A-Niang sounded so smug on the phone. She must be delighted.”

“She does like Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan says tentatively.

Lan Huan blurts another laugh. “Of course she does! A-Niang likes anything that makes Shufu suffer.”

“I don’t think that’s—” Lan Zhan begins, but Lan Huan waves him off.

“Yes, yes, I’m sure that isn’t why she likes him. I’m just saying, the vampire part can’t hurt.” Lan Huan shakes himself and wipes tears from his cheeks. “Okay, let’s leave your new boyfriend for later. Tell me more about the ambush.”

So Lan Zhan does. They go through Wen Chao’s revelation and his probable death, which Lan Zhan had nearly forgotten about due to everything that happened after. Not being privy to Lan Zhan’s very slutty time with Wei Ying, Lan Huan is much more interested in Wen Chao.

“Wen Ruohan will be furious,” Lan Huan says. “Even if his son survives, he’s going to want revenge. We need to prepare.”

Lan Zhan nods, already planning to convince Wei Ying to stay with him. It’s possible that the Wen clan doesn’t even know Wei Ying’s name, much less where he lives. Regardless, Wei Ying will certainly be safer at Lan Zhan’s apartment. The wards there are already strong, but he’ll add some more, just to be safe.

Lan Huan stands to leave. “We’ll have to call a meeting,” he says as he walks to the door. There, he pauses. “And Lan Zhan, please don’t include the part about your vampire boyfriend feeding from you in your report.”

Lan Zhan rolls his eyes. As if he would include Wei Ying at all.

“And I want to meet him,” Lan Huan calls as he sails out of the door. “Soon!”

Lan Zhan groans and sinks back into his chair. That will be awkward. He can’t worry about it too much, though. It seems that he might not need to quit the council after all. Not until Shufu finds out, anyway. Sighing, he steels himself to write the report. It will take a great deal of creative editing to make it intelligible without mentioning Wei Ying. Fortunately, he has a lot of practice.

It isn’t as if Lan Zhan forgets that the most powerful and dangerous vampire in the city is surely gearing up for revenge. He goes to all the meetings about that issue—and there are many. He personally checks the building’s wards and prepares the other field agents. He is appropriately concerned about the danger and diligent in response.

But Wei Ying.

Patrols are suspended for the moment as it is too dangerous for even pairs to be on the streets. All of their office’s efforts go to observing enemy movements. This means that Lan Zhan has plenty of time to spend with Wei Ying, who agreed to abdicate his own apartment in favor of Lan Zhan’s with enthusiasm—even before Lan Zhan explained the wards protecting his apartment building—and several jokes about sleepovers. Not that either of them gets much sleep.

So, it would be fair to say that Lan Zhan is a bit distracted and a great deal more cheerful about the situation than he would be otherwise. But he does his duty.

Today, his duty is to train his students in the talismans given to him by Wei Ying and his mother during a delightful dinner at A-Niang's apartment. Mrs. Cang brought soup so spicy that it made even Wei Ying’s eyes water. After dinner, they wandered to the park for talisman demonstrations. The council treats talismans as artifacts from a bygone era, suitable for study but ineffective for modern use. However, the talismans Wei Ying and Mrs. Cang showed him make those ancient spells look like cheap magician’s tricks.

Now, Lan Zhan's students watch as he flings one of those talismans at a training dummy. The dummy explodes into a cloud of splinters and scorched plastic, but the explosion is no louder than a cough. Lan Jingyi captures the moment most eloquently: “What the fuck was that?”

The rest of the training session goes splendidly, and Lan Zhan sends the students off to copy the talismans while he heads to the showers to wash bits of training dummy from his hair.

When he steps out of the shower, his phone buzzes from the bench. There is little doubt who’s texting him. Smiling, he wraps a towel around his waist and squelches into his shower sandals.

Hey gorgeous, Wei Ying’s text reads. I know youre hard at work saving the world but I thought you might want this for your records.

The next text is a photo: a close-up shot of Wei Ying’s neck, mottled with bruises. Bruises that Lan Zhan worked diligently to make. Wei Ying’s vampire healing is very much his enemy in this endeavor, but Lan Zhan is no quitter. Lan Zhan stares down at the photo, his ears flaming despite the chill from his dripping hair. He has never received a scandalous selfie before, not even a crude dick pic. But this photo—expertly framed to capture the delicious line of Wei Ying’s jaw and just a hint of delicate collarbone—might as well be a high-definition video of last night given how perfectly it captures the experience. It’s as if Wei Ying wants him to die of arousal.

While Lan Zhan is getting hard at work for the first time ever, Wei Ying sends another message: And you call me a leech! do all fairies attack their poor victims necks like this or is it just you? 🧚🏽‍♂️

Lan Zhan shifts on the bench, and his erection brushes against the towel. Biting his lip on a whimper, he saves the photo and tries to convince his cock that he never saw that damned selfie. The emoji at the end of Wei Ying’s text will do as a distraction for now.

I don’t recall you complaining at the time, Lan Zhan sends. What is that emoji supposed to be?

A fairy duh. 😕

It looks like a man wearing a potato chip bag.

It does! 🤣🤣🤣 hold on I can do better.

The next text comes so swiftly that Wei Ying must have saved the image prior to their conversation. The gif he sends shows Tinkerbell suspended in the air. A hand repeatedly smacks her tiny bottom. As each blow lands, glitter cascades from her body.

Lan Zhan replies, Is that a threat or an offer?

😵🥵💔 my shriveled dead heart just skipped a beat. control yourself lan laoshi.

Or you’ll bend me over your knee?

No response comes. Smirking, Lan Zhan sets the phone aside to get dressed. That process is more fraught than usual, but he manages.

The phone rings, which means Wei Ying couldn’t restrain himself to a text. Lan Zhan huffs a laugh and lets it ring while he buckles his belt. Making Wei Ying wait is almost as much fun as teasing him.

He answers on the last ring before the call goes to voicemail. “Yes?”

“Naughty boy,” Wei Ying purrs. “So mean of you to wind me up like that when you’re so far away.”

“Wasn’t that your intention with that photo? You shouldn’t start battles you aren’t prepared to finish.”

Wei Ying’s chuckle ripples warmth down Lan Zhan’s chest. “Okay, you got me. I was very bad. Did it make you blush, Lan Zhan?”

Lan Zhan tucks the phone between his cheek and shoulder so he can button his cuffs. “Perhaps. I did not discharge glitter, however.”

“No,” Wei Ying says, giggling. “That will take a firmer hand.”

Sighing, Lan Zhan heads to the elevator. Another—colder—shower would be beneficial, but he does have actual work to do. “That was pathetic. Aren't you supposed to be working?”

His dining table has been completely taken over by Wei Ying’s laptop and various plastic bits with flashing LEDs. He likes having Wei Ying in his space; the transformation of the dining table to a hacker workstation is less appealing.

“I’m taking a break,” Wei Ying says. “B-R-E-A-K. That’s when you stop working for a few minutes and do something fun. You probably don’t have those at Dead Vampires R Us.”

“Hilarious. Do showers count as breaks?”

“Why? Did you just take one? Were you training today?”

Wei Ying sounds entirely too invested in the answer. It truly takes so little to wind him up. Lan Zhan reaches the elevator and lifts the back of his hand to the scanner. The scanner beeps recognition of the tattoo only it can see, and the doors slide open.

“Yes to both,” Lan Zhan says as he steps into the elevator.

Wei Ying moans into the phone. “Ooh, sexy superhero training! Did you get sweaty, Lan Zhan? What’d you do? What were you wearing? I need details!”

“You’re ridiculous,” Lan Zhan huffs. “I taught the others how to use your talismans.”

“Oh!” Wei Ying says brightly, already diverted from his lascivious tangent. “How’d it go? Were they impressed?”

“Everyone was very impressed.”

By the time the elevator passes the third floor, Lan Zhan has finished the recounting the demonstration, and Wei Ying takes over the conversation with more ideas he’s had for talismans. These ideas involve terms and concepts from the world of technology, which means Lan Zhan only understands about ten percent of what Wei Ying says, but he knows that Wei Ying and his mother are intent on bringing their worlds together. Lan Zhan doesn’t doubt their respective abilities, but he also fears that the two of them—three counting Lan Zhan’s own mother—are likely to blow themselves up.

Wei Ying is still talking when Lan Zhan steps out of the elevator. The receptionist, Zhen Cai, looks up at him, nods, then turns back to his computer. Lan Zhan tells himself that it’s perfectly normal to walk through the office with a phone to his ear. People do it all the time. Not him, but plenty of people. There’s no reason that Zhen Cai or anyone else should suspect that Lan Zhan is talking to his boyfriend. His vampire boyfriend. Yet as he walks across the lobby, he feels like there is a giant neon sign flashing above his head: EMPLOYEE VIOLATION: PERSONAL CALL DURING WORK HOURS! IMPROPER CONDUCT RE: VAMPIRES!

He is almost clear of the lobby when the phone rings at the reception desk. Zhen Cai answers, listens, then holds the receiver against his chest. “Lan Zhan.”

Lan Zhan cringes like a teenager about to get detention. “Just a moment,” he mutters to Wei Ying. Then he turns to Zhen Cai. “Yes?”

Zhen Cai holds out the phone. “This woman wants to talk to you. She says it’s important.”

A shrill voice comes from the receiver. Zhen Cai pulls it back and listens. His eyes widen. “She says there’s a bomb in the building!”

“A bomb!” Wei Ying shrieks. “Lan Zhan, did he say there’s a bomb in your building?”

“I have to go,” Lan Zhan says, and stabs at the end call icon as he heads to the reception desk. A crank call? Possible. The Wens are fond of fire, but that fondness has never involved explosives. The council has plenty of other enemies, but none who would warn them before blowing them up. But how could anyone get past their security? Their wards can detect any kind of threat, from daggers to curses.

Zhen Cai passes him the phone. “Do you think it’s real?”

Real or not, he’s not going to stand around debating it. “Hit the alarm,” Lan Zhan says. When Zhen Cai just stares at him, Lan Zhan pushes him out of the way. He slaps his hand on the clearly-labeled alarm button on the receptionist’s control panel. The siren winds up with an eerie moan, then finds its voice and blares through the lobby.

He pushes the receptionist again to get him moving. Zhen Cai stumbles but finds his feet and starts running. Thankfully, he regains enough sense to head towards the stairs instead of the elevator.

Lan Zhan puts the phone to his ear. “Who is this?”

“Wen Qing,” the voice says. “You have to get out.”

“The Wens?” Lan Zhan.

“Yes, but please, you have to go! I don’t know how much time you have!” Even with the siren ringing in his ears, he can hear how anxious she is. The frantic voice is nothing like the woman he remembers from the apothecary.

“Thank you.”

Panic creeps cold up his spine, but he ignores it. He slams the receiver into its cradle to end the call, then yanks it back to his mouth. His fingers are steady as they push the code for announcements. “Evacuate the building,” he says into the phone. His voice echoes through the building’s speakers, a second behind him as he speaks. “Evacuate immediately. There is a bomb in the building.” Then he drops the phone, not caring where it lands, and starts running towards his brother’s office—the suite at the end of the hall. People stream out of the offices, blocking his way, but none of them are his brother, so he fights through the crowd that surges towards the stairs. People shout questions, but he ignores them and keeps going.

He reaches his brother’s office and throws open the door. Lan Huan’s assistant is already gone. Lan Huan’s office is empty.

When Lan Zhan bangs back into the hall, Shufu is just emerging from his office next door.

“Lan Zhan, what is this?” Shufu barks.

Lan Zhan doesn’t bother explaining. “Where’s Ge?”

“I don’t know.” The pulsing vein on Shufu’s forehead is the only sign that he’s not as calm as he pretends.

“Go,” Lan Zhan says.

“Lan Zhan—”

“Go,” Lan Zhan demands. “I’ll find him. Make sure the others get out.”

Shufu nods jerkily and sets off, striding stiffly towards the stairs.

Lan Zhan whirls back and sprints through the stragglers to Meng Yao’s office, but it’s also empty. There, he pauses, heart pounding, head spinning. This is ridiculous. If his brother were here, Lan Zhan would have seen him. Lan Huan would be front and center, directing the evacuation. But if he’s not here, then where is he?

Feeling like an idiot, Lan Zhan finally recalls that he owns a phone. It’s still in his back pocket, where he stuffed it after he hung up on Wei Ying. He navigates to his brother’s name with fingers that are beginning to tremble. The phone rings on the other end of the line. An echo of that ring trills from down the hall. He stalks back to his brother’s office—where he finds Lan Huan’s phone, evidently forgotten on his desk.

“Fuck.” Lan Zhan ends the call and runs to the stairs. The floor below is mostly conference rooms, and he doesn’t meet anyone as he runs across the floor, shouting his brother’s name.

How much time is left? Minutes? Seconds?

He throws himself against the stairway door and leaps over the railing. His feet barely skim the rest of the stairs as he heads to the next floor. The library here and the junior agents’ cubicles are empty.

His lungs ache now, from panic as much as the race through the building. There are more floors to check, but the lower he goes, the less likely it is that Lan Huan will be there. He is the sect leader: petitioners come to him, not the other way around.

Lan Zhan goes to the broad window across from the elevator. Below, many of his coworkers—but not his brother—stand across the street, shielding their eyes to look up at the building. The building which has yet to explode.

A false alarm, after all? Wen Qing doesn't strike him as a prankster, but maybe she received bad information. Or maybe the warning was meant to clear the building for some other reason. Or it’s a distraction. Something to keep them busy while—

“Wei Ying!” Lan Zhan blurts. He’s been so stupid. This “bomb” is obviously meant to distract Lan Zhan while the Wens go after Wei Ying.

He reaches for his phone again. He has to warn Wei Ying. Wei Ying has to get out, go somewhere safe. They’ll need to—

A monstrous sound interrupts that thought. A great, roaring wind tosses him into the air and steals the phone from his hand. The storm surges around him, blinding him with dust and with fire.

One thought rings clear even while the world burns: at least Wei Ying is safe.

Chapter Text

There is a vicious ringing in Lan Zhan’s ears, like a thousand murder hornets decided to make his bedroom their home. He tries to seek out that terrible noise, meaning to shut it up, but his blanket has turned into sharp-edged stones. He fights against the noise and the weight, but it’s hard to breathe. Those stones jab into his back. Poison air chars his lungs.

He wakes coughing and gagging and discovers that his dream is real: he’s buried alive.

The bomb, he thinks, but as the memory returns, he’s struck with another coughing fit. Each ragged cough sends splintering pain through his rib cage. Definitely at least one broken rib. The wet warmth on his lips suggests it may be worse than that.

But that’s a worry for later. Right now, all he needs to focus on is getting up and finding his brother.

Each wiggle sends fresh pain bursting through too many parts of his body to catalogue, but he keeps going until his hands are braced beside his head. Gritting his teeth, he attempts a push up, but the weight on his back holds him down. A piece of the building, most likely. He remembers a rattling boom: an enormous sound, like riding a sword through a thunderstorm. He barely had time to cast a shield charm before he was pushed through the window like a training dummy knocked off its pedestal. He flew through a tornado of shattered glass, trying to call to Bichen, but it all happened too fast. One moment, he was in the air—the next, he struck the ground. And apparently, the building fell on top of him.

He tries again, scrabbling at the concrete and dust under his fingers and heaving up with all his strength. The thing on top of him pays no attention to his efforts. The shield charm he cast probably kept him from being pulverized or burned alive, but it’s depleted, and even if he could cast another one, it wouldn’t help him dig out. His phone is gone, too.

“Help,” he tries to call, but all he can manage is a croak. Not that it would matter. The muffled wails of sirens are approaching. No one could hear his pitiful pleas over that noise.

What about Bichen? His sword can’t dig him out, but it can at least show rescuers the way. But he’s weakening fast. Too much pain, not enough air. The thin thread still connecting him to his sword isn’t strong enough to tug on, and it’s unraveling fast.

His breath is a wrenching wheeze now. He tries to drag in breath, but what enters his lungs is thick and stale. Numbness creeps through his limbs. Concentrating is too difficult. It’s all going: blood and bone and brain. He could actually die here. Just suffocate under what remains of his office. Not yet, he pleads to whoever might listen. Not now. I want . . . I want more time. Let me stay, just a little while longer.

A fool’s prayer. A liar’s bargain. Neither what he expected of himself when the time came. He has never feared dying. Death in battle, death in the service of others—that was nothing to fear. His only fear has been not doing enough, not using his abilities to help those in need. But being selfless used to be easy: he never had a real life to lose.

Please, he begs. I just found him. Let me stay, please. Let me keep him, just a bit longer.

The world doesn’t listen. His death, his little life, are no great matter. He knows that, yet he still begs.

Please. I don’t want to go.

Grayness swarms in, grinding him into dust.

But there’s something pulling him back. A sound. A shout. His name, cutting through the gray. “Lan Zhan! Lan Zhan, where are you? Lan Zhan, can you hear me?”

Wei Ying. It’s impossible, but it’s Wei Ying’s voice he hears.

Lan Zhan tries to call back, but there is only enough breath for the first syllable. The effort barely puffs the dust in front of his mouth. The next attempt brings up blood, thick and clogging his throat.

Is he bleeding anywhere else? He must be. There was so much glass. But can Wei Ying smell his blood under so much dust?

But maybe Wei Ying doesn’t need his blood to find him. Lan Zhan curls his hands into fists, digging his nails into the flesh to keep his mind from drifting away. Wei Ying, he thinks with all the force he can muster. Wei Ying, I’m here. He imagines the words flying swift and strong, like golden arrows straight to their target. Wei Ying, I’m here!

The answer comes not in his mind but as a shout, loud but blurred by the brick. “Lan Zhan? Lan Zhan, do that again!”

I’m here! Trapped. Buried. His mind is clearer, sharper, but he can’t keep this up long. The darkness waits below, and he’s teetering on a knife’s edge, ready to fall into nothingness.

“Lan Zhan, hold on! I’m coming!”

Things rumble and shake above the space Lan Zhan is wedged into. Dust shivers down onto his heavy eyelids.

Careful, Lan Zhan sends. The warning is thin. That golden arrow wavers and falls to the earth. He’s depleted almost all of his strength.

“What?” Wei Ying yells. The world crashes and moans, and Lan Zhan imagines Wei Ying heaving chunks of the building into the air and tossing them aside. “What’d you say, Lan Zhan? I didn’t catch that!”

I said be careful. It’s doubtful that the thought escapes his brain. He doesn’t have the will to push it through all this gray muck. He’s so tired. Even wishing for life hardly seems worth the effort anymore.

“I’m coming, Lan Zhan! Just hold on, okay?” The noise above him gets louder—a storm of scrapes and thuds. Heavy things shift angrily around him, but he’s too tired to try another warning. He has to trust Wei Ying. Wei Ying will save him. Wei Ying won’t give up. He just has to hang on long enough for Wei Ying to find him.

The thing crushing his back suddenly moves, scraping across his back and pummeling his ribs. If he had the breath, he’d cry out.

But the pain must have been enough, so strong that Wei Ying felt it. “Shit, I’m sorry, Lan Zhan, but I see you! Let me just—”

The scraping stops. The suffocating weight on Lan Zhan’s back suddenly disappears. Dimly, he hears a crash. Before he can even draw in a real breath, Wei Ying’s there, one hand clutching Lan Zhan’s shoulder.

“Don’t move yet,” Wei Ying says. “There’s still some smaller bits.”

Lan Zhan is too busy coughing to consider moving—or to pay attention to whatever Wei Ying is doing. Having the weight off his back is wonderful, and the air is even better. Breathing still hurts, but he does it anyway because even the pain is welcome after that hellish hole.

“Where are you hurt?” Wei Ying asks when the coughing dies down. “God, where aren’t you hurt, more like it. Baby, you look—I’m afraid to even move you!”

“Not that bad,” Lan Zhan chokes out. It truly doesn’t seem so bad now that he can breathe again. Was he really worried about dying just a few minutes ago? Then he tries to push himself up and fails, so maybe he wasn’t just overreacting.

Wei Ying guides him into a drunken lean. “Only you would say that after a building fell on you.” Wei Ying’s smile trembles as he smooths his thumb over Lan Zhan’s cheek. Lan Zhan blinks at him through the dust swimming in the sunlight. That dust has turned Wei Ying’s black hair to a smoky gray. There is a streak of what might be soot on the tip of his nose. The hand he raised to Lan Zhan’s face is covered in filth and dripping blood. He must have mauled his hands when he was moving the debris.

“Thank you.” The words come out mangled, but he doesn’t have the strength for more. What would he even say? What would be enough to convey how relieved he is to be alive, to have been saved? To feel Wei Ying’s hand on his face?

“Silly boy,” Wei Ying says, whatever that means. “Let’s find you a medic, huh?”

“No,” Lan Zhan grunts. He tries to push himself up using whatever he’s leaning against. Part of a desk, maybe. Maybe even his desk. They’re surrounded by crumpled beams and broken brick. An office phone sits by his foot, perfectly intact except for the receiver lying in the dust, still connected to the base by its coiled cord. Despite how dizzily his head spins, he has to fight the urge to place the phone’s receiver back in the cradle.

“Lan Zhan, stop moving, you doofus! You’re hurt!”

“Ge,” Lan Zhan grunts, and makes another pitiful attempt at crawling to his feet.

“Your brother?” Wei Ying clamps a hand on Lan Zhan’s shoulder, easily keeping his ass on the ground without even trying, and looks around at the swarm of emergency responders crawling on the debris and dousing the smoldering fires. “Was he in the building?”

“Don’t know. Help me up.”

Wei Ying’s sooty face twists in disapproval, but he wraps an arm around Lan Zhan’s back and gently pulls him to his feet. The pain bursts white hot and nearly knocks him into the darkness, but Lan Zhan bites his lip until it passes.

“If you pass out, I’m throwing you on a stretcher,” Wei Ying warns.

“I don’t pass out.”

“Right, silly me. Where to?”

Good question. Lan Zhan looks over his shoulder at where his office used to be. Now it’s a heap of rubble. If Wen Qing hadn’t called . . .

But she did. He chases that thought away and turns to the opposite side of the street. There is Jingyi, scowling as he dabs at a cut on his forehead. There is Xie Jianjun, winding through the huddled survivors and no doubt checking for injuries. There is Shufu, speaking with a firefighter. Scolding a firefighter, most likely, given the way the firefighter keeps inching away from him. And there is Meng Yao, his beloved tablet cradled in his arms.

“Him,” Lan Zhan says. “The one with the tablet.”

“Okey dokey.” Wei Ying lifts, and Lan Zhan scrambles an arm around his shoulders to steady himself. His toes barely skim the ground as Wei Ying sails him over the debris and deposits him in front of Meng Yao.

Meng Yao looks up from his tablet. “Lan Zhan?” They’ve never been friends, not even close, but the stunned relief on Meng Yao’s face is startlingly sincere. It only lasts a moment before it’s wiped away. “Thank fuck,” Meng Yao mutters, and taps something on the tablet. “I did not want to tell your brother you died.”

Fair enough. “Where is he?”

Meng Yao’s face smooths into an expression so placid that he must be very worried. “I don’t know. I tried calling—”

“His phone is on his desk. Was on his desk.”

“For fuck’s sake.” Meng Yao stomps his little boot on the sidewalk. “How many times have I told him: ‘Don’t forget your phone’? I’m going to buy him one of those fucking belt holsters, and if he doesn’t use it, I’m going to—”

Lan Zhan interrupts this tirade. “Have you called Mingjue?”

Meng Yao settles himself with a deep breath. “Straight to voicemail.”

“A-Niang?”

Meng Yao’s eyes flick away. He’s usually better at controlling his responses, but then, their office isn’t usually blown to bits. “I haven’t called her yet. She would have asked about you, and I . . .”

Of course. Well, Lan Zhan isn’t dead, is he? “Give me your phone.”

Meng Yao reaches into his pocket and hands over his phone. While Lan Zhan brings up the contacts, Meng Yao turns to Wei Ying. “Who are you?”

“Um. . .” Wei Ying begins.

“My boyfriend,” Lan Zhan grunts, never looking away from the phone.

“Also known as Wei Ying,” Wei Ying says with a chuckle.

“Oh?” Meng Yao says. “I'm Meng Yao. Were you . . . in the building?”

Lan Zhan’s thumb pauses its scrolling. How did Wei Ying get here so fast? Lan Zhan’s apartment is several blocks from here, and Wei Ying doesn’t have a car. Did he actually run the whole way?

“No,” Wei Ying says. “I was on the phone with Lan Zhan. I heard someone say there was a bomb in the building.” He twists his head to glare at Lan Zhan. “And then he hung up on me!”

“How did you know about the bomb?” Meng Yao asks Lan Zhan. “You’re the one who sounded the alarm, right?”

Lan Zhan has scrolled to the end of the contacts without finding his mother. Probably because all the names are blurry. He slaps the phone against Meng Yao’s chest. “I’ll explain later. After we find Ge. Where’s my mother’s number?”

“You should let one of the medics check you out,” Meng Yao says pleasantly as he operates his phone. “You don’t look well, Lan Zhan.”

Wei Ying makes an approving little hmph, but Lan Zhan ignores both of them. Pain can wait until he’s found his brother.

Meng Yao hands the phone back. On the screen is A-Niang’s name and number. Below is a photo of Meng Yao, Meng Yao’s mother, and A-Niang, all of them grinning at the camera.

Someone calls Meng Yao away while Lan Zhan is figuring out how to operate the unfamiliar phone. He has only just found the call icon when he hears his name.

Lan Zhan tries to whirl around, but he’s in no shape for whirling. If Wei Ying weren’t holding him up, he would’ve crumpled to the sidewalk. But there is his brother, shoving past firefighters and the ghouls filming the carnage.

“Ge!” Lan Zhan drops the phone. Wei Ying propels him towards his brother, and they meet in front of the bus stop, its glass ceiling shattered by a charred bookcase.

“Didi!” Lan Huan gasps as he skids to a stop in front of them. His hands cup Lan Zhan’s cheeks, his fingers feather light. “Oh gods, are you okay? What happened?”

“Bomb.” That’s terse, even for him, but tears are leaking down his cheeks. He shouldn’t cry because it will hurt too much, but his chest is already hitching. If he doesn’t get control of himself, he’s going to rupture a lung.

Lan Huan looks past Lan Zhan and Wei Ying to what remains of their offices. Color leeches from his face. “Dear god.” He looks back at Lan Zhan. “You were in there?”

“Yes. Wei Ying rescued me.”

Lan Huan looks at Wei Ying as if just now realizing he’s there. “You’re Wei Ying?”

“Yes? Hi.” Wei Ying tightens his grip on Lan Zhan as he extends the other hand—still mottled with blood and dust—to Lan Huan. “Sorry about your building.”

Lan Huan accepts Wei Ying’s handshake like a man who isn’t certain if he’s awake. “Thank you.” He swallows, and something clicks in his throat. He pumps Wei Ying’s hand so hard that Lan Zhan wobbles. “Thank you for saving my brother.”

“Happy to do it. Now, I think Lan Zhan needs medical attention, don’t you?”

“Of course. Let me help.”

Lan Zhan glares at an unrepentant Wei Ying while Lan Huan inserts himself on Lan Zhan’s other side. Together, they guide Lan Zhan towards the nearest ambulance. Completely unnecessary, all this fuss, but at least the two of them are getting along.

While two paramedics poke and prod at all of Lan Zhan’s sore places, Shufu notices them and hurries over, abandoning the firefighter who escapes with visible relief.

“Lan Huan! Lan Zhan!” He frowns at them, at the paramedics, and especially at Wei Ying. “Lan Zhan, are you hurt?”

“I’m fine,” Lan Zhan grunts, and ignores how his brother, his boyfriend, and the paramedics gape at him.

That’s good enough for Shufu, though, who whirls on Lan Huan. “Where were you? Why weren’t you answering your phone?”

Lan Huan looks as sheepish as a naughty child. “I’m sorry. I think I left it in my office. I was in a hurry to pick up Xiwang. She had a dentist appointment. Mingjue and I both wanted to be there.” He turns to gaze at the hole where they once worked. “I can’t believe this. It’s all just . . . gone.”

No one seems to know how to follow that, so they all remain quiet. Everyone but the paramedics who for some reason feel it’s necessary to announce every injury they find. Every time they declare a new one, their audience looks grimmer.

Meng Yao interrupts the catalogue of injuries by running to Lan Huan. “Er-ge” he groans, his voice a full octave deeper than his usual bright baritone. “Thank the gods, where in the fuck were you?”

Lan Huan smiles and bends to accept Meng Yao’s hug. He’s a braver man than Lan Zhan will ever be. “So sorry, A-Yao. I’m glad you’re okay. Was anyone else hurt?”

“Only minor injuries,” Meng Yao assures him. “We had shields at the ready. Lan Zhan was the only person in the building when it blew up.”

They all give Lan Zhan disapproving looks, like he intended to get blown up. All except Wei Ying, who sneaks past a paramedic to perch beside Lan Zhan and bump him with his shoulder.

“How did everyone get out?” Lan Huan asks. “Did the bomb set off the wards?”

Meng Yao turns to Lan Zhan, hugging his tablet. Innocent curiosity is plastered across his face. “Lan Zhan warned us, thank the heavens.”

Lan Zhan would like Meng Yao much more if the man would simply state what he wanted instead of always resorting to manipulation. Still, it is understandable that Meng Yao is curious. “Someone called to warn us," Lan Zhan says. "They said the Wens planted the bomb.”

“Who?” Shufu demands.

“A friend,” Lan Zhan says and looks away, ignoring Shufu’s frown.

Wei Ying squeezes Lan Zhan’s knee and tilts his head in question. Vampire witch? he mouths.

Lan Zhan stares into his eyes and focuses his thoughts. Yes. Did you read my mind?

Wei Ying shrugs evasively, but he looks quite proud of himself.

Their silent conversation is interrupted by Lan Huan, who paces beside the ambulance. “I knew they would do something,” Lan Huan says, “but this?”

“How did a vampire get past the wards?” Shufu bellows. “That’s impossible!”

“Unless it wasn’t a vampire who planted the bomb,” Meng Yao says. He taps on the tablet, then turns the screen towards Lan Huan. “We had a visitor this morning. My dear cousin.”

Lan Zhan’s vision is still blurry, but the video playing on Meng Yao’s tablet looks like security footage. The high-angle video shows a man striding through the first-floor lobby holding a box.

“Jin Zixun?” Lan Huan says. “Why was he here?”

“I wondered the same thing when I saw his name pop up on the visitor's log,” Meng Yao says. “So I tracked him down. He said he was delivering a package.”

“For whom?” Shufu asks.

“I asked the same question,” Meng Yao says, his smile a sharp, vicious thing. “Dear cousin informed me that it was none of my business. He had already dropped off his package when I found him. I was trying to track down where he left it when Lan Zhan sounded the alarm.”

“Jin Guangshan wouldn’t do this,” Lan Huan says. “Would he? Surely he wouldn’t . . .” He trails off, apparently too horrified to even speak such thoughts aloud.

Meng Yao shrugs. “There is very little my father wouldn’t do if he stood to benefit from it. The real question is what did Wen Ruohan promise him for eliminating his son’s killers?”

This stuns them all to silence. Even the paramedics fade back into the safety of their ambulance. Then Wei Ying, who has been uncharacteristically quiet during the conversation, leans over to whisper in Lan Zhan’s ear. “Who are these Jin people?”

Before Lan Zhan can explain, Shufu advances on Wei Ying. “Who are you?”

Lan Zhan sighs. “Shufu, this is Wei Ying. My boyfriend. Wei Ying, this is my uncle, Lan Qiren.”

Wei Ying bounces off the ambulance and extends his hand to Shufu. “Hi! It’s nice to meet you, sorry about your building. I like your ’stache!”

Shufu ignores the hand Wei Ying offers and glares at Lan Zhan. To escape whatever lecture is coming, Lan Zhan scoots back in the ambulance. “Excuse me,” he says to the paramedics. “I’d like to go to the hospital now.”

The room is dark when Lan Zhan wakes—as dark as a hospital room can get, anyway. The completely unnecessary monitors he’s hooked up to flicker and hum, but the main source of light is Wei Ying’s phone. Even in that soft blue light, it’s easy to see the deep wounds under Wei Ying’s eyes, the drag of his mouth. He may not need sleep, but even vampires get tired. And it must be late. Lan Zhan’s mother is asleep on the tiny sofa beside Wei Ying, her head tipped onto his shoulder.

