Chapter Text
The letter arrived on a crisp morning, carried by a messenger from a small, isolated village known as Hanyue village. The request was simple: a series of strange occurrences had been plaguing their livestock and, more recently, their children. Whispers of a vengeful spirit had spread, and the villagers, far from any major cultivation sect, had desperately sought help from the esteemed Gusu Lan Clan.
With Nie Huaisang now serving as the new Chief Cultivator, the burden of political affairs had shifted, allowing for some freedom. This was fortunate, as Lan Xichen, still reeling from the traumatic end of his sworn brother Jin Guangyao, remained in secluded meditation, leaving Lan Wangji to handle most of the sect's external affairs.
As Lan Wangji read the missive aloud, his voice low and steady, Wei Wuxian, lounging with his legs propped up on a low table, couldn't help but chime in.
"A vengeful spirit, you say? A low-level one, it seems, if they're just scaring chickens. Lan Zhan, are you sure this isn't beneath the great Hanguang-Jun? You should be slaying mighty beasts and challenging ancient evils! Not... chasing after what might be a grumpy ghost who got startled by a rooster." Lan Wangji ignored the playful jibe, his golden eyes scanning the contents of the letter.
"The report mentions the disappearances began after the first snowfall. The villagers believe a spirit of ice and malice has been awakened."
Wei Wuxian feigned a dramatic shiver."Ooh, ice and malice! How very poetic! Lan Zhan, you're looking at it all wrong. This is a perfect mission for us. The frosty, quiet mountain air, the peaceful village... it's a wonderful excuse for a scenic winter holiday! You can show me your beautiful sword forms against a backdrop of pristine snow, and I can warm my hands on some roasted sweet potatoes."
He winked, but Lan Wangji simply folded the letter and tucked it into his sleeve.
"Let's go." Wei Wuxian's grin widened. It didn't matter what he said; Lan Wangji always understood. Or perhaps, he just tolerated it. Either way, they were going together.
The journey to Hanyue village was long and cold. As they rode their swords through the biting mountain air, Wei Wuxian was a whirlwind of motion, chattering away about everything and nothing.
"Lan Zhan, look at that pine tree! It's practically a Lan disciple, all straight and proper, wearing its white snow robes. Just like you! All it's missing is a headband."
He leaned a little closer, trying to get a reaction. Lan Wangji, however, remained impassive, his focus unwavering as he guided Bichen. The white robes, the sleek, silvery sword, and the serene expression under his forehead ribbon made him look like a god descending from the heavens. Wei Wuxian's heart gave a little flutter. The cold didn't seem to matter so much with Lan Wangji by his side.
Upon arriving at Hanyue village, they found a small, tight-knit village nestled in a valley, its wooden houses dusted with a thick layer of snow. The villagers, a mix of rugged woodsmen and quiet farmers, looked at them with a mixture of hope and fear. As Hanguang-Jun, Lan Wangji commanded instant respect, but they viewed Wei Wuxian with a little more suspicion, his flute Chenqing and his playful demeanor clashing with the gravity of the situation.
"The spirit, sir," a village elder explained, his voice hushed. "It's the spirit of the old ice forge. They say the fires died out a hundred years ago, but its grudge still burns."
Wei Wuxian, ever the inquisitive one, immediately started asking questions, his voice echoing in the still air.
"An ice forge? That's new! Usually, it's a blacksmith's fiery spirit that gets upset. So this one is... well, it's just being contrary, isn't it?" He laughed, but the villagers looked at him blankly. Only Lan Wangji gave a barely perceptible twitch of his lips, a small sign that he was listening and understanding.
That night, they set out to investigate the old forge. It was a crumbling stone structure half-buried in snow, perched on the edge of a frozen waterfall. Wei Wuxian used his spiritual energy to detect any resentful residue, but the air was surprisingly clean.
"It's not here, Lan Zhan," he announced, puffing out a cloud of white breath. "The resentful energy is being drawn from somewhere else, and this place is just the focal point. It's like a spooky lightning rod! I'll bet it's something in the village itself. Come on, let's go back. I'm starting to get so cold my brain is freezing solid."Wei Wuxian turned to go, but slipped on a patch of ice, his feet flying out from under him. He braced himself for a hard landing, but instead, a strong hand wrapped around his wrist, yanking him upright. He stumbled forward and found himself pressed against Lan Wangji's broad chest, the warmth of the other man's body a stark contrast to the frigid night.
"Careful," Lan Wangji murmured, his voice a low rumble. Wei Wuxian's heart hammered a frantic rhythm against his ribs.
"Lan Zhan! You... you saved my life! Again! I swear, you should just follow me around all the time, I'm a professional at getting into trouble." He paused, then added in a whisper, "Though, I don't think I'd mind being this close to you all the time."
Lan Wangji's ears, Wei Wuxian was pleased to note, were turning a faint shade of pink. He quickly released Wei Wuxian and stepped back, but the moment had already been seared into Wei Wuxian's memory.
He was still smiling to himself as they returned to the village, lost in a flurry of thoughts about the warmth of that hand, the strength of that grip, and the little flush on Lan Wangji's cheeks.
Hanyue Village. "Hanyue" (寒月) means "cold moon"