Lan Zhan only gets to look for a few seconds before Wei Ying notices him. Wei Ying’s smile transforms his face from grim shadows to impossible brightness. Carefully, Wei Ying squirms out from under Lan Zhan’s mother and comes to the bed.

“Hey, gorgeous,” Wei Ying says in a low voice. He navigates gingerly around the IV to hold Lan Zhan’s hand.

“Time?” Lan Zhan croaks.

“Almost midnight,” Wei Ying grabs the pitcher from Lan Zhan’s bedside tray and pours water into a cup. “How’re you feeling?”

Lan Zhan drains the cup in a few greedy swallows. Whatever they’re giving him makes him terribly thirsty. “Fine,” he says in a voice that almost sounds normal.

Wei Ying fills the cup again, and this time, Lan Zhan only sips. Almost midnight. He must have slept at least two hours. Shocking that the nurses have left him alone for so long. The day has been full of tests and more tests when all he wanted to do was sleep.

“Your brother came back,” Wei Ying says while Lan Zhan works on the second cup of water. “He said everyone was okay, and he’s setting your guys up at Mingjue’s. Whatever that is.”

“Another sect,” Lan Zhan says. “Nie Mingjue is Ge’s husband.”

“Oh.”

Lan Zhan should probably explain it better, but he feels like he’s trapped inside a thick, fluffy cloud. Everything outside that cloud is just . . . meh. “What did they give me?”

“Morphine,” Wei Ying says, his white teeth flashing on a smile. “You’ve been cuckoo for Cocoa Puffs, babe.”

That should probably be worrying, but he doesn’t have the energy for worry at the moment.

“And your mom’s been doing that thing. The qi thing. She said that would help you more than anything.”

Lan Zhan blinks past Wei Ying to his sleeping mother. She probably overdid it and exhausted herself. Even that fear barely penetrates the cloud.

Wei Ying squeezes his hand, and Lan Zhan clears away a bit of the haze to look at him. “You should go back to sleep,” Wei Ying says. “I’m sure your nurse will be back soon, so get some rest while you can.”

Wei Ying starts to pull away, but Lan Zhan clutches his hand. “Are you leaving?”

“No, baby.” Wei Ying comes back and bends to press a kiss to his forehead. “I’ll be right here on the squeaky couch.”

“Good,” Lan Zhan grunts. He hears a quiet laugh and feels another kiss on his nose, but he’s already sliding back into sleep.

In the morning, he’s achy and longing for that sweet stupor but not in enough pain to request it. He eats cereal and a fruit cup while Wei Ying polishes off the greasy bacon from his breakfast tray. Lan Zhan’s mother sips the coffee Wei Ying fetched her and nibbles on a muffin. The two of them are bent over Wei Ying’s phone, discussing the diagnosis Lan Zhan was given, which Wei Ying has been researching. Thoughtful, but unnecessary. Lan Zhan has a concussion, of course, but this is hardly his first. He is bruised, obviously, but those will heal quickly. The large bruise on his cheek looks much worse than it is. He barely has any broken bones. The broken ribs hurt, but it isn’t as if he can’t walk. Which he fully plans to do, as soon as possible.

“You guys heal fast, right?” Wei Ying asks A-Niang, almost pleading. “I mean, I know a punctured lung is bad, but . . .”

“We do heal fast,” Lan Zhan’s mother agrees. “Not as fast as vampires, but he shouldn’t have to stay here long. Not more than a few days, I think.”

“Days?” Lan Zhan pauses with his dripping spoon hovering in front of his mouth. “A-Niang, I can’t stay here.”

She rolls her eyes. “You can, and you will. What are you in such a hurry for, anyway? Are you not enjoying our company?” She and Wei Ying both pout at him in offended harmony.

Lan Zhan huffs and drops the spoon into the bowl. He’s always hated Raisin Bran, and he isn’t hungry, anyway. “Ge needs my help.”

“A-Huan has plenty of help. Mingjue will keep him safe, and I’m sure A-Yao has everything in order. You just need to rest and recover.”

Wei Ying nods along with this, then giggles when Lan Zhan glares at him. “Uh-oh, is he a terrible patient?”

“The worst,” Lan Zhan’s mother sighs. “Once, when he was a little boy, he broke his arm, and—”

“A-Niang,” Lan Zhan groans.

“No, come on, let her talk!” Wei Ying says. “I need to hear all the baby Zhanzhan stories!”

Fortunately, a nurse interrupts this chatter. While she’s fiddling with his IV, she looks at his face and does a double take. “Wow, your eyes are so unusual!” She bends over for a closer look, and Lan Zhan averts his eyes.

“He gets them from his mother,” Lan Zhan’s mother says, grinning. Her glasses are perched in her hair. Lan Zhan’s glasses are probably still buried under rubble.

“Yeah, wow, I’ve never seen anything like them!” The nurse looks from A-Niang to Wei Ying. “Is this your brother?”

“Boyfriend!” Wei Ying says. “Lan Zhan is a little shy about his pretty eyes.”

Lan Zhan glares at Wei Ying as hard as his pretty eyes will glare, and the nurse laughs awkwardly.

“Oh, sorry.” She taps at her tablet and avoids further eye contact. “Well, your numbers look good. Dr. Kayal will be in soon.”

She hurries out, and Wei Ying saunters over to the bed, tsking. “Now, Lan Zhan, don’t be mad. If you don’t want people to look at you, you shouldn’t be so pretty.”

His mother snorts a laugh. Lan Zhan can’t glare at her, so he focuses on Wei Ying, but Wei Ying is too distracted to notice. “Shit, baby,” Wei Ying says, “You’ve still got glass in your hair.”

Wei Ying grabs a towel from the bathroom and lays it over Lan Zhan’s shoulders like he’s going to give him a haircut. With a comb from A-Niang’s bag, Wei Ying gently removes tiny slivers of glass from Lan Zhan’s hair. The process is weirdly intimate, especially with his mother in the room, but Wei Ying doesn’t flirt—he’s uncharacteristically solemn as he works. When he’s done, he wads up the towel and shoves it into the hazardous waste bin.

“There,” Wei Ying announces with a pitiful attempt at a smile. “No more sparkle. Aside from your usual amount, of course.”

When Wei Ying drops back onto the couch, Lan Zhan’s mother squeezes his hand. “You’re a good boy,” she says, and Wei Ying ducks his head.

A big feeling tries to shatter Lan Zhan’s aching ribs, so big he doesn’t know where to put it. Wei Ying dug through a bomb site to rescue him, and now he’s here, crammed onto a tiny couch, probably driving himself crazy with all the blood that must be everywhere in a hospital, but Wei Ying refuses to leave. No, he’s here—combing Lan Zhan’s hair and bringing A-Niang muffins. It’s so much, so good it hurts. On his best day, Lan Zhan wouldn’t know how to voice what he’s feeling, and today is definitely not his best. What actually comes out of his mouth is, “You need to feed.”

The expression on Wei Ying’s face twists inside Lan Zhan’s battered rib cage: humiliation, shock, maybe even fear. “I’m fine,” Wei Ying croaks.

Lan Zhan’s mother pats Wei Ying’s knee. “Forgive my rude son. Zhanzhan is just worried about you. And he isn’t wrong. You’re looking a bit pale. Well, paler than usual.”

“I’m fine,” Wei Ying repeats, more than a little mulishly, but the horrible expression is gone. “I’ll go tonight.”

Be careful, Lan Zhan wants to say, but he says nothing. His mother is right: he’s terrible at feelings.

Three days later, Lan Zhan is ready to leap out of the window. If he had his sword, he probably would, but Bichen isn’t here. Lan Huan swears that Bichen is safe and sound—it was recovered from the rubble and is now at the Nie sect’s offices, along with everyone else. Except Lan Zhan, who is still in this damned hospital even though he’s fine.

Lan Huan didn’t bring his sword, but he did get Lan Zhan a new phone. Wei Ying downloaded a game to this new phone for Lan Zhan to play. Never a fan of games, Lan Zhan has nevertheless spent hours stabbing at tiny monsters. It’s stupid and pointless, but it’s better than staring at the wall.

Wei Ying and A-Niang brought their laptops so they could work during their vigil, which makes him feel even more useless. He borrowed A-Niang’s computer to write a report of the bomb, but after that, she refused to let him work anymore.

That afternoon, after throwing the phone down in disgust after losing yet another round to creatures he could easily vanquish in real life, he manages a nap. When he wakes, Mrs. Cang is on the visitor’s couch. The light is nearly gone from the room, but her face is illuminated by her phone screen.

“Hello?” he whispers, not sure if he’s actually awake.

She sets the phone down and jumps up. “Hi there, how’re you feeling?”

He is so sick of that question, but he doesn’t want to be rude to Wei Ying’s mother. “I’m well. How are you?”

Mrs. Cang laughs softly. “You’re probably wondering what I’m doing here. Well, my son needed to . . . you know, and Mrs. Jiu left with your brother. They said something about a meeting.”

Which means Wei Ying called his mother to babysit. So embarrassing. “You don’t have to stay,” Lan Zhan says. “I’m fine.”

“Oh, but I do. After what happened, we’re not leaving you undefended. Besides, Ying-er would be furious if I left you alone.”

“The Wens wouldn’t try anything here,” Lan Zhan insists, but he isn’t sure of that.

She only raises an eyebrow. “Can I get you anything? How about some water?”

Mrs. Cang is already reaching for the pitcher, so it seems rude to refuse. “Thank you. I’m sorry for interrupting your evening.”

She snorts a laugh and hands him the cup. “Ying-er said you were polite. Coming from him, that doesn’t really mean much, but it’s true.”

He has no idea what to say to that, so he just sips water.

While he drinks, Mrs. Cang tidies the tray and fusses with his blankets. Just as Wei Ying does. “I don’t think I’ve ever thanked you, have I?” she says as she bustles around the little room. “For helping my son, I mean.”

“No need,” Lan Zhan mumbles into his glass.

Laughing, she pats his foot. “He says that about you, too. ‘My Lan Zhan is a true hero! So brave, so selfless!’” Her impression of Wei Ying is so good that he can’t help but smile. “So thank you,” Mrs. Cang says. “What happened to him . . . I’m so angry I can barely stand it, but I’m glad he has you.”

The room might be dark enough to hide how his ears flush, but he can’t help ducking his head like a shy kid.

Thankfully, she backs off and sits on the sofa. “Sorry, I kind of have you at my mercy, don’t I? Captive audience and all.” Chuckling ruefully, she picks up her phone.

Lan Zhan tries to hold the words back, but whether it’s the injuries making him vulnerable or the cabin fever wearing his restraint thin, he blurts, “I will do my best to protect him.”

Mrs. Cang lays down the phone. “I know you will. But I hope you’ll let him protect you, too. My Ying-er has a big heart—even if it doesn’t beat anymore. He never holds back, not when he cares about someone. I’ve always been proud of him for that, but I worry, too. He loves so hard that he doesn’t protect himself. He can still be hurt. That much hasn’t changed.”

Meeting her dark eyes, so much like Wei Ying’s, is hard, but he steels himself and does it. “I will not hurt him. I will not let him be hurt.”

“Good. But you understand that means not getting yourself blown up, right? Ying-er needs his beloved boyfriend in one piece.”

He nods, smiling. “I will do my best.”

“See that you do.” She winks and picks up her phone.

After a while, Lan Zhan finds his phone in the sheets. If he has to stay here to “recover,” then he can at least wreak vengeance on some pixelated monsters.

Lan Zhan has been in this bed for six days and he can’t take it anymore. His doctor can see that he’s practically back to normal in his stupid charts, but he refuses to believe it, and it’s not as if Lan Zhan can tell the doctor why he’s healed so quickly.

“Yes, Mr. Lan,” Dr. Kayal says in response to Lan Zhan’s repeated request to leave. “I understand that you feel well, but with injuries like yours—”

“My ‘injuries’ are gone,” Lan Zhan snaps. Yes, he is ashamed of himself for being so rude, but this man will not listen! “I want to be discharged.”

Dr. Kayal sighs. “Perhaps tomorrow. We need to run one more MRI to make sure—”

“No. No more tests. I want to leave.” Lan Zhan doesn’t wait for the doctor’s reply; he turns to Wei Ying. “Convince him.”

Wei Ying blinks from Lan Zhan to the doctor. “Uh, Lan Zhan, I’m not sure that—”

“Do it.”

Lan Zhan’s mother sighs and pats Wei Ying’s knee. “Better do it, dear. I’d hate to see my son bite a doctor. Again.”

Wei Ying stands up from the couch and walks up to the doctor. Dr. Kayal holds up his tablet to his chest as if to ward him off.

“What—?” the doctor begins, but Wei Ying waves a hand through the air.

“It’s okay,” Wei Ying says, his voice low and soothing. “Everything’s fine. Lan Zhan is fine. You’re going to release him today.”

Dr. Kayal sways along with Wei Ying’s hand. “I am?”

“Yes, you are. You’re going to send us home, and you’re going to forget about this little discussion.”

Dr. Kayal nods. “You’re going home.”

Finally. Lan Zhan swings his legs off the bed.

That breaks the doctor out of the hypnosis enough to protest: “Mr. Lan, you must wait for transport!”

Lan Zhan scoffs and goes to the wardrobe for the clothes A-Niang brought him. He never thought he’d miss pants. And shoes! Glorious shoes!

Wei Ying leans closer to the doctor. “We don’t need transport. No transport, okay?”

“It’s hospital policy,” Dr. Kayal says, insistent even though his voice wavers with the strength of Wei Ying’s control.

“Fine,” Wei Ying sighs. “He’ll ride in a wheelchair, okay?”

“Like hell I will,” Lan Zhan mutters, yanking on his pants.

“Shut up, sweetie,” Wei Ying hisses. To the doctor, he says, “Transport is already on their way with the wheelchair. Everything is shipshape, right as rain. You can just go on your way. Get back to saving lives, okay?”

“Okay,” Dr. Kayal says, but he doesn’t sound convinced.

“And you’re going to have a great day,” Wei Ying continues. “Everything is going to be fine.”

“Oh, that’s good,” Dr. Kayal says, smiling.

“It is!” Wei Ying agrees. “Now off you scoot.”

Dr. Kayal heads to the door, still smiling.

“Fascinating!” A-Niang says once the doctor is gone on his merry way. “How long does your control last?”

Lan Zhan interrupts before Wei Ying can answer. “Not long enough. Let’s go before he snaps out of it.”

Wei Ying rolls his eyes. “I should mind-whammy you into a wheelchair.” He steps closer, fluttering his fingers like a stage magician.

“Try it, and I’ll throw you out the window,” Lan Zhan snarls.

“Boys, stop flirting,” Lan Zhan’s mother scolds, grinning. “Let’s go. My butt is tired of this awful couch.”

When Lan Zhan is dressed, they each take one of his arms—unnecessary but he doesn’t complain—and they finally leave the horrible room behind. Wei Ying and A-Niang will probably still make him convalesce, but at least he can do that at home, away from all the infernal beeping.

Convalescing at home is unnecessary and annoying, but much better than the hospital. For one thing, at home, he gets to sleep wrapped around his sexy corpse. That sexy corpse refuses to do anything slutty because Lan Zhan is “still smooshed,” but it’s still good to be in his own bed.

A-Niang even brings Xiwang to see him. It’s always wonderful to see his niece, but watching Wei Ying fall in love with the little girl is almost worth the punctured lung.

“Who’re you?” Xiwang demands immediately upon laying eyes on Wei Ying. Her furrowed eyebrows are pure Mingjue, as is her suspicious frown.

Wei Ying drops to his knees in front of her, clutching his heart like a lover greeting his beloved. “I’m Wei Ying, and you are the most perfect angel I’ve ever seen!”

Xiwang turns her frown on Lan Zhan. “He’s my boyfriend,” Lan Zhan explains, trying not to laugh. His mother doesn’t even try to hold her laughter back.

“Why is he so weird?” Xiwang asks, and Lan Zhan can’t help his snort.

“I don’t know. He just is.”

“Noo!” Wei Ying wails, falling back to “die” on the floor. “No, my lady, my heart is broken!”

Xiwang strolls around his wailing and climbs on the couch beside Lan Zhan. “Nai-nai said you got hurt.”

“I did, but I’m better now. Wei Ying and Nai-nai are taking good care of me.”

She turns to give Wei Ying a pitying look. “Is he okay?”

Wei Ying gives up the histrionics to join them on the couch, his bottom lip pooched out. “That depends,” Wei Ying says, pouting with all his being.

“On what?”

“On if the pretty meimei will be my friend.”

Xiwang sighs with a heaviness far beyond her years and turns back to Lan Zhan. “I can stay and take care of you.” Her tone implies that she will be much better at it than this madman.

“That is very kind of you,” Lan Zhan says solemnly. “Perhaps you could entertain Wei Ying for a while?”

She nods just as solemnly and slides off the couch. “Come on, Wei-gege, let’s play so that Shufu can rest.”

Thank you, Wei Ying mouths to Lan Zhan, then trots after her, his ponytail bouncing along with her pigtails.

The day after Wei Ying and Xiwang’s playdate, Mrs. Cang brings over lunch, which they eat in the living room because A. Wei Ying’s equipment is still on the dining table and B. Wei Ying insists that Lan Zhan must only sit in chairs with adequate cushioning, and Lan Zhan’s perfectly serviceable dining chairs do not meet Wei Ying’s strict cushion standards. With Wei Ying and his mother for entertainment, along with Lan Zhan’s mother, this lunch actually feels like a social occasion rather than pity for the poor invalid.

It gets even more interesting when Shufu stops by.

A-Niang answers the door, so Shufu is already frowning when he comes into the living room—he prefers to pretend she doesn’t exist, which was especially awkward when he visited Lan Zhan’s tiny hospital room. But when he sees Mrs. Cang, he stops dead. He’s so still that he might have stopped breathing.

“Ah, Lan Qiren” A-Niang says, her eyes sparkling. “I believe you are already acquainted with Mrs. Cang, yes?”

Shufu just stands there, one arm tucked behind his back, the other arm cradling a stack of folders—Shufu’s idea of a get-well gift, not that Lan Zhan is complaining.

“Lan Qiren!” Mrs. Cang calls, springing up from her chair. “So good to see you! How long has it been?”

Shufu actually steps back, as if Wei Ying’s mother is some kind of beast about to pounce. “I . . . hello.”

“How funny is it that my son is dating your nephew?” Mrs. Cang continues. “We’re practically family now!”

“Your son?” Shufu whispers. His eyes move to Wei Ying, and Lan Zhan can almost see his uncle’s brain melt.

Wei Ying’s knee nudges Lan Zhan’s, and when Lan Zhan tears himself away from the spectacle to look at him, Wei Ying mouths, What is going on? Lan Zhan has no idea, so he shakes his head and goes back to spectating.

By this point, Mrs. Cang has captured Shufu’s arm and is tugging him to the empty chair. “Come and join us! I brought over a little lunch. I seem to remember you’re not too fond of spicy food, but I made some nice soup for Lan Zhan that isn’t too spicy.”

Shufu drops into the chair she pushed him into like a mannequin who has just learned to bend and sits perfectly straight, his back not even touching the chair. “I cannot stay,” Shufu says. “I only came to give these to Lan Zhan.” He sets the files on the coffee table, and Mrs. Cang swiftly replaces them with a bowl of soup. Shufu looks down at the bowl in his hands like it might contain live alligators.

“The soup is good,” Lan Zhan assures him, both mystified and amused.

“Thanks, Lan Zhan,” Mrs. Cang says, “but your uncle has reason to fear my cooking. One time I—”

Before she can finish the story, Shufu abruptly stands up. “I must go,” he says, but he seems stymied by the bowl in his hands. After looking around the room, he finally deposits the bowl on top of the files. “Excuse me.”

Lan Zhan dares to walk across his own apartment unaided to escort his uncle to the door.

As he’s leaving, Shufu turns back, and Lan Zhan notices that Shufu’s ears are bright red. “Lan Zhan, I hope you are feeling better.”

And then he’s gone.

Even more confused, Lan Zhan returns to the couch and his sexy vampire nurse, who for once, is too distracted to fuss at him. “Okay, what was that?” Wei Ying asks his mother.

“Whatever do you mean?” Mrs. Cang asks with an innocence so feigned it begs to be questioned.

Before Wei Ying can do so, A-Niang pipes up: “Well, Qiren always had a bit of a crush on her.”

“Yinghuo,” Mrs. Cang scolds, but she’s clearly delighted.

“It’s true!” A-Niang says. “I guess the old man is still smitten. Did you see how red his ears were?”

Laughing, Wei Ying tugs at Lan Zhan’s ear. “I did! Guess it’s genetic.”

Lan Zhan swats his hand away. “You and Shufu . . .?”

“Oh no,” Mrs. Cang says, waving the question away with her spoon. “No offense, but your uncle and I would have been a terrible match. Besides, I was already with Changze when I met Qiren.”

“I can’t believe it,” Wei Ying says. “Mom, you were such a ho!”

She aims a kick at his leg, but he draws his leg back before it lands. “How dare you! My own son! I never flirted with Qiren. Maybe I teased him a bit, but that man needed teasing. So sour all the time!”

Lan Zhan doesn’t need to look at Wei Ying to feel the look Wei Ying is sending him. He’s sure to hear all about the potential similarities between him and his uncle after their mothers leave.

“Is that why you shaved off his beard?” A-Niang asks

Mrs. Cang barks a laugh. “I’d forgotten about that!”

“I’m sure Qiren never did!”

The two women collapse with laughter that makes them sound like the girls they once were. Girls who tormented Shufu, apparently. Not that A-Niang ever stopped.

When they’ve recovered, Wei Ying says, “Well, Mom, you’re single now. You want me to get his digits for you?”

“You’re not funny,” Mrs. Cang says. She devotes an intense attention to her soup bowl that doesn’t look at all suspicious.

“Qiren never married,” A-Niang says, also poking around in her bowl like she’s just making idle conversation. “I always suspected that was because he devoted himself to my boys after their father died. He’s a good man for all his . . . foibles.”

“Or maybe he was just pining after my moth—” Wei Ying begins, but this time, Mrs. Cang lands her kick.

“Ow!” Wei Ying yelps, rubbing his shin. “Learn to take a joke, lady!”

“How many times have I told you that you aren’t funny!” Mrs. Cang shouts.

Lan Zhan slaps a hand over Wei Ying’s mouth before he can incite more violence. “He really isn’t.”

“See?” Mrs. Cang wags her spoon at a sputtering Wei Ying. “Listen to your boyfriend.”

Wei Ying licks Lan Zhan’s hand. Lan Zhan rubs his spit-slicked hand over Wei Ying’s face. Wei Ying wipes off the spit and says, “Whatever. I bet Mrs. Jiu thinks I’m funny.” He aims his ridiculously big eyes at A-Niang.

“Of course you are, sweetie. Zhanzhan, stop bullying the poor boy.”

Lan Zhan sighs and goes back to eating. Since he can’t run away, soup is his only escape from these ridiculous people.

Despite how perfectly fine Lan Zhan is, his mother and brother insist that he stay away from work, so Lan Zhan continues to convalesce with his new house vampire. Only a few months ago, such an idea would have seemed like torture, but it’s really kind of . . . great? He’s not actually under house arrest, even if it may feel that way at times, so during Wei Ying’s “breaks,” they wander around, visiting restaurants and shops that Lan Zhan has lived near for years but never entered. Wei Ying turns out to be a decent cook despite his addictions to spice and blood. They watch a lot of terrible TV and play video games on the Xbox Wei Ying brings from his apartment. Lan Zhan has never been so idle. Despite the guilt from being so useless, he has to admit that their “stay-cation,” as Wei Ying calls it, is a lot of fun. He is actually capable of relaxing. Who knew?

In between these blissfully banal moments, they talk about the darker things lingering past the light of the apartment. Wei Ying tells him about the memory Wen Chao returned to him, the fear and pain of that night, the horrible days that followed his transformation. Lan Zhan already knew that Wei Ying was special, that he was brave and selfless and remarkably clever, but hearing about the confusion, the horror of battling a body that turned against him overnight, is more heartbreaking than he could have imagined. For Wei Ying to not only struggle past his terror to find a new way to live seems impossible, and he did it without succumbing to his new hunger, without losing the joyous light that Lan Zhan so dearly loves.

Nothing Lan Zhan ever experienced could compare, but he tells Wei Ying about Wen Ruohan killing his father—what he has been told and what he actually remembers, which is only a child’s confused fear.

One night, at Wei Ying’s gentle prodding, he tells Wei Ying about growing up fae, about hiding his eyes and his abilities at school, about bearing the scrutiny and suspicion of the other cultivators when he began training. Before Wei Ying, he’d never spoken about that, not even with his mother or brother. He never wanted them to know his shame or his anger at being forced to hide that part of him, that part of them.

“That sounds lonely,” Wei Ying says softly, curled into his side in the darkness of the bedroom.

Lan Zhan turns to him, startled. He has never thought of it in those terms. If anything, back then he felt guilty for causing so much turmoil. At times, he even wished to be “normal.” But he was lonely. That is the perfect word for the ache he felt. It is so painful to sheer off parts of oneself, to keep things—the best things—in the dark. He never understood that until he met Wei Ying. Wei Ying helped him drag those hidden pieces into the light. Here, with Wei Ying, he feels seen in a way he never has, not even by his mother and brother. Only with Wei Ying does he feel fully himself. The person he’s become since he met Wei Ying is not just happy—he’s complete.

“It was,” Lan Zhan croaks. “I was lonely.”

Wei Ying wiggles closer and lays his hand over Lan Zhan’s heart. “And now?”

Lan Zhan covers Wei Ying’s hand and presses it down, wanting Wei Ying to feel how his heart races, how viciously it beats for Wei Ying. “Not anymore.”

Wei Ying’s smile is so beautiful, so bright, that Lan Zhan’s chest aches with it. This is a good ache, like the pain of waking a numb limb—a temporary pain that leads to life.

“Good.” Wei Ying wraps around him, and Lan Zhan holds him tight. He wants to hold Wei Ying until his arms forget they were ever empty.

After tasting what life with Wei Ying is like, Lan Zhan, who has never lived with a lover—who’s never kept a lover longer than a few weeks—suddenly has visions of domesticity, of forever. The idea is as terrifying as it is appealing. The problem is that their living situation was meant to be temporary. Because of the bombing, their “sleepover” has become much more—it’s become something Lan Zhan can’t imagine living without. They haven’t spoken of it, and Lan Zhan has no idea how to approach the subject. It’d be easy to leave things alone and let events unfurl as they may, but that is just cowardice. If he wants to keep Wei Ying, then he needs to put his fears aside and say so.

That is a simple decision to make, but much harder to enact.

The night before his release from perdition, Lan Zhan finally makes his move. He goes to where Wei Ying is sprawled on the couch, sketching on his tablet. Talisman designs, most likely. The talismans Wei Ying and Mrs. Cang are creating are unbelievably brilliant. Turns out, Wei Ying is not only some kind of technological genius but also an amazing artist. This all matters a great deal to Lan Zhan. Usually. But right now, he has a mission to complete, so he plucks the tablet out of Wei Ying’s hands and drops it on the coffee table.

“Um, excuse you?” Wei Ying tosses the stylus on the table as Lan Zhan crawls on top of him. “You need to use your words, you caveman.”

Lan Zhan ignores this since Wei Ying is already smiling and wrapping his arms around Lan Zhan’s back. When he’s comfortably settled on top of Wei Ying, he kisses him once, just to make sure he has Wei Ying’s attention.

“I want you to stay,” Lan Zhan says, making what is probably very intense eye contact.

“Oookay, I was planning to?” Wei Ying waves his hand in a gesture probably meant to indicate the pajama bottoms he’s wearing. The pajamas are black with little white skulls wearing pink bows. Lan Zhan loves them more than he probably should. Wei Ying is also wearing one of Lan Zhan’s t-shirts, which Lan Zhan loves even more.

“For good. I want you to move in with me.”

“Oh.”

It’s adorable when Wei Ying gets shy and flustered, and Lan Zhan has never seen him more bashful than he is right now. Lan Zhan wants to kiss every inch of his pretty little face, but Wei Ying hasn’t actually agreed yet. That’s fair—it wasn’t the most eloquent phrasing, certainly not the most romantic.

“I like living with you,” Lan Zhan says. He has no idea how to make his face do anything other than what Jingyi refers to as “resting murder face,” but he tries to widen his eyes. He probably just looks silly because Wei Ying’s eyebrows climb up his forehead.

“I care about you,” Lan Zhan continues. He is so terrible at this, but desperation is freeing the words usually caged in his chest. “I care deeply. For you. You are. Important to me. I want to be with you. I want us to be together. I want—”

“Nooo,” Wei Ying moans, clamping a hand over Lan Zhan’s face. “Baby, you don’t have to convince me! If you haven’t noticed, I basically live here already!”

“Oh. Good.”

“You are so cute!” Wei Ying squishes his cheeks, which is a bit demeaning, but Lan Zhan doesn’t complain. “That was really hard for you, wasn’t it?”

“Yes,” Lan Zhan groans. Wei Ying kindly lets Lan Zhan bury his face in his neck.

“Well, that was very brave, and I’m very proud of you. And I like you, too. Very much. Very, very much.” Wei Ying snorts as he strokes Lan Zhan’s hair. “Wow, that was terrible, wasn’t it? I’m not very good at this part, either.”

“You are good at all the other parts.”

Wei Ying’s laugh makes Lan Zhan bounce around on top of him, but he just holds on tighter.

“Good to know. I was actually going to suggest that you move in with me, though.”

“Mn?”

“Yeah. My place has two bedrooms. I use one of them as my office. Unless you just like having all my junk on your kitchen table?”

“I like your junk,” Lan Zhan says, and endures another round of bouncing for his terrible pun. He makes bad puns now. He’s only a little ashamed of that. “But yes, a second bedroom would be useful.”

“Let’s go look at it tomorrow, see what you think.”

“Mn.” Now that that’s settled, Lan Zhan is much more interested in nuzzling Wei Ying’s neck than talking about real estate.

“Are you falling asleep on me again?”

The idea is tempting, but he has much sluttier plans. Lan Zhan presses soft kisses along Wei Ying’s neck until he reaches Wei Ying’s ear, where he nips gently. “No.”

Wei Ying shivers and strokes his back. “Oh, I see. You think you’re up for it?”

Lan Zhan rolls his hips in answer. He is very much up for it. He has been up for it.

Moaning, Wei Ying twists to kiss him. Lan Zhan expected more protests about his feeble body, but Wei Ying must be just as frustrated as he is. The kiss is wet and hungry, and Wei Ying’s thighs grip his hips, rocking them together.

“Let’s go to bed, baby,” Wei Ying whispers against his mouth. “I don’t want to wreck your nice couch.”

Lan Zhan moans his agreement, but stopping this delicious grind to head to the bedroom isn’t easy. He finally manages to tear himself away, and Wei Ying crowds against him, herding him into the bedroom, where Wei Ying orders him on the bed and starts undressing him.

“This reminds me of the first time I got to undress you,” Wei Ying says as he’s stripping off Lan Zhan’s sweatpants. “Except this time, you’re not white as the sheets from blood loss. Or mumbling and drooling.”

Lan Zhan probably doesn’t want to know, but he can’t help asking: “What did I say?”

Giggling, Wei Ying tosses the sweatpants aside. “I didn’t understand most of it, but you did say that I was pretty. Several times.”

Lan Zhan groans and covers his face, but Wei Ying pulls his hands away to take off his shirt.

“If it makes you feel any better, you also said I was silly. And mean.”

“Mean?” That one is actually surprising.

Wei Ying laughs as he strips out of his own clothes. Watching him do that at vampire speed is pretty impressive. “Because you wanted a goodnight kiss, but I wouldn’t do it.”

Lan Zhan’s ears are so hot his pillowcase might catch fire. “That was mean.”

“I know, baby.” Wei Ying crawls on top of him and smiles. “Trust me, I wanted to! But I promise I’ll always kiss you goodnight from now on.”

Damn it, Wei Ying is good at this part, too. Lan Zhan might not be able to say such sweet things, but he is good at kissing. Hopefully. Wei Ying certainly doesn’t complain when Lan Zhan drags him down and bites at his lips.

Wei Ying carefully settles on top of him and rocks slowly, sliding his cock along Lan Zhan’s stomach. “Just like this tonight, okay? I don’t want to put you back in the hospital.”

Lan Zhan would protest that there are many things they could do that wouldn’t threaten his knitted bones, but it feels so good like this, so warm and surprisingly intense. When Wei Ying grabs the lube from the nightstand and slicks them up, then wraps his pretty fingers around both their cocks, Lan Zhan can do nothing but submit with a groan. Gentle and tender have never been his strengths, in bed or elsewhere, but being treated so carefully, so lovingly, is better than he ever could have imagined.

He comes shockingly fast, so quickly he’d be embarrassed under normal circumstances, but Wei Ying croons and praises, gazing down at him with eyes so warm and eager. Then he’s free to watch as Wei Ying strokes himself and comes on Lan Zhan’s chest.

He must doze off because the next thing he knows, Wei Ying is wiping come from his chest with a washcloth. Another blink, and Wei Ying is tucking him under the covers and curling in beside him.

Lan Zhan somehow summons the energy to slur, “Don’t forget the kiss.”

Wei Ying rumbles a laugh and kisses his forehead. “Go to sleep, you big nerd.”

“Mean,” Lan Zhan mumbles, and he’s asleep before Wei Ying can protest.

Chapter Text

“I’m going to be late,” Lan Zhan complains as Wei Ying fusses with his collar and smooths down his already smooth shirt.

Wei Ying ignores his complaints. “Don’t overdo it, okay? Remember to take breaks. Sitting at a desk is going to make your ribs ache, so you need to get up and walk around at least twice an hour. And no gymnastics! You keep your butt in a chair!”

“Those are contradictory instructions.”

“You’re contradictory,” Wei Ying mutters, which makes no sense, but Lan Huan is already waiting downstairs, so Lan Zhan gives his live-in boyfriend one last kiss and pries the claws off his shirt.

Wei Ying follows him into the elevator, still issuing nonsensical orders, and even trails him out onto the sidewalk even though he’s still wearing pajamas.

Somehow, Lan Zhan wrests himself away from Wei Ying’s clinging hands and sorrowful eyes and throws himself into Lan Huan’s passenger seat.

Lan Huan leans across him to wave at Wei Ying. “Don’t worry: we’ll take good care of him!”

Lan Zhan rolls his eyes as his brother and his boyfriend bellow about him like he isn’t even there, but finally, Lan Huan pulls away from the curb.

“Thank you for picking me up,” Lan Zhan says, even though he would’ve been just fine on the train.

“You’re welcome. You know, if you need more time—”

“I’m fine,” Lan Zhan huffs. “I was fine days ago.”

“Lan Zhan, you were buried alive!”

“It wasn’t that bad.” Lan Zhan purposefully does not look at whatever expression his brother is sure to have about that.

“Well,” Lan Huan says, “It is good to have you back. Things have been . . . tense.”

“What is the council saying about the bombing?” He has asked this question many times, only to be waved off by his brother and his mother. Even Shufu has been cagey about it.

Lan Huan grimaces. “There was quite a bit of yelling, but little discussion worth repeating.”

“And Jin Guangshan?”

“A-Yao dissuaded me from accusing him outright.”

“Why?”

Lan Huan sighs and doesn’t speak as he guides them onto the parkway ramp and slides the silver SUV into place among the stampede. The Nie sect’s offices are on the other side of the city, and Lan Zhan feels the distance growing between him and Wei Ying. What if something happens to Wei Ying? What if the Wens set a bomb in Lan Zhan’s apartment building? Yes, Lan Zhan keeps the wards strong, but the wards didn’t stop that Jin weasel from blowing up their offices. It would be the work of minutes to plant a bomb in the basement of his building.

“A-Yao pointed out, and I concur, that Jin Guangshan would be prepared to refute our accusations,” Lan Huan says.

Lan Zhan shakes off his worries and focuses on the discussion. He can’t keep Wei Ying at his side at all times, unfortunately, but Wei Ying knows to be watchful.  

“And we have no evidence,” Lan Huan continues.

“Does Meng Yao have any suggestions for how we might acquire evidence?” Lan Zhan asks.

Lan Huan smiles. “He’s working on it.”

Good. If there is anything Meng Yao is good at, it’s ferreting out information—and antagonizing his estranged father.

“What else are we doing?” Lan Zhan asks.

Unlike Lan Zhan—and apparently his uncle—Lan Huan’s complexion never betrays his discomfort. No, Lan Huan does not blush; he deploys the perfect smile, no matter the situation. But when Lan Huan frowns and chokes the steering wheel, Lan Zhan knows to expect the worst.

“I proposed a meeting with the Wen clan.”

Worst does not cover this folly. “What?”

“And I would like Wei Ying to attend.”

“Ge!”

“Lan Zhan—”

“Why?”

Lan Huan sighs and keeps his eyes trained on the road. “The violence must not continue to escalate. Meeting with Wen Ruohan is—”

“You wish to make peace?” Lan Zhan stares at his brother’s profile in horror.

“Yes, I’m afraid we must.” Lan Huan says, and for the first time in his life, Lan Zhan despises the affable patience in his brother’s voice. “Lan Zhan, it is our duty to protect the people of this city. If we allow this dispute to continue—”

“Dispute? Ge, they blew up our building! If we hadn’t been warned, everyone there could have died!”

“Which is exactly why we must seek peace.”

“And what about what happened to Wei Ying? Have you forgotten that Wen Chao turned him? That Wen Chao tried to kill both of us?”

“You put a sword through Wen Chao’s head,” Lan Huan says. “Let that be the end of it.”

Lan Zhan twists away to stare out of the passenger window, his hands gripping his thighs. He’s shaking with adrenaline, boiling with anger so hot that his skin stings. Let that be the end of it. Just sweep it all under the rug, just like when Wen Ruohan killed their father. The Wens take whatever they want and destroy whomever they want, but the council just wags their fingers and lets them wreak havoc.

“Have you mentioned this to A-Niang?” Lan Zhan asks, his voice trembling.

Lan Huan sighs. “I have.”

“And?”

Lan Huan doesn’t answer. That is answer in itself. Lan Zhan stares through the window and sees nothing.

In a small voice that sounds little like his brother, Lan Huan finally says, “She said she was disappointed.”

Lan Zhan winces like that was aimed at him. Despite his horror at his brother’s meek surrender, he could never wish such pain on him. He drags in a deep breath and says, “I can accept your decision. But Wei Ying will not attend.”

“You would decide that for him?”

Lan Zhan whips his head around to face his brother, any sympathy burning to ashes. “Wei Ying does not know the council like I do. He would go because he is brave and wishes to help, but I will not let him watch as the powers meant to protect him concede to the monsters who stole his life. I will not lead him into that lion’s den where he will be treated like a thing. He doesn’t deserve that. Neither do we, for that matter.”

“Didi—” Lan Huan turns to him, taking his eyes off the road as he never does. “Is that what you think?”

“It is what I know. Wei Ying will not be part of your surrender.”

Lan Huan drags in a shaky breath, but Lan Zhan refuses to apologize. A-Niang was too kind. She should have told Lan Huan that he was a coward.

“You’re just like her,” Lan Huan says.

“And you are not enough like her.”

They do not speak for the rest of the journey.

Lan Zhan’s anger is still simmering when they reach the Nies’ building.

“I’ll be in Mingjue’s office,” Lan Huan says as they exit the elevator. He leaves Lan Zhan at the reception desk without another word.

The receptionist trots around the desk. “Lan Zhan, right? You’re this way.”

She leads him down the hallway and gives a perfunctory knock on one of the office doors before swinging it open. When Lan Zhan sees who’s inside, he decides he’s never going to forgive his brother, not in this life or the next.

“Hey,” Nie Huaisang says. His feet are propped on his desk, and he’s scrolling on his phone. “Make yourself comfy. They brought in a desk for you.” He gestures vaguely at the small desk crammed into a corner, never taking his eyes from the phone.

“Sucks about your building,” Nie Huaisang says as Lan Zhan attempts to fold into the tiny desk chair. “Were you really in there when it blew up?”

“Yes.”

Ten seconds in this chair, and his back already aches. Damn Wei Ying for being right. Lan Zhan checks his phone, and as he expected, Wei Ying has already texted. Three times, actually.

Have a great day! 💕

Don’t work too hard! 🦸‍♂️

Play nice with the other kids! 😘

Lan Zhan stares down at the messages, his pulse throbbing in his temples. How can he tell Wei Ying that it was all for nothing, that nothing will get better? That as far as the council is concerned, Wei Ying’s loss means nothing?

He pushes back from the desk and shoves his phone in his pocket. “I need to run an errand,” he announces as he strides towards the door.

“Okay,” Nie Huaisang says, still scrolling. “Hey, if you go by a coffee shop—”

Lan Zhan slams the door before Nie Huaisang can finish.

From the backseat of his Uber, Lan Zhan sends Wei Ying a gif of a mustached man tossing a computer in a dumpster, to which Wei Ying replies with laughing emojis. Hopefully, that will earn Wei Ying’s forgiveness when Lan Zhan tells him about this errand. Why he isn’t bringing Wei Ying along, he isn’t sure.

No, he knows. He’s angry, and he wants to be angry. He deserves to be angry. Wei Ying would try to soothe him, and he doesn’t want to be soothed just now. Right now, he wants to be pissed.

Still, he concentrates on deep, calming breaths as the Uber takes him to his destination. He doesn’t need to unleash his anger on the woman who saved his life. From her, he just wants answers.

When he reaches Dafan Apothecary, the door is locked. The interior of the shop is dark. He pounds on the door anyway, reasoning that the shop was dark the first time he visited, and vampire vision being what it is, Wen Qing may simply be saving money on electricity.

He pounds several times before the door opens. Wen Qing’s rose-red eyes peek out. “Oh,” she sighs, visibly relaxing, which is not a reaction he often gets from vampires.

She waves him inside and locks the door behind him, then leads him through the beaded curtain to the back room. There waits a tall man, pale even for a vampire. His eyes are the same rose-red as Wen Qing’s.

“This is my brother, Wen Ning,” Wen Qing says. “A-Ning, this is the man I told you about. Lan Zhan.”

“Oh, Hanguang Jun!” Wen Ning bows awkwardly. “I’m so sorry about what happened!”

Lan Zhan heaves in a breath and reminds himself that these people—or at least Wen Qing—saved many lives, including his own. “Thank you. For the warning.”

“Was anyone . . .” Wen Ning asks, twisting his large hands. “. . . hurt?”

“Nothing serious. The warning came in time.” Lan Zhan turns to Wen Qing. “I wanted to ask: when we met, you said you were not affiliated with Wen Ruohan. How did you know about the bomb?”

Wen Qing looks at her brother. “A-Ning is a member of Wen Ruohan’s clan. Not by choice!”

Lan Zhan nods. Perhaps he is growing too trusting, but Wen Ning looks harmless despite his size. It’s probably his enormous eyes, surpassing even Wei Ying’s in their guilelessness. Either way, Wen Ning was not among those at the theater that night. That is enough for the moment.

“He is not treated well there,” Wen Qing continues, petting her brother’s arm. “But he overheard some of the others discussing the bomb. He told me, I called you.” She shrugs to signal the end of the story.

“Is Wen Chao dead?”

Wen Ning blinks at this non-sequitur, then nods. “He survived the—the sword, but . . .” He looks to his sister, and she nods encouragement. “But he could not feed. So . . . so Wen Ruohan, he . . .”

Lan Zhan frowns, shocked despite himself. “They killed him?”

Wen Ning nods. “They said it was better than, than if he . . .”

He doesn’t finish the thought, but Lan Zhan doesn’t need an explanation. Perhaps it was mercy. Perhaps it was cold economy. Either way, Wen Ruohan’s second son is dead, and his vengeance was thwarted. That does not bode well for Lan Huan’s peace efforts.

“Do you know anything else about his plans?” Lan Zhan asks.

Wen Ning shakes his head, his eyes on the floor. “I’ve been staying here with Jiejie.”

Wen Qing pats him and looks at Lan Zhan, her eyes wide with fear. Lan Zhan thinks of the locked door, her apprehension when she opened it. “Are you safe?” he asks.

“None of us are safe,” Wen Qing says. “But we’ll manage.”

Lan Zhan inclines his head. There may be no more help coming from her or her brother, but he can’t blame them. They must have risked a great deal in warning him.

They leave Wen Ning in the back as Wen Qing escorts him to the exit. “Where’s Wei Ying?” she asks as she unlocks the door. “Did he lose the amulet already?”

He almost smiles. “No, he is at home. Coming here was a last-minute decision.”

“Ah.” She steps back to let him pass.

He pauses in the doorway. “It was Wen Chao who turned him. He admitted it. Wei Ying tried to stop him from attacking someone, and Wen Chao wanted to punish him.”

She studies him for a long moment, no doubt divining a number of things with her spooky abilities. “And you drove a sword through his head.”

“I did.”

The corner of her mouth quirks. “About time someone did.” As she gently pushes him out of the shop, she says, “Bring Wei Ying next time. A-Ning would like to meet him.”

“I will. Be well.” He nods once more and goes, feeling strangely better.

That good feeling doesn’t last long once he returns to the office he’s sharing with Nie Huaisang, and after a full day of catching up on paperwork, he wishes he’d taken another week off.

Nie Huaisang stands up and puts on his coat a full hour before the office is meant to close. Since Nie Huaisang didn’t appear to do any actual work today, his irresponsibility is hardly a surprise. What is surprising is that only a few minutes after Nie Huaisang leaves, Lan Zhan shuts down his borrowed laptop and orders an Uber.

Maybe he is going through a rebellious stage. He contemplates that on the ride home and is strangely unworried. He’ll tell his mother he took off work early. She’ll be delighted.

On the way home, he texts Lan Huan that he won’t need a ride, then Wei Ying to say that he’ll arrive early. The first text gets no reply. The second yields several enthusiastic responses.

Thanks to his spooky vampire senses, Wei Ying is waiting in the doorway when Lan Zhan steps off the elevator.

“Naughty boy,” Wei Ying purrs, draping himself along the doorway in an elaborately seductive manner made hilarious by his graying sweatpants and wrinkled t-shirt. Still sexy, though.

“What’s gotten into you, sneaking out of work early?”

“My reports were finished,” Lan Zhan says, pretending not to notice the flirting.

Wei Ying latches on to his lapels and pulls him, gently but irrevocably, into the apartment. “I think you just missed me.”

“I did.”

Abusing Wei Ying is a joy, but Lan Zhan is discovering that saying sweet things is much more likely to fluster him. Just those two words transform Wei Ying’s hokey seduction into a bashfulness that looks almost painful. Maybe there is actual pain since Wei Ying groans and buries his face against Lan Zhan’s chest.

“I missed you,” Lan Zhan murmurs into Wei Ying’s hair. “I’m glad you’re here.”

“Lan Zhan!” Wei Ying wails, clinging tight and nuzzling like he can burrow into Lan Zhan’s chest. “You’re supposed to be too frosty to say stuff like that!”

“Frosty?”

Wei Ying nods against his chest. “You’re my pretty ice queen.”

Lan Zhan rolls his eyes and walks them through the foyer to push Wei Ying against the wall. “You’re the one who’s room temperature.”

“Good thing my pretty ice queen runs hot,” Wei Ying says with a truly shameful leer. He pushes off Lan Zhan’s coat and starts on his shirt buttons. Lan Zhan slides his hands beneath the fraying waist of Wei Ying’s sweatpants to grope his ass. Room temperature or not, it’s a perfect ass. Maybe someday he’ll work up the courage to tell Wei Ying how perfect his ass is. Probably unnecessary given his attention to said ass and Wei Ying’s fumbling telepathy, but it would be fun to watch Wei Ying blush.

For now, he’s happy to accept the welcome-home kiss Wei Ying gives him. Wei Ying tastes like the peppermint gum he chews to counter his cravings. He didn’t feed last night, or the night before, so he’ll need to go out tonight.

Or . . .

Lan Zhan breaks away and pulls Wei Ying to the bedroom—with a brief detour to grab a towel from the bathroom.

“Ohh, that’s intriguing,” Wei Ying purrs as Lan Zhan moves the comforter out of the way and spreads the towel over the sheet. “What’s the plan, Lan-laoshi?”

Lan Zhan steps out of his shoes and waits to speak until Wei Ying is awkwardly posed on one foot to tug off his sweatpants. “You’re going to drink from me.”

Wei Ying doesn’t fall over, but he does stagger and hop around on one leg a few times. Once he’s managed to kick the sweatpants off, Wei Ying slowly stands up straight. The crimson gleam in his eyes makes Lan Zhan shiver.

“I don’t know, Lan Zhan.” Wei Ying’s voice is choked, and he watches with predator stillness as Lan Zhan sheds the rest of his clothes. “Why don’t we wait a bit? I’m not sure I—”

“I trust you.” Lan Zhan lays down on the towel and arches his head back, hoping it looks at least a little sensual. He feels like a fool.

“Fuck,” Wei Ying hisses, fangs flashing, so Lan Zhan might have pulled off sexy submission. Wei Ying stumbles towards the bed like he’s hypnotized and crawls up Lan Zhan’s body to straddle his hips. “You are a bad boy today.”

“Shut up and do it.”

Lan Zhan stretches his head to the side. Wei Ying’s amulet dangles against his chest, colder than its bearer, but Wei Ying’s lips are almost warm against his neck.

“Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying purrs, pressing little kisses along his throat. “You promised you wouldn’t be so slutty about it.”

“I’m doing my best.”

That makes Wei Ying laugh, and Lan Zhan shivers at the air teasing his skin.

“Hmm, I think we’d better start off slow, don’t you?”

Infuriatingly, Wei Ying stops kissing and sits up. Then Wei Ying raises a hand and spreads his fingers. His claws extend, and Lan Zhan forgets to be mad.

“Okay?” Wei Ying asks.

“Yes,” Lan Zhan replies in a very slutty gasp.

With a monstrous little grin, Wei Ying slowly skims the backs of his knuckles up Lan Zhan’s torso. The hand pauses over Lan Zhan’s heart, then heads back down, claws barely touching Lan Zhan’s skin. The sting is so slight that the claws couldn’t have pierced him, but Wei Ying moans and bends down. So slowly, he licks along the path he just traced. When he raises his head, his tongue is ribboned with blood.

“Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying groans, and dives down again. This time, his tongue digs deeper, stabbing into one of the cuts, and Lan Zhan bows off the bed, the pain sudden and shocking. And delicious. His moan is much too decadent for a Monday afternoon, but Wei Ying is rolling on top of him, his tongue and lips making a mess of Lan Zhan’s chest, and Lan Zhan can’t help moaning for more.

Wei Ying indulges in him until Lan Zhan is trembling. When he lifts his head, his lips and chin are smeared with blood. “Lan Zhan.”

“Don’t stop.”

Groaning, Wei Ying grips Lan Zhan’s chin and stares down at him, his eyes scorched red. “Shh, Lan Zhan, I want to fuck you.”

“Yes,” Lan Zhan hisses. He clutches Wei Ying’s back, dragging him down and smearing the blood between them.

“Fuck, baby.” Wei Ying licks across Lan Zhan’s chin and kisses his forehead. “I’m gonna make you feel so good, you just wait.”

Wei Ying slithers out of Lan Zhan’s arms before Lan Zhan can stop him, but he’s back with vampire speed, uncapping the lube and slicking his fingers. The claws are gone, and Lan Zhan knows he shouldn’t be sad about that. He should be proud of Wei Ying’s control. But right now, he doesn’t need to be rational. Right now, all he needs to do is spread his legs.

“Good boy,” Wei Ying croons. He slides down between Lan Zhan’s legs and kisses his knee. “Look how pretty you are.”

The first brush of slick fingers against his hole makes every muscle twitch. “Ooh, sensitive, huh?” Wei Ying says, rubbing slick in light circles. “My big bad vampire hunter must not do this very often.”

“Shut up.”

“Yeah, I bet most guys look at you and think you’re too big and bad to get fucked. But I bet you like it, don’t you?”

That is surprisingly astute, but Lan Zhan doesn’t have to admit it. “I’d like it if you stopped talking and got on with it.”

“So impatient.” Wei Ying clicks his tongue and shifts to lick a stripe along Lan Zhan’s chest. This time, his fangs split Lan Zhan’s skin. Two fingers twist into Lan Zhan’s ass as Wei Ying sucks hard, taking the blood he just shed.

Lan Zhan yelps, surging off the bed, caught between the instinctive urge to fight and the shocking pleasure of becoming prey.

Wei Ying stops Lan Zhan’s thrashing with his thighs and an arm across his chest. “You don’t need to fight, baby,” Wei Ying murmurs as he laps the blood from Lan Zhan’s chest and twists his fingers deep inside. “I’ve got you. Just relax.”

For some reason, this makes tears burn in Lan Zhan’s eyes, but he holds them behind his eyelids. Just relax. Just surrender. Everything in him fights against the idea, but this is Wei Ying. Wei Ying won’t hurt him—not more than Lan Zhan wants, anyway. More importantly, Wei Ying won’t mind taking care of him, taking charge. Wei Ying wants him to let go, to just . . . be.

“Wei Ying.” The words come out as a whimper, but Wei Ying doesn’t laugh. Wei Ying whispers back to him, saying his name, telling him how beautiful he is, how perfect. Without even meaning to, Lan Zhan sinks into the mattress and spreads his legs wider.

“God, baby, look at you.” Wei Ying strokes three fingers inside him, pressing perfectly against his prostate. Lan Zhan doesn’t open his eyes, but he can feel Wei Ying watching him, maybe even reading his mind. Not that he needs to with how Lan Zhan writhes and clings.

The fingers withdraw, and Lan Zhan snarls his displeasure, but in a moment, Wei Ying is back, hitching one of Lan Zhan’s legs over his hip and pressing his cock against Lan Zhan’s hole.

“Look at me, Lan Zhan.”

The tears are gone, but Lan Zhan still doesn’t want to look. Everything already feels so much. If he looks, he’ll lose the one speck of control Wei Ying has left him.

“Lan Zhan.”

It’s the fierce note in Wei Ying’s eyes that make his eyes flutter open. But Wei Ying smiles sweetly when their eyes meet. “Thank you, baby.”

Wei Ying presses inside, and Lan Zhan’s eyes roll back. If Wei Ying wants more eye contact, he’s out of luck.

“Oh god, Lan Zhan.” Wei Ying pauses inside him, still as a corpse. Lan Zhan grunts unhappily and tries to rock his hips, but Wei Ying holds him exactly where he wants him.

“Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan hisses, digging his blunt nails into Wei Ying’s back. The stretch inside of him aches beautifully, a deeper note to the sharp fire of the claw marks on his chest. But he needs Wei Ying to move, to bring the feeling into sweet harmony.

“Ah fuck, don’t be all sexy and mean to me right now,” Wei Ying gasps. “You’re so fucking tight, baby. So fucking hot.”

“Move,” Lan Zhan growls, and Wei Ying whines but withdraws—barely—and pushes back inside.

Lan Zhan twists his fingers in Wei Ying’s hair and drags him down for a kiss.

“No!” Wei Ying yelps, pulling back so far he nearly slips out. “Lan Zhan, there’s blood all over my mouth. Your blood!”

Lan Zhan rolls his eyes. Yes, he had forgotten about that, but he’s going to kiss his boyfriend, nasty fruit punch mouth or not. This time he yanks, probably taking some hair with him, and presses their mouths together.

Wei Ying fights it at first, squeezing his lips together to keep out Lan Zhan’s tongue, but when Lan Zhan licks the sticky copper off Wei Ying’s chin, Wei Ying groans and gives in. After a few tentative kisses, Wei Ying whines and plunges his tongue into Lan Zhan’s mouth. His hips follow in a shaky thrust.

“You aren’t good at this,” Lan Zhan teases, and follows with a nip to Wei Ying’s jaw.

Too fast for Lan Zhan to track, Wei Ying grips his wrists and pins them beside his head. His eyes burn and his fangs flash. “Oh, you’re just asking for it, aren’t you?”

“Yes,” Lan Zhan says in his most scathing voice. “Where have you been?”

Wei Ying ripples with silent laughter, then tries, unsuccessfully, to school his face into something severe. “Am I going to have to tie you up, Lan Zhan?”

The thought of such a thing has always made Lan Zhan itch. Give someone else such power over him? Not in this lifetime. But if it were Wei Ying . . . Wei Ying looping rope around his wrist and kissing his knuckles before binding him to a bedpost. Wei Ying smiling down at him, Lan Zhan trussed up and helpless . . .

“Next time,” Lan Zhan croaks. Wei Ying’s jaw drops. “Unless you think you can’t hold me down?”

The shock fades from Wei Ying’s face, replaced by a smirk that makes Lan Zhan shiver. “Alright. If that’s how you want it.”

Slowly, Wei Ying slides Lan Zhan’s wrists above his head and holds them in place with one hand. The other hand drifts down, caressing Lan Zhan’s cheek. His thumb travels over the knot in Lan Zhan’s throat, pressing down just slightly before moving on to his chest. Blunt nails scratch the unmarked side of Lan Zhan’s chest; fingers pinch a tight nipple.

Gritting his teeth, Lan Zhan meets Wei Ying’s sparkling eyes. “Don’t get distracted.”

“But you’re so distracting, Lan Zhan!”

Lan Zhan sighs. He practically handed Wei Ying that one.

Wei Ying folds down to lick Lan Zhan’s chin and brush their lips together. He pulls out and presses in a slow slide that makes Lan Zhan’s toes curl.

“You feel so good, Lan Zhan.”

Wei Ying keeps fucking him slowly, torturously slow, in a rhythm not even half Lan Zhan’s rapid heartbeat. No matter how many times Lan Zhan gasps his name, Wei Ying persists. With Wei Ying gripping his wrists and his leg, he has no recourse but to take it.

“Do I feel good, Lan Zhan?”

“Asshole,” Lan Zhan wheezes.

“Lan Zhan!” Wei Ying protests, shaking with laughter. “I’m doing my best!”

“Liar. I’m not fragile.”

“I know, grumpy boy, but don’t you like this? Nice and slow?” Wei Ying rocks deep inside him and rolls his hips. Lan Zhan nearly bites through his tongue. He’s trembling, twitching, and Wei Ying keeps looking at him, those gorgeous eyes crinkled into a smile, enjoying Lan Zhan’s torment.

Snarling, Lan Zhan twists and clamps his teeth on Wei Ying’s arm.

“Ah, fuck, use your words, you monster!” Wei Ying yanks his arm free and grabs both of Lan Zhan’s hips, hiking him onto his thighs. “Fine, so impatient. I will do as my lord commands.”

Wei Ying’s hips snap, driving in at a new angle, and Lan Zhan moans in relief. He bounces in Wei Ying’s grip until he manages to wrap his legs around Wei Ying’s waist.

“Yeah, baby, like that.” Wei Ying clutches his hips and fucks him faster, hitting him perfectly in a show of strength that makes Lan Zhan dizzy. When Wei Ying bends low to kiss him, Lan Zhan’s cock drags deliciously against his belly. “Is this what you like? You like it hard?”

“Don’t stop.” Lan Zhan flings an arm over Wei Ying’s neck to hold him close. He closes his eyes and throws himself at Wei Ying’s mercy. “Please.”

“Anything,” Wei Ying gasps. “Anything you want, Lan Zhan.”

One of Wei Ying’s hands creeps over his and tangles their fingers, pressing Lan Zhan’s hand to the bed. Shuddering, Lan Zhan surrenders to it, to the fire building in his belly. “Do it,” he gasps, stretching his head to offer his neck.

With a growl that makes Lan Zhan’s skin prickle, Wei Ying licks the pulse thrumming under Lan Zhan’s skin and fucks him faster. “Lan Zhan?”

“Now.”

Wei Ying’s fangs tear through the last of his flimsy defenses, shattering them like glass. The orgasm seems to start in his chest, bursting through his ribs like a freed beast. Pleasure stretches him thin and then snaps back, settling him in his exploding body. It goes on and on in waves of bliss that flow with the rhythm of Wei Ying’s lips against his skin. Dimly, he registers Wei Ying’s cry and the stutter of his hips. And then there is only bliss.

A soft voice calls him out of the warm stupor: “Lan Zhan, you with me?”

Lan Zhan blinks up at the most beautiful man in the world. The beautiful man smiles with red lips and bloody teeth.

“Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan sighs, and pulls the beautiful man down on his chest. His beautiful Wei Ying hugs him tight.

“I’m beautiful?” Wei Ying giggles against Lan Zhan’s neck.

Lan Zhan doesn’t recall saying that aloud, but that doesn’t concern him much. “Mn. Beautiful.”

“Not mean?”

“Wei Ying isn’t mean.”

“That’s a relief.”

“Shh, time to sleep.”

There is a chuckle, then a soft press of lips to his jaw. “Okay. Sleep well, baby.”

When Lan Zhan wakes up, Wei Ying is reclining beside him in his sweatpants, scrolling on his phone. Lan Zhan presses his fingers against his neck and feels a bandage. He peeks at his chest where ointment shines on the scratches.  

“Hey gorgeous,” Wei Ying says in his softest voice. “Good nap?”

Lan Zhan should be embarrassed about sleeping through Wei Ying caring for him, shouldn’t he? Shouldn’t he be ashamed of being so selfish?

Wei Ying sets the phone on the nightstand and reaches for him, and Lan Zhan ignores his doubts to roll across the bed and lay his head in Wei Ying’s lap. Wei Ying strokes his hair. Lan Zhan sighs with pleasure. “You’re very good at this.”

Wei Ying snorts. “At playing with your hair?”

“Yes.” And taking care of me, he wants to say, but the words won’t come out. “I will try to stop falling asleep so often.”

“I like watching you sleep,” Wei Ying says. “You look like a pretty fairy angel.”

Lan Zhan grunts and closes his teeth on Wei Ying’s thigh.

“Ow! Bad fairy!”

Smirking, Lan Zhan pushes himself up and looks at the clock. It’s after seven already. “I slept too long,” he says, scrubbing his face. “We were going to go to your apartment.”

“We can go tomorrow. You hungry? I think there’s soup left. Unless you want to order in?”

“Soup is fine.”

“Okay, I’ll go scrounge around.” Lan Zhan gets a kiss on the cheek before Wei Ying hops off the bed and practically skips out of the bedroom. He’s probably hyper from Lan Zhan’s blood, but he still waited in bed for Lan Zhan to wake up. And now he’s going to reheat the soup he made for Lan Zhan’s dinner. It’s all so strange and wonderfully domestic, like Lan Zhan woke up in a romantic comedy. And he can keep this? Forever? His heart wants to flutter.

Probably the blood loss, he thinks, but he’s smiling as he wanders into the bathroom.

When he goes into the living room, Wei Ying is waiting for him on the couch with soup. Lan Zhan picks up his bowl from the coffee table and joins him.

“So,” Wei Ying says, “How was your day, honey?”

The pleasant glow snuffs out in Lan Zhan’s chest as he recalls that the world exists outside this apartment. “You start.”

“Eh, not much to tell. I did have a kind of funny Zoom call.”

Lan Zhan sips soup while he listens to Wei Ying’s story of the client with the parrot who kept repeating everything they were saying, and Lan Zhan agrees that hearing a parrot say “flow chart” would be fairly amusing.

After sticking their bowls in the dishwasher, Lan Zhan returns to the couch and ignores Wei Ying’s attempts to draw him into a cuddle. He wants to linger in the perfection of life with Wei Ying, but Wei Ying deserves to know what’s coming. “My turn.”

“Oh. Okay.” Wei Ying must sense that the news is bad because he sits up straight to listen.

Lan Zhan begins with visiting the apothecary. Wei Ying only pouts a little about being left out, but he’s excited to meet Wen Ning. “Another nice vampire! Maybe we can have a playdate!”

Imagining Wei Ying and the large pale man playing on a jungle gym would make Lan Zhan smile if he didn’t have to explain the rest. He tells Wei Ying about Lan Huan’s decision and watches the animation fade from his face.

“Oh,” Wei Ying says when Lan Zhan is finished. “Well, that makes sense, I guess. It’s your brother’s job to keep everybody safe.”

“That should include you,” Lan Zhan hisses.

“Lan Zhan—”

“No,” Lan Zhan blurts, jumping up to pace the living room. All of the warm, fuzzy feelings from sex and soup are gone. “It’s obvious that the truce isn’t working. Ge and the council just don’t want to see that. We can’t just forget what happened and pretend everything can go back to normal.”

Wei Ying steps in front of him, and Lan Zhan stops, clenching his fists. “Lan Zhan, what do you want to do?”

Lan Zhan sighs, so tired again, so ready to just crawl back in bed. “I don’t know. I don’t know what we can do.”

“It’s okay.” Wei Ying wraps him in a tight hug and nuzzles his neck. “We’ll figure something out.”

Lan Zhan lets his head drop to Wei Ying’s shoulder and breathes him in. It should be impossible to feel both this happy and this terrified. Whatever happens, he can’t lose this. He can’t lose Wei Ying.

The next day, Lan Zhan heads down to the Nie sect’s gym. He sticks to practicing sword forms, not because he needs to—he is fine—but because if he did anything more strenuous, Wei Ying would probably know somehow. That’s probably just paranoia, but Lan Zhan can’t risk Wei Ying’s mournful eyes—or a return to abstinence. Especially after last night. Last night was . . . something he shouldn’t think about while wielding a sword.

At midmorning, the gym is nearly empty, just as he hoped. Two women from the Nie sect are sparring, and Xie Jianjun is battling a training drone. The Lans don’t have drones, and Lan Zhan can’t help watching wistfully as he flows between positions. It looks like fun. Maybe tomorrow.

As he spins away from Xie Jianjun blasting the drone, Lan Zhan notices his audience: Nie Mingjue. Sighing, he finishes the set and sends Bichen away. Nie Mingjue meets him off the mat with a towel.

“Thanks,” Lan Zhan says as he mops sweat from his face.

“I wasn’t aware you’d been cleared for training,” Nie Mingjue says.

Lan Zhan slings the towel over his shoulder. “I wasn’t aware that I needed to be.”

Nie Mingjue grunts in amusement, his lips twitching under his mustache. Then his eyes move to the new bite mark on Lan Zhan’s neck, which the tank top does nothing to hide, and the smile flattens. Lan Zhan squares his shoulders and refuses to be ashamed.

“Let’s talk,” Nie Mingjue says, and stalks off without waiting for Lan Zhan’s agreement.

Sighing, Lan Zhan follows his brother-in-law. Nie Mingjue leads him out of the gym to a small sitting area Lan Zhan has never noticed and pours both of them cups of water from the dispenser in the corner. Lan Zhan frowns as he settles in a plastic chair. The discussion must be serious if they need beverages.

Nie Mingjue takes the couch and scowls down at the crinkly cup of water, comically small in his huge hand. Lan Zhan forces himself to sip the water. Last night, Wei Ying made him drink two glasses of water and a glass of orange juice and take a B-12 vitamin. That was all after the soup. Lan Zhan is so hydrated that he feels like a water balloon about to pop.

“Lan Zhan,” Nie Mingjue blurts. “You and Lan Huan have always been so close. I’ve never known the two of you to disagree.”

Ah, so that is what this conversation is about. Lan Zhan probably should’ve expected it, but as Nie Mingjue says, Lan Zhan and his brother have never needed a mediator. Lan Zhan says nothing and waits for the disapproval.

“He hasn’t told me much about what happened,” Nie Mingjue continues, “but I know that he is upset. I know you must be disappointed by his decision, but—”

“Aren’t you?” Lan Zhan didn’t mean to say that, and his fingers tighten on the cup, sloshing out water. But he’s already begun, so he might as well continue. He sets the cup aside and lays his hands on his knees. “Is this what you want: to make peace with the Wens?”

Nie Mingjue sighs and sets his cup down. “There was a time when I would’ve wanted to fight, but now we have Xiwang.” He shrugs his big shoulders and glares at the floor.

Lan Zhan tugs the towel from his shoulder and folds it to keep his hands occupied. “I understand.” And he does. Putting his family in danger is terrifying—putting Wei Ying in danger just as unthinkable—but there is no safety to be had in compromise. Not this time. “But I fail to see how this solution will keep anyone safe.”

“Lan Huan thinks, and I agree, that there is no reason to go to war over one action—”

“One action?” Lan Zhan snaps.

Nie Mingjue holds up his hands in conciliation. “It’s possible that Wen Chao acted without his clan’s knowledge. For all we know, what happened to . . . your friend was an isolated incident.”

“And if it wasn’t?” Lan Zhan realizes he is wringing the towel in his lap and forces his hands to relax. “Do you really expect the Wens to capitulate after they tried to kill us all?”

Nie Mingjue strikes his thighs. “You have already endangered your family to protect this vampire! Does the whole city have to go to war now?”

Lan Zhan recoils from Nie Mingjue’s bellow. His brother-in-law flushes and opens his mouth, maybe to apologize, but Lan Zhan isn’t interested. He’s heard enough. Ignoring Nie Mingjue’s calls, he stalks back to the gym and the locker room where he grabs his clothes and shoves them into his qiankun bag. He throws his coat over his gym clothes and heads to the elevator.

Adrenaline surges as he rides to the lobby, and he’s trembling by the time he leaves the building. So they blame him. They’re all prepared to ignore everything the Wens have done for the sake of “peace.” He shouldn’t have expected better.

One look at him, sweaty and shaking on her doorstep, and Lan Zhan’s mother seems to understand exactly why he’s there.

“Oh Zhanzhan,” she sighs, gathering him in her arms. “I’m so sorry.”

He squints his eyes shut and buries his face in her hair. “How can they do this? How can they just pretend nothing happened?”

“That is what they’re best at. Come in, I’ll make you some tea.”

He manages to drink half a cup of tea but can’t even look at the red bean buns. For once, she doesn’t chide him to eat.

“I don’t really blame A-Huan and Mingjue,” his mother says around her teacup. “They’re so young, and they just want to protect their people. Their whole lives, the council has told them that the most important thing is to keep the peace, and this truce is all they’ve ever known. After losing their fathers, they can’t be expected to rush into danger.”

“Isn’t the danger already here?”

“Yes, but they can’t see that. Not yet. Zhanzhan, this peace talk is going to happen regardless. We have to be prepared.”

“What do you think will happen?”

She throws her hands, flinging tea into the air. “Who can say? All I know for sure is that you have to be careful. You and Wei Ying. Wen Ruohan won’t give up after just one try.”

“Wei Ying isn’t going.”

His mother shoves out of her chair and crams onto the couch with him. “Lan Zhan, he has to.”

He flinches away from her avid stare. “I can’t ask that of him. I can’t put him in that kind of danger.”

“And how are you going to stop him?”

He scowls at his knees. She’s right: he’d have to chain Wei Ying in the apartment to keep him away. He’s already considering the best place to bind him when his mother grabs his hand.

“Lan Zhan, this is his fight, too. He deserves to be heard.”

He groans and closes his eyes. Why can no one tell him what he wants to hear today?

She pats his hand. “Mrs. Cang also wants to go. We can all go together!”

Great, a family field trip. They can all go watch Lan Huan kneel to Wen Ruohan. Maybe catch a movie after. Ridiculous.

He grabs a red bean bun and takes an angry bite. Maybe he can convince Wei Ying to leave the city. They can find a cave in a forest somewhere. Vampires probably like caves. They’ll roast marshmallows and pretend like no one else exists. Their mothers can visit and complain about the cave’s décor.

As A-Niang foresaw, Wei Ying ignores both Lan Zhan’s efforts to talk him out of attending Lan Huan’s meeting and Lan Zhan’s brilliant cave idea. While they wait for their doom to fall, Lan Zhan tries to put aside his worries and focuses on the future he could have if he and Wei Ying avoid painful death. The first step for this happy future is figuring out where to live, which means visiting Wei Ying’s apartment to appraise their potential living situation. Unfortunately, Wei Ying’s kitchen is a tiny galley that would be depressing even in a cave, so they start looking for a new place that actually has room for cooking and for Wei Ying’s nest of electronics. Lan Zhan has never been that picky about his living arrangements—home was just a place he slept when he wasn’t patrolling or filling out reports. But now, choosing a home with Wei Ying, he wants something better. Something permanent. Something that is them.

Their mothers catch wind of their plans, and at least one mother always manages to accompany them on their apartment tours. All four of them are looking at a two-bedroom one street over from Mrs. Cang, which she approves of for just this reason, when Lan Huan calls.

Lan Zhan excuses himself and goes into the hallway to take the call. “Ge?”

“Lan Zhan.”

Nothing follows. Lan Zhan walks to the end of the hall and leans against the window. The view isn’t much to speak of here or inside the apartment, but the light is good, and the kitchen is adequate. Unless Wei Ying has issues with it, it will go on their “maybe” list.

Lan Zhan realizes his brother still hasn’t responded and begins to worry. “Is something wrong?” They’ve been civil despite their disagreement, but they haven’t spoken one-on-one. In all honesty, Lan Zhan has spent as little time as possible in his temporary office. He hasn’t been avoiding his brother exactly—he and Wei Ying have been on many apartment tours—but he certainly hasn’t made an effort to see him.

“Sorry,” Lan Huan says, chuckling softly. “I just—I wanted to tell you that the arrangements are done. The council will meet with the Wen clan tomorrow night. Midnight.”

How cliché. No doubt Wei Ying will have many sarcastic comments.

“Where?” Lan Zhan asks.

“Castle in the Air.”

Lan Zhan barely restrains his groan. An abandoned amusement park? Tacky fucking Wens.

“It is neutral ground,” Lan Huan says, sounding exactly as annoyed as Lan Zhan feels. “And it’s outside the city, should anything . . . Anyway, you are welcome to ride with us. Wei Ying, too. If he wishes to go.”

The last is said softly, almost an apology. Almost. “Thanks, but we’ll go with A-Niang and Wei Ying’s mother.” He pauses, then adds: “A-Niang is driving.”

Lan Huan barks a laugh that is quickly muffled. Lan Zhan can clearly picture his brother smothering that laugh with his hand. Their mother’s driving is only slightly less terrifying than her sword-work.

“Well,” Lan Huan says, “Do be careful.”

Lan Zhan sighs heavily, which makes Lan Huan laugh again. “I will wear my seatbelt.”

“See that you do.” There is a pause, and when Lan Huan speaks again, the humor gone from his voice. “Are you returning to work today?”

“Probably not,” Lan Zhan says, refusing to be ashamed. “Wei Ying and I are looking at apartments. A-Niang and Mrs. Cang are with us.”

“Oh. I’m happy for you, Didi. I really am. I wish . . .”

“I know.” Lan Zhan breathes deeply to calm the ache in his gut. “I’ll be in tomorrow.”

“Good. Come by my office—Mingjue’s office—if you get a chance, please. We should talk.”

“I will.”

“Okay. Good luck on your search!”

“Thank you.”

When he hangs up, he turns and finds Wei Ying watching him from the doorway of their prospective apartment. He can’t fault Wei Ying for eavesdropping: Wei Ying could easily do that from inside the apartment and pretend he didn’t hear anything. But that isn’t Wei Ying.

“You okay?” Wei Ying asks as Lan Zhan comes to him.

“Yes,” Lan Zhan says, not caring that his voice is husky. He accepts the hug Wei Ying offers and spends a few moments thinking of nothing but the smell of Wei Ying’s hair.

Then he pulls back and smirks. “We’re meeting the Wens tomorrow at midnight. In an abandoned amusement park.”

Wei Ying’s laugh is so loud that they risk getting kicked out of the building before they’ve even signed a lease. When Wei Ying calms a bit, Lan Zhan pulls him back inside. “Come on, I want to look at the kitchen again.”

Wei Ying snorts another laugh and squeezes his hand. “Okay, but that fridge isn’t going to get any younger just because you frown at it.”

“I was frowning at the smell.”

“Yeah, it’s like a rat ate some moldy cheese and then died in there.”

“And imp feces,” Lan Zhan says, smiling a little as he recalls the night he met Wei Ying. He never expected to smile about a fetid yao nest, but then, he never expected to fall in love with a vampire.

“I’ll take your word for it. The bathroom’s pretty nice, right? Big tub.”

Lan Zhan nods. “We’ll add it to the list.”

When they reach the moderately-appealing kitchen with the smelly refrigerator, Wei Ying says, “Mom is ready for us to move in. But I think your mom would be jealous.”

“Mn.” Lan Zhan bends to inspect the refrigerator’s drawers. Maybe vinegar would conquer the smell. “I expect we’ll need to find a place equidistant from the two of them.”

“Great,” Wei Ying snorts. “As if this weren’t difficult enough. But look on the bright side: we could all get murdered tomorrow night, and we can stop house-hunting!”

Lan Zhan kisses his forehead. “We aren’t going to die. And if we can’t find anything, there’s always the cave.”

Wei Ying winds his arms around Lan Zhan’s shoulders. “At least the rent would be cheap.”

They get a few moments to kiss in the glow of the rancid refrigerator before their mothers find them.

“Oh, Ying-er!” Mrs. Cang calls. “Did you see that closet? It’s a walk in!”

Lan Zhan’s mother sniffs her disdain. “And it smells almost as bad as that refrigerator.”

“It’s a maybe,” Wei Ying says, wrapping an arm around his mother. She huffs and he kisses her head. “Calm down, we’ve got plenty of time to make a decision.”

Lan Zhan turns away, pretending to inspect the stove. Please, let that be true.

Chapter Text

The next night, Lan Zhan and Wei Ying cram into the backseat of his mother’s dented Civic. There is a picnic basket and a small cooler between them on the bench seat.

“Ooh, snacks!” Wei Ying says as he roots through the basket.

“A-Niang,” Lan Zhan groans as Wei Ying holds up a Ziploc bag of Goldfish crackers. “We aren’t children.”

“There’s blood for Wei Ying in the cooler,” A-Niang says, completely ignoring his very reasonable complaint. “I got it from that nice vampire girl at the apothecary.”

“Aw, thanks, Mrs. J!” Wei Ying says as he dives into the Goldfish.

“You went to Wen Qing’s shop?” Lan Zhan asks his mother.

“We both did,” Mrs. Cang says. “That young lady knows her stuff.” She leans over the console to look at Wei Ying. “Now don’t stuff your face. You know you get carsick.”

Wei Ying groans and speaks around a mouthful of orange crackers. “Mom, I’m a vampire now. I can’t get carsick!”

Mrs. Cang huffs. “Let’s hope not. Give me some Goldfish.”

She holds out her hand, and Wei Ying starts dumping crackers into it, but A-Niang chooses that moment to stomp the gas, and little fish go flying. Wei Ying yelps, and Mrs. Cang is thrown back into her seat.

“Seatbelt,” Lan Zhan murmurs to Wei Ying.

Wei Ying nods shakily and drops the bag to buckle his seatbelt. “I thought you were exaggerating.”

“Unfortunately, no.” Learning to fly his sword was less frightening than riding with his mother. Shufu taught Lan Huan to drive, over their mother’s protests. Lan Zhan simply refused to learn.

During the ride through the city, there is little conversation. His mother is preoccupied with yelling at the other drivers while the rest of them concentrate on not dying. But once they reach the old highway, the road clears of opposition to his mother’s aggressive maneuvers.

Lan Zhan stares out of the window at the darkness, broken by the occasional blank billboard and boarded-up gas station. Advertisements and gas stations linger like restless spirits, but this region died so long ago that even those ghosts have departed.

“So tell me more about this Castle in the Air place,” Wei Ying says to the car at large. He’s moved on to apple chips, which he crunches between sips from the thermos of blood. Miraculously, Lan Zhan is only slightly disgusted. He must love Wei Ying even more than he realizes.

“I told you,” Lan Zhan says as he holds out his hand for an apple chip. “It was an amusement park.”

Wei Ying ignores his hand and holds an apple chip in front of Lan Zhan’s mouth. Lan Zhan rolls his eyes but lets his ridiculous boyfriend feed him.

“Yeah, I know that part,” Wei Ying says as Lan Zhan chews the apple chip. “I found some videos about it made by some morons calling themselves ‘urban explorers.’ Creepy stuff. I meant, why are we going there for this meeting thing. Cuz it’s creepy? Is the creep factor important for some reason?”

“It’s neutral ground,” Mrs. Cang says. “And it’s isolated up on the mountaintop, so there won’t be any civilians around, except maybe those—what did you call them?”

“Urban explorers,” Wei Ying says. “They skulk around abandoned places and make money off the videos, I guess. More like ‘Influencers who trespass.’”

A-Niang hums thoughtfully. “Their research could be useful. It’s unfortunate that better care isn’t taken of such places. Perhaps those videos will encourage the state to clean up the mess the owners left behind.”

“Good point!” Wei Ying says. “You’re so smart, Mrs. J.!”

Lan Zhan groans. Like his mother needs any more incentive to dote on Wei Ying. In retaliation, Wei Ying shoves another apple chip in Lan Zhan’s face, which Lan Zhan eats, but not before snapping at Wei Ying’s fingers. Wei Ying sticks out his tongue, and Lan Zhan barely resists snapping at that.

“Okay,” Wei Ying says as he sticks the apple chips between his legs where Lan Zhan cannot—must not—reach, “So I get all that, but won’t this park be haunted? The videos said a few people died there.”

“Oh no,” A-Niang says. “Of course, there were those who lingered—those poor people—but we suppressed their spirits years ago.”

“Suppressed?” Wei Ying says, turning to Lan Zhan. “Like you did with your guqin?”

“Not quite,” A-Niang says, now paying more attention to the rearview mirror than the road. “My method is a bit different than Zhanzhan’s.”

“Oh yeah, how so?” Wei Ying unbuckles his seatbelt and wiggles closer to Lan Zhan to see her in the mirror. The cooler and picnic basket were crammed into the footwell before they even left the city, the better for Wei Ying to pester him. Lan Zhan wraps an arm around him. Yes, it’s embarrassing, but a little embarrassment won’t kill him. The Wens might, so he should hold Wei Ying while he can.

As A-Niang explains her abilities and methodology, her attention strays from actually driving, and the car drifts into the left lane. Thankfully, the road is deserted. Even so, Lan Zhan bites his cheek as the car weaves across the center line.

“You glow?” Wei Ying gasps, now practically lying in Lan Zhan’s lap. “Like super-fairy light? Can Lan Zhan do that?”

She twists to grin at him. “Well, why don’t you ask him to show you?”

“Look out!” Mrs. Cang blurts.

The doe that was strolling across the road jerks her head towards them, and the headlights gleam in her eyes. A-Niang yanks the steering wheel, and the car careens back over the line. The overcorrection nearly sends them into the weedy ditch, and for a few heart-pounding moments, they bump across the rough shoulder.

Finally, the car regains the road. The headlights show empty asphalt, and they roll on, leaving a probably very confused deer behind. During the wild ride, Lan Zhan hugged Wei Ying tight against his chest and did his best to curl over him. Now Wei Ying pushes himself out of Lan Zhan’s arms. He looks a little green, but he doesn’t vomit. Vampirism does seem to have conquered his carsickness.

Wei Ying eases back into his seat and refastens the seatbelt. His hand creeps back toward Lan Zhan, and Lan Zhan grabs it gratefully, soothing Wei Ying’s skin with his thumb.

“Sorry,” A-Niang says, a bit breathless. “She came out of nowhere.”

“Are you alright?” Mrs. Cang asks. “Would you like me to drive for a bit?”

“Oh no, thank you. I’m fine. We’re almost there.” A-Niang’s eyes dart up to the mirror. “Let’s save the rest of that discussion for another time, shall we?”

“Sure,” Wei Ying says. “We’d better keep an eye out for more evil wildlife. And I thought ghouls were scary!”

Mrs. Cang shrugs. “Not really. They sure do stink, though.”

Wei Ying and Mrs. Cang discuss ghouls and their odors as the road winds higher into the hills, towards the mountaintop where The Castle in the Air awaits them.

Whatever signs once guided visitors to the park have vanished, but it’s still hard to miss a giant parking lot sprawling across the base of the mountain. A-Niang guides the car over the parking lot’s crumbling asphalt, past the dozen or so vehicles that already sit under dark security lights. The mountain peak looms above them, a great, black shadow blotting out the full moon.

Lan Zhan unfolds from the car, wincing as his ribs twinge. He’s fine; there’s just a bit of stiffness sometimes. Once the Civic’s headlights snap off, the darkness is so complete that he can barely make out the shape of the nearest car.

Maroon eyes shine out of the darkness as Wei Ying approaches. “Time to fly, right?” Wei Ying whispers.

Lan Zhan hums agreement and steps onto Bichen, pulling Wei Ying up to stand in front of him. Beside them, A-Niang and Mrs. Cang mount their swords.

“Lead the way,” Mrs. Cang says to A-Niang.

A-Niang rises smoothly into the air, and Mrs. Cang follows. Lan Zhan wraps his arms around Wei Ying and takes the rear. They fly above the chair-lift track, once the main route to the park. The “urban explorers” must have had a long hike up the undoubtedly overgrown and treacherous trail.

Soon, they fly out of the shadows and under a thick blanket of stars. Even racked with dread over what’s to come, Lan Zhan can’t help tilting his face up to all of those stars, a sight impossible in the city.

“Look at that, Lan Zhan.” Wei Ying’s whisper echoes the awe Lan Zhan feels. Wei Ying’s hands find Lan Zhan’s on his belly and grip tight. “We should do this sometime when we aren’t in horrible danger.”

“I promise,” Lan Zhan says, pressing a kiss to Wei Ying’s head and breathing him in. Wei Ying hums happily and leans his head back against Lan Zhan’s shoulder. If they survive tonight, he’ll fly Wei Ying to the moon if that’s what he wants.

The first sign of the park is the Ferris Wheel rising above the tree line, its cars revolving slowly in the wind. Past the Ferris Wheel, light flickers beneath the canopy of trees. “What do you see?” Lan Zhan murmurs in Wei Ying’s ear.

Wei Ying leans over to peer at the ground, one hand casually gripping Lan Zhan’s arm. Below them lie several patches of light, separated by stretching shadows. “Your people are over there,” Wei Ying says, pointing to a clump of lights to the south.

Lan Zhan pulls Wei Ying back against his chest and speeds up to overtake his mother. At Lan Zhan’s gesture, she nods for him to take the lead position. They sink down into a pool of light thrown by brisk white LED lamps. The sudden light makes Lan Zhan wince, but he doesn’t miss the protection of his decoy glasses. He hasn’t bothered to replace the glasses he lost in the bombing, nor does he plan to, but he wishes humans understood how ghastly those LEDs are.

Lan Huan steps forward from the clump of mingled Lan and Nie sect members. “A-Niang,” he says, smiling and inclining his head. “Lan Zhan, Wei Ying. And this is Mrs. Cang?”

“Nice to meet you,” Mrs. Cang says, bowing back.

While the greetings take place, Lan Zhan watches the crowd. He notes every eye that lingers too long on Wei Ying and meets any hostile gazes with his glare. Anyone who wishes to comment on the vampire in their midst will do so with his sword at their throat.

A figure steps away from the crowd and approaches. Lan Zhan readies to strike until he realizes it’s Nie Huaisang.

“Why are you here?” Lan Zhan asks.

“Says the guy who brought a vampire.” Nie Huaisang sticks out a hand to Wei Ying, which Lan Zhan comes close to chopping off. “Hey, I’m Nie Huaisang. My big brother is Lan Huan’s husband, so we’re almost related or something.”

“Wei Ying,” Wei Ying says, shaking Nie Huaisang’s hand. “Nice to meet more of the fam. You’re Lan Zhan’s new work-roomie, right?”

Nie Huaisang nods. “When he bothers coming to work. Not that I’m judging.”

“He’s a rebel, my Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying says, grinning down at Nie Huaisang. “We’ve been pretty busy apartment-hunting.”

“Oh yeah? One of my neighbors just moved out, so there’s a place open in my building. It’s pretty nice. You should come by and see it. There’s even a fitness center. For people who are into that kind of thing.”

They continue to chat about apartments like two old friends who ran into each other at a coffee shop. Feeling like a man lost in a strange dream, Lan Zhan looks around at what is left of the park. Nearby, a faded sign proclaims that its structure once sold “The State’s Best Corndog!” Now, a tree protrudes from the corndog hut’s roof. To his left is a ticket booth housing a headless clown. Farther down the path, only discernible by the rotting wooden fencing poking out of the weeds, stands a tower of rusted bumper cars. This park may not be haunted, but it is eerie enough without restless spirits. Whatever joy this place might have manufactured is long gone, replaced by an aura of decay strong enough to feed an army of ghouls.

A shrill whistle yanks his attention away from those gloomy thoughts. To the left, a missile burns into the sky. Wei Ying crowds close to him as the firework explodes, showering the night with color.

“Time to go!” Nie Mingjue bellows, then sets off in the direction of the fireworks. His sect members follow in a stern, orderly line. With a wave to Wei Ying, Nie Huaisang trots after them.

The Lan sect follows the Nie. Lan Zhan and his party wait until they can join at the rear. “He was nice,” Wei Ying says as he takes Lan Zhan’s arm. “Not what I expected from a monster hunter.”

“Huaisang is no hunter,” Lan Zhan says, but there’s no heat in it. Next time he goes to work, he’ll take Nie Huaisang that mocha he’s been whining about.

The path leads them through the derelict park, past more concession stands and carnival games. Lan Zhan has never had to come here before, but it’s obvious that The Castle in the Air must have been fantasy-themed, hence the name. He spots at least three murals depicting knights doing knight things like jousting and courting their ladies fair. The path wraps around a carousel with the usual horses, their once white coats now gray with filth, and a few roaring dragons for little knights to ride.

“Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying whines as they walk by the carousel. “You never take me anywhere fancy. It’s always abandoned this, abandoned that. And this junkheap isn’t even haunted!”

“My apologies,” Lan Zhan says. “If you promise not to vomit, we can ride the Ferris Wheel.”

Wei Ying leans close to whisper in his ear. “Will you let me ride you on the Ferris Wheel?”

In front of them, A-Niang coughs a laugh, and Lan Zhan winces.

“Supernatural hearing,” Lan Zhan murmurs to Wei Ying, who giggles and hides his face in Lan Zhan’s shoulder.

As they walk, more cultivators emerge from the shadows and join the lines. Still no sign of vampires, however.

“Can you sense them yet?” Lan Zhan murmurs to Wei Ying.

Wei Ying nods and clutches his arm tighter. “Not far now.”

Ahead of them stands a broad archway. The sign on the archway informs them of the proximity of something called “The Behemoth.” “ENTER IF YOU DARE!” the sign warns in aggressively morbid lettering. Past the archway, the remains of aluminum dividers sprawl in the grass. Once, this queue could have held dozens of people, but whatever The Behemoth was, its riders have long-since ceased to test their bravery.

The answer comes as they walk out of the shadows and into the light of dozens of torches. Rising above them is a monstrosity crafted to look like a volcano. Roller coaster tracks wind around this volcano like a coiled serpent. As if they feared the similarity wasn’t clear enough, the park’s creators also placed an actual serpent head on the track. The serpent’s fangs are chipped and its eyes dim, but it’s still obvious that the roller coaster once sprang out of its gaping mouth. The overall effect is undoubtedly meant to terrify, but the result is just gaudy. Perhaps it was more effective in its day, but even so, it is ridiculous to stick a plaster volcano on top of an actual mountain.

Wei Ying, of course, disagrees. “That is sick!” Wei Ying whispers, grinning at the serpent. “I wonder if the volcano erupted. Like, you shot out of that snake’s mouth, and the volcano went whoosh!”

“It did,” Mrs. Cang says. “We came here every summer when I was a girl. Your father threw up on the teacup ride.”

“Guess carsickness is genetic,” Wei Ying says. Lan Zhan doesn’t reply. He’s still trying to figure out if “The Behemoth” refers to the volcano, the snake, or the roller coaster itself. Perhaps all three?

He doesn’t have time to decide because they’ve arrived. Past the heads of the milling cultivators in front of him, he sees Wen Ruohan. The Wen clan leader stands in the middle of a semicircle with the volcano at his back. The area must have been intended as an observation point for the roller coaster. From this viewpoint, spectators could watch the coaster emerge from the serpent’s mouth as lava erupted. And they could snack while they watched. Across from the semicircle, concession stands slump against each other like weary soldiers. A few picnic tables surround these stands, but most of them have been pried loose and tossed into the bushes. Likely by Wen Ruohan’s vampires, who lean and leer just outside the ring of torches lighting the stage.

The cultivation sects spread out amidst the picnic table stumps like an obedient orchestra awaiting their conductor’s cue. Wen Ruohan created a good setup, Lan Zhan admits to himself. Cheesy, just like his toad-faced son, but effective.

Lan Zhan holds Wei Ying at the back of the crowd, bookended by their mothers. It’s unlikely that they can stay hidden during this farce, but he’ll do what he can to keep Wei Ying out of Wen Ruohan’s sight.

The shuffling ceases. In the silence, torches sputter. The remains of once-bright banners flap in the wind. Somewhere in the distance, the Ferris Wheel creaks and groans as it spins in a slow circle, bearing empty cars through the sky.

When Lan Huan steps towards Wen Ruohan and salutes, A-Niang clutches Lan Zhan’s free arm almost as tightly as Wei Ying does. “Clan leader Wen,” Lan Huan says, his voice pleasantly deep as it soars through the night. “Thank you for agreeing to this meeting.”

Wen Ruohan’s eyes drift to him lazily. He acknowledges the greeting with the barest dip of his chin. Lan Zhan sucks in air that burns his lungs and feels the hands on his arms tighten.

Lan Huan ignores this slight and turns to the crowd. He salutes, then claims center stage by standing with his back to Wen Ruohan. “Thank you all for coming. You already know why I requested this meeting, but I wish to make the facts clear. Recently, Wen Chao, son of Wen Ruohan, attacked and turned a man without his consent, a clear violation of the rules agreed upon by the council and the vampire clans. This act—”

“Lies!”

The crowd mutters and ripples as heads turn to look for the shouter. This turns out to be Wen Xu, who leaps from the shadows to land before Lan Huan. Forgetting his plan to hang back, Lan Zhan surges forward but is restrained by his mother’s hand on his shoulder.

“Wait,” she murmurs. “It’s just words. Let A-Huan handle it. For now.”

Seething, Lan Zhan settles back between her and Wei Ying.

“I understand that Wen Xu is upset—” Lan Huan begins, but he’s interrupted by toad-face’s brother.

“I’m not upset,” Wen Xu hisses, fangs flashing. “Upset is not the word anyone would use when their brother is murdered. Or when the murderers slander his name!”

“Ah, frog boy’s brother?” Wei Ying whispers. Lan Zhan nods without taking his eyes from Wen Xu.

“Nor would I use murder to describe Wen Chao’s death,” Lan Huan says mildly. “Wen Chao led a group who ambushed my brother. Given how badly he was outnumbered, Lan Zhan could hardly be expected to restrain himself.”

Wen Xu’s clawed finger jabs toward Lan Huan, and Lan Zhan imagines that finger sliced from his hand and stuffed into his lying mouth. “Lan Zhan should have restrained himself from trespassing in our territory! He is the one who started this. But where is he now? Why isn’t he here to speak for himself?”

Some of the Lan cultivators shift uneasily. A few turn to peek at Lan Zhan. Lan Zhan lifts his chin and stares past them.

“Wen Chao was the instigator,” Lan Huan says. “He was the one who broke the truce. That truce is what we are here to mend tonight.” Lan Huan turns back to Wen Ruohan, ignoring Wen Xu pacing circles around him. “We are not here to place blame. If our treaty is to stand, then we must focus on the future. I hope that all here understand that.”

“Coward!” Wen Xu lunges at Lan Huan, his fangs flashing in Lan Huan’s face. This time, Lan Zhan is not the only one who moves—Nie Mingjue and several Lan cultivators draw their swords—but Lan Huan lifts a restraining hand. Mingjue bares his teeth but remains in place.

“Why should we care about your fucking treaty?” Wen Xu yells. Lan Huan stiffens but doesn’t move away from the spit no doubt flecking his face. “You think those freaky eyes of yours scare anybody? You think these humans will protect you? They hate you just as much as they hate us! That sect of yours was dead the second your father died! When my father ripped out his throat!”

A-Niang’s fingers dig deeper into Lan Zhan’s arm, and Lan Huan’s face turns pale and rigid. Wei Ying’s hand clamps on Lan Zhan’s shoulder, pushing down the sword Lan Zhan didn’t realize he was raising. Clenching his teeth, Lan Zhan turns to him and is surprised to see anger as vivid and vicious as his own.

The crowd’s startled murmurs pull Lan Zhan’s attention back to the semicircle—where Meng Yao is entering the fray.

“Apologies for interrupting,” Meng Yao says, his voice still sweet despite how it cuts through the crowd’s chatter. “But I feel it’s necessary to correct Wen Xu’s misunderstanding. The Lan sect is very much alive, no thanks to the cowardly actions of the Wen clan. A bomb? Really?” He shakes his head ruefully. “Cowardly and dishonorable.”

Wen Xu whirls towards Meng Yao—and rebounds off the shield charm Meng Yao cast. He hits the ground on his ass and snarls. Meng Yao looks down at him piteously.

Wen Ruohan ignores his snarling son. “You blame us for that? Better to look to your ‘allies.’ Bombs are human weapons. We have no use for them. Not enough blood on the ground.”

He smirks, and the vampires laugh, their voices echoing in the park like hyenas at the zoo.

“It was a good cover, I suppose,” Meng Yao says amicably, like they’re friends discussing a movie plot that took a strange turn. “Almost clever, even. Unfortunately, neither you nor your human accomplices failed to consider what would happen if your targets survived. And your targets have video evidence.”

Wen Ruohan shows no reaction to this, but the humans in the audience gossip in whispering clumps. Wen Xu picks himself up and hovers at his father’s side, arms crossed and fangs bared.

While the crowd speculates, Lan Zhan watches his brother. Is this part of a plan, or is Meng Yao going off script? Last he heard, Meng Yao had failed to collect enough evidence to accuse Jin Guangshan directly, but then, Lan Zhan hasn’t been at the office much lately. Lan Huan’s expression tells him nothing, so all Lan Zhan can do is hope.

Meng Yao tucks his hands behind his back and strolls towards the large clump of Jin cultivators. The audience quiets to watch.

Meng Yao salutes Jin Guangshan. “Father. Send Jin Zixun up front, would you?”

The flush on Jin Guangshan’s greasy face is obvious even in the torchlight. He lifts his chin and says nothing, but Jin Zixuan pushes past him. “Why?” Jin Zixuan asks Meng Yao. “What does Zixun have to do with any of this?”

Meng Yao smiles thinly. “I’m sorry, Zixuan. I really am. You deserve better.” He steps back and lifts his chin. “Let’s go, Zixun!”

Jin Zixun stomps out of the crowd, his face scrunched with fury.

“Who—?” Wei Ying begins.

“The weasel who planted the bomb,” Lan Zhan snarls before Wei Ying can finish the question.

“What do you want, traitor?” Jin Zixun growls in his obnoxious weasel voice.

“Traitor?” Meng Yao arches an eyebrow. “Interesting choice of words, given that you have betrayed the council and our treaty with the Wen clan.”

This time, the audience doesn’t bother to whisper, and their voices drown out the next exchange. Nie Mingjue bellows for quiet, but even then, the noise takes time to fade away.

“You’re full of shit!” is the next thing Lan Zhan hears Jin Zixun say. “So I was in the building—so what? I told you, I was delivering a package!”

“I know,” Meng Yao says. “It’s quite obvious now that this package was a bomb.”

“It was not!”

Lan Zhan almost feels sorry for the little weasel. His worth to Jin Guangshan must be low indeed if his uncle would use him as a mule, and he’s clearly not clever enough to defend himself.

“Then to whom were you delivering this package?” Meng Yao asks. “What was inside it?”

Jin Zixun crosses his arms. “None of your business.”

“Zixun,” Jin Zixuan calls, his face as pale as a vampire’s. “Just tell him. Tell him you didn’t do this.”

Jin Zixun’s face slithers through a number of expressions until it settles on mulish. “It’s confidential,” he finally mutters.

The onlookers have much to say about that, and Meng Yao lets them, gazing calmly at his father.

“This is nonsense,” Jin Guangshan puffs. “The boy already told you the matter is confidential. Is that all the ‘proof’ you have? A video of Zixun delivering a package?” He turns to smirk at the crowd. “My sect goes back centuries, all the way back to the five dynasties, and now I must listen to this garbage? It pains me that a son of mine could behave so shamelessly. Meng Yao envies Zixuan’s place at my side so much that he defected, but even then, I did not imagine that he would ever stoop so low as to slander me as he has tonight.” He salutes the crowd. “Please, forgive his behavior.”

Even now, Meng Yao’s expression barely shows any strain. If Lan Zhan didn’t know him, he might not see the way that smile has frozen on Meng Yao’s dimpled cheeks.

“Oh Father,” Meng Yao sighs. “Leaving that shit heap you call a sect was the best choice I’ve ever made. And that was before I knew you were Wen Ruohan’s errand boy.”

Jin Guangshan’s face darkens to putrid purple, and Jin Zixun hurls abuse at Meng Yao that Lan Zhan thankfully cannot hear over the voices of the crowd. Meanwhile, Wen Ruohan watches the turmoil with a satisfied smirk.

The uproar doesn’t calm until a woman walks to Meng Yao’s side. As if Meng Yao expected this, he steps aside, and she takes his place across from Jin Guangshan. The Jin sect leader’s face pales to lavender.

“Father,” the woman says. Until then, Lan Zhan didn’t recognize her. Oh, he thinks, hope rising in his chest.

He turns to Wei Ying before he can ask. “Qin Su,” he says. “Jin Guangshan’s daughter and Meng Yao’s half-sister.”

“How many kids does this creep have?” Wei Ying asks.

“I doubt even he knows.”

Lan Zhan turns back to what now seems very much like a stage, perhaps one from those old talk shows where the contestants fought over results of paternity tests.

Qin Su’s voice trembles as she addresses the crowd, but her voice still carries over the murmurs. “What my brother says is true: Jin Guangshan has shamed us all by colluding with Wen Ruohan to eliminate the Lan sect.” She has to pause for the gasps, but then continues: “I do not know what Wen Ruohan promised him, though what could be worth the lives of his allies, of his son, I cannot imagine.”

“How do you know this for certain?” a voice calls from the crowd. It sounds like the Yao sect leader’s bellow.

“Two nights before the bombing,” Qin Su says, “I was at Koi Tower, working late. The building was otherwise empty—or so I thought. I was surprised when I heard the elevator stop on my floor, so I looked out. It was Wen Ruohan and a few others.”

Wei Ying and A-Niang are crowding so close to Lan Zhan that he can barely breathe, but that doesn’t matter because he’s holding his breath. A witness? He will buy Meng Yao every variety of gift basket that he can find.

“I was curious,” Qin Su continues. “And worried, of course. The wards are supposed to keep vampires out of the building, so if they were malfunctioning—or if they’d been disarmed, as they obviously had been . . .” She shakes her head, clearly upset, and Meng Yao squeezes her shoulder.

Qin Su takes a deep breath and lifts her chin. “I didn’t realize my father was still in the building. I followed the vampires, but I didn’t announce myself. I didn’t intend to spy, only to—to call for help if they did something. But then they went into my father’s office, and I heard his voice. I heard him welcome them, like he wanted them there, and I . . .”

“What did you hear, A-Su?” Meng Yao asks. “Tell them, please.”

Qin Su nods, her hands clenched tight at her waist. “I heard them talking about eliminating the Lan sect. I heard them laughing about it.” She turns to Jin Zixun. “I heard my father say that he had the perfect person to use. The perfect stooge.”

Jin Zixun jerks back like she spat in his face. His sneer droops into slack-jawed shock.

“I’m sorry, Zixun,” Qin Su says. “Did you even know what you were doing? Did he tell you that you were about to kill those people?”

“That wasn’t—” Jin Zixun gasps. “It wasn’t—it was just a package.”

She nods like she expected that answer. “Good. I’m sorry he used you, but I’m glad to know you didn’t consent to murder. I’m glad to know you’re innocent of that, at least.”

For a long moment, Jin Zixun only gapes at her. Then he breaks, shoving his way through the crowd. He keeps going until he’s free and runs down the path, disappearing into the shadows. Lan Zhan watches him go without pity. Stooge or not, it’s difficult to pity someone so loathsome.

Once he’s gone, Qin Su bows to Lan Huan. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t know their plan. I didn’t know what to do. He is—” She breaks off and turns toward Jin Guangshan, the heartbreak and horror twisting her face into a grimace. “I couldn’t believe he could be so brutal.”

Jin Guangshan has pretended to ignore his daughter’s testimony, but his mask is far inferior to Meng Yao’s. Now, he chuckles and shakes his head. “A-Su, how could you let your brother put you up to this? You know how devious he is. Don’t you understand what he’s trying to do?”

Qin Su backs away from the hand Jin Guangshan tries to lay on her shoulder. “Meng Yao is devious? Can you really stand there and try to blame him after what you’ve done?”

“What did the vampire promise you, Father?” Meng Yao asks. “I’ll admit, I’m curious about that. I know your heart is black, that you care for no one, not even Zixuan. Even he only matters to you as your heir, as a symbol of your own ‘greatness.’ But even one so heartless as you wouldn’t do such a thing for free. So what did he offer you in exchange for killing the Lans? For killing me?”

Jin Guangshan laughs and strolls across the stage. “Such an imagination you have! All this to protect your beloved Lans. And my, but Lan Huan has certainly gotten himself into a mess this time. No wonder you’re working so hard to pin the blame on me! And to protect a vampire!”

The crowd ripples, angry and confused. Sensing what’s coming, Lan Zhan tries to brace himself before the blow comes.

Meng Yao attempts to intercede, but Jin Guangshan is better at projecting his voice. He strides across the stage, his arms held wide, until he reaches the Lan sect. “And there he is!” he exclaims, pointing at Wei Ying. “The Lans accuse me of colluding with vampires, but ‘Hanguang Jun’ has taken one as a lover!”

As one, the crowd turns, dozens of eyes eagerly seeking the traitor and his vampire lover. There is no point in hiding anymore, but that doesn’t mean that Wei Ying has to endure the spotlight. Lan Zhan sets himself between Wei Ying and those eyes. “Stay here,” he pleads, gripping Wei Ying’s shoulders. “Stay right here with A-Niang.”

“I don’t think that’s an option,” Mrs. Cang says. Lan Zhan follows her gaze to the dark shapes prowling out of the shadows behind them. One of the vampires leaps onto the roof of a nearby concession stand and hisses down at them.

“Come on,” A-Niang says, taking Wei Ying’s hand. “We’ll all go.”

So they do. She leads the way, and the rest of them follow, weaving through the wide eyes of Lan Zhan’s coworkers to where Jin Guangshan stands, puffed up and smirking.

“You asked for him, Guangshan, you old fool,” A-Niang says. “So here he is. But I don’t think this show is going to end the way you hope.”

Wei Ying waves to the crowd. “Hi. I’m Wei Ying. Sorry about crashing the party.”

No one laughs.

Lan Zhan squeezes Wei Ying’s hand and fills his lungs. “Wei Ying came to me for help after Wen Chao attacked him,” he tells the crowd. “Wei Ying tried to save a young woman from Wen Chao, and Wen Chao punished him for that by turning him and abandoning him. Wen Chao admitted this the night he tried to kill both Wei Ying and me. He didn’t want the truth to be known, but he did want to start a war between his clan and the council.” Lan Zhan turns to Wen Ruohan. “Wen Chao lost that battle, and he lost his life. Though I understand that came later.”

Wen Ruohan snarls, but his eyes are on Wei Ying. Lan Zhan grips Wei Ying’s hand tighter, wishing he could take all this back. He should have refused to come. He definitely should have convinced Wei Ying to stay home. He expected a battle. Battles are what he’s good at. What he didn’t expect is for Wei Ying to be forced in front of the crowd as a distraction from Jin Guangshan’s treachery.

The people surrounding them bend their heads together. Lan Zhan only hears snatches of their conversations, but the words “vampire lover” and “traitor” are the most common. He doesn’t hold out much hope that “traitor” refers to Jin Guangshan since “fae” is also frequently used.

Shockingly, it’s Shufu who steps forward to quell the speculation. The rest of the onlookers seem just as surprised as Lan Zhan because they quiet when Lan Zhan’s reticent uncle stands before them.

Shufu stands with his hands tucked behind his back, glaring out at the crowd. “Some of you may remember Cang Liao,” Shufu says, nodding to Mrs. Cang. “Others may not. She retired from the hunt years ago. This Wei Ying—” Shufu barely cuts his eyes at Wei Ying, and it is at this moment that Lan Zhan realizes that his uncle probably didn’t know Wei Ying was a vampire until tonight.

“—is the son of Cang Liao and Wei Changze.”

Even Shufu must pause for the reactions to die down. While they wait, Mrs. Cang takes Wei Ying’s other hand and smiles at Shufu. Shufu ducks his head, his ears flaming.

When he can continue, Shufu says, “Wei Changze gave his life to protect our city and its people. Afterwards, Cang Liao ceased hunting to care for their infant son. So when Lan Zhan tells you that Wei Ying did not choose to become what he is, remember that Wei Ying is the child of two of the bravest, most honorable people I have ever known—a great deal more honorable than some here tonight.” Shufu glares at Jin Guangshan just in case anyone missed his well-aimed barb. “While we here have good reason to despise the Wen clan, we should not set aside Wei Ying’s testimony simply because he is a vampire.”

After that speech, which contained more words than Shufu usually says in a week, he strides back into the crowd. Shocked silence follows. When Lan Zhan looks at Wei Ying, he sees tears in his eyes and is even more surprised to feel wetness on his own cheeks.

“Thank you, Shufu,” Lan Huan says, looking a little misty-eyed himself. To the audience, he says, “Jin Guangshan’s crimes are heinous, but his punishment should be decided at a later date. This meeting is to discuss the long-standing treaty between cultivator and vamp—”

“Oh no!” Jin Guangshan roars. “You don’t get to sweep me under the rug that easily! Zewu Jun may have coerced my children into lying for him, but how can this farce continue when there is a vampire holding hands with Lan Huan’s brother? I don’t care whose son he is, that is a perversion a damn sight more troubling than the breaking of some treaty!”

“You always were a slimebag,” Mrs. Cang growls, advancing on Jin Guangshan.

He backs away, laughing. “Oh, I remember you, too, Sanren. I can’t say I’m shocked that a son of yours would become a vampire. You always did have crazy ideas.”

“Not as crazy as bombing a sect, asshole!” Mrs. Cang shouts. “Did Ruohan even have to pay you, or did you just do it out of jealousy? You aren’t worth the dust on Qingheng Jun’s boots, and you know it!”

“Jealous of them?” Jin Guangshan throws back his head and pretends to laugh. “Oh, the Lan sect might have been worth my envy at one time, but now their leader is fae! I wouldn’t let one of those mongrels in my sect, much less promote one to leader.”

Mingjue strides forward, but Wei Ying is faster. “Who’re you calling mongrel?” Wei Ying screeches. “Are you sure you’re human? Because you look like a slimy fucking troll to me!”

That gets a few cautious laughs, but Wei Ying is too furious to notice. “You’ve lost, asshole. I don’t know anything about all this council shit, but even I can see it. But you just can’t shut the fuck up, can you? No, somehow your tiny troll brain thinks it can slither its way out of trouble by being a bigot! Well, fuck you, troll boy! You’re gonna get what’s coming to you, one way or another!”

“Father,” Jin Zixuan calls, rushing over to grab Jin Guangshan’s arm. “Stop this. If what they say is true—”

“You?” Jin Guangshan rips free of his son’s grip. “Even you? How dare you take their side! You—”

“Enough!”

Everyone turns toward Wen Ruohan, who has gone forgotten in all the drama. Now, he strides toward the center of the scene, shoving Jin Guangshan aside to stand in front of Wei Ying. His eyes travel over Wei Ying with something like greed.

“It’s true, then,” Wen Ruohan says, almost as if he’s speaking to himself. “Stronger than I expected. And spirited.”

Wei Ying stands firm despite how Lan Zhan and Mrs. Cang try to tug him behind them. He tilts his head to study Wen Ruohan. “Yeah, I got spirit. How ’bout you?”

Mrs. Cang groans, and even in his terror, Lan Zhan wants to slap himself unconscious. He actually understands that reference. Even more shocking, Wen Ruohan does, too.

“Funny,” Wen Ruohan says. “Not too bright, though.”

Mrs. Cang sucks in a deep breath, likely readying to list Wei Ying’s many brilliant accomplishments as she is prone to do, but Wei Ying speaks first.

“I may not be smart,” Wei Ying says, “but watching your son crawl after I put a boot in his ass was pretty funny.”

A-Niang moves quickly, yanking Wei Ying back. Lan Zhan swings Bichen in time to stop Wen Ruohan’s hand from clamping around Wei Ying’s throat. Wen Ruohan knocks the sword aside, but Mrs. Cang blasts him with a talisman that sends him skidding back.

Snarling vampires swarm between Wen Ruohan and the humans. Swords rasp from the cultivators’ hilts.

“Wait!” Lan Huan shouts, holding his sword low. “We came to discuss terms! That is still possible!”

Wen Ruohan shakes his head as he stalks back to the center. “No, that was never possible.”

“Kill them!” Jin Guangshan shrieks, and several figures—cultivator and vampire—twitch in place. He stumbles to Wen Ruohan, grinning manically. “Yes, kill them! Kill these sanctimonious liars!”

Wen Ruohan grips Jin Guangshan’s throat and lifts him into the air until his toes dangle above the concrete. “You had one job, Guangshan,” Wen Ruohan says. “Just plant the bomb I gave you. Just get it past their wards. You couldn’t even do that right.”

“I did!” Jin Guangshan wheezes, batting uselessly at the arm holding him. “I—I did, I tried!”

The crowd watches silently. No one runs to help, not even Jin Zixuan.

“Useless.” Wen Ruohan flings Jin Guangshan like he’s tossing a wadded-up piece of paper. Jin Guangshan flies through the air and crashes into the volcano. The structure rumbles like it’s come to life, plaster rocks tumbling down to the earth.

“Just as useless as your treaty.” Wen Ruohan grins wide. His teeth are the color of rust, decades of blood crusting the enamel. “My apologies, Zewu Jun, but the time of conciliation is past. However, if you give me what I want, these humans can scamper back to their precious sects. This, I promise you. No more.”

Wen Ruohan’s eyes lock on Wei Ying. His fangs descend, impossibly long and tarnished with use. The grin remains, but there is a wildness in his eyes, the feral hunger of an animal twisted with the depravity of a man. Lan Zhan’s heart thunders so loudly that every vampire on the mountain must hear it. What else could Wen Ruohan want but—?

“What do you want?” Lan Huan asks, the slightest quiver in his voice.

“This one,” Wen Ruohan says, nodding toward Wei Ying. “Give me the fledgling, and the rest of you are free to leave.”

“Not fucking likely,” Mrs. Cang hisses, but Wen Ruohan ignores her to stare into Wei Ying’s eyes. Can vampires glamor each other? Is that why Wei Ying just stands there staring back at him?

“He isn’t the one who killed your son,” Lan Zhan says. He crowds in beside Wei Ying and tries to draw Wen Ruohan’s eye away from Wei Ying, but Wen Ruohan pays him no attention.

“I killed him!” Lan Zhan shouts, roaring in Wen Ruohan’s face. “I drove my sword through his thick skull! If you want to kill someone for that, kill me! It’s my fault, not Wei Ying’s!”

Wei Ying snaps his head aside to glare at Lan Zhan. “Stop it, Lan Zhan! You wouldn’t even be in this mess if it weren’t for me!”

“I’m not going to kill him,” Wen Ruohan says. “Yes, this little one has caused a great deal of trouble, but he is ours. It’s time he learned that.”

Wei Ying narrows his eyes and stares back at Wen Ruohan. “You’re serious? If I come with you, you’ll really let everybody go?”

“You are coming with me,” Wen Ruohan says. “If I have to kill them all, I will. Your choice.”

“No!” Lan Zhan grabs Wei Ying’s arm and tries to drag him away, but Wei Ying yanks free easily.

“Lan Zhan, you should go.” Wei Ying turns to his mother. “You too. You heard the guy: he doesn’t want to kill me. So it’s fine. I’ll swing by later.” He winks at A-Niang. “We’ll have dinner. No big deal.”

Wen Ruohan laughs, baring his stained teeth. “Brave boy.”

Lan Zhan is too stunned to react. He sways in place, his arms hanging numb at his sides. This can’t be happening. An hour ago, Wei Ying was in his arms, soaring beneath the stars. How can that moment have led to this?

“Wei Ying!” Mrs. Cang snaps. “Don’t be stupid, you can’t sacrifice yourself to keep everyone safe! He is a killer, and he wants to make you a killer! Even if he lets us go today, he’ll come for us soon enough, and he’ll use you to do it!”

“I have to,” Wei Ying says. “How can I say no? I can’t let people die for my sake!”

“Listen to your mother,” A-Niang says, gripping Wei Ying’s shoulder. “There is no way we’re letting this monster take you away from us.”

“Wei Ying,” is all Lan Zhan can say. “Wei Ying!”

Wei Ying twists away from him and hides his face on his mother’s shoulder. Dimly, Lan Zhan feels his mother grip his hand, but he can’t look away from Wei Ying until Lan Huan steps between them. Lan Zhan blinks at his brother’s back through the tears blurring his eyes.

“I’m sorry, Wei Ying,” Lan Huan says, and Lan Zhan chokes on a sob. He can’t. Lan Huan can’t mean to hand Wei Ying over.

Wei Ying peeks at Lan Huan from his mother’s arms. He nods and pushes her back.

Lan Zhan breathes deeply and forces the tears back. This is not going to happen. If he has to stand by and watch Wei Ying leave with Wen Ruohan . . . No, it’s impossible. He will fight. Even if he must stand alone, he will fight to keep Wei Ying.

Lan Zhan readies for his last battle, but Lan Huan isn’t finished.

“I’m sorry,” Lan Huan says again, “but I must override Wei Ying’s decision.” He turns to Wen Ruohan, his chin held high. “You are not taking him. If you want a fight, you have one.”

Lan Zhan nearly sways with relief. How could he have ever doubted his brother’s honor, his courage?

Wen Ruohan laughs. “Good. I haven’t tasted fae blood in decades. I think I’ll start with your mother.”

As if she expected this, A-Niang immediately drops Lan Zhan’s hand. “Come then, you bloated old leech.” She draws her sword and sails into the air. Her golden eyes glow impossibly bright as her power gathers. In the space of a breath, the night sky turns from velvet darkness to the glimmer of dawn.

Snarling, Wen Ruohan leaps toward her. Lan Zhan and Mrs. Cang lunge at Wei Ying and cover him as well as they can.

“Shield your eyes!” Lan Zhan shouts in Wei Ying’s ear. When Wei Ying ignores him, Lan Zhan slaps his own hand over Wei Ying’s eyes.

“What?” Wei Ying yelps, squirming to escape their arms. “Why are you two smothering me?”

“The light will fry you,” Mrs. Cang says, a second before Wen Ruohan screams. The air soon reeks of burning meat and hair.

In a tangle of limbs, Lan Zhan and Mrs. Cang shuffle Wei Ying toward the shelter of a concession stand. Vampires shriek past them, their skin smoking and their eyes scorched black. One vampire sags against a concession stand, his hands pressed to his face, wailing like a lost child. Lan Zhan hurriedly looks away from the liquid seeping down the vampire’s cheeks.

“That’s what she meant in the car?” Wei Ying asks, the words muffled by Lan Zhan’s chest. “Mrs. J can just . . . disintegrate vampires?”

“Yep,” Mrs. Cang says. They shove Wei Ying through the concession stand door, but it won’t provide much shelter: bright line shines through the holes in the walls and ceiling. “Good thing she likes you, huh?”

“I fucking guess so!” Wei Ying yells. “Lan Zhan, can you do that?”

“No.” Lan Zhan closes his eyes and shoves his face against Wei Ying’s back, but the light still burns behind his eyelids. He frees one arm from their huddle to cast a shield charm, but it does nothing to dim the light. “I’m only half fae. The best I can do is a dim glow.”

“You’re a firefly,” Wei Ying says, wonder in his voice.

“And she is a supernova.”

That’s barely an exaggeration, but no matter how powerful his mother is, she isn’t invulnerable. Her power can turn a young vampire like Wei Ying to dust in seconds, but one as old and powerful as Wen Ruohan isn’t so easy to eliminate. Lan Zhan winces at every thud and grunt from outside, but he can’t leave Wei Ying. One stray blast of light, and his boyfriend is ashes. He has to trust in his mother, and in his brother to protect her.

Chapter Text

The storm of light and sound has just begun to fade away when the concession stand door is wrenched open. Lan Zhan throws out a hand, ready to blast whoever enters.

Lan Huan skids to a stop in the doorway. “It’s me! Is Wei Ying okay?”

“Yes.” Lan Zhan wrenches his arm free from under someone’s elbow and climbs to his feet. “A-Niang? Shufu?”

“They’re okay. Ruohan managed to slip away. A-Niang and Mingjue are trying to find him, but we could use your help with the rest.”

Lan Zhan looks down at Wei Ying, torn. He has to help his mother, but he can’t leave Wei Ying here defenseless.

“Go,” Mrs. Cang says. “I’ve got him.”

“What?” Wei Ying screeches. He squirms away from her and grabs Lan Zhan’s arm. “No, uh-uh, you aren’t going anywhere without me!”

Lan Zhan lays his hand over Wei Ying’s. “Wei Ying, it’s too dangerous.”

“I won’t get fried, Lan Zhan, I promise.”

“You don’t know how to fight.”

Wei Ying rolls his eyes. “No, I don’t have fancy kung fu moves, but I’ve got my stompy boots and a pocket full of talismans. I’ve done pretty well so far, right?”

“You were gutted with a two by four,” Mrs. Cang says dryly.

Wei Ying flaps a dismissive hand. “A mere flesh wound.”

Lan Zhan exchanges an exasperated look with Mrs. Cang and sighs. “Fine. But stay close to your mother.”

“And don’t go trying to sacrifice yourself again,” Mrs. Cang adds with a sharp tug at Wei Ying’s ear. “You nearly gave me a heart attack.”

Lan Zhan has never wanted to high-five anyone in his life, but at that moment, he comes close to initiating his first with his boyfriend’s mother. When they get home—and they will get home, even if he has to behead every vampire in this park—he is going to have very strong words with Wei Ying about his terrible life decisions.

Lan Zhan follows his brother out of the concession stand with Wei Ying and Mrs. Cang bickering behind them. The picnic area is strewn with dead vampires, many of them still smoldering.

“Most of the smaller sects left,” Lan Huan says as they pick their way around the corpses. “And the Jins, except for those who stayed behind with Jin Zixuan. Jin Guangshan survived, but he didn’t look well.”

Lan Zhan hums acknowledgment, but he doesn’t have attention to spare for the disgraced Jin sect leader right now. “Any idea how many vampires are left?”

“Too many,” Lan Huan says, grimacing as he steps over a charred vampire. “It doesn’t make sense. Their clan had less than thirty when the treaty was signed, but I’ve seen at least that many tonight.”

“There are way more than thirty here,” Wei Ying says from behind Lan Zhan. “I can’t tell how many exactly, but it feels like they’re everywhere.”

Lan Huan stops and turns to Wei Ying. Behind him lies a bridge over dark water. The sign poking from the weeds beside the bridge reads “Troll Swamp.” Hopefully, that is only fantasy.

“You can sense other vampires?” Lan Huan asks.

“Um, yeah? Kinda.” Wei Ying sidles forward until his sleeve brushes Lan Zhan’s arm. “I don’t know how helpful that is, though. Like I said, it seems like they’re everywhere.”

Mrs. Cang snorts. “Seems like the Wens have been ignoring that treaty for a long time. Can’t say I’m surprised.”

Lan Huan sighs. “As you say. We should keep going.”

“Hey, uh, wait a sec,” Wei Ying stammers, edging towards Lan Huan. “I just wanted to say thanks. For what you did. For me. You didn’t have to do that.”

“Of course I did,” Lan Huan says, smiling gently. “Even if you weren’t so dear to my brother, I could never stand aside and let you sacrifice yourself for us. I apologize, Wei Ying. I wish I had been wise enough to avoid this situation.”

Lan Zhan watches his brother pat Wei Ying’s shoulder with a lump in his throat larger than that tacky volcano. Yes, Lan Huan made a poor choice, but he made it out of a desire to protect their people. Lan Zhan can never understand the burdens his brother bears, not when—

“Look out!” Mrs. Cang shouts.

Her voice still rings in Lan Zhan’s ears as the night explodes into fire. Mrs. Cang barrels into Lan Zhan, knocking him into the weeds. He barely notices. He’s looking at the troll bridge, now blazing, but Lan Huan and Wei Ying are gone.

“Wei Ying!” Lan Zhan yells, absently pulling Mrs. Cang to her feet. “Ge! Wei Ying! Where are you?”

“Over here!”

Lan Zhan whirls towards Wei Ying’s voice, the stiff fingers of Mrs. Cang’s prosthetic hand gripping his arm.

Several feet away, Wei Ying and Lan Huan are climbing to their feet behind a bench. “Sorry,” Wei Ying says as he and Lan Huan stagger back onto the path. “I just meant to push you out of the way,” he tells Lan Huan. “I’m still getting used to the whole vampire strength thing.”

“Not at all,” Lan Huan says, brushing grass from his shoulders. “Thank you for saving me.”

“Anytime,” Wei Ying says. “What was that?”

“Fireball,” Mrs. Cang says. Like Lan Zhan, she is scanning the darkness on the other side of the troll bridge. “Be ready.”

“Yeah, but how?” Wei Ying asks. “What kind of vampires shoot fire?”

“Wens,” Lan Zhan says grimly. Not many of them have that ability, thankfully. Only those of Wen Ruohan’s line. Which means—

Another fireball streaks towards them, but this time, Lan Zhan is ready. He sends out a blast that fizzles the fire before it can reach them.

Laughter screeches from the far bank. “Don’t be scared!” a voice calls from the darkness. “Come and play, Hanguang Jun!”

Wei Ying groans and pushes against Lan Zhan’s side. “I really hate being vampire-related to these weirdos.”

Lan Huan joins them on Lan Zhan’s empty side. “That sounds like Wen Xu.”

“Good,” Mrs. Cang says. “I intend to kill that little prick myself.” She twirls her sword and starts towards the swamp.

With Wei Ying in his arms, Lan Zhan follows the others, soaring over the smoldering bridge and landing in what appears to be a more gruesome side of medieval fantasy. Flames from the burning bridge flicker across the Gothic facades of the shops surrounding them. Ogres and trolls prowl in patinaed splendor beside the splintered cobblestone paths. In the center of this menagerie, a manticore bares its fangs. Aside from these monsters, the space appears empty.

“Okay, this is kinda cool,” Wei Ying says.

“There used to be a blacksmith over there,” Mrs. Cang says, pointing to a store with her sword. “They made teeny little swords. It was pretty cute.”

“Nice!”

That does sound pretty cute, but now is not the time for reminiscing. Lan Zhan squeezes Wei Ying’s hand. “Where are the vampires?”

Wei Ying moves forward, pulling Lan Zhan along. “This way, I think.”

They walk past centaurs, a basilisk, and even one strangely-malevolent unicorn, rearing and stabbing the air with its hooves. Set off the path in another murky swamp, bats and a hissing black cat guard the “Witch’s Hut.” A large toad’s bulbous eyes rise from the water surrounding the hut.

“Another Wen brother?” Wei Ying jokes, elbowing Lan Zhan’s side.

Lan Zhan smirks. “Your vampire cousin.”

“Not funny, Lan Zhan.”

Wei Ying slows, hugging Lan Zhan’s arm tight, as they approach a large structure looming dark in the distance.

“In there,” Wei Ying sighs. “Gotta be.”

“How many?” Lan Zhan asks.

“A lot.”

Stay here, Lan Zhan wants to say, but what good would it do? Wei Ying would never agree. Besides, he can’t leave Wei Ying alone on the cobblestones. Whatever awaits them inside, they’ll have to face it together.

As they move closer to where the vampires are hiding, a small flame ignites and spins lazily at the base of the structure. That little light isn’t bright enough for Lan Zhan to read the sign at the base of the structure, but as they walk closer, its purpose becomes clear enough. It is a funhouse of some sort—the cheerfully spooky sort of entertainment beloved by those unaware that real monsters lurk just beyond the borders of their safe and sane little worlds. This funhouse was designed like a medieval castle, the sort Vlad Tepes would find homey. Sharp gables and gloomy towers stretch towards the sky, their tips blurred by silver clouds. Forked-tongued dragons hiss beside the wrought iron gate leading to this dark little castle.

Wen Xu waits on the castle’s porch, a fireball spinning above his palm. A rather stupid trick for a vampire to enjoy, though playing with fire is stupid no matter what one’s species. Before tonight, Lan Zhan had only encountered Wen Xu once, briefly, but he’s calmed to discover that the older brother is just as overconfident as the younger. He’s less pleased to learn that Wen Xu is just as ridiculously dramatic as the rest of his family.

“Finally,” Wen Xu drawls, rolling his eyes. Not quite as bulbous as Wen Chao’s, but still fairly froggish. “For a while there, I thought you were going to run and hide.”

“From you?” Mrs. Cang snorts. “Hardly. Now put that fireball away before I stuff it up your ass.”

Snarling, Wen Xu throws the fireball at her. Lan Zhan tries to shield her, but Mrs. Cang deflects the fireball with a flick of her sword, sending it flying back towards Wen Xu before Lan Zhan can douse it. Wen Xu ducks, barely avoiding the fire that explodes into the wall behind his head, and scampers through the funhouse’s door without another word.

“Are we going in after him?” Wei Ying asks.

Lan Zhan shakes his head. “Waste of time. We need to find A-Niang.”

Mrs. Cang holds up a talisman. “I could just burn the place down?”

Wei Ying’s mother is terrifying. Lan Zhan is growing quite fond of her.

Before he can agree, a shout comes from above them. Lan Zhan looks up to the balcony overhanging the funhouse’s main entrance. Wen Xu crashes through the balcony door and drags a squirming Lan Jingyi with him.

“You lost this little one, Zewu Jun!” Wen Xu shouts down at them, grinning with bloody teeth. “I was going to eat him, but he tastes like shit. Maybe I’ll just break his neck.”

Lan Jingyi chomps down on the arm wrapped around his neck. Wen Xu yelps, and the two of them struggle on the balcony—Wen Xu trying to free his arm from Lan Jingyi’s jaws without losing his hostage.

Lan Zhan can’t blast Wen Xu without hitting Lan Jingyi. He is about to leap onto the balcony when Wen Xu finally tears himself free and grips Lan Jingyi’s throat. Lan Jingyi sneers at him, his mouth a gory mess.

“How’d you like it, ass breath?” Lan Jingyi gasps.

Snarling, Wen Xu drags him back inside.

“There goes that plan,” Mrs. Cang says, tucking the talisman back in her pocket. She vaults onto the balcony, Lan Huan right behind her.

Lan Zhan holds out his arm, and Wei Ying steps close, winding his arms around Lan Zhan’s neck. As they leap, Wei Ying asks, “Who’s the kid?”

“Jingyi,” Lan Zhan says as they land on the balcony.

“Oh.” Wei Ying squeezes his shoulder as they step inside the funhouse. “I remember you talking about him.”

Lan Zhan nods, his throat tight. Jingyi is often reckless, and always loud, but he is . . . special. Lan Zhan would never choose a favorite among his students, but if he did, Jingyi would probably be it.

“He’ll be okay,” Wei Ying says gently. “We’ll find him.”

They will. And Lan Zhan will take great pleasure in depriving Wen Xu of his head.

Lan Huan’s sword bobs ahead of them, a beam of light in the darkness. Lan Zhan lights his own sword and grips Wei Ying’s hand as they rush to catch up. This is Lan Zhan’s first time in a funhouse, though he has seen a few in movies. Beneath his feet is a metal track, probably for carts to ferry customers through the attractions. Without carts or the electricity to run them, Lan Zhan and his party must ferry themselves.

The first few steps don’t reveal anything particularly spooky, but he can’t discern much besides the gleam of the metal track and his brother’s sword. Cobwebs swath the beams overhead, but it’s unclear if those are decoration or the work of real spiders.

“Ooh, creepy,” Wei Ying says, craning his neck to look at something to his right. Lan Zhan points Bichen in that direction. The sword’s light shines over a tableau staged in an alcove. In that tableau, a man lies on a torture rack, his face a rictus of pain as his limbs are stretched. A hooded figure stands above the tortured man. The hood hides the man’s features, but he is clearly meant to be enjoying his victim’s suffering.

“Entertaining,” Lan Zhan says dryly, and tugs Wei Ying along. They move down the track, surrounded on both sides by stages hosting more horrors. He does his best to avoid looking at the prisoners reaching from their cells and gargoyles arching their wings, but Wei Ying comments on each scene with great delight.

“Sorry,” Wei Ying says when Lan Zhan refuses to participate in the conversation. “I know, I’m being a tourist when we’ve got a kid to save, but I haven’t been to a spooky house in so long, and I used to love going to these things. Especially on my birthday. Lan Zhan, did you know my birthday’s on Halloween?”

Lan Zhan looks to Mrs. Cang for confirmation that this is not just a bad joke.

“It’s true,” Mrs. Cang says. “He was supposed to be born on October twenty-first. I thought I was going to have to cut him out myself.”

Wei Ying flips his ponytail over his shoulder. “Obviously, I needed to wait for the cool birthday. When’s yours, Lan Zhan?”

“January twenty-third.”

“Kinda basic, but it suits you. My pretty ice queen.” Wei Ying winks and cuddles his arm.

Lan Zhan is rather mortified to discover that he can be distracted by Wei Ying’s flirting even at a time like this. “Focus,” he scolds Wei Ying—and himself. “We’re clearly meant to walk into an ambush.”

“Don’t worry, Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying says. “I’m on high alert, I promise. I can totally flirt and scan for vampire foes.”

Lan Zhan doesn’t really doubt that, but he still doesn’t like their odds. The four of them against who knows how many vampires; in a dark, confined space; their group forced to go where the vampires want them. Even with whatever advance warning Wei Ying can give them, they’re still greatly disadvantaged.

He is carefully leading Wei Ying around a leering skeleton, its bony arm stretched out to menace its guests, when Wei Ying suddenly halts, his ponytail swaying under the skeleton’s grasping fingers.

“Ge,” Lan Zhan calls softly, never taking his eyes from Wei Ying, who stares ahead like he’s transfixed by one of the funhouse displays. Lan Huan and Mrs. Cang hurry back to join them.

“What is it?” Lan Huan whispers. Shuoyue’s light reflects in his silver eyes, turning them into headlights in the gloom.

Without speaking, Wei Ying pulls a talisman from his pocket and flicks it toward the display. The talisman ignites in a flash of light, forcing Lan Zhan’s eyes closed, but he hears the howls of pain from whatever Wei Ying struck. When he can bear to look, he sees a figure wearing a snarling wolf mask stumbling out of the alcove, its body enveloped in flame. The figure rips off the mask and snarls with real fangs before collapsing to the ground, still burning merrily.

“See?” Wei Ying says, his hands jammed on his hips. “I can be helpful.”

“Gloat later,” Mrs. Cang says, tossing another talisman. “The wolfman isn’t alone.”

Another shriek echoes through the chamber as her talisman finds its target, nearly drowning out the hisses and growls coming from the surrounding alcoves. Wei Ying and Mrs. Cang scorch another vampire, and the light from the burning bodies reveals more vampires crawling out of the displays farther down the tunnel. Shuoyue flashes like lightning, slashing through the shadows converging on Lan Huan. Lan Zhan leaves Wei Ying with Mrs. Cang and leaps to join his brother. Together, they blast silver and blue, no need to aim discriminately in such close quarters, and slash at the few vampires who reach them. Talismans whirl past them, popping off more fires until the tunnel is heavy with smoke and the stench of burning flesh.

When the last growls die away, half a dozen corpses lie before them, and several fires blaze in the alcoves. Wen Xu is not among the dead. Lan Zhan strides towards a vampire who is still groaning. The vampire’s leg lies farther down the track, the foot still twitching. Lan Zhan lays Bichen against the vampire’s throat. “Tell me where Wen Xu is, and I’ll give you a quick death.”

The vampire bares its fangs in a feeble snarl. “Fuck. You.”

Lan Zhan presses the sword against its skin. “Where is he?”

The vampire cranes its neck, trying to escape the sword, but Lan Zhan presses until the vampire’s skin sizzles. “Basement!” the vampire spits. “He’s in the basement! I hope he fucking kills—”

Lan Zhan strikes quickly, severing the vampire’s head neatly, as he promised. When he turns around, he falters. Wei Ying is watching him, his arm around Mrs. Cang, his eyes dark and solemn. Suddenly, Lan Zhan feels a lot less magnanimous.

But Wei Ying nods approvingly and comes over to take his arm. “Let’s go get your friend.”

“Quickly,” Lan Huan says. “Before the fire spreads.”

“How about a shortcut?” Wei Ying says. “I don’t know about you guys, but I’m already sick of the spooky house.” Wei Ying pulls Lan Zhan down the tunnel towards a well-disguised door marked with a discreet “Employees Only” sign. The door opens to a narrow maintenance shaft. Lan Zhan shines his sword along the empty passageway.

“Good idea,” Lan Zhan says, and they start down the passageway. Its bare walls lead them to another door helpfully labeled “Stairs.” They descend the stairs until they reach the bottom and the door labeled “Basement.” Such wonderfully clear instructions. What the employee section lacks in ambience, it makes up for in clarity.

“Alright, time for the boss level,” Wei Ying says as they pause before the basement door. Lan Zhan kicks it open and strides inside, sword first. Unfortunately, the basement is part of the spooky house design. Instead of several set pieces, they’re met with what must be the grand finale: a large stage designed like some dark sorcerer’s palace. The palace’s jagged towers jab to the ceiling. Below the palace lies a large space probably meant for the audience. Burning braziers illuminate the faux stone steps leading from the audience chamber to a platform. On that platform is an ornate throne. Wen Xu reclines on this throne, of course. Lan Jingyi is held at his side by another vampire. This one is also bleeding from a bite to the arm.

“Please kill this guy!” Lan Jingyi yells as soon as he spots them. “He is such a tool!”

“Shut up!” Wen Xu barks. “What am I saying? I don’t even need you anymore. Gao Pei, break his fucking neck!”

“Jingyi, down!” Lan Zhan shouts. Lan Jingyi immediately buckles, making himself as small as he can as Lan Zhan’s blast streaks toward him. The blue glare only strikes the vampire’s arm, but it’s enough to make him release Lan Jingyi. The vampire shrieks and bolts, leaving his amputated arm behind.

Lan Zhan doesn’t watch the vampire flee. Light from the corner of his eye warns him of the fireball blazing towards him, too fast to counter. Uselessly, he throws up his hands, but the fireball halts inches from his face, heat baking his skin even through the shield he didn’t have time to cast. The fireball burns like an imploding star, bright even behind his closed eyelids, until it hisses defeat.

Lan Zhan blinks his eyes open and nods his thanks to his brother, who nods back shakily, his hand still outstretched from casting the spell.

A howl draws Lan Zhan’s attention to the platform where Lan Jingyi, now free of his captor, is launching himself at Wen Xu. Wen Xu flinches back from Lan Jingyi’s feral battle cry, trips on the throne, and tumbles to the ground. Lan Jingyi lands on top of him, and they roll down the plaster steps, both of them snarling and scratching.

Lan Zhan runs towards this ridiculous battle and struggles to disengage Lan Jingyi from his enemy. For his efforts, he receives a bite on his forefinger, though he can’t be sure whose teeth caught him.

“Jingyi, stop! It’s over.”

Lan Jingyi blinks up at him, his fingers stabbing Wen Xu’s eyes and his knee jabbing Wen Xu’s groin. He looks down at the sword Lan Zhan holds at Wen Xu’s throat. “Oh. Thanks.”

Lan Jingyi rolls off the vampire and struggles to his feet. He looks past Lan Zhan’s shoulder, his eyes widening. “Uh oh.”

Lan Zhan doesn’t turn to see what the uh-oh is about. More vampires, obviously. Sighing, he draws the sword back a few inches. “Stand up,” he orders Wen Xu.

Wen Xu stands slowly as the hissing starts below them. He also looks past Lan Zhan, a smirk stretching his red mouth.

“Tell them to stand down,” Lan Zhan says.

Wen Xu tries to look down at the sword at his throat without moving his head, but ends up looking like a cross-eyed toad. “Kill me if you want. You’ll still never get out of here alive.”

“Fine.” Lan Zhan draws the sword back, readying to strike, but Wen Xu throws up his hands.

“Okay, okay.”  Scowling, Wen Xu bellows for his minions to stand down.

The sounds of battle grind to silence. Lan Zhan dares a look behind him. The other three members of his group are pressed together in the center of the room, encircled by at least ten vampires. The vampires have obeyed Wen Xu, and now they all stand still, poised for battle, much like one of the tableaus above.

So far so good. But what now?

“What now, Hanguang Jun?” Wen Xu asks, sneering. Damned spooky mind-reading vampires.

When the answer comes to him, Lan Zhan can’t help smiling. “Now we leave you to your throne.” He pushes Wen Xu back into the chair and freezes him there, then silences him for good measure. Wen Xu twitches and fumes as he tries to move his limbs, but he is trapped on the tacky throne.

Lan Zhan whirls around and casts the spell again on the nearest vampire. He’s never tried to freeze so many bodies at once. Actually, he’s never tried to freeze more than three or four at a time, so the results are uncertain.

But he isn’t alone tonight. Lan Huan and Lan Jingyi catch on quickly and freeze their own opponents while Wei Ying and Mrs. Cang skirt past the vampires’ grasping claws and join Lan Zhan on the stage.

“Let us help,” Mrs. Cang says, digging around in her coat pocket.

“You’re going to love this, Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying says, grinning and bouncing on his toes.

The golden net Mrs. Cang casts from her talismans shines bright as it stretches to contain a clump of vampires. They snarl and rip at the shimmering threads, but Mrs. Cang draws the net tight, trussing them up like hissing carp.

Recognizing the threat she poses, a few vampires charge the platform, and Lan Zhan and Wei Ying work on protecting Mrs. Cang while she casts another net.

“I helped her design it,” Wei Ying says as he kicks a vampire off the platform. “It’s the same color as your eyes.”

That should not make Lan Zhan blush, so his ears are probably just hot from the battle.

When all of the vampires are frozen or netted, Lan Huan leads the way out of the basement. Smoke seeps through the vents as they reach the exit, but their methods won’t hold the vampires for long enough for those little fires to finish the job. Thankfully, they have Mrs. Cang.

Once they’re outside, Mrs. Cang once again reaches for her exploding talisman. “Oh, can I do it?” Wei Ying pleads, his hands clasped under his chin.

“We’ll both do it,” Mrs. Cang says. Together, they flick their talismans toward the funhouse. Twin explosions boom, shattering the building’s façade, and they must all run to escape the flaming debris.

From a safe distance, they watch the funhouse burn. “Some of them might escape,” Lan Huan says.

One of the turrets, already leaning from poor maintenance, chooses that moment to tumble through the roof with a great crash and a flare of sparks.

“Probably not many,” Lan Huan amends.

“Ah fuck, my sword’s in there,” Lan Jingyi moans.

Lan Huan claps him on the shoulder. “Don’t fret, we’ll find it later. After all, Lan Zhan lost his sword when the bomb exploded. We found Bichen, didn’t we?”

This comparison hardly seems fair, but Lan Zhan doesn’t protest. Lan Jingyi seems mollified, and that’s more important than Lan Zhan’s pride.

Chapter Text

They have only just left the burning castle behind when they meet a group of Lans, led by Xie Jianjun.

“Jingyi!” Ouyang Zizhen shouts, flinging himself at Lan Jingyi. “We’ve been looking for you everywhere!” Lan Jingyi winces as Ouyang Zizhen squeezes him, but he looks pleased.

“Lan Huan,” Xie Jianjun pants, dropping a quick bow. “You found Jingyi. Thank the gods.”

“Have you seen my mother?” Lan Huan asks.

“Near the Ferris wheel, last I saw,” Xie Jianjun says. “Nie Mingjue was with her. That’s when we lost Jingyi. We’ve been searching for him. Then we saw the fire . . .”

Lan Huan starts explaining about the vampires trapped in the funhouse’s basement, but Lan Zhan has heard enough. He mounts his sword, and Wei Ying hops up in front of him. Mrs. Cang is already hovering in the air, waiting for them.

Lan Huan shouts after them, but Lan Zhan doesn’t turn back. He wraps his arms tight around Wei Ying and soars away from the rising smoke, headed for the Ferris wheel rasping in the shadows.

“She’ll be okay,” Wei Ying says, squeezing Lan Zhan’s arms. “That creepy old dude is probably toast by now.”

Lan Zhan nuzzles his ear in thanks, but the fear he’d kept tamped down in the funhouse is back with a vengeance, strangling his words. That fucking Wen Xu delayed them too long. What if it’s too late?

The Ferris wheel looms larger as they speed towards it. This time, Lan Zhan doesn’t need Wei Ying to find their targets. The clouds race with them, unveiling the moon. The full moon’s light spills down, glinting off the creaking cars and illuminating the battle happening below. There are more than a dozen vampires here. Far more. Damn Wen Ruohan, and damn the council for their ignorance, their indolence. How did any of them think they were truly keeping the Wens in check with a mere treaty? And how many lives have been lost, how many dragged into darkness, while the council enjoyed their fucking peace?

Gripping Wei Ying tight, Lan Zhan plunges down towards the battle. Sword glares burst across the sky, but Lan Zhan weaves through the light show to search for his mother. Amid the swarming bodies, he spots Nie Mingjue near the center of the fight, his enormous saber swinging around his head. Near the perimeter is Jin Zixuan, the gold hilt of his sword gleaming.

And there, finally, is A-Niang, still shimmering, but faintly. Lan Zhan’s heart lurches at seeing her so diminished. He fires a blast at the vampires surrounding her. More blasts follow from Wei Ying and Mrs. Cang. Then they’re on the ground. Bichen snaps into his hand and slashes, fast and brutal, as he charges in. He fights his way to his mother’s back and positions himself there, standing between her and her attackers.

“Zhanzhan,” she gasps, but he doesn’t answer. He lets the battle haze take over, dulling his thoughts to anything but the enemy in front of him. Dimly, he registers Wei Ying and Mrs. Cang fighting nearby. Worry tries to distract him, but he doesn’t let it. Mrs. Cang and Wei Ying will take care of each other.

Lan Zhan is on his third opponent when shouting from above breaks through his haze. The vampire he is battling blurs out of reach of Lan Zhan’s sword and looks up, his jaw dropping. Lan Zhan uses his distraction to slice off his head, then joins his vacant eyes in staring at the sky.

“Reinforcements,” A-Niang says, patting Lan Zhan’s back. “About time.”

Above them, Lan Huan soars in front of the formation. At his order, the fliers descend, bright blasts shrieking through the battlefield. A vampire crashes into Lan Zhan. He shoves it away, but the vampire seems uninterested in fighting. It staggers to find its balance and then keeps going, fleeing the field. Despite outnumbering the humans three to one, several vampires seem to share its fear. All around them, vampires are forgoing the fight and trying to escape. Wen Ruohan may have amassed an army, but it seems he neglected to train his soldiers well.

Lan Zhan has no interest in pursuit. He grabs his mother and guides her toward Wei Ying and Mrs. Cang, who have both been deserted by their opponents and stand watching the fliers’ descent.

“Where’s Shufu?” Lan Zhan asks his mother as he moves them all away from the muddled battlefield.

“I don’t know,” A-Niang says, swiping her hand over her forehead and leaving behind a bloody streak. Not her blood, hopefully. “I lost track of him.”

Her hands are trembling, he realizes, watching her pat her hair. It is escaping its bun, sweaty tendrils sticking to her skin. Even her eyes have dulled from their usual bright gold to dull brass.

“We’ll find him,” Lan Zhan assures her. “You need to rest. Are you hurt?”

She huffs and leans against him. “No, just tired. I’m getting old.”

“Never.” Lan Zhan holds her up and kisses her head. “You were amazing.”

“Such a good boy.” She pats his chest and lays her head on his shoulder. “But it’s not over yet.”

“Did you get Grandpa Vampire?” Wei Ying asks.

“No,” A-Niang grunts. “Slimy bastard ran away, but I bet he didn’t go far. He’s always got something up his sleeve. I haven’t seen that mouthy son of his. Did you get him?”

“We did!” Wei Ying chirps. “Lan Zhan trapped him in the spooky house, and we brought it down on top of him!”

“Sounds fun. I’m sorry I missed it.” A-Niang holds out an arm for Wei Ying, and he skips over to support her other side.

They watch the cultivators mop up the rest of the vampires still eager to do battle and pursue those attempting escape. One tall, skinny vampire tries to evade Nie Mingjue by climbing the Ferris wheel, but the big saber whirls through the air and cuts him in two. Wei Ying makes a gagging noise, and Lan Zhan looks away, but he still hears the intestines slap the ground.

Lan Huan finds them soon after, and A-Niang pushes away from Lan Zhan and Wei Ying to go to him. While A-Niang is assuring him that she’s fine, Wei Ying stiffens and turns towards the shadows behind them. Before Lan Zhan can ask what he’s sensed, Wei Ying blurs past him.

Cursing, Lan Zhan follows, crashing through the tangled weed, thorns snagging his sleeves. He finds Wei Ying holding a vampire in a headlock. The vampire hangs there limply, not even attempting to escape.

“Skulking around in the shadows, huh?” Wei Ying says, tightening his grip. The vampire chokes but still doesn’t put up a fight. “Where’s your leader? Take me to him, and maybe I won’t rip your head off!”

“That’s,” the vampire gasps. “What. Came. Tell you.”

As Lan Zhan comes closer, the vampire cranes his neck towards him. Large guileless eyes shine a deep, familiar rose. “Wait!” Lan Zhan blurts. “That’s Wen Ning!”

“The nice vampire?” Wei Ying looks down at Wen Ning, still trapped in the crook of Wei Ying’s elbow. “You’re Wen Qing’s brother?”

“Yes?” Wen Ning gurgles.

“Oh, sorry!” Wei Ying releases him, and Wen Ning drops to his knees, clutching his throat. Wei Ying pats his shoulder awkwardly. “Sorry about that. I’m Wei Ying.”

“Nice,” Wen Ning croaks. “Meet you.”

Wei Ying helps Wen Ning to his feet, and Wen Ning backs away from them, his head ducked shyly.

“I didn’t expect you to be here,” Lan Zhan says.

“I, I thought I could help,” Wen Ning says. “Help you, I mean.”

“You said you know where Wen Ruohan is?”

Mrs. Cang arrives before Wen Ning can answer, and they have to go through the whole explanation again to keep her from killing their ally. Mrs. Cang is asking after Wen Qing when Lan Zhan interrupts.

“Wen Ruohan?” Lan Zhan says, hoping to speed things along before anyone else can come searching for them. The surreality of this conversation is also starting to make his head spin, and at some point, he’d like to leave this damned amusement park.

Wen Ning nods eagerly. “I can show you?”

“Let’s get the others first,” Mrs. Cang says. She leads the way back to the battlefield.

As they walk, Wei Ying claps a hand on Wen Ning’s shoulder. “Better stay back, big guy. We don’t want any misunderstandings. The guys with the swords won’t know you’re one of the good ones.”

The guys with the swords don’t believe there are any “good ones,” Lan Zhan thinks.

As he expected, their return to the battlefield with not one but two vampires is met with shouts and bristling swords, but Lan Huan and A-Niang intervene quickly. Lan Zhan and Mrs. Cang form a wall between the cultivators and the vampires, and Wen Ning does his best to hide behind Wei Ying. The last of the murmurs ceases with Nie Mingjue’s ringing bellow.

Once the protests are quelled, Nie Mingjue turns to Wen Ning. “Where is Ruohan?”

Wen Ning shuffles farther behind Wei Ying and peers at Nie Mingjue over his shoulder. “The maze,” he whispers.

“Where is that?” Lan Huan asks, much more gently than his husband did.

Wen Ning gestures vaguely with a trembling arm, but Mrs. Cang rescues him.

“I think I remember where it is,” Mrs. Cang says, tucking her arm through Wen Ning’s. “I’m sure the two of us can find it.”

They set off again with her and Wen Ning in the lead, leaving a small contingent behind to care for the wounded. “I’m worried about Shufu,” Lan Huan murmurs to Lan Zhan as they walk. “And no one has seen A-Yao.” He swallows hard, his jaw tight and his face gray with dust. “I judged poorly, Lan Zhan. I’m sorry.”

Lan Zhan looks back at Wei Ying, chatting merrily with a befuddled Wen Ning, and shakes his head. “Any choice would have led to violence. There is nothing you could have done to avoid that.”

“Maybe,” Lan Huan sighs. “Regardless, you are kind to say so. You’ve been very patient with me.”

Lan Zhan attempts one of Wei Ying’s methods: he gives his brother’s shoulder a friendly bump. “I have given you much to worry about. I apologize.”

Lan Huan blinks at him, delightfully confused, then chuckles softly. “I’ve never seen you this happy. He’s good for you.”

“Wei Ying’s a good boy,” A-Niang says, sneaking up on Lan Zhan’s other side and taking his arm. “I’m so happy for both my sons. They’ve chosen such fine young men as their partners.”

Lan Huan smiles beatifically while Lan Zhan’s skin tries to crawl off his bones. Thankfully, they arrive at the maze before his mother can embarrass him into qi deviation.

The sign above the maze’s entrance is still legible, its large gilt letters naming the place “Lancelot’s Labyrinth.” Left untended for years, the hedges forming the maze’s walls have merged into a large, gnarled clump of foliage. Thankfully, that is no barrier to those who fly swords.

Mrs. Cang leads them over the maze with a nervous Wen Ning clinging to her shoulders. Their destination is not the maze itself, but a cave hidden beyond it. We’re getting our cave, after all, Lan Zhan thinks with grim amusement, though it certainly won’t be the snug shelter he’d envisioned.

Without Wen Ning’s assistance, it’s possible they wouldn’t have found Wen Ruohan’s hiding place—not until daylight, at least. This cave is no plaster artifice but a gateway into the very real mountain. It must have been part of the maze attraction, but now the wilderness has overtaken it, shrubs and vines doing their best to conceal the entrance.

The fliers at the front land, but the rest must hover above, no room for such a large group amid the tangled foliage. Inside the cave, they’ll definitely be forced into tight passages that will further thin the cultivators’ advantage. A good place for Wen Ruohan to make a final stand, damn him.

Lan Huan and Nie Mingjue enter first, Shuoyue blazing the way. Lan Zhan starts to follow, but Wei Ying pulls him towards Wen Ning. “Hey,” Wei Ying says to Wen Ning. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but you should leave.”

Wen Ning blinks at him, shuffling from foot to foot. “But I . . .”

“He’s right,” Lan Zhan says. “Thank you for your assistance, but you should go. There is no reason to endanger yourself.”

“Yeah,” Wei Ying adds. “And that sister of yours would turn us into toads if anything happened to you. Turn us into toads and then squash us.”

“She wouldn’t,” Wen Ning mumbles, but he’s already backing away.

Too late, Lan Zhan remembers that the way back is blocked and Wen Ning probably can’t leave, but Wen Ning slithers up the hedge wall and springs along the shaggy shrubs, disappearing into the night.

Once Wen Ning is gone, Lan Zhan leads Wei Ying back to the cave entrance and breaks into the line, barging in ahead of what remains of the Jin sect. Jin Zixuan doesn’t meet Lan Zhan’s eyes as he holds back his entourage to let them pass.

Lan Zhan has always liked Jin Zixuan in a vague sort of way, but he doesn’t have the energy to spare for him right now. He lights Bichen and holds it high. The path stretches ahead of them, the narrow gap made even more claustrophobic by the press of bodies filling it. Here, signs of the cave’s previous purpose are clearer. Modern lights disguised as antique lanterns still hang from the rafters, their glass bellies cloudy and often broken. Signs warn adventurers to beware of the dragon, their language growing more frenzied as they near “The Great Beast’s Lair!”

“Hey, Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying whispers. “Are dragons real?”

“Yes. However, I sincerely doubt that one ever lived in this mountain.”

“Really? Why?”

“Dragons are large. This path is narrow.”

“But they’re real? Dragons are really real?”

“They are really real,” Lan Zhan says, smiling at Wei Ying’s bright, eager eyes. “They are very rare, though, especially on this continent. I’ve never seen one outside of books.”

“So cool,” Wei Ying sighs.

Lan Zhan tenses, too aware of his mother walking right behind him and probably bursting to join this conversation. Even so, he is weak to the temptation of impressing Wei Ying. Weak enough to say, “One of my ancestors is a dragon.”

“Get out!” Wei Ying yells, sending anxious ripples through the line of cultivators. He whirls around to A-Niang. “He’s just messing with me, right?”

“Nope,” A-Niang says, her eyes shimmering with a trace of their usual brightness. “It was centuries ago, but yes, there is a dragon in our line. Not that it means much, really. Any trace of her heritage dissipated ages ago.”

“Holy shit!” Wei Ying blurts, nearly vibrating with excitement. “A fairy and a dragon?”

Walk into a bar, Lan Zhan’s mind helpfully finishes, and a hysterical laugh tries to burble its way out of his chest.

While Wei Ying is badgering A-Niang to share every detail about their dragon ancestor, the path opens up into a large chamber. Stalactites plunge down from the high ceiling like the teeth of the great dragon who definitely never lived here. The group has paused in this chamber, and Lan Zhan sees why as he enters. Several passages lead away from the chamber. Obviously, the group is unsure of how to proceed.

Lan Zhan leaves the leaders to discuss options while he escorts Wei Ying around to the various passages. Frowning with concentration, Wei Ying sticks his head into each passageway. At first, Lan Zhan fears that Wei Ying won’t be able to discern which one to follow, but then they reach one exit nearly hidden by fallen rocks. Wei Ying doesn’t even have to poke his head in. “That one,” he says, pointing down the dark tunnel. “One hundred percent.”

Lan Zhan doesn’t wait for the others to ponder. He calls over his brother and Nie Mingjue, and they start down the tunnel. If the others choose to linger, that’s their problem.

This passageway is even tighter than the first, so narrow that they must walk single file. Lan Zhan follows his brother with Wei Ying holding the back of his coat and their mothers trailing them. At a few points, the walls are so close that they must edge past jagged stones that stab for their eyes. There are no cheeky signs warning them of dragons here, nor even a single lantern. They have left the park behind. Or above. The flex of Lan Zhan’s calf muscles suggests that they are walking downhill, descending further into darkness.

Lan Zhan has never been claustrophobic. Small spaces were fine as long as he wasn’t jammed into them with other people. But he doesn’t like this. He doesn’t like it at all. Memories of that day buried under the rubble try to intrude, jabbing at him like the cave walls.

“Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying whispers, squeezing his shoulder. “Are you okay?”

He isn’t, but he nods, wishing he could turn and hide his face in Wei Ying’s hair. For a moment, he gasps for air and find nothing. His ribs pinch where his lung was torn open, and he slams a hand against the stone, wishing he could punch his way out of this hole.

Wei Ying’s hands clamp on his shoulders, yanking him around. “Look at me,” Wei Ying orders, his hands moving to cup Lan Zhan’s cheeks. “Look at me, Lan Zhan. Listen to me.”

Still gasping, Lan Zhan does as Wei Ying commands. Maroon and violet swirl in Wei Ying’s eyes, drawing him in, wrapping him in warmth. When Wei Ying begins to sway, Lan Zhan lets himself sway with him.

“You’re okay, Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying says. “You’re okay. Do you understand? Everything’s okay.”

Wei Ying murmurs more gentle assurances, chasing the panic away with his soft voice and soothing fingers. Lan Zhan tries a deep breath, and his lungs find all the air they want. As his lungs fill, the pinching pain fades. “I’m okay.”

“Of course you are. My brave Lan Zhan.” Wei Ying pets his hair a moment longer, then closes his eyes, breaking the spell.

Lan Zhan blinks free of the glamor and huffs when he realizes what happened. “You’re getting better at that.”

“I know, right?” Wei Ying tosses his hair, grinning so bright. “Hey, what do you think about trying that in the bedroom?” He waggles his eyebrows, heedless of their mothers standing right behind them.

Groaning, Lan Zhan turns and stomps off. It is an intriguing idea, but he can’t think about it now.

They continue on, winding down and around, but the fear doesn’t return. Whether it was only a momentary fugue or Wei Ying’s power has grown that much, Lan Zhan feels only an appropriate amount of anxiety about the situation. His mind even wanders into potential scenarios involving glamors and nudity.

Around another bend, they find a large chamber lit by torches. More torches? Lan Zhan imagines vampire minions scurrying around the park, setting up torches in strategic areas to appease their boss’s flair for drama, but he’s distracted from that fantasy when he spots the boss. Wen Ruohan waits in the center of the chamber, attended by a handful of vampires. As the cultivators file inside, the vampires bare their fangs in vicious grins but stay put, ranged around their leader. Wen Ruohan ignores his guests completely.

There are enough enemies here to offer battle, and Wen Ruohan himself is quite formidable, but this is hardly the dire scene Lan Zhan expected. A tiny part of him even feared that the Great Dragon itself might somehow make an appearance. But this? This is manageable. Assuming the mountain doesn’t bury them all.

“A-Sang?” Nie Mingjue shouts, his usual bellow surprisingly frail. Nie Mingjue stumbles forward, but Lan Huan holds him back, his face ashen in the torchlight.

Lan Zhan follows their gaze to the shadows behind Wen Ruohan. There stands Nie Huaisang, his face a blank mask. He shows no reaction to his brother’s shout. “Glamored?” Lan Zhan asks Wei Ying.

“I think so. Oh god, Lan Zhan, look.” Wei Ying points toward Wen Ruohan’s other side. When Lan Zhan sees what Wei Ying is pointing at, his stomach lurches, surging acid into his throat.

“Shufu?”

Like Nie Huaisang, Shufu stands still, his face slack, his eyes staring at nothing. A vampire looms behind him, but the guard seems unnecessary.

“Shufu!” Lan Huan blurts, echoing Lan Zhan’s cry. Swords rattle out of hilts as the others realize what is happening.

There are more, Lan Zhan realizes when he can tear his eyes away from his uncle. Meng Yao is among the statues, no sign of his usual smirk on his blank face. And Jin Zixun, who must not have escaped after all. The rest are from other clans, and the sight of each one raises a new cry of alarm from their friends.

“Put the swords away,” Wen Ruohan calls. “Unless you want your blades’ first victims to be your own people.”

No one sheathes their sword, but no one ventures to attack, either. How? Lan Zhan wonders, clenching his sword hilt until his fingers ache. How is Wen Ruohan controlling them all? And why? Does he actually expect to win? And most chilling—does he still plan to take Wei Ying with him?

“This must end,” Lan Huan says, sheathing his sword and stepping towards Wen Ruohan. “We didn’t come here to destroy your clan. Despite all you’ve done—the lies you’ve told and the lives you’ve taken—our goal isn’t to kill you. We can end this without further violence.”

Lan Zhan is amazed to realize that his brother is lying. The words sound like Lan Huan’s usual moderate rhetoric, but underneath simmers an anger Lan Zhan has never dreamed his brother possessed.

“You Lans,” Wen Ruohan sighs, rolling his eyes. “You’ve always been the dullest of the bunch, and so self-righteous! Would it surprise you to know that Guangshan, your old ally, jumped at the chance to destroy you? I wonder how many of the others you call friends would love to wipe you out of existence?”

“And where are your friends, Ruohan?” Nie Mingjue strides past Lan Huan, saber in hand. “You’ve already lost most of your soldiers. And both your sons!”

Wen Ruohan snarls, but it’s Nie Huaisang who moves. He walks stiffly, like a marionette controlled by an amateur puppeteer, until he stands between Wen Ruohan and Nie Mingjue. Wen Ruohan laughs and claps Nie Huaisang’s shoulder.

“Here is one little friend,” Wen Ruohan jeers. “He will protect me to his last breath. Will you cut him down, clan leader? I imagine that big saber could chop him in two with one blow.”

Nie Mingjue halts, seething and staring at his brother’s blank face. “Huaisang, can you hear me? Fight it, A-Sang!”

Wen Ruohan’s manic laughter echoes in the deep chamber. “Good luck! Controlling him took no effort. The poor boy was so frightened. He screamed for you.” Wen Ruohan pitches his voice high. “‘Da-ge, help me!’” He chuckles again. “I think he might even have soiled himself.”

Crimson with rage, Nie Mingjue howls at the ceiling and thrusts his saber against the stone floor. That only makes Wen Ruohan laugh harder.

The taunting continues with more cultivators joining in to harangue a remorseless Wen Ruohan, but Lan Zhan has heard enough. He ignores the argument to survey the field. The terrain is difficult—stalactites and stalagmites will hinder movement considerably. Wen Ruohan has positioned his chess pieces well, ranging out the mesmerized cultivators and vampire guards among the cave formations. Lan Zhan’s first priority must be Shufu. That is not mere sentimentality: Shufu is too formidable an opponent to leave in play. Wei Ying and Mrs. Cang’s net will be useful in subduing him. Then Meng Yao and the other pawns. Once they are neutralized, the vampires will be little trouble. Leaving Wen Ruohan for last. The odds are still in their favor, but lives will be lost. Wen Ruohan’s trap has ensured that much.

A-Niang sidles close while he is assessing. “You can break them out of it,” she whispers.

“What?”

“You can disrupt the glamor,” she says, but he’s already shaking his head.

“I can’t. I’m not that strong.”

“Zhanzhan,” she sighs, cupping his cheek. “You can do it. I know you can. You’ve always fought against the light inside you, but it’s there. It’s there, and it’s so powerful.”

“Can’t you do it?” Lan Zhan bleats, ashamed of himself but unable to stop the words. She can’t. He knows that. Not now. The battle has already taken too much of her strength.

“Maybe one or two,” she says, “but not all of them. I’ll help you. We just need to—”

Whatever she meant to tell him is drowned out by Wen Ruohan’s shout. He must have grown bored with the discussion because his puppets are drawing their swords and lumbering forward. Their limbs jerk and twitch like suits of armor without their knights to steer them. Graceful or not, they carry on, marching awkwardly towards the cultivators.

“Net!” Lan Zhan shouts to Wei Ying before vaulting into the air and soaring towards his uncle.

He lands in front of Shufu. Even though he expected it, even though he knows his uncle is being controlled by Wen Ruohan, somehow he’s still surprised when Shufu attacks. If the blows weren’t so awkward, he might not have blocked them successfully. The small child who still lives in his heart simply cannot believe that his uncle is trying to kill him.

“Shufu!” he begs, his feet moving him out of danger even while his mind struggles to believe this is happening. “Shufu, it’s me!” No intelligence shines from his uncle’s eyes. No warmth. The figure he fights might look like his uncle, but right now, it is only a husk, driven by Wen Ruohan’s vicious power.

“Lan Zhan!” Wei Ying calls. “Lan Zhan, bring him over here!”

Lan Zhan spares a glance over Shufu’s shoulder and spots Wei Ying nearby, waving a talisman in the air. A-Niang and Mrs. Cang are at his sides, battling a vampire and a cultivator in green. Behind them is a shallow alcove bordered by stalagmites. That will do nicely.

“Apologies, Shufu.” Lan Zhan parries his uncle’s wild slash, twisting his wrist to send the sword flying from Shufu’s hand. He follows with a palm strike to Shufu’s chest that knocks him back. A roundhouse kick sends Shufu stumbling towards Wei Ying and their mothers. Wei Ying drops the net over Shufu and draws it tight while Lan Zhan aids his mother in finishing off the vampire. By the time that is done, Mrs. Cang has netted the cultivator in green.

“Now what?” Wei Ying asks, staring down at Lan Zhan’s wriggling uncle.

“Lan Zhan,” A-Niang says, steel in her voice. “You can do it.”

Lan Zhan ignores Wei Ying’s questions and carries his bound uncle into the alcove Wei Ying and their mothers discovered. If he’s going to try this, he needs to be out of the fray. He lays his uncle down and kneels beside him, placing his palm on Shufu’s forehead. Shufu twitches, but bound tight by the net, he can’t dislodge Lan Zhan’s hand. And then Lan Zhan just sits there, feeling stupid and useless, his mind-wiped uncle squirming under his hand.

A-Niang kneels beside him and lays a hand on his shoulder. “You don’t have to use much. Just send your light into him.”

“I don’t know how.” He feels like a sullen child, but he hasn’t even tried to use his power in so long. Not since high school, most likely. A-Niang tried to teach Lan Zhan and his brother, but neither of them could ever produce more than a faint flicker. He’s certainly never tried to do anything like this.

“You can do it!” Wei Ying calls. “Whatever it is you’re trying to do. I believe in you, Lan Zhan!”

“Listen to Wei Ying,” A-Niang says. “You’ve always been afraid of your power. That’s why I never pushed. But you can do this, I promise you. Just let it happen.”

Just let it happen? Could there be a more ambiguous instruction? This is why he always preferred training with Shufu. Shufu’s instructions were never ambiguous. Step here, thrust there. Rinse and repeat. Simple and effective. No talk about inner light or embracing his power.

“Find the light inside you,” A-Niang murmurs, squeezing his shoulder. “Find it, let it fill you up, and then push.”

Another hand lands on his other shoulder—Wei Ying’s—but A-Niang shoos him back. “You’ll burn yourself, honey,” A-Niang tells Wei Ying.

Only if I “find the light inside me,” Lan Zhan thinks sulkily.

Wei Ying moves back, but he doesn’t go far. “Come on, Lan Zhan!” he whines. “You’re about to do something really cool, I can tell. So do it! Impress me, Hanguang Jun! Wow me with your sexy fairy powers!”

To Lan Zhan’s amazed horror, that actually works. Warmth surges from his lower dantian, rising through his chest and scalding his ears. Wei Ying has flirted his power into emerging. Fucking hell.

The warmth builds, shimmering through him, bright even through his closed eyelids. When the heat roils furiously, when his skin prickles and the hair on his arms stands on end, he pushes it out. It flows as he directed, streaming down his arm and out through his hand. He doesn’t look, afraid that opening his eyes will break the spell, but he can feel the light working his will. He can sense the darkness clotting his uncle’s mind, a veil of writhing shadows trapping Shufu’s will like the golden net traps his limbs. Lan Zhan sends the light after those shadows. The first of them burns slowly, but the fire spreads, greedily devouring the shadows until all are ash.

When the last trace of darkness has fled, Lan Zhan draws the light back into himself and opens his eyes. He’s surprised to find the cave much brighter until he realizes that the light comes from him. He raises a hand that glows so brightly his bones shimmer white under his skin.

A grunt from Shufu snaps Lan Zhan out of his contemplation of his own hand. Shufu’s blank expression tightens into a frown. Never has Lan Zhan been so relieved to see his uncle express displeasure. Then Shufu opens his eyes. Squinting, he tries to raise an arm, probably to shade his eyes, and frowns harder when he realizes he can’t.

“Shufu?” Lan Zhan leans over him, but Shufu jerks his face away.

“Lan Zhan, why are the lights so bright? Turn them down. Why can’t I move my arms? What is going on?”

Mrs. Cang bends down and gives Shufu a devilish smirk. “Sorry about that. We had to tie you up. You were being a very bad boy.”

Lan Zhan hurries to his feet, desperate to escape whatever happens next. He finds Wei Ying on the other side of the alcove, attempting to hide his tall frame behind A-Niang.

“Lan Zhan!” Wei Ying squeaks, grimacing at the light Lan Zhan is shining towards him. “Sweetie, that was really cool, but could you turn off the fairy light? You’re frying my eyeballs.”

Lan Zhan steps back. “I don’t know how.”

“You just keep glowing, Zhanzhan,” A-Niang says, smiling with such pride that Lan Zhan flares a little brighter. “We’ve got more minds to free—and more vampires to fry. We’ll just keep Wei Ying away from you until we’re done.”

Wei Ying pouts about this, and Lan Zhan doesn’t like it either, but his mother is right. While Mrs. Cang is helping a blushing Shufu to his feet, Lan Zhan bends down next to the cultivator in green. The second attempt goes much faster. It might have taken Lan Zhan years to learn this skill, but now it seems almost effortless. He only hopes the light is that easy to dissipate once this battle is over. Otherwise, his slutty times with Wei Ying are about to get a lot more perilous.

As the cultivator in green is heading off to join his fellows, Lan Huan rushes into the alcove. Nie Mingjue pushes in behind him, his brother flung over his shoulder.

“Lan Zhan!” Lan Huan shouts, his eyes widening as he takes in Lan Zhan’s glowing skin. Then he notices Shufu, de-glamored and flustered in Mrs. Cang’s grasp, and his jaw drops to his chest.

Lan Huan surely has questions, but Lan Zhan is already headed for Nie Huaisang. Setting him free takes only moments. Nie Huaisang surges awake with a yelp and nearly squirms out of his brother’s grasp.

“Stop flopping around!” Nie Mingjue bellows, but sets him down gently and keeps him from falling with big hands on Nie Huaisang’s shoulders. “You’re alright, A-Sang, just calm down.”

Lan Huan stares at Lan Zhan with eyes as big and bulging as Wen Chao’s. “Lan Zhan, how?” Lan Huan whispers.

Lan Zhan shakes his head. Even if he could explain, there is no time. “Where is Meng Yao?”

“Here,” Meng Yao calls, trudging toward them. His clothes are torn and bloody, his sword wet and red, but he certainly doesn’t look like a zombie anymore.

“You broke free?” Lan Huan asks.

Meng Yao shrugs. “I was never under. I faked it. Tried to stab that fucker in the back, but he was too fast.” He points with his sword, and they follow it to where Wen Ruohan hangs from a stalactite, a cultivator dangling in his grip. Wen Ruohan rips out his throat, then lets the cultivator fall into the swarming battle, raising cries from the man’s friends.

“Asshole,” Nie Mingjue grunts. “A-Sang, you stay back. Lan Zhan, keep doing your . . . light thing. The rest of us will go after Ruohan.” He leaps into the air, followed by Lan Huan and Meng Yao.

Shufu readies to jump, but Mrs. Cang holds him back. “You should help Lan Zhan,” she says. “You’re still a little unsteady.” She doesn’t wait for an answer before taking to the air.

Lan Zhan has to bite his cheeks to keep from laughing at the affront on his uncle’s face. “Shufu, I would appreciate your assistance.”

“Very well,” Shufu huffs, only slightly mollified. He surges ahead, leaving Lan Zhan, Wei Ying, and A-Niang to hurry after him.

Shufu leads them towards his fallen sword. Along the way, they’re noticed by a vampire, but when Lan Zhan steps towards it glowing like a neon sign, the vampire rethinks its attack. As an experiment, Lan Zhan sends the light after the retreating vampire. The blast of gold throws the vampire across the cavern where it lands in a smoking pile.

“Well done,” A-Niang says. “You’re learning fast.”

From a safe distance, Wei Ying gives him a thumbs up. Lan Zhan nods back carefully. Even if he were the thumbs-up sort, he fears such a gesture would blast a hole through the cave’s ceiling. After so many years constrained, the light is bursting to be let out. Good thing he has plenty of targets to choose from.

Shufu leads them on, venting his displeasure on any vampire he can reach. The next puppet they find is a woman from the Chang clan. The Changs aren’t entirely convinced that Lan Zhan can do what he says, no matter how brightly he glows. The suspicious looks they send Wei Ying almost anger Lan Zhan enough to let them deal with her themselves. Finally, two of her sect brothers agree to restrain her while Lan Zhan looses the light.

Once the woman is recovered, Lan Zhan turns to leave.

“Thank you, Hanguang Jun!” one of the Chang cultivators calls.

Lan Zhan winces as they start applauding. After this, no one is ever going to call him by his actual name again. He can’t bear to look at whatever dopey expression Wei Ying is wearing.

He leaves the celebrating Changs and surveys the battlefield. Most of the vampires have fallen or fled. The only puppet in sight is Jin Zixun, but he’s trapped in one of the Jins’ spirit nets, so he isn’t a high priority. That’s good because Lan Zhan isn’t sure he can force himself to help that little weasel, even if he was only Jin Guangshan’s pawn.

Wen Ruohan is the last real obstacle. Even pursued by Lan Huan and the others, he has yet to fall. The old beast is using the terrain well, blurring among the jagged formations too fast for the hunters to track.

Lan Zhan’s eyes focus on a single point of stillness in all the commotion—a tall figure in black that he first mistook for a stalagmite. Wen Zhuliu. Only the vampire’s eyes move as they track the fight going on around him. As Lan Zhan watches, a cultivator stumbles into Wen Zhuliu’s path. Wen Zhuliu extends an arm and flattens his palm against the man’s back. The cultivator jitters, eyes rolling back in their sockets. He falls, either dead or unconscious. Wen Zhuliu’s hand returns to his side, and he resumes watching the battle.

There is something odd about Wen Zhuliu’s other hand, but Lan Zhan is through watching. He signals to the others and draws his sword. He’ll use the light if he can, but he certainly isn’t going to depend on something he barely knows how to wield.

Wen Zhuliu dodges Lan Zhan’s first lunge and knocks the backswing away with his forearm. That is when Lan Zhan realizes what was odd: there is no hand at the end of Wen Zhuliu’s left arm. Shufu joins in the battle, giving Lan Zhan time to examine that empty sleeve. There is no blood, no ragged threads in the shirt cuff. He didn’t lose the hand tonight. Did Wen Ruohan take his soldier’s hand as punishment for Wen Chao?

One of Wei Ying’s talismans blasts Wen Zhuliu’s side, but the man’s expression never changes. He doesn’t seem to notice the smoking hole in his shirt or the charred flesh beneath. Nor does he run, despite being outnumbered and missing a hand.

Another talisman sends Wen Zhuliu to his knees. Lan Zhan raises his sword high for the killing blow.

“Wait.”

Lan Zhan halts at his mother’s word. She pats his shoulder, and he lowers the sword. Mystified, he watches as she walks in front of Wen Zhuliu.

“Zhao Zhuliu,” she says, dipping her chin.

Wen Zhuliu stands slowly and raises his arms in a salute, the empty cuff drooping. “Jiu Yinghuo.”

A-Niang shakes her head like she does when she’s exasperated with her sons. “Just look at you. Ruohan did that, didn’t he?”

“I failed him,” Wen Zhuliu says.

“Don’t be ridiculous! You don’t owe that old bat anything.”

“He is my maker.”

“And it’s obvious which of you got the better end of that deal.” A-Niang huffs and pokes Wen Zhuliu in the chest. “He’s a monster. He’d be a monster whether he had fangs or not. But you aren’t like that. Or did you let him poison your heart?”

Lan Zhan’s heart jitters at his mother putting herself in arm’s reach of this demon, but Wen Zhuliu takes his scolding meekly. A trace of something that might be shame flickers across his stony face. “I knew what I was asking for.”

“Yes, you were stupid, but you were just a boy back then. It’s time to be a man. Your own man, not Ruohan’s attack dog.”

The fingers of Wen Zhuliu’s right hand clench into a fist. “It is too late,” he says, the words almost lost in the echoing battle.

“You’re immortal,” A-Niang says, smirking. “No such thing as too late.”

Wei Ying sidles as close to Lan Zhan as he can get without singeing himself. “Is Mrs. J really going to let him go?”

You’re the mind reader, Lan Zhan sends. You tell me.

Wei Ying snorts and sidles a bit farther away. Lan Zhan rather likes being able to talk to Wei Ying telepathically, but it’s a relief that the ability only works one way. If Wei Ying could talk in Lan Zhan’s mind anytime he wanted, Lan Zhan would never know a moment’s peace.

Wen Zhuliu frowns slightly and turns to Shufu. For a few moments, they stare at each other with furrowed eyebrows. Shufu breaks the gaze first and stares into the distance. This seems to settle something for Wen Zhuliu. He salutes A-Niang again, and then he goes, a black blur that disappears into the shadows.

“Your mom is so awesome,” Wei Ying says. “She just took out the big bad with words, Lan Zhan!”

“Yes,” Lan Zhan says, smiling at his amazing mother. “Remember how impressed you are when she’s scolding you.”

“I would never,” A-Niang says, linking arms with Wei Ying. “Wei Ying is such a good boy.”

Wei Ying puffs up at the praise and sticks his tongue out at Lan Zhan. Lan Zhan grits his teeth. Just wait until he tells his mother about Wei Ying’s tendency to leave his dirty socks on the floor. And how he drinks orange juice straight from the carton. And—

Lan Zhan’s plans for vengeance are interrupted by a cry from above. He looks up to see Mrs. Cang falling from the battle among the stalactites, headed straight for the large spikes protruding from the cavern floor. He tries to cast a shield, but light bursts from his fingers, disrupting the spell and blasting uselessly into the wall.

A gust of wind hits his face, and then Wei Ying is leaping up, bounding off a stalagmite and catching his mother in midflight. They tumble through the air and drop out of view.

“Wei Ying!” Lan Zhan sprints toward them, shoving his way through the bodies in his path, terrified of what he’ll find. They must have missed the spikes—please let them have missed the spikes.

He races around a nest of stalagmites, head swimming with ghastly visions of what he’ll find. Those visions are so strong that for a moment, he can’t shake them, can’t accept what he actually sees: Wei Ying kneeling beside his mother, patting her cheeks. That moment of relief shatters when Lan Zhan realizes that Mrs. Cang’s eyes are closed.

“Mom?” Wei Ying calls in a fragile voice that makes Lan Zhan’s throat aches. “Mom, are you okay?”

“Fine,” Mrs. Cang groans. “Stop slapping me.”

Lan Zhan’s heart thumps back to life, nearly re-breaking his ribs.

“Oh god,” Wei Ying wheezes. “Don’t fucking do that to me! I thought you were dead!”

He helps her sit up, and she grimaces, rolling her shoulder. “I’m okay. That bastard just knocked me off my sword.” She tweaks Wei Ying’s nose. “Good catch! The landing could’ve been better, though.”

“So hard to please,” Wei Ying says as he pulls her to her feet. “You were supposed to kill that guy.”

“He’s too fast,” Mrs. Cang grumbles. “You’d think he’d have tired himself out, scampering around like that.”

“Not too fast for me.” Wei Ying winks and pulls a talisman out of his jacket.

“Don’t,” Lan Zhan says, remembering the funhouse’s toppling turret. “You’ll bring the mountain down on our heads.”

Wei Ying rolls his eyes. “Lan Zhan, give me some credit. I’m not just a pretty face, you know.”

He flicks the talisman into the air. As it sails, the paper ignites into flame. At first, Lan Zhan thinks that Wei Ying has botched the spell, that this talisman will puff out before it reaches its target. But instead of crumbling to ash, the burning paper lengthens somehow, transforming from flame to something more tangible. When the last of the flames putters away, what is left is a golden arrow. Lan Zhan only has a moment to wonder over this miracle because once transformed, the arrow streaks away too fast to track.

Lan Zhan doesn’t see the arrow strike its target, but the effect is impossible to miss. Wen Ruohan is thrown off his feet and slammed into the cavern wall. The golden arrow’s head is sunk deep in Wen Ruohan’s gut, but even as he grasps at the shaft, it dissipates into sparkling dust.

His pursuers approach their wounded target slowly, confused and watchful for tricks, but Wen Ruohan pays them no attention. Eyes blazing, he searches the cavern until he spots Wei Ying.

“You!” Wen Ruohan bellows. He leaps and lands in front of Wei Ying before Lan Zhan can even move.

Wei Ying darts away from Wen Ruohan’s claws. “What?” Wei Ying chirps, smirking. “I thought we were gonna be besties!”

Blood drips from Wen Ruohan’s stomach, pattering on the stone, but he doesn’t seem slowed by the wound as he stalks after Wei Ying. “Talismans!” Wen Ruohan hisses. “Cowardly little tricks. You think you can beat me with scraps of paper?”

Wen Ruohan conjures a fireball, but Lan Zhan is ready. Wen Ruohan dodges Lan Zhan’s blast of light, but it’s enough of a distraction to knock off his aim, and the fireball strikes only stone.

“Yeah, I’ve seen the fireballs,” Wei Ying says, still dancing around Wen Ruohan. “I admit, those are pretty badass.” He turns to wink at Lan Zhan. “But I’ve seen better.”

“That fae child?” Wen Ruohan scoffs. “I could break him with a thought.”

Wei Ying’s smirk flattens. “That child killed both of your sons, asshole. And you aren’t going to fucking touch him!”

Roaring, Wen Ruohan attacks. Instead of running away, Wei Ying leaps to meet him. “Wei Ying!” Lan Zhan yells, but it is too late. The two vampires battle in a blur of motion, their snarls ringing across the cavern. Lan Zhan chases after them, but it’s useless. They’re too fast, their movements unpredictable. Only when they strike against the cave formations or slam each other against the walls do they slow long enough for Lan Zhan to find them again.

He’s weaving through the cavern, searching the shadows and listening for snarls, when Wei Ying cries out. Panic eats deeper into Lan Zhan’s gut as he races towards the cry. He finds them ten feet above his head. Wen Ruohan’s clawed hand presses Wei Ying’s face into the stone. Wei Ying’s eyes are screwed shut, both hands gripping Wen Ruohan’s arm to hold him off, his boots kicking wildly at the air. A vampire with Wen Ruohan’s strength could simply squash Wei Ying’s head into the stone. It must be taking all of Wei Ying’s strength to keep Wen Ruohan from turning his head to jelly.

“Lan Zhan!” Mrs. Cang gasps, running to his side. She moans when she sees her son. “We have to—we can’t—”

His glowing hands curl into fists. He can’t. Not without hitting Wei Ying. Fucking useless power.

Mrs. Cang braces one hand on a stalagmite and reaches for a talisman with another. Still gasping for breath, she raises the talisman. Her hand is unsteady, and the paper trembles. Lan Zhan almost tells her to stop, but she’s right—they have to do something.

Before the talisman can fly, Wei Ying jabs his fist into Wen Ruohan’s stomach. The arrow couldn’t have left such a large wound, but Wei Ying’s fist burrows in nonetheless, disappearing almost to the wrist. Wen Ruohan howls with pain but keeps pushing Wei Ying’s head against the rock. Wei Ying twists his hand, and the howls rise to shrieks. There is a wet rip as Wen Ruohan yanks Wei Ying’s hand free, and then Wei Ying is plummeting to the ground.

Lan Zhan throws himself forward, but Wen Ruohan is faster. He follows Wei Ying down, landing with one boot on each side of Wei Ying’s crumpled body. One hand clamped to his bleeding stomach, Wen Ruohan snarls above his prize.

Lan Zhan and Mrs. Cang call to Wei Ying as they run forward, drawing their swords, but Wen Ruohan pays them no attention. “You’re strong, little one,” he says to Wei Ying with approval that makes Lan Zhan’s skin crawl.

Groaning, Wei Ying rolls until he can peer up at Wen Ruohan. One side of his face is mauled by Wen Ruohan’s claws and already dark with bruises. “Thanks, Grandpa.”

“Very strong for one so young,” Wen Ruohan says. “Your fae lover has fed you well.”

“Yeah, he’s a legit snack.” Wei Ying cranes his neck until he meets Lan Zhan’s eyes. “Hey, gorgeous. Would you please fry this asshole?”

“Wei Ying.” Lan Zhan raises his arm and extends his palm. He can’t. But if Wen Ruohan thinks he will . . .

“He can’t,” Wen Ruohan says. “The boy is afraid of hitting you.”

Fucking mind-reading vampires. Lan Zhan keeps his arm extended anyway. There may not be a way to strike Wen Ruohan without injuring Wei Ying, but surely he can concentrate the power enough to avoid hitting Wei Ying directly.

Before he can try, Wen Ruohan bends and grips Wei Ying by the back of the neck, dragging him upright and positioning him as a shield. Wei Ying sags in his grip, one eye nearly swollen shut. His left arm dangles oddly at his side from what must be a dislocated shoulder.

“Let him go,” Lan Zhan says, the words tangling on his trembling tongue. “Let Wei Ying go, and you can leave. You can live.”

Wen Ruohan’s laugh sounds like churning gravel, but even the pain Wei Ying inflicted doesn’t seem to have weakened him much. He lifts Wei Ying higher, until the toes of Wei Ying’s boots barely scuff the ground. “You have nothing to bargain with, Hanguang Jun. I advise you get out of my way. You might even see this little one again someday, though I doubt you’ll find him as pleasing as you do now.”

Wei Ying huffs and stares at Lan Zhan with his one bright eye. Even without telepathy, it’s easy to read what he’s thinking. After all, they’ve been in this position before. But Wei Ying can’t stomp his way out of this.

“C’mon, Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying chides. “Show this ugly fucker what you can do.” He wiggles in Wen Ruohan’s grip, but Lan Zhan soon realizes that is just a distraction for the hand Wei Ying is slowly sliding down to the pocket of his jeans.

Time, that is what Wei Ying is asking for. Lan Zhan cuts his eyes to Mrs. Cang at his side, her face pale and tight. Footfalls sound behind them—reinforcements arriving. Not that Wen Ruohan seems to care that he’s being surrounded.

“You’re outnumbered,” Lan Zhan says anyway. “You can’t really hope to escape.” He barely pays attention to what he’s saying, concentrating instead on stoking the light inside him. His hand glows brighter, almost blinding him to anything beyond it.

“If I die, this one dies with me,” Wen Ruohan bellows. And so on. Lan Zhan lets the others take charge of the bargaining; he only watches Wei Ying slowly tugging the talisman from his front pocket.

When the paper is free, Wei Ying holds it to his belly, letting Lan Zhan see the sigil. Relief makes the light burn even brighter.

On three, Lan Zhan sends, hoping Wen Ruohan is too distracted by the yelling cultivators to notice. Wei Ying’s bruised lips curl into a smile.

One.

Wei Ying raises the talisman to his chest.

Two.

Lan Zhan firms his stance and focuses on the flash of Wen Ruohan’s fangs beyond Wei Ying’s shoulder.

Three.

Wei Ying ignites the shield talisman as Lan Zhan shoots light towards them. The blast is so bright that it obliterates his vision, but he runs blindly forward. His foot strikes something, and he stumbles, his knees smacking into the stone floor. “Lan Zhan?” Wei Ying groans.

Lan Zhan twists around, searching the shadows, and there is Wei Ying—three of him, actually, all wavering in his blurry vision. “Wei Ying!” Lan Zhan cries, reaching out, but all of the Wei Yings draw back.

“No touchy, Lan Zhan. You’re extra hot right now.”

Lan Zhan shuffles away and clamps his hands on his thighs. “Sorry. Are you okay?”

“Yeah, that shield charm worked like a . . . charm. Is he dead?”

“I don’t know. I can’t see.”

“Yeah, me either. That light’s so bright. God, I hope you smoked that fucker.”

Maniacal laughter from the shadows makes them both groan. Lan Zhan turns to find three blurry monsters prowling towards them. Each snarling monster is missing a chunk from the side of its head.

“That boy can’t kill me!” the monsters that used to be Wen Ruohan yell. The words are mushed by their mangled heads. “Not even his mother can match me, much less her mongrel son!”

“We’ll see about that,” A-Niang calls from somewhere behind them. Lan Zhan turns and blinks until he only sees one of her. She smiles at him and nods her head in a go on gesture.

“Yeah, get him, Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying says. “My pretty firefly.” Wei Ying probably winks, but it’s hard to tell with one of his eyes swollen shut.

Lan Zhan tries to wink back. He has little experience in winking and probably looks ridiculous, but it makes Wei Ying laugh. “Get back,” he says as he stands up and turns to face Wen Ruohan.

“Yes, Lan-laoshi!”

Lan Zhan waits until Wei Ying’s footsteps diminish and he’s hopefully safe behind A-Niang. Then he raises his hand.

Wen Ruohan falters, his shambling steps slowing, but he doesn’t stop. Maybe he’s overconfident like his ridiculous sons. Maybe he’s too proud to stop. Or maybe he just isn’t thinking clearly with a chunk missing from his brain. Lan Zhan doesn’t care about Wen Ruohan’s reasoning. He doesn’t bother saying something witty. He just lets the light work its will.

Golden light streaks towards Wen Ruohan and slams him into the wall. Inhuman shrieks fill the cavern, but Lan Zhan doesn’t relent. This monster killed his father, and now it wants to take Wei Ying away. Even the thought of Wei Ying in this thing’s clutches makes the power surge, feeding on his fury. His eyes water from the heat and sting from the sweat running down his face. It’s too much—Wei Ying is here, too close to this surging inferno—but the power doesn’t care. It flows on and on, and it hurts, but it also feels good, feels right. The light wants to shine. It wants to be free.

He can see nothing but gold, can hear nothing but the roar of the power in his blood. He can’t tell if Wen Ruohan is still alive or a pile of ash. For all he knows, everyone in this cavern has been burned alive. That thought makes him shake, makes the light rumble uneasily, but it won’t go away. He tries to pull it back, but it’s like trying to swallow a burning torch—too hot and too volatile to be contained again.

Something breaks through the fire—a softer light, the gentle touch of dawn soothing the conflagration. Fingers curl around his wrist. His mother’s voice sings through the roar. “Zhanzhan, you can stop now. It’s done.”

“Can’t,” he grunts from behind teeth clamped together. His jaw aches, his muscles locked tight.

“Of course you can. It will listen to you, but don’t force it. Let it burn itself out.”

A-Niang keeps talking, stroking his back. He tries to do as she says. He slows his breath, focusing on the air inside his lungs instead of the heat in his gut. He stops trying to force the light back and lets it spool out in slow pulses. As it calms, the world returns, shadows stretching along the edges of his vision. At last, the flow stops, trickling out like the last drops from a faucet. With the fire out, the cave’s dank air is shockingly cold against his flushed cheeks.

“There,” A-Niang says. “Are you okay?”

He nods and immediately regrets it. Moving his head makes the world spin around him, and suddenly he’s sliding down, A-Niang gasping as he falls through her hands.

It isn’t complete darkness he finds on the cave floor—only a few moments of gray. And then Wei Ying’s above him, calling his name and cupping his face.

“No,” Lan Zhan grunts, trying feebly to pull away from Wei Ying’s touch, but Wei Ying won’t let him go.

“It’s okay, Lan Zhan! It’s okay! Your light went out! Look!” Wei Ying lifts one of Lan Zhan’s arms and wags the limp hand in front of Lan Zhan’s face. “See? No more glowing.”

“Mn.” Now that he knows he isn’t scorching his boyfriend, Lan Zhan closes his eyes. His eyelids weigh a thousand pounds, and even the thought of standing up makes him want to cry. Stone floor or not, he’s pretty comfortable. He could even nap here, maybe. Assuming . . . “Tell me he’s dead this time.”

Wei Ying snorts. “Oh yeah. There isn’t enough left of that guy to fill a Tic-Tac box. We’re all breathing Evil Grandpa dust right now.”

“Good.” Wei Ying’s fingers stroke through his hair, and that’s even better. “Are you okay?”

“I’m great! I got to watch it all from behind like five different shield charms. Even your uncle chipped in.”

“That’s nice,” Lan Zhan sighs. Wei Ying is safe, and there are no more bad guys to fight, so he can just lie here and let Wei Ying pet him. 

“You’re pretty tuckered, huh?”

“Mn.”

“Understandable. That was a very impressive light show you put on, baby. And you said all you could do was teeny Tinkerbell light. Pfft.”

Lan Zhan smiles. It was pretty impressive. Unfortunately, the boots thumping towards them indicate that his well-deserved rest is about to be interrupted. The owners of those boots are going to have questions. Someone is definitely going to call him Hanguang Jun.

“Wei Ying?”

“Yes, my angel?”

“I want to go home.”

“Thought you’d never ask.”

Wei Ying’s strong arms pull him up and tuck him close. Lan Huan keeps the curious crowd at bay while A-Niang and Mrs. Cang lead them out of the cavern. Once they’re out of the cave, Lan Zhan has to leave Wei Ying’s wonderful arms so that Mrs. Cang can pop Wei Ying’s shoulder back in its socket. Then A-Niang insists that Lan Zhan ride on her sword, and Lan Zhan is too exhausted to argue. But when they get home, he’s going to pull Wei Ying into the shower, and then he and his sexy corpse are going to stay in bed for at least a week.

He tries to tell Wei Ying about this brilliant plan in the backseat of A-Niang’s car, but he falls asleep sometime around the shower part. That’s okay. He’ll have plenty of time to convince Wei Ying once they’re home.

Chapter Text

Lan Zhan snorts awake, diving out of a dream that fades quickly, leaving only blurry traces. The last image to go is an erupting volcano, which he and Wei Ying were escaping on the back of a unicorn?

Groaning, he rolls over, determined to leave those ridiculous phantoms behind him. And there is Wei Ying beside him. Asleep.

Lan Zhan curls onto his side to contemplate this rare sight. Wei Ying does sleep, maybe once or twice a week, and he’s often in bed when Lan Zhan wakes, but that’s because he’s waiting to pounce as soon as Lan Zhan’s eyes open. But not this time.

Wei Ying asleep is sort of an eerie sight. Granted, Lan Zhan hasn’t watched many people sleep, but he wouldn’t have thought the lack of respiration would be so noticeable. When Wei Ying is awake, he seems to breathe fairly normally—Lan Zhan expects this is necessary to facilitate all the talking Wei Ying does—but asleep, there is nothing. Wei Ying is utterly still and silent. Perhaps that is why he looks so strange while he sleeps. Wei Ying is made for motion, for animation. For life. It feels wrong to see him so lifeless.

Lifeless but no less beautiful. For a probably very creepy amount of time, Lan Zhan just looks at him, drinking him in in a way that is difficult to do when Wei Ying is awake. Awake and flirting, distracting Lan Zhan with his terrible jokes and devastating smiles and endless banter. So creepy or not, Lan Zhan indulges himself in a nice long ogle.

This morning, he has good reason to survey his boyfriend. The bruising on the side of Wei Ying’s face has faded to greenish-gray, and the swelling around his eye is gone. The deeper scratches have scabbed over, but most of them have vanished completely. Wei Ying’s late-night snack is surely to thank for this rapid healing. When they got to the apartment last night, Mrs. Cang and A-Niang pestered Wei Ying about feeding until he finally agreed to let them bleed into a coffee mug. Wei Ying drank his mug of blood in sulky silence while the rest of them ate the congee A-Niang made.

It was nearly dawn when the mothers finally left them in peace. Lan Zhan barely remembers the shower that followed, but one of them must have been sensible enough to spread towels on the pillows for their wet hair before they collapsed into bed.

Now, he sits up and runs his fingers through his tangled hair. The clock tells him it’s only a few minutes past ten a.m. After such a long night, this hardly seems indulgent. Yawning, he peels the damp towel off his pillow and goes to toss it in the hamper. He’ll grab some juice so he can tell Wei Ying he hydrated, then go back to sleep.

But on the way to the kitchen, he has an idea. It will require a slight alteration to his “stay in bed for a week” plan, but he is learning to be flexible. Smiling, he foregoes the juice and heads back to the bedroom for sweatpants. He should have enough time, but only if he hurries.

Wei Ying is still hibernating when Lan Zhan returns from his mission. Lan Zhan sets his purchases down on the nightstand despite the grease that will surely soak through the paper bags. He sits down on the bed and lays a hand still warm from the coffee cup on Wei Ying’s chest.

“Wei Ying.”

No response. This isn’t surprising. Wei Ying may not sleep often, but when he does sleep, he goes deep. Lan Zhan strokes his palm over Wei Ying’s chest, spreading warmth over the still surface.

“Wei Ying, it’s time to wake up.”

Wei Ying’s eyes pop open. Lan Zhan has witnessed this sudden return to consciousness enough times that he isn’t startled, but he has to bite his cheek on a smirk. It’s too easy to imagine Wei Ying creaking off the bed like Dracula rising from his coffin.

“Good morning,” Lan Zhan says, still petting Wei Ying’s chest.

Wei Ying blinks once, and then he’s back to himself. A sunny smile lights up the dim bedroom. “Good morning, gorgeous.”

Wei Ying stretches languorously, limbs dragging across the sheets, back arching invitingly, but his eyes never leave Lan Zhan. Not for the first time, Lan Zhan questions how he earned this sight. Is this truly what Lan Zhan can expect every morning: this beautiful, amazing man in his bed? Wei Ying is really his to keep? While the Wens lurked in the shadows and the council’s imminent judgment darkened their time together, his time with Wei Ying was something to treasure for however long he could hold on to it. But now there’s no time limit, no axe waiting to fall. Now they can just . . . be happy?

“Your brain just went into hyperdrive,” Wei Ying says. “What are you thinking about?”

Lan Zhan realizes he’s been staring at Wei Ying while his thoughts raced around in his head. Wei Ying plays with the hand still splayed on his chest and stares right back, his smile a little bemused because his boyfriend is being weird.

“I love you,” Lan Zhan says.

Wei Ying freezes, his hand curled around Lan Zhan’s thumb. His lovely mouth goes slack with shock.

Lan Zhan’s heart gallops, but his mind is suddenly clear. No, he didn’t actually mean to say that. He meant to announce that he brought breakfast, but he doesn’t want to take it back or brush it off. It’s true, and Wei Ying should know it.

“Are you surprised?” Lan Zhan asks. “You really are terrible at mind-reading.”

“Lan Zhaaaan.” Wei Ying covers his face with Lan Zhan’s hand and mumbles something that Lan Zhan can’t parse.

“What was that?”

Wei Ying curls onto his side, dragging Lan Zhan’s hand with him, and gnaws on Lan Zhan’s knuckle. “Loveyoutoo. Like you didn’t know. Doofus.”

Joy sings through Lan Zhan, brighter than his fairy light. He actually checks to make sure he isn’t glowing. Yes, he knew, but still . . . “It is always nice to have confirmation.”

“Too many syllables for . . . whatever time it is.” Wei Ying cranes his neck towards the clock. It’s obvious when he spots the bags because the cranky frown turns to delighted surprise. “Lan Zhan, did you bring me breakfast in bed?”

“Mn.” Lan Zhan reaches for the bag holding Wei Ying’s Egg McMuffin. “McDonald’s discriminates against creatures of the night.”

The bashful smile that blooms on Wei Ying’s bruised cheek is well worth the morning jog to McDonald’s. Wei Ying wiggles up to lean against the headboard and holds the Egg McMuffin to his chest like a treasure. “You’re gonna let me eat this in bed? What about crumbs, Lan Zhan?”

“You can wash the sheets.” Lan Zhan settles beside him and grabs the other bag. Crumbs are the least of his worries. It will be a miracle if the bed doesn’t end up covered in artificial maple syrup.

“You got pancakes?” Wei Ying crowds against him, one greasy hand already reaching for Lan Zhan’s fork.

Lan Zhan snaps the lid closed on Wei Ying’s thieving fingers. “Mine. Eat your nasty McMuffin.”

“Lan Zhaaan.”

Lan Zhan pretends not to notice the eyelashes being batted at him and shoves a forkful of pancake into his mouth.

“At least let me dip!”

“Disgusting,” Lan Zhan grumbles, but he moves the box closer so that Wei Ying can dip his Egg McMuffin in the syrup pooling at the bottom. Syrup drips onto his arm as Wei Ying smacks his lips and makes happy chewing noises. Sometimes, Lan Zhan wonders if becoming a vampire is what destroyed Wei Ying’s taste buds, but he’s fairly certain Wei Ying has just always been like this.

Wei Ying finishes his breakfast long before Lan Zhan because in addition to his terrible taste, he also eats like a ravenous python. Lan Zhan ends up sharing the last of his pancakes because he is a weak, weak man who is absolutely besotted with this strange creature.

“Thank you for breakfast,” Wei Ying croons, and smacks a sticky kiss to Lan Zhan’s cheek. “Are you feeling better this morning?”

Lan Zhan gets up to clear away the trash. “I’d feel better if I got to finish my breakfast.”

Wei Ying snorts into the coffee Lan Zhan brought him: four sugars, two creamers—one hazelnut and one vanilla. It’s probably a good thing he became a vampire. At least Lan Zhan doesn’t have to worry he’ll die from diabetes.

Lan Zhan chugs half a glass of water on the way back to the bedroom and stops to grab a towel. Probably pointless since there’s already fast food smeared on the sheets, but he’d prefer not to lie in a mess of blood and syrup.

When Wei Ying sees the towel, he bolts upright and sloshes coffee on his chest. “Second breakfast? You really do love me!”

Lan Zhan throws the towel at Wei Ying’s head. While Wei Ying swipes the towel over his chest, Lan Zhan strips off his shirt and sweats. He slides under the covers Wei Ying holds up for him and crawls on top of his sticky boyfriend. “I love you,” he says when he’s eye to eye with Wei Ying, where he has a good view of Wei Ying’s immediate reaction. And it is a fantastic reaction. Wei Ying’s pupils dilate, and he whines high in his throat, going completely still under Lan Zhan.

“I love you, Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan says again, kissing the sticky skin around Wei Ying’s mouth. He keeps going through Wei Ying’s tense silence, saying it after every kiss and making sure to kiss each scrape. He’s working on the laugh lines beside Wei Ying’s eyes when Wei Ying finally breaks.

“Shut up, I love you so much.” Wei Ying squeezes Lan Zhan to his chest and snuffles against his ear. “You’re ridiculous,” Wei Ying whispers, almost hissing. “Mr. Big-Bad Vampire Hunter. You know how I take my fucking coffee. You’d let me eat all of your pancakes if I asked, you big dork. I love you. I love you so—”

Lan Zhan shuts him up with a kiss before his heart can vault out of his throat. It’s deep, and urgent, and his eyes sting with how much he loves Wei Ying. When he breaks away, his lungs are tight and his ears are burning. “I wouldn’t give you all my pancakes.”

“Would, too.”

Lan Zhan can’t argue because Wei Ying is kissing him viciously, gripping his cheeks and holding him in place for his mouth. “How are you even real?” Wei Ying demands between unrelenting kisses that rob the air from Lan Zhan’s lungs. It’s unfair that Wei Ying can kiss like this and still have enough breath to talk. “You’re my hero, Lan Zhan. Did you know that? My actual hero. You were ready to throw down with every vampire on that mountain, weren’t you? For me.”

Lan Zhan wrenches free and glares down at him, furious all over again about Wei Ying attempting to sacrifice himself. “Did you really think I’d let him take you? That I’d let you go?”

Wei Ying blinks up at him, a hesitant little smile curling his kiss-swollen lips. “I’m guessing I should say no.”

“You should,” Lan Zhan huffs. That cute little smile is making it difficult to stay angry. “Doofus.”

“I am,” Wei Ying croons, winding his arms around Lan Zhan’s neck. “I am such a doofus, Lan Zhan. Thank goodness I have you to watch over me. My hero. My pretty firefly.”

Butterflies sparkle and preen in Lan Zhan’s gut—or perhaps he should think of them as fireflies now. He hides whatever is happening on his face by burying it against Wei Ying’s neck and starts work on some new bruises while he’s at it.

Hiding his expression is useless when his boyfriend can read his mind. “Oh, you like that one, huh?” Wei Ying says, arching his neck to give Lan Zhan more access. “Firefly is better than fairy?”

“Not a fairy.” Lan Zhan punctuates this with a bite to Wei Ying’s earlobe.

Wei Ying hisses and wiggles enticingly. “Whatever you say, baby. I am yours to command.”

They are both very naked under the sheets, and Wei Ying’s wiggling drives them together in fantastic ways. Lan Zhan slots himself between Wei Ying’s thighs and pins Wei Ying with an arm over his chest.

“Drop your fangs,” Lan Zhan commands.

Wei Ying’s eyelashes flutter in confusion. “Lan Zh—”

“You said you were mine to command,” Lan Zhan reminds him. “Do it.”

Wei Ying rolls his eyes and sticks out his tongue, but once this childish display is done, he opens his mouth and lets his fangs emerge. Lan Zhan slides the pad of his thumb over one sharp tip and lets blood drip from the cut into Wei Ying’s mouth. Moaning, Wei Ying closes his eyes and extends his tongue to catch the drops.

While the blood falls, Lan Zhan concentrates on imagining what he wants in vivid detail and broadcasting those images to Wei Ying. Until now, he’s mainly communicated mind-to-mind using words, but Wei Ying seems to be getting the message given how he grins and shimmies his hips.

“Such a dirty mind you have, Hanguang Jun.” Wei Ying surges up to capture Lan Zhan’s thumb. Moaning low in his throat, Wei Ying sucks and licks the last drops from the little cut, all the while fluttering coy looks from under his lashes. Heat lashes Lan Zhan’s gut, and he bends back to Wei Ying’s throat, feeling it working under his tongue as Wei Ying does scandalous things to his thumb. It is tempting to stay here, rutting against Wei Ying’s belly, but he has plans.

He yanks his thumb free and rolls off Wei Ying to grab the lube from the nightstand. Wei Ying obediently flops over to his belly and spreads his legs. As always, Lan Zhan has to pause a moment to appreciate that ass, and Wei Ying notices, as always. Wei Ying peeks at him over his arm and shimmies his hips in invitation. “Just following orders, my lord.”

“Good boy.” Lan Zhan gives the world’s most perfect ass a gentle slap and knee-walks back between Wei Ying’s legs—the best place in the whole world. Wei Ying makes a delightful noise and ruts against the bed until Lan Zhan grips his hips. “Stop wiggling.”

Wei Ying grumbles something into his pillow and throws the other pillow down to Lan Zhan, who stuffs it under Wei Ying’s hips. The picture Wei Ying makes with his ass propped up and on display is delicious enough that Lan Zhan nearly bites through his cheek—and Wei Ying’s. Wei Ying snuffles a giggle. He’s really getting better at telepathy. Or maybe Lan Zhan is just that obvious.

Whatever, there is a plan. He can write odes to Wei Ying’s ass some other time. Wei Ying whines delicately when Lan Zhan circles a slick finger around his hole, always so responsive. Lan Zhan kneels behind him, one hand on his flank, the other stroking his fingers in a gentle rhythm. The plan is just this: for them to take their time, now that they have time to spend on lazy mornings in bed. Luxurious morning sex is a new experience for him, but he intends to perform admirably.

Wei Ying is much more patient than he is, taking what Lan Zhan offers with pleased hums and soft cries. Or maybe Wei Ying is also dedicated to the lazy morning fuck aesthetic. Either way, he deserves praise for being so beautiful, so patient, so utterly perfect. Lan Zhan tries to vocalize this praise, but it’s easier to just blast it from his brain. He shows Wei Ying how he looks—spread out and wanton, writhing and clenching on Lan Zhan’s fingers. He twines these images with how perfect Wei Ying is, how much Lan Zhan wants him. How much Lan Zhan loves him.

“Oh god,” Wei Ying wails, bucking his hips against the pillow. “Lan Zhan, you’re killing me. If you don’t fuck me, I’m going to fucking cry.”

This accelerates the plan considerably. Lan Zhan wipes his fingers on the sheet and slicks his cock, wincing at the ache. His cock never agreed to his plan for lazy morning sex. It’s going to take some delicate negotiations if this plan is to succeed.

He starts with just popping the head inside, but Wei Ying’s guttural moan and the tight, slick grip of his ass make holding back absolute torture.

“Lan Zhan, come on,” Wei Ying gasps, doing his best to swivel back onto Lan Zhan’s cock.

“Shh.” Lan Zhan smooths a hand over Wei Ying’s flank and grips the base of his cock with the other. The shushing does little to calm either of them. Gritting his teeth, Lan Zhan guides himself in and out in shallow, devasting thrusts. He focuses on stroking Wei Ying’s back, hoping to lull himself into a zen state in which his entire being isn’t focused on the tip of his cock.

Wei Ying muffles a screech in the pillow. “Why are you being so mean?”

Honestly, he doesn’t remember why he thought this was a good idea. Taking pity on both of them, he slides the rest of the way in. They both groan in relief. Seated firmly now, he holds onto Wei Ying’s hips and fucks him slowly, feeling every inch of the slide, every twitch from Wei Ying. It only takes a few rolling thrusts for Wei Ying to melt into the bed, crooning and flexing his fingers against the mattress.

“Good boy,” Lan Zhan croons back. “You like it slow, don’t you?”

Wei Ying cracks open an eye and glares back at him. “Is this revenge?”

Lan Zhan bends over him and braces his hands on either side of Wei Ying’s shoulders. He twists his hips on the next thrust and smiles at how Wei Ying shudders. “Are you not enjoying this?”

“Asshole.”

“I’m doing my best.”

Wei Ying growls and hides his face against the pillow. Smirking, Lan Zhan continues fucking him as slowly as he can. Yes, it is torture, but it is exquisite torture.

He curls over Wei Ying and nuzzles his neck. “I’m being gentle with you. You were injured last night.”

Squawking, Wei Ying twists his head to scowl. “Um, excuse me? You were the one who passed out!”

Without his consent, Lan Zhan’s hips give a vicious thrust that Wei Ying doesn’t deign to notice. “I did not pass out.”

“Oh really? You just decided to flop down on the cave floor and take a little nap?”

“I did not lose consciousness; therefore, I did not pass out.”

Wei Ying grunts at this—or at the sharp thrust on therefore. “It’s okay, Lan Zhan. Even superheroes swoon sometimes.”

Lan Zhan glares at the feigned innocence on Wei Ying’s face. “That won’t work.”

“Hmm?”

“Your pitiful attempt at annoying me into fucking you faster. I want to go slow this morning.”

“Okay, you’re the boss. A boss who faints sometimes, but that’s—”

Lan Zhan clamps his teeth on Wei Ying’s shoulder, which is effective at cutting off what Wei Ying was saying, but it also makes him forget his grand plan. His hips snap, driving Wei Ying into the pillow, and it takes a few moments for him to gain control of himself. Wei Ying’s gasps and grunts try to pull him back into a faster rhythm, but he refuses to listen. He presses against Wei Ying’s back, his hipbones snug against the plush give of Wei Ying’s perfect ass, and strokes up and down Wei Ying’s side, his hand gentle and his teeth denting Wei Ying’s skin. No matter how slowly he moves, the end is rushing to meet him.

“I love you,” Lan Zhan whispers to Wei Ying’s shoulder. “I want this, forever. Want you. Wei Ying.”

“Lan Zhan, yes.” Wei Ying squirms up to brace himself on his forearms and snakes a hand back to grip Lan Zhan’s hand.

Lan Zhan lets Wei Ying drag his hand down to the mattress and sink his teeth into Lan Zhan’s wrist. Lan Zhan cries out, his hips moving on their own volition as Wei Ying drinks. Holding back is impossible now, held tight inside Wei Ying, his blood surging to meet Wei Ying’s mouth. There is nothing to do but surrender, so he does, coming with a strained whimper and a final shudder.

Having failed so spectacularly in his plans, he murmurs apologies that Wei Ying shushes with kitten licks to his wrist. Lan Zhan wiggles them onto their sides and presses close, and stroking Wei Ying’s cock and nuzzling behind his ear. Wei Ying comes with a whimper that echoes Lan Zhan’s and then slumps back against him, still cradling his arm. After a few bleary minutes, Lan Zhan realizes that Wei Ying is licking his forearm, cleaning up the last rivulets of blood and sticky patches of pancake syrup. The towel is nowhere in sight, which means the bed is likely in a terrible state, but right now, that doesn’t seem important. For now, he just wants to bury his nose in Wei Ying’s hair and let Wei Ying enjoy his disgusting snack.

“Aw baby, stop beating yourself up,” Wei Ying croons, dragging his tongue over Lan Zhan’s wrist. “It was a good plan. You can’t help being such a slut for my fangs.”

Lan Zhan sighs. His boyfriend is a bloodsucking mind-reader. This is his life now. “I did my best.”

Wei Ying shoves him onto his back and kisses him sweetly with bloody, sticky lips. “You did. And I am so proud of you.”

“Gross,” Lan Zhan says, and pulls him down for more kissing. This is his life now, and he couldn’t be happier.

Two months later

Lan Zhan leans back in his too-small chair and stretches to relieve the ache in his back. He stretches too far and bangs his knees on the underside of the desk. This has happened so many times that he barely notices. He simply spins the chair away from the little desk to stretch out his throbbing knees. When he moved into Nie Huaisang’s office, this became a necessary routine, one that he is unlikely to escape any time soon. Construction is underway at the new Cloud Recesses, which is being built on the site of the old Cloud Recesses, but it will be months before he can have his own office again. He tried working from home, but since Wei Ying also works out of his apartment—their apartment for the time being—not much work was accomplished. Even so, Lan Zhan does work from home once or twice a week—and makes up for the time lost when he’s actually in the office.

A knock comes at the door. Since Nie Huaisang vacated the office—and his lovely large desk—hours ago, Lan Zhan calls for the visitor to enter. The ache in his back is forgotten when Wei Ying’s bright eyes peep through the cracked door.

“Hey gorgeous,” Wei Ying calls as he strolls inside. The visitor’s pass around his neck sways along with his hips. “Am I interrupting?”

“Always,” Lan Zhan says, rising to meet him. Wei Ying skips into his arms and tilts his head up for a kiss. It’s a simple, safe-for-work kiss, but Lan Zhan lingers close, breathing in nightshade and ozone from Wei Ying’s hair. “You’ve been to the apothecary?”

“Just for a bit.” Wei Ying fusses with the buttons on Lan Zhan’s shirt and chews on his lip. “Wen Qing wanted to talk about the meeting next week.”

Lan Zhan notes the evidence of Wei Ying’s distraction. He has been collecting this evidence for the past few days. Last night, Wei Ying spent 23 minutes staring blankly into space—Lan Zhan actually timed it. The cause of this distraction is yet unclear. Lan Zhan asked about it, of course, but Wei Ying brushed it off.

The upcoming meeting might be what is wearing on Wei Ying’s mind. Wei Ying, Wen Qing, and several other vampires Wen Qing deems suitable will meet with the council to discuss a new treaty. Lan Zhan has spent the last month working on the terms and setting the foundation for a very different relationship between cultivator and vampire. For now, these improvements will be frustratingly minimal, but Lan Zhan has much bigger plans in mind, including vampire members on the council. Ambassador Wei Ying would be both hilarious and incredibly sexy. A pipe dream for now, perhaps, but definitely something to work toward. After all, it used to be unprecedented for a vampire to visit the Nie offices, but Wei Ying is now a frequent guest.

“She is still planning to attend,” Lan Zhan says, not quite asking.

“Oh yeah.” Wei Ying strolls away, poking his nose around the office he’s been in many times. “I think she’s just nervous, you know. Mortal enemies and business casual.” Wei Ying shudders in his hoodie and ratty jeans. “It’s a lot to deal with. Where’s our little buddy?”

Lan Zhan allows this sudden change of topic. It isn’t often that Wei Ying keeps his thoughts to himself. As much as Lan Zhan longs to fix whatever is bothering him, he respects Wei Ying’s need to work through it himself. After all, Wei Ying does his best to stay out of Lan Zhan’s head instead of dipping in whenever he pleases. That consideration must go both ways. He has to trust that Wei Ying will tell him when he’s ready.

“He took the afternoon off,” Lan Zhan says, and bites his cheek to keep the smirk at bay. “He is still ‘working through the trauma.’”

Wei Ying snorts and toys with the paperweight on Nie Huaisang’s desk: a crystal canary that probably cost more than Lan Zhan’s crappy desk. Nie Huaisang hyperventilates if anyone gets near the thing. “Retail therapy?”

“Undoubtedly.” Being controlled by Wen Ruohan must have been quite traumatic, but Nie Huaisang is certainly not above using the experience for paid time off. Lan Zhan watches Wei Ying rock the canary back and forth while he carefully plans his question: “It is always lovely to see you, of course, but is there a particular reason you dropped by?”

“Oh, yeah.” Wei Ying turns and perches his perfect ass on Nie Huaisang’s desk, swinging his legs and knocking the heels of his chunky boots against the lacquered wood. “There’s a place I wanted to look at—when you get off work, of course. I thought I’d come by and harass A-Sang until it was time to leave.” He shrugs, the very picture of nonchalance. Lan Zhan is far from convinced.

“No need to wait,” Lan Zhan says. “Just give me a few moments to finish up.”

“No hurry,” Wei Ying says smoothly, nearly vibrating with sudden intensity.

Lan Zhan considers this while he sends his treaty revisions to the server. They have looked at a ridiculous number of apartments over the last few months, each one less appealing than the last. So for Wei Ying to be excited about one—excited enough to try to hide how excited he is—it must be something special. Is this Wei Ying’s big secret? Lan Zhan finds himself getting excited as he packs up his things. It’s fine, staying at Wei Ying’s apartment, the tiny kitchen notwithstanding, but he’s eager to find the right place. Their place. An actual home. It’s become more important to him than he ever expected, like finding their home is a sign of some kind—evidence that they are meant to be together. That’s silly, of course. They are already together, and being with Wei Ying is wonderful, no matter where they live. Still, he can’t help longing for the perfect place, the place where they belong.

Despite his obvious preoccupation, Wei Ying still stops to chat with a few people on the way out of the building, but he keeps the conversations shorter than usual. Lan Zhan smugly watches his beautiful boyfriend dazzle both Lan and Nie cultivators. Wei Ying is even more popular with the local vampires. His jokes about becoming vampire president are starting to seem a lot more plausible.

In the Uber, Wei Ying chatters on about a vampire he met at the apothecary, but his knee jiggles constantly. When they enter the seventh district, Lan Zhan starts to get suspicious. Those suspicions are confirmed when the car stops in front of a familiar house.

“I know,” Wei Ying says before Lan Zhan can even open his mouth. “Just give it a chance, okay?”

Without waiting for an answer, Wei Ying hops out of the car. Lan Zhan sighs and tells the driver to go. At least one of them should get to escape this situation.

Lan Zhan joins Wei Ying on the sidewalk in front of the dilapidated house where they once suppressed a restless spirit and killed two ghouls. He would suspect a prank if Wei Ying didn’t seem so nervous.

“So,” Wei Ying begins, shuffling his boots on the cracked sidewalk. “So, I know this is crazy, but I just can’t stop thinking about it. I came out here the other day, and really, it doesn’t look that bad in the daylight, right?”

Lan Zhan obediently turns to look at the house. With the resentful energy purged, the house feels nicer, but it’s still a ramshackle house with ghoul guts in the basement. There are caves that are more hospitable.

“I checked,” Wei Ying continues. “And you wouldn’t believe how cheap it is. I mean, we’d probably have to knock the house down and start again from scratch, but even then, we’d be saving money in the long run. And who knows, maybe there’s something worth saving?”

That seems unlikely, but then, how unlikely is it that some developer hasn’t swooped in to buy the land now that the horror is gone? There should be condos going up on this lot right now, yet the house still stands. Almost as if it’s been waiting for them.

“I know it’s, you know, gross,” Wei Ying says, “but it’s kinda romantic, too, right? We fought our first battle together here! It was the first time you carried me on your sword! If I hadn’t already been totally in love with you, I would’ve fallen for you right there in that nasty basement!”

Lan Zhan rolls his eyes, but gently. That night, Wei Ying looked past the ghouls and the angry ghost and saw the sorrow of the abandoned house. Now he wants to bring joy here again. If anyone can do it, it’s Wei Ying.

“Well?” Wei Ying says. “Aren’t you going to say anything? At least give me an mn, Lan Zhan.”

Lan Zhan takes his hand. “Let’s go inside.”

Wei Ying’s smile pummels his heart. His poor heart, still so unused to all this happiness. He hopes he never becomes used to it, that Wei Ying’s smile will always be devastating. It certainly seems that Wei Ying will never stop surprising him, will never stop showing him the little wonders he’s always ignored. If Wei Ying can change Lan Zhan’s life so quickly and utterly, then who’s to say what he could do for this old house? And who is Lan Zhan to say no to any of Wei Ying’s dreams?

Hand-in-hand, they climb onto the creaking porch and open the front door. There, Lan Zhan pauses, holding Wei Ying back. He already knows what the interior looks like: crumbled plaster and warped floorboards, cobwebs in the corners and broken glass on the floor.

He turns and looks back at the sun shining down on the yard. Now, thorn bushes creep along the rusted iron fence, and only a few sprigs of pale spring grass poke from the dirt. But he imagines a lush green lawn, bright flower beds, a stately tree stretching its arms over it all. That is what could greet him every morning, here in the doorway of his and Wei Ying’s home. Yes, it will take work and time, but they have time.

When Wei Ying speaks, his voice is hushed, almost awed. “It feels right, doesn’t it? Like it’s ours?”

Lan Zhan cups Wei Ying’s dear face. “It’s perfect. Wei Ying is very smart.” He kisses Wei Ying there in the doorway, and it feels like a promise: a promise to Wei Ying, to himself, and to this lonely house. Ours, he thinks, and shudders with joy.

Wei Ying throws his arms around Lan Zhan’s shoulders and meets his kisses with bright laughter. Pink tears glisten in Wei Ying’s eyes when he pulls back. “Well, as much fun as it is to make out in the doorway, why don’t we go inside? Come imagine with me, Lan Zhan.”

Lan Zhan takes his hand again, and they go inside. The door swings softly shut behind them.

And they are home